#am quickly losing all my coherency

[katsukidynam1ght]

i’m fucking sick again

spark plug should be on time this weekend because i (like a badass) worked ahead on my homework and so i have a bit less to do this weekend, but if this cold picks up and i’m struggling to think i may delay the next chapter because my homework comes first.

hope all of u are doing well! i am trying to write a paper about squirrels rn. my head hurts :(

[wellwells]

Dumber and Dumber

The ad from Obeycorps already burrowed it's way into your head. "You need to become dumber, slut!" was what it said. It's hold on you was temporary, but you want to change that. The ad was obviously right, right?

You know you only have a couple of hours until it wears off and you'll regain your normal, well-adjusted worldview again. You quickly make your way to the hypnotists office.

"I want to become dumber. Like, really really dumb. So dumb that men will Take advantage of me."

"You really want that? To be taken advantage of?"

"Yes. I want to be too stupid to be independent. I want to be used and abused by men who like me solely because i am really dumb."

"Well then, if that's what you want. Look into my eyes."

You can immediately feel it. Your concentration becomes harder to hold, heavy like it's a hundred tons. You drop it, which feels better.

"Excellent. You are getting dumber and dumber. Soon, you will be the perfect plaything for every man who wants you. They will use you and discard you, and you will be too stupid to care."

You moan softly as your mind crumbles

"Yes... Amy dumb... dumb Amy..."

Then it stops. Like a cold shower, your recurring intelligence makes you shiver. The effect of the ad ceases, and a little voice inside you wants you to be smarter again. But it is too late. It just feels so good to be dumb.

"I wanna become, like, even dumber. If i am as dumb as possible, i want to be even dumber than that."

"Of course you do. You want to be the dumbest girl in the world. So dumb that you can't even remember your own name. So dumb that you can't even form coherent thoughts."

"Yes..."

There is no turning back as you permanently lose thought after thought. There is nothing in your pretty little head anymore. You don't have family or friends, memories or a personality. All those words lose their meaning, drooling out of your mouth.

"Good girl. You are becoming the perfect plaything. So stupid that you can't even remember how to speak in full sentences. So stupid that you can't even remember your own name."

"Dumb... I'm so... dumb..."

"What is your name, my little plaything?"

Dumb slut... You are a dumb, dumb slut.

"I don't... know... slut?"

"That's right."

You smile at being correct, even though you already forgot your answer.

The hypnotist reaches out to your cleavage.

"Dumber... please... dumber..."

You can still think about wanting to become dumber, which is still way, way too much.

The hypnotist says words you cannot understand. The concept of language spills out of you like the boobs out of your top. You can No longer ask to become dumber, you lack the capability to do that. It's fine, though, the hypnotist seems to know what you want.

He slaps you and squeezes your face.

You smile, not really getting what is going on. Your body seems to get touched, which is enough to send a smile to your face. You don't know what a smile means. You don't know what touch means. You don't know what anything means.

You simply don't know. You drool.

He shoves his cock in your mouth. After a few thrusts, he pulls it out completely again, holding it in front of your face.

Your mouth tries to communicate to him about those jumbled sensations squirming about, somewhere behind your crossed eyes.

"mmmmm"

Truly the most eloquent piece of dialogue you could muster up. A masterwork of literacy. You are so proud for a second, before you completely lose grasp of what little ego you had left.

"You're still way to smart, i guess. Sorry about that. Become dumber, bitch."

That was it. All thoughts gone. You are an object. No internal voice anymore. You don't exist. He fucks your mouth.

[talesofadragon]

𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬

Summary: Like the ebb and flow of the tides, matters of the heart prove to be fickle. When love finds itself at a crossroads, each step forward holds the potential to either mend the fractured pieces or shatter the fragile bonds. As the path ahead becomes a dwindling maze of secrets and emotional infidelity, Y/N realizes that some promises need to be shattered for others to be forged anew.

Warnings: bring tissues

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader, Theodore Nott x Reader

Genre: Angst | Hurt/Comfort

Word count: 1.2K

ACT ONE Why am I afraid to lose you when you're not even mine?

Silver Promises Masterlist | All Masterlists 

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬. 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞-𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝, I stood frozen as my boyfriend knelt before me, holding my possible fate in his hands—a velvet box cradling a bright emerald set in a silver band.

My breath caught in my throat, my heart threatening to burst from my chest. Tears hovered on the brink of my lashes as thoughts whirled tumultuously in my mind.

Draco's smile remained unwavering, the hope in his intense gaze growing with each passing moment, oblivious to the inner turmoil consuming me.

"Will you marry me?" he had asked a minute ago, or perhaps it was five—I couldn't tell. Time seemed to elude me, slipping away faster than I could grasp.

I struggled to form a coherent response, my mind overwhelmed by the weight of his words.

Will you marry me?

Will you marry me?

Will you marry me?"

The question echoed relentlessly, each repetition more piercing than the last.

As if his piercing gaze wasn’t enough, I suddenly felt thrust onto a stage, a spotlight illuminating me, exposing me to the scrutiny of countless eyes.

Hesitation flooded through me, my veins pulsating with uncertainty. I was trembling uncontrollably. There was no other way to explain how everyone around me could sway so violently.

My eyes darted between the shocked yet hopeful faces surrounding me—each look weighing heavily on me. Draco's parents stood together, his mother's shining eyes and exuberant smile challenging me, while my parents' expressions told a tale of contrasting emotions—a mother's joy and a father's reticence.

Pansy, my closest friend, who felt more like a sister, regarded me with an inscrutable look in her eyes. Was it empathy? Anticipation? Perhaps even fear?

She quickly averted her gaze, prompting me to follow her line of sight until I found him.

An involuntary whimper escaped my lips as the enormity of the decision I was about to make settled over me like a heavy blanket.

Theodore, my best friend of thirteen years, my first kiss, my first love, stood before me with a forced smile plastered on his face, and I cursed our ability to read each other like open books.

His tight-lipped smile clashed with the iron grip he had on his goblet of fae wine. If I didn’t know any better, I'd say the chalice was ready to explode from the pressure of his fingers. Despite the curt nod he gave me, the crease between his eyebrows betrayed his inner turmoil. His clenched fists were hidden in his pockets, and the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes. 

The fear lurking in his dark hazel eyes was unmistakable even in the dead of the night.

A gentle yet suffocating grip on my hand pulled my attention away from him and back to the question I dreaded answering.

“Darling, what do you say?” Draco's voice broke through the haze of my thoughts.

How could I say no? 

How could I refuse my boyfriend, who had put so much thought and love into this moment, who had gathered our families and friends to surprise me? How could I break his heart?

A salty taste on my lips signaled that tears had escaped. 

‘But how do you say yes?’ a voice inside me whispered. ‘You're accustomed to kissing his warm lips, but have you grown accustomed to the emptiness that follows, the absence of fireworks that should ignite your heart?’

Am I ready to say yes? Am I ready to feel his lips roaming outside the boundaries of my own, exploring my face and tracing the outline of my body? 

Theodore. The thought of him swept into my mind, bringing memories of that foolish kiss we shared when we were fifteen during that ridiculous game we coerced ourselves into at Hogwarts.

My gaze shifted from Draco to my best friend, and suddenly, it all came rushing back to me like a violent wind. The warmth of his lips, the tenderness of his touch, the magic in his eyes, and the fluttering in my heart.

I remembered growing up with Theodore—our jokes, our pillow fights, our Quidditch matches, and our midnight broom rides beneath the stars. It felt like every moment we shared was etched into my memory.

"Y/N, you are the definition of crazy. Bloody hell, how do you always manage to get me into these messed-up situations?" Theodore had tried to sound stern, but his escaping smile gave him away.

"Yeah, maybe I am," I had replied, propping myself up on my elbows after collapsing onto the ground. "But it's not my fault you blindly follow me."

He chuckled and plopped down beside me on the grass. "Yeah." Pausing, he lay back, gazing up at the stars. "That's what happens when you love your best friend too much."

I knew he didn't mean the "I love you"s the way I wanted him to, but deep down, I wished he did.

As I glanced at him once more, I couldn't shake the feeling that he, too, was realizing something—that I might be slipping away and that he never tried to hold me back. Perhaps, he regretted not holding me back.

Memories crashed over me, accompanied by an onslaught of voices in my head, each one clamoring for attention.

My mother's voice echoed, praising Draco and insisting he'd bring me happiness. His parents' joyous declarations welcoming me into their family mingled with my father's urging to give Draco a chance, citing Theodore's apparent lack of admission to feelings towards me. According to him, it was time to "live up to the expectations of our family's last name and preserve our lineage."

Then came Blaise's solemn confession, "They’re my best friends, and I never want to choose between them. So, I can imagine how it is for you. But Draco doesn’t love you like Theo does. Not in the way you or he thinks."

Amidst the senseless chatter of my friends extolling Draco's virtues, Pansy swore that Theodore and I had harbored love for each other all along, too afraid to admit it aloud. And Theodore. His absence in the conversation was deafening, yet his presence weighed heavily on my mind.

I wanted to flee, but I was trapped within the confines of my own body.

I longed to scream, but the cacophony of voices drowned out my own.

I yearned for Theodore's touch, but Draco's grip felt like it was tearing me away from my thoughts, pulling me back to reality.

"I—" The word hung in the air, barely escaping my lips. I could have sworn Theodore's grip on his goblet tightened for a moment, but the tears welling in my eyes made it difficult to see clearly.

My knees gave out beneath me, and my heart followed suit, the world fading into piercing screams as my eyes rolled backward and my body braced for an impact that never came.

Instead, I found myself enveloped in someone's arms, their scent of musk and berries flooding my senses, a stark contrast to Draco's familiar fragrance. Instinctively, I nestled closer, tightening my grip around my savior's neck as they whisked me away, their whispered words a soothing melody I couldn't quite decipher.

His embrace tightened as I caught fragments of his reassurance, "You're safe, little sprite. I've got you."

At that moment, there was no one else I wanted beside me, holding me, touching me. As he gently laid me down on the silky sheets of what I presumed to be my bed, his warm breath carried the lingering scent of fae wine, further intoxicating my senses.

And it was then that my heart knew the answer long before my mind could comprehend it.

No, Draco. I can't marry you.

Hi witchlings!! This baby has been sitting in my drafts for two years! I toyed with the idea, with no set protagonists in mind, but I find that this fits our favorite Slytherin boys perfectly. This fic is going to be a two-shot, with possible outtakes/extras if anyone is interested in diving more into this love triangle's story.

Hope you liked it!

All-Works Taglist: @xxrougefangxx

Draco Taglist: @imabee-oralizard @ameliaphoenix @arcana-greenleaf @dittos-blog-dylanobrien @ye0nvibezzn

[writing-for-life]

WHAT DO YOU MEAN DREAM'S HAIR USED TO BE WHITE!! oh my god. i just saw your post about killala and i have now perished. thanks for breaking my heart.

but also hi!! i'm relatively new to the fandom and it's a great place to be. i haven't finished reading all the comics yet but i'm curious to know:

what do you think are the main differences between TV!Dream and Comics!Dream? i've heard so many people claiming that he is incapable of changing, for instance, and though the show does convey his overall rigidity pretty well, i'm not getting the vibe that he's immutable.

also!! it's clear that he feels a lot. which is always funny to me when the corinthian is like yo, try this and maybe you'll feel something for a change but like. he does!!! or i get the impression that he does. he probably feels too much if anything?? all of it simmering just beneath the surface, barely contained. how would you personally analyze his relationship with his own emotions?

i hope all of this is coherent enough for you to answer lmao, i saw your post about enjoying being asked sandman questions two seconds after i woke up and barged into your inbox. hope you have a lovely day!

Thanks so much for the ask, and welcome if you’re new(ish) to the fandom! 🤗

I’m sorry I broke your heart—much more heartbreak to come I fear if you haven’t read the comics yet, so I’ll try to keep this as spoiler-free as possible.

I am one of those people who believes the differences between comics!Dream and show!Dream are actually not as big as they are made out to be where it matters, and you will definitely find people who disagree. At the end of the day, we all read it through our own lens and will never be fully objective about it.

The main difference I see is that they filed off the rough edges of the comics a bit to make a new audience sympathise more. It’s very hard to do that with a character who is basically in full arsehole mode for most of the first 40 issues or so, and even then only slowly begins to come out of it (although we can obviously see glimmers of what lies below the surface at the beginning of the comics, too, but it’s far more subtle than in the show). I’ve worked in musical theatre for a over decade of my life and understand a bit about bringing the written word to stage/screen, and some things simply don’t translate well from book to stage/screen, and you have to change it. So my personal opinion is we get a more sympathetic Morpheus and certain changes so the audience can do exactly that—sympathise off the bat. You will lose an audience pretty quickly if they don’t care about the protagonist and the universe he moves in, and you can’t be as nuanced about it as you can be in a written work. We’re talking about streaming services thinking about profits here, even if people don’t want to hear it.

Also: The more you sympathise with a character, the deeper the emotional investment and the more you feel, even if it hurts.

Having said this, I don’t think Morpheus is incapable of change, and I never got where that idea comes from. His biggest flaw is that he believes he cannot change (and even he has moments when he admits he might have). In the introduction to Endless Nights, Neil Gaiman says that he was once asked to describe The Sandman in twenty-five words or less, and famously, it was this (you might have heard it):

“The Lord of Dreams learns that one must change or die, and makes his decision.”

And I think some people might have wrongly taken that for an either/or thing. I don’t want to say too much at this point because I don’t know how much you know (if you’d like spoilers or already know how it ends, let me know, I’ll happily expand on it). Only so much:

He is capable of change, also in the comics. Very obviously so. But just like he denies he has his own story (which also isn’t true), he denies he can change. Or at least he thinks he perhaps cannot change enough (it’s actually hard to write about this without giving everything away, help! 🙈).

As for his feelings: He does feel, but again, it is something he pushes down and will deny himself. Until it bursts to the surface and breaks through, and when that happens, it’s usually with, well, let’s say varying results, and that’s putting it mildly. Personally, I’d say he has problems relating to his feelings, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel. Quite the opposite in my view. He holds the collective unconscious—all unprocessed feelings and whatever else floats around in that collective mess, and it’s exactly what he says to the Corinthian in that famous scene: he needs to keep a lid on it and keep that lid firmly closed so all of it doesn’t consume him. But that also means denying himself the feelings that are linked to his own personhood (if you want to call it that). There’s Dream of the Endless, and then there’s Morpheus. And while they’re one and the same and inseparable, Morpheus is also the “point of view”. The character, the person, if you will. And deep down, he craves that personhood so badly. Out of all the Endless, he is the only one who basically collects names because they mean having something beyond his function, which is also mirrored in what he tells Death in “The Sound of her Wings”: he wants something more. He is the only one whose realm is populated with sentient beings (yes, I know Despair has rats, but I think you get my drift). He is desperately lonely and struggles with it. He seeks connection yet denies it to himself. That’s not someone who doesn’t feel.

I don’t know if this answers your questions at all—I was doing the wild “spoiler-free” dance 🤣 But please let me know if you want me to go a bit deeper, I love talking about this stuff.

You can also have a look at my metas if you haven’t already. The headers pretty much explain what they’re about and what spoiler-level to expect, but none of them are truly spoiler-free I guess:

Again, thanks so much for encroaching on my inbox, and feel free to follow up if anything was left unanswered.

@dreamaturgy ask answered

[yellowocaballero]

Been a fan of your fics for YEARS. I was just telling my friend how despite how much I read fics I never actually love them, with some of your fics (especially TMA) as the exception. Felt the need to reread some of them and saw you reblogged some ISAT fanart. So. Any thoughts on ISAT you'd like to share?

Hope you have a wonderful day!! So happy I found your fics again!!

I avoided answering this for a while because I was trying to think of a way to cohesively and coherently vocalize my thoughts on In Stars and Time. I have given up because I don't want to hold everybody here all day and I have accepted that my thoughts are just pterodactyl screeching.

I love it so much. I have so much to say on it. It drove me bonkers for like a week straight. I have AUs. It's absolute Megbait. They're just a little Snufkin and they're having the worst experience of anybody's life. Ludonarratives my fucking beloved.

I am going to talk about the prologue.

The prologue is such a fascinating experience. You crack open the game and immediately begin checking off all of the little genre boxes: mage, warrior, researcher, you're the rogue...some little kid who's there for some reason...alright, you know the score. You're in yet another indie Earthbound RPG, these are your generic characters, let's get the ball rolling.

Except then you realize that these characters are people. You feel instantly how you've entered the game at its last dungeon, at the end of the adventure. They have their own in-jokes, histories, backgrounds, adventures. They get along well and they're obviously close, but not in a twee or unrealistic way. They have so much chemistry and spirit and life. I fell in love with them so quickly.

But Sif doesn't. Sif kind of hates them, because they will not stop saying the same damn thing. They walk the same paths, do the same things, make the same jokes, expect Sif to say the same lines. They keep referencing a Sif we do not see, with jokes we never see him make and heroic personality he never shows - they reference a Sif who is dead - and Sif can't handle that, so he kills them too.

They become only an exercise in tedious frustration. Sif button mashes through their dialogue, Sif mindlessly clicks the same dialogue options, Sif skips through the tutorial, Sif blows through the puzzles. Sif turns their world into a video game. Sif is playing a generic RPG. Sif forgets their names. They are no longer people with in-jokes, histories, backgrounds, adventures. They're the mage, the warrior, the researcher, and...some random kid.

I did not understand the Kid's presence at first. I had no idea what they contributed to the game. They didn't do anything. As a party member in a video game, they're a bit useless. Why is the Kid there?

Because Sif's life isn't a video game. Because the kid isn't 'the kid'. They're Bonnie. Bonnie, who the party loves. Why is Bonnie there? Because they love them. There is no room for Bonnie in the boring RPG that Sif is playing. And then you realize that Sif is wrong, and that they've lost something extremely important, and that they'll never escape without it.

Watching the prologue before watching ISAT gave ISAT the most unique air of dread and horror, because you crack open ISAT and you see the person Sif used to be. You realize that Sif used to be a person. Sif used to be the person who made jokes, who gave real smiles, who interacted with the world as if they are a part of it. And you know you are sitting down to watch Sif lose everything that made them a person, to lose everything that made them a member of this world, and turn them into a character in a video game who doesn't understand the point of Bonnie at all.

At the climax of the game, when the others realize that something is deeply wrong and that Sif physically cannot tell them, they realize that there is nothing they can do. So Bonnie declares snacktime. And for the first time they have snacktime.

What is snacktime? Classic JRPGs don't have snacktime. There's literally no point to a snacktime - not in a video game, and not in Sif's terrible life. It's not fixing this, because nothing can fix this. But Bonnie gives Sif a cookie and Sif eats it.

It's meaningless. It's a cutscene. It didn't save Sif and it didn't change a thing. It will make no difference in the end.

But it did make the difference. It made all of the difference in the world. Bonnie is a character who you really don't understand the point of before you realize that Bonnie was the entire point.

ISAT is about comfort media. Why do we play the same video games over and over again? Why do we avoid watching the finale of our favorite shows? What is truly comforting: a story with no conflict, or a story where you always know what is about to happen? Do you want to live in a scary, uncontrollable world, or do you want to play Stardew Valley? Do you want a person or a character?

When I beat Earthbound for the first time (and if you don't know, the prologue/ISAT battle system is just Mother) and watched the ending cutscene where the characters part ways and say goodbye...I felt a little bit sad. I wanted them to be together forever. But that's something only characters could ever be.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

I've had this chapter finished for a few days, and I must apologize for not posting it sooner.

Particularly considering the last time I updated this fic was a few months ago. I just couldn't find the will to do all the formatting stuff. But I have the will tonight, so here I am.

Also forgive me if I miss anyone in the taglist or add anyone that didn't intend to be there (kind of a new thing for me)

Please also forgive me if my formatting is a little fcked, my external mouse on my laptop is currently in the process of dying on me (it's confusing left clicks for right clicks and vice versa) and it's been quite a pain for the past couple days.

ANYWAY

MihawkxOC (started as OPLA but will progress in mixed live-action and anime/manga canon)

Previous Chapter Link

Chapter 1 Link

Chapte 8: Nightmares

Tag List: @sirenmelody23 @nerium-lil @ruledbyproblematique @sexc-snail (I think you asked in an ask a while back) @ruledbyproblematique (idk if you asked but I noticed you’ve reblogged quite a few chapters and it’s been a while, if it’s an issue I can delete)

Word Count:3.4k

Tags: Slow-burn, Enemies to Lovers, !!NSFW on this chapter!!, uh, if I think of more I'll add them or something

Summary: After having her sloop sunk by the Buggy Pirates and losing most of her worldly possessions in the process, the normally solitary mercenary Karimi Lionne finds herself teaming up with the rag-tag little crew that is the Strawhat Pirates to defeat them. She bonds with them far more quickly than she bargained for, and that quickly turns into a problem for the Kiku Kiku no Mi devil fruit user when she learns of Nami's plans to leave them high and dry, and Zoro issues a challenge at Baratie that he very likely won't live long enough to regret.

Karimi couldn’t fathom how she had ended up in her present position. She would have sworn under oath that minutes earlier she had been pacing the length of her guest room, fuming in anger with the warlord she had left behind in the den after he had humiliated her without a second thought to anything but his own entertainment.

That she had been finishing the glass of wine she had taken with her, pausing perhaps halfway through to shout a series of profanities into one of the heavy feather pillows on the bed.

That she hadn’t had so much wine that she should have any holes in her memory at all—and yet here she was, back on the sofa again, pinned beneath the jerk again, his powerful grip wrapped around her wrists and shoving them over her head, denying her the right of defending herself.

But he didn’t hold his knife in his other hand this time. No; he held the edge of her green dress instead, his fingers curled around the hem of the shimmering material, pushing the skirt up her thighs, up to her waist, at the same lazy pace that his lips grazed across the delicate skin of her neck, biting down lightly just below her earlobe, just hard enough to leave a mark and pull a whimper from her parted lips.

“You see, darling…” Her eyes slipped shut as he murmured in her ear, her heart racing as his hand crept back down from the hem of her dress now bunched around her ribs, his fingertips trailing a slow path down the plane of her stomach and slipping just beneath the waist of her panties. “I’m not so cruel a master as you think. You behave…” And just a little lower, her breath coming in short uneven bursts as he pushed her thighs further apart with his knees between them, the pads of his index and middle finger brushing past her slick entrance. “And you’ll be rewarded in kind.”

Drawing in a sharp breath as he pressed his fingertips against her and ceased moving his hand entirely. She opened her eyes and found his sharp yellow gaze boring straight into hers, her breath hitching in her throat, a small smirk curving his lips as he lowered his head until his forehead rested lightly against hers.

“Now be a good little bird and beg for it.”

And she did beg—barely coherent, barely even registering her own pleas as they left her in a breathless whimper, she shamelessly begged. Each time she tried to arch her hips toward his touch he simply shoved her with one hand back down to the sofa, still rubbing the pads of his fingers against her clit in slow, teasing little circles.

Pulling her closer and closer to the edge with every touch, every caress, every murmur in her ear or against her lips, until what few words she could form became nothing but incoherent whimpers and moans, until she could register nothing but slowly mounting pleasure—not his words, not the almost painful pressure of his grip tightening around her wrists, not the sound of his voice or the warmth of his breath or the crackle of fire or smell of smoke.

Smoke.

Crushing his lips to hers to muffle her sharp cry of alarm and relief when he pushed two fingers into her. She clenched her eyes shut, moaning breathily as his lips left hers.

Fire.

As his hand drew away from her, leaving her with a feeling of emptiness that bordered on pain.

Pain.

As something cold and smooth pressed against her throat—something sharp, cutting into the soft skin, and she couldn’t even whimper at the sharp pain, as if her own voice had been stolen from her, stolen like everything else, stolen by fire and vengeance and—

Another voice, but it wasn’t Mihawk’s. She knew it wouldn’t be before the words even broke through the crackling of the fire, growing louder and hotter with every passing second, licking and burning at her skin. It was a voice that had haunted her for years, a voice she would never be allowed to forget, that would continue to live with her even with its owner long since gone.

“Let this be a lesson to you about what happens to pirate whores and filth.”

Vesper.

Karimi’s eyes shot open the second the name passed through her mind, sitting straight up in the bed in the guest suite.

A dream. Just a dream. “Just a…just...” She couldn’t even force the words out beyond her rapid, trembling breaths, so Karimi simply leaned forward, bending her knees up and resting her forehead there, not daring to close her eyes. She knew she would see him, plastered to the back of her eyelids, she always did after he visited her in her dreams—his maniacal grin, the twisted purple and red scars that covered the left side of his face, his empty eye socket filled with fire, his white Admiral coat half-dyed crimson with blood and his bowie knife pointed toward her.

“Nightmare?”

“Ni…nightmare. Just a nightmare.” She swallowed between her halfway incoherent mumblings, her hands shaking as she gripped the bedsheets. “Just a…”

And she stopped breathing as she jerked her head to look over at the Warlord leaning against the post at the head of her bed on the right side, arms crossed, observing her with the air of a cat that had happened across an interesting insect.

“What...?”

Looked down at herself, every ounce of blood in her body rising to her head as she took in that she was still dressed down for bed, wearing only an old, slightly tattered tank top and a pair of thin lace panties.

And back at him again, fury and embarrassment swelling into an entirely new entity within her as she gritted her teeth in utter rage.

“What the fuck, w—were you watching me sleep?!” she shouted, quickly drawing her covers up over herself, and Mihawk lifted his eyebrows at her in mild alarm. “What the f—”

“Why in seven hells would I have any interest in—?”

But she was already grabbing a pillow from behind her, without thinking, and swinging it toward him. “Get out!!” she all but shrieked, and he clearly hadn’t expected the sudden attack, as the pillow connected and knocked his hat from his head. He caught it easily before it could fall further a foot and set it back atop his head, sighing as he straightened it and leveled his eyes with Karimi’s.

“That,” he said slowly, straightening out from his relaxed posture against the bedpost and taking a step toward her, “was a mistake.”

Karimi hugged the pillow to her chest as he drew closer, her face burning, her jaw set, but she had left one weak point completely open, and the moment she realized it, it was already too late. She cried out as he wrapped his hand around her neck, just under her chin, and jerked her from the bed and to her feet, up to her tiptoes as he brought his face within an inch of hers. She had to wince against the burning in her eyes when he tightened his grip, not hard enough to cut off her airway entirely but more than enough to make breathing a physical chore.

“If you have any value at all for your continued good health, you will refrain from doing anything that stupid ever again.”

He leaned in the slightest bit closer and Karimi swallowed, her heart only racing faster. Closer, too close, too close, nearly as close as he had been in that accursed dream—no, now was not the time to think about that.

“Do you understand, little bird?”

She bit her lip and nodded—with his fingers only gripping tighter and tighter around her neck, she wasn’t sure she could have formed a word if she wanted to.

“Good.” His eyes drifted down, away from hers, across her bare shoulders, lingering on her left arm a moment. She flinched slightly as he lifted his free hand and brushed the pad of his thumb down the column of uniform scars that spanned from just above her elbow to the base of her wrist, her shoulder tensing until he lifted his hand.

It came to settle at her hip for a moment, and she averted her eyes as far away from him as she could as his fingertips grazed across the waistband of her panties.

Then, without warning, he shoved her back toward the bed, releasing her neck so she stumbled backward onto the mattress, rubbing at her neck and gasping for air, watching him turn on his heel and start toward the bedroom door. “You have half an hour. Be prepared to sign our contract and set out when you make your way downstairs.”

He didn’t wait for her response before he pushed through the cracked door, leaving it hanging open behind him, Karimi sitting there in her undergarments and staring in shock at the empty doorframe. Still rubbing at her neck, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would even survive a year working for the man.

She wasn’t sure just how long she sat there before she pulled herself to her feet and set to pulling a change of clothes out from her meager satchel of personal effects, striding across the bedroom to close the door before any of the help could pass by and see her. She made quick work of changing her clothes, straightening her hat on her head, bending down slightly to tighten the leather straps around her right calf that held her throwing knives, reaching for the doorknob.

And someone knocked. She rolled her eyes skyward—it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes, why the hell would he be back?

“Would you please just leave me alone?” she half-groaned.

Silence met her in reply, a long silence, and after a moment of deliberation she pulled the door open—and flinched as she found Kaya standing there, blinking at her in alarm.

“I—is everything alright?” she asked, baffled.

“Y—sorry, yeah,” said Karimi, grimacing in embarrassment. “His royal pain in my ass just left a few minutes ago, I thought—” She sighed irritably, shaking her head. “Doesn’t matter. I suppose we won’t be staying for breakfast.”

“You’re more than welcome to,” said Kaya, her frown only deepening with the concern in her eyes as Karimi shut the door behind her lightly and joined Kaya in the upstairs corridor. “It would make little sense to set straight out to sea without eating first.”

“Not my choice,” said Karimi, walking level with Kaya in the direction of the grand staircase. “I’d definitely stay a bit longer, if possible.”

“Then stay,” she said, shaking her head. Karimi sighed, grimacing. “You said it’s a contract—you’re not his…” She seemed then to notice Karimi’s grimace as she looked over. She lowered her voice a little when she spoke again, her tone a bit gentler. “Forgive me for asking, but…you’re not working for him by choice, are you?”

Maybe there was no point lying. Kaya had hit the nail on the head, after all—and really, Karimi had led her to it herself. After a moment, she gave a quick shake of her head, crossing her arms over her stomach. “It was my choice,” she said. “It just…didn’t seem like there was any other choice at the time.” She hesitated for a moment as they stopped at the top of the stairs, Kaya leaning her elbow against the banister, her brow furrowed in steadily mounting confusion and concern. “While we were at Baratie…Zoro thought it would be a good idea to challenge him to a duel. To the death. Winner takes the prestige of being known as the World’s Best Swordsman—I know,” she said, as Kaya pulled both her hands to her mouth, her eyes growing wide as saucers. “He’s alive,” she said, deciding it best to leave out the state he was in when she left. “He’s alive, and…I’m working for his would-be killer for a year, without pay. That’s the contract. I play errand girl for a year, Zoro gets to live in spite of his idiot challenge.”

“Oh—oh, heavens, Karimi—that’s—” Without any warning, she crossed the few paces between them and wrapped Karimi in a tight hug that made the mercenary tense and cringe slightly, as if she had been struck rather than shown kindness and affection. “Is there nothing you can do?”

“I somehow doubt it,” she said, briefly returning the hug with one arm before quickly backing up a couple paces, glancing down the stairs. She sighed irritably to herself at the sight that met her eyes. Mihawk was already standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the bannister, his back to the two of them as he flipped through a small stack of papers. No doubt it was the contract she had suggested herself, the words that would bind her in her own promise for the remainder of the coming twelve months. “And I wouldn’t anyway,” she admitted, shrugging a shoulder as she brought her gaze back to Kaya’s, the younger girl still frowning in sympathy. “I don’t break my own terms. Not a good look in my line of business.”

“No, I…suppose it wouldn’t be. And…” She hesitated a moment, glancing down to the foot of the sprawling staircase herself, her frown deepening. “I suppose working for one of the seven warlords could gain you some notoriety?” she offered.

“It could.” Karimi gave a small, humorless laugh. “Not really looking for notoriety, though. Luffy might be intent on racking up a bounty, but I’m definitely not.”

“Well...considering you would be under his employment, that should mean you’d gain some degree of immunity as well, wouldn’t it?” she said thoughtfully, curling her hand over her chin as both of them watched Mihawk roll the papers up and cross his arms. Karimi’s mouth turned down in a thoughtful frown at that.

“I guess it might,” she said. “Depending on what he has me doing.”

If, as Karimi had suggested upon first making his proposal, he did no more than send her off to complete government contracts he deemed unworthy of his time or effort, then she would likely be in the clear. She had made it six years on her own without drawing enough attention to possess even a small bounty—it seemed fairly likely that working for a Warlord might benefit her in that regard more than it would hurt.

It did hurt a bit to bid goodbye to Kaya again so soon. It was difficult not to scoff at the younger girl’s sentiment of don’t be a stranger—Karimi doubted she would be going anywhere she wanted or doing as she pleased for a considerable amount of time, if the contents of the contract were any indication. She followed behind Mihawk as she skimmed through them on the way back to the docks, her lips turned down in a frown.

As she had expected, the contract all but stated that she would veritably be his property for the remainder of the coming year—not permitted to protest any order she was given, expected to complete any task set before her without question.

“So,” she said as she stepped onto the small deck of Hitsugibune, folding the papers down slightly to look at him as he took his seat. He didn’t regard her, simply flipping open the newspaper he had picked up on their short walk through Syrup Village. “I’m a slave, then.”

“I thought we had settled on ‘indentured servant,’” he said absently.

She gritted her teeth to bite back a scowl, crossing the deck and pressing the papers against the back of his seat as she drew a pen from her bag. “Indentured servant,” she repeated coolly, rolling her eyes. “Yes. Right. That.” She finished reading through the last half of the final page, detailing that she would also be subjected to a rigorous training regime to ensure her work would meet his standards, before quickly scrawling her signature across the line at the bottom.”And where, O Master, shall I set our course for?” she asked, flipping the papers over the back of the chair, between his face and the newspaper.

He snatched them away, tucking them behind the newspaper. “Cocoyasi Village.” Karimi froze in pulling the rope from the dock, looking slowly over her shoulder. He didn’t look up from the newspaper as he went on. “You mentioned at dinner your friends might be headed in that direction. I’m curious as to what business they might have with the fishmen, considering all the trouble they’ve already managed to stir up.”

He didn’t need to look over to know the girl was looking his way, no doubt with suspicion laden in her green eyes. Even as she resumed readying his vessel for sailing, the weight of her gaze remained heavy—and her slow, cautious tone as she spoke up again spoke volumes. “You said—”

“I’ll be dropping you off,” he said, anticipating that she would make some protest regarding the green-haired moron who was so intent on challenging him. “I have business of my own to attend and will return to retrieve you the following morning. I expect a full report on their activities. You may assist them however you see fit, so long as it poses no threat to your continued good health.”

He flipped a page as she gave a snort of laughter. “That almost sounded like concern.”

“I wouldn’t want my property damaged.”

She gave another scoff before going silent, save for the occasional grunt of effort as she hauled up the anchor. That was good—he had expected more protest, more questioning. It seemed she had accepted the terms of their contract more openly than he had anticipated. He folded the newspaper over and lifted the parchment, his eyes drifting across the loopy scrawl of her signature.

Lionne. The surname again struck him vaguely familiar, little more than a ghost of a memory. His gaze fixed upon it as she shifted the sails overhead.

“You were looking at a bounty poster yesterday morning,” he said slowly after a moment. He heard her freeze again, ceasing in her movements. “If you damage my boat you’ll compensate for it with an extra six months added to your contract.” She gave little more than a small noise of frustration before resuming her work behind him. “Which one was it?”

“I wasn’t looking at any in particular,” she said, her voice level—but there was still a small degree of caution there.

“Is that so?” She gave a small affirmative hum in response. “I find that difficult to believe.”

“And why is that?” she sighed.

“After you chose to retire last night, I took an evening stroll to ensure my boat was secure,” he said. “And I noticed something interesting upon stopping by the posted bounties.” His tone remained casual, but a small smirk curved his lips as he heard her slow in her movements somewhere behind him—as he stood, pushing a hand into his pocket to retrieve the folded poster he had collected from the wall with a well-aimed toss of his knife to sever the top of the paper, from that high corner of the wall she had stared so intently at before changing the subject. He unfolded it as he stepped slowly around the edge of the chair. “Do tell me…” he said, flicking his wrist to unfurl the last fold, “who exactly is one Lyon D. Rollo to you?”

He held the poster out to her as she stood rooted to the deck a few feet away, her posture rigid as a statue as she met his eyes.

As her eyes darted to the sea water on every side of the ship, down to the deck itself, before flickering back to lock with his gaze again, avoiding looking at the poster entirely.

“Or...” Mihawk went on slowly, taking a couple steps forward to close the distance between them. He wrapped a hand around her wrist and lifted her hand, harshly enough that she flinched in alarm but not with quite enough force to hurt her, and shoved the bounty poster into her hand`. “...we could find out what happens if you choose to lie to me again.”

Previous chapter link again, for your convenience

First Chapter link again, for your convenience

[leclsrc]

hello!! may i request mick smut plsss with praise as always, u write smut mick so well ily!!!

you’ve been waiting – ms47

You miss your boyfriend when he’s away, so you miss no time in letting him know just how much.

auds here... 100% this was exacerbated by mick in the ice bath, christ hes hot. title from this.

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... smut, penetrative sex, praise lots (as per auds law), kinda dom mick, also mick being good, breeding kink man, Praise. praise

Your boyfriend’s been so caught up with work lately, it’s almost a miracle when you catch him in between a meeting and an interview, on a night where he’s finally free. Just gonna finish this ice bath, he texts, wait for me baby. Anxious, and with desire brewing in the pit of your stomach, you exhale as you wait for him to arrive in his hotel room.

He’s toweling himself off, still shirtless when he does walk in. He rubs his hair dry, a damp tee slung over his broad shoulder. “Hey, baby.”

“Mick—!” You yelp when he catches you, grips you tightly. He’s cold all over, his smile devious against your neck when he feels you struggle. “Ah, put me down!” Water seeps from his skin onto yours; when he presses a kiss to your neck, he tastes the ice.

“Haven’t you missed me?” He says, clicking his tongue and setting you both down on the bed. Your skin’s cold now, too, you realize when he clambers atop you. “I know I have.”

“I really have missed you,” you counter. “But you’re frigid.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Am I?” He tosses the towel somewhere else and dips down to kiss you. Clearly, he’s not in the interest of wasting time. “Show me,” he says when he parts from you, voice mumbled and firm against your lips. “Show me how much you missed me, yeah?”

So you do, your hands warming against his skin, nimble as you wrap them around his neck, stroke over his shoulders; you pull him close, press your mouths together. His hands are cool against your hips, tugging your flimsy cotton shorts down until his fingers meet lace. “I’ve missed you too, baby. Missed your pretty face, this pretty pussy.”

“Mick,” you whine, shy, “c’mon, baby, be good and fuck me hard.”

“I’ll be good,” he says smoothly. “Know you love it when I am.”

You bite your lip teasingly. “You gonna be good for me, then?”

“Yeah, I plan to be,” he replies quickly, letting you pull his cock out from his shorts. He’s hot all over, so soon after the ice bath, just because you’re here. You’re excited, eager, and the thought of you wanting his cock this desperately sends warmth trilling through him in waves. “I want you so bad, princess, God.”

“Mmm, really?” You ask lowly, guiding his cock into you. He’s big, and you haven’t fucked in weeks—the sensation is dizzying, knocks you into a state of euphoria. He thrusts, and you feel the coil in your stomach tightening and loosening. His thumb presses against your clit—you’re even dumber now, brain muddled, thoughts losing coherence.

“Yeah,” he says gruffly. “So fucking wet, baby, you’re sucking me right in—”

“I know,” you breathe, whimpering. “Please, give me all of it.”

“Asking for all of it when you can barely take it,” he coos. “God, I’ve missed this.”

He’s been around Europe, working, for a while now. Away from you, away from this.

“I fucked my fist thinking about you. Thinking about—fuck—your eyes all rolled back, tongue out. Wishing I could see that face when you’re stretched out on my dick. Yeah?”

“Fuck, Mick,” you moan as your clit starts to pulse under his fingers. “I’m cumming,” you wail, breathless—more slick gushes down his cock as he continues to bottom out, your nails digging hard into the sheets. You writhe, overwhelmed by the feeling.

“Already?” Half amused, he’s panting desperately, his dick twitching in you. “It’s not even all the way in—Jesus. Such a good girl, baby.” 

You moan, nearly crying, the pressure in your eyes nearly causing tears to roll down your face. It feels so good, so big and stretching you out, thumb rubbing quick circles against your clit, his lips heavy and damp against your ear telling you the dirtiest, nastiest things that only serve to make you so much more wet.

He pulls away, wrangles your legs up from around him to pressed against you. The angle is so much better this way, and he gets to control you so much better, watch the air be knocked out of you every time he thrusts. You grip the sheets, ah ah ah leaving your mouth in whiny, high-pitched moans of overwhelm.

“Mick,” you cry out weakly. “Har—harder.” 

You squirm a little each time he bottoms out, but Mick keeps your legs pinned against your chest easily. He’s barely letting you move, grip bruising on your hips.

“Are you getting what you wanted?” he pants, slamming into you. “You asked me to fuck you hard, right?”

You nod tearily, so he continues to give you just what you asked for.

“You want me to fuck a load into you?” He groans, whiny almost.

You mouth affirmation hazily. You’re barely coherent, pleasure rolling through you and causing your toes to curl. He sees that, sees your mouth dropping open, sees your eyes rolling back. And he knows you’re about to cum.

“Cum for me again, then I’ll give it to you,” he pants. “Go.”

You nod, babbling nonsense as you spasm and cumming. It feels too good; your brows knit together and your lip almost bruises from how hard you bite on it. “You’re ruined,” he says with an innocent smile. “All ‘cause I was good for you. That’s what you wanted, right?”

“Yeah, you’re s’good,” you mutter dumbly. 

“You know I’ll always give you what you want,” he says. “Because you’re a real good girl for me, too.” 

He can still taste the water on your skin, but neither of you are cold anymore. He loves that taste; it makes his cock twitch inside of you, and he has to pull out quickly, or else it’ll make him cum. And he doesn’t want to cum yet, doesn’t want to give you the satisfaction of him pumping his release inside of you.

Mick presses your legs down, so he can look at your eyes roll up, your tits jiggle. You smile up at him, winking, because you just love this side of him: it’s so fucking hot to see that hungry expression on his adorable face while he’s manhandling you with his greedy hands.

And you don’t seem to mind it. You’re sniffling, whining about how it hurts, about how it’s so big, Mick, wait wait wait—you’re still pushing your ass out eagerly so he can hit you that deep. And you’re still slurring out encouragements between each complaint, telling him how fucking amazing his cock is. So he gives it to you roughly, over and over and over, stopping only to nip at your jaw.

“Who’s Mick’s good girl?” He asks sweetly. “Who?”

“Mick,” you choke out, eyes squeezed shut from how good this feels. You’ve cum twice at this point. Your throat feels dry.

“Tell me,” he says. His voice hardens a little.

“Me,” you say, teary. “I am.”

“You’re what, baby?” He asks, hushed against your ear. “Come on, give it to me.”

“I’m”—you swallow, growing wetter around him, the slick sounds of your cunt loud—“I’m Mick’s good girl.”

“That’s it,” he says, encouraging your last orgasm out of you in a drawn-out, quiet whine. You cum together this time. He buries his head in your neck, whines as he releases his load inside you, gives you what you want as always. Your hands tangle into his blond hair, and you giggle when you’ve both come down.

“Love you,” you say, smiling and breathless. You stretch your legs out. 

“If an ice bath gets me sex this good, I’ll go five times a day,” he jokes, tired, against your shoulder.

[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 💜💜💜

[gildedkrone]

The Sun and The Moon

Relationships: Ghost x GN Reader Synopsis: You break all of your promises by dying and Simon loses it. A/N: Angsty hurt no comfort for those who want to see Ghost suffer. Master List

“Simon, what are you doing?”

The man has his arms wrapped around your torso. His head is buried into your nape and his breaths are warm tingles on the neck. You set the knife down to turn around and look at your lover. He responds by loosening his hug but never truly letting go.

“Hugging you,” he replies as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You laugh, a crystal sound on his ears and weary heart. He tightens his embrace to pull you in close to him and you smell the scent of his aftershave. In the privacy of your home, he opted for a simple balaclava instead of the usual skull mask.

“Did something bring this on?” You mumble against his cheek and he shakes his head.

“Just needed to feel you.”

He melts into your returned embrace and you whisper sweet nothings into his ears.

---

Gunshots are coming from left and right. You are hunkered down beside a desk for cover and counting your munitions.

Most of your rounds are depleted and there are only eight remaining.

---

“Ghost, you need to let me finish cooking dinner.” You gently tug his hands to request for him to do so.

He grumbles something non coherent and shakes his head. In response to your attempt to break his embrace, he tightens his arms and you are fully pressed against him. You are close enough to feel the heat of his body emanating through his clothes—a large grey hoodie you gifted him for Christmas with the print best boyfriend ever. He blushed something fierce when he first received it, but it soon very quickly became his favourite sweater.

It went with him everywhere and Simon nearly throttled Soap when he spilt something onto it. Fortunately, the stain was easily removed and the sergeant made off without a scratch. Profuse apologies from him are a funny memory to look back on.

You caress his cheek gently and he leans into your touch. Soft Ghost is rare to come by and who were you to deny your heart? He is, by all means, a big friendly teddy bear when you got to know him. Soft touches on your body and the playful glances are things he reserved for you solely. A privilege, the altar of your hips in hands gentle as wind.

“Simon, did something happen?” His eyelids flutter open at the mention of his name.

“The mission next week. The one with Shadow company.” Oh. Was he worried about the mission you were assigned to with Graves and his men?

“What about them?” His eyes are darting around and he struggles with how to express himself. How to make you listen and agree with him.

“Don’t go.”

“What? Simon, is this a joke?” You attempt to diffuse the tension in between you and him. He doesn’t seem to be joking and his eyes are set in a firm, unyielding look.

---

“Bravo zero six to command, how copy?” You yell into the radio among the chaos unfolding around you.

“Anyone? How copy?”

Silence hung from the line.

---

“Sweetheart, I—I don’t have a good feeling on Graves. I don’t want you all alone with him.” Was Simon jealous of Graves? He finally relents and lets you escape his hug.

“Simon, I didn’t know you were jealous, my sweet lad.” You joke and return to dicing the potatoes into cubes. He stays by your side and observes you making dinner.

“Graves knows that I am practically your fiancé. He won’t try anything funny and if he does,” he squeaks (he didn’t) when you sneak a kiss, “I’ll break his fingers.”

“Love, I—”

“Simon. Trust me, okay?” You grab his hand. His hand is calloused and you give it a firm reassuring squeeze, hoping the meaning reaches him. “It will be alright. The marines will be there as well and the op isn’t anything I haven’t handled before.”

He raises your hand from your waist to his chest. Palm covering yours presses it against his skin and you feel it. The chaotic beating of his heart, the way it beats for you. All for you, unspoken words hanging between you both.

“I don’t like it.”

“Me neither. But it’s the General’s orders so its not like we have a say in this either.”

---

Silence reestablishes its hold in the warehouse and you watch a marine drop onto the floor. Blood trickles from a spot in his flank and the marine falls, unmoving. His rifle falls beside him and a Shadow soldier shoots again.

You grip your rifle tighter and breathe deeply.

---

“Look at me.” He follows your order and focuses his gaze on you. The mighty Ghost, fully compliant with the orders of a sergeant makes you smile.

“I know that you don’t like this and I don’t too.” He balaclava shifts and but you cut him off. “But this is the last mission. Once I am done with this, I will be able to stay with you in the UK.”

Deep down, he knows about this as well. The carrot the SAS dangled over your head to take advantage of your skills and capabilities. Being a former hostile combatant defected to SAS soldier, your freedom was written in contracts signed eons ago.

Twenty high-risk operations in exchange for an immigrant visa that guaranteed long term stay in the UK.

Simon had found about them when you started becoming something more than just friends. Until now, you have completed nineteen missions satisfying the criteria.

“Just one more. Then I will get my visa and I’ll be able to stay here with you for as long as we want.” I’ll be free to go anywhere with you.

Your name rolls off his tongue in velvet honey and wine, “Don’t like this. I hate every aspect of this.”

“Don’t hate it so much, love. If it weren’t for Laswell, I wouldn’t even be here and alive. It’s the price I pay to be living and here with you.”

And I will never regret, ever, paying this price. For you, it’s all worth it.

---

The Shadow’s rifle impacts your helmet and if it weren’t for the two of them holding your arms up, you would have crumpled to the floor.

Their commander walks forward.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

---

“Once I am done with this mission, we can retire.”

“We can get that motorcycle you really wanted and we can decorate your flat.”

“Maybe get a cat as well.

“Dog, love. Riley’s looking for a home.”

“Then we need a room for the dog too. And a new house.”

You go over the schematics for the place Simon identified to be suitable for housing you, him, and Riley. It’s bigger than his current flat in London in a lovely neighbourhood north of London.

You show him the mock up of the space you had created and he leans in for a closer look.

“Looks good, love.”

“You say that for everything I do, brat.”

“I only tell the truth.”

Simon returns to his crossword puzzle and the room is comfortably silent.

“I can’t wait.”

You look at him, softness in your eyes rivalling clouds. “I can’t wait for us to start a new life together. Away from all the violence and bloodshed.”

He nods and you continue, “Can’t wait to finally get married to my fiancé.”

“I—That sounds amazing, love.”

“And I will get to do all of that with you.”

---

Graves tilts your head up and tsks.

“Look, you can either tell me where the missile is, or, I can make you tell me.”

His hand brushes against the metal sun with your dog tags.

“You won’t like it when I force you, sweetheart.”

---

Simon sneaks up from behind and you nearly jump at the sight of him in your mirror.

“Simon!” He chuckles and you give his shoulder a gentle punch. “Give me some warning, next time!”

“What’s the fun in that?” You pout and he sighs in affection. His pulls your close and presses kisses to your face. It’s ticklish and you shriek in mock protest and he is laughing in good natured fun.

“Got you something, love.”

Oh?

You watch his hand disappear into his pocket and retrieves a box. He nudges you to open it and you do. Inside the box, two metal ornaments. One resembles a sun and the other, a moon. He smiles at your gasp at the sight.

“These are beautiful, Simon.”

The sun is painted in an iridescent orange spilling into gold and red with filigrees of silver etches into the edges. The moon is an impossibly deep black embossed with gold filigrees. His hand picks up the sun.

“This is for you, love.” He gently affixes the sun to your dog tags and the moon to his own. He brings the two ornaments close together and they meld together in a magnetic clink. The lines and edges blur together and the sun and moon, unified in one.

You and Simon. Two halves of a whole. You are his sun and he, your moon. Symbolic is the meaning of the trinkets and you rest your head against his. His large hand cradles the trinkets and without him, you wouldn’t be whole.

“These—” His heart is thumping wildly and the words are hard to come by.

“These are my mother’s. S-she wanted me to share them with someone I deemed important.”

“Oh, Simon, I—”

“You are important to me.” He struggles for words. “The most important thing in my life.”

“I want to share them with you. To show you how much you mean to me.”

Tears of your heart are glistening from your eyes and he isn’t faring much better. He raises his balaclava to his nose and you smash your lips against his. He tastes of the freedom in the summer air of late July and his hands came to rest on your hips.

“Simon, you didn’t have to do this. I, I will always lo—”

“I know. This is just my turn to love you, love,” his words are harsh by the sheer emotion running between you and him.

---

The moon isn’t here and Graves tuts in disappointment.

“Look, sergeant, we don’t have all fucking day and I run a tight ship. Where. Is. The. Missile?”

Cuts and bruises litter your upper body, courtesy of the Shadows.

“Won’t talk? Round two, boys.”

One of the Shadows behind Graves walks forward with his knife. Your eyes are steel in the blade.

---

D-day is eventually here. The alarm wakes you and you roll lazily over to shut it off. Simon grumbles something and his hands seek out your body. He fingers brush across your flank and he is instantly holding on like a child to a teddy bear. The bed is warm and you are tempted to go back to sleep with him.

“Simon, I need to get to work.” You try to get him to relax his grip.

“Five … five more minutes.”

“I can’t. I need to be at the hangar in an hour and I still need to get ready.”

“Fuckin’ Price and the wankers for—”

The kiss muffles his words and brown eyes blearily open to the world. It distracts him enough to create enough of a chance for you to slip out of his grasp. He mutters something about the uncomfortable bedding and retreats to the toilet. You change into the combat uniform and use the toilet once Simon is done. When you are out, he is in a tactical jacket and camo pants.

He drags out a chair before the table with a mirror.

“Sit here.” You oblige and see him rummaging through his drawer.

He returns with a brush and eye black. He unscrews the cap and instructs you to lean your head black and close your eyes. Fingers gently press onto your face and you remain perfectly still, soldier discipline and all. His ministrations are gently and thorough and fingers are replaced with a brush moving across your skin.

You sneak open an eye to see Simon in full concentration mode, eyes focused solely on your face. He stopped sleeping with the balaclava a few months ago after confiding in you just how uncomfortable it was. So you wake every morning to Simon and all of his features. Adonis look held by a face sculpted by the Gods to reflect the beauty of man. He is, for the lack of words, insanely and undoubtedly handsome and you cherish just how lucky you are to see him.

“Thought I said eyes closed, sergeant.”

“Hmm, couldn’t resist looking at you. You are just too handsome for the world, Simon.”

Pink dusts his cheeks in smatterings and drapes him in youth. Without his mask, his expressions are on full display and the upturn of the edges of his mouth and the blush on his face. Simon is everything you could ask for and he finishes up your war makeup with the last strokes.

“Give ‘em hell, love.”

“You bet your arse I will. They don’t call us the 141 for nothing.”

He gives your forehead a quick kiss.

“When you return, we will celebrate.” You agree with him.

---

“Sergeant, why the fuck won’t you cooperate!”

You jerk when Graves’ hand leaves a deep red imprint in your face. Pain blossoms from the impact area and it’s a dull sensation compared to the torture his men had inflicted on you over the past hour? Hours?

Time is a blur and you have no way of knowing. You can only hope that the 141 figures out that something is wrong somehow.

---

He thunders down the hallways of the base; boots slamming against the floor. The other soldiers stay out of the reaper’s way and the door to the control room slams open. He steps out to get dinner rations and the dreaded message arrives.

Price and the American commanders look at him.

“Lieutenant, you have no—”

“Shut the hell up. Where is my sergeant?”

Deep sucks of breath and Price intervenes before the American Major is on the receiving end of a punch.

“Ghost, we are re-establishing contact. Hold on—”

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

“Shadow Commander Graves! Explain yourself right now.” The Major beats Price to the mic.

“Major Williams, there has been a change of plans. We have new orders to take the missile by force and the other soldiers on the mission have been dismissed.”

“Graves! What are—”

“General Shepherd sends his regards. If you have any problems, you can take it up with him.”

Sounds of struggling and yelling. Then, another voice.

“Ghost! Graves—fuck!—The others are all dead! The Shadows are taking the missile!” Followed by sounds of fighting and conflict.

He recognises the voice to be yours. Your name slips pass his iron jaw as he yells into his radio. Decorum is the last thing on his mind and your callsign is discarded.

“You need to strike this location! Graves is—” A sharp grunt and Ghost panics.

“Fucking grade A shit. Stay fucking down!” The sounds of yelling comes through choppy and broken by static.

“Your fucking sergeant gave me a black eye! That’s fucking it. I’ve fucking had it.”

All the stares from the people in the room but he doesn’t give a toss. Not when your life is on the line.

“Don’t you dare fucking touch them!”

---

“Don’t you dare fucking touch them!”

That’s Ghost’s voice. You have to get up from the floor and do something. The wound in your flank is aching fierce and nausea washes over you in waves. Moving into a kneel takes all of your mental faculties. You reach for the handgun in your thigh holster and a hand backhands you into a sprawl onto your back.

Arms drag you into a kneel and you stare down the barrel of the gun. Graves is behind the gun and looking worse for wear. A bruised lip and a black eye where you punched him. The sun ornament is burning up into lines of time ending in now.

“Any last words, sergeant?”

“Leave them alone! You touch them and I—”

You use the last reserves of your strength to bid your last goodbye to him. “Simon, I—I lo—”

Graves’ doesn’t wait for you to finish.

---

The line clicked dead and dread was all he could feel. His desperate calls for any response fell on silence. The world had shut him out and the radio ceased to transmit. Graves was no longer reachable and rogue. Price had his face in his hands and the Major opted to leave the room.

The gunshot was deafening, more so than usual. Graves wouldn’t even allow him the dignity of hearing your final words. He shouldn’t have ever agreed to let you leave. And now, all he reaped was guilt and regret. Heaps of it.

---

The sun ornament was still on the body.

He dreaded this, going to the mortuary when the bodies were recovered. Mission twenty. Just when you were about to free of the contract imposed years ago, fate had to strike you down and take you away from him.

All that was left was the moon. Alone in its splendour never as bright as when it was with the sun. The rest of the 141 steered clear of him and his hand found yours.

“Wake up, please. Love. Please, don’t leave me here …”

Tears of too late dripped onto the body below. Before he left, the dog tags were added to his own and the sun ornament with it.

“You wanted a yard right? A place where you could plant tulips and roses? Love, come back to me. You promised and we … we haven’t even gotten married yet.”

Price joined Ghost.

“They aren’t coming back, Simon.”

That was what truly broke him, knowing the rest of his time walking on this earth, he would be alone.

His companion, a distant memory, and a visage of brighter times.

---

The reaper dances.

They say that if one chances upon the cemetery outside a military base in the outskirts of London, they can catch the sight of a man dancing with another person. Dressed out in their splendorous wedding attire and in the arms of a man with a skull mask dancing through the fields of lilies and lavender. A wedding that never occurred and never to occur.

A dead person and the skull man on the fields of forgotten time stained with the red of countless Shadow soldiers laying around the couple.

Ever as beautiful as the day they died, in the arms of their lover for eons to come. The reaper weeps for nobody but the person in their arms. Eventually, to ashes and dust they become and the sun and moon are all but a story people tell their children.

If lucky, one of them may even find the ornaments in the story.

---

Let’s be lucky people, you and me.

You make me lucky, love. As lucky as a man like me can ever be.

[captainsophiestark]

Presentation Problems

Tristan Flynn x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Fandom: Crescent City

Summary: We all need a little distraction from work sometimes, and lucky for Flynn and Y/N, they stumbled into each other's lives at the perfect time.

Word Count: 2,479

Category: Fluff, Humor

A/N: This is functionally a prequel to Nosy Best Friends and The Best Night Ever, but it can also be read independently of that!

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I muttered to myself as I tried to force my brain to comprehend the words on the page, to write something coherent related to that, but I just couldn't do it. I'd been studying in an empty classroom, working on a massive grad school presentation due tomorrow for hours, and I just couldn't make another complete thought materialize. The stupid book was mocking me, and so were my notebooks, and so was my laptop.

And I'd had it.

"ARGH!"

I flung my notebook as hard as I could, as far away from me as I could get it. A split second later, the door to the empty classroom I'd commandeered flung open, and a very tall fae male stepped inside. My notebook hurtled right at his face, but at the last moment, he managed to catch it with a free hand. He blinked at it, eyebrows furrowed, then looked up and made eye contact with me.

I stared right back, both of us trying to figure each other out for a few moments. As a human, I wasn't totally sure I didn't need to find a way to get the Hel out of here, immediately, but I was also exhausted and more frustrated than I'd been in a long time. If ever there were a time for me to throw hands with a Vanir, it was now.

"Who are you?" he barked, one hand still holding my notebook and another drifting towards the gun at his side. Looking at him for more than two seconds made it clear he was part of the Fae Aux. Just my luck.

"A student trying to get some fucking work done," I snapped before I could stop myself. "Who the Hel are you, and why are you barging into empty classrooms on my campus?"

He blinked at me for a moment, apparently surprised by my outburst, but I just crossed my arms and stared him down with a raised eyebrow. I was exhausted, and I didn't want to get back to work, but I also didn't want to stay here a moment longer than I had to. And I couldn't get anything done if I had to deal with a member of the Aux first.

"We're chasing somebody who ducked into this building to try to lose us. They're dangerous, especially to a human, so I need to get you out of here."

His hand dropped fully from his gun and he started walking towards me with purpose. I took a few steps back to put a desk between us and glared at him.

"No way! Do you know what I'm doing right now? I'm fighting for my life working on a presentation that makes up a ridiculous percentage of my grade, and it's been absolute Hel, but I am so close to being done! I am not leaving now."

He raised one eyebrow at me, then held up my notebook.

"This is close?" He sounded a little amused, and I noticed a spark in his eyes that hadn't been there when he'd first stepped through the door. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"I have more notebooks right here that I can huck at your head again, so I'd watch it with the taunting of the stressed grad student."

He let out a chuckle, a smile that he didn't try to hide breaking out on his face.

"You know it's illegal to attack a member of the Fae Aux?"

"If you bother to spend time on me when you're chasing an apparently dangerous perp and have a thousand other, better things to be doing in this city, then your whole department is a waste of time and resources."

He laughed again, that spark in his eye getting even more noticeable, not seeming the least bit bothered that I'd just called his job worthless. A loud crash from outside the classroom quickly sobered him, though. He dropped the notebook on the desk before me and raised one finger to his lips for quiet, then started moving towards the door, one hand resting on his gun again. I watched him take a deep breath, before flinging open the door on the exhale, drawing his weapon and launching into the hallway.

If I weren't so pissed at him, with the last bit of emotional capacity being taken up a sliver of fear, it actually would've been pretty hot.

Instead, I flipped my tossed notebook back open to the page I'd been working on, keeping half my attention on the door and getting ready to throw something heavier in self-defense if I needed to. It didn't take long though for my original interruption to return.

"Hey, don't throw anything at me, alright?" he called from the hallway, easing through the door a moment later. He hand his hands up in mock-surrender and he shut the door behind him with his foot.

"Why are you back in here?"

"Ouch. That's all I get?"

"For interrupting my studying? You're lucky you're not getting worse."

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile, but it quickly faded as he crossed the room to stand in front of me again. I eyed him suspiciously, still keeping half my attention on my notebook.

"The guy we're looking for wasn't in the hall. It's seriously not safe in this building until we find him, especially for a human. So you need to go."

"No way. I'm not leaving this building until I'm done with this presentation, and then I'm not coming back to this building until I have to. And I'm not letting a single thing change this plan for me. I will fight you tooth and nail if you try to drag me out of here, Aux boy, and don't make the mistake of underestimating the amount of fight I can put up."

The guy sighed, long and heavy, running a hand through his hair as he did. I crossed my arms again, and I didn't break or look away when he fixed me with a look.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

He huffed again, letting the silence drag out a little bit more, then spoke again when I still didn't budge.

"Dammit. Fine." He stepped aside and typed a few hurried texts into his phone. I watched him suspiciously, and after a few moments, he turned back to me. He plopped down in the chair at the desk across from mine, and I frowned.

"What are you doing?"

"Like I said, it's not safe in this building for you to be alone in an abandoned classroom right now. So I'm going to make sure you stay safe in here, since you won't leave, until my partners catch the guy we're looking for in the rest of the building."

I crossed my arms.

"So what, you're just gonna hover over me for the rest of the night?"

He shrugged. "Pretty much."

"No way! That's gonna be distracting as Hel, and I don't need a fae bodyguard."

"As great as your aim is with that notebook, sweetheart, this is a threat greater than half the Aux could handle. And unless you want to take time out of your studying to try to kick me out of here?"

I narrowed my eyes, mentally trying to calculate just how long that might take. He apparently could tell, because he fixed me with a grin and tried (and failed) to be subtle about flexing. I huffed and rolled my eyes, but I returned my attention to the notebook in front of me all the same.

"Alright, good," he said with a smile. "Glad we could come to an understanding. I'm Flynn, by the way."

"Flynn. I'm busy. Do me a favor and don't distract me any more than you already have."

He snorted, but I didn't look up from my notebook again.

It took me longer than I wanted to get back into focus-mode, but I kept waiting for Flynn to say something or do something that distracted me. Instead, he just sat on the other side of the table, flipping through some of the books I wasn't using but otherwise staying quiet.

It made me a little suspicious, but I decided not to question it. Thankfully, I eventually managed to get back in the zone, almost completely blocking out the fae before me. The distraction he'd unintentionally provided had been exactly the break I needed for one final push. My nose was barely an inch from my notebook and then my laptop screen as I finished putting everything together, then finally flopped back in my chair with a sigh.

"You done? Or are you about to pick up your notebook and start looking for another target?"

"You know what, I'm so happy to be done with this stupid project that I'm not even going to comment on your assumption that I'd find another target, instead of just keeping the one right in front of me."

Flynn snorted, but I just smiled at him. When he caught my eye, a small smirk slowly spread on his face too.

"So, are you ready to finally let me get you out of here? Or do you have more to do?"

I huffed, crossing my arms and leaning back in my chair.

"I should actually probably practice this presentation once or twice, since I'm supposed to be giving it tomorrow... no chance your mystery perpetrator is gonna get my classes canceled for a few days, is there?"

Flynn grinned. "Sorry sweetheart, but you're out of luck on that front. I got a text about an hour ago that my Aux partners managed to catch the guy."

I frowned, my brain trying to process that. If the bad guy he'd been after had been captured an hour ago, then why the Hel was he still here?

My face must've conveyed as much, because Flynn kicked back in his chair and crossed his arms before clearing his throat.

"You seemed like you needed some company. I wouldn't know personally, but I've heard it's easier to study sometimes when you're not just sitting in a room by yourself."

I grinned. "Wow. That's actually kind of... cute."

Flynn raised an eyebrow. "Cute?"

"Yeah. And since you've already proved your dedication to helping me with my work... any chance you'd be willing to let me practice my presentation on you?"

Flynn groaned, throwing his head back a little before fixing me with another look.

"I won't lie, I was hoping your sentence would go somewhere a little more fun."

I shook my head as I stood up, carrying my notebook and laptop with me.

"Nope. So, what do you say, Aux boy? You in?"

He huffed a dramatic sigh, but when I turned back around after setting up my presentation, he'd turned his chair to face me and was leaning back, ready to pay attention.

"Last chance to escape," I teased, giving him a little smile as I walked to the center of the room. He just grinned right back.

"I'm not going anywhere."

And for some reason, his words made my heart skip a beat. But I ignored it, instead launching into the final presentation of the project I'd been working on for way too long. I started out a little stilted, but I'd been staring at the material for so long that I hardly needed to look at my notecards, so instead I looked at Flynn. He smiled at me, nodding along and clearly showing his engagement, and slowly but surely it helped me find my rhythm. By the end of the presentation, I didn't need to rewatch the recording I'd set up to know I'd aced it.

"That was great! I normally don't give a shit about any of this crap, but you made it interesting. And... I think you actually might've managed to teach me something."

I couldn't help laughing, feeling lighter than I had all semester as I gathered up my project materials.

"I'm glad to hear it. Thank you for listening."

"Sure thing." I finished packing up, then turned to face Flynn, the two of us standing a few feet apart. "Are you sure you don't want to run through it again? I don't mind."

I smiled. "No, that's okay. I appreciate the offer, but I feel really good about this. And now that I'm done, I don't want to look at this shit ever again, except for when I have to present it tomorrow."

Flynn chuckled, his eyes scanning my face before meeting my eyes again. The corner of his mouth quirked up, and my heart stuttered in my chest again for just a second. By the look on Flynn's face, his fae senses had allowed him to notice it.

"Since you're all set for your presentation..." he started. "Maybe you could let me take you out tomorrow night. To celebrate, once you won't have any more reason to throw books at peoples' heads."

Slowly, a smile spread across my own face. Still, I tried not to let myself get too carried away. Not right away, at least.

"I didn't think fae usually took humans on dates. Especially not members of the Aux who are also fae nobility."

Flynn's eyebrows raised, the only sign he was surprised. But then that surprise turned into a smirk.

"Did you look me up, sweetheart?"

Heat rose to my face, and I quickly broke Flynn's gaze.

"I was hanging out in a room with you alone for over an hour. I saw you flipping through my notebooks, I figured I might as well get some information of my own-"

I stopped short at the feeling of Flynn's fingers just under my chin, gently stopping me in my tracks and raising my gaze to meet his. My heart sped up quickly, my eyes widening, and he immediately dropped his hand from my face.

"You don't have to say yes if you're not into it. But I like you, and I'd like to take you out tomorrow night if you're interested. Human or not, I've never been so interested in somebody, even if that somebody did begin our relationship by throwing a book at my head."

Slowly, a slight smile returned to my face as I studied Flynn with new interest. He was undeniably handsome, and based on everything I'd seen so far, he didn't show any signs of the red flags I'd seen or head from Vanir before.

"Alright. You're on. But you should know, if it goes well, I can't promise there won't be more flying books in the future."

"Good," he said, grinning and offering me a hand. I hesitated half a second, then took it with a smile. "I need somebody to keep my reflexes sharp, and it might as well be a gorgeous girl."

I laughed as the two of us headed out of the classroom together, hand in hand. We'd just met, but somehow, this just felt easy. It felt right. I hardly knew this male, but I just got a good gut feeling about what was coming next.

If only all Hel-cursed study sessions could end this way.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989

[k-s-morgan]

Hiiii! Could you perhaps post a snippet of Atlwetd next chapter?

Hi! Yes, sure, I finally prepared something.

-----

“Can we not do this now?” Harry asked tiredly. His eyelids felt so heavy that he feared he might be physically unable to keep his eyes open. “The match starts in thirty minutes. I still need to force myself to eat something and to change. I’ve had a very bad night, and considering that I’ll have to evade Bludgers not just from Hufflepuffs but also from our own Beater while looking for the Snitch, my chances aren’t good. So I’d really appreciate it if you stopped adding yourself to my list of nuisances today!”

His outburst didn’t impress Riddle. He continued to study him, his eyes sharp and dissatisfied.

“Explain to me why you are so eager to defend some half-breed when you refuse to defend yourself,” he said. Clearly, he chose to dismiss Harry’s words altogether.

Aggravation stirred in his stomach, and Harry almost growled with it. Damn Riddle. Why could he never back off?

“Because I can take care of myself,” he snapped. The corners of Riddle’s mouth twitched.

“You had a bad night,” he echoed sardonically. “You are about to enter the field where you’ll have to evade Bludgers not just from Hufflepuffs but also from Graytwig, all the while looking for the Snitch. As you have eloquently put it, your chances aren’t good. So how exactly does that translate to you being able to take care of yourself?”

His headache grew worse. The pain pulsed in his temples, radiating unpleasant heat, and it took a huge effort to stop himself from yelling.

Sometimes it was completely impossible to deal with Riddle. He was like a dog with a bone, and he must have really hated Harry getting into trouble to protect Hagrid if he continued to harass him about it.

“Graytwig didn’t manage to knock me off my broom the last time and I won’t let him do it today,” Harry uttered through gritted teeth. His temper continued to crackle dangerously, and he knew he had to step carefully. “Hagrid is defenceless. I am not. Is that enough for you or do you—”

“You aren’t defenceless in theory,” Riddle pointed out darkly. His eyes flashed. “But as you refuse to defend yourself, I think the word fits. You haven’t followed my advice. You did nothing to make it clear that you are not to be interfered with. What do you think is going to happen today?”

That’s it.

“I don’t care!” Harry shouted. He knew that everyone who was still in the common room would hear him, but at the moment, it barely registered with him. “Let him do his worst! If Slytherin is that eager to lose, who am I to disappoint them?”

Riddle pursed his lips. Harry couldn’t tell what he was thinking and he was beyond caring. Jerking his tie in a fruitless attempt to make it look presentable, he crossed the bedroom and walked towards the stairs, bypassing Riddle. Or trying to. Because when he came close enough, Riddle grabbed him by his hand, gripping his index finger and twisting it back. His other hand wrapped around Harry’s waist, jerking him closer, and all his angry thoughts instantly vacated his mind. Harry stared, shocked into speechlessness.

Riddle was unexpectedly close. Throughout the months Harry had spent in his company, he had memorised his features well, but this close, they gained a new disturbing layer of almost supernatural beauty.

This, the arm around his waist, and the way Riddle was staring quickly sent a rush of blood to his head. Harry tried to recoil as his heart pounded unevenly, the remnants of his thoughts racing forward but failing to form any coherent conclusion.    

It was some… some mockery of an embrace. Despite the unbearable closeness, Riddle’s face remained dispassionate, his eyes calculating and cold in their assessment. Worse, he continued to crush Harry’s finger in his fist, slowly but unwaveringly bending it back.

“Have you ever tried to fly with broken bones?” he asked. “To catch the Snitch with numb fingers? How about sitting on a broom that keeps sending electric shocks through you whenever you change direction? Because these are the most innocent plans I know for a fact Graytwig has been nurturing. Are you still prepared to walk out there and ignore him?”

Blood kept roaring through Harry’s ears so loudly that it took him a while to interpret what Riddle was saying to him. Something was smouldering in his chest, in his stomach — his whole body felt on fire, and not in a good way. The confusing mix of fascination with Riddle’s face, the pain in his finger, and trepidation electrified every nerve ending he had, and all Harry wanted was to shake himself out of this daze and regain normalcy, whatever normalcy meant these days.

“I have,” he said finally. His voice came out rough, and he frowned at this. “I played Quidditch with a broken hand and I still caught the Snitch. I fell from my broom because I lost consciousness and it didn’t stop me from being ready to play again after I recovered. And if I feel that something is wrong with my broom—”

“You fell?” Riddle interrupted him. He stopped his assault briefly, but his grip remained unyielding, and Harry almost hissed in pain. “From that height? That is blatant suicide. I assume you survived because I caught you with my magic.”

“What?” Harry’s frown deepened. “You didn’t. It was Dumbledore.”

The brief flare of surprise on Riddle’s face mirrored his confusion. He almost made a step back, although his grip on Harry’s waist only tightened.

“Why wouldn’t I catch you?” he wondered slowly. “You could have died.”

“I don’t know, but you didn’t!” For a moment, Harry felt genuinely dismayed, but then the awareness flooded him, and he swallowed back more words that were swirling on the tip of his tongue.

What was wrong with him? Of course Riddle hadn’t caught him — Riddle didn’t exist in his world, there was only Voldemort!

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” he added awkwardly. “I survived. And the point is, I really doubt that Graytwig can do anything new to surprise me. I’m not going to attack him first just to maybe prevent something I can deal with.”

Riddle’s eyes narrowed. Something dangerous flickered there, and then he jerked Harry’s finger back with such malicious force that the bone snapped. Harry cried out, half in pain, half in surprise. The same moment, Riddle finally let him go, stepping back and watching him silently.

Clenching his teeth to avoid making any new sounds, Harry stared at his finger in angry disbelief. It was broken, no doubts here. Right before his match. Why would Riddle keep warning him about Graytwig just to go ahead and attack him himself?

He didn’t know what to do about it. Confusion and shock paralysed him briefly, and Harry glanced at Riddle, cradling his hurt hand against his chest.

How was he supposed to respond? By attacking Riddle back? But… it was just a finger. It felt strange to curse Riddle over this. Punching him would definitely be satisfying, but Harry wasn’t sure he could do it as long as they weren’t involved in an active confrontation.

Sending Riddle a glare, he turned away and stormed from the dormitory, skipping over some stairs to put more distance between them faster. To his frustration, Riddle followed him.

Some Slytherins were still loitering in the common room, including Graytwig. He gave Harry a long derisive stare, and the hostile challenge in it instantly proved that Riddle had been telling the truth. Graytwig was planning something, emboldened by Harry’s lack of reaction.

Disgust welled up inside him, and Harry walked to the door, too fed up to stay here a second later. With the corner of his eye, he saw Riddle emerge. Everyone immediately fell silent. Ignoring them, Riddle traced Harry’s steps, moving towards the exit, but when he reached Graytwig, he paused, subjecting him to a long, chilling stare.

“Do not,” he warned. Without waiting for a reply, he crossed the rest of the distance and opened the door, giving Harry an expectant look.      

[childoftheineffabledivorce]

I cannot express how quickly my feelings about Izzy shifted. I rewatched season 1 and am now on season 2 again. Watching season 1 I saw him in such a different light. The man he knew and potentially (definitely, in my opinion) has loved for years was becoming a stranger to him. It was more than him disliking Stede. He saw the transition from Blackbeard to Ed as his Captain losing himself instead of finding a way to express another part of himself.

And maybe I’m looking too deeply into it but if Blackbeard was rejecting his old way of doing things, he was rejecting Izzy too. Because Izzy was an embodiment of his old life and behaviours. That was all Izzy knew. HE wasn’t being transformed by love and care. HE wasn’t having someone see a new side of him. He was standing on the outside looking in while his Captain transformed and left him behind.

Then Stede is gone. He leaves Ed. Abandons him and none of them have any insight into why. Izzy is proven right in his mind, Blackbeard never should have given up who he was. How could he know that encouraging him to go back to who he was would go the way it did? Ed was broken, and a return to his status as Captain was Izzy’s attempt at a solution.

This is a bit of a ramble so I’m not sure if it’s completely coherent but I think it says a lot that when Izzy started receiving the kind of love the crew has for each other, when that thing he couldn’t understand and was constantly on the outside of was directed at him, he changed. He saw it’s value. He fucking whimpered (still kills me) when he was held.

That man was never actually a villain. He was just lost.

(Also 100% convinced he had a kink for Ed being mean to him until it went too far and no one can change my mind. Did you see the way he cupped his face when Ed choked him against the wall? Exactly.)

[iluvshinytwink]

Fainting

Scenario: While preparing dinner, you accidentally cut your finger deeply. Blood gushes out and your vision starts blurring, and with a blink of an eye you've fainted. Jude comes in the kitchen after hearing a harsh thump and immediately tries to nurse you.

(ive fainted cause of fresh wounds and today i almost fainted because i cut myself on a grater so like why not turn my pain into gain 🙄🙄)

Everything was normal, Jude came home with a smile knowing he'd be with you. Jude enters the kitchen and requests a dish and you happily prepared it. In the matter of minutes his worst nightmare came true.

"Hi, babe!" Jude peaks into the kitchen with a smile. "Hi, Jude!" You broke eye contact with the cutting board and turned to your boyfriend with a smile. Jude walks behind you and pecks your cheek. You chuckle. "What can I make you, hon?" You asked with a smile. Jude's wrapped his arms around you and swayed you softly.

As Jude went to take a bath you continued to prepare dinner.

A few minutes pass, you break eye contact with the cutting board and looked up to see the time, instinctively your hands continue guiding the knife in your hand.

Suddenly, with a harsh chop, pain coursed through your veins. You felt your heart drop as the pain continued to flow into your body. You slowly looked down and blood gushed, it was everywhere and beneath all the blood your finger's flesh was separated.

"I'm done bathing!" You heard your boyfriend call from upstairs, you were lucky you heard coherently. As you stared at it, your vision started blurring and your head started to spin. You stared at the wound as the blood continued and started staining the other ingredients seen on the cutting board. Seconds pass and you feel your vision slowly disappearing and your head rapidly spun. "Babe?" Your boyfriend called out and the last thing you heard was the soft steps descending down the stairs. You swallowed a lump in your throat as you felt your body losing its balance and with that, you fell with a harsh thump.

Jude hears an object, a knife perhaps clinking on the counter following a loud thump coming from the kitchen. Concerned and worried Jude rushes to the kitchen. His eyes scan the room before looking on the floor. There, his lover's body fell and her finger laid, bleeding. "Y/n!" Jude shouted, running to your body. Jude quickly puts your body against his as he examined your finger and then to your face. "Babe?" Jude shakes your body, he puts his ear near your chest and to his relief you were still breathing.

Jude quickly gets up and stumbles to find paper towels to stop the bleeding. His eyebrows furrowed and the overall expression seen on his face was confused, worried, sick and everything in between. He started repeating your name and every nickname he's called you. He wraps the toilet paper around your finger and his fingers tightened its grip on the towel. "Y/n! Wake up!" Your boyfriend yelled. He felt his breath hitch as he contemplated rushing to his phone to dial help. He looked at the door, still applying pressure to your wound.

Slowly, you open your eyes. Your vision was still blurry and your head was spinning. "J.." you managed to whisper. Jude's head whipped to meet your eyes. Your eyes weakly meet his. Jude felt a relieving smile appear on his face and a sigh escape his lips. "You okay?" He managed to ask. You looked around, eyes seemingly asking "where am I?" You slowly sat up, head gradually stopping its spinning.

At that moment, Jude was so scared. He felt his heart drop and his entire world stopped in a matter of seconds. Emotions overwhelmed him, worry, sadness, relief, happiness and a tint of regret. He felt his vision blur due to the tears welling his eyes and he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

He wrapped his arms around you, letting out a shaky sigh. Shocked yet filled with joy, you returned the hug.

"You scared me, so much." The male whispered. "I scared myself too." You chuckled.

(i may or may not have gone overboard with the description but that's what i felt when it first happened to me 😞 anyways thank u for 69 followers!!!! (HAHAHA FUNNI NUMBER) I'm so happy ur all delulu like me!! MAKE SURE TO SMASH THAT LIKE BUTTON AND SUBSCRIBE FOR MORE BANGERS LIKE THESE!!)

[theamityelf]

I was thinking about your Mini's au while I was making som fanart if it and I was wondering how UDG/V3 would be able to work with the concept.

I'm totally sure with Udg with V3 minis (that just seems like...not great lol) However V3 with UDG characters seem a little more fun and can we could get more creative with it instead of having just either THH or GBD as their mini senpais (although it's kinda funny to think about there being a DOUBLE amount of senpais to take care of.)

Theres kind of a lot of ways we can go with this. We could just have the main characters (WOH, Komaru and Toko) and only them. Which could result in the pairing (or more) of the V3 characters to take care of 1 of the 7 minis. (I'd say Shuichi and Kaede take care of Komaru because it's adorable. Imagine Shuichi with 2 very energetic enthusiastic girls. He'd die + Naehara maybe who knows ooooooh~)

But we could also go the route of including other characters from the game such as Yuta, Taichi, Hiroko, Izuru perchance, and even Shiro and Kuro Kumas. Add in Byakuya for some spice That would bumb us up from 7 to 11 ( bears cause I'm not totally down for it. And izu could be done differently) It makes pairs easier to divide!!

For more fun we could include Hajime and Makoto from the demo!! It evens out the characters much well and they could accompany Kaede as they did in the demo but now we have a Protag squad (yaaaaay) Additionally it allows for some good sibling bonding for Makoto and Komaru!

I was imaging that for Trial 1 they disappear halfway and nobody would be able to find them afterwards (referencing the end of the demo because it just cuts off mid trial) which adds some drama for the V3 students that were assigned to them. In a similar light, Hajime and Izuru switch places mid trial and Makoto is still nowhere to be found. Allows us to include all UDG characters present and even more issues!!

For the pairings it would be hard to say but I'm working on a chart at the moment and if interested I'll totally share it in the next ask! (I work better with charts it's unfortunate 😞)

I dunno hehe, It's really a 4 am idea it might not be coherent lmao but I had fun writing this out. Thanks for letting me get my ideas out lol, I hope you enjoy reading this!

(Btdubs I'm still working on that mini rp server, I'll get back to you when it's up and running >:D)

(Awesome!!! So exciting!!)

(Mini Classmates AU Masterlist)

I really, really like the idea of the V3 cast having to pair up to care for Mini UDG cast. I would definitely love to see your chart, if you do make one. Right now, my thoughts are:

Komaru, Toko, the Warriors of Hope, and Yuta makes eight minis for the sixteen participants.

Kaede and Shuichi can share custody of Komaru, like you said. That works great, for the reasons you said.

Himiko and Tenko can maybe share custody of Yuta, because that would be challenging for both of them for different reasons, and I find that kinda funny. They would have to adjust in cute ways. Himiko is exhausted just watching him, but he fully buys into her magic stuff, and she becomes amenable to being more active.

Kokichi and Kiibo share custody of Monaca, but Kokichi is too un-trusting to actually share custody. (The rules are still that you die if the mini you're caring for dies.) This means that, if all else goes the same (which it of course probably wouldn't), then Kiibo wouldn't be around Monaca almost at all until Chapter 5, and then he loses his antenna. Monaca would understand the significance of the antenna so quickly. Honestly, she probably clocked it long before he even lost the antenna, and she mentioned it to Kokichi early on.

(I thought about having Kokichi paired up with Gonta, but I think not doing that shows off how special it is that Kokichi trusted Gonta with some of his plans.)

Kirumi and Maki share custody of Kotoko. It would be mostly Kirumi at first, but it would bring out a very cute side of Maki.

I'm torn between having Kaito and Angie share Masaru and having Korekiyo and Angie share Jataro. But I already have a fic for Kiyo, Angie, and Jataro, so actually maybe Rantaro and Angie could share custody of Jataro. They would be so supportive and patient.

Korekiyo and Gonta share custody of Toko. Because bugs and serial killers and the arts; it just feels like it would be a cool match in a lot of ways. Toko sits on top of Gonta's bug catcher. Also, Gonta casually picks up Toko's author vocabulary. Also also, I like the idea of these three spending time together.

Kaito and Miu share custody of Masaru? They would get so parental about it so quickly. Like, they would genuinely talk to each other like divorced parents. "Has he eaten?" "You're giving him a lot of screen time." Miu has a clear willingness to be maternal at the drop of a hat, and Kaito would match Masaru's high energy and need for attention really well.

Tsumugi and Ryoma share Nagisa? Ryoma having someone to care for would be a big deal for him, and the shared mental illness would be out of this world. Tsumugi might craft a tiny Nagisa Shiota cosplay.

Again, these are just the initial brainstorm matchups, lol.

But having the participants share a mini-person goes well with the rule where two people can survive together in this one (and also maybe parallels the Monokuma-and-Monokubs dynamic, but I digress). Plus it allows the potential for drama, because it seems like it would be a no-brainer that, if you were to survive with one person, it would be the person you share a mini with, but some characters feel differently.

Maybe Kirumi is the one who cares for any minis who lose both caretakers (if that ever happens).

And maybe part of Angie's new rules, once the student council stuff starts happening, is something about sharing the minis communally as a protective measure or even turning them over to her so they're all protected in one place, but then someone points out that doing this would mean that Angie could kill anyone without consequences by killing their mini. Angie wouldn't actually do that, but whether the unspoken threat of it is intentional or not remains unclear. She doesn't end up getting everyone's minis, but maybe she gathers a few together, from other student council members. Having a lot of minis in one place has the potential to prevent one's self from being murdered.

The downside to this is that I'm now realizing that the Mini Classmate AU's are arguably more fun without plot, lol. A part of me kind of just wants these characters to hang out in the situation rather than doing a Danganronpa. But also. It's fun either way. 🤣

[neragufetta]

What now MHA?

I don't feel comfortable commenting on MHA chapters, since 1. I don't know Japanese 2. my ability to express myself in any other language is not that great either and 3. I'm all too aware that my approach to reading is generally superficial, missing the flavours and nuances of the story most of the time; however, this time, I feel the need to write down my confused thoughts on chapter #424 because it was amazing and I'm still overwhelmed.

So let's begin.

This chapter begins with Meryl's comment about the weather and how perfect is this detail already? Both for narrative coherence, since in the past All Might's blows managed to change the weather and Izuku has just managed to do the same, and above all for symbolic meaning, since the wind in MHA represents the will to change. With the sentence "We are expecting strong winds" Horikoshi suggests that society is undergoing a profound change and I love this method to build the lore.

Next scene, we witness the rapid reconstruction of the town, a moment full of optimism for everything will soon return as before…except Bakugo's physician brutally cut in telling us the exact opposite. This is another skilfully orchestrated, almost cinematic passage, and clarifies what Horikoshi's intentions are as he uses Bakugo's arm as a symbol of society. Bravo.

Another scene, we find Izuku regretting not being able to save Tenko, and I don't know about you but I love this aspect of Izuku, he knows that he has killed and, more importantly, has failed to save someone who, before being a villain, was a victim. How often does it happen that the protagonist of a shonen manga feels empathy for the main antagonist of the story? Izuku's regret once again reveals an emotional depth that we have come to know in MHA, one of the main reasons why I love this manga.

Although I didn't appreciate the many flash backs used by Horikoshi in the past, in this case I found it apt: Tenko's smile and “do your best” suggest forgiveness but also a warning: although Izuku failed to save Tenko, he still has a chance to save at least part of his ideal, which is to build a society in which LOV members are accepted and included, and Izuku has to work hard to succeed.

I will quickly skip to the final panels, where Shoto and Ochako appear, because in my opinion they reinforce the same concept: the death of AFO, Tenko and who knows how many other villains should not be considered the solution to the problem but should make us look with different eyes at the society that has embedded them in this role, to prevent something similar from happening in the future. We don't know who survived between Toga, Toya and Spinner but I fear that there will be more casualties, "perfect victory" does not exist in a war.

And now let's talk about the confrontation between Katsuki and Izuku, a confrontation that, if you happened to have come across one of my lists, you know how essential and awaited it was for me.

Well, it was totally different from what I expected, and far better in many ways. In Katsuki's crying there is everything, sorrow for his friend, who lost the dream of a lifetime, but also for his own (old? new?) dream of competing with each other. There is the regret of rejecting Izuku for so long and losing the chance to make up for it.

Izuku's reaction is no less poignant: first an attempt to defuse the situation (with the “Nacchan” panel) that has the opposite effect of reinforcing the seriousness of Katsuki's crying, then his confusion (“this is not like you”) and perhaps even panic that leads to his typical mumbling, attempting to analyze the situation and failing, in my opinion.

Although I appreciated All Might's words, we did not see Izuku fully grasp the meaning behind Katsuki's crying, also because it has now been more than a hundred chapters that Katsuki keeps opening up to Izuku, while the opposite has not happened yet and I am beginning to fear that it will not happen anymore.

Now what?

I suppose we will see people grappling with the aftermath of the war, trying to accept what has happened and possibly initiate a change.

Izuku, Ochako, and perhaps Shoto might share their regrets about their opponents, although I think we will rather see Shoto with his family.

I can imagine a final confrontation between Aizawa and Yamada regarding Shirakumo.

Then, if you allow me to dream wildly, I hope there is more left in Izuku than just the embers of the One For All: the importance of his sacrifice is paramount but, by now, there have been so many occasions where OFA went wild with nonsense that once more would not hurt and Izuku deserves a quirk.

Although it's totally unnecessary, I'm still hoping to finally find out about Deku's father (if only to rule out the “Dad for one” theory) just because Horikoshi once stated that we would see him and he don’t see him going back on his word.

Finally, I really hope to see Izuku and Katsuki holding hands, preceded perhaps by Izuku's response to everything that has happened between them. Their relationship has been an important element throughout the narrative, and I hope for a meaningful conclusion.

TLDR: This chapter was awesome, heartwarming and yet bittersweet, I can't wait to read the next one.

[cativiascorner]

Let’s talk about EP 7’s Title: Dreams and Madness

I firmly believe the original intent of the titling is a tie to both Baylan & Shin. Master & Apprentice. It trickles down to Ahsoka & Sabine as well but I’ll get to that later. MAYBE ILL EVEN GET INTO HOW IT TIES THRAWN AND MORGAN ELSBETH TOO anyway:

Baylan has gone mad, over this dream of his, this ancient power. He pulls unexpected moves this ep and straight up ABANDONS Shin. Seeing as he mentioned he literally raised her: To have acted in this manner, all on a unknown (to them) planet in an unknown galaxy, he’s lost it. You wouldn’t leave someone that you RAISED, and KNOW isn’t ready for events to come. He is acting on whims of a faraway dream that is unfortunately likely going to be his undoing. At the expense of Shin? We’ve yet to see and I fear for it.

Moving onto Shin’s relationship with the title: Shin can clearly be seen nearly taking Ahsoka’s offered help. She literally took a step toward her hand, looking really, really weary. Poor babygirl. To her, the idea of working with them is a Mad Dream. It’s mad because all she’s ever known is Baylan’s teachings (as far as we’re aware. He raised her in the wilds from what lines we got.) and it’s dream because it’s so out of her realm of potentials. But she didn’t expect to lose her master who was chasing his OWN mad dream. Fuck.

At this point it may seem clear the thought path I follow but I’d like to talk about the other two pairs briefly.

Ahsoka: Her dream is finding Sabine. It can also be seen as her dream to help Shin. (Sobbing don’t mind me) The madness is the path that lies ahead. Taking on Thrawn. Or perhaps she finds it mad to have found Ezra after all these years. Ow.

Sabine: Do i really need to explain these ones?????? Dreams: Ezra. Shin. (Gayass.) Becoming a Jedi. Madness: How she got to Ezra, what she has yet to tell him, etc. That’s quite a long list if I start thinking about it critically…

And bonus rounds!

Thrawn: Thrawns dreams of course are to leave this forsaken galaxy and begin reforming the imperial remnants. You know, the ones Senator BitchassXiorno says “dOeSn’T eXiSt.” I sincerely hope he sees the err of his ways. Don’t fuck with Hera Syndulla. Anyway, his madness is also the same as his dream. With a the very real possibility of Sabine and Shin forming a temporary at minimum alliance..( maybe, just maybe, a really scary powerful Baylan) his plans could quickly be turned to ruin. But he’s ready for that so I am eager to see how this plays out. But fighting this fight would be one of madness. He is overextended and TIRED. He wants his Sheer force back so he can emit his extreme tactical prowess. He literally has an UNDEAD ARMY. FROM MAGIC. IF THAT ISNT MAD I DONT KNOW WHAT IS.

Morgan Elsbeth: Her dreams are smaller and more centric, as pointed out by Thrawn. She dreams to crush any presence of the Rebels immediately and without hesitation. We also haven’t gotten that deep into this characters psyche but I really think a deep part of her has a good reason for being so frequently valuable to the core plan. She’s quite intimidating, and I think they’ve been slowly prepping her for something even more grand than her construction of the warp ring. The night mothers, of course. Not Thrawn himself. Madness, could also be tied in with prior reasoning. Many would think her mad purely based off the fact she’s a Nightsister in the first place.

That was a lot more than I thought I was gonna write that was fun. I hope my rambling has some coherence!