#and it throws off my whole talk script | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

felassan · 6 months ago

Text

Sylvia Feketekuty: "To celebrate DA day, I've made a bluesky account that I'll keep active for a few days to talk about my work on Inqusition or Veilguard! After a few days I'll lock the account, because I'm not a social media person. Happy to talk until then though. I want to say straight off: the reception to Emmrich, Manfred, the Mourn Watch, and the Grand Necropolis has been heartwarming for all of us who worked on those people and places. Thank you all very much!" [source, two]

Rest of post under cut due to length and spoilers. [Post Two, Post Three]

Sylvia Feketekuty: "In the meantime, I do want to talk about a couple of things I saw floating around regarding Emmrich: 1. Emmrich being 52 or 50. I think people got 50 from data mining a character file, but we can't do a ranges in those files. As in, I couldn't input 50-60, it had to be a whole number. I put down 50 as an early ballpark, then went more accurate in later audition scripts. 2. Fifty-two is a old number I threw into an early document before his art or character was totally final. (And which caused another developer a headache because they thought it was accurate, I never updated it. Sorry about that.) 3. "Wait, how old is Emmrich then?" Once I saw his final character art, I felt more mid to late 50s. MAYBE early 60s. But unless we specifically state a character's age in the game, it's all malleable. I honestly would just adjust it to your impressions unless stated otherwise. 4. I've also seen comments on how weird it is for Emmrich to act like there's an age-gap in the romance if your Rook is around his age. And you're right. 5. The reason is because Rook WAS younger when those scenes were written and worked on. I felt it'd be odd if I never addressed the May-December aspect, especially as it hooks into some of Emmrich's worries. 6. By the time that shifted, it was really too late to change without catastrophic repercussions to the excellent cinematics and music and other things that depend on line delivery and timing. 7. To be clear: you can feel how you want about the age gap coming up at all! But that's how the discrepancy came about. 8. "Is there a way to reconcile Emmrich acting like my Rook is way younger than him if they're not?" Great question! I have several suggestions: -Accept it's an error. (True, but unexciting) -Emmrich considers a gap of 3-5 years scandalous. (Funny, albeit a bit cartoonish.) -The Mourn Watch has perfected swapping out organs, and Emmrich is nervously hiding that he's way older than he looks out of vanity. (Untrue, but funny.)" [source thread]

User in reply to point 6. above: "I'm personally glad it was too late to change because their argument about it is genuinely my favorite scene in the entire game! 😭💕 It's such an important moment to me" / Sylvia: "Thanks! That one was one where I was all sweatily trying to balance things out, with tone, with pacing, etc. Really glad it came together for you. (Cine and the actors did heroic things there to get it feeling just so!)" [source]

More snippets:

Emmrich's favorite ice cream flavor? Rum raisin [source]

Lots of people on the dev team shared the vision of having a bunch of gothic weirdness in that pocket of Thedas [source] (Necropolis/Nevarra)

Sylvia "especially liked writing the Mourn Watch origin, it was fun to write a fellow nerd for Emmrich to chat with" [source]

Sylvia poured some personal worries and fears into writing Emmrich [source]

On Vorgoth and their nature: "I'm a little leery of saying anything, partly because I'm cowardly avoiding publicly defining anything more until/if I ever need to. And partly because I did want them to be a fresh unknown. Sorry!" [source] "I'm glad you like Vorgoth, but I'm afraid I don't have much for you that isn't in the game. I deliberately wrote them so as to leave room, if we ever revisited them, or for Vorgoth to remain mysterious, if we did not. I'm sorry if that's not a very satisfying answer!" [source] "I will say, it was fun to throw in a few lines about Vorgoth's art collection. Their passion for it is sincere and deep. (I wanted all the Watchers to have a little non-death related hobby or interest, because they can be so singularly focused.)" [source]

Dwarven Mourn Watcher is a rare origin combo for Rook so Sylvia wanted to call it out [source]

On the outcomes of Emmrich's quest: "I tried really hard to make the options equally viable, and more up to the player's interpretation or preferences of what it would mean for Emmrich in their view. It's been interesting seeing reactions to it, which hinge sometimes on various single lines pushing people one way or another!" [source]

"The Grand Necropolis is always eager and ready for a new member of the Mourn Watch to grace its ranks." [source]

User: "I loved Emmrich's view on death and what his personal quest ultimately went on to say about the nature of death itself, and how the beauty of mortality lies in its impermanence and unpredictability." / Sylvia: "I really wanted to dig into those themes, and everyone in cine and art and level design and editing and the whole team honed in exactly on the vibe. The floral stuff especially, I was so thrilled when I played through the Memorial Gardens' with the art and lighting in." [source]

User: "I experience thanatophobia and that first conversation w/ Emmrich was so affirming and helped me describe my own anxiety to others" / Sylvia: "Thanks, the thanatophobia was, as you may've guessed, a personal experience for me too. I'm glad it was something that helped a little." [source] "I suspect that phobia is way more common than people think, and part of the reason Emmrich talks about it was to express that sentiment out loud. I find it helps sometimes just to acknowledge it." [source]

What languages does Emmrich speak other than Trade? "I think he'd be familiar with Tevene, since there's surely many, many old texts about magic written in that language. Kind of like a doctor that knows latin through their work. I also named that MW alphabet "tomb-script", though I'm not sure if it has a spoken component or not since it never came up in-game. If it does, he'd be able to speak that for sure." [source, two]

User: "Playing as a Mourn Watch Rook has been an absolute delight!!!" / Sylvia: "Thank you so much, I really liked writing those branches of the dialogue. Since Emmrich's so focused on necromancy, it was fun having a Rook who could be both casual and knowledgeable about it." [source]

User: "In your opinion, what outcome do you prefer for a romanced Emmrich (lich/non lich)?" / Sylvia: "Interesting question! To be honest, I'm afraid to answer it properly in case anyone takes my answer to be a canonical one. I really wanted either path to feel equally interesting/correct for whatever you decide fits your Rook's relationship with Emmrich. (We're also in the strange waters of meta-reasoning. I GAVE Emmrich his fear of death-Sorry Emmrich!-which makes me feel a little culpable for that, even though he's entirely fictional. And that might prey on my mind when trying to decide. A very odd experience!)" [source, two]

What music genres would Emmrich be into? "Classical music is very much playing to type for Emmrich, but I feel it's also correct. He'd enjoy a nice concerto or an organ recital. Or, if he's feeling daring, a bold new Orlesian opera! But I don't think his tastes are too outré in that area. That said, I saw someone post something like "Leave Emmrich alone, let him attend the Depeche Mode concert" while listening to Depeche Mode's "Violator", for the first time, which made me laugh. (Great album. If he could get over the shock of synths, Emmrich might enjoy "Waiting for the Night".)" [source, two]

When writing Emmrich the devs wanted to try and hit the gothic romance vibe [source]

Does Emmrich mix his own fragrance/cologne? Does he ever vary it by the season? "I think Emmrich goes to some of the many perfumers that have set up shop in Nevarra City around the Necropolis, just because he trusts their judgement and expertise. I hadn't considered him varying it by season, but that's very fun! I certainly think he has more than one bottle of scent." [source]

User: "How does Lich Emmrich have sex?" / Sylvia: "I don't mind the question! But my answer's a bit boring: I generally stay at arm's length on the more explicit romance stuff, just because if it's not stated or shown in-game, I don't want to bring in a canonical answer that might affect what people imagined. My general preference for romantic scenes that get physical is to leave blank space somewhere, so players can imagine what happens next. It's not the ONLY way to do it, I think there's legitimate artistic reasons to go more explicit. But that's how I approached Emmrich (and before him Josephine.)" [source, two]

User: "The scene with the fade glow where he touches your hand haunts me in the best way" / Sylvia: "Aw thank you. Our animators and audio people made that scene way better than I could've hoped! They took such care with everything there. I want to say that little eye-peep from Rook was added in by one of them, which was the perfect touch." [source]

User on Emmrich: "i’m curious whether you think he’d prefer dogs or cats (or both, or neither)" / Sylvia: "I think he'd consider cats and dogs a little too noisy and messy for his tastes. Not like a nice, quiet plant or skeleton! (Weirdly, I actually had a scrap of banter going over this exact subject at one point. It got tightened down to the exchange with Harding about the pig he used to hug when he was a kid.)" [source, two]

Sylvia was trying to tease Nevarra with the Tevinter Nights story Down Among the Dead Men [source]. "It was really fun to tease the Necropolis, so to speak, in TN, and I'm grateful we got to actually let players through its gates at last." [source]

User: "if Rook chooses to save Manfred and keep Emmrich mortal, what would Emmrich wish to become of his body once he did pass on?" / Sylvia: "Good question. I think he'd want to remain active and useful in death. A guide for other Mourn Watchers, or posted as a mystic guide somewhere dangerous, or perhaps an oracle in the library." [source]

User: "when and how was it decided that Emmrich would be romanceable? I remember reading that he would not be a romance option." / Sylvia: "I'm not sure where that came from, because I pitched him and then shortly after that we decided the entire cast was romanceable. That was fairly early on in the development of Veilguard, as I recall it. (Could've been a crossed wire?)" [source]

Trick Weekes: "Sylvia wrote the fantastic Emmrich "the Vol-carnage" Volkarin and everything that happens in Nevarra while dealing with a lead writer whose attitudes about corpses and undead are... not dissimilar from Taash's." [source] / Sylvia: "I still remember when you gave the very accurate feedback "I think we need to give players whose Rooks aren't into corpses some roleplaying choices to express this" and I was all "Ohhh yeaaaaaah." (Thank u Trick, you were right)" [source] / Trick: "Specifically, being able to express this without locking themselves out of the content! (For non-Sylvia folks) Given my issues with corpses, Emmrich as a whole was SUPER Not For Me, so I gave one caveat and then said, "For the rest of my critique, I will be impersonating his target audience." [source]

Sylvia on the secret origins of Manfred: "After I pitched Emmrich, I started jotting down notes and thoughts on his plots, his quirks, all that kind of stuff. It was very early on Veilguard, anything was still possible. We were chatting in the writer's room about it one day, and I think we'd just seen some early concept art for Emmrich. And our lead writer Trick Weekes joked that Emmrich looked like a man who'd have a skeleton named Manfred. And I laughed and went "Yeah he does!" And then I thought about it. It's wild in retrospect, but that one comment spurred a train of thought that led to the core of Emmrich's arc. He may've ended up a very different character without it! tl;dr: I stole it from Trick." [source, two, three, four]

"I got to play with a pretty free palette when defining the way Emmrich and the necromancers view death and spirits. But I tried to keep it within the confines of existing lore. That's one reason why that scene where Emmrich talks about Manfred to Harding goes into "the eternal question" of whether a soul actually returns with the dead or not. Nevarra has distinct beliefs, but I thought it'd be interesting if its people argue over their interpretations of those beliefs." [source, two]

"the other writers also suggested a bit later on that the big choice dig more into Emmrich's philosophies. Initially, it was more personally focused on his fears, which made it 'relatable' but pettier. Without that correction, I think it would've been weaker, I totally needed the team push." [source]

"I have a few guides to graveyard symbology, and it's so packed with references and meaning." [source]

User: "Did any of your own fears & experiences, make it into the writing of Emmrich? If yes, is it information you’re comfortable sharing with us? If it’s too personal to give any details, that’s fine as well. Also, across the other games, who do you think Emmrich will get along with best?" / Sylvia: "some of his fears are absolutely personal. The reflexive-compulsive panic over death is something I'm very familiar with, and I wanted to explore that through him. Because I suspected it was not uncommon, and worth examining. The question of who he'd get along with from the other games is surprisingly tough! Because without asking the other writers about their characters, I wouldn't know for sure. So I can only really speak to Josephine with surety. That said: -I think Josephine would be polite, and grow to like him, but would never entirely be over the ostentatious necromancy. -I think Emmrich meeting Sera would be the funniest match." [source, two, three]

"Peter Cushing was also one of my go-tos as an example of what I wanted Emmrich to be." [source]

"(Huge shout out to all the animators and level designers making Manfred run, quite literally. Like 95% of his personality lives in his movement, I think they nailed it.)" [source]

On Emmrich: "I tried to put a lot of passion and sincerity in his love for the dead, and I admit the Necropolis was THE big place I wanted to see in Thedas myself ever since reading about it in a codex." [source]

User: "Thank you for letting him have that cemetery dream date!" / Sylvia: "Having the date in the cemetery was one of the first things I wanted when thinking about the romance." [source]

"Josephine was the first time I was entrusted with a new character and a new romance at once, and that'll always be special to me." [source]

User: "How much input did you have in Emmrich's appearance in the podcast?" / Sylvia: "In the podcast, none myself. I believe it was handled by a third party but reviewed by a few people at BW, I don't know too much past that. (We did provide a descriptor and character rules. Stuff like "Emmrich never swears" and "always says amongst" and broader, more thematically useful things.)" [source]

User on Emmrich: "Are you planning any other external-media stories for him?" / Sylvia: "Thanks very much, The Flame Eternal has a special place in my heart for being the first time Emmrich got to be center stage in a story. (And very flattering to hear about the cross stitch. That's so cool!) I can't speak to any external-media plans, I'm afraid. That's not an implied hint about anything existing or not, it's just literally outside what I'm allowed to chat about. It'd be fun to do something like that again though!" [source, two]

"I must give full credit to Nick Borraine, Emmrich's voice actor. He got the compassion and tenderness the character needed right away." [source]

"And glad him being closer to your age resonated, I really wanted someone older out on an adventure. No reason that has to stop at any age IMO." [source]

User: "do the mourn watcher/nevarra in general raise their pets after they die to keep them around? like a dog skeleton with a whisp in it?" / Sylvia: "To be honest I hadn't thought out this one, but it's a very good question. I'm not sure how common that would be, or even if it's permitted to have pets running around the family crypt. (I definitely thing people would WANT to do it.) You know, I think I'm going to have to leave this one in the vague quantum foam of the future. I think I'd want to not only double check existing lore, but answer that in-game (or in a book or etc.) if we ever need to. (Hope that's not too much of a cop out. Sometimes I like to leave questions I'm not sure about alone, because until it's in an official game or story, it doesn't quite count.)" [source, two, three]

User: "as someone who shares emmrich's anxiety about mortality, getting to spend time with him, and in the grand necropolis and with the mourn watch, was genuinely soothing" / Sylvia: "Thank you, I'm glad he was a comfort. It's a familiar fear for me too, and I'd hoped he would connect that way with people very much." [source]

On the giant ribcage 'ceiling' in the Necropolis: "sadly, even I don't know all the mysteries of the Necropolis. (Which is to say it's a very cool bit of art but has no stated origin yet. Could be a large dragon, a giant...or something weirder!)" [source]

On TN story Luck in the Gardens: "It was nice change up, writing in first person and with someone so rascally. I've got an enduring affection for the Lords after writing Hollix, the scamp." [source]

User: "I just love his genuine enthusiasm for everything he does. If the other party members had fan clubs Emmrich would be the president of each and I love that for him" / Sylvia: "Thank you! I really wanted him to embody a kind of expansiveness and generosity of spirit, to stand in contrast to the eeriness of his abilities." [source]

User: "What was your inspiration for Josie?" / Sylvia: "My girl! When I came on to Inquisition, there'd already been work done on setting up the spine of the main plot, and figuring out the overall cast. But one of the advisors was a little murkier. It just said "Diplomat" on the white board. We knew we wanted someone in that position, but not who. So in a game where you were out exploring, killing demons, etc., but also had a big organization to run? I immediately wanted to make a Diplomat firmly there for you. Somebody you could hand the keys to the entire Inquisition to while you were out, and know it'd be in good hands. I also thought it'd be fun to have someone from Antiva, since that area wasn't covered yet by anyone in the cast. And I needed her to be polished, smooth, but heartfelt, because of that aforementioned trust. And that was the core of Josephine! Her voice actor, Allegra, brought her to life with such lovely charm, and hearing those early sessions also helped me further hone her tone." [source, two, three, four]

"Our music supervisor Ron Dazo hit it out of the park with Emmrich's music IMO. And so glad you liked Hezenkoss! Just very fun to write as a character." [source]

User: "Did any specific watcher raise MW Rook?" / Sylvia: "Good question! I kind of left that one alone because I wasn't sure if I wanted to let Rook define that themselves, or leave it open, and also I'd have wanted a full conversation on it. In the end that was a little out of scope so I left it unsaid. Which is to say that it COULD be Vorgoth who helped raise your Rook. And that stands until/unless we give a definitive answer (or let you choose from a range of answers) one day." [source, two]

"It was such a pleasure for all of us to finally get to explore the Necropolis, I am very glad we got to throw open the gates." [source]

User: "I was wondering if there were any Mourn Watch details you wished you had more time to explore? I was so struck by some of the ethical implications in your stories" / Sylvia: "Geeze, now that's a question. I mention it with Emmrich, but there's some resentment over the power the Watchers hold as THE mortalitasi of the Grand Necropolis, between them and the other orders. There's something to that situation I liked. There's also questions of how they select people for the order. What their standards are, how closely they work with benign spirits. And how they cultivate those relationships. How deep does that go? I also mentioned in a codex "the lives and bodies of those who tamper with the undead of the Necropolis are forfeit unto the Mourn Watch." which is pretty chilling. What's that punishment like, exactly? And in general, writing about anything weird or unexplained in the Necropolis brought me much enjoyment, and it would be fun to dig around how the Mourn Watch deals with (or what they want out of) all these mysteries and entities." [source, two, three, four]

"Geeking out with Emmrich about spooky stuff was a delight to write." [source]

"I liked writing someone older this time, it was something different for me and rewarding in some unexpectedly different ways. (And thanks especially for the nice words on DAtDM - I was very excited to introduce people to the Mourn Watch there!)" [source]

"Ah, tomb-script. I named it but it was our concept artists who went developed it with the hexagon shape-language of the Mourn Watch, which I loved. Conceptually: I think it's used purely an occult or sacred language. Something for the graves, or books on magic, but not everyday things." [source]

"Some trans people kindly offered their help with some feedback on some of the romance lines and others, which absolutely made them much better." [source]

"Trick Weekes actually wrote a ton of the banter where Emmrich inquires into qunari artifacts and customs, and Taash talks about what it was like to grow up under a scholar. I really dig the dynamic they unearthed between the two there." [source]

User: "Do you remember what was written in the script to describe ✨this✨ moment? [link]" // Sylvia: "Lol. I miiiiiight? Let me look at my notes. Ah hah, I do! My note says that Emmrich "takes a second, surprised." And then he's touched afterwards." [source, two]

Sylvia: ""i hope it's not too late, but were there any designs in mind for what Nevarra City looks like?" Not too late! We've got a few sketches in the World of Thedas books, but that's it. If the team ever went back to Nevarra City proper, I'd imagine the art team would want to do a deeper dive." [source]

Sylvia: "(Glad you liked Myrna in particular. My first Mourn Watcher everyone got to know!)" [source]

Sylvia: "I'm glad to hear getting to know Emmrich has been of some comfort." [source]

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #long post #longpost #dragon age: tevinter nights #dragon age: vows & vengeance #lgbtq+

654 notes · View notes

psformybss · 1 month ago

Note

babes request for secret fiancé

y/n visiting the set of queer and getting along with luca, daniel, and omar.

featuring the sloth too lol

When in Rome

series masterlist

warnings: soft moments, sloth content, teasing but affectionate, drew is down bad, cast chaos

an: anon i love both of the ideas you sent in but ngl idk if i love how i wrote this one, for some reason i was kinda having a writer’s block when it but here it is. also i gotta admit i still haven’t watched queer 😭 but i did watch all of their interviews and the sloth scene on tiktok lol.

︶��⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

The jungle smelled like moss and heat—impressive, considering they were indoors.

She stepped onto the set slowly, taking it in: the woven paths, the soft hum of fans overhead mimicking a tropical breeze, the curve of an artificial hill flanked by imported South American greenery. It didn’t matter that it was fake. It felt real.

Somewhere between the thick vines and camera tracks, she caught a glimpse of Drew—barefoot, shirt wrinkled and streaked with mud, pacing between two marks as the director called for a reset. He looked like he belonged in the scene, like he’d stepped out of a faded paperback novel.

She grinned and kept walking, sidestepping a coiled cable, until she spotted Luca, Daniel, and Omar lounging under a canvas canopy near the monitors.

“There she is,” Daniel said, sitting up straight. “The reason Drew’s been insufferably cheerful all morning.”

Luca leaned back in his chair. “I was starting to think you were a myth. Like the Rome Metro arriving on time.”

Omar offered her a bottle of cold water and a wink. “Welcome to the jungle. You look much too clean for this place.”

She smiled as she took the bottle. “That’s because I’m not rolling around in fake dirt yet.”

“Yet,” Daniel echoed, pointing toward Drew on set. “Give it five minutes. That man would cannonball into a mud pit if you asked nicely.”

They all turned to watch him. He was crouched now, waiting for his cue, brows furrowed in focus.

“Look at that face,” Luca said. “Serious. Stoic. As if he wasn’t just talking about her over breakfast like a lovesick poet.”

Omar chuckled. “What was it this morning? She knows where I keep all my dumb little scripts. She’s the only one who gets my writing notes.”

Daniel held a hand to his chest dramatically. “He said dumb little scripts?”

“He did,” Luca confirmed. “Then he looked off into the distance like he was narrating a black-and-white French film.”

She laughed, trying to hide it behind her bottle.

“Honestly?” Omar said. “It’s cute. Gross, but cute.”

“Absolutely revolting,” Luca agreed. “But we tolerate it because you’re lovely and he’s slightly more tolerable when you’re around.”

Across the set, the director called “action,” and Drew launched into the scene—his voice sharp, his body tense as he stalked through the fake jungle with a weathered prop pistol.

They all quieted to watch.

“He’s good,” Daniel murmured.

“Annoyingly,” Luca agreed. “Makes you almost forgive the whole ‘he-writes-love-notes-on-napkins’ thing.”

Y/N leaned against the rail, eyes on Drew. “He’s been writing those since before we were married.”

The three of them groaned at once.

“No,” Daniel said. “I’m gonna throw myself into the river set.”

“There is a river set,” Omar pointed out.

“Perfect,” Luca said. “Let’s all go drown ourselves in Drew’s emotional availability.”

When the take wrapped, Drew ducked behind the canopy, wiping sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt. His eyes lit up as soon as he saw her.

“You made it,” he breathed, pulling her into a quick hug.

“I’ve been here,” she said into his shoulder. “Long enough to hear about the napkin notes.”

He groaned, forehead dropping against hers. “They’re never gonna let that go.”

“They really aren’t,” she said, amused.

“Do you blame us?” Luca said from his chair. “You basically monologue about her like you’re in a one-man show.”

“She is the best part of my life,” Drew muttered, half-sincere, half-sarcastic.

“See?” Omar said. “That. That’s what we’re talking about.”

Drew turned to her. “You regret coming yet?”

“Not even close.” She grinned and kissed his cheek, then added, “But I do think they’ve earned a little revenge.”

“Oh?”

She looked at the banana crate by the sloth station. “I think it’s time you showed them how good you are at feeding Madelena.”

The sloth was curled around her wooden perch, blinking slowly, clearly unbothered by the chaos around her. A few crewmembers had paused to watch as Drew knelt beside the crate and offered her a banana slice.

Madelena moved at a pace only she understood, her long claws curling around the fruit as she took it from his hand.

“She’s a queen,” Daniel said, watching. “And he’s her devoted servant.”

“Look at that form,” Luca narrated. “Wrist relaxed. Posture humble. This is a man who knows his place.”

Y/N crouched beside Drew and gently stroked Madelena’s fur as the sloth finished her treat.

“She’s soft,” she murmured, smiling.

“Don’t let her fool you,” Drew said. “She’s got opinions.”

“She likes you,” she said. “That’s all that matters.”

“She likes you,” he replied, handing her another slice. “I’m just the delivery guy.”

The sloth leaned toward her slowly, almost affectionately, and took the banana from her fingers.

“She’s got taste,” Omar said.

“She’s got eyes,” Daniel agreed. “You’d pick her over Drew too if you could.”

Y/N just laughed, letting the moment stretch out. The studio buzzed around them, but here—beneath the canopy, surrounded by fake trees and real warmth—everything felt like it slowed down.

She looked at Drew again, cheeks flushed, shirt sticking to his back, eyes still soft as he watched her pet a sloth.

Yeah. She understood the teasing.

But he was still her favorite thing on set.

#drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x secret fiancee!reader #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey blurb #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey #drew starkey queer

265 notes · View notes

sunder-soul · 8 months ago

Note

hiii cud u pl do a headcanon/oneshot where its a muggleborn reader who smhow ends up befriending the tom riddle who always seems to soft only to her, including tolerating her sassy attitude and its a study session together and they're bantering or summin? i think it wud be nice. thank you!

A/N: Girl I gotchu

･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.

Unsaid

Summary: By now you've got a pretty good idea why you're friends with Tom, but sometimes, when it comes up, you wonder why he's friends with you. [GN reader ★ no pronouns ★ Hufflepuff house (but ngl it doesn't really come up u just gotta trust me)] Word count: 1.2k

･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.

“I’m dropping out,” you announce, dumping your bag on the table and falling emphatically into the seat adjacent to Tom’s.

Tom, for his part, does not look up. His quill doesn’t even hesitate as he writes in a smooth, unbroken script across his parchment. Instead, he says: “Your bag is on my book.”

You shove it unenthusiastically to the side to reveal the open textbook he’s been working from, and then fix him with a pointed look. Tom is set up in the same little spot in the library as always, his bag at his feet and at least ten other books neatly stacked off to the side of the table. He looks (as Tom always looks) like the poster boy of adhering to the uniform dress code.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what’s wrong?” you say, slightly put out.

“I would not bother,” he says simply, leaning forward and dipping his quill in a small inkwell in front of him. “I’ve come to accept the inevitability of you telling me all sorts of things I don’t care to hear about, whether I ask about them or not.”

He resumes writing.

You kick his chair leg lightly and his quill skips sharply down the page, leaving a jolted line about an inch long off where he’d been writing the word putrescence.

This finally makes him look up, fixing you with a supremely irritated glare that’s made his whole face go tense.

You lean your elbows on the table and smile at him.

Tom’s jaw works slightly, and he takes a long breath. “What’s wrong?” he asks sarcastically.

“Well,” you say as he puts down his quill and bends to pick up his bag. “In Herbology this morning when we were cracking Wiggentree nuts, Lucy Grollen had this horrible allergic reaction and her feet swelled up so much that her shoes burst.”

“And this affects you how?” Tom drawls, diligently rubbing a Spellfriends eraser across his parchment.

You give him a scandalised look. “She’s my friend, Tom.”

He gives you a very dry look and then flips the eraser over to the purple side. “I hardly think you’d be tempted to leave the school because your friend is allergic to nuts.”

“Well she’s also my greenhouse partner,” you say dramatically, throwing yourself back in your seat, “and because she had to go to the hospital wing I had to finish the rest of the assignment alone, and obviously by the end of class I didn’t have all our nuts cracked so Beery made me stay late to finish them. And that meant that I missed the sign up for the fieldtrip to the Menagerie of Mirabilia.”

Tom throws down the eraser and exhales in frustration. The ink remains unmoved. “You have been talking about that fieldtrip for six weeks,” he says in a clipped tone, pulling his wand from his bag. “And I have been telling you for six weeks that it was going to fill up quickly. Evanesco.”

The eraser shavings on his parchment vanish and leave both of you staring at the tenacious line of ink—which if anything, now just looks a little smudged.

His little comment about the whole six weeks thing has not left you feeling very sympathetic for him. “Wow. You have got to tell me what kind of ink you buy,” you say with a smirk as Tom tosses his wand onto the desk in frustration.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” he says hotly, folding his arms and finally looking at you properly as he leans back in his chair. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“What happened with the fieldtrip?” he prompts irritably.

“Oh – so as I’m sure you remember, I promised Madeline I’d go with her on the fieldtrip because she’s obsessed with magizoology at the moment, so then I had to tell her I wasn’t going, and she was so upset, and I couldn't stop thinking about it because I felt so bad. So then I was really distracted in Transfiguration and of course Dumbledore notices and asks me to recite the whole definition of Amandation’s Command in front of everybody.” You sigh loudly. “So I can’t do it because I hadn't been paying attention, but then he points to the board and the definition is written right there and I just hadn’t noticed, and everyone laughed at me.”

You cross your arms too, feeling sorry for yourself. “The only solution is to drop out,” you reiterate moodily.

“This is one of your jokes,” says Tom delicately.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Yes well spotted.”

“You’ve ruined my assignment,” he says, nodding at it.

“You ruined your own assignment. With your callousness.”

Rather surprisingly, Tom snorts a laugh. “I would loathe to be my friend, to hear you describe it,” he says with suspicious ease as he extracts a new roll of parchment from his bag. “It begs the question as to why you persevere.”

“Very occasionally, you do something really nice,” you say, watching him with suspicion. Tom’s irritability rarely fades this quickly. “I just kind of zone out all the bits in-between where you’re weird and sarcastic.”

“Weird and sarcastic?” Tom repeats, lips curling. “Have you been listening to yourself since you sat down?”

“My life is ruined, and you’re worried about an assignment.”

“Your life is not ruined,” he says monotonously as he begins diligently copying over his work.

“I’m upset about this and all you care about is telling me that it’s not a big deal!”

Tom sighs curtly and looks up at you, leaning forward a bit and resting his forearms on the desk. “Your life is not ruined. Lucy Groggen is going to be fine, Wiggentree nut allergies are fairly common and the reaction doesn’t last more than an hour, the worst she’ll have to deal with is buying a new pair of shoes. Beery should never have made you complete a two-person task by yourself and it’s ridiculous that he kept you late because of his own poor class management. If Dumbledore was half the teacher that he claims to be, he might have noticed that you were upset about something and think to ask you about it, but his mistake is made all the more egregious given that he chose to single you out in front of the whole class with what sounds like a very silly little trick. And I wouldn’t worry about upsetting Madeline if I were you, because I signed you up for the fieldtrip.”

He resumes writing without another word. You stare at him, dumbfounded. A full ten seconds passes before you can rouse yourself to speak again.

“You signed me up for the fieldtrip?

Tom’s eyes remain level on his work—he’s writing at lightning speed like he’s trying to make up for the lost time. “You have been talking about it for six weeks. It seemed odd that you failed to show up.”

You look at your bag still lying dejectedly on the table in front of you and attempt to process the glowy, warm feeling spreading up through your chest. “Thanks,” you say blandly.

He just looks up at you with a glint in his eyes about halfway between wry and cynical.

“I feel bad about your assignment,” you announce.

Tom slowly smiles, this time very wryly indeed. “You have certainly changed your tune.”

You grab your bag and pull out your water bottle, placing it emphatically on the desk beside him.

Tom’s dark eyes flick from it to you, and he lifts a brow. “Is this supposed to mean something to me?”

“You have to wet a Spellfriends for it to work,” you mumble, folding your arms and resting forward on the desk.

He stares at you in a sort of frozen state of disbelief. “You mean you let me suffer through all of that for absolutely no reason?” he demands in half-subdued outrage.

“There was a reason!” you protest, smiling at him again. “It was funny.”

He blinks once, and then snatches the drink bottle off the desk, shaking his head. “You are extremely irritating,” he says icily, twisting the bottle open.

“Huh, sounds like a nightmare being my friend to hear you describe it,” you parrot back at him with a grin. “One wonders why you persevere, Tom.”

Tom pauses, and instead of the scathing look of irritation or perhaps a biting remark back, he just looks at you with an unplaceable expression like you’ve caught him off guard.

“What?” you frown, sitting up a little in concern.

Tom blinks slightly and then holds out his hand. “Pass me the Spellfriends,” he says colourlessly.

You arch a brow right back at him, and retrieve the eraser from where it’s been lying discarded for the last few minutes in front of you. “If you were wondering what I meant by the weird part in weird and sarcastic…” you say to him pointedly, placing it in his hand.

Tom silently erases the offending ink stain with a taut jaw and an irascible look darkening his eyes.

“Hey,” you say.

He ignores you entirely, sweeping the fresh shavings off his parchment and setting the eraser aside.

“Hey,” you repeat, reaching out and taking his arm.

Tom’s gaze immediately flashes to you and he goes entirely still.

“Thank you,” you tell him sincerely. “For the field trip.”

He does not immediately reply. A second later his lips part like he’s going to say something, but they close like he thinks better of it. He blinks, and then pulls his arm from yours to reach for another book. “Are you intending on actually doing work this evening, or was this visit’s entire premise just to disrupt me?”

You roll your eyes, and reach for your bag again with a smile.

･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.

#I love putting him in stressful situations #(the stressful situations are all him experiencing an emotion)#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x reader #rom riddle fanfiction #sarcastic reader #confident reader #hufflepuff reader #did it come up? no #I like to think it's implied #ask #request #iwishuknew

515 notes · View notes

glossdebut · 2 months ago

Text

PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ 05

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SERIES SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.

✧ SERIES TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat

✧ CHAPTER TAGS: we’re back to alternating POVs, many confrontations, a reveal of sorts, seoyeon is goated, namjoon is tired, yoongi learns all kinds of lessons and then instantly forgets them (as per usual), and then throws a pity party and forces MC to attend, this is the most MC and yoongi have been on the same page EVER tho, blah blah blah proper name place name backstory stuff (see series masterlist for series warnings)

✧ CHAPTER WORDCOUNT: 10k words

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: GLOSSDEBUT NATION! WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK! i’m sorry this took me so long but POF5 is finally here, and hopefully the 10k wordcount makes up for the delayed update. this one is a RIDE, so buckle in and enjoy! don’t forget to send me your thoughts and theories, because they truly help the updates come faster <3 thank you to my loves @ktownshizzle and @yooniivrse for beta reading this chapter!

P.S. if you can guess the two songs yoongi’s working on in this chapter by description alone, i’ll kiss you on the mouth (they’re both arctic monkeys songs)

P.P.S. congratulations to those of you who voted 2 in my poll. please heed the warnings under the cut

CH. 05: TOO FAR TO GO BACK

✧ CHAPTER WARNINGS: mentions of disordered eating, vomiting, drinking, yoongi is an asshole (wbk), dirty talk, nipple play, Yoongi’s Tongue Piercing, vaginal fingering, orgasm denial, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Yoongi vividly remembers the night he first saw you. It’s hard to forget.

He and Namjoon were flying solo that night, sans band. Freshly signed to the label, forced into a blazer he’d never pick out for himself, surrounded by people who didn’t know his name yet and didn’t care to learn. Out of place. He felt out of place all night.

But, as the hyung, Yoongi knew it was his responsibility to do the dirty work. Shmooze. Connect. And, to his credit, when he put his mind to it, Yoongi was actually good at that sort of thing. He knew how to read people, how to play them to get what he wanted. It was how they got signed in the first place. He just needed to wipe the sour look off of his face and remember the goal. For Jeongguk.

It was a music showcase, a big name network. Comebacks and debuts, one after the other. Giddy rookies who hadn’t eaten in days in preparation for their stage, something wild in their eyes. A desire to prove themselves. Yoongi wasn’t there to perform, but his position wasn’t unlike theirs. He had something to prove, too.

An appearance at the showcase was just that—an appearance. It was the after that mattered. It wasn’t just fans that went to things like this. The audience was full of bookers, promoters, industry magnates that could all mean big things for Burn The Stage if Yoongi played his cards right.

He spent the whole night tuning out blaring bubblegum pop, going over the script in his head—what he should say, what he should do. And then something stopped him in his tracks, forced him to sit up and pay attention.

A soloist, draped in something midnight blue and velvet.

You. Yoongi knows that now.

His first thought was that you had a voice unlike anything he’d ever heard before. His second was that you were beautiful.

All night, he couldn’t sit still. The tag of his blazer dug into the back of his neck. He couldn’t stop tapping his foot, flexing his fists, glancing around. All of the pressure made his chest feel unbelievably tight, because what if the night was a bust? What if nobody was interested in what he had to say? What if the label dropped them and he had to admit that he failed?

But as soon as you opened your mouth and sang that first note, the buzzing in his head quieted in an instant. From beginning to end, Yoongi was enraptured by you. Like nothing else in the world mattered except hearing you sing.

Being in that noraebang with you, years later… It didn’t feel any different. Not one bit.

Yoongi doesn’t follow you when you run.

Maybe it’s cowardly of him. Maybe a better man than him would reach out, grab your hand, spin you back around. Say something.

The thing is, Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. What to do. He doesn't understand what just happened, let alone how he’s meant to fix it. He’s not even sure if there’s anything to fix, not when everything was so broken from the beginning.

You hate him. He hates you. That was the agreement. So he lets you go.

He goes back inside, avoids Jeongguk’s eyes. Tells everyone you felt sick, which probably isn’t a lie judging by the look on your face when you broke away from him.

It’s not like he didn’t anticipate… something. He’s noticed the way you look at him. He’d wanted to use it, to see if he could catch you in some kind of lie. Catch you staring at him a little too long to be brushed off.

But this? Your lips against his, his tongue in your mouth, the sound you made. Fuck. You almost sounded as sweet as you do when you sing. He wants to forget it ever happened. He wants to hear it again, over and over.

It all happened too fast.

Yoongi wishes he remembered who had moved first. Someone to shoulder the blame, make things simple for him. He wants it to be you. It would be easy to slip that mask back into place, to hate you. It would be easy. He’d almost stopped, but going back would be so easy.

But something in his gut tells him it wasn’t you. That, foolishly, it was him. You wouldn’t give him everything he needs to point the finger, not like this.

It had to be Yoongi. He kissed you.

He lifts his head, meeting Jeongguk’s gaze. Jeongguk, who looks concerned. Yoongi doesn’t deserve his concern.

Yoongi opens his mouth to speak, but guilt rises in his throat, choking him. For a moment, he thinks he might confess—his mouth has betrayed him before. But what comes out isn’t words.

Instead, Yoongi surges forward and pukes his guts up. All over the noraebang floor.

★ ★ ★

You need to get the fuck off of this island.

You’ve never booked a flight so quickly in your life. You’d take one tonight, if the option was available, but tomorrow afternoon will have to do. In the meantime, you’ll pack as quickly as humanly possible—and then drink yourself to sleep, because that’s the only way you’ll be able to catch a wink of it at this rate.

You’re freaking out.

Your phone has been buzzing incessantly since you got back to the house, your screen filling with notifications from Jeongguk, Jimin, and Taehyung. Text after text asking if you’re okay, if you got back safe, if you need them to come home. You don’t want to deal with it, can’t deal with it right now. Not when—

Min Yoongi kissed you.

Or, you kissed him? There was kissing, with Min Yoongi, the bane of your existence. Insistently, with tongue.

An incredibly skilled tongue, at that—and that piercing. And strong hands, guitarist’s hands, smoothing over your waist, pulling you closer. You can still smell him on you, citrus and leather and smoke, and—

Fuck, no! Jesus, when did you suddenly become this desperate for cock?

This is exactly why you need to leave. You cannot keep having these thoughts about Min fucking Yoongi, you just can’t. You hate him! He’s rude, and insensitive, and he doesn’t respect you in the slightest. He’s made that abundantly clear.

You text Jeongguk that you’re okay, that you made it to the house, and no, you don’t need him to come back. That’s the last thing you need right now.

What you need is to pack.

You move through the bedroom in a frenzy, tossing your clothes into suitcases that suddenly seem too small. Hyerin somehow managed to make everything fit before you came, but now, your shaking fingers struggle to secure the zippers. Of course.

Irritated, you dig your flask out from your purse. It’s running empty, but it’s more than enough to swallow down the nausea that’s been climbing up your throat since you cut and run.

By the time you’ve packed up the rest of your belongings, the room is spinning, your gut threatening a different kind of sickness. It’s a familiar one, at least. After the events of the night, a little alcohol-induced vomiting is nothing.

Still, in an effort to fend it off, you force yourself into a horizontal position. You take a steadying breath, shifting onto your side. You know the drill. In five minutes, you’ll either be dead to the world, or hugging porcelain.

Luckily, it’s the former. Before you know it, you’re drifting into a sleep so deep you don’t even stir when Jeongguk gets back.

★ ★ ★

In the morning, you say the necessary goodbyes.

Jeongguk is clearly confused, obviously concerned, but he doesn’t twist your arm. It must be the expression you’re wearing when you tell him you’re going. You can only imagine how it screams, ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

The others are sad to see you go. Taehyung hugs you tightly, with promises to catch up when everyone is back in Seoul. Jimin does the same, although he’s remarkably quiet in comparison.

And Yoongi…

You stop at his door last. You shouldn’t, you know that. All of the questions swarming through your brain about where you stand with him, about what last night meant—they don’t matter. A clean break. That’s what you need.

But still, you knock with a shaky fist, his stolen jacket clutched tightly in the other.

When the door swings open, you force yourself to meet his eyes. Yoongi looks surprised—for half a second, maybe—but the expression vanishes as quickly as it came, replaced by that familiar indifference. His voice is flat, unreadable.

"What can I do for you, YN?" he asks, already stepping away, like your presence barely registers. He returns to whatever he was doing at his laptop before you knocked, attention fixed anywhere but on you as he types.

You shift your weight. "Uh, your jacket," you say, holding it up. "I accidentally took it with me last night."

"You can put it on the bed."

You do as he says, carefully laying it down, though your fingers linger against the fabric. There’s a hesitation in your movements, a weight pressing down on your chest. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t acknowledge the silence stretching between you. You clear your throat.

"Can we… Can we talk for a minute?" you try.

His fingers pause briefly over his keyboard. "About?"

"Well… Um. Last night. Shouldn’t we clear the air?"

Yoongi waves a hand dismissively, not even glancing up. "Consider it cleared."

You knew this wouldn’t be an easy conversation, but the casual way he brushes you off still stings. You steel yourself, pressing forward. "It’s just—I’m leaving. I don’t know if you heard. And I just wanted to—"

He scoffs before you can finish, finally swiveling around to face you. He leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest as he smirks. "What, were you expecting a goodbye kiss?"

Something inside you hardens at that. "No," you say, voice clipped.

His smirk doesn’t falter. "Then have a safe flight, dollface."

You let out a breath, scoffing under it, more at yourself than anything. Stupid to think this could have gone any other way. "Yeah," you mutter. "Bye, Yoongi."

You don’t wait for a response. You turn, stepping out of the room, the weight in your chest sinking deeper with every step.

Your Uber pulls up just as you step outside, the driver barely glancing at you as you slide into the backseat. The car smells faintly of leather and mint, and the quiet crackle of the radio fills the space, but none of it does anything to settle the tightness in your chest. You swallow hard, pressing your forehead briefly against the cool window as the car pulls away from the curb. The streets of Seogwipo blur past, Yoongi’s house slipping away behind you.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, the screen lighting up with Seoyeon’s name. Shit. You forgot you texted her this morning—she must be following up. You exhale sharply before answering.

"You’re coming back?" Seoyeon doesn’t waste time with pleasantries.

"First flight out."

There’s a beat of silence, and then, "sooner than I thought."

"Yeah." The word comes out thinner than you’d like. "I just—can you pack my schedule? As tight as possible. Meetings, shoots, interviews—whatever you can get me."

Seoyeon doesn’t ask why. She doesn’t need to. It’s something you’ve always appreciated about her—she doesn’t make your personal life her business unless forced.

"Alright," she says, brisk and efficient as always. "I’ll have everything lined up by the time you land. You sure you don’t want a day or two to breathe?"

You close your eyes for a second, picturing the alternative—hours alone with nothing but your thoughts. "No. I just want to work."

Seoyeon exhales, like she wants to argue, but she doesn’t. "Okay," she says instead. "I’ll handle it."

"Thanks."

"Get some rest on the flight," she says, like she knows you won’t. And then the call ends, leaving you staring at your reflection in the darkened screen.

The rest of your ride to the airport is quiet, save for the soft music on the radio. Your thoughts swirl, looping back to Yoongi. The way he barely looked at you, how easily he dismissed you. Maybe this is better. Maybe this is exactly what you needed to let it all go.

The flight into Incheon is uneventful, but fatigue pulls at you the moment you step off the plane. Everything feels hazy, like you’re just going through the motions. You move through baggage claim, through the terminal, into another car without fully registering any of it.

And then you’re home. Seoul is as grey as ever.

By the time you unlock the door to your apartment, exhaustion clings to you like a second skin. The familiar scent of home greets you, clean and untouched, but the silence is deafening.

It’s strange—coming back to this emptiness after being surrounded by the band for so long. No voices filtering in from another room, no aroma of freshly-cooked food, no strumming of a guitar. Just you, the hum of your empty fridge, the quiet creak of the floor beneath your feet.

You drop your bag by the door and let out a breath, rubbing your face with both hands. The weight in your chest hasn’t lifted. If anything, it’s settled deeper, heavier.

You’re alone, for the first time in weeks.

You’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

★ ★ ★

Yoongi can’t focus.

He sits hunched over his desk, fingers poised above the keys of his laptop, but the words won’t come. It’s not like he doesn’t have lyrics—he does. He always does. But now that they’re laid out in front of him, neatly transcribed from notebook to laptop, they all feel wrong. Disingenuous.

He’s been at this for hours—writing, deleting, rewriting—but it all feels pointless. He glances at the clock. 2:45 a.m.

The label needs a progress report. Yoongi has to come up with at least six usable songs soon, and his mind should be locked into it, but instead, it keeps wandering. Every minute, every second, the image of you keeps pushing its way in.

The way your voice shook when you asked to clear the air, the way you hesitated before leaving, like there was something else you wanted to say, but couldn't. He can't shake it. Even gone, you’re a distraction.

Yoongi fishes his phone out of his pocket for the millionth time tonight, his fingers moving instinctively as he searches for your username.

He’s not proud of it. It’s beyond pathetic, checking up on you like this. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for—some kind of indication of how you’re doing? What you’re feeling? Yoongi knows he won’t find any of that on an Instagram account that you don’t even personally run, but it’s all he has.

All he has, short of texting and asking you himself. Yeah, right.

You haven’t posted anything new since the last time he looked, so Yoongi swipes through your most recent update again. It’s a carefully curated photo dump announcing your return to Seoul. Yoongi has probably looked at it about twenty times tonight.

It’s not like it’s a particularly interesting photo dump—Taehyung is the master at those. It’s all normal shit. Clouds outside of an airplane window, an airport selca, the details of your outfit with all of the brands tagged. It’s classic model—a pretty girl doing boring shit and documenting every last detail.

The last one, though. The last one fucks Yoongi up.

You, standing in front of your well-lit bathroom mirror wearing an Innisfree face mask, your infamous Burn The Stage hoodie—and from the looks of it, not much else.

He knows it’s not for him. If anything, it’s probably preemptive damage control. Something to appease the fans before they start asking questions, wondering why you’re back in Seoul when Jeongguk is still on Jeju. But, fuck.

Yoongi flexes his free hand, stretches his fingers before curling them into a fist again. If there are two things you excel at, it’s looking pretty and riling him up. He should be focused, should be writing, but instead, his mind insists on wandering to places it shouldn’t. Dangerous places. Places that make his cock stir in his sweatpants, while simultaneously making his throat tighten with guilt.

What a predicament Yoongi’s managed to get himself into.

He’s so consumed by his warring emotions that he barely registers the sound of Yijeong clearing his throat.

"Yoongi-yah, we’ve been at this for hours," Yijeong says, effectively breaking Yoongi out of his reverie. His lips flatten into a thin line as he swipes out of your most recent post, back onto your profile. "Maybe we should take a break."

"It’s fine," Yoongi mutters dismissively, not looking up.

Yijeong sighs. "I think you’ve hit a wall."

"Yah, I’m fine," Yoongi snaps, finally glancing up, agitation creeping into his voice. "I’m working."

"Are you?" Yijeong asks, tilting his head toward the phone in Yoongi’s hand.

Yoongi exhales through his nose, sets the phone down with a pointed click, and swivels back toward his laptop. He taps at the keys, opening and closing files he hasn’t touched in hours. "Four mostly finished songs isn’t half bad."

"But you need six," Yijeong points out.

"Mm." Yoongi barely responds, still clicking aimlessly. "Still two songs I didn’t have this morning."

"What about this one?" Yijeong rolls his chair closer in Yoongi’s periphery, sliding his open Leuchtturm across the desk.

Yoongi’s eyes flick to the page, and he immediately stiffens. It’s that song—the one he’d written about you, sang for you when he was bitter and angry. The reaction is instant, his body language shutting down before Yijeong can even say anything else. "No." He snatches the notebook from Yijeong’s hand, shutting it with finality.

Yijeong frowns. "What?"

"That’s not going on the album," Yoongi says.

"But it’s fully written," Yijeong points out, eyes narrowed. "And good. Why wouldn’t it go?"

Yoongi shrugs, feigning indifference. "Doesn’t fit the vibe."

"The vibe," Yijeong repeats, unimpressed.

"Yeah."

"What vibe?"

Yoongi hesitates. "It’ll make us sound like assholes."

Yijeong snorts. "Well, you wrote it."

"Ha."

Yijeong sighs, glancing at the shut notebook. "It’s good, Yoongi-yah. It’s something to show the label, at least."

"I have time to write something better."

Yijeong gives him a long, exasperated look. "You haven’t written anything all day." His patience is wearing thin, Yoongi can tell. "Come on. I’m trying to do what you asked me to come and do."

"It’s one song, Yijeong-ah."

"You’ve been pushing back on everything I’ve tried all day," Yijeong replies, voice tinged with frustration. "I can’t help you if you don’t let me."

Yoongi rubs at his temples. He knows he’s not being fair—that Yijeong came here out of the kindness of his heart, just because Yoongi asked him to. Maybe Yoongi’s monopolized enough of his time.

"Yeah, I know." His voice is quieter now. "Look, it’s… I’m not trying to be difficult. I can do this myself. I know you have your own shit."

Yijeong watches him carefully, his gaze so penetrating it makes Yoongi shift in his seat. Then, he says, almost too casually, "we were making good progress over the weekend."

Yoongi’s posture tightens. "…Yeah." Over the weekend. Before the noraebang.

Yijeong leans back in his chair, arms crossed. "Could this lack of focus have anything to do with YN’s sudden departure?"

Aren’t you the source of all of Yoongi’s hardships lately? You and that stupid Burn The Stage sweatshirt, those deadly fucking silk shorts you flounced around in the whole time you were here. The fact that he kissed you—or you kissed him, the jury’s still out on that—and that you’re Jeongguk’s girlfriend, and that Yoongi has been shifting between guilt and delirious arousal since you left.

"You’re crazy," Yoongi scoffs. Deflect, deflect, deflect.

Yijeong hums. "Sure."

Yoongi pretends not to hear the knowing tone in Yijeong’s voice, shifting the conversation with practiced ease. "I’ve taken up too much of your time, Yijeong-ah. I only have to come up with two more songs."

"You kicking me out for bringing up YN?" Yijeong teases. "Tyrant."

Yoongi huffs a laugh through his nose, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. "I just think I need to figure the rest out on my own."

Yijeong shrugs, seemingly disinterested in pressing the matter any further. Thankfully. "If you’re sure. I should be heading back soon anyway."

"Yeah," Yoongi reassures. "I’m good, Yijeong-ah. I promise."

"Okay. I’ll figure something out tomorrow, then."

Yoongi grunts in response, already turning back to his laptop.

Yijeong stands, grabbing his jacket. On his way out, he reaches for Yoongi’s half-empty coffee cup and confiscates it with a small smile. "I’m going to sleep. I suggest you do the same, Yoongi-yah."

Yoongi rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. He just watches as Yijeong leaves, the room settling into silence once again.

His eyes flick to the dark screen of his phone beside him, fingers twitching like they want to reach for it. Instead, he exhales, drags a hand through his hair, and turns back to the lyrics in front of him.

★ ★ ★

The set is busy today. Cameras clicking, makeup artists fussing over the music playing from the speakers. Hyerin, who has been buzzing around you all day like a fly, runs her fingers over the expensive garments you have yet to be photographed in, inspecting them for imperfections. Assistants flit around the room carting coffees and clipboards. You’re wearing Moschino. It’s everything you’ve dreaded for the past several years, but today, you’re thankful.

It’s familiar, muscle memory taking over as you move through poses. You arch, tilt, shift, your body following the rhythm of the camera’s shutter. The stylist adjusts the hem of your outfit between shots, fingers quick and efficient, but you barely register it. Your gaze lands just past the camera lens, somewhere indistinct. You don’t need to be fully present for this; you just need to be good.

And you are.

The morning had started before sunrise—a briefing with your team, a fitting for an event later in the week, hair and makeup. Then, a quick coffee you barely tasted before being ushered into wardrobe.

Seoyeon delivered exactly what you asked for. The next few days are stacked to the brim—more shoots, trendy pop-up events, interviews. You have no room for anything else.

Still, your mind wanders. Between outfit changes, between shots, between the moments where you stand still as hands fuss over your hair and clothes. Your phone sits face-down on the makeup counter, silent. It’s stupid that you even notice. That you’re even thinking about—

"Okay, let’s reset for the next look!" the director calls out, snapping you out of your haze.

The second you step off set, Seoyeon is at your side, clipboard in hand. "You’re doing great," she says, brisk. "They’re running a little ahead of schedule, so we might be able to squeeze in that interview with Elle later this afternoon. Sound good?"

You nod automatically, reaching for a bottle of water. "Yeah. That’s fine."

"You holding up okay?"

You fiddle with your straw before taking a sip, careful not to mess up your lip gloss. "I’m fine," you insist.

Seoyeon doesn’t push, but she doesn’t look convinced either. "This is the last outfit change. We’ll get proofs back in a few days."

"That’s perfect." Your smile is practiced, professional. "Just keep it coming."

"You have an early call time tomorrow," she reminds you. "I’ll send you the details tonight."

And just like that, she’s gone again, moving onto the next task, making things happen. You exhale, tipping your head back, willing yourself to shake off the weight pressing against your ribcage.

One of the assistants calls you over to wardrobe, and you go, slipping seamlessly back into the performance. It’s easier that way.

★ ★ ★

Once Yijeong leaves, Yoongi knows he’s on borrowed time. He can’t stay holed up in this bedroom forever. It’s only a matter of time before Park fucking Jimin calls him on his shit.

To his credit, he’s been much more productive now that he’s alone. There’s a fifth song now, and he’s well on his way to a sixth. Sure, they’ve come at the expense of his health and hygeine, but hey. That’s the music business, baby.

At least, that’s what he tells himself. That the sleepless nights and skipped meals are for the sake of the music, that the burning in his chest is just exhaustion, not something deeper. That the guilt sitting heavy in his stomach is just another feeling to be ignored.

He’s in the middle of scrawling something down—a song about beautiful women and kissing with teeth, something reckless, maybe with a catchy bass riff for Taehyung?—when his bedroom door swings open. Yoongi hears Jimin call his name, but he doesn’t look up. He keeps his head down, pen moving across the page, clinging to his last thread of focus.

"Yoongi-hyung," Jimin says again.

Yoongi ignores him. Keeps writing, because what he’s coming up with now is way better than the song he was workshopping earlier—which, lyrically, was just a heavy handed metaphor for jerking off. Surely that says something about where Yoongi’s head is at lately.

Then—bang. Jimin’s palm slams onto the desk, making the pen in Yoongi’s hand jump. His pulse spikes in response. "Min Yoongi!"

"What?" he mutters, his grip on his pen tightening as his teeth grind together. His voice comes out hoarse, like he hasn’t used it in days. Maybe he hasn’t.

Jimin doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches forward, snatches the pen from Yoongi’s fingers, and throws it across the room.

Yoongi watches it go, the small clatter of plastic hitting the floor echoing in his ears. "What the hell is going on with you?" Jimin demands.

Yoongi takes a deep breath. Holds and releases. Tamps down his mounting irritation. "I don’t have time for this, Jimin-ah."

"Make time," Jimin says, tone final.

Yoongi exhales, finally pushing away from his desk. The wheels of his chair scrape against the floor as he turns to face Jimin, his patience razor-thin. "Fine. What the fuck do you want?"

"You’ve been acting like a jackass—"

Yoongi scoffs. "Because that’s so out of character for me—"

"—since YN left," Jimin finishes, crossing his arms with a smug finality.

Yoongi’s stomach lurches, but he keeps his face impassive. He’s good at that. Years of practice.

Jimin doesn’t back down. "Why did YN leave, Yoongi?"

"How should I know? What YN does has nothing to do with me."

Yoongi knows Jimin isn’t an idiot. He notices things. And even if Yoongi didn’t know that, the way Jimin confronted him (read: scared the shit out of his asshole) last week made it abundantly clear. But still, denial feels easier.

"You haven’t spoken to Jeongguk all week, either," Jimin points out.

Yoongi reaches for another pen, swallowing his guilt. He doesn’t want to talk about this, not now. Not when he’s finally getting somewhere with these songs. "Been busy," he mumbles.

"Bullshit," Jimin says as he grabs the new pen and throws it, too, forcing Yoongi’s now-empty fist to clench tightly. "Tell me what’s going on."

"What’s going on," Yoongi grits out through clenched teeth, "is that I have a fucking album to write. An album that nobody else but me seems to give a shit about. So I’m writing it." He scoffs, gesturing towards his discarded pen. "At least, I was."

Jimin shakes his head, not buying it. "What did you do to her? What could you have possibly done to make her get on a plane to Seoul with no notice? I told you that you were going too far. And then we went to the orchard, and everything was fine."

Yoongi laughs, but there’s no amusement in it. "I’m not talking about this with you, Jimin-ah. This is none of your business."

"What happened outside of that noraebang, Yoongi?"

"Nothing—"

"Don’t even try to lie to me," Jimin interrupts. His voice is sharp, unrelenting. "I’ve known you since I was twenty years old. You barely drank that night, and even if you did, you can hold your alcohol. But then you come back inside, and you’re spilling your guts all over Taehyung’s shoes."

Yoongi stays silent. That’s really the only option when receiving a certified dressing-down from Park Jimin.

"And less than twelve hours later, YN is back in Seoul. You want to tell me that’s a coincidence?"

It’s not. It’s not. Yoongi doesn’t want to fucking talk about this.

"Everybody likes YN, except for you. Jeongguk loves her. And you’re entitled to your opinion, whatever, but that doesn’t mean you can treat her like trash. And you have."

The words snap something in Yoongi. His control slips. "I kissed her." Jimin freezes, eyes wide, and Yoongi looks away. "And she kissed me back."

"She…" Jimin shakes his head, like he’s trying to make sense of it. "You and YN…"

Yoongi runs a hand over his face, frustration curling around his ribs, squeezing tight. "She drives me fucking insane, okay? I don’t know why I did it. Nothing I do makes any fucking sense anymore."

Jimin exhales. "But… Jeongguk—"

"Why do you think I’ve been in here all week?" Yoongi gestures vaguely at the cluttered desk, the crumpled papers and mugs of cold coffee. The ashtray, even though he hates to smoke inside.

Jimin’s expression softens. "Hyung…"

Ah, there it is—the pity, the concern. Yoongi shuts his eyes, his exhaustion settling into his bones. He already knows what Jimin is going to say. "I know."

"You have to tell him."

"I know."

Jimin studies him for a long moment. "Hyung, it looks like you haven’t slept in days. I know you haven’t been eating like you should, either."

Yoongi says nothing, his gaze dropping to his lap.

Jimin shifts on his feet. "I’ve… I’ve never really understood you and Jeonggukie’s relationship. Nobody does, I mean… You’re both so…" He trails off, shaking his head. "You love each other. I don’t think anything could ever get in between you two."

Yoongi’s fingers curl into his palm as he recalls Namjoon’s warning from weeks ago. Jeongguk is a grown man. He’s fully entitled to make his own decisions, and you need to respect that if you don’t want to lose him. His voice comes out quieter than before. "Something already has."

Jimin takes a slow breath. "Jeonggukie knows you would never do anything to hurt him, not on purpose. You just need to talk it out with him, hyung."

Yoongi nods, just barely. "Yeah."

Jimin doesn’t let up. "Promise me."

Yoongi hesitates, then mutters, "I promise."

Jimin gives a small nod before stepping back toward the door. "Okay." He reaches for the handle, pausing. "Get some sleep first. You look like shit."

Yoongi huffs out something that isn’t quite a laugh. "I’ll try."

Jimin exhales. "Just… Deal with it before it gets any worse." He pulls the door open. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

★ ★ ★

Yoongi isn’t in the business of breaking promises, so the next night, he ventures out of his room.

He watches Jeongguk stare back at him, eyes dark with something unreadable. His stomach twists.

He has spent years protecting this kid’s dream—no, making it his mission, his purpose, his redemption. Jeongguk had been barely more than a teenager when Yoongi first met him, eyes bright with possibility, looking at Yoongi like he hung the damn stars.

Back then, Yoongi had just dropped out of college, drowning in the weight of his own failure. He had been a classical piano major—a prodigy, people said. Someone who was supposed to make something of himself.

But the pressure had been too much, the expectations too high, and when he couldn’t bear it anymore, he had walked away with nothing but a hollow chest and a name that didn’t mean a fucking thing outside those walls.

Jeongguk was an underclassman at the time. The voice of an angel and the dream of being in a rock band. It was stupid—childish, even—but Yoongi saw himself in the kid, saw what he had lost, and he had sworn right then and there that Jeongguk would never know what it felt like to give up. To be crushed under the weight of something bigger than himself.

If Yoongi could make Jeongguk’s dream come true, then maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t feel like such a failure himself.

But now, sitting on the edge of Jeongguk’s bed, watching the hurt in his face, Yoongi wonders if he had only ever been deluding himself.

"You and YN…?" Jeongguk’s voice is careful, controlled, but Yoongi can hear the fracture beneath it.

"I’m sorry." The words taste like ash in Yoongi’s mouth. He knows they’re not enough.

"When?"

"At the noraebang," Yoongi mumbles. He wants to look away, wants to sink into the floor, retreat from the sheer expressiveness Jeongguk’s eyes are capable of. But he doesn’t.

"That’s why she left?" Jeongguk asks, realization washing over his features.

Yoongi exhales shakily, the guilt settling deep in his bones. "I haven’t called to confirm or anything, but…" He drags a hand down his face. "Yeah. Probably."

"I thought you hated her."

"I do," Yoongi says automatically, but the words feel strange. False. Like he’s clinging to something that was never really there to begin with.

Jeongguk stares at him, incredulous. "But you kissed her?"

"It’s…" Yoongi clenches his fists, bitten down nails digging into his palms. "Guk-ah, it was stupid."

"It sounds stupid," Jeongguk scoffs.

"It was." Yoongi drags a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling over. "I don’t have an excuse, okay? It happened, and I’m sorry. How can I get you to forgive me? I’ll do anything."

Jeongguk shakes his head, the laughter still on his lips, but it’s humorless. "There’s nothing to forgive, hyung."

Yoongi stills. "What do you mean?"

"YN and I aren’t really dating."

What the fuck.

Yoongi feels his mind blank out, practically hears the record scratch. The suspicion that Yoongi’s held so tightly this whole time, and Jeongguk is the one saying it out loud. No fucking way.

"…What?"

"You think I would bring my real girlfriend around you?" Jeongguk tilts his head, expression unreadable.

Did he say real girlfriend? What the hell does that mean?

It doesn’t make sense. Jeongguk isn’t the type to lie, not like this. But the way he’s looking at Yoongi right now—like he’s daring him to deny it—tells him this is very real.

"Hyung, ever since you met YN, you’ve acted like a lunatic."

"That’s not—"

"Yoongi-hyung."

Yoongi shuts up instantly. Fair is fair.

"The girl I’m dating isn’t in the public eye, and YN is," Jeongguk continues. "We’re friends. She agreed to help."

The idea of Jeongguk hiding something from Yoongi—through a scheme this elaborate, no less—feels preposterous. It feels like a practical joke.

But the way he’s looking at Yoongi right now? There’s nothing funny about it.

Yoongi shakes his head, struggling to process. "But… Why not tell us? Me?"

Jeongguk gives him a withering look. "Come on, hyung. The backlash from everyone else would’ve been bad, but you? You’re so much worse."

Yoongi’s chest tightens. Fair is fair, but, "I wouldn’t have—"

"You don’t think I wanted to introduce my girlfriend to you, really? I knew what would happen. Things would’ve gone exactly the same as they did with YN."

Yoongi swallows hard. "I just don’t want you to get hurt."

"You’re so protective over me, hyung. Like I’m a kid. Like I’m incapable of making my own decisions."

And that? That hurts. Because Yoongi never meant to make Jeongguk feel small. Never meant to clip his wings when all he ever wanted was to help him soar. But somewhere along the way, his protection had turned into suffocation. He’s the one who pushed him to this, he realizes. The one who made him feel like he had no choice but to lie.

"Guk-ah, I don’t want you to have to hide things from me. Please. How can I fix it? Tell hyung how to fix it," Yoongi pleads.

"I don’t know." The words sound so hollow. Why didn’t he come to Yoongi sooner, if he’s felt this way for so long? Yoongi would do anything for Jeongguk. He thought Jeongguk knew that.

"Jeongguk—"

"No, hyung." Jeongguk snaps. "I introduce YN as my girlfriend and you act like a dick. You humiliate her. I ask her to go out of her way to work things out with you, which I shouldn’t have to do, and things are fine for like, a few days. And then suddenly she’s leaving, lying to me about why, and you’re telling me you kissed her?"

Yoongi stays silent. He’s played the protective hyung card, but where the kiss is concerned, he has nothing to say for himself.

"I haven’t heard from her at all since she left. Until now, you’ve been avoiding me, too," Jeongguk continues. "I’m sick of it. I’m sick of everyone treating me like I can’t handle shit."

Yoongi’s voice comes out barely above a whisper. "I’m sorry."

"I don’t want to hear it, hyung. Whatever issues you’re having with her, that’s none of my business anymore. You know the truth now. Just…"

"Yeah," Yoongi says, wiping sweaty palms off on his jeans as he stands from the bed. "Yeah, I’ll… I’ll go."

He hates how final it feels. How he’s left wondering if this is something he and Jeongguk can bounce back from. A half-written album for a band that could be hanging in the balance, because of Yoongi.

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to stop him from leaving. He just stands there, arms crossed, jaw tight—like he’s holding something back, like he’s already decided this conversation is over.

Yoongi hesitates for a moment, waiting for something. He’s not even sure what. A sign that things aren’t as broken as they feel. But Jeongguk won’t look at him.

So, he turns and walks away.

The air in the hallway feels stifling, thick with everything left unsaid. His feet carry him downstairs, back to his room. Once he’s back inside, he just stands there, staring at the door, fingers twitching at his sides.

He doesn’t know how to make this right.

Yoongi’s fingers tremble slightly as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. It’s like his body’s on autopilot, moving without him. He scrolls through his contacts and presses call before he even thinks about it.

The phone rings once. Twice.

"Hyung? Did somebody die?"

It’s so Namjoon to pick up Yoongi’s calls like that. He almost laughs, but it dies in his throat. He rubs his face, a sharp breath slipping past his lips as he fights to regain his bearings.

"You knew," Yoongi says simply. His voice comes out deceptively calm.

A long, heavy pause fills the line, a silence that stretches on as Namjoon’s brain catches up to what Yoongi is saying. But Yoongi knows he doesn’t need to say anything else. Namjoon is a smart guy.

"Yeah," he finally says, his sigh crackling over the line. "I did."

"Fuck," Yoongi huffs. His hands are shaking.

"Did he tell you?" Namjoon’s voice is quiet, careful.

Yoongi closes his eyes. "Yeah."

"Is it... Is everything okay?" Namjoon asks.

What a stupid fucking question. Yoongi starts pacing, desperate to change the subject. He’s working on the fly, but he’s not at all surprised by the words that end up leaving his mouth.

"Look, I have seven songs. Book a flight for me. I’ll come show the label what I’ve come up with."

There’s another sigh on the other end of the line, like Namjoon knows better than to fight him on this. Good, Yoongi thinks.

"Okay," Namjoon says. "Just for you?"

"I think space would be good. For a few days." Or longer.

"Hyung… What happened?"

"YN and I kissed," Yoongi says. Might as well.

The line falls silent. Yoongi can practically hear Namjoon’s brain processing the information, the shock and confusion on the other side. He doesn’t care. He just wants the conversation over with, wants to move forward.

"What?" Namjoon’s voice cracks with disbelief, the confusion clear even through the phone.

"Namjoon-ah, I’m really sick of talking about it, okay?" Yoongi says, struggling to tamp down the impatience in his tone. "I’m gonna fix it. I just need something from you."

"What do you need?"

"Can you get in contact with YN’s manager?" Yoongi swipes into his messages with Namjoon. His fingers shake as they fly over his keyboard, and then he presses send. "I need you to relay a message."

Namjoon is quiet for a long time, just the static crackle of soft breaths. When he speaks again, his voice is laced with exhaustion. "Okay. I’ll get it done."

"Thanks," Yoongi mutters, voice rough. He doesn’t say goodbye, doesn’t wait for Namjoon to respond. Minutes later, he’s forwarded an email with a flight confirmation. He grabs a bag and fills it.

He has a plane to catch.

�� ★ ★

The last person you expect to see when you open your door is Min Yoongi.

It’s late. Late late. Like, ‘nothing good happens after midnight’ late. Your parents used to say that a lot when you were younger, back when your obsession with live music meant sneaking into venues past curfew. It’s funny—you never believed them. Back then, your nights only got better the later it became.

Now, though. Now you get it.

Because Min Yoongi at your door when he’s supposed to be a plane ride away from you? That can only mean trouble.

But here he is, dressed in all black, a beanie and a face mask concealing his identity from your building’s security cameras. Instead of wielding a knife like you’d expect, his arms are full of crinkly takeout bags.

"Hi, dollface."

"Yoongi? What—"

"I’m not here to fight, okay?" he interrupts, lifting the bags a little as if it’s supposed to reassure you. "Look, I brought you dinner."

Going with poison, then, you think.

"How did you figure out where I live?" you ask, dreading the answer.

"Namjoon asked Seoyeon on my behalf," he explains casually, like it's no big deal. "Or, on Jeongguk’s behalf, actually."

Oh, cool. So your manager is just giving your address away. "Why—"

"Can we have this conversation inside?" he cuts in. "The food’s gonna get cold."

You hesitate, but your curiosity gets the best of you, so you step aside to let him in. He moves past you like he belongs there, setting the bag down on your kitchen counter and methodically unpacking its contents.

"It’s chicken," he says casually. "Figured that was a safe bet."

You stare at him, bewildered. "Chicken is… Yeah, chicken is fine."

"I brought beer, too." He finally turns to look at you. You can only really see his eyes, but you can’t help but notice how tired he looks. You try not to care.

"Yoongi, why are you here?" you demand.

Sighing, he pulls off the face mask, tucking it into his jacket pocket. "Jeongguk told me the truth."

Unable to help it, your entire body goes rigid at his words. "Oh yeah? What’s that?"

"He has a girlfriend," he says, before clarifying, "that isn’t you."

You feel the world tilt beneath your feet. So Jeongguk told him the whole truth. Cool. You really should’ve returned those calls. The ones you were avoiding.

"Why did he tell you that?" you ask, and it’s not even anger that colors your voice anymore. Just a raw, unfiltered panic that you can't hide.

Yoongi turns and leans back against the counter, watching you. "I’ve been trying to figure out why you didn’t tell me that. From the start."

Your defenses instantly go up. It’s par for the course around Yoongi at this point.

"Because he didn’t want me to," you reply coolly, schooling your features into something less panicked. "So, what changed? What did you do?"

"I told him we kissed."

FUCK!

Well, so much for concealing the panic. "You—why?"

"I couldn’t just not tell him, YN," Yoongi reasons. "It was killing me. I felt like the world’s biggest piece of shit all week. You’re Jeongguk’s girlfriend." He snorts, shaking his head. "Or, at least, that’s what you both wanted me to think."

You scoff, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. "Okay, fine. You told him. How did he react?"

"To the kiss?" Yoongi tilts his head slightly. "I mean, better than I expected, considering I was under the impression he was in love with you."

Your brow furrows. "So he’s not mad?"

Yoongi lets out a humorless laugh. "Not at you, don’t worry."

Ah. "But he’s mad at you," you guess.

"I’m not getting a world’s best hyung trophy anytime soon." Yoongi shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but you can tell it does.

You stare at him for a long moment, processing. Then, slowly, the words slip out. "So… You flew back to Seoul to… What? Rub it in my face in person?"

Yoongi blinks at you. "What?"

"That you were right. That you knew it was bullshit all along."

Realization flits over Yoongi’s features. He doesn’t look defensive—he doesn’t even look surprised. In fact, he seems oddly amused, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. "Mm. That’s more like a fringe benefit."

You throw your hands up, completely exasperated. "Then why are you here, Yoongi?"

"To have dinner with you," Yoongi says, breaking into a full-blown grin now.

"I’m not hungry," you say flatly.

"Look, I’m not exactly welcome in that house right now," he says, like that’s supposed to explain things any better.

"And you think you’re welcome in mine?"

He tilts his head, amused. "I don’t know, dollface. Am I?"

You gawk at him, your pulse thumping in your ears. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"A kiss isn’t exactly a solo activity, last time I checked."

You bristle. "You kissed me."

"Is that what we’re going with?" Yoongi asks, brow lifting.

"That’s what happened."

"Let’s say I did make the first move, then." You don’t miss the way his gaze flickers to your mouth, then back to your eyes. "You took your sweet time pushing me away."

"And then I got on a plane to get away from you," you counter.

Yoongi hums, his eyes darkening slightly. "Couldn’t trust yourself?"

"What—"

"You think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve been undressing me with your eyes lately?" He grins, clearly enjoying himself. "I’ve felt very objectified, you know."

"Fuck you," you spit, your pulse racing.

He just laughs—low, knowing. "Everything else is all out in the open now," he says. "Might as well come clean about this, too."

"There’s nothing to come clean about," you retort, your voice sharp, but inside, you’re shaking. "I haven’t been looking at you any type of way. You should get your eyes checked."

"So it wasn’t good for you, then?"

"What?"

"The kiss."

You stiffen. "No."

His smirk deepens. "Right. Okay, then."

"You don’t believe me?" you ask, defiant.

"Don’t get me wrong, your acting has improved. But no." He leans in slightly. "You wanna know what I think?"

"No."

Yoongi grins. "I think it drives you crazy, how attracted you are to me."

Your world tilts on its fucking axis, and you know it shows on your face.

"Get over yourself," you scoff, trying to find your footing again. But Yoongi isn’t having it.

"That sound you made when my tongue was in your mouth?" His voice drops lower, rougher, and it sends a shiver through your spine. "I fucking earned that. No way you would’ve let that slip on purpose."

Your breath catches in your throat, your body locking up. Fuck.

"I can get all kinds of sounds out of you, if you let me," Yoongi continues. He steps closer, cocking his head at you. "I think you know that, too. I think you know I can fuck you the way you’ve been waiting to get fucked."

Your breath stutters, heat creeping up your neck.

"No one else has gotten it right, huh?" His voice is softer now, coaxing. "Too nice, too boring. But I can. And you hate that you want it."

His words settle into the air between you, heavy and undeniable. You can’t look at him.

"If I’m wrong, tell me." He studies you closely, hand raising to tilt your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his. That first touch, skin on skin, stupidly makes your thighs clench on instinct. "I’ll drop it. I’ll get on a plane tonight and go right back to where I came from."

The silence stretches. Long. Loaded.

Then, more gently, "am I wrong, dollface?"

You exhale shakily, and—slowly, reluctantly—you shake your head.

"Here’s the way I see it," he continues smoothly. "I have no reason to stand in the way of your arrangement with Jeongguk anymore. But you and I are still going to be around each other, whether we like it or not."

You don’t say anything. You don’t even know if your ‘arrangement’ with Jeongguk is still on, after all of this. But that’s the furthest thing from your mind right now.

"Might as well make the most of it."

Your throat is dry. Your skin feels too tight. You force yourself to take a steadying breath, despite the heat pooling between your legs.

"Beer isn’t gonna cut it," you decide suddenly.

You push past him, moving toward the kitchen.

Yoongi laughs, watching you. "That so?"

Wine feels right. You pour yourself a glass, glancing at him across the island. "Want one?"

"Yeah, okay," he agrees, amusement evident in his tone.

You pour another glass before you walk to the couch in the living room, settling down with a long sip before meeting his gaze. "Let me get this straight."

He sits beside you, taking the glass you offer to him. "Uh-huh," he says, urging you to continue.

"You want to fuck me."

His lips quirk. "I wouldn’t be opposed."

You huff in frustration. "No, Yoongi," you say. You’re over the games. If he wants to do this, he’s going to have to put a little bit more work in. "That’s what you came here for."

Infuriatingly, Yoongi doesn’t answer right away, only taking a slow sip of his wine.

"You got in a fight with Jeongguk, and for some reason, your immediate response was to hop on a plane and proposition me," you continue. "I’m not even gonna pretend to understand that train of thought, but I do want to hear you admit it."

He pauses, considering. "That’s what you want?"

"Yes," you say firmly. "That’s what I want. Why should I let you have it that easy?"

"God." Yoongi makes a noise low in his throat, frustration and arousal combined. "Okay, yeah. I want to fuck you," he admits, unwavering.

You let the silence linger for a moment. Then, finally, you nod. "Okay."

"Okay?" He raises a brow.

"Okay," you repeat. "You can fuck me."

Yoongi’s responding laugh is quiet, amused. "Don’t sound so excited, dollface."

Shit, if only he knew. You’re barely hanging on by a thread, shocked that you’ve made it this far without folding. You may not be Yoongi’s number one fan, but you’d be a liar if you said you don’t want to take him up on all of his offers.

"I just want you to stop acting like I’m the desperate one here," you mutter.

"Okay. We’re both desperate, then."

"Thank you," you say primly, trying and failing to calm your racing heart.

Yoongi sets his glass down on your coffee table, eyes glinting as he watches you. "So… Are you gonna come over here?"

You watch the way he leans back against the couch, his denim-clad thighs spread invitingly, and you bite your lip.

Okay. This is happening.

"Fuck it," you huff, setting your own glass down next to his and shifting your body to straddle his lap.

In an instant, Yoongi’s hands find your waist, molding to your curves. He tilts his head up, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. Not unlike last time, there’s no finesse to it, but it feels so fucking good—lips and teeth and tongues fighting for dominance, like there’s something to win.

Now that all of the cards are on the table, it’s clear that neither of you are interested in holding back. Your teeth nip at Yoongi’s bottom lip roughly, earning a grunt from him as his hands skim over your thighs, calloused fingers catching on your shorts.

Yoongi pulls back first, his eyes inky black as he feels you up. "These fucking shorts," he mumbles under his breath, hands smoothing over the silk before squeezing harshly. "What are the chances."

With startling clarity, you realize that you weren’t the only one looking when you were on Jeju. You left an impression on Yoongi, too.

It makes you feel triumphant.

"Like them?" you purr, rucking the hem of your shirt up to give him a better view of the damp fabric clinging to you. Slowly, deliberately, you roll your hips, feeling the way he strains in his jeans.

"Shit, you’re a tease," Yoongi hisses, licking his lips as he helps you pull your shirt over your head. His eyes flick between your clothed core and your breasts hungrily, like he’s deciding where he wants to start first.

But your patience is wearing thin. You make the decision for him, dragging his hands up to cup your tits. Yoongi obliges, chuckling with amusement when he catches the way your nipples stand at attention already, without him even laying a finger on them.

Holding your gaze, he leans in, tongue flicking over a sensitive bud. You can’t look away—not when the cool metal ball of his piercing glides so skillfully over it, sending a sharp pulse of pleasure straight to your neglected cunt. It feels like he’s touching you everywhere, extra stimulation that forces a moan from your throat.

Yoongi doesn’t let up for a second, sucking and licking at your nipples until they’re aching, puffy and reddened. All you can do is take it, fingers threading through dark locks at the nape of his neck as you whimper for more.

"Look at you, dollface," he rasps, replacing his tongue with his fingers to pinch and tease. "You can be sweet, can’t you?"

"Fuck you," you gasp out, biting your lip to suppress the needy sounds that threaten to spill free. You can’t help it—he can’t win this quickly. He can’t know how badly you’ve needed this, needed him, ever since that fucking kiss.

Yoongi laughs, pinching a nipple one last time before retreating completely. "Always running that fucking mouth." Eyes fixed on yours, he moves his hand down your hip, cupping your cunt so firmly it forces your legs to spread. "Should make you choke on my dick, shut you up for a bit."

Your breath shakes in your lungs as he starts rubbing tantalizing circles over your folds. "You can be a nice girl, mm?" Yoongi growls, finding your clit such exacting accuracy that it makes your head spin, steals the moans from your throat. He noses along the line of your shoulder, murmuring against your skin, "be a nice girl for me."

"Yoongi," you moan, helpless. Without warning, Yoongi’s fingers slip under the leg of your shorts, slipping into you with an ease that makes him groan against your neck.

"So fucking wet," he growls, fingers stroking inside you, rubbing your inner walls. You can both hear how wet you are. He curls his fingers, and you cry out. "Can’t wait to feel you around my cock."

It’s his admission, the reminder that he wants this just as badly as you do, that breaks down your inhibitions. Suddenly, you’re rolling your hips, moaning as you grind down onto his fingers in a frenzied rhythm.

"Fuck," Yoongi breathes appreciatively, watching you move with dark eyes like he’s imagining you bouncing on his cock. "I’m gonna fucking wreck you."

You can’t take it anymore, single-mindedly focused on chasing your impending release. Yoongi’s fingers stroke so deeply inside of you that your eyes roll back in your head, your breath leaving you in staccato bursts of his name. His other hand returns to your breast, pinching hard at your nipple. You’re so close you can taste it.

"Go on," he encourages. His thumb moves to rub at your clit as his fingers fuck into you over and over. "Come for me, dollface."

That’s all it takes.

You sob as your orgasm hits you hard, your vision swimming. Your cunt squeezes around Yoongi’s fingers so tightly it earns a moan from him, but it barely registers. All you can do is moan, pulling hard at Yoongi’s hair until the movement of your hips slows to a stop.

When you finally come down, Yoongi’s fingers slipping out of you as you pant for breath, your eyes focus on him.

He looks fucking delicious.

Pouty lips bitten red. Dark locks mussed where they peek out beneath his beanie. Veiny hand squeezing around the thick bulge in his jeans.

You’ve never wanted something so badly in your life, and it’s clear the feeling is mutual. He said it himself—he wants to wreck you.

It occurs to you, suddenly, that you’re not going to let him. Not tonight.

Suddenly, you reach for your discarded shirt, slipping it back over your body. You stand on shaky legs, reaching for your forgotten glass of wine and tipping your head back to finish it off. You can feel Yoongi’s eyes tracking your every movement, waiting. It fills you with immense satisfaction that he’s waiting for something that won’t come.

"Well, thanks," you say, barely suppressing a grin. "This was fun."

"What?" Yoongi replies, confusion evident in his tone.

"It’s late. I have an early schedule tomorrow," you explain coolly, tilting your head at him. "Surely, Seoyeon told you?"

"But—"

"She’ll kill me if I show up with bags under my eyes," you interrupt. "You understand."

A long silence stretches between you as Yoongi weighs his options. You watch with triumph as his fists flex at his sides, clenching and unclenching. Finally, he schools his features into something neutral and speaks.

"Fine," he grumbles.

"Great," you say, grinning as he gets up from the couch. "Thanks for stopping by. I’ll walk you out."

The walk to the door is quiet, tension thick between you. Yoongi’s jaw is tight, his hands shoved into his pockets like he’s physically restraining himself. You revel in it, in the way you’ve turned the tables, left him aching.

You reach for the door handle, but before you can open it, Yoongi moves.

In a flash, your back is pressed against the wall, his body caging you in. His hands pin your wrists beside your head, and then his lips are on yours—hot, demanding, devastating. It’s not just a kiss. It’s a punishment. His mouth is all-consuming, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before his tongue pushes past, claiming you in a way that leaves no room for argument.

The way he surrounds you is dizzying, the hard planes of his body pressed against you all the way down. His hips roll once, slow and deliberate, making sure you feel it as the thick ridge of his cock in his jeans drags against your still-sensitive core.

And fuck, you feel it. Every. Single. Inch.

Then, just as suddenly as he came at you, he pulls back.

Breathless, you barely have time to register the wicked smirk curving his lips before he steps away, smoothing a hand down his shirt like nothing happened.

"Sweet dreams, dollface," he murmurs, voice husky, eyes dark with promise.

And then, just like that, he steps away, yanking the door open and walking out without another glance. You stand there, dazed, lips swollen, body still thrumming from the intensity of it all.

Fuck.

What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

✧ shoot me a reply or an ask if you enjoyed this chapter! feedback is always appreciated <3 join my taglist if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

askbox ★ ao3 ★ anonymous feedback box

✧ TAGLIST:

@kkaetnipjeon @ktownshizzle @joonary @yooniivrse @chrrybbmb

@ot72025 @futuristicenemychaos @tea4sykes @sugainmybowl @wobblewobble822

@this-most-assuredly-counts @ohnothisnameisalreadytaken @sugafun @whoa-jo @amarawayne

@kimsaerom @bangtangsworld @jimingirl95 @jadestonedaeho7 @notsevenwithyou

@perfctlyunstable @yoonmetogether @kpophosblog @chimmchimmm @nnybtitts08

@itsmina29 @sophia--915 @jeanjacketjesus @kiki-zb @velvetskize

@gelijar @livi101ful @annyeongbitch7 @pitchblack0309 @goldietigers294

@hopegdbbggloss @kam9404 @jajabro @parapiop7 @mar-lo-pap

@tarahardcore @butterymin @svnbangtansworld @rainnamu @auroradamned

@mintedagustd @angellekookie @sunreads

PREVIOUS CHAPTER ✧ MASTERLIST ✧ NEXT CHAPTER

224 notes · View notes

anim-ttrpgs · 3 months ago

Note

Your post detailing a story in ad&d of a band of warriors delving into a dungeon filled with large lads and undead inspired me to look into ad&d 2e myself and so far I have found myself enjoying the mechanics greatly. So thank you for that do you have any advice for those just getting into ad&d?

Thank you! I love AD&D and am happy to help get more people into it, or any other rpg that has similar pre-WotC dungeon crawling gameplay.

Here’s a few rapid fire tips off the top of my head for those trying to get into AD&D2e and similar games:

Everybody Reads Both Rulebooks

Really this is my stance for basically any TTRPG, but I think that everybody should read the Player’s Handbook and the DM Guide. A session of any game will always go smoother if everybody has read the rules instead of one guy being tasked with remembering them all.

Check the Wiki

There’s a very useful wiki for AD&D you can use.

While I still recommend you read the rulebooks themselves to get a full understanding of the game you’re playing, the wiki is way better than a crusty old PDF or questionably formatted and nearly-falling-apart-by-now physical copy for quickly checking rules mid-session, and for waking you through character creation.

Start Small

Even before WotC brought the D&D brand and made it the overwhelming monopoly it is today, D&D was a juggernaught if the industry, and, even though I think from reading them that TSR-era D&D was very much written with more passion than just trying to soullessly sell products, TSR still had the dollar signs in their eyes and released like a million supplement and all that crap.

My suggestion: Stick with the DM’s Guide and Player’s Handbook at first. There’s just too much shit otherwise, and a lot of the later additions and supplements have a lot of very questionable content that will not really improve your experience. For instance, why did they introduce a fucking proficiency for eating and drinking?!

Use Even Older Adventure Modules

AD&D2e is retroactively compatible with the adventure modules made for previous editions, and I suggest you use these instead. While I think AD&D2e is the best ruleset to come out of TSR D&D, the adventure modules saw a pretty sharp decline around that time. This is when adventure modules started to be more like scripted stories rather than the dungeon crawling sandboxes they previously were.

Some suggestions that should get you started and keep you going for many many sessions are:

In Search of the Unknown

The Sinister Secret or Saltmarsh

Keep on the Borderlands (get the later version not the original version.)

Village of Hommlet

Throw Everything You Know from D&D3e Onwards Out the Window

If you aren’t sure how to handle something mechanically, do not default to assuming you do it the way it works in later editions. For instance, there are no skill checks in dialogue. You might roll Charisma once at the start of a conversation to determine if the other group trusts the PC or not, but that’s it. Everything else it just talked out.

Also, encounter balance? Throw it out. PCs will have to negotiate, sneak past, run away from, or use clever tactics to survive encounters. It being unbalanced is the whole point. You should be playing this like you would play an old survival-horror game like Resident Evil or Silent Hill, not like an action game. The PCs are fragile and will die easily if they just try to take everything head on.

This is another reason that everyone should read both rulebooks. If you don’t, then you’ll default to playing I like WotC D&D, which is a totally and completely different game.

Run it as a Challenge Game

These games only work if you run them as “challenge games,” which means they are scenarios meant to challenge both the PC and the player. No one should ever fudge dice, adjust HP values of monsters, change the solution to a puzzle just to be what the players thing is right, etc. It’s a dangerous gauntlet and you see if they live or die based on their own decisions and your descriptions. If the GM bends reality to ensure the party’s success (or ensure their failure, but everyone already knows that’s bad) then the whole game and whole story is invalidated. There will be a story, but it cannot be preplanned, it will emerge from seeing what these PCs do and who they turn out to be when they encounter these challenging scenarios. That has to include the possibility of unceremonious death.

Run a Troupe Campaign and Play Multiple Characters on Large Parties

A “troupe campaign” is one where instead of a small party, there are dozens of PCs which form a pool or roster to select from. Like you read in that post, we do ours as a mercenary free company. They get hired to do this stuff.

This makes it so that, in a highly lethal game like AD&D, the “story” doesn’t end as soon as a PC dies, which also means you’re less inclined to cheat to keep them alive when they shouldn’t be. That was just one of dozens of main characters.

Also, get used to playing multiple PCs at once. Make everyone create 3-5 PCs at the start of the campaign, and everyone bring at least 2 of them per adventure. This may take some getting used to but it is really not that hard, especially if you learn to play in third-person like Eureka tells you to.

Get used to party sizes between 6 and 15 PCs. Despite ironically being less focused exclusively on combat than WotC D&D, AD&D doesn’t pretend it’s not descended from wargames.

Ignore Alignment

Yeah alignment still mostly ranged between being pointless and being bad back then too. It meant something back in the very earliest editions of the game, but by the point of AD&D2e it was already mostly a vestigial system that you can and should ignore for most classes. You can keep it for, like, Clerics and Paladins if you want, that’s what we do.

But generally you should give up on the idea that your PCs will even be good guys at all, they’re amoral mercenaries and/or treasure hunters. This doesn’t mean they’re necessarily “bad guys” either, it’s more complex than that.

(art by @chaospyromancy)

Sir Ferdinand, one of my PCs and Captain of the White Company, is a scoundrel who overcharges his employers whenever he can get away with it; does dirty mercenary jobs like raiding, robbery, and extortion as much as he does heroic jobs like rescuing kidnapped children and protecting towns from raids, sometimes even at the same time. Recently he calmly and politely told a village of lizardmen they had better swear fealty to the local lord while subtly implying that something terrible could happen to their home if they don’t. In an adventure before, while overcharging a town for protection due to a threat that the White Company knew was not credible, once the company stumbled upon a secret smuggling and slavery operation that had been kidnapping people from the town and nearby village, he put every effort towards rooting it out despite it not being their job and even later being ordered by their current employer to stop sticking their noses in it. As he said before engaging an extremely dangerous and magic-wielding man in full plate armor while he himself had only maille at the time, he could not call himself a Christian in good standing if he turned a blind eye to slave running.

What alignment is Sir Ferdinand? None of them. He doesn’t have alignment, he has values.

153 notes · View notes

benzgarfield · 9 days ago

Note

Does this fandom have a shipmanifesto?

I don’t think we have an official ship manifesto for BenzGarfield afaik, but here is what I could throw together as far as summarizing and pitching this ship:

During the filming of the variety show that they did before starting work on s1 of Pit Babe, Benz (and I assume Garfield as well) just took it for granted that he was being paired with Garfield as a CP and that Kim and Kenta would be together, up until the moment he finished reading the script for ep 13.

Instead of just accepting it, they basically decided “no we’re a ship” and kept up with fanservice and kept mentioning Kim and Kenta’s offscreen interactions that the audience didn’t know was just them making stuff up, bickering about whether Kim or Kenta liked each other first, building hype for Kim and Kenta’s first onscreen moment, and Garfield saying he wanted to be Kim’s faen. What’s noteworthy about this is that PopLee, who were similarly “paired off” for marketing photos were not doing all of that or doing fanservice beyond games at fanmeets, which to me says that this behavior came from BenzGarfield, not Change2561 telling them to do it.

So they then got a bunch of fans to ship their characters who basically only made eye contact twice throughout the whole show, raising enough demand for them to be cast as the side couple in This Love Doesn’t Have Long Beans after fans threw a fuss about being baited.

They started off with their CP name being GarfieldBenz, but Garfield, who would usually play the top based on traditional Thai casting standards, wanted it to be BenzGarfield for This Love Doesn’t Have Long Beans. They’ve said they can do either BenzGarfield or GarfieldBenz, it just depends on the role itself. I think it’s noteworthy both for a CP to express this and for a company to give them a say in the matter. The only other CP I can think of off the top of my head is KrisSingto.

Once they were announced for This Love Doesn’t Have Long Beans, BenzGarfield immediately became extremely private about their personal relationship and only post content of each other when they are working or traveling for work. When pressed on the matter, Garfield said that they have a lot of photos and clips of each other, but it’s just for them.

They don’t really tease about being each other’s faen the way many CPs do—Garfield is not Benz’s boyfriend. Garfield is his cat. Benz calls him nong maoo, maao som (orange cat), and when asked if he wants a cat or a dog, he said he has enough dogs and wants a cat (and then put his hands on Garfield).

They’ve each talked about the other being a good support for them and how they often communicate with a look (Benz has waxed poetic about how much he enjoys making eye contact with Garfield in their scenes together). Benz is the more wordy and touchy of the two, while Garfield is a self-professed man of few words.

Whenever they’re sat or standing next to each other at an event, interview, etc, they’re often whispering to each other and giggling about who knows what.

After S2 of Pit Babe was announced, they said they were begging the writers for Kim and Kenta to be together. After filming started, they also talked about working with the director on the design for KimKenta’s story.

Basically, BenzGarfield are the captains of their own ship. They’ve been playing the long game on getting KimKenta together since before they started filming s1. And if you want a KimKenta ship manifesto, Benz is the one to ask.

no one: Benzalert:

(If anyone wants links to specific moments mentioned here, just lmk! and if anyone wants to take a crack at a full manifesto plz tag me)

#i hope this is what you were asking for #i’ve considered doing a “top 10 fave fanservice moments” for them but i dont know if i could narrow it down…..#asks #pit babe the series #benzgarfield #kimkenta

103 notes · View notes

hoshifighting · 8 months ago

Note

hii lyla!! how are you?? well, since we're the B in this lgbtqia+

how do u think svt members would react when you dom a woman during a threesome? like, they're surprised bc they never saw reader being the dominant one...

love you sm!!

svt reaction to; reader domming a girl during a threesome

a/n: i have a short fic about this in my drafts... should I post?

WARNINGS: smut, woman x reader, domination x submission, threesome, voyeurism?

seungcheol’s practically beaming with pride, cock hard and throbbing as he watches you dominate the other woman. he didn’t know you had this side, but seeing you take control like that? yeah, it’s driving him nuts. it’s doing things to him. he’s almost too turned on to function, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the sight of you in charge. he moans, stroking himself, “who taught you to be so fucking good?” “well... you, cheol.” he groans at your answer, throwing his head back.

jeonghan’s leaning back, and then... it all clicks. now he gets why you were so adamant about having your best friend join. “ohhh, i see what this is,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded as he watches you work her over. the way you’re handling her, the little sounds she’s making, it’s turning him on more than he expected. “didn’t know you had it in you, babe.”

joshua eyes r glued to your every move, joshua’s hyper-focused, like he’s studying you. the way you’re touching her, the way you’re whispering those filthy things in her ear—he’s taking mental notes, so he can do exactly that to you later. he’s already reaching for you, eager to give you that same kind of pleasure. his hands fidgeting like he doesn’t know what to do with himself because he’s so turned on.

junhui sits off to the side, his eyes hungry but not making a move to join. he’s content to just watch, soaking in the way you’re fingering her/eating her out. he’s got a hand wrapped loosely around his cock, lazily stroking as he takes in the sight, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “you look so fucking hot like that,” he mutters, barely loud enough for you to hear. “keep going. don’t stop.”

hoshi’s losing it from the moment u kiss her, already groaning and shifting restlessly as he watches you completely ruin the girl in front of him. the second she’s gone, he’s on you, voice rough as he practically begs. “please, baby, do that to me next,” he says, eyes wide and desperate. he wants you to take charge of him like that, to give him the same treatmentt you just showed her. “fuck, i need you.”

wonwoo leans back, arms crossed, smirking as he watches. he recognizes some of your moves—stuff he’s done to you countless times—and it’s kinda hot seeing you flip the script. he’s not touching himself, but the look on his face says he’s enjoying this. “using my own tricks on her, huh?” he says quietly. “you’ve been paying attention.”

woozi’s got this focused look on his face, brows furrowed as he watches you go down on her. cunnilingus is kinda his thing, and now he’s seeing it from a whole different angle. the way you’re working her over—it’s sexy as hell. he’s not saying much, but his intense stare and the way he bites his lip are all you need to know he’s enjoying the show.

minghao’s being his usual calm self, while you’re wrecking her, he’s leaning in close, whispering soft, soothing things to her while keeping his eyes on you. “good girl, you’re taking it so well,” he coos, though it’s hard to tell if he’s talking to you or her. he’s fully encouraging you, though, urging you to keep going. “don’t stop. you’re doing amazing.”

mingyu’s got wide eyes, its like he almost feels bad for the other girl because you’re working her so good, but he’s also rock hard, thrusting in the air. he moan out loooud, biting his lip as he watches. he can’t look away, hand stroking his cock as he takes it all in.

seokmin oh, seokmin’s competitive side is kicking in, no doubt. he’s got this determined look on his face. “you think you’re better than me at this, huh?” he teases, but there’s a naughty bite to it. he’s almost itching to prove he can dom just as well—if not better. “wanna have a little round after this?”

seungkwan’s kinda stunned at first, eyes wide as fuck as he takes it all in. “how the hell are you this freaky?” he mutters, but there’s no denying how turned on he is. he’s about to suggest something for you to do when you snap at him, telling him you’re in charge. and damn, he listens. instantly. “yes, ma’am,” he says, all flustered but clearly into it.

vernon’s muted, eyes locked on you the entire time, hardly moving as he watches you dominate the other girl. he’s taking it all in, every little detail, because he’s definitely planning to try all of this on you later. his lips part slightly, and he’s not saying much, but you know precisely what he’s thinking. this is going down later. the fingers, the tongue. everything.

chan’s not even trying to hide how turned on he is—he was the one who suggested, already jerking off at the sight of you in command. but evenn while he’s watching you drive the other woman crazy, his hands eventually find their way to you, determined to make sure you’re feeling just as good. stroking you while you work her over. “let me take care of you too.”

335 notes · View notes

elliespassagerprincess · 17 hours ago

Note

Hi baby, Part 3 of Ellie bodyguard where they go public and start a life together maybe reader gets pregnant ??????? Scared at first cause yn… celebrity and all

Headcannons: bodyguard!ellie williams x moviestar!reader

masterlist

part 1 part 2

☆Ellie sits beside you during the movie premiere, stoic in all black, ear always half-listening for whispers or threats—but during those scenes, when you're rocking a child in your arms onscreen, her breath hitches.

☆ She doesn’t say a word afterward, but she watches you like you’re glowing—like you became a new woman in front of the world—and her chest aches with a want she didn’t know she had.

☆ The image of you holding a fake baby doesn’t leave her head. She replays the trailer in her head at night—especially the quiet scenes where you whisper “I’ve got you” like you mean it.

☆ She avoids talking about it for a week. Then blurts out one morning while zipping up your dress: “You’d be a good mom. Like… a really good mom.”

☆ You giggle and wave her off, brushing it off as Ellie being sweet—but the seriousness in her voice haunts you more than you want to admit.

☆ She starts following baby clothing accounts on Instagram. Pretends it’s because “they’re cute,” but she saves every post of “mom and baby” Halloween costumes.

☆ She stares too long whenever she sees a family in public. You catch her once watching a woman kiss her toddler’s forehead at a café and her entire face softens.

☆When a fan gifts you a plush baby doll with your movie character's name, Ellie takes it from your hands and holds it silently for a minute. You pretend not to notice her thumb stroking its cheek.

☆ You overhear her on the phone with Dina, saying, “I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me. I just… she’d be everything to a baby, you know? She already is everything.”

☆ You start getting nervous—terrified she’s serious. You’ve built your world on red carpets, travel, chaos. How the hell do you add a baby to that?

☆ Ellie starts bringing up kids more in conversations. “What would we name her?” she asks while you brush your teeth. “Would you want twins?” while rubbing your thigh.

☆You joke it away, every time. But her smile doesn’t reach her eyes anymore when you laugh it off.

☆ She takes pictures of you when you’re sleepy in her arms, her notes app titled: “She’d be the safest place for a baby to fall asleep.”

☆ You begin feeling watched—not by fans, but by her. Her gaze so full of longing, it burns into your skin.

☆ A magazine interviews you and asks, “Would you ever want to be a mom?” You respond vaguely. Ellie reads it three times.

☆ She doesn’t touch you after that—not for a week. When you try to kiss her, she pulls away gently, mumbling, “I just need some air.”

☆ You find a dog-eared baby book under her side of the bed titled Two Moms and a Miracle. Your heart splits between fear and guilt.

☆ At a wrap party, someone asks if the baby in the movie made you want one. You say, too quickly, “God, no.” Ellie hears it from across the room.

☆ That night, she doesn’t come to bed.

☆ When you ask her what’s wrong, she says, “Nothing,” but she says it like her whole chest is caving in.

☆ The fight begins quiet. You say, “I’m not ready.” She nods. Then says, “But you will be one day, right?”

☆ You hesitate too long. She scoffs—like your silence is a knife.

☆ “I don’t want to convince you to want something you don’t,” she says. “I just thought… maybe you’d want it with me.”

☆ You tell her, trembling, “I love you. I just don’t know if I can be that person. Ellie my career- ”

☆ “You already are,” she says, gesturing to your movie. “I watched it happen. You were perfect.”

☆ “That was acting,” you whisper, breaking. “It was a script.”

☆ Ellie throws her hands up, pacing. “So? You still held that baby like it was yours. You still kissed its forehead like you meant it. And I saw you cry when they took it away in the scene. That wasn’t fake.”

☆ You yell, “Because I was thinking about losing you, Ellie!”

☆ Silence. Her jaw tenses. “Then let’s not lose each other. Let’s start something.”

☆ “I’m scared,” you whisper. “I don’t know how to not be scared.”

☆ Ellie sleeps on the couch that night. You cry in the bedroom, staring at the ceiling, heart hollow.

☆ The truth was, you've never wanted kids, till you met Ellie. But the fear you had for your child's life filled you with doubt. The crazy fans, paparazzi. How would you ever keep your baby safe?

☆ You read old texts where she called you her home, her forever, her miracle.

☆ She rereads the baby book. Can’t bring herself to throw it away.

☆ In the morning, she makes coffee. You sit beside her in silence. Your pinky hooks into hers.

☆“You’d never be doing this alone,” she says softly. “Not with me. Never.”

☆ “You really want this?” you ask. “Like… IVF? All of it?”

☆“With you? I’ve never wanted anything more,” she says. “You’re it for me.”

☆ You cry into her hoodie finally confessing the fear youve been holding in.

☆ She cups your face and says, “You have me. I will never let anything happen to both of you. I would kill for you"

☆ You nod. “Okay. We try. We try slow. But we try.”

☆ You meet with a private specialist (in hopes that this doesnt leak to the tabliods. They would have a fucking field day with this info) Ellie’s tense the whole time, protective arm over your chair, asking a dozen questions.

☆ She holds your hand through the blood tests, whispering encouragement into your temple.

☆ You choose an anonymous donor together—Ellie scrolls until she finds someone with green eyes and a passion for music, “So they’re just like us.”

☆ You cry in the car after the appointment. Ellie kisses every tear. “You’re doing so good, baby. I’m so proud of you.”

☆ The hormone shots start. Ellie insists on administering them herself, steady hands, gentle voice: “Breathe, angel. You’re safe.”

☆ She gets you heat pads, chocolate, and your favorite hoodie to hide in. “My brave girl,” she murmurs, kissing your stomach.

☆ She talks to your belly even though you’re not pregnant yet—sweet little things like, “Can’t wait to meet you,” and “Your mom’s the strongest woman in the world.”

☆ When the insemination date comes, she dresses in her best suit. “Because it’s basically a conception date,” she jokes, trying to ease your nerves.

☆ You clutch her hand the entire time. She tells you you’re beautiful while you're lying on the clinic table.

☆ Afterwards, she takes you to your favorite beach spot. You lie there, fingers laced, letting the waves wash over your fears (yes the paparazzi secretly took pics of you guys. You both signed at the lack of privacy)

☆ The two-week wait is brutal. Ellie distracts you with board games, cooking attempts, and even rewatching the movie that started it all.

☆ “I want to remember the moment I first saw the mother in you,” she says.

☆ You catch her googling “early pregnancy signs” and bookmarking every baby site imaginable.

☆ She talks to your stomach every night, even though she knows nothing’s there yet. “Just in case,” she says.

☆ You have a meltdown on day 10, sobbing, “What if it didn’t work?” Ellie holds you, forehead pressed to yours. “Then we try again. A hundred times if we have to.”

☆ You pee on the stick in silence while Ellie waits outside the door. You cry when it’s negative.

☆ She’s already holding a plan B binder when you walk out—clinic appointments, new donor options. “We’ve got this,” she says.

☆ You tell her, “You’re not just a bodyguard, Ellie. You’re my future.” She chokes on her tears.

☆ Round two comes faster. This time, it’s her idea to stay off the internet and just be together. You disappeared from the internet, letting your team post ADs only.

☆ When the second test reads positive, she falls to her knees, clutching your waist like she’s worshipping a miracle.

☆ You lie together on the floor, the test between you, her hands over your belly like it’s sacred ground.

☆ Ellie kisses you like it’s the first time all over again, tears on both your cheeks.

☆ She sets the test on her nightstand like it’s a trophy.

☆ She talks to your belly every morning. “Hey, little one. Your moms love you already.”

☆ She becomes fiercely protective, doubling down on security detail, glaring at anyone who even breathes wrong near you.

☆She insists on doing everything—carrying bags, handling press, taking interviews for you.

☆ At night, she sings to your belly—low, husky, guitarless lullabies full of longing.

☆ You finally say, “I’m not scared anymore,” while she rubs lotion on your belly. She whispers, “Me neither.”

☆ You fall asleep to her heartbeat pressed to your back, feeling more full than ever.

☆ And when the baby kicks for the first time, Ellie cries and says, “Told you. You were always meant for this.”

67 notes · View notes

lila-lou · 6 days ago

Text

✨Played - 2/5✨

Summary: You’re an aspiring actress stuck in dead-end roles, desperate for a break. Then you meet Jensen. Kind, connected and smitten Jensen. You don’t love him, but you pretend to. Until pretending turns real.

-requested-

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language, Angst, IMMORAL ffs

Word Count: 3402

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes. I love them all.

It wasn’t until a week later, on set, under the hot lights and in front of half a dozen crew members growing more impatient by the second, that Jensen finally snapped out of it.

Kind of.

“Cut!”, the director called again, a frustrated sigh trailing the word.

Jensen exhaled, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He could hear the quiet shuffle of people resetting, murmurs just out of earshot. The usual rhythm of a scene gone wrong. Again.

Beside him, Jared nudged him with an elbow, not even trying to hide the smirk curling at his mouth. “Alright, man”, he said low enough not to get picked up by anyone but Jensen. “Wanna tell me why the hell you’re butchering your lines like you’ve never read a script before?”.

Jensen gave him a flat look, but Jared just grinned wider, knowing he had him.

“Seriously”, Jared added. “You’re usually locked in by now. First week, yeah, but come on. Season sixteen, baby! We’re supposed to be cruising”.

Jensen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, his short, cleaned-up hair catching a bit of sweat under the hot studio lights. They’d shaved the beard down, cleaned up the scruff, and even dyed a little of the silver out of his hair. Not all, though. The consensus was to let Dean age a bit. Wiser. Weathered. Still dangerous.

He looked in the mirror earlier that morning and didn’t quite see Dean anymore, but an older version, tired in a new way. The kind of tired that had nothing to do with monsters and everything to do with life creeping in.

“I’m just off”, Jensen muttered finally.

Jared’s eyes narrowed. “Off or distracted?”.

He didn’t answer right away.

Jared blinked, then tilted his head. “Wait. Is this about that girl?”. Jensen didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

Jared leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and a smug look slowly spreading across his face. “I knew it”, he said, dragging the words out like he was savoring them. “It is about that girl from the party”.

Jensen sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We barely even talked”.

Jared grinned like a man who’d just been handed the world’s juiciest piece of gossip. He leaned in, voice low and mocking in that little-brother kind of way only Jared could pull off.

“Barely even talked, he says”, Jared repeated, mimicking Jensen’s tone with an exaggerated eye roll. “You’ve been walking around like a guy who just watched his soulmate hop on a plane to Mars and forgot to get her number”.

“Shut up”, Jensen muttered, but there was no real heat behind it.

“Oh no, no. We are not shutting up. You came back into that party with that whole dazed ‘what just happened?’ vibe, like some teenager who got his first kiss under the bleachers”.

Jensen groaned and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the soundstage lights like maybe they’d fry him where he sat. “Geeez, Jared”.

“What? I’m invested now. You’ve had flings. Hookups. Fans throwing themselves at you for the past two decades. But this one? Random rooftop mystery girl tells you you’re too old and suddenly you forget how to say ‘driver picks the music’?”.

Jensen dropped his head back with a thud against the wall behind him. “It wasn’t just that, man. She didn’t care who I was. She looked at me like�� like I wasn’t special. And somehow, that made her interesting”.

Jared blinked. Then cracked up again. “You are so far gone”.

“Am not”.

“You are. And you love it”.

Jensen rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, which only made Jared grin wider. “So what, that’s it? You gonna let her walk off into the Canadian night forever? No name? No number? No dramatic chase through the airport?”.

“She said no”.

“Yeah, but did she mean it?”, Jared asked. “C’mon. Girls say that when they’re overwhelmed. Or—hear me out—when they don’t realize they’re talking to Dean-freakin’-Winchester in the flesh”.

Jensen narrowed his eyes. “You think I should tell her who I am?”.

Jared shrugged. “I think you should find out who she is first. Then maybe… I don’t know, talk to her like a person. Which you already did. And clearly liked”.

Jensen sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck.

By the time Friday rolled around, Jensen had finally gotten through a full take without fumbling a single line, though Jared had made damn sure to give him a standing ovation and sarcastic golf clap behind the camera when he did. Still, things felt… lighter. Not better, exactly. But a little less tangled.

And then came the text.

Jared: Yo. Alex and Misha are in. Tomorrow night. Drinks, darts and tacos. Maybe even karaoke if you get drunk enough. Also, Alex’s girl’s coming. She might bring her roommate.

Jensen stared at the message for a long second, thumb hovering just above the screen. He didn’t need clarification. He knew exactly what the hell his best friend was up to.

“Son of a—”, he muttered under his breath, but he couldn’t help the slight grin that pulled at the corner of his mouth. It was bold. Sneaky. Classic Jared.

Still… the idea settled into his chest and sat there, stubborn as hell. You.

The way you hadn’t tried to impress him. Hadn’t fawned, flirted, or fluttered your lashes like most people did. You weren’t trying to get anything. If anything, you seemed like the type who would rather disappear into the wall than ask for a selfie. That rooftop talk had stuck with him in a way that no brief conversation had in years.

You’d been sharp. Funny. Honest.

And yeah, maybe you were twenty-one. Maybe he was forty-seven and divorced and playing a character he'd technically already ended once. But when he thought about you, sitting there with your knees pulled up and wind in your hair, eyes scanning casting calls like they were lifelines, he didn’t see some kid. He saw someone fighting for something. Someone who didn’t realize she’d already kind of knocked him sideways.

He tossed his phone onto the table, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Damn it, Jared”, he muttered. “You might’ve actually done something smart for once”.

Saturday came faster than expected and with it, a kind of low-key anticipation Jensen hadn’t felt in years.

The bar was tucked just off a side street, warm light spilling from the windows like a promise. Inside, it was cozy. Brick walls, amber lights, worn leather booths. Not too loud, not too crowded. The kind of place that didn’t try too hard to be cool. Which, ironically, made it cool.

He spotted Jared first, over near the dartboards, arguing dramatically with Misha over who had better aim. Alex was perched nearby with his arm slung around Lila, both of them mid-laugh, sharing a giant plate of loaded nachos. Everyone looked relaxed. At home.

And then he saw you.

You were standing near the pool table, cue in hand, casually lining up a shot like you’d done it a thousand times, unbothered, focused, the very definition of “in your zone”.

And, yeah, okay, the skirt. Short. Tight. Black leather. Paired with a loose vintage band tee knotted at the waist and boots that looked like you could kick someone’s heart out with them. Your hair was wild in a way that looked effortless, and your makeup was just enough to draw attention without trying. You looked dangerous.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to buy you a drink or apologize to every man in the bar for staring.

You hadn’t noticed him yet.

He stayed back a second, watching the way you laughed when Lila leaned in to say something. That same sharp spark was still there in your smile, like you were always holding a comeback in your back pocket, just in case the world got cocky.

Jared wandered over, holding two beers. “Told you she’d come”. Jensen took the bottle without looking at him. “You’re the devil”.

“Eh”, Jared shrugged. “I prefer matchmaker”.

“You would”.

Jared grinned wide, nudging him toward the table. “Go say hi, old man”.

Jensen took a breath. Rolled his shoulders back. Adjusted the cuffs of his shirt like it somehow made a difference, like it gave him more time to think. And then he started forward, heart doing that stupid thing it hadn’t done in a long time, that quiet skip that reminded him he was a little too invested in someone he technically barely knew.

But just as he stepped forward, there he was.

Some guy. Late twenties, maybe early thirties if you stretched it, but still young enough to be cocky without consequences. He was tall, gym-fit in a generic way, with the kind of jawline that looked engineered for dating apps. Wearing a tight black shirt and holding a drink that cost way too much for what it actually was.

He slid up beside you, leaning just enough into your space to make his intentions clear without touching you. You glanced over at him, casually, a flicker of polite disinterest in your eyes that Jensen picked up on instantly.

Still, the guy was talking, smirking like he already assumed you’d say yes to whatever nonsense he was about to offer.

Jensen stopped a few steps short of the table, jaw tightening just slightly. This wasn’t his scene. He didn’t chase. Never had to. But this wasn’t about ego. Or competition. It was about that damn rooftop. About the laugh you gave him when you told him he was too old, like you knew exactly what effect it would have and maybe didn’t care.

And now this Ken Doll with a fade was standing in front of you like he had a shot.

Jensen tilted his head, watching closely, trying to read your body language. You weren’t uncomfortable… yet. But you weren’t leaning in either. You hadn’t stepped away, but you sure as hell weren’t flirting back. Still, he gave it a beat. If you needed an out—he’d give it. If you didn’t? Well, maybe you were just here for pool and tacos.

Jensen took a slow sip of his beer, eyes still on you, pulse a little steadier now. He could wait. For now.

Just as the guy—Kyle, apparently, because of course his name was Kyle—leaned a little closer and made some lazy comment about how “girls who play pool are always dangerous”, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes right in his face.

You gave him a practiced, polite smile. Not encouraging, not rude. The kind of look that said I’m not interested without having to spell it out in neon letters. But, predictably, he didn’t pick up on it.

That’s when Misha swooped in from the dartboard area, dramatically flinging his hands in the air like a Shakespearean ghost. “Unbelievable! No one wants to play darts with me. This is betrayal on the highest level”.

Lila, hearing the commotion, pulled away from Alex with a giggle and turned toward you. “Screw darts. We’re playing pool”, she declared, already grabbing Alex’s hand and dragging him toward the table like a woman on a mission. Jared followed in their wake, looking far too pleased with himself.

.Kyle puffed up beside you, seemingly undeterred by the sudden influx of people. “Looks like it’s game time”, he said. “Or—and hear me out—maybe you and I ditch the pool crowd and grab a drink instead? Just the two of us. Somewhere a little quieter”.

You slowly straightened, cue still in hand, and gave him a look that was almost amused. “Tempting”, you said dryly, “but I’ll pass”.

He blinked, like he wasn’t used to hearing that particular word.

You tilted your head, voice still polite, still cool. “I’m here to play pool. With my friends”.

Kyle didn’t take the hint as well as you’d hoped. He chuckled, clearly trying to save face. “Alright, alright. Maybe later, then?”, he added with a wink so painfully slow it might’ve belonged in a bad soap opera.

You didn’t even respond this time. Just turned back toward the table, lining up another shot. Behind you, Jared gave a low whistle, shaking his head as he leaned toward Jensen. “Man’s digging his own grave and handing her the shovel”.

Jensen took a sip of his beer, still watching you. “She swings that thing like she knows where to bury the body, too”.

You didn’t notice him until he was suddenly just there. Jensen, stepping up beside you like he belonged there the whole time. His presence was subtle, steady, but impossible to ignore. Close enough that you could feel the quiet heat radiating off of him, smell the faint hint of whiskey and whatever cologne he wore that managed to be both expensive and understated.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just gave you a small, crooked smile as Misha bent over the table, dramatically lining up the balls like it was a tournament final. Jared stood beside him, passionately arguing about whether stripes or solids had better odds like it was a matter of life and death.

You turned slightly, leaning your hip against the edge of the table, cue in hand, brow arched as you looked Jensen up and down. “Let me guess”, you said, a slow grin pulling at your lips, “you want to team up with me against the lovebirds?”.

He raised an eyebrow. “Which lovebirds?”.

You tipped your chin toward the two grown men standing at the opposite end of the table, now locked in what appeared to be a heated debate about which chalk color gave better luck. Jared was gesturing wildly with his cue while Misha stood with his arms crossed, nodding sagely like some kind of eccentric philosopher of bar games.

“Those lovebirds”, you said, smirking. “Clearly”.

Jensen glanced over at the chaos, then back at you, his mouth tugging into that slow, crooked grin again. The one that looked a little too good on someone who claimed to be just here for a quiet night.

You took your time chalking the cue, tossing a glance over your shoulder. “So”, you said, voice light, teasing, “you up for this? Or should I call someone under forty?”.

He choked on a laugh, shaking his head as he looked at you, equal parts amused and impressed. “Wow. Brutal”.

You shrugged, cue balanced effortlessly in your hand. “Just checking. You might be all charm and whiskey, but pool’s a young person’s game”.

He stepped in closer, just enough to close the distance without touching. His eyes found yours, sharp and glinting. “I’ll have you know”, he said low, “I was hustling bar tables before you were probably even out of grade school”.

You tilted your head, letting your gaze drop just slightly before flicking back up with a grin. “Is that supposed to turn me on or scare me?”.

“Little of both”, he murmured, voice like velvet wrapped in something dangerous.

You snorted and turned back to the table before he could see the heat that bloomed under your skin. “Alright then, Grandpa. Let’s see if you’ve still got it”.

He watched as you leaned over to take your shot, that leather skirt riding up just a little, boots planted like you’d owned this bar since birth.

Jensen cleared his throat and looked away, grinning like a man very much in trouble.

The night stretched long and easy, soaked in laughter, clinking glasses, and the quiet crack of pool balls echoing through the cozy hum of the bar. Jensen had been… perfectly charming, of course.

He bought your drinks without making a show of it. Kept the compliments soft and spaced, the kind that made you smile instead of roll your eyes. He never stood too close, never interrupted, always let you have the punchline.

But it didn’t change anything.

You were still twenty-one. Still broke, still chasing casting calls like they were air, still not interested in adding a forty-seven-year-old heartthrob to your list of complications, no matter how damn nice he was. No matter how real he seemed when the two of you weren’t pretending to be anything but strangers in borrowed time.

The group began to thin out. Jared made some dramatic excuse about early call times, dragging Misha out with him in the same breath. Lila and Alex vanished somewhere between the booth and the door, and now it was just you and Jensen, walking out into the cool night air side by side.

He held the door for you, because of course he did. You stepped out, tugging your jacket tighter around yourself as the chill hit your bare legs.

Jensen didn’t speak right away. Just looked out at the quiet street like he was giving the moment a little room to breathe. Then he glanced over at you, that same gentle expression on his face, hopeful, but grounded.

“So”, he said, scratching the back of his neck, “any chance you’d reconsider that drink sometime? Just… you and me?”.

You smiled, soft but steady. “Still no”.

He nodded slowly, no sting in it, at least not on the surface. “Figured I’d ask”.

“And I figured I’d say no again”.

His laugh was quiet, a little self-deprecating. “You’re consistent, I’ll give you that”.

You looked up at him, eyes softer than your words. “You’re a good guy, Jensen. Like… actually good. I think you’ve probably had people chasing you your whole life”.

He shrugged lightly. “Not always the ones I wanted”.

“Still”, you said, shifting your weight, “I’m not one of them”.

There was a pause. Not awkward, just final. Jensen looked at you for a long beat, like maybe he was memorizing the way your eyes looked under the streetlight. Then he gave a quiet smile and stepped back. “No hard feelings”.

“Good”, you said. “Because I like you. I just don’t like-like you”.

He laughed again, tipping an invisible hat. “Fair enough”.

And with that, you both turned, walking in separate directions under the glow of the streetlamps, the night stretching out between you like the space in a story that might never be finished.

Two weeks.

Fourteen days of “thanks but no thanks”, “not the right fit”, and the always classic “we’ve decided to move in a different direction”. You could recite rejection emails like a monologue now. Hell, maybe you should add it to your reel. The only consistent gig you had lately was doubting yourself.

You tried not to let it show. You smiled when Lila talked about Alex, let her blast music while she painted at 2AM, let her drag you to overpriced coffee shops where she swore inspiration lived in the foam art.

But inside? You were tired. Tired of trying, of hoping, of walking into rooms where you gave everything only to walk out with nothing but another no.

You’d stopped checking your inbox first thing in the morning.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Jensen sat in his trailer, flipping through pages he’d already memorized. His lines were sharp. His delivery was solid again. But his head? Still… not clear.

He hadn’t seen you since that night. Hadn’t expected to. But you lingered. In between takes. In his trailer. In the middle of the night when he should’ve been sleeping but instead found himself wondering if maybe he should have said more.

Maybe he’d played it too cool. Maybe no wasn’t as final as it had sounded. But he wasn’t the chasing type. And you didn’t want to be chased. So the days passed. Quiet and parallel.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Part 3

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

#jensen ackles #jensen ackles the boys #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles x female!reader #jensen fucking ackles #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen x reader #jensen x y/n #jensen x you #spn cast

92 notes · View notes