#like i said: i sometimes need caffeine just to get up and humor the thought long enough to reach that point

[visibun]

Me before exercising: "Mmmmm do I actually need to do this. I mean it's getting pretty late and I feel a bit sleepy"

Me at That One Point™ of my kickboxing where I suddenly hit and maintain my equivalent of a runner's high and start blowing straight through the rest of the routines/exercises like I wasn't almost asleep ~20 minutes ago:

"I'll kick anyone's ass. I'll kick your ass. I'll kick your dog's ass. I'll kick my own ass"

[thinkingaboutbetterdays]

feelings are scary. ( gregory house x reader )

gif belongs to me

He knew breaking up over a text message was the coward's way out, but there would be questions he didn't want to answer, uncomfortable feelings he tried to bury down and pretend didn't exist. Greg House didn't have healthy relationships. Especially not with a sexy ER nurse.

Before you started dating you were often lured to the clinic under false pretenses to see someone he considered interesting but it was just a way to see you. When his team failed to give him the answers he wanted, he would follow you around the ER and discuss his latest patient. You were always bubbly, smiling at his sarcastic remarks, and when he insulted your patients you always said, "Don't mind my friend here, he hasn't had his caffeine fix for the day."

You never turned him away. You were never exasperated by the amount of times he managed to trick you and when you started dating he realized you always knew it was a ruse, and went along with it anyway because you wanted to see him too.

Greg House didn't maintain healthy relationships. But for four blissful months, you did. And it terrified him.

Saying I love you opened doors he had long since locked. You admitted that you didn't need him to say it, but you wanted him to know how you felt. The next day you received his termination of your relationship and were stunned by how curt it was.

Once the knife stopped twisting, you realized you had expected this reaction and decided to give him time and space. For a week you pushed your feelings down, focusing on your job, and while he didn't visit you in the ER or get you to meet him somewhere in the hospital, you had felt the weight of his gaze more than once. He might not have spoken to you, but he still stopped by.

You did everything you could to stop thinking about the department head. Until a car crash victim died and everything came bubbling to the surface. You tore off your gloves and changed in the locker room, washing off the blood, and slumped on the bench, fending off tears that dried up as anger set in at how unfair it was that an eighteen-year-old was dead from a drunk driver.

When you made it to his department you noticed him on the balcony talking to James and stormed outside, gaining their attention.

"Uh, Y/N, h-hi -"

"Go away, Wilson."

"Right-o." He made a swift exit as House sighed, turning to look out at the view, resting his hands on the wall.

"I thought you'd crack sooner -"

"Shut up." You barked.

House raised an eyebrow, turning to look at you and seeing the tears in your eyes.

"You are an arrogant gasbag." His eyebrows rose at the insult as you were docile by nature. "What gives you the right to tell me how to feel? You don't. Do you think falling for you wasn't scary for me? Feelings are scary, Greg, and they feel like crap and sometimes they feel great and everything is butterflies and rainbows until an ego-maniac decides to stab you in the heart because he can't let himself be happy."

House listened quietly as you moved around, gesturing wildly with your hands.

"I know you are a gigantic pain in the ass. I know you're cynical. I know you use humor to keep people at arm's length but for a second, I thought that maybe you would finally let me in the door. And then you avoid me like I have the plague like a middle-grader! I mean, what the hell?"

You stopped pacing, finally meeting his gaze, and took a moment to catch your breath.

"Can I talk now?"

You rolled your jaw, nodding reluctantly.

"Come here."

You walked closer and when you were within arms reach, he brought you to his chest, kissing you hotly. You melted into his chest as he kept his balance by leaning on the wall. His arms wrapped around you, and the scent of his cologne made tears prick your eyes from how comforting it was.

The passionate kiss was the closest thing you would get to a confession. And right now that was enough.

[tenaciousbouquetearthquake]

The things you'll do for a cup of coffee

Or, The continuing adventures of Reacher and his coffee addict girlfriend.

Find it on ao3 | Story Masterlist | My Masterlist (of masterlists)

A story where you seduce Reacher for the last cup of coffee, but it doesn't quite go as you'd planned. Around 4100 words of a lot of dirty talk, hand jobs, referenced vaginal sex, finger sucking, mild dom!Reacher because in my head that dude really enjoys giving orders, mild sub!reader with a little bit of a praise kink toward the end, and Reacher taking advantage of good situation when it presents itself. But really, who can blame him? The things you'll do for a cup of coffee. Jack Reacher can call me a good girl any time he wants to.

“Out of coffee?” You can hear the way your voice squeaks, how much you sound like a spoiled child. You can hear it and somewhere deep inside of you, you cringe—just a little. But the thing is, you don’t care. “How can they be out of coffee?”

Reacher glances back at you from where he’s setting down a bag of goodies on the dresser, everything you need for a decent enough breakfast on the road except a morning shot of caffeine. “How can you be out of coffee?” You can hear the humor and sarcasm in his voice. Reacher has never exactly been supportive of your caffeine addiction, although he does seem to derive a great amount of entertainment from it sometimes.

“This isn’t funny, Reacher,” you warn him, crossing your arms over your chest. It’s too early for you to be awake. You practically had to pry your eyes open this morning and actually whined at the prospect of having to get out of bed. It took Reacher physically shoving you off the mattress—with some encouragement from you, it should be noted—to get you up and taking a shower so that the two of you wouldn’t miss the bus out of town. “I need my coffee. We both know how badly I need my coffee. We both know what happens when I don’t get my coffee.”

Reacher makes a noise, tilts his head as if in thought, and begins to pull things out of the plastic bag from the store to set out on the dress. Croissants. A donut. Some kind of breakfast pastry with bacon that smells divine and makes your mouth water. A pudding cup. A pudding cup. Your eyes zero in on it, staring for a long, long moment.

Pudding.

But no coffee.

“Maybe you should take this as a sign that it’s time to finally cut back,” Reacher suggests. He finishes setting out the haul of goodies he brought back to the hotel room for breakfast and slowly turns around to face you, holding a nice, steaming cup of something in a to go cup. He takes a long, leisurely sip of it as you stare at him open-mouthed, eyes wide.

“What,” you practically growl, “is that?”

Reacher doesn’t react very quickly, apparently unconcerned by the tone of your voice and your desperation for a caffeine fix. He enjoys a long sip of his drink, smacking his lips in delight at the flavor, and lord help you, your focus gets sidetracked again for a single instant to watch his tongue move over his lips—perfect, soft, delicious lips that have coffee on them. You’ve never wanted to suck at lips so badly in your life. “Oh, this?” Reacher looks between you and the cup with a hint of a smile that’s infuriating and delicious at the same time. “Cup of coffee.”

Your eyes narrow. Reacher’s lips twitch again, quirking up into a small smirk on one side. “You said they were out of coffee.”

“I said they are out of coffee,” Reacher corrects you. “This is the last cup.” He takes another long, leisurely sip as you watch him, thoroughly unconcerned by the murderous look you’re giving him.

You may love Reacher with everything you have, but nobody gets between you and your morning fix.

Nobody.

“So, you just—just—” You struggle for the right words, gesturing toward the cup, fixated on it like it’s the answer to all your problems, like it could solve world hunger and end climate change and bring peace to the entire world in just one sip. Because maybe that’s the problem, you know. Maybe people just aren’t getting their coffee fix, so they get grouchy and mean. Like you will be very fucking soon. “You—you’re not even going to share?”

“You wouldn’t like it,” Reacher tells you then, having the audacity to slurp when he takes another drink. To slurp, you think, at this time of the morning.

“It’s coffee,” you insist. “How could I not like it?”

A shrug. “No cream. No sugar.” His mouth pulls down in distaste. “None of that pumpkin syrup you always order.”

“I don’t always order it. It’s seasonal.” A pause. “Fine, I do always order it, but they only give it to me a few months out of the year.” You scowl as he takes another sip. “Look, I don’t care if it’s black. I just need coffee and I need it now.”

To your surprise, Reacher doesn’t budge. He takes another drink, letting out one of those low, glorious hums of satisfaction that always makes your toes curl and your heart race a little. Then shakes his head. “Sorry. This one’s mine.” He turns his back on you and looks down at the food, reaching for the thing with the bacon and managing to casually unwrap it with one hand while he still holds his cup of coffee in the other.

Your first thought is to fight him for it. His back is turned. He can’t see what you’re doing. You have the advantage in this situation. You have just enough motivation and nothing to lose because you have no coffee, dammit, and you need some. You can take him!

And then you remember that it’s Reacher and that you saw him take out five thugs who were bothering you at a diner a few days ago with practically one swing of those meaty, corded arms of his.

Then you decide to take a different approach.

If you can’t fight him… “You know,” you drawl, trying and failing to keep the edge of desperation out of your voice. You pace forward, until you’re right behind Reacher, and move to wrap your arms around his waist and press your body against his back. “If you decided to give me the coffee…” You bury your face against his back, taking a lazy breath through his shirt that smells faintly of cheap laundry detergent and Reacher. Your hands tease at the waistband of his jeans, slipping easily under the hem of his t-shirt to skim fingertips over his warm skin. You push yourself up on your toes enough to lean near his ear. “I could make it worth your while.”

You’re not proud of this, but you’ll absolutely seduce Reacher for coffee.

You’d probably be trying to tear his clothes off of him, anyway, just as soon as you’d finished your morning cup.

Reacher pauses where he’s about to take a bite of the pastry, hands stilling at the way your fingertips are grazing over his waist and hips in slow, measured movements. Your fingers reach near the button of his jeans and catch on the fabric a little. “What did you have in mind?” His voice is low and gravelly when he speaks, his head turning slightly toward you.

“Well…” You press your body against him fully, letting him feel every little detail—every curve molded against him. You’re suddenly grateful that you haven’t figured out what happened to your bra the night before. You were planning to tear the room apart for it after you’d had your coffee, but now… You maneuver the button of his jeans open and make quick work of the zipper, letting your hand freely explore the material of his boxers and the bulge hidden beneath them. It’s satisfying, so satisfying, when you feel him tense against you, his back ramrod straight, even as you hear him let out a heavy breath while your hand moves over his cock. “I could…help you out of these…” Your fingers ghost over the bulge—a bulge that gets impossibly harder under your touch—and follow the waistband over the vee of his hips, all hard lines and intense muscle definition. “And I’d push you back on this bed behind me.” A long, leisurely move over the waistband before gradually beginning to slip underneath.

Reacher takes dangerously slow, steady breaths. He hums. “I’m listening.”

You need that coffee.

You really need that coffee.

But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying this. You press your face to his shoulder, letting him feel your warm, damp breath through the material of his shirt. Your hand moves lower, lower, teasing at the base of his cock. “I would touch you like this.” You let him feel your hand on him, feel it close around him as he makes a low moan that’s almost a growl. You pull away long enough to maneuver the boxers so that you have full access to his cock, to the long, thick length of him, hard and ready in the cool air of the hotel room. “I would play with your cock.” A stroke of your fingertips on the underside of him, from the tip to the base, trailing over sensitive skin. “And your balls.” His body tenses sharply against you, his hand beginning to squeeze the bacon filled pastry like a vice. You ghost a touch over his balls before cupping them with your palm, petting and stroking him. He makes another low moan, any trace of a smirk or amusement gone from his face. You wish you were taller, tall enough to lick and nip at his ear while you stand behind him like this and touch him. “I would explore every inch of you.” Your hand begins to move over him again, a gentle closing of your palm around his cock in one carefully measured stroke. Then another one, tighter, gradually working downward and back up as his body physically moves with it, rocking forward and back with you. “With my hands.” Another stroke. The pastry has been completely squished in his big hand. The cup of coffee is quivering.

You lick your lips, let your mouth sound wet with saliva as you say, “And then I would take you in my mouth.” Another stroke. Harder. Reacher makes a deep, throaty sound that rumbles against you, moving from his low in body up to his mouth as it falls open a little. You moan against his back, letting him feel the sound, half-muffled but filled with lust, the sort of sound you would make while taking his cock in your mouth. “And I would taste you.” Another stroke. You would swear he’s harder, that the giant that is Jack Reacher somehow becomes impossibly more with each passing second as you touch him. “And I would make sure to take every inch…” Your grip gets a little tighter. The coffee cup trembles in his hand. You should be concerned for it—you really want that coffee, after all—but you’re getting too caught up in it now. “Of this beautiful…” Reacher’s hand with the pastry moves to the dresser for support, palm falling open, his breakfast forgotten. You have to shift a little to keep your hand in position, craning your body so that your face rests on the outside of his arm now and you can look up at his face to watch him perfectly as his heated gaze turns to meet yours. “Delicious…” The coffee is on the dresser now. The look on Reacher’s face is impossible to miss, pupils blown, nostrils flared, jaw tense. All lust and desire. “Cock of yours.”

He moans, another one of those low, rumbling moans. It vibrates against your chest. His breath comes out in hot waves against your face, eyes trained entirely on you. “And?” He practically growls it out, the sound almost feral. Your nipples pebble through your shirt, brushing against his arm, a sharp thrill that makes you clench your thighs as heat pools there at the way he’s looking at you, the way you’re touching him, the scenario you’re painting for him.

Even you are beginning to forget about the cup of coffee a little bit.

“When I’m good and ready…” Another stroke, harder, slower, deliberately drawing it out so that Reacher’s open palms begin to clench, his fingernails digging into the top of the dresser. You’re good and ready right fucking now. “And I think you’ve had enough…” It’s hard to decide what you like more—the way you’re touching him, the way he’s reacting to you, or the way he’s looking at you now, as if the only thing in the world that matters is the next word out of your mouth, the shape of your lips as you form the sounds. “I would take off my shirt and panties…” His gaze leaves your mouth for only a second, flashing down to shape of your breasts through the t-shirt, nipples hard and pointed through the thin material. A new kind of warmth washes over you, cheeks burning, breasts aching to be touched. “And I would climb on top of you.” His breathing is getting ragged, hips following the motion of your hand, the muscles in his arms taut. Your panties feel damp between your thighs, cunt clenching around nothing at the mere thought of having Reacher inside of you. You move your hand a little more quickly, intentionally making it harder for him to maintain his control. “And I slowly take this cock inside of me…” His knuckles are white from clenching. His eyes drift closed for a moment, either imagining it or too caught up in what you’re doing not to. You want to draw it out, to make it torturous for him, just to watch him get lost in the sensation like that. “And I would ride your hard…” Another stroke, harder, faster, forcing him closer and closer to the edge. “Beautiful cock…”

“Y/N,” Reacher moans, and damned if the sound isn’t like an aphrodisiac, like the most erotic thing you’ve heard in your entire life. Your name on his lips, the way it rolls off his tongue, a rough sound that scrapes over your skin and leaves goosebumps behind. You don’t let up, moving faster now, rough, pressing your body against his, desperate for the contact.

“I would ride you slowly,” you murmur, rubbing your thighs against each other at the sudden need in your cunt, your panties soaked with your own arousal. You can feel him starting to tremble a little, his jaw clenching. Every part of him is tight—so very tight. “And grind you deep inside of me.” Your cunt is beginning to fucking throb for stimulation at the imaginary. “And after I make sure that you’re watching everything I do…” It’s getting to the point where it’s taking all of your focus just to keep the story going and not try to follow through it. “I would start touching myself while you watch me.” Your free hand opens and closes reflexively, your nipples aching for you do just that. “I would play with my breasts and my nipples for you.” Reacher’s gaze leaves your face now, fixed on the images you’re giving to him, settling on where you’re leaning against him and he can feel your nipples through your shirt. “And I would play with my clit while I ride your beautiful cock…” Reacher’s panting now, desperate. “And use you to get myself off.” A moan.

You lick your lips, swallowing against a dry throat, forcing yourself to stay focused. “I would watch you watching me.”

“Y/N.” There’s nothing as beautiful as the sound of Reacher’s voice on the edge of orgasm, the way your name is both a plea for mercy and a prayer for satisfaction. The way you know just how to play with him, touch him, tease him, to drive him so crazy.

“And after I’ve used you as much as I want to,” you pause to let your mouth rest against his arm again, open and hot and wet through his shirt, letting him feel your teeth and your tongue there. “I’ll let you cum inside of me…” You’d swear your cunt is so damp that it’s fucking dripping down your thighs.

“Y/N.”

You don’t stop touching him. God, but you couldn’t stop now if you wanted to. You love the look of him, the way he sounds so breathy and feral, the way he feels in your hand, the way your body is just throbbing for him now. You want to taste him, to ride him, to use him exactly as you’re describing for him.

“And then I would reach down and touch my hot, wet cunt that’s filled with your cum…” Minutes now, you think. Seconds. Jack Reacher may be one tough motherfucker, but right now, he’s at your mercy—and you’re both loving every second of it. “I would touch myself and get it all over my fingers…”

“Fuck, Y/N.”

“And I would lick them clean while you watch.”

It’s a bit anticlimactic when it happens—his fingers scraping over the dresser, hips jutting forward into your hand, the sound of him moaning, moaning, saying your name. Y/N. Y/N. Your hand covered in his seed, hot and sticky. Reacher’s face settling in your neck, his mouth open and panting against you. Y/N. And you—you’re still not satisfied. You started this little game, but you didn’t realize how much it would affect you, too.

Maybe it’s because you still haven’t had your coffee…but, you think with a small feeling of triumph, you will soon.

You wait until Reacher has gotten himself back under control enough to recognize what you’re doing. When those dark brown eyes are settled back on you, you pull your hand away from his cock and hold his gaze as you begin to lap at it with your tongue, licking at every drop of cum there, closing your mouth around your fingers and letting him watch you suck them clean while you moan. You run your tongue over your lips and make sure you don’t miss any, swallowing his spend.

You’re so fucking horny that if you don’t get that coffee soon and then get yourself off, Reacher’s not going to be the only feral person in this room.

“Now, Reacher,” you purr, lips and fingers glistening. You press your overheated, sensitive body against his, acutely aware of his cock still out and of the empty feeling in your cunt. “Don’t you want to give me that cup of coffee?”

Reacher looks at you for a long moment, as if he’s thoroughly entranced by the sight of you. It takes a lot for him to find his voice—which, you have to admit, is its own kind of satisfaction.

“You really won’t like it,” Reacher says with a shake of his head, his voice sounding worn and ragged. You let your fingers linger near your mouth, brushing your lips, trying to keep his gaze there and his mind on what just happened, on the fantasy you painted for him.

“This is me we’re talking about, Reacher,” you tell him sweetly, coyly. “When do I ever not like coffee?”

A quirk of his lips into a smirk. A hint of a laugh. “It’s decaf.”

The moment comes to an abrupt and infuriating halt—except for the desperate aching in your cunt, that is. That’s still there and completely unsatisfied, because of course it is.

Of course the coffee is decaf.

There’s a fraction of a second where you wonder if caffeine withdrawal can be used as a defense for justifiable homicide.

Then you’re pulling away with Reacher with a scowl on your face while the bastard chuckles and turns around to follow you, tucking his cock away and putting his jeans to rights as he does. “Oh, come on, Y/N.”

“I’ll deal with you later.” You’re too pissed right now to face him. He reaches out to grab a hold of you and drag you back against him. Faintly, you can feel the bulge of his cock pressing into you and your body reacts—your body reacts.

“Come on, Y/N,” Reacher pleads, wrapping his arms around you to keep you against him. He leans down to press his face near yours, his mouth at your cheek. “I know you’re mad. I’ll get you some coffee.”

“You better,” you mutter. Reacher barks out another laugh, low and delicious, and you don’t want it to affect you, but the sound of it is good. So fucking good. His arms around you are so, so good. His cock pressing against you, his chest at your back, his face next to yours.

“I will,” Reacher promises. Then, “But first…”

“First what?” You snap at him, no longer rational. Way past rational. What kind of town is this to fucking run out of fucking coffee???

“First,” Reacher purrs, and oh…oh. You feel it at your core. You feel it in the aching of your cunt, in your nipples so hard that they fucking hurt. “I think you should let me take care of this.” A big palm closes over your cunt possessively, the panties soaked. He grinds his palm against your swollen clit, lets his fingers play at your slit through the soaked cloth, burying some of it inside of you as he probes you through the panties. You can’t help the way you fall against him, your thighs clenching around his hand to keep it there, the heat now overwhelming. You let out a moan and this time it’s not one that you’re faking to get Reacher off.

This time, it’s real.

“Fuck you.” There’s no resolve in your words at all. No anger or frustration. Nothing except a whimper.

“How about…” He makes that purring sound again, his big body towering around you, his meaty palm covering your whole cunt as if it wasn’t yours at all, but his. “I push you back on this bed and take this shirt and these…” He grinds his palm against your drenched panties, your stomach fluttering when he presses against your clit. “…right off of you, and then I use this drippy little cunt of yours…” Another grind of his palm, not that he has to. Your body is rebelling against you at this point, ready to agree to anything he asks. “…until I’ve fucked and tasted it and made you cum so many times that you’re begging me to stop.” He strokes long, thick fingers over your slit through your panties. “And then I’ll get you coffee. How does that sound, Y/N?”

Your mind feels fuzzy, dazed, your body is feverish. You want to say no. You want the coffee right damn now, that’s the whole point. You need a fucking caffeine fix, dammit.

You open your mouth to argue, but a moan slips out inside. Reacher chuckles in your ear, your body trembling with the vibration. “It sounds to me like you’re saying yes, Y/N.” He pushes aside the crotch of your panties and those long, thick fingers move over you, stroking, before burying inside of you. His other hand comes up to cup your breast through your t-shirt, cupping it and molding it there before his fingers find the nipple and he strokes it gingerly, your whole body jumping back against him in response. Then he pinches it hard and you whimper, and you know that you’re done for.

Maybe the coffee really will have to wait, after all.

Reacher is pulling his fingers from your cunt, his hand at your breast and nipple relentless. He moves the hand from your cunt up into your view so you can see the wet digits, see your juices there, and then brings it slowly to his mouth while you watch. His tongue laps at the taste of you on one of his fingers. He moans, holding your gaze. “Such a wet little cunt.” A smirk, beautiful and predatory and indecent. “Do you want to taste it, Y/N?” He brings his hand to your mouth, strokes his wet fingers that smell like your cunt over your bottom lip, pinching your nipple so that your body shivers and clenches as you take slow, ragged breaths. “Open your mouth for me, Y/N.” It’s an order—an order from Major Jack Reacher. An order from your boyfriend.

An order that your body is obeying without any conscience input from you.

“Good girl.” Reacher smirks at you, playing with your bottom lip for a long moment before pushing his fingers inside of your mouth and stroking the taste of yourself over your tongue. “Such a good girl.”

As it happens, the two of you don’t make it out for coffee for the rest of the day. You have to take the next bus out of town. Sometime later, in a haze of pleasure, as your body is exhausted and you’re drifting off to sleep, you hear Reacher—fucking Jack Reacher, who’s not even remotely exhausted—laugh and murmur, “The things you’ll do for a cup of coffee.

___

Any fellow caffeine lovers out there, what would YOU do with Reacher for a cup of coffee? Lots of things. I would do lots of things.

[xojennyboo]

A/N: This one is a long one so I hope you all enjoy. Thank you all for reading my stuff. I appreciate it very much. Don’t forget to comment, like, and send in any requests that you might have. I’m open to anything. Enjoy!

Working as a personal assistant for a famous celebrity can have its perks. For one, you get to travel a lot, with some of the expenses being taken care of. You also get to keep yourself busy. This can be a pro and a con.in my case it can be both. Sometimes, depending on what's going on, you have very busy days and late nights. Some of these days requires strategic planning.it can get hectic but you liked your job. You currently work for a very well-known celebrity. You work for none other than Harry styles. You're worked with Harry for about three years now. You've gotten to know him professionally and somewhat personally. You've created a great professional bond with one another which created a great work environment. At first, some people thought that you two were dating due to the back-and-forth banter and flirting. You would be lying to yourself if the thought hasn't crossed your mind. He is very attractive, has a nice sense of humor. And is very kind to everyone, even those that have done him wrong. But reality hits you like a giant truck every time you get your hopes up because you're just his assistant. Nothing more, nothing less.

Today was your first day back from the holidays. You were single yet another year, but you have gotten accustomed to being by yourself. For the holidays you decided on going track to your hometown to spend time with your family and friends. it was a much-needed trip for your mental health. You're currently back in London at the café getting some much-needed caffeine into your system. Once your order was ready, along with Harry’s, and you made your way into the office. One thing you enjoyed about London was that is reminded you of back home. it was always busy, and you didn't have to worry about purchasing a car to get around, since the office was located in central London. You walked into the building and said good morning to the receptionist before taking the elevator to the top floor. Once there, you walked your way into Harry's office, which was empty, and placed his iced coffee on his desk. Then you made your way to your office that was across his, stunned by a box that was wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper.it had a red bow on it. You closed your door, walked to your desk, placing your belongings on your chair, before looking at the cute green tag that was attached to the box.

The gift was from Harry. You hadn't been in the office since before Christmas since he insisted you take a vacation. You sat down and slowly touched the box, not wanting to unwrap it since it was wrapped so nicely. ‘What could it the?’, you thought. You took a deep breath and opened the present, nicely so you wouldn't ruin the wrapping paper. Once it was removed, you saw that he had gifted you an iPad, the latest model, an Apple Pencil, and a pair of AirPod Max. “What the actual fuck Harry", you mutter to yourself stunned at the very expensive gifts. You realize that there was a small note attached to the inside of the wrapping paper. You open it and see Harry's handwriting. ‘Y/n, for starters, no you cannot give this back to me or whine about it', you giggled to yourself knowing that it was the first thing that you would do once you see him. ‘Second, this is a small gesture for the hard work that you do for me and around the office. You don't go unnoticed. Merry Christmas. I hope your new toys will make your joy just a bit easier. Love, Harry'. You placed the note down and you couldn't help but smile. You've mentioned wanting these items way back and you were surprised that he remembered. You were still gonna give him shit for spending so much money on it.

The day flew by. You haven't heard from Harry all day and you hadn't seen him all day either. During the day you busied yourself with setting up your new iPad. You made sure that all of the important dates were in your calendar along with your scheduled to do list. This iPad definitely made things much easier. You synced everything with your phone as well that way any changes can be backed up. Once you were done you looked at your monitor screen in front of you and you saw that it was already 7pm! You abruptly got up from your desk and went out into the office to see that no one was there. You were alone. ‘Great’, you thought to yourself. You left the door opened from your office and sat back down. 8pm should be a good time to leave. One thing you enjoyed about your office was the view. Since the New Year has just started the London streets still had their Christmas decorations up. Twinkly lights adorned the trees and light posts, and you just admired the view. It was definitely a sight to see. A knock on your door scared the shit out of you and took you out of your daze. “Fucking Hell”, you look back to see Harry standing by the door frame with a satisfied smirk on his face. Your hand placed on your chest that was currently going up and down at a fast pace due to the almost heart attack that Harry gave you.

"Did I scare you?", he says walking in and closing the door. "Yeah, you did. I thought I was by myself”, you say, looking outside again. You near him chuckle to himself and hear his footsteps walking closer to you until he was standing right next to you looking out the window. No wards were exchanged for a few minutes just the two of you enjoying the view in front of you. it was then too quiet, so you decide to break the silence. "Thank you for the gifts. You didn't", he placed his hand up silencing you causing you to furrow your eyebrows in confusing. "Did you read the note?", he asks. "Yes", you say, rolling your eyes. "Good. The gift was nothing compared to all the work that you do", he says. You stayed silent, smiling to yourself at his playful behavior. "Why are you here so late?", he asks. "I lost track of time planning your schedule and mines", you say. "Have you eaten dinner yet?", he says averting his attention from the window to focus on you. "No. Last time I ate was probably around lunch time", you say, realizing that you haven't eaten anything since 12. “Not good y/n", he scolds. He leaves your side and walks towards your desk using your computer. He takes a couple of minutes and then takes his place beside you again. "I’ve ordered us dinner. I hope sushi is okay”, he says. "Sushi sounds great but you didn't have to Harry. I was about to leave anyways", you say, focusing on him now. " Why do you always say that? ‘You didn't have to' Or ‘you don't have to’. Y/n I want to do these things for you. I know I don't have to I want to " he says looking out the window. "Why?", you ack and you see his jaw clench at the question.

"Because you're a good assistant", he says. You roll your eyes. "Bullshit", you say. His attention goes to you now. "What?" he says. "Bull. shit. A normal boss doesn't gift his assistant almost 2K worth of gifts Harry let alone have dinner in an empty office", you tell him getting slightly irritated by the mixed signals. His phone chimed and he started walking out the door. "Our dinner is here. Till he right track", he says leaving you in your thoughts. You take a deep breath and talk some sense to yourself. Maybe you're overthinking his gestures. Maybe he's just being friendly and appreciates your work and this is his way of showing you. There's no way he could catch feelings for you. After all, you're just his assistant. Nothing more. Nothing less. You calmed down a bit and sat down on one of your beanbag chairs on the floor. Harry gave you the freedom to decorate your office just how you wanted. You went with the comfy and relaxed vibe. Harry soon came in holding a big bag and two drinks in his hand. He closed the door behind him with his foot and waked towards the other beanbag chair across from you. He took out the food and you were astounded by the amount of sushi the ordered. You couldn't help but laugh at it. He opened one of the containers and started eating. "What's so funny?", he asks with his mouth full and furrowed eyebrows. "It looks like you ordered sushi for the whole office”, you giggle causing him to laugh as well. "Stop making fun and eat", he scolds again and paints towards the container in front of me with his chopsticks. "Yes daddy", you say not paying any mind to it and eating your sushi. Harry stops chewing and looks at you. "What?", you question. He clears his throat and mutters a ‘nothing' before continuing to eat.

You placed A piece of sushi in your mouth, and you couldn't help but moan in satisfaction to how good the sushi was. You are Harry shift a bit in his seat as he avoids eye contact whilst you eat in silence. You continued eating and you couldn't help but let out another round of pleasure at hour good your food was. “For the life of me y/n stop with the noises before I take you on this floor right now”, he abruptly says causing your eyes to go wide, mouth slightly open with your chopsticks midair with a piece of sushi that you were about to put in your mouth. Did he just say what you think he said. "Eat your sushi and close your mouth. I'm already tempted to put my dick in it especially after your little outburst a little while ago”. Yep, he said it. You slowly put the piece of sushi in your mouth while maintaining your eyes locked on Harry. Two can play at this game. Once you but the sushi in your mouth you let out a moan, this one with a bit more erotic. You finished your sushi and stood up to throw your trash away, Harry following. Before you could go back to your seat, Harry took a hold of your wrist to pull you towards him and smash his lips to yours. Your eyes were wide at the sudden action, but they soon closed taking in the moment. This kiss was filled with want and lust and desperation, from both sides. You could've never imagined that Harry would be kissing you in the middle of your office. His hands gripped your waist pulling your closer to his body. You could feel his hard dick against you causing a small whimper to leave your lips. Your hands were around his neck, deepening your kiss more as he bit your bottom lip.

Harry pulled away to catch his breath. He placed his forehead against yours do you both breathed heavily. "Fuck one been wanting to do that for quite some time ", he says stepping forward, causing you to step back. These movements repeated until the back of your thighs hit the edge of your desk. "Gosh you make it so hard to resist you ", he says, placing small kisses down your neck. You couldn't help but giggle. "How?", you innocently ask. "That's the thing. It's just by being you", he says planting a peck on your lips. "Do you trust me yin?", he asks you sincerely. "Of course, I do", you say, placing a hand on his check and caressing it for comfort. "Let's see where this leads us". He says. You furrow your eyebrows a bit confused. "For tonight?" you say. He smiles at you placing another kiss to your lips. He places his hands under your thighs to pick you up and sit on the desk. "For tonight. For every day”. He says as he starts rubbing small circles on your thighs. "Let's see where this goes. Me and you. I know you feel the same way", he says looking into your eyes. As much as you wanted to say yes right away, you couldn't help but listen to the voice in the track of your head telling you it was a bad idea. "What will everyone else say? That y/n, the assistant, is messing around with the boss? ", you say looking down to your lap and watching his hands rub your thighs. You liked his hands. They were big. You liked the rings adorning his fingers, and you couldn't help but think of the many times that you would imagine his hands roaming around your body. "What if we keep it between us? I mean you're with me almost every day, so that wouldn't be surprising. Were also friendly with each other so that also wouldn't be weird. But we can keep this romance between us a secret until we’re ready", he reassures you. "You would do that?”, you ask causing him to chuckle. "I mean I'm the same boss that gifted his assistant, who he has a crush on might I add, an almost 2K gift", he says making both of you to laugh.

"Okay", you say, his eyes lighting up at your answer. "Yeah?", he asks again, his smile widening more. "Yes", you reassured and that was all it took for him to attack your face with kisses. He went around your desk and removed the expensive gifts he got you off of the desk. Then, with the away of both of his arms, swiped everything off your desk. He sat down on your chair, your back still facing him. Once he was situated, he grabbed your waist and did you across your desk causing you to squeal and laugh. He spun your body around so that you were now facing him, and your legs hung off your desk. "There goes that pretty face", he says wheeling the chair closer to you so that he sat right in between your legs. His arms circled around your waist pulling you closer. He looked up at you, smiling, but then puckering his lips wanting a kiss. You kissed him, fulfilling his wishes. Without breaking the kiss, he stood up, cupping your face with both of his hands, titling your head lack enough to deepen the kiss. He licked your bother lip wanting more access to your mouth. You opened it, allowing his tongue to explore yours, a moan emitting from his mouth as you allowed him more access. Your hands were placed flat on your desk as you leaned back a bit allowing Harry's body to slightly hover yours. His lips left yours and dissed down your chin and onto your neck. Your head leaned back slightly to give him more access. His tongue explored your neck, licking, kissing, and biting at your sensitive areas. "Can I touch you?", he asks causing you to laugh. "I'm pretty sure wine skipped the part where you ask. I think it's safe to say that I give you permission for you to have me, however. You. want", you say giving him pecks after each final word. He hummed in satisfaction. "I like the round of that", he mumbles against your lips, going back to the same intensity as before.

You felt his hand reach down to the hem of your t-shirt, sliding underneath it to palm your breast causing a moan to leave your lips. He squeezed your breast a couple more times before he removed his hand completely and removed your shirt. Your blue bra on full display to Harry's eyes. "Fuck", he whispered. He reached behind your back and undid the clasp to fully remove your bra. He leaned in towards your chest and took one breast in his mouth causing a moan to leave your lips and your head to fall back in pleasure. " No princess. I want you to watch me, he says slightly biting your nipple making you flinch in pleasure and more so that you were looking at him. He continued his torture, his eyes never looking away from yours as he swirled his tongue around your sensitive nub. His other hand palmed your other breast, pinching your nipple as he bit the other. After he had enough, he licked up your chest, your neck, and attached his lips to yours. You pulled him closer to you, his body hovering again, causing you back to lay flatly on the wooden desk. He attacked your neck again, a small whimper leaving your lips indicating your need for moan. He pulled back moving down your body, his fingers attaching to the button of your jeans. He undid the button and zipper removing them completely off, taking your panties with them.

Once every item of clothing was removed from your body, Harry sat back down on the chair in front of you. He positions your legs up your feet flat on the desk. "Fucking hell. You're soaking darling. Is this all for daddy?", he says, repeating the nickname you had said earlier. Realization hits you then. He likes being called daddy. "Yes", you gasp, wanting his mouth down there. "Yes, what baby girl”, he says blowing air on your wet pussy causing you to gasp. "Yes daddy", you breathlessly say. He smirked at you before dipping his head between your legs. He placed small kisses up your thigh, biting both of them making you flinch. He kisses your lips and sucks them before kissing your swollen clit. "yeeesss", you moan finally finding some sort of relief. He wraps his arms around your thigh and pins you down as he devours you. His tongue swirled around your clit sucking here and there spreading your legs a bit further apart for more access. "Fuck daddy. That feels so good", you moan, reaching down to attach your fingers in his hair. Harry groomed against your pussy, the vibration causing your grip to tighten on his hair. His tongue dipped down into your wet hole collecting all your juices on his tongue. His tongue felt so good on your pussy. He licked up your sit and sucked on your clit again but this time you felt his fingers go inside you. The endless times that you daydreamed of him taking you like this. You held yourself up by your elbows allowing you to see every movement that he made. His fingers thrusted inside you, the clacking of his rings hitting against each other turning you on. He pulled, his fingers still thrusting, and spit on your pussy, making you more wet. He continued flicking your clit with his tongue curling his fingers upwards causing gasps to leave your lipa. "Fuck baby. Just like that", you moan, feeling your climax coming. He liked the sound of that because he fingered you at a faster pace and he was eating you out sloppily. You couldn't hold back your moans, them echoing in the office. Your back arched as you felt the bubble in your stomach about to explode. " Fuck daddy. Don't stop. Don't stop. Fuck", you felt his fingers curl where you needed to. You came all over his fingers, euphoria engulfing your body. Harry removed his fingers but continued his attack on your clit. He licked you up clean.

You were gasping heavily as he kissed up your body until he reached your lips. "Taste yourself baby girl. Taste how sweet you are", he says holding his glistening fingers towards your lips. You take ahold of his hand and wrap your lips around them, your tongue swirling around them to collect your juices from his fingers. " Fuck that mouth of yours feels so heavenly around my fingers. I wonder how it would feel around my cock "he says removing his fingers out of your mouth. "Why don't you find out daddy", you smirk pushing him off of you and removing yourself off your desk. He sat back down on the chair; you kneeled down in front of him in between his legs. You pulled down his sweatpants, taking his briefs with them.it is hard cock spring free and slapped his lower abdomen. You grabbed his warm cock into your small hands and pumped it once. Precum was leaking out of the tip. " Can you take it baby girl?", he asks, taking a hold of your chin to meet his eyes. "Yes daddy", you say placing a small kiss on the tip. You then swiped your tongue, collecting the precum, moaning in pleasure liking how he tasted. You put only the tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around causing Harry to hiss and push his head back on the chair. You put more of him in your mouth, hallowing your mouth to create tightness around his dick. You pumped what you hadn't put in yet, sucking him off little by little. Harry moaned as you gripped his cock tightly, bobbing your head up and down. "Fuck baby girl. That feels so good. I'm pretty sure you can fit all of me in that pretty mouth of yours", he pants out. You moaned against his cock and put him all in your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat. You relaxed your mouth in order for you to adjust. Profanities leave his mouth to do you suck him.it is hand goes down to your head, gripping your hair. He thrusts upwards, the sudden intrusion making you go on him. You're both moaning, tears streaming down out of the corner of your eye from the actions you were performing. "That's right baby girl. Just like that. Take daddy's cock", he moans out. You feel his dick twitch inside your mouth and you deep throat his dick, allowing his cum to slip down your throat making for an easy cleanup.

You remove his dick out of your mouth with a pop, standing up in front of him, your breasts directly in front of his face. He wraps his arms around your thighs and immediately takes one in his mouth. This time around it was more aggressively, and you loved every second of it. He released your breast with a pop and reciprocated the same actions with your other breast. "You did so well darling", he smiled up to you. Your fingers caressed his head, his eyes closing in pleasure. You straddle his hip, facing him, and kiss him deeply. You could already feel his dick getting hard beneath you. Your hands around his neck, your lips tasting one another, you began to more your hips against his, your wetness sliding on his semi hard cock. "You look so beautiful darling. I'm gonna fuck you senseless", he warned. You could only smirk at his revelation, wanting him to do exactly that. "Do it", you simply say as you reach down between you, grab a hold of his dick and position it by your entrance. "Go ahead baby. Slide down my cock for met, he says, a hiss coming out as you inserted him inside you and slid all the way down, a moon leaving both of your mouths. You position your hands on his shoulders and start moving. In this position he was so deep inside you. His hands were on your ass, moving you up and down his dick at a steady pace. "Your pussy feels so nice and tight baby. I may not last that long ". All you could do was nod. Your movements increased in speed already feeling that bubble within you forming again. Before you could continue, Harry stood up and placed you on the desk again. He grabbed your legs and spread them wide so you both could see. He thrusted inside you at a fast pace, one hand moving towards your neck, the cold rings on his fingers cooling your hot skin. By this point you're yelling his name. Both were a panting and moaning mess. His grip on your neck tightened, the adrenaline getting the best of you. "Fuck Harry em gonna cum, I'm gonna cum", you say. "Cum baby. Me too," he pants. With a few more thrusts you're both cumming on one another. All you could see were stars due to the lack of oxygen.

"Holy fuck", he breathlessly says. You managed to look at him, his bare chest dripping wet. That's not sweat you thought. "Did I do that?' you ask pointing at him. He mustered a chuckle which still sounded tired. "Yes, you did baby.it was so sexy to see too." he kisses your lips. "Sorry", you apologize against him. He pulls back. "You have nothing to apologize for. That was very sexy baby", he says. He removed himself from you, looking around for paper towels to clean each other up. Once he found them, he gave you a piece and you cleared yourself. You Leah put your clothes back on and cleared up the mess you made. "Come back to mine?", he asks you. "Yeah?", you ask back. "I want you to. We can go shower together", he cheekily says stealing a kiss from you. "Or we could finish the dinner you got to feed the whole office", you say, picking up the containers and putting them back in the bag. "That also. Then we can shower together”, he says, getting your coat ready for you. “Yes, then we can shower together", you finally gave in as he put your coat on. "Yes!", he says putting on his coat next. Once you got your belongings, along with the expensive gifts he gave you, you walked out of the office and out to the cold crisp night of London. The cool air feeling nice on your not skin after your activities upstairs. Harry opens the door for you, and you get into his car. You couldn't remove the smile from your face. This was definitely a New Year to remember.

[captainderyn]

*raises hand excitedly* 5, 6, 19, 32 for Shep aske 👀

Whoo! Thank you for the asks for Ryn :D currently hopped up on caffeine because my dumbass thought it'd be a great idea to drink a ~latte~ this afternoon because I was tired so this might get a little rambly <3 lol

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5. How well does Shepard know their crew? Not just the companions, but the folks making up the Normandy

Ryn makes a very strong attempt to know her crew well, including those who make up the non-core-team of the Normandy. For her, leadership is about building bonds with those who will be taking her orders and believes that trust and respect go both ways. So she knows everyone's names and makes a point to get to know them as more than just names and faces, even in ME2 when she's extremely shut down/withdrawn.

6. Initial reaction to EDI? Does it change?

Very suspicious tbqh. It doesn't help that when she's introduced to EDI she's already very overwhelmed and stressed because she's very recently "woken up" from Project Lazarus and is finding all the right-but-not-right things about being brought back (that's also another fic but...still not done ;--;). This includes the Normandy being the Normandy but...wrong. And now having EDI.

So for awhile she's not convinced the Illusive Man isn't using EDI to track their every move. But eventually throughout ME2 and into ME3 she warms up to EDI and they have a solid companionship. It breaks Ryn's heart to take the destroy ending at the end of ME3.

19. Are there any companions your Shepard just absolutely cannot vibe with or relate to

This is going to probably sound awful but Ryn doesn't truly connect with a lot of the ME2 companions. She doesn't let herself tbh/she's struggling too much with her whole resurrection and working with Cerberus. She's a very angry person in ME2 in a lot of ways and is very withdrawn into herself. She latches onto her familiar Garrus, Tali, and Joker for those she is closest to.

That being said, Jacob and Miranda catch the brunt of that coldness due to being the ones most directly involved in her being brought back/Cerberus. She eventually reaches acquaintanceship with both of them but they're never really friends (Honestly kind of the same with her and Samara, they respect each other professionally and that's really that).

She gets on a lot better with the ME3 crew, mainly because she's in a uh...not better place but reeling less from the whole death thing. That being said she has a very odd, sometimes strained relationship with James. Mainly because she's so stressed that his humor doesn't always land right with her.

(32 needs a readmore because I got a little rambly lmao)

32. What do they do when they have hit their limit angry, just incandescent with rage

Ooh okay so the thing about Ryn is that she keeps a very, very tight leash on her anger (and just about every very strong emotion that she faces when on duty) so when she starts to outwardly show it you know you've fucked up.

You can see her anger in subtle ways, her entire body tightens, she clenches her jaw, and her voice gets extremely clipped. In less subtly, her skin gets very blotchy with red/pink when she starts to get very angry.

It isn't really until ME2 and in the second half of ME3 that that control really slips from her grasp. In ME2 she lashes out a lot more verbally--snaps, really, gets short, tells the Illusive Man to fuck off. Even then her rage is focused inward and she usually releases it on her own through training or such.

Then when you push her enough, like when the Illusive Man lied about Garrus being Archangel, you get this:

Then it was Jacob who had pulled her off Miranda, when Ryn had finally snapped and shoved the Cerberus brat up against the wall, biotics snapping around her as she’d shouted that they had lied to her, making her believe she was alone.

Ryn gets very loud when she hits that limit of angry, like in ME3 when no one is listening to her about the danger of the Reapers, or in a-fic-I'm-still-working-on where her fitness for duty is called into question. She explodes, usually with yelling, and its probably because she keeps it so bottled up. Though I do want to reiterate this is not how she handled 98% of conflict.

Their “confidential talk” echoed throughout the crew deck. Penetrating the shuttered windows of the medbay and the sealed door as if Ryn was standing in the middle of the deck. [...] Ryn sat on the edge of the bed, face flushed a deep red that splotched down her neck. She clutched a crumpled piece of paper in her hand, held so tightly that her fingers were beginning to rip the material.

[stutterfly]

Tricks of the Trade | MYG (M)

Shared as part of the Similarly Sequestered game with @kpopfanfictrash​, @underthejoon​, @fortunexkookie​, @gukslut​ and me!

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Word Count: 24.1K Prompt: “The FBI doesn’t care about your porn preferences.” {Body Swap AU, Soulmates AU}

Genre: Fluff, humor, smut, oneshot

Summary: The convenience store across the street from your apartment carries your favorite energy drink. That's why you frequent it. It's definitely not because you have a big fat crush on the owner you've been flirting with for the better part of a year. Of course your brand of flirting can also be misconstrued as bickering. When a strange man wanders into the store, he thinks you need a little nudge to embrace the strings connecting you. Next thing you know you're waking up in a body that definitely doesn't belong to you. You can't decide if it's the best or worst thing that's ever happened to you.

CW & Other Tags: Anxiety attacks, language, oral sex, unprotected sex, nipple play, fingering, Agent of Chaos Jin, shopkeeper Yoongi, idiots to lovers, frenemies to lovers, bodyswap shenanigans

Pairings: Yoongi x Reader

Posted on June 23, 2020 by stutterfly and cross-posted to Ao3. I do not allow reposting, translations, or edits, to this or any other platform, including YouTube.

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The bell at the top of the door jingles as another customer walks into the store, but you pay them no mind. You’re already scanning the refrigerated drinks section for the third time, scouring the rows of cans and bottles for your beverage of choice. There’s only one kind of energy drink you want but its usual location is barren. Desperate to find what you’re searching for, you squat down to look behind the other drinks in the fridge.

“You’re not going to find any.”

The familiar, disinterested drawl of the shopkeeper has you popping up from the floor to look over at him. He wears a green apron over a black tee and a pair of faded jeans. His back is to you so he doesn’t have to see your face when you complain. He reaches up to take off his baseball cap and runs his fingers through thick locks of ebony hair before returning the cap to his head. He spares a glance over his shoulder at you, knowing you’re watching him. He sighs loudly as he continues to stock nearby shelves with boxes of cereal.

When he opened this tiny shop across from your apartment about a year ago, you thought he was cute, but he’s always seemed cold to you. The gossips around town say he’s a bit scrawny, monotone and boorish, but you like his voice and you like his style. He must be intelligent if he started this business from nothing, especially at his age. Not many people in their late twenties can say they are as independent as Yoongi.

He has confidence and pride in his values. You’ve seen him tell rude people off without a second thought and kick people out for being racist towards other customers. He puts on a front to seem unapproachable but you’ve seen him give a carton of milk to a mother who didn’t have money to pay for it, and free candy to a group of kids on a rainy day. While he pretends to be an old grump who shuffles around his shop all day, you’ve seen him get the energy to sprint around the block after a shift and then collapse at the cafe tables next door. He’s weird. He’s honest. He’s kind-hearted. It’s easy to admire him.

He bends down to pick up more boxes, and you cock your head to the side to stare at the way his ass looks in those jeans. He’s also insanely attractive. It’s no wonder you still come in here every day.

The more you see of him, the more you feel you know him, and the more you’ve grown to like him. The problem is that your relationship with the shopkeeper has shifted into a weird territory you’re not sure how to escape from. It’s not that you hate each other, but it seems you can’t hold a conversation without getting on each other’s nerves. Either you’re always saying the wrong thing or he’s pressing all the wrong buttons when he teases you.

At first you read his teasing as awkward flirting but for someone so blunt, you’ve convinced yourself he would have been straightforward and said the words out loud. I like you. Let’s get a drink. It would be easy for him to say, wouldn’t it? Despite trying to convince yourself he’s not interested, you can’t help but flirt with him at any opportunity to do so. However, you seem to forget how the moment he looks at you. It’s like your flirting skills took an exit down a shitty highway and now you’ve lost the GPS signal to navigate back to civilization.

Talking with Yoongi has become an ache you can’t seem to give up so you’ll take whatever excuse you can to keep doing so. That usually takes the form of you poking fun at one another until you hurt your own feelings. Sometimes you spend the remainder of a day thinking about the ways you can fix tomorrow’s fictitious conversation. You forgot how being infatuated with someone can make you feel so stupid. He’s not your life, just a part that you wish could be more prominent. It’s fine.

All you have to do is get your morning beverage and pastry before working your shift. Then you can focus on how nice it will feel to do nothing all weekend and catch up on TV shows.

“So…. What did you do with it? Are you hiding them from me today?” You quickly snap your eyes to his face as he twists his body to look up at you.

He scoffs. “Not me. College kids came through last night and cleared them out.”

“But you know I always get one,” you pout, crossing your arms like it’s going to make a difference.

He turns his attention back to his task, slowly stacking the boxes in silence before he clicks his tongue. “So? I can’t just hide stuff for you, you know.”

“Don’t you have more in the back? You’ve never run out of Hot6 before.”

He laughs to himself. “This isn’t a warehouse. I have to wait for product to arrive before I can restock. Just get a Red Bull. It tastes the same.”

You crinkle your nose at him. “It does not.”

He crosses the store with a roll of his eyes and a loud sigh. Before long he’s back at the register and sipping on his iced americano. “Whatever. Why do you care? It’s easier if you develop a taste for espresso. Then you don’t have to worry about that kind of thing. Besides, energy drinks aren’t that great for you, you know.”

You make a sound of disgust as you sulk your way over to the pastry cabinet. “Jeez. Do you always have to have such a stick in your ass? You act like coffee is so much better for you.”

“More caffeine, less sugar. I guarantee you it’s better,” he says with a smack of his lips against his straw.

“Whatever, Grandpa. Hmm... Muffin, muffin, muffin…” you quietly chant to yourself as your eyes rake over the racks in search of your daily pastry fix. Today seems to be against you: no muffins.

“We’re out of those too,” he says. “You know you could stand to change up your routine. Don’t you get sick of getting the same things every day?”

You bite your lip and look over the case of pastries, grabbing a simple croissant. “I like my routine, but I guess I could always stop coming here.”

“If that’s what you want.” He sighs dramatically as he leans over the counter, resting on his elbows as he surveys the store. “Well, I could enjoy a quiet morning for once.”

You roll your eyes.“Pfft. You like to argue, so I know you’d miss me.”

There’s a squeaky laugh from behind one of the shelves and as your attention shifts to the sound, a young man with dusty pink hair pokes his head up. He must be rather tall if he’s able to look over the aisles. You quirk an eyebrow at his strange laughter and wonder what kind of stranger could be so entertained by the pair of you.

“Sorry. It’s just…” He holds up a card that neither of you can really make out at this distance. “On the front it says ‘It’s Your Birthday?’ and inside it says ‘Alpaca my party hat!’. Ha! And there’s this pop-up of the alpaca with a bandana and party hat.” He giggles again as he opens and closes the card a few times and waves his hand. “Sorry. Sorry. You can continue flirting now.”

“This is not—” Your breath catches in your throat and you have to take a moment to swallow down your embarrassment before turning back towards Yoongi. “Can you believe this guy?”

He’s in the middle of taking a bite from a half-eaten muffin when your eyes meet his guilty ones. Your jaw falls open as he slowly chews and rings you up, placing the remainder of the pastry back down on the counter.

“You took the last one?”

“I had a craving.” He shrugs.

“You knew I would want it and you took it so I couldn’t have it,” you guess in a playful tone. “Was your aim to make me suffer double today? You’re so cruel, Yoongi.”

He pauses to poke his tongue against his cheek as he handles your change. “It’s not like I planned it. Don’t make me out to be some bad guy.”

“Bad guy. Tch. No, I wouldn’t go that far.” You lean forward, planting your hands on the counter and ensuring a clear sightline into your shirt. “I think you just like getting under my skin.”

He bristles at your words, taking the bait and dropping his gaze to the lace exposed for his eyes. He licks his lips and lazily lets his eyes drift back to your face, his expression unreadable. “Maybe that’s true.”

You cock your head and smirk as you stand up straight, your ego slightly inflated. “Is it really so hard to be nice to me? I’m nice to you.”

“Hah!” He breaks into an amused grin. “When?”

You’re taken aback by his response. Surely you’ve been obvious with your infatuation up to this point. You scoff. “Wha- All the time!”

His brows furrow and he crosses his arms with the change still trapped in his palm. “So complaining is a form of politeness now? Then I should be grateful for how often you shower me with kindness.”

“You know I do more than complain! I complain because you complain to me!” you pout, pointing your finger at him. “Maybe we could talk about something meaningful if you ever cared enough to ask.”

His eyebrows raise with the pitch of your voice. It’s not a big deal. This is stupid. You’re overreacting because you like him. You know he’s fucking with you so why is your face still getting hot? Even if he’s joking, he’s planted the seed in your mind that he sees you as a grumpy customer. He’s clearly never thought of you as anything but a negative start to his day. You’ve seen him be sweet but right now he feels as bitter and cold as the coffee he drinks.

“What do you think of this?” the pink-haired stranger asks, donning a pair of thick black frames with orange-tinted lenses.

The man cuts the tension from the room for a brief moment. Yoongi stares at him, his lip curled up in disgust as he slowly shakes his head. When his eyes travel back to yours they seem full of apprehension. Your name rolls off his tongue as though it’s an apology.

“Don’t ‘Y/N’ me. Just give me my change,” you grumble, reaching up for his palm.

His grip is impossible to penetrate. He smiles as you struggle to work your fingers beneath his, shaking his head like you’ve revealed some embarrassing secret. Heat builds in your face the longer you stand there fidgeting with his hand. You feel like a fool.

“You’re obnoxious. Let me count it out first,” Yoongi sneers while trying to pull his hand back.

“It’s fine.” You roll your eyes and yank his hand towards you. “I don’t need you to count it.”

“You know what I think you need?”

The other customer leans beside the counter, a new pair of glasses on his face that are twice as hideous as the first pair. As you turn to look at the stranger you can see the pair of you reflected in hues of red and yellow in those disturbingly 90s opaque lenses. It almost looks like you’re holding hands. You stiffen at the sight but keep your fingers locked against Yoongi’s calloused ones as you focus on the pricetag dangling across the man’s nose.

The stranger slowly moves a closed fist above the place where your hand and Yoongi’s meet. He waits a few seconds until you’re both focused on his hand before a flash of silver falls from his palm. You almost mistake the shapes for identical necklaces until they untangle and rotate to reveal two halves that form a heart.

The fluorescent lights of the store highlight the engraved text on each. One says ‘BEST’ while the other half reads ‘FRIENDS’. The faux-metal irritates your neck the moment you think about it touching your skin. The chains appear fragile and cheap, like they might break at the slightest amount of tension. If this guy thinks you’re going to take these he must be delusional.

You exchange a quizzical look with Yoongi as the necklaces dangle between you. He’s distracted enough that you’re able to pry your change from his sweaty palm.

“Uh. No thanks,” you say, shoving the coins in your pocket before grabbing your croissant. You take a moment to regard Yoongi with a scowl, cocking your head to the side. “See you, Grandpa.”

The stone in his gut sinks as he watches you leave but he forces his attention to the pink haired stranger in the obscenely reflective glasses.

“You know, I think she likes you,” he whispers with a wink.

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It’s been a long day but at least you don’t have to go out tomorrow. You’ve already changed into your favorite pair of comfy shorts but as you move to unbutton your work shirt something smacks against your chest. Did something get trapped in your cleavage?

“What the fuck?”

As you look down your stomach does a somersault. There’s a necklace draped around your neck with a half-broken heart pendant, etched with the word ‘BEST’. How did that guy sneak this ugly thing onto you? How did you not feel it until now? Maybe he’s some sort of street magician. Your shock is accompanied by a chuckle as you reach behind your neck to fidget with the clasp. Spinning the chain between your fingertips, you soon realize there isn’t one. This thing feels like a dollar store trinket, so you curl your fingers around the charm and pull down with all of your might. It remains secure around your neck no matter how hard you tug.

Your mind begins to break into a panic. What the fuck? What the fuck. What. The actual. Fuck.

You quickly throw on a pair of sneakers and nab the keys hanging near the door on your way out of the apartment. It's hard to believe the speed at which your feet carry you down the several flights of stairs. A couple scrambles out of the way as they watch your frenzied descent. Before long you're pressing the entirety of your body against the familiar door of the convenience store across the street.

The clerk looks up from his phone, his dark eyebrows raised in surprise as you stumble past the threshold. Your body nearly folds in half as you plant your hands on your knees and struggle to catch your breath.

"Are you alright?"

You force yourself to stand up straight to address the man standing behind the counter. The word is devoid of conviction as it leaves your mouth. "Yeah."

You know him as Tae, one of Yoongi's part-time employees. Yoongi offered him a job when he heard him say he was looking for work to supplement his endeavors to put himself through art school. You’ve seen him a lot, spoken a little here and there, and he even knows you by name now. If he's here, it's probable that his boss is not. You sigh loudly in an attempt to relieve some of the panic and frustration built up in your brain. It's not like you can just ask Tae to give you Yoongi’s number.

Tae’s wide-eyed stare indicates his concern for your well being but it’s not until he drags his gaze across your body and purses his lips that you feel something is amiss. It's at this point that you realize how much the air conditioner billows the fabric of your work shirt. Goosebumps form along your calves as all of the blood in your body rushes to your face. You quickly cross your arms over your chest to conceal the half-unbuttoned shirt and the bra that pokes out from beneath it. There’s little you can do to cover the expanse of your legs while wearing such form-fitting shorts.

“I was just… checking to see if you have any Hot6,” you say with barely a glance in the direction of the refrigerator section. “But it’s clear you’re still out.”

Tae raises his eyebrows and grants you a subtle, uncertain nod as your eyes settle on the door that reads ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY.’

“Is your boss here?” you blurt, reaching for the chain around your neck. “I’ve got a—”

Your stomach drops. It’s gone. Both of your hands instinctively smack at your collarbones, like frantically patting against your flesh will cause the necklace to reappear. You hold your shirt open wide enough to peer down at the skin of your chest with a concentrated gaze, eyes begging for any trace of the tacky piece of jewelry to resurface. Was it really just a figment of your imagination? You swear it was there. You felt it. You pulled on it. It had to be real.

You swallow hard and quickly bounce your eyes to the uncomfortable-looking cashier. All you can offer is a weak chuckle as you try to play it off by shaking out your shirt. “Sorry… I thought there was a bug."

There's an awkward, heavy silence between you as he nods with pursed lips. There's no way this poor guy believes your delusional ass. "Bossman's gone for tonight. Seemed kinda beat."

"Oh."

Your eyes settle on the countertop as your brain tries to rationalize what kind of unresolved issues at work are causing your mental breakdown. You stand there while spacing out, barely blinking. You can't believe you imagined that. Not knowing what to do, Tae walks his fingers towards the miniature cans of Red Bull stacked on the counter. He gracefully sweeps his hand around a can and offers it to you. That breaks you from your daze.

"It kinda tastes the same." He attempts to cut the tension with an endearingly awkward, close-mouthed smile. "My treat?"

If it were Yoongi saying such a thing you might scowl and tell him that he must be delusional if he thinks they're the same. Tae is a much kinder soul. You find yourself softening at his suggestion and shake your head.

"You know I should probably lay off the energy drinks now that I think about it," you say. "Have a good night, Tae."

"Goodnight, Y/N!" he calls after you as you wander back through the door. He leans over the counter. "Oh, hey wait! Do you want me to let bossman know you were looking for him?"

"It's fine!" you shout back on autopilot. You're already sinking into a pool of your own thoughts as the door closes behind you.

It was not fine.

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Sleep does not come easy despite your exhaustion. You find yourself tossing and turning all night. When the light begins to stream through your blinds it seems to strike at the perfect angle to blind your fluttering eyes. You pull the blankets up over your head even though you know it’s of no use; you’re already awake and there’s no going back to sleep now.

You stretch out with a yawn as you sleepily shuffle from the bed to the tiny bathroom around the corner of your room. It’s easy to apply toothpaste to your toothbrush on autopilot, taking a moment to rub your knuckles against an eye before glancing up towards the mirror. How bad is the bedhead today?

The sight that greets you causes you to drop your toothbrush in the sink and stumble back out of the doorway. Your fingers grip the frame to keep you on your feet, your attention quickly drawn to the thick digits situated there. As you force yourself forward, you support yourself with one hand on the counter and bring the other up for inspection. The foreign hand trembles as you turn it back and forth while trying to catch the breath that keeps running away from you. Anxiety sinks its teeth deeper into your lungs, causing a puncture that has you gasping for air.

Calluses adorn your fingertips, accompanied by scratches and scars from moments you've never experienced. Your nails are jagged and short, devoid of the pleasing pink color you applied to them two days ago. You dread the journey your eyes threaten to make towards the mirror once again but you find that you are unable to stop them. The face staring back at you with saucer-wide eyes is none other than Min Yoongi.

Your head feels light. This face is fake. You gasp for the air you can't seem to get enough of and stumble out of the bathroom. The walls seem to wobble in place as you race towards the living room where you can feel the breeze flowing through the window you left open last night. This world is fake. Nothing is real. Air will fix this. If you could just breathe like a normal person everything would be okay.

You fall to your knees within spitting distance of the window. For all the air your body greedily sucks inward, your mind feels bereft of any. Your vision goes dark.

╭⋟────────────────────────╮

╰────────────────────────⋞╯

Yoongi does his best to make his way up the stairs with poise, but he's almost sure it looks like a waddle more than anything. His thighs --your thighs-- are chafing from the run here and each step is a painful reminder of the irritated flesh still rubbing together beneath these sweatpants. At least one of your neighbors was kind enough to let him into the main entrance. They must have recognized the face he mysteriously woke up with. Luckily your mailbox has your last name on it and as much as you might disagree he does pay attention when you talk.

He tries to wipe the sweat from his brow as he bends down to plant his hands on his knees. Even as his breath recovers, he grows increasingly frustrated with how heavy his chest feels. He repeatedly pushes the hair from his face with a groan, wishing he had taken the scissors to it when he had the opportunity earlier. He takes off the cap atop his head, runs his fingers through his hair, and places it back on his head. Everything is too much. You need to fix this. Take it back.

The faster he tries to ascend the stairs, the more he aches. He finally gives up on looking civil when he decides there's no one else in the stairwell to judge him. After all they'll only remember you anyway so what does it matter? He rolls the sweatpants up above his knees and cups the breasts hidden beneath the oversized sweater for support as he scrambles up the last few floors.

He grimaces at the dainty pink fingernails before curling his hand into a fist and rapping his knuckles against your door. He puffs his cheeks out and expels a long breath. What could you possibly be doing? You have to be in there. He tries the handle to no avail. Are you still asleep? He quickly abandons the need for subtlety and places both palms on the door and drums loudly against it. The sound of the deadbolt unlocking tells him he shouldn't hesitate. He's through the door before you can even properly get off your knees.

Somehow you knew what would be waiting for you on the other side. The sight before you has your mind reeling. That's your body, but it's not you. Could it really be Yoongi? You did not get Freaky-Friday'd with him. There's no fucking way this is reality. You can feel yourself panicking again as you back away from the figure, falling back on your ass. You watch yourself look down at you with a look of disgust.

"What are you doing?" That's definitely your voice.

Your body takes slow steps towards you as it crosses one arm over the other. You lean back on your elbows and groan. It's a deep sound, deeper than anything that's come from your throat even on your sickest day. This isn’t happening.

"Oh my god. I'm fucking dying," you murmur while tilting your head towards the ceiling. "Everything is fake. Nothing is real. I’m going crazy. Please let me rot."

The figure bends down and leans over into your field of vision. The image of your face frowns back at you and pokes you in the chest with a pointed fingernail.

“Stop that.”

“I can’t,” you whine between heavy breaths. “I feel like I’m gonna pass out again.

“Y/N. Look at me.”

Those perfectly manicured hands reach out for your shoulders in comfort but you fall flat on your back and your arm flies up to cover your eyes.Tears sting at them as reality warbles around you again. Seeing your own face hovering above you definitely isn’t helping you feel more sane.

"I don't know what's happening," you sob.

With each breath you suck between your quivering lips, your chest aches. Suddenly that pair of hands is cupping your jaw and pushing your arm aside. You look into the eyes you are already so familiar with, but they seem far more caring than you’ve ever managed to display.

"We need to undo whatever is happening right now," he says calmly. "You don't have to like it. You don't have to tell me you're okay. But I need you to sit up and pull yourself together long enough to help me figure this out. Can you do that?"

You swallow hard and nod slowly as you take the hand offered to you. A half-smirk appears on his lips; it's strange to see yourself reflected with such warmth, especially knowing it's coming from Yoongi.

"Good. Now please go change. I can't look at those shorts anymore.”

You look down at your attire for the first time and realize how absurd Yoongi’s body looks in the clothing you wore to bed. The skimpy tank top clings to the muscular, flat chest you now possess. Worse still, you can see bits of flesh poking out against that hairy inner thigh below. You squeeze your eyes shut and pretend like you can forget what you just saw sticking out of your shorts.

You take a deep breath as your face burns with embarrassment. “Okay. Give me your pants.”

He stiffens at your demand and scoffs. “What?”

“I don’t have anything that will fit you— er, I mean, me. Us?” You gesture at your body and stare at the floor, trying to will yourself to not dissociate. “This. You can’t be comfortable either.”

There’s a sigh before he plops down on your couch with legs spread wide open. “My back hurts and my thighs rubbed together so much I don’t want to move anymore.”

You can’t help but laugh at the admission. At least he feels your pain. He looks up at you while reclining his head on the cushion behind him. You’re not hyperventilating anymore so distraction seems to be the key to keeping you relatively calm.

“Why you, of all people?” he wonders.

You roll your eyes and stomp across the room and disappear into your bedroom. “Hmph. I was about to ask you the same thing. This is bullshit.”

You come back with a handful of carefully selected clothes and strappy undergarments that you know for a fact flatter your shape. If he has to walk around in your skin the least he can do is make it look good. You pause halfway down the hall and swallow hard as it dawns on you that he’s going to have to get naked in order to change, which means he’s unavoidably going to be looking at your body without any barriers. You decide you’re going to be strong and you simply won’t think about it or acknowledge it as a possibility.

He’s busy chewing one of your nails when you reach the living room again. You hug the clothes close to your chest and storm across the room.

“Do you bite your nails?! Ew! God, no wonder yours are so jagged and gross,” you complain, thrusting the clothes into his lap.

He offers an apologetic look before glancing down at the attire you’ve supplied with raised eyebrows. He picks up the bra with one finger and grimaces at the way it dangles off his digit. He’s looking up at you with pleading eyes shortly after it falls back in his lap. It’s hard to avoid his gaze. You feel those pupils boring into your skull as you dart your eyes away to focus on the floor.

You clear your throat and muster every last bit of courage you possess. “Um… Your clothes, please?”

He inhales loudly through his nose and you watch the grey sweatpants pool around the toenails you just painted last night. You swallow hard and scramble to pick them up when they slide across the wooden floor to you. You clutch them to your chest, quickly catching the scent of your sweat and arousal on them. Maybe he hasn’t noticed? Trying to suppress the mortification growing in your chest, you purse your lips and trail your gaze back up to his face--your face. Thankfully the hoodie covers your sex and you’re hoping he hasn’t bothered taking a peek before coming here.

“Don’t… Don’t look,” you plead. So much for not acknowledging it.

He’s feeding his arm through one of the sleeves when he freezes in place and locks eyes with you. “I should tell you I woke up shirtless,” he mumbles. As if to lessen the blow of his admission, he continues with a pout, “But you can’t blame me for looking. It’s hard not to look at a pair of perfect tits that mysteriously appear in the middle of the night. What was I supposed to do?”

Perfect tits? You’d almost be flattered if it wasn’t so fucking morifying to know he’s already seen you. Your eyes screw shut and you nod. “Right.”

This is fine. This is absolutely fine.

“Hey,” he calls softly, prodding you to open your eyes. “Here.”

He keeps eye contact with you while feeding his other arm through the sleeve. Watching yourself strip without performing the act is bizarre. He holds the sweater out for you to slowly take. It eases your mind to see his gaze never wavered. Yours drops to the nude form before you and suddenly you’re criticizing every curve and flaw you can find. It’s as though you’re simply standing before a mirror and feeding your insecurity with needless scrutiny. Despite this, Yoongi remains focused on your face and the discomfort you display so openly at seeing your own form stripped bare. Almost bare. That beat-up baseball cap he wears every day now adorns your head like a crown for your mediocrity.

You spin on your heels and speedwalk down the hall. “I’ll be right back.”

It’s hard to ignore the new appendage you’ve acquired but you make sure to shut your eyes while peeling the shorts from your thighs and sliding the sweatpants up in their stead. While you rushed through the bottom half of your attire, you stop for a minute to inspect Yoongi’s bare pectorals. It’s all too easy to get lost in the sight of his body in the mirror. You subconsciously lick your lips and run your fingers across your flat, hard chest.

Your thumb circles a brown nipple and you watch with satisfaction as it grows hard at your touch. Your palms press down over your stomach, feeling the muscles hidden just below the surface of soft flesh. You grab at your hips, fingers threatening to dart below the band of your pants. Instead you suck air in through your nose and scold yourself for such weakness. You’re about to tug the sweater over your head when Yoongi silently enters and flops down on the bed face-first.

“Yoongi? Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?!” you shriek in your haste to cover up your own moment of weakness.

There’s a muffled response spoken into the mattress that you can’t quite understand.

"What?" Annoyance is a front for your embarrassment.

He turns his head to one side and sighs. "There are too many straps. Why did you pick such a difficult one?"

You definitely selected something with a lot of extra straps for a reason but you bite your lip and try to come up with an excuse that seems plausible. The truth is that you wanted to pick something sexy because you wanted him to see you as such. Does he care though? It's hard to tell. You decide the best excuse is to dismiss the question altogether.

"Stop being such a baby. I'll help you."

As he lifts his head to cringe in your direction, you're already out the door. He pounds his forehead against the mattress again and squeezes his eyes shut. There's clearly no logical explanation for this, so what is the next step to take? What should the pair of you do? Is this permanent? There has to be a way to undo whatever has happened. In order to figure that out he's trying to piece together the source of this predicament. No matter how hard he wracks his brain for answers to the puzzle, there still seems to be pieces missing.

"Get up. Come on," you huff, tugging at his arm.

The sound he makes is pitiful and whiny as he rises. It's easy enough to see where his arms are supposed to go when you've already bunched all of the material together. You step behind him and fiddle with the fit around the familiar mounds of flesh at his front. He instinctively looks down to watch how his own familiar fingers slide beneath the bra. He pries his eyes away just as quickly to find he has a much better view of the pair of you in the mirror.

There's a sight he'd never thought he'd see: both of you shirtless with his hands in your bra. It's not that he's never wanted it. It's just that he always seems to fuck it up when it comes to being social, with you in particular. Maybe it's because he likes you too much. There's never been a proper opportunity to make a move outside of work and he knows his flirting skills are abysmal. But looking at the reflection of the pair of you now fills him with equal amounts of desire and confidence.

Just as you’re about to clasp the first strap behind his neck you glance up and find yourself lost in the same reflection. An electric blush creeps up your spine and causes a tingle in your cheeks that makes you freeze like a deer caught in headlights. He hums a soft sound and makes the decision to reach back for your wrist. For a moment you’re not sure if you’re moving or if he is but you find yourself enjoying the sight of Yoongi’s thick fingers dipping below the fabric of your bra.

“Yoongi?” you ask, jaw hanging slack as the bra slips a bit further down.

“Do you feel that?” The voice is quiet as he lets you trace fingers along the soft skin. “It pinches there.”

That pinch is a familiar one but you always tell yourself that’s the price of beauty. The straps chafe. The underwire digs into your ribs. It’s uncomfortable. But it’s the sexiest-looking thing you own so comfort be damned. You watch it slide further down to reveal one of your nipples in the reflection of the mirror; it’s impossible to look away. So much for him not looking anymore. You can’t blame him because it’s impossible for you to take your eyes off it too. The sight of Yoongi’s thick fingers trailing along the side of your breast sends a surge of excitement through your veins.

Goosebumps form a path where your fingers have traced and Yoongi exhales a shaky breath. The sound makes you chew on your bottom lip in contemplation. Is he feeling just as turned on right now? You try to remind yourself that the mirror is a lie. He’s not touching you. You’re touching him, regardless of how it looks. You can’t let your feelings cloud your judgement. It’s so fucking hard to think straight now that you’re together like this, not just because he’s here in your room but because he’s experiencing the unique arousal of his body while trapped in yours.

“Being a girl sucks. What am I supposed to do about it?” Your fingers tremble as you force your eyes to meet his in the mirror.

The action does not go unnoticed. He smirks and quirks a brow but chooses to let it slide without commenting. “Give me something easy and comfy.”

“But—” You hesitate. Do you really need to argue about this? You can’t explain it without admitting your feelings towards him. It seems like an inopportune time, more so than usual. It’s better if you can just shut the fuck up for two seconds and work on the important task at hand: figuring out how to get back to normal.

He immediately fills the gap with an objection of his own. “Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t,” you say in the flattest tone you can muster.

He turns around to get a better read on your body language but you’re already rummaging through your drawers. You toss a sports bra with a front-facing zipper at him while you don the sweater and slip into the bathroom to relieve yourself. It’s best to avoid situations like that again if you can.

Yoongi takes this moment to inspect the room, crinkling his nose at the several empty cans of Hot6 stacked on top of your dresser. He brings a long manicured nail to his teeth and begins working it back and forth as he slides the folding closet door open with a finger. Much to his surprise your wardrobe is filled with t-shirts that look much more comfortable than the piece you previously selected. He’s quick to trade shirts and carefully replaces the clothing on the hanger before sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning back on his elbows. Comfy. Finally. His attention is drawn to the closed bathroom door. It’s been a while. Are you okay?

“You better not be passed out in there,” he whines, making sure to sound extra annoying for you.

The attempt to conceal the concern in his tone is successful but he’s happy you’re not able to see his worried expression. If you knew how badly he wants to freak out, you might actually start hyperventilating again. He’d like to avoid that. The door swings open and you exhale deeply. You’re not about to tell him you had to wait out the boner because then he’d probably make fun of you. He watches you take a few steps forward while wedging a nail between his teeth.

“Are you biting my fucking nails again?”

“Yup.”

You’re already scrambling across the bed and by the time he moves to shuffle backwards you have his wrists pinned against your soft comforter and you’re straddling his waist. Oh god. This is too fucking hot to be doing with him while he’s in your body. Abort. Abort!

It’s now that you note he’s wearing a soft cotton t-shirt you definitely did not pick out. “Yoongi, did you—”

“These clothes are better. Did you give me the most uncomfortable things you own just to make me suffer for stealing your muffin?”

Between the sports bra and the t-shirt he’s selected the curves of your body are lost to your eyes and your heart sinks. There goes any chance you had of him thinking your body is sexy. He’s expecting a tongue lashing but you sigh instead and release your hold on him, quickly climbing off his form before you can let your body get you into trouble. You search for the laptop that you know is hidden just beneath the covers near your pillows.

“Pfft. Look, maybe we can google what happened to us and not get Freaky Friday movie reviews. You wanna see if it works?”

He offers a half smirk in response and he’s quiet only for a second before he hums a sound of distaste. It’s an accusation and you know it. He quickly scoots back towards the pillows so he can sit beside you.

You scowl as you mistype your own password. “Ugh. What?”

“I’m just wondering why you’re so mad.”

“I’m not.”

You make sure to broadcast the fact that you’re definitely not mad by repeatedly tapping the delete key in a slow, deliberate motion.

“Why does your face look like that then?” he prods while folding his hands across his lap.

“Like what? You of all people should know that your face always looks this grumpy.”

As he rests his head against the fluffy material behind him, he lazily rolls his head towards you. “Y/N.”

You dramatically throw your head back against the pillows and mirror his stare. “Yoongi.”

“What is it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you mumble.

“It clearly does,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “We have to work together to figure this out, so some honesty might be nice.”

You open the laptop and stare at the password screen for a moment with a longing sigh. “Fine. I look gross in those,” you admit with a brief glance at his attire. “You’re making me look like an unsexy blob.”

He scoffs. “What? Is that all? You’re being ridiculous. These clothes don’t matter at all. We both know what you look like underneath them. Honestly, you could be wearing a trashbag and still be sexy.”

“To whom?” You want to laugh at how absurd his explanation sounds. “What kind of lunatic would think that?”

He blinks slowly and raises his eyebrows with a calculated clench of his jaw. “Me. For starters.”

He’s stiff as he purses his lips and crosses his arms. He stares at the login screen, waiting for you to type your password. “And any sane man or woman with a pair of eyes and a brain.”

Your mouth falls open in disbelief mid-stroke. Was that a confession? Your head might as well be full of helium with how high you’re feeling. This has to be a dream. If the insane concept of switching bodies with Yoongi isn’t enough to solidify it, those words sure are. You have to be dreaming.

Your eyes remain locked onto the fingers now resting against the keys. “Do you really think that?”

“Yes.” The response comes quicker than expected but instead of giving you time to ruminate on it, he nudges you with his elbow. “Password.”

Your shoulders lift with a deep inhale through your nose and drop back down with the subsequent forceful exhale through your lips. What are you supposed to do with that information? You feel your consciousness try to lift into the aether. If you could only make it float back into your own body, you might have the courage to say something, anything. With your mind drifting away, your fingers move of their own accord as they type in the password to your laptop.

"Whoa, what the fuck is that?"

The video you'd left open last night starts up with a preview that brings you back to reality, but not fast enough.

"D-Don't look! It's private!" you screech.

Heat pulses through the veins along the sides of your forehead. Precious seconds have already been wasted by the time you frantically scramble to close the tab. He's seen the keywords in the search bar and the nastiest bits of that particular video. You're fucking mortified.

“I mean that’s definitely a couple privates," he jokes with a laugh. "You seriously just leave your porn out like that?"

”Incognito mode, Yoongi," you sneer while pulling up a new tab. "I don’t need you or my FBI guy judging me.”

He snorts. “Oh come on, Y/N. The FBI doesn’t care about your porn preferences. And neither do I. Besides, you technically looked at it with my eyes already.”

He taps the side of your forehead gently as if you needed the reminder that you're not in your own skin and you swat him away. You quickly type the phrase “body swap” into the search bar and try to focus on the resulting web pages even though you’re distracted by the blood leaving your brain in favor of other body parts.

"Can you just… Shut up for one second?"

"Hey, I'm just saying..." He clicks his tongue thoughtfully as he scooches closer to you. "You’re into some good stuff. We might have more in common than I thought."

Butterflies erupt in your stomach at the physical contact and send a tingling electricity down your abdomen. You clear your throat and reposition the computer over your lap as you feel yourself growing harder. You stare down at the two fingers settled on the trackpad rather than the information on screen. Try as you might to remain inconspicuous, suddenly all you can think about are those thick fingers rubbing hard circles against your clit while the two of you watch porn together. Bad thought. Baaaaaad. You attempt to pass the laptop over to him as discreetly as possible while shifting your pelvis away towards the edge of the bed.

“I’m…” You flounder for an excuse to leave the room and get these racing hormones under control. “...pee.”

“What?” There's a quizzical expression branded upon his features that toes the line of disgust.

“I have to pee,” you quickly correct while tactically holding your forearm over your lap. If there is such a thing as fate, why is it torturing you like this?

“Again?”

You push the laptop towards him once more and pray that he’ll just let you go be embarrassed alone in the bathroom for five minutes. Instead he looks down at the way your forearms cross your pelvis and exudes a deep, throaty laugh that sounds foreign in the tenor of your voice. That laughter travels through your head like it’s made of hot coals.

“Wow. Got a boner, huh?”

Your cheeks are made of fire. Literal fire. They feel like they should melt straight through your skin and torch your brain yet here you are: still alive and wishing you would burn to death. God is dead. There is no mercy in this universe.

"Don't fucking laugh at me! I can't control it!"

When he laughs harder, the urge to silence him overtakes all rational thought. You reach for a lock of hair sticking out from beneath his cap and pull hard. He hisses through his teeth and you smirk, knowing what kind of response this would normally elicit from your body. Will it affect him the same, or is the sexual response guided by mental preference rather than physical? Maybe it’s both. It seems to have some effect because he’s stopped laughing.

Yoongi shivers as goosebumps riddle his arms and prickle along his chest until his nipples are threatening to poke holes through the thin fabric of the bra and t-shirt. His jaw tightens and on instinct his hand shoots up to grasp at the short black hair adorning your head in retaliation. He catches himself before he pursues the motion of yanking down. What is he doing? Can he really be so bold with you? He knows you, but not like this. Things are strange right now but if he keeps going they're bound to get stranger. If the butterflies in his stomach weren't enough to tip him off to his attraction to you, even like this, the wetness between these thighs solidifies the magnetism you hold over him.

A pitiful sound escapes your lips that hints at your disappointment. “Mmm?"

He pauses there to inspect your expression, tilting his head as though it will give him a better read. He should be able to interpret his own expression but looking at his face through your eyes doesn't seem to help at all. Because he's studied your features for so long it's hard to see what you're feeling now that he can't see them at work. His palm flattens against your scalp and he allows his fingers to wander through the thick black hair he's combed out a million times. Somehow it feels softer in your hands. Soon he finds his hand cupping the back of your neck. Labored breaths swim in the space between the pair of you, but it's hard to tell who they belong to.

"What are you doing?" you whisper as your fingers reach for the brim of his cap.

"What are you doing?" he echoes back.

Have your eyes always looked so fierce, or is it his persona breathing a dark fire into them now? You flick the cap off his head, which releases all the hair he had trapped underneath it. You push it back from his face and tangle your fingers within it.

"Pretending like this isn't just you wanting to make out with yourself to see what it's like," you answer, staring at the reflection in his eyes. "You?"

There's a smirk that grows into a full blown grin within seconds. "Trying to convince myself that it isn't insane to want to make out with myself just to see what it's like."

You scoff and drop your hands to his shoulders to give him a firm push back. "Dick."

He giggles at the way you pout and halfheartedly pushes the laptop towards the other side of the bed. The hand still on the back of your neck travels up to massage your scalp and suddenly you're putty in his palm. His other hand trails along your stubbly jaw until his fingers are nestled behind your ear. As he glances down at the tent in your pants he laughs.

"Still hard?"

"Like your nipples," you grumble.

You reach out and twist the peaks barely hidden beneath his shirt; it's an impulse you don't refuse. This time he moans.

"Oh, you liked that, hmm? I bet you're so fucking wet right now," you whisper, embracing your boldness.

You watch his eyes roll with the flutter of his lashes at your words. Both of his hands glide through your hair and he begins to flex his fingers around some strands. He alternates between releasing his gentle grip on your locks and twisting his fingers back into them. You’re making him crazy. Should he even bother trying to compose himself at this point?

“What?” you prod, pushing the limits of his endurance for such brattiness. “Aren’t you going to pull my hair, Yoongi?”

The way he glares at you causes your skin to break out in a series of goosebumps. How can you be shivering when your body was just doing its best impression of molten rock? Yoongi. That’s the answer. You whimper a pathetic sound as his knuckles curl towards your scalp. The motion brings your forehead down to meet his and your eyelids flutter closed. He focuses heavy breaths out through his nose and stares at the lips he knows are his own. They may be part of his usual physical appearance but right now they’re a part of yours.

“You’re so fucking obnoxious.”

He sucks his bottom lip through his teeth and moves towards you before he can second guess what he's about to do. His lips seem to meld with yours and your eyes pop open to be sure this is really happening. Is this really happening? You see your own nose and heavy lidded eyes peeking open just enough to roll back in pleasure.

The hands buried in your hair drop to cradle your jaw and you can feel the stubble scraping against the delicate skin of his fingers as he drags his hands slowly towards your chin. You melt into his touch and hold your breath like you'll never inhale another again. Suddenly you're kissing him back and no amount of lightheadedness can stop you.

Oh shit. This is happening. It’s not anything like your daydreams but it’s real and it feels so fucking good. It feels surreal. It feels too surreal. Maybe the lightheadedness can stop you. It's you, but it's not. Your eyes open again and you find a battle of anxiety raging in your brain. He pauses to peck the edge of your mouth when he realizes you're no longer kissing him back.

"What are you doing?" he murmurs, resting his forehead against yours. “Did I… read that wrong?”

“No! No, I’ve wanted to do that for a while. It’s just…” A laugh bubbles from your throat and you shake your head before bursting into a fit of giggles. “This is weird.”

Relief washes over his features and he smiles as he leans back to look at you. “It’s definitely unique. But I can’t say I want to stop.”

His admission fills you with a fresh wave of tingles up your spine. “Me neither. I… still want you.”

You sheepishly turn your head to the side and find the mirror lining the closet wall, looking at the image of the pair of you as if it will save you from the embarrassment of your own words.

"What? Now you're getting shy?" he teases while following you gaze to the reflection. It dawns on him that he can enjoy the view. "Or do you just want to watch?"

He moves towards your lips slowly while keeping focused on the mirror, watching your eyes lazily roll back behind your lids and revelling in the whine this pulls from you.

“Look,” he pleads in low whisper, angling your body so you can get a better view. “Look how good you look with your tongue on my neck.”

Your head lolls around just in time to see exactly that before the sensation snaps across your nerve endings. He latches on, sucking light bruises into the tender flesh. He knows where to put his tongue to have you gripping the back of his neck and arching your back up towards him. He smirks as he glances at the mirror, licking a hot stripe up to your ear where he teasingly nibbles on the lobe.

"Does it look as hot when I--when you...?" You flounder on your words in between soft pants, your eyes trained on the reflection.

He counters with a whisper, “Do you want to find out?”

“I’m… curious,” you admit, leaning your head back to give him access to more of your neck.

“You want to know how it feels,” he lazily mumbles against your neck. “Hmm. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it.”

“It’s a unique opportunity,” you say, trying to convince yourself that proposing the idea isn’t weird at all. “Maybe we just… See?”

“Right. This is a unique opportunity,” he echoes in agreement, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His voice is muffled as he sighs a heated breath against your skin. “We should take advantage of it.”

“I mean, as long as you don’t tell anyone.”

He pops his head up to look at you, his brows knotted in confusion. “Who would believe me?”

You shake your head and smirk. “I guess you’re right.”

There’s a moment where the concept of time seems to evaporate. You both stare at each other like you’re seeing your own faces for the first time, like it’s the first time you both can actually love and accept yourselves as you are. It’s easier to be gentle with someone else, but now that someone else is technically also a part of you it brings a level of clemency to your feelings regarding your appearance. You like yourself better now that you can see a part of him there.

“Will you show me how you like it?” he asks with a tilt of his head.

“If you show me, too,” you say with a gentle rock of your hips towards him.

“You first.”

Your mouth is already covering the soft expanse of his neck, dragging your teeth with just enough pressure to tease the skin. He watches you work up and down through the mirror, feeling the arousal between his legs building. As you're kissing a path back towards his mouth he takes a chance and swings his leg over your midriff so he's kneeling just above the throbbing cock hidden beneath the thin layer of gray fabric. The jeans dig a hard line into his stomach and limit the range of his spread.

"These pants are horrible," he complains.

"Take them off if you hate them so much," you agree between hungry kisses. It's impossible to keep your eyes from the mirror. He hooks his fingers beneath your sweater and begins working it upwards, stopping only to rest a palm on your chest.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He trails his fingers down the flat expanse until he gets to your navel, passing over the dark hair leading down into your pants. He tugs at the place where the hair begins to grow thicker and laughs when you hiss an expletive.

He quickly pulls the oversized sweater upwards. Instead of helping you out of it, he clutches the fabric with both hands as you bring your arms above your head and presses you back into the mattress. You find your bent elbows trapped in the sleeves.

“How about this?” he whispers. “Do you like this?”

“Yes.” You look down at the delicious pectorals he’s exposed, practically salivating at the sight of those pert nipples. “Yoongi, please.”

He smirks as he runs his fingers down your chest, ignoring the nipples you wish he would do something about. Lower. Lower. His hand travels behind him until suddenly your body spasms with pleasure from the practiced grip he’s placed on the cock standing at attention behind him.

“This? Does it feel good when I touch you like this?”

“Fuck! Yes. Please. Yes!”

Just as quickly as his hand pressed against your clothed erection, it’s gone, leaving you a whimpering mess. He plants a kiss beside one of your nipples, but denies it any direct contact.

"Stop teasing me," you whine. The pressure in your chest builds with every second that passes and you feel like your heart is going to burst.

He lets out a lofty sigh as he sits back on his thighs, promptly removing his t-shirt. "But you make it so easy..."

You wiggle out of the arms of the sweater and sit up to unsnap the button to his jeans. You kiss up his stomach until he’s unzipping the bra and letting you nip at the supple flesh for a moment. He discards the bra like it’s nothing before rolling over to unzip his pants. He peels them from his legs along with the soaked panties. It’s hard to not look at the mirror as he climbs over your waist. If he holds any shame for being nude in front of you, it’s not apparent in his current form. Your face, however, feels hot. Your body is exposed and he keeps looking at it, groping those breasts with his hands.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he says quietly, admiring the reflection as he plays with his nipples between his fingers.

You want to bury your face in something to hide your embarrassment so you plant your face between his tits and begin to suck bruises into the soft flesh beside his fingers.

“Oh fuck.” The sight of his own face diving between those squishy tits is enough to make his body involuntarily flex in ways he’s never experienced before.

“How does it feel?” you murmur, slowly licking a path to one of his nipples and lightly dragging your teeth along it.

The sound he makes when he moans has you shivering all over again. He lets his head fall back for a second and then he looks at you. “Like I want you to touch me.”

Now you’re the one who smirks with confidence. “Lay back.”

He snaps the band at your waist as he rolls off of you. “These. Off.”

Manicured fingers slip down to rub some of the tension from the swollen bud between his legs as he watches you awkwardly push the pants down past the cock begging to be touched. You try to avoid looking at it. It’s hard not to feel exposed even though it’s not your body. You scramble back into the bed as quickly as you can. His laughter catches you off guard.

“You’re so shy now. Look at it. Feel it,” he urges. “Grab my cock.”

You try to be casual about your downward glance but the way you lick your lips is anything but casual. You press your thumb into the base of the cock to admire its shape from a 90 degree angle. It’s average in terms of length but your mouth waters at the sight of the bulging veins and increased girth just below the swollen tip. You don’t bother to resist the urge to grip the shaft. You drag your hand up and trace your thumb around the fleshy mauve tip. The sensation causes you to shiver. It’s so sensitive.

As you’re admiring the way it tapers towards the base, soft, thinner fingers curl around yours and begin to guide them into a slow, controlled pumping motion that sets your nerves alight.

He quirks a brow at you. “What do you think?”

“Fuck, Yoongi,” you choke out with a held breath. Greedy gasps break the small silence that follows. Has it always been so hard to speak while masturbating? It’s not like you’re terrible at dirty talk so why are you hesitating?

“Do you need me to stop?”

You fervently shake your head and follow it with a needy groan. “No. Please… Keep going.” You hope he never stops.

“Then use your words” he urges, placing his hand over yours to slow your pace to a crawl.

You whimper. It’s a pathetic sound created with his voice in his throat, yet it still somehow sounds so deliciously like you. While he finds himself attracted to your usual body, it doesn’t bother him that you’re currently assuming a different form. Looks are fleeting anyway. It’s the person inside he’s grown attached to, the caring soul he feels connected to.

He’s seen you stare at the bulletin board near the restroom and tear off the tabs of creative community activities to benefit those in need. If he wasn’t so busy managing the store all the time he would have been able to sign up for those events too. He’s seen you volunteer at the homeless shelter just around the corner. He’s seen you cradling posters for your neighbor’s missing cat— he’d even let you keep one on the door to his store until you told him they found it.

The truth is that your soul is so beautiful and full that he’d want you no matter what you looked like. If only he had the courage to say that. But it's easier to hide behind snark.

“It feels so good,” you whine. “I wish I could put my mouth all over it. Bet you’d fill me so good.”

A growl escapes with his exhale and he guides your fist up and down the girth between your legs with increased vigor. He gently leads you by the dick, pulling you closer to the bed until your knees hit the side.

“Look in the mirror, Y/N. Watch,” he whispers in a low tone, almost begging you to keep your eyes on the reflection.

You do as he says and watch in awe as a set of manicured fingers tap against your chest and trail down to the cock still nestled in your fist. They work their way beneath your palm and shoo your hand away. Even knowing that Yoongi is behind the action, the sight of your hands stroking that perfect cock sets a fire of desire coursing through your veins.

You watch in the mirror as your lips plant kisses on the dark hair beneath Yoongi’s navel. You watch as your head sinks lower and lower until soft, plush lips are skimming the tip of his dick. You watch his length slide into your mouth and immediately your knees threaten to buckle.

His hands are already reaching up to stabilize your stance even as he glides his tongue against you. The pleasure is unlike anything you’ve felt before, but having your clit sucked and teased comes close. It’s heaven. You whimper a tortured sound sitting somewhere between the boundaries of pleasure and anguish. He plays your role so well, maybe even better than you could play it. You attempt to distract yourself from the nervous tremble of your thighs by gathering bits of his hair in your hands and balling it in your fists. He gargles out a muffled moan against you.

“I look so good sucking your pretty cock,” you whisper in awe.

He leans back to swipe his tongue over the slit and then sinks back down, nose hitting the tuft of dark hair at your pelvis as you bottom out in his throat. Your grip around his hair tightens with the slight rock of your hips. You press his face against your crotch like you never want him to leave. The pair of you look so fucking hot. You’re revelling in slow, shallow thrusts deep in his throat when he makes a gagging noise you know all too well. He grips your thighs and you immediately release your hold while pulling your hips back.

“Fuck I’m so sorry!” Heat rises in your face and you want to run and hide.

He rests his palm on your waist and catches his breath, a trail of sticky precum and thick spit connecting his mouth to your cock. It involuntarily flexes and bobs up towards your stomach and then back down, which severs the path of saliva.

“Don’t be. That was hot.” He wipes his lips with the back of his hand.

“Yoongi, you didn’t have to! I mean I was curious but I—”

You’re cut off by his harsh tug on your hands. You stumble forward and meet his dark gaze. How can he make your eyes look so hungry?

“I’m a firm believer in never asking someone to do what I wouldn’t. I like to know what I’m giving, don’t you?”

“God, I wish that were me. I want to taste you so bad,” you whine, licking your lips as you spare a glance down at the glistening appendage standing at attention between your legs. “Wanna taste you dripping off my tongue.”

“You can,” he assures you in a soft voice, cupping your face with his hands.

His lips are on yours in an instant and you’re moaning against them like you’ll never get enough. The salty tang on his tongue transfers to yours as it dips into your mouth. You wish you could take him into your mouth yourself, but this is a good substitute for now.

"You taste good," you pant between kisses. "Why haven't we done this sooner?"

He pulls away to shrug, cocking his head to the side and focusing on your neck. "If you want something you have to speak up. No one can read minds and even if they could, often times people are so wrapped up in their own heads they'd never see what you think.”

"Wow, getting philosophical on me, huh? So… What? I'm just supposed to say, ‘Hey yoongi you're hot. Wanna fuck’?"

"That's a little blunt don't you think?" He laughs, allowing you to push him back onto the mattress. "Been holding that back long?"

Your heart skips a beat, heat flushing your ears. "Maybe. Would it have made a difference?”

He ponders this for a moment as he squints at the ceiling in concentration. "Mmm. I'd say you should at least buy me dinner first… "

You scoff. It’s not a no but it’s not an enthusiastic yes either. You climb onto the mattress, trying to ignore how casually he lays in your bed, completely barren before you.

He rolls onto his side and props his head up to survey your approach. You seem a little nervous so it’s easier for him to fake confidence for both your sakes. "I guess we're both guilty of not saying what we mean."

"What is it you really mean to say then?" If he’s got a juicy secret he’s been holding in, then you want to know to salvage what’s left of your pride.

"I give you shit but I like that you come into the store every day to get your muffin and your gross energy drink. I like when you come back in after just to bitch about your day and pretend like you need a snack that I never see you eat. I like when you ask me about my day, even though you know I’m shit at conversation. It makes me happy because I care about…" he hesitates when he sees your smug grin. "...”

“Yes?” you prod.

He draws a deep breath from his belly. “You. I care about you. I’ve never found an opportunity to tell you that I like you. I’m always working, keeping my store afloat, focused on the numbers and the success of my business. But I see you coming out of that building every day. I watch for you to make sure even after a year of this that you’re still coming here first. It’s crazy but you put me at ease and make me anxious at the same time. I feel like I know you, like I’ve known you all my life.”

He pauses to allow you to interject. When you don’t, he continues, “I feel it in my bones when you smile at me, when you roll your eyes at me, when you try to make me laugh... You’re so easy to fall for. I know that I’m not, but sometimes you look at me and I feel like you want to. I want you to. I wish you would come back when I’m locking up for the night so that I could see you outside of work, so I could take you out, so I could take you home. A thousand possibilities are always running through my head when it comes to you and I freeze when I think about acting on any of them. That’s what I don’t say.”

“Yoongi…” you finally whisper.

Your face scrunches up like you’re about to cry and he grimaces at you, knowing you’re definitely about to do just that.

“Don’t do that. My cheeks look so fat when you do that. Hey, are you listening? Don’t make my face look so ugly!”

His attempts to make you smile simply causes the tears to fall from your eyes. You melt into his embrace, burying your face against his neck as you sob. He places a tentative palm on the back of your head.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, planting a kiss against your hair, “if it’s just me.”

“No, I feel the same way,” you admit, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “You say you’re hard to love but how can that be true when I feel what I feel so easily? I will wait for you to close your shop and walk you home every day if you let me. I will be yours, if you let me.”

He turns your head so that he can bring his lips to yours. They taste salty again for entirely different reasons. Can you feel the way he’s trembling right now? All the relief in the world can’t assuage the ache of carrying such a burden in his chest for so long. The adrenaline is coursing through him like a wildfire, spreading until his lungs are burning with a heat he can’t quell.

“Mine, then,” he whispers, allowing the tears to stream down his cheeks freely. “Mine.”

He tangles his fingers in your hair, pulling you into a passionate kiss that threatens to steal every last bit of oxygen from your lungs. He growls into your mouth, claiming every inch inside with his tongue. He grinds his hips upwards and it’s then you remember that you’re naked and you have a dick that’s still half-hard and growing harder by the second.

You groan loudly. “Fuuuuuck. I want to fuck you so bad right now.”

He pulls back to bite his lip, the intrigue in his features apparent. “You want to try it?”

“I mean… you sucked your own dick for me. You don’t owe me anything—”

“I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. I want to try it,” he says, wriggling his hips beneath you. “Fuck. Me.”

“This is still so weird,” you say with a giggle, your eyes rolling back into your skull when the tip of your cock glides against his clit. “Ah…”

The pair of you pause and slowly repeat the motion. You can feel how wet he is and instead of being embarrassed like you would be in his place, you find it incredibly hot.

“Do it again,” he pleads, spreading his legs further apart to allow you better access.

You look down, pressing your thumb into the base of your cock and carefully glide the tip across the folds between his legs. He hisses an expletive between his teeth when you drag it past his clit and begin rocking your hips back and forth.

“Yeah, just like that,” he whispers through frantic panting and sloppy kisses.

You feel a cramp in your thigh and pull back to nurse the ache. He whines when you slink away from his body, missing the friction on his clit already, although he’s satisfied enough when you circle one of his breasts with your tongue and take a nipple into your mouth. You press light circles into his clit with the pad of your middle finger until you can feel his legs flexing around your body like you’re not giving him enough. His fingers dive beneath yours to tease the swollen bud.

“Let me feel,” he pants. “Let me learn where to touch.”

You carefully guide his movements for a minute while treating his other nipple to the pleasures of your tongue. He seems to get the hang of stimulating himself pretty quickly so you turn your attention towards his thighs. You sink between them and begin kissing the sensitive skin beside his folds. His thighs twitch when you trace circles around his entrance with your tongue. You briefly pause to inspect your fingernails, making sure none of them are a jagged mess from the way he’s bitten them. When you’re satisfied with your inspection you peek up at him.

“You want to try my fingers first?” you ask, feeling envious that you can’t be riding three of them to the knuckle right now. “I can show you how my mouth feels too, though I doubt I’m an expert on that.”

“I don’t care about that.” He lifts his hand so he can peer down at you from between his tits. “I’ll take your mouth anywhere you want to give it.”

He watches as you flick your tongue across the sensitive, slick bundle of nerves. He bucks his hips as you clamp down and roll your tongue back and forth over it. His pretty painted nails look so good digging into your ebony hair. It’s not long until you dip a finger inside his cunt, teasing until you’re bobbing it in and out at a decent pace.

“Oh…” he says, as if he’s surprised that the experience is so pleasurable. “Shit, that’s good. Fuck. I’m gonna....”

You push another finger into him, curling the longest digit as far as you can to try and reach the g-spot you know is hiding nearby. When you finally get it he grips your shoulders and arches his pelvis off the ground like he’s committing to a new yoga routine. You recognize the stiffness in his limbs, the involuntary tremble of his thighs beside your head, the heaving of his chest and the frantic nonsense spilling out from his lips. You focus your energy on his clit, replacing your mouth with your hand since you have more confidence bringing about his climax this way.

His hips stutter and you know he’s riding the line. It’s a little bit more difficult to find that perfect rhythm when your hand isn’t in it’s normal position. The way he sucks in a breath to release his needy whines almost makes you feel guilty. It’s not like you’re trying to edge him but you’re not able to keep that pressure as consistent as you’d like.

“I’m so close,” he pants. “But I keep losing it. I’m sorry.”

You’ve been there plenty of times but you’re desperate to make him cum.

“It’s okay. Don’t be sorry. Rub it, baby. You know what feels good,” you whisper, shifting your attention to fingering his cunt. You don’t call attention to the pet name, but it feels so natural falling from your lips in this moment. You hope he doesn’t mind.

In an instant his fingers replace yours on his clit and he’s building back up. His thighs quake and his back arches off the mattress one more time and you know it’s coming. He’s about to reach his peak.

He takes a sharp inhale and where you expect the loud wails you would normally make while riding out your high, there’s quiet shuddering and softy breathy moans that linger in the air around you. He grabs your wrist with an ironclad grip as soon as he rides the last wave and his sweaty thighs fall limp around your face. You’re grinning like an idiot as he pulls you by the hair towards his lips, desperate to feel you, to taste you. His tongue is exploring every bit it can, trying to steal the essence from your mouth.

“Mmm. I want to taste that sweet pussy every day.“

“Do you… Still want me to fuck you?” You’re really trying not to sound hopeful but you can’t stop thinking about it.

He smirks and wipes the sweat from his brow. “Let me feel how well my cock fills you.”

“Do I need a condom?” you ask. “Are you clean?”

He laughs like it’s an absurd question. “That’s up to you. I haven’t had sex in four years. I’m clean. If you’re not worried, I’m not worried.”

“Four years is a long time,” you mumble, suddenly feeling pressure perform well. “I have an IUD so if you’re okay with it…”

“I wanna know how it feels.”

As soon as you line yourself up with his entrance you’re sweating like you’ve never sweated in your entire life. You don’t know what you’re doing, but you’re hoping it doesn’t suck. It doesn’t take a genius to sense your nerves. He reaches out to cup your stubbly jaw.

“We don’t have to.”

“I want to. Just… tell me if I’m hurting you,” you whisper before pressing your lips to his.

You let the tip dip inside and descend into his cunt slowly, knowing the thickest part of your dick follows the tip immediately. The stretch must be delicious. You’re distracted by how tightly his walls are clamping down on you. It’s tempting to bury yourself in his warmth as quickly as possible but you show restraint. His breath hitches as he adjusts to your girth and you freeze. Has your body ever taken someone as thick as him? You can’t recall. Probably not.

“Keep going,” he coaches, grabbing at your ass to press you further inside until you’ve bottomed out.

Your head hangs down as you try not to let the sensation overwhelm you. His lips find yours, helping you climb back down from the high. You slowly move your hips back, already missing the tight warmth hugging you. It takes a few more slow thrusts until you’re pumping into him at a relatively steady pace.

“Sorry if my rhythm isn’t good. I’ve never done this,” you manage to say between heavy breaths.

“You’re doing fine. This feels amazing. What are you talking about?”

He could be lying to make you feel better but it’s working. He puts his hands by his head to indicate he wants you to hold them. You immediately twine your fingers in his and press the back of his hands into the mattress.

“Yeah? It feels so fucking good, Yoongi.”

“It does... But I know you can fuck me harder than that, Y/N.”

You can already feel the tightness you’re holding back, a pleasurable pressure building in your pelvis that warns you of the imminent orgasm you can only stave off for so long. You can’t help but slam your hips in harder and faster at his request. The sound of balls slapping against skin fills the room and he moves his hips to meet yours. His breathing grows labored but you know he’s not about to cum again. You’ve never gotten off from penetration alone and there’s no way your sloppy performance will cause that miracle to happen now.

“There you go… Fuck. That’s it.”

“I’m gonna pull out,” you warn, feeling like you’re testing your own limits with every thrust.

“Already?” he teases, digging his pretty fingernails into your back.

“It feels… too fucking good, Yoon…” You wish you had more stamina. “Gonna cum on those pretty tits.”

“Yoon?” He chuckles, now distracted by the way his tits are bouncing with each slap of your hips.

“Just wait until I’m back in that body riding your cock. See how long you last then.”

“Is that a promise?” he questions, cupping your jaw to kiss you.

“...Yeah...”

He can feel the difference in your pace, in the shivers of your body. You’re about to cum. He turns your face towards the mirror so you can see how fucked out your reflection looks. It’s intoxicating seeing Yoongi’s body so needy and desperate.

“Look at you. You’re not gonna make it to these tits.”

“Fuck…” you bite your lip and try to slow your pace but it’s too late. The tension and pressure bursts from the head of your cock like a confetti popper on New Years. With a few, strong pumps you spill your seed into his warm cunt. “Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I’m cumming! I’m cummmph--”

Yoongi brings your lips back to meet his to muffle the unexpected sounds of your orgasm.

“Oh my goooood. You’re so loud,” he teases when you finally come down, but you’re too spent to refute him.

There’s another twitch in your dick and you lay there with your mouth open, trying to regain sense of your faculties. He intentionally clenches around your softening length and every muscle in your abdomen flexes.

“Too much!” you shriek, pulling out and rolling off of him in one swift motion.

You let your sweaty back hit the soft duvet, trying to recover from the sensation. He laughs, angling his legs towards the mirror. You’re about to ask what he’s doing when he spreads his legs and swipes at the cum dripping from his cunt, pushing it back inside with his fingers and releasing a soft sigh. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen yourself do, and you’re not even doing it.

When he’s satisfied that he’s pushed it all in, he lays down next to you. The two of you stare at the ceiling in silence for at least a minute. Is it awkward or was it just that good? You can’t tell the difference right now and it’s making you anxious. He covers your hand with his and looks over at you with a warm smile.

The anxiety-driven words come out before you can stop them. “You should pee. You don’t want a UTI and neither do I.”

╭⋟────────────────────────╮

╰────────────────────────⋞╯

About an hour has passed in awkward silence as the two of you conduct research on what the fuck happened to you. You haven’t talked about what you both did in this bed, but the smell of sex still hangs in the air. As soon as you both put your clothes back on it was like a switch of modesty came back into play, and you feel too shy to point it out. You don’t know what to say, so you’ve just been clicking on every link you possibly can to fill the silence as he scrolls through articles on his phone nearby. It’s uncomfortable and you hate it.

“I think I have something, maybe,” you say, scrolling through the 90s looking website you’ve been exploring for the last few minutes.

Yoongi scoots closer to you and furrows his brow as he squints to read the sloppy banner at the top of the page. “The Unsolved?”

“I know what you’re thinking. Conspiracy theorists are insane, I know, but—”

You reach for the trackpad at the same time and your fingers brush, causing you to freeze mid-sentence. You stare at the keyboard for a second and chew on your lip, allowing your eyes to dart towards your periphery without moving your head. When he doesn’t say anything you clear your throat and scroll with the trackpad.

“But, look.” You point to the two embedded images triumphantly.

“Necklaces.” He cocks his head to the side and reads the text underneath aloud. “‘An Amulet of Discord is used by an Agent of Chaos to spread mischief and debauchery in the universe. It can be split into two halves to displace unsuspecting victims from their bodies. A glamour will protect the Amulet once the ritual is complete, making it impossible to see or touch. In order to reunite the victim with their body, the Agent responsible must be compelled to remove the glamour and mend the fragmented pieces into one.’”

“Last night I had one of those chincy friendship necklaces on and I definitely did not put it on. It looked a lot like the ones that weird guy tried to give us at your shop yesterday. I tried to get it off but it wouldn’t budge. Then it disappeared.”

“This sounds insane,” he muses, mulling over the information.

“Did it happen to you too?”

“I thought I saw one briefly, but… It was gone when I looked again. I thought I must be seeing things.”

“It’s gotta be it!”

Yoongi furrows his brows as you scroll back up to the navigation, not sure if he fully believes in this explanation. “What’s an Agent of Chaos anyway?”

“I guess they like… cause mayhem for fun? I don’t know, the description said something about pleasing a patron that they get their powers from.”

“Like a god?”

The thought makes him uneasy. If a god of chaos exists then surely there are more out there. If gods exist but they do nothing to balance out the cosmic injustices of the universe, are they really gods or more like demons? He feels like he’s about to have a full meltdown over something he can’t understand or control.

“Maybe. It doesn’t describe them at all. But…” You give him a reassuring smirk. “It does give instructions on how to trap an Agent. We just need a little more space and some chalk. We’ll draw him out, trap him, then make him undo his magic. What do we have to lose?”

His heart feels lighter when you look at him so softly. “Makes it sound simple when you say it like that. Also, slightly insane.”

╭⋟────────────────────────╮

╰────────────────────────⋞╯

The website was very lax on defining the ‘discordant energy’ needed to summon the agent, so the pair of you have been improvising. Yoongi suggested moving into the store for the space you needed, but you have a feeling he’s just anxious about it being closed for the day. It’s fine. You don’t want to constantly be thinking about the sex neither of you are acknowledging right now. Yoongi is brushing his teeth after drinking a bottle of orange juice.

You grimace at him. “You really think that’s gonna do it?”

He stops mid-brush, his mouth full of foam and garbling his words. “It’s better than doing nothing. How are you helping?”

You give the sunglasses rack a slow spin. “I drew the sigil on the floor. If we’re gonna trap him we need to be ready. Were you able to find anything else?”

He clicks on your laptop a few times before hurrying into the back room. He reappears a moment later, wiping at his mouth. “That was gross.”

You watch him concentrate on the screen, trying to forget the way it felt to kiss him everywhere he would let you. It’s hard to focus on the task at hand when there’s this feeling lingering in your uneasy stomach. Are you doomed to never speak of the things that made your heart flutter?

“ A thousand possibilities are always running through my head when it comes to you and I freeze when I think about acting on any of them. That’s what I don’t say .”

You tell yourself you imagined those words, that you wished them into existence. You turn the rack of cheap sunglasses again. Even if you knew what you were looking for, you wouldn’t find it with the way your mind is wandering. You look back at Yoongi, debating whether or not you should speak up about the uncertainty in your gut.

“Keepsake!” he says excitedly, running out from behind the counter. “It says they often leave something behind so they can return to observe their work.”

His sudden movement makes you jump and loudly smack your hand against the stand in a panicked attempt to look inconspicuous. He pauses to look at you and raises an eyebrow but you’re already laser-focused on the rack again. Desperate to hide your growing embarrassment you pluck a pair of sunglasses that is strikingly similar to the ones you’d seen the man wearing that day.

As soon as you put them on you inhale sharply. “What the fuck?”

“Hmm?” Yoongi wonders. “What is it?”

“There’s something written… on the fridge.”

“What? Where?”

You lift the glasses up to be sure you can’t see the letters scrawled on the glass without them. The message disappears. Once you place them back on the bridge of your nose they practically glow, beckoning you towards them. You push past him on your way to the drinks section. “Here. It says… Now you have… specs appeal?”

Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s it?”

“What do you mean, ‘that’s it’? It was a solid pun.”

The pair of you look towards the sound of the stranger’s voice. Instead of forming words you exclaim a sound of surprise. He looks confused.

“You’re going to need to speak clearly. I’m not sure I understand your language.”

“You! You did this!” you shriek, taking a step forward.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” the man says with a puff of his cheeks. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “It’s not nice to accuse people of things. Have I done anything? Are you sure you’re not dreaming?”

A haze of golden dust spreads across the room like twinkling stars. As you blink and rub at your eyes you yawn and feel a sudden urge to lay down.

“Mmm. I am sleepy…” you admit as you sink to your knees.

Yoongi looks down at you like you’ve grown two heads. “Y/N, what are you doing?”

You laugh and lazily grapple with his leg. “Come lay down. Please? It’s made out of feathers.”

Yoongi watches you close your eyes. Suddenly your body falls limp at his feet. He crouches down to cradle your face in his hands, your name an urgent plea on his lips. “Y/N. Y/N wake up.” He pinches your cheek but you don’t respond.

“She wants this to be a dream. Don’t you?” The man takes a few casual steps forward.

“No, I don’t,” Yoongi growls. The threat sounds odd coming from this body, tone too meek to pass for intimidating. He glares at the man after reluctantly tearing his eyes from your sleeping form. It may be his body on the floor there, but you’re trapped inside it. “Wake her up.”

“She’s tired!”

Yoongi rises to his feet and shields your unconscious form as the man creeps closer. “Don’t take another step. You’re going to regret it.”

“Threatening me? Hah… You’re pretty bold, considering you’re not really in a bargaining position. Spunky! I’ll give you that. Say, I’m curious. What do you think I am anyway? I’ve got a bet going and I know I’m gonna win because I’m right, but I need proof. So if you wouldn’t mind speaking into this...”

Out of his pocket comes a microphone. He holds it out like he’s giving the most intense interview of his life as he awaits Yoongi’s response.

“You’re… Some kind of trickster.”

The man sucks his teeth and shoves the microphone back in his pocket. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind. So much for my bet… Come on. Don’t you think I look more like a god?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you work for one,” Yoongi muses, “but you sure aren’t one.”

“Wooooow….” The man sighs in disbelief. “The disrespect! At least you’re honest. I can appreciate that. I— ”

The stranger’s body seizes up as he takes another step forward. ”Ow!” His body convulses for a second before he regains his faculties. He looks down to find the sigil scrawled in chalk around his feet. Try as he might to scrape the markings off with his heel, his shoes are unable to scuff the powder. He furrows his brows and throws his hands in the air.

“Really? Are you kidding me? An integrity prison? Where did you learn this?”

Holy fucking shit. It worked, Yoongi thinks. He’s never been more relieved in his life.

“Wake her up,” he repeats calmly.

“I was gonna,” the man pouts, slumping into a cross-legged sit. “But now I really don’t want to. Would it kill you to have manners? Look at this. You’ve put me in a difficult little pickle here.” He reaches behind his back and pulls out a jar full of dill pickles. He fishes one out and takes a loud, crunchy bite. “I was just having a little fun and now I’m stuck here, doomed to this ugly little space.”

Yoongi crosses his arms, quickly losing patience. “Stop being dramatic.”

The man glowers at him and crunches on the last bit of the pickle with slow, loud chewing.

Yoongi lets out an exasperated sigh. “Please, stop being dramatic.”

With a surprised nod, the man gulps down the pickle and hops to his feet. “Well, you said please, at least. Was that really such a big... dill?”

Right as Yoongi groans, the man snaps his fingers and flexes his pointers into finger-guns. You immediately yawn and sit up.

“What happened?” you mumble.

Yoongi offers you a hand and you take it, rising to unsteady feet. He wraps a hand around your waist to support your weight. “You took a nap but you didn’t miss much. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you murmur, the haze lifting from your sleepy eyelids. You gasp as your eyes focus on the man trapped between the center aisles. “Huh! We got him!”

“Yeah, yeah. Time to celebrate. You trapped me. Good job.” The sarcasm in his tone is evident, accompanied by a roll of his eyes. Confetti falls from above your heads, showering the pair of you in glitter and shiny streamers with the flick of his wrist. “Now let me out.”

You’re blown away by the bizarre moment, springing forward and out of Yoongi’s grasp. “Magic? Then, are you really… a god?”

The man pats his pockets frantically. “Finally! Someone with a sense for my greatness! Ugh! I should have been recording. Damn! Where’s my microphone?”

“Gods don’t get trapped with chalk,” Yoongi says, folding his arms and tapping his toe impatiently. “This guy is an underling. Hey! Don’t get too close!”

Your mouth hangs agape in awe as you approach the man. Scrutiny must be new for him because he seems stunned. That wide-eyed expression is erased quickly enough when he strikes a heroic pose, planting his hands on his hips and puffing his chest out. His pecs and shoulders seem to inflate when he inhales, causing them to swell into well-defined muscles.

“Oh.” You blink a few times, entranced by the sudden transformation. You reach your hand out as if to touch the meaty bicep practically bulging from his sleeve. “Who… What... are you, really?”

“Y/N!” Yoongi’s hands enclose around your waist, pulling you back into him just as your hand is about to break the barrier.

The man’s muscles deflate with his held breath as he bursts into a fit of squeaky laughter. “Oh! I almost had you!” He wheezes a squeaky sound through his inhale that you can only guess is laughter. He clears his throat. “My name is Jin. Matchmaker…” He holds up two matches in his hands and sets them alight with a flick of his wrist.

“Lover...” He winks and the matches disappear. In their stead are two roses. He tosses them at the two of you but when you go to catch yours it disintegrates.

Yoongi catches the disappointment on your face and thrusts the flower towards you, hoping it will restore the shine to your eyes. You give him a big, cheesy smile as you dust glitter from his hair.

“Ah… And! Balancing agent…” He stands on one foot as a seesaw appears to lift him into the air. He jumps down triumphantly with a bow. “At your service.”

You clap enthusiastically until you look over at Yoongi, who looks less than amused. You then nudge him with your elbow until he gives a solitary clap.

“What’s a balancing agent?” Yoongi asks dryly.

“We restore balance to the world. Things that are too uniform need a little chaos. Things that are too chaotic need to be put back into line. In our down time we like to have fun in our own ways. Me? I like to set people up.”

“So you’re not an Agent of Chaos?” you ask, disappointed that the conspiracy theorist page that led you to this point isn’t exactly the fountain of knowledge you had hoped for. There’s so much you don’t know.

Jin looks at you, clearly confused. “I mean some people call me Cupid, but I guess you can call me that. Has a nice ring to it. My powers are more inclined for chaos.”

“Cupid?”

“What? I’m a romantic. I can see the strings of fate! Also I may have a penchant for mischief, but that’s neither here—” He points at his feet. “Nor there!” He points at the shelf beside you which causes a bag of chips to burst, sending its contents everywhere.

“Hey!” Yoongi yells. “Are you going to pay for those?”

“Yoongi…”

“What?”

You can tell he’s irritated but clearly this guy can do a lot more than pop a bag of chips from across the room. You don’t want to fall on the bad side of his magic but you don’t exactly trust Yoongi’s mouth to keep you in Jin’s good graces.

“Stop being rude,” you whisper through clenched teeth.

He scoffs and answers you in a hushed tone. “How am I rude? He’s making a mess!”

“Then we’ll ask him to unmake it.” Your irritation heightens the volume of your voice to the point where it’s barely a whisper anymore.

“He’s playing with us. I’m through asking.”

“Yoongi.”

“Y/N.”

Jin laughs. “See, this is what I mean. Fate is practically screaming for me to help you. Chaos is just an added bonus for this boring town.”

You both look at him and ask in unison, “What?”

He points to the both of you. “Look.”

As you turn back to face Yoongi you’re shocked to see a pale blue orb glowing above his head. “Huh? What’s that?” You reach out to touch it but your hand passes through it without any change.

“You have one too,” he mumbles, squinting at the way a thin line seems to stem from it. Then he sees another. And another. It looks like a shiny, glittering web that splinters into a thousand different directions. His brows furrow as he inspects the tiny threads. “Do you see them?”

Your gaze follows his pointer and suddenly you can see the branching strands too, not just yours, but his as well. It’s beautiful. It’s overwhelming. It’s terrifying. Seeing the trepidation written on your face he silently beckons your attention to his finger, which is pointing to a thread that is golden instead of a pale blue hue. It’s the only one of its kind in the intricate glittering lattice between the two of you. You follow his pointer as it traces the path that stems from your orb until it gets closer to his and then you take over, finishing the path with your finger to the point where his orb engulfs the line.

“What is it?” you wonder aloud.

“A string of fate,” Jin answers with a wistful sigh. “It’s always exciting to see one, isn’t it? It means you’re soulmates.”

“Hah. Bullshit,” Yoongi responds, waving the air with his hands as if to disrupt the strings. They remain intact. “You just like causing mischief.”

Jin puffs his cheeks and scowls. “I can lie about a lot of things, but the strings aren’t one of them,” he huffs. “Why would I need to do that? What’s more unpredictable than true love slapping you in the face?”

He makes a motion with his fingers and sweeps them towards Yoongi.The compulsion rises and you’re powerless to stop it. Your hand moves of its own accord and lightly slaps Yoongi across the face. He looks betrayed as he rubs his cheek.

“I’m sorry! It wasn’t me!”

The tingle in your arm causes it to move back towards him in a gentle swoop. Your wrist is limp as it smacks into his chin and rubs back and forth as if to comfort him. Jin bursts into a fit of laughter as he breaks the compulsion.

Yoongi lets out an exasperated sigh, stomping up towards the circle around the stranger. “Just change us back and you can go on causing problems elsewhere.”

“I can’t,” Jin answers simply, crossing his arms. “The charm will break only under specific conditions.”

“And those are?”

Jin shrugs with his bottom lip protruding as he frowns. “It’s different for everyone.”

“Of course it is.” Yoongi sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, pacing back towards you.

“There are some things you can try. Staples of the trade.” Jin notes some dirt beneath his fingernails and begins cleaning them. “Number one. Have you tried talking about your feelings?”

Yoongi’s gaze settles on yours and it’s like you can feel your heart stop. Say something. You open your mouth to speak but the words won’t come so you snap your jaw shut and stare at the glitter on the floor.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Yoongi says as he folds his arms across his chest, trying to not get distracted by the breasts he inadvertently touches. He decides to drop his hands to his hips instead.

Jin rolls his eyes. “Okaaaay... Number two is filling the chaos meter. Go crazy. Do the unexpected.”

“I don’t know what we’d do,” Yoongi admits, pacing around the circle.

“What if we kissed?” The voice is soft and sweet.

He turns to face you, a combination platter of surprise and confusion. “But we did.”

“Reeeeally?”

Jin’s laughter makes him feel like a fool. He was convinced you said it, despite knowing your voice is not your own right now. How stupid could he be, walking right into that? He squeezes his eyes shut a moment and then focuses his attention on the captive.

While Yoongi is distracted you’re working a pack of mentos out of their packaging. You kneel down and twist the cap off one of the liters of cola placed on the endcap you. The hiss of the carbonation makes Yoongi shift attention.

Your name on his lips is half a warning, half a question loaded with uncertainty. You open another bottle beside it before he can get close enough and drop mentos into each. The liquid erupts into two fizzy fountains that reach the ceiling and spill back down to the floor. Yoongi takes off his hat and grips his hair like he wants to tear it out.

“What are you doing?”

“Filling the meter?” you answer meekly with a shug, stepping back from the puddle on the floor.

Jin roars with laughter. “Oh man. There is no meter, but that was delightful.”

Yoongi grumbles and goes back to the counter, grabbing the laptop and sinking down behind it to hide from the pandemonium of this situation.

“You’re the worst,” you mutter as you pass Jin. You quickly sit next to Yoongi on the floor.

“It was a joke!” Jin calls. “Come on, don’t leave me alone here.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize as his fingers rapidly tap the keys. “I’m trying to help.”

“I know.”

“What are you looking for?” you whisper.

Yoongi listens for a minute to the grumbling of the man trapped in the circle nearby. “How to trick a trickster. I have a feeling we need him to undo it but he won’t come out and say it.”

You sigh and press your chin against his shoulder. “I’m tired.”

He looks over and tips his head down to nuzzle his cheek against you. “I know.”

“Huh?” Your vision diverts to a shiny blue can beside him. “Are you serious?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah.” He picks it up and quickly downs the last sip, the Hot6 Logo shining back at you in mockery. “I found it earlier and needed a pick-me-up.”

“Did you find more?”

“Nope. Just the one.”

“But…” you pout. “I wanted it.”

He holds the empty can out to you. “It’s grown on me.”

“I’m about to die without the sweet taste,” you whine, shaking the can to make sure there’s nothing left.

“You’re so obnoxious.”

He rolls his eyes and cups your jaw, leaning in to press his lips against yours. You don’t protest when he dips his tongue past your lips to rub against yours. You can taste remnants of the drink on his tongue. If Hot6 wasn’t your favorite drink before this, it is now.

“Better?”

“Maybe. Still not sweet enough.” You giggle.

He takes the opportunity to kiss you again, crushing your mouth against his in a deeper kiss. You’re practically melting into him as his tongue glides against yours, moving in a rhythm that you now crave. It’s so easy to forget everything else, where you are, what’s happened to you. He moves to straddle your lap, grinding down intentionally as he grips the back of your neck. He knows you’re half-hard already and fuck if he doesn’t just want to have you again. You’re the only thing that feels real right now.

He pulls down the zipper of the hoodie you’ve given him to allow access to his neck. It’s not until he allows you to latch onto the sensitive flesh there, with his hands buried in your hair, that he notices the security mirror. You’re so hot. He wants to be in you so badly but he’ll settle for you being in him right now.

╭⋟────────────────────────╮

╰────────────────────────⋞╯

Suddenly he notices the other person in the mirror. Jin is sitting cross-legged on the floor in his invisible prison, resting his chin on a hand as he stares back through the reflection with eyebrows raised. Yoongi quickly clears his throat and climbs off of you. You blink in confusion at the disruption until he points at the mirror and then you cast your gaze at the floor.

“We should take care of this.” He runs his fingers through his hair to compose himself before placing the cap back on his head and focusing his attention back on the computer.

“Wow, you almost went there with me watching. That would have done it for sure,” Jin says, breaking into a grin.

“Come on!” you shriek, popping up from behind the counter. “Please, just change us back.”

“I told you. I can’t,” he repeats firmly. “I actually don’t lie as often as you seem to think I do. Maybe you should try having sex. They say the soul leaves your body for an instant when you reach the finish line, you know. It can’t hurt. Ohhhh wait a minute...”

He jumps to his feet after watching the guilt flash across your face. Your eyes seem to dart around him, but never land close enough to his. Blood rushes through your ears, drowning out all the sounds that aren’t your heartbeat.

He smiles wickedly. “Oh my god, you already did. I mean, I get it. Who wouldn’t be curious? It’s only human to wonder. Oh, to be human… Seriously, have you tried talking about your feelings?”

You turn towards Yoongi and crouch back on the floor, disappearing from Jin’s view. He steps on his tiptoes to try and see around the counter before settling back on the security mirror. You can’t help but focus on his nosiness.

“Yoongi. I... Look. Can we go in the back? I need to talk to you. Privately.”

Jin clicks his tongue and sighs as the pair of you cross the store and slip into the door that reads ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY.’ You breathe a sigh of relief when Yoongi locks the heavy door behind you. He bites at his nails--your nails as he waits for you to say whatever you need to. You take his hands into yours.

“Things are weird right now and not just because of this,” you hold up his hands in yours. “Are you regretting everything now?”

He smirks and gives you a small laugh. He slinks away to rub the back of his neck. “I don’t regret anything. I mean what I said. I care about you. I just… I get embarrassed, I guess.”

He’s embarrassed? You didn’t think he was capable with how blunt he normally is. “Sorry,” you mumble. “I’m insecure. Sexy, right?”

Time seems to slow as he draws near. There’s a lighthearted laugh on his lips before they meet yours. It feels like the first time all over again. Butterflies erupt in your stomach and you throw your arms around his neck, desperate to get closer even though you’re already pressed up against each other. You lean into him as you gasp in his hot breaths between kisses. To counteract the weight you’ve pressed against him, he pushes you backwards. Your arms fly back to catch yourself as you stumble but you knock into a freestanding shelving unit. Cans of soup clatter to the floor and roll off in various directions as Yoongi steadies the rack to keep it from falling.

He sighs, dropping his forehead to your shoulder in defeat. “We should focus.”

You whimper and will yourself to move the pair of you away from the wire rack. You run your fingers through your hair and attempt to compose yourself. Everything feels like a dream. It’s hard to think with him consuming the majority of your thoughts. You clear your throat, hoping your mind will also clear with the action.

“Hey,” he says, fingers on the latch. He pauses to lock eyes with you. “It might have seemed like the heat of the moment, but I really mean what I said. So tell me you’ll stick around after this is done?”

You run up and lace your fingers in his free hand before giving it a firm squeeze. “Promise.”

As he opens the door Jin jumps like you’ve startled him with your presence. “Whoa, I thought maybe you’d murdered one another. I heard a loud bang.” His gaze drops to your entwined hands. “What? Did you finally embrace destiny?”

“Destiny. No destiny. It doesn’t matter,” Yoongi says calmly as he squeezes your hand. “This could all be a dream. But we’re here now. We care about each other in this moment. That’s real. That matters.”

Jin does a slow clap while grinning from ear-to-ear. “Wow! It usually takes people a few days, maybe a week!” He looks at his wrist as though he’s wearing an invisible watch. “It’s been, what, a day? You did good.”

“Does that mean you’re going to help us now?” You perk up immediately.

“I mean I think you’ve helped yourselves. You look happy. You’re comfortable, right? Can’t you just let me go and keep existing like this?”

When he’s met with silence he sighs. “Ahh, well there is one more thing you can do, I guess. Have you tried checking your pockets?”

His suggestion is met with eyerolls from the both of you. While nonsensical, the unexpected has become a staple of your current state of existence and you feel you owe it to yourself to at least entertain the possibility. Your fingers slip into your pocket and explore the ridges of the hard object nestled against the fabric. Excitement courses through you as you pull your half of the locket from the confines of your sweatpants. Dumbfounded, Yoongi sticks a finger into his tight jeans and fishes the other half of the necklace out of his pocket.

“Hah, I can’t believe you didn’t even look,” Jin says with a laugh. “Now put them on, place the pieces together and say ‘Me Hoy Nimoy.’”

You exchange a skeptical look with Yoongi but you both comply and blurt the phrase soon after linking the pieces of the necklace together. You hold your breath, waiting for something spectacular to happen but disappointment soon floods your lungs. Just as you’re about to speak up, Jin clicks his tongue.

“Ah, close your eyes. It won’t work if you’re watching.”

Yoongi grumbles. “You’re fucking with us.”

“Hey, some magic is shy. Follow the rules. Do you think I’m just making this all up?” he pouts.

Your answer comes in unison with Yoongi’s: “Yes.”

Jin looks hurt as he clutches a hand over his heart and staggers backwards. “Woooooow. Well, just do one more thing then. ”

A devilish grin soon replaces the expression and his squeaky laughter fills up the store. He points at the pair of you with both fingers and wags his fingers in circles. You feel compelled to turn in place. Yoongi matches the uneasiness in your gut with the panic in his eyes. You both spin in circles away from one another. Once. Twice. Three times. Just as you’re about to complain about the nausea churning fresh waves in your belly, Jin waves his hands inwards.

You’re lifted into the air. The toes of your sneakers leave behind squeaky skidmarks of rubber on the tile as the pair of you are dragged forward. Jin cocks his head to one side and examines you with an expression of stone. For a split second you’re terrified but then he breaks into a grin and snaps his fingers. His thumbs and index fingers form the shape of a heart as he holds them out and you drop to the floor.

Yoongi reaches out for your shoulder. There’s a soft tremble to his fingers as he pulls you close to him. When you look upon his visage you can already see his jaw transforming, a thin stubble growing in along its perimeter. Every time you close your eyes to blink more of his face has morphed back into his own. You look down at your own fingers and watch as the nails narrow and elongate. A glossy pink hue returns to them but the polish looks slightly less finished with the way Yoongi has gnawed on the edges all day.

Suddenly Yoongi is frantically scrambling to his feet, kicking off his shoes and working the zipper down on his jeans. Everything is quickly growing far too tight. The hoodie you’d given him just barely covers his crotch as he stands up straight. He looks over at you with a relieved sigh and cups your jaw.

“You good?” he asks, rubbing the pad of his thumb across your chin. It takes all of your self-control to keep from licking it as it grazes your lip.

You nod, eyes falling to the necklace dangling over his sweatshirt. As soon as you reach out to yank it off, the trinket disappears in a puff of purple smoke with a clap of Jin’s hands. He holds them in place like a silent prayer just below his chin, a strained smile staining his face just above his fingers.

“So, here’s the thing. I’m gonna need you to hold up your end of the deal.”

“Fix my store first. Clean up this mess you’ve caused,” Yoongi says while taking a step in front of you.

Jin’s bottom lip protrudes into a pout as he eyes the puddle of cola on the floor. “I didn’t do that,” he complains under his breath.

It’s incredible how close he came to freedom, incredible and frustrating. His magic may not be able to touch or alter the circle, but you almost freed him with your ignorance. If the liquid had run close enough to seep into the chalk, he would be somewhere far more sunny and beachy right now. He’s earned a vacation for this milestone of success.

“Fiiiine,” he concedes.

With a snap of his fingers the store is spotless once more. While Yoongi inspects the area of the tile floor previously coated in cola and glitter, you glide your foot over the circle of chalk and break the seal that binds Jin to his current location.

“Finally…” he sighs, side-stepping out from the invisible barrier. “You’re welcome, by the way. Invite me to the wedding, okay? Don’t forget the little people who helped you on the way. As for me... I’ve got a date with the pearly beaches of Accord.”

He swirls his wrist in the air and the pair of ugly red mirrored sunglasses appear on his nose just in time for him to adjust them. He lowers the specs to give you a wink before snapping his fingers. Before you can even call out for him to wait, he’s gone in a puff of purple smoke that quickly dissipates. You’re left in stunned silence to contemplate your existence.

What are you supposed to make of everything?

As you stand there on the cusp of a mental breakdown, soft, velvety petals brush against your cheek to steal your attention. The scent of the flower overtakes your senses as Yoongi uses it to tickle your nose. You find him smiling back at you, almost like he’s too shy to speak, but then he does.

“Weird day huh? Can I have my pants back?”

You hum thoughtfully, making sure the shutters of the shop are still shielding you both from the outside world. “Would you mind if I wanted to get back in them later?”

He snorts, holding back a laugh. “Been waiting to use that all day?”

“No, I just thought of it right now. Aren’t I impressive?” you say, wiggling your eyebrows at him. You shimmy out of the sweatpants and leave them pooled on the floor, doing your best to walk past him with grace and seduction.

“So impressive.”

He offers an amused laugh when you bend over to pick up the garments he was so quick to discard when his transformation reverted. You spare a glance behind you to see if he’s looking at the way you so blatantly flaunt your ass. He’s in the middle of dragging his bottom lip through his teeth when your eyes steal his attention.

“Something wrong?” A wicked grin belies your innocent tone.

He exhales a long breath and shakes his head, turning his attention to pulling his pants up. “Impressive isn’t the word. You’re obnoxious.”

“Isn’t that your way of saying you wanna make out?”

He’s quiet as he takes off the remainder of your clothes to reveal a muscular chest riddled with goosebumps. It’s hard to hide how your grin spreads wider as he approaches with them in hand. You’ve had dreams like this: he’s shirtless, asking you to take off your clothes so he can fuck you in his store. Right here with your tits against the cold glass of the fridge. It would be a dirty secret only the two of you would know and you’d think about it every time you’d come in for your energy drink.

You slowly lift the hoodie from your own body, trying to appear as alluring as possible. You make sure to arch your back as your breasts briefly catch in the fabric and then drop against your ribs, completely exposed to the chilly air. Much to your dismay he’s quick to spin away from you and mutters a “thanks” instead of naughtier offers.

He’s aware you might mistake it for rejection, but he’s hoping you don’t see the way his fingers tremble. It’s incredible how scared he feels being back in his own skin. The intimacy of your connection left a void behind that’s quickly filling with disquiet. He feels incomplete without a piece of you with him, lost in the vast emptiness of himself. How can he feel such need for you? His chest aches with the possibility that he won’t ever feel whole again. The bravery that possessed him while piloting your body has waned. Now that normalcy is somewhat restored, he has the chance to start processing the events of the day. A part of him begins to embrace the panic he’d previously pushed down and his confession replays in his mind as though he’s just spoken it.

It was a bold move, especially given the situation. It could have ended horribly. He puffs out his cheeks and holds his breath, trying to remind himself that it didn’t. It’s okay to let go of the anxiety over it, but he still feels so uncertain. Even turned away from you and fully clothed, he’s never felt more exposed and vulnerable. He tries to hide the burning of his ears by running his fingers through his hair and shielding them with his arms. He has to bring himself back or else you’ll be talking him down from a panic attack and he doesn’t want you to see him like that.

Stupid. Stop throwing yourself at him. You struggle to put on the tight clothing as quickly as possible. Tears threaten to fall as you awkwardly wiggle your jeans back and forth up your thighs and over the swell of your ass. You make sure to swipe at the corners of your eyes before clearing your throat to signify you’re fully changed. He spins to face you but everything he means to say gets lost on the way to his mouth. He freezes, overwhelmed by how beautiful you are even in this shitty lighting, and how thankful he is to be able to see you through his own eyes.

His heart pounds at the confines of his chest like it needs to burst from within. There’s a small burst of adrenaline that plumes from the explosion of butterflies in his stomach. It fills him with the courage he needs to close the distance between you with a kiss, the kind of kiss he’s been dreaming of giving you for months. Right here in this store.

He loves how eager you are to reciprocate when he tangles his fingers in your hair. He holds you there like you’re about to melt away in a puff of smoke. Your lips are so soft, so sweet, so warm pressing against his. His tongue rolls over yours, desperate to keep tasting and feeling more. You grasp behind his neck and dig your fingernails into his shoulder as he deepens the kiss. When you roll your hips towards him as a subtle test for determining his hardness, you can feel him smile against your lips.

“Not in the store.” He gives you one more chaste kiss and pulls back just enough to allow you both to breathe. He adjusts one of the boxes on the nearby shelves. “You already drive me crazy. If we do it here I’m going to be thinking about it every time I’m stocking shelves.”

“Yoongi…” you whine. “Please tell me you’re keeping it closed for the day.”

He sighs as he plucks his phone from the counter to check the time. “Might as well.”

“Can I walk you home?” You chew on your lip as you wait for his response. What you wouldn’t give to spend the night with him.

Unable to hide the smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, he nods his head towards the exit. “Why would we waste our time?”

Your heart sinks into your butt, thinking this must be it. He changed his mind after all. He hates you. There’s no doubt about it now. All you can manage is a squeaky, “Hmm?”

He rests his palm on the handle of the door and he presses his lips into a thin line, looking wide eyed. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so adorably hopeful and embarrassed at the same time. “You live closer.”

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The comforter at your back is soft and cool to the touch as you scramble to settle yourself against the pillows. Yoongi wastes no time wiggling off his sweatpants and climbing over you. The sound of your panting mingles with his as he hovers above you with his lips parted, trying to catch his breath. If the hurried ascent up the stairs wasn’t enough to have him gasping for air, the makeout session just inside your front door definitely has him devoid of oxygen. This still feels like a dream, but it’s one he doesn’t ever want to wake up from.

"How do you want it?" he whispers. He glides a finger up your thigh and lightly traces circles around your labia.

Your mind travels back to your earlier experience of coming undone and suddenly your stomach is doing flips.

"Just like this," you answer. "I want to feel you just like this. Do you remember where to touch?"

He nods, skimming his parted lips over yours while he places his finger over the hood of your clit. "Like this, right?"

"More pressure," you plead, working your hips in circles to coach his movements.

He does as you instruct and clamps his mouth over yours in a futile attempt to find relief for the aching need to be inside of you. He grinds himself against your side, his cock rubbing against your soft, heated skin as he tries to remember the exact motions needed to elicit enough pleasure to make you cum. He doesn't have to wait long until frenzied, weak moans are vibrating against his mouth so he turns his attention to your neck. He wants to hear how fucked out you are. He wants to hear how badly you want to cum. He wants to feel you pulse around his fingers.

As he plunges a thick finger deep into your cunt, a pathetic, desperate sound escapes you. "Oh, fuck."

"Feel good?" he mumbles into the hollow space between your neck and shoulder.

"Please. Please. Please. Please," you whimper incoherently, bucking your hips to meet each thrust of his finger. You can feel his cock rutting against your side and all you can do is imagine that he's pumping it into you instead of his fingers. "Oh fuck, Yoongi."

His lips twitch into a smile as he feels you tighten around his finger. He kisses your neck and sinks a second finger carefully inside you. You allow your head to fall against the pillow and bite your lip to try to contain the drawn out needy groan already helplessly spilling out of you. So close. Your back arches off the mattress and he wishes he wasn't so concentrated on the motions of his hands right now because he would absolutely love to be tonguing your perfect tits.

He pants against your skin and looks at them longingly. Maybe he can manage it? He's determined to use what he's learned about your body to help you cum, but not yet. You can't help but whine at the loss as he repositions himself, which breaks the sightline you had on your orgasm.

"Yoooongi... I was close..." You whimper when he abandons your cunt entirely to press your tits together. His mouth is hot as it clamps down on your nipple, giving the peak a hard suck before dragging it through his teeth.

"I know. Wanna make you cum with my tongue," he murmurs into the supple flesh.

He swipes his fingers along your cunt and swirls the wetness over your clit before bringing it to his mouth. You can already see how they glisten in the low light of your bedroom. The low moan that rumbles its way from his throat has you rocking your hips up against his pelvis as he settles between your legs. Your silent grinding isn't enough of a confirmation. He wants to hear you say it.

"Can I go down on you?" He blurts the shameless question while alternating between kissing both of your breasts and only pauses to meet your eyes.

You want to feel him everywhere but mostly you want his mouth on yours while he’s balls deep inside you. You don’t even care if you cum because being with him like this feels good. Being with him fills your heart with giddy hope and your stomach with butterflies. Being with him is enough. You want to tell him that but instead you nod and whimper out a pathetic “please.”

He wastes no time dipping his head down between your thighs to press the flat of his tongue against your clit. A low growl escapes with his exhale before he puckers his lips to kiss the soft skin and breathe in the heavy scent of your arousal. You’d be embarrassed if his tongue didn’t feel so magical. It glides against you so effortlessly, bringing pleasure with every quick flick against you.

Your hands dive into his hair and you start rolling your hips to grind his face harder against you. He doesn't seem to mind though. In fact he seems to embrace the motion, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you in as closely as possible. If you weren't so preoccupied with the orgasm building just below the surface of the place where his tongue keeps hitting then you might worry that he's suffocating himself. Right now all you can focus on is the pleasure threatening to break you open and leave you spilling a million curses into the air around you.

"Yoongi. Fuck. I'm close," you warn, as if the frantic way you've twirled his hair around each of your fingers isn't enough to tip him off. Do you really think he can't feel the shaking of your thighs in this moment?

He hums a sound like he doesn't hear you, but he doesn't let up at all. He keeps his pace steady for you as you approach your end once again. Your nails scratch against his scalp but he doesn't mind. He actually really likes the way you're losing your mind over the simple things he's doing with his tongue right now. He can't even begin to imagine the pretty sounds that might spew from your lips with practiced effort but he knows he can't wait to hear them.

Suddenly your hand flies up to pound the wall behind you and you announce the wave of pleasure coursing through your clit through the use of a loud string of expletives. He can feel the way your flesh pulses beneath his tongue and he revels in it. You ride his face so well. You can ride it for as long as you want as often as you want. He wants to tell you that but he also wants you to ride out your high for as long as it lasts, so he lets you buck your hips and raise your cunt off the bed. He lets you thrash around through the sensitivity until you're finally pushing his face off with both hands.

"Good? Do you need more?" he verifies, rising from between your legs to deliver a messy, wet kiss to your lips. He smirks through it, knowing he really doesn't need to ask at all to know the answer.

"Cheeky fuck," you murmur, not bothering to even attempt to hide your matching grin against him. "I need it."

"What do you need?" His fingers trail a soft line down your side, reminding you that his teasing nature is simply a front for his caring heart.

"I need you inside me." Your breathing is spotty as you pepper kisses along his jaw. "Like this. I want you to feel me the way I felt you."

It doesn't take long until you're tasting yourself on his lips again. He shifts slightly and you know he's lining himself up with your entrance when you feel the swollen tip of his fat cock nudging at your hole. He's slow to thrust into you. In fact he stills, only giving you shallow, teasing thrusts. He favors letting you wiggle down just a little bit to coax him in. He smiles against your lips and pushes in further, giving you that stretch you were hoping for.

When you suck in a sharp breath he pulls out, but as soon as you whine in protest, he's already carefully moving to slide it back in. The slow stretch has your jaw dropping open and he takes the opportunity to bite on your lower lip. You take the bait and feed him hungry kisses until he’s completely buried inside of your tight cunt. He takes a moment to growl a low sound that has you clenching around him.

“So tight,” he whispers, pausing to curl an arm beneath your head.

He presses the back of your hand against the mattress as he twines his fingers with yours. He drives himself deeper into you with each slow thrust and it feels like he still can’t get close enough. So you raise your other arm above you and angle it until you’re linking your fingers with the ones beneath your head. You kiss his cheek and savor the intimate moment.

When he lazily sinks into your cunt again you crack a smile. “Can't you fuck me harder than that?"

"Mmm." He lifts his head and seems to accept your challenge. His hips pull out slowly and suddenly slam back into you. This sets a new fervent pace that has you squeezing both of his hands. "What do you think? Is this better?"

You do little to actually answer his question and instead offer a slew of swears and moans each time his balls slap against your ass. "Shit. Fuck, fuck fuck. Yoongi..."

"What kind of answer is that?" he asks innocently.

"God, your cock..."

"Mhm," he prods.

"Feels so good, Yoon."

He chuckles. "Yoon... Cute."

"I'll show you cute," you huff.

"Oh?"

You release his hands in favor of pressing your palms against his chest. He pulls out and before you can miss the way he fills you, you're flipping him down on the mattress. You swing a leg over his pelvis and straddle him. It takes you a moment to properly position yourself. You give his length a few pumps in your hand before lining it up with your entrance.

"Careful," he warns, planting his hands on your thighs. "Don't wear yourself out."

You sink down quicker than you probably should. You're eager to make him cum faster than he did for you. The wetness in your core seeps down in translucent trails down your inner thighs. Your own brand of lubricant seems to be enough to keep the stretch pleasurable. Yoongi bites his lip as he gazes down at the way you're bouncing on his cock. You know how good it feels for him, especially with how hard your pussy is squeezing him.

"Don't worry about me."

The sensory overload building in your gut coated with the memory of the unique experience. It mixes with the high threatening to burn its way from your core. You take a deep breath and exhale loudly before you continue. You revel in a slow descent, memorizing every kind of way the stroke makes you feel. Then you begin to quickly draw him in and out of your cunt. The obscene sounds of wet, rapid slapping fill the room.

After a few minutes you've finally got a good rhythm down. Despite the cramp throbbing down your obliques, he's hitting that sweet spot inside you at just the right angle. If you didn't know any better you'd think you're about to cum again. You steady yourself on his chest and trail your hand to his stomach to maintain your balance. Trying to keep the unrealistic pace you'd previously set for yourself is proving difficult, but you swear you're feeling like maybe you're about to crest into the biggest climax of your life. Then again, it could certainly be the biggest letdown now that you're aware of it. Your orgasms have left you for less.

Yoongi knots his eyebrows together in concentration and he reaches down to rub circles against your clit. His fingers are clumsy and new to this angle but they're feather light. He can see in your face that you're chasing some great new high and he just wants to help you achieve it without overdoing it. He knows how shy your cunt is about giving you orgasms so he really wants to do it right. Is this right? He figures you'll tell him if it isn't.

You moan weakly in response. Suddenly, you know it's coming. You can feel it building every time his hips slap up to meet yours. "Oh my fuck."

His abdominal muscles flex beneath your palm and he forces his breaths through his nose as he struggles to keep himself composed. Your cunt is squeezing him so tightly that he knows he's on the brink of his own release but he's determined to help you feel as good as you make him feel.

"That's it. Cum for me again." He tries to coax it with those strong pleas, but his voice is broken with an inhale sharp enough to cut his words.

Both of your thighs are coated in slick sweat. You don't think you've ever felt so fucking wet in your life. He glistens just as much in the dim light so you know between the two of you there's a puddle of sweat soaking your sheets. It's easy to forget how gross or embarrassing it is when the tip of his cock rubs against your g-spot so well. Right now the only thing that matters is getting relief for this pressure building behind your clit.

Despite the shakiness of his fingers, he's able to coax it out of you. Your trembling thighs feel like an earthquake that's finally reached its peak tremor and you find yourself crying out and bouncing to the rhythm of your spasming cunt. You chant your praises and curses in the same breath. His name is a drawn out breathy expression of gratitude and bliss. As soon as you slump forward to kiss him he takes your hands in his own and frantically pumps himself up into you. He can still feel the involuntary flex of your cunt even after you've clearly expended every ounce of your energy reaching and literally riding out your second orgasm.

"Can I cum inside?" he asks between frantic breaths.

"Well, you're not gonna make it to these tits," you tease with a smirk. You may be spent but you'll always have the energy to give him shit. "Do it."

"So fuckin hot," he mumbles against your lips.

The muffled grunts expelled against your mouth and the slow, deliberate snap of his hips leave you in a state of surreal euphoria. He squeezes your hands in his along with his release to let you know this is real. You're here with him. When he comes down from his high he kisses you gently one more time and pulls back to look at you. You take the break in physical connection to roll off of him and stretch out your aching calves and let the air from the fan cool your skin. The tingling in your legs tells you not to get up right now, as much as the fear of a UTI screams at you to do the contrary. Instead you turn your head towards Yoongi and he smiles at you. Sleep threatens to take you when he begins to stroke your hair.

"If you'd have told me last week I'd feel this close to someone, I'd have laughed at you," he starts in a quiet voice, "but I feel really close to you. I'm glad this insanity happened to us."

"Me too." You can't help but smile back. "I don't want to go to sleep because I'm afraid you'll be gone when I wake up. What if this is a dream?"

"Then I'll find you when I wake up. You'd better find me too."

"What if we forget?"

He grabs your hand and runs his thumb over your knuckles. "I won't forget."

"Promise?"

"Mhm." He closes his eyes, clearly every bit as exhausted as you are. He's quiet for a minute and you think maybe he's already fallen asleep until he peeks out from under his eyelids. "... I think you need glasses."

"What?"

"I was just thinking. I felt like I was squinting all the time when I was you. Maybe that's why it took you so long to see how I felt." He shows off a big, toothy grin.

"Wow that guy really rubbed off on you, huh?"

You smack him in the face with a pillow when you get up.

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The muffin and can of Hot6 sit on the counter, guarded by Yoongi's forearm.

"Wow, you already have my stuff ready? Is this the kind of perk I get for dating the owner?" you wonder.

He rolls his eyes. "Not yours until you pay for it."

"You're so sweet, not eating my muffin this time."

He drags his lip through his teeth and tries to hold back a devilish smirk. "I've found better things to eat, don't you think?"

Your heart thumps against your chest and you do your best to remind yourself that offering to suck his dick behind the counter is not what you should be doing in this situation. But you want it so bad. He watches your internal struggle with raised eyebrows and a smug smile. He slides the energy drink towards you.

"Here. This is on me today. You look a little thirsty."

Your shoulders raise and then deflate with your sigh. "Do you even want me to come back later?"

"What? It's free for you. You should be happy."

"And the muffin? What do I owe for that?"

He mimics your dramatic sigh and places it before you. "It's crazy. Your boyfriend offered to pay for that too."

"He's so generous." You shake your head but it can't keep the grin from your face. "Lots of free stuff today."

"It's a... special for today only. So don't get used to it or anything. But there is one more thing we're having a sale on, if you're interested."

"Hmm?"

"Free of charge, for you only." He taps his lips with both pointers, looking impossibly cute. His charm is devastating, really.

He cracks a smile and you feel yours grow impossibly wider. You lean over the counter and give him a sweet kiss.

"How long does this offer last?"

"As long as you want."

"Forever."

"Forever, it is." He gives you one more quick peck. "I've gotta mop the floor and you're gonna be late for work."

"Ugh. Wanna trade?"

He purses his lips and gives your hand a little squeeze. "Not a chance."

[hello-everyfandom]

"Whatever happens, I’ll be there, right beside you.”

Warnings: ***Severe Trigger Warnings*** Disordered Eating Habits. Restricting Food Intake. Depression and Anxiety

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Words: 2.6k

Summary: The world is going to shit around you.

Fred Weasley may be many things. He may be too loud. He may be too big headed and cocky. He may not understand emotions as well as his twin. He may be internally anxious about the fastly approaching war which he knew would be nothing but deadly. But, if Fred is anything, he is utterly mad for you. He could not find any answer that could solve how you could possibly be with a boy like himself, the boy whose laughter bounces off the cobble walls, the boy who grins toothily. 

The war, nearly at your fingertips, had taken an emotional and even physical toll on the students at Hogwarts.  Fred was worried. He wouldn’t fully say it outloud as he believed in such tumultuous times as such humor was the best coping method. However, he was worried. Worried about you. As confident as you may have seemed, Fred knew full well of the internal demons you’ve suffered the wrath from. If he could, he’d whip out his wand and defeat them all, but it wasn’t like that. He could not even wish them away, even if he shut his eyes as tightly as he could. 

Those who believed Harry Potter began preparing for battle, learning defensive spells and attacking hexes to protect themselves and protect their home. You were the first to sign up for Dumbledor’s Army alongside the twins who promised all the younger students to prank the ever loving hell out of any Death Eaters who dared roam Hogwarts. 

Fred began to notice a change in your demeanor when training had hit a month or so. You were working yourself to the bone, studying as many protection spells as you could and studying the herbs and potions needed for quick healing. You assured Fred with a kiss on his cheek that you were merely getting as prepared as you could. Fred couldn’t really do anything or think of anything to argue back with, but he watched with wary eyes. 

“Freddie,” you laughed, “You can wipe that worried look off your face. I’m fine!”

“But-”

“Seriously.” You patted his cheek kindly, “Go on and join the boys for dinner, I’ll be there in a moment.” 

Fred nodded, slowly walking away from where you sat. He waited for you at supper, even made you a plate and made sure no one took the last chocolate pudding as he knew that was your study snack. But, you never came. 

Okay, Fred thought. You must have been too buried in a book as you sometimes were. When night began to grow and he hadn’t seen you for a few hours, he began his search and bid his whining twin behind. He found you where he had last left you, still studying the words of numerous textbooks.

“Missed dinner,” Fred said softly.

“Did I?” you asked, surprised, quickly looking to the clock that hung on the wall you saw that it was nearly ten past eleven. “Oh, bollocks.” You laughed at yourself.

“Yeah, bollocks.” Fred mocked, pulling you to your feet. “Come on then, let’s sneak you something from the kitchens, yeah?”

You bit your cheek, thinking in your head, “I’m really not that hungry.”

“Really?” Fred’s eyebrows raised, “But you’re always hungry after reading, especially big, boring smelly textbooks like these.” He waved his hand accusingly at the books on the table.

With a grin, you shook your head, “Really. I had a large lunch and I’m actually rather tired.”

Fred hummed, interlocking your fingers, “Shall we head to bed then? Have a good little cuddle?”

You nodded in response and began to collect the books to take back to your dormitory.

“No, no!” Fred protested, “Don’t bring the bloody books.”

“Don’t insult the books, Freddie, lest you want a big, boring, smelly textbook in your crotch.”

Fred grumbled and complied, even taking a few of the heavier ones in his arms. Fred slept soundly that night, with his arms wrapped around you. It was only until you were tossing and turning and eventually getting up to light a candle and begin reading again. Fred looked at your hunched figure with bleary eyes.

“What in heaven’s name are you doing love?” he whispered.

“I couldn’t sleep, thought I’d read a bit instead. Go back to sleep,” you whispered back. Fred didn’t think much of this, even though he should’ve, but instead he watched you read until he unwillingly fell asleep again.

Weeks passed, more training sessions and lessons and homework upon homework. Fred kept a smile on his face, giving encouragement to the young D.A members and laughing when George would get blasted back by their little sister. You laughed as well, making Fred grin even larger. He saw you improve beyond belief, able to detect spells thrown at you. He believed wholeheartedly that you could duel with a blindfold on and shamelessly win. But to you? Your form was wonky and your wordless spells needed extreme practice. You brought it upon yourself to take extra practice times in the Room of Requirement, in the space between doing homework and studying. Those times, to Fred’s utter dismay, were usually meal times. 

“But-”

“Swear on my life, Fred, I eat when I get back to the dorm, you’re usually asleep by then!”

“But-”

“Freddie, you’re going to wear yourself thin if you continue to worry about me.”

“It’s my job to worry about you.” Fred argued, “Is something wrong? Anything I can help with?” 

Shaking your head, “No no, just want some time to practice, that’s all.”

“Can’t you take a little break? George and Lee haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Well,” you chuckled, “that’s not true. George and I sat next to each other during Divination and I helped Lee with his girl troubles last night.”

“Oh, but... you can still take a break! At least come to dinner?”

“Maybe,” you reached on your toes to press a kiss to Fred’s lips, “We’ll see.”

As you walked away, Fred yelled, “So see you at dinner?”

“Goodbye, Freddie!” you answered back.

Now is the time to be truthful. Standing in the Room of Requirement, alone to your own thoughts. Something was wrong. You weren’t exactly sure what and couldn’t pin where you felt anxious, but you knew something was off and was beginning to fear your love would notice as well. To be honest, you had gotten frightfully used to skipping meals. At first, it bothered your stomach as it growled and rang, but the more you ignored the ache the more you could withstand. Hunger only seemed to be a nuisance to you, distracting you from focusing. The only thing you wanted was to become stronger. Practicing and moving toned you down, but it didn’t seem enough. The girls in your year and below you were smaller, able to move quicker and think faster. Time seemed to serve you well as you put all your focus and will into exercise. When Fred and even George would approach you with plates of food, you’d fawn and smile, thanking them profusely for thinking of you. When they left, or turned an eye, you’d enchant the food away, not wanting to smell the scent of mashed potatoes and roast. The lack of food in your body displayed a false sense of security as you began to feel better and better everyday. 

Fred, oh Fred, such an innocent, oblivious boy could only notice your change in routine. Had he noticed the baggy sweaters you stole from him and the sudden change in your cheeks, perhaps he would’ve cursed himself. But, he basked in the fact that he thought you were happy. It wasn’t his fault either. You did a terrific job at hiding behind large sweaters and cups of hot caffeinated tea that filled your belly. 

“I’m exhausted.” you moaned, falling backwards onto your bed. Fred joined you, lying sideways so he could look at his beautiful girlfriend. To him, you were effortlessly pretty. Enchanting he may even say. Fred leaned closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and kissing the skin of your exposed neck.

“Shall we have a nap then?”

“Maybe,” you yawned, “but you better be careful, I’m quite sore from lessons today.” 

Fred joked playfully, “I know, saw you take quite a spill after Hermione spit that spell at you.”

“You would think she would’ve gone easy!” you laughed back.

“Come on, up then.”

“No, why!” you cried, refusing to take his hands.

“You buffoon, I’m going to give you a massage. You know, since I’m such a loving, perfect boyfriend to his seemingly ungrateful girlfriend.”

“You may call me ungrateful but buffoon? That’s going too far.” you bit back but nevertheless agreed and sat up so you were seated between Fred’s open legs. Fred’s thumbs quickly found your shoulders, rubbing your muscles. You moaned with the pressure of the pads of his thumbs. 

“You’re more tense than a horse’s arse.” Fred commented, sticking his tongue out in concentration.

“Will you just let me enjoy this?” 

“I think,” Fred touched the hem of your sweater, which was actually his from third year, “I may be able to help more if this were off.”

“Is that a pick up line?” you asked sarcastically, “Not quite bright with the ladies, are we?”

“If I was not in love with you, I’m pretty sure I would have dumped you by now,” Fred joked. Of course, that wasn’t true at all, but his comment would be something you’d think about for days on. 

“Alright, but I’m only wearing a bra under this, cover your virgin eyes if you must.” 

Fred scoffed and began to take off your sweater, “Virgin eyes, my cock and balls.”

The cold hit your bare skin making you shudder. Fred couldn’t see much as the low light only seemed to cast shadows. But, as he began to massage your tired muscles, he could not ignore the feeling of your shoulders in his hands. He could feel the curve of your bones and your collar which was prominent against his touch. The straps of your bra were loose. You were silent, unknowing and enjoying what you thought was a nice massage.

“Y/N,” Fred said slowly, making you open your eyes. 

“Hm?” you hummed back. Fred stood from the bed making you turn to look at him with questioning eyes. Fred quickly lit a candle next to your bed, illuminating the space between you two.

“Oh my god.” He whispered under his breath.

“Well, that’s not very nice to hear, is it?” you responded, feeling a little hurt.

“No, no,” Fred said quickly, trying to assure you. But he had seen you already. Upon the skin of your back, you were littered with bruises from practice. Spots of black and blue touched you and curved with your spine. He could nearly count every joint and sucked in a breath of harsh air.

“Darling,” his voice slower and slower, trying to grasp and piece together what is happening.

“What’s wrong? What is it?” you asked frantically, trying to look at your back. You breathed a breath of relief, “Oh, the bruises? Those are just from practicing from dueling.”

“No...” he swallowed, “Will you... turn around for me?” Fred asked. You turned and sat to face him, completely unsure of what was happening with your usual bubbly boyfriend. As you shifted, Fred nearly fainted to his feet. You had grown thinner, he could see the tops of your ribs and the thinness of your arms. 

“What is it? Freddie, honey, you’re worrying me.”

He thought. A million thoughts fastly flying through his head, his tongue going dry and swelling. “When was the last time you ate?”

Immediately, you covered your body with your arms, attempting to hide and searched for your sweater that Fred had thrown somewhere. “What are you talking about? Fred, that’s a little rude.”

“Be honest with me.” Fred said sternly, sitting down in front of you. You tossed your sweater over your head, shying into the safety of the fabric.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Fred, what the hell?” you asked, angrily and frankly, a little embarrassed. To you, it didn’t seem like a worried boyfriend but a judgemental boyfriend, scanning your body for imperfections and flaws. But Fred was nothing but worried, fearful and terrified.

“You need to tell me, right now. No bullshit. Have you been eating?” Fred’s voice was never serious, never as serious as now where his tone made you shake and cower. Fred noticed your face drop and the scared emotion in your eyes and mentally kicked himself. He was quiet, thinking again.

“This isn’t healthy, Y/N.” he whispered. His words made your stomach drop and your hands become cold with sweat.

“Fred-”

“You haven’t been eating, have you?” Fred asked, already knowing the answer. He began to desperately file through his memories. Like a shade drawn up, he nearly threw up. These few days, you were exhausted, couldn’t stand as well, shaking when standing. He thought of himself as foolish.

“Answer, please.” Fred begged. He grasped your hands in his, only now noticing your skinny fingers. “Please, my love, please. Have you been eating?”

Fred’s begging made you whimper. The sadness in his tone made your eyes well and your throat close until you could only spit out the words, “I can’t.”

“Tell me,” Fred cried out.

“I can’t eat. I feel sickly when I eat.”

Fred choked out a sob. He rarely cried but seeing how oblivious he was to your pain made him stricken with grief.

“But, it’s okay.” you said quickly after, nodding your head, “I’m fine.”

“No,” Fred gripped your tighter, “You’re not fine, darling.”

“I can eat anytime I want,” you tried to persuade him, or you, you weren’t sure which one.

“But, you won’t.” Your boyfriend said. The truth, the truth you had been cowardly hiding from was there, in front of your face, and this time you could not hide. Your silence was all the answers he needed. You couldn’t control yourself. You began to cry alongside him, sorrowful for everything that lived.

“What happened? Love? Tell me,”

“I-” you stuttered and struggled to breath, Fred moved so he could rub your back, still looking at you, “I don’t know. I. It started one day and then I guess, well I. I don’t know. I guess, I guess the stress and...” you cried harder, “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” Fred hushed you, pulling you in for a hug, wrapping his long arms around your wracking figure. “I’m here now, I won’t leave you. I’m here. I’ll help,”

“You can’t help!” your lips quivered, pulling back harshly in a state of disarray. “You can’t! I- I don’t. You can't. I don’t know.” you couldn’t say anything. Fred placed his hands, gently, on your cheeks, staring into the eyes of the woman he adored.

“We’ll try. I’ll try, and so will you.” Fred assured you, rubbing your cheeks.

“I don’t know if I can.” you said, hiccuping through cries.

“You can. You’re so unbelievably strong, I’ve seen you whoop several old sods in our year’s ass. And I know,” Fred moved your head softly so he could look at you better, “I know my words may not help, but I think you are so beautiful. Whatever happens, I’ll be there, right beside you.”

It wasn’t an exact solution and it didn’t automatically nor immediately solve anything, but it was something. It was what you needed to hear at the moment. To know you weren’t alone facing not only the physical battle of the external world but the internal one. It would take time, time needed, to be yourself again. Even still, on the days you felt worse, Fred would squeeze your hand in his and press a kiss on your lips. 

[deviliciousdev]

MBTI✨Emotionally Blind as a Bat🦇

(follow up to A Small World)

intj (the architect)

x

enfp(the campaigner)

couple

+

intp (the logician)

best friend

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

[monday, midday. intj & intp re-painting intj's private office space]

intj: *takes a deep breath* intp. do you have to paint genitalia all over a wall before you paint it?

intp: *gasps* it's not ALL genitalia, that ones a UFO 🛸!

intj: [looks at giant odd shape below UFO] what is that suppose to be? a malformed penis with... teeth? 🧐

intp: what?! it's a Carnotaurus 🦖! A theropod dinosaur from the Late Cretaceous Period resembling a tyrannosaurus with a frontal cranial horn. [looks at art work that looks like a five year old did it] rawr.

intj: *camera looks*

[office door opens, enfp enters with coffee]

enfp: heyyyy 😁

intp: [not looking up, splattering paint on wall like a three year old] ollo!

intj: *glaring at intp as enfp comes up and kisses them on the cheek* hey, [grabs coffee] oh thanks i really needed some caffeine.🙏

enfp: mmhmm 🥰 [looks over at intp's chaotic horrible drawings] oh my god what the hell is that? a vagina with horns and... claws??

intj: [laughs] 😄

intp: [rolls eyes] 🙄 ugh! it's a Carnotaurus! you two and your dirty minds bunch of perverts. [shakes head]

enfp: [hands intp their iced coffee]

intp: oo! thanks! [keeps splatter painting]

enfp: no worries 😌 [points to drawing above intp's head] what's that one? a flower? 🌹

intp: huh? oh that's a vagina.

enfp: [looks at intj with a smile]

intj: [closes eyes and shakes head]

enfp: [goes and sits on plastic tarp covered desk and crosses legs] soooo intp, someone really liked you on saturday night 😁

intp: oh god, how?! it was so awkward between me and esfj. 😣

intj: [starts laughing] when they put the healing crystal around your neck and started explaining how essential oils are more effective than vaccines [dying laughing] you can't buy that kind of entertainment. 🤣

enfp: [chewing on straw laughing too] the way your eye started twitching 😂

intp: HOW IS PEPPERMINT OIL GOING TO PROTECT YOU FROM POLIO! I- *takes a deep breath* nope nope nope, not worth it, intellectually deficient minds *takes another deep breath* are not worth the energy. [starts painting normally]

intj: yeah that was uh ahaha really terrible ahhh [starts painting with roller]

intp: [turns toward enfp] exactly thank you so how could esfj possibly want anything more?

enfp: oh no esfj actually went home that night with estp.

[at the same time]

intj: what?!

intp: what?!

enfp: *giggling* i know right i was whattt okkkkuuurr ahaha!

intp: wait then who are you talking about?

enfp: oh entj! obviously, aha!

intp: [silent panic triggered by human emotions sets in] entj... really?

enfp: ummm yeah it was pretty obvious they were super into you. 😄

intp: it was?? [actually confused]

enfp: ummm yeah! they were flirting with you so hard! are you kidding? how did you not get that??

intp: i don't know!? i just thought they were being friendly and joking around!

enfp: [utterly stunned at intp's emotional blindness] 😦 intp. entj ate the cherry out of your drink while maintaining full eye contact...

intp: i just thought they really liked cherries!

intj: [laughing, shaking their head]😆

enfp: they tied the cherry stem in their mouth and gave it to you!

intp: i once saw a drunk frat boy eat a cheeseburger out of the garbage! you never know what effects alcohol will have on the brain!

enfp: ohhh myyy godddd intppppp!

intj: [crossed arms, laughing hard, shoulders bouncing up and down]

enfp: they gave you their phone number! AND asked for yours!

intp: i thought they were being polite! i don't know i didn't want to assume anything!

enfp: [face palms] 🤦 oh my god. *takes a deep breath* well annnyyywayyy, entj really liked you. 😁 they told me they're gonna text you asking to grab coffee with them this week. [raises eyebrows in an enticing manner as they sip their iced-tea]

intp: 😳 [more panic sets in] wha- what- why- why would they do that?

enfp: because they like youuuuu...

intp: why?

intj: *laughs* [teasingly] yeah why?

enfp: [gives intj a death glare] you shush! intp you have so many great attributes why wouldn't someone want to go out with you?!

intp: no i know. i mean what do they like about me. i need at least some evidence to back up this claim of "liking me".

intj: [painting] Error 404 Not Found. [snorts holding in a laugh]

enfp: [throws unopened pack of soft paint roller rolls at intj] look intp, if you wanna know that you're just gonna have to go to coffee with them and ask em yourself 😏 [sips tea ☕️]

intp: 😳 [looks back and forth in indecisiveness] coffee? are you sure they didn't just mean like as friends?

enfp: ugh! intp! entj said and i quote: "i'm gonna text intp and ask them out, what'dya think lil coffee date"?

intp: oh...

enfp: what's the problem? do you not like them or something?

intp: [without skipping a beat] no! um i mean i don't dislike them. i mean i don't know them!

enfp: that's sort of the point of going on a date. but you did like them when we hung out on saturday night right?

intp: i found their opinions and persona- um intelligent, humorous and... refreshing.

enfp: and hot, right? [raises eyebrows]

intp: well, duh, i'm not blind!

enfp: [laughs a little as intj walks next to them to organize paint tools] soooo?

intp: soooo??

enfp: are you gonna say yes?! 😆

intp: umm... i don't know, i'm not really good at nor fond of the whole interrogation ordeal that accompanies first dates. it always feels like i'm on a really boring but difficult gameshow.

enfp: [wraps arm around intj's waist] ughhh c'mon intp!

intj: [fake coughs] coward!

intp: [gives intj furrowed brow] 😠 wha-?!

intj: oh sorry i said, coward.

intp: how-?!

intj: [cuts intp off] you're using this weak theory about the awkwardness of first dates, which most people feel, you're not special, to justify the fact that you are just nervous to go on a date with entj, because you're not only physically attracted to them, but you also have a genuine emotional connection with them, which you preceive as being illogical due to the brief time you've spent with them, and you're confused about having human feelings for someone for the first time in a long time and you're afraid you're going to fail or mess it up in someway, so you make excuses to avoid the whole illogical and messy ordeal all together.

intp: 😐

intj: and in some ways, or most ways i suppose, i completely understand that. [looks at enfp] but, i've learned that sometimes you have to stop being a coward and jump in the mess and see what turns up.

enfp: awww 🥰 [hugs intj tight with one arm around their waist]

intj: 🙄😏 [puts arm around enfp's shoulders]

enfp: plus you'd be a total idiot not to go out with someone as hot as entj.

intp: [taps finger on chin with squinty eyes] you're absolutely right enfp!

intj: [throws arms in air] 🙄

enfp: yes!

[kominum]

semoto (corpse x fem!reader)

4 times you think tuxedo mask!corpse could be yours + 1 time you learn to stop feeding your own delusions 

pt. 1 + background info can be found here! please read for context. 

basic rundown of classic!sailor moon (anime) lore ‘creatively’ used in this two-part:

sailor moon and tuxedo mask are star-crossed lovers/soulmates that faced tragedy in a previous life. 

sailor mars (aka you/reader) had a crush on tuxedo mask’s non-hero persona, darien/mamoru, for a while 

sailor moon is the moon princess and tuxedo mask is the earth prince.  

sailor moon’s non-hero persona, usagi/serena, bickered a lot with darien/mamoru.

fem!reader // tw: death mentions, bodily injury, unrequited love to the very end, some unresolved tension. 

1. “Whaddup, baby?” 

Without much reason, you and Corpse trade off calling each other whenever a new monster is defeated. You’re figuring out all of this as much as he is, but he doesn’t have much guidance besides some supernatural force within him. He’s not taking instructions from a black cat and white cat like you and the other girls are who can help fill you in on the gaps -- all he knows is that he’s pivotal to maintaining Earth’s existence, and he’s not exactly thrilled about it.

But the calls are never about the fights, never about your secret identities. In fact, you’d be willing to bet half your grocery funds that he still hasn’t made the connection between you and your Sailor Mars persona and part of you wants to keep it that way. Sometimes you’re mentally exhausted and just want to forget about the events for the day or night, which is why you usually end up calling him soon after everyone disperses or vice versa. It’s almost instinctual these days, and you wonder how long it’ll be before you accidentally crack. 

Right now, the rule of thumb seems to be, “Never trust new flashy shops that open with no warning and have too-good-to-be-true grand opening offers.” This time, some luxurious salon opened up by a famous local hairdresser had been the said attraction. All of you weren’t ignorant enough to believe the sham, but the star of the show had taken the chance to say, “Let’s go scope it out!” when really, she wanted that free haircut. You had called her out on it, but she argued that if anything happened, then perfect, you all could take care of it right then and there. Needless to say, you do not want to be attacked by a monstrous version of Edward Scissorhands ever again. Corpse had made a dark, humorous entrance, a style he’s really adapted to because he knows it pisses Sailor Moon off, 

About an hour later, you’re home and bandaging up some cuts and rubbing salve on bruises, phone on speaker and dial tone blaring through the bathroom. You’re addressing the scrape on your knee when he picks up, a low drawl of, “Whaddup, baby?” comes through and your heart stutters.

The girls call you a number of terms of endearment: sweetie, honey, love, dear, babe, queen, but the last person to address you as ‘baby’ with any amount of affection was your ex-boyfriend.

You scoff to hide how flustered you actually are, quietly hissing as you attempt to put some Neosporin on the scrape and catch onto some stray skin. “Are you drunk?” You ask jokingly, knowing full well he wasn’t. 

“Drunk? Nah. Tired? Yeah. But that’s always.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“It’s old news. But uh, what’s up? Been a while since we last talked.”

“We talked like...three days ago. You called me, remember?”

“Feels like forever. I like talking to you.” 

You wonder if it’s irony or plain, cruel fate that this man will probably be the death of you.

2. “Don’t lay a fucking hand on her.”

It’d been a bad day overall. Lack of sleep compiled on by a growing pile of assignments in addition to having to get your tires checked out for an air leak because your car said, “Not today, honey,” -- everything came together in torrential hurricane and the last thing you needed was to be caught fighting another force of evil.

You’re so tired.

Sailor Moon seems to have all the energy in the world as she dodges attacks left and right, but your muscles are screaming in agony. You’re constantly hunched over and panting, but looking for the right openings to weaken the monster. Luckily, the creature has its back towards you when it dashes over to Venus and you muster everything you have to summon a bow and arrow made of fire, pulling back and making sure your arms don’t quiver. 

But at the last second, your lack of oxygen gets the best of you and your flame sniper barely manages to graze the monster’s side and narrowly avoid Jupiter. It’s enough to cause a distraction, but the anger in its glare as it’s directed at you elicits surrender in your heart. There’s nothing left in your bones to help you run or hide, and your knees buckle painfully onto the concrete. Everything else hurts so bad that you’re not bothered by the sediments digging through your skin. Venus is running towards you but she’s not quick enough, and you feel your eyes begin to slip. If this is what death feels like, then so be it. You hope that the girls’ mourning will be short, that they can still complete the ultimate mission, and--

“Don’t lay a fucking hand on her,” an angered, frustrated baritone spits out and you’re torn between laughing or crying. In a separate romantic context, you’d like the idea of wholeheartedly leaving your life in his hands. But in this reality when either of you could die at any moment and the world be consumed in darkness, it’s something you would never wish upon anyone. It’s a different situation than your bonds with the girls. 

The pain is enough to send you in and out of consciousness for the next few minutes. But strong, warm arms sit you up, though they’re slightly trembling and keeping you awake. “Hey, you okay? What happened to you? You’re stronger than this.” 

“G-great way of telling me, fuckthathurts, that I was...shit today,” you joke, but hiss when you try to move your legs and the deep scrapes scream in agony. 

“Take it easy, ‘kay? Or your princess is gonna have my head--”

“Thanks man, but we got it from here,” said princess interjects, hoisting you up with the help of the other girls. “You can go.”

“Speak of the devil,” Corpse chuckles and helps make the transfer less painful, a lot less awkward jostling around. “Look, I saved her--”

“And I said thank you. We’ll see you around,” your stubborn friend dismisses. 

“You’re welcome, baby.”

“Not your baby, piss off!”

3. “I’m always gonna be there for you, no matter what.”

It’s soft yet sonorous, deep yet light. Twilight hours are cast high above you both, separated by walls and buildings connected over wires and unseen forces. Technology is the sharpest, double-edged sword you’ve seen and used on this planet, because Corpse has never felt so close yet so far than in this moment. Your mind deludes you further by indulging in believing he’s right there next to you, strong arms holding you much like he did when you were on the brink of unconsciousness just two weeks ago.

Wishing, hoping, wanting. Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous.

The one year anniversary of your ex-lover’s death looms over you on another sleepless, caffeine-fueled night. It’s no surprise when his custom ringtone chimes softly throughout your room during these graveyard hours, but it certainly raises your eyebrows when after a minute or two, he asks tentatively, “Are you gonna go visit him?”

There’s no question as to who or where “him” is. You haven’t been since the funeral, if you’re honest, swept up by work, classes, and your new side job. But Corpse doesn’t know that, and you know it’d be the right thing to do. Maybe it’d help settle the storm of anxiety (or guilt?) that swirls in your gut on a daily basis. 

“I think so,” you reply quietly after a moment of silent contemplation, already thinking ahead to what the drive might be like. “He deserves better.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Charming, compassionate, thoughtful, absolutely too good for this world -- the three-letter affirmation nearly slips off your tongue without a second thought. You can’t risk him seeing you, putting two and two together, and potentially forever losing him to his long-lost princess. Selfish delusion creeps through your veins and you fight back the shiver of guilt that runs down your spine. 

“I think I’ll be okay. Might be a visit made best alone, but I really appreciate you even asking.”

“Let me know if you change your mind. You know I’m always gonna be there for you, no matter what. Right?”

Warmth. Strength. Oblivion. 

“I know. Thank you.”

4. “I don’t have anyone else but you.”

“Why are we doing this again?”

“Because we can’t sleep and have nothing better to do.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” you chuckle into your phone, free hand swirling a pot of instant ramen. “I have better things to do at 3 in the morning than watch The Poltergeist with you.” 

“Then go fucking do it,” Corpse laughs teasingly. 

“And leave you high and dry? I don’t have the heart.”

“I mean, you really don’t have to--”

“Seriously, I was awake anyways. Just giving you shit.”

“One of these days, you’re gonna fucking regret it.”

Ramen done and lamp on, you snuggle beneath your blanket and start the traditional countdown to pressing ‘play’ on the movie. Neither of you really had the technology to screen share on this Discord call (your laptop is almost on its last leg and your apartment WiFi can be spotty at times), so it seemed better this way. 

The next roughly 2 hours are filled with laughter, small jump scare yelps, and quiet yelling at the ignorance and twisted logic of horror movie characters. But towards the end of the movie (and arguably the climax), your eyelids start to droop, body succumbing to the warmth of your bed. The screaming and cheesy, orchestrated music are all background noise as your breathing evens out, shifting in and out of consciousness. Ending credits roll on screen before you know it, and the only think that rips you awake is Corpse’s gentle calling of your name. 

“Sorry, fell asleep,” you murmur tiredly and squint at your screen, languidly closing out the window and letting the Discord window take precedence. “Tells you how riveting I found this movie.”

“Should’ve just let you sleep, my bad,” he chuckles. “Thanks for staying up with me.” 

“Yeah of course -- I wanted to, just got a little sleepy. Wanna watch another one?”

“ ‘m actually gonna try to sleep. Don’t wanna bother you too much. You got work tomorrow?”

“Not ‘til noon so it’s okay. You sure?” 

“Yeah...yeah. I’ve only had like...3 hours of sleep lately. Fucking awful.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“You do enough by just letting me call at the fucking crack of dawn, seriously.”

“I’m your only option, let’s be real,” and your voice is a mix of fatigue, humor, and some bitter sardonicism. There’s no malice intended, and you really hope it’s conveyed accurately. 

“...I don’t have anyone else but you,” he all but murmurs. Your heart clenches painfully, anxiety and fear and love surging through your lungs. Those words don’t hold the connotation you desperately wish for, but what matters most is that he knows he’s not alone and you’re not the only one he’s got. You verbalize as such and he only hums back in a façade of agreement before wishing you a good night. 

And sometimes, while you do know that your girls have your back and that you love them to death and would take a bullet for them any day, there are nights where you really do feel the same.

That you have no one else but Corpse. 

5. “He was never yours.”

There’s nothing you hate more than psychological monsters. You’d probably take physical pain over mind games any day because at least, it’d heal faster to some degree, or there would be a more surefire way of minimizing symptoms. But sometimes, there are days when the egotistical chess players of hell come to wreck havoc on the world, and you get lost in their trap. It’s annoying, a pain in the ass, and affects you a lot more than it should at times. 

This particular instance makes you want to quit. It makes you, Sailor fucking Mars, guardian of the planet of fire and passion and perseverance, leave all of this behind right here and now. You’ve never hated yourself more for feeling so weak. 

You’re not sure what to call it -- altered dimension, distorted reality -- but all you know is that you and the princess are kept in separate cages hanging from an endless ceiling, labelled as baits for tuxedo mask/Corpse to come. The enemy lets you both stew in the confines of the metal, watching with glee as your partner attempts to cut through the rails with her tiara and ultimately fail. It seems they’ve thought of everything because you’re not their #1 enemy today. Or maybe you are. You’re not sure anymore, even as they launch into villainous speech. 

“Nothing brings me more joy than watching you lose all your energy to fight, both physically and mentally. I’ve seen all your dreams and wishes. Nothing’s more fickle and double-edged than love, no? We shall see who the prince really belongs to.”

Mention of the prince has you snapping your head to meet the enemy’s eyes, slowing squinting as they catch yours and begin cackling like your demise is racing at the speed of an oncoming train. Your princess looks confused, but dread is heavy mercury filling your veins because you know, you know, your best held secret is coming to fruition. 

“What the fuck are they talking about?” She hisses across the void. 

“I don’t know,” you lie through your teeth, eyes flicking toward every corner of the cage now to find a way out. This isn’t how you wanted it to happen, much less happen at all. 

“Are they talking about Corpse?”

“Is there any other prince they’re referring to?”

“Do you always have to be a smartass with me?”

“Somebody’s got to,” you allow yourself a slight reprieve of laughter. It’d be dumb to try to set fire to this thing, knowing you’d only burn yourself in the process. Your exorcism tags also have no use and you can hear the clock ticking down in your mind. 

“Think it’s pretty fucking rude to keep a couple of girls in cages, not gonna lie,” a baritone voice cuts through. It sends temporary sparks of relieve down your spine. Perhaps you’ll have a fighting chance to get out of here. 

“Welcome, welcome! I’d like to get straight to the point, but maybe we’ll up the stakes a little bit before you answer my question,” they tease cartoonishly and you want to roll your eyes.

“Is this a fucking test--”

Both you and sailor moon yelp as the cages drop into a miraculously (or not) appearing large body of water, but still hanging just above the surface so you have enough air to breathe. You look out and down to see how deep this pit is, and though it might be some elaborate illusion seemingly defying all laws of physics, you see nothing but descending darkness. You don’t even have to hear the question to know what the enemy is going for, to know that they’re trying to hit you where it hurts the most, and you loathe how cliché and goddamn unfair this whole situation has turned out to be. 

“So, dear prince. Pretend that the fate of the world depends on the princess. Before you are just two girls you know and care for, stuck, captured, and on the brink of drowning. You may only save one. Who would it be?”

It’s fucked up. Corpse seems stunned, perplexed by the question. “What the absolute fuck is this? Just let them go if you had an issue with me.”

“Quite frankly, I have an issue with allof you, so this is only fair. Now, what’s your answer?”

Corpse catches your eyes first. Is it from the water that your eyes seem to be brimming with unshed tears? Is it stubbornness or defeat in the way your hands clench around the cage bars?

And this is why, once again, you hate enemies who strictly play mind games. Confirmation that Corpse would never love you the way you do him, knowledge to the princess that she’s the source of your deepest unhappiness despite the bickering friendship, realization to Corpse that the girl he’s treasured so dearly and maybe unknowingly kept as a bit of a placeholder was doomed to love him -- pain on all of you, lashes and scars on what was once believed to be unbreakable bonds, as soon as the villain explains it all with sick glee. 

“Do I have to give you an answer?”

“If you don’t, I’ll really consider drowning them since I honestly wasn’t before.”

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

“Ah, just to make things a little more interesting -- I’m aware you and the princess speak regularly outside of all this.”

They what? This was certainly news to you. 

“And?” Corpse asks somewhat defensively. 

Don’t say it. Don’t tell him. Please don’t--

“Say Mars, don’t you enjoy those late night calls with him, too? Though I must say, meeting in a hospital while your ex-boyfriend is having life-altering emergency surgery seems rather morbid in its own respect.”

You don’t have to look at him to know and hear the gears turning in his brain, the villain allowing this brief silence to let everything sink in. There’s a disbelieving whisper of your name, your real name, but he’s cut off from saying anything more. 

“You have 10 seconds.” 

You know the stories. You know the couple’s tragic end in their previous lifetime. You know that as much as the princess denies feeling anything but annoyance towards Corpse, she looks forward to seeing him. There’s a certain softness that he treats her with, different from the platonic affection that he showers you in. You’ve lied to yourself for too long. 

The countdown has no chance to finish when Corpse spits out a name that’s not yours, your eyes squeezing shut to fight back the tears that threaten to flood over. Everything disappears and you land on your butt -- a quick sweep of your surroundings registers two things: Corpse running over to your princess and the villain standing proudly at the chaos they’ve created. It’s instinct that has brings your powers to surface, arms and fingers quickly notching a fiery arrow with pinpoint aim at the imaginary target on their head. “Move!” You yell at the two and they scramble to gather their bearings and avoid your rage. 

They don’t run or cower. The maniacal grin only grows wider and more sinister and you’re this close to screaming expletives. 

“Hurts, doesn’t it, to know that he was never yours?”

It’s the last thing they say before you release the arrow, watching with no remorse as they burn and disintegrate. When the dust disappears and the dimension shifts back to some abandoned building with an exit, you run. 

You run until your lungs burst, until they scream over the aching of your heart, until your costume dissolves and you’re finally buried under the blankets. You turn on ‘Do Not Disturb’ and only allow notifications from a select few important numbers.

And maybe you’ll keep running. Maybe you’ll go off the grid. Maybe you’ll let your voicemail inbox fill up with unheard messages, apologies that you don’t and never will deserve. 

But the love you feel and cherish will never fade. It’ll run alongside you; a bright, burning star, forever bittersweet--

Forever out of reach. 

[soyunaagente]

Being Comforted by Amado Carrillo Fuentes includes

Okay I'm sorry I'm a little rusty with these right now. Just pls don’t hate me lol. 

Here we go, I'm already sobbing.

If you cant tell by the state of the writing I’m on a serious caffeine high right now and obsessed with my new pyjamas. This would have been up like an hour ago but I’m that long trying to get the gif to work. 

We all know that Amado is literally the chillest (thats not a word) man out there so when he sees you in a state he panics a little bit.

He just stands there, dumbfounded, afraid that he's upset you or someone that he knows has done something to leave you like this. He desperately racks his brain to see a play by play of the days leading up to this moment, everything he's done, said, thought about to see if he has to apologise for something.

He figures that the best option is to walk up to you and just apologise anyway. Just in case.

He just cautiously walks up to you as you're sitting on the couch or the bed or wherever. Tears falling down your face. Trying to hold back the cries.

'Ai mi cielo lo siento. No llores por favor.'

He realises his mistake when you lift your head up and look at him in pure confusion. He didn't actually have anything to apologise for. That's when his mood immediately turns to concern.

Amado wraps his arms around you, letting your head rest on his shoulder. His shirt turns damp with the tears as he strokes your hair. Just cooing to help you calm down.

He pulls you up to rest on his lap, head still buried in his shoulder so you can just have a good cry. Sometimes bad bitches need a good cry okay.

I'm going to be so generic here and go with the problem of unwanted catcalling. You eventually manage to stutter out that some pendejo insulted you quiet harshly when you wouldn't respond to his catcalling and advances.

He'll kiss your neck and cheek softly, arms tightening around you with every sentence that you say. Continuing with the cooing.

He'll be outwardly chill, just taking it all in but on the inside his mind will going a mile a minute. Already thinking of which men should carry out some revenge. He'll continue to rub circles on your back and run his hands through your hair while coming up with a plan,

When he notices your crying is getting softer his attention immediately snaps back to you.

Once the crying has subsided I can totally see him just attempting to use some humour to cheer you up. Relaying some stupid story on how Acosta fell over or one of his men failing at picking up a woman at a club or something.

You can't help but to giggle at the memory. Just Acosta is standing there yelling at someone and just trips over himself. I can't.

Back to why we're here. He chuckles too. The atmosphere changes and you lift your head to give him un besito. 'I'm sorry that happened to you but lets try not to think about it right now. It'll be a training exercise for some of those new idiots I hired. Let them worry about it.'

He lifts your chin up carefully while reassuring you that it'll be taken care of. Quickly and quietly.

He cracks another stupid joke that warrants another laugh. Dad jokes to the extreme here.

I can totally see him just sweeping you up and letting you stand. Head still buried in his shoulder, hands on his chest for support just to see if it'll help the situation. His heartbeat automatically brings your breathing back to normal. Just the comforting sound of it.

'Just one moment mi cielo I'll be back. Get yourself comfortable.'

He leaves you for a minute for two reasons. One he has to tell his men not to even think about coming back until that cabron is six feet under. But also he gathers whatever he can find that could help. Ice cream, a movie, comfy blanket.

Call me insane but I can also see Amado running a nice bath for you. Bubbles, candels fancy ass soaps. The works.

He lets you soak in there for a  little bit to relax as he sets up the bedroom to absolute perfection.

The comfy blanket on the bed, the movie in the player. He has everything set up just the way you like it.

When he hears the bathroom door opening he totally sets out your favourite comfy pyjamas for you to wear. Obviously. Or you know, not.

He has absolutely no problem helping you dry off and change into those pj's either. Complimenting just about every body part.

Y'all will just snuggle up in the bed. Chilling. Your head on his chest and he'll have his arm resting along your bank. His fingers drawing circles on the material of the pj's.

Amado will totally just shovel ice-cream into your mouth to make sure you feel better. Don't @ me on this one okay. It's comical, he remembers how it cheers you up so like a toddler he thinks that is just the way to go. Keep feeding you until you are happy again. It works for me honestly.

He lets you pick the movie too. Even if its something he doesn't like he won't complain, Not once, this is your night.

He'll ask you every thirty seconds if you are okay or if there's anything else he can do to help you feel better. Then crack another dad joke or make a stupid comment at the movie.

100% makes sure you fall asleep first. Still petting your hair and absentmindedly talking to you as you drift off. When he notices you're asleep he slips away to see if the job has been done.

Amado prides himself on the quality of work of his men so guaranteed they bring back a little souvenir of the quest, like the watch the dude was wearing or something.

You can't fight me on this but Amado totally just squeezes that watch until the face cracks; imagining its the face of the pendejo. Then he just tosses it in the bin like the absolute trash that the man who it once belonged to was.

Once he's totally satisfied that the job has been done he gets back into bed with you. Pulling you top top of him and slowly falling asleep to the sound of your breathing.

His protectiveness increases like a thousand percent after this. He doesn't let you for AnYwHeRe alone and always ALWAYS makes sure to compliment you every time he sees you.

All in all he uses humor to try make light of a situation. His idiocy totally works. He'll always protect you though. You can't fight me on that. It's fact.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

White Collar ot3 number 14, 18 and/or 29 for the ship asks because you just reminded me how much I adore them today. Thank you and happy birthday!!

I cut this bad boy for length because I sure can go on about these three. That first one is basically a whole fic. Thank you, my birthday was great!

14) When one has a cold, what does the other do?

This feels like a great opportunity to talk about one of my favorite things to think about with this OT3, which is The First Time Neal Gets Sick, AKA The Time Peter And Elizabeth Almost Had A Heart Attack.

The thing is, they expect dramatics. Neal is someone who leans on dramatics as 70% of his social charms, and if you'd held a hot brand to Peter's skin while he was chasing Neal over half the godforsaken country, back in the day, he'd have said that Neal would be the type to wring every minor illness for all it was worth. Not, like, out of any particular irritation for that particular behavior--Elizabeth is the kind of person who gets dramatically sick even if all she has is a cold, and if he's being perfectly honest Peter kind of enjoys babying his wife for a few days--but just because. Well. All Neal ever does is make sure all eyes are on him, seeing exactly what he wants, doing exactly what he needs. It's the con he's best at, Neal's favorite magic trick: sweep everyone up in the delirium of those blue eyes and that shattering smile and take everything they've got in their distraction.

So anyway, then Neal doesn't show up to work. He's an hour late. Two hours late. By the third hour, Peter is silently doing the math for how far Neal could get on his anklet without setting it off, and then for any loopholes he might have missed--faking the signal somehow? Neal's passable but not phenomenal with computers, but could he have hired someone? Peter's never heard of someone pulling that off, but Neal's got an aura about him, that makes the impossible seem merely improbable.

It is very important that this be an issue of Neal trying to run, because if it's not, then something might have happened to him. Neal hasn't exactly been endearing himself to the criminal underworld lately.

At three hours and forty-nine minutes past Neal's appointed arrival time, Peter takes an early lunch break and goes to June's. He knocks on Neal's door for a few minutes, and then goes and politely 'acquires' the spare key from the staff and lets himself in.

Neal is asleep on the couch, buried in every blanket he could find in his apartment, and he blinks hazily at Peter for a second when Peter shakes him and then bolts upright so fast that Peter has to move or get concussed.

"Peter," Neal says in a good approximation of his usual good humor. "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't show up to work," Peter says, reaching out toward Neal's forehead automatically. Neal dodges him and Peter sees the dizzy wave cross his face. "Are you sick?"

"I'm fine," Neal says, and then immediately starts coughing, a wet sharp cough that hurts to listen to. "Sorry I'm late, I--fuck, is it past noon? Okay, just--give me a second, I can get ready to go--"

"How long have you been sick, Neal?"

It takes Peter the better part of fifty minutes to wring the facts out of Neal, and he does not like the facts, thanks. He more or less forces Neal back into the blanket nest on the couch and calls El, apologizes for interrupting one of her rare days off and asks her to bring Neal literally anything, and shuts down Neal's fourth attempt to convince Peter that he's fine.

Neal seems...really bothered by the idea that Peter knows he's sick, let alone Elizabeth, and Peter doesn't like what that implies. About anything. At least it doesn't seem personal--Neal doesn't seem to want anyone to know that he's sick, so much so that he's been taking double doses of DayQuil and drinking straight espresso in order to smother all his symptoms at work for the past three days. Peter does some quick math in his head about the number of DayQuil that would require and says "You're lucky you're not in the ER," and Neal says, "I know what I'm doing, Peter," in that voice that means he's thinking about getting offended.

"You're going to give yourself liver failure, is what you're doing. Why didn't you just call out sick, Neal, Jesus Christ." It's blunter than he meant to be--actually, Peter meant to let El work on Neal for a few hours before he came back to play Blunt Cop--but Neal looks awful and he has a fever and he's been taking ten DayQuil in a ten hour work day and Peter does actually read labels and Peter made him stay late at work two days ago because Peter didn't know he was sick.

And maybe it's because Neal's sick, maybe it's because the fever is blurring his reaction time, maybe Peter just knows him really well by this point, but he sees the second that Neal's face closes up and he goes from "defensive" to "ready to do whatever he needs to do in order to get Peter to back down".

And then Neal smiles, all guileless blue eyes and blithe schoolboy innocence, and he says, "Come on, Peter, you'd have thought I was trying to run."

It stings inordinately. Peter did think that, this morning, but only because Neal fucking vanished, didn't come in, didn't answer his phone, didn't even leave a message with someone when Peter showed up. If Neal had said he was sick, Peter might have come by to check on him--and sure, seeing that he was really sick would have put those concerns to bed, but--

"Besides," Neal is continuing, and his voice is starting to show the effect of the coughing now, and he's trying to get up again, wavering on his feet a little before he blinks twice and visibly forces himself to steady. "I'm fine. And even if I wasn't, it's what, seven hundred dollars a month? That's not covering a doctor, and it's not like I have pneumonia. It's just a cold, Uncle Sam, I can still go to work."

And then Neal gives Peter the slip while Peter's still sitting there, stinging.

And the thing is, he doesn't even know if Neal really thinks that of him, or if Neal just knew it would make him shut up long enough for Neal to walk into his bathroom and take more fucking DayQuil.

Well, fine, then. Peter can fight dirty too, and to prove it, he walks the ten feet to the door and leans back against it, just out of an excess of caution, as he pulls out his phone. First he texts his wife, because she's a very smart woman and deserves to have all the information. Second, he calls his boss, because he's already well outside his lunch break and he might as well do the thing properly. Neal comes out of the bathroom, wearing fresh slacks and an unbuttoned white shirt, just as Peter says, "Yes, sir, I'll keep an eye on him."

Then Peter hangs up and points his phone at Neal and says, "Lie the hell back down before I taze you. You're off until next week, and I'm taking the day off to make sure you don't go into organ failure. Don't you dare," he adds when Neal takes a purposeful step toward the kitchenette and its coffee maker. "El is going to be here with actual cold medicine in thirty minutes. Take those slacks off and lie down in your actual bed."

"I'm fine," Neal says again, as if he's not struggling with a shirt button for the first time since Peter's met him, including multiple occasions of being handcuffed.

"You're really not," Peter says, and then he pauses for a moment, and looks at the way Neal's fingers pause on the button, and then he says, a little cautiously, "And that's fine. Everyone gets sick, Neal."

"I don't need you to babysit me," Neal mutters.

"I'm only babysitting you because, apparently, you take life-ending doses of caffeine and cold medicine when you're left alone. Come on, Neal, this won't be the end of the world, El will bring you some food that won't hurt your throat and I'll let you make me watch one of your boring foreign films."

"I know your secrets," Neal says, and then pauses to cough up what's probably part of his failing liver, not that Peter is feeling any doom and gloom about this whole thing. "You watch romcoms with Elizabeth, she told me you enjoy things other than football and you'll never fool me again."

"Yeah, you got me," Peter says with a faint grin. He walks away from the door like he's approaching a feral dog, and closes his hands gently but inexorably around Neal's wrists, and then steers him firmly back onto the couch. Neal's skin is hot even through his shirt, and he trips twice, and he lets Peter push him down into the blankets like he's too tired to do anything else. "I'm going to go get you pajamas. Where do you keep them?"

"Second drawer," Neal says dismally.

"Okay," Peter says, and doesn't give into his impulse to maybe, like, brush Neal's rumpled curls out of his face or something. Half the reason that Peter caught him in the first place is because Peter knows when to press his advantage. He takes the win and gets Neal some pajamas.

18) When they fight, how do they make up?

Elizabeth is the best at this, because she works with vendors all the time and that makes her a literal professional at conflict resolution.  She has a temper and she’ll lose her cool with the best of them, but she knows how to say “I need a minute” and then she’ll leave and come back when she can be reasonable.  She’ll lay out what she’s upset about, hear the other person out, and then either apologize or expect an apology.  Then she’s the physical touch kind of person after a fight--she’ll take Peter’s hands and link their fingers together, or wrap her arms around Neal from behind with her cheek between his shoulder blades, and just kind of...rest against them until everyone’s tension starts to bleed out of them.

Peter isn’t an innately high-empathy person and he knows this, so it’s sometimes hard for him to figure out when a fight even started, let alone how to fix it.  He gets frustrated with himself for not knowing what to do, and then it’s easy for Elizabeth or Neal to feel like he’s mad at them for being mad at him, and then everyone gets madder and it’s just stressful.  So Peter’s the type to ask explicitly “wait, are we fighting” because, first of all, he would like to know so he can figure out how to resolve it, and, second of all, he’s discovered that being clear about it will sometimes shock everyone involved into taking a step back and figuring out if they’re arguing at all or if they’re both just frustrated.  After they’ve managed to figure out what’s wrong and talked it out, Peter’s an acts of service kind of person after a fight--his specific brand is to make someone’s favorite meal, regardless of who was doing the apologizing.  

Neal is...not good at conflict.  For obvious reasons, he’s inclined toward avoiding conflict when he can, and bailing immediately afterward when he can’t.  The first time he actually fought with Elizabeth, she had to come to his apartment and hammer on his door until he let her in.  Neal’s never really been able to argue with someone and then have them still be there except for maybe Mozzie, and it’s an extremely rough adjustment for everyone.  It requires a lot of patience from Elizabeth and Peter, and a lot of anxiety from Neal, for them to find a balance about it.  But Neal is a gifts person after an argument, once he learns to be anything after an argument, and not just extravagant things.  He brings flowers or Elizabeth’s favorite mixers or one of the boring patterned ties that Peter loves, he brings a paperweight or a mug, a hair pin, a new set of dress shoe laces, a pair of beautiful earrings, a six-pack of beer, whatever hoves into his field of vision and he can afford to acquire.

29) Why do they fall a little bit more in love?

One time when he got home from work, Peter caught Neal and Elizabeth waltzing in the kitchen while the radio played the Top 40 Hits station, and they were giggling while they tried to keep time to Umbrella, and Neal was complaining about El not letting him play classical while she was cooking, and Neal dipped El so that she could wink at Peter upside down, and they burned dinner because they left the stove on and the three of them got takeout ramen instead.

Peter thinks about that evening sometimes when he’s stuck in traffic.

[keepthyfaithandthylight]

Reincarnation au

It will be quite long, and this is only part one. For @fructidor hope you like it so far, if not that’s completely ok.

Monday, August 14th, 5:15 a.m. Would that cursed alarm clock just shut up already?

Slowly, Max rubbed the sleep from his bleary eyes and forced himself to his feet, immediately being met with the frigid floor. Why can’t we simply have carpet, it’s so much more warm to wake up to..

He fumbled around for a moment in search of his glasses, before blinking his eyes into focus once he had found them and put them on.

“Wonderful, now I won’t go out with my shirt on backwards.” He commented to himself, before rummaging through his closet.

“Max, hurry up! I don’t want to be late for my first day of school!” Shouted Augustin from down the hall.

“You say that each year, but within a week I’m dragging you out of bed by your ankles!” Retorted the elder, sliding the sweater over his head.

Ironically enough, once Max had finished getting ready, his brother was still standing in the bathroom in his pajamas, brushing his teeth.

“Really..” began the elder, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

“What?” Asked Augustin with a mouthful of toothpaste, seeming offended.

“And here I thought you didn’t want to be late.” Max watched as his brother rolled his eyes before retreating to his room. Walking downstairs, his first instinct was to make a beeline for the coffee machine. He could tell already he was going to need the caffeine to get through the day. “Are you finally ready..?” He asked, upon hearing his brother descend the stairs.

“Whatever.” Came the response, the footsteps already walking to the door. Slowly, Max followed, standing to his feet while still holding his cup of coffee in one hand, keys in the other. Augustin had already marched himself out the door, and was waiting rather impatiently by the car, a look of annoyance across his face. Once he saw Max unlock the car, he practically threw the door open and fell in, ignoring as his brother sighed tiredly before he himself got in.

“Could you please try not to rip the car door off every morning..?” He asked quietly, before starting the car. “Why are you so mad, anyway?”

“Because every single year now you leave and I’m stuck at home with our sister.” Answered Augustin, crossing his arms over his chest and turning to look out the window. Max sighed once more, driving down the road.

“I’ll be back for the holidays. I always am, aren’t I?” He asked, only being answered by silence. Once they reached a red light, he took a sip of his coffee, trying to remove the exhaustion which weighed his very bones.

***

“I’ll see you in a few months, do try to stay out of trouble while I’m away!” Max called from the window, watching as his brother walked down the sidewalk. With one last heavy breath and swig of coffee, he prepared himself for his slightly longer drive ahead. Sometimes he wondered why he ever came home for the summer, but he would always have to remind himself that in most cases he was the glue holding their entire family together. Charlotte was working two, sometimes three jobs to support both herself and Augustin, who was trying to finish up school and getting into a bit of trouble. Max was in a bit of a similar situation, though he was simply trying to get his degree. This would be his last year before he finally graduated.

The sun rose in the sky as he drove along the highway, music playing softly in the background. Every once in a while he would take a sip of coffee to ward off the sleep which seemed to tug at him mercilessly. At long last, the campus came into view with its imposing architecture, it looked more like a cluster of medieval cathedrals than a college campus. He parked his car and watched as the students crowded in the school yard, signing up for clubs and some trying to figure out where they were even supposed to go. With one last swig of coffee, he got out and grabbed his things before making his way to his most familiar place. The dorms.

He had shared a dorm with his closest friend Camille since his first year there, they had known each other prior to going to college and Max had felt more comfortable sharing a room with someone he knew well. To his utmost dismay, however, Camille had switched schools over the summer. To be closer to his fiancé, he had said. Max understood, of course, but he was nervous now. Alone in a sea of other young adults, none of which he knew well, he was quite honestly terrified. He downed another swig of coffee before marching up the stairs, wandering down the hall before at last standing before his old familiar door.

Well, I do have to unpack. Again.

With a heavy sigh, he pushed the door open. Some of his more permanent decorations remained, such as pictures he had hung on the wall, and lamps, things of the likes, but Camille’s side was sterile and empty. Bland. Void of any character. With another, almost unneeded sigh, he walked over to his bed and slowly shrugged off his bags full of clothes, placing his laptop bag on his bed. He could not afford for his laptop to break again. Wiping his eyes, he stood in silence for a moment. He would miss the familiarity of his friend, after all they had bonded almost instantly upon first meeting, almost as if they had known each other long, long ago. He shrugged off the thought just as he had his bags, before leaning down and grabbing one of the aforementioned parcels and unpacking. Darting back and forth from bag to drawer, he eventually had his clothes set up for what would be the coming months until once more he returned home for a few weeks.

How lonely it felt in that small dorm room. How lonely indeed.

The silence seemed to eat away at him as he laid on his old bed, staring at the wall.

I will be alright, he and I will keep in touch. After all, it isn’t like he left for no reason at all-

Then, the door opened as someone else tumbled in, though he wasn’t sure if it was a mountain of bags suddenly animated or someone who just decided to pack way too much stuff.

“Um-“ Began Max, with hesitance and anxiety, and the other person looked up.

“And to think I thought that I was early..” they said to themselves, dragging the bags through the door.

“That’s um.. quite a bit of stuff you have there. Are you moving in or something?” Max joked, watching as one bag got stuck in the door, his new roommate tugging at it with what appeared to be a majority of his body weight.

“More or less- oof-“ Max raised an eyebrow as the bag finally broke free, sending its opponent stumbling back a few steps.

“You certainly travel light, don’t you.” He chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. Hopefully this person had a sense of humor.

“Well, considering the fact that I have been living out of my car for the past few months, and obviously I can’t leave my stuff in my car..” they began, before dragging their bags over to what was now their side of the room.

“Living out of your car..?!” Max practically exclaimed, in surprise, eyes wide as he leaned forward.

“Yeah. Complicated situation, don’t want to talk about it.” Answered the other, and Max took a moment to observe them. They were quite tall, though everyone was tall compared to Max, who stood at approximately 5’3”, had long brown hair, and that was about all that Max could tell from what he had seen so far, aside from them fighting with their bags. He watched as they dumped their stuff onto what was now their bed, before taking what was his last swig of coffee. He frowned at the cup in his hand, before setting it aside on his table. “Do you happen to have any tape?” His new roommate suddenly asked, as they stretched a poster up on the wall.

“Oh- uh.. I think I do, give me one second..” Max replied, before sliding off of his bed and rummaging around in his desk, pulling out a roll of scotch tape. “I do, here.” He handed the plastic tape container to the other, who quickly took it.

“Thanks.”

Max wasn’t really sure he liked the tension that suddenly filled his dorm. It was not something he was accustomed to, at least when Camille had been there. He was brought from his thoughts once more as the sound of books falling on top of one another filled the air.

“That’s.. a lot of books-“ he commented, nervously.

“Well, like I said. I can’t keep my belongings in my car.” Responded the other, coldly. Max nodded hesitantly, before deciding in his mind to simply mind his own business and go back to staring at the wall, missing his former roommate. After what Max assumed had been an hour, the sound of bags being dumped finally stopped, and he noticed the bags had simply been pushed beneath the bed. One wasn’t even entirely empty. Max decided to try to clear the tension a little.

“I’m Maximilien, but most everyone calls me Max.” He began, cautiously, and for the first time the entire morning his roommate looked at him.

“Like Maximilien Robespierre?” They asked, and Max chuckled.

“I suppose you could put it that way.” He answered, slightly amused. He could not help but smile, he had never been compared to someone like that before.

“Cool, I’m Antoine.”

At least I have a name for him now?

“That’s.. actually a really neat name, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone named ‘Antoine’ before.” Max said, absentmindedly, staring at the ceiling.

“Yeah, at least I didn’t have to worry about sharing a name with anyone way back in elementary and middle school.” Replied the other with a shrug.

“I certainly dealt with plenty of that.” Max chuckled, lightly, with a nod. “So.. what are you majoring in?” He asked, sitting up attentively.

“Music, mostly.” Antoine replied with a shrug once more, staring at his hands. “Nothing really uncommon or interesting.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s at least some interesting classes?” Max insisted, earning yet another shrug.

“I suppose. Art history seems like it would be pretty interesting.” His face lit up as the other said that.

“Oh it is.” Max grinned, and Antoine raised an eyebrow at him in doubt.

“You seem.. overjoyed at the fact that that’s on my schedule-“ he commented, and Max chuckled once more, this time with more mischief.

“I am, it’s one of my favorite classes. When do you have it?” The latter asked with a warm smile, and Antoine looked up in thought.

“Um.. tomorrow at 8 am, I think?” He answered, looking over at Max.

“Ironically enough I have it at the same time.” Max smiled, and Antoine nodded slowly, his brown hair falling in front of his face for a moment.

“Well there’s one thing we have in common so far.” He replied, and Max could only smile wider. The more time went on, the air became more comfortable, much like it had with Camille. Some strange feeling of familiarity, Max couldn’t quite place what it was, but he was certainly not complaining, it had been a while since he had been able to sit in comfortable silence with another person, or have a warm conversation. It was something he missed, and he was glad to have it once more, even if only for a little while.

[old-daemon-farts]

My daemon only repeats things I know or responds in a sarcastic tone. Is something wrong?

That's actually quite typical. I am going to be sharing a cleaned up version of what I wrote to someone in a server I am in. It was said to be a good/useful read so I wanted to share here as well with some added substance and better structure.

One thing to keep in mind is if you already know something, or know you should be doing something, a daemon isn't going to have much of anything new to say on the topic. Repeating what we already know or echoing our own thoughts and opinions is pretty standard for a daemon. They exist from our own thoughts after all so should we be surprised? They know as much as we do, and even if they have a strong connection to our subconscious it still feels like a rare occurrence when they do manage to drag something up we have forgotten. This is why we work to separate them from ourselves, to try and make the echo less noticeable and for their stream of thought to feel more fluid and natural. Less like us, and more like someone else. But really, does the repetition truly end? I say this in good humor as I know my own daemons still repeat what I know daily and I will explain why.

My daemons rarely bring new things to light. They are a soundboard for me. We tell each other things we already know. But sometimes having something you already know said by someone else can put new light on it. Make you notice something that was never clicking prior. I don't expect my daemon's to have answers. I just expect them to help keep me talking long enough to find the answer. They may be able to dip their feet into my subconscious but it's rare for them to know or remember something I cannot.

My daemons do not control my body, emotions, or influence me in any way. So for daemons who are able to do all these things and do influence their people into action this may make my own daemons at first glance appear extremely unhelpful. Why do I even have them if they can't force improvement or change? When I don't listen to their advice? When they can't even make me complete simple task. Well, I'd say anyone who thought that was wrong. They are helpful. Just only in a way that makes sense for me. Its not instant gratification or success or improvement. But they are influencing me exactly in the way I need. They make me happy. They help me process my thoughts and love myself. That is really all I need when it comes down to how I live my days. So what do you need from your daemon? Are you stuck expecting the same experience as another daemian instead of seeking how you both work together best?

Now in regards to less than favorable behavior. Daemons do have their own personalities and these personalities change and grow just like ours do. Some daemons are polite and others are rude. One may be considerate and another blunt. Some may start out meek and later become sarcastic. Or perhaps they will stay blunt or sarcastic their entire existence. But why? What determines a daemons personality and how they talk to us? This will depend on you and I have no solid answer to give. But, I do have some scenarios that you could relate to.

My own daemon's personalities are the outcome of the thought patters they reside over. My internal monologues with myself. Cayde is my sarcastic remarks and quick jabs at myself for doing dumb things while Rhea is my optimistic, problem solver. Tess is just straight up a shot of caffeine sitting on a throne, and lastly Lynnette is my anger and disappointment. These are all very general and minor surface level examples. But you get the point.

So when talking to my daemons I know what kind of answers or advice I am going to receive from them. Some advice will be quite harsh and other comments sugar coated to keep me going. The key factor in how far my daemons go with their behavior is dictated by my mental health. The worse I am the more supportive they may be. Or if the only way to get through the issue is to confront something they will kick me until I do what needs to be done. But this kicking still has it's limits. My daemons know how far they can go before I break and they will never do or say anything that would compromise my health. If they bring up intrusive thoughts they also bring a solution with it. So, I trust them. If someone is being problematic I know there is a reason and I know I need to work with them to find the solution.

Ah, so there is another reason right there. If your daemon does not instantly take on behavior that is compliant with your mental health and needs there could be a very specific thought pattern influencing them. It is tied very closely to intrusive thoughts, general self-depreciation, and even guilt. If YOU are unhappy with something or yourself your DAEMON will very likely reflect this. If you are avoiding something your daemon WILL know. If you think you are fine and your daemon suddenly becomes hostile or out of character that is a red flag something is not fine. Something needs to be addressed. Internal frustrations leaking through and learning to be kind to yourself are all part of the daemon experience.

So don't worry too much about if you or your daemon is doing something right or wrong. Instead reflect on what is underneath it all. You may be surprised with what you find. Again, daemons are a relationship and relationships require work. Now while toxic relationships should be nipped in the bud and tossed aside you can't really do that with a daemon. Your daemon is YOU after all. If you are being toxic to yourself this doesn't have the same simple solution. I won't go further into that though as that is something outside my knowledge and have not had to experience this with my own daemons.

I hope you enjoyed the wall of text. Thank you and have a good one.

Edit: Oh shoot I forgot. So your daemon is free to express things we cannot. We cannot fight someone or cuss at the top of our lungs when pissed off. We have to be restrained. But our daemons don't. So they will possibly just be expressing behavior you have to hold back. Sarcasm you want to throw around but have to hold your tongue. The snark you want to give the world. Whatever it may be. If you can't express it your daemon may just do it for you.

[love-we-write]

Eccedentesiast

Character: RichyxMC (ambiguous platonic or romantic)  Genre: Hurt/Comfort? Friendship/Romance? Unbeta-ed mess is for certain Words: 4,188  Summary: Richy is used to being known to be able to bring a little bit of comical sunshine to everybody’s gloom. He’s just not used to letting anyone know that he’s burning behind that light. But then, you appeared in his life.  Potential T/W: mentions of panic attacks   A/N: Done in conjunction with the Duskwood Secret Santa event~! Dear @anatomical-myocardium, Merry Christmas to you~! Sorry this took so long to post, I swear my laptop crashes on me at the most inconvenient time sometimes. I hope I did this justice as a gift to you, and I hope you like it, just as I absolutely love your gift to me~! Have a safe and happy Christmas~!  ❤️ ❤️

And with a renewed vow to write anything and everything that I want to write without minding if it’s a game, or an anime, or an anime game, or Kpop, here we go~!  ❤️ ❤️

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

Richy is most known by his friends and all the Duskwood residents for his carefree nature, and he is very much aware of this. 

With his small group of friends, he has been the joker of the group longer than memory can serve, always light-hearted with that small touch of dry humor to help liven up the mood. From their weekly battle of Doodle Friends to their catch up session at Aurora’s, all seven of them look to Richy to brighten their days with his quick-witted comebacks and his lame jokes that gets even Lily - ever the serious one - to chuckle.

At his job, his bright personality makes him one of the select few who could talk to Alfie without unnerving the boy, and from greeting old ladies who pass by his shop to chatting away with his customers while he repairs their cars, everyone does not have qualms to admit that Richy’s easy-going nature is his most admirable trait, a warm relaxing ray of sunshine that comes out and give others a bit of cheer on their gloomy days.

Richy knows that his ability to not take things too seriously gives comfort to his friends. 

Richy knows this, knows it in the way Jessy thanks him for being there for her when she is frustrated with how Dan is treating her affections, knows it in the way Thomas looks at him silently yet gratefully when he brought them to Aurora’s and filled them with a copious amount of beers and stupid jokes for a self-proclaimed “pity party” after Thomas’ fight with Hannah. 

He knows it during the wake of Hannah’s absence when Thomas is on the verge of breaking down, and when Jessy fought with Cleo over how to handle the investigation, Lilly had reached out to him in the middle of the night,  quiet words of “I feel like you’re the only one keeping this group together,” mumbled into the phone in between sniffles.

Richy knows he is most known for his easy-going personality, and he is used to it. 

He is also used to that horrible feeling of uselessness constantly haunting him in the deep dark solace of his mind. That sinking in his stomach, the heaviness settling in his core as he contemplates whether he has anything worthwhile at all anything good to offer to this world, the constant feeling that he doesn’t have anything at all. It is a dark void spanning the crevasse of his mind that comes up in his solitude, whispering that he is not good enough, that he does not deserve grief and his fear is only going to burden his loved ones.

Because who is he to voice out his sadness and anguish when everybody else has so much on their plate already? Who is he to want to cry at Jessy to look at him, just LOOK AT HIM WHO HAS BEEN THERE FOR YOU when she is heartbroken herself. What right does he have to voice out his grief, his guilt at being the first one to come to Hannah’s house but still unable to save her anyway? What right does he have to say these things, when he only had lost a friend while Thomas lost a girlfriend and Lilly a sister? 

What right does he have?

So, Richy does what he does best. He smiles. He jokes. And he hides. He stopped trying to figure out the line inside him where his smile ends and his fear starts. To him, they all bleed together.

Richy is used to being known to be able to bring a little bit of comical sunshine to everybody’s gloom. He’s just not used to letting anyone know that he’s burning behind the light.   

------------------------------------ 

 But then, you appeared in his life. You with your contagious kindness, you who are the one person who does not have any personal stakes with Hannah in this investigation but still decided to help out of the sheer good in your heart. 

Richy sometimes thought that you were highly naive when you said that them getting your number and bringing you in this group must have meant that there is something that you could do instead of just seeing it as it is; an ominous invitation from an unknown hacker. However, that thought of your naivete is blown out of the water when he witnessed your bright-eyed curiosity and your sharp perception. 

‘You like Jessy, don’t you?’ you had texted him out of the blue during one of your conversations when during the first few days after you appeared in their lives.

Richy swore he almost dropped his phone in his coffee when he read your text. No one has ever picked up on his one-sided affections towards Jessy, not even their group, not even Jessy herself who has been his close friend. 

He has always been wary of you when Thomas first invited you in. A stranger whose number was given to them by another stranger seemed to Richy like a well-timed disaster waiting to explode in their faces. Richy liked to think of himself as neutral when it comes to matters of your involvement; skeptical enough to not be desperate as Thomas but to the point of hostility that Lilly has shown. 

But with your eagle-eyed intuition, Richy realized he had to be extra careful with himself around you.

‘Uh, gotta go. Coffee’s about ready and I need that caffeine injection for my sanity, in case some more shit happens around here, haha,’ he had typed quickly, adding in several emojis in succession for some good measure. He puts the phone face down almost immediately, as if that would help distract him from your reply, and busies himself with work.

‘That’s okay. Coffee sounds like a great idea. The next time you want to subtly avoid having uncomfortable conversations about yourself, I have a list of ideas :D,’ was your reply to him when he checked his phone during his break. 

Mirth bubbles up in Richy, a feeling of familiarity and comfort fizzing up in him like downing cold soda on a hot summer day. Richy chuckles towards his phone, seeing as you really did provide him with a list of excuses to make to get out of conversation, each item sillier than the previous one.

Your entrance into his and the way Richy felt you seeing through to him feels like a breath of fresh air.

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

‘Richy, hi.’ 

 Richy smiles, looking at his phone vibrated on the countertop as he is pouring his third cup of coffee for the day. Seems like the weekend is as good as any for him to gather his thoughts to himself, to compartmentalize his feelings away from the crowd, but the texts from you over the days is a welcome distraction. 

From asking him about Jennifer Manson, to asking him about the phone call he made on the day of Hannah’s disappearance, to random conversation about your favorite movies or music, messages from you have become something he looks forward to daily. He found himself slowly thinking more and more of you; whether you are okay, what you have been doing among other things

‘Now, what more information does my lady seek from me?’ he types quickly, anticipating as the three dots beside your name blinks back at him. 

‘Good sir, is it such a crime if I just want to inquire about your day? :(’

Richy would be lying if he said that his heart did not skip a few beats over those words.

‘Our previous conversations would indicate that you always would have things to ask me after you know about how my day went, so out you go. :D’

It feels nice to see you playing along with his jokes.

‘Cleo told me you fought with your dad?’

Ah.

Not information about Hannah’s disappearance then. Which, to him, is much much easier to divulge.

‘That girl is going to get into trouble one day over how much she’s eavesdropping.’

‘I know. But more importantly, are you okay?’

Are you okay? Wow, Richy thinks as he stares at his idle phone. A simple question, but look at how he is struggling to answer. So he quickly typed in.

‘I’m okay, don’t worry, haha. Listen, the cat outside my apartment is literally meowing my window panes down, I better go check up on it before it eats itself,’ Richy began typing his response, as if him staring down the digitized letters will give him some form of epiphany over what the best course of action is. 

Excuse #12 from that ridiculous list that you gave him from weeks ago. From feeding non-existent stray cats outside his house to a car needing their tires changed, it quickly became an inside understanding between the two of you that this is a signal that he does not want to talk about it. 

But, inside, he wants to talk about it. Wants to talk to you about how this fight is a series of continuous disagreements between him and his father over how to run the family’s garage. Wants to talk about how this garage is not what he envisioned doing in his adult year, that he has no interest whatsoever in running the family’s business. How he had wanted to be a photographer, but was forced to run the garage by his dad to continue the family business. 

And how each time his father berates him over the losses their garage suffered due to the new competing garage in town, he feels a slight vendetta to bring up that he is never interested in what happens in this garage but is only doing it for his father.

He has long perfected the art of hiding anything of him that isn’t polished and brightened, so when you picked it up immediately, he felt flustered. Flustered because he doesn’t know what to do when faced with the idea of someone perceptive as you catching his vulnerabilities that he is ashamed of. But, also flustered with the fact that he feels a small sense of comfort that someone took time to notice the small things about him, and that deep inside, he feels some small part of him wanting to reach back out.

For now, he just added a bunch of cheerful emojis for good measure and hits send.

He wants to talk about it. He wants to.

‘You know, I don’t expect you to exhaust that list so quickly. I would have thought it’d be good for at least 2-3 months.’ came your reply.

‘I worry about you, Richy.’

------------------------------------ 

And it is true, you are worried for him. It has been close to three weeks since you first got added into this strange group, and if truth be told, you would never have thought that you’d be as invested as you are now. You could not deny that Jessy and Richy were two of the friends you never thought that you would care for as much as you did. You know that Jake had warned you over the group, and you ARE a bit more wary of some more than others, but you did not expect your trust to go wholeheartedly to this small trio that you have formed with Jessy and Richy. 

Jessy is the sweetest girl you have ever met in the world, always kind. She has this effect around people that made them feel cared for, and you are thankful how she had welcomed you and helped you out when everyone else seems to think you are the kidnapper.She wears her heart on a sleeve, and she trusts easily, but she means well. And Richy…

Richy is an enigma. On surface level, it seems that he is a bright ray of sunshine, all lighthearted jokes and wit, a perfect comedic complement to Jessy’s more emotional tendencies, but you notice the things that made Richy much more complex than he lets on.

You see his calm and composed nature when he is the one to suggest the group to think more critically in the case of your appearance and Hannah’s disappearance, how he calmed everyone down and brought their spirits up. But you also see his aversion to talking about how he himself feels.

Even though he does not show it, you know the incident with Hannah affected him just as much as it had affected everybody else. You see the sprinkle of emotions he has shown, from Jessy who told you how quiet he had been on the day his garage was spray painted with the sign of the raven, to his deprecating jokes about himself when you asked about the phone call he had made to Hannah on the day of her disappearance. 

You see that sliver of fear, that glimpse of guilt over those short moments, but come any closer and you could miss it with how subtly and skillfully he averts to more cheerful topics.

But that’s the thing. You worry for him. Jessy goes to the both of you for comfort while Dan goes to Jessy. Lilly has her family, Cleo goes to Thomas and Thomas’s grief is acknowledged and heard by all of them.

But who listens to Richy? Who gives Richy their shoulder for him to grief? Who lift up his spirits the way he does to you? For now, all you can do is put your phone close to your ear, Richy’s number dialing in the background. 

‘I worry about you, Richy.’

‘It gets better, I promise you. You don’t have to be alone. I’m here for you,’ you added under your previous text. It goes unanswered and your calls only gets redirected to voicemail. So all you can do is hold your phone close to you, placing your lips on its receiver, only able to hope that it goes to him, that his cheeks or his forehead feels the warmth as a sign that you are here for him.

Miles away, in Duskwood, Richy only stares in his phone longingly, wanting to call you. 

‘I’m here for you.’ your text that had him feeling hopeful, comforted and flustered him all the same.

It has been a long time since someone sees through him so transparently, heck, the void in him has bled together with his façade so much that even he himself cannot see through the layers of sunshine to where his dark insecurities start. He has crafted so many walls, perfected so many smiles that it even fooled Jessy, the person most close to him here in Duskwood. Perhaps at some point, maybe he even fooled himself.

And yet, here you are. Effortlessly breaking through those walls like it’s paper, unblinded by the fake shine he puts on, and sees the darkness in him for what it is. He has to laugh at that as he leaned his forehead on his phone, somehow feeling a sense of comfort just in doing that. What have you done to him? 

Perhaps one day he can begin to talk about it.

------------------------------------ 

 That day came sooner that he thought it would be. That night in December, it snowed heavily in Duskwood. Angry snow fell down in a furious blizzard, gusts of wind wailing outside in anguish, doors and window panes shaking almost in fear. Sometimes, the wailing picks up speed and bangs on the window with a scream.

Inside, Richy is just as furious, just as anguished as the blizzard outside. The man without a face seems hell-bent in getting them to stop finding Hannah and to obtain your location. Richy would bend over backwards and go to hell twice before letting your location fall in its hands. And with the search not showing any signs of stopping, so did the threats to them.

Today, it took the threat to another level when it involved their families as well. Richy had woken up with a call from his father. He had expected the call to be his father picking up another fight with him, but the urgency in his father’s voice and the manic sobbing of his mother in the background struck a cold chord in him.

It turned out that his family house has been vandalized with the signs of the raven, only this time it is worse than the one did in the garage. The windows were splashed with red paint, with papers jammed in their mailbox full of threatening letters of ‘give me her’ and ‘Richy, you’re next’. It took him a good two hours to scrub the windows clean, and then another hour to comfort his mother that this is just a prank pulled by some reckless vandals, to clean up the papers from the mailbox and throw them in the trash.

But, deep inside he knows it. This is not a prank. This is a threat to him. To them.

Duskwood is a small town. People will talk and come tomorrow, his friends will find out. He needs time. He needs time to sort out his thoughts. Time to properly compartmentalize.

He needs time to sort out through his guilt of not being able to protect his family from being terrorized from the man without a face. There is the fury with the fact that it has been established that the man without a face is someone within their circle, given how much they know about your presence.

He needs time.

There is the fear that you, being the lynch pin to all that the man without a face wanted from them, will be burdened more. He needs time to sort through the fear that he could not protect you, and even though it is for the best interest of your safety that none of them knows where you are, you are still all alone having to pick up after these seven dysfunctional people and no one to protect you.

Then, there is the confusion, the stress, the angry sadness that this is a game that he has to continue to play with his friends. The betrayal that one of them, one of his close friends is responsible for this, that they could have the balls to laugh with him, smile with him and turn around and do this to him. 

He needs time to sort through this anger and he doesn’t have the courage to face them and continue playing this game tomorrow, not when all he wanted to do is lash out at each one of them and threaten them and ohgodheneedstimeheneedstime-- 

In the solace of his room in his family home, Richy feels his thoughts become as white as the blizzard of snow outside. He hears his breath quickens, a voiceless wail stuck in his throat and he feels the shivers in his spine like the doors trembling in front of the wind.

Heneedstimeohgodpleasegivehimabitoftime----

And like a lifeline, his phone besides him rang and vibrated and he clutched it to him like a lifeline. Like a miracle in December, he sees that it’s your name. Somewhere in his blank white thoughts, he hears a small chuckle and how impeccable your timing is.

He answers and your voice in his ears sounded like a buoy thrown to him that is flailing about.

“Richy, I had a bad feeling about something. Is everyone okay?” and Richy hears himself laugh at that, a horrible mixture of a broken laugh and a hiccup and a helpless wail, all mixed up to become a horrible wounded noise.

Over on your side of the phone, your heart picked up pace when you heard that choked laughter from Richy. It is horrible and it is scary and you would never want to hear it from anyone again, least of all not Richy. He is having a panic attack.

“Richy, are you okay?! Richy, listen to me. Breathe with me, sweetheart. Breathe in, breathe out,” deep inside you tried to stay calm because that is what he needs, but even you feel like being on the verge of tears listening to this man - who has cheered you up so much - break down in front of you.

After he seemed to have calmed down, you tried again.

“Richy, what’s wrong? Please talk to me. You deserve to not be alone in this Richy. I see you. I see you smiling to get everyone to smile. You listened to me and you lifted up my mood when Jessy was attacked, and when I received threats over Lilly’s video. Let me do the same to you, yeah? Tell me what’s wrong?”

And to Richy, who has clutched onto your voice like a lifeline, who wants to share everything with you, just burst like a dam. Everything that he has kept secret from his friends, the sadness behind his smile, everything that he has even kept from himself and just swept under the rug and pushed into a closet at the back of his mind. Everything burst right there in front of you, from his guilt to not being able to stop Hannah’s kidnapping and Jessy’s attack, to him feeling unworthy of being sad compared to others, to his fear when he saw the sign of the raven in his garage and now on his home, his fury at knowing one of his friends are doing this, to his fear for Jessy, his fear for you. 

He hated everything. He hated himself.

You told him that he is strong, that you admired him so much, but he needs to see that he deserves to be comforted just as much as he has comforted everyone else. 

In that snowstorm-clad night, the winds wept and wept, but beneath its howl, you can hear the intermittent wail of a broken man as Richy cried, and cried, and cried. 

As he lets out everything, the blank white fog of his mind begins to clear and gain color. It started from the reds of fury, to the blacks of fear and the blues of guilt, but then your voice came in, and slowly the pinks of comfort, the yellows of hope and the purples of peace began melting through. 

------------------------------------ 

[EPILOGUE]

Both you and Richy sat over the phone for over 3 hours just talking about nothing and everything after his outburst. 

He seems to have gained his color back, his cheerful self almost back as he cracked his lame stories about gangster seagulls eating his sandwich once in his travels. Richy feels like this time, his color - albeit still a little faded - is much more genuine than the blacks filtered from a rose-colored glass that he has shown before. Your laughter as you listen to his story and object to its credibility, slowly made those faded colors in his mind more vibrant.

“Thank you for listening to me, for um… taking care of me,” he begins a bit meekly after he finishes his story. He’s not so used to being listened to, not at this vulnerable a level and definitely he is not used to being taken care of.

“You did the same to me when Jessy was attacked. And you would have done the same for me again, I’m sure of it,” your voice sounded like a smile would, and God, would he give up everything to see that smile in person. He laughs to himself internally. How has this person made him so whipped for her in such a manner?

“I’m planning on going to Duskwood soon,” you had said out of the blue, bringing him back from his reverie.

“Absolutely not. In case you forgot my magnificent show of tears just now, the man without a face is threatening us to get to you. You coming here is the absolute worst thing to do,” Richy snorted, a mock indignant and wounded tone from him that made you chuckle.

“Well, how bad can it be? If we keep my arrival a secret from the rest of them, and spend the days, just you, me and Jessy, it wouldn’t hurt, would it? Someone needs to go there and give you a hug and take care of you,” you had replied back shortly, almost giving no thought to what you had said.

“Oh my, my lady, are you flirting with me?” Richy’s exaggerated gasp brought you back to reality, and his implication had your heart skipping beats.

“Well I mean… um…” you stuttered, and Richy swore your hesitance and stuttering made his heart soar just a little bit more in hope. But pursuing it is for another time.

“W-Well, someone needs to stop you from being such an eccedentesiast!” you had blurted out, extremely grateful that the distance makes it unable for him to see your bright red hot face.

His laughter after that sounds like the most genuine you have heard from him so far, and he might have said something along the lines of “nooo use small words, your idiot here doesn’t understand what that means,” but you couldn’t remember clearly. All you remembered was you thinking that you would give almost anything to protect that genuine tinkling laughter of his.

[abigailadams1788]

Humans are Space Orcs: DON’T EAT THAT!!

So I’ve been obsessed with the whole “Humans Are Space Orcs” thing for a while but I haven’t had an idea to add to it until tonight. I don’t know if this has been done before but here’s what happened: I was texting my brother and he mentioned watching this video of a guy who was eating his leftovers in the styrofoam to-go container. Like, eating it styrofoam and all.

You’re probably like “You idiot don’t eat that!” and my next thought was “What if an alien reacted to that?”

Cause here’s the thing: we’ve all seen the posts of humans eating anything. We consume caffeine by the gallon in the mornings just to stay awake. We eat chocolate by the pound cause it tastes good and lifts our mood (don’t act like you didn’t gorge on that chocolate pie/cake at Thanksgiving. We all know you snuck that third piece when no one was looking.) We consume fruits that have cyanide-filled seeds. Hell pineapple is toxic if it’s unripe but we put it on pizza and salads anyways. It’ll burn our tongue anyways but we still eat it.

So naturally, aliens are in this mode of “Humans can eat just about anything. They come from this major Deathworld; why wouldn’t they eat everything? They already said “Fuck you” to the natural order of predation. Might as well have an appetite to facilitate that.” So just imagine this:

Xa’var shuffled into the mess hall after a long what xis human counterparts would say day. Xa’var had been up since the first shift and was just now getting something to eat. It wasn’t easy, being the liaison for xis’ council and the humans, but it was a job Xa’var took pride in.

Laughter caught Xa’var’s attention. The humans that xe had come to consider friends were hunched over a holo-device, laughing at whatever they were watching. Curiosity arose in Xa’var’s mind. It was always a fortuitous occasion to learn more about xis’ counterparts. It could even be a new report to make to add to the “How To Deal With Humans 101″ handbook. Xa’var used xis main tentacles to walk over to the humans’ table.

“Hello, Human Rachel. Hello, Human Todd. Might I inquire as to what it is you are watching?”

“Oh, Xa’var! Didn’t see you come in.” Rachel bared- smiled- there were still many things to get used to about the behaviors of humans- at xim and moved over so Xa’var could lean down comfortably. “Todd was showing me this video of this idiot eating his leftovers with his to-go box.”

Xa’var leaned down and focused one of his eyes on the holo-device while the other watched the reactions of the humans. On the screen, one human male was eating a white contraption that appeared to have rations in it. Other humans were telling him to cease the action, but he seemed to not believe them. Todd and Rachel seemed to be very amused, though the humor was lost on Xa’var.

“I am confused.” Todd wiped his eyes- note to add to the handbook: humans cry when laughing.- and looked up at Xa’var. “What is the human doing wrong?”

“Dude.” Rachel snorted, seemingly trying to not laugh. “You don’t eat styrofoam. Everyone knows that.”

Xa’var was astounded. He had believed that humans could eat anything.

Xa’var remembered when someone had accidentally spilled another’s ration on xim. The result was an extended stay in the medical wing because the acids in the foods had almost burned through xis carapace. 

When Human Rachel came to check on xim and asked to see the rations, they were brought in for her inspection. To Xa’var’s horror, after smelling the rations, Rachel had taken a rather large helping and eaten it.

Instead of immediately convulsing and screaming in pain, as what had happened with Xa’var, Rachel simply moved her shoulders in a movement that Xa’var recognized as a shrug and said: “Could’ve used a little more spice.”  When Xa’var had inquired as to how she could handle the acidity of the food, she had laughed and commented that her mother- the human term for egg-layer, since apparently humans weren’t hatched- used to make something called a curry that burned when one ate it. Xa’var had made a note that night to his council to avoid the human food known as curry at all costs.

“You... you mean humans can’t eat everything?” Xa’var knew it was not the most tactful approach, but the fact that the man was being seen as an apparent imbecile for eating his food container seemed to Xa’var to be a type of prank. Surely they weren’t serious about it?

Both Human Rachel and Human Todd lifted the hair above their eyes- eyebrows, Xa’var mentally corrected- in surprise. “Who told you we could?” Todd asked.

“I...” Xa’var felt xis skin start to flush with embarrassment. “It has been believed for a long time that humans can eat anything.”

“Well...” Human Todd leaned back in his chair. “I mean, we technically can eat anything, but there are things we shouldn’t. Does that make sense?”

“I am afraid it does not. Could you please elaborate?” Hunger temporarily forgotten, Xa’var lowered into a neighboring chair, tucking his tentacles under xis carapace to facilitate a comfortable position; new information was always worth giving one’s full attention.

“So here’s the thing: our stomach contains something called hydrochloric acid, which is largely responsible for breaking down everything we eat and converting it into energy, basic nutrients, proteins, you get the idea.” Xa’var nodded along, a habit xe picked up from xis human counterparts as a body language that communicates understanding. “Now we humans measure the acidity level of acids on what we call a ph scale. It runs 1 to 14. 7 is neutral, with numbers above it being alkaline in nature and numbers below 7 running acidic. The lower the number it is, the more acidic it is. 6 is more acidic than 7, 5 more than 6, and so on.”

“I see, I see.” Xa’var nodded again, enraptured now. Xe had been educated on the different scales humans use to measure things, so xe knew what a ph scale. Though, for xis people, 7 was actually capable of causing severe burns. A 4 could sear through a warrior’s carapace with ease, while anything less than a 3 was guaranteed death. 

“So where does a human’s acid level fall?” In the back of Xa’var’s second brain, the knowledge that could come from this could be useful in avoiding injury should a human’s internal organs were exposed during a battle. Given a human’s resilience, xe wouldn’t be surprised if that happened at some point and the human continued to fight.

“It depends,” Rachel spoke now. “If someone hasn’t eaten in a while, the acid in their stomach might level out at about a 4, but while they’re eating it’ll go up to a 2 or even a 1.” Xa’var felt xis eyestalks retract slightly in horror. “Lemon juice is typically considered a 2, so if that helps put in perspective.”

“Y-yes. But I am still confused as to what you meant by “shouldn’t eat”.” Xa’var cleared xis throat, trying to not let the rising horror be exposed. Levels out at a 4?!? Rises to a 1 while they were eating!?! A 1 would melt the carapace and internal organs of his people with ease and continue destroying until it was neutralized, but this happened as a natural occurrence within a human’s stomach?? Multiple times a day!?!

“Ah, yeah. Well, I guess it’s kind of like what happened with you a couple weeks ago.” Rachel shrugged, crossing her arms. Xa’var recognized the body language as bored, not hostile. It was a fine nuance, but one xe was proud xe could spot the difference in. “Humans can eat virtually anything cause our stomach is so acidic it will kill virtually any virus or bacteria that enter with our food on contact, with very few exceptions. Even then we can fight through most illnesses and poisonings as long as we keep our immune system up.

“That said, there are some things we just shouldn’t eat because it provides no nutritional value to us. Styrofoam is one of those things. Glass, plastic, rubber, paper,” Rachel shrugged again. “We can eat all of those things, as evidenced by people who do, but we shouldn’t because they don’t provide the nutrition our body needs.”

“So, what you are saying is that, while humans are perfectly capable of consuming anything, but chose to not because of nutrition concerns?” Xa’var felt the inquiry sounded more absurd spoken than it did in xis head. To xis surprise, Human Todd and Human Rachel nodded.

“Pretty much. We can sometimes get what we call “acid reflux”, which is when the acid in our stomach rises into our esophagus. This is caused by allergies or a malfunction of the internal blocker we have to prevent that from happening, but it’s rare. Usually it’s caused when we eat something that doesn’t sit well with us and causes an imbalance in our stomach acid.” Human Todd confirmed.

“And this is not dangerous?”

“Oh no, it definitely can be.” Rachel commented far too nonchalantly for Xa’var’s comfort. “Usually it’s just uncomfortable, but it does burn like a bitch. It’s why we start crying whenever we throw up. Our esophagus doesn’t have the natural lining our stomach does to protect it from the acids, so the acids literally burn away our throat. Some people have burned a hole in their throat because of acid reflux. Most of the time though that can be fixed with a simple dietary change, though some people have to take medicine to help balance out their ph levels.”

Xa’var’s brains were reeling. Not only was the initial belief confirmed (humans can indeed eat anything), but they were capable of doing so because their internal organs contained an acid strong enough to melt his carapace! It could even burn the humans’ own throats but they treated it like it was nothing!

“Are you alright, Xa’var?” Xa’var blinked. Rachel was staring at xim with an expression xe recognized as concern. “You’re white.” Looking down, Xa’var realized xe was indeed white; xis people’s skin changed color based on emotions. Apparently, the horror xe felt was enough to cause xis body to involuntarily react and try to camouflage xim with the surrounding tables and chairs.

“Y-yes. I am fine, Human Rachel.”

“You sure? Have you eaten anything today?”

“I, have not. I will go do so now. Thank you for telling me this information.”

Rachel and Todd watched as Xa’var maneuvered out of the mess. Despite xis words, xe was going the opposite way of the food. “What’s his problem?” Rachel asked.

“I dunno. Maybe a long shift?”

“Maybe.”

Little did they know that Xa’var was heading to xis quarters to not only update the “How To Deal With Humans 101″ manual, xe was also going to send a very important message to his council about the truth of a human’s terrifying ability to eat anything.

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[bnhaficsforthesoul]

BNHA College AU - Monoma

Major: Psychology

Minor: French

Sports: Soccer

Clubs: Debate

Neito feels the need to prove himself to everyone - he wants everyone to look at him and recognize how successful he is, mainly due to a childhood of everyone around him having very low expectations for him, so he wants to prove them wrong

Because of that, he’s forced himself into doing as much as possible - he studies in all his free time so that he can go into class and act like it’s easy and stay at the top of the class, he volunteers on some weekends at a local hospital, he’s on the soccer team and so he spends a lot of time at practices or games, and he joined the debate team to top it off

So basically, he has a full time schedule, and he is very tired. Not that he would ever admit it, he hides behind concoctions of coffee and energy drinks to make it appear like he’s fine

Even though most people tend to avoid him because of his “I’m so much better than all of you” attitude, no one can deny he isn’t amazing for pulling off everything he is. So far he hasn’t broke, so despite how tired he is, it seems to be working for him

The only people who really try and help him calm down are his roommate, Shinsou, and a friend from high school, Kendo - who are both very concerned about Neito, but he brushes them off saying that he’s fine

You’d think as a psych major he’d be able to understand that he needs to chill, but nope - his ego won’t let him

Now, you meet Neito in your Abnormal Psych class, when at the beginning of the semester your professor said that your only grade for the class is a project that you’ll be paired up for - and you ended up with Neito

At first you thought you were lucky, getting paired with the smart kid, but as soon as you two sat down together to talk about the project you quickly decided you weren’t so lucky

“Let’s just get this over with, I’ll do all the work, okay? I don’t want to fail because of you.”

Even though having him, who you already admitted was smart, do all the work sounded like a nice way to pass the class without doing any work, you weren’t gonna let him bad mouth you like that. He had no right to immediately decide that you were too dumb to even help out

“Well I don’t want to fail because of you, so I’ll take my half of the work, and you’ll take yours. I’m not putting my grade completely in your hands either.”

After a few seconds of glaring at each other, he dramatically rolled his eyes and sighed, “Fine, whatever, I’m picking what parts I want to do though.”

Truthfully he was happy you said that because he does not want to do a whole project by himself nor does he have the time to do so, but he doesn’t want to fail. So he’s just gonna hope that you’re smart

Throughout most of the project, you two just did your own work by yourselves - neither of you had any interest in working with the other

So other than the few times where he made sure to check in and go “are you actually working on the project?” you didn’t talk to him again until the day before the project was due when you met up in the library 

You both needed to make sure the other actually did their part and that your work would actually work fine together, and you weren’t surprised when Neito’s parts ended up being amazing work that would for sure get a high score. He was also very happy when he saw that your work was also amazing, he had worried a bit that he would have to redo a bunch of your stuff so he was glad he wouldn’t

But poor boy was exhausted, with everything that he has to do day by day on top of a huge project that he totally didn’t end up doing most of in the past week (the hypocrite) – and you could tell. Despite not knowing him well, you knew that Monoma tended to take a lot of pride in his appearance, so seeing him show up with dark circles under his eyes and messy hair was surprising

Even though he had been kinda rude to you before, you felt lowkey bad. He had obviously worked very hard on the project, and your grade depended on that. His did too of course, but still. So, you invited him out for coffee

“Seriously?”

You thought he was gonna make fun of you for asking, almost making you say nevermind, but the look on his face showed shock rather than humor, so you nodded your head, “yeah, you look tired. I’ll buy it, don’t worry. Just to celebrate us finishing this stupid project.”

He agreed, although he still looked kinda shocked, but maybe it was just because he was tired

So, you brought him to the nearest starbucks on campus, and you ordered your drinks – he got some fancy one with a lot of instructions, and once you got them you went back to the library cause there were a lot of people in the starbucks -  it is a college campus afterall

At first you both kinda just drank your coffee and went back to going over your project since you would have to present it tomorrow, but as the caffeine started kicking in Monoma started talking more and more about other things

Like he mentioned that he has to leave in about an hour cause he has soccer practice and so you were like oh youre on the soccer team?? How cool – and ofc, he’s not gonna miss a chance to brag about himself. So yes, he did talk about all of the cool things he does around campus, and despite how easily it could come off as annoying, he seemed like he was actually happy to be talking about it

However, you had to flaunt yourself too – so whenever you could you’d interject with a hard class you took or some volunteering or internship you’d done or your job, anything to show that you’re a hard worker too

And Neito liked that – you were fun. You were letting him talk about himself without getting annoyed, you were smart, you were nice, and you also were really hardworking

He totally didn’t go back to his dorm after practice and ramble to Shinsou about how awesome his project partner is

The next day, of course the presentation went great, no matter how you are at presenting Monoma is great at it and your actual project was really good so everything went perfect

You had pretty much that’d be it of you and Monoma, but at the end of class he came up to you with a proud grin on his face and asked if you wanted to come to his game this weekend

You weren’t busy or anything so you agreed, and lowkey you thought it be fun to see him playing. Even before you met him you knew this boy was pretty, and thinking about him running around playing made you a bit more flustered than you’d like to admit

So you went, and you followed Monoma’s instructions of where to go and all that, and soon the game started.

And your brain was right – he did look extra pretty like this. You couldn’t help but cheer for him as he scored goals, making him flash you a smile every time. Part of you wondered why you were doing this, you had only really known him for a few days altogether, and you disliked him for most of that, but you couldn’t deny you were having fun

Ofc, his team won, and you cheered like crazy. He came up to you after the game, ready to brag about how good he did, but you beat him to it, “You did so good Monoma!”

“I know, I know, thank you~”

Even though you should probably be the one treating him for winning, he said that he had to pay you back for the coffee the other day, and you went to get some fast food

Not healthy, but it’s a celebration, he’ll let himself eat badly sometimes

After that, you found yourself hanging out with him a lot more often, either studying or going to his games or whatever – you even ended up together in another psych class the next semester

Basically, you two had become best friends, and that was fine for a while, despite you thinking he was very pretty and had a gorgeous voice and you had started to respect him a lot

Well, it was fine for you – Neito had found himself falling deeper a lot sooner than you did. People generally don’t show him the time of day that you have, and he knows he wasn’t exactly the nicest to you when you first met but even so you not only defended yourself but were nice anyways

So yeah, long story short he loves you, he practically worships the ground you walk on tbh but he won’t ever admit that (at least not for a while)

It takes a lot of convincing from Shinsou and Kendo to even try asking you out, them saying “they’ve stuck around for this long, there’s a good chance they might like you too. Or at least I doubt they’d think it’s weird, if they can put up with you normally I’m sure they can handle this.”

So eventually, he did. Awkwardly knocking on your dorm room door one night dressed nicely, making you feel kinda weird when you answered in your pajamas, but he asked “y/n, would you like to go out with me tonight? As a date?”

Poor boy was trying so hard to sound confident but he wasn’t doing all that well, his voice coming out kinda wobbly. You were lowkey shocked when he said it but it was a pleasant surprise, no you had never really thought about dating monoma, but you were sure as hell willing to give it a try

So you said yes, asking him to give you a minute so that you could get equally as dressed up while your roommate helped you out, and soon you were on your way to wherever he was taking you

Of course it was a very fancy date, Monoma wanted to go all out for you, so it was a kind of overwhelming first date but you found yourself enjoying it greatly. He may have tried being all romantic and flirty, but there was still the goofy Monoma that you were used to under there

By the end of the date, there was no doubt about it, you liked him, so there were no objections when he asked if he could kiss you after walking you back to your dorm.

Once again, Monoma coming back to his dorm and rambling to Shinsou about how well the date went and how he even got a kiss! But Shinsou was happy for him

The next day he texted you to come meet him at the library where he officially asked you to date him, he wanted to do it there because that’s where you first became friends – how cute

Now Neito has another person constantly telling him to calm down, you support him in everything he does of course but when he’s tired you will make him stop studying so that he can nap with you

When he has matches you get to do that cheesy thing when after he wins he can run up to you and kiss you – its amazing, his teammates think it’s gross, but who cares

And you go to his debate competitions if youre allowed to, and hoo boy can he debate he always has the best arguments and everything you’re so proud like hell yeah that’s your annoying ass man

Neito is a French minor, and of course he’s gonna use that on you. He’s very good at French, like he picked it up quickly and he’s just got it down completely, so ofc he’s using that to flirt with you

But if you know French and use it back at him he will get very flustered (if you don’t know it maybe you should learn some just for this)

You guys go on so many fancy dates, not always expensive fancy dates, but things like you show up at a park and he set up a bunch of fairy lights and brought champagne or something

If you ever hang out at his dorm, which might be fairly often cause of how much he studies and all that, Shinsou will get annoyed by you two being cute

But he’ll also tell you a bunch of embarrassing stories about Neito so you love talking to him, Neito does not like it so much for that exact reason

he’s generally not big on pda but sometimes he’ll feel the need to make some big declaration of his love while you’re in public and you’re just like neito plz shut up - he’s romantic he cant help it

okay but you two have totally faked a proposal multiple times at a fancy restaurant or gone to bakeries saying you were engaged just so that you could get free food - but he makes the fake proposals so realistic that they lowkey make you tear up... imagine what he’ll be like when he does it for real