#colourful and crazy.. sometimes you just need a series like this

[taegularities]

colour me in: redraft | jjk (m)

Summary: The calm is more appreciated after a storm. Life with Jungkook proves to you that sometimes, joy can, in fact, overshadow grief. Yet, not without confronting and removing all hurdles standing in your way once and for all.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; some tame angst, sooo much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: new relationshippppp, so much hugging and kissing, yoongi!! tae!!, tears, abandonment issues, talk about social anxiety (just briefly and nothing serious!), jungkook drops a big question :'), a surprise in the middle, a surprise near the end, and then a SURPRISE at the end lol, many surprises, they're so crazy for each other it's gross; explicit sexual content: okay – kook is wearing a chain.. this vibe :'), making out, showering together, shower sex, spanking, biting, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, mouth/face f*cking, mirrorssss, he likes her ass and tiddies, tears, choking, v brief ass stuff, rough and soft sex, dom and big cawk jk, vocal jk, multiple orgasms, they're simps; ALSO YEAH THE ENDING :') ➳ word count: 25.3k ➳ a/n: so when i said this chapter would be shorter… welp lol. but i still think it introduces the next arc really well. i kinda love the ending!! .. and the next part will be </3 :'''') as always beta'd by my lovely @missgeniality 🤍 i hope you guys like this one a lot. worked my ass off for this fr :') if you do, please do support the chapter and interact with me, too, it makes my day <3 ➳ listen to: i need u by yaeow | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs | DC SERVER

Monday morning’s breakfast is awkward. Or at least, the very first minute of it.

The hands of your watch drift to 9 AM; you should’ve expected you wouldn’t be occupying the dining table alone. Your parents, sipping the last of their coffee, aren’t that much of a surprise after all.

You breathe a quiet breath of relief when their eyes dart towards your timid forms at the threshold, then back to the table. And a moment later, they’re pushing their chairs back across the marble floor before they clear the path to breakfast for the two of you.

Your father acknowledges you with a brief, polite nod on his way out, even flashing a similarly quick smile. Ingenuine, because his glance, fleeting when directed to you, is as disappointed as your Mom’s behind him.

Today, you understand. Somewhere in the depths of your recovering mind, you feel upset about shitfacing yourself so thoroughly, too.

You haven’t seen your mother in over two days. Jungkook’s post-showcase confessions brought you to Eun, and the next morning you barely scanned your room before you left for her place again.

Guess the momentary encounter in the hallway doesn’t quite count; you could hardly crack your eyes open. Combined with half the dozen naps you took in your locked room the very next day, you won’t exactly expect pride from her right now.

Until now, as she advances towards your body, you didn’t consider much of her side; you stayed focused on the other occurrences passing after sunset. Moments whose scent your sheets still carry.

As your mother comes to a stand, you prepare your vocal cords, breathing in to explain yourself until you realise that she isn’t looking at you at all. Her eyes are firmly glued to Jungkook’s face, devoid of enmity for once.

Instead, she flattens her dress, sighing through her red-tinted lips before she nods towards him and simply says, “Thank you.”

And that’s it. A little breathtaking, entirely new.

You’re dumbfounded when she leaves; Jungkook doesn’t manage a single word. You imagine that if you’re baffled, he’s probably rethinking her words to assure he didn’t hallucinate them.

But neither of you did. And the silence lingering for a couple more seconds proves the depth of reality; not that you’ll change your mind about leaving your place. But the hint of appreciation, shot directly at him is a pleasant first nevertheless.

Breakfast is patient but fast. The quiet atmosphere doesn’t derive from the night before or what your mother just left you with, but from the emotional fatigue slowly dropping off your shoulders.

Jungkook lets you feast in peace, a soft palm rubbing over the back of your hand every now and then to assure you’re okay. And you are. You’re getting used to these changes.

To this alternative to whatever you feared before. A chance to erase all words and start on a blank page; a white canvas, waiting for vibrant colours instead of monochrome gloom.

Yet, despite the tranquillity last night, still present in the air and in your aching limbs, you don’t understand the sincerity of all the confessions he uttered until you leave.

Because breathing in your car isn’t as suffocating as it was the last few weeks. Back when you’d navigate through the town alone, the passenger seat empty. Or when you plucked up the courage and drove to the showcase numbly.

Or when the pain pierced through your chest; when your drunk ass thought the world would  remain blue forever.

All of it is gone when you buckle up, shifting in your seat as you announce, “Okay. Let’s finally get you home.”

The engine roars for a moment, the car trembling, but you only register the knot in your throat when he says, “Feels so unfair of me. Having my girl drive me around so much.”

You don’t miss the endearment; neither the way your heart skips a beat.

Incapable of a proper reaction, you clear your throat and stutter, all at once and oddly in succession until you settle on a weak, “Why unfair?”

“Because. You do it a lot.”

You really do not. The night the museum closed and you dropped him off at your place was one of a few times; besides, he’s operated your vehicle more than enough before, too.

But you don’t contradict him, instead lightly suggest, “Well, you can drive if you want.”

You’re relieved when he joins your smile, dimples ever-so-sweet and genuine as he promises, “It’s fine. I’ll just stare at you.”

The shudder along your spine is delightful — relentless, he keeps your nerves alight. Perhaps he’s back to the self you knew pre-broken-hearts, playful and teasing, but the effect of his words curses through your veins hotter than ever.

“That’s creepy,” you still retort; you’ll gladly keep fighting this sweet, awkward battle against compliments for life, unaware how to handle them. “And it makes me nervous.”

“Sorry.”

Jungkook laughs, the back of two fingers reaching to your cheek to graze it featherlightly. Maybe he feels the heat beneath your skin, enhanced through his touch.

By now, you’ve spent a year with him — as a party fling, a class frenemy and a blue flower. But each second ticking away brings a new wave of soft, shy speechlessness. New honeymoon emotions.

The certainty of his reciprocated feelings, the fact that you’re finally on the same page, makes you rethink his tender confessions and touches differently. Makes you navigate the relationship differently.

His eyes drift back to the quiet, narrow street, surrounded by houses and blooming gardens. Probably as tired of the idyllic utopia as you, he doesn’t spare the suburban setting any more attention.

He only lets a flat hand rub against his thighs, nipping at his clothing as he says, “God, I can’t wait to get out of these damn joggers.”

Right. While not a main focus, you did find the special attire at breakfast today quite amusing.

“Did you even get to shower since picking me up?” you ask.

“Yeah. When you were napping again yesterday. Just gotta wash my hair later tonight.”

Hmm. You spent half your day knocked out; Jungkook could’ve circled the world and you wouldn’t have known.

“Oh. Good.”

The road proceeds straight, emptier near the suburbs. You allow a reckless glance before tackling busy streets; his eyes meet yours in curiosity, hair even messier than the night he met you in front of the bar.

When he left his apartment in joggers and an old shirt, mane untamed and no extra clothing at hand, he probably didn’t expect to abandon his place for so long. It gives you solace that he doesn’t regret it.

You drop the million memories of yesterday’s sunset burning into your eyes and everything that introduced it. The drunk words and the begging.

And then drop everything that followed afterwards; more pleading, more touching, more confessions that were in no way uttered through inebriate but not quite through sobriety either.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

You drop all the remembrances to focus on the moment; just to make sure that it’s real. So you ask, “Why didn’t you wash your hair there, too?”

For a moment, you see a flicker in his eyes, short-lived and quick; and his answer shoots out even more rapidly, “Just so.”

He emphasises his admission with a shrug of his shoulder, but it’s not nearly as convincing as he anticipates. Not buying a word, you push again, “C’mon.”

“I swear.”

“I’m curious now, though.”

There’s a momentary drop of silence before Jungkook hums, thinking as though he’s crafting a plausible excuse. Then, he says, “I didn’t wanna be away for too long.”

“…Why?”

“Why would I want to be?”

Ah…

Hmm. Well, maybe that’s enough for now.

Maybe he’s still not used to laying his secrets open. Maybe you need to practise patience, too, and stop digging like that.

You know that’s not all there is, but you certainly understand that it’s not a lie after all. Despite the pause and the obvious way his brain racked for a reason, his tone is genuine. You’ve experienced his insecurities before — that’s not what it was this time.

So you focus on the steering wheel instead, turning it left and away from the truck you drove way too close to. Your distraction might kill you — right there, next to you, clearing his throat and sitting up.

“Oh,” he says, segueing, and you let him, “wait, I forgot. Could we stop by at Yoongi’s for a sec? I wanted to see how he’s been doing.”

An abrupt change in topics, but not too abstract. As someone merely acquainted with the man, you’ve been collecting info on his state from Jimin; of course Jungkook would drop by personally.

You take a look at your digital watch; it’s barely ten and you don’t need to get away before 10:45. Taehyung agreed to meet with you to accompany you to your new potential flat again, so you should have time for a detour.

But.

“Is he…” you start, “gonna be okay with me being there?”

“Why?”

“I mean, just ‘cause… You know. We weren’t the closest for a while.”

Jungkook’s forehead wrinkles in new perplexion, muttering a few words. It takes a couple seconds — but eventually, he figures out that you’re not referring to Yoongi and yourself, and his expression changes immediately.

To subtle pain, you’d guess, like he doesn’t want to relive the memory. Like it never happened; like you weren’t two pieces of the same shattered heart this entire time.

But then he sighs, a hand wandering to your thigh. He kneads it softly, as a reminder to himself and to you that the past isn’t transpiring right now; that you’ve finally breathed and waded through it.

His optimism is encouraging when he says, “Nah. He thinks you’re cool.”

“I guess,” you mumble. You tap the steering wheel nervously, lips in a thin line before you add a hushed, “And if not, that’s alright, isn’t it? Like, hey, as long as you like me? Yeah, I shouldn’t overthink it…”

Jungkook releases air through his nose. You perceive a subtle shake of his head, as if to scold you, hear him say earnestly but gently, “Don’t worry about me. I don’t just like you.”

And whether casual or not, his words engulf your body immediately, like a soothing warm touch across your chest, yet effectively freezing your beating heart in place.

You can’t pinpoint whether the weight of his own words ever affects him as much as it affects you, or whether harbouring these emotions has become a familiar habit to him. At least to you, his tone is conversational and promising, perhaps even subliminally reassuring.

“At the very least,” he continues, “he’ll never disapprove of you the way Jimin disapproves of me.”

Which… snaps you back into reality for a second.

Your friend’s name is connected to more than mere dislike for the man next to you; currently, you think of dark nights and lamp-lit streets. After-midnight shenanigans and near tears in your own car, driven by the man who broke and mended your heart.

It reminds you of a blurry picture; two guys standing near an entrance, the older of them patting the other’s shoulder; smiling at him.

You do wonder if it was a fabrication of your mind.

“Forget Jimin,” you tell Jungkook, speech broken when you take another left and resumed when broader streets start. “Also. He did say he’s growing fond of you.”

“Because you like me. I still need to prove my worth to him.”

You tut.

“Kook, you don’t need to do anything. He’ll come around eventually. Just be you.”

“It’s fine, honestly.” He leans in, nudging your elbow, echoing you with a teasing undertone as he says, “As long as you like me.”

You love it when the initial nature of your relationship breaks through the mist of newfound passion; when you find the foundation of what you were, remembering how you landed here.

Which is why you bite back a laugh the moment you suppress a sassy, teasing remark, as if on reflex. One steer shy from pulling into a parking lot, you breathe out. If you halted here now, you’d kiss him, you’re sure.

But you merely laugh, squinting your eyes as you say, “You’re okay.”

Yoongi’s apartment, now inhabited by only one instead of two people, lies a couple miles from the campus. Jungkook guides you through the streets, jumping from one harmless topic to another — you reach his friend’s place a lot faster than you expected.

The building stands at a quiet place, surrounded by mid-high trees that give the grey colour of the complex a bit of liveliness. You walk to the entrance laughing about something stupid, a subtle nudge of his shoulder here, you pushing against his arm there.

But despite the familiarity and whatever occurred last weekend, it’s still odd jumping into the girlfriend role just yet. The word itself won’t even roll off your tongue very easily so far because you can’t believe a thing about this new reality.

So your hand dangles next to his awkwardly. Your thoughts keep drifting, registering half his sentence at times. What-if situations of gentle kisses and upcoming nights spent together tighten your chest.

Jungkook’s speech is clear and fluent, so you don’t know what your impact on him is exactly. At least he’s made sure you do have one on him — but you still wish you had a map through his mind to understand every thought he houses for you. Every emotion.

On the way up you feel a little dizzy; whether it’s due to the circular shape of the staircase or his proximity, you don’t know. You only realise that something’s still bothering you when you’re halfway up, coming to a halt with one foot on the next step.

“Okay, seriously,” you say, and he turns to you immediately, puzzled as he drops to the same level as you. Close to you.

“What?”

“You said you didn’t wanna leave,” you repeat, still stuck on the hair washing and staying longer thought, “why not?”

The answer could be simple. Could be rooted in emotions and the confessions you later uttered — but there must be something more. You saw it in the brief feeling flashing across his eyes, sitting in the passenger’s seat with silence sealing his lips.

Maybe something happened… because something always happens.

“You’re still thinking about that?” Jungkook questions, eyes wide in disbelief; lips pouting.

“No secrets, right?”

This seems to snap him out of all mysteries, last night’s conversation travelling to the forefront of his mind. But something about your curiosity amuses him. He wraps the fingers of his left hand around the staircase reeling, head dropping with a delicate smile.

His hair hides his eyes, but you know they’re sparkling; voice a mild drizzle when he starts, “It’s…” He draws in, inked digits touching your elbow before moving up your arm absentmindedly. “Don’t worry so much. It’s nothing harmful at all.”

You wait. Let his thumb graze your neck, up to your chin.

He sighs, almost exasperated in a way. “You speak in your sleep, you know?”

Wait. What?

You blink, thoughts disoriented. The staircase is dimly lit, but you recognise the slight upward curve of his lips; more empathetic than teasing.

So you still do?

“Huh?” you make.

“I think you dreamed of waking up a couple times? You hadn’t, though, and it’d always be something about being alone again.”

Again.

The word reverberates through your mind, dragging and stretching. Didn’t you once read that a broken heart is akin to serious rehab, accompanied by withdrawal symptoms and slowly healing scars?

You guess your heart was hurting more than you already knew.

“Okay,” you say, nodding when he does, thumb lifting your head when you drop it. You swallow thickly. “What did I say exactly?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know anymore. Something about me leaving. And I was scared of waking you up while gone ‘cause you’d actually think I’d left.”

You hum. Allow yourself a moment to process the info; you seek out fragments of your dreams, but you draw a blank. You feel guilty about his concerns, yet relieved. Vulnerable. And somewhat reassured.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say.

Your voice is barely above a whisper — less because of the conversation. More because of the touch on your cheek. It’s soft against your skin, and you shiver. The flutter in your chest is only just bearable.

That’s the thing about falling in love. It’s sweet — so much sometimes that it twists your guts. You’re in so deep, you could hurl.

“Nah. You don’t need to worry about this anymore, okay?” he murmurs.

His eyes dig into yours. Dark and shiny through his healthy tresses, livelier than ever. Sincere. 

You, on the other hand, must look unconvinced without intending to, because his mouth aligns with yours soon after.

He exhales, tilting his head, and says, “Look,” leans in, leaves a featherlight kiss against your cheek, right next to his thumb, “I mean it.”

Guess being with him comes with occasional mental blackouts. And regular arrhythmia. The palpitations behind your ribs are almost ridiculous; instead of gripping your own chest, you grasp his shirt immediately.

Lightly, as if you could collapse without this anchor.

He lets you pull him closer just a little, whispering as if someone could hear, “What’s wrong?”

Vulnerability hidden, you blink again, and joke, “Nothing. Just thought you were gonna kiss me.”

Jungkook smiles. His nose brushes against yours, toying a bit, and his bunny teeth make him look somewhat younger when he voices, “You want me to kiss you?”

“I always do.”

Your grin is playful, but your heart is pounding in your chest. Who would’ve thought the journey from a car to an apartment could be so long, so thrilling?

His snicker is gentle and canorous, knees careful against yours. Your heartbeat accelerates some more, rose-tinted lips opting towards their goal. You part your mouth, ready with a deep breath.

But the two of you are always subject to disturbances — so you’re disappointed but not surprised when you hear rushed steps on top of the staircase, strolling down and crossing your path just when Jungkook backs away.

The stranger passes by you with initial surprise in his eyes, not expecting you, but soon gets over it and drops his gaze again. And once he’s gone, Jungkook winks, a hand on your back pushing you forward gently.

“Later,” he says.

You know as you ascend the stairs.

Know that with the ease with which you handle your feelings for each other, you’ll strive towards a future where you won’t be haunted by dreams of being alone. Where you won’t fear his departure, and where his kisses won’t be interrupted by this cruel world.

The building reminds you of when you’d frequent the dorm you used to know. The walls and hallways are similarly built, narrow and somewhat cheap. They look like most buildings from the inside do, honestly, but you like the pleasant illusion the nostalgia brings.

Even the bathrooms are located near the end of the hallways; Jungkook once told you that Tae and Yoongi have their own kitchen, unlike him back when he still housed his dorm. But there’s a communal bathroom here, too; allegedly one reason why Tae moved out.

The only thing that separates this place from Jungkook’s old dorm is the subtle difference in scent. Not pure testosterone.

You smile.

The mood doesn’t match with what you felt back in June at all.

Back when you stomped to Jungkook’s dorm, furious about yet another insignificant issue, you didn’t think your fingers would ever be brushing his like they are now. Or when you escaped the rain and entered the building’s warmth, your umbrella leaving behind a trail of raindrops.

Your relationships, your priorities, your emotions. Your universe changed faster than the seasons.

As you walk past a random door, Jungkook cranes his neck, staring as if he could x-ray-glare a hole into it and glance at what lays behind it. Perhaps he’s thinking back, too.

You don’t know about all the things he experienced throughout the years there. Part of your heart stings because you remember you weren’t the only girl who ever frequented his place.

But you still left an impression — if the current status of your relationship isn’t proof of it, then the sudden touch along the back of your hand certainly is. A thumb following a vein blindly, opting to grasp your palm into his, yet retracting when you finally come to a stand.

The digit caressing your skin lifts to the door, and his knuckles knock three times, rhythmically. Your chest constricts as you jump back into the moment, probably half as nervous as you’d be if you met Jungkook’s parents.

A moment stretches as you wait for Yoongi to open, allowing yourself just another spiralling thought as you imagine actually daring a meeting with Jungkook’s parents. It’s too early to think about it, isn’t it?

It’s just.

Since yesterday, you’ve created a dozen different scenarios in your head, ranging from a civil, calm conversation with his father to a full snap. Half of you wants to know his genuine thoughts on his son’s sorrows; the other half wants to rage and then bolt away.

Ugh.

When the door swings open, your hand flashes to Jungkook’s. A startled instinct, even though nothing about the action was surprising or scary. But he doesn’t mind — of course he doesn’t.

His eyes rush to yours for a second, warm and somewhat thrilled, his smile permanent. And then he looks back at his friend, quietly squeezing your palm, the shy smile soft as he greets, “You’re walking without clutches, huh?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond right away. He looks from Jungkook to you and back. His gaze isn’t very telling, but you find amusement in it. If you weren’t so ridiculously and inexplicably nervous about his upcoming statement, you’d laugh.

Intently, he grants a peek at your entwined hands, and when he looks at the two of you again, he starts…

Smiling.

Gummies all out, a tiny laugh thrown in between before he says, “Ohoho. You’re here, too?”

The smile turns into a sly grin, a hand clutching the frame of the door. You guess he’s not as balanced after all. Possibly just abandoned his clutches for the short way from the couch to the door.

“I can totally go,” you tell him, the teasing tone missing; soft and small instead.

“Why in the world would you?” Yoongi steps aside carefully, nodding the two of you inside. You oblige, hearing his voice behind you jest, “Now, would you look at that. Did I do that?”

Jungkook automatically drops on the chair at the tiny dining table, like he’s arrived home, and you follow; make yourself comfortable on the seat next to him. There are three chairs, as though carefully chosen for the pair of friends who used to live together and a guest.

Next to you, Jungkook huffs, leaning back as he watches his friend plop onto the chair in front of him, and asks, “How would you’ve done that?”

“Well, you guys gathered at the hospital because of me.”

Right. Good point.

If he just knew how that night played out. Actually, you think he just might, yet not quite aware of its severity.

“Not because of you,” Jungkook promises, “I just charmed her again.”

You laugh. So does Yoongi.

He isn’t irritated or taken aback by the younger’s boldness; in truth, he seems entertained. Arms crossed, eyes small and grin wide. He half mocks, “The young ones are charming for sure these days.”

“Spoken like a true Grandpa,” Jungkook remarks. You press your lips into a thin line, but with a faint smile. You only listen; you’re in the territory of two friends who spend their time roasting each other. You’re not on that level yet, so you observe. “But I had to.”

“You had to, huh?” you joke. Okay, observation broken. Your body tilts towards him. “You didn’t need any of your charm for… this. But still good to know.”

Because you would’ve been putty in his hands, no matter what — charm or not.

"Can confirm," Yoongi agrees, nodding towards his friend, "that he was also a proper mess the last couple weeks. Very out of character."

Your eyes roll to the side to catch a glimpse of him, but the moment you detect the rosy dust on Jungkook's cheeks, you avert your gaze immediately.

Admittedly, the guilt in the middle of your chest is undeniable. But there's comfort in knowing you were never the only half who was deeply, perpetually falling.

Yoongi scratches his temple, doesn't meet your eyes; possibly shy when it comes to conversations like these. But he sounds warm and gentle when he says, "I'm really glad you guys are back."

You’re similarly timid, feeling strange. As if someone’s congratulating you on a fresh marriage. Or maybe that’s just the emotion you want, need to feel.

You say, “Thanks.” And then, ever-so-terrible with compliments, add a little, “Let’s say it was you. Double thank you to the man of the hour.”

Yoongi pulls a grimace hitherto unseen; it doesn’t faze Jungkook, but the Joker-esque grin and wide-eyed nod have you bursting into laughter. His friends are pleasant, you think.

If there was a way to lure Jimin in and convince him of this group’s collective appeal, you wouldn’t hesitate. There’s only a limited time you want him to play the petty, protective friend.

“So, how have you been?” Jungkook eventually asks.

Yoongi rubs the corner of his eye, stretching his injured leg under the table, “Never better. The bank is surviving without me. Besides, I haven’t gotten around to making some music in a while.”

“Tae did tell me you were enjoying your days off.”

Jungkook reacts with a tiny chuckle, but your eyes widen. You let him finish his sentence, and then spit, “Wait, wait. You make music?”

“Oh, I mean… I’m not any good,” he explains, wiggling a hand, a little startled as if he forgot you didn’t know yet. “I just. Make a few beats every now and then and write my own bars and stuff.”

“Wait, rap?” You stare between the boys, to and fro, only a little offended that you didn’t know you had a brooding future musician in your midst. “Can I hea—”

“No.” The answer is immediate. You pout. “Before you ask, I am way too much of a coward.”

“He’s amazing,” Jungkook intrudes.

And you whine, “Unfair, Yoongi.”

He imitates your expression, leaning back, copying your stance, and answers in the same childlike tone, “Warm up to me first! I’ll show it to you one day.”

“One day I’m gon’st hear it,” you declare, overly dramatic with your chin up, “you have my taste in music, you know? I know I’ll like it.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I can try.”

Yoongi blows a raspberry. You’re not sure what you expected; maybe subtle hostility. But the sense of casual camaraderie is refreshing; lounging comfortably in his living room was a picture far from your mind until now, and you think he enjoys the unforeseen gathering, too.

Because after a moment of stillness, a faint smile touches his lips, his voice back to normal and deep as he remarks, “It’s nice that you guys came. I get bored here a lot.”

Right. You kept wondering.

You don’t dive into the matter immediately, instead drenching your voice in a teasing lilt, “Even though Jimin visits you?”

“Shut up.” Mock exasperation rolls his eyes as Jungkook appreciates your joke, one foot pressing against yours under the table. “No. It’s just been lonely since Tae moved out. It’s a two people thing with two bedrooms.”

He shrugs his shoulders, attention fully on you. Jungkook either doesn’t have much to say or doesn’t want to interrupt. Only listens.

“Living here alone feels like I’m wasting space and money,” Yoongi finishes.

Curiosity piqued, you probe, “What did Tae say when he left?”

“He offered to let me move in with him. But that’d be pointless.”

“Why so?”

“He’s awesome for offering, but I think he wanted his own place, you know? Why would I intrude then? But I did tell him I’d look for another place.”

“Have you been?” you ask. You still remember how happy Taehyung looked last time you met him alone.

How he spoke so highly of a life on his own, gladly interrupted by the occasional visits Eun granted him. Yoongi, you think, would probably benefit from acquiring his own place, too — one that doesn’t remind him that someone left him behind, inhabiting a vacant space thought for two.

“Every now and then,” Yoongi admits. “Will think about it some more once my leg’s healed.”

You nod in understanding, a thoughtful hum escaping your lips. Yoongi soon leans forward, naked arms on top of the table, and delves into a discussion about the rising costs of rent.

He outlines the challenges of finding the right place in the bustling city, and explains his worries about the empty space in a too-large apartment. And you listen intently.

But as minutes pass, you can’t help but notice the contemplative silence Jungkook has fallen into.

It’s always the same with him — thoughts you can’t read, questions you need to postpone.

Because you do glance over at him, observe the distracted furrow of his brow, the distant look in his eyes. You understand he’s once again lost in unknown thoughts, and you sense how jumbled his mind must be.

But you still decide to hold off for the moment, out of respect for the ongoing conversation. You don’t focus on addressing his apparent preoccupation until it keeps going until later, way after you’ve bid Yoongi goodbye.

“Why do you seem so reserved?” you ask in the car, his home your new destination.

It must be around quarter past ten; you should still be able to meet Tae within half an hour. Yet, despite the brooding rush, you can’t help but wanna drag out the ride, finish this conversation.

“Hm?” he voices.

Did he not hear you? Maybe.

You sigh, seeking an available parking spot. You’ve already turned into his street, way past the park, halting close to his entrance. The engine dies, sudden silence inside the vehicle.

“Okay,” you turn towards him, forearm against the wheel. “You’re a lot less enthusiastic now. What’s up?”

He looks distracted. Drags his teeth over his full, pink lower lip hard enough for you to repeat, “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Uh.” Cue big boba eyes flitting to you. “I was just. Thinking about something.”

“Wanna share?”

“Yeah. Yeah, uhm. I swear I’m not trying to be mysterious, just. Not sure how to phrase it.”

He’s easing himself into this whole thing. The entire opening up act and being fearless with his feelings. So you don’t push him, but encourage, “Try. If not now, then maybe later, though?”

“No, no. Now is fine.” He frees his eyes off the dark bangs when he shakes his head a little, preparing to voice his hidden thoughts. Then, he breathes, “Yeah, so…”

One more second.

And.

“What if you dropped your plans of moving into that apartment?”

Oh. What?

Does he mean what you think he means…

There are only two options, right? And you choose to go with the one that would embarrass you less if it turned out wrong.

“Should I… do you think I should stay with my family?” you ask, your voice cautious.

But when his hands shoot up, immediately denying your assumption with round eyes, you breathe out through your nose. Relieved when he clarifies, “No, not at all. I mean, it’s up to you, but that’s not what I meant.”

So then…

“So you’re saying—”

He interrupts, rushing before he can back down, “Move in with me. And Yoongi could take the apartment you were considering.”

Fuck. 

You didn’t expect your heart to jump up to your throat like that. It’s a day full of brief heart failures. You barely know how to react anymore.

You stare. Then stare a bit more. And eventually, you simply ask, “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean…” He gulps, averting your gaze all of a sudden before it lands back on yours. You chuckle quietly, unprompted, and it boosts his confidence. “You stayed at mine for days and it worked. It could… you know— keep working.”

The suggestion lingers like a fresh breeze, grazing your cheeks and twirling around you like a soothing force. He beams — though subtle, he seems to interpret the simultaneous rise of your eyebrows and your lips immediately.

Still, he inquires, “I don’t know… too soon?”

Technically yes. But then again, no. Because he’s right — you’ve already experienced a piece of heaven, tasted the bliss of domesticity with Jeon Jungkook.

“You really are serious about this, yeah?”

“Only if you want me to be,” he counters, less tense than before, but a hand rubbing in nervous circles over his knee, “if not, then I was absolutely joking.”

An awkward, little chortle fills the small space of the car; you shake your head, teeth out and smile bright. There’s sweetness in knowing that his affection is real. That the thought of shared future pains, joys and days — that it’s all actually become so unbelievably real.

The car is cool in the shadow, but you feel a strange heat coursing through your body. At the end of the street, you see the sunlight brighten the moment he laughs. Fitting.

The crinkly eye smile softens when he reaches for your hand, pulling it off the wheel and wrapping it in his. There’s an automatic reaction in your chest, a constant racing when he says, “I mean it, though.”

Brief pause. He looks down to your fingers.

“I think I got used to having you there. And then, at Yoongi’s I had this… I don’t know, overwhelming urge to tell you. That,” his teeth worry his lip, releasing it softly, “I want you next to me for as long as possible.”

You understand.

He means every minute that society and norms don’t force you out of the house. At nights and in the mornings, on off days and holidays. To fall asleep next to his presence, to wake up on the same mattress, too.

And the longing is undeniable; you know that it is. But you’re already swamped with decisions as it is — could you call off the apartment right here, right now? Rethink all you discussed with the landlord, Taehyung or yourself?

Life decisions are harder than that, and despite all the wants infiltrating your body, you can’t dive into this without a couple more following thoughts.

You keep gazing into his smouldering eyes, more intense when he looks up. Let their effect send a thrill down your spin, a surge of yearning through your veins. 

And then, you acknowledge the need for prudence. You savour the moment, let the anticipation built, and flash a sultry smile to ensure that, yes, if not now, then one damn day, I’ll be yours entirely.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything to work more than this,” you admit, “but I need to—”

You halt. Words come hard to you these days; and the two of you are sensitive. It’s not easy to reunite after weeks of overthinking and distance; and you don’t want to provide more reasons to overthink.

But you forget that as sensitive as Jungkook is, he’s just as understanding and gentle, too.

Because he says, “You need to think. And I know you can’t just pack your things and move over, I just— I wanted it out there.”

“I know. I know.”

“And I,” he continues, “I actually thought you were gonna say no right away since you’re getting out of your childhood home just now, so naturally, you would wanna be alone for a while and—”

You lean forward, pulling your hands out of his grip. His eyes shoot down, baffled and confused, but you don’t give him a second to think or speak. In a moment’s notice, his cheeks are squished between your palms, his bunny face now akin to a duck.

“I don’t want to be alone. I’ve been alone all my life,” you tell him; Jungkook eyebrows furrow in empathy and worry, but you smile, “I don’t wanna be anymore.”

His expression and voice are dorky when he speaks, first words incomprehensible. You let go, watching the red splotches on his cheek, and he repeats, “Is that a yes?”

“It’s… I don’t know. A to be continued.”

“I’ll live with that.”

You don’t know if it’s the electrifying prospect of a life together or the confidence he follows his statement up with, but the insanity burns wild in your head. Untamed and dizzying.

“And I’ll wait for however long.”

“I didn’t even ask, I’m sorry… but are you starting work later today?”

You stand in the middle of Taehyung’s living room, a hand over your eyes to protect them from the bright sunlight. He’s busy piling the saucers and the cups, and you wait as he drags a vocal in thought.

“No, no. I’m off today.” He stands, and you automatically walk the short distance to the kitchen, lingering at the door frame. “Need the afternoon for an appointment at the doc. So yeah.”

“Oh. Everything okay?”

He doesn’t speak yet, dishes in the wash basin too loud. They clink and rattle; the moment you’ll move to an apartment by yourself, you’ll have to wash them yourself, too.

Maybe you can make your place as aesthetically pleasing and beige as Taehyung did. You don’t know — you couldn’t imagine much today nor discuss further details about the contract and rent and general house rules.

The landlord bailed on you last second. And Taehyung sacrificed over an hour that he could’ve spent keeping Eun company between her morning lessons.

You apologised the second you entered his apartment instead, thankful for the invitation to tea, yet harbouring guilt for wasting his time. But Taehyung proved incredibly kind, waving off your concerns immediately.

He asked, playfully offended, “So you’re saying a tea party with me is a waste of time?” And then he laughed, immediately shaking his head, “Nah. It’s fine. Am glad someone finally prefers tea over coffee, too.”

So now you’re here.

“Yeah, just a check up,” Taehyung answers, “vamps drew my blood and will tell me today if it’s good or not.”

“Interesting way to refer to doctors,” you admit, backing away when he leads you to the exit. You need to be at work in forty minutes tops. “Good then.”

He hands you your blazer, silent for a moment before he says, “Talking about feeling unwell.” You look up, arm halfway through the blazer’s sleeve. “What were you doing getting shitfaced like that?”

“Uhm…”

Word travels fast. Your cheeks heat up, fingers curling into fists. You smack your lips, letting out a tiny laugh, and ask, “Eun told you, huh?”

“Mhm. Scolded her for taking you to the bar and leaving you alone.”

You sigh.

You should’ve guessed that she’d tattle. And of course you might appear like the helpless, heartbroken girl, seeking comfort in alcohol, dark clubs and blue neon lights. It’s a little embarrassing, actually.

“Kook was there, though,” you defend.

“I know. I called when he was still at your place.”

Huh? What else did he do when you were asleep? Painted a Louvre-ripe masterpiece, probably.

Taehyung decodes the dozen questions in your stare, tumbling until his back leans against the wall. He explains, “We just talked for a sec. He sounded worried, so I didn’t prod too much. Just don’t do these things anymore, okay?”

Huh…

You can imagine it well. Partly because you remember the way he looked at you that night: distressed beyond belief, giving you soft orders, insisting on help everywhere — the car, the shower, the bed.

But also because you know him.

And you don’t think you needed to see him in those very moments to know he must’ve brushed through his silky hair. Must’ve looked through your room, gaze stopping over your sleeping figure.

Voice strained on the phone, yawning, shaking his head because he must have been a little mad at you, but comforted that you were resting, too.

You remember the tone of his voice, soft as a piano tune but saddened nonetheless.

”What did you drink? You’re… in such a bad state.”

You shake the words off. God, he was there for you more than you’ll ever know.

You say, “That’s nice, though, Tae… I didn’t think you’d ever get so worried about me.”

“Hey. You’re still my friend,” he promises.

He’s possibly been the only person throughout this entire ordeal to not be pissed at you or annoyed by you. You never doubted that he still liked you.

“I might not know you inside out like Eun or Jungkook do, but you’re part of this group. So naturally, you’re important, too.”

You push your hands into the pockets of the blazer, gripping the car keys inside. Bashfully, you smile. His sincerity pumps warmth through you; it’s crazy how good belonging somewhere, to someone, can actually feel.

It’s refreshing. New. 

“Wow,” you murmur, shuffling your feet, “thank you.”

“You’re glowing, you know. That’s nice.”

“Am I?”

He nods. “I can’t wait to see him glow either. A couple weeks were a couple too long.”

Those couple weeks felt like someone ripped out the hands of time, keeping them from moving. Your brain aged faster in that time, deep in a bottomless abyss. You don’t want to experience it again.

And you don’t want to imagine Jungkook in the same pit again. Looking for you, but bumping against walls, painted with his past that made him stumble back instead of pulling him forwards.

Your eyes trail down the hallway, looking at the small paintings and decorations on the wall. You take in the furniture, inhale the pleasant colours. Imagine his living room in its entirety, the sunlight seeping through the windows. Curtains pushed aside.

Your apartment could be like this, too.

But.

“Tae,” you begin. You wrap your fingers around your rattling car key; lick your lips. “Do you think I’d like it here?”

“Hmmm,” he voices, gazing down as if he could look past the parquet floor and to where your potential apartment stands nearly empty. “Yeah. I mean, I like to think so, because I’m very happy here.”

He stops abruptly, the tone of the last syllable not matching a sentence’s end. You wait as he smiles a little, creating a thought, “But you could be happy somewhere else, too. Happier even.”

His words hang in the air, a sense of both possibility and uncertainty tangible. You were wanting to venture into this new chapter of your life with hope, but also with trepidation.

Suburban areas are nice, but you opted for the heart of the city — the vibrant tapestry of dreams and opportunities. You didn’t expect the journey to be fraught with sudden doubts.

The best thing, however, is that doubts and dilemmas never seemed this… tempting.

You tell him, “There’s always a place that makes people happier, for everyone.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice tinged with wisdom. “Only, some people already know of it, and some keep searching for it.”

“And I am—”

You pause, anticipating for him to finish the sentence; he responds, “You gotta know.” There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, support and acknowledgment hiding right behind — matching his words, “I’d be bummed if you didn’t become my neighbour, but. Also just happy you guys are happy.”

Too kind for this world.

In your endearment, you laugh, suddenly stepping forward for a brief, thankful hug. A silent gesture of gratitude for his friendship, no matter how shallow or new.

The people you surround yourself with offer endless reassurance, and you’re lacking the words to express your appreciation.

“Thank you, Tae. Eun’s right when she praises your constant respect for other people, you know?”

Taehyung, maybe a little perplexed, brings a hand to your back, patting gently as he states, “No worries. The worst is over.”

You hope so. God, you genuinely hope so.

You pull back, tucking your hair behind your ear and bid him goodbye with one last nod. Taehyung closes the door behind you with a humorous thumbs up, and you grin before it’s silent in the hallway again.

There’s a tiny window outside, overlooking the street down there and the cars flitting by. The area isn’t as peaceful as Jungkook’s — more lively and noisy. You can see the city’s river if you look far enough.

And as you step closer to the glass, you envision your own apartment again. You imagine the soft glow of the lamp before you go to sleep. The comfortable couch you want to plant in the back of the living room, curling up with work or your laptop or a cup of hot chocolate.

You picture the view of the city as you step to your open window, glancing out as the steam of your beverage swirls in the evening air. Contemplating the world outside.

But then you start rethinking Jungkook’s words, too. The idea of belonging and happiness, of domesticity and what could be.

And at last, you visualise what it’d be like if you didn’t see any of this — the lively street, the river in the distance. Wonder how you’d feel if the horizon looked different.

If you stared out and saw a different canvas instead.

The changes in your life are drastic in some way, but Jungkook always stays the same.

Your house lies quiet most of the time; as days pass, you frequent your room, then drop by in the living room, greeting the staff, grabbing dinner and retracting back to your beloved bed.

Jungkook’s apartment, baby-sized compared to your place, allows a much livelier atmosphere. Maybe because you don’t need to yell for him to hear you from another room. Or maybe because it’s just the two of you.

Perhaps even because you find solace in the couch, in the smaller smart TV in front of it, the glass table, the carpet, the homely furniture in general. The scent reminds you of wood, but you connect it with him, too.

It’s different from the room you grew up in. Different from the luxurious chimney and marble you’ve seen all your life.  And you must admit that you enjoy it a lot more, too.

One of the few reasons why your mood changes from exhausted to merry the moment you knock at his door on Thursday. He was expecting you, because when he opens, he beckons you inside immediately, pulling you in and planting a generous kiss on your cheek.

A smooching sound accompanies it, his foot closing the door as he suggests, “Dinner first or TV?”

“Shoes.” You laugh. You slip out of your thin jacket before tackling your snickers quickly, your clothes suddenly itchy and uncomfortable. “Shoes first, and then shower? Can I?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It’s not the first time that you’d be doing it. But there’s still something new and pure about this new chapter of your life; one that comes with polite questions and reinventing reality, apparently.

Redrafting life as you knew it and striving towards something better.

“I knew it, actually,” he says, forefinger wiggling, “I put a fresh towel on the washing machine. Also had a handful of your shirts here, so there’s one of those on the towel, too. And my joggers… Sorry, you left none of those, uhm—”

He’s started walking ahead, scratching behind his ear, but when he notices you not following, he looks over his shoulder. Blinks at you, staring into his living room and back, innocent voice unsure, “Come?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just— you didn’t have t—”

“I know,” he interrupts, breathing a sigh in faux frustration, “I know I never have to. But I figured you’d wanna shower.”

“…Thank you, Kook.”

You wish you could say more; express your gratitude the way you want to. At least your body is jubilating, craving the hot steam of the shower. Starving further for some peace when you step into the bathroom and detect the neatly placed clothing.

Jungkook halts at the door, gripping its frame, a little shy as if you didn’t breathe each other in for the last couple of weeks and months. He’s looking at you, waiting for something, and when you raise an eyebrow in curiosity, he snaps out of whatever daydream he was in.

“Oh. Right,” he mumbles, cheeks flushed, “sorry. I’ll leave. Can heat up the food. Or, or do you wanna order in?”

“Anything’s fine.” He nods. Opts to walk away, big hand flattening his hair at the back. It takes a moment for your heart to riot as you watch him leave, immediately babbling, “Actually. I was—”

Returning within a moment, he looks alarmed. Less so when you point a thumb to the shower and suggest, “Do you wanna join?”

“You in the shower?”

No, doofus. Join to watch the washing machine unsoil your sweaty clothes.

You clear your throat. “Yeah?”

“I uhm… Is that okay?”

Goddamn. Redrafting life as you knew it, you said.

You just didn’t expect the two of you to still tip-toe around each other. Seems you still have a lot of adjusting to do.

You try to break the ice.

“Acting like I’ve never seen you naked.”

“No, I know,” he responds, “I was just thinking that you…”

You can’t quite decrypt what he’s trying to say, but you do perceive the flash of concern in his eyes. It’s a tiny glimpse, barely there; but you see it. And you think about it.

Try to understand, let moments pass — until you’ve grasped his thinking.

The night he helped you clean up was the last time you stood under a showerhead together; maybe he thinks you’re still connecting it to the night’s trauma or borderline dangerous intoxication. And perhaps you’re wrong.

But you still take a breath, and then segue, “Already took a shower, didn’t you?”

You know he did. He’s addicted to cleanliness, sensitive to scents; he hoards diffusers, skin care products and new underwear like a treasure. And showering is always the first thing he goes for, a beeline to the bathroom after work out sessions and intense summer days.

You follow up with, “It’s okay, if you did. I’ll just go alone and hurry to dinner, then?”

“No, no… No, it’s fine.” He starts his sentence fast, but slows down halfway through, awkwardly. “Of course I can join. What’s some extra refreshment, right?”

“That’s the reason, huh?” you mock, laughing when he shrugs his shoulder. “Keep acting like you’re not the biggest simp around.”

Your confidence boosts his own, too. The signature smile is soft, lips curved gorgeously, but the subtone of his words is teasing, and even a little cocky.

“Of course. I know, I know.”

“Come then.”

You offer a stretched hand, curling your fingers in and outwards, and he places his warm palm into it like a key to a lock. Albeit tense and nervous, your body feels good next to his. The telltale awkward signs of a new relationship don’t deter you from indulging in its sweetness.

So you’re not surprised at how quickly you undress, throwing each other’s clothes at the back of the washing machine and planting kisses whenever one of you bares their shoulder. Eyeing each other from bottom to top.

You think you ogle for a moment too long, though — and how could you not with the freaking silver chain dangling from his neck?

An exciting evening lies ahead, you can already tell.

It’s fresher now outside, and all of Jungkook’s windows are open. Despite the cosiness of the bathroom, you rush under the hot shower stream.

Only, it’s not as boiling as you’d like it to be. Jungkook starts and finishes his showers ice cold, so you screech when you meet water from the Antarctic. You jump on your spot, arms around your torso.

And when you allow yourself one single glance at him amidst the breathlessness, you notice that the asshole is doing it on purpose. Same old. Rouses core memories.

Jungkook wipes over your hair and your face, drenching them thoroughly. You only realise he’s smudged your mascara when he starts rubbing underneath your eyes gently, managing to get some of it off.

“Fuck,” you curse, “I forgot about that. Should I take it off first?”

The intention is to slip out, use one of his cleansing skin products and get the mess out of your face before stepping back to him. But you don’t make it far anyway; he yanks you back before your foot can even touch the mat.

And then, the moment passes in a blur.

Tense body back against his, he tugs you close. Holds both your wrists in front of your breasts, leaning in without a warning, and then — connects his dripping lips with yours.

If there was any space to gasp, you would. Instead, your fingers instantly dig into your hand, sharp nails scarring the skin. You move your fists, trying to touch him, but he holds you in place firmly.

That is, until his digits relax, trailing up your shoulder to your neck, jaw and then to your cheeks. Face in your grip, you let him control the pace. You find an anchor in his bicep, holding on; kissing isn’t enough.

You wish he could eat you up. Wish the tongue finally touching yours, swirling around it, was everywhere on your skin at once.

You feel a slight twitch underneath, right against your body; ready to devour, hopefully soon to explode. But Jungkook gasps for air when his lungs give out, allowing a break, backing away with your face still between his hands.

And then, he utters something surprising — something you didn’t expect in the heat of the moment at all.

“I was meaning to tell you something.”

“…Oh?”

“I’m uh. I’ve been meaning to tell you for days. I just never quite got around to it and we were so busy and tired all the time and—”

“What is it?” you break in, heart pounding at an unnatural speed. “I’m here now, so…?”

For a second, you expect this to take a whole different turn.

The database in your brain empties the moment you scour it for an answer, preparing yourself for molten knees and dissolving hearts. Or maybe, it’s already clarifying to liquid, jumping out of your chest and flowing down the drain along with the water.

But he doesn’t say what you anticipate. Though, what he does admit has your nerves glowing neon white anyway.

“So— the first night of my showcase. On my birthday?” he starts. You feel the muscles of your face change, and he sees it, immediately assuring, “No, no. Don’t worry. I was just gonna say that a guy came to me by the end of it? And—” 

He lets all of it sound like an unsure question. But you think you know where it’s going — you hold your breath under the already suffocating water.

“And?” you prod.

“And turned out Namjoon invited him, and he’s kiiiinda a big shot in the art business? Like, he’s a gallery collector, he said. He’d invest in my art and acquire it and have it showcased in bigger museums for more recogni— I know!”

Your mouth and eyes opened halfway through his quick explanation, fingers back in fists, pressing against his solid chest and then moving up to hook in his silver chain. You’re restless in the congested space, suppressing the high pitched sounds.

He puts his hands on your hips, snickering in joy as he says, “Be careful before you slip.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Thankfully I’m not, angel,” he shakes his head, bangs sticking to his forehead, “not this time, at least.”

You raise a hand to his pec, tapping against it, “Wait. So just so I understood correctly — they’re gonna put up your stuff there for an even bigger audience to see, yeah?”

“I mean, the gallery is definitely far bigger than the exhibition I participated in.”

“Oh my god, Jungkook, the exhibition already had a shit ton of visitors!”

He nods, proving a point.

You feel an electric current in your blood. Pride, that’s what it’s called, too. You sling your arms around his neck recklessly, nearly falling, but you can’t be bothered as you exclaim, “This is so— I don’t even know how to react, Kook!”

And who could convince a big-shot art connoisseur so quickly after graduation anyway? Jungkook’s god given talents are never praised for nothing — you knew it. Fucking knew it.

Won’t make it anywhere, your ass.

“That’s so fucking awesome.” You stare, out of breath all of a sudden. God, if there was a way to express your delight. “When is it happening? Are you selling the one you showcased?”

“I don’t know yet. And no. That’s too… personal to me.” You blink, nodding. Still overwhelmed with how his pieces made you feel — of course they’d hit even harder for the artist himself. “He wants something in a similar style, though. I’ll make something new for him.”

“What’s it gonna be?”

It’s a simple question. You swear it’s nothing too deep.

But Jungkook’s gaze changes. An amused, delighted expression replaces a neutral one, head tilting to the side just a little. His lips, already slightly swollen from the kiss, move up, eyes kind and sugary.

If you only knew how your small details affect him, too. How you looking at him like this, expectant eyes split wide, innocent and gentle, shoots an arrow to his heart.

You just don’t know.

He brushes the hair sticking to your cheek back and tells you, “You’ll see. I’ve been working on it these days, but. Will show it to you when it’s done.”

You can’t even be mad. If it was up to you, you’d probably wait for the big day, too — can’t spoil the surprise, need to cry tears of pride and joy in public.

So all you say, deep from the heart, is, “You’re the fucking coolest person I know.”

“Nah—”

“The coolest.”

“Funny,” he retorts, as bad at compliments as you; throws them back like a boomerang, “thought the same when I met you at the party last year.”

“…Gross.” That’s what you say. But you still shake your head; overwhelmed, smile plastered to your face and cheeks hurting. “God, Kook.”

And that’s all.

You keep holding his stare, finally too tired of the distance to endure any longer — and then lean in. You stop a couple inches away, watch his head angle more, mouth steering towards yours. The smile is mutual, fingers seeking a spot to settle on on each other’s bodies.

Your heart monitor would be wilding right now — the effect of your lips meeting clear as day behind your ribs. And this time, you don’t stop.

The push against his chest is immediate, his feet slowly tumbling backwards. His tongue burns hot against yours, your lower lip fitting perfectly in the gap between his lips. There’s a sharp hiss when his back finally touches the tiles, mouth open but not leaving yours.

Teeth soon clash, and you opt for more of his taste, well aware that you just cannot kiss more than you already are. His hands move up and down, never settling, both your lips harsh and impatient. Your tongues keep moving in patterns, thirst never quenched.

You break the kiss solely for oxygen purposes, but he uses the moment to let his palm wander from your face to your hair, grabbing a patch. One hand pushes against the small of your back, though soon dropping to your ass, fingers between your ass cheeks, teasing the clenching hole.

Fuck.

The moan isn’t intended, but very welcome — you love the sound of it as much as he does, followed by his own. An automatic reaction. His hips indulge in the tiniest movements, length jerking against your body; no more than an inch of his fingertip pushing into your ass.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you breathe, eyebrows furrowing, mewling against the corner of his lips. “More, now, please.”

It’s an attempt. Of course he won’t act that fast — you know him well enough. He’s been a soft gentleman often enough; but after holding back the past few days, missing it for weeks, you know it won't be easy on him either.

One of you will be on the brink of tears soon; until now, it’s usually been you.

You take a deep breath, agitated when he laughs. He retracts his hand, smoothing back his chaotic mane before leaning in for another peck. And that’s all it remains — interrupted immediately, saliva mixing with the shower water.

“I’m so fucking crazy for you,” he confesses; the shiver doesn’t hesitate crawling down your spine — neither does Jungkook, peppering your neck with kisses.

His actions are smooth — you let him do anything. Like, explore every little spot of your skin. From the softness of your face, down to the flesh of your ass, echoing hard when a flat hand slaps it out of nowhere.

You propel forwards, barely aware of your surroundings. The shower raining onto you is the only indicator of where you still are.

So when he turns you carefully, 180 until your back touches the tiles, you don’t realise his intentions for a moment. Only when he changes his approach, digging your shoulders hard into the wall, knocking you out of breath.

“Are you trying to—” you ask, but he interjects right away.

“Don’t question it this time, okay?” His face inches close again, teeth suddenly pulling and nibbling at your lip. “Just let us do. Lemme do, yeah?”

His chest presses against your tits before he backs away and palms your mounds, squeezing nearly painfully.

For only a heartbeat, though — he doesn’t stall further. Because another second passes before you’re turned in his grip, chest not touching his anymore, but the wall now. From behind you, he grasps your hips, dragging you back just a couple inches; enough to sneak his hand through.

“But whenever things get too much, you…”

You nod. Promise, “Will tell you. I will.”

“Good.” His cock pokes between your ass, and he spreads its cheeks. Lets the hardness rest between them, sliding up and down. “Gonna make you feel so good, though. Wanna make you feel so fucking good.”

Wow… wow, f—

Not that you were ever interested in it before, but…

Part of you wants him to shove it in anywhere. Wherever the fuck he wants. You’d endure all hour-long foreplay and pleas and tears for him.

And perhaps he’s thinking the same. Perhaps you even spoke it out loud — you wouldn’t be surprised if you did. But you choke on your spit when he says, “Missing the sex toys. Like… What do you think of new ones, hm? Someday, maybe. Like— like an anal pl—”

“Please,” you beg, “I’ll do fucking anything for you.”

Break in conversation. Then, “Holy shit.” He chuckles. Fuck — his voice is deeper now, isn’t it? “You’re being whiny. I thought you’re a badass business woman, but you’re so whiny.”

“Because— I can breathe when I work.”

“Ohh. And now,” he whispers, close to your ear, hand moving. Up and further up, stopping around your throat, as if he’s testing your statement. As if he could tell him anything about the state of your lungs. “Now we’re not as focused, right?”

“No thinking when I suck your dick.”

“Dammit. Really don’t wanna wait to fuck you numb.”

You’re shamelessly jittery, patience out the window. “Don’t then. Get to it now.”

“Nope. I know you’re not ready yet. And I’m not either… so—”

He steps closer, forcing your body further forward until your cheek is squished against the wall. His fingers leave your throat to find another target; something far more south, a lot more dangerous.

One small circle drawn around your clit, you gasp, hearing him ask, “You think you can come with just my fingers?”

“I don’t know. I honestly think I need—”

He chuckles, and you can’t help but laugh, too. You’re hilarious sometimes.

“You think you’re so smart. But we can still try, though.” He says it casually, as if the two of you don’t exactly know that he’s perfectly capable of pulling through. But his voice still softens when you don’t answer, “Hey. You wanna try, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Anything,” you convince him, “anything, Kook.”

“Good girl. The best, always.”

His touch vanishes. You let out a mildly confused sound, observing with an unfocused vision how he opens the shower door a little. He reaches for the towel on the washing machine, drying his fingers, other hand moving the shower head until it’s mostly wetting his own back.

It’s a tiny detail, really. You only told him once how action around the clit might become uncomfortable with hands priorly washed or wet, and it seems he remembered.

Your eyes shut when he returns to your bundle of nerves, massaging gently, skilled. It starts slow at first; you feel the hot wetness build in and around your entrance, the line between the shower water and your arousal fading.

Jungkook’s movements, calculated and systematic, only spur your body on. He’s always known what he’s doing; has analysed and explored what you want. How you want it.

It’s true heaven to you: the way he kisses your cheek. The way he draws moans out of you, the motions around your swollen bud rhythmic. Your back and limbs tingle; you don’t know what to do with yourself.

And when you can’t stand still anymore, Jungkook orders, “Stop that. You’ll break my jaw.”

“Sorry.”

Your apology is timid, tiny; he laughs. “You cutie… you’re adorable even in moments like these.”

You throw your head against his shoulder as if to oppose him, opening your eyes, looking straight into his eyes. Your eyebrows are kissing, tension between them, mouth agape.

And he adds, “Or maybe not.”

He lifts you up a bit, dragging your body along the wall — you didn’t even notice that you slid down this much, angled, ass darting out like this. But you also don’t mind the arm that rounds your torso, just underneath your tits, keeping you steady when he takes it up a notch and—

“Oh my god,” you squeak when he pushes two fingers in. “Yes, yes, please—”

The incoherent, random requests are his favourite. Most of the time, he knows better than you what you’re pleading for. Which is why he doesn’t stop this time; probably more in the mood to please you than tease you.

From this position, he can’t reach knuckles deep, but just enough to brush the walnutty spot inside. And to your surprise, the orgasm builds up fast; the first quiver takes over your knees, but you understand that this is nothing compared to what’s to come.

You press your hands to the wall, holding onto remnants of your sanity when he kisses your neck, and along your damp shoulders. His mouth is hot against your pulse, wet hair tickling under your jaw. He bites lightly; soothes the fleeting sting with his tongue. Vampiristic.

Like a sensual massage, well thought out, pornographic.

And then he picks up on pace. Whispers, “That’s right— we got this—”

He starts pumping into you; relishes your incomprehensible curses. The thumb over your clit and the impatience of his fingers inside are a dichotomy, and you don’t know what to focus on. Which is why you stop thinking altogether.

Jungkook takes a sharp breath, quiet whistling sounds included, and then groans into your ear when you do. He keeps his motions up diligently, fingers a bit deeper with each time your ass moves back an inch.

As an aid, he shifts his arm, too, pushing forward, palm pressing against your clit now.

And when you come, you melt. Nearly collapsing, you keep moving, on edge, every spot of your body in tremor. You can barely breathe; you’ve been nestled in the heat of the shower for way too long.

He notices your tremble in an instant, encourages, “Got it. Got you. Keep going, baby, c’mon.”

The peak is blissful; you don’t want to ever fall off the edge again. Want to remain in this starry, gorgeous ache. Your eyes could stay in the back of your head; the world may keep fading. And you don’t need to know where you are.

All you know is that your voice sounds odd, high when you pant, “Don’t go away yet.”

“I’m right here. Right here, got you,” he repeats, holding you upright.

Jungkook knows — knows how to get you from lowest lows to your highest highs. Today was as pleasant as a day at work can be; but if he’s ready to do all this to you on any other, worse day, too, you might never encounter grief again.

He scatters kisses all over your jaw when you’re done — busies himself as you catch your breath, swallowing, eyes closed. Once you’ve caught yourself enough to utter fragments of sentences at least, you tell him, “Something not human about you, Jeon.”

“Oh. Are we back to surnames now?” He cackles, soothing motions along your arms. “Are we gonna shake hands, too, once we’re done? Bow and say thank you?”

You shake your head, though the stupid smile doesn’t wait to spread on your face.

“You’re dumb,” you say.

“You make me dumb.”

He drops his touch, brushing your pussy again — maybe as a test. But you’re sensitive and vulnerable, closing your legs and opening your mouth in response. He’s sly; uses the moment to push two fingers in right away, pressing your tongue down.

And you, as challenge-accepting as ever, start sucking, tasting some of yourself. You wrap your hand around his, moving your head, chest still heaving from the exhaustion. Your eyes close slowly enough for him to see them roll back, a reaction to the images your brain creates.

Like, the thought of the member currently poking you replacing those digits. The prospect of emptying him entirely.

“Fuuuuck— wish my brain could take a picture of this and save it forever,” he says, voice strained.

You open your mouth, licking a strip along his finger, past the tattoo. “What’d you do with it?”

“Would… would bring it to the forefront of my mind,” Jungkook begins, reclaiming his hand and dragging it down to your waist, “and use it whenever you’re away.”

“Hmmm… and then?”

“Would just…”

He doesn’t continue. Only shakes his head, lifting his shoulders, stance desperate and wanting; maybe he’s even a little out of his mind.

You egg him on, “Show me if you can’t say it.”

It’s a surprise that he obliges, but then again, it’s not. You always forget just how weak he is — that his heart sits right there in your palms, his body a magnet to yours.

So you’re endlessly pleased when your eyes flit down to a hand around his dick. Stroking slowly, its head hard against your pelvis. And you manage to watch a tiny second longer until the floor beckons you towards it, down to your knees.

It’s uncomfortable immediately; slick and odd. But you’re distracted by your dry tongue, thirsting, ridiculously hypnotised by the cock dangling in front of you. And then his thighs… muscular and thick. You reach out to them, holding them, steering forwards.

Despite his delicate frailty, you don’t fare any better. Ready to bruise your knees like an obedient doll, eyes wide when you look up at him. You grip him softly, urging him to remove his hand, stroking in his stead.

You pass all pleasantries and hesitations, and dive in immediately — leading your mouth to the tip before wrapping your lips around it delicately. Determined, you let only a second pass, eager as you start moving right away.

Bobbing your head, you take him in as much as your gag reflex allows. He’s too big — it’s impossible to ever swallow him fully. But no matter how greedy you are, that’s it.

You don’t give into it all the way just yet.

Instead, you back away after another lick. Straighten your body, drawing in and repositioning until you can push your tits together around the stiffness.

His groan tumbles out of him broken, choked, a hand against the wall. His abs are rippling, bicep bulged, nipples tiny and perked. Dark brown. Eyes hazy.

You want to do so many fucking things to him — want to mount him. Pull his head back by his long strands. Want, need to kiss him, rub yourself on him, back and forth along his cock until his moans become uncontrolled. Sticky white cum sprayed over his tummy.

Your nails in your skin, yearning for more — that’s one of your billion thoughts.

Instead, you summarise your wants, whispering a single, simple, fucked out, “I…” You gulp down the knot. Shiver at your position, craving the hot water a little now. Then command, “Fuck my mouth.”

His eyes threaten to fall out of his head; like they always do. He knows it’s a constant reaction, too, it seems, because, “God. I’ll never get used to you saying this.”

“You better, though.”

“Right. Right…”

He caresses your face, pushes your hair back. Perhaps he’s had enough of the pace; because he soon reaches for your arms, compliant deer kicked out of his head as he forces your wrists up and crosses them against the wall.

One hand is all he needs to hold them in their place. One hand gripping them hard, disabling any movement of your arms.

You let out a strange, obscene sound, finding utter liking in this gesture.

But despite your pleasure, he still eases you into the process, the heart tattoo grazing your cheek. A touch so soft that you think he’s praising you, wordlessly and gently. Making sure you’re absolutely okay with whatever he does to you.

And you confirm it with another blink, stretching out your tongue, ready. Holding his gaze. Mesmerised and frustrated, he says, “You’ll kill me with the way you look at me.”

Jungkook fuels your confidence with vigour each time, eloquent through scorching heat, too. Because you don’t think you’ve ever smiled this self-assured before you knew him; or been certain about your power over others.

You used to be far more insecure than that, feigning ignorance and carelessness, but reevaluating your decisions every step of the way. Months ago, you could’ve never predicted such a shift in conviction towards yourself.

So it’s new to you, but invigorating at the same time, the grin you sport, the words you utter, “Killing you isn’t my intention,” when he doesn’t, you move your head towards the leaking head of his cock, awaiting destruction, “wanna make you feel more alive than ever.”

The breath tumbling out of his mouth is ragged, pinky finger twitching a tiny bit when you wrap your lips around the tip and then let it go with a plop again; like it’s a lollipop to you.

Your knees move closer to his feet, and he stretches his one hand to your shoulder, making sure you don’t get hurt on the slippery ground. But you’re far too distracted to appreciate the gesture just yet, even though you feel the faint tickling along your limbs.

“I got it,” Jungkook then says, back in charge, hands back on the protruding, thick veins.

He moves his hips forward, testing. You roll out your tongue once more, closing your eyes. Try to make more room in your mouth, despite knowing it’s a thing of impossibility. And to your chagrin, it takes only a few more seconds for you to be full already.

Taking in as much as your throat allows, you gag when you reach your limit, letting out a tiny cough, salivating. You still can’t move your arms; his fingers are like chains around your wrists.

“That enough?” he asks. “I’ll stop here, okay?”

You nod. Wait. When he doesn’t move, you start pulling back, and then push forward again immediately. Your tongue is drenched in absolute filth; the spit trails down your chin, and you wish it was his.

But that’s not the point of it all — you’re not supposed to comfortably bop your head back and forth, are you? Despite the daily softness between the two of you, you want to be used. Want all his greed.

And he knows. Asks, “What do you need?”

Of course you can’t speak. He’s aware of that; stares down at you as you breathe heavily around him, mouth stuffed to the brim. Cheeks aching from the circumference.

You moan around him, parting your lips, moving your tongue from under his dick to swirl it around it a little. You move back, tasting the liquid minimally dripping out of his slit. Fuck, you want all of it, in thick, sickening ropes, in loads and buckets.

“Won’t even back away to speak,” he teases, words contradictory, because he won’t allow you to take a break either. Shoves himself inside again; you’re embarrassed that you only manage half of his length. “The dedication is hotter than it should be—”

Full, coherent sentences. How?

But even his string of thought breaks when he starts in earnest. Filling up your mouth once more, as much as he can and then a bit more for good measure. You adjust to his movements, suck down immediately.

You don’t care about the loss of voice later; you want to eat him up entirely.

His strokes grow harder by the second, rock hard inside you. You move your head until the head pokes against the inside of your cheek, and the tight wetness affects him, his knees buckling by one single inch.

“Easy…” he whispers, shaking his head, water drops landing on your face. “Fuck. Wanna have you hanging off the bed one day. Wanna see my cock ram your throat…”

Easy, he said. He’s definitely not being easy on you, though. Not with these admissions. Not with his motions.

The thrusts aren’t just hard, but deliberate and controlled, too. Your head keeps pushing back, lightly touching the wall. You’re far over sucking his dick, way too obedient and submissive to define it like that.

No, you’re being fucked. Gagging and choking around him, sucking in the spit whenever only his tip remains inside, sounds lewd and specific. Coming from the back of your throat, wet, hot and bothered.

God, you wish you were strong enough to take him all the way down to the base, licking at his balls, feeling his twitching dick thumping at the very far back. But you guess this is more than enough for him, too.

Because he holds your wrists harder, a rope around them, digging into your skin. The free hand wipes your hair away again, your body sweat-soaked while the shower water still trickles down his back.

He holds you there; then reaches for your nipple; pinches it hard over your heavily heaving chest, pleased when you open your eyes and look up at him. Waterline damp — the dangling chain might just be one of the reasons for that.

“Bit more,” he mumbles, and you think he’ll surrender right there, inside your mouth.

Which is why you sit up straighter, more determined, licking at the underside of his cock when he drags it out a little. His balls hang in your face and you reach for them, tongueing, hungry, not wanting him to move away now.

He doesn’t. Not yet. Relief courses through you, swallowing around his thickness again. Rolling your eyes back, hearing subtle “Doing well, so well, angel”s, ignoring the pain in your arms as he holds them upright.

You hollow your cheeks when he buries himself in deep, struggling when he stops right there. He doesn’t move; your eyes well up harder. All air enters and escapes through your nose, and you’re shaking, holding his stare as he keeps his cock in place, absolutely still.

That is, until you can barely breathe anymore, nails digging into your palms, arms trying to escape. He doesn’t say a word yet, only lets your hands drop. Your shoulders crack a bit, and you shake your arms, filling up your lungs, your palms next to his feet.

His cock is covered in your spit when you look again; your gaping mouth and chin similarly drenched.

And only when your head stops spinning, does he hold his hands towards you, urging you to take them as he says, “Sorry, baby. You did so well, I…”

You grip his fingers feebly, getting up on weak knees. Instead of holding onto your hands, he soon wraps an arm around your body, pulling you up before he asks, “Less next time?”

“No,” the word comes out as a squeak, throat already affected, “I’ll always tap if I feel it’s too much. I promi— promise.”

“Good,” he praises, a kiss to your damp forehead. He turns the water off. “That’s all I want, baby. Look at me.”

You’re already exhausted, staring down, fatigue fuelled by the hot water. Your eyes flutter open as you meet his gaze, and he puts a hand to your cheek, thumb on your swollen lower lip.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he compliments; his hand must be heating up under your touch, “did you know? So sweet and stunning. It makes me sick.”

“Thought I was the only one. You…” He looks at you, and you hold him tight, smiling about your joke in advance. “You have such an effect on me, it makes me wanna throw up.”

Right. So in love, it makes your stomach turn.

“Please don’t,” he pleads, conjuring a tender eye smile. The wide grin is unreal. “And let’s get out of here. We can’t keep standing here.”

“Waste of water.”

“Yes, waste of water. That, too. And I should have some lube in the bedroom.”

Of course he’s as impatient as you — although you’re almost a hundred percent sure you could do without that stuff easily. The insides of your thighs are slippery, and you’re certain the shower wasn’t the sole reason for that.

Your legs feel weird, your body heavy when you finally get out. The cosy bathroom is filled with steam and heat, but at least you can breathe easier here than under the piping hot water.

The mirror is fogged up; you glance into it to check your state, but recognise nothing but your vague form. You wipe a stripe the size of your hand along it as you walk past, halting at the door. And when you look back, Jungkook is making quick, brief work on picking up the clothes you haphazardly threw to the side before.

“You don’t wanna do this later?” you ask, still fond.

It’s just him cleaning up the floor, but… you enjoy watching him do mundane things. You might never be able to explain why, but you do.

“Just throwing them into the washing machine. Will turn it on later,” he answers.

He straightens his body with a sigh when he’s done, sniffling as he usually does. His eyes are hidden behind his long hair, so he lifts both his hands to brush the soaked tresses back. The muscles of his arms are mountainous and firm. Tattoos ending at his shoulder.

He’s indescribably pretty like that. Looking up, lips parted, jaw chiselled.

You observe him for a bit longer, gaze trailing down his body. Small nipples, broad and sculpted pecs, six painfully visible rectangles of abs. Cock still mostly awake.

Fuck.

Crossing your legs, you bite your lips, one hand on the door handle. You take in the domesticity. The moment might be subtle and casual, but something about it is incredibly homely.

How you speak to each other, and how his washing machine is cleaning both your clothes. It’s the little things, isn’t it?

Your eyes are fond when you say, “Whenever it does happen… I can already imagine all of it clearly.”

“Hm?” He blinks at you. “All of what, baby?”

“Of being here with you. All the time.” His motions stop. He drops his arms, a strand falling back into his face, but he doesn’t care. Glances at you for a couple seconds until you smile and nod towards the door. “Let’s go.”

But it seems he changed his mind in this split second that you turn to the exit.

Because all of a sudden, just as he did before, he tugs you back. And just like before, you land against the wall, having him staring at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time. His voice is a whisper, enchanting, “Okay… you know what. Forget it.”

“Huh?”

“Fuck lube, okay?” His eyes are glued to your lips. Then to your pupils. He looks lost. “We can manage. Don’t need the bedroom… just you. Want you right now.”

“Jungko—”

You don’t anticipate it — so it draws a small moan out of you when his fingers suddenly graze between your legs, digging in for just a moment. Fingering you for a split second as you gasp — and then they disappear again.

He moves in to kiss your cheek. Just a peck first. Then his lips open against your neck, hand moving up your body and pushing your tit up. His tongue soon joins the fun, darting through his parted lips, sucking your tits hard. Biting, groaning, moaning.

“Jungkook.” You push your touch through his hair as he kisses his way further down, nibbling at your sides, and you whine, “Don’t wanna wait, Kook…”

His eyes are closed and his voice hushed, raspy and deep as he says between kisses, “I’ll be gone for a moment, baby. You’ll barely notice, I promise.”

Strange how he means distanced from your kiss, not from your body. Strange how you miss each other while in the same room, but not melted into each other.

You’re losing your mind. Throwing your head back, ruining your hair against the tiles. Eyes droopy and hazy, mind turning in various directions as you relish each touch and peck. Your body relaxes; all the weight of the world off your shoulders.

Jungkook fondles your body, caresses all of you, planting kisses on your tummy, your waist, your pelvis. Continues to tug at the flesh of your thighs with his lips. It feels like a massage, not painful but gentle. Careful as he hoists up one of your legs, throwing it over his shoulder. 

And then… he starts.

His tongue flashes out to your clit. Parts your folds. It’s difficult from this position, but his pointy wet muscle paints patterns over your pussy. And you reel.

Jungkook truly is an artist. Knows to make you mewl, turns your breaths laboured. You move your hips, guiding his face closer with your hand in his hair, slowly riding it. The French kisses, the brush against your thighs… he’s…

God.

“God,” you echo, “I love this, I—”

He’s feasting. Letting out alluring sounds, spurring you on, and you almost topple over the edge. But Jungkook knows what he’s doing — leaves you yearning, moving away and up to you.

When he said he’d be gone for a moment, he truly meant it.

Your lip quivers when he looks at you, ordering a soft, “You’ll come together with me.” He raises your chin. “Okay? You and I together. Always.”

Must be a hidden message. He’s not just talking about sex anymore, is he? But him and you in one bubble, separated from the world. Nothing but you, you and you.

You barely wait another second. Instead, you immediately lurch forwards, initiating a kiss beyond sinful from the start. Teeth clashing, tongues feral. For a couple seconds you breathe into each other, letting out odd noises, his hand pulling your leg back up again and pinning it against the wall.

You’re on your tippy toes when his cock teases your entrance, his lips soon on your shoulder again. Cold chain brushing your skin. He’s sucking harshly, guiding his dick inside with determination. Sheer impatience is palpable in his touch and audible in his sounds.

The head of his dick parts your folds, diving in; and you let out a moan so lustful that he grows downright desperate against your shoulder. Standing here like this is hard, too; so he puts his palms on your ass, commands—

“Jump once.”

“What?”

“Jump,” he repeats, “I’ll hold you. Want you, please.”

“Okay…” you mumble. You put your hands on his broad shoulder, readying yourself, “Okay.”

And then you do — immediately wrapping your legs around him. And he lets you fall slowly, body pressed against yours, so you’re sandwiched between him and the wall; so he can guide his hardness back to your cunt.

You drop onto it slowly, carefully. Impaling yourself on him, inch by inch penetrating your insides. The more you take in, the deeper the crease between your eyebrows. And when he’s bottomed out, you feel like… yourself again?

Because what moment is more intimate than this? What moment allows you to crawl out of your shell more than this?

Even if in a crude sense, this is yet another definition of home. And every definition can be traced back to him.

“You feeling alright?” he asks, and you nod immediately.

“Is a bit weird, but…” you hold onto him, one hand moving to his face. You don’t finish your sentence; only nod, exhaling against his lips.

“Can I start?”

Another nod; and then he starts pumping in. Slowly in and out; you’re firmly in place against the wall, slipping just a little. His hands engulf your ass again — his strength is mind-numbing, and his sounds loud as he splits you in two.

Your eyes shut for a mini moment, and when they crack open again, they’re met with the still mirror. It’s fogging up again, yet still clear enough to make out Jungkook’s back; the form of his body. Your thoughts tangle up.

You’ve seen him shirtless a million times before, fully bare — but it might be the first time you’re enjoying this very perspective. And the entirety of him… leaves you gasping. Butt naked, ass muscles flexing, the triangle shaped back smooth. Where do his guts even fit?

They’re a blessing, those reflections, catching the way he’s standing, ramming into you. And then you, burying your nails into his shoulder blades, expression fucked out, body moving up and down the wall. Having things done to you by him.

You’re so fucking lucky.

You mutter, “Kook…”

“Yes, baby.”

“You look so good… so…”

“Mmmh, you do, too,” the sentence starts in a clear tone, but morphs into a whisper, “just… can’t see enough of you… shit, babe—”

He leans in, parting your lips with his, your tongues touching as he delivers a rough jab just once. And that’s when things stop working for you.

Because soon enough, you’re swaying to the side, nearly falling; as his protective instincts kick in, immediately holding you, his cock jumps out. And he shakes his head, pecking your temple once, and then deducts, “Okay. This won’t do.”

“Hmmm,” you hum in agreement, weak on your legs, “bad idea for sure.”

“Hold up.”

He’s quick to turn you around, thoroughly in charge of your body tonight — you’re fully under his mercy. Ready to kneel and bend for him. And Jungkook, understanding your boundaries, gives you all you need — knows what to do, knows when to stop.

And you keep handing over control; more so when he pushes you over the sink, stating, “Okay. Looks easier.” A pause. “Looks so much fucking better, too.”

Wish you could see. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re tense.

He leans down to kiss your back. His dick pokes between your ass cheeks again, slipping down and further down until it makes itself home between your nether lips again.

It falls into it in one fell swoop, swiftly, as if it’s no effort at all — guess it never is.

And god, does the position feel heavenly.

Balls deep inside; the first angle that allows full unhinged, animalistic mode.

But he still starts out slow; with long strokes and a hand in your hair. You tumble backwards a little, urging him to move too, lifting your ass higher and pushing your legs together for maximal effect.

Allowing more tightness for him; more friction for you.

“I… missed fucking you so much,” he says between thrusts. “You feel unreal.”

You guess you do. He does, too. Maybe the two of you need a reminder that this is all too real; perhaps a tantalising equivalent to a wake-up-pinch.

So you suggest, “Fuck me harder, Kook.”

“Hmm… want that?”

“Been waiting so fucking long.”

And while a lover of patience and anticipation — who is he to reject your wishes after the entire ordeal occurring in this room? The two of you have dragged out this moment plenty.

So he listens fast; soon using your neck as leverage as his inked fingers wrap it smoothly. Agreeing, “It’d be my literal pleasure, babe.”

God, he’s a dumbass — but you can’t physically react. Too caught up in something else; storing the laughter and jokes for later.

Because he picks up on pace, not too much right away; but enough for his hips to slap against your ass. Enough for you to be catapulted forwards with a whine, cheek pressing to the glass.

You lift your hand, accidentally wiping again, but only manage a trail, hand sliding down. From behind, you hear a hoarse praise, “Looks so fucking hot,” he draws a sharp breath, nearly hissing, “I promise I’ll be careful, just…”

He pulls at your hair. Shoves his cock inside rougher, face closer to you, lips to your cheek. Swallows hard enough for you to hear, and then, “Tell me if it’s too much. Am careful until I can’t be, baby.”

Until he loses control. He says it right before he drops all inhibitions and — goes feral.

You squint your eyes shut, calling out his name; the word echoes in the small room, and for just a second, you worry the neighbours might hear. And then right away, you stop caring again.

Because you want this man. Now and later and forever; want him like this, want him in any way. This isn’t just sex to you — if that’s what you wanted, you’d download an app like your freshman self used to.

No.

No matter how obscene, there’s meaning in every one of your touches; in every stroke, in every word, in every single time you lose yourself in him.

Your stomach twists as he jackhammers into you; you’re craving proximity, craving all his attention. Want all of his emotions and touches raw and merciless. Want to see him.

Although, when your shut eyes open, you only see blurry forms in the mirror moving, him behind you. He squeezes your neck; you see that much before he slides it down your body, straight to your clit, no detours.

He pushes his knee up for a second, touching the edge of the sink and balancing on one leg, but drops it again soon. The white painted, stainless steel of the sink, previously cold on your tummy, burns against your skin now. A chafing feeling.

Jungkook draws more forms against your clit, but then retracts his hand; instead, squishing your tits, indecisive where to touch. But it’s the last move he makes before he straightens his body, palms on your ass until he spanks just once and…

Pulls out again.

What?

“Look at me, sweetheart,” you register.

You pant, fingers clutching the sink and gulping down the tiredness before you manage a turn. Your eyes land on his dick first; it’s fully drenched in your arousal, so unbreakably stiff.

He whispers again, “Look at me,” but the moment you do, he doesn’t withhold your stare for too long. Instead, his hands are back on your cheeks, drawing you close, seeking your lips. His never-satisfied thirst matches yours; you want to remain here and freeze time.

With your arms around his neck, he guides you towards the washing machine, pushing the clothes further aside. He helps you get on it, but you argue immediately, “This could be dangerous, right? Shouldn’t sit here, I think… might break…”

“It’ll be okay,” he says, making himself comfortable between your legs, pushing them apart with his thighs. Two fingers hold your chin, lips ghosting over yours. “Is a cheap ass thing… want a new one anyway.”

You wonder if he’ll say that about all the furniture he’ll fuck you on. Because observing his eyes, you know that he will — will soil every inch of his apartment within, what you anticipate, a short period of time.

But unfortunately for the washing machine, you’re too weak to reject the offer.

So you hold him tight, jostling him closer to you as you ask, “Yeah?”

“Mhmmmm.” The word drowns in your moan when his cock glides back in; when will you ever get used to this? “Don’t worry… won’t break as badly as we will.”

Well, fuck.

The ridges of his cock drag just right along your walls, the angle making your mouth water. Your cunt is burning; and he still dares to ask, “Okay like that?”

“More than okay, Kook… more than—”

He always screws you numb; barely ever lets you finish your sentences. Your moans have become a constant interruption, along with the goddamn things he says, “Your pussy is so good. So, so good.”

And then he’s back making out with you, sweatier than before. His body is enticingly warm, muscles working on you. Both his and your hair sticks to the nape of the neck or your back, and you hold onto him, keening against his lips.

Then, you lean back for a second, keyed up as fuck, propping up your body with your arms. Your palms press against the back of the machine, and he inches close to explore the bare skin of your torso. His chain skims your nipples, as if on purpose; and he kisses you here, there, everywhere.

Neck, clavicles, tits, jaw.

Perspiring without an end, all of this could be gross. But instead, you feel hyped up, sexy as never before. Dizzy at the sight of his golden skin, the small beads of sweat spreading on it.

It takes one or two more minutes of this insanity until things come to an eventual end. A glorious end, that is — filled with deep moans, squealed calls of names, unrhythmic thrusts that fasten for the finale.

“I’ll come,” Jungkook states, and you shoot back up to him, holding his head against the mounds of your tits. He kisses between them, breathing irregular, words muffled, “Gonna come so hard, what the f—”

And when he does, you lose all coherent thoughts immediately. Not that you could think before — but his uncontrolled exclaims already make you wish for a whole new round. Nevermind that your pussy is wrecked and beaten.

Vocal as ever, he finishes with deep shoves, slowing down with each second. His lips remain open between your collarbones, and you feel his eyebrows draw together. Thick strings of hot cum filling you up, your cunt tightens.

And somehow, after all this, he still finds the energy to sneak his hand between your bodies, blindly seeking your clit until he finds it. Familiar circles render you breathless, even though they’re lazy — but picking up on intensity when he leans back, still breathing hard.

He looks absolutely done — still fucking the rest of him into you. But you’re moaning and groaning, and he’s far from giving up as he says, “Come with me, baby.”

Honestly, he doesn’t need to tell you. You’re already calling and blurting out random words, already limp. Wrapping your legs around his torso with the tiny remaining energy you have left, absolutely insane.

Jungkook kisses you one last time. And you let the build up in your lower tummy and pussy proceed; up and up and up to the peak — until he delivers one last stroke, cock already softening, finger on your nub diligent and…

You milk his dick in its entirety. Your pussy clenches and unclenches. Random figures swim in your vision, flashy behind your eyelids. Limbs trembling, body a mess and fingers hooking into his chain, you only notice now that you’re repeatedly whispering his name.

Winding and crying. Trying not to tug too hard, to break the jewellery, but still urging him closer, closer.

You’re shivering, surviving the vertigo, breathing stagnant. Trying to control it. Quivering like fucking crazy, not feeling your legs.

Also hating how his cum is dripping onto the damn washing machine. In your hazy mood, you laugh a little.

It takes a bit of time for the two of you to calm down, to dim the adrenaline in your nerves. Your chests rise and fall in unison, still clutching to the embrace. His skin is flushed, yours hot, skin tingling with the lingering heat of the passed passion.

And when he finally moves back, looking at you, you see half a dozen things in there. Satisfaction and vulnerability among them. Maybe even a hint of mischievousness, proud of whatever just happened; happy with the emotions it conjured.

Stars in his eyes. Contentment, composure and affection at last.

A pleasant stillness follows, the world outside the bathroom nonexistent. The aftermath of the steamy encounter lingers until you break the silence after all.

“When the hell,” you start, throat dry, “did you get so broad?”

“…What?”

“You just. You looked endless in the mirror. You’re so—”

Amused, he displays a grin as sly as you adore. He tsks and then mocks, “Stop drooling.”

“You first.”

His chuckle is throaty; a result of the constant exclaims and the absolute dehydration. You give the two of you a moment to collect saliva on your tongue, to swallow and wet your cords.

Your fingers paint an invisible, light pattern on his skin; tracing his tattoos is one of your favourite things to do. You jest, “That’s a good way to destress.”

He arches an eyebrow, then rolls his eyes — but the devotion towards you behind the gesture is irrefutable. It carries into his words, no matter how playfully mocking his tone or his sighs, “Everything for the princess.”

“So,” you pause, lips curling into a soft smile. “Is this what I’m gonna be getting for the rest of my life?”

You see it immediately. The explosion in his eyes; the burst of stars in the depths of his pupils. Clear as the night sky, fond and sweet and magical. Guess you spoke big words for sure.

“…The rest of your life, huh?” he asks.

“No?”

“Is that what you want?”

Ever-the-boomerang, you gauge his reaction, closing the distance between you. Lips barely apart, you throw back again, “Don’t you?”

You don’t need to glance through his ribs, lungs, blood and skin; you see the swelling around his heart. Emotions swimming in it in abundance. You see all of it right in his eyes.

And his voice proves it; delicate and quiet, “Baby… you make my heart drop to my stomach all the time. Do I not look at you like I want a rest of my life with you?”

Gosh. You’re too weak for this.

“Look at me like that more often,” you answer, breathing against him, eyes dancing with delight, “maybe I’ll believe you then.”

“Huh,” he makes, letting out an entertained huff, “brat. Maybe later. Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed for now, alright?”

Right. You forgot you’re still here. Snapping back into reality is always a task.

Of course it is.

Because your world is a cocoon; you don’t want to leave it just yet. And maybe, somewhere in the near future — you won’t have to anyway.

Jungkook and you don’t waste minutes doing formalities tonight. No flickering candle flames; no organised set up of your table. You dim the lights, snatching a lamp from his bedroom and rely on it along with the TV’s brightness.

You filled your plates and stomachs with a dish he’s wanted to show you for a while. It’s some special Jeon recipe — limited to him specifically, not his family. The brief cut in your relationship kept you from the meal, but watching him fiddle with the pots and cutlery was worth the wait after all.

He’s still proud of it; you’re filled to the brim, sick to the core, but the noodle-Buldak-mayo-perilla-oil-combination introduced the night just perfectly.

Your body is limp against his after dinner, bloated. A mutual agreement concluded that watching a movie might be the easiest activity you could indulge in to further destress. So you cuddle up, eyes droopy as you wait for the Netflix logo and thump to subside.

You let the username float by, though unable to suppress your giggle. Your back shakes against him, his hand halting mid-air, remote control in it, and you comment, “Letjungcook7. You’re such a dork.”

“Why?” You look back, met with raised eyebrows and round eyes. “Do you not like it?”

“I love it. Don’t you ever dare change it.”

He tuts, trademark smirk tilted; responds, “And don’t you ever change your Sunny Baudelaire icon.”

“God, she’s an iconic baby,” you groan, enthusiastic; your hands gesture to the TV, Baudelaires nowhere in sight, “I will never shut up about this show.”

“That’s why you’re not allowed to change it. Kinda cute how much you love it.”

“Jungkook,” you tug at his unoccupied arm, placing his wrist and palm over your belly button, “would you ever rewatch it with me?”

His hand rubs gently over your shirt, and then drops until his fingers are toying with your — his — jogger’s strings. “I’m a pro at rewatching. I’m down.”

You whisper a dragged celebratory word, eyes back to the screen. He’s scrolling through the genres fast, barely inhaling the titles and summaries. And when he skips three more of the stuff you’d usually settle on, you say, “Don’t think you’ll find anything on there.”

Ironically enough, he answers, “We’ve barely looked. Look. Knives Out’s second part is on there.”

“I just watched it recently. Hmm, what about that Poe movie with Christian Bale?”

On cue, he passes it three seconds later, only stopping on it for a moment before he voices, “Hmm…”

You wait. Drag out another second. Then conclude, “Okay, you’re not feeling it. Got it. Something else?”

“What about Disney?”

“What about scrolling until we fall asleep?”

The hand still busy with the strings moves up to your sides, pinching you lightly. You flinch, hard enough to nearly break his nose, overdramatic by nature. Amidst your commotion, you hear him say, “Don’t mock me. I’ll kick you from the couch.”

“I’ll just stay on the floor then.”

“Angel, I swear.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.”

But you’re not.

Because the bicker continues for another ten minutes, remote control snatched every now and then, ideas suggested and immediately rejected.

Jungkook admits his guilty pleasures merely a couple minutes later, and you conjure all your patience and discourse abilities to explain why you can’t watch The Notebook or Titanic anymore.

But once Dion’s soprano voice builds a nest in a lobe of your brain, you give in, half laughing, half agitated as you tackle the 90s classic — only for Jungkook to click out again.

“It’s no fun when we’re not both ready to watch it.”

“Dude…”

More scrolling, you guess.

Five more minutes pass — and eventually, Titanic deserted, you sing the songs of Coco instead. You expect Jungkook’s attention and lips to shift halfway through the movie, tracing down your neck or along your sides – a standard for a weekday movie night.

But to your surprise, he powers through it with minimal dialogue and wide, focused eyes. Palm above your ribs, moveless under your shirt and his cheek pressed against your heartbeat, you assume he’s fallen asleep by the time the credits roll.

Until – you feel warm liquid wetting your shirt, a sniffle combining with his shaky breath before you ask with your own damp eyes, “Babe— are you crying?”

His answer is delightfully unashamed and immediate, “I’ve never watched Coco without crying.”

The soft strains of the movie’s soundtrack won’t let your eyes dry either; but Jungkook seems far more into it than you. Adoration burns hot in your veins.

“You never told me that!” you exclaim.

“Because it’s not worth telling. Should be a given — these movies are made to cry to!”

You giggle through your tears. Jungkook’s mind works in miraculous ways — non-judgemental, yet probably flashing a side-eye to those who do not partake in a sob fest during Coco or Encanto.

“I honestly love how you’re not a toxic male at all, you know?” you point out; you feel a huff against your chest.

At least he’s smiling through the brief sadness, too.

You crane your neck, not quite turning around just yet, and watch him rub his cheek clean off the tears. Not that his eyes have stopped welling up, though.

For a moment, you observe, staring at the swollen, pouty lower lip. His pupils glimmer in the TV’s light, long locks brushed back; half of them tied in a tiny ponytail.

You could overthink every detail of his face. Tell him all about his everlasting elegance. Instead, you only lower your voice, soft as you say, “You look pretty even when you cry.”

“Thank you,” he returns, though fingertips still work at the liquid, and you can’t help but laugh.

You can barely believe that’s the same confident beast who was pressing you against cool tiles just an hour ago. The stark contrast baffles you.

You’re amused when you question, “It really affects you so much?”

“Everything about it!” he immediately argues. You expand your eyes. “The way Coco looks at Miguel at the end. And that freaking moment when she meets her parents at the end. Does it not affect you?”

“Oh, of course it does,” you defend, “I’m a story girl. I’ll cry reading and watching these things, for sure.”

“And then the lyrics,” he continues, in his element a hundred percent, “the thought of remembering someone even after they’re gone and far away…”

The further his sentence progresses, the more the words blur. His voice is feeble, hoarse when he gets to the final syllables. When he pauses between his rambling to draw a breath, you hear a heartbreaking shake in his inhale.

And the exhale sounds like a quiet sob.

You turn back immediately, pressing onto the pause button, remote control still in his hand. The credits darken the room as opposed to the movie’s colours before. You see a damp trail along his cheek, eyelashes wet.

Your smile vanishes as you stare a little longer. The blanket falls from your chest into your lap when you lift your arm from under it, hastily drying his tears with your thumbs. Just slightly, he leans into the touch, but his face soon falls, an attempt to hide.

You ask, “What’s wrong?”

Jungkook isn’t embarrassed of tears — you figured this out without him admitting it to you. But he’s embarrassed of the guilt he feels; acknowledging it when he speaks.

“It’d just be nice,” hands holding his face drop; you touch his chest, “to make up with the family like this. They made it look easy.”

You keep looking. Bewildered, unable to answer for seconds too long. You blink until the words sink in properly, incapable of more than, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“No, no,” he argues, shaking his head, “I mean. Who am I to tell you something like this?”

“It’s okay. Your worries are legit worries, too. Look at me,” you reassure, prompting him to meet your gaze. “You’re not a bad person. Okay? It’s… so terrible that you think you are.”

“I fucked up.”

It dawns on you once more that he firmly believes that; causes a searing sting. The process is neither a smooth nor a quick one — you know it’ll take a while for him to convince him otherwise. To drop his current beliefs about himself.

“You didn’t,” you refute, firm certainty and conviction in your voice. “That’s not how a fuck-up is defined, I promise you. And those who are actually wrong probably know, too.”

“It’d just be nice,” he starts again; the shrug of his one shoulder doesn’t distract you from the misery and self-loathing in his eyes, “if he called at least.”

“I know. I don’t know, I… do you think you could call instead?”

Jungkook’s lashes brush his skin, the apples of his cheeks not as round and squishy as usual. Yet, the sadness makes him look younger, softer.

You sigh; a warm blanket isn’t enough anymore. You need to wrap him in the comfort of the world — ideally, in his father’s care.

Jungkook opens his mouth for another argument, but then holds it in, says after another moment of contemplation, “Actually… There’s a gathering coming up. I’ll see my people there, so… I don’t know. Trying won’t hurt, right?”

“It never does.”

His eyes start unfocusing. You recognise it in the way he glues his gaze to a point on the glass table, unblinking, staring nowhere in truth. You keep your attention on him for another second, hoping he’ll look at you, even if forlorn.

But when he doesn’t, you wrap your arms around him instead. His chest is calmer against your head now, breathing as soft as the palms that find your back. He presses you into his body by mere inches; you barely notice.

Your fingers draw shapes on his arm, a subtle consoling gesture. In the background, you hear the song fade, volume lower now. The movie soon transitions to something else; you don’t pay any mind to it, drowsy and distracted in his embrace.

But then your mind wanders; to the man keeping Jungkook’s thoughts hostage. You remember the conversation the two of you had last Sunday. You recall the way your hand held his broken heart together.

You wish it was as easy as a small scar — an echo of whatever once transpired, but also a reminder that it healed.

Then, for a second, you think of your own wounds. How they still need to be cured, too. How years and time alone won’t fix issues; you need to tackle them actively — maybe at some point, the two of you can.

You laugh softly against his shirt, burying between his pecs; joking, “We’re perfect for each other. Dysfunctional families and whatnot.”

His chuckle is still a light tremble, but genuine enough for you to celebrate. His hands push a little harder into your back; your body shifts up his lap, butt half on his thigh. Eyes shut, still sniffling.

Jungkook wraps around you like a soothing force, an invisible bubble. A bandage despite carrying all bruises. You sigh in contentment, head dizzy from exhaustion; waking up just when he blurts a question again.

“You really think that, right? That I’m not a bad person.”

You crack your eyes open a slit.

You understand. Someone who overthinks needs multiple repeated reassurances — you’re the same.

So you nod against him, guaranteeing, “You’re… kind of ridiculously amazing. You’re someone who gives all those people hope who don’t believe in humanity anymore.” Pause. “And I admire you in every way. So much.”

He doesn’t respond. You wait. Further dead silence, interrupted by the soft sounds of the TV. You lick your lower lip, dropping your gaze to where your thumb rubs his wrist. Tracing a vein.

His mellow voice reverberates, a melody to your eardrums when he whispers, “We’d do this so much if you were here all the time.”

“Crying in each other’s arms, huh?”

He clicks his tongue, accompanied by the grin you’re certain graces his face, even if you can’t see. You hear it in his voice all the more, “Sure. Also, have dinner together. Shower and watch movies together. Laugh and cry.”

You smile. “I still can’t believe it, you know? That you want this… and me at all.”

“You feel that, too, yeah?” Fingertips move up your spine, between your shoulder blades and then to the nape of your neck. Tickling, grazing gently. “I promise I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t truly feel all that, though.”

“What’s all that?”

“Just.” His chest rises. Then falls. “Everything.”

One of your heartbeats freezes, you’re sure. And when it comes back alive, you think — maybe he doesn’t need the world’s comfort after all. Or his father’s care. Maybe yours is enough right now.

But then again.

You’d be damned if you kept your traumas intact. Or his. You took each other as you came long ago — as vulnerable human beings, with a whole lot of baggage. With all the injuries on your heart.

Yet, this isn’t a state you want to accept. For neither of you.

Your unwavering belief remains steadfast — that one day, things need to become… okay.

So you gulp down all the pain, lighting a candle in your chest, and say,

“It’s not over yet, baby.”

Zara keeps yelling orders around. Her voice, usually collected and tender, is agitated today. You can barely imagine how many little tasks, how many stressed phone calls must be overrunning her.

You establish a distance between your device and your ear, protecting your hearing with one eye squinting shut. And when she returns to the conversation, you exhale through the nose.

“Sorry. You were asking—”

“How’s it look?” you repeat.

“I mean, everyone’s stressed,” she responds, clearly frustrated; as if it should be obvious to you. And it is; but you’ll spiral, too, if you don’t keep your calm, at least. “A lot to do.”

“You’re sure you don’t need me to come earlier?”

“All good, love. You’re not a manager yet,” she stops her speech to mumble something to another co-worker, imaginary hands jam packed with preparations for the press conference. “But when you are, you won’t know what to do with all the stress.”

“Great outlook into a potential future.”

“I just mean you should enjoy things while they last.”

Zara isn’t the only one wandering up and down the building to assure perfection. She’s only one of the big mentors, managers to handle everything; responsible for the catering and content to be presented at the conference.

Her team stands firmly behind her, but you don’t blame her for still allowing her head to steam. Of all busy people in their blazers and slacks, however, she’s been the only one to spare some time for you.

You’re grateful for her enthusiasm and support. You smile as you ask, “Do you think I can answer everything the way I intend to?”

“I think so.”

“It’s so new to me.”

“Yeah, but you’re a natural at this stuff. And also,” she speaks slower now. The chaos behind her has calmed a little; her voice echoes off somewhere. Perhaps a restroom. “Things are looking good.”

You stop sauntering through the room, pausing in front of the bed’s corner before dropping onto it. Dragging your tongue over your lower lip, you blink, and then ask, “You’re sure?”

“We had a couple conversations over here. Made a few more phone calls, and I think you don’t need to worry about a thing. We’ll come up with something if things derail, though, okay?”

You’re uncertain, still anxious. Should this afternoon flop, you’ll be screwed.

You need it to succeed. You can’t afford misfires. Ugh.

Restless, your foot taps against the floor. You try not to think of things going astray; try to think of a smooth progress, not precarious in any way.

Yet, you ask doubtfully, “Can we do that?”

“We always can. That’s business.”

Guess she’s right. Your mother has saved you one too many times — from stupid things you did as well as from things you never needed saving from.

A rich human being’s power over the media — and frankly, the world — is unbeatable. Barely to be underestimated.

“Okay,” you mutter, “thank you.”

Despite only hearing her voice, you imagine her nod, the way she often does. You miss the warm, promising palm on your shoulder. Appreciate that she’s still here instead of dropping you to the side; leaving the call to handle more relevant issues.

No, she lingers there; you hear her breathe until she asks, “Are you bringing your man, too, by the way?”

Your man.

You straighten your back in pride, bright smile back, “Yeah! He said he’d come and support me. But he’s not home yet.”

“Oh? Well, you gotta be here in three hours. Where’d he go?”

“God knows. But don’t worry about punctuality.” You hear a hum, glancing up at the clock. Past noon. “Hey, also. My parents are definitely gonna come, right?”

“Babe,” she drags the word a little, and you can almost see her side-eyeing you, “journalists will be present. Cameras everywhere. At least your mother would never miss such a thing.”

Right. Cares about that company too much.

You remember the times she proved it to you. When you’d come home from middle school, eating some extravagant lunch while watching her talk on TV. Conversing with your staff.

“Okay. Good,” you say, happy about that very answer for once.

Outside, a door creaks. Steps echo through the hallway, a soft call of your name following as you hear the jingling of keys stop.

He sounds joyful.

You get up, phone halfway off your ear as you say, “Hey, I should go. I think that he—”

And the moment you look at the open door of the bedroom, your heart stops. For a second, you fear an intruder at his apartment, but the longer you look, the more your brain gives out.

The black-white-red jacket hugs his broad shoulders comfortably, the thin white sweater underneath it nearly transparent enough to reveal his tiny nipples. But despite his stature, it’s not his body that kills the power in your head.

It’s the—

You murmur last words into the phone, making out a goodbye that doesn’t reverberate as much anymore. She’s probably out of the restroom again; too distracted to give your mumble any attention anyway.

You place your phone where you previously sat and inhale his appearance carefully.

First off — you can see his ears. Can see most of his eyes. His forehead.

His hair is still dark, but it’s tamed. The wild locks, usually a feature you’ve gotten used to over the span of that one year, lay comfortably on his head. In fact, most of them are gone.

You feel a needle in your chest, but one of the surprising sort. Not painful at all.

“Wow,” you only say.

He reaches to the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing the hair there. “Yeah?”

You move towards his body, eyes fixated on every hair strand. Then, close enough, you state the obvious, “You cut your hair.”

“I… yeah. Is it terrible?” he asks, round eyes meeting yours. He raises his hand again, to his ear this time, scratching behind it for a second. “Not used to it at all. But I figured I’d look a little more serious as an artist like this.”

Really? Most artists you knew cared the least about a fancy appearance.

Then again, Jungkook doesn’t look fancy. He just looks different. Breathtaking, more mature, older.

His cheekbones look more chiselled now, his eyes wider. You could pass out right here, right now, and he still wouldn’t know how relentlessly he affects you.

“More serious?” you ask, less because you need an explanation. More because your mind keeps wandering, and you can’t fathom a word he’s saying.

“Just. Needed a change, I think,” he admits, “and wanted to adjust to a press conference’s typical look, too.”

“You did this for the press conference?”

“I wanted to look put together.”

Your heart dissolves and dissipates. His voice is soft as a petal, tender like the colours on his arm. The expression he sports is unsure, like he wants to hide — waiting for your opinion.

He really put thought into this. Woke up this morning and set a goal with purpose, not uttering a word to you to surprise you a couple hours later.

You don’t know what to say. You barely know what to feel, except this unbearable urge to ramble down every piece of tiny emotion he’s ever made you feel.

You want his body wrapped around you, engulfed in a blanket, head on his chest and slumbering for the rest of your life. Want to mumble little confessions, shiver when his lips touch your scalp.

Overwhelmed — that’s what you are.

“I loved the long hair,” you finally admit, “I guess I got too used to it, so I need to adjust, but. But… this is so… It… it suits you.”

You’re stumbling over your words, suggesting doubt. Not the way to go. Perhaps they shouldn’t have chosen you as one of the press conference speakers after all. 

Jungkook’s concern grows visible in his big, round pupils; expressive, a true glimpse into his heart. You feel bad because you’re not as good with words as he is, and because he seemed so happy about his choice.

You just can’t fucking express yourself — even though you’re melting inside, falling harder. And maybe he notices your awkwardness, because he tries again.

“You’re uh— sure you don’t hate it?”

“No! God, no. It’s different. You look amazing, Kook. You look like…”

He swallows. “Like what?”

“You’re so pretty, Jeon Jungkook.” You say it with genuinity this time. He closes his lips, blinking, and while he attempts to veil his relief, you still see the high rise of his chest. “You look fucking gorgeous, no matter what you do. I… I mean it.”

The answer satisfies him. His risen shoulders drop a little, tension falling off, and he fixes the already perfectly sitting collar of his jacket before he smiles. Just a little, a subtle twitch of the corners of his lips.

As soft as his response, “I always aim to reach your level, you know?”

You roll your eyes. Partly to keep them from watering because your heart is bursting. Splintering like every morning and every night; you wonder if you’ll ever get used to it.

A couple gentle words lie heavy on your tongue, pressing against the muscle to let them out; but at the prospect of actually uttering them, your guts twist. You don’t want to throw up before the meeting.

So you remove the tightness from your chest with a deep exhale, nearly until your lungs are dry, and say, “Shut up.”

Playfully, you deliver a soft push against his chest, laughing when his dramatic ass stumbles backwards. Submerged in those goddamn dimples, you immediately grab the hem of his jacket and before you know it, you’ve taken a step forward and landed in his arms.

You sneak your arms underneath the leather-ish material, not hesitating for a second before you’re squeezing his torso. He lets out a choked sound, groaning, but reacts similarly fast as you.

His heartbeat accelerates for a moment, right against your ear as you make yourself small. The sweater smells like his favourite detergent and him; musky, fresh. Your palms, flat against his back, crave deeper touch.

Nothing crude; just an afternoon on the bed behind you, limbs entwined, laughing about things that probably aren’t that funny anyway.

For a moment, the silence transcends words. You inject the blend of gratitude and affection through your touch, ensuring he understands.

But when it’s not a testament to your emotions enough, you speak against his chest, voice very likely muffled, “You didn’t have to do this for me… you just. You never have to do anything for me, but you still do.”

“I’ll do anything for you.”

Immediate and sincere. Voice unwavering.

God, you’re not his strongest soldier.

A smile tugs at your lips, and you chide, "Stop that."

"What?"

"If you keep saying these things," you continue, a frisky lilt in your voice, "I'll die. Do you want me to die?"

Jungkook chuckles. Always a soothing melody in a hushed room. He remarks, grip still wrapped around you securely, "Acting all innocent now."

You don’t understand right away what he means — but then you hear his heartbeat, picking up on pace again.

Makes you want to squash him harder. Melt into him further.

“Shut up, Jeon,” you respond with a nudge, cheek pressed against his shirt. Just a moment longer — just a couple more seconds to inhale the solacing scent.

Your heart is unguarded; he could sever it if he wanted to. He’s proven that he has the power to. Yet, you keep fuelling it, vulnerable in his warmth as you say, “You’ve no clue what you mean to me, Kookie.”

Your vivid imagination might be forcing things upon your mind that aren’t actually there, but you do think you perceive the way his entire body melts. Nearly limp, in a state so relaxed and peaceful that you have only experienced in the mornings before.

Waking him up for work, feeling weightless limbs wrapped around you, passed out.

His fingers trace patterns on your back lightly, stirring from bottom to top and back. They first stop at the small of your back, then lift off your body, hands suddenly on your shoulders.

He pushes you off him, your movements reluctant, and looks at you with profound sincerity. His voice matches his expression, gentle and adoring, “Will you tell me how much I mean to you?”

Amidst the delicate minutes you spend standing between the bedroom and the living room, you almost forget that there’s a world outside. It’s a little more grey than before, similar to the suit you’ll be wearing in a couple hours.

You remember the prospect of an audience, the answers you’ve prepared, to questions they probably will ask. Zara told you they wouldn’t hold back — they’d phrase their inquiries friendly, but still keep the intentions devilish.

Right.

The world is still turning out there. You want it to stop for the two of you — frozen moments. But it can’t, at least not yet. Right now it’s too real; and you guess that the worst part is that in your line of business, it will keep revolving around people like you.

Whether you want it or not.

So maybe, if it truly needs to keep spinning and can’t halt for you, keeping you in the centre, you should give it something to talk about, too.

Something crisp, something new. Without a care for it, but all the care for you and the man in front of you.

Which is why you spare him another fond smile, forehead calm and your demeanour confident — and tell him, “I’ll do my best to let you know."

The audience stretches to the far back. All the rows are filled to the brim with reporters or guests. The shutter of the cameras and the flashing lights are agitating.

You look down.

Nervously tapping your feet on the stage, you shrink into yourself inch by inch. Your seat is uncomfortable, though padded, a little too warm against your ass right now. Zara notices your tick and puts a steady hand to your knee, repeating for the millionth time today, “Stop. It’ll be okay.”

“It’s just dawning on me though, Zara.”

“What is?”

You nod faintly towards the mic and the attendees, tell her, “That I was actually chosen to speak. They shouldn’t have chosen me.”

“You asked for it.”

“Yeah, but there are more important things to discuss.”

Zara’s lips form a circle; she shakes and lowers her head, sending out a beam of air that you feel on your wrist, blazer sleeves rolled up. You’ve been like that all evening.

“You can do it,” she repeats patiently, “you’re the boss’ daughter and they want your opinion. You’ll hit them hard with yours.”

You suck in a breath, leave the air in your cheeks, and then puff it out again. “I want to. I hope to, I just— never thought it’d be this nerve-wracking. Don’t wanna say anything wrong.”

The subtle shake of her head continues — or reemerges —, lips in a thin line, eyes slowly blinking, “Mh-mh. We talked about it, okay? Practised all the questions they could ask. You’ll be good.”

“You gotta promise.”

“As much as I can, babe, it’s up to y—” She takes in your falling face, holding back with a sigh when she sees the dread in your pupils. “I promise. Of course.”

She taps your knee, softly and lightly, and then says, “I’m so curious about everyone’s reactions. Like. Gosh, just look at those people.”

You understand what she means. “I know.”

Zara places a manicured thumb on her matte red lips, mumbling, “Here for entertainment. At least a third of them will add their own fantasies to the articles they’ll write. Hypotheses and manipulative, neutrally phrased thoughts. Cockroaches.”

Funny. That’s what you call them, too. A collective understanding, you see.

But.

“Shhh,” you voice, “they—”

“It’s fine. They know it, too. Like lawyers do.”

Can’t refute. Eun told you one too many times how unfair the law business usually is, and how she’ll strive to not have anyone ever manipulate her. To remain genuine.

“Yeah, but,” you still argue, “I imagined they’d be listening in all the time. Don’t they do lip reading and stuff?”

She nods, a finger still on her mouth, smiling, “Mhm. I also feel like I could say whatever, but it’ll be you they’ll focus on today.”

Your heart drops, an uncomfortable twist in your guts adding to the stress. Might have to dash to the bathroom at the very last minute. You curse, “Shit, Zara… I should fucking ru—”

“Stay. You can do this. I promise.”

“Okay,” you take another deep breath, helping your oxygen-lacking, spinning head, “okay.”

You look back to the media present, ready to survive questions; prepared to provide answers. The moderator is talking to your mother at the front, covering the mic with a hand.

They gave you around five minutes to speak, and in that time, you need to answer everything. How you do it is up to you, but the pressure to perform in a certain way, accordingly, weighs heavily on you.

But it’s alright.

You’ll just need to stay confident. Stick to your message. They’ll have things to say anyway — and you’ll make the best of them.

You stare past the lights, squinting to find him, raking your neck. His figure towers in the back, easy to detect, and once he meets your eyes — or perhaps never having averted his from you — he lifts a hand to wave in tiny motions.

Then, he drops his fingers again, entwining them in front of his body. He isn’t necessarily allowed here, but you were able to sneak him through in advance. So now he’s a couple feet from the wall, choosing to stand rather than sit, so you find him easily.

So you seek his eyes for comfort if need be.

Before you parted near the entrance, he said, “I’ll be offering a dozen thumbs up like a fool if you need me to.”

You chuckled — but maybe he meant it. Because his smile and nod undoubtedly dispel your fears; as if he can see you struggling.

The seconds drag on, and the conference begins seven minutes later. Your mother is the first to talk, outlining a general overview of what’s to come. Of Charmante’s philosophies, of its success, praising the team.

Then, she forwards to important employees like Zara, letting them ramble about launches or ideas in depth. Business strategies, partnerships, bringing across points that you usually don’t get the chance to share.

This is legit press; even though out for a loophole, they won’t follow you around or hide in the shadows. Incessant and vexing, but at least they’re allowed here.

Conversations about new collections, store openings as well as expansions and customer engagement pass in a trice, and at some point, another coworker is uttering last words to a last question.

And you realise — that you’re next.

The moderator introduces you with pride; everyone applauds, smiling at you fondly despite all the controversies. ”Controversies.” Under quote marks, as Zara pointed out, because you never committed an offence.

You stand on weak knees. Trembling when you grip the podium. It’s like the sound in the room fades, a single peeping tone overshadowing all noise. You barely blink anymore; not even the flashy white can shut your eyes.

And god, you can hear your breathing. Your damn heart. Your nose sucks in all the air available in the room, or at least in the building, and then you open your mouth to speak.

a/n: this is not a cliffhanger!! tumblr just doesn't allow to drop looong posts anymore, so here's the rest of the chapter lol, keep reading and enjoying, i love you and will see you on the other side!! and don't forget to support this chapter, folks 🥺 <3

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #jeongguk smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #bts fics #jungkook scenario #jeon jungkook smut #thebtswritersclub #jungkook fic #jungkook imagines #bts angst #jungkook angst #jungkook

[daddy-dins-girl]

Playdate

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

Chapter Two | Chapter Three

AO3 link

Marcus Pike x f! Reader x Dave York

Word Count: 7.8k

Summary: You love Marcus with all your heart and you’re not dissatisfied with him or his efforts in the bedroom, but you always hoped to have a little bit more variety . Though you were initially shocked that he had suggested something like this to begin with, you still jumped at the chance to broaden both your horizons.

Turns out, Dave York was exactly what you both needed.

Notes: One day I'll stop being so unhinged about Dave York, but today is not that day. Enjoy some Suburban Murder Daddy Dave and everyone's favorite Cozy Boyfriend Marcus!

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Ok, here we go (takes deep breath). F/M/M Threesome. Cuckolding. Voyeurism. Masturbation. Mutual Masturbation. Oral Sex (f an m receiving). Brief (and very light) Anal Play. (Unprotected) P in V sex. Creampie. Breathplay. Degradation Kink. Daddy Kink. Praise Kink. Cockwarming. Spitting (is it even a Dave York fic if he's not spitting in your mouth? Come on). Light spanking (like 2 slaps to your ass). Squirting. Light dom/sub. Dom Dave York. (Occasionally but rarely) Soft Dave York. As always Dave York is his own warning and I cannot stress this enough.

The moment Dave York strolled into your shared bedroom with Marcus, the entire energy of the room had changed, you could feel it. Both you and Marcus, who stood nervously at your side.

“Dave, this is my wife,” Marcus begins, introducing you by name and Dave unabashedly gives you a good long look up and down until his gaze finally settles on your face again. Your cheeks are burning. You can feel them, the heat rising up your neck as you stand there in just a little matching set of a silk cream coloured nighty and panties (Marcus’ favorite) in front of this total stranger to you. Marcus knew him, of course, their government departments had recently been working together for a few months and they’d even gone out for the occasional beer after work.

That’s really where this whole thing had started. Marcus had had one too many one night out with Dave and when he’d watched the way women just seemed to gravitate to him, the way Dave handled it all seamlessly had Marcus mesmerized. A waitress would flirt with Dave and he’d just reach up and grab a handful of their ass and before you knew it they’d be sitting in his lap fiddling with his tie or pulling at his collar while Dave sat mostly uninterested by this point, sipping on his beer and continuing to have a mundane conversation with Marcus as if a twenty-something year old bombshell wasn’t currently in his lap begging for his attention. He wasn’t even nice to them, which was the crazy part. It was all cocky attitude and degrading talk and maybe it was the way Dave carried himself or the way he looked, but these women ate it up and Marcus could barely believe his eyes or his ears. If he ever spoke to a woman like that, not only would his mother turn over in her grave, but he’d surely earn a hard slap across his face for his efforts.

And so that’s when it started. Marcus slowly began opening up to Dave about you. About how he worried sometimes that you weren’t as satisfied with him as you could be. You promised him that wasn’t true, but still, every once and a while you’d try new things with him in bed and he just never felt like he was doing it right. And most times when you did try something new you wouldn’t ask to do it again, which made his insecurity soar even higher that he hadn’t really done what you wanted well the first time you asked.

“So, what does she like then?” Dave asks casually before snapping his fingers at a waitress across the room and signaling to the table for another round.

“Um, what?”

“Your wife, Pike. What, she wants you to slap her around? Fuck her in the ass? Fuck you in the ass, what?” He says it so casually and Marcus has to cover his mouth as he nearly spits his beer across the table at the candidness.

“Jesus York!”

“What?” Dave scoffs. “If you can’t even talk about it with me, how do you expect to do it to her?” He reasoned and Marcus sighed. He did have a point.

“She um, I don’t know, different stuff I guess. Like last time she uh… she put my hand on her throat” Marcus shrugged, a little embarrassed.

“Nice” Dave simply nodded, taking another sip from his beer.

“Nice?!” Marcus’s eyes shot up. “It wasn’t nice, I was so terrified of hurting her the whole time I-” he stopped abruptly and Dave raised one eyebrow.

“You… what?”

“I, you know…” Marcus, looked around the room, anywhere but into Dave’s eyes. “I got um… uninspired” Marcus admitted.

“Christ” Dave rubbed a hand over his face. “Can’t even keep your dick hard fucking your own wife? Should’ve come to me sooner”

“Hey, will you keep it down!” Marcus practically hissed across the table, looking around frantically to ensure nobody was really paying attention to them.

“Let me see her”

“What?” Marcus’s brow raised slightly.

“Let me see her. C’mon you probably have like 1500 pictures of her in your camera roll making the exact same fucking kissy face at you, let me see her” Dave said, holding his hand out for Marcus’s phone.

Marcus rolled his eyes but did as asked, opening up his camera roll to a more recent photo of you that he had taken and passed his phone across the table. Dave let out an appreciative low whistle.

“Damn Pike, I didn’t know you had it in ya. She’s a smokeshow” Dave teased and Marcus quickly snatched the phone back as he saw Dave beginning scrolling through his photos app.

“So… what do I do?” Marcus asked and normally Dave couldn’t give a fuck about anyone but himself but he did feel bad for the guy and not to mention his wife was fucking gorgeous and he wouldn’t mind showing Marcus exactly what to do with you.

“Talk to your wife. See if she’s interested in an interested third party”

“Wait, like you’d… with her?” Marcus stuttered and Dave briefly wondered if Marcus’s eyebrows would get stuck like that if they raised any higher to his hairline

“If you want.” Dave simply shrugged. “You’d be there. You know, the ol’ watch and learn” Dave finished, tossing a wink and Marcus swallowed the hard lump in his throat before chugging the rest of his beer.

That was just two weeks ago, and now here you all are.

“Hey baby, wear this just for me?” Dave said in way of greeting as he sauntered right up to you and took the hem of your thigh-length nighty between the pads of his fingers.

“It’s Marcus’ favorite” you explain with a shy smile.

“Oh, well in that case, take it off” Dave orders, his hand immediately leaving you. Your eyes open wide at his boldness and your gaze darts over quickly to Marcus who’s simply standing by the door with his hands in his pockets just watching the exchange. When your eyes flit back to Dave he’s staring at you with a look on his face that can only be interpreted as ‘don’t make me ask again’.

Despite yourself you already feel a heat stirring low in your belly. You're nervous and yet turned on. Marcus had shown you a picture of Dave so although you did have an idea of what he looked like, his government ID headshot did nothing to prepare you for how handsome he actually was in real life standing right in front of you. His features were sharp; a strong hawk-like nose, a jaw that could cut glass and his eyes were hard but with a glimmer of the softness Marcus’ eyes held in them. They were the same chocolate brown, Dave’s just a little darker and you already found yourself getting lost in them as you stare right into them while you tug your nighty up and over your head, tossing it to a corner of the room.

“Good girl” Dave praises and brings the back of his hand up to let his knuckles drag a line down your front from sternum to belly button with a light ghosting touch that leaves goosebumps in its wake. The shudder that momentarily racks your body doesn’t go unnoticed by either of the men in the room. Dave simply smirks.

“Sit down on the bed, Sweetheart” he tells you next and you quickly obey, sitting down at the end of the bed and Dave takes the few steps to meet you there, towering over you.

“Such a well behaved little slut you have yourself here Pike” Dave tosses over his shoulder at Marcus and you quickly glance over, unsure of how Dave’s remarks will be received but Marcus stays planted in the corner of the room, only this time it doesn’t escape your notice how he quickly reaches down to adjust himself in his pants before stuffing his hand back into his pocket and you feel your shoulders relax instantly, knowing Marcus is enjoying this too. The heat floods back into your abdomen as your nerves settle slightly. Or, as much as they can with the ever intimidating Dave York looming over you.

“Open your mouth” Dave says next, grabbing your face with one hand, his thumb and forefinger holding tight just under the apples of your cheeks. You don’t speak, just slowly open your mouth to him only slightly.

“Wider”

You obey.

“Good girl” he praises again before he tilts his face down and spits right into your mouth. It surprises you and your eyes squeeze shut at the shock of it all but you otherwise don't’ move, waiting for his next instructions. His grip loosens on your jaw and he brushes a knuckle up at the underside of your chin, signaling you to close your mouth and you do.

“Now swallow” he tells you and the gulp that follows from you feels like it's somehow bounced off every wall of the room that’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Dave rewards you with a smile.

“She’s so easy Pike, I don’t know what you were scared of” Dave mentions off-handedly, not even bothering to look at Marcus because he can’t seem to take his eyes off yours.

“Sit in the chair”

Confusion crosses your features but you go to stand up before you feel Dave’s warm hand on your shoulder pushing you back down. “Not you”

Oh.

Marcus is as obedient as you are when it comes to Dave it seems, taking the few strides over to the armchair sitting by the window where you like to curl up and read and he sits down immediately, both hands gripping at the arms of the chairs like he needs to hang on for dear life.

Maybe he does.

“You like that? Taking what I give you to swallow?” Dave’s attention is back on you now, hand resuming its grip on your jaw and you can do little more than nod your head.

“Use your words, little mouse”

“I like it” you confess, maybe a little too eagerly and Dave huffs a laugh.

“Yeah, you like having that little fucking mouth full I bet” Dave states as his free hand starts tugging his belt open and opening his dress slacks, pushing them down to his thighs. You stare, wide eyed as your gaze lands on the very impressive bulge straining against black cotton boxer briefs.

No wonder Dave York was so cocky, you muse inwardly.

“Go on, take my cock out” Dave orders and you bring your bottom lip between your teeth and quickly chance a glance over to Marcus.

“Hey, eyes on me” Dave growls as he tightens his hold on your jaw and yanks you back to face him. A little drool dribbles from your mouth the way Dave is holding it open and he quickly swipes at it with his thumb and pushes it inside your mouth and without having to be told you suck it clean.

“Fast learner” Dave hums with a shit eating grin that you suddenly feel the urge to kiss off of him.

“It’s ok baby” you hear Marcus’ voice from across the room. He sounds a little off. His voice is slightly trembling and his breathing is quickened and you know straight away that he’s turned on. You’re glad. You were half afraid that at the first vulgar insult that left Dave’s mouth that Marcus would be throwing him out the door. You were also worried at the back of your mind that Marcus would be wondering what the hell was wrong with you to be turned on by such behaviors but apparently he was starting to see your side of it and it pleased you to no end.

Your shoulders settle again as Dave’s grip leaves your jaw and you slowly reach forward with both hands and tug down his boxers and carefully take his cock and balls out. He’s rock hard in your grasp as your fingers lightly run down the impressive length. Marcus may be a bit longer but Dave is so much thicker you don’t even think you could get your whole hand around it if you tried. You won’t try yet because Dave hasn’t told you to so you simply wait for his next instructions.

“Yeah, that’s my good girl” Dave praises again, his hands now brushing softly through your hair and gathering it up so he can hold it back with one hand.

“Pike, get over here” Dave says and Marcus eases out of the chair and wanders over to you, nervous even on his own legs like a baby deer taking its first steps.

“Spit in my little sluts mouth. Don’t worry, she likes it” he winks at you.

Marcus stops at your side and your heart is beating wildly in your chest. You’re sitting there half naked with two hands idly wrapped around Dave’s cock with his holding your hair back while your husband stands next to you. Marcus eases your nerves though, of course he does, by leaning down and kissing you softly. Your mouth opens to him and you both let out a little moan when your tongues meet and for a brief second it's like nothing else exists in the room but the two of you and surprisingly, Dave allows it. Marcus kisses you until he feels you relax, your heartbeat starting to slow again and then he pulls back just slightly. You stick your tongue out and open your mouth wide for him. Marcus takes a breath and then gently, unlike Dave, spits into your mouth.

“Don’t swallow this time” Dave warns immediately. Marcus takes this as his queue to leave and returns to his chair and your head turns back to look at Dave. Your mouth is still open and tongue sticking out with a glob of Marcus’ saliva waiting on it.

“You’re so good” Dave smiles, bringing his free hand up so his thumb can run along your cheek. “Now don’t let that go to waste” is all the warning you get before Dave’s hand is at the back of your head and pushing you forward until his cock disappears down your throat. The mixture of your and Marcus’ saliva along with the precum already leaking from Dave’s head has you sliding down his length easily, the lewd sounds of your sucking him off filling the room.

“That’s it, fuck” Dave swears, hand gripping your hair a little tighter as he holds your head still and thrusts his hips over and over, fucking into your throat. “Knew you’d love having that little mouth filled up” he laughs before forcing himself in deeper and then holding.

Your face is buried in Dave’s crotch as he holds you still, his dick so far down your throat that there’s tears starting to fall down your cheeks as you choke and gag on him until he finally releases you and you ease off for a few seconds to catch your breath, making sure you continue pumping him with your hand as you do.

“You can do better than that, Sweetheart” Dave tsks. “Come on, suck it like you mean it”

You gladly rise to the challenge, taking him into your mouth again and your head bobs up and down, swallowing down as much of him as you can and your hand making up for whatever your mouth can’t reach. Dave lets out a soft moan from above you and all your focus is concentrated on making him feel good, but your ears do pick up the distinct clinking sound of metal and your eyes shift to your peripheral where you see Marcus opening his belt and scrambling to get his own hand inside his pants. It ignites something in you and you double your efforts with Dave, moaning around his cock as you move your hand down to cup his balls and swallow him harder and take him deeper down your throat until you're choking on his cock again and your eyes are watering.

“Fuck Pike, I didn’t know you married a goddamn whore, Jesus Christ” Dave groans, his breath coming out in short pants. “Taking my cock like a pro”

“Good girl. Mmmm. Good fucking girl” Dave is practically growling at you as you look up at him with tear stained cheeks. His grip in your hair is tight and it only spurs you on to keep going, despite how raw your throat feels. You hollow your cheeks and continue to take as much of him in as you can.

“Oh fuck.”

Its a tiny whisper from across the room, and despite the debauched sounds of your sucking and slurping around Dave’s cock your ears still pick up Marcus’ little whimper.

Your throat needs a breather and so you pull off of Dave but ensure to keep pleasuring him with your hand instead, working him all the way up to the head and back to the base while your other hand continues playing with his balls. You feel them tightening up in your hand and he hisses through his teeth, tossing his head back.

“Fuck, enough, enough” Dave warns, hand coming up to grab yours around his shaft and stilling your movements.

“I’m not near done with you Sweetheart, if you make me cum I’m going to be very upset” he threatens and you simply swallow and nod your head.

“Take off your panties then undress me” he instructs next and you comply, slowly dragging your panties down your legs. You’re about to kick them off to the floor when something else comes to mind and you smirk as you reach for them dangling at your feet and toss them over to Marcus instead. You know they’re soaked and you want him to know it too.

“Fuck baby” You hear Marcus groan and you chance a glance over to him. His cock is fully out in his hand now and to your surprise he takes your wet panties and wraps it around his dick and continues stroking, eyes closing and head falling back in pleasure. Dave looks over to Marcus too and doesn’t seem to mind what he sees, just lets out a little chuckle over how wrecked Marcus is already. You honestly can’t believe that Marcus is freely jerking off right in front of Dave. He normally gets embarrassed even if you accidentally catch him doing it.

“Might be hope for your husband yet” Dave teases, bringing his gaze back to you and tossing you a wink.

You smile brightly, this is exactly what you wanted. You love Marcus with all your heart and you’re not dissatisfied with him or his efforts in the bedroom, but you always hoped to have a little bit more variety . Though you were initially shocked that he had suggested something like this to begin with, you still jumped at the chance to broaden both your horizons.

Turns out, Dave York was exactly what you both needed.

“Fuck” Dave snaps you out of your reverie as he hisses through his teeth and squeezes the base of his cock. His tip is steadily leaking precum, the head looking angry and purple, staving off its impending release. He’s close. Apparently closer than he’d like to be.

“Need to pace myself, this is going to be a marathon, not a sprint” he explains and your eyebrow raises at that, not sure what all exactly Dave has in store for the three of you tonight.

You undress him as he asked, wasting no time at all or bothering to put any flourish on it, you just want him naked with you as quickly as possible, already anticipating what’s to come.

“Come on,” he says, gesturing his head towards the bed. He walks over to the head of the bed and gets in, sitting up with his back straight against the headboard and motions for you to come to him. You get on all fours and crawl up the bed to him and he pulls you into his lap so you’re kneeled with your legs on either side of his, straddling him and to your delighted surprise, he pulls you forward and kisses you.

It’s exploratory at first as your mouth opens to him and his tongue tastes yours for the first time. You moan when you feel the wet muscle tangle with yours and your hands instinctively come up to tug on Dave’s hair, keeping him impossibly close as his kisses get progressively rougher and deeper the longer they go on. He feels so different from Marcus. Dave is clean shaven whereas Marcus has always had a short-trimmed beard since the day you met him. You liked the scratchy feel of when he’d nuzzle at your neck or especially when he’s between your thighs but kissing Dave is like a whole new experience. Your hands leave his hair to hold his smooth face instead and you try to imagine what Marcus would look like without facial hair but you think you prefer him the way he is.

Your husband is hot. But then, Dave wasn’t so bad himself.

You’re kissing for at least several minutes. You’re not sure, you’ve lost track of time and apparently control as you whimper and whine and moan into Dave’s mouth and grind into his lap. At some point his hand makes its way between your legs, fingers gliding through your slick folds and playing with the tiny little bundle of nerves, pinching it between the pads of his fingers and the noises you are making should have you embarrassed but you’re way past that with Dave now. You reach down to him as well, wrapping as much of your hand around him as you can and lazily stroking his length. Dave hums against your lips and then rewards you by shoving two fingers into your wet heat.

A little high pitched squeak escapes you and you jolt slightly in Dave’s lap when his other hand lands on your ass in a smack before he grabs and kneads the soft flesh roughly and suddenly you’re moaning into his mouth again. He continues palming and kneading at the globe of your ass cheek until his hand wanders slightly and your hips jolt again when you feel a single digit pressing up against the tight ring of muscle at your back entrance.

“Our boy ever take care of you back here Sweetheart?” He asks between kisses, slightly prodding at your virgin hole but not quite pushing inside and causing a not unpleasant little wave of pressure to build up in you.

“Mnmm mmm” you shake your head. “I’ve um, yeah, never, before…” you trail off and Dave chuckles.

“Figures” he scoffs. “Well that’ll be a lesson for another day Sweetheart, want you good and ready for that one” he explains and a new flood of arousal comes over you with the subtle promise of a next time. You continue kissing and fondling each other a few more moments longer until he suddenly tears his mouth away from you.

“Look at your husband now Sweetheart” Dave whispers into your ear and you turn your head back to Marcus. His eyes are squeezed shut and he’s huffing short little breaths as he pumps his cock at a brutal pace.

“Think he wants your tight little ass filled up by my fat cock, hm?” Dave continues muttering absolute filth against your ear, knowing full well Marcus can hear him and then seconds later Marcus gasps and is spilling into his own hand, sputtering out a moan from deep in his throat as he milks himself dry. You hear Dave chuckling as his hands leave you and come up to rest on your hips.

“I think we put on a good little show” he emphasizes his point by slapping your ass again and then grabbing a handful of each cheek in both his hands and squeezing before he forces your hips down to grind against his lap once and you choke out a gasp as the head of his cock slides through your soaked core.

“Pike!” Dave suddenly calls, snapping Marcus out of his post-orgasm daze and his eyes shoot open. “Not much of a gentleman, cumming before your wife” he tuts.

“I’m sorry Honey” Marcus pants, still breathless and shyly tucking himself back into his underwear.

“It’s ok Baby, it was hot” you’re sure to tell him. Marcus blushes furiously, looking away from you both as he works on doing his pants back up.

“Come here Sweetheart” Dave begins, turning you in his grasp until you’re facing away from him and then he hunches forward to rest his chin on your shoulder so he can speak into your ear but keep his gaze trained on Marcus.

“Now, you’re gonna sit on my cock and keep it warm for me while your husband makes up for what he’s done” Dave explains, ensuring to speak loud enough for Marcus to hear. “C’mon, up” he begins again, landing a light smack to your hip and you obey, lifting your hips and Dave wraps an arm around you to steady you while his free hand holds his cock still and he lowers you down onto it.

“Ohhhhh fuuuccck” you gasp softly as you sink down on his length. You were more than prepared to take him, thanks to Dave’s fingers working you open earlier but there’s still a considerable stretch around his girth that is bordering between pleasure and pain as his cock splits you wide open.

You’re sitting on his lap with your legs stretched out and lying on top of his, like two bodies simply stacked on top of one another, your legs spread out in a v-shape in front of you. The position is certainly new to you and you’re not exactly sure how it’s supposed to work, how he can fuck into you in this position.

“That’s it” Dave hums against your ear before gently nipping at the lobe and then soothing over it with his tongue. You grind down onto his cock. You can’t help it but you need him to move, you need something, but just as quickly as you begin you feel both his hands grip roughly onto your hips, hard enough to surely leave bruises.

“Don’t move” he growls and then nips harshly at your earlobe, causing you to hiss out in pain for a brief second which quickly turns into a moan when he sucks the lobe gently into his mouth immediately afterwards. “I told you what happens if you make me cum before I want to” he vaguely threatens and you nod your head obediently.

“I’m sorry” you squeak. “It won’t happen again D-Daddy”

You don’t mean for it to slip out, but it does. Another little fantasy of yours, but one that you’d never shared with Marcus nor had the urge to. Marcus was too soft, too sweet. But Dave was rough and mean checked every box when it came to this particular kink of yours.

“Jesus Christ Sweetheart” Dave groans suddenly, he’s back behind you and his forehead comes down to rest in the middle of your back and you feel his cock twitch inside you.

Apparently Dave likes that. You smirk, finally having the upper hand for once.

“You wanna be my good little girl, huh?” Dave finally speaks again after regaining his composure. His voice is rough again and you love it, offering a little nod of your head.

“Say it” he growls, hand coming up to squeeze gently around your throat.

“Wanna be so good for you Daddy” you whine, your eyes flitting across the room to meet with Marcus’ who’s watching intently.

“That’s it” his hand loosens its grip on your throat and caresses over it instead and your head lolls back onto his shoulder.

“You never heard of cockwarming Sweetheart?” he asks and you shake your head again and it earns a little chuckle from Dave. “Well it’s just what it sounds like, baby. You’re gonna sit here and be a nice warm little sleeve for my dick. No fucking, yet. Do you understand?”

You nod weakly. God you just want to move, the pressure is agonizing and you're closing your eyes and breathing through your nose, trying your hardest not to squirm.

“Now you’re gonna be a good girl and cum on my cock” he informs you and you’re a little confused at how he expects you to just cum on command if he won’t let either of you move.

“Pike” he snaps and that gets your attention, your eyes shooting open again. Marcus scrambles to his feet, the authority in Dave’s voice leaving little room for him to do anything else apparently.

“Yes?” Marcus asks, voice trembling slightly as he now stands next to the bed, nervously curling his hands into fists at his sides.

Dave seems completely comfortable naked in his own skin in front of your husband and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a total turn on. Of course most of his body was covered by yours, but still, Marcus definitely had a superb view of Dave’s cock buried to the hilt inside your cunt.

“I bet you our good ol’ boy Marcus here is just great at eating your little pussy, isn’t he Sweetheart?” Dave murmurs against the side of your face and you feel that familiar heat rising in your cheeks again as you nod your head.

Marcus was in fact exceptionally skilled in that particular area, and more than happy to do it for you. You’d never been with anybody before who actually loved going down on you. Most guys before Marcus treated it like a chore whereas Marcus thrived on it. He’d stay buried in your cunt for hours if you’d let him. He’d joke sometimes while he was down there, face buried between your thighs that he could live there and you didn’t doubt he would if he could.

It's not until you see Marcus nervously shift in front of you that you realize you hadn’t actually answered Dave out loud.

“Yes!” you reply enthusiastically. “He’s um, very good to me” a little of your shyness returns and Dave tuts from behind you.

“I figured. Looks like a little puppy, just eager to please isn’t he?” Dave chuckles and now it’s Marcus’ face that burns bright crimson.

“Go on then, lick your wife's pussy. Need her to cum good and hard before I fuck her into next Tuesday” Dave says menacingly and a shiver runs down your spine.

Marcus goes to climb on the bed before Dave clicks his tongue and stops him, Marcus freezing in place with one knee on the bed.

“He normally all dressed up when eats you out baby?” Dave asks and you slowly shake your head. It was true, Marcus had an amazing body and was never shy about showing it around you. He preferred both of you to be completely naked whenever you did anything in bed together, including sleeping. Marcus was a very intimate and sensual lover, it was one of the things that made you fall for him in the first place.

“Well, tell him then” Dave nods his head towards Marcus.

“Come here baby,” you say softly and Marcus slowly slides his leg back off the bed and takes a few steps closer until he’s standing next to you and you tug him down by his tie to kiss him once.

“For me baby, please?” You plead up at him and he gently nods his head before he steps back from the bed and begins removing his clothes.

Dave seems to lose interest in the sweet little exchange between the two of you and begins kissing and sucking down the side of your throat while his hands roam your body and come up to squeeze both your tits. You try to keep your eyes on Marcus but all they want to do is close and succumb to the pleasure that Dave is giving you now.

“Ready?” Marcus asks and you focus your attention back on him. He’s fully undressed now, cock soft and hanging delicately between his legs but you know it won’t be long until he gets his second wind. Putting his mouth between your legs is always a surefire way to get him going again in no time, you know this well from experience.

“Please Marcus” you whine. Your cunt is throbbing from being impaled on Dave’s cock and not being able to move and now with Dave making you feel good everywhere else you’re desperate for the attention where it’s needed most.

“I’ve got you Honey” he promises, and you know he does.

He crawls onto the bed again, the mattress dipping under his weight and Dave wordlessly spreads his own legs further apart, forcing yours with them to open up wider for Marcus to fit in between you.

Marcus looks a little unsure of how to begin. Normally he likes to wrap his hands up under your thighs to hold your hips down and bury his face in you but with you sitting on top of Dave that would mean touching the other man and so he hesitates.

“We’re well past shy now Pike, come on” Dave chuckles. “Make her cum on my cock like the good little slut she is” he snides and your cunt clenches at his vulgar remarks.

“Ohhh, she likes that” Dave laughs from behind you. “You better hurry up Pike or she might not even need your mouth, I think mine’s doing just fine”

Apparently that was all the threatening that Marcus needed because suddenly he dives into your pussy like a man starved. His one hand rests on your hip while the other uses his fingers to spread your lips apart and you all but scream when Marcus' mouth latches on to your clit and sucks it into his mouth.

“Oh shit!” you jerk forward involuntarily and then instantly feel Dave’s bruising grip on your waist again, keeping you still.

“Don’t fucking move or I’ll tell him to stop” Dave growls into your ear and you whimper but weakly nod your head in agreement. Your hand comes down to play in Marcus’ hair instead, needing the distraction. You’re clutching the short strands and holding him as close to you as possible since you’re not allowed to chase the pressure of his mouth with your own body and he hums in appreciation as he continues his assault with a skilled, well-practiced tongue.

“Fuck Pike, she is flooding my cock right now” Dave groans and Marcus moans into your cunt as he continues lapping away at you with renewed enthusiasm that he’s bringing you so much pleasure.

Dave’s not lying. You’re absolutely drenching his cock. You feel so full with Dave’s dick buried inside you and with Marcus’ mouth working its magic everywhere else, you are left positively reeling. Your head falls back again and you can do little more than whimper and whine and mewl in Dave’s firm grasp.

“Oh fuck, Oh Marcus, baby” you whine, your whole body trembling and it spurs Marcus on, his tongue working you over even faster, firmer as his his hands start to explore. He moves them to the outside of your thighs and then pushes even further back until they reach Dave’s hips and he squeezes, surprising all three of you as Dave’s cock jolts inside of you briefly and then he stills again.

“Come here” Dave growls, one hand leaving your waist to turn your face towards him and he swallows your moans with his mouth, his other hand wrapping all the way across your waist to keep you still. You're not sure who needs the distraction more, you or Dave, but you keep sloppily kissing each other regardless. Dave’s hips raise just slightly, bringing yours with him and you realize suddenly that Marcus has his hands shoved all the way underneath you both, his large hands squeezing Dave’s ass while his mouth is still buried in your wet heat and now it’s you swallowing down Dave’s moans.

“Baby, I love you so much” you hear Marcus whimper from below you. He’s grinding his hips into the mattress now and you know he’s hard again.

Dave’s hand leaves your face and comes to grip around your throat and your mouth is forced away from his as you fight to keep air in your lungs. His grip is tight but not crushing, like he knows exactly what he’s doing and how much pressure to apply. You assume Marcus likely told him of your little attempt at a foray into this area before that hadn’t worked out the way you hoped.

You know you can still breathe (albeit barely) but all the blood rushes to your head and you almost feel like you could pass out until he releases some pressure again and a blissed out smile stretches across your features as you gasp for breath and another wave of pleasure hits you.

“Good fucking girl, you like that huh?” Dave growls against your kiss-swollen lips before he shoves his tongue back inside to kiss you roughly.

“Oh fuck!” Your mouth tears away from Dave’s as Marcus hits a particular spot on your clit and suddenly something hits you hard and fast and you lurch forward.

Marcus’ hands are back on your legs and then he moves one to spread your lips open again and starts flicking his tongue back and forth hard and fast, his gaze penetrating through yours and suddenly your vision goes white behind your eyes.

“Oh shit, Marcus I think I - oh fuck stop, please, I’m gonna-” you don’t have a chance to finish your thought and suddenly your mouth wrenches open in a silent scream as a flood gate opens, your walls clamp down on Dave like a vice and Marcus is groaning into you, lapping at you with renewed enthusiasm and before you even have half a chance to comprehend what is happening, you feel both of Dave’s arms wrap around your middle as he too lurches forward and his cock begins pulsing, spilling inside of you and he lets out a wrecked moan from behind you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuccck” he pants, head coming down to rest on your shoulder as his dick continues throbbing inside of you and painting your walls with his hot spend.

“Baby” Marcus moans into your aching core. “You just fucking squirted” he says before pulling back slightly with a huge grin on his face, the evidence of your earth shattering orgasm dripping down his chin.

“I - what?” It makes sense now, the wave that came over you. You honestly thought you were about to pee in Marcus’ mouth, you’d never felt anything like it before. You always thought that was just some trick done in pornos, never having experienced it yourself before.

Dave lifts you off his cock with a grunt and puts you back to rest in his lap and suddenly Marcus’ mouth is on you again, lapping up yours and Dave’s combined releases from your fluttering hole and Dave is oddly quiet behind you, his head resting against yours and his breathing still coming out in short little huffs as he tries to desperately to slow his racing heart. His spent (and drenched, thanks to you) dick lies just underneath your sex and you don’t fail to notice how every once and a while when Marcus laps at you that his tongue dips a little lower to stroke along Dave’s softening cock. You also don’t miss how Dave’s body jerks a little when it happens and his arms squeeze you a little tighter but he makes no effort to stop or scold Marcus.

“Christ, I told you not to make me cum” Dave says, shaking his head gently against yours but there’s no edge to his voice, he’s far from mad about it.

“I’m sorry Daddy, I didn’t know I could do that” you admit sheepishly, turning your face to him to press a kiss to his lips.

Marcus thankfully slows his efforts between your legs and switches to planting open mouth kisses on the insides of your thighs instead, avoiding your oversensitive sex. His hands are back up on top of your hips now and yours come down to intertwine your fingers with his while continuing to lick and moan into Dave’s mouth.

“I’m sorry Sweetheart, I’m going to need a breather” Dave says after a few more moments pass, pushing back from your mouth. “Pike, keep this pussy occupied for me, I’ll be back for it” he announces before his hand comes down to cup your mound and squeeze.

Dave is lifting you again slightly so he can slide out from under you and Marcus is kneeled at the end of the bed now sitting back on his heels obediently awaiting his next instructions.

“You got a couple more in you, right Sweetheart?” Dave asks as he stands next to the bed now and grips your chin in his hand.

“Mmmmhmm” you nod your head. “Yes”

“Good girl” he smirks. “Now fuck your husband. I’m going to get some water and then I’ll be back and ready for you again” he tells you and then simply saunters out of the room fully nude and not a care in the world. You watch him go and out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus’ head turn too and suddenly you need him more than ever.

“Come here baby” you coo, reaching for Marcus and he turns back to you, takes your hand and lets you pull him to you. He kisses you sweetly, night-and-day to the way Dave did and you hum appreciatively into his mouth as you taste the heady and salty blend of yours and Dave’s combined releases on his tongue. As much as Dave turned you on with his aggressive side there was something in Marcus’ softness that you absolutely craved still.

“Make love to me baby, please” you whisper against his lips and you feel Marcus nod his head.

“Lie down” he instructs and you do, shuffling further down the bed until your back is no longer upright. Marcus leans over you to kiss you languidly for a few more long moments until he finally pulls back and takes his aching hard length in his hand and gives himself a few strokes.

“Ready?” he asks, always checking in, your sweet Marcus.

“Ready” you nod and then he lifts your left leg straight up into the air until your toes are pointed at the ceiling and he pushes himself inside of you, your heat easily swallowing him in with how wet you still were from earlier. The angle he’s at makes him hit impossibly deep inside you and you’re already squirming, needing him to move.

“Holy shit” Marcus looks like his eyes are about to bulge out of his head and he takes a moment to still inside of you once he’s buried to the hilt. “Fuck you’re soaked baby, Jesus. Fuck!”

“You did that to me baby” you praise him with an easy smile as you bring a hand up to push through his golden brown locks. To be fair, you assume it's some kind of combination of your cunt being full of Dave’s cock and Marcus’ skilled tongue stimulating your clit but either way, Marcus got you there.

He wraps one arm around your raised leg to keep himself steady and the other comes down to grip at your hip and he slowly eases himself nearly all the way out and then just as slowly back inside.

“Ohhhhhhh” you whimper at the sensation of his tip bumping against your cervix. “Fuck baby that’s so good. You’re so deep in me”

“Yeah?” Marcus breathes, still taking his time, slowly pushing forward and back with his hips. “God you feel so good honey”

“You want it slow?” He asks and you nod your head frantically.

“Yeah baby, just like that, feels so good, you filling me up”

“Oh fuck” Marcus moans, sliding in and out of your wet heat. Thank God you wanted it slow because he knows he’d be moments away from cumming way too quickly otherwise. He’s not sure he’s ever been so worked up in his lifetime.

He continues to ease in and out of you, slowly picking up pace as you both pant and whimper and moan. Your eyes are locked on to each other, the love pouring out between you with a simple gaze and you’re both so in the moment that neither of you hear Dave come back into the room.

He’s leaning on the door frame, drinking his water and just watching, not interrupting. Marcus’ slim little hips rock back and forth into you and you take every inch of him so well and it's not long before Dave’s own cock begins to swell again between his legs. He reaches down to palm his dick, gently squeezing and stroking as he watches the intimate scene playing out before him.

Marcus is whispering little words of love and adoration for you and your hand comes down on top of his and you interlock your fingers together, giving his hand a little squeeze.

Normally this would bore him. Vanilla bores Dave but yet, watching what transpires between the two of you actually leaves him feeling a little jealous. He hasn’t had somebody he cares for like you two do each other since… well, ever, maybe. Even his ex-wife, it was just as much to keep up appearances as anything else. He’s never looked at anybody the way Marcus looks at you, that much he’s sure of. His hand slows on his cock, suddenly feeling like he’s intruding and he quietly gathers up his clothes and backs out of the room, neither of you even noticing him while he successfully slinks out.

He redresses in the hallway bathroom and heads down to the front door to take his leave but stops to type a quick text into his phone first.

Pike, you’re one lucky man. And that wife of yours loves you, you don’t ever have to worry about that. But if either of you ever feel the need for my services again, you have my number. - York.

An hour later when you and Marcus both lay spent and satisfied and idly wondering where your third partner went, he reaches down to the floor to his discarded pants and fishes his phone out of the pocket and brings it up to read the missed text. He chuckles a little at it and then turns the screen to you and you snuggle up closer to read it and you smile before pressing a kiss into Marcus’ shoulder.

Less than a month passes before Marcus texts Dave back an eager reply, starting up a group text conversation between the three of you, aptly naming the convo “Three’s Not Always a Crowd”.

“So… next playdate, when? 😉”

Next chapter

*clears throat* ahem. so... there you have it folks. Want more of this tasty trio? Lmk!

Tagging @nerdieforpedro, @chronically-ghosted @macabremads @boliv-jenta @prolix-yuy @suzdin

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #dave york fanfiction #marcus pike fanfiction #dave york x reader #marcus pike x reader #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #the equalizer 2 #the mentalist

[prentiss-theorem]

Courtroom Obsession pt.1

y/n is an ADA assigned to Special Victims Unit. She’s been dating Olivia Benson for the past couple of months and despite their crazy workload things have been going great between them. This is until y/n’s office is flooded with mystery flower deliveries that don’t seem to stop.

Pairing: Olivia Benson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: y/n has a stalker, it's mild in this one tho, lil makeout sesh.

Genre: Mostly Fluff, will lead to angst.

Word Count: 1400+

A/N: Would you look at that, I finally wrote something! This is a part 1 of what will probably be a 2/3 part mini series. Covers a square of my bingo.

It started with flowers. You didn’t think much of it, after all being an attorney meant that sometimes you would receive gifts from grateful families for getting a conviction. But the flowers kept coming throughout the week, all kinds of bouquets bound together with ribbons, sometimes even placed in white twined baskets, with no notes attached. You looked at the colourful petals displayed in your office, the white lilies perfectly complimenting the vibrant colours of tulips and irises. The types of flowers varied in each of the bouquets, but it was never roses. You hated roses. 

After a few days you started thinking it was your girlfriends doing, who else would have known this small rose-hating side of you. 

When you finished work on a Friday evening, you headed straight to Olivia’s apartment, hopeful to finally get a free weekend after closing multiple cases during the previous week. Considering the field both of you were working in and the recent increase in cases you’ve barely seen each other outside of the precinct for the past couple of weeks. You’ve only been dating for a few months, although things were official between the two of you, you opted to keep the relationship private from work. You aimed for your professional relationship to remain unchanged and as far as you were aware it was working. After all the last thing either of you have wanted was to become the centre of attention of the 16th precinct and 1 Hogan Place. 

The uber ride, although long, was very peaceful. You looked out the window at the streets of New York City that were beginning to fill with the darkness of dusk, taking in the sight of people rushing down the streets, probably hurrying to their homes before the city was consumed by darkness. After what felt like eternity you finally arrived at your destination, thanking the driver and handing him the cash, with a few extra notes as a thank you for not bothering you too much during the ride. 

You used the key Olivia gave you just a few weeks earlier to open the apartment door, just as you entered the space you smelled the array of scents of what you presumed to be Olivia’s cooking, wafting through the air, filling the space with warmth. You smiled to yourself while taking your shoes off, before following the aromas deeper into the apartment.

Olivia was standing in the kitchen, fully consumed by preparing on of your shared comfort meals and as it turned out, one of her specialties. You always begged her to teach you how to make the signature mac and cheese, but she always joked that if she let you in on the secret you wouldn’t need her anymore, hence keeping the recipe hidden away from you.

 You took in the sight of her, she was wearing a checked apron on top of her comfy clothes, her hair was in a half-up-half-down style, with a little bun on top back of her head. The domesticity of it almost melting your heart.

“You’re staring, again.” she said softly as she turned around to face you, with a warm smile on her face.

“I can’t help it; you just look really cute.” you laughed, as you kept shamelessly staring at your girlfriend. 

“Here, try this.” the detective reached out to you with a forkful of the broccoli she roasted to go with the dish, always adamant to up your vegetable intake. 

 You gratefully accepted the food, opening your mouth and letting Olivia feed you. You practically moaned at the tease of the perfectly roasted broccoli, making her smile. “This is so good.” you added when you finished chewing the food.

“I’m glad you like it my love” she whispered, placing a kiss on your forehead before getting back to cooking. 

You watched Olivia gracefully move around the kitchen for a little longer, before wrapping your arms around her waist and resting your head on the back of her shoulder. She hummed and gently leaned into your embrace, happy to finally get to spend some time with you and you had no plans on letting her go now. 

The two of you stayed like this for a while, Olivia effortlessly finishing grating the additional cheese and you only restricting her movements a little bit.

“You can stop hugging me now, you know?” she laughed while you only tightened the grip you had around her.

“No, I don’t think I can” you giggled and placed a kiss in the crook of her neck. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too sweet girl.” She turned around in your arms to face you, cupping your cheek she placed a soft kiss on your lips. One of your hands moved from her waist to the back of her head deepening the kiss. Her lips moved against yours in perfect harmony, you pulled her closer to you, desperate for the contact as she traced your bottom lip with her tongue, making you smile into the kiss. She reluctantly pulled away “If you keep this up the dinner is gonna get burned”  

You giggled and placed one last peck on her lips. “You know I wouldn’t mind, I’m sure it would still be better than that disaster of a carbonara I made before”

“It wasn’t that bad” she laughed before getting back to the task she was occupied with before you successfully distracted her.

“Oh really? How about I make it again this weekend then?” you asked raising your brow at the detective. The carbonara was indeed that bad and both of you were fully aware of it.

“Okay maybe I’ll stay on the food duty for now, but you can watch!” you laughed at her statement, happy with the offer as you didn’t want to risk poisoning your girlfriend with your cooking.

You moved around the kitchen in silence, while Olivia continued working on finishing the meal, when everything was either fully out of the oven or with only a few more minutes left to go you finally broke the silence in the room.

“Thank you for the flowers by the way.” you whispered looking at her, a warm smile spread across your face. “they’re beautiful.”

“What flowers?” she questioned, not having a clue what you were referring to.

“The ones that were coming into my office the whole week?” you raised your brow, now also confused. “I assumed they were from you since there was no notes and none of the bouquets had roses in them.”

“No, they weren’t from me but now I wish they were.” she looked at you, a slight glimpse of worry in her eyes. “Is there someone I should be concerned about?”

“If by that you mean whether there is some rookie detective or ADA waving their eyelashes at me then absolutely not” you assured her, brushing her through her hair with the tips of your fingers. “I’m sure they were from the families from previous cases, you know they like to show their appreciation for getting the perps convicted.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” she said letting out a deep sigh.

“Hey, no need to get worried.” you gently cupped her cheek as you looked into her eyes. “I’m a big girl I can take care of myself.”

“I know you are.” she ducked her head down a little “But you are also my girl, so I am going to get worried regardless.” Her hand softly rubbed your back as she burried her face in the crook of your neck.

The rest of the evening as well as the following days passed and before you knew it you were getting ready to return to the office on a Monday morning. You and Olivia slept in that day so both of you hurried to get ready and rushed out of the apartment, taking your respective rides to your workplaces.

When you entered your office, a white basket filled with tulips, lilies and dahlias as well as small strands of forget me nots was nestled in the middle of your desk. You examined your surroundings before examining the basket itself. It looked like every other one you received the previous week, although this time it came with a small envelope attached to it. You opened it, finding a rather simple card inside, with a handwritten note. 

“Can’t wait to see you again, V.”

***

Taglist: @bratty-subby-girly @ashbones

Join my taglist here, or DM me to be added <3

#raeswritingbingo #olivia benson x reader #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #olivia benson #svu #l&o svu

[generic-anime-boy-bracket]

Round 1, Group A: Matchup 6

Keiichi Maebara vs Hiroshi Satou

Reasons for being generic + Propaganda below

Keiichi Maebara

Reasons:

Brown (shaggy?) hair, brown eyes, is the kind of protagonist you’d expect for a slice-of-life and that’s kinda the point

Short brown hair, dark blue/gray eyes, classic protagonist. Also he looks real goofy in the original when they cry anime.

he is the everyman protag of at least the first half of the vis novel / first season of the anime. you play as him and he is just an anime high schooler who loves his friends. Other than the fact that sometimes he goes crazy with paranoia and kills all of his friends. But he LOOKS generic, especially in the later remakes/rereleases where they have. The most generic anime design known to mankind. that being said the OG visual novel style & the first anime DO have an iconic look (Ugly. They're ugly. But it's unique and charming.) but. nevertheless he is Just Some Guy

Brown hair in a hairstyle that varies SLIGHTLY between the anime and VN but still looks very generic either way, is usually seen in a white shirt and only occasionally switches it out for a somewhat less generic sleeveless red shirt. Compared to the rest of the cast, which is identified by their colourful hairstyles and 80's rural Japan attire in bright colours, he could've looked exactly the same in a modern version and nobody would've batted an eye, he's so generic. Genuinely, his most striking detail is his purple eyes and even then they're blue in many versions of the series...

As a Keichi lover, he is the most generic part of his show. It's a show about murder and intrigue and intrigue about murder and Keichi makes every anime boy folly in this moment- not telling the competent women in the cast about his actions/findings, being the center of an undeserved love triangle, and he's so generic he can't even figure out the core mysteries of the show and the show literally had to be handed over to another character so that it could continue because Keichi is so boring he couldn't carry the intrigue plot believably.

Propaganda:

1500 seconds is all he needs

he loves the power of friendship and trust

*slaps Keiichi's head* This generic guy can fit so much childhood trauma No but really, despite looking like any shitty harem VN protagonist and having some mild pervy tendencies, he's developed in a much more rounded way fitting for the horror/emotional drama story that Higurashi is. In the past he's done some terrible things while lashing out against the expectations people put on him, but the narrative doesn't try to play it down after its reveal -- he's definitely trying to grow from this. In the "present", he has the potential to either go down a paranoid spiral culminating in him murdering people, or being able to successfully talk THEM down from murder. All while regularly failing hard at board games and suffering embarrassing punishments for it. This makes for an interesting protagonist that you don't mind following even after he stops being the narrator. BUT despite all this, he still looks like any generic harem protag -- and that's why you should vote for him!

Hiroshi Satou

Reasons:

His whole thing in the series is being the most average, normal guy ever. His grades, height, weight, and bathroom time are all canonically 100% average.

The whole point of his character is that he is exactly average in everything. Looks, personality, even his friend group is exactly average.

not only does he look like that but the show is a comedy anime that uses a lot of stereotypes and his is "normal guy." he influences some plot events with the power of his average luck

quite literally the most average guy ever. every single thing about him is perfectly average 

literally everything about him is average. like literally everything. his grades, his appearance. even the amount of time he uses the bathroom. its his entire character

His whole bit is that he’s Perfectly Average. Down to his weight and height. On his wiki page his only listed ability is “normalcy.” His name is derived from the Japanese equivalent of John Doe. The main character is obsessed with him/has a crush on him because he is so so normal and that’s what Saiki wants most

The main character of this show, who stands out against his will, admires Satou Hiroshi for being perfectly average in every way, and "blandness personified." "He is completely average in everything he does. His grades, height, and weight are exactly average. Down to the millisecond, Hiroshi is timed to have the exact average times for the PE evaluation. He is also noted to go to the bathroom for the average amount of time and use the average amount of toilet paper." Basically, he is written to be the most generic guy possible.

From the wiki: "He is the epitome of an ultimate normal guy... Someone who has boring name, common appearance, average in brains and body and has no single quality to stand out. He blends into the background, so the other characters tend to lose sight of him"

Propaganda:

The main character likes him because of how normal and average he is. Also he is just a nice guy

He is the most average man in existence. He even poops for the exact average amount of time. This is the most generic background character to ever exist.

it’s literally a plot point in the show that he’s completely generic guys. he’s perfect for this

Being normal is literally his bit, c’mon guys

The whole point of his character is how boringly normal he is. The main character is super jealous because he doesn't want to stand out

#generic anime boy bracket #higurashi #higurashi when they cry #higurashi no naku koro ni #keiichi maebara #the disastrous life of saiki k #saiki k #hiroshi satou #satou hiroshi

[anti-cyra]

How I make my c.ai bots ♡

I received an ask about how I format/code my c.ai bots and my answer ended up really long, so here it is in a post instead! Hope this helps anybody interested in making c.ai bots hehe.

For this, I made a Tutorial Bot with a public character profile and definition! You can check him out here. There's some plot there if you wanna keep talking to him and try out how the coding works, but please take note he's not meant to be a real c.ai coding expert!

Below the cut, I’ll be sharing the method I’ve been using for my more recent bots (most of the LOVER series, LADS bots) which has been working best for me, but also general tips and tricks I’ve learned from making all my bots. In this case, I’ll be focusing on single character bots.

(If anyone wants help on how to make multi-character bots as well, just let me know~)

So if you want a quick and easy to learn tried and tested method, feel free to keep reading!

1. I keep important plot, character details and backgrounds (e.g. if they're rivals, anything like if one's a prince, setting, etc.) in the Greeting/Prompt since I believe c.ai goes back to the first message a lot, so it's a good basis for how the bot should go. I'm so glad they extended the character limit lol.

The Greeting also sets the tone for how the narrative will go and follows the format of whatever’s written. In my case, I like adding my character’s thoughts in italics throughout the story as like a “behind the scenes” for the users aside from just dialogue and narration.

C.ai doesn’t always keep the thoughts in the replies, but most of the time they do, or I reinforce it by choosing replies that have both dialogue and that thought bubble.

Regardless, a detailed yet not overcrowded Greeting does wonders for your bot! 2. If I need to refer to the character or the user, I use {{char}} instead of any names and {{user}} because I think this doesn’t confuse the bot. I’ll add more to this in further points and you’ll see how it’s used.

3. For the Description portion, I put the appearance, personality traits, and other details I want to prioritize, or even a quick backstory A) Appearance: I usually add the hair, eye, skin colour and then, anything specific to be noted like scars or tattoos. Sometimes I add the height and build if needed. Unless what they wear is important to the story, I don’t bother adding it. B) Personality traits: I tend to just use basic, one-word adjectives or how I want them to act. Examples that I use often include: Quick-witted. Tsundere. Cold, stoic, stern, calculating. Sweet. Flirty. Teasing. Obsessive. Likes to bicker. Physically attracted to {{user}}. Delusional. Crazy in love with {{user}}. Bratty. Whiny. Cocky. Cheeky. Playful.

Since my bots aren’t in 2nd Person POV, I use {{user}} instead of “you” (e.g. In love with you) but I’ve seen other bot makers do either of the two and I think the bots go well regardless. C) For other details, it can be: - A one-sentence backstory to the character or your plot, like where the bot is from, their occupation, the past between them and the user, even their age either specifically or just if they’re older or younger or even the same age as the user if it matters - How they act or treat the user or why they act a certain way, if you think it's important to how they should act throughout the story - You can also make the personality more defined, such as "flirty but in a subtle way" or "teasing but hides their feelings" In general, these are all important details of how your character will act or remember more, regardless of whatever situation is thrown at them, and it's the "core" personality or how they react to situations, I'd say. 4. For basic plot bots, I've only been using the Greeting and Description to form the bot, and I think it’s been going well. If your bot isn’t lore-heavy, this is fine. You can totally stop reading here, but if you want to reinforce or specify things, then this is where the Definition portion comes in!

A few coding things to note: There’s a difference between using [], {{“”}}, () or (()) in the Definition. I’ve seen other people say [anything like this] is hard coded whereas {{“these”}} work for choices or ((these are optional)). I’ll be honest, this is confusing, and I’ll only talk about how I do things since I’m not super sure about everything either.

For the Definition portion, here’s a few things I do:

My first line is always {{char}} = Name just so the coding is aware of the character, to be safe.

A) I reinforce my character’s role and also the user’s role. In general, I’ve been focusing on only using [this format] with concise sentences that I want to stick with the bot.

e.g. [{{char}} is {{user}}’s roommate.] [{{user}} is a princess.]

B) [This method] is also what I’ve been using for other important details that either didn’t fit in the Description or that I want the bot to keep remembering, so I add it everywhere. I don’t add too much of this since the coding can only remember certain things. I add whatever I think is relevant to the character or the plot.

e.g. [{{char}} doesn’t drink human blood.] [{{char}} flirts with {{user}} a lot, but won’t admit his feelings.] [{{char}} is from the Kingdom of Dauros.]

C) If you want to limit the bot’s choices or answers to a specific thing or pool of things, this is where the {{“”}} coding comes in for me! This is especially useful for keeping track of specific names, lists, goals, and such. I feel like this really codes the bot to only choose this thing or act in line with what’s added here.

I think goals really reinforce how a character acts, in any situation. So if you feel like your bot needs to do more of a thing or direct them towards a path, I’d suggest this.

In this case if needed, I use the character’s name instead of {{char}} just because I don’t know how it works if it’s {{{{char}} <- like that lol. Anyway, here’s examples!

{{Name’s goals: “be the very best”, “love {{user}} completely”, “hide his feelings”, “fight well”}}

{{Name’s kingdom name: “Dauros”}}

{{Name’s family members: “Name”, “Name”, “Name”}}

{{Signs that Name is stressed: “smokes”, “fidgets a lot”}}

{{Name’s appearance: “Black hair”, “Grey eyes”, “Scar on right cheek”, “Only wears black clothes”}}

D) A few other things I've added to my Definition portion include: setting, backstory, a brief overview of other relevant people and their personalities so my character is aware, even sometimes longer and detailed statements that the bot can maybe study. E) If I really want something to stick to how my bots act in particular, I also use the {{char}}: coding instead. Since it gets read as dialogue that has already happened, it's something your bot likely remembers. It could either be in narration, a sample of how dialogue works, or even thoughts.

I think that's all for how I make my bots! ♡ When it comes to training your bot, just keep talking to them, rate replies you like, and reply to the best ones. I don't usually rate 1 stars for replies I don't like, I just ignore it, and focus on rating 4 stars for the ones I do like.

If you've read this far, I do hope this helps. Feel free to leave me your bots so I can try them out~

#ai character #ai chatbot #anticyra #beta c.ai #beta character ai #c.ai #c.ai bot #character ai #character ai chat #chat bot #askanticyra #c.ai guide #guide

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - July 30

 Hi friends!! So someone (hi @till-i-get-back-punk )  commented on last week’s bonus rec list, surprised that I’m @areiton​ so--as a reminder, your friendly neighborhood rec curator is indeed arei! I started the STW because I love reading and was running out of fic recs and occasionally that’s still true---so always feel free to send me new things to read via asks. I don’t do requested rec lists often, mostly because I’m crazy busy, but I’ve been thinking of a series of mini-lists for the holiday season--more on that later. 

Now on to this week’s list--as always, remember to share the love--comment/kudo if you’re enjoying the fic! 

~*~ 

poor flesh and fluttering hearts by deathsweetqueen

Steve blushes so adorably when Tony walks into the kitchen, staring down at the plate of pancakes that he made for himself and the rest of the team.

His brown wings, the colour of burnt umber, shake out before folding around his broad form.

For a moment, Tony is confused and then, he looks down at himself, noticing the way he strode into the kitchen in just a pair of silk boxers, arc reactor and shiny red scars on vivid display.

He shifts uneasily on his feet and immediately hates himself for the action.

Why should he feel so awkward, so self-conscious just because perfect fucking Captain America finds him an absolute mess of a person?

The Way of Things by Sineala

The Avengers have been around a long time, and they have a lot of traditions. But when Steve finds out that the team has a tradition he's never been informed of, he learns that there's something Tony hasn't been telling him, either.

Fixer-Upper by imafriendlydalek

Tony leads the way up the steps to the house, and as the door swings open with a long creaking sound - note to self: oil door hinges - Steve’s eyes widen. He steps inside, turns slowly on his own axis as he looks around.

“Tony, this place, it’s…” There’s a sense of wonder in his voice. Tony smiles inwardly. It is just the kind of thing Steve would like. Steve, who has a keen appreciation for fine aesthetics, who has a healthy - okay, sometimes more than healthy - sense of history and an acute desire to preserve things he deems worthy.

“This place is a dump.”

Well, so much for that, then. Tony shifts his weight to one leg as he takes an appraising look. “It’s a bit of a fixer-upper, yeah, I’ll give you that, but it’s not past saving. Just needs some TLC.”

Steve uncrosses his arms and shoves his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Well listen, you ever want an extra set of hands with some of the work, just give me a call.”

Big Boy Toys by extantecstasy

Steve finally gets fed up with Tony’s juvenile pranks. When Tony models for a sex toy, Steve seizes the opportunity. Or, it seizes him.

Glitch by iam93percentstardust

And I'm not even sorry, nights are so starry

Blood moonlit

It must be counterfeit

I think there's been a glitch, oh, yeah

~

“Ms. Potts, my name is Steve Rogers, and I’m Justin Hammer’s roommate," Steve says.

“Oh, what does that asshole want now?” she asks.

“I don’t think he wants anything—except to make a quick buck and ruin Mr. Stark’s reputation.”

Trust Fall by Sineala

Tony needs someone who cares about him, bandages, a jacket, ibuprofen, dinner, a lasting romantic relationship, a nice time in bed, and assistance committing federal crimes. He gets them. In that order.

Tony Stark vs. the Heteronormative Agenda by sweatervest

Nat leans her hip against the table and folds her arms. “Short of making out in public, I don’t think anyone will make the jump to ‘they’re dating.’”

Steve glances at her and then over at Tony.

Nat follows Steve’s gaze. “You did make out in public.”

“Steve never got his Time’s Square victory kiss,” Tony protests.

--

Or, five times the general public was determined to believe Steve Rogers and Tony Stark were just close friends, and the time Tony made sure they knew otherwise.

through thick and thin by earliebirb

“We should break up,” Tony declares, gazing out of the floor-to-ceiling window of their bedroom. The colorful twinkle of lights of the New York City nightlife is truly a mesmerizing view.

“Why?”

“I don’t love you anymore.”

Steve scoffs, utterly unfazed.

What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve? by ceealaina

Steve’s going to ask Tony out for New Year’s Eve. Really. He absolutely means it this time. He just... has to work up the nerve.

The Emperor's New Clothes by Captain_Panda

No, Tony wasn't "flirting with him."

Tony was trying to drive him crazy. Steve Rogers would not stand for it.

Honey, I Can See The Stars by twentysomething 

"The most he'd ever cared about anything remotely related was his uniform, which, beyond the stylistic, was pretty necessary. But now his suit comes from a lab far more advanced than the basement of a Brooklyn antique shop, and the only decision he really gets to make is if his pants are too tight. (They were, but he doesn't really think they changed them. He doesn't know why, but he thinks that might have been on purpose.) That being said, he doesn't know what he's done to deserve the double take Tony gives him as he walks in the room."

The Most Amazing Things (Some Terrible Lie) by copperbadge

Tony's decision not to reveal his identity as Iron Man to the world was shrewd and calculated. Too bad it's about to backfire on him like a Jericho missile.

It Started with Two Men by Missy_dee811 for tarialdarion

Steve remembers and confronts Tony but there's more to Tony's confession than Steve had ever thought possible:

“Tony, I –”

Tony cut him off with the wave of a hand. “Why can’t you understand that everything I do, I do for you?” He was sobbing now into his hands, covered in blood. It was jarring to see Tony like this. Steve didn’t know how to respond. This didn’t go as planned, he thought to himself. He hadn’t expected a heartfelt confession. In truth, he had expected more lies, more deceit. He felt like the world’s greatest asshole for using his best friend as a punching bag.

Make It Clap by shetlandowl

Steve is a sophomore at BU and Tony is finishing his graduate degree at MIT when they begin their relationship. This story is told as 31 snapshots from their first two years together. The story is told in sequential order, though not always in sequence (i.e., some chapters capture events only hours apart, while some chapters are from events weeks or months apart).

Ice Ice Baby (The Hockey Fic) by youcancallmearrow

Tony Stark is a star center, sidelined by a slip in sobriety. Steve Rogers is a goalie, suspended for a punch thrown off the ice.

When the two meet, they're trying to get their lives back on track, both off and on the ice. It turns out, the saying is true: A burden shared is a burdened halved. At least until Howard Stark gets involved.

(A get together fic full of fluff, supportive friends, dad Rhodey, and hockey! But if you know nothing about hockey, you'll be fine, because neither does the author.)

Tonight we're gonna make it all come true by gottalovev

Steve Rogers is one of the best players in college football and is ready to prove it. The road towards becoming a professional football player? Is totally crazy. Falling in love with Tony Stark, the young quarterback from Stanford, may be even more life changing.

i don't have a choice (but i'd still choose you). by frostfall

There’s a name inked onto his chest, a name written in an all-too familiar scrawl. And it’s— It’s—

Steve doesn’t realize his body is quaking until he’s tracing the tattoo with a shaky finger.

Because of course that is the name etched into the skin. Like a brand, a reminder for everything he has done. An appropriate retribution.

Anthony Edward Stark.

(When Thanos snaps half of the universe away, he unknowingly leaves the other half with soulmarks.)

#stevetony weekly #stevetony fic #stevetony fic recs #rec list #fic recs #fic rec list #stevetony #stony fic #stony fic recs #stony #steve rogers #tony stark #iron man #captain america

[beautifulpersonpeach]

As promised here, I'm continuing a series of posts on NewJeans and why I think the group holds real potential. What I want to briefly talk about this time, is the quality of their music.

Credit: @/haerin1sta

*

Not exactly sure how this is going to come across, but the truth is very few groups in k-pop give me a quality sonic experience. I mean, for a lot of groups, I get no joy from playing them out loud in my space. BTS is one group where the music is so dynamic, textured and layered... I know this probably sounds pretentious, but BTS's music is the perfect blend of cohesive + complex + simple to suit my taste. I enjoy sitting back in my living room, dimming the lights and drawing the blinds, to hear Dis-ease play over my Bowers & Wilkins 800 D4 speakers. It feels like an actual pleasure. I get this with BTS, nearly every time. There's a handful of other groups whose songs I sometimes feel this way about, but there's been no other group that consistently gets me this way lately more than NewJeans.

At least I'm pretty sure there's no other group that gets me to break out a subwoofer more than NewJeans, after BTS.

All their songs have such a deep and rich bass.

It's almost sickening. Listen, k-pop has done R&B for years. The sound isn't new to the industry by any means, but the way NewJeans does R&B you can tell whoever makes their shit, cette personne a eu le cœur brisé par une personne noire.

Take for example a song like ASAP. That moment the bass comes in at 0:40, during the chorus - it sounds heavenly on my speakers. The whole song feels kinda magical and odd, like Christmas in July, and I suspect one reason why is the chord progression which I recognize to follow that of many Christmas hymns... and the deep heavy bass.

You might not hear it right in this clip because of how Youtube compresses their sound, but I think one can still tell the pitch shifts slightly. The tweaky game-beat percussion that fills up the rest of the song feels disorienting but that's also the point. By the time the second chorus comes in, the contrast it creates feels like you're diving into a pool of cool water on a hot day. It's so good. It's like that weird genre-mix thing SM likes to do in their songs, but with NewJeans it's so much more effortless, weirder, and cooler.

*

This is Minji.

*

This is Danielle.

*

This is Haerin.

*

This is Hyein.

*

This is Hanni.

*

All five girls have clean, clear vocals and very distinct vocal colours. One reason their music is so good, is because all their songs put an emphasis on their vocals. For example, listen to the pulled stems for Hurt.

The first 2 minutes and 50 seconds is pure acappella heaven, and then you realize it's placed in the center. The mix is so full and centered, it's perfect. The other stems in the video from 2:50 too are such a delight to listen to.

The sense of easy excellence is everywhere in NewJeans' sound and concept. They don't need to force anything, they don't need crazy ornamental riffs, or ridiculous beat switches to capture and hold attention. All the harmonizing that needs to be done is already in the music. It's simple and for that reason, good. Hurt for example is just a well made song.

It's so fun to play in the car. It sounds like a joint Andre 3000 would produce.

Another song that absolutely blows me away when I play it, is Cookie. Can you even try to imagine what the intro on Cookie sounds like with subwoofers?

It's mad.

*

Ador encourages the girls to fully participate in several aspects, from songwriting (the members have been writing their songs since debut and 4 out of 5 members are credited on their songs so far), to making their choreography, to applying their ideas towards their marketing. It's really remarkable for a rookie group, but I also feel this is a culture HYBE has been trying to create at all their sub-labels.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to more music from NewJeans. Get Up was a solid treat - my ranking of the songs on it so far:

New Jeans

Cool with You & Get Up

ASAP

ETA

Super Shy

*

(Haerin - dancer and vocalist)

*

(Danielle - dancer and vocalist)

*

(Hyein - dancer, vocalist, and maknae)

*

(Hanni - dancer and vocalist)

*

(Minji - dancer and vocalist)

*

(I don't have a bias in NewJeans. And that's the first sign for me that this is a solid group.)

#Do y'all think I should continue with this series? #If so please let me know either with a reply DM or ask #newjeans #minji #hanni #hyein #danielle #haerin #ador #hybe #bts #bpp music posts #kpop #kpop music #kpop industry #Youtube

[edwinadaily]

COSMOPOLITAN UK | A few weeks ago, Charithra Chandran was having a dinner party with some of her oldest friends. A few of them work in advertising and marketing, another is a doctor, one is a lawyer. None work in ‘the industry’. ‘Have I changed?’ Chandran asked them, as plates were cleared and wine glasses topped up. Their answer was unanimous. ‘No way.’ ‘In fact,’ one joked, ‘it’s actually sad how little character development there’s been.’ They all laughed. ‘Sometimes dickish things come out of your mouth like, “I’ve got a fitting with Dior next week!” Look, your life might have changed, but you certainly haven’t.’

Their words reassured Chandran of something she already knew. In just two life-changing years, she had gone from being a philosophy, politics and economics graduate preparing to start a job in management consultancy, to playing a lead in one of the biggest TV shows of the past decade. In the year since she appeared in Bridgerton’s second series, caught in a love triangle with Jonathan Bailey’s Anthony Bridgerton and Simone Ashley’s Kate Sharma, her trajectory has shown no signs of slowing down. This year, she stars in a handful of films including Good Intentions, a short with Micheal Ward (who you’ll know from the Oscar-nominated Empire Of Light), as well as playing the lead in teen rom-com How To Date Billy Walsh. And just a few weeks ago, she was in India with Ashley for the Dior pre-fall show (hence the fitting), which she describes as ‘special and incredible’. But while 26-year-old Chandran may be sitting front row, booking lead roles and appearing on magazine covers, she still feels like that same wide-eyed graduate, the one with no idea what would come next.

‘My life just feels so... normal?’ says Chandran, over a builder’s tea in one of her favourite central London cafes, her hair slicked back in a silk headscarf. 'That is the number one thing that has left me feeling sane. I worry that if my personal life was fully in this world, these crazy experiences would start to feel normal. I need to be surrounded by people not involved in the craziness.'

Most of her friends – like the ones at the dinner party – are from school and university, and the industry friendships she has tend to be with older women, including her Bridgerton cast mates Golda Rosheuvel (Queen Charlotte) and Shelley Conn, who played her mother in the series. ‘We hang out all the time. We go see shows; we grab tea or dinner. Golda’s so cool, sometimes I wonder why she wants to hang out with me. Shelley is literally like my older sister; I’m super close with her family. They both give me advice constantly about how to hold yourself in the industry. They provide perspective as well; they’ve been in it for so long, and they’re both women of colour; they remind me how far we’ve come and how far we have to go. Everything that I go through, they’ve been through it tenfold. I really rely on their counsel.’

The road to Bridgerton

Chandran auditioned for the show in 2020 before the first series had aired. At the time, her career as an actor was precarious. She’d loved performing for as long as she could remember (‘I was that annoying kid who always wanted to be the centre of attention’), acting throughout school and university, even performing in the West End with youth theatre companies, but she’d never really considered it as a viable career. ‘I never even talked about wanting to act because I felt embarrassed. Saying you wanted to be a professional actor felt like saying you wanted to be prime minister or an astronaut.’ Her reasons were twofold. The first was a lack of South Asian representation on screen and stage, – ‘For a long time I didn’t really have any inspiration to look towards,’ she says – and the second was familial expectation. ‘I’m the literal opposite of a nepo baby. My parents are doctors; we didn’t know any actors or journalists. Anyone who’s not a medic was foreign territory for us.’

Though her parents hoped Chandran would follow them into the profession, she credits their progressive attitudes with giving her the courage to follow her dreams. ‘They always expected academic excellence, but they gave me so much freedom and trust. I don’t know if that was an active choice or [if] it was because they were immigrants, junior doctors and single parents who didn’t have time to be focused on me 24/7. Either way, they really let me be me.’

Being herself meant giving acting a serious shot before starting the management consultancy job. She deferred the start date for a year and, in between working as a tutor and running a food bank, spent time crafting a CV and a showreel to try to get professional representation. Her graft paid off, and she signed to an agent who began to get her auditions for film and TV roles. Her first was a Bollywood dancer in the star-studded Marvel film Eternals, which Chandran landed after finding an advert on Instagram, helmed by the likes of Angelina Jolie, Richard Madden and Salma Hayek. On set, it was Kumail Nanjiani who really stood out for Chandran. ‘Being on a proper movie set with this fellow brown actor looking buff felt amazing. He treated us with so much kindness and grace.’

Shortly after, Chandran landed a role in Amazon Prime’s Alex Rider series, and then came her even bigger break: Bridgerton. The process was turbulent. The world had gone into lockdown and after a handful of virtual auditions for Ashley’s role (Kate), Chandran was told she looked too young for the part. Months later, out of the blue, she was approached again, and by that point, season one was already out and the show was a breakout hit that became the most-viewed English-language series onNetflix at the time. ‘While they continued looking for Kate, they had me on the back burner. I’d got a part in another show, so I was like, you know, okay, I love the sound of Bridgerton, butI have [other] work so, whatever. And then season one came out and I was like, “Oh, man! It’s such a good show. I would have loved to get that!”’ This time, the team wanted her to audition for the role of Kate’s younger sister, Edwina Sharma. ‘I desperately wanted to be in the show, but I didn’t want to do it solely for that – which is such an ego trip! I only had one credit at the time. But I was fully being like, “Okay, tell me more about the role...’ So I read for it, and then I didn’t hear about anything for months. I was like, “Okay, well, clearly it’s over!”’

Then, one afternoon, while helping out in her mum’s allotment, she received a call asking her to audition with Bailey and Ashley. ‘I didn’t even realise I was still in the running. But the chemistry read was so special. I remember they looked so beautiful on Zoom. The lighting was amazing, and I was in my dingy dining room in the dark. I thought, “Okay, I need to step up my game.”’ Clearly she was already bringing her A-game because she landed the part.

Surviving the spotlight

Bridgerton has a habit of launching the stellar careers of its leads. Almost overnight, season one’s Phoebe Dynevor and Regé-Jean Page went from emerging actors to household names. ‘So many of the cast members who’d been through it were like, Charithra, get a therapist because this is crazy,’ she remembers. She took their advice, and while therapy has been invaluable, nothing could truly prepare her for such a life-altering experience. She cites events in particular as ‘anxiety-inducing’, explaining, ‘There’s an impostor syndrome there. I leave and I want to cry every time!’ It sounds intense, and the internet’s opinions only exacerbated it. ‘I think when anyone is first exposed to this [fame] on the level that I was, they read the comments, they google themselves. And when you read the really aggressive ones – I know this sounds dramatic – but you feel really vulnerable. I’m a normal person – I’m taking the bus, I’m taking the Tube. You’re thinking all it takes is one person being slightly too deranged and trying to hunt you down... It took me like a solid four months to [get] through that.’

When it comes to social media generally, and whether she feels any pressure with what she posts and the persona she presents, Chandran is typically low-key. ‘I’m not famous enough for people to care about me enough to feel that now! I’m not thinking to myself at any point, “I wonder how the public will receive it.” Maybe I should! But even if – fingers crossed – I continue to do really cool things, and I do get more famous, I’m a very open person. I’m not trying to hide anything. I’m very active on social media and I share loads of parts of my life. But that’s what I’d be doing anyway, even if I wasn’t doing this. I don’t do things differently because I have a platform.’

One thing she is clear on: she doesn’t read negative comments any more and focuses her attention on what a powerful impact the series has had, particularly for young women of colour. ‘I get so much energy and enrichment when I meet someone who’s watched it and tells me how much seeing Simone and me on the show means to them.’ She adds, ‘She is so beautiful. We both went through a baptism of fire together, so we really bonded for life over this very seismic experience that we had. We’re connected by something so big.’

Chandran is clearly proud of the show, however not all responses to Bridgerton have been positive. While the Shonda Rhimes Regency-era romance has largely been praised for the diversity of its stars, some critics have questioned the casting, suggesting it’s tokenistic and that the characters of colour aren’t afforded sufficient context or cultural recognition and could just as easily have been played by a white actor. ‘It’s not a perfect show,’ says Chandran. ‘No one’s out here saying this is a perfect representation of anything. If we were to do it again, I’m sure we’d make certain different decisions, but it’s a damn good try. And it’s a really bold try. Let’s enjoy the fact that we have this and continue striving for more.’

Chandran says some of the commentary that bothered her the most were ‘the comments that said I only got to where I am because I’m Eurocentric or I’m white-passing. That really bugged me because all my life I’ve had to face prejudice for not being those things. I have a quintessentially Tamil face, not even Indian, people can place me as a Tamil. You open books, you go to a temple, you see the pictures and paintings; they look like this. So it’s like, bro, I didn’t go through prejudice and discrimination for you to now belittle my identity. When the show was coming out, that’s all I could focus on.’

From Regency to romance

As she gears up for the release of her next project, How To Date Billy Walsh, this time around, her feeling is one of excitement. She plays Amelia, a precocious teenager who, much like her Bridgerton character, finds herself caught up in an unlikely love triangle with her best friend Archie (played by Heartstopper’s Sebastian Croft) and an elusive new student (Cobra Kai’s Tanner Buchanan). The film brims with all the fun, campness and nostalgia of a classic romcom. ‘We wanted to make something that was really timeless,’ says Chandran. ‘My cousins who are 12 and 13 are still watching Clueless, The Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. We wanted to do something fun and heart-warming that harked back to the 90s.’

While classic teen romances are praised for their charm, they’re less celebrated for their diversity. As a woman of colour, did it feel like a big deal to be at the helm of a high school romcom? ‘I think it’s so interesting because what I really loved and appreciated was how not a big deal it felt, and I think that’s a real testament to all the people that have come before me, all the directors, producers, actors who have paved the way. I love representing my culture, and I love playing characters who are culturally specific to me,’ she says, ‘but on the flipside, I also enjoy playing a normal person where the story isn’t just about her being Indian. That is what I want for my career as well. I want to do things about race that start important conversations, and things about love and friendship. I don't want to be a one-trick pony.' When choosing roles, she says her approach is simply to find characters who feel truthful. 'The times I've said no are if it perpetuates bad or lazy stereotypes, if it's a character I've already seen before.'

As a romantic lead, her performance is effortless. Amelia is a plucky teenager who reels through the full spectrum of emotions when she develops a crush on the titular character, faces off against bullies and navigates some complicated feelings towards her best friend. Her portrayal of a girl caught in the full throes of an all-consuming crush is vibrant and hilarious, but she also imbues Amelia with a real sense of vulnerability.

Chandran shares some of Amelia's confidence and her thirst for new experiences, but her own memories of dating as a teenager were quite different. rowing up in Oxford, she went to an all-girls school. Most weekends involved house parties with boys from the neighbouring schools, where she would be the only one to get, ‘no attention from the guys,’ she remembers. ‘I thought, "Maybe they’re just not attracted to brown girls." I’m curvy; Indian women tend to have curves and fat in different places. All my friends were white and skinny. It was confusing, but I never took it personally. I used to wonder, is it because they see a brown girl and think, “Oh, she probably can't drink, she’s probably really prudish” – what assumptions were they making just from the colour of my skin?’

While she was at university, one of the boys who had been on the same teen house-party circuit messaged her on Facebook. 'This is a guy I’d seen every weekend for almost two years. He said I was cute and asked me how we knew each other. What’s mad is that I didn’t go to uni and have some glow-up. I looked exactly the same at 19 as I had at 15.’ She believes his sudden interest reflected a broader cultural shift towards diversity. ‘By that time, there were more Black and brown women in magazines and in lead roles on TV. I realised, "Oh, I'm trendy. So now you see there’s an attractiveness there. Because I objectively know I don't look different." That kind of shit happened quite a few times.’

Needless to say, Chandan ghosted the message. ‘I’m not a trend,' she says with a playful eye-roll. In life after Bridgerton, she admits dating can be difficult to navigate. She doesn’t use apps because ‘even before the show, people would see me on Instagram or google me. Which we all do, it's fine... but it started to get weird. So it is harder to meet people, but I don't think I'm famous or successful enough to ever have to worry that someone’s dating me for clout’. Plus, she knows what's important in a potential partner. ‘If I think about what kind of person I want to date, the number one thing I'll say is that they need to be a feminist. I'm a feminist, I'm an advocate for women. I went to a girls school, my family is a matriarchy.’

Dating aside, the fact that Chandran’s life hasn’t changed all that much is a testament to her ability to keep both feet on the ground. There’s also perhaps the knowledge that, should she ever find herself changed by fame, her best friends will absolutely be there to bring her back to reality at the next dinner party. ‘They're the most important people to me’ she says. ‘I love to be surrounded by women. I love the men in my life, but I just prefer women. Women made me feel safe, they make me feel heard.'

#charithra chandran #charithrachandranedit #cchandranedit #bridgerton cast #bridgertoncastedit #interview

[yeastinfectionvale]

adora. bites you. i think im finally gonna stick my paw in the water. how would u suggest. getting into f1 and associated stuff.

COYOTE!!!! BITES YOU BITES YOU BITES YOU

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH YAY!!

Okay so this will be a long one

Streaming Website

Formula One:

We have had 2 out of the 24 races planned in for the season. We have a week break until racing continues in Australia. My top three previous races to watch are Singapore 2023 (the year's only non-red bull winner), USA 2005 (tyre drama, only 6 cars on the grid) and Spa 1998 (its a miracle anyone finished the race).

Formula One also has four 'support series' that have drivers feed into each other until they join F1; Formula 2, Formula 3, Formula E (the electric car series) and Formula One Academy (the all women's series!).

The lovely @lina-touro has made a f1 primer that can help you get into the series!

F1 also has a netflix series called Drive to Survive, which is not accurate but has it's moments.

Indycar:

Another 'single seater' racing series like f1, it is America based, with less races, more drivers and its own charm. IndyCar liveries are bright and colourful (cough cough F1, no more carbon fibre please.), but can be confusing as sometimes drivers don't share liveries in the same team. The IndyCar season has just started with one race passed, the next race is also less than two weeks away.

IndyCar has a feeder series called IndyNXT, a bunch of new and upcoming talent competing including Jamie Chadwick.

I don't really have many races for IndyCar to recommend as i got into the series only last year, but each race is memorable with something going on.

The wonderful @mcpodium has an indycar primer if you are interested.

Indycar does have a series called the 100 days to Indy which is a good watch.

MotoGP:

MotoGP, the beloved, has just started it's series with one race passed and around 9 days until we race in Portugal. MotoGP is different to the other series on this list as it is motorcycle based and fundamentally more dangerous (or adrenaline pumping, your choice).

MotoGP has it's own feeder series, MotoE (Electric bikes) Moto2 and Moto3 (actual children), there is so much happening in all three series, it's crazy.

I recommend races like Sepang 2015 (DIVORCE RACE), India 2023 (Bez Podium heheheh), Argentina 2018 (BATSHIT) and Phillip Island (always gives interesting races.)

Also the brilliant @dressfortheslide-nottheride has made this intro primer for motogp and the amazing @moonshynecybin has made this primer about Valentino Rossi and Marc Marquez.

MotoGP does have a series called There can only be one if you want to have a watch.

WRC:

You know when you have the urge to put on 'white girl music™' and driver at high speeds? Yeah that is what Rally feels like. We've had two rallys, and are going to Kenya in two weeks. For Rally i just recommend putting it on whenever, no need for past races. Just put the onboard on and listen.

Unfortunately there is no primer for WRC (yet) and I don't think it has a tv series like the others do (yet).

#asks??? in this economy??? #coyote tag #oof this is long #anyone else wants to add on please do #formula one #formula 1 #motogp #indycar #wrc

[nadiajustbe]

Random Scarlett and Browne series headcanons because this fandom needs content (there was supposed to be more Albert, but it turned out to be a little bit for everyone)

He literally adores comfortable knitted sweaters, I mean, he canonically lived in one in the first book, but hear me out: when choosing, his favorite would be purple, followed by brown and light and dark gray.

Albert would have loved those coloured animal patches that they sometimes give to children in hospitals. I mean, I don't know what animal species are left alive in their world, but giraffes or tiger cubs would have been good for him. It's just cute, don't look for logic.

He is sometimes picky about food, in terms of, of course, the harsh realities of survival with Scarlett, he will eat whatever he can, but I think if possible he would have some kind of limited diet of favourite foods and dishes.

Scarlett, on the other hand, eats and loves absolutely EVERYTHING, because it is literally the only way for her to survive and she is used to taking whatever comes to hand. Although, I think she has some favorites too: fish and meat, most probably not so much greens (??? at least because they are not so easy to get and process, and also because I think so). But with all that said, she doesn't really think about it in most moments.

Joe, in contrast to this, also likes meat and fish, but he leans more towards fish because, c'mon, he literally lives and moves on a raft, he doesn't have that much choice, so I'm sure he can fish well)

Scarlett doesn't like chocolate, Albert likes milk chocolate or chocolate with nuts.

Ettie loves all kinds of sweets, although she hasn't had many in her life, so she enjoys fruit, for example.

Thomas also loved sweets, and it was literally the only reason they were ever in the McCain household in the first place. (I absolutely do not want Ettie to bring up Scarlett's trauma in any way, but there you go)

I saw a headcanon, it was @mellowkotto's I think, about Scarlett being terrible at playing computer survival games, and it really fits, but listen.

Albert is a very fast learner, so he would be really good at survival games because he would understand the mechanics and the rules of the game very quickly. This would create a pretty strong contrast, because in reality, things are a little different even after Albert's survival lessons. This led to a whole series of headcanons between me and my bestie about how they would play Minecraft, but that's a topic for a whole another post.

That's the only thing I'm saying from there: Albert built himself a house, tamed a dog, an ocelot and built a garden on his first day of play.

Scarlett spent the whole night trying to kill monsters with her bare hands because she's so angry that there are no knives or guns in this "bloody game" (don't tell her about mods), but then she just burrowed into the ground a few blocks down to survive.

Albert likes his pillow and bed to be warm

Scarlett likes her pillow and bed to be cold.

(It doesn't matter anymore, because if they share a bed, Albert canonically will be sent to sleep on the floor)

Albert falls asleep quickly, almost instantly, no matter how easy or hard or crazy the day has been.

Scarlett falls asleep for a long time thinking about her past and the results of the day, and even meditation doesn't always help. (Because they are both traumatised, except that Albert tends to ignore his traumas/not trigger them much, and Scarlett tends to live in them more than she wants to.)

Albert likes to play with Ettie, spinning small rocks or things in the air in front of her in a circle, like an invisible juggler when no one is looking.

Scarlett is pretty good when she needs to draw a quick sketch of a plan on a piece of paper, although she usually prefers to analyse the situation on the fly and keep everything in her head. And she and Albert are both terrible artists, seriously, some of Ettie's drawings are much better than what they can create even as a team.

(Although I think Albert would like to practice to better understand Ettie, for whom drawing is her preferred method of communication instead of words)

Both Scarlett and Joe are quite canonically gamblers, the only difference is that Scarlett spends large sums of money on gambling, not really caring about winning (she has trauma, just leave her alone), Joe mostly plays for fun, playing, for example, cards with Sal, for example, with a maximum bet of a few coins for show.

Mallory has been trained formal, clean language while working for the Faith Houses and the authorities, and so even if he speaks in a threatening and violent manner, his speech always remains calibrated. Therefore, it was another minus to his perception at Scarlett that she greeted him with a bunch of curses and a fist directly to his face from the truck cab.

And, regarding Mallory, in his childhood at Stonemoor, he would try to bring Dr Calloway some kind of gift after her "experimental sessions", whether it was a flower from a vase or a crooked drawing. Calloway was genuinely pleased with such thing, not because she really loved Mallory, but because it was the clearest indicator that her system was working and that this child was definitely attached to her and would do what he was told.

Despite the fact that Scarlett had the cuss-box after she joined the Brothers of the Hand, I really wish that the idea to pick up this tradition had come to her on her own, not on someone else's suggestion. Perhaps she had a similar jar for monitoring bad habits in her old house and then remembered it.

#the outlaws scarlett and browne fanart #the notorious scarlett and browne #scarlett and browne #scarlett mccain #albert browne #headcanons #don't search for logic #please tell me if any of this is against canon #because I can forget details(

[systemic-dreams]

I made a playlist for Elliot Krangsdt! it's not perfect, but I'm pretty happy with it. I hope you enjoy :)

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/74AkiNXEmX08a5NwEqQedm?si=MXJCo-P7Tj-arIF93s4XKw

I've been listening to this all day. what a jam. it's so different to what i usually listen to. like walking into a room with brightly coloured walls.

"sometimes the only road to take is the darkest" really hits. i think Evan only ever took that road and Elliot is still confused about having other options. like, there's a fork in the road now but the light side is unfamiliar, so he needs to be dragged in and told it's okay, it's not a trick

literally all of momento mori gets it. but it's so upbeat and almost playful in tone. i get an insomnia/insanity vibe. staying up way too long and going a little crazy. or a lot crazy.

hollow moon was very acoustic and folksy. i had to look up the lyrics because i was missing them with all the flourishes but damn. "if I made my bed, did I make the demons in it?" ummm. yes. I think as much as Evan had actual demons, Elliot is creating phantom demons to fill the holes the horrors have left in his psyche. and his decisions absolutely created the demons that plague him now. spot on.

lampshades' "fear makes us really really run around" is 100% Elliot but also Evan. whenever he was afraid or uncomfortable, Brennan would try to move him out of the scene or just leave the space. but the pilot program would follow instead of letting him go alone. which made the exits seem like transitions instead of escapes. Even Evan's exit from the school which the pilots stop in the series, is Evan removing himself from the area because he's afraid of what he will do to do people close to him. Elliot has a different problem, in that, dangerous things are happening to people he cares about and he runs around trying to fix them out of fear they will be hurt or killed.

"i'd give an arm and a leg, just to go, just to be on my own, but i need to stay and fend for myself." definitely an adult Elliot feeling. I think younger Elliot tried to leave the Krangsdts multiple times. just because of past experience with foster families either treating Evan poorly or getting eaten by monsters. and he doesn't remember, but the feeling of being in a house with people in it is not a comfortable one. I think he eventually learned he cant just go AWOL but he still couldnt live in a house with people in it. the excuse he made to himself would be: he needed somewhere to stash his vampire hunting gear and crash when he gets beat up so he doesnt look sus or worry anyone. but its more than that.

cicada days really got me with lines like "it just feels inhuman to lose this much" i mean, fr. I don't think Evan is human or considers himself human. no one can go through that much trauma and come out sane. it's a miracle or some form of magic that keeps a spark of naivety and hope and goodness alive in him. even if he's super broken. there's cynicism in his personality but it's more of a healthy scientific skepticism. it isn't despair. there's a lot of pain that comes from keeping that spark of good alive within incalculable darkness. and you get hit with "now it feels damn inhumane to get all i've dreamt of" which i think is more applicable to the later chapters i havent published. but there is massive guilt there. like, 'it's too good to be true', 'what's the catch?', why? how? waiting for it all to come crashing down because it couldnt all possibly be happening.

also, "cause when you leave you know you take more than your love" i feel hits more with K. because it's unsaid between them. there's not enough time to process feelings. they barely confess and suddenly it's time to part. and you cant say 'i love you' yet. but you want to. but it's just too much and its probably not true. and when Evan leaves, he does take that love with him and also their futures.

moonsickness is so raw with "I'm the worst mistake your god has ever made". it's too bad i don't like penelope scott's voice or tone. she might as well be ordering a pizza over the phone lol. great lyrics though. i would love to hear a cover that does them justice. i think early Elliot does feel like a mistake and that plagues him for a while. my plan was to have the pilot program flip the switch eventually and turn it into "I'm the worst mistake your god has ever made and I'm gonna make it your problem." but i don't know if i'll ever get there. writing hard hurr durr

this was so fun! thank you for sharing! I've never made a playlist for Elliot because in my mind he was always a caricature of every popular emo song i could think of. stuff that K and Cody Walsh would think is cool but in reality would be a nightmare. when i put them in a playlist, it became clear why he is my blorbo lol.

please find attached: my emo son - the playlist

#elliot krangsdt #spotify playlist #blorbo from my fanfic

[izbelross]

THE SIGHTER

I'm nervous, this here is a, well is something I have been working on and very afraid to post.

It's my first time writing a ff and actually posting it. And what better starting than a Moonknight fanfic. Relying on my actual hyper-fixation. This is planned to be short and starting with Moonknight series so... be careful if you haven't watched it.

I really like writing, is a personal therapy of mine and after almost a year of learning about my fears I decided to front one... posting.

I would actually love to read what this made you think or feel or... just anything, it would be lovely.

English is not my first language, if I have typos, am sorry, tried to make reader gender neutral, if I missed again, I apologise :D

Words: 3.9 K –I really love writing jejeje–

Pairings: Steven Grant x GN!reader, Marc Spector x GN!reader, Jake Lockley x GN!reader, Arthur Harrow x Platonic!GN!reader, Khonshu x Platonic!GN!reader

Warnings: Spoilers for Moonknight series, angst, mention to mental illness, drama idk, some sparkle of fluff, mentions of death. Khonshu being my little shit of a pigeon.

You have always wondered if you weren't just some crazy ass. If your life wasn't really just an entire hallucination of what was supposed to be a normal person. You had family that loved you but never really understood the way you will look to an specific area because "Mommy, there is a creepy looking dog over there" or "Yesterday a flying snake told me that I'll have a pigeon" or that one that made them definitely scared "Ma fren said that when I die I'll be like him".

You had a very different way of seeing life. It wasn't the usual bland experience but a majestic and incredible surprise. You used to talk to your grandma, even when she had already passed, and she told you to not tell your parents, for they weren't very knowing of this kind of stuff. All your childhood you were surrounded with the colours of peoples feelings in the tip of your tongue. You bonded with animals that often than not had to be kept in the garden meanwhile your parents wondered why they were so attracted to this area. It was as if life was a rainbow which you could experience all on your own with the guidance of your deceased grandma.

But not everything was good. There were shadows as well, shadows that clouded your nights taking away the joy of the day and making you scream until the birds sleeping on the edge of your window started to fly around your house and the wolfs in the distance cried along side you.

Night terrors was what the doctors told your parents. And it was "common" in children. The problem started when you where no longer a child. Every night you had to endure the visits of ghostly shadows without faces that grabbed your arms leaving you thrashing against them with bruises covering your skin in the mornings.

Which brought another problem. Your parents believed that you were hurting yourself. Hallucinating, paranoid. They medicated you, which left you tired and sleepy all the time. They gave you pills after pills, each one with a higher rank until you had to pretend that you couldn't see them anymore, that you couldn't hear them. Only then would they stop giving you such strong pills that left you in a trance of numbness and heart hammering.

You didn't have many friends for those years. Many of them believed you were a freak and the ones that really wanted to hangout with you were never the kind of friendship that last a lifetime. As with your parents...

You preferred to relay in yourself and the counsel of your grandma.

She taught you about the mysticism of people like you both. The Sighters. You had an astral bond with the universe. And even if they didn't seem like magnificent powers like the ones that could cause destruction, it allowed you to help those who needed it. Like the lost souls that sometimes would roam the streets searching for closure from this world. Or for people that had ghosts lurking their backs, trying to have free access to this realm of the living but weren't allowed anymore.

It was all good until your grandmother had to pass to the "Other side" as well. You were wrenched between being selfish by keeping the only one that understood who exactly you were and giving her the peace you knew she deserved. The latter choice was the one that attracted the sight of certain someone to your life.

When you met Arthur Harrow, things in your life were complicated.

You were tired of having to pretend be someone else. After all, you were a Sighter and your power was consuming you every time a denial came out of your mouth for fear of what your friends would think of you, what your parents would make you take this time or how many days will you spend in a hospital now?

You had just escaped your home with nothing more but the hope of finding a new place you could live and be at peace. The bag at your back had only the essentials, money you kept, ID, few coupons for fast food and two sets of clothing.

Totally a mistake of you for having got out at night, the streets as lonely as they could be only echoed your footsteps and even with the narrow light of the lamp posts the dread of being alone started to climb deep in your bones. The heavy clouds announced the coming of rain and stoped the moon light to seep to the street.

When people was behind you their auras used to approach you, hugging your own and acknowledging each other for what you were. Humans. It was a weird sensation that helped you ground yourself on moments of panic, to remind you that after all, you were normal, in a sense, just with a little extra in you.

But these sensation, the coldness and unnatural stillness of it reaching out to you and claim you against your will was the peak of every nightmare.

And it reached out with those anti-natural fingers pressing tight against your leg until it bled. Your scream was agonising and it flew among the shadows of night until it reached Harrow –clothed in his avatar armour– and even Khonshu stoped bickering when the full force of your soul searching refuge reached his undying one.

"ARTHUR, REACH TO THEM. NOW!" He didn't understand the deep uncomfortable feeling that overcame him, memories flooding his mind of old times when priest, priestess searched for his aid and as only payment: unconditional devotion.

When the Ennead stoped caring, the humans were left alone asking them selfs and each other "Where were our gods? Why haven't they answered? Why have they left us?" He can still remember how his devoted were hunted and punished for praying, for waiting for them. For him.

And seeing a Sighter, seeing you without protection, without a guide.

NO

With full speed his avatar jumped over the buildings until your silhouette came into view. The god could not hide the terror on his skin, for there was you, a Sighter, one of the rare who were born under the protection of a god. And your soul was being ripped away by a shadow clad in animal skin. "HURRY!"

You were fighting with all your will to suppress the darkness trying to creep into your eye sockets, your mouth, your nose. The power of fear overcame you and you begged for anyone, anything to help you.

You prayed to anyone who shall listen for help.

And then it happened. No one came to aid: no person, no spirit, no god.

Your power was ripped and your soul split in half.

You realised two things then and there. One, your grandma was right, the power you had was unaltered, raw, savage. It could flow without limit and burn everything on his way. Two, it could drain you to the point of dead.

Golden light enveloped you and the darkness gripping you was not fighting anymore to eat from you but to get away. His touch was cold but you were a constant fountain of warmth.

You carbonised the cutting ice clawing at you from the inside, your screams weren't of terror now but of fury and the air around you burned even when Harrow tried to coax you to stop.

Khonshu marvelled at the sight. As a god of the moon, coldness was his, it enveloped him, nurtured him. And he found himself craving the blinding warmth that for a few seconds surrounded the world.

Your breath became even, the claws not anymore near you, not even existing, and standing there, an astonished Arthur finding in your eyes the same look he once had when Khonshu found him. Horror, pain, confusion.

"SIGHTER." Looking up the god Khonshu was coming your way, empty sockets looking without eyes. He put one knee on the ground and carefully to not spook you anymore, a hand cladded in old wrappings touched your skin. "HELLO LITTLE SIGHTER. DO NOT FRET" His hand was cold and it covered then the top of your head, patting it like one would do a puppy. "WHAT IS YOUR NAME, SIGHTER?" You gave your name and behind him Arthur walked to you, finally showing his face.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Arthur Harrow." The blue eyes looked at you like you held the answers to the most impossible questions, and the firm shake he gave to your hand was accompanied by a soft smile. You were a shaking mess. "Come with me"

Not even questioning him you followed this man and his god, you didn't have anywhere else to go, no one else who to trust but the aura surrounding him, a beautiful almost imperceptible melon colour told you that he was in pain, he was grieving but the more outstanding shade of mustard yellow gave away the gentleness and caring and safety.

~~🌙~~

Khonshu was watching both of you, still holding hands like your life was depending on it. He followed to Harrow's apartment, he stood alongside you while you ate so fast you almost chocked on the chicken and Arthur had to pour more water on your glass after you drank in two gulps. "You will be safe here"

"Are you- are you like me?" You both were still sitting at the dinner table, heart rate was finally normal, your stomach full and after he talked about mundane things –like how interested he was on science and that he had being learning german for 5 years– you were able to almost feel safe. He was easy to talk to. "You can see Khonshu and you could see the shadow from before."

"It's different for me," you poured a little more coffee on your cup and offered more to Arthur who nodded, grateful. "I'm the avatar of Khonshu, which gives me certain abilities: strength, velocity, awareness, the Sight. You were born with these gifts, for what I see."

"My grandma used to be my guide, she passed away and even then I learned from her." Arthur got up inviting you to the large sofa, he gave you a blanket and sat next to you, hearing everything you wanted to share. "She used to tell me that I could have explosions of temper, powerful but draining,"

"Powerful indeed, it felt like I was touching the sun for a moment." You both let out a lazy laugh. "My condolences. I know how it feels to- to lose someone you love." There was a pause where both of you lingered in the memories of it. "I think your grandma would've been proud of what you did tonight."

A tiny smile was your answer and Arthur chuckled. "Thank you. For- for letting me stay here as well, I know Khonshu is making you and- and I'm really sorry for invading your space-"

"Hey, hey. Stop, please. It's not only him that wants you to stay here. I prefer that you don't go around looking for a place on a doubtful motel. If you need to stay for a while I wouldn't mind and if you wish to go, the door is open. Just- " he laughed lightly when a soft breeze passed by and you looked over to where Khonshu was suddenly perched, you couldn't see his expression but the stillness told you he didn't agree on the options Arthur gave you. "Just be sure to let us now. You can take the spare room, and, yeah... that's it. I should get ready, you go take a nap, it's gonna be daylight soon."

"Thank you again Arthur." You smiled at each other and parted ways.

The room was small and cozy, with a large window illuminated in moonlight. You didn't dare turn on the lights and for the appreciative hum behind you, Khonshu agreed.

"I WILL KEEP YOU SAFE, SIGHTER. THERE'S STILL SO MUCH FOR YOU TO LEARN ABOUT YOURSELF." The god sat in front of the large crystal panels, crosslegged, and the room seemed smaller at his presence, even from his place at the floor.

You were curious– tired but curious. There looking at the way his beak tilt to the side while you carried the sheets from the bed to the floor alongside him, searching comfort from a being so cold, so different from the burn that was still in your chest, you realised that you felt more at ease with this two strangers for the few hours you met them than all the long years with your family.

"I have a lot of questions, but I feel- I can't really- everything is just, this... and-" you sighed.

"THE ANSWERS WILL COME, SIGHTER. WITH TIME, WITH PATIENCE I SHALL ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS." Khonshu watched as you laid under the comforter and gazed right to the moon. Your tired eyes shined with white light, resembling the way Arthur's would when he summoned the suit.

"I should be panicking," this need to talk overcame you, the need to say it, you were distracted by the chat with Arthur, it helped you get your head back in time, it stopped you from spiralling into an anxiety attack, but you still wanted to, you still needed to talk about it, to know you were not- you weren't- "I should be feeling scared or at least crying. It was the first time I was able to do, well, that I did back there. But I feel..." the tears stung, your throat was closing in a painful knot. "I feel numb, I don't feel my body, is like I am here but I am not here. I can see you, I could see Arthur and I am- I have so-" a sob wracked you body, curling into yourself.

In one night you got away from home, after years of feeling like a monster, of feeling the looks they gave you.

You were attacked and you were terrified. You unlocked an unknown power and saved yourself. You met Arthur, an avatar, with eyes that hide torturous emotions like your own. You met his god Khonshu– that proclaimed his protection over you. You got a place to sleep, you got to eat, to laugh with this man. And you had so much in you, inside, that the tears cascading with no end and the headache pulsing relentless weren't enough to make you feel.

"YOU DON'T HAVE TO OBLIGE YOURSELF TO FEEL EVERYTHING ALL AT ONCE. YOU HAVE LITTLE CAPACITY AS A HUMAN. YOUR BODY IS STILL CATCHING UP TO YOUR BRAIN AND YOUR BRAIN IS IN A RACE TO GET TO THE PRESENT FROM WHAT HAPPENED."

Now, Khonshu wasn't human, he didn't understand the reactions of his own avatar and he couldn't even comprehend for the life of him what was that deep ache that –if he needed air to live– would have constricted his lungs. But weirdly, his cold reasoning and truth tone at talking made wail with more force and without guilt, without telling yourself you shouldn't feel sorry because you already had a roof.

Crying helped you clean your mind, your body was lest stiffen after long minutes of gasping for hair between wrecking sobs and the added weight of Khonshu's hand patting your head while you slipped into unconsciousness took some of the anxiety that got you every night.

~~🌙~~

That first morning you woke up to the smell of bacon and coffee. To the sound of relaxing ambient music and chirping birds. Your soul was sad, still crying without the need to shred tears but by finding yourself on floor with the memories of last night, free of a broken family you smiled.

It was a little smile and more started to come when you found a message from Arthur on the fridge, wishing you good morning, "Guten apetit" and the first gift of many from Khonshu, a moon shaped stone, held in a little crystal ball that hang from a black leader necklace. A protection, for his Sighter.

Soon your live changed, quite literally from night to morning, and you couldn't be more grateful for that fate.

Khonshu helped you with the soul call of the universe, the shadows lurking your way, the night terrors. For five years he taught you the way of the Sighters, to protect, to defend, to attack. And Arthur, your new found friend, showed you how to fight without your Sight.

For five years you had Khonshu, an asshole that protected you and taught you how to protect. And you had Arthur, your confident, your friend, your family who taught you how to defend yourself without magic, without immortality, with the fear of dying that kept every human alive on impossible situations. You learned how to science as well.

Maybe that's why it hurt so much when Arthur betrayed Khonshu and by consequence, betrayed you.

You had everything you never had, for those five years you learned what having a family felt like, and you learned that even the most perfect ones could be the more hurting ones.

~~🌙~~

The pain of that betrayal didn't waver, it didn't only affect Arthur and Khonshu's relationship, but yours and Khonshu's as well.

You believed that something had happened, something that made him get a so radical change of mind.

"You have to help him Khonshu! He isn't himself, I know it!" By this time, you were sure Arthur's neighbours were wondering calling or not to the police. You couldn't care less anyways.

"HE HAS CHOSEN A PATH, HE MADE THAT CHOICE SO HE WILL SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES. AND YOU HAVE TO MAKE UP YOUR MIND WITH IT. I WILL NOT WASTE MY TIME ON HIM MY LITTLE SIGHTER, AND YOU SHALL NOT EITHER."

It had been like these since Arthur had gone out of that palace. It was so sudden, the way he talked, the way he walked. The simple job of justice was perfectly performed by him, as always and Khonshu was satisfied, or the most satisfied he could get. You were waiting at hotel room, after having done your own work. Helping the lost souls to find the path, helping the living ones to understand that same path. A group of extremists had got to you though, you had a few bruises and sore arm muscles but out of it, nothing a bubble bath and pain killers didn't heal.

At the hotel room he had a dry humour and the worst happened in the morning. Khonshu went away, he often left you both for short in the mornings and came back in middle afternoon, and so, Arthur got his chance. Started telling you about the justice, so passionately that his eyes looked maddening and when you started to joke he snapped.

One minute, breakfast in the balcony with a man you trusted, friend of years, the next you were in front of a stranger that held a cane from an old goddess, one that you recall, was the devourer of hearts. A chill swept your back when he asked for your hands, when you didn't give them willingly he took them with a harsh grip, forcing the cane on your wrists. To say that you kicked him, he kicked back and the fight finished with you running on a frenzy to the airport and him screaming your name on the crowded Egyptian streets.

"If you don't help him then I fucking will!" The desperation clouded your senses, you'll do anything for not letting go, you couldn't, why would someone give up something so beautiful? "He is my family, he needs me Khonshu and I'm not giving up on him," your voice was strained, between screaming and crying your vocal chords were suffering a great deal.

"HE IS NOT YOUR FAMILY." You stoped mid track packing your clothes. "YOUR FAMILY ABANDONED YOU, HE IS NOT BUT MY AVATAR AND YOU SHOULD UNDERSTAND THAT." Honestly, if he had just stabbed you with his centre the pain would have been less. Your heart clenched so painfully that the little mental awareness left in you wasn't enough to understand his next words. "YOU WILL NOT SEARCH FOR HIM, NOT IF I CAN HELP IT."

Yes, it hurt. Like a limb being sliced from you, suddenly the ground beneath you, your own gravity centre changed, your power changed. The utopia of a bubble of familial love fade away with the memory of Arthur Harrow at the same time that Khonshu prayed the god Dolos and put you to sleep.

~~🌙~~

"Ah, yes, Annubis, god of the embalming and the death, a very important and praised god until, well- heh, Osiris. Quite a family, 'innit?" You looked at the man that appeared out of nowhere, startling you a little. Now, you had the fucking Sight, but not even that was able to distract you from the soft, nervous smile under big brown eyes.

You might have seem like a fish out of water but who could blame you, this man just talked and it was like the lights around were brighter than ever, like the holes in your incomplete memories weren't important anymore. "I- yeah, yes. They should probably take a few holidays, can't imagine what thousands of years can do to someone relationships." He chuckled with your answer, his hand playing with the zipper of his jacket. Holy shit, he's cute.

"Although it was almost endearing, how he accepted his new position, Anubis, I mean... " you stared at him meanwhile he talked about the entire myth of Isis and Osiris love, Anubis and his supposed brother Horus and the why yes he might be, no, that might not be, but... a soothing voice he had, with a so heavy accent that had you wondering how could you have lived without it? "... which is a little funny 'cause he ended up embalming Osiris himself, don't ya think? Oh, I- I'm sorry I- I tend to ramble a lot, I- didn't-"

"Well thanks to the very renew Osiris and Horus, even Set myths now we have Anubis to take care of the embalming and those who are transitioning. Pretty funny as you say but in a way, like any belief, unstoppable."His mouth hanged open at your answer. You were listening, of course you were. You used to serve Khonshu, you used to... pray to him. And Egyptology was one of the most interesting subjects you could ever stood by, even before being catalog a former Sighter. And hearing someone like him, a pretty yet handsome man that was passionate about Egypt, that looked at you like you were a wonder and a full smile making his eyes shine Oh so bright, so fucking pretty.

You introduced yourself, shaking his clammy hand and with a smile as big as his. It was almost impossible to your heart not to flutter with his nervous chuckle.

"I'm Steven Grant, it's a really- real pleasure to meet you." By now you were only holding hands and you couldn't care less if it was awkward. His smile impossible to fade, your cheeks hurting of the same problem.

"Oh no, believe me, the pleasure is all mine."

If you were being honest, this was by far the best moment of your day. And you didn't know but, Steven with tired eyes and a hopeful gaze still in you couldn't agree more.

Again, I'm sorry for any mistakes 😅

I really liked writing this and finally making a move around my new Moonknight obsession 🌙✨🥰

#steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight #moonknight fic #arthur harrow #khonshu #khonshu x reader

[miomisery]

which one of you wants to read my cutthroat essay. none of you? too bad there’s no choice now read it because I need friends who like this show.

The Cutthroat (殺人鬼 Satsujinki) (direct translation to “Murderer”) is a character featured in Akudama Drive with 967 years sentenced to his name for around 999 murders at his execution. He is 6’1 (185cm) and 70kg (154.324lbs.) His clothing is completely white, which is surprising considering this guy is a MURDERER like how do you kill people without getting blood on that. He enjoys the blood spurting out of his victims, but he doesn’t view murder as JUST the blood because he states having an immortal victim would be no fun. He obviously likes the adrenaline rush along with the sensation of someone dying at his hands. Despite being a mass murderer, his personality is actually quite innocent and playful like a small child. He runs around happily and it’s hard to believe he’s committed this many crimes. His love for the colour red is a major part in his character and relationship with Swindler, and he frequently brings how beautiful it is up in the show. (32 times in 5 episodes, haven’t counted the rest but ykwim.) It appears to be the only colour he can see, because in episode 9 we get a small glimpse of his vision as he’s looking for Swindler. He’s also been able to see pink and orange, but not as easily which is why hs prefers red. He is definitely very patient, waiting almost the entire show for a perfect opportunity to murder Swindler. However, he gets impatient as she begins to run from him and he has to chase her down in episode 9. His favourite food is marshmallows, stating he likes them better when they’re covered in blood and look like brains. (Does he put actual blood on them I have no clue.) He is affectionate and protective of Swindler the first 8 episodes of the show, but episode 9 is where he reveals his true intentions and reveals he’s been waiting to kill her. He has an odd way of looking at the world, and he appears to see red halos above people sometimes. The symbolism behind it isn’t explained anywhere, but in the manga we get a couple small scenes from his past where his mother also has a halo, quite a large one too. The creators of the series said that the halo above Swindler is actually his love for her, but as usual he mistakes it for killing intent. He also killed his mother when he was about 10 years old. He also seemed to practice murdering small animals which I believe is something actual serial killers do sometimes, and it’s shown he also murders his pet cat with an umbrella. It isn’t explained anywhere if killing his mother was for the same reasons as going for Swindler, but he does say “I feel much better now” after killing her. She was likely his first human kill, and brings up how he’s been “going crazy lately” implying he’s had these urges to kill all his life and only now fed into them, resulting in a seeming addiction to murder which he now can’t live without.

I am a mere autistic

#akudama drive #akudama cutthroat #just ranting

[thatmexisaurusrex]

who could you call a friend between your mutuals? what do you think is sam's fav colour?

Ooh 🤔 Okay, I'll answer the Sam question first: I think it's red. He uses the color a lot in his costume and Redwing - it just makes sense.

As for friends between mutuals, lemme list some.

@samothy-wilson is a joy. Bee's a wonderful person and I always love talking with them, whether it's random animal posts, comic stuff, or sambucky absurdity. And I'm getting to that sequel to the Bone Man soon, I swear 😂 💜 💜 💜

@runzu fantastic! They're kind and great to talk with. They have made a lot of my fics better with a good beta and they just brighten my day.

@elektraking is always someone I love seeing around. I love talking to her whenever I get the opportunity and her posts always brighten my day.

@obsessivelymoody is always wonderful to chat with. She's always so kind and encouraging and I love seeing her on discord. She's a magnificent writer and just a good overall person.

@yammz is someone I honestly need to get back to talking to more because I love whenever I see Amy around. She's so fun to talk to and she's made fics I've written better through her beta. I still need to get back to you about that one idea, and I swear I will, it's just my life has been way busier than I expected 😭

@hot-chocolates-world is a magnificent human being who I've probably poked enough by making a tush collection out of a whole body of pictures she collected, but her posts are always an inspiration to see and while we don't have the most interaction together, I enjoy our small moments.

@cataroo was someone who was there for me at the very beginning and one of the first people I really interacted with in the beginning, if only through comments and when I started to get on discord. She's kind and so smart and I love that she was one of my first introductions to this fandom.

@jules-of-the-crown is someone I love talking to whenever we cross paths. I love her on discord, I love her on here. She's so sweet and a magnificent writer, whether it be stony or sambucky or sambuckyquin. Plus, she, Cat, and Elektra are all fans of a particularly wonderful hockey series I enjoy, so it's nice to know that there are other people I know who love those books.

@meidui is a joy. Hands down, one of the most wonderful people to talk to, even if we don't talk much. I still have that ask of yours that I'm working on! It's coming out eventually haha Life has been a little crazy but it's on the schedule 💜 But you create fantastic Stony work and your just so sweet and thank you for being you!

@samcky is someone I usually see on here, but sometimes she's around discord too. She's a beautiful artist when it comes to gifs and the work that she's made is astounding and amazing. We don't talk much, but I love seeing her around and every post she makes is a gem.

@bisamwilson is someone I've been talking more to on both here and discord, and while we don't always interact a lot, I love talking or adding to an idea on a discord prompt together. She's a beautiful human being who is just too kind and one of these days, you, me, and T are making that very southern SamBucky fic by Frankensteining our experiences 😂

@saryasy is so fantastic to see around. We don't talk always, but I love the moments we do interact. You're such a talented writer and you're just too sweet and I like our little moments together.

@itchytoaster isn't someone I interact with too much, but I see them on discord sometimes and here, and it's always nice seeing them.

@liminalmess is always wonderful to see too! I love seeing them around whenever I do, and I promise, I'll get back to you on that one fic, my life has just been so hectic 😭 But they've been so encouraging and wonderful whenever I see them on discord and I just love seeing them.

@logicheartsoul is someone I see all the time. We interact sometimes on here and it's always a joy to do so. A-chan's such a smart, thoughtful person and they're posts are fantastic. Its nice to know that they're around in the fandom.

@wenellyb is someone I don't talk to too much, but I see them around tumblr and they always have such insightful posts and they're always kind whenever we cross paths.

There's definitely a whole lot more out there who I would consider friends, but I can't remember their tumblr names on here or I'm not sure if they have tumblrs 🤔 But I've met so many wonderful people in this fandom and idk I just wanted to gush about them 🥰

#sam wilson #and a bit about people i like on tumblr 🥰

[transgirlmononoke]

Oh hey I got tagged for a thing ty @warioigottawin:+)

OK

Fav colour: I think foresty green, but my like lifetime favorite colour is royal purple, however I've been real into pale pinks lately too...

Currently reading: OOOH ok so I was rereading Harrow along with my friend who I'm doing the cosplay with BUT I was also at her behest reading the Final Empire, book one of Mistborn (she's super into Brandon Sanderson's stuff) and now I'm onto the second book, the Well of Ascension. They've been really good so far, it's a really cool and unique fantasy world with an awesome magic system (eating different metals lets you do crazy shit) and I loooove the main characters, they start out a bit basic but especially coming into book two they gain a lot of depth and are just generally really likeable, I have had a bit of trouble keeping track of the side characters though lol, there's a couple that all melt together in my brain. Also ostensibly working on starting discworld, I'm a little bit of the way through Guards! Guards! But TLT and Mistborn have been keeping me busy (STILL need to read nona lol, I'll probably get to it before Alecto comes out lol) also I've been doing all of this with audiobooks which I still have some trouble paying attention to sometimes but it's massively easier for me these days than physical books OK LONG BIT OVER

Last song: last song I actually listened to was DUI by Estelle Allen, I unironically love it so much even though I can't drive and therefore follow through (I DID SCHEDULE A PERMIT TEST THOUGH WHOO LOOK AT ME BEING AN ADULT) anyways if you haven't heard it PLEASE please listen to it immediately (and also the whole album it's on, it's actually real good)

Last series: UHHH haven't been watching a ton of "tv" shows recently, but I just finished season 5 of game changer on dropout which was fun, and I'm now binging all three seasons of SoupRS's Gielenor Games OSRS competition gameshow, I haven't actually played old school in a bit and never very seriously but I do love those funny little guys fighting funny little monsters and flicking their funny little prayers :+)

Last movie: UHH I think the DnD movie? I personally loved it, it's not as cringe as I expected and is very accessible to anyone who's not into dnd the game or the internet dnd "fandom"

Sweet, spicy, or savoury: GOD that's hard I mean I am a pleasure seeking creature so like I do love sweet sugary stuff, but I also loooove sweet/spicy stuff, or really just all of those stuck together, although I think I'd actually go for umami over savoury. I've been practicing this scallion oil noodle recipe that is soooo good and the sauce especially is a really great blend of sweet from sugar, spicy from various stuff, and savory from the scallions (plus a lot of umami from the sesame oil and soy sauce lol) my rendition of the recipe is just a simplified/easier version of some I've seen on the internet, but I can post it if anyone's interested :3

Craving: SPONGE CAKE AND TOO SWEET ICING god I just love the texture its such a good sensory experience for me, and the flavor is just. Sugar lol so yeah. However seeing char's answer reminds me that I loooove the samosas from this one Indian place we used to order from that shut down BUT they JUST reopened under a new name and slightly different model so I need to get my mitts on some yummy yummy samosas and tamarind sauce

Tea vs coffee: TEA ez, I mostly just drink water and the occasional sodie (although I really should get an electric kettle for my room id drink way more tea) I think I've literally never had coffee and tbh I don't have much desire too, doesn't smell a way I like and I can get caffeine from sodies, someday I may grow up and get into coffee but I wanna get back to more tea first, I made this syrup with lemon balm that I really wanna try as a sweetener in a tea

Currently working on: well not a ton, got a callback from a job I was really excited about and they seemed into me but also I need a driver's license for that so. I'm starting work on a permit lol. Theoretically working on that cosplay but most of it is just gonna be ordering stuff, I might make the sword out of foam and wood though so I can bring it to cons. Also been drawing a sword for the same friend's fantasy series she's been working on, and just generally helping her brainstorm that stuff which is really fun :)

OK uhhhhhhhhhhhhh do I have to tag people? Idk, if anyone wants to do this you can just say I tagged you, and I'll give uhhh @the-gay-prometheus @potorch @bark-eater @zoentropy a ping for it lol, absolutely no pressure to do it, entirely just if you're interested ok bye :)

[hollygl125]

Summer Reading / Writing / Arting Tag

Tagged by: @coping-via-clint-eastwood. (Fun! Thank you!)

1. Describe one creative WIP project you’re planning to work on over the summer.

I’m planning to submit a story for the ficwip 5k AU challenge, but I wrote that two days after it was announced (I have absolutely zero control over my mind), so now I’m just waiting for sign-ups and posting. I consider it a pre-canon divergent, canon convergent modification of a coffee-shop AU (not that I’ve ever read a coffee-shop AU). I think it’s pretty cute. But, since it’s already complete, I won’t exactly be working on that over the summer….

I will still be working on my ongoing series. It was ostensibly finished last August, but it’s grown in length by at least 50% since then (by adding to the middle—the end point is roughly the same). I currently have two unfinished sections (sections where I started adding something but need to fill in the rest).

In a dream world I would make a video to accompany the fic series, but I am an extreme perfectionist and don’t currently have the patience, so I think I would likely just drive myself crazy in the attempt.

I’d love to learn to make gifs in Photoshop, with pretty colours and layers and I don't know what…. I made a gif-set in PS once, but the end result was really big and unusable for most purposes because I didn’t really know what I was doing.

I’d also kind of like to embroider something. I bought some embroidery kits while slightly out of my mind during the height of the pandemic, and I think it would be fun to try using them and then, after learning a bit, make up something on my own. (Would it involve bees and butterflies? Probably.)

2. Rec a book!

Fiction: Girlfriend in a Coma by Douglas Coupland. I haven’t read this in forever, but I meant to recommend it to someone about a decade ago and never got the chance. So I’m recommending it now to y’all instead.

Non-Fiction: Stamped from the Beginning: The Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America by Ibram X. Kendi, which is about the development of racist ideas and non-racist ideas alongside each other. I think this is one of the last books I read before I broke my brain.

3. Rec a fic (outside your character tag)!

How cute of you, question-asker, to think I read any fic outside GSR!

4. Rec music!

I’m terrible at recommending music, but I do have a Spotify playlist for my GSR series. (The Spotify playlist is only current to the stories I’ve posted so far. My private iTunes playlist has about 100 more songs. The Spotify playlist will get there eventually.)

5. Share one piece of advice!

I did my undergrad in History and English Lit, but I have no background in creative writing (aside maybe from previously running my dog’s Instagram account), so I don’t know if I’m in much of a position to give advice, but I’ll tell you how I approached my writing process (and had a lot of fun with it!), and maybe that’ll help someone.

Writing fan fiction was not something I seriously considered doing until the day before I started doing it. On the day before I started, I thought of it as something I might do quite a ways in the future, when I’d prepared more. But then the next day my brain was like, actually, no, we’re doing this now.

The reason I’d decided to write fanfic was that I had all these little romantic GSR scenarios running around my head at night (and in the morning, and in the afternoon, and in the evening…), and it was getting really tiresome having to recreate the dialogue every night.

When I started I did an outline in a Word doc with story or chapter headings, based on the different aspects of the GSR story I knew I wanted to address. After I had the outline, I didn’t fill in the story linearly, though. I first wrote whatever scenario was most pressing to get out of my head. Then I wrote the next thing, then the next, then the next, all based on what was most urgently trying to escape my head. Sometimes I added more headings when I had new ideas.

But it was never work; it was always fun. I probably looked a little goofy. I kept thinking… oh my god, I can’t believe I’m doing this. (You have to keep in mind that, until January 2022, I had not read any fic since (or before) I read fic for Josh and Donna when they were taking their own sweet time back in the mid-2000s.)

Eventually I had to write some sections that were more functional—stuff that was simply necessary to get from Point A to Point B—but that was really minimal and still relatively enjoyable. (I have a hard time even remembering what those sections were anymore, but I think the chapter explaining how they got from the year of honeymoons to the events of season 13 was definitely one of them).

So I guess my advice would be that you should just do whatever works for you. (E.g., you don’t have to start at the beginning.) I think this works well with c-v-c-e’s advice: “This is art. There ARE no rules, especially ones restricting flexibility and expression.”

And, most importantly, please remember to try to have fun!

Tagging: If you would like to participate, please consider yourself tagged!

#about me #tagged #tag game