#literally banging my head against the wall lmao | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Celebrities use Tumblr as well.

#literally banging my head against the wall lmao

girlrose · 1 year

Text

its hard not to feel guilty for my lack of progression in the last couple of years but only i can offer myself empathy and forgiveness tbh!!!!

#i’ve literally been stagnant up until a couple weeks ago lmao #i can bang my head against a wall and call myself a loser #or i can consider my situation and forgive myself #lack of opportunity and mental health issues are real girlies #also lates better than never 🫡

25 notes · View notes

here2bbtstrash · 1 year

Text

look down on me like that - 9 (explicit)

genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut, angst

pairing: yoongi x reader

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

word count: 16k 🙈

contains: explicit sexual content 👀 literally jumps immediately into it (well.... you'll see 🤭) so buckle up!!! also features: hotel drama, reader being v dumb in classic reader fashion but she gets there, a whole lotta tension and angst and misplaced anger, some new friends!!! and yes they're 3 idols see if you can figure out who 🤪, erotic bed sharing and handholding lmfao, probably the most drinking that has happened in a chapter yet (which is saying a lot honestly), of course the GRAMMY RESULTS.... oh yeah and yoongi in glasses, yoongi in a suit, yoongi playing piano, yoongi almost getting in a fight, yoongi rapping, yoongi WEARING CAT EARS (yes these are all warnings!!!!!! 😩) - ok and here are ur smut specific warnings: semi-public sex (mile high club anyone ✈️), cunnilingus, fingering, sex dreams, nipple play, dirty talk, reader has a voice kink 🥴, clit stim, unprotected sex AGAIN 💀, she squirts again don't @ me lmao, aaaaand some lovely mouth/throat fuckin 🫡

A/N: i feel like i have nothing to say that isn't just overwhelming gratitude to you all for being here 🥺 so i'll keep it short!!! sit back and get comfy bc this one's a lot, here we go y'all..... you ready?? 💜

A/N 2: as of 5/27, this chapter has been updated to remove the instances of anti-asian discrimination. i want to expressly state how sorry i am to those who were hurt or otherwise upset by the original content. please know that i mean it when i say i am fully committed to listening and doing better moving forward. 💜

an eternal thank you to @haliiimede and @monimonimoon for their help betaing!!!

read on AO3!

chapter eight | masterlist | chapter ten

~*~

You don’t know how you let Yoongi talk you into this.

You honestly can’t remember, at least not right now, not with your ass perched on the edge of the sink counter and his hands making quick work to tug your sweats and underwear down and off, one ankle at a time.

The place is cleaner than any airplane bathroom you’ve ever been in, and certainly much less cramped. First class really spares no expense, you’ve learned. It’s an upgrade Yoongi made for both of you at the check-in counter unprompted, his only explanation mumbled into the rim of his iced Americano once you’d settled at a table in the fancy lounge: “Economy seats fuck my back up, and I figured if I left you behind you’d push me into LA traffic at your first opportunity.”

You might still do it, if only because he’s managed to convince you to do this again. Weren’t you supposed to be mad at him?

“I’m starting to think you have a bathroom fetish,” you murmur, not quite managing to keep your voice steady. Your fingers rake through Yoongi’s long dark hair as he situates himself properly on his knees between your legs, his hands pressing your thighs to spread you wider.

“Are you complaining?” he grunts back, and you lose the ability to form a coherent response as he leans in and traces his tongue up your folds.

You nearly bang your head on the mirror with the way your spine instinctively arches at the feeling, your hips tilting up for as much of his mouth as you can get.

“Shit,” you hiss as he starts to fuck the muscle of his tongue into your entrance, his thumb swiping up through your wetness before settling into rough circles over your clit. “Why are you so fucking good at this?”

Once he’s thoroughly tasted you, Yoongi quickly replaces his tongue with his fingers, flexing against your front wall at a brutal pace, like he’s realized you can’t take too long in here. His lips close around your clit as his tongue laps over it in thick strokes, and your hips circle hungrily, grinding on him.

“That’s it,” he pulls off just enough to gasp. “Ride my face. Wanna make you come so I can fuck this tight little pussy.” Just the rough tone of his voice is nearly enough to send you over the edge.

When his lips and tongue return to your cunt, you don’t hold back.

You fist the hand tangled in his hair, your other palm smacking flat to the counter for balance as you throw a leg over his shoulder, and you swear you can hear him laughing while you press your heel into his back to pull him even closer. His mouth is warm and wet and divine, the way he licks and sucks at your throbbing clit overwhelming. He strokes his fingers deftly into your g-spot, working up enough arousal that it’s started to run down the crux of your thighs. You roll your hips again and gasp at the way his tongue drags just right over you.

“Oh god, Yoongi,” you groan, squeezing your eyes shut, too lost in it to worry about being quiet. You can feel it as he keeps his tongue laid out flat for you to use as you please. Everything in you pulls tight as you rut yourself against his face in time to the building pressure worked up in your core by his unrelenting fingers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna—”

The plane dips sharply, and you lurch upright with a gasp as your eyes snap open. There’s a few more seconds of shuddering bumps, and then you seem to find clear skies again.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you sit back and try to steady your breathing, the world slowly coming into focus: the TV screen in front of you, your purse tucked into the shelf beneath it, beige privacy walls surrounding you on all sides.

Fuck. You lean forward, letting your head drop between your knees as reality sinks in. You’re not in the bathroom. You’re in your stupid first-class seat. It was a dream. A fucking airplane sex dream.

Panic carves through you like a knife as questions bubble up in your mind: What if you said something in your sleep? Did Yoongi hear you? Is he sitting on the other side of the wall with that fucking smirk on his face, endlessly smug in the knowledge that he haunts you even in your dreams?

Immediately convinced that he is, you can’t help yourself. You press your hands flat to the divider between you and just barely lift out of your seat so you can peek over it.

But Yoongi looks entirely unchanged from the last time you saw him several hours earlier: he’s got his headphones on and is slouched over his laptop, frowning down at the screen, thoroughly engrossed in work.

Just as you’re breathing a sigh of relief, he glances up, and your eyes widen.

“Can I help you?” he grunts, not even bothering to pull his headphones off. You don’t think it’s a double entendre, but you don’t want to entertain him long enough to find out.

“No,” you snap, and then you slump back down to the safety of your seat, slamming the controller on the wall until you’re fully horizontal. You tug the provided headphones over your ears, hoping they might block out your racing thoughts as you desperately try to ignore the dull ache between your legs.

~*~

Getting any more sleep proves to be an impossible task, your mind too keyed up at the possibility of another airplane bathroom dream. By the time you make it through the rest of the flight, and customs, and the car ride to your hotel, you’re nearly delirious with exhaustion, and your body is thoroughly confused about what fucking time it is, though your phone says it’s apparently the middle of the night.

Your brain feels like it’s been in a blender, your reaction time so slowed that, standing at the hotel check-in counter, it takes you several seconds to process the words leaving the front desk agent’s mouth.

She must be able to read the dumbfounded look on your face, because she repeats herself. “King bed executive suite for three nights?”

“Um, no,” you finally manage to stammer, and though he makes no discernible noise of reaction, it’s like you can feel Yoongi smirking over your shoulder. “No, we need— I booked a room with two queens.”

The agent purses her lips slightly, then shakes her head as she stares down at her computer. “Mm, I’m seeing in the system that we have you down for one king.”

Your exhaustion steamrolls over whatever professionality you might normally have while conducting a business transaction. “I don’t care what your fucking system says, it’s wrong. That’s not what I booked.” Scrolling through your phone for a few seconds, you manage to dig up the email, and you’re almost more compelled to show it to Yoongi, just to make sure he’s well aware— you did not fuck this up.

“See, two queens,” you reiterate helplessly as you extend the receipt on your phone toward the agent.

She tuts once, her eyes barely glancing over at your phone before returning to her computer screen. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like we have any availability to switch you. Given the Grammys are on Sunday, this is quite a busy weekend for us.”

You set your phone on the counter and try to keep your breathing steady, to remain calm despite the overwhelmed panic starting to rise in your chest.

“About that,” you say, doing your best to speak in an even voice. “We wanted to keep a low profile, but my… associate here is actually a nominee. For Song of the Year?” You hate that it comes out more like a question as your gaze flits to Yoongi for the briefest of seconds, then back to the front desk agent. “So, really, if there’s anything at all you could do, we would appreciate it.”

There’s a pause as she regards you for a moment, her lips pressed into a tight smile, and then she speaks again. “I really do apologize, but a mistake on your part does not constitute an emergency on ours. No matter who the accommodation is for.”

It takes a second for your jetlag-addled brain to process the words, and their direct contrast to the forced sunny expression on her face. If you were in a better state of mind you might be able to take a breath, state your case more calmly, or figure out some other alternative, but instead all you can manage is a knee jerk reaction.

Because you can’t be in a room with Min Yoongi and only one bed.

“Are you fucking kiddin—”

“Hey.”

A hand pressed to your bicep nearly makes you jump out of your skin. Despite every cell in your body urging you to lunge over the counter, you don’t fight it when Yoongi pulls you back a few paces, giving enough room for him to take your place at the counter.

“It’s fine,” he mutters over his shoulder.

It feels like your heart is beating a mile a minute, enough that you can hardly keep up with the soft apology he concedes to the agent. She hands him the room keys without another word, that same fake smile still plastered over her face. With one last nasty look over your shoulder, you follow Yoongi toward the elevators, dragging your suitcase along behind you.

Practically seething, you can barely manage to wait until the doors slide shut before you pounce.

“Look, I don’t know what you think is about to happen here, but I did not fucking book a single bed room.”

“It’s fine,” he sighs wearily, eyes fixed on the overhead number as it counts up to your floor. “I just want to sleep. Whatever that was about to turn into wasn’t worth the trouble.”

The doors slide open with a soft chime, and you storm after him down the hall to your room as he continues, pressing the key to the reader and pushing the door open. “Besides, I've stayed here before, and I know these suites have couches.” He holds the door and gestures for you to enter first, and you do.

He's not wrong: there’s a small living room area with a sofa, a desk, and a television mounted into a wall that effectively separates it from the bedroom on the other side, though there isn’t actually a door. The bathroom is immediately to your left as you step inside.

“So,” Yoongi says simply as the door shuts behind him. “I'll take the couch. All good.”

Of fucking course.

The rational part of your brain knows that he has done nothing to upset you. He's been quiet and polite on your long day of travel, and is treating you simply as if you were business acquaintances. It all makes perfect sense, given that you told him your night at his apartment couldn’t mean anything. He's done everything you’ve asked of him, really.

And yet it’s all of it: your stupid sex dream, the lingering bad taste of your encounter with the hotel agent, and the fact that Yoongi can’t seem to even fathom the idea of sharing a bed with you, not here and certainly not at his apartment. Everything has you simmering with a sudden vicious, unreasonable anger.

“Do whatever you want,” you snap as Yoongi sets his suitcase down on the floor of the living room. “I don’t give a shit.”

The rage burns like acid in your gut as you move through your night routine in the bathroom, and it’s only worsened by the knowledge that your alarm will be going off in just a few hours, and you’ll have to drag yourself through a long day of press and prep for Sunday. And that Yoongi will be there, through all of it, just like he’s on the other side of the door right now, inescapably and overwhelmingly present.

It doesn’t make sense to you how he can somehow manage to be too distant and too close at the same time. As you spit toothpaste into the sink, you wonder why the fuck you ever agreed to go on this stupid trip.

~*~

You don’t think you manage more than ten minutes of sleep the whole night. Despite exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs, you toss and turn and kick at the blankets, too frustrated by all the confusing feelings churned up inside of you to be able to slip into any kind of real rest.

When you glance at the clock for the millionth time, it’s now only thirty minutes until your alarm is due to go off. With a sigh, you decide to give up.

Your mind is already racing with the schedule for the day, and you go over it a million times in your head as you shower and dress and apply your makeup. When you emerge from the bathroom already entirely put together, Yoongi is on the couch blinking blearily at his phone, clearly having just woken up.

“The car will be here at seven,” you call over your shoulder without a second glance back at him.

He grunts his acknowledgement, and after a few moments you hear the sound of the bathroom door sliding shut again. You dig your work laptop out of your purse to double-check everything, and before you know it you’re sucked into confirming specifics and answering emails, and you completely lose track of time.

The sound of Yoongi clearing his throat snaps you back to reality, and you shut your laptop as you glance up to find him standing in the threshold of the bedroom. He’s dressed nicely for his many interviews, in a sky-blue button-down, and you have to blink twice as you take in his appearance.

“You wear glasses?”

The warm lamplight of the bedroom reflects off his lenses as he shrugs. “I don’t like to. But I forgot my contacts.”

“We can stop for some on the way to your fitting,” you answer, adding it to your mental to-do list. The reminder of your booked itinerary is enough to get you to your feet, one arm wrapped around your laptop to press it close to your chest. Trying to remember what else you need to do to get ready proves impossible as Yoongi steps closer, and then you hear him laugh softly under his breath.

“Wow, glasses? Really?”

“What?”

“You have that look on your face,” he says simply, and you can feel an embarrassed heat creep up your neck. You hate that after all this time, he can still read you like a book.

You swallow hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He continues to close the distance between you, and you take a reflexive step backward, only for your thighs to bump against the mattress behind you. “Would’ve worn these more often if I knew they’d get you all flustered.”

You attempt to argue that you’re not flustered, but the words die on your tongue with the realization of how close Yoongi is to you now. His eyes are fixed pointedly on your mouth. “I—” you try again, your voice breaking slightly. “I’m not—”

The sharp buzz of your phone vibrating on the nightstand makes both of you start, and it’s like you can think clearly again when Yoongi steps back to give you room to grab it. You thumb open the text with one hand as you shove your laptop into your purse with the other. “They’re downstairs.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything else to you until you’re in the car, crawling through Los Angeles traffic. “Remind me what all we’re doing today?”

You stare out the windshield, not wanting to meet his gaze as you recount the schedule that’s permanently seared into your brain. “You have press interviews in Studio City all morning until one. We’ll pick up lunch— and we can grab you some contacts, too— and then you have a fitting in Beverly Hills at two. After that, your boss wants us to tour the office out here and take a few meetings with the team, so that’ll be the rest of the afternoon. And then I guess whenever we’re done with that, the label execs want to take us to dinner after.”

He’s silent for long enough that you’re forced to glance over at him, wondering if he was even paying attention. There’s a small smile on his face, but it doesn’t quite read as smug. You don’t know what to make of it.

“Huh,” Yoongi finally remarks.

“What?” you snap in response, probably a little harsher than he deserves, but you haven’t had coffee yet.

“Nothing,” he says innocently. “It’s just funny, compared to when you first started.” He crosses his arms over his chest, shifting back slightly in his seat. “I remember when you couldn’t even use Outlook.”

You narrow your eyes in his direction. “I guess people change.”

“Guess so.”

The day passes in a hectic blur, and though ostensibly all of your scheduled engagements are meant to be about Yoongi, you find yourself just as busy as he is, if not moreso.

His press interviews run long because of course they do, and you’re forced to drop him at his fitting while you run out to pick up lunch and contacts— and most importantly, more coffee, which you desperately require to survive the rest of the day.

You’re admittedly thankful for the extra tasks. Even if you do feel dead on your feet, it’s still preferable to sitting around and watching Yoongi try on a suit. You can easily recall firsthand how deadly the image is, and putting off that suffering until the real thing tomorrow is perfectly fine, as far as you’re concerned.

The coffee gives you just enough of a caffeine boost to power through your afternoon meetings, reviewing branding strategies and opportunities for collaborative promotions with the label’s overseas team. Your heart sinks a little when you go through the marketing summary slides prepared by Jungkook, not a single detail out of place, and you try to shove thoughts of him to the back of your mind so you can focus on the work.

At dinner, it’s all you can do to not fall asleep over your extremely overpriced sashimi. Yoongi’s been pulled away to the far side of the table for what you can only assume are deeply boring conversations with the Los Angeles production team. Thankfully, your side is a bit more lively.

“Matthew,” the A&R rep who you’re pretty sure introduced herself as Tiffany stage-whispers. You realize she’s speaking to the tall and ridiculously built guy seated next to you when her gaze flits up to him, and then she resumes poring over the extensive drink menu. “Can we get sake bombs?”

“Why are you asking me?” Matthew responds, and you look over to see his face scrunched up in confusion.

“You’re in finance! I need you to tell me that I can get white-girl wasted on the label’s dime tonight.”

He sighs for a moment, like he’s trying to think. “I don’t… actually know if we’re allowed to reimburse that.” Tiffany’s lower lip trembles, dangerously adorable, and he exhales as if he’s been defeated. “Fuck it. I’ll cover it out of pocket if we can’t.”

“God, I love you,” she breathes, chasing the comment with a throaty laugh and quickly flagging down a server to order. “Can we please do thr— Vernon, baby, how old are you?”

The intern seated next to her blinks slowly. “Twenty four?” You’re pretty sure those are his first words of the evening.

“Huh. Your skincare’s doing wonders,” Tiffany shakes her head disbelievingly. “Four sake bombs, please?”

They arrive in an instant, and Tiffany smiles proudly to herself as she balances her shot glass on a pair of chopsticks laid across the top of her beer. You follow Matthew and Vernon’s lead as they set their drinks up to mirror hers.

“To Matthew’s wallet,” Tiffany toasts solemnly. “The only thing bigger than his tits.”

As if in hearty agreement, Matthew bangs his fist against the table so hard it makes everyone in a five foot radius flinch, and all four of your shot glasses plummet into the awaiting beers beneath them.

“Kanpai, motherfuckers!” Tiffany cackles, and you throw your drinks back in perfect sync.

The rowdiness of your corner is too loud to be ignored, and your stomach twists slightly as you set your empty glass down only to catch Yoongi staring from across the table. When your eyes meet his, he quickly lowers his gaze and adjusts his glasses, his mouth pulling into a flat line.

You turn back to your new friends as Tiffany finishes her own drink. As if she just witnessed the silent exchange, she leans toward you.

“So,” she drops her voice a little lower, “What’s it like working with Suga?”

Doing your best to keep your face neutral, you inhale deeply, wondering where to begin, or what would even be workplace-appropriate to say. The jetlag makes your mind move that much slower. “It’s—”

“Oh my god,” she immediately interrupts you. “You’re sleeping with him.”

Vernon nearly spits the last swallow of his drink back out.

“Tiffany,” Matthew interjects, sounding exhausted, like this is a regular occurrence. “Don’t fucking say that to someone you just met.”

“I mean,” you concede, your lips loosened by the warm rush of alcohol. “She’s not wrong.”

Matthews eyes widen, and he purses his lips for a long pause before he finally speaks. “Shiiiiiit, okay. Alright then.”

You sigh, slumping to rest your cheek in your hand, so exhausted that you can barely stay upright. “I don’t know if ‘sleeping with’ is the right term. It’s just a… mistake that we’ve made. A few times. Several, I guess.”

“I bet he’s even richer than Matthew,” Tiffany says, awestruck, clearly more to herself than to you.

“If it’s a mistake, why do you keep making it?” Vernon asks bluntly.

“Damn, Vernon with the deep cut,” Matthew remarks, and you shake your head.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, your words running together slightly. “I’m just trying not to think about it, at least not while we’re on this stupid work trip.”

All three of them nod like they understand, and then Tiffany leans in again. “Let me guess: there’s only one bed in the hotel room.”

“Please ignore her.” Matthew sounds as tired as you feel.

“Yes!” you exclaim, your anger from the night before temporarily reigniting. “The hotel fucked our room up, and the lady wouldn’t fix it because she was a fucking bitch—”

“Naturally,” Vernon interjects.

“And even though we only have one bed, he chose to take the couch. Like, that’s where we’re at.”

“That’s sweet,” Tiffany murmurs, and you make a face.

“Is it?”

“He’s being respectful. I bet he doesn’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable, or like… pressured. ‘Cause sleeping with somebody is a world of difference from… sleeping with them, you know?”

You roll your eyes. “Or he wants to be as far away from me as possible, even while sleeping.”

“If I was the one nominated for a Grammy, I’d make you take the couch,” Vernon scoffs around a piece of edamame.

“Right?” Matthew chimes in. “Ain’t no way I’m getting good sleep on a hotel couch. Them things are like fuckin’ cement blocks.”

A yawn escapes you before you can manage to stifle it, and you press a hand to your mouth, suddenly overwhelmed from exhaustion as well as the conversation. You scoot your chair back from the table to stand and politely excuse yourself to the restroom.

“You gotta cool it with that shit, Tiff,” you hear Matthew mutter as you depart.

Your mind swims while you traverse the long back hallways of this bougie restaurant. It’s almost laughable now, but you really never thought to give Yoongi the benefit of the doubt for sleeping on the couch— not here, and not at his apartment.

You’re still so used to expecting the worst from him that you’ve just assumed the intention is laced into his every action. Even the nice things have felt like a cause for concern, like a reason to keep your guard up, small gestures meant to distract you so he can get the upper hand, somehow. It’s hard to shake the idea that he’s your enemy, even after everything that’s happened.

And yet you can’t help wondering if Tiffany is right. Is Yoongi really just being… respectful? And if so: what does he want? And how does he feel? You’re torn between wanting to know and hoping you never find out.

A voice saying your name drags you out of your thoughts. You turn back just shy of the restroom door, unable to stop another yawn from slipping out, and you bring a hand to your mouth to hide it. Your eyes widen as your brain works on a delay to process the familiar voice, then the sky-blue shirt and the dark framed glasses. It distantly occurs to you that Yoongi has you all alone in this fancy hallway.

You blink a few times, willing the weight of sleepiness out of your eyes, then finally respond with the first thing you can think of. “I’m not fucking you in the bathroom, Yoongi.”

He blinks right back at you, clearly not expecting that. “I… wasn’t asking you to.”

“What do you want then?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I—” he sighs, and you can’t help but wonder if he suddenly regrets coming after you. “You’re tired.”

“Yes, because I barely fucking slept. And?”

You tell yourself that you’re just imagining the way his voice has softened slightly. “Dinner’s over. We don’t have to stay. They’ll get it.”

“I’m having fun,” you retort. “I made friends.”

“I saw,” he remarks, not quite able to hide his smirk.

“So please, don’t cut your boring producer conversation short on my behalf,” you continue dryly.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, to your surprise. “Yeah, it’s brutal. I’d much rather be sleeping.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Or doing sake bombs.”

The question rushes out before you can second guess if it’s a good idea to ask. “How did you sleep? On the couch?”

Yoongi shrugs, then rubs a hand at the back of his neck, making a face as if you’ve put him on the spot. “Like shit.”

You nod, your gaze dropping to the carpeted floor. “Well, I mean. Maybe it would make more sense if, uh—”

“’Scuse me—” a new voice causes your head to snap up again, and you take a step away from Yoongi as Tiffany slips between the two of you, moving quickly toward the women’s restroom.

“Sorry love, I have to break the seal!” she calls over her shoulder before the door slams shut.

The interruption is enough to make you swallow your suggestion, and Yoongi reaches into his pocket for his phone.

“I’ll call a car, because I’m tired,” he murmurs defensively. “You’re welcome to get your own later, if you want to stay out—”

“I don’t,” you say firmly. “It’s fine. Just tell me when the car’s here.” Before Yoongi can so much as respond, you shoulder the bathroom door open and fast-walk to the safety of a stall.

After breaking your own seal, you make your way out to a sink, and you’re a little taken aback to find Tiffany still there waiting for you. She’s hovering over the mirror, blotting at her forehead with a paper towel.

“I wanted to apologize if I came on too strong,” she says softly as you turn on the tap. “Matthew says my mind-reading abilities can be intimidating to people who don’t know me well.”

You can’t help but laugh. “It’s cool. You remind me of my best friend.”

“The highest honor there is,” she says with a knowing nod. When she turns to fully face you, shifting to rest her hip on the sink as you dry your hands, you have a feeling there’s more coming.

“So, can I be honest?”

“Go ahead,” you say, suddenly a little nervous.

“I know I just met both of you today, but— the way Suga was looking at you? Girl. He’s not taking the couch because he wants to.”

You smile politely at her reflection, and her eyes narrow. “I know you don’t believe me, and you don’t have to. Matthew doesn’t believe that he’s in love with me either, but we both have Leo Moons, so obviously we’re each waiting for the other person to cave first.” She shrugs, nonchalant. “Which is fine for us, but all I’m saying is, if you want something, there’s really nothing wrong with asking for it.”

The urge to shut her down is strong. It’s slightly unnerving to feel like a relative stranger is peering into your soul. “You make it sound easy,” you murmur with a dry laugh. “I don’t think bed-sharing is part of our… arrangement.”

Tiffany preens a little more in the mirror, deftly flipping her curtain of dark hair over one shoulder. “Maybe it’s not supposed to be, but trust me on this one. He won’t say no. And if he does, I owe you a sake bomb.”

A genuine smile blooms across your face, and it only widens when she holds up her pinky finger. You lock yours around it for a single shake. “Deal.”

Arm-in-arm with Tiffany, you return to your corner of the table, where she entertains you by bullying Matthew into buying another round of drinks while he groans about burning a hole in his pocket.

“If it helps,” you giggle, “I’m about to head out. So make it three instead of four.”

“Thank god,” Matthew breathes a sigh of relief. “This girl is so damn expensive.”

Tiffany pauses with a spoonful of matcha gelato— also ordered on Matthew’s dime— halfway to her mouth. “I literally have a Leo stellium, what the fuck do you expect?”

While they continue to bicker, your gaze floats down the table. You wonder if Tiffany’s mind-reading powers might be catching as your eyes land on Yoongi just in time for him to look up from his phone and meet your gaze. He nods his head once toward the entrance, and you nod back.

A shoulder bumps into yours, and you turn to see Tiffany subtly shoot you a thumbs-up. “Fighting!” she murmurs under her breath, and you laugh as you get to your feet and bid everyone goodnight.

Yoongi holds the door of the restaurant for you to exit first, then follows you into the large black car waiting for you on the curb.

The drive back to the hotel gives you just enough time to immediately talk yourself out of Tiffany’s suggestion. The thought of asking for what you want feels like a trap, like displaying weakness to the one person who could hit you hardest. Besides, what if she misread Yoongi entirely? She doesn’t know him at all, and has no idea of the way things are between you. It’s a terrible idea, you decide.

So you find yourself right where you were the night before, like a bad dream you can’t wake up from: face washed, teeth brushed, tossing and turning in a bed far too large for one person. You can feel your final thread of resistance snap clean in half as you angrily kick the blankets off, then get to your feet and storm into the living room.

Yoongi is still up, peering down at his phone screen on the couch, his glasses deposited atop the coffee table.

“You’re being stupid,” you huff, and he glances up, clearly not expecting the interruption.

“I am?”

“You’re going to the Grammys tomorrow,” you say, as if that will explain anything.

“So are you,” Yoongi counters.

“Well yeah, but nobody’s going to give a shit about me.”

“I’d argue that’s also true for me,” he murmurs dryly, then squints at you. “Sorry, why am I stupid?”

“Because you’re going to sleep terribly on this couch.”

Yoongi nods once. “Probably, yes.”

You sigh, because of course he’s going to drag this out of you. “And the bed is perfectly big enough for two people. We wouldn’t even be touching or anything. So…” Fuck, saying what you want is hard. “Can you just… stop being stupid?”

There’s a flash of recognition in his eyes, and you’re surprised when that trademark cocky smirk doesn’t spread across his face. If anything, he just seems hesitant as he slowly sits up. “You’re sure?”

You fold your arms across your chest, suddenly feeling exposed like this, standing in front of him in only your thin sleep clothes. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth just barely pulls up, so slight you could be imagining it. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

In the bedroom, you leave the lamp at the empty side of the bed switched on, then crawl back under the sheets on your side. Heat blooms in your face as you press your cheek to the cool pillowcase, purposefully facing out, then reach one arm up to turn off your own bedside lamp.

True to his word, a few minutes later you hear the unmistakable sound of Yoongi’s steps across the carpet, then feel the shift of the mattress as he slips into bed on his side. He fumbles on the nightstand with what must be his glasses and his phone, and then you hear the click of the light, and the room disappears into darkness.

There’s a rustle and a sigh as he makes himself comfortable, and you were right: the two of you can easily share the bed without touching, plenty of space on the mattress between you.

Even so, having him closer is somehow… better. Comforting. You try not to dwell too much on it.

Flipping over onto your back, you stare up at the infinite black of the ceiling above you, your eyes already starting to weigh heavy. You don’t know where the question comes from, or why you ask it.

“Are you nervous?”

When he answers, Yoongi sounds half-asleep, too. “About what?”

“The Grammys?”

“Oh.” There’s a stirring sound, and then he speaks, like he’s just remembered you can’t see him shrugging. “I don’t know. A little.”

The only reply you’re capable of is a soft hum, and now you really can’t keep your eyes open. You curl up on your side again, cheek smushing into the pillow, and your consciousness whirs up one last coherent thought before you fully slip under: What else would he be nervous about?

~*~

You wake up to the warm glow of morning beneath your eyelids, and when you blink them open, the room is lit soft, dappled in sunlight that has managed to sneak between the thick hotel curtains. It’s warm in this bed too, and comfortable, and you sigh quietly to yourself as you stir a little under the covers. With a stifled yawn, you move to turn onto your back, and it’s only when you meet a gentle resistance that you realize why you’re so warm.

Yoongi must just be waking up too, because you immediately feel his body start at the realization that he pulled you close at some point during the night: an arm thrown over your waist, his hips pressed flush against yours.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice low and rough with sleep. “Sorry.” As the mattress starts to shift behind you, you respond on pure physical instinct and close your hand around Yoongi’s wrist.

“Stay.” The word comes out hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

Yoongi’s response is a soft grunt, and a bolt of panic quickens your pulse. You’re suddenly worried he might not want to stay, that he might even laugh at you for thinking you could have it like this, wrapped in his arms and waking up slowly. The furthest thing from hatred— and isn’t that what this is supposed to be?

But then his grip tightens to pull you that much closer, and he wordlessly presses his face into the crook of your neck. Your heart flutters in your chest, sweet and terrified. The heat of his breath over your skin makes you lean into him instinctively, and when your hips tilt, you can feel the unmistakable bulge of his clothed cock against your ass.

“God,” Yoongi groans. The deep gravel of his voice is enough to tighten your nipples beneath your tank top. “You make me so fucking hard. Dreamt about fucking you in this bed.”

“We woke up early,” you murmur. “So. There’s time.”

He grunts a low note in response. You can already feel the thin material of your sleep shorts growing wet between your legs as you slowly grind your hips back on him.

Yoongi’s hand slips up your body, fingertips dragging over the fabric of your top until his palm is pressed to the column of your throat. You inhale softly, your head tipping up to allow him better access. His grip just barely tightens, and when he speaks in your ear, you can hear the smile around his words. “Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to fuck me, Yoongi,” you breathe. “In this bed.”

When you repeat his words back to him, Yoongi exhales a laugh, and then you feel him press a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. Something melts open inside of you at the brush of his lips, a sudden rush of an emotion you haven’t felt in a very long time. Something you certainly never expected to feel with Min fucking Yoongi, of all people.

He releases his hold on your throat, and his hand makes short work of slipping the straps of your tank top off your shoulders, then yanking the loose fabric down to expose your tits. You shiver a little at the morning air against your bare skin.

Yoongi’s palm closes around one of your breasts, lazily massaging it, and you rut your ass back on him with a small whimper. The heat of his mouth trails more kisses up your neck, and then his deep voice is in your ear again.

“Did you sleep okay?” He pairs the question with his thumb dragging circles over the stiff bud of your nipple, earning another soft noise from you.

“Y-yeah,” you manage to respond. “Better than the first night.”

He hums against the shell of your ear, the timbre of his rough voice setting every last one of your nerve endings alight. Overcome with desire, you can barely focus on his words as his hand traces along your waist to slip down the back of your shorts.

“Me too. So much better than the fucking couch.”

Two of his fingers tease over your slit, and he huffs a disbelieving laugh at how wet he finds you, how turned on you already are. When he swipes between your folds to circle at your entrance, you can hear your own slickness, chased with a soft noise of appreciation that escapes Yoongi’s mouth as he plunges both digits into your pussy. You can’t help but moan, too.

He could easily make you come just like this, but you want him too much.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, twisting slightly to reach a hand behind you. You trace down the hard muscles of his stomach, apparent even through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, until your palm drags along the thick outline of his cock straining beneath his boxer briefs. He’s so hard that he pulses under your touch, and you’re sure he must be able to feel the way your pussy flutters at the thought of this cock filling you up.

“Needy,” he purrs, his mouth against your neck.

“Shut up,” you answer automatically, not quite able to keep your voice steady with the way he’s fucking his fingers into you.

But Yoongi doesn’t torment you— you only have to give his clothed length one slow pump before his hands are pushing your shorts over your legs, like he can’t get them off fast enough. You kick them the rest of the way off while he works his boxers down, and then you arch back as his cock starts to tease your pussy lips apart.

He slips easily through your folds, painting you both in a mixture of pre-cum and arousal as he grinds himself over the whole of your slit. You bite back a moan when the head of his dick rubs up to your clit, smearing wetness there in steady strokes that make you gasp and writhe.

“Can I go raw again?” he asks so softly in your ear, and your cunt throbs as you whimper your consent.

It’s impossible to keep quiet now, not with how perfectly his cock pushes into you, stretching you open to take him. You press your face into the pillow to slightly muffle your sounds, and you can hear Yoongi groan behind you.

“Fuck,” he hisses roughly. “You’re ruining me. I may never be able to go back to condoms.”

“Yoongi,” you whine as he sheathes himself fully with a grunt of effort, giving you a few moments to adjust before he moves. “If you keep fucking talking in my ear with your morning voice like that—” your own voice breaks off mid-sentence as he drags his cock out just to fuck it back into you, and you have to take a breath before trying again. “I’m gonna come in five seconds.”

When he presses his mouth to your shoulder, you can feel the smirk on his lips. “Is that right?” The low rumble of his question buzzes through you, and your walls tighten around him in response. “You like it that much?”

You can barely remember how to form words with the way he’s started to thrust, the head of his cock sparking hot pleasure each time he rubs himself over the ridges of your front wall. “What if I do?”

Yoongi hums into the crook of your neck, purposefully drawing the sound out to make a shiver run up your spine, and you can’t help moaning. His hand slips between your thighs to nudge them apart, and you’re easily pliant for him, spreading yourself at his guidance so his fingers can find your clit.

“I’d tell you how fucking good you look like this,” he murmurs against your skin. “How well you take my cock.” You roll your hips in time with his strokes, and his free arm slips between your shoulder and the bed to wrap around your chest, giving him leverage to fuck you harder.

“Oh my god.” You nearly choke on your words as he pounds into you, unrelenting now, and your fingertips claw desperately at the pillow beneath your head.

“Pussy’s always so fucking tight, shit,” he groans. “Should’ve just done this the whole weekend. Don’t know how I even let you leave the room.”

Your feet flex helplessly against the bedsheets as Yoongi’s hand rubs a steadily building pressure into your core that threatens to overflow. His fingers move in tight circles over your clit like he knows your body well— which, you guess, he does. The thought of him keeping you here all weekend, tangled up in these sheets, fucking you senseless and making you come again and again and again is dizzying, enough to make your pussy start to pulse around his length.

“Yoongi,” you gasp. “Fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

His lips brush over your shoulder, his voice stilted by how roughly he’s fucking into you. “Yeah, come on this cock. Make a mess for me.”

The pleasure is so overwhelming you almost want to squirm away from it, but then his fingers press your clit just right to snap a final thread and send you over the edge. Your thighs shake violently as your climax rips through you, and a rush of fluid squirts out of your cunt to coat the length of his dick and soak a wet spot into the sheets.

Yoongi groans unabashedly at the sight, still fucking you through the waves of your orgasm, his thrusts slowing as if to hold off his own end while your pussy keeps shuddering around him.

You take your time coming all the way down, lost in how good it feels, and then you slump back against the pillow with a ragged sigh, your head swimming. “Holy shit.”

His throbbing-hard cock is still clenched inside your heat, and the bed shifts when he gently pulls out. Dazed, you turn over to watch him as he kneels up on the bed next to you, his knees sinking soft divots into the mattress, and starts to slowly pump himself.

And fuck. He looks so good like this: long hair mussed from sex and sleep, with a half-awake look of concentration on his face, his tongue toying at the corner of his mouth and the muscles of his arm flexing with every stroke. Watching him get himself off has only gotten hotter since you saw it the first time, and you didn’t think that was possible.

It feels like it takes all the effort you have left in your body, but you manage to sit up and turn to face him. In one assured move, you reach down to grab his wrist and pull his hand off his cock.

Yoongi whines a little at the realization of what you’re doing, and he leans back to give you full access as you settle yourself on all fours in front of him.

“Oh fuck yeah, please suck me off.”

“Please?” you laugh, pausing to glance up at him. “Who taught you manners?”

“That fucking mouth did,” he growls, and it’s punctuated with a relieved moan as you drag your tongue up his shaft. One of his hands tangles in your hair while you lick the heady taste of yourself off his cock, then breathe deep through your nose so you can swallow him down.

Yoongi’s breath comes in ragged pants as you hollow your cheeks around him and start to bob your head, letting his tip rub against the back of your throat on every pass. You feel his fingers in your hair tighten, and his hips shove up to match your strokes, like he’s already close to coming undone.

This thick cock weighs heavy and familiar on your tongue, warm like the rays of morning sun that have reached far enough into the room to wash over the bedsheets now. Drool spills out from the seal of your lips around Yoongi’s shaft, and the sound of him fucking your mouth is obscene, pornographic as it floats up to the ceiling.

“God,” Yoongi gasps. “Gonna come down your pretty fucking throat.”

And it’s funny— once, this would have made you feel powerful, in control, like the person with the upper hand. The winner. But in this moment, it occurs to you that you don’t really give a shit about winning anymore. Now his words just make you hum and suppress a smile around his cock in your mouth. When you notice the way his thighs tremble in response, you keep going, vibrating his length while you sink as far down as you can take it.

The hand in your hair releases, and then his palm just barely brushes over the bulge of his cock in your throat as if in admiration. Eyes rolling back, you let your jaw slacken and swallow hard on the stretch of him there.

“Jesus, fuck,” he groans, and then he’s coming, and the throb of him in your mouth still feels like a reward. You pull back a little to keep from gagging as he paints fat ropes of cum into the tight clutch of your throat. Sucking firmly around him through spasm after spasm, you swallow it all down greedily until you feel him going soft on your tongue.

You finally pull off with a wet pop, dazed and laughing as you roll over and collapse into a heap against the mattress, thoroughly spent.

“Okay,” Yoongi manages to say on an exhale, though you can hear he’s still short of breath, too. You glance up to see him raking a hand through his hair, looking fucked out of his mind. “I’m ready to go win a Grammy now.”

There’s just enough time for each of you to shower and get dressed before a whole team of people arrive for Yoongi: stylists, hair and makeup, and most importantly, coffee delivery. Yoongi blinks wide-eyed at you as you press the largest iced Americano you could find in downtown Los Angeles into his hands, and then you step back to let everyone get to work.

Meanwhile, you spend the next few hours in a rush of attempting to get yourself ready, all while double-checking the schedule, answering emails on the fly from your phone, and trying desperately to ignore the anxiety that’s started to hum in the pit of your stomach.

Once your hair and makeup are as decent as you can get them, you slip the black dress you packed for tonight— a rental, because buying a black tie dress was absolutely out of your price range— off the hanger and step carefully into it. Watching yourself in the mirror, you reach behind you for the zipper only to realize you can’t quite manage to pull it up past the small of your back.

Fuck. You didn’t even think about the fact that Jimin helped you zip this thing up when you tried it on initially, during a night at your place where you split two bottles of wine and he performed his own personal critique of all your dress rental options. This was the only one he’d liked.

With a nervous sigh, you head for the bathroom door, figuring that you’ll be able to subtly grab the attention of one of Yoongi’s many stylists to help.

But when you slowly slide the door open, one hand pressing the fabric of your dress in place over your chest, you realize the room has fallen quiet. As you lean across the threshold, you see why: everyone is gone.

Except for Yoongi, who glances up from where he’s sunk into the couch, scrolling aimlessly on his phone.

“Where is everyone?” you snap, probably a little harsher than you need to be.

He frowns like he doesn’t understand the question. “They… left? Because they were done? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a big awards show tonight. Means the stylists are pretty booked today.”

Yoongi gets to his feet to cross the room, and you fumble awkwardly, trying to keep your dress up. He’s fully put together now in a well-fitted suit and tie, and with his long hair styled and subtle makeup applied to enhance his features, he looks… good. Too good. Deadly. You can’t quite manage to maintain eye contact, and find yourself staring dumbly at the floor instead.

His voice softens slightly as he steps in close to you. “What’s wrong? Does it not fit?”

“It fucking better,” you mutter. “I just… can’t reach the zipper.”

“Are you asking for my help?”

Your gaze flits up to meet his, and you’re a little surprised by his question. “There’s nobody else here,” you retort, stubborn.

When he blinks evenly back at you, like he’s waiting for something, you realize he’s not going to make this easy. Fucking hell. Another tense moment passes, and he just blinks again.

“Yes,” you finally give in with a frustrated sigh. “Will you please help me, Yoongi?”

“Turn around,” he murmurs, and you do.

His hand slides over the small of your back, and then he slowly starts to ease the zipper up. You don’t dare move a muscle until he’s done, and it’s only once he buttons the closure at the top that you breathe a serious sigh of relief. The dress fits like a glove.

You attempt to compose yourself enough to thank him, but the words get stuck in your throat when you feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

His low voice resonates in the quiet of the room as he leans in. “Was that so hard?”

You turn your head as if to argue, but then there’s a split second where you feel his lips brush over your neck, just below your ear. So slight it could’ve been an accident.

“Thanks,” you manage to choke out, and then you slip away from him to get your heels from the bedroom and try to remember how to breathe. You do your best to ignore the fact that your hands are shaking as you pull your shoes on, then pause in front of the full-length mirror on the wardrobe, giving yourself a final once-over.

As you smooth your hands down the black velvet fabric and turn to the side, you glance up to find Yoongi hovering in the threshold, watching you.

“That dress,” he remarks, sounding a little dazed. You have to fight to keep the smile off your face when he trails off, unable to say more— you didn’t think it was possible to make Min Yoongi speechless. It’s not a bad feeling.

And you do like this dress, even though you could never actually afford it. It’s simple but elegant, a sleeveless column style with a plunging neckline and a slit that reaches your mid-thigh. Nothing groundbreaking, but it sticks to your curves like water and makes you feel somewhat more like a person who belongs at a fancy awards show.

“Jimin picked it,” you respond, and you hear Yoongi exhale a laugh.

“He has good taste.”

You turn toward him as your hidden smile pulls into a smirk. “Well, I’m not dressed up for you,” you chide, and you revel in the way his face drops briefly in surprise before he’s able to conceal it. “I’m trying to meet Kendrick.”

“Is that right?”

“Uh-huh.”

You’re thankful that you purposefully padded your schedule with extra time, because you lose nearly every last minute of it stuck in the gridlock of Los Angeles traffic on the night of a huge event.

By the time you make it to the venue, you’re practically nauseous from all the stopping and starting and crawling of the car, and Yoongi looks equally bad, though you suspect his condition might be more anxiety-related.

As it turns out, the Grammys are a lot less glamorous when you’re only mildly famous, at least by American standards. The two of you are shepherded by security to another ‘lane’ of the red carpet and warned not to stop as you make your way into the building. You observe from afar while A-list celebrities pass in a blur, flashbulbs pop bright enough to blind you, and chatter is drowned out by the sound of fans screaming and the clamor of reporters trying to grab the biggest names for an interview.

“I’m so glad I’m not that fucking famous,” Yoongi scoffs, though he doesn’t quite manage to hide the nerves in his voice.

“Come on,” you murmur once you get inside, nodding toward a pop-up bar in a far corner of the lobby. “Take the edge off. And I’m gonna need alcohol if I have to sit through a fucking three-hour show.”

You down your drinks quickly, only a few minutes shy of the time by which you have to be in your seats, and you return from tossing the empties in the trash to see Yoongi eyeing a piano pushed against the far wall, clearly for show. He takes a seat, glancing around as if in fear of getting yelled at, then gently pushes up the key lid.

“Ooh, do Wine!” you tease with a laugh as you drop onto the bench beside him, but he actually does start to play, one foot pressing down on a pedal to keep the sound soft. His fingers alight over the keys, and the song he plucks out is beautiful. It’s a melody that almost feels nostalgic to you, even though you know you’ve never heard it before.

“What is this?” you ask, and he keeps playing as he responds.

“Do you know Sakamoto?”

You hum a no as you shake your head.

His eyes narrow slightly. “Remind me how you work in the music industry?”

A smile plays at your lips, and you roll your eyes. “Shut up. You know I’m a fraud.”

Yoongi doesn’t miss a note when he glances up to meet your gaze. “Are you?”

It’s only now that you realize how close he is: the two of you are basically sitting hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. For a moment, you forget about the Grammys, forget that anyone else is even in the room.

“Excuse me!” A voice snaps you out of the moment, and you scoot away from Yoongi so quickly you nearly topple off the bench. “That’s not meant to be played, and we need everyone to head to their seats, please!” Your face flushes with an embarrassed heat, and Yoongi lifts a hand apologetically as he covers the keys back up.

You stick close to his side so as not to lose him in the large crowd of people. “Bet they’ll let you play whatever piano you want once you have one of those dumb little trophies,” you mutter under your breath, and Yoongi really laughs, like he wasn’t expecting the comment.

Another thing you didn’t necessarily anticipate: the Grammys are fucking long. You knew it would be over three hours, but you realize you severely underestimated how long that time would feel. While the performances are incredible (and you have to dig your nails into the cushion of your seat to keep from squealing when you spot Lil Nas X a few rows in front of you), there’s plenty of filler between them, and it feels a lot drier when you’re physically in the room for it. Even the commercial breaks are far too short for you to have enough time to actually run to the restroom or get another drink.

You’re also starving. “I hate that they don’t serve food at these things,” you hiss to Yoongi during a break, but it’s late enough in the night now that he’s barely speaking, apart from the occasional monotone grunt.

Though you’ve been waiting for it all evening, you still don’t quite know if you’re ready when the host starts to run down the list of nominees for Song of the Year.

As he’s only credited as a writer, they don’t actually say Yoongi’s pseudonym, but pride still squeezes tight in your chest when you see “Suga” spelled out across the on-stage monitors beneath the name of the song.

They get through all the titles in what seems like less than a second, and your heart feels like it might give out as an anticipatory silence settles over the crowd. The host fumbles with getting the envelope open, and you’re so tense, you flinch hard at an unexpected brush of contact.

You glance down, and it takes a moment for your brain to process what’s happened. He’s not looking at you, hasn’t said anything, but Yoongi has nevertheless reached over to grab your hand. His long fingers lace through yours, gripping surprisingly tight, and the skin of his palm is warm and dry. It’s like your brain short-circuits for a moment as you stare stupidly at your joined hands, and he gives yours a single nervous squeeze.

“And the Grammy goes to…”

You look over at him, still dumbfounded, and then you hear them call a song that isn’t his.

Your heart sinks as you watch Yoongi blink up at the screen, his mouth pulled into a flat line. You realize belatedly you’re supposed to be clapping, but his hand is still clasped in yours. And you don’t want to pull away from him.

But then he moves first, untwining his hand from yours and bringing it up to rake through his hair with a disbelieving laugh. A little delayed, you both join in the applause as the winner makes their way to the stage. You can’t even process who it is.

You have no idea what to say to console him, so you don’t say anything at all.

Thankfully the category is one of the last of the night, so you only have to sit through a few more rounds of acceptance speeches and watching other people’s dreams come true before you can finally get to your feet. You feel like you can’t leave fast enough as you’re herded out of the stadium and into another car to depart for the afterparty.

There’s a heavy silence in the backseat that feels like a chasm between you as you crawl through Los Angeles traffic.

You realize there’s a bottle of champagne tucked into an ice bucket behind the front seat— a thoughtful touch from the label execs, you assume. Yoongi spots it at the same time you do, and he immediately reaches for it. With a grunt of effort, he pops the cork, a little bit of excess foam dribbling onto the floor of the car.

He raises his eyebrows at you, then brings the bottle right to his mouth for a long drink. Longer than long. You watch his adam’s apple jump in his throat as he swallows several times.

“Alright, chill the fuck out,” you snap after a few seconds, reaching over to grab it from him. “At least eat something first.”

“It’s my consolation prize,” Yoongi quips, but he lets you wrest the champagne from his hands without resisting. You take a thorough swig yourself, then recork the bottle and drop it back in the bucket. “Such a good little admin,” he purrs, and you try to convince yourself there isn’t a hint of venom in his words.

The car pulls to a stop at the designated hotel, and you climb out after Yoongi. Upon making it inside, the two of you peel off in different directions: him for the bar, and you to find anything that remotely resembles food. You keep glancing over at him from across the room as it fills with more and more people, nervous to take your eyes off him for too long, unsure of what he might do. Every time you find him again, it seems like he’s downing another glass of whiskey, drinking like the fucking world is ending.

Meanwhile, you’re struggling to find anything that isn’t kale, quinoa, or… whatever grain-free bread is. With a frustrated sigh, you finally decide to give up. If Yoongi wants to drink on an empty stomach until he gets alcohol poisoning, you figure that’s his fucking problem.

When you shove your way through the crowd back toward him, you find that he’s been pulled into a conversation with a bunch of older men you can only assume to be local industry reps. As you get close enough to make out their words, you quickly understand why he has such a sour look on his face.

“Song of the Year, huh? You know we can cross-reference the nominees and figure out if you’re full of shit, right?”

Yoongi grimaces politely into his drink as he throws it back, but you have no problem cutting in. “You’re actually speaking to an incredibly accomplished producer and songwriter,” you retort without thinking. “He has over 100 KOMCA credits.” You don’t miss the smirk Yoongi tries to conceal behind the rim of his glass.

“KOMCA?” Another one of them speaks up, the question paired with a harsh laugh. “Never heard of it. That anything like payola?”

“Wild that anyone can just buy their way into the industry these days.” The first man shakes his head, eyes scanning Yoongi up and down as if the tailoring of his suit tells him everything he needs to know. “Guess that’s the way the world works now. Never had to struggle a day in your life, huh?”

Your response is immediate and far too loud. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

A loud laugh ripples through all of the men, clearly more excited about evoking a reaction than the gravity of their claims. “Wow, man,” the one who spoke first chortles, clapping Yoongi hard on the shoulder. “Looks like you need to control your girl.”

Your heart thuds in your chest as you watch Yoongi shrug off the guy’s hand to set his empty glass down on the closest table. He moves slowly, deliberately taking a long pause before correcting them. “This is actually my assistant.” His voice is laced with a deadly calm you know well.

“Assistant?” A third pipes up, acting as if he’s never heard the word before. “Huh. You know, back in my day we just called them secretaries. Or mistresses.”

Yoongi moves so fast you barely have time to process it, lunging forward and shoving the guy in the chest with enough force that he stumbles backwards into his shitty friends. “What the fuck!” one of them shouts, purposefully loud, and you can hear a ripple of shock roll through the crowd, can see heads turning to look your way in alarm.

“No, no, nope,” you immediately mutter. “This is not fucking happening.”

Yoongi is already taking another step toward the group, and you tighten a hand hard around his bicep. “We’re leaving.”

When he whips around to face you, the mixture of anger and pain reflected in his dark eyes is so overwhelming, it hits you like a truck. You try to force yourself to stay calm, because at least one of you has to be.

“Come on, Yoongi,” you say, letting your voice soften. “Fuck this place. I need some real food.” Your eyes search his, pleading. For a moment, you can’t help but wonder if you’re staring down an enemy or a friend.

But then you see the fight go out of him as he nods, and you breathe a silent sigh of relief.

Shifting the hand on his arm to press firmly to the center of his back, you guide him in front of you and wind through the packed room of people until you make your way outside again.

Fate does you one good turn by leaving an empty cab out front, and you push Yoongi into the backseat, then slide in next to him. You lean forward to greet the driver, doing your best to smile politely and act composed, like you didn’t just almost get into a fight at the Grammys afterparty.

“Can you take us to Koreatown, please?”

~*~

The cab drops you off outside a strip of bars and restaurants, lit up with neon signs in both English and Korean. To his credit, Yoongi seems more subdued as he follows you out of the car wordlessly, but you allow him a little more time to cool off in silence. You wander somewhat aimlessly, attempting to shake off your lingering anxiety in the warm evening air, until you stumble upon a food truck parked at the end of the block. Your eyes go wide at the posted signage.

“What do you think?” you ask as you turn to Yoongi, and he shrugs, like he really doesn’t care. Perfect. You’ve never had a problem a gamja hot dog couldn’t fix.

Securing one for each of you, you nod Yoongi toward a small group of tables set up at the curb to sit down. Once seated, you immediately drown your hot dog in ketchup and mustard, and you can hear him scoff before taking the bottles from you to do the same. Admittedly, you must look fairly ridiculous eating fried street food in full black tie, but you’re far too hungry to give a fuck right now.

It’s perfection from the first bite, crispy and hot, the batter studded with potato pieces and the inside loaded with cheese.

You’re also too hungry to bother making conversation at first, but after a few more bites you glance over at Yoongi, and your heart sinks all over again. You really do feel bad, and then the words are leaving your mouth before you can stop them.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur with your mouth full. “That you didn’t win.”

He makes a face as he chews. “We already agreed I wouldn’t have been happy even if I won, right? So it doesn’t really matter.”

You roll your eyes, unconvinced. “It’s okay to have feelings, you know. You’re allowed to be upset.”

Yoongi just shrugs, but he can’t quite meet your gaze. “It’s whatever.” You take another bite as he continues. “If I’m gonna win a Grammy, I want it to be for something that’s all mine anyway.”

The sentence surprises you, and you blink back at him. “You’re going to release your own stuff?”

As if he instantly regrets bringing it up, his face reddens a little, his expression twisting into an unsure grimace. “Ahh… I don’t know, probably not. People know me as a producer. I don’t know that anyone would actually listen to it.”

“I would,” you say without even really thinking, and his eyes widen. “You know,” you continue quickly, adopting a fake-serious tone. “Since I work in the music industry. Strictly business.”

A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth, and you find yourself relieved to see it. “I appreciate that.”

You’re also desperately curious, wondering if he’ll say more about his own music, but he goes quiet again. Given the night he’s had, you don’t exactly want to push it.

Taking the final bite of your hot dog and mourning the loss, you stack your skewer and paper tray on top of Yoongi’s, then get to your feet to toss them in the nearest trash can. When you return to the table, you smack your palms decisively against it.

“Come on. I think the circumstances call for some binge drinking.”

Your first stop is tucked into two seats at a neighboring dive bar, alive and roaring with enough ambient conversation that you have to speak fairly loudly to be heard over the noise. The bar in the center of the room is wrapped around a small open kitchen, where you watch the line cooks hustle to steam, grill, and fry what seems like a never-ending rush of food orders.

You and Yoongi stick to soju, pouring each other shot after shot. On the first one, he tilts his full glass toward you, and you knock yours against it.

“To losing,” he toasts, and you can’t help laughing as you tip your head back to drink. He’s smirking as he swallows his down, then pours you another. “Hey, maybe Jungkook will throw me a commiseration party when we get back.”

You grimace automatically at the name as you take the bottle from him to fill his glass up, and Yoongi doesn’t miss it. “Trouble in paradise?”

With a roll of your eyes, you determine that you need to be drunker for this. You take your shot, then instantly hold your glass out for Yoongi to pour another before he even gets to his. He obliges, and you throw it back immediately. The bottom of your glass hits the bar with a loud thud.

“I kinda… freaked out on him. Right before we left.”

Yoongi’s eyebrow lifts, questioning, as he drinks. “Any reason?” he prompts when he’s finished.

“Yes,” you answer stubbornly, tapping at the rim of your empty glass. He fills you up again, and you return the favor to finish the bottle. Yoongi motions to the bartender for another as you down your shot and steel yourself.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he offers.

“Don’t you want to hear that you were right?”

He shrugs like he can’t argue. “I mean, always.”

“Well for one, he asked if anything was going on between you and me.” You glance over to see Yoongi’s eyes widen slightly as he drinks. “I said no.”

“Uh huh.”

“And then he was like, ‘Good, I’m glad I don’t have to tell you to raise your standards.’”

Yoongi is clearly trying to keep his expression neutral, but it’s a losing battle. You can see the way his shoulders are starting to shake, and then he finally caves in, his palm smacking flat against the bar as he really laughs. “Wow,” he eventually recovers enough to huff, and you reach for the fresh soju bottle that’s been dropped off. “He really just said it.”

“Mm-hmm,” you intone, filling his glass and then handing the bottle back. Yoongi’s still chuckling a little as he pours your drink before taking his own, and you continue. “And then, I don’t know, there was some other stuff, and I was just like… oh fuck.”

“Because you realized he’s in love with you.”

You sigh dejectedly into your soju. “I’m so stupid.”

“Nah,” Yoongi shakes his head, reaching for your glass once you’ve emptied it again. “You wanted to avoid an inconvenient truth. Just makes you human.”

There’s a pause as you take the bottle to pour his drink, and then his next words nearly make you choke as you throw back yours. “You should date Jungkook.”

You’re sure you must look entirely dumbfounded as you stare at him. “What?”

“What?” he retorts, like he hasn’t said anything shocking. “He’d be good for you.”

For a long moment, neither of you speak as you regard him. You finally shake your head, nudging your empty glass toward him until he gets the memo. “Don’t say shit like that,” you mutter under your breath, and you’re not sure if he hears it over the din of the bar.

“Besides,” you continue as you snatch the soju out of his hands to pour his drink, “I’ve tried dating a coworker before. It’s a bad idea.”

“Sounds like a good story.”

“It’s not, really,” you murmur, staring down at the liquid in your glass. “My last job I was a waitress.”

“Mm,” Yoongi interrupts with a hum as he takes his shot. “Waitress. I was close.”

You pour him another, mostly to keep him quiet. “Yeah yeah, you’re very fucking perceptive. Anyway, I dated another server for a couple years. He ended up cheating on me with one of the hostesses, but I was honestly kinda tired of him, so I was glad to end it.” You hear Yoongi snort a little at your fairly heartless admission. “But then I walked in on them fucking in the walk-in, and it put me in a bad mood. Long story short, I ended up throwing a drink on a customer and they had to let me go.”

“Christ,” he laughs, pausing for a moment to fully take in your words. “And now you’re a pain in my ass.”

You roll your eyes as you motion for another soju bottle. “Correct.”

“Sounds like your ex was an idiot.” You glance over to find Yoongi already looking at you. “I mean, in the walk-in is just… nasty.”

“That’s what I said!” Your mouth pulls up at the corners as you try to suppress a giggle. “I don’t think we can really judge anybody though.”

Yoongi blinks, staring blankly into the middle distance. “That conference room trash can condom still haunts me.”

With a loud laugh, you bury your face in your hands, and you can feel your cheeks burning from alcohol and embarrassment. You peer between your fingers as Yoongi sets down a fresh shot for you, and you gladly take it.

“People are stupid,” he remarks wisely. “That’s why I don’t date.” You quirk an eyebrow as he passes you the bottle.

“What, a prize like you?” you deadpan. “You just fuck people in bar bathrooms like a well-adjusted human?”

“Yeah,” he admits with a shrug. “So. Wanna check this one out?”

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, and you immediately smack him on the arm. He nearly spills his drink from laughter, and you can’t keep yourself from laughing a little, too. “I already gave it to you this morning, you freak.”

“Come on,” Yoongi’s voice is teasing, and he bumps his shoulder against yours when he leans in closer. “I had a hard night.”

Pouring him another drink is your only distraction, and you do it with the utmost focus. “This dress is a rental.”

“I can pay for it.” The heat of his breath ghosts over your collarbone as he answers. You shove the bottle hard into his chest, and he takes the cue to fill your glass again, still smirking as he pulls away.

“First,” you say, sounding more confident than you feel, especially with the way your pulse has started to quicken. Your expression is deadly serious as you turn to stare into Yoongi’s eyes and he stares right back. “You have to prove that you can keep up.”

When you swallow your shot easily to punctuate the dare, a look flashes over Yoongi’s face like he’s impressed, and then he follows your lead.

After a few more bottles, the bar is so crowded and so loud that you can hardly hear yourselves think, and you stumble out of it and into the next place you see, and then the next, and then the next. All bets are off tonight, and you’re not about to tell Yoongi that he can’t get fucking trashed considering he just lost at the fucking Grammys. You figure you’ll be able to sleep off your hangovers on the stupidly long flight home tomorrow.

With each stop, Yoongi’s mood seems to improve a little. He eventually drinks enough that his suit jacket and tie come off, and they end up draped over your shoulders, despite your loud protests that you don’t need any more responsibilities. With the sleeves of his white button-down pushed up, it gets increasingly hard to divert your attention away from his hands and the muscles in his forearms, especially as you get progressively drunker and drunker.

Yoongi’s palm brushes over the small of your back as you make your way out of the last place, his touch warm even through the velvet of your dress.

“I know it was your personal nightmare,” he murmurs, words slurring together slightly, “but I really am glad you came on this trip. I mean it,” he insists when you shoot him a look. “I would be fucking insufferable if I was alone tonight. And I definitely would’ve punched that label guy in the face.”

You exhale a laugh and nearly fall over in your heels, and Yoongi’s hand slips to your waist to keep you upright. “He deserved it.” You lean into him, not entirely for balance, and you can feel it when he shrugs.

“Sorry you didn’t get to meet Kendrick.”

The glow of the various open-late establishments and the glitter of the pavement under your feet are all beautiful, especially in your current state, and the night air is still and warm. As you approach the next building and are met with the dull thud of music, your eyes go wide.

“Oh, I just figured out how you can make it up to me.”

The noraebang is surprisingly busy given that it’s a Sunday night, but you’re still able to book a room, and you giggle your thanks as Yoongi opens his wallet to pay the hourly rate like it’s nothing. The two of you work your way through more bottles of beer and soju, and when you start up the karaoke and teasingly pick the HEIZE song he produced, you’re surprised that he actually joins you.

Yoongi must be able to read the expression on your face, because he smirks mid-song. “Let the record show that I am actually a very fun drunk.”

And he is. You sing dramatically and loudly, not caring if you hit the notes, jumping and dancing and occasionally dropping passionately to your knees before dissolving into laughter. At first you monopolize the controller, but after you force a third Kendrick song on him Yoongi gestures for it, and you begrudgingly hand it over.

Crossing the room, you kneel down to dig through the provided box of props, immediately spotting and slipping on a cat-eared headband. You glance up at the screen, eyes widening as you realize he’s searching through Epik High songs. “Do Love Love Love!”

When you look back at him, Yoongi is squinting at you, laughing a little at your new set of ears. “What the fuck do you know about Epik High?”

“What do you mean what the fuck do I know?” you snap back. “I love them! I should be asking you that question, Mr. ‘I don’t listen to music’!”

His mouth pulls into a grin, his tongue toying at the inside of his cheek. “I have a few exceptions, alright?”

Still knelt down, you flop sideways onto the floor when he selects Born Hater. “Ugh, I’m too drunk to say that many words.”

“I got this,” Yoongi reassures you, flipping his microphone coolly with one hand as he gets to his feet. You can’t help giggling dumbly from your spot on the ground as you drunkenly prop your feet on the booth and reach up to pull your high heels off.

If there’s one thing tonight has taught you, it’s that Yoongi has a really good voice, even raw and live and drunk as hell. You don’t know why it surprises you, but it does. To you, performing seems like a different world from writing and producing tracks, but he does it just as effortlessly, with no trace of the anxiety you’ve seen grip him in a crowded room. The passion in the way he growls and gasps out lyrics, even just in the way he moves, it’s all undeniable and exhilarating to watch. He raps like he has nothing left to lose, mouth pulled into a snarl, occasionally reaching up to push his sweaty hair back off his forehead.

You can only gaze up at him, awestruck, wondering how many different versions of Min Yoongi you have left to discover until you hit the bottom.

The two of you trade the controller back and forth until every bottle on the table is empty, until the words blur on the screen, until Yoongi flops over to lay down in the booth with his head hanging off the edge, clearly exhausted. “No more,” he groans. “I’m so tired. And so drunk.”

Hovering above him, you pry the controller from his grip with a smile, slipping the cat ears onto his head for an even exchange. And then you get an idea.

“Last song!” you assure him as you type, and he groans even louder when Cat & Dog starts to play.

“God, this song is terrible,” Yoongi complains, but you’re singing too loud to care about his critiques.

With a severe amount of effort, he pulls himself to a sitting position, and you kneel down in front of him, miming cat paws with your hands and wiggling your hips. “I didn’t know you were into petplay,” he deadpans, and you stick your tongue out, determined not to let him ruin your fun.

You get to your feet and turn toward the screen as the second chorus finishes, yelling over your shoulder, “This is my favorite part!”

“Feel like Cinderella naega byeonae—”

When Yoongi’s voice suddenly reverberates from the other microphone, you almost drop yours. You whip around in complete disbelief. He’s on his feet and moving towards you as he continues the rap verse, the inarguable best part, with a renewed cocky energy. And you have to admit, he’s putting Yeonjun to shame.

“What the fuck!” you practically scream, but he just keeps going.

Seized by full-body drunk laughter, you stumble forward and nearly fall over, knocking into his chest. Though Yoongi’s reflexes are a little delayed, he still manages to right you without missing a word, one arm hooking around your waist. You swallow hard as you suddenly find yourself intimately close to the broad sweep of his collarbone, exposed between the top buttons of his shirt that came undone at some point during your debaucherous evening.

Fumbling for your microphone, you make it back to reality in time for the final chorus, only to fall entirely to pieces when Yoongi starts barking at full volume to match the outro. You can’t take it, and he’s not fast enough to keep you upright, so you drop straight down to the floor on hands and knees, laughing so hard it feels like your lungs might give out.

The microphone rolls dejectedly out of your grasp as you flop over onto your back, and you scrub your hands down your face, trying desperately to catch your breath as the song fades out.

“That was the best thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life,” you mumble into your palms. You uncover your face to look up at Yoongi, only to find him laughing down at you, still wearing the fucking cat headband. “I thought you hated that song.”

He rolls his eyes despite his smile. “Yeah, well, it was also stuck in my head for like a week after you played it that one night.”

You sit up with a dramatic glare. “Oh, you mean the night you stole my fucking keys?”

A proud smirk flickers over his mouth. “You know, I am sorry about that. Or at least sorry I couldn’t see the look on your face when you realized.” He tosses his microphone onto the booth bench next to his abandoned suit jacket, then reaches down with both hands to pull you to your feet. It belatedly occurs to you that you might’ve left his tie at the last bar, but you’re too drunk to give it another thought.

“I hate you so much,” you say, though you can’t quite keep your expression serious. “Fuck, I should’ve taken a video. Could’ve used it for blackmail.”

Yoongi’s voice is lower when he speaks again, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close to you he is, the fact that his hands are still closed over yours. “Guess you’re the only one who’ll ever know.”

“Mmm,” you hum, swaying a little where you stand. His palms slip to your waist to keep you steady as you blink up at him, and your hands flatten against his chest, your fingertips tracing over the buttons of his shirt. “You look good in cat ears.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi murmurs, and then his mouth is on yours.

Your hands reach up to tangle in his long dark hair, knocking the headband to the floor, and with the amount of alcohol currently coursing through your system, you don’t have a single inhibition left in you. You kiss Yoongi like you can’t fucking breathe without him.

He pulls you as close as he can, until your bodies are flush all the way down, and you don’t ever want it to be any other way. You want it just like this, sucking and nibbling at his bottom lip until his tongue licks your mouth open and you groan into him. Just like this: his palms moving down to grab your ass unapologetically, your grip on his hair tightening, even your teeth knocking together with how drunk and desperate you are for each other. Just like this: two stupid, wildly flawed humans in black tie attire, making out in a Ktown noraebang at two in the morning on a Monday.

The sound of the door opening might as well be a gunshot for how loud it feels, and you just barely manage to jump apart as an employee pokes their head in.

“Hey, we’re closing in five.”

You don’t realize you’re not breathing until you hear the door click shut again, and your gasp for air quickly turns into an overwhelmed, embarrassed laugh. Yoongi groans drunkenly, running a hand through his hair, then sighs out a long exhale, like he’s trying to calm down.

“Come on,” you giggle, still close enough to tug playfully at one of his belt loops. “Let’s get out of here.”

Thankfully a cab is still easy to flag down even this late. The two of you manage to pour yourselves into the backseat and give the driver the name of the hotel. It’s not a terribly long drive, and you watch wide-eyed out the window as the sprawl of Los Angeles rushes by, painted in neon glow and the amber wash of streetlights.

Yoongi slumps against you, and he goes quiet for so long you think he might be asleep. When he finally shifts again, he presses his face into your shoulder with a noise of discomfort, and you’re suddenly worried he might be silent for a very different reason.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice low. “Don’t puke in the cab.”

“Stupid,” he responds, and you figure he must not be doing that bad if he can still talk.

You run your fingers through the soft, dark strands of his hair, admiring the texture, the way it’s nearly long enough now to graze his shoulders. “What’s stupid?”

“I’m—” he tries, but the car dips over a pothole, and he’s talking so quietly you lose the rest.

“You’re what?”

It’s quiet for a moment, save for the click of the turn signal.

“In love with you.”

His words stun you where you sit, and you have no idea what to do, say, think. You just keep twining your fingers through his hair, like you’re stuck on auto-pilot, distantly aware that every alarm bell in your inebriated brain is going off. It feels like way too much to try and process any of it right now. It feels like a trap.

“We can talk about this tomorrow,” you finally answer. Yoongi just stays slumped against you, and he doesn’t say another word.

The cab drops you off at the hotel, and it’s quiet between the two of you as you get him up to the room. You feel like you’re watching yourself from a distance, and it’s like your brain isn’t processing any of this as really happening, as if to keep you from thinking too hard about the big picture. From what it all could mean.

In the bathroom, you stand over the sink as you lend Yoongi your makeup remover and you both brush your teeth.

“Contacts,” you remind him through a mouthful of toothpaste when he spits out the last of his, and he nods sleepily.

“You don’t have to… administrate me all the time,” Yoongi slurs as he carefully slips one lens and then the other out of his eyes.

You spit out your own toothpaste, then sigh as you rinse the sink clean. “Well, you’re very drunk, and it’s my fault.”

“It was fun,” he says quietly, fumbling the case closed.

“It was,” you echo. “Really.”

The bathroom door is half-open on its sliding track, and you glance up in the mirror to see Yoongi hovering in the threshold, looking back at you as you wipe away stray traces of mascara from under your eyes. You think he’s going to leave, but then he steps in behind you again, and you feel his hand slide up the small of your back to ease the zipper of your dress open.

Something in your heart twists as you stare down at the marble counter, and you can already tell this isn’t meant to be flirtatious. That thought is confirmed when you finally look up, only to find yourself left entirely alone.

With a small sigh, you slide the bathroom door shut, then flip the switch to turn on the fan. The white noise still doesn’t feel like enough, so you run the shower as well, then grab a plastic water bottle from the counter to chug. You retreat into the far corner with your phone, scrolling until you find the name of the only person who can possibly help you right now.

“Hey babe,” Jimin answers on the third ring. “I’m at rehearsal so I really can’t chat. You good?”

“Yoongi said he loves me,” you answer immediately, and the reality of it hits you impossibly hard as soon as you say it out loud.

“Uh-oh.”

“But,” you lean back until your head knocks against the wall. “He’s drunk as shit. I— we are drunk as shit.”

There’s a pause, and you swear you hear Jimin laugh a little under his breath. “He really said it, huh?”

“Yes, Jimin,” you groan. “In love.”

“And?”

You grimace at the flippant response from your supposed best friend. “What do you mean and?! What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Well, that depends,” Jimin starts.

“On?” you snap, impatient.

“Have you realized you’re in love with him yet? ‘Cause if I have to hear you babble on about this man for another week without piecing it together, I really might lose it.”

His words actually make your stomach churn. “Jimin!”

“I—” he sounds like he’s preparing to explain himself, but then he pauses, and his voice is quieter when he speaks again. “Fuck, I’m getting yelled at. I gotta go. Call me tomorrow.”

You want to scream at him to stay, to help, that he can’t just unravel you like this and then leave you to figure it out for yourself. “Mochi, I’m on the fucking plane tomorrow—”

“I’ll come over when you get home!” Jimin interrupts. “And then you can tell me the entire story of you two finally figuring out how to be normal humans with feelings.” You scoff at his biting remark, but he’s already talking over you. “You’re smart, you got this, I love you!”

You hear him blow a dramatic kiss into the speaker, and then the line goes dead.

The world spins around you as you stare helplessly at the silent black screen of your phone, and you can’t shove it all down anymore. It’s overwhelming, all of the things that you’re feeling in this moment, so much so that you can’t even identify what you feel. It’s just a giant, tangled mess, in your brain and in your heart. The tears spill out like you’ve been holding them in for weeks, hard and fast, until you can scarcely catch your breath. You scrub at the first few that roll down your cheeks, but they continue relentlessly, and you eventually give up and just let it all pour out.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, crying on the bathroom floor. You can’t even really explain why you’re crying, except that everything inside of you feels like too much to handle.

There’s a dull ache in your head by the time you finally manage to cry yourself dry, and then you peel yourself off the floor to slip out of your dress and shut off the shower. You pull on the tank top and sleep shorts you’d grabbed earlier from the bedroom, trying to avoid your swollen face in the mirror as you turn the lights out and shut the door behind you.

Yoongi has left the lamp on your bedside on, and you immediately flip it off to plunge the room into darkness, not wanting him to see you like this. He stirs slightly when you slip under the covers, and you can feel the mattress shift as he turns over.

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his arm slides over your stomach to pull your body flush to his, and his lips brush at the join of your neck and shoulder. As confusing as it should be, there’s something about the weight of him pressed into you that relaxes you, even through your current haze of emotion. You allow yourself to sink back against him, to breathe deeper, though your inhales are still a little shaky.

Yoongi’s rough voice in your ear pulls you up from the edge of sleep. “Did I fuck everything up?”

You sniff softly, and your own reply is barely more than a whisper. “No, Yoongi, it’s okay. Let’s just sleep."

As you hear him settle in beside you again, you make a promise that you’ll deal with the fallout tomorrow. You’ll figure out how you really feel, and how he does, and what you want, and what the hell you’re supposed to do about it all. But tonight, you just want this: to lay here with Yoongi and pretend your entire world isn’t about to change when you wake up.

chapter eight | masterlist | chapter ten

A/N: oh hiiiiii, super secret bonus author's note down here!!! just wanted to share that, now that we're officially through the grammys, that means we are down to just two more chapters left in the series!!! i held off confirming the full length of LDOMLT until we got to this point (and honestly i could've easily split this into two chapters but i am NICE and i did not give you the WORST CLIFFHANGER OF ALL TIME LMAO) - but now i'm sure. chapter 11 will be the final one. gonna do my best to get 10 and 11 up before end of year, or by very early 2023 at the latest!!! and thank u, as always, for reading 💜💜💜

#yoongi smut #yoongi angst #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #bts x reader #look down on me like that

1K notes · View notes

stuckinapril · 2 months

Note

Literally annoying as shit *someone makes a good point about how big events like award shows are used to distract from a violent attack* *random person on the internet * “oh so you’re saying I shouldn’t SLEEP now?! I’m not allowed to eat and take CARE of myself? How DARE you!” I am banging my head against a brick wall as we speak, I can’t.

Betting my MONEY on that person being American bc the relatability factor always has been & continues to be such a major issue here. Americans do literally think in terms of “I’m not Palestinian so why should I care” “I’m not Arab so this isn’t really my concern” “ok but do you expect me to just STOP MY LIFE???” and this entitlement ends up breeding actual disbelief for the idea that others could care about other people despite not suffering the same problems or hailing from the same backgrounds. Their recourse is either to shame you for it or get defensive for their own indifference. Its such a tired pattern

(Also worthy to add that it’s not just rooted in relatability and hyperindividualism and a lot of these people are in fact simply anti Arab racist lmao)

#I also did not wanna mention this bc not everyone needs to have this background to care for Palestine #But when it comes to Arab countries Iraq has quite literally been destroyed by the US and the US continues exploiting it to this day #No one needs to have that kind of connection to care about Palestine but I find it genuinely hilarious the anon didn’t infer that ofc I’d #Care so vehemently about the liberation of literal Arab people as an Arab girl #And especially an Iraqi one #Iraq itself is no stranger to imperialism / undue occupation.#They were basically invalidating that too but it’s par for the course for people like this #I wanna say they didn’t know ab the Iraqi War but i think they did #i genuinely just think they lack critical thinking skills

39 notes · View notes

falconcoast · 1 year

Note

Tighnari will be that one student who might scold you for doing something wrong (like for an experiment or activity) but they're just worried for your well being. He helps you do it correctly after that and will probably hug you to show that he's not angry 🥺🥹

college au iii | tighnari x reader

masterlist

tighnari shows his affection in roundabout ways, including in the chemistry lab.

a/n: GUYS IM SORRYYYY i was playing enstars aggressively these last few days (why can i not get a full combo on melody in the dark) anyways take this !! i had to literally get my chem notebooks from last year out to look for a lab we did LMAO

warnings: a lil bit of yelling and chemistry (in more ways than one HAHA there is literally an entire experiment in this fic)

after missing class for a few days because of a sickness, you were stuck in the laboratory after classes had ended. tighnari, ever the sweet friend, offered to help you complete your lab report for your chemistry class.

the way tighnari went about the experiment was much more organized than you could have ever done yourself. each of the materials were lined up in a neat row. the beaker with water was filled as accurately as possible, and even the pens you didn’t use were discarded into a clean line.

“cut about half a centimeter of the solid potassium and set it aside. it should weigh about one gram,” he read aloud, crossing his legs after reading out the instructions. you did as he told, slicing a little bit off of the bigger piece of metal.

“okay, now what?” you asked.

“now, place the metal into into the water and watch the reaction. make sure that your goggles are secure!”

you adjusted your glasses, pulling them over your forehead so tightly that you were sure it would leave a mark later. snapping your pair of gloves once more, you picked up the metal and dropped it into the water.

the reaction was certainly not what you expected. it started off as a small, pink fire consuming the top of the metal. it sparked slightly, specks of fire bouncing off of the glass beaker and falling into the water. as you went to go write down the reaction in your notebook, tighnari spoke up quickly.

“hold on, that’s too much—!” he started before grabbing your arm and pulling you close to his chest. his arms held the back of your head firmly, and your arms clung to his lab-coat. his heart beat was rapidly slamming against the walls of his chest.

before you could even respond, a loud bang! echoed throughout the empty lab and the beaker let out a soft sizzling noise. a minor amount of smoke fogged up the walls of the glass. at the bottom of the container was a bright pink and transparent liquid.

after a deep breath in, your best friend relaxed the tension in his arms. “that was too much potassium!” he scolded, letting you go in favor of placing his hands on his hips. pointing at the remaining potassium, you realized that only the gram of the metal was left. “you dropped nearly ten grams of it into the the beaker. the farther down the periodic table the alkali metals go, the more likely it will cause a violent explosion and ignite when hitting water. my archons, what were you thinking?!”

ducking your head down in red-hot embarrassment, your lips turned downwards. “i’m really sorry, tighnari! i swear i didn’t mean to put in the bigger metal!” you apologized, cheeks burning. “it won’t happen again and i was too careless. i’m sorry!”

after a soft sigh, tighnari stood and wrapped you up into his arms. “no, it’s not your fault. you’re still coming back from that illness after all. i should have offered to put it in for you,” he breathed. his scent of lavender and basil brought you some comfort as you reciprocated the action. “and i’m sorry for yelling at you. i was concerned.”

after a moment, he turned his head and looked away from you. curiously, you tilted your head. “tighnari?” you asked. looking at him, you realized that he had reddened cheeks and a troubled expression. patting his soft ears, you smiled. “aww, are you too proud to admit you worry for my safety? that’s real cute, ‘nari.”

with an even more embarrassed expression, he removed himself from your arms. “no, that’s not it. i was just thinking about how much work it would have been if i had to bring you to the infirmary is all.”

“yeah, yeah, keep saying that!” you laughed. casting a look at the pink liquid, you sheepishly scratched the back of your neck. “i, uh, guess we have to redo this whole thing now.”

shaking his head, he smiled. “no, i won’t make you redo your work. it ends up the same anyways. potassium being stable requires it to give away one more valence electron. oxygen in water can take that electron, and thus, the products are potassium hydroxide and h2 gas. the heat produced from the reaction is so strong that it ignites the flammable h2 gas, and creates an explosion like the one you just caused.”

“none of those words made sense, but i’m just gonna take your word for it!” you shrugged, writing it down in your lab notebook.

“in return of not making you redo this experiment, i have a request,” he spoke up as you wrote away.

“yeah? i’m all ears.”

picking up the pink liquid and preparing for its disposal, he smiled. “well, i get to choose what we have tonight. i wanted to try a new boba place down the street. i think it’s a new branch from a liyue franchise.”

“you know what? i would usually argue about mondstadt hash browns, but boba sounds good,” you replied happily.

“and i also want that mushroom special from the restaurant down the street from here.”

“again?! that’s the fourth time we’ve had something with mushrooms in the last week!”

y/n: i hate having mushrooms everyday

tighnari: i really don’t give a shit

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact imagines #tighnari x reader #genshin tighnari x reader

277 notes · View notes

beevean · 5 months

Note

2, 3 and 6 for Sonic and Tails? ^-^

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

pairing him with amy in advance 3. he goes nyoom and he has a hammer :3

^ this is what we call peak

More seriously, his character arc in the SA1. Half of his campaign is literally copied from Sonic's, because Tails is just following in his shadows: he races against Sonic because he feels like he has to catch up to him and surpass him. Then he realizes that no, he owes Sonic a lot but he doesn't need Sonic, and when Eggman has one of the scariest breakdowns in the series, Tails gains the courage to save Station Square by himself. The fact that it's playable makes it more impacting, and makes me forgive the actual gameplay issues lmao.

3. Least favorite canon thing about this character?

"THEN I'M WILDLY INCONSISTENT!!!"

that's not. that's not how people talk. that's how the internet talks. this fucking line makes me want to bang my head on the wall.

6. What's something you have in common with this character?

We're introverted, bookish, shy and insecure ^^'

#sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #thanks for the question ^^

19 notes · View notes

shadowsight-aster · 6 months

Note

I feel like despite being the more romantically awkward of the two Wilbur is also the one who goes "haha oh wow your hands are so much bigger than mine!" To cellbit just to Touch Hands. Cellbit thinks nothing of it. Roier is screaming on the inside and biting around on furniture to not lose it. Richas probably thinks its really funny honestly lmao (also ur art is the CUTEST btw)

wilbur: yknow, i...really like hanging out with you, cellbit. you're a lot...sweeter? than people make you out to be. cellbit: oh. i. like...hanging out with you too. and i think you're also...really nice. (prolonged eye contact) ......... wilbur: in a friend way. in a strictly platonic friend way! cellbit: oh yeah mhm. yep. i love my husband and my husband only. roier, banging his head against walls: UGHGHGHGHHHHHHHHH

(ALSO THANK YOU SM) (that means a lot coming from an artist like you!!! your art is literally so. ohhhh i gotta do laps around my room it's so silly /vvpos)

#qsmp #jeb's thought jail #honeyduo #tetrisduo #guapoduo #spiderbitbur #qsmp roier #qsmp cellbit #qsmp wilbur

15 notes · View notes

iraprince · 1 year

Note

hello!! your art tips were amazing and really helped me a lot, thank you for those <3 i just wanted to ask: do you have any advice for staying in the zone of suckiness… like when i draw something it’s never really what i wanted to come out but i know i gotta just keep going but i hate when it looks bad and it makes me not want to draw anymore 😭 just wondering if you’ve got any tips for how to power through that stuff 🙏

so, this one is really hard and i think it's an issue that u just have to kind of grapple with every time case-by-case (or at least it is for me...) bc on one hand, u will have more fun and progress more if u learn to push through/care less about those feelings, but also sometimes if u really are banging your head against a wall and it is straight up Not Fun the best thing u can do is let yourself fuck off and do something else for a while. my challenge is always finding the balance between those two options, or just learning to tell the difference, bc u don't want to be giving up every time u hit resistance and calling it "self care" but also beating urself up and dragging urself thru the gauntlet on principle isn't good either lol.

i think the thing that has helped me the most consistently is just trying to mentally lower the stakes. if you try to soften the emotional aspect of it, and put less weight on everything, it gets a lot easier to be chill about it. this involves a lot of asking myself "so what?", lmao.

"ugh this looks like SHIT, if i post this everyone is gonna think i'm some idiot who can't actually draw-" okay, so what.

"i've tried to draw this panel four times and i'm still not happy with it. i have to move on or i won't finish, but i know this panel is going to bother me every time i look at it!" yeah. so what.

"i thought i was doing well but then i zoomed out and the whole thing looks really weird and off-balance--" so what!!!! so what!!!! is someone going to die. am i killing someone. is my weird-looking art going to ruin someone's day. do i have some kind of sacred duty to sit here and hate it and redraw it over and over until i looks better. or is it, like, literally just not that serious.

and the thing is it IS serious in a lot of ways -- i've said this before, but the reason art (or any creative endeavor) gets so emotionally heightened is bc like, you give a shit about what you do!!! you care!!! you want it to look good, you want to be proud of what u put time and effort into, and you want people to like it and connect with it! that's the most normal thing in the world and we can't get rid of those feelings. but it's also not helping anyone, least of all yourself, to be so heavily impacted by those feelings that falling short of your own expectations is like, actually distressing. so for me soothing myself in the face of self-criticism by going "yeah, sure, you're right, this doesn't look the way i want it to -- but that's Okay. it's Fine for it to look kind of shitty. nothing bad is going to happen." has been pretty effective. i hope it can help you too!

56 notes · View notes

heather-ouo · 2 years

Note

*Ehem*

Enemies to lovers troupe with Vill V and f!reader, but it's also a villain x amnesiac!heroine 👀

lemme try clearing it, Vill V and Y/N were once childhood friends, due to some accident (let's say a sudden honkai attack) Y/N was hospitalised and forgot some memories including her time with Vill-V and all. Rumors spreads wide and reached Vill-V ears that Y/N is dead (which is a false rumor). And she went Otto mode, like she went the Villain way even tho there's a better option.

And then boom, Vill-V and Y/N met again in a battlefield, Y/N sensing familiarity yet couldn't tell why and Vill-V there looking at Y/N in tears.

and the rest is for you to decide LMAO I HOPE THIS MAKES SENSE, literally wrote all of this at 11pm 😭

~ your lesbian neighbor

History repeats itself but different

(Villain! Vill-V x amnesiac! GN! Reader) old era

Do not bring your brain when reading fanfiction because some don't make sense, cuz is fanfics logic.

Warning!: Fluff -> Angst ->Fluff, short scene of dumping dead bodies, no proofread ( this thing make me loss three days of brain cells )

Things to remind

“ name ” -> Vill-V personality

(R/m) -> random name

(C/n) -> code name

——————————————————————————————————

Masterlist

——————————————————————————————————

Vill-V stares at the battlefield unfold before her, all thanks to the strange core she found on the other day giving Vill-V the power to control the beast she once was against.

Those grey pink eyes lost its shine on the same day she lost you, letting the kind and friendly Vill-V buried in dust replace with the Villain Vill-V, well looks like our main Vill-V is gone.

Let’s take this camera back in time.

. . .

. .

Year: ####

“ Villy I knew I would find you here! ” The (h/c) said with a smile when they swung the door open causing one of her creations to drop on the floor and you winced at the sound.

‘ Villy ’ that's the nickname you give her when the two of you first meet.

“ (Y/n)! Open the door gently please! ” Vill-V yells from the deeper part of the room.

Every time you budge into her workplace Vill-V purposely places one of her failed creations beside the door where it will fall off when the door bangs /slams against the wall, Saving her time to unscrew the part, letting it fall apart.

“ Sorry! I will clean it up in no time! ” You yelled back as you grabbed the broom behind the door.

A few minutes after you carry all the parts and dump it in the box full of metal and material goods.

The (h/c) walk to the working table where Vill-V is busy drawing the draft and you make yourself comfortable sitting on the table.

“ There we go! Now Villy.. ” you grab the pen from her hand followed by Vill-V look at you with a slightly annoying face which you smirk at her reaction every time you take the pen.

“ It’s time to touch some grass! ” ( and so do you * pointing you all who’s in front of the screen* )

The (h/c) put the pen away and grab Vill-V’s hand only resulting in her gripping on the door frame tightly while you try to pry her off it.

“ Come on Villy! You need some break here and there! ”

“ NOOOO! MY TOOLS! MY CREATIO——-MMM?! ”

Simple way of cutting someone off,

Is by kissing them right on the lips.

“ N-Now sh-hush my dear-est m-magician. ( 〃▽〃) ” Vill-V swore to god she saw steams coming from your head while dragging her away.

I must say.. that kiss is very sweet, did (y/n) eat candies behind my back again? Back in that time I was the one who’s supposed to be embarrassed instead you were red as a tomato while dragging me out…

. .

. . .

“ Ugh… stay in there rabbit! You can't ruin my show like that! ”

A Child Vill-V sitting on the grass while trying to stuff a small rabbit in her hat which didn't work out as she let the rabbit jump away.

Her parents were proud when Vill-V showed her liking towards magicians and machinists, they cleaned out a workplace in their backyard for Vill-V which he spent most of her time there.

It was not long before her parents' friends came along with you, entering her life bringing a new shine though her daily life since your parents moved beside Vill-V’s parents house.

An energetic yet a little clumsy person you are.

“ Villy!~ woaaa—-! ” Surprisingly the (h/c) did not see the small rock while skipping their way to Vill-V and tripped on it.

Now we have a human ball rolling down the small hill aiming Vill-V who did not heard you called out for her until she heard someone screaming which found you rolling straight at her.

“ WHAT IN THE—- ”

——

“ So that’s why you two have wounds huh? ” Vill-V’s mother said as she was taking care of the wound of the both of you who crashed into spiky bushes due to the accidents.

“ Im sorry Mrs. V… I wasn’t looking.. ” You apologized to her mother.

“ It’s alright dear, also your parents agreed for you to stay overnight here. ”

“ Really!? ” you suddenly lean over the chair causing you to almost fall over if isn’t for Vill-V to pull your back by your shirt/dress or you would facepalm the ground for the second time.

“ You really need to be more careful (y/n)... ” Vill-V looks at you with a worried face while you chuckle at her words.

. . .

. .

In short when the Honkai breakout happened in your city few people survive and that includes you and Vill-V who joined the Firemoths, one become the soldier and other become a machinist due to her ability.

Today was your second mission hunting down a herrscher, all gears are ready and your teammates… were some asshole getting all the credits left you in the dust, currently on the helicopter a few minutes before landing.

“ Let’s get this over.. You need to ask Vill-V out for a date after. ” you mumbled while tightening the parachute for landing and grab the Abyss flower which you have been approved to be the user.

* BOOMMM! *

The sound when thunder strikes the plane and explodes at the same time, the doors are open leaving you with one choice while the helicopter is falling and your teammates are knocked out.

The (h/c) jump out and just before they open the parachute another attack is thrown at them, thanks to the falling speed you were unhurt.

After safely landing you quickly speak to the walkie talkie.

“ This Is (c/n) I have found the herrscher! In (city name) center! My teammates are killed in action! I repeat! A herrscher is sighted in (city name) center! Over! ”

Few minutes of silent before Kevin’s voice beez

“ This Is Kevin, My teammates and I are near the center, we have found (c/n) teammates and the pilot’s bodies, get yourself cover (c/n), Out. ”

The (h/c) quickly run into some rundown buildings and start to take care of their wounds from the explosion.

“ This is Dr.Mei, (c/n) do you see what power the herrscher is associated with? Over. ”

“ Is something with purple light just like thunder, over. ”

Suddenly the building starts to break down due to the herrscher hearing voices and deciding to bury you, now with still having the radio on everyone heard your screaming as you are being buried and the walkie talkie was crushed a few seconds after.

. .

. . .

“ Hey hey (r/m), have you heard the news ? ”

“ What news? ”

“ The news of the sixteenth team was wiped out during the hunt for Herrscher of thunder. ��

“ That? I heard from the thirty sixth team that they heard the screaming of the last member before they died. ”

“ The teams that were sent out were a little traumatized when they got back. ” When they spotted Vill-V staring at them, they quickly get far away from her workplace.

It’s only been two hours after Kevin and the teams got back, she kept hearing the sixteenth team being wiped out news all over the base while having her head buried in creation and herrscher cores.

Strange..

Very strange

Usually when you return from your mission, the (h/c) would immediately drag her out of the workplace for some fresh air and ignore her injuries all the time.

Vill-V hates the sinking feeling that gets bigger and bigger as the time passes by. She caught a few people who’s talking about the sixteenth team and asked them what happened.

They give her a sympathetic look before spills about what they know and the last line caught her off.

“ The Sixteenth team…... one of them was named (c/n). ”

“ Are you an idiot? (c/n) is (y/n)! ” The person beside them quickly corrected and Vill-V widened her eyes.

“ Ah yea (c/n) is (y/n), Yea so…..” they turned around to Vill-V who was gone.

Vill-V walks back to her workplace, remembering she secretly hid a life detector in your uniform which she stopped checking after you managed to get back to her every time alive.

She slams the door open and searches every inch of the workplace and finally finds a phone size monitor,

“ Why is it broken at the worst time?! ” Vill-V grinds her teeth, her patience starts to loosen.

“ Hey Main, let me try to fix it. ” “Expert” voice echoing through her mind, right she usually leaves the machine stuff to her so maybe..

——

All the Vill-Vs stare at the monitor not wanting to believe the results it's showing.

Her childhood friend is confirmed dead.

The last detection was four hours ago.. and the detector is marked destroyed.

“ Expert” throws the monitor on the ground in anger, every Vill-Vs feels that they are sinking in an ocean and can’t breathe with regrets eating them up.

Vill-V quickly takes control back and locks the door slowly, leans down and hugs her knees, she feels a lump form in her throat as she slowly breathes in… out.. and in again.

Within a few minutes tears blinding her sight and slid down from her face, looking down a bit Vill-V spotted a dity gold gift box under the table beside, your birthday gift which she forgot to open.

Inside she finds a teddy bear with a mini hat like hers and a birthday letter.

What a fool she is.

. . .

. .

The blonde girl dumped a few bodies on top piles of dead ones, she cleaned up the blood on her hands before heading back to the new base.

She requested to move to another moth base to help them grow in weaponry stuff which the higher up agreed but before she left Vill-V took some of your personal belongings like clothes you frequently wear and your hair brush.

“Mad” carefully extract the DNA from the clothes and you know the rest, none of them works nor having a conscious.

“Mad” was the previous Vill-V. She jailed other Vill-Vs except “ Pride” and “Expert ”.

( Pride was the one In ER that tries to trap Mei in her conscious in chapter 31 i think .. or is it 30? )

——

Turning our attention to you

——

The (h/c) woke up to see white clean ceiling yet they had a strange urge to get up from the bed and ran off to somewhere.

You held out your hand in the air and the bandages caught you off, they don’t remember being injured or something, curiously you sit up and unwrap the bandages to find scars all over it.

“ (Y/n)….” You look over to see a purple haired woman wearing a lab coat followed by a whited haired male who seems to want to place a hand on the purple haired shoulder but quickly pulls back.

“ It’s no use Mei.. ”

Suddenly a transporter who’s carrying a large amount of concrete into the training room brake hard causing all to fall on the floor.

The sound brings you back to some run down building when it suddenly crumbles burying you alive and you saw purple lighting.

Right… you were on a mission and what..?

‘ (Y/n)! Look at me! ” the scene around you changes to normal with Mei shaking your shoulder.

“ waaaaa….. st..op…sha…king mmeeeee! ” You grab her hands.

“ Sorry.. you’ve been staring blankly at the window for six minutes and I got a little worried. ”

“ Ha ha very funny to shake me like that. ” Forget about the problem in your hand, the trio went out for some food.

You sighed as you walked In the hallway of gods knows where but when you pass by a workplace the strange yet familiar feeling makes you open the door to find no one but some metal and machine parts.

‘ Weird..’ you thought to yourself as you closed the door and continued wondering your way to the cafe.

Little do you know, that workplace belongs to Vill-V.

. . .

. .

Back to the battlefield.

Honkai beasts fight against the Firemoths as they try to make their way to the new base where “ Mad ” falsely reported being taken over and trapped.

The beasts over number the remaining humans thought they are winning the battle but it was not until a familiar voice shouted through the battle.

“ I am the black that devours everything! ” “Mad” scans through the crowd to find the owner of the voice.

“ I am the white that gave birth to everything! ” The (h/c) rise the Abyss flower above their head, the silver parts reflected the sun giving a shine which caught “ Mad ” attention instantly.

“ Before the birth of the world, I existed after the annihilation! ” She can’t believe it… You are alive!

“ Abyss flower second edition! BANISH BLOOM! ” Right you finish a white flash blinding the battle.

After the light dies down a large number of Honkai were wiped out leaving few higher class alive and you one knee kneeling on the ground burned out using the abyss flower.

Vill-V chuckled as tears fell from her face, she turned her back to the battle and walked back to the base then she went to the workplace destroying every little evidence of her trying to bring you back alive.

Before she puts on her act, all the honkai beasts are everywhere in the base and the herrscher that’s once in her control has broken free to start destroying the base.

Vill-V leans on the door and a smile forms on her face while tears fall down.

What a fool is she to believe some shitty rumours, but at least she gets to see you again.

——————————————————————————————————

Masterlist

——————————————————————————————————

Friendly warning: don’t start a rumour unless you are getting something from it. :)

#Ouo’s request #Ouo’s ask #Ouo and moots #honkai impact #honkai fanfics #honkai x reader #honkai impact x reader #Vill-V x reader #Villain! Vill-V #Amnesia! Reader

87 notes · View notes

corpsoir · 2 years

Text

lmao since i wrote this i have completely changed their story, she doesnt die this is old dont worry about it if you stumble upon this

guh okay. please know i'm not at all used to writing fiction in any of my languages lol i'm only used to writing academically in swedish but. well. also, i learned sailing in swedish so if i have gotten my terms wrong here its because i literally dont know what they are in english and had to google a lot lol but i think they should be right. smileeessss

anyways here's a dumb little story about skagen och solvei the day they found out solvei is dying.

its roughly 1.5k words long. the little painting above is related to the story, its also based on a photo i took :) have you ever been out sailing when the sky looks like that? its very spooky but also very cool and beautiful. i love the sea

edit: forgot to mention but!! theres a scene with a panic attack here at the end so be aware of that

A chilling gale whips salty water into Skagen’s eyes. It could very well be tears; he finds it difficult to know today. He blinks and decides it doesn’t matter anyway, and lets his eyes follow a seagull struggling against the harsh gale; a small white speck against the clouds so intensely dark blue they almost appear black. Maybe taking the boat out was a stupid decision after all, they should’ve stayed home and acted more mature, talked to their parents about all this. About their emotions, what the future would look like, what their parents could do to help them. Maybe make plans to talk to a therapist together or something, that’s what you’re supposed to do when life comes to fuck you over right?

But he doesn’t want that. Solvei doesn’t want that. He wants to scream, break things. He wants to set sail in a storm and run away from reality. He doesn’t want to hear his parents or Solvei’s parents tell them that “things will be a little bit different now”.

No, fuck that. They're just kids. The world is unfair, unfair, unfair.

He’s not letting a stupid test result from some equally stupid doctor change their lives like this.

The black storm cloud above him seeps into his mind and he imagines himself as that seagull, being devoured by it. Lost, cold, and scared. The sun is smothered by it, and he can’t get out. Solvei is sitting next to him, and she’s dying. Is her head filled with storm clouds too?

”… – even listening to me? You’re drifting off again!” Solvei pushes him aside and yanks the tiller from him to adjust their course. He hadn’t even noticed the sails starting to wave restlessly in the wind.

“What? Oh it’s fine, I’m still here. I was just thinking, sorry,” he turns and locks eyes with Solvei, who looks like she’s about to lecture him on keeping an eye on the sails, but as she opens her mouth to do so she pauses. A crease forms between her eyebrows.

“I meant the boat, Skagen,” she says.

Skagen wipes the salt from his eyes, clears his throat. Maybe the wind wasn’t to blame; perhaps they were tears after all. But the sun in front of him breaks through the clouds in his mind, letting him land in the relative safety of his boat again.

“Right. The boat. About that, I think we should lower the foresail, I don’t think we need all of it in this wind.” They pass a small skerry occupied by a flock of black cormorants drying their wings to no avail; a wall of rain is quickly approaching, soaking the birds as well as the humans in their boat. Skagen squints against the rain, as the wind picks up speed and whips his bangs into his eyes.

“Ow! Fuck, okay no, let’s just… Is there any fuel left in the motor? Let’s use that instead, I don’t want to capsize this thing, mum spent too much money on it…” he mumbles as he’s rubbing his eyes. After fumbling around in the pockets of his favourite trousers he produces a hair tie to tame the blue-green mess of a hair with.

A ghost of a smile tugs on Solvei’s lips as she’s watching him; Skagen looks up just in time to catch it. The storm clouds of his mind are further pushed away by the sun.

Solvei turns to watch the sails strain, fabric taut in the force of the gale. The wires on the boat are howling in the wind.

“Well, you take the tiller and I’ll get the sails sorted. Keep the course straight this time, no sudden gybe, I’m not in the mood for a swim right now.” She stands up from the cockpit and carefully crawls up to lower the sails. After struggling against the wind – ever growing in intensity – she haphazardly shoves the sails into the small deckhouse of the boat. They will have to fold them properly at another time.

Solvei sits down next to him and starts the motor. “Do you even know where we’re going? Do we have a plan here?” The motor splutters and coughs before running smoothly and pushing them forward.

Skagen blinks the last of the discomfort from his eyes and shrugs. “I just wanted to get away from home, I wasn’t really thinking… We could turn back home if you want to, the weather is pretty shit,” he sighs and instantly feels that cloud form in his mind again.

“It’s fine, we’ll go back when we feel like it. Don’t worry about it, we’re not too far away from the nearest island anyway,” she reassures him.

Skagen only nods. He doesn’t really want to turn home yet, but the last thing he would want to do is keep Solvei out here in the dark, on the sea against her will. And it’s growing really dark now, isn’t it? The howling wind and the waves throwing themselves onto the boat are usually calming, but now it’s just white noise. He can’t feel his face, he blames the wind for making him numb. But he knows it’s not to blame, not really.

Mentally he’s still stuck in Solvei’s kitchen, both her and his parents there with them, the adults trying their best to keep a straight face while they delivered the news. They might as well have punched a hole through his chest. Something inside him tells him he should probably feel a little bit bad about throwing a mug on the wall and breaking it, but for some reason he just can’t feel bad for it. He can’t feel anything.

The motor spits and splutters to a halt and Skagen is ripped back to reality again. Solvei has turned the motor off and grabs Skagen’s free hand.

“Solvei? The motor…” he trails off without really knowing what else to say. There’s salt on his face. The sea is not to blame this time either. Solvei squeezes his hand and stares at the black cormorants shuffling around on the rocks.

“I don’t want to die.” It’s almost a whisper; the roar of the sea, wind and rain is doing it’s best to drown it out, but he hears it.

And that whisper is the droplet that makes the dams break. The clouds inside his head detonate into a raging storm in the blink of an eye. That seagull he was imagining himself as is struck by a thousand lightning bolts, it falls from the sky and gets devoured by the boiling sea below it.

One second, he thinks he’s probably overreacting, it was just a couple of words, don’t be a baby.

The next second he imagines his life without his best friend by his side, and it utterly breaks him. It feels like being split in two and the other half being tossed to the fish never to be seen again.

His body goes completely numb and the roar of the sea grows louder and louder until all he can hear is the blood pumping in his ears.

Is it the rocking of the boat or is he really floating away, drowning? Is it all in his head or did the boat finally capsize?

Something deep in his cloudy, stormy mind decides that he does not care about the answer. He thinks he hears the growl of a motor, or maybe it’s just the wind. He tastes salty water, hears himself sob as if listening to himself through a wall. Skagen doesn’t know for how long he’s drowning in the storm, but at some point, the rocking stops.

And at some point, his body comes back to him. Slowly at first, and then reality floods his senses all at once. The smell of fresh laundry and hot chocolate. Hair tickling his nose and someone’s breath in his face. Hesitantly, he opens his eyes to find himself home, tucked into his bed with Solvei clinging to him. He’s wearing a hoodie and pajama trousers, completely different from the cargo shorts, crop top and life vest he set out with earlier. Really stupid outfit to wear in a storm, what was he thinking? He’s still so cold.

With a sigh he closes his eyes again. When people say they’re exhausted, he usually imagines it as a bit extra sleepy. But now he gets it, this is a kind of tired he’s never felt before. It feels like his body and mind have been put through a meat grinder and been assembled again using nothing but a cotton thread. Do people really expect you to function and go about as normal when you feel like this?

Solvei is fast asleep in front of him. Alive and breathing. Skagen can’t stop the words “not for long though” forming in his mind.

When he drifts off again, he dreams of a black sky with no sun. A seagull floats upside down on the surface of the sea.

There’s salt on his face.

#uuuhhhhh im not tagging this anything smart though #this is my little space where i yell and freak out and feel weird and insecure #banging my head in the wall ANYWAYS i love my little scrunglies skagen and solvei #i named this file kuling btw. it means gale #ANYWAAAYYYYY cant believe i wrote something HSAJKFA #skagen gipp #solvei stiltje #corps ocs #corps art

55 notes · View notes

bunnypig18 · 2 years

Text

Make it up to You

Stray Kids/Ateez fic for @skzseasons Hot Dom Summer Event! Prompt: Dom!Skz (AO3 Link) Relationship: Bang Chan/Choi San Tags: NSFW, Dom!Chan, Sub!San, Choking, Mild Verbal Humiliation, Daddy Kink, Hand Jobs, Teasing, Begging Word Count: 2.4k Summary: Chan feels bad for ruining San's cardigan. San knows how Chan can make it up to him. A/N: My Stray Kids/Ateez agenda prevails!!! And of course it's with Chan again, cause Chan is just really shippable with literally anyone and everyone. I have thought a lot about Kingdom recently, so this is after the sports event where Chan stretched San's cardigan by hanging onto it for dear life lmao Honestly, I'm not very happy with how it turned out. It really is just them being horny af, but yeet yeet, I'm still happy I wrote it Pls enjoy!! Comments and Reblogs are as aways appreciated~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I really am sorry about the cardigan," Chan said, frown growing deeper.

San huffed in amusement and waved his hand.

"Don't worry about it! You can make it up to me!"

"Right. I can buy you a new one?"

Humming thoughtfully, San swayed from side to side, hands crossed on his back. With his advantage in height and broad shoulders, San simply was bigger most of the time. It was these rare moments like now when he acted all giddy and shy that he felt smaller compared to Chan. He liked that feeling. If Chan had any idea what he was doing, was another question, always so polite and nice.

But San had noticed the glances. He knew about Chan watching his fancams from Changbin. San wished Chan knew what he was doing to the younger and did it on purpose.

"I don't need a new one."

"No? I can…buy you something else?"

San sighed and leaned back against the wall. Chan stepped closer, curiosity peeking behind the guilt that filled his pretty eyes. So bright and yet sharp, an innocent predator.

San smiled.

"I know a lot of fun ways to make it up to me."

"Maybe I can…buy you food?"

San huffed, pursing his lips into pout. Usually his sultry voice was enough to get the other party to understand his intentions, but either San had been wrong or Chan was just dense. Or maybe something else - too sweet to ever consider that his junior could ask something like this from him. It had to be. No way San had been wrong about all the glances and comments.

He had to know.

"Hyung-"

San grabbed the front of Chan's black t-shirt and pulled him even closer, close enough that San could see the way Chan's pupils dilated. His pout curled into a smirk and he tilted his head, blinking - hopefully - in a cute way.

"-think about it. What fun things could two men do in their free time together?"

"I…I don't…"

"You know, hyung."

Chan visibly swallowed. For just a moment, his eyes darted downward. San stuck out the tip of his tongue, licking over his bottom lip, and Chan's eyes widened a little more.

"I- San, I don't-" Chan swallowed again and glanced back up.

"Was I wrong, hyung?"

"About what?"

Heat creeped into San's cheeks and his grip loosened on Chan's shirt, but he still clung to that little bit of hope. So he ignored the blooming shame of possibly being wrong and pouted again.

"Hyung!" he whined, "Don't make me say it!"

"San, I really don't know what you mean."

And Chan looked so damn sincere about it all. San groaned and stomped his foot once, arms wiggling, jolting the older man a little in the process.

"Hyung, please!"

"You can tell me," Chan said, voice growing lower as he leaned in, until it was only a whisper, "I won't judge, baby."

A shudder chased down San's spine. He couldn't help the whimper slipping his lips. The corners of Chan's mouth quirked up for a second.

He knew. He fucking knew and he was playing with San. It was literally everything San could have asked for.

"Need-"

San shifted against the wall and a sudden hand slammed right next to his head, stilling him instantly.

"Come on, baby," Chan drew even closer, their breaths mingling hot between them, "tell daddy what you need."

San outright moaned at that. His cock twitched and he squeezed his thighs together. Chan smirked, chuckling lowly, the sound crawling under San's skin. He gripped the man's shirt tighter and thin fingers curled around his wrist. Chan moved closer and closer, crowding San against the wall until he was caught between it and a firm chest.

San took a shaky breath, eyelids fluttering.

"Daddy, please…" he whispered, his mind already reeling with arousal.

Chan's cock pressed right against his and even through the layers of tight pants, San could tell the older man was just as affected. And he was also big. San couldn't help but roll his hips, squeezing his eyes shut as it chased heat through his whole body. He dropped his head back, legs shaky, and he clumsily repeated the motion.

An embarrassing squeak slipped his tongue as a firm hand snapped shut around his jaw. He blinked against the blur of pleasure and met Chan's eyes, both an abyss of something primal. San shuddered and his cock throbbed.

"You need to tell me, baby, or daddy can't help you."

"I need you, daddy! Need your dick!"

Chan cocked his head and blew gently over San's lips in a mockery of a kiss. An evil smirk curled his lips as San whimpered.

"Say please~"

"Daddy!"

Chan shook his head and leaned back a little. San immediately tried to chase after him, but the hand around his jaw slipped deeper, curling its bony fingers around his throat. With just enough pressure that San gasped, but could still breath fine, the hand effectively pinned him to the wall.

"Come on, baby, I know you can say it."

San pouted again, lips opening to protest, but the words died on his tongue as the fingers squeezed. His mouth fell open around a soft moan and Chan huffed in amusement.

"I could probably get you to come just like that, couldn't I?"

Chan drew closer again, brushing past San's face and pressing his lips against his ear instead.

"I just keep calling you baby and choke you a little and you cream your pants like a teenage boy touching a boob for the first time."

San whimpered and shifted, cock painfully straining against the zipper, but Chan had moved his hips away, leaving San to hump the air. He squeezed his eyes shut and wrapped a hand around Chan's wrist near his throat, the grip loose, and San wasn't sure if he was begging Chan to stop or continue. All he knew was that he was enjoying this.

"Baby-"

San cracked an eye open at the softness lacing Chan's voice. It also sparked in his expression, mixing with a hint of concern and hunger.

"Can you tell daddy what you want?"

Nodding a little against the restraints, San licked his lips, blinking until he could properly look at Chan.

"I want you, daddy. Please…"

"What do you want exactly?"

"Everything, please…Everything you want to give me…"

Chan smiled almost sweetly, only the dark depths of his eyes breaking the picture. His hand slipped away from the wall and instead, found their place hooked into the waistband of San's pants. The other hand remained at his throat, occasionally squeezing just the slightest bit, a reminder, a promise, a threat, San couldn't quite decide.

"Do you want daddy to kiss you first?"

"Yes yes yes! Please-"

San gasped as soft lips found his. His eyes fluttered shut and Chan leaned in closer, deepening the touch. Pliant and eager, San opened his mouth and a curious tongue slipped inside. There was no hesitation as it licked into every nook and cranny it could reach, like it was trying to map out the inside of San's mouth.

San moaned sweetly and dug his fingers into Chan's biceps. A low groan slipped the older man's lips. San gripped tighter, nails digging harder, and he swallowed another noise from Chan. Eager for more, San clawed higher, like trying to rip through the shirt, until his nails scratched along Chan's shoulder blades. They pressed close again and their clothed cocks rubbed together, eliciting another moan from San.

Both gasped as they pulled apart, chests heaving. San's heart threatened to beat right out his torso, legs outright shaking and he was sure that only the hand around his throat kept him from falling. His lips tingled, like burned from hot coffee, tasting of the sour candy Chan had eaten right before.

Fingers tugged at San's pants, pulling his attention back to the moment.

"Want daddy to touch you now?" Chan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Can you fuck me? Please?"

"So impatient, baby…"

"Please! I need-"

San gasped, eyes growing wide. The fingers around his throat tightened again and San bucked his hips, but was slammed back against the wall by Chan's other hand.

"You need what daddy gives you," Chan whispered right against San's lips.

Another whine slipped, choked out between meek attempts of taking a breath. The fingers loosened and he gasped, coughing and heaving, shaking all over. Tears stung in the corners of his eyes and a brief spark of concern crossed Chan's expression. San was quick to kill it by moaning, hips shifting against the hand holding them down.

"You're so cute, baby. So eager."

Chan leaned back a little and let his eyes wander up and down San's body. The heat in San's face grew into a burn, on the edge of uncomfortable. He blinked and tears dripped down his cheeks, too hot against his skin. A hint of salt filled his mouth as he inhaled shakily.

Chan hooked his fingers back into the waistband of San's pants, tugging and brushing skin with hard knuckles and sharp nails. Every little touch had San twitching, whimpers and incoherent whines falling from his red bitten lips.

"You want daddy to touch you now?"

San nodded eagerly.

"Use your words, baby."

"Want- want daddy to touch me…"

"Good boy."

San's cock twitched and another thick drop if pre-come soaked the front of his underwear. Any other time, he might have been embarrassed, but all he could think about were the fingers dipping between underwear and skin, ghosting past where he needed it the most. They slipped out and San sighed disappointingly, earning him another quick squeeze around his throat.

The pants button popped open and San was sure his heart was going to follow, the anticipation straining the seams. Slowly, Chan pulled down the zipper, humming thoughtfully.

"Sannie, baby-"

San blinked through the tears and met Chan's eyes.

"-hold your shirt up for me."

"W-what?"

"Just a little, so I can better see."

Swallowing against the shame, San grabbed the edge of his shirt. How many times have Atiny's seen his stomach? And why were his hands still shaking as he lifted the thin cotton? Chan's eyes widened just enough that San noticed and he had to look away or else he would have been consumed by the raw hunger shining in the older man's blown pupils. Fingertips dipped between his muscles, following the lines with the slightest bit of pressure. San tried to hold back his breathing, the movements of his stomach, but it only made it worse.

Chan huffed and soft lips pressed against San's skin, right under his ear. He shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut. As the fingers wandered lower, so did Chan's mouth, exploring the curve of his jaw and along his neck where his other hand tightened its grip. San gasped. Chan swallowed the sound as he kissed San again, tongue licking inside without hesitation.

As their kiss deepened, Chan dropped both his hands to grab San's pants and underwear. Tugging them lower, San's cock sprung free, hard and heavy and drooling excessively.

One hand slipped back up to San's throat. The other curled its thin fingers around the base of his cock and stroked upward, chasing a shudder up San's spine. It ended in another high pitched moan, muffled by Chan's lips and tongue assaulting every inch of San's mouth. He could barely breathe through it all, only getting glimpses of air when Chan bit his bottom lip and pulled at it. More and more tears spilled down his cheeks, his vision a blur, mind a haze.

Chan gathered his pre-come with his fingers, smearing it all along San's shaft. It wasn't as good as lube, but it offered a smooth slide nonetheless as Chan's firm hand stroked up and down the cock. San moaned, rolling his hips, practically fucking Chan's fist. Desperate through the feeling of floating, San clawed at Chan's biceps, nails digging deep, and he hoped against all better judgment that he was leaving marks.

The kiss broke apart and they both gasped. San's moans spilled freely, growing louder and longer with every stroke of Chan's hand. He kept closing his eyes just so open them again, each time shuddering under the dangerous attention from Chan.

"Daddy…daddy…" San whimpered, one hand founding its place around Chan's wrist.

It was enough to make Chan understand what he wanted and his fingers tightened. San's mouth fell open, a thin string of drool dripping from the corner. The grip on his throat slowly cut off any ability to breathe and his moans melted into desperate squeaks and choked gasps.

San's hips stuttered, eyes rolling back. Chan increased his efforts as San's thrusts turned sloppy, stroking him faster, grip smooth and overwhelmingly hot. Soft lips scattered kisses along San's jaw and throat. Here and there, sharp teeth brushed skin, each time chasing shivers down his spine. The heat in his guts outright burned him, growing and filling every bit of his inside until it overflowed.

With one last clumsy thrust, San stilled. Immediately, the hand loosened around his throat and he moaned shamelessly loud as his come spilled all over Chan's fingers. They kept stroking him through it all, milking him of every drop into overstimulation.

San whimpered and slipped down the wall a little, shaking from head to toe. The last bit of orgasm haze numbed every nerve and he didn't realize Chan was moving until he was pulled into a tight hug, strong arms securely wrapped around his waist. San released a shaky breath and buried his face in Chan's neck, breathing in deeply the natural musk that had him almost ready for another round.

"Sannie," Chan whispered with the sweetest voice, "are you okay?"

San meekly nodded, fingers twisting in Chan's shirt for any kind of support. He was gently moved to the floor, where he stretched out his legs and leaned back against the wall, but he didn't quite let go of Chan. A smile decorated Chan's face as their eyes met and San couldn't help but return it.

"Are you really okay?"

"Yep. Better than I could ever be, hyung."

Chan chuckled and shuffled over the floor, taking a seat beside San. He wrapped an arm around San's shoulders and tugged him even closer.

"You don't think it can get any better?"

San perked up at that, invisible dog ears twitching. Chan leaned in closer until his hot breath ghosted along San's lips.

"It can always get better…"

"And you know how, don't you, baby?" Chan whispered, smile curling into a smirk.

"Oh I know, hyung~"

#stray kids #ateez #fanfiction #bang chan #choi san #san #!s week #stray kids fanfiction #ateez fanfiction #bang chan fanfiction #choi san fanfiction #smut #stray kids smut #ateez smut #bang chan smut #choi san smut #bang chan x choi san #chan x san

61 notes · View notes

lastoneout · 2 years

Note

Ok, let's weigh the options here:

1) Ingo knows Cyllene and Lav are together, sad he can't get with either/both, and doesn't once pick up that they're trying to come on to him.

2) Ingo DOESN'T realize they're together and has a crisis over crushing on both, torn as how to proceed (not realizing the obvious third option) and is simultaneously crushed and elated to find out they're together

3) Ingo never picks up them being together OR his slow inclusion to the Polycule. We're talking him living and going on dates with both then turning around go 'What, no we're not dating, what gave you that idea?', full Himbo maneuver

4) NONE of them realize they're attracted to each other and knowingly make moves, yet still end up together. They'll be standing at the alter before going 'wait I think I LIKE-LIKE them!'

3 adults, 1 1/2 braincell ♥️

Sjfkfls pour one out for Ingo he has no IDEA what's going on lmao

god that last one the rip everyone around them sitting there banging their head against the wall like "you guys...pls....I can't do it I can't you're all so dumb..."

Tho I am always a fan of the full himbo maneuver just cuz it's hilarious(and also sort of how my fiance and I got together in a weird way). Like it's been months Cyllene and Lav are full on being casually affectionate, they eat lunch together, hang out all the time, ect. and he just Does Not Get It.

And he keeps not getting it until he's around like Akari and they are talking about them like

Ingo: It's nice to have such kind, supportive friends.

Akari: Friends? But...wait hold on you guys are all dating, right??

Ingo: No, whatever gave you that idea?

Akari: You guys spend literally ALL of your time together? The Professor sits like super close to you when you hang out? I mean I saw Cyllene smile at you the other day! The only person she used to smile at was the Professor and they're married so I just assumed-

Ingo: They're married!?

And Akari just sighs as she realizes that her weird uncle friend is a disaster himbo and she's gonna have to spend the next however long unraveling the ridiculous yet adorable romantic mess he's ended up in somehow. Which does involve the crisis of "wait I like them oh no they're married :(" which ends with Akari verbally strangling Lav and Cyllene for not Talking To Ingo About This.

Everyone ends up happy in the end ofc but the multiple 0 braincell moves are enough to qualify anyone around them for a vacation lmao

#trainsetshipping #they are dumb of ass ur honor and I love them

59 notes · View notes

misswoozi · 2 years

Note

Oh my god I think I’ve got it OKAY so you know how hoshi and doyoung are like best friends? And doyoung and jeno have this weird soulmate energy going on. So what I’m thinking is one night doyoung asks the two of them out for drinks, and the three of them get a little drunk, a little tipsy. After a few hours of solid banter (that doyoung is instigating), they decide to head home, but doyoung has to go meet his brother for smth (idk lol but he LEAVES is the point) and hoshi and jeno decide to take a cab together to their respective residences bc they live in the same neighborhood. They’re both sitting in the back of the cab when jeno “innocently” puts his hand on hoshi’s thigh and begins to massage him. Hoshi looks at him but let’s him keep going, until he’s breathing heavy and he’s like hmmm maybe I shouldn’t go home by myself lol so hoshi asks jeno if he wants to come over, and jeno nods readily. They get into the elevator of the apt building eventually and jeno immediately pushes hoshi against the wall and they start heavily making out, and then they finally make it to hoshi’s apt and they. well. they fuck lol

Damn that was long lmao

MY GOOD FRIEND, MINA-LOVE, YOU LITERALLY ALWAYS BRING ME THE BEST SCENARIOS

guys? dolls? friends? pals? THIS IS WHAT I MEAN when I say that I love porn with a plot. Pls take notes because this is everything to me. Stories that explain WHY these two people are banging? that's what this dumb blog is about

ANYWAY i love this. Jeno IS bold. he would absolutely start with Hoshi right there in the back of the cab.

MY QUESTION TO YOU IS NOW: Are we talking about top!Jeno when they fuck later on?

#love this #thank you!#favorite #nct smut #seventeen smut #jeno smut #hoshi smut

25 notes · View notes

thesungod · 10 months

Note

i still cant believe they did will like that. like why did he just get bullied and harassed so fucking badly man. and why did No One take accountability for that. iirc the birds that kidnapped him never got killed, and will is on the verge of tears apologizing for asking how they grow plants without the sun and also under the belief he’s gonna get abandoned in tartarus meanwhile nico is like five seconds away from telling will to khs like oh my god leave him alone 😭 he’s being stupid can’t you just communicate that instead of subtly getting mad at him without telling him whats wrong. the writers do all that but then present will as someone with no issues and trauma at all too like girl he’s literally getting traumatized, just not by whatever’s going on in tartarus. TSATS!will needs to run FAR far away from TSATS!nico. TOA!solangelo is my best friend now i’m holding them precious in my hands knowing what will become of them. oh the horrors.

okay first of all this ask is hilarious.

second of all i must say i don’t completely agree. while i didn’t enjoy the constant arguing and disliked the way nico felt outright mean a couple of times (the scene where he makes will sob lives in my brain rent free. holy guacamole), it was an interesting choice and made them fleshed out as characters and as a couple. clearly the lack of communication, while annoying, was written intentionally and i can respect that.

it did make the book less enjoyable to me and to you, but it’s a writing choice that i can’t berate because at the end of the day it’s valid. not every relationship is all sunshine and roses and if that’s how rick sees solangelo, then that’s that.

do i mourn their ToA selves? yes lmao honestly. they felt fun and natural. but to be fair we were seeing only a 10% of them, and it was from apollo’s perspective.

the reasons i disliked the book mostly regard the plot points and the writing. which are atrocious, i’m sorry. also nico in general was done big disservices.

but yeah, while i occasionally banged my head against the wall and thought “WHY THE HELL ARE YOU TWO EVEN TOGETHER” i do see where rick and mark were going with all that. it felt a bit heavy ended at places if you know what i mean (Will pretty much spells out that they had communication issues at the end lol) and a bit too much as if the authors were trying to teach the reader a lesson about relationships instead of just letting the plot flow, but the conflict itself wasn’t a bad idea.

i even liked it!! i did like the scene where will sobs and thinks nico is gonna abandon him because it felt real. and nico was a bit of an asshole throughout so i had predicted will was gonna break at some point.

he did deserve an apology in the end, in my opinion, but many readers feel like it’s the other way around so who knows. i’ve noticed ToA fans seem to be mostly on Will’s side while people who are neutral/didn’t particularly like/didn’t read ToA are mostly on Nico’s. so that’s fun.

#teamWill

#ask

6 notes · View notes

aestherians · 2 years

Note

Banging my head against the wall because how do they not get the point that KFF are literally not in the community, they aren't otherkin and they say so themselves, so therefore we couldn't possibly gatekeep them because they themselves say that they aren't otherkin 😭

This discourse is so dumb, it's like if someone were to grab the word "gay" and say that it means "people who only like their opposite gender", and then suddenly people start believing it and ignoring completely what gay actually meant and how it's been used for decades, by a community who's been there for decades as well.

And their argument of "if they are using gay it must be for a reason" yes! your right!! but what is that reason? Are they using the new definition that people rewrote, which doesn't even compare or mean the same word that was original...or are they using the original meaning?

If they are using the original meaning and doing something super different, but they believe the original meaning applies to them, GOOD FOR THEM!! But do they say that the original meaning DOES NOT applie to them and doing something completely different, and also say that the people using the original meaning are delusional?

I hope this is understandable LMAO

-itsmeowmeowtime

I sent an ask about how it would be weird and bad for me, as someone with xenomelia, to impose myself on amputee spaces and terminology, but it seems the ask has been ignored so far. I can't imagine why. My guess is they're so concerned with being anti-gatekeeping they don't want to admit that sometimes words need meanings.

#kinnies

21 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

miss-mountain-laurel

mountain laurel

island-76

That one guy

squidthoughts

my-blogger-2023

Bloger2029

pitoframbling

Den of Madness