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lily-of-the-eyrie · 4 years

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🎓🔍 Scene Commentary: Colonel Edition ①

Welcome to the first in a series of posts about taking a closer look at the Colonel’s scenes, in which I’ll be analyzing all the sections in which he appeared to:

get a clearer idea of his character, and

maybe squeeze just a liiittle more content for HCs etc.

For this post, I’ll be doing Sequence 3-1 “The Color of Right”. As you can expect from the Colonel’s first appearance, this scene’s straight up packed with key details about his character—I’m talking mannerisms, value systems, ideals, and more.

Highlights! 　❗️The Colonel’s Negotiation Skills 　❗️The Colonel & Templar Beliefs

I’m essentially writing out my thoughts on what’s happening on screen as they go, so I highly recommend keeping a Rogue playthrough open in another tab for maximum clarity.

🌟 Thanks to the-colonel-who-cares for assisting with the beta reading!

This post has a lot of text and a lot of screenshots, so the rest of it goes under the cut.

[SQ3-1] The Color of Right

— Part I: First Meeting — Shay took down the gang members in the Greenwich HQ, and met the Colonel for the first time.

　The scene opens with Prosperity and Decay, an ominous and rather foreboding track which does a great job at underlining this scene's uneasy calm and tense undercurrent. Although Shay's opinion of the Colonel, whom he just met, did get better towards the end of the segment, at the beginning he's still very much unsure of what to make of the man.

　We start with Shay feeling alert and suspicious: upon noticing the Colonel, he narrows his eyes at him and his hand goes straight to his pistol. It's pretty clear at this point that he's not going to be instantly cooperative.

　Now the first thing the Colonel does to deal with this is raise his hands, which, together with his telling Shay to be at ease, and that they're friends (promptly name-dropping the Finnegans to make sure that his point gets through quickly), says something very, very clearly―"I'm NOT your enemy". Then, and only then, does he introduce himself.

　The Colonel follows up by thanking Shay for taking down the criminals, but Shay's first and almost reflexive response to this show of gratitude is, surprisingly, contempt. He combatively, condescendingly questions the sincerity of the Colonel's concern. Watch his tone and body language as he spits on the very idea that the Colonel could even actually feel anything about the city and its people. The way he blinks and throws out his arms questioningly before saying "What do you care?", and the contemptuous tone with which he says that line, is absolutely dripping with poison.

　And in this moment, we catch a glimpse of Shay’s infamous troublemaker side. Here he is, raring to go—a commoner challenging not just any redcoat, but a goddamn British military officer right in his face. This is the Shay that gets into bar brawls, the one who can't stay out of fights for long; this is the Shay who has zero innate respect for authority, and this is the Shay who can and will fearlessly call bullshit on anybody, even his "social betters", if he thinks they deserve it.

　Now to be fair to Shay, he’s not just looking for trouble out of boredom. We know there’s no love lost between him and the redcoats, judging by how he treats them from the very first scene. They were his enemies, plain and simple.

　However, in the wider scope of things, his behaviour isn’t anything particularly unusual—historically speaking, during the period Rogue is set in, there's a lot of tension going on between the Irish and the British, since the latter is pretty much on an all-out bender to subjugate the former. Needless to say, this creates a lot of bad blood between the two sides, so Shay’s reaction, while quite aggressive, isn’t really out of place considering the social mood of the time.

　But one thing is clear―Shay is straight up looking for a fight, and he was no pushover; he's totally ready to back up his fighting words with an actual fight. He would have no qualms (and might even rather enjoy) socking a redcoat in the face...or worse. Their shared acquaintance of the Finnegans is probably the only thing that reined him in for now, and had that the risk of causing his caretakers further trouble not been on his mind (he certainly seemed to have momentarily forgotten it when he taunted the Colonel). Hell, he might've even thought of roughing him up. I mean, he's a trained Assassin―he's got good reason to believe that he could 100% beat the stuffing out of this guy AND escape afterwards.

　Now watch the Colonel totally avoid falling in line with Shay's predictions by simply not fighting back. Normally, you'd expect any other redcoat, common soldier or otherwise, to whack Shay right across the face to teach the rude, uppity brat a lesson. And he’d have a pretty strong case in his defense too, since it was undeniably Shay who "started it".

　But here's the point: the Colonel isn't just any other redcoat. Not only did he accept Shay's pointed accusation (which would've been doubly hurtful if he did truly care about the townspeople), he did so with grace; you don't see him squirm, you don't see him trying to deny or make excuses for his colleagues' behaviour. Neither did he get defensive and try to justify their wrongs. "Not getting reactive" seems like a simple action, but it suggests the presence of a significant amount of self-control―and, in extension, control over the situation. He didn't get angry, or violent, or emotional, which would surely have led to a confrontation where everything spins out of control and would surely end with one of them bleeding out on the ground; instead, he was able to keep Shay talking, and also gain a foothold in the argument by introducing the idea, the possibility, to Shay that whatever "the redcoats" had done, this redcoat in front of him intends to do differently.

　Of course, Shay's not stupid or gullible, so he doesn't immediately trust this weird fellow who had not only completely circumvented his open invitation to a fisticuff, but also actually continued to try converse with him to boot. As far as he's concerned, the logic of "redcoats=bad people=enemies", an observation doubtless fed by years of experience that agreed with that statement, still held strong. Even so, the Colonel managed to get Shay, who is suspicious as heck and obviously not a big fan of anyone with his profession, to at least let him try to prove himself different.

　Okay, now let's take a look at the Colonel's side of the conversation, which plays like a masterclass in conflict resolution. After explaining who he was to take the edge off Shay's defensive stance, and taking the brunt of Shay's scorn head on afterwards, we see him accepting the fact that yes, a lot of his comrades have indeed "been less than helpful", and it can't be helped that Shay feels animosity towards him.

　Now look at his body language here―he averts his eyes when speaking of his less compassionate colleagues, and his talking speed noticeably drops, like he's looking for the right words to say. Shit, I'd even go as far as saying he looks visibly sad about this―watch his eyes, the crease in his eyebrows. But far from being a sign of refusing to look at the unfortunate truth, this comes across as a very empathetic gesture―it's less "yeah, I guess so...I guess //shrug" and more of a "yeah, I know―what a shame, isn't it?" The slight, almost imperceptible nod at the end of it just seals the deal―this is the Colonel telling Shay that he isn't about to run away from the charges Shay had brought up against him.

　But he wasn't just going to take it all sitting down, and not do anything about this injustice whose existence he just told Shay he's well aware of―he will, he tells Shay, take a different approach. If his comrades are going to abuse their authority and mistreat the common people, he claims, then he won't do the same thing. Now clearly this isn't something Shay hears very often, much less think possible, so naturally he's rather suspicious of the Colonel's intentions. His first instinct would've been that if this guy isn't in it as a "landlord", oppressing the townsfolk for his own gains, then well, he's probably after something else just as selfish. So this is where the Colonel's words again pulled the rug right out from under his feet, because, going entirely in the opposite direction, the object of his suspicion instead said the most selfless thing―that he cared for the welfare of the citizens.

　Okay, here comes the most important line in the Colonel's primary characterization. Questioned on his motivations by Shay, who doubtless wondered why the Colonel would take the trouble of going against the party line (a thing that Shay, who freshly broke away from his Brotherhood doing just that, may even have a personal interest in knowing), he answered:

"I care."

　First, let's talk about the delivery of this line (or, well, phrase) itself. It's short, it's sweet, it gets straight to the point―in two words, the Colonel posits that he does what he does out of a highly personal sense of duty to look after the people, plain and simple. It's only after a pause to let this sink in that he elaborates on the statement by saying he wants safety and prosperity for New York's citizens, but even then it's all very bare-bones, and its straightforwardness is supported by his tone, which sounds like the very embodiment of someone saying something just like that―no stumbling, no doubt, no hesitation. With no flourish to it, it doesn't look like he's trying to make a show of flexing his moral muscles here, either. He answered Shay's grilling with an answer that rings like a simple truth, and that gives the line the impact it needed to make an impression on the still suspicious Shay.

　Now let's look at the gestures: speaking of his wishes for New York's welfare, he throws his gaze down the street and lightly spreads his arms, motioning to the city as a whole. That, and his following expression, gives him a very vulnerable air. He'd stated his thoughts on the issue, and laid them out for Shay to judge. These are the actions of a man who has nothing to hide, and the effect is instantaneous―Shay still hasn't been completely won over, but there's a considerable drop in the combativeness of his behaviour from that point onwards, and he's now more open to the idea of keeping up a conversation with the Colonel.

　With Shay still skeptical but more importantly somewhat calmed down, the Colonel now has a fighting chance in trying to get Shay to at least allow him the opportunity of proving his sincerity.

❗️The Colonel’s Negotiation Skills

　 The Colonel’s methods here reminded me of crisis/hostage negotiation techniques, which generally places a huge emphasis on staying calm, building rapport with an uncooperative/emotionally wrought individual, and working on convincing the other guy that they can trust you enough to help them resolve the situation in a less destructive way. Of course, their first encounter is more of a standard argument between two parties who are supposed to have a lot of mutual antagonism than a hostage situation, but I did find it interesting that one key phrase that comes up a lot in the context of such negotiations is that the ideal resolution to the conflict is gaining what they call “voluntary compliance”—that is, getting someone to do what you want them to do without forcing them into it—from the target. I’m sure the Colonel most likely didn’t have any formal training in that craft, but the idea that you can actually codify what you need to do to win someone’s trust does add a more sinister sheen to his intentions.

　On my end, I think the Colonel’s being honest with a lot of things here, and professional negotiators do tend to stress that their techniques need some actual sympathy from their end in order to work at all, but for people who want to write an unapologetically manipulative Colonel, I think it’s a interesting topic to look into.

― Part II: Freedom From Want ―

　The Colonel attempts to prove his "noble words" immediately by putting them into practice, and instructs Shay to use the gang's stolen funds to renovate an old church in the city.

　The Colonel says what's on Shay's mind, impressing upon the still wary man that he understands what going through his mind―that Shay has no reason to trust him yet. Shay's reply this time is decidedly tame; he's no longer spitting bile by default. Instead, he now asks for more elaboration on the common ground the Colonel introduced earlier: their shared friendship with the Finnegans, whom we know Shay thinks of dearly.

　The Colonel states that his relationship with the Finnegans is tied to the fact that their late son was a subordinate of his. He further extends the common ground by saying that Shay's "much like him", drawing a straight parallel between the two men. Now, you don't make a comment like that unless you expect the other guy to ask why you said that, which is exactly what Shay does next. This can be a normal conversation...or it could be the Colonel deliberately reeling Shay further into that common ground to build a connection. Is this just friendly talk that naturally evolved from Shay's question about the Finnegans? Or is it a calculated move by the Colonel to draw Shay into trusting him more? Or is the Colonel honestly reminiscing about the past, slightly shaken after being caught totally unaware by the fact that the Finnegans had decided to give Shay his late protégé's robes? You decide ;^)

　The Colonel then elaborates on the late Finnegan Jr, painting the picture of a saint―a young man who had cared about the townsfolk, who had wanted to "do good by the people", and wanted to make the world a better place. Now all these are good things, and only it would take quite a disagreeable personality to shit on that at this point. But this isn't just about Finnegan Jr.; by stating outright that all this was a dream both Finnegan Jr. and himself shared, intentionally or not, he's essentially also painting himself in the same light. He might’ve planned that, or he might not, but Shay would likely feel that the Colonel’s a more agreeable person given that he shows great appreciation for the charitable spirit of people like Finnegan Jr.

　Next, here comes the Freedom of Want line. It's really important, so I'll tack the whole thing here:

"Mere survival is not enough. Full bellies, warm clothing... Freedom from want is the greatest freedom of all."

　There are two things I want to talk about when it comes to this line. The first is the nature of benevolence in these lines, and the target of that benevolence. Now, the Colonel made it absolutely clear from the get-go that he isn't concerned only for the wellbeing of what we might call the “important people” (a.k.a. the higher social class, the “somebodies” of society), but all the citizens of the city―this includes the absolute poorest members of the society, who would most likely long for this "freedom from want". Speaking of that freedom from want, how did he define it? He outlines it as having "full bellies, warm clothing"―he's talking about the right to a comfortable life, to the basics of not just barely surviving, but of a life worth living on a physical, biological level. Now this is important because, aside from having a very humanitarian angle to it, it will strike Shay in a raw spot―Shay, who spent his childhood in a harsh environment, who's got a lot of brushes with poverty, reeling from one tavern to the next, feeling like he was never taken care of by anyone. And it's a strong callback to Shay's first accusation to the Colonel―that he was no different from a landlord wringing his poor tenants dry while said tenants are breaking their backs trying to earn just enough to not die of hunger in the streets.

　The second thing is, of course, the obvious jab at the Assassins―I don't think anyone would deny that the Colonel is a Templar through and through, and, looking for all the world like he'd known and fought Assassins for a long time, he likely already knows their arguments about the concept of freedom by heart. Given that he's likely very much aware of the importance of the word "freedom" to the Assassins, and also that he knows that Shay's one of them, it's highly possible that the Colonel picked his words very deliberately for this line. But I would argue that it's not malicious; I don't think he's sassing the Assassins' ideals here, because he never seems to be the kind of man who indulges in petty sarcasm like that (although whatever he thinks the Assassin brand of freedom is, he very likely disagrees with it, or at least figured the Templar take on it is preferable). What I'd say he's trying to do here is introducing a different sort of freedom―one that he hopes Shay could get behind.

[PS. On a side note, “freedom from want” is recognizably one of the Four Freedoms, which can be rephrased as a “right to an adequate standard of living”. I wonder if it’s a reference... In any case, I just want to say that trying to figure out why this seems to be a topic of personal importance to the Colonel is a great way to start working on his backstory.]

　Shay's sarcastic side then comes out again as he prods the Colonel about his goodwill. On one hand, it's just Shay being Shay―giving people playful grief is just a part of his personality. Under the surface though, we see him buying more and more into the idea presented by the Colonel: when they first talked, Shay ridiculed that very same goodwill, acting as if it's only common sense that it doesn't really exist, but at this point he's like, hey, idk, maybe it could be real this time? You can see him get more comfortable around the Colonel; whatever techniques the Colonel's employing to get on Shay’s good side, it's clearly working.

　Now let's see how the Colonel takes issue with Shay's idea that the relationship between the Colonel and the citizens is that of the governor and the governed. One interesting point here is that Shay is still talking to the Colonel like he's "the British Government", not an individual in his own right. Shay is still subconsciously conflating the Colonel's actions with his party's actions, and this is where it gets very interesting―the Colonel staunchly, flatly, even snappily, denies that claim.

　The Colonel is, generally, a very calm speaker―his tone is very stable, and he talks in a very measured manner. This makes any sudden rise in his voice very noticeable. Listen to the way he says that line:

　"I do not govern, Master Cormac. I merely assist."

　He's clearly put off by Shay's words; compared to his previous line, there's an obvious change in volume and force in his denial, and his voice only returns to normal at the back half of that line. Now I don't know about you, but the speed at which he shot back makes that part sound...unscripted. That's either top-grade acting, or the Colonel’s instinctive response to Shay stepping on his tail.

　As for why this caught my eye, I think it's interesting on two levels―on a personal level as a hint to what the Colonel thinks of his own role in society, and on a grander level as a reference to the position of the Templar Order in the world as an organization.

　Starting with the first one, if the Colonel did in fact shoot this line back reflexively, that's a huge hint to his personality. It's interesting because it's a rejection―he claims to not be a "governor", someone who rules over others and calls the shots only expecting his subjects to obey, but an "assistant", who is here to help others along. By the way he said this line, he might have even viewed this distinction with pride.

　On the greater scale, this line can also take on a shady note to it because "assisting, not governing" is very much in line with the Templar Order's overarching strategy ever since the time of the Borgias (AC:Revelations’s Abstergo Files are a good read for more on this).

　As such, there's a lot of complexity in how we can interpret this bit. Is the Colonel just calling back to his party stance? Or is he, through the actions he carries out, trying to write his own version of how to execute this Templar strategy, in direct opposition to how most of his other comrades (read: ye standard-issue villainous Templar) interpret it? Does he take this line to mean really "helping people out and guiding them to greatness", not just "manipulating them like pawns as part of your personal agenda"? The striking difference here, and whether one believes the gap exists or not, is pretty much what sets him apart from the generic Templar.

　Next, they arrive at the dilapidated church. Watch his phrasing here:

　”We can make it better."

　See how quickly he reels Shay in as part of the team, not an outsider. It might feel a bit sudden given they literally just met, but it’s definitely a good line for building camaraderie—it’s the Colonel quietly stressing that they’re on the same side now.

　He also mentions that urban renewal is “a new science that had already proven effective on the Continent". In addition to showing that he takes the Templars’ focus on being people of science and technological advancement seriously, this bit also gives us a look at his other interests outside his immediate occupation. And from the look of it, it's not the first time he's renovated a building; arranging for resources means that he had to organize the logistics at some prior point, and these materials needed to be sourced, paid for, transported―if you want to get really grounded, this isn't something that easily just happens without a lot of paperwork. Had he built an existing logistics network for this?

　Having fixed the church, he suddenly brings up the topic of watching over New York. Judging by Shay’s outburst of anger towards the “landlords” mismanaging the area earlier in the scene, the Colonel can probably make a educated guess that this responsibility’s something that will resonate with the man at this point.

　He ends their meeting by saying, “after all, a man needs purpose". Now, everybody knows "purpose" is an extremely important keyword in Templar ideology, so I doubt he used this word on a whim here. He's obviously trying to give Shay a sense of direction―a direction that, unsurprisingly, lines up with the Colonel's interpretation of Templar ideology.

❗️The Colonel & Templar Beliefs

　Despite its shortness, this scene does a great job at encapsulating a lot of things about the Colonel’s personality, and his particular idea of what his Order’s beliefs stand for, ie.-”doing good by the people”.

　As in any other belief system, the “true meaning” of the Order’s philosophy is likely something hotly debated among the Templars themselves, much like how various Assassins have incongruous ideas of how their Creed should be put into action (Mackandal v. Ah Tabai, Bellec v. Arno, etc. etc.). Given that the Templars are supposed to play the antagonist in the Ass Creed series, their ideology’s unethical applications inevitably tend to take center stage whenever they get mentioned, but the presence of Templars like the Colonel who register as “good” does bring up the fascinating topic of what Templar ideology looks like when exercised in a righteous way. That said, the Colonel seems to have a strong attachment to the concept of being a charitable Templar, which begs a lot of questions—how does he feel about his less-than-helpful comrades in the Order? The British Rite under Birch, or even the Templar Order in general, likely has a great proportion of dodgy figures in it—how does he deal with having to work with them? Assuming he’s not the only member of the Order who believes that a Templar has the responsibility of executing their ideology in a morally upright way, could there be factions within the Rite that are at odds with each other’s take on their shared belief system? All this would make the British Rite’s internal politics incredibly interesting to think about.

🤔 Extra: Chapter Questions

Okay, now that we’ve reached the end of the sequence, there are several unanswered questions that presumably had crossed the viewer’s mind at some point:

Q1. Why did the Colonel even let Shay live? What’s his game plan? Q2. How much did the Colonel know about Shay's personality/background? Q3. How much of this encounter is staged?

Since these questions need the whole of his cutscene discography to answer properly, I’ll do them in a later post, but they are intriguing Qs to keep in mind as we go! :^D

#⟪Monrology 🎓⟫#⟪Headcanon Hour 💭⟫#⟪✠ Honour and Loyalty ✠⟫#⟪Cutscene Commentary series⟫#I feel that there aren't enough long-ass reads on Monrology and I plan to help rectify this #I've been planning to do this for a very long time but hhhhh what is editing #but yes I want to hear YOUR thoughts on these scenes too #and if you feel like taking a shot at the Chapter Questions right away well #I'm listening 👀👂#Rogue may be short but nhh there are so many scenes that lend well to in-depth analyses and we might as well capitalize on that

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vankoya · 7 years

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Extra Cheese, Please!

✽ Read the indecorous follow-up piece, Less Cheese, More Please!

Genre | Best Friends to Lovers / Housemates AU.

Pairing | Jeon Jeongguk / Feminine Reader.

Words | 9,524 words.

Conspectus | Jeongguk dislikes three things: 1. Having his Overwatch marathon nights interrupted, 2. Dealing with drunk people while he is sober, and 3. Cheesy ramyeon. His best friend slash housemate slash insufferable crush is the drunk girl with an incessant craving for super cheesy ramyeon who interrupts his Overwatch marathon night, and ultimately proves that the aforementioned meal looks just as gross coming up than it does when it is first in the bowl.

Luckily, there is always a silver lining. Even in the worst of situations.

Warnings | Swearing. Alcohol. Vomiting as a result of being overly drunk. Sexual innuendos. Fondling. Jeongguk cannot deal with cleavage.

Jeongguk guesses that it is nearing one in the morning when his phone buzzes four times in succession. The vibrations occur no more than a few seconds apart against his balls, which is where the device has slipped down to nestle over the course of the past eight minutes.

He knows he should probably reach between his thighs and retrieve it to check the slew of texts that tickle his dick through a pair of grey sweatpants. He is also ninety-nine percent positive that he knows precisely who the sender is. But the military bomb payload is that fucking close to being at the Deadlock Gang’s cave hideout, just having passed Checkpoint B, and Jeongguk is quite possibly playing his best Escort game since he planted his sweet ass on the living room couch. The four instant ramyeon packets that he inhaled at eight o’clock are still burning off in his system. Well-needed fuel for a long, uninterrupted night of Overwatch.

Well, the chances of that peaceful gaming occurring were narrowed to considerably slim once a certain someone had slipped out of her bedroom and announced she was going out for cocktails. She had managed to breeze through the front door before Jeongguk could really have enough of an opportunity to stare at her magnificent ass in those jeans. But if his calculations were correct, he has made it through a solid five hours of tranquility so far.

When he sees the attacking team’s Lucio put up a sound barrier, Jeongguk cannot help but blast a grin of victory. He unleashes his McCree’s deadeye, obliterating the entire team. There is a triumphant shout that is echoed amongst his own teammates, and he nearly throws his goddamn PS4 controller at the television when he fist-pumps the air out of excitement. Through the headset, Yugyeom makes a comment amongst his hooting along the lines of: “McCree, that OP motherfucker!” while Jeongguk spams McCree’s: “I’m the quick, you’re the dead,” voice line over and over in the final seconds that the payload reaches its destination and the game comes to a close.

Earning play of the game was expected after the shit he pulled last minute. Though Jeongguk finds himself surprised when he gets ten votes out of the twelve players, considering the opposing team is currently shouting a stream of insults. Because yeah, McCree is overpowered as fuck. But the sheer laziness in him cannot bear the thought of having to train up on a different hero, at this stage.

“I’m out,” Jeongguk announces to Yugyeom as he reaches down to grab his phone, beginning to vibrate against his balls again due to his lack of response. Yugyeom laughs, the connection slightly static.

“Gotta get your girlfriend, huh?“

“Fuck you, not my girlfriend,” Jeongguk barks before exiting the main screen, albeit with a tiny smile, and then shifts his headset to sit around his neck. When he clicks the home button of his phone, he is greeted by a screen lit up with eight notifications, confirming two things.

It is definitely past one in the morning, and it is definitely who he was expecting to be.

Jeongguk gets his heart stuck in his throat, bites his tongue and stupidly grins at the last text that was sent, chest tight at the thought of her missing him. He can picture that dumbass drunk smile of her’s so clearly; a sight that he has seen enough times to have it burned into the very cells of his brain. It is the one thing that is beyond fucking adorable when paired with her glassy eyes, staring roundly at him while she perches that amazing ass on his lap. Right on the zipper of his jeans so that the jagged metal presses right against his dick and– Fuck, too far.

He chances a glance at his sweatpants and yeah, shit, he is a little bit hard now. Jeongguk slaps himself, firm enough to properly wake up from his unexpectedly lascivious daze, and then he quickly punches in his passcode.

He sputters and incredulously shakes his head, running a hand through his hair because hell yeah, she is a twelve alright. More than that even, a hundred in his books, if numbers had to define her. Maybe Jeongguk should not think such thoughts about his best friend of seven years slash university flatmate of two. But then again, her attractiveness is common knowledge amongst their friends and all those alike who encounter her. As clear as the sky is blue and the grass is green. Simply, Jeongguk is just confirming the obvious and nothing more than that.

Yeah, definitely nothing more than that. Totally still not semi-hard over the thought of her drunk smile, of all the boner-inducing things about her.

Before he can text her back, the theme song to Legend of Zelda is filtering through the living room and the ugliest photo he has of her is appearing blown up on the screen. The image is one that is zoomed right in on her face from where she breaches the ocean, pixelated by the added effect of it being a screenshot. The fast motion of her coming up after a wave had crushed her makes it appear as though her face is being dragged down by gravity; mouth parted in a gasp; completely wet hair plastered to her scalp, and presented at such an angle that she looks bald.

It is fucking hideous. Jeongguk had laughed so hard that he peed himself a little the first time he noticed it in one of the snapshots that he had taken on his DLSR at the beach that day, and he never let her live it down. But they did come to a mutual agreement to not allow such a monstrosity to be released to the general public on an unfortunate Facebook birthday post, or as a tactic for revenge. Otherwise, Jeongguk would similarly be having a picture of himself exposed as far as the eye can see. The one where he is slumped backwards over their coffee table, blacked out and wearing nothing but a pair of her pretty pink panties, the tip of his sad and soft dick poking out the leg hole.

Jeongguk stares at the caller ID photo a moment longer, eyes watering with hilarity before he swipes his finger across the screen to answer with, “Well, well, if it isn’t–“

“Th–The sexiest motherfucker you know?” slurs through the other end of the line, nearly drowned out by the commotion she most likely sits cross-eyed within. “Who s’about to be joined by a much less sexy motherfucker, hmm?”

“Let me guess,” Jeongguk runs his tongue over his teeth, unhooking the headset from his neck and placing it on the coffee table, “I’m the less sexy motherfucker?” he says as he reaches for the remote to turn off the television.

“Ding ding, ten points to Gryffindor,” she whoops and giggles, and god, Jeongguk melts a little as he stands up but definitely not because he thinks her intoxicated laughter sounds fucking adorable. No way. “Y’gonna come collect the goods?”

He stuffs his feet into a battered pair of Vans and reaches for his black parka, looking like a damn slob and all with nothing but a dark shirt and his grey sweats underneath. He has no plans to stay longer than absolutely necessary at the bar, anyway. “I can’t think of any goods I need to collect,” Jeongguk sighs, swiping his house keys and wallet from the dish atop the entry cabinet and making way towards the front door. “A drunken mess that unfortunately so happens to be my best friend sounds more accurate.”

“At leas’ she’s got a great ass!” she defends herself, Jeongguk mentally agrees, then literally has to slap himself across the face again for focusing too long on the mental image of it, which he has copied in high-definition into his memory. Her voice becomes distant from the speaker, shouts out, “No you may not touch it, fuckin’ perv! Go piss in yo’ girly fuckin’ Cosmopolitan, yeah?!”

“Please don’t get yourself killed before I get there,” Jeongguk raises his voice a little in hopes of her hearing over the music. A smidgen of the tension that is suddenly squeezing at his chest is released when he hears her indignant huff right against the speaker. “I’m gonna be pissed if I walk all that way just to find you’re dead.”

“It’s like, one kilometre tops, pussy,” she retorts, the eye roll practically audible as Jeongguk locks the front door and then heads down the hallway to the elevator. “A light jog’ll get you here in what, five minutes. So start runnin’, boy.”

“Fuck no. I’m hanging up. Stay alive.” He mutters, punching repeatedly at the elevator button as if it will make the doors open faster.

Distantly, he wonders why he is in such a goddamn rush. He narrows it down to just wanting to get back home again as soon as humanly possible; to return to his disturbed Overwatch marathon. Yeah, of course that is why.

“Thanks babe, you th’ best!” she sings, hangs up before he can, and Jeongguk jams his finger against the button with a greater ferocity until the elevator dings open after what feels to be centuries of waiting. (It was not even thirty seconds.)

He ends up speedily jogging the entire way to the bar to build up his blood circulation because it is cold as tits outside, of course. Definitely not because it means he will get to see her sooner, make sure she is safe and sound and not being leered at by some drunken, creepy lecher.

Nope. No way at all.

They say that there is always a silver lining to every unfortunate and downright dreadful situation. Jeongguk is currently wondering where the fuck such lining happens to be once he finally finds a particular girl that he was forced and threatened to brave the cold in order to collect, only to be met by the pout that she knows gets him all pliable and willing. He does not know it yet, but the silver lining is still coming. Slowly, gradually, but it will.

Even if, right now, that shit seems as likely as getting a blow job from Beyonce.

“How much?” he shouts to be heard over the pounding music, repeats for the second time because he refuses to believe the sum that the bartender first announced.

At Jeongguk’s hip slouches the self-proclaimed goods. The treacherous best friend, who keeps having to be hiked up by his arm curled tightly around her waist since her bones liquefied by liquor are failing to keep her standing. She has that goofy smile pulling at her plush lips, and Jeongguk is torn between wanting to slap from her face, or to kiss it away instead.

The bartender checks the amount again, then leans towards Jeongguk with a somewhat empathetic expression to call back, “Rounded to one hundred and eighty-four dollars.”

On the inside, Jeongguk might be crying a little. Funny how the reason behind his internal agony is also the same thing that is keeping him slightly sane through his mental calculations of how much money he has left in his bank account. Pressed against his side with an intoxicated, unfocused gaze that stares up at him too endearingly for him to be one hundred percent angry. He is at ninety-nine point nine-nine percent. Okay, maybe on the cusp of no less than ninety percent. Goddamn.

“I’m letting you go for a second,” Jeongguk warns her and begins to slowly recede his arm, giving her enough time to support herself on the bar. Rather than doing this, she wraps her own arms around his waist and nestles under his armpit.

In any other situation than the apparent one, where he has to aid his best friend’s spontaneous cocktail night with his own miserable funds, Jeongguk would be fighting to tame the glee. The kind that would be demanding to tuck her closer, and perhaps press his nose to the crown of her head so he can breathe in the soft scent of her vanilla shampoo. Unfortunately, no matter how much he wills himself to be dreaming that his weekly budget is about to be kicked repeatedly in the balls and that maybe, instead, they are just at home on the couch and it is one of those movie nights where she gets extra cuddly for no apparent reason, Jeongguk is still stuck in the apparent situation.

He glares at his tormenter, who continues to latch like a lock around his body, and barely manages to keep his tears from falling as he retrieves his wallet and flips it open, fingers shaky. An extra tug is required from the bartender to loosen the measly grip Jeongguk’s fingertips have on his debit card when he hands it over.

“Girlfriend?” The bartender politely chips in as he swipes the card through the eftpos machine and then faces the keypad towards Jeongguk. As Jeongguk punches in the pin number, the bartender darts his gaze up to him with a raised eyebrow. “Ex-girlfriend?”

“Neither, and I don’t know if that makes it better or worse,” Jeongguk smiles, the kind that conveys his immense internal suffering. The bartender gives a sympathetic nod and hands back Jeongguk’s card before rushing off to continue serving drinks.

The latest, monstrous attachment on Jeongguk’s side squeezes him with her feeble, jelly-drunk arms. Albeit the situation, something softens inside of him when he grabs her chin so that she will properly face him. She blinks languidly like an overtired kitten, mascara smudged beneath her eyes, lipstick smeared a little on her chin. Not in the way that suggests somebody else had their mouth on her own. It is definitely the familiar mark caused by the back of her hand rubbing against her lips after taking a shot. Jeongguk is still weighing up whether he prefers the latter to the former.

“‘m tired, Jeonggukie,” she whines, slumps closer to him, and he wraps his arm around her waist again, hoisting her up with a displeased sound.

“All that talk about wanting me to have a drink with you, and now you’re making me pay the bill and run?” Jeongguk teasingly chides, and she unabashedly nods against his right pectoral. Alarm bells start ringing in his head when her weight against his side grows a tad too close to the ‘falling unconscious’ side of the spectrum. “Woah, hey– No. Don’t you dare fall asleep on me, ___. You still have to walk home.”

She hooks her chin on his shoulder and conjures that goofy, heart-melting grin that has Jeongguk crying a little on the inside, because he is such an absolute sucker for her. In that moment, her pout becomes the bane of his existence as she says, “Jus’ carry me, yeah?”

“Hell fucking no.”

Jeongguk carries her on his back the entire damn way.

By the time they reach the front door of their apartment, Jeongguk’s knees are weakly trembling and he feels utterly winded. Maybe it is a sign that he needs to get back into the gym on the weekends instead of indulging Yugyeom with Overwatch marathons. Or, more favourably, he needs to find a new best friend who will not 1. have him pay for her expensive, alcoholic ways, and then 2. make him piggyback her through the bitter cold night while she is practically deadweight against his shoulders in her partially asleep state.

“For someone who was calling me a pussy because I couldn’t be bothered walking to the bar, you’re awfully hypocritical in riding my back the whole way home,” Jeongguk says, gasping a little, jiggling the key in the lock and bustling them both inside once the latch clicks.

She clambers off his back, staggers slightly, and then catches herself on the back of the couch. Miraculously, she appears minutely more sober than she was twenty minutes ago. “Could’ve got an Uber.”

Jeongguk kicks off his shoes. “What, and paid him with the moths flying out of my wallet?”

She shrugs. “It would’ve cos’ like, three dollars.”

“That three dollars is lasting us until next Thursday, thanks to a certain someone who just made me blow my pay that I only got four days ago,” he hisses, sliding out of his jacket and hanging it over one of the dining table chairs.

And there it is again. That silly little grin tugging softly at her lips as she wiggles her hips against the couch. Strategically, Jeongguk briskly turns on his heel and strides into the kitchen before she can get her nails in him. Moulding him like the pathetic putty that he is. He can practically hear her pout when he ignores her blatant attempt at melting down his cold facade. Then, her heels unsteadily click across the vinyl flooring to watch him pull out a saucepan and fill it halfway with water, positioning it on the largest hotplate.

Jeongguk does not cast his eyes her way, even if every inch of his body, particularly his dick, is demanding that he do so. Because holy eight-pound six-ounce sweet baby Jesus in his cradle of hay, he did not notice in the dim lighting of the bar, but she is wearing a black v-cut sweater that exposes her shoulders and collarbones and a barely there shadow of cleavage. That, in itself, is saying something since her tits are a size that would fit neatly in his palms without any overflow. Just a nice, small and cute handful. God, he has never seen her with even a hint of cleavage like this before. This is unchartered territory that he has no idea of how to face, especially when he can barely cope with the sight of her amazing ass in any kind of legwear.

Jeongguk, staring blankly at the packet ramyeon in his hands, mentally forces himself not to get fucking hard like a teenage boy in the middle of their goddamn kitchen.

“What’cha doin’, good lookin’?” she hums, now perched on a breakfast bar stool with the side of her face mashed into the heel of her palm, elbow propped up on the kitchen counter. In his periphery, those small, adorable breasts spill from the v-neck onto the white laminate as a result of her slouched over position. Every single one of his nerve-endings is aflame.

Jeongguk releases the air trapped tightly in his lungs and then proceeds to make way towards the slowly simmering pot of water. He dares not a single glance at her, for the fabric of his sweatpants leaves little to the imagination, and she has definitely recognised a semi in them before.

“I’m making you something to eat since you always get hungry after drinking. Also, because I’m the greatest best friend that this world could’ve ever graced you with.” Jeongguk’s eyes are glued to his hands as he begins tearing into the packets. He dumps the dehydrated noodles and seasonings into the water, and desperately tries not to think about how sweet her tits would look in his hands. Praying that she takes the bait, he adds on as an afterthought, “Why don’t you get changed into something comfortable, and the food will be ready when you are?”

There is a pause, a moment where Jeongguk’s tongue pulses like a heart in his mouth, and he tries not to break into a nervous sweat. He can practically hear his own words clicking into place in her mind; connecting, disconnecting, reconnecting; fumbling through the drunken haze that still lays thick on her thought process. Twenty seconds pass, and he ends up so on edge that when she slaps her open palm against the countertop, he startles so abruptly that he rips open a seasoning packet with the ferocity of a gorilla. Beef flavouring bursts over his shirt and the stovetop in a cloud of brown dust.

“I shall go do that,” she announces. Jeongguk, going from nearly hyperventilating out of surprise to having a coughing fit from inhaling seasoning particles, sees her slither like a lizard off the stool out of his watering periphery. Except drunk, and with a goddamn, freshly fucking harvested cleavage.

He only lets a tear roll down his cheek once she has staggered down the hallway. This is Jeon Jeongguk, at the ripe age of twenty-three, accepting that he may die tonight.

Despite this possibility, he goes about cleaning up the spilled beef flavouring, saving as much of it as he can and depositing it in the simmering pot. The ramyeon-making itself goes rather smoothly. He manages to not spill the boiling water all over himself, nor accidentally rub his eyes after touching the chilli sauce like he did that one, hellish time that rendered him blind for just under three hours. He stirs the noodle broth and listens to her clomp around her bedroom, the occasional grunt and groan emitting when she cracks her hip against her desk, or whacks her shoulder against the frame of her walk-in closet.

She remerges in an acceptably less boner-inducing outfit. Consisting of one of his black hoodies that nearly reaches her knees, and assumedly (he prays, at least) a pair of unseeable boyshorts underneath. Jeongguk starts straining the ramyeon into a bowl.

“That’s mine,” he says about the hoodie while she clambers back onto the stool, looking soft and cuddly in her bundle of cotton and fleece. Her attire may not be as threatening to his vulnerable dick, but it is definitely as murderous to his weakened heart.

“Finders keepers, losers are weepers,” she immediately fires back, settling into her previous palm-smushed-against-face position, waiting for him to finish plating up the ramyeon. “Dun’ forget the cheese, either.”

At that, his whole body shudders with repulsion. For the first time since the growth of her cleavage was made apparent, Jeongguk faces her directly and hopes that the sheer suffering she puts him through is perfectly translated through his withered expression when he says, “You are disgusting,” before opening the fridge anyway and retrieving the container of pre-sliced easy-melt. “I will never understand how you can perform such sacrilege against the two holiest foods by combining them into the edible-equivalent of Hell.”

“Excuse you, cheesy ramyeon is the best gift this world has given us.” She frowns at the ceiling, thinks this over for a moment, and then corrects herself with, “Has given me, since I’m the best gift this world has ever given you.”

Jeongguk merely chuckles, does not deny it, because one may call him a deadset liar if he were to do so. Instead, he peels two slices of cheese out of the container and places them atop the bowl of steaming ramyeon, pressing them down with a fork so that they melt faster.

She makes an iffy little sound, somewhat of a whine, and says, “Extra cheese, please!”

“You’ll make yourself feel sick,” he warns, yet all she does is glare adorably at him until he caves like the weak man that he is and adds an extra two squares. A thought itches at the back of his mind, informing him that he is most likely going to regret this, and he brushes it away just as quickly as it forms. Under that beguiling gaze of hers, she could ask Jeongguk to stick chopsticks up his ass and impersonate a popsicle and he would.

An over-exaggeration, but you get the point.

“Alright, one extra cheesy ramyeon for the drunk girl with disgusting taste in food,” Jeongguk declares, reaching across the counter to place the dairy-laden bowl in front of her before grabbing her hand, putting the fork in her open palm and forcibly curling her fingers around it with his own. He holds her hand a moment longer than necessary between his own, grinning tightly, remaining to ignore the voice that is now screeching in his head that feeding her this is a very, very bad idea. “Bon appétit,” he finalises, and the deal is done.

She smiles up at him, eyes shining and all of her teeth on display. Jeongguk wonders what wars he must have ended in his past life to be rewarded with this girl of starlight and vanilla and honey who winds around him, softens him into warm and easy. Before he can further dwell on such a tender thought, she shovels a grotesque forkful of cheesy ramyeon into her mouth.

“Tfhanksh Jeonguffie,” she says around the stickiness, and Jeongguk, now the perfect picture of nonchalance, wordlessly turns on his heel and begins to clean up the dishes. Anything, really, to distract himself from projecting the small amount of vomit that has lurched up to the back of his throat at the horrendous meal making contact with those lips that deserve so much better.

Minutes slowly go by, stretching past two in the morning and beginning to progress towards quarter-past. Besides the sickening slurps that she makes behind him, and the clattering of the saucepan with a handful of dirty dishes from his own dinner being washed in the sink, no conversation is made, and it is comfortable. These moments are precisely why Jeongguk has not risked it yet; asking her the big question; the determiner as to whether their best friendship will advance into something more. If she were to deny him, he believes he would be able to handle it, but he knows well that such knowledge would be on her mind every time she looks his way. The awkward tension would ensue, she would overanalyse his every move, and he would become distant because he does not want her to get the wrong idea. They would anticipate the day that the lease on their apartment runs out so they can go their separate ways as soon as possible.

So, he keeps quiet and basks in the contentment that they have created together in their little home. At the end of the day, she is his best friend, and he could not imagine a future without her in it. No matter if they were romantically involved, or purely platonic. Sure, he would love to kiss her collarbones and put his hands on her hips and maybe – just maybe – tell her that he loves her in the morning glow of a lazy Sunday, whispered across the pillowcases. But he can live without that. He can be a big boy about it and move on.

He keeps telling himself this, at least. Soon, he will genuinely be convinced that he can do it.

“Jeongguk.”

“Mmm,” he hums in response, turning around when her follow-up is delayed, and he instantly notices how her expression has suddenly transformed.

Honestly, Usain Bolt could not even compare to how fast his ass moves. Jeongguk skirts around the kitchen counter, pulls her off the stool, and hastily guides her towards the sink while cursing under his breath.

“I feel…” she mumbles as Jeongguk takes out the plug and then gathers her hair up as well as he can manage, holding it in a loose bun at the crown of her head and cringing when her torso slightly convulses. “Like I’m gonna– Ugh–“

“Oh my god.”

Jeongguk swears he did not make her that much cheesy ramyeon. But dear fucking lord, the sheer amount that comes up and splashes into the sink is simply horrifying. The noodles must have expanded in her stomach for such an extensive volume to now be regurgitated in disgusting, yellow chunks that make his own stomach turn with wooziness. He cannot believe he thought cheesy ramyeon looked bad in the bowl, because it is appearing to be at least ten times worse in the form of barf.

“You owe me– Ugh, christ– So big after tonight, you little shit,” Jeongguk grunts at her between clenched teeth and gags when he gets a whiff of the stench. Like over-fermented dairy left out in the sun for weeks, doused in a hefty helping of vodka.

The sound she makes is awful when the next heave is unleashed onto the stainless steel, and she reaches one hand back from where it is braced on the counter to weakly pat his stomach. When she shakily murmurs, “I’ll give you the best blow of your life as thanks,” Jeongguk has to bite the wet, fleshy inner of his cheek to stop the visualisation of her words from drowning his mind until it is all he can think about.

“Don’t talk about sucking my dick while you’re vomiting,” he groans with a small tilt to the corners of his lips despite himself, collecting a loose strand of hair that is falling dangerously close to her mouth. She halfheartedly laughs before another surge of cheesy ramyeon makes its departure from her body, and Jeongguk dry-heaves in perfect synchronisation.

By the time the contents of her belly have been completely and utterly expelled, Jeongguk is admittedly feeling much weaker in the stomach than he was before her bout of throwing up. Especially after having to wash it down the drain. Once there is not an inch of cheesy noodles in sight, he gingerly carries her bridal-style into their shared bathroom and props her up on the sink, one hand on her waist to keep her steady and the other reaching for her toothbrush.

Jeongguk bites his lip to hide his smile when she leans forward and rests her forehead on his chest while he squeezes out a line of toothpaste. He wets the brush a little under the tap, and then takes her chin like he had back in the club, lifting it up so that he can see her sleepy, downright adorable face. Seriously, who looks this cute after vomiting up their breakfast, lunch, dinner, and all of the vodka sloshed in between?

“Open your mouth,” Jeongguk says, moving his fingers so they can squeeze her cheeks and make her lips pout like a fish. His heart weeps like the pathetic thing that it is at the sight.

She waggles her eyebrows to the best of her ability in her sobering, exhausted state. “What’re you going to put in there?”

“Not my dick, unfortunately for you,” Jeongguk chuckles, holding up the toothbrush, and she sighs loudly with faux disappointment. Well, he thinks she is joking. Surely she is.

Obediently, she opens her mouth. Jeongguk abruptly shoves the toothbrush in there and starts scrubbing at her pearly whites before he can think of the way she looks with her lipstick-smudged lips parted so obscenely like that.

His brain is the epitome of a keyboard smash.

It only glitches all the more when Jeongguk gradually comes to realise the entire position that they are both in; taking him over like a virus. His non-brushing hand still cups her small jaw. Glitch. Her bare thighs brush against his hips as she lightly swings her feet. Glitch. She blatantly stares at him, eyes half-lidded and looking like melted butter. Error: Jeon Jeongguk is no longer computing.

At least he can thank all of the deities that she is no longer wearing the Cleavage Sweater of Jeongguk’s Absolute Demise. Otherwise, he would have a bird’s eye view of the goods in question, and he, undoubtedly, would be a dead man.

Before he can linger on the dangerous thought of her small breasts while he is at this high-risk proximity, she makes a distressed gurgling sound. A sliver of Jeongguk’s sanity returns to him and he realises that toothpaste is spilling out of her mouth and onto his hand. With a panicked yelp, he yanks the toothbrush out of her mouth and she hurries to swivel around and spit out the accumulated mass of minty foam into the sink.

“Jesus H. Christ, Jeon,” she rasps, coughing once and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Her glare is watery and suspicious. “Were you trying to drown me? Imagine that. Death by toothpaste.”

He sputters, swallowing down laughter. “Shit, sorry, I was just– Uh, thinking about something,” he mutters, sheepishly smiling and reaching around her to rinse off the toothbrush.

“‘bout what?” she hums, dipping her head down so she can cutely shove her face in his own. Jeongguk grunts and cranes his neck away, but she grins wider and follows him, accidentally bumping her nose against his jaw. “What’cha thinking about, huh?”

“Ugh, hey– Stop!” He lets the toothbrush clatter into the sink and smooshes her cheeks between his large palms, holding her still, approximately an inch away from his nose. Cautiously, Jeongguk leans back, redeems the blush that is steadily heating his own cheeks by saying, “I was just thinking about all the ways I’m going to make you repay me for making me deal with your drunk ass.”

She half-heartedly waggles her eyebrows. “Care to elaborate?”

“Oh, you know,” he says as he drops his hands to her knees, but he does not fucking know at all since he was thinking about her tits again. His barely functioning, overtired and exhausted brain manages to conjure a handful of weak options. “I could make you do the dishes for a whole month. Or maybe, I could get you to buy the groceries for the next two fortnights. That’ll wipe your cocktail debt, at least.”

“You’re too soft on me, Jeongguk. Even when I can make your life a living hell,” she sighs, sleepily blinking at him. Unexpectedly, she knots her hands into the front of his shirt and pulls him close, successfully bringing his face back to the proximity that it was only a moment ago; nearly nose to nose. He can very suddenly feel his pulse practically vibrating in his throat. “‘m really sorry. You deserve something better than just some silly chores. I’ll pay you back the money of course, but– … Hey, what does my breath smell like?”

Before Jeongguk can even question her, she is forcefully exhaling onto his face. A gust of peppermint fills his nostrils, powerful enough to make him flinch. “Minty fresh. Why?”

Her lips stretch into a gentle curve, and beneath the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom, it almost appears nervous. “Good, ‘cos here goes nothing.”

Jeongguk is about to frown, about to speak, about to something. He cannot recall. Not now that she has closed the short gap between them and is accurately planting her mouth upon his own.

For a moment, Jeongguk thinks he might well and truly be dreaming. That tonight was some ridiculously real, torturous fantasy that his imagination managed to conjure in his unconscious state. But then her soft, damp lips part ever so slightly. Warm with the heat of her mouth, yet cool from the toothpaste. She opens up to him, her hands sliding up his chest to lock around his nape, the tip of her tongue skimming along the rosy flesh of his lower lip, and he knows.

This is very, very real.

Holy shit.

It takes a second for him to comprehend that he should kiss her back instead of standing there like a startled creature. And so, he slides his hands up from her knees to the middle of her thighs, the soft flesh warm beneath his palms when he gently grips them, and he tilts his head slightly to the side to deepen it. At this, she makes the most pleasant, lovely little sound. The edges of her nails lightly graze against the hair on the back of his neck, and elicit gooseflesh that tingles along his arms.

Jeongguk parts his lips, lets her in, groans quietly when her tongue brushes against the underside of his own and then recedes. He chases after it, tasting warmth and cool peppermint as he carefully sinks his teeth into her lower lip, nibbling at the plush flesh and releasing it. A thin string of saliva connects their mouths as they separate for the most infinitesimal of moments before they dive back in. They are abstrusely drawn to each other. Like a black hole has formed between their bodies and they are radiant stars, pulled to the centre by gravity, colliding and becoming one.

Jeongguk cannot think straight. His mind has become an unrecognisable labyrinth that he cannot navigate; sent into turmoil by the taste of her, the feeling of her underneath the weight of his hands. He searches higher up her thighs, skimming beneath the hem of the hoodie and over her boyshorts, finding her waist and anchoring his fingers there, pulling her closer. Now, with her torso melding against his own, she loops her arms over his shoulders and her legs around his hips, locking her ankles and hands so that the embrace cannot be broken. Jeongguk melts completely, and he prays that this is not just some measly, intoxicated repayment. That what he feels in the slow movements of her lips and the press of her tongue is what he thinks it is.

What he has been hoping for all this time.

As if she reads his mind, she suddenly jolts away like she has been electrocuted. Jeongguk, startled and with his lips still parted, stares at her with awed, lovestruck eyes. She gazes back as though she is very, very unsure.

Oh no.

“Woah,” she breathes, then she is untwining her limbs from his broad figure and clasping her blushing face with something akin to embarrassment. Jeongguk would think it looks utterly adorable if the fear was not currently spiking his adrenaline. “Wow– That was– Oh. Geez. I’m so sorry–“

“Why are you apologising?” Jeongguk barely whispers, and he almost does not want to know the answer for the fear of her words shattering his feeble heart like a hammer taking to glass.

“I’m– What? I’m apologising because that– That was something I shouldn’t have done,” she stammers, then sighs, letting her hands fall into her lap and staring down at them. Jeongguk is frozen, his own palms still firm against her waist underneath the bunched up fleece. “It was out of line. We’re best friends. I mean, I could blame it on being drunk if I wanted to and we could forget all about it. But in all seriousness, I’ve wanted to do that for a while. It was a very sober decision–“

Jeongguk exhales, and it shudders reluctantly out of his lungs. “You’re not making sense.”

“Okay, fine, fuck it!” she suddenly shouts, and it makes him jump. Her voice echoes around the bathroom, and she looks up at him again, eyes overflowing with frightening determination. “Jeongguk. I like you, okay? There. I said it. I like you so much, and I get that saying this might fuck up our entire friendship but I really like you–“

He cuts her off with his mouth on her own and thinks: How were we this blind for so long?

This time, the kiss is brief, yet urgent. A sense of desperation hides in the corners of their mouths. Not searching for an answer, but out of the sheer desire touch one another, breathe one another after being oblivious for so long. Jeongguk begins to laugh, soft chuckles against her mouth that draw mystified, hopeful giggles from her own chest. The kissing becomes quite pointless, for they are simply smiling so wide out of the absolute ridiculousness that they could have been doing this for months, maybe even years, at this stage.

They were just too foolish and scared of losing the other. Yet none of that matters now.

“Is this you confessing back to me?” she mumbles, and there is so much delight dancing like starlight in her eyes that Jeongguk’s heart races. He pecks at her mouth once, twice, then moves to her cheeks, her nose, her forehead and her chin until she is laughing all over again and holy shit, Jeongguk is quite possibly too in love for somebody who was so firmly denying it no less than two hours ago.

“Something like that,” he hums, squeezing at her sides before slipping his hands out from underneath the hoodie so he can reach up and cup her face. There is something radiant bursting through his ribs. Most likely, his elated heart. “I think I love you. At this stage, for me at least, I feel like I love you. I thought I just loved you as a best friend, but it’s definitely more than that.”

“Oh thank god,” she grins, and he feels it against his palms. “I was going to say I love you instead of I like you, but I thought it might be too sudden and scare you away. So yeah, I love you too, asshole. Also, I’m still a bit tipsy.”

Jeongguk’s face feels as though it is going to split in half from smiling so hard. He tucks her hair behind her ears, dies a little on the inside at the fact that he can do that, and so much more, now that they have laid their cards on the table. Brushing his thumbs over her faintly blushing cheeks, he kisses her, and then says, “Really? Wanna go to bed?”

“Yes,” she sleepily nods, latching her limbs around him again like a starfish. “Onwards to my bed, O’ Noble Steed!”

“God. You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love, bitch.”

“Wow, there’s the best friend that I know. Thought I lost you.”

“Nope. You fell in love with this, so you’re stuck with this.”

Grin still plastered to his face, Jeongguk hooks his hands underneath her thighs and lifts her up, delighting in the way she giggles with glee in his ear. In navigating out of the bathroom and to her bedroom, he carries her towards all the light switches so she can flick them off. He kisses her cheek with every single one.

When they enter her bedroom, the overwhelming fragrance of her hits him like a shockwave. Even more so as he carefully lays her down on the bed and then tucks in behind her; the gentle, vanilla aroma lifting from the pillowcase. She rolls over to face him in the dark, and Jeongguk loops his arms around her waist so casually that anyone would think they have been doing this for years.

“Hey,” she whispers.

“Hi,” he murmurs back, pressing his lips to the centre of her brow. At this rate, he believes he may never stop kissing her now that he has started.

Languidly, she blinks, and then mumbles, “This is real, right? I didn’t black out on cocktails, did I? I’m not just having some crazy, amazing dream?”

“Definitely real,” Jeongguk chuckles, pulling her closer. She cranes her neck, angling upwards to catch his mouth against her own, still tasting faintly of mint and pure, unadulterated joy. He licks at her bottom lip, and she groans, pulling away.

“Don’t do that. You’ll make me more horny.”

Jeongguk’s dick, in an act of betrayal, begins to stand to attention for the nth time that night.

“Y-You’re horny right now?” He clears his throat, swallows saliva down his suddenly very parched windpipe.

“Yeah, ’cos I’m still a little drunk,” she whines cutely, but it is nearly lost on Jeongguk. Because now all he can imagine is peeling her out of his hoodie and the boyshorts, seeing her lovely and bare, and then making her cry out his name with every fluid thrust inside of her.

“Fuck, now I’m kinda horny,” he mutters, and she cackles evilly.

“Are you hard?”

“Half,” Jeongguk admits, and she shifts so that she is propped up on her side by her elbow.

“Can I touch you? I’m too tired to jack you off but– I just want to, y’know, feel it,” she is smirking through the shadows and Jeongguk cannot roll the yes off his tongue fast enough.

Then, her small hand is on his dick, almost immediately causing it to swell to its full, erect size.

Jeongguk releases a tight exhalation that whistles between his teeth, draws soothing patterns on her back with his fingertips to try calm himself from potentially blowing his load right here and now. He cannot believe that he has dreamed of this more times than he can physically count on both hands, and now it is actually happening. Out of fear of disturbing the moment, he keeps his muscles locked. She stays rather silent as she feels around him through his sweatpants; gently squeezing his shaft, his balls, her thumb gliding smoothly over the head.

Then, she nods to herself. Her hand recedes, and Jeongguk feels the loss like a blade driving through his gut.

“I always thought it would be big after seeing your semi that one time, but this is quite impressive,” she very casually states while she lays back down, and Jeongguk’s heart stutters. He cannot decide whether it is torture or euphoria that he is experiencing right now. A concoction of the two, most likely, because 1. she thinks that he has a big dick, and yet 2. he refuses to drill it into her while she is still a few steps away from sober. He wants her head completely clear for that.

Instead, Jeongguk latches onto two of the words that she speaks, smirking himself as he says, “Always thought, huh?”

“Oh come on, you can’t say that you haven’t thought about my body, too!” she accuses good-naturedly, wriggling closer to him so that all of her curves and slopes press against him. His painfully hard dick nestles into her thigh. The desire to roll it against her spreads through him like wildfire. “I might’ve been drunker earlier, but don’t think I didn’t notice the way you were staring at my cleavage like a man deprived. That shirt is a godsend for my tiny titties, right?”

“God, you have no fucking idea,” Jeongguk shamelessly admits, burying his face into her neck and softly biting the flesh there, shivering when she squirms. She is better than he could have ever imagined in all of her reactions to his touches, the sounds that she creates. So real. “That’s why I told you to get changed. I thought I was going to die.”

She threads her fingers through his hair, softly stroking the dark locks. “I’ll make sure to wear it more often then.”

“Well, here’s your cautionary warning that I probably won’t be able to hold myself back when you do. I don’t care where we are or who sees.”

“That’s hot,” she laughs, and then yawns. Jeongguk untucks himself from the nook of her shoulder, licks his lips, and presses a firm kiss to her mouth. When she moves her thigh to wrap around his own, it brushes against the head of his hard cock and he has to swallow down a needy moan.

“Sleep. We’ll talk more tomorrow, okay?” He murmurs. “And we’ll fix this horniness problem. Also, side note: can I hold your ass?”

“Yup, go for it,” she hums, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against his own. Jeongguk smooths his palms down her spine and then over the supple flesh of her ass, and lord, it honestly feels as fantastic as he had expected. He gingerly gives it a squeeze, and she makes a soft, appreciative sound that has all the blood rushing out of his head, leaving him lightheaded and so fucking in love that it hurts. Well, hurts his dick, for the most part.

The room fills with placid silence, yet his heart thrums loudly in his ears, keeping him awake. He focuses on the way her breathing begins to even out, and tries to match his own to her pace. Slowly; in through the nose, out through the mouth. The minutes pass, and Jeongguk feels his body become heavier, heavier, until he closes in on the soothing edge of unconsciousness.

She stirs.

“Jeonggukie.”

“Mmm.”

“I think I’m going to vomit again.”

Jeongguk has been woken up in numerous unusual ways. Being punched in the face is a first, and is quite possibly one of the more painful methods. Even if it was an accident as a result of somebody flailing too close for comfort.

“Ow– Jesus!” He squawks, immediately rolling onto his back and cupping his nose where the fist had made sharp contact.

When he opens his watering eyes, he notices that his best friend is looming over him with a very confused and very concerned expression. The sight of her as the first thing he sees when he awakes is not abnormal, for she has proven to be a much more efficient alarm than his own cell phone on numerous occasions. Even if her method this time around was unnecessarily more painful.

But it is the fact that her bedroom surrounds the both of them that throws him off. Because that must mean he is sleeping in her bed. And why on Earth–

Oh.

That’s right. They confessed. They kissed. Jeongguk fell asleep with his hands on her beautiful ass after holding her hair back while she threw up a second time.

He pushes himself up on his elbows, a sleepy half-smile beginning to tilt his lips.

That is, until she very bluntly says, “What are you doing in my bed?”

The smile immediately vacates his expression, and he suddenly feels as though he has fallen off a cliff face and is plummeting through the air. Jeongguk’s voice trembles in the back of his throat as he quietly says, “What do you mean?”

“Why are you in my bed?” she questions him again, and Jeongguk thinks he is literally about to be sick. “Oh! That’s right. You came to the bar, didn’t you? Jesus. Did we get that drunk again that we ended up crashing in my bed together?” She shakes her head. “I bet it was like last time when we passed out in your bed after that frat party. You remember the one, right? Where we had a full-blown argument over pineapple on pizza–“

Jeongguk swiftly scrambles upright and out of the bed, his chest feeling tight in the worst possible way. Did he genuinely dream everything that occurred last night? Did none of it actually happen? Or was she drunker than he initially thought and she has completely forgotten everything that occurred?

“Don’t you remember, ___?” He whispers, and his voice cracks.

She tilts her head to the side. The sunlight filters through the bedroom window, casting her in a sheen of gold, and she looks so unbelievably, heart-wrenchingly gorgeous that Jeongguk feels something in his chest begin to splinter.

“Remember what?” she says, utterly clueless, and Jeongguk casts his eyes to the ground, confused and hurt beyond belief.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, starting towards the door. He cannot completely comprehend what is happening right now, but he knows that something is definitely off because he swears on his heart that it was not a dream. She was real. Her warm mouth shaped against his own was real. Her voice wrapping around the words ‘I love you’ was very, very real; he knows that he could never imagine such a confession so vividly–

Behind him, she bursts into a fit of laughter.

“Oh my god. Jeongguk, you’re more gullible than a dog running to fetch the ball that its owner pretended to throw!”

He whips his head around, eyes as wide as Jupiter. “W-What?”

“I remember what happened, dumbass. Everything. I kissed you in the bathroom, we confessed our undying feelings for one another, I touched your dick, yadda yadda.” She crawls across the bed until she is kneeling before him, carefully reaching up to clasp his face between her palms and Jeongguk is torn between wanting to beat her with a pillow or kiss her senseless. Huh, he supposes this is what angry sex must be all about. “Was I really that convincing?”

He closes his eyes, furrows his brow. His mind is still suffering from the sudden whiplash, and is now doused in liquid fury. “I’m honestly going to fucking kill you.”

“I love you too,” she placates him, rising up to tentatively kiss him. He cuttingly stares at her half-lidded gaze as she dusts tiny pecks to his unmoving lips until he finally caves through the simmering anger and gives in to her, flicking his tongue out to meet her own. Carefully, as if she is unsure whether he will tear her head off or not at the slightest misjudgement, she begins to travel her mouth down his jaw, mumbling, “I’m sorry, that was mean of me.”

“I genuinely thought for a moment there that I must’ve had the wildest lucid dream,” he mutters, settling his hands on her ribs and angling his head to the side so that she has easier access. “But I feel like I could’ve never imagined the sight, nor stench of regurgitated cheesy ramyeon with such disgustingly intense clarity.”

She chuckles, quietly apologising again, and the exhalation of it on his skin raises the hairs on his nape. She reaches the under of his jawline, plush lips coming into contact with an especially sensitive spot on his neck, and an involuntary moan escapes him when the light suck of her teeth sends shivers down his spine.

Jeongguk can feel the curve of her languid, wicked grin instantly forming against his skin.

“Instead of fucking killing me, how about you fuck me to my grave?” she suggests, and her tone is too saccharine around such filthy words. Unbearable enough to bolster his morning wood to its full capacity, even when the flame of rage from her awful joke is still dying out.

“You’re insane,” Jeongguk chuckles despite himself, and she leans back, divine smile still intact.

“Insanely horny after keeping my sexual frustrations for you locked up in my body for roughly a year now? Yes,” she confirms with finger guns and a wink. He shakes his head out of incredulity. “And, I do believe I have a dick to blow to say thank you for last night. And also to say sorry for scaring you just now.”

“Baby, I don’t think you realise this yet but if we’re really a thing now, then you’re going to be sucking my dick for a whole month to pay me back for the past twelve hours.” Jeongguk sighs, running his hand through his hair and then down his face. His heart soars from the way her expression meekly transforms at the sudden nickname. “I’m going to have to start a fucking tally.”

“Well,” she hums, slips her fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants, and Jeongguk becomes lightheaded, “consider this strike number one, baby.”

The way she says it melts him down like candle wax, and he cannot help but tackle her onto the bed, grinning at her surprised squeal that is soon suffocated by his lips. Jeongguk knows that they have all morning for this. That he can take his time to explore her body in all of its magnificence until he can perfectly map it out in his mind, can understand the raw shape of her, what glorious noises she makes when he touches her, and what specific places on her being elicit them. He mouths his way down her throat, catches the blissful sigh as it releases from her lungs into the early morning, and then detaches so he can sit back and look at her, straddled beneath him.

Jeongguk entwines her hands with his own and slowly draws them above her head. She simpers, her half-lidded, glassy eyes flooded with unadulterated desire, cast in golden sunlight that makes her appear unbelievably ethereal. He slides his palms to her wrists, leans down so that his lips hover just above her own, gazes right at her and thanks his lucky stars for gracing him with an embodiment of themselves in the form of a girl so radiant that she blinded him; enough, that he could not recognise the love cooped up in her eyes until she spoke it.

He murmurs, “___, I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. Even if you destroy my savings account and eat the most repulsive meal known to humankind. You’re my best friend, and I want to escalate our best friendship to ‘best-friends-who-fuck-each-other-and-are-ridiculously-in-love’. What do you think?”

“Well, I love you too,” she smiles, her eyes flicking between his own, a glint of mischief hiding underneath the flutter of her eyelashes. “And I completely approve of such an upgrade. Partly because I cannot even express how long I’ve wanted to hold your hand and tell the world that you’re my boyfriend, and partly because I really want to blow you while you play video games.”

There, the realisation drives straight through Jeongguk’s heart. And his dick.

Ah, silver lining.

Note | I just wanted to write about Jeongguk’s phone vibrating against his balls. That is all. I have also never played Overwatch, so if any of the references are incorrect, I apologise. Thank you all for reading, liking, and reblogging this fun and silly little piece. I would love to hear your thoughts on it! ♡

#jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #bts fluff #bts smut #jungkook fanfics #bts fan fiction #jeon jungkook #extra cheese please #ecp #/ vomit #/ alcohol #vankoya #gukvory

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