#I’m going to be so insufferable about him until we get season two | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tyonfs · 2 years

Text

netflix and chill

❝ you’ve been eye-fucking me all night, and i was starting to think you weren’t gonna get around to the chill part of netflix and chill. ❞

PAIRING ▸ lee jeno x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ smut, fluff, crack, college au, strangers to lovers au

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, smut, couch sex, wall sex, shower sex, fingering, dry humping, lots of teasing!! and some degradation and praise, oral (fem. receiving), choking, size kink, bulge kink, hyuck is insufferable, i’m sorry this is pure filth, despite the warnings there are fluffy moments

SUMMARY ▸ lee jeno doesn’t want to give up the carefree life of a single man, not tied down by emotional entanglements and commitments. that is, until he sees you smacking a man twice your size with a stack of engineering paper. he kind of falls in love, so jeno does what any normal person does and invites you over to netflix and chill.

PLAYLIST ▸ long way 2 go by cassie • sour grapes by le sserafim • foreshadow by enhypen • lucid dream by aespa

WORD COUNT ▸ 10,087 words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ hello hello! i went awol for a tiny bit but im back and i really hope you guys enjoy this !! shoutout to the ice cream sandwich that kept me awake to finish this. second installment of the bitch hunters series ♡

THE FIRST TIME LEE JENO FELT THE WORLD SHIFT OFF ITS AXIS WAS WHEN HE SAW YOU KNOCKING THE DAYLIGHTS OUT OF A MAN TWICE YOUR SIZE.

Na Jaemin and Lee Donghyuck, his housemates, were still bickering behind Jeno about a pact they had made in the beginning of the year. It was a tradition the residents of the Bitch Hunters household carried out, in which they would get a girlfriend in their fourth year of college. Since their other housemate, Huang Renjun, had already accomplished a successful bitch hunting season, Jaemin and Donghyuck were arguing who would get a girlfriend between the two of them.

Jeno honestly didn’t care when it happened; he just knew he was ready for a relationship, but he was planning on waiting for the perfect girl to come along.

Jeno had flings here and there. He hooked up with Kim Minjeong for a long time before she got a boyfriend. He was a great guy and Jeno truly was happy for them, but he felt a strange feeling in his chest when he realized she was tied down.

No, it wasn’t jealousy in any sense. Jeno was on good terms with Minjeong, but he didn’t like her to the point of wanting to be in a relationship. The reason he felt so strange was because he felt left behind. Once Minjeong picked herself up and found someone that made her happy, Jeno felt like he was stuck in a rut.

That, or he just felt embarrassed to be lumped with Donghyuck and Jaemin.

It was when Jeno started dreading his 4 P.M. Structural Design class that he started to think about how laughable his situation was. He was an architectural engineering major who could outline the process for laying down the foundation for a building, but he couldn’t set the foundations of a relationship within himself.

That was when he heard the commotion.

“Cut it out already!” the person yelled. “I don’t want anything to do with you after what you pulled last night.”

“Y/N, please,” the man who looked about twice your size begged. “Can we just talk in private?”

“I already told you, I don’t wanna see your face again.”

It was rare for Jeno to get involved in other people’s problems, but you two were arguing in the middle of campus and Jeno was a little scared for you. For starters, the man was taller than Jeno himself, and he kept getting closer to you despite your protests. It always angered him when he saw situations like these unravel; some people just didn’t know how to respect boundaries.

“Whoa.” Donghyuck placed a hand on Jeno’s shoulder after he had stopped in his tracks. “What are you gonna do? Punch him?”

“Let’s get going, Jeno.” Jaemin nudged his housemate. “Causing a scene in front of everyone might make this worse.”

Jeno was a careful man. He paid his bills on time, stuck to a strict routine to make sure he completed everything by the end of the day, and abided by the rules as often as he needed to. Violence was definitely not in Lee Jeno’s book, and this was mostly because he promised his mother that he wouldn’t get into trouble. So, nope, he was not going to get involved.

“Just please don’t tell my girlfriend.”

There was one thing that Jeno would never tolerate, and that was cheating.

Whatever snapped in him had clouded his brain completely. Before he knew it, he was charging over to the guy with his hand balled in a fist, raising behind him to swing.

The sharp sound that followed the blow made the courtyard go silent. For a moment, Jeno couldn’t even figure out what had happened. His knuckles weren’t stinging at all, and he hadn’t even gotten close enough to land a blow on the man.

“Holy shit,” Jeno whispered when he realized the man had been knocked down by none other than you.

You were holding your thick stack of engineering paper in both hands, brows knitted in frustration as you realized what you had just done. You finally made eye contact with Jeno. He wasn’t sure if his heart was racing because he was absolutely terrified of you, or if he had just fallen in love with you. Both were plausible, and that confused Jeno even more.

The man grunted and started to get up. “Hey—”

This could turn ugly fast, and Jeno had already inserted himself into the situation by approaching you. Before anyone could react, he grabbed one of your hands and started sprinting in the direction of the architecture building.

(He was going to get an earful about this from Donghyuck and Jaemin later, which he was not prepared for.)

When Jeno decided that the coast was clear and it was safe for you two to stop running, he jogged to a halt and let go of your hand. His chest was heaving from exerting himself suddenly, and he felt a little bad when you had to double over to catch your breath.

“Thanks,” you breathed out, hands placed firmly on your knees, “but… who are you?”

“Um, Jeno,” he introduced. “Lee Jeno.”

“I’m Y/N,” you said, managing a smile while looking like you were about to go limp. “How’d you know I needed to go to the arch building?”

“Oh…” Jeno glanced over his shoulder. “Actually, I just wanted to get us out of that weird situation. I just ended up running to wherever my next class was.” He paused for a second before asking, “You an arch student, too?”

“I’m materials engineering, but I’m trying to switch,” you explained. “Anyway, thanks for getting me out of there. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I just kept standing there.”

Jeno laughed. “Honestly, I didn’t need to do anything. It looks like you can handle yourself just fine.”

You had a curious look dancing in your eyes, like you wanted to say something more, but you held off. Instead, you asked, “What class are you going to, by the way?”

“Structural Design,” Jeno answered with a scoff. “I don’t think you’re gonna experience the thrill of columns and beams anywhere else.”

“No way. I’m trying to crash that class.”

“Willingly?”

You giggled. “If I wanna switch—yeah,” you said matter-of-factly. “You wouldn’t mind helping me get in, would you?”

Jeno pondered on this for a second. This was the perfect opportunity to get to know you, a complete stranger, a lot better. He was already seeing possibilities of something coming out of this, but he also didn’t want to get his hopes up.

“I mean, I do know the professor pretty well,” he said, the corner of his mouth tugging into a grin, “so I guess I could put in a good word.”

This seemed to brighten your spirits, which was a stark contrast to the gloomy expression you wore earlier. Jeno exchanged some small talk with you, getting to learn that you were a year younger and were currently going through a quarter life crisis because you felt like you were switching majors too late. Jeno managed to reassure you that it was fairly normal to switch, especially when you already had engineering classes completed to stay ahead.

When you both got to the lecture hall, Jeno was surprised that you stuck by his side. He half-expected you to ditch him for a friend you ran into. And although you did run into a friend, you still sat next to Jeno.

He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to feel proud about that.

Actually, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be feeling at all, but two things were running through Jeno’s head: you were very pretty, and you were probably going to be the death of him.

Later that night, Jeno realized that he had to prepare for war at the dinner table.

“And you know what Lover Boy did after that?” Jaemin jested. “He ran with the girl! Dude thought this was his K-drama moment.”

Sometimes, he found meals with his housemates to be insufferable.

Donghyuck and Jaemin were currently giving Renjun the rundown of what had happened. Jeno, on the other hand, had never wanted to die so bad. Maybe it was some sort of curse, but there seemed to be a pattern of bully victims in the households being the men who were interested in a girl.

“I won’t lie,” Renjun started, turning to look at Jeno, “I got secondhand embarrassment listening to that.”

“Thanks Renjun,” Jeno replied flatly.

“Did you ever find out what happened between her and that dude?” Donghyuck asked.

Jeno recalled their conversation after class was over. He had mentioned the topic very vaguely, and then you went off on a tangent about how the guy was hitting on you at a party, and then you found out he had a girlfriend as he was practically begging you for sex. Thankfully, nothing had happened, but you were very unsettled that he was shamelessly cheating on his girlfriend.

When Jeno asked if you were going to tell his girlfriend, a coy smile spread across your lips before you showed him the text messages you sent her.

“Just some idiot trying to keep her quiet after he was trying to get in her pants,” Jeno replied, disgusted, “and he has a girlfriend.”

“Some people are just grown adults with the brains of a child,” Renjun muttered, shaking his head. Once the slightly uncomfortable silence settled—one that Jeno assumed was out of respect for your unfortunate situation—Renjun cleared his throat and asked, “So, is she nice?”

“Nice?” Jeno frowned. “Well, from what I noticed—yeah.”

“Renjun just wants to know if you’d cuff her,” Jaemin clarified, looking down as if he was more invested in his Chipotle bowl than his housemate’s love life.

“That’s not what I meant!” Renjun protested, but then he turned to Jeno again. “But, uh… would you?”

It wasn’t like Jeno hadn’t thought about that question eventually coming up, but he had just met you and wasn’t keen on answering right away. While you seemed sweet, there was still a lot that Jeno didn’t know about you. He was never the type to rush into relationships, which is why his situationships in the past never worked out; they always got tired of waiting for Jeno to make a move.

That was probably something he should be working on.

“I’m happy being single,” he answered, “and I like our little bachelor pact, save for Renjun.”

“Gee, thanks,” Renjun muttered.

“You should invite her out with us,” Donghyuck replied, and Jeno knew that was just his way of saying he was going to tease them ruthlessly.

He chewed on his salad, thoughtful. “I think I’ll hang out with her one-on-one first.”

Lee Jeno was a man of his word, so when you showed up to Structural Design a week later, you had been successfully enrolled in the class.

You slid in the empty seat next to Jeno with a grin. “I owe you big time.”

If this was some formality, Jeno felt worse and worse by your actions. He appreciated your kindness, but he wasn’t ready to break the news that he might have accidentally left out. He felt like Adam in Michaelangelo’s The Creation of Adam, except God wasn’t reaching toward Jeno to breathe life into him; Jeno was desperately trying to get the higher power to pull him out of this horrifying situation.

Perhaps you were starting to notice, too, based on how the atmosphere in the classroom shifted from its normal lecture days. It was almost obvious with how students were either buried in their notes or frantically flipping through their textbooks.

“I wouldn’t say big time,” Jeno mumbled. He sheepishly grinned before muttering, “I might have forgotten to tell you that we have a midterm today.”

Your face went a little slack.

“What?!”

You looked around you in a panic before slumping back in your seat, both hands covering your face. Jeno wasn’t sure what expression you were wearing behind them, but it couldn’t have been good.

“I’m sorry!” he apologized quickly. “Honest to God—it totally slipped my mind.”

“I’m done for,” you replied, sorrowful. “First official day in this class, and I’m gonna fail.”

Jeno balked. He had shattered any chances of a friendship with you. This would probably be the last time you ever sat next to him again. He tossed around the idea of letting you cheat off him, but Jeno played by the rules; he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he got caught helping someone cheat.

He ended up not being able to say anything to you. Despite how many times he ran through different dialogues in his head, none of them sounded good enough to ease your worries. There was no shortcut to redemption from here, so Jeno was doomed—a little dramatic, too, but mostly just doomed.

He attentively listened as the professor spoke briefly before passing out the exam, trying to ignore the distress that was just emanating from you. He kept his eyes down as he passed you the other exam packet he got, physically swallowing down the guilt that was eating at him. Jeno knew deep down that it wasn’t even that big of a deal, but he felt horrible for potentially ruining your chances of switching into the class.

“Oh, Y/N,” the professor began, grabbing the paper that was in front of you, “since you joined pretty late, I don’t think you’ll be ready for the midterm. I’ll excuse you from this exam, and you can just complete the assignments you’ve missed.”

“Thank you so much,” you gushed. “That’s such a relief to hear.”

Girls were scary, Jeno decided.

One minute you were glaring daggers at him, and then the next you were buzzing with joy. When Jeno shot you a wary look, testing the waters before he could smile, you just smirked back at him and caused him to malfunction. With that, you made your exit, leaving Jeno at a crossroads, not knowing whether to feel relieved or terrified.

Focus, Jeno. Focus on structures and beams.

“I want to remind everyone to show their work on their paper,” the professor reminded, “and, yes, Heeseung, for that last question I do want you all to find the derivation of the equations for the determination of internal forces in the three-hinged arch.”

Piece of cake. Jeno had spent all night studying the stress distribution across beams and the design of its flexural reinforcements, so he was—

Hold on.

After fully processing the words that came out of his professor’s mouth, Jeno was mortified. The sinking feeling in his chest had capsized and fallen into a pit in his stomach.

He studied the wrong chapter.

Jeno was walking out of the lecture hall with sagged shoulders when he heard your voice ring from beside him, “Why the long face?”

He was startled for a moment, wondering why you were even there. He had taken an hour and a half to go over the exam thoroughly before giving up and turning it in, so that was far too much time for you to wait around. Part of him was rather fond at the thought of you waiting around for him, though.

“Probably failed that test,” Jeno replied, as if he was completely unfazed by your presence. “That midterm was not about structures and beams.”

“That’s tough.”

Jeno had to keep himself from glaring at you, but he supposed he was failing by the way you shrank back at his eyes narrowing. “You got it lucky.”

“I just switched in!” you defended.

“Well—yeah, I guess…” Jeno mumbled. He was stuck between wanting to act childish and wanting to numb himself from the pain of failing his test. So, he offered, “Wanna get away for a bit with me?”

“You have class at noon.”

“After that, I mean.”

You blinked at him before responding, “I’m down. Actually, I was gonna ask you if you wanted to hang out because we don’t know each other that well. Might as well get comfy if we’re gonna be classmates, you know?”

Jeno grinned. “Oh yeah?”

“By the way,” you started, “if you had my number, you could’ve just texted me about the midterm.”

“But I don’t—”

“So”—you paused and pulled out a Sharpie from your bag, uncapping it to scribble down your number on Jeno’s hand—“I’ll just give it to you.”

Jeno smiled down at you as you held his hand carefully, writing your number down all the way across his palm. The way your tongue stuck out while you were concentrating was absolutely adorable. Maybe it was him feeling absolutely defeated after that exam or maybe it was the way Jeno could smell the lingering Cocoa Butter Kiss Body Splash coming from you, but he was overtaken by the urge to indulge himself.

Come to think of it, Jeno hadn’t even figured out where he wanted to take you when he proposed it earlier. He had just been speaking his unfiltered thoughts without processing them.

So, like a fool, Jeno blurted out, “Are you down to Netflix and chill?”

You agreed.

It was surprising. Jeno was actually waiting for you to shoot him down. He hadn’t expected you to look up at him with those innocent eyes and nod so cheerfully. For a moment, he was wondering if you had misinterpreted his words, but then you were asking where his house was, so Jeno assumed you had some understanding of the implication.

He made sure that his housemates were away, so he offered up his house. You seemed more than willing to go over even when Jeno informed you that you two would be alone.

He didn’t expect you to take it so literally.

He was baffled that he had actually spent the past four hours watching Shokugeki no Soma with you. Maybe it was the fact that you two were watching a slice of life anime that made it hard to set the mood, but Jeno assumed you got the hint that “Netflix and chill” had a sexual undertone. He wasn’t going to make you uncomfortable by making a move, though, so Jeno sat back and resented how the anime characters were seeing more clothes coming off than he was.

You weren’t supposed to actually chill; you were supposed to jump his bones and show him the light.

On the bright side, Jeno felt better knowing that his housemates weren’t home while you were over. There was a high possibility that Donghyuck would somehow ruin this date or make Jeno feel like he wanted to die. He could almost hear the echoes of his friends laughing at him, and Jeno was certain the lack of action he was getting was making him go crazy.

“They always drop their pants over food,” you commented, snickering at the show of several garments flying off on the screen.

“Makes it hard to believe this is just a slice of life anime,” Jeno replied, and he was a touch bitter that he didn’t use his turn in the conversation for a pickup line instead. “Do you usually watch this genre?”

“Yeah, sometimes. This show’s really popular, though, so I’m excited to watch the rest with my friend.”

Huh? You were supposed to watch it with him.

Maybe this really was supposed to be completely platonic. Jeno was starting to suspect he got the mood wrong earlier and you took his invitation as something friendly. The worst situation was unfolding in front of him right now, and Jeno didn’t know how to salvage it.

Jeno was being stupid. He barely knew you to begin with. How could he expect such a commitment from you?

He raised a brow. “Oh? Do you usually watch with other people then?”

“Not really,” you answered. “I just knew we would be too preoccupied to finish it.”

“Preoccupied? With what?”

Jeno’s mouth went dry when your hand slid onto his knee, and his head started spinning when you dragged your nail up to his thigh. He was finding it hard to figure out what to focus on when you started leaning in closer, too. Your proximity was intoxicating, your touch was driving him crazy, and he couldn’t even breathe properly when you were giving him the bedroom eyes.

“What do you think, Jeno?” you asked with a little giggle. “You’ve been eye-fucking me all night, and I was starting to think you weren’t gonna get around to the chill part of Netflix and chill.”

Holy fuck. Jeno must have saved a kingdom in his past life.

Part of him was amazed that you took four whole hours to make a move on him, but he had no room to complain when he had been holding back the entire time. The other half of him, though, was just itching to tear off your clothes and fuck you into the couch. Jeno wasn’t sure if you liked it rough, and he didn’t want to test the waters after seeing you knock the daylights out of a six-foot-two man.

Plus, he wanted to be gentle with you (for the first time, at least). Although his carnal instincts urged him otherwise, he wanted to treat you like a princess.

“Jeno,” you repeated, hooking your leg around his waist and sliding onto his lap. Jeno was taken aback when you straddled him, immediately moving his hands to grab your waist. You grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him toward you, whispering in his ear, “Make it up to me and fuck my brains out.”

Scratch being gentle.

It appeared that you weren’t as soft and pliable as he had thought.

“God, you’re driving me crazy,” Jeno growled before grabbing the back of your neck and pressing his lips to yours. He was delighted by your muffled whimper, feeling more encouraged when you tugged his hair. Jeno slid his tongue past your lips, coaxing you to deepen the kiss further. He pulled away a little to murmur against your lips, “Want me to go slow?”

You shook your head, shuddering at the close proximity and your hot breaths fanning against each other. “I don’t wanna go slow,” you whispered.

Although you were so insistent on Jeno being rough with you, he was still gentle when he replied, “Whatever pace you want.” He brushed your loose hair out of your face. The eager look on your face just made him want to tease you. “You sure you can take it?”

You nodded once more, and Jeno grabbed ahold of your hips, rocking them slowly against his. You started to match his rhythm perfectly, whining with each roll of your hips that caused your cunt to rub against his growing bulge. He paused for a moment as he tugged your shorts down, making you lift your hips so he could remove them. There was a timbre in Jeno’s voice when he told you he was going to go harder, and all you could do was grab onto the front of his shirt and beg for more. In a twisted way, he liked having you so helpless on his lap.

Jeno’s lips met yours once more in a fit of passion, tongue sliding against yours as his fingers dug into your waist. He switched positions, flipping you over so that your back was on the couch and he was hovering over you.

The moment Jeno dragged his fingers from your hips to the front of your underwear, he noticed you squirming instantly. The sight made his lips curl into a smirk, not halting his slow, torturous motions with his fingers. Barely grazing his hands against your cunt, and Jeno already had you whining for him.

“Feels good,” you breathed out. Jeno could tell you were playing it up just to get more, and he had to appreciate the effort you were putting in. “Jeno, please…” you trailed off, hands reaching down to slowly trace the veins on his hand.

“Hm? You like my fingers?” he asked, feigning sympathy.

His voice was honey in your ears, and you were melting at the very words. Jeno was startled when you nodded, pulling his hand up so that you could suck on his fingers—so that you could show him how badly you wanted him. He stared at your lips wrapped around his digits in complete awe. Your tongue moving around his fingers was making him go crazy; it burned like a fire, like a sin. It completely doused Jeno’s fiery confidence, leaving him gawking at you.

You took the lead this time, pressing your lips to Jeno’s swiftly. What started chaste and gentle soon turned languid and hot, with Jeno chasing the taste of your tongue each time.

There was something he felt when he made out with girls in the past. It was this hazy, clouded daze in his head, like he couldn’t think straight. This time, however, Jeno had never been so alert and clear-headed. Sure, his thoughts were mainly composed of tearing your clothes off, but he was so grounded in the moment, wanting it to last for as long as it could.

When Jeno pulled away, you were both staring at each other with blown-out pupils and swollen lips. Jeno was praying his flushed cheeks didn’t look as red as they felt.

He liked your pretty lips far too much to rush things, but he agreed he would be rough. Jeno was, at his core, a man of his word.

“I’m gonna fuck you against the wall.”

“Huh?”

While you were staring at him with wide eyes, Jeno shifted off the couch to scoop you up, holding you steady by your thighs. You were clearly shocked by his strength, yelping initially before wrapping your arms and legs around him. Jeno appreciated how adaptable you were when you started stringing kisses from the corner of his lip to his jaw.

He had your back up against the wall, and his own body was pressed flush against yours.

The bed was no longer an option. Jeno was too drunk on your taste to think about moving all the way to his room, and he didn’t even care if Jaemin were to walk inside right now. (Maybe he would feel some shame if it were Donghyuck or Renjun, though; he knew he would never hear the end of it from those two.)

Clothes were taken off, strewn aside, and Jeno couldn’t help but smirk as he circled the pad of his thumb around your bare nipple, admiring how beautiful you looked when you were fully nude. You helped Jeno with taking off his own clothes, as well, and he grinned, pressing a gentle kiss to your nose.

Although Jeno had reiterated several times that he would go rough, he was still a softie at heart.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t go hard, though. This was just the build-up, and Jeno lived for the foreplay.

“Y/N,” he mumbled, peppering featherlight kisses to your lips, “you’re so fucking pretty.”

His lips traveled down your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along its column until he reached your collarbone. Jeno’s teeth razed the tender skin, sucking delicately until he left bruises down your neck and along your shoulders.

You swallowed, instinctively bringing your hand up to tug his hair. “What if someone sees?” you asked.

Jeno hardly even flinched at the possibility. “Let them.”

There was a shift in the air, and maybe it was because of the thought that crossed Jeno’s head—that you didn’t want anyone to know what you two were getting up to. He started biting harder. Sucking harder.

“Why?” he asked between love bites. He let his tongue graze over your bruised skin. “You don’t want them to?”

You shook your head quickly, hips stuttering to a stop. You looked Jeno dead in the eye.

“No, I do.”

Jeno sighed quietly—a little happily, if you were able to pick up on that—and he tugged his boxers down so that his cock sprang out. You marveled at his size, and that only made Jeno’s ego inflate further.

“You want it?” he mumbled in your ear. “Want me buried inside that tight cunt of yours?”

You whined at his words, which turned Jeno on even more. He thought he would go crazy if he couldn’t push himself inside you soon. His cock was already throbbing painfully.

Your eyes were screwed shut. “Please, Jeno,” you breathed out. “Want it so bad.”

“Look at me and tell me what you want me to do.”

Jeno was amused as your eyes fluttered open, half-lidded but still meeting his gaze. He continued the torturous roll of his hips as he waited for your answer, even teasing your clothed cunt with the head of his cock. He was itching to tear off the fabric that was holding him back.

You hummed. “Can you do something for me?”

Jeno leaned in and whispered against the shell of your ear, “Anything.”

“I want you to eat me out.”

It was as if some beast deep within Jeno had been waiting for your confirmation, waiting to snap.

He wasn’t sure if he was testing the waters or diving in head-first anymore. Nevertheless, Jeno started kissing down your body, making his way from your chest, to your stomach, to your hips, and down to your inner thighs. Every breathless whimper from you encouraged him further, and Jeno was ready to give you what you wanted already.

Unfortunately for you, Jeno was an absolute tease.

His palms gripped the back of your thighs, sliding forward until they were gripping your hips. He bit down on the lace of your underwear and dragged it down your legs, looking up at you with a smirk as he did, enjoying the flustered look on your face.

“Want my fingers, too?” Jeno asked, positioning himself and spreading your legs apart more. You were looking at him like you were surprised that he was offering both, and all Jeno could do was grin.

“Please,” you begged.

Jeno licked one long stripe along your lips, hot and wet and messy. It was like the first taste of poison that spurred him to drink more. Your hips started squirming at the contact, and he had to push them back against the wall. He moved back up to kiss your clit, ghosting his lips along your folds. However, Jeno wasn’t satisfied by your stifled sighs and whines; he knew you could be louder if you let yourself go.

So, Jeno grabbed ahold of one of your legs, ignoring your yelp of surprise, and he waited for you to balance on the other before he draped it over his shoulder. This gave him a better angle to devour you, so he dove right in, licking and sucking on your cunt like a starved man.

That got you moaning, and Jeno felt proud that he could make you feel that good. He settled for sucking on your clit gently, showing special attention to that little ball of nerves until you were sobbing and crying out his name. His cock was aching by this point, and he didn’t want you to be sore before he fucked you, so Jeno decided to finally aid your incoming orgasm with his fingers.

He went back to eating out your cunt, using his fingers to rub your clit in precise circles. Your cries were seared into his memory, like a melody he couldn’t escape. It was making him feel like he was on fire, inciting a groan from the back of his throat.

The desperation was thick in your voice. “I-I’m so close…”

“I got you,” Jeno mumbled against your cunt, and he slid two fingers inside you just as you came.

He guided you throughout your orgasm, continuing to kitten lick at your engorged clit and fingering you as you rode out your high. Jeno could feel your walls contracting, and the feeling must have been so intense for you because he felt your legs starting to shake as well. Your other leg was on the verge of buckling and collapsing, so Jeno held you steady by gripping your knee.

“So good for me,” Jeno moaned, “so fucking good and obedient for me, doll.”

This was what Jeno loved about wall sex. He loved watching you struggle to stay upright as he fucked you out. He loved the tension despite being in such an uncomfortable position. He loved feeling you grab onto him for leverage since there was nothing else you could do.

“How was that?” Jeno asked once the pulsing of your walls slowed to a twitch. He gently removed your leg from his shoulder and stood up so that he was cornering you against the wall again. “You want more, don’t you?”

Dazed, you bit down on your lower lip, nodding dumbly at his question. You weren’t even trying to speak, though, so Jeno gripped your jaw.

“Words, angel,” he ordered.

You whimpered, gripping the front of his shirt. “I need you to fuck me already.”

Gaze on your lips, Jeno only nodded before sealing your mouth with his again. You sighed into his mouth blissfully, sliding your hands up to wrap around his neck once more. Jeno scooped you up and brought you back to the couch.

You giggled. “TV’s still on.”

“You’re gonna have to be extra loud for me, then,” Jeno replied, grinning as he got on top of you. He ran his hands along the curves of your body, exhaling slowly in utter admiration. “You ready for me?”

“Of course,” you breathed out.

He reached for his wallet first to pull out the spare condom he kept inside. When he was taking it out, you raised a brow at him.

“Is that a condom?” you asked.

“No—seasoning packet.”

You rolled your eyes. “Very funny.”

Jeno smiled at you before he used his teeth to tear the wrapper off, sliding the rubber onto his cock. Once he rolled it onto his length, he looked at you to make sure you were still okay with this. The way you reached for his cock, pumping it once and rousing a groan from Jeno, though, was very telling.

Jeno licked two of his fingers and brought them down to rub against your folds, smirking at how you squirmed and whined for him. He pulled away and pressed his fingers against your lips, urging you to open up. Soon, you wrapped your pretty lips around his fingers and sucked on them obediently. His cock twitched, as if it was telling him to hurry the fuck up already. Jeno thought he would never be able to get tired of the breathtaking sight.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he groaned.

With that, Jeno pulled his fingers away and leaned down to peck your lips softly before he slid inside you. Your eyes widened and a gasp tore its way past your lips, and the way Jeno was splitting you apart made you feel like fine china shattering into pieces. Jeno himself was overwhelmed by the sensation; the way you sucked him in was bringing his entire world down.

God, now Jeno understood why men went to war over women in the past. This was earth-shattering.

Jeno removed your legs from where they were wrapped around his waist, and he pushed them up so that they were closer to your chest. He groaned as he bottomed out inside you, relishing each cry and whimper that fell from your lips. The way your walls tightened around his cock made him feel desperate more; one taste and Lee Jeno wanted your everything.

“That’s it,” he grunted. “Take it—take it all, doll.”

Jeno started moving inside you at a steady pace once you were adjusted to his size. He pulled your hands off of him, interlocking your fingers with his and holding them above you. Watching your gaze turn lustful and your tits bounce as Jeno pounded into you was quite the sight. He fucked into you harder, slowing down for more precise thrusts.

“F-faster,” you begged, eyes trained where the two of you were connected, where his cock was buried deep in your cunt.

“You want me to ruin you, huh?” Jeno questioned in a low voice, his voice so featherlight that he wondered if you could hear it over the sound of skin slapping. “Want me to fuck you ‘till you’re sore.”

“Yes—fuck, yes.”

Jeno sped up his thrusts, groaning as his hips slammed against yours. He repositioned himself so that he was sitting up more, and it was mostly so that Jeno could push down on your stomach as he fucked you to see if he could feel his cock moving inside of you. When he did feel it moving under your stomach, Jeno’s cock twitched inside of you, causing you to cry his name out.

You didn’t verbalize it, but Jeno could tell you were reaching your orgasm once again. The way you started to seize up, mouth parting as your eyes were lost trying to make sense of the blinding pleasure, was enough for Jeno to draw the conclusion that you were very close. He, too, felt his pleasure teetering over the edge, daring to spill over.

So, with one last groan, he buried his face in your neck and came. Good could hardly scratch the surface on how it felt. Jeno felt like he had experienced an explosion of pleasure after holding back for so long.

However, his job wasn’t done; he still had to take care of you. Jeno grabbed ahold of your hips firmly and fucked into you at a swifter pace, trying to get you to your orgasm despite his sore and aching cock. The overstimulation had him practically whimpering as he fucked you harder.

You were finally at your peak, coming undone in front of him with your eyes rolling back and your jaw helplessly gone slack. Jeno smirked, wondering if he had fucked you dumb, and his smile faded when he realized he probably had. He held you in his arms, kissing your cheeks gently as you twitched and squirmed, fighting the waves of pleasure that were starting to subside.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a soft murmur, stroking your hair. “You were so good for me.”

Your chest was heaving like you had just run a marathon. “That was the best sex of my life.”

“Don’t stroke my ego.”

“I’m serious.”

(After that, Jeno invited you to wash up with him, which vaguely translated into shower sex. He helped you wash your hair and scrub your body with soap, slathering the suds all over your body. Then, Jeno pushed you against the wall after you washed off, kissing your neck with vigor before turning you around.

Jeno groped your tits as he slid inside you, taking you from the back. He pounded into you for a few minutes before you were going limp against the wall, needing Jeno to hold you up and keep you grounded.)

You were so sore and fucked-out by the end that Jeno was worried he had gone too hard on you. He helped you dry yourself with the towel and dried your hair with the hairdryer once he gave you clothes to change into. He even ordered take-out for the two of you and had dinner with you in his bed. You two talked about architecture and your dreams, and then you started talking about what shows you wanted to watch next.

Jeno was trying to decode your words in case you were talking about sex positions, but, no, you were legitimately talking about Netflix shows.

He offered you sleeping over, mostly because he didn’t want you to leave nor did he want to sleep alone after such a sensual night. Thankfully, you accepted his offer and Jeno found himself spooning you in bed. He nestled his chin in the crook of your neck and realized he had never felt so cozy and relaxed with someone in his arms. (Once he slept over in Minjeong’s bed and she kicked him out in her sleep.)

“Hey,” you whispered. Jeno hummed sleepily, acknowledging your words, and you continued, “Thanks for today. It was a lot of fun.”

Jeno tightened his grip on you. “I had a lot of fun, too.” He moved his lips to your ear. “Maybe we could do this again some other time.”

“I’m free this weekend,” you offered.

“Perfect.”

Jeno smiled and thought about all the new things he could try with you. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take you both four hours to get to business. Jeno spent more time waiting to fuck you on that couch than actually fucking you.

He froze upon a newfound, horrifying realization. You must have noticed him stiffening up because you turned your head a little, looking concerned.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

Jeno swallowed thickly. “I just realized we broke the ‘no sex on the couch’ rule.”

This was how the exchanges usually went.

Jeno would make an excuse to come over to your place—something along the lines of “we didn’t finish that show,” which was completely bullshit because you two never finished shows—and then he would fuck you on every surface imaginable. This time around, however, you were going over to the Bitch Hunters’ residence, and Jeno was absolutely terrified because he would be breaking the one unspoken rule that didn’t make it to the contract.

No sex on the couch.

(He broke this rule the first time, actually. He felt horrible about it and skipped class to deep-clean the couch.)

Sex on the couch was Jeno’s favorite, though. It presented the challenge of finding a way to get into a comfortable position, but it was also so accessible to use. He especially loved being over you so that he could show off how huge his muscles were, and balancing his weight on furniture with minimal surface area was the best way to display that.

It wasn’t that Jeno was scared to bend the rules of the contract—actually, scratch that; he was terrified. He wanted to respect his housemates, and fucking you on the couch that everyone sat on was going against that.

They had to have known that Jeno was planning to have sex on the couch, though. Jaemin had already teased him about his “Netflix and chill” date this morning, and everyone else decided to clear out of the house for tonight. Renjun was at his girlfriend’s place, Donghyuck was hanging out with Yoo Jimin, and Jaemin was getting munchies with a friend. Jeno felt like he had unknowingly sexiled them, and he felt a little guilty about it.

When you showed up around thirty minutes after his housemates left, Jeno couldn’t help but think about how thin the material of your dress was. Naturally, all thoughts of protecting the poor couch disappeared (again).

He swooped down to peck your lips before you walked in, and then Jeno spent the next five minutes wondering if he was even supposed to greet his hookup with a peck on the lips. You both wound up settling on a random episode of Never Have I Ever. It wasn’t like either of you were actually interested in the show; it was just easy to ignore as it played in the background.

(However, you told Jeno earlier that you two had to watch Don’t Fuck With Cats, and that he would face the consequences if he fucked you senseless before then. So, Jeno complied and put the show on.)

Five minutes of catching up and you two ended up making out on the couch, Jeno’s hand sliding to your lower back and pulling you flush against his body. What first was kissing turned to a heated makeout session, and that quickly turned to Jeno rolling his hips against your clothed cunt. It was almost painful how hard his cock was in his sweatpants.

He grunted quietly. “Fuck, that’s it,” Jeno growled out, his thrusts turning sharper and more eager. All he wanted to do was tear your clothes off and start fucking you; dry humping was only doing so much to satiate his libido.

“I thought we… were watching—a-ah!—Don’t Fuck With C-Cats,” you got out, whimpering each time Jeno thrusted against you at a brutal pace.

You were definitely insane, Jeno deliberated, or maybe it was the entire female population in general. You decked a beefy-looking man with a stack of engineering paper, willingly chose to switch into architectural engineering, and now you were thinking about a serial killer documentary right before Jeno was about to fuck the daylights out of you.

“We can watch it later,” he growled, pinning your hips down against the couch. “I’m a little preoccupied right now.”

You whined, arching your back and hiking up the skirt of your dress so that Jeno could simper at your soaked underwear. He could tell he was embarrassing you, and, better yet, he could tell it was turning you on.

“Jeno.” You had never called out his name so seriously, punctuating it like a slap to the face. It pulled him out of the fog, looking right into your eyes. “Fuck me already.”

“Anything for you.”

He wasted no time undressing you, tugging your underwear past your ankles and helping you pull your dress off. When you were fully naked, it was your turn to help Jeno remove his clothes. Part of him swelled with joy when he noticed that you didn’t shy away from him once, like you were finally perfectly comfortable being so vulnerable in front of Jeno.

“Choke me,” you pleaded. It was completely out-of-the-blue for Jeno, but it had surely been on your mind for a while.

Oh. That was new.

“You’re such a weirdo,” he chastised, but the both of you were very well aware of his cock twitching at your words.

“I’m not a weirdo,” you defended, then smirked. “Plus, I can feel how excited you are to try it out.”

“Got me there.”

Jeno wrapped his fingers around your neck, not adding any pressure at first so it was more for decoration. Then, he squeezed the sides gently, watching your lips part in surprise. Jeno rubbed your cunt to prep you, and he slowly increased the pressure on your neck when he felt you getting wetter. Then, he started rubbing the head of his cock along your folds.

He called out your name in that low register of his when he slid right into you, holding your legs apart so that you wouldn’t squirm. It was slow and sensual, but the moment he felt your walls throbbing around his cock, Jeno couldn’t hold back anymore. By the way you rocked your hips against his, it was clear that you didn’t want him to hold back either.

“J-Jeno, you feel—”

Jeno clamped a hand over your mouth, smirking at the half-dazed, half-stunned look in your eyes. “Angel, did you forget you’re supposed to be quiet? My roommates might be out of the house, but I still have neighbors.”

You nodded, eyes practically glowing at his words. Jeno liked how you could switch up from bratty to obedient in seconds, and he would never admit it, but he got a kick out of you being so compliant with him. It was the biggest power trip for him.

He fucked you deep and slow, and you didn’t beg him to go faster or try to get yourself off as fast as you could. It was like you were enjoying the moment with him, enjoying feeling so connected like this.

Jeno felt something rising to the surface, like it was about to boil over. He didn’t have time to be rational or think straight when he was so immersed in pleasure, but he felt so vulnerable and weak with you in his arms.

Then, your walls were pulsating around his cock, squeezing him in such a way that he was cumming next. Jeno groaned lowly against your skin, whispering sweet nothings as you sobbed throughout your orgasm. Somehow, the intimacy made Jeno’s orgasm feel ten times more powerful.

“I want this,” he breathed out, tucking his face into the crook of your neck. “I want you, Y/N—want you more than anything else.”

Jeno’s lips trembled against your skin. He was terrified for your response, terrified that you could end things right now. He contemplated getting off of you and clearing the air, but something told him to stop lying to you about what he truly wanted from this.

Seconds passed. Minutes. Jeno’s heart was pounding because you two were just holding each other, you stroking his hair in soothing motions while he laid on top of you.

After several agonizing minutes, you finally whispered, “I want you, too.”

You laid like that for hours, neither of you moving or saying anything. You two just listened to each other’s heartbeats in utter silence, and it was comforting.

Other than the fact that Jeno was starting to realize that he was developing real feelings for you, and that made losing you feel a lot scarier.

Before Jeno was about to announce to his housemates that he was going to ask you out, he had to make a formal apology. So, being the honest man he was, Lee Jeno got down on his knees while his three friends were watching a SpongeBob SquarePants rerun.

They were all, of course, concerned for their friend. Sure, Jeno did stupid things here and there (and it was often Renjun that asked him if he the clouds he floated in were even in our atmosphere), but, this time, they were all staring at him in sheer confusion.

Jaemin raised a brow. “Jeno? Are you on drugs?”

“I wanna apologize to you guys,” Jeno said, raising his head to meet their eyes. “I fucked Y/N on the couch.”

Donghyuck gaped at him. “Wh—”

“Twice,” Jeno admitted.

Renjun’s jaw dropped—almost comically—and he grabbed the arm of the couch to lift himself from the seat. “This couch? Why would you tell us that information while we’re sitting on it?”

“I cleaned it with the steam cleaner right after! Both times!” Jeno added quickly to ease their worries. Renjun sighed in relief and sat back down on the cushion. “I felt so bad after breaking our contract, so I did a deep clean after Y/N left.”

“I really appreciate your honesty, Jeno,” Renjun started, “but, honestly, I could’ve gone my entire life without knowing Y/N got railed on the couch that we’re watching fucking SpongeBob on.”

Jeno grinned sheepishly. “My bad.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Also, I’m planning on asking Y/N out soon, and I sort of need your guys’ help.”

“Good!” Donghyuck huffed. “You better go out with her after all the emotional trauma you’ve put poor Larry through.”

Jaemin frowned. “Who’s Larry?”

“Our couch, Jaemin.”

“Who named our couch after Harry Styles’ and Louis Tomlinson’s ship name?”

“Our couch is no longer named Larry,” Donghyuck announced, mortified.

Renjun rolled his eyes at his friends, and he turned to Jeno once again. “What do you need us to help you with?”

Jeno sucked in a sharp breath. “Well…”

Lee Jeno wanted to ask you out in the most romantic way. His gesture had to be absolutely golden—something you would remember for the rest of your life. His plan was almost perfect; he had sent you on a very small wild goose chase while he was setting up the last part of his scavenger hunt for you. It was composed of all of the places that reminded him of you.

Jaemin was stationed at the place on campus where Jeno first met you. The clue he sent you was pretty straightforward: Go to the place where you decked that creep A.K.A the first place we met. When Jeno received the text from Jaemin that he had given you the bouquet of flowers and the next clue, the second part of the scavenger hunt was underway.

Renjun was situated in front of the building where Jeno hit on you for the first time. Not that this clue was hard or anything, but he knew that you would recognize the classroom you waited outside of while Jeno failed his midterm. (He later wondered if that was probably more of a traumatic memory for him, and perhaps he had miscalculated the romantic aspect of this plan). To his relief, Renjun was able to hand you the box of chocolates along with the third and final clue.

The paper slip read Netflix and chill, and Jeno was sure you would know exactly where to go. Donghyuck was standing outside the house with a key for you. Jeno had set up a picnic for the two of you in the living room, complete with candles and your favorite movies ready to watch on the TV. He had also prepared a slideshow of his favorite moments with you; it was cheesy, but he really wanted to show you he cared. All he had to do now was hang up the letters he had drawn and cut out that read “Will You Go Out With Me?”

His plan was almost perfect.

His mistake, however, was asking Donghyuck for help.

jeno: can you stall y/n for 10 min before you let her in the house? im almost done

hyuck: aight i’ll let her in

jeno: WTFFF DID U EVEN READ WHAT I SENT

To his horror, Jeno heard the key click before the door opened. He didn’t even want to turn and see you standing at the doorway, still mentally cursing out Donghyuck for half-assing his job and getting the hell out of there so that he wouldn’t have to face Jeno’s wrath.

You sounded bewildered when you read aloud, “Will… you… go?”

Jeno was not able to hang up the last three words in time.

So, he grabbed each word and held two in either hand, and he held up the middle one with his teeth. Jeno finally turned to you and kneeled under the words on the wall, hoping this had cleared everything up for good. This was probably the messiest confession considering he had put so much thought and effort into it, but Jeno hoped you would at least like the apple pie he made.

“Will you go me with out.”

Jeno switched around the papers he was holding.

“Will you go out with me?” you corrected. Jeno looked at you expectantly before you broke into a fit of giggles, still clutching your rose bouquet and box of chocolates tightly. “Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting for you to ask me for ages!”

A flood of relief washed through his body. Jeno felt each and every nerve of his physically unravel and settle down. He had been so on-edge about asking you out that he didn’t realize how instinctively tense he was these past few days.

“I really like you, Y/N,” Jeno said, smiling, “and I wanna get to know you better, so can we graduate from Netflix and chill to actual dates?”

You grinned. “I like the sound of that.” You leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I suppose a picnic at home is the perfect place to start.”

Jeno slung his arm around your waist and started explaining all the dishes he made for you, thrilled at the way your eyes lit up at every single one. He sat with you on the blanket and helped you taste from each of the plates before you picked one to start with. (You really liked the apple pie, and it made Jeno swell with joy.)

It was true that Jeno probably didn't have all of his columns and beams in place to form the structure of a relationship. All this time, he thought he was the one who was supposed to set the foundation and lay the materials out. Now, though, he realized that he could build up the framework with you, and it wasn’t so bad having someone who could understand him through and through.

Lee Jeno loved the structure and analysis that went into architectural engineering. He loved the calculations and hands-on work he had to do in order to solve a problem.

He loved building things—working toward creating his own future, his own life. Jeno preferred taking control in that regard.

Now, though, he was more than happy to share the reins with you.

Lee Donghyuck and Na Jaemin sat at a park bench, contemplating getting high off their asses to distract themselves from how they felt like complete losers. After helping Jeno with his plan and getting the confirmation text from their friend that it actually worked out, the two boys realized that they were now fighting for second-to-last place.

“You know why the two of you haven’t gotten girlfriends yet?” Renjun reprimanded them earlier. “It’s because you guys keep seeing this as a competition.”

Donghyuck was an honest man, most of the time. Although it made him sound like a shitty person, it was true that he had a competitive streak. The fact that Renjun and Jeno were kicking his ass was pride-crushing. He couldn’t believe he, Lee Donghyuck, was vying for last place with Jaemin.

The two bitch hunters with the short end of the stick felt pathetic.

That being said, it wasn’t like Donghyuck wasn’t happy for Renjun or Jeno. In fact, he had been rooting for them the entire time and encouraging them to ask out the girls they liked. That’s what friends did; they supported each other until the very end. He wasn’t praying for their downfall, either. If Donghyuck truly wanted someone to fail, he would personally be involved in their downfall, and that wasn’t the case at all.

It was shitty—he knew that. Donghyuck couldn’t shake off the feeling of wanting to be first. He was too competitive for his own good, even if it was fun sometimes.

“Are we even gonna get girlfriends?” Jaemin questioned. “You know, we’ve lived an easy life—getting by with our pretty privilege. Maybe we were doomed to fail because we’ve been so careless.”

Donghyuck groaned. “Don’t say that! I’ll go crazy if I lose.” He sighed softly and pressed his lips together. “You know, I think we’ll be just fine. It would be criminal if we didn’t get cuffed.”

“You’re right,” Jaemin replied. “I’m a catch.”

“Well, I’m actually not so sure about you, but whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Jaemin laughed, pushing at his friend’s shoulder playfully.

That was how it was. Donghyuck never meant any of the jabs he made at his friends. He always sincerely supported them behind that joking facade of his. He truly did think Jaemin would find someone. Why wouldn’t he? Jaemin was probably one of the most attractive guys in their year. Once he got past all of the commitment issues and flightiness, he would have no problems cuffing that special someone.

“You know, I think we need to go out more,” Donghyuck said. “We need to start going to parties again.”

His friend raised a brow. “For what?”

“To meet people,” he explained. “It’s unlikely that we’re gonna fall for someone in our class like Jeno—”

Jaemin huffed. “Unlikely? Why?”

“Because you barely even go to your in-person classes, dumbass.”

“Point taken.”

“Renjun, on the other hand,” Donghyuck continued, “met his girlfriend at a party, and if he can do it, so can we.”

Jaemin nodded along to his words, holding out a hand for Donghyuck to shake. He took Jaemin’s hand and shook it firmly, as if this was a business deal they had just finalized.

“Speaking of parties,” Donghyuck started, “Yoo Jimin’s throwing a party tomorrow, and I think we should go.”

“Dude, she doesn’t want you.”

“I just said we’re going to her party!” Donghyuck exclaimed. “I’m not expecting anything, but if she happens to be into me, then that’s a win.”

Jaemin chuckled. “Keep dreaming.”

Deep down, though, both boys knew that Donghyuck was very capable of chasing after what he wanted. If who he wanted was Yoo Jimin, he was 100% confident he would successfully cuff her if he tried hard enough.

For now, though, Donghyuck watched the water ripple across the pond alongside his best friend.

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ THANKS FOR YOUR PATIENCE ON THIS ONE !!! let’s all celebrate league player no bitches lee jeno attaining his bitch <33 also half this fic was pure self indulgence and filth but yk it’s all for the vibes >:) i am very very excited to write hyuck’s and would start now but it’s late and i am using my energy to post this muah muah !! thank you for all the support on this series and the hype for this fic! i have been soooo blown away by the comments and reblogs and asks!! <3

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thequeenofsarcaasm · 5 months

Note

What do you think are Geto and Gojo’s greatest personality strengths and weaknesses? Why? What do you love about their dynamic?

I’ll try to make it short. (And probably fail so I apologize in advance)

1-What I adore about Gojo is how terribly human he is despite everything. That might also be his greatest weakness but only because he never truly embraced all that humanity. In a way, he denied himself the chance to be “weak” after Toji almost killed him and it only got worse after Geto (the one person who truly saw him for who he truly was) abandoned him. He “thrived” in individualism but where did that get him? Also, another weakness might be how tightly woven he is with that damn Jujutsu system . He says he wants change (and I wholeheartedly believe him) but he is the embodiment of that very system and its values.

RIP Princess. You shall be missed.

2-Now Geto! My man has many weaknesses. Whew. He lost his goddamn mind to fear and hatred, but despite that he is full of love (in a twisted way). He had that black and white vision of life that transpired in the way he interacted with others and yet he remains in a sort of grey area since he’s so complexe. The immense love he held for his family and friends was only matched by his hatred for regular folks. Remember in JJK0 when he started to tear up during his fight with Panda and Inumaki? 😭 Also, he disliked the idea of having to attack Yuuta, and yet so many other sorcerers (the people he supposedly wanted to protect) had to be sacrificed on that day. A reasonable sacrifice perhaps? Or a desire to sieve the popular further? I want to slap him (affectionate).

That man was the perfect embodiment of “my grandpa was racist as hell but he was kind to me and everyone in our circle so he will be missed.” and it makes him super compelling imo.

I’d also want to add that Geto had a sort of convoluted “selflessness” that wasn’t compatible with his job but remained a big part of his personality post defection. In reality, it was just a coping mechanism mingled with a saviour complexe. He needed an ideology to back his actions and lifestyle (contrary to Haibara or Gojo for ex) . The “protect weak people” bs made the job not only bearable but also ego stroking. Which means that once he stopped feeling good about being a hero FOR the weak (since he deemed them unworthy), he decided to become one for sorcerers and AGAINST the weak. That “us against the world” mentality was born from trauma and fear but also from arrogance and an unhealthy tendency to dichotomise(Gege cooked fr. Call Gordon Ramsey pls). I get it though. After killing the village there was no going back so I probably would’ve convinced myself it was a good idea to keep going until someone killed me or something (a task he “delegated” to his beloved). Had that massacre never happened, I’m convinced someone would have been able to slap some sense into him.

(I wish we knew more about his upbringing tho cause he was a master manipulator and a fucking hypocrite. I want to know where he acquired that skill lol.)

Btw, his greatest strength is that he was hot as f (I’m joking. Or am I?)

Final words on him: Beware of dogmatism y’all. Great men have been lost to it.

3-Now, I love the brat-brat tamer aspect of their duo sooooo much. Gojo was insufferable as a teenager (still is) but Geto was the only person he actually listened to, the person he chose to guide him. It’s funny that in Season 2 EP 1, Geto has to explain to him why Rico wants to spend some time with her friends before the merger but that two episodes later Gojo willfully extended the mission just because she pouted when it was time to go home. He clearly had a good influence on him. Moreover, I love how protective they are of each other. I’m positive Geto wanted to massacre the cult members but turned down Gojo’s suggestion because he knew Gojo would later regret killing them. Now, the thing that really makes my heart throb is how Geto always saw Gojo. While most people see him as a superhuman, a machine even (remember when Nanami said he should take on all the missions), Geto showed a level of care that was so strong that it changed him as a person. I will never not obsess over the glance Gojo threw at him when he asked him if he wasn’t too exhausted to continue the mission. That’s why he never got over that man. I mean, how could he?

It’s not exactly brief but I tried. It definitely could have been worse 😭 I deleted a few paragraphs.

Thank you for giving me the chance to ramble about my beloved wives. It’s a proof of love and I assure you that I love you too.

🫶🏾

#asks #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #geto suguru #satosugu

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annoyingwriter2022 · 2 years

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PART TWO

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Summary: Eddie survived the attack on his life but at a cost. He now has to come to terms with the fact that he's a monster.

A/N - set after the events of Season Four Volume Two.

Warning: Vulnerable Eddie, reference to death, car accidents. VERY ANGSTY.

You fled Eddie’s trailer with haste, desperately trying to control your chaotic thoughts as you stormed out into the rain. Any other day you would've been content to be caught out in the rain, it had always been a comfort to you but not today.

You tried to clear your head as you walked away but your mind kept returning to Eddie and the way he had spoken to you.

You'd never seen him so, so...empty, it was as though all th— your thoughts were interrupted by a sudden high-pitched screech. The sound of tyres scraping violently against the dampened ground was enough to make you gasp and clutch your ears. It wasn't until you saw the blinding, bright white headlights that you realized where that sound had originated from and that its source - a red Chevrolet Cavelier was speeding towards you.

You didn’t move, you couldn’t, even in those brief seconds of awareness, your reflexes were far too slow to react appropriately to the situation. Luckily for you, the driver had already begun to break - hence the insufferable sound of screeching. The collision happened slower than you'd imagined it would but as you fell to the ground, trying to catch your breath, you thanked whatever higher power may or may not exist. It had only been a minor bump and as you picked yourself up off the ground you let out a sigh of relief, knowing that you were were extremely lucky. You’d have to be more careful.

Other than a few bruises you seemed perfectly fine. Well… you were fine other than your ego which you had to admit, was a little bruised, especially considering that several people were now forming a concerned circle around you.

The driver, on the other hand, was not concerned in the least, he was ranting uncontrollably, a slurry of colorful language and expressions overwhelmed your senses and you sighed as you got to your feet. “I get it. I’m sorry, I should’ve looked where I was going” you said, raising your hands in mock surrender. The guy huffed dramatically “Stupid kids” he murmured causing you to pause. Normally you would’ve got up and left, conflict wasn’t usually your cup of tea but you were having a really bad day, and this guy, this guy really wasn’t helping. You slammed your hands onto the front bumper “Hey! I might not have been paying attention but you knocked me down. You were going at what — 80 miles per hour which we both know is way over the speed limit. I happen to know the chief of police so unless you want to continue this conversation down at the police station I’d stop whining about the stupidity of youth and get on with your day”.

The man didn’t answer but with a curt nod of the head, he began to put the car in reverse and started to drive off. By now the group of people surrounding you had grown and you looked around at them exasperated. As your eyes surveyed the crowd you caught the gaze of the one person you really didn’t want to see.

Eddie Munson was staring right at you, with wide, concerned eyes, his brown orbs scanned over your body meticulously, looking for any sign of injury but you didn’t give him the chance to approach. “Show’s over people” You announced, rolling your eyes and walking off towards the forest line, you were desperate to get home now. Your confidence had started to fade as the events of the day started to catch up to you.

You’d got about six feet away when the sound of footsteps caught your attention. You already knew who it was and you had nothing left to say to him.

“Y/n” he called out, his voice making your heart jump. You strengthened your resolve, ignoring him as best you could as you continued on your path. “Y/n” he repeated, his voice was slightly louder this time and gushing with concern. You scoffed inwardly at his persistence and carried on walking, slowing as you tried to avoid tripping on some tree roots. Your slowed march had allowed him to catch up you and he gently grabbed your arm bringing you to a stop. “Y/n please” he begged, his voice was vulnerable and you did your best to control your emotions as he spun you round to face him.

He looked distraught and on edge but even in this state, with his hair sticking to his forehead in messy clumps, his eyes wild and his skin sullied and pale, you found yourself breathless as you gawked at his beauty. He took advantage of your silence and you subconsciously exhaled contentedly as his hand came up to your cheek, stroking it softly with his slender fingers. His eyes were heavy with an unreadable expression as he held your gaze. You furrowed your brows, confused and growing slightly agitated at his reaction. Had he forgotten your earlier interaction? The way he had practically banished you from his trailer, the tone of his voice and the cold look in his eyes. “Are you alright?” He spoke softly, his voice dripping with worry. Your gaze hardened and you rolled your eyes. His face dropped as he let go of your face “Y/n” he started but you raised your hand to stop him. “I’m fine” you said, your voice unemotional.

To your surprise his face appeared amused for a moment “You’re fine?” He queried, his tone playful “You got hit by a car Y/n” he spoke matter of factly, his tone irritating you deeply - was he really finding humour in this situation? On any other day you might’ve laughed along with him at the absurdity of the situation but you were still angry, angrier than you’d been in months. “Yes Eddie. I barely got hit by a car, you really shouldn’t worry. I’d hate to be an inconvenience” you said sarcastically, turning to leave again but once more his arm caught you, holding you stiffly in place. “Y/n I don’t mean to upset you, I would’ve let you go but I heard the tyres screeching and….and I got worried. I had to make sure you were okay” you scoffed loudly causing him to shift irritatedly as he rubbed his forehead in frustration. “Just come back with me, I’ll drive you home”

“Oh please. I don’t need you to babysit me. I’m completely fine, it barely touched me. Twenty minutes ago you didn’t care about me in the least so please, stop being so overdramatic and just leave me alone” Eddie’s eyes went wide at your response, his warm brown orbs reflected a deep rage and for a moment, a very brief moment you felt fear trickle down your spine. “Over dramatic?” He repeated with a humorless sarcasm that took you aback. You opened your mouth to say something else but his expression kept you locked in place as he took a step toward you.

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justaredheadf1fan · 1 year

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Día de los Muertos spirit working its magic

Helloooo!

What’s going on, people? Let’s see what today brings. Honestly, the last few race weekends have made me think about how I want to handle my posts for next season, seeing that we’re just 2 races and a half away from the winter break. I’ll make a post about it when I have a clearer picture.

For now let’s go with FP3.

Nothing going on in the first minutes of FP3 really until Mick’s spin off track. Luckily he didn’t hit the barriers and it all looks fine for now.

Alonso going off track too minutes after Mick did, and also without any further incidents, no barriers involved. Lucky day today, so far at least. Other than this, Mick P8 is maybe the highlight at the moment.

George is P1, STOP THE COUNT! So it ends with the Merc boys on top, which is amazing news if they can keep it up in Quali.

——————————

Finally we got to Quali! Thank God I’m having a coffee meanwhile. So, 12 minutes to go and Mick P1 and Kevin P2, STOP THE COUNT!!!!

I’ve just seen @suicide-inthe-trenches hearing that Lewis starts his lap and going like:

Anyway, so Mick’s latest time was deleted due to track limits. For fuck’s sake. I hope he gets through with another good time, the Haas boys have been doing good… aaaaaand no. Shit. Only Kevin went through to Q2. Seb didn’t either 🥲 He sounded so disappointed, my poor man…

Here it comes Q2 and with it comes Lewis bringing the party to us today. I truly hope he gets it all today. It’s time.

Checo P12 is a wet dream I wish comes true. I’d be so hilarious. But I’m aware is most likely… not gonna happen. I’ll just 🤞🏻 anyway. Well, what else is new.

Carlos’ car sounds so weird, as did Charles’ in FP3. It’s not. Avery good sign for the race tomorrow, honestly. And then there’s Lewis in P1, maintaining his result from early Q2.

The time for Q3 has come. Only two more to go this season. In a very intense and fun circuit. Hope it brings some joy.

The start of this was disheartening but now Lewis comes up in P2, and now Giorgio takes his place. And Lewis’ time taken away. And now he’s reporting power issues. Fun-fucking-tastic. The Merc admin waiting to see what happens is us right now.

Lewis goes back out, hoping that everything works out for once this season. This guy deserves it, Destiny. You fucking owe it to him already.

The Ferrari is still making weird noises, I don’t like it. And Lewis starting badly…. George’s lap deleted… No no no. Thank goodness George and Lewis will start P2 and P3 respectively, it gives me hope and we’re closer now. It’s a good sign.

And what do we think about this Mexican version of the F1 theme? Because personally I love it.

Poor George he really is so sad while talking to Coulthard 😭 Poor Giorgio, he deserves so much, he did such a great job as well today, it’s a shame none of the guys got what they deserved today after all their hard work.

Just one jab towards Fraudstappen, who does he think he is with the golden helmet and the 2 stars? Maybe Sir Lewis Hamilton? You wish, kid.

Anywho. Tomorrow should be interesting or insufferable, one of two options. Can’t wait to see my first Mexican GP.

Peace out until tomorrow!

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brittlebonesguy · 5 months

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season 7. i have high hopes for this one

sandra <3. i have only seen her in one other season and i LOVED her so i hope she’s not a let down like boston rob. well at least they get their sneakers. love that rupert stole all the shoes from the other tribe and they straight up didn’t even notice. sandra bartering queen! the morgan tribe is an absolute mess. so unorganized. and so loud. toothbrushes, live chicken, dead chicken, fishing supplies, wine, hot sauce, lanterns, kerosene, knives, blankets. the drake team is so stacked. can that guy dear god PLEASE pull his underwear up and stop flashing crack. two meatheads shawn and burton already alienating themselves? perfect. ......teenage girls jon? hes insufferable. “i didn’t know they made such an animal” okay i kinda love rupert. good i didn’t like nicole.

rupert just loving life and catching fish <3. ya’ll chill. sandra was told to get the tarp so she took the tarp. i know for a fact that that when morgan steals from drake they’re gonna be a lot less about it than sandra. she initially came for a water jug which you guys straight up didn’t have so? what is she supposed to do. and she was trying to be civil and you call her a bitch? men just have to be men huh? you broke ruperts spear?? “he got attached, it was kinda his thing” or maybe that spear was your only source of food and losing it is terrible? the morgan tribe is honestly so pathetic. the problem with the morgan team is that its too dude bro heavy.

jon is so incredibly annoying. jokes in him sandra is a survivor legend. and what about you? a little no buddy from season 7... the morgan tribe my god.... they seem cursed. three tribals in a row?

i hope everyone gangs up against shawn burton and michelle <3. tijuana running out into the water without the goggles because she wasn’t supposed to go and then complaining that she cant see.... it’s really so sad that morgan’s first challenge win was thrown to them. thank god it was burton

it doesn’t shock me that osten is the wait until something becomes an immediate problem to deal with it person. rupert absolutely carries its crazy

maybe if jon didn’t make that stupid we threw the first challenge you guys won then andrew wound’t have won that edurance challenge on pure spite alone. trish really tried to stir up the game and i respect that so much but i’m so happy her plan to get rupert out fell through.

love the outcast twist wonder who they’re gonna vote back in. chill andrew it’s just survivor. i do not like andrew. his presence and his anger make me uncomfortable

love that lil is sticking up for herself! don’t let andrew push you around. you know you’re at the bottom of the morgan tribe so you might has well jump ship to drake. bye andrew! thank god.

love the whole rest of the tribe getting together to form an alliance against sandra, christina, and rupert. and them saying alright we made our deal let’s never talk about it again so we don’t get overheard. slay. can lillian just chill out with all this “i’m the worst person ever” crap. its annoying. sandra hiding out in the bushes to eavesdrop ajbdajdb. “very excitable”? i don’t think i like lillian. not sandra being the one to take rupert out of the immunity challenge that sucks for her. burton is a little dangerous in this game. he has a lot of allies and he is shockingly good at like every challenge. he should probably cut back on the challenges a little if he wants to keep a target off his back. also i like rupert and all but his confidence is a little annoying and also i feel like he takes things too seriously. not with this alpha male shit again jeff. sandra wtf was that random jon vote?? like girl....

burton just immediately jumping down sandra and christina’s throat about the missing fish. i just feel like in a lord of the flies situation burton would kill somebody because he’s gone insane and is suspicious of them. SANDRA? IT WAS YOU? no wonder she’s a survivor villian. .....jon? that’s so fucked up. lying about your grandma dying? asshole. honestly really happy burton got the immunity idol snatched off his neck. this grandma stuff is really gonna come back to bite jon.

Sandra is so evil for hiding all this stuff. I love it though. it's so vindictive. survivor men are the worst breed. they are so sexist every time. they have an "intellectual advantage" over them 🙄 love all these darrah immunity wins. bye bye burton AGAIN 🤭 that's what you get for being sexist. now see, burton, if I were lill I wouldn't give a shit about our alliance considering I would be in third place and you've bad mouthed my intelligence. bitch.

wow jon is just gonna double down on that sexism huh? stop this immunity challenge is so funny. I hope the jury wins. hysterical. so sad they didn't. however i do love that you can see jeff's comment about lil having too big of morals to even let jon have the CHANCE to win the money seep right into her head. bye darrah, i don't really care that you're gone. ......all jon had to say about that woman was rocking body? foul. and they did ryan s so dirty by showing that clip of him with snot falling out of his nose. greattttttt lil gets to decide.....😒 thank CHRIST jon is gone. and hes STILL GOING WITH THE SEXISM. lil is absolutely bombing this. she's rubbing the jury wrong from every angle. but truly at the end there, i have no clue where the jury stands.

damn jeff finally stopped his stupid traveling montage that went on for way too long. i'm gonna miss it. yessssss!!! sandra winning was the best possible outcome with that final 4 thank goodness. so true whatever your name is, i also don't like that those men are saying lil isn't allowed to lie in a lying game just because she happened to be wearing her scout uniform. the dogging on jon is so fun. and when he tries to lean into the villian thing with "maybe my grandpa will die for all stars" and the crowd just BOOED. hysterical.

okay so in conclusion i think 9/10 season. very enjoyable, fun game play and sandra <3

#survivor #survivor7

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theteasetwrites · 2 years

Text

Man Enough

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader ❧ Era: Season 4 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT—dry humping, blowjob, fingering, rough sex, missionary, doggystyle, mild swearing ❧ Word Count: 6.2k

❧ Requested by @ineedmorefanfics2

❧ Summary: You have a less than amicable relationship with Daryl Dixon, who reminds you of his brother. An outing with just the two of you turns tense when you get lost in the woods, and a herd leads you both to confront each other in close quarters. Can Daryl prove he's man enough to handle you?

❧ A/N: So I took the phrase "a little spice" and ramped it up to a thousand. Basically what we have here is enemies to lovers via slightly angry sex, but also genuine forgiveness and some sweet moments where we see a relationship starting between the two crazy kids. We love to see it. Also Daryl is his stubborn self and very irritable which is adorable as always.

“God, you’re a real insufferable jerk, you know that?”

He scoffed as leaves crumbled under his heavy feet, stomping defiantly through the woods.

“And you’re a real uppity, big-mouthed bitch,” he retorted, to which you shook your head and impulsively leaned over to pick up the nearest object with some kind of weight to it to throw at his back as he walked ahead of you.

A small rock about the size of a grape, but it would have to do.

You flung the stone weakly at his back, where it hit right between his stupid shoulder blades, and those stupid angel wings on his stupid back, with those stupid broad shoulders and—

“What the shit was that for?!” he barked at you, lumbering towards you in rage, with a red, strained face and a heaving chest. “You throwin’ shit at me now? Jesus Christ, what in the goddamn hell is wrong with you, woman?!”

“You called me a bitch!” you replied, shoving his chest with your hand and pushing him further away from you, though he seemed to push back, coming closer to you again. “How dare you call me that!”

“Well, it’s what you’re bein’!” he yelled.

“Only because you won’t listen to me! You never listen to me! We should’ve followed the creek like I said, then we wouldn’t be off the map and completely lost!”

“Said we ain’t lost! What the hell would you know about it, anyway? You ever even set foot outside ‘fore all this, princess?”

You scoffed, narrowing your eyes and now filled with a burning heat at his not-so-affectionate nickname for you.

“Oh, sorry I wasn’t born with a crossbow on my back and a—a giant chip on my shoulder! At least I’m trying!”

“Yeah, tryin’ ta be a big pain in my ass!”

“I’m being a pain in your ass?” you asked, pointing at yourself and gawking at him in furious disbelief. “What, because I’m telling you that you’re wrong? Well, you’re wrong, Daryl! We’re going the wrong way, I’m telling you. Why won’t you listen to me? Why won’t you ever listen to me?!”

His nostrils flared as he moved closer, almost coming nose to nose with you. His eyes were dark with anger and you could feel his hot breath bearing down on your face.

“‘Cause I don’t need you,” he growled. “Don’t need no one.”

You shook your head and lowered your gaze, now hurt by his words.

“You know,” you said shakily, “sometimes I think you might be okay, then you act like…”

“Like what?” he asked, glowering at you and stepping forward every time you tried to back away, hounding you like an animal. “Say it.”

“Like your brother.”

He let his crossbow fall to the ground with a clamor, and pressed his chest to yours until your back was suddenly against the scratchy bark of a tree.

“Don’t ya ever talk about my brother,” he growled. You swallowed hard, looking deep into those deep, hidden blue eyes, so inscrutable and cunning. “You didn’t know him.”

But you did know him. He was one of the Governor’s henchmen, and an important one at that.

When you were taken in at Woodbury, it was immediately clear to you that the redneck with the hook hand and a booming voice that made tectonics move was a bad man. It didn’t help that he was constantly saying such sexist, perverted things to you.

It wasn’t long after that that Woodbury fell, and you narrowly escaped with your life, joining the rest of the citizens who sought refuge at the prison, where you were greeted by a man who you almost immediately recognized as Merle’s younger, less bigoted, but still related, brother.

That was enough to set you off—you wouldn’t like him, you decided then. You’d never like him. Not a Dixon.

Were you expecting things to get complicated when he proved himself to be a good man? When you saw him come through those gates on his bike with medical supplies for the elderly, or when you saw him holding that baby, cooing at her like she was his own?

Maybe you didn’t plan on him being so much better than Merle, never once laying a hand on you or sending a lewd comment your way… Maybe reconciling your dilemma by being standoffish to the man wasn’t the best strategy, but at times you couldn’t escape the resemblance between him and his late brother, so it seemed the best course of action to get him to stay away from you.

It didn’t work. It only irritated him.

Thus began the rivalry between you and Daryl, the man who infuriated you and intrigued you, to the point where you thought about him much more than you really wanted to.

In truth, he thought of you, too.

You drove him to places he didn’t want to be, to an attitude he thought he’d left far behind. His temper blew through the roof when you came around, and though he tried to control it, when you ignored him, or told him to leave you alone despite his genuine attempts to be kind to you, it flipped a switch.

He couldn’t quite explain it exactly, but he knew you had a hold over him, a tendency to rile him up and pull him tighter than a tourniquet even when you weren’t around. Something about the way you didn’t want anything to do with him made him retaliate with an unproportionate level of anger that in turn caused you to fight back.

It had become so bad, the bickering, the name-calling, the tension, that Rick had had enough and asked Daryl to take you with him on his hunt.

Needless to say, it wasn’t going well.

“Oh, I knew him,” you said, still quivering a bit from how close Daryl was to you, huffing and puffing just an inch or two from your face. “And you’re just like him—cruel and ignorant.”

You pushed past him, turning around and heading back towards the creek.

“Where do you think you’re goin’?” he asked before tugging your arm and pulling you back.

You yanked your arm away and readjusted the strap of your backpack over your shoulder. “I’m going back to the landmark, and I’m going to look at the map.”

“We don’t need no map,” he retorted, following behind you as you kept walking.

You turned abruptly and stopped. “Actually, we do, because you’re wrong.”

“I know these goddamn woods like the back of my hand, woman!”

“Oh, really? Then why are we lost, Daryl?”

“We ain’t lost!”

“We’re lost!” you yelled back, a laugh in your voice from your disbelief at the man’s stubbornness.

He was about to open his mouth when a walker came stumbling behind you, its translucent skin stretched thin over its rotting skull. “Look out!” he said, pulling you back towards him while unstrapping his crossbow.

You unsheathed your machete and took out the next walker as Daryl shot the first one.

“Shit,” he said, looking in the direction the walkers came from and seeing a large herd ambling slowly between the trees. At least they seemed far enough to not have noticed the two of you yet, but they were certainly coming in your direction. “Come on!”

The herd pushed the two of you back towards the creek, just like you’d wanted. You reached the waterline out of breath with Daryl, who looked around frantically for someplace to hide from the slowly but surely incoming herd.

“There,” you said, leaning over in fatigue and pointing to an old wooden shed on the other side of the creekbed.

He huffed and jumped down the rocks into the creek. You followed suit, and the two of you hastily skipped through the water to the other side, where Daryl pulled you up the rocks and pushed you up onto the edge. You reached your hand out and pulled him up, too, before barrelling towards the old fisherman’s shack.

Thank God the thing was well-built, with thick wood walls and only one boarded up window. Upon entering, it became abundantly clear that someone had holed up there before, since there was a small cot, a lantern, and a cardboard box of canned food. Immediately you struck a match to light the lantern, and you were relieved to find that whoever stayed there before must’ve been gone for some time, probably dying out in the woods if their things were still here.

“It’s dusty,” you whispered to Daryl, who peeked out through the slats over the tiny window. “No one’s been here for a while. I think we’re good.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, watching the herd of walkers pass some several yards away. “Boarded up good, too.” He walked over to the large makeshift latch on the door, and pulled on it to test its strength. “No walkers gettin’ in here, least not if we keep quiet… Might be hard for you.”

“Screw you,” you replied, digging through the box of food. “We can take this back to the prison.”

Daryl shone his flashlight over you. “Won’t last long with how many people we got.”

You scoffed. “Would you try to be a little positive?”

He suddenly shushed you, and put out his flashlight when the herd must’ve gotten closer to the shed, passing it on both sides. He sat down next to you and pulled you both into the corner with his crossbow pointed at the door. “Be quiet,” he said.

Leaves crackled from all around the shed for a while, indicating that the herd was big, at least fifty walkers, you surmised (though Daryl argued a hundred). When the movement subsided, night was just beginning to settle in, and there wasn’t any way you could get back to the prison before dark.

Especially with such a big herd not far ahead of you, it was mutually agreed that staying the night in the shack would be the best course of action, though it would be hard, since it was only one small, square room, and you were essentially stuck with the person you got along with the least.

He preoccupied himself with staring through that crack in the boarded up window for an hour or two, as if he could even see anything. You sat atop the cot with your knees tucked against your chest and watched the fire in the lantern flicker delicately, and listened to the sounds of the night—the owls, the crickets, the frogs… Until it occurred to you that you were incredibly bored.

“Are you going to be staring through that window all night?” you asked him after a long silence. “You’re making me nervous.”

“Pfft,” he scoffed, rubbing his chin with his hand, still staring out that small crack. “Could say the same about you.”

You huffed and stretched out your legs. “Well, I’m bored,” you said. “Maybe we could… I don’t know, talk.”

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow and a generally disbelieving expression. “Talk?”

“Well, yeah. Talk, you know, like normal human beings.”

He moved his head to look back out the window. “That’s rich, comin’ from someone who never wants ta talk to me.”

“Look,” you sighed, “it’s not that I don’t want to talk to you, just that…” You trailed off as you struggled to come up with a good reason for ignoring Daryl these past few months since you arrived.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “I remind you of Merle.”

That was the long and short of it, yes, but you knew Daryl wasn’t like Merle, not in a lot of ways. He could be impulsive and reckless, but he wasn’t a pig.

“Sometimes,” you said honestly. “I knew him before I knew you. I know… I know you’re not him, though. Not like him, like I said earlier. I was just pissed. So, um… I’m sorry about that. It was out of line.”

He was rendered silent again, and opted instead to begin carving his initials into the wood below the window. “Let’s talk about somethin’ else,” he said after a while, and you could make out the beginning of a D.D. in the wall.

It brought just a hint of a smile to your face, for whatever reason. Maybe that he wasn’t totally averse to talking with you, since he didn’t just leave you hanging, but offered to change the subject.

“Okay,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “Do you admit I was right?”

He raised his head. “Right about what?”

“About being lost,” you said. “I mean, we were lost. That herd actually took us back in the right direction. I know where we are now.”

He scoffed. “Already knew where we were. We were never lost. I was just takin’ a detour.”

“Detour?” you laughed. “Daryl, we were lost. You know that.”

His knife clattered to the floor, and he raised himself from the flimsy wooden chair he sat in. He hovered over you now, breathing heavily and glowering down at you.

“You know exactly how to push my buttons, don’t ya?” he asked, in that low, gravelly voice of his. “Told ya I knew what I was doin’. I was gettin’ us there.”

“No, you weren’t,” you said, rising to your feet and trying to maintain some semblance of equal standing as you faced him. “You were getting us even more lost, all because you’ve got too much pride to listen to me, or to look at the goddamn map.”

He raised his index finger and pointed it to his head. “It’s all in here, princess,” he growled.

Your lips tightened and you stepped forward, now simply pissed off at his arrogance. “Don’t call me that,” you said. “Why don’t you just grow a pair of balls and admit when you’re wrong?”

His eyes seemed to turn dark as he pressed his chest against yours again, like he’d done earlier that day, but there was something else in those eyes that you couldn’t quite put a finger on. It made you subconsciously lean even further, though, almost wanting to get lost in those deep-set blue eyes and try to figure out whatever was going on in that hard head of his.

“What are you sayin’?” he asked sternly.

“I’m saying you act like a petulant little boy, when you should really be acting like a man.”

You tried to turn around, not wishing to be so close to him anymore, with the tension between you two getting thicker than it had ever been before, but he stopped you, grabbing both of you arms with such great force that the muscles in his exposed arms began to flex and strain with how tightly he was holding onto you.

“You sayin’ I ain’t a man?” he asked, raising his voice a little too high for comfort, considering there could’ve been walkers nearby. Still, he seemed not to care now, which frightened you. When Daryl stopped caring, you knew he had lost some kind of mental faculty keeping him in check. “That what you’re sayin’?”

You froze, looking at him with wide, bewildered eyes as his seemed to narrow more and more, and you couldn’t keep your gaze from trailing down to his lips, where his tongue slipped out ever so slightly to sloppily lick them back and forth. You couldn’t quite tell, what with how dark the shack was, and how wide his pupils had become, but you swore he might’ve been looking up and down your body, which shook a little in his tight grasp. The more you felt his eyes on you, the more you began to tremble.

“I—I don’t know,” you stuttered, genuinely bewildered and almost forgetting where you even were. All you knew was that Daryl was holding you so close to him now that you could feel the heat emanating from his body, and the rapid heartbeat in his chest, which seemed to mirror your own.

He bit his lip as he took you in more than he’d ever allowed himself before this. He’d looked at you before, and he’d have to stop himself from looking too long before someone noticed, or, God forbid, before you noticed, but now, as much as he was burning from the inside out, with variations of frustration he’d only felt if he’d looked at you for a little too long, he simply didn’t care.

To put out this incessant fire in his heart, he’d do anything now, even succumb to his more primal urges.

He yanked you closer to him once more before his breath tickled your ear as he whispered, “You wanna find out?” he asked, now completely ignoring his better judgment and beginning to give into these suppressed desires he’d pushed down for weeks. “I can show ya… how much of a man I really am. That what you want, princess?”

Oh, Jesus Christ, you thought to yourself. This isn’t happening.

Of course you wanted Daryl. You weren’t blind.

He was gorgeous, not in a particularly traditional sense, but in a dirty, rugged, rough-and-tumble kind of way. The muscles he had were from hard physical labor and pulling on that crossbow all day. He was naturally quite bulky, too, and you had a bad habit of wondering what he looked like shirtless.

He was handsome, too, with lovely cheekbones that gave his face dimension, and a perfectly plump nose that you found rather cute. His blue eyes were just the icing on the cake, the feature that reinforced Daryl as the perfect male specimen. Oh, and he had a perfect mop of dark hair, but that was a whole other story.

Yes, you were very attracted to him, but it didn’t change the fact that he was rude to you. Still, you knew he was only like that because you ignored him first, and that he really was a good man, if a little grumpy at times.

Just like Daryl, you had to keep yourself from looking too long, lest you develop an image in your head that you’d take to the confines of your cell and use to pleasure yourself against your conscious dislike of him and his brother.

Now, though, if the man was really doing what you thought he was doing, you wouldn’t say no.

“Yes,” you muttered softly, barely audibly as a part of you hoped he couldn’t hear your admission.

He let his grip on your wrist weaken to trail his fingers up your arm until he reached the edge of your short-sleeved blouse.

“Yes, what?” he whispered again, this time letting his lips graze the helix of your ear. “What do you want?”

Another whisper and you might’ve fallen to pieces without him even touching you. You just hoped he really wasn’t like his brother, messing with you, or being perverted for his own amusement. Something in his voice and his movements told you he was serious, that he really wanted you and wouldn’t hurt you.

As soon as you gathered the composure to move, you turned your head to face him straight on, returning his serious, stern look.

“Show me you’re a man.”

He looked at you for just a few more tense, excruciating moments, trailing his eyes over your face as if to assess whether or not you were as serious as he was. He must’ve determined you were, because without another moment of hesitation, he had you pressed against the wall of the sturdy little shack, where he held your arms above your head and glowered at you through hungry eyes.

“You got any idea how much shit you put me through?” he asked, his eyes wandering to where your cleavage met your shirt collar. “How much you drive me crazy, always treatin’ me like this?”

Your lips trembled, and seemed to jut forward as you instinctively wanted to kiss him, and to feel his tongue wriggling around in your empty mouth. You just hoped it wouldn’t be empty for long.

“I’m sorry,” you panted, and closed your eyes shut when an almost pathetic need for him rained over you. “Make love to me,” you begged. “I can’t take it anymore. I need you, please.”

A short, guttural growl emanated from his mouth, which engulfed yours in a matter of seconds. Your mouth opened immediately, letting him penetrate you with his tongue and sloppily massage your lips with his. There was so much desperation in his kiss, and yet such a patient understanding, as he knew this was an unexpected turn of events. He didn’t go into this thinking he’d end up pinning you against a wall with a throbbing erection beneath his jeans, but it sort of just happened, and he wasn’t going to be the first to stop it.

When he let your arms fall limp to your sides, he immediately hoisted up your leg and held it up around his waist, all the while thrusting his core into yours repeatedly, to the point where he couldn’t quite keep his lips in one place, and they moved all around your face despite his attempts to keep steady.

Spurred on by the feeling, you grinded against him to feel the pressure on your clit, and if you carried on that way, you were sure you might have an orgasm just from the feeling.

“S-stop,” you whimpered, placing your hand between your core and his. “Just for a sec…”

He panted and pressed his forehead against yours, breathing hard and fast. “You all right?” he asked with his eyes shut tight. You could tell he was trying to keep himself from letting go too soon, too.

You giggled and cupped his cheeks in your hands before kissing his lips softly, to which he opened his eyes wide in surprise.

“You’re so cute,” you panted, and snuck a peek at the outline of his erection. “And very horny… How are we going to do this? I mean, what’s the plan?”

He scoffed, though you could tell that he was blushing, even in the darkness of that dimly lit shed. “We gotta come up with a damn agenda?” he asked. “You always gotta be so technical, huh?”

You somehow became infatuated with his hair, running your fingers through it and twirling it between your fingers as you bit your lip in thought. “You’re such a dick,” you said, in a strangely adoring tone. “A big, grumpy dick.”

Not keeping his eyes off you, he stepped away, and though you didn’t take your gaze from him, either, you could hear the clatter of his belt buckle and the unzipping of his pants, then the dull sound of the heavy jeans falling to the floor.

“Why don’t ya put that big mouth of yours to use?”

A surge of lust pulsed through you, a tingling sensation blossoming from your core and spreading through your legs, causing them to weaken and practically sink to the ground on their own accord.

You came face-to-face with his cock, already throbbing and red with arousal. Placing your hands on his thighs, and gently squeezing them in anticipation, you kissed the base of his cock, trailing up and down its length with your lips before grabbing it in your hand and tugging on it gently, then more forcefully as you placed the tip in your mouth.

His hands immediately came to the back of your head where his fingers interlaced in your hair and pulled you further down on his cock. The feeling of your tongue tickling his sensitive shaft was almost too much to bear, and at the same time, he wished you’d never stop.

“Shit,” he huffed, throwing his head back a little, and quickly looking back down to watch you. Your eyes met his as you hoped to gauge his reaction, and to just look at his blissful face as you went down on him.

Catching your breath, you released him from your mouth with a pop, and lifted his cock to hold it against his belly as you tongued at his balls, taking each in your mouth one by one.

“I guess you really do have balls,” you said between licks.

He removed your hand from his cock and shoved it back into your mouth.

“You got a job to do, woman.”

You moaned onto his cock as he pushed it deeper towards the back of your throat, causing you to gag a little when he went too deep, but it felt so good, tasted so good.

He thrusted harder into your mouth, not relenting and forcing you to make all kinds of strangled noises.

“Shit,” he groaned as he watched you gag and your eyes begin to water. Still, you moaned in pleasure at how he filled your mouth. “Shit, that’s good.”

He hadn’t felt this in so long, and the feeling of his hand could never compete with your mouth and your tongue going up and down his length, and your saliva dripping down and squelching with each pass of his hard cock.

“Mmm,” you moaned before releasing him to catch another breath. You tugged harder on his cock as you placed a few tender kisses on his tip. “You’re much bigger than I thought you’d be, too.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking at your face which betrayed how much you knew what you were doing to him.

“I’m gonna go so rough on you,” he said. “You’re just askin’ for it, sunshine.”

Your heart skipped a beat. How could something like that be so romantic? Even the very setting, an old, grimy fisherman’s shack that smelled vaguely of death, wasn’t the ideal place to have sex, but it was perfect.

You licked his cock again happily, smiling up at him with soft eyes as you did. “I want it rough, big boy,” you teased, running your hands up and down his beautiful bare thighs. “I want to see what this cock can do.”

He lost all control then, seeing your taunting face, so beautiful and sweet and yet so irritatingly smug that he had to pick you up by your arms and fling you back against the wall.

You yelped a little in surprise, and felt him tug on your shirt until somehow it was off, and only your bra remained.

He reached behind you with his mouth suctioning harshly onto yours all the while, and the two of you worked to remove the fabric separating him from seeing your breasts in all their aroused glory.

He marveled at the supple tissue and their hardened nipples before squeezing them with his large hands that they seemed to slot so perfectly into.

You laughed into his mouth, amused by his fascination with your breasts, all the while trying and failing to remove his shirt.

He noticed your struggle and stepped back for just a moment to unbutton the offending fabric, and soon he was completely naked.

As you expected, he looked beautiful, as though his body was sculpted by Michelangelo or even the Greek gods themselves. He was perfect, muscular but still soft in that he had the cutest belly, and a chest that seemed to make a great pillow.

“God, you’re sexy,” you said as you absentmindedly rubbed your belly almost hungrily, wandering your eyes all over his body while he stroked himself. “It’s annoying how hot you are.”

He smirked and stepped closer again to strip you of your pants, kneeling down and looking up at you with such arrogance that wasn’t usually one of Daryl’s traits. The compliment must’ve gone to his head.

“You ain’t so bad yourself, princess,” he said, now about to pull down your panties after struggling with your jeans for a moment. “Let’s see what’s been waitin’ for me.”

The cool evening air hit your bare mound when he removed the fabric, and as you closed your eyes, you could already feel his tongue licking up your slit.

“Oh!” you whimpered in shock at the sudden tickling. “Daryl…”

“Such a pretty little pussy,” he cooed, almost teasingly, but with a tinge of genuine desperation in his voice. “Real cute… Nice and wet for me, too.”

He gathered your clear wetness on his fingers as he inched them inside of you, causing you to flex your walls and squeeze him before he could pull them out.

“Ohhh…”

He watched your mouth drop in bliss at the feeling before licking his fingers clean of your arousal.

“Mmm,” he hummed. “Just like honey.”

He bestowed a few sloppy, tongue-heavy kisses on your mound before trailing his tongue up your abdomen, licking you between your breasts until he reached his full height, and shoved his tongue into your agape mouth again.

You were taken aback at his forcefulness, and wrapped your arms around his neck to stabilize yourself against the wall.

“Give me your legs,” he said gruffly, and you obliged, raising one leg for him to hold around his waist as he brought his cock to your entrance with his other hand.

“Ah!” you whimpered when you felt him immediately enter you halfway. “Oh, Jesus…”

It’d been so long since you’d felt something so thick and long inside of you, so warm and hard and throbbing with arousal.

He picked up your other leg and wrapped it around his other side, now using the wall to help him hold your weight as he held you by the back of your knees.

You held onto his neck for dear life, slightly terrified he’d drop you.

“Don’t you dare drop me,” you said sternly, breathing heavily in your desire as you had already started grinding on him. “I’ll kill you, Daryl.”

He smirked and began rhythmically thrusting his hips. “You sayin’ I ain’t man enough to hold ya?”

You rolled your eyes, and were about to tease him back when he thrusted deep inside of you.

“Oh!” you cried softly. “Oh, shit!”

You wrapped your arms around him tighter now, and felt his lips suctioning around the skin of your neck where he had buried his head.

His pubic bone hit your clit so hard that you jolted a few times at the sudden pressure, and the intense tingling emanating from the sensitive nerve endings.

“Ya like that, princess?” he asked into your ear. “How long ya been wantin’ me?”

You threw your head back against the wall and groaned deeply, frustrated at his questioning and the need to feel more pleasure.

“Since… Oh! S-since I… met you.”

He sucked harder on your neck and hoisted your legs up as they started to fall, your body becoming a dead weight with how much bliss it was experiencing.

“Me too,” he panted between thrusts. “So bad…”

His cock pulled out of you suddenly, causing you to shoot your eyes open in disappointment.

“Turn around,” he said, holding you by your waist and doing it himself, then pushing you forward until your breasts were pressed firmly against the wood. You only hoped it didn’t have splinters.

You instinctively spread your legs and planted each hand firmly on the wall, while Daryl slid his hand back and forth over your slit, gathering as much of your wetness as he could before coating his cock in the natural lubricant.

Your hips grinded back against nothing, anticipating his body to return to you, and it did when he pressed his chest to your back, his core to your ass, and reached forward to pull your abdomen even further back against him.

His cock entered you again, and he started thrusting, harder now that he had a new angle, an angle at which his cock his just the right spot inside of you.

“Ooo!” you exclaimed. “Yes! Right there… That’s… Oh…”

Daryl’s cock snaked inside you, back and forth, harder and harder as he raised your left leg and held it against the wall by your knee to get even deeper until he reached his hilt.

“Ah,” he groaned between heavy breaths. You always liked it when men moaned during sex. It seemed like women were always more vocal, but when men did it, especially men like Daryl, you must’ve been making them feel good. “Shit, (Y/N)…”

He pounded harder and harder, holding his body firmly against yours and flexing his ass and moving his hips so furiously you began to feel the convulsions of your orgasm as it reached its peak.

Reaching one hand back, you grasped at his ass, pushing him harder into you. “Oh, I’m gonna come… You’re gonna make me come!”

“Good,” he whispered into your ear as you threw your head back on his shoulder. “Come for me, princess. Good girl…”

He pulled you away from the wall momentarily, and lowered one hand to rub your clit in tight, hard circles until the feeling combined with his thrusting cock made your orgasm release and flow through you.

“Ah! Ah! Oh, Daryl…”

Your body twitched and your hips rode his cock in an uncontrollable, rhythmic pattern while he softly humped you from behind, all the while continuing to caress your slit.

“Mmm,” you moaned happily, a blissful smile on your face as your head rested on his strong, broad shoulder.

Picking up his speed again, he launched you back up against the wall, hoisting up your leg again and preparing to let himself go now.

You huffed and whimpered repeatedly at the feeling of his cock going faster and penetrating you even more aggressively than before now that he was so close to releasing.

You felt him begin to twitch inside you, and that combined with your convulsing pussy told him to pull out of you before spilling his seed all over your lower back, groaning deeply with each spurt of cum that erupted from his cock.

“Oh, shit…” he mumbled, tugging himself until he was empty.

With his other hand, he absentmindedly gathered the cum from your back on his fingers.

“Come ‘ere,” he said, urging you to turn around.

You did, and were met with his white-coated fingers stroking your quivering lips. You opened up for him, licking his fingers clean and taking in all of his cum.

“That taste good?” he asked, watching your tongue intently.

“Mhm,” you hummed with a smile, then kissed his fingers lightly. “So good.”

You retreated to the cot with almost completely limp legs, though Daryl helped you there, holding you by your waist and laying you down gently before tucking himself in next to you.

The cot was a little dusty, but it would have to do. Besides, you were both filthy from sweat and other bodily fluids now, anyway. Still, it was the most comfortable you’d been in a long time.

As you had expected, Daryl’s chest made a wonderful pillow, and he let you rest your head there for a while, his fingers twirling in your hair as the silence settled in.

“Daryl,” you peeped after a while. “I really am sorry for what I said, how I treated you… It wasn’t fair.”

He raised his chin and snuggled you further into him. “Ain’t nothin’,” he said. “Always knew ya had the hots for me, anyway.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes. “You did not,” you said. “Don’t be such an ass. I’m trying to apologize to you.”

“I know.” He kissed your forehead, then nuzzled his nose against it softly. “I’m sorry, too. For everything… Being mean… Never listenin’ to ya… Especially sorry for callin’ you a bitch. That ain’t true… Knew it wasn’t true when I said it.”

“Well, I was a little bitchy towards you,” you said. “You know, you’re a good man… I didn’t want to see it for a long time because of what I saw with your brother, but that’s not you. You’re not like him at all.”

He nodded in understanding. His brother was an asshole, even he could admit that. “Ya had a right to be like that. We’re good now… Better than good.”

You gently grasped the side of his jaw to pull his face to yours, and kissed his lips more lovingly than you had yet. You could really get used to kissing him, to holding him, to talking to him like this.

“I’m so glad we got lost, Daryl,” you said. “Well, glad you got us lost.”

His eyes widened, and you remembered just how cute he looked when he was angry.

“We were never lost, woman!” he exclaimed. “Told ya, was a detour.”

You laughed. “Oh my god,” you said. “Will you just admit it?”

“Never,” he said, now with his lips forming into a hazy smile. “I’ll admit one thing, though… I, uh… I hope this wasn’t just a one night stand.”

“Of course it wasn’t,” you said. “I’m already mentally rearranging my cell for you.”

The morning after, Daryl helped you carve your initials next to his, so whoever might find this shack one day, seeking refuge from the outside world, might look upon your declaration of love and find hope in that something good must’ve happened here.

And sure enough, Daryl moved into your cell when you eventually found your way back to the prison—following the creek, as you’d suggested.

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are always appreciated!

Masterlist

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead #the walking dead smut #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #twd smut #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #twd #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus

3K notes · View notes

mosstliest · 3 years

Text

mcyt movie night headcanons!

(cc!) Dream , George , Sapnap , Technoblade , Wilbur , Eret , Fundy , Nihachu , Quackity , Karl

requested? yes / no

pronouns used : they / them

cw! light nsfw (Dream) , mentions of jumpscares (horror films)

Dream

he is a big fan of a good old netflix and chill session

something about the warm, dark living room only illuminated by the moving images on the screen, your silhouette barely visible under a blanket and whatever snack you’d found on his cupboard on your hands gets this man in a raunchy mood

he’ll pull you to his lap or slide next to you and start pecking at your neck

“But it’s just getting to the good part”

you stretch your neck to give him more room anyways

“Oh we’re about to get to the good part”

you chuckle and bite your lip to stifle a sigh as his lips begin to trace your jaw

the movie gets paused is what I’m saying

he refuses to buy any snacks from the candy shop whenever you do go to the cinema

“It is unnecessarily expensive!”

“You have twenty million fucking subscribers!”

“BUT FOUR DOLLARS?!”

he has the most creative ways of smuggling sweets

it started with a classic tote bag

it’s become sort of a game

once, he bought the most ridiculously bulgy jacket and wore it in scorching florida weather solely for the purpose of hiding crisps

he laughs easily at movies and his wheeze has made you get kicked out of a movie theatre at least once

will talk about his favourite parts of the movie for hours after it’s finished

will laugh whenever he thinks about the funniest parts for days

George

(sort of George with a film buff s/o)

he doesn’t talk during movies and actively dislikes people who do

will complain if he doesn’t like the film but only in quiet whispers and not if he suspects you are particularly enjoying it

you made him watch a Tarkovsky film one time

he swears he didn’t fall asleep

he did

but he tried his best <3

can’t choose the movie for the life of him so you always end up having to pick

every time you try and analyze color symbolism he’ll chime in

“I’m colorblind”

before you can finish

you bait him honestly

he likes listening to you talk about your favorite movies and all the films you want to show him

he’ll look up facts about your favourite directors and will make fun of your least favourite ones with you

makes a great snobby-tarantino-fan “you’ve not known real cinema until you’ve watched pulp fiction” impression that never fails to make you cackle

he is not a fan of horror films

you tried to make him watch one once

“I don’t really like horror movies but you said this one was good so- WHAT IS THAT?!”

turned it off immediately and you ended up watching the hobbit

Harry potter marathons are a must

he can imitate maggie smith’s accent to perfection

Sapnap

you watch anime together

I don’t give a fuck if you don’t like it

he doesn’t either

he’ll make you watch it

he has good taste though, so you end up enjoying it

cuddles with Sapnap cuddles with Sapnap cuddles with Sapnap

movie playing on the tv, your head in his chest and his hand in your waist, blankets wrapped around you and the AC running just a little bit too cold = his absolute definition of happiness

you binge watch shows in one sitting and then get sad when they’re over

he always burns the goddamn popcorn

daily movie nights!

you order in and eat a late night dinner in bed

Your pick monday, wednesday, friday

his pick tuesday, thursday, saturday

a full on debate on sundays trying to figure out a good middle ground

Whenever the movie runs late and you end up falling asleep, he’ll turn the tv off and quietly pull the blankets over your body before kissing your forehead in the sweetest way imaginable

he yells at the screen

he loves watching horror movies but gets jumpscared easily

“Awww are you scared baby?”

“Shut up y/n I’m only holding you so you don’t get scared”

“I won’t :)”

“...I’m not letting go if that’s what you’re fucking thinking”

Technoblade

(take a shot every time popcorn is mentioned and pass out)

one of your first dates was actually a movie date

he turned and whispered in your ear whenever a clever wip popped in his head and his commentary was so funny you had to bury your face in your hands so your laughter didn’t disturb the other people in the theatre

he talks during movies, he can’t help it

"heh?!"

he doesn’t like cinema popcorn and will exclusively buy chocolate

you didn’t get it until the day he made you try his trademark-techno-popcorn and wow

“holy shit this is great!”

“I know”

he’s completely ruined popcorn for you

“please don’t ever leave me, I don’t think I’ll be able to eat normal popcorn after this”

“wasn’t planning on it”

he is secretly into romcoms

you watch movies in bed, laptop propped in his legs and an obligatory bowl of popcorn in your arms

he plays with your hair for the whole time

you hate-watch bad movies all the time and your chests hurt from laughing by the end

he can easily memorize entire scenes and will repeat them to you in a totally monotone voice

It’s great

has never cried during a movie, is dreadfully proud of himself for it

sometimes he’ll get distracted and just stare at you, movie reduced to white noise in the background

“you’re so pretty”

Wilbur

makes dinner for you whenever you have a movie night

his snack game is kind of weak though, as much as I hate to say it

water and dark chocolate only

if you think he doesn’t insist on rewatching hamilton at least once every two months you are wrong

he is a goddamn hamilton kinnie and he likes the fucking songs okay?

constant change of cuddling positions

you made him sit through the entirety of the twilight saga “as a hate watch”

he now quotes it on a daily basis (never on stream, chat would eat him alive)

“Whaddaya mean team jacob? He’s a glorified furry!”

you watch a lot of documentaries

the way he concentrates on taking in every single bit of information is almost more entertaining than the actual film

he’ll tell you random facts he learnt watching the documentary and you’ll have to remind him that you watched it with him

you act out iconic romance scenes and he gets so into it

he can be anything from Jack Dawson to mr. Darcy and William Thacker and it gives you butterflies every time

you’ll stand up whenever characters are slow dancing and dance along with them

You’ve tried to watch shows together but you always end up forgetting or one of you will binge an entire season and

he’s insufferable when he doesn’t like a film but will refuse to change it

he criticizes the smallest details in a way that would make Anthony Lane look like an absolute sweetheart

you dance to the end credits theme

Fundy

(long distance!)

Netflix parties ALL THE TIME

+ discord calls / facetime

you coordinate snacks

sometimes you’ll switch whatever you’re watching to dutch for a second so he can make fun of the god awful translation

most times,you fall asleep together after the movie ends even if your time zones are far apart

you watch entire shows together, the longer the better

four or five episodes at a time

You both get super invested and will have heated discussions about whether rory should have ended up with logan or jess

whenever you talk about meeting up, watching a movie and actually cuddling comes up

he used to be kind of quiet during movies

he won’t shut up now, it’s fun, having his voice in your ears with whatever film you’re watching in the background makes it seem like he's in bed next to you

his voice would be easy to fall asleep to if he didn’t yell so often

he can guess the precise plot of every single horror movie

like word for word, scene for scene

he gets scared anyways

he sent you one of his hoodies once, after you begged for weeks

you wrap it around a plushie or pillow and cuddle it whenever you watch something together

“can’t believe a fucking sweater gets more action than me”

“oh shut up you big baby”

Eret

lots and lots of movie dates

he has excellent taste in films and shows so you let them choose most times

stacking up on cinema sweets and a huge bucket of popcorn when you go to a theatre

buying tons of crisps and candybars when you hang out at home

not the biggest cuddler in this specific setting

would much rather have her arm around your shoulder and your legs up on their lap

you watch award shows solely for the purpose of roasting the outfits

bed/couch absolutely crammed with plushies and pillows

you always make milkshakes together

not smoothies

not frappes

milkshakes

with syrup, whipped cream and a cherry on top

the night isn’t complete without them

you watch a lot of period films

“you’d look great in that”

“who are you pointing to again?”

“doesn’t matter, you’d look great in everything”

(you’ll get them to wear a corset if it’s the last thing you do)

he turns to kiss your cheek every fifteen minutes

Nihachu

you bake cookies before movie nights and decorate them specifically for the theme of the film

you did a horror marathon once

(it may have been a sneaky way to get her to hide in the crook of your neck but we don’t talk about that)

the plate of cookies flew out of her hands in minutes

she got so worried

“but you worked so hard on the decorations :(“

“it’s fine babe, we’ll just eat the plain ones”

she wrapped her arms around you and kissed your cheek so it was totally worth it

the decorations were kinda shit anyways

you watch a ton of coming of age movies and will listen to the soundtrack for days after

she’s so funny during movies

sometimes a character will do something stupid and her remark will be so absolutely stingy both your hands will fly to your mouths and you’ll stare at each other, eyes wide, before falling into a fit of giggles

simping over powerful women with Niki

you have a huge watchlist of gay films and high five everytime you cross one off

cuddling under a huge pile of blankets

switching sweaters

Zuko climbing unto the laptop and pausing the movie at the most inconvenient times

Quackity

he eats dry cereal during movies because he’s just chaotic like that

you sit on the floor with your backs to the couch and eat takeout and drugstore snacks

the amount of times you’ve watched the fucking bee movie

you like watching things in spanish

everything from crappy soap operas to almodovar films

he likes to translate things and can do it super quick so you never really need subtitles

you watch a lot of superhero movies and he has made you watch Adam Sandler’s entire filmography

the floor always ends up messy and cleaning up afterwards is almost as funny as the film itself

sitcoms!

lots and lots of sitcoms

Karl

pillow fort is obligatory

monster energy drinks and a huge variety of candy

microwave popcorn with too much butter

hot cocoa with too many marshmallows

you mostly watch cartoons and 2010’s nickelodeon shows

scream singing the iCarly theme song and hating on tori from victorious

getting really into the adventure time lore

tickle fights when the film gets boring

he takes recommendations from “indie film” tiktoks and you mock him for it endlessly

he has weirdly obscure knowledge on every show you watch

he has a big colección of dvds/videotapes so you get to watch some oldies

he falls asleep with his head in your lap or your shoulder

he gives you a sweater or hoodie to wear and lends you plaid pyjama pants

you quote movies on stream and have ton of private jokes

can you tell I got lazy at the end?

likes and reblogs are always appreciated and have a wonderful morning/day/afternoon/evening/night <3

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doublel27 · 2 years

Text

No, you don’t like Owen Strand right now (and you’re not supposed to)

Or my meta on why I think the show is purposefully running Owen into the ground and out of our hearts, and that it’s coming for a big pay off.

CW: 9/11, Minor Character Death, Cancer, and other just general 911 problems.

A lot of people cite the issues with Owen Strand as a growing problem on 9-1-1 Lone Star. And if you listen, most people say it starts in Season Two, where Owen leaves funny and quirky and takes a straight run at insufferable. I’m of the mind that this is part of a larger arc we’re going to see come to a head later in season three. And if I’m wrong, I will publicly admit it and eat my hat. But until then…

Season Two starts off in an interesting place for Owen. TK has recovered from his gunshot wound, Owen’s cancer is heading into remission and he just needs surgery to remove what’s left of the tumor, Owen is sleeping with his ex-wife who he strongly suggests to Judd in season one is the “One Who Got Away,” and things are looking great for the 126. However, the first scene, the first big speech and moment at the start of the season for Owen is about forgotten heroes—the military, the first responders to 9/11, being left behind by the system. Owen’s anger in that opening sequence is real and righteous. The cancer Owen is diagnosed with in the pilot is real, it does affect the first responders who survived 9/11, and they sued the city because their insurance didn’t pay for it. He’s standing alone in front of the VA hospital and opens with this speech “Mr. Vasquez, this is Captain Owen Strand Austin FD. I wanna say how sorry I am for your loss. No one should ever have to feel what you’re feeling. I understand you wanna blame the government for what happened to your daughter. For denying her sacrifice. I know how painful that feels. [...] You see, on 9/11, it was the one day this country swore it would never forget. And it did. Those of us who were there that day, we don’t have that luxury. We don’t get to forget. And I know too many people who survived that day, only to die years later, forgotten. Ignored. Because their problems were too expensive. Too inconvenient. So yeah, I understand your rage.” The moment ends with the gun of the tank stopping inches from his face and he responds to Grace with “Still standing.”

Season two opens with Owen acknowledging his rage but that he’s still standing. It’s one of the few times he even touches on his feelings.

Things get blown to hell (literally) in 2x02 when Tim Rosewater, the sweet and sarcastic paramedic, gets hit with a flaming chunk of lava three feet from Owen’s face, and there’s nothing Owen can do. The promise he made to the 126 at the opening of the series: everyone gets a fair shake, no one gets left behind, and everyone who clocks in at the beginning of a shift clocks out is broken here, as it inevitably would be. When he goes home to Gwyn, he sits in the ashes of the volcanic eruption, jokes about what’s the worst that can happen—he gets cancer again, and is reminded of the ash on 9/11, although muses that this time it’s prettier and I don’t know if it’s because he’s further away from that moment, or his losses are smaller or he’s actually sort of letting Gwyn comfort him. Gwyn suggests that she’s glad he’s okay in the wake of Tim’s death and Owen responds “Oh, I was always going to be okay. You don’t need to worry about me. I’m invincible, evidently.” He recounts that being diagnosed with cancer was the universe finally evening the score, but surviving it…he doesn’t know what to do with.

2x03 opens with Owen not sleeping, dreaming of Tim’s death and of Tim haunting him. We see him take a reckless turn in the wake of Tim’s death, but it doesn’t bother us because it’s to go get Judd, Marjan, Paul, Eddie and the kid. But we watch him unspool the longer he and Hen are in the mineshaft. He’s hallucinating Tim and it’s getting deep into his invulnerability psychology, into the voices of the people who died on 9/11 from Tim’s mouth. The 14 men who didn’t make it home but Owen did. Owen tells Hen the whole thing, the anger he feels that they let him leave that building alive without them. The guilt he feels over forcing TK into following his footsteps, over the failure of his marriage (singular). When Hen suggests they’re going to die, Owen quips, “You’re only trying to cheer me up.” (If you need to know more about the house Owen’s is modeled on, BlueInk3 detailed it here.) Owen once again escapes certain death due to the 126 and 118 stealing the truck and driving into a wildfire. Owen wakes to TK and Judd and the rest of his team staring at him and they carry him out. Owen wakes again to Tommy, who was so concerned by the conversation with Owen she came up to where they were fighting, and in the end another miracle has contained the fire. Owen’s takeaway is that it’s okay, he’s invincible and it’s the only logical explanation for how they walked out. Hen corrects him, that the actions of two teams, particularly TK and Buck deciding to steal an engine, explain what happened and they didn’t walk, they were carried. Owen doesn’t buy it. And we can see that based on his actions further on.

Then, in 2x04 “Friends with Benefits,” that storyline seems to disappear, because Gwyn pushes for a label and it turns out, she’s miraculously pregnant and Owen heads into a three episode arc of “I’m going to be a dad (again).” He pulls himself (mostly) together after ping-ponging between professing that divorced together not-together is the best thing and proposing to Gwyn by recreating their wedding suite set up. (Gwyn says no.) But with the advent of the baby, Owen makes a commitment to Gwyn, choosing to get the surgery he’s been avoiding. He throws himself wholeheartedly into this second chance. We have already learned that Gwyn and Owen’s relationship fell apart in the wake of the tragedy of 9/11 because Owen chose the 252 over Gwyn and TK. Here he is, with another tragedy that brought all of those feelings and memories back up, but Owen has a chance to fix it. Here’s Gwyn, warm and alive and they’re not miserable, and there’s another baby. A baby he doesn’t have to leave. He can fix this. He can have his do-over.

Until he can’t. Gwyn figures out in 2x07 that it might not be his baby, due to timing, and Owen is fixated on the Kintsugi bowl, all the more beautiful for it’s cracks. And when it comes down to it, when it comes down to the moment she’s emailed the paternity test, he asks her to delete it. Owen doesn’t care. He wants her to delete it. Because for him it’s not about whether or not this baby is biologically his. It’s about what the whole system of their reunion represents. It’s that he’s had a better time with Gwyn in the last year than they did their entire marriage. It’s a chance to fix something he broke, to come home to someone instead of run away. It’s a chance to have a more beautiful life because of the cracks that he repaired. Gwyn checks the email and Owen says he still doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter, because again, it’s more than whose baby it is. It’s this miraculous do-over for Owen to get things right. But Gwyn doesn’t believe him. And she leaves him, again. The spiral that was put on hold with the news of the baby quickly starts up again with the advent of 2x08. “Bad Call” is a fan favorite episode for a lot of reasons. It gives Carlos, as a character, backstory and depth, introducing us to his father and continuing the path to detective Carlos that began in season 1 with Michelle and Iris. It weaves together all of the calls into one beautiful storyline. Tommy, Nancy and TK get a solid feature as the paramedic team. Paul, Marjan, Judd and Mateo get a beautiful save in the building. But it’s also the start of Owen’s unraveling. He’s doing alright-ish at the top of the episode, but he and Gwyn haven’t told TK about the break up. They haven’t told anyone. Owen is, literally, still living in a world where no one knows his world is unraveling. And then TK shows up at work frosty and Gwyn calls to tell him that she told TK, that she had to, and she’s worried about him shutting down. We then get to the call with the explosives, where Owen has to call everyone out of the building, and the 126, being the one 126 (and Owen’s proteges) stay in the building to find the kid, and Owen goes back up after them—because he’s working on keeping that impossible promise to bring everyone home. The episode continues with Carlos showing up to Owen’s because TK hasn’t come home and he’s worried. Gwyn jumps straight to relapse, but Owen stays cool. Owen stays collected. He calls the station and discovers that no one has had contact with Tommy’s team for hours. Owen starts with his invincibility/god complex by starting his own investigation here with Carlos, a currently suspended cop, along for the ride. Now, this is all easily justifiable to the audience. We love the paramedic team. Owen and Carlos love TK. Of course they’d be going off to find him. But there are channels this probably should have gone through that were not Owen and Carlos out on their own mission. Owen is supportive of Carlos, and is helpful. He supports Carlos in calling his dad to solve the investigation his dad’s been working on. They find Tommy, Nancy and TK. Owen is the first one through the door of the Sun and Salt. Owen picks up the gun that TK had kicked away moments earlier and shoots Tommy’s assailant after she had jabbed him with a heavy dose of drugs and Carlos rushes in to pick up TK. Now, the only quibble most people had with this looking back is that Owen is the one who shot Tommy’s assailant. But Carlos was relieved of his gun and badge earlier in the episode and asked not to leave town by his father. Owen got to the gun on the ground first and did what had to be done, but the thing is, why is Owen the first through the door? It’s this hero/god complex/invincibility business that makes him sure he can enter that building first. It’s also the fact that he would like to die, especially in the line of saving someone. That drives him to pick up the gun and shooting it off. And, let’s be honest, it’s not the first time Owen comes in at the tail end of someone else’s legwork to appear the hero. But that’s all part of the game.

2x09 doesn’t feature Owen that much, and that’s because “Saving Grace” is really a Judd Begins story. The 126 as we know it doesn’t feature until the halfway point, the show bouncing between Judd and Grace’s car accident and Judd’s life since 1995. When we do see Owen, he greets Judd, but can’t look at him as Judd cuts a piece of lasagna for Grace, and the framing of that shot is a choice. He supports Judd, being the first to hug him. He listens as two on-duty cops tell Carlos they’re here to interview a drunk guy who definitely ran into a convenience store and might have run a couple off the road, and Owen watches Judd and specifically asks if he’s good. Judd is not good. Eventually, Judd spirals into the man’s room and is ready to kill him over Grace’s injuries, when Owen and Grace’s daddy show up to get him, and it’s Owen who speaks to Judd first, calling him off, and Owen who eventually touches him to ground him and get him to back off. And again, Owen is Judd’s friend. They’re more peers—Owen, Tommy and Judd—than with the other members of the 126 (who I affectionately call the kids’ table). But he’s still chasing down other people’s problems. Judd credits Grace’s awakening with saving the man in the bed’s life, but the last shot of the scene is Owen looking back at the man who might have almost killed Judd and Grace, alive. Our last glimpse of Owen is when Judd comes out to tell everyone that Grace is going to be okay. He’s concerned for Judd, but when the news that Grace is pregnant comes out, Owen claps, a little awkwardly, and then heads in for the hug, insisting that the whole team come congratulate Judd. But the juxtaposition of Judd becoming a father and Grace living, as Owen is losing Gwyn to New York and the baby isn’t his…well, that’s something.

2x10-2x12 is a whole Owen spiraling out arc that gives us, as an audience, a true look at the mess that Owen is becoming. TK moves out of Owen’s house and in with Carlos. Owen tries to spend the whole day moving them and is looking for new jobs to do around the place, and TK has to both tell Owen that they’ve got it and take the time to check on his father. He wants to make sure his father will be okay with him moving out. Owen blows it off, putting on his usual smile and dipping out. Later, TK invites Owen over for dinner with Carlos and Owen insists that he’s busy, but we see him just playing solitaire. He finds Mateo, currently homeless because Mateo’s roommates have been awful idiots, and takes home a surrogate son/friend. On their 24 hours off Mateo, who just wants to sleep, is badgered into staying up all night with his beloved Captain, drinking an entire bottle of very expensive tequila. And when he raises a question about tequila hours Owen points out that he can now “Because there’s no cancer treatments, no one in recovery and no one who is pregnant in the house.” YIKES

The yikes continue to roll in 2x10 as Owen breaks down with Mateo while very drunk, and spills that he’s canceled his cancer surgery. He’s sad, he’s distraught, and when Mateo comes to work the next day he sounds the alarm with his coworkers. He’s worried about Owen. Owen’s clearly depressed. Owen walks in, his smiling chirpy self, and everyone looks at Mateo like maybe he’s crazy. But the audience watched him fall apart with Mateo. We know Mateo didn’t imagine it. Well, it comes out that he DID indeed cancel his cancer surgery and TK shows up at Owen’s house the next day PISSED with an intervention. Owen is glib throughout the whole experience, putting everyone else on the spot, and the team pushes back. TK in particular pushes at his father. He has known something is off, but Owen blows off every concern. He skewers Mateo for telling the rest of the team, suggesting that Mateo—who remains the most conscientious of all of the members of the 126—cannot be trusted. In the end though, Owen cannot deny that he canceled his surgery, even if he uses everybody else in the room as an excuse of why he hasn’t rescheduled. TK ends up leaving, suggesting his dad is going to do whatever he wants, and the rest of the 126 follows.

The thing that shifts Owen to schedule his surgery is a false alarm with Buttercup. Owen thinks Buttercup’s cancer is back and calls TK and Carlos to let them know something is wrong. His family shows up, and Owen promises to schedule the surgery because of Buttercup’s illness. It turns out that Buttercup just ate Gwyn’s sloth tea infuser, but Owen goes through with the surgery anyway. It takes nearly losing someone that Owen loves to get him to take care of himself. This will come around again.

He lets TK come to the hospital, but promises that he’ll be fine. He rolls his eyes at the puzzle TK gives him. TK knows that he needs to be busy, and Owen tries to keep busy. We get a montage of Owen doing all kinds of ridiculous things, but he learns how to download a police scanner app from Billy, and like two sides of the same coin during their medical leaves, Billy and Owen listen to various dispatch calls to keep their adrenaline running. Owen listens to the scanner like it’s a podcast. He’s still out and about with his scanner podcast, when he stumbles upon a fire. Owen, like a moth to a flame, throws himself at the fire. He watches the man who set it run away, and tries to help. When the 126 shows up, they make him get out of there, but Owen is already hooked. He’s convinced it’s arson, and tries to talk to the deputy chief about it. But when he’s blown off, Owen goes off on his own to try and figure it out. He buys a bunch of things to try and prove it was arson, which is not a smart look, but then Owen’s not thinking about that.

He’s so focused on solving a problem, Owen isn’t thinking about what things look like, or how they’ll be taken. This is a continuing problem with Owen. He leaps without looking. It doesn’t matter, not really, because Owen is invincible, untouchable, in his own mind. This theory of why he’s alive, that he cannot be taken, or that if he does enough he’ll finally be deemed a hero enough to die, leads Owen into these situations. And it also leads us into being entirely irritated in the process.

He gets to the point where he’s so focused chasing the arsonist that he delays going to TK and Carlos’s house to investigate and ends up needing to get dragged out by Billy. He then hatches a plan with Gabriel Reyes to catch the arsonist, one that leaves both of their sons in the dark and opens a rift between them. The plan culminates in arson fires set in both the 126 and in TK and Carlos’s home. Owen figures it out in the nick of time, both times, warning the 126 with minutes to spare. With Carlos and TK’s house, Owen gets there with Judd and Tommy and Billy to help save them.

Once again, things fall apart around Owen, but Owen remains relatively unscathed. He wasn’t at the 126 when it blew up. He gets TK and Carlos out of their house and he’s got some minor burns.

You would think this would lead Owen to take a break, but in the next episode, Tommy Vega ends up in a hostage situation in the wake of her husband’s death. Owen, not knowing what has happened, but learning Tommy is in the middle of a disaster, throws himself in the middle of it. He’s running around, calling people, bothering the SWAT team and eventually sweet talking his way inside to get to Tommy. Owen is legit inserting himself into something that isn’t his business and is potentially incredibly dangerous. Again, we have a man who believes that he’s invulnerable, who is waiting for the universe to deem him fit to die, and so it’s a win/win. Either he makes it out alive or dies a hero.

We move into the dust storm, and while Billy and everyone else stays inside, Owen runs out into the middle of the storm. Despite it being a mistake, there are more people that are going to need his help. When Owen walks out into the storm, visibility is incredibly low. There’s a chance he’s going to get lost or end up dead. But he’s Owen, and he’s either going to be deemed heroic enough to die, or he’s going to live. And unsurprisingly, he lives. His former team all think he’s responsible for the mass-triage happening outside, but it’s really Mateo who has done all of that work. This isn’t the first time Owen’s won the credit for things, even if he hasn’t done them. But he gets through without incident. The team decides to go clean up the 126 on their own. While there, Billy shows up, letting Owen know that he’s taken the Deputy Chief job that Owen has turned down. Billy lets Owen know he’s pulling the plug on the 126, and Owen punches Billy in the face.

This leads to the spiral that we find Owen in at the start of Season 3. Owen has tried to solve a problem and lost—it’s not a typical thing for Owen, and he bolts in the face of losing. He ends up in a cabin out in Hill Country making twigspresso and genuinely pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist. He hasn’t shaved. He doesn’t respond to the team. Marjan comes up there ready to bully him back down into Austin and he refuses. During this storyline, Owen ends up involving himself in a drug cartel that is smuggling people into the country and using them to move drugs as well. Owen makes several blunders in getting involved in this situation. When it comes down to it, Owen nearly gets everyone killed. If it wasn’t for Marjan, Owen would have died right alongside everyone else. But she explodes the dirty deputy’s cruiser and she saves the day. Owen seems to get the credit, but it’s really Marjan being there that allows those people to live. Marjan tries to get him to see reason, but beyond getting Owen down into Austin, he refuses. He shaves, Tommy comes to get him and it turns out TK is in the ICU and dying. Like with Buttercup, having someone he loves in grave danger spurs Owen to take action he was avoiding. Owen throws himself into getting the 126 back up and running because he takes TK’s current predicament as a punishment for giving up in the first place. As an audience, this seems ridiculous. But again, Owen has a bit of a god-complex. The world is hurting him because he made a poor choice. TK is giving up because Owen gave up first. So he has to go. He refuses to stay.

Now, the rest of the team (aside from Tommy) reads as very confused in this scene. Marjan actively suggests that Owen not go, which is contrary to her desires up to that point, but let’s be honest, TK’s not doing so hot. Paul looks concerned and Carlos looks very doubtful but it’s hard to tell where any of his emotions are at this point. The fandom, though, definitely took it as Carlos being done. Tommy goes, because she long ago accepted that Owen is both an immovable object and an unstoppable force. They track Billy and that leads them to finding out Grace is gone. Owen throws himself into solving problems, because there’s nothing he can do for TK. Also, an Owen who gives up, an Owen who isn’t trying hard enough, is an Owen who doesn’t deserve the miracle of his son living. In Owen’s flawed logic, TK will not be okay as long as Owen is failing. He hugs Carlos, passing on the caring of TK to TK’s ex-boyfriend, and leaves.

Throughout 3.04, we watch Owen do what Owen does best, knuckle down, pretend things are not as bad as they seem, and shove his emotions away. Tommy tries to apologize, but Owen offers her comfort. Truth is, Owen doesn’t fall apart until Grace is giving birth, presumably because he’s very much reminded of his son’s birth; the same son who is potentially dying at that moment. Owen escapes the bus and falls to his knees in the snow, because the reality is talking to Billy, saving Grace, none of that will actually make a difference. And I think deep down, Owen knows that.

In the end, TK lives, and I’m sure Owen can add this as another one of his miracles that came because he, Owen Strand, did the right thing. It’s not. We as an audience know what happened, because again, like with Mateo, we were shown the reality that it was Carlos pouring his heart out to TK and TK’s ‘Coma Carol’ with his mental projection of his mom which convinces TK to fight for the life he wants.

The 126 gets saved as well after Owen brings his apology letter to Billy, (but really thanks to Marjan for her fighting this whole time and Paul for convincing Lindsay’s parents that the gift he needs isn’t a maserati but Marj’s Go Fund Me funded) and Owen is able to rebuild his house, again. It’s the third time he’s rebuilt a supposedly dead firehouse, although this time he hadn’t lost the people, just the space.

There’s a party, with Gwyn and Jonah coming to surprise TK and the whole house dancing and celebrating. Everyone except Owen. Owen retreats up to his office where he can look down on the party, separate and above them. He sets the bit of iron from the second tower of the World Trade Center on his desk. Owen Strand may have survived to live another day; he may have put his house back in order, but he is still trapped back in 9/11.

By 3.05, the 126 is up and running and Owen is banging any woman that walks, especially ones significantly younger than him. Mateo calls him on it, pointing out that he doesn’t know these girls' names, that he’s not coping with anything that’s happened. The intervention gets brought up, as well as Gwyn and Jonah. Owen pushes this off and gets Mateo to help him with online dating. His first date off of his fancy dating sight goes wildly awry and while Owen is waiting for his and his date’s cars to be brought up by the valet, he spots a car there's an Amber alert on, so he steals his date’s car to chase it. There’s no reason for Owen to do this. This is indeed theft. He calls in the Amber alert car to dispatch and dispatch tells him to stand down and not do anything with the woman in the car, to wait. At this point, Owen is racing through the streets. The way it’s filmed, very shaky and wild, it’s almost certain he’s going to get himself and his carnapped-date killed. Owen ends up deciding to ignore dispatch entirely, but to pull the kidnapper over and confront her. There’s a lot of ways that this could have gone wrong and is foolish. But Owen Strand, the invulnerable hero, doesn’t think about these things. We’ve seen it before, and we see it here.

Once again, he gets incredibly lucky and manages to keep the woman from stabbing him before Carlos and Detective Washington and other members of APD show up. Owen appears to be the hero here, but the audience has watched Carlos build this case, pouring all his spare time into finding out what happened to little Katie. Many audience members were once again angry that Owen seemed to get the save for something he didn’t do. But that’s part of the point. Owen is throwing himself into things he doesn’t know, into situations he has nothing to do with, and when things don’t go to shit, it adds to the evidence that he’s here to save as many people as possible, to be a hero, before he dies a hero.

The next two episodes see a slightly more toned-down Owen, but not really. He’s mentioned as feeling closer to season one Owen, but he’s still tossing himself into disaster at every opportunity.

In 3.06, we learn that Owen is an alien conspiracy theorist, but considering that Owen has taken in every health fad that has ever crossed the internet and is pretty sure that he’s been deemed invincible by the universe, this isn’t a surprise. He and Judd end up finding a massive radiation poisoning incident, and throw themselves into an investigation while they are off-duty. Considering Owen has just recovered from cancer caused by carcinogens, this is a bad plan.

In 3.07, Carlos tries to warn Owen about Sergeant O’Brien, but Owen being Owen, takes it as a challenge. Now O’Brien is an asshole, but Owen doesn’t help the situation. Owen deliberately antagonizes him, and it leads to a bit of a battle that Owen decides how to handle. TK tries to warn him off as well, reminding him of the anger management classes that he took after he hit Billy. They end up on the softball field, which seems harmless, but Owen is out quoting The Art of War and planting people on his team to be ringers. Unsurprisingly, the game ends in a brawl, because even when TK tries to warn him off, Owen cannot hold his temper. He’s been warned off this particular fight multiple times, by multiple people, but it still ended up here. Owen’s redemption in this episode comes when Sergeant O’Brien is caught in a fire and Owen saves him. Once again, Owen comes through with a save due to heroics, and yes, this time it’s because he was doing his job and not throwing himself at someone else’s problem, but it still adds fuel to the narrative of how things work in Owen’s head.

The problem is Owen keeps upping the ante, but calms down a little when things are going well—Gwyn and the baby in season two or as we see in 3.05-3.07 a slightly less unhinged Owen in every episode since the reunion of the 126 in season three. But the longer it goes on, the less reasonable Owen's choices have become. What was justifiable as a father’s love and concern in 2x08 has quickly become an obnoxious pattern. But as we’ve seen, it’s been going on consistently since 2x08. That's EVERY EPISODE for 14 episodes. No wonder we're all like "What the fuck dude?" And now, at the end of 3x07, we’ve hit a thing Owen cannot fix and cannot solve. Gwyn is dead. Gwyneth Morgan, the one who got away, the woman he loves, the gold-standard of women, is gone for good this time. The only times he’s done anything to turn anything around have been either when he thought he had a second chance with Gwyn, or in her absence, when he thought Buttercup or TK was dying. Now he will be confronted with an actual death, and of the one person he tried to rebuild things with.

In the preview, he says that TK’s mom died, but we know it’s more than that. On top of that, he’s going to be involved in a plane disaster. As a survivor of 9/11, as a first responder who was on the scene early, especially as his firehouse was probably in Midtown, a plane disaster is going to bring things up. It’s going to bring a lot of things up. It has to, considering the mass fears around flying that cropped up across all of the US over planes after 9/11.

This combination should get Owen to the point of TRUE rock-bottom, which we haven’t seen yet. As these themes keep circling, I have faith that the writers are planning on bringing Owen to an actual reckoning and recovery, where he deals with at least some of his trauma and begins to heal. Now, I know there’s a lot of concern out there that Lone Star doesn’t know what they’re doing with Owen here, but I think they do. They’ve carried some solid through lines for their characters through multiple seasons. Detective Carlos Reyes was signaled early in Season One as he supported Michelle in her investigation into Iris’s disappearance. We’ve followed Mateo’s struggles to stand up for himself, to the point where he has a voice now from season one through three. There’s more. The show has set Owen up as an unreliable narrator by showing what happens in reality vs. what Owen says/thinks. They have had multiple characters, including one from a sister show, confront Owen about his beliefs about himself, and Owen stubbornly doubles down. Owen may be over twenty years out from 9/11, but it’s never ever really left him. He carries that day with him in his bones, from the promises he makes to his team that he cannot keep, to his belief the only real heroes that day didn’t make it out alive, to his need to constantly make up for the fact that everyone sees a hero when he’s in fact a man who’s failed many times. I cannot imagine they’re giving us this particular set up without coming through with the payoff. They’ve made Owen unlikeable, inconvenient, arrogant and really a continued spiraling problem. And I think it’s on purpose.

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celebrities-imagines · 3 years

Note

Can I ask for a request? My request is for Daphne Bridgerton. It's Y/N attempting to admits her feelings for Daphne. Y/N could be her maid or good friend of hers.

The Right Partner

Thanks for the request...sorry it took me so long. I hope you enjoy! If anyone else has character requests let me know.

Pairing: Daphne Bridgerton x fem reader

Summary: Since the moment you met your friend Daphne Bridgerton you couldn’t explain why your heart fluttered. Now, as the Social Season is in full swing you’re struggling to pretend to enjoy the company of any suitor when they aren’t Daphne.

Warnings: None

Words: 1.8k

"God, I hate dancing," you muttered. The polite smile plastered on your face vanished as your most recent suitor walked away.

Daphne chuckled beside you. You glared at her, which only seemed to brighten her smile.

This had been the first time you'd talked to her all night. She had been on the dance floor the whole time with several suitors. You were willing to bet the only reason she wasn't dancing now was because her card was full.

The season had become insufferable as you watched suitor after suitor pine over "Ms. Bridgerton".

You had been stuffing your feelings down since you'd known Daphne, but with the promise of marriage looming over both of you it was becoming hard to keep your emotions in check. You feared that you would burst if you didn't act on your, confusing, heart soon. The truth was you weren't sure what you were feeling. All you knew was that Daphne made your heart flutter, and the men society constantly forced on you, didn't. Daphne had always made your heart flutter. Not even the handsome Bridgerton brothers could make your eyes stray from their sister.

It didn't matter though, you had to marry a man; you had to be his dotting wife, and you had to have his children. At least that's what the Ton said.

"I don't understand how you could hate dancing. It's fun." Daphne's soft voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

"Fun," you growled. "That man stepped on my foot like three times."

"Five actually." Daphne looked down in an attempt to hide her grin.

She looked impossibly beautiful today. A light blue dress flowed around her and her hair was in a tight updo, but a few stray chestnut strands had fallen and framed her face. It accentuated her beautiful features even more. Her dimples seemed a little deeper, and her eyes were a little brighter. You could feel your breathing become irregular and you did your best to steady it.

"Where do you always go in that mind of yours? Thinking about all the men you can't wait to dance with." Daphne raised a teasing eyebrow.

Slowly, your eyes drifted back into focus. You nudged her playfully, and your skin sizzled at the contact.

"If your going to stand there finding amusement in my suffering at least hand me a drink." You nodded towards the waiter walking around with drinks.

The more you went to these balls, the more you started drinking when Daphne danced with suitors. Selfishly, you hated the way she looked happy in some of their arms.

Swiftly, Daphne snatched a glass, but she hesitated. "Are you sure, this is your fourth glass?"

"What are you, my mother?" She sighed, handing you the glass.

You downed most of it in one gulp. Daphne cleared her throat, "That's not very ladylike."

You shrugged, winked at her, then downed the other half.

She cleared her throat again and looked out at those dancing. "Watching all these girls around us get engaged is so, disheartening," Daphne said as she watched a young girl, younger than both of you, dance happily with one of the suitors.

"Alcohol makes it manageable," you mumbled, but you knew deep down you weren't drinking because of other girls, just one.

She looked at you then at her glass. It was only her second and it was hardly empty. You weren't sure how she did these things so sober. In the end, she did pick up her glass and drink, but it was only a few, ladylike, sips.

You stood there in silence watching other girls dance. Daphne turned to you. "What if I don't find a suitor?" She asked. Her dark eyes were wide with worry, as her lip jutted out in the smallest pout. God, she'd be the death of you.

Daphne's lack of proposals had baffled you. You had always seen Daphne Bridgerton as the type of girl someone fell for terrifyingly fast. Simply, because her alluring personality and charming smile made it impossible to stop yourself. Although, you were convinced Daphne's last name remained Bridgerton due to her overbearing brothers and not her character.

Unfortunately, your mouth was working faster than your common sense, and before you could think you were answering. "Then they are all fools Daph. You are without a doubt the most beautiful girl here. All these girls are wearing pounds of makeup and they don't compare to you. Hell if one of these idiots don't wise up and ask for your hand soon then I'll do it."

Daphne choked on her drink and your cheeks flushed at your slip up. "D-do you mean that?"

"It's one of the only true things I've said tonight," you whispered, but you knew she'd caught it.

Maybe all that champagne was a bad idea. You were growing bold, careless. If you weren't careful you might spill it all. Daphne would be disgusted. You'd rather suffer from these feelings for the rest of your life than lose Daphne.

Her eyes lingered on yours for a few more seconds before she broke away. It had occurred to you then that you rarely tore your eyes from hers. They were like a web, once you looked into those dark brown orbs you were tangled, but it wasn't until you could see the ring of green that surrounded them, that you realized you were trapped.

"Ms. Bridgerton, would you care to join me for a dance." You hadn't even realized a man come up until he was reaching out for Daphne's hand.

She looked to you as if asking permission, but you weren't sure why. You averted your gaze. She then blushed and turned to him, giving a short nod.

Apparently, her card wasn't full.

You could feel everything you'd been bottling up since you met Daphne Bridgerton all those years ago rise in your throat. Alcohol wouldn't fix this, you had to leave. The ballroom had suddenly become suffocating.

When the cool night breeze hit your face you relaxed a little. Still, the music pounding in your ears told you you weren't far enough from the ball.

You ran to a secret garden you'd been to during several balls held here. The only other people that knew about this spot were Daphne and Colin. You three used to hide here as kids when you'd get bored at these fancy events. You sat down on the grass not the least bit worried about your dress.

That's when the tears started to flow. Not just tears from tonight but from all the years of knowing Daphne. It wasn't her fault of course, but the way she made you feel had left you utterly confused. You just felt trapped in who you were. Alone. You were the only one.

Never in your life had you met a girl who confessed to being in love with their best friend.

In love? Was that what you were calling it now. When had it become that?

"(Y/n)?" Your head shot up from your hands. You'd recognize that soft, angelic voice from anywhere. Still, you didn't answer.

"(Y/n), I know your here." There was determination voice.

You quickly wiped your tears, thankful for the darkening sky.

"There you are," Daphne said running towards you. "I saw you run out. I figured you were here. I was so worried, you seemed upset. I even cut Mr. Bermingham off because I was tired of waiting to find you." She let out a great sigh.

"So unladylike," you teased, but even in the dark, you knew Daphne could tell the smile didn't reach your eyes.

Daphne lifted her dress and gracefully sat down beside you. "Why are you crying?" Her soft hand touched your shoulder.

"You wouldn't understand," you mumbled.

"Try me."

"Please Daph, you just wouldn't okay." Daphne never took no for an answer, so she pried on.

"(Y/n), you can tell me anything."

"Not this," you snapped.

"Why." She pushed.

"Because I love you, Daphne. There, that's why. You can't know because it hurts how much I love you, and I can't stand the thought of you being disgusted by me." The realization of your words dawned on your too late.

The last bit of liquid courage you had was gone, dried out by your confession. You were completely sober and running on fear.

She paused for a long while, "Well I love you too."

You let out a humorless laugh. The damage was done, why salvage anything now? "No Daph, I don't just love you, I'm in love with you."

You could see the "oh" forming on her lips.

There was more silence, for even longer this time.

"Get up," Daphne said jumping to her feet.

"What?"

"Get up." She repeated. "Please."

Even now you couldn't say no to her, so you got to your feet.

You were standing across from her now, and your eyes met hers. It was just light enough for you to make out her face.

"Dance with me," she whispered.

"Daphne, what are you doing?"

"Trying to dance." She huffed.

"No your being mean. Don't you understand I want you like all those men in there want you? I know it's inappropriate but I can't help it." You took a step back.

"Of course I get it. I'm not as ignorant as you believe me to be." She took a step forward.

Your cheeks burned.

"You claim you want me like those men. Prove it. Dance with me. Be my suitor."

You took a step forward.

You reached for her hand, but she swatted it away.

"How inappropriate! You didn't even mark my card," she gasped dramatically.

You rolled your eyes. "You've got to be kidding."

She didn't respond, just stuck out her dance card.

You took it. "Ah, lucky me that's the last space."

"Now where were we." Daphne pressed her body close to yours. Very close. "I believe we were dancing."

The two of you swayed to the distant music coming from the ballroom.

"(Y/n)."

"Hmm."

"Is being in love with someone wanting to be with them whenever possible, or getting excited when they're around you, or being upset when someone else dances with them, or when you like the way they smell or getting lost in their eyes and their smile?" Daphne asked.

"I suppose, yeah."

"(Y/n)."

"Hmm."

"I'm in love with you."

"Are you sure?"

"If being in love with you is wanting to dance with you for the rest of my life more than any guy in the ballroom, then yes. I'm sure."

"Can I kiss you?"

"Yes please."

And that was enough for you to gently press your lips against hers.

"You're corrupting me," she giggled against your lips.

"Good."

"I love the way your body feels against mine while we dance. Not to mention your conversation are much more riveting than any guy's in there." Daphne said happily, pressing closer to you.

"I love dancing." You sighed.

"I thought you hated dancing," Daphne smirked.

You shrugged, surprising her with a gentle kiss. "Not with the right partner."

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chanandlersstuff · 3 years

Text

The seasons pass and the heartbreak too

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader.

Summary: Life its a funny thing or maybe whats meant to be will find his way back together.

Word count: 1.927

Author’s note: This is the second part from this one and I was thinking that those two deserve some closure, so it will be one more part and that's it. Hope you like it. English is my second language so sorry for the misspellings. The song that inspired this part is "Nineteen" from Dylan, it's really good and some parts of it are on the story.

After leaving Charles at the airport that day, you didn't hear from him anymore until maybe the next year because having almost the same group of friends it was pretty hard not to know about him. One day while you were on a long call with Pierre he told you that he was dating a beautiful girl and that he seemed happy. That instead of breaking your heart completely made you happy because he was happy again. The love you had for him prevented you from being sad about it. Pierre also told you that Charles was having a great season and that also made you happy. Months passed and you didn't hear from him. You were getting better and better at your dream job, becoming more important in the business. The F1 life was little forgotten in your life but always alive in the back of your mind.

Summers, birthdays and seasons passed and Charles was achieving all his F1 goals. One night while having dinner with Pierre in some part of the world talking about life he told him that you were dating some guy and that you were happy. Charles’ fork stopped mid air when he heard the news and to Pierre surprise a smile appeared in his face, a genuine smile. He was happy for you, after all the last time he saw you was nearly three years ago and he didn't hate you, he had incredible affection towards you but that was it. Charles had no love interest in his life anymore but none of that had nothing to do with you.

Sometimes he wondered what were you doing with your life, if you achieved all your dream goals, if you were fine, all that kind of stuff. Even one time he almost dialled your number only to see if you had the same number and if you would answer him but that idea turn into a stupid one the second he almost tuch your contac name. You, on the other hand, while exploring new places or when you saw something that you thought would be fun for him, you couldn’t contain your brain from thinking about him and smiling. His name always on your phone but never used. Happy memories from the time you spend together, while being friends and lovers, no hold grudges.

One day while you were crossing the street, coffee in hand and sunglasses in your eyes, your mind deep down in work, someone shouting your name brought you back to reality and the voice was so familiar. You lowered your sunglasses to see better and when the window car next to you lowered too your heart seems to beat a little slower or everything happens in slow motion. He was there in his matt black Ferrari with the Monaco flag across the car and the 16 on one side. Charles Leclerc in the flesh, shouting your name in the red light of a street. With a smile on your face you walked to the passenger side of the car and you crouched a little to see him better.

-I wasn't entirely sure it was you.- Charles said smiling.

-So you took your chances shouting at me I see.- He nodded and you laughed. -How are you?

-Fine, fine. What about you?- The two of you were smiling like little kids on Christmas night.

-I’m fine too.- Looking at his face you notice that he hasn't changed that much. His face was more mature and his beard from a couple of days the same as you remembered. The honk of other cars brought you back to reality -It was fantastic to see you again but I'm going late to a meeting and those drivers are getting pissed.

He frowned a little and moved his head to see the cars behind him. -Oh. Yes, it was great seeing you again.- He smiled and you smiled back. You straightened and took two steps back. -WAIT.

-¿Yes?- Your voice was sweet.

-You ....eh....we….- You giggle because he was the same nervous Charles you remember when you were little.

-¿Yes Charles?.- He laughed and cleared his throat.

-I was thinking if you could give me your number.- You raised your eyebrows. -To stay in touch I mean, if you want of course.

You smile and from one of the pockets of your bag you pulled out your card. -Gimme a call whenever you want.- Your fingers touch and a familiar, not so forgotten, feeling travels through your bodys. -Bye Charles.

A week later you were walking towards him in whiteh trousers and shoes, a black tank top, sunglasses and hat. The “friendly lunch”, as he said, was in a restaurant in front of the water and the summer in the air made the day perfect. It wasn't a date at all, it was two friends who hadn't seen each other in a while catching up.

With a bottle of water in the middle, because he had to drive and you weren’t going to drink wine alone, the conversation flowed as easy as all those years ago. Laughs that made the stomach hurt and tears appeared in the corner of your eyes while the two of you remembered long time memories and funny histories.

The way he kept switching languages as easy as breathing and the sun that was coming down, illuminated your skin making you glow in his eyes and your smile, gosh it was the brightest smile he'd ever seen. Everything was so easy going and funny, like a picture perfect. As if the two of you have never walked away from your lives, as if you have talked every day for the past few years.

-Do you remember that night when we went to that awful party and we ended up drinking coffee in that spot we used to like so much?- He said when you came down from the laughter.

-It was the same day that your mum almost kill us because we were minor and we stunk at cigarettes?- The scene coming to your brain as it was yesterday and he nodded. -Oh yes, I remember. Some dude spilled his drink in my dress and it had a huge stain on it.

-Yes, that blue dress looked so beautiful on you.- You didn’t remember the color, but apparently Charles did.

-I was a mess Charles.- You tried to argue with him.

-A hot mess.- He said in a low tone hoping, praying that you didn’t hear him but you did and didn't say anything about it trying to not ruin the nice day you were having.

-Do you remember that day you called me late at night to pick you up at that random bar?- You said and he burst into laughter at the memory.

-Oh god yes. I almost came out of that bar crawling and you were there waiting for me in that empty street.- Charles said, scratching his head.

-Were only one streetlight worked properly.- You add in a funny tone.

-You were there with my jacket and two blankets and a worried face.

-Because it was freaking cold, like freezing.- You said laughing and he did too. -I don't remember why you were there and I could bet you don't remember either because you were so drunk that you forgot the reason.

-I remember that the next day I had the worst hangover of my life and I swore that I would never drink that way ever again.- Charles grabbed the glass from the table and drank.

-I remember that you were insufferable the next day, like I couldn't even look your way and you were already whining like a baby.- You said and he laughed.

-And the night you were so stressed about that exam and I told you to run away with me?- You frowned. -That I “kidnapped you” and took you to that little dinner and we stayed there for like 5 hours.- You were smiling but didn't say anything or move an inch. -The dinner that was like from the 70s or 80s, with neon signs and rock music.

You nodded with your head. -Can I be honest with you?- He nodded. -All I saw that night was you and how your eyes seem to change color with the neon lights. He didn't say anything but smiled brightly at you and blushed a little.

If you were honest you remember all too well the things you did together. The little lies to your friends telling you didn't like him when you clearly did, the big fights in those summer days where everything complicated and all the mistakes were made and how he always said “You and I, that’s all the matter. No one else, just you and I” and how he told you “You are the only one I want” when you were agreeing to that strange summer deal.

-Do you remember the day we spent in your granny’s garden looking at the stars in that white old sheet?- You said looking at water.

-Yes, we spent hours talking about our big dreams and desires.- A little silence fell between you two. -I really hope you achieve everything you told me that night.- The fact that he seemed to remember what you told him that night told everything that you needed to know.

-I did, most of them I did. I hope the same for you.

-I achieved some of them and I’m doing others this year.-

But the truth was that both of you made promises and dream things together, thinking that you would stay friends or lovers forever. Always by the other side, cheering their wins and being there when they lost but life wanted other things.

-It seems that we both remember a lot of things from years ago.- You said in a nervous tone trying to cover the inexistent awkward silence.

-Of course I remember. How could I ever forget it.- You tilted your head. -How quickly and hard I fell for you.- His tone was so tender and the smile he was giving you was something from another planet.

-Charles…- You played with the napkin in front of you.

-What? It's true, I was never capable of lying to you and you weren't capable either so tell me what's on your mind.- You stayed in silence for a couple of minutes trying to find sense about them.

-Loving you wasn't a waste. Yes hearts were bruised and mistakes were made but I will do it all the same.- You said and smiled at him.

-I don't.- The look on your face must be a hurt one because he rushed his next words. -Because at the end I lost you, everything we were. Friends, lovers, partners, everything lost for years.

-But we are here now.- You said in a slow tone.

-But for how long?- You opened your mouth to talk but he interrupted you. -A week? Ten days? You are going to get back to your job and I have to get back to race, it's the summer deal all over again. And I do not say this because I want to be your boyfriend again or whatever we have been years ago, I say it because I want my friend back. You know how many times I almost called you to tell you everything that was going on with my life, to tell you that I needed you when shit hit the fan? A thousand times. I do not want you in my life if you are going to be entering or leaving it as if it were a candy store. I want you permanently in it and I want to be in your life in the same way. Be there for you when your work is going well and when you cry from stress like all those years ago but this time physically. I want you here.- At this point he was moving his hands freneticaly and raising his voice a little but the only you could do was looked at him speechless absorving his statement and your stupid heart racing as fast as he drives his car in the weekends.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #formula 1 x reader #Charles leclerc x y/n #Charles leclerc x you #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #formula one one shot #formula one x reader #formula 1 x you #f1 x you #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc f1 #charles leclerc one shot

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dragon-kazansky · 3 years

Text

Stuck with you | Helmut Zemo

Requested by @cherry-season I've changed it up a little, but it's still based off your request :)

This is a lengthy one, sit back and enjoy.

This was less than ideal. One moment you're chasing Flag Smashers through an otherwise abandoned building, then you're trapped in a room with the Baron Helmut Zemo.

The only way this could be any worse is if you were stuck in a room with Walker instead. You could guarantee that man wouldn't be leaving alive if that was the case.

Still, Zemo wasn't exactly your favourite person on the planet either.

The solid steel door had slammed shut behind you. You were unable to get it open, fearing it only opened from the other side. You're not sure exactly what kind of building this was, but it had clearly not been used in some time. Things were falling apart or rusting over.

"You can keep trying, little bird, but it won't open."

You take a deep breath, trying not to say anything snarky to him. You did not need his sass today.

"Well, I'm sorry, Zemo, but you're stuck with me unless we do something."

"I'm not complaining."

"I suppose you're used to being locked in a room." You turn away from the door and look around the room, not yet feeling up to actually acknowledging his presents by looking at him.

"Yes, but this time I have lovely company. I am at an advantage."

"Yeah right," you say, sarcasm dropping with every letter.

You want to sit down, but you do not want to touch the musty floor. You take to leaning against the wall with your arms crossed, finally looking at the only other human in the room.

"At least in a cell you have furniture."

"To an extent."

"Still, it's better than this horrid and dark room. Plus, something smells funky in here and it isn't me."

"Course not, you smell lovely," he grins at you.

"OK..."

Helmut, realising there isn't much to do other than talk to you, removed his coat and goes to lay it out on the floor, figuring you would be more comfortable sitting on it than anywhere else. However, he stops when call out.

"What are you doing? You'll ruin it!" You take the coat out of his hands and hold it close to you.

"Concerned about my coat?"

"What? No! It's just... it's a nice coat... probably expensive too. You'll ruin it if you put it on the floor."

"What do you suggest we do then?"

"I don't know, but let's not sacrifice perfection." You brush the coat down with your hand as you drape it over your other arm.

Zemo chuckles as looks around the room. It isn't a massive space, but there's very little in it, making it look quite roomy. He walks over to the opposite side and brushes along the ground sigh foot, deeming it worthy enough to sit on. You see him sitting with his back against the wall, looking up at you.

"Do you really want to be sitting there?" You ask, feeling kind of bad he would ruin his clothes like that. Who knows what kind of filth is in here.

"It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make."

You sigh softly as you walk over to where he is.

"You're braver than I am, then."

"I don't know, you're rather brave," he doesn't sound like he's teasing you. He doesn't look like it either.

"If you say so."

Zemo gazes up at you. You can't read his expression, which feels a little unsettling.

"Put the coat on."

"Sorry?" You frown.

"Don't be, put it on."

You look at the coat still draped over your arm. Why did he want you to put it on?

"Why?"

"If you trust me just once in your life, let this be that once. Put the coat on, little bird."

You unfold the coat and put it on. It doesn't fit all that well, but it's warm. You look at him, unimpressed.

"Is this what you wanted?"

Zemo grins as he holds open his arms and gestures you over with his fingers. You look at him suspiciously.

"Zemo, what are you doing?"

"Come here. Unless you want to stand until who knows when. We could be in here quite some time, and since you won't sit on the floor, there is only one place for you to sit."

"You have to be joking."

He shakes his head and gestures you close with his fingers again.

"You're going be insufferable after this." You shimmy over and get down, taking a seat on his lap.

Zemo uses his arms to support you, but you're too busy gathering the coat and making sure it doesn't touch the floor. He chuckles in your ear as you purposely turn your head away from him as you shuffle in his lap, trying to get comfortable.

"Better?"

"Sure..." You're too embarrassed to look at him.

Helmut gives you a little squeeze, tugging you closer to his torso. This time when he chuckles, you feel the vibration of it rumble through his chest. He moves his head so it's buried in the crook of your neck.

"What are you doing?"

"Tormenting you. I have you in my grasp, I'm not going to waste this opportunity to mess with you."

"Is that all this is? An opportunity to mess with me because Sam and Bucky aren't here?" You shake him from your shoudler and glare at him.

"Or perhaps I'm just seizing the opportunity to have you all to myself?"

"I don't understand you..." Your gaze flickers between his beautiful brown eyes.

"Would you like to?" He grins at you.

"I don't know... but I suppose it will help pass the time. Where shall we start?"

"Check the inside pocket." He nods toward the coat around you. You follow his instruction and search the inside the pocket. You feel something small. Grabbing it, you pull it out and hold it up.

You look at Zemo unimpressed.

"I already know you like Turkish Delights. You made that clear." You look at it.

"They were my son's favourite."

"Yeah, I remember you saying," you mutter.

"That one is for you."

You think him quietly and open it, eating it. You look at him.

"I thought you were going to tell me more about you," you say, licking the powder from your fingers.

"I'm starting slow."

"Zemo, you can be honest with me. I'm pretty sure I know all of the awful things you've done. Nothing will surprise me. Plus, I'm already sitting on you, so if you're worried about what I think, I don't think you have to worry."

There's a cheeky smile on his face.

"Are you always this honest and modest?"

"Only when I want to be." You wink at him. You only realise what you've done after you see that mischievous glint return to his eyes.

"I see. I would very much like you to be honest with me."

"What makes you think I haven't been?" You tilt your head curiously at him.

"If you hated me as much as you tried to make it seem, I doubt you would actually be sitting here on my lap, eating my sweets, and giving me the time of day."

He's right.

"Then, I'll be more honest with you staring now. I don't hate you, Zemo. Not really. Don't get me wrong, I'm not happy about what you did to my friends, or the fact you brain washed Bucky and bombed a building and blamed it on him. You're an awful person."

Zemo nods softly.

"But, right here, right this minute, I'll pretend for a moment that none of that matters. Just let me see the man you are here and now." You look at him with a tiny smile, wanting to see the person he was in the moment.

"Well, so far, I'm the man who has let you put on his coat and eat his sweets. If I had access to a kitchen, I would make you a drink and we would sit and chat in a more comfortable spot."

You chuckle softly, you find yourself reaching for one of his hands, taking it in your own. He lets you, watching you do so.

"What else?" You ask, keeping your voice soft. You like the atmosphere you have created.

"I am the man who will look after you for as long as it takes your friends to find us. I shall be the best company I can be right now, if you'll continue to let me." He meets yours eyes, feeling the way you place your fingers between his.

"Not like I have much choice." You grin cheekily.

"I'll take it." He closes his fingers over your hand, letting you settle your entwined hands on your lap.

"When we get back to the house... maybe we could have that drink?"

You feel his breath fanning across you face. He feels all the more closer now as you look at him.

"If you would like that, I won't deny you the pleasure of my company," he smirks.

"I have to say, your company is nice."

Your noses are almost touching. You're really not sure how you find yourself to be in a position where you would even consider getting any closer to him.

"You changed your tune rather quickly, haven't you?"

"Seems so."

His eyes flicker to your lips. Oh, the temptation is strong.

"Maybe we should see how things go." You're whispering now.

"I can wait."

"I won't make you wait too long, after all, you're on borrowed time." Now you're looking at his lips.

"The bitter truth."

"Just means we have to make the most of it. Show me the Zemo I see before me. It won't change the fact they'll send you straight back to prison, but it might make us friends." You stare into his seemingly lost gaze. There's something about the way he's looking at you that you can't read, but he does look lost.

"My free little bird." He whispers.

"Trapped in the cage that is you." You let go of his hand to wipe the tear from his cheek.

He hadn't even realised.

Suddenly, you hear voice from the other side of the door. You hate to do it, but you part yourself from Zemo and stand up, dusting yourself off despite the fact you weren't all that dirty.

The door takes a couple of big tugs, but the boys get it open.

Zemo gathers himself as he gets up from the must old floor, patting down his pants as he stands beside you.

"We were looking for you two," Bucky says, coming over to you.

"We got trapped."

"Why are you wearing his coat?" Bucky looked you up and down.

"I was cold. Zemo was being a gentleman." You cross your arms.

Bucky eyes the Baron suspiciously.

Zemo shrugs and places a hand on your back gently.

"Shall we leave this horrible little place now?" He asks you.

You nod and walk out with him. You walk a little closer to him than you had before, and he notices it. His arm settles around you as you both leave the building together.

It's strange how such a small incident could bring you closer to someone you never expected to. You look at Zemo and smile. You'll make the most of the time you have left with him.

@ajeff855 @moonstuffsteve @sky-writes-stuff @lieutenantn

#tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #helmut zemo x reader #zemo #helmut zemo #zemo x reader #marvel

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

tuxedo, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, mentions of previous jungkook x reader

summary: Your cat turns into a man. No, not, your cat was always a man and turned back into a man. Your actual cat turns into an actual man and neither you or your cat (man? cat-man?) have any idea why he's human now. Also, he's naked, so that’s a problem. Also, he’s kind of attractive. Yikes.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, mentions of the coronavirus pandemic; possibly full-on crack; Yoongi still thinks he’s a cat; mentions of smut (fem reader, m-receiving oral (choking on a dick, but not in a sexy way), doggy, spanking, wall-fucking, unintentional??? voyeurism); non-idol!AU - cat!Yoongi x human!reader; ft slightly cocky Jeon Jungkook and you being mad horny for him, what’s new; breaking of the fourth wall; are YOU a furry? you decide

an anon asked for cat hybrid Yoongi, although instead this is some voodoo witch doctor shit, whoops yes, I do reference BT21, Bob Ross, the lady-pointing-to-the-cat-accusingly meme, list goes on... and there is a cameo of 2021 Seasons Greetings Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin XD

Your lungs were being crushed.

You were bundled in your duvet, wrapped like a mint-colored burrito, on your back, head nestled comfortably in your memory foam pillow. Warm, cozy, snuggly. All things considered, a comfortable position. So comfortable that you were blessedly asleep for many hours until your lungs started getting crushed.

You cracked one eye open.

A giant tuxedo fluffball was causing this slow and painful death.

“Get off.”

You glared with slitted eyes, voice cracking from sleep. The fluffball did not move. Velvety, pointed black ears flicked back and forth. The little pink nostrils flared a bit, breathing evenly and contentedly. At least one of you was. You grunted in irritation. The minty-green eyes opened, black slits for pupils.

“I’m going to die.”

Your cat meowed in your face.

“Shut the fuck up. Get off.”

He yawned.

You narrowed your eyes and lips into lines. Stared at your insufferable, not-so-subtle tuxedo cat that was killing his owner. How long had he and his seven-kilogram ass been sitting on your tits? Too long because your sternum was already aching. You rolled over and he gave you a disgruntled meow as he tumbled off. You pulled your arms out and gave him a soft scratch behind his ears before reaching around to his white belly and patting his chest. He started purring, rolling to his side, white sock-like paws sticking up.

“Ugh, my chest hurts, Shooks. You’re a dick.”

Your cat gave zero fucks.

You were still petting him. Sigh.

“I’m getting up,” you announced to no one except your cat.

You tugged yourself out of your comfy, mint-colored duvet and winced, rubbing your breastbone. Did you buy this bedding set because it reminded you of your cat’s eye color? Yes. Were you a crazy cat lady? Maybe. In your defense, you hadn’t meant to become a crazy cat lady. You were innocently walking on the street when the tuxedo-patterned cat started following you. A large cat with big minty eyes surrounded by black fur like black bangs. White snout and jaw, pink nose, and a raspy meow. The tuxedo pattern was pretty similar to an actual suit, with a white chest and black fur over its back and limbs. White, sock-like paws, on the bigger side. Cute pink toe beans too. At the time, he was skinny and dirty, no collar around his neck, but you could tell he was long-limbed. He had a cut on his right eye, caked with blood.

“You alright, little guy?”

The cat seemed to scoff at you disapprovingly, as if to say, do I seem like a little guy to you?

“I guess you’re not a little guy. You have an owner?”

The cat’s response was headbutting your calf.

You took him back to your apartment and then it was doomed.

Why was his name Shooks? Well, actually, your cat’s name was Shooky, and it was because you tried many names to get him to respond to you – including, but not limited to, “you little shit” – and he responded to none of them except Shooky. For some reason, Shooky made him turn his black-and-white face around and look at you.

Shooky it was.

The first encounter was cute, but after you had fed him and given him a few pats, you gave him a good, hard taste of reality. Shooky was very upset about getting a bath for the first time. There had been a lot of angry meowing, although thankfully he hadn’t swiped at you very much. As soon as you got mostly undressed and sat in the bath with him, he seemed to relent. Maybe it was because you closed the glass door and he couldn’t leave.

“Do you see how dirty you are? You need a bath.”

He gave you a disapproving meow.

“Look, I even bought pet shampoo and you’ll get treats after. Come on, you.”

He was very displeased.

In any case, Shooky was now your primary companion, a large, long-limbed, fluffy tuxedo cat, following you around as you brushed your teeth and made breakfast, his new black collar jingling with a tiny silver bell. Every morning, you handed him his dry food first – he chomped down immediately – and made yourself some breakfast as he ate. Somehow your life now revolved around him, spending time looking up the best cat food (without paying an arm and a leg, you weren’t a sugar momma), making sure he was brushed (his hair got everywhere), telling everyone you needed to get home because you couldn’t miss his dinnertime (if you were a second late opening the door, Shooky would start meowing very exaggeratedly, like he was dying, what a drama queen). Was he annoying? Yes. Was he the best cuddle buddy? Also, yes. Kind of like a boyfriend, but better, because Shooky didn’t talk back.

You arranged your small dishes on the table. Tofu. Eggs. Pickled squash. Just enough for one. You sat down, holding your bowl of steamed rice.

A tuxedo furball jumped onto the table, licking his chops.

“Look here, this isn’t for you. Shoo.”

He settled onto the tabletop and stared at you as you ate.

Sigh.

Live with a cat was pretty similar to life without one.

Except for that weird habit Shooky had of sitting on your bathroom rug when you got out of the shower, scaring the shit out of you the first time. You lived alone, so you didn’t really bother closing doors, but you considered changing that. But it was just a cat. Also, he walked in here of his own volition. Not your fault if his eyes were scarred.

Shooky was a normal cat, but also a weird cat.

He slept a lot. Normal. He bit his paws sometimes. Weird. You figured maybe it was his nails, so you learned to trim them and he seemed better about it, but sometimes when he was stressed, you would notice fur missing from his little white socks. A lot of things could stress a cat. The internet taught you that. You brought him toys and played with him, but mostly he seemed to want you to sit down so he could plant himself in your lap. This make life rather difficult, so you decided it was time to invest in Netflix so you could at least use your time wisely.

This was for your cat, remember.

Yes, binging shows on Netflix was for your cat.

The weirdest thing was…

Shooky was always stressed when you invited a man into your home.

Maybe he didn’t like men. Something in his past, maybe? Could be. Come to think of it, did you even like men? That was a question for another day, but in any case, your cat always gave you this accusing stare when you brought a guy over, no matter how nice the guy was, even if the guy petted him very gently. Shooky never attacked them. He just glared at you like you had betrayed him somehow. How could that be?

What a needy drama queen.

You figured, eh, it didn’t really matter. He wasn’t trying to sabotage your chances of finding true love and all that stuff.

Who are we kidding?

You’d settle for a simple good dicking.

Well, there was that one time.

That time you were in the middle of giving a guy a blowjob. It was going great. You were naked, he was naked, he had a tattooed arm – hot as fuck – and he was very vocally enjoying your tongue technology. Hey, you didn’t have many talents, but you had that going for you. Even if a guy was mildly apprehensive about banging you, once you got your mouth on his dick, it was game over. You mentally patted yourself on the back for doing such a good job.

Positive reinforcement, right?

Annnnnnnd then…

Your cat jumped onto your back and made you choke on his dick.

“Urk!”

“Oh, fu–”

All seven kilos right between your shoulder blades. Oof.

“Are you okay?” He was half-worried, half-laughing, and Shooky was climbing up your back, pressing onto your neck, one paw on the nape, trying to murder you by dick suffocation. It took both of you to lift you off the dick – sad – and Shooky left a few scratches on your neck, as if to communicate his distaste of your infidelity. The guy was really nice about it. Actually, he found it hilarious. You scowled at Shooky and he gave you that deadpan stare that all cats seemed to have. The rest of the night was hot and heavy like you wanted and you even eventually got to complete said blowjob, which brightened your spirits.

It was a little disorienting that your cat was watching you from his cat tree the entire time.

Creep.

Honestly, you would have kept dating that guy if he didn’t move to a different city. Sigh.

Eventually, you stopped bringing men over.

One, because Shooky. Two, because worldwide pandemic.

Sigh.

The night that changed everything was ordinary.

Too ordinary.

You were passed out on the couch, halfway into season six of American Horror Story, somewhat peeved because you wanted to watch the other seasons, but geez, season five had such a poor story and hard focus on gore that it slightly turned you off. That it was a lot, even for you. Season six was better, but slow. The first four seasons had really hooked you and the idea of them all being connected? Nutty. You wanted to watch all of it.

Idea of season five? Awesome.

Lady Gaga? Yeah, why not, you’d be seduced.

Execution? Eh… could be better.

Shooky hadn’t watched any of it. He just slept in your lap.

Subtitles really helped you out here. You didn’t understand how the English-speaking audience could hear the whispering parts, but maybe that was because your English was garbage. You could read better than listen.

At the moment, you weren’t reading shit.

You were half-tucked in a fuzzy black blanket with a tuxedo cat pattern. Did you see the tuxedo cat pattern and buy it immediately? Yes. Were you a crazy cat lady? Maybe. In any case, your head was cocked at an awkward angle on the couch cushion and your mouth was open, snoring away. Attractive. You were wearing mint-colored, striped pajamas, one arm hanging off the couch and the other on Shooky’s furry butt, because you had been petting him.

Netflix was doing that annoying thing where it was asking you if you were still watching or not.

You couldn’t respond.

Shooky was awake.

Your cat was staring at your laptop on your coffee table. It was open. An HDMI cable connected it to your television. Not a clean setup, but an effective one. Again, you lived alone. Who was going to judge you? Your tuxedo cat?

Pfft.

Your cat was awake.

He got off your lap and hopped to the coffee table, peering at your laptop. Then he did what any sensible cat would do.

He walked all over your keyboard.

Circling around and around, smashing all the buttons with his cute pink toe beans, looking for a comfortable spot before settling down and planting his fluffy body on top of it. Windows closed, tabs appeared, the volume got muted, your display settings got fucked, the usual.

The unusual part was that your cat was looking at the screen.

Your internet browser was open.

A video was playing on a mysterious website.

A handsome young man with a boxy smile was wearing a sienna floral dress shirt and sunglasses, oddly paired with flared violet pants. He was standing next to another young man with an angelic face who, for some reason, was wearing a pastel floral handkerchief around on his head and a white-and-navy tracksuit with black, red, and green stripes. They were standing in some weird set with a black tablecloth covered round table and a lavender crystal ball, crystal-like beaded curtains glinting in strangely colorful lighting.

There was no volume.

Your cat tilted his head at the screen, curious.

The man with the boxy smile was speaking excitedly, gesturing to the angelic-looking man who seemed to be in awe. A retro, old school graphic popped up, flowers surrounding a blocky orange and green serif font, mildly tacky but somehow endearing in its own way.

COULD WISHES REALLY BE GRANTED?

Your cat tilted his head the other way.

Your cat didn’t know Korean.

… Right?

Well, you did mostly speak to him in Korean. Maybe he was secretly fluent. He definitely knew, don’t fucking do that, because you would witness him doing the very thing you told him not to do right after you said it. Bastard. But you couldn’t bear witness to this now. You were knocked out on the couch.

Zzz.

Boxy-smile guy placed his fingers elegantly on his forehead, mock dismay on his features, acting as if he couldn’t believe the viewer’s skepticism. Angel-looking guy placed his hands in prayer position, the text now reading, I won’t believe you unless you prove it! Boxy-smile guy flourished to the camera, showing off his brilliant pearly-white smile, mouthing words unheard. Text appeared once more.

Make a wish, any wish!

Your cat closed his eyes and appeared to be asleep.

The video turned black and disappeared into purple sparkles.

Your internet browser unexpectedly closed.

You woke up with a painful stitch in your neck and Shooky nowhere to be found.

“Fuck…”

You tried to get up, but underestimated the cramp in your back and fell onto the hardwood floor.

“Fuck!”

You blamed the pandemic for fucking up your sleep schedule. Also, getting old. Fuck getting old and being an adult. Time didn’t stop just because you didn’t go to work. Well, not true. You did go to work; your work was just different now. You were YouTube video editor, which meant you were mostly edited video game montages now instead of travel vlogs. The work was slower now. People were getting discouraged, taking breaks, because, you know.

Pandemic.

Sigh.

Anyway, not the point. You were grateful that your work was mostly internet and computer-based. Not everyone was so lucky. You were also grateful that you didn’t work in an industry that was too negatively affected by the pandemic. It had started off as a hobby, but then the creators you were helping unexpectedly blew up, needing your help more and more. You fell into it by accident, but that’s how life was. Happy little accidents. You couldn’t complain. As long as you had some income to feed your cat and you, that was enough.

Speaking of cat.

“Shooky?”

No meow.

Huh.

He normally would meow or trot over to you when called. He was weirdly affectionate like that.

You were still on the floor, on hands and knees, crick in your neck and back aching. Ah yes, age was just a number until your back pain flared up due to repeated nights of unintentionally falling asleep on the couch. Lovely. You stretched out your back with a groan and yawned, cracking your neck.

“FUCK!”

That hurt. Ugh, you really needed to stop sleeping on the sofa. You untangled yourself from your blanket and headed to the bathroom, rubbing your neck. You still didn’t see your fluffy, seven-kilogram, kind-of-an-ass tuxedo cat, but whatever. He had to be in the apartment. He couldn’t exactly leave. He was a cat. What was he going to do, grow legs and opposable thumbs?

Pfft.

You shoved your toothpaste-covered toothbrush in your mouth and began brushing your teeth. You hummed, trying to remember if you had any deadlines. Eh, they were on your Google calendar. You would check it after washing up. You spat and brushed for a few more minutes, thinking about nothing. This was nice. Sometimes it was nice to think about nothing. No major problems to address, simply a chill and routine morning.

Seemed sufficient.

You reached over to the spit cup and put some lukewarm water in it before taking your toothbrush out and sipping some water to gargle the minty suds out.

You heard a deep, raspy voice call your name.

“Hmm?”

You looked in the mirror.

Wait.

Your mouth was full of dirty toothpaste water, cheeks puffed out.

The voice called your name again, quietly.

Nervously.

Your eyes widened, staring into the mirror in shock.

A pale man was standing behind you, wearing your mint-colored duvet over his shoulders. Messy black hair to his rounded cheeks, dark brown cat-like eyes, small pink pout. His nose was a little red, as if he was cold. There was a black choker on his neck, with a silver bell. He was taller than you, and he looked very confused.

Also.

Pointed, velvety black ears on top of his head, white tufts of fur sticking out, flicking back and forth.

You spat all over your mirror in shock.

“Urk–!”

The man jerked back as you threw your head into the sink, hastily taking another cupful of water to rinse out your mouth because, WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON? Why was there a man in your apartment? With fucking cat ears? That moved? What kind of kinky shit was that? Were you dreaming? What the fuck?! You grabbed the hand towel from its hook and furiously wiped the dirty water off your mirror, completely convinced you were having sensory and auditory hallucinations. Did you drink last night? Accidentally buy groceries laced with LSD? Snorted three kilos of cocaine off a hooker? Who the fuck knows, but there was no fucking way that you let some fucking man in your home, because, one, pandemic and, two, Shooky–

You froze.

The pale man with black hair was still there, standing in the doorway of your bathroom, looking slightly disgusted, but also scared.

He said your name again. A question, almost like a raspy meow.

It was…

Familiar?

You violently wiped your bathroom mirror some more, nearly cracking the glass.

The man was still there, wearing your mint-colored duvet.

Slowly, slowly, you turned around to face this man, your neck cracking loudly, sending searing pain up the back of your head and reminding you that, nope, this is not a dream, and if it was, it was a very shitty dream because at least in a dream you shouldn’t actually feel pain. You looked up at this man, at his fluffy black bangs shading his dark attentive eyes and pale face, chewing on his lip, clutching your duvet around his body like a giant mint cloak.

The cat ears on his head twitched.

“Uh…”

You blinked at him, watching the ears.

“Do… I know you?”

He gave you an eerily recognizable deadpan stare. “I think you do.”

No way.

What?

No.

This wasn’t possible.

You’re drunk, high, or in purgatory.

(You did have sex before marriage.)

“S… Shooky?” you croaked.

The man took a deep breath and shook his head.

“Actually, my name is Min Yoongi.”

You blinked at him. “What? You have a name?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

Relief washed over you. “What do you mean, you guess? That means you’re a human being! With a birth certificate! Thank God, I thought you were my fucking cat for some reason, haha, that’s so fucking ridiculous–!” For some reason, the idea of a random stranger being in your home was much more comfortable to you than you damn cat becoming a human being, because for a hot second, you thought… but no, no, that’s stupid. “Speaking of ridiculous, these ears are crazy dude, they look almost real–”

You reached up and yanked on one of the velvety ears.

“Ow, what the fuck!”

Oh.

Oh my God.

OhmyfuckingGodthey’reattachedtohishead.

“What the FUCK?” you bellowed and a large pale hand shot out of the duvet to clamp one of his cat ears down, shrinking away from you.

“Stop yelling, please, I have sensitive hearing,” Yoongi winced, ticking his head, as if he was trying to flatten the other ear too, but couldn’t. His other hand was holding tightly to the mint duvet.

You saw a glimpse of a pale chest.

Your eyes widened into the size of saucepans.

His hand darted back into the duvet and clamped it shut from your bulging eyes, frowning. He quickly bundled himself up and straightened, thinning his mouth into a line. A few seconds passed. You gawked at him, jaw slack. The pale man sighed heavily.

“My name is Min Yoongi. My parents gave me that name. I don’t think I have a human birth certificate because I’m not a human. I am a cat. You used to call me Shooky, but Min Yoongi is my name, so I would appreciate it if you called me by my given name.”

Your jaw went even more slack.

“Cats… have names?” you squeaked.

Yoongi made a face at you. “Of course, we do. We are not savages.”

“B… But…” You frowned, shoulders falling. “You seemed to like the name Shooky…”

Yoongi shrugged his duvet-covered shoulders. “It sounded better than all the other names you suggested.”

You puffed your cheeks, placing your hands on your hips. “What was wrong with Tata? Or Chimmy? Or Cooky?”

Yoongi gave you a disapproving glare. “Well, perhaps in a parallel universe the name Shooky is somehow important to me. In any case, it was the best suggestion.”

You narrowed your eyes, frowning. “You little shit.”

“I especially disliked that one. Seemed a bit discriminating to our size difference…” He paused, looking down at you. “At the time anyway.”

Your hands fell, looking up at your cat. Er. Min Yoongi. “So, uh… Yoongi…?”

He tilted his head, peering curiously at you under his black bangs. “Hm?”

You pointed at him, gesturing up and down. “Why are you, uh… a man?”

He looked down at the duvet covering his body. You stared at your bedding wrapped around him. Why was he wearing it anyway? In fact, all you could see was a black choker with a silver bell. The mental lightning bolt suddenly hit you. Oh. Your neck began to heat. Your ears began to heat. Your whole face began to heat. Oh. Oh? Oh! Shooky – er, Yoongi? – whatever, your cat didn’t wear clothes. He only wore a collar… which meant…

It felt like your whole body was on fire with abrupt realization.

Yoongi looked up at your mint-pajama-wrapped, now tomato self still pointing at him.

“I don’t know why I’m a man.”

One of his eyebrows raised. Then Yoongi smirked.

An open-mouthed, amused smirk.

“And yes, I’m naked. Your clothes don’t fit me. I tried.”

Your cat, er, man? Cat-man? What even... never mind, Min Yoongi was sitting on your bed, still wrapped in your mint duvet like a key lime cake roll, waiting as you rummaged around in your dresser, searching for literally any piece of clothing that might possibly fit him. The problem was, you worked from home, so you didn't exactly own a plethora of different clothing options. Your daily wardrobe consisted of slinky black leggings...

"They're stretchy?" you suggested timidly.

Yoongi had blinked at you. "I don't think so."

"It could work?"

He pursed his lips together. "I think you're forgetting something."

You gave him a blank look. "Huh?"

Yoongi gave you his deadpan stare. "I believe you are well acquainted with human male genitalia."

Oh.

Right.

He had a dick.

You turned red and robotically shoved your leggings back into their place. A sudden thought flitted across your brain and you spun back to face him, blurting it out before filtering yourself.

"Hahaha, good thing I never got you fixed, eh?"

Yoongi blinked very, very slowly. It was hard to tell if he was annoyed, amused, or wanted to murder you. In conclusion, typical cat behavior.

"I'm not fond of the idea of castration, so I suppose so."

Awkward.

Your vet had suggested it, but since he had been an indoor cat and you weren't intending on getting another, you figured you wouldn't put him under the unnecessary surgery and it would help you avoid the cost. A little irresponsible? Maybe. But you were very careful not to leave the front door open and, so far, he hasn't had the chance to get some poor lady cat knocked up.

Unfortunately…

He knew you considered permanently removing his nuts. Yikes.

Sorry, Shooks. Er, Yoongi.

In any case!

The other half of your daily wardrobe was sweatshirts, but Yoongi's shoulders were too broad for them and he was too tall. Why was he so big anyway? Well, he wasn’t exactly big, just long-limbed. You guessed he was actually on the leaner side, judging from the way the duvet wrapped around him and the brief flash of long fingers, slim forearm, and toned chest. He had been a larger cat.

Seven kilos turned into... him?

You suddenly started and yanked open your underwear drawer, shuffling through it to get to the back and pull out a neatly folded dark gray blob.

"I have this–"

"No."

The response was so forceful and dismissive that you froze, the dark gray fabric unfurling in your loose grip. It was a large men's sweatshirt, soft, charcoal, slightly acid-wash, covered with white paint stains. Eggshell white, to be exact. The exact paint color of this very bedroom, because you had worn it to repaint over that original disgusting beige color.

"Why not?" you inquired, holding it up by the shoulders. "It'll fit you, for sure. It used to be..."

Yoongi kept his completely neutral expression trained on you as you reached your revelation, his dark eyes observing every detail of your body's reaction to the memory. Your grip on the sweatshirt tightened. You felt your cheeks and ears heat, pulse roaring in your ears.

Oh.

Er, right, so…

That one time that Shooky – no, Yoongi? – jumped on your back and made you choke on a dick? Yeah, that guy. Tattoo guy. Yeah, well, before that incident, tattoo guy was the friend of a friend who offered to help you paint your apartment because he had experience working construction – “helped my dad fix-up a house to resell for a couple months,” he had said with his disgustingly cute, cheeky grin, making you nod like an idiot and your pussy throb with his endearing adorableness – and you had moved all the furniture out so you two could get it done quickly.

You had to put your cat in the bathroom.

You didn’t want him to breathe in the fumes or get paint on his luscious fur. It was for his own good.

Tattoo guy had appeared in said charcoal sweatshirt, black ripped jeans, and the most attractive thighs in the whole damn universe, just out and about, giant holes exposing tan skin and taut muscle. Your eyes widened, frozen at your front door.

Oh yeah, he had paint rollers too. You hadn’t given a shit about those in that moment.

He had noticed you staring and laughed sheepishly. “Sorry, I just wore the ugliest pants I own. It might get messy, you know?”

No, tattoo guy. No one thought your pants were ugly.

You sure as hell didn’t.

“Oh, yeah, that’s why I wore this gross t-shirt,” you said absentmindedly, referring to your four-sizes-too-large, free t-shirt that had been chucked at your head while walking past your university common area. It was a hideous chanteuse with magenta writing, a color combination that absolutely deserved to go to hell, and could not even be saved by the quirky, stylish, thrift-savvy TIkTokers of today. It was the ugliest thing you owned, so you wore it to repaint your bedroom.

Now you regretted it.

Tattoo guy looked you up and down. He smirked under his long black hair.

“Your body still looks great though.”

“… Urk?”

Didn’t really matter that you couldn’t conjure a sexy response, because, clearly, tattoo guy had made his decision leagues before arriving here. Painting a bedroom? Oh, yeah, you did that, and with way too much sexual tension. A man should not be that flirty while holding two paint rollers and speed painting your walls. What were you supposed to do? You barely knew the guy. All you managed to do was make awkward small talk to get to know him better. Then he took off his sweatshirt.

“Wait, that’s illegal.”

He had smirked at you, spinning the paint roller in his hand, white t-shirt molded to his body. “Hm?”

You were being mildly disrespected, but also you were gawking at his tattooed right arm and his blindingly beautiful forearms. Cough, no. You didn’t have a thing for attractive forearms. Wasn’t like staring at this muscular pair was making you weak at the knees or anything. Okay, maybe. But you weren’t going to say it out loud. Tattoo guy ticked his chin below you, to the floor. Your job was to paint the little nooks at the corners, ceiling, and baseboards. You spent a whole lot of your job sneaking glances at him and getting caught.

Shit.

“You missed a spot.”

You whipped your head to the floor, craning your head to look for it. A paint roller appeared beside you, pointing to a small sliver for nasty beige. He had a clear, silvery voice.

“Right here.”

You frowned at it and raised your paintbrush in warning to the offensive beige, ready to strike.

“… Noona.”

You started and fell over.

You sputtered, legs tangled, oversized shirt flipping up, trying not to drop the paintbrush and drawing a fat streak across the unpainted wall. You shook your head roughly, clutching the handle of the brush, cool draft floating up your shirt.

Tattoo guy appeared above you, grinning, his front teeth slightly too large and giving him the appearance of a rambunctious bunny.

“You alright?”

You felt your neck and ears heat. No, you were not alright. Yes, you were older, but that didn’t… that wasn’t the time… You didn’t expect it, that’s all. You tried very hard not to look at his thighs. Or his face. Or his chest. Just didn’t look at him. Also, you were pretty sure you were flashing him and pretty fucking sure you didn’t give a shit.

You coughed awkwardly. “Yup, I’m good.”

Back to copious sexual tension complemented by paint fumes.

Once the first coat was down, you two stood in the center of the room, surrounded by the plastic drop cloth, him banishing a paint roller and you a paintbrush. Challenge complete and it didn’t take you very long. Nice.

“We have to let it dry and then we can paint another coat,” he was explaining.

“It looks fine like this.”

Tattoo guy clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Once it dries, it will look uneven. Trust me.”

You frowned. “Okay. How long should we wait?”

“Couple hours, at least.”

A couple hours? You frowned more. “What are we supposed to do until then?”

He didn’t reply. You turned your head to face him and tattoo guy was staring at you with a smile.

Uh oh.

He was spinning the paint roller with one hand. You felt your ears and neck heat. He switched from his left hand to his right, seamlessly. Incredibly sexy. Were the paint fumes getting to you? You gulped, awkwardly gesturing to the paintbrush.

“Let me just… put this down…”

You turned around and balanced your paintbrush in the paint tray, only to gasp as your felt something foamy roll down your back, covering you with the strong stench of paint. It stopped above the curve of your ass, unable to roll smoothly any longer.

“Hmm, can’t get past your juicy ass, noona,” he teased.

You spun around, cheeks flushed, sputtering.

No, no. You didn’t forget tattoo guy’s name. You remembered it, even now. Remembered saying it in multiple different ways, even.

“Jeon J-Jungkook!”

In surprise, streaks of paint in your hair, him smirking, dropping the paint roller on the other plastic tray and somehow not tipping it over, thank goodness, him walking up to you, taking the bottom of your paint-covered chanteuse university t-shirt, leaning down to whisper hotly against your lips.

“Ah, sorry, it seemed like you didn’t like that shirt very much,” he breathed, sending your brain into overdrive with the heat against your skin, his knuckles brushing your thighs. “You can wear my sweatshirt instead, if you like.”

Your eyes widened, staring at him in shock.

“J… Jungkook…”

In breathlessness, heart pounding in your chest, gaze locked with mischievous dark chocolate orbs, his teeth catching his lower lip, tiny mole underneath revealed.

“Yeah?”

Why was his voice so deep? The tiny tip of his pink tongue darted out, licking his lips enticingly.

“… Noona?”

This man was illegal.

Your hands darted down and gripped his, catching your lower lip in your teeth as well, matching his lip bite, seeing the eagerness growing in his eyes.

Someone should call the police. Or an ambulance.

You grinned, cocking an eyebrow. “I don’t want to wear anything around you.”

But not for you.

There was a very loud meow from your bathroom, but before Jungkook could ask, you yanked your shirt up and over your head. He gasped and instantly it was lips on lips, messy kisses and stumbling to the living room were your bed, dresser, nightstands, bookcase, knickknacks, everything scattered everywhere, but Jungkook and you were too busy yanking off clothes and getting frisky to give a shit.

Yikes.

You stared at Yoongi now, red from head to toe, clutching the dark gray sweatshirt. He rolled his eyes and looked away from you.

“I… washed it?” you offered weakly.

Yoongi’s dark brows raised from under his black bangs. “Mmm, you forget that I have quite keen hearing. I’m not deaf like you, human.”

The color drained from your face.

Well.

Maybe, just maybe, Jungkook got you to wear his dark gray sweatshirt, forcing you – respectfully, he called you noona, after all – to get on your hands and knees for him, then make you wait in said embarrassing position with his sweatshirt bunched around your neck – because, er, gravity – while he casually made you watch him roll the condom on, highly amused by your impatient glare, only to move away and slowly shove his dick inside your soaking wet pussy and spank your ass until you backed up into him enough times to make yourself cum on his stiff length without him moving his hips.

Respectfully, of course.

“Fuck, noona, that was so fucking hot…”

“Jungkook,” you gasped breathlessly, ass stinging in glorious pain. “F-Fuck me, please.”

He made you scream.

He fucked your hard, making the bed creak, pounding you so roughly into the mattress that your fingers curled into the mint sheets, and when you gasped that you were close, he fucking stopped, the damn sadist, causing you to slam your fists into the bed and buck back into his crotch, Jungkook chuckling at your desperation. In your haze of begging for Jungkook’s cock, you heard a judgmental meow from your bathroom, but before you could address it, Jungkook seemed to have accepted your pleading and began to thrust into you once more, making you lose your train of thought and all thoughts in general, except your dire need to orgasm.

Jungkook had made you moan for hours.

Right now, however, Yoongi’s sharp look was making you mute. You were so mortified that you swore your soul stood up and walked out of your body, too ashamed to be in Yoongi’s presence any longer.

“Mmm,” the dark-haired man mused absentmindedly, pointed ears flicking.

From spitting onto the mirror to mentioning his possible castration to remembering that you had locked Yoongi in the bathroom for hours to have mind-blowing sex with Jeon Jungkook under the guise of repainting your bedroom walls…

Too bad life doesn’t have an undo button.

You suddenly remembered Jungkook pushing you up against the bathroom door, your leg hooked around his waist, his cock plunging in and out of you, lips on your neck, and your wrists pinned to the door, rattling it as he fucked you, whispering against your skin.

“You sound so fucking sexy, make more sounds for me, I’ll fuck you as much as you want, fuck you until you can’t think, can’t move, just to hear you say my name over and over…”

“Jungkook… f-fuck, you f-feel so fucking good, o-oh, Jungkook…!”

He pulled his lips away from your neck and smirked in your face.

“Yeah… noona?”

Respectfully.

“Fuck!”

Your back arced against the bathroom door as you came, pussy throbbing and spasming, the top of your head touching the wood, gasping Jungkook’s name in ecstasy, slamming your wrists against the door, Jungkook moaning as he came inside you, cock jerking inside the condom and swelling it with his orgasm, lips crashing down on yours and you whining pathetically into his mouth as he sucked on your tongue roughly.

A quiet, disapproving meow below you.

A master yikes.

You deliberately shoved the dark gray blob back into your underwear drawer.

Yoongi pursed his lips.

“Why is it in your underwear drawer, anyway?”

You slowly closed it, the wood snapping as the drawer touched the dresser.

Silence.

A crow cawed in the distance.

“You know what, let me make a trip to the convenience store…” was your hollow reply as you mechanically walked out of your bedroom, followed by a mint duvet.

“Do you know what size I would be?” came the husky, amused chuckle behind you as you pawed around your apartment for your wallet, two masks, hand sanitizer.

“I’ll just… buy a variety…”

“Or you could measure.”

You heard a rustle and you whipped your head around, only to see Yoongi’s cocked eyebrow and a slight bit of his exposed shoulders, collarbones on display, silver bell jingling. He yanked it back up, frowning at you.

“Are you a pervert?”

“N… no!”

You jerked away and hastily hooked the masks on your ears, fumbling with your sneakers before declaring, “I will be right back!” And then you threw yourself out the door.

Yoongi sighed, finally releasing his hold on the duvet.

“Ugh, so stuffy…”

His long black tail whipped about.

The door suddenly jerked back open and you plucked your keys from the side dish.

Only to see Yoongi fully naked, sleek black tail whisking around, blinking at you.

He was naked.

Really naked.

Very, one hundred percent, naked.

The mint duvet was pooled around his legs on the ground and Min Yoongi, who was formerly your cat Shooky, was a fair-skinned, long-limbed, lean-bodied, very attractive tall man, with velvety black cat ears and tail and – urk! – completely intact human male genitalia. Your neck, ears, cheeks, chest, ancestors from generations long ago, all turned red in embarrassment. Once again, you soul completely left your body in pure mortification.

“D… Don’t leave!” you blurted, snapping the door closed.

Yoongi just stood there, sighing as he heard the door lock and a body bolt down the apartment building stairs.

“You didn’t even change out of your pajamas…” he muttered, picking up the duvet.

"I can't wear these."

It was a few hours later. Thankfully, when you arrived home with your purchases, your cat... man was asleep, wrapped like a mint cake roll in your duvet. You tried not to think about his naked body on your bed, therefore ending up thinking about his naked body on your bed.

"You need to wear pants! For..."

Dark eyebrows raised.

"Decency!"

After getting home, you had spent the next thirty minutes hand-washing a black t-shirt, black boxer briefs, and loose black pants that were definitely too short but it was the only size available that could fit that waist, so you had to make do. You put the other shirts and underwear in the washing machine, but you needed to wash at least one outfit and hang it to dry. You tried to use the hottest water your hands could handle to sterilize the clothing, wincing at the blistering heat.

You didn't know if Yoongi could get coronavirus but you weren't going to risk it.

Eventually you placed everything on the drying rack and positioned your space heater on them to dry them off.

Then you passed out on the couch. You deserved it, after working so hard.

Only to be woken up by Yoongi poking your shoulder roughly and telling you he couldn't wear the underwear and pants.

He was still holding the duvet around his body and your neck was still regretting every second of sleeping on the couch. Ow. Too much physical labor. Quarantine had turned you into a formless potato. You sat up halfway, wincing. Ugh, pain. You jabbed your finger at Yoongi, who gave you a displeased narrowing of his eyes.

"Put the pants on, you animal!"

Yoongi swept around the sofa, mint duvet and all, determined glint in his dark orbs, lips pursed in annoyance. You started, cracking your neck by accident, yelping in pain as you fell back against the couch.

Yoongi planted himself on top of you nimbly.

You froze.

Partly because you were shocked, but mostly because your neck seized a bit.

His legs were on either side of you, body still wrapped up, perfectly balanced despite the sudden leap, surveying you with a disapproving and discerning eye. The silver bell on his neck jingled with his movement. You could feel his calves against your knees.

His bare calves.

"Are you dumb?"

"What?" you croaked in response.

Yoongi rolled his eyes. "You always forget things."

You blinked at him, confused, neck heating. "What are you talking about?" you snapped impatiently.

"This."

Thump.

You felt something long and furry hit your leg. Your body almost jerked up in surprise, but Yoongi hissed at you, making you lurch back, somewhat stunned at how cat-like it sounded. It was definitely a warning. You were still in your pajamas, slightly thinner material than your usual clothes. It had been cold outside, but your everlasting embarrassment had kept you toasty warm.

Like it was now, because you realized your clothed outer thigh was touching his inner thigh.

His naked inner thigh.

You let out a noise between shock and confusion.

"Urk?"

The long, furry thing brushed against your legs as Yoongi watched you reach your slow realization.

"O-oh... Right. You have a tail..."

He grunted, thinning his eyes into slits. "Yes, because I am a cat."

Highly debatable at the moment, but you were too busy remembering your cat also had a human dick and nuts. Well, not also. Only had? Well. Maybe if you had a seco–

No. No, never mind that. Yeah.

Never.

Mind.

You gulped, trying to suppress the rising heat in your ears and failing. "I can sew?"

Yoongi tilted his head, nose wrinkling a bit. Then he got off you, circling around the couch. You sat up, neck still hurting, but the warmth of your embarrassment somehow helping. Yes, great, trading temporary physical pain for lifetime mental embarrassment, only for such moments to be remembered at the most inopportune times to throw you off guard.

Awesome.

You visibly cringed before standing up, seeing Yoongi's hand snake out and nab the boxer briefs, making them disappear into the duvet. You saw the fabric rustle and then the briefs reappeared, chucked at your face.

Your head snapped back at the force, arms flailing.

"Mmphf!"

"Should be about four or five centimeters. Make it quick. It's hot under here."

You yanked the underwear off your face, scowling. "I'm not your maid!"

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, black ears flicking. He was smirking at you. You narrowed your eyes. What was this guy so high and mighty for? If anything, he should be grateful that you even car–

"You're been cleaning up my literal shit for a few years now, so you are practically are my maid."

... Wait a second, he's right.

You growled and hauled yourself up.

An hour later, your cat was dressed.

Cat?

Man?

Whatever.

Min Yoongi was finally wearing clothes and not your duvet and your fingers stung like a bitch.

You ended up snipping a hole and using bias tape to seal off the raw edges. You didn’t own a sewing machine, so this was the next best thing you could think of without destroying your fingers by trying to imitate zig-zag stiches, although you ended up destroying your fingers anyway because you had to sew small, delicate stitches to attach the bias tape. The area was too high traffic to not reinforce.

Sigh.

“Please tell me you know how to use the bathroom by yourself from now on.”

Yoongi had raised an eyebrow.

“Of course. I’ve watched you enough times to know how to expel human excrement.”

Right. Because he was your cat. Don’t think about it too much. You were trying to take everything one thing at a time so you didn’t overwhelm yourself. Those were future-you problems. Why does he talk like that anyway? You didn’t even know how he knew Korean. Was it because you watched too much television? Yikes.

You rubbed your forehead, dismissing the discussion. “Good talk.”

You realized you would have to cut openings for his tail for all the underwear on the drying rack but, again, that was a future-you problem. Instead, you let him change in your bedroom and went to retrieve the laptop on your coffee table. Plugged it in and turned it on.

All your settings were wack.

“The fuck?” you muttered, resetting your display, volume, brightness, sigh, nearly everything. This only happened when a certain someone stepped on the keys when you weren’t looking. You raised your voice, still looking at the screen. “Did you fuck with my computer last night?”

“No. Oh, well, I did sleep on it,” Yoongi was saying as he stepped out of your bedroom. You growled in your chest, annoyed, but setting everything back into its place before opening your Google calendar. Nothing due immediately, thank god. “Er, maybe you shouldn’t…”

You looked up.

Oh.

Oh?

Oh!

Yoongi mussed his black hair, scratching at his velvety black ear. You noticed he didn’t have a set of human ears. Well, duh. That’d be weird. He was still wearing the black choker with the little silver bell on it. The t-shirt was nicely loose on his frame, the black standing out against his fair skin. The sweatpants were a little short on the ankle, the slim fit showing off his leanness. The sleek black tail swished back and forth.

He was… handsome.

Yoongi looked apprehensive, twisting his lips to one side. “Hmm.”

You blinked at him. “What?”

He shrugged. “Well, when I woke up as a human, I was cold, except for…” His hand ghosted towards his crotch. He pulled it away, waving it aside. “Mmm, never mind.”

You gave him a confused look and went back to your keyboard, typing away. Yoongi winced but you were too busy replying to an email to think too much about it.

We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to inform you of the following.

Min Yoongi had woken up on the coffee table, fucking freezing because humans didn’t have fur, and because his nuts and dick were getting roasted by your overheating laptop keyboard.

Upon waking up, he had a mild mental breakdown as you continued snoring loudly and unceremoniously, before scurrying away to the warmest place he knew – your bed, where he claimed the duvet and tried to figure out what the fuck was going on.

Is this real life?

He had poked at various parts of his new body, trying to figure out if this was a dream or a horrific nightmare.

As we all know.

Life is a horrific nightmare, so indeed, this was real life.

You jumped as Yoongi slumped down on the sofa next to you, sticking his head and ears into your view, blocking the computer screen.

“I’m hungry.”

You gawked at him.

“What a-are you d-doing?” you sputtered.

“I’m hungry,” he repeated. He had a bit of a raspy, almost growly voice at times, reminding you of a cat’s meow. His meow, in fact.

You scooted away, neck heating. Yoongi followed, prodding you.

“Why are you like this?” you grumbled irritably, smacking his hand. Yoongi persisted, as if you did nothing at all.

“This is how I get your attention, because you humans will ignore me if I don’t.”

“You’re a human too!”

“No, I am a cat.”

“Hello?” You grabbed his hand and jabbed at his palm, pointing to his thumb. “Cats don’t have thumbs!”

Yoongi yanked his hand out, shockingly similar to how Shooky used to pull his paw out when you were massaging his little white socks and he was over it. You noticed his cuticles looked a bit dry and torn up. Lately, Shooky’s paws had been a little chewed up too. You frowned at it, tilting your head.

Yoongi stood up and his tail whacked you in the face.

“Ow!”

“Feed me.”

You scowled, rubbing your cheek. Yoongi stared down at you, face expressionless.

Okay, your cat might be a man now, but he was still a borderline asshole, so not much had changed.

“Fine.”

You both stared at the bowl of dry cat food.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow.

“What am I supposed to do with all this cat food then? I just brought it last week!”

“That’s your problem.”

You threw up your hands and cooked you both some lunch.

This was too much.

You know what you did when it was too much?

You took a nap.

You had dishes to clean, underwear to make tail-holes for, a cat that was now a man, an existential crisis to address, but you know what? You took a fucking nap instead. You left Yoongi with your computer and Netflix and told him to do whatever as long as none of it involved him leaving the house.

Yoongi had snorted. “What do I need to go out there for?”

“Awesome. I’m taking a nap.”

And you passed out.

Only to wake up groggily because your lungs were being crushed.

Actually no, it kind of felt like your whole torso was being crushed.

“Urk…!”

You fought with your sleepiness, somehow worse off than you had been before the nap, scrunching up your face ad blinking blearily. Head on memory foam pillow, check. Back on soft mattress, check. Black hair with sleek cat ears and pale face pressed on your chest? Check.

What, wait?

“Gah!”

You lurched and the head grunted, shoulders solidly pinning you down. He was under the mint-colored duvet. Yoongi, your cat that was now a man, was under the duvet.

UNDER THE DUVET.

“Stop yelling. Is that all you humans do? Yell?”

“Why are you – what are you doing here?” you hissed shrilly, trying to wiggle out from under him, but it was impossible. Yoongi was far too big now for you to throw him off.

“Sleeping, obviously,” he grumbled. “Or I was, until you started shouting.”

“Yes, but this is my bed,” you emphasized, realizing you could move your hands so you grabbed him by the waist, fingers grasping the black jersey fabric. You pressed inwards, hands molding to his sides.

Yoongi raised his head, squinting down at you.

You froze.

An oddly familiar gaze of accusation and uncaring. His eyes were dark brown, not the recognizable mint, but the effect was the same. Pink lips upturned, slightly annoyed.

And.

You suddenly remembered he was a man.

A man who was pressed down against you, long legs around your legs, broad chest to your chest, and shockingly attractive for someone who used to be a cat.

“I sleep in your bed all the time. What’s the difference?” Yoongi muttered.

What’s the difference?

The difference???

You’re a man!

A HOT MAN!!!

You struggled to find words, completely entranced by how close Yoongi’s face was to yours, watching his ears adjust slightly to pick up all the small sounds around him. You opened your mouth and it only made a tiny squeak. The pressure on your chest was becoming unbearable. You were so shocked that you completely forgot that you were still dying. You cleared your throat as Yoongi looked increasingly displeased.

“You… You used to be over the duvet…”

Yoongi yawned, nodding a little. “Yes, but it’s colder now. No more fur. I don’t know how you humans survive. Must be why you buy these warm things.”

Your hands were still on his waist. You pulled them away quickly and Yoongi frowned.

“Y-Yeah, but… you weigh a lot more now…” you croaked. “Can’t… breathe…”

Yoongi sighed heavily, as if this was a great disappointment. He slid off you.

“Hmm, I suppose that’s true.”

He nestled close to you and you still stunned, pin-straight body.

“Guess it’ll have to be like this instead from now on.”

Like this?

From now on?

Oh. Oh no.

Yoongi’s velvety, pointed ear flicked against your cheek, a low hum resounding in his chest.

part ii

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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