#and Thank You! i hope i get a callback as well...
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I'm piggybacking a bit off of the last ask of asking for writing tips but I have an odd question... Am I the only person that struggles actually PICKING a book? It's the absolute bane of my existence because I feel like I can be so picky... Don't get me wrong, I love being a bookworm, and I'm trying to get back into reading physical books but it's so difficult to find a real taste of what the book is like without being completely spoiled or something... I miss when backs of books had an actual summary and not just NO.1 NEW YORK BESTSELLER!!!! It's so frustrating... I've been trying to get back into it by re-reading fond chapter childhood books read to me (The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane & A Wrinkle In Time). But at the same time I'm also trying to get into more "adult" books that isn't... Well, you try googling "adult books" and see how that goes, I didn't think too hard about what a poor decision THAT was. But I'm working up the courage to read Cat's Cradle right now to start with "Classic Authors" I guess!
Anyway I'm rambling here, I guess my question is... How do you pick out the books you read? I don't really have friends that read many books to recommend to me :')
Thank you in advance, Bog! I hope you get a callback from that interview soon!
no ok actually you've mentioned something that's been bothering me for a while - What The Hell Do Y'all Mea, Books Don't Have Summaries Anymore???? i have not once in my life found a book that didn't have a summary. i was in barnes & noble recently and everything i looked at had a summary. i have literally never seen a book without one in my life of reading & looking at new books on a regular basis
softcovers have theirs on the back. hardcovers are on the inside of the sleeve - lift the cover and it should be printed right there on the inside flap! summaries aren't legally required but both the author and Especially the publisher(s) know that no one's gonna buy a book without a summary. trust me, all books worth reading have a summary. if a book doesn't have one, it's probably not worth your time anyway. you just gotta know where to look!
so my answer to how i choose books... i read the summary lmao. if it seems interesting, ill either write it down to get later or ill get it there and then.
Before the summary though, i look for any titles that jump out at me from the shelf. then i look at the thickness. i like a bit of meat in my literature, so i tend to shy away from thinner books. thicker ones grab my attention more easily. then i look at the cover - if it interests me, then ill read the summary. i don't have specific tastes in title or cover. as long as it makes my brain "hm" thoughtfully, ill take a gander!
and really, if you have access to a bookstore (chain or not, ive found plenty of bangers in tiny used bookshops) or library, the best way to find a book is to physically browse. even if you dont buy anything, you can take pictures of books / write them down to buy online. but going to the store lets you search them out, examine the length, cover, title, summary - and easily put it back on the shelf or keep it. i hate shopping online bc there's ads, you can't examine the product, nothing really stands out since it's all portrayed similarly, there's limited pictures instead of the physical thing, and photos can lie.
plus, everything is (typically) meticulously sorted by genre & age range. when you go into a section with literature aimed at adults, you'll find exactly that instead of smut novels lmao. real life bookstores can be more accurate than online searches. & there's just something so good about walking through shelves, searching for that one book before you know it exists, smelling the paper... yeah...
#like for example i recently bought priory of the orange tree#ive been wanting it for a while and havent read it yet since im finishing something else#BUT! i remember when i first saw it#nothing had gotten my attention for a while#but then i saw the thickest fucking book ive seen in ages - which was automatically very sexy of it#and then the title was unique - priory of the orange tree??? whoah! what the fuck does that mean!!!#so automatically there was the interest of neat title + a new word that i get to learn + the implications of the word now that i understand#and then i picked the book up and it was deliciously heavy - & there was a Dragon on the cover. which. YES PLEASE#then the summary was fascinating!! the book was immediately seared into my brain! im very excited to read it#so thats a highly successful example of my book choosing Process#it checked all of my boxes so it was a win#most books dont check all of my boxes but as long as it hits most of them im down to clown yk yk#but yeah im picky too so! nothing wrong with being picky or having high standards!#rambles from the bog#my shelves are fuckin Full of books ranging from 'it was ok' to 'I WILL RECOMMEND THIS TO ALL WHO WILL LISTEN'#and then i have a drawer filled with books that i just could not care less about / dont like#but dont have the heart to throw away bc. well putting a book in the trash kills a part of my soul#i need to donate them...#but yes! i hope that helps!#and Thank You! i hope i get a callback as well...
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Guys the cast list is being posted tomorrow for night of the living dead… wish me luck!!!
#I hope I get barbara#or at least a main cast#but idk#I feel like the director thinks I’m creepy#tbh I feel like everyone thinks I’m creepy#or doesn’t like me#or both#I just hope I get a part#I flubbed my audition so badly#everyone got a callback and I think that went very well#I just… don’t know#there’s no seniors this year thank god#was tired of them being so uppity about their senior status#they were nice but like bro… shut up#you have no idea how annoying they are#this is the juniors theater now!!!#except for a couple seniors that were cool#most of them were mean tho#srsly tho#everyone who’s most likely going to be cast is a junior#the rest are weird freshman and a couple sophomores#high school theater#night of the living dead play#scared outta my mind!!!#wish me luck#they’re coming for you barbara…
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Hey!! I love your fic's so much!
Can I request a Jacob x Fem!reader where they are friends but reader has a crush on Jacob. When he shifts he leaves and does what he did to Bella like ignoring her and Billy won't answer the door.
Mutual pinning but neither knows. He imprints on reader.
Thank you so much keep up the great writing :)
Also, I was wondering if you are going to be doing the vampires as well?
Hi!, Thank you so much for the request! I appreciate the kind words <3
I will be doing fanfics for the vampires as well! As of right now I only have the wolves, but I am planning on making a master list for the vamps and Bella. If you want to make a request for them I can definitely do that! I am planning on making a fic for Jasper soon!
A/N: Not proofread! I aged Jacob up a bit, you both are seventeen here. I didn't know exactly how to end this but I think I might do a spin-off series off of this fic so if you are interested in that let me know. Also, sorry for the late posting I am currently sick and going through it lmao. Hope you enjoy <3
Warnings: Jacob being an ass, cursing, angst, Y/N with a backbone.
Wolf’s Out Of The Bag
Jacob Black x Fem!reader
You were staring blankly down at your phone. Ten phone calls, ten phone calls sent to voicemail. Ten desperate, pleading voicemails. No callback, no text, nothing received. You snapped your phone closed and threw it down on the bed.
It had been two weeks since Jacob stormed off from your house after getting into a small disagreement, at least it started off that way.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~"It's nothing you need to worry about, Jacob," You grumbled with a slight roll of your eyes. Hoping he would drop the subject.
He was giving you an irritated look. You lightly pushed him with your shoulder giving him a small smile.
"I didn't think you'd care that much, it was one date and it's never happening again," you noted with a light-hearted laugh to ease the tension.
He turned to face you, irritation turning to anger. You could actually feel the heat radiating off of his body next to yours.
"Wow you must be really dumb, I mean how could you even think about going on a date with that pig. He's not good enough for you, but then again if you were desperate enough to give him a chance maybe I'm wrong" He barked getting more bitter with each word.
You look at him in shock.
"Why would you say that to me" You said not believing what you were hearing. "It's really none of your business who I go out with, you aren't my bodyguard, you don't have to 'protect' me. When did you get the right to decide who is 'good enough' for me? Huh? You're being a dick and I don't know why but it better change right now." You say sternly. He has never acted like this before and this sudden behavior change is not sitting well with you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jacob left shortly after that. He had gotten so angry he was shaking, you can't even remember the words that were thrown after that. Now, he wasn't answering the phone. Billy said he came down with mono, you didn't know how much you believed it but decided to trust that Billy wouldn't lie to you.
Jacob was your best friend, you loved him a lot. You had never had such an intense fight, you never thought he would react the way he did. You only went on the stupid date to get Jacob out of your head, you thought that maybe you would get over Jacob if you found someone else to pay attention to. You were wrong, no one made you feel the way that Jacob did. Jacob made you feel at home, you couldn't explain why but it was like he was the person you were meant to be with. He was the one who understood you fully and would never judge you for anything you said or did. Until now......
You were deeply hurt by what Jacob said to you, and if he thought that you would get over it he was surely mistaken. He had never said anything more hurtful to you in your entire friendship. You had thought about just letting it go, letting life run its course even if it meant Jacob being out of your life, but you couldn't just sit and let him speak to you that way. You wanted answers. Sitting in your room waiting for him to call and explain was becoming too stressful. You sat there for hours overthinking and no matter what you were doing you were replaying the moment in your mind.
You must be going crazy. At least that's what you were trying to convince yourself after seeing Jacob cliff-jumping with Sam Uley and his gang. You had decided that you would go to La Push, and relax your body and mind on one of the only partly cloudy days in Forks. The skies were pretty clear but there was a storm coming soon, so you decided to do it now. Never in your life did you think you would see what you were seeing now. Are you fucking serious? was all you could think as you drove your car straight to Billy Black's house. You wanted to make sure it was really Jacob, so you went to the man who had told you how 'serious' his condition was in the first place.
As you pulled into the driveway the clouds began covering the sky in a dark grey mass. You hopped out of the car and began walking to the front door, Billy had opened the door as soon as you stepped onto the wood. His face had a mix of concern and confusion as he noticed your agitated expression and the way your chest was slightly heaving from anger.
"Where is he" you say with a grumble.
"He's not here, he went out," He says seriously but looking down a bit not wanting to make eye contact. Billy didn't like lying to you and to your face it was even worse.
Just as you were about to speak you looked to the side and saw that far away down the hill, Jacob stood playfully nudging another man as a few more came out of the woods.
"Don't Y/N" Billy said in warning.
You started stomping down the hill, ignoring Billy's yells. Billy calling your name caught the attention of Jacob, as his face shifted from laughing to completely still. You continued to walk towards Jacob as the rain started, it quickly went from a drizzle to full pouring as you finally reached him.
To say you were fuming would be an understatement.
"What the actual fuck Jacob!" you say basically screaming at the shirtless man, who was now staring directly into your eyes with what looked like pure amazement but you ignored it the best you could, whatever love for him you felt in that moment may have been strong but you were too angry to care so you continued.
"So we have one fight and you ignore me for two weeks?! I called you ten times, ten times Jacob. You couldn't bother picking up the phone at least once, you could've told me you didn't want to be friends but no! You had your daddy lie to me" You say with an angry laugh.
"I thought you were sick Jacob! Too sick to pick up the damn phone and text me! Come to find out you were just having too much fun cliff jumping with the guys we used to make fun of! You know what you can have them, If you want to throw away seventeen years of friendship then be my guest." You say finally taking a breath.
The weight off of your chest feels amazing, but as you finish Jacob falls to his knees. The boys behind him look between you two with pure shock on their faces before they start laughing and smiling. You look up at them shocked and confused thinking they were making fun of you. They start walking away but not before patting Jake on the back. Sam leans down and whispers something to him as he sits there still on his knees staring at you.
"Do you even care about a word I just said to you? You know what never mind if you think this is a joke I might as well leave," You say turning around and starting to walk away.
Jacob suddenly found his voice as he quickly got to his feet and stumbled trying to reach you.
"WAIT! Wait, wait, Y/N please hold on!" He spoke hurriedly. Grasping for your hand and pulling you around. Hand now resting on your waist.
"I am so, so sorry. Please let me explain everything, I promise I won't lie to you anymore. I can explain everything now, just come inside and dry off." He said pleadingly, trying his best to get you to listen to him.
You thought for a moment, you didn't trust him at all but the way he was speaking you knew he was telling the truth to some extent. It was hard for him to lie to you, you know how Jacob works, you know the subtle mannerisms he has when he's not telling the truth. Considering all of this you finally speak.
"Fine, but if things don't add up or I find out you are still lying, I am gone," You say sternly, pulling his hands away from you and walking up the hill.
When you get to the house, Jacob gives you warm tea and a blanket which you take from him without a word. He comes over and sits across from you. He almost reaches for your hand but stops himself.
"The day that I left your house, something changed, I changed...." He claimed, looking at your reaction with a hint of fear but continued "This is going to sound crazy, but you have to believe me on this..... I am a werewolf"
You stared at him for a moment before throwing the blanket off and standing up, Jacob followed suit immediately. You threw him a glare before starting to walk out.
"No, No, Y/N wait!" he shouted after you, reaching out and grabbing your hand. "I am telling the truth let me show you" He spoke as he continued outside your hand still in his.
" I swear Jacob if this is a pra....."
You went dead silent as he began taking his boots, and then his shorts off. Now standing in just his underwear. He gave you a curt nod and then started bending and shaking profusely. You could barely blink before your best friend stood in front of you only he wasn't human anymore, he was a massive wolf.
You jumped back a bit as the wolf started coming towards you, noticing your fear he slowly laid down on the ground and gave out a small whine to signal he would not hurt you. You were in complete shock, how was this possible? Everything you ever heard about the stories of the Quileute tribe growing up was true, and your best friend was living proof. A thousand thoughts ran through your mind, but they were silenced by the wolf standing up and trotting to the back of the house. Jacob then emerged in different clothes than before.
"I'm sorry, but I couldn't tell you Y/N" Jacob expressed, grabbing your hands hesitantly until you leaned into the touch slightly.
"Why couldn't you tell me, you know I would never judge you, nor would I ever tell anyone " You pressed before giving him a confused stare "Wait why are you telling me now?"
He looked at you a gave you a crooked smile.
"It's one of the rules that came with the gig" He laughs a bit before pulling you a bit closer. "The reason I can tell you now is because you are my soulmate," He says beaming down at you.
You stare up at him with a bewildered expression.
"I'm your what?" you say breathing out.
"You are my imprint, Y/N. It's a wolf's soulmate, it is the reason for their existence, you feel like it isn't gravity holding you to the ground anymore, it's them. You can be anything the imprint wants you to be, a friend, a protector, a lover, all that matters is that the two are connected. Like vines on trees overlapping each other both on the same path, interlocked." He pauses, putting his hand on your face and caressing your cheek gently.
"I know this might be overwhelming and a lot to handle. I really want you to know how deeply sorry I am for everything that I said. I'm not going to sit here and blame it all on the wolf because it wasn't, I was jealous. I was jealous that you went on that date with someone that wasn't me and I didn't mean a word that I said about you. I'm going to be fully honest with you from now on, starting with the fact that I have been in love with you since the second grade. I know that trusting me will take time, but I am willing to do whatever it takes to earn it back. I understand that I have hurt you, so it might take a very long time but I will always be there for you. Everything is up to you, I understand if you want to reject the connection. The connection can be anything you want it to be, but I really truly do not want to lose you and the past two weeks without you have been hell on earth for me. I'm just really sorry Y/N." He pleads letting go of your hands and allowing you to process.
"I... I love you too Jacob. I have for a while now. I'm not going to forgive you easily but I am glad you understand how much you have hurt me. I am willing to give this a shot, mainly because I can feel the connection and would be an idiot if I said that I didn't." You laugh a bit as he looks at you with the biggest smile on his face.
"But if you ever say or do that to me again I will put you in a dog house and leave you there," You say with an evil smile laughing at the way his face drops before he joins in.
You two get out of the rain and drive separately to Emily's house where you meet the pack and they explain in much more detail what being a wolf really entails. You and Emily become quick friends, and as the days go on you slowly fall into a routine that is pure chaos but you wouldn't have it any other way. You and Jacob work on your relationship, slowly building back trust and falling deeper and deeper into love with each other. You have fully accepted your place in a world filled with wolves and life seems to be going great, that is until they tell you exactly why they turn into the big ferocious beasts....... there are vampires in Forks.
#jacob black#twilight saga#the twilight saga#twilight#twilight imagine#new moon#jacob x reader#jacob black x reader#jacob black x female reader#jacob black imagine#jacob black x you#twilight werewolves#twilight wolves#twilight wolfpack#forks washington
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Nonno’s Globetrotting Adventure
Part One
I sat in my modest apartment, the weight of my years heavy upon my frail shoulders. My once-strong body now betrayed me, confined to a wheelchair as age and illness took their toll. But despite my body, I still felt young at heart. And, more importantly, I had a burning desire to experience the world beyond the confines of my small Italian town before my time was up.
One day, my grandson Nico came to visit. Although it feels weird to say about my grandson, Nico is a very attractive young man.
He’s currently working as a waiter while pursing his dream of getting signed by a modeling agency in Milan. While Nico certainly has the looks to get signed, he seems to lack the discipline and patience needed to succeed. Every time he comes close, he finds a way to sabotage his chances – oversleeping for a final callback, not bothering to dress nice enough, always something.
Seeing that Nico was struggling, I had an idea for how to help us both get what we wanted.
“Wait, so let me get this straight,” Nico said. “You want to use my body to travel the world, while I stay here in yours?”
“Exactly,” I replied. “I know it sounds strange, but think about it. You’re young and full of energy, it’s really the only way I could see some sights before I pass.”
“But how would it even work?” he said.
“I have these enchanted necklaces. If we both wear them at the same time, we’ll swap bodies. And then, when the summer is over, we can switch back by both removing the necklaces,” I explained.
“Wow, that’s… That’s a lot to take in, Nonno,” he said.
“I know it’s unconventional, but I would be willing to pay you double what you would make from waiting tables over the summer. That way, you would have a cushion to focus full time on landing a modeling gig when you get back. And I’d be sure to take a bunch of pictures for you while I’m away to help build up your portfolio.”
“I don’t know, that’s a great offer, but I’m still not sure.”
“Well, let’s try now and see how you feel,” I said, quickly clasping the necklace around his neck before he could say anything.
Then I threw on my own. I felt my soul rush out of me and slam into my grandson. Standing up tall and taking a deep breath, I felt my strong muscles. Then I looked down at my hands and saw thick veins. Damn, I hadn’t felt this good in years.
Sensing some reticence from Nico, I quickly said “Oh! Thank you so much Nico, it really means the world to me.” Hoping to guilt trip him before he could say anything.
Clearly still worried, he tried to play it off and said, “Alright Nonno, you’re welcome.”
Taking in this body, I snapped this photo on the way to my new home:
Part Two
The first stop on my world tour was New York City. Since I was a little boy, I had always dreamed of visiting America, but I had never gotten the chance.
As I stepped out of the metro and up to ground level, I couldn’t help but stare at the skyscrapers touring over me. Walking down the street, I could tell that guys and girls were checking me out, which was a new feeling. Sure, I was attractive when I was younger, thats part of where Nico gets it from. But even then, I’d never really gotten these types of looks back in the day, especially not from such hot guys … I think I like it.
At the youth hostel, I met a bunch of really cool guys – we hung out in a crew and went to do all the iconic landmarks like Times Square, Central Park, and the Statue of Liberty.
Walking through Midtown one of the guys, Adi, shouted to me, “Hey Sal, check this out!” as we turned a corner, revealing a perfect view of the Empire State Building. I couldn’t help but marvel at the sight, feeling a sense of awe wash over me.
Adi slapped me on the back, grinning widely. "Pretty awesome, huh?"
I nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, it's incredible. I never thought I'd get to see it in person."
We bar-hopped around the city together, sharing stories and laughter late into the night. At one point, we stumbled upon a street performer playing the guitar, his soulful melodies filling the air with a sense of nostalgia. Adi nudged me with his elbow, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Sal, you ever played an instrument?"
I shook my head. "No, never had the chance."
Adi grinned. "Well, there's no time like the present. Grab that guitar and let's see what you've got!"
With a mixture of nervousness and excitement, I hesitantly approached the street performer, who handed me his guitar with a friendly smile. As I strummed the strings and attempted to mimic the chords he had been playing, I felt a sense of exhilaration wash over me. Despite my lack of experience, the music flowed through me, filling me with a sense of joy and freedom I had never known before.
The guys cheered me on, clapping and cheering as I played. In that moment, I felt alive in a way I hadn't in years. It was a feeling I never wanted to end.
I made sure to snap some more selfies of myself, and get my new bros to take some shots for my modeling portfolio too:
After bidding farewell to the bustling streets of New York, I traveled westward. From the majestic mountains of the Rockies to the tranquil plains of the Midwest, each destination had its own unique charm.
But it was in California, with its sun-kissed beaches and sprawling landscapes, that I truly felt at home. As I walked for what seemed like endless miles along the rugged coastline, the salty breeze tousling my hair and the warmth of the sun on my skin, I couldn't help but marvel at the beauty that surrounded me.
With each step, I felt the strength and vitality of Nico's body coursing through me. I would’ve never been able to do this trip in my own body. Gone were the aches and pains of old age, replaced by a sense of boundless energy. I couldn't shake the feeling that this was somehow meant to be, me in Nico's youthful body.
Part Three
After about a month of traveling, I found myself in India. While I hadn’t really though about traveling there before, so many people had recommended it to me as my next stop. So I decided, why not check it out.
Arriving in Mumbai, I checked into my hostel and made a conscious decision to introduce myself as Nico, not Salvatore, this time. While my fellow travelers were none the wiser, I couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement every time someone addressed me by my new name. It made feel even more at home in this body than I had in California.
Among the eclectic group at the hostel, one stood out to me – Emilio. Another Italian adventurer like myself, Emilio had a warm smile and an easy charm that immediately put me at ease. With his curly hair and striking green eyes, Emilio was undeniably handsome, and I found myself drawn to him in a way I hadn't expected. We spent our days exploring the bustling streets of Mumbai, immersing ourselves in the sights, sounds, and flavors of the city, and going to some nearby hotsprings.
One fateful night, after returning from a night out on the town, Emilio found himself locked out of his bunk. Immediately, I offered him a spot in my private room, and to my delight, he accepted without hesitation.
Since it was so hot in Mumbai, we decided to strip down to just our underwear. As we lay sharing my small bed, I feel his hand trace up my inner thigh. My breathing getting heavier, Emilio decides to increase the pressure of his strokes. In reponse, I reach over to his thigh and work my way up to his cock, which I can feel is massive. That was all the sign he needed.
Emilio gets up and splits my legs, now rubbing both of them and playing with my waistband. As he does that, he also leans over and begins sucking my nipples. While this wouldn’t have done anything for my old body, Nico’s nipples are sensitive as hell.
“Fuckkkk” I said in a low grunting whisper.
As he switched over from one nipple to the other, Emilio then reached into my trunks and began jerking my uncut dick. Eventually, he flips me over and pulls down my underwear before taking off his own. I can feel his cock now teasing between my ass cheeks. The anticipation is agonizing as I wait for him to put it in.
He reaches underneath me and pulls up my chest so that I am on my hands and knees. Nibbling on my ear he whispers “you’re the fucking sexiest guy i’ve ever seen,” as he shoves his 25cm cock inside me.
Thrusting in and out of me, he uses the hand that he has across my waist to play with my nipples again, which drives me crazy. Before long, I feel pressure growing, and without him even touching my cock, I feel myself shoot my load across the bed.
Smirking at me as I turn my head around, Emilio takes his fingers, runs it through my seed, before then showing those same fingers into his mouth. He then lifts up his arm, flexes his biceps for me, which makes me tigthen my hole. The tighthness is too much for him and he shoots his entire load inside me. We collapse onto the bed, his cock still inside, where it stays for the rest of the night.
From that night on, Emilio and I became inseparable. We decided to travel together for the rest of our journey, visiting South Africa, Kenya, and Egypt before finally finding ourselves in Greece at the end of the summer.
The beaches of Greece were a paradise. We spent our days basking in the warm Mediterranean sun, swimming in the azure sea, and indulging in leisurely walks along the shore. In the evenings, we treated ourselves to sumptuous dinners at quaint seaside tavernas, savoring the flavors of Greek cuisine and the company of each other.
One night towards the end of our time in Greece, over a sunset dinner, Emilio turned to me with a serious expression.
“These past few weeks have been beyond anything I could have imagined,” Emilio began, his voice soft but filled with emotion. “I've had the time of my life, Nico, and I don't want it to end when we return to Italy.”
His words echoed the sentiments that had been swirling in my own mind, and I felt a rush of anticipation at what he might say next. Meeting his gaze, I couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for this man who had become so dear to me.
"Me neither," I replied, my heart pounding in my chest as I gazed longingly into his eyes.
With a determined look, Emilio took a deep breath before continuing, "Will you be my boyfriend?"
The question hung in the air between us, charged with the weight of all that we had shared and all that was yet to come. And in that moment, I knew with absolute certainty what my answer would be.
“Yes, of course,” I replied, a smile spreading across my face as I reached out to take his hand in mine. “I've been waiting for you to ask since the night we met in India.”
He looked at me, his eyes glistening, before pulling me in for a deep, passionate kiss.
Part Four
Eventually, Emilio and I made our way back to Italy. We'd been back about a week, and I was eager to share my adventures and introduce Emilio to the rest of my family, which I planned to do at dinner tonight. However, there was a significant problem: none of them knew about the body swap. I hadn’t spoken to the real Nico since I'd left three months ago, but I'd see him tonight. I knew what I was going to do, but I didn’t know how it would go over.
Walking hand in hand, we approached the familiar doorstep of my family's house. I could feel Emilio’s nerves radiating, but I squeezed his hand reassuringly, confident that my family would adore him as much as I did. Stepping into the warm embrace of my family, I proudly introduced Emilio to each and every one of them.
My mother’s (formerly my daughter) eyes lit up with delight as she embraced Emilio warmly. "Oh, it's so wonderful to finally meet you, Emilio! Nico has spoken so highly of you."
Emilio returned her embrace, a smile playing on his lips. "Grazie, signora. It's truly an honor to meet you all."
My father clapped Emilio on the back, a jovial twinkle in his eye. "Welcome to the family, Emilio! Nico here has been a bit of a handful lately, but it seems like you've got him under control."
We all shared a laugh at my father's jest, and Emilio's cheeks flushed with warmth. "I'm doing my best, signore," he replied, earning a nod of approval from my father.
As we sat around the dinner table, sharing stories of our travels and adventures, Emilio chimed in with anecdotes of his own, effortlessly weaving himself into the fabric of our family dynamic. With each passing moment, I could see my family growing fonder of him.
As we sat around the dinner table, I asked, "Hey, where’s Nonno?"
My mother's expression softened with concern as she replied, "He's in bed, nico. He's been resting a lot lately."
A pang of guilt tugged at my heart as I excused myself from the table, my footsteps heavy with apprehension as I made my way upstairs. "Nonno," I said softly, approaching his bedside with a mixture of sorrow and determination. "I need to talk to you."
"I am so relieved you’re back," he replied weakly, his voice raspy with exhaustion, "but, why did you call me that?"
Taking a deep breath, I summoned the courage to tell him. "I... I met a guy," I began, my words faltering slightly as I struggled to find the right way to express myself. "I've never felt such a deep connection before, and I need to see where it leads."
His brow furrowed in confusion. "But... what about our agreement?" he asked, his voice tinged with disappointment.
"I know, Nonno, and I'm sorry," I replied, my heart heavy with guilt. "But I can't ignore how I feel. I hope you understand."
Anger flared in his eyes. "You can’t do this to me," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "It's not fair."
With a sudden surge of frustration, Nico ripped off his necklace, the enchanted chain clattering to the floor with a finality that echoed through the room. "I want to swap back right now," he demanded, his gaze locking onto the necklace that now hung around my neck.
I leaned in towards my old body, my guilt giving way to slight confidence as I made my declaration. "I understand it's hard to accept, Nonno, but this is my life now," I asserted, my tone laced with a sense of superiority.
With a swift motion, he reached for the necklace around my neck, his fingers trembling with desperation. But as he tore it away, his expression twisted with shock as he realized that nothing happened.
I looked at him with a face of pity. “It’s not going to work,” I said.
"I melted down the necklace and had it made it into a bunch of different pieces of jewelry while I was in India," I confessed.
His eyes widened in disbelief, his feeble grasp on the situation slipping away with each passing moment. "You... you did what?" he stammered, his voice tinged with incredulity.
"I wanted an insurance policy so that I could ensure nothing would stop me from pursuing Emilio," I continued, my resolve unwavering.
"I knew you probably wouldn’t think to take off the necklace until I cam back. So I took the opportunity to melt mine down into jewelry that I can wear all the time and nobody can just accidentally take off or force me to take off – earrings, bracelets … cock piercing. Emilio thought they were so hot."
"You couldn't get them off me even if you were in the best shape of your life – and well, now I am in the best shape of your life and you’re in the worst shape of mine," I added with a touch of irony.
"I’m sorry, but this is my life now," I concluded, my voice firm. "I hope you can understand."
With that, I turned and walked back downstairs to rejoin my family and my beautiful boyfriend, leaving behind a bewildered Nico in my former body, grappling with the weight of my decisions.
Epilogue:
A week later, I get a call from my mom early in the morning while I am still in bed. Nonno passed away in his sleep. I feel a pang of sorrow mixed with relief, this body was officially mine forever.
I roll back over to see Emilio sleeping peacefully beside me. Leaning over, I gently kiss him on the lips, waking him from his slumber. He stirs and without opening his sleepy eyes, a soft smile graces his lips and he pulls me down into a big hug. In that moment, as I feel his skin on mine, I know with absolute certainty that this is exactly where I belong.
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Hi, I saw your requests are open, and I was hoping you'd be ok with writing my request. I have been having a bit of a hard time, and I was wondering if you could write a Megatron fic for comfort. I'm usually a bit of a spitfire, but I'm just overwhelmed and exhausted. I'd prefer TFP Megatron, but I'm pretty flexible. Absolutely no pressure to write this, and I hope you have a great rest of your day! :)
Hi! So you did submit this while my requests were closed, but seeing the topic at hand, I wanted to get this done for you anyway. Thank you for being my first TFP Megatron request! This was actually very fun for me to write! To anyone who has read TF Exodus, I hope you’ll appreciate the little callbacks I make to it here and there >:)
I hope this could make you feel a little better anyway though, and I hope things improve for you soon :)
Warnings: SFW, GN!Human!Reader
“What’s the matter with you?”
The sudden question makes you perk your head up from your seat. You were sitting hugging your knees on the command module of the Nemesis’ hull, though you might as well have been somewhere else entirely with how lost in your thoughts you were. You look upwards to find Megatron gazing down at you from above— standing tall with his arms behind his back, gazing at you from only the bottoms of his optics, not with his whole helm. His muted grey frame stuck out sorely against the vibrant purple hue of the Nemesis’ command center.
“Wh— What?” You stammer, the mech’s question not fully processing in your head before you blabber out a response. Megatron doesn’t repeat himself, he merely continues to stare down at you as you gather your bearings. Despite the mech’s infamous impatience, he seems oddly content in allowing you to correct your misspeaking.
“Nothing,” you finally reply, even if you can’t make eye contact with him as you do. “Sorry to distract you. Keep going.”
Gunmetal grey flashes in your vision, and you realize that the very end of one of Megatron’s claws is suddenly beside your face, turning your head to face him. To your surprise, he’s bent down at the waist to level himself with you, yet still he has his helm raised just so that he’s still looking down at you.
“I asked you a question,” he begins, and despite the fact that he sounds like he was scolding you, his tone is… soft. Like he didn’t want his voice to ring too loud over your human ears. “And you will answer.”
Being scrutinized in such a manner, you couldn’t even think up a decent excuse. You were left stuttering under his gaze once more, and it’s only when you huff out a sigh that you mentally say ‘screw it’. “I’ve just… felt overwhelmed,” you answer, and Megatron’s digit slowly pulls away from you as you go on. “I know as the only human here I’m not expected to do much. But still, I want to pull my weight around here. I guess I’ve just been overworking myself in the process and…” you trail off. Seeing Megatron’s unchanging expression doesn’t encourage you in the slightest, and you turn your head away once more. “It’s stupid,” you mutter, “You’re dealing with so much more anyway.”
And for a while, it’s silent. Only the sound of the Nemesis’ engine roaring in the distance and the hull’s computer module’s fill your ears, and you’re sure that you’ve overshared. Not to mention the low purr of Megatron’s own idling engine, humming before you as if to mock you. Tears well up in your eyes and you make to curl into yourself once more—
Until suddenly, Megatron extends a hand, and scoops you up from behind.
You shout as you’re lifted high into the air, centering yourself in the middle of the mech’s palm as he raises you toward his faceplate. You quickly turn your gaze away from the rapidly descending floor over to Megatron, but unscrunch your face at the sight.
He almost looked… gentle.
Like a mech who has truly lived through several millions of years of war. You take note of the rough scars running down from his eyes and mouth. The typically harsh crimson glow of his optics didn’t burn you as they so often did before. No, rather they glowed down upon you with an oddly warm feeling.
“My pet,” Megatron begins, voice no higher than a low rumble you can feel resonate through the metal of his palm, “I know much of pain. Of working tirelessly, only to feel as though your efforts are fruitless. But what is it that I encourage every Decepticon to do?”
He actually pauses, and it hits you that he’s expecting you to reply. Awkwardly, you look to the side for a moment and shrug. “To… keep working and follow your orders?”
“To fight,” The warlord corrects you, and you blink as you’re taken aback. With his free servo, Megatron closes out the computer module you had been sitting on and suddenly starts to make his way out of the main hull, lowering you down towards his chest. Where he was going, you weren’t sure, but the rock of his arm beneath you and the sound of his heavy pedesteps almost relaxed you. “Though it was millennia ago, the Decepticons were originally formed to fight against our oppressors on Cybertron. The oppressors of not only the lower castes, but of every sentient being on Cybertron— the High Council.”
“I… I think I remember reading about that,” you remark, taking the chance to sit cross legged in his palm. Though the constant rocking motion of his arm was nice, you were only human— you didn’t want to get nauseous. “Soundwave was digging through some old files when he was trying to decode the Iacon database. The title interested me so I asked him to send it to me. Though, it was only in Cybertronian, so I couldn’t understand it very well.”
Megatron lets out a huff above you— or was it a laugh that he breathed out? “Originally, I did not necessarily condone the actions of the first Decepticons. Inspired by my words, rogue Cybertronians launched attacks over key parts of our planet. First, it was Six Lasers Over Cybertron. Then, it was Uraya. Polyhex. Stanix. Blaster City. The Sonic Canyons. All less than a cycle apart.”
As he went on, you found your jaw dropping. Countless Cybertronians cities bombed, not even under direct orders from Megatron? “Then finally, Altihex. All done without my awareness. And you know what that did?”
You shake your head. You couldn’t even muster up a squeak.
A smile curled itself at the ends of Megatron’s dermas, and you could see the rows of his sharp teeth flash from behind. “It got the Council’s attention,” he finishes. “It was from there that I learned that people do not listen to mere words. People listen to action, and it is through action that progress is made.”
You look down to stew over his words, but again, Megatron raises you back up to his face. He takes your head by your chin with the tip of his finger and raises it to face him. Once you lock eyes, he turns his gaze forwards— behind you— and you turn your own head to look where he’s facing.
Two thick iron doors slide open, and the sound of rushing wind blasts past you. You’re pushed forwards by the sudden impact, and you feel as though you might fly off of Megatron’s hand right there. But the force behind you stops in an instant, and you pick yourself up to find that Megatron has raised a servo before you to block the harsh winds as he lowers you back down to his chest. The titan of a mech continues forward, even as you look up at him in gratitude— though he raises his voice to allow you to hear him over the altitude.
“Your situation is dire, little one,” his rough voice declares, “thrust into an alien world, trying your hardest to keep up… it’s a monumental task, to climb so far if only to stand upon the shoulders of giants.”
You finally sit back down properly, only this time not bothering to cross your legs. Slowly, Megatron lowers the wall of his other hand, but as you think you might get cast away to the winds again, you notice the mech pull his thumb in towards you. You grab onto it, and wisely so, as with his now free hand the warlord gestures grandly out towards the main deck.
There, you see it. The endless sea of pure white clouds beneath you, brightly reflecting the light of the sun which was just starting to dip beneath the clouds. The sky was encompassed in a deep blue, though where the sun was beginning to settle down, soft hues of pink, orange, and purple were soon to follow.
“The world is yours to take, little one,” Megatron’s voice rings out over it all. “It will be mine to conquer, and yours to make the most of.”
#relic writes#this is also my unofficial announcement that I’ll be doing requests out of order from now on#Transformers#Transformers x reader#reader insert#Transformers Prime#Transformers Prime x reader#Tfp#Tfp x reader#Megatron#Megatron x reader#Tfp Megatron x reader
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Prefacing this by saying this is not what I EXPECT to happen in 7x09 and 7x10, it's just one specific scenario that I feel particularly feral about right now... so with that said, I'm gonna throw out a dream scenario for the end of S7:
Tommy and Buck are dating and it's going well. Buck is just sort of blossoming in his new identity as a queer man. There's a self-confidence and assuredness to him that we haven't seen before
Meanwhile, Eddie has broken things off with Marisol and is quietly going through his own reevaluation of his sexuality. His awareness of his queerness happens pretty simultaneously with his realization that the way he loves Buck isn't entirely platonic, but he keeps it to himself because Buck is happy with Tommy
Episode 9 finds Eddie and Buck together off duty. Maybe they're having an argument. Maybe on the surface they're arguing about something small but somehow it feels much bigger
Mid-argument some emergency strikes. Buck and Eddie are trapped together and it's BAD. They're both in mortal peril, but it's worse for Eddie. Eddie hopes help will arrive in time to save Buck, but he's pretty sure he won't be alive to see it
(And I just want to stress - I feel like it's essential that they are off duty when this happens. They are in sync on the job, it's how they fit together outside of the job they're still figuring out)
So Eddie gets Buck's attention - because Buck hasn't given up yet. He won't. He CAN'T. He's frantically searching for solutions as Eddie repeats his name in a weakened voice, until finally he cracks and says, "Evan, please. I need you to hear this."
And in the final seconds of episode nine, Eddie Diaz looks Evan Buckley dead in the eye and tells him, "I love you"
Episode ten opens on an unrelated disaster, just to keep us gnashing our teeth a little longer
Maybe we throw some flashbacks in there for good measure
Check in on the rest of the firefam frantically trying to coordinate a rescue effort
But FINALLY they cut back to Buck and Eddie in mortal danger and replay the last few moments of episode 9. And believing these are the last words he'll ever say, Eddie tells Buck how much he loves him. He says he's sorry he realized it too late, but he could never, never regret loving him
Somehow there's a callback reference to Mitchell and Thomas, and the way Buck looked at their clasped hands as they died, and Buck realizing that dying together was never the point of their story. Living together was
And Buck is full sobbing and begging him not to give up yet because Christopher needs him and the team needs him and finally saying "and I need you, Eddie. You can't leave me. You can't-"
We get the sense that Buck is on the cusp of a love confession of his own, but before he gets the words out he's cut off by the sound of helicopter blades overhead.
Their miracle rescue arrives in time, led by none other than Buck's starting-to-be-something-serious boyfriend Tommy
After the rescue, we see Eddie in the back of the ambulance, stable and out of danger, and Buck's about to go over to him but Tommy comes running over and sweeps Buck up in his arms and kisses his temple and says, "thank god you're ok. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you"
And Buck lets himself be held, but his attention is over Tommy's shoulder looking at Eddie
Eddie, who's gonna be ok
Eddie, who loves him
Eddie, who is the absolute center of Buck's world, but Buck has never allowed himself to think of That Way
And Eddie meets Buck's eye over Tommy's shoulder and gives him a sad smile that lets Buck know he intends to go back to quietly loving Buck at just a little bit of a distance so that Buck can be happy with someone else
And just to really twist the knife, we get an overheard piece of dialogue in which Eddie refers to Buck as his "best friend" for the literal first time ever (I'm pretty sure? Up til now, any time the "best friend" label has been used it's been by Buck, but please correct me if I'm wrong.)
And the season ends there
Cue the entire fandom going APESHIT for the entirety of the summer hiatus
#911#911 speculation#evan buck buckley#eddie diaz#how do i fanfiction?#911 spec fic#tommy kinard#bi buck#queer buck#queer eddie diaz#tommybuck#tuck#kinkley#tevan#<- I'll tag it but I hate it#(the ship name not the ship)#eddie x buck
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Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 4, Mus Urbanus
Fatal attraction is one thing but stuck on a stakeout, a certain little mouse decides to push her luck with the cat who's been chasing her... just how far is too far, and how much more can they take?
CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care
Authors Note: Hahaha, remember how I said I was going to do shorter updates? Yeah well, I felt really bad for missing the previous week but I did have a lot of terrible IRL shit happen, so working through that was a priority. That being said, going back through all the amazing comments and everything everyone has written has been absolutely keeping me afloat! Thank you all so so so so so much, you will never know how much it all means to me.
There are a couple of Hannibal references in this part that, hopefully, will start to make sense by the last part of the story (which was, coincidentally, the first part written!) Not going to lie, I am just glad to publish this so I never have to think about this damned part again as I have been stuck on in for literal months. Also sorry if Soap's accent sucks, the only experience I have with anything remotely Scottish in the way of language tendency is my grandmother whose father was a Scottish immigrant and that's it.
Anyways, I hope you like agnst and interrogation scenes, because next week, König loses his faith in god and in mouse while tied to a chair! See you there!
❣️Cura ut Veleas ~ Caedis 🥀
PREV | Pt. 4 Mus Urbanus | 4.2k words | Mouse POV | NEXT
“Mouse?” A voice from in front of her calls out, but only after she deliberately drags her feet into the threshold of the neutral ground, alerting him of her presence.
“Quiet as a.” She utters her usual response, stepping into the little flat in Buenos Aries, Argentina. She hears the smile as Soap sucks in a breath at her little joke. Her callback should be old by now, shouldn’t make him smile anymore, but he does anyway. He’s easy to get along with, something hard to come by in war.
She crosses the minimal space between the two and takes stock of his little setup.
For a mission, it’s luxurious. He’s sitting, in a chair might she add, with a scope poking barely out of an antique window on the 7th floor of an apartment building, looking into a busy market square. His arms rest on a table littered with little signs of life, a map of the area adorned with notes and coordinates in inexpensive ink, no less than 7 pens whose caps are chewed through (everyone’s got bad habits but this little sin of his drives poor Price up and down the goddamn wall), two disposable cups with sediment rings denoting how much instant coffee was drunk from them at a time before they returned to their places besides their drinker. Most notably, however, are two radios in a strange moment of near fornication– backs ripped open and wires crossed in an almost pornographic display of field ingenuity.
Damn demolition specialists, she hears the echo of Gaz say in her head and she absentmindedly rubs the scabbed over cut on her left hand where the shrapnel of a certain someone’s frag grenade got her two weeks ago. She wants to be mad but-
“Hear any good ones, lately?” Soap turns to her, he’s disengaging from his post, changing his guard for her to take his spot, just as command ordered. He’s been in this little nest for about 6 hours and she can feel his desire to scuttle and tinker about radiating off of him. As he takes apart his gun, already aware and familiar that she refuses to use anyone’s but her own, his eyes shine to life. The color of sky blue permafrost, yet they radiate a certain lived-in warmth impossible to distance yourself from. Eyes almost like-
She bites her tongue at the thought. Bad time to be thinking about König… she mourns.
But, speaking of the man.
“Yes, but it’s bad,” she offers, in fake warning as she sheds her outer jacket before moving to unhook the case that stands between her and the assembly of her gun. She knows the warning will only intrigue the poor pyrotechnic more.
His smile is nothing short of sadistic as he raises an eyebrow.
“No, like, really bad,” she emphasizes, throwing a pleading look his way. His grin gets even more shit-eating-er if that sort of thing were even possible. “I mean it, MacTavish. Pass it along to your long-suffering Lieutenant, and you will be picking teeth out of your shit.”
“I’m sure I’ve done worse to Ghost,” he supplies, rolling his shoulders. Yeah, I’m sure you have, she thinks but is much too self-preserving to say, especially aware that the Frankenstien’s monster of a radio he’s resurrected from two dead circuit boards is likely not secure enough to promise any real privacy. She would rather not alert Simon Riley that she’s become a dealer in his and Soap’s arm’s race of terrible jokes. He does not take prisoners, after all…
“Alright, alright, just don’t tell him it’s from me,” she smiles, putting her hands up defensively in a quick jest. “Okay, play along with me now,” he nods along as he steps away from the perch and lets her take his spot at the table.
“So, what's the difference between a piano, a fish, and a gluestick?”
“I know about two-thirds o’ this one.”
Mouse trap baited. She smiles.
“Give it a go, then.” She wiggles in the chair, pressing her cheek to the crux of the sight and its metal holder. She sighs into the familiar feeling of control that settles into her bones as she hunches over.
“Can tuna piano but’cha can’t tuna fish?” He supplies, half teasing her already.
“Yep, but you’re forgetting something.” She sighs and goes to fiddle with the red-light optics extension, Command is confident enough in her abilities that she was specifically told to take it off for this one. She hears Soap whisper a quiet ‘oh shite’ behind her when he realizes he probably forgot to himself and she laughs a little.
“What about the glue?”
Mouse trap set. Poor Soap, always getting himself into ambushes…
She smiles wide and hums remembering how excited her kitty-cat was to tell her this part.
“See, I knew you’d get stuck on that one.”
Mouse trap sprung. A moment of silence.
“Oh fuck me, that one is bad.” Soap chokes out a hearty laugh as he collects his discarded coffee cups from her side.
“No thanks,” she purrs as she finally sets herself into position. “Use it at your discretion, soldier.”
“Aye, that I will.”
Soap goes to rummage through the kitchenette to her right and she takes the moment she lacks supervision to indulge herself. She does not move her sights to alert the man with her of the wandering of her eyes, instead, she scans windows and alleys without visual aid. The stale air threatens to choke her as she rakes over the golden-hued morning scene with desperate efficiency.
After what feels like an eternity of stolen glances switching between her targeted area and anywhere he may be, she sees him.
Technically, she has no way to know for certain that it’s König, she doesn’t have his usual wave or cheeky grin (affectionately referred to as a Cheshire Cat Smile in her own belabored heart) to alert her to his presence. That being considered, there is a masculine figure barely peeking out of a window into an alleyway who is just shy of 7 feet tall and his face is covered. Yeah, probably König. She smiles despite herself and her company. She wonders if he has radio access to her little hideout.
(She remembers the seemingly endless weeks of his arrival to her perch. The early morning light hits the streets the same way it had hit the forest ground that day. Like a fairy tale prince, beseeching a princess on hand and knee, he would always somehow appear in her sights, nearly as though it was just meant to be!
His form stands out tall and proud from its surroundings and she recounts every single reason he should not be here. By the third time their eyes caught she’d decided he was doing it on purpose, but she never let him get away with it without some acknowledgment on her side. She can only imagine that if she’s getting hunted for sport, her calling out his position will, at least temporarily, halt his advance.
But by this rate, she’ll be in his mouth by the end of the year.
His eyes are cold and bloodshot red. Painted tears lick their way down the hood she’s never seen him without, possibly a feeble attempt at impersonality? Maybe if he looks enough like a monster people will just trust their first assumption and leave him alone. But she’s never been one to judge a book by its cover…
“I see you, König.” She warns out to him. He stills among the foliage, bathed in sweet-honey-like warmth from the rising sun. He does not shy away from his imminent death on the business end of her rifle, of course not! Instead, he raises his chest proudly, seemingly aware that the loneliness in her yields to whatever greater magnetism the loneliness in him commands. He’s an enigma, it bothers her that of all the people to put the effort into finding her, it has to be him. Mostly she curses herself for promising him a next time all those encounters ago, if she’d known what sort of a game it would inspire in the predator stalking her like prey despite her flipping sniper rifle, she never would have said a thing.
He may be in her scope, but he’s got her under a finer microscope to seek her out so faithfully. She wishes she got this sort of dizzying devotion from someone, anyone else.
It is the third day this week he has found her.
What she expects to happen is what has happened for weeks now, 1) he hears her transmission, 2) he smiles at her as a predator smiles at pray, his eyes find hers and her hackles rise in utter terror, and 3) he hums to himself and turns away, self-satisfied enough to have won hide-and-seek for the time being.
That does not happen.
Instead, König sits down, right where he is, and pulls out that monster of a knife he keeps strapped to himself. He throws it up and catches it without looking at it, instead his eyes are laser-focused on Mouse. This is, of course, despite the fact he should have no earthly idea where she is. He plays with his knife idly for what must be an hour, but she does not- no, can not- look away from him.
She remembers her trigger finger twitching with sinful power, she remembers choking back the insistence at killing another lonely person, devoid of their autonomy on a basic level when they signed up for a mercenary-issued ticket to hell.
She remembers hopelessness. She remembers refusal. She remembers the smile reaching his eyes when she played along with his joke.
“Why don’t rats like cats?” Her radio labors out.
She half forgot what his voice sounded like, surprisingly excitable and shrill for a man of his stature. Her brain stutters around the implication of the only words she’s heard him say to her since the fateful ravine that gained Mouse her own personal 6’10” shadow.
She blinks a few times in surprise, genuinely pondering if her long hours hiking through the woods have made her susceptible to hallucination and general hysteria. She is not thinking when she timidly responds-
“Why?”
“Because they are weapons of maus-destruction.” Konig replies like it’s not the stupidest thing she’s ever heard in her goddamn life.
Perhaps it's pity at the memory of his discomfort around his comrades. Of the thought of the way he tries to make his body so small when around others (truly an impossible task he routinely fails.) Maybe it’s irrational fear, twofold and buried in her instinct to shoot despite the clear disadvantage on his behalf and her insistence that she does not do her damn job, or fear of the inhuman man in front of her stalking her through the woods. Or it could be discomfort, no one ever prepared her for dealing with whatever the fuck this is in basic training or field school.
In the end, it doesn’t really matter what it is.
In the sparkling, decadent light of a sunrise, her heart hammers in her throat at the first joke he’d told her, in some strange and desperate attempt to fill the meters of silence between them.
She laughs.
And he hears it.
And with his wide stance, his ghastly executioner’s hood in the place of a crown, and his knife back in its holster- his beautiful eyes seem to smile. Suddenly, his eyes look lived in, like someone has just put up new curtains in an abandoned house. His whole affect changes hinging on what was an irresponsible outburst on her behalf at best.
And for the first time, she does not fear a monster hunting her through the woods, silent and purposeful in his pursuit of prey.
Instead, she wants to understand a man, whose eyes have lit up like a princess has just laughed when he kissed her hand.)
Soap wanders back into her small perch with two cups of coffee and sets one down next to her. She takes a quick glance and hums with appreciation. He takes another sip out of his and she remembers that they’re supposed to share shift for about an hour before his rotation ends.
“You treat all your girls to coffee in the morning?” She quips.
“Only the pretty ones,” he returns with an effortless charisma and her breath catches.
Not because of Soap, but because in that alleyway, where she really shouldn’t be looking, she sees the uneasy rise of two massive shoulders and-
Oh my god, did König just… get jealous?
The next idea she has is downright evil, really this is not the place or the time or any of that but-
Fuck it. She’s already flirting with the enemy, what more could this do? She’s already told the poor mountain of a man something dangerously adjacent to “God I really missed you when we didn’t talk to each other for three weeks like a horny teenager and by the way I love you desperately and think about you when I’ve got my hands down my pants,” and she probably imagined him tensing up, anyways. No harm, no foul.
Maybe, it's dangerous, to wave a steak in front of a mountain lion, but what if she wants to get mauled?
“Hey Soap, what page are you on?” She says, putting her terrible plan into action. She sees him look up from his report, or more likely an idle sketch, on her periphery.
“Ah, only the second chapter, did'ya move my bookmark?”
“Nope, the book’s in the leftmost pocket in my duffle.”
“Thank ya,” He says and moves from his spot to go fetch the book from it. She takes a quick sip of her coffee, delighted to realize he’s made it to her specifications as far as milk and sugar go, as he rummages around in her bag.
The impromptu book club started nearly eight months ago when Nova passed her copy of Emma by Jane Austen off to Gromsko to help him with his English. That turned into Mouse recommending the book Jane Eyre to Nova on the pure suspicion that she would hate it, which she did. Gromsko still needed to practice and enjoyed the spirited discussions so he joined the blossoming group with an English copy of The Doll by Aleksander Głowacki after he finished Jane Eyre. Never one to be left out, and surprisingly well-read when he wanted to be, Soap had pitched the idea of The Lord of the Flies (because to quote “Fucking Brits,” and he wanted to subject others to his high-school reading list.) If she remembered correctly, Farah and Reyes had also started sharing copies of books they enjoyed occasionally.
“Can’t believe it was Gromsko that put it in rotation.” Soap says, pulling out a well-worn copy of The Silence of the Lambs from the bag.
“He said he picked it up years ago in Polish thinking it was a cooking field guide.” She offers, as the man next to her idly thumbs through pages.
“Yer shitting me, yeah?”
She just shakes her head and smiles into her scope. Soap laughs and removes his homemade bookmark, a pencil sketch of a stake-out view somewhere in Mexico scribbled onto scrap paper. He keeps his thumb on the page and flips through to where hers is, much further along.
“Yer a right romantic, ain’cha Bonnie?” Soap laughs somewhere between the pages and somewhere behind her.
“Hmm?”
“This part, that’ya highlighted,” she hears a well-meaning sneer in his words. “The one you put the hearts by and everything…”
Mouse’s mouth tethers itself into a terse line and she attempts her best noncommittal shrug.
Somewhere in her line of sight, a mountain shrugs himself chuckling lightly. She wonders what it would feel like, to lay on his broad, muscled chest as he laughs, how closely he would hold her, how she could rest entirely on top of his chest and not touch the ground beneath them and-
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” She lies through her teeth. Soap’s laugh behind her is loud and proud. Suddenly, his casual sadism isn’t so amusing when turned around on her.
“Do you think it's because I like to look at you and think about eating you up—“ he reads from the book, voice dripping in mock chivalry and breathless romanticism. “About how you would taste?"
She feels her cheeks and ears heat up as Soap loudly proclaims her funeral to all those who may care, and she doesn’t miss the way König leans a little too close to his radio as he goes about mocking her. His stance shifts as if he hangs on the very words like he’s found a secret buried deep in her subconscious. Technically, she has no way of knowing, but Mouse knows in her heart that König is smiling. At least someone is having fun.
Once Soap comes down from his laughing fit he puts her bookmark back to its spot and talks at the back of her head.
“With your pressed flower bookmark and everything. Oh, it would be sweet if he wasn’t Hannibal the Cannibal.” Soap hisses out. “I always figured you were…” he pauses searching for the right word, “adventurous from how Gromsko talks bout ya, but seriously cannibalism?”
If she’s not mistaken, König’s hand grips ever so slightly tighter on the radio attached to the best. Maybe the battle plan has to change, but she’s still got some ideas.
Soap is completely oblivious to the electricity licking up the air between her perch and one man on the ground. He looks around frantically, seemingly desperate to find her, and look in her eyes. Mouse is a sniper, she really should hate the attention, but something fatalistic descends into her smile as she lets Soap continue his little outburst.
“I swear. You and him, yer sure there’s nothing there? He’s even given you special field medicine lessons, no one gets treatment like that from Gromsko.”
“His name is Sobieslaw.” Notably, it is not a denial. Technically, everything that’s just been said is the truth.
König’s shoulders rise.
He looks right down her site.
She smiles.
Come and get me, kitty-cat.
“See! That’s what I’m talking about. You’re the only person who calls him by his first name.”
“Because you never put in the effort to learn it.”
“That don’t mean a thing since I don’t have tits.”
“You do, just not as good as mine.”
“Aye, off it. Gromsko is into you.” She can hear from the way Soap’s voice carries haphazardly around the room that he is pacing and talking with his hands. She doesn’t turn her back, gaze still fixated on the looming shadow in her sights.
Soap continues, entirely unaware of the exact type of beast he is tempting.
“He swaggers around you, never even bothers to fucking ask to pick up your boxes, he just does it. His voice gets all soft around ya, too, like he’s cooing at a goddamn pet animal or something. He nearly got into an actual pissing contest with Ghost the other day when he bitched about you beating him in poker. Face the facts, Bonnie, he wants you.”
König’s eyes have focused with the ferocity of an apex predator and his chest labors out concentrated and sharp inhales and exhales. He resembles a recently sharpened knife, desperate for some carnage after a particular kind of attention. His body is crumpled in on itself not unlike a cat getting ready to pounce. His heels dig desperately into the cobblestones beneath his feet. His hand flicks out his beloved Glock field knife with all the reverence of a praying man.
In short, he looks every part like he does in immediate battle. He looks like he did the split second before he started sprinting for her in the snowy woods, the scene that occupies her lonely nights when she tries in complete vanity to recreate the feel of his hands cradling her sides.
Mouse should be scared of König.
Instead, she sees before her a scene of complete and hopeless adoration focused so intently on her alone that she should be afraid of. Realistically, she recognizes the clear and present danger of the moment. Is König upset at her? At Soap? At a potential adversarial suitor by way of Gromsko? She doesn’t quite know, but after a career of intentionally hiding like a coward, she basks infatuated by the calamitous captivation he exhibits.
He looks like he wants to maul something to death.
As keen as she is on getting him close enough to try to get over to her (and ideally, throw her under him,) in her infinite mercy, Mouse decides the teasing has gone on long enough.
“I like Gromsko just fine, but not like that.” Soap audibly scoffs and König’s entire form relaxes. Both men mutter something to themselves before an encore of gunfire breaks out. Mouse’s heart stutters to a stop when her radio comes in.
“Visual on Gaz, he’s hit!” Nova calls out, clearly alarmed. Soap grabs for the radio right next to Mouse and brings it to his face, holding onto a few loose wires as he does to ensure the amalgamation does not fall apart in his fingers.
“Where is he?”
“Two blocks from south from you, Gromsko is a click out.”
Soap looks at Mouse with his heart bobbing in his throat. The pain and worry on his face is palpable.
“Go.” She says. Soap looks around frantically at their supplies, seemingly taking a split second worth of inventory, making as many life-or-death decisions as he can in such little time.
“Soap, listen to me,” Mouse soothes. “I keep overwatch, you take my TAC vest and stabilize him until he can get a medic.”
“Mouse, I can’t just leave you-”
“You can, and you will. Go.” She says with all the finality of a door slamming shut. Soap doesn’t look at her again as he gathers her supplies and nearly sprints downstairs.
Soap leaves. Quickly. Quietly. He never looks back.
Her stomach settles into discomfort and she looks through the door he closed with the same sad nostalgia she looked through falling snow and monumentous trees. She can’t help but think she would not get the same priority in Gaz’s situation. Like some terrible premonition, she imagines bleeding out on the ground as Soap turns away, never once looking back.
Would König come for me? She ponders, before she smothers the paranoia-induced delusion with the memory of his large hands on her sides. She looks down at her shoelace, where she carved a cylindrical hole through his effigy to attach it. The birchwood mouse carving that sleeps at her right toe gives a silent reassurance: he never really left you, did he?
By the time she looks back into her scope, in between the all-too-familiar white noise of war that’s broken out around her, she sees a shadow dart out from the alleyway one down from where König is. The figure is cloaked in the specific type of military fatigue denoting his affiliation, one that is unluckily for him, kill on sight. It ducks behind the building to the right, where König is. It stalks out, lining itself up behind the hooded man, brandishing a drawn pistol.
König doesn’t have the time to react to the blood spray that litters across his back from the other man’s head once Mouse pulls the trigger on her gun, silently thankful (as awful as it is,) that Gaz getting hurt allowed her to take the shot without Soap inquiring into her actions. (But maybe it’s her fault in the first place that König was distracted enough to allow someone to get the drop on him…)
König looks back towards her and his head lulls to the side like a heavy flower bloom weighed down by morning dew. His eyes, somehow the softest she’s ever seen, are also carving a large chunk of her soul like a knife cuts through soft wood. When he lifts his hood to blow a kiss to her, she knows she will never get her traitorous heart back.
“Danke, mein Engel,” the radio on her table whispers in his voice.
“It’s only fair. I did owe you, after all.” She responds, all together unconcerned with whether or not he can hear her. She smiles, thankful she can see those bright eyes another day.
When he turns away, she feels her entire heart walk away with him. With every step of his fleeting form, she feels less and less herself, as though someone had separated her shadow from where it meets her feet. Something has changed in the air between them, a sad resignation settles into her trigger finger when she releases it.
For the first time, she does not feel as though she wouldn’t run if he took her, but rather that some integral part of her is with him as he leaves.
All is fair in love and war, but she’s not sure just how much longer she can stand to play cat and mouse.
taglist!
@kneelingshadowsalome @sprout-fics @bucca2 @dead-cipher @gallowsjoker @lostagoodcigar @berryjuicyy @haisebo @crowbird
And special thanks to @bucca2 and @ivymarquis for finally kicking my ass into gear to write this. Can't wait to read yall's WIPs!
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I hope you have a wonderful autism today :3
!! Thank you!!
My Ziio fixation has returned with a vengeance lately so indeed I’m having a fun time
Lemme share some headcanons for today methinks (some may or may not relate to my personal ac3 adaptation)
Undiagnosed adhd. Like she has big time adhd but not many successful ways to channel it n she stimulates herself most with her hands (rope work, making snares, beading, twirling or doing whatever with her knife, fiddling w the hem n fringes of her clothes etc)
In her heyday in modern au she’s definitely a punk
She got her freckles from her dad
Her combat greatly incorporates rope work and she’s a bit of a traps expert (the affinity for ropes later is subconsciously mirrored with Connor’s use of the shengbiao/rope dart)
Getting this out of the way, her thing with Haytham was a one night stand and they didn’t make any plans to move in together or start a new life (she found his journal and realized he’s . Kind of a weirdo Templar) . Sorry Forsaken. (Also probably moving the kiss out of the cave temple for personal ick reasons)
She grew up very “one of the boys” ish. Lovessss wrestling n making competitions of things and hates losing. Probably also “the weird kid” if you wanna put a modern lens on it.
She was hell to raise by Oiá:ner. She’s very headstrong and it’s hard to reel her in/she wasn’t sure what to do with Ziio half the time. Their relationship gets more strained as she becomes an adult and as the war starts though, but they still have a very strong bond and love for each other despite everything. In the end they both care so much about safety and protecting each other.
Oiá:ner sees way too much of Ziio in Ratonhnhaké:ton. Especially in his pursuit of risky/radical change and calling to outside the village
Don’t wanna give away too much yet but the Southgate Fort captives-freeing mission is VERY different and sets Haytham more at odds with her
Loud snort-laughter
It was very difficult for her to re acclimate to a more secure (mundane) life in the village when she finally came back home and secured their safety in the 7 years war. It just. Feels wrong not doing anything. Not making change. (Made harder by the fact she’s barred from becoming a clan mother)
Her and Kanen’tó:kon’s mother are close friends (maybe cousins?), and Ratonhnhaké:ton was raised by em after she died
Polyglot (multiple indigenous languages since she had to help rally non-haudenosaunee forces for the prologue, English, and French. Has no respect for the French language)
Has a tendency to save others before saving herself (Connor unknowingly repeats this— due to survivor’s guilt based in trauma, and so the cycle repeats)
Born some time in the winter (I’m thinking December? December 14 or something. Which makes her a Sagittarius I guess go figure.) I also intend this to be a callback to her name and how I associate her with snow since her most memorable scenes take place during that season in that weather imo
Big appetite high metabolism I got no reason tbh
Has two separate books within her in the aftermath of the prologue— one specifically for teaching Ratonhnhaké:ton English and one to record her own thoughts and feelings in like a journal.
She figures with how the world is changing with further interactions with colonists that her son should learn English sooner than later as a means of protection as well as being an inevitability on her eyes
But also yeah Haytham having a journal and learning abt his ulterior motives is. A lot. But when she meets Achilles and he recommended her be able to vent somewhere when things become too much he recommended a book like that of sorts so yeah (and that’s probably what Connor was reading in the beginning of his sequence— maybe he mistook it for his English-book n was trynna do his mom proud n accidentally found Haytham lore instead)
Connor learned to swear from her at a young age and she . Did not. Anticipate that or meant to do that.
A lot of the times she feels super unfit to be a mother. She was a good mom tho
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look down on me like that - 8 (explicit)
genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut (w some eventual angst that is no longer eventual 👀)
pairing: yoongi x reader
summary: your asshole coworker min yoongi has made it his personal mission to ruin your life.
word count: *deep breath in* 15.3k
contains: explicit sexual content and discussion of some dark themes .....yyyyyep 🤐 includes past-tense discussions of the d3ath of a parent (reader's) and su1c1dal ideation (yoongi's) so please tread carefully loves 💜 some references to alcohol per usual, and plenty of confusing feelings and piss-poor communication..... i'll leave the rest as a surprise 👀 but here are your smut-specific warnings: kissing (‼️), nipple play, clit stim, a single pussy slap lol, fingering, cunnilingus, squirting (🤭), unprotected sex and pulling out (💀), orgasm denial of sorts, but it's cool bc reader has multiple orgasms, ok byeeeee~
A/N: welp..... i'm off to enter witness protection in case you all decide you hate this chapter 💀 not really but heuhjkghkfjgdsf dear god am i nervous to post this lmfao. hope you're ready for some ~answers to questions~ and a whole lotta callbacks to earlier chapters idk why i shoved them all in ch8 specifically but here you go. the scene at yoongi's apartment was one of the very first things i dreamt up in regards to this story and it's nuts to me that we're all the way here now 💜 hope you're ready for a little more insight into these two! also baby goth fans don't come for me..... i promise we'll get a better resolution there..... reader and yoongi just have to survive LA first 😩
an eternal thank you to @haliiimede and @monimonimoon for being wonderful betas, and to @nabiolive for the dead parent sensitivity read lmfao I LOVE Y'ALL
read on AO3!
chapter seven | masterlist | chapter nine
~*~
In the morning, you wake up well before your alarm with an inexplicable uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. When it’s clear sleep is a lost cause, you decide to just get up, and you move through your routine slowly. Everything feels distant, not quite real, like it’s happening to someone else.
On the bus ride to the office, you let your eyes drop closed and try desperately not to replay the events of last night back. You should feel bad about the sex on the conference room table, and you do, a little. But your mind is stuck somewhere else.
Rain streaking down Yoongi’s windshield. The silence as he drove, disturbed only by the low rumble of his voice. The way he’d looked at you, and the heavy pause that hung in the air between you, for just a moment, until you’d fumbled open the door of his car and had practically ran back to the safety of your apartment. And his story— he’d told you something personal, with no malice or hidden agenda that you can manage to find, no matter how much you search for one. Something from when he was just a kid, growing up in Daegu.
You’re embarrassed to admit that it never even occurred to you that Min Yoongi might be a person with a past and a hometown and stories to tell. As long as you’ve known him, he’s always just felt like… a menace. A life-ruiner. An inescapable force.
The thoughts follow you as you step off the bus and make your way into the building and onto the elevator. You can’t figure it out. Yoongi could’ve easily left you to suffer in the rain, but instead he did something nice for you, without asking for anything in return. He’d related to you. He’d let you in, barely, but it’s something.
And you have no idea what to make of it.
Polite small talk with Jungkook as you unlock the front doors is a decent distraction, but you wonder if he can tell that you’re not all the way there today. You set your bag on your desk, then circle around to take a seat, only half-listening as he continues to talk.
“Did you stay late last night?”
You swear your heart stops beating. “What?”
He shrugs, like it’s an obvious question. “There’s the big overseas thing today. I’m sure you had a bunch of stuff to prep. Hopefully it wasn’t too late of a night?”
“No.” The word comes out harsher than you mean it to. You’re not quite sure why your body is suddenly doing emotional alchemy, taking your fear of being caught and somehow turning it into anger. “It wasn’t,” you say firmly.
Jungkook makes a face, like he knows he’s touched a nerve but can’t figure out why. “Okay. That’s good.”
You don’t respond— you just try to control your breathing, try to will your heart to quit racing as you start up your laptop and pretend to suddenly be engrossed in it.
“Well,” he tries again after a moment’s pause. “I guess I’ll see you at the presentation thing.”
“Okay,” you answer, your voice a little softer this time, but you’re still too scared to look away from your screen. When you do eventually work up the courage, he’s already gone.
Before you even have the chance to glance back down, like some universal joke at your expense, the front door of the office is pushed open, and Yoongi steps through. Annoyed as you are, you can only be grateful that his entrance didn’t overlap with Jungkook’s question. You probably would have died of embarrassment on the spot.
Yoongi’s usual dark sunglasses are nowhere to be found today, and he’s in nice clothes for the presentation, a button-down and dress pants, his hair styled. He does still have a death grip on a large iced coffee, but that’s to be expected, especially given the fact that he’s in a lot earlier than is typical for him.
It’s only when his eyes snap over to you for the briefest of seconds that you see the dark shadows sunken deep beneath them, weighing heavy on his face.
Yoongi’s gaze moves back to the hallway in front of him as quickly as it alighted on you. You open your mouth before you even understand why you’re doing it.
“Yoongi?”
He stops dead in his tracks and blinks at you a few times, clearly tired, clearly not expecting the interruption. “Yeah?”
“Did you sleep at all last night?”
His mouth pulls into a flat line as he shakes his head. “Nerves. It’s why I don’t do stuff like this. Unless forced.”
You nod, unsure of what to say— or why you even asked. “Oh. Well, uh. Good luck.”
Yoongi lifts his coffee in a parting gesture, then disappears toward his lab without another word.
You try to focus on your work, to shove the interaction to the back of your mind with everything else you’re avoiding, but the screen seems to blur in front of you, until you finally push back from your desk with an exasperated sigh. The emails can wait.
Maybe, you consider, it would be good to stretch your legs. You can head into the presentation room early to set up before everyone arrives, and make sure everything is working for the several hours of agenda lined up for the morning.
Setting your shoulders back, you grab your things and make your way down the hallway. The thought feels like a good idea until you push the door open and encounter a severe case of deja vu.
Yoongi glances up from his laptop at the front of the room, blearily rubbing at one eye with the heel of his hand. “Is it time already?”
You hover in the threshold, unsure. “Uh— I mean, not quite. I’m early. I can go, if you want.”
He shrugs, busying himself with something on his computer screen. “You’ll have to hear it anyway. Can I just run through it one more time?”
You take a few tentative steps forward, dropping your bag and laptop on the table, right where you sat to watch him the night before. The energy in the room feels entirely different now, and your stomach is twisted into knots that you can’t manage to breathe deep enough to untangle.
“Yeah, fine.” You pause, unable to help yourself. “Just… don’t expect the same treatment as last night.”
Yoongi huffs a dark laugh. “I wasn’t.”
Taking a seat at the table, you set about your admin duties and try to ignore the way Yoongi mumbles over his presentation as he taps through his slides at the front of the room. There’s only so much you can do without bothering him, and you fly through those tasks all-too quickly. You drag your bottom lip between your teeth as you glance back up at Yoongi, and then you inhale to steady yourself before you speak.
“Can you turn on the mic?”
His head snaps up, caught off guard. “Hmm?”
“I need to make sure the mic is working.” Yoongi’s gaze flits to the podium’s built in-microphone, then back to you as he presses the switch to turn it on. “Say something into it,” you instruct. “It doesn’t matter what.”
Yoongi’s eyes move back to the microphone, and it’s like you can see the delay in his brain from lack of sleep. You don’t know what you were expecting— maybe a half-assed ‘check, check’, at worst some sexual or smart-ass remark. Instead, he leans in far closer than is necessary, until his mouth is nearly touching the microphone as he whispers into it.
“Sugaaaaa.”
The live demo of the notorious producer tag that intros all of his tracks is so ridiculous, so unexpected, that you can’t help it. You burst out laughing, clapping a hand over your mouth a few seconds too late. “What the fuck was that?!” The question is only muffled slightly by your palm.
Yoongi’s head drops forward, his dark hair falling in his face, and you can see his shoulders shaking with laughter, too. “Sorry,” he manages with a gasp for breath, tilting back up to speak into the microphone, which you can now actually tell is working properly. “I’m so fucking tired, I think I’m going insane.”
You uncover your mouth as you shake your head in disbelief.
The sudden loud buzz of your phone against the conference room table makes you jump, and you quickly reach for it, for fear it might be an emergency text from your boss that needs immediate attention. Your eyes widen in surprise when you see it’s actually from Jungkook.
Presentation thing? Wanna sit together?
You read the words again and again, and a strange feeling rises up in your chest that you can’t quite name. As you stare down at your phone, you hear the distinct sound of Yoongi’s laptop shutting, and then his voice, no longer amplified by the microphone when he mutters to himself, “Fuck it. It’s as good as it’s gonna get.”
Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, you glance up at Yoongi again, then back down at the text. With a final hard swallow, you turn your phone on silent and flip it over on the table, leaving Jungkook’s question unanswered.
The time is close enough now that you get to your feet to prop open the presentation room door, and then your colleagues quickly start to file into the space, filling in the seats around the large U-shaped arrangement of tables. It’s everything you can do to keep your expression neutral as your brain unhelpfully reminds you that Yoongi fucked you on one of these tables last night.
You try to manage something close to a smile when your boss enters with the team from the American office in tow, and you proceed to exchange pleasantries with them and fake laugh at their jokes when he introduces you.
As you’re listening diplomatically to one of them drone on about the flight to Seoul, you spot Jungkook slip in the door out of the corner of your eye, and it takes extra effort to keep the smile plastered on your face. The seats on either side of yours have long since been taken, and you glance over to see his eyes sweep the room before he moves to take an open spot at the far end.
You watch unabashedly now as he leans back in his chair, tilting to one side to pull his phone out of his pocket, and you can only pray he’s watching TikToks with the sound off rather than checking for a text that’s never coming.
When your manager repeats a question meant for you, your attention snaps back to the group. Sure your smile is nearly a grimace now, you apologize and blame the distraction on needing more coffee, which is enough to earn you a polite chuckle.
Eventually the room takes their seats as your manager moves to the front to start the presentation. You stay focused on copying down minutes as various speakers go through the company’s financials for the previous four quarters, the roadmap for the coming years, and a summary of top-level talent that the label has signed or directly worked with.
The discussion of talent leads smoothly into a quick review of achievements and nominations, and then Yoongi steps to the front of the room.
As he launches in, you can’t get over the stark difference between the Yoongi you’re used to and the one standing behind the podium in front of you. The man with the easy, confident, cocky demeanor is nowhere to be found, replaced with someone who barely looks up from his slides and speaks at a rushed pace, like he’s trying to get the words out as fast as possible. You bite down firmly on your bottom lip and try not to react at all.
He’s nearly halfway done now, and just as you’re thinking he might make it through the whole thing unscathed, Yoongi stumbles slightly over his words. It’s not a lot, a little slip-up that the rest of the room probably didn’t even notice, but you see a momentary flash of panic in his dark eyes. And then those eyes snap up to meet yours, and your stomach drops.
The memory of the two of you in this room, the thought of what you’d be doing to him if you were alone again, the way you could so easily make his voice shake and his knees threaten to buckle with just your mouth— it’s all too much.
You can’t help yourself as the smile you’ve been desperately trying to hide starts to spread across your face, equal parts supportive and indecent.
There’s a beat of silence, not long enough for anyone to think anything of it, and then Yoongi drops your gaze as quickly as he found it. He squints back down at his computer screen, and though he leans away from the microphone, you don’t miss the unmistakable sound of him clearing his throat.
“Excuse me,” he murmurs, and then he picks up where he left off, managing to get back on track without further issue.
You desperately try to ignore the warm flush of heat that creeps up your neck as Yoongi goes through the rest of his slides.
Time seems to speed by in a rush after his presentation, and you barely manage to keep up with the barrage of content. You’re more than grateful when your manager inevitably wraps up the session, reminding everyone to head to a nearby restaurant for a team lunch immediately following.
As the room begins to empty, you take your time finishing up the notes and firing them off to the broader audience. When you finally close your laptop and look up, you realize nearly everyone has left now, though as fate would have it, Yoongi has also lagged behind. He’s standing hunched over the conference room table as he types something into his own laptop.
You try not to overthink it as you hug your computer to your chest and take a few steps toward him. “Yoongi?”
He hums a response, and when he glances up at you, the bags under his eyes are just as prominent as before.
“Are you, uh— coming to lunch?”
He rolls his eyes, like the question is ridiculous. “I can’t. I’m drowning in shit I put off for the last two days.”
His words make you take a step back, and you immediately feel stupid for asking. Why do you even care what he does? “Right. Got it.”
You don’t wait around for him to say anything else, you just shove your laptop into your purse and pull the strap over your shoulder as you head for the exit.
Largely preoccupied with getting away from Yoongi, you don’t pay much attention to your surroundings as you slip out of the room, and you only get a few steps down the hall before a voice behind you nearly makes you jump out of your skin. “There you are.”
“Jesus!” you gasp, whipping around to find Jungkook leaning up against the glass wall of the conference room, his arms crossed over his chest. “You fucking scared me, Baby Goth.”
“Sorry.” He gives a shy smile, nose scrunching slightly like he’s embarrassed. “I wasn’t gonna let you ditch me again. Lunch?”
You do your best to match his smile. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”
The two of you meet up with the rest of the team at a restaurant well out of your price range, and Jungkook babbles freely as he stuffs his face, seemingly unbothered by how little you have to say in return. The chatter of so many people at the long table is a white noise that you can’t focus on any part of, and Jungkook’s usual comforting presence feels overwhelming today, nearly stifling. You push food back and forth on your plate but barely eat, your stomach uneasy for reasons you don’t want to dwell on.
“Min Suga seemed like he didn’t even want to be up there.” The mention of Yoongi’s pseudonym is enough to snap you out of your haze.
“Huh?” You glance up at Jungkook, your eyes widening slightly, and you force yourself to eat another bite of pasta as he continues.
“I don’t know, he went through it so fast. Guess it makes sense. He hates anything that drags him out of his lab, right?”
You aimlessly twirl your fork against your plate, around and around. When you first started this job, you would have agreed with Jungkook without a second thought. Laughed about it, even. Now you’re not so sure. You don’t want to add to this growing sense of friction, the weird energy in the air, but the words come out anyway.
“He was nervous, Jungkook.”
When you meet his gaze again, Jungkook looks confused, and you instantly regret saying anything at all.
“What, did he tell you that?”
You nod as you take another bite of food to avoid having to explain yourself.
Jungkook’s eyes drift down to the table between you, distant, his brow furrowed like he’s suddenly doing some complex mental math. “When?”
“Last night,” you murmur through your mouthful. “We both worked late. I helped him practice a little.” The explanation was meant to make the situation sound less incriminating, but somehow you feel like it only makes it worse. You hope Jungkook can’t tell how warm your face is starting to get.
When he finally speaks, his voice is low, his gaze still not meeting yours. “I thought you said you didn’t stay late. When I asked you this morning.”
A rush of adrenaline hits your bloodstream so hard it makes you dizzy. “I—I didn’t. It wasn’t that late. Like an hour max. Didn’t seem worth mentioning.” You set your fork down, quickly hiding your hands in your lap so Jungkook can’t see the way they’ve started to tremble.
His only response is a slow nod, and then he goes quiet in a way that’s rare for him. It feels like an eternity of sitting and eating in silence before either of you says another word.
The conversation eventually picks back up again, and when it does, you try to tell yourself you’re just imagining that it’s slightly more stilted than before.
As you and Jungkook trail after the rest of your coworkers on the walk back to the office, you trade a few more polite questions about work-related projects, and then you fall quiet again, seemingly out of things to say. It’s a few stretches of city blocks, and then you see Jungkook’s head tip up, and he outright sniffs the air.
You can’t help but laugh a little, mostly because he looks like a dog, and then you smell it too. The unmistakable aroma coming from the street cart up ahead. You smile softly to yourself as you both slow to pass it, ogling rice cakes and fish cakes simmering in a pan of spicy sauce.
“God,” Jungkook groans appreciatively. “I would absolutely destroy some tteokbokki right now if I didn’t think I’d literally explode.”
“This is what happens when you help yourself to thirds every time you eat,” you chide him with a giggle, and the two of you nod to the vendor before you continue on toward the office. You only take a few more steps before you falter, and Jungkook turns back when he notices you’ve stopped.
“What’s up? Did you want to get some?”
You don’t know what makes you lie. “Uh, no. I, uh— I just realized, I think I left my scarf back at the restaurant. I’m gonna run back, but don’t worry about waiting for me. You’ve got work stuff.”
Jungkook shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “It’s cool, I can go with you.”
“No, that’s okay,” you say, firmly enough to make it very obvious you don’t want company. Maybe a little too firm, because Jungkook blinks, like he’s taken aback. Your stomach twists with a feeling that you imagine must be similar to having just kicked a puppy.
“Oh. Alright, well. I’ll see you later, then.” He pauses for a moment, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, and then he turns on his heel and keeps walking in the direction of the office. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch Jungkook’s retreating form until he disappears down the city block.
You try not to overthink the interaction as you retrace your steps to the cart, then head back to the office with a takeout bag gripped in one hand. Thankfully you don’t have to fumble for another lie of an excuse, because you don’t run into Jungkook or anyone else in your straight shot from the entrance to the door of Yoongi’s lab. Quick as you can, you punch in the lock code, then push the handle down and slip inside.
It takes you a minute to process what you’re seeing as you shut the door behind you. Yoongi’s arms are folded on the desk in front of him, and he’s slumped forward, head buried in the crook of his elbow. For a brief moment your heart drops, and then you take a tentative step closer and realize there’s no shake or shudder to his shoulders, only the smooth rise and fall of deep, steady breathing.
He’s asleep.
You close the remaining distance until you can reach out and gently place a hand on his back. “Yoongi?”
He inhales sharply, and you quickly pull your hand away like you’ve just been burned. Tilting his head to one side, he cracks an eye open, mumbling something that sounds like a question but is otherwise fully incoherent.
“You fell asleep,” you say dumbly, and Yoongi slowly sits up with a grunt, his eyes squinting, clearly readjusting to the room around him. He leans back to stretch, and several places in his back and shoulders crack impressively loudly.
“Fuck,” he sighs, voice strained, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “Why are you in here?”
“I brought you lunch,” you murmur, lifting the takeout bag for him to witness. He frowns at it, then up at you, like he can’t quite figure out what’s happening.
“Thanks,” he eventually manages. “You can just leave it. I’m nowhere near done with all my—”
You cut him off before he can finish. “Go home, Yoongi.”
The look of slack-jawed confusion on his face is enough to nearly make you laugh. “What?”
“I said go home.”
His brow furrows. “You’re not my boss.”
“I’m not saying it as your boss,” you sigh. “But you need to eat, and sleep. This isn’t healthy.”
Yoongi huffs a little, exasperated. “That’s easy for you to say, but I have so much stupid admin stuff to get caught up on.” He gestures halfheartedly to a massive to-do list pulled up on his monitor, one he’s barely a quarter of the way through.
Suppressing the urge to roll your eyes, you hum, feigning thought. “If only you had someone who could help with that. Some kind of… Admin Bitch.”
The comment must catch him off-guard, because he outright laughs. “You know, I still haven’t changed your contact name.”
You quirk an eyebrow. “Then you should go before I question why I’m being nice to you. I’ll leave a note for tomorrow with anything I can’t figure out for myself. Assuming you trust my ability to do my job.” As if to indicate that you are no longer open to discussing the subject, you shove the takeout bag into Yoongi’s chest, and he wraps both arms around it, still looking entirely dazed.
But to your surprise, he doesn’t fight you, just slowly rolls his desk chair back and gets to his feet. You watch carefully as he shifts the bag of food to one arm, then grabs his work bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I, uh— thanks.”
You wave a hand as if to tell him not to mention it, and then you plop down into his chair and get to work, barely phased by the sound of the door clicking shut when he leaves.
~*~
As you settle in at your desk the next morning, it dawns on you how close the Grammys have started to loom, made abundantly clear by the overwhelming amount of prep you find yourself launched into. You don’t think you look up from your screen once, not even bothering to greet coworkers as they push through the doors, until the muted tap of something being placed on your desk startles you.
You see the cup of coffee first, and when you glance up expecting a pair of Baby Star Candy eyes, you instead find Yoongi hovering at the edge of your desk, like he’s not sure what he’s doing there. You make zero attempts to hide your total shock at whatever the fuck is going on in this moment.
He looks— good. Fresh-faced, like he managed to actually get some sleep, a little less gaunt. Even his expression seems weirdly pleasant, something you might mistake for happiness if you thought that he was capable of such an emotion.
There’s a crinkling sound, and when he gently sets a small wax paper pastry bag on your desk next to the coffee, you’re sure that you’ve overslept your alarm and are in the depths of a wild, ridiculous dream. It’s the only way any of this can be happening.
You blink up at him as you hesitantly reach for the bag, like you’re scared it might bite you.
“It’s maple,” he says as you slowly pick it up and investigate the contents. It’s still warm. “I asked for the most disgustingly sweet thing they had.”
Too overwhelmed, you set the pastry bag back down wordlessly. As you do, it’s only now that your eyes focus on the letters “AB” sketched in black marker on the side of the coffee cup, where a barista would typically write your name.
Yoongi’s eyes must be watching yours carefully, because he huffs a laugh as he sees realization dawn over your face. “Making them actually write Admin Bitch seemed a bit much.”
You can’t manage to find a laugh to match his, can only sit there, shell-shocked. When you look up again, he’s already walking backwards in the direction of his lab, but his eyes are still on you. “I’d tell you not to tell anyone, but I don’t think they’d believe you even if you did.”
And just like that, he’s gone again.
You remain unconvinced that both of his gifts aren’t secretly poisoned, but your desperate need for a fresh hit of caffeine overwhelms any other emotion. Carefully, you lift the cup to your lips and take a sip— it’s not scalding, but still perfectly hot, and your eyes widen as the flavor hits your tongue.
Two cream, three sugar. Exactly how you like it.
Before you’ve even had time to swallow, Jungkook is suddenly rounding the corner from the opposite direction, and you have to make a conscious effort not to choke.
He slows to a stop, and you watch him take in the coffee cup clutched between your hands like a lifeline. “Hey! You seriously snuck out for coffee without me?” His tone is mock-hurt, but you can’t help wondering whether it’s entirely put on.
Your gaze drops back down to the cup. “Sorry, JK. Someone else picked this up for me.”
Jungkook doesn’t pry into your vague statement, but a sinking feeling in your stomach tells you that maybe he doesn’t have to.
~*~
It’s Saturday night by the time your schedule aligns with Jimin’s for a night out, and given that it’s the last time you’ll see him before you leave for Los Angeles, you manage to guilt him into driving. The bar you choose is a shitty dive nowhere near your office, where you’re certain you won’t have to worry about any accidental encounters.
Or any encounters at all, as it turns out. The place is dead.
“I think we’re single-handedly keeping them open tonight,” Jimin murmurs with a grimace as you grab a pair of stools.
The bartender pours you each two shots and two beers, then returns to their side work at the far end of the bar in an apparent attempt to give the two of you some privacy.
It’s only once you’ve had your first shot and are halfway through the accompanying beer that you’re able to speak the words aloud: “I had sex in the office again.”
Jimin glances up at the ceiling, as if asking for strength, and you recount the full story mostly to the wood grain in front of you, unable to look your best friend in the face while you catch him up on everything.
When you fill in the final details, Jimin nearly spits his drink out. “Suga really hatefucked you on a conference table?! I need to go buy some lottery tickets.” He throws back his second shot, and there’s a smug smile on his face as he swallows it down. “God, I love being psychic.”
You shove an elbow into his ribs. “Listen. I don’t know what’s fucking happening anymore, Mochi. Sometimes he’s insufferable but now sometimes we apparently mildly tolerate and are even nice to each other. Like, coffee and a pastry nice.” You smack your hand on the bar for emphasis as you repeat the words. “Coffee. And. A. Pastry.”
“So,” Jimin clasps his hands together as he surveys you. There’s a look on his face like he’s clearly expecting you to draw some conclusion from all of this, but it seems to have entirely escaped you. “What have we learned?”
You drop your head down on the bar with a resounding thud. “We’ve learned that Min Yoongi is ruining my life.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
Voice muffled slightly, you groan. “Don’t make me say it louder.”
“No, what did you just say?” You lift your head up to look at him, and his expression is deadly serious, his eyes sharp and focused. “Min Yoongi? I know Min Yoongi.”
You give him the same look right back. “You what?”
“We were trainees together. I— wait, Min Yoongi is Suga the producer? Really?!” He scrambles for his phone and you just sit there, dumbfounded.
“How are you only now telling me that you know him?”
Jimin glances up, incredulous. “Um, hi, because you literally never fucking told me Suga is Min Yoongi?”
You roll your eyes. “Please, surely I have said his name to you at least once.”
It’s Jimin’s turn to smack the bar, and he does so loudly. “Run those tapes back, ma’am! We have always called him Suga.”
“You’re telling me you’ve never even Googled him?!”
He makes a face like the mere suggestion is ridiculous. “I am an adult, with a job and a very needy boyfriend. Your chaos already monopolizes too much of my time.”
The search on his phone loads, and you watch Jimin tap and scroll slowly, mouth dropping open in disbelief. “Min Yoongi is Suga. Wow. I think I need a minute.”
Jimin’s earlier words finally catch up to you, and you finish the last of your first beer before you dare ask the question. “Yoongi was really a trainee?”
“He was,” Jimin confirms, gaze still locked on his phone. “Obviously he didn’t debut either. He left a few months before I did. I always wondered what happened to him.”
“What was he like?” Your voice comes out soft, a little unsure.
His eyes widen, staring off unfocused as he searches through his memory. “I mean, we weren’t super close, he’s a few years older than me. But it doesn’t sound like that much has changed if I think about what you’ve told me. He was quiet, not too personable. Worked hard. Didn’t really seem that close to anybody. I think maybe he had a difficult home life?”
Your stomach drops a little as Jimin pauses, choosing his words. “Like I guess his parents weren’t very supportive. So I think he felt like he had a lot to prove, and had really high standards for himself. But he obviously loved music. Makes sense that he ended up a producer. It’s like me and dance, right?” He picks up his beer with a shrug, staring thoughtfully down at the amber liquid. “Man. Those years were tough.”
As Jimin takes a sip of his drink and then continues on about his trainee days, your head starts to spin. You throw back your second shot in hopes that it might help.
You wish you could go back and unlearn this information, unsay the name Min Yoongi. Because you don’t want to think about him. You don’t want to know that Min Yoongi gets nervous about public speaking, that he likes his coffee iced, that he can’t say no to street cart tteokbokki, that he used to be a trainee, that he worked an unpaid job in Daegu, that he had a disapproving family and never felt good enough and maybe still doesn’t.
Min Yoongi was so simple when you first met him, back when he was a two-dimensional character, the antagonist of your TV show life, your enemy. But now he’s none of those things. He’s a real, flawed, complicated person, and your feelings for him are confusing and overwhelming. And you deeply do not want to think about your feelings. You don’t want to examine them, don’t want to hold them up to the light for fear of what you might find. It occurs to you in this moment that you don’t want to think about anything at all.
With a sigh, you scoot your chair back from the bar, then get to your feet.
“What are you doing?” Jimin interrupts himself to ask as you dig your phone out of your purse.
You’re doing the only thing that makes sense. “I’m gonna go fuck him,” you say, resigned, and then you make your way out the front door of the bar as you pull up Yoongi’s contact in your phone.
It’s only as the line starts to ring that you realize you don’t exactly have a location in mind. Sex in a bar bathroom is an experience you have no desire to repeat, and the thought of Yoongi seeing your shithole apartment makes your drinks threaten a return appearance.
You’re starting to consider that maybe you should just hang up and forget the idea entirely when Yoongi’s voice startles you.
“Uh, hi?”
“Hi.”
There’s a pause as you realize you didn’t actually plan how to have this conversation, and then you and Yoongi speak in tandem.
“I was just wondering—”
“Is there a reason you—”
“Shut up,” you snap, agitated by your own awkwardness. “What are you doing right now?”
Yoongi laughs darkly into the phone. “I’m sorry, is this a booty call?”
“Answer the question, asshole.”
There’s a slight shifting sound, like he’s making himself comfortable. “Nothing. Drinking.”
“Great, same here.”
Another pause, and you swear you can hear Yoongi slow blinking, can see the stupid smirk on his face when you close your eyes. “Would you like to come over, then?”
“Yes,” you answer, trying to sound more confident than you feel, and then you falter slightly. You’re not about to ask Jimin to drive you— you don’t trust him enough to stay in the car and behave, not when he’s been drinking. “Uh, are you by any chance near a bus stop?”
Yoongi doesn’t even try to suppress his snort of laughter. “I’m not. But I can send a car.”
“You don’t have to do that,” you say quickly, trying to think. “I can figure something—”
“Please,” Yoongi cuts you off. “If you’re really calling me begging to get fucked, the least I can do is provide the transportation. Just send me your location.”
“Fine,” you concede, and your voice comes out harsh. “But to be clear, I am not begging.”
He hums a low note, like he’s thinking it over. “Not yet,” he ultimately responds. “See you soon.”
You swallow hard as the call disconnects.
The time it takes for the car to arrive is just enough for you to slip back inside and finish your beer, and Jimin’s eyes narrow with frustration when you’re unable to explain yourself.
“Didn’t you just complain that this man was ruining your life?”
“Yes,” you retort. “And then I thought it over, and I decided that’s my job.” Your phone buzzes with the notification that the car is outside, and you quickly swig the last of your drink. “Bye.”
Jimin’s face twists like he’s holding further commentary back, which you didn’t think he was capable of doing without combusting. “Alright, babygirl,” he finally sighs, defeated. “Call me if you need saving.”
“I always do,” you deadpan as you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek.
~*~
Yoongi doesn’t say anything when he opens the door for you, just nods his head to the interior of his apartment to gesture you inside, letting the door swing wider so you can step past him. He shuts it again as you slip your heels off, and it takes you a second to adjust to your true height difference, the fact that you have to look a little further up to meet his gaze now.
“Want a drink?” is his delayed greeting, and you shrug.
“Yeah, okay. Just whatever you’re having.”
Without another word, he turns and heads down the hallway, and you follow after him, taking in your surroundings as you move further inside. It’s only now that it occurs to you how rich he must be. His place is identical to any one of the swanky, million-dollar Hannam apartments of which you’ve spent thousands of hours watching YouTube tours. You try to keep your expression neutral as you follow him into the living room, but it’s hard not to be impressed.
Yoongi crosses the room to a mini-bar, built into the far wall and softly backlit with inset LEDs. You pull your bottom lip into your mouth as you hover nervously for a second, then finally choose to drop down onto the large, L-shaped couch, setting your purse on the floor next to you.
“Thoughts—” When Yoongi’s voice breaks the silence, you start a little, not expecting it. “—on single malt whiskey?” He turns over his shoulder, and you shrug back at him.
“Never met one I didn’t like.”
The corner of his mouth pulls up, just barely. “Alright.” You watch as he grabs a dark green bottle off the shelf, coating the bottom of a glass with the amber liquid inside, then just barely topping up what must be his own drink. He crosses back to the couch, hands you yours, then drops down a respectable distance away from you with a sigh of effort.
The atmosphere is certainly different from what you’d expected, and Yoongi must be able to tell you’re a little on edge, not sure what to do or why you thought coming here was a good idea.
He glances over at you as he swirls the contents of his glass. “Not feeling up for much small talk tonight. Sorry.”
“That’s fine,” you say quickly. “We don’t have to talk.”
As soon as the words leave your mouth, you grit your teeth in anticipation of the smug smile, the cocky smirk at your unintended double meaning, but it never comes. Yoongi stays just as he is, slouched forward, his eyes unfocused, like he’s got a thousand thoughts running through his mind at once.
You turn sideways on the couch so you can look over the back of it and out of the large picture window behind you, where the city is alive in a blur of light and color, bracketed by the dark swath of the Han River.
Yoongi’s whiskey is strong but smooth, tastes like the bottle probably cost more than the entire bar-tab you and Jimin rang up tonight, and you sip it slowly. The thought of your best friend sparks something in your mind— you find yourself speaking again in spite of your previous statement.
“I just found out that you know my best friend. Park Jimin.”
At this, Yoongi looks up, clearly stunned. “No shit?” You nod, taking another pull from your drink, and he shakes his head. “I haven’t heard that name in years. How is he?”
“He’s good,” you murmur, the sharp taste of alcohol lingering on the back of your tongue. “He’s really good. He actually just performed in the concert I took Jungkook to.”
Yoongi pauses, glass halfway to his lips. “What group is he in? For someone in the industry I am atrocious at keeping up with this shit.”
“Oh, he’s not, he’s just a back-up dancer now. He never debuted.”
Yoongi nods slowly. “Well. Makes two of us.”
Your chest starts to tighten a little— you’re weirdly nervous to talk to him about this. It feels like uncharted territory. “I can’t believe you were a trainee.”
He leans back, resting his free arm over the back of the couch, fingers tapping idly. “I can’t either, most days. It was a long time ago. Feels like it happened to somebody else.”
Torn between deep curiosity and not wanting to pry, you stare down at the liquid swirling in your glass and leave it up to Yoongi. To your surprise, he keeps talking.
“So what did Jimin tell you about me?”
The unexpected question makes you laugh a little. “Uh… I don’t know. Said you sound like you’re still the same as you were back then. Keeping to yourself and working a lot.”
You don’t know if you should repeat everything, but the liquor loosens your tongue. “He said your parents weren’t very supportive.”
You glance up to see Yoongi shake his head, matter-of-fact. “They were not. So you can imagine how well they took it when I quit.” Your heart sinks at the thought. “Probably put a chip on my shoulder, if I want to be introspective about it. Explains the workaholic tendencies, maybe.”
He takes a longer sip of his drink this time, chasing his swallow with a grimace as he stares at the floor. “It’s funny. I always feel like I have to do better, even now. I get obsessed with work because it’s better than being depressed. And most of the time it feels like there’s nothing else to do anyway. I just work myself to death because it’s my only reason to stay alive.”
Your stomach drops sharply, and you can’t help but look over at him as he continues, feeling thoroughly unprepared for this sudden insight into the inner workings of Min Yoongi.
“It doesn’t even matter what milestones I hit, the fame, the fortune, whatever. I’m going to the fucking Grammys next week and it still doesn’t feel good enough.” His eyes flicker up to find yours, and his voice is quieter now. “Even if I win, I know it won’t. How sad is that?”
“You sound like my dad,” you mutter into your glass, and then your gaze snaps back to Yoongi as you realize what you’ve just said.
He looks as surprised as you feel, and you steady yourself as you take a swig of your drink and swallow it down. Fuck it. If he can overshare, so can you. “Work always came first, before family, before everything. And you know what happened? He dropped dead in his office before he even turned fifty. They said it was probably stress.”
There’s a flash of something in Yoongi’s eyes, but he doesn’t try to interrupt you.
“It makes me so mad,” you say, and you will yourself not to get emotional, your grip on your drink tightening slightly. “Because he worked so fucking hard thinking that once he got to a certain place, he’d be happy. Just a little more, then he could relax. But he never got there. He worked non-stop his whole life and then he fucking died. That’s it.
“And you know what’s really fucked up?” You don’t wait for Yoongi to respond— you can’t stop it all from coming out now, like a tap turned on high.
“People say grief makes you resilient, that it makes you stronger, or kinder, that we go through these things and they’re hard but you learn from them and grow or whatever the fuck. And I don’t feel like any of that shit is true for me. My dad died, and I just got worse.” A self-deprecating laugh flutters out around your words. “I’m selfish. I’m lazy. I make terrible choices. I deeply cannot fucking stand myself, if I’m honest with you. Jimin is like the one friend I still keep in touch with who knew me when my dad was alive, because everyone else just… didn’t know what to do with me. And I don’t blame them.
“And it makes me feel like such a fucking asshole, because he died, and I’m sitting here complaining about me. It’s like I don’t even miss him as much as I just miss… the way things used to be. The person I used to be.” You let yourself take a breath, but the final thought, the part you don’t usually say out loud, slips out with it. “It’s like she died, too.”
There’s a long pause that feels like an eternity, and you realize your heart is racing in your chest. You lean back against the couch with a sigh of frustration, too embarrassed at your own word vomit to do anything but stare at the stupidly high ceiling. You’re so wrapped up in the rush of saying it all— it’s been a while since you’ve gone this deep with anyone— that it takes you a second to notice that Yoongi is laughing softly.
“Wow. And here I thought you were just a slacker.”
The words make you glance over at him. You haven’t divulged these feelings to many people, but nearly everyone you’ve told has responded the same: awkward apologies, shitty words of affirmation you didn’t ask for, waxing poetic bullshit lies about how you’re not a bad person. A road paved with good intentions, things meant to console you that only make you want to scream.
But Yoongi gives you none of that. He just nods, like he understands.
“Well,” you counter, trying not to let the shock read on your face. “I thought you were just an asshole.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I am an asshole. I’ll own that.” He smirks into his glass as he takes another sip of his drink. “Do you want to know something?”
“What?”
He suddenly pauses, like he’s not sure how to word it, like he maybe regrets asking the question at all. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so hesitant before. “You have to not make a big deal about it.”
“Okay,” you say simply. You’re willing to return the favor.
“The night I left the studio door unlocked, and there was the break-in,” Yoongi starts, his thumb fiddling with the ring on his index finger. Something twists in your stomach, an intuition you can’t explain that makes it immediately clear to you what he’s about to say. “I wasn’t thinking about locking up that night because I... was planning to kill myself.”
It’s like all the air is sucked out of the room, and you will yourself not to react, gripping your glass until your knuckles blanch. Your eyes drop to the floor as you try to process the weight of his words.
“But you didn’t,” you reply dumbly.
“No, I didn’t. I walked up and down the bridge over the river for a long time. Probably an hour, maybe more, I don’t know.” You look up to the window again, tracing the inkblot snake of the river in the distance.
“I thought about it, and then I decided to go home. I thought that maybe I could give it just one more day and see what happened. And then when I got to work the next day, I was in such deep shit about the break-in, I felt like everyone would blame themselves if I did it after that. Like they’d think they were too hard on me.” He laughs bitterly to himself. “Like I’m not always the one who is hardest on myself.”
“Yoongi,” you breathe. “I don’t know what to say.”
He shrugs. “You don’t have to say anything. It just feels nice to tell someone.”
There’s a heavy silence between you, and heat rushes to your face as the words leave your mouth before you can stop them. “I’m glad you didn’t do it.”
He glances over at you, brows pinched together like he doesn’t believe you. “You hate me.”
“I do not!” The insistence in your voice surprises even you. In an attempt to ground yourself, you press your palm to the side of your drink and try to focus on the feeling, the cool surface against your flushed skin. “I mean, I definitely did. But now, I don’t know. Would I really be wasting my Saturday night here if I hated you?”
Yoongi pauses with his glass halfway to his mouth, and you can see him fighting to keep a smile off his face. “Look at me, you came over here to fuck and I turned it into a therapy session. Christ.”
With a final shake of his head, he downs the last of his drink in one swallow. “You want a tour?”
You follow Yoongi as he takes a winding path through the various rooms of his apartment, and you continue to sip at your drink, barely processing any of what he shows you. Your mind is still spinning from the conversation, and that paired with the cotton fuzz of strong liquor makes everything feel muted and far away.
As anticipated, the tour ends in his bedroom, which matches the rest of the place: sleek, minimally decorated, and bathed in the soft glow of inset strip lighting that runs the length of the ceiling.
When Yoongi sets his empty glass down on the dresser, you mirror him, then watch as he steps in to close the distance between you. As your eyes search his, you realize you’re once again caught between conflicting versions of Min Yoongi, still trying to reconcile the one you thought you knew with the person who just spilled his guts all over the living room floor. It feels impossible to hold the two of them together in your mind.
Up close, his smirk seems to soften. “You’re a lot shorter without those heels.”
Before you even understand what you’re doing, or why, you take his face in your hands and kiss him. It’s only a split second, your lips barely brushing over his, and then you quickly pull away, struck by the reality of what you’ve just done.
“Shit,” you breathe, dropping your hands and taking a step back. You stumble slightly as a hot wave of shame rushes up in your chest. “Sorry, I just—”
You don’t get to finish the thought, because Yoongi’s touch is sliding over the curve of your waist, and then he’s dragging you back toward him until his mouth finds yours again. The taste of whiskey lingers on his soft lips as they move against yours— you can’t help but whimper a little at how hungrily he kisses you. Like he’s wanted to do it for a long time.
The idea overwhelms you, and you pull away from him again, your lips still ghosting over his. “Yoongi.” You try your best to sound firm when you say his name, pressing one hand against his chest as you look up at him. “This… can’t mean anything.”
You can feel the heat of his breath when he laughs softly. “It doesn’t have to. I’ve been trying to tell you that.”
Too desperate for his mouth to want to argue, you decide to let him win. “Okay,” you sigh. Your hand is already tangled in his long, dark hair by the time his lips meet yours again.
“Get on the bed,” Yoongi murmurs between kisses, and you do as he says.
Moving backwards, you crawl up toward the pillows while Yoongi crosses the room to hit a panel on the wall, dimming the soft lights overhead until they’re barely there. He comes back to join you, strong hands wordlessly guiding you to lay down beneath him.
It’s weird to not be rushing through this: to feel like you can take your time as he kisses you again, as you lick into his mouth to roll your tongue over his, as one of his hands starts to creep under your skirt to gently rub up and down the length of your thigh.
The motions of his hand push the fabric higher and higher, until it’s as far up as it can go, and he leans back, clearly not satisfied.
“Can I take this off?” he asks, and you nod, sitting up to help as he pulls your dress up over your head.
It occurs to you a beat too late that you’ve never been this naked in front of him before, and your heartbeat flutters. “You too,” you murmur, pinching gently at the hem of Yoongi’s t-shirt, and he smirks as he reaches one hand between his shoulder blades to tug it off entirely.
You take him in as he drops the shirt to his bedroom floor: he’s broad-shouldered in a way you’ve never noticed under all his baggy clothes, with firm definition in the muscles of his chest and arms, and there’s a flush of warm glow to his pale skin.
As you blink up at Yoongi, more than dazed, you realize his eyes are roaming over your body, too. “Fuck,” he swears under his breath, and you resist the sudden urge to hide from his surveying gaze. “You have great tits.”
You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that, and the surprise of it makes you laugh.
“Just for that, I’ll let you see them,” you say, unable to keep the teasing edge out of your voice as you lean forward to reach behind your back. Your hands shake a little more than you’d like as you fumble to undo your bra and toss it off the side of the bed to join everything else.
Your nipples stiffen quickly in the cool air of his room, and when you lay back again, Yoongi covers your body with his, the movement paired with a groan that’s nearly a growl. You can’t hold back your own soft sounds as his lips and tongue move down your neck, and it occurs to you now that there’s so much that the two of you have never done before. So many steps you skipped.
Like the way Yoongi cups one of your breasts in his hand, rolling his thumb over your nipple to earn a louder whine from you. “Shit,” you gasp as he does it again, his mouth still trailing kisses between the valley of your breasts.
“God,” Yoongi hisses against your skin. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy.”
With his thumb continuing to work at one nipple, he takes the other into his mouth, and you can feel the way your arousal is starting to soak through your panties as he sucks firmly at the stiff peak. You arch up into him, and then he’s shifting to roll your nipple between his teeth and tug, and you can’t help it— you flinch and yelp beneath him, overwhelmed.
He quickly pulls his mouth off of you, eyes flashing up to find yours. “Sensitive?”
You nod, face flushing, embarrassed. “A little bit of teeth is okay. Too much hurts.”
“Okay,” Yoongi answers softly. He licks up the underside of your breast to pull the bud of it back into his mouth, and the swirl of his tongue there soothes like an apology. When he just barely grazes his teeth across the sensitive peak, it’s enough to make you keen, your eyes rolling back as they flutter closed.
“Oh, fuck, just like that.”
With a wet noise, he pulls off to switch sides, repeating the firm suction, the drag of his tongue, the slightest brush of teeth. His fingers pinch gently at your other nipple, made slick with his spit, and he keeps working you lazily, unhurried, until your body writhes underneath his.
“Yoongi—” You try to catch your breath, and you run a hand through his hair to pull his mouth off of you. His jaw is still dropped open slightly when he meets your gaze. “Touch me.”
His lips pull into a smug smile. “Told you you’d beg.”
Your grip on his hair tightens in response. “Not begging. Ordering.”
Yoongi tuts gently, like he’s disappointed. “I don’t follow orders, sweetheart.”
As much as his teasing irritates you, a twin smile to his spreads across your face. “I’ll kill you,” you murmur, releasing your grip as he shifts back onto his knees.
It gets harder to focus on your bloodlust when his palms run over the curve of your hips, then press between your legs to part your thighs. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he deadpans as his fingers slip under the waistband of your panties and he starts to drag the lace down your legs.
“That’s fucking dark,” you can’t help but laugh as you kick your underwear the rest of the way off.
Yoongi licks his lips, clearly distracted, and you spread yourself wider for him. “This pussy,” he grunts hoarsely, like he’s talking to himself more than you. “Gets so puffy when you want it. All tight inside, too.” He unexpectedly slaps the whole of his hand over your center, and you gasp, your hips jolting up.
You don’t even have time to respond before he’s pressing a finger into you, your cunt squeezing tight enough to reward him with an audible noise as he fucks it in and out. “Fuck,” you groan.
“You get this wet just from having your tits played with, huh?”
The thorough analysis makes you huff a laugh, because he’s not wrong, and it stutters into a moan when his thumb gently starts to circle your clit.
“God,” you manage to choke out, “you’re fucking chatty tonight.”
Yoongi smirks, and you’re not sure why until he speaks again, his voice now pinched in a clear imitation as he withdraws his hand. “I’m sorry, is there somewhere you’d rather I put my mouth?”
Your jaw drops in disbelief as he repeats your own stupid tease from weeks ago back to you. “I’ve changed my mind,” you snap, sitting up a little, and Yoongi glances at you, already in the midst of settling between your spread thighs. “I do still hate you.”
“That’s fine,” he says with a shrug, and then he leans in to lick a thick, wet stripe up your slit. His mouth is immediately dizzying, and you drop your head back against the pillow, overwhelmed.
It’s another thing you’ve never done before, at least not with Min Yoongi. As he repeats the motion over and over, lazy long strokes where he drags his tongue from your entrance all the way up to circle your clit, you mentally kick yourself for every missed chance, every opportunity to have his mouth that you didn’t take.
“What the fuck,” you breathe.
Yoongi just barely pulls off of you, close enough that a string of your arousal is still joined to his lower lip when he speaks. “You’re not the only one with good head game here.”
He dives in again like he’s determined to immediately prove his point, and you shove your legs open wider as he sucks your clit into his mouth.
As much as you’d like to bruise his ego, it’s impossible to keep yourself from moaning when he pairs the firm suction with the press of his index finger back into your tight heat. As wet as he’s made you, he’s easily able to slide a second in beside it now, and your nails scratch helplessly over the sheets beneath you.
“Yoongi,” you gasp as he curls his digits to beckon inside you, stroking over your front wall and easily finding the spot that makes you gush. He does it again and again, like a button press, working up more and more arousal until you’re dripping down his wrist.
Even the way he hums against your pussy sounds like a smirk, but you’re too far gone to care. Yoongi starts to flick his tongue steadily over your clit, matching the rhythm of his fingers pumping into your g-spot, and you can feel the pressure in your core building, a band pulled tight enough to snap.
Your hips buck up toward his mouth in an overwhelmed reflex, and Yoongi’s free hand is immediately there like he was expecting it. His palm presses firmly to your lower abdomen to hold you down and keep you there, and even that feels good too, renders you entirely helpless to his mouth and his hands as he takes you apart.
“Fuck,” you moan, loud and unabashed now. “Fuck, yes, I’m—”
The feeling overtakes you before you can get another word out, and you nearly sob as your orgasm rips through you, your whole body straining hard against Yoongi’s strong hand as he pins you to the bed. The extra pressure on your core pushes a rush of fluid out of your cunt, enough to soak the sheets beneath you as your muscles contract around Yoongi’s fingers.
“Oh my god,” he doesn’t even pull away to groan, and the low vibration of the words against your throbbing clit makes your thighs tremble.
There’s a wet smack of his lips and tongue as he finally relents, the pace of his fingers slowing as he continues to work you through the aftershocks. You desperately try to remember how to breathe as you start to come down.
Yoongi is a fucking sight when he leans back to look up at you: long hair falling in his face, eyes dark with lust, lips and chin slick with your arousal. “Did you seriously just squirt?”
It’s been a long time since anyone has managed to make it happen, and you suddenly feel overwhelmed in a different way. Still recovering, you can barely get the words out. “Shut up.”
“What the fuck do you mean, ‘shut up’? It was hot,” Yoongi grunts, and you’re at least grateful that you don’t have to have the ‘it’s not pee’ conversation right now. He ducks his head down again as he withdraws his fingers, and his tongue drags up the crux of your thighs to chase a few stray droplets. You squirm, oversensitive, your legs nearly snapping shut around his neck, and he takes the cue to back off with a soft laugh.
You’re too spent to fight it when he starts to manhandle you a little, palms slipping under your ass to drag you further down the bed until your hips are flush with his, then encouraging your knees to pull up toward your chest. “Think you can do that on my cock?”
The question sparks something in your core, the first lick of a freshly lit flame, and you prop yourself up on your forearms to better meet his gaze. “Make me.”
Yoongi’s appreciative smile is nearly a snarl, and he shifts lower on the bed to quickly strip out of his pants and boxers. You watch as he starts to crawl back up your body, anticipation tightening in your core, and then a flash of realization crosses his face and he freezes.
“Fuck,” he swears, and your stomach drops.
“What’s wrong?”
“I forgot I’m out of condoms.” Your eyes widen as his gaze meets yours. “Do you have any?”
You shake your head. “Not with me.”
A muscle in his jaw works as he exhales a resigned sigh, and you reach out, one hand finding his bicep to stop him before he leaves. You want it too much, bad idea or not. “Just… fuck me anyway.”
His expression goes deadly serious, and there’s a long moment before he responds. “You’re sure?”
You swallow hard as you nod, your eyes searching his. “Just pull out, okay?” You hate yourself for saying the final word before it even leaves your lips. “Please.”
“Okay,” Yoongi repeats back to you, and his hands press to your thighs again to encourage your knees up as he positions himself between your legs. There’s a feeling humming in the space between your bodies, like the reality of the situation has settled over the both of you. The reckless abandon of the previous moment is gone, replaced with something slower, more hesitant. Heavier.
With your eyes fixed on his face, you feel it first: the weight and warmth of his cock grinding over your slit, sliding easily with how soaked you are. You look down to see it for yourself, flushed dark and hard enough to leak precum, trailing a glossy sheen over your folds as Yoongi guides it against you, one hand gripped firmly to the base. He teases the head of his dick over your clit and keeps it there, and you’re still sensitive enough to whimper at the feeling.
“Please,” you repeat, and he’s too focused to be smug about it. He just nods as he drags his cock back down to your entrance, then braces one hand against your thigh and starts to push in.
You exhale softly at the welcome stretch, familiar made new at the lack of anything between you. You can feel it all: the thick swell of the head of his cock as he eases you open, how he throbs gently as your walls squeeze around him, so tight that you can even feel the prominent veins that trace down his shaft.
You’re still wet and getting wetter from the way he fills you up entirely, your arousal drenching the length of him when he bottoms out with an audible slick sound. His cock twitches, buried to the hilt, and even that barely-there motion is enough to coax a breathy moan from you.
“Shit,” Yoongi laughs softly, and the tinge of humility to his voice makes you glance up at him again. “Not gonna be able to go that fast. Feels too good.”
“It’s okay,” you murmur. “Just…”
The words won’t come. It would mean too much to say what you want, and this isn’t supposed to mean anything at all.
So you don’t say them: you just hook your arms over his shoulders and pull his mouth down to yours. “Just fuck me,” you murmur against his lips. He grunts a low note of appreciation as he kisses you, as he starts to drag his cock out of you just to fuck it back in again.
It’s shallow, it’s slow, it’s nothing like what you’re used to with Yoongi, but it’s good. Good enough to make your kisses sloppy when you trade open-mouthed breaths, good enough to make you tilt your head and slide the flat of your tongue over Yoongi’s unabashedly, like an earned reward.
He pushes your knees up a little more, thrusting deeper this time, and the new angle drags the head of his cock right over your g-spot. You whine at the heavy weight of him, the shudder that ripples through you in response, and he stays there, stroking steadily to rub that spot again and again until your eyes roll back in your head.
“Oh my god, Yoongi,” you gasp into his mouth.
“Shit,” he groans shakily, reaching one hand up to brush his hair out of his eyes. A few dark strands stick to the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Squeezing me so fucking tight.”
Your arousal coils hot and fast inside of you as he keeps thrusting, and you have to break away from kissing him to tip your head back on the pillow and moan. “Fuck, please don’t stop, I’m—”
It feels like the final second before your climax when Yoongi pulls out, sitting back on his knees between your spread legs with a low groan. The sudden loss of his cock makes your walls clench at nothing, and you whine, petulant. “Yoongi!”
“Sorry,” he mutters, breathless. “Almost came.” You glance up to see him squeezing at the base of his cock with one hand, his chest heaving with effort. Your hips tilt up toward him, jealous.
“I miss your cock,” you whine, fucked close enough to be shameless.
“You’ll get it,” he retorts, and then you feel three of his fingers press in to fill the space he left behind inside of you. “Want to make you come again first.”
You keen as he starts to pump them, wrist angled just right to meet your g-spot each time. “Oh fuck, Yoongi.” The arousal in your core aches as he fucks you open on his fingers, and you can hear how wet you are in the soaked squelch of your needy pussy, can feel it leaking down your thighs.
His thumb brushes over your clit with every upstroke of his hand, and it makes you gasp, your moans starting to pitch higher. “Harder, baby, please, I’m so close.”
Too lost in the feeling, you barely notice when Yoongi laughs a little, but he does as you ask, and the way he pounds into you is just enough to work you over the edge. Waves of pleasure rip through your body as you come for a second time, squirting a little on his sheets again, your thighs shaking violently.
“That’s it, there you go, fuck,” Yoongi groans appreciatively at the sight.
You’ve just barely made it past your peak, still shuddering all over, when Yoongi withdraws his fingers to shove his cock back in again, and you keen.
He thrusts like a man close to his own end, fast and hard, his breath coming in ragged pants of effort and pleasure. Your pussy pulses around him, squeezing like a vice, so swollen with sensitivity that it really does feel like he’s splitting you open every time he fucks into you.
You moan unabashedly now and cling to him all over, legs bracketing his snapping hips, nails of one hand digging into his shoulder, the other hand tangled in his hair. Your cunt throbs and gushes around him as he strokes, and it still feels like you’re coming: you can’t tell if it’s an intensely drawn-out second orgasm or if the hot stretch of his cock worked you seamlessly into a third.
When he finally pulls out, you drop back against the bed with an exhausted groan, every inch of you fucked into oblivion. You can barely focus your eyes to watch as Yoongi shoves his hips up to straddle yours, one hand working his cock until his release overtakes him.
He flattens both palms to the mattress as he starts to come, groaning softly and rocking his hips so that his cock grinds against your stomach. The head of his dick twitches visibly, leaking pulse after pulse of sticky gloss over your skin, and he smears his cock through it as he ruts against you. He keeps going, rolling his hips and rubbing the mess across your stomach until he’s thoroughly spent, until you’re both flushed and sticky all over.
“Holy fucking shit,” is all he can manage when he finally collapses down on the bed next to you.
You glance over at him and nod, trying to imply without speaking that the feeling is mutual. He meets your gaze, and you lay like that for several long minutes of silence as your breathing slows, eyes fixed on each other as your heartbeats race through the comedown.
It’s hard to believe that any part of tonight has been real, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.
As the post-orgasm glow starts to settle, exhaustion hits you like a train. You groan, breaking the prolonged eye contact to throw an arm over your face, blocking out Yoongi’s bedroom with the crook of your elbow.
You’re not expecting it when he softly says your name, and something in your gut tells you that whatever’s coming isn’t good. You will yourself not to look back again, to stay as still as a statue when you answer him. “Hmm?”
“You know Jungkook is in love with you, right?”
The plan to not move goes out the window at his words. Your pulse spikes, and you drop your arm to look at him, your face twisted in confusion. “What?!”
Yoongi studies your expression for a second, then makes a small hum of surprise. “Interesting. I figured you were just trying to let him down easy.”
“I— what?”
“You really didn’t know?” He scoffs, and his tone is enough to instantly make you set your jaw. “It’s pretty obvious. It’s funny, I guess he’s sort of inadvertently responsible for all of this.”
That takes a second to sink in, and you blink. “How?”
Yoongi stares up at the ceiling, seemingly nonplussed. “Well, when he asked me for the code to my office, I figured he wanted to take you in there and fuck you.”
Hot blood rushes to your chest, and you sit up a little. “You talked to Jungkook about fucking me?”
“No.” Yoongi blinks. “This was before anything happened. I haven’t told him anything. It was just clear he liked you, even back then, because I have eyes. So I was trying to do him a favor. He’s a good kid.”
You squint, still trying to catch up. “Why would Jungkook fuck me in your office?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know, it’s the only door that locks. Sometimes you get desperate.” You swallow the immediate urge to argue when your brain unhelpfully reminds you that you have in fact fucked Yoongi at the office. Twice.
“But you know, I figured he’d wine you, dine you, all that romantic crap first. I’m sure he’s a very respectable sex on the third date kind of guy.” That all-too-familiar smirk is back when he glances over at you again. “I guess neither of us realized who we were dealing with.”
You open and close your mouth a few times before you can remember how to speak. “I’m not having this conversation with you. Particularly not with your cum still on my stomach.”
Yoongi nods toward the en-suite. “There’s towels in there. Or you can shower if you want.”
Your head spins as you silently slip out of his bed, and you shut the bathroom door firmly behind you, wishing you could leave that entire conversation on the other side of it. Maybe his fancy shower will get hot enough to blast all the thoughts out of your brain, you reason, and it only takes a bit of fumbling with the knobs before you figure it out.
The water pressure is so much better than what you’re used to that you groan a little when you step under the spray. You turn in a semicircle, letting it beat down on your neck and shoulders as you close your eyes, willing the tension to melt out of your body. You really are exhausted, practically asleep on your feet, despite the way your mind is still racing.
You don’t know why you came here tonight. You don’t know what you thought would happen. You don’t know what makes you keep coming back to Yoongi, over and over, like a moth to a flame, like the definition of insanity. You don’t know why he opened up to you tonight, or why you decided to do the same— or what the fuck compelled him to say that Jungkook is in love with you. You don’t know if things are supposed to stay the same after tonight, or if they will be irrevocably different, and you don’t know which you’d even want.
You have no idea what you want, actually. Another drink would be nice.
The sound of the shower door opening startles you, pulling you up from your thought spiral, and your eyes snap open to see Yoongi shutting the door behind him. Without a word, he steps in to crowd you under the water, and you hate the way your heartbeat flutters when he’s close to you.
“What are you—” you try to ask, but you don’t get to finish the sentence before his hand cups your jaw and his mouth finds yours.
His kiss blots everything else from your brain, and in this moment, you’re grateful for it. You lean into him, letting him in deeper when his tongue traces your bottom lip, whimpering softly as his other hand presses to the small of your back to pull you closer.
You don’t know what he wants, either. Why he came in here. But you have a guess.
“Yoongi,” you murmur against his lips. “I can’t again. I’m so tired.”
“It’s okay,” he answers softly, and then his mouth drags you back in like a riptide.
You don’t know how long you stay there like that, kissing him under the steam and the spray, but you’re breathless when you finally pull away to look up at him. Water droplets are twined through his long, dark hair, collecting delicately on his eyelashes, trailing down his neck and over the muscles of his chest.
“You can sleep here tonight, if you want,” Yoongi offers, and before you can even process the words, he’s stepping back to push the shower door open behind him, and then he’s gone.
With the glass fogged over completely from the heat of the water, and the white noise of the fan overhead, you have no concept of when he leaves the bathroom, or what else he might be doing. You just know you feel entirely alone.
After scrubbing yourself thoroughly with a washcloth that you lather in Yoongi’s soap, you emerge from the shower, grabbing a towel from the linen cabinet to wrap up in. It’s weird to smell like him, sandalwood and musk, somehow both comforting and alienating.
When you nudge open the door to his room again, it’s empty, and the inset lighting has been turned off entirely, the room bathed only in the glow of the bedside lamp that’s been switched on.
He’s left out one of his t-shirts for you, and you recognize it as one you’ve seen him in often at work. You remember Googling the label once out of curiosity and nearly passing out at your desk when you saw the three hundred dollar price tag. You pull it on over your head, then return to the bathroom to hang your towel up.
As you slip back into the bedroom, you can’t help but wonder where Yoongi’s disappeared off to, but you’re too exhausted to go looking for him.
Though you figure he’ll be in eventually, your heart still sinks a little as you pull back the covers and crawl into his bed. It feels so much bigger when you’re the only one in it. You decide to leave the lamp on, then turn over to press your cheek to the pillow, and the waves of sleep almost immediately pull you under.
You’re still alone when you wake up in the morning, the other side of the bed entirely undisturbed.
Blinking slowly, it takes you a moment to remember where you are, and then the night comes back to you piece by piece. The lamp on the nightstand is still on when you sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the bed.
Yawning and rubbing sleep from your eyes, you push open Yoongi’s bedroom door and pad down the hallway, trying to make sense of things. You have to retrace your steps all the way back to the living room before you find him, curled up on his side on the couch with one arm tucked under his head, still sleeping soundly.
He looks smaller like this. More vulnerable, maybe.
You wonder if you should’ve asked him to join you in his bed, and you wonder why he didn’t. Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you decide to let him rest.
You move through his apartment aimlessly, like a patron in a museum. Something cracks open inside of you as you allow yourself to take in his place undisturbed, and with it, what could be. The idea that a night spent here could feel normal. The two of you in the clearly well-used kitchen, how you might sit on the counter with a glass of wine while he cooks dinner. Talking about your days, about the past and the future. Sharing a life. Fucking and showering and falling asleep in his bed, tangled up together.
For something so close, it feels impossibly far away in the harsh light of morning. It feels like something meant for a much better person than you.
When you make it all the way back to his room, you peel your borrowed shirt off and drape it across his bed like you found it. You retrieve your clothes from last night off the floor and pull them back on.
Thankfully Yoongi chose to fall asleep on the far side of the couch, so when you re-enter the living room, you’re easily able to grab your purse where you set it down the night before without waking him. You slip your heels on in his entryway, then open the front door and shut it as quietly as you can behind you.
You fish your phone out of your bag and scroll until you find Jimin’s contact, then press it to your ear as the line starts to ring.
~*~
You don’t hear from Yoongi at all on Sunday, and you barely see him at work the next few days. You don’t know why it surprises you. It makes sense. You said that night had to mean nothing, you left in the morning without another word, and it’s not like you’ve made any effort to reach out since.
But nevertheless, hurt feelings sit heavy in the pit of your stomach, stinging like salt in an open wound. You’re angry that Yoongi seems to be acting like nothing even happened. You’re annoyed that you have to spend an entire weekend alone with him in Los Angeles. And you’re pissed off that you have so much fucking work to do in preparation for a trip that’s all about him.
You keep your head down and just try to fucking survive. You stay silent in your meetings unless directly asked a question. You type furiously at your desk, forever behind on emails and late on promised deliverables.
The week passes by in a blur, and it doesn’t even occur to you what day it is until you find Jungkook waiting for you at your desk when you return from an afternoon meeting.
“Hi, Jungkook.” You try to say it gently, to not take your frustrations out on someone who didn’t even do anything. While you’ve made polite small talk all week, things certainly haven’t felt normal, and you can’t tell if he senses it too, or if you’re just letting Yoongi’s cryptic words plant imaginary strange vibes in your head.
To his credit, Jungkook seems unfazed. “It’s the last day before your trip!” he says brightly, and your eyes widen as you realize he’s right. “What’s the rest of your day look like?”
You take a seat at your desk and pull up your calendar to check, and he circles around to look with you. “That was thankfully my last meeting,” you respond. “Just getting back to my never-ending to-do list now.”
“Or…” Jungkook prompts, and you glance up to see him leaning forward to rest his elbows on the back of your desk chair, his chin propped cutely in his hands. “You could not do that.”
You blink up at him. “And what would I be doing instead?”
“I was thinking, it’s been a while since we’ve had a walking meeting. Plus it’s actually nice out. So you should take a break.”
Glancing back at your to-do list sends a fresh wave of dread through you, and then you snap your laptop shut with a resigned sigh. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
Not only could you use the break, but you want things with Jungkook to feel normal again, even if the weirdness is only in your head. Maybe this is what you need.
Down in the lobby, Jungkook holds the door for you, and when you step outside, you realize he’s right. It’s one of those clear-sky early spring days, warm enough out that it feels like the world is starting over, like everything is coming back to life. You can’t help but feel like you could use a fresh start, too.
Though you expect to be led somewhere with food, Jungkook takes a different route instead, and you follow him a few blocks over to the entrance of a nearby park. You end up side by side on a paved pedestrian path, the length of which is lined with trees that have only just begun to bud.
It’s quiet, save for the distant noise of the city, the rustle of nature, and the rush of the occasional cyclist whizzing past. You walk slowly as you chat about nothing of importance: work, music, his dogs.
Jungkook glances over at you during a moment’s pause, with a look on his face like there’s a question he’s been waiting to ask. “So how are you feeling about your trip?”
You can’t quite manage to keep your expression neutral, your eyes rolling like a reflex. “Whatever. I just want to get it over with.”
“Ah.” Jungkook nods, and you can see he’s biting back some reaction. “For some reason I thought you might be excited.”
“What do you mean?”
He just shrugs. “I don’t know. You’ve been… different lately. About Suga. I thought maybe something was going on.” An uneasy feeling starts to wash over you.
“Nothing is going on with me and Yoongi,” you say, far too quickly. Jungkook glances at you, his brows pinched together slightly as if he’s unsure what to believe.
“Okay,” he says simply. You hope that’s the end of it, but then he keeps going. “That’s good. I’m glad I don’t have to tell you to raise your standards.”
Heat rushes into your face, caught somewhere between shame and anger. “Um, what does that mean?”
You grit your teeth when he just shrugs again. “I don’t know. He was such a jerk to you, and then suddenly it’s like you guys are hanging out and getting close and stuff—”
“We are not close,” you interject, and you hate how unsteady your voice sounds when you say it.
“Good,” Jungkook responds. “Because I thought maybe you might be, and it didn’t make any sense to me.”
Overwhelmed by his words, you come to a standstill on the pavement, and he makes it a few steps further before he realizes. As he turns back to face you, the words rush out before you can stop them. “I mean, I don’t see how it’s any of your business either way.”
Jungkook’s brow furrows again. “It’s my business because I care about you. He made you so miserable when you first started, so I don’t see how you could just forget about that and be into him, especially when you could…” He trails off and looks down, unwilling to finish the sentence.
“When I could what?” Another fucking shrug, and you can feel the rage inside you simmering now, threatening to boil over. Yoongi’s question comes back to haunt you— you know Jungkook is in love with you, right?— and the pieces start to slot together in front of you.
“When I could be into you?” you press him, taking an accusatory step closer. “Is that what you want to say?”
His gaze flits up to the trees above you, like he’s willing to look anywhere but your face. “No. I don’t know.”
The birdsong in the air has suddenly started to sound a lot more like screaming, and you have to suppress the urge to do the same. Instead, your voice comes out low and deadly serious. “You and I are friends, Jungkook. Just friends.”
“I know we are,” he says softly.
“Do you?” you snap back, vicious now. “Because it sounds to me like you’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” he responds automatically, in the same tone, and you scoff.
“Look me in my face and say it.” You take another step toward him, and his eyes meet yours. He’s silent long enough for you to understand the truth, and all at once, you feel like a fucking idiot.
“Let me make this clear to you,” you hiss. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and making my own decisions. And I do not have to explain or justify them to anyone, including you, because you are not my fucking boyfriend.”
When you spit the final word, Jungkook flinches like you’ve slapped him, but you can’t stop now. You’re so angry, it feels like it’s eating you alive. “When I want your opinion, as my friend, I’ll ask for it. Understood?”
You’ve never seen him look at you the way he does now, his eyes dark, his face twisted into a near grimace. There’s a long pause, and his voice is stilted when he finally speaks. “Yeah. Sorry I brought it up.”
The two of you walk back to the office in total silence, and Jungkook doesn’t try to talk to you again.
~*~
It’s early enough to still be pitch black outside when Jimin pulls up to the curb of your terminal at Incheon Airport.
“Thanks again for driving.” You yawn around the words as you reach down to unbuckle your seatbelt. When Jimin suddenly pulls you in for a hug, you groan at the affection, but he pays it no mind, dotting kisses over your hair that make you squirm.
“Love you, have fun. And be a slut!”
You roll your eyes as you manage to peel him off of you. “Bye, Baby Mochi.”
Slipping on a face mask, you push the door of his car open and climb out of the passenger seat. You swing open the trunk to grab your suitcase, then slam it shut again and step up onto the curb.
Making your way into the terminal, you dig your phone out of your bag to double-check the text from Yoongi, and then you glance up at the sign overhead to confirm you’re right where he said he’d be.
It takes a second for you to realize the person walking in your direction is Min Yoongi. The black baseball cap pulled low over his eyes is certainly not a bad look, but when paired with his black face mask, it makes him almost impossible to identify, or get a good read on. Rolling your suitcase ahead of you, you move toward him, and the two of you meet in the middle.
You wore sneakers today, so he still seems tall.
“Hi,” you say simply, a thousand different emotions swirling in your gut. You do your best to ignore them all.
Yoongi hums a wordless grunt back in response, then turns to face the already bustling security line. You mirror him, and for a moment the two of you just stay like that, like you’re standing firmly in the present and unsure of what might be waiting on the other side.
He gives a tired sigh. “Ready?” You’re surprised to learn he can speak this early in the morning.
“I guess so,” you answer.
Perfectly in sync, you both push your bags forward, stepping carefully toward a weekend that feels impossible to imagine.
chapter seven | masterlist | chapter nine
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What Did You Eat Yesterday? 2 Ep 12 (Finale) Stray Thoughts
Last week, Kenji finale met Kayoko and Tominaga-san, and it was everything I ever hoped it would be. Kenji shared the story of how they met, and also learned from Kayoko that Shiro is always talking about him to them. We also watched Kohinata play tennis with Wataru, and then cook pancakes with Shiro.
I'm glad Shiro's mom drew attention to the towel Kenji gave her. It's a nice callback and a reminder that she's trying.
Oh, they were visiting nursing homes. Don't you hurt me in the finale, WDYEY.
You know, I hadn't thought about Shiro getting old and still having to care for his parents.
Poor Shiro. I am also not good at giving gifts.
I really hope Shiro makes a cute bento before the end of this episode.
Oh, I cried when Shiro told them about Baby Goro.
They want to put Kenji in their will!!
Shiro, please tell Kenji that you love him and want to spend the rest of your life with him!
I like that the show brought up through Kenji how adoption sucks for gay couples who want to be married.
I hope that this is a super normal bento and not overly cute just to troll Shiro.
I wondered if they would move Shiro's desk, and I like that they got him a new chair.
I'm going to make this bento.
Shiro got them matching aprons in their colors!! I'm going to cry!
Oh, Kenji. Thank you for always understanding this man and saying the things that need to be said.
Well, that was beautiful.
Final Verdict: 10, Highly Recommended. There is nothing else like this show. I have watched or attempted over 300 shows in BL and this is the only one about a long-term committed older gay couple. I loved how morbid this entire season felt even when all the fun and silly moments. Shiro and Kenji are getting older, and so are the people in their lives. There are new opportunities and challenges to face, and I love how so much of this season wraps around how steadfast the support around them is, and also how they are it for each other. I sincerely hope that Japan passes gay marriage while Nishijima and Uchino are still active because we all deserve to see Shiro and Kenji get married. Please watch this show. If you read me regularly, you have seen enough shows about men getting together. You deserve to see them stay together and choose each other over and over again.
#what did you eat yesterday?#kinou nani tabeta#what did you eat yesterday#japanese bl#bl series#Ben watches
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Hi asleepy!!💖💖
I hope you're doing well, and wanted to tell you that i LOVED the last update, AZAZEL MAKING ANIMAL BALLOONS WAS SO FUNNY AND CUTE, AND WHEN JOPHIEL STARES AT HIM (like he always does, tbh, my god she's so extremely Fruity™) AND ESSENTIALLY TELLS HIM THAT HE DIDN'T WANT HIM TO BE TAKEN AWAY AND STAY WITH HIM, reminded me of the 1800s, where he pulled that trick to let azazel stay on earth😭💖
I also wanted to ask you something that has been going around my head from time to time, the flower and white wing on azazel's coat, do they symbolize something specific? Like, maybe the wing is a callback to how he wasn't supposed to fall (for the readers, ofc), but i have honestly no idea about the flower, as it could be any flower with any meaning, pfff-
That said, i hope you'll have a nice day!!💖💖💖
WAHEHEHE THANK YOU!!!
They do symbolize something specific, but it'll all get revealed in due time! And I for one, CANNOT WAIT to get into it!! thank you for the lovely ask, I hope you have an excellent day as well!
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Things we can still get in a possible SoC Spin-off
now that i'm done ranting about the things that annoyed me, lets talk about this.
1: Some light on Inej's backstory, the abuse and exploitation she suffered, her own struggles with touch, her vulnerable side, her fun side especially when she's around Jesper and Nina, her fears and how she rises above them. According to this article by tvguide, showrunner Eric Heisserer states that a script has already been written about her incorporation back into the Dregs. Let's just hope they stop reducing Inej's personality to a mere “knife wife” and “girlboss” , and address her actual depth.
2: Tante Heleen's return! Since we never actually see her body onscreen and her death is merely mentioned twice and shrugged off, I'm hoping she's alive and that the production team is keeping her for the spin-off. She's an integral part of Inej's character arc.
3: The Dregs. I wanna see Rotty, Specht, Anika, Pim, Per Haskell, Big Bolliger and the rest of the bunch. Also Dime Lions, Razorgulls, The Liddies, and other prominent gangs. And a shot of the entire Merchant Council would be nice.
4: Since Inej will return and Matthias is still in Hellgate, we'll get the entire Hellgate breakout and Ice Court Heist. (I'm assuming during Matthias's breakout, Pekka Rollins will also manage to escape from Hellgate 🤔) So we can still have the entire book 1 ending at Vellgeluk where Wylan's face has been tailored and Inej gets captured by Van Eck.
5: Crooked Kingdom plotline till they rescue Inej— Kaz throwing off a rapist from the lighthouse after gaining intel, Kaz threatening a little girl, Jesper and Wylan going to receive Colm Fahey and the whole “people pointing guns at each other is basically a handshake” 😂, Nina's struggles with Parem and Matthias trying his best to be there for her, the iconic Kanej reunion at Goedmedbridge,..
I'm not sure how they'll proceed after retrieving Inej, because alot has already been adapted in this season of SaB. But we'll still have the showdown against Van Eck. Not sure what they'll replace the plague thing with but we'll see..
6: Wylan's backstory! Aside from Inej, we also have Wylan's heart wrenching backstory and we'll witness it all. His early life, the moment he lost his mother and his world became gray, his escape from the men who try to kill him, his realization that they were sent by his own father, his struggles with it all, his conflict with being a good person and working with criminals, his reunion with his very alive mother and Jesper being there for him, and so much more..
7: Kuwei! I'm a big fan of this sassy boy. He absolutely hates having to be with Crows and he chooses not to use their language simply so he can avoid conversations with them 😭 We'll see him cause conflict in Wesper's relationship but also slowly accepting and being thankful of the Crows. And I really hope, the show adds a sort of camaraderie between him and Wylan too. But despite it all, I still wanna see Wylan threaten to drown him 😆
8: The Bathroom Scene ♡ If we take into consideration the wound cleaning moment in season 2 of SaB, its a lot different from the bathroom scene. For starters, they're on Black Veil and not an actual bathroom, and Kaz didn't actually tie any bandages for her. Most importantly, the neck kiss didn't happen. So bathroom scene can still happen and it can serve as a beautiful callback and a parallel to this scene in season 2.
9: Kaz can still find Inej's parents, meet them and well, gift her a ship. Wylan and Jesper can still have their happily ever after, living at the Van Eck Mansion.
10: Since they've made so many changes to the source, can they fucking not kill off Matthias and let him and Nina have their happily ever after too? Like they can act as delegates for Ravka and Fjerda 🤔 Or they can help Hanne claim the Fjerdan throne 🤔 Anything aside from killing him off please.
if you guys have something to add or correct me on, please do so in replies/reblogs ☺
#six of crows#kaz brekker#inej ghafa#jesper fahey#wylan van eck#matthias helvar#nina zenik#kanej#wesper#helnik#crooked kingdom#freddy carter#amita suman#kit young#jack wolfe#calahan skogman#danielle galligan#grishaverse
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How do I add complexity and subtlety to character relationships and the way characters involved feel about them?
Thanks for the question! Sorry it took so long to get to your ask :)
My favorite method of subtly adding complexity to character relationships is to pay attention to vocabulary and dialogue. Dialogue can tell the reader a lot about any given character, and how they interact with other characters in a conversation really builds up a clear picture of the relationship even if you're not outright stating something is the case.
Conversations don't have to be direct or clear. People dance around their true intentions and feelings all the time! So, I really like having my characters talk about what is most forefront on their mind. This tells you what your character thinks about, while also having them avoid talking about their feelings. This avoids the problem of "therapy speak" as well as introduces complexity to your character about how they feel, why, and what they do because of those feelings.
Example: a character may feel immense grief for a family member, and witnessing another character's grief may trigger their grief. Character A may avoid Character B as a method of avoiding their own feelings. Maybe A will redirect conversations that drift too close to feelings in favor of plot-related motivations.
This can serve multiple purposes! Moving along your plot, complicating feelings and motivations, and providing you with a subplot about those feelings and relationships are all just some of the things you can do with characters that have complex feelings.
My number 1 method of depicting these complications are to have the characters do things that contradict what they say. A character may say they don't love anyone, and then proceed to sacrifice their life or something important for the sake of another character's comfort. Contradictions add to the complexity, and provides an interesting storytelling method that engages your reader to pay attention to what characters do vs what they say.
I also like to mess with vocabulary and dialogue quirks. You'll see posts about characters using names and nicknames to indicate affection, but turns of phrase and callbacks work well for this as well.
Example: Character A may be relatively stiff and formal, but say Character B has a common turn of phrase, verbal quirk, or motto. Character A using this phrase, quirk, or motto later on in the story may indicate that Character B has influenced A in attitudes, beliefs, or other ways.
I hope this helps, and if you have anything more specific, feel free to hop in the ask box and I'll be happy to help!
--Indy
#writing advice#writing tips#writing resources#writeblr#amwriting#writblr#writers of tumblr#writers on tumblr#writing help#writing characters#writing character relationships#character development
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my favorite superhero ~ robert pattinson
word count: 2601
request?: yes!
“hii, recently saw that u write for robert pattinson, if ur requests r open, could u write something about being his gf and going to the batman premiere with him and overall just being excited that he is Batman, thank uuu”
description: in which she goes to support him on the biggest night of his career
pairing: robert pattinson x female!reader
warnings: swearing, lil steamy moment but nothing explicit, rpf
masterlist (one, two, three)
From the very beginning, Robert had zero confidence that he would get the role as Batman.
He had mentioned it so casually to me during dinner one night, as if he was telling me about a mundane thing that happened in his day. “Curtis put my name in for some Batman movie.”
I nearly dropped my fork in shock. “What?! As which character?”
“Batman.”
“What?! Babe, that’s exciting! Why aren’t you more excited over it?”
“I’m likely not going to get it, so why get my hopes up?”
I looked at him, stunned. I couldn’t believe he was saying this. Robert loved acting, and he was excited over every character he had even a chance of playing. To have the opportunity to play one of the biggest and most loved superheroes in the world should’ve had him giddy with excitement, even if there were a number of steps until he knew whether or not he got the role.
“You have just as much chance as anyone else whose names are in for the role,” I said. “I think you can be excited over it.”
Robert shook his head. “I’d doubt it. I’m just the Twilight guy, I’m not a real candidate to play Batman of all characters.”
“I’d argue that playing a vampire makes you the best candidate to play a bat.” My joke finally coaxed a smile out of him, and I smiled back. “You don’t have to be excited if you don’t want to, but I’ll be excited enough for the both of us.”
And I was. I continued to be excited when Curtis called Robert to let him know that the director, Matt Reeves, wanted him to audition for the role. I hyped him up the day of the audition, which I could tell was making him feel a little more confident, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. I held that confidence when he was one of few actors that was chosen for a callback. I held it all the way to the day that Robert got a call from Matt Reeves himself.
His face gave everything away during the phone call, but I waited until he gave me the news himself before I celebrated. “I got it. I got the part!”
I threw my arms around him and hugged him tightly, kissing all over his face just to be a little more extra with my celebrations. I refrained from the “I told you so” in that moment. I figured it would be best to save that for when the movie came out and was a massive hit.
It was a long process. Robert didn’t change much physically as he didn’t agree with actors basically completely changing their bodies to play superheroes, but Matt still figured out a way to make the process incredibly long. The costume fittings and fight choreography took weeks before filming even began. When filming did start, it lasted for many months. Robert would never admit to how exhausted filming made him, but I cold see it on him after his long days on set. Despite all of that, though, Robert was beyond happy in the role and excited for the movie’s release.
That day arrived a lot quicker than we expected. It felt like one day the filming was just starting, and the next the two of us were getting ready for the premiere. I had picked out a silky black dress to wear and was in the process of putting on a smokey eye look as my tribute to Robert’s character when he walked into the room.
“You really do not need that much makeup,” he said as he came over to kiss my cheek. “You look so beautiful without it.”
“I know,” I responded with a shrug. He chuckled. “But I wanted to base my look on Batman. So, black dress, and I think smokey eye makeup works really well for the vibe of the character. Especially after your raccoon eyes in the trailer.”
Robert laughed again. He sat down on the bed behind me and watched me finish up my makeup. I caught a few glimpses of him through the mirror every so often. He was dressed in a black suit, looking incredibly dapper and handsome, and he was watching me with this dreamy look on his face. I smiled to myself as I put on my foundation. I felt incredibly lucky to have such an amazing and loving boyfriend. Here he was, a big named actor who had just played the role of a lifetime and was about to debut that movie, but he was looking at me as if I were the star.
“What if we ditch the premiere and you let me take that dress off you and make your makeup run?” he asked once I had put the finishing touches to my look on.
I spun around to look at him, trying to seem shocked but I knew my amusement was outweighing the shock. “Robert!”
“What? Can you blame me? You look so good.”
He took hold of me and pulled me up from my vanity. He sat me down on his lap and started to kiss my neck. I tried to fight back the tingling feeling that was running from where he was kissing me down to between my legs. If I gave into that feeling I knew we would miss the premiere, like Robert was trying to do.
“We are not missing the premiere of what will likely be the biggest movie of your career,” I said as I reluctantly pushed him away from my neck. “Besides, I took too long getting ready for you to mess it all up so soon, and for no one to see how good I look.”
Robert groaned and rested his head against my shoulder. “I don’t want to go.”
“Why not? I thought yo were excited about the movie.”
“I am. I’m proud of what we made, and I can’t wait to see the finished product. But...what if people don’t like it?”
I took his face in my hands. “There’s always going to be people who don’t like it, baby.”
“I know that. But what if no one likes it? What if they all think it’s garbage? That I’m garbage?”
“You can’t let the what ifs stop you though. There’s always a chance people won’t like it, that’s just how being in the entertainment business is. But you put everything into this role. No one can say you were garbage in this role. And if they do, it’s because they just don’t like who you are or they can’t see past your role in Twilight to realize how amazing you truly are as an actor, not because you did bad in the role.”
He looked at me for a while before leaning forward to kiss my lips. “I don’t deserve you.”
I giggled. “I wouldn’t say that. I’m your girlfriend, I’m supposed to support you and tell you not to sweat the haters because they suck anyways and you’re cool, and stuff like that.”
He smiled and gave me another kiss. “I guess we should get going then, before I change my mind.”
“I guess we should.”
I could feel Robert’s anxiety as we drove to the premiere. I held his hand the entire way, giving him reassuring squeezes every now and then. I knew there wasn’t much else I could do for him besides just support him until the premiere started and he got to see everyone’s reactions to he movie. I had nothing but faith that the movie was going to be good, and I knew that Robert had done amazing in it. I just wished he had that same confidence in himself that I did. But, once again, I didn’t mind having enough confidence for the two of us.
When we arrived to the red carpet, I felt his entire body tense. There were so many people there already, all cheering and taking pictures. They knew who was in the car before Robert even opened the door. So many excited people there to see him in this role.
I squeezed his hand again, drawing his attention back to me. “You’re gonna be fine. The movie is going to be amazing.”
He gave me a small smile before opening the car door. Deafening cheers filled the air as everyone saw him. He held out a hand to me to help me out of the car as well, ever the gentleman that he was. We both smiled and waved at the fans who had been waiting for him. Robert took the time to sign some autographs and take pictures. I could see the fan interactions were helping to bring down his nerves a little bit. If he could, I knew he would’ve stayed here with the fans all night instead of actually doing an interviews or going in for the premiere. But, unfortunately for him, he had to move along eventually.
He stopped to do a couple of interviews on the red carpet. All of the questions were basically the same: how did he prepare for the role? What was his reaction when he got the call about getting the part? Could he see this movie becoming a franchise of it’s own given that it wasn’t a part of the currently established DC cinematic universe?
Robert answered each question with the same generic answer before moving along to the next interview. He tried to move through them as quickly as possible so we could get into the venue, but being he main star of the movie meant that every interviewer was trying to stop him for a couple of questions, and there were a lot of interviewers. I wasn’t even the one talking and yet I could feel myself growing tired of it all.
One interviewer did spot me behind Robert and said, “I see you’ve brought the lovely (Y/N) with you tonight.”
“I have indeed,” Robert responded, turning to extend an arm to me so I would join them. “If it wasn’t for her endless support throughout the entire process, I may not have even be here tonight.”
“What does that mean?” the interviewer asked.
“It means that I forced him to be here tonight,” I responded, keeping my tone light. “He’s a little nervous, as one would be playing such a huge character, but I think he’s done amazing and the movie is going to be amazing.”
“There seems to be a lot of good buzz around the movie from critics so far, so I don’t think you’ll have anything to worry about in that regard.”
I smiled up at Robert, mentally preparing for that “I told you so” moment.
We finally managed to get off of the red carpet and into the venue. I felt the tension in Robert’s body deflate once we were away from all the cameras and the screaming fans. The next step was going to be the Q&A, and then finally the movie.
“The movie has good buzz,” I repeated to him as we walked through the venue.
He playfully rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I heard her. I guess I’ll know tonight for sure how much positive buzz it will have.”
“You gotta stop doubting yourself. It’s going to be amazing!”
Robert wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me to him. “What would I do without you?”
“Crash and burn,” I teased before kissing his cheek.
~
Hours passed. The Q&A went smoothly, and then it was time for everyone to finally see the movie. Robert’s knee bounced anxiously almost the entire time. He kept glancing around the quiet room as we all took in the film. I noticed him look over at me a number of times during the film, but I was so entranced by it that I couldn’t pull myself to look back at him.
I had no idea what he was so worried about. The movie was amazing! Probably one of the best movies in general I had seen in such a long time, let alone the best superhero movie I had seen. And I can promise that wasn’t just because my boyfriend was in the starring role. It was genuinely amazing, and I was prepared to sing its praises to Robert when it ended, but it seemed I had to wait my turn. The moment the credits started to roll, the audience began to clap and raise to their feet. Robert looked around him in surprise at everyone facing him, and the rest of the cast, as they applauded. I smiled brightly at him as I also rose to my feet to be a part of the standing ovation.
Robert, Matt, and Zoe moved towards the front of the room so they could bow for all the applause. The standing ovation went on for some time, which they definitely deserved but my hands began stinging after a minute or too, so I just stopped and smiled happily at Robert. I could see that the weight had been completely lifted from his shoulders. He was standing a little taller, and a little prouder now that he had gotten to see the positive reaction to the movie first hand.
When the applause finally died down, Robert was kept around for another few minutes as people came up to him to congratulate him on how great it was. I stood by and watched, feeling extremely happy for him but also starting to feel the pain of wearing heels for basically five hours straight. Robert looked over and spotted me, then thanked those around him for the kind words before excusing himself. He took me into his arms the moment he reached me and pulled me to him to kiss my lips.
“They really loved it,” he said, as if he still couldn’t believe it. “Everyone did.”
“That’s because the movie is incredible, babe,” I told him. “Seriously, I think it’s one of the best movies I’ve ever seen.”
I could see the tips of his ears turning pink at the compliment. “Well, let’s not go that far.” But the smile on his face gave away the humble act he was trying to pull.
“Let’s go home?” I asked, leaning into his touch as I felt fatigue start to wash over me. “I’m ready to take all of this off and let you do whatever it was you had planned for me earlier.”
He smirked. “Oh, I’ve been waiting to do that all night. I could barley keep my hands off of you in this dress. I can’t wait to see how nice it looks on the floor next to our bed, though.”
We started for the exit. Our ride was waiting for us just outside the door. Robert thanked a few more people who stopped him to compliment him on the movie before the two of us finally got into the car and started back towards home. My head was resting against his shoulder as we drove along, the car dark except for the occasional street light shining in through the window. We were close to home when something popped into my head.
“I told you so.”
He looked over at me, an eyebrow quirked. “What was that?”
“I said I told you so. I’ve been waiting a very long time to be able to say that, and now I can.”
Robert chuckled and kissed the top of my head. “You did tell me so. Please keep telling me so for the rest of time.”
I smiled. “I will.”
#robert pattinson#robert pattinson imagine#robert pattinson x reader#imagine#rpf#one shot#request#fanfiction#fanfic#fandom
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ugh the second pacific rim makes me so sad because like. it's this insane amalgamation of what could've been, and im sure other people have said this before but whatever i just rewatched it and im in my feels rn so buckle up ig.
firstly - acghfshg they literally got rid of all of silly little things that made the first pacific rim *pacific rim*, except for the like two occasions when they didn't. like. soundtrack?? where did it go?? there was one (1) scene that had any sort of soundtrack usage the way the first movie did it, and it was a callback scene to the first movie. and the first pacrim was rife with ridiculous action-hero quips (think raleigh's bro saying "let's turn up the heat" in the middle of a fight) which pacrim 2 did try to do but it was so painfully a product of it's time bc dear god does it take itself way too seriously for any of the quips to land. not saying that john boyega didn't have his moments but like. they were the type of moments you'd find in any movie produced in that time.
secondly - charlie day and burn gorman put their whole actussies into that performance -- because goddamnit pacrim 2 was supposed to be an ode to hermann and newt's relationship -- only to get shafted at the last hour. like seriously their arc in pacrim 2 is so fucking heartbreaking, the two of them going from being so in tune with one another as they were at the end of pacrim 1 to drifting so far apart over ten years. and you can tell that they don't really want to believe that they don't really know each other anymore either, because like come *on* the sheer apprehensive hope on hermann's face when he first comes up to newt, and the way his face just *falls* when he asks "you won't help me?", and newt letting himself get dragged away and letting hermann go on even though he's clearly in a rush. and the way the both of them try to ignore how they've both changed over the past decade, because they have changed out of sync, and changed away from each other, and they both remind the other of what it used to be like, but it doesn't feel the same anymore because it isn't the same and just. ugh. that proverb about men and rivers. and like you can tell that what's left of newt is like. punching the prison walls of his brain, because of the sheer regret in his face when he has to hurt hermann, or the way he tries to avoid shit talking hermann when his boss clearly expects it of him. and obviously hermann having to see his friend disappear like that. going from hugging him outside the elevator because it was finally like the good old days again and they were on the same side and they would fight the bad guys and save the world again, to finding out that the person the world needed saving from was newt. and all that just to end the way it did. the both of them are entirely forgotten after hermann checks over the rocket plan and newt gets punched out.
and like obviously they were vying for a third movie because the set up for a newmann flavored reunion was literally right there, but like asfhjdg.
thirdly - mako's death??? that could've really been something, they could've used it to have like an actual lambert/jake moment, where they actually get to reconcile, but it might as well not have happened what with how the movie actually went about it.
bleh. im sure there's more to be said that im just forgetting about but whatever, it's way too late for me to care, and if any of the stuff ive said has been addressed in like interviews or smth, i wouldn't know about it as ive only seen the movies themselves and i don't particularly care to hunt down such footage.
anyways thanks for reading, if you've got this far you're a real one <3
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i theoretically have so many deranged and wonderful things to say about 9.1 but i will try to be Concise and Normal:
1. i have synesthesia and ohhh boy did my weird little brain go nuts over another thea wiseatom chapter. picture the strawberry and cheese scene in ratatouille except instead of strawberry and cheese it’s the most delectable and exquisite ice cream.
2. knowing (and remembering !!) the Little Things about someone has got to be one of the best ways of expressing love to exist. i was physically giggling and kicking my feet over how sweet and thoughtful they are with each other.
3. i feel like i’m right there in the trenches with will my goodness. every little fluctuation of mike’s behavior or the vibe/emotions between them had my pacing the floor and tearing my hair out. i know we’ve established that neither of them are the most reliable of narrators but when it comes to will’s internal monologue, perception of events, etc. oh boy do i fall for it.
there are so many aspects of their relationship to tackle in this universe and i’m sure this goes without saying but the emotional “world-building” seems just as vast as the physical/geographical. this is an absolute behemoth of a fic and i don’t just mean because of its word count. will never not be grateful for the work that all of you have put in for this and for sharing it with us.
that was neither Concise nor was it Normal but i hope the rest of this year and the start of the next treats you well, can’t wait for 9.2 :)
ohhh i will also try to be so concise and normal and respond on each point even though this ask made me feel anything but Concise and Normal:
i am printing out this point and taping it to my wall. that is possibly theee biggest compliment i have ever received (i have never seen ratatouille all the way through -- i fell asleep watching it for the first time a few weeks ago bc i was so eepy and sleepy, but this made me inspired to finish the rest)
that's so real and also true. it's funny, because when i originally wrote the dialogue out, i forgot to include that bit about the callback to follow the sparks -- and then suni watched me write it in and was giggling and twirling her hair at the reference to her fic lol. but i agree that it is SOOOOO. SOOOOOOOOOOO. yeag .
i'm so glad that will being very analytical of mike's every move came across well because i was worried his behavior would read erratic and unrealistic. sending you and will both well wishes of getting out of the trenches soon <3
also printing out this last part and framing it even because THANK YOOOOOU SOOOO MUCHHHHHH. i think we are finally in the part of the fic where it really feels like everything is paying off, and i am beyond ecstatic that we are not the only ones who feel that way. thank you for your almost concise and normal comment!! feel free to make them unhinged in the future!! hope you had a happy holidays and that chapter 9.2 doesn't disappoint 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍
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