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icallhimjoey · 4 months

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♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: What good are flatmates even, if they don't comfort you when you need it most? Or when you need it a normal amount? Or, you know, when you don't really need it, but just really want it?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, afab!reader, hurt/comfort i guess? idk we're sad a lot and joe cheers us up a lot, mentions of reader having hair long enough to be played with

Author’s note: oooohh trouble in paradise? or maybe not... well, at least there's some realisations. a few of them. we'll see how much they'll actually mean and if it'll change anything.

Wordcount: 4.3K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Joe had been thrown for a loop.

What the fuck was that?

He didn’t understand what was suddenly different. Why things had suddenly changed. It was only subtle, they were just two words. But at the same time, proven by the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about them, they carried colossal meaning.

“Thank you.”

It took him a second to process the words. He didn’t even really hear them at first. Didn’t let them land properly. Not initially.

He watched you walk into the kitchen and have a sip of water before you went to bed. Told him good night, which he returned, and then after you’d left him by himself, he suddenly frowned. Tucked in his chin in confusion.

Thank you?

Thank you for what?

You had never told him thank you before after an evening of a shared pizza and soft comfort on the sofa. Throughout the whole film, Joe’d rested his arm on the back of it, bent at the elbow, fingers slowly raking through your hair at your hairline. You’d curled into him like a cat, feet pressed into the cushions right next to his thighs, knees over his lap and your head on his shoulder.

Close and comfy, like it always was. Like you always were.

Joe had expected you to fall asleep, because you usually did, but you hadn’t this time. The film ended, and as the credits rolled, you sat up, stretched your arms up over your head and yawned.

“Thank you.” you’d casually said before getting up and leaving him there.

You made an offhand comment about needing to clean the kitchen. Said you’d get to it tomorrow and disappeared into the hallway before Joe could say anything about it.

Thank you.

Joe knew he was likely being silly. Saying thank you was a good thing. A polite thing to do, the opposite of rude, or careless. He should actually be glad for it.

Yet, he wasn’t.

It took him a whole day of thinking about it to figure out why it bothered him so much.

For one, he didn’t like that you’d introduced something new that felt less intimate, somehow. You’d never said it before, and he couldn’t think of anything else being different, so why suddenly this? Then, secondly, and Joe knew there was a fair chance he was wrong, but it somehow turned the quality time you spent together feel grossly transactional.

Like he’d done a stranger a favour.

He still didn’t fully get it, because essentially he was accusing you of doing something appreciative, but it just... it absolutely didn’t sit right with him.

Problem was, who was he going to talk to about this?

He couldn’t talk to anyone. Not even you. Because that’s not what you did. You never talked. Not about these things, at least.

And so, because there wasn’t really any other choice, Joe decided to push the whole thing to the back of his mind, where he’d forget about all of it eventually.

He was likely being stupid.

You had been nice.

He could just force himself to say you were welcome if you did it again.

Though he really hoped you wouldn’t do it again.

Didn’t want that to become a new flatmate thing, saying thank you and you’re welcome like you were vague acquaintances.

Things weren’t meant to move backwards like that. Not that Joe dared think of next steps. Forward ones. Of moving whatever was happening between the two of you along. But he didn’t want to go backwards.

He feared things were already slightly moving backwards though, because you’d not snuck into his bed in a while.

And you’d not gone out of your way to find him for a quick hug in a bit.

Joe thought it was likely that you were seeing someone. Or at least talking to someone. Not that this stopped you from draping yourself over Joe’s lap when you’d find him watching TV sat on the sofa, but it felt like you were pulling away just ever so slightly.

He only allowed himself to dwell on it for a second.

Was probably for the best, wasn’t it?

Joe understood that having you as a flatmate only worked out in the way that it did on his end because he wasn’t looking to enter a serious relationship with anyone.

If he was, he’d have to move out.

He’d have to.

There was no way he was going to be able to convince someone, anyone, that you and Joe were just normal flatmates. Especially if it was someone he’d have serious intentions about maybe marrying one day.

Or, if he could, there’d still be the issue that she would then likely not trust it. Not trust you. Not trust him.

So maybe this was smart.

Not as fun, though.

Good, for you. Obviously. You seemed happier. In better moods. This was a good thing, Joe reminded himself, and made a real point to think it every time he felt a little sad when he watched a film by himself in an empty flat. When he went to bed by himself in an empty flat.

A few weeks passed like that, until one afternoon, he’d walked in with bags full of shopping, and saw you’d crawled into bed for a midday nap. You’d left your bedroom door open and Joe took a moment to look at you as he leant against the doorframe.

Why did you look so much better to him when you were asleep?

So much softer. Almost fragile. Like you needed protecting.

He knew he took too long staring at you. Had to snap himself out of it and he squeezed his eyes shut as he closed the door. The self-restraint it took to not just walk right over and get into bed with you deserved a fucking medal, Joe thought.

When dinner time was nearing and he still hadn’t seen or heard you, he took it upon himself to go and wake you up.

Soft knocks on your bedroom door got no answer.

He went inside anyway, whispered your name and walked over to your bed.

You’d curled up into a little ball, face squished between your pillow and your pulled up shoulder and you looked achingly adorable, Joe could hardly stand it.

He used a finger to remove a strand of hair that had fallen over your face and softly said your name once more.

You woke up slow.

Joe got to witness it from up close.

After groaning, stretching and a deep inhale, you blinked your eyes into focus and found Joe sat on the edge of your bed.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he smiled. You frowned at his little joke, knowing full well it was nearing in on the evening. “We’re making pizza from scratch for dinner.”

You hummed and, in all honesty, wanted to roll over and get a few more minutes in. You’d not had a single good night’s sleep all week, so you’d reserved the weekend to catch up.

Just, sleep. No other plans.

“You want some home made pizza?” Joe cooed, eyes all rounded, all gentle.

You nodded, rubbing your face further into your pillow as you did.

“Yea? What toppings do you want?”

Joe forced you to wake up a little more. To think a little straighter.

It took you a second to get it together, and then you softly said, “I don’t know, what did you get?”

“Lots.”

“Hmm,” you tried your best suppressing a yawn. “I’ll have everything then.”

“All right, one everything-pizza, coming up.”

You huffed a laugh and rolled onto your back, managing to open your eyes fully now. You stared up at the ceiling a second, and then looked at Joe.

“I skipped lunch, so this is perfect, actually.”

And Joe just... smiled. Grinned widely as he looked at you. It took a few seconds before he seemed to realise that you could see him, because suddenly he looked down a little bashfully before clearing his throat and getting up.

“No need to rush, it’ll take a while. Dough’s still rising.” Joe talked as he walked out, slapping the doorframe as he passed it before disappearing from view.

And... shit.

You felt it then and you just... you knew you’d been right.

This just confirmed it, and you didn’t like how it all just settled into your bones more. Because, it meant trouble.

You’d first noticed it a few weeks ago.

How you’d somehow, over the span of some months, had fucking managed to fully pavlov yourself. Conditioned your mood into doing a complete one-eighty the moment your flat came into view.

You could’ve had the best day. Be in the best mood. Absolutely no reason to feel sad, to be tired, to be all down. Could be so happy, feel really upbeat, all chipper and energized. But you would quite literally turn the corner, would see your building, and you would feel your whole mood sink with every step you’d get closer.

And for what?

Just so you could be babied by your flatmate?

Because you knew he always would?

Sick. That wasn’t okay.

You had a stern check-in with yourself when, a few weeks ago, you came home after work and used the whole lift ride to think of reasons to be sad, quite literally depressing yourself.

And then, when you walked in on the verge of tears, Joe wasn’t there.

You fucking idiot.

Did all that for fucking nothing.

And now what?

Pick up the pieces yourself?

Where was the fun in that?

You thought about Joe’s bed, then. You knew he didn’t mind you sleeping in there. But, what were you doing, realistically? If you really gave it a good think?

Something needed changing.

Enough of this bullshit.

And when Joe had walked in around eight that evening, you sat down and watched a film together and you’d tried so very hard not to fall asleep. To not wobble in your mood. To not rely on Joe so much to fix what wasn’t even broken. God, you really had to stop convincing yourself that you were broken all of the time.

Once the film finished, you’d told Joe thanks and went to sleep and felt fucking awful for it, but it was probably for the best.

It would be good trying to be a bit more normal.

Use your words.

Be polite and say thanks when you should.

And maybe you should stop going for dates with guys, laugh at their jokes all night, but secretly be so excited to go home where you could sink into Joe’s side and hide yourself away underneath his arm for a good while.

Maybe you should stop having adult sleep-overs at random guys’ places, and constantly think of how your body fit together with theirs compared to Joe’s.

Wasn’t exactly healthy, what you’d been doing, was it?

Best to pull back. If only a little.

But then, waking up to Joe sat on the edge of your bed? Calling you sunshine as he smiled? Talking about making home made pizza together? Whispering all soft so you could wake up gently?

God.

There really was just something about it.

About him.

And even though you lived together, you realised you had missed him when you watched him walk out of your bedroom, talking about pizza dough rising and telling you not to rush getting out of bed.

Overcome by a weird surge of blind affection that would’ve been directionless had Joe not been there, you decided to just let it lead you where it wanted you to go. Let it pull you out of bed. Let it lumber you over to your kitchen.

You had itchy hands that needed to touch.

Arms that need to curl around and squeeze.

Feel him.

Feel him all up against you. Around you. Everywhere.

But, you were stopped in your tracks.

Thrown for a loop.

You hadn’t expected another person there.

Joe was stood by the counter, his back facing you, as he was cutting up some chicken to cook.

At the island stood his father.

“Hello,” Joe’s dad could smile just as warmly as Joe could. All kind and friendly. He said hello the way polite people always did, intonation going from up, then down, and then slightly up again at the end.

You knew Joe’s dad.

Had met him many times before.

You just hadn’t expected him.

He startled the tears right into your eyes.

Which sucked.

Because you were already on your way to attach yourself to Joe for a minute, and now you couldn’t because that’s not what you did in front of other people, and now you were crying, and guess how you always dealt with tears inside these four walls? Who always dealt with your tears inside these four walls?

Panic.

“Ooh, sorry! Did I frighten you?”

“N-no,” you tried smiling to disguise that actually, yes, he had done. But that wasn’t his fault. You had just wrongly assumed that when Joe said we’re making pizza from scratch, that he meant you and him would be making pizza from scratch.

Not his father and him.

Stupid.

Joe looked over his shoulder and saw you stood in the doorway still, body all rigid as your eyes darted from his dad to him and back again, and he saw.

Saw how your index fingers curled to scratch at your thumbs by your sides.

Saw how your held your breath, scared to release it, because what if it came out as a sob?

Saw how you bit your bottom lip into your mouth to make sure they wouldn’t see it tremble.

Saw the telltale crease of your forehead that always came before tears.

Shit.

Joe put his knife down and then, just... stood there. Didn’t know what to do. Because there was company, and Joe didn’t do what Joe usually did when there was company.

So now what?

You opened your mouth, and something stuttered out, but none of you could make sense of what words they were meant to be.

And then you just... stepped back.

Left.

Needed to go hide in your bathroom or something. Splash some cold water into your face and slap yourself across a wet cheek. It was so fucking silly, but it was wildly overwhelming to really want a hug from your comfort-person and then not be able to get one.

Just before you were about to dart into your room, you heard following footsteps.

No voice.

No words.

Just footsteps.

You were about three steps into your bedroom, bee-lining it to your ensuite, when a hand got you by the elbow and stopped you.

“Hey, come here.”

You easily let yourself be pulled back and crashed into Joe’s chest. It was confusing to try and wrap your head around why you suddenly were all up in your feelings, why the sudden dramatics, why your eyes were wet and your throat felt tight.

But then, there was Joe.

Ready to take care of it.

Joe used both arms to hold you against him firmly, one large palm around the back of your head to hold it in place. He let his head rest on top of yours, his cheek pressing into your hair, and you clung to him. Burrowed your face into him and tightly twisted handfuls of fabric of his shirt into your fists as your breathing grew more erratic.

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Joe shushed and squeezed you and you mentally kicked yourself for even attempting to deprive yourself from this for weeks.

This was nice. This certainty of safety. Of zero judgement. Zero questions.

Why were you so upset?

It left you shaking.

Joe fucking loved it.

“It’s just my dad,” Joe said, and you couldn’t help the laugh that startled out of you. He said it like he was reassuring you that his dad didn’t bite, but you understood he meant his dad wasn’t going to be weird about what he’d just witnessed. Wasn’t going to mention how you’d just made a fool of yourself.

You turned your head to press your forehead into the hollow of Joe’s neck, rubbed your skin across his and took a second to just breathe. To stick your nose into the dip between his collarbones and to inhale him. To really feel Joe.

And Joe was never the first to pull away.

But his dad was making pizza in the kitchen still.

The longer you’d be gone, the higher the chance of an explanation needed.

“Tell you what,” Joe said after a bit. “You take a minute, clean this pigsty,–” Joe felt you were about to pull back, likely to argue him, so he didn’t leave any room as he quickly continued, “It’s so messy in here, I can’t even see the floor, and then, once you’re finished, in like, half an hour,–” you fully tried pulling out of Joe’s grasp now as you laughed, but he’d really locked his arm in, keeping you in place, still squished against his front. It turned into a playful wrestle to get free as you tried to pry your hands in between the two of you. “When you’ll have managed maybe tidy half of it, we’ll have dinner ready.”

Joe finally let go, and you pinched him in the side for his jokes.

Made him flinch and yelp, and it only made you smile wider.

Your room was hardly a mess.

“I’ll make an extra large pizza with the– with everything on that we can share.”

Fuck off, that made you pout.

“Stop, don’t cry. It’s just because my dad wants bean curd on his, so he has to do his own.”

“Oh, ew,” you grimaced, and Joe made big eyes in agreement as he nodded.

“Bean curd doesn’t count as everything,”

“Bean curd doesn’t even count as food.”

And just like that; you were normal flatmates again.

One just desperately needed a cuddle and the other desperately wanted to give one.

You didn’t need to talk about why.

Didn’t need to explain yourselves.

It just was what it was.

Joe gave your shoulders a last squeeze and left you alone in your bedroom. Pretended to trip on mess on his way out, and you checked, but there was nothing there.

Just before Joe found himself back in his kitchen where his dad was cutting up tofu, he silently celebrated how you hadn’t said thank you this time.

The universe felt restored.

Joe casually told his father that you were half asleep still when you’d walked in a minute ago. And his dad didn’t ask questions. Just asked if he could pass him the shredded cheese.

Having dinner together was fine. You mostly listened to the conversations between the two of them. Chimed in with an opinion when asked. Gave Joe a look when he silently ate all the smaller slices he’d cut, leaving you the larger ones, ensuring you got more than plenty seeing as you’d not eaten since breakfast.

About an hour later, when his dad was on his way out, you heard him ask Joe if he had any plans for the evening. It was Saturday night. You forgot people often had exciting plans on Saturday night.

For a single second, you prayed Joe didn’t have any plans as you selfishly felt you were due some falling asleep in his arms on the sofa.

Then you heard him say, “Horror film, I think,” before the two of them fell into too long a conversation about which films they’d seen over the past couple of weeks. And had Joe seen this film already? Because he’d heard good things. Um, no, he hadn’t. Not Yet. Ah, but he was going to a screening on Wednesday, Joe should join him. And, yea, he’d check his schedule, would let him know, because that sounded like fun.

You were cleaning the kitchen, wiping down the counters, when Joe finally said goodbye to his father and shut the door behind him. You heard how he locked it properly before he joined you again.

Joe didn’t ask if you wanted to watch a scary film with him. Just turned on the TV and found the one he wanted to watch.

Didn’t ask if you wanted a fat glass of red wine. Just poured two and placed them on the coffee table.

He didn’t have to call you over, didn’t have to motion at where to sit, and didn’t have to ask to share the blanket. You were already there, sat down right beside him and covered the two of you with the cosiest throw blanket you owned.

All unsaid.

All perfectly executed.

You weren’t the best at enjoying horror flicks. You were too easily scared, the suspense too difficult for you to handle, but it was fine. Joe was there. And you’d probably hardly get to see any of it, you knew.

Joe knew too.

If not the lack of sleep, the carbs of the pizza and the smooth glass of red would probably get you to drift off in no time.

With your glass in your hand, arm curled in to let it rest against your cheek, Joe invited you to let all your weight slump into his shoulder. He nursed his own glass in his lap as the film started, and you glued your gazes to the TV.

Your eyes were already kind of heavy, but you loved the shared warmth and gentle embrace too much to let yourself fall asleep so easily. You wanted to consciously exist in it for as long as you could, tonight. So you put some real effort into getting into the film, knowing that if it managed to get you hooked, staying awake wouldn’t become a huge chore. Especially with its genre.

But it kind of became a huge chore, anyway.

And you swore there were moments where you could feel Joe’s eyes on you, but when you chanced a quick peek, he was watching the TV, his head inclined to yours ever so slightly.

Maybe that was just the uneasy feeling that the scary film gave you then. Not Joe watching you.

You ignored how that disappointed you slightly.

It didn’t take long for your eyes to grow too heavy to keep open, and after really giving it your best try to fight it, you gave yourself over to what your body wanted. Closed your eyes and turned your nose into Joe’s arm.

Joe smelled like he always smelled.

You couldn’t really describe it, but it was distinctly him.

After a few minutes of teetering on the edge, you felt Joe take the glass of red from your grasp. You wanted to open your eyes, to apologise for nearly falling asleep whilst snuggled up under a cream-coloured throw blanket, but your eyes were heavier than anticipated.

You only managed a small murmur of sound. A little hum to let Joe know.

Your body moved as Joe leant forward to place both glasses onto the coffee table before he sat back, and in your hazy state, you let Joe help you get comfortable again. You felt how his hand slid under your elbow to curl around your arm, rubbing down the curve of it, until it reached your wrist. There, his fingers wrapped around and held on.

Not quite holding hands, but something close.

You dug your face further into his bicep, feeling the contour of it under your cheek and Joe slowly dropped his head on top of yours.

The last thing you remembered hearing were some gory slashing sounds accompanied with loud female screaming coming from the TV.

The last thing you remembered feeling was Joe’s breath that tickled a strand of your hair against your temple.

Yea.

You could just stay there forever.

Fuck rational thought and sensible life choices. They were quickly abandoned and could stay abandoned for all you cared.

Especially when you, what felt like hours later, roused awake a little when two arms lifted you from the sofa. When a voice softly shushed you, even though you made no sound. When an elbow switched off the lights, and when carefully measure footsteps carried you over into bed.

Into Joe’s bed.

You weren’t alert enough to pay attention to Joe’s turns. Hadn’t sensed where Joe was taking you from just his movements.

But the overwhelming scent as you were placed down onto a mattress told you all you needed to know.

With your eyes still closed, your arms searched for Joe across the bed, and you let out a soft whine when you couldn’t find him.

Joe was as quick as he could be.

Rushed around the bed and slid under the covers right into your awaiting arms.

You shifted until you fit together just right.

Comfortably wrapped up, legs wedged in between other legs, arms nudged into crooks of necks and circled around waists. Nose to nose, this time. Close. Sharing breath.

When Joe accidentally bumped his nose against yours, it startled him slightly.

Maybe that was too close.

But then you did something you’d never done before and you nuzzled. Let your noses slide together until those too fit together just right.

Joe knew he shouldn’t think of next steps. Of forward ones. Steps that moved whatever was happening between the two of you along.

But, fuck it.

Tell him how he couldn’t.

Look at how fucking close you were.

And sure, you were just flatmates who did this sometimes. It didn’t have to mean anything, because it hadn’t really meant anything so far.

And yet...

Joe opened a careful eye to steal one last look before he’d let himself drift off, and even though he looked at you with eyes all out of focus, the sight of you made things grow behind his ribs.

He was going to stop pretending this was normal, he promised himself.

Because all of it did mean something.

This carried meaning.

Carried colossal meaning.

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @bylermaxmayfield, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn, @dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma77645, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @miserybeans, @munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @nglharry, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @royale1803, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

#Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #icallhimjoey #define close

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mxqdii · 4 months

Note

WHERE IS PART THREE

IM LITTERALY DYING TI READ WHAT HAPPENS NEXTTTTTTY

also I have a request

so reader is dating Sam or Colby (you pick❤️). Reader is alone at a haunted location with just Sam or just Colby (does this make sense?) say it was Sam, they are just the two of them and say there were trespassers and they were threatening the two and reader has a panic attack and Sam defend them (Sam or Colby) and calm reader down on the way home.

is that doable?

when part three comes can you tag my other acc

@anythingsamandcolby

take my breath away - c.b

pairings: colby brock x reader

summary: a day with the boys doesn't go as expected

warning(s): panic attacks, mention of ghosts (??) idk.

a/n: so i see u said just the two of them, but i only realized after i finished writing it... i'm sorry! i hope this is still okay 😭

not proofread

"are you guys sure this is a good idea?" i say as me, sam and colby enter the gate

"too late now! unlocking that gate took forever" sam says, walking ahead

"we're all gonna die" i mumble sarcastically, scoffing at the boys skipping together joyfully

we decided not to vlog this one, since, well..

we're trespassing.

it's okay though! atleast that's what the boys told me (and what i'm telling myself)

"hey, you okay?" colby, my boyfriend, asks.

"yeah i'm fine, just worried about being shot by a police officer" i say, giving him a look

"calm down, we'll be fine!" he speaks over confidently

"whatever you say" i groan

"woah! guys this place is so cool, let's use the spirit box here" sam yells from ahead, taking off his backpack and grabbing the box

we all listen, hearing a few random meaningless words, until...

my phone starts buzzing, which makes us all jump

"sorry, my alarm- it's midnight if anyone cares" i say, signaling for us to get out of here

"leave" the spirit box says

"yes please- wait was that the box?" i mumble

"trespassing" the box says

"run"

"guys i don't like this.." i mumble, reaching over to grab colby, looking over realizing he's nowhere to be found

"g-guys?" i say, realizing i've been left alone with only the spirit box

"guys this isn't funny. you got me okay? i'm scared." i yell into the distance, hoping to be met with colby's voice or sams laughter

but i don't hear that, instead something worse

the bushes besides me start rustling, and i feel tears brim my eyes

"h-hello?" i almost whisper

this is too much. i wanna go home.

my legs start moving before i can think and i run back to the car, hoping to find sam and colby there, but no.

i realize, i don't have the keys, leaving me in the dark parking lot surrounded by woods, alone.

okay, it's fine, i'm fine, i'll call them.

NO SERVICE

this is when i start freaking out, because what am i supposed to do now??

the only thing i can think to do, cry.

i let myself lean against the locked car door, eventually curling into a ball on the floor

i'm currently a sobbing mess at midnight, alone and cold.

the more i'm sat here with my thoughts, the harder it gets to breathe, causing me to panic.

i try to calm my breathing but can't, colby always helped me with panic attacks, i need colby.

i don't know how much time passed, but eventually, i felt hands on my shoulders and looked up to see colby

thank god.

"colby-" i try to say more but the words get caught in my throat

"shh, baby it's okay. breathe for me okay?" he says

he sits down to my level, pulling me into his lap

"i'm so sorry. we thought it'd be funny to hide but we got lost, i'm so sorry baby that wasn't funny, i know." he hushes my cries, helping me with my breathing along the way

his hands stroking my hair and his smooth rhythm of breaths calm me down,.

(even though his heart is racing)

i snap out of my panic, looking up at him.

i shove my fist into his chest, not hard enough to hurt bad

(as if you could)

"ow!" he says, almost out of instict

"never do that again" i huff

"never again." he repeats back to me, kissing my forehead.

TAGLIST:

@opheliaofficial07 @stargirlv0id @strniolo @annaisabookworm @theperson-nextdoor @its-jennarose @thetriplets3 @anythingsamandcolby

#madispeaks!#sam and colby fanfiction #sam and colby x reader #sam and colby fic #colby brock #colby brock x y/n #colby brock fic #colby brock fluff #colby brock imagine #colby brock x reader

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dotster001 · 6 months

Text

No Touching!

Summary: Leon/Yves/Jin/Clavis x gn!reader. You don't know how to get through to them. So you tell them no touching until they change for the better.

A/N: Idk how I feel about Silvio, but this is the plot of his event route rn, and it's so cute that I decided to steal it.

CW: Jin is his own warning, so is Clavis, idk if there's any real warnings in this one though, oh blood and injury in Jin's part, allusions to spoilers for both Jin and Clavis' routes

You told him he has to take care of himself (take breaks, have a decent bedtime, etc,) and he laughed, assuring you that he was fine. Since this wasn't the first time you'd had this conversation, you knew you had to take drastic measures.

“Until you learn to take care of yourself, you are not allowed to touch me.”

He stared at you for a minute, before bursting into laughter, reaching out his hand to mess up your hair. But you took a step back, just out of reach.

He grinned sharply.

“Real cute, Y/N. We'll see.”

It's Leon, so you know he's not trying to be patronizing…but the doubt in his voice in your ability to hold out just furthers your resolve.

He doesn't seem to believe you're serious at first. You're dating, why wouldn't he be able to wrap his arms around you, or press a short kiss to your cheek? Why wouldn't he be able to kiss you and cuddle you? Why wouldn't he be able to mess up your hair? Why shouldn't he scoop you up and take you where he wants to go?

He makes it about three days, partially because of how busy he is, before he calls you into his office for “an audience”. That's how you know you're in trouble. And then he gives you a talking to. About how this is childish. About how he's a busy man, and you're his stress relief, and now he doesn't have that. You almost forget how this started, giving into his speech.

But he slips. As you reach your hand over the desk to place it in his, his eyes twinkle with triumphant mischief. You pull your hand back at the last second, before standing up, and reminding him of the deal. Once he learns how to take care of himself, he can touch you again. He looks disappointed, but laughs anyway, saying he didn't think that would work, but worth a try.

It takes a little while. It takes some underhanded ploys on your part. It takes Sariel and Yves coming at him from two other angles. But eventually you catch him going to bed at consistent times. You see him delegating some of his paperwork to his brothers. You see him setting aside time to just be.

When you decide he's got the point, you silently slip into his office. You pull up a chair quietly, and sit next to him as he works. Then you place your hand on his knee.

It takes Leon a second to notice, but he slowly looks up from his work, then looks over at you. He smiles softly, and reaches out to cup your cheek. You tilt your head, preparing to nuzzle into his hand. But at the last second, his hand redirects to your head, and he nuzzles your hair so hard you're worried you'll get a migraine.

While you're dazed from the rigorous noogie, he wraps his arms around your middle, then drags you to the sofa in his office, laying you down, hovering over your body, and trapping your lips in a hungry kiss.

As belle, naturally you have to interact with his brothers. And he doesn't mind! He understands, and he even encourages it. But…Clavis? Recently you've been assisting Clavis with a project Chevalier gave him. Day one, he'd stood far far away from you while he watched, for his own safety. But he was fine with everything. Clavis seemed to be acting respectful. So Yves decides it's safe to leave you.

Which must bore Clavis, because suddenly his hand is on your lower back as he leans in closer to you. You know it's just to get at Yves. But Yves has become far more secure, so he won't- oh no he's yelling.

Once the project is finished, you think it's over, but both beasts have other plans. It's become an all purpose war, and you're the poor soul stuck between them. You know how this has to end.

��Evie,” you say as Yves “brushes all traces of Clavis out of your hair”.

“Hm?” He grunts. Grunts. Lord, Clavis has really got to him.

“You know if you don't react, Clavis will get bored and go play with someone else, right?”

Another grunt, this one far angrier.

“Evie?”

“He shouldn't touch what's mine.”

Oh. The beast is out to play. Brilliant.

“I'm mine, Yves.”

He groans, and practically slams the brush on the table.

“Yes, but you're my partner. Therefore no one else should touch you. Therefore he should keep his filthy hands to himself.”

“Okay, you need to calm down-”

“He needs to go away!”

You stare at him for a moment, deep in thought.

“I want you to remember, what I'm about to do is for your own good.”

He looks like he has a retort without you even saying anything, but you push on.

“Until you learn how not to react to him, you don't get to touch me. If he ‘can’t touch me’, neither can you!”

You walk out to a flurry of screams that you were not prepared for. You knew he'd flip out. You didn't expect this much.

It doesn't take long for him to not react to Clavis, because he just isn't talking to you, either. His stubbornness far outweighs his jealousy, and now that he isn't working adjacent to you. It's lonely for you, but, more importantly, boring for Clavis. After realizing Yves is no longer there for him to have fun with, he breezes through the rest of the project, and quite literally sends you on your way.

“Yves! I'm So proud of you!” You say happily as you enter the kitchen. Yves is angrily whisking eggs. While staring at the far wall. His jaw clenched.

“Yves?” You walked over to him, running your fingers through his hair. “Look, I know you hated that, but if you can put last Clavis like this every time, he'll give up on messing with you!”

He continues whisking and staring at the wall.

“Aren't you going to spill your eggs if you keep whisking that hard?”

“I don't like touching you, anyway!” He shouted, slamming the bowl of eggs on the counter.

Both of you stared at each other, and his eyes widened as he realized what he said.

You know he didn't mean it. You know it's a defense mechanism. But, dang, he's so easy to mess with. So you turn on your heel to leave.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he cries, and you feel his arms around you, as he presses his face to your back. “‘m sorry. I love you. I missed touching you.”

You hum in agreement.

“I'll give you some of the cake I'm making. I'm very sorry.”

“I'll forgive you,” you say with a giggle.

After he finishes the cake, he sits in your lap, and hand feeds it to you.

You know he's the secret that holds up the kingdom. But this can't be good for him. He can't keep showing up in your shared room, covered in blood. Sometimes he doesn't even wake you up. He just walks in, lays down, and passes out. Sometimes he doesn't even make it to the bed. He gets to the side of the bed you sleep on, sits down, and falls asleep, and you wake up to blood all over your carpet.

It's the third time this month. Luckily you were up this time, so you cleaned the wound, and bandaged him up.

You quietly finished wrapping bandages around him. You could practically hear him grin as he spoke.

“Wasn't that bad tonight.”

In pain, or not in pain, he relished anytime your hands were on him. Which took the bite out of your silent treatment.

Wait…

“Anyway,” he reached out for you, intending to pull you against him, but you took a step back. He grinned.

“Oh? Are we playing a game?”

“You can't keep doing this. There has to be someone who can do all this from time to time. Someone who can give you a break.”

“Nope,” he reached out again, and you took another step back. This time he quirked an eyebrow.

“I don't like that look on your face,” he said, still grinning.

You took another step back, hopefully far enough back if the beast decided to pounce.

“I'm going to sleep in the guest room. I really want you to think about training someone to help you.”

The beast tensed up, and you took another step back in preparation.

“And until you do that, you cannot touch me,” you said the last bit as fast as possible then bolted out the door. You slammed it behind you, seeing Jin two steps behind.

He naturally did not take to your suggestion. He seemed to think it was a joke at first. Which is why you locked the guest room door. He tries to sweet talk his way in, but when he sees you're serious, the voice outside the door gets quiet.

The next morning, when you get up to get ready for the day, you find Jin sleeping outside the door. You press a kiss to his cheek and he opens his eyes.

“I thought I wasn't allowed to touch you.” “I didn't say I couldn't touch you.” “Well, new rule, you can't touch me until I'm allowed to touch you.”

He plays so dirty. He stands literal inches from you, his hot breath in your ear as he whispers about how once you crack, you'll never leave his arms again. He'll tell you in graphic detail how he's going to kiss you so hungrily that you won't even think about trying this again.

“I told you! No touching!” You snapped at Jin, ignoring the book you had been attempting to take off the shelf.

You couldn't. You just couldn't. His hot breath, and pretty words, and constant presence was making this a punishment for you, not him.

“I'm not touching you,” he purred. You looked to the side. His lips, indeed, weren't touching you, just hovering. You looked down. His hands weren't on your hips, just hovering. But both his lips and his hands were so close, you could have sworn you felt him touching you. And this wasn't the first instance.

Over the last twelve hours, his hovering was closer and closer, so that you constantly felt his touch on you, despite him not touching you at all.

Between that and his pretty words….

“God! Okay! I give up! Bleed to death if you want, just touch me!” You cried. Instantly, the distance was closed, and his hands were on your hips, his lips on your cheek.

“I'll be more careful, since it bothers you so much,” Jin whispered, as one of his hands left your hip, and moved to massage comforting circles on your stomach.

He didn't learn anything from this. At least not the lesson he should learn. But you've learned that you'll need a different tactic to get through to him.

He'd been slipping into old habits, staying up as late as he physically could to study, talking down to himself in his head, skipping meals to care for his kingdom. Cyran, and his servants, and citizens know that you're the one who keeps him sane, and beg you to talk to him. They're worried.

So you try to.

“Clavis,” you said, trying to get his attention as he hastily made a plate of food from the spread the servants had laid out.

“Aw, feeling needy? Don't worry, I'll tend to you when I'm finished,” he said with a smirk.

You'll give him that. He may neglect himself, but he never neglects you.

“I'm worried you're overdoing it.”

“I assure you, as a gentleman, I would never give you cause to worry.”

It's a back and forth, where he clearly wants to rush to his room to finish something, but also doesn't want you to be too mad at him when he wants cuddles later. It gets tense, and finally you shout.

“If you're not going to take these concerns seriously, you can't touch me until you learn to!”

Clavis' plate falls to the ground as his jaw drops. Various servants are shaking their heads in fear, kneeling on the floor in prayer, Cyran himself looks green, like he could throw up at any moment.

Clavis opens and shuts his mouth a couple times, before a slow smile spreads on his face. You know that smile. That smile is never good.

“Alright,” he says, before walking out of the room. The second he's gone, the silence is broken, and everyone is crying, shouting, and talking at you.

You don't see Clavis for a week. But everyone else does. And they all come back to you to tell you all about it. Apparently, with his favorite person not around to play with, the pranks and horrible cooking have skyrocketed. He's acting maniacal, like a true villain.

Not your problem. At least that's what you say that first week. Then you walk out of your room in the morning, and slip on a banana peel. When you look up, you see various innocent victims also slipping on the peel lined hallway. Including Cyran, who looks on the brink of tears as he pleads with you to talk to Clavis.

You find him in his office. Eating a banana. He says something along the lines of, “If it isn't the love of my life. How can I help you?” “You know why I'm here.” “Do I?” “Yes.”

You tell him you get that he's bored without you to focus his energy on. But leave the Innocents out of it. He puts on a shocked face, assuring you he has no idea what you're talking about. But with the glint in his eyes, you know he heard you. In all the wrong ways.

It's quiet. Too quiet. Cyran assures you that Clavis has been doing his work as normal, just with less pranking. But still. It's far too quiet for your liking.

Then the other shoe drops. You find a note in your room. A ransom note of sorts. You can't read it, but you catch the words, Rio, visit, and tower. So you leave your room in a rush. Only to be stopped by Cyran, who hands you an object. He tells you it's a newish invention, used for being out on hot days. He's been saving it for an emergency, and the time has come.

Clavis gets you revealing nightwear from time to time. But you've never worn pants like this. They couldn't even really be called pants, as there was very little leg to them. Cyran told you that people called them “shorts”.

Your legs were exposed, but you knew this would destroy the Clavis bomb.

You walked up to the tower, and when you entered you saw him looking out the far window.

“Y/N, I've been expecting yo-” he almost sounded like he was going to vomit the way he cut himself off as he turned to you.

Rio rotated his tied up body around, then went bright red, his eyes lighting up as he spoke excitedly behind the gag.

“Geh,” Clavis said, less a word and more a sound, as he stared at your legs.

You stalked over to Rio, feeling powerful, as you un gagged him.

“Y/N, you look so beautiful,” Rio said with hearts in his eyes. “And you came to save me? I can't help but fall more in love with you!”

That snapped Clavis out of it, mostly. He strode over to Rio, and covered his eyes, ignoring the disappointed whine.

“What- what- what-,” he choked out, unable to put a thought together. “Legs,” he spit out, still sounding like he'd vomit.

“Free Rio, prove to me you can take care of yourself, and you can see me in these shorts whenever you want,” you tried to say it without embarrassment, because while Clavis could get jealous, that wouldn't stop him from asking you to wear them everyday.

He whined, reaching out for you with the grabby hands of a toddler. You took a step back and gave him a stern look.

“Y/N,” he whined. “I'll be good. I'll take care of myself. I'll let the hound go. Just lemme touch!”

“You swear?” You ask.

He nodded quickly, his eyes pinned to your legs.

“Release Rio, then you can-”

He moved so fast, you couldn't finish the thought. He cut Rio loose, fell to his knees, wrapped his arms around your legs, and pressed the side of his face to your thighs.

All in the span of seconds.

“Rio, can you-” you began.

“I'm leaving, don't worry. I'll see you later.” He walked past, and you stared down at the blissed out Clavis who was singing something under his breath, to your legs.

#ikemen prince x reader #ikemen prince #leon dompteur x reader #leon dompteur #yves kloss x reader #yves kloss #ikepri #jin grandet #jin grandet x reader #clavis lelouch x reader #clavis lelouch

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cummin-n-cryin · 1 year

Note

Hello! can I request a scenario where Jade, Floyd and Riddle (Separately) are being put in an arranged marriage (since the tweels are definitely in a mafia family and riddle’s mom would do that) but they are dating/in love with the (Gender Neutral) reader, whether the ending is happy or not is up to you

~Thank you for your request!

Arranged Marriage

Jade + Floyd + Riddle x gn!reader (all separate)

Tw: Arranged marriage, angst, suggested murder, family drama (idk if this is a proper tw but if people hate reading about family arguments or just arguing in general then here's your warning lmao), if I missed anything lemme know!

Wordcount: 1,410 + 1,503 + 1,207

Side Note: This doesn't take place in NRC so it's kind in the future I guess? Idk you'll get what I mean if you read it lol. Pretty angsty and might not be too accurate to the characters personalities but it was fun to try and write Idk if this is what you wanted lol but hopefully this turned out okay!

~Jade Leech~

Jade was on his way to meet up with you for the picnic date you two had planned together when he had gotten a sudden text from his parents telling him that they needed to have a long chat.

He wasn't too worried about such a text. It may be ominous to some but it was a typical text when his parents wanted to discuss their 'business' with him. They weren't going to just text him about what was actually going on. It would be quite embarrassing if someone were to look at his phone and find out about his family's business, wouldn't it?

So, he sent you a text explaining that he may be a few minutes late to your date. He smiled at your quick response. He was glad you were so kind and understanding.

Deciding to hide behind a tree a little way off the path he had been walking on, he called his parents. The conversation started normally, a casual hello and asking how they've been but he could hear the nervousness in his mother's voice.

"Mother, is something wrong?" he asked concerned. His mother was quiet for a moment before saying, "Well, me and your father have made a decision and we know you may not like it but, its for the family," she said.

"What do you mean?" Jade asked. His mother seemed to have a hard time finding the right words before she sighed and decided to be blunt about what was going on.

As her words hit his ears he froze. The words, "arranged marriage," echoed within his mind. He was frozen to the spot, unable to move or speak as his heart felt like it stopped beating.

This... This has to be a misunderstanding.

He tried to regain some composure before responding to his parents. He told them how he can't get married because he's already in a relationship. He can't just drop you and go get married to someone he doesn't even know!

Jade tried his best to remain calm, "I'm afraid I can't accept as I'm already in a relationship with a very lovely person and I have no plans on breaking up with them for someone I don't know."

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice in the matter," his father said on the line before his mother quickly interrupted, "We know that you're already in love dear and we're happy for you but sometimes things need to happen and-" Jade interrupted, "I understand. We'll talk more about it later I need to go," he said as he quickly ended the call.

He was shaking so bad he could barely stand. He tried taking some deep breaths to calm himself down. His phone suddenly vibrates and he looks down to see a text from you asking where he was. He smiled a little but as he goes to text you back, he suddenly feels something wet on his hand. Looking at his hand he sees what looks to be a droplet of water and he quickly touches his face, he's crying. He tries to quickly dry his eyes as he clears his throat to try and regain his composure.

He texts you that he's on his way and quickly heads back to the path he was walking. Eventually, he meets up with you and you both have a fun date together.

Jade won't tell you about what had happened. He tells himself that its better you don't know so that things don't get overcomplicated but in truth, it's because he's afraid of your reaction. Great Seven forbid you think he's actually in love with his wedding partner and decide to leave him. He can't let that happen. So, he keeps quiet and does what he does best. He pretends. He pretends that everything is fine and that there's absolutely nothing to worry about.

Later it would turn out that the marriage wasn't something he would be able to easily escape out of. Everything had been made official for the wedding and now all he could do was wait for the day to come. Of course, he had asked his parents why this was happening in the first place and he should've expected the answer but it still came as a surprise to him. Money and reputation. Of course, none of it had to do with love, in fact, they don't expect him to love his new partner at all. Sure, it would be great but it's not expected.

Great Seven help him. Jade understands why their doing this but even so, it still hurts. He almost feels like an object his parents are selling away.

He really tried his best to change his parents' minds but, in the end, he won't go against his parent's wishes. He won't run away from this even though he really wants to. Well, it's not like he really could. His parents and their connections would find him rather quickly either way.

While Jade wasn't certain about his future, there was one thing he was certain about. There was absolutely no way that he was going to break up with you. You've brought him so much joy and you've made him feel loved in a way no one else ever has.

The wedding date creeps nearer and while he grows nervous on the inside, he continues pretending that everything's fine. He truly hates lying to you but it was for the best. Sometimes you get very close to figuring out there's something wrong but he quickly distracts you so you won't catch on.

Eventually, he tells you that he has to go back home to visit his parents for a while. Unbeknownst to you, he's getting married.

And again, this is where Jade does what he does best. Pretending to at least like the bride is an easy feat. He has no problems dancing or even kissing them. However, that's as far as his masquerade goes. He'll pretend the reason as to why he doesn't want to get any more intimate with the bride is that he's just simply nervous and luckily, no one ever pushes him on the topic.

Overall, the wedding goes smoothly. It's a formal affair with very little excitement which leaves Jade quite bored at the end of it.

If he's made to live in the same home as the bride, he's very good at sneaking out unnoticed. He'll play the loving husband role as long as he needs to convince his new partner to not get suspicious of him. But as soon as he can, he's getting out of there to return to you. While he can't stay too far from his new home for too long, he'll do as much as he can to see you.

Even now Jade won't tell you of his marriage and if you notice that he doesn't hang out with you as often as he used to, he'll just say that work has been keeping him busy and change the topic. If he had the choice, he'd never tell you about his arranged marriage but he knows that there might be a day where he will have to.

And if you ever find out about his arranged marriage he'll sit down with you and explain the situation to you. He's afraid of your reaction but he really doesn't like lying to you.

He's just so worried that if you ever found out he's married you'll want to leave him and he loves you far too much to let that happen.

Jade will try to communicate with his parents. Perhaps he only needs to be married to this person for a certain amount of time? That would be ideal as then all he would have to do is wait and then he can leave without too much fuss.

But, if he's meant to be permanently married to them well... He may have to make a few decisions.

Jade is not against using much more darker methods to escape this marriage he's been forced into. He knows quite a lot about plants and there's some that would be very helpful in this kind of situation. Ideally, he wouldn't have to turn to such methods but, well, sometimes things need to happen.

Once his new partner is gone, he'll return to you as quickly as possible and who knows, perhaps this event is enough to encourage him to take your relationship to the next level.

~Floyd Leech~

Floyd was lounging around your apartment as he waited for you to come back from work.

He laid back on the couch as the TV droned on in the background. He was incredibly bored and started to space out, getting lost within his own mind when his phone's ringtone startled him from his trance.

He clumsily grabbed the phone off the table next to him, "Who is it?" he asked irritated. His tone quickly changed from irritated to excited as he heard his parent's voice on the phone.

The conversation was typical. His parents asking him how he's been and him reassuring them, especially his mom, that he's alright. But he could tell that something was bothering them, "Hey ma, is something going on?" concern laced in his voice. His mother seemed hesitant to respond, "Well, me and your father have put a lot of thought into this decision and we know that you may not like it but we have good reason-" Floyd interrupted, "Just say it mama." His mother sighed and told him what had happened.

As much as Floyd loves unexpected surprises this was probably the worst surprise he's ever gotten in his entire life.

"What?!" he yelled into the phone as he bolted up from the couch. The words, "arranged marriage," was loud in his mind.

"You're joking right?" he asked, desperately hoping that this was some kind of weird joke but they denied that it was a joke and they were completely serious. He started to panic. He couldn't tell if he wanted to laugh, cry, or scream. He was becoming overwhelmed as the situation became more real by the minute.

He tried to stay calm, taking deep breaths as he argued with his parents. "I'm already in a relationship! I'm not just gonna drop 'em for someone I don't know or even care about," Floyd said slightly panicking.

His father spoke calmly through the phone, "Floyd, you should know that sometimes we have to do things we don't like or want to do. That's how this business works and unfortunately, we sometimes have to leave people behind."

Floyd laughed bitterly, "This is so fucking stupid. Are you seriously telling me to break up with them?"

His father responded, his tone cold, "We don't care how you do it, just get it done. We don't need to make this more complicated then it needs to be."

Floyd ran his hand through his hair in disbelief, "No, no, no, I'm not doing that."

His father's voice was stern as he responded, "It doesn't matter if you want to do it or not. It's for the business, you'll understand later."

Floyd yelled into the phone, "You're really doing this to me?!" He couldn't keep calm anymore.

His mother spoke trying to calm him down, "Floyd please-"

Floyd interrupted yelling, "SHUT UP!" as he threw his phone full force into a nearby wall making a hole and shattering the screen.

Tears streamed down his face as his heart hammered in his chest. He couldn't calm himself down, he was beyond pissed. He grabbed a nearby chair and threw it in a random direction hearing something shatter. He couldn't stop himself. He grabbed anything nearby him and either threw it or slammed it into something else. He punched, threw, and tore whatever he could as he became blinded by his anger.

He didn't realize how long he was going at it until he heard you opening the front door to your apartment. He was breathing heavily as he sat himself on the now torn up couch.

He heard your gasp of surprise but didn't look at you, instead he hid his face in his hands.

"Floyd! What the hell happened?" you asked looking around at all the broken furniture.

He kept his face hidden in his hands as he mumbled out, "I'm sorry."

You sighed and sat down next to him on your now ruined couch. "Floyd-" you began but are quickly interrupted as he pulled you into a tight hug. As you awkwardly rub his back you feel something wet on your shoulder only to realize he was crying.

"What happened?" you ask him gently. He doesn't respond, instead he hugs you tighter as he silently cries into your shoulder.

After awhile, he pulls away from you rubbing his eyes, "AHHH- Shrimpy you won't belieeeeve it!" he says dramatically as he falls back on the couch, "My parents are tryin' to get me married to some idiot or whatever," he sniffles as he messes with the fabric on the couch.

"You're what?!" you yell in disbelief. "Wha- why?" Floyd shrugged, "Eh, I dunno. I'll ask em' later."

You look around at all the broken furniture, "I'm guessing that's what made you destroy my apartment?" Floyd sighed, "Yeah, I'll help fix it later."

You both fall quiet. You start to grow worried as you think about this marriage he's supposed to be in. You glance over at Floyd, "So, about that marriage thing..."

You're nervous as he sits up on the couch, "I'm not agreeing to it. It's just some stupid paper anyway. Stupid marriage keeping me trapped," Floyd grumbled out mostly to himself. You don't know why but his words made you feel a bit insecure, "Well if that's the case then in a way aren't I keeping you trapped?"

Floyd stared at you before letting out a small laugh, "Nah you ain't keeping me trapped Shrimpy. The difference between the marriage and our relationship is that I actually chose to be here with you and at least I can leave our relationship whenever I want."

"Hey!" you yelled incredulously, slapping him with a nearby pillow. Floyd laughed, "I never said I was goin' to leave!" You smiled, "Good because I don't know what I'd do without you."

Overtime, you can easily see the shift in Floyd's personality as he goes from his usual happy and cuddly self to irritable and barely seeing you at all. And when he does get the chance to see you, he cuddles you for hours on end before he disappears again.

Floyd really tried to stay with you but his parents had made their decision. He complains a lot to you about the whole situation telling you how he hates everyone and everything and how the only person he ever wants to marry is you. He guessed the money was too good to pass up and the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. It made him feel like he was some object being sold and it pissed him off greatly.

Sooner than he'd like, the wedding date arrives and reluctantly he goes. He may hate his parents for this but he won't go against them. That doesn't mean he won't make things difficult for them and everyone else involved.

The wedding is a formal affair that leaves Floyd very bored. He wants nothing to do with his new partner but he can try to pretend to like them. He'll dance around with them but it's not his fault if his new bride almost gets their arm ripped out from it's socket. He'll even say his vows and kiss the bride even though it makes him want to throw up. But he'll do it for his parents and if it makes this whole event end faster then whatever, he'll do it.

If he's made to live in the same home as the bride, Floyd will almost never be home with them and if his family or his wife's family try dragging him back, he'll fight them the whole way there. Floyd makes it very clear to his new partner that he absolutely doesn't love them. There's only one person that he wants to spend the rest of his life with and it's you.

He doesn't get why anyone, especially the bride, would care about this marriage anyway. Both their families probably set them up for money reasons so why should Floyd care about it? If he could, he'd just say he doesn't give a shit and leave.

Floyd is more likely the one who'd kill their new partner. He absolutely can't stand being trapped and if he's supposed to spend the rest of his life with this person with no way out then he's gonna get irritated really quick.

He isn't heartless however, he knows that his new partner might share his feelings of irritation and that's why he'd much rather just get a divorce than go as far as to kill them.

But, sometimes we have to do things we don't really want to do.

Floyd will find a way back to you. Whether it be with clean hands and a bouquet of flowers to apologize for his absence or with bloody bruised knuckles and skin stuck in-between his teeth, he'll come back to you.

He may even decide to marry you as soon as he comes back! How cute! Besides, his parents can't force him into another marriage if he's taken, right?

~Riddle Rosehearts~

Riddle had met up with you in town to take a much-needed break from his job. Getting some fresh air was nice every now and then and it was a nice impromptu date for you two!

You both walked around the town picking up a few things here and there but mostly just spent your time window shopping. Until he suddenly got a call.

Riddle looked down at his phone. It's his mother. He really didn't want to talk to her right now but when you asked who was calling, he quickly tells you it's Trey.

"He's probably just checking in on me," Riddle awkwardly laughs before telling you that he'll be right back as he sneaks off to a more secluded area.

He walked into an empty alleyway. Looking down at the phone again, he grows nervous. He's hesitant to answer but nonetheless he does.

"Hello mother," he greets her with a steady voice. The conversation starts off normal. She asks him about his job and how he's doing. He tells her he's doing great but, the conversation becomes strange as she tells him that she's found him a new partner.

"What do you mean?" Riddle asks confused. "I mean I've found you a new partner and she's far better than the one you have now. She's a very lovely young lady, far more suitable for you," she says happily, "You both will be married soon so I expect you to be here when the date arrives."

Riddle was shocked. Is... this an arranged marriage? Is he being forced into marriage? He never thought his mother would do something like this to him. Not only that but she had the gall to insult you!

His mother continues speaking but he can barely pay attention as he's begins to panic. He needs to say something! He needs to convince her to not go through with it!

His voice is shaky as he tries to reason with his mom, "Mother, I am grateful but as you know I'm already in a relationship with someone and I love them very much. Why can't I marry them instead?"

"Them?" his mother asks snidely. "We both know you can't marry them." His mother continues on telling Riddle that you're unworthy of the Rosehearts name and how Riddle should only settle for the absolute best.

His heart breaks with each reason she gives. But as his heart breaks, his anger rises. How dare she say such things about you! You were one the best things to ever appear in Riddle's life and for her to imply that you weren't the absolute best made him flush red in anger.

However, before he could give her a piece of his mind, she said something that made him pause. "Besides, the marriage has already been finalized," his mother said nonchalantly.

A- already? No wait... So that means that...

Riddle is overcome with an immense feeling of dread as the realization dawns on him. It seems no matter what he does or says, he won't be able to change her mind...

"You... YOU CAN'T DO THIS!" he yells into the phone as he starts to cry.

His mother is silent for a moment before she speaks, her tone is cold as ice and it cuts him to the core, "How dare you talk back to me. After all I've done for you," she pauses for a moment before continuing, "I expect you to be here in the upcoming months for your wedding, understood?"

He swallows thickly, whatever courage he had shatters as he responds with a solemn, "Yes mother," before ending the call.

Bitter tears stream down his face as he falls to his knees. He hates himself for not having the courage to stand his ground against his mother, especially with how much was at risk. He thinks of all the things he could've said or done to possibly change her mind perhaps if he tried harder, he could have convinced her to let him marry you instead.

Riddle suddenly feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns only to see you looking down at him concerned, "Riddle, what's wrong?" you ask as you kneel down next to him.

He opens his mouth to speak but no words come out. He wants to tell you but he just- he can't.

Trying to wipe away his tears, he sniffles, "It's nothing. I just remembered something is all," he said. Riddle could tell you didn't believe him, it wasn't a good lie and he knew it but thankfully you didn't push it. Instead, you both continued on your impromptu date.

Riddle's personality change is obvious to everyone around him. He's absolutely miserable and it shows. His temper getting the better of him more often.

He really wishes he could run away from this. He wishes he had the strength to go against his mother. He wishes he was free of her control but it seems that no matter how hard he tries he can't seem to completely get rid of her.

He ends up overworking himself to distract himself from the reality he's in. He daydreams of grabbing your hand and running away from everyone and everything, far away from his mother. But he can't. He has to face reality whether he likes it or not.

Of course, you notice the way Riddle has changed and he appreciates the concern but he reassures you everything's fine, he's just been very busy.

When the date of the wedding arrives, Riddle is incredibly nervous but he won't run away. He'll try his best to like his new partner or at least pretend to. He may not genuinely love his new partner but he won't treat them harshly, they're a person too. It's only fair to treat them kindly after all, they were probably forced into this as well.

He may dance, laugh, and maybe even kiss his new partner but it doesn't feel the same as when he does those things with you. His heart belongs to you and by the end, he realizes that he misses you dearly.

Riddle will more than likely explain his situation to his new partner in hopes that they will be understanding and if they're kind enough, perhaps they'll let him stay with you.

However, if not then Riddle will try his best to see you when he can. He's not the best at sneaking out unseen but he manages.

At some point you'll figure out he's been married off or he'll go and tell you himself. He was far too afraid to tell you before, when the feelings of hurt were still fresh but while he might feel a bit better now, he's still hesitant to tell you about it. He's worried that now he's married you won't want to be with him anymore.

He hopes that one day he'll be able to get out of his marriage whether it be through divorce or by other means. He may even think of just running away and eloping with you.

Riddle swears that one day his mother will have no control over him. It may not be today or tomorrow but some day he'll run away with you and he'll never look back.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #jade leech #floyd leech #riddle rosehearts #tw angst

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actualbabe · 3 months

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From Emily's FHJY behind the scenes interview:

i had previously thought this could have been the Gilear yogurt bad luck curse, but after yesterday's episode i'm more convinced this is the Fig Paladin of Cassandra... Emily has previously said on NADDPOD sometimes she'll be tempted by an oddball idea but eventually decide not to pursue it, so i wouldn't be surprised if she refocuses on her original 'plan' for the character and she's referencing something else here. alternatively, this interview comment could be proof that Paladin of Cassandra is something Fig does persue.

i'm sure Emily and Brennan talked behind the scenes and we'll see more play out over the course of the season, but i'm impatient! is there a chance Fig fully reclasses? or will she just shuffle around her multiclass levels? is there any chance for retaining Bard levels or picking up at least one Barbarian level?

a Warlock/Paladin build could be interesting, but she's definitely explored those classes on NADDPOD with Onyx and Caliope, so i'd be curious if she wants to continue to dip into that well (altho Emily is the rules goddess so wouldn't surprise me if there's something new to be found or subclass to explore). also, now that Fabian is multiclassed into Bard her staying Bard-heavy could feel duplicative within the party and thus reason to explore a class not currently in the Bad Kids...

idk, what are people thinking? i can't wait to see how this plays out through the season!

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #fig faeth #im not seeing people really talk about this on tumblr or reddit so i want thoughts!!

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thefallennightmare · 9 days

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https://www.tumblr.com/thefallennightmare/751366815398182912/my-god-i-always-tell-myself-that-im-not-going-to

Aw you're the best, but you don't need to write it I don't wanna add weight to your shoulders!! But I was just thinking about reader and their baby traveling with the band on tour, idk if as a baby or toddler or any other age, that's up to you😘❤️ and thank you!!

@thescarlettvvitch @mitchhbitch @missduffsblog @hayleylatour @sleepyomens @loeytuan98 @artificialbreezy @marvelousmal @bngurngheart @lma1986 @dsireland86 @wild-child-7747 @calleyx13 @illmakeyousaywow @jaded-and-hollow-souls @exitwoundsx @shayzillaaaa @lookwhatitcost @badomensls @princesspeach-00 @burning-outx @shadowseve @collective-heartbreak @klutzy-kay24 @sorrowsofsilence @sweetlittlekitsune @shilohrosechicken @itsafullmoon @toospooktocute @niicoleleigh @thatchickwiththecamera @hoe-for-daddywise @whenthesummerdies @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @thisbicc @sammyjoeee @pathion @flowery-mess @tashka

OK I'm going to use the Miracle Universe for this headcannon request because I love Kenji so it works.

"Kenji, please be careful!" You called after your two-year-old as he ran down the length of the tour bus.

His giggles mixed with Folio's as he chased the older man.

Noah laid a hand on your shoulder, keeping you from running after him. "It's fine, angel. Kenji can't hurt himself when there are six of us on here watching him."

You hadn't joined Bad Omens on the road since Kenji was six months old because life had been extremely busy for everyone.

Noah took time off, almost a year, because of you having Kenji and the guys thought it was a great idea for them to rest up as well.

Now that Kenji was old enough and everyone was ready to get back on the road, you decided to join them.

Although, you couldn't stop worrying about if Kenji was alright.

"I know," you sighed while sitting next to Noah on the couch. "I can't help but worry. Given everything."

You both knew how hard it was to conceive and how rough the pregnancy was, so you couldn't help but feel protective.

"Look how much fun he's having," Noah said while motioning to Folio who was flying Kenji in the air. "And look at this video from soundcheck yesterday."

When Noah clicked on his phone, you smiled at Noah's lock screen. It was a picture of Kenji as a baby dressed up as Noah in his stage gear.

But when you saw Noah's wallpaper on his phone after he unlocked it, your heart stopped.

It was still one of your pictures from your Only Fans days.

"Noah!" You seethed. "I thought you changed that!"

He shrugged with a sly wink. "I did. But I liked it so much, I changed it back."

It was the one of your face covered wearing a Bad Omens shirt that barely covered your nipples and your pussy was on display.

"If anyone sees that," you warned.

He kissed your forehead. "They won't. Now, onto the video."

Now Noah showed you two different videos.

One of Kenji sitting on Folio's lap as they played the drums together.

The other was of Matt holding Kenji in the sound deck, showing him all the different ways to work the production.

"See?" Noah reassured you after locking his phone. "Kenji is having the time of his life. He was made for being on the road."

You bit your lip, eventually agreeing, and snuggled in closer to Noah as you watched Nicholas and Jolly take turns reading a book to Kenji, both of them giving different voices to the characters.

Kenji could not stop giggling.

"You still need to change that picture," you playfully smacked his chest.

Noah laughed while kissing your forehead. "We'll see, angel."

You linked hands with his, tracing over the angel wings tattoo on his thumb; the memory of him getting it all those years ago in that hotel room made you smile.

#tina talks #noah sebastian #miracle noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens headcannons #noah sebastian headcannons #thefallennightmare

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cardboardclownery · 3 days

Text

CRASHES THROUGH A BRICK WALL

HI HI IM ALIVE!!!! sorry for the relative radio silence on here ;v;

on the topic of that actually!!!! finally have a proper folie a deux au update for you!! though its slightly different than expected?

me and professional buddy and fellow au creator @cookiecaker decided to share a summary of the story we're making for the au beforehand since we'll be taking a whileeee to finish it,,, got a lot of life to live and horrors to create "-v-

after this though you mayyyy or may notttt see some out of order chapter drafts posted for the story as well,,, or atleast one? eh youll see ;Pc

ANYWAYS!!!! this is gonna take a while so lets get on with...

THE FOLIE À DEUX DOAI AU

a summary!!

or story pitch? idk-

(cookie please lemme know if i miss or improperly describe anything here feel free to correct me-)

PART 1

the first three chapters follow alex just after the end of volume 1 as theyre abducted by lankmann and confined to his asylum as a "patient." eventually they get sent to winfrey as food, but winfrey refuses to eat them. theyre left to die in room 66 by lankmann for a Long While, until eventually he gives up and just puts alex back in their room

while alone in confinement, alex starts noticing strange things happening... dark patches start appearing on their skin, they get random pains as if someone were kicking them, and they hear a voice... a much clearer voice than the ones they used to hear while working in the asylum, and it seemed to be able to read their thoughts. though they originally just assumed it was due to being part of their thoughts as well, they find that they start knowing things they had no way of knowing and never learned prior to being confined. when lankmann typically entered room 66, how long hes inside, certain areas of the asylum patients found that theyd never heard of before...

this "voice" managed to help alex find a way to escape, leading to them running away and moving to another, smaller town in eastridge than the one they originally lived in to avoid lankmann's pursuit

PART 2

[ ! tw for cannibalism. yes you heard me- ! ]

so after getting far away from the asylum, alex assumes that their hallucinations and weird symptoms of... Something would wear off, since subject 02 was no where near close enough to affect them

well uh. nope! theyre still there!!

so eventually alex figures out "oh shit that thing is in my head somehow" and is obviously quite concerned!!! to say the least!!!! but theyre also oddly comforted by the idea of having The Voice in their head, since now theyre not entirely alone while on the run and i mean it helped them escape so it cant be that bad?? either way theyre not exactly excited about the whole ordeal and theyre starting to look different and theyre really hungry all the time and its not fun

so! at some point (with winfreys suggestion) alex decides to run off to another town a bit farther away just to be safe. but Uh Oh theyre all out of food!! so theyre extremely hungry, forcing themself through it so they can get food when they arrive but. they see someone in the woods while walking

and for some reason that makes them even hungrier

they try to ignore it and keep walking but they cant

and the next thing they know

theyre looking down at a person

chewing off the flesh on their leg

covered in blood

even after regaining their senses they cant stop themself from eating. it tasted... so good... they were so hungry... they felt awful but it really did taste so s o g o o d .

in a haze, they discard the body, clean themself off and reach the next town. just after unpacking in an apartment, they collapse, flooded with the emotions they fought off on the way there

the next day, alex finally confronts winfrey (or winfreys voice rather-) about all their grievances and they eventually reach an understanding, as winfrey opens up about fearing the outside of the asylum despite longing to escape through alex, so they eventually agree to let winfrey pilot their body for a few days to get a feel for how the world has changed since the time winfrey had been free

in doing so, winfrey realizes how small and helpless humans are in comparison to them and how terrified the patients they devoured mustve been. this allows them to appreciate human life (specifically alex's) much more and want to escaped in their own body to join alex outside and introduce clyde to what they learned after finding it again

while piloting alexs body, winfrey is suddenly forced back into their own after lankmann inflicts enough pain to wake them from the dissociative state that piloting alex left them in. soon after this, winfrey overcomes the fear that was originally keeping them from escaping the facility and breaks out

PART 3

this section is a lot less figured out than the rest so uhh bear with me please ;v;

essentially this couple of chapters just follows alex and winfrey as they get used to life on the run, figuring out where to go from there and how they could potentially find clyde, along with just talking face to face and getting used to that. its a weird feeling talking to someone that you share thoughts with yknow? like talking to yourself but its... not... yourself...

around the start of this section winfrey also expresses that they feel drawn to feminity as a human concept, thus being referred to with they/she from this point on in the story!! transfem winfrey yippee!!! it just makes sense in our head idk-

PART 4

alex and winfrey start noticing news broadcasts and posters asking around for a "dark figure" lurking around, as well as warnings about alex being missing from lankmanns asylum. this fuels alex's paranoia, leading them to seeing lankmanns caretakers everywhere, feeling as if theyre being watched wherever they go... until eventually their home is ambushed and theyre taken back into lankmanns custody

alex is essentially used as bait to get winfrey to come save them from the asylum, since lankmann couldnt find a solid lead on where winfrey could be. alex tries to convince her not to fall for it, since they can both tell this is what lankmanns trying to do, but winfrey eventually caves and breaks back in to help alex, getting trapped inside once again

PART 5

depsite the circumstances, winfrey and alex do their best to stay determined and keep looking for a way out, but they dont make much progress. to make matters worse, lankmann tries "live feeding" patients to alex in the same way he did with winfrey due to realizing that alex has veldigun traits and assuming that theyd have the same appetite as her. this isnt the case, and eventually lankmann switches to dead patients as food for alex, which theyre forced to accept due to lacking any other options

both winfrey and alex are miserable in the situation, the helplessness sinking in fairly quickly as alexs body begins rejecting the growing veldigun portions of itself, decaying under the immense stress

during their final moments, winfrey pilots alexs body to allow an atleast somewhat peaceful death as their consciousness fades away, leaving winfrey alone to reflect on all that had happened...

...and thats the official end of the story!! i had like,, a hypothetical epilogue/alternate ending where lankmann forces a Mind Merge with winfrey somehow and then gets killed and she breaks out again but like. idk the logistics of that are iffy and i kinda prefer the more melancholy end for something like this ":]c

ANYHOW!!!! hope that was!!! something!!!! please feel free to ask questions or provide feedback or anything else im always happy to engage with my fellow freaks (affectionate) :]

ALSO IF YOU MAKE CONTENT BASED ON THIS AU LET ME KNOW I WILL DIE FOREVER alright thats it for real this time- stay safe broskissss BP

#i hope the transfem winfrey vision isnt too hard to see #think about it... extends my hands #oh yea and the cannibalism- sorry if this is too freaky i dont mean to like. idk #either way i really appreciate all the support we've received so far!!!! you guys are the bomb youre all so cool and talented and swagger #love you doaiblr #doai #dreams of an insomniac #bobosart #fanart #alex williams doai #clyde doai #doai walex #doai folie a deux au #doai au

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saltnpepperbunny · 2 months

Text

Finding Your Children otL [APRIL FOOLS 2024]

Making two comics at once is hard so I decided to make them. One comic.

Turns out smashing two entirely unrelated stories/genres together causes some... glitchy difficulty? Idk we'll iron out the creases eventually.

This will be easier I think. This makes sense. :)

EDIT 4/2/2024: Drawn by the impeccable @pkmnmasterlyra~

#spb's comics

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year

Note

hi, idk if you write this kind of thing but would you mind writing something with either carmy berzatto or frank castle and a recovering addict! gf?

she relapses and he's angry but he loves her so he's gentle. he doesn't know what to do.

i’m not doing so well atm and i’m really struggling to stay clean, your writing and just fics in general really help take me out of my own head.

There's Always Tomorrow.

Frank knows you better than you know yourself. It's a blessing and a curse.

Author's Note - hi sweet anon. i'm sorry to hear you're not doing so well at the moment. i lost a good friend of mine to addiction, and i know how hard it can be. just know that you're never alone - there's always someone you can talk to. you're doing amazing, and I'm wishing you all the best. you've got this.

i got this request and knew i had to write it, as it's something very close to my heart. i've tried to handle it as sensitively as possible, without going into too much explicit detail. i've included some resources at the bottom of this post such as websites and hotlines if you feel like you need some support. so much love to anyone who's struggling. i see you, and i admire you. you're always stronger than you think x

Pairing - Frank Castle x Recovering Addict Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - addiction. mentions of relapse. talk of sobriety and being clean. cursing. please do not read if this will be triggering to you in any way.

Word Count - 1.7k

Masterlist. Requests.

Frank knows something is wrong the minute he walks through the door.

Usually, he yells honey, I'm home! and is greeted by you jumping into his arms, covering his face in kisses.

Today, you're nowhere to be found.

He's storming through your house, yelling your name at the top of his lungs. A thousand scenarios are running through his head, all of them horrifically tragic. He's terrified.

He gets to the closed bathroom door and yells your name again.

"Sweetheart, you in there?"

You don't reply, but he hears you sniffle.

"Shit, baby, are you cryin'? Open the door. Whatever it is, I'll fix it, okay?"

"You can't," you sob. "Not this time."

Frank has never heard you this upset, and he's starting to panic.

"Open the door, honey. Please. Just open the door and we'll work somethin' out."

"You don't want me to," you cry. "You're going to hate me."

"Hate you? I could never hate you. I love you, you know that. Open the door. Please."

You sniffle again, but make no attempt to move.

"Alright. I'm about to break it down. Move back, so I can kick it in."

"Don't you dare," you threaten. "This door was expensive."

"Then open it."

You're not sure if it's his words, or the way he sounds exhausted, but you decide to give him some respite. You stand up and turn the lock, before slumping back down into your spot on the floor.

Frank takes a good look at you, and his heart shatters.

Your cheeks are tracked with mascara stained tears. You're wearing nothing but a tank top and some underwear. Your hair looks like you've been running your fingers through it repeatedly. Your lips are bitten and raw. You look tired.

"Baby," he whispers. "What happened? Are you hurt? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you lie.

"You're not fine. You're clearly not fuckin' fine. We don't lie to each other, do we?"

When you don't answer, he grabs your chin to look at him where he's standing.

"Do we?"

"No," you mutter, shaking your head. "We don't lie to each other."

"That's right," he says, moving to kneel in front of you. "Now please, honey. What happened?"

Silence. More sniffles.

"If I tell you, you're going to hate me. You're going to leave me and you're going to hate me."

"I don't think there's anythin' in the world that could make me hate you," he reassures.

Frank looks at you intently, proving you have his full attention. He cups your cheek gently, and waits for you to tell him the truth. Eventually, you speak.

"I relapsed," you whisper.

Frank's whole body goes rigid, and he freezes. He's still looking at you, but it's different now.

"Frank," you say gently. "Did you hear me?"

"I heard you."

Your blood runs cold. He sounds... distant. Detached. He sounds angry.

"Please don't hate me. I told you you'd hate me. God, I knew this would happen."

There are fresh, warm tears streaming down your face, dripping onto your shirt. Frank still remains stoic, removing his hand from your cheek.

"I don't hate you," he says eventually. "But I need you to give me a minute."

With that, he rises to his feet and leaves. You're left on the bathroom floor, sobbing and alone.

⋆ 　　 . ✵　 ⋆ 　　 . ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 . ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 . ✵

Frank sits on the edge of your bed, trying his best to take deep breaths.

Your addiction isn't a secret. You've talked about it time and time again, telling Frank all of the details that you swore to yourself you'd never tell anyone. You met him, and felt instantly safe. He's the perfect confidant - he listens, he understands. He's compassionate, he's gentle, he's empathetic. You've opened up again and again, and Frank has never judged you once. It's one of the reasons you fell so hard for him.

You've been clean since you met him. A naive part of him hoped that he'd never have to see you otherwise. He knows that sobriety is a journey, he knows that it isn't linear. But he hasn't been through it. There's only so much he really understands. He tries, though. God, he tries.

He's sitting in your shared bedroom, wondering why he left you in the bathroom by yourself. Is it because he can't bear to see you upset? Is it because he can't handle it like he thought he could?

He realises, suddenly, that it's because he simply doesn't know what to do. He's never been in this situation before, and he doesn't know which course of action to take. Does he sit and cry with you? Does he yell at you to never do it again? Does he tell you he still loves you, no matter what? He decides, unsure, to try a mix of all three.

Frank strides back into the bathroom and sees you still in the spot he left you. You're still crying, and it lodges a lump in his throat. He fights back his own tears, and sits down next to you, pulling you into his arms.

"Hey, hey. You're okay. We're okay. It's all okay."

"It's not okay, Frank," you sob. "I'm so mad."

"At me? I'm sorry, honey. I shouldn't have stormed out like that. I just panicked and -"

"No, no. At myself."

Frank soothingly strokes your hair, rocking you gently. You relax into his hold, tears subsiding slightly.

"I've worked so hard on being clean. It's a choice, every single day. Why did I choose wrong today? I've ruined everything. I've fucked up all of my hard work, all of my progress."

"You know," he begins. "There's no end goal here. It's a constant journey. And on any journey, there's gonna be ups and downs."

You try to protest, but he cuts you off.

"One bad day doesn't determine the rest of the week. Or the rest of the month. Or the year. Okay?"

You nod your head, and he kisses your temple.

"There's always tomorrow, baby. There's always tomorrow. We can start again. Today doesn't undo everything. It just changes your course a little."

"Frank Castle. A poet. Who knew?" you tease. He laughs, and the vibrations buzz through you both.

"Only for you, honey."

You both sit on the floor for what feels like hours, content to just hold each other. Frank is wondering what caused the events of the day, what made you feel like you had no other option, where you even got a hold of everything. But he doesn't ask. He knows you'll talk about it tomorrow. Instead, he wraps his arms around you tighter, and tries to match his racing heart to the beat of yours.

"Promise me that if you feel like this again, you'll tell me. I don't care where I am, or what I'm doin'. We're in this together."

"I promise," you whisper.

"There's always tomorrow, honey," he murmurs into your hair.

"There's always tomorrow," you echo.

He's right. There's always tomorrow.

Al-Anon / Ala-Teen Hotline - 800-356-9996

SAMHSA Hotline - 1-800-662-4357

DrugFree Hotline - 855-378-4373

Alcoholics Anonymous (UK) - +44-800-9177-650

DAN 24/7 (England&Wales) - +44-808-8082-234

Narcotics Anonymous (UK) - +44-300-999-1212

MIND Website (lots of useful UK resources here)

SAMHSA Website (USA)

these are just a select few. there are hundreds, if not thousands, of websites, hotlines and places to turn for support if you're struggling. asking for help might be the hardest thing you'll ever do. but it's so worth it. promise x

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disillusioneddanny · 1 month

Text

The Bats and TTPD Songs

This is just me sharing what songs I think matches each of the bats and why :> i take no criticism /j

Bruce Wayne-- Cassandra

Hear me out okay, the lyrics:

So, they killed Cassandra first 'cause she feared the worst And tried to tell the town So they filled my cell with snakes, I regret to say Do you believe me now?

This whole song just reminds me of Bruce and his contingencies, like he's constantly prepared for any situation and he's had people who have gotten mad at him for it before.

Dick Grayson-- Who's Afraid of Little Old Me

God where do I even start? I want to write a whole fucking fic based off of this song and Dick Grayson.

So I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your street Crash the party like a record scratch as I scream "Who's afraid of little old me?" I was tame, I was gentle 'til the circus life made me mean "Don't you worry, folks, we took out all her teeth" Who's afraid of little old me? Well, you should be

In this case, he was bright eyed and innocent until his parents were killed in front of him. Then he became Robin, then Nightwing and this man went through fucking hell and he has survived.

Everyone sees Dick for his smiles and his kindness but this man should not be crossed by any means. He's fucking lethal and has gone through so much shit in his life and he's just not the same bright eyed, innocent kid he once was. And you should be scared of him.

Jason Todd--Robin

So technically this song is about Christopher Robin from winnie the pooh, but I think it also captures Jason really well.

You have no idea The time will arrive for the cruel and the mean You'll learn to bounce back just like your trampoline But now we'll curtail your curiosity In sweetness Way to go, Tiger Higher and higher Wilder and lighter For you

I feel like this song focuses a lot on loss of innocence and growing up tbh, like the person this song is aimed at has no idea how hard the world is, how painful things can be but that they'll learn to handle it and bounce back. IDK the first time I heard it, it reminded me of how Jason believed that Robin is magic and maybe even like Bruce or Dick singing this to him knowing what was going to happen to him one day.

Tim Drake -- Clara Bow

okay, so there's not just one lyric that really sticks out to me but the overarching story that this song tells. It's all about being replaced with the next big thing. Taylor Swift is compared to Stevie Nicks who is compared to Clara Bow and one day T. Swift is going to be replaced with something shiny and new and that just reminds me of Tim.

Tim is the third Robin, he replaced Jason who replaced Dick and one day he himself is going to be replaced. There's a lot of HC where he's aware of this fact, that he knows that his role as Robin is not a permanent thing, that one day, he too will be replaced. And eventually, he is.

"You look like Taylor Swift In this light We're loving it. You've got edge she never did The future's bright ... Dazzling."

Cassandra Wayne -- The Albatross

okay Cass was really hard for me at first to pin down what song fit her but then I listened to The Albatross and holy cow.

The devil that you know Looks now more like an angel I'm the life you chose And all this terrible danger So cross your thoughtless heart She's the albatross She is here to destroy you

I don't know quite how to explain how this song makes me think of Cass except for how it just makes me think about how she decided to take her life in her own hands and become her own person. She was pretty much created with one thing in mind and that was all that was expected of her but she's become so much more than that. Now she's strong and powerful but in more ways than just how David Cain made her out to be. She's caring and loving and she's going to destroy the idea that she was ever just a weapon.

Stephanie Brown -- I Can Do It With a Broken Heart

Listen, listen, this woman has been through so freaking much and she has come out on top and with a smile on her face the entire time. She is resilient and she isn't scared to fight Bruce Wayne himself if she needs to.

'Cause I'm a real tough kid, I can handle my shit They said, "Babe, you gotta fake it 'til you make it" and I did

I know this song is about dealing with a break up but when I hear it, i think of everything that Steph has been through. Her dad who's a rogue, her mom who is struggling with addiction, getting pregnant and giving her baby up for adoption, not being considered good enough to be Robin, the list goes on and on and yet she does it. She rolls with the punches and she swallows it down and she smiles through it all and I just friggen love Stephanie Brown so much.

Duke Thomas -- Florida!!!

Admittedly, I don't know as much about Duke as the others (I'm so sorry, I just haven't gotten there in the comics quite yet, I'm just now getting to the aftermath of the Red Robin run and I haven't read New 52 yet. so this is purely based off of WFA )

Little did you know your home's really only The town you'll get arrested So you pack your life away just to wait out The shitstorm back in Texas

This song just makes me think about Duke because from what I've learned, kid's been through a lot and he's had to move in with the Waynes after what happened to his parents. I think of Florida as a song of starting over, picking up your broken pieces and finding yourself once again and that just feels like Duke.

He's been hurt and he's now having to figure out what to do and where to run. Now he's with the Waynes and he's slowly finding his place with their insanity.

Damian Wayne-- thanK you aIMee

Okay but imagine this song is Damian at Ra's al Ghul okay? Stick with me buddy.

I built a legacy that you can't undo But when I count the scars, there's a moment of truth That there wouldn't be this if there hadn't been you

And maybe you've reframed it And in your mind, you never beat my spirit black and blue I don't think you've changed much

Damian has grown so much since the days he was still with the LOA and he recognizes that not only has he grown but he's done it DESPITE what Ra's did to him and that maybe a part of him is created by Ra's and he has learned to love that part of himself and he recognizes he wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for Ra's and his mother being conniving and evil. He's created a name for himself as Robin that goes against so much of what Ra's brainwashed him to believe.

Barbara Gordon-- The Bolter

And I can confirm she made A curious child, ever reviled By everyone except her own father With a quite bewitching face Splendidly selfish, charmingly helpless Excellent fun till you get to know her Then she runs like it's a race

This song just gives the brave, strong, independent vibes of Babs. Someone who lives her life to the fullest and embraces who she is. She's just powerful and she knows that she's amazing and she doesn't expect anything less from herself. She has gone through hell and she's come out of it stronger. She rolls with the punches, she doesn't let it stop her from her dreams, her desires.

Alfred Pennyworth-- I Hate it Here

I hate it here so I will go to Secret gardens in my mind People need a key to get to The only one is mine

This song just makes me think of Alfred when Jason died. That time where it's just him and Bruce and he's struggling to take care of his ward and he's also going through his own grief and unable to heal. I think Alfred has his own methods for taking care of himself, I think he's like the world's greatest compartmentalizer.

oh my god that got so freaking long lol. I'm so sorry. Anyway, y'all can listen to these specific songs here

#batman #taylor swift #TTPD #Bruce Wayne #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Cassandra Cain #stephanie brown #alfred pennyworth #Damian Wayne #duke thomas #Barbara Gordon

51 notes · View notes

here2bbtstrash · 2 years

Text

look down on me like that - 8 (explicit)

genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut (w some eventual angst that is no longer eventual 👀)

pairing: yoongi x reader

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

word count: *deep breath in* 15.3k

contains: explicit sexual content and discussion of some dark themes .....yyyyyep 🤐 includes past-tense discussions of the d3ath of a parent (reader's) and su1c1dal ideation (yoongi's) so please tread carefully loves 💜 some references to alcohol per usual, and plenty of confusing feelings and piss-poor communication..... i'll leave the rest as a surprise 👀 but here are your smut-specific warnings: kissing (‼️), nipple play, clit stim, a single pussy slap lol, fingering, cunnilingus, squirting (🤭), unprotected sex and pulling out (💀), orgasm denial of sorts, but it's cool bc reader has multiple orgasms, ok byeeeee~

A/N: welp..... i'm off to enter witness protection in case you all decide you hate this chapter 💀 not really but heuhjkghkfjgdsf dear god am i nervous to post this lmfao. hope you're ready for some ~answers to questions~ and a whole lotta callbacks to earlier chapters idk why i shoved them all in ch8 specifically but here you go. the scene at yoongi's apartment was one of the very first things i dreamt up in regards to this story and it's nuts to me that we're all the way here now 💜 hope you're ready for a little more insight into these two! also baby goth fans don't come for me..... i promise we'll get a better resolution there..... reader and yoongi just have to survive LA first 😩

an eternal thank you to @haliiimede and @monimonimoon for being wonderful betas, and to @nabiolive for the dead parent sensitivity read lmfao I LOVE Y'ALL

read on AO3!

chapter seven | masterlist | chapter nine

~*~

In the morning, you wake up well before your alarm with an inexplicable uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. When it’s clear sleep is a lost cause, you decide to just get up, and you move through your routine slowly. Everything feels distant, not quite real, like it’s happening to someone else.

On the bus ride to the office, you let your eyes drop closed and try desperately not to replay the events of last night back. You should feel bad about the sex on the conference room table, and you do, a little. But your mind is stuck somewhere else.

Rain streaking down Yoongi’s windshield. The silence as he drove, disturbed only by the low rumble of his voice. The way he’d looked at you, and the heavy pause that hung in the air between you, for just a moment, until you’d fumbled open the door of his car and had practically ran back to the safety of your apartment. And his story— he’d told you something personal, with no malice or hidden agenda that you can manage to find, no matter how much you search for one. Something from when he was just a kid, growing up in Daegu.

You’re embarrassed to admit that it never even occurred to you that Min Yoongi might be a person with a past and a hometown and stories to tell. As long as you’ve known him, he’s always just felt like… a menace. A life-ruiner. An inescapable force.

The thoughts follow you as you step off the bus and make your way into the building and onto the elevator. You can’t figure it out. Yoongi could’ve easily left you to suffer in the rain, but instead he did something nice for you, without asking for anything in return. He’d related to you. He’d let you in, barely, but it’s something.

And you have no idea what to make of it.

Polite small talk with Jungkook as you unlock the front doors is a decent distraction, but you wonder if he can tell that you’re not all the way there today. You set your bag on your desk, then circle around to take a seat, only half-listening as he continues to talk.

“Did you stay late last night?”

You swear your heart stops beating. “What?”

He shrugs, like it’s an obvious question. “There’s the big overseas thing today. I’m sure you had a bunch of stuff to prep. Hopefully it wasn’t too late of a night?”

“No.” The word comes out harsher than you mean it to. You’re not quite sure why your body is suddenly doing emotional alchemy, taking your fear of being caught and somehow turning it into anger. “It wasn’t,” you say firmly.

Jungkook makes a face, like he knows he’s touched a nerve but can’t figure out why. “Okay. That’s good.”

You don’t respond— you just try to control your breathing, try to will your heart to quit racing as you start up your laptop and pretend to suddenly be engrossed in it.

“Well,” he tries again after a moment’s pause. “I guess I’ll see you at the presentation thing.”

“Okay,” you answer, your voice a little softer this time, but you’re still too scared to look away from your screen. When you do eventually work up the courage, he’s already gone.

Before you even have the chance to glance back down, like some universal joke at your expense, the front door of the office is pushed open, and Yoongi steps through. Annoyed as you are, you can only be grateful that his entrance didn’t overlap with Jungkook’s question. You probably would have died of embarrassment on the spot.

Yoongi’s usual dark sunglasses are nowhere to be found today, and he’s in nice clothes for the presentation, a button-down and dress pants, his hair styled. He does still have a death grip on a large iced coffee, but that’s to be expected, especially given the fact that he’s in a lot earlier than is typical for him.

It’s only when his eyes snap over to you for the briefest of seconds that you see the dark shadows sunken deep beneath them, weighing heavy on his face.

Yoongi’s gaze moves back to the hallway in front of him as quickly as it alighted on you. You open your mouth before you even understand why you’re doing it.

“Yoongi?”

He stops dead in his tracks and blinks at you a few times, clearly tired, clearly not expecting the interruption. “Yeah?”

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

His mouth pulls into a flat line as he shakes his head. “Nerves. It’s why I don’t do stuff like this. Unless forced.”

You nod, unsure of what to say— or why you even asked. “Oh. Well, uh. Good luck.”

Yoongi lifts his coffee in a parting gesture, then disappears toward his lab without another word.

You try to focus on your work, to shove the interaction to the back of your mind with everything else you’re avoiding, but the screen seems to blur in front of you, until you finally push back from your desk with an exasperated sigh. The emails can wait.

Maybe, you consider, it would be good to stretch your legs. You can head into the presentation room early to set up before everyone arrives, and make sure everything is working for the several hours of agenda lined up for the morning.

Setting your shoulders back, you grab your things and make your way down the hallway. The thought feels like a good idea until you push the door open and encounter a severe case of deja vu.

Yoongi glances up from his laptop at the front of the room, blearily rubbing at one eye with the heel of his hand. “Is it time already?”

You hover in the threshold, unsure. “Uh— I mean, not quite. I’m early. I can go, if you want.”

He shrugs, busying himself with something on his computer screen. “You’ll have to hear it anyway. Can I just run through it one more time?”

You take a few tentative steps forward, dropping your bag and laptop on the table, right where you sat to watch him the night before. The energy in the room feels entirely different now, and your stomach is twisted into knots that you can’t manage to breathe deep enough to untangle.

“Yeah, fine.” You pause, unable to help yourself. “Just… don’t expect the same treatment as last night.”

Yoongi huffs a dark laugh. “I wasn’t.”

Taking a seat at the table, you set about your admin duties and try to ignore the way Yoongi mumbles over his presentation as he taps through his slides at the front of the room. There’s only so much you can do without bothering him, and you fly through those tasks all-too quickly. You drag your bottom lip between your teeth as you glance back up at Yoongi, and then you inhale to steady yourself before you speak.

“Can you turn on the mic?”

His head snaps up, caught off guard. “Hmm?”

“I need to make sure the mic is working.” Yoongi’s gaze flits to the podium’s built in-microphone, then back to you as he presses the switch to turn it on. “Say something into it,” you instruct. “It doesn’t matter what.”

Yoongi’s eyes move back to the microphone, and it’s like you can see the delay in his brain from lack of sleep. You don’t know what you were expecting— maybe a half-assed ‘check, check’, at worst some sexual or smart-ass remark. Instead, he leans in far closer than is necessary, until his mouth is nearly touching the microphone as he whispers into it.

“Sugaaaaa.”

The live demo of the notorious producer tag that intros all of his tracks is so ridiculous, so unexpected, that you can’t help it. You burst out laughing, clapping a hand over your mouth a few seconds too late. “What the fuck was that?!” The question is only muffled slightly by your palm.

Yoongi’s head drops forward, his dark hair falling in his face, and you can see his shoulders shaking with laughter, too. “Sorry,” he manages with a gasp for breath, tilting back up to speak into the microphone, which you can now actually tell is working properly. “I’m so fucking tired, I think I’m going insane.”

You uncover your mouth as you shake your head in disbelief.

The sudden loud buzz of your phone against the conference room table makes you jump, and you quickly reach for it, for fear it might be an emergency text from your boss that needs immediate attention. Your eyes widen in surprise when you see it’s actually from Jungkook.

Presentation thing? Wanna sit together?

You read the words again and again, and a strange feeling rises up in your chest that you can’t quite name. As you stare down at your phone, you hear the distinct sound of Yoongi’s laptop shutting, and then his voice, no longer amplified by the microphone when he mutters to himself, “Fuck it. It’s as good as it’s gonna get.”

Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, you glance up at Yoongi again, then back down at the text. With a final hard swallow, you turn your phone on silent and flip it over on the table, leaving Jungkook’s question unanswered.

The time is close enough now that you get to your feet to prop open the presentation room door, and then your colleagues quickly start to file into the space, filling in the seats around the large U-shaped arrangement of tables. It’s everything you can do to keep your expression neutral as your brain unhelpfully reminds you that Yoongi fucked you on one of these tables last night.

You try to manage something close to a smile when your boss enters with the team from the American office in tow, and you proceed to exchange pleasantries with them and fake laugh at their jokes when he introduces you.

As you’re listening diplomatically to one of them drone on about the flight to Seoul, you spot Jungkook slip in the door out of the corner of your eye, and it takes extra effort to keep the smile plastered on your face. The seats on either side of yours have long since been taken, and you glance over to see his eyes sweep the room before he moves to take an open spot at the far end.

You watch unabashedly now as he leans back in his chair, tilting to one side to pull his phone out of his pocket, and you can only pray he’s watching TikToks with the sound off rather than checking for a text that’s never coming.

When your manager repeats a question meant for you, your attention snaps back to the group. Sure your smile is nearly a grimace now, you apologize and blame the distraction on needing more coffee, which is enough to earn you a polite chuckle.

Eventually the room takes their seats as your manager moves to the front to start the presentation. You stay focused on copying down minutes as various speakers go through the company’s financials for the previous four quarters, the roadmap for the coming years, and a summary of top-level talent that the label has signed or directly worked with.

The discussion of talent leads smoothly into a quick review of achievements and nominations, and then Yoongi steps to the front of the room.

As he launches in, you can’t get over the stark difference between the Yoongi you’re used to and the one standing behind the podium in front of you. The man with the easy, confident, cocky demeanor is nowhere to be found, replaced with someone who barely looks up from his slides and speaks at a rushed pace, like he’s trying to get the words out as fast as possible. You bite down firmly on your bottom lip and try not to react at all.

He’s nearly halfway done now, and just as you’re thinking he might make it through the whole thing unscathed, Yoongi stumbles slightly over his words. It’s not a lot, a little slip-up that the rest of the room probably didn’t even notice, but you see a momentary flash of panic in his dark eyes. And then those eyes snap up to meet yours, and your stomach drops.

The memory of the two of you in this room, the thought of what you’d be doing to him if you were alone again, the way you could so easily make his voice shake and his knees threaten to buckle with just your mouth— it’s all too much.

You can’t help yourself as the smile you’ve been desperately trying to hide starts to spread across your face, equal parts supportive and indecent.

There’s a beat of silence, not long enough for anyone to think anything of it, and then Yoongi drops your gaze as quickly as he found it. He squints back down at his computer screen, and though he leans away from the microphone, you don’t miss the unmistakable sound of him clearing his throat.

“Excuse me,” he murmurs, and then he picks up where he left off, managing to get back on track without further issue.

You desperately try to ignore the warm flush of heat that creeps up your neck as Yoongi goes through the rest of his slides.

Time seems to speed by in a rush after his presentation, and you barely manage to keep up with the barrage of content. You’re more than grateful when your manager inevitably wraps up the session, reminding everyone to head to a nearby restaurant for a team lunch immediately following.

As the room begins to empty, you take your time finishing up the notes and firing them off to the broader audience. When you finally close your laptop and look up, you realize nearly everyone has left now, though as fate would have it, Yoongi has also lagged behind. He’s standing hunched over the conference room table as he types something into his own laptop.

You try not to overthink it as you hug your computer to your chest and take a few steps toward him. “Yoongi?”

He hums a response, and when he glances up at you, the bags under his eyes are just as prominent as before.

“Are you, uh— coming to lunch?”

He rolls his eyes, like the question is ridiculous. “I can’t. I’m drowning in shit I put off for the last two days.”

His words make you take a step back, and you immediately feel stupid for asking. Why do you even care what he does? “Right. Got it.”

You don’t wait around for him to say anything else, you just shove your laptop into your purse and pull the strap over your shoulder as you head for the exit.

Largely preoccupied with getting away from Yoongi, you don’t pay much attention to your surroundings as you slip out of the room, and you only get a few steps down the hall before a voice behind you nearly makes you jump out of your skin. “There you are.”

“Jesus!” you gasp, whipping around to find Jungkook leaning up against the glass wall of the conference room, his arms crossed over his chest. “You fucking scared me, Baby Goth.”

“Sorry.” He gives a shy smile, nose scrunching slightly like he’s embarrassed. “I wasn’t gonna let you ditch me again. Lunch?”

You do your best to match his smile. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

The two of you meet up with the rest of the team at a restaurant well out of your price range, and Jungkook babbles freely as he stuffs his face, seemingly unbothered by how little you have to say in return. The chatter of so many people at the long table is a white noise that you can’t focus on any part of, and Jungkook’s usual comforting presence feels overwhelming today, nearly stifling. You push food back and forth on your plate but barely eat, your stomach uneasy for reasons you don’t want to dwell on.

“Min Suga seemed like he didn’t even want to be up there.” The mention of Yoongi’s pseudonym is enough to snap you out of your haze.

“Huh?” You glance up at Jungkook, your eyes widening slightly, and you force yourself to eat another bite of pasta as he continues.

“I don’t know, he went through it so fast. Guess it makes sense. He hates anything that drags him out of his lab, right?”

You aimlessly twirl your fork against your plate, around and around. When you first started this job, you would have agreed with Jungkook without a second thought. Laughed about it, even. Now you’re not so sure. You don’t want to add to this growing sense of friction, the weird energy in the air, but the words come out anyway.

“He was nervous, Jungkook.”

When you meet his gaze again, Jungkook looks confused, and you instantly regret saying anything at all.

“What, did he tell you that?”

You nod as you take another bite of food to avoid having to explain yourself.

Jungkook’s eyes drift down to the table between you, distant, his brow furrowed like he’s suddenly doing some complex mental math. “When?”

“Last night,” you murmur through your mouthful. “We both worked late. I helped him practice a little.” The explanation was meant to make the situation sound less incriminating, but somehow you feel like it only makes it worse. You hope Jungkook can’t tell how warm your face is starting to get.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low, his gaze still not meeting yours. “I thought you said you didn’t stay late. When I asked you this morning.”

A rush of adrenaline hits your bloodstream so hard it makes you dizzy. “I—I didn’t. It wasn’t that late. Like an hour max. Didn’t seem worth mentioning.” You set your fork down, quickly hiding your hands in your lap so Jungkook can’t see the way they’ve started to tremble.

His only response is a slow nod, and then he goes quiet in a way that’s rare for him. It feels like an eternity of sitting and eating in silence before either of you says another word.

The conversation eventually picks back up again, and when it does, you try to tell yourself you’re just imagining that it’s slightly more stilted than before.

As you and Jungkook trail after the rest of your coworkers on the walk back to the office, you trade a few more polite questions about work-related projects, and then you fall quiet again, seemingly out of things to say. It’s a few stretches of city blocks, and then you see Jungkook’s head tip up, and he outright sniffs the air.

You can’t help but laugh a little, mostly because he looks like a dog, and then you smell it too. The unmistakable aroma coming from the street cart up ahead. You smile softly to yourself as you both slow to pass it, ogling rice cakes and fish cakes simmering in a pan of spicy sauce.

“God,” Jungkook groans appreciatively. “I would absolutely destroy some tteokbokki right now if I didn’t think I’d literally explode.”

“This is what happens when you help yourself to thirds every time you eat,” you chide him with a giggle, and the two of you nod to the vendor before you continue on toward the office. You only take a few more steps before you falter, and Jungkook turns back when he notices you’ve stopped.

“What’s up? Did you want to get some?”

You don’t know what makes you lie. “Uh, no. I, uh— I just realized, I think I left my scarf back at the restaurant. I’m gonna run back, but don’t worry about waiting for me. You’ve got work stuff.”

Jungkook shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “It’s cool, I can go with you.”

“No, that’s okay,” you say, firmly enough to make it very obvious you don’t want company. Maybe a little too firm, because Jungkook blinks, like he’s taken aback. Your stomach twists with a feeling that you imagine must be similar to having just kicked a puppy.

“Oh. Alright, well. I’ll see you later, then.” He pauses for a moment, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, and then he turns on his heel and keeps walking in the direction of the office. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch Jungkook’s retreating form until he disappears down the city block.

You try not to overthink the interaction as you retrace your steps to the cart, then head back to the office with a takeout bag gripped in one hand. Thankfully you don’t have to fumble for another lie of an excuse, because you don’t run into Jungkook or anyone else in your straight shot from the entrance to the door of Yoongi’s lab. Quick as you can, you punch in the lock code, then push the handle down and slip inside.

It takes you a minute to process what you’re seeing as you shut the door behind you. Yoongi’s arms are folded on the desk in front of him, and he’s slumped forward, head buried in the crook of his elbow. For a brief moment your heart drops, and then you take a tentative step closer and realize there’s no shake or shudder to his shoulders, only the smooth rise and fall of deep, steady breathing.

He’s asleep.

You close the remaining distance until you can reach out and gently place a hand on his back. “Yoongi?”

He inhales sharply, and you quickly pull your hand away like you’ve just been burned. Tilting his head to one side, he cracks an eye open, mumbling something that sounds like a question but is otherwise fully incoherent.

“You fell asleep,” you say dumbly, and Yoongi slowly sits up with a grunt, his eyes squinting, clearly readjusting to the room around him. He leans back to stretch, and several places in his back and shoulders crack impressively loudly.

“Fuck,” he sighs, voice strained, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “Why are you in here?”

“I brought you lunch,” you murmur, lifting the takeout bag for him to witness. He frowns at it, then up at you, like he can’t quite figure out what’s happening.

“Thanks,” he eventually manages. “You can just leave it. I’m nowhere near done with all my—”

You cut him off before he can finish. “Go home, Yoongi.”

The look of slack-jawed confusion on his face is enough to nearly make you laugh. “What?”

“I said go home.”

His brow furrows. “You’re not my boss.”

“I’m not saying it as your boss,” you sigh. “But you need to eat, and sleep. This isn’t healthy.”

Yoongi huffs a little, exasperated. “That’s easy for you to say, but I have so much stupid admin stuff to get caught up on.” He gestures halfheartedly to a massive to-do list pulled up on his monitor, one he’s barely a quarter of the way through.

Suppressing the urge to roll your eyes, you hum, feigning thought. “If only you had someone who could help with that. Some kind of… Admin Bitch.”

The comment must catch him off-guard, because he outright laughs. “You know, I still haven’t changed your contact name.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Then you should go before I question why I’m being nice to you. I’ll leave a note for tomorrow with anything I can’t figure out for myself. Assuming you trust my ability to do my job.” As if to indicate that you are no longer open to discussing the subject, you shove the takeout bag into Yoongi’s chest, and he wraps both arms around it, still looking entirely dazed.

But to your surprise, he doesn’t fight you, just slowly rolls his desk chair back and gets to his feet. You watch carefully as he shifts the bag of food to one arm, then grabs his work bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I, uh— thanks.”

You wave a hand as if to tell him not to mention it, and then you plop down into his chair and get to work, barely phased by the sound of the door clicking shut when he leaves.

~*~

As you settle in at your desk the next morning, it dawns on you how close the Grammys have started to loom, made abundantly clear by the overwhelming amount of prep you find yourself launched into. You don’t think you look up from your screen once, not even bothering to greet coworkers as they push through the doors, until the muted tap of something being placed on your desk startles you.

You see the cup of coffee first, and when you glance up expecting a pair of Baby Star Candy eyes, you instead find Yoongi hovering at the edge of your desk, like he’s not sure what he’s doing there. You make zero attempts to hide your total shock at whatever the fuck is going on in this moment.

He looks— good. Fresh-faced, like he managed to actually get some sleep, a little less gaunt. Even his expression seems weirdly pleasant, something you might mistake for happiness if you thought that he was capable of such an emotion.

There’s a crinkling sound, and when he gently sets a small wax paper pastry bag on your desk next to the coffee, you’re sure that you’ve overslept your alarm and are in the depths of a wild, ridiculous dream. It’s the only way any of this can be happening.

You blink up at him as you hesitantly reach for the bag, like you’re scared it might bite you.

“It’s maple,” he says as you slowly pick it up and investigate the contents. It’s still warm. “I asked for the most disgustingly sweet thing they had.”

Too overwhelmed, you set the pastry bag back down wordlessly. As you do, it’s only now that your eyes focus on the letters “AB” sketched in black marker on the side of the coffee cup, where a barista would typically write your name.

Yoongi’s eyes must be watching yours carefully, because he huffs a laugh as he sees realization dawn over your face. “Making them actually write Admin Bitch seemed a bit much.”

You can’t manage to find a laugh to match his, can only sit there, shell-shocked. When you look up again, he’s already walking backwards in the direction of his lab, but his eyes are still on you. “I’d tell you not to tell anyone, but I don’t think they’d believe you even if you did.”

And just like that, he’s gone again.

You remain unconvinced that both of his gifts aren’t secretly poisoned, but your desperate need for a fresh hit of caffeine overwhelms any other emotion. Carefully, you lift the cup to your lips and take a sip— it’s not scalding, but still perfectly hot, and your eyes widen as the flavor hits your tongue.

Two cream, three sugar. Exactly how you like it.

Before you’ve even had time to swallow, Jungkook is suddenly rounding the corner from the opposite direction, and you have to make a conscious effort not to choke.

He slows to a stop, and you watch him take in the coffee cup clutched between your hands like a lifeline. “Hey! You seriously snuck out for coffee without me?” His tone is mock-hurt, but you can’t help wondering whether it’s entirely put on.

Your gaze drops back down to the cup. “Sorry, JK. Someone else picked this up for me.”

Jungkook doesn’t pry into your vague statement, but a sinking feeling in your stomach tells you that maybe he doesn’t have to.

~*~

It’s Saturday night by the time your schedule aligns with Jimin’s for a night out, and given that it’s the last time you’ll see him before you leave for Los Angeles, you manage to guilt him into driving. The bar you choose is a shitty dive nowhere near your office, where you’re certain you won’t have to worry about any accidental encounters.

Or any encounters at all, as it turns out. The place is dead.

“I think we’re single-handedly keeping them open tonight,” Jimin murmurs with a grimace as you grab a pair of stools.

The bartender pours you each two shots and two beers, then returns to their side work at the far end of the bar in an apparent attempt to give the two of you some privacy.

It’s only once you’ve had your first shot and are halfway through the accompanying beer that you’re able to speak the words aloud: “I had sex in the office again.”

Jimin glances up at the ceiling, as if asking for strength, and you recount the full story mostly to the wood grain in front of you, unable to look your best friend in the face while you catch him up on everything.

When you fill in the final details, Jimin nearly spits his drink out. “Suga really hatefucked you on a conference table?! I need to go buy some lottery tickets.” He throws back his second shot, and there’s a smug smile on his face as he swallows it down. “God, I love being psychic.”

You shove an elbow into his ribs. “Listen. I don’t know what’s fucking happening anymore, Mochi. Sometimes he’s insufferable but now sometimes we apparently mildly tolerate and are even nice to each other. Like, coffee and a pastry nice.” You smack your hand on the bar for emphasis as you repeat the words. “Coffee. And. A. Pastry.”

“So,” Jimin clasps his hands together as he surveys you. There’s a look on his face like he’s clearly expecting you to draw some conclusion from all of this, but it seems to have entirely escaped you. “What have we learned?”

You drop your head down on the bar with a resounding thud. “We’ve learned that Min Yoongi is ruining my life.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Voice muffled slightly, you groan. “Don’t make me say it louder.”

“No, what did you just say?” You lift your head up to look at him, and his expression is deadly serious, his eyes sharp and focused. “Min Yoongi? I know Min Yoongi.”

You give him the same look right back. “You what?”

“We were trainees together. I— wait, Min Yoongi is Suga the producer? Really?!” He scrambles for his phone and you just sit there, dumbfounded.

“How are you only now telling me that you know him?”

Jimin glances up, incredulous. “Um, hi, because you literally never fucking told me Suga is Min Yoongi?”

You roll your eyes. “Please, surely I have said his name to you at least once.”

It’s Jimin’s turn to smack the bar, and he does so loudly. “Run those tapes back, ma’am! We have always called him Suga.”

“You’re telling me you’ve never even Googled him?!”

He makes a face like the mere suggestion is ridiculous. “I am an adult, with a job and a very needy boyfriend. Your chaos already monopolizes too much of my time.”

The search on his phone loads, and you watch Jimin tap and scroll slowly, mouth dropping open in disbelief. “Min Yoongi is Suga. Wow. I think I need a minute.”

Jimin’s earlier words finally catch up to you, and you finish the last of your first beer before you dare ask the question. “Yoongi was really a trainee?”

“He was,” Jimin confirms, gaze still locked on his phone. “Obviously he didn’t debut either. He left a few months before I did. I always wondered what happened to him.”

“What was he like?” Your voice comes out soft, a little unsure.

His eyes widen, staring off unfocused as he searches through his memory. “I mean, we weren’t super close, he’s a few years older than me. But it doesn’t sound like that much has changed if I think about what you’ve told me. He was quiet, not too personable. Worked hard. Didn’t really seem that close to anybody. I think maybe he had a difficult home life?”

Your stomach drops a little as Jimin pauses, choosing his words. “Like I guess his parents weren’t very supportive. So I think he felt like he had a lot to prove, and had really high standards for himself. But he obviously loved music. Makes sense that he ended up a producer. It’s like me and dance, right?” He picks up his beer with a shrug, staring thoughtfully down at the amber liquid. “Man. Those years were tough.”

As Jimin takes a sip of his drink and then continues on about his trainee days, your head starts to spin. You throw back your second shot in hopes that it might help.

You wish you could go back and unlearn this information, unsay the name Min Yoongi. Because you don’t want to think about him. You don’t want to know that Min Yoongi gets nervous about public speaking, that he likes his coffee iced, that he can’t say no to street cart tteokbokki, that he used to be a trainee, that he worked an unpaid job in Daegu, that he had a disapproving family and never felt good enough and maybe still doesn’t.

Min Yoongi was so simple when you first met him, back when he was a two-dimensional character, the antagonist of your TV show life, your enemy. But now he’s none of those things. He’s a real, flawed, complicated person, and your feelings for him are confusing and overwhelming. And you deeply do not want to think about your feelings. You don’t want to examine them, don’t want to hold them up to the light for fear of what you might find. It occurs to you in this moment that you don’t want to think about anything at all.

With a sigh, you scoot your chair back from the bar, then get to your feet.

“What are you doing?” Jimin interrupts himself to ask as you dig your phone out of your purse.

You’re doing the only thing that makes sense. “I’m gonna go fuck him,” you say, resigned, and then you make your way out the front door of the bar as you pull up Yoongi’s contact in your phone.

It’s only as the line starts to ring that you realize you don’t exactly have a location in mind. Sex in a bar bathroom is an experience you have no desire to repeat, and the thought of Yoongi seeing your shithole apartment makes your drinks threaten a return appearance.

You’re starting to consider that maybe you should just hang up and forget the idea entirely when Yoongi’s voice startles you.

“Uh, hi?”

“Hi.”

There’s a pause as you realize you didn’t actually plan how to have this conversation, and then you and Yoongi speak in tandem.

“I was just wondering—”

“Is there a reason you—”

“Shut up,” you snap, agitated by your own awkwardness. “What are you doing right now?”

Yoongi laughs darkly into the phone. “I’m sorry, is this a booty call?”

“Answer the question, asshole.”

There’s a slight shifting sound, like he’s making himself comfortable. “Nothing. Drinking.”

“Great, same here.”

Another pause, and you swear you can hear Yoongi slow blinking, can see the stupid smirk on his face when you close your eyes. “Would you like to come over, then?”

“Yes,” you answer, trying to sound more confident than you feel, and then you falter slightly. You’re not about to ask Jimin to drive you— you don’t trust him enough to stay in the car and behave, not when he’s been drinking. “Uh, are you by any chance near a bus stop?”

Yoongi doesn’t even try to suppress his snort of laughter. “I’m not. But I can send a car.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you say quickly, trying to think. “I can figure something—”

“Please,” Yoongi cuts you off. “If you’re really calling me begging to get fucked, the least I can do is provide the transportation. Just send me your location.”

“Fine,” you concede, and your voice comes out harsh. “But to be clear, I am not begging.”

He hums a low note, like he’s thinking it over. “Not yet,” he ultimately responds. “See you soon.”

You swallow hard as the call disconnects.

The time it takes for the car to arrive is just enough for you to slip back inside and finish your beer, and Jimin’s eyes narrow with frustration when you’re unable to explain yourself.

“Didn’t you just complain that this man was ruining your life?”

“Yes,” you retort. “And then I thought it over, and I decided that’s my job.” Your phone buzzes with the notification that the car is outside, and you quickly swig the last of your drink. “Bye.”

Jimin’s face twists like he’s holding further commentary back, which you didn’t think he was capable of doing without combusting. “Alright, babygirl,” he finally sighs, defeated. “Call me if you need saving.”

“I always do,” you deadpan as you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek.

~*~

Yoongi doesn’t say anything when he opens the door for you, just nods his head to the interior of his apartment to gesture you inside, letting the door swing wider so you can step past him. He shuts it again as you slip your heels off, and it takes you a second to adjust to your true height difference, the fact that you have to look a little further up to meet his gaze now.

“Want a drink?” is his delayed greeting, and you shrug.

“Yeah, okay. Just whatever you’re having.”

Without another word, he turns and heads down the hallway, and you follow after him, taking in your surroundings as you move further inside. It’s only now that it occurs to you how rich he must be. His place is identical to any one of the swanky, million-dollar Hannam apartments of which you’ve spent thousands of hours watching YouTube tours. You try to keep your expression neutral as you follow him into the living room, but it’s hard not to be impressed.

Yoongi crosses the room to a mini-bar, built into the far wall and softly backlit with inset LEDs. You pull your bottom lip into your mouth as you hover nervously for a second, then finally choose to drop down onto the large, L-shaped couch, setting your purse on the floor next to you.

“Thoughts—” When Yoongi’s voice breaks the silence, you start a little, not expecting it. “—on single malt whiskey?” He turns over his shoulder, and you shrug back at him.

“Never met one I didn’t like.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up, just barely. “Alright.” You watch as he grabs a dark green bottle off the shelf, coating the bottom of a glass with the amber liquid inside, then just barely topping up what must be his own drink. He crosses back to the couch, hands you yours, then drops down a respectable distance away from you with a sigh of effort.

The atmosphere is certainly different from what you’d expected, and Yoongi must be able to tell you’re a little on edge, not sure what to do or why you thought coming here was a good idea.

He glances over at you as he swirls the contents of his glass. “Not feeling up for much small talk tonight. Sorry.”

“That’s fine,” you say quickly. “We don’t have to talk.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you grit your teeth in anticipation of the smug smile, the cocky smirk at your unintended double meaning, but it never comes. Yoongi stays just as he is, slouched forward, his eyes unfocused, like he’s got a thousand thoughts running through his mind at once.

You turn sideways on the couch so you can look over the back of it and out of the large picture window behind you, where the city is alive in a blur of light and color, bracketed by the dark swath of the Han River.

Yoongi’s whiskey is strong but smooth, tastes like the bottle probably cost more than the entire bar-tab you and Jimin rang up tonight, and you sip it slowly. The thought of your best friend sparks something in your mind— you find yourself speaking again in spite of your previous statement.

“I just found out that you know my best friend. Park Jimin.”

At this, Yoongi looks up, clearly stunned. “No shit?” You nod, taking another pull from your drink, and he shakes his head. “I haven’t heard that name in years. How is he?”

“He’s good,” you murmur, the sharp taste of alcohol lingering on the back of your tongue. “He’s really good. He actually just performed in the concert I took Jungkook to.”

Yoongi pauses, glass halfway to his lips. “What group is he in? For someone in the industry I am atrocious at keeping up with this shit.”

“Oh, he’s not, he’s just a back-up dancer now. He never debuted.”

Yoongi nods slowly. “Well. Makes two of us.”

Your chest starts to tighten a little— you’re weirdly nervous to talk to him about this. It feels like uncharted territory. “I can’t believe you were a trainee.”

He leans back, resting his free arm over the back of the couch, fingers tapping idly. “I can’t either, most days. It was a long time ago. Feels like it happened to somebody else.”

Torn between deep curiosity and not wanting to pry, you stare down at the liquid swirling in your glass and leave it up to Yoongi. To your surprise, he keeps talking.

“So what did Jimin tell you about me?”

The unexpected question makes you laugh a little. “Uh… I don’t know. Said you sound like you’re still the same as you were back then. Keeping to yourself and working a lot.”

You don’t know if you should repeat everything, but the liquor loosens your tongue. “He said your parents weren’t very supportive.”

You glance up to see Yoongi shake his head, matter-of-fact. “They were not. So you can imagine how well they took it when I quit.” Your heart sinks at the thought. “Probably put a chip on my shoulder, if I want to be introspective about it. Explains the workaholic tendencies, maybe.”

He takes a longer sip of his drink this time, chasing his swallow with a grimace as he stares at the floor. “It’s funny. I always feel like I have to do better, even now. I get obsessed with work because it’s better than being depressed. And most of the time it feels like there’s nothing else to do anyway. I just work myself to death because it’s my only reason to stay alive.”

Your stomach drops sharply, and you can’t help but look over at him as he continues, feeling thoroughly unprepared for this sudden insight into the inner workings of Min Yoongi.

“It doesn’t even matter what milestones I hit, the fame, the fortune, whatever. I’m going to the fucking Grammys next week and it still doesn’t feel good enough.” His eyes flicker up to find yours, and his voice is quieter now. “Even if I win, I know it won’t. How sad is that?”

“You sound like my dad,” you mutter into your glass, and then your gaze snaps back to Yoongi as you realize what you’ve just said.

He looks as surprised as you feel, and you steady yourself as you take a swig of your drink and swallow it down. Fuck it. If he can overshare, so can you. “Work always came first, before family, before everything. And you know what happened? He dropped dead in his office before he even turned fifty. They said it was probably stress.”

There’s a flash of something in Yoongi’s eyes, but he doesn’t try to interrupt you.

“It makes me so mad,” you say, and you will yourself not to get emotional, your grip on your drink tightening slightly. “Because he worked so fucking hard thinking that once he got to a certain place, he’d be happy. Just a little more, then he could relax. But he never got there. He worked non-stop his whole life and then he fucking died. That’s it.

“And you know what’s really fucked up?” You don’t wait for Yoongi to respond— you can’t stop it all from coming out now, like a tap turned on high.

“People say grief makes you resilient, that it makes you stronger, or kinder, that we go through these things and they’re hard but you learn from them and grow or whatever the fuck. And I don’t feel like any of that shit is true for me. My dad died, and I just got worse.” A self-deprecating laugh flutters out around your words. “I’m selfish. I’m lazy. I make terrible choices. I deeply cannot fucking stand myself, if I’m honest with you. Jimin is like the one friend I still keep in touch with who knew me when my dad was alive, because everyone else just… didn’t know what to do with me. And I don’t blame them.

“And it makes me feel like such a fucking asshole, because he died, and I’m sitting here complaining about me. It’s like I don’t even miss him as much as I just miss… the way things used to be. The person I used to be.” You let yourself take a breath, but the final thought, the part you don’t usually say out loud, slips out with it. “It’s like she died, too.”

There’s a long pause that feels like an eternity, and you realize your heart is racing in your chest. You lean back against the couch with a sigh of frustration, too embarrassed at your own word vomit to do anything but stare at the stupidly high ceiling. You’re so wrapped up in the rush of saying it all— it’s been a while since you’ve gone this deep with anyone— that it takes you a second to notice that Yoongi is laughing softly.

“Wow. And here I thought you were just a slacker.”

The words make you glance over at him. You haven’t divulged these feelings to many people, but nearly everyone you’ve told has responded the same: awkward apologies, shitty words of affirmation you didn’t ask for, waxing poetic bullshit lies about how you’re not a bad person. A road paved with good intentions, things meant to console you that only make you want to scream.

But Yoongi gives you none of that. He just nods, like he understands.

“Well,” you counter, trying not to let the shock read on your face. “I thought you were just an asshole.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I am an asshole. I’ll own that.” He smirks into his glass as he takes another sip of his drink. “Do you want to know something?”

“What?”

He suddenly pauses, like he’s not sure how to word it, like he maybe regrets asking the question at all. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so hesitant before. “You have to not make a big deal about it.”

“Okay,” you say simply. You’re willing to return the favor.

“The night I left the studio door unlocked, and there was the break-in,” Yoongi starts, his thumb fiddling with the ring on his index finger. Something twists in your stomach, an intuition you can’t explain that makes it immediately clear to you what he’s about to say. “I wasn’t thinking about locking up that night because I... was planning to kill myself.”

It’s like all the air is sucked out of the room, and you will yourself not to react, gripping your glass until your knuckles blanch. Your eyes drop to the floor as you try to process the weight of his words.

“But you didn’t,” you reply dumbly.

“No, I didn’t. I walked up and down the bridge over the river for a long time. Probably an hour, maybe more, I don’t know.” You look up to the window again, tracing the inkblot snake of the river in the distance.

“I thought about it, and then I decided to go home. I thought that maybe I could give it just one more day and see what happened. And then when I got to work the next day, I was in such deep shit about the break-in, I felt like everyone would blame themselves if I did it after that. Like they’d think they were too hard on me.” He laughs bitterly to himself. “Like I’m not always the one who is hardest on myself.”

“Yoongi,” you breathe. “I don’t know what to say.”

He shrugs. “You don’t have to say anything. It just feels nice to tell someone.”

There’s a heavy silence between you, and heat rushes to your face as the words leave your mouth before you can stop them. “I’m glad you didn’t do it.”

He glances over at you, brows pinched together like he doesn’t believe you. “You hate me.”

“I do not!” The insistence in your voice surprises even you. In an attempt to ground yourself, you press your palm to the side of your drink and try to focus on the feeling, the cool surface against your flushed skin. “I mean, I definitely did. But now, I don’t know. Would I really be wasting my Saturday night here if I hated you?”

Yoongi pauses with his glass halfway to his mouth, and you can see him fighting to keep a smile off his face. “Look at me, you came over here to fuck and I turned it into a therapy session. Christ.”

With a final shake of his head, he downs the last of his drink in one swallow. “You want a tour?”

You follow Yoongi as he takes a winding path through the various rooms of his apartment, and you continue to sip at your drink, barely processing any of what he shows you. Your mind is still spinning from the conversation, and that paired with the cotton fuzz of strong liquor makes everything feel muted and far away.

As anticipated, the tour ends in his bedroom, which matches the rest of the place: sleek, minimally decorated, and bathed in the soft glow of inset strip lighting that runs the length of the ceiling.

When Yoongi sets his empty glass down on the dresser, you mirror him, then watch as he steps in to close the distance between you. As your eyes search his, you realize you’re once again caught between conflicting versions of Min Yoongi, still trying to reconcile the one you thought you knew with the person who just spilled his guts all over the living room floor. It feels impossible to hold the two of them together in your mind.

Up close, his smirk seems to soften. “You’re a lot shorter without those heels.”

Before you even understand what you’re doing, or why, you take his face in your hands and kiss him. It’s only a split second, your lips barely brushing over his, and then you quickly pull away, struck by the reality of what you’ve just done.

“Shit,” you breathe, dropping your hands and taking a step back. You stumble slightly as a hot wave of shame rushes up in your chest. “Sorry, I just—”

You don’t get to finish the thought, because Yoongi’s touch is sliding over the curve of your waist, and then he’s dragging you back toward him until his mouth finds yours again. The taste of whiskey lingers on his soft lips as they move against yours— you can’t help but whimper a little at how hungrily he kisses you. Like he’s wanted to do it for a long time.

The idea overwhelms you, and you pull away from him again, your lips still ghosting over his. “Yoongi.” You try your best to sound firm when you say his name, pressing one hand against his chest as you look up at him. “This… can’t mean anything.”

You can feel the heat of his breath when he laughs softly. “It doesn’t have to. I’ve been trying to tell you that.”

Too desperate for his mouth to want to argue, you decide to let him win. “Okay,” you sigh. Your hand is already tangled in his long, dark hair by the time his lips meet yours again.

“Get on the bed,” Yoongi murmurs between kisses, and you do as he says.

Moving backwards, you crawl up toward the pillows while Yoongi crosses the room to hit a panel on the wall, dimming the soft lights overhead until they’re barely there. He comes back to join you, strong hands wordlessly guiding you to lay down beneath him.

It’s weird to not be rushing through this: to feel like you can take your time as he kisses you again, as you lick into his mouth to roll your tongue over his, as one of his hands starts to creep under your skirt to gently rub up and down the length of your thigh.

The motions of his hand push the fabric higher and higher, until it’s as far up as it can go, and he leans back, clearly not satisfied.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, and you nod, sitting up to help as he pulls your dress up over your head.

It occurs to you a beat too late that you’ve never been this naked in front of him before, and your heartbeat flutters. “You too,” you murmur, pinching gently at the hem of Yoongi’s t-shirt, and he smirks as he reaches one hand between his shoulder blades to tug it off entirely.

You take him in as he drops the shirt to his bedroom floor: he’s broad-shouldered in a way you’ve never noticed under all his baggy clothes, with firm definition in the muscles of his chest and arms, and there’s a flush of warm glow to his pale skin.

As you blink up at Yoongi, more than dazed, you realize his eyes are roaming over your body, too. “Fuck,” he swears under his breath, and you resist the sudden urge to hide from his surveying gaze. “You have great tits.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that, and the surprise of it makes you laugh.

“Just for that, I’ll let you see them,” you say, unable to keep the teasing edge out of your voice as you lean forward to reach behind your back. Your hands shake a little more than you’d like as you fumble to undo your bra and toss it off the side of the bed to join everything else.

Your nipples stiffen quickly in the cool air of his room, and when you lay back again, Yoongi covers your body with his, the movement paired with a groan that’s nearly a growl. You can’t hold back your own soft sounds as his lips and tongue move down your neck, and it occurs to you now that there’s so much that the two of you have never done before. So many steps you skipped.

Like the way Yoongi cups one of your breasts in his hand, rolling his thumb over your nipple to earn a louder whine from you. “Shit,” you gasp as he does it again, his mouth still trailing kisses between the valley of your breasts.

“God,” Yoongi hisses against your skin. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy.”

With his thumb continuing to work at one nipple, he takes the other into his mouth, and you can feel the way your arousal is starting to soak through your panties as he sucks firmly at the stiff peak. You arch up into him, and then he’s shifting to roll your nipple between his teeth and tug, and you can’t help it— you flinch and yelp beneath him, overwhelmed.

He quickly pulls his mouth off of you, eyes flashing up to find yours. “Sensitive?”

You nod, face flushing, embarrassed. “A little bit of teeth is okay. Too much hurts.”

“Okay,” Yoongi answers softly. He licks up the underside of your breast to pull the bud of it back into his mouth, and the swirl of his tongue there soothes like an apology. When he just barely grazes his teeth across the sensitive peak, it’s enough to make you keen, your eyes rolling back as they flutter closed.

“Oh, fuck, just like that.”

With a wet noise, he pulls off to switch sides, repeating the firm suction, the drag of his tongue, the slightest brush of teeth. His fingers pinch gently at your other nipple, made slick with his spit, and he keeps working you lazily, unhurried, until your body writhes underneath his.

“Yoongi—” You try to catch your breath, and you run a hand through his hair to pull his mouth off of you. His jaw is still dropped open slightly when he meets your gaze. “Touch me.”

His lips pull into a smug smile. “Told you you’d beg.”

Your grip on his hair tightens in response. “Not begging. Ordering.”

Yoongi tuts gently, like he’s disappointed. “I don’t follow orders, sweetheart.”

As much as his teasing irritates you, a twin smile to his spreads across your face. “I’ll kill you,” you murmur, releasing your grip as he shifts back onto his knees.

It gets harder to focus on your bloodlust when his palms run over the curve of your hips, then press between your legs to part your thighs. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he deadpans as his fingers slip under the waistband of your panties and he starts to drag the lace down your legs.

“That’s fucking dark,” you can’t help but laugh as you kick your underwear the rest of the way off.

Yoongi licks his lips, clearly distracted, and you spread yourself wider for him. “This pussy,” he grunts hoarsely, like he’s talking to himself more than you. “Gets so puffy when you want it. All tight inside, too.” He unexpectedly slaps the whole of his hand over your center, and you gasp, your hips jolting up.

You don’t even have time to respond before he’s pressing a finger into you, your cunt squeezing tight enough to reward him with an audible noise as he fucks it in and out. “Fuck,” you groan.

“You get this wet just from having your tits played with, huh?”

The thorough analysis makes you huff a laugh, because he’s not wrong, and it stutters into a moan when his thumb gently starts to circle your clit.

“God,” you manage to choke out, “you’re fucking chatty tonight.”

Yoongi smirks, and you’re not sure why until he speaks again, his voice now pinched in a clear imitation as he withdraws his hand. “I’m sorry, is there somewhere you’d rather I put my mouth?”

Your jaw drops in disbelief as he repeats your own stupid tease from weeks ago back to you. “I’ve changed my mind,” you snap, sitting up a little, and Yoongi glances at you, already in the midst of settling between your spread thighs. “I do still hate you.”

“That’s fine,” he says with a shrug, and then he leans in to lick a thick, wet stripe up your slit. His mouth is immediately dizzying, and you drop your head back against the pillow, overwhelmed.

It’s another thing you’ve never done before, at least not with Min Yoongi. As he repeats the motion over and over, lazy long strokes where he drags his tongue from your entrance all the way up to circle your clit, you mentally kick yourself for every missed chance, every opportunity to have his mouth that you didn’t take.

“What the fuck,” you breathe.

Yoongi just barely pulls off of you, close enough that a string of your arousal is still joined to his lower lip when he speaks. “You’re not the only one with good head game here.”

He dives in again like he’s determined to immediately prove his point, and you shove your legs open wider as he sucks your clit into his mouth.

As much as you’d like to bruise his ego, it’s impossible to keep yourself from moaning when he pairs the firm suction with the press of his index finger back into your tight heat. As wet as he’s made you, he’s easily able to slide a second in beside it now, and your nails scratch helplessly over the sheets beneath you.

“Yoongi,” you gasp as he curls his digits to beckon inside you, stroking over your front wall and easily finding the spot that makes you gush. He does it again and again, like a button press, working up more and more arousal until you’re dripping down his wrist.

Even the way he hums against your pussy sounds like a smirk, but you’re too far gone to care. Yoongi starts to flick his tongue steadily over your clit, matching the rhythm of his fingers pumping into your g-spot, and you can feel the pressure in your core building, a band pulled tight enough to snap.

Your hips buck up toward his mouth in an overwhelmed reflex, and Yoongi’s free hand is immediately there like he was expecting it. His palm presses firmly to your lower abdomen to hold you down and keep you there, and even that feels good too, renders you entirely helpless to his mouth and his hands as he takes you apart.

“Fuck,” you moan, loud and unabashed now. “Fuck, yes, I’m—”

The feeling overtakes you before you can get another word out, and you nearly sob as your orgasm rips through you, your whole body straining hard against Yoongi’s strong hand as he pins you to the bed. The extra pressure on your core pushes a rush of fluid out of your cunt, enough to soak the sheets beneath you as your muscles contract around Yoongi’s fingers.

“Oh my god,” he doesn’t even pull away to groan, and the low vibration of the words against your throbbing clit makes your thighs tremble.

There’s a wet smack of his lips and tongue as he finally relents, the pace of his fingers slowing as he continues to work you through the aftershocks. You desperately try to remember how to breathe as you start to come down.

Yoongi is a fucking sight when he leans back to look up at you: long hair falling in his face, eyes dark with lust, lips and chin slick with your arousal. “Did you seriously just squirt?”

It’s been a long time since anyone has managed to make it happen, and you suddenly feel overwhelmed in a different way. Still recovering, you can barely get the words out. “Shut up.”

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘shut up’? It was hot,” Yoongi grunts, and you’re at least grateful that you don’t have to have the ‘it’s not pee’ conversation right now. He ducks his head down again as he withdraws his fingers, and his tongue drags up the crux of your thighs to chase a few stray droplets. You squirm, oversensitive, your legs nearly snapping shut around his neck, and he takes the cue to back off with a soft laugh.

You’re too spent to fight it when he starts to manhandle you a little, palms slipping under your ass to drag you further down the bed until your hips are flush with his, then encouraging your knees to pull up toward your chest. “Think you can do that on my cock?”

The question sparks something in your core, the first lick of a freshly lit flame, and you prop yourself up on your forearms to better meet his gaze. “Make me.”

Yoongi’s appreciative smile is nearly a snarl, and he shifts lower on the bed to quickly strip out of his pants and boxers. You watch as he starts to crawl back up your body, anticipation tightening in your core, and then a flash of realization crosses his face and he freezes.

“Fuck,” he swears, and your stomach drops.

“What’s wrong?”

“I forgot I’m out of condoms.” Your eyes widen as his gaze meets yours. “Do you have any?”

You shake your head. “Not with me.”

A muscle in his jaw works as he exhales a resigned sigh, and you reach out, one hand finding his bicep to stop him before he leaves. You want it too much, bad idea or not. “Just… fuck me anyway.”

His expression goes deadly serious, and there’s a long moment before he responds. “You’re sure?”

You swallow hard as you nod, your eyes searching his. “Just pull out, okay?” You hate yourself for saying the final word before it even leaves your lips. “Please.”

“Okay,” Yoongi repeats back to you, and his hands press to your thighs again to encourage your knees up as he positions himself between your legs. There’s a feeling humming in the space between your bodies, like the reality of the situation has settled over the both of you. The reckless abandon of the previous moment is gone, replaced with something slower, more hesitant. Heavier.

With your eyes fixed on his face, you feel it first: the weight and warmth of his cock grinding over your slit, sliding easily with how soaked you are. You look down to see it for yourself, flushed dark and hard enough to leak precum, trailing a glossy sheen over your folds as Yoongi guides it against you, one hand gripped firmly to the base. He teases the head of his dick over your clit and keeps it there, and you’re still sensitive enough to whimper at the feeling.

“Please,” you repeat, and he’s too focused to be smug about it. He just nods as he drags his cock back down to your entrance, then braces one hand against your thigh and starts to push in.

You exhale softly at the welcome stretch, familiar made new at the lack of anything between you. You can feel it all: the thick swell of the head of his cock as he eases you open, how he throbs gently as your walls squeeze around him, so tight that you can even feel the prominent veins that trace down his shaft.

You’re still wet and getting wetter from the way he fills you up entirely, your arousal drenching the length of him when he bottoms out with an audible slick sound. His cock twitches, buried to the hilt, and even that barely-there motion is enough to coax a breathy moan from you.

“Shit,” Yoongi laughs softly, and the tinge of humility to his voice makes you glance up at him again. “Not gonna be able to go that fast. Feels too good.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “Just…”

The words won’t come. It would mean too much to say what you want, and this isn’t supposed to mean anything at all.

So you don’t say them: you just hook your arms over his shoulders and pull his mouth down to yours. “Just fuck me,” you murmur against his lips. He grunts a low note of appreciation as he kisses you, as he starts to drag his cock out of you just to fuck it back in again.

It’s shallow, it’s slow, it’s nothing like what you’re used to with Yoongi, but it’s good. Good enough to make your kisses sloppy when you trade open-mouthed breaths, good enough to make you tilt your head and slide the flat of your tongue over Yoongi’s unabashedly, like an earned reward.

He pushes your knees up a little more, thrusting deeper this time, and the new angle drags the head of his cock right over your g-spot. You whine at the heavy weight of him, the shudder that ripples through you in response, and he stays there, stroking steadily to rub that spot again and again until your eyes roll back in your head.

“Oh my god, Yoongi,” you gasp into his mouth.

“Shit,” he groans shakily, reaching one hand up to brush his hair out of his eyes. A few dark strands stick to the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Squeezing me so fucking tight.”

Your arousal coils hot and fast inside of you as he keeps thrusting, and you have to break away from kissing him to tip your head back on the pillow and moan. “Fuck, please don’t stop, I’m—”

It feels like the final second before your climax when Yoongi pulls out, sitting back on his knees between your spread legs with a low groan. The sudden loss of his cock makes your walls clench at nothing, and you whine, petulant. “Yoongi!”

“Sorry,” he mutters, breathless. “Almost came.” You glance up to see him squeezing at the base of his cock with one hand, his chest heaving with effort. Your hips tilt up toward him, jealous.

“I miss your cock,” you whine, fucked close enough to be shameless.

“You’ll get it,” he retorts, and then you feel three of his fingers press in to fill the space he left behind inside of you. “Want to make you come again first.”

You keen as he starts to pump them, wrist angled just right to meet your g-spot each time. “Oh fuck, Yoongi.” The arousal in your core aches as he fucks you open on his fingers, and you can hear how wet you are in the soaked squelch of your needy pussy, can feel it leaking down your thighs.

His thumb brushes over your clit with every upstroke of his hand, and it makes you gasp, your moans starting to pitch higher. “Harder, baby, please, I’m so close.”

Too lost in the feeling, you barely notice when Yoongi laughs a little, but he does as you ask, and the way he pounds into you is just enough to work you over the edge. Waves of pleasure rip through your body as you come for a second time, squirting a little on his sheets again, your thighs shaking violently.

“That’s it, there you go, fuck,” Yoongi groans appreciatively at the sight.

You’ve just barely made it past your peak, still shuddering all over, when Yoongi withdraws his fingers to shove his cock back in again, and you keen.

He thrusts like a man close to his own end, fast and hard, his breath coming in ragged pants of effort and pleasure. Your pussy pulses around him, squeezing like a vice, so swollen with sensitivity that it really does feel like he’s splitting you open every time he fucks into you.

You moan unabashedly now and cling to him all over, legs bracketing his snapping hips, nails of one hand digging into his shoulder, the other hand tangled in his hair. Your cunt throbs and gushes around him as he strokes, and it still feels like you’re coming: you can’t tell if it’s an intensely drawn-out second orgasm or if the hot stretch of his cock worked you seamlessly into a third.

When he finally pulls out, you drop back against the bed with an exhausted groan, every inch of you fucked into oblivion. You can barely focus your eyes to watch as Yoongi shoves his hips up to straddle yours, one hand working his cock until his release overtakes him.

He flattens both palms to the mattress as he starts to come, groaning softly and rocking his hips so that his cock grinds against your stomach. The head of his dick twitches visibly, leaking pulse after pulse of sticky gloss over your skin, and he smears his cock through it as he ruts against you. He keeps going, rolling his hips and rubbing the mess across your stomach until he’s thoroughly spent, until you’re both flushed and sticky all over.

“Holy fucking shit,” is all he can manage when he finally collapses down on the bed next to you.

You glance over at him and nod, trying to imply without speaking that the feeling is mutual. He meets your gaze, and you lay like that for several long minutes of silence as your breathing slows, eyes fixed on each other as your heartbeats race through the comedown.

It’s hard to believe that any part of tonight has been real, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

As the post-orgasm glow starts to settle, exhaustion hits you like a train. You groan, breaking the prolonged eye contact to throw an arm over your face, blocking out Yoongi’s bedroom with the crook of your elbow.

You’re not expecting it when he softly says your name, and something in your gut tells you that whatever’s coming isn’t good. You will yourself not to look back again, to stay as still as a statue when you answer him. “Hmm?”

“You know Jungkook is in love with you, right?”

The plan to not move goes out the window at his words. Your pulse spikes, and you drop your arm to look at him, your face twisted in confusion. “What?!”

Yoongi studies your expression for a second, then makes a small hum of surprise. “Interesting. I figured you were just trying to let him down easy.”

“I— what?”

“You really didn’t know?” He scoffs, and his tone is enough to instantly make you set your jaw. “It’s pretty obvious. It’s funny, I guess he’s sort of inadvertently responsible for all of this.”

That takes a second to sink in, and you blink. “How?”

Yoongi stares up at the ceiling, seemingly nonplussed. “Well, when he asked me for the code to my office, I figured he wanted to take you in there and fuck you.”

Hot blood rushes to your chest, and you sit up a little. “You talked to Jungkook about fucking me?”

“No.” Yoongi blinks. “This was before anything happened. I haven’t told him anything. It was just clear he liked you, even back then, because I have eyes. So I was trying to do him a favor. He’s a good kid.”

You squint, still trying to catch up. “Why would Jungkook fuck me in your office?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, it’s the only door that locks. Sometimes you get desperate.” You swallow the immediate urge to argue when your brain unhelpfully reminds you that you have in fact fucked Yoongi at the office. Twice.

“But you know, I figured he’d wine you, dine you, all that romantic crap first. I’m sure he’s a very respectable sex on the third date kind of guy.” That all-too-familiar smirk is back when he glances over at you again. “I guess neither of us realized who we were dealing with.”

You open and close your mouth a few times before you can remember how to speak. “I’m not having this conversation with you. Particularly not with your cum still on my stomach.”

Yoongi nods toward the en-suite. “There’s towels in there. Or you can shower if you want.”

Your head spins as you silently slip out of his bed, and you shut the bathroom door firmly behind you, wishing you could leave that entire conversation on the other side of it. Maybe his fancy shower will get hot enough to blast all the thoughts out of your brain, you reason, and it only takes a bit of fumbling with the knobs before you figure it out.

The water pressure is so much better than what you’re used to that you groan a little when you step under the spray. You turn in a semicircle, letting it beat down on your neck and shoulders as you close your eyes, willing the tension to melt out of your body. You really are exhausted, practically asleep on your feet, despite the way your mind is still racing.

You don’t know why you came here tonight. You don’t know what you thought would happen. You don’t know what makes you keep coming back to Yoongi, over and over, like a moth to a flame, like the definition of insanity. You don’t know why he opened up to you tonight, or why you decided to do the same— or what the fuck compelled him to say that Jungkook is in love with you. You don’t know if things are supposed to stay the same after tonight, or if they will be irrevocably different, and you don’t know which you’d even want.

You have no idea what you want, actually. Another drink would be nice.

The sound of the shower door opening startles you, pulling you up from your thought spiral, and your eyes snap open to see Yoongi shutting the door behind him. Without a word, he steps in to crowd you under the water, and you hate the way your heartbeat flutters when he’s close to you.

“What are you—” you try to ask, but you don’t get to finish the sentence before his hand cups your jaw and his mouth finds yours.

His kiss blots everything else from your brain, and in this moment, you’re grateful for it. You lean into him, letting him in deeper when his tongue traces your bottom lip, whimpering softly as his other hand presses to the small of your back to pull you closer.

You don’t know what he wants, either. Why he came in here. But you have a guess.

“Yoongi,” you murmur against his lips. “I can’t again. I’m so tired.”

“It’s okay,” he answers softly, and then his mouth drags you back in like a riptide.

You don’t know how long you stay there like that, kissing him under the steam and the spray, but you’re breathless when you finally pull away to look up at him. Water droplets are twined through his long, dark hair, collecting delicately on his eyelashes, trailing down his neck and over the muscles of his chest.

“You can sleep here tonight, if you want,” Yoongi offers, and before you can even process the words, he’s stepping back to push the shower door open behind him, and then he’s gone.

With the glass fogged over completely from the heat of the water, and the white noise of the fan overhead, you have no concept of when he leaves the bathroom, or what else he might be doing. You just know you feel entirely alone.

After scrubbing yourself thoroughly with a washcloth that you lather in Yoongi’s soap, you emerge from the shower, grabbing a towel from the linen cabinet to wrap up in. It’s weird to smell like him, sandalwood and musk, somehow both comforting and alienating.

When you nudge open the door to his room again, it’s empty, and the inset lighting has been turned off entirely, the room bathed only in the glow of the bedside lamp that’s been switched on.

He’s left out one of his t-shirts for you, and you recognize it as one you’ve seen him in often at work. You remember Googling the label once out of curiosity and nearly passing out at your desk when you saw the three hundred dollar price tag. You pull it on over your head, then return to the bathroom to hang your towel up.

As you slip back into the bedroom, you can’t help but wonder where Yoongi’s disappeared off to, but you’re too exhausted to go looking for him.

Though you figure he’ll be in eventually, your heart still sinks a little as you pull back the covers and crawl into his bed. It feels so much bigger when you’re the only one in it. You decide to leave the lamp on, then turn over to press your cheek to the pillow, and the waves of sleep almost immediately pull you under.

You’re still alone when you wake up in the morning, the other side of the bed entirely undisturbed.

Blinking slowly, it takes you a moment to remember where you are, and then the night comes back to you piece by piece. The lamp on the nightstand is still on when you sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the bed.

Yawning and rubbing sleep from your eyes, you push open Yoongi’s bedroom door and pad down the hallway, trying to make sense of things. You have to retrace your steps all the way back to the living room before you find him, curled up on his side on the couch with one arm tucked under his head, still sleeping soundly.

He looks smaller like this. More vulnerable, maybe.

You wonder if you should’ve asked him to join you in his bed, and you wonder why he didn’t. Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you decide to let him rest.

You move through his apartment aimlessly, like a patron in a museum. Something cracks open inside of you as you allow yourself to take in his place undisturbed, and with it, what could be. The idea that a night spent here could feel normal. The two of you in the clearly well-used kitchen, how you might sit on the counter with a glass of wine while he cooks dinner. Talking about your days, about the past and the future. Sharing a life. Fucking and showering and falling asleep in his bed, tangled up together.

For something so close, it feels impossibly far away in the harsh light of morning. It feels like something meant for a much better person than you.

When you make it all the way back to his room, you peel your borrowed shirt off and drape it across his bed like you found it. You retrieve your clothes from last night off the floor and pull them back on.

Thankfully Yoongi chose to fall asleep on the far side of the couch, so when you re-enter the living room, you’re easily able to grab your purse where you set it down the night before without waking him. You slip your heels on in his entryway, then open the front door and shut it as quietly as you can behind you.

You fish your phone out of your bag and scroll until you find Jimin’s contact, then press it to your ear as the line starts to ring.

~*~

You don’t hear from Yoongi at all on Sunday, and you barely see him at work the next few days. You don’t know why it surprises you. It makes sense. You said that night had to mean nothing, you left in the morning without another word, and it’s not like you’ve made any effort to reach out since.

But nevertheless, hurt feelings sit heavy in the pit of your stomach, stinging like salt in an open wound. You’re angry that Yoongi seems to be acting like nothing even happened. You’re annoyed that you have to spend an entire weekend alone with him in Los Angeles. And you’re pissed off that you have so much fucking work to do in preparation for a trip that’s all about him.

You keep your head down and just try to fucking survive. You stay silent in your meetings unless directly asked a question. You type furiously at your desk, forever behind on emails and late on promised deliverables.

The week passes by in a blur, and it doesn’t even occur to you what day it is until you find Jungkook waiting for you at your desk when you return from an afternoon meeting.

“Hi, Jungkook.” You try to say it gently, to not take your frustrations out on someone who didn’t even do anything. While you’ve made polite small talk all week, things certainly haven’t felt normal, and you can’t tell if he senses it too, or if you’re just letting Yoongi’s cryptic words plant imaginary strange vibes in your head.

To his credit, Jungkook seems unfazed. “It’s the last day before your trip!” he says brightly, and your eyes widen as you realize he’s right. “What’s the rest of your day look like?”

You take a seat at your desk and pull up your calendar to check, and he circles around to look with you. “That was thankfully my last meeting,” you respond. “Just getting back to my never-ending to-do list now.”

“Or…” Jungkook prompts, and you glance up to see him leaning forward to rest his elbows on the back of your desk chair, his chin propped cutely in his hands. “You could not do that.”

You blink up at him. “And what would I be doing instead?”

“I was thinking, it’s been a while since we’ve had a walking meeting. Plus it’s actually nice out. So you should take a break.”

Glancing back at your to-do list sends a fresh wave of dread through you, and then you snap your laptop shut with a resigned sigh. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

Not only could you use the break, but you want things with Jungkook to feel normal again, even if the weirdness is only in your head. Maybe this is what you need.

Down in the lobby, Jungkook holds the door for you, and when you step outside, you realize he’s right. It’s one of those clear-sky early spring days, warm enough out that it feels like the world is starting over, like everything is coming back to life. You can’t help but feel like you could use a fresh start, too.

Though you expect to be led somewhere with food, Jungkook takes a different route instead, and you follow him a few blocks over to the entrance of a nearby park. You end up side by side on a paved pedestrian path, the length of which is lined with trees that have only just begun to bud.

It’s quiet, save for the distant noise of the city, the rustle of nature, and the rush of the occasional cyclist whizzing past. You walk slowly as you chat about nothing of importance: work, music, his dogs.

Jungkook glances over at you during a moment’s pause, with a look on his face like there’s a question he’s been waiting to ask. “So how are you feeling about your trip?”

You can’t quite manage to keep your expression neutral, your eyes rolling like a reflex. “Whatever. I just want to get it over with.”

“Ah.” Jungkook nods, and you can see he’s biting back some reaction. “For some reason I thought you might be excited.”

“What do you mean?”

He just shrugs. “I don’t know. You’ve been… different lately. About Suga. I thought maybe something was going on.” An uneasy feeling starts to wash over you.

“Nothing is going on with me and Yoongi,” you say, far too quickly. Jungkook glances at you, his brows pinched together slightly as if he’s unsure what to believe.

“Okay,” he says simply. You hope that’s the end of it, but then he keeps going. “That’s good. I’m glad I don’t have to tell you to raise your standards.”

Heat rushes into your face, caught somewhere between shame and anger. “Um, what does that mean?”

You grit your teeth when he just shrugs again. “I don’t know. He was such a jerk to you, and then suddenly it’s like you guys are hanging out and getting close and stuff—”

“We are not close,” you interject, and you hate how unsteady your voice sounds when you say it.

“Good,” Jungkook responds. “Because I thought maybe you might be, and it didn’t make any sense to me.”

Overwhelmed by his words, you come to a standstill on the pavement, and he makes it a few steps further before he realizes. As he turns back to face you, the words rush out before you can stop them. “I mean, I don’t see how it’s any of your business either way.”

Jungkook’s brow furrows again. “It’s my business because I care about you. He made you so miserable when you first started, so I don’t see how you could just forget about that and be into him, especially when you could…” He trails off and looks down, unwilling to finish the sentence.

“When I could what?” Another fucking shrug, and you can feel the rage inside you simmering now, threatening to boil over. Yoongi’s question comes back to haunt you— you know Jungkook is in love with you, right?— and the pieces start to slot together in front of you.

“When I could be into you?” you press him, taking an accusatory step closer. “Is that what you want to say?”

His gaze flits up to the trees above you, like he’s willing to look anywhere but your face. “No. I don’t know.”

The birdsong in the air has suddenly started to sound a lot more like screaming, and you have to suppress the urge to do the same. Instead, your voice comes out low and deadly serious. “You and I are friends, Jungkook. Just friends.”

“I know we are,” he says softly.

“Do you?” you snap back, vicious now. “Because it sounds to me like you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he responds automatically, in the same tone, and you scoff.

“Look me in my face and say it.” You take another step toward him, and his eyes meet yours. He’s silent long enough for you to understand the truth, and all at once, you feel like a fucking idiot.

“Let me make this clear to you,” you hiss. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and making my own decisions. And I do not have to explain or justify them to anyone, including you, because you are not my fucking boyfriend.”

When you spit the final word, Jungkook flinches like you’ve slapped him, but you can’t stop now. You’re so angry, it feels like it’s eating you alive. “When I want your opinion, as my friend, I’ll ask for it. Understood?”

You’ve never seen him look at you the way he does now, his eyes dark, his face twisted into a near grimace. There’s a long pause, and his voice is stilted when he finally speaks. “Yeah. Sorry I brought it up.”

The two of you walk back to the office in total silence, and Jungkook doesn’t try to talk to you again.

~*~

It’s early enough to still be pitch black outside when Jimin pulls up to the curb of your terminal at Incheon Airport.

“Thanks again for driving.” You yawn around the words as you reach down to unbuckle your seatbelt. When Jimin suddenly pulls you in for a hug, you groan at the affection, but he pays it no mind, dotting kisses over your hair that make you squirm.

“Love you, have fun. And be a slut!”

You roll your eyes as you manage to peel him off of you. “Bye, Baby Mochi.”

Slipping on a face mask, you push the door of his car open and climb out of the passenger seat. You swing open the trunk to grab your suitcase, then slam it shut again and step up onto the curb.

Making your way into the terminal, you dig your phone out of your bag to double-check the text from Yoongi, and then you glance up at the sign overhead to confirm you’re right where he said he’d be.

It takes a second for you to realize the person walking in your direction is Min Yoongi. The black baseball cap pulled low over his eyes is certainly not a bad look, but when paired with his black face mask, it makes him almost impossible to identify, or get a good read on. Rolling your suitcase ahead of you, you move toward him, and the two of you meet in the middle.

You wore sneakers today, so he still seems tall.

“Hi,” you say simply, a thousand different emotions swirling in your gut. You do your best to ignore them all.

Yoongi hums a wordless grunt back in response, then turns to face the already bustling security line. You mirror him, and for a moment the two of you just stay like that, like you’re standing firmly in the present and unsure of what might be waiting on the other side.

He gives a tired sigh. “Ready?” You’re surprised to learn he can speak this early in the morning.

“I guess so,” you answer.

Perfectly in sync, you both push your bags forward, stepping carefully toward a weekend that feels impossible to imagine.

chapter seven | masterlist | chapter nine

#yoongi smut #yoongi angst #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #bts x reader #look down on me like that

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