#speaker podium

[citizen-card]

depictions of the national convention session of 9 thermidor

#frev #semi unrelated but does the president of the convention sit at the high bit above the speakers podium? #maximilien robespierre

[kopimoss]

coming out of the woodworks to crash the local suburban prom night~

#not that I cared about doing this anyway because its very american thing BUT #it was soooooooo broken #lasted like 2 in game hours so just like #a flash... #it was really boring and half of it was taken up by the speaker just... standing at the podium doing nothing #so I decided to set it on fire >:) #surprisingly that triggered her to start announcing the winners lmao #olive was Not Impressed by this strange ritual event #the social bunny pop up was so funny gkhfkghfkgh #ts4 #the sims 4 #ts4 edits #sims 4 screenshots #my edits #sims 4 legacy #sims 4 #sims 4 gameplay

[katiajewelbox]

Sharing my research on aphid-plant interactions at Rothamsted Research on this date 5 years ago! It was a great honour to present my work to the distinguished audience of international experts in plant biology.  

Photo credit: Professor Colin Turnbull

#katia #research #conference #plantscience #plantbiology #botany #presentation #presentationskills #aphids #aphid #insects #conference #slideshow #womeninscience #WomenInSTEM #presenter #Medicago #rothamsted #uk #imperialcollegelondon

#katia plant scientist #scientists #scientist #science #biology #biologist #conference #Presentation #presentations #presentation skills #Public Speaking #science communication #plant biology #botany #talks #speaker #podium #medicago #aphids #agriculture #uk #scientific community #professionalism #academia #women in academia #women in stem #women in science

[madamspeaker]

Speaker Nancy Pelosi (13th September, 2022)

#nancy pelosi #madam speaker #every time i see her behind that podium i wonder #she could never have managed to get elected on a nation wide ballot but christ she would have been amazing at the job #there was a moment in 2019 when myself and the wapo allowed ourselves to wonder about the idea of trump resigning and pence

[thehmn]

I finally got to watch Viften (Empire) and it’s such a fascinating movie. It was written by Anna Neye who also plays Anna Heegaard, a rich free black woman who’s dating the Danish governor of the island.

It’s sold as an absurdist comedy and I think there’s no other way to describe it. There aren’t any real jokes but you often end up laughing at the absurdity of it all.

It’s extremely honest about the horrors Danes put the black population through but thankfully it only shows it in quick flashes of art as seen in the trailer. I once watched a video where they explained why most women aren’t into slasher movies and why black people generally don’t rewatch movies about racism and slavery. It’s because the the horrors shown are very real fears and a fact of life so the only people who can really enjoy watching a woman get horribly murdered as entertaining are men and only white people can watch a black person getting whipped to death with cinematic lighting and have a fun night out. By showing the horrors in art they get to be clear about exactly what is going on without coming off as exploitative.

But it’s also very honest about the ways a society based on slavery fucks with everyone. Most of the servants at the manor are slaves except the cook who bought her own freedom years ago. She tells the housekeeper Petrine that some day she too will be able to buy her freedom and get her own slave. That’s right, the freed black people aspire to get their own slaves because that’s the sort of values a society like this instills in people. And Anna tries to be as nice as possible to her own slaves but doesn’t take her own success for granted and is more afraid of an uprising than her white lover and ends up doing some really horrible things to her slaves to keep them down.

It also touches on how people viewed being black or white back then. That it wasn’t all about skin colour but also status. That’s why all the white people treat Anna as one of them. She’s a rich, educated lady so of course she’s “white”. Even Anna express contempt at being called black because she doesn’t work in the field. The poor freed black people also call Petrine white because she dress and acts like a Dane. Not as in “you are pretending to be white” but as in you are white.

And hats off to the director Frederikke Aspöck. There’s a scene where a woman buys her freedom and they put on a symbolic slave auction where she gets up on the podium and bids on herself. All the white neighbors have come to witness it because it’s seen as this joyous day and they all clap, she’s offered to drink with them and she’s all smiles. The director managed to make the scene wholesome while highlighting the absurdity of it and all you can do is chuckle because what the fuck? The white people think it’s a good thing that she’s free but continue to keep and mistreat their own slaves, and she no doubt dreams of getting her own down the road. It’s very much depicted as institutionalized racism and not just “a few bad eggs”.

And I didn’t know where to put this but there’s a lot of interesting symbolism going on with Anna’s dresses. She always wears dresses that match the colors of the rooms she’s in, establishing her as fully part of the system, but as she begins to realize that the Danish state will never see her as fully equal her colors start to clash with her surroundings.

I watched it on Netflix and it has English subtitles so it should be somewhere for English speakers to watch if you feel so inclined.

#viften #empire #movie #history #Youtube

[sreegs]

SHIVERS [Legendary: Success] — Before you stands an inflatable pool filled with plastic balls. Despite being referred to as a "pit", it's quite shallow. Currently inhabited by a handful of young denizens, members of a social network, faces painted to look like characters from a story about teenagers who bring about the end of the old world and start anew.

YOU — What else do I see?

SHIVERS — It's flanked by an inflatable castle. The fans used to keep these structures erect fill the conference hall with an ominous drone, washing out the conversations around you. You can make out an utterance about shipping, but it's evident none of these people are involved in freight. Occasionally, a shoe squeaking on the concrete floor pierces the drone. You feel insignificant, and out of place here.

YOU — Embrace the cold.

SHIVERS — Further outward, you can sense rooms partitioned for speaker panels and lectures. Rows of empty chairs facing a podium, soon to be the stage for a one act tragedy. The anticipation of throngs of guests has uncoiled into an underwhelming sadness. The heroes and storytellers the people have been promised will not be making an appearance.

SHIVERS — At the hotel desk, a small calamity is brewing into a storm. A debt must be paid, and quickly, before the people taking part in this little experiment are expelled into the rain.

YOU — Where am I?

SHIVERS — Even further out, you see the building you are within. A cement and steel structure surrounded by acres of wet asphalt, just off the I 90. You are in Schaumberg. You are at Dashcon. You have one more hour in the pit.

#disco elysium #dashcon #tumblr #original content

[theemporium]

What about 🧸 and Charles Leclerc ? Literally whatever you desire, maybe featuring his family or other drivers?

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

“I’m going to cry.”

“Charles—”

“Look at him, mon amour! He looks so cute!”

The Monaco Grand Prix was important for every driver due to its history and nostalgia, but it meant so much more to Charles. Ever since he was a child, he dreamed of racing on the streets he grew up on. He dreamed of being in a car, hearing crowds scream his name as he crossed the finish line. He dreamed of standing on the top step of the podium and holding the trophy in the air proudly at his home race. 

The Monaco Grand Prix meant everything to him, and it meant everything to him to have the people he cared about most there with him. He wouldn’t dream of racing without having his friends and family and biggest support systems by his side. It was what truly helped him and motivated him through the day. 

With you, that circle extended. And now, it extended once more when little Matteo Leclerc was born. 

It was Charles' dream to have a family. To meet the love of his life, to grow and live with her, to take that step into creating a lovely family together. And Charles knew you were the woman for him when he first met you. He had blurted as much in your face the first time he spoke to you. And now years later, to have the son you both created in his arms, it felt like a full circle moment. 

Yes, the Monaco Grand Prix was always important to Charles but this one was more important than the rest—this was the first time his son was coming to his race, to his own home race.

“I would not have dressed him up like this if I knew you’d get so emotional,” you teased your husband, watching as his eyes welled up as he gently cooed at the giggling boy in his arms. Mattheo was still young, just shy of turning one years old in a few weeks during the summer break.

“Oh hush,” Charles sniffled. “I would have cried anyways, regardless of what he was wearing.”

“So the Red Bull merch would have been too much?” You joked. 

Charles narrowed his eyes. “Don’t say bad words around my son,” he said with his chin held high before he turned to Mattheo, his face softening in seconds as the boy garbled and reached for his father’s face. “My son is a Ferrari fan, through and through.”

“Don’t disown him if you find him in the McLaren garage later,” Arthur piped up, walking towards the two of you with a mischievous grin on his face. “I heard Norris has baby merch waiting to change Matteo into.”

Charles’ hold became more protective of his son. “Over my dead body.”

You rolled your eyes, lightly hitting Arthur’s arm. “Stop messing with him.”

“But it’s so fun,” Arthur whined in response. 

You snorted. “It is.”

“Ah, ma vie, look at your mama and uncle teaming up on me,” Charles whispered loudly to his son, gently rocking him back and forth as the young boy stared up at his father with eager eyes. “It’s just you and me against the world.”

“Stop turning my son against me or I will let Lando change him into that horrendous orange merch,” you jokingly threatened, trying to bite back your own grin when you saw Charles grinning. 

“I’ll make it up to you later, mon amour,” Charles winked. 

“Aw, bleh! Not in front of my nephew!” Arthur fake gagged, which only seemed to make little Matteo burst into a fit of giggles. “Go get ready before you miss the start of the race! And give me my nephew before you scar the poor boy for life!”

It took ten minutes to convince Charles to let go of Matteo, his heart shattering a little when the young boy became frustrated and fussy after being parted from his father. But you kissed him on the lips, whispering good luck and telling him to return safely to his family on the other side of this race. 

And that was exactly what he did—and more. 

It didn’t even hit him until he was standing on the top step, the national anthem blaring through the speakers as his eyes glanced over the crowd below to find you and Matteo at the front of the crowd. He couldn’t really see you but he knew you were crying, he knew he was probably crying too. 

And little Matteo looked up at him from the crowd, cheering and clapping his hands once he spotted his father and Charles could’ve sworn his life had peaked. This was what he dreamed of long before he realised. To win his home race, to stand on the top step, to see his family waiting for him as he raised the trophy in the air and drowned in champagne sprays before rushing straight towards them.

“Mes amours,” Charles murmured, tears streaming down his face and a grin so wide that nothing would have wiped it off his face as he reached to hold you both.

“Our winner,” you responded, your free hand cupping his cheek to swipe away a few stray tears with your thumb.

“Dada!” Matteo cheered happily, causing both you and Charles to let out laughs of disbelief as your son uttered his first word. 

“Yes,” Charles laughed, nodding his head as he reached for his babbling son. “Me! Dada!” 

“Dada!” Matteo repeated, a gummy grin on his face as he squished his father’s cheeks together, and this time neither of you could stop the tears streaming down your face. 

This was the day Charles had always dreamed of and he had finally achieved it.

.

#cece's slumblurb party #charles leclerc #formula one #f1 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

[assumptionprime]

For Your Consideration

They eventually played me off when I started individually thanking each member of my college improv troupe. (edit: Thanking them for being great friends, not contributing to a tapestry of fear. They’re great people. We have a Monday game night.)

Featuring a guest appearance from Generic Family Member Because I'm Not Picking A Fight With Anyone In Particular.

Twitter / Patreon / Instagram

[Image Description: Comic, 8 panels. Panel 1: Robin looking uninterested/annoyed while a Generic Family Member talks to her. “There was never any hint of this trans stuff when you were growing up.” Panel 2: Robin starts to speak up, “Yeah, because I–” but she is interrupted by a speaker from off-panel, “And the oscar goes to…” Panel 3: Someone in a tux at a podium reading from an envelope “Robin Brooks, for “An Ordinary Cisgender Boy” Panel 4: The two are suddenly seated in a fancy theater and Robin, spontaneously dressed for the red carpet, is getting up from her seat and speaking to Generic Family Member, “Excuse me. I have to take this.” Panel 5: Robin walking up on the stage, an announcer is talking “This is Robin’s first nomination, and first win.” Panel 6: Hollywood man handing the award to Robin and says "Congratulations" she accepts it and responds "Thank you" Panel 7: Robin standing at the podium and giving her speech, “None of this would have been possible without Society, for weaving a tapestry of fear over the idea of being different–” Panel 8: Generic Family Member sitting in their seat and looking pissy “--one that even a child could pick up on and learn to hide uncomfortable parts of themself–”]

#art #comic #trans #transgender #trans stuff

[keerysfreckles]

powerless — MV1

pairing: max verstappen x horner!fem!reader

summary: in which y/n horner gets into a terrible crash during the 2025 bahrain grand prix

warnings: use of y/n and she/her pronouns, cursing, kissing, not proofread, rushed writing

a/n: first f1 fic im scared 😖😖

masterlist !

⋆ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ୨୧ ˚

it was one thing to be an f1 driver for redbull racing. it was a completely other thing to be the daughter of the manager of said f1 team.

to say y/n horner was born into her current position is an understatement. her father, cristian horner, was more than determined to get his eldest daughter into f1 racing. he signed her up as soon as possible for karting when she just turned 8. she excelled through f3 and f2, and now rightfully had an f1 seat alongside max verstappen.

y/n and max got along probably the best out of the entire grid. their interviews together were full of non-stop laugher and red faces, and the duo worked well on the race track. when needed, one would let the other pass to help the team, and vice versa.

today was no different as y/n and max knew their plan for the upcoming race. it was the second to last race of the 2025 season, and redbull racing needed to get a 1-2 podium in order to safely secure the second position in the constructor's championship.

before every race, y/n rushes to give her father a hug. christian kisses the top of her head and wishes her luck moments before she gets into her car. the bright red number 97 was a high contrast against the navy blue paint.

every driver took their starting positon from their quali results. max had gotten pole positon, with lewis hamilton in second, y/n's redbull was in third.

"it's lights out and away we go! we are racing in bahrain," one of the commentators spoke into his headset, his voice blaring over all the speakers.

all 20 cars sped off towards the first corner, without anyone getting into any crashes.

the roaring of engines and both commentator's voices filled the bustling area. fans cheering, and managers and crew members celebrating, at any victories for one's team.

33 laps into the race, and only two drivers have gotten out. george russell after his tires locked up during lap 14, as well as sergio perez after he had an engine failure right after lap 28.

max, lewis and y/n were still the top three drivers of the race, with max leading, only thousands of seconds ahead of lewis.

the three were coming up to a tight turn, making all three cars go tire to tire. max was lucky to get away from the outside. y/n on the other hand wasn't as fortunate.

lewis tried turning his car, trying to make y/n go behind him once again, but he turned gis wheel too hard too fast, crashing his car into the the right side of y/n.

"what the hell is he doing?" cristian wonders out loud, watching one of the many screens in front of him.

y/n loses control of her car, immediately turning into the gravel. her car only spins more before colliding harshly with the wall. her front tires are barely hanging onto her car, the front wing is damaged and the sides of her car are severly smashed in.

"y/n are you okay?" her advisor spoke into his microphone, watching as no movement comes from y/n's car.

christian only worries more as he watches her advisor get no response once again.

"shit, is y/n alright?" max's voice us filled with concern, noticing y/n's car wasn't anywhere on the track behind him.

"safety car is coming around," max's fear only eased slightly at his advisors words.

a red flag is waved at the starting point of the race, causing all cars to slow down immediately. the safety car is quick to go towards y/n, with other crew members running over as well.

once all the drivers were off the track, none of them could tear their eyes away from the screens displaying y/n's car.

max chewed on the edges of his fingernails. he was insanely worried about his teammate and best friend, and he was now regretting never telling her any of his conflicting feelings, because it looks as if she might not make it out of this one.

he kept watching the men in bright orange vests try to get y/n out of the car. he couldn't see if y/n was moving at all, but he could only pray more once he noticed dark smoke coming out of the back of her car.

out of the corner of his eye he saw christian speaking rapidly to everyone around him, worrying for his daughter.

christian stops however, once realizing his other driver is walking – no, running – in the direction of the crash.

"max! what the fuck are you doing?" he yells towards the driver, but max just keeps running.

he doesn't stop, even though his knees are burning and his ankles could barely hold his body up once the smoke turned into fire.

he didn't care at the protests from the crew members, and now two or three firefighters. he was going to get y/n out of that car.

y/n on the other hand, was finally gaining consciousness. her head hit the wall extremely hard, and now she felt nothing but dizzyness, as her eyes blurred and limbs burned.

she turned her head side to side, seeing all the crew members surrounding her smoking car. she signals to them that she's okay, for the most part. she tries helping them, wanting to get out of the hot car as soon as possible.

"i can't get out!" her voice is mumbled in her helmet.

she lifts her arms, but her legs are stuck, crushed in the plastic, rubber and metal.

y/n starts to panic, everything suddenly becomes so loud, and too bright. but one thing catches her eye in the chaos. a dark blue suit.

"max!" she yells, not caring if he truly heard her or not. her breath starts catching in her throat as sudden tears flood her vision.

y/n stops trying to get out of the car as she sits back down in her seat, for three seconds as she takes her helmet off. she throws it somehwere in front of her, and takes off her neck support, and balaclava.

max skids to a stop beside her, and is more than determined to get her out of the car. thankfully the fire has stopped, and now the only problem was how stuck y/n really was.

"max," y/n cries again, her words getting stuck in her throat. she simply grabs onto his arms, silently begging for help.

max tries his hardest to pull y/n out of the car. she assist as best as she can while trying to push with her legs. she moves a little, making other crew members grab her arms, and grab underneath her shoulders.

it's as if a weight is taken off christian horner's shoulders as he watches y/n finally get out of the car. he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, still watching the screen.

max doesn't let y/n go even when both of her feet are on the ground. she can't let go of her teammate either, her nails digging into max's racing suit, but he couldn't care about that.

her legs felt as if they would fall off, and she can't help but fall into max. himself and another crew member lead y/n towards the safety car. the girl leans her head against max's shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent.

max starts to leave in the direction he came, wanting to give y/n some space once she was in the safety car. however his decision changed when he felt a hand grip his wrist.

"stay with me, please," y/n looks up at max, and he knows he can't say no to her, especially not when she was just getting out of a small panic attack.

max adjusts hinself so he's sat next to y/n, and his hand never leaves hers. she rests her head on his shoulder again, and closes her eyes, trying to forget about the immense pain in both of her legs.

once again, christian horner lets out a huge sigh of relief, seeing his daughter walk out of the safety car and slowly make her way towards him. christian holds y/n close to his chest, for as long as possible until two medic workers come by, asking to check on y/n's conditions.

—

y/n sighs once she's layed down onto the small medical bed. she halfway pays attention while one of the workers checked how her legs were, as well as her head. luckily she didn't get a concussion. the only problem was the multiple large bruises already starting to form on her legs. the worker told her it may take a few days until she feels comfortable walking without any assistance.

just as y/n's eyes start to close, she hears the door open. she turns her head, and just becomes confused once she sees max step into the room.

"max?" she tries sitting up, but groans after realizing how much her legs really hurt.

max helps her sit up, and sits on the bed next to her. he laughs slightly as she immediately rests her head on his shoulder for the third time today.

"wait don't you have to be racing right now?" y/n sits up now, facing max with furrowed eyebrows.

"you'd seriously want me to race after seeing what you went through?" max chuckles.

y/n nods, "well, yes! you absolutely love racing. i don't want to be the reason you can't win today's race."

"i can't possibly race while you're in here hurting," max places his hand lightly over y/n's thigh and lightly runs his thumb up and down.

"yeah, but you never quit races," y/n tries again.

max shakes his head, "you're more important than a race y/n."

y/n can't help but feel her heart flutter at his words. she hates the flush feeling rising to her cheeks.

max leans forward and brings his hand to y/n's face, running his fingers lightly over her skin to brush away the few strands of hair that fell in front of her face.

"thank you," y/n's voice fills the silence, "thank you for getting me out of the car. i don't think i could thank you enough honestly."

max kisses y/n's forehead, "i would save you over and over again if it means i get to be next to you afterwards."

y/n smiles at his words, after grabbing his hand that's still on her thigh. she can't help the tears starting to blur her vision again, but max is quick to wipe them away with his thumb after they land on her red cheeks.

even after he wiped her tears, max kept his hand on her cheek. the air in the room suddenly shifted. y/n ran her fingers over max's, only stopping when max moved her face to face his.

before y/n can get any words out, max closes the gap between the two, pushing his lips against her own.

she was surprised at first, but kissed back. his lips felt soft against hers, and it started to deepend slightly before the girl pulled away.

y/n placed her hand against max's chest, "wait, you're not just kissing me because i'm all emotional, and i basically could've died today right?"

max chuckles at y/n's playful words, "no y/n, i'm not just kissing you because i'm youre savior."

"are you sure? bec–"

"stil liefde," shut up love max interrupts before kissing y/n again, and more passionate than before.

#shelbi writes #keerysfreckles #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x female reader #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x fem!reader #horner reader #formula 1 #f1 #formula one #f1 imagine #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen f1 #max verstappen #max verstappen x horner reader #max verstappen fic #f1 fic #formula 1 fic

[peterspinkrobe]

Communion | AU Priest Miguel O’Hara x female Reader

A/N: I commissioned the above Priest Miguel. Ever since the artist sent the sketch, (@ ejpuki on twitter plz go show love!) this story has been a brewin’ in my cranium. I am not a newbie when it comes to fanfic, but a virgin to writing Miguel. Please accept this offering to the mania that is fandom. Feedback is appreciated. I know the tenses are probably all over the place. Part 2 is live!!. Let me know if you’re interested ~~

Warnings: Religious content, parents, dirty-minded reader, no mention of Y/N

As you sat in the middle pew, aisle seats, you fiddled with the dress your mother guilted you into wearing. The hem of the skirt had a little fraying and you couldn’t help but pick at it.

The meddling was met with a small smack on your wrist from your mother.

“Stop! You’re going to make it worse! I know it’s an old dress but it will only look that way if you pick at it.” The sharpness in tone and the lacy lilac dress from high school brought you back to all of the Sunday mornings you’d been ripped from the comfort of your bed to attend church.

Church. Your head was already starting to hurt from the early morning light pouring through the stained glasses windows, but your tried to remain neutral to spare mom.

Your relationship with the Almighty soured not long after your father passed. Faith was hard to come by and the struggles you’d faced recently only strained that even further.

“Sorry, mama.” You say quietly, acting like you’re still twelve and not in your mid twenties.

Ever since you moved back in you’ve had to live under “her rules”. Sunday service is one of those rules. Considering the headache you’ve caused her recently, you ignore your own and do as she asks. It’s only fair.

But church? Last week was your first time back inside a church since leaving for college five years ago. It was the same one you’d been dragged to in your younger years. The same stained pews, same old books of Psalms, same feeling of estrangement despite being surrounded by the same old folks.

Your mom had turned her attention to the lady that lived on our street and you turned your own attention to your fingernails, scraping underneath them for dirt that wasn’t there. You think about how you had dropped the habit until moving back in, but was interrupted by microphone static.

You pulled your gaze to the front of the church and saw Father Steen tapping the microphone. Despite only being five years since you last saw him, the man seemed to have aged decades. His frail frame balanced on the podium as he spoke. You realized why the microphone was needed when he started speaking - amplifying the hushed tone of the elder addressing his congregation.

“Good morning and many blessings to you all this Sunday morning,” he began and you couldn’t help but lower your gaze back to the frayed bit of your dress. His monotone voice was… kinda boring. You hated thinking that way because Father Steen was such a good man and he cared for your mother greatly when dad passed. He was mentioning an upcoming surgery and you were back to picking at your fingernails. His voice eked on through the speakers, “so we will be having a transitional deacon come in to take over my position until I recover. This fine young man has graciously accepted this position as he is working to become a priest himself. Please welcome Mr. O’Hara as he leads us in prayer to begin communion for this month.”

There is respectful applause and your eyes are still on your hands until your mom elbows you gently. You start to apologize again for not paying attention but notice she and her pew neighbor are giggling as they clap. You start to clap your own hands as you look up at what they were giggling like schoolgirls about when your hands freeze in their clapped position - almost like you’re praying.

The deacon that Father Steen introduced was… gorgeous, and he was looking at you. You blushed, embarrassingly, under the gaze of the dark eyes. Could he tell you hadn’t been paying attention?

Well, you most certainly were now.

You pulled your eyes away from him to look at your mother who was wiggling her eyebrows at you, causing you to blush even deeper and turn back to the front.

The first thing you notice about the man standing at the front of the church was his height. He towered over the podium he placed a hand on. Father Steen came up to only just above his elbows with his hunched body.

The eyes that were watching you now surveyed the room and the light from the windows shown dark, warm pools of irises. His face…

Sharp symmetry made up his countenance. Distinct cheekbones bobbing as the smooth bronze skin stretched upwards into a smile. The strong jawline accentuated with the muscles of his lips pulling back, revealing a dazzling toothy smile.

When he spoke for the first time, you understood why your mom cried during Psalms at times. His voice was gospel.

“Thank you, all, for welcoming me into your parish. I know that you have received excellent spiritual guidance from Father Steen. I can only hope to at least partially fill his shoes in his absence.” His voice boomed throughout the church with no need for a microphone. “Before we begin the sacred ritual that is communion, let us bow our heads in prayer.”

The church around you dutifully lowered their heads, and you did the same. Hating closing your eyes to the alluring man in front of the church. At least his voice still filled your ears with song.

“Heavenly Father, we are gathered here today, in your house, in the name of your Son to receive the Body and Blood of Christ…” you decide it won’t be such a terrible sin to sneak a peek during prayer. You lift your head up to catch another glimpse at the ethereal creature leading prayer while he wasn’t looking.

But he was looking. Right at you as he continued to recite, “We are all sinners, and we are all in need of your grace and forgiveness.” You start to think about how much you needed his grace, when you pinch yourself for the blasphemy.

You’re still staring at each other as he finishes, “We pray that You will bless this communion and that it will deepen our relationships with You.” You instantly feel heat in your gut when you wonder just how deep it can go..

You think you see him grin slightly, but he pulls his eyes away from yours and you quickly put your head back down.

“In Your Blessed Name, Amen.” He ends. “Amen”, the church responds in unison and you squeak it out as well.

The first pew stands and approaches the front of the church, choir boys retrieving the communion goods. You notice that there is a split in the line as one is given the small wafer and grape juice shot by Father Steen and the other line the new deacon.

You can’t keep your eyes off him as he offers the sacrament to each person in line. He is taking longer than Father Steen, seeming to ask questions before presenting the body and blood of a savior.

As it came to be your pew’s turn, you stood. With only a few people in front of you, you studied Miguel’s figure in short glances.

Along with being a towering figure, he was a wide one as well. Muscles filled in the long-sleeved black button down shirt. His large upper body tapered off into a slim waist, tucked neatly into dark pants. A belt accentuated the fit waist even further. Your eyes trailed quickly across the thick neck that was accessorized by the all too familiar white collar of priesthood. When you were just behind one more person, your eyes fell to the floor.

Part of you wished you would be on Father Steen’s side as you feel as though you’re about to burst from this proximity of the giant man. He was bent over speaking to an elder of the church, giving her a soft smile as she blessed him for coming to ‘our little church.’

The man in line in front of you stood to Father Steen and the woman was letting Mr. O’Hara go from a sweet embrace.

Thank God, you guessed, for the years of attending communion as your muscle memory tore your legs from their form rooted position at the altar.

You approached the tall figure and your eyes are locked on the lips of the man in front of you. You see them move, hearing nothing but the beating of your heart in your eardrums.

“I-I’m sorry. What?” You sputter the words and heat creeps into your chest and face.

A soft chuckle escapes his full lips and he smiles as he repeats, “What is your name?”

You give it to him. And he says it. The way your name sounds in his music makes you smile up at him. He holds your gaze for a moment before speaking again.

“The Body of Christ.” He extends his hand in an upward position, the white wafer between his index finger and thumb.

You bow your head slightly in reverence of the offering. As you start to pull your head up again, his pinky and ring finger catch under your chin, lifting your face the rest of the way.

You breathe out a small gasp and open your mouth. He seems to mirror the action slightly as his own mouth drops slightly open. You extend your tongue a little as he places the thin wafer onto it.

His gaze is heavy as he watches you take the offering into your mouth. Your breath hitches when he runs his thumb across your pouted bottom lip, catching some saliva with it.

“Amen.” You respond and it’s not until he pulls his hand from your face when you turn to grab a small glass of grape juice. “The Precious Blood.” You hear him say behind you as you bring the glass to your lips, relishing the sweet refreshment.

Your face is red hot as you turn to walk back to your pew, ignoring your mother’s glances as she had already been back to her seat.

The burning in your cheeks is even more fiery as it dawns on you that the whole church saw the exchange. You hope, you pray, that it was perceived as a normal moment between a new Shepard and a member of his flock.

Communion wraps up and Father Steen takes a seat behind the the new head of church as he begins his sermon. The slight pressure of his thumb on your bottom lip created a pool of heat in your belly that wouldn’t go away.

You try to pay attention to the Good Word, you really do, but your mind is other places. Definitely not holy places.

Maybe coming to church won’t be too bad after all…

#miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #priest au #atsv miguel #miguel x you #how do i even tag this #fanfic #spiderverse fanfic

[sexlapis]

hi stella! so i remember rachel mcadams and ryan gosling winning “best kiss” at an award show bc of the notebook and when they go up stage they recreate that kiss ….. so what about actor toji and reader doing it???

OMG?? anon your mind?????????????????!!!!!!

this is the kiss btw !!!!

‘BEST KISS’

౨ৎ actor toji x actress/actor reader

kissing! kissing! kissing!

masterlists

actor!toji masterlist

౨ৎ

the romance film you and toji starred in exceeded everyone’s already high expectations. it became the best performing romance film of the year and one of the most successful films of that same year, period.

but was anyone surprised? not really.

people loved you. people loved toji. people loved you and toji. people loved you and toji together, especially when you were both kissing and fucking in an intense, angsty, emotional-rollercoaster of a romance film.

the public all had their speculations and assumptions about whether you and toji were really together or not, but tonight, after this award show? this very moment erased any doubts in their minds.

it was time to announce the nominees for the (only) category you and toji were nominated for, ‘Best Kiss’.

you turn around and look at toji who is seated behind you and grin toothily at him, giving small claps. he smirks, giving you a sleazy wink.

when the exaggerated, deep voice booms from the speakers, announcing you and toji as nominees and displaying the kiss scene on the vast plasma screen, the crowd grows crazy, chaotic almost - they’re screaming like they’re fucking dying. and that’s when you and toji both know you’ve got this in the bag.

you almost feel bad for the other nominees and at how the crowd essentially goes quiet at their scenes. oh well.

shoko and gojo are there to announce the winners.

“and the ‘best kiss’ goes to…” shoko trails off, building anticipation as gojo opens the card that states the award winner.

“ha! someone’s that’s gonna be cleaning up tonight.” gojo laughs “..toji fushiguro and _____!”

the audience began to shriek before they even got through toji’s whole name.

you and toji look at each other and smile, knowingly. knowing the shit you were both about to cause with what you’re about to do.

standing up languidly, toji places a hand on your back as you two stroll right up to the stage, the crowd deafening you at this point.

the steps lead to a double path in the stage and you and toji part ways temporarily, walking around to be opposite each other.

you unbutton your cardigan and let it drop to the floor, hearing whistles and cheers in the pools of crowds next to you, reaching their hands out and screaming your name.

toji begins fake stretching, jumping up and down like he is about to exercise and you giggle at his antics before making a serious face, gazing at him in mock seduction.

he begins striding towards you across the length of the stage, making a ‘come here’ with a long, thick fingers. and you’re like a magnet, rushing towards him, the audience rising in volume as you two grow closer together.

and then you’re jumping up on him, wrapping your legs around his waist as his roughly smashes his lips onto yours and shoves his tongue into your mouth. you accept it, gleeful with his actions, knowing that people will not stop talking about this moment for weeks.

your hands are tugging at his hair and his large hands cup your ass as you both make the fuck out in front of sea of people, who are now louder than you even thought was possible.

toji bites your bottom lip, sucking gently, before finally pulling away from a kiss that lasted what felt like an eternity.

realising what has just transpired, even though you both planned this, you feel embarrassed. you cover you hot face as toji carried you to the podium, your ears ringing from the nonstop echo of the crowds cheers, jeers, whistles and screams.

toji sets you down on your feet and urges you to speak in the microphone. you huff and puff, not really wanting to talk after that…stunt you just pulled.

“toji!” you growl. “get up here!”

“alright, alright..” toji sighs, picking up the trophy of popcorn and holding it up. “i would just like to say…that it was my pleasure.”

his words make the fans go insane again, some members demanding an encore of that steamy kiss.

sighing, you take you trophy and toji places a sweet kiss on your temple. you both walk away side by side, leaving the chaos of the crowd behind as you go to walk backstage. toji reaches down and swings your fallen cardigan over his shoulder, smiling, clearly smug and satisfied with himself.

he looks down at you and you blink up at him, biting the inside of your cheek. you take in his tight, black top, shamelessly staring at his pecs and thick neck as you walk.

toji notices. and when you look him in the eye again, he winks.

a/n: anon what if i diedddd!!!!😩😩😩😩

#📫.toji #was gnna go to sleep but nah i had to do this #anon ily kisses ur brain #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji crack #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x y/n

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗔𝗬 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗜𝗖 𝗗𝗜𝗘𝗗 - part one — x reader (fluff) “. . . you were close to wining your first world title, until you weren't.”

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests | taglist ) ( next )

The amount of concentration a formula one driver needed was beyond compare. Holding p1 against Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen was consuming every bit of energy strength and concentration you stocked up in your soul.

You were so close to the chequered flag, so close to your first world title. You could hear Arabic commentary over the loud speakers of Abu Dhabi, you could feel your heartbeat in your chest, the adrenaline flowing in your veins and very blood. This would've been it. Your childhood dream. Your life goal.

Highlight the word: would've.

You somehow found yourself upside down on turn 16. Saved by the halo, you watched as your rivals passed you. Your vision was doubled and your body was numb, you didn't even realise that the marshals had already taken you out.

you couldn't feel anymore, you couldn't hear anything, people were moving you around and you could barely stand on your feet, knees buckling several times. Your vision was blurry and disoriented. Your throat hurts.

And of course, everyone's favourite part, you were forgotten. Sitting on the floor of the Porsche garage, alone. You could see the colours and blurbs of people celebrating and hugging, you could hear the muffled and distant noise and music, the cheer and laughter.

From leading every lap to a DNF in less than 30 seconds, you watched Max hug his team and shake hands with other drivers. Even your parents congratulated him, shaking his hands with your father and sharing a quick hug from your mother.

You continued to sit, while everyone left the garage to watch the podium celebration. Wasn't this exactly why you were in this sport in the first place? To be on that very podium, on the highest pedestal, singing your country's anthem as you draped the flag on your shoulders, to hold the trophy up high.

Time passed as you held your head between your knees, sitting in the same spot. You only moved when someone gently took off your helmet gently, pulling off your balaclava.

Was he talking? His voice was muffled and you couldn't see well enough to read his lips. The man gently used his sleeve to wipe your eyes. Free of tears and no longer blurry, you looked at Max.

His lips were pursed as he looked into your eyes. Your hearing slowly came back as he cupped your cheek, pulling you in a hug. You were hesitant to hug back, but you did, finding yourself hugging him tight as sobs started escaping your lips.

Realisation hits you like a truck.

It was over . . .

You lost.

Max stood up, pulling you to your feet with him while he rocked you gently. He pressed your head into his shoulder, turning around so your back would be facing towards any cameras who would try to capture you in your weak moments.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." You repeated over and over. He didn't know why you were apologising but Max let you vent out your feelings. You have been wearing a cool face all weekend despite how nervous and frustrated he could tell you were, you deserved to be let free.

Two days passed and the FiA publicly apologised to you and your team. Marshals had failed to clear all derbies off the track which caused your crash. Although some people were mad about it ( your brand, team and fans definitely were ), and filed complaints, even going to the extent of suing the FiA; you did not care.

You take a plane back to Monaco after receiving a lecture from your father and mother. And you've been laying in your bed with the blinds closed ever since.

The only time you got out of your bed was when there was a ring at your door. You ignored it at first, but it rang two more times ( building up frustration because you were busy not watching your parents' disappointment on tv on loop ).

You slammed the door open, a dark glare being sent to the person who was about to ring the doorbell one more time. Max looked at you from the corner of his eye before lowering his hand away from the bell, looking at you sheepish smile on his face. "You're not wearing pants." He pointed out as he invited himself into your apartment. "I can tell, Max." You chuckled closing the door after him

#‧˚⊹🪴 ଓ :: 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝘀 ‧₊˚⤾ #max verstappen #max #mv1 #mv33 #max x reader #max x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen f1 #max verstappen imagine #formula racing #formula 1 #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 #mv1 x reader #mv33 x reader

[hisunshiine]

—college nights, diner fights | jjk

pairing: waiter!jungkook x waitress!reader au/genre: diner au, e2l, angst, smut, fluff rating: M wc: 9,664 warnings: POV switches (obvious, tho) mentions of domestic abuse and alluded infidelity (parents not pairing), JK's mom has terrible boyfriends and his dad is a petty "Disney" dad, Reader's parents are better but not around often, mentions of Jungkook having to protect his mom from the bad boyfriends, mean teachers, enemiesssssss, triggering middle school memories can be brought up upon reading the banter of middle school JK and reader LOL but also not LOL, swearing, vulgar statements, forced proximity, secret mutual pining, a drunken physical altercation/assault at work (mild), mentions of blood, minor cuts/scrapes, kissing, tattoo tracing SMUT warnings: oral (f receiving), praise an: shoutout to my beta readers @colormepurplex2 @downbad4yoongi @mrsparkjimin18 @peachiilovesot7 for helping me get this thing done in time despite me being on vacation and dragging my feet! thank you all so much for the motivation, for brainstorming, and just all around positive feedback! summary: If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen! You and Jungkook have been enemies for as long as you can remember—elementary school even—and when Seokjin hires him despite knowing this, you have to call a truce during working hours. When an incident at work leads Jungkook, and you, to put things into a different perspective, will the heated diner fights become a passionate college night? Or will it fizzle before it can start?

Bangtanstrology Writing Event hosted by ME of @bangtanwritershq

My Big 3 are: Sun (Member): Gemini- Jungkook, Moon (How They Met): Scorpio- Late Night Diner, Rising (Trope): Libra- Enemies to Lovers

Part 1: Elementary School

Elementary school is supposed to be fun. For you, 11 years old and in the fifth grade, elementary school is perhaps the best time of your life so far. Your dad signed up for career day, and you are excited beyond measure for him to come in and meet with your class to talk about his job.

It’s rare that you get to spend time with your dad, as his job keeps him pretty busy. The fact that he was able to show up today was a miracle in and of itself, but he negotiated presenting first so that he could leave first to get to work. 

“Everyone, please welcome our first parent speaker, Mr. Cha.”

Your classmates applaud as your dad steps forward to the podium in the front center of the classroom and you beam from ear to ear. He looks all spiffy—hair styled well, suit pressed, and shoes shined. 

“Good morning, boys and girls, I am Mr. Cha, and I am here to speak to you about my career. To be honest, I have two jobs,” he pauses as the kids, including you, look at him in both awe and confusion, “I am the father to that little girl right there,” he points to you and you giggle. “That is a full time job all on its own, but for the other time spent working, I am a plastic surgeon.”

You can’t help the pride you feel from your classmates clapping as your dad shares. He talks about the schooling needed to get to his position, shares study tips for the transition to middle and high school, which—while still some time away—will be good to begin practicing even now. 

“You’re so handsome, Mr. Cha! Have you ever had any work done yourself?” one of the students asks during the question time.

“Ah, great question! I have tried some of the treatments that we offer at my clinic, because if I don’t believe in it, why should others have faith in me and the services I offer?” he explains. “I had a colleague of mine fix my deviated nose bridge, which I injured playing basketball in college, and I maintain my skin with various anti-aging treatments as well. It’s important to start taking care of your skin even at this age! Princess, come help me please.” Your dad gestures to you, and you rise from the chair, only a little embarrassed at him using your nickname. “Help me pass these out to your classmates.”

You begin walking around the room, placing the small cardstock printouts on each of your classmates’ desks as your dad continues speaking.

“These are coupons for my office. You can give these to a family member, or if your parents will allow you to come in, we offer a free consultation to check your skin, and a reduced rate for any skin care products or procedures for any of my princess’s classmates and their family.” He wraps up his presentation there, pulling you into him for a side hug as he smiles at your classmates and the other parents waiting in the wings to present. “Thank you for letting me present, I’ve got to run because I have a rhinoplasty scheduled today, and I need to prepare, but I had a lot of fun talking with you all today!” As your dad kisses your forehead, he whispers a quick goodbye as he leaves your classroom. You’ve never felt so proud.

🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️

“Okay, everyone, let’s line up for P.E.,” Ms. Kim directs, and you jump in line with your peers to walk down to the field. Your classroom teacher disappears for his break as Ms. Kim takes over, and thus ensues a battle between your class as you play ‘Capture the Flag’. 

“The rules are simple,” Ms. Kim explains, “a ball is placed on each side of the field in that box.” She points at the four cones creating a safe zone with a kickball inside of it. “Once the game begins, players have to cross the midline into ‘enemy’ territory to try and capture the ball and bring it back to their side. The other team has to stop you from stealing the ball by pulling the flags to remove your waistband—no tackling! Understand?”

“Yes, Ms. Kim!” 

“Good. If your belt is pulled off, you stand off to the side at the cone here, okay? That’s the jail. To rescue your teammates from jail, you have to high five them. You must return to your side before attempting to go after the ball again. Once a player enters the box, they are safe, but they cannot stay in there forever…” 

You tune out Ms. Kim because you already know how to play, and instead busy yourself with wrapping the tan belt around your waist, adjusting the position of the three blue flags hanging from it. The red team moves to their side of the midline, and you stretch your legs idly as you wait for the teacher to blow her whistle. 

🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️

Huffing, you pout as you walk to the jail cone, re-attaching the waistband that your classmate pulled off. He’s put you in jail several times now, almost as if he’s targeting only you during the game. It’s getting a little irritating, since Jeon Jungkook is the fastest boy in the fifth grade, but he’s spending all of his time chasing you instead of helping his team win. Even now, he’s guarding the jail so your best friend can’t come to save you again.

“Dang, JK, you pulled her flag again?” Kim Taehyung snickers loudly as he jogs over to where you’re held captive.

“Can’t let the princess get everything, now can we?” he taunts, a sarcastic tone to his words.

Kim Taehyung, unable to whisper to save his life, leans into Jungkook and asks, “Do you think her dad worked on her face? No way she’s that pretty on her own.”

Your feelings are split between irritated and pleased at the backhanded compliment. 

“She’s not that pretty, it looks more like her dad messed up her face, ‘cause she’s so ugly,” Jungkook counters, and it’s hard to decipher if his cheeks are red from playing or from talking about your looks.

“But, you said last week that she was—”

Ms. Kim’s whistle blows to end the game, and you miss the end of Taehyung’s statement. Walking away from the two fools, you barely get a foot outside of the jail zone when a sharp tug at your waist stops you in your tracks. You look down and see your belt missing, and hear a soft thud a few moments later as it hits the grass in the opposite direction several yards away.

Taehyung is laughing, his large boxy grin behind his hand as Jungkook smirks at you. 

“You lost.”

The two then take off towards where your teacher is collecting the game belts, leaving you to backtrack to get yours.

“What took you so long? Everyone else has already returned to the building. Taking your time  to head back to class is not good sportsmanship.”

“But, Jungkook—”

“No excuses. Hurry up and get inside.”

Jogging back to the building, you get another scolding when you reach the classroom, with your teacher telling you that just because your dad is a surgeon and came for Career Day does not mean you get to behave this way. From the corner of your eye, you watch as Jungkook eats up every second of the scolding, seeming to enjoy the way you wilt as it continues. As you walk back to your seat, you don’t see Jungkook stick out his foot, and you trip loudly as the desks and chairs nearest you clatter and clang as you try to regain your footing.

As the boys snicker at your forced clumsiness, you vow to yourself that Jeon Jungkook is the worst person to exist, and you will hate him for as long as you live. 

Part 2: Middle School

Jungkook’s had a hard week. Chuseok just ended, and he had to spend it with his dad’s family instead of with his mom this year, per their divorce agreement. He’s partially thankful because it allowed him a moment to rest. His hypervigilance with his mom’s new boyfriend is tiring, and his grades are suffering for it. But Jungkook is tired of these men sniffing around for a piece of the ‘supposed’ alimony his mom receives from his dad, because everyone was aware when the CEO of Jeon Industries divorced his wife and married his secretary. Jungkook begged to switch schools, but his parents refused, despite it being reported on several news outlets for a month in sixth grade. 

Eighth grade hasn’t been so bad for him though, no one talks about the divorce anymore, and Jungkook is able to be just Jungkook, known for his athletic abilities and gaming. He was able to guilt his dad into a new gaming computer, since he forgot to take him back to school shopping, and Jungkook is able to help his mom pay the bills each month with the earnings he makes betting on Overwatch. 

So when he returns back home, tired of hearing tales and seeing pictures of the trip to Cancun with the new baby that conveniently interrupted the planned shopping trip, to see his bed holding a Nike box with the shoes Jungkook begged his mom to get at the start of the year, he’s elated. He erupts into shouts and whoops of excitement, running to the kitchen to hug his mom.

“Ouch!” she can’t hide the wince as Jungkook pulls back from the embrace.

“I didn’t even squeeze you that tightly, Mom. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing, you know how clumsy I am, I ran into the dining room table the other night—”

Jungkook doesn’t even think as he reaches for the hem of her shirt, barely lifting it to see an ugly burgundy bruise spreading across her abdomen.

“Mom! Did he do this to you?” Jungkook demands, fury building in his body. 

“N-no, honey, you know how I c-can be,” she stutters through the lie, but they both know the truth. 

“Mom, if he did this because of money, just return the shoes, it’s fine.”

“No. I bought those for you. You deserve them.” His mom is resolute, turning away and adjusting her shirt as she goes back to cooking dinner. “Plus, we broke up. He won’t be back.”

Up in his room, Jungkook readies the shoes for school tomorrow. He has a few nice things, his dad is a CEO after all, but after the divorce, Jungkook chose his mom, and his dad took it personally. His dad didn’t understand, but the choice was clear to Jungkook. His dad had a new wife, but his mom had no one. Jungkook couldn't leave her too. But his dad became spiteful after that, and so Jungkook can’t take most things his dad buys him to his mom’s house, including certain clothes and shoes. 

It’s why he’s so upset about his dad missing back-to-school shopping, because those were usually the only things he was allowed to take to his mom’s, but this year he has nothing new. Not until his mom bought him the Nike Dunks he’s been coveting. Jungkook is happy, proud of his mom for choosing him over the newest boyfriend, and lying in bed, he finally feels like maybe his life isn’t so bad. He hears a knock at the door, and his mom’s tired feet shuffling to answer it.

“Please, Jongyeon-ah, I promise, it won’t happen again.” 

Jungkook rolls over, grabbing his headphones to drown out the sounds of the pleading, good for nothing, weaseling himself back into his mom’s life.

🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️

 “Yo, Jungkook, those dunks are fly!”

Jungkook props his shoes up on the desk next to his in class, showing off the brand-new kicks to Taehyung.

“Yeah, they're limited edition.” Jungkook knows his response is a little douchebag-esque, but he doesn’t care. He’s wanted these shoes for the longest time, and after all of the bullshit he dealt with during Chuseok and now waking up to see that greasy slimeball his mom said she was done with shirtless at the table for breakfast, he just wants to pretend for once that his life is perfect. 

“Take your crusty shoes off my desk,” you scoff. Jungkook ignores you for a few seconds, leaving his feet where he has them propped on your desk. He hates that you called his shoes crusty, knowing that they’re not. They don’t even have a speck of dirt on them! He made sure of that upon his arrival, being overly cautious with each step and wiping away any blemish he perceived to be there.

“Awe, is the princess jealous she doesn’t have the limited edition dunks?” Jungkook can’t pinpoint when this rivalry started, he just knows that for as long as he can remember, the two of you have been enemies. 

“There’s a reason the supply is limited. It’s because they’re ugly and they stopped making them once they realized someone would have to be an idiot to wear them. You sitting here with them just proves this point.” You push his crossed feet off your desk and he lets you, but Jungkook holds you in his glare.

“One day you’ll stop being a hater, drowning in all that Haterade you’ve been drinking,” Jungkook makes a play on words, and his friends ‘ooooh’ and high five at his middle school burn.

🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️

At lunch, Jungkook precariously steps between the seats to avoid damaging his shoes. His shins are starting to hurt from how he’s walking to avoid creasing his sneakers, but it’s worth the pain to him. He’s successfully avoided getting any food on his shoes from the sloppy eaters, and as he makes the last stretch to the door, a loud yell catches him off guard.

“Watch it!”

Nayeon, one of your lackeys, warns everyone as she’s bumped by you and her red sports drink goes flying. Jungkook is stuck between tables, backpacks cluttering the aisle and Nayeon’s body flailing taking up all of the space. It all happens in seconds—a hip check, a flying drink, and the contents now strewn across the floor and Jungkook’s new sneakers and laces now stained a bright red, dripping across the leather and fabric of his brand new, limited edition Nike Dunks. 

“Oh my god, Nayeon, you are so clumsy!”

Jungkook gawps at you, unbelieving, as your annoying voice fills the silence that took over the room only moments before.

“So sorry, Jungkook. Nayeon bumped into me and then she spilled her haterade—I mean Gatorade—all over your new shoes! I hope those weren’t hard to get or anything! I’m sure your CEO daddy can get you a new pair.”

Jungkook storms from the room, seething at your audacity. If you had any idea about his life, would you treat him this way? He wishes you could walk a day in his shoes, maybe you would realize that life outside your perfect, princess bubble is not always sweet, and would think twice before being a bitch to him, but it’s too late for him to change his view of you. You are the devil’s spawn and Jungkook has never hated someone as much as he hates you.

Part 3: High School

Getting into BTS-U should be easy for you, what with your dad being an alumnus, but you don’t want to rely on nepotism. You’ve been working your ass off for good grades all four years of high school, and the final determination of your competency is about to start. Only one student can represent your high school as the Youth of the Year, winning prestige and honor by being granted early admission into any four-year university in the country of their choice without needing CSAT scores. 

The last of the trials, the oral interview, is scheduled for today and as you sit outside the room in the creaky, overly hard chair, your heart pounds. Of course, the final two students competing for this merit would be the two students who despise each other the most in the school, making the competition that much more important to you. 

You cannot lose to fucking Jeon Jungkook.

“We’re ready for you!”

The chipper voice startles you from your thoughts as you steel yourself to go into the final challenge. 

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“Thank you all for your participation in the Youth of the Year program. As you know, the contenders were all very high achieving and will have plenty of options available to you for your future. Do not let not being named deter you from the future awaiting you all. Now, today, we interviewed the two finalists from this wonderful school, and while both were outstanding, one student really opened up and shared a vulnerable side to him that inspired us. He has already begun an incredible journey in his young life, showcasing a will to succeed. Jeon Jungkook, please stand.”

The crowd in the auditorium bursts into applause as you burst into tears. The one good thing about this ceremony is that the finalists do not sit on stage, so in the chaos and celebration, you are able to sneak away to the bathroom. Jeon Jungkook looked so shocked to have been chosen, but you knew that he couldn’t actually be shocked. His mom stood up with him, hugging him with pride, and your parents couldn’t even be bothered to show up for such an important moment. 

You tell yourself it’s not a big deal, that you have done well and will most likely have the same options for college as Jungkook does, but being a Youth of the Year finalist is not the same as being the Youth of the Year. What really hurts you the most is that if the roles were switched, Jungkook’s mom would be there to hug him and tell him he did great and fought hard. If you had been chosen, you still would’ve been alone, but at least the loneliness wouldn’t have hurt as much. 

The judges who interviewed you must think you don’t need the help, that you have everything you could ever want, so why would they choose the spoiled little rich girl? Why would they choose the girl who eats dinner with the maids, who read bedtime stories to herself growing up, the girl who has everything—everything except a family that loves her more than their careers and supports her unfailingly?

Facing the mirror, you reach for your purse and pull out the small makeup pouch so that you can erase any evidence of the sadness you feel today, brimming with the unshed tears of yesterday, and prepare your battle face to go back out there and be cordial as the runner up. Another battle you’ll face alone. 

Part 4: College at BTS-U

“Welcome to Jin’s Diner, have a seat wherever you’d—what the fuck are you doing here?”

The chiming of the door opening caught your ear, so you’d turned to greet the newest customer, except instead of an overly tired trucker or a group of post-clubbing college students, you’re faced with one Jeon Jungkook.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” he asks, eyebrow pitched and smirk full of snark.

“No, I kiss your father with this mouth. Now get out.” You go back to wiping down the counters, ignoring the stare of your arch-nemesis as you finish cleaning.

“Now, now, Baby Cakes, let your new coworker into the diner so you can finally get the help you've been asking for.”

You turn to the owner’s son, Kim Seokjin, mouth gaping open in confusion. “Coworker? I thought you read through the notes I made on all of the applicants?”

“Yes, I did, and they were very helpful. He’ll be working nights with you, so show him to the back while I grab a lock for his locker and a uniform.”

“Sir—”

“Now, Cakes.”

Seokjin disappears into the hallway towards his office, and you turn back to Jungkook, who’s standing smugly with his arms crossed watching you.

“Ugh, keep up, small fry.” 

Jungkook’s black boots squeak along the freshly mopped floor as he hustles to catch up with you. The doorway behind the counter opens into the kitchen, where the two line cooks, Hoseok and Yoongi, work diligently. Hoseok is sitting next to the recently delivered products with a clipboard in hand as he counts the items, while Yoongi is wiping down his area before the rush begins. You clear your throat loudly to gather their attention.

“We have a new waiter, his name is Jeon Jungkook, but he shall go by Small Fry, I think.” The smile on your face is devilish, and the two men snicker as they take in the newbie rushing in behind you.

“Wait, why am I ‘Small Fry’?” he asks, only a little out of breath from having to round the counter and catch up to you.

“Because everyone who works here gets called a food nickname, helps with the creeps, especially on nights.”

“I’m Suga,” Yoongi greets, “and this here is Hobi-Honey, but we just call him Hobi for short.”

“And I’m Baby Cakes, as you heard bossman say.”

“What’s your real name again, Small Fry?” Yoongi asks, his platinum hair shining in the fluorescent kitchen lights.

“It’s Jungkook,” he answers, emphasizing his name as he glares at you.

“Hmm, Baby Cakes, I think he might be better suited to Cooky…”

“Isn’t that too close to his name?” you argue, hoping to keep Small Fry, but when you see Hobi shake his head, you know you’ve lost.

“Fine, Cooky it is then! Next new hire will be called Small Fry no matter what!” you concede, waving Jungkook to follow you towards the back of the kitchen.

He trails you quietly as you push a swinging wooden door with a circular window in it and lead him into the employee lounge. Seokjin is whistling to himself as you enter, twirling a metal lock around his finger. You look around the room, surprised at how quickly he had everything ready.

“Great, you met Suga and Hobi then?” he asks, nodding at the door you just entered.

“Yes, I figured it would be best to do that first on the way here.”

“So, Jungkook—”

“He’s Cooky,” you interrupt, but Seokjin just shakes your rudeness off.

“—Cooky, this here’s the lounge. The door you just entered is used while you’re on shift for breaks and such. When you arrive for your shift and leave for the night, it should always be through the door behind me.” He gestures to a purple-handled door. “To the left are the employee cubbies, and to the right, we have the laundry station, small kitchenette, and door to the staff bathroom.” 

You nod at the TV mounted on the wall next to the swinging door. “The remote always stays on this table,” you tap the main table in the room that seats six, “and we typically keep the TV on ESPN, MTV, or my personal favorite, HGTV.”

“Thank you, Cakes. Now, your Jin’s Diner gear stays here, we’ll wash it for you after each shift you work.” Seokjin points to a stacked washer and dryer in the corner. “Just throw it in the wash after your shift each night. We’ll put it back in your cubby for you once dry.”

Jungkook nods, but he looks a bit overwhelmed from all of the information. You take the lead and sit down first hoping he’ll follow you. You know Seokjin talks fast and moves through the employee information even faster, and despite not liking Jeon Jungkook, you need the help on your shift since Mochi quit to focus on his last semester.

You grab a permanent marker and white label from the center of the table, tossing it across to Jungkook with a little more force than necessary.

“We each have a cubby, with a small locker inside. Use this to write your name and then claim an empty spot, and you can also write your name on the tags of your uniform.”

Seokjin grabs plastic-wrapped clothing articles from the cabinet next to the laundry station and approaches the table, too, tossing down the new clothing. 

“Your gear. Shirt, apron, and a ballcap. If you want a visor instead, let me know. Black, khaki, or blue jeans, black non-slip shoes, keep the blingy jewelry at home.”

“Dammit, I was planning to choke him with his chain after the first shift.”

Seokjin levels his gaze at you, and you know you’re pushing your limits with him. 

“I’ll have you follow Baby Cakes around to learn the drill for taking orders, but mostly you’ll be bussing tables tonight. I’ll work on the final processing of your paperwork in the meantime. Cakes, come with me while he changes.”

You follow Seokjin out of the lounge and back towards the office. He opens the door and steps back to allow you to enter first, shutting the door behind him as he follows you into the room.

“You need to tone it down. I know you said that you and he have some bad blood, but we need the help and he’s the best applicant we have.”

“It’s deeper than that, Jinnie, he’s literally been tormenting me since elementary school. We work with heavy-duty machinery and cutlery. You might come in one morning to find that one of us has stabbed the other to death.” You push out your bottom lip and give him your best, roundest, watery puppy eyes. “Is that what you really want?”

“What I want is to have a fully staffed evening shift so that my best girl can stop having bags under her eyes and complaining about her feet hurting every shift.” Seokjin smiles teasingly at you. “Plus, you need a good annual review to get a raise, and training new employees looks good to the owner.”

“Your dad is the owner! You can just tell him to give me a raise!”

“I could…but this is so much more fun. Who knows, he’s kinda hot…maybe you find out that the reason he’s picked on you your whole life is because he has a crush on you.”

“That fallacy is just a way for the patriarchy to continue to push abuse acceptance and the ‘boys will be boys’ agenda.” You cross your arms, but overall you know Seokjin is right. You’ve always prided yourself on being able to adapt well to situations, put a fake smile on when you need to deal with rude customers or your parents missing another monumental event in your life. “But fine. At work, it’ll be a ceasefire. That’s about all I can promise you.”

“I thought you said there would be a ceasefire!” Seokjin yells at you from where you sit in his office. Jungkook is seated next to you, slouching in the chair with his head turned away towards the wall. You can see his jaw clenching every few seconds as Seokjin continues berating you. “Instead, I got a call from a family friend that you two were so busy yelling at each other for not doing your jobs that you effectively stopped doing your job!” 

You huff as you roll your eyes, turning away from Jungkook’s severely hot—no—aggravating jawline, (where did that thought even come from?) to respond to Seokjin.

“That’s not even what happened last night! This idiot decided to fuck with the seating and of course, since the big game is tomorrow, we had a lot of people stop in and it was noisy. I was trying to seat the guests who were being louder and rowdier on one side so that our regulars,” you glare at Jungkook, who’s still refusing to look at either you or Seokjin, “could dine in peace, but when I ran to the back to restock the napkins for the bar top, he seated people himself. He’s not the host. He’s still a newbie! It’s been, what? Three, four months?”

“...Four,” Jungkook mumbles, but you ignore it.

“And so then poor Mrs. Hana ended up dealing with the hooligans who disrupted her meal, and yes, it was when I was trying to explain to him how seating works—”

“I know how seating works, it’s not rocket science!”

“So then why would you mess with the flow of the diner and seat them there?!”

“Because you,” Jungkook finally breaks the stoic act and turns to face you abruptly, so much so you almost visibly jump, “kept seating the large groups in your sections, which meant that you were giving yourself the better tips and leaving me with the geriatrics who barely leave anything!”

“Are you serious? You think I was trying to take tips from you? I hate dealing with the sports crowd! I would have gladly traded with you if you had said something to me, but you were too busy ignoring me when I was trying to talk to you about dividing up the floor—”

“—you talk to me like I’m a child, so of course I was ignoring you, you dolt—”

“—really piss me off, you think I would stoop so low, probably because it’s what you would do—”

“Shut up, both of you!” Seokjin’s eyes have a hardness to them you are not used to seeing. He’s usually laid back, but the stress lines on his face speak to an underlying tension you aren’t aware of. “Look,” he takes a deep breath, rubbing his hand over his eyes briefly, “this can’t happen again. Mrs. Hana could’ve broken her hip slipping on the spilled soda, and her son is debating suing us. My dad is obviously handling this situation, but that means your jobs are on the table. If her son demands it in exchange to avoid a lawsuit, I can’t stop it.”

It settles on you at that moment, how severe this is. You know that the little, old lady regular slipped and fell, but both you and Jungkook rushed over to help her up, comping her meal and walking her outside to sit quietly and assess how she was feeling while waiting for her son to arrive. Not only that, but he didn’t seem mad when he picked her up—just worried about if she was in pain and if she needed to go see a doctor. Apparently, after the shock wore off, his anger set in.

“I’m sorry, Seokjin. It won’t happen again.”

“Get to your shift, I’m sure Nam—I mean Porkchop—is ready to go. Remember, Suga will be late today, the championship game is tonight. So no more ignoring the hooligans and Cooky,” Seokjin gives his leveled glare to Jungkook this time, “Baby Cakes is in charge. I know you’re eager to prove yourself, and you’ve done well so far, but she’s worked the aftermath of championship games before.”

Jungkook stares back at Seokjin, a low humming tension filling the room before he answers with a “Yes, sir.” 

The diner is louder than Jungkook’s ever heard before as he goes around clearing tables now that the game is over. His coworker, Yoongi, did amazing from what he saw on the screen. BTS-U wore their white home jerseys with purple and black lettering, so it was easy to see when number 3 hit the game-winning three-pointer. 

Now, as the same white jersey is stepping into the diner, all of the fans cheer and bang their cups and silverware to congratulate the MBC Cup National University Basketball Championship’s MVP for the win tonight. 

Jungkook looks across the dining area, where he sees you kneeling on the countertop clapping your hands above your head. The uniform dress that you chose for tonight has risen higher up your thigh than normal—probably from the way you climbed up onto the counter—giving Jungkook a pretty good view of the skin leading up to what he’s sure are lace panties. He’s walked in on you changing one too many times to not know your preference. 

He can’t look away from you; something about the sheer energy radiating off of you is magnetic, as if you’re lit from within, and before he knows it, he’s moving closer to you. Jungkook knows he can’t stand you personally, but physically? He’ll never admit this aloud—not since Taehyung almost told you the truth back in elementary school— but you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. 

He doesn’t have much time to ponder your looks as you bring two fingers to your lips and let out a loud wolf whistle, setting you off balance with the action. Luckily he’s already been pulled into your orbit, because he catches you with two strong hands on your waist before you can fall off the counter.

“Thanks, Cooky!” you say, eyes alight and voice pleasant, as if you’ve forgotten who Jungkook is to you, and who you are to him. 

“No problem, Baby Cakes.” Jungkook helps you climb down, and when you bend forward to place your palms on the counter to dismount, he sees his hypothesis on your panties is right. His eyes remain on your ass as you extend a leg to the floor, and despite the trouble the two of you got into before your shift, Jungkook can’t seem to care to remember why he shouldn’t be enjoying the view.

“Congrats, Suga!” Jungkook watches as you launch yourself into Yoongi’s arms, giving him a loud smooch on the cheek.

“Thanks, Cakes, that last shot was for you.” He winks, and Jungkook doesn’t understand why he’s feeling so affected, but he wants to blame it on those panties you unknowingly flashed for the irritation he feels toward his friend for flirting with you. She’s your enemy, Kook, get it the fuck together.

Jungkook stalks away, grabbing his bussing bin and rag so he can clean up the table of the group in line to pay.

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“Fuck you and your sorry-ass school!” 

Jungkook turns his head to see you standing feet shoulder-width apart with your arms crossed, looking so much like the evil bitch he’s come to know. Only this time, it’s directed towards an EXO-U fan, by the looks of the silver and black shirt he’s sporting.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

You command the space well, and had the man been sober, he probably would have listened to you when you gave him the polite option to leave on his own two feet. As luck would have it, the man grew more belligerent with each passing moment, causing Jungkook to run and grab Yoongi from the back to help handle the situation. Jungkook doesn’t like what he’s hearing when he returns to the front.

“You dumb cunt, we don’t have to leave! Come over here, baby, suck my cock like you suck their players, bet that’s why they won, huh? Saw you all over their star player earlier, let me get a piece, bitch.”

Jungkook wants to lunge at the man, but Yoongi beats him to the table, effortlessly grabbing the man by his arm and neck to yank him from his booth seat.

Jungkook gets to his other side, helping the man walk towards the double glass doors as Yoongi mutters menacingly at the patron.

“Best not show your face around here again, if you know what’s good for you. Find another place to eat, and we won’t beat your ass.”

Yoongi lets go of the man once they clear the sidewalk into the parking lot, the man’s friends stumble out behind, but Jungkook shoves the man hard, and he falls to the ground. He feels no remorse for the man; he reminds him too much of the creeps his mom dealt with: stench of alcohol on their breath that grew with each vulgar word that rolled out of their mouths, animosity leeching from their greasy skin—Jungkook needs to wash his hands and splash his face. 

Fleeing inside, he bypasses you cleaning up the mess the rowdy table left behind, unable to hear the words you say clearly enough to decipher them. He knows that it’s almost time to close up and he has a few tasks to do to help speed up the process, but he’ll get to them in a minute. He just needs a minute to shake off this feeling, and then he’ll be okay to do the final cleaning for the evening, and find out what you said.

You’ve always hated dealing with the championship game guests, but always loved being with the crowd because of the thrill and your love for the game. The shift wasn’t terrible work-wise, as Jungkook really pulled his weight throughout the shift, allowing you to be in charge as the hostess and main waitress, filling in where you needed and bussing tables as the guests rotated through the double doors.

And you can’t lie, when you almost lost your balance on the counter, it was kind of hot that he was there to catch you, and help you down safely. With his jawline that can cut glass and his warm hands sitting large on your hips, you were a little sad to have them drop away, but you hid your disappointment in congratulating Suga and then moved on with the shift.

Of course, such a perfectly good shift had to end with a douchebag. To your surprise, when you turn to look to Jungkook for help, he’s already approaching with Suga in tow. And damn your worst enemy if he doesn’t do the second hottest thing of the night, vanquishing the drunkard with the sailor’s mouth from your sight, his foul friends trailing behind. 

You clear off the table, the half-eaten food discarded in the trash and you realize that it needs to be taken out now before the last of the tables are done. Jungkook speed walks past you, so you call out to him, “Cooky, take the trash out, please!”

You finish sweeping under the table, then wipe down the booth’s table as Suga also returns inside, pausing to check on you.

“Everything good, Cakes?”

You nod, placing a hand on your hip as you reflect on the incident. “Yeah, he was a real fuck boy, but you and Cooky saved me just in time.”

“Always…I’m surprised Cooky was so worked up when he called me from the kitchen. Usually you two are at each other’s throats, I would’ve thought he’d enjoy seeing you deal with a rude customer.”

“Well, we did get yelled at earlier by Jin for last night, so we promised to work together and drop whatever rivalry we have during working hours. So maybe that’s it.”

“Mmm…maybe. Well, let me go help Hobi, this last wave will keep us later if I don’t.” Yoongi takes a few steps to round the counter, then calls back out to you, “The trash is about to overflow, Cakes!”

Frowning, you notice that Jungkook has yet to return to take out the trash. Glancing around the room, you see most of the tables are in stages of eating or waiting for their food. They all seem well and distracted with clips from the post-game coverage, so you decide to take out the trash yourself. Maybe the truce between you and Jungkook isn’t as intact as you think. 

Grumbling to yourself, you tie off the bag and lift it from the bin, foot angled to keep the wheels from sliding across the floor from the tug. You eye the replacement black bag, but decide to put it in once you return from the dumpster. 

You hate taking out the trash; you love feminism but some tasks are just made for men. You refuse to use the loud trolley with the janky wheel, so you carry the bag gingerly, resting it down every few steps as you make your way across the sparsely lit back parking lot.

“Well, if it isn’t the bitch who didn’t let me finish my meal.”

You snap your head around, eyes roving for the source of the raspy words, finally landing on the douchebag discharged from the diner only 10 minutes ago.

“We didn’t charge you for it, so I suggest you leave before this turns into a real problem.” You keep your eyes on him, watching as he shifts around on his feet, inching closer to you. You hold your stance, refusing to look weak in case he decides you’d make a good target.

“Maybe if you come suck me off like a good girl, I won’t leave a bad review online about how much of a cunt you’re being. Matter of fact, throw in some pussy, let me fuck you properly and I bet all that attitude will drop. You just need someone to tame you.”

The man lunges for your left arm, his meaty fist closing around your wrist and you pull back to break the contact but he’s strong. You yell out, stumbling back away from the trash bag and he follows, heavy footfalls adding to the sounds of the evening. 

“Let go, you freak!”

You jolt your arm, wrenching it in as many directions as you can to try and relax his grip but he pulls you closer to him until you can smell the ethanol on his breath as he places his other hand forcefully on your shoulder. 

“I said I wanted you on your knees, stupid bitch,” he utters, and reflexively you punch him in his dick. He groans and releases you, hunching over in pain. You make out a figure stepping through the service door, and you call out for help. Attempting to step around the man, you only make it a few steps before you feel the weight of the man bearing down on you again.

“You stupid bitch!”

You try to run, but the man has the back of your dress in his grip so instead, your shoes scrape the asphalt in the same place repeatedly. A loud thwack of flesh on flesh sounds right before you’re released, dropping the short distance to the concrete. Your palms and knees feel the sting of the gravel but the relief of being out of the man’s hold overpowers any lingering pain as you scramble to your feet. 

Behind you, Jungkook is pummeling the man in the face, and you pause for a moment in shock before you rush back to him, grabbing his bicep to stop him from swinging again.

“Cooky, stop, I’m okay! Jungkook!”

He freezes, turning to look at you as if to see if your statement is true, and seeing that you’re serious, he appears to deflate a bit, no longer an attacking watchdog but a protective knight, making sure his charge is unscathed.

“Let’s go.” He gestures for your hand and you place yours in his, letting him guide you away from the groaning sack of trash and the garbage bag on the ground.

The fluorescent lights of the break room are blinding after the darkness of outside. Vaguely you hear Jungkook yelling at the others working, followed by the clattering of kitchen items, but you’re so out of sorts you don’t even realize that Jungkook has maneuvered you into a chair and is gently checking your knees, palms, and arms. He brushes off the remaining dirt from your skin.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

His voice sounds pained, and this pulls you from your thoughts and back to the present with him. 

“Um, I don’t think so.”

“Where all did he touch you? It might not hurt now, but once the adrenaline dies off, you might feel it.”

“Um, my arm, my shoulder, I can’t…I don’t know.”

“It’s okay, let me check your neck…he grabbed your dress and pulled you, so I wanna make sure it won’t bruise.”

He takes your face in his hands delicately, tilting your head to expose your neck to his view. The proximity has your head spinning, his cologne enveloping you as he leans closer, a hand leaving your cheek to allow a finger to trail across your neckline. You know he’s just checking to make sure that there’s no lingering marks, but you don’t think that the after effects of tonight will be anything anyone can see. He grabs a glass of water for you, and you sit quietly while he tends to the minor cuts on your palms from the jagged gravel in the parking lot. 

Time seems to pass as you’re deep in thought, but you’re not sure how much until Seokjin appears, his purple and white painted face replacing the doe eyes and clenched jaw. He looks frazzled, as if he just left an after-party for the championship and was pulled into work. You realize after a moment that that’s actually what happened, and chuckle at yourself. He says your real name, pulling you out of your laughter.

“I’m so sorry this happened, luckily Jungkook was there. I don’t know what I would've done if something happened to you.” Seokjin pulls you into a hug, and you reciprocate, squeezing him tighter as the feeling of being held feels good. He pulls away sooner than you like, but he continues talking to you about what’s been going on since you’ve been sitting in the employee lounge.

“Look, don’t worry about staying and cleaning up tonight, okay? We’ve got everything under control. Hobi called the cops and Yoongi made sure the guy didn’t flee before they came. He’s in their custody now.”

“What about Jungkook?” you ask, uncharacteristically using his given name.

“He’s giving his statement to the police now. They’ll want to talk to you too, but I can put it off for tonight if you need,” Seokjin offers kindly, but you want to get it over with.

“It’s okay, I’ll speak to them now.”

“If you’re sure. I’ll grab one of the detectives now and they can take your statement, and then I’m sending you home. Jungkook will drive you, okay? You’re still a bit shaky.”

You look down at your hands, seeing the tremble Seokjin is referencing and nod. There’s no use in putting up a fight. All of the men you work with have now proven that you’re safe with them. Seokjin walks over to the door, popping his head out to call for an officer, and he paces quietly as you recount what happened, starting with the attacker growing belligerent in the dining area. Once finished, Seokjin grabs Jungkook from where he’s talking with Yoongi outside the door, ushering him to take your belongings and get you home.

You follow along, compliant, waving goodbye to the others as Jungkook pulls off into the main road back towards campus.

“You live by BTS-U, right?”

“Yeah, at Omelas, next to the train tracks.”

Neither of you speak again until he parks, turning off the engine to his jeep.

“Here, let me help you.” Jungkook grabs your backpack and climbs out of the SUV, coming around to the passenger side door to open it for you. You jump out and lead the way to your first -floor apartment. Unlocking the door, you flip on the lights as you toe off your non-slip work shoes.

“My roommate is out of town visiting her parents this weekend.”

Dumping your purse onto the kitchen counter, you walk further into your home, Jungkook trailing you slowly. He kicks off his shoes, socks shuffling quietly along the carpet as he enters your living room after closing and securing the front door lock. He places your backpack on the couch, and the two of you stand there awkwardly.

“Um, do you want some water or something? I have juice, milk, beer…” you trail off, uncertain.

“Water is fine, thanks.”

You grab a glass from the cupboard, filling it with ice water to return the favor from earlier as you bolster your courage to thank him. You hand him the glass and before you can think too hard, you just start speaking.

“Jungkook, I just wanted to thank you, for coming out there and, you know, saving me. I know we don’t get along much, but you really came through and I appreciate it.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, blinking up at you from where he’s sitting on your couch. He takes a long sip from the glass, and he seems uncertain if he wants to speak but does so anyway.

“It was nothing, really.”

“Why, um, why did you help me, I mean—I’m just saying, oh this is coming out wrong—”

“Look, I’ve had a lot of practice dealing with creeps like him. I’ve had to do it plenty for my mom, and I just don’t like to see anyone getting hurt, not even my arch nemesis.” Jungkook tries to joke it off at the end, but his tone reveals so much more to you about what he’s not saying.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was like that for you back in high school.” You sit down next to him, closer than you normally would with your backpack taking up part of the seat, but you don’t mind it. You feel safer being closer to him.

“I mean, why would you know?” he asks, leaning back into the couch and taking another sip. “You have a perfect family, I’m sure nothing like this happened on the weekly at your place.”

“No, but like, my perfect family isn’t what everyone thinks it is, either. My parents didn’t pay attention to me, always busy working and what not. Honestly career day, back in like fifth grade was the only time one of my parents made it to something, and even then, it was so my dad could advertise his business. I felt so sheltered growing up, like I had no life skills. It’s why I work at the diner.”

Jungkook digests your words, understanding blooming through his chest. 

“I get that. It’s funny, I remember that day so well, I was so jealous of you, because your dad showed up for you. I guess our dads are the same though…I think if I had grown up with my parents still together, I would’ve felt like you do. My dad kind of left me behind when he remarried, you know? In a way, that made me less sheltered, because when I was with my mom, I had to grow up fast. I couldn’t always have the nicest things because she couldn’t always afford them.”

“I didn’t realize that you had to split time between them. One of my friends, Jimin? He told me about how your dad wouldn’t let you take things back and forth between houses.”

“Why did he do that?” Jungkook looks a little scandalized, and you’re sure it’s because Jimin is one of his best friends. He’s the one who recommended that he apply to Jin’s Diner in the first place, and how you knew to warn Jin to not hire Jungkook, not that it worked. “I didn’t know you were close with Jimin!”

“We used to work together…you actually replaced him. It’s why we were hiring in the first place. But, he told me that because he was trying to get me to ease up on you one day. I was complaining about something and he was trying to make you more human, I guess.”

Jungkook just nods. You know he probably realizes there’s no reason to be mad, it was all in the past and Jimin was coming from a good place when he revealed that.

“Well, it’s true. My dad is kind of the worst. My mom saved up to get me some Dunks back in middle school because my dad couldn’t be bothered to take me back to school shopping. As if I didn’t grow a foot and 3 shoe sizes.”

“Oh fuck, you know, I’m sorry for making Nayeon spill her drink on your shoes. That was really evil of me.”

“We were like 13? 14? All middle school girls are evil.” Jungkook chuckles. You’re relieved at how gracious he’s being, but a little annoyed. You turn to him to say as much, but he continues to speak. “Honestly, I don’t even know why we went toe to toe like that. We probably would’ve been best friends if we had combined our smarts. You were really great during the Youth of the Year competition. I’m sorry that you didn’t win, I think you deserved to.”

Jungkook is looking back at you now, with his pretty doe eyes, sitting so close to you. You don’t know what to say so you don’t say anything, instead focusing on his star-filled eyes and the way they’re staring into your own. His arm moves slowly, lifting to bring his hand to your face, curling a tendril of hair behind your ear.

“It’s getting pretty late now, I should get home,” he starts, but his eyes speak volumes and it doesn’t seem like he wants to leave just yet. “But there’s still one more thing I need to apologize for.”

Your eyebrows furrow, confused as to what incident it could be when his lips meet yours in a tender kiss, not too forceful but not shy either—just the right amount to let you know this isn’t a mistake. It takes you a few seconds to respond, but when you sense Jungkook about to move away you pull him in closer, keeping his lips where you can access them. It’s not enough though, so throwing caution to the wind, you straddle him as your tongue swipes for entry, pushing him further into the couch as you lean into his fit body. He groans at your boldness, large hands planted firmly on your ass as the kiss deepens. You feel dangerously high, lacking oxygen, but you can’t stop—you don’t want to stop. He’s intoxicating.

His fingers tighten imperceptibly, and you know he, too, is at the end of his air, so you break apart, chest heaving as you stare at his lips, red and plump from the kiss. 

“That was your…apology for? Or you were…apologizing for…kissing me?” you pant, trying to catch your breath.

“Both?” he says with a cute, bunny-like smile, “one, for hating you all these years, and two, for kissing you out of the blue.”

“And if I want you to apologize to me more?” you half-question, half-goad, and Jungkook gives the right answer, leaning into you once more so he can kiss you hard, teeth nipping at your bottom lip before pulling away.

“That’s something I can do.” Jungkook uses his strength to flip you onto your back on the couch, knocking your backpack out of the way and onto the floor. “Is this okay?” He searches your eyes for your consent to his hands on your thighs, fingertips skimming the hem of your dress. 

You nod, and he trails them higher until he’s grasping the band of your panties and sliding them down without haste. You enjoy the commanding presence he takes on, unlike the people you deal with on a daily at work, indecisive with what to order, he knows exactly what he wants, and when Jungkook pushes up your dress and buries his face between your thighs, it takes everything in you not to climax right then. His tongue flits around your clit, teasing you as his hands massage your thighs while keeping them wide for him. 

“Jungkook,” his name is a breathy whisper in the air as your fingers curl around his locks, tightening your grip when he flicks closer to where you need him. “Please.”

You wiggle your hips, searching for more friction from his tongue but he just pulls away, tutting his tongue at you for being bad. You sit up slightly to glare at him.

“Patience, baby.”

Whining, you lay back on the couch with a huff. “This is why we hated each other bac—oh, fuck me,” you finish with a moan as he flattens his tongue across your pussy and stimulates every nerve he can cover. Wrapping his lips around your clit, he begins to suck, gently flicking his tongue every few seconds as he positions two fingers at your dripping center. Delving inside of you, the plunge of his fingers reaches the ache inside of you, causing your legs to tremble as he fine-tunes your body like an instrument. 

“Feels so good, mmph, fuck,” is all you can manage to say as he continues to pump his fingers, the squelching of your walls suctioning them back in with every tug out only making you wetter. Jungkook hums, and the thrumming sensation curls your toes. Arching your back, you tug his hair hard as you mewl loudly from the impending orgasm.

“You can do it, baby, cum for me,” Jungkook praises, “you’re doing so well, squeezing my fingers so tight, watch me.”

When his mouth once again finds its rhythm on your core, it takes just a few seconds of making eye contact with Jungkook, doe-eyes wide as he watches you enjoy his tongue, before you shiver and melt into the euphoria he’s bringing to your body. 

“That’s it, fuck—you look so pretty, baby.”Body spent, you stare up at the ceiling blinking as you come back to earth. Jungkook tucks himself behind you, holding you in his arms. You look down at the arm over your waist, your fingers lightly tracing the tattoos on his exposed full sleeve. You can feel his bulge, know that there’s so much more…apologizing you both need to do after years of being enemies, but you have all night for that. And in the morning, you don’t know what will happen, if there will be more to come after tonight, but what you do know is that at this moment you don’t hate Jungkook; not even a little bit, not even at all.

🍽️🍽️🍽️

© hisunshiine 2023. All rights reserved. 

thank you for reading!!!

#bangtansorciere #jungkook x reader #bangtanbathhouse #clubzerooclock #bangtanwhq #btscreaturescoven #btsafterdarknet #bangtantheatrenet #thebtswritersclub #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook au #jungkook writings #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfiction #bts imagines #bts #bts reactions #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts smut #bts au #bts angst #bts fluff #hisunshiine writings

[gallusrostromegalus]

I must ask how my Most Favorite Boys, Jushiro Ukitake and Shinji Hirako, are doing in AEIWAM?

When Shinji returns to his post as Captain of the 5th after his exile, he is DETERMINED to not repeat his past mistakes and actually get to know the shinigami serving under him. He needs... Some kind of event, something people will voluntarily attend, where they'll tell him about themselves, and with a bit of structure because he is an awkward sod, and social interactions need RULES, DAMMIT-

"Now hang on-" says Shinji after staring at the blank office wall in silence for the last thirty minutes. "-that's not a bad idea!"

"...Is he okay?" Lieutenant Momo asks quietly.

"Oh yeah, he's always a little freak. Talks to himself and gets a lot out of the conversation." Also Lieutenant Hiyori nods. "You don't need to worry until he breaks out the craft supplies."

"He just pulled out a bunch of markers and construction paper." Momo pointed to their captain as he scribbled furiously on the paperwork he was ignoring.

"Aw. Fuck." Groaned Hiyori. "Well this is gonna be cringe as hell."

***

A few nights later, most of the fifth division assembled in the auditorium, slightly confused, but they had been promised there would be no additional work from this meeting, and there was an open bar, so they were in figurative and literal high spirits.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Fifth Division, welcome to TONIGHT'S GAME!" A cheerful and showman-like voice called out over the speakers, and the stage curtain rose to reveal a brightly colored game show stage where there had not been one before.

"Tonight's lovely contestants are- all the way from payroll, it's Fifth Division Tenth Seat Tenya Danshin!" The voice called out as the familiar face of their payroll and scheduling manager trotted out onstage and took his place behind the first of three podiums. There was some scattered and genuine, if confused applause from the audience.

"He's Big, he's Bad, he's just a little Bizarre, he's Josuke Araki!" The voice continued as a notably tall and muscular member took his place behind the middle podium with a wave and broad grin. There was more clapping and a few cheers this time.

"Currently being dragged onstage by my lovely assistant, it's my second favorite Lieutenant, Hiyori Sarugaki!" The voice continued as Hiyori was wrestled onstage and behind the third podium by Momo. The audience whooped and snickered at the spectacle.

"FUCK YOU, YOU FREAK!" Hiyori roared, flipping off the audience and the figure behind the final podium on the other side of the stage.

"I'm your host, ME! I've been here the whole time!" Grinned Shinji, dressed in a rather snappy three piece suit and holding a microphone. "WELCOME, all my lovely division members and Hiyori, to Tonight's Game! Now, you all know how to play, right?"

"Um. No. Sorry sir." Muttered Tenya as Josuke shook his head.

"You didn't tell us shit!" Hiyori growled.

"That's RIGHT!" Shinji's Cheshire Cat smile shined under the spotlights.

"You see, I wanted to get to know everyone in the 5th a little better, and there is nothing quite like a game show to get people to reveal some truly startling sides of themselves, but playing the same game over and over would be boring! So, every night we play Tonight's Game, the game is a different game than last time, and the contestants will all start with blank slates!" He explained, entirely too pleased with himself. "So- the only way to win is by learning, the only way to learn is by playing, and the only way to begin is by beginning, so without further ado- Momo, will you please bring out THE LIE DETECTOR."

The small curtains at the back of the stage opened, and Momo rolled out a cart with a strange device covered in dials and switches with a long antenna and a large lightbulb on top.

"Thank you Momo! Now, the clever bastards in the 12th whipped this up for me so I have absolutely no idea how it actually works, but I am assured this is the latest cutting-edge in Veracity Technology. Let's turn it on and try it out! Tenya-!"

"Yes, sir!" Tenya snapped to attention. "No need to be formal, I'm only your host, not your captain right now." Shinji waved. "Tell me Tenya- Do you have any children?"

"I- Um, my wife and I have three children, two little boys and our infant daughter?" He stammered, confused.

DING! The Device charmed, light bulb lighting up bright green.

"That is CORRECT!" Shinji grinned. "You get a point!"

There was another chime as the screen on the front of Tenya's Podium lit up and displayed a "1".

"Oh, I see!" Laughed Tenya.

"Josuke!" called Shinji.

"Capt- Host?" Josuke stopped mid-salute.

"Very good! Tell me Josuke, do you live in the barracks?" Shinji asked with genuine interest.

"Uh, no. I live with my Mom." Josuke shook his head.

DING! Said the device.

"That is Correct!" Shinji nodded approvingly. "You get a point as well!"

"Oh, so, every time we tell the truth, we get a point?" Asked Josuke.

"Very quick on the uptake my friend!" Shinji winked. "Of course, as the game goes on, the questions are going to get much harder to answer Truthfully..."

Oooooooh! Gasped the audience, invested now.

"What happens if we lie?" Wondered Tenya.

"Even if we did- how would he fucking know?" Hiyori rolled her eyes.

"You can try it and find out!" Shinji grinned with more than a hint of Menace. "Hiyori! It's your turn!"

"Ugh. What?" She groaned.

"Tell me, When is my birthday?" Asked Shinji.

"I don't know and I don't care." She smirked, sticking her tongue out at him.

BZZRK! The Device buzzed angrily, and the light flashed red. OHH! laughed the audience.

"What the FUCK?" Yelped Hiyori.

"Ooh!" Shinji winced, thoroughly enjoying himself. "I'm afraid that is INCORRECT! According to the screen back here, you spent the better part of THREE MONTHS tracking down a specific part to repair my sound system and traveled halfway across the planet to deliver it personally to me on my birthday. So not only do you know, you DO care, and for that I'm afraid I'm going to have to dock you two points."

Hiyori's screen lit up and displayed a "-2"

"WHAT THE HELL?" Hiyori wailed. "You didn't even see me when I gave you that Banana Plug or whatever-!"

"I did not!" Shinji grinned. "-but The Device knows, and is infallible!" "That's terrifying!" Tenya laughed nervously. "Alright contestants, the questions are going to get harder now, so consider your answers to them carefully." Shinji warned, a finger up to his lips. "Contestants- does any of your underwear have holes in it?"

"...Can we refuse to answer on the grounds it might get us in trouble?" asked Josuke.

"Yes! But you won't get any points for that round, and you may not win our Lovely Prize this week. Speaking of- Momo! Will you please show our contestants what they're playing for this week?"

Momo emerged from backstage with a large, blank sign, which she turned over and held over her head for all to see.

AN EXTRA WEEK OF PAID VACATION

OHHH! exclaimed the audience, with a few audible mutters of Damn, a whole week? and How do you get on this show?.

"ALL MY UNDERWEAR HAS GOT HOLES IN IT!" Shouted Josuke, now with heavily-motivated enthusiasm. Laughter exploded out of the audience, thoroughly entertained.

DING! chimed the device, and the score on Josuke's podium went up.

"Josuke taking an early and shameless lead!" Beamed Shinji, delighted that his plan was working. "Tenya?"

"I-ah, I don't think so?" Tenya blushed. "I bathe the kids and get them ready for bed while my wife does the laundry." He tried to explain.

BZZRK! The Device contested, red light flashing and the audience howled with laughter.

"Uh-oh, that's Not Correct!" Grinned Shinji. "According to the device, a significant amount of your clothes have holes in them, and you don't notice because you get dressed in the dark. You didn't outright lie though, so you will only not get a point instead of a deduction."

"WHAT?" Yelped Hiyori, outraged.

"Yeah, that's fair." Tenya winced. "Seriously though- where does this thing get it's information from?"

"...Hiyori?" Shinji leered playfully at his lieutenant.

"Yeah, it's all got holes. They come that way- Two for my legs and one for my torso." Hiyori snarled.

DING! agreed The Device.

"That is *technically* correct, which is the BEST kind of correct! You get a point!" Shinji cheered, and so did the audience.

"FINALLY!" She shouted, but her eyes narrowed with competitive enthusiasm.

---

The game continued for an hour, with a mix of group and solo questions, but equal chances to score points awarded to all contestants. Josuke was shameless but ill-informed, causing him to fail several rounds, Tenya was honest even as his face flushed red and he crumpled behind his Podium. Hiyori did her best to be only as honest as she had to be, and as the game continued, they came to a three-way tie.

"Before we begin the final round-" Shinji said, intoning a gentle sincerity. "Contestants, you've been so honest with me. Like. Alarmingly Honest with me. So I need to be honest with you- I do know how The Lie Detector works."

There was a scandalized gasp from all three contestants and the audience.

"Okay- I *sort of* know how The Device works." Shinji admitted. "I don't know what 'Wiffy' is-"

"YOU MEAN THE FUCKING WI-FI?" Howled Hiyori.

"Oh, like you know how it works!" Shinji glared.

"It's using a radio frequency to transmit Data instead of an electrical pulses like internet usually does." She scoffed. "-AND I KNOW HOW TO PRONOUNCE IT!"

Shinji glared. "...I should deduct a point from you for insubordination."

"You can't do that, you're the Host, not the Captain!" Said Josuke cheerfully.

"Yeah, unless Host is a Military rank, it's arguing, not insubordination."

DING! Agreed The Device.

"DON'T GANG UP ON ME!" Shinji wailed. "Fine, fine. Anyway, I might not know how Why-Figh works, but I *DO* know how the device knows if you're lying or not. Would my Lovely Assistants please come to the stage?"

Momo emerged from backstage, wearing a labcoat and holding another device with an antenna that matched the Lie Detector, followed by a middle aged woman holding a Baby, an older woman, and Mashiro Kuna.

"Akkiko?" Tenya yelped, and his wife laughed manically.

"MOM??" Wailed Josuke.

"MASHIRO??" Hiyori bellowed, jumping up onto her Podium. "YOU SOLD ME OUT?!"

"FOR A BAG OF CORN CHIPS!" Mashiro cackled.

"YOU DIDN'T EVEN PAY HER?!" Hiyori howled at Shinji.

"She was gonna do it for free! I talked her UP to a bag of corn chips!" Shinji protested. "But YES! You've all been deceived! Hoodwinked!Bamboozled, even! Which brings us to our Final Question!"

The crowd roared with excitement.

"I started this game because I wanted to get to know everyone better- but I have to ask, how well do YOU know each other, and so I must ask you all if you know these people as well as they know you?"

There was a loud OOOH! of intrigue from the audience.

"Just to make it extra-exciting, all of these questions will be worth up to three points!" Shinji grinned, then slowly turned to the first Podium. "Tenya."

"Oh god." Tenya laughed nervously.

"Your lovely wife. You've been married for ten year now, so you theoretically know what she looks like, right?" Shinji teased. "So, for a potential three points and week of paid vacation- Do you know what color Akkiko's eyes are?"

Akkiko giggled, turning around as Tenya leaned as far forward on his Podium and squinted at her. With a deep sigh, he slumped over the podium in defeat.

"...I do not." He groaned and Akkiko cackled.

"That is CORRECT!" Shinji cheered.

"I'm not good with colors." Tenya tried to explain. "-this morning I actually asked her what color MY eyes are."

"YES! That's what I was waiting to hear!" Shinji shouted, pumping his fist in the air. "All three points!"

The audience cheered loudly.

Shinji turned to the next contestant. "Josuke."

"Oh no." Josuke giggled.

"What is your mother's favorite food?" Shinji asked.

Josuke stared blankly.

"SURELY you are not living in your mother's house and NOT COOKING FOR HER, are you?" Shinji asked with no small amount of menace.

"You're never going to get married if you can't cook!" Tenya nodded in agreement.

"I COOK!" Josuke protested. "...sometimes." he added, cringing.

"-So. What do you make for your beloved mother, who works so hard taking care of her adult son?" Shinji teased.

"LOTSA STUFF THAT'S WHY I DON'T KNOW!" Josuke wailed. "I COOK KATSUDON, I COOK RAMEN, I COOK CURRY, I COOK OMURICE- I EVEN LEARNED HOW TO COOK WESTERN FOODS LIKE LASAGNA AND CHILLI CHEESE DOG-! DING! Went the device, Josuke's mother holding the radio.

"Was your favorite in there Mrs. Akari?"

"Yes! I like Chili Cheese Dog." She smiled. "I always eat seconds!"

"YOU ALWAYS EAT SECONDS OF EVERYTHING I COOK I DON'T KNOW WHICH ONE YOU LIKE THE MOST!" Josuke wailed.

"That is also true! He is a very good cook! And single!" She nodded up at Shinji.

"-And he's single!" Shinji grinned at the audience, some of whom whistled back. "Three points, for your culinary skills! Which means we have a Tie!"

The audience tittered with speculation and excitement.

"...Hiyori." Shinji grinned.

"You're a dead man as soon as you sign off on my vacation time." She glared.

"I mean, I can end the game right now." Shinji wagged his finger at her. "-But I can't resist the opportunity to humliate you. Now, You and Mashiro have been living under the same roof for longer than Josuke and Tenya have been alive, so to be fair to them, I'll ask you about someone you've met more recently but should still know pretty well-"

Hiyori squinted at him.

"-What is Momo's Favorite Animal?"

"What?" Hiyori laughed. "-Everyone knows it's Penguins!"

"Really?" asked Josuke. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah, I didn't know that either and I've served under her for decades now!" Said Tenya.

"What? How do you guys NOT know that?" Demanded Hiyori. "Her phone background is a Rockhopper Penguin, she's got a Fairy penguin squeeze toy in her desk for really long phone calls and she's always talking about wanting to go to the Tokyo aquarium in the living world to see them in person! She's even got a HUGE collection of penguin plushies in her r-" DINGDINGDINGDINGSING!! rang the Machine as Momo furiously pressed the button, face red as a beet.

"Wow!" Shinji smiled. "I'm surprised! You seem to know Miss Hinamori really well!"

"Uh, duh? We're colleagues." Hiyori rolled her eyes.

Momo sighed with relief.

"Interesting! Follow-up question- What's Mashiro's surname?" Shinji asked.

Hiyori blinked. "...uhhhhhhhh..."

"You heard Kensei yell it at least six times a day for the last century you jackass!" Laughed Mashiro.

"UHHHHH..." Hiyori paled, and the audience roared with laughter.

"Hmm... I seem to remember you pretending you didn't care about my birthday, and yet, you do- For you to remember her favorite animal and in such detail, Momo must be VERY IMPORTANT to you!"

The audience giggled Momo turned scarlet again and slowly crumpled into a ball. Mashiro vibrated with excitement beside her.

"Yeah?" Hiyori glared at Shinji. "She's the smartest person in the whole damn division and does half your job for you? If I win, I'm giving the week off to her just to watch you flail around without her! No wait- I'll set up the webcam and we can split the week off, go to the aquarium AND watch Shinji squirm like a worm an a-! Uh? Momo? You okay there?" She asked, finally noticing Momo laying on the floor, borderline catatonic with embarrassment.

"This is FASCINATNG!" Shinji grinned. "You are apparently so immune to embarrassment that you have somehow made it bounce off you and target Momo!"

"What's to be embarrassed about? I like her okay?" Hiyori blinked. "She's great! I wanna work with her forever!"

Shinji leaned forward on his elbows, chin in his hands and stared at Hiyori, positively vibrating with excitement.

"What?" She glared.

"You are. SO CLOSE. To comprehending something." He said, wide-eyed and delighted. "It's fascinating to see someone on the precipice like this."

Hiyori stared blankly at him. clueless.

"So you like Momo. We've established that." Shinji said, attempting to throw her a bone. "H- how do you think Momo feels about you?" Hiyori slowly lowered her gaze to Momo. The entire audience watched in hushed fascination as Hiyori frowned at the situation, thinking hard-

"...Momo?" Hiyori's voice was suddenly nervous. "Do you- have I just been annoying you? Becuase I can stop-"

Momo Hinamori was abruptly on her feet, crouched atop the Podium, fists balled in the front of Hiyori's shushako, pulling the blonde's face up so it was mere inches from hers. "HIYORI SARUGAKI YOU ARE THE MOST INFURIATING WOMAN IN THE UNIVERSE!"

"Fuck!" Hiyori yelped. "I'm really sorry, I'll- I'll leave you alo-"

"I'LL TELL YOU WHAT YOU'RE GOING TO DO, MISSY!" Momo continued, grabbing Hiyori's face. "YOU'RE WINNING THIS GAME, YOU'RE SPLITTING THE WEEK OFF WITH ME, YOU ARE GETTING A HOTEL IN THE LIVING WORLD AND THEN *I* AM GOING TO-'

In the videotape of the game that mysteriously appeared in the ninth division later that week, the next forty-seven seconds of sound had been obscured by a single, loud, continuous "BLEEEEEEEEEEEEP!" sound, but Mashiro was visibly looking up some of the terms being shouted on her phone, Josuke's mother sprinted up to cover her son's ears to no avail, Akkiko was pointing between herself and Tenya with excitement, and Shinji's jaw fell so far open it looked like it had become unhinged from his skull.

"-AND IF EITHER OF US CAN WALK IN THE MORNING, THEN WE'RE GONNA GO SEE SOME PENGUINS!" Momo finished, staring Hiyori down with a terrifying blend of romantic fury and bloodthirsty lust.

Hiyori stared up, wide-eyed and expressionless, face clearly offline as she underwent several psychological and spiritual awakenings before her she slowly broke into a slow, stupefied grin "Oh you like-like me!"

"...Yes." Momo sighed, deeply pained and affectionate at once as the audience howled. "You're okay with... all that?"

Hiyori saluted Momo with an enthusiastic "-Yes, SIR!"

"NOW THAT'S WHAT I'M FUCKING TALKIN' ABOUT!" Shinji whooped with joy, jumping up and down, the audience on their feet with applause. "POINTS AND VACATIONS ALL AROUND, AND FOR BEING THE *MOST* HONEST, THE WINNER OF TONIGHT'S GAME IS MOMO HINAMORI!"

The audience cheered wildly as Momo scooped Hiyori up like a princess and carried her backstage.

"THAT'S IT FOR TONIGHT'S GAME!" called Shinji over the din. "GOODNIGHT EVERYONE, AND GOOD FUCKING LUCK!"

---

As for Jushiro Ukitake, he appears on a special guest episode of Tonight's Game with fellow Captains Soi Fon, Byakuya Kuchiki and Retsu Unohana to play "Never Have I Ever" and *that* episode is widely considered to be one of the most scandalous and unhinged of all the games on Tonight's Game.

#AEIWAM #An Elephant Is Warm And Mushy #Bleach #Bleach Fanfic #Shinji hirako #momo hinamori #hiyori sarugaki #jushiro ukitake #(well he get mentioned at the end) #Long post #I've been watching a lot of Game Changer and I occured to me that Shinji and Sam Reich have a lot in common #for those of who don't watch Game Changer: This is a parody of the second episode

[thisismeracing]

thigh riding , dim lit austin pub , cowboy hat , daniel riccardo and mr norris

+18! Minors DNI!!!

so, I think when it comes to danny it would start as a joke. You're straddling him, and talking as if you were at home because the private area only has you two, and you're so thankful there's no rush of people or much noise, except for the country music lightly playing through the speakers. Daniel would joke about you riding him because of your position, and you grinned at him, dragging your core against his blue jeans. He knew you matched his energy, he knew it was always "fuck around and find out daniel!" but still, he wasn't prepared for the way you grabbed his jaw and kissed him, swallowing his grunts and grinding harder against his now harder dick.

"can't do this in here," he mumbled, between kisses, tightening his grip on your waist.

"no, YOU can't do it in here, I sure can and will get off just because you decided to joke about it," you joshed, switching your position and getting one of his thighs between your legs before starting to ride it. "how does that saying go again?"

"safe a horse or something," daniel can't even think straight with the sight of you riding his thigh and smirking, and the second you grab his cowboy hat and puts it on, he swears he can cum just by the mere sight.

safe to say you ruined his blue jeans and your panties that night.

****

Now when it comes to Lan I think it would happen when you're celebrating his podium at the VIP area of a country bar you've never heard about, but it's just so fun and everyone is drinking and talking, and carefree, so much one girl decides to hit on your boyfriend and though he politely declines, she keeps talking and grabbing his biceps. Lando looks for you through the drunk crowd and when his eyes find yours he's almost pleading for help, you smirk and make your way to them, politely complimenting her before finding your table and sitting on his lap. It's dark, and its in a private corner, but since she followed you guys with her eyes, she can see the moment you sit on his lap and turn to kiss him, and you make a show out of it. So much, you end up turning your boyfriend on. Lando holds your waist and presses you harder against his thigh, it's not the best position and it's hard to kiss like this because your back is to him, and your neck is turned to him.

"I seriously need to-"

"yeah, me too," your voice is as low as his, and you can feel the vibrations of a groan on your shoulders. "But I'm not having sex in the bathroom of a bar, Lan."

"Not sex, just- you can ride my thigh,"

"And what do you get?"

"I get to see you cum," he grins, biting your earlobe and you giggle. "And maybe a handjob if you want to congratulate me on my podium, you know," he adds, and you don't waste time before getting up and dragging him to the bathroom.

send me thots!

#thots #thirsty #lando norris #ln4 #daniel ricciardo #dr3 #millies inbox #f1 x reader #f1 smut #goldenalbon #f1 blurb #millie writes smut #op: blurbs #kinda

[theemporium]

[4k] you made a deal with your boyfriend to do whatever he wanted to celebrate his podium and you were going to do exactly that, even if the rest of the world was determined to get in the way. (smut)

part one

.

Much to his dismay, he couldn’t get you alone after he had finished his round in the media pen. 

Lando stumbled into his driver’s room, buzzing and eager to get his hands on you, only to have a team member knock on his door and inform him that Zak wanted to take a massive group photo outside of the garage. 

You shot him a sympathetic look before he left the room. 

Then, when he tried to return, he was being pulled up by different team members and colleagues who wanted to congratulate him on the podium at his home race. 

And just when Lando thought he was in the clear, he was being pulled into conversation by none other than Max Verstappen and Daniel Ricciardo—two boys he usually would’ve been happy to see—and somehow found himself roped into going out and celebrating the night. 

It didn’t take a genius to work out Lando was getting angsty. 

He had been all but pawing at you before you even left the hotel room, his hands on your waist and his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck as you tried to add the finishing touches on your makeup in the bathroom mirror. 

“We could just stay in,” he murmured between soft, open-mouthed kisses he pressed along your neck. “Say fuck it and stay here.”

You raised your brows. “What are you gonna tell Max and Daniel?” 

“Sorry guys, I would rather fuck my pretty girlfriend all night than get piss drunk!” Lando answered with a cheeky grin on his face, lifting his head enough to catch your gaze in the mirror. 

Your cheeks burned. “Asshole.” 

“We made a deal,” he mumbled, and was all but pouting as he flashed his puppy dog eyes. “You are cutting back on your end of the deal.”

“I’m not,” you said and turned in his arms so you were now facing him. “The night is young, who knows what will happen?” 

What could happen was that Lando was about two minutes away from blowing a load in his trousers in public. 

You had shooed him out of the bathroom so you could slip on your dress and heels just before the taxi with the other boys arrived. When you stepped out, clad in heels that made your legs look miles long and a dress that barely covered anything, Lando was fighting for his life to find a way to convince you to stay in the hotel room. 

But his phone rang and the excited voice of Daniel came through the speaker as he announced they were outside and Lando didn’t even get a chance before you were grabbing his hand and dragging him out the room. 

He had been on edge the whole ride to the club, his thigh pressed against yours and the sweet scent of your vanilla perfume driving him mad. He told himself he needed to reel it in, that he just got a podium at his home race, that he deserved to be carefree and celebrate with his friends like everyone else was doing. 

But two sips into the beer in his hand and Lando wanted to be anywhere but the club at that moment. He watched as you made your way towards the bar, leaning over the counter and sticking out that pretty ass of yours as you ordered some fruity cocktail that would probably have him scrunching his nose. 

He watched the way the hem of your dress clung to your upper thighs, the way your lips wrapped around your straw and the way your eyes fell shut as you danced to the beat of whatever song blasting through the speakers. He watched as you smiled and laughed with all of your shared friends, as you threw your arms over Max’s shoulder and laughed at whatever the dutchman had said.

Lando never considered himself a jealous man and he knew there was nothing more to your interactions than platonic nature, but the fact your attention was everyone but him was starting to get to him. 

He was promised to have you all to himself tonight. He was promised free reign and a night of just the two of you, tangled between the hotel room sheets until the sun rose and you would have to rush to the airport for a flight back to Monaco. 

He was supposed to be the only one listening to your laughs or watching you smile. 

He was supposed to be the only one you cared about too.

With his mind made up and his body itching to have you in his vicinity again, he slammed his half-drunk beer down and ignored the joking comment Daniel said to him before he began pushing through a throng of dancing partygoers until he got to you. 

“We gotta go,” Lando said as his arm wound around your waist and pulled you into his front, though his eyes remained on his friend. “We have an early flight in the morning.

Max scoffed. “Boo! You’re no fun!”

“Maybe next time,” Lando smiled, and to anyone else, it may have seemed genuine. But you could see it was slightly strained. 

Your body felt like it was stuck in a trance as you followed Lando out of the bustling club, the chill of the summer night hitting you the second you left the club. You looked at him, taking in the sheer layer of sweat on his skin that made him glow. The way his chest peaked out from the open buttons of his black silk shirt and the chain around his neck. You took in how pretty your boy truly was.

His arm around your waist tightened as he pulled you closer, his other hand working his phone as his thumb tapped away before sliding back into his pocket. 

You raised your hand, your thumb smoothing over the crease between his brows. “What’s wrong?” 

Lando turned his head to look at you, his gaze unamused. “You really gonna play like that?” 

You flashed him an innocent smile. “Like what?” 

His eyes darkened. “Don’t play these games, baby. We had a deal.” 

“We did,” you nodded as you placed your hands on his chest, letting yourself slowly stroke the material of his shirt and play with the buttons as you looked up at him. “The deal still stands.” 

“Does it?” he questioned, his grip on your waist tightening. “Because to me, you were all too eager to get dressed up and head out tonight.” 

You just smiled, leaning up on your tiptoes so your lips were brushing against his. Your voice dropped, the bouncers and other people loitering around the outside of the club not even a second thought as you whispered against his lips. 

“And if I told you I’m not wearing any panties?” 

His hands on your waist tightened its grip, but this time it was almost out of protectiveness. His hands dropped to the hem of your dress, pulling it further down your legs like it would help the fact you were wearing nothing underneath. 

“Baby,” Lando groaned, his hands firmly planted on your ass to stop your dress from riding up. 

“I wanted to be ready for you,” you murmured with your red painted lips pouting. “I said anything you want, Lando, that included any time and any place.” 

You were goading him. You knew it. He knew it. Everyone and their fucking nan knew it but it didn’t stop you from doing so. 

He let out a string of curse words muttered under his breath before slamming his lips against yours. He probably should’ve cared that there were people around, that anyone could record you both or take a photo and have it plastered on tomorrow’s paper. He probably should’ve waited until you were back in your hotel room. 

But he had waited long enough and he didn’t have the patience to wait a second longer. 

You let out a whiny noise from the back of your throat when he pulled away, your cheeks flushed and your lipstick smudged as you tried to pull him back down to you but a squeeze of your ass warned you to stop. 

“Get in the car,” he grunted, his voice raspy and a little gruff and he pretended not to notice the way your thighs clenched in response. 

He stood directly behind you as you clambered into the back of the car, his eyes fixated on your ass before he followed suit. The driver gave them a polite smile and nod of his head before he turned the radio up, confirming the hotel before he pulled away from the side of the street. 

You looked towards your boyfriend, still a little dazed as you reached over to wipe away the red lipstick smudged across his lips but his hand on your wrist stopped you. 

“Lando,” you murmured quietly as his hand moved down your arm, down your side until you shivered against him. 

“No bra either,” he mused, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he moved his hand down until it rested on your bare thigh. “You said anything.” 

“I did,” you murmured. 

His eyes found yours. “Did you really mean it?” 

You nodded. 

“Anything I want?” he asked one more time because you both knew if you said the word, he would stop. But you didn’t want him to stop. Not at all. 

“Anything,” you breathed out.

“Stay quiet for me, baby.”

Your bottom lip was tucked between your teeth as you felt his hand slide under the hem of your dress. Your eyes widened as you glanced at your boyfriend, questioning if he was really going to do this. But the way his lips twitched upwards into a soft smirk told you more than enough.

You tore your eyes away from him and looked at the front of the car, where the driver was oblivious to what was happening in the back of his car. Some Taylor Swift song was playing on the radio, filling the silence but you were far too lost in the feeling of Lando’s palm cupping your bare cunt to try and remember the title of the song.

“Lando—”

“Shh,” he ducked his head to press a lingering kiss on the crown of your head. “I told you to stay quiet, didn’t I?”

You nodded.

“So be a good girl f’me,” he mumbled as his fingers slowly slid along your slit, a low groaning noise escaping the back of his throat when he felt how wet you were. “Fuck, this all for me?”

You nodded again, not trusting yourself to even try and talk right now.

“You’re a fucking tease, baby,” he grumbled as his finger lightly caressed your needy cunt, brushing against your clit with the lightest of touches that made you bite back your own whimpers. He pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing slow circles until you felt like every nerve in your body was going to explode. “Gonna give you a taste of your own medicine.” 

You could have cried when he finally slid one finger inside you but it wasn’t enough, and Lando knew that. He watched in delight as you leaned back against the car seat, eager and desperate eyes glaring into the side of his face as he looked down at your lap, as though he was able to watch the way your walls squeezed around him as he added another finger. 

Your body was on fire. Every inch of you felt like you had lava coursing through your veins, your stomach coiling and twisting with desire and your heart pounding in your chest as your boyfriend had his way with you in the back of the Uber. You reached out to grip his wrist, your breathing shaky as you flashed him a warning look.

“I can’t,” you whispered, shaking your head as you turned to glance at the driver, but Lando’s fingers dug into your cheeks as he turned you back to him.

“You can and you will,” he muttered, his eyes darkening in desire as he watched you fight the urge to moan his name. His voice dropped, so low that you barely heard him over the radio. “You said whatever I want, baby. This is what I want. C’mon, make a mess for me.” 

Your face was pressed against his shoulder as you came, your teeth digging into his shoulder as he only chuckled in your ear. Your legs were shaking, your body was shaking and your brain could barely string a coherent sentence together, let alone even care at the fact the poor driver just had his backseat vandialised. 

You were panting softly as you finally lifted your head, a whimpering noise leaving your lips as Lando pulled his fingers out of you and made a point of sliding them into his own mouth. You watched as he licked and sucked the arousal that soaked his fingers.

The little shit even had the audacity to wink at you when your lips parted slightly at the sight.

He leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips with a grin. “That’s one, baby.”

You didn’t even get a chance to process what he said before the car pulled outside the hotel. Lando thanked the driver (leaving him a hefty tip on top of the payment) and slid out the car, extending his hand to help you out before he wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you on your feet. 

You gripped his shirt in tight fists and the boy’s grin only widened as you headed inside, dipping his head to greet the doorman and any other workers you met along the way to your hotel room.

Your brain still felt a little fuzzy from your orgasm when the hotel room door locked with a click behind you. You felt his hands on your waist, turning your body to face him and you felt your heart stop a little when you saw the smile on his face.

“Have I told you how fucking beautiful you look tonight?” he asked, slow steps guiding you further into the room as he kept his hold on you.

“I don’t think you have, Norris, you’re slacking,” you murmured, letting out a small squeal when he pinched your hip. “There’s still time for you to make up for it.”

He raised his brows. “Is that so?”

You pressed your lips together to hold back your smile.

“Well, as gorgeous as you look,” Lando murmured as he ducked his head down, his eyes never leaving yours. “I can’t wait to take this fucking dress off you. You are wearing far too much for what I wanna do.”

You gulped a little. “And what do you wanna do, Mr Norris?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” he smiled and both of his hands cupped your cheeks before he brought his lips down on yours. “Just need you to sit there and look all pretty for me.”

Lando Norris’ kisses were all-consuming. They were overwhelming and they made your head spin and you didn’t ever want the sensation to stop. He was a good fucking kisser and sometimes that alone could make you feel fuzzy and needy and eager for more. 

However, that was far from the case tonight. 

Lando’s patience lasted all of five minutes before he stayed true to his word, tugging the zipper on the back of your dress and pulling it off your body, only to throw it somewhere else in the room. He didn’t even give you a chance to unclasp your heels before he was nudging you onto the bed, crawling over you and his lips never once leaving your body.

His shirt was long gone but when you tried to unbutton his trousers, he slapped your hands away and muttered for you to keep them on the bed before he began to kiss lower and lower down your body.

Some nights, Lando could have the patience of a saint. And some nights, he just wanted to nuzzle his head between your thighs and never leave.

“Lando!”

His arms were wound around your thighs to keep you locked in place, one hand cupping your tits whilst laid on your stomach. The noises echoing through the room were debauched and scandalous and he had never heard anything so pretty. The way you moaned his name in between strings of curses, accompanied with the sound of his tongue lapping and licking and sucking your needy cunt like he was a starved man.

He never wanted to leave this moment. 

Your thighs squeezed around his ears and he groaned against you, his eyes falling shut as his lips wrapped around your clit. He watched as you arched at the sensation, as you gripped the sheets between your fingers, as you lamely attempted to buck your hips against him only for the hand on your stomach to push you back down.

“Taste so fucking good,” he moaned, his words muffled and mumbled. “This is what I fucking wanted after my race, not some stupid party.”

“Shit,” you cried out, your heels scratching down his back as you felt the coil in your stomach tighten. “Please, please!”

Lando let out a whimper as your fingers tangled between his curls, tugging and pulling as you ground your cunt against his face. His hands squeezed your hips, tight enough that they would probably bruise in the morning but neither of you cared. 

He pinned you down to the bed, one hand pushing your leg closer to your chest and the other keeping your leg locked in place as his tongue eagerly lapped your needy cunt. You were soaking, practically gushing down your thighs and onto the bed but Lando didn’t think he had ever seen a prettier sight.

There was a dull pain with each tug of his hair as you came, a dull pain that went straight down to his cock as he watched you squirm and wiggle underneath him as you screamed his name. He couldn’t get enough of you, the taste of you and the way you feel in his hands with your thighs wrapped around him and—

“Please,” you sobbed, your body shaking as you tried to come down from your high, only to feel Lando eagerly still lapping the mess you made between your legs. “Please, baby, I-I need you inside of me.”

And fuck, if there was one thing he loved more than eating you out until your pretty little head couldn’t handle it, it was seeing you beg for his cock.

“Yeah? Need me to fill you up?” he murmured, his warm breath fanning over your inner thighs as he placed sloppy kisses along your skin, up your stomach and chest until your nose was brushing against his. “Need me to fuck you, baby?”

“Please,” you whined, your hands gripping his biceps like you were scared he was going to pull away again. “Please.”

“Don’t need to cry, baby, gonna give my girl what she wants,” he murmured before leaning down to kiss you. “Plus, we are only on two.”

You frowned a little, opening your mouth to ask him what he meant but a sharp slap against your thigh cut you off.

“On all fours, baby, let me see that pretty ass you have been teasing me with all night,” Lando muttered and you didn’t have the heart to tease him anymore, not when you wanted him inside you so desperately. 

He was so careful when he first slid inside you, letting out a guttural noise as he felt the walls of your cunt clench around his cock as you took him inch by inch. His hands were constantly on you, squeezing and caressing you as he whispered praised reassurances. He waited until he was completely sheathed inside you, his pelvis pressed against your ass and his cock so deep inside you, you could have sworn you felt him in your stomach.

He waited until you were nice and stretched out and ready for him.

And then, it was like a flip had switched inside the boy’s head.

The sound of skin slapping against skin bounced off the walls of the room, the noises leaving your lips were borderline pornographic and Lando wished he could remember every single detail of this night for the rest of his life.

His hands gripped your hips, guiding your hips back into him to match his hard, fast-paced thrusts. His eyes were glued on the way your cunt greedily took his cock, the way he disappeared with each thrust, only to pull out covered in more of your arousal. He wanted the image burned into the back of his eyelids.

“Atta girl,” Lando groaned, the quick slap against your ass followed by the needy whine you let out making his head spin. “Taking my cock so well, like you were fucking made for me.”

“Shit, please,” you moaned, your head fuzzy and your body tired and all you could think about was Lando hitting that spot again and again and again and again. “Lando, please!”

“So fucking desperate,” he laughed, bordering the line of mocking and it shouldn’t have made you clench around his cock, but it did. And it only encouraged him further. “That’s right, all fucking dumb for my cock, right, baby? Just mine.” 

You were too far lost in the pleasure when you came for a third time that night, your arms losing the strength to hold your body up any longer. Your cheek was pressed against the cool sheets, your fingers gripping the fabric as pleasure washed over you like crashing waves. You whined, feeling the bulge of him deep inside you as he thrusted again and again, and you waited for him to spill inside you. 

But he didn’t. 

He kept fucking you.

“L-Lando,” you choked out, your body jerking with each of his thrusts as you pressed your face against the sheets. Your lips parted, a pathetic noise leaving your lips and tears welled along your lash line. “Too much, please, I-I can’t—”

“You can, baby,” he groaned out, his hand reaching out to take one of yours in his. “One more f’me, pretty girl, need to feel you come on my cock one more time.” 

“Lando–”

“Please, baby,” he moaned, his head falling back as your walls clenched around him. 

This time when you came, he followed right behind you. Neither one of you spoke, your bodies covered in a layer of sweat and your chests panting to try and catch your breath. Lando squeezed your hips, leaning down to press an affectionate kiss to your ass cheek before he slowly slid out, watching the mess you both created.

You whined, your body slumping against the mattress and Lando couldn’t help but giggle as he crawled back up the bed, taking your body in his arms as you became a lump of tangled limbs. 

“That’s three and four,” he murmured against your temple and you lifted your head as realisation finally dawned on you.

“You wanted me to come four times,” you commented and he only grinned in response.

“It is my number after all,” he said like it was obvious. “And you’re my girl. It makes sense.”

You snorted. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, but I’m yours,” Lando murmured, watching as your eyes fell shut as you leaned your head against his chest. He lightly shook you. “Hey, pretty girl, need you to stay awake so we can take a shower.”

“We can have one in the morning,” you said, your words muffled as you nuzzled your face further into his chest.

“Yeah, right,” Lando snorted before patting your ass. “C’mon, I’ll wash your hair. And we need to take your makeup off, baby, I wanna see my gremlin.”

“You are so doting,” you deadpanned.

“I just don’t wanna deal with a grumpy girlfriend in the morning—ouch!” Lando hissed, glaring down at you. “Geez, tough crowd, I was joking.”

You lifted your head, flashing him a lazy smile. “Carry me?”

He playfully rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I love you too, my podium boy,” you murmured teasingly, leaning up to kiss him and Lando didn’t have it within him to not smile into the kiss.

.

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