#more just throwing it up here bc i want content for my ocs on my blog and the writing i'm doing won't be posted for a loooooong ass time

[taegularities]

colour me in: translucent | jjk (m)

Summary: And whenever the world seems to fall apart and your thoughts cast a shadow over your heart, he rushes to lift you to your feet. Conjoining your hearts and souls, again and again and again.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; some healthy angst, so much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: y’all. So. Much. Fluff, talk about stars, talk about his hometown, mention of a wedding 😁, 1 nara mention, a guest appearance!!, and another guest appearance…, daddy issues mention, oc has a tummy ache :(, banter, conversation with her mom, badass oc, their friends <3, moving and work stress, overworking, kook panics in this one, oc does too, tears and tears and tea–, abandonment issues, overthinking!!!, they communicate too late bc they’re scared, pregnancy scare, mention of throwing up, kissing and hand holding <3, petnames, insecurities/slight envy; explicit sexual content: diving right into the smut as the chapter starts 🤭, tie around oc’s neck ha ha, oral (f. receiving) (over panties and without 🥲), fingering, brief masturbation (m.), making out, jk takes the backseat and oc drives for a while <3, bit of choking, they’re half clothed for a bit, tiddie and butt love, tears, flirting, big dick jk, soft dom jk, emotions omg 😷, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, squirting, he unloads in her mouth 😄, and yeah, maybe more but i forgot – lmk if you notice smth! also… THE 👏 EN 👏 DING 🚨🚨🚨 ➳ word count: 35.8k 💀  ➳ a/n: here it is… after a long ass fight with tumblr and my tears, it’s here! i don’t have much to say this time except that this chapter means the world to me. and i hope you love it just as much. shoutout to @missgeniality for betaing parts of this and helping me with difficult scenes, i truly struggled!! <3 if you guys enjoy this one, let me know and don’t be shy to reach out!! love you and let’s dive in 🥺 ➳ listen to: say you won't let go by james arthur | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs | DC SERVER

The whispers cease the moment your door closes.

The whispers of the world, of all traffic, of all passersby, of all echoes. And those in your head, susurrating since you left the glass building and its conference hall.

They dim the moment you drop your palm off the door; your heart is still a nervous mess as you take your shoes off, watch him take his shoes off. He places them neatly in the shoe cabinet, jacket hung on one of the coat hooks.

Right here, you’re surrounded by a tranquil, quiet dome. Not as subdued as the emotions the outer world elicits; just an arena that feels perpetually warm, sepia and still.

And amidst that warmth, there’s yearning. You feel it in every nerve of your body, burning through your limbs. Stunning sentiments pull at your soul, making it heavy; and your heart floats, perpetually above the clouds.

As he rubs his cheek with a soft hand — you know, because you were holding it just two minutes ago, clutching it in the car for dear life —, you take a step forward, your mouth open, but not quite capable of saying all that’s weighing on your tongue.

They’re good things; amazing things. And he hasn’t yet gathered all his thoughts either to truly voice what he’s been hiding since you left the chaos. Only opting for the living room, painfully slowly, as if he’s waiting to face you again.

And maybe… maybe he really is. And maybe he doesn’t need to talk at all.

Because he stops the moment you speak, tenderly calling, “Jungkook.”

It’s all he needs. Combined with the lightest touch to his elbow, a hint of your voice is all he needs. He wants to keep hearing his name. Again and again and again. And today, announcing it to the world, you promised that you’ll be doing just that.

Shit. What have you done to his heart? He wants to ask questions that neither of you has an answer to; or, not one that can be verbalised. One that could explain this euphoria.

So he doesn’t say anything at all.

Instead, he stumbles as he turns back to you again, taking a deep breath before his head tilts. The unbounded amount of want is swimming in his tired eyes, and you barely manage a hushed, “Should we—” before his fingers flutter and he—

Dashes straight toward you. One large step, both hands jacking up to take your face captive. He raises your head, eyes closing, mouth parting an inch before it’s locked with yours.

If he hadn’t started, you would have.

The same thumb always caressing your skin pulls your lower lip down. An unfaltering habit, tender whenever he spirals. You trip backwards, with him in tow, immediately gripping his arms with a wild, accelerating heartbeat.

Your soul was already awake, lit up from today’s events; but he dunks it in a brighter shine — and now it flushes pink.

For a while, your kiss’ sounds are all that echo off the wall, mixing with your sighs. He starts gently, head angled, diving deeper.

Every now and then, he tugs at your lip ever-so-slightly, teeth and tongue dragging over it. The wet muscle is soft against yours, and you let your touch drop down to his waist to hold him closer.

But there’s not that much time to dissolve into him right here, against your entrance door, because Jungkook backs away before you can bid your sanity adieu. Maybe that’s for later.

Maybe you need to be okay with his breath grazing your skin for now, for the words he murmurs so close to your lips, “You’re crazy for this. Absolutely crazy.”

You are. Both okay with this, and incredibly crazy.

There’s never been more certainty in your actions or your intentions than whatever you do with him. For him — if that deems you crazy, then you absolutely are.

Heated from the kiss, Jungkook steps away, but not without entangling your fingers with his. On the way to the bedroom, you ignore everything that doesn’t entail him.

Like, the humming of the fridge. Or the sound of the traffic outside, audible through the tilted window. And the buzzing of your phone; it’s been doing that for a while now.

Of course it is.

But you don’t hesitate to deposit it on your bedside table mere seconds later; you barely manage to put it there, nearly watching it slide down as Jungkook pulls you back. You clash against his body, and the tongue once again mingling with yours only enhances your disorientation.

God, you’re a lost cause. Nothing else to expect with his palm holding your jaw, arm slung around you, kissing you senseless.

Time slows down; the sensation turns electric. His motions are rhythmic, fingers brushing your neck. And despite the bitterness he must have felt at the conference, he tastes so , so sweet.

Heady desire growing, you grip the back of his head, pushing it closer. You’re insatiable. Yearning for more of his damp, soft lips, hysterical when he lets out a craving, small moan.

“Do you have any idea,” he starts, giving your neck no more than a handful of teasing pecks, “what that did to me?”

He moves back until you plummet into the mattress; your eyes follow when he leans in and falls to his knees. Placing a hand at the nape of your neck, tenderly moving your face a bit closer to his.

“Without a warning, too,” he continues, “what, were you planning to drive me mad for so long?”

Not the angry kind of mad. His smile and the fondness in his eyes reveal that much. No — the mad that a lover is.

“Did it work?” you ask, and he flashes his teeth, beloved crinkles around his eyes.

“Did it? What do you think?” He kisses your nose; then, the apple of your cheek. “You didn’t notice any of it today? Or any other time before that?”

“I wanted to… I want everyone to know. I was going to tell you when you came home, but… I wanted to say it in front of everybody. That,” you touch the collar of his blazer, rubbing it between your fingertips, “I’m done with their games. I don’t care anymore, Jungkook.”

“I know… You don’t care.” His hand leaves the nape of your neck, caressing your face. “But you care about me, yes? You care so much.”

It’s not really a question. It’s a statement, a reassurance to himself. A mantra, as if he needs to repeat it and let it reverberate in his mind until he’s grasped its meaning.

“I do,” you whisper, peeling the blazer off his shoulder by only a few inches, “and I want to stay. Can I… just stay here?”

“You’re crazy,” he echoes once more, emphasising his words with a shake of his head, “to think I’ll let you go again. You’ll see.”

Although he still establishes a brief, temporary distance between the two of you right after; you’re reluctant to stop feeling his warmth when he stands. He towers over you, and you muster utmost courage to not faint.

Because the sight is one to behold.

How he removes the blazer in a swift movement, discarding it on top of the table at the wall. He rolls up the sleeve of his shirt, but only one side, glancing at you throughout the ordeal.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask.

“Why is your mouth open like that?”

“Do this exactly in front of a mirror, and… and you’ll know why.”

He smirks. “Right. And stare at yourself in the mirror for longer than a second, and you’ll know why, too.”

God, this guy…

And he actually doesn’t stop.

His pupils keep wandering; to your eyes, to your lips, to your heaving chest. To how you close your legs when he loosens his tie with tattooed fingers, lettered knuckles on full display. He opens a single button of his dress shirt; enough to reveal a patch of golden skin.

The tie dangles off his neck, doing wonders to your mind, and you resist the urge to grab it and pull him down to you. But you don’t need to; you only get to cherish the sight for another second.

Because right after, he pulls it over his head, baring the highly kissable mole on his neck before—

“What are you doing?” you wonder, eyes wide, and probably filled with anticipation as he puts the tie around your neck. “I’m…”

“Looks a lot better on you.”

One more shake of his head. You subtly catch a jerk behind his pants, and your gaze drops instantly. Behind the dark slacks, he’s already waiting for you, and the thought leaves you frothing at the mouth.

“You’re not looking bad yourself…” you say, drifting off, barely looking into his face as your hand reaches out. “May I?”

“What, baby?”

“Just…” 

You move forward, a palm to his thigh, and close your eyes before placing a kiss to the growing bulge. It twitches under your lips, and you drag your mouth lightly over his dick’s outline.

“Should’ve known,” Jungkook breathes, affected straight away, “but somehow, this is worse than your hand.”

“Really?”

He clicks his tongue when you do it again, unfazed by the layer between you as you give his clothed cock an open-mouthed kiss. Two of his fingers settle underneath your chin, and he raises your head in order to meet your gaze.

Then, he pushes you back a little, within a second back to one knee; then the other. He cocks an eyebrow as if to reprimand you, but then gulps down a chuckle as he says, “Really. But wait a bit more.”

You need to wait, because he prioritises your pleasure. One demand you’re ready to give into.

So, so prepared, when he asks politely, “Open your slacks?” You do. The way he drags his hands over your thigh and up to your hips, starting to discard your pants, is arguably less polite. “Here we go. Raise your ass.”

You help him out as best as you can. But he attaches his lips to your naked thigh the moment it comes into view, scattering kisses over your hot skin as he casts it off of you entirely.

You raise your feet a bit above the ground, and he uses the moment to separate your legs. Doesn’t even bother taking off your panties first; casually making himself at home between your limbs.

Light-headed, you open your eyelids halfway to glance at the blurry ceiling light; you never noticed when you closed them. Maybe when the sweetness spread over your thighs’ skin.

Maybe he’s as dizzy as you — only, when your whirling stare descends to his face, he’s smirking. And for a second, you don’t understand why. Puzzled, you keep looking, observing the tempting lick over his lips; the deep exhale; the barely-there blinking.

And then he says, “Never thought about it. But you should wear light-coloured panties more often.”

“…Why?”

But you soon get why.

Because you feel the arousal behind the fabric. How it glues your pussy to it, the damp spot probably growing. It’s visible — that’s what he’s liking so much.

He can see all of the desire you harbour for him, showcased so blatantly. And despite the embarrassment, watching his face flush in that rosy dust boosts your ego, too.

Your face burns.

“You’ve been like that for…” he starts, shrugging his shoulders in curiosity, “how long now?”

“Long enough. And I dare you to do something about it.”

Because fuck, he talks too much. In hindsight, only really when you need him to shut up; deliberately.

“Oh god,” he exclaims, dramatic as ever; as he raises a hand, you nearly think he’ll place it on his chest for further effect, but he only touches your knee, “now if you’re daring me, I’ll have to.”

“Mhm. I’m sure you’re not a sore lo—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It’s a rude interruption, and the sudden push of his fingertip against your clit is ruder. It’s a momentary touch, fleeting, as opposed to the slow and calculated way that he buries his face in your panties. Eyes glued to yours for a moment.

And then…

Then, you relish the first taste of Heaven — as does he, you suppose.

Because the satisfied sigh is outrageous, hot against your covered folds. He licks over the damp stain, only the tip of his tongue; thoroughly salivated, because you feel the wetness seeping through the clothing.

There’s no moment between the start of his action and your immediate, ”Fuck.”

And to him, your reaction sets just the tone for a woozy night to come. He nods between your legs, gelled back strands tickling, hums so sweetly. You adjust on your seat, though the subtle change affects nothing; only drives you wilder as you shift deeper into his face.

His tongue is painting circles over your clit. Drawing out sensations, and you don’t understand how… there’s underwear between him and you. A barrier, aching to be removed, so how is he doing this, howishedoingit—

“No! Oh god—”

You can’t decipher why you voiced the rejection; you don’t want him to leave. Frustrated when he does, mouth open, waiting for you to speak up until you do, “Sorry. Sorry, I don’t fucking know…”

“Babe…” He shakes his head… He’s doing so much of this today. But one of the loose strands keeps moving so gorgeously over his forehead, so if it was up to you, he could keep doing it. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Sorry…”

“Nah.” He says it when you press your lips together, hot and bothered as he licks another stripe along your cunt. “Didn’t mean it that way. Open that pretty mouth. Do scream, yeah?”

You could melt into the ground. Or into the sheets; he always knows what to say. No matter what the situation. A verbal monster once, a graceful poet another time.

They say, get you a man who can do both. But he can do all million things known to humankind and the book of romance.

His mouth works deeper into where you ache. Tongue action expanded, he returns to the panties, seeking one of your nether lips to tease it, pull at it. He’s ruining your garment, making it stick to your pussy.

Pries your legs open when he comes back to the clit, and then drops down to the overflowing sex again. The sensual gestures are toying with your nerves, and you still can’t figure out how. Leaves you waiting, yearning, craving the lack of a blockade in between.

And once the uncomfortable, wet cotton of your panties rubs against the inside of your folds, you finally speak up, “Why are you—”

“Sorry,” he interjects, aware of his bestiality. You see it in his stupid wicked smile. “I know. This is just…” Big eyes stare back down, albeit hazier than before; his finger touches the drenched patch for a second. “So good to look at.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Of course.”

Shit, he’s so cheeky. If you had the strength, you’d wipe that bubbly smile off his face; not good for your heart. Would smooch it away. But fret not — you’ll get your chance, too.

For now, you need to grant him this win. Not least of all, because it feels so good for you, too.

So you don’t defy him when he suddenly moves in more. Hooks a finger into your panties and slides them aside, letting them snap back against the juncture between your pussy and leg. And then, you guess the actual fun starts.

Because he throws one carnal look at you before his arms wander under your legs. You can barely gather your thoughts before he digs in again, properly this time. Lips directly attaching to your skin, he starts diligent work on soiling your body.

And god, does he do it well…

So experienced. Aware. Studied you and your body well enough — because the agonisingly slow tease isn’t random. He knows how much you hate it; knows how much you love it.

How it builds anticipation, and how it grows your desire.

He’s a little fuck, but maybe that’s why he never fails to break you this hard. You know he’s enjoying this — delighted when your eyebrows furrow, close to weeping as he breathes against your pussy.

Even though a man starved, he takes his time. For a second. Then another. And then parts your folds with his fingers, whispering, “Would you say that’s better?”

Like he’s at some meeting. Goddamn.

You blink, responding, “I don’t know. Better than the panties, worse than…” His finger slips in mid-speech, just halfway through when you manage a breathy, “this.”

“I… Shit, you’re… hot as fuck.”

Right.

Even you’re turned on by how your head tips back again, eyes rolling inward when he diminishes the distance and kisses your cunt. Nobody else is going to raise your confidence like he does.

“Mmmh,” he voices as the make out session intensifies, smacking noises sounding from below. He lifts his lips by a mere inch, only to mumble, “So hot. So fucking good.”

And that’s it — back to business.

“Nnnghkook…”

The arms he dropped under your legs sling around them, hooking in, and somehow, he’s able to reach to your back like that. Raises your legs in the process, pulling you in. Deeper in your heat, big button nose against your pelvis.

Your right hand attempts to grip his hair before you threaten to fall backwards, failing miserably. You immediately place both your palms back on the bed, because you doubt you can trust that damned left arm to hold you upright — quivering like this.

The tip of your tongue touches the arch of your upper lip, and then you tilt your head, warning him, “Fuck… if you don’t fuck my brains out today, Jungkook…”

Brains? Plural? Acting as though even one’s present in your head right now.

Jungkook chuckles, licking you dry; the little sound combined with the sinful ordeal is a delightful one. Contrary, but gifting the moment some reality. Some tenderness. You’re having fun.

He stops to throw the escaping strands back again — all in vain, of course — and brings his hand to your ass, moving you over the bed until you’re off the edge. You yelp, close to falling, but he holds you carefully.

Ass half dangling, he throws your legs over broad shoulders, kissing your thigh before he promises, “Don’t worry at all. Won’t leave a single thought in either of our heads.”

You wince when he bites the flesh of your leg, and then proceeds to advance his soft lips to the tender ache. He collects saliva on his tongue, probably ready to dive in again; moves in at least, tickling your pelvis with his breath.

His nose takes a deep breath, inhaling you, dizzy from your scent. And his thumb — it floats over your clit, preparing for more insanity. But when the position elicits some discomfort, you say, “Put me on the bed. Can I… bed properly.”

Fragments of sentences. They make him smile.

“Sure,” he says rather calmly; you’re anything but.

It’s not normal. Watching a guy like Jeon Jungkook push his hair back with his jaw on full display; tongue darting out.

He signals his approval once more as he pats your thigh, and you make quick work at weakly turning around and crawling onto the bed. You’re still trembling as you get on all fours, very conscious of what you’re doing.

Casually, you say, “I’ll get the lube, too.”

Of course you know what might follow. What will follow. He never stops raving, daydreaming, bragging about your ass — walking past you in the kitchen, just to grapple a handful and to innocently claim, “What? I love your butt.”

But before he strikes this time, you’re only barely able to grab the lube out of the drawer, placing it next to the pillow instead of handing it back to him. Because… because before you know it—

There’s already a finger to your pussy.

“Shit,” you curse, “you and your impatience.”

“Do you want me to wait?” he asks, as purely as the butt-love-statements as his touch retracts. Mellow voice; only a flutter of his lashes is missing, really. “I can wait.”

No, he can’t. Liar.

“No,” you repeat, readily letting your upper body fall. You bring your fingertips back to your ass, tracing it down until met with your arousal. “Don’t do this to me now.”

You know his answer before he utters it, “Don’t you do this to me now.” You hear a click of his tongue; a poised beam plays around your lips. “Alright. But.”

He snatches your legs from under your body until you’re flat on your tummy; you grunt just a bit. Not expecting the soft, little, “Do tell me if I do too much.”

As if…

He knows his limits. But the constant, caring pleads still always grip your heart; so you nod.

“Okay.”

Simultaneous with a fond slap, that word is the last verbal sign of his presence that you receive for a while. Whatever follows is a pure testing of limitations; of jumbling up your senses.

Because the moment Jungkook lifts your ass to his face, his tongue is already out. Experimental at first, of course, patient. He takes a second for languid kisses and soft necking, fingers exploring the inside of your thigh as if to soothe your restlessness.

And it helps. Your limbs shake a bit less, your mind focused on where his touches go. Fingertips near your folds. Lips kissing around your pussy. Then, repeating the same brush of his hands as before, but on your other leg, moving inward. 

Despite the first taste he already got, he’s suddenly changed his tactic; and you’re greedy. Mewling in tiny, quiet sounds, barely realising that they’re coming out of you. You repeat his name over and over, but it never quite tumbles out in its entirety.

So you keep it at moaning, eyes closed, so infinitely relaxed.

He moves back, gently asking, “All good?”

“So far… do more, please.”

It’s what he always waits for. You know. Jungkook has a fetish for your pleas, and the tiniest fragment of your beseeching voice is usually enough for him.

Like now.

Encouraged, he pushes your shirt up to your tits, halting right under them. He touches your naked stomach, brushing your belly button, grazing a palm over your lower back and straight to your ass.

The tongue ghosting around your sex finally dares a step forward. Gets a little taste of what’s to come. Circles around your folds, then to your nub; spit gathered on the tip, never too hard, oh-so-mildly — and maybe that’s what makes it even worse.

The lack of any force. How pleasant it feels. And you let him know — respond with a desperate, unheard sound, goosebumps sprawling over your skin.

Jungkook discerns it as a signal to go on; to do more. His nose buries between your ass, pushing his tongue in a little further, alternating between licking and kissing and collecting spit. Your lust shoots to the sky; you twist and move, but he holds you in place with a single hand.

And when he disappears, you regret it immediately. You hear him say, “Hey, hey… Don’t you want me to fuck your brains out, sweetheart? Isn’t that what you said?”

“Mmhyes, yes, please.”

“…Then stop moving.” His nails are harsh against your waist, and you whimper. “The more you behave now,” he leaves a kiss on your butt, loosening his grip around your waist, “the harder I’ll go later.”

“…Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”

He chuckles. What an ass; leaving you physically and mentally covetting, and then enjoying your reactions.

“Are you okay with this?” he asks, biting a little, stroking your hips, holding onto your ass cheeks.

“Mhm.” It’s all you can voice at this point. You don’t have any power over your body; can’t lift it off the mattress. “Love it.”

“Perfect.”

And then, everything seems to happen faster.

Arousal and orgasm have already built from his advances, and he gives you the rest when he starts drawing circles around your pussy again. Heightens your senses, slurps and drinks you up. Every single time it feels like he’s learned something new; you swoon at the attention to detail.

What might he be looking like right now?

Perhaps he’s biting his lip. Maybe his eyebrows are furrowed, usually tell-tale signs of either him enjoying his meal or him enjoying his meal.

“Shit,” you mumble, but you don’t think he hears it — too busy sucking at your folds, adding a finger to the mix.

Sometimes, the licks are generous, wide-tongued; sometimes, he focuses on each part individually. The insides, the clit; how you sound, how you wind.

There’s truly an utter craze you feel for this man; no matter which hazy or soft or delicate situation, he fits you like a missing puzzle piece. Like a match made in Heaven. Knows what he’s doing.

Because he knows you. Because he studies you. Observes you.

Sex is only one instance of his attentiveness.

And perhaps that’s the whipped thought that pushes you over the edge eventually. Maybe that’s why the moment passes so quickly and explosions blind you all of a sudden. Why your face glows so hot, sweat collecting over your upper lip.

It must be.

Because as he stimulates you for another minute, your sensitive cunt submits, the knot in your lower stomach unwinding. He unties it fully, eliciting a stirring feeling that makes your pussy flutter.

“Holy shit…”

You only register your voice when the peeping in your ear stops. Your voice is still damped, the world around you vanishing a bit; except for him. Always except for him.

And.

You also notice that your fingers are hurting. Did you dig them into the sheets too hard? Tug too hard? You don’t know… but their pads are almost numb.

Jungkook’s mouth is still there, though lighter now, and his finger is slightly slapping your cunt, encouraging you to keep letting go. Catching you on his tongue.

And then… it’s over. You remain quiet.

You’ll be a mess for the foreseeable future; or at least, the upcoming one or two minutes. Your back and neck are already covered in a sheen of sweat; it’s so unbearably hot, as opposed to the recklessly approaching cold outside.

Remaining like this, you let him kiss your body through your orgasm, delicately soothing the pain his fingers caused across your ass. Hovering above the small of your back, he asks, “Can you move?”

“Not yet. But…” You scan the spot next to the pillow until you find the lube, throwing it back to him at last. “I can watch.”

No objection. So you turn around.

When you finally meet his gaze again, having started missing it, he’s already unbuckling his pants. Right there, towering above you, looking directly at you. Jaw chiselled, lips swollen.

You decide to spur him on; bring the tie between your covered tits before gentle fingers grasp them deftly. Rolling your digits around their outline before squeezing them. There’s an instant reaction: The hard bite of his lip, the rushed discarding of his clothes.

And fuck, he’s beautiful. So pretty how he despairs bit by bit, only letting his pants make it to his knees before his cock has sprung out. A true monster, bloodshot like this, further growing as it twitches and jerks… blue veins wanting to be licked.

But it’s lube-day, and neither of you can wait.

So you let him make a fist around his thickness, stroking it and momentarily letting out a groan. His chest seems to deflate, shoulders dropping as he jerks himself off once more, squirts some lube into his palm, and returns to his intentions.

“Good,” you praise, watching his cheeks grow rosier, “wish you could go all out.”

“I can’t.”

You know. You know, because he’s storing all his patience for what’s to come. With and for you.

Breath stagnating, you watch a drop of sweat trail down between his tanned pecs and then into his shirt; fabric sticking to his skin. He doesn’t notice it, dazy as hell, wiping his tip clear of the precum. Every damn time you’re in disbelief when his cock grows in size, firmer and rock hard.

So many veins adorning it as it rises to his belly button; you’re sure you’ll feel them against your walls, too. You get on wobbly knees, hair already a mess, both of you still in your soaked white dress shirts.

Jungkook’s mane is falling apart much as yours, messier now, but soaking him in so much more sex appeal. There are no boundaries to his beauty; it transcends your understanding.

Enough of watching, you mentally capitulate a minute later. Too many moans and clipped vocals fill the room, whiny once, deep later; so you float up once your body allows, targeting his cock straight-forwardly.

You only deliver one surprise kiss, helping him out as you drag your tongue along the tiny slit. He reacts, caught off guard, voicing, “Oh—”

But against his possible expectations, you don’t continue. Instead, you drag your hand along his cock only twice — up and down, feeling the smooth skin, the slippery lube, the hardness underneath.

And then, you order, “Sit. Please.”

“What?”

“Here,” you point to the headboard, on your knees, kissing his sides and up his chest until you reach the open button. “Sit down for me.”

He pauses. Waits for a moment, touching your cheek when your face aligns with his. And when you keep your begging, soft gaze intact, he huffs out a broken laugh, and states, “Not sure if I can trust you to not kill me. But…” A kiss to your left eyebrow. “Anything for you.”

And whatever happens next, passes by fast.

How he obliges, dick dangling in front of his body, waiting for ruin. How he hisses a little when the sweat-drenched back touches the cold headboard. And how you adjust your body, soon sitting in reverse, facing the closet.

Floating over his cock, straddling him, spreading your pussy with your fingers. He stutters behind you, grasping for words, but silences when you move and wiggle your ass a little, only dropping a few inches until your cock can prod your entrance.

And that’s all you do. Multiple times. Practising restraint, focusing on the closet, blinking rapidly. Perhaps you’re more patient this time, because from behind, you hear another sharp hiss, and then a somewhat agitated, but endlessly turned on, “The hell are you doing to me?”

“Nothing,” you promise; the jest costs you all your energy, “what are you talking about?”

“You’re so funny, aren’t you?”

His words are accentuated by sudden grabs of your ass. One or two pinches. You should’ve known. But despite his impatience, he never forces you down onto his cock. Lets you do.

“I’m not trying to be,” you argue, aligning yourself with him gradually. Preparing yourself mentally and physically. Leaking to no end. “You’re just delusional.”

“Must be. Too good to be real.”

If you had it in you, you’d laugh. But the approaching sins and the image of his affected expressions fog your brain. Your body burns, your lower tummy tenses; your muscles feel heavy as you loom over him, and you only endure another moment.

Because soon enough, your thirst overpowers every other thought; the weight of your desire drags your body down, thankful that he’s keeping his cock upright. And then, just like that… so easily, no resistance detected, you slide down.

His tip splits you open first, eliciting an immediate sensation. New every freaking time; like the craze he fucks your mind into space with wipes your memory each time.

“Hnnngh, this is just…”

Whatever it is, there’s no word yet invented for it. So you give up right away, squinting your eye shut until you see dots and forms, breath stuck in your throat. The lack of regular inhales muddles your mind, and you feel further heat rise to your cheeks.

“Go— slow,” he pants behind you.

Of course he’s not all the way in yet. No matter how much it feels like it; you could keep going and going. Hard and monstrous, burying inside you, no end in sight.

The filling feeling catches you off guard each time; the way he leaves no room inside, causing butterflies in your stomach, wandering straight to your pussy. A ridiculously perfect phenomenon, like a key to its lock.

God. You’re overspilling.

As soon as he’s bottomed out, you relish the feeling of his skin against your ass for a moment, registering how his fingers sneak to your flesh slowly. And then, you angle your body forward, clutching the sheets before you start moving.

You keep your pace slow. Put all your intention on delicate motions, all the way up with a whimper, and then slamming back down with a gasp. The farther you go, the wetter you get. Until you’ve probably left a shimmering liquid all over his cock, gliding too damn easily.

“That’s… that’s new,” Jungkook mutters. At least that’s what you think you hear. “Gotta do it again.”

And you’re not even done with this time. But you understand — oh, you fucking understand. There’s something about not yet seeing his face but imagining all of it. How fucked out he must look. How red the apples of his cheeks must be. How sweaty his hairline is.

You grip the sheets tighter, legs closer to his, head between your shoulders. All you manage between the heavy breathing is a high-pitched, ”Jungkook—”

“Yes. Yeah, baby. This is…”

“I know. I know, keep talking.”

Which is an unfair command. He can think as much as you; you can barely comprehend letters, even less put them into actual words. But somehow, he still mutters whatever nonsense he can think of.

“Gotta do it again,” he repeats as you fasten your pace.

“Why always play such an angel, huh?” he asks as you moan and whine.

“When you’re a… a fucking demon. Literally,” he declares when you blow out breaths, letting out a crying sound.

He feels glorious inside you. Solid and gorgeous. He holds your ass cheeks in a tight grip, the strength nearly bruising when you let a hand wander back between your legs, grazing his firm balls.

When you turn around to check briefly, slowing your motions, he looks up, meets your eyes. Apparently, he wasn’t gazing at you directly at all; and you imagine there wasn’t much to see other than a bouncing mane anyway.

What he’s actually so distracted by must be…

“How’s it… it look?” you ask, circling your hips, feeling every vein, as predicted.

“It looks…”

Must be art.

Combined with his love for your ass, he must be enjoying the view; at least judging from the constant kneading and spreading. Allowing a direct, front-seat show of his cock appearing out of you, disappearing inside of you.

Glistening. Sucking him in. It must…

“Looks so fuck—ing insane from where I sit.”

The swear word is interrupted by a millisecond, breathy as hell. Allows a glimpse into how delirious he might already be, possibly faring worse than you. Impatient, seeking more.

And you do know your Jeon Jungkook well.

Because not even another breath later, his body that slid down halfway, bolts up. You feel the shift clearly; it pulls you backwards along with him. Only, you realise the movement isn’t the only source straightening you so fast.

First and foremost, it’s the freaking hand. Covered in letters and more ink, tugging at the dangling tie and following it up to the slowly unravelling knot before… abruptly snaking around your neck. Fingers right under your jaw, lifting your head.

He tugs you in until your back collides with his chest, and to your chagrin, you notice that neither of you has gotten rid of those stupid dress shirts. You won’t be able to wear them again without drifting to this memory…

Sleeve open, he wraps his arm around your body, just under your tits, and whispers, “Why… drive me mad like this?”

“H–huh?”

“So far away. Weren’t you ffffu—” The messy zero you’re drawing with your hips interrupts his string of thoughts, and he spends a second finding it again before he finishes, “Weren’t you far away long enough?”

Shit…

This isn’t just an affair. This isn’t temporary. Your brain still can’t quite understand that you’ve actually occupied this man’s heart.

That your gestures and touches aren’t a fleeting dream, but blissfully real. That you’re his, and that he’s yours.

He’s right. You were far away for too long.

So you sneak your arm back, around the back of his neck and pull him closer by his hair. His lips brush your cheek and then retreat to your ear. Nibbling for a moment. Kissing it.

You don’t know what to focus on — on the way his teeth light up your nerves, or the way his hand moves down your shirt and bra, and up your body. Soon taking your tits captive, squeezing hard, pinching your nipples.

“Move a bit,” he orders, though you don’t really have to.

His hand remains on your neck, so he pulls you forward; guess he’s sick of the shirt, too.

“You too,” you murmur.

“Yes. Patience, love.”

No. Fuck no.

Is it the nickname or his actions that empty your head this time? You don’t know. But you react.

Moaning, but it soon transitions into a yelp when he jerks up suddenly, balls deep. Your voice breaks, and you’re breathless; grateful when he unbuttons your shirt, dragging it down your shoulders.

Helping him however you can, you pull at the clothing almost aggressively, over your hand until it’s stuck there. Sporting a shirt paw, you hear Jungkook laugh behind you, peppering more kisses to your shoulder as he says, “Ah… take it easy. You’re with me tonight.”

One quick pause, and then, “You’re always with me. No rush anymore, okay? Yeah, baby?”

He aids you out of the shirt and tie with tender pecks. Thoroughly affected when you only nod so softly, eyebrows kissing. He unclasps your bra swiftly, breathing against your neck as he bares your body once and for all, putting the garment aside.

And then his forefinger moves along your neck again, only barely touching over your vocal cords; feeling your gulp before he journeys further down, back to your tits. Probably leaving scars; his nails are reckless today.

“Wanted to see those pretty tits so bad,” he says, though he doesn’t halt here — tiptoes south to your pelvis, and then to your clit. “Been thinking about this all day.”

Really? 

So each of these touches consume his thoughts every damn moment of the day, too?

“You wanna see them… properly?” you wonder. You haven’t moved in a bit, lost in him, mentally tracing the lines he draws on your body. “‘Cause I wanna see you.”

“Mmmmhm. Doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Then I’ll…”

You don’t speak further; busy with your further advances. Your pussy feels lonely the moment you let him slip out. You’re terribly wobbly on your knees, your thighs visibly shaking as you turn around.

Jungkook holds a hand towards you, a safety net in case you tip over. He holds your wrist gently as you move over the mattress; never more than now are you glad that his isn’t as soft as yours back at the house.

Keeping your balance, you straddle him again, back in a similar position, albeit finally facing him now. And your eyes roll back just the moment he fills you up again.

Your legs are exhausted; the moment you start moving, you barely make it far enough, and Jungkook notices immediately, whispering, “My baby tired?”

And when you nod, he holds you tight, wrapping you in his arms, and—

“Hold– hold onto me, okay?”

You do. And then — he thrusts up once.

When your head falls, his eyelids drop a little, nose touching your jaw as he says, “I could fuck you all goddamn day.”

“Do it… you can now.” His head descends to your chest, mouth open. You’re not sure what you’re opting for, but you still call his name, “Kook…”

Repeatedly lunging in, he collects the words he needs to say, so irresistibly frenzied when he vows, “I’m yours. Okay? And… I need you to stay. Am yours, baby.”

Out of nowhere — or maybe not. Maybe these very sentiments were swimming in his eyes all the time; you could just not see them yet.

Lips a hair width apart, you opt for one single kiss, only a ghost touch. You tell him, “Promised the world. Will promise it to you… too.”

“Good.” His nails scrape your back, and you tug at his hair. A moan tumbles out of him, transforming into words as he holds your body in place, pumping into you, “Fuck, you– feel so good. Just you. So, so good.”

“Ngh, I—”

“I know, I can… can’t breathe, either.”

He kisses your shoulder, the skin flaming under his mouth. Although late, you imitate his prior gesture, peeling off his intruding shirt as smoothly and fast as you possibly can. It’s been a wall between you for too long now; you need to see those pretty tits, too.

And once the buttons open and the shirt flies, you finally bask in the toned beauty. Soaked chest, brawny, chocolate chip nipples as hard as yours. Soon pressing into you, lips thirsting for you, slamming against your mouth.

The fever rises, the temperature akin to lava. Your sounds are desperate and wanting, and you hold onto him for dear life. And before you know it, you’re not claiming your throne anymore.

Suddenly, you find yourself floating for a moment, and then sinking into the mattress, and then curling your hands into fists and him slamming into you harder, deeper, all the way in...

Fuck.

Towering over you, he spreads your legs wide, temptingly licking his thumb before it presses down onto your swollen clit. One jab. A second. Another and another and another.

“Yes. Yes, please—” you beg and yell, letting him pound you into oblivion.

The first hint of stars already grace the darkness behind your eyelids, but then Jungkook starts delivering rapid, light slaps to your nub. He’s chasing your high as much as you are; you know. The chaos unfolding doesn’t hold him back from observing your reactions.

Only focusing on his own end of pleasure when you’re done.

Tears gather at the corners of your eyes, and you cling to his arms, his hands pushing into your waist. And it takes just a moment longer. And another second. Several more shoves, the curve of his cock dragging along your walls and your sensitive spot.

Thoroughly drenched, both of you, as he drives all of him into you. Parting your legs whenever they attempt to shut again. And the universe finally expands, a million celestial bodies dying and imploding, much like you and…

Suddenly, you’re off the cliff.

Falling into a deep ocean. Or the vast night sky. You don’t know — you don’t feel real.

All you know is that your thighs and ass are wet. That you ruined yet another sheet. That Jungkook is out of breath, fucking you through your high, ensuring that you come back to him only bit by bit, so, so slowly.

Gentler now, you feel his body subside, down to you. His skin is glowing with sweat when your eyes crack open just a slit, though they instantly drop close again when he kisses you once more.

He does it only softly this time, as if he’s trying it out. Gauging your reaction. And you do reciprocate the touch, even if weakly. You’re still too gone to look at him properly, but that doesn’t deter him from casting another spell in your heart.

Because his words reach every fibre of you. Butterflies swarm your stomach as he says, “I still can't believe that you’re staying. You did this… you fucking did this—”

“Why not? Wh–why can’t you believe it?”

“Because you’re staying with me. You stayed with me. And…”

Somewhere, it stings. That he’s surprised by constant company. By someone not leaving… by someone worth all his affection glueing themselves to him. And yet, you understand.

That’s a pain the two of you share.

He stares through your gaze, as if he’s frisking for something specific. With each passing moment, it’s like he’s realising something new, yet unable to really verbalise it.

Like something’s burning on his tongue.

But all he does whisper is, “How do I ever stay away from you now, huh?”

“Don’t.” You touch his face, and he doesn’t waste a second to lean into your touch, kissing your palm. “Please just don’t.”

“Won’t be able to… And it sucks that—”

He frees your face from your stick hair strands, still moving inside you. His own tresses hang into your forehead; his thumb touches your lower lip.

“That I can’t be with you every damn second of the day. I mean…” He leans in. Pecks your eyelids; your heart bursts. “What if I can’t move an inch from you?”

You keep staring. Unable to answer. Keep looking and drinking in every emotion laid bare in his confessions. Your misty mind feels calm; not as heavy as hours ago.

And you’re woozy; so indescribably giddy when he adds, “You… you mean so much to me.”

Damn. Damndamndamn.

And you’re fucking obsessed with him. Want his kiss on you all the time; words tattooed on your brain, etched into your soul.

“Jungkook.”

“Huh— yeah?”

“Can you…” You gulp, drooling at the thought, and then spitting it out at once, “Finish in my mouth.”

“Shit,” he exclaims, though the word is more a maniac laugh than anything else, “you know exactly you— you can’t say this to me.”

You know. Because any image of his cock ramming your throat empties his head.

Once more, he mumbles, ”Damn it,” before he’s picking up on pace. You move your hands over his broad shoulders, soon curling your fingers in to hold tight — it’s what the situation suddenly requires. Because gradually, his hips slam into you faster.

The dull sound of his thighs meeting yours repeatedly is lewd, volume increasing when he starts jackhammering into you. Your rhythmic, breathless cries become irregular and broken, turning into screams, and you feel a droplet escaping the corner of your eye.

Throat dry and jaw aching from the parted mouth, you keen from the sensitive feeling inside. You’re so full. So invigorated. Holding onto him tight, so you don’t crumble.

And just as you yell out a dozen curses, Jungkook, voice raised, states, “Fuck, fuuuck, gonna come, babe, f— open your mouth—”

You do. Instantly, tongue out, choking because it’s so much harder to breathe like that. Jungkook trembles over you, lips wet; his arms threaten to give out, letting his body nearly collapse on you, but just a moment before he does, he pulls out.

Hurrying, his knees dig closer to you, cock and ass right above your face as he holds the length between strong fingers. Secured in his palm, he strokes himself over you, glancing into your hungry eyes.

“Pretty girl,” his other digits raise your head by your chin, and his body is swinging, unstable; shoulders high. “My sweet baby… You can’t just…”

Pinching your chin fondly, he digs his cock into your mouth, still pumping the base and touching his balls. You raise your head to not suffocate in the process, and he lets your chin go to grip your hair, lifting you halfway just in time before—

His load finally spills. All of it. So much of it. Hot and sticky, thick as the ropes shoot straight into your throat. You nearly gag, keeping yourself together, swallowing diligently as he empties his balls.

There’s fucking buckets of it, shit…

You close your eyes, focusing on breathing, and once he’s done, you close your lips around his cock. Still hard, although slowly softening, you lick the remnants of his arousal and whatever’s left of you. The tastes mingle, and your head spins…

And then, he pulls back. You’re beaten, gulping, smacking away the saltiness.

Still overwhelmed from the taste, you let your head fall back onto the pillow; but your fingers still seek his touch. The mattress next to you flattens again as his knees retract, and soon enough, laying down beside you.

Both of you are too done in to speak, even less to move. So you let a few minutes pass. Then, you find his fingers, entangling them with yours; waiting a bit more.

And only when your heart rate calms a bit, you stir, hearing him suggest, “Quick shower?”

You smile. The kisses aren’t over yet.

For a while longer, the profuse heat lingers.

The radiator is off, and some of the windows were open when you came home. And despite choosing to stay bare after the shower for some more, you don’t register any of the cold yet; you’re sheltered, safe and so, so warm.

Jungkook’s fingers keep trailing up and down way after you’re done, lips planting generous kisses to your scalp and face. He paves his way to the corner of your mouth and then up to your eyebrows; and when he reaches your nose again, you lift your head abruptly.

Chasing his kiss, even if for just a second, a hand on his cheek and shoulders rising. Occasional giggles and smiles, tickles and pinches keep you busy temporarily; you don’t know how much time passes, nor do you care.

You only snap out of your daydreams when his kisses gain on urgency, tongue diligent. A palm creeps dangerously close to your ass, threatening to slink to your beaten sex.

But your reaction is quicker than his sly attempt, and you say, “Wait— no. Can’t do it again.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Of course.” Damn his shoulder shrug. You tap his pelvis before you wrap a leg around his waist, teasing, “I didn’t feel the twitch at all.”

He shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. But it’s not my fault that you’re so stubbornly sexy.”

“Stubbo—” You giggle mid-sentence, imitating the shake of his head. “I hope you know I’d let you tie me down and do whatever the fuck—”

“My god. Stop saying it like that.”

“—but my body won’t let me yet. I also still stink.”

“Stink?” He shifts dramatically, burying his nose between your tits. His voice is muffled when he asks, “Do you?”

“Stop. You’re so weird,” you scold, but the word is drenched in laughter; you forcefully lift his head again. “We still need to change the sheets and the shower was quick. Do I not?”

“You kinda do. Like cherry blossoms.”

“Shut up.”

“What? Sue me for telling the truth. My girlfriend smells like cherry blossoms.”

Oh… oh?

Wait.

Your mouth shuts tight.

Did he…

The beam that spreads on your face is almost embarrassing; surprise, joy and affection conjoin, your guts twisting. You take a breath. Feel the sparkles in your own damn eyes; tender gaze directed at him.

And the freaking flutter in your heart; the temperature in your cheeks. Do these things ever stop?

The words sink in slowly; and Jungkook takes the time to ask, “What?”

“You… you haven’t called me that yet, have you?”

He’s perplexed. Guess even to him, it was a Freudian slip, because his eyes are wider than ever. He waits, thinks for a moment; then admits, “Uhm. No. I don’t think so.”

“Well, I… like the sound of it.”

“It’s… it’s true. You’re my girlfriend, aren’t you?” His eyes smile before he does; unrestrained devotion in them. “My baby?”

He says it so innocently, so sweetly that you can’t help but coo. Teasingly, you pat his cheek, telling him, “I mean I hope I am. Considering I’m moving in with you.”

“Yes. You are. Of course you are.” 

“…Girlfriend.” Sheepishly, much like a teenage girl, you keep your twinkle intact, still feeling the lasting gleam on your face. You must be reminiscent of the sun and the moon. Emboldened, you start, “Then… boyfriend. Can I ask you something?”

The term elicits similar glee in him, teeth out, grin bright. He waits wordlessly with sparkling eyes, and you touch his lip, asking, “How do you feel right now? About all that?”

“I feel… I’m in disbelief. You’re moving in with me and just. Somehow, even saying it feels surreal.” He sighs, searching for words. “I’m in disbelief and crazy for you. That’s all I know.”

Falling deeper and without an end is possible. Jungkook has taught you that; still does.

“…I was so scared you wouldn’t like me doing this,” you confess.

“What? Saying yes to being with me all the time? Sounds horrible.” He laughs. “I’m happy. And I’m happy that you’re happy, too. Okay?”

“I wasn’t for a while, you know? You make me feel good. Take me by my word and give yourself credit for it.” He needs to. He might have doubted his role in everyone else’s life so far, but his value to you needs to be clear at all times. “Not just now, Kook, but, you always make me feel good. I hope you know that.”

“I do. This time, I do…” Content, you smile; until he stalls for dramatic effect, mouth open to indicate something to come. Your beam expands to exhilarated laughter when he squeezes your ass again, adding with another snicker, “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t make my favourite munchkin feel good?”

“…There’s more than one?!”

Hmm…

That’s what you’d been yearning for all this time.

Because there’s something so vulnerable about your elation; the enlivened titter. About your newfound feelings. About these very first phases of a sensitive relationship. Something serene.

And the meaning behind your words keeps changing with him; carries much more weight, and makes you feel so much lighter. As if levitating on cotton clouds.

Girlfriend. Boyfriend.

Peace reigns supreme and for a while you’re hopeful enough to doubt anything could disrupt it. Even the world is quiet when you look out the window.

September isn’t yet harsh enough to cover all above pitch black, but it’s still dark grey and drab. The sky still somewhat illuminates the unruffled room through the tilted window.

But just when tranquillity reaches its peak, your phone vibrates on the bedside table; you flinch.

The screen’s shine overshadows the faded monochrome of the world. It’s unwelcome, intruding — and once you lean over, holding the blanket over your chest, you realise that the message is just as unsought.

Mom [7:12PM]: We need to talk. Mom [7:12PM]: I’m still at Charmante for another hour and a half.

…At this time?

Did you leave her this desperate?

“What is it?” a dulcet voice asks from behind.

You hear the bed creak a little, his body cold without yours. Despising the distance, he puts a gentle hand to your shoulder, planting a kiss right next to it; when you lack his desired reaction, he asks again, “Everything okay?”

“Hm?” You barely tilt your head, eyes still glued to the words that you’ve already internalised. You cover his hand with yours. “Yeah. Just. Look.”

You hold the phone into his face; the penetrant white floodlights his skin. The warm gold shines in the glow, his lips drier than before. They move as he reads, and then, they close, giving way to a hum.

The initial silence suggests that he might be thinking the same as you — to bail. To shut the phone again, slide it to the edge of the bedside table and drop back against his chest, above his heart.

But you should know Jungkook better; he won’t discourage a familial reunion, praying for a better outcome than he ever had. He’s always spoken for your relationship with them — thinking back, he has never truly badmouthed your mother.

So you’re not too surprised when he hands you the phone back, careful to not turn your mother’s two marks blue, and suggests, “Maybe you should go.”

You sigh. You don’t want to. It’s too early for confrontation; time hasn’t passed, and the issue hasn’t yet marinated. Then again, the problem might only grow if you postpone this.

But your heart is biased, angry, refusing to oblige to her demands one more time. So you ask for yet another confirmation, “Right now? But I…”

You turn back to him, shaking your head slowly, troubled. He props his head up, eyes staring down to you as you lay flat on your back, hands folded under your breasts.

“Give yourself closure, babe.”

“I got closure.”

“No,” he strikes back, fingers lifting to your jawline. He touches it lightly, brushing it delicately, “Actual closure. To finish this. And she deserves it, too, you know? She’s still waiting there, angel.”

“Jungkook, you…” You click your tongue, gaze swerving to the unlit ceiling light and then back to him. “You’re too good.”

“I’m sorry.”

You smile, and he throws a palpitation-inducing twinkle back. You know he’s right — it must have been a shock for her after all. More or less double-crossed by her own daughter, humiliated in a public setting — her brain must be frying.

Reluctantly, you stretch your arm to the side, tapping for your phone, and roll your eyes at Jungkook playfully when you open the message to type back. His body floats down, lips planting a barely-there kiss to your collarbone.

You [7:14PM]: I’ll be there in half an hour.

“Alright then…”

Your body lifts off the mattress with the idlest of movements. The afterglow might die once you’re there, but you guess you need the confrontation–fight? Argument?—to ensure more, blissful nights.

This time, you don’t bother with your clothing as much as you did when you prepared for the press conference. You slip into the first best jeans you find, throwing a cosy pullover over your torso.

Busy with the rush, you don’t notice that Jungkook isn’t standing behind you in his usual grey joggers but in jeans, too. He’s fiddling with your car keys, stuffing his wallet into a pocket, and you stare wide-eyed, waiting for an explanation.

And once your digging stare pierces through him, he reciprocates it with similar confusion, half his hand still in the pocket as he inquires, “What?”

“What are you doing?” you ask, gesturing up and down his body.

“What do you mean?”

The back and forth of questions leaves you further bewildered, and you step closer, softly snatching the keys out of his fingers as you say, “Babe… It won’t take long.”

You don’t think he quite understands — it seems that to him, it was a given this entire time that he’d accompany you to your work building. But when it seeps through, his expression changes, more relaxed.

His head tilts, blinking slowly as he assures, “I won’t let you go alone.”

“Kook—”

“It’s honestly not a big deal. You said it won’t take long, so I’ll wait outside.” He shrugs, forefinger at the nape of his neck, scratching. “Plus, I’ll just get bored here alone.”

A warm flutter engulfs your heart. You wonder how couples spend days, months, years together without burning up every moment during their togetherness. Because you don’t think you’ll ever get over the fire he sets ablaze in your lungs — how does one get accustomed to affection like this?

You don’t know.

Maybe you don’t need to know.

Not more than what his eyes say, at least.

“What did you do all the time I wasn’t here?”

His grin is playful, but there’s tender truth in his words, “Something any guy waiting for you would do,” big brown irides meet yours, fingers fiddling, “counted the seconds until I could see you again.”

Your laugh is sudden before you ask, “Is that a quote from SpongeBob?”

And the joy holds on as you leave the apartment and rush down the flight of stairs. The short comedic journey to your car is distracting — most of reality only dawns on you when you step into the car.

Reminiscent of the last time the two of you drove over to a confrontation — just a little after his vacation; just a bit before the heartbreak.

The streets are quieter and emptier at this hour, the repose enhanced by the gentle drizzle. It’s significantly darker than when you arrived home, though it hasn’t been too long since you drove this exact way in the opposite direction. Two hours?

Maybe it’s the cloudy, almost black sky, accompanied by the hushed sound of the rain that’s amplifying your fears. Because the calming ambience from a minute ago worries you the closer you get — this once, you’d rather bask in sunshine and daydreams.

But no.

Hope is on your side; you’re done worrying, right?

As you sit up straight in your seat, Jungkook glances from you from the driver’s seat, eyes shooting to and fro between you and the street. His lips part as he operates the wheel with one hand, using the other to wrap around your fingers.

“Don’t be nervous,” he says, squeezing once before he lets go, brushing over the back of your hand and gripping the wheel again, “there’s just so much she can say. You made a decision as a full adult and she’ll have to accept it.”

“Yeah.” You follow the streetlamps and their warm radiance, redirecting your focus on the next as you pass each. “I hope so.”

The ride home was different; you were filled to the brim with energy and adrenaline. Your legs were putty, so he insisted for you to freeze on the passenger’s seat, reluctant to hand you the keys to drive.

You were waiting for the streets to end, to shut his door behind you, and to breathe and sigh through a sleepless night with him. The anticipation, combined with the aftermath of the press conference made you restless — you wouldn’t stop gnawing on your thumb.

And he didn’t interrupt your thoughts, let you flick through them until he finally looked at you at a traffic light. Raising the back of his digits to your cheek, assuring, “It’s okay, angel.”

Maybe the breathy tone and the hundred promises wrapped into one reassurance prompted your reaction at his place at all.

Jungkook turns into your work street, and you hold your breath. Your heart knocks violently against your ribcage, disabling a proper thread of thoughts. Which is a shame, because you really wanted to draw a collection of snappy remarks you could retort in there.

Instead, you merely look at the entrance far at the end of the street, unmoving as Jungkook moves into a parking lot and kills the engine. You blink; then blink some more. The gulp, you think, is audible in the small space of the car.

“Do you want me to come with you?” he asks.

“No… I don’t think she’d want that.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, leaning forward to pinch your chin between two fingers. He moves your head toward him, eyes a liquid, wavy ocean at night. Affectionate. “She’s your mom. Despite everything, I know she loves you.”

“I don’t know…”

“She does. I saw it the night I picked you up and I saw it Monday morning, too. So.” The head tilt, the soft curve of his eyebrows, the care in his pupils — they’re a healing bandage around your heart. “Don’t be scared.”

He leans over the centre console armrest, still holding your face in his grasp, and presses his lips just barely, sweetly to your wrinkled forehead. You think the muscles react immediately, temples relaxing.

For a second, he lingers, and then he pulls back a fraction, looking at you from an inch-wide distance, and whispers, “Don’t be. I’ll be here all the time.”

Right — armour-clad, like a knight. You finally nod, a weight dropping off your heart. You cement his smile deeper into your mind; a coping strategy in case things escalate in there.

Once more, you squint at the entrance doors, though barely visible from here. Hand on the handle, you say, “If I’m not out in twenty minutes, call the police.”

Jungkook tsks, eyes rolling with badly hidden amusement, ordering, “Just go. Will be here.”

Yes. Breathe.

He’ll be right here when you come back. And it’ll all be over then.

The building feels sinister, empty like this. Nothing of the busy and lively mood remains; the lack of the chatter and footsteps drenches the entrance hall in gloom.

It reminds you of horror movie locations; you can’t help but hesitate as you walk in.

Especially today, the silence is unbearably odd; the press isn’t lurking anymore, isn’t swarming you anymore. You don’t want to imagine how hard it must’ve been to convince the reporters to finally leave.

You sigh…

In less than a day, they’ll have today’s highlights printed in newspapers and posted; feasting. Big, bold headlines will narrate the words you uttered; of course they will. With your family relishing a local celebrity status, the media would be damned if it didn’t make any profit out of you.

For the first time, however… you don’t care. You inhale.

And as you walk past the glass walls and up the stairs, clutching your work keys, you don’t feel the overwhelming urge to run away from this place anymore.

You’ve liked your job since you started, no doubt, despite your initial worries and fears. But the thought of losing against the world, or of losing him terrified you. Maybe you were too naive to fight those who wished you harm mere months ago, freshly out of college.

But now that you realise that you won’t be roaming these hallways in a couple weeks, that you have dropped the mic in a way they won’t be able to pick it up to hurt you again, you feel relieved. 

Feel a sense of responsibility. Like an adult.

Okay.

She told you she’d wait in an unoccupied office on the first floor — you usually frequent it with Zara, sifting through theories and changes. You wonder why your mother didn’t settle on her own office — then again, you imagine it must hurt to suffer defeat in the very room where she’s supposed to reign.

As you reach the room, your fist lifts to the door. Though you soon realise that it might be entirely unnecessary, judging the slight gap and the soft noise from within. So you gently push the ajar door open, met with a tired figure behind an imposing desk.

She’s lost in thought, but as you enter, her gaze slowly ascends, her posture reclining. And you see it immediately.

The usually cold eyes, now brimming with disappointment and sorrow.

Her eyes flit, as you assume unintentionally, into a corner. She dodges a simple greeting when you mumble a timid, “Hi,” and you drop the formalities right away. Don’t even attempt to sit — stand there, towering in front of her, not intending to stay long anyway.

And it seems her thoughts and intentions align, because she refuses to beat around the bush, a weary voice asking, “Why did you do that?”

“Mmh… You’re asking like I shouldn’t have.”

“Because you shouldn’t have.” Typical. Her point of view will always be her only truth. You listen on, but can’t help but tense. “Your father and I built this for you, and we intended to forward it to you. You know that.”

You don’t like that tone; you never have. It always ran over your spine as a shiver, weakening your knees. Even today, you’re conditioned to buckle just a bit. You exhale.

“Mom, have you ever heard yourself speak? You’ve never even remotely tried giving me anything else that way,” you complain, leaning to clutch the chair with one hand, the other gesturing around the room. “You built this stupid empire for yourself and kept it intact for me, so I can continue your work.”

You huff out a mocking breath, shaking your head just a little. “You never even asked me. You just told me to do it all.”

Her voice is sharper when she responds, “We didn’t hand it to you to make you suffer, for god’s sake.” She’s irritated, eyebrows deeply furrowed. “Christ, you were supposed to have a good future.”

“Yes, and I will! I’m happier than I have been all summer. Do you even have any idea what happened during that time?!”

You pause. She doesn’t answer, clearly sorting out a hundred answers.

Because a lot happened — most of it a direct effect of her or the media’s bullshit. Of course she won’t be able to pick out just one single thing.

So you explain, “Did you even understand that Jungkook broke up with me because of the thing you pulled with that dumb journalist?” You spit the word like a curse, grimacing. “And that he avoided me because he thought he was ruining me?”

You try to make it sound as ridiculous as you can muster, wondering if the realisation is dawning on her. 

“Did you even notice how I didn’t come out of my room for da—”

“Just why,” she interrupts, eyes shutting tight in disbelief and agitation, palms toward the ceiling, “would you jeopardise your life and emotions because of him?”

Jeopardise. Holy fuck.

She has a whack understanding of villainhood.

“Because he’s important to me! You can’t even imagine how hurtful it is to only be talking about work to you. You never ask me if I eat or sleep enough. You didn’t even give me a graduation present. He did! But you wouldn’t know!”

You think back to the lamp in your room, the one she has never seen — remember the dark ceiling, the aurora and stars projected to it. The touches that followed.

“He’s unbelievably important to me, Mom. Okay?”

“You’ve been with him for just a while.”

You grit your teeth. It’s like talking to a wall; a daycare child would catch the sentiment better than her.

“Yeah,” you say, scoffing, “and it makes me embarrassed for you, because I’ve known you my entire life and you never cared this much. Like, fuck, even Dad did.”

Her jaw clenches as you swear, nostrils close to flaring as you concede more pain, “Jungkook actually makes me feel human.” There’s a sting in your eyes. You blink it away. “I’ve been feeling like a person, which just… made me understand that—”

You gulp, your throat tied and your head heavier now. You wait, shrugging. Then—

“That I can receive affection, too.”

Your friends are your first memory of care; barring them, you only had a faint idea of what devotion entailed. Learning what it means to be genuinely important to someone had been on your bucket list — this year, you ticked it off.

“I just hate that he had to glue me together first for me to understand.”

Because she broke you first. The contrast couldn’t be more crystal clear.

She doesn’t dig your monologue. Her countenance fills with different shades of ridicule and embarrassment, shreds of anger thrown into the mix. Filed nails tap against an open folder, the other hand rubbing her forehead.

“You sound ridiculous,” she derides, “you can’t throw your future away because of love. It won’t pay your bills.”

“I’m gonna be a manager, though. I’ll pay my fucking bills. And Jungkook is working his way up, too.” Your latter statement gains a sceptical stare, followed by a skyrocketing eyebrow. It satisfies you. “He is. He’s getting his own part at an exhibition. We’ll be fine.”

She frowns, mouth already agape as she psyches herself up for another answer, and you already roll your eyes, prepared to interrupt.

“You—”

“You were so grateful last weekend,” you argue.

“Because you almost killed yourself!”

“No! If you’re so worried, then call! You could’ve called and asked where I was like mothers do. Made sure I was well and not drunk out of my mind!”

“Stop it,” she stands, her voice as damaging as a serrated knife. You flinch as she charges for you, and you breathe out, ready for a slap — but her body halts in front of yours. “How do you expect to run from this just by switching to another company? Novaura’s still mine, too.”

No…

You hold your breath. Straighten your back, hands sweaty as your nails dig in. She’s been predictable half her life; not always quite vile. But you know what she’ll say next, and you know it’ll be the most odious thing she’s ever uttered.

“And I could keep you here if I wanted to. They’d throw you out if I told them, too.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you blink, scorning, “You’re serious?”

A breath of laughter escapes your chest, and you shake your head in disbelief. You’re done.

You press your lips into a thin line before smacking them, nodding in faux agreement before you say, “Okay. Go ahead. But if you do, I won’t shut up this time. Today, I was being nice. I praised you, and none of my nice talk was actually deserved.”

Choosing your words carefully, you pronounce every syllable as if explaining molecular biology. She listens, not spitting an answer immediately.

So you challenge further, “You want to throw me out? Do it. It’s your reputation. I didn’t say anything wrong at the conference today, because it’s my right to choose the career I want. You’d be abandoning your own daughter if you pulled this through.”

You have her attention. Her lips stay sealed.

“And when they ask me,” you continue, eyes now fiery; you’re so done. So, so done. “I will let them know that you did it out of spite. Try finding an excuse why you did when we’re there. I won’t be at any disadvantage.”

You press into your palms one more time, relaxing your jaw, and opt to turn and walk away. Hurling one more glare towards her, you spit, “I have a degree, just a reminder.”

And that should be it.

Pride unfurls across your chest, warm in your stomach as you take long strides out of her office. You hear the quiet call of your name, suddenly desperate. But now that you’ve said your part of the truth, you don’t turn around anymore.

Only shut the door behind you hard; shutting all she’d hoped for with it.

Despite the satisfaction still bubbling in your stomach, you can’t shake the clump in your throat and the anxiety in your heart. The post-fight adrenaline pumps through your veins, and your fingers shake.

There’s discomfort in deserting your own mother; the irrational fears were to be expected. You didn’t do anything wrong, you know, you know. But your organ still thumps like drums, and you lift a hand to your chest. A vain attempt to calm your breathing.

And then… something miraculous happens.

The brisky gust of the evening brushes your cheeks; the bright lights of the city contribute to your sudden peace. They’re a reminder that the world is far wider than this damn building. Than her.

But more than anything, your worries dissipate when the strolling figure grows in your sight. As you walk the short distance to your car, you feel your heart lighten — your forehead and temples relax.

He has his hands on his waist, chin slightly raised as if watching the stars that hide in the city sky anyway. His steps are small, and his eyebrows calm. He looks serene.

And once his hands slide into his open jacket’s pockets, he looks down the street again, surprised when you’re mere steps apart.

“Ah,” he voices, one palm already out as he stretches it toward you, “barely fifteen minutes. I was about to come in.”

Deep sigh in, you let his arm pull you in his embrace, swiftly wrapped around your torso. He smells like fresh clothes, after-rain, and vibrant, like the lights in the sky.

Your arms sling around his body with an urgency, and you muffle your voice against his chest as you ask, “Already?”

“Already?” he repeats, though dragging the word more than you did. His arm squeezes you once as his other hand escapes his pocket, too, stroking your head. “Those weren’t days? I swear I felt myself ageing in there.”

Your fist thumps against his chest lightly, and you giggle against his sweater. “Don’t be so dramatic.” Eyes slowly unfocusing, you rub the zipper teeth of his jacket between your fingers, softly mumbling, “Thank you for being here. You’re the best.”

You feel a movement over your head; he’s lowering his chin to your hair, still caressing your head as if lulling you into sleep. And it’s working — you feel drowsier by the second.

But then, his chest rumbles as he hums, cautious as he asks, “Are you okay?”

Are you?

You’re about to start a new life where you desire, with whom you desire. Finding permanent residency in his presence the way he finds it in your thoughts.

A few more steps, and you can make yourself home. Not in those rooms, but in him. Because that’s what he is.

A blanket, a radiator, the comforting voice that soothes and heals. Worshipping you within the same four walls every single day.

You’re not just okay — you’re craving.

Leaving his warmth and scent, you lean back and look at him. His eyes are as big as you’re used to, awaiting an answer, genuinely curious. Your heart threatens to burst; the sting is painfully sweet.

“Yeah,” you answer, touching the purple sweater, “I promise I am.”

Because. Because that’s all you ever wanted.

It’s over. You’re going home — you are home.

You can’t remember whether it was your fingers clawing into Jungkook’s shirt or his hand brushing through your hair that kept you in the sheets twenty minutes longer than anticipated.

The plan was to snooze once and get into a routine with divided work. One prepares breakfast, the other makes the bed and cleans up before leaving the apartment.

But it seems that so far, your routine has consisted of lazy mornings. Tired hums. Quiet, hushed and slightly hoarse good mornings and entangled limbs.

You pressed between his shoulder blades as he strokes your head, planting kisses on your temple and your forehead.

“Slept well?” he asked today. Another peck in between. Then, drowsy and sighing, “Is the mattress okay, by the way? I like the firmer ones better since they’re good for your back, but I know you had a softer one, so if you need…”

“No, not at all,” you promised, warm and safe under the covers. “This is perfect.”

No… the softness wasn’t needed. Your muscles were so relaxed, you were sinking into the bed anyway. Sleeping a dent into it. At peace as his nails gently scraped over your scalp, massaging and caressing.

He could’ve lulled you into sleep like that; and his voice served as soft, white background noise. The words he used. The honey sweet tone. The past tense in what you had, and what you have now.

If you hadn’t been so lethargic, you would’ve floated through your chores. But when the clock ticked too dangerously fast and brought your working hours sickeningly close, you decided to eat out instead.

You always fool around at breakfast too much — stretching it longer than it needs to be. A café was, surprisingly, the smarter, more time-efficient option.

And a great opportunity and excuse to explore the places near you. Jungkook promised there was an amazing bakery nearby, and you trudged along, tummy rumbling, now that you weren’t in bed with him and satiated anymore.

“You’re sure you’ll be at home by the evening?”

You gather the remaining crumbs of your pastry with the pad of your thumb, waiting for Jungkook to slurp the last of his coffee. He nods, soon answering, “Mhm. I won’t be at work for long. Might come home before you do, actually.”

“Okay,” you suckle at your thumb, shoulders relaxing as you stare at the drizzle outside. The day started out grey. “And then tomorrow, I’ll be off work by the afternoon, so I should be able to bring more things over from the house.”

Tired from the morning, your eyes remain on the customers trudging in and out of the café. They shake the water drops off their umbrellas, or sigh at the prospect of stepping out into the rain again. 

Their expressions aren’t quite dispirited, but… perhaps a little dim.

You raise a side of your lips in empathy, and then continue, “And then on Saturday, I’m getting the truck to the house, for the rest of my stuff.”

“Babe,” Jungkook interrupts, pausing to smack the coffee’s taste away. His hand slides over the table, wrapping his fingers around three of yours. “Let me come with you tomorrow. You’re already doing too much.”

“Absolutely not. I won’t drag you there unless I absolutely have to. Besides,” your voice is soft when you lean forward, raising your entangled digits to your lower lip. “You’ve been busy plenty, too.”

And it’s true.

He’s been taking care of the apartment and cooking dinner these days. Organising documents with you, so you have whatever needed to change your address and whatnot. Doing small purchases for the household and vacating some of the closet to make place for your stuff.

Two weeks have passed since the press conference — and Jungkook has been a pillar of strength and sanity as much as you have been his. You communicate each night, regulating finances, dividing roles and sharing comfort.

You don’t think you’ve ever witnessed or felt a relationship as symbiotic as this one… and you’re just starting out.

His thumb brushes over your fingers, still reassuring you, much as you expected, “I honestly don’t mind.”

“It’s okay,” you argue, “we still have a lot more to do. Save your energy for that. I’d still love these deco vines for the living room, remember? Let’s get them together.”

Your words are breathy, as if you’re being reborn. A breeze of refreshment — and he feels it, too. There’s something about the thought of simplicity livening up your bustling days.

Mundane tasks, like shopping for casual things together.

Groceries. Decoration. Plants.

With all the planning of switching work and homes, the two of you have been incredibly breathless. You even told him about a meeting at your new place today, a discussion about trivial matters, general know-how and preparation you need to do.

The sliver of stress is visible in your eyes — you’ll be seeing the other managers today. And you’re nervous about it, unsure what vibe the meeting might set.

But despite the stress, you’ve been as bright as Venus in the night sky. He understands. If anyone does, then him.

Because the idea of strolling through Ikea's tableware department is balm to his mind. Your laughter sounding through its hallways, half your body leaning over the shopping cart, because you surely seem like the type to do so.

His voice is as gentle as the mizzle outside when he promises, “We’ll get anything you want.”

“Really?” Your smile is radiant, cheeks glowing as you press the lightest kiss to one of his knuckles. “Sounds good to me.” 

Time passing has always been a bummer. Despite the quiet noise in the café, the clock ticks as if in a deafening volume, a reminder that you need to let this hand go soon.

Sometimes, you do worry. About the attachment, and the healthy obsession with him. And on the other side, about every moment he worships you, and every second he misses you.

How there’s discomfort in being apart, even if for mere hours. Maybe that’s why he holds you so tight at night. Or why you’re constantly itching to get home.

Perhaps there’s a lingering fear that your time separated brought, a sneaking anxiety of being dragged apart again.

Yet, instead of dwelling in improbable what-ifs, you breathe in the air of the room, direct your senses away from the clock and toward the increasing patter of rain against the window panes. 

You squeeze the fingers around you harder, delving into one last soft conversation as you ask, “You’re at lunch with Joon later, right?”

“Yeah, he promised me burgers today.”

“What for again?”

“Because I’m his favourite staff member?” Jungkook lifts your hand to your mouth when you open it, shushing you with your own fingers. “Don’t say it. I am his favourite staff member.”

“‘Kay. Understandable.”

“You know…” He shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly, but the soft drop of his gaze, fingers fiddling and toying with yours betrays him. He’s still so delicate around you. “If you want, you can join.”

“Oh. Mmmh,” you think for a moment, but then click your tongue, insisting, “it’d be weird, I think. Dunno if he’d want it.”

“I would want it.”

He always does.

Yearning. Obsession. A humane way of falling in love.

You feel like a person. No matter how odd the phrase might sound in your head, the painful truth behind it is undeniable. You feel like a person.

“Okay,” you reply, slowly reclaiming your hand, reluctantly preparing to leave. “I’ll see if I find time and energy during my lunch break.” You halt, unblinking, before you look back at him with squinting, uncertain eyes. “Totes Bag Street, was it?”

The sudden, choking laugh erupting out of Jungkook is a surprise. If his coffee cup wasn’t empty yet, he’d still be sipping, probably ruining the white, silky shirt you’re sporting today.

You actually mean it, don’t you?

His trademark laugh is high-pitched, melodious, though a little more controlled in the public space, but the flashing of his teeth and his dimples implies genuine joy.

You already know: the lighthearted banter has become a hallmark of your connection. Doesn’t get old. Heartwarming — albeit right now, very confusing to you.

So you cock an eyebrow, questioning, “What?”

“Babe,” he simply mutters, hands coming together in a mock prayer. “Shit, you’re so fucking cute.”

He lowers his head between his shoulders, torso shaking, and you pull his palms apart again to dig with another, ”Hey. What?”

“Boats Track Street. Not Totes Bag Street,” he corrects, endeared by your wide eyes. The back of two of his fingers grazes your temple, and then down your face, before playfully pinching your chin. “You’re so cute. And a dummy. I mean it.”

“You’re a dummy,” you reply, forcing your face back and out of his grip. “Besides, that’s a pretty stupid name.”

“To be fair… I agree.”

A hesitant smile spreading on your face, your gaze wanders to the clock at the opposite wall again. The beam drops a little, giving way to a small sigh.

“It’s okay. I’ll probably be busy anyway… will join you guys another time.” You shove the chair back, getting off with a fatigued groan and a hand rubbing your tummy. “And I feel a bit weird today, too. Shouldn’t have eaten before bed because I’m feeling the effects right now.”

“Ahhh, I told you. No worries. I’ll make you something light tonight. And some peppermint tea.” His hands wave you goodbye, making a begone motion. “Go for now. The longer you stay, the worse the next hours will be for me.”

“Dork. You must survive.”

You huff, eyes rolling at the dramatics, and push your bag behind your body before you lean into him. A hand on his cheek, you watch his eyes close, setting your lips onto his.

The two-second long goodbye peck remains just that before his fingers, pushing against the nape of your neck, tug you in again.

Against your lips, he mutters, “Eat, okay? Call if your stomach bothers you. Anytime. And don’t be nervous. You’ll have fun.”

And before you can answer, he kisses you again.

Once, and then twice more. Your guts somersault, even when he finally lets you go. Your lungs feel dry all of a sudden.

All you have left in you is to nod. For your wobbly legs to step away. Looking back a few more times until the door opens, the bell chiming, your transparent flower umbrella spreading over your head.

Jungkook watches as your careful steps wander away, your head never lowered like every other passerby’s. They’re hiding from the rain, but you’re staring up, observing the movement of the clouds before your focus falls on the road — and a minute later, you disappear out of his sight.

His chest and muscles relax, a quiet laughter still tumbling out as he repeats, “Totes Bag Street.”

The sky may be colourless. The people might look into the world dimly.

But despite the rain tapping against the window, no inch of you is painted in a dismal, drab grey. You’re the brilliant, gleaming sun.

The location of your new job isn’t as fancy as the area around Charmante. The building certainly isn’t made of reflecting glass throughout.

There’s wood and actual walls; not every door opens with a chip, but a key, and the luxuries are limited. Compared to your old building, this one is humble, but it still oozes wealth and success — guess that’s what a subsidiary looks like.

The meeting room for today is somewhere on the third floor. Your mind races as you fix your clothes in the elevator, throwing regular glances into the mirror to guarantee that your hair sits as perfectly as three seconds prior.

You breathe deeply, exhale through a rounded mouth. Whether it’s this meeting or something you ate, your stomach does not feel great.

As the nerves start kicking in, you think of Jungkook’s hand in yours and the everlasting smile. You use him as your safe place; close your eyes for those few seconds that the elevator floats up.

And it works. Feels like an oasis, calm and lovely.

That is, until the bell pings, forcing your eyes open. You stare up at the number, nearly stepping out until you realise that — you’re not on the third, but on the second floor. Were you supposed to halt here?

No. And there’s nobody outside, waiting.

Until, someone is.

Rushed steps move to the elevator, a nice but stressed voice urging, “Ah! Keep the doors open, I’m coming!”

Strange. Oddly familiar voice.

You can’t say why, but you already prepare a polite smile, trying not to let the ticking seconds stress you out. Rationally, you know you’re not late, but the time passing messes with your nerves.

And it seems it doesn’t get better when the figure finally rushes in, pressing the already lit number 3 before he says, “Good. Just in time.” Looks back at you, delighted as if he expected you somewhere around, and adds, “Ah! Hello!

It takes a moment. Then another.

One more until you figure out who he is, why you feel like hurling and how maybe, just maybe, he might be heading to the same room as you — as another new manager of Novaura.

You blow a raspberry at the boxes in your backseat. 

Deciding to at least take your favourite box up with you, you leave the rest here for now; you don’t want to bug Jungkook yet. You can heave it all upstairs on the weekend, in peace.

It’s only moderately heavy — but with both your hands busy, the task is a hassle. You secure it under your arm as you close the door of your vehicle with your hip, clutching the phone previously tucked between your cheek and shoulder.

You straighten your head, reflexively looking up to Jungkook’s apartment window. To your apartment window. Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue just yet.

Somehow managing to open the entrance door, you sigh into the phone, giving Taehyung a relieved, “I’m finally back home.”

“Mmmh,” Taehyung voices, and you imagine his full lips in a line, tiny nods serious, “how’s it feel? Knowing that this is where you’re gonna be for the foreseeable future?”

“It feels… quiet.”

“What, he bore you to death like that?”

You giggle, taking deep breaths as you ascend the staircase; though slightly irritated by the slowly and constantly slipping box. You heave it back up.

“Absolutely. You’ve no idea, really.”

Taehyung laughs, but your joke doesn’t stick for long. You feel bad immediately — even in a playful tone, your heart knows nothing for Jungkook but praise. You guess that’s how kindness affects people.

And your brain stays mean, prolonging your pout — because it conjures pictures of a crooked smile, wrinkles around tender eyes, a tilted head as shoulders rise when the laughter reaches its peak…

A sting jabs your chest.

The longing is unbearable, and you’re barely another level from the apartment. He’s waiting for you on the other side of that flat’s door, and you know his pupils will widen in his dark brown eyes the moment they fall on you.

“No, that feels horrible to say,” you correct, shaking your head. You pause in the middle of the staircase for a moment, gaze fixated on a dirty spot before you shake your head once more. “You know Jungkook. If he’s not joy personified, then I don’t know.”

And it’s true — despite his own demons, you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone spread this much comfort.

“I just meant that my mind’s been quiet. And a lot more peaceful. Not a hundred worries whirling around anymore,” you tell him, your steps upward slower now.

“Just ninety-nine, huh?”

You smile. “Maybe. But he’s not one of them.”

Dull background noise interrupts your thoughts; Taehyung doesn’t respond to you, but reprimands Yoongi in a distant mumble. He’s been doing it since he called, covering his phone to argue with his friend.

Apparently, Yoongi had been with him for hours before you picked up Taehyung’s call; they’ve been settling the rest of the arrangements, scurrying through paperwork. The apartment you considered is entirely their adventure now, but you aided in anything they needed.

Which basically just meant clearing things with the landlord and then answering his new tenant’s million questions. 

As in — how were you thinking of decorating it? Why were you going to take it? Did you calculate monthly costs including rent, water and gas? You didn’t mind, because Yoongi might be one of the most polite people you have ever met.

But it seems he’s reluctant to return to his dorm’s lonely walls, too.

Because Taehyung values alone-time, and Yoongi hasn’t granted it for hours. You feel kinda bad for Yoongi. And while the younger man attempts his hardest to maintain the gentle tone, you hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“I’ll drive you home after this, ‘kay?” he tells Yoongi; you snicker at the groan that returns. “You got this, bro.” Attention back to you, a murmur of your name. “Anyway. Everything should be good now.”

“I’m glad. That was… quite something.”

A euphemism, really. The handful of visits weren’t fun; not to mention the stuff you had to get over with for your own move. And then all those calls. You needed minutes upon minutes of preparation for each of them. One hell of a businesswoman, you are.

“No, say it as it is. ‘Cause it knocked me the fuck out. You guys really had to drag me into this.”

You feel guilty about making Taehyung your spokesman here; but as an already residing individual of the building, he was a great support in this matter. 

“We— love you,” you tell him, inhaling deeply between your words. You rub the dirt off your soles on the welcoming mat and hold the box tight, not opening the door yet. “Tell your forehead to feel kissed.”

“Nah. You’re gonna upset Eun.”

“Why? Eun and I are more in love then the two of you might ever be. She’ll choose my side.”

“Ha. Fair. Whatever.” His voice doesn’t carry an ounce of solemnity. Once again, you imagine him pulling a face, waving your statement off. “Enjoy your life. Your voice has been echo-y forever. Also, don’t forget to talk to Jungkook about what we discussed.”

Ah… yeah. There’s more than just one thing you need to clear, actually.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” you confirm, though arguing, “I’m surprised you haven’t done it yet.”

“You do it. I know he’ll like hearing it from you better.” He pauses to answer his friend; you don’t even know what he said. “Okay. I’ll go grappling with Yoongi then.”

“Good luck.”

“Buy me sushi.”

One last laugh before you cut the call.

The clicking sound of your keys turning in the lock is music to your ears and balm to your feet. You skip the threshold with a relieved release of air; the apartment smells like diffusers, so warm compared to the declining temperatures outside.

You don’t hear a movement until you get to your knees, seating the box next to the shoe cabinet. As you start working on your jacket, you register a shuffle from the living room, but no voice — Jungkook said he’d be home before you. Perhaps he’s painting; or gaming.

A short text message during lunch assured him he could start dinner without you; deep down, however, you understood he wouldn’t listen anyway. And the obvious lack of aromatic scents wafting from the living room proves it.

You don’t enjoy eating alone — and he knows.

Clearing your throat, you announce your arrival, bent as you take your shoes off and rub your aching heels for a moment. You wish you could float. Offer them reprieve.

Stumbling in the anteroom, you wait for a greeting, but it seems he didn’t hear or notice you. You lick your lips, standing straight, and then speak into the hallway—

“I swear I don’t have a foot fetish,” a short pause — nothing, “but can you massage my feet again today?” You wait. Not a word comes back. So you joke, “Actually, just massage my whole body? I don’t mind. Need some hands-on relaxation.”

Subjectively, you think you’re hilarious. You giggle on your way to the living room, cheerful despite the jam-packed day — but your laughter ebbs down soon. Because he’s standing in the middle of the room, lips pressed into a tiny smile, head lowered, hands in his pockets.

And right in front of him, a timid woman in a coat. Blinking at you.

Your eyes dodge her gaze immediately. It’s an impolite reflex, heart pounding as you watch Jungkook’s hand lift to his forehead, hiding behind his bangs as he rubs. When he looks at you again, there’s an equal amount of worry and amusement in his expression.

“Shit,” you mumble, another mishap, and you continue cursing internally. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And then, “I’m sorry.”

She looks like him. Same sweet aura, short hair, big eyes.

Her right digits are wrapped around the fingers of her other hand, mouth shut tight, though smiling. She knows less what to say than you, and the moment stretches and stretches and does not end and—

“Hi,” you finally murmur, bowing slightly before you cringe. Too much? Not enough? You clear your throat again, and then introduce yourself quietly. “You must be Mrs. Jeon. I… I didn’t know you’d be here or I would’ve come earlier! I’m very sorry.”

Are you rambling?

How horrid. You’d feel so uncomfortable if you were her.

Only, she barely showcases any sign of displeasure or irritation. Despite striking you as an introvert, her movements soon prove confidence — the type to know what she’s saying or doing, but in a humble and gentle way.

She unfolds her fingers and lets them dangle, soon moving up to clutch the strap of her bag. Looking between Jungkook and you once, she raises her eyebrows and shakes her head, as if to promise that there’s no reason for any tension.

You sigh when she speaks, “Oh, it’s alright. I didn’t stay long and I need to go in a minute anyway.”

“Oh?”

“I was going to leave ages ago, but,” she points to her son with rolling eyes, and the man in question shrugs in faux guilt before she speaks on, “that one wanted me to see you for at least a second. I wanted to meet you properly… prepare dinner and all, but. It’s still nice to meet you.”

Her eyes are kind, taking you in; if you could guess, you’d say she’s… excited. Urging to finally speak to her son’s girlfriend.

She moves a teeny tiny bit, as if opting to offer her palm to you, or to— maybe hug you? But maybe she realises the timing, or sees your terrified expression, because she holds back for now politely.

“I see. It’s wonderful to meet you, too.” Incredible how you spoke about initiatives just this morning, rambling in the office until someone had to interrupt you for their own turn. Now, you can’t get a word out. “But, I… I am still sorry I barged in so rudely.”

She grimaces, moving closer to you with a waving motion, “You didn’t barge into your own apartment. It’s all good.”

Jungkook doesn’t interrupt much; doesn’t interfere with his own jests and statements. They mirror each other so much, though. In the way they smile, and in the way they talk.

Even the manner in which she places her hand on your arm, reassuring you, delivers the same warmth. You tense for a moment, not quite expecting the touch; but it’s motherly. Soft. 

A new emotion floods your heart, but you can’t decode it. Too many thoughts streaming in, brain working overtime to come up with a full sentence without stuttering, without those dumb hesitation markers that your studies taught you to avoid.

And maybe you’ve succeeded — only, the clump in your throat, accompanied by a strange twist in your stomach builds a barrier now.

Her touch feels… good.

“Do you… would you like to sit?” you ask, voice softer by an infinite amount. “I have a variety of tea here, and you could choose one. If you…”

You want to talk. About whatever. Not the slip occurring a couple minutes ago; maybe you just finally want to know who made Jungkook the man he is today. It wasn’t necessarily his father, was he?

Somewhere, this incessant, constant comfort derived from. But.

“I’d like nothing more than that,” she admits, “but I have massage therapy in a bit, and should get going. An adult’s back.” You laugh, and she gestures towards you with an open palm. “Oh, don’t you work in an office? Take care of yourself, too.”

“Not just an office, Mom,” Jungkook interrupts, inching closer until next to you and rubbing your back, proud, “she’s a manager. She walks around a lot, so the problem are,” he nods toward your feet, “these.”

True. Just today alone, your heels made it feel like you ran a marathon. Learning about each corner and wandering around that building drained you.

“Ah… I thought so,” she says.

You blink in faint confusion until you realise. Jungkook lets out a breathy laugh, brief but telling, and his mother smiles in awkward amusement. Hell.

Your blood shoots back into your face, warming it thoroughly, and just before you can opt for another apology, she says, “You have him to take care of you. Make him spoil you! You do, don’t you?”

Her voice changes the moment she faces her son, a little strict but all in good fun; her eyes squint and he exclaims, “I do!” the moment you defend, “Oh, he does! He definitely does.”

She seems to like this. There’s a sparkle in her eyes, similar to the one you already know; perhaps she’s just as endeared as mothers–usually?–get, realising their children are happy and settling.

“We take care of each other,” you tell her then, and she responds with a content nod.

“Good. It’d be a shame if not. Taught him how to treat people.”

“He knows for sure, ma’am. I don’t think you’ll ever need to worry about that.”

You’re careful with your gestures, your smiles, your movements. Even though she’s made clear as day that she’s not to fear, you still shift your entire focus on the delivery of your words.

If you weren’t, you’d be more lax. Looking through the room, exchanging glances with Jungkook. If you weren’t so distracted, you’d notice that he’s playing with the ends of your hair.

And you’d see the way he looks at you.

With those barely blinking, calm eyes. An ocean of fondness in them, a light, lost smile around his face. As though you’re soothing him, pumping oxygen into his lungs.

You don’t see any of it; but his mother does. And you register the drift of her pupils, the minimal upward movement in her eyebrows as she shoots a glance at him — then back at you.

But when you follow her gaze to him, he’s already snapped out of it, clearing his throat.

“You should go before you’re late,” Jungkook reminds her, removing his hand from your hair, “I’ll go spoil her as you taught me, Mama.”

“You better. Pressure’s on.”

He smirks, lopsided as he slings an arm around her shoulder. She’s so much smaller than him. “Tell Dad Hi from me.”

A slight drop of his lips. He doesn’t look at her but the ground. Tell-tale signs of a distant ache, hidden behind an attempt to find a cure.

The sting is palpable, right in the middle of your heart, but it dissipates bit by bit as he smiles at you again. Genuine once more, back to where he was only five seconds ago.

You nod at her, one last, non-verbal confirmation that you feel cosy here. There’s something inarguably sweet in her instant care. How she instantly roots for your happiness. How she’s pouring all her empathy into you with a single look.

A stare that usually understands someone else’s pain; and then hopes for eternal peace for them.

She doesn’t even know you — does she? You wonder if he ever did speak about you.

“Okay then. Tell me if you need anything,” she says it to Jungkook, but promptly turns to you, promising you, “you can, too. Of course.”

“I will. Thank you so much.”

Purse lifted further up her shoulder, she starts a move toward the exit, already starting to wave you goodbye before she suddenly stops. Looks at you, and blurts, “Oh, and— has he uhhh…?”

She starts the sentence with hesitation, ending it with uncertainty and a look over her shoulder. You follow her eyes, barely catching him throwing a warning sign. His eyes are ripped open, head delivering tiny shakes, but he returns to normal the moment he catches you staring.

Okay. Something happened there that you’re not part of.

But that you’re supposed to be part of? You don’t know.

You’re curious, though. Already aware of what you’ll be pestering him with tonight.

She shuts up, letting out a short, tiny breath. Her small, sweet fingers curl just once before she releases them again, and she flattens her coat, nodding.

“I’ll leave you two alone then,” she declares.

“You should stay for dinner next time, though!” you offer.

“Of course. I’m eating with my husband after the appointment, so he’ll probably already be waiting, but. Next time for sure. And you should come, too, someday.”

Right. 

It doesn’t stop. It’s permanently odd hearing someone talking about that man other than Jungkook. Shouldn’t be, because she’s the closest and dearest individual to him, sharing a home and marital bed. But…

It’s like people don’t quite feel real from stories until one actually faces them. His mom’s subtle, harmless words about her husband make him feel realer, and Jungkook’s issues with them.

But most of all you wonder — why has he never visited here? You wish he had. You wish he would sometimes. But she didn’t even suggest bringing him with her next time. Or how his father would be delighted about a visit, too.

It doesn’t seem to faze Jungkook. Or maybe it does, but he doesn’t let it show. Or — worse. Has he gotten used to it? His father’s absence, or the term that defines their relationship.

Because he nods, a soft smile as a son usually throws at his mother. Casual but loving. He says, “Won’t keep you here then.”

Jungkook kisses her head at the door, and she stuffs her hands in her coat, politely bidding you goodbye.

You watch as she approaches the staircase, still waving when she turns around one more time. You sigh in relief — she was friendly. No panic. You didn’t fuck up entirely.

And despite the last moments of gloom that the mention of her husband evoked, you hear Jungkook’s chuckle resonate once the door finally closes. His steps move toward the living room, his shoulders shaking.

You nearly slide down the closed door as you watch him, head falling back before he falls into a wholehearted laugh. You imagine deep, multiple crinkles around his eyes, mouth wide in joy.

Eyebrows kissing, you follow him inside, nearly bumping against him when you realise he’s standing in the middle of the room, body still shaking from the chortle. He’s facing the ground, and you hit his arm from the back.

“Shut up,” you only order, opting to walk away.

But he turns to you, a hand around your elbow; he can barely breathe when he assures, “Okay. Okay, I’ll stop. Sorry, I just—” He sniffles as you look at him, sulking and trying his gloating not to make you laugh, too. “What were you doing?”

“That’s not funny!”

“I’m not trying to be funny! I’m serious.”

Which he clearly isn’t. The smile is too infuriatingly wide, and the tug at your arm too affectionate. He’s amused and you hate–love?–that you are, too. You keep the act of agitation intact for another moment.

But pieces of you break, your heart a melting mess when you watch his eyes nearly close, nose scrunched up. His shoulders rise — they always do whenever his laughter increases, bunny teeth protruding and the mole under his mouth a magnet to your lips.

And when he raises his hands to your face, cradling it, and speaks, you lose it entirely.

“What were you even saying, munchkin, huh? You’re such a little idiot, you know?” he playfully scolds, squishing your cheeks; peppering kisses on your skin and your lips; barely allowing you a moment to talk.

“And you’re—” you say between tiny kisses, distracted by the childlike, muah-ish sound effects that accompany his pecks, “so mean.”

“And you are the sweetest thing to exist.” The lovingly aggressive touch vanishes from your cheek to be replaced by sudden pinches; your protests are high-pitched, and unfortunately, enhance his statement. “Okay, okay. Come on.”

He flicks your chin as if to provoke you further, but dodges all your teeny tiny rage to come when he moves past your body. Warning abandoned, his fingers tweak your ass as he targets the kitchen, and you yelp, instantly slapping a hand over your butt.

“Freshen up and let’s get to dinner. And hurry. Gotta give you hands-on relaxation later.”

“You’re the worst, I mean it.”

But his evil snicker isn’t.

He might make your hackles rise, and test your patience the way he used to so long ago. Back when you’d seek him out in a miniscule dorm room, eyebrows furrowed just to see him a bit longer after class.

You’re always baffled how your foundation still stands; after all the shattering and agony and stings that fractured your heart. Only now, you’ll be surrounded by the bicker every hour of the day.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Living through an odd day at work, driving around town and embarrassing yourself in front of your boyfriend’s mother makes one dizzyingly hungry, you realised. Stress didn’t let you eat properly today.

Even now, there’s something you need to reveal to him — but the moment you sit down to eat and crack the first joke, you don’t have the heart to. And then, combined with the rush still lingering from the awkward, wholesome interaction before, and the shift in mood, you soon do the worst:

Forget about the issue.

Your eyes meet the bottom of your bowl sooner than preferred, your stomach still seemingly as empty as before. Whatever magic Jungkook seasoned the dish with, you want him to sprinkle it on your tastebuds every day.

Jungkook is sipping on his water when you suddenly look up and place a hand on his bicep, shaking him for attention. A guilty Oh slips out of you as you watch droplets roll down his chin, and he tries not to choke as he puts the glass back on the table.

“Babe—”

“I’m sorry!” you exclaim, thumb wiping at the fluid dampening his chin. “Just. Can we have more? That helped with that sickness all day, and… I’m still hungry.”

Along with the lack of appetite, you assumed the stress and the constant overworking dragged the feeling of illness and stomach ache throughout the day, too. Jungkook keeps warning you about burnouts — doing a thousand things at once, you’ve been thoroughly burdened.

But honestly. Maybe it was just hunger for a real meal.

“Oh? I'm so glad it helped then! And sure,” he responds. “Go ahead, there’s enough for like four people.”

You blink. “And you?” He shakes his head, patting his full tummy, attempting another try at drinking. You argue, “I’m not eating alone, though!”

“Angel, I’ve had like two portions. I'll be full until next dinner.”

“Lame!” You shift on the couch, half of your ass holding you onto it, “And if we found ways to burn it off?”

“…Ah?”

“I mean… You like working out. So just work me out.”

“Shut up. You’re impossible.”

You’ve long given up — you’re not an ass. You would never force him to eat or not to eat, unless he hasn’t in hours. But you also need a foolproof way of amusing him.

Which, despite his very unimpressed expression, you know you did. His lips still twitch.

Sombre, his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek before he shakes his head. You pat his strong thighs, standing from the couch with a hungry groan.

“Fine. I’ll go heat up some for myself then,” you announce, but Jungkook’s shrill alarm bells ring immediately, his body jumping off his seat.

“Not the microwave.”

“Jungkook—”

“Not! The microwave. Just toss it in the pan and heat it up there.”

You tiptoe to the kitchen just a little faster, playful as he hurries after you. You spend your seconds explaining why the microwave won’t explode; how tickling you won’t change anything; how you’ll break something if he doesn’t stop.

But most of all, you spend your seconds allowing him to chase away all sorrows you carried for so goddamn long.

Shut up. You’re impossible.

His prior agitation truly wasn’t one at all.

Because despite your obvious jests, the calories lost on the couch rob you of all sanity at last. A hand in your hair, a body pushing yours down, free fingers roaming your sides and your legs, and lips never separating from yours.

He doesn’t strip you off a single piece of clothing. Doesn’t dig a hand underneath your shirt, focused on how your mouth feels, how his name rolling off your tongue sounds.

The eyes he stares into are vivid and bright, and he uses up all his power to not let them kill him. Your body wraps around his like the most tender of all embraces; he doesn’t need you bare for it, no matter how blank the thought leaves his mind.

Only needs the proximity. The tongue touching his, the nails testing his shirt’s quality.

You miss most of the movie that he suggested, eating each other up, a fist around the hem of his shirt until he nearly falls off the couch and wakes you from your dream. You giggle and joke, spending the second half of the film yawning, sipping the peppermint tea. 

Jungkook uses the quiet time for whispered conversations; massages your feet as you pleaded for, repeatedly asking for your comfort.

The moments aren’t anything big, in theory. You’re not in a fantasy novel, not throwing a ring into a volcano. You’re mortal and here, surrounded by humane domesticity and drowning in casual conversations.

Yet — even though you’re not living through spectacular adventures, you’re breathing through special moments nevertheless. Because not a single second spent with him feels mundane, after all.

Sometime as the ending nears, you let your legs fall, pulled close to Jungkook by your hip. You don’t quite understand when or how he does it, but miraculously, you land half on his lap, ass barely on the couch and cheek pressed to his temple.

Jungkook pushes a hand against your thigh, heaving you up further and moving you until you’re comfortable. There’s a light groan, followed by a feathery kiss to your jaw; and you wrap an arm around his shoulder to hold on, shifting even closer.

Your touchy warmth isn’t new to Jungkook; but it seems that the changes in your lives made your inhibitions disperse. Like you broke the bars trapping you so far.

Because the increasing clinginess feels carefree; you don’t overthink your movements tonight. Even before, there was lightness in your interactions; how you’d breathe in his presence, compared to when the world intruded.

The difference was still never quite veiled.

He saw it when he called from so far away all those weeks ago, staring at the distress in your face through a device — versus when he returned to your world.

Or just recently, when you stood on that tiny stage, talking down to reporters — as opposed to when you whispered for him to get you home.

Your shoulders always dropped in relief the moment you stood in his soothing radius. And yet—

There was quiet discomfort in your eyes. And today — today he doesn’t see that usual steam frying your brain. Your smile isn’t burdened; you’re weightless, like you’re breathing.

Overwhelmed and endeared, Jungkook gulps. The pricking needle rods his heart, simultaneously flicking the wounds. He could cry.

He watches you busy your fingers with his shirt, unable to put his thoughts into a coherent string of sentences; so he only says, “You’re so cosy today.”

“Hm? I’m always cosy.”

“Mmmh… a bit more tonight.”

Your forefinger traces the outline of his pecs over his shirt, and you nod with a hum before you declare, “That’s because I’m trying to establish a healthy balance.”

“A healthy balance? How so?”

“I need to be nice, because you’re not.”

His eyes follow your finger’s slow movements, so his voice is soft, barely concerned. But his brain can’t quite compute as he asks, “I’m not nice?”

“You’ve always been mean, actually.”

He laughs. Taps your thigh rhythmically, close to your butt. “How am I mean to you?”

“Like,” you press your palm flat in the middle of his chest, looking at him. There’s a crease between your eyebrows, the slightest hint of a pout on your lips. “You ass could’ve answered when I came home. You didn’t say anything! Or did you really not hear me?”

Oh.

Ogling into your anticipating, subtly piqued eyes, he suppresses a laugh. His lips form a thin line, but the glow in his dark eyes betrays him. Your hand lifts a little, ready to spank his pecs, but you close the gap again as you grant him another chance.

“Hey, if you tell me you didn’t hear, I’ll let it slide.”

You’re well aware Jungkook graduated as the best of his year in Teasing You, and holds the degree proudly to your face every day — but you also know he’s honest.

So you’re not surprised when he admits, eyes mischievous, “I heard you.” Your slow blinking, the scolding gaze are hilarious to him; he looks unspeakably pleased. “I wanted to see what you’d do.”

Now you do slap his tits.

“And you didn’t expect me to say that shit?!” you reprimand. He wraps his arms around you, his laughter a deep, genuine emergence from his chest. “I’m an idiot, in case you didn’t know.”

“Of course. I do know,” he suddenly deadpans. Wow. That couldn’t have come any more naturally. “I know you well, baby.”

“And yet…”

He waves your concerns off, hand soon returning to your back to pull you closer. “She’s chill. I knew you were gonna amuse her right away.”

��Oh god. You planned this… Wait. You didn’t shush her when you heard the door open, right?”

He doesn’t answer. Just keeps looking at you. And then… is he…

Is he zoning out?

“Jungkook,” you call again.

“Hm?” He stares at you beguiled, as if utterly distracted by whatever. “Sorry. Can’t hear you—”

“You so can. We’re alone and I’m speaking loud and cl—”

“Nah, you’re just so pretty. I can barely focus.”

“I hate you.”

But you don’t.

He doesn’t need to spell his intentions out for you to understand. He might be testing your patience, but there’s a hidden meaning in his words that he can’t hide as well as he intends to after all.

Because you know he just wanted you to be yourself instead of playing a different role; just like he has never pretended in front of your parents. He knows you’d try extra hard for him — but he needed you to come in and receive affection as the person that you already are.

Guess whatever you blurted was the first impression he wanted to leave of you.

“So,” you start after a moment, back to tapping his chest, “do you think I did amuse her?”

“Oh, she loved it.” Of course she did. You could see the Jeon-esque endearment in her eyes the moment you stepped into the living room. Humbles you. “She’s gonna adore you, too.”

“Ah. Like you adore me.”

Jungkook’s response arrives in the form of a long, semi-damp kiss, delivered to the corner of your mouth. You grimace, torso moving backwards at his gentle force. He adds another Mmmhhh to the gesture until you’re nearly falling off his lap, pushing him away again with a giggly, “Stop!”

He leans back with a content sigh, eliminating more of the distance between you until his head almost rests against your chest. But when you speak again, he looks up into your face.

“Hey. Your mom was saying something as she was leaving. What was it again?”

“Uhh…”

His pupils roll up in thought, one shoulder already rising to shrug, but then it drops again before he voices, “Oh… Yeah…” A break in thought; then, “I figured you’d be busy with everything going on, so I was being reluctant about asking. Didn’t wanna put you in a difficult position.”

You wait. He speaks on, “But my cousin’s getting married next month, and I’m invited.”

There’s a beat of a pause, and you anticipate, already sensing a presentiment before he spits it out—

“And you are, too.”

Hold on.

Weddings. More often than not, weddings happen in big places, filled with a great number of guests. Of friends. And… of family members.

If what he’s suggesting isn’t a hallucination, it means that’d be how you’d step into the battlefield. Attempting your best to be yourself, to charm his family with whatever strategy.

Is he thinking of the same thing?

Because you’re speechless.

You close the mouth you only now notice stood agape, trying not to show the bubbling exhilaration too blatantly. That’d be your first joyful event together.

Oh god.

You might squeal; faint of nervousness. If you could, you’d press your fists to your lips and stomp your feet and twirl your hair and—

“Wait… You want me to go to a wedding with you?” you finally ask instead, keeping your voice in a normal pitch.

“Only if you feel like it.”

“And… and you?” you inquire, wide eyes looking into his wider ones. He’s nervous, too. “Do you want me to?”

“I… yeah. I do. I really, really don’t want to go without you, actually.”

Shit.

“Where is the wedding?”

“Yeah, see, that’s why I was afraid to ask. You’re so busy and your job’s so new. But we’d—” He hesitates, as if scared of rejection. Clicks his tongue, evaluating his words. “The thing is that we’d have to drive all the way down. It’s back at home.”

You need a moment. Back at home; you’re home. Meaning, it’s not here.

Meaning, it’s in his hometown. Meaning, you wouldn’t just meet his family, but walk through a place of memories and deeply rooted, nostalgic affection, too.

Which is… such a huge fucking thing.

Especially for a girlfriend.

Eun always says it doesn’t do bringing a girlfriend or boyfriend to big events such as birthday parties or weddings. It’s disadvantageous for the pictures, she claims. Who knows how the future might play out?

But Jungkook isn’t concerned with these issues. Jungkook wants you all the way down there, lurking on streets with him that he grew up on; tripped on; played on.

These are places with core remembrances. So easily expanded when more are added to them in later years; and so easily shattered when hearts break.

But a heart breaking is not an option, is it? Not anymore.

“You’re… taking me to your hometown?” you ask. You immediately realise the choice of words, and don’t hesitate as you add, “I mean. You’d be taking me home. You’d like to—”

“Is that—” he interrupts, suddenly unsure, “bad? Did it change your mind? You don’t have to, I promise.”

“No. I actually might cry.”

His expression momentarily softens, a big, clear Awwwh written in it. Gentle fingers brush your hair back, observing the vulnerability in your eyes. But shit, you mean it.

You could cry.

Because you talked about this so long ago.

Back when he was miles away, yet so deeply settled in your heart. Sneaking his way into your head, eating you up inside. When he broke off a piece of you and took it with him as he left, no relief for weeks on end.

And when he came back, he promised he’d take you with him one day.

Is that it? Is that now?

“Fuck,” you curse under a quiet laugh, confused by the burning in your eyes.

Jungkook’s hand brushes over your cheek, eyebrows slightly cocked. He might not have expected you to react with such… emotion. You hadn’t either.

“Hey,” his voice soothes, “don’t cry. It’ll be good. And if it’s not, or if you don’t want to, we can just stay here and never go again.”

You’re gonna sob. How did you deserve him?

Of course you want to go. Of course you’d make the best of it. No fibre in you wants to reject his offer.

In fact, you’re already daydreaming. Because…

How’s it gonna be? Will you see more stars there? Will his family like you? His Dad like you? And what are weddings with boyfriends like? Will you be seeing him in every flower in the hall, in every kiss the couple shares?

“No,” you say, “I’ll go. I will go because you’re too obsessed with me to leave without me.”

Jungkook chuckles immediately, but not speaking before rolling his eyes, “And you’re a brat.”

You wait a moment, smiling in unison with him, and then ask, “Honestly, I… I’d love to. Can I just still ask…” You’re curious; but you also want to keep feeling that warmth. More tranquillity from his words. “Why would you not go without me?”

He doesn’t stall.

“Because it’s such a big event, and… so far away. I don’t want to leave you here. And the thought of being at the most lovey-dovey place without my favourite person sucks.”

You’ll freaking screech.

“Jungkook!”

Half of the name is muffled when your lips drop to the crook of his neck, back uncomfortably arching and face heating up. Your ass threatens to fall back on the couch, legs still over his, and he hugs you close as he snickers again.

He shakes your body gently, trying to lift your face. Calling your name when your breath tickles his skin, asking, “Are we embarrassed?”

“No.”

But when you look at him again, your smile is wide enough to freeze your muscles in place. He shakes his head, flooded with aching joy, and makes sure again, “So you want to go, yeah? Don’t need time to think or something? It’s okay if you do.”

“As if. I really wanna go. I’m gonna make this,” you touch his collarbones, then your own, “work.”

He smiles. Grants you a short break to organise your thoughts. And while what you query next shouldn’t come as a surprise, it does introduce a delighted shift in mood.

“What am I gonna wear?”

Jungkook puffs out a breath.

You don’t notice; your focus drifts, directed to the carpet. You mentally scurry your closet, quietly trying to recall appropriate attire for weddings. Which is odd, because you should have the entire catalogue of your and every other place cemented in your mind.

“What do I wear?” you repeat, back to looking at him, barely allowing him a moment to think. “And don’t say anything would look good on me. Serious answers only.”

“You know a question like this prompts nothing but unserious answers from m—”

“Kook—”

“Okay. I mean, you have such pretty dresses. Lemme just choose one and we’re supplied.”

It’s an easy idea; fair enough. Only, you’re barely listening, earning a side-eye from Jungkook when you say, “I should buy a new one.”

Which still doesn’t deter him, though. “Cool. I’ll go with you then.”

“Or will I seem overdressed?”

“It’s a wedding, baby. Overdress like hell.”

“And… if I’m underdressed?”

“You’re still gonna be the hottest around!” he exclaims, and you flinch just a little. He’s not truly agitated, but there’s playful frustration in his voice, a grin around his lips. “Don’t worry about the dress, okay? It won’t stay on you anyway.”

Jungkook expects you to react with similar scolding, using it to hide how timidly flattered you actually are. But you’re too fired up, restless in his grip as your voice grows shriller, “I’m so. Fuck, I’m so excited!”

“I am, too. But…”

His palm moves up and down your back, one eye squinting shut as you start swaying a bit, pumped with serotonin. Like a thrilled child. You’re so…

He lowers his gaze; you might just see the heart eyes otherwise.

“Okay, hey,” he tries again, calming you as his fingers grasp your wrist. “Should we go to bed for now, though?”

You wait with your answer, relaxing your body. Stopping your elevated sounds, you draw the deepest breath in history, and then breathe out a whispery, “Yeah.”

“Yeah. Good. Oh.”

“Hm?”

“You haven’t actually been to the bedroom yet, right?”

“Oh…”

True. Since you came home, you only conversed with his mother, then rushed to take a shower as she left, still filled with prickling and nervous emotions. And then you hurried back to him, starving, eating, watching TV.

And now you’re here.

Was something different about the bedroom, though? You don’t think so.

“You’re right,” you tell him, “no, not really. Just to shower. Why?”

“Just…”

“…What?”

“Okay. Hold onto me.”

“Hold ont— oh, f—”

You gasp for air when two strong arms replace his soft hands, settling under your kneepits and around your back. He shifts dangerously on the couch, moving forward before he starts to lift with a self-motivating grunt.

“And— off we go.”

You sling your arms around his neck immediately, hiding, letting out a panicked, ”Be careful, I’m sli—”

“All good. Relax.” His arms wrap more properly around your limbs, and you dare to listen. Allowing your legs to dangle, you let him carry you calmly, breathing air through O-shaped lips. “Good girl. I won't just let you fall.”

“You better not.”

“No. Just wait.”

He looks at you with a comical grin, throwing a kiss into the air and down to you. Using your feet to kick the door open, he halts at the threshold; for a second, he looks… up.

And just when he finally enters the room, you quietly follow his gaze. The question as to what to wait for gets stuck in your throat when you realise what it is he needed you to see.

Holy shit.

the chapter isn't over yet – much to go!! tumblr just doesn't allow more than 1k blocks/paragraphs. apologies for the scrolling, but i promise it's worth it :'D here's the rest! <3

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #jeongguk smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts x you #bts imagines #jungkook fic #bts angst #jungkook angst #jungkook

[runningfrom2am]

the sea around us; chapter sixteen

In which Rafe Cameron has to choose between his dad and a pogue who's changing his outlook on life more and more every day.

(rafe cameron x f!oc)

(eventual!jj maybank x f!oc)

warnings/tags: violence, drug/alcohol use, smoking, sexual content (if you squint), slowburn, older brother’s best friend, (these tags are obv not exhaustive but regardless it’s pretty PG13)

wc: 4k (damn)

my masterlist

series masterlist

*:･ﾟ✧*:･

Kie absolutely flips back at The Chateau when John B and I show up from Tannyhill with Sarah. Needless to say, she is not pleased that we want Sarah in on it.

"No effing way!" Kie says to us, shaking her head, as everyone sits around just watching. "Seriously? So she's just in on this now?"

"I dunno, but all I care about is her cut comes out of your share." Pope shrugs, looking at John B and I.

"I don't remember taking a vote," Kie complains, crossing her arms. "This is our thing. A pogue thing."

"I gotta say, I'm just a tad uncomfortable with this," Pope speaks up and I sigh.

"Pope, when are you not uncomfortable?"

"I don't know, I rode here on the back of JJ's bike pretty comfortably." He replies and JJ nods.

"Yeah, I've honestly never seen him so relaxed."

"JJ you are not helping," I say and he immediately shuts up.

"That's cute you guys." John B says sarcastically.

"We were all extremely comfortable until you brought her!" Kie says, pointing to Sarah. "And we were all comfortable in doing our own thing until you started fucking her brother!" She says, turning to me and I throw my arms up, pacing the patio. "And suddenly, to both of you, pogue life doesn't matter anymore as soon as you get laid by some kooks!" I shoot her a look, running my hand through my hair.

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here!" Sarah says, drawing Kie's attention.

"Then leave," Kie says bitterly.

Sarah scoffs, looking over to John B. "See? I told you." She says, arms crossed,

"Tell them what exactly, Sarah? That you're a liar?"

"No, that you're a shit-talking bitch!" Sarah shouts back at her, sitting up now. I watch JJ and Pope as they immediately begin to place bets on who will win- JJ already has his wallet out.

"Everybody shut up!" John B shouts, grabbing everyone's attention.

"I'm fucking leaving," I grumble, grabbing my tote bag from the floor next to the couch. "Call me when you're done being pissed that I've found a guy who likes me more than you," I say to Kie before storming out, holding up my middle finger behind me without looking back.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･

I ended up going back to Tannyhill to spend the night, since now, without a home and the Chateau, it was my only option. I'm feeling thankful for Ward already. I ring the doorbell, and Wheezie answers a few moments later.

"Oh, hi Snowy." She says, pulling it open more so I can come in. "Rafe! Your girlfriend is here!" She shouts up the stairs.

"Hi, Wheezie." I smile, taking my shoes off and placing them beside the door. That is something I never let go of when I moved from BC, I hate that everyone here wears their shoes inside. Except when I'm at John B's, lord knows when the last time he or even Big John did a good mop, so that's my only exception.

"You know, you live here now so you don't have to ring the doorbell. Unless it's like 2 am the door is always unlocked." Wheezie tells me, crossing her arms and laughing a little at me both for removing my shoes and for not just walking in.

"Oh, okay. Good to know." I nod, smiling at her.

"Why did you take your shoes off?" She asks.

"Uh, well, in Canada no one wears shoes in the house. Especially other people's houses." I laugh slightly as Rafe comes down the stairs.

"Wheeze, leave her alone." He says, stopping before the last set and leaning on the railing.

"I just answered the door, I'm not bothering her." The young girl insists.

"No, definitely not bothering me," I assure him, smiling at his sister.

"Come on," Rafe says, signaling for me to follow him. I wave goodbye to Wheezie and thank her for opening the door, then I go up after Rafe.

"Okay, so, your room is just over here..." He says, pointing as we walk down the hall, and opening the door to the same guest bedroom I showered in last week. "Wheezies room is right down there, and my room is upstairs, as you know." He explains as we walk in, and I look around.

"Thank you." I smile at him.

"Yeah, uh, no problem." He says, and we both sit on the bed, me crossing my legs. "So, you live here now?" He laughs.

"Well, probably not full-time. John B is keeping the chateau so I'll likely still be there a lot." I shrug.

"Right, well, my dad said you were nervous since I didn't know he was going to offer, but I want you to know that I don't mind. Seriously." Rafe smiles at me, as I hear someone walking towards the open door. I look up and see that it's Ward.

"Rafe, we went over this, buddy." He laughs and Rafe gets up, raising his hands in mock surrender and walking back to the door.

"I gave this same talk to John B and Sarah, so don't feel weird, but there's going to be some rules." He says and I nod. "No going in each other's rooms, and no closed doors in other rooms, got it?" He asks, and Rafe and I make eye contact for a second. He smirks a little and looks me up and down.

"Dad, oh my god." Rafe groans, moving quickly on from our silent interaction so his dad doesn't pick up on it. "I'm an adult." He says and Ward turns to him.

"Yes, and she is seventeen, so you get the same rules as Sarah," Ward says, looking at his son seriously.

"Of course, that's fine," I say with a smile before Rafe starts arguing with him. "Thank you for letting me stay here," I tell him again.

"Rafe, if you could give me a minute with our guest," Ward says, turning to his son and giving him a look.

Rafe nods and walks away, heading up to his room, if I had to guess. Ward comes and sits down next to me.

"So, how is John B doing?" He asks, and I assume I look confused because he explains. "With his dad, and all that. I know it has to be hard on him."

"Well, he's doing alright. We all try our best to be there for him, but he won't accept that his dad likely will not be coming back alive, so it's a bit of a touchy subject." I tell him honestly, avoiding eye contact.

"Big John was a great man, wasn't he?"  He asks and I nod. Big John was like a father to me. Of course, my dad is still alive and well, but there's just something so great about talking to someone else's dad about stuff you can't tell your own parents about. I feel like I could start crying so I know it's better for me not to speak.

"Is it true he was looking for the Royal Merchant when he disappeared?" Ward asks me.

"Well, I think so, yeah," I say quietly.

"Do you know if John B has expressed any interest in that? Finishing his father's work?" Why would Ward ask me about this? I decide it's best to ignore the question, and really lean into the whole 'death of a parental figure' thing. I let the tears flow as he's partway through his question, letting my shoulders start to shake and I cover my face.

"I'm so sorry, I just... Big John was a father to me too and I just haven't talked to anyone about it. No one ever asked how I was doing, you know?" I sob, lifting my hands to wipe under my eyes.

I catch a glimpse of him between my fingers while I wipe my eyes, and he looks more frustrated that I didn't answer than worried that I was so upset. He definitely knows something.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･

I haven't left my room since Ward came and talked to me. I need to talk to John B, but he stayed back at the chat with everyone else after I left. I don't even know if I want to talk to him. I've been staring at the ceiling for about forty-five minutes before I drift off to sleep, thinking endlessly about what Kie said to me in the afternoon.

When I wake up, my mouth is dry and I'm instantly uncomfortable because I'm still wearing jeans. It's pitch black outside- and I lift my phone from where it's fallen out of my hand at my side. 2:50 am. I've got to get a drink.

I look in the bathroom for a cup to grab some water, but there's nothing. I sigh and resign myself to having to walk down to the kitchen to grab a water bottle after quickly getting changed into some pyjamas.

I quietly sneak downstairs, but freeze on the steps when I see the lights on. I tiptoe down onto the landing, and walk over to the entrance, peaking into the doorway. No one there. I sigh a breath of relief and grab a water bottle from the fridge, before retreating back up the stairs, following the flashlight on my phone as it's pointed at the floor.

"Snow?" I look up when I hear my name.

"Oh, Rafe. Hi." I whisper back.

"What are you doing up?" He asks, stepping down the last couple steps onto this level and walking up to me.

"I was just thirsty so I just grabbed some water." I shake the bottle towards him. "What about you?"

"Oh uh... I just couldn't sleep, I guess." He replies, shrugging softly.

"Wanna go in the pool?" He asks, making me laugh.

"It's three am."

"C'mon, let's go. It's a private pool- it's not like it closes at five or anything." Rafe insists, a slight smile tugging on his lips.

I look towards my door and think for a second. It's not like I'm going to sleep any time soon, I just woke up. "Okay, yeah. Let me get changed quick." I nod, walking past him and into my room, and I'm surprised when he follows.

I grab a swimsuit from my bag that I haven't unpacked yet, and head into the bathroom to change, while Rafe sits down on my bed.

I come out and I quietly follow him downstairs and out onto the deck, and watch as he flicks on the lights in the pool and the ones that surround it. I take off my pyjamas which I threw back on top of my bathing suit, folding up my clothes and resting them on a chair with my phone.

We haven't said a word to each other, and I'm starting to feel a little nervous. I know I shouldn't, though. It's just too quiet out here.

"It's so quiet." I whisper to fill the silence as Rafe walks over and pulls off his sweats, tossing them on the chair next to my clothes. I guess he planned on going for a late night swim, since he's wearing trunks underneath.

"It's nice isn't it?" He replies, smiling at me as he walks over to the edge of the pool, stepping in.

"Yeah." I agree, following him over. "Is it cold?" I ask and he shakes his head.

I dip my foot in anyways just to check. "You and I have different definitions of cold." I giggle, pulling my foot back out.

"Okay come on, you'll get used to it." He smiles up at me, standing about waist deep now as he holds his hand out to me by the stairs.

"Okay, okay." I give myself a small pep talk as I take his hand, putting one foot in. Just then, he tugs slightly on my arm as if he's going to pull me in. "Oh my god!" I laugh, looking back at the house and making sure no one heard.

"I'm sorry," Rafe laughs, "I had to- I'm sorry. I promise I won't."

I give him a look of 'don't you dare' as I slowly take another step deeper, and another, until I'm up to my ribs.

"Oh my god this is the worst part." I laugh, holding my arms still above the water. I jump a little bit to try and warm myself up, and he's right, I'm adjusting quickly.

"It's not that bad." He smiles, shaking his head at me, still not letting go of my hand as I hold it above the surface.

"Okay, okay yeah. I'm good." I say, dropping his hand to let my arms fall into the water. It's still cold, so I pull my arms closer and cross them over my waist.

"Is green your favorite color?" Rafe asks me out of nowhere.

"Uh, I guess so." I shrug. "I mean, I really like brown too. Maybe a close second though, green is more fun."

"Gotcha. Yeah, I just figured 'cause like, you wear a lot of green stuff so..." He explains and I nod.

"As long as I don't wear a very specific shade of a bright forest green, I won't look like a leprechaun." I giggle and he looks confused, but laughs anyways.

"What?"

"Yeah, like, with my hair, and the freckles, it's kind of a fine line."

"Oh, I mean I guess so." He agrees. "Not that you do, uh, look like a leprechaun. I can just see how that could be, like, uhm... yeah." He sounds nervous now.

"What's your favorite color?" I ask, wanting to get the conversation off of me.

"Uh, I don't know. Maybe like... blue, I guess?" He answers, sounding unsure.

"Do you not have a favorite color?"

"Not really, no." He chuckles, shaking his head as he leans back against the edge of the pool.

"Okay, well what's your favorite color to look at? Like, what color itches your brain the most- is the most satisfying to you?"

"Maybe like... orange. Yeah, that's a nice color to look at." He nods, looking satisfied with that answer.

I smile. "Yeah, that's a good one. Like a nice sunset moment."

"Yeah, totally." Rafe nods, not pulling his eyes from me.

"Okay. Here's a good one." I start, leaning over the edge of the pool next to him and crossing my arms on the ground to support myself. "What is your favorite Fast movie?"

"Five. Definitely Five." He answers, without giving it a second thought.

I nod in approval. "Good choice." I grin, looking up at him. "That's my favorite too."

"Objectively like, it's the best one. I would say Seven but like, way too damn sad." Rafe shakes his head at that.

"Right? I literally always cry at the end."

"Okay so I have never cried watching a movie, but that movie almost did it for me." He laughs.

"You have to watch About Time. You will sob." I laugh.

"Never heard of it."

"Well, it's one of the best movies of all time. Up there with Frozen two. And Fast, obviously. And the Godzilla movies. The new ones, I mean." I ramble on.

"Do not tell me you like the Godzilla movies." Rafe laughs, looking at me in disbelief.

"I get a lot of flack for this, but they're my comfort movies." I nod.

"I've never met anyone who has liked those," Rafe shakes his head. "I mean, I don't hate them but they're a weird comfort movie to have."

I nod. "Yeah, like I get it- it is an odd choice. They're just fun." I say, turning to lean my back against the wall now to look out and see if I can see the ocean from here, and I can. The moonlight bounces off the waves beautifully and this is the perfect view through the clearing in the trees.

Rafe places his arm over my shoulders and leans into me, rubbing my arm in the process.

"God- you are cold. You've got goosebumps." He chuckles and I nod.

"I wasn't kidding. I am warming up now though, you were right."

"I'm always right." He says, a cocky tone to his voice.

I roll my eyes a little with a smile on my face and shake my head. "Big brother behaviour."

"Well, yeah, how else am I supposed to behave?" He chuckles, and I can feel his gaze on me.

"Fair enough- you don't know any better." I laugh, turning to look up at him.

And I thought JJ's eyes were blue- now I don't even remember what they look like. Maybe it's something to do with the pool lights having a blue tint- or the moonlight reflecting off the ocean in front of us, but Rafe's eyes look somehow bluer now than they ever have before.

"Thanks for like... being okay with me staying here." I say after he's quiet for a moment.

"I told you, I want you here." He replies, reaching up with his free hand and pushing some of my hair back that's fallen out of my bun.

"Can I... uh..." He says softly, leaning in towards me a little bit. I nod with a smile as he lets his hand rest on my cheek and pulls me closer, holding that same bit of hair back as he kisses me softly. It's sweet- not like the last two times. Not that the first two times were bad- but this is so different.

Last time, he did it to piss off my friends. Fully warranted. The first time, we were both so drunk we couldn't stand up straight. This is more real. A million times more real.

He pulls away and I feel my cheeks burning- the cold from the water and the breeze completely gone now.

"Orange like your hair." He says, and I furrow my brow a bit.

"Huh?"

"My favorite color."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･

The following afternoon, I agree to go out with John B, JJ, and Sarah to talk about what the plan is. What's happening with Kie, and maybe bring up what happened with Ward yesterday if I get a second alone with John B. I trust Sarah, but I'd need to talk to him first to see if he knows what's going on.

We're out in the marsh when John B asks us to grab something from the hold. We walk over, and right as I feel a presence behind me JJ is grabbing me and dropping me in. I scream, laughing as John B does the same thing to Sarah. It's not funny anymore, though, when they close the door and lock it behind us. "John B? JJ! Hey!" I yell, slamming on the door with Sarah.

"This isn't funny!" Sarah adds as we try to push it open. Shit, there goes us getting to talk.

"Sorry girls, I'll let you out later! I swear!" We hear him shout back.

"What are they doing?" I ask Sarah and she shakes her head.

"Not a clue." She says as we both just resolve to sit down. We'll probably be waiting a while. "They wouldn't actually just leave us, right? He's coming back to open it?"

"Of course, he'll come back." I nod. "John B wouldn't hurt a hair on your head- let alone leave you to starve in a hold. Me, on the other hand? Maybe." I joke, laughing slightly.

"No way," Sarah says, laughing and shaking her head. "You should hear the way he talks about you."

I roll my eyes at that, scoffing. "I'm serious! He loves you, when you're not around he refers to you as his sister." Sarah says as we both hug our knees to our chests.

"Well, that's sweet." I agree.

"And JJ is so obviously in love with you it is ridiculous." She whispers, laughing a little.

"He's like that with every girl who can breathe." I reply, "Trust me, it's not personal." I laugh a little bit. "Can I tell you a secret?" I whisper and I see her nod.

"I was absolutely obsessed with JJ. Since the day I met him. I told Kie I was in love with him. It is honestly so embarrassing..." I giggle, trailing off.

"What happened?" Sarah asks me. "I didn't know you had, like, history."

"Honestly? Pretty much nothing. We hooked up one time, allegedly he doesn't remember it happening, and I decided to try and avoid going through that again."

"Oh.." Sarah says, not sure what to say. "He's a liar." She chuckles. "There's no way he doesn't remember. Boys always remember- it doesn't matter how shitfaced they are, seriously."

"That's what I'm afraid of," I explain. "That he knew and was too embarrassed to admit it because it was weird."

Sarah sighs. "Yeah... I mean if he didn't want to be a big boy and talk about it, that's his loss."

"Thanks, Sarah." I smile. "But now, I think I'm starting to get over it. I'm happier."

"With Rafe?" She asks.

"Well, it's complicated, unfortunately. It wouldn't be my love life it made sense, would it?" We both giggle at this.

"Then what's up with you guys? We all know you're like, together."

"Nothing official, I guess. And we haven't like, done anything, if you were taking Kie's word at face value yesterday." I explain and she nods softly.

"My brother shut me out a few years ago, so I don't know a lot, but I can tell he's like, doing better, I guess. He's slightly less angry at the world, at us, whatever. You're getting in his head, is what I mean. In a good way." Sarah says and I smile a little. That does make me more relaxed about the situation. At least he wasn't just manipulating me when he told me he needed me, and that I'm helping him.

"It just... I don't get why she would say that to me. In front of everyone, too. It's not even true, she was straight-up lying; and for what? Like, it didn't do anything but hurt me. She knows I care about my friends. I literally always build my plans around her and the boys. Like, 'Oh, you want to go surfing in the afternoon? Sweet, I'll take a morning shift' or 'You guys need me for Royal Merchant stuff at noon? All good, I'll tell Rafe I need to be back by then'. I have never once told them no- I have never once put him first." I rant on for a minute and Sarah just lets me. "I mean, after Midsummers, when John B got pushed from the tower, I had told Rafe I would stay with him because he needed me. He needed me, I'm so serious Sarah he was having a really rough night. But I was there for her and for John B in a minute, so how dare she accuse me of not caring."

"Well, you know how I feel about Kie," Sarah says, "But putting myself in her shoes, you guys are family. Especially for you, and John B, and JJ, you guys are pretty much all you have. And I think she cares about you, and I think she just doesn't want to lose that."

"Yes, but I don't know because I've always been second to Kie. She was their friend first, she is rich, and smart, and so pretty, and I love her but it is hard to not look at this and think she's trying to take Rafe from me." Sarah laughs and shakes her head. "Not literally, of course- she hates him, I just mean it feels like she can't let me have one thing of my own. That's mine, and that I can be proud of, because our lives revolve so heavily around each other."

"That's the reason I ghosted her." Sarah nods. "I assume you only heard her side of the story, yeah?" She asks.

"Of course- please, go on." I laugh.

"I had my birthday party and didn't invite her. So she called the cops and got the party busted." Sarah said, stretching out her legs as much as she could in this tiny space. "She ruined my birthday because she wasn't there. I couldn't have a nice thing without her." She shakes her head.

"Sounds about right, apparently," I say, but I do know how hurt Kie was after that happened. She was heartbroken, and I was there for her.

Just then, we hear some commotion up on the deck and begin pounding on the door again as we hear splashing in the water. The door opens, and it's Kie. "Oh, great," Kie says sarcastically, stepping back as we climb out. We look off the edge, and JJ and John B are swimming away to Pope's boat.

Great indeed.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･

this part is so cute i literally cant- it might be my fave chapter omg

taglist: @boo22sstuff @madelynie (message me if you want to be added!!)

#rafe cameron #obx fanfic #obx #outer banks #rafe cameron x oc #rafe obx #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic #jj maybank #jj maybank x oc #rafe x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x reader #rafe imagine #rafe outer banks #rafe x you #rafe cameron fic #jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj obx #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank x reader

[niicevibe]

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 | 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈

i'm so ridiculously in love with this man, it is a terrible obsession, and so here's this quick, self-indulgent lil thing i wrote for him and me reader. i feel like a goober tho, this is the first piece i've posted on here besides an oc story and my headcanon collections LOL

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 -> feminine terms (mellorine, mademoiselle); kind of based off of a scene from that vr one piece game; y/n is a new straw hat member i guess + her noble family kinda sucks; kind of rushy bc i didn't feel like writing a backstory lol; honourifics are used; maybe a little suggestive...? just in case

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.2k :)

“What a cute kitchen!”

Your eyes can barely contain their sparkle as you take in the final room of the tour. Smiling, you'd realize it's already occupied by the light chopping sounds coming from the left of the entrance. You approach him from behind, tapping him on the shoulder. “There you are, Sanji-san,” you'd gently called, not wanting to startle him in the middle of his food prep.

"Ah, _______-chan!" Throwing a careful grin of his own over his shoulder to you, he sets down his knife at the edge of the cutting board to turn completely around to you. "I was wondering when you'd make your way in. You're just in time – I'm making lunch!"

“I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner,” you apologize with a small laugh. “I think Nami was just a little… excited? Relieved? That she wasn’t “the only woman” on the Merry anymore, I mean. Her grand tour felt more like a tea date.”

“No apologies necessary; making you feel at home with us comes first. Do you?” he asks.

“I do,” you reply easily. “Our captain encouraging me to toss a chair at my window to escape was probably one of the first signs of that one for me.”

Sanji chuckles. “I’m glad. Well, what do you think?” He raises his arms from his sides, inviting you to take in his safe haven.

“It’s quite lovely, as I suppose kitchens normally are?” You glide your fingers across the island, enjoying how smooth the surface had felt on your skin. “This is my first time being inside one.”

“Your first time?” Sanji repeats, genuinely shocked.

Nodding, “I was never allowed inside ours,” you explain. “My parents were… very conservative and traditional in their ways. It may have stemmed from them being apologists of the World Government and the Celestial Dragons, but they always said that entering such places would be beneath our name.” You sigh deeply. “I always knew they were wrong.”

For a moment, Sanji is quiet, the slight tapping of your shoes and the bubbling of the boiling liquid in the pot overtop the stove the only sounds filling the room.

“I didn’t know you were also the chef until Nami mentioned it in her tour,” you add, your voice soft. “How wonderful.” You sniff the air, your lips quickly rising once more in appreciation of the scent filling the kitchen. “Wow… That smells incredible.”

Sanji’s lips part in awe at you, watching you move closer toward the stove. Not wanting to hang your head directly over the pot, you waft the vapour closer to you, inhaling deeply.

“What do you call this, Sanji-san?” You gesture into the pot. “I’m not sure I’ve ever had this before.”

“… it’s called Sugo all’amatriciana,” he says, making his way to join her side. “A sauce made of tomatoes.” From the drawer to the right of the stove, Sanji steals a spoon. “Panchetta. Pecorino romano.” Having given the sauce a stir with a ladle, he dips the spoon inside to scoop some up. “Onion and garlic.” A hand cradling beneath the spoon’s curve, “and a bit of basil.” He lowers it toward Mavis, who only blinks. “Try it.”

“Really? Could I?”

Sanji’s lower lip curls inwards, pinching the inside flesh between his teeth when you lean forward to blow lightly on the sauce. Lips parted, you barely release a breath, one just strong enough to begin cooling it, before taking it into your mouth and sucking back the contents in the spoon.

"Sanji-san... this is delicious!!" you gush after a moment spent savouring the flavour. "It's the perfect amount of garlic, and the pecorino tastes so fresh–" You hum almost excitedly at the leftover flavour on your tongue. "You really are such an amazing chef."

Sanji’s grip on the handle falters, the metal slipping from between his thumb and forefinger and clattering to the floor, his other hand coming up to clap over his own mouth. Immediately, you're turning to the cook with worry.

"Sanji-san, what's the matter?" you ask, reaching out to him. "Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry if I did, I-I–"

"I..." You frown, the skin of your forehead bunched together in concern. "I just didn't expect you to be so cute."

"C-Cute?!" you exclaim, your face instantly exploding with heat.

Sanji swears his entire body stalls at your expression; like a set of cogs that’s lost one of its gears, the chef goes still, but his heart continues to pound beneath his ribs. As you attempt to collect yourself, Sanji slowly extends his hands out toward you, and places them on your shoulders.

"San... ji-san?"

"______," he practically whispers, head tipped down toward yours. You swallow, nerved by the intensity in his one visible eye. "You really are the cutest."

"I-I... Sanji..."

This time, your warmth is contained to your cheeks. Sanji’s smile is sweet, crooked with the relief of not being pushed away by his new female crewmate or battered on the head by them. The gentleness in your eyes entrances him, and before he can control himself, the young cook leans forward toward the young deckhand, his eyes shut and lips searching for yours. A small breath escapes you before you're able to reel it in—it would be your first kiss. Your first kiss with, practically, a stranger. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to pull away— it’s actually quite the opposite.

Hands having risen to balance your trembling body against him, they press into the lapels of his blazer, your fingers winding around them to give him a slight tug toward you. Eye swirling with adoration, Sanji is quick to fit his lips to yours, his own hands respectfully daring to come up to rest above your hips. With a small sigh, you press into him just a little more firmly, a little more curiously, steadily becoming more and more listless the longer your kiss goes on, and despite the loss of air in your lungs, you discover it to be difficult to pull away from Sanji, your hands releasing his suit and travelling to hold him to you by his nape.

The sharp hitch of your breath should have acted as a sign that you should pull away, that you should break to breathe, but you couldn’t bear to let him go. Feeling the tip of your tongue suddenly dart along his lower lip, tasting the faintest hint of tobacco that had lingered from his last cigarette, Sanji chuckles into your mouth. Cheeks flushed and chest heaving, he gently insists on bringing you back down to earth with a subtle tap against your side that has your eyes opening. Finally, you part from him, sucking in a breath so deep that it nearly has you choking on it.

“M-Mellorine, mellorine,” Sanji calls to you over your heavy panting, a hand rising from your hip to tilt your chin toward him, “you have to breathe at some point, no?”

“I-I... I… guess...”

Sanji blinks at you, his own face flaming once again. Did she sound… disappointed? His hands, warm and slightly calloused at the tops of his palms, slide around to hold your face in them.

“I adore your enthusiasm, mademoiselle, but if you pass out, I can’t kiss you how I want to.”

© niicevibe | please don't repost! reblogs appreciated 💛

#sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #sanji fluff #sanji imagine #sanji scenarios #one piece #one piece fluff

[ferninapot]

What have I been up to?

Rigorous twink drawing, that's what.

This guy's chosen name is Solon and he's 50% a dragon. I've been enjoying my micron pens

And I've also been enjoying scanning from my sketch book it's really fulfilling I do recommend

So!!!!!

Here's a little bit about him bc I'm feeling silly and want to ramble. Ik my original content doesn't get as many notes but I really don't have much motivation for otherwise rn and I don't want to shut up about him. (Anon in my drafts your ask will be answered soon)

Also since I've been feeling demon slayer a lot he will be in my crossover au, particularly with doma bc tbh I kind of ship that guy with most of my ocs these days.... May make a doma x ryūshi!reader soon so watch out for that or whatever..... I still ship kokudouma tho............

He but honestly not him!

He was born of a dragon father and a human mother. The father was a deadbeat just like mine. 💀 He was also the one who gave Solon the name "solon," but upon literally fucking leaving he was left with a western-seeming given name and a Japanese last name because dad never got married to mom. But mom calls him ryūshi (龍子) which means "child of a dragon" or "dragon child"

Which... He is. But he kinda hates it. Hates the meaning and hates the bullying he received for having "demon-like" features...which are literally just traits he inherited from dragons in my ou (Who wouldn't?)

So he goes by his father's name and tells anyone he meets of his western name instead. Which weirds people out when they realize that yeah, he is Japanese lmao! But he usually explains it by saying he studied abroad for a period of time and adopted a western name as a result.

That aside... What traits does he have?

Claws.

Fangs.

Eyes. (Heterochromic, his right eye a direct juxtaposition to his left eye. One is draconic and the other is... Normal 💀)

Bioluminescent marks. Dont ask how.

Carnivorous tendencies. All he'll eat is anything with meat this guy is a vegan's worst nightmare

And he hides all of these to the best of his ability!

Noticeably sharp teeth? Yeah I think I'll just not speak often. Let's throw on a mask to boot and never open my mouth wide when I don't have one.

Carnivorous tendencies? My bad bro I'm just a meat lover (both kinds)

As for his marks, they tend to fizzle out for most of the year, and reappear around the same time his birthday month is right around the corner... Or already there.

He can't control the glow so he kinda just goes into solitary confinement and when he isn't doing that he's bundling up to cover said glow 💀

He's also at his strongest around the time the marks appear. Stronger than he can manage. There's a lot of money spending around those times because if he does literally anything too hard his possessions can and will shatter to pieces.

As far as like, the KNY universe is concerned and his involvement with it?

Mightve considered becoming a slayer, but he instead chose against it because the occupation seemed very risky. You know. In spite of his unusually high endurance. And general hardiness.

He has no reason to become involved with a battle for others when he's battling himself ig

But that's not to say he hasn't bounced around the option.

He's only encountered a demon once and that demon mistook him for another demon. They never saw each other again.

But he has come across slayers plenty of times, and he admires their resolve to protect those around them.

Not exactly sure why nobody knows about them. But he doesn't have the courage to inform, lest he sound more insane than he already looks.

Oh yeah, he has really bad self esteem. And even worse self perception.

His mom wasn't exactly cruel to him all the time, but she was cruel about giving him the name ryūshi given he literally is one.

Although he isn't a doormat and will fight back, he is afraid to most of the time—not necessarily out of kindness (although he doesn't really want to hurt anyone too badly) but rather fear of being reprimanded for self defense. He can't exactly control how strong he is yet.

But dear God, does he hope he'll be able to soon. 💀

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Okay. Um. I'll probably post a few more parts to this since he's relatively new and I'm still figuring him out but so far I'm loving him! Hope y'all do too, idk. ☠️

#artists on tumblr #my art #oc #art #eev rambles #oc rambling #eev oc posting #oc drabbles #kny #kny crossover

[rahleeyah]

I always loved fandom. I joined Twitter because I wanted to share my excitement and talk about the show (svu/OC) in depth. Now I'm really disheartened by the bullying going on between the fans (especially in the same fraction). I wanted to try Tumblr but it's so much harder to connect with people. Do you have any tips?

I'm sorry that Twitter got you down and I'm really glad you asked bc I think you're not the only person who's just come to Tumblr for the first time and Tumblr is a little different so I can see it being difficult to get started, esp coming from Twitter. I'm gonna start at the beginning and make like a primer, you have probably already done some of these things but I'm gonna throw it out there for everybody.

The first thing you're gonna wanna do is make sure you have your blog set up. Have a pfp, have a blog title and some description - doesn't have to be a description of you, could be a quote you like or anything, just put something in there so it's not completely blank. A lot of old timers will block a blank blog automatically bc it looks like spam.

Once your blog is set up, go to settings, dashboard preferences, and turn off best stuff first. When this is turned off, the posts from blogs you follow will appear on your dashboard in chronological order. When it's on, they'll appear according to how many notes they have, and you'll miss posts and no one wants that. Once you've been around for a while you may want to turn off "in your orbit" and "based on your likes" bc those add suggested posts to your dash, not necessarily from people you follow, but that may be helpful in the beginning. While you're in there make sure you have asks turned on so people can send you messages.

Once you've done that, go reblog some things. On Twitter if you like a post it gets pushed to your followers, and likes boost a post and put it in front of more eyeballs. Here likes don't do that. They add to notes, but note counts only matter for the features I just mentioned, and most people have them turned off. Reblog is the way to go.

To find things to reblog, go to the tags, and look for stuff you like. Search the svu tag, but search the characters too. Search Elliot Stabler, Olivia Benson. Search svuedit. Tags automatically appear in order based on note count, you can switch that to "most recent" so you can see everything.

When you reblog, add tags of your own! If you reblog a post and tag it svu it won't appear in the svu tag, only the original post will. But if you tag everything svu related you can go to your blog, and filter by just that tag, and see everything #svu you've reblogged. It's a curation system. If a gifset makes you feel something, put that in the tags, too! If you see a set and you're moony over eo holding hands, put that in the tags of your reblog. It'll make the creator feel good, and it'll make you stand out.

If there's a text post in there with some interesting points, reblog it and add your thoughts! Or check the notes, see if other people are having conversations in there. Once you've reblogged some things and your blog isn't blank, talk to people in the notes.

Pls reblog a fic post if you like it, the writer will love you for it.

While you're in the tags, check out who's posting. If someone made something you like, follow them! Go to their blog, click on their tags - a lot of people use special tags to archive their original content on their blogs. I use #my gifs. So if you go to my blog, and you see a gifset I made, and you click on the my gifs tag, you'll see all my gifs. Like as many as you want. Reblog as many as you want. People don't get suspicious if you interact with an old post; you're supposed to. Go through my whole blog and like a hundred posts in a row, I'll love you for it. Twitter is all about what's happening now; Tumblr doesn't care about immediacy. It's supposed to be an archive and you're supposed to scroll as deep and as long as you want.

When you interact with posts - like, reblog, comment, whatever - when you follow people, you're putting yourself out there. They may click thru to your blog, they may not. But if they do, and they like what you've reblogged, they may follow you back. If you aren't very active, fewer people will see your name, and fewer people will follow back, and Tumblr thrives off the dash. People interact most with posts from people they follow. To get followers, you gotta get your name in front of people.

In addition to interacting with posts you can put yourself on other people's radar by making original posts and tagging them. So say there's something you really want to talk about related to the most recent epi. Write up your thoughts, and then tag your post. Tag it "law and order svu" and "svu" and "Olivia Benson", or whatever, so that people who follow those tags will see it. If you don't tag it won't go anywhere. You'll probably have to make a couple posts before you get traction. There is no telling what will take off and what won't. If you can make gifs or graphics post those, but text posts can get just as popular, you don't have to make graphics.

You'll notice I don't tag my text posts or my ask answers with "svu". I use "s.vu" bc I like keeping those posts between me and my followers, I don't wanna fill the svu tag with all my ask answers. Some people do this; some people are blogging about svu but they don't show up in the tags. So look at who's commenting on posts you like. Look at who's reblogging them. Go to those blogs, scroll through, see if you like it, follow them too. If you've got a favorite fic author search them on tumblr and see if they're here. They probably aren't, but then again a lot of people are.

You want to broaden the base of people you're following and no one can see it, and unlike Twitter no one is gonna judge you for who you follow or how - follower count doesn't mean shit here, no one else can see it and most of us never look at our own counts, and if you follow a blog and then decide it's not for you and unfollow they'll probably never even notice you went away. You like flowers? Lingerie? New Girl? Go follow crazy. Fill your dash up, and then change it at will.

You won't get shadowbanned for saying fuck or kill. You don't have to censor yourself.

If you comment on some posts, if someone answers you back, if you start interacting with a particular blog, shoot your shot in the dms! I wouldn't do that if you haven't spoken to them at all before, but if you've had some previous interaction, go ahead.

But conversations are a little slower to start on Tumblr bc that's not really how it's structured. @andallthatmishigas is one of my very best friends in the whole wide world. We may not "talk" on Tumblr for days on end. We will reblog things from each other, and now that we're actual friends we may send each other links to funny posts over Tumblr dms, but we aren't having conversations in the notes on posts. We're doing parallel play; she's reblogging things she likes and I'm reblogging things I like and we're trading likes so we both know we're here, but we're not doing the same thing. And you know how we met? She said nice things about a story I was writing and I thanked her for it. Literally that was it, that was the start of our friendship. That was five years ago and we went to London together last month. Bc we communicated about a fic. So be open to interaction, be willing to pursue it, but understand that Tumblr isn't necessarily about a constant back and forth.

Tumblr is about curating things you like. It's about gathering shiny treasures for yourself. It will not do it for you the way Twitter will, you have to go out and find the blogs to follow and you have to push the interactions. Along the way you can make friends - @featherpluckn and I have been friends for over a decade bc of this platform, @racethewind10 and I became friends bc she commented on a post and I answered and now we talk every day- and you can have those conversations and you can build those relationships, but it's slow. It takes time. So do Tumblr for you. Write out all your thoughts, and tag them for people to see. Reblog everything that brings you joy and say so in the tags. Jump into the notes when you see people talking about things. Send asks!! People love getting asks. Send em anonymously if you're nervous, and work your way up to showing your face. This is often a better approach than just starting in the dms tbh, and it opens the conversation up to more than just you and that one person.

It can be hard to get started, and it can feel overwhelming, but just take it one day at a time. Say what's on your mind, reblog things you like, and play around with other people. Something will stick.

#anonymous

[lunariamv]

about me :>

so i just realized i cant just be some random person posting stuff without much context..... so here we go

┊⠀┊   ┊⠀┊

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚     ✧

˚✧

hi, my name is lunaria, or luna ^^

˚✧ some grill that wants to be a artist, writer, and maybe like a lowkey game dev

˚✧ i consume a lot of media: video games, anime, yt, movies, tv shows, books, fanfics, etc

˚✧ i really love the impact media and stories have on the world and people, and there's a lot i love, but also there's a lot out there that frustrates me, or feels like it's missing something, so i wanna throw my hat into the ring and make my own content for me and other girls like me <3

˚✧ atm i write fanfics to practice writing and build an audience, and i draw fanart to improve art skill, also just so i have an art portfolio,,,, cuz if i just started posting games without much of a background i feel like ppl are gonna be like,, "who tf is this???" lol

⊹˚. game dev??? ⊹˚.

i'm really interested in making my own games, specifically rpg maker ones because rpg maker/rpg horror/indie horror is my fav genre (pewdiepie's misao gameplay was my first horror game ever <3); i just love retro horror style a lot

so i'm practicing pixel art and stuff and then later i want to learn some 日本語 so i can translate the games, and also learn to make music so i can go full toby fox lol

and then maybe later on if i got rlly ambitious and had a lot of money id make fancy otome games, manga, fancy horror games, and pERSONA FOR GIRLS

i have a lot of ideas for diff series and id love to share them all <3

⊹˚. my inspirations: ⊹˚.

˚✧ game wise: currently my inspirations are charon (of those yan charon games) and dsp (ik they go by a different name now but that's what i know them as, also its funny because the name reminds me of darksydephil HAHAHA); i like the retro pixel and slight horror themes and aesthetic of their games, but i dislike the writing, so i'm gonna make my own :D

also i like the idea of an oc multiverse like dsp's so i want that too

toby fox is also technically an inspiration too; i wanna learn music so i can make my own bangers with little references and leitmotifs for fun :>>>

˚✧ writing wise: i have a lot, but my main inspirations are mostly like writing in the anime-ish games; danganronpa, persona, ace attorney, yttd, kakegurui; psychological stuff where you gotta think about them, but they also have unique quirky characters and they interact with each other in creative ways

also horror and psychological, i like writing about scary stuff and characters with their complexities, and addressing the rlly messed up parts of humanity and society bc its spooky;; sometimes with a very dark nihilistic outlook bc i love angst, or sometimes with an optimistic one

((thats kinda why i like yan stories but more in the horror sense, like look at all the crazy scary stuff this person is doing lol))

but for characters in general, i like stuff with FEMCS <33333 persona 3 with ya girl kotone shiomi, danganronpa v3 with kaede, sara in your turn to die, genshin lumine, and that one part in ace attorney where we get to play as mia fey

that's also why i lowkey like the writing in romcom/chick flick movies, cuz its just unique characters and stories and usually has a female protag or a group of girls as the mcs

LIKE MISS CONGENIALITY, MEAN GIRLS, AND LEGALLY BLONDE I LOVE THOSE MOVIES SM AND I HAVE MILLIONS MORE EXAMPLES BUT WE'D BE HERE FOREVER

but aside from heavy and horror stories, i also like simple cute straightforward stories like older barbie movies XD (or winx, mlp, bratz, monster high…); they're just really wholesome and cute where ya girl goes on a magical adventure with quirky characters and learns good lessons like trust, courage, friendship, etc…

ITS MUSHY BUT I LOVE IT AAAAA

so my main theme is being a girl and doing stuff, bc girlbossing is fun

but ya know i like making hot guy characters too wwwww

⊹˚. my art/writing style ⊹˚.

i'd say in general its like a mix of asian themes with western; its like anime but with western elements in it

i'd also sometimes like to explore other cultures too, kinda like how jjba has varying characters bc that's cool;; but if i have characters with varying nationalities its because i want to, not bc a woke person held me at gunpoint

⊹˚. aesthetics ⊹˚.

i have a lot that i like, but here's my main favorites i guess that will be in my things

˚✧ cute + edgy; melanie martinez, lucy loone, yandere, ddlc;; basically anything where you juxtapose cutesy with scary horror -- its so fun and subversive

˚✧ femcel/female sigma/doomer girl/anti-egirl; LANA DEL REY LANA DEL REY bc i'm a sad girl

˚✧ retro things; 80s and 90s but mostly early 2000s stuff; early internet, old stuff, y2k, scene/emo, mcbling -- huge emphasis on mcbling, i love the girly hedonistic aspects of it -- ayesha erotica, panty and stocking, bad girls club;; that aesthetic i love it sm LETS DO OUR NAILS AND PARTY ^^^^^^

˚✧ internet horror stuffs -- indie horror, analog horror, internet mysteries, meta horror, local58, mandela catalogue, fnaf, creepypastas, liminal spaces

˚✧ then some internet guy stuff -- vaporwave, cyberpunk, blade runner, hotline miami, madness combat, carpenter brut, etc -- i'm tomboyish in this regard xd, i fangirl over guns and edgy sigma guys fighting

⊹˚. extra stuff about me (bc who tf r u >_>) ⊹˚.

writes a character bio

˚✧ name: luna

˚✧ some randy girl that likes to make stuff

˚✧ not rlly a weeb but i like asian culture a lot, japanese, chinese, korean, vietnamese, thai, laos, filipino (yes), etc

˚✧ sigma?? i think people should be rewarded based on talent and skill, rather than their identity. if i am successful, its because my work is good, not because i am a minority. i'm also learning to draw, write, make music, etc because i want to make content without having to rely on others for assets. why ask other people if i can do it myself? B)

˚✧ i like cute things and being girly, like dressing up and having stuffed animals and cute stationary everywhere :> if i have a chance to be extra and decorate something, i will take it in a heart beat

˚✧ i'm a stocking kin, i love sweets, cake specifically, and milk tea (im addicted to boba its horrible T-T)

˚✧ i like tea, i drink 2-3 cups a day :) oolong is my fav atm

˚✧ cat >>>>

˚✧ unhealthy attraction to fictional men… currently thirsting over tohru adachi 💀💀💀 LOL my friends are like "eww wtf is wrong with you???" i must be a raccoon because i really love garbage

☸ my links ☸

all my links are on caard, but here's an organized list of the main ones; my tumblr will be my main hub for stuff i guess; the degree of activity ranges ;-;

˚☸ art stuff

✧ newgrounds (i wanna be a newgrounds girl tbh)

✧ twitter

✧ insta

✧ tiktok

˚☸ writing stuff (fanfictions)

✧ quotev

✧ wattpad

✧ archive

˚☸ oc archive

✧ deviantart (bc im too lazy to code toyhouse atm)

also apologies if i dont respond to things fast enough, im shy

˚☸ dividers by cafekitsune

#✧ info #☏ lunaspeaking #✧ blogstuff

[quackitlee-hq]

{ C! Quackity (tickle) RP blog }

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{ ♤ ♡ ◇ ♧ }

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run by @quiet-gremlin

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{ Important things }

- not kink or nsfw!!

- c! quackity, not cc! quackity

- i am dyslexic!! but i try my best to read through things so they make sense!! lmk if you need something fixed!! /gen

- i (admin) am a minor! so just be careful. i dont want nsfw, or kink being involved. and if you are over the age of 21, just be cautious and know that i am weary of you /nbm/gen

- oc blogs can interact!! but it will be a little funky since im still trying to get used to them!! /gen

{ ♤ ♡ ◇ ♧ }

{ HC'S, Boundaries, Spots, and more! }

(last updated 27/12/23) - boundaries updated, general hcs updated, tk hcs updated!

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{ Boundaries } (important)

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- again, id prefer if 21+ were weary around this blog as i am a minor. but u can interact!!

- ABSOLUTELY NO NSFW OR ADULT CONTENT. THIS IS NOT KINK

- i will absolutely do angst!! either in dms or here i can go however far youd like!!! literally anything i am so down!! i love angst <3

- i am comfy with any character interacting!! even if they have problems!! we can either pretend they didnt happen, or give them a little kiss and make up story!!

- im also okay with ships!! if u and ur guy wanna date quackity, just lmk and we can go over the details!! :D

- pls no feet stuff or bondage. they make me uncomfortable.

- my dms r always open!!! and also please dont rush me on roleplays. i get busy, and ill get to you!! (normally im pretty fast, like a couple days inbetween)

- ill add more if i need to!!!

- please please send your ask. idc what it is. just wanna be haha funny and make jokes?? okay!!! do you wanna just say funny things to quackity?? feel free!! (if theyre not rp asks, i will respond as quackity unless otherwise stated!!)

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{ ♤ ♡ ◇ ♧ }

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{ General HC's }

- short king my beloved <3 (4'10 i have no self control)

- 22 years of age !! :D

- he has small wings on his back! he cannot fly due to silly problems in his childhood (angst?), but he tries to take pride in them! he also has little ones on his ears, and he does what he can to take care of them

- ^^ as these two imply, he is an avian hybrid!! tho ppl call him a joke since his wings are more of a golden color (like a ducks)

- when he gets surprised, he lets out a little quack ^_^ and also will trill like a bird when happy (bc hes an avian)

- quackity is dyslexic! but he does what he can to get past it. he has glasses that he only wears in private to help him read

- goes through depression spikes! he usually does what he can, and hypes himself up for the most part, but he does have some problems emotioanlly and mentally. he would rather die than make it somebody else's problem

- basically a dad to the entirety of las nevadas,, even treats foolish n sam as like, his kids (or more as ppl he takes care of)

- overworker!! mans barely sleeps and struggles to feel like hes done a good job

- to relax, quackity watches kids movies on his ipad and unironically likes cocomelon. (IM SORRY SNFNSBD)

- he also can and will throw a tantrum to get his way even when he can just be carried like a baby

- hides his smoking / nicotine addiction n everyone just pretends they dont know (they feel bad for him)

- sucker for the dumbass "best mom" / "#1 mom" shirts and just owns a ton that he sleeps / lounges in LMAO

- quackity id's as a trans guy! he has also had top surgery! he is on t (injections), and doesnt struggle too bad with dysphoria!

- will call you kid. unless he knows you and knows youre older, his first petname is kid.

- does not like talking ab karl, sapnap, or schlatt. like he'll answer maybe two questions before getting annoyed.

- along with that (unless in another au), schlatt/glatt, karl, and sapnap are all banned from las nevadas

- rubs the back of his neck if he's nervous. one of his tells

- speaking of his tells, his others are wringing his hands together, and placing his hands behind his back. rubbing his hands together happens when hes just trying to talk and getting nervous. and he puts his hands behind his back when he's feeling confident

- is a very good gambler, but when it comes to people he knows well?? hes a horrible liar. cannot lie to those he loves for shit.

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{ Appearence HC's }

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- mans always wears his dumb beanie

- messy black hair

- he switches between a red and white button up shirt!!! his sleeves are always rolled up though

- his hair is also a little longer than shoulder legnth!! sometimes its in a ponytail, but its normally just down and low.

- his hair looks greasy but its!! actually not, its soft and well-maintained

- he also has burn scars littered all over his body from what happened to slime. (he does not take care of them)

- he has a little. tail. that is the same color as the wings on his ears. although he does cover it unless hes around someone he likes/trusts <3

- it is right below his lower back <3 but he prefs it untouched (unless asked). its not made of feathers, but rather the softer part of feathers (idk how to explain it)

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{ ♤ ♡ ◇ ♧ }

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{ TK HC's }

- hes like a switch that leans to the lee side <3

- better with ppl he knows better

- can either b an asshole abt it or v playful (almost dad like coughs)

~

{ ♤ ♡ ◇ ♧ }

~

{ Ler HC's }

- again, he can b an asshole, but he can also b rlly playful, it depends on who u are

- will wait to go to ur worst spots so he can give a buildup

- mainly gets som1 for fucking with him, or getting them to just smile. or if theyre being an annoying little SHIT

- is GREAT at being a teasy asshole, he loves just fucking around

- he can also be really good at gentle tickles, he'll usually use that for a calm kind of situation, or when someones feeling down

- mans will fuck any1 up with raspberries

- is a petty little bitch and will wait to get revenge

- wont babytalk you but will talk like u arent there

~

- finds it silly and cute and he likes it as a bonding activity

{ ♤ ♡ ◇ ♧ }

~

- will talk himself up and then just absolutely die

{ Lee HC's }

- cant fucking stand teasing. at all. this man has a poker face of stone but the second you put your hands on him he cant do shit

- nervous giggler my beloved

- can and will throw a fit if you use his height against him, esp in teases

- unable to take it seriously, absolutely cannot stand any kind of teasing. it all just kills him

- arches his back a lot on instict. which doesnt help if someone wants to target his worst spot

- rubs his eyes when he's flustered

- tries to act big and strong even when down and giggly

~

{ ♤ ♡ ◇ ♧ }

~

[ Spot HC's ]

- thighs ; 6/10

- ribs ; 6/10

- palms ; 8/10 ; melt spot

- neck ; 8/10 ; melt spot

- lower sides / hips ; 9/10

- the little wing ears ; 11/10 ; he will die . .

- lower back!!!! ; 10/10 ; death spot , ,

- burn scars on his neck ; 10/10 ; fluster spot Augh

- his wings and shoulderblades ; 11/10 ; kill him ! !

#lee!quackity #ler!quackity #quackitlee-hq #tickle #tickle community #dsmp tickle #updated :3

[nineliabilityrisk]

⭐ ( @ladyseidr )

[ send a " ⭐ " and i will list muses i would be interested in throwing at yours ]

[ asked by @ladyseidr ]

lets just go down the list here. theres gonna be a damn good few i have SO MANY muses i havent even gotten to play yet. this is going to be so fucking incoherent because i have so many thoughts in my brain. also i KNOW we have stuff pending im working on it i promise im just so all over the place im. yeah 👍

putting my answer under the cut bc this is gonna get LONG

[formatting is "your muse - my muse(s) i would like to see with them"]

funtime foxy - funtime freddy [+ bon-bon] or lolbit ofc!! my muses for them have been inconsistent as fuck lately but i WILL corral them into place eventually

henry emily - literally any of the animatronics. ive hardly gotten to play any of them i want to know how he would treat them. heavy HEAVY emphasis on the rockstars + lefty bc those are HIS bots and his kid and my versions of them are absolute sweethearts. or like. the puppet. or the original bonnie + freddy models. literally any of them. PLEASE god i need someone to come say hi to my fucked up little robots. (/nf) also of course i am shoving mikey and ciar at him thats a given, henry isnt mikes stepdad hes the dad who stepped up i need more content of them. and henry is also not immune to the curse that is ciarán dempsey. he WILL get a hold of him one day. its gonna happen (/lh)

roxanne wolf - cassie. are you kidding. i am picking cassie up and SHOVING her into roxys arms i need more of them literally always i dont care where or when or how. also "secret muse number 2" aka glambonnie who i never bothered to write a bio for. literally my only other actual sb muse because i wasnt interested in sb at ALL until ruin 😭 but i do have a sb verse for michael now too if you wanna have roxy pester him! scare the shit outta that cynical bastard! put some healthy fear of god into him that boy has none left after dying and being brought back to life twice! also if ur willing to wait i am actively working on a sideblog for birdie, my help wanted / sb era oc... i feel like she would get along with roxy REALLY well

michael afton - jeremy jeremy jeremy jeremy i will NEVER pass up a chance to play jeremy. also my henry is always here <3 ive stated this so many times before (including earlier in this post) but michael and henrys dynamic can be something SO personal. pizza sim era or pre-everything or what have you i dont CARE what it is i just want michael to have the caring father figure he was missing and for henry to have the chance to care for a child that he never thought he would have again. i want them to bond over what william did to them. they are everything to me i cannot state this enough. also im dangling all my animatronics in front of ur mikey ooooooh you wanna subject him to the Horrors so so bad. also i think he would like my oc josh theyre both tired minimum wage fazbear employees. also i would be offering evan but that little fuckers muse is GONE atm i dont know where he ran off to im so sorry

#ooc | nines speaks #ooc | answered

[tvlandofficial]

Can I just say I love how the TV keeps getting plugged and unplugged in this blog’s canon

Like. Most people would assume that it’s been unplugged for years until just getting plugged back in in Chapter 2 for whatever reason,

But honestly one thing I’ve wanted to talk about for a while but never know how to word is how the reason fan content of future Chapters never really hits the same way the real thing does is because of assumptions like that. Unlike Toby, who already knows what he’s gonna do with everything, we as the fans don’t typically take the opportunity to build off of small stuff like that, or just add new things to old characters instead of simply recycling what we currently have. Despite the fact that a lot of things we didn’t know in Chapter 1 actually came from things we did know, like how when you see the knockoff controller for the console under Kris’s bed, you’re supposed to assume that it was used by them as yet another visual display of their inferiority complex, only to find out that it was actually used by Asriel so they could have the real one. Or how it was revealed in Chapter 2 that Alphys’s “Cat” is actually Susie. Or how Queen’s sipping noises from Chapter 4 were never shown off or foreshadowed previously, they were just made up on the spot because her whacky personality allows for that kind of randomness, and in turn, also makes it kinda off-brand for her to not have new stuff. The thing about the plug is especially synonymous with the first thing ‘cause the whole extra lore about Toriel being some kinda god basically hinges on it

Overall, I’d say it’s safe to say adding small new things and building off of small old things is a decent chunk of what makes DR as good as it is, and without that, it just feels like something’s missing

Not that that’s not understandable. Coming up with your own shit can be pretty hard, especially if you’re not planning on covering a full Chapter’s worth of content. Plus the concern about how poorly stuff like that might age, considering what happened with Mike- Shit I’m getting side tracked

Anyway yeah, I like how this blog’s take on the Chapter has a neat detail like that

this is so sweet, thank you anon! 😭 like ive said before i dont wanna knock other people's fan chapters - the creativity in this fandom is really great and i love seeing what people come up with! there's a lot of it that i haven't really been able to keep up with, and lots of ocs that seem to have popped up because one person made a cool little idea and people latched on. but for tvland, i wanted to keep it tied to the game as we know it as much as i can, even with the nature of this kind of thing making a lot of it have to rely on my own creativity and headcanons. a lot of people have told me tvland is somewhat unique in that regard, so i'm glad everything people have been coming up with seems to be their own!

kris unplugging tenna and throwing out all their things bc of how they sympathize w the darkners is an idea ive gotten more and more attached to as time goes on. i can't know exactly what's going on in toby's head, but i like to write the blog as though someone handed me deltarune as an unfinished game and went "how would this end?" the big line of the game is "no one can choose who they are in this world", and i'm sure people who've been following and will keep following me and @officialralsei have probably picked up on where that theme pops up again and again. i don't want to show my whole hand when it comes to what i'm doing here, since i am telling a story at the end of the day, but the two of us spend so much time going over the darkner stuff in the game with a fine-tooth comb that i at least hope i made a satisfying continuation to it here.

in the end, this tenna won't be canon. but she means a lot to me, and it seems like a lot of people love her! if it turns out she's a totally different character in canon, we can just pretend this one is her long-lost cousin or something :P

#ooc #long post #WOW. thank you anon

[kscribbs]

Me: sees OC ask

Me: ok ok, reign it in, Dani

Me: does the exact opposite 🙃🙃🙃

Have fun with this, K! >:)

Melusine:

-🐁 Capybaras are friend-shaped. What shape does your OC have? -🌧️ What is the favorite thing for you OC to do on a rainy day? -👎 Is there someone your OC can’t stand, despite them being on the same side or sharing basic values? -🤝 Does your OC have someone they want at their side when they are scared? Who? -🪤 What is one thing that could be used to lure your OC into a trap? -🎒 If your OC had to pick three things of all their belongings to keep, which would they chose?

Sebastian:

-📚 Your OC has to improvise a 10 minute lecture about a topic of their choosing. What do they chose? -🐁 Capybaras are friend-shaped. What shape does your OC have?

Sebastian is like. SOO shaped to me. I cannot express this enough lmao.

Oh! and for Tintin, bc I think about her at least twice a week:

-🪄 Does your OC have any special powers? If so, are they normal in this OC’s universe?

Okay! So I can only apologise profusely for how terribly late this is! My decision to draw certain bits was… arguably a little imprudent, given just HOW rusty I am atm. But nevertheless, here we go!

Mel:

-🐁 Capybaras are friend-shaped. What shape does your OC have?

Puddle Jerry :)

And also Mermaid Man.

These two entities combined is what her soul looks like.

-🌧️ What is your OCs favourite thing to do on a rainy day?

Mel LOVES rain. It’s her absolute favourite weather. She’s never more content than when it’s raining. The torrential-...er (yup, that's a word) the better! Lil' lady takes after me, in that respect. Her fave thing to do when it's raining is go out and find a nice big puddle to wallow in :3

-👎 Is there someone your OC can’t stand, despite them being on the same side or sharing basic values?

She doesn’t get on particularly well with her aunt Pressyne, for reasons I’ll explore in-fic.

She HATES Matthew and would gladly unalive him, should the opportunity arise 😂

She also... doesn’t seem to like Scott all that much? And I have absolutely NO idea why, LOL. Just, every time they’re in a scene together she starts getting testy. She’s not a huge Christmas fan tbh, so maybe that’s it? Finds the whole thing a bit too twee. (I <3 Christmas, so idk what she's on about).

-🤝 Does your OC have someone they want at their side when they are scared? Who?

This is a really fun/interesting one, because it kind of depends on, like— at which point in her timeline the question is being asked? When Marthinus (her son) was still alive, I’d have said him, honestly. He was a really sweet, engaging little mans. Very bright, very funny. Mel also had a friend/confidant growing up who wasn’t all they seemed, but I’ll touch on that/them another time! Then we have Seb, who Mel adores but honestly, he’s a bit hopeless, even if his heart is in the right place.

Lucy is perhaps the biggest contender. 

(Will be posting this artwork in full, later on! Am much happier w Mel's design here, which was inspired by lmelodie's wonderful illos! (And I also really like Lucy's witchy turnout))

The older and more capable Luce gets, the more she assumes a sort of maternal role, where her bestie is concerned. 

And finally — perhaps surprisingly — we have Jack. 

I think it’s fairly clear from the end of Chap 3 that Mel and Jack actually like and respect each other a great deal, and this relationship only gets stronger as time goes on! I know I ham up the “frenemy” thing, but really it’s just friendship with a heck of a lot of banter. Mel comes to see Jack as a bit of a pillar, when things get Tough. And I’m gonna be throwing a spanner in the works at some point that will ultimately (re)define their dynamic for centuries to come.

(Mel IS going to meet and befriend Jacquie at some point, too. I'm just being incredibly careful about how I write that bc I wanna do le frosty bagel justice!)

 -🪤 What is one thing that could be used to lure your OC into a trap?

She’s fiercely loyal, so probably the threat of someone she loves/cares about getting hurt. Either that or copious amounts of dark chocolate. The really bitter kind. We’re talking 80% cocoa-plus, here (salted is even more tempting). 

-🎒 If your OC had to pick three things of all their belongings to keep, which would they chose?

The snuffbox under her bed, the portrait miniature of Marth and her cockle locket.

Sebastian:

-📚 Your OC has to improvise a 10 minute lecture about a topic of their choosing. What do they chose?

Something horrendously boring.

-🐁 Capybaras are friend-shaped. What shape does your OC have?

Moss from the IT Crowd. And also that scribble monster from Doctor Who (but wayyyy less angry; Seb's v affable). 

Tintin:

-🪄 Does your OC have any special powers? If so, are they normal in this OC’s universe?

So, this is kinda out of left field but she tames sea monsters, lmaooo. Yup. The below is part of a much larger artwork that I'm honestly enormously proud of, which doesn't happen often! So thank you so much, Dani, for inspiring me to do an art piece that reminded me of why I went to art school/decided to plunge myself into tremendous debt 😂😂

Anyway, yeah! She has a real gift for wrangling ungodly sea beasts! >:3 Like this dragon... type... thing(?) here. I'll be posting the artwork in its entirety v v soon!

She has her water magic too, ofc, being a water nymph/sprite(? I still haven't decided).

I'm really glad you asked about her bc she's been on rotation in my brain, too! As has Melior, who reminds we a lot of Wednesday Addams, lmao. Sooo... Tintin's exact opposite, basically.

TYSM, Dani 🥰🥰 I had a LOT of fun w these! Even if I did take an eon to get back to you (so sorry again)! 😂

#askbox #ML #miller's law #cs au #cs #Lucy miller #melusine #Sebastian #palatyne #illustration #tsc #kinda hesitate to tag it as the latter as it's veering SO far into original content territory but ah well

[avistella]

low effort trades | LF: writing/ art | O: art

i posted this on my toyhouse but figured i should try posting here too bc i’m depraved of my self-ship content with my brainrot asdfhjklasdf

i'm mostly looking for writing, but i might look at art offers. i can't make any promises that i'll accept art trade offers though, sorry! ;;

more info under cut!

what i want:

writing (maybe art?) with either jade leech and/ or floyd leech from twisted wonderland with my self-insert oc

their relationship is queerplatonic. i do not want romance bc that is not their relationship. they're really good friends with the tweels (jade and floyd) being a menace to lunaliya while also being protective of her. (think best friends who like to tease and/ or annoy the hell out of you but would still throw hands the moment someone insults you). i can provide more information about my oc and/ or her relationship with the two if i accept to trade with you

i'm looking for something either fluffy/ silly (like either or both of the tweels playing a prank on lunaliya), or maybe some hurt/ comfort(?) (like either or both of the tweels trying to cheer lunaliya up by promising to get her ice cream (for a price)). i can provide prompts if needed (i have a lot of ideas i want written/ drawn but don't want to do myself asdfhasd;f)

what i'm offering:

my wrist is kinda being a jerk with me right now, so i'll only be offering rough uncoloured sketches. i can do either a chibi, bust, halfbody, or fullbody, but they'll be rough and uncoloured like these (but maybe a bit cleaner??)

guidelines:

not fcfs. i'll be selective and respond if i decide to accept

up to two (2) characters max

human(oid) characters only

no nsfw

these are low effort so i'm not looking for much in terms of word count (if offering writing), but i won't accept something like 100 words for a couple fullbody

just dm me if interested, and we can discuss further!! ;;

#avi's avis

[cryptidofthekeys]

28. Who is the most delightful character you’ve ever written? Why? 

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you? 

39. What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up?

<3 - Mitch

The most delightful character I’ve ever written? Well... Mm, like in terms of oh he’s delightful and a lovely scrunkly- I’d have to say Robbie, he’s just a lil zombie guy, tryna ...e-er exist, just vibing and going along with whatever the hell the other egos got going on, some of those guys are his dads!

as for a character that has delighted ME to write? (which is probs what that meant in the first place but ahem-) There’s several of those but I always do love to write for Anti, Chase, and Henrik <3 there’s something very personal about every ego to me that i can’t explain or describe but they bring my delight to write every single time

a line from a poem/novel/fanfic or something... Mm, I don’t think I have one of those- not off the top of my head, this is one of these questions where I swear- I’ll say this and be like I can’t think of nothing but then literally 5 hours down the line I’ll be like ...I GOT IT, I HAVE MY ANSWER and then its too late bc the ask in question is already like, SEVERAL scrolls behind lmao

And ooh that’s a damn good question but uh this is going to break into a long answer so apologies in advance lmao imma put a keep reading on that too 

bc honestly, there’s been many times over the last few years actually, especially last and into this year that I’ve felt like just throwing in the towel and quitting, but there’s a lotta factors here, one I’d like to say MOSTLY jokingly is that it’s my Aries mentality where I’m extremely stubborn and persistent- The Aries within will not allow me to simply quit my writings... But uh, another factor I’ve been teaching myself as of recently is just, that, while I do enjoy if people sees and likes my content, I do love to see people enjoying it, I’ve begin to teach myself to just, let loose on a lot of things

I don’t care if literally nobody likes my content or interacts with it or anything, like I still wanna be clear, I’ll never complain bout that sorta thing and like I said I do enjoy people saying they like my content but I just, I’m not JUST writing for others, I’m writing for myself, because I enjoy writing, I always have enjoyed writing, whether one, two, or just three people see it- at the end of the day I’m making this content because I want to do it, not just for others out there, that’s mostly a bonus to me, if others see it and like my content and they wanna stick around for more? Sure, I’m delighted for that, happy to have them on board but at the end of the day, I still write for myself.

I am basically my own motivator at the end of the day when I feel like giving up bc I just remember, I’m not writing solely for others, I’m writing for myself, because I enjoy it, because I love to spew out my creativity in a written format, whether it be OC making or stories themselves, at the end of the day as I’ll repeat myself like a broken record a thousand times, I still write for myself and sometimes that’s all it’s gotta be ya know?

#Chase Answers #i used to struggle with that heavily actually- bout like oh i NEED to post content online #i need to make things for others- or else am I really a writer if I haven't written anything in awhile? #I've learned to just go at my own pace with stories and that I'm writing for myself because I enjoy it #not just for others online's enjoyment

[kenobihater]

did a Very Rough sketch of sath itera's facial markings. still not sure what her montral markings are gonna look like, but we're getting somewhere at least

#got lazy when i got to her headband but hey - at least i drew something lmao! it's been Months #len's ocs #len's art #i'm starting an art tag now... damn. never thought that would happen lol #sath itera #anyways yes here's the lady! i love her very much. she's a member of the true mandalorians but leaves to raise dayc right before galidraan #she kicks absolute ass #the more i look at this the wonkier it looks but here at generalekenobi.tumblr.com we dont care abt paltry things like 'symmetry' #anyways even though this is alright as quick sketches go i am NOT putting it in any of the main tags. you can rb it if you want! but i'm #more just throwing it up here bc i want content for my ocs on my blog and the writing i'm doing won't be posted for a loooooong ass time #i have the drive to Create but i cant bring myself to post anything quite yet abt ny ocs. they need a LOT of character work rn #but i might eventually post a short one shot with them just to test the waters

[slytherinsnekxvii]

let's talk about lily evans and the marauders, aka moony, wormtail, padfoot and prongs. given that i didn't use their actual names, i think you can figure out where this is going. it's also long as hell, so. canon vs fanon, marauder edition, except snek is sleep deprived.

now, before we begin, i don't dislike the marauders. or lily, tbh. if I'm being perfectly, genuinely honest, i still go back and forth sometimes but they've been growing on me for a while now. the canon versions, at least. fanon does them real dirty, and that's part of why i'm writing this, because i'm genuinely tired of it. it's an injustice.

you can at least make excuses for james and lily, who were so undeveloped that jkr practically dropped a fill-in-the-blank sheet of character information in our laps, but sirius, remus and peter were around long enough for y'all to get real acquainted with them.

in canon, sirius black is an unhinged mf. genuinely. this isn't to say he's a bad guy, in fact, we see that he's still capable of doing good things, still capable of love, still capable of all the things that prove he's actually not bad at heart, just,,, severely traumatised and very steeped in negativity from his time with the dementors. what i'm saying is that this man is absolutely, no questions asked, no holds barred demented, and how could he not be? the guy sat wrongfully imprisoned in azkaban for twelve years, a good portion of which he spent as a dog in order to protect himself from the dementors. he certainly wasn't completely insane, but you cannot tell me that he was all there. he got out of azkaban fuelled almost solely by the intent to get revenge on pettigrew, tried to commit murder in front of three witnesses who were also children—one of whom was his godson—ate rats and was also malnourished, which i'm certain did not help the situation any. this man is off his goddamn rocker, and you know what? you love to see it. good for him.

oh, but, snek, that's what he's like as an adult. what about when they were at school? before azkaban? my guy, the reaction he has to grimmauld place is not the reaction of someone without trauma. i don't believe that walburga and orion were the type to physically abuse their children, but whatever happened in that house helped to fuck him up enough that he skipped the joke of part of practical joke, and pranked snape by telling him how to meet a werewolf that he knew would be fully transformed and dangerous to humans. more than that, the werewolf was remus, whom he's friends with, and who—best case scenario—would be facing a trial if james hadn't stepped in. you can say that maybe he didn't think about or understand the gravitas of his actions, but at the end of it, that's not how properly sane people react to people they dislike, and that's not how they treat their friends. if anything, it reads like he was in the middle of a breakdown and absolutely losing his shit and he wasn't thinking at all.

my guy went through some serious shit, and was in no way completely mentally stable. we can see pretty clearly that he's got a serious dark side to him that probably would have gone unbridled had he not disagreed with his family, and yet, fanon took one look at him and went, "teehee, uwu bad boi go vroom."

fanon said padfoot is a pretty boy with nice hair who is tastefully traumatised from his horribly abusive household. sirius rides his motorcycle and plays jokes and flirts with anything that moves, but he can do no real wrong and always comes back to his soft, bookish, chocolate-loving boyfriend remus, who will laugh about his lycanthropy and quietly disapprove but secretly laugh at his friends' antics while hiding his smile in his cardigan.

respectfully, what in the absolute fuck.

i'd put that meme in here if i could, the one that's like, "well done, you've broken _______ down to its bare essentials," but no. i can't bc it doesn't even apply. this isn't a meme, it's theseus' fucking ship.

fanon broke it down, and replaced the pieces one by one until we got to this point, where we need to sit down and ask ourselves, "is this even the same character?"

the answer is no, by the way. it isn't. when people talk about woobifying characters—you know, taking away every flaw they have, romanticising everything they do and making them only capable of doing good, wonderful, lovely things?—this is what we mean.

and it'd be one thing if it was just the one character, but, no. fanon went all in and made them all squeaky clean and boring, especially peter, who draws the shortest of the straws.

remus got fucked, too. not just because fanon insists on sticking him into a relationship with sirius. which, we'll tackle wolfstar in a bit, but that's not even the worst of it. here, we have yet another example of blatant, rampant woobifying. again, is he a bad person? no. we know he's a good guy, we know he's generally kind and well-mannered, we know that he wants to fo the right thing but hey, fun fact. did you know that you can be nice and a coward? did you know that you can be benevolent and good and kindly and have the greatest of intentions and still be shady as fuck? no? ask dumbledore. the man played people like chess pieces when he needed to, and he was a twinkly grandpa. these are things that can coexist.

teenage remus is a coward who, understandably, does not stand up to his friends, likely for fear of being ostracised, and doesn't uphold his prefect duties as he should and takes part in their bullying of snape as a result. he lets them romp with him in werewolf form while they are in their animagus forms and then, he lets them continue to do so even after they have multiple close calls, which, again, had anything happened, would have resulted in a trial in the best case scenario.

grownup remus is still a coward, he tells no one that sirius can move about the school in his animagus form despite wholeheartedly believing that he's a mass murderer, he tries to run out on his wife and unborn kid. he isn't deliberately making attempts to harm anyone, but he's content to sit back and let things happen to him and around him so he doesn't rock the boat, although he is capable of action, which we see when he is more than willing to help sirius merk pettigrew in the shack. he can be careless, he runs out to the shack knowing he hasn't taken his wolfsbane and ends up transforming in front of the students he, as a teacher, is meant to be protecting. of course, this doesn't negate his good qualities, it just bears repeating that his flaws do exist, and they're pretty serious.

fanon moony is always pleasant and kind and soft-spoken and bookish, and he always has to have his chocolate. he knows when to tell off his friends, and he'll do it, even if he's secretly amused by everything they do and laughs about it with his best friend, lily evans, who coincidentally spends all her time with them so he and sirius can go on double dates with james and lily and no one has to remember peter exists.

why. theseus' ship 2.0. does the actual character still exist or is this something entirely different thing bearing the same name?

as for peter, who needs peter pettigrew, the actual, legitimate, fourth marauder when you have lily evans? canon pettigrew is opportunistic as fuck. he's latching himself to the biggest bad on the block and he's going all in. for teenage peter, that was james and sirius, and for adult peter, that's voldemort. canon peter is good enough at transfiguration to master the animagus transformation, just like his friends, and he's good enough at potions to brew the potion that gives voldemort a body. and honestly, you can't say he wasn't brave. he could've run off somewhere and died, or changed his identity or something after he faked his death and framed sirius, but, no. he goes and resurrects voldemort. that's fucked up, yeah, but it happened and honestly, i respect that it. he stuck to his guns.

fanon wormtail is lucky if he exists beyond being a spineless sycophant for james and sirius, or an evil conniving little rat who's looking to toss his entire friend group to the wolves at eleven.

of course, this isn't meant to negate his bad qualities, he still murdered people and framed sirius and sold out the potters to die, but his good characteristics do exist, and james, sirius and remus genuinely were his friends.

and now, we get to lily and james.

we have hardly any information on either of them. they're a pair of cardboard cutouts that we can paint and stick flyers to and colour outside the lines however we want. we can do whatever the fuck, as long lily is brave and smart and somewhat kind and james is brave and willing to die for his family. we were essentially handed a pair of ocs.

and yet.

what little bits of canon we have are thrown out of the window regardless.

james is privileged and rich, and he throws hexes for fun. he's willing to hex lily when she disagrees with him, and then, he goes behind her back to continue hexing snape after she believes that he's stopped doing so. and that's all we know about him until he dies for his family at twenty-one years old. once again, say it with me: this does not negate his good qualities. he definitely had them, he took sirius in when sirius ran away from home, he became an animagus to keep remus company as a wolf, and he saved snape in the shack, thereby saving remus and sirius by extension. him having flaws does not make him a bad person.

fanon prongs is a feminist. he fights for equal rights for women everywhere, and he constantly treats his girlfriend, lily, like an absolute queen. he's the hottest boy in school and everyone claps when he walks through the halls. mcgonagall and dumbledore are always patting him on the back and making jokes with him. he has a built-in dark detector that helps him sense when someone is a evil and needs to he punished.

give me a break. the dude's cool and all, but was the gary stu treatment necessary?

...oh, he needed to match fanon lily? right, right.

canon lily is a contradiction unto herself. she's supposedly a great friend, but since we see her at a point where they were already drifting apart, we see her putting little effort into keeping their friendship afloat. she victim blames based on rumours, she doesn't seem to care over much about what snape has to say about the people who have been tormenting him since day one. and she's justified, of course, she doesn't have to stick around. canon lily is a bit of hypocrite, she says that snape calls everyone of her birth mudblood, but then that begs the question why she still hangs around with him if that's the case. he calls her mudblood, she retaliates by calling him snivellus, and finishes up with a dig about his underwear, which, sure, it's kicking a man with a rusty spoon and pouring salt in the wound, but she's, again, justified. i get where she was coming from. and then, of course, she dies for her kid after marrying the guy who relentlessly bullied her quote-unquote best friend for their entire school careers. but, like i said, canon lily is, in many ways, a contradiction.

lily is basically a plot device. she pushes everyone's narrative but her own, and does little else.

of course, this trend would continue in fanon. fanon lily exists to be the perfect girl who gets really angry over the slightest injustice, and of course, she gets to be one half of one of the oldest enemies-to-lovers "it was just sexual tension" cliche pairings in the book. she's just,,, a mary sue. in so many fics, so many headcanons, she's just pettigrew's stand-in, a girl to form a gang with marlene, mary and dorcas—who happen to be more undeveloped ocs who also get the woobify mary sue treatment—to parallel the marauders. there is nothing compelling about her character when she's presented as a saint, and even less when she's supposedly the other moral compass for the marauders that doesn't actually work because she thinks that james is cute.

and this brings me to the next topic. jily. what, why, how. this was supposed to be a healthy, happy relationship that would have lasted in the long run? absolutely not. even for its time, i can't say that i see it lasting.

first of all, jkr presents james' crush on lily as just that: a crush. a mildly obsessive one, but a crush nonetheless, which she tries to liken to the pulling of pigtails. and then, we see that james' way of getting her to go out with him consists of blackmail, and when that doesn't work, he resorts to threatening her. this could have been set aside if he had actually, genuinely changed when they started spending more time together, but as we're told by sirius and remus, he didn't. he just got better at hiding what he was up to. and it has to be that he hid it, because if she knew, this further damages the character that she's set up to have and paints her out to be either unable to stand up to him or an enabler.

regardless, they get married. and while i have trouble believing that it was out of genuine love, there are scenarios that could make some semblance of sense. it's wartime, after all, and maybe lily is worried about her stability in the wizarding world, so why not marry into an established family whose son is already showing interest? or perhaps, she falls into the trap of every bad boy cliche ever, and she thinks to herself, well, i got him to be better then, maybe i can get him to do even better in the future. or maybe, she doesn't get into a relationship with him immediately and sees him on and off, until eventually, she accidentally gets pregnant and they scramble to have a shotgun wedding so as not to leave lily alone at nineteen with a baby. or maybe they marry each other because they're there and sure, neither of then is ready and they don't know what love even is but what else is there to do when there's a dark lord about? anyways, the point is, they get married.

and then what? if we count pottermore into canon, he goes on to further damage her relationship with petunia and vernon, to the point where she ends up crying. if we don't, she fades into the background enough that nobody has anything to say about her. she's harry's mum, she's james' wife, lily potter, she was kind and smart and brave and that's it. her agency is gone, anything else we have of her personality is gone.

jily just,,, wasn't built to last. and, yeah, this,,, this is a hill i'll die on.

same with wolfstar, honestly. there are so many reasons why it wouldn't work, but fanon has made it so fucking prevalent that it's literally everywhere no matter where you look.

first of all, i've said it before and i'll say it again. sirius is more likely to get with james that he is to ever end up in a relationship with remus. their chemistry is just,,, underdeveloped. net zero for a relationship.

secondly, sirius instigated the werewolf prank, and lupin would have paid the price for it. this could have been overlooked, but he doesn't seem the slightest bit guilty about any of it when it's brought up in poa. he could have been responsible for lupin losing the security of his place at hogwarts in the best case scenario, and in the worst case, his life. and he seems to look forward to full moons, even though they clearly aren't pleasant for remus, which,,, yeah, you're going to have fun, but like, maybe be concerned about the fact that your friend undergoes excruciating pain and it isn't a pleasant time for him? read the room, my g.

thirdly, they don't trust each other as much as fanon seems to think they do. they were both willing to believe each other the traitor before ever suspecting pettigrew. sirius thought remus gave away the potters, hell, he thought remus was a spy for voldemort, and remus was convinced that sirius was a mass murderer. neither of them needed to be convinced.

fourthly, maybe i'm reading too much into it, but like. sirius had money. remus had no money, since, yk, he was a werewolf and struggling for cash and still, sirius,,, did not leave him any money. i feel like if you had money to spare, you would give to your friend who is literally poor. but, again, maybe i'm reading too much into it and this isn't as valid a point as i think it is.

and ehh, the fifth reason is that it's,,, actually very much not the representation for the ltgbt community that fanon says it is but y'all aren't ready for that conversation.

anyways, just,,, even when you set the couple shit aside, the power dynamics between everyone here is fucked. like, james and sirius are clearly at the top of food chain calling the shots and egging each other on. then there's lily, who isn't even a marauder, but is always ever-so-slightly above remus but still not on their level, because, well. neither of them actually listen to her. remus is the novelty friend, the friend who's,,, alright, i guess, but you keep them around specifically because they're funny or they can dance or they have something that you can either show off to other people or keep as your little inside joke, your little secret, yk? and peter is just sort of there. like, yeah, he can do what we can but does that make him as good as we are? no. does he have a funny little something about him that we can exploit? nah. therefore he sits at the bottom. and like, yeah, james and sirius are on the same level, but james is yanking sirius' chain, not the other way around. anyways, like i said. power dynamic's fucked and it bothers me that we were given all of this, and fanon decided to take it all and throw it away so they could give us flamboyant!badboi!sirius black x softboi!motherhen!remus lupin going on double dates with feminist!trustfundbaby!james potter and saint!lily evans while ignoring peter pettiwho?

theseus' fucking ship, indeed.

anyways, this needed to be said. it might not make as much sense as i want it to, considering it's 4:12 in the morning as i'm posting this, after taking a break from writing to do some research and coming across way too much content about fanon marauders, but it's here and it still makes enough sense that you can read it and understand what i mean. and like, at the end of the day, you can go ahead and headcanon whatever you please, you can write fic and make art and do whatever you like, just,,, remember that they're exactly that. headcanons. stop presenting fanon as canon. please. i'm literally begging. we actually have evidence against it. just,,, acknowledge that they're headcanons and stop putting them forward as though they're able to fit into canon. please.

#harry potter #marauder fanon #canon vs fanon #lily evans #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #the marauders #severus snape is mentioned a few times #but this isn't about him #i'm just #so sick of fanon #i need to like refilter my tags or smth bc istg i see more fanon marauder posts than i do anything else #anyways this is my take #and yeah it is 4:11 in the morning and i'm tired #i can't remember when i started this but yeah #point is i am so done #anti jily #anti wolfstar

[badlydrawncreepypasta]

MASTERPOST

hi! welcome.

the name says everything: this blog is me posting drawings of creepypasta characters that are subpar (to put it kindly)

I take requests! here is more info and content.

SO YOU WANT TO REQUEST...

there are a few rules, but they're quite straightforward.

CHARACTERS I WILL DRAW:

any of them. literally any creep. I don't care if it's fucking funnymouth or some shit like that I will look them up and draw them for you.

CHARACTERS I WILL NOT DRAW:

other than offenderman (bc.. no), none. please just make sure it's like..... a character. I'm not drawing the No-End house (it's hard ☹). if you're unsure about whether something is drawable for me just send in the request!! I'll probably answer with either a drawing or a "sorry, can't draw that </3"

UPDATE (9/2/23): as of now I no longer take requests related to n//than the n//body. just the mention of the character instills deep anxiety within me and I have my personal reasons for this. I would like to kindly request you don't ask me to elaborate on this as I would prefer to keep my personal problems out of this blog. thank you in advance for understanding.

yes this means I draw OCs too. throw your cringest [NAME] the Killer OC at me, I will draw them.

CONTENT I WILL DRAW:

- ship stuff - domestic activities - BEN doing a fortnite dance - solo images of creepypasta characters - meme redraws

CONTENT I WILL NOT DRAW:

- NSFW shit (why ask this blog of all places. do you SERIOUSLY want badly drawn porn) - ship stuff/NSFW of kid creeps (FYI, I see BEN as being 12) - anything that makes me uncomfortable - non-shoddily drawn pictures (IF YOU ASK FOR A HIGH QUALITY PICTURE I WILL GET ANGRY. DO NOT DO THIS /j)

and remember, fellas: do not kill the part of you that is cringe. kill the part of you that cringes.

#creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta art #fan art #creepypasta fanart #badly drawn creepypasta

[youwontlikethisblog]

Picasso's Night

The previous post Adriana Arboleda brings you up to date with the analysis if you would like to go read it before you start reading this one :)

Now this day has been a pretty eventful one. For one: We witnessed Armando show contentment that morning when he saw Betty for the first time that day. Totally absorbed by her existence until Mario cleared his throat.

Armando screwed up big time when he made it seem and acted like spending some alone time with AA was a lot more important than Betty or the company. He yelled at her and said she got on his last nerve and since then Betty has been on a bad mood with Armando, who after Mario told him that Betty was jealous had a moment of realization and has been feeling pretty awful since then.

Interestingly enough as the night progressed and Betty was invited to the exhibition of Picasso's collection, Mario kept insisting that Armando go and speak with Betty since he was leaving to Miami the next day.

Though this time, unlike the last time he traveled, before Panama, Armando was a bit more hesitant to leave. It wasn't merely because of the new collection they were going to launch and it wasn't because of the state of company. Armando looked at Betty to see if he had any reason to stay, looking at his best friend for any excuse to stay.

After Marcela tells Betty to reserve two rooms at the same hotel they stayed last time and Mario agrees to them traveling he then starts to insist that Armando go speak to Betty and apologize for his behavior that day.

The one thing that Betty did begin to screw up on(aside from starting an affair with her hawt boss) is that now emotions begin to play a huge role, not in the personal part of her life but the professional.

Betty has always been good at maintaining a good separation of what is professional and what is personal(although most of the times when she didn't she was following Armando's lead or example) . At the start of their affair, the day after Armando kissed her for the first time, Betty stayed professional. Even afterwards, Betty stayed professional. When it has come to company time Betty has stayed professional except this time she didn't.

Her jealousy, her feelings took control of her, foretelling things to come, less than 24 hours away.

This also pushes Mario with this idea that Betty must be catered to by Armando in order to keep her under control, though Armando knows best and he knows Betty won't betray him, Mario keeps pushing this narrative and when Betty doesn't agree to it or deny she'll do it Mario understands this as her holding it over Armando's head because of what he did that day.

Writing this now has made me realize that that's the reason he wrote the letter to Armando, not as some stupid mistake or for Betty to find it, though that's a pretty good theory, is that he did it for Armando's sake. Here me out!

For one he truthfully believed that Armando would be stupid enough to screw up giving Betty her gifts and that it would ruin the relationship but the cruelty of this letter exceeded even his jokes behind closed doors, that Armando didn't find amusing anymore, even before he slept with Betty the first time. I'll explain this in the post regarding that fateful letter and from the point of view as a writer and why even that sequences of scenes was a bit choppy and had it's mistakes in execution.

Now here when Armando asks her if she will embellish the balance for him for the big board meeting she allows her anger and resentment to come above her labor obligations and she doesn't give him an answer, better yet she finds a way to ignore the subject. Yes you can argue that Betty was always motivated by her secret crush and her secret feelings for Armando to do all the things she did it in the past, like the first time she embellished the balance and while yes that is true. I have pointed out how Betty showed her love for Armando through her work. He had upset her as well in the past and she'd still do it because in the thick of it she couldn't see him fail when she had the "solution" in her hands but this time her feelings-though extremely valid since he did end up hurting her feelings not as his employee but as his girlfriend- come above everything because this time her ego, the one he was helping to build up, was crushed by the man himself and that is a mistake. Especially when it comes to something that doesn't only directly affect Armando but an entire enterprise where her friends happen to work in. This again foreshadows events to occur in less than 24 hours.

Later when he goes into her office to talk to her she tells him that she doesn't do that, but he interrupts her and tells her that he doesn't want to talk about that but that he wants to talk about Adriana and what happened in his office.

Again though Armando contradicts himself a lot when he is with Mario when we see him with Betty we know where the true nature of his worry or concern lies and it isn't the company but their relationship. The evidence in this is how he behaves when Mario brings up the company compared to his relationship with Betty.

After Betty leaves Mario explains why Betty was hurt and that he can't leave with Betty being hurt, angry, and resentful because she's got the company in her hands. Armando looks angry when Mario is explaining what his mistake translated to Betty. He's angry at himself, while Mario talks about the company Armando has his back to him, peaking outside of the blinds and then turns to him.

"What you're doing is throwing away all that work [we] put in the days before. You're practically telling her that the relationship is just a game. That for you the ninety sixties are a lot more important to you." Armando quickly looks at Mario when he says this, again he is maintaining himself composed and controlled with his emotions as his face doesn't give much of a reaction but the quick jerking of his eye sight allows us to know that this part, from all of what he has said, is a lot more important to him than the company, again because he trust Betty with it, and that he is more worried about the way he has offended Betty. "that this is made of paper and let me tell you something; an ugly wounded woman is more worse than a wounded tiger and that wound doesn't heal with pats on the back, no Sir."

This conversations motivates Armando, not to go talk with Betty since he already wanted to do that but to go searching for her so he could fix his mistake and clarify just how important she is to him.

At the exhibition Betty points out his needs with the models to which Armando tells her that she makes him feel like if he were some seggsually deprived man, which is true. This does make the assumption that Armando's conquests or what not where meant to be written as a borderline seggsual addiction behavior type of thing since she doesn't say "your infatuation, your affairs." she clearly says "your needs with the models".

The conversation here is important because it begins to open a can of warms. She tells him that he'd look good with her, that Adriana Arboleda and him would make a good pair. That their attractiveness complements each other.

"I understand asking for privacy for one thing only." We then see a frame of Armando(lol the painting behind him has to be comedic gold!) who glances away from her, lips with a slight frown but not tight or pursed, showing that he isn't mad or frustrated rather he is upset with himself. "You wanted to be alone with her. Besides I'm not asking for you to give me any explanations. At the end of it you are the president and I'm your assistant. Besides this all happened during work hours and since I've worked for you I perfectly know your needs with the models." She glances around and leaves as people get closer to them. Armando then goes after her.

Right now I'm going to admit that I was wrong, well somewhat. I wrote a post once saying that Betty was calling Armando Don instead of Sir as the relationship progressed but I was wrong. Betty uses the title of Sir as a term of respect for Armando. Even here when they've slept together and she's seen and felt the change of Armando towards her and their relationship she still calls him Sir or Don Armando, that doesn't change. However the somewhat mentioned does change when it comes to Armando. So I was wrong but towards who the theory fell upon. @el-moscorrofio-y-el-mercachifle was right and there isn't much of an importance when it comes to Betty and what she calls Armando. HOWEVER let me preference this that the person I was pointing this theory towards was my bad however the theory of changing names or titles is correct.

If you've read my untitled post regarding my OC and her relationship and how that helped me realize how I wasn't sympathizing with Marcela and that not only was A+M relationship toxic but as well as dependent than I gave you some glimpse into my original writing and how that process helped me be able to understand this part of their relationship and now that this is out of the way, let me tell you why these last two paragraphs are here.

My OC has a habit of never remembering peoples names on purpose, she does it as a power move. As if saying "You're not that important for me to remember your name." she does it especially to annoy people. Also because she's distracted half the time judging a person when they're first introducing themselves. Armando does something similar with Betty on her first days or weeks at Eco Moda.

Men tend to ignore women who they aren't attracted to. Armando did this to Betty. On a professional level he didn't ignore her but as a woman he did. We knows this because it was clearly presented this way at the start of the novela. However I really made my self take notice of this when I re-watched the first half of the novela(I haven't seen the ending bc I tend to avoid things that I cannot control or expect).

My OC is introduced to a guy who she can't stand and at first she calls him all sorts of names starting with the letter 'C' until she managed to remember his last name and calls him that for the remaining of the beginning of the story until they become friends, she switches between Caleb and Anderson, often times calling him by his name when they are having friendly conversation. When they become good friends and establish their friendship he no longer is just Anderson to her but Caleb, someone worth remembering. This is a small detail that I thought would allow the reader to determine the change of tonality between these two characters and their relationships and honestly one of my favorite details to write so when I first noticed this, I got too excited and projected it onto Betty when in reality it was Armando.

Now that I've spoiled my own writing(that I'll most likely never publish) let me explain why I bring this up, finally.

Armando called Betty at the start of the novela "Emperatriz". Once they became more familiar and Betty corrected him and told him he could call her Betty, he finally remembered her name. It's important to note this small detail because just like I intended to write it, so did Fernando Gaitan(I'm assuming lol). He did know her name but he didn't care to register it. Marcela called her Beatriz in front of him, Mario called her by her name, everyone did except for him, and she[Marcela] got upset at him when she heard him call her Betty because in her[Morch] eyes that was a cute nick name to have for an employee, especially for an "ugly" secretary. Now the switch between Betty and Beatriz did happen before the affair started, however the switch was a little bit more noticeable as Armando began to blur the lines of personal and impersonal.

In this scene though and the scenes before this, whenever emotions were heavily involved, especially when it was regarding their relationship Armando calls Betty, Beatriz, in fact even when she wasn't present in the room and he'd talk to Mario about his feelings and why he felt guilty(before he'd shut off this part of him bc Mario would start making jokes) Armando referred to Betty as Beatriz and not Betty but when it came to talking about her as an employee and not a woman he'd refer to her as Betty, it happens this day as well. When he gets upset that she won't let him spend alone time with AA and he yells at her and calls her Betty.

Why am I bringing up this small detail in this post? In this scene and the scene in Mario's apartment this is very evident and signifies the growth of his feelings and his conscious commitment to Betty as a woman.

Finally, after a bit of arguing inside the museum they leave together, of course, after sneaking out because Marcela went to the museum trying to catch him.

It's also important to note that when they found out Morch was in the museum that Betty asked Armando if he had anything to drink. It's pretty standard for him to be drinking, tipsy, or even drunk when he goes out with Betty. The one time I can remember him being completely sober was when he had to confess his feelings for her, soberly, the day after he kissed her for the first time. I broke that down in another post :)

Other times while he hasn't been drunk or tipsy he has had a few drinks at the office, however again it's pretty standard for him to drink and she knows this but why is it something that is brought up here?

Betty attributes Armando's behavior, especially when he is this...stubborn in doing things that could expose their relationship when he has been drinking. Not only that but also because the night they first hooked up they both had been heavily drinking, especially Armando and it is important as the continuation of the night leads us to Mario's apartment.

Outside, in his car, Armando finally gets to clarify his actions as he apologizes and tells her that he only wants her to know that she's more important to him than any other woman and he isn't shy to name the woman as he says: "than Adriana Arboleda, than Marcela or any other woman." This sounds a bit rehearsed but not like the previous times where we can even notice in his tone of voice and his micro expressions that he does so for manipulation. A great scene to use as a contrast to this attitude of his in this scene is the one where he makes out with Betty, the night he fights Roman and Co(wrote a post about it too). This lets us know that he really did think about how to apologize to her. While here his tone is rehearsed his micro expressions aren't a show, in reality his behavior is natural and goes along with what he is saying.

Now Betty in a teasing tone replies to him saying "That's not true." (also because she doesn't believe him)and Armando in a very serious tone and even a seductive tone, gazing his eyes down her body and back to her lips tells her that of course it's true and leans in, placing his hand on her face and they start to kiss.

This shows us that Armando once again isn't only feeling his emotional attraction to Betty, which is what moved his physical attraction forward in the past but now he can tell the difference between these two and he is okay with them! This is a huge step for Armando because he no longer is denying these things from himself. In fact he encourages himself and Betty to have these desires for one another and that as the days progress since their first sinful night his desire for Betty only continues to increase.

When they pull away his phone starts to ring, Betty asks if it's Marcela and Armando's facial expression and tone tells us it is as he looks annoyed and pissed that she's calling him.

This reaction is also standard for him because it's the exact same expression he pulls every time Marcela calls him. Especially when he's with Betty. However this small detail we've been given through the past episodes and this night also hold much significance in future episodes when his reaction to her call no longer is standard behavior from him.

While at the start of this phone call his tone is very forced in "lovingly" speaking to Marcela, his micro expressions again show us that he is just pretending. This tone is one we've heard a bunch of times before and it's one that is solely reserved for Marcela. Even on her part she tries to speak "politely" and just as if she were simply calling because she was curious but as this conversation goes both their dances of trying to keep things peaceful and civil subside and they basically start a mosh pit where they become more hostile until Armando implodes on her.

Marcela in a her standard of questionnaire routine asks Armando who he's with, hesitant he admits he's with Betty.

Her reaction to this however isn't standard of just guilt, taking into consideration the events of the day and that even Armando has told her that Marcela stops nagging him when she knows he's with her and because she's also eavesdropped and heard Armando say that Marcela doesn't consider her as a femininely threat, much less a woman, she once again gets hurt.

One could assume Armando did this to cover his tracks in case anyone told Marcela that they saw them leave together. It's also not hard to believe that Armando is stupid and says things without thinking them through in the heat of the moment however what is more obvious is that he probably wanted to take Marcela off his back so he tells her that he's with Betty. The small pause he takes before he says this helps me determine this. It could also be that he did so in case anyone did tell Marcela he left with Betty.

As Armando implodes on Marcela for insinuating that he lied to her i.e that he's going to go off with his mistress, Betty shifts in her seat and then she looks uncomfortable, returning to her guilt.

In this scene Betty experiences first hand this toxic side of Armando, one she has seen as a boss to employee scenario but not as a significant other. She has heard and even been in the middle of their fights in the past and while even then she behaved professionally, and also guilty this time she shows a lot more emotions raging from being uncomfortable to even being upset with Armando. This however is a small taste to what she will experience first hand not as the bystander of this side of his but as the target of his toxic behavior.

Later in the car, as he drives, Betty, with a broken heart tells Armando she believes that he should go on his trip and try to reconcile his relationship with Marcela and reconnect while they're away.

Armando, nervous and scared asks her if that's what she really wants and the hurt that it might be, he asks(really demands) for her to look him in the eyes and tell him this. Which Betty doesn't. In this moment his phone rings.

Why do these small details play such a huge role?

Less than 24 hours away, Betty finds the letter which plays the exact rhythm in which Armando and Mario planned her downfall.

For one: While in the past Betty agreed to embellish the balance for the meeting, this night she did not and because of this Armando went out to look for her at the exhibit and then took her to his best friends bach pad and slept with her all so she would embellish that balance which would keep the board members at peace allowing Armando to continue as the president of Eco Moda.

Two: That Mario called him this night, while they were together, and while Armando "played" it off that Mario wasn't aware of their affair, when she later questioned him about it and he denied it, these conversations begin to makes sense to her.

We know that's not the case. While Mario spoke about the company Armando didn't seem that concerned or even motivated to go searching for her but it wasn't until Mario mentioned how sever it was what that he implied to Betty that AA was more important to him than her[Betty] and what that meant for their relationship and how she was suffering because of it that he was motivated to search for her as he said, a terrible fear was settling in him because of it. While yes, Mario suggested that they hook up so she could be happy again and forgive him and that way the company would still be in their hands and not Nicolas, Armando didn't need any motivation for that.

In fact he hasn't needed any inspiration or motivation sober or drunk to desire Betty, often not being able to stop himself from kissing her and more. Was this based on Mario telling him to do this?

No.

It wasn't because Mario suggested it(At the office). Unlike their first night where Armando kept calling Mario and kept asking for help and advice, this time Armando gets annoyed at Mario for calling him. Even his behavior is different. While before when Mario kept insisting that he slept with Betty to get it over with, Armando showed disgust or being repugnant to doing an atrocity of that magnitude towards Betty, this time his face was poker. He showed no real disgust towards the idea of seducing Betty as in he'd sleep with her, more that Mario yet again was using something he knew was important and special to the both of them[B+A] as a weapon for the "good" of the company.

When he hangs up his phone Betty points out that the direction he's driving isn't towards her house, to which Armando tells her if she really wants to go home.

"I think it's for the best." He turns to stare at her and then pulls to the side of the road.

"That you want me to take you home?" He asks in disbelief. Betty swallows hard, the corner of her mouth look a bit downward and she looks scared. "Damnit!" He hits his steering wheel and though he is angry, his tone is completely different to that of his tone when he is angry at Marcela. "Damnit, Beatriz, all I want is to be with you tonight, I leave tomorrow, remember? I went to the museum, exclusively, to pick you up, to see you, to feel you next to me, to be with you. When we bumped into Marcela I risked my life and I am still risking it to this moment. Everything I've done is to tell you that I adore you, that you're above Adriana Arboleda, that you're above Marcela, of-of all of them!" We can determine he is honest here as he stares at her, exclusively even when she doesn't stare back at him, she looks pained and confused herself. "and the only thing you can tell me is that you want me to go to Palm Beach(I LOVE the way he says Palm Beach it's just ugh so nice) and have a marvelous honeymoon with her so that we can grow closer." He looks down, away from her and then ahead of him. His voice was no longer harsh at the end more so becoming almost a whisper. "That's what you want? Okay! Right now I'll drive you to your house because it's what you're asking from me. I don't deserve this." (BAWHAHAHA ARMANI YES YOU DO, MY BOY).

Now in a non-contextual way one could simply asume that he is doing this all under the bias of manipulation towards Betty, especially that final line of "I don't deserve this." but when you take all the context clues and you look at the bigger picture there's more that plays in here and I'm not saying that Armando isn't manipulating Betty in this exact scene, he is very much doing so, however it isn't like in the past. This time he does so to get what he wants, which is to spend the night with Betty so he guilts her with this final part of "I don't deserve this- because I've risked so much to spend this night with you."

However taking aside that guilt trip manipulation, why does Armando stumble once in his words showing he isn't rehashing this previous speech? and why does he take a breather before he tells Betty that he'll drop her off at her house like she asked?

While the first apology was what he rehearsed with himself, this second time around it took him by surprise to admit that she was above all the other women because this apology wasn't based on a "lets just make up right now." it was an apology based in heart and the self-realization of how true that statement was for him that while yes Betty was above Adriana Arboleda in her significance to him and even Marcela who he's engaged to, she is now also above all women.

How true is this statement?

Well we see a change of behavior of his with women in the future episodes which proves, yet again, that this confession of his wasn't just an apology so Betty could forgive him, but an apology that was sincere and heart felt.

Betty finally gives in and tells him to wait. With tears coating her lashes she stares at him "Sir, forgive me." She speaks solemnly. Armando's entire body relaxes just a bit as he sits back on his seat. "Sir, forgive me. I want you to understand that-that this hasn't been easy for me. [The situation] with Adriana Arboleda and now the conflict with Ms. Marcela; it's killing me, Sir." His anger and hurt begins to simmer down. "I don't know what to do, how to behave. I-I think I'm acting very bad." She looks away from him, touches the side of her face in a worried and embarrassed manor while Armando stares at her and timidly(in his nature) asks her what truly worry's him.

"But do you want to be with me?"

"Yes, of course, of course. It's what I want most." She caresses the side of his face, he leans towards her hand "in the world." and now he looks like he's come back to life. Staring at her with a soft glow and when she pulls her hand down he looks at it and follows it until he stares back at her, feeling the absences of her touch and missing it. "But you leave tomorrow." They both look away from each other but Armando only does so for a micro second before he stares back at her. "and I won't be complete without you, Sir." Again we get a frame of Armando's reaction to this. "Not being by your side will not be any easier for me." As she speaks her tone is soft, timid however not wavering showing that while she is nervous to confess this to him, she isn't scared of doing so.

"Betty." He says so adoringly towards her. "Betty" he whispers and touches her face and honestly I believe his favorite part of Betty's face is the side of her face, by her earlobe cause he's always touching her there. "Nobody said this would be easy. We knew this road was going to be a difficult one but you know what? I am going to be missing you so much. I'm going to miss you a lot."

Again the words here are lost in translation he tells her "Usted me va a hacer muchísima falta." which roughly is saying that there will be a huge lack of her in him, causing him to yarn for her a lot and feeling that absences of hers will make him miss her in a very profound way because he needs her. This separation they're both fearful of is what brings the forgiveness to shore.

Now the post for that specific scene will need an entire post dedicated to it because there's so much! Just so much.

For this episode I had to watch it on the NBC app so maybe there was some scenes missing.

I don't know if anyone noticed how important the story of Picasso and his lovers was for this and how they showed the similarities to Armando and his lovers, specifically how toxic Picasso was(all though if we're being honest that dood sounds more abusive than just toxic bc we all got a lil toxicity in our system but that foo was straight up kidnapping his lovers and locking them up while he had other's on the side? Nah man call a hotline.) towards his lovers. Though I am not saying that Armando is a saint, I don't think he is as bad as Picasso, that dood needed a restraining order against him so he could just stay away from all women.

In all seriousness though the similarity was that though Picasso had lovers he cared for each of them especially his last two lovers, i.e Betty and Marcela and it foreshadowed just how jealous and pathetic Armando would become in the future.

I mean I love Armando, I had to learn to love him bc at first I didn't, but the behavior he displays in the future episodes while yeah one could explain them are not justifiable and I will get into detail on that in the future posts and the post I am still writing regarding his abusive/toxic tendencies.

Overall this episode, which on NBC is episode 68, was pretty straightforward with a lot of small details to look at and not really for the leading on of the scenes in Mario's apartment but overall where the story continues to get pushed.

In this episode, the episode when Armando fights Roman and Co. and her birthday night celebration and the previous night of this episode are nights that Betty goes back to prove that what she reads in that letter are true, especially this night, before they got to the apartment and just how much Armando "risked" to spend that night with her.

While she tries to believe that it's all a joke because she's certain that Armando was honest and heartfelt with her through his actions and not words, she doesn't trust him. I'll explain that a lot more further in that post.

Pushing forward the plot of the story though we see just how these two have truthfully grown close together and not just as friends but as lovers who are exploring their feelings a lot more now and while Betty is learning to open herself up again, Armando is learning to love for the first time.

I say that Betty is learning to open herself up again because it's true. While in the past she asked Armando why he was interested in her, she shared poetic talk about how the moon inspired poets and how guilty she felt when she saw Marcela, she hadn't opened herself up, not until the night at the hotel and that wasn't much, she barely opened up when Armando was asking her about her first time. This night she was a lot more open. She called out Armando's behavior point blank and period, no hesitation, she spoke about her opinion and then she spoke about how she felt, not regarding her insecurity but regarding their relationship and the absences she'd feel from Armando not being there. While before she'd just say "I need you." or "You mean a lot to me." this time she goes on to further explain her feelings to Armando instead of just saying the words, this time she elaborates.

Armando is learning to love for the first time, being humble in realizing his mistakes, his limits and also understanding just how his actions affect others but the most important thing is that he is learning to be at peace with his feelings for Betty. We saw it that morning when he first saw Betty, later in the office when Betty caught him making out with the AA picture and just how guilty and embarrassed he felt because Betty saw him. Unlike with Marcela where he was scared that she'd cause a while scene, this time the problem for him was that Betty wouldn't cause a scene but be hurt and dump him for it, which would be a big deal for him. We saw it later when Betty forgave him after the letter and gift and when he realized the huge mistake he made with AA in the way he treated Betty. All of these behaviors has shown an Armando who has accepted that he cares for Betty, not love, but cares for her deeply and that she is important to him.

Thank you for being patient with me and sorry that I haven't been as active. These past days have been pretty busy and they'll continue being so. I'll probably only be able to post once a week but I hope that the post become better quality that way as well since I'll have more time to really break down the episodes.

Well 'til next time! :)

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