#i honestly think i suit short hair much better than long

[writella]

hi! s10 is so fun so enjoy it when you start it! can i request a daryl smut of any kind?

Before We Leave

Synopsis: Here’s one about you sitting all sweet on Daryl’s lap because I have not stopped thinking about him holding you in his arms and giving you all the kisses after reading this headcanon! ♡

Details: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader, set during the period between seasons 8-9, kissing, smut—grinding, thigh riding, fingering, making a mess when you have places to go (such sillies). Mostly proofread. Feel free to give feedback!

A/N: It’s been a minute, guys, I know :( and to ava, so sorry for the wait ♡ I hope you like this and I can’t wait to get to season 10 too!! And know that I definitely still have your initial request in mind for later on!!

First, you noticed his hair: ever so endearingly disheveled, the waves falling so effortlessly as they did in their shaggy way; and then you noticed his skin— it shined. Normally, this would have been because of work and sweat from the late spring heat, but he was clean, he had showered today. He even changed his clothes, and surprisingly, his light beard was trimmed, his face was washed too– it illuminated with his small lazy smile that appeared as you came through the door. He looked so nice and ready to go. Your handsome man. He was waiting for you.

He wore a dark blue long-sleeve, the buttons at the start undone, exposing the top of his chest as he always preferred. And his sleeves, only just big enough to be slightly loose around his arms; they were rolled up at the forearms. It looked good. Though the better fit was his equally loose vest that was layered on top. Seeing it reminded you of how much you missed it. It took him so long to get it back from Dwight. It’s only now that you’re realizing how it fits again, how well it suits him. It’s not that he needed it of course, but you did love how it completed every outfit he wore, making it just so him.

In fact, everything about him was so, so—

“Hey,” he calls to you, his voice itself a finger snap to your attention, “you alright there?”

“Yeah,” you respond, meeting his eyes as you pathetically try to joke, “Just can’t think of the last time I actually saw you sit. We’re always… fighting or doing something aren’t we?”

“Mmhm.” He smiles inwardly. Your staring was nothing short of obvious, and you both know it: You were leaning against the door frame, eyes wide and lingering, trailing over him as he sat on your desk chair. But to him it was sweet, honestly. Almost humorous to see. It was nice to see you smile over nothing other than looking at dumb old him, or at least that's what he assumes of himself. He should know better by now than to think like that, but it's still just his way sometimes. You were in love with him though, and he loved you; and you liked looking at his dumb old face, and he knew that. That's why he doesn’t mind your gazing. That’s why he says, “C’mon,” patting his lap, knowing you wanted to come closer; his eyes catching how much yours went lower and lower, changing from innocent peerings to just a little something else, something more.

You’re hesitant at his invitation, but smiling like a kid. It's true you couldn’t help how good his thighs looked and how good the fingers that splayed over them were— rough and thick— their feeling on your skin taking you back to the past— but his noticing… Well, it just makes you blush. It makes you take slow footsteps, one in front of the other as you come closer to him, bashful and snickering. Once you’re near enough he holds you by the hips and you skip to meet his movements towards him. He turns your backside to him on the right side of the chair and sits you down, horizontal from his forward figure.

“Silly,” he calls you, flicking your nose as he taunts. It’s gentle and harmless even in his typical, slightly grumbled tone.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, your wrists and hands curling at his neck, your side pressed into him. He feels bigger when you’re in his arms like this. As if he can comfort you or sheild you from anyone or anything— and you know he could. So safe is what you feel with him; the sigh you let out proves it. The fighting may have finished almost a year ago now, but moments like this are truly what feels like peace. And with that, your mind drifts backwards again. Realizing how you don’t remember the last time you’ve sat like this. With him. Just holding you.

One of his hands holds your thigh while the other grounds you by the lower waist, nearing your hip. You turn your face to his, raising a hand, parting some of the hair in front of his forehead, holding his jaw and you kiss him. You put your tongue between his lips. It’s quick but tender. There is a tiny trail of spit between you two as you let go. Tilting your head, you look at him with an already happy and dazed little smile. You don’t remember the last time you got a good look at him either. And you’re not talking about any of the times you’ve looked at him while simply talking or standing by him, that was almost all the time; but for so long standing next to each other was to cover one another in a fight, kill a walker, but this— this was simply because you wanted to, because he was yours, and you loved him, and you could.

He goes in to meet your lips first this time, holding you by the neck and jaw with one hand, and the other is at your back making you lean in closer. You give in to him, let him take the lead. Your feet curl under the chair and you smile into his indefinite kisses. It makes you accidentally nip at his lower lip which turns into him intentionally biting your lip thereafter. It’s just a bit harder, but he might have done it a tad more sharply than he intended.

“Ow,” you hiss, hushed and soft between breaths, but he’s already soothing the area at the corner there, giving you a lick and little pecks before returning to what he was doing before: kissing you and kissing you.

“You’re fine,” he tells you dryly in between.

Your hands lowers to his chest, feeling his collarbones, then down to his heart. Your fingers rest on the exposed skin there, then trailing lower, ghosting over the closed buttons. You want to, but maybe you shouldn’t. It wasn’t exactly the time.

Originally, you had come home to shower and change: Everyone was having dinner together at Rick and Michonne’s tonight, the first time in a long time. In fact, it was Judith who requested it; she said specifically how much she wanted all of her friends to be there. And you couldn’t disappoint the sweet girl who gave you a construction paper and crayon written invitation, asking you to promise Uncle Daryl would come. The ticket was for both of you, a little picture of you two holding hands at the bottom. ‘Pretty smile you,’ and ‘grumpy pants him,’ she explained.

It was hilariously perfect and it made your heart leap. You and Micchone laughed for a whole minute about it and you hugged Judith immediately after.

Though you couldn’t believe that she could possibly think Daryl wouldn’t come. Of course he’d do anything for her, and you would too, so just as much, ‘Of course,’ you told her, ‘We’ll even be there 10 minutes early so we can pick seats next to you,’ you had said.

But now you’re here, in such a cliche you’d roll your eyes at if you weren’t so in the moment, with Daryl touching up your leg and you allowing it. For once, you’re the one all dirty in your work clothes. And the longer you kiss him, and the longer he holds you on his lap, the more you feel it; the want, the need. You’re getting restless and you’re struggling to weigh the options in your mind.

You lived in Alexandria, helping Rick, Micchone, Rosita… And Daryl, he was sent off to head reconstruction at the Sanctuary: you two don't get to see each other as often as you’d like.

And the Sanctuary wasn’t a place you particularly liked visiting anyways, especially not at first, and he didn’t blame you. But you had still talked to him about trying it, staying there. Maybe a week, maybe longer, maybe seeing if someone else can take over your Alexandria responsibilities, but honestly, he didn’t want you there either. He didn’t even want to be there. Every week that went by was another step closer to talking to Rick about leaving.

Still, moments like this are when you wonder about asking again, if you should be the one to finally move instead… The thought fades as Daryl now groans slightly into your mouth, you had pushed yourself down on his groin which elicited the dark sound, and you moan into him in response. Your hand gripping tightly to his bicep and his digs into your side, holding you tight— you’re losing the ability to think.

His tongue is twisting with yours, and his hand goes lower on your hip, the other deeper into your hair. You’re starting to have a heat pool at your center and you're squeezing your thighs together.

Daryl can sense it and feel all of it: the indecision, the squirming– your feet shuffling and curling against each other, your legs slowly swinging up and under the chair as you do so, as your continue to melt into his lips.

And he does feel it too, though he’s better at not showing it, but you do start to feel him shifting underneath you. An erection starts to harden as your hand goes lower on his chest and the little sounds of you humming into his mouth become more sexy, more desiring, than simply sweet as you continue.

He lets go, slipping his fingers between your knees, “We don’t gotta do too much.”

This makes you laugh. You’re still looking at him all dopey eyed, and more than slightly needy despite your words terribly trying to fight it, “What’s just enough then?”

His hand moves up along your inner thighs as an answer. His fingers trail up until they reach the center, and press into you at the inseam of your jeans. You start to buck up to his movements just as they begin. You even put your own hand over his, pressing into yourself more, your head tilting back. You bite your lip, whining lightly.

“Like that?” He asks, your neediness surprising the both of you.

“Last time I saw you was last week— for a day,” you’re speaking between light, out of breath pants, “outside- scavenging- no time.” Leaning forward into his touch, pretty sounds trail out, “-uh, mmm.”

You continue to grind against his hand harder, adding your other hand on top of his for more pressure until he says, “Get up.”

You stand, starting to undo your jeans and Daryl pushes the back of your chair further against your desk and starts to unbuckle his belt, but right before he finishes, you stop him. You grab his hands, “Wait,” you tell him, slipping off your shoes, and discarding your pants until you sit down again, straddling his lap.

There was something about the way you could see the outline of his bulge by how his pants laid on him, and the nice friction you knew the jeans would cause underneath you that felt so enticing. And more importantly, his bulge looked huge, fat even, you wanted to sit yourself perfectly right on top of it, making sure you could feel it all squish deliciously into your pussy lips with only your thin underwear covering you.

You begin to rock, pushing down against him. Your tiptoes reach the ground, helping you dig in and your hands go to grab onto his shoulders. Daryl holds your hips, thumbs pressing into your back, helping to roll your body into his.

His legs shift beneath you and it makes you think about his thighs again. How yummy they would feel just like his bulge…You have a little bit of time, right? Never mind- you’ll do it fast.

You get up once more, now placing yourself on his left thigh and you start rocking against him again.

Daryl quietly lets you, his hands go under your shirt and you let him take it off, leaving you in only your underwear while he’s fully clothed. He doesn’t mind letting you do what you want right now, he’s enjoying it. Grunting lowly, loving how he can watch you in your blissed out state: your open mouth, your sloppy humping and riding, how you're whining and panting as he touches up your stomach, how you’re so needy that you take one of his hands higher to caress your breast. He licks his teeth, “Need it bad, huh?” He tenses his quad, applying pressure so perfectly, just as you’d been thinking about for days. “Huh, sweetheart?”

“Think about you everyday, Daryl.” You sound just a bit too pathetic, but he eats it up, a small wicked grin coming to his face just looking at how much you wanted him. Not only thinking about his cock stuffed in you, but even how you wanted his thighs too? Just him in general? His poor girl, so deprived of him. He hated being apart, but fuck did he love how desperate it made you when he visited, desperate for him, desperate for him to give it to you or let you have it in any way. It gave him ideas of what he would do to you after you got back from dinner.

Your knee is centered in the middle of his thighs, pushing against his groin with each roll of your pelvis and the rock of Daryl’s hands as he pushes your hips forward, both helping you reach that point of pure bliss, going hard and deep, while giving him just a bit a release from the tension he feels because of you.

You close your eyes, head tilting up to the side lightly, mouth agape. “Ah, mm-” Your frustrated sounds then turn into you sighing so light, so sweetly, “I missed you.”

His hand reaches the side of your face briefly, rolling over your hair and cheek, “Missed you too.”

You knew your underwear was more than damp at this point, but you hoped the dark denim of his pants would mean it wouldn’t be that bad. You were lying to yourself honestly, but you did have wipes anyway, and… Was it bad to say you wanted to soak his jeans? For him to see the mess you made? Remember how big of a spot you created for later? There was no mistake, he had to spend the night. Having dinner in Alexandria made it so that it was too late for him to go back to the Sancutary afterwards. You wondered what he’d do to you later, what you’d let him do. He did miss you, he said it himself after all. And you feel his stare on your lower stomach as you continue to roll yourself on him, as he watches your clothed pussy make a mess of his jeans. And he sees the way his unintentional grunts and slight growls to the sight of you make your head tilt back, mouth opened so wide like you were already preparing to suck him off.

Your eyes are closed, your open mouth allowing a string of “ahs,” to come out as you continue to rub yourself against his muscle, wiggling a little, back and forth, going in a circle for a second to get more attention onto your clit, feeling yourself get wetter and wetter from your boyfriend’s big, and thick thigh. Your knee digs into him harder and he uses one hand to push it against him more.

After he lets go, one of his hands slips into your underwear, placing his middle finger over your clit, rubbing fast circles into it as much as he can as you continue to rock down on both thigh and fingers now. The extra friction feels so good. You’re whining, your panting, holding onto his shoulder with one hand, the other hand grabbing onto your desk, trying to stabilize yourself as you attempt to go faster, your movements becoming more erratic. “Daryl, please,” you whine, “help me.”

He places his free hand on your ass, kneading it forward and his other hand tries its best to circle into your pussy as much as it can.

As his middle finger continues to circle your clit, his two other fingers push into either side of your labia. “Go on,” he encourages, “Already made a mess. Make it bigger.” He moves his hand to your hip again, pushing you down. “You got it.”

Then he starts bouncing his leg, you bounce along with him, trying to rock as hard as you can. You start moaning louder, it’s continuous, you’re getting closer, you see yellow white light behind your eyes as a release takes over you, it’s hot and you can barely breathe, you almost wail as you coat his hands, ruining your panties, soaking his jeans. It felt amazing.

You huff out heavily now, finally opening your eyes to see Daryl take his hand from beneath you, licking his fingers clean. Wet popping sounds come out after he sucks each one, looking you directly in the eye. “Mmm.”

You blush gingerly at him. Getting up you see the large wer spot on his pant leg. It wasn’t a circle, it was ovular, taking up half the area of his thigh. Your teeth clench, you thought it would be big, but… you didn’t know it would be that big. This wasn’t something you could quickly clean off. “I guess it’s a good thing you keep your extra clothes here?”

He keeps his face straight, he figured as much would happen, but it was fun to see you squirm. “These were my extra clothes.”

“Oh.”

You should have let him take his pants off.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x reader smut #daryl dixon x fem!reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x you #wonders with writella #wonders with daryl #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead smut #twd smut #twd fic #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon x female reader smut

[violetrainbow412-blog]

New look [S. R.]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 800

Summary: directly based on "The internet is forever" (5x22), when Reid's wonderful but short-lived boyband cut appears for the first time

Most of you were sitting in the conference room when JJ got ready to present the case. That particular night you had slept very little and to perform at work you thought it necessary to prepare yourself a coffee Spencer-style, who, by the way, had not yet deigned to appear at the bureau's offices.

“This is Dorris Archer, she's the third woman to go missing in Boise, Idaho, this year, along with Paula Renmar and Samantha Rush” the blonde began to say, under the attention of the entire team “They went missing roughly 2 months apart …” suddenly she cut off her words and her gaze traveled behind you. Out of inertia you turned your head and your breath caught a bit when you looked at who it was.

Of course you were glad to see your friend finally show up, but you honestly hadn't expected to see him like this. 

"Well, hello," JJ sneered, grinning in astonishment and approval at the man's new look.

Spencer took a seat in the chair next to you and all eyes fell on him, especially yours and Hotch's, albeit for very different reasons. You had gotten used to seeing his hair falling over his shoulders, even a couple of times you had come to help the man hold it with one of your scrunchies, but to be honest, the cut at that moment suited him much better than it should. It made him look cute and at the same time so… sexy? Yeah, maybe that was the word.

Although you wanted to say something, the words didn’t leave your lips and your boss was the first to speak:

"What, did you join a boy band?" he, miraculously, joked. 

"No," Reid replied, genuinely confused, and that was reason enough for all of you, without exception, to start laughing. When he heard your laughter, he looked in your direction and smiled kindly in greeting, to which you responded with a friendly squeeze on his arm.

Emily mumbled something to follow up on the case, but even against your will your mind was occupied with a completely different matter; being more specific on a certain person right next to you. You kept blatantly staring at him for a long time and when he felt that attention you saw him turn his head towards you, an obvious sparkle of concern in his eyes. Out of respect for the unit, he didn't say anything to you, but as soon as JJ finished presenting the case and you both got up from the table, he walked over to you.

"What's going on?"

"What's going on about what?”

“You were staring at me a long time ago,” he pointed out, but it wasn't like you were hiding it “Do I look that terrible?”

When you realized the confusion that had been generated, you couldn't contain a laugh and that only increased your friend's nervousness. You two were the only ones left in the conference room, so no one would be able to hear what you had to say.

“Just the opposite, Spence. I was looking at you because I think you look very handsome” you confessed, smiling kindly at him from where you were, and one moment you saw him turn red up to his ears, because he probably didn't expect that kind of response.

"Are you serious?" he asked you timidly.

"Very seriously" you approached him to extend your hands up to his head so you could run your fingers through the strands of his hair. When he understood your intentions, he crouched slightly and simply enjoyed the contact "Although I've already gotten used to your long hair, I admit that I like this one too. It looks messier, like you're more rebellious"

"I was a little undecided about the shape," he told you, making his usual hand movements "but when I started to cut it, I thought it would be the best option and at the end I was afraid I was making a mistake, because I had never had it like that before"

“Did you cut it yourself?” you half squealed, looking at him in complete disbelief, and he nodded with a small smile “Handsome, smart, kind and now you're a barber. You're quite a jack of all trades, huh, Reid?"

"Enough, don't say those things" he laughed, turning all shy and silly at your flattery.

"Looks like I'll have to keep you away from the girls" you concluded playfully, while you winked at him and took your bag to get out of there "See you there, don't be late"

Spencer just chuckled to himself and watched you go, still internally debating whether he should take your shameless flirtations as a joke or if you really meant it. Whatever the case, he was grateful to have made that impulsive decision solely for the pleasure of hearing his little (not that much, really) crush call him handsome.

taglist: @navs-bhat @reidwritings @tricia-shifting14 @spencerslove

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jason gideon #JJ #penelope garcía #david rossi #emily prentiss #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #boyband reid #spencer reid boyband cut #5x22 criminal minds

[cupids-scream-queen]

House of wax request

Vincent Sinclair x fem reader

What if reader and vin have a kid together and she’s def a daddy’s girl and loves Vincent’s face they just a chill day them playing outside daughter hugging vin just super cute and fluffy

-> Vincent Sinclair x f!reader

-> Warnings: none! just fluff.

-> Summary: It's been years since you first moved to Ambrose. You adjusted to life pretty easily, and now that you had your first daughter with Vincent, life was pretty much perfect.

A/N: Thanks for this request! It was a really nice break in between Smutmas, and it's honestly probably one of the cutest things I've written recently!! It's kind of short, so feel free to send another ask if you'd like a longer version or HC's :)

Vincent hadn't spoken a word in all the years you knew him, yet the way he played with your daughter let you know that he loved her with every fiber of his being.

Vincenza--everyone called her Vinny--was a beautiful, ebony-haired child, just like her father. She had vivid blue eyes, a knack for getting into all sorts of trouble, and just enough awareness to gaslight her Uncle Bo into believing she was the most perfect girl to exist.

Vinny was in the garden, her little six-year-old hands on her father's face, his mask discarded to reveal his real face. You hadn't even seen it when he first got you pregnant--he took it off only in the presence of his daughter, once she was born. You weren't entirely sure why, perhaps it had something to do with the fact he wanted his daughter to see her father's face, but it was a sediment that you knew proved that he would never, ever, harm her.

Vinny was into flowers, her gardening skills allowing for a large variety of vegetables now grown fresh, including tomatoes, green beans, peppers, and a variety of squash that you really didn't want to ask Lester how he got his hands on. You also never asked Lester why he always seemed to have really, really good fertilizer, or where he got the squirrel he gave Vinny when she was born.

"Vin? Vinny?" You made your way to the two of them, your skin sunkissed in the Ambrose summer.

"Yes Mommy?" Your daughter held sunflowers in her hand, she was tucking them in braids she made in Vincent's long hair. "Look, daddy's pretty!" She giggled, and Vincent smiled, genuinely. You'd never seen him happier than when he was with Vinny.

"How's the flowers?" Vincenza pointed to the other end of the field, where a huge patch of yellow, red, and orange flowers lay.

"They grew! Mommy, I think Uncle Lester has magic dirt," She said the last part quietly, as if a secret between the three of you. Vincent had a playful glint in his eye when Vinny began to theorize why her plants grew better when Uncle Lester brought her bags of dirt.

"Maybe, or perhaps you're just very good at taking care of your plants," You sat on the grass, next to your husband. Vincent looked at you and smiled, the corners of his mouth playful as he pointed to his daughter. "She's adorable--just like you."

He blushed, his good half of his face a cherry color. You kissed his cheek, and your daughter followed suit, kissing the scarred side. Vincent smiled, and Vinny climbed into her father's lap, enveloped in him.

It was perfect, really. A happy family, a beautiful daughter, and a wonderful husband. Vincenza was your pride and joy, and Vincent was mutual in the feeling. The two of you were there to stay, your daughter growing up in a household of love and affection, her gardening habit growing to one day surpass the majority of flower beds at the house.

masterlist | feel free to like, comment, or reblog to support! requests are open <3

#vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair #house of wax 2005 #bo sinclair #house of wax #lester sinclair #slashers #slasher fucker #slasher x reader #slasher x y/n #requests #slasher fandom #slasher fluff #slasher fic

[jungwnies]

DYEING HAIR with ENHYPEN

syn ' ur bf asks you to dye their hair, how does that go? genre ' fluff, romance, headcanon req ' yes

word count ' ~0.7k warning ' none

이희승 ♡ heeseung

"make sure not to get any all over my neck babe."

he's so down to dye his hair any color

all he knows is he wants a new hair color

he could ask the stylist but where's the fun in that right?

he honestly let you pick the color

he just asks that you don't get the dye all over his neck because it's going to stain 😭

it probably turned out pretty good

he enjoyed getting his hair dyed by you more than a stylist doing it

maybe that's just because he's like ... in love with u

박종성 ♡ jay

"just make sure to wear the gloves so your hands don't stain."

the complete opposite of hee

he wants to make sure you're protected from the strength of the dye

he wanted to dye his hair that blue-green color again

he enjoyed how it looked on him so he found a box dye that looked "sImiLaR"

u prob got it all over his forehead tbh

because he kept moving his head back

so ur hand slipped

it's not that he couldn't sit still

he just kept wanting to look at you while you did his hair

심재윤 ♡ jake

"i'm getting kind sick of this color, let's do something fun."

what he means by fun

is dyeing it back to brown or black

it's giving golden retriever cute energy

the natural hair colors is his color !!!

as much as he enjoyed the blonde

he definitely made you dye his hair back to brown or black

the company was so mad lol...

but he would not go back in time to change it

he made you pick the shade of brown/black

but yeah, a natural color is VERY fun to him 😭

박성훈 ♡ sunghoon

"i miss black, do you know how to dye hair?"

blonde is a lovely color on sunghoon surely

but black just hits different

the naturalness of the color suits him so well

he honestly wanted healthy hair again but little does he know constantly dyeing it kills it

it’s okay though because when you dyed his hair he was so relaxed

he loved the way your fingers ran through his hair to properly spread the dye

and he was so angry when his mangers suggested dyeing his hair a completing different color

apparently you worked very hard on his hair LOL and he would NOT let anyone mess it up

김선우 ♡ sunoo

“yn let’s go to the store, i want to dye my hair!”

so random

you guys were just chilling at home

suddenly he saw pictures of hair on his feed causing him to want to dye his hair too

literally drags you to the store with him to grab pink hair dye

it’s his favorite hair color so far

then he makes you dye it for him

he even asks you to cut it but you refused saying you might make him bald

he loved sharing this moment with you and the whole time was just filled with laughter and love

양정원 ♡ jungwon

"look i just watched this video on hair dye, i think you should do my hair?!?!"

again, so random

he was on youtube and he came across a youtube short about hair dye

he was feeling adventurous

he wanted to do something new

so you guys went out

and bought a box of red hair dye

his hair was a faded red and he wanted it vibrant again

he was able to convince you to dye your hair with him

matching hair colors omg...

I CAN JUST SEE IT

西村 ♡ riki

"i'm sick of blonde"

ok ok ok

i know his hair isn't blonde rn

but let's just PRETEND

HE IS SICK OF IT

he wants to go back to black

he thinks it suits him wayyy better

so he literally goes to the store

BUYS BOXES OF BLACK HAIR dye

not knowing he only needed one because he doesn't really have much hair, and it's not really long

and he makes you dye it

he accidentally puts the dye on your face

and ur face gets stained

he was hysterical

2022 © jungwnies

#enhypenwriters #enhypen #enhypen au #fanfiction #au #fluff #enhypen fluff #enhypen headcanon #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen reactions #enhypen scenarios #lee heeseung #park jongseong #jake sim #sim jaeyun #park sunghoon #kim sunoo #yang jungwon #nishimura riki #fluff imagine #kpop au #kpop headcanons #enhypen imagines #fiction #ni ki #enhypen x reader #ilyeonjns #imagines #drabble #headcanon

[here2bbtstrash]

look down on me like that - 9 (explicit)

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

pairing: yoongi x reader

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

word count: 16k 🙈

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

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

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

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

read on AO3!

chapter eight | masterlist | chapter ten

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you fucking kiddin—”

“Hey.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of fucking course.

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You wear glasses?”

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

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

“Wow, glasses? Really?”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh,” Yoongi finally remarks.

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

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

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

“Guess so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Naturally,” Vernon interjects.

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

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

“Is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, can I be honest?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am?”

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

“So are you,” Yoongi counters.

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

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

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

Yoongi nods once. “Probably, yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you nervous?”

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

“The Grammys?”

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh fuck yeah, please suck me off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you asking for my help?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He has good taste.”

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

“Is that right?”

“Uh-huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you know Sakamoto?”

You hum a no as you shake your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And the Grammy goes to…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you take us to Koreatown, please?”

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds like a good story.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Feel like Cinderella naega byeonae—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, we’re closing in five.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re what?”

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

“In love with you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was,” you echo. “Really.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh-oh.”

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

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

“Yes, Jimin,” you groan. “In love.”

“And?”

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

“Well, that depends,” Jimin starts.

“On?” you snap, impatient.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

chapter eight | masterlist | chapter ten

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

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

[criminally-obsessed]

This is my first time writing for Steddie, so sorry if it's shit! Based on this post.

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No one had ever seen Steve cry, and at this point they weren’t sure it was even something he was capable of. So, as he stood over Eddie’s open casket with the only dry eyes in the room, no one really batted an eye.

It had been 3 weeks since Steve had carried the metalhead’s body out of the Upside Down, with Dustin leaning heavily into a misty eyed Robin and Nancy as he limped alongside them, tears still streaming from his eyes. Steve hadn’t shed a tear then, and he didn’t shed one now. It wasn’t because he didn’t care for Eddie, in fact he probably cared for him far more than he’d admit to even himself, but something just didn’t feel right. It was hard to grieve for someone when it didn’t truly feel like they were gone.

Eddie’s uncle had arranged the funeral to be a quiet affair, hoping to minimize the chances of any angry hicks’ gate crashing. So it was held in a small room at the morgue, with only close friends and family in attendance.

After a short speech from Wayne, everyone filtered through to say their own goodbyes. Mike and Lucas both stood by the casket momentarily, gripping the sides and saying their own quiet goodbyes. Erica didn’t say much, just placed a small black dice beside one of his hands before nodding down at him. Nancy went up with Johnathan and whispered a quiet thank you, letting her hands brush a stray lock of hair from his face. Dustin stood there in silence just staring down at Eddie’s still form before choking out a promise to look after Eddie’s ‘little sheep’. And then it was just Steve and Robin left in the room. Robin tugged on his sleeve, looking up at him with big pleading eyes until he nodded and walked up with her, he stood beside her as she whispered a soft goodbye, eyes then looking to him to do the same.

“Could I… I just need a moment with him, if that’s okay?” he said quietly, smiling gratefully as Robin just squeezed his hand and nodded before also exiting the room.

Eyes doing a quick check around the room to make sure there was nobody left to witness what he was about to say, Steve let his hands rest against the wood of the casket and leant down towards the long-haired man.

“Okay, you listen here you little shit, I know you’re not dead.” Steve whispered; eyes firmly trained now on Eddie’s face. His grip against the wood only getting tighter as the silence stretched on.

“Fuck.” he breathed, hanging his head at the lack of response, before turning to start walking away.

“Yeah, no shit Harrington.” Came the gravelly response from behind him, stopping him in his tracks.

As he slowly turned on his heel, he watched as Eddie pushed himself up into a sitting position, an almost familiar grin on his face had it not been for what looks like two fangs pushing down over his lower lip.

“What the hell, man?” Steve exclaimed, almost storming back over to the casket and taking Eddie’s face in his hands and tilting him from left to right to get a better look.

“Nice to see you too, Stevie.” Eddie murmured; cheeks being squished slightly by Steve’s grip on him.

“How long have you been, well not dead?” Steve huffed; brows furrowed as he let his gaze roam over the other man’s body.

“Honestly man, I have no clue. I woke up a couple of times, but this has been the first time I was actually able to move. Fuck, it really hurts dying y’know.” Eddie groaned, stretching all his limbs out and rolling his shoulders as he let his hands pick at the tight material of the black jacket he was dressed in, “Of course Wayne would take this opportunity to get me in a suit, I love the old man, but shit.”

“Really? I don’t think our biggest problem right now is your style choices, you’ve literally come back from the dead man.” Steve grumbled with a hand nervously running through his hair.

“Ooo, now that’s where you’re wrong Stevie boy, it’s always about the style choices.” Eddie grinned, loosening the tie that was around his neck with a grimace, "Anyway, what's the plan for breaking me out of here? Cus I don't know about you man, but I don't exactly love the thought of being buried alive."

“Look, you’re not meant to be being buried until tomorrow, can you just hang tight for a few hours? I can come by later tonight and sneak you out when there's nobody around” Steve said, hands landing like a disappointed parent on his hips.

“Harrington. You cannot be asking me to, what? Play dead?” Eddie scoffed, the realization slowly showing on his face as he realised that Steve was deadly serious. “Nah man, come on, there’s gotta be a better way than that?”

“Well, unfortunately for you, I don't think there is. You’ll get recognized the second you step out those doors, and I don’t know about you man, but I’m not exactly in the mood for a lynch mob right about now.” Steve said, raising an eyebrow as Eddie visibly deflated.

“Fine. Fine, but you better come back for me Harrington!” Eddie sighed, pointing an accusatory finger at the other man as he lay back down with a huff.

“Always, Munson.” Steve replied, knocking his knuckles against the side of the casket with a soft smile, missing the slight pink that rose in Eddie’s cheeks as he slipped out the room.

#stranger things #steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

[latteandjacks]

I'm cooking I will be posting the traditional version of the designs but these are just to ramble about the design choices and why I decided to swap them rather than information about the characters, I will not do this for all of them, only a few, I will post the finished, fully detailed designs on the next week in schedule form

Sorry they look kind of blurry, it's not the camera, it's the grafito getting fucked up when I but my shoulder over it

I believe it's rather obvious that Adam's suit was designed after Beetlejuice, I was going to take more reference on Dewey from School of rock but this one seems more recognizable and I think it fits better since, well, they're dead I added the little spikes on the shoulders because of Adam's outfit for the last episode Also piercings, because I can't believe he doesn't have them in canon I refuse to believe he wouldn't pierce his ears You can't see it yet but his eyes aren't going to be yellow, instead they're going to be blue like Emily's

The why I decided to swap him with Charlie is pretty obvious, they're opposites Also I just like to put Adam through hell both in the swap au, in the Benefactor au and in the Adamsapple fic I'm writing

Lute is also obviously designed after Vaggie's outfit, except that the colors of it are more to resemble Adam and her gothic style She didn't lose her eye, (V)Agatha ended up cutting her arm (details will not be explained yet but it was not intentional), so they gave her a replacement, but because hell isn't as refined as Heaven, the closest thing Adam could get was the sin of Lust to give her one of the best they had (Note. I have yet to decide who will be Ozzie), she normally wears her glove over it but only in front of anyone that isn't Adam, after episode 3 she stops using it in the hotel, being more comfortable around the cast Couldn't see her wearing a bow, so I put it in her back and around the hips Also long hair because she wanted to be separated of her excorcist status (as they all probably have a short hair), put it in a ponytail because she's always ready to throw hands for Adam

Why she is swaped with Vaggie is obvious Also I changed my mind they are dating in the swap au (Adam needs her gothic gf but they have to sort some issues before kissing)

Oh oh, you are gonna love this one

Why are they swapped? Because it's funny, because I have seen people swapping EVERYONE with Alastor except for Pentious which is pretty surprising honestly

I took most of Pentious eyes in the design since they originally serve the purpose of showing how much he distrust others, they disappear once he gets to heaven because now he has learned how to trust and care about those around him Even tho swap Pentious would obviously still be pretty distrusting, he would not be as paranoic, the eyes would come out on his full demon form I gave him a monocle just because I liked how it looked, he was supposed to have glasses like Alastor but he looked like a grandpa and I want him to have a more "Big brother" kind of vibe towards Adam rather tan fatherly (Since Emily is more like his big sister, not a mother) His hat takes the place of Alastor's cane, he's protective over it, it's the source of his power after all, it does not show Pentious true emotions Speaking off, since canon Alastor is always smiling, swap Pentious always has his hood up, never letting it down, he shows other emotions with his face but his hood represents him always having his guard up

Alastor is more pathetic Listen I am not sorry for taking away his bob cut, I don't know how you all can simp for that man with that hair, I gave him something similar but it goes all the way back, no bob cut Glasses, because we all love to give this man glasses His cane takes the place of Pent's hat, it shows his genuine emotions Not getting into details, but Alastor doesn't smiles as much as canon just like Pentious not always has his hood up, he does drop the smile and the more comfortable he gets with the cast the more he drops it for a normal, neutral expression Yes, he goes to heaven but his angelical form will be revealed later

Pentious is still an inventor, Alastor is still a Radio host

This one is simple, I tried to turn Keekee into a dog, not only because of Adam but it was mainly because Alastor canonically HATES dogs, so the idea of this fucking dog getting attached to Alastor and him petting her lovingly on episode 7 was an opportunity I could not pass up

Yeeyee is still female I just didn't trust myself to draw the eyelashes because she is a lot smaller than you think, and I didn't want to fuck her up and end up erasing most of her

I was also just going to put a giant mouth instead of an eye but it looked disturbing, so no

Yeeyee because the k on Keekee obviously comes from Key so I took the last letter to change it but still have it make sense

The key is also still in progress, I don't know how to draw keys

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel swap au #hazbin hotel au #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel sir pentious

[malevolent-muse]

A Winter's Kiss - Barisi Fan Fiction

Summary: Amidst winter’s frosty grasp, Sonny Carisi, now an Assistant District Attorney, stumbles upon his mentor-turned-lover, Rafael Barba. A familiar tie, a tender kiss, and a shared warmth in the cold air set the stage for a day filled with unexpected emotions and unspoken intentions.

[←Previous Work]

An icy breeze meandered through the Manhattan streets, tugging at the edges of coats and licking along the edges of people’s ears and noses. For a January morning, it was frigid. Pedestrians darted along the sidewalks and commuters poured out of taxis and ride-shares, seeking to arrive quickly at their destinations. The exhaust from the many vehicles produced a white fog in the air, swiftly carried away by the wind.

Out into this mist of cold air strode Dominick “Sonny” Carisi, newly minted Assistant District Attorney. A long wool coat that reached below his knees complemented his tall and lanky frame. In his hand, he held a fine black leather briefcase; a gift from his boyfriend.

Adjusting his grip on the handle of his bag, Sonny spotted a familiar figure standing near the courthouse. Bundled up against the cold, the man wore a blue-gray twill coat, a patterned scarf, and a three-piece suit. With the neatly trimmed beard framing his face, Rafael Barba was immediately recognizable.

“Rafael!” Sonny called, a smile coloring his lips as he approached his boyfriend. “What are you doing here?!”

“Dominick,” Barba greeted in return. “Or should I say ‘Counselor?’ I just wanted to stop by and wish you luck today.”

Sonny blushed as he said, “Well, to be honest, I couldn’t have done it without your guidance. But you didn’t need to come all the way down here, Rafa. I think you congratulated me plenty last night.”

A knowing smirk tickled at the corners of Barba’s lips, creasing the edges of his lips and the corners of his eyes.

When a passing car kicked up cold grime from the road, the pair of lawyers walked together for a few more feet until they arrived at the base of the imposing granite steps.

Shifting from one foot to the other to stave off the winter chill, the tips of Sonny’s ears and fingers were already red from the cold. As much as he enjoyed unexpectedly seeing his boyfriend, he didn’t fancy the idea of standing outside longer than was strictly necessary.

Sonny was just about to say that they should either make their way inside or go their separate ways when he noticed the orange tie Barba was wearing.

“I like your tie,” he said. “Isn’t it mine?”

“I bought you this tie. I’m allowed to borrow it.”

“In that case,” Sonny said, rolling his eyes, “it looks better on you than it ever did on me.”

Barba’s eyes glinted mischievously as he stepped closer, his frosty breath mingling with Sonny’s in the cold winter air.

“I should get going,” Barba said. “And you look like you’re about to freeze solid.”

Reaching up, the older man buried his fingers in Sonny’s short hair. With a gentle hand, Barba pulled him down and pressed a tender kiss to his boyfriend’s lips.

The warmth of Barba’s affection was enough to make the former detective forget the lingering touch of winter’s icy grasp. Sonny tried to follow the caress of lips with his own, but Barba pulled away too quickly.

“Honestly, Carisi,” Barba teased, “we can’t stand out here all day making out. Now get inside. You have work to do.”

Like this work? Join the Tag List

#barisi #lawyerboyfriends #rafael barba #sonny carisi #fanfic #svu #fanart #fan fic art #barisi svu

[mpregfrance]

Hetalia Headcanons - Cuba 🇨🇺🏝️🌺

his full human name is carlos ángel machado ruiz, or shortened to carlos machado. i don't have a set physical age for him but maybe around 30?

he's a marxist-leninist. very intelligent, intellectual but unpretentious, and politically active. he's an academic, probably has degrees in political science and/or economics. i could see him being a medical doctor as well, as cuba is renowned for its advanced healthcare.

he's friendly and generous with a laid back personality, loyal to his loved ones and passionate about social/environmental causes. he can be impatient, and does have a temper but it's hard to provoke and reserved for rude and ignorant people. very much a beliver of respect being a two way street.

his canon bday is may 20th and i honestly love that for him. classic stubborn taurus with a touch of unbothered gemini swag.

he's an ambivert, he throws a great party and likes to socialize but also keeps his circle small and needs a lot of alone time. i think he'd be old friends with russia, though they're not as close as they once were and ivan can get on his nerves. he understandably has beef with america, but is slowly becoming more civil with alfred.

he loves to read, particularly history and political theory. some other hobbies are swimming, fishing, playing the tres (a type of guitar) or afro-cuban percussion e.g. tumbadora (aka conga) and bongós.

his sense of humor is dry with a goofy side that comes out around people he's closer with. he has a quick wit and is always telling dad jokes. also very much a softie for kids, animals and nature.

i headcanon him as gay/demisexual, cucan is an essential ship for me personally so they're a package deal. he is so gentle with mattie, so giving and protective. they treasure each other selflessly and understand one another better than anyone.

he loves to eat and cook, especially loves when matthew cooks for him or they cook together. his favorite dish is black beans and rice with tostones. he also loves strawberry ice cream and tropical fruits.

he's afro-latino + mixed race, with yoruba (west african) taino (indigenous carribbean islander) and spanish ancestry. his skin tone would be a medium warm brown, maybe a 5 on the fitzpatrick scale. once again the canon design is kinda colorist.

he has a distinct accent and is mutlilingual, and speaks quite a bit of quebecois thanks to matthew.

his body type is buff and chubby, he's wicked strong and built like a tank but doesn't have that much definition bc the chub is hiding it. dad bod.... chest hair and moobs. he's about 6 feet tall. he has long dreadlocks that he's been maintaining since he was young.

i could see him being a lapsed catholic/culturally catholic but personally atheist. he's much more material than spiritual in terms of philosophy.

he smells like coconut, cinnamon and cigars (in a pleasant way)

he mostly dresses casually (hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts lol) if hes just chilling at home he's probably shirtless. earth tones suit him well, so do orange, yellow, pink, and jewel tones. bonus; he wears a gold chain and sometimes rings.

he partakes in alcohol occasionally, when he does he loves rum and fruit-based cocktails. sipping a lil drink on the beach is one of his favorite ways to relax and he deserves it. he does smoke weed recreationally but honestly i think matthew is way more of a stoner.

#aph cuba #hws cuba #cuba hetalia #hetalia headcanons #carlos machado #carlos mi amado #cucan #headcanons

[elvenbeard]

Today's modding shenanigans!

Today I wanted to test out ACM a bit :D I think I'd most enjoy using it as an additional tool for making custom outfits and seeing how different item appearances work together, less as my primary tool to creating custom outfits as such (also, it is a bit buggy for me and I can't seem to export appearances reliably for some reason).

Since you can alter custom appearances with it too, though, you could definitely mod one "base outfit" and then change the colors spontaneously for a different vibe (for example, I could make an apperance for Kerry wearing one t-shirt and then change the shirt decal or color on the fly in game without cluttering his .app file with a dozen different appearances that are virtually the same just different colors!). Wondering though if there exists a resource that lists every item's appearance names (cause some are super specific and hard to guess, like... instead of "black" or "smiley-face" you have appearances like "6th street" or "black_capsules") for this purpose... and if not, I'll probably make one just because I would find it useful to have xD

Also, ACM is really neat for taking off Kerry's jewelry on the fly for certain pics XD Or changing nail colors and things like that! In all these regards this is a super useful resource as is already, but I'm excited where the mod makers will take it :D (also... random sidenote, but can we talk about Dante for a moment? I'm a little bit in love, and I need his shirt not only for Kerry but also for Vince XD).

Then some silly behind the scenes stuff xDD @netcess said that Reed really needs a party outfit with a cool hat, so I put something quick and simple together for her and... I wanted to take a pic and as I went into Photomode, Vince spawned straight across from Reed and looked so disappointed at him partying without him when so many pressing issues are at hand XD Just really fun little moment I wanted to capture, intensified by facepalm XD

Honestly he rocks it XD Might make a recolor to fit his suit when the mood strikes xD

And finally: who wore it better? XD

(giggling and kicking my feet at how his hair and beard match now :3)

No but I actually tried my hand at editing this hair mesh for Kerry, cause it was clipping a bit here and there! This is done super quick and dirty like... In theory I know I could export his headmesh and then fit it exactly to that, but for now this aint so bad already actually! :D No more clipping into the side of his head and the hairline in the front looks better. I left out Johnny's hair cap and all that because I wanted to go for a really really short, very freshly shaved look for this like...

Something he would've done at the end of his tour right before coming back to Night City. Keeping the long hair consistent for all concerts. And as I said, I 100% get why he has that look, like... It has old, seasoned rocker vibes, it's so much less clean and more himself than his 2077-appearance like... natural hair color, not styled at all, embracing himself again with the whole "I'm gonna name my next album "Kerry Eurodyne" and go back to my roots thing, he looks like he just came off stage, sweaty and tousled, so... yes!! I do love it for all those reasons, but idk... I feel like, it's also at the same time something low maintenance that he doesn't have to pay a lot of mind to, escaping into his music and career after apparently losing V. And I think with the tour over and with getting V back so unexpectedly, he'd change things up a bit again. It's a concert/tour look for me. And this style is also low maintenance, while still Kerry, still rebellious, but a little more cleaned-up, in control of his life, if that makes sense?

@pinkyjulien sorry for stealing your tags from my other post, but you put it into words so well, on point!!

Especially your last point, cutting/shaving your hair to mark a new beginning is 100% such a thing he'd do!! So yeah, I think I'll stick with this for his two-years-plus-four-months-later look xD

#elven tries modding cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077 #phantom liberty #kerry eurodyne #solomon reed #phantom liberty spoilers #just in case

[chaoscheebs]

It's Midnight, Cinderella, chapter 2

(Chapter 1) - (Chapter 2) - (Chapter 3) - (Fic Tag)

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

How did such a good night go so wrong?

Sure, it had been a little awkward at first; Otogi had promptly ditched him to flirt with (admittedly pretty hot) girls, leaving him stranded in a sea of stuffy people in suits he didn’t have the first clue how to approach on his own. But then Seto Kaiba—and boy, was it painfully obvious it was Seto Kaiba, even with the mask—approached him first! Without prompting! Because Kaiba’s apparently into the Ouji look? Regardless of why, it had been… nice. Very nice, to just leave all the drama and troubles and bad blood at the door and talk to him (flirt with him oh god why did he do that) like a normal person. Then it had led to card games in a private room and… Honestly, why should he have been surprised that it was like foreplay to Kaiba?

Leave the masks on, they silently agreed, let’s put aside real life for a while and enjoy the moment.

He could have revealed who he was at any time, but he didn’t. His thoughts were only how good it felt to be in Kaiba’s arms, how good it felt to have Kaiba’s attention on him and solely him for once in his life, how good it would feel to have those long, elegant legs wrapped around him, and thought absolutely nothing about the potential fallout afterward.

In short, Yugi Muto got carried away, thought with his dick, and that’s why he fled home as soon as Kaiba was asleep to go dye his hair back to normal at four in the morning, quietly thanking whatever deities existed that he hadn’t styled his hair like normal and left it in its natural state. No amount of trying out a different hair color would have hid that hairstyle, that’s for sure. Jounouchi’s gonna be upset that the perfect bleaching he helped Yugi with was already being covered up, but better covered up than the alternative.

Shit. The alternative. What was he going to do now, Yugi asked himself, slumping on the couch while he waited for the 20 minutes for the dye to set to be up. What if Kaiba figures out it was him? How is he going to react? Is he going to get fired? Or worse, barred from being involved with the major players in the gaming industry? Is he going to have to focus on the indie scene, or worse, have to take over the game store?! Is it too late to follow Anzu to New York and start over there?

“Yugi? What are you doing up at this hour?”

Yugi snapped out of his anxiety spiral-induced reverie at the sound of his grandpa’s voice behind him. “Wh-what are you doing up at this hour?!”

“I asked you first, m’boy,” Grandpa asked. He gingerly poked at Yugi’s dye-saturated hair, realized what he just touched, then wiped his dye-stained finger off on the towel around Yugi’s neck. “Didn’t you just change this the other day?”

“Oh, I, uh…” Yugi wracked his brain for a quick but plausible answer and mercifully found one. “I forgot I had a piercing appointment tomorrow and want to get this done now so I won’t forget about it being there and get dye in an open wound!”

Grandpa frowned, clearly still suspicious but unable to think of a good rebuttal at this hour. “More piercings? You’re certain your workplace is all right with that?”

Yugi smirked. “I have a company-wide e-mail from Seto Kaiba himself from the last time someone complained about someone getting piercings, telling all management that he, quote, ‘doesn’t care how much metal someone has in their face if it’s not impacting their ability to work, stop wasting his and everyone else’s time with this.’ Saved it to my computer and printed it out too~”

Grandpa laughed and patted Yugi’s shoulder. “Ho, ho! That’s my boy!” He paused for a moment, then let out a bit of a sigh. “Anyway, don’t forget to get some rest when you’re done with this, all right? Staying up all night isn’t good for you.”

“I will, Grandpa,” Yugi lied. Like hell he was getting any sleep when he was in panic mode like this. Thankfully, his grandfather took him at his word, but not without one more worried glance before leaving.

Once Grandpa was out of sight, Yugi started to flop down on one side on the couch, but suddenly remembered the hair dye and caught himself before the wet hair touched anything. His life was difficult enough at the moment; he doesn’t need Mom complaining about dye stains on the furniture on top of it. Again. He settled instead for slouching forward, staring at the floor, until it occurred to him to pull out his phone from his pocket and stare at that instead.

He really should talk to someone about this, but who? Anzu would commiserate with him, but it would be early afternoon for her off in New York; she’d probably be at a rehearsal or something. There’s also Jounouchi, but hearing him talk shit about Kaiba was not what Yugi needed right now. Honda, maybe? Yugi shook his head; they’re close enough, but not close enough to wake him up over this disaster. Bakura’s right out; he’s the god-king of wandering into trouble and making it everyone else’s problem himself. There’s always Hanasaki, he supposed, but he was prepping for midterms or something and did not need this added to his load either…

Finally, he asked himself, Otogi, maybe? It’s his damn fault he was even at the damn party anyway. But no, Yugi decided, remembering the circle of women surrounding the man before he went off with Kaiba. There’s no way Otogi was alone and he wasn’t interrupting that. At best, he’d get an invitation to join, and any other day that’d be tempting, but again, this was not what Yugi needed right now.

Yugi heaved a sigh and flopped backwards, leaning heavily against the back of the couch, head reclined back as far as it would comfortably go. He thought for a split second about what to do, but then he remembered. The hair dye.

FUCK.

He leapt to his feet and spun around to see a great big splotch of purplish pink, then bolted to the bathroom to get a wet washcloth to hopefully clean it up before it set. Dye job first, he told himself, then worry about what to do next. It’s not like he didn’t have all day to figure something out, after all.

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

Meanwhile, back at the hotel room, Seto Kaiba was sitting on the edge of the bed, pondering his next move.

He had been sleeping more peacefully than he had in years, but when he turned over in his sleep, his arm fell onto… nothing. The other man’s lithe form was no longer next to him, nor any trace of his warmth left in his place. A quick check of the room and adjoining bathroom proved he was no longer there, period, and a brief check of his belongings showed nothing was missing, save for his mask—he presumed the man grabbed the wrong one in his haste—and, infuriatingly enough, the business card the man had given him.

At least corporate espionage seemed to be off the table as a motive for the man’s quick retreat, Seto thought; with everything that’s happened in his life, a honeypot operation targeting him wasn’t out of the question. Not that he thought anyone would be bold enough to try, with how utterly apathetic he was about… well, being with anyone that way, to be frank.

Which, honestly, was what made this hurt, and what he was blaming for the urge to fight his cynical first impulse to let this matter drop and chalk it up to a passing whim and people being shitty yet again.

He growled quietly, running a hand through his hair. What was wrong with him; why couldn’t he just let this go as an obvious mistake, a momentary lapse of judgment? The man clearly wasn’t taking this as seriously as he was, if the bastard could just run away like this. Still, something nagged at him, something he couldn’t quite put a finger on, but he was very clearly missing something in all of this and it was absolutely infuriating.

He picked up his pants from the floor, fished out his phone, and opened a notes app. He needed a guest list, he typed into it, and started typing out a description of what the man looked like and what he could remember the man saying to him. Also, a description of the man his target was the plus one for, not that he got a terribly long or clear look at him. Still, combined with the guest list, what he did notice could be illuminating. If he could find the “date” that ditched the target, maybe he could get the target’s damned name.

For better or worse, Seto Kaiba was a man who, when his personal curiosity took over, could not be stopped until it was satisfied, and this was going to be no exception to that.

#yugioh #rivalshipping #seto kaiba #yugi muto #my fic #it's midnight cinderella #I POSTED THE THING FINALLY

[jammatown919]

Plus One

This has been sitting in my drafts 99% done for like, four months now, so I figured I'd finish it up and send it out since I haven't posted any writing in a hot minute.

-----

"Cupcake, I really don't think this is a good idea."

"I'm sorry, Vi, but it's been three months. I can't hold her off any longer."

So this was Vi's punishment for falling in love. After seven years wasted in prison and everything that had gone wrong with her sister, she'd finally found a reason to smile again; the woman of her dreams, standing directly behind her as she looked at herself, hardly recognizable, in the mirror. This woman right here was the light of Vi's life, and things were damn near perfect.

If only a formal introduction to Piltovan high society wasn't part of the package deal.

"Do I seriously have to wear this?" Vi adjusted the collar of her impossibly expensive suit, still grimacing at her neat, slicked-back hair which she feared might never be completely gel-free again.

"I offered you a dress," Caitlyn replied, dressed just as formally as Vi but pulling off her sleek navy gown and high heels significantly better. Her hair, pulled into a neat twisted bun, was immaculate without any product, which was just not fair, honestly.

"Then you would've made me wear heels," Vi grumbled. She swore the collar was making a conscious effort to choke her. "Cait, I don't wanna go to this thing."

"I know, love." To her credit, Caitlyn was incredibly sympathetic, and she had valiantly held off her vulture of a mother from trying to present Vi at one of these events for an impressively long time. Unfortunately, though, sympathy didn't get Vi out of this suit or her "responsibility as Caitlyn's partner", as Cassandra had put it.

What a piece of work. 

If not for her insistence, Caitlyn and Tobias would have been fine with Vi continuing to sit out of all the events the Kirammans hosted and attended, but alas, neither of them seemed to know how to tell their matriarch no.

She tried to remind herself this wasn't for Cassandra. It was for Caitlyn, so her mother would get off her back about it and stop starting arguments. It was so the two of them wouldn't have to endure any more awkward dinners or pointed questions about why Vi was "hiding" from all those stuck-up elites. As if she needed a reason. 

"Can we say I'm sick?" Vi asked, reminding herself of a much younger Powder trying to weasel her way out of chores. God, she missed that kid. 

"She'll just make you go to the next one," Caitlyn replied, refocusing Vi before she could think too hard about the sister she'd lost. "It's best to just get it out of the way now. The first one's always the hardest."

First. Implying there would be more to follow. Great. 

"Do we have to stay the whole time? What if I get in there, say hi to everyone I'm supposed to be nice to, and we just go?" 

"The whole thing won't even be two hours," Caitlyn said, and when Vi turned to face her, she was completely serious. "It's just a cocktail party."

"We're getting this dressed up for less than two hours?" Thought it sounded a bit silly to put this much effort into their appearances for just a short event, Vi was infinitely relieved that she'd be out of this damn suit sooner than she'd thought. 

"These things are intentionally short," Caitlyn said, reaching out to fix Vi's tie. "Long enough to catch up with people, but short enough to avoid anyone getting too tired or bored. It won't be that bad, really. It's just drinks, appetizers, and small talk."

"Drinks and appetizers don't sound that bad," Vi replied. "It's the small talk I'm worried about. The hell am I supposed to talk about with these people?" 

"You won't have to say much," Caitlyn promised, gently caressing the side of Vi's the way they both loved. "Just stay with me and follow my lead. It'll be over soon enough."

Vi took a deep breath and nodded, looking herself over in the mirror one last time. She didn't particularly care whether her tie was just so or her hair was perfectly neat, but Cassandra would have a fit if she looked anything less than the very high Kiramman standard of presentable. 

"Ready, love?" Caitlyn reached for Vi's hand, looking at her expectantly. Vi sighed and resigned herself to her fate. 

"As I'll ever be."

---------

As it turned out, Vi shouldn't have been as worried as she'd been back home. No, she should have been far, far more worried. 

Despite the Kirammans' insistence that this was a relatively small affair, there were at least fifty people present when they entered the ballroom where some friend of the family Vi had never met liked to host their guests, and they were all staring at her. 

Some were better at than others, stealing glances when they thought she was looking far enough in another direction that she wouldn't notice, but some were absolutely shameless in their stares. But worst of all were the whispers. Caitlyn had warned her to expect some type of reaction to their relationship, but it seemed her place of origin was the hot topic of the evening. 

She didn't know why she was mad. She' been expecting this. She knew how these people were, and her hot pink hair and face tattoo clearly marked her as other in this room of neat Topsiders, but she'd thought she wouldn't care. That she was above their bullshit opinions and nothing they said would matter to her because she'd heard it all before. 

But this wasn't like the other times. Before, she'd had some sense of pride in herself, knowing she was a daughter of the fissures and the Pilties were on her turf. Now she was on their turf, dressed up as one of them, making an effort to appear as something she wasn't because she loved Caitlyn so goddamn much, and they looked at her much differently than she was used to. Enforcers had looked down on her before, but as the dirty street kid who was probably going to punch them in the face, and that was something she could live with. These people looked at her like some exotic pet the Kirammans had brought to the party. And, in a way, she was. 

They all knew it. Their whispers told her. All they saw her as was the Kiramman girl's dressed up stray. A street thug that may or may not be domesticated, depending on who you asked.  An adventurous fling that never should have been made public. A phase that Caitlyn would hopefully grow out of. 

That last one was what really got to her. The idea that Caitlyn didn't really love her, that this was nothing more than a rich girl looking for a thrill, that their relationship wasn't real. Maybe she could have gritted her teeth through the rest of it, but she wasn't going to stand here and listen to these people who didn't know anything make assumptions and throw around theories about the last good thing in her life. She had to leave, or jaws were going to break. 

All in all, she lasted twenty minutes. 

After that, she was pushing her way out past stupid Pilties who were extremely offended that she'd nudged them aside or forgotten to say "excuse me" or whatever the hell mattered to these people. Caitlyn was quick to follow, softly calling her name and apologizing absently to all of the people she'd shouldered out of her way. 

Things were better out on the patio. Quieter. Two people minding their own business on the opposite side, paying absolutely no attention to Vi finding a spot to lean against a railing or Caitlyn chasing her outside. 

"Vi-" Caitlyn began, but Vi didn't let her get far. 

"I'm not going back in there," she snapped, cringing internally at the vaguely hurt expression on Caitlyn's face. She shouldn't snap at her. It wasn't her fault. "Look, Cupcake, I'm sorry, but this whole thing was a mistake. I know this is important to you, but I don't want to be stared at and talked about like some exotic thing."

"I know," Caitlyn replied softly. She slowly walked toward Vi until they were side by side, in similar positions with their folded arms bracing them against the railing. "I'm sorry I made you come here. I should have known this would happen." 

"You didn't make me," Vi reminded her. "Your mom did."

"I'm a grown woman. I should be able to tell my mother no."

"Guess that makes two of us."

"No, this one isn't on you," Caitlyn said. "You were trying to accommodate us. You had no idea what to expect, but I've been plenty of these things. It was my responsibility to recognize how this would be for you and not put you in this situation."

"Cait-"

"Don't tell me it's not my fault. You said no and I didn't listen." Caitlyn ran a hand through her hair with a heavy sigh. "We don't have to go back in. And I won't make you go to any more events. If my mother has any complaints, she can kindly shove them... well, you get the idea."

Vi snorted in a way the Pilties back inside would probably describe as undignified. 

"You know..." she said, a hint of mischief in her tone. "I think hearing you tell your mom to shove her complaints up her ass would be the perfect way to make this up to me."

"Oh, quiet, you." Caitlyn gave her a light, playful shove. "I have a better way to make it up to you, anyway." She made a show of her eyes traveling up and down Vi's body, completely shamelessly. "If you're open to it, that is?"

"When am I not?" Vi looped an arm around Caitlyn's waist and pulled her in a little closer. "Maybe we should get out of here before I tear that dress off you."

"Lower your voice!" Caitlyn hissed, but she was laughing all the same. 

"Yes, ma'am," Vi replied flirtatiously.

"Save that for later," Caitlyn said in a warning voice. "Come on. Before my mother tries to drag us back inside." 

"Like she could," Vi scoffed, but she took Caitlyn's outstretched hand regardless and followed her to and down the little set of stairs connecting the patio to an unnecessarily large garden. 

It didn't look like guests were supposed to be out here, but Caitlyn walked confidently enough that neither the guests on the patio nor the random gardener working on a flowerbed batted an eye at them as they circled around the impressive property to the giant front entrance where they'd been greeted. 

There were a few people lingering here, but Caitlyn paid them no mind, so neither did Vi. It felt a little weird, like someone was going to call out and stop them any moment. The feeling reminded Vi of sneaking around Vander as a kid, either to go out way too late at night or sneak a sip of something from The Last Drop. What she wouldn't give to hear that old voice scolding her. 

Now, if anyone thought to stop her, it would be nothing but high-pitched Piltie voices, but fortunately, no one cared enough. Vi and Caitlyn were free to walk home in peace. 

"Think anyone'll notice we left?" Vi asked once they were more or less clear of the property. 

"Oh, my mother will have a fit," Caitlyn replied with a tiny, adorable roll of her eyes. "We might not be hearing the end of this for a while." 

"What else is new?" Vi said lightly. "How long do you think we have?"

"By the time we get home, I'd say we'll have a good hour and half of peace."

"Who said anything about peace?" Vi's hand slipped out of Caitlyn's and gently trailed down her thigh. "I thought you were making this up to me."

Caitlyn swatted her hand away, but she couldn't hide her little smile or the pink tint in her cheeks. 

"Of course. How could I forget?" she replied. 

"Y'know..." Vi continued mischievously, "I don't think an hour and a half sounds quite long enough. Why don't we pick up the pace? I'll race you."

"Vi, I'm in heels!" Caitlyn exclaimed as Vi grabbed her arm again and tugged her along. 

"You can run in heels."

"Not these ones!" 

"Guess we know who's winning, then." Vi made a big show of speeding up, but she didn't really take off the way she'd grown up doing. If she'd really wanted to, she could've left Caitlyn in the dust, even in this restrictive outfit, but this was all for fun. 

Besides, she would never dream of missing out on the way Caitlyn tried to hurry along in those horrendous stilts she called shoes. Absolutely adorable. 

"C'mon," she called, with absolutely no regard for the fact that they were jogging down a public street. "First one to bed gets to top."

And suddenly Caitlyn could run on stilts. 

It seemed Vi's night was about to get a whole lot better. 

----

If you enjoyed this fic, please considering reblogging to share it with others! Likes are great but reblogs will make a creator's day.

#arcane league of legends #arcane #piltover's finest #caitvi #caitlyn kiramman #arcane vi #my writing

[pompadorbz]

Any specific notes you’ve got on the thought process behind each student’s new uniform changes for the THH cast? And are you planning to do some for the SDR2 and V3 cast as well?

Note: Anon is referring to these designs!Hmm kinda! There are some choices I made more deliberately than others, although not many characters go as deep as the one note I had about Taka's design. But I'll happily go through the ones that I didn't!Mondo - I initially didn't have Mondo's blazer be embroidered, but considering it's such a stick-out feature of his canon design, it felt wrong not keeping it. Additionally, Mondo is a little bit scrawnier here, for lack of a better word, and that's deliberate! These are supposed to be the students at their first year of the academy, so I wanted to make Mondo seem a little younger!

Taka - I'm not gonna reiterate here so instead here's the post where I talk about him a lil. Lol.

Celeste - Girl is absolutely fighting for her LIFE with this uniform, and for what its worth she found a pretty good balance! The dress underneath is a JSK of her own design, and kinda meant to be reminiscent of earlier EGL styles. She is supposed to look a little bit "ITA", even. I also brought back the hair ribbons from her beta design, and the butterfly hairclip takes from the pattern on her tie in canon!

Chihiro - I have a couple notes on Chihiro! For starters I honestly wanted to make her look a little bit dorkier lol. I gave her the little headband and the glasses for that reason, but the glasses were also to make her match her Dad even more! I wanted to give her a massive backpack too so she always has a spot to keep her laptop and other equipment (yes she has it on her at all times). And finally I gave her a little sweater vest with a dandelion on it, since one of her favorite gifts is the everlasting dandelion! It's supposed to be embroidered on, heehee.

Sayaka - As much as I love her, Sayaka's design isn't actually all that deep? lol. I've always had an affinity for drawing Sayaka with cute little designer hats. i honestly think she has a few of them that she can whip out to give any look a little extra panache. Not to mention the constant inclusion of TONS of pink. I also gave her the flower hairclip from one of her beta designs!

Aoi - Hina is honestly one of my favorite designs in the roster! I just really like her silhouette, idk. I always knew she had to keep the shorts, so she gets the shorts!! Her typical tracksuit is around her waist instead, her eyes are a darker blue for the sake of my sanity, and her ponytail has a kinkier shape! My favorite little detail that I'm sure nobody noticed is that the thing tying her hair together is a coil scrunchie, since they're super good for wet hair in particular! I used to use them a lot back when I used to swim!

Sakura - Honestly, I just wanted Sakura to look at ordinary as humanly possible. She gets a really normal looking uniform- little to no modifications made aside from wearing her usual shoes, the armbands, the bandages, and the striped socks that I took from one of her beta designs!

Hifumi - Hifumi didn't really change all that much either, aside from getting the orange pants to match his orange tie! I do think he painted the arrow on himself, and it looks INCREDIBLY scuffed, lol. Honestly, my main priority with hifumi was to do him some actual justice on the anatomy side, lol. I hope I did an alright job!

Makoto - Makoto also doesn't really change all that much... Really, all that got altered was the blazer and the pants, although I will note that the pants are rolled up because he ABSOLUTELY ordered the wrong size by accident.

Kyoko - Going into this, LONG before I started drawing her I knew that Kyoko needed to have pants, even if it killed me. I just always thought that it'd better suit her usual design to have pants, or at LEAST a longer skirt. It always just looked kinda off to me that she had this big long sleeved blazer and then a short pleated skirt?? Like at least allow her the luxury of like. A pencil skirt. Lol.

Byakuya - Byakuya also doesn't really undergo much change. Really, all i have to say regarding him is that hes got a tall collared button-up and that he kept his usual necktie...

And that's everyone until I sit my ass down and draw the rest! I'm sure I'll eventually get to it... Possibly.

As for the other games, currently I have no plans to do anybody beyond the thh cast. I MIGHT do sdr2 at a far, FAR later date, but I don't think V3 will ever be on the table since quite frankly, I couldn't be assed. Sorry if you were hoping for them!

#syd spiels #backtalk #danganronpa #danganronpa 1 #dr1 #danganronpa thh #not tagging all the characters cuz im. lazy

[lemony-snickers]

Hi, I'm new to Tumblr so please tell me if I did this wrong, but would it be possible to request a kakashi x fem reader fic (both over 18 of course) ?

I truly don't know if you're comfortable with this but something like: They have feelings for one another but did not really act upon it. but for some reason there is this tension while on a mission and the reader just kisses him to shut him up or some reason and he's like "I want more?!?" it could be smut, I honestly don't know. oh and I hope I did not make you uncomfortable, that is the least I would want to happen. Thank you so much for reading this mess

Love love love your writing sooo much:)

hey there anon!  welcome to tumblr!

eventhoughit’sbeenawhilesinceyousentthisinsoyouaren’treallytthatnewanymoredasdf;sadf

this is a fine way to send in a request and def did not make me uncomfortable in any way!  i hope you enjoy this little one-shot.  it’s not full smut, more just suggestive; hope that’s all right.

Title:  Just a Kiss (AO3 Link Here) Summary:  If Kakashi had just shut up when you asked him to, none of this would have happened.  But now your fingers are in his hair and his arms are around your waist and you don’t think you could stop even if you had to.  Not even if the Hokage himself appeared beside you. Word Count:  1,521 Warnings:  fem!reader, rated M for suggestive content .

Kakashi hates these types of missions.  It’s always so boring, just sitting and waiting.  You know he hates them because he has not stopped talking about it since you arrived at your destination two days ago.

“This is so boring,” he says for what feels like the five hundredth time.  “Why are we even here?”

You grit your teeth, hands fisting in the fabric of your yukata.  “Because it’s our job, Hatake.  Now kindly be quiet so I can actually do mine.”

The truth is, you are inclined to agree with your partner.  You’re no more interested in surveillance than he is.  The fact that you’ve been paired with such an infuriatingly vocal shinobi--who would have thought the surly Copy Ninja was so outspoken when provided the right opportunity?-- only adds to your frustration.

Because watching gang leaders purchase drugs and weaponry and forbidden scrolls is not at all a good time.  It’s tedious and time consuming, scribbling down every item that changes hands, especially when you’re trying to be surreptitious about it in a crowded club while maintaining a different transformation jutsu every twelve hours.

But having Kakashi grumble constantly in your ear only makes it worse; only makes the endless days feel longer.  This does not stop him, however, from continuing to complain and annoy you for the next half-week, constantly groaning about his back, insisting his knees can’t withstand the prolonged sitting anymore.

“Then go for a walk,” you tell him, but he shakes his head.  “Can’t leave you.  What if something interesting finally happens?”

Your snort.  Such a thing is very unlikely.  The Hokage has sent you to observe and report, nothing more.  Anything short of a gang war breaking out or a coup of the feudal lord’s private residence the next village over will not be means for intervention.

At night, the two of you share a futon, turning to face away from one another as best you can.  Your accommodations are better suited for rats than humans, in all honesty.  The food the inn provides is hardly edible and you can’t wait to take a tepidly warm shower again once you’re finally back in Konoha, tired of the frigid baths you have here.

Two weeks of this and you’re about at your limit, especially when Kakashi will not stop lamenting your accommodations in addition to the assignment itself.  He tells you that his last long-term, non-combat mission was as private security for a Daimyo, who let him sleep on the plush mattress of his guest house and had his personal chef prepare meals for him each evening.

He wonders aloud--and loudly--what you could have done to offend Hiruzen Sarutobi so badly as to land yourself (and therefore, by extension, him) in this shithole.  You yourself begin to wonder how you ever found Kakashi Hatake attractive, how it was at all possible that when you received this assigment you were actually excited he would be your partner.

You are obviously an even worse judge of character than Kakashi is a sound sleeper.

You’ve taken plenty of partner missions before, shared plenty of bunks and futons and beds, but you’ve never met anyone who tosses and turns so thoroughly, always rising before the sun to finally give you a few mintues of undisturbed sleep.

It is the only time Kakashi seems to understand the benefit of silence.

The fact that he kicks himself out from beneath the sheet every morning to sit quietly on the opposite end of the room and read while you enjoy an hour or two of undisturbed slumber is the only reason you haven’t yet smothered him with his pillow.  You offer to make him a sleeping tonic, but he waves the idea away.

“What?  And be too groggy for our daily inspections?” he teases.  For a moment you forget you’re irritated with him, but Kakashi reminds you only a fraction of a second later.  “Then who will track the number of times the waiter picks his nose?  Surely that’s above your pay grade.”

You grit your teeth, reminding yourself he has not slept well and is probably cranky as a result.

But you are not sleeping as well as you’d like either and Kakashi makes no such concessions on your behalf.

And one night, after a much longer day than most of the others during which you catalogued hundreds of individual pieces of weaponry and at least four crates of scrolls you’d had to recover in the dead of night to pry open and look at the actual contents, you return from your freezing bath to find Kakashi reading.

“Took you long enough,” he says.

You stuff your irritation down as you go about the rest of your nightly routine, but Kakashi never stops talking.

He complains about the splinter in his finger from the crates, that he can still taste the mushy rice you both ate for dinner.  Even as you crawl onto the futon, exhausted and in desperate need of sleep, his sonorous voice drones on and on and on.

Finally, something within you snaps and you sit up, Kakashi’s eyebrows rising minutely when he finds you staring at him.

“Do you.  Ever.  Shut up.”  Though it is ostensibly a question, you don’t lift your voice at the end of the sentence, leaving no room for confusion as to where you stand on the subject.

Kakashi grins.  And whereas you should be delighted to see his face bare so often these days, your nostrils flare in irritation as he snaps his book closed.

“I’m just doing my job,” he says, feigning innocence.

“Is your job to annoy the shit out of me?” you ask.  “Because if so, well done.”

Kakashi’s grin broadens and he leans forward, “I belive my job is to observe and report,” he counters.  “And so I’m reporting to you what I’ve observed.”

“Well don’t.”

You aren’t sure how Kakashi finds any more space to take up between you because suddenly you realize how very close he is.  But rather than exciting, you find his proximity infuriating.

“I believe I am the ranking shinobi on this mission,” he says flatly, “so if I think it behooves the mission to talk through our daily routine or to scrutinize the minutiae of it as part of our evening debrief, I don’t think there’s much you can do.”

He drones on and with every syllable, your chest feels tighter, your head throbs as the beginning tendrils of a migraine snake their way up your neck into your jaw.  And Kakashi just keeps talking about everything and nothing.

“Will you please just shut up?”

Kakashi pauses only long enough for his single visible eye to glint in challenge.  “Make me,” he whispers, that infuriating smirk still painted over his stupidly handsome face.

He doesn’t even give you a chance to respond before his mouth is moving again, meaningless words spilling out into the air between you and you do the one thing you think will probably catch him off guard enough to grant you a brief, silent respite.

You lean forward, clamp his handsome face between your hands, and mash your lips against his in the worst, most brutal kiss of your entire life.  Your teeth clang against his and there’s the distinct taste of blood on you lip from the force of your attack.

But you don’t care because when you pull away a few long moments later, Kakashi Hatake finally seems at a loss for words.

Your victory is disturbingly brief, however, because just as you're feeling like you've won, a feral-looking smile carves its way across Kakashi's face.  “Took you long enough.”

You don’t have time to answer before he pulls you back in, grasping you roughly around the waist to drag your body over his as he finally lies down.  His book is trapped uncomfortably between your bodies, but you hardly care.

Because now that he isn’t talking, you can focus on all the reasons you were originally excited to have him here with you.  Kakashi moans against your mouth and you grip his hair, giving yourself over totally to each cascading sensation; the gentle buzzing in your head and the sound of Kakashi’s panting replacing the incessant drone of his complaints.

Yes, you think as you roll onto your back, grinning up and meeting Kakashi’s hungry gaze.  This is a much better use of your time than listening to the Copy Ninja rant about accommodations or arthritic joints.

He seems to agree because the next moment, his book is tossed across the room and all his irration appears forgotten, replaced by something much more pleasant.  The sounds he makes that evening are better than any you've yet heard.

And if you’re a little late to your duties the next day, it’s not like anyone will notice anyway.  Kakashi’s right; this mission is boring as hell and honestly a waste of time.

At least now you have something more to look forward to than just a cold bath at the end of the night, though you’re sure you’ll be needing one of those, too.

#lemony scribbles #kakashi hatake #kakashi x you #kakashi x reader #fem!reader #tw suggestive #this is a queued post

[imjustheretoseetheprivateblogs]

MxN Week Day 2: Stars

@senshixshitennouweeks this one's got some spicy themes in it but nothing too bad. anyway, enjoy.

She first sees him in a club, up on a stage and moving to the music of Caviar. She isn’t even sure why she’s there. Maybe she’s just needy and wants to alleviate the feeling by taking in some of the saucier sights.

For a heartbeat, their eyes meet and she doesn’t know why, but she can tell it affects him by the way his movement slows. Then, it’s over and he slips back into time with the song. Only now, he seems to stick to one part of the stage, right in her line of sight.

Makoto feels her face heat up as he peels the flimsy t-shirt off to reveal rippling muscles and tosses the baseball cap he was wearing off his head into the crowd, much to their delight if their shrieks are anything to go by.

Long brunette curls fall around his shoulders and adds to the wild allure he seems to radiate.

Makoto swallows when the pants come off and she sees the incredibly tight pair of briefs he’s wearing as he moves to the lyrics “Mr. Tangerine Speedo.”

Before she knows it, the bit is over.

“And that, people, was Nat Mustang,” the announcer says, “give him a big hand why don’t you.”

Nat Mustang. The name sticks with her.

When she gets home, too wound up to sleep, she types in his name in Firefox and feels her face burn with what she finds.

HeavenlyKingz. It’s an adult site, catering predominantly to clients who enjoy the male physique.

No harm in just searching, she thinks.

She types “Nat Mustang” into a search and watches a few free clips.

While Makoto hasn’t watched a lot of porn over the years, she can honestly say that this is a little bit better than most.

The acting isn’t as wooden and it helps that most of the stars have some level of charisma. Nat seems to radiate an easy confidence, even when the plotlines of the short are utterly ridiculous.

But her heart stops the moment she starts a male-on-male video featuring Nat and another star named “Tux Shields.”

That luscious black hair. That voice. She knows it! Even through the mask he wears, from that time she went on a double date with Usagi and her husband, back when he was only her boyfriend.

“You can’t tell anyone!”

Makoto cringes at Usagi’s cry, hoping no-one in the café is looking at them.

“I wasn’t going to tell anyone,” Makoto said, huffing, “you can’t think I’d ever do that to you.”

Usagi collapsed back into her chair.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, “It was just something Mamo did to pay for medical school.”

“And I bet you watched every video,” Makoto said slyly.

Usagi’s face lit up with embarrassment.

“So what if I did,” she said.

Makoto laughed and took another sip of her coffee.

“Well, I can’t say I’m not in the same boat,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

Makoto took a deep breath, fighting the heat that built in her face.

“I was at that one club, you know…”

“D-Point? The Strip Club?”

Once again, Makoto looked around. In spite of the fact that there now seemed to be less people in the café than before, she still felt embarrassed to admit she’d been there.

“Yes,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Usagi’s face lit up with a gasp and her expression took on a devilish sense of knowing.

“Oh, you found a hot piece of ass, didn’t you?”

“So what if I did?”

Usagi giggled.

"I saw him in one of those old videos Mamoru was in."

Usagi shushed her again.

"I'll keep in quiet," Makoto said, "just... can Mamoru get me in touch with... Nat Mustang?"

For a moment, Usagi sipped her hot chocolate, the silence stretching too long for Makoto's tastes, until finally, she replied, "I'll ask Mamo."

It's been set up as a blind date, at a restaurant with a fancy Italian name. Makoto swallows when he enters in a suit with a wine-colored vest, somehow looking more drop dead sexy than if he had his clothes off.

Makoto smooths the forest green cocktail dress she's wearing, her nerves acting up again. She wonders if she should have worn her hair in a bun instead of in her usual ponytail.

Nat sits down and he fixes her with a smile. She's expecting something like in one of his videos, but instead the grin is tinged with an emotion she's currently familiar with.

"Hey," he says.

He's nervous. This beautiful, mysterious man is nervous to meet her. Tension eases out of her and she smiles.

"So, is Nat your real name?" she asks.

He flounders cutely for a moment, before answering yes, Nat was his real name, short for Nathaniel, but Mustang was just a stage name. They get to talking about astrology, cooking, and gardening, hair care, just about anything under the sun.

Soon, they're leaving and he's putting his jacket around her shoulders.

"So," he said, you wouldn't be interested in doing this again? Next week? With me?"

Makoto smiles and kisses his cheek.

"Love to," she says.

#senxshiweek2023 #my writing #sailor moon #modern au #makoneph #Makoto Kino #Nephrite #Nephrite's modern name is Nat

[lake-archive]

A Quick Shut Up Kiss

AO3 Link - Fling Posse Selfship / Yumeship Masterlist

Fandom: Hypnosis Mic

Characters: Dice Arisugawa, Ann Wolff (OC)

Pairing: Diceann (Dice/Ann)

Words: 543

“Oh come on! I'm not asking for that much!” Dice mentioned while pouting. He could feel it and honestly did so without shame. Was he hoping for something? Hell yes he was! After all, he wanted to borrow some money! But the answer was ‘no’, like always. And it was driving him nuts at this point. Every single time. “I'll pay ya back double!”

“When my hair's turning gray?” Ann would counter, their expression being unbelievably deadpan. They were standing right in front of him, arms crossed. Honestly, he was at a loss here. He tried several times, several methods – From asking nicely to begging. Yet they would not cooperate. Great help they were sometimes… So the pout was his last resort. Ah no, wait. It ain't like that. Dice just couldn't hide it anymore. He was kind of fed up here, unable to take it. He wasn't asking for too much, was he? Nah, no way!

“Oh shush! I don't take that long.” He responded. “Just think about it. If I hit big, you get double of what I'd owe ya! In fa–”

“Not going to happen. I'm not funding your gambling addiction.”

“It ain't an addiction!” Oh god he even felt one of his cheeks puffing up here. Or almost. “Just give it a shot! C'mon already!”

He could only spot them rolling their eyes. Yeah, they were not going to give in yet today even though he felt stubborn enough to keep going. He just had to try harder! Ann's gonna crack! They just had to! They could crack if Dice pushed it! Besides, they had to have some faith in him too, right!?

And yet, it was only silence on their end as their gaze was scanning him. Up and down, painfully slowly before sighing. They then stepped closer without further warning, lifting themself up a little to try coming face to face with him.

“Y'know Dice…” They began somewhat softly, at least softer than usual. It had him all ears, hoping for a moment. Maybe he had just been preoccupied with the thought of finally hitting the slot machines that he considered no other option at this rate. At least for that moment he was oblivious, so much so that he didn't even flinch when they stepped closer. So he had not noticed that they got even closer. And closer. And closer. Until–

A sudden cut off, a quick peck on the lips. It was short, very short, yet intense. At least intense enough for him to calm his expression because it had been so sudden. Even after they had pulled away and were looking at him.

He was speechless, only being able to look at them, his cheeks having started to burn up by then. The words were stuck in his throat, he could not get them out. So all he did was stare in disbelief while at the same time being at the brink of smiling. He just didn't know what to think of this.

As for Ann… He saw them chuckling soon enough, a teasing smile gracing their lips. All while they looked up at him, unable to hide it. Were they sorry? Not even close.

“That's better. A pout doesn't suit you. At all~”

#Nimue's Lake #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #selfship fanfiction #self ship fanfic #selfship fic #dice arisugawa #arisugawa dice #hypmic dice #hypnosis mic oc #hypmic oc #self ship fanfiction #Hit The Jackpot #Diceann #selfshipping community #self ship community #s/i x f/o