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mostlysignssomeportents · 10 months

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Autoenshittification

Forget F1: the only car race that matters now is the race to turn your car into a digital extraction machine, a high-speed inkjet printer on wheels, stealing your private data as it picks your pocket. Your car’s digital infrastructure is a costly, dangerous nightmare — but for automakers in pursuit of postcapitalist utopia, it’s a dream they can’t give up on.

Your car is stuffed full of microchips, a fact the world came to appreciate after the pandemic struck and auto production ground to a halt due to chip shortages. Of course, that wasn’t the whole story: when the pandemic started, the automakers panicked and canceled their chip orders, only to immediately regret that decision and place new orders.

But it was too late: semiconductor production had taken a serious body-blow, and when Big Car placed its new chip orders, it went to the back of a long, slow-moving line. It was a catastrophic bungle: microchips are so integral to car production that a car is basically a computer network on wheels that you stick your fragile human body into and pray.

The car manufacturers got so desperate for chips that they started buying up washing machines for the microchips in them, extracting the chips and discarding the washing machines like some absurdo-dystopian cyberpunk walnut-shelling machine:

https://www.autoevolution.com/news/desperate-times-companies-buy-washing-machines-just-to-rip-out-the-chips-187033.html

These digital systems are a huge problem for the car companies. They are the underlying cause of a precipitous decline in car quality. From touch-based digital door-locks to networked sensors and cameras, every digital system in your car is a source of endless repair nightmares, costly recalls and cybersecurity vulnerabilities:

https://www.reuters.com/business/autos-transportation/quality-new-vehicles-us-declining-more-tech-use-study-shows-2023-06-22/

What’s more, drivers hate all the digital bullshit, from the janky touchscreens to the shitty, wildly insecure apps. Digital systems are drivers’ most significant point of dissatisfaction with the automakers’ products:

https://www.theverge.com/23801545/car-infotainment-customer-satisifaction-survey-jd-power

Even the automakers sorta-kinda admit that this is a problem. Back in 2020 when Massachusetts was having a Right-to-Repair ballot initiative, Big Car ran these unfuckingbelievable scare ads that basically said, “Your car spies on you so comprehensively that giving anyone else access to its systems will let murderers stalk you to your home and kill you:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms

But even amid all the complaining about cars getting stuck in the Internet of Shit, there’s still not much discussion of why the car-makers are making their products less attractive, less reliable, less safe, and less resilient by stuffing them full of microchips. Are car execs just the latest generation of rubes who’ve been suckered by Silicon Valley bullshit and convinced that apps are a magic path to profitability?

Nope. Car execs are sophisticated businesspeople, and they’re surfing capitalism’s latest — and last — hot trend: dismantling capitalism itself.

Now, leftists have been predicting the death of capitalism since The Communist Manifesto, but even Marx and Engels warned us not to get too frisky: capitalism, they wrote, is endlessly creative, constantly reinventing itself, re-emerging from each crisis in a new form that is perfectly adapted to the post-crisis reality:

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/31/books/review/a-spectre-haunting-china-mieville.html

But capitalism has finally run out of gas. In his forthcoming book, Techno Feudalism: What Killed Capitalism, Yanis Varoufakis proposes that capitalism has died — but it wasn’t replaced by socialism. Rather, capitalism has given way to feudalism:

https://www.penguin.co.uk/books/451795/technofeudalism-by-varoufakis-yanis/9781847927279

Under capitalism, capital is the prime mover. The people who own and mobilize capital — the capitalists — organize the economy and take the lion’s share of its returns. But it wasn’t always this way: for hundreds of years, European civilization was dominated by rents, not markets.

A “rent” is income that you get from owning something that other people need to produce value. Think of renting out a house you own: not only do you get paid when someone pays you to live there, you also get the benefit of rising property values, which are the result of the work that all the other homeowners, business owners, and residents do to make the neighborhood more valuable.

The first capitalists hated rent. They wanted to replace the “passive income” that landowners got from taxing their serfs’ harvest with active income from enclosing those lands and grazing sheep in order to get wool to feed to the new textile mills. They wanted active income — and lots of it.

Capitalist philosophers railed against rent. The “free market” of Adam Smith wasn’t a market that was free from regulation — it was a market free from rents. The reason Smith railed against monopolists is because he (correctly) understood that once a monopoly emerged, it would become a chokepoint through which a rentier could cream off the profits he considered the capitalist’s due:

https://locusmag.com/2021/03/cory-doctorow-free-markets/

Today, we live in a rentier’s paradise. People don’t aspire to create value — they aspire to capture it. In Survival of the Richest, Doug Rushkoff calls this “going meta”: don’t provide a service, just figure out a way to interpose yourself between the provider and the customer:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/13/collapse-porn/#collapse-porn

Don’t drive a cab, create Uber and extract value from every driver and rider. Better still: don’t found Uber, invest in Uber options and extract value from the people who invest in Uber. Even better, invest in derivatives of Uber options and extract value from people extracting value from people investing in Uber, who extract value from drivers and riders. Go meta.

This is your brain on the four-hour-work-week, passive income mind-virus. In Techno Feudalism, Varoufakis deftly describes how the new “Cloud Capital” has created a new generation of rentiers, and how they have become the richest, most powerful people in human history.

Shopping at Amazon is like visiting a bustling city center full of stores — but each of those stores’ owners has to pay the majority of every sale to a feudal landlord, Emperor Jeff Bezos, who also decides which goods they can sell and where they must appear on the shelves. Amazon is full of capitalists, but it is not a capitalist enterprise. It’s a feudal one:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

This is the reason that automakers are willing to enshittify their products so comprehensively: they were one of the first industries to decouple rents from profits. Recall that the reason that Big Car needed billions in bailouts in 2008 is that they’d reinvented themselves as loan-sharks who incidentally made cars, lending money to car-buyers and then “securitizing” the loans so they could be traded in the capital markets.

Even though this strategy brought the car companies to the brink of ruin, it paid off in the long run. The car makers got billions in public money, paid their execs massive bonuses, gave billions to shareholders in buybacks and dividends, smashed their unions, fucked their pensioned workers, and shipped jobs anywhere they could pollute and murder their workforce with impunity.

Car companies are on the forefront of postcapitalism, and they understand that digital is the key to rent-extraction. Remember when BMW announced that it was going to rent you the seatwarmer in your own fucking car?

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/02/big-river/#beemers

Not to be outdone, Mercedes announced that they were going to rent you your car’s accelerator pedal, charging an extra $1200/year to unlock a fully functional acceleration curve:

https://www.theverge.com/2022/11/23/23474969/mercedes-car-subscription-faster-acceleration-feature-price

This is the urinary tract infection business model: without digitization, all your car’s value flowed in a healthy stream. But once the car-makers add semiconductors, each one of those features comes out in a painful, burning dribble, with every button on that fakakta touchscreen wired directly into your credit-card.

But it’s just for starters. Computers are malleable. The only computer we know how to make is the Turing Complete Von Neumann Machine, which can run every program we know how to write. Once they add networked computers to your car, the Car Lords can endlessly twiddle the knobs on the back end, finding new ways to extract value from you:

https://doctorow.medium.com/twiddler-1b5c9690cce6

That means that your car can track your every movement, and sell your location data to anyone and everyone, from marketers to bounty-hunters looking to collect fees for tracking down people who travel out of state for abortions to cops to foreign spies:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/n7enex/tool-shows-if-car-selling-data-privacy4cars-vehicle-privacy-report

Digitization supercharges financialization. It lets car-makers offer subprime auto-loans to desperate, poor people and then killswitch their cars if they miss a payment:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4U2eDJnwz_s

Subprime lending for cars would be a terrible business without computers, but digitization makes it a great source of feudal rents. Car dealers can originate loans to people with teaser rates that quickly blow up into payments the dealer knows their customer can’t afford. Then they repo the car and sell it to another desperate person, and another, and another:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/27/boricua/#looking-for-the-joke-with-a-microscope

Digitization also opens up more exotic options. Some subprime cars have secondary control systems wired into their entertainment system: miss a payment and your car radio flips to full volume and bellows an unstoppable, unmutable stream of threats. Tesla does one better: your car will lock and immobilize itself, then blare its horn and back out of its parking spot when the repo man arrives:

https://tiremeetsroad.com/2021/03/18/tesla-allegedly-remotely-unlocks-model-3-owners-car-uses-smart-summon-to-help-repo-agent/

Digital feudalism hasn’t stopped innovating — it’s just stopped innovating good things. The digital device is an endless source of sadistic novelties, like the cellphones that disable your most-used app the first day you’re late on a payment, then work their way down the other apps you rely on for every day you’re late:

https://restofworld.org/2021/loans-that-hijack-your-phone-are-coming-to-india/

Usurers have always relied on this kind of imaginative intimidation. The loan-shark’s arm-breaker knows you’re never going to get off the hook; his goal is in intimidating you into paying his boss first, liquidating your house and your kid’s college fund and your wedding ring before you default and he throws you off a building.

Thanks to the malleability of computerized systems, digital arm-breakers have an endless array of options they can deploy to motivate you into paying them first, no matter what it costs you:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/02/innovation-unlocks-markets/#digital-arm-breakers

Car-makers are trailblazers in imaginative rent-extraction. Take VIN-locking: this is the practice of adding cheap microchips to engine components that communicate with the car’s overall network. After a new part is installed in your car, your car’s computer does a complex cryptographic handshake with the part that requires an unlock code provided by an authorized technician. If the code isn’t entered, the car refuses to use that part.

VIN-locking has exploded in popularity. It’s in your iPhone, preventing you from using refurb or third-party replacement parts:

https://doctorow.medium.com/apples-cement-overshoes-329856288d13

It’s in fuckin’ ventilators, which was a nightmare during lockdown as hospital techs nursed their precious ventilators along by swapping parts from dead systems into serviceable ones:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/3azv9b/why-repair-techs-are-hacking-ventilators-with-diy-dongles-from-poland

And of course, it’s in tractors, along with other forms of remote killswitch. Remember that feelgood story about John Deere bricking the looted Ukrainian tractors whose snitch-chips showed they’d been relocated to Russia?

https://doctorow.medium.com/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors-bc93f471b9c8

That wasn’t a happy story — it was a cautionary tale. After all, John Deere now controls the majority of the world’s agricultural future, and they’ve boobytrapped those ubiquitous tractors with killswitches that can be activated by anyone who hacks, takes over, or suborns Deere or its dealerships.

Control over repair isn’t limited to gouging customers on parts and service. When a company gets to decide whether your device can be fixed, it can fuck you over in all kinds of ways. Back in 2019, Tim Apple told his shareholders to expect lower revenues because people were opting to fix their phones rather than replace them:

https://www.apple.com/newsroom/2019/01/letter-from-tim-cook-to-apple-investors/

By usurping your right to decide who fixes your phone, Apple gets to decide whether you can fix it, or whether you must replace it. Problem solved — and not just for Apple, but for car makers, tractor makers, ventilator makers and more. Apple leads on this, even ahead of Big Car, pioneering a “recycling” program that sees trade-in phones shredded so they can’t possibly be diverted from an e-waste dump and mined for parts:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/yp73jw/apple-recycling-iphones-macbooks

John Deere isn’t sleeping on this. They’ve come up with a valuable treasure they extract when they win the Right-to-Repair: Deere singles out farmers who complain about its policies and refuses to repair their tractors, stranding them with six-figure, two-ton paperweight:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/31/dealers-choice/#be-a-shame-if-something-were-to-happen-to-it

The repair wars are just a skirmish in a vast, invisible fight that’s been waged for decades: the War On General-Purpose Computing, where tech companies use the law to make it illegal for you to reconfigure your devices so they serve you, rather than their shareholders:

https://memex.craphound.com/2012/01/10/lockdown-the-coming-war-on-general-purpose-computing/

The force behind this army is vast and grows larger every day. General purpose computers are antithetical to technofeudalism — all the rents extracted by technofeudalists would go away if others (tinkereres, co-ops, even capitalists!) were allowed to reconfigure our devices so they serve us.

You’ve probably noticed the skirmishes with inkjet printer makers, who can only force you to buy their ink at 20,000% markups if they can stop you from deciding how your printer is configured:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/07/inky-wretches/#epson-salty But we’re also fighting against insulin pump makers, who want to turn people with diabetes into walking inkjet printers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/10/loopers/#hp-ification

And companies that make powered wheelchairs:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/08/chair-ish/#r2r

These companies start with people who have the least agency and social power and wreck their lives, then work their way up the privilege gradient, coming for everyone else. It’s called the “shitty technology adoption curve”:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/21/great-taylors-ghost/#solidarity-or-bust

Technofeudalism is the public-private-partnership from hell, emerging from a combination of state and private action. On the one hand, bailing out bankers and big business (rather than workers) after the 2008 crash and the covid lockdown decoupled income from profits. Companies spent billions more than they earned were still wildly profitable, thanks to those public funds.

But there’s also a policy dimension here. Some of those rentiers’ billions were mobilized to both deconstruct antitrust law (allowing bigger and bigger companies and cartels) and to expand “IP” law, turning “IP” into a toolsuite for controlling the conduct of a firm’s competitors, critics and customers:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

IP is key to understanding the rise of technofeudalism. The same malleability that allows companies to “twiddle” the knobs on their services and keep us on the hook as they reel us in would hypothetically allow us to countertwiddle, seizing the means of computation:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

The thing that stands between you and an alternative app store, an interoperable social media network that you can escape to while continuing to message the friends you left behind, or a car that anyone can fix or unlock features for is IP, not technology. Under capitalism, that technology would already exist, because capitalists have no loyalty to one another and view each other’s margins as their own opportunities.

But under technofeudalism, control comes from rents (owning things), not profits (selling things). The capitalist who wants to participate in your iPhone’s “ecosystem” has to make apps and submit them to Apple, along with 30% of their lifetime revenues — they don’t get to sell you jailbreaking kit that lets you choose their app store.

Rent-seeking technology has a holy grail: control over “ring zero” — the ability to compel you to configure your computer to a feudalist’s specifications, and to verify that you haven’t altered your computer after it came into your possession:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/30/ring-minus-one/#drm-political-economy

For more than two decades, various would-be feudal lords and their court sorcerers have been pitching ways of doing this, of varying degrees of outlandishness.

At core, here’s what they envision: inside your computer, they will nest another computer, one that is designed to run a very simple set of programs, none of which can be altered once it leaves the factory. This computer — either a whole separate chip called a “Trusted Platform Module” or a region of your main processor called a secure enclave — can tally observations about your computer: which operating system, modules and programs it’s running.

Then it can cryptographically “sign” these observations, proving that they were made by a secure chip and not by something you could have modified. Then you can send this signed “attestation” to someone else, who can use it to determine how your computer is configured and thus whether to trust it. This is called “remote attestation.”

There are some cool things you can do with remote attestation: for example, two strangers playing a networked video game together can use attestations to make sure neither is running any cheat modules. Or you could require your cloud computing provider to use attestations that they aren’t stealing your data from the server you’re renting. Or if you suspect that your computer has been infected with malware, you can connect to someone else and send them an attestation that they can use to figure out whether you should trust it.

Today, there’s a cool remote attestation technology called “PrivacyPass” that replaces CAPTCHAs by having you prove to your own device that you are a human. When a server wants to make sure you’re a person, it sends a random number to your device, which signs that number along with its promise that it is acting on behalf of a human being, and sends it back. CAPTCHAs are all kinds of bad — bad for accessibility and privacy — and this is really great.

But the billions that have been thrown at remote attestation over the decades is only incidentally about solving CAPTCHAs or verifying your cloud server. The holy grail here is being able to make sure that you’re not running an ad-blocker. It’s being able to remotely verify that you haven’t disabled the bossware your employer requires. It’s the power to block someone from opening an Office365 doc with LibreOffice. It’s your boss’s ability to ensure that you haven’t modified your messaging client to disable disappearing messages before he sends you an auto-destructing memo ordering you to break the law.

And there’s a new remote attestation technology making the rounds: Google’s Web Environment Integrity, which will leverage Google’s dominance over browsers to allow websites to block users who run ad-blockers:

https://github.com/RupertBenWiser/Web-Environment-Integrity

There’s plenty else WEI can do (it would make detecting ad-fraud much easier), but for every legitimate use, there are a hundred ways this could be abused. It’s a technology purpose-built to allow rent extraction by stripping us of our right to technological self-determination.

Releasing a technology like this into a world where companies are willing to make their products less reliable, less attractive, less safe and less resilient in pursuit of rents is incredibly reckless and shortsighted. You want unauthorized bread? This is how you get Unauthorized Bread:

https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/amp/

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

[Image ID: The interior of a luxury car. There is a dagger protruding from the steering wheel. The entertainment console has been replaced by the text 'You wouldn't download a car,' in MPAA scare-ad font. Outside of the windscreen looms the Matrix waterfall effect. Visible in the rear- and side-view mirror is the driver: the figure from Munch's 'Scream.' The screen behind the steering-wheel has been replaced by the menacing red eye of HAL9000 from Stanley Kubrick's '2001: A Space Odyssey.']

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

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anlian-aishang · 6 months

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Tags: levi ackerman x reader, mutual pining [coworkers] to smut, only one bed, non-sexual spitting, alcohol mention, reader wears levi’s shirt, cunnilingus, penetration, modern AU, fem!reader Word count: 10,000 A/N: thank you to @lostinwildflowers for betaing this! Birch is one my writing idols, so I am truly honored. I hope you enjoy <3

This can’t be happening.

Unknowingly, the two of you shared a silent sentiment. After a late taxi, long lines of airport security, and racing to the terminal only to be delayed for several hours, the cherry on the shit sundae - as he would put it - was the midnight arrival to a hotel with only one bed.

“You’re sure?”

The look on the nervous teenager’s face conveyed the answer before he even uttered the question. Still, Levi knew he had to ask, audibly enough for you to hear - just so you would know that he did. In the face of liability, you had to acknowledge that he had tried his best.

“I’m really sorry, sir.” Their eyes were darting in panic between you and Levi as if you were the antidote to this angry customer. But he wasn’t angry, at least, not at them. Wasn’t the brat’s fault that Erwin booked the wrong room. “I have that in the afternoon of September the 15th, E. Smith booked a single king bed for one adult guest.”

“Two adult guests.”

They shared a lengthy eye contact. From the background, you watched their miscommunication unfold and cringed with secondhand embarrassment. You nearly burst into nervous laughter when they shrugged, “I can provide you with extra complimentary toiletries.”

At his sides, Levi unclenched his fists in defeat, “...We’ll manage.”

The plastic key cards made a satisfying sound as the receptionist slid them across the marble countertop - equal and opposite to the dissatisfaction on Levi’s face. In one smooth motion, he handed you your copy while simultaneously whipping out his cell phone. Two clicks - speed dial and call. Two rings - Erwin answered.

You couldn’t hear the other end, but you had your guesses.

Hello?

“You fucked up.”

Sorry?

“As you should be.”

For what?

“Stuffing two adults in one bed, what made you think we’d appreciate that accommodation?”

Given the looks you’ve been giving each other at the office, I thought you might.

Levi violently snapped his phone closed in hopes you couldn’t hear that. Thrusting his phone in his pocket, he used his free hand to snatch luggage from yours. “Give me that.”

A kind gesture, but irritation in his voice made it confusing. You thought to grab it back and insist that you could handle it, but instead, held your tongue. Clearly, he was steaming. Any objection, even a well-intended one, you doubted it would better his mood. Walking towards the lift, you concluded that nothing you had to say would supply ice to his ire. Though, the walk, time, and your calming presence, seemed to be working, you thought as you watched him delicately pad the UP button.

In the intimacy of the elevator, Levi allowed himself one venting word, “Idiot.” He sighed, placed his thumb and pointer finger on each of his temples, and rubbed wrinkles into his skin. “As if we haven’t already been through enough.”

Today and long before, the two of you had been through plenty together. Tonight was the first time you would pin it on Erwin. All other times, it had been your own selves and each other to blame.

He loved the way you looked in those small pencil skirts and see-through tights, but he hated what it did to him. Meetings in which he could only stare, absorbing nothing. In the middle of a phone call, when you walked by, he would forget its purpose and stammer aimlessly. Nights kept awake, staring at his ceiling, a blank canvas for projecting his wandering thoughts: how you would look with the skirt yanked up and the tights pulled down, how you took your outfit off after work, and if you wanted his help with that.

Countless times, you had cursed the man you crushed on. The way he ran his fingers through his hair when overworked made you want to try it yourself, to take his stressors away - or better yet - serve as the relief to them. On hot days, he loosened his top button. On lucky days, the top two. On his way out the door, he would tug his tie out from under his collar, creating a loop wide enough for you to slip your hand through and use it to pull his lips to yours - or so you imagined. Each day, Levi had fed you tastes. Over time, your craving for him had grown unbearable.

Ultimately, this out-of-town assignment was a test, and a final exam at that. Years of studying one another were culminating in one night, on one bed. The chime of the elevator interrupted your thoughts as if it was a warning: ground yourself. The plain of Levi’s expression and calm in his pace on the way to room 845 echoed its sense: he was unriled, uninterested.

Your read was wrong. Levi was thankful that you trailed him: with his back to you, you could not see his rouge tint, the bite of his lip, or the twitch of his cheek. As he pressed his key to the reader, held the heavy hotel door, and slugged both of your belongings atop the desk and dresser, you admired the way he moved so suavely - when actually, he considered his motions stiff, careful, and calculated.

Neither of you bothered to turn on the light. Taxed bodies, tired eyes, and tempted temperaments shared a desire to finally climb in bed. No need to delay things any longer. Levi unzipped his suitcase, the sound garnered your attention. Immediately, you noticed now neatly he had packed, admired his organization and pristine folds, then planned that when it came your time to unpack, you would aim to shield your messy methods from the clean freak’s vision.

A gray cotton tee - matching his eyes, black sweatpants - same shade as his hair. A navy canvas travel bag topped the pile. Levi leaned effortlessly against the white bathroom door and stated, “I’ll change in here.”

You nodded vehemently, as if he had ordered you on an important mission, “I’ll be out here.”

Cute. And at that intrusive thought, he silently ducked away.

Unbuckling his belt, tugging his zipper, freeing his legs from his slacks, Levi tipped his head back against the wall and sighed. Every muscle in his body finally untensed, he was set free from one cage of many. His business-casual confines had been done away with. Now, he just had professionalism, work relationships, and his fucking hormones to maintain.

His boxer briefs were agitatingly taut, struggling to constrain years’ worth of tension in their cotton threads. Levi looked down to his lap and cursed himself. Hovering around thirty, yet all the composure of a fresh young bachelor. Gradually, Levi hooked his thumb beneath the elastic waistband and loosened just a little, allowing him room to breathe. Too much room maybe as the chill thermostat air contrasted harshly with his warmed passion and drew a loud hiss. Levi clenched his teeth hard in an attempt to bar his vocals, praying to whatever power that you wouldn’t knock on the door and call Levi, you alright? It was just the kind of person you were, and Levi had come to know you well.

That anxiety turned out to be false, for your ears were ringing: ignorant of his desires, overwhelmed by your own. Gingerly, you unzipped your luggage and fret at the sight: a little black nightgown with lace on the hems. Its sight hit you like a load of bricks, lightning to the thunderous memory of your midnight, sleep-deprived, frantic packing. That woman was giddy for the business trip with her office crush and, in that frenzy, picked her sexiest pajamas for the special occasion. Goddammit! If only you knew that he wouldn’t be seeing it from across the room as a tease, he would be sleeping next to it, maybe even feeling it if one of you crossed your half of the mattress. Cursing yourself, you dug frantically in search of something - anything - else to wear to bed, but were rudely met with only pantsuits and blouses. You bunched your nightgown in your trembling fists, but its thinness and shortness allowed it to fit wholly in your hands - foiling your coping strategy. All you could do was tip your head back and sigh to the ceiling, Fuck me.

That feeling echoed when you draped it over yourself and saw your reflection in the hotel window. Your hair was disheveled from the long day. Makeup smeared and ran down your face, eyeliner to eyeshadow. Wrinkles in your silk dress. Looks like you were already fucked.

On the other side of the door, Levi was thinking the same thing: he was absolutely fucked. His erection stood high after minutes of waiting. Cold water splashed on his face, but his fever seemed to evaporate it. Trying to think about humbling topics, but he couldn’t get you off his mind. To make his arousal vanish, there was one thing he could do, but there wasn’t enough time for that. Even if the shower were running, Levi doubted that the downpour of water would be able to suppress the noises of slapping skin or his embarrassingly heightened vocals. Fuck. Levi clutched the bathroom countertop and sighed at his reflection. His exhale fogged the mirror just before he hung his head down and conceded. God, help me.

His prayers ignored, you ended up knocking on the bathroom door eventually: “Levi?”

Every nerve in his body froze. He stammered more times than he would have liked before managing a stern “What?”

“Sorry! I just -” humiliated heat seemed to radiate off of you, “- take your time, I just -”

Half listening, half panicking, Levi seemed not to pay mind to your take your time - stepping into his joggers and throwing on his shirt as fast as he could.

“- can I brush my teeth?”

You were startled when his response was a quick and loud turn of the handle, wordlessly letting you in. Levi was surprised to see you the way you were: temptress dress with a toothbrush and toothpaste innocently perched in each hand. The eye contact lasted for three seconds, but you could have sworn that it was that many years long.

The twitch of your hands and your heart’s lofty goals placed a dollop of toothpaste twice as big as you normally would. Had to have perfect breath, just in case. Not even just in case, you were going to lay beside him - mere inches away - for the next several hours. In those seconds of pondering, gravity began to spill your toothpaste off the bristles and towards the pristine marble vanity. With haste, you jammed the toothbrush into your mouth, causing you to gag on your device.

Levi felt his erection press against his waistband and rolled his eyes at his own stupid urges. You assumed that eye roll was for you and offered an innocent grin. Not so innocent, however, was your curiosity. His t-shirt was tight, leaving little to the imagination. One arm’s reach from an array of muscles, you kept your eyes deliberately on the mirror ahead. However, your doppelganger had a mind of her own apparently, gaze falling from eye contact and onto his chest, waist, abdomen. Without even having to turn his head, Levi could see your staring, obviously more obvious than you thought it would be. With your attention on his lower half, Levi allowed himself a smirk.

Such a silly thing, but was this the first time you brushed your teeth next to someone? This handful of minutes was inexplicably romantic, oddly domestic. Pajamas, double sinks, and the end of a long day. You had been coworkers, acquaintances, and unknowingly requited lovers, but for this one moment, you were husband and wife.

White toothpaste lined the gap between his top and bottom lip, and for some reason, you felt your knees buckle. Levi ducked down to spit, a polite attempt to hide it. Your eyes rejected his offer, instead widening as your pupils honed in on the sight. Leaning forward ever so slightly, you savored yet loathed the way his rejection ran down the pipe. What a waste.

Levi sheathed his toothbrush back in its protective case, a neat freak through and through, and slid it back into his tote. Sifting through, he stumbled upon a mini bottle of mouthwash, making him freeze with indecision: added freshness at the cost of spitting in front of you again? He felt that once had already been rude enough. Levi shot you a side-eye and made an unexpected eye contact: he was trying to read you, you were already staring. Mutually miscommunicated guilt, both of you felt you had been caught and snapped back to aversion.

It came your turn to rinse your mouth, and he couldn’t help it. Levi could have blamed his peripheral vision, could have blamed the bright lights that lined the mirror, but hard-pressed, he could not come up with an excuse for why he watched you then. The streak of white that shot out of your mouth, its wake dribbling down your lips. Goddammit, you cursed your clumsiness and hastily wiped your mess with a washcloth. He knew it as well as you did: he should have been grossed out. Only Levi realized, though, how much he liked it, he was just too ashamed to admit it.

Though his arousal screamed, his lips stayed silent. There was a time and place.

Was there? You’ve worked together for how long? All those years, they never had a time or place?

A long inhale, a slow exhale, his fingers curled underneath the cold countertop, hoping its chill would thwart the flush of his chest. Fuck how badly he wanted to kiss you then, to thumb that white stain off your chin and into his mouth, to clutch the backs of your thighs and hoist you onto that vanity. Your waist in his hands, your sex in line with his -

“Levi?”

“Yeah?”

His rapid response, you mistook it as anger. While the voice on his shoulder was lust, yours was insecurity. Surely, you’re the last straw. Having to share a bed with a dork like you? He’s had a tough day. Don’t make him endure this.

“Do you want me to take the floor?”

A dumbbell dropped to the pit of his stomach. Of course not, but for you to bring it up, he must have been hasty to assume that you would share the bed. Levi grit his teeth, annoyed with his lofty goals. Two slow blinks, “I can.”

That was the last thing you wanted. “N-No… I don’t - I don’t mean…” Your lips parted in stammer. Eyes darted as if the tile walls would whisper you the answer. For a moment, you cursed the beautiful neutrality of his face: impossible not to love, but impossible to read. His stillness was contagious, though, and brought you to settle on an answer, “I’ll meet you under the sheets.”

Ears burned red as they checked: was that selective hearing or was that what you really said? Before his eyes could study you, you turned on your heel and closed the door shut.

Once again, on opposite sides of the door, your sentiment was shared: Phew.

He took a few minutes after that. When he finally walked out, he found that you had been lotioning your legs over that time. Dim glow of the bedside lamp reflected on your smooth skin. If not for the way he had come to know you, to respect and appreciate you, this sight could have been the cover of some sketchy magazine. Eagerness glazed your eyes. Your hands had been massaging your inner thighs, now a perfect shield for the gem between your legs. Levi gave the slightest shake of his head, not disapproval, but disbelief. How did you manage such effortless perfection?

Was that not everything about you, though? The most minute smile in meetings. Biting your lip when you were bored. A laugh so beautiful that it served as its own positive reinforcement, beckoning others to amuse you again. Were you the one?

Or was it the eyes of your beholder? Maybe you weren’t perfect, maybe that’s why you were in his eyes. Despite all the signs of your singlehood - never in a rush to get home, never a mention of a date - he never truly believed it. It was a war of his flawless intuition and steep infatuation. Either you were the one for him, or he had been wrong all these years.

Get in the bed, idiot.

His stride was steady, captivating, as he made his way to the side of the bed. In habit, Levi crossed his arms across his torso, prepared to lift up, but caught himself halfway. No, he would not be sleeping shirtless tonight. Neither would he sleep in his loose and breathable boxer shorts, but instead, stifling fleece. Already, for one reason or another, he was sweating. Upon approach, the layers upon layers of sheets, blanket, and comforter looked even more suffocating. He caught a glimpse of the thermostat, but then of you, and found your skin laden with goosebumps. Lips rolled beneath his teeth, bargaining, but he could not bring himself to turn the AC up while your body temperature was down. Just as strongly, he refused to do anything that might make you uncomfortable, like taking off his clothes, no matter how badly he wanted to. More words would have served you both well, tearing down the artificial barrier your doubts were constructing.

Can I take this off?

I would love nothing more.

But you were both stupid to imagine that dialogue.

Levi slowly reclined back, sighing as he sunk into the sheets. Already, his skin was burning. He combed his fingers back through his bangs and released a heavy sigh. A heavenly trial, you read it as a hellish endurance, and instinctually apologized, “...I’m sorry about this.”

You have nothing to be sorry for, Levi pondered the response, but deemed it too much. Instead, he feigned a disinterested mumble, “It’s Erwin’s fault.”

You, on the other hand, indulged your gut feeling, “He’s done worse.”

Levi huffed a single exhale, his version of a chuckle.

You turned on your side. He loved that you chose to face him rather than the wall. He hated that he even thought of that. You were so close, he could feel the mattress dip between you, could feel your breath cool against his skin. Eyes fluttering shut, your voice was either sultry or exhausted, a glass-half-full kind of thing. “Good night, Levi.”

Fuck, what a fight, battling the urge to kiss you then and there. Your eyes sparkling, noses nearly touching, he had sworn that this was how all the shitty romcoms went, but he failed to find anything lackluster about this scene. His lips yearned to close that distance, arms ached to perch themselves at your sides. Levi redirected that energy to his hands, fisting the comforter hard as he draped it gently over your shoulders, “Night, (Y/N).”

But how were you going to sleep like this? Although you were running off a 20-hour day, you felt that sleep would be a waste. Queueing for tickets to see your favorite artist, only to close the window the moment your turn came. Styling your hair just to go and get it cut straight after. Champagne dumped down the drain. Mentally, it was an unbearable thought. Physically, your body was even more resistant to the idea. Your middle was fucking throbbing. Nipples stood tall against their skimpy silk covering as if reaching for more contact, his contact. Legs squirmed against one another, trying to smother the burn between them, but you willed them frozen: don’t wake him up.

In your best state of mind, you would have recalled the symptoms of his insomnia: always a tall thermos of caffeine on his desk, perpetual circles under his eyes, especially the times you both worked late. On your way out, you would peek through the pane of glass on his door to wave good-bye. Now and then, he would be hunched over his desk, imprints of the keyboard on his cheek - a makeshift pillow for his crash naps. With a shred of thought, you would have realized he was likely already awake, but you were incapable of even that. It was midnight when you crawled into the king bed. Red digits at your side now read 1:40 AM, yet you knew that not one of those one-hundred minutes had been spent in sleep. Coffee in the morning, nerves on the plane, hormones now, you had left composure back at your apartment and you weren’t sure you’d get it back at any point of this business trip. I mean shit, you swore, this was only the first night.

Only the first night. One of many sure to come, right? How many nights had he gone to bed alone, kept awake with longing of having you by his side? How many mornings had he woken himself up with a sleepy mumble of your name, only to find one half of his bed empty? It couldn’t all be for nothing. Now that he was sharing the bed with you, it was all he ever wanted, yet you were still out of reach. Uncharacteristic, the most reliable man you knew was spiraling in thought.

But to you, it would make sense: the only one who could bring Levi Ackerman down was none other than himself. He saw it a different way: you were the only one who could dismantle him like this.

You could feel his heat emanating, could see his sweat reflecting. Before you could stop yourself, your affection had boiled over, “Levi…” your voice was hoarse, having gone hours without as much as a whisper, and unexpectedly loud. His silver gaze drifted to you, depleting the last of your reserves, you mused, “...you’re hot.”

A statement, not a question. In near pitch blackness, he allowed himself a rare smirk. Levi waited until it faded to turn towards you.

You pinched the hem of his shirt in your fingertips, nails accidentally scraped his abdomen on the way. “Want this off?” You tugged lightly, “I don’t mind.”

At the same time, you shivered, and Levi filled in the blanks to ground his wandering mind. “Cold?” His hands brushed yours on the way to the bottom of the garment. Levi bunched fists in his fabric and lifted it effortlessly up, over, off his head - as he wanted to do all those hours ago. Pent-up relief, he thrust his shirt to you and offered, “Could’ve just asked.”

You were right all along. All along, those loose button-up shirts had covered a chiseled body. He must have been curling with arms like that. A pull-up bar on the back of his bedroom door, how many repetitions did it take to get these muscles? Your eyes scanned every inch of him but could find not one flaw. Your lips were moving, but words failed to emerge. There were a million things you wanted to say to him, to tell him, but only one came through. You received his gift gingerly and muttered, “Thanks.”

This was a moment you had distantly fantasized over for years. Turns out, this was even better than you dreamed. His shirt carried a garden of mint, lavender, and tea leaves in its scent. In putting it on, you felt that you gained a glimpse into Eden. The fabric was satin soft and sheer thin. In watching you wear it, Levi felt in the presence of an angel. It highlighted the curves he loved and introduced him to ones he had never noticed before. Brows narrowed, pupils dilated in his gaze - concerned and deviant. The straight cut forced your waist and hips to confine. The small-pattern chest was clearly never meant to accommodate a body like yours. Threads were spread taut by your cleavage, nearly torn apart as they strained to cover you. In his eyes, he thought it fit you perfectly.

Arms finally through the sleeves. Beneath them, your hairs stood on end. Again, you shivered, but could not pinpoint why. It did not take the shiver, though, to convey your state. Your erect points stood above all. Levi looked to you with both pity and admiration, his voice their lovechild: “Look at you.”

You simmered, embarrassed yet teasing, “Looking isn't helping.” You crossed your arms before your chest and bundled yourself together, “If you really care -”

He did.

“- then do something about it.”

Unfolding the quilt from the foot of the bed, turning up the room’s temperature - those were the most straightforward solutions. But Levi was not thinking straight, and he had a feeling that was what you wanted. Slowly, Levi sifted his arm behind your shoulders, when you snuggled in, he sealed his wrap with a hand at your side.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

His gaze descended to meet yours. Likewise, you raised your gaze to meet. Painfully aware that this was a first for the both of you - neither his passion nor your arousal would shut up about it. At the same time, watching you shiver reminded him of all the times he had silently substituted your needs. Behind on work, you never asked for assistance, but would hurriedly throw things his way if Levi offered his help. When your car wouldn’t start that one winter day, who knows how long you would’ve paced in the parking lot had he not pulled his sedan beside yours and given you a jump? A sharp pang seized his heart in realization: he thought you were close, and now you were physically there, yet you still were not comfortable enough to ask him for anything - even though you both wanted it.

“Y’know,” his thumb rubbed your shoulder, “you should learn to just ask for what you want.”

Indeed, 2 AM haze was shrouding his awareness, too - particularly his self-awareness. Was it not him who steeped your tea in the mornings and tidied your desk before he left each night? He could have - should have - just asked you out all those times. How much sooner would this night have come if he had? Levi swore to live without regrets, but that did not stop him from acknowledging the opportunities he had missed thus far. He tossed you the takeaway he wished he had learned long ago: “Makes things a lot easier.”

At first, you thought he was chastising you. The stern monotone of his voice could chill you to the bone at times, but when you took in his expression, you felt warm all over. His brows were not knit, but perched in a tender lift. His breaths were not terse, like when he got annoyed, but slow and calm. At the same time, though, you could feel his heart pounding hard, could hear it when you placed your ear over his chest. Clouded moonlight softened those hardlined features, and again, you wondered if this was your first night together or actually your honeymoon: wasn’t this kind of pillow talk reserved for spouses alone?

A deep swallow, and the last time you checked yourself. Could he have looked any more genuine? Any more readable? Transparent? You didn’t think so. For the man of few words, this was all but an admission of his feelings for you, and it was the best look you had ever seen on him. His advice, his command, invited you to try that outfit on.

“Practice with me?”

One slight nod, so slight - you knew no one would have noticed it but you. In that, you felt your confidence soar, pulling the words from your heart to the air between you both, “Hold me tighter?”

He did.

“Pull me closer?”

He did.

“And kiss me already.”

Levi could not describe it, the feeling that overcame him when he heard your demand. Proud of you. Relieved. At peace yet exhilarated. The serenity that all was right in the world, yet the anticipation of what he had wanted all along. The nature of the kiss aligned with the latter. For two agonizing seconds, he examined you. Assured by the sight of your smile, he longed to taste it for himself. Thumb pressed to the curve of your chin, index finger perched under it, slowly yet with unwavering passion - that was the way Levi brought your lips together.

Soft, as he expected. Expert, as you had. Initial contact was delicate, the warmup slow. Levi always went so hard at everything he did, held such a sharp tongue, which was why the way he brushed against you made your heart stop. You knew strength to be his greatest, most innate feature, and therefore you deciphered that this tenderness was a display of exertion. Levi showed no signs of struggle, though. Touch-starved for you, yet his lips chose to waltz rather than tango. His hand on your chin drifted to the back of your neck. Nape cupped in his palm, he used that leverage to drift you here and there, allowing him to taste all of you - encouraging you to do the same with him.

Levi tasted like peppermint, the brand so sharp that it made you sneeze now and then, he had learned after enough lunch breaks. You tasted like cinnamon, the stick that baristas stuck in his chai come the colder months. When your tongues met, they created a new taste. After minutes of exchange, they became addicted to it. Their craving demanded all efforts in that search: Levi’s grip pulled you closer, you threw an arm over his back. Breaths turned to gasps, a wordless understanding of all you would do for the other: grab his mail on the way in, walk you to your car at night, and kiss until you were out of breath.

The thought had never crossed your mind, but his actions disintegrated it - the possibility that this was some selfish, opportunistic spell. Levi was nearly shaking with anticipation, his erection pained with neglect, but that did not influence his pace. Each time you thought the makeout might end, he would catch his breath with “pretty girl…” before joining you once again. His kiss was lovely, as was the spark at your middle, but his ardor was gas to your flame, and before you knew it, you were ablaze. You found your body rise against his, pushing off the mattress, and rolling to grind against the friction of his rigid figure. Levi was everything you ever wanted, and maybe you were just that desperate or just that greedy - the fact that you needed more. He wouldn’t have you any other way.

You thought twice before breaking from the kiss, one last deep plunge of your tongue to his throat before pulling away, conscious to savor the taste. “Levi…” you sighed.

A string of saliva hung between you, the clean freak calmly closed his fist over it, and you felt yourself shudder again, “can we keep practicing?”

His lips were one degree north of flat, about as big of a smile as anyone would see on Ackerman. Tonight, just the two of you here, it felt inexplicably, particularly special. “Make love to me.”

An advanced learner, you always went the extra mile. Back then, Levi had no doubt, it was the reason you had been promoted so quickly. Now, it was that you had aced the first lesson and jumped to the next: no longer asking, demanding already. Sentimental was not a feeling he knew, but proof that you were this comfortable with him was indeed something.

His praise reflected that feeling back onto you, “That’s right, good girl.” The back of his hand brushed unruly strands from your face. A kiss on your forehead rewarded, “like that.”

Once more, he pressed his lips to yours, but it was not even a second that he stayed - just a starting point to the journey that was exploring your body. Lips slid to the corner of your mouth, down your jawline, neck, then chest. A trail of hickeys and teeth grazes was left - tomorrow’s meetings and your professionalism having vanished from his mind. His hands joined the excursion: one gentle yet relishing in its caress of your neck, the other crawled up your - his - shirt. The familiar texture of his old garment contrasted with the novel feel of your skin. Muscles twitched with satisfaction, disrupting the fluidity of his motions, but you found beauty in the unpredictability of his touch. Rose-colored lenses were blind to the signs of his weakness, instead chalking those movements up to Levi’s expertise. As you tipped your head back and sighed, Levi figured it was the first misunderstanding that had done you two any good tonight.

On his descent, he could not help but take a stop at your breasts. Turns out, it was never just his imagination, but given your curvature, of course your buttons would have been stretched to contain you. Those blouses had been his guilty favorite for that very reason, but his tight t-shirt was taking a close second. No, that slip you wore when you joined him in the bathroom, that must’ve been the best, right? Blood rushed, pupils dilated, his body anxious for a visual refresher.

You were going faster than he could have hoped. Already, he was proud of you for having graduated to demands. Now, you had learned to act on your own - either having read his mind or listening to your own desires. Levi could not decide which possibility he preferred, but when you lifted your top and perched it at your clavicle, he was ashamed to admit that his mind had discarded all other affairs.

Levi nestled his cheek in your cleavage, and though you were over a thousand miles away, he felt he was at home. Warm pillows cupped him, and both of you felt that the space was made for him to fill. Levi’s breath was hot on your skin, yet your nipples appeared as though you were in a winter wilderness. Of course, he took notice in all your details, and sighed in mutual enamor, “Fuck, baby…”

It was a tone you had never heard in his voice before. Desperation and desire in a man so ever assured and disinterested, you felt your panties drip from damped to soaked. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You, too, was what you thought to say, but somehow, the word seemed inadequate. His body was artwork: a symmetric abdomen, muscular forearms, veins that stood against his skin, you longed to trace him as such. Bangs that fell perfectly imperfectly over his face, begging that you run your fingers through them: mess with them now, gel them straight in the morning. You could slice paper on that jawline, could get lost in his eyes. No matter how long you stared, and stared you had, Levi was like the sunset: even after a hard day, always breathtakingly gorgeous.

Especially with the perspective you had now. One hand cupped your waist, the other your breast, perching you into his mouth, eye contact deliberately maintained throughout his movements.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Levi’s tongue swirled your nipple before his lips audibly slurped. “To get what you want…”

Again, the fog of the nameless hours between night and day had blinded him to the relevance his words had to himself. How long had he wanted this? How good did it feel? He had no verbal answer for it, only the fervor of his actions: sprightly tongue and rocks of his hips. As you always had, you filled his gaps: while he could not fathom the words, yours overflowed.

“Oh, Levi… Fuck, Levi…!” your desperate cries of his name made him leak onto the hotel sheets, no longer pristine. Your harsh exhales ran currents through his hair, and suddenly, it seemed you two had traded temperatures. Now, he was the one shivering while you sweat through the shirt. For his fever, he craved one antidote. Crawling down your body, his approach to the medicine cabinet. He prepared to ask for his dosage.

“My turn.”

Huh?

You propped yourself up on your elbows and took a good look. A good look: Levi had wedged himself between your legs. Fingers caressed your thighs with a precise pressure, a touch that tickled in a way that made you want more, yet was strong enough that he could push your hips to the mattress and pry your legs apart. You had to bunch your fists and rub your eyes to check, maybe 3 AM was just fucking with you.

Levi read your search for reassurance and inserted conviction into his tone. His stare and voice unwavering, “Can I taste you?”

Yeah, 3 AM was definitely fucking with you, for this was too good to be true. His sharp chin dwindled above the soft of your sex. His gaze set on your soul. Both of you agreed: his hands had never felt so calloused until they met your smooth thighs. It was a dream you would have woken up thankful to have had bestowed on you, but the grip he had on you was so perpetually undeniable: this was real. Head spinning, mind raced to catch up, yet Levi’s wait was so astonishingly still. Levi knew he would make you feel good. Based on your state, it seemed he was already doing that. Now, you just had to say yes, but he would not push you towards any one answer, nor would he do anything more until you arrived at it. If you wanted it, you had to ask for it, sweetheart.

A flood of thoughts swirled in your mind, each one screaming over the other, you felt you were drowning. In your search for stability, you relied on your sense of sight: Levi Ackerman between your legs. What the fuck are you waiting for?

“Y’Yes, Levi.” You reached down and held his forehead. As you brushed his bangs from his face, he offered another half-smile, but it was brief, for he was past the point of eager. Still, the calm in his pace remained. Slowly, his hands snaked from the backs of your thighs to the sides of your hips. Thumbs hooked between the straps of your panties and your skin. His fingers clenched over them, bringing the garment past your knees, down your shins, and off your ankles. From chest to toes, you were now entirely exposed. At first, you wrangled with embarrassment, but his infatuation was your comfort. Hunger seized his vision, thirst drove his actions. You had nothing to be afraid of.

His earlier route, lips to neck, neck to chest, chest to torso, was now mirrored. Levi cupped your heels in his hand and lifted your feet, allowing him to plant kisses up and up your legs, drags of his tongue followed to connect the dots. Minutes gone by, and even after having pocketed your consent, he still had yet to put his mouth there. Spending time to appreciate your thighs, he wanted you to know how long he had been anticipating this, and now that he had finally landed his spot, he would be damn sure to save the best bite for last.

Left arm wrapped around your thigh, Levi nestled his head against it, allowing his perspective to stay sound on your sex. His right hand trailed from your knee to your middle, and at last, you knew he was getting started. At first, it was his fingertips, and at that mere first touch came your sudden awakening as to how dire your desire had grown. Your hands flew back and clutched your pillow, Levi admired the tendons that rose in your wrist, and your voice, “A’Ahh!!”

He shot one glance up to check on you, but the look on your face ensured you were more than okay. With that, he decided to repeat the pattern of his rubs. Index and middle finger paired as they rode the sliver between your lips, your arousal slickened his knuckles. Once wet enough, he would split his digits into a V, each one taking responsibility for one of your folds. When that friction ran dry, he would return to your core, a seemingly never-ending source of lubrication, to run the process back again. You should not have been surprised, for everything with him was purposed - in the office or in the bedroom. With your interior and exterior in a coat of your own clear, he would have the freedom to run his mouth, no need to lick his lips or garner more saliva. Years of anticipation, now that the moment had arrived, he was going to spend the extra seconds to make sure this went according to plan.

Your glisten was so thorough, looking at you, Levi swore he could see his own weak reflection, the blush on his cheeks, the sweat on his forehead. In that way, his plunge was accelerated: preferring to trade the sight of his unruly state for the taste of you. Lips circled to match your curves, and you quickly identified this as a familiar feeling in an unfamiliar place. Levi was kissing you with the same tenderness he had displayed in your makeout, only now, he was between your legs. His jaw stretched wide to ensure he could reach every inch, from the top of your cleft, along your crescent sides, and to the spot where they rejoined. With his mouth in control, he let his hands indulge in your body, adorned upon your delectable waist, light squeezes of your ass, and massaging the divots of your inner thighs. His lips practiced that motion with a goal of perfection. Meanwhile, his tongue distracted you from any signs of his learning. Slow, purposed drags from bottom to top made your love pool on the tip of his tongue - each accumulation swallowed with a satisfied groan. Levi’s oral was pristine, only an occasional slurp and smack, allowing both of your vocals to take the stage. Your sky-high gasps, his low and satiated moans. He lived for the moments you would syllabize his name “Le-vi…” His “there you go” always followed, implicitly begging for more.

His neck began to bob in support of his movements. With that came a whole new level of pressure and slate of angles. His sharp nose slanted against your curves, lovely opposite to your soft. Your scent and your taste moved mountains within him, and in that, he noticed: his emotional pull was just as strong as his physical. All his life, he had grown to love bitter tastes, perhaps because they had been force fed to him. You were the first cube of sugar to have landed in his drink. Now, he had honey straight from the source. Levi felt his erection press hard against the mattress, “Fuck…” he whined, “you taste so good.”

Breath caught in your throat, all you could manage was a light sigh. As your lips twitched, he generously helped, taking the words right out of your mouth. “You have no idea…no idea -” Levi moaned, “how fucking long I’ve been waiting for this.”

At those words alone, you felt you might climax right then. Had he been eavesdropping on your dreams? How did he know that you had been fantasizing over that exact sentence for an unspeakable amount of time? “Me - Me too, Levi…”

Your admission was even sweeter, lifting his feelings from indulgence to fulfillment. All the nights he had spent awake, wondering if you were thinking of him the way he was of you, your confession was confirmation that this had been requited all that time. Levi found it both gratifying and maddening: gratifying to have discovered that your feelings were mutual, maddening how many years had gone by until that discovery. Levi grew determined to make up for all that time, revenge reflected in the acceleration of his actions.

Levi shoved his arms beneath your thighs, lifting you into a shameless, unhideable angle. Good thing, he mused, no more hiding. Shoulders propped at your midthigh, keeping you perched apart. Fingers wrapped around your skin, he pulled you down the bed and crashed you onto his face. Your gasp was exhausted as you tried to keep up. Both of you knew, though: you were no match. As his tongue thrust to unfathomable depths, you likewise could not conjure any idea of how to withstand this. Nose rubbed against your swollen bud, brows narrowed in determination, he looked nearly angry. Working hard for your climax, harder than he had for anything else, even his own.

Shit…!

If this keeps up…

A telltale tide turned in your tummy, spasms sparkled along your legs. Fingernails pierced the pillowcase, fighting off your impending loss of control. You could not delay it, not unless he - You fisted your hand in his hair, and he thought this was it. Instead, you pushed him away. “L’Le-vi…” a series of rapid pants, “hah, hah, ho’ld… on!”

His tongue flattened still. Between the vertex of your legs, his steel attention rose to you. Not anxious, but concerned, You alright?

“I, I want -”

At those words, he once again simmered with pride, thankful you had taken his ask for what you want to heart. After a few more breaths, you managed the minimum composure to plead, “I wanna cum with you.”

Levi’s first thought was one of generosity, you know you can have - I can give you - more than one, right? But he knew you better, and he knew what you meant. You wanted your first to be with him, and though he was parched with thirst, desperate for the taste of your cum in his mouth, your wants were foremost his. With a deep, patient breath, he watched your twitches slow to still. When the threat of your orgasm vanished, he calmly laid one final kiss to your core, etching your taste into his memory. His silver stare swallowed you down, a mental polaroid of your pose. His palm massaged your sex in physical praise, promising that he would never make you wait again, and that he’d definitely make you cum next time.

He started to ascend back up your body, but you flung yourself forward and met him halfway. Brows arched in shock, his eyes widened briefly, you closed them with another kiss. Mint flavor of before had been washed away by the taste of you. Further evidence of his devotion, you desired to prove that you were just as committed to him. You hooked your elbow to his nape and threaded fingers through his undercut - your turn to pull him here and there, granting yourself the freedom to explore the parts of him that you had always wanted to. Most of all, the length growing harder and harder to ignore.

Still, you were conscious to withhold your rush. You endeavored to slow your pace so that you could match the one he had performed on you. How good it felt - he deserved to feel it, too. You ran your hands down his chest the way rain slid down a windshield. Levi felt his boxers turn wet when your palms pressed upon his pecs, the buds of your hands kneading his tender patches. His exhales turned crackly, his inhales uneven. Laying kisses on each of his abs, down and down his torso, your contact held the compliments you were too shy to say. He heard them and reciprocated them: arm wrapped around your waist, bruises where his fingertips pressed - he hoped they would stay till morning, and that when you saw them, you would remember the love he had shown you tonight

Finally, you dipped your fingertips below his waistband. Sweat glazed his hips, allowing you to slide your hands in, but at this point, there was not much room for you. His erection had taken all his threads had to offer. You spared him the begging, sliding his cotton down his outstretched legs and finally releasing him from their confinement. Soaked in his own anticipation, veins visible, his arc steep. The shade of his member matched the one of his cheeks: the pink of a vulnerable blush, the crimson of ardent lust. As he watched you watch him, another dribble of clear dripped down his length. Levi grit his teeth and cursed. From stifling heat to cool air, that drench turned from comforting to exhilarating. In the wake of his tried swears, you gently cupped your hand around his girth and cleaned him as best as you could, spreading the leakage of his tip down to his base - his shaft your path. Contrast to his stress, you soothed him as you always had, just a different context this time.

It was his turn to cling to the sheets. Hands clawed into the comforter, you watched without shame, enchanted by the way his forearms flexed. Heels ground to the mattress, toes curled in sheets. Each motion was accompanied by either a sharp inhale or short exhale. Was it sadistic or considerate of you to keep pumping him despite that?

Levi loathed the way he stuttered through your name, on the other hand, you adored it. Levi cupped the back of your head in his hand and tugged your ear to his lips. His breath was hot on your cusp, yet somehow, it sent chills through you. Your sex had landed atop his lap, his cock nestled between your folds, still wet from his prior excursion. Pleasure had him growling, the look in his eyes both commanding and desperate, “Let me take you.”

Obliging and insisting: as one, you leaned back and he pressed forward. Your head landed atop the plump pillow, his hand beside it. Before you could blink, he had plummeted onto your lips again. This kiss was so opposite of all prior: his tongue demanding entrance, grazes of his teeth, and bites of your lip, loud and messy. You had cut Levi Ackerman to his last thread of composure, that was where you had always wanted him.

And this was how he had always wanted you: your most unabashed, honest, purest and filthiest self. He always found it so painfully obvious, how much you strained to stay prim and proper, polite and professional at work. It was why he lived for the times you slipped up: an eye roll in meetings, the long sigh after a conference call. Levi knew that the real you was there, and now you were here: in this shared bed with his shadow cast over your skin.

There was just one thing, though, that differed from his expectations. Desire was painted on each of your features, but they were glossed in nerves. Twitches in your lip, rattle in your lungs, eyes glistening, he feared they were tears. You cinched your hand around his wrist, and he recognized that smile. It was the kind you donned when you spilled your coffee or showed up late. Adorable, but unassured, and that would not do in this context.

“You’re nervous.” Levi did not ask you, for he knew his intuition was accurate. “Wanna stop?”

You shook your head and insisted vehemently, “No.” With a tilt of your chin and arch of your back, your lips brushed his with each word you spoke. Seeped down his throat, understanding swallowed: “I want to start.”

Levi returned your characteristic smile with one of his own. Tipping your foreheads together, “You’ll let me know if you change your mind.”

An order or a question? Either way, your heart scoffed at the idea. You know how long I’ve been waiting for this? There was no chance in hell you would change your mind.

“Or if it gets too much.”

That, there was a chance of. It had taken him mere minutes between your legs to bring you to the point of screaming and to the brink of climax, but that was what you wanted. His consideration fed you calm, you fed him reassurance. The flicker in your gaze settled, meeting his of solid steel. You tucked his bangs behind his ear and affirmed, “I’m ready, Levi.”

Fronts pressed, heartbeats matching, there was only one connection left to make. By the grips of his hands on the backs of your shoulders, Levi pulled himself those last crucial inches, and closed that final gap. His tip slick with precum, your slit dripping with anticipation, yet accommodating him was no easy fit. He had spent all that time down there with the goal of making it easy on you, but watching your face scrunch and hearing your voice whine was not half bad, either.

In fact, he had not even made it halfway in yet, and you were already writhing. Levi bit the inside of his cheek and knit his brows, careful not to push you too hard, conscious for signs of your apprehension. You sensed his wavering and clawed his back, pulling yourself further down his length.

Looking up, his expression was strained. Reaching new depths, pushing past your initial walls, his voice poured exertion. Still, he did not stop pushing. Toes arched into the mattress, calves flexed with each labored drive. Each fuck brought the two of you closer. For him, one more inch of his length. For you, one more stretch of pleasure. For the couple, a proximity you had always wanted. Each of you felt a tremendous responsibility to be the one to close that distance.

Repetition after repetition, his muted grunts melted to audible groans. The air between you was no longer saturated by your gasps alone, but his as well. His strain was the only thing that could ground you from nirvana and back down to earth. Despite his squint, he caught that transition: from the throes of sensation to the snap back to reality, all because you were concerned for his well-being. More than any sense of pleasure, your affection was what made his heart pound in his chest. Doe eyes gazed upon him, You okay?

After a series of hahs and ahs, Levi managed just a couple words, “It feels - It feels…”

Good? Bad? Your heart tensed in anticipation. Pleading and ordering, “Tell me, Levi.”

Knuckles tight, fingers trembling, “...good!” Levi clenched his teeth and pulled himself forward with an aim of backing his words with his actions. After struggling to past your entrance, the force of this fuck brought his tip to your end, drawing shrieks from you and shock from him. Strength of his magnitude had pros and cons, he supposed. His flaws, you deemed them his perfections.

The damp of your cunt was audible, resounding throughout the room. You found yourself at an impossible choice: which was more embarrassing, your voice or your sex? Levi’s thought was similar and opposite, the same choices, just which was better? Levi decided that their symphony was best, and realized he could turn up its volume if he accelerated his pace.

“Levi, Levi…!” To say his name came naturally, practically a swear word: the satisfaction of cursing after injury or mistake, so wrong yet so right to scream it out loud.

Pleasurable pain when he hit your weakest points, a delightful exercise as your walls stretched to accommodate him. His eyes remained set on your face, ears tuned to your voice, translating your body language into instructions. Rapid thrusts to make you pant, but only until you started to choke on your own gasps. Then, he would decelerate, replacing speed with strength. When he filled you up, you would sigh and roll your eyes back. To Levi, that was the sign to dial it back up and get you there.

Since this started, his read on you had been perfectly accurate. You were almost there. Simultaneously yet unknowingly, your inner voices warned: you won’t last much longer. The thing was, you didn’t want to, for you had endured so much already. The heat in your middle was unbearable now. Each nerve had been fried to its last end. This sex had gone on for hours, but your yearning had been years long. In your haze, you were blind towards any reason to deny yourself any longer. You wrapped your legs around his waist and relied on your calves to pull him closer. Bringing him to your end made Levi approach his. “Fuck…!” His voice was a low singsong, an adult lullaby. “(Y/N), (Y/N)...!” No longer a choice between deep or fast, Levi somehow managed both. Physiology threatened to overrule now. No, already…!

“(Y/N), I…I’m - ! ” His mind was racing now. Should he ask to cum or tell you he was? Should he withdraw so that you could get there first? Levi labored to open his eyes, looking to you for an answer. His senses of sight and touch told him: you were already there.

The pulsation around his cock, the steep arch of your spine, your parted lips and blissed-out face. The scrape of your nails down his back, ignorant to the possibility of hurting him. This was how Levi had always wanted it: to be the one you clung to, to offer himself when you were overwhelmed. Count on me. The orgasm that overwhelmed you now, that had been his doing, right?

Once again, it was as if you had read his mind. Without him having to ask, you answered: “Levi, Levi!!” Your hands squeezed him tight, white patches beneath your fingertips. Clinging to him, the life raft through each of your waves. “Y’Yours… I’m yours…”

He had gifted you tissues for your crying spells at work, had picked up your lunch on the way back from break, but this provision was far preferable, much more fulfilling. Even as you turned his skin red, even as your legs clenched him and squeezed air from his lungs - no, even better - those were precisely the motions that pushed him over the edge.

One hand clutched the top of the headboard, tight enough that you heard the wood wince. The other caressed your face with feathered tenderness. In that difference, you were once again reminded of his duality: on one hand, a hardass, but for you, a soft spot. Those dimensions were reflected in his voice, too: swears that made your ears burn and groans that turned the air heavy, yet arid gasps that lifted your soul and praise fit for a princess. While your cunt had run raw and slippery from his fucking, his warm cum filled you and soothed your stings.

As you both came to, Levi lingered inside, patiently waiting until each of your waves crashed - savoring them. With a deep swallow and a delicate nod, he ensured he would handle your aftercare. Kleenex from the nightstand folded and padded against your sex. You sat up in panic, worried about the clean freak’s reaction, but he seemed particularly satisfied. Maybe it wasn’t that he hated filth, but that he loved clean-up. You bit your lip and bit back a smile, believing that the sex tonight had evidenced that.

Though his aftercare was doing much for your affection, it did pathetically little when it came to cleanliness. Both of you realized, not even the entire box would be enough. Levi looked at the wad of tissues in his hand, shook his head, and scowled, nearly laughing at the ineffectiveness. “We’re filthy.”

Slowly, you made your way to his side. Carefully, you reached your arms around his back. Wrapped within your grasp, you leaned him back against your chest and whispered into his ear, “Good thing there’s a shower.”

Levi spun just enough to meet your eye contact, once again checking to see if he had heard you right. Three hours ago, he would have defaulted towards the no, always having believed one could not be let down if they did not get their hopes up. Over the years and especially tonight, your optimism was swaying that opinion. Your sound smile and unafraid stare confirmed: after all that mess, you were also keen for cleanliness. In post-coital clarity, he saw how stupid he had been to wait this long, and Levi almost said those three sacred words right then and there.

But this was only the first night of the trip.

And the first day of the rest of your lives.

// masterlist //

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi #levi ackerman #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x y/n #aot x reader #snk x reader #aot x you #snk x you #anlian writes #my writing #alias's #oneshot #2023 #smut #salt and pepper

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saltpepperbeard · 5 months

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Call It Through as a Crew: Alleviating Some Phone Anxiety

Hello everyone! So as you probably already know, there has been a recent call to make, well, calls! Another member of our crew figured out that the max customer service line (855-442-6629) is a very effective way to get our feedback heard, as the feedback gets transcribed and shared to a multitude of teams.

I already sort of briefly shared my experience on this post, but I wanted to go a bit more in detail to offer some solace for those who are also phone averse, as well as share resources and get the word out even more.

And y'all, when I say I'm phone averse, I mean PHONE AVERSE LMAO; MY FEET WERE SWEATING JSDKLS LIKE I WAS FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE. So I totally, TOTALLY get it, and am here to walk you through everything in detail!

So I called that number and was on a brief hold--probably like 5 minutes or so. The customer service representative (Margot my bestie Margot) then picked up, and asked for the email associated with my account as well as my full name.

I was extremely extremely worried and anxious about being bothersome/annoying the person on the other end and just being able to feel it in their tone, so I was shivering and sweating all the while. But then when she asked for my reason for calling, I said, "Oh, it's actually in regard to some feedback," and she went, "Is it for Our Flag Means Death?"

And we both laughed, and I was like, "Haha how did you knooooowww?" And she laughed some more and was like, "Let me tell you, I have never seen anything like this in all my years working here. We are getting so many calls. It's incredible."

And by that point, a large weight was off my chest because she was friendly, I was friendly, EVERYONE WAS FRIENDLY.

I laughed and told her that we were a very passionate and concerned bunch, and she told me that she thought that was so cool and also super important. She then allowed me to tell her my feedback, and she transcribed it as I talked. This was the little script I had prepared in case you'd like to reference it:

I just wanted to call and express my disappointment, dissatisfaction, and concern with the recent cancellation of Our Flag Means Death on Max. As a queer person myself, this show has a tremendous impact on me. And in a climate where so many diverse and LGBT-centric shows have unjust ends, I’d just like to express my wish for reconsideration, and just the hope that…Max will allow LGBT stories like ours to live and flourish. And I’m really worried about there being some kind of…homophobic angle to the cancellation, so it would mean the world to myself and so many others if the decision could be reversed, and we could get our third and final season.

I went a little graver than originally planned, because I saw talks that taking a DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion) angle, as well a "hey I'm a queer person and this feels like a decision made for a nefarious purpose" angle, are supposedly more likely to be noted.

Anyway, she allowed me to say my piece and wrote it all down, and then actually stayed with me on the line to chat a bit more. So, the phone call didn't feel rushed or anxious which was SO so huge to me; it felt far more conversational.

She was like, "I don't want to toot our little horn or anything, but Max really takes all this feedback into consideration. It will be passed to the properties team (or something equivalent, I can't remember the EXACT term she used), and they're in charge of what goes on Max and why. So, I really feel like you guys have a fighting chance with these efforts."

And of course I was thanking her profusely for telling me all of this, and for listening; polite menace, that will be my brand!

But man, the coolest part of all? She told me that she was POC, and a queer person herself, and that this was all so cool and so amazing to see. She applauded our efforts, and expressed interested in the show. I laughed and said, "Well uhhhh I might have a BIT of a bias, but I cannot recommend it enough."

And then she proceeded to tell me that it might be even MORE effective to hit from different angles. So, keep calling (they're available 24/7), and also keep utilizing the online feedback form. Basically just keep FLOODING them with how much this means to us and why.

I then expressed a lot of gratitude, we exchanged pleasantries, and there was a brief survey at the end. I don't think the survey is necessary, so you can probably hang up by this point, but I stuck around for a little more horsepower. It tells you to rate the customer service on a scale of 1-5 with 5 being the highest, and you know I gave my bestie a fivvvveee. It also tells you to press 1/2 if your issue was resolved or not. I said HELL TO THE NO, DUDE SJDKLS. And THEN, it asks you to leave a voice message after the tone describing your experience. I said that I was with the customer service representative Margot, and that she was extremely friendly and helpful, but that the issue at hand will not be resolved until Max reserves their decision about the recent cancellation of Our Flag Means Death (I'm also always saying the show title in full as opposed to just the acronym, just for more OOMPH).

...And thennnn I proceed to shake it/shriek it all off LMAO.

Buuuut yeah! Probably took a total of 10 minutes or so. @xoxoemynn also shared with me that she's seen people say that these customer service representatives likely deal with older folks who need help with technology, and are subsequently stunned (and maybe even excited) to talk to younger people who just want to voice concerns instead of chew the poor customer service people out lol! And Margot also mentioned that they were eager to take calls no matter what, so as long as we're all polite and succinct, I don't think we'll have to worry about a very tense and awkward call.

I hope this alleviates some fear a bit! We got this, crew. We're doing so, so much. And it seems like it's being heard all over the place; it also seems like we've got so many people on our side, too. Big big hugs, and I'll share the necessary resources once more-

Customer Service Number: (855) 442-6629

The Online Feedback Form:

The original tumblr post with all the information:

The tumblr post where Fox and others were sharing even more information:

#OFMD #Our Flag Means Death #OFMD Season 3 #Renew as a crew #SaveOFMD #RenewOFMD #Be a lighthouse #WHEW LMAO #WE'RE TRYING #i told em this but you KNOW it's dire when all the anxious/nd individuals are cALLING PEOPLE SJDSHDLKS #WE SIMPLY: DO NOT DO THAT EVER <3 SKDJLSDS #IF WE CAN HELP IT #SO IT'S REALLY SAYING SOMETHING #And also again-- just want to reiterate that this is great practice for calling local representatives and politicians too!#ESPECIALLY if you're phone averse #It just gets you used to the whole process in a BIT of a less formal scenario

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susansontag · 2 years

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a core theme a surprising amount of people miss in kiki’s delivery service is the ambivalence between tradition and modernity. kiki is a folkloric character, a witch who is entrenched in not only the magic of a past mythical time but who is deeply embedded in customs and traditions. she leaves home at the pre-ordained time for her people, dressed in traditional garb, with the illusion that she will find a neat spot in a new town and bring charm and magic to the locals.

but she is entirely out-of-step with basically everything around her as soon as she arrives: she can’t navigate the traffic with her (handed-down) broom, almost causing a car accident; she envies her fashionable peers dressed in the latest fashions and feels self-conscious; everyone is perplexed, rather than enchanted, to see her. they seem vaguely to have heard of witches but quickly go back about their busy day walking down the busy modern streets. almost a total contrast to kiki’s rural, traditional town (the rural being paired with traditionalism and custom vs the urban city being the site of modernity and emerging technology etc, very classic choice). she gets a place to stay based entirely off the kindness of a stranger; no one feels they owe her anything simply due to her being a witch and this leaving the nest to offer her services elsewhere being what she’s meant to do.

no wonder kiki wonders where she will find her place in this new world that is not at all what she’d expected. people always point out how kiki’s delivery service offers us a portrait of depression, especially in the context of losing passion for something one loves, especially after it’s made one’s job. but this angle of tradition vs modernity feels important to miss, because it’s undoubtedly one of the fundamental factors behind kiki’s eventual dissatisfaction: what does she, with her magic and traditions, have to offer this new, emerging technological world?

no one has made a place for her here. she dresses differently, is unaccustomed to how those her age behave, and her most fundamental and magical gift -- flight -- is no longer an extraordinary practice reserved for those of myths and legend; hasn’t she seen the fantastic new airship! she is invited to take a ride on it at one point and declines.

if I remember correctly this is one of the last events that takes place before her fall into depression, a portion of the film characterised by kiki losing her ability to fly (and thus her magic). if even this doesn’t amount to much in this new reality, what does she have to offer? what makes her unique and worthy? the answer to this question is down to interpretation I suppose, though I’m guessing kiki realises she just has herself to offer. her customers like her, they return to ask her for favours and work because she is personable and good at what she does. she can’t offer them something fantastical and extraordinary anymore, but hopefully she herself is enough. and I think those feelings are also very potent for anyone who has struggled with feelings of lack of self-worth and purpose in their lives, just as much as getting tired of something you used to love. what about when the world gets tired of you? what do you do then, when life moves on without you?

#I suppose it's also a relevant theme when we consider post-war japan #but that's a v culturally specific reading that I can only just grasp the edges of #kiki's delivery service #studio ghibli #moth.txt #1k #2k #3k #4k

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yeoja-dream · 4 months

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Found/Fated/Forever

Part 1

Pairing: BTS OT7 x Reader

Genre: Fantasy, eventual smut, porn with plot, slow burn, hurt/comfort

Characters: Supernatural!BTS, Vampire!Jungkook, Supernatural!Reader

Content Warning: Woman in danger, roofie mention

Word Count: 3,500

It was a miserable fucking night. Granted it had also been a miserable fucking day, The rain had come down in sheets all throughout the day and well into the night, bringing the temperature down considerably. It was certainly summer, but as your thigh-high boot clicked against the wet sidewalk, you swore you could see your breath.

I just had to fucking go out. You grumbled internally, shivering in your mini skirt and leather coat. It should have been plenty warm enough for a summer night, but even the weather seemed to be flipping you off today. Let’s just get black-out drunk, hook up with a stranger, and forget today ever happened. You hyped yourself up while rounding the corner to your favorite nightclub.

The line was sparse, on account of the rain you supposed. Not that you ever really had to wait in line for this place anyways, you knew all the bouncers and if any gave you a hard time, you’d flash a little cleavage and be on your way.

Despite the minimal line outside, indoors was as lively as any other Saturday night. The DJ tonight was someone local, you overheard, not bad you mused, moving through the crowd to an empty bar seat. Mostly trap beats, but his remixes were decent and the dance floor reflected his musical proficiency.

“Y/N” The bartender, a salt and pepper man in his 40s regarded you warmly. “What will it be tonight?”

“David.” You said back. “I thought you had a date tonight? I was expecting to see Vanessa. Sure the usual.” You slid your card forward, starting your tab.

“You drink so many cosmos we are going to have to start calling you Nebula, you know,” David said, picking up the ingredients to your drink. “Vanessa and I switched. Date bailed. She must have known you were coming in and got jealous,” He added with a wink.

“You flatter me.” You replied. “Nebula is too metal of a knick name for such a girly drink.”

“Eh,” David replied, sliding your glass toward you. “I’ve seen you, you could out-drink any man in this place. Makes me feel bad for your wallet.”

“You and I both.” You said, sipping on the pink liquid. “It’s good. Strong. Make yourself something, it’s on me.”

“And that’s why you are my favorite customer, cheers,” David replied, before sliding off to the other end of the bar, busily helping other patrons.

The bar seats here spun, a trait you always appreciated for easy people-watching. Picking up your drink and swiveling your seat around, you surveyed the crowd like you did most weekends. Mostly, it was boring. You watched them have fun, be messy, get into arguments, meet new friends, new lovers, it was fun, like watching a TV show of what your life could have looked like if things had been different. Some nights you’d spot a creep, someone slipping drugs into drinks or stalking ex-partners and you’d alert the bouncers to kick them out. Some nights you’d chat with someone silver-tongued and deep-pocketed to keep you interested, some nights that person would talk you into bed.

It was cyclical if you had to really psychoanalyze yourself. The theme: unfulfillment, dissatisfaction, and unhappiness. It was easy, much easier anyway, to find comfort in these fleeting, temporary flings, to find purpose in playing superhero and saving a drunk woman from a creep, to find community in the transactional relationships held with people like David. But maybe you were thinking too much about things again, what the hell did you know? You were there, in that nightclub, just like everyone else.

You swiveled around again, signaling to David you were ready for your next cosmo. He had it ready just as soon as you could raise your hand.

“Looks like you got something on your mind tonight. I’ll keep ‘em coming,” David said handing you your next drink.

“Thanks.” You said, taking it from him. “Don’t forget to make something for yourself!” You called after him.

“I love drinking on your dime, don’t worry about me~” He replied with a hand wave.

Before you can turn back to your self-centered musings, a zip of light darted through your periphery. Magic? It had been a minute since you had seen someone else use it, but surely you had to be mistaken right? Why would a place like this have magic?

You snapped and turned to the side, scanning the patrons carefully, but it only took a few seconds to realize who it was who had been casting. A man stood in the corner, tall with dark, masculine features, his shoulders were broad, his chest and torso the perfect V. He wore a plain, dark, fitted t-shirt that showed off large, corded arms. He was the picture of masculinity, attractive by anyone’s standards, and as you regarded him now, he was entirely silhouetted in magic. The silver, translucent aura was unmistakable. Glamour magic.

He had to be an incubus right? The only other creatures capable of glamour magic like that are the tirions, but those were exceptionally rare. You could relate to that. As you pondered the possibilities, you noticed a small, curly-haired blonde woman, undoubtedly human by the way she seemed in awe of this male. You needed to get closer, you decided slipping off your seat and pushing through the bodies until you were in earshot.

“So, why don’t you finish your drink and we can enjoy a few more at my place?” The male voice spoke.

“Well, I - I - I uh, f-f-friend I, uh…” The female voice spoke, a mix of slurred speech and nervous babbling.

Another wave of magic pulsed from him.

“I think we should get out of here, beautiful.” He insisted again.

“I think… that is… okay.” The female replied voice halted, disconnected. Stiffly and robotically you watched her put her drink on the bar top, then equally as robotically begin turn around and begin to exit.

Incubus or tirion, you would be damned if you would let them feed here. You too put your drink down on the bar top and made your way to the exiting couple.

“Hey! Girl we were looking everywhere for you!” You walked right up to the woman, placing a hand on her shoulder. You were admittedly a bit rusty, but your connection to magic was as inherent as the ability to breathe. You called forth your magic from deep in the ground, willing it to run through your body. You could see the magical charm this male held on this woman, and while willing your magic into a sword, you severed the charm.

The woman blinked up at you, dazed and confused. “The rest of us are dancing over here!” You now link arms with the woman, her considerably smaller frame putting into perspective how powerless this woman was to this male. As you begin to walk away with her, the male voice calls out from behind you.

“Hey.” The voice is stern, flat, and deep. More noticeable to you, however, is the overwhelming rush of glamor magic that washes over you. You will your magic up, shielding the smaller woman from its power.

“Hey sorry!” You turn around. “We came out as a girl's night and we wanna keep it that way! No hard feelings!” With that, you pull the woman with you and away, towards the exit.

“It’s time to go home, sweetheart. Are those your friends over there?” You ask the woman. She nods in response.

“Come on, let's say goodbye and then I’m going to walk you to a cab.” You lead the woman to her friends, who all in a drunken stupor thank you for taking care of their friend, and forget to ask why it is she needs to leave. It is probably better that way anyway.

You lead the woman out the door, up the stairs, and out into the cold rainy night. You held the umbrella for the two of you, walking in complete silence.

“The taxi rank is around the corner, but this time of night and the weather I’ll bet it's empty, so I’m just going to call ahead.” You said to no one in particular. You weren’t sure if she was really listening, but you felt better saying something.

Sure enough, when you rounded the corner, the taxi rank was completely abandoned.

“Figures,” you grumbled, watching the poor, shivering woman stand next to you while you waited, the sound of the rain hammering on your shared umbrella punctuating your silence. Wordlessly, you shed your leather jacket and place it over her shoulders while you wait, willing the magic from the ground to keep you warm. It was totally against the rules, but hey, it had already been a weird night.

“Do you remember your address?” You asked the woman. She nodded in response.

“Do you have enough money to get home?” Another nod.

“Did you drive to the club?” A shake this time.

She didn’t want to talk, obviously, and another extended silence descended upon the two of you.

The woman broke the silence this time.

“What happened to me?” She asked, voice sounding hollow, hurt, and confused.

“You were roofied.” You replied, matter-of-factly. “The man you were talking to was very bad, which is why I’m making sure you get home.”

“I’ve been roofied before. It didn’t go away in one second. I spent the whole night puking. You touched my shoulder and the fog lifted. Isn’t that crazy?” She spouted off, looking up at you for support answers.

You knew what she was looking for, and yet you couldn’t give it to her. “They’re coming up with new drugs all the time. Maybe this one clears your system crazy fast. I am really sorry this happened to you.” You replied.

“Thank you for helping me.” She replied, and as if ordained by a benevolent ruler, the taxi pulled up. You helped her into the car, wished her a good night, and saw her off before turning on a heel and marching back to that nightclub. You had a bone to pick.

-----------------------------------------------

Where the bumping music of the club before gave the area a cool, hip-hop vibe, now contributed to your fuge state fueled by rage. The male, miraculously, was stood in the same spot, tied up in conversation with another man. An accomplice perhaps, you thought. You’d figure it out as soon as you rocked this dude's shit.

Pushing passed the crowd and shoving the man he was locked in conversation with aside, in a flash you willed your magic up to protect your fist and you let loose the meanest right hook you could muster, for that woman and all the other women you were sure this scum had victimized.

Your fist collided solidly with his jaw, knocking him over and staggering him. You hit him hard enough that the bystanders around you audibly reacted. The male straightened back out, rubbing his jaw in pain. Looking down at you in what could only be described as bewilderment.

“I would say there is a special place in hell for people like you, but you would know something about that, wouldn’t you?” You spit at the male.

“So what if I do?” The male replied, voice rich and baritone. “What’s it to you?”

“There are clubs for people like you.” You replied venemously.

“And you…?” He replied, lifting an eyebrow.

“I am not here looking for prey.” You said, looked at him with a disgusting look. “Just because you can’t hack it in the supernatural clubs doesn’t mean you can just come out to the human clubs looking for easy pickings.”

“Do you condemn the wolf for breaking into the lamb pen? Or do you just understand that the wolf, too, needs to eat?”

“Ask a sheep farmer what he does to wolves in the lamb pen.”

“Is that what you are to them? The farmer? Watching over the little sheep? Or perhaps you are just a little puppy, barking at the big bad predator” He leaned in closer. “There will come a day when your pathetic little yaps won’t be enough to chase away the big bad guy, what will you do then, little puppy?”

“Get. Out.” You said through gritted teeth. “Or so help me I will put you back where you came from.” Rage, pure rage coursed through you, mixed with magic, you felt it zapping and prickling at your skin, your hair standing on edge as if the lighting was about to strike.

“Now now, no need to get so wound up.” He started pushing past you, before stopping to continue. “I was going to hurt you, for taking my dinner. But now, now I hope to meet you again very soon, little puppy.” He finished, walking out the front door, a swagger in his footsteps that made you want to blast him from behind with every bit of radiant damage you could physically muster.

“Hey.” A different male voice snapped you to the present. “You’re going to call attention to yourself. Just accept it.”

Another wave of glamor magic washed over you, a different spell though, a calming one you readily identified having used it before. You allow the stranger's magic in, the new stream slipping in, soothing your breathing, calming your heart rate, and slowing the stream of magic through your body, before exiting.

“You were about to make us all do the electric slide.” The man said with a chuckle. “Sorry, dated reference. I am kind of old.”

“Me too.” You commented, still internally reeling from the events of the last hour. “It was funny, thanks for the hand.” You turned to him, finally. The man who was keeping the incubus engaged. You were calm, but you were still warry. You regarded him more carefully now, he too was exceptionally handsome, but in a less brutalistic way than the incubus was. He was also shorter than the incubus and considerably more lithe in his frame. His baggy streetwear and half up half down hairstyle betrayed a surprisingly strong body, you were willing to bet, however. “With that being said, who the hell are you?”

“That is a complicated question with a complicated answer.” He replied. “I am sure you can relate. Shall we?” He gestured to two conveniently empty seats sitting on the corner of the bar.

“You drink cosmos, right?” He said handing you a pink cocktail. You looked at him incredulously.

“On a normal night, I don’t accept drinks that I didn’t watch David make, after all that what makes you think I’m going to accept this?”

“Oh my god, you are so right. You know what I will drink this don’t even worry about it, I’ll flag the bartender and you order whatever you want and I’ll pick it up.” He replied, pulling the drink back to him.

After a few minutes, David walked up to your end of the bar, regarding the two of you silently.

“What will it be, sir?” David asked the man.

“Whatever the lady will have.”

“Whiskey. Top Shelf.”

“Coming right up, ma’am,” David replied, pouring a glass and sliding it to you. With that, he made himself scarce.

“How do you know the incubus?” You asked the man, keeping your tone flat, disinterested in case they were buddies.

“Not at all, to be frank” He replied, sipping on his Cosmo.

“When I walked in after getting that woman home, you seemed to be engaged in lively conversation with that man.” You said, bemused. “What was it that you were discussing?”

“How we were going to hurt you.” He replied, matter-of-factly.

“And how was that?” You asked.

“Well, he was angry when you left with that woman, really angry. I had a feeling that you’d come back and I wanted you to get your revenge, so I placated him with stories of how I would help tear you limb from limb and eat your insides in front of this whole club, the usual.”

“Uh-huh.” You replied, skeptically. “And why should I believe that? Maybe the two of you are waiting to jump me as soon as I leave out that door.”

“Nah, you’d kick my ass.” He replied. “Besides, I have this.” He held up a clear, tear-drop-shaped glass pendant on a cord around his neck. Suspended in the glass were a clear liquid and a red liquid, yin and yang. “Because of this, it is impossible for me to lie.”

“Obviously you are going to have to prove it.” You replied, scoffing and sipping your whiskey.

“Easy.” He replied. “The sky is purp-” Before he could finish, red and blue light pulsed from the pendant, and the man doubled over in pain, grabbing his chest. “Pigs can fl-” and again, before the man could finish the sentence, he doubled over in pain clutching his chest.

“You could have programmed it to react that way with certain voice commands.” You replied back, still skeptical.

“Hard to convince, that’s fair enough.” He replied, shrugging. “Tell me to say something, and I will say it, scouts honor.”

“Okay…” You replied, thinking for a moment. “Tell me I’m ugly,” you said with a smirk.

“You’re ug- ak!” The same reaction as before.

“Thank you I know.” You said, flicking the hair off your shoulder. A devilish smile crept across your face as another prompt crossed your mind. “Say this one and I will believe you.”

“Anything.”

“Say I have a tiny penis.”

He looked at you incredulously, but nonetheless began “I have a tiny pe- ah! Enough please believe me this hurts!”

“Good to know~” you chuckled. “Alright George Washington, what are you doing here anyway? What are you?” You asked him.

“I am a vampire. As for what I am doing here, that question is a bit more difficult to answer.”

“Are you looking for prey? Just like that incubus?”

“What? God. No. I don’t need to look for prey thank you very much. I am very much mated.”

“Mated? But you’re hanging out in a human club?”

“Something like that.”

“Okay, start the bigger picture then if the smaller picture is hard. What is your name?”

“Jeon Jungkook. A pleasure.” He extended his hand.

“Y/N. It is steadily becoming a pleasure as well.” you shook his hand. “What brings you to this city, Jeon Jungkook?”

“I live here with my mates,” he replied. “Most of us work in the city, myself included. I sing.”

“Oh wow!” you recoiled in surprise. “What do you sing? Do you perform?”

“No, it's a little hard to be a public persona when your face is never changing, ya know? I do backup vocals and I am the voice behind a few recording artists, some big some small.” He shrugged.

“Some big?” You asked.

“I can’t really talk openly about it. I’ll tell you another time.” He added with a wink.

“Fair enough.” You replied, taking another sip of whiskey.

“I was right behind you, by the way.”

“Hm?” You replied.

“Maybe I should back up a little.” He started. “I’m here, in this human club tonight, because I was called to be. By whom or what I do not know, but I knew I needed to come in. I arrived shortly after you did, I think. You were already drinking at the bar, people-watching. I saw the magic too, and I saw what he was attempting to do to that poor woman. You and I stood up simultaneously.”

“You want a congratulations for thinking about stopping a rapist?” You scoffed at him.

“No. No, I am explaining myself poorly. I am trying to say I had your back. I wouldn’t have let him hurt you.”

“Oh. Thanks.” You said, giving him a half cheers with your glass.

“At first I thought that this is what I was called here for, to save you or to dispatch this creep, then I could fuck off home and be the hero. But then I saw how powerful you were. How readily the magic came to you, how you bent it to your will like you were folding paper. It was only then I came to understand, that I think I was called here to meet you. And I am extremely glad I was.”

You glanced at his chest and then, at the pendant hanging on his chest. The light remained dark, and when you slid your gaze up to meet his, there was an intense sincerity there that made you blush and shy away.

“I am not really sure I understand what it is exactly you are getting at.” You state looking down at the melting cubes in your whiskey.

“I think I might, but I will need you to go with me on this one.” --------------------------------------------------------------------- Hi-ya this one has been cooking in my brain for like 3 years so enjoy plz! I am just going to post parts one and two consecutively because fuck it they're finished and the Ritalin hit and so I WROTE. I'm working on Intertwined, I just had to get it straightened out from this story because of their similar themes but we good, let me cook. I will update the tags as WHAT each member of BTS and Y/N as it is revealed but for now, no spoilers eheheh. Put what you think they're going to be below!

#bts #bangtan #bts smut #bts x reader angst #bts x reader smut #bts x y/n #bts x you #bts x fem!reader #bts x reader #ot7 x reader smut #ot7 #bts ot7 #ot7 x reader #ot7 x reader smut #poly ot7 #ot7xreader #foundfatedforever

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melancholy-of-nadia · 3 months

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love u lately (m) #8 | myg/knj/pjm

title: love u lately chapter title: #8 - split pairing: yoongi x f. reader, namjoon x f. reader, jimin x f. reader (yoonminjoon x f. reader) rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; college/university au , pseudo frat! bts; best friends! yoonminjoon friends to lovers; summary: Your dilemma of trying to decide between Yoongi and Jimin was already stressful enough, but to add Namjoon to the mix, has you slowly falling apart emotionally, mentally and academically. When your university's Annual Valentine's Day Night Market event opens up the opportunity to spend time out with Yoongi and Jimin, will you finally be able to tell them how you feel? Or will your own indecisiveness lead you all to a falling out? warnings: LONGEST CHAPTER SO FAR, reader is anxious and stressed throughout this whole chapter, breakdown from stress, fluffy lowkey date stuff, MORE CONFESSIONS, kissing, THE LONG AWAITED THREESOME, MLM kiss, bro helps put on lube on other bro, vaginal fingering, breastplay, ball fondling, eating out, blow job, dick slapping, possessiveness, double vaginal penetration, reader on BC, Yoongi and Jimin reassurance through it, pet names, clit stimulation, double creampie, uh i think that's it a lot happens, oh yeah...eventual angst, alcohol consumption, arguing, pettiness, secrets revealed, namjoon? note: everyone, please say thank you to @daegudrama for editing this chapter and fixing the smut because i can barely write smut! total word count: 14.8k drop date: March 2nd, 2024, 1:30PM PST cross posted on AO3 here ← #7 | Series Masterlist | #9

February 12 [Tuesday]

The atmosphere in your business communications class is tense, and you can feel the pressure of your stressed thoughts hanging over you. You’re supposed to be presenting a case study on a local cafe from your hometown where you used to work at in high school. The topic revolves around marketing and finance initiatives to enhance the cafe's traffic and sales. This includes a presentation and paper deliverable.

You stand at the front of the room, a faint sheen of nervousness glistening on your forehead. The slides projected on the screen behind you outline various strategies to revamp the cafe's image and attract more customers. Yet, your words stumble, and your sentences lack the usual confidence you had the semester prior. Professor Michaelson, a stern figure in the business world who now teaches as a side hobby, observes with a critical eye.

As you fumble through the presentation, you catch the gaze of JB watching you with an expressionless demeanor. Great. Nice to see your ex-crush is silently judging you. He adds to the pressure, making you acutely aware of the less-than-impressive performance you’re delivering. The weight of recent decisions, or lack thereof, regarding Yoongi and Jimin looms over you, clouding your ability to focus on any of your school work these days.

Professor Michaelson raises an eyebrow, signaling his dissatisfaction with your lackluster presentation. "Is there a reason you're not fully engaged today, Y/N?" he questions, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

"I, uh, apologize, Professor," You stammer, attempting to regain composure. "It's just been a bit hectic lately."

"Life happens, but it's crucial to maintain professionalism, especially in a business setting." he admonishes. "Proceed with your presentation. We'll discuss your performance afterwards."

The classroom clock ticks away, each second stretching into an eternity. As you continue stumbling through the slides, your mind involuntarily keeps drifting. Fuck, why is it so hard to come up with the right words to say? At some point, you feel like you’re rushing to reach the end without even trying.

“Thank you Y/N, that was enough. Good work.” Prof. Michaelson interrupts right as you’re on your final slide.

Oh no, it was bad bad.

The ordeal finally comes to an end, and you step back to your seat. You always told yourself you wouldn’t let your relationships get in the way of your academics, but now, it finally has. And you are so fucked.

As the class progresses, you try to shake off the lingering embarrassment. Each step feels heavier as you leave the classroom, disappointment with yourself settling like a stone in your chest. Once the class ends, Prof. Michaelson hands you a graded rubric with additional comments. You don’t bother reading them and just rush out of the classroom, feeling tear threatening to roll down your cheeks.

And once you’re out of the building, they do.

Your own letdown sits heavily on your shoulders. In that moment, you wish you could rewind time, erase the awkwardness, and salvage whatever dignity remains. But could you have done any better? As you wipe away a frustrated tear, you can't help but wonder how you let things spiral out of control.

++++++

“Maria! I don’t know what to do!” you exclaim, your voice laced with exaggeration. Amidst the bustling environment of the dining commons, you feel anxious, playfully pushing Hwasa back and forth as the two of you navigate the lunch line. It’s usually not that busy on Tuesdays, but today it is.

Hwasa, undeterred by the apparent crisis, responds with humor, “Switching to my Catholic name?! Oh, girl, you really do need some salvation.” She laughs, effortlessly maneuvering through the crowded space as she fills her tray with an array of buffet options.

“I’m being serious here! I honestly can’t pick either of them and I also can’t give Namjoon an answer. And this whole thing has been bothering me to the point I just failed one of my big projects for business comm!” Frustration bubbles in your tone as you slam your tray down, earning curious glances from other students in line.

“Oh God, okay.” You two walk over to an open table and sit down on opposite sides of each other. “Maybe reject them all? That’s the safer option right? No one will be truly hurt especially because you’re emphasizing not ruining your friendship. And you all move on, date other people and still maintain that friendship! The end.”

“Yeah…” You pick at your food with your fork aimlessly, not making any effort to eat it. “I don’t even know if we could ever be the same as we were before this…deal.” “But were things even the same before you decided to fuck Yoongi?” Your eyes widen, darting around to ensure no familiar faces are within earshot. “Hey, hey we’re in public! Someone we know could hear us.”

Hwasa sighs, lowering her voice. “You were already uncomfortable when Namjoon and Jimin were seeing people and wanted to get more serious with those girls. Yoongi clearly liked you before that party too. I wouldn’t doubt the other two also had those feelings before that, but were just better at hiding it. I don’t think there’s any ‘normal life’ to return to before you all started to address the elephant in the room.”

She’s right.

There was already something there whether you noticed it or not. At some point in time, the idea of liking you was planted in their heads, and eventually growing into love. You just don’t know when and while you hold a lot of love for them, you’ve always pushed the idea of romantic love for them aside as it didn’t seem realistic, or even good to think about. Keeping it platonic was easier anyways.

Up until recently, though, when whatever pent up sexual frustration and desires took charge on your relationships with two of your best friends.

“You’re right. I’m just going to have to acknowledge the risks and deal with the consequences of my horniess and feelings.”

Hwasa chews her food before responding matter-of-factly, “And whatever happens, I will be there to comfort you! You can use my boobs as a pillow and spill your tears onto me.”

You laugh loudly. “Always appreciate knowing you will be there during my lowest lows with your chest as comfort.”

You both finish lunch and head over to her dorm to rest before your next class in an hour.

“So…is your decision coming before or after the Valentine’s Night Market?”

The Valentine’s Night Market. You had totally forgotten that Hwasa invited you and the boys to come by for one of ASU’s – the student org she’s in – annual night market event. It was mixed celebration for Lunar New Years and Valentine’s Day here.

"Oh, Valentine’s Night Market. Totally slipped my mind," you admit, realizing the distraction of your personal matters overshadowed the upcoming event.

Hwasa grins, "Well, I’m tabling and selling kimchi fried rice and hotteok. Do you still have some time to help out a little? Just for the first hour! Jieun will take over after!"

You don’t have any set plans to hang out with Yoongi and Jimin besides saying that Valentine’s Day is the day, so you might as well tell them to come to the event and hang out with you there. It could make things less suspicious to others. You also wonder what Namjoon’s plans are so you can avoid any distractions that day too.

"Yeah, sure, I can help out for a bit. But, let me check with the guys about it." you say, pulling out your phone to send a quick message in the Sanctuary group chat.

You [1:15 PM]: Hey, what plans did you guys have in mind for Valentine’s Day evening? There’s the night market event on campus, and I’m helping Hwasa table for the first hour. You guys should come and we can hang after?

While waiting for their responses, Hwasa continues, "Please! I hope they say yes. Plus, it'll give you time to think about your decision more. Trust me; selling hotteok is like therapy." Your laughter punctuates her words, easing the tension.

Not long after, your two best friends respond back.

Yoongi [1:21 PM]: We wanted to wait to hear what you had in mind and do that, but this sounds good. We’ll be there.

Jimin [1:22 PM]: Yeah, let’s do that. Beats sitting around and overthinking.

With your plans in place, you turn back to Hwasa.

"Looks like I can work the shift!"

“Fuck yeah! I appreciate you helping out, let’s try to get everything sold.”

The anticipation for the event in two days starts building, and you both dive into more detailed planning and strategizing. Hwasa's vibrant personality coupled with her contagious excitement feels motivating, and you find yourself getting into the spirit and readiness to confront your feelings.

++++++++++++

February 14 [Thursday]

If only your anxiety would be weaker than your drive for motivation.

The soft rays of the setting sun filter through your bedroom window, casting a warm glow on the floral print ruched spring short dress you twirl in front of the mirror. It was a gift from Yoongi for Christmas, paired with the long star earrings Jimin gifted you. The whole ensemble makes you feel delicate and coquette. You feel a little embarrassed to find yourself dressing up for this, but you figured if you might as well go all out for what could be the last day you do something like this.

You’re on a mission tonight.

After doing a soft makeup look, you grab your small black flap bag walking downstairs.

You texted the house gc earlier letting them know you'd be out helping at the night market. Hoseok responded saying he'd be there too because his dance club group was doing a cover performance. Seokjin mentioned he’s also going to be there tabling for Kappa Psi Pi. Jungkook and Taehyung were going out bar hopping with a few other guys hoping to get lucky for the night. Jimin and Yoongi said they would be in the library studying for a midterm, which didn’t raise any suspicions, surprisingly.

As for Namjoon…

“Tiny, where are you going all dolled up?”

You are caught off guard by Namjoon's call from the kitchen where he is eating a bowl of cut fruit. He stands leaning against the doorway, looking at you from head to toe, licking his lips after each juicy bite of fruit. Is that melon? When your eyes leave his lips to look into his gaze, you become frozen. Huh? This never happened to you before. What an interesting thing to see how his actions leave you feeling a little nervous now, especially after what he confessed to you not that long ago.

“I’m helping table for V-day night market with Hwasa at 7:00, then I’m going to enjoy the event after my shift.”

Namjoon nods, his gaze holding a mix of understanding and something else. “That…sounds pretty fun.”

“What about you?” Namjoon forgot to respond to the group chat, so you’re curious to hear of his Valentine’s Day plans. You don’t think it will involve him on a date after his confession, so you wonder what else he has in store.

He sets his bowl down and steps closer, whispering near your ear and causing a shiver down your spine. You’re suddenly more alert than you were previously.

“I wanted to spend time with my Honey, but that will have to wait.”

You’ve heard his low raspy voice many times before, but for some reason, it feels very erotic in this moment. If he commanded you with this voice all the time, you would do whatever he pleases. Your breath catches, and questions swirl in your mind. Hold on, what does he mean that will have to wait? For what?

Before you can seek clarification, he adds, “I’m going with Soyoon, John and San to a live art gallery event up in the big city. John’s band friends are going to play.”

“A-Ah, I see.”

He gets up from his leaned position and looks at you softly. Has it been a long time since Namjoon looked at you with that much love and care in his eyes? You feel like he’s become much more serious with you since you started college. This act feels nostalgic.

He pushes a few loose strands behind your ear, “Don’t get jealous okay?” He chuckles, his signature dimples coming into sight.

“Huh?! I wasn’t even thinking that!” you stammer, attempting to brush off the implication despite failing as your face blushes.

In this moment, he pulls you into a tight hug. Your cheek presses against the fabric of his gray shirt, and you soak in the comfort he provides. It feels so nice. So safe. After a long time, in his arms, you feel at home.

“Well whenever you’re ready, I’ll be there no matter what.”

You assume he’s talking about you answering his confession from the trip.

Whenever you’re ready, he says.

“Thank you Joonie.” You sigh deeply into his chest, words sounding a little muffled.

Could it be that Namjoon’s the true answer to all your problems, not Yoongi or Jimin? But it still doesn’t feel right. No matter who you end up ultimately picking, you still feel like you won’t be happy. Even if the other two guys say they will be happy, will they actually be okay with seeing their two best friends happily in love?

And if you end up with one of them, what’s to say the relationship will last? What if you two fall out of love for each other and ultimately break up? Will you be all alone at the end this time, no best friends to lean back on to help you rise up once again? You hate to admit how much Yeonjun’s after image lingers in your mind whenever you think about the future of a relationship. Despite how he was just a brief happening in the summer breeze, the lasting impact of his final words remain.

You bid goodbye to Namjoon, who leaves first as John’s ‘96 Toyota Corolla stops in front of the house to pick him up. Soyoon waves to you excitedly from the back seat as she sits next to San.

As the car fades in the distance, you walk in the opposite direction to campus.

After walking for about 8 minutes, the quad comes alive as you step onto its paved pathways, filled with the vibrant tapestry of the Valentine's Night Market. Strings of twinkling lights drape across the trees, casting a warm glow. Stalls adorned with heart-shaped decorations and bursts of red and pink hues line the paths, creating a whimsical atmosphere.

As you immerse yourself in this enchanting setting, a mixture of emotions washes over you. The sweet aroma of various treats wafts through the air, enticing passersby. Stalls offer an array of delectable delights, from cotton candy in shades of pastel to heart-shaped cookies intricately decorated with icing. The scent of hotteok wafts from Hwasa and Jieun's stall, where they expertly flip the sweet korean treat on a sizzling griddle.

“Oh! Honey! You’re here–” Hwasa pauses, checking you out from head to toe. “Looking cute as fuck, bestie!”

“Thank you.” You reply sheepishly, using your arms to flatten your dress from any wrinkles. “The whole setup for the night market looks so cool this year!”

You look up and all around, colorful lanterns sway gently overhead with wishes and messages from students written on small notes. The gentle breeze causes them to dance in the night, adding to the ambience of the market. The gentle hum of laughter and conversation blends with the cheerful melodies of the band playing at the very center of the quad.

A few Carnival rides spin and twirl at the far end of the quad, their lights tracing intricate patterns against the night sky. The Ferris wheel, glimmering in pink and red, stands tall, offering couples a romantic view of the campus from above. Nearby, a carousel with whimsical creatures invites laughter from those enjoying a nostalgic ride.

Various booths offer interactive experiences, adding an extra layer of fun to the festivities. A photobooth machine captures candid moments against a backdrop of sparkling hearts, while a fortune-teller booth held by the Harry Potter club promises glimpses into the future. Students crowd around games of skill and chance, trying their hand at winning prizes that range from plush toys to heart-shaped trinkets.

“There’s carnival rides too?” You gasp seeing them in a section beside the built stage at the center of the quad.

“Yeah, we got a few international students who joined this year willing to fund for better stuff.” She leans in close to your ear and points carefully at two people named Giselle and Ten standing around another booth. “So you better go enjoy it after! We also have a few bands playing, so even more reason to stick around.”

“That’s so cool! I’ll keep that in mind!”

Hwasa hands you a cute apron with hearts and stars from a box below the table. "Okay. Time to make those hotteoks, bestie! I have Peniel and Junny handling the kimchi fried rice, so don’t worry about that."

You walk around to enter the tent then tie the apron around your waist. You stand next to the griddle gradually heating up. Hwasa takes charge of coordinating orders and managing the flow of customers. The scent of sizzling batter and sweet fillings fills the air as you expertly flip the hotteoks, ensuring they are cooking to perfection.

Peniel stands in the next table over, clad in a stylish apron with the words "Best Chef in the World" emblazoned on it, working diligently at the adjacent stall, skillfully frying up batches of savory kimchi fried rice. Junny sits while on his phone as he waits for people to come by and order. The enticing aroma of Korean spices wafts through the air, drawing in hungry students with each tantalizing whiff.

After a while of a couple of orders coming in, Hwasa glances at her watch and nudges you. "I need to run to another booth to get more change. Can you handle this for a bit?"

"Uh, sure!" you respond, taking the cash box and flashing a reassuring smile. As Hwasa disappears into the bustling crowd, you focus on the task at hand, jotting down the few orders you get and going back to the grill. Dammit, why did she have to leave you like this until God knows when?

Suddenly, two familiar figures approach the stall, dressed in outfits that catch your eye.

"Angel isn’t getting any orders." Yoongi speaks first with a grin, his eyes lighting up with surprise and amusement.

Jimin chuckles, “I guess it’s a slow night for our darling."

“H-Hey–” You pause as you check them out.

Yoongi sports a black bomber jacket that complements his laid-back aura. Underneath, he wears a simple white tee, creating a clean and modern look. Paired with dark jeans and sleek Airforces, his overall ensemble has your eyes glued to him. His hair is also in a bun, which you hadn’t seen him do before. Has his hair grown that much?

When you turn to glance at Jimin you see he’s opted for a varsity jacket that injects a dose of sporty charm into his outfit. Jimin’s black hair is slowly catching up to the same length as Yoongi’s. The jacket, with embroidered details and a slightly worn appearance adds character to his look. Beneath the jacket, Jimin wears a snug-fitting black shirt, with distressed jeans and comfortable converse sneakers to complete the look.

They look so fucking good. The urge to pounce on them is high, and you wonder if it’s your hormones talking. They’ve been yapping all day keeping you at your wits ends. You wish you were done with your shift so you can go run off with them, but you still have another 25 minutes to go. Lost in thought, you don’t realize that your gaze lingers on them for more than a mere moment. It isn’t until Yoongi notices and chuckles. Shit, they’re going to tease

"Cat got your tongue?" he teases, a smirk playing on his lips.

You roll your eyes, trying to mask the blush creeping up on your cheeks. "Uh, I'm just appreciating the fashion show you two decided to put on tonight."

Jimin grins, nudging Yoongi. "Well, you know we always dress to impress.” Jimin jolts slightly as he remembers something “Oh right! Here, we got you something.”

Jimin holds out a small bouquet of pink roses, their sweet fragrance wafting through the air. "These are for you,"

Yoongi follows suit, "And these are from me. We thought they might brighten up your evening."

The corners of Yoongi's lips lift into a warm smile as he reaches behind him, handing you a small vibrant bouquet of sunflowers – a burst of yellow that seems to carry the sunshine itself.

Your heart swells with gratitude as you accept the flowers. "Thank you both," you express genuinely, fingers gently tracing the petals of the sunflowers. "They're beautiful, just like the two of you."

Jimin’s cheeks tint with a subtle blush, and Jimin chuckles, playfully nudging him. "Looks like our darling is smooth with words too. Must be how you’re getting customers tonight"

As you place the bouquets in the back table, you're drawn back to the present, realizing you're still on your shift. "Oh! No, actually, tabling has been pretty slow overall!" you exclaim, eager to change the subject to calm your heart down. "Hwasa's off getting change. But is there anything I can get you guys while you're here?"

"Can we get you now?" Yoongi bluntly asks.

Yet again, you find yourself caught off guard by his boldness. He never used to be like this, but ever since you two started this deal, you feel like you awakened another side of him.

“Sorry boys,” You shut down the flirting efforts, instead playing hard to get. “Unless you wanna help me sell these hot…buns? Then maybe I could finish faster and go?”

"You know what, Honey? We'll help you out," Yoongi declares, rolling up his sleeves with a mischievous grin.

Jimin joins in, "Yeah, we can't let you work too hard on Valentine's Day."

You chuckle, appreciating their willingness to lend a hand. “Come around back and get to work then!”

This actually proves to be a good idea for you. Once they start working, they start to bring in a crowd of people. The two men take turns flipping hotteoks, playfully teasing each other and engaging customers with their charisma. Jimin, with his infectious smile, handles customers with so much ease, while Yoongi adopts an exaggerated seriousness as he grills, drawing amused glances from onlookers. You’re left in awe at the efforts of your best friends and how reliable they are.

When Hwasa comes back, she’s amused at the sight bringing in so much traction.

As you all finish with a good chunk of the orders, she finally steps inside the tent and you hand her the stack of orders you all took. “Thanks to these two, we've made an impressive number of sales. I think this is my cue to go?” You look at her with stars in your eyes, hoping that this will be enough t satisfy the greedy tiger that is the treasurer of ASU, Ahn Hyejin

“I guess you have done your part, Y/N.” She turns to face Yoongi and Jimin. “Now, go enjoy the night with her! I have some people coming in at 8 to handle things from here."

You and your three best friends nod at each other and leave the stall to go explore the rest of the night market, which is now filled with more people. Couples stroll hand in hand, sharing stolen glances beneath the glow of the market lights. You wonder if you’ll ever get to experience something like that. Laughter erupts from other corners filled with various groups of friends exploring diverse offerings. Everyone’s creating memories that will linger long after the night has passed. Will this night be a good memory for you three as well?

In that moment of many thoughts, you feel Yoongi and Jimin’s fingers gently interlace with yours. Oh? Not “Oh” in a confused way, but “Oh” as a casual remark of an action that’s filled with normalcy. It’s something that feels just so natural for you three for as long as you’ve known each other. Your hands in theirs as you weave through the lively crowd of the night market embraced with its infectious energy leaves you feeling at ease.

"You look adorable in that dress, Y/N. We didn't even notice what you were wearing under the apron earlier," Jimin remarks, flashing his signature eye smile as he stops walking. Yoongi chimes in, "Yeah, the gifts we got you suit you well."

Blushing at their compliments, you glance down at your outfit, feeling grateful for their attention to detail. “O-Oh, thank you. I just felt like it was the right day to wear it.”

See? There’s times where comments, no matter how normal they may seem for long time friends, will actually get you flustered. Damn their words of affirmation hitting you right where you feel it.

As you wander through the stalls, Jimin spots a photobooth and suggests capturing a few memories together. His eyes gleam mischievously as he proposes, "Hey, why don't we take some photos? You know, like old times."

“Like the times we would take photos in the photobooth after we saw a movie at that run down theater in middle school?” You giggle.

“Exactly like that. You would always make us take those!” Yoongi reminisces.

In the spirit of spontaneity and nostalgia, you agree, and soon, you three find the empty photobooth with a charming backdrop, pay the small fee and enter it.

The first photo captures all three of you in silly poses. Yoongi throws a peace sign, Jimin puckers his lips in an exaggerated kissy face, and you make bunny ears behind Yoongi's head. Laughter erupts as Jimin clicks the photo, freezing that moment of carefree camaraderie.

For the second shot, you find yourself sandwiched between Jimin and Yoongi, each of them throwing a peace sign while you sport an exaggerated surprised expression.

For the final shot, Jimin eyes Yoongi, seemingly having a pose idea that you’re unsure of. Yoongi nods curiously. Jimin positions himself on one side of you, and Yoongi on the other. Milliseconds before the camera clicks, Jimin and Yoongi simultaneously plant soft kisses on your cheeks. After the shutter goes off, the moment is frozen in time on the strip as it comes out of the photo booth machine. For a split second, you're caught off guard, the warmth of their lips leaving a lingering sensation on your skin. The shock registers on your face, captured perfectly in the photograph.

"Wait, what!" you exclaim, your eyes widening in shock.

"Surprise!" Jimin grins, stepping out to grab the photo.

"Yeah, gotcha." Yoongi adds, a playful glint in his eyes.

Your initial shock turns into shy laughter as you realize the mischief they've just orchestrated. "Hey! That was so uncalled for…"

Jimin chuckles, "Gotta keep things interesting, right?"

Yoongi smirks, "Consider it payback for all those times you surprised us being a minx."

You burst out laughing, which leads to them into a laughing fit seeing you feeling happy. Agh, they always gotta tease and expose you like this! You playfully swat at them, still processing their unexpected actions.

After leaving the photo booth, the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked bungeo ppang fish bread catches your attention. The scent triggers a childhood memory, and you excitedly share, "Hey, let's stop by this stall! I haven’t had a bungeo ppang since I was in elementary school."

Yoongi and Jimin exchange amused glances, remembering your tales of childhood cravings. You ate so many when you would go over to Yoongi’s house because his mom would make dozens of them for their church fundraisers. You even got the nickname “little bungeoppang” from Yoongi’s mom because of this.

The club's fish bread stall boasts an array of flavors, from traditional red bean to modern twists like chocolate and custard. They order a variety, hoping to recreate a bit of nostalgia for you.

While enjoying the warm, sweet taiyaki, you notice a towering structure at the far end of the quad—the Ferris wheel. Your eyes light up with curiosity, and you turn to Yoongi and Jimin, "What do you guys think about riding the Ferris wheel? I've always been a bit nervous about heights, but with you two, it might be fun."

Jimin grins, "That sounds like a great idea! We can keep you company and make sure you feel comfortable."

Yoongi adds, "Don't worry, we'll be right there with you. It'll be a fun experience."

Encouraged by their reassurance, you join the line for the Ferris wheel. It’s not a gigantic ferris wheel that you’ve seen at amusement parks, but it’s fairly midsize that would let you see a large portion of campus up at the highest point. The anticipation builds as the line inches forward, and soon, it's your turn to board one of the colorful gondolas. The Ferris wheel slowly ascends, offering breathtaking views of the night market below.

Is it the worst moment to admit that you’re a little scared of heights? Probably. You know you wanted to ride this, but now that you’re on it. You’re a little anxious. It’s not even that high! Get it together, Y/N.

Your fear must be easily sensed, because Jimin decides to wrap an arm around you, offering support, while Yoongi holds your hand on the other side. You wait for them to make fun of you for wanting to ride the ferris wheel despite being scared of heights, but those words don’t come.

As the gondola reaches its peak, you glance at your university campus and down at the bustling market, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. Yoongi whispers, "Look at that view, Angel. It's beautiful, isn't it?"

With their comforting presence, the nervousness begins to fade, replaced by a sense of joy and exhilaration. You’re okay. You’re safe with them. The Ferris wheel ride becomes a shared adventure, a moment suspended in time between the colorful lights and the starry sky.

As the Ferris wheel descends, you all step off and exit the area. It’s a relief to be touching the ground once again. You tag along behind Yoongi and Jimin and become the person to recommence the hand holding once again.

In the distance, the rhythmic beat of a live band permeates the air. The music carries a unique blend of energy and emotion, drawing you all toward the center of the quad where the performance unfolds.

Yoongi tilts his head, recognizing the sound. "That sounds like Sammy's band," he remarks, his ears attuned to the familiar tunes. With curiosity guiding your steps, the three of you make your way to the source of the music.

As you three approach the middle of the crowd watching the performance, the silhouette of the keyboardist catches your eye, and you're taken aback. It's Yijeong, playing alongside Sammy's band. You shoot a puzzled look at Yoongi, who smirks, "Sammy asked for Yijeong's number this morning. Dojoon got food poisoning, and they needed someone to cover for him."

The stage is bathed in a warm, golden glow, and the crowd buzzes with anticipation as the band gets ready for their next song.

“We are ‘The Rose’! Or ‘Windfall’...we haven’t decided on our official name yet. My keys guy got food poisoning so a good friend came to cover. We have two songs coming up next. One is a cover of one of my favorite songs and the other is an original song written by us, so enjoy!”

The first chords of the cover song, "Pristine" by Snail Mail, resonate through the speakers. Sammy’s, the lead guitarist, fingers dance effortlessly across the strings, conjuring a haunting melody that seems to linger in the night air. The drummer – which Yoongi comments is Hajoon – sets a steady beat, creating a rhythmic foundation that anchors the ethereal atmosphere.

As Sammy begins singing, his voice filled with both vulnerability and strength wraps around the lyrics. Each word is like a brushstroke on a canvas, painting a picture of longing and introspection. The crowd, drawn into the magnetic pull of the music, sways in unison, a collective dance to the emotional cadence.

Internally, you're caught in the vortex of emotions. The lyrics of the song, like a mirror reflecting your own inner turmoil, resonate with the complexities of your relationships. The notion of wanting to be one with someone echoes the silent desires you've been grappling with, a yearning for unity in the midst of uncertainty. You can’t be with just someone. You realize you have to be with them. But why is the answer so obvious, yet feels impossible?

When the song finishes, The Rose transitions seamlessly to their original song, "I Don't Know You.” Sammy’s voice takes center stage, followed by bassist Jaehyeong pouring raw emotion into every note. The melody weaves through the air, intertwining with the radiance of the lights above. The keyboardist, Yijeong, adds a layer of depth, his fingers dancing across the keys like a silent storyteller.

With each lyric, you find yourself pulled deeper into a contemplative state. The longing expressed in the music mirrors your own inner conflicts. I want to know you. It's a phrase that reverberates within you, a sentiment that resonates with the intricate dance between friendship and something more.

In the midst of the performance, you glance at Yoongi and Jimin, their eyes reflecting a shared understanding. You wonder if the song is hitting them as much as it’s hitting you right now. The energy from the stage lets your surroundings become a realm where emotions are laid bare. Yoongi and Jimin both hold internal diaries with thousands of words that have not been said aloud.

The chorus swells, and you're compelled to reach out, gently tugging at their arms. The gesture, a silent acknowledgment, weaves seamlessly into the fabric of the music. The lyrics, "Do you want me? Your lover who will never change. Even your bitterness, makes me obsessed," echo in your mind, prompting introspection and a deepening realization.

Suddenly, against the backdrop of the music, Yoongi and Jimin exchange glances, and a shared realization flickers in their eyes. The intensity of the performance and the emotions it evokes push them to reveal what's been lingering in the air.

“Y/N, I’m in love with you.”

“I’ve loved you for a long time, Y/N.”

Jimin and Yoongi speak simultaneously, though Yoongi says a slightly different declaration. You’re speechless. You had anticipated hearing these words after being able to connect the dots, but to actually hear them. At this moment, it’s surreal. This feels like a dream. You don’t want it to end. Because when it ends, things might not ever be the same. And that scares you.

While their words of confession are simple, their love conveyed more in the language of shared gazes and repressed emotions that leave you with a myriad of questions. Even though you had a feeling, you are still left awestruck. The melody, the lights, and the atmosphere seem to crystallize in that moment, etching the beginning of a new chapter.

I love you. Despite such a simple three word phrase, you can’t sayt it right now, You can’t even gather all the words you want to say right now. Maybe because you feel nervous right now, but you will save it for when you go home. And that’s now. You all need to go back now. You need to be somewhere where you can throw all your love and make it known how much you care for them. You just can’t do that here.

The urge to go to the sanctuary that will let you liberate your feelings before it feels like it’s too late.

Without any other words, you respond with a smile, bright and with hidden intentions. “Let’s go home?”

With no questions asked, they seem to understand your intentions and take you away.

+++++++++++

The atmosphere in your room is heavy with unspoken emotions as you all made your way back home from the night market. The walk is quiet, with occasional flustered glances exchanged between you, Jimin, and Yoongi. The air is tense with anticipation and uncertainty.

Upon entering your room, the tension lingers. You go sit in the center of your bed and gesture your two friends to join you on it. It takes a moment to collect your thoughts, wanting your own words to sound heartfelt before breaking the silence.

"Yoongi…Jimin…." That sounds too serious, but there is no way to just confess something that has probably been 10 years in the making without you really realizing it.

Jimin looks at you with a mixture of hope and anxiety, while Yoongi maintains a calm demeanor, his eyes reflecting understanding. You take a deep breath, grappling with the weight of your decision.

"I don’t even know what to say, but I appreciate both of your confessions.” You pause for a moment, letting out a sigh, before continuing, “I want to say I love you both too. A lot. More than I ever thought I did before, and this whole deal really opened my eyes to those feelings.” You glance at both of them, trying to gauge their own reactions to your words. In a way, it’s like reassurance to convince yourself to keep going. You’d probably crawl into a hole and die if maybe you heard wrong earlier and now they’re incredibly confused as to why you’re saying this.

But it’s not like that at all. Yoongi’s cat-like smile right now is one of those things that has always reassured you when you were uncertain in the past. His eyes turn glossy, while trying to put up a composed exterior, as he patiently waits to hear you say more. Jimin, on the other hand, becomes flustered from hearing your confession. You notice him fidgeting with his fingers and biting his lips, which is something he only does when he’s feeling shy. If only you were aware that every beat of their hearts echo in silence and anticipation.

“I never imagined myself in this situation,” you admit, “But it’s clear that my feelings have evolved so much after realizing the small things that you’ve done for me, not just recently, but ever since I met you two. And eventually I realized that I love you two in different ways as well.” You take a deep breath, attempting to articulate the intricate dance of emotions within your heart.

“Yoongi, you’ve always felt like my other half.” You confess further, “It’s like we’re always in tune with each other’s thoughts and feelings. I feel like you complete parts of me that I couldn’t find on my own.”

"Especially during those times when my relationships soured and I struggled trying to socialize with new people," You admit, your voice taking on a more reflective tone. "You were there for me, Yoongi. Your understanding and steadiness became my anchor in those turbulent moments. When I felt lost, your presence brought a sense of calm and assurance. You've seen me at my lowest, yet you never wavered."

You reach out towards Yoongi’s hand, thumb tracing the back of it. "Jimin, you're someone who makes me feel so free," you confess, a genuine smile playing on your lips. "You've always managed to coax me out of my shell, and without you, I don't think I'd be the person I am today."

Jimin's eyes light up with a mix of gratitude and happiness.

“And," you add, a hint of playfulness coloring your tone, "I can't forget that you were my first kiss. It was a moment filled with happiness and warmth, a memory I cherish deeply. You made me feel safe, and I truly always look back to that time when we were young and innocent."

You lift up your hand to caress Jimin's cheeks, which flush with a rosy hue. A mix of surprise and joy twinkle in his eyes.

"Thank you for sharing your feelings with us," Yoongi speaks first, his voice a gentle melody that resonates in the room. "It means a lot to know that I mean so much to you in that way. We've been through so much together, and knowing that feeling is mutual is the greatest feeling ever."

Jimin shares his gratitude as well and adds, "I never expected to hear such beautiful words from you. It's like a dream come true knowing that you love me and think about those things too.”

They’re so sweet, you think. A part of you internally questions if you’re really deserving of their love, but you push it away. You can’t let anything stop you right now. “There’s a lot more I want to know from you, but for now, I wanted to ask if we could do something before…this all ends.”

Curiosity sparkles in their eyes as they turn their attention to you. "What is it?" Yoongi inquires, his voice filled with a blend of interest and anticipation.

Jimin, on the verge of voicing his thoughts, begins, "Is it..."

“Could we…try a threesome?”

The suggestion hangs in the air, catching them off guard. Jimin's eyes widen, surprised by the proposal, while Yoongi raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing on his lips.

"W-Wow…holy shit…" Jimin stammers, his cheeks turning a subtle shade of pink. “Say no more, I’m fucking down.”

You chuckle nervously, "Really? It’s just for tonight. A final hurrah before…whatever happens."

Yoongi smirks, "Well, that's unexpected. Are you sure you're up for it? I mean, I’m willing to do it."

You nod nervously, determined to bring a sense of ease to the situation. "It's our last night under this deal we have. I’m also on birth control so we could try anything and everything. So whenever you’re ready—"

You stop speaking as you notice their eyes darken slowly, lust hidden behind them. Without a word, their actions become synchronized, and the atmosphere shifts subtly.

Jimin, always the bolder one, is the first to make a move. His lips press against the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. You inhale sharply, the unexpected warmth of his kiss catching you off guard. Meanwhile, Yoongi's gaze remains fixed on you, a mixture of desire and uncertainty in his eyes.

As Jimin's kisses trail up toward your jawline, Yoongi gets closer, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your waist. The room is filled with a soft, anticipatory hum as their actions synchronize, creating a symphony of sensations.

Their lips meet at the curve of your jaw, and for a moment, there's a gentle collision of their lips. It catches you off guard, though Jimin doesn’t seem too shocked and Yoongi remains neutrally curious. You find yourself gradually immersed in the experience and wanting to see how things could go.

Before things can get more interesting for you to see, their lips soon meet yours in a shared kiss that starts tentatively. An initial awkwardness you felt asking for this melts away, replaced by a growing sense of connection. The taste of both Yoongi and Jimin on your lips creates a unique and intoxicating blend. Sweet, intoxicating and sinful.

Yoongi unzips your dress from the left side and both men begin removing your dress, their hands move with a synchronized urgency. As your dress falls away, you sit there before them in nothing but your lingerie, vulnerable yet empowered by the raw desire written across their faces. You feel a rush of heat flood your cheeks as their gazes linger on your exposed form, their desire palpable in the air.

They immediately begin undressing themselves, losing to their own lust, throwing their clothes on the floor and pushing you down on the bed. Yoongi begins fondling your breasts, fingers inching toward your core. Jimin on the other hand, frees your right breast from your bra cup and attaches his lips to your nipple.

"Mmph," your moan escapes your lips as you arch your back, feeling the heated, sloppy kiss of Jimin's mouth all around on your tit. He's unrelenting with his hold and you are helpless under his touch. Your breasts have always been so sensitive that it makes you nearly lose it already. The idea of you so weak for him and nobody else that you can’t even stand. The sensation continues to shoot through your body like an electrical current, making your core clench and your hips buck slightly.

Yoongi inches closer, his gaze never leaving your face as he keeps one hand gently kneading your breast while he uses the other to slowly begin tracing circular patterns over the lacy fabric covering your clit. The anticipation is almost unbearable, building a crescendo of desire that threatens to consume you. You need more of them.

With a sudden urgency, you pull them down onto the bed, your eagerness surprising both of them. Their soft laughter only fuels the fire as you straddle Jimin to kiss him more, your hands grabbing his hardening cock under you and giving it several strokes. He deepens the kiss almost immediately and as soon as your mouth opens for him, your tongues brush against each other in fervor. It's so sloppy and carnal and just simply pornographic, but it's also filled with enough emotion and intimacy to make your knees buckle. You move your hand to massage his balls in time, and he nearly keels over, mouth falling open. He lets out a gasp when your thumb circles his throbbing tip.

On the opposite end, Yoongi kneels down, his free hand lifting your hips upwards before his mouth leans in and meets your swollen clit.

You hear smacking sounds immediately, and combined with how this feels, his skillful lips and hands have you crying out, squirming, and grasping onto Jimin for dear life. Yoongi called this ‘taking you to Hong Kong”. You still don’t know why, but fuck, does he do it so well. It’s literally your favorite thing in the world since this deal started.

With his tongue licking and circling your clit, you know you aren't going to hold on much longer. He moans against your hard bud, enjoying this just as much as you are. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your ass spreading them apart adding yet another sensation. You try to not let the coil in your stomach release wanting to hold onto this feeling for as long as possible. It feels somewhat embarrassing if you’re the one cumming so much so soon.

Though, it’s inevitable that you’ll go insane from all these different sensations.

The intensity of the moment is palpable. You continue devouring Jimin’s lips, feeling his body heat and sweat against yours. Yoongi removes himself from you, denying the orgasm from coming. But you’re too focused on Jimin to worry about it, which makes Yoongi irritated.

This leads to him slowly sliding up beside you and gently running a hand along your ass, his fingers grazing the lace of your panties. The sensation is electrifying, and you can't help but moan softly into Jimin's lips.

"You want more, don't you?" Yoongi whispers seductively into your ear. His voice is low and rumbling, sending shivers down your spine. You nod eagerly, unable to find the words to respond.

“Hehe…Darling’s so needy,” Jimin pulls away from the kiss, giving you a knowing smile. In perfect harmony, the two men begin to undress the remaining lingerie, their hands moving with a fluid movement, their eyes never leaving yours. You feel vulnerable and exposed, yet simultaneously aroused and empowered by their desire for you.

Their fingers gently caressing your skin, you feel an electric current running through your body. They lay you down on the bed, positioning you on your hands and knees, facing the large mirror on the wall. That cursed mirror that you had once faced previously, though just with Yoongi.

You take a deep breath as you see your reflection, your arousal evident in the flushed skin and dilated pupils. Yoongi moves in behind you, his hands on your hips, pulling you closer to him. You feel his erection against your ass, a silent reminder of what is to come.

Jimin kneels in front of you, grabbing his cock and slapping it across your cheek, bringing your attention back to him. And he says you’re the needy one. Ha. You aim your head towards his waiting length and open your mouth. He thrusts in slowly, filling your mouth without trying to make you gag on it. Not today!

As you begin to suck on Jimin's cock, you feel Yoongi's middle finger slide into your pussy, mimicking the motion of your mouth. He pumps his finger in and out, with each second making you go into a trance. The tiny moans you let out at just one finger pushes him to add another right next to it. The way your walls contract as if fighting back against him pushing and pulling and spreading you open is driving him insane. He wants to feel it for himself, squeezing and milking him for all he’s worth. Your sounds of pleasure fill the room when you pull your mouth away from Jimin to control your breathing.

“Make those pretty sounds louder. You already know how much I love to hear them.” Jimin coaxes you further. You’ve known he gets off on your moans since the first day you fucked him.

Yoongi watches your reflection in the mirror, a mix of lust and satisfaction playing across his face. He's always been fascinated by the way your body responds to him, the way it seems to crave his touch. He feels euphoric whenever he gets to fuck you like this, but even more right now.

Jimin’s aware of Yoongi’s possessiveness as he watches this exchange, his heart pounding in his chest. He wants nothing more than to fuck you and even him if the opportunity presented itself. Though the latter is not for today. It would be a dream to just do this in the future and give his best friends the pleasure they so desperately crave.

As you continue to suck Jimin's cock, Yoongi increases the pace of his fingers thrusting inside you. You feel like you're on the edge of something incredible, a pleasure so intense that you can barely breathe. He's unrelenting with his grip and you are helpless under his touch–his fingers are pumping faster and faster until you’re a trembling mess. Yoongi holds your hips up with one arm to keep you stable.

After your quivering stops, he pulls out his fingers.

“Mmh.” You groan around Jimin’s dick, which entices him to go faster.

“Hold on. You’ll get what you want. Be patient.” Yoongi chuckles in response as you whine from the loss of feeling him. After, he positions himself behind you, his cock throbbing against your entrance. He pushes himself inside you, filling you completely. You moan around Jimin's cock, the sensation of being filled by both of them in different places is overwhelming. Yoongi grips your hips, setting a leisurely pace as he watches the mirror. You glance upwards at Jimin, whose head is thrown back in his pleasure. Your fingers dance across the toned muscles of his stomach before gripping his hip urging him to push further.

Jimin pulls out of your mouth when he feels himself getting close. He doesn’t want to finish in your mouth. He’s done that many times before, and wants to change things up. There’s something that he has in mind that he wants to try.

He moves towards Yoongi and tells him that he wants to trade positions, telling him to lay under you instead. Yoongi immediately gets what the younger man is plotting and moves to position himself under you, his cock glistening with your juices. He lines himself up with your entrance, slowly pushing into you. A soft moan falls from your lips. This new angle hits new spots inside you. When Yoongi doesn’t immediately thrust, you rock your hips watching carefully for a reaction on his face. He grabs your hips holding you in place as Jimin situates himself behind you. “Darling, is it okay if we try double penetration?” Jimin asks, very shyly.

Your eyes widen a bit. You haven’t tried this with either of them before simply because the thought of it scared you and you also thought it was unsanitary. So you haven’t done this with anyone. You don’t know if you’re ready for that tonight. You’re honestly more open to doing it in one hole for now…Wait could you even do it? Could they both fit… Well it’s worth the shot.

“Could you guys do it in the same… hole?” You try to word out. This feels embarrassing. Your horniess is going to jump out the window trying to have this conversation. Please just agree to it, guys.

The two men sense your timidness and nod.

“Yeah, that sounds more exciting.” Jimin smirks.

“We’ll try it.” Yoongi moves some strands of hair behind your ear to have a better view of your face. God, you’re glad they can’t see you blushing so hard in the darkness of this room with only the moonlight coming in.

“There’s lube in my bedside table.” You mumble not wanting to believe you are saying that out loud.

Both men raise an eyebrow and you playfully hit Yoongi’s chest. Behind you Jimin opens the drawer to retrieve the lube without a comment.

“Damn, Y/N, were you planning this?” Yoongi smirks and you lean forward to kiss him so he won’t be able to say another word.

He takes his opportunity to hold the back of your neck and thrust into you until you have to pull away. Your moans fill the air only fueling the fire inside of Yoongi and Jimin. After a few more seconds Yoongi pulls you off his cock and against his chest stroking your hair. Behind you Jimin opens the lube bottle squirting a generous amount onto his hand. You hear the bottle click shut and he tosses it to the side.

Your head lifts enough to see Jimin stroking his cock in the mirror. Yoongi’s grip on you tightens momentarily as a shocked gasp is pulled from his plump lips. With a look over your shoulder you see Jimin coating Yoongi’s cock with lube. His small fingers wrap expertly around his best friend’s length.

There’s definitely something here you need to uncover in the future, but for now, you enjoy their acts.

When both men are properly lubricated you guide Yoongi back inside of you. He slips in easily and Jimin carefully lines himself at your entrance, and very, very slowly pushes his way in. Oh no, there’s a sting already. You feel a few tears pooling as you try to accept more of him. Fuck. You don’t think you can do this.

“Angel, it’s okay. Just take a deep breath and relax your body. Take as long as you need.” Yoongi reassures you and you nod. Things like this remind you why you love this man so much.

You take his advice, taking short breaks in between to get comfortable as Jimin keeps going. You feel both of them filling you, their cocks stretching you wide. Once they’re fully in, you wait a bit to adjust to the sensation, taking deep breaths to relax yourself. It feels so weird, but so comforting. It’s something you can’t explain unless you experience it.

Yoongi starts to thrust, his cock slamming into your pussy with quick force. Meanwhile, Jimin starts to match his pace, his cock sliding in and out of you in perfect sync with Yoongi's thrusts.

You cry out in pleasure, the sensation of being completely taken overcoming you.

You can't help but scream as the ecstasy builds inside you. Your body starts to shake, and you know you're close. Yoongi and Jimin are not far behind you being much more vocal than any other time you’ve been with either of them. This must feel just as earth shatteringly pleasurable for them as it does for you.

"Fuck, yes!" Jimin growls as he slams into you, his eyes locked on your reflection in the mirror. "That's it, take it all! You’re so good!" His voice is deep, hoarse with desire as he watches your arousal grow with each thrust.

Yoongi’s eyes never leave yours, his expression a mix of pleasure and anticipation. He thrusts deeper, harder, feeling your muscles clench around him as you near your release.

"Fuck, angel, you feel so amazing," he whispers, kissing your sweat-slicked forehead.

Suddenly, the three of you are lost in the throes of passion, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh fill the room, mixed with your gasps and moans of pleasure.

Just as you think you can't take any more, Yoongi and Jimin both pick up the pace, their bodies moving with a rhythm that's both primal and beautiful. You can feel their erections throbbing inside you. Yoongi takes this opportunity to start kissing your breasts and sucking your nipples. Jimin moves his hand under you to flick at your clit, adding an extra layer of stimulation that sends you over the edge.

Your body tightens around them, signaling that you're about to cum. Yoongi and Jimin feel your muscles contracting around their cocks, and they know that you're about to explode. They both thrust harder, trying to push you over the edge.

"Fuck, I'm going to cum!" Jimin growls, his hips bucking wildly. "Finally going to fill you up!"

"I'm close, too," Yoongi gasps, his eyes locked on yours. "You feel so fucking good, angel."

Your body trembles uncontrollably as they continue to fuck you, their cocks hitting your sweet spots over and over. The pleasure builds and builds, until finally, you can't take it anymore.

“F-Fuck! Mmh!” Your orgasm explodes once again through you like a lightning bolt, your body shuddering and quivering. Almost simultaneously Jimin and Yoongi finish inside you. The sensation of their cum fillig you to the brim feels so odd, but equally satisfying. Jimin collapses onto your back panting in his euphoric post orgasm haze.

Jimin pulls out first watching as the mixture of his and Yoongi’s cum drips down the length still inside you. Yoongi pulls you off his length watching as your legs quiver their cum trailing down your leg as he lays you beside him. Jimin goes into your bathroom to grab a towel, dampens it in water, and dabs it gently on your lower regions to clean. Feels as if the evidence of what transpired earlier is being erased. Just like when the clock struck midnight and Cinderella’s transformation became undone. Though, it’s not even midnight right now.

With a soft sigh, you lay down beside Yoongi after Jimin finished cleaning you, your body trying to get comfortable on the bed. The sheets beneath you are a soothing touch against your skin and surprisingly, not really wet at all from the orgasms. You can even feel the residual warmth from the shared moments with Yoongi and Jimin.

Jimin, attuned to the unspoken rhythm of the moment, gracefully positions himself on your other side. He mirrors your movements, creating a seamless transition as he settles beside you. The bed becomes a canvas for this intimate tableau, the three of you forming a gentle embrace.

Now, you find yourself sandwiched between the two men who have become such integral parts of your life. Imagining the scene right now in third person feels weird to think about. The afterglow of shared experiences paints a soft glow on each face, and a sense of tranquility permeates the room. The warmth of their bodies on either side of you creates a space of comfort, a sanctuary.

With a synchronized movement, both Yoongi and Jimin turn onto their sides, facing you. Their arms encircle you in a tender embrace. You really do feel so safe here in their arms. Their fingers trace soothing patterns on your skin, and their touch becomes a delicate dance, a silent expression of their feelings for you.

As you bask in the post-intimacy tranquility, Jimin breaks the serene silence. His voice is a gentle murmur, "So, about what we talked about earlier... any thoughts on who you're leaning towards?" His eyes, a mix of hope and excitement, search yours for an answer.

Many thoughts flood your mind about what to say, and you take a deep breath before responding, "I…still need another day, Jimin. It's not an easy choice. I think this whole thing made it harder for me to decide…" Once you finish speaking, you can sense the disappointment that flickers across both of their expressions, but it's Jimin's reaction that stands out. The excitement that had danced in his eyes begins to fade, replaced by a subtle irritation.

Yoongi nods in understanding, his expression stoic. "Take the time you need, Y/N. We want you to be sure."

Jimin, however, turns his back to you, a silent gesture of frustration. Despite staying in the bed, the shift in his demeanor is noticeable. He remains present physically but seems to withdraw emotionally. Unable to ignore the tension, you decide to address the unspoken. "Jimin, are you okay?" you inquire gently, your voice barely above a whisper. His back remains turned to you, a subtle resistance in his posture.

A sigh escapes him, and he shifts slightly. "Yeah, I'm fine," he mumbles against your pillow, his voice a delicate blend of resignation and disappointment. It's too obvious that he’s not okay with this.

Yoongi, sensing the undercurrents, tightens his hold around you, offering silent reassurance. He understands the complexity of the situation, respecting the need for time and clarity.

In the quiet moments that follow, Jimin speaks up again, his voice softer this time, "I just thought... I don't know. It's frustrating, that's all."

His vulnerability becomes more apparent as he wrestles with the emotions stirred by the unfolding events.

You reach out, your hand gently finding its way to Jimin's shoulder. The touch is a tender acknowledgment, a silent assurance that the complexities of your emotions are not lost on you. "Jimin, I promise to give you guys an answer soon. I just need a little more time…” You think you should tell them about Namjoon telling you he’s in love with you. Transparency rule, right? They would understand you want to think this through more knowing how this is a tough decision. “Namjoon told me he likes me awhile back. He told me I didn’t have to give him my answer right then and there, but now that’s also been stressing me lately.”

Jimin, still facing away from you, visibly tenses at the revelation. It's as if the room, already steeped in complexity, has become even more intricate. Yoongi's grip around you remains steady, but you can feel him tense up a bit from the mention.

"Namjoon?" Yoongi's voice carries a mix of surprise and, perhaps, a hint of insecurity.

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Jimin, still facing away, speaks, his voice edged with a touch of frustration. "I... I wanted to figure things out on my own first before bringing it up," you admit, your gaze shifting between Yoongi and Jimin. "It's not like I kept that from you intentionally. I just needed some time to process and evaluate everything."

Jimin remains silent for a moment before speaking, his words measured, "Evaluate things now that you're considering him too?"

Yoongi nods, his expression unreadable. "This doesn't make things any easier for us." he remarks, a hint of weariness in his voice.

He's right, and you know it. Maybe you shouldn’t have opened your big fat mouth. But you had to be honest with them about what’s been going on. Taking a deep breath, you continue, "Namjoon is our best friend too, and I don't want to ignore his feelings. I need to figure out what’s the best thing to do and how it might affect all of us."

Your words hang in the air as you all settle into an uneasy silence. There’s just too much right now leaving you grappling with uncertainty. With a shared understanding that words might not provide the resolution needed at the moment, you decide to let the night take its course.

Yoongi, sensing the need for a change in the atmosphere, suggests, "Let's get some rest. We can talk more tomorrow." He turns to face away from you and wraps himself up more with the blankets and sheets on your bed.

Jimin, still facing away from you, doesn’t say anything.

As you lay there, staring at the ceiling, you can't help but wonder if there’s even a good ending in store for you. You think through hundreds of different scenarios, but can only imagine hurt at the end of them. Sleep eludes you for a while, the pressure of your decision stressing your mind.

The room gradually quiets down, and the soft sounds of nighttime take over.

+++++++++++

February 15 [Friday] You wake up the next morning, entangled in limbs and surrounded by the body warmth from the men who made love to you the night before. You are still half-asleep when you hear a voice calling out your name.

“Y/N…”

When you get up, your eyes bulge out from the immediate sight of Jungkook at the foot of your bed.

“Jungkook? What the fuck.”

You’re so close to yelling, but quickly remind yourself where you are and what day it is. It’s your room at the Beta Tau house and it’s Friday. Wait fuck! Why are Jimin and Yoongi still in your bed? The jolt you did in reaction to Jungkook causes the two men beside you to wake up. Yoongi looks grumpy as he slowly gets up, while Jimin cutely rubs his eyes. Once they make eye to eye contact with Jungkook, they’re wide awake.

“Y/N… Jimin…Hyung… you all need to be more careful.”

“Jungkook, how the fuck did you get in here?” Jimin groans.

“Through the door like a normal fucking person.” Jungkook looks at each of you and sighs. “I knew about Honey and Yoongi that one time, but when the hell did this all happen?”

“Long story.” Yoongi takes this time to respond, rather shortly as he puts his hands through his hair. “I’m not even going to ask right now. It’s 7am in the morning. I was about to go to the gym before class, but saw Jimin didn’t even come back last night and his location was off. I was worried so I came in to ask you and then I see this…” You’re not going to lie, you feel embarrassed that you got caught like this. “Anyways, get back to your rooms before anyone else notices.”

“Jungkook…” You look at him with sincerity in your eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to blabber about this. I wouldn’t want to cause anything bad in the house.” He reassures you and leaves the room. Yoongi and Jimin get off the bed, get dressed and exit the room. They don’t address you as they leave, which leaves you feeling a bit hurt. But you can’t blame them. They were definitely expecting you to pick one of them. Now you told them Joon’s in this …”competition for your affections”. And you said you’d need one more day to give them a response. You wouldn’t be too surprised if they’re mad, even if they’re not explicitly showing it. But you’ll do it today. Nothing will stop you today!

++++++++++++++++++++++

Anxiety gnaws at you more with time.

As the day progresses, you find yourself immersed in thinking about your school work, while the unresolved situation with Yoongi and Jimin lingers in the background. Despite the attempts of your friends to engage you in conversation during lunch, you can't shake off the cloud of unease that shadows your thoughts.

After your only noon Friday class, you join Taehyung, Namjoon, and Jin for lunch on the lawn behind the Redwood Literature Hall. The atmosphere is somewhat warm as the sun shines brightly. The laughter and casual banter between the guys fills the air. However, your mind remains preoccupied, distant even as you nod and smile along with the conversation.

Namjoon, perceptive as ever, seems to catch on that something is bothering you. Instead of directly addressing it, he smoothly transitions the conversation, attempting to involve you more.

"So what game are we playing for Friday Night Game Night?" he asks, a twinkle of excitement in his eyes.

"Huh?" You're momentarily caught off guard, the shift from your internal thoughts to external conversation a bit disorienting.

"What? Did you forget we scheduled game night this week, Tiny? We've been trying not to miss doing this at least once a month with everyone," Namjoon chuckles as he reminds you.

"I'm sorry. I've been busy thinking about school work."

"You don't have anything tonight, do you?" Namjoon inquires.

"I..." The truth is: you don't want to have game night tonight. It's ironic how, just a few months ago, you were in Namjoon's shoes—eagerly asking if people would join game night and witnessing the waning interest in one of your favorite pastimes with the Beta Tau boys. Skipping out now might raise suspicions, especially since you assume Yoongi and Jimin will be there. Running away from the situation is not an option.

"No, I don’t. Maybe we could play drunk Jenga with the rules on the blocks? I think it's in Hoseok’s room. I'll ask him for it later." you suggest.

"Ooh, we haven't played that since last year!" Taehyung chimes in, with food in his mouth before swallowing.

"Sounds chill then." Namjoon continues eating some of the salad in his bowl before adding, "Wait, I'm going to have to leave game night a little early because I have to finish helping San and John with a film project in the library. Gonna pull an all-nighter. You guys won't mind?"

"No, we don't mind!" You and Jin say in unison, reassuring him.

"Yeah, go help them. You won't miss too much, well maybe Jimin getting naked or something." Taehyung's playful remark elicits laughter from the group, momentarily lightening the atmosphere. You join in the laughter, appreciating the effort to inject some levity into the conversation. As you all finish your lunch and head separate ways, you continue to prep yourself internally to confront them with a final answer. But when?!

+++++++++++++++++

Before you know it, you’re there.

Night falls, and all the boys gather around the expansive U-shaped couch in the living room of the Beta Tau house. The room is bathed in lighting of string lights hung haphazardly across the walls. Jin hung them months ago after he found out how much nicer the house looked with ambient lighting on at night. The music resonates from the Samsung TV, streaming from someone's Spotify account—most likely Jungkook's, given how similar the songs are to your music tastes.

On the coffee table sits an array of American and Korean snacks, creating a tempting spread that the guys start to grab. The assortment includes chips, popcorn, and desserts, complemented by an enticing mix of beer and soju. You grab one of the Strawberry flavored sojus and take a sip out of it. Mmm. Still gives you trauma from your first college hangover, but you need it to get through this night. Your eyes shift to Yoongi and Jimin, who sit to your right, conversing with Namjoon and Jungkook. You haven’t talked to them all day and you’re wondering if something is actually up beyond what they say.

Sudden anticipation rises as Hoseok makes a grand entrance, unveiling his stash of hard liquors from the top kitchen cabinet, eliciting cheers and excitement from everyone in the room. Hoseok, holding up a bottle of whiskey, interrupts the banter, "Enough chit-chat. Who's up for some real fun?"

Taehyung, his eyes gleaming with excitement, exclaims, "Count me in for anything that involves these bottles." He starts looking through all the bottles..

“You really went all out tonight! Some of these are expensive as fuck.” Jungkook, clearly impressed, examines a bottle labeled "The Yamazaki" and asks, "Hyung, how did you manage to snag this one?”

“My sister’s boyfriend gifted this one to me.” He giggles, grabbing shot glasses to place on the table for everyone. "Enough about that, we're doing shots out of this whiskey.” He gestures for everyone to grab a glass as he pours everyone up. Raising their glasses in the air, Jin proposes a toast, "To being single, wild, and free!"

That’s…for fucks sake.

The room falls into an awkward silence as everyone stares at Jin, confused by the unexpected toast. “What? Are we not single, wild, and free?”

“Hyung, it’s...that was just weird.” Jimin narrows his eyes, clearly puzzled by the sentiment.

“Just take the shot already, guys!” Jin chuckles, his ears reddening from embarrassment in the face of the disapproval of his toast. The room erupts into laughter, breaking the brief awkwardness, and everyone throws back their shots, the smooth whiskey burning down your throat. The hints of fruit to the wood-like taste made it somewhat bearable. You’re definitely a soju and wine girl. You don’t know how the guys love hard liquor.

As the whiskey warms everyone up, the group gathers on the floor around the coffee table, where the Drunk Jenga tower awaits its fate. The wooden blocks contain a unique challenge or rule at the bottom of it that you must do when you decide to move it.

Namjoon, already showing signs of tipsiness, gives the tower a skeptical look. "This better be worth the trouble."

Jimin, on the other hand, seems more excited, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Come on, Kim Namjoon, where's your sense of adventure?"

The first few turns are light and easy, with challenges like “Arm Wrestle", “Make an animal noise” and "clothes swap". The atmosphere is lively, and the guys are getting into the spirit of the game.

As the rounds progress, you all reach for your drinks more frequently, the clinking of glasses punctuating the room's growing merriment. The initial caution around the game transitions into a more carefree atmosphere as bottles are passed around and everyone takes hearty swigs between turns.

Namjoon, always one to embrace a challenge, starts pouring stronger drinks for himself, Yoongi, and Jimin. "Let's spice things up, boys!"

The room resonates with laughter and cheers as the alcohol takes its toll. Yoongi, normally reserved, finds himself loosening up, his witty remarks becoming bolder. Jimin, with his playful nature, encourages everyone to take bigger sips, and everyone starts getting more suggestive blocks.

The tower, now a precarious construction of wooden blocks, becomes the focal point of the party. Namjoon, fueled by liquid courage, seizes a block that reads, "Twerk on a table."

A hush falls over the room as Namjoon considers the challenge. Without a second thought, he positions himself on a sturdy table, sending the tower into a swaying frenzy. The guys watch in a mix of shock and amusement as Namjoon begins a twerking performance, his moves dangerously close to toppling both the tower and the table.

Jin, caught between laughter and concern, yells, "Namjoon, be careful! We can't afford to lose the Jenga tower yet!"

Namjoon, lost in the moment, twerks with unbridled enthusiasm, nearly bringing chaos to the game. The room erupts in cheers and applause as he completes the challenge, stumbling off the table with a triumphant grin.

As he gets off the table, he seems to be out of it, but then sobers up suddenly to say, “Fuck, I gotta go meet up with the other guys. I’m gonna call it a night for me!”

Everyone bids him goodnight as he probably won’t be back until the next morning. He grabs a jacket, a hangover drink from the fridge and water before you watch him head out the door. You hope he’ll be fine.

You all continue playing, the tower becomes less stable. It was Yoongi’s turn next. He pulls a block with finesse, reading it aloud, "Kiss, Marry Kill? You mean Fuck, marry, kill?"

Taehyung grins, rubbing his hands together, clearly enjoying the chance to make Yoongi spill. "Alright, pick 3 of Honey’s girl friends."

Uh what. Did he just seriously just ask that? You immediately raise an eyebrow at Taehyung for saying such a thing, but he doesn’t notice. Wait, is it bad that you're reacting like this? But that’s so weird to ask in general.

"I don't think I can answer that." Yoongi responds directly with a cold tone. He grabs one of the bottles of soju from the variety pack next to the table in preparation to pour in his shot glass as he chooses to take a drink instead of answering. It makes sense to you why he wouldn’t answer, given what he confessed the night before.

Though, the tension in the room becomes palpable as Taehyung's question hangs in the air, seeming to try to think of a way to convince him to respond. The playful atmosphere takes a sharp turn, and you can sense Yoongi's discomfort with the unexpected question.

A tense silence lingers for a moment before Jimin, unable to resist the opportunity to stir the pot, chimes in, "Why not, Yoongi? It's just a game. Scared your choices will upset someone?"

What’s he up to? You don’t get what he’s talking about. He must be drunk. You see Jungkook and Hoseok rush to get water to sober him up, sensing trouble. Taehyung and Jin sit there watching, unable to move as they’re also confused as to why Jimin is trying to incite something.

You shoot Jimin a sharp look, your patience wearing thin. "Jimin, he can answer it if he wants. It's just a game."

He smirks, an edge of bitterness in his tone, "Yeah, just a game. Just like this whole situation we’re in, right?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Your eyes narrow, the playful atmosphere taking a sour turn.

Yoongi, sensing the escalating tension, intervenes, "Alright, enough. Let's not ruin the night with unnecessary bullshit. I’ll take the shot and we move on."

The other guys are very confused at the sudden argument happening. Oh god, if Jimin doesn’t shut up right now, everyone’s going to find out.

You roll your eyes, growing weary of the veiled remarks. "Jimin, seriously, just drop it. This is not the time or place. It’s Friday Night Game Night."

He smirks again, a calculated move to get under your skin, "Oh, but when you’re the one deciding the time and place for stuff and never going through with things, that’s fine?"

"Hey, we talked about this already. Why are you acting like this?” Yoongi becomes growingly frustrated. Okay? What did they talk about that you’re missing out on exactly? This is getting ridiculous. You’re clearly missing a big piece of a puzzle that you didn’t know existed.

Jimin ignores his efforts of mediation, unwilling to let it go. "Maybe if someone could actually make a decision, we wouldn't have to keep playing these games."

Your patience snaps, and you retort, "Maybe if someone wasn’t acting like a child, we could go outside and have a mature conversation about whatever you’re fucking on about!"

“Maybe if I fucking told you earlier about the pact me, Yoongi, and Namjoon made in high school. We wouldn’t have ever gotten in this dumb ass de—” Jimin’s words are immediately cut off by Yoongi’s attempt to shut him up by covering his mouth. A struggle ensues as Jimin fights to break free.

Your eyes widen, a mix of shock and seething anger crossing your face. "Hold on. What? What pact? This is all news to me."

Your mind races, trying to comprehend the revelation. A pact made in high school? Over what? Don’t fucking say it’s a pact so they wouldn’t sleep with you. What the fuck. The realization hits like a sucker punch, leaving you feeling betrayed and blindsided. How could they have gotten into this fuck buddies deal and have clearly broken the honesty rule since day 0? Even though you were feeling bad only a few months ago when you had slept with Jimin. But at least you came clean to Yoongi as soon as you could.

But what the hell is this?! Who in this damn world would be okay with hearing their own best friends making some fucking bro code deal under the table?

Yoongi groans, speaking calmly, "It was supposed to be a stupid thing, just a way to avoid drama between us. I didn’t think it mattered anymore. We didn't think it would become a big deal anyways."

Your voice trembles with a mix of anger and hurt, "A big deal? You guys are my best friends and hid some fucking pact that you made a few years ago? How is that not a big deal?"

Jimin uses whatever strength he has while drunk to free himself from Yoongi's clutches. Though, his expression remains unapologetic, he shrugs, "It was for the best…at the time. We didn't want to ruin our friendship over a girl. Didn’t think it would affect us as much as it did. "

You scoff, disbelief coloring your tone, "A girl? I’m literally your fucking best friend, Park. So, what, you guys broke it how? Deciding to fuck me and forget your bro code!?”

Fuck.

As if the universe was suddenly signaling the end of this ordeal, the sudden jolt you made as you yelled at him causes the jenga tower to fall. The wooden blocks scatter across the table and on the floor, making the impact of the argument land even harder.

The bomb was dropped.

The room is engulfed in a heavy silence, the weight of the revelations settling in like a thick fog. The other guys exchange uncomfortable glances, sensing the gravity of the situation. Taehyung’s jaw is on the floor as he glances around, but cannot say anything. You hope to God he just doesn’t either. Knowing him, he’s going to make things worse without trying. Jin rubs his temples, while looking stressed, but somehow not that surprised. Jungkook and Hoseok return with water bottles, trying to diffuse the tension by offering it to Jimin. They also heard everything as they were in the kitchen, but do not comment on it. Jungkook was the only one who knew, but even then, the deal and pact is definitely news to everyone else.

This doesn’t stop the emotions swirling within you. Unlocking Pandora’s box that revealed the pact feels like a betrayal. You just can’t believe a secret pact between your best friends was kept hidden for years. How long? Was this when you were dating Yeonjun or even before those events? What about during the virginity race? Jimin's nonchalant attitude adds fuel to the fire, leaving you feeling beyond upset, hurt, and confused. He’s choosing not to answer your question.

It has to be because you hit the nail.

Yoongi, attempting to diffuse the tension, steps forward, "Look, we didn't plan for this to happen. We didn't think it through, and it got out of hand. We're sorry for not telling you earlier."

His apology hangs in the air, and you struggle to find the right words. You’re livid and they don’t even get it. Anxiety builds within you and now, the air starts to feel thick in this room, and everything seems to close in on you. You think you’re going to throw up if you continue staying in this room around them.

“Um, guys…maybe we should take a step back, cool off a bit. I have a lot of questions, but we can talk about this more calmly later." Jin, always the peacemaker, breaks the silence cautiously.

“Yeah, let’s take a break for now to sober up.” Hoseok adds.

Yoongi nods, a mixture of frustration and resignation settling in. "Yeah, maybe we should."

It would be good to step back right now and get your head wrapped around all of this, but you need to leave the house to do that. You can’t be around them right now. You need to go see Hwasa. Jieun. Soohyun. Soyoon. Fuck if you know who else, but you just can’t be here any longer.

"I'm leaving." Standing abruptly, you snatch your phone from the couch and grab your hoodie hanging by a chair. The room falls silent as you declare your departure, the heaviness of betrayal settling in your chest. Fueled by anxiety – the urge to throw up and the sting of unshed tears. You never envisioned yourself in this situation, feeling deceived and in a way, taken advantage of.

"What?" The question from Yoongi hangs in the air, a desperate plea for an explanation. You move towards the door in a hurried rush, a whirlwind of emotions overwhelming you.

As you make your way to the exit, Yoongi, Hoseok and Jungkook rush towards you, concern etched on their faces. They don’t want to let you out while you’re drunk and vulnerable, but you’re too out of it to consider that. Jimin remains seated on the floor next to Taehyung and Jin, waiting for the inevitable. Yoongi attempts to grab your hand, a gesture of known comfort, but you vehemently shoo it away.

"Don't touch me!" The words escape you, laden with hurt. You’re caught offguard by your own voice coming out. You come to a sudden halt, attempting to regain control over your breathing, needing to calm the storm within before you say things you don’t mean. The truth hangs heavy in the air, and you feel compelled to address the turmoil.

"I...I genuinely love you guys a lot." The confession spills out, a raw and explicit expression of the emotions coursing through you. "I struggled so much, agonizing over who to choose because I can't imagine a world without either of you by my side. The same goes for Joon. I enjoyed the times we had during this deal, but I wasn't going to pick any of you.” You turn to look at Jimin’s direction, who refuses to face you. “I wanted to put our friendship first and minimize any damage out of love and respect for you guys. But it seems like you guys weren't even considering that when breaking your little fucking pact!" The words linger, a bitter truth exposed in the wake of shattered expectations.

Yoongi stands there unable to respond, frustrated. Your eyes lock with his. Tears glisten on the brink of falling, reflecting a different kind of hurt behind his eyes – a hurt you can't bring yourself to delve into at this moment. Not in your current state.

Choosing to break the eye contact first, you turn away and head out the door, leaving the Beta Tau house behind. You don’t know when you’ll be back. You don’t want to be back anytime soon.

You headed to Hwasa's dorm, hoping to God that she's in that dorm on this Friday night. Because you're going to fall apart at any second as you trudge through the streets and onto campus.

As you make your way through the campus, you find your gaze involuntarily drawn towards the library. The familiar sight triggers the reflex to seek solace in Namjoon's company. Under normal circumstances, he would be your go-to person when something immediately troubled you or when things went awry with Yoongi and Jimin. However, this time feels different.

You shouldn’t go see him for now.

You carry on going onto the path toward Hwasa's dorm, hoping she's there to provide you support and understanding you desperately need in this moment of vulnerability. The anticipation and anxiety mount as you reach the building, your hands trembling as you dial Hwasa's number, yearning for a comforting voice in the chaos that has engulfed you.

“Y/N? Hey? What’s up—” “Please come to the front of your dorm building.” You interrupt her before she kept on speaking.

“Wait, Y/N what’s wrong—”

It’s this simple question that becomes the tipping point to you finally bursting out in sobs. No guys to hold you back, no deal to keep thinking about anymore.

“I-It’s over.”

–

tbc ?!!??! :O a/n: welp. the bomb was dropped. um. yes, that really just happened. the next chapter will be ... insane as well. I'm already writing it and I want you all to prepare yourselves! Anyone have any thoughts or theories on what will happen to our favorite quad and the rest of the house? i'd love to hear about them so lmk hehehe thank you all for reading!

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist! ➸ love u lately series masterlist

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maleyanderecafe · 8 months

Note

Have you played binary star hero? I'm really interested in your thoughts on the project since it's from the person behind favor?

I did actually see this game when it first came out, I just didn't get to finish playing it until now. Binary Star Hero is a wonderfully made game that explores the darker side of heroism with great graphics and a good story. If you like The Boys or Invincible, then this game will likely scratch that itch.

The story starts out with the main character Blake explaining their backstory. They used to be a villain named Hush-Hush, working for a man named Double. After being unable to deal with being a villain they were able to escape and live as a bartender at a local cafe along with Haley, their boss and Miles, their goofy coworker. While Miles very desperately wants to be a hero, Haley and Blake talk about their dissatisfaction with Heros, how fake they all are and how they seem to only be used as a public face with very little humanity. While working, a customer named Ray takes a liking to Blake, flirting and making passes at each other. Later on, they see the famous hero Binary Star on the television, with both Haley and Blake talking about how fake he seems with his golden boy personality and some more flirting with Ray. Upon going home that day, Blake gets a call from Double, the man that they have been running away from, stating that he will come and find them. Despite Blake's efforts of starting a new life, it seems that Double will not allow them to rest well. They end up meeting Ray around this time who offers to help them carry groceries. Upon reaching Blake's apartment, there is an explosion in the background, as a fight has occurred. Ray at the same time has to leave for not hero purposes, leaving Blake with a linger yearning as they leave. At work, Blake gets hit on by a obnoxious hero named Blaze before Hailey and eventually Ray step in afterwards. There's also some news the next day where Binary Star basically kicks Blaze off a building (which is funny). Double ends up visiting Blake during the end of their shift, threatening them to come back and work for him despite the fact that Blake has been trying to run away. Following this, Blake decides to sever ties with both Miles and Haley so that they will not get hurt by their association with Double, leading to Haley being fairly saddened by their sudden departure.

Going home, Blake sees an article showing a...sexier side of Binary Hero before a giant explosion happens in the background. Panicking, Blake runs back to the coffee shop Haley to see if they and Miles are alright, which they thankfully are. Blake is then saved by Binary Star and brought back to their apartment. While calling Ray, Blake realizes on the TV that Ray is Binary Star and tries to process what's going on by walking outside. There, Blake is kidnapped by Double and taken away. Double wants to bring them back to their group but not without punishment, as he was able to get his entire crew onboard with finding Blake. As a punishment, he is about to cut off Blake's fingers before Ray comes to save them. After killing off a lot of Double's crew, Ray rescues them and brings them back to their apartment where he takes care of them, cooking food and taking showers. There is even a scene where Blake tends to Ray's wounds after a battle. Depending on affection level, they will even kiss and Blake will be bratty towards Ray.

During one of the showers, Blake shuffles through Ray's stuff to find a notepad and his phone. Either way, Blake finds a photo of them from a couple of years ago petting a cat. Depending on interactions we learn one of the following two: Ray actually saw Blake before when they were still a criminal, and was able to see the humanity of this world by basically watching Blake, something that he was never able to do before as he did what the Hero Association did. Blake can also learn about Ray's powers, with Ray describing a Binary Star as two stars that are bound gravitationally and orbit around each other, where often the bigger star will eventually swallow the smaller one. He basically is able to gain the super powers he has by killing them and taking their powers.

While Ray is gone, Blake can either call Double or Haley, or search up more information on Binary Star. Talking to either Haley or Double will lead to them both essentially saying that Binary Star is a psychopath and that Blake should get out of there asap, while looking up information on Binary Star will lead to learning more about his mentor, someone who seemed very pleasant but had many bad sides to him such as his sexism and abusive behavior. Learning about this can also lead to a conversation with Binary Star about his experiences with his mentor.

Blake wakes up to their apartment burning and tries to escape.

Trying to escape out of the balcony while calling for Binary Star will lead to him saving Blake and bringing them to his apartment where they live happily.

Trying to leave by their own whims will lead Binary Star to come, though disappointed that they did not call out to him. Depending on choices, this can lead him to either kill Blake outright, basically absorb them because of his powers or save Blake.

With high enough love with Double, Blake will be able to escape the apartment on their own only to bump into Double. Double reveals tauntingly that Ray was the one who started the fire, pointing out the fact that there was nothing that could indicate it starting normally and the fact that Blake never noticed. He's able to convince Blake to come back with him, working together in their villainous ways once more.

With high enough love from Haley, Blake will be able to reach the window and is saved by them, revealing that they are a villain who can shapeshift. Blake is able to escape thanks to Haley and Miles and the three of them continue stealing from the rich in a Robin Hood like fashion.

There are also a couple of after stories for each main character as well as an Easter egg for getting all of the endings relating to Favor.

I will say that this game is very well made just like Favor itself. It holds to a comic book style from the dialogue boxes to the backgrounds. The parallax on scenes is also a nice touch, though I do think that it's a bit overused in the game (though to be fair, when I first found out about parallax I had the same reaction). Overall, the game itself looks really nice and polished.

The world of Binary Hero Star reminds me mostly of The Boys in it's darker retelling of heros and the more extreme measure that they go through such as the description of Binary Hero basically lasering people straight in half and the general importance of public view that each Hero has to hold. There's also remnants of My Hero Academia and Invincible as well, both that show superheros in not necessarily traditional views that we normally do and often more brutal ways (especially in Invincible). It's always a fascinating view of just how twisted heros can actually be given the circumstances, especially with Binary Hero's power of essentially stealing powers by killing. It's nice to see the darker underbelly of the story as well with Double and in a sense Haley as they are both criminals but work in different ways. Seeing the city in chaos because of the aliens or villains that are attacking it being such a relatively normal thing is also something that was kind of fun to see. Generally the contrast and romance between a hero and a villain is always a fun thing to see.

Personally I like Blake a lot better than the MC in Favor, mostly because Blake is a lot more fleshed out with backstory and character. They still retain the more snarky attitude, but it does make more sense considering that they had to work with someone like Double and was a criminal runaway, so having that kind of view on Heros isn't necessarily something that is unexpected. Blake's Hush-Hush persona plays a bigger part in the story as well, as it's the reason why Double is after them and how Ray ended up meeting them in the first place. Blake is supposed to be written as a brat, which besides the fact that Ray pretty much calls them that can also be seen with Double as the affection for him only goes up if Blake is defiant with him. While I'm sure many people probably enjoy Blake being a brat to Ray's more brat tamer personality, I personally despise playing as a brat which is partially why I had to take breaks from playing the game every now and then. It's not really a bad writing decision per say since like I said, I'm sure many others will enjoy that dynamic, but I just was not the biggest fan of it. I will say though that I did like how Blake acted in the side story with Binary Hero, as the entire world gets killed by aliens, they have a chance to manipulate Ray into saving everyone by stating that they wanted their children to have a normal life, something that Ray jumps on. It's a last ditch effort since afterwards, Blake even hesitates on the fact that they'd even want children with Ray in the first place. I also appreciate their companionship with both Miles and Haley in that ending all of them are having fun while robbing a rich bastard's place.

Ray is an interesting case as a yandere since he does test Blake's loyalty towards him with the house fire. Considering his entire background from being sold by his mother to the Hero's Association (or whatever it is called in the world) to being trained to kill by a jerk mentor to absorb his powers, he has been through a lot. If his only salvation was from a criminal he saw many years ago that changed his mind, then it would be safe to assume that he would doubt his own feelings, especially since he also has a cynical personality of no longer believing in humanity. Of course it seems that he's been following Blake for a while now given the photo that he keeps and his general over protectiveness after Double kidnaps Blake, murdering everyone in sight and wanting them to move into his place so that he can take care of them. This is especially true in the after ending where Blake watches as everyone else dies before them due to alien attacks and Ray nonchalantly doesn't seem to care, because as long as they have Blake, then the others don't matter. Still, the love at first sight portion is a bit weak in my opinion, since I feel like there could be other ways that Ray could have fallen in love with Blake. Again, minor nitpick though, Ray is a very fun albeit terrifying yandere, though it does make me wonder what happened in endings where Blake ends up going with Double or Haley.

Double you can argue might also be a yandere too depending on how you view it. Double is a pretty menacing character not only in design and attitude but also in action, being able to get the entire team to track down Blake and ready to torture them. Considering he actually goes to quite long lengths to find them and in the extra ending even chaining them up in his place, you could see him more as a more violent or possessive yandere type. This all depends on whether you view Double's interest in Blake as a type of love or not though.

Haley is of course my favorite (because why wouldn't they be) considering their ending is probably the happiest, escaping and stealing with Miles and Blake. It's also pretty cool to hear about Mile's history as well with his family being all villains but him wanting to be more of a hero. Shows that he has a bit more depth than initially just being a hero fanboy who is clumsy. I honestly would love to see more of these three on adventures stealing things. It makes me wonder what will happen with Ray if they all meet up again, perhaps it will lead to a tragic end to everyone.

Like I said though, a very fun and interesting vn about the darker side of heros, all with a yandere main love interest. We get to see a lot of this world and the character Blake on their escape from villainy as well as Ray's infatuation and testing with Blake, as the two have a loving but seemingly damaged relationship. All the characters are fun to watch and very unique in their own right so that you don't forget them. I hope that you play this game because it is a quite an experience.

#Binary Star Hero #male yandere #yandere #yandere boy #recommendations #asks

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hockpock · 8 months

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Glasses Review - Firmoo

Hello vision impaired friends, I bring you the gospel of Ordering Your Damn Glasses Online

I have previously ordered from EyeBuyDirect (luxotica/lenscrafters'/America's Best in disguise, sorry.) and Zenni Optical ( most well known online provider, A+ would recommend) and have seen lots of ads for free pairs from a competitor, Firmoo. I have too much prescription for the free pair offers to ever work out from ANY provider, but their fun designs put them on my list.

When my current glasses broke, I was dinking around and saw their current promotion is Buy One Get One Free PLUS 20% off lenses and as lenses are the real $$$ I jumped on that like tigger on crack. I am VERY nearsighted with astigmatism and the average pair of glasses from lenscrafters used to cost me $300 minimum.

After much deliberation with a million tabs open and a poll I ignored the results of for Reasons, I ordered a pair of clear frames and a pair of purple steampunk-y wireframes . Two pairs of HIGH PRESCRIPTION glasses for $87 shipped. I could cry, y'all.

Note: I have an up to date prescription and a nifty app that measures Pupillary Distance or 'PD'. you will need both these things accurate to have the best experience buying your glasses online.

I ordered them 9/22, they shipped 9/25, I received them 9/29 with regular shipping. They came well packed - each pair was in a bag made of cleaning cloth material inside a sturdy plastic case and they come in a foil bubble mailer.

Both pairs feel well made, with lots of attention to detail-

however I did not pay attention to detail or pay extra money for the Re-he-heaaallly thin lenses. So the clear ones are slightly too big and I hate the way the nose pieces sit, while the purple ones are a wee bit small across the temple and heavy to boot. I haven't had dents in my nose like this since I was 12.

the website lists their exchange policy as 30 days, the pamphlet that came with the glasses says 60. Either way it was pretty painless to go into my order history and select "exchange". The form I filled out with my reasons for dissatisfaction promised me I would be contacted within 24 hours.

My 'personal Firmoo consultant', 'Karen', emailed me with a code for the full price before discount of both pairs + standard shipping, as well as the usual customer service canned answers about checking the sizing information and did I know I could upgrade the lenses?

Also I could keep the failed pairs 'FOR NOW', here are some places that accept glasses as donations. (mixed messages, Karen, but sweet!)

New friends are April006, round anodized wireframes with a cute dingly gem thing, and Sandy020 , literal tortoiseshell cat eye frames.

This time I used the site's search terms to cut the temple width and earpiece length options down and double checked the weight of the base frames. (14g vs 24g for the round wireframes before my coke-bottle lenses. RIP my nose. )

New order was placed 10/5 and they arrived 10/17 . (last time I checked the tracking estimated arrival had creeped from the 19th up to the 23rd so grain of salt. This may be a tactic to make the order feel like it got here faster or legit delays. In my case there was a federal holiday involved.)

Complete disclosure I'm gonna grab a pair of pliers and take the little dangly off the wireframes. It makes a noise when I move my head and if I don't fold the frames in the right order when I take them off it'll scratch up the lenses. I ain't gonna remember to avoid that, so off it goes.

The Good:

Large selection, Good Quality, Good Communication. Lots of Off the Beaten Path options for internet weirdos. Firmoo p much always has a promotion going.

My wallet is so happy. SO HAPPY. Frames run $20-30ish to start. lenses will vary with your prescription and options.

If y'all want 50% off your first frames and to give me a $10 credit they have a referral program and my code is T4Z8I2. BOGO20 is a better value but it expires 11/01/23.

The Bad:

Not flexible about lens options- you go down one track and pick your options within that. If there was a way to put tinting on a pair of glasses other than blue light blocking I couldn't find it. (in contrast I believe Zenni lets you choose a range of colors and tint depth on any pair, designed as sunnies or not)

You Will Get Emails. Firmoo REALLY wants you to buy more glasses and post about it and tell your friends and HERE THIS CODE IS ONLY GOOD FOR 3 DAYS, GO BUY NEW GLASSES. They are marketing themselves to fashionable young influencers who change styles every month. Unsubscribe with impunity.

like Zenni, this is a company with the majority of it's functionality based overseas. It's cheaper because you're ordering directly from a factory and not paying Luxotica's markups to itself. Customer service is mostly English as Second Language speakers and there may be delays.

Not For Emergencies. I was able to coast on a pair of glasses from a prescription or 2 ago but it's gonna take time for your order to be made and shipped.

Overall I'm very happy with them and will probably order again.

Next time I have spare money I'm aiming at Wherelight because y'all. they are next down on the list of reputable to shady AF but they have the most amazing WTF designs.

#glasses #low vision #review #pock posts a thing #firmoo.com #vision impaired #long post

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within-your-eyes-if · 8 months

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Update 9/21

Hello everyone!

I've definitely had a period of complete dissatisfaction no matter what I wrote (including all the lovely asks I've received). It hurt my soul sometimes. It stressed me out a lot and weighed me down heavily. But I've been crawling out of the mindset (your loving words and support a huge help) and I finally feel more satisfied with what I have.

I made quite a few revisions, additions, and corrections. I expanded on a few things, especially the fights and the knightly order that Gabriel and Lee are a part of. I did away with some stuff or just redid it. I overlooked some details and have corrected them accordingly. I can't tell if it's a lot or feels like a lot because I've done it all gradually over the past two months.

Other things to note:

Tongue piercings added.

MC is less opinionated regarding the baron (There was a reason, but I decided to go a different direction in this area. Regardless, it won't really matter until Ch3).

New option on the initial character customization page (Where you choose your pronouns. (This new option won't come into play until Ch3+, but I just want you to be aware of it).

No more being dragged around. You utilize the walking stick more. The changes were slight adjustments to the text, but it's worth mentioning, even if it feels small.

Skipping Ly's explicit scene now gives a non-descriptive overview. I feel like some parts within the explicit stuff added a bit of character-building. But I repeat: they are non-descriptive (for those who prefer it this way ♥).

Declining the job actually lets you say no.

No personality check at dinner. No personality checks ever.

There are a few other things I changed and added spread throughout both chapters, but I'd say they're relatively minor, or I want you to discover them for yourself.

Anyway, I think that's all. I still don't want to give a date for Ch3 because I'm trying to take my time and make sure I'm happy with it. I don't want a repeat of the turmoil I've put myself through, which is entirely my fault. Regardless, I can look at these two chapters and feel more content with them and now peaceably move on to finishing Part 1 of Chapter 3. A lot is going on in this chapter and my personal life, so I have 100% decided to break the chapter into two parts (I said before I wasn't sure).

Thank you for reading this and my story! Have an awesome day!

Demo Link

Word Count: 110,596 (Excluding Codex)

#within your eyes if #interactive fiction #text based adventure #text based game #work in progress #wye progress update

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hwasdvlly · 10 months

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Sweet Treat | k.yeosang

♥︎ summary: nothing sweeter than a father and daughter baking a cake.

♥︎ pairing: yeosang x fem!reader

♥︎ genres: fluff, slice of life, and humor

♥︎ word count: 0.8k words

♥︎ warnings/tags: none. established relationship, idol!yeosang, non-idol!reader, father-daughter bonding, wooyoung has a special appearance, mentioned of uncle ateez

♥︎ a/n: my first writing of yeosang! woohoo!!

“Okay, it looks like everything is ready.”

A beautiful man with a deep, velvety voice sets up his camera to start a special video for the group’s Youtube channel.

Yeosang skips his legs and stands behind the kitchen counter in his plain t-shirt and sweatpants. He is in a good mood because he wants to show off his cooking skills. “Hello, Atiny!” He happily waves at the camera. “Today, I will be doing an activity that’s not much of a new idea on our channel, but regardless, it’ll be fun.” Yeosang puts on a lovely smile.

The artist continues, “Since this is my first time trying it out, and hoping it’ll be great,” he chuckles merrily, “Kang Yeosang will be baking a cake for Atiny!” He did a self-celebration by clapping his hands and a little dance.

“But!” Yeosang points his finger up. “I do have someone that’s going to be my little assistant. Please, come in!” He calls for that special someone.

He chuckles when he sees Wooyoung carrying his daughter to the kitchen. Yeosang clasps his hands. “Yes, Atiny. The special guest is not this thing,” He points at Wooyoung while shaking his head. Wooyoung gives a look of dissatisfaction to the camera. “It’s my pride and joy, Yoora!” Yeosang happily claps his hands.

The little four-year-old waves at the camera, “Hello, Atiny!” She greets the audience in her adorable, squeaky voice.

Her father and uncle burst out laughing. “So cute!” Wooyoung squeals and presses a kiss on her chubby cheek. Yoora has Yeosang’s squishy round face.

The two men also felt their hearts explode.

Yoora learned about her father’s and uncle’s group when she listened to their music. At first, she didn’t know about them being idols.

On a chill afternoon, you were watching one of your favorite shows, and your daughter was playing with her toys. You overhear Yoora humming a song. You asked your baby what it was. She said Eternal Sunshine. It shocked you because she had no clue that her uncles and her father were the artists of her favorite song.

After a deep dive into Yeosang’s music career, she also knows the name of the fandom.

“Okay, let’s begin.” The father takes his daughter out of his best friend’s arms.

Yoora waves at Wooyoung, “Bye-bye, Uncle Wooyo!” She says before he leaves. Wooyoung makes a heart with his hands and watches behind the cameras. Not to mention, you were watching the recording this entire time. It’s because you don’t want Yeosang to burn down the kitchen. Or something worse.

But as promised to his wife, he’ll do his best.

Once it’s just the father and daughter in the kitchen, they put on custom-made Hehetmon aprons that a fellow Atiny stitched and gave as a gift in a fan sign. Yeosang has Yoora sitting on the stool as she plays with the spatulas while he puts together the ingredients to make a vanilla cream cake.

“Baby, can you tell the viewers who is your favorite uncle?” Yeosang would ask Yoora random questions here and there. He now has Yoora in front of him to mix the batter. She didn’t hesitate to tell who it was.

“Uncle San!” She shouted cheerfully.

Then a gasp comes from the background. “I thought it was your Wooyo!”

The two look up from their mixing to see Wooyoung pouting like an upset kid. You look at your friend and laugh at him. He is always trying to be everyone’s favorite. But you can’t blame the people because Wooyoung is so lovable. However, he can be whiny.

“Yoora loves Uncle Wooyo too!” The little girl yells to reassure him. Of course, he would never stay sad. Wooyoung immediately draws a jolly smile on his lips.

Subsequently, Yeosang and Yoora finished baking the cake, and now is the fun part—decorating. The camera records them sitting at the dining table with loads of materials. Yoora places things so gently and wants the cake to look nice.

“Wow, who taught you how to write Atiny?” Yeosang asked his angel. He watches Yoora pipe out the fandom’s name with red royal icing—one of his favorite colors. “You did.” She answered straight away. Yeosang turns his head at the camera. His face etches a proud grin, and he nodded.

The man taught his child well.

As soon as the decorating segment gets completed, they snapped pictures to share on ATEEZ’s social media. One of them is Yeosang and Yoora posing cutely. They wrote on the cake,

To: Atiny

From: Yeosang & Yoora

We love you!

Yeosang cuts up a small piece for Yoora because he doesn’t want her to get sugar high. The idol starts doing the outro.

“Everyone, thank you for watching this video. I’ve always wanted to film one with Yoora. She is growing healthy and will be starting school soon. We’ll appreciate every beautiful message from Atiny because you all make our day better. So, yeah.” Yeosang wraps Yoora into his arms. He tells her, “Let’s say goodbye, baby. One, two, three…”

The father and daughter wave their hands. “Bye~”

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berylliem · 13 hours

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While I am gutted about today's EoS announcement, it's also important to note that for lesser known series, Especially Magia Record, it's the fandom that keeps it relevant, *not* just the company that produces it.

Magia Record has a fandom that I've seen go through so much garbage, what with the bungling of NA, not just the EoS but the promotion and the pacing and the lack of transparency, the absolute dissatisfaction we had with the 3rd season of the anime, and now today's EoS. But throughout that disaster, I've seen fans on so many different platforms come out with TOP TIER content, whether it be memes, art, translations, custom JSONs for the Magia Record engine, or of course, a personal favourite of mine, the @projectmokyuu fandub.

What is next for us now as a fandom should be "Business as Usual." Keep creating and talking about our magical girls. I have this saying about our fandom that I use to explain to people why I do what I do for the magireco fandom:

"The Devil works hard, but the PMMM fandom works harder."

This is a testament to all those incredible projects I've seen over the past 5 years in this fandom. Prove me right.

With that being said, I decided to compile some of my favourite magireco projects still going on.

@puellamagishowdown, and the magical girl thunderdome going on there,

Magia Union Translations, who has been doing some SERIOUS work ever since the NA EoS announcement, making sure the new content could be understood by an English Audience, whose discord link I'm posting >>here.<<

This Magireco Minibang, which is currently fielding interest. I would love it if it were to happen, so please sign up: https://forms.gle/ZpS4fcmFX7NGxF2z6

And of course, if any of you've been following me for a while, you know how important Project Mokyuu is to me. Project Mokyuu is a fan-dubbing initiative for Magia Record's Arc 2 content, content that never made it to the North American server. If you wanna help out, or if you just want to hang out with Magireco players outside of the main server, this is the discord link. We will continue to dub Arc 2 content until we are physically no longer able to. (and honestly given our history, even past that. We have a very committed team.)

It's been one of the great joys of my life to serve the Magireco community in this way. Thank you all for all the magical girl content that's come across my dash over all these years. I love you lots, and I hope to see much more magireco content in the future, as well as with the release of Exedra in the future.

#magia record #magical girls #mahou shoujo #pmmm #magireco

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suraemoon · 7 months

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A Sunset in 1956

“Hot summer days, rock and roll. The way you'd play for me at your show. And all the ways I got to know your pretty face and electric soul.”

Elvis Presley x Reader

Warnings: An unclear/inaccurate timeline? Memphis in the Summer of 1956 is all we know. The Colonel has a few namedrops (sorry). I think that's it...just a lot of fluff and longing.

WC: 4.7k

A/N: This is my first time ever writing a fanfiction, I usually give up after the first paragraph, so just keep that in mind lol. Kind of a long introduction. A lot of thoughts. A love letter to 1956 Elvis and all those who fell in love with him. <3

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1956 - The year when most of the nation first became aware of the name, Elvis Presley.

His name could be well-heard uttered like a beautiful not-so-secret secret in hushed, giggling whispers of teenage girls passersby after the local high school let out its last bell. Adolescent girls across the nation were caught mesmerized, crowded around their family television sets, as if under a trance by the Southern young man shaking his hips to the vibrations and melodies of that sweet, exhilarating Rock n’ Roll music.

The girls felt something awaken in them after watching Elvis Presley on their screens late in the evening. A feeling that refused to sleep in the quiet hours of bedtime, a light that refused to dim under the moonlight, a wind of extreme feeling that rustled through the pages of their minds as they lay in bed.

Excitement…for something they wanted, but did not quite have. A feeling of sexual desire that was not supposed to be openly felt and that was so forbidden, yet beautiful that it became a high of elation.

The feelings wake up with them the next day, and love not only for the music taking the nation by storm but also as the man, seen to many, as the face of it all, leads them to the record stores for every new release. It led them to the shows where he put his all into bringing them to their feet and bringing all those emotions over the edge. How they wish they had the opportunity to be with him.

To be in your spot? Not exactly…they want more.

You hear his name loudly hollered and complained about by older folk, eager to express their extreme dissatisfaction and disgust with what was presented on the late-night television programs as “dancing”. How dare Milton Berle air something so vulgar?

There is an excitement in the air that they can’t feel, can’t understand. The snowflake melts as soon as it comes into contact with them. They do not care to look at its unique pattern anyway. As the water from the faucet bends effortlessly around their tired, life-worn hands, they fail to notice the rainbow made as the water catches the light of the sun. A rainbow in which you have had the privilege of getting to know every hue throughout your years of close friendship.

This is unknown to most, especially an old man at your job asking if you listen to 'all that vulgar roll-and-rock stuff…or was it rock-and-roll? It's not worth it. You try your hardest to put on your customer service voice and politely laugh at the ignorance, knowing that your shift has just started and it's too early for the hassle of explaining Rock-n-Roll to someone not at all interested in learning.

His name, one you first heard when the teacher called out attendance in class all those years ago, was moving like a wave, and any unknowing individual would think he was running for office.

You can’t help but laugh softly at your own thoughts as you stare at the all-familiar Memphis surroundings through the glass of the car window. Suddenly, you are pulled back to reality by a firm squeeze of a hand that you had just noticed began to rest on your thigh. Then, you heard the signature Southern voice that had the whole nation going haywire.

“You alright, honey? You’re as quiet as a dormouse over there.”

Elvis looks over at you and slightly bites his lip as the car you two are sitting in, a new one he bought more recently, sits at a red light.

You smile at him, a slight hue of pink brushing your face, partly from embarrassment at being caught and taken out of your head like a fish out of the water and partly from your best friend’s hand still being on your thigh. You try to divert your focus from the shock of sudden attention and instead try to make a joke.

“Oh, I’m alright…Just in shock is all. I mean I’m in a car with Elvis Presley. I might faint.”

You playfully fan yourself with your hand as you enunciate his name as if it is displayed in big letters on a marquee shining bright on the busy streets of Broadway. A sight that you can easily imagine coming to fruition. You can’t help but laugh, breaking your already unconvincing, but in a way real, act.

“Mhm, sure." He hums, all too used to your teasing, “You sure it’s not just the heat? You can roll the window down a little more.”

He has that signature smile on his pretty face as he focuses his sky-blue eyes on the road before him. When the light turns green, he puts his foot on the gas. His right hand hesitates for a second, debating on whether it is still appropriate to continue to lay on your thigh. He ultimately decides to lift his hand.

“Don’t worry, I’m just kidding ya.” He already knew that. And you know that he knows that you just had to make sure.

When he speaks again, he has the same excitement that he had when you two first got into the car as if it never left, because truly it never did disappear. As you stare at his beautiful eyelashes, enhanced by the mascara that you’ve helped him apply a few times before, you notice a look in his eyes. It’s like the Memphis road ahead of him reminds him of another long road, one that he does not quite know the destination of yet. Your eyes trace his side profile as he talks with a boyish smile on his face.

“Once we get to our spot, Imma tell you all about everything, Satnin. I will. Life’s gonna be even more crazy, if you can believe that. I mean the Colonel said the tours are gonna be…a-and the audiences will be even bigger. It's all up from here, honey, and I’ll explain it all to ya…I really will. I ain't gonna say it all complicated cause it might be a lot for your pretty head… I m- I mean it's hard for me to even…believe. Ya know?”

He says this all fast-paced, hurriedly as if he’s being timed to speak, but you have no problem keeping up with his words from years of conservations both long and short.

“I know, Elvis. I’m really excited for ya. I always am and you know that.”

“For us, honey. Me, you, and my parents.”

You look at him adoringly, admiring his apple-like cheek, his outfit the shirt of which had to be from Beale Street, and the beautiful way the sun reflected off of his face. The beautiful orange before sunset that put a comforting and pleasing softness on everything it touched wouldn’t be until a little bit, but when you were around Elvis, every minute felt golden.

There are a few minutes of silence perfectly comfortable due to so many years of knowing each other before Elvis pulls into the driveway of your home; the same cornflower blue house that your family has been living in and loving for as long as you can remember. His eyebrows furrow and a few creases appear between them, the same ones that you love to smoothen with your thumb whenever you get a chance, as he ponders for a moment,

“Your folks ain’t home?”

You responded nonchalantly, a little surprised that this had not already come up in conversation. But, considering the fact that so much has been going on in his life lately, it is not shocking that your parents not being home for a weekend didn’t wander into your discussions today.

“Nah. They left this morning for a wedding of some old friends of theirs. They were telling me over dinner yesterday….”

You and Elvis get out of the car, doors closing in synchronization as you continue,

“The couple getting married have been friends their whole lives…I think the guy was already divorced…or was it that the lady already has a kid?”

As you go on trying to carefully recall what your parents had told you about their weekend trip while you were scarfing down Mama’s delicious home-cooked dish at dinner yesterday, you fail to notice Elvis taking something out of the car’s leather back seat and slipping it into the back pocket of his pants.

“I don't know, Maybe both…But they realized recently that they’re made for each other. Getting married in Nashville so my parents are spending the weekend.”

Elvis focuses his attention on you and nods, letting you know that he is listening to your story, “I’m guessing your brother is still out on his work trip too, which is crazy, 'cause that means…”

Elvis looks at you with a playful gleam in his eyes, one that lets you know that you’re about to be teased, “They trusted you with the house.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You giggle, feigning offense with your voice.

“I’m plenty responsible for taking care of ole' Blueberry.” You put your hands on your hips in confidence as you look up at your house and the spot on the second-floor siding that needs to be repainted. Whatever happened to it anyway? Your “Rosie the Riveter”-worthy confidence takes a back seat and your hands leave your hips to rest at your sides as you ponder that question.

“Well…” Elvis elongates his word as he leans his arm on your shoulder, tilting his head slightly.

You turn your head up towards him, already knowing the situation that he is referring to. “You really won’t let me get away with the ‘almost burning the house down thing’ huh? I was trying to do a good deed! What can I say, I’m a good girl at heart.”

“Yeah, you were trying alright, and then the surprise ‘Happy Anniversary’ cookies for your folks caught fire.”

“Stop teasing me.” You whine with a small laugh as you take his hand in yours and lead him to your backyard. “Let's go out back before the sun sets on us.”

You can’t help but let your mind wander back to the cookie incident as you walk hand in hand to your signature spot in the backyard, looking down at your feet in the green grass,

“Can you believe that after I burnt my cookies, David brought out his ‘Happy Anniversary’ cupcakes? Totally upstaged me.”

“He’s the golden child. Unlike your cookies…which weren’t golden at all. They were actually tar black.”

You can not help but laugh at his cheesy joke as you two sit on the lush grass under the big tree in your backyard. Its leaves are still green from the energizing air of summer, their bright beauty contrasting with the broken wood swing hanging from the tree’s strongest branch with now only one rope, the other one laying on the ground as if having given up a long time ago. The swing has been broken for so long that it's almost like decor at this point. For years, this tree has been the spot where you and Elvis chose to spend long, but never dragging, hours talking to each other and listening to listening to records. Whenever the weather allowed for it that is.

This was the spot where all those years ago, Elvis told you all about his favorite superhero, Captain Marvel Jr., the very first time he came for a playdate at your house. You had convinced Elvis to let you play alongside him as a superhero after fulfilling your role as the damsel in distress for a few rounds of the game. Well, being alongside him as Captain Marvel Jr’s sidekick; it would have to do, you thought contently. The two of you had run around with towels as capes for hours, stopping crime in the confines of your gated backyard which your young minds had imagined was actually all of Memphis.

Elvis went back to his house right before sunset that evening with grass and dirt stains on his clothes that matched your own. This was something that you two kids had also shared with your Mama’s new towels left scattered in the yard, which she wasn’t too thrilled about. A smile stayed lingering on your face as you were tasked with doing the laundry that night.

Those old times thrive not only in your memories but also in the roots of the old tree. Does it smile when you and Elvis still choose to sit under it time and time again? The age of the tree is unknown due to the fact that it was already full grown when your family moved in all those years ago. Maybe love has kept it up and standing despite any storm that might come blowing its way.

A few minutes of conversation under the tree remained similar in structure and topic to a lot of your discussions with Elvis recently. 1956 has been a huge year for Elvis and you have never minded him being the center of attention because of how much you truly and wholeheartedly adore him.

“Isn’t this all amazing, Elvis? We used to dream about this stuff for you. I mean I’ve always known that you’re great but….I mean, remember when we were just kids listening to records? Now people go out and buy records that say Elvis Presley.”

Elvis looks up at the white, pillowy clouds passing by. New clouds float through the sky but their all familiar patterns and shapes never lose their comfort. Someone looking up could easily be convinced that the clouds they see are the same ones that just passed by the last time that person had gotten the inclination to look. That would mean they weren’t paying close enough attention.

“I remember being in grade school and my audiences only had my lil Satnin sitting crisscrossed apple sauce with those big wide eyes.” He looks at you and you get a glance of the smile lines gifted from Heaven.

You run a hand through his dyed, jet-black hair and you smile to yourself as you think back to the sandy-haired boy who had just moved to Memphis from Tupelo. The one who on the first day of school was placed in the seat next to you by the teacher. You remember how his leg bounced up and down in anxiety under his desk on the first day; his pencil tapping in what seemed to be the rhythm of a song.

You remember the cheeky grin of the sandy-haired boy who had just moved from Tupelo to Memphis. The boy who talked really fast except for when he was singing…something that he loved to do. It was hard to miss that Elvis was a lover of music because he made it known.

“I was early to the party, wasn’t I?”

“V.I.P.” He says nonchalantly as if your exceptionality is obvious.

“Now you got thousands, millions who wanna listen to ya. A bunch of wide eyes on Elvis Presley.”

“Mhm...but your eyes are still my favorite. Always will be.”

Your eyes saw the butterfly come out of the cocoon. Your eyes saw the fidgets, the smiles, the tears, and all the little habits that made Elvis, Elvis. But did you feel the feeling? A shakiness in your legs as you watched him dance and shake his? A jump in your heart at the first riff of his guitar? A slightly parted mouth as you watched him sing from those beautifully plump lips? Of course. Oh, how you feel it all.

Girls nationwide are experiencing what you have been feeling for years now. It’s just that they have the ability to do things that you aren't quite in the position to do...express your attraction for the world to hear, scream for dear life at his performances, rant and rave to your best friend about the handsomeness and charm of Elvis Presley. All these things you could not do due to the fact that your best friend is the man himself.

He mumbles a little, expressing random thoughts out loud, “We need to keep doing those guitar lessons with you too. I know it’s been a while but I’d hate to lose our progress. You’ve really got something.”

You hum in response, “I think I was just starting to get the hang of it. Whenever ya find the time I’d love for ya to teach me more.”

“Need to get you a guitar. Something real nice so you can practice when I’m not around.”

“I don’t need anything 'real nice'. Maybe once you get a new one, I can borrow your old one. I don’t need anything new.”

You’d hate for Elvis to spend his money on getting you your own guitar. Would it be spectacular to have your own? You’d love it and play it any chance you got. But to have him go out and get one for you would be unnecessary. You’re sure you can save up the money for one with some paychecks.

As you think about possibly getting your own guitar, Elvis has already moved on from that topic and starts talking about something else that has popped up in his thoughts. He was truly lightning in a bottle, a constant, sometimes unpredictable spark of electricity.

He gets that special smile again and you know that he’s thinking about the future.

“I’m gonna take you international. Maybe one day I’ll perform under the Eiffel Tower and I’ll get ya all of the French clothes that gals like cause for some reason the French ones are better than the Memphis ones…Or maybe I’ll perform in one of those fancy palaces in England for the Queen.

Imagine that. You think she’d like me?”

You smile as you imagine the Queen of England at an Elvis Presley performance. I mean if she’s like most young women…

”I don’t think she’d be opposed.”

“Might go against some protocol by having me there. It's gotta be real strict for the royals in London. You know how the knives and the forks are supposed to go on certain sides of the plate? All that rich folk stuff?"

He sighs as if words aren’t enough to describe all of his dreams just right, “I wanna do it all. Go everywhere. I don’t want to be confined to one place…no reason to be.”

As his fingers reach to play with a strand of your hair, a promise that Elvis made to you a few years ago pops back into your consciousness, like the younger-version of you blew a bubble and sent it to the front of your brain,

‘You’ve still yet to take me to New York.”

He chuckles, “I’ll take ya to the top of the Empire State Building, honey. Once you grace the streets of New York maybe they’d even resculpt the Statue of Liberty to look like ya. It would be a great sight to see…Imagine all of those tourists lining up to see your pretty face like you’re Miss America. Would leave a good impression, that’s for sure.” He lays the strand of hair back perfectly where he found it.

You giggle and a blush of pink spreads across your cheeks, “Elvis stop.”

He shrugs at you, “Just telling the truth.”

As if the heavens heard him utter the words “a great sight” and God himself wanted to show the world one of the most beautiful sights he ever created, like an artist shows off his masterpiece, you notice how hues of orange, pink, and purple start to fill up the sky above you. The clouds blend into the mural; even though they have been moving contently through shades of calming blue all day, it is as if they halt to be gladly used in the greater canvas. They are happy to be used to enhance the beauty of the sun, for they know that the light makes them shine.

A golden light falls over Elvis’ features as it does yours. A gift for both of you to admire on each other.

Elvis breaks the beautiful silence gently, stuttering a little over his words,

“Speaking of New York, I-I got you something real special. I was there and they had this store, it was all fancy…and I saw this. Reminded me of you.”

He holds out a small, thin box for you to take and you notice how his long, slender fingers seem to shake a little bit as if this moment had been anticipated all day.

“You got me a gift, Elvis? What’s the occasion? It ain’t my birthday yet.”

A confused look graces your features like the sun paints the sky. Unaware of the way he takes the time to admire you and the beautiful, golden light of dusk as it kisses your features, you think carefully as to why Elvis has given you a gift. Your mind flips through a calendar.

"Stop worrying your pretty little head, doll. Does there need to be an occasion?"

You hum in response and hesitantly decide to take the black box into your hand before beginning to open it gently.

"It ain't gonna jump out at ya, Honey." Elvis whispers quietly, playfulness replacing nervousness in his voice.

"Be quiet." You whisper back.

After opening up the lid of the box you gasp, "Elvis!"

Your lips slightly part in shock and you smile as you lay your eyes on a beautiful gold bracelet with small diamonds adorning it. After a few seconds of admiring the beauty of the piece, you realize for a second time now that it's yours to keep. You quickly look at him with a face of slight worry.

A smile remains on his face from watching your eyes light up at the sight of his gift.

"Ain’t no way this is for me, Elvis. You can’t. It must’ve been so expensive an-and I really don’t need it. I don’t want you spending your money on me, especially not on fancy stuff like this…I ain’t one of those Hollywood girls.” You ramble on, closing the box and trying to push it back into his hands. You place his pretty hands around the box as if it is too expensive for you to even hold.

Elvis breathes out from his nose and licks his lips as if slightly entertained by your reaction. His voice stays soft.

“Nuh uh, Satnin…You always try to do this when I give ya something nice. You could win a Nobel Prize and you would still have trouble accepting a congratulations card from me. It’s for you, honey. I got it just for ya. You don’t gotta be one of those Hollywood girls to have some nice jewelry.” He pushes the box back into your smaller hands.

“Elvis…”

“Let me pamper ya. Let me spoil ya. I need to. I’ve known you for so long.” He says almost as a beg, a soft plead.

You nod small and then suddenly give him a huge hug, the force pushing him back a little. His eyes widen for a split second, not having expected this big of a gesture so quick, but he relaxes as you fall onto him.

When you lift your head from the crook of his neck, you blush at how close your faces have happened to end up. A matching blush falls over his features and you can hear his soft breaths as they come out. His blue eyes are perfect…absolutely gorgeous. They are the only stable blue in the sky’s changing hour. You always take any opportunity you can to admire Elvis’ beauty, but now, being practically on top of him…you can see everything closer and more intimately than usual. His hand gently rests on the small of your back as you sit in his lap.

Now, both of you are at a standstill when it comes to what happens next. Think of a pen picking up from the page and pondering what else to write while in the middle of an important sentence, one that might change the story. You want so badly to kiss him, to show him how much you adore him in a way you never have before. The only time you have gotten to feel his soft lips on yours so far has been at night when you dream. Two soft pillows, one under your head as you sleep peacefully under the moonlight and one being his lips kissing you, your imagination providing you with what you so desperately need.

His eyes have the same apprehension as yours as if the two of you are thinking similar things, going through similar battles of emotion in your all too similar but at the same time very different brains.

You know you can’t kiss him. It will complicate an already bustling life. Elvis can’t have a girlfriend. That is what he told you the Colonel said when you asked him why he ended things with Dixie. You remember how Elvis paced around the room that day. Colonel Parker got rid of Dixie…what if he got rid of you too? You can’t lose your Elvis, you won’t lose your Elvis. You know deep down that you can’t let your feelings hold him back from the greatness he is destined for, even if it means a state of eternal longing. The haunting question “What if?” forever stuck in your head. Oh, how some days your mind asks you to be selfish.

The look in his eyes makes your lips go for his cheek instead, missing the beautiful, pillowy target that your heart’s arrow was aiming for. He relaxes into your comforting kiss, long black lashes on true display as his eyes shut.

When you pull back and giggle at the mark of pink lipstick making itself comfortable on his face, he opens his eyes to catch a glimpse of your smile.

“Thank you. Do yo-you wanna…want me to help you put the bracelet on?”

You nod, leaving the comfy spot on his lap to instead sit back on the grass next to him. The same grass long abandoned after you had the opportunity to be even closer to the one you love so much. It wasn’t empty though, the black box still sat from where you placed it to hug Elvis, opened and waiting patiently to be remembered. Its velvet interior stood out greatly against the grass.

You grab the box and take the bracelet out from where it lay, handing it to Elvis. Elvis takes the bracelet and looks at it quietly for a moment. He hums as if still satisfied with the choice he made while in the jewelry store in New York. What looks beautiful while sitting under the artificial light of the jewelry container looks even more gorgeous in the all-familiar setting of Memphis under the sun’s calming light. He knows for a fact that what looks beautiful sitting next to many other expensive jewelry pieces, will look even more gorgeous on the wrist of his Satnin.

Elvis softly wraps his hand around your wrist to be able to guide it to lay on his leg. He takes a moment to unclasp the bracelet and then gently wraps it around your wrist. When he reclasps the bracelet, you hold your hand up and smile admiringly.

You look back at him gratefully, eyes full of love, “Thank you, Elvis. It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

He smiles at you adoringly, “No worries, honey, I’m really happy that you like it. You deserve all the good things, you really do….And you wanna know what else?”

“Hm?”

“No matter what happens with all these changes…there is one thing that isn’t gonna change and that's this. That’s us.”

Change. How scary it can be.

You want the relationship between you and Elvis to change, blossom, and thrive like how the hydrangeas you planted last spring can change colors with pH but still remain so beautiful. Oh, how sometimes you wish that there was just a slight change: a minute more of hand-holding, passionate kisses reoccurring throughout long days, and nights spent loving in a way that you never have before. But, you aren’t one to gamble, and change can also mean sadness, heartbreak, and loneliness. You stay content and grateful for the one-of-a-kind beauty of a friendship well-loved.

“We’ll always have each other, Elvis. Always have and always will.”

You smile wide and lay your head on his shoulder as you two continue to look at the sun moving lower and lower into the horizon before disappearing.

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#elvis #elvis presley #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #hope u enjoy #thanks for reading #<3 #50s elvis #1950s

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venus-haze · 2 years

Text

Fire (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: You’re a waitress at a popular restaurant in LA. Stressed from long days of working customer service, you sneak up to the worn-out Hollywood sign late at night to be alone. When it seems like someone else has discovered your sanctuary, you’re annoyed until to your relief, the two of you never acknowledge each other’s presence on the opposite ends of the sign. One night, you find that your companion has had much more of an interest in you than you have in him.

Note: This is based on a request by @gyomei-tiddies. Reader is a woman but no specific details about appearance are given. This is a little bit pre-’68 Comeback Special. Elvis isn’t with Priscilla in this, it just works better with the plot. PLEASE look at the warnings. I do not condone this type of behavior in real life. Inspired by the song Fire, which Bruce Springsteen wrote for Elvis to sing. Definitely give it a listen before reading. Requests are open🔮 Do not interact with my blog or posts if you are under 18 or post ED/thinspo content.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: This is a yandere fic, so expect dark themes such as emotional blackmail and obsessive and manipulative behavior, which some people may find disturbing or triggering. Age gap (reader is in her twenties while Elvis is in his thirties). Period typical misogyny. Explicit sexual content which involves coercion. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Part 2

You cursed to yourself as you climbed up the hill to the Hollywood sign in your worn-out work sneakers. The trek was worth it, since it was the one place in the city you could actually be alone and think. You hated Los Angeles, wanted to move out of the plastic city that you could feel destroying your soul. Drawn in by the glamour and promise of perpetual good weather, you decided to go to UCLA after high school. You lasted a semester before dropping out, but too proud to return home with your tail between your legs, you decided to see if you could make it on your own in the City of Angels.

You picked up a waitressing job at one of the busiest diners in LA, thinking it’d just be a temporary gig. That was years ago, and you were still working at Lloyd’s, your dissatisfaction with your life growing as you couldn’t figure a way out. You wanted to try to find a new job, but were always too mentally drained after work to look through the classifieds and didn’t have the time to go to places on your days off because you had so many errands or just wanted to rest. Your job just barely gave you enough to pay the bills, and all the money you’d save toward moving would end up being spent on one emergency or another. You had a roommate who was barely at your shared apartment, working odd hours on movie sets for horrible pay, but you needed a place where you could truly be alone after dealing with rude and entitled people all day.

No one went up to the Hollywood sign at night, not when there were more interesting things to do in Los Angeles. You could count on being alone here, when you weren’t working a night shift, anyway. Every night after work, as exhausted as you were, you’d go to the first ‘O’ of the Hollywood sign and spend an hour or so chain-smoking and ranting to yourself. You knew it wasn’t the most productive use of your time, but you couldn’t afford therapy, so it was the best you could do.

Suddenly, someone else began to appear at the sign, a few letters away from you, and you were pissed. What made their life so miserable that they had to take your place from you? To your relief, besides the first night they arrived, what you assumed was a man’s silhouette waving at you, you never acknowledged each other, and you didn’t always see him when you were there. As long as your silent companion kept his distance at one of the other ‘O’s in the sign, you supposed you wouldn’t mind.

You awoke to your alarm later in the morning, appreciating that you had your preferred shift, 11am to 7pm, which would ensure you got plenty of dinner rush tips and also time to go up to the Hollywood sign. As you got ready for work, you couldn’t shake the weird feeling that loomed over you, making your skin crawl. Attributing it to stress, you attempted to shake it off as you grabbed what you needed from your apartment to make sure you caught the bus on time. You did have a car at one point, but found all of the expenses associated with it ate into your limited budget, and sold it not long after you dropped out of college. While Los Angeles traffic was a nightmare, its public transportation wasn’t nearly as comprehensive as you would have liked it to be.

Zoning out during the 15 minute bus ride to work, you leaned your head against the window and closed your eyes. You knew you wouldn’t miss your stop, as your head bounced against the window when the bus drove over the large pothole that preceded it. Gathering your things, you got up from your seat and made your way to the bus doors.

It was only a two block walk to Lloyd’s Diner from the bus stop, so you couldn’t complain, even on the rare occasion of bad weather. As soon as you stepped off the bus, you could smell the scent of constantly running grill tops and fryers in the air, only growing stronger as you approached the building. Entering through the backdoor to the kitchen, you had to admit the food there was actually good, and being able to bring home orders that got sent back or meals the cooks ‘accidentally’ messed up helped you save money on groceries.

You greeted your coworkers as you clocked in, grabbing your apron off of one of the hooks on the wall and putting your purse in its place. The afternoon was kind of slow, but you didn’t mind, it gave you time to hang out in the kitchen, sitting on an upturned fruit crate to rest in preparation for the inevitable dinner rush.

Things started picking up around the time another waitress, Vivian, came in for her 4pm to midnight shift. You greeted her as you busied yourself with getting orders for your tables. About half an hour later, though, she burst through the kitchen doors, bringing the commotion in the main restaurant with her.

"Y/N! You’re never going to believe who’s here!" Vivian exclaimed, her eyes wide as she smiled brightly.

She’d only been working there a few weeks, and still got excited when celebrities would come in. You remembered being that way too when you first started, until you realized most of them were terrible tippers and really rude. They usually didn’t eat at the diner during the day, preferring to come in late at night and be mostly left alone.

"Who?" you asked in a weak attempt to humor her.

"Elvis Presley!"

"Cool."

"Cool? Just cool?"

"I was always more of a Buddy Holly girl growing up," you said with a shrug.

She curled her lip in a grimace of disbelief. "Buddy Holly?"

"He actually wrote his own songs."

"Well, Not Buddy Holly is in your section, so you better go out there and get the drink orders."

You cursed under your breath, grabbing your notepad and shooting a glare at Vivian’s amused expression. As soon as you walked through the kitchen door, you were "on" with a warm and welcoming smile that you’d perfected over the years. Skillfully, you hid the disdain you felt toward just about everyone who stepped into the place.

Looking at your section, you immediately knew which table was Elvis’ by the small crowd of people that had gathered around. The celebrities that invited attention to themselves were the bane of your existence, as you’d almost always end up getting something knocked out of your hands by one of their annoying fans without so much as an apology. You shoved through the dozen or so people looking to get autographs on their napkins.

"Hi, welcome to Lloyd’s Diner. My name’s Y/N, and I’ll be your waitress today," you said cheerfully. "Can I get you started with some drinks?"

You were determined to get them out of the restaurant as soon as you possibly could. You got their drink orders and booked it to the kitchen to get each of them. You hoped that they would know what they wanted by the time you got back, but usually people didn’t, and you had to awkwardly return a few minutes later just to find out everyone wanted cheeseburgers.

Thankfully, when you brought out the half-dozen drinks, everyone seemed to know their order, some more complicated than others, but on the more manageable side of things. You jotted everything down, sneaking glances at Elvis every now and then. He’s incredibly handsome in person. After you brought the orders to the kitchen, you checked on the other tables in your section and chatted with Vivian, who was trying to convince you to get an autograph for her.

“I’m not going to bother the man while he’s trying to have a meal,” you said, gathering the plates with Elvis’ table’s orders. “Go ask him yourself if you want one so bad.”

“Maybe I will,” Vivian said as she helped you with the plates.

To your surprise, she actually did it, slyly asking for an autograph as she set the dishes down on the table. Elvis seemed happy to oblige, signing a blank page in her notepad to her delight. He looked at you as if he expected you to ask too. Instead, you nudged Vivian with your elbow.

“Let me know if you need anything,” you said, walking away with her.

“Oh, I can’t believe I got Elvis’ autograph!” she exclaimed. “Can you believe he’s single? Y/N, if he were in my section, I’d try to snatch him right up.”

“Why would he want to date a waitress, Viv?”

“Well, maybe not date,” she giggled.

You laughed along with her. “You think he’s good in bed?”

“He has to be!”

The two of you gossiped in the kitchen for a few more minutes, before you realized how much time had passed and ran back out to check on the tables in your section. You went to the ones that were farther along in their meals, ringing up their tabs as needed. Glancing at Elvis’ table, you noticed everyone was mostly finished eating.

“How was everything?” you asked, gathering the empty plates from the table.

Elvis smiled. “Delicious, thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me. I just brought it out from the kitchen,” you said with a smile to match his. “I’m so happy that you enjoyed your meals, though. I’ll be sure to let our cooks know.”

“Well ain’t you sweet as sugar? I wish I could take ya home,” a man jeered.

Elvis shot the man a glare, “Hey, cool it.”

“Well, if you’re in the mood for something sweet, we have a great dessert menu. The key lime pie is really popular right now,” you chirped, wishing you could explode the man with your mind. You weren’t about to thank Elvis for his half-assed chivalry either. You just wanted them out of there as soon as possible. “Dessert menu is right next to the napkins. I’ll be right back.”

You brought the dirty dishes back to the kitchen, putting them in the sink and washing your hands. Glancing at the clock, you noticed you only had two hours left of your shift. Your feet were killing you, but you’d be damned if you didn’t go up to the sign still. It was your sanctuary. Not wanting to drag things out longer than you needed to, you went back out to see if they were going to order anything else.

“So, have you decided on dessert?” you asked.

“I’ll take the key lime pie,” Elvis said. “Thank ya, darlin’.”

The rest of the guys at the table ordered other desserts or just coffee, and you quickly moved behind the display case of baked goods, putting the slices of cake and pie on plates, juggling those and the coffee as you returned to the table. Thankfully, there wasn’t anyone crowded around the table, which made setting everything down a lot easier.

“If you need anything else, just let me know. I’ll be back with the check in a minute, but it’s really no rush,” you said.

You went up to the register to ring up everything from their orders. With such a large group, you knew it would end up being a $20 bill, and you’d be lucky if you got a $1 tip out of it. Shifting on your feet, you tried to ignore the aching you felt in your legs. It was your own fault for waiting so long to get new work sneakers, you knew that. You’d be lucky if you made it home that night without them falling apart.

“Thank you so much for coming in. I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day,” you said cheerfully as you put the check in the middle of the table.

You checked on the one other table in your section, which had left you a decent tip for their smaller check. Chatting with one of the busboys who had just come in for his shift, you noticed Elvis and the rest of his table leaving. Your eyes widened when you realized he left you a $10 tip. At least you didn’t have to worry about where the money for your new shoes would be coming from.

You walked into the kitchen, grabbing your purse from the hook you left it on. “Viv, I’m taking my twenty. If anyone tries to get me before it’s over–”

“Hit them with a frying pan,” she said.

“I was going to say tell them to wait, but I like that better,” you said.

Your twenty minute break went by far too quickly for your liking, but when you returned you only had a little over an hour left in your shift, which went uneventfully to your relief.

The night was clear and cool, perfect to walk up to the Hollywood sign despite the wear in your shoes. It was a decent trek from Lloyd’s to the sign, but it gave you extra time to think. You enjoyed not being in a rush to get up there. If anything, the hardest part was walking all the way up the hill, which still took the wind out of you sometimes.

To your surprise, when you got up to the sign that night, the man was already there. Usually he’d get up there later in the night, and you tended to take that as your cue to get going. The change in routine threw you off a bit, but nevertheless, you ignored him and made your way over to your ‘O’. Your rant to yourself was cut short when he began walking closer, and closer, until it was clear he was making a beeline for you.

Your silent companion would occasionally walk around to the different letters, but never too close to you, and never to your ‘O’.

“Go away!” you shouted.

“I wanted to thank you for recommending the key lime pie!” a familiar voice yelled back.

As your no-longer silent companion made his way over to you, your eyes widened. Elvis Presley? You felt like you were being pranked. Surely this couldn’t have been who was up here at the sign with you, but you recognized his silhouette, always the same whenever he was there.

“Are you the one who’s been coming up here all this time?” you asked.

“Yes.” he answered.

“What happened to ignoring each other?”

“I haven’t been ignoring you.”

“What are you talking about?”

"You’re a good liar," he said. "You come up here, cussin’ about how much you hate your job and LA, but goddamn if I didn’t know any better, when I went into Lloyd’s earlier, I’d have thought you were born to be a waitress."

"Oh my god, have you been eavesdropping on me?"

"You’ve never been interested in the other person who comes up here? Who thinks like you?"

"I mind my own business," you said, feeling weirded out that not only had he been listening to what you thought were private rants to yourself, but that he went to your job to see you. You know you said some variation of ‘Fuck Lloyd’s’ several times a night when you’d come up to the sign after work.

"How did you know I was working today?" you asked.

"You come up here every Monday, Tuesday, and Friday night, but only every other Sunday night. I’m guessin’ you work Saturday nights since you’re never here then, probably make the most tips that night, huh? It ain’t hard to figure out the rest from there.”

You looked at him in disbelief. He knew so much about you, and all you knew about him was that he was a famous musician who spent the past few years making mediocre movies. You couldn’t wrap your head around why anyone would take so much interest in the minute details of your life, let alone him.

"This is too fucked up for me to think about right now," you said, moving to walk past him and back down to the streets below. "I’m going home. Don’t come to my work again."

"Wait." He stepped in front of you, blocking your path. You kept trying to get around him, until he grabbed your shoulders, keeping you in place. "Come get a drink with me."

"No," you answered, pulling his hands off of you.

"One drink, and I’ll drive you home. I know you walked here."

"Alright,” you sighed.

He laughed softly, “Well don’t get too excited.”

“Why do you even care about me anyway?” you asked, as the two of you walked down the service road to where he had parked his car.

“Like I said, I figure we think alike if we both go up here.”

“Okay, well I go up here because I’m miserable. Is that the case for you?”

“Came out to Hollywood to follow my dream of bein’ a serious actor” he said. “Don’t think it worked out very well.”

“I fucking hate it here. Worst decision I ever made in my life,” you lamented.

“I know,” he said, opening the passenger door for you.

Oh yeah. He’d probably heard you say it a hundred times already. You suddenly felt uncomfortable being in the car with him, and when he got into the driver’s seat, you changed your tune.

“Actually, I have to work early tomorrow. I’m picking up a shift for my coworker. So you can just drop me home,” you said.

"You can lie to everyone else, but you can’t lie to me, baby," he said.

“I’m not lying.”

He grinned. He didn’t believe you for a second, you could tell that much. “Alright, give me your address then. I’ll take ya home.”

You didn’t want him knowing where you lived, but at the same time you knew he’d find out one way or another. Vivian would probably give you up in a heartbeat. Reluctantly, you told him your address.

He didn’t bother making small talk with you on the drive to your place. What was there to say? He seemed to know more than enough about you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything to him. He turned on the radio, keeping the volume low. He put his hand on your thigh, rubbing the soft skin with his thumb. You tried to push his hand off of you, but his grip was strong. Sighing, you watched the city speed by you, the buildings getting progressively older, sidewalks more cracked, and roads less maintained as he neared your apartment.

His expression was unreadable as he pulled up to the run-down apartment complex where you lived, with its rust and crumbling bricks. You never had a reason to feel embarrassed about where you lived because you never had anyone over. Now, with a man whose tastes were undoubtedly expensive, you found yourself a bit self-conscious of your living situation.

“I’m in 327, so you’re gonna have to go down to the next building,” you said.

He drove down to your apartment, in a little better shape than the other two buildings, but not by much. As he pulled into the nearest parking spot, you gathered your things, double-checking you had all of your belongings. You didn’t want a reason to see him again.

“What are you doing?” you asked, when he got out of the car with you.

He smiled. “Gettin’ that drink you promised.”

“Seriously?”

“C’mon, I drove you home.”

You rolled your eyes as you dug your keys out of your purse. “Make it quick.”

Unlocking the door was kind of for show, since the lock hadn’t worked properly in a while. It wasn’t anything you had to worry about. You knew your neighbors, and everyone was as broke as you, so it wasn’t like you had to worry about anyone breaking in to steal your nonexistent valuables. Kicking off your shoes, you threw your purse onto the worn-out couch in your shabby apartment.

“How old’s this place?” Elvis asked.

You shrugged. “Pre-war, probably.”

You went into the kitchen, searching the cabinets for booze. There were a few half drunk bottles of cheap wine from when you’d have a night in, but no real liquor, not until you spotted a bottle with amber liquid and a faded label. You had vague memories of you and your roommate getting drunk off of it when you first moved in together, it being the cheapest booze you could get your hands on. It wasn’t going to be very good, you knew that much, but if pouring him a glass would get him to leave, you didn’t care.

Grabbing the bottle and whatever glass was available, you poured the drink for him, setting it on the countertop.

“Thought we were gonna drink together,” he said.

“I have to work in the morning,” you reminded him.

He gave you an amused look, as if you’d just referenced an inside joke between the two of you. He threw back the drink, but his face scrunched up as he set the glass down. “Lord, what is this? Gasoline?”

“Alright, you had your drink. Bye,” you said.

“I got you all figured out, Y/N.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you scoffed.

“You’re afraid of things gettin’ better ‘cause this is what you know. It’s comfortable. You’re too proud to take initiative and ask for help, so ya scrape by and blame everyone else for your problems,” he said.

You were silent, trying to process how he could read you so well. Did you reveal that much in your nightly rants? You knew, ultimately, there was no one to blame but yourself. You could have gone back home at any time, moved back in with your parents and saved up to go somewhere else, somewhere you actually liked. Instead you toughed it out in Los Angeles to try to prove something to yourself, and your dissatisfaction with life became a part of you. Maybe you were scared of being happy after feeling anything but for so long.

“See, I told you, darlin’. I got you all figured out ‘cause you think like me. Probably came to Hollywood all scrappy and hopeful, thinkin’ it would give you everything you wanted and realized it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.”

“Okay, you psychoanalyzed me. Congrats. Now get out.”

“You don’t want me to go. You want me to look after you,” he said. “You really expect me to believe you never noticed me standin’ one letter over, listenin’ to you?”

All the times you thought he wasn’t there, he was just hiding, by the ‘H’ or the ‘L’, listening to you feel sorry for yourself for hours on end. You felt embarrassed, humiliated; you went up there to be alone and have a place you could be vulnerable, and he took that from you.

“What do you want?” you whispered.

“Just you, Y/N,” he said softly, caressing your cheek. “Aren’t you tired of bein’ broke and angry all the time?”

“Who isn’t,” you scoffed. “Look, I don’t even know you–”

“But I know you.”

He was right, you were tired. Tired of working, of being in Los Angeles, of life itself at times. If he hadn’t been so thorough with his observations of you for the past few months, you’d have thought this was some weird attempt for him to get laid. He probably wanted that too, but after all of the time and effort and general sneaking around, no, he wanted more–to settle down, have someone to come home to, breakup the monotony of being unreasonably wealthy and famous. As you looked into his eyes, your feet still aching from the day, you figured whatever he wanted out of you couldn’t be much worse than your current situation. The rational part of you knew better than to trust a man who’d come out of nowhere and claim he was going to fix everything for you, but every other part of you was so tired, you nodded.

The kiss nearly knocked the wind out of you, forceful and passionate, as if he had all of this unexpended tension that had built up inside of him released when his lips made contact with yours. He held you close, practically pressing your body against his. Just as you were catching up with the kiss, he pulled his lips away, only to begin nipping and sucking at your neck. Part of you wondered if it was a dream, you had dreamt of customers before, but never this vividly. When he bit into a particularly sensitive part of your neck, you gasped, gripping his shoulders. It was definitely real.

“Heard you and your friend talkin’ ‘bout me,” he whispered, his voice deep and hoarse as he didn’t let up on your neck. “Wonderin’ whether or not I was any good in bed. You’re about to find out, darlin’.”

He tugged at the zipper of your uniform, pulling it down so that it pooled at your feet, leaving you only in your bra and panties. Part of you hoped your roommate would come in, interrupt things, and give you an out. You never knew when she’d be home with her erratic schedule. That moment never came, and instead you found yourself braless in your living room with Elvis wrapping an arm around your waist, leading you down the narrow hallway that led to the small bedrooms and bathroom.

Of the two bedrooms in the apartment, he found yours on the first try, dragging you inside with him, not even bothering to shut the door. You felt like a stranger in your own room, especially when he pushed you onto your own bed, a predatory look fixed in his eyes as he undressed. He crawled over you, pinning you to the bed with one hand and pulling down your panties with the other. He kissed you, gentler this time, but his hands were rough as they grabbed at your exposed breasts.

“When was the last time you had sex, darlin’?” he asked.

“I don’t remember,” you answered softly. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you had sex. It had to have been months at least, and whoever he was must not have been very good.

“Holdin’ out for me, huh?” he teased, his fingers brushing your clit, making you arch your back. “Don’t count on havin’ to wait that long again.”

He slipped two fingers inside you, his thumb playing with your clit. You were embarrassed at how wet you were, how quickly you could feel an orgasm coming on. Your breath caught in your throat. It was like he was dragging it out, wanted to see how desperate he could get you for it. Finally, you gave in, “Elvis, I’m close, please just–”

“Ask me real nice darlin’, and I’ll consider it.”

“Please, Elvis, I’ll do anything,” you begged.

His pretty lips curled into a devilish smirk. “Oh, I know you will.”

With that, you came, your orgasm seemed to go through your whole body as you clenched around his fingers. Your moans seemed to echo through the room, and surely through the cardboard-thin walls into the neighboring apartment. He kissed you again, and all you could do was let him take you how he wanted.

When he pulled his fingers from your pussy, you whined, first at the loss of contact and then at his wet fingers playing with your nipple. He sucked on your other breast, his tongue and teeth teasing that nipple to the point where you almost started crying.

“I told you I know you, baby. Know just what my girl needs,” he purred.

You nodded wildly, leaning into his touch when he brushed his fingers from your throat down to your abdomen. You couldn’t deny it, every time he touched you it was like fire. Without warning, he slid his cock into you, your pussy still sensitive from before, making you buck your hips as you clenched around him.

He wasn’t going to be gentle, you knew as much, but you weren’t expecting how aggressive he’d get, his pace unforgiving as he thrust inside you. He cursed under his breath, moaning your name. You knew his own orgasm was close as you could feel his cock throb, his movements becoming more erratic.

“None of them other guys ever made you feel this good, right, baby?” he asked, wrapping a hand around your throat.

“N-No,” you moaned.

“I ain’t gonna let another man so much as look at you again,” he growled. “You’re mine.”

You were lightheaded, unable to catch your breath when you came again, your back arching and putting more pressure on your throat. You clawed at his back, looking to get some kind of leverage, which sent him over the edge. The feeling of his hot cum inside you made your toes curl and your head spin. Just as you thought you were going to pass out, he released his grip on your throat, allowing you a moment to breathe before kissing you again.

He collapsed next to you, holding you against his chest to prevent you from getting up and leaving. There was no need, as you could hardly keep your eyes open after the fact, letting your exhaustion lull you to sleep.

When you woke up the next morning, you knew it was too late for you to have left for any supposed morning shift you were covering. Elvis knew right away you were lying, anyway. You didn’t expect to see him still next to you. He awoke a few moments later, a sleepy smile on his face as he kissed you.

“What are you still doing here?” you asked.

He laughed softly. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Elvis, I’m serious.”

“Gonna help you pack, bring your things over to my place.”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. I made it clear last night what I expect from you from now on.”

“I don’t–”

“Want to? I don’t give a damn what you want. You get left to yourself, doin’ what you want, and you end up in a place like this. I know what’s best for you, baby,” he said. “I already called your job and let ‘em know you quit. Real nice girl picked up and said ‘congratulations’.”

That was it. In a few hours he’d taken your whole life from you, and you still hardly knew anything about him.

“One day we’ll tell our kids how we fell in love at the Hollywood sign,” he said, smiling.

He thought you loved him. The talk about kids went straight to your stomach. Everything happened so suddenly last night, it didn’t even occur to you to use protection. He had the rest of your life planned out for you, as if you were merely a passenger along for the ride. You looked around your sparse bedroom, the last of the somewhat independent life you’d ever know.

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