#i listened to another laptop of the same kind and they just. sound like that

[pickingupmymercedes]

Lucky you're hot - Lewis Hamilton

request: "hiiiii!!! your fluffs are so cute 😔🤍 i have a request if you dont mind writing it. maybe one where reader came home from work and then after an hour or so lewis just come barging in saying that reader has been home for a while but didnt even cuddle him once?😔😔😔😭" - anon

warnings: none, it's fluff through and through.

wordcount: +1k

a/n: Needy and cute Lewis and sassy Lewis come hand in hand for me, so yeah, hope you like it ❤️

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Why did I agree to this meeting? It was a thought I’d had at least a dozen times today.

I kicked the front door shut behind me, tossing my bag onto the couch without even looking. My feet were halfway out of my heels as I practically flew down the hall toward the study.

I should’ve been curled up on the couch by now, probably in one of Lewis’ hoodies, something hot in my hand, and maybe, just maybe, thinking about ordering dinner.

But no, I was about to dive headfirst into yet another Zoom call.

The joys of modern life.

Ten minutes. Just survive ten minutes, and then you can call it a night.

I slid into the chair, popping open my laptop with a level of enthusiasm I definitely didn’t feel. Clicking into the meeting, I gave the screen a once-over.

Same old faces. I hit mute, leaned back, and settled into my usual routine—pretending to pay attention while my mind wandered elsewhere.

Perfect. Camera on, mic off, brain in neutral.

I was practically a Zoom ninja at this point. As long as I nodded occasionally and didn’t zone out too hard, no one would even notice I wasn’t listening.

The meeting droned on, voices blending into a background hum as I half-heartedly doodled on a notepad. Something about deliverables, reports, something-or-other that I wasn’t going to remember in an hour.

My eyes kept drifting toward the clock at the bottom of the screen, counting down the minutes until I could escape.

I barely registered the sound of the door creaking open behind me. My brain was too fried to even care. I assumed it was the wind.

Or maybe Lewis moving around the house. Whatever it was, it wasn’t important enough to break my focus—or lack thereof.

Then, I heard footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, and way too familiar.

Before I could fully process what was happening, a very large, very sweaty figure appeared in the doorway and my stomach dropped.

Not now. And not like that.

“Excuse me, love” Lewis announced, his voice filled with dramatic offense. “You've been home for an hour, and not one cuddle? I’m feeling deeply neglected.”

I froze, my fingers tightening around the pen in my hand. I shot him a wide-eyed look, silently screaming at him to go away. But he wasn’t even looking at me.

No, this man was strolling into the room as if I wasn’t in the middle of an important meeting. Or, you know, on camera.

Lewis, completely unbothered, strolled over, looking every bit the part of an Olympic athlete straight out of battle—glistening with sweat, muscles still tense from whatever torturous workout he’d just finished.

And for some reason, pouting.

“Lewis” I hissed under my breath, barely daring to move my lips. “I’m in a meeting.”

He just blinked at me like he didn’t understand the gravity of the situation and I saw the gears in his head turning.

But, without a care in the world, he walked over and bent down, leaning in close, lips puckered in the most exaggerated, dramatic fashion possible.

I raised my hand to stop him, but it was too late. His lips landed on mine with a loud, unmistakable smack.

The kind of kiss that would’ve been cute—if it weren’t for the fact that I was very much on camera, in a professional setting, with a dozen or so people watching.

“LEWIS,” I whisper-yelled, my eyes wide with horror as I frantically glanced at my screen.

Sure, my mic was muted, but my camera definitely wasn’t.

There, staring back at me, was a grid of stunned, amused faces, watching the world’s most casual Zoom crash unfold before their eyes.

Great, this was really happening.

I held up a hand to the screen, as if that would somehow undo what just occurred.

“Uh… sorry, everyone,” I said, my voice coming out more flustered than I intended. “Apparently, I’ve been home for an hour and, uh… neglected someone.”

Yeah, I was never living this down.

That’s when I noticed it—half the people on the call were starstruck. Eyes wide, jaws dropped, as if Lewis Hamilton walking into my study had somehow shattered the laws of the universe.

It got better and better.

Apparently, some of them hadn’t put two and two together that my Lewis Hamilton was the multiple world champion of F1, Lewis Hamilton.

Lewis, still completely oblivious to the chaos he’d caused, blinked at the screen and it took him a second—an agonizingly long second—before he finally seemed to register the fact that we had an audience.

“Oh,” he said, blinking again. “Uh… Hi, everyone.”

The laughter was immediate. My entire screen lit up with amused faces, and I could feel the heat rising in my neck.

I wanted to crawl under the desk and hide forever, but Lewis? He just stood there, completely unbothered, one arm casually draped over my shoulder like this was all part of the plan.

One of my colleagues cleared their throat, clearly trying - and failing - to hold back laughter.

“You know, Y/n,” one of them said, smirking, “if you ever need to end a meeting early, just invite Lewis.”

The rest of the group erupted in laughter again, and I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips.

Real funny, dude. Hilarious.

I noticed some of the newer faces on the call still looking at Lewis like they couldn’t believe their eyes. A few of them nudging each other in the chat, their messages popping up on the side of my screen.

“Wait… is that Lewis Hamilton?” one person wrote, followed by another typing, “How did I not know she’s dating him?!” and a string of heart-eye emojis.

Great. Just what I needed. Let’s add a little office gossip into the mix while we’re at it.

Lewis squeezed my shoulder, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the top of my head. As if I wasn’t already mortified enough, I thought.

I shot him a look, my eyes narrowing into a silent warning. Don’t push your luck, Hamilton.

But all he did was smirk back, leaning in closer, like he was about to kiss me again.

“I swear to God,” I muttered under my breath

“I missed you” he whispered back, the teasing lilt in his voice making it impossible for me to stay mad.

I glanced back at the screen, my colleagues still chuckling amongst themselves. Okay, that was definitely the universe telling me to call it a day.

Clearing my throat, I forced a smile and addressed the group. “Right,” I said, trying to regain some semblance of professionalism. “I think we’ve covered everything, haven’t we?”

A few of them nodded a little too eagerly, clearly ready to wrap things up.

“Yeah,” someone chimed in, “we’ll, uh, let you get back to your important duties.”

The laughter returned, and I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes again.

With one final, hasty goodbye, I clicked out of the meeting and slammed my laptop shut with a little more force than necessary.

“You realize what you’ve done, right?” I said, turning to Lewis, who was now looking far too pleased with himself.

He grinned, that signature, disarming smile. “Fixed your day?” he said, pulling me into his arms with ease.

I let out a long, dramatic sigh but didn’t resist when he wrapped his arms around me. “Fixed it, huh?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “Meeting’s over, and now I get my cuddles.”

This man… I swear.

I thought, though I couldn’t help but smile as I rested my head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“You’re lucky you’re hot” I mumbled into his chest; my voice muffled by the fabric of his still sweaty shirt.

He chuckled, his hand gently stroking my back. “Lucky, huh?”

“Very” I whispered, closing my eyes and letting myself melt into the warmth of his embrace.

Because, truth be told, as much as Lewis drove me absolutely insane, he was still the one person I couldn’t imagine my life without.

And yeah, maybe I’d never live down the fact that he’d barged into my meeting demanding kisses, but honestly?

Right now, I didn’t really mind all that much.

______________________________________________________________

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[purbiworl]

aaaaauuugh. Well, it's fixed but turns out Latitude 5590 headphone jack audio just sounds like garbage by default. If you want to sound like you're listening to music in a drainage pipe, get a 5590.

[toji-bunny-girl]

You don't go to the library to study. You go there to have your cunt stuffed, by nonother than librarian!Gojo.

He works there 5 days a week, and you made sure to be there by your corner every single one of those days, carefully staring at him through the side of your book. Of course, he's well aware of your interest in him. You're so preoccupied with him you don't even realise you're holding the book upside down.

He doesn't realise it yet but he's slow to share the same amount of attraction to you as you are to him. He'd note the way your eyebrows would adorably scrunch together when you're actually doing your assignment for once, and you'd collapse face down onto the table when the frustration and exhaustion caught up to you. Or how your favourite colour seemed to be pink, your stationery and laptop covered in different shades of the colour.

He's used to your presence by now, having spent the last couple of weeks observing you just as you stalked him through the library. And truth to be told, he actually enjoyed it—he's got a cutie following behind him, too shy to strike up a conversation with him and too dumb to hide your little crush any better.

You quickly became the only part of his job he would look forward to, questioning what kind of crap you were going to pull up to just right before his shift. Until you're gone all of a sudden.

Maybe you were just late, he thought on the first day of your absence. Or maybe you're sick by the second day. Perhaps you're just busy with school…or maybe some another guy—

Why does he even care in the first place? You're just some stalker with a pretty face, nothing special out of the sea of girls in his DMs. Gojo doesn't like how he's fretting over a girl who he hasn't talked to before, your presence doesn't control how his day goes anyway.

Until it does.

It exasperated him by how he allowed himself to be subjugated under you. He can't focus on his seminars when the voices in his head wonder about you louder than the lecturer's, he can't flirt with the chicks on campus without thinking about that fangirl from the library and he can't sleep if his head is filled with the images of you with another guy.

What kind of spell have you managed to put him under?

He was completely and utterly chafed by the next week when he entered his shift, a frown seemingly marked permanently upon his face as he went through his chores, putting away the books back to their categorised shelves. That was until he heard a familiar pit-pats of your shoes, and saw your figure stupidly hiding behind a bookshelf from the side of his eye.

His playful spirit returned when he noted your presence, and he wandered further into the library, where no one could see the two of you. As expected, you shuffled along his steps before slipping yourself into the aisle behind him, pretending to flick through the choices of books on display.

Those were Chinese novels, and you majored in Biochemistry. Idiot, he thought with an internal chuckle.

Unbeknownst to you, he had strolled to your back, waiting for you to turn to face him. Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when you found him standing right in front of you, and you froze then and there like a deer in the headlights.

"I know you've been stalking me around here," he had a shit-eating smirk on his face as his arms rested by your sides to trap you in between them. "Freak," he whispered next to your ears, sending a tingle through your nerves.

"I-I, ah—" you stammered, trying to collect your words to sound coherent. Your face was flushed bloody red with embarrassment, and Gojo was sure he'd burn himself if he were to touch you.

"But that's okay…" he drawled. "I won't spread the word if you listen to me."

Your eyes were wide, gaping at him through your lashes as you nodded.

Fuck, were you adorable.

"You like me, huh?"

"Uhm…I, uh…"

"Hm?"

"Y-Yes," you blurted with your eyes squeezed shut, too embarrassed. Your breath was hot, and they scorched his cheeks red upon your words.

"What do you like about me?" oh god does he love teasing the hell out of you.

"Your f-face…"

"My face?" he feigned dumb. Of course, he's well aware that girls would only come chasing after his looks. But he absolutely enjoyed torturing you with his stupid questions. "Which part of my face?"

"Huh…?" your eyes were spinning, your hands raising to push his frame a little away for your comfort.

"My eyes? My nose?" his bigger hand captured the two of yours into his grasp, his fingers were icy cold against yours, and his face neared yours once again, merely a breath away. "Or my lips?"

You didn't dare to answer, the sound of your throat gulping filled the air as a few stray hairs of his tickled your cheek. His eyes peered towards yours, catching your gaze that fell upon his lips.

"There, huh?" Gojo's smirk widened, his grip on your wrists tightening a fraction. "Wanna try them?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words left your trembling lips, except for a silent gasp. He took the shift of your feature as a sign for him to advance onto you, his lips gently sucked on your soft flesh, the tiniest amount of your saliva flowed onto his tongue and they tasted better than the finest honey.

A string of your mixed essence connected his lips to yours, red and swollen as a sign of his kiss, when he pulled away. Your knees weakened in enfeeblement, and Gojo caught you before you could fall to the ground.

"You're done?" his arms are strong, and you could feel his muscles flex under your hand when you gathered your strength to stabilise on your feet. "I'm not."

His touches slowly trailed down from your arm to your hips, and you subconsciously rubbed your thighs together when his gaze fell onto them. In his eyes you could see a growing hunger that lurked beneath his bright blue eyes, it was the darker gradient that hung low in his orbs.

"Do you touch yourself here when you think of me?" your teeth sank into the flesh of your bottom lip and your eyes peered down to between your skirt, where his hand was as you vaguely nodded; hoping that he didn't see the faint motion of your head.

How wouldn't he know when all his attention is on you? His eyes scanned the faint shifts in your features when he pressed against your heat, making sure there wasn't any hint of dissent to his touch—and mostly searching for the muted salacity behind your pretty eyes.

"Sometimes…" your voice was meek, but it was audible enough for his ear to twitch at your words. His chest almost burst to your confession, and the images of your features twisting into lewd faces flashed past his mind, calling out his name with that sweet voice of yours.

A soft moan left your lips when his fingers slipped past your pink panty, drawing slow circles upon your clit. Your hips bucked as he teased, his other hand coming down to palm your ass.

"What about I make you feel good?" he gently asked, and you drunkenly nodded to your pleasure. His thumb grew charge of teasing your hardening bud, his two long fingers dipped into your already-slick cavern, reaching the sensitive parts of your inside.

Your lips tensed into a line to quell the moans that drew from your itching tummy, and your hands rested on Gojo's chest, gripping onto his shirt for support.

His fingers grew greedy for more of your whimpers, stroking past your walls, searching for the velvety spot in you. You threw your head back when he found the part he was looking for, pumping out and into the spongey surface, stimulating your nerves to their limit.

Your eyebrows furrowed and your eyelids flew shut when he expedited the speed of his slick-coated digits, his arm growing slightly sore as he carried you to the height of your orgasm. His cock twitched when you drew out a cry of pleasure, your breath stuck in your throat as your mind went blank from your high.

Your grip on his clothes loosened, and you panted as you rest your weight against the shelves, Gojo's damp fingers evident of the pleasure he delivered to you. He watched as you collected your remaining breath, your cheeks flushed pink in arousal and your eyesight slowly blinked clear.

A bolt flash of surprise ran through his eyes when you carefully pulled his pants down, gripping his hardened girth with your warm hands. Gojo stopped you with a grab of your wrist, your whole body tensing in creeping embarrassment—he doesn't like it when you touch him?

Your thoughts flew out the window when he spat onto your palm, before guiding your hand back to his throbbing cock. Your mind grew blank as you began fisting his length, his breath hitching when you rubbed over his pinkish-red tip.

Your touches were filled with careful inexperience, and Gojo found it absolutely fucking adorable. The soft squelching of his saliva in your hand as you pumped his cock filled the air, and he inched closer to kiss you once again.

His groans flowed into your mouth as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, drinking in the taste of you as you pleased him. You seemed to be a quick learner on your own, pumping his pulsing cock faster, gripping onto him tighter, and rubbing his sensitive tip of all.

His hips stuttered along with the movements of your hand, a sign of his close release and you were clearly relentless to please him. Your pace doesn't falter, but fastened instead and his moans muffled through your sloppy kiss, your mixed drool dripping down your chin and onto your chest.

"Fuck," his voice cracked as his cock twitched, before ejaculating his hot semen onto your clothes, slowly dripping down to your thigh. Your breaths mingled in the sultry air, the smell of your essences filled your nostrils as the both of you cooled from the aftermath of your highs.

You recognised the dirty smirk on his face when you flicked your gaze up at him, and you sank into the bookshelf in preparation for what he had conjured up in his mind.

"The library closes in 30 minutes, we'll get the whole place to ourselves by then."

[nereidprinc3ss]

hii i love love how u write spencer omds🥸

uhh i was wondering if you could write sth based off the song “we’ll never have sex” by leith ross? pls dont feel pressured to write this btw😭😭😭 hope ur having a good day lovely💗💗

hello my love i have no self control so this is extremely long and plotty but i love this song and i hope that this is any good at all crying emoji (i'm on a laptop LOL) enjoy!!

warnings/tags: angst/fluff, fem!reader, negative self-talk from reader, mentions of past sexual coercion/feeling used, mentions of past excessive drinking to combat social anxiety, ive been watching a lot of new girl lately and i think it shows, SO FRIENDS TO LOVERS, happy ending

You weren’t expecting to end up on Spencer Reid’s worn-leather couch at two in the morning, clutching a chipped mug of coffee in your hands as you listen to the sounds of the city from the street below. But there you are, sitting with your legs folded under you, in your favorite dress and first date-night makeup (now bleeding and smudged from all the crying.) And realizing that despite considering him one of your closest friends, you haven’t been to his apartment in a long time. There are, of course, good reasons for that—but you try to push those from your mind. 

“I’m really sorry about this,” you sigh, staring at your warped reflection in the glassy black surface of your coffee. Spencer is coming out of the small kitchen, now bearing his own cup. 

“Please, stop apologizing.” 

You glance up, tentatively studying him from behind the safety of your mug. While he may not have been asleep when you knocked on his door ten minutes ago, lachrymose and barely verbal, he must have been getting ready for bed. He’s clad in patterned pajama pants, mismatched socks, and an FBI crewneck that is just big enough to reveal the collar of the tee-shirt underneath. He’s already taken out his contacts, and you were startled by the reminder that he also has glasses. 

“So...” he begins, bringing you back to the present moment, “we don't have to talk about anything, if you don’t want to, but...” 

You sigh, watching coffee bubbles swirl like stars in a galaxy. 

“It’s fine. Honestly, I’m kind of embarrassed. I didn’t really think, I just... ended up here.” 

“Yeah... where did you come from?” he laughs quietly. “Not that I’m complaining. But I recall you not living super close by.” 

“No, no. I was actually on a date. Kind of.” 

“Ah.” There’s a beat of silence, and ostensibly Spencer is waiting for you to say more, but instead you take a sip from your mug. “At two in the morning?” You nod dully, staring at the labyrinthine pattern of the Persian rug.  

“I’m taking it that it wasn’t a very good date...?” 

A whoosh of air escapes from your puffed cheeks. 

“No it was not. Not by the end, anyway. It actually started really well, which made it even more disappointing when he...” you laugh, but there’s not much humor in it. “Well, when he kicked me out of his car on a street corner because I didn’t want to sleep with him.” 

You don’t look to see Spencer’s reaction—only take another long, baleful sip of coffee and ignore the heavy silence.  

“I’m really sorry. You... you deserve so much better than that.” 

An attempt at a jaded scoff from you falls flat. 

“Yeah, well. Tell that to the last three white house interns I’ve gone on dates with. It’s the same thing every time.” 

“Have you considered going on fewer dates with white house interns...?” The nervous humor is a thin veil over genuine critique. You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“It’s not just them. Every single guy I’ve liked since I was 15 has been like this. Even my past relationships, I felt like I was almost... tricked into, you know? I mean, these guys, they act all understanding and willing to take it slow or whatever, until you’re in a relationship, and suddenly they’re guilt tripping you so hard and making you feel so obligated to...” you catch yourself just in time, glancing up at Spencer. You’re not sure what to make of his expression. The drawn brow and slightly squinted eyes trained so intently on you could be sympathy, or anger, or pity, or apathy—you look away, not sure you even want to know what he’s thinking. “Sorry. You don’t need to hear all about that. Basically romance is exhausting and since I’ll clearly be single forever I’m considering running away to join a nunnery.” 

When he doesn’t respond for too long, you look back up quizically. 

“I’m not sure you know what romance actually is,” he says as soon as your gaze meets his, like the eye-contact activated some kind of hair-trigger in his vocal box. 

You blink, lowering the coffee cup to your lap. 

Says Spencer Reid? 

“...sorry?” 

He flushes, stammering to clarify himself. 

“I just meant—I—I know I’m not exactly fighting women off with a stick—” he interrupts himself with a self-conscious (adorable) laugh— “but... but I have been in love, at least once.”  

“Maeve,” you say, gently—trying to shove down bitter guilt as you remember how jealous you’d been when Spencer had first told you about her. “I remember.” 

He swallows and nods. 

“We never even met—we just talked. All the time. I had no idea what she looked like. But it didn’t matter at all. Because I knew her, and I loved her. Maybe things would have gone further if I hadn’t been calling her from public phone booths, but that wasn’t the most important thing to either of us. We were still in love.” You try to shut out the sharp ache in your chest. Being jealous of the way he speaks about a dead woman is so wrong.  

“What I’m trying to say is that romance isn’t solely about sex, or even physical appearance. It sounds to me like you’ve been with a lot of men who don’t understand that. And it would be such a shame for you to write romance off in general before you even get to experience it. You are... an extraordinary woman. You’re funny, and intelligent, and kind, and so capable of being loved. One day, someone is going to see beyond your pulchritude and prove that to you. I hope you let them try.” 

More tears blur the pattern on the rug, pooling in the rims of your eyes before spilling down your cheeks in fast, fat drops. Shakily you set the cup down, resting your elbows on your knees and hiding your face in your hands. You sniff once. Twice. Shake your head quickly, attempting to wipe the tears away without further smearing your makeup everywhere. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Spencer breathes, leaning forward but obviously unsure how to comfort you. “Please don’t cry, I wasn’t--I was trying to do the opposite of this.” 

“No, I’m sorry! You didn’t have to—you didn’t—I’m sorry. That was way too nice.” 

But you're not crying because he was nice.  

Someone will love you, but not me. That’s all you can hear. 

His voice is a mere whisper when he next speaks. 

“I meant every word.” 

You take a shuddering breath, allowing yourself a moment of reprieve behind the peaceful black of your eyelids. You can’t be looking at his face when you say what you’re about to say. 

“I had a crush on you for the longest time, you know.” 

Ringing silence. But it doesn’t last as long as you’d imagined. It’s not as world ending. 

“Had?” 

The little smile in his voice is like a fist around your heart. 

“Yeah. You know what changed?” 

“What’s that?” 

Absolutely nothing. 

“Every time I got super drunk and started hitting on you, you’d just drive me home. And I did it a lot. Like, for months. But you were such a gentleman. It drove me fucking crazy. So eventually I figured you just didn’t like me and I gave up.” 

Another stretch of silence. A breeze comes in from the open window, fluttering the curtains and cooling the tears on your face. His response is sad when it finally comes. 

“You thought I didn’t like you because I didn’t try to take advantage of you when you were drunk?” 

“Pretty much.” You smile ruefully, fingertips still pressed over your eyes. “God, listen to me. No wonder I get treated like garbage.” 

“Stop. Don’t talk about yourself like that. Did you hear anything I just said?” 

You sniff, looking to the ceiling. 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. It was really sweet.” 

More silence. 

“But you don’t believe it.” 

A bitter laugh poisons the air around you. 

“I don’t know.  I’m kind of tired of waiting for someone to prove it to me. Just for once, I want someone to be interested in me beyond having sex in the back of their fucking... Range Rover, or whatever. Like, maybe all that stuff you said is true, but there’s no evidence to support it, and I know logically you’re probably right but I can’t help wondering if... if I’m the outlier. Maybe there just isn’t someone for me like that. Maybe I’m just gonna be the sex in the back of the Range Rover girl forever.” 

A noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob forces itself from your throat and you bury your face in your hands again, shaking your head. 

“Wow, I am so sorry,” you say a little too loudly, “I did not mean to be this honest tonight. Did you spike my coffee?” 

“You are not the outlier,” Spencer whispers.  

You sniff, lifting your head haltingly to look at him. 

“What?” 

His voice shakes slightly as he speaks. 

“You said you can’t help wondering if you’re the outlier, and maybe there just isn’t someone for you like that. That’s not true.” 

“Spencer, those are just words. You can’t possibly know that. Statistical probabilities don’t count.” 

“That’s... that’s not how I know.” 

Your heart drops as you study his face.  

No. 

Surely he’s not saying what you think he’s saying. 

Surely he wouldn’t do this to you after you’ve just told him everything you told him. You have been harboring feelings for him for years. Since you met. He can’t just spring this on you one night because you’re a little bummed out. If he felt the same, you would have found out a long time ago; he had ample opportunity to tell you. There was a period of months where you practically threw yourself all over him at every chance you got, and he did nothing. So this... this is just cruel—something you’ve never known Spencer Reid to be. 

You stand up, trembling slightly with rage and grief and humiliation. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t say things that you don’t mean just to make me feel better.” 

“What are you doing? Don’t--” 

You scoop up your purse, trying to get to the front door as fast as your gelatinous legs will allow. More tears are streaming down your face now and you don’t need him to see what he’s done to you—to see how much you care what he thinks. 

“It’s fine. Thanks for the coffee, I’ll see you around—” 

A hand around your wrist stops you in your tracks 

“Stop. Just... please give me a second to talk, okay?” 

With nothing left to give, you turn to him. 

“Don’t be mean, Spencer. Don’t act like you liked me too. That makes me feel... so much worse.” 

He takes a deep, shaky breath, as if steeling himself. Tawny eyes bore into your soul, and you realize that there is so much sheer nervous energy radiating off of him it’s infectious. Your heart begins to pound as he speaks. 

“I’m not doing that. I’m being an idiot, because you just told me that you don’t feel that way about me anymore but... but I do. And I have to tell you now because for six months I tortured myself wondering why you would flirt with me so much when you were hammered and then act like nothing happened the next day. There were so many times I almost told you how I felt but I didn’t and now I am because even if it ruins our friendship you need to know that somebody... that I wanted to be that person for you. I still do.” 

Your heart is like an unmoored zeppelin in your chest, bumping against your esophagus and threatening to either burst or jump out of your mouth. You take your chances, whispering so quietly it’s almost inaudible. 

“You... you like me?” 

“Yes,” Spencer sighs. “I have liked you for a very long time. And I’m sorry—” 

Whatever ridiculous thing he was going to apologize for, you don’t give him the chance. Instead you launch yourself at him, capturing his lips in a kiss that feels so much better than it’d ever been in your fantasies because it’s real. You hear his sharp intake of breath, but it only takes a second for him to respond, cradling your face in his hands like you’re the entire world. For a moment, time bends. Years of longing, of buried dreams crash into the present in a brilliant, dazzling explosion.

And then, as quickly as it started, he pulls away. The absence of his touch is like a vacuum, so much worse now that you know exactly how it feels to have his lips on yours, even if it was only for a few seconds. How the hell did you live like that for so long? How are you supposed to live like that ever again?

“You’re not thinking clearly,” he breathes, tilting his head back toward the ceiling like he’s barely holding onto his self control. “You just want someone to comfort you, I’m not going to take advantage of you when you’re in an emotionally vulnerable state and confided in me which is manufacturing a false sense of attachment—” 

You grab his wrists, which still graze your jaw.

“Spencer, stop intellectualizing for thirty seconds. I promise you I am thinking clearly.” 

“You said you used to like me, past tense—” 

“Yeah, I did. Do you believe every single murderer who says he didn’t do it?” 

“No, but—” 

“Have you ever heard the phrase; a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts?” 

“Of course I have.” 

“Then what more could you possibly need to be convinced that I really like you? I already kissed you! What is stopping you?” 

Another deep breath is taken by him that seems to suck all the air out of the quiet room. Briefly, you wonder if you’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake. If you really do like him so much more than he could ever like you.  

Until he looks back down, eyes so golden-brown in the dim light, so kind and full of affectionate concern as he carefully assesses every square centimeter of your face, looking for... well, you’re not exactly sure what. It’s like he’s extracting every thought from your head, turning them over like sun-warmed stones until he finds what he’s looking for. He smooths his hands over your hair, brushing strands away from your teary face. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of holding your breath, he speaks. 

“I just want you to believe what I believe about you. But I don’t want you to have to rely on me or anyone else for your own self-worth.” 

“Well, don’t you think very highly of yourself,” you tease with a sniffle. He laughs—it's quiet, but his smile is so bright without even trying that suddenly you can’t remember why you’ve ever been sad. The small miracle of his laughter makes you feel so light, and you realize it has nothing to do with the way he makes you feel about yourself. It has everything to do with who he is. 

Once the giggles die down, you tentatively mirror his hold on your face. 

“Spencer, I don’t like you because you like me. I’ve liked you for an embarrassingly long time. I liked you enough that I gave myself a severe hangover at least once a week for three months just so I could have an excuse to flirt shamelessly with you.” 

A half-sad smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he gently swipes under your eyes. 

“You never had to do that. I would have welcomed your sober brazen flirting with open arms.” 

“Well... do you believe me?” you plead. His amber eyes shine. 

“I do.” 

“Will you kiss me?” 

“If that’s what you want.” 

You nod, rising on your toes to meet him halfway. 

When your lips meet again, it is sweet, and honest, and slow, and deep. Still, there is no desperation--no race to an imagined finish line, no clash of teeth and pawing hands. It is a kiss for the sake of it—as if it were the greatest intimacy. Not a precursor to sharing a bed, but something bigger than that in and of its own. Something just as worthy and important. For the first time, you think you’re beginning to understand romance. And while you wouldn’t mind if things did escalate, you also know that Spencer knows that’s not what matters right now. Because he actually understands you—he actually cares. He will wait until you understand that you mean so much more than that to him.

To that end, he pulls away, gently supplanting his absence with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“It would be polite of me to offer you a ride home, wouldn’t it?” he whispers, like it’s the last thing he wants to do. You bite the inside of your cheek, coming up with reasons not to go. One ridiculous one arises from the depths of your memory that you know he won’t be able to say no to. 

“Or... I could stay here, and we could watch one of those nerdy foreign films you’re always talking about?” 

A slow, perfect, high-watt smile blossoms on his face, and you know you’ve said exactly the right thing. 

“Nerdy? Oh, my darling girl... Soviet-era filmography is far from nerdy. небесная машина will completely defy what you thought you knew about the life of an average Russian villager in the 1950’s.” 

“Oh, good. Because I’ve really been meaning to change the way I think about the average 1950’s Russian villager,” you smile, already closing in to kiss him again. 

------------------------------------------ 

epilogue

Three hours later, you’re crying because the life of the average Russian villager in the 1950’s was so much worse than you’d previously thought. 

“It was good, right?” Spencer asks as the credits roll over a bleak snowy sepia landscape, leaning back to get a better look at you. You sit up from where you’d been leaning against him, furiously wiping your eyes. 

“It was terrible! Why didn’t you tell me that everyone except the kid dies in the end?!” 

“Because that’s the whole point of the movie!” he laughs, pulling you back into him. “I’m sorry. I probably should have explained how depressing this entire era of film was outside of the US.” 

“And also how long the movies were. I was not prepared for how many five minute long clips of empty fields there were going to be.” 

“You’re right,” he ammends, wrapping his arms around you in a way that gives you butterflies and makes you sleepy at the same time. “Next time we can watch whatever you want to watch.” 

Time passes like that—you in his arms, watching weak light slowly flood the room with half-lidded eyes and listening to the sounds of the city waking up from the street below, underscoring the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Thoughts float by like leaves on the ever-flowing current of your mind, and you’re happy to let them pass until one in particular catches your attention. 

“Spencer?” 

He hums, like he’d been deep in his own proverbial river of thought. 

“What does pulchritude mean?” 

It takes him a split second to remember the bit of conversation from earlier to which you are referring, but when he does, he chuckles, running his hand over your messy hair. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

And so you let it float away. 

[sassyjoy]

unplanned sleepover

genre: smut

word count: 1.4k

⋆｡˚ ⋆ ☾

"You can sit on my bed," Sooyoung told you upon entering her dorm room. It was quite spacious, you thought. The two beds certainly caught your attention, their neatness contrasting against the cozy disarray of the rest of the room. Posters of romcom films adorned one wall, while a whiteboard covered in colorful sketches and project ideas took up another. On the study desk, a jumble of art supplies mingled with a laptop displaying a digital design in progress. The room felt like a creative hub where the worlds of multimedia arts collided in a harmonious chaos curated by two distinct personalities.

"Do you want anything? Coffee? Juice? Water?" Sooyoung asked as she placed back her roommate's gaming chair near where it belongs.

"No, I'm good,” you replied, casting your eyes around the room, taking in the unique blend of multimedia arts influences in the shared space. You noticed a film camera on the desk and asked Sooyoung if that was hers.

"It's Wonwoo's," Sooyoung responded with a smile, gesturing towards the camera with a hint of admiration.

"Wonwoo? Oh, the guy you've been crushing about?" 

Sooyoung snorted. "That's Jaehyun, dumbass. You never really listen to my stories, don't you?" You laughed when she threw a hoodie at you in which you caught. You knew it was Jaehyun, you were just messing with her.

"Wonwoo's my roommate."

"Oh, I didn't know men and women can share the same dorm room," you said in disbelief, as you knew it was not allowed in most dormitories.

Sooyoung shrugged, unfazed. "My landlord is cool with it and besides, I don't really mind sharing the same room with the opposite sex. As long as they're clean and mindful in their space, I won't have a problem with them. And Wonwoo's really nice. He's neat. We also share the same course so we really get along with each other!" As she spoke, Sooyoung picked her pajamas from her cabinet, preparing to change into sleepwear for the night.

"Why isn't he here though?" You asked as you lay on her bed, getting comfy. The bed felt nice and soft. You noticed some polaroid pictures of Sooyoung with friends near her bedside table. It was cute to see familiar faces from your shared circle of friends since high school.

"Org duties, I guess. He said he'll be home late," she shrugged.

"I'll go get changed," Sooyoung said before heading to the bathroom. You found yourself scrolling and watching tiktok videos on your phone on her bed. It was kind of funny that despite being friends for years, it was the first time being alone together. You usually never had this chance due to various reasons.

Your stay in her dorm wasn't planned. Your car broke down, and with heavy rain outside, the mechanic couldn't come fix it. Luckily, Sooyoung's dorm was nearby. It became your refuge from the storm. Without her help, you'd be out in the cold.

~

You were sleeping in one bed with Sooyoung. It wasn't supposed to be like that but you've had sleepovers with your circle of friends before. Sleeping in one bed shouldn't be a bad thing. 

What's bad is that you're lusting over her. It shouldn't be like this. You know that yourself. 

You wished you didn't enter the bathroom earlier. If you hadn't, you wouldn't see her dirty laundry. It wasn't your fault that you saw her undies lying there. It wasn't your fault that you had the urge to pick it up and smell it. But you did pick it up and smell it. The thought of Sooyoung wearing it just turned you even more and caused tenting on your sweatpants. 

Here you are, lying on your side with your back to her. You're trying your best to fall asleep, but it seems impossible. Sooyoung, on the other side of the bed, keeps shifting and turning, making it even harder for you to find rest. You just want to get off this feeling. 

'Should I just jerk off in the bathroom?' You've been asking yourself this question for the past 30 minutes now. But the bathroom's kinda far from the bed. 

The room was dark. The only sound you could hear was the rain outside. The gentle tap-tap-tap against the window filled the room, creating a peaceful atmosphere. You're finally getting off that idea in your mind until you heard small soft whimpers. 

You changed your position, now you're facing Sooyoung. You waited for that sound again, because you thought that your mind is just messing around. Was it Sooyoung? Or maybe that was Wonwoo? Her roommate, who's sleeping soundly on the other side of the room. Nah, it won't be him. It sounded like a girl's, you thought. 

You were about to sleep when you heard something again, and this time, you were sure that it was Sooyoung. 

The room was dimly lit, but when you adjusted to the darkness you saw Sooyoung rubbing herself. The hem of her dark blue night gown lifted up to her thigh. Your heart beat went crazy, not knowing what to do.

"Ohh," she moaned quietly. You can't stop watching pleasuring herself. It's a new sight for you. You've known her for years and you never knew she has this side of hers. You were always bickering with each other but you always thought that she was all this innocent. 

You felt hot, wishing Sooyoung won't notice. 

You slightly moved, turning yourself more towards her, to watch more clearly. Sooyoung stopped for a second, scanning your face before going back to rubbing again. 

You can't help it anymore, and moved again, this time your arm flinging over to her side making sure to lightly brush her thigh before resting your arm on her stomach.

"Shit," she whispered to herself, not being able to continue anymore. You felt her try to pull your arm away but you just changed your position, your leg now brushing up to her thigh. You can feel her body heat and heaving, getting turned on even more. 

You felt her stop for a few minutes. 

She then finally rested her hand on top of yours. 

You found it cute not until she lifted your hand and put it over her wet pussy. Your eyes instantly opened, obviously shocked at what she did. Damn, she's not wearing an underwear. 

"I knew it, you're awake." She whispered, you tried to pull your hand away but she gripped it tighter. 

"Can you help me with this one? Please?" She begged as she bit her lip as she guided your hand to her cunt. You gulped. With shaky hands, you found yourself messing with the hem of her sleepwear.

'Why are you nervous? She literally asked you for this.' You thought. Sooyoung squeezed her clothed breast as she waits for your next move. You were contemplating for a second before whispering "fuck it" under your breath and placed your hand over her shaved pussy. 

You traced her vagina with your middle finger. You pressed it between her folds, finding her clit with ease. 

"Oh- fuck... this is way better than using my own fingers- god!" You watched her covering her mouth with her own hands, feeling the sensation you've been giving her. For some reason, you liked how's this going. 

You circled her clit. You can feel how warm and wet she have had become. Sooyoung was trying so hard not to make a noise when you added another finger inside her. Her breathing became heavy and a little unsteady. You placed your other arm underneath her to pull her body closer to you. 

"Does it feel good, Sooyoung?" You whispered in her ear that earned you a grip on your forearm. 

"Feels so good," she croaked. The rain was too loud. Wonwoo won't probably hear what's happening between you two, right?

You placed soft kisses on the side of her neck as you increased the pace of your fingers. You can feel her body wriggle from the pleasure. You loved how every time you went deeper, her grip on you got tighter. 

"Just like that," she whispered. You kept hitting the spot she could barely reach with her own fingers. Sooyoung arched her back, palming her tits as she grinds against your fingers, trying to reach that delicious high she's been aching to have. Her breath quickens as you hit the spot inside her, your fingers scissoring her tight hole. 

"Ohhh," then she exploded. Sooyoung's cum wets your fingers. It took her a minute to calm down. You caressed her thighs as you wait for her to calm down from how she fell apart from the build-up you managed to give her.

"You owe me one," you told her, whispering in her ear while still stroking her soft skin. 

[fairy-writes]

Hi hi! I see you just opened your Kaiju no. 8 requests and I’m head over heels for our boy Kafka! I’m not sure WHERE to take this but like him having saved you in a similar fashion as Kikoru (so you know he’s part kaiju now) and months later after A LOT of flirting Reno finally blurts out “JUST GET TOGETHER ALREADY JEEZ!!” or something🤣

If you’re not a fan you can take this however you want or ignore it lol thanks for indulging me lovey! *screams please & thank you <3

HE LISTENS

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Kaiju No. 8

Pairing(s): Hibino Kafka x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Civilian!Reader, Kafka and Reader are the same age, Reader is implied to be shorter than Kafka

Notes: I absolutely adore Kafka! He looks like he’d give the BEST hugs!

The reader is written with fem!reader in mind, but no pronouns are used!

CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE MANGA 

__________________________________________________________________________

You knew you should’ve evacuated at the first siren.

But noooooo! You just had to go back to your apartment for your laptop! But hey! Your dissertation for your doctorate was saved on there, and there was no way you were losing it when you were this close to finishing and graduating!

You ducked under another swipe of a Yoju. It’s some spindly long thing with too many eyes and a mouth full of too many teeth. It takes another swipe at you, and you duck, narrowly avoiding dropping your laptop bag as you trip over some stray rubble. Your right arm shoots out to catch your fall while the left cradles your precious dissertation and homework. 

Pain jolts up your right elbow, and you’re pretty sure you have road rash all up and down your fingers and your palm. You look up and see the Yoju opening its maw to swallow you whole and only think of one thing. 

You knew you should’ve evacuated at the first siren.

You close your eyes, accepting your fate but curling into a tighter ball in a sorry attempt to make it harder to eat you. (What kind of logic was that?)

But nothing happens. 

What?

You peek open an eye and see something that has your jaw dropping open in shock. 

Scales as black as pitch and outlined in azure light. A demonic-looking skull and a pronounced spinal cord with spikes lining the length of it. 

Another Kaiju? 

But that wouldn’t make any sense, seeing as it was holding the mouth of the Yoju open to keep it from eating you. The humanoid Kaiju effectively stood between you and the monster… Was it… Protecting you? 

The creature turned its head slightly to look at you and winked. It winked!

“You might wanna get outta here, sweetheart, I’ll deal with this one.” Its voice was vaguely male-sounding yet demonic at the same time. 

It could talk?!

That snapped you out of your shock, and you scrambled to your feet, holding your laptop bag to your chest as you sprinted around a corner just as the Kaiju readied a fist. You peeked back around the corner as the punch landed and quite literally exploded the Yoju on contact. You flinch back as organs and blood go everywhere. But it’s so quick that some of it gets on your sweater, effectively ruining it, as well as your slacks and shoes. 

The blood begins to burn, but you pay little attention to it as a young man—no older than eighteen—with silvery white hair rounds a corner. His uniform exposes him as a member of the Defense Force. He holds the long rifle-like gun that all Defense Force members have. The man skids to a stop before the Kaiju but doesn’t shoot it. 

“Senpai!” He chirps, and you watch as the Kaiju begins to change. 

It shrinks in size, scales retracting into skin, and horns retreating into a head of spiky brown hair. Soon enough, a man stands before you in the same uniform, back to you. 

“Yo! Ichikawa!” The man greets him in return

What. 

The.

Hell?!

“Ichikawa” seems to hear something and turns to see you. His face drops in shock and surprise before darkening in anger. Though it wasn’t at you, it was at his “senpai.” The Kaiju-man-hybrid-thing notices the anger and turns around, spotting you. But he doesn’t seem angry. Instead, you watch his face light up in pure panic. 

“I thought I told you to run!” He squawks awkwardly, and you stand on shaky legs, jabbing a finger at them. 

“You never said how far! I thought around the corner was good enough!” You retort, though your knees shaking betray just how scared you are. 

Would you be killed? This was clearly a closely guarded secret between the two of them. 

Did the Defense Force know they had a Kaiju on their side? 

Did anyone else know? 

Ichikawa digs his foot into the man’s side in a ferocious kick and sends him stumbling. 

“I thought I told you to make sure the area was clear of civilians before transforming!” He shouts, and you flinch at the vicious tone. Though the other man was clearly older than Ichikawa, he seemed to be in charge. 

“But if I had to check the area every time I had to punch somethin’, nothing would ever get done!” The man whines, and Ichikawa simply sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Um…” The two men look at you, and you flinch again, your grip tightening on the laptop bag. “I won’t say anything, I promise. You don’t have to worry about me!” You manage to squeak out, and the older man looks at Ichikawa with bright eyes. You could practically see a puppy tail wagging behind him excitedly. 

“See! We don’t have to worry about anything!” He exclaims, but Ichikawa isn’t convinced. 

“How do I know we can trust you?” He says, eyes narrowed and brows pulled together in skepticism. You swallow thickly,

“Well… He saved my life. I’m indebted to him, and the least I can do is keep a secret.” You say, and Ichikawa stares, mildly surprised but relenting. 

“Fine!” He says, turning on his heel to glare at his friend. The man spews apologies for revealing his identity to a civilian, but the duo doesn’t seem too upset about it. 

You hiss in pain as adrenaline wears off, and you’re left in bloodstained clothes that are currently melting off your body. You high tail it to a nearby shelter where they provide a spare change of clothes. While you change and shower, you can’t help but think of the odd duo you met today. 

You’d likely never see them again. 

Right?

You stare at yourself in the mirror, adjusting your blazer for the millionth time, making sure your button-down is tucked into your slacks and scuffing your feet along the floor. 

It was almost time. 

It had been nearly six months since your interaction with Ichikawa and his friend (whose name you still didn’t know). You hadn’t seen them since then, but your life had changed drastically as a result. 

You successfully graduated after defending your dissertation. Your research was making waves in the Defense Force and Kaiju-enthusiast community in general. So, you were summoned by the Defense Force to give a presentation to the officers about the importance of it. And today the presentation was to be given to the entire Defense Force. 

You were only a little nervous. (You were bullshitting yourself, you felt like you were going to pass out.)

There is a knock on the office you had been stationed in, and you jump about a foot in the air. 

“Yes?” Your voice is much more level than you expected. At least that was good. An officer peeks her head in,

“The Defense Force has been organized. They’re ready for you,” She says kindly. You swallow once, nod, and scoop up your laptop (which wasn’t damaged in the Yoju attack, thank the heavens) to follow her out. 

The massive lecture hall reminds you of the enormous rooms professors would give lectures in back in graduate school and college. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if they were modeled after one another. Officers in their uniforms line the seats, most on their phones, but some chatted with one another. You even spotted the infamous Narumi Gen on some sort of gaming device. 

Silence fell over the crowd as you were handed a microphone and tapped it a few times, making sure it worked, before introducing yourself. You heard a strangled noise come from the audience, but the lights facing you kept you from seeing who it was. You could see vague shapes of people, but that was it.

So, you don’t pay it any mind and start into your spiel that you had prepared. You introduce what the lecture will be about, your contact information (mainly email) if there are questions, and promptly launch into said lecture.

“And that concludes the lecture. Thank you, everyone, for your questions and for listening. I’ll be around the next couple of days gathering samples for research, so feel free to reach out and ask any other lingering questions!” You say and switch off the microphone, setting it down on the podium as well as the laser pointer. Most of the officers trickled out, with only a few staying behind to ask clarifying questions. 

It wasn’t until you were shutting down your laptop and packing up your notes that the final people in the audience approached you. Everyone was long gone by now, save for…

“You!” You gape at the sight of the man and Ichikawa approaching you. They freeze midway up the steps to the stage. Ichikawa takes the initiative. 

“I’m glad to see you’re doing well.” He says as he bows. You rub the back of your neck awkwardly and bow your head in return. 

“Only thanks to you two. I’m sorry, I didn’t get either of your names.” You say hesitantly, and both of them look at each other before introducing themselves. 

“Ichikawa Reno.” 

“Hibino Kafka!”

You can’t help but smile at Hibino’s enthusiasm and extend a hand for them to shake. Ichikawa shakes it first, his hold light but not wimpy by any means. In contrast, Hibino’s is firm and sturdy.

“Now, how can I help you both?” You ask, and Hibino looks somewhat embarrassed. 

“We were just wondering if you told anyone…?” He trails off, but you know what he’s talking about. 

“No. I kept my promise. No one knows save for whoever you’ve told.” You say quickly, eyes unconsciously looking around the room for any spare stragglers who might be listening in. 

Luckily, no one is.

“So… You never really went into it in your lecture… But what did you major in in college?” Ichikawa asks as the three of you walk back to your office. Hibino thankfully badges you in, seeing as all the keys are electronic keycards, and you never received one. You set your bag down and sigh in relief. It was finally over and not as scary as you thought it would be.

“I graduated with a PhD in biomedical engineering with a specialty in Kaiju biology studies.” You explain as you slump into your office chair and tilt your head back. But not before you watch their faces pale at the idea of all the studying you had to do.

Which was a lot. 

You laugh at their expressions and offer them a smile,

“It was a lot of work, but if I can help people, then it was worth it.”

Ichikawa Reno and Hibino Kafka become a staple in your life after that. 

Even when your research into how Kaiju biology could help amputees and transplant recipients took off, they were there every step of the way.

Especially Hibino.

He was there at every lecture, asking questions and stimulating conversations amongst your peers. He allowed you to study him in his Kaiju form as his identity as Kaiju No. 8 was revealed to the rest of the Defense Force. No needles, of course. That was his only stipulation. (Who knew a man as powerful as him would be scared to death of needles?)

So, you settled for CT scans, MRIs, and other ways of study.

Hibino also took you out for meals when you were both on break at least twice a week. Ichikawa often tagged along, but more often than not, it was you and Hibino alone.

Today was a day that Ichikawa tagged along.

It was one of the rare days that he was able to come to visit from the Fourth Division while you and Hibino were stationed at the First Division. You weren’t employed by the Defense Force persay; you were actually employed by Izumo Tech while you furthered your research. But with Hibino stationed at the First Division, that was where you were allowed to go.

The diner was filled with American-style food. It was one of Hibino’s favorites in the area, so you usually indulged him when he allowed you to pay. (Which wasn’t often) 

The waitress brought over your drinks just as Ichikawa arrived and sat down. You had taken the liberty of ordering him a drink that you hoped he’d like. This place was renowned for its smoothies, so he got a strawberry banana smoothie. Hibino ordered an alcoholic beverage of some kind, and you stuck with water. 

“How’s research been going?” Ichikawa asks as the waitress brings over your food, and you all promptly dig in. The food was greasy but delicious. You hum through your mouthful, chew, and swallow before answering. 

“Slowly, we’ve made some breakthroughs, but nothing special has come of it yet.” You say cryptically. You weren’t allowed to really disclose anything before it was published, so dancing around the topic was the best you could do. 

Hibino didn’t really get the memo. 

“We almost—” You lunged across the table. You shoved a hand over Hibino’s mouth before he could spill any critical information. If it got out that he said something, you could be fired, and your career would be ruined. Hibino was still talking, his beard scratching your hand as he tried to explain himself. You yank your hand back like you had been burned but silence him with a glare. 

“You know you aren’t supposed to say anything!” You hiss, and he rubs the back of his neck with a chuckle. 

“Sorry, I just get really excited hearing you talk about your work.” He mumbles. 

That gets your blood boiling. 

But not in anger. 

In excitement. 

No one liked hearing you talk about your work! Hell, even your parents' eyes would glaze over when you started talking about Kaiju biology and how it could help hundreds of people! But as you thought back on it… Hibino would be an active listener, sometimes even taking notes for you to clarify at a later date. 

He listened to you. 

Your face was burning, steam practically coming out of your ears in embarrassment. Hibino’s face mimicked yours as what he said caught up with him. 

Ichikawa wasn’t impressed. 

“Just kiss and get a room already!” He complains and gets up, tossing some paper bills down to cover his part of the meal, and goes to get a take-out box. He was clearly done with your antics. 

Your face felt like a volcano erupting. But you couldn’t do much else other than look down at your lap. 

“Y’know…” You look up as Hibino rubs the bottom half of his face, his voice barely above a mumble. As your rampant emotions cool off, you answer him. 

“What?” Hibino’s face flushes even more red, and it isn’t the alcohol in his system. 

“He isn’t exactly wrong… I mean… I’ve been wanting to take you out for a while… And not just to lunch!” He stammers through his sentence until you get a vague idea of what he’s asking. 

“Hibino Kafka, are you asking me on a date?” You tease, mostly to hide your thundering heart. Hibino swallows thickly and nods, 

“If you’ll date someone like me, that is…” A grin splits your face until your cheeks hurt, and you reach across to grab his hand. 

“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.” You say, and he stares for a few seconds before whooping in excitement. 

“Hell yeah!” He shouts, and you duck your head in embarrassment. 

“Oh! And you don’t have to call me Hibino anymore, y’know?” He cradles your hand in his larger one and swings it back and forth as you leave the diner. Ichikawa left a while ago, claiming you two were an embarrassment to be around. You can’t bring yourself to care. 

Squeezing his hand in return, you lean your head on his arm and smile. 

“Kafka it is, then.” You say, and he just grins. 

[wambsgansshoelaces]

hiii could you maybe write something about a first kiss with roman roy? I feel like he’s so unpredictable that it could be fluffy or angsty 💖

Vending Machine Oreos

Roman Roy x Reader

oneshot

anon I’m so so sorry this is so late!!! I hope I delivered though :( please let me know what you think and enjoy x

honestly I’m kind of worried because I’ve been struggling with life and my writing’s been suffering because of it so I’m really sorry if this seems unrealistic or rushed or just bad. I hope you guys like it anyway!!!

Word Count: 2.215k

“Roman!”

“What?” he snaps back, not bothering to look up from his desk.

“You’re going to make us fucking late! Come on!”

“It’s not even- oh, fuck, you’re right.” He abruptly gets to his feet, slamming the lid of his laptop shut, and hurries out of his office, you not far behind.

Working at Waystar was certainly an experience. You like to say Logan Roy made you see red, and it’s a sentiment you know Roman shares. When you stop and think about it, you suppose that you’re making way too much money to actually care. Besides, Roman Roy is easy on the eyes. It’s not like all of him was so horrible. If you were honest with yourself, you never really thought he was such a bad person. He was kind to you, in his own neurotic way, and made sure all of his work was done on time. You actually find him kind of endearing, and you both happen to get along extremely well.

“Is the car outside?” he asks, pulling his coat on.

“It has been for ten minutes,” you say back, ushering him into an opening elevator.

“Why do we have to do this again?” he mutters to you in question, glancing at you sideways as you slide into your seat next to him in the car.

“Because your dad wants us to mingle,” you say bitterly. “Some new hotshot piece of shit to impress.” He sighs, turning to stare out the window and watch as New York blurs by.

The event building is large and lavish, the epitome of modern day architecture. The entire thing is floor-to-ceiling windows, and the interior does not let you down. This is the corporate version of a party. You’d spend the night milling about, pretending to listen to half-assed pitches while Roman fucked with all of the corporate jockies he hated. Logan had asked you in person for you and Roman to go. Something about the mind games he was playing with rivals and the fact that a Roy needed to be present at these kinds of things.

You and Roman get your coats checked, and you’re guided into the ballroom. The room is already bustling and half-drunk, and you mentally steel yourself for the next few hours. The two of you get roped into a mind-numbing conversation about stocks and bitcoin, so much so that when you look over at Roman, he’s staring up at the vaulted ceiling.

“And what about you?”

You don’t realize the question was aimed at you until after it hangs for a few moments.

“Sorry?” you ask, returning your attention to your peanut gallery of what’s only men. You notice Roman doing the same.

“We were talking about the whore houses,” an older one chortles, immediately causing your face to sour. “We were wondering if we would see you there. What with the job performance and all.” He laughs, a loud, gaudy sound that makes you want to vomit.

All of the heat rushes to your face. You are by no means bad at your job. But despite your confidence and your skill, you can’t help how disgusting you feel.

“I speak for all of us here when I say nobody would really mind if you were,” another, younger one chimes in. You all but gag. You throw a glance at Roman, pleading, but he looks just as uncomfortable as you are. Disappointed, you realize you’re not going to get any help from him.

Without saying anything, you turn on your heel and calmly make your way out of the ballroom. You feel like ripping your skin off. Maybe then the feeling of those eyes will get off of you then.

You stroll through the halls, trying to comfort yourself. You don’t expect it, but after your second lap around the complex, you find Roman at your elbow, reaching out to take you by the arm.

“Holy shit, I’m sorry. I should’ve said something,” he admits. “That was disgusting. They’re disgusting. I’m really sorry.” He pauses, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I know that doesn’t help.”

“It’s okay,” you say quietly, rather unconvincingly at that.

Roman makes a face at you. “We both don’t believe that.”

“Really. It’s fine. I should’ve just made a scene so we could leave,” you say, attempting to lighten the mood, change the tone. Roman gives you his signature pout, refusing to take your word for anything. He’s worked with you for long enough to be able to sense when something’s wrong.

“Oh, come on.” He leans in towards you conspiratorially. “Wanna just ditch? Pretty sure I saw a vending machine while I was chasing you around. You walk way too fucking fast, by the way.”

He sets off down the hall, fishing his express card out of the zipper pocket of his dress pants. You follow, catching up so that you’re walking side by side. “You keep a credit card in your pocket?”

“Debit.” He hands it to you, and you hesitantly take it. He pats himself down, rooting through his other pockets. He fishes out some paper money and unfolds it. “Hey, look, five bucks.”

The card is sleek and impossibly expensive. You grip it tightly. Even though you don’t really know how you’d lose it, you don’t think you’ll know what to do with yourself if you do. “Do they even have vending machines in places like these?”

“Yeah, ’course they do. Saw it with my own eyes, anyway. Just told you,” he replies, letting you press the card back into his hand. He turns it over in his palm absentmindedly, eyes flitting about. “They just charge triple ’cause they know nobody’s checking the price.”

You both walk together for a short while, Roman getting a bit frustrated. He tells you that he was ‘just fucking there’ before a comfortable silence stretches, him focused on finding the damn thing. You don’t have to wait too much longer. “Hey, look, there���s an entire row,” you say, pointing.

“You know it’s fuckin’ crazy ’cause these aren’t even the ones that I saw earlier,” he mutters to you. “You like spicy chips?”

“Oh, you don’t need to get me anything,” you tell him after you process what he said. He sighs, turning back to the nearest vending machine.

“Cool. You’re getting Oreos.” Roman takes the crumpled five dollar bill and tries to smooth it out against the machine’s glass. You don’t think it’s going to help. That thing looks like it’s been through hell.

He presses a few buttons and inserts the bill. The machine eats it, and the small screen above the keypad flashes the word ‘PROCESSING’ in red, blocky text. You watch as the curly thing keeping the treats in the machine unfurls, pushing the sleeve of cookies forward, before it shuts, the cookies hanging on to the gadget instead of dropping so that you could get it.

“I feel like that shouldn’t be possible,” you say quietly.

“Fuck’s sake,” he says back. He bangs on the glass, and the sleeve sways. But nothing happens. Roman glances towards you. “Is this real? Are we in one of the most expensive fucking office buildings in fucking New York where the vending machines are holding my fucking Oreos hostage?”

You shrug, then fish out your wallet. “Here, put another five in,” you suggest, offering him another five. He pushes your hand back towards you, making a face, instead inserting his card into the machine. Again, a sleeve of Oreos gets pushed out. The previous ones finally fall from their position, but get stuck on the slot immediately below it. The same thing that happened with the first one then happens with the one just bought.

“This can’t be real,” Roman says incredulously. “Help me out, will you?”

He squeezes himself in between the vending machine and the wall, somehow managing to tilt the entire thing forward. You brace your hands on the front of the thing, keeping it from tipping all the way over. Carefully, you jerk your arms up, trying to shake the cookies free. A couple of tries later, a strange smattering of THUDS sound, spotty and horribly nonrhythmic. Roman peers out at you from his little nook, eyebrows raised.

You manage to get the machine back upright so that he can shuffle back out into the hallway. As you get your first glance through the glass, it’s painfully obvious a lot of what was once in the machine is now at the bottom for you to take.

“All this for only ten bucks is pretty good if you ask me,” you say, smile playing on your lips.

“Thank fuck this company is cheap in their manufacturing,” he murmurs back, grinning. He leans his back against the machine once you both hear footsteps approaching. The young man who’d made that gross fucking one-liner. Even though you have no proof, you get the disgusting inkling he was looking for you. He slows his pace when he sees you, and you do your best to school your face into neutrality. He stops entirely, opening his mouth to say something, look of confidence plastered over his face.

“Fuck’re you looking at?” Roman snaps, arm coming to drape across your shoulders, hand going to cup your jaw. He tilts your head up, quickly crashing his lips against yours. You’re surprised, but not even the slightest bit opposed. You grin into the kiss, and you can feel Roman smirking. He pulls back only slightly, glancing sideways at the other man. “What, you into voyeurism or something? We’re having a moment, shoo.”

You can’t help but laugh, clamping your hand over your mouth to trap the noise, and you watch the guy scuttle awkwardly away. Roman’s fingers stay on your jaw, brushing gently up the expanse of your skin. Without thinking, you lean back in and deposit a peck on his lips. He returns the fleeting kiss as he can, head then following yours back when you pull away to press his lips back to yours.

The kiss is deep, tender, needy. In between kisses, he murmurs praise. “You know you’re thirty times the employee any of those dipshits ever will be, mm?” Another lingering kiss, his hands drifting to your hips to turn you towards him. “And you’re so fucking attractive. Thank fuck this is finally happening. I think my staring at work was getting creepy.”

As his fingers travel to tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, you pull back enough to be able to kiss up his neck. You line kisses along the underside of his jaw, and he lets out a strangled noise. His free hand cups your hip, squeezing gently as his face flushes with pleasure.

He turns his head to take your lips with his again, sighing happily into your mouth between kisses. Your hands are now braced on his chest, and your heart flutters.

“Did it really have to take this to get us to make out?” you ask, smiling giddily, rubbing a hand over his pecs.

“Maybe, maybe not. Another few weeks without you and I probably would’ve lost it, anyway,” he admits to you. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Roman pulls away from you entirely, disentangling your limbs from each other. He stoops down to the output compartment, your previously won treasure forgotten in the heat of the moment. He pulls out a bag of chips, sitting down with his back leaning against machine. You go down and settle in next to him, sitting as close as physically possible. He tears open the bag before winding an arm around you, keeping you close, holding the bag so that it’s easily accessible to the both of you.

“What’re we going to do with the rest of it?” you ask, cheek pressed to his shoulder so you can rest your head against him.

“Planning on taking it with us.” Roman chews a bit, swallows, then dots kisses across your forehead. “Hey, wait, your Oreos.”

He twists to reach into the compartment behind him, roots around for the bit, and turns back around to hand you what got you into this mess in the first place. You tear open the sleeve, then offer a cookie to him. He pops one into his mouth, fat smile plastered on his face. You have to admit, you enjoy seeing him happy. Roman Roy’s smile does things to you. You mirror his expression as you gaze up at him.

He plants another kiss right onto your lips.

It’s a bit of a struggle to transport all of your loot to the car an hour later, but thankfully, nobody’s around as the two of you carry all of the junk across the building.

The drive back, you sit practically on top of each other, giggling and munching all the way.

Neither of you waste any time as the weeks go on. You start going out, and you find yourselves spending more time in each others’ offices.

One morning, a few months after you’ve made things official, you step out of your office to come face to face with a vending machine.

All that’re in it are bags of Oreos, and a small sticky note pasted to the glass with a sloppy heart drawn onto it.

[eds6ngel]

✎ when i kissed the teacher | part two

summary: with the christmas fayre coming up, alena offers for steve to help run your stall with you. but, how will alone time between the two of you affect your ever-growing feelings for one another?

if you aren’t caught up on the story, read part one here!

warnings: dad!steve. singledad!steve. 90s!au. fem!reader. swearing. mutual pining. slow burn. fluff. angst. robin being a matchmaker. slight age gap [r is 24, steve is 29]. r has a breakdown towards the end. more warnings in future chapters! [4.2k].

Can a teacher date a student’s parent?

Can a teacher and a parent be romantically involved?

Is it okay to have a crush on a student’s parent?

Hours upon hours spent searching the highs and lows of Yahoo! just to be met with the same answers.

Wouldn’t encourage.

Not advised.

No.

“What are you still doing up? You have kids to teach from 8am tomorrow,” your roommate Amy says, you peering at the clock on the wall, it reading 11:47PM.

You groan and bury your face in your hands, letting the inevitable frustration take over your soul, “I thought this new search engine was meant to be reliable? It keeps giving me the same damn answers.”

The sound of running water floods your senses, Amy taking on the task to tackle the growing pile of dishes you’d left rotting in the sink from your evening meal. “I mean, does that mean it’s unreliable? Or is it just not giving you the answer you desire?”

You slam your laptop lid shut, resting your head on top of the heavy, black outer, buzzing your lips, “Maybe, I’m not right about everything.”

“No one’s right about everything honey, that’s just life. You’re letting the self-doubt flood your mind again,” she reminds you, your mind racing about the situation at hand.

You lean back in your chair, Amy coming over and massaging your shoulders, “I think it’s time for you to get some sleep. Take your mind off of things.”

You let out a deep breath, one you weren’t even aware you were holding in, “Yeah, probably for the best.”

You leave your laptop on the kitchen table, raising from your seat and dragging yourself to your bedroom. Throwing on your pyjamas, you head to the bathroom to complete your nightly skincare routine. However, the silence of the small apartment made your thoughts worse. You couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same way, had these same exact questions. Although, there was nothing for him to worry about. He didn’t have the price of his whole entire job at stake.

By your own research, you also stumbled across articles of “breaching confidentiality,” which made sense to you. If you became a mother figure for one of your students, it would destroy the power dynamic. And with not many teaching roles available around the area, you couldn’t lose your one opportunity. An opportunity that you actually enjoyed.

You flop onto your bed, snuggle yourself underneath the silken sheets and try to let your mind wander into a weird dream that could never be explained. You needed a break before seeing his face again tomorrow.

The next two months felt like torture. Seeing his beautiful face, those gorgeous brown curls every morning and afternoon just made your crush on him intensify. And not only that, but Alena was improving in Math. He listened to you. Not only was he an extremely attractive guy, but he was also an amazing dad. The most deadliest combination of them all.

And you would also be lying if you said if you didn’t spend at least a few times a week scouring the internet for the answer you wanted to your question. However, with every new response, it just directed you further away from your desired answer.

“Thank you for being such wonderful, respectful and kind students today! I’m proud of each and every one of you,” you say, a smile plastered on your face. “Now, as you all know, the Christmas Fayre is coming up next week! You have all been working so hard on forming your chocolate boxes. But, I will need a volunteer to help me run our stall, and that volunteer I was hoping for would be in the form of one of your guys’ parents! So, if you could be so kind as to ask them—”

However, your request is cut short by Alena’s hand shooting up in the air, her practically bouncing in her crossed-legged position, “Yes, Alena?”

“My daddy will help!” she beams.

If there was anyone you hoped wouldn’t offer, it would be her. But, how could you deny? She was a six-year-old kid, you couldn’t just tell her no because you couldn’t cope around her father who you also so happened to have a crush on.

“That’s very nice of you to offer Alena, but wouldn’t it be wise to ask your daddy first just to see whether he can make it?”

“Oh, I know he’s free!” she says straightforwardly, “He finishes work at 1 on a Friday, all he does for the afternoon is sit at home!”

“Okay,” you breathe out, clapping your hands together, “Stev— Alena’s daddy it is! Don’t worry the rest of you, it’s all sorted now! Now, who wants to go home?”

A chorus of “Me!” can be heard from the voices of the children sitting on the rug, you walking over to the window to check what parents had arrived, and sure enough, Steve was standing there patiently waiting. You can’t help but give him a small smile as he looks at you, waving his hand.

God, stop acting like a teenage girl.

You look down and compose yourself, calling over to Alena and Harry, his mom also there ready to collect him. Alena bumbles over to you, giggling away at nothing as she cheesily grins. “Okay honey, off you go. Have a great weekend!”

Steve is smiling as his daughter runs up to him, causing him to slightly stumble back as she races into his legs and hugs them tightly, “Good afternoon to you too Missus! How was your day?” he asks, grabbing her hand and leading her out to the school parking lot.

“Sooo good!” she jumps, “I got all my math problems right!”

“That’s great pumpkin! That extra homework really helped out, didn’t it? Miss. L/N is a genius!” he beams to his daughter, trying to hide the fact that he was just complimenting your intellect as a human being, rather than just in your profession.

“Uh huh! And then me and Timmy played Hopscotch and I won, of course,” she says sassily, putting her hand to her chest, making Steve laugh. He was proud she inherited his confidence in a positive way, he couldn’t bear to see his own family turn out the way he did in his schooling career.

“Oh, did you? Was Timmy just not up to your level? Doesn’t have that Harrington magic?”

“Nope!” she shouts, popping the ‘P,’ “And then I got ten out of ten in my spelling bee! And we got to do lots of drawing as it’s Friday and Miss. L/N lets us have lots of fun on a Friday!”

“Sounds like you had a very busy day then!” Steve says, lifting her into the front seat and putting her seatbelt on for her. Alena waits to answer, kicking her feet in her seat as Steve situates himself in the driver’s side.

“Yeah! And then at the end of the day, Miss. L/N talked about the Christmas Fayre and I said you could help her out!”

Steve almost chokes on his own spit, spluttering out, “You said that I could help?”

“Yeah! You always talk about how lonely you are on a Friday without me, so I thought you could help her out!”

“That’s very nice of you to offer sweet-cheeks, but I thought I was taking you around the Christmas Fayre next Friday? That way I wouldn’t be lonely without you!” Steve says, trying to find any way out of the inevitable trap his daughter had put him in. It’s not like she understood, how could he blame her?

“But Miss. L/N really needs help daddy. Pleaseeeee! Auntie Robin could take me instead and I would still see you.”

He knew she was right. But, he may have found his one-way ticket out of the task, “But, sweetie, Robin works until two on a Friday, remember? She may be too busy.” She better be fucking busy.

“Can you just ask her daddy? Pleaseeeee!” she drags out, Steve caving into his daughter’s cuteness.

“Okay, okay,” he sighs out, “But, just keep in mind she may say no, okay?”

“Oh, I’d be happy to take her,” Robin smiles, Steve hearing the smirk in her tone through the receiver.

“Robin, that was a rhetorical question, I want you to say no. For the love of God say no,” Steve begs, knowing his best friend was fully aware of his crush on you. The countless hours of him both down the phone and in person rambling away about how beautiful you were, Robin soon picking up on the cues, and then her teasing him relentlessly about it was still going strong.

“Oh, poor Stevie can’t handle spending some time alone with his daughter’s teacher,” she whines dramatically, Steve rolling his eyes.

“I know you think you’re being funny Robin, but that is the exact mess I am in. How am I meant to stand there and run a fucking Christmas stall with her when she is the most gorgeous woman in the world?”

“You just gotta be yourself,” she laughs, telling him her signature advice, knowing that it has never helped him in the past.

“Stop with that bullshit Robin, you and I both know that neither of us have ever followed it,” he admits with a shake of his head, “Look, can’t you just say that you and Vickie have a date or something?”

“We’ve been together for eight years, Steve. You think we still plan weekly date nights? We’re almost thirty, you know,” Robin reminds him, the idea of the couple scheduling time out for romanticism seeming utterly ridiculous.

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” he complains, ignoring the fact that he was one year away from hitting thirty, “Right, I’m gonna call in Lena, just make up some excuse please, okay? She’s six, she’ll believe literally anything.”

“Fine,” Robin agrees, “Your loss dude.”

After Steve shouts Alena’s name, she comes running in, feet pattering against the wooden floor, “Auntie Robin is on the phone, she has something to tell you,” Steve says, passing the phone down to her smaller height.

“Hello?”

“Hi Auntie Robin!”

“Yeah?”

“Really?”

“Thank you!”

“Okay, byeee!”

Steve notices Alena’s pitch get higher as each word was spoken, her attitude getting happier and happier. Robin had definitely told her the truth.

As Alena passes the phone back, Steve quietly thanks her as she patters back to her bedroom, him raising the phone back to his ear, “You told her you could take her, didn’t you?”

“Uh huh!” Robin cheerfully replies.

Steve shakes his head in annoyance, “I hate you.”

“I know.”

After you had gotten all the kids with their parents, it was time for you to tackle setting up the stall. As previously told, Robin had collected Alena and Steve should be arriving any minute. The school had already set up the tables for every class, so all you had to do was transport the chocolate boxes over to your designated table.

A faint knock can be heard on your classroom door as you spin around, Steve standing there sheepishly, waving to you.

You giggle to yourself, “You can come in, you know? We’re technically out of hours, you don’t need to stand around like a lost puppy.”

He puts his hands up in defense, making his way over to you, “Nothing wrong with some good old fashioned manners.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” you smile, “Thank you for coming by the way, Alena was persistent on you being the parent to help out.”

“If you think she was persistent here, you should’ve heard her in my car that afternoon: ‘Daddy please help out Miss. L/N, she really needs it,’” he says in a baby voice, upping his pitch to match the tone of his mini-me.

You laugh at his impression, “She’s a character, that’s for sure,” you reply, before explaining the situation, “Okay, so the kids made a bunch of chocolate boxes. I’m gonna sell them for $1.50 a box purely for the array of brands. My bank account is currently punishing me, but that’s okay.”

“Wait, you bought all the chocolate yourself?” Steve queries.

You sigh, “Yeah, but it’s no problem, really. It was a great way of combining learning with fun. As you can see, all the outside boxes are decorated differently, so it was good to factor in their knowledge of shapes along with some artsy work.”

“You know, if you asked the parents, I would’ve happily chipped in with a few bars of Hershey’s,” he honestly admits, copying you as you begin to pick up some of the chocolate boxes.

You shake your head, heading out of your classroom and down towards the main hall, “Honestly, it’s nothing. That’s the kind of thing you sacrifice for being a teacher. We’re underpaid as it is, our wages not factoring in this entire classroom decoration business, so $10 worth of chocolate bars wasn’t breaking the bank too much. Actual Christmas shopping is the real breaker,” you softly laugh.

There it was again: that kindness. You would do anything for those kids, anything to make them happy, to allow them to enjoy school. Even if it meant dipping into your own savings. That was admirable.

You arrive at your designated table, “Okay, so just line them up in a way that makes them easy to see. No need for any fancy order or anything,” you explain, “There’s thirty boxes altogether, so don’t spread them too far apart. The table is pretty small after all.”

“You got it,” he replies, laying out the items on the red cloth-covered table, as do you, before you both walk back to the classroom and repeat your actions.

Once you have completed your task, you take a seat on the chairs that the staff had so kindly laid out for you beforehand. You breathe out, “Now time to relax.”

Steve checks the watch perched on his left wrist, “What time does this thing start again?”

“2:30,” you tell him, further adding, “I got lucky in the sense that I only had to lay out these boxes. I know other grades made snowmen and other decorations, or fourth grade did the classic antiques stall where they get the kids to bring in old or unused items from home. And then, of course, we have our lovely outside visitors who are doing the raffle, hook a duck, stuff like that. We also have to give the cafeteria staff enough time to prepare food since this is going on until 5pm. Oh, that reminds me, I bet Alena didn’t tell you how long this was on for!”

He smiles, thinking to himself how you cute you were when you rambled, “I think you forget it was on the flyer you gave out to the kids.”

You laugh in an embarrassed manner, hiding your face behind your hands, “Sorry. I genuinely forget that sometimes you are just a parent of one of my students. Like, as I’m talking to you right now, it just feels like I’m talking to a regular guy, you know?”

He softly chuckles, “I understand. I mean, I always feel like I’m just talking to a pretty girl instead of my daughter’s teacher.”

You become rendered speechless. Did he just say what you thought he said?

“You… You think I’m pretty?” you tenderly question, making sure you weren’t living inside of your own fantasy world.

Steve fumbles over his words, “I, um…” before he shakes his head, “What the hell am I lying for? Uh, yes. Yes I do think you look… pretty.” He looks down at his lap, twiddling his own thumbs as he awaits the ultimate rejection. You can’t just say that stuff to her, no matter how much it’s true.

You blush at his compliment, internally thanking yourself that you weren’t imagining his feelings back, “Thank you… You look handsome too.”

She’s just saying it to be nice. She’s just saying it to be nice. She’s just saying it to be nice.

“Um… Thanks.”

But, now that it was reciprocated, you began burying yourself into a deeper hole: the questions. The questions answered no. You can’t date him. You could lose everything. You couldn’t lose your job over a stupid boy. A handsome boy. A nice boy. A kind, sweet… caring boy. Could you?

An hour into the event and half the chocolate boxes were already sold. You had been doing the same stall for the past two years, the idea coming to you your first year of teaching after talking to another teacher about Christmas gifts. But, it had never sold this fast. Although, you noticed by the body language of some parents that Steve’s charm and looks were playing a major part in the quick selling. But, he had charmed you, so who were you to judge?

You were out of earshot and attending to another customer as Robin and Alena approached the stall, Alena shouting, “Daddy!” Steve’s facing lighting up with delight.

“Hey pumpkin! How’s it been so far?”

She giggles and bounces in her spot, “Soooo good! Robin got me some candyfloss and I had a hot chocolate. But, I got too excited and burnt my mouth. But, it didn’t hurt too much and I drank the whole thing!”

“The sugars definitely had an effect on someone, hasn’t it?” he says, lifting his eyebrows at Robin, giving her an accusatory look.

She scoffs at him, “Give her a break, it’s Christmas. Plus, I think we have better things to be talking about,” she smirks, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

He sighs, “She already called me handsome because my big ass mouth couldn’t shut up and told her that she looks pretty right to her face,” he mentally facepalms himself.

Robin grins at him, “Well, that’s perfect!”

“What do you mean?”

“Dude, are you kidding?” she asks, “She complimented you back after you complimented her. She literally reciprocated back. Girls don’t do that for no reason.”

“Robin, you don’t even like men.”

She looks at him dumbfounded, “Straights and lesbians aren’t that different, you dingus. We still react the same way when it comes to someone who likes us.”

“Whatever you say,” he replies, trying to ignore his best friend’s advice.

“I’m just saying, give it a shot,” she says, “At least if you get rejected, you can move on. I’ve had enough of you love-dumping about her down the phone.”

“Hey,” he points a finger at her, “This is payback for when you wouldn’t shut up about Vickie in your senior year.”

“And we’re still happily in love eight years later, so who’s the real loser here, Harrington?”

He rolls his eyes at her, Robin copying his action as you become free from the previous customer, tending to Alena.

Steve licks his lips as he thinks to himself: God, maybe Robin is right. What else has he got left to lose? A million girls rejected him during and after high school, that’s only another one to add to the never-ending list, right?

The event ended a little later than expected, a remaining two chocolate boxes left for you and Steve to carry back to your classroom, leaving the pot of money on the table for the staff to collect and count up.

“Thank you for helping out, you don’t understand how grateful I am. It’s much easier to sell products when there’s two people doing the convincing,” you say with a soft laugh to your tone.

He buzzes his lips and waves his hand, “It’s nothing, trust me. I would’ve been doing nothing all afternoon if I wasn’t here.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, “Alena told me that last Friday.”

“She did?” he asks with a smile, you nodding along, “The cheeky little shit.”

“Yeah, I was thinking that when she said it. Like, damn girl, really outing your father’s loneliness like that,” you laugh, “Kids are so brutally honest, I love it.”

“Yeah, Alena’s definitely a straightforward kid, that’s for sure.”

A delicate smile crosses your face as you lift up a chocolate box to him, “For you.”

He takes it out of your hands, questioning, “Are you sure? You don’t need them for anything else?”

You shake your head sadly, “No. All the school does with unsold items is keep them in storage until next year or throw them in the trash. So, for food like this, it’ll get put in the trash unfortunately.”

He sighs solemnly, “That’s kind of sad, if I’m being honest. Like, there’s kids crafts here. Why throw it away?”

“That’s what I’ve always said!” you quietly shout, your voice small enough to not disturb the silent atmosphere, yet loudly projecting to show your agreement, “Like, you only get so many memories of the children that pass through this school, why discard them as simply as that? It’s like they don’t appreciate the kids personalities and only see them as future employees.” You sigh whilst shaking your head, shoving the remaining chocolate box into your own bag, slinging it over your shoulder, “Anyway, I should get going home. I’m sure you wanna go and see Alena too.”

“Wait!” Steve yells, the word spilling out of his mouth before he has time to compose himself. Just you standing there, you looked so beautiful. Your eyes so soft as they look up at him, lips slightly parted as if you wanted to question him, yet you let him continue. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah…” you breathe out, “Anything.”

Steve shakes his hands, trying to jitter the nerves out of his body. It was now or never.

“God… This is gonna sound so forward, and I’m sorry, but… Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

It was like a knife to the chest, you letting out a shaky breath as you clutched the binder and notebook in your arms, looking down at the floor as you swallowed. You really wanted to say yes. God, it was like a fire burning within you to say yes. But, you had to make a choice. This job was forever, who knew the long-term circumstances of the potential relationship? Was it really worth it to put your hard-earned degree in the background to focus on a love that might not even last?

And it’s not that you didn’t trust it to last, you had a feeling deep inside you that told you that he was the right person. But, there’s always the saying: Right person, wrong time.

“Steve, I… I can’t, I’m sorry,” you reply, trying not to let the tears fall as you explain your reasoning, “It’s not you, I promise it’s not, it’s just… confidentiality, you know? Because of Alena, if we became a couple, I could get accused of a lot of shit, potentially even lose my job. And I’ve worked a long time to get here, and I can’t be throwing it away for a relationship. I’m really sorry, but… Yeah, that’s why.”

You look up at him, his face telling that he was heartbroken, him wanting so desperately for the answer to be yes. He knew it, you were just being polite.

“Yeah, I get it,” he mumbles out, convinced that your reasoning was a cover up for your lack of attraction, “I get it…”

“Again, I’m sorr—”

He cuts you off, “It’s fine…”

You sigh out, “Well… I have to head home, it’s getting late,” you say, him nodding along, still not making any eye contact with you, “Have a good Christmas, Steve.”

“Yeah… You too,” he replies, you turning your back and heading out of your classroom, not returning for another two weeks.

You stormed out to the parking lot, the night sky covering over, the stars twinkling away as you throw your bag into the passenger seat. You slam your door shut, breathing out, the tears now falling down your cheeks as you hit your steering wheel forcefully, screaming out, “Stupid fucking bullshit rules!”

You pull your car out of park, reversing and steering out of the lot. You try to drive as carefully as you can, the rush of anger coursing through your blood making it extremely difficult to stick to the road safety rules you were taught at sixteen.

After arriving home five minutes earlier than normal, your bad energy keeping you slightly above the required speed limit, you unlock the front door to your apartment, Amy not expected to return home for another two hours.

You throw your keys and bag on the kitchen counter, grabbing your laptop and speeding to your room. You open up the lid and once again type in, ‘Can a teacher date a student’s parent?’

“Come on… Come on… Please, please!” you yell, your body shaking as you frantically search the web for the answer you so desperately require. There had to be some way around this. You couldn’t let this slip through your fingers.

Wouldn’t advise.

Strong discourage.

Do not do this.

Definitely no.

You scream as you throw your laptop away from you, crying out, “Just give me the fucking answer!”

But, that was the issue. That was the answer. No amount of wishful thinking would change that. You couldn’t date Steve Harrington.

everything got a little bit angsty towards the end, but that's what makes a good fic, right?

taglist: @livsters @bakugouswh0r3 comment if you want to be added!!

→ next chapter.

[bcacstuff]

Ok so my take is it's some kind of meeting, interview, getting to know you, whatever you wanna call it. His body language is screaming I'm here I'm listening like he does in interviews, the focused look down, his phone on the table suggests not a date at all he usually has it in his jeans pocket, she has a laptop or something in front of her which idk any date that brings that. This could've been right at the start, no drinks on the table. Still acquainting with each other.

She's not dressed as a young girl in LA on a first or second date, their legs are also not touching as another blogger is trying to suggest, he's actually clearly keeping his away from hers by crossing his legs, and just because that trash site posted she's identified but not public person means nothing. They clearly state they don't post all actual facts. It's whatever people send them. Could be someone said it to stir up more discussion. Honestly everything lately from him has felt like a scream for attention. For a bit of discussion about him. To make him seem a little more important than he is. Even the cinema post. Who on earth would randomly spot him if not organised by publicity??? This entire LA trip has felt like all PR. And maybe she's an interviewer who doesn't want to be put out there maybe they aren't gonna throw her under the bus but want people talking (when I say they I mean Sam's PR people)

You know Anon, I just sit here and most of the time shake my head over all the Anons in my inbox as well as all the 'suggestions' and 'maybes' in the comments.

People jumping to conclusions, people saying things they read somewhere else and make it sound like it is already a fact...

Seriously, where one sees he's smiling and having a good time with 'his date' the next one is claiming their legs are close together and people that do business or have an interview don't sit that close together... the other side sees nothing romantic and it must be business or an interview. And people get all worked up...

I just had my laughs last night, when the pic was posted by DM. Firstly because obviously no flight to catch after his TCA appearance as some blogger claimed she knew from her 'sources'... and I don't see that blogger addressing that in her next posts!

Secondly, all the ones claiming he was sitting behind Ashley in Washington at the rugby game. Do people fail to see how that SS cap was clearly photoshopped on the woman's head? 🤦‍♀️

And when I post he's still in LA, I get a shitload of Anons saying how would I know, well... because I use logic. Plain and simply logic. If I post things, I checked things, otherwise I wouldn't post it. But it seems some people are so terribly suspicious that they need evidence and proof for all, yet at the same time they seem to believe everything posted elsewhere without any shred of evidence.... even the weirdest narrative is taken for granted, rather than wait and see if there wil be more info, and if not so what, do we always need some explanation for everything? Or can we live with, we don't need to know every bloody detail? Oh and btw. he's still in LA today, so the ones claiming he's back in Glasgow... without any evidence and logic, sorry.... stop throwing things out there you would like to see, just see what really happens. You just get embarrassed all the time that when more details and facts surface.

Anyway, back to your summary of events. I agree, it looks like they just arrived, given there are no drinks on the table, just the 'fancy chips' they serve at that Beach restaurant at Shutters on the Beach.

No drinks (yet) on the table, or anything else for that matter, just his sunnies, his phone in front of him and in front of her something that looks like a tablet or laptop

So yes, I agree, if that is a laptop or tablet, that's not what you would bring a date. It gives me a bit the idea of the pics in NYC with the journo of Departures.

But then again, we do not know who the woman is. And there is no easy way to find out, as to me, she looks like millions of other blonde women. That said, the names now thrown out thus far, I don't think any of them match. And to the Anon thinking Ava as she was at the screening of Cinespia as well, please, the woman has tattoos all over her arms...

The pics are quite clear though, so it suggests someone close by took them, not even grainy or vague. Would they not have seen that a pic was taken? 🤷‍♀️

And as long as there are no other details known, I just keep all options open. I can lean more to one or another option, but I rather wait and see if there will be more known in the future. (just see how we found out about Lauren in NYC a year later!)

So that's what I do right now. If you want to do else, have a firm opinion about something, that's totally on you. What I do care for is that you don't come to me later on claiming I said this or that, or another blogger said this or that. I wont entertain that.

PS. I don't like to post the same things over and over again, when there is nothing new or more info about it. So don't expect countless posts about the woman, about who he was with at the screening on Saturday. If I find anything more, you always know I post it with the proof.

[gaoau]

if not reason, then the devil

to have a conversation with god, the greatest sinner walking this earth. talk to him, for He will listen.

pairing — fyodor dostoevsky x reader word count — 3.6k

( 1 corinthians 13:4-8 )

[name] sighs as they balance their cup of coffee on its saucer. scanning their eyes over the occupied seats, they find luck is not on their side this afternoon. there's a nice couple being attended to and another one chatting gleefully. business partners engaging in conversation, a foreigner by himself, and two friends chortling away. the tables inside are, unfortunately, just as busy. [name] fiddles with the strap of their bag in thought. it takes another defeated sigh, but they decide to simply head back to the counter and have their drink to go.

just as they turn to walk back into the shop, a voice calls out to them, "i've got an open seat here," is all it says. [name] throws a glance over their shoulder. it's the foreigner. he's looking them right in the eye, a friendly simper on his lips. "if you'd like to join me," fyodor prompts, gesturing to the empty chair with his palm.

from the ushanka, [name]'s first guess is that he's russian—or at least some kind of slav. not that it matters. when it comes down to it, he seems to be horribly anemic and probably wouldn't pose much of a threat. they contemplate their options for another brief moment. with a shrug, they choose to take his kind offer.

"thanks." they smile at him, setting down their cup across from his. "sorry to bother."

he closes his eyes when he chuckles, "ah, you japanese people, always so apologetic." the comment pricks [name] in the back of their head. it's not necessarily offensive, but it does feel like payback for their own stereotyping thoughts. fyodor notices their fleeting frown. funny foreigner. "feel free to get on with your homework. i won't disturb you." he takes a sip from his cup of tea to emphasize his words.

[name] says, "thank you," and starts pulling out their laptop from their bag. loose papers and a few pens so they can finish their work with a deadline around the corner. they waste no time in swiftly typing away on their keyboard, checking over their notes to build their essay.

it's two paragraphs later that they flicker their attention up to the friendly foreigner who offered up his solitude. what a lucky guess this nameless man made to know this was homework.

their fingers continue typing on instinct as they carefully analyze fyodor. he's got one earphone in, eyes closed, taking an occasional sip from his drink. he politely grins at the waitress when she comes over to refill his tea. but he's very quiet and distant. [name] can tell—people-watching, one of their many habits. aloof, smart, making sure to reserve his energy. it's interesting to find with one glance that he bites his nails until he bleeds. for how collected he appears to be, it's certainly an interesting quirk.

when he feels [name]'s attention return to their screen, fyodor opens his eyes to assess them in turn. conversational, focused, and they act surprised every time they remember they have a cup of coffee to sip from. they use quite the messy handwriting to scribble down abbreviations and unfinished words. from the few characters he can properly read, they appear to be interested in criminology. how arrogant for a human to attempt to study the same brain that taints them with sin.

how innocent.

fyodor allows four minutes and thirty-seven seconds of silence to pass by between his new subject and him. the song on the radio changes while the waitress leaves after refilling his cup. he takes a sip from his tea and then stares at his reflection. "ah, danse of the knights…" on the code sheet inside his brain, the cannibalism plan is going accordingly. he hums to himself, pleased with this foreseen course of events.

just as he thought, [name] reacts to the unprompted sound of his voice. they halt their typing and turn their head up to look at him curiously. fyodor makes sure to hold eye contact. inviting, he raises his brows, carefully wrapping the strings of their brain tightly around his fingers. it takes them a second to bite. there's a faint crease on their forehead, hesitant to engage in conversation past their ingrained politeness. but he expects more from them than this.

when they reach for their pen and relax their shoulders, fyodor knows he's got them right where he wants them. "it's not every day you see foreigners around here," they start, a smile painting their face, "everyone usually sticks to tokyo." a light-hearted chuckle tumbles from their tongue. quicker than anticipated.

"well, i have business here." he sets his cup back on its saucer. the clink of ceramic against ceramic marks the start of a timer. "i knew japan wasn't welcoming of foreigners, but i didn't think you'd try to kick me out like that."

[name] laughs, "oh, it's not the foreigner part." they smile softly as they glance down at his hands. with their pen, they make a vague gesture towards his fingers. "i usually steer clear of nail-biters."

fyodor blinks, brows rising. he takes a look at his own hands. it's true that his nails don't have a very healthy appearance. they seem brittle and they are, but he admits this is a strange observation on their part. it's perfect.

"you don't look like you get overwhelmed easily, so i'm guessing you do it out of understimulation." it's a smart guess. fyodor leans back on his chair to get comfortable. fidgeting with their pen helps them lay out their thoughts properly. "those are usually the worst type of nail-biters," they finish their assessment with a polite grin.

"that's quite accurate. are you pursuing psychology?"

"minoring. i'm studying criminology."

he knew that. he managed to gather that much from the unreadable scribbles on their notes. this interest in criminals they seem to have makes fyodor want to laugh out loud. they're studying criminology and they're having the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to converse with a terrorist—albeit unbeknownst to them. he has high hopes that [name] will provide exactly what he wants. with the strings looped around his fingers, he tugs.

"interesting…" he lets silence hang for a second. then, "what can you say about me? apart from the understimulated nail-biting, of course."

surprise washes over [name]'s face instantly. "are you a criminal?" they're skeptical.

"let's say i am."

"hypothetically." they're naïve. they stare into his eyes. fyodor simply offers them a simper. [name] nods to themself. "alright, hypothetically. let's say you've murdered someone. how have you done it?"

"i haven't"

their eyes narrow. "i get it." they're naïve, but they're not stupid. "you'd make somebody else do it for you. are you confident in your manipulation skills?"

"very."

"okay…" their voice drifts in thought as they process the information. profiling requires observation, from the smallest of mannerisms to the strongest inflections. "makes me wonder why you wanted me to sit here," they mumble under their breath.

but fyodor hears them clearly. "entertainment, of course."

"then i'll try to live up to your expectations," they chuckle, leaving their pen among their papers. "i'll take a guess and say the ends justify the means for you." [name] stares into his eyes with careful attention. he nods. the victorious grin that spreads over their lips is instinctual. "yeah, checks out. i chalked up the fact that you called out to me when no else did to you being a foreigner, but you knew i'd entertain you. you're not only confident, but also smart, observant, and awfully calculative."

fyodor tilts his head only slightly, harmless. he wears a gentle smile. "why, thank you."

"now your turn." they've found something better than a pen to fidget with. "i'm helping you kill time here." they've found an interesting profile in the wild to pick at. "are you waiting for something?"

"that's right. some comrades are working on the next step of our plan."

"plan? what's that?"

"we'll get there," he dismisses. for someone who doesn't quite share his intellect, [name] is surprisingly elusive. there's not much fyodor can read in hunches. they hum in response. the strings around his fingers loosen the closer they get. he sits up straight again. "let me ask you something else. as someone who's analyzed many different criminals' brains, i'd assume, what's your view on them?" fyodor tugs.

[name] follows without question. "they're… interesting. they usually come from abusive backgrounds; both psychological and physiological trauma play an incredibly huge part on what they do and how they react."

"terrible, isn't it?"

a shrug makes their shoulders jump. "sure. i think what they do is even more terrible. i understand the brain works differently for everyone, and their trauma is very much real, but i don't have any sympathy for horrible people."

"oh. how forward of you. a little mean, too."

"well, suffering isn't really an excuse."

"i agree, i agree," fyodor hums, nodding. he plays with [name]'s strings, looping their attention around his finger to bring them closer. his lips curl up into a grin. "then, what do you think of wiping them out?"

[name] blinks, brows raised, a mask of perplexity. "wipe?" fyodor stares into their eyes as they ponder. he considers this is the moment they fold and retreat, unable to handle his eccentric nature. but they reach into his brain and grip his mind tight. "yeah, we should get rid of them."

how beautiful it is, he thinks, to find a sinner with pure thoughts. someone who proudly wears bloodstains on their hand for the sake of a cleaner, perfect world. how wonderful, He thinks, to hear of a sinful saint walking among a sea of blasphemous eyes and experts in greed. they're a lack of natural chaos in a world of brute beasts, and like beasts he will make sure they perish. [name] shall be saved, he decides. He'll give them a different body; He'll rebuild their heart from the start.

carefully, he reels them closer. "then, i'll tell you about our plan."

"oh, enlighten me."

"this world, you agree, is rife with crime and sin."

[name] pauses briefly. then they nod. "not completely, but yes." they don't hesitate.

they do not hesitate. a faint frown pulls down on his brows. he worries they're too lost, led astray by false teachers. "it should be cleaned, right?" he knows they will nod in response. so [name] nods. fyodor leans back on his chair. "that is our plan. i'm going to end this wicked, sinful world. and i'm going to make it into what god meant it to be. a perfect world."

"god?"

"yes," he chuckles, "humans are far too foolish to even repent. the only way to save you now that you're this far gone is to return to him."

"you make it sound like repentance is necessary. not everyone is a sinner."

"of course they are. breathing, thinking, all of it is a sin."

"fine, but not every sinner seeks repentance."

"that's because you're lost." he offers [name] a grin, head tilting slightly and eyes closed. when he meets their gaze again, they're intently listening to his every word. they're tangled in their own brain. "not to worry, i'll make sure to hold your hand and lead you to salvation."

"what if we don't want salvation, though?" accursed words that they sigh; the same ones that rule with chaos and seduce the unstable. the broken cries that turn the world so blue.

"what could you possibly mean?"

"that as foolish and sinful as people are, it's that innate anarchy that makes humanity charming."

fyodor knows perpendicular lines meet only once at a single, lonely intersection. he knows they've met and they're only drifting farther apart. "ah, that's nothing but your mistaken belief." but He also knows lines can be bent.

[name] blinks, taken aback. "not that beliefs can be mistaken. they're beliefs, they're subjective."

a chuckle drifts from fyodor's tongue. he grins to himself as he takes another sip from his tea. "of course you'd think that." his voice is airy, weightless, a shepherd herding his stubborn cattle. the chime of his cup against the saucer rings like a warning bell. "and it's just like that, with those thoughts, that you fail to realize how your own beliefs and values blind you. can't you feel how it all leaves you hungry and lost and empty inside?"

"no."

fyodor's smile vanishes, fluttering like a feather and drifting in the wind. he glares through narrowed eyes at [name]'s mistaken beliefs.

"no, i can't." they glare back, not with defiance, but with pure-hearted ignorance. they're lost. "humans are funny; i think we're fascinating creatures. i mean, there are exceptions, y'know, some should simply just go, we'd be better off without them. but in being lost—as you call it—humans find themselves. for better or for worse."

"well, this is the age of idolized suicide. humans would rather cling to these empty feelings than accept help. that's the only way they believe they'll make it."

"and you think leaving people's lives up to thoughts and prayers will accomplish anything?"

"tell me, do you believe in god at all?"

"i believe in religion."

He sighs, "see, humans are so foolish, they want to believe in what they know won't make them feel helpless and powerless, even if they're aware that belief is mistaken."

"and what makes your belief true? why aren't you one of these sinful humans?"

the smile that creeps onto his lips promises joy to every soul that has been led astray. "i'm the savior that will free us from the chaos," He speaks with entrancing grandiloquence and charming confidence. with grace, he tugs at every string from [name]'s brain.

"but human nature is chaotic; why would you wipe it all?" they pull back. 

fyodor hums in thought. he searches for a different approach, an idea that will snap their eyes open and shatter them so he can rearrange the pieces correctly. "have you heard about this phenomenon in which some people are born with special abilities?" he returns their question with one of his own.

"i've heard a few things here and there, but i've never met anyone with one. though, with the strange things that have happened in this city, i can believe it."

"well, i'll let you in on a secret." he leans closer towards [name], lowering his voice. effectively, they mimic him without question. they stare at him, ears pricked, and fyodor grins to himself. at their core, they're quite simple. "i'm an ability user."

they frown to themself for a second. they find it hard to believe a feeble, anemic man like this could possibly have any sort of power. funny foreigner. "really, now?" funny foreigner. he really does look like he'd topple over like a house of cards if they touch him. but they stay close to listen to anything He has to say. "and can you disclose what it is or is that, you know, confidential?"

"you don't believe until you see?"

"i guess you can say that. words are just words."

"well, it's nothing impressive, really. i can simply read minds." he shrugs, dismissive, as if it were an every day thing. then he looks [name] dead in the eye, grinning. "i am, in fact, rather anemic, since you were wondering."

their brows jump. "oh, my bad. yeah, that was rude, sorry about that." as He chuckles to himself, ready to carry on with his proselytizing, [name] hums. "you might wanna look into iron supplements for that."

it's for half a second that surprise flashes over His eyes. he blinks blankly at them before letting a chuckle tumble from his lips. [name] admits they don't know how these supernatural abilities work, but they do know how to read human reactions. from his raised brows to his amused laughter afterward, they wonder how much truth there is behind his words. he clearly did not read ahead of their comment.

with a welcoming grin, He makes sure they don't stray too far away from his hand. he pulls from the strings tight. "you can ask, i don't mind," he reassures. his intellect gives way for his lies to pass off as truths. without allowing them a word, he responds to their unspoken thoughts, "your brain lights up before you even have a thought, which is what my ability allows me to read. i simply choose when to activate it, otherwise it'd be overwhelming to hear everyone's brains lighting up."

"i see…" they nod their head, following along with His explanation. then they lean back on their chair, looking into his eyes with interest. "so what's that got to do with anything?"

"these abilities, these inequalities, they're the most chaotic and wicked sin to have ever tainted humanity."

[name] nods in understanding. "so… because there are people like you, with singularities different and therefore unequal, they are sinners?"

"correct."

"and you want to wipe this sin clean from the earth?"

"precisely, i will."

it takes a second for [name] to properly process all of His preaching. how fascinating to hear his convictions. "then… you'll wipe and remove yourself from this world too, right?" how wonderful to listen to anything He has to say, however nonsensical it may sound.

"i'll spill whoever's blood. it's all for the world as it's ought to be." but fyodor smiles.

"do you believe in god?"

"of course. if you let yourself be guided by his hand, you too can reach salvation." 

"then why are you trying to become him?"

it's their own heresy, fyodor thinks, that traps and stains them. with each of their responses, they slowly earn the awaiting flames of salvation. He will relinquish them from all their sins.

"i'm not," He answers, "i simply see all these lost lambs, desperate to try and run, going in circles straight back to the slaughter, and i can't help but pity them. you're even endearing to a point." He softly smiles with promises of freedom. "i must guide you to the right path on god's will."

a pondering frown pulls down on [name]'s brows. they stare Him right in the eye as they ask, "and is leading people to this right path really all that great?" their question hangs in the air while fyodor stares back. quietly, His smile fades. [name] waits for His answer, for anything He can come up with to convince them of His righteousness. "you'd sacrifice even yo—"

"no," He cuts them off, "i am that great."

[name] is speechless, letting each of His words seep through their skin and invade their bloodstream. everything He says is nothing but nonsense and they don't believe any of it. whether it is salvation or damnation, it does not matter, because He speaks of unreal ideals. but they become charmed by his grandiloquent speeches. He is incredibly self-important and undeniably delusional, but [name] can only find it beautiful.

time seems to freeze while the two stare at one another. fyodor grins as He gives the strings of [name]'s brain one final tug. it's the last push they need to fall completely into the right path He has carved for them. salvation awaits them. by His hand alone, He will take them from the mud of their own mistaken beliefs and build them back up correctly.

[name] opens their mouth to retort, but the waitress interrupts before they can say anything. "another cupful, sir?" she asks politely. His empty cup signals the end of their timer.

fyodor mimics her expression, answering, "no, thank you." the waitress leaves with a nod, and He turns back to the lost lamb across from Him. in His earphone, the music playing on the radio changes. bach's st. matthew passion. "now's the time," He mumbles to himself. without another word, He gets up from his seat.

[name] blinks up at Him. their brows bend in a disappointed grimace. "you're leaving already?"

"i'm afraid we'll have to end our conversation here. it was quite delightful, i must admit." He offers them one last smile. may they swallow up their sorrows, knowing soon He will bring upon them the day the earth shall die.

"oh, of course. it was… very interesting. food for thought."

as He stands, looking down at them on their chair, fyodor chuckles to himself, "i'm glad." He offers [name] His open hand, staring into their eyes with an inviting gaze and a warm simper. it takes them a second before they react and reach for the hand of judgment. "i never caught your name, by the way," He comments off-handedly, giving them a firm shake of acknowledgement.

"oh, i'm [surname] [name]."

"Fyodor Dostoevsky."

"it's a pleasure."

"the pleasure is all mine."

this is His farewell. with one last smile, [name] lets His hand disappear from their fingers. it feels cold—it feels like they just shook hands with the devil Himself. they've signed their name on His contract. fyodor nods His head as a goodbye before promptly heading for the exit. [name] watches Him; they witness his crime and His punishment as He's arrested.

they stare at their cold palm, wondering why God didn't kill them when He had the chance.

( proverbs 27:6 )

note — and you might be wondering agosu what the fuck. and idk bro the wolves were stronger so in all seriousness, i do like fyodor. im sorry bones hates him and draws him so ugly but his brain is shaped like a tesseract and i cant perceive more than three dimensions so its fascinating. i like him more than i like dazai cause misanthropy is always a plus in my book. i wanna have a chat with him over tea and hope he kills me by the time were done a few things. uhhh im not religious but i had to research bible verses for this. i used only three. look them up if youre interested. (proverbs 27:6 in the footnotes, 1 corinthians 13:4-8 in the title, and 2 peter 2 somewhere in the narration i dont remember.) also this has some influence from dazai osamus kakekomi uttae, if youre interested in that. i used crime and punishment against dazai, so why not return the favor for fyodor :tom: speaking of, the fic title is a quote from rodya in crime and punishment. its the depressed russian equivalent of "fuck it we ball" cause bro skipped out of his apartment to go commit a double homicide thumbs up emoji i think thats it. this took me more than a month cause it tried to kill me on multiple occasions. drink water have day

—あごす (agosu) • 2023

[jeanboyjean]

PART 3: jean has friends

a/n: teehee! guys im on a roll rn weekly updates? who is she wc: 5.8k MASTERLIST | AO3 taglist: @honeybleed @cptnleviackerman @plutoccult @milky-aeons

“So Jean, what do you do in your spare time?”

Leaning back in your chair, you stretch out your arms behind you and roll out your neck. It’s another week into semester and you and Jean are back at it again, in the same room as the week prior, trying to get ahead on the report for the day’s lab. The two of you have been sitting here for the past half hour in a mostly comfortable silence but you've just finished most of your part and it’s time for a little break. The comforting scent of earl grey lingers in the air, wafting from your travel mug while the sound of Jean tapping away on his laptop fills the silence. His jaw ticks when he hears your voice and his hands pause, hovering over the keyboard. 

“I'm sure there's more to you than gym and study. What are your hobbies?” You try again, rolling your head towards him. 

Jean sighs. To your delight he bites, pushing his laptop away and crossing his arms over his chest. The motion flexes the muscles in his arms, drawing your eyes to the corded slopes of his forearms. You try not to let your eyes linger, instead flicking them up to catch his mildly annoyed expression. 

“I hang out with my friends. I listen to music. Why do you ask?” 

“Oh, no reason. I was just curious,” comes your cheery response. This week, you’ve decided to take a new approach to Jean - this being that you’re going to be as unbothered as possible. Truthfully, you really couldn’t care less about him, so unfazed are you by his character. His rude nature towards you may grind your gears but at the end of the day, you don't know this guy. His presence means almost nothing to you. It’s so insignificant in your life that you don’t even know why you’re bothering asking him these questions or why you’re grasping at straws to ask him more. As long as he pulls his weight, you're perfectly fine to not get along - in fact it’s the most ideal outcome.

You cup your head in your hands as you peer up at him with mild curiosity. “What kind of music?” 

“None of your business.” He huffs. His eyes flit to you and then away, refusing to meet your scrutinising gaze. “Why are you interrogating me?” 

“I'm not interrogating you.” You wave a hand dismissively. “Just wondering.”

“You’re very nosy.”

“These are normal questions to ask someone when you’re trying to get to know them.”

He scoffs in response. There’s a small lull as you study him, taking in the slope of his tall nose and the hollows underneath his cheekbones. He glances at you from the side, shaking the hair out of his eyes. “I’m surprised you even want to get to know me now.” 

You snort. Well, at least he’s self aware. “Huh, well I’m surprised you have friends.” 

“I have friends.” 

“Sure you do,” you taunt with only a little malice in your tone. Honestly, you’re not entirely convinced. It’s hard to believe that anyone would voluntarily spend time with someone as dry and unappealing as Jean.  

Jean narrows his eyes at you. You smirk, picking up a pen and twirling it in your fingers. He follows the movement carefully, eyes tracking the flicking of your fingers. Despite the front he’s putting on, you’re almost certain he’s not as prickly as he was last week. You could have sworn today in your lab that you had seen just the slightest hint of a smile when you had slipped on the linoleum floor. Granted, he had probably been laughing at you, but you’ll take what little you can get. You decide to play into it, trying to wear him down to see how long it’ll take you to get him to crack. If anything, you’re starting to enjoy getting a reaction out of him.

“Well, what about you then?” he asks. 

Your head tilts in thought. “Hmm, I guess the same. Hang out with friends … we like to watch movies and stuff.”

Speaking of friends, you perk up when you remember the party Historia had invited you to for Friday night. You’re not much of a drinker but you’re looking forward to the night, definitely ready to let your hair down and get a little loose. It makes you wonder about Jean - you don’t think you’ve seen him at many of the parties you’ve gone to, even ones hosted by your mutual classmates. The question forms in your brain and you blurt it out without thinking.  “Do you drink?” 

There's a pause as something flashes over Jean's face, his eyes darkening and his jaw clenching. All the muscles in his body seem to tense as a flush creeps up his neck and tinges his ears pink. His eyes dart away from you and he clears his throat as he shrugs. “Now and then,” he says, attempting to seem indifferent but the words come out stilted. 

You peer at him curiously. His reaction surprises you. There’s clearly something he’s not letting on. “Hmm, I think you’re lying,” you say with a teasing lilt to your tone. “You’re acting weirder than usual. I bet you’re a huge partier.” 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. It’s a familiar and welcome sight. You wouldn’t be surprised if a tally revealed he had rolled his eyes every ten minutes whenever in your presence. 

“I’m too busy to party much,” he finally admits through gritted teeth. His chin tucks down and his hair falls to cast a shadow over his eyes. 

Oh? You’re like a squirrel pouncing on every little nugget of information he drops. “What are you so busy with then?” 

“Work.” 

Interesting. You lean forward. Your elbows sneak closer to him, brushing against the side of his laptop. He narrows his eyes and nudges you back with the tip of his finger. The touch triggers a tiny current of electricity, running up your arm and tingling your nerves. A small laugh bubbles out of you and you ease up, sliding back a little. 

“And where do you work?”

“That’s for me to know,” he replies shortly. His brown eyes are almost slits now, annoyance clear as day on his expression and he gestures toward your laptop. “Come on, let’s just finish this.” 

You snort in response, finally letting off. He’s clearly uncomfortable and you decide to take mercy and stop torturing him. Your shoulders heave as you let out a deep sigh, reluctant to get back into it. “You know,” you start again, glancing over at him. “We barely even talk when we write this. We could probably just work on it separately and discuss things over text.”

He lets out a low grunt, his hand pausing over his keyboard. He glances back at you and his expression is hard to read. “Nah, I would prefer to just meet up and get it over with. Wouldn’t want to have to wait on you to reply and everything.”

You shrug. “Okay, suit yourself. Works for me. I’m a fast replier though.”

Jean doesn’t say anything, just lets out a low uh huh with a disbelieving look on his face, shaking his head. You swing your legs under your chair, pursing your lips. The desire to retaliate burns within you but you hold back and chew the inside of your mouth, watching him deliberately ignore you. 

“Alright then, let’s get this done,” you say eventually, tilting your screen back to your face.

Friday at 18:32

queenstoria!: sent a link queenstoria!: can’t wait to see you tonight!! here's my address on maps You: so excited!! we’ll be there around 8 🙂 queenstoria!: oh also! guess who i ran into  You: who?? queenstoria!: ur lab partner jean. i saw him at the library and we chatted for a bit. i invited him to come tonight 🙂  You: you what??? i told u that guy hates me queenstoria!: well he doesn't hate me so he said he’s gonna come

With a scoff you put down your phone. Eren looks up from where he’s sitting on the couch next to you. Exasperation boils your veins as you reread the text, her words taunting you with her indifference. Your face screws up in irritation, scrunching up your nose and furrowing your brows. Eren raises an eyebrow at you in question, steam rising from the pizza slice in his hand as he lifts it to his mouth. Two open pizza boxes sit in front of you on the coffee table, your dinner to pad your stomach before you absolutely obliterate it tonight. 

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” He asks, dipping his open mouth to catch a bit of melted cheese about to fall off.

“Historia invited my stupid lab partner Jean tonight.”

“Well, it is her party. She can invite whoever she wants.”

“No you don’t understand,” you groan, running a hand over your face. You slump back into the couch, chin tucking down to rest on top of your chest. Your next words come out slightly muffled as a result. “He’s actually so weird. I don’t think I’ve had a single normal conversation with him.”

Eren snorts. He reaches forward to flick your forehead and you hiss, swatting his hand away. “He’s clearly not that weird if she invited him. I’m sure he’s a nice guy. You’re just judgy.”

You suck your teeth and stick out your tongue at him. He doesn’t get it. His dismissal adds fuel to the fire of indignation burning in your brain. Why is everyone so ready to discount how much of a struggle you’ve had for the past two weeks dealing with Jean.

Your heads raise when Mikasa walks in from the kitchen with Armin in tow, two drinks in hand. Bright red liquid sloshes in the glasses, the ice inside clinking when she hands one to you and you raise it to your nose, taking a sniff. You inhale a classic fruitiness masking the telltale scent of vodka and hum in approval. Vodka cran, your favouite. She settles down on am armchair next to the couch and tucks her feet under her legs while Armin sits on the floor next to the coffee table, leaning back to rest against the couch. He fiddles with his phone and a moment later, music plays from the speakers. 

“Oi,” Eren says, nudging your side with his elbow. “What do you think of her?” He shoves his phone under your eyes and you blink, pushing his hand back to focus on the screen. It's open to an instagram photo of a girl with blonde hair and sharp features, staring up at the camera with a blank expression. You take his phone, scrolling through her profile as you take a sip of your drink. 

“She looks nice. Pretty. Maybe a bit intimidating,” you pass the phone back to him. “Why?”

“We matched on Hinge. We've been talking a bit over the past couple days and she said she knows Historia.”

“Oh, is she coming tonight?”

He nods, smacking his lips. “Yeah, we're gonna meet up there.”

It’s no surprise. Eren's been on a bit of a dating spree lately, chatting up someone new every other day. Unfortunately, none of his pursuits have been particularly successful, flings that come and go so you don't really pay this too much attention. Chances are it’s just going to be another failed attempt and there's no point in getting too invested. He's been trying to get you on as well, something about “putting yourself out there” and “it would be good for you!” but in all honesty it's really not for you. The one time you had relented, you had deleted the app in horror in about an hour after coming across one of your lecturers. It had been a little too close for comfort if you say so yourself. 

“You should get back on the apps again,” he starts, trying to sound as convincing as possible. He continues hurriedly when he sees your sceptical expression. “It's literally been years since you last went on a date. I'm starting to worry about you.”

“Firstly, it's only been one year,” you sass, holding up a finger in count, then putting up another. “Secondly, neither have Armin and Mikasa. Why are you always on my ass about this.” 

Mikasa looks up when she hears her name and cocks her head at you. You pull a face at her, making a thumbs down gesture with your hand while you pull a face at Eren. 

He sighs, shaking his head. An arm comes around your shoulders to pull you into his side and he pats your head as if to soothe you. “Those two are fine. Me and you though? We're the kind of people that need a little extra, a warm body to sleep next to… you know. Who knows, maybe you'll even find someone tonight!” 

You huff, rolling your eyes and shoving him off you. “Speak for yourself. I'm not a horny gremlin like you.” 

He smirks, his green eyes dancing in delight. His lives to tease you, the two of you naturally bickering all the time like a pair of school girls. It’s been the nature of your relationship from the moment you had first been introduced to each other as five year olds on your first day of school. Sometimes you wonder how you've still managed to remain friends after all this time.  

A blessed distraction comes when Armin taps Eren’s leg to get his attention and he turns to him, looking at something on his phone. You sigh in relief and reach forward to grab a slice of pizza, setting your glass down carefully on the table. As you take a bite, you meet Mikasa’s eyes and she beckons you in closer. 

“What were you guys talking about?” She asks with a low voice, resting her weight on her elbows as she leans over the armrest.  

“Just Eren talking about his hinge dates again. One’s coming tonight apparently.”

Mikasa nods slowly, lips thinning into a line. She sinks back into the seat cushions, her eyes unfocusing slightly as she lifts her glass to her lips. “Oh.” 

“Yeah and then he was just being dumb, trying to get me to download it again.”

She shakes her head, chuckling softly at your misery. This is nothing new for her either, she’s used to hearing you complain about Eren pestering you. It’s how it’s always been - you and him, the troublemakers, with Mikasa and Armin, the peacekeepers. It’s how you always hope it’ll be, you think, when you’re old and grey and living in neighbouring retirement homes.

A hush falls over the room when the song trails off and you hear the two boys murmuring together. You follow her gaze to watch them and warmth glows from your chest, a sense of fondness for your friends overwhelming you in an instant. No matter how much they may get on your nerves, these are your ride or dies, your home away from home. Something about it triggers the memory of your earlier conversation with Jean and honestly it's still hard to imagine him spending time with anyone except his own shadow. A thought crosses your mind, something petty and probably untrue but it rests there and you allow it to fester.

Bet Jean doesn’t have any friendships as strong as this. 

The party is definitely underway by the time the four of you clamber out of your uber. Historia and Ymir’s place is a nice two bedroom house a little out of the way from campus down a quiet street and you almost feel a little bad for her neighbours with the way you can hear bass thumping from outside. It’s absolutely all Historia’s doing. She’s one of the most popular people you know, befriending everyone she meets, and it makes you wonder how she and Ymir could have possibly ended up together. Street lights illuminate your path as you make your way up to her door, passing a small lawn out front with potted plants lining the steps of the entranceway. You press a worn bell and a moment later the door swings open. 

“Come in!” Historia exclaims with a wide grin, flapping her hands and pulling you into a warm hug. It’s only been a few hours since you last saw her in one of your lectures but she’s still as welcoming as ever. “It’s good to see you guys!” 

She exchanges greetings and hugs with the others, ushering you all in before disappearing. Inside, the living room is buzzing with people, dance music blasting from speakers. You and your friends quickly make your way in, waving at the faces you recognise. After a minute, Eren and Armin split off when they see a few of their friends from outside your circle, telling you to meet them later. Mikasa also murmurs an apology when she sees someone she recognises and squeezes past you. You're left alone for a moment before Historia appears beside you with a couple drinks in her hands and shoves one into your hands which you receive gratefully. 

“Here, have this! And look who I found!” She raises her voice to be heard over the background noise. She grins at you, eyes lighting up when she focuses on something behind you. Her hand waves excitedly, beckoning someone forward. “Ymir! Come here.”

You turn and see her partner Ymir, a scowl on her face as always. In all honesty, you don’t really know her that well, having only met her a couple times when she’s with Historia. Her standoffish nature seems natural though, not really rude, just more reserved, especially when compared to her girlfriend’s perpetual sunny persona. She stalks towards you and stops next to Historia, putting an arm around her shoulders. “What’s up?”

“Hey Ymir, how are you? The place looks great!” You say enthusiastically. 

A small smile lights up her face as she looks around at the surroundings. “Yeah, Historia did a good job, didn’t she?” Your heart swells at the warm look on her face when she gazes down at Historia’s face. “Too bad, it’s gonna be a mess after tonight.” 

“I’ll help you guys clean up,” you offer with a laugh. 

Historia shakes her head, playfully rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Ymir’s just being dramatic."

"I'm not being dramatic. I just saw some dumb guy drop his entire drink on the carpet. I had to give him a cloth and some carpet cleaner so it doesn't stain."

“Oops,” you wince in sympathy. “I'm sure it'll be fine. 

Historia nods. “Yeah, Ymir don't worry.” She glances over at you and catches your eyes. The two of you try to smother your laughter as Ymir scowls, stewing in irritation. Historia pats her shoulder reassuringly and she shakes her head, heaving a resigned sigh. 

“Okay come on, let me introduce you to some people," Historia announces, grabbing your hand. She squeezes tight, waving goodbye to Ymir as you let her pull you through the crowd, introducing you to her friends. The two of you make your rounds and you're surprised by just how many people she knows - some familiar from class, others are new from the various clubs she takes part in.

“Oh!” She gasps, looking over your shoulder when you’re standing talking with one of your classmates. “Look who’s here.”

You glance over your shoulder and your blood drains from your face, eyes widening in surprise. You hadn’t really expected to see him today but there he is. You watch as Jean makes his way towards the kitchen with two people in tow, one male and one female. They’re engrossed in conversation, laughing merrily. You realise you’ve never seen him laugh before and it shakes you to your core. His brown eyes are scrunched up in delight, the skin of his eyelids crinkling as his lips stretch into a wide grin. It makes him almost unrecognisable, so different from the perpetual grimace he wears around you. He slaps a hand across the back of the guy, who’s a little shorter with short cropped hair. The girl holds her stomach as she watches him stumble over his feet, almost doubled over in laughter. 

Historia pulls your arm, catching your attention. “Come on, let’s go say hi.”

You shake your head furiously. You twist out of her grasp and cross your hands in an X in front of your face. “No, no no. I’m good, thanks. I want to actually have a good time.” 

“Suit yourself. I’ll go by myself then.” With that, she shrugs and disappears from your side. 

You turn back to your conversation. In the corner of your eye, you see Historia intercepting Jean at the kitchen island, letting him pour her a drink. You try not to stare at the way he smiles at her, body language loose and open. He’s never looked at you like that. His friends disappear from his side as the two of them chat and he says something which makes her laugh, a hand flying up to hide her mouth. Jean's shoulders heave as he laughs with her, lifting a hand to run it through his hair. His body shifts to the side slightly and he raises his head to look around the room and you stiffen, quickly looking away with wide eyes before you can be caught watching. 

Mikasa finds you a moment later, stumbling up to you and grabbing your arm. Her cheeks are tinged pink from drinking as she sways to a stop in front of you. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” She exclaims, her words coming out louder than they need to.

You giggle at her. “I’ve been here the whole time. Where were you?”

“Eren and Armin are playing beer pong and it’s getting good. Come.” She grabs your hand and starts tugging you forward. You mouth an apology to your classmate as you turn and Mikasa drags you along, weaving past the people standing as obstacles in your way. You dodge them carefully as you follow her, almost tripping over your own feet. 

The two of you find yourself next to the kitchen, stopping in front of the dining table where you see cups set up in formation, more than half missing already. You nudge your way through the small crowd that’s gathered to stand in the front to get a clear view of the spectacle. Eren and Armin are in the middle of playing against another pair - one girl, one guy, and you realise it’s the two people Jean came in with. They’re going back and forth, cheers erupting from all around as they play, downing drinks along the way. Laughter bubbles out of you when Eren misses his shot and groans dramatically, punching the air. There are only two cups left now, one on each side. The guy with the buzzcut carefully takes aim and then roars triumphantly when the ball plops deftly into the cup left on your boys' side. Eren’s hands press into the sides of his head as he sulks, lips pulled down in a disbelieving pout. Armin takes one for the team, grabbing the drink and sinking the liquid, making a face when he sets it back down on the table. 

“GG!” The guy calls across the table. “Too bad we’re just too good.”

You snort. Oh god. You already know that’s going to rub Eren the wrong way with his competitive nature. Right on cue, Eren straightens up, pulling his shoulders back, mustering up all the bravado he can manage. 

“Let’s go again. Round two.” 

“I mean, if you want to lose again then I’m all for it,” Buzzcut taunts. 

Eren scans the crowd around the table, lighting up when he sees you. He beckons his hand and you step forward, shaking your head in laughter. 

“Nah, I’m not losing this time. I have my lucky charm here now.” He slings an arm around you and turns to Armin who puts his hands up in knowing defeat. “Sorry Armin. I’m gonna have to sub you out.” 

“Fair, fair,” Armin replies unfazed, happily taking your place where you were standing next to Mikasa. 

Buzzcut looks around himself. “Okay well if you’re swapping then I will too.” He points at someone in the crowd. “Jean get over here.” 

Your blood turns cold, your hands stopping in motion where you were setting up the cups. Your head snaps up and you see Jean striding towards his friend. His eyes dart towards you then back at his friend’s face.

“I don’t really want to play, Connie.” You hear him say.   

Buzzcut, or Connie, makes a face and punches his arm lightly. “What do you mean? You love beer pong we play all the time.”

All the time? Your ears perk up and you study Jean. He grimaces, before finally shrugging, accepting his fate. Eren pours alcohol from a bottle someone passes him into the cups and you grab the ball, tossing it to Connie. 

“Winner starts.” 

He crouches, sticking out his tongue in concentration as he lines up. His aim is accurate, falling into his target right in the centre. You exchange a glance with Eren - he’s clearly had a lot more to drink than you. Playfully, you roll your eyes, snatching up the cup and swallowing down the liquid. It's bitter and burns as it goes down your throat and you stick out your tongue, shaking your head in disgust. Whatever it is, it's definitely not just beer. In a rare moment of generosity, Eren lets you take the first go and you toss carefully, watching the ball travel in a smooth arc. You jump up, clapping in satisfaction when it sloshes into a cup right in front of Jean, who stands with his hands in his pockets. His eyes narrow at you in response and you smile sheepishly, innocently blinking up at him. Without a word, he snakes out a hand out to grab the cup, fingers wrapping tight around the plastic.

When he takes aim, his eyes flicker up to you for a brief second. The air is charged with tension, a competitive edge forming around the game as he shifts to the centre of his side, rolling the ball in his fingertips. His eyes glint with fire as he looks back down at the table and you shouldn’t be surprised when the liquid in the cup in front of you splashes, the ball falling in with ease. You seethe quietly as Jean stands back tall with a pleased smirk on his face. He meets your eyes and raises an eyebrow as if in challenge. Oh, it’s on. 

The game continues in a tense back and forth, neither side willing to let the win slip through their fingertips. Somehow, it’s become centred around you and Jean with Eren and Connie as your personal cheerleaders, hooting and hollering beside you. You’re both well underway and you don’t know how many drinks you’ve had to swallow but suddenly, it’s your turn and you’ve got your eyes set on the single remaining cup on Jean’s side of the table. You crouch down, leaning over your side of the table, surveying your opponent. Eren taps your shoulder, cutting your concentration. 

“Want me to take this one?”

You shake your head, arm paused ready to take aim. “No, I’ve got this. I’m gonna make sure we win.”

He nods, patting your back in encouragement. Your vision tunnels in to focus on your target, everything slowing down to this one moment. You take a deep breath.Three, two, one.

You let go and satisfaction blooms from your chest when you manage to sink the ball right where you want it. A cheer bellows around you and you join in, jumping up and down and waving your arms in the air. On the other side of the table Jean huffs, shoulders slumping as he reluctantly accepts his defeat. Victory has never tasted sweeter. 

“Yes! That’s what I’m talking about.” Eren yells next to you, slapping a hand on the table. He takes you in his arms and lifts you off your feet. You giggle, letting him swing you around in a circle and the room spins, all the faces around you blurring together. When he sets you down, you look across the table, ready to throw it in Jean’s face but he’s nowhere to be seen. You clap your hands, relishing in the victory all the same as Mikasa races forward to highfive the two of you. Across from you, Connie yells out for another round but he’s shushed by his friend who tells him not to be a sore loser. As your shoulder heave in laughter, a heavy weight in your bladder comes as a reminder that you’ve just drank more than it can handle. You excuse yourself regretfully, announcing you need to go to the toilet.  

Once again, you’re threading yourself through the crowd as you take yourself down the hallway to the bathroom. The music quiets the further you walk and the groups of people thin out to just a few leaning against the walls, seeking solace from the hubbub. You’re almost at the bathroom, identified by a cutesy sign with a doodle of a toilet hanging from the door, when you stop short. Jean steps out from the open doorway, looking down at his phone. His head lifts when he notices your presence and he pauses, a small frown on his face already. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” you sing-song cheerily, your tongue a little loose from the alcohol running through your veins. “I totally beat your ass.” 

He scoffs, putting his phone in his pocket. He crosses his arms against his chest and tilts his chin up to look down his nose at you. “I went easy on you.” 

“Sure you did, superstar,” you smirk, eyebrows raised and eyes gleaming with satisfaction. You sniff, rocking back on your heels. “No need to lie.” 

“I don’t lie,” Jean says, clearly lying through his teeth.

“Well, I mean I guess you weren’t lying about one thing … you do have friends.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “What made you think I didn't? I’m actually very popular.”

“That’s exactly what someone who’s not popular would say. Now I’m starting to think these are paid actors.”

“Whatever,” he dismisses, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t give a shit what you think.”

“Pfft, okayyyy,” you say unbothered, drawing out the vowels and letting his words roll off you. Maybe it's the alcohol but his words no longer have the sting they used to. You let your reply hang in the air and there’s an awkward silence as you look down at your shoes, neither of you sure of what to say now. The music is muffled this distance from the speakers, and you can hear the hitch as Jean takes in breath before speaking.

“You have interesting friends too. That Eren guy seems like … a lot.” 

“Oh, I guess so.” Your lips split in a smile and you beam at him. “He’s definitely a lot but that’s why we love him.” 

Jean nods slowly. His throat bobs as he puts his hands in his pockets, shifting on his feet. All of a sudden, everything you’ve had to drink is starting to hit you now - your vision blurring, the floor wobbling underneath you as your knees buckle and you lurch forward slightly. Jean catches your arm to steady you. His hand is burning hot against your skin and goosebumps run up your arm radiating from his touch. “Woah,” you hear him say, his voice sounds a little distant like you’re hearing him through a fog. “You okay?”

You let out a groan. Unintentionally, you reach out a hand to rest against his chest in a desperate attempt to steady yourself. A wave of nausea passes over you and you screw your eyes shut but the darkness doesn’t help much to ground you as you teeter on your feet. Somewhere in your subconscious, you're aware of his heartbeat thrumming under your fingertips and the faint scent of something woody and fresh.

You don’t know how long it takes before a squeeze on your arm brings you back to reality and you slowly open your eyes, taking in a deep breath. The sight of your fingers clenched tight to grip his shirt hits you like a freight train. You jump back as if burned, pulling your hand away and wrenching yourself from his grasp in an instant. His hand lingers for a moment in the space between you before dropping back to his side. Concern is etched in his gaze, his brows furrowing low over his eyes as he watches you cautiously. You clear your throat, wrapping your shaky hands around yourself. 

“Sorry,” you squeak, blood rushing to your face in embarrassment. You wrestle to take control of your mind and body as you sway on your feet again. “I think I drank too much and it hit me all at once. You know how it is” 

Jean studies your face, eyes hard in disapproval. “Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much,” he says, voice low and gravelly.

You clear your throat and brush him off. “Whatever, it’s none of your business.” You try not to slur your words as you side step past him and gesture towards the open bathroom door. “If you don’t mind, I need to pee.” 

He lets you go and you stumble into the bathroom. Hesitantly, you peek behind the door to watch him stalk away with his hands in his pockets. As if aware of your eyes on him, he pauses, his head turning back in your direction. It's the last thing you see before you slam the door shut so he doesn't catch you. A shaky sigh escapes your lips as you sink back to lean against it, pressing your hands into your racing chest. Jean may be a dick but you can’t lie he’s attractive and at this very moment your body is betraying you. It’s just the alcohol, you tell yourself but when you raise your hands in front of your face, they tingle, reliving the feeling of his solid chest and steady heartbeat. 

A shiver washes over you and all of a sudden the room is spinning again. “Oh god,” you mumble as you race to drop in front of the toilet and retch, releasing everything you’ve consumed in the past few hours. Tears sting your eyes as wave after wave of nausea overcomes you while you crouch over the toilet seat. You slump against it, spitting bile from your mouth feeling the acrid burn in your throat. Using the small ounce of mental clarity you have, you grab your phone and type out a shaky text. 

Today 21:49

You: pls helppopp im in bsthrom rn throwinh up mama mika: o god mama mika: stay there im omw 

the girl on eren’s phone was annie and i think it’s hilarious imagining them going on a date LMAO

songs i listened to writing this/songs i WILL play on repeat at a party: give me everything (pitbull), hotel room service (pitbull), time of our lives (pitbull)

[mxtantrights]

Famous dc!au (dick's version)

TRACK EIGHT: POPROCKS AND COKE

The offer is staring you right in the face. You could literally pay for a year’s rent with this opportunity. You could have a little bit left over for fun or for a big emergency. You could do so much with this offer.

But you really don’t want to take it. You feel like if you do, whatever is happening between you and Dick can’t happen. If he keeps kind of being your boss, you cannot ask him out. There is no way.

You’d probably look like a fool. And maybe you’d be laughed of the industry, having to find a normal job somewhere doing things you don’t like. Could you see yourself being a music video actor for the rest of your life? Of course not. But since you’ve started you want to see it through. 

You sigh and shut your laptop. The stress had been lingering since you got the notification on your phone last night. Just thinking about it turned you in knots. Did Dick not see you in that way? Even though Theo theorized that he might feel the same way you do, you aren’t sure that’s true. And if he wants you to work on another video with him how could it be true?

You pick up your phone from the couch and decide to leave your apartment. Working on autopilot you lock up and take the elevator down, and there on the sidewalk in front of your place is an older man with a box.

“Can you help me?” He asks you directly.

You look up and down the block first. There is no one else outside on this street but the two of you so it would be mean to ignore him. Then again this could be som weird stunt and you didn’t want to get yourself hurt. 

You look at the man again, “What’s in the box.” 

“She’s all yours if you want her.” 

You want to back up and walk away from the man. But he’s quicker then you and leans the box down so you might look inside of it. Your eyes catch a glimpse of something moving inside , underneath a read blanket. Your mind thinks the worst.

“Sir, is—if that’s a baby maybe we should drop it off at a firehouse.” you say. He shakes his head, “it’s a puppy.”

And sure enough the pup pokes it’s head out of the blanket. It’s not facing you at first. It’s head turns left then right and then all of a sudden the pup looks at you. A gray and white puppy with familiar blue eyes. 

You were done for.

-

Dick is listening to the final mix of the song and he feels like something is missing. The words are great and they feel real and authentic. The production is like nothing he’s ever tried before and yet it works. But there is something that is glaringly missing from the overall song.

He sits back in his seat. 

Then he turns to the producers, Dinah and Constantine. He can’t believe he’s sitting in room with Constantine but stranger things have happened. Zantana recommend him seeing as this was a new sound in his wheel house.

“Something is missing.” Dick says.

“I agree, but I can’t pin point what it is.” Dinah replies. Constantine suddenly gets up from his seat with out another word. He’s up and then he’s standing right in front of Dick. Dick isn’t sure why but honestly the three of them have been the studio for four hours now so he’s not thinking clearly anymore.

“The person you wrote this song for, do they know it’s about them?” Constantine asks.

Dick sheepishly looks around, “No, but I was planning on telling them—hold on what does that have to do with anything?” 

Constantine smiles, “It has everything to do with it. Music is a secret langue between people. If you’re making a song for someone there needs to be something in there to let them know it’s for them.” 

Dick shakes his head, “I’m not changing the lyrics.”

“I’m not saying that. I’m saying maybe there’s an instrument they like, or a sound. Something you can include in the song that would only be between the two of you.”  Constantine says.

Dick sits and thinks to himself. Well, he can’t go asking you what your favorite instrument or sound is now. You’d for sure know the song was about you, and he wasn’t sure he could do that yet. Not with the offer hanging over your head too.

Was there something else?

Constantine walks away, further into the studio. He has a bag of chips, halfway gone already, that he wants to finish. 

Dick shuts his eyes to think. He knew your favorite color. He knew how you took your tea. He knew plenty of things about you. But that would be too forward. What was one thing the two of you shared that wouldn’t make this whole thing weird?

Then it hits him. He knows exactly what the song is missing. He opens his eyes and fishes his phone out of his pocket. He starts texting his assistant for b footage from the music video.

“Dinah, it’s the intro.” Dick says.

Dinah doesn’t say anything. She just moves the track to the beginning and presses play. The start of the song floods the room and Dick doubles down on his idea. His assistant sends over a folder of videos. He knows which one to look for.

The one he took of you standing in the middle of the blocked off street. He had managed to record it while you were staring off into the distance, and no one on set was making noise. It was just the sound of wind on grass, a faint airplane maybe. 

“Let me airdrop this to you, maybe we can put it at the begging and have it fade into the song.” Dick says.

Dinah nods, “Alright Richard, I like where you’re going with this.” 

“Me too.” Constantine says with his mouth full.

-

You’re scrolling on your phone trying to find the nearest pet store when you see a link to one of those trashy news sites. You don’t want to click on it but you feel like you have to when you see Dick’s name. 

You wish you hadn’t. 

The article, if you can even call it that, is just a run down of his former relationships and some speculation. But another thing catches your eye. Once towards the beginning and then again at the end. Donna Troy and Zantana. You look at the images again and then it hits you. 

Those pictures are new. He went to Donna’s house. Zantana went to his house. Theres one of him and Donna hanging out at a food place. And there is one of him leaving the studio with Zantana. Your whole body deflates. 

A part of you, a very small part, thought you had basically no chance with Dick. It was the more ‘realistic and sensible’ part. The part that told you to not over spend incase you might need the money later, and to not over drink because no one likes a hangover. That part of you is almost always right. And these pictures all but confirmed it. 

You exit the news site and tap your way on to your email where you draft up a response to accept the offer. Yes it’s really going to suck to have to be all lovey dovey in a video with a guy you know you have feelings for. But on the other hand at least some of your bills would get paid.

A soft whine comes from your side. You look down at the gray baby pit bull laying on your couch who is looking up at you. 

“I’m gonna find a name for you, I promise.” You say, as if the puppy can understand you.

And yet, she yips and runs off your couch like she does. You sit back and type on your phone. Maybe this will be the last time you see Dick Grayson and you can let your heart move on. Maybe you weren’t cut out for this business at all if you fell in love with a heartbreaker.

[utronabalcone]

crystal castles: "we predict a riot",  jun 17, 2008 

PART 2

crystal castles gained international attention after a uk record label discovered a rough recording of a mic check dubbed alice practice that the band put on myspace in 2005 and forgot about for six months. this led to a series of limited-edition 7-inches on various hip uk imprints that sold out immediately. suddenly, glass and kath were being courted by labels amidst a whirlwind of touring over the past two years.

“the bidding wars in some countries were pretty intense. they just kept throwing bigger numbers at us. i think it’s because they work so hard promoting bands and then no one cares. no one promoted us and everyone cares, so they all want a piece of that.” - kath 

though their strange success story may be credited to the power of the internet, don’t expect them to be spokes people for the demise of the record label. they want their fans to hear the music, and apparently the fans actually do still want to buy cds. their myspace page is flooded with messages from people trying to find their still-unreleased disc.

“people assume that because everyone talks about us, there’s a cd in the stores,” - kath says.

the label is so concerned that the album might get leaked online that it hasn’t released any preview copies, so we’ve been listening to the disc while we talk. nevertheless, a widely downloaded and reviewed version has been passed around the file-sharing sites, which will cause much confusion when the real album actually drops.

“i originally gave alice a cd of 24 songs to choose from back when we first started, and some kid took 16 of them and put them up on the Internet as the album, and people have been reviewing it. i’ve actually read some very positive reviews for the 2004 demos.” - kath

the real album is sort of a chronology of the band, starting with some recordings from 2005 and ending not long ago. if you only know them from the notorious mic check song alice practice or their klaxxons remix, you may be surprised at how many soft and melodic moments join the high-octane distorto-dance listeners associated them with. the last track, an atmospheric ballad based on an acoustic guitar and 40 layers of glass’s voice, sounds more like the work of a shoegazer band like slowdive than anything you’d hear in a hipster dance club. which brings us to the biggest crystal castles contradiction: they make music for dance clubs but don’t actually like dance music. they see themselves as a punk band that happens to use synths, but you’d swear some moments on the record are gritty underground house music from the early days of chicago. kath and glass hate it that journalists sometimes characterize them as an accident, but how else do you explain how two people who hate disco are so good at it? to add to the strangeness, crystal castles have had considerable critical success crafting dance remixes for other indie bands, the last thing you expect from a pair you’d have a hard time dragging to an actual dance club.

“we started doing remixes because bands were contacting me when we were in desperate need of money. it was just good timing. bloc party wanted to pay us to remix their song, so I just chopped their vocals up over a crystal castles song we weren’t using. the thing I like about doing remixes is that I can get our fans some more crystal castles songs, sneak them another taste, because i used all unreleased songs that were just sitting on my laptop. on the road we listen to sonic youth, the stooges, joy division, black metal bands like emperor, mutilation. we’re not going to be listening to dance music.” - kath 

glass and kath first decided to work together because they loved all the same bands: aids wolf, sick lipstick, femme fatale.

“we wanted to do something like that without copying it, so instead of distorted guitars we’d use fucked-up keyboard sounds. but at the same time, i love new order and joy division, and wanted to use those kinds of dance beats. that’s what we set out to do: aids wolf get into a fight with new order." - kath 

to approximate the brutal attack of noise bands, they needed keyboard sounds that weren’t your usual trance presets, which brings us to the whole nintendo-pop sound they swear has nothing to do with video games. journalists and bloggers love to classify them alongside that whole chip-tune scene, bands that use actual video game technology to make lo-fi electronic music. but arcade nostalgia is the last thing the castles want to reference. 

“we both hate video games. we were just breaking apart electronics and toys to get annoying sounds. aids wolf is going to annoy you with guitars; we’re going to annoy you with the insides of old electronics. it’s circuit-bending, basically. you can get sounds out of any electronic device by opening it up and poking around. you can open up your watch, if it makes a blip, you can sample it and then use it as a synth. a long time ago I collected a bunch of sounds. i just opened up everything I could and recorded it all. my favourite ‘instrument’ was a circuit board from the early 70s that was made to teach budding electricians. every time you fucked up a circuit, it’d make a blip, and that was my favourite." - kath 

even if the similarity was unintentional, you can’t help but associate that 8-bit sound with 80s arcade machines. the fact that crystal castles is also the name of a vintage video game doesn’t help, even if the band is actually named after the home of cartoon vixen she-ra, princess of power. understandably, they might not want their career described as a series of unlikely flukes and happy musical accidents. but as much as they claim they sound exactly as they planned, they’ve still “accidentally” managed to succeed in areas they care little about or were even unaware of. electro-house heavyweights justice and myspace brat-rapper uffie show up to see them in paris, which doesn’t quite make sense for a band that wants to be aids wolf beating up new order. then again, as alice’s absence clearly demonstrates, crystal castles don’t really give a shit what we think and probably love that the rest of us find it hard to make sense of their success.

by benjamin boles, nowtoronto

photo by irene barros

[rinsuniverse]

hi can i request wonu comforting reader? smth like they’re insecure or feeling like they’re not enough or they’re not lovable? i love your work btw i read every post like 2-3 times they make my day

reassurance with wonwoo! ✧˖°.

this is such a sweet request and very realistic!

the problem started way before this scenario, but it became incredibly evident to wonwoo on his day off

he's playing some games on his pc

and usually, you'd watch attentively and spare him some smiles every once in awhile

or you'd be on your laptop/tablet doing your own thing, and whenever you'd get bored, you'd get up and nudge him for attention

but today, every time he looked over to you, your eyes seemed to droop, and you seemed lost in thought (and kind of out of it)

as he's in the lobby of another online game, he turns to look at you as you lay on his bed staring blankly at the ceiling

"you okay, beb? you have been more quiet than usual," he says, pulling his headphones down to rest against his neck

"oh, i'm good," you say, sighing. "just thinking."

"wanna talk about it?"

"it's nothing important," you say, closing your eyes. "just not feeling great."

"should we take a break together and get some food and water?"

"it's not that i'm not feeling physically well. i just don't feel great about myself."

wonwoo turns back to his monitor, noticing that the game started

he adjusts his headphones so one ear is out of the set, his mic off

"why are you feeling that way?" he asks gently. "come here. sit in my lap."

you hesitantly drag yourself over to him, and he continues to play while sitting you sideways in his lap

you rest the side of your head on his shoulder, burying your forehead into his neck

"i know it makes me sound selfish and annoying, but i really don't feel like i'm worth anything," you say quietly.

he hums, showing that he's listening

"just look at you... you're so talented and wonderful and genuine and beautiful looking. and here i am... i'm not... ugly. but i'm not as attractive as you by any means. and i'm not as cool, warm-hearted, and interesting as you. standing next to you and knowing that i'm freaking dating you makes me feel like... 'how the hell did i even deserve this?' and 'why does he like ME?' and 'just imagine how disappointed people will be when they find out.'"

"find out what?"

"that we're dating."

"do you just not want people to find out? is it too embarrassing for you?"

"god, that's not... let's just not talk about this..."

"no, give me a moment, princess," he says, quickly finishing the game

he logs off and then turns the chair to face away from the pc

"tell me exactly what you don't like about yourself," he says, putting a hand on your cheek

"what?"

"like what makes you feel the most insecure?"

"i don't feel... lovable."

"lovable? let me search this up," he says as he turns back to his pc, searching up the definition. "inspiring or deserving love or affection."

"exactly. i don't deserve this... especially you."

"hmm... do you know that i feel like that sometimes?"

"what? you? why?"

"see? you're so shocked. that's exactly how i feel about you saying you're unlovable. because 'what? you? why?'"

"but you're a whole idol, wonu."

"and you're my favorite person. you're practically my idol," he says.

"it's not the same-"

"let's get up and go to the bathroom," he says, gently pushing you to your feet

"wonu, what the-"

he drags you to his bathroom and he hands you a makeup wipe

"wipe off my makeup," he says, taking off his glasses

"what's the purpose of this, babe?"

"come onnn"

you wipe off his makeup and he turns to look in the mirror

"i'm insecure about my acne and my moles," he says, pointing at places on his face

"but you're so handsome, even without makeup."

and he turns to you and gives you soft kisses on your forehead, your nose, both of your cheeks, your chin, and then your lips

"and you're so beautiful, babe. you're so deserving of my love because i can't think of anyone more deserving of my love than you. all of the love i have is for you, no matter what you feel or think."

he places his hand on the back of your neck and pulls you in to a long, loving kiss

"wonu..."

"do you understand?"

"mhm, thank you."

he places his glasses on you, making you laugh

"you're so blind, baby."

"with those glasses, i'm able to see the most beautiful person in the world in perfect vision."

"oh, really?"

"i bet you know them."

"you're so weird."

"let's talk some more, okay? tell me how you've been, tell me everything that's made you happy recently, tell me everything that pissed you off..."

"don't you want to go back to your game?"

"i still need to give my lover all the love they deserve."

"really?"

"don't make me think about what i said. i'll cringe and go back to gaming."

"okay, okay. but you mean everything you said?"

"i do."

thank you so much for requesting, anon! i hope you aren't feeling unlovable or insecure... if you are, i totally get that. just know that you ARE deserving of love and all wonderful things, i don't doubt that in any sense. if you need someone to talk to, my inbox is always open 🫶 feel free to request many more prompts! i hope this makes you feel better when you're feeling down. have a great day!

(p.s. requests are still open! i specialize in woozi stuff, but i don't mind writing about other svt members! so request whatever and as much as you want! ς(>‿<.))

[justanotherarmyfangirl]

Dark&Wild (4) When You Realized No One Was Coming To Save You

You are an interpreter for international idols, but you soon realized their lavish lifestyle came at a cost, and somehow you became the price. The man who came to collect had a special kind of vendetta, and you, so foolishly, sparked his interest.

Sorry for the delay, I was on my last edit and literally that night I tested positive for C0VlD :') but I'm back now and feeling a lot better

yandere loan shark!Yoongi x blind!reader x bodyguard!Jungkook x idol singer!Jimin x idol rapper!Namjoon x idol singer!Taehyung x detective!Hoseok x detective!Seokjin

TW: 18+ only, violence, guns, hostage, dubcon/noncon, reader manipulation, mind break, drugging, blowjob, reader is blinded before events that take place in the story, Jimin is an addict, Yoongi is a sadist

---

Namjoon laid sprawled out on his bed, a pen twirling between his fingers, as you listened to his unfinished songs. He was always impressed at how you could pick up even the slightest changes in the melody. Tonight was no different, Joon was working on a couple of different beats, rapping over the high and punchy part of the melody, his deep voice acting as such a unique contrast. He’s repeated the same bars so many times, you start to whisper the last word of each bar with him.

“Cute.”

“Hmm?”

“Last show is tomorrow,” he grunts, scribbling lyrics down in his notebook.

You hum, “What’s wrong? You don’t sound happy about it.”

“You know how everyone is so excited for tour to end, but I...” he pauses, “can’t help but start feeling sentimental. This show could be our last…ever.”

“Hmm, yeah, but I doubt it,” you laugh, “If that song is going to be your next release, you’re going to have another amazing tour to look forward to.”

“Thanks,” Namjoon hesitates. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?” he asks accusingly.

You snort, “Nah. Whatever makes people stars, you’ve always had it. You’re that good, Joon,” you smile. 

Namjoon closes his laptop, taking a seat next to you on his couch instead. He stretches out, arm lying over you. You lean into each other, not for anything other than comfort. It’s late, and you both should be tired, but jitters were always too high the night before a concert, and as neither of you liked using pharmaceutical or even herbal means to find respite, you relaxed with each other. 

His finger ticks and touches your cheek, staying, arm pulling you in. “You’re being sweet,” Namjoon says, not fully convinced, “Jimin finally confess his undying feelings for you?”

You laugh, “Yeah right.” Jimin is probably holed up with a groupie as you speak. “I guess I am just feeling sentimental.” You tease, cuddling into his side. 

Namjoon hums the melody in his head, fingers tapping on his cell, working through more lyrics. Having your warmth by his side relaxed him enough to work through the complicated rhyme schemes even on nights likes these. He would never admit it, but you were his muse.

“If that next tour does happen, I think…I’ll finally have enough,” you whisper, hopeful. Your quiet elation does not go unnoticed by Joon.

“I could write you a check for what you’re missing tonight, if you would just let me-”

“I want to earn the money on my own.”

“I want to earn the money on my own,” Joon teases at the same time, repeating the line you always say when he offers. You hit him playfully. “I know, but you’re so close! And then you’ll finally be able to see us perform!” Namjoon gets excited for you at the thought.

You laugh, leaning your chin on his chest. You wish you could see his face when you look up. “I would love that. But you also know I can’t do that.”

Namjoon sighs, you were too prideful of a woman. He couldn’t help but be enamored, it was one attribute in long list of things about you that annoyed him and made him admire you. But Namjoon had some tricks up his sleeves, you deserved a couple of “bonuses,” especially after such a successful tour, and especially because Namjoon couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t use some of his newly acquired wealth at his disposal to help out a friend.

That is where your memory of that night ends, you fell asleep against him, lulled by his soft humming, feeling safe in his arms. But your dream kept going…

“Once you get your sight back, what did you want to see first?” Namjoon asks.

You think. “I want to call my little sister, see what she looks like now,” you smile sadly.

“It will happen,” Namjoon holds you tighter. You nod.

“Is it conceited that I want to see what I look like now too?” you laugh into his embrace. “Actually see how my makeup looks like…see how bad I’ve been doing it all these years,” you giggle.

“No. Y/n...you’re beautiful.”

You laugh again, softer this time in disbelief. “Okay, now you are trying to make me feel better.”

His other hand moves from the couch to your thigh, surprising you. Namjoon shifts himself against you, head moving closer until you feel something soft against your lips-

You flinch, awake.

Yoongi’s hand pulls away from your mouth. “Good morning, little mouse.”

Sixty-three meals you’ve eaten alone in this room.

That meant it was twenty-one days without anyone to talk to, without sunlight, without a proper bath...

“Mr. Min?”

WHEN YOU REALIZED NO ONE WAS COMING TO SAVE YOU

“He says he’s honored that you came on short notice, Thailand welcomes you.” 

‘Who is this man who thinks he speaks for an entire country?’ you think, already annoyed. No matter how upset you are, you are a professional. You keep the emotion out of your voice, translating exactly what was being said.

Yoongi grunts, walking with you loosely holding his elbow. “You’re not going to say anything back?” 

You’re met with silence. 

‘Ugh,’ you suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Translating for Yoongi was worlds apart from the charismatic idols. 

‘Whatever,’ this is not a broadcast appearance, you didn’t have to impress anyone, especially not Mr. Min and his accomplices. 

You listen to the stranger speak about the expansion of his establishments, how grateful he is for Yoongi’s loan, and his plans to open more locations across Thailand. You translate with minimum enthusiasm, quite the contrast to this stranger’s cloying excitement. 

“Each new location will meet your requirements for trade,” you say in a monotone voice, ready to get this over with.

You walk through another room and are immediately assaulted with the thick smell of smoke, you grip his arm tighter. “And the border issues?” Yoongi asks.

“It’s been taken care of. You have the support of-” you swallow, stuttering while translating the man’s words, “-the Prime Minister.”

You hear the scrape of chairs and Yoongi abandons you, pulling out his own chair and taking a seat. You reach out for him until your fingers graze the familiar material of his jacket, holding onto his shoulder. His hand lands on top of yours squeezing in Morse code. Not only does his hand never leave yours, he interlaces your digits together. 

You hear glass clinking together, the pour of alcohol while the men drink. “A few of my men will stay here to make sure the operation goes smoothly during our transition.”

“Jeon?”

“Just translate, girl.”

Even if you were angry, hated him, wanted to grab whatever bottle was on the table and smash it across Yoongi’s head, you were always the professional. You repeat his words in Thai, waiting for the man’s response.

“He says of course, great idea,” you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Hold it.”

“I can’t-”

“You will regret it if you don’t shut up and just translate.”

The man looks between the both of you exchanging tense words, noticing Yoongi’s growing annoyance. “Is um everything okay?” he asks in Thai. “I have to go to the bathroom,” you answer him in Thai.

“What did you just tell him,” Yoongi’s tone changes only slightly, but enough for you to know he’s furious with you.

“Oh! Yes, my men can escort you there,” he stands up, snapping his fingers to hurry his men to move. Yoongi’s fingers tighten around your own.

“He says his men can take me to the bathroom,” you translate, feeling triumphant. Just get away from him, if there is even a one percent chance of escape, take it, y/n! C’mon, Yoongi should have known, really, that you would never go along with his plans…

Yoongi has a choice to make and very little time. He could tell Jungkook to go with you, one of the few men Yoongi trusted would be able to handle you without causing a commotion, but Jungkook was also one of the few men Yoongi trusted with his life, Yoongi needs him by his side. 

Yoongi’s paranoia, which only grew stronger and vindicated the more powerful he became, was not going to let his most loyal man follow after a belligerent blind girl. 

And Yoongi’s reputation is on the line. If he loses his temper and starts fighting with you how would that look? Yoongi has to tread lightly, he has to remain in charge.

He looks over to Choi, a young and ambitious recruit looking to prove himself to the man in charge. All Yoongi has to do is tilt his head and the man rushes towards your side along with a hesitant bar employee. 

This establishment was not only a popular tourist bar but provided an ideal cover for moving money in and out of the country, a way for some notable politicians to embezzle their finances into offshore accounts controlled by Yoongi’s company. If you had the connections like Yoongi, it all became a pretty efficient operation.

Yoongi was building an empire and a little blind mouse wasn’t going to scurry her way in the middle of it and scare away the elephants in the room.

“You have five minutes.”

You will regret this.

---

“What’s this place called?” you ask in Thai.

“Moonlight Blue.”

You feel something sharp against your side and a man speaking in Korean to keep quiet and keep moving. The bartender brings you to the bathroom, wearily offering you instructions, surprised when Yoongi’s man follows you inside. He could only assume they were being overprotective of you because you were a woman.

“Can I not get any privacy at all?” you hiss.

“Don’t act like you aren’t up to something.”

“What am I going to do, huh?” you wave your hands dramatically in front of your face.

You hear the cock of a gun. You’ve lost count at how many times you’ve heard it since being taken. “Use the bathroom or I will shoot a hole in your head.”

“Shoot me,” you reply, knowing him killing you would go directly against what Mr. Min wanted. “You think I want to be here translating? Do it, please, I rather die than have to deal with men like you-”

You’re pushed backward, hitting wall and porcelain. You try to reorient yourself too late, crashing onto the ground, and before you can stand back on your feet, Choi is doing it for you, hitting you hard in the stomach so you double forward, with another hard jab against your cheek.

You inhale sharply, your lungs burning as you suck in air. You must be in a one of the stalls, the way the walls feel like they are closing in on you, the way Yoongi’s man shoves you into a corner, his hand squeezing your wind pipe.

He lets go, stepping away to close the stall door on you as you gather your bearings, coughing out blood. 

“There’s your privacy, Princess.”

You take a shaky step backwards, sitting on the toilet, trying to think, trying not to cry. 

As you unzipped your pants, wincing as you touch your stomach, you ask yourself once again, how are you going to get away now? 

And you have no answers...

...but you do know the words for taken and person and help in Thai.

...and there was blood dripping from your lip.

You open the door, holding onto the handle for support, covering your name and those three words behind your back.

---

“Is she okay?”

-

You were part of the entourage that moved with JTJ through airports, you remember the dangerous trek through the public to your cars. During their rise to fame and before the company had created a solid security protocol, you would experience what it was like to be overrun by zealous fans, the way they would push and shove you to get to the idols. It’s bad enough for everyone to try to navigate with lights flashing in their faces, but you, walking through unknown and unseen territory, all your other senses overwhelmed by screaming and pulling and shoving, it was terrifying. 

The worst that has ever happened to you while working was pulled hair, the uncomfortable feeling of being pressed together like sardines, tripping and shoes crushing your fingers.

The first time it ever happened to you, you went through a full blown panic attack. But back then, you had Namjoon who gave you some water, let you curl up on the floor of their van, rubbed your back and told you to breathe. He apologized for his own fans, told you not to worry, that they’ve all experienced the overwhelming anxiety that comes with stardom. That was the worst thing that’s ever happened to you on the job until-

-

“I tripped, my apologies,” you speak in Thai, pulling your bottom lip into your mouth and licking off the blood from the cut where Choi’s knuckles hit.

You stood behind Yoongi again, translating in Korean what was asked and your response to Yoongi.

-

After about the fifth interview in a long shooting day with JTJ, you would start to run on autopilot. Translating took all your energy, and if you didn’t solely focus on each word, you would easily get lost. It happened once during a television interview...

You turned your head to the spot where Namjoon sat beside you and started talking in Tagalog instead of Korean. Due to the hosts and the idols speaking a mixture of English, Korean, and Tagalog, you were interpreting all three and made a silly mistake. You played it off with an apologetic giggle and head scratch and the audience laughed, the idols made fun of you, and you corrected yourself promptly. It became a cute viral moment, and that was that. 

You got better at quick translations, it became easier to detach yourself and become like a machine, a well oiled part in the cogs that helped push the idols toward successful endeavor after successful endeavor. You knew how to ‘turn’ yourself off and on when you needed to-

-

“Eighteen mil baht projected,” you repeat in Korean.

“It should triple easily once the other locations are operational.” Yoongi responds and you repeat the phrase in Thai.

You try not to wince as you shift your weight, coughing to hide the pain. You hear happy murmurs, the man rattles on shameless compliments which you translate, remaining stoic, keeping your emotions off, on autopilot. You’ll worry about escape later, right now, you just wish to leave this situation, feeling as suffocated as you were in those crowds, as scared.

---

There is still a metallic taste in your mouth and a throbbing sensation at your temple as you find an empty seat in Yoongi’s plane.

The plane is still escalating when someone unbuckles your seatbelt, pulling you gently to your feet. You can’t help but grimace in pain. It must be the cabin pressure, sitting for so long and having to stretch your muscles as you stand again, you wobble as you’re pulled to the back of the plane.

Jungkook helps you sit down, and when you’re finally settled, you shove his hands away, pushing him in the chest away from you, tired of being manhandled everywhere you go.

Jungkook stumbles back, his eyes going wide, disbelief and anger flashing through his otherwise collected features as he looks to you and then his boss. Yoongi clenches his teeth, holding up his hand for Jungkook to just let it go for now. 

You hug your body reflexively, waiting.

“How did you get that cut on your lip?” Yoongi’s deep voice asks.

“I tripped,” you say, repeating what you said before.

Of course Yoongi knows you’re lying. Choi had told him everything without hesitation. He will deal with him for touching you without Yoongi’s permission, just like how he’ll deal with you for trying to challenge him during a deal. But why are you lying?

“Why are you protecting someone who hurt you-”

“I’m not protecting him,” you huff. You just did not want any attention being brought to that bathroom, at least not until someone can find your message, and hopefully contact the authorities. “What do you want me to say?”

Yoongi catches himself before he starts screaming. “You are a good translator, the deal went smoothly, you’re lucky.”

“Great,” you say mockingly.

There it is, Yoongi thinks. “Things would go so much better for you if you would just listen to me.”

You stay stubbornly quiet. Yoongi sighs, “Is that so hard?”

“Yes,” you grit out.

Yoongi steps in front of you, standing over you. His hand cups your jaw, tilting your head upward, studying your bruised face. “Choi shouldn’t have touched you without my permission.”

You stay quiet, wincing when his thumb goes over the cut on your lip.

“You belong to me, y/n. Every drop of blood in your body. Every drop.” The way he whispers his last words sends a chill down your spine. Did he…

Did he know?! “You should rest, we’ll be in Korea soon.”

---

Shoes click on tile flooring, you’re not in the airplane anymore, you’re not anywhere near it. You wake up so tired you can’t lift your head. You realize not only are you being carried, but you can’t move your arms or legs. You grunt, too tired to speak.

The water you drank on the plane right before falling asleep, is that why you can’t move? 

You murmur a barely audible no, unable to clench your fist when hands drop your body down. A pillow is put underneath your head, your chin is moved to the side by a light and feathery touch. You fall back asleep despite your overwhelming desire to escape.

-

“You drugged me,” you croak out, voice hoarse from sleeping all day. Is this how it’s going to be now? Are they going to carry you around like a pet that knows one really good party trick?

Yoongi ignores your accusation. “I’m going to be gone for awhile. You’re going to stay here. Plus, I think some time alone might help you adjust to how things will be from now on.”

Your muscles still feel heavy. “You’re going to lock me up like a criminal?”

“You did stab one of my men,” he jabs.

“For how long?” Yoongi stays silent. You swallow, blinking away tears. You push yourself up, sitting. “W-Where are my clothes?!”

“You’re wearing clothes.”

“T-This is nothing!” you pull the sheet over your body higher, realizing you were only wearing underwear and a bra. 

“We had to make sure your bruises weren’t serious. You’re not going to be leaving this room, you don’t need anything else. This is your punishment. I did tell you not to try anything earlier, didn’t I?”

You try to control your escalating breathing, unable to comprehend what’s happening. “Mr. Min,” you swallow, “Please-”

“Take this time while I’m away to reflect on how you want to live when you’re in my company,” he says apathetically.

How could he be so cruel? So inhumane?! “Give me clothes, j-just give me clothes.”

Yoongi exhales. “I am being so nice to you, y/n. Do you know what Choi lost because of what he did?” Yoongi yanks your hand away from you, pulling the digits out, his fingers gripping your pinky. He holds it still to emphasize his point while you begin to cry. “So you’re going to sit here like a good little mouse, for however long it takes, in whatever I decide to let you wear, until you can learn to behave,” he hisses.

You inhale one shuddering breath after the other, feeling disgusted by his hold on you. “P-Please don’t do this, p-please give me my clothes, m-my things, you said y-you would if I translated for you!” 

He lets you go with a shove. You’re left shaking, listening, hoping for Yoongi to change his mind. “Please!” you cry out.

Yoongi sighs at your crying. “If you want to use that pretty mouth to beg me, I don’t want it in words.”

“What?”

“Don’t act stupid.” He waits. “Goodbye then.”

His foot steps move across the carpet and you fumble out of bed, sheets pulled tight to your body.

Yoongi clears his throat and you orient yourself to face him.

“What do you want me to do?” You shiver, barely holding yourself together, already expecting the worst kind of answer.

Yoongi steps forward slowly, you feel his hand graze your cheek, wiping away your tears, only causing more to fall. His hands land on your shoulders…

Pushing down…

You hold in a sob, shaking even harder as your knees hit soft carpet.

You wanted to tell him wait, slow down, to stop, to scream, but how could you when it was taking all your energy to keep from falling apart, holding down cries threatening to spill out of you.

You wince listening to the rigid clicking of metal as Yoongi undoes his belt buckles.

His fingers touch underneath your chin and you fall backwards, shutting your eyes out of reflex. 

Yoongi laughs dryly. “Well I guess Tae was right, those three never touched you, did they?” He crouches down, “Did you want them to?” Yoongi tuts, “Blind girls not their thing, I guess.”

You bite your tongue, resisting the urge to defend yourself, taking in his digs instead, his patronizing tone, shaking even more, not out of fear, but anger.

“You want clothes? Your things from your apartment? Better start answering when I speak to you.”

“Please Mr. Min, give me my things.” You let out shakily, managing to barely hide your detest behind your words.

“Did you want them to?” he repeats

You breathe through your nose. “...n-no.”

“See, how can I trust you if you still won’t be honest with me...or are you just not being honest with yourself?”

Finally having enough, “Taehyung was wrong.” You say, raising your eyebrow, voice low and condescending matching Yoongi’s haughty demeanor.

Yoongi inhales sharply. Interesting. He knew Tae was full of shit.

“They fucked you? Did they pass you around? Or did they stuff you full all at once?”

You clench your jaw at Yoongi’s crude line of questioning, holding the sheet around you tighter. “It was a long time ago,” you whisper.

“Stand up.” You stand up on shaky legs. Yoongi smirks. “Y/n, your life doesn’t have to change, you could be traveling with me, the same as you did before. You just have to let me take care of you. When you listen to me, you get rewarded.”

“Or I could strip you of everything,” he snaps, yanking you forward by your bra. 

“O-Okay...okay.” you swallow, putting your hand on his chest to feel his steady heartbeat and give yourself some space. 

If that is what it takes to make all this a little less miserable…

Your foreheads touch as you shake against him.

Until you can escape…

You softly touch his lips.

He doesn't kiss you back. Yoongi watches your blank stare when you quickly pull away, studying your features with doubt, you are being surprisingly compliant. Let’s see how far he can push you before your compliance breaks…

He places his hand over yours, lowering it down his body slowly, until it rests on his opened belt buckle.

You fumble with his button and zipper while Yoongi drops his head, lips against your neck, he nudges you with his mouth to test your reaction, his actions so teasingly slow compared to your frantic movements.

You yank his belt swiftly out of his pants loops as he pulls on the sheet between you letting it drop at your feet. Goosebumps bloom against his lips and under his fingertips as he runs his hands down your arms.

Don’t think of his lips on your shoulder, his tongue dragging across your skin, his hands groping your ass…just get this over with, you think, pulling out his hardening cock.

He yanks you closer, strong hands gripping you in a way that is so possessive and passionate your body can’t help but react. His deep grunts pierce through you, shaking the foundations of your steadfast mind, crumbling your thoughts away.

You move to rest on your knees, wanting to stop his unforgiving mouth on your neck, but his arms snake around your waist, holding you up still, moving you backward to press you against the room’s wall while he unclasps your bra away.

Yoongi holds your chin in between his fingers. “Open your mouth for me,” he says, hot and heavy, voice dripping with desire, dominating.

His fingers press down on your tongue to open wider.

“Get on your knees.” he pushes you down as he says it, giving you no other option than to obey.

Replacing his thumb with the tip of his cock on your tongue, he pushes in, your head stuck against the wall and between his hard frame.

Yoongi closes his eyes, leaning his head back, enjoying your warm open mouth. His jaw goes slack as he slowly pulls himself out and back in until you choke, your nails digging into his thighs as he sets a slow steady pace. He grins, looking back down at your compliant body as he thrusts his cock down your throat, your mouth getting more and more sloppy as he forces you to take the full length of him over and over again.

You catch your breath in those small moments he is pulling away from you, concentrating on those opportunities, until he gets closer to his release, his movements sporadic and rougher, filling your throat deeper with short thrusts that leave no room for breathes and scare you, and even when you kick out, and try to pull free, he holds your skull, nails digging into your hair, with no way to move backward or away.

He pulls out completely, leaving you gasping for air. You rest against the wall defeatedly, waiting until he bursts, his cum landing on your face and chest. Yoongi leans his head against the wall, catching his breath. Yet you still feel suffocated by him, his frame still over you as he comes down from release. 

You cover your breasts, clenching your jaw tight, so you won’t cry. You feel sticky and dirty and disgusting. “My clothes, my things,” you grunt, voice raspy from his deep thrusts.

Yoongi looks down at your ruined appearance, a sick sense of satisfaction creeping inside him now that he was back to his senses. Momentarily giving into his urges was fun, but you at his feet covered in his cum had been a better outcome than he could have imagined. The things you would do to get what you wanted.

He moves to the door, unlocking it with a key. “You’ll get some of your things.”

When he leaves, you bang your fist into the wall, finally allowing yourself to lose composure. Angry, sad, hurt, alone.

---

Braille books. You smile passing over the ones Namjoon bought you. Your withering plants. You use sink water in your bathroom to rehydrate them. Your albums, you check each raised label you added to the sleeves to make sure every single one was there, but you can’t find your player. Your clothes aren’t here, your jewelry isn’t here. There are your old stuffed animals, some from fans, some from friends. What’s this? You forgot you owned this, a braille typewriter that must have been in the back of your closet. No paper, you frown. 

“I want my clothes,” you say when the door opens. There is soft clanging as a tray is deposited and the door shuts quickly before you can say anything else.

Fifteen meals, almost a week here, by yourself, no one to talk to. You were given dresses that weren’t your own. The thin fabric and shortness of them left little to the imagination, especially with your bra gone now too.

Twenty-seven more meals. It’s two weeks. With no contact. You can’t take it. You missed everyone so much it felt like you were being split apart through the center of your chest, torn from the inside out. Every day passed meant less of a chance that people were looking for you. Did anyone give a shit about you anymore?

Pacing around the room, you knew every inch of it now. There was no window, only a toilet and a sink, a bed and a table. You’re tired of reading your books and you can’t listen to your records, you can’t type, every request you ask falls on deaf ears, a door shut in your face no matter what you say or do.

You had nothing to do but slowly lose your mind. 

You thought about your life and all the things you took for granted, all the chores you hated to do that you missed now. You thought about friends, you thought about Namjoon and Jimin and Taehyung and what they were doing now. But most of all you thought about killing yourself and all the ways you could accomplish that. But the thing that kept you from falling off the brink of insanity was the thought of killing Yoongi with your bare hands.

---

Every morning you are greeted with bread and water and a different kind of fruit. But this morning, instead of one knock on the door and then a breakfast tray, the door swung open quietly as you slept.

“Good morning, little mouse.”

“Mr. Min?”

His voice was the first voice you heard in twenty-one days. The elation you felt was twisting, turning in the pit of your stomach knowing it was Yoongi who was the cause.

“What are you wearing?”

“The ‘clothes’ you gave me.” You were wearing the rags he called dresses. All of them.  One you used as a skirt, and you fashioned three into a top. 

“Get up.”

“Why?” you ask, still pulling your feet from under the covers.

“You’re accompanying me to an event. But first, a shower.”

A proper shower? Not cleaning yourself in that bathroom sink… 

You hold your hand out.

-

You could stay under the showerhead all day, it feels so good. This bathroom was three times the size as yours, warm, inviting. The steam hugged your body, the cascading water washed away your tears, the dirtiness you still felt inside you that couldn’t be scrubbed away.

When you were finally clean and dry, you allowed yourself to smile, hugging the warm plush robe to your body, a far cry from the small worn towels given to you before.

Yoongi gives you your dress for the night, the tiny bag you had left in your hotel that held your makeup, and sits you down in front of the table of food he has been eating while waiting for you.

There’s so much of it, and all so good tasting, you don’t know what to eat first, picking food up with your fingers.

“You can’t act like that when we’re out in public.”

“Yeah, okay,” you dismiss, food still in your mouth. You have the urge to throw the rest at him.

“If you can prove yourself tonight, you can stay in this room instead-” He drinks chilled whisky. “-with me,” he finishes.

You slow down, reaching for only one roll instead of two. “Okay,” you nod, head down. You refused to go back into that room.

---

“You know clothes are supposed to ‘cover’ your body?”

There were so many people around you. Laughing dinner guests, music playing, waiters stopping you every so often, offering you drinks, a party for important people.

“They cover what’s important to me,” he says dismissively. The dress you wore was cut low, very low, showing off your back. At least the train was long, but difficult to walk in…difficult to escape in…

You held onto Yoongi’s arm as he spoke to people. They all spoke Korean, there was nothing for you to really do except be annoyed, listening to small talk that meant nothing to you.

“What are we doing here?”

“Enjoying the night.”

You repress the urge to scoff. Being locked alone in silence for so long to this…dealing with the background chatter all around you was not easy, and was not fun. Your head hurt from the noise, your feet hurt from wearing heels you were not used to. The thing that surprisingly did not hurt right now was your heart, what hurt you the most when you were locked in, thinking of all your loved ones.

You were too preoccupied now, curiously listening to every conversation in the vicinity. It was mostly dumb shallow small talk, but it was infinitely more entertaining than talking to yourself.

Yoongi’s arm snakes around your waist.

“What are you doing?” you whisper.

“Kiss me.”

“What?!”

“Kiss me now, if don’t want to end up back in that room for another month…and make it convincing,” he whispers.

What is this? Is he trying to piss off an ex? This is so ridiculous, this is what he wanted you for? To pretend to be his girlfriend at a party? How pathetic. But the thought of being locked up again-

You put your arms around his neck, leaning forward to place a kiss on his cheek.

“That’s not-”

“You said make it convincing,” you whisper, hand moving to his other cheek, tilting his head towards yours. You press your lips against his softly, then more forcefully until he’s moving his mouth against yours, mirroring your actions.

You fake a smile. “Happy?” you whisper in a biting tone, breaking the spell.

But Yoongi’s not ready to end the act, pulling you back in with his hand against your neck, giving you one last shameless kiss, drawn out, with tongue, turning your legs to jello.

He moves you through the party again, disappearing into the crowd. “See, she’s fine, I guess,” Taehyung says, watching as you move further away, sipping on his drink to lessen the shock.

Namjoon downs the rest of his champagne. “She’s not fine,” he whispers. There’s too many people around them, all itching to be the next to speak to the trio. Jimin is taking pictures, already buzzed on alcohol, laughing too loudly at his own jokes, not a care in the world, especially not about the girl who sacrificed her life for his. ‘Can he not be a fucking self-centered ass for one night?’ Namjoon thinks. “I’m going to talk to her-”

Taehyung pulls Namjoon back. “Are you crazy? He could ruin all our careers-”

“Mr. Kim?” Both Namjoon and Taehyung turn to the excited industry professional speaking. “Oh, Mr. Kim Namjoon, I wanted to introduce myself, I’m-” Taehyung pats Namjoon on the back, giving him a look that says, ‘See? You’ll never get to them without causing a scene.’

You rest your head on Yoongi’s shoulder. “Tired? I thought you would be excited to get out for the night?”

“I’m fine,” you offer him a fake smile, lying.

“Mr. Min, this is for you,” a man speaks to him, handing him a large purse. Yoongi nods, putting it on your shoulder, the bag is so heavy the strap digs into your shoulder. He pulls off his jacket, putting it around your shoulders to further conceal the bag, but not before adjusting your dress, hands raking over your exposed cleavage. 

“What’s in the bag?” you mumble, your body heating up.

He holds you close, lips against your cheek. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Wait, did you just turn me into a drug mule?” You hold onto his forearms, nails tightly pressed into his skin. He matches your aggressiveness, twisting your arm and pulling you close so no one notices. “You want me to be honest with you? Then you be honest with me,” you argue.

“It’s not drugs. Did you forget who I am? My business?”

“Money-”

“Not money, not really. Hard drives.”

“Hard drives?” you stutter.

“Yes.”

“What’s on them?”

Yoongi sighs, letting you go. “A few digital wallets, some videos. Sometimes, secrets make the best collateral.”

What kind of secrets could be worth so much? “Secrets…like a dating scandal?” you think out loud.

“Clever little mouse. Not this time, no. You know there are certain establishments men sometimes like to…indulge in? Parlors? We have one bugged.”

“So these are bad men...”

Yoongi smirks, finding your righteousness amusing. “Yes, they are.” 

You nod in understanding, gripping the purse strap. Yoongi lays his hands on your hips. It’s like he always has to touch you, feel you, make sure you’re there with him, even though he is the one who can see you and you can’t. 

He’s always touching, like now, running his hands across your curves, thumb under the fabric of your dress to caress your skin, holding you like a lover would, and you can’t push away, tell him no, and worst of all, you’re body is becoming accustomed to his hands, used to his touches. It should revolt you…he should…but he doesn’t, and that makes you feel disgusted with yourself.

You’re in a room full of people, and Yoongi is the only person you know. It is an ironic cruelty to feel safer in his arms here.

You lean against him, unable to concentrate on anything else other than his hands. You should scream, you should kick him and run away. But how many secrets of yours did he hold? What would his hands do to you, if you tried to escape?

You can’t stand it, the way he makes you feel. “H-How much longer?”

“Do you want to go home?”

More than anything, that’s what you want, but the home you are thinking of is not where he is referring. You nod against his chest.

“Y/n!”

You lift your head abruptly. Did someone call your name?

Yoongi drapes his arm around you, leading you away.

You heard it again! Your name spoken so clearly through the chatter of people. You try to slow your pace, but Yoongi’s hold on you is too strong. Your heartbeat pounds through your chest as you try to hear it again, just to be certain. But you never heard it, the ghost crying out to you, Namjoon might as well have been a figment of your imagination.

“What’s wrong?”

You wait for valet to bring Yoongi’s car. Your heart rate won’t go down, you felt rattled still, sure you heard your name. “What was the reason for that celebration?”

“A slew of rich people with too much time on their hands, they come up with a different reason every weekend to hold one of those things. Today it’s a charity so they can use their philanthropy to make themselves feel better than the rest of us, tomorrow it’s a premier party of some sort. Why?”

“Curious, I guess-”

“Yoongi!”

“We were just leaving. Right, y/n?”

“A quick smoke then?” Taehyung holds out a cigarette for Yoongi, hoping to entice him. Yoongi nods, taking it.

Taehyung just wanted to make sure you were okay, see you up close so he could convince Namjoon to cool it, the rapper was going to send himself into an early grave if he did not stop blaming himself for what happened to you. But one look at your wide shell-shocked eyes, the fear and hope and pain he saw etched across your features, and Taehyung knew he had made a terrible mistake. He could lie to Namjoon and Jimin, but he couldn’t lie to himself.

“T-Tae?” you whisper in disbelief, holding out your hand, which Yoongi grabbed promptly, shutting down any physical touch from the idol singer.

Taehyung swallowed, saying your name so softly you wanted to burst into tears, if Yoongi’s hand denting into your wrist did not remind you of the snake wrapped around you, ready to strike if you did something wrong.

“A-Are you okay?” Taehyung asks, knowing deep down you weren’t but hoping desperately you would prove him wrong.

“She’s fine,” Yoongi answers for you, taking a long inhale of his cigarette, his other arm still draped around you, holding you firmly. “Didn’t she look like she was having a good time?”

Taehyung nods stiffly. You say his name again, your voice breaking, so tiny and full of emotion Taehyung feels his chest clench and his stomach turn. 

“I’ll check in on you again, to make sure you’re okay, so don’t worry,” Taehyung whispers hurriedly, noticing Yoongi’s vehicle approaching.

“Oh Tae, you don’t need to act like the good guy in front of her, she already knows,” Yoongi says dryly, flicking his cigarette butt on the ground.

Taehyung looks to the ground, unable to meet Yoongi’s eyes for too long, scared of the loan shark. Yoongi pulls your stiff body away, into the back seat of his car with him.

Taehyung watches as his driver pulls away. Taehyung pulls out another cigarette to calm his nerves. Why would you kiss Yoongi like that, hold him like that, and act so terrified now?! Whatever Yoongi was doing, was much more calculated than Taehyung ever thought possible. But Taehyung knew for certain, that there would be no convincing Namjoon now.

---

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter: New Life

Regarding the update goal, I am just trying something different to help engagement, I was hoping it would encourage reblogs lol but I love your comments as well, very cute. Yay and thank you to my readers! Boo to those who like and then unlike once I update, that's a good way to get blocked, a warning.

[yukidragon]

Hey Yuki, I was thinking about this the other day and it would be hilarious for Jack to stumble upon Rick Astley’s ‘Never to Give You Up’ and start singing along to it before his Sunshine looks back at him with a quiet terror because of the Internet. (Bonus points if he starts to troll them with the song and also, ‘Together Forever’ sound like a happy ending for Jack and his Sunshine)

Pffffff, that it's very fitting, especially since "Never Gonna Give You Up" and "Together Forever" are part of Jack's official spotify playlist. Sadly, it was released in 1987 and 1988 respectively so he died before he could listen to them during his lifetime. Alas. I'm sure [Redacted] would've loved listening to them.

So that gives me the image of Jack doing chores around the apartment, listening to an oldies station on the radio that specializes in 80's era music, and "Never Gonna Give You Up" comes on. He hums along, swaying to the beat, maybe singing along to the lyrics a little, since it's such a catchy song, and it really speaks to him.

Alice in the living room vaguely hears the Rick Roll song through her headphones and checks what tab on her computer is playing it, doing work of her own on her laptop. It's then that she takes her headphones off and realizes Jack is listening to the song unironically. He looks so cheerful about it too.

There's a moment where Alice just has to stare at him bobbing to the beat in the kitchen, the gears in her mind locked up for a moment between flashbacks of the internet pranks and accepting, yeah, Jack would like that kind of song, wouldn't he? He's from the 80's after all.

...This isn't going to be a regular thing, right?

At the same time it makes Alice wonder how Jack would react to being rick rolled and... she just can't resist. She starts snickering and loads up some webpages in preparation and brings her laptop into the kitchen.

Jack, naturally, is delighted Alice wants to join him. Oh? The song? It's catchy isn't it? Yeah, he likes it a lot! He could listen to it all day. It's almost disappointing for him when it comes to an end.

Alice feigns innocence and says that she wanted to show him something she found on her laptop.

Jack, ever eager to engage in his sunshine's interests, turns off the radio and looks at the webpage - something harmless like a link to a recipe. Oh, Alice wants him to check this out? Sure he'll-

Suddenly the song starts and Jack jumps a little as the music begins and the video plays. Then there's excitement! Oh, it's the song! Alice found it for him. The music video is pretty cool too. He watches it with unironic enjoyment, happy as can be.

Alice takes pleasure in his happiness, but that doesn't deter her from her mischief. When the song is over Jack wonders why the link brought him to the video instead of a recipe. He's still not used to computers or the internet and has needed her help to catch up with that technology. He's quick to learn, but there's still a lot that he doesn't know.

Alice shrugs noncommittally and suggests he try the link again. It leads to the song, of course. Jack chuckles a bit, but pauses the video this time. He can listen to it later. He wants to help his sunshine now.

Strange. Why does the link not work? Jack wonders. He clicked it like he was supposed to. He asks Alice if he did anything wrong, and she says nope. Maybe he should try another link, she suggests, then directs him to another tab where a link supposedly leads to pictures of kitties.

Again comes the Rick Roll and Jack is even more confused. Again clicking the link results in the same thing. He's wondering if there's something weird going on with the internet.

The next few links do the same thing and Jack is absolutely perplexed. He even checked the link addresses and they all go to different places, yet always he comes back to the video! What's going on?

Of course, Jack is a clever man and very perceptive, especially when it comes to his sunshine. It didn't escape his notice that Alice was snickering and fighting to keep a straight face the entire time, highly amused about something, especially when that video starts to play. Finally he gives her a suspicious look and asks if she has any idea what's going on, his tone making it clear that he knows something is fishy here.

Alice, between giggles, suggests he tries another link. Jack looks at her with a smirk, guessing now that he's being pranked. He says that somehow he has a feeling he knows that this link that claims it leads to an article about llama racing is going to be a lot more musical than advertised.

Jack is just outright looking at Alice as he clicks the link, starting up the song while staring at her, and she can't hold it together, cracking up. He's amused and chuckles along, thinking the humor comes entirely with the prank.

When Alice eventually gets her giggles under control, she does explain the full context of the Rick Roll and what turned the song into a meme. She just gave him a demonstration of it, as all internet newbies fall for it when they first go online.

"Even you, sunspot?"

Alice lets out an overly dramatic sigh coupled with an exaggerated eyeroll. "Wayyyy too many times as a kid. My online friends at the time thought it was funny."

Jack, of course, is a good sport about being pranked by his sunshine. The two of them have a nice chat about it, laugh over it, and Alice even shows him some popular remixes to the song, though he likes the original the best.

By this point, Alice has helped Jack get his own Spotify-equivalent (Stripeify?) account so he can play his favorite 's songs whenever he likes and doesn't have to wait for them to appear in rotation on the radio. It's full of 80's songs mostly, naturally, but there are a couple he found from listening to her playlist that now always remind him of her.

Jack gets also a little more savvy about the internet and meme culture from this. He decides to get a little payback of his own, though not with link misdirects. Instead he suddenly starts humming and singing the song when Alice least expects it. It becomes a bit of an in joke between them.

Jack still loves the song unironically, and sometimes he sings it not to tease Alice, but more as a stealthy promise to her. It's so fitting for their relationship after all. She's so shy about things going further than friendship between them for the longest time, but he'll never give her up, never let her down, and so forth.

In a way, Jack can say all the things that he's thinking of well before things change between them, sneakily masquerading it behind a song that becomes something special between them.

Of course, the song leads Jack into listening to the other songs by Rick Astley. "Together Forever" is another favorite of his for obvious reasons. He and his sunshine will be together forever, never to part... and he'll move heaven and earth to make sure of that.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur