#'are you right or left handed' 'depends on the context'

[dragon-spaghetti]

And what if I gave Donnie erb's palsy. What then

[famwhy]

Not a Morning Person

Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse

Hobie Brown X F!Reader

Synopsis: Mornings were always difficult with Hobie: he never seemed to want to get up, nor did he ever seem to want to let you to get up either.

Warning: slightly suggestive but mostly fluff.

Note: 'peak' is road slang for 'sad', 'likkle' is 'little', 'ting' is 'thing' (it seems like I need to clarify this but 'peak' can be used as a good thing and a bad thing, it depends on context. In this context, it is used to mean 'sad'.)

You loved your boyfriend—you really did. He had your whole heart in the palm of his hands and you trusted him with it; trusted him not to squeeze too hard on it—not to shatter it into a million broken shards of a love that once was.

And you damn well knew the feeling was mutual—he'd told you so himself, proclaimed it with eyes that were practically shaped into hearts as he gazed at you with that swirling sense of adoration; one that never failed to make you feel special.

But... you'd be lying if you said he couldn't get a little frustrating sometimes. Like now, for instance.

"Hobie, please."

"No." His response was curt, and very much final.

"I need to get up."

"That's peak for you then, innit?"

His snark edged one of your brows up, and you're sure you would've crossed your arms too had he not restricted your movement with his own—much stronger, might you add—limb.

Your lips parted—very much ready to have a go at him for the unwarranted attitude—when, instead of actual words, a light gasp left them; practically inaudible from how soft it was, but that didn't make what happened any less surprising.

His lips had found their way onto your neck, pressing soft, gentle kisses across the exposed area with an occasional—and very intoxicating—nip here and there. The contact flooded your vision with pink and you almost melted right in that very moment.

"Just a likkle longer, love," he muttered into your skin, lips making contact with the surface in a repeated pattern that shot tingles straight down your spine, "can't believe I got so lucky to land a pretty ting like you."

His hand slipped under your shirt; cold arm resting against the warmth of your stomach as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear in hopes of saving himself from a lecture—and you were afraid to admit that it was very much working. You were always such a sucker for sweet moments like this.

Stop it. Stand your ground, Y/N.

"Hobie."

"Hm?" His head tilted up, gaze looking at you with that sense of endearment only you were privy to receiving from him; the twitch of his lips showcasing his lovestruck smile in a show of vulnerability that, once again, only you had the pleasure of seeing on him.

His hues were softened and practically swirling with that domestic love you knew he held for you; the one that would instantly ease all his muscles and have him actively seek you out just to hold you in his arms, to love on you like he always claimed you deserved.

When you didn't respond immediately, his grip on you tightened and he pulled you further into his side; to fit against him like you were meant to be there, like he was incomplete without you—and you, without him.

Ah, you were always so weak to him when he got like this.

"...okay, we can stay like this for a little longer."

His lips tugged up and he grinned at you, lunging straight for your neck to attack you with another fit of gentle, adoring kisses—ones that made you sigh in what you could only describe as contentment, your fingers finding their way to his wicks, running through them with the bitter taste of defeat on your tongue and the casual swell of love in your heart.

Sure, Hobie wasn't much of a morning person but, to be completely honest—

—you weren't much of one either.

[haine-kleine]

after sitting with my thoughts about the epilogue for some time, I think the thing that broke the story had started right after Dabi's dance. said thing is LOV' utterly out of character treatment of each other and Shigaraki specifically.

them just standing there and passively observing the scene makes absolutely zero sense, if you use anything from their previously established relationships within the organisation for reference. especially with All for One's creepy comments. Spinner even points out shortly before this chapter that AFO!Shigaraki seems nothing like his normal self and this person is not the one he had chosen to follow.

and yes, Spinner does approach screaming Shigaraki and tries to help him, and his concern later leads him to seeing Shigaraki's mutated form in the cave, and on its own this development for Spinner is in line with his character and all around fine. pretty reminiscent of Toga and Twice, too.

(except Spinner is not allowed to really help Shigaraki in any way, unlike Toga was allowed to help Twice, and this entire thing between Shigaraki and Spinner only ends with Spinner's regrets and survivor's guilt instead of anything good or meaningful that isn't meaningless angst porn)

it isn't Spinner approaching Shigaraki that is the issue, it's the other's complete lack of action or even reaction besides appearing mildly disturbed. this is simply out of character for all of them, just judging by Twice's example who had similar breakdowns and wasn't plainly ignored by the others until his fit stops. this reaction makes even less sense, when you take into account the current state of the League. Twice had just been murdered by Hawks, the double agent who had infiltrated the League via Dabi, and Mister Compress had just sacrificed himself to give the League a chance for escape, and was sent to Tartarus immediately after his condition was no longer life threatening. Kurogiri is also being held captive by the heroes. there are only four of them left, with two dead and two captured. and none of them even mention the dead or the captured outside of the context of Kurogiri and his quirk.

this straight out makes no sense if you look back to the Overhaul arc and remember how far Shigaraki and the rest of them were willing to go to avenge Magne's death and Mr Compress' destroyed arm. this was important.

the event had motivated Shigaraki to be a better leader, because he had realized these people depend on him, and he won't let them be hurt under his protection. it had started the seed of self-doubt in Jin which would eventually grow to the desperation that allowed him to overcome the mental block against his quirk in the MVA arc, because he wanted to do everything he possibly could to help the League. it allowed him to make his clones despite the crippling trauma, because he saw Toga's hurt, bleeding body, and he didn't want her to die.

even fucking Giran, a broker whose very profession requires him to care about himself and his own well-being first and foremost, had sacrificed all of his fingers to prevent Redestro from getting his hands on the League. because he wants to protect them, to save them. and then we never actually see his mutilated hands or hear anything from him ever again.

and when Twice actually dies? all we get in response to that are two upset faces from Dabi and Toga's fury. that's it.

i really want to stress how out of character this barely-present reaction is, because Magne's example is right there and when Overhaul had killed her, the League knew each other for no longer than a month. this League has been together for at least half a year, had been through thick and thin together, had spent months on the run, homeless, having no one but each other to rely on, has defeated the Meta Liberation Army, quite literally, with the power of their friendship. they all cared enough about each other and Shigaraki specifically to stay with him during those months they had to fight Gigantomachia with barely any breaks for rest, still homeless, barely scraping by. it was imperative that they all survive through this together, especially for Shigaraki, who had went on this quest of getting stronger at least partly so that he would become a more reliable protector for the League. and when Twice falls victim to the hero who had murdered him in cold blood, because no one except for Dabi was there to save him, Shigaraki doesn't even get to react to Twice's death, and possibly never even learns about the fact.

on topic of Dabi, his reaction being exactly two frames of sad expressions and including the footage of Twice's murder into his broadcast, and ending immediately after that, also makes no sense. Dabi is someone who holds himself accountable and despite his declarations, cares about the League, it's the very reason he was keeping Hawks from the League and sprinted to Twice as soon as he realized Hawks' intentions with him, to protect him. Dabi's unsuccessful attempt to save Twice is another iteration of Overhaul, a combination of Shigaraki and Twice's roles in the tragedy. but unlike Shigaraki, who had steeled himself into taking care of his subordinates and becoming a responsible and strong leader, or Twice who had never forgotten about his role in the incident, Dabi just somehow forgets about the entire thing as soon as the first war is over. Toga is the one whom the narrative allows to actively react to Twice's death and express her grief. it makes sense that her reaction would be the strongest, as she was the closest with Twice, but why are two LOV members no longer allowed to care about the same incident at the same time? why aren't they allowed to protect each other anymore, when Giran, who is not even in the League, had made that sacrifice for them?

These are pretty small things, but it's these instances of Toga and Dabi preventing Machia from being injected with the sedative, protecting the League that are sorely missing in the second war.

and the biggest act of devotion and protection to the League, which was the last time we saw anything like this for them, Mister Compress' last moments with the League.

Mutilating his own body just to buy them five seconds to possibly escape. Because he loved the League, because he wanted all of them to be happy and achieve their dreams, to be free, and to live.

and in return for the favour, not only do they not come back for him like they did for Kurogiri (because his quirk is important for the plot, while Compress' isn't), but none of them mention Compress ever again. same with Twice (with the exception of Toga), same with Magne. from this point onwards, none of them are allowed by the plot to even care about the League of Villains. the interpersonal relationships between two individuals still shine through, occasionally, like Spinner's devotion to Shigaraki (and him alone), Dabi and Toga's pyromaniac trauma lane visit to her house and him giving her Twice's blood, Kurogiri reaching out to Shigaraki in the very end. but what about the League? ahd what about the dead members of the League, or Mister Compress?

somehow, at the point of the final war it boils down to the generalized conflict of heroes vs villains and the morality gymnastics involved in the concept. on its own, this would have been an okay development, if the examples the story was using to prove its point weren't people who had become very close friends and who had lost four people to this war against the heroes.

if the individual conflicts, like Toga's desperation to be acknowledged as human being deserving of affection, Dabi's familial abuse trauma and Shigaraki's lifelong manipulation by All for One not giving him any chance to be saved at all, were the finishing line of the villains' story development, why join them within the League at all? LOV is a separate concept functioning as a collective uniting all these villains, giving them a place to belong and people who give a fuck whether they live or die. except not anymore, because for some reason after the first war this concept is scratched completely.

so why not make them mere acquaintances who sometimes collaborate to bother the heroes together, if the bond between them got in the way of the story and wasn't the point of the story? why prove the depth of their bond with the Overhaul and My Villain Academia arcs? why make Shigaraki develop relationships and a sense of responsibility for these people at all, if in the very end his desire to save these people is denied by the author himself?

the previous arcs have spent a great deal of effort establishing that the villains are human too. they have human feelings, human desires and human relationships. so why is it that in the final arc their ability to experience human emotions towards each other is turned on and off manually by the author? at the very end even the author stops pretending like anything happening to the villains is evaluated on the scale of human experiences (unlike the heroes, whose injuries and deaths are talked about and mourned in great detail) and Kurogiri and Shigaraki are wiped out like plot inconveniences rather than important and well written characters.

honestly? it's ironically meta that the story ended up proving the very point it has spent 400 chapters arguing against.

[girliemattitude]

—- Butterflies - — M.S - —

A/N: This is my work please don’t steal it <3 ………………………………………………………………………………….……………………

Me and Matt have been cuddling and kissing on his couch for the past thirty minutes. There’s nothing sexual about it, just us enjoying each other’s company and showing that we love and care for each other.

I’ve always enjoyed kissing Matt, he definitely knows what he’s doing and how to kiss depending on the context of the situation but this kind of kisses, the kind that makes you fall in love even more with him are my favorite.

Is a slow kiss, our lips are moving in sync and our tongues are exploring each others mouth, he occasionally pulls away just to give me a lingering peck and then the kissing continues, both of us with our eyes closed and no one dares to end the moment. It’s the kind of make out session that makes you forget about all your worries, you are just there with him in that moment and your only focus are his lips brushing against yours and the way his left hand is positioned in the side of your face and his right one is lovingly caressing your waist, both of yours playing with his hair just the way he likes.

You finally pull away to gasp for air, you open your eyes and the first thing you see is Matt with his eyes closed, his puffy lips are still searching for yours not wanting the moment to end. You let out a small giggle and he opens his eyes, they are dilated and they immediately lock with yours, that made you get that familiar feeling in your stomach that you can’t help and you feel yourself blushing so you hide in the crook of his neck.

“I can’t look at you”, you exclaim giggling and covering your face with your hands.

“Heeyyy, c’mon let me see you”, he says pulling your hands away from your face, when you finally look at him all he mouths was a “hi” with a huge grin on his face.

You just stare at him and with a stern look you say “I don’t know how the hell you do it but you still give me butterflies on my stomach, even after all this time” “honestly is fucking annoying how nervous you make me”.

“You give me butterflies too and god I’m so in love with you that it scares the shit out me sometimes”, he said being the most honest he could be.

How the hell did you get so lucky ?

………………………………………………………………………………….……………………

[thefanficmonster]

Do you do NSFW? If so, may I request a Markiplier NSFW alphabet?

Hi dear! Usually I struggle greatly when writing anything NSFW for RPF but I shall do my best. Baby steps lol Hope you enjoy <3

Pairing: Markiplier x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: !!NSFW content below the cut!!

A= Aftercare (What they're like after the act)

Mark is the absolute sweetest and most attentive lover before, during and after the act.

After he's made sure you're alright, he'd go grab you a bottle of water, a snack and a towel to clean you up. You can bet on a long cuddle sesh after the act, filled with intimacy and romance, periodically interrupted by jokes he'd crack to make you laugh.

B= Body Part (Favorite body part of their own or on their lover)

He's pretty damn proud of his hands. Years of gaming have made them particularly skillful in many ways and he knows how to utilize them just right *wink* *wink*

Oh, and also his back. He's been influenced to love it by you more so than on his own accord but still.

On you, he loves your legs and thighs. Count on him constantly having his hands all over them in both innocent and explicit instances. And when you wrap your legs around his waist....consider him a goner.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

Inside, no questions asked.

Before you got to the point of being comfortable enough for that, however, he found just as much pleasure in painting either your chest, thighs or face.

D= Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory)

Nothing helps him excel at a game quite like under-the-desk head while recording. Bonus points if it's a live stream.

E= Experience (do they know what they're doing)

Mark has had decent amount of experience, enough to be versed into how things work textbook-wise. Every skill he exhibits, however, is something he improvised at some point. But don't take that the wrong way - this man knows exactly what he's doing

F= Favorite Position

Mark is simple man and his favorite position reflects that - Doggy style (closely followed by cowgirl)

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

Oh this man is a majore league goof in general and during sex. That's not to say he can't get into character and dawn a serious and attractively intimidating front when the atmosphere of the night calls for it.

He's a perfect balance between goofy and serious, occasionally leaning far left or far right depending on the moment.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

He takes care of his hygiene rather meticulously. He keeps everything neat, trimmed and clean.

I= Intimacy (how are they in the moment)

There's never a shortage of intimacy between you and Mark during the act. Regardless of if the night calls for making love or having rough sex, there's never a lack of intimacy and closeness between you two.

That being said, I'd again say it's perfectly balanced. Whatever the night calls for is how Mark responds - be it slow, romantic lovemaking or rough and dirty sex.

J= Jerk-off (do they masturbate and how often)

He used to do it a lot more frequently before you started dating. Now, nothing can compare to the real thing. He can't find much satisfaction in masturbating but he still turns to it as a resort of release when either of you is away on a trip

K= Kink (kinks they might have)

Dear God, please forgive me for this...

Choking, spanking, hair-pulling, dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, light bondage, praising/degrading (depending on what the situation calls for). Feel free to share your thoughts on this topic in the comments

L= Location (where they're down to get it on)

Every single surface in the house is game in Mark's eyes. Especially the kitchen counter and the nicely spacious shower

M= Motivation (what gets them going)

You, in any context you can think of. You don't even need to be dressed provocatively in any way shape or form. This man is just so head over heels for you, he can't help it.

Apart from that, a good ol' rage game will raise his blood pressure just right and he'll proceed to blow off some steam with you. The same works the other way around - when he's high on the success of completing a game and he celebrates with you

N= No (what they're strictly against and wouldn't try)

Anything with violent and hostile connotations that could bring you harm in any way, be it physical or emotional. He loves you more than words can describe and just the thought of hurting you fills him with dread. You both like dabbling into the occasional impact play but nothing more than that, and never without a safe word.

O= Oral (are they more of a giver or receiver)

Mark is a big fan of receiving but he enjoys giving so much more. He does it for his own pleasure just as much as he does it to bring you satisfaction. He loves every aspect of it - your taste, the tangling of your hands in his hair, the sounds you make, the bucking of your hips. It's his own personal high. He could do it for hours if you'd let him.

P= Pace (what's their pace during the act)

Again, the speed setting Mark operates on depends on the atmosphere of the night. On the regular, he likes to take it slow, prolong the experience and uphold this bubble of intimacy around the two of you for as long as he can.

Q= Quickie (are they a fan of quickies)

Nope.

The Devil is into details and so is Mark. And it's difficult to appreciate the details when working with a small time frame. He likes to take his time, worshipping you the way you deserve in the most meticulous and intimate manner.

R= Risk (how risky are they/do they like trying new things)

Oh he loves a good unconventional and borderline public location where there's a chance at getting caught. Although he prefers the comfort of your shared house it doesn't cancel out his love for the thrill of some public fun.

As for trying new things, he's down to try everything at least once - unless it falls in the No criteria I mentioned earlier. All you have to do is bring it up and you can automatically consider him signed up and strapped in, ready to try it.

S= Stamina (how long they last in bed)

The speed may or may not directly relate to how long he lasts. He can get at least two rounds - a solid hour/hour and a half - under his belt before breaking a sweat.

T= Toys (do they own and and are they down to experiment with them)

I have a feeling there is a box, hidden in a dark corner of a closer or under his bed, containing a small collection of sex toys. If you're game to use him, he'd love nothing more than take them out to play.

U= Unfair (are they a tease)

To an infuriating degree. He'd even mock you when you whine, beg or get frustrated with his teasing.

It's music to his ears.

V= Volume (how loud are they during sex)

Mark is vocal but not loud.

He exhibits his satisfaction and pleasure with mainly sighs and groans, all at a pretty low volume. But he's also very expressive during sex - praising/degrading you accordingly or dirty talking you over the edge. All in a whispered or hushed tone that makes it all the hotter.

W= Wild Card

Remember how I said he's not a big fan of masterbating? Well, when he has to resort to it he has a certain way of making it much more pleasurable...

Photos and videos you two have taken during the act or right afterwards in your disheveled states.

It's his personal collection, safely tucked away in a dark hidden corner of his computer memory.

X= X-Ray (what are they packing)

I'm sorry, I can't. I just can't. I've sinned enough tonight LMAOO

Y= Yearning (sex drive level)

Name: Mark

Status: Permanently horny

Z= Zzzz (*yawn*)

I already mentioned a cuddle sesh earlier and I will now add onto it to say that, although he tries his best not to, he does fall asleep rather quickly and deeply. How could he not when he feels so much comfort with his arms wrapped around you. When he falls asleep to the sound of your breathing and heartbeat, it's the most peaceful slumber he's ever had.

[tripg]

Ghost slowly going deaf from years of noise overexposure. He's been able to read lips from years of recon and operations, but he learns sign language as a fallback.

Of course, Ghost doesn't want to tell Soap so that he doesn't worry, and so that Ghost can keep the status quo of the 141 until it's too late. He only tells Price.

Ghost loves hearing Soap's voice so much, and is desperate to hear it while he can (even if he hears it a lot already) since his sergeant's voice comforts him so much, and he's his ops partner...that's all, he tries to convince himself. Successfully, even. He doesn't want some of the last things he remembers hearing Soap say to be caring concern. Nothing to hold him back and make him regret things he can't help...

He doesn't want his hearing to go out, but when it does, he wants to remember things as they were. There's no place for him once it does. He's slowly becoming a liability. Price knows it, and only Price...

Soap finds out Ghost's going deaf and that Ghost was keeping it from him...(source withheld). But he also finds out why. Soap is decimated knowing his Lieutenant is so concerned about him and how he'd react but also that Ghost didn't want him to know...and he learns his Lt.'s reasons, and that cuts him deeper.

Soap never stops talking to Ghost, and tries to feign that he doesn't know what's happening, trying desperately to make sure Ghost only hears nice and good things...but knowing what's happening, he starts learning sign language in secret.

The day comes when Ghost finally loses his hearing medically. It's over, and he's not getting it back.

The same day, he tells Soap what happened. Soap seemed to notice at least—since he was the one affected most, and Ghost wanted Soap to know as soon as it was too late. He can only feel the vibrations of the words leaving his throat and watch Soap as his sergeant listens quietly. Ghost spills everything, especially while he can't hear himself anymore, and is just depending on how he remembered his words should feel as he spoke.

It's over, he thinks. I'm sorry.

But then, Ghost reads Soap's lips—wide-eyed—as Soap responds presumably verbally, but also in sign: "You may not know it, but I can still tell you I love you, Si..."

He reads Soap's lips as he probably spoke aloud, but Soap signs perfectly the entire message, up until the end...when he signs "Si":

Soap pinches with both hands, vertically, with fingertips together, drawing his right hand up from his left in a wavering, wispy motion. But then he clasps both hands into fists, with his arms crossing his chest in an X: "ghost"..."love"...

"Si. Simon."

After a few seconds, Ghost signed back: "S...Simon"

After a half minute of silence where they were both still and silent, Ghost asks a question to Soap, given he's still learning too.

"How do you sign 'sunshine'?"

...and then the base became a lot quieter, save some sniffling and questions as the two of them talked for hours.

The next day, Soap's voice wouldn't lead you to Ghost anymore.

Context + reasoning on the sign language described, which was American Sign Language (ASL) and not British Sign Language (BSL). My apologies for any confusion! tl;dr: Soap swaps from BSL to ASL only for his pet name for Ghost, so that it's less likely to be picked up by others.

[civetfish]

Was gonna wait to post this outside of ko-fi until I posted the corresponding part of my fic BUT since that's on hold for a hot second I might as well do it now!

So much yapping under the cut because I can't help myself lol (Mostly just a stream of consciousness, so its kind of a word salad)

I like to think that colors can change in brightness, mix with others, and appear in certain areas/patterns to give a bit of complexity to the use of colors for communication.

Top left is pretty straightforward- yellow is fear. It's the full body "puffed up cat" kind of fear where it's the ony emotion being processed. A lingering anxiousness would be shown more like a general yellow centered around the chest, while the rest of their body remains the same color. Feelings like a slight nervousness (Like handling a delicate object with big crab-claws, for example) would be shown through a "rippling" wave of yellow overtop of whatever colors are already present, originating from the chest or hands. ((link) this is pretty close to what I imagine (If the link doesn't work, skip to about 2:10) Spooky ocean warning! though if you're seeing this post in the first place I assume you're probably fine with it )

Green is analytical - He does this a few times in-game, and it's what makes the most sense to me. I also like to think it's the reasoning behind a lot of the Architect's... well, architecture. Green is a really predominant color in all of the architect structures / data hubs / machines / etc., so in cultural sense it would make sense for the Architects to be using the color representing their core values. The light blue around his sides is amusement/joy. (I put a little bit of this into my first chapter iirc) This is also based pretty closely to what we see in-game. (I.e. the little wave he does back at Robin, it's silly and playful and I love it sm)

The gray/dull tones (bottom left) are just that- the "muting/dulling" of whatever color it's applied to. The Architect who kind of killed his entire species is a little depressed if you can believe it! A muted blue (indigo, rather than light blue) would be melancholy, and the yellow tint in there is stress/dread. A completely dim gray Architect is basically completely numb, which is distinct from the typical "resting color" that Architects have when not feeling any emotion in particular at a given moment.

Dark blue (Or indigo, bottom right) is sadness. It could also be read as a sense of longing or wistfulnes, or a lot of other nuanced feelings depending on other colors or context clues.

And of course magenta (bottom middle) and that coral-ish color are love, more or less. It's a sense of fondness and deep affection, though Al-an himself is probably under the impression it's more like a loyalty and protectiveness; I don't think he has any real experience with love considering what we know about the network.

The coral color in the center of his chest is something I'll dive into more when I get that chapter out, but I think of it as a flush/heat, like an Architect blush. Orange is added to colors to increase the intensity of the emotion underneath, such as the inclusion with magenta to mean flustered or to red to mean a more heated rage. An embarassed architect would be fully orange, possibly leaning a bit towards pink, red or yellow depending on the specific situation.

For an "emotionless peak of innovation and efficiency" I am determined to shove SO many feelings into this shrimp horse. This stream of word spaghetti will eventually get rewritten into a basic color code.

[thevelvetvampyre]

The screening // cillian murphy x reader:

Summary: Your uncle Chris sets up a private first screening of Oppenheimer as a surprise after being gone for months filming. Cillian Murphy was also invited, much to your surprise. A few glasses of red wine later and a shared blanket leads to the actor getting handsy and needy for your touch.

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Fem!reader

Warnings: Age gap, smut, pure fantasy (not connected to real life Cillian), pro-longed teasing, fingering, dry humping, Blowjob, he’s a little pervy (BIG love), unsuspecting reader but all consensual (for the most part), pure smut + little to no plot / context

——————————————————————

“Uncle Chris!” You screamed with your hands reaching outwards, your legs moving as fast as they could through the white corridors to run into your uncle’s arms. It had been only a couple months since you’d last seen him but he’s just the absolute rock in your life, you wouldn’t know what to do without him.

“Hi Angel!” Your uncle knelt down onto one knee with open arms for you to run into. You did as such and soon you were being lifted off the ground in the biggest bear hug you had ever received. After spinning you around a couple of times he plopped you down and held your shoulders with a wide grin on his face.

“How are you my dear, are you excited to watch the film tonight?” He was so humble for all he had accomplished and he had never left you behind. Being your fathers brother was already exceptionally cool, nevermind having him adore you and treat you as his very own.

“I’m alright, and obviously I am! I’ve missed you so much” You pulled him into another hug and he let out a small chuckle. Looking up at him through your squinted eyes with a smile frozen on your face, you noticed his face had fallen into one of a curious nature.

“What is it?” You questioned, your brows furrowing.

“Now before I say this, I need you to promise me you won’t be upset my love” Letting go of the hug you took a step back and felt your heart thump a little harder.

“Well, it depends what is it” You crossed your arms and your eyebrows knitted tighter together.

“I also promised a certain someone that I’d show him the film before it got out to the public too. I understand you may be uncomfortable but I can assure you he’s a lovely man and won’t be any trouble for our family time” Uncle Nolan’s hands came up in defence, he knew how important this was for you to spend some alone time with your Uncle as you hadn’t seen him in so long.

“Who?” A million names flashed through your mind wondering who the mystery man could be. Your arms dropped to your side as you put your defence down.

“Right… well, it’s Cillian. Cillian Murphy. I just… I figured it would be fun and even exciting for you to see it with the man himself. I promised him and I could only get one copy. So why not just have a movie night together? Hm, what’d you say?” His face had fallen to one of a sympathetic and cautious look towards you. Of course, this wasn’t a big deal. But having the Cillian Murphy round for dinner and a movie was a massive deal. This wasn’t just an average man who knew your uncle.

Your heart stopped in place and you could’ve sworn your cheeks heated up. Your mind raced back to the first and only time you’d met the actor so far. Oppenheimer was on it’s first day of being filmed and your uncle shockingly invited you down for a couple of hours before the shooting began. You remember meeting all the incredible actors and having them shake your hand, treating you as royalty as you were the same flesh and blood as Nolan himself. All of them were sweet, treated you a little childish but sweet nonetheless. Small talk was being made when Cillian came over himself to talk to your uncle. As soon as his eyes met you, he continued his conversation as you continued yours but he had his attention glued onto you. His eyes trailed up and down your body as he licked his lips in between words and practically eye-fucked you right there in front of the whole crew. Now, you may be 28 years younger than the man but my god, did this cause a primal reaction within you. Your uncle noticed the staring between the pair of you and introduced you to each other, suspecting it was nothing more than curiosity of who the other was. His eyes glimmered as he traced your face and firmly gripped your much softer hand within his. While still gripping yours, he introduced himself as you did too. As soon as it had started, the moment stopped and your hand was empty of his. Remembering the scent of him, using that same hand to curl within you to hit your sweet spot and wishing it was him would be your fate for the months to come. But now, the man would be coming to your uncles house for the night, with you there. A sense of dread, nerves and excitement had filled you.

“Oh… um. Yeah, that’s fine” You said breathlessly.

Nolan had seemingly breathed a large sigh of relief. “Oh good. I’ll get dinner prepared.”

Your uncle smiled and walked over before quickly rubbing your arm and planting a kiss on your cheek, swiftly leaving the room and turned a corner to not be seen for the next few hours. Tonight would be one hell of an interesting one.

————————————

Sitting on the kitchen counter, legs swinging and one hand on the phone scrolling thorough one app or the other, your social media spree was violently stopped when the doorbell had gone off.

“Ah, here he is!” Uncle Nolan moved swiftly to the door and out of sight. The only thing you could hear was the door unlocking and the familiar thick Irish accent you had been craving to hear groan for the past couple of months.

“Cillian! I’m thrilled you could make it” Your uncle’s enthusiasm towards the man was unmistakable.

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it for the world” Cillian had chuckled.

The two voices started to get louder and louder as they made their way down the hall and came to a sudden stop once they had entered the kitchen. You slowly look up off your phone and make eye contact with the Irishman and saw a dark look painted on his face.

“Hi Mr. Murphy” you practically whispered. You couldn’t even fake a smile your stomach was in such a tight knot.

“Hi…” His voice trailed up as he smirked a guilty grin to your uncle.

“Oh come on Cillian, it’s only been a couple of months” He said in shock.

“Y/N” you giggled.

“Ah, right. Sorry. Days are too long it’s felt like years” He gave you a sincere smile. “Hello Y/N”. You were a tad disappointed he’d forgotten your name but the way it rolled off his lips a few moments after made up for the whole mishap. An awkward silence filled the room and the air got thick with tension.

“Right! Dinners ready, so please, if you’d like to sit down”. Your uncle broke the tension.

———

During dinner you could feel Cillian’s eyes burning into your forehead, not use to the attention and unsure of what to do to avoid the awkwardness you didn’t dare look up to the man opposite you.

Suddenly, the metal knife had clacked onto the floor.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Cillian ducked beneath the table to retrieve his knife. After about 6 seconds of him underneath you crossed your legs in insecurity to the fact you wore a skirt, now exceptionally short as you sat down.

“You alright there?” Uncle Chris asked.

“Yep” Cillian said breathlessly. “Got it”. His face slightly red coming out from the table.

“Darling, would you be so kind to fetch our guest another knife please” Your uncle said to you pointing the fork full of food in your direction.

“Sure” you said and stood up, patting down your skirt as you made your way to the kitchen.

As you reached the cabinet you huffed as you grabbed a knife and slowly closed it as you turned around. As you turned, you squealed as Cillian was standing a near few feet away from you.

“God- you made me jump” you said holding one hand to your chest.

“Sorry” He chuckled and crossed his arms as he lent on the counter.

“Can I help with something?” You said in an attempt to break the thick tension your eye contact was creating.

“Your uncle” He pronounced each word slowly and deliberately “asked me to fetch a bottle red wine for us.”

“Ah, well it’ll be here” You turned around and tip toed as you reached upward to pick up the wine off the shelf above. After 10 seconds of struggling to reach it, hoping the man would help you, you suddenly felt a cold breeze under your skirt and heard Cillian groan. Finally reaching the bottle you turned around and found him staring at your legs.

“You know… you should really buy longer skirts.” He said getting up off the counter and closing the distance between you. “I could see the black lace you’re wearing when I went under the table. It’s incredibly inappropriate to be wearing close to nothing when you’ve got guests over” He reached his hand out and grabbed the red wine between you, placing his hand over yours on the bottle and pausing to stare down into your eyes.

You gulped at the contact and how he said the words in such a threatening tone.

“Um… sorry Mr.Murphy” You whispered.

He chuckled at your easy compliance. “Darling please, call me Cillian” He snatched the wine and made his way back out the kitchen. You stood there in shock, frozen, watching as he left to the dining table and feeling a pulse in your panties at the nickname he just called you.

—————

Finally, dinner was over and the small talk was done. The glances you and Cillian kept snatching at each other was starting to build a warmth in your stomach and cause a heat on your cheeks. You walked around the table picking up each plate and bringing it to the kitchen sink before placing the dishes down and starting the water. A couple minutes later, a large set of hands found themselves snaked around your waist, a hot breath fanning on your neck and causing to the stop moving in shock.

“Such a good girl, cleaning the dishes” You heard Cillian groan into your ear. His breath smelled like wine and you could tell he was a little tipsy from the slight slur of his words. His chest was breathing heavily and you felt him press himself harder against your back.

“Why’d you stop? The faster you get these dishes done the faster we can start the movie”. His words sent shivers down your spine, you hesitantly started scrubbing again and the force of you moving caused him to groan under his breath. He pressed himself further against you and you tried your best to keep scrubbing and ignoring the heat building between your thighs. Just then, his hips twitched and you could feel a hard prod in your back, his hands gripping further into your side. His boner was painfully obvious now, you could practically feel his entire length on your back and he felt so big, it caused you to squirm as you continued your chore.

“Mhm, you feel that?” His lips were now pressed against your neck, his breathing tickling your skin. “How old are you baby?” His hips pushed hard enough for your hips to bang into the counter, causing you to welp.

“I um- I’m 20” You said slightly turning your face to look into his eyes.

“Such a young thing” His hand tucked the hair behind your ear. “I told you this skirt was too short. M’ thinking about the way you’d look bent over this counter” Naturally, he started slightly grinding against you now, bending his knees down to get a feel for your ass on his erection. “You always look this sexy?” He said, moving his head backwards while still keeping his hands on your hips to see how he looked rubbing against you. “You always dress so slutty for men twice your age?” You lowered your chest a little to give him more room, snapping your neck back to look at him as seductively as you could.

“No, sir” You said placing the last dish down, reaching your hand up to turn off the tap. He caught sight of this and brought his chest up to your back, pressing his hard on even harsher into your rear end. You whimpered at the harshness of his movement and he groaned again at the fast friction.

“No, no. We wouldn’t want Uncle Chris hearing now would we?” You removed your hand off the tap and stayed still as he had you pressed over the counter. He lent back again and glued his eyes onto your ass, swirling his hips on your skirt and having his mouth fall open agape, eyebrows furrowed, as he grind on your ass. Suddenly, he pulled your hips back which caused you to be bent over even more. He harshly placed his boner onto the back of your folds as you felt his cock press into your mound.

“I bet this pussy would feel so good around my cock” He thought out loud, causing you to moan at the sudden friction on your clit. His pace was still agonisingly slow, yet still being able to flood your underwear with desire.

“Cillian! Y/N! You guys ready? I’m about to start the screening!” Your uncles voice didn’t make Cillian stop moving. In fact, he still continued to grind on you and even grabbed your ass and swung his head back.

“Yes, Chris! I’m coming” Cillian chuckled with his eyes squeezed shut, forcing one more hump into you before pulling back and grabbing his clothed erection. Hearing your uncles voice scared you, threw you back into the reality of the situation you were in. You swung yourself around and pressed your back against the counter as you pulled your skirt down.

“Don’t look so embarrassed sweetheart, I’m sure your uncle is used to all the Hollywood whores” He tucked his boner up into his waistband and covered his shirt over the top, chuckling as he turned and walked out the kitchen. Again, there you stood in the kitchen frozen as to what just happened.

———

In the living room, a second bottle of wine was opened and had 3 glasses on the coffee table waiting to be drunk from. Neither your uncle or Cillian had sat down yet, as they stood next to each other figuring out the TV screen. Your uncle’s voice was slurring and his ability to stand straight was weakening. Finally, he plopped himself down on one of the sofas as you sat on the one next to it, grabbing the fur blanket and placing it over you. As you sat closer to the end than the middle, Cillian placed himself in the small opening next to you on your right and the end of the sofa, your uncle too drunk to notice Cillian’s seating choice he pressed play and the film began.

“M’ a bit cold love, you mind sharing that?” Cillian said grabbing the blanket and sliding it over himself. Now with his crotch and hands covered, you sat anxiously next to him as the film began. This was of course too close for comfort considering what just happened in the kitchen and you felt almost intimidated by his presence, still feeling the warmth of his body next to you and having that scent you’ve been craving go up your nose you figured the situation could be a lot worse.

15 minutes into the film, you felt a strong warm grip snake around your thigh, you jumping up and squealing in surprise. Before Cillian could say anything, your uncle slowly turned around and looked at you.

“Whats that M’love? You okay?” He gave you a sincere smile.

“Uh, yes Uncle Chris. I’m okay” You tried to sincerely smile back. “Mhm, good” He turned his focus back onto the screen.

“Good girl” Cillian whispered in your direction, now having his body slightly turned to face you with his right hand on your thigh. Considering how loud the speakers were in the at home cinema, it didn’t surprise you that your uncle didn’t hear his comment.

His hand would occasionally grip your thigh at different strengths for the next few minutes, slowly moving more and more up in anticipation and desperation. Each time he would squeeze, you would slightly whimper at the contact and hear him groan at your reaction to his touch.

“Mmm, so soft. You like me touching your thigh?” He purred into your ear. You shot him a look with wide eyes at his louder comment and gulped a response. All you could do was shake your head yes.

“Lemme feel more” he grunted as he quickly shifted his hands up to your groin, his index finger resting above your folds. Of course, because the skirt was so short it had ridden up by now.

“So dirty, wearing practically nothing for me.” Cillian had fully shifted now and was facing you, pressing his finger harder onto your clit and slowly started to rub delicate circles.

“Fuck, already so wet” Your hips twitched up in response as you laid further back into the sofa, giving him more access, wanting him to touch more. His pace stayed steady under the blanket with a delicate touch as he twirled circles with the tip of his finger, watching your every reaction to his movements. Your brows furrowed and your breathing was inconsistent, persuading him to start to pick up his pace to watch you come undone.

“Are you already gonna cum? Here? In front of your uncle?” Shame had filled you from his actions and how well you were responding to them, feeling embarrassed from your arousal and eagerness to cum on his fingers right there.

“You two enjoying the film?” Your uncle said, not bothering to turn back as his eyes were slowly closing. Cillian continuing to rub on your soft spot as your uncle spoke, never diverting his attention off of you.

“I-uhm-yes” You choked on your words. The heat in between your thighs was growing unbearable, wanting to undo right then and there. It had been so long since you had any sexual encounter, so you were extra sensitive to this mans experienced touch.

“Mhm” Is all Cillian could say, his eyes still glued on you, fastening his pace.

He pulled his fingers back and you could feel your stomach drop, squirming on the sofa wanting to be touched again. Just then, he swiftly shifted your panties to the side as you laid further back.

“Spread your knees for me love” He grunted under his breath. Of course, you did as you were told.

His middle finger circled outside your opening, slightly dipping in to pick up some of your arousal before feeling the full length of your folds. He did this a few times before circling once or twice on your clit. As you sat in anticipation, twitching at each slight touch he was giving you, he would differentiate the pressure he was applying onto your sensitive parts causing you to whimper and grow frustrated. Your eyes started to tear at the lack of and pressure of contact you were receiving. If your uncle were to look over now it’d be beyond obvious what was happening but luckily, he was drifting off to sleep due to his consumption of the wine. You glanced at Cillian as his eyes were stuck on you, his finger slowly breaching your entrance and your eyebrows furrowing in reaction. He slowly pushed his finger all the way to his knuckle and in response your head fell back and hips twitched up.

“Did you really think I forgot that gorgeous name of yours?” He spoke as he pulled his finger out again.

“I haven’t been able to forget your face since I saw you” He grunted as he shoved his finger back into you, causing a slight whimper on your part. You held his hand that was quickening up it’s pace as it fucked you, curling his fingers to prod your sweet spot.

“So tight, honey. Have you never been touched like this before?” He was breathlessly whispering as his finger fucked at a turbo speed into you and curling his knuckle to make you squirm and moan under your breath. You couldn’t speak from the friction, if you did you’d wake your uncle up from how loud you’d scream. He pulled out and gently pushed in another finger, causing your head to turn away and cover your mouth from making any sounds.

“I wanna hear you baby, moan for me” He said, finding that pace again that had you building up a knot in your stomach. “C’mon, look at me. I’ve been wanting to hear that sweet voice of yours for months” He taunted you as his fingers stopped moving and focused on aggressively curling them into you. All you could do was look at him for a split second before your eyes rolled back and you let out a small squeak, scared to even breath from how loud you wanted to scream around him.

“Mhm, that’s it” Your walls started to clench around him as you felt yourself building up. “You look so sexy like this” he praised.

“Cill-oh fuck- I’m cumming” You mustered. You said this possibly too loud while shifting aggressively in your seat and you couldn’t keep still, Cillian strong enough to keep you grounded with his fingers inside you and his face following your movements.

“Such a good girl. Cum for me” He praised you. Removing the blanket to see the damage he was doing, but still blocking your parts from your uncles view, he groaned at the sight of his fingers attacking your pussy, watching as you squirted slightly around his knuckles. Grunting at the sight beneath him, he fastened his pace and even moaned himself at the pleasure he was giving you. One of your hands was fisted into the pillow next to you and the other was around your mouth, muffling your sounds. The room filled with wet noises, which you hadn’t noticed in the state of your orgasm. Cillian grunted at himself as he felt you squeeze around him and squirt onto the sofa and blanket, not slowing down his pace as he shifted closer to you.

“Oh fuck- yes- just like that” Cillian whispered as he peered his head down to watch your pussy as you came.

Your head flung back and your eyes squeezed, shaking violently as the rush came over you. You felt a wave of cool fall from your head to your stomach as you finished right there and then, in front of your sleeping uncle, onto Cillian’s hand. He continued pumping in and out of you till you rode out your high, slowing down to give you time to recover. He pulled his fingers out and laid back to look at you with his fingers in the air.

“Suck” he commanded. You shifted carefully, still in a state of euphoria, and grabbed his hands and placed the two fingers in your mouth. You sucked them as seductively as you could as your tongue twirled around them. You’d never tasted yourself before, it was an odd taste as you weren’t use to it but still sucked his fingers clean of any of your liquid. As you pulled his fingers out of your mouth, you glanced down and saw a tent in his pants pointing directly at you. He chuckled as he looked down at his erection through his pants and grabbed it.

“Would you like to see it?” He asked, watching you carefully as he began to palm himself through his pants. All you could do was nod your head yes.

“Say it- I need to hear you say it” He was already breathless as he started picking up the pace that he was palming himself at.

“I want to see it” You said quietly. He nodded at you in encouragement.

“I want to see your cock” the words felt filthy but completely right.

Cillian moaned deeply as his head swung back, still grabbing at himself through his pants. Without looking back up, he grabbed your much smaller hand and placed it onto his boner and pressed your hand down in a signal to start petting him too. You watched in awe as your hand wrapped around his size, slowing moving your hand up and down as you watched his reaction to your touch.

“Take it out-I-I need to feel you” He said, eyes still shut as he struggled to get his words out through his breaths.

You did as you were told and unzipped his pants, he raised his hips to help you push his pants to his thighs and he raised his jumper higher onto his stomach, giving you a view of his cock through his underwear. After groping his size through the thin material a few times, his head swung down to look at your actions as his eyebrows were knitted together and his mouth open ajar. He gave a loud huff and groaned back at his impatience and you saw his adams apples bob as he swallowed.

“You’re so big Mr.Murphy” You whispered.

“Fuck- don’t call me that” He said in a grunt.

“Why? Does it turn you on?” You felt his cock twitch in your hand at your comment. He gave a fake cry and shifted his hips up in anticipation. “Y/N, please. Touch my cock” His eyes teary as they looked at you. Before continuing, you gazed back at your asleep uncle, making sure he was still out cold before continuing.

You pulled his cock out of his underwear and it sprung out onto his stomach. Lifting his jumper even higher to make sure it didn’t touch his tip, he watched as you grabbed him again in your hand and slowing started to pump at his tip. His head was already red and leaking precum down the sides of his shaft and twitched at any small friction you gave him. He groaned slightly at your touch and you began to pump faster, spreading the bead of white across his top with your thumb, causing his hips to twitch and he moaned at the touch.

“Does it feel good Mr.Murphy?” You asked innocently.

“Fuck-y/n” he said breathlessly through his teeth as he gripped your arm. “Use your mouth”

You stopped moving your wrist and looked at him through your swollen eyes, watching him lay next to you in vulnerability and desperate for more.

“Ask me properly” You grinned, his eyes now full of lust.

He reached up and grabbed your throat and gripped it till his knuckles turned white “I said, use your mouth” Although his grip was tight around your neck, you still smiled in pleasure and even felt yourself pulse at the sensation. He let go and you laid on your stomach next to him, still holding his length in your hand. Slowly, your mouth reached over and sucked his tip slightly, twirling your tongue around his head as you tasted the slightly salty substance spread on your palette. He groaned at the sensation and his head fell back. His hand left the side of the sofa and found it’s way intertwined through your hair, gripping tightly at your scalp as you began to take him in further down your throat.

“Oh fuck- just like that” he breathlessly said, snapping his head up to watch as you bopped your head around him. You looked at him through your damp lashes as you struggled to reach his base, beginning to gag as your nose tickled on his public hair. His expressions were encouraging you to go further as his eyes squeezed and he groaned through the small opening of his mouth, twitching his hips up and forcibly pulling your head further into him. Using your hand to wrap around the part you couldn’t fit into your mouth, his eyes fell open and looked to down at you in a face of exhaustion and desperation, his eyes seemingly heavy and dazed.

“Such a good girl, taking me so well” He praised. You could only muffle out sounds as his shaft filled your throat.

You pulled him out and moved your tongue onto his balls, twirling and sucking them while stroking his cock with your hand. The sudden movement caused him to twitch in your hand as his legs started to tremble.

“Oh my god-yes” He moaned out, gripping onto your hair tighter as his head sunk further down into the couch and his back started to arch.

Once you’d given his balls the attention they deserved, you moved your mouth back onto his length and starting bobbing your head at a fast pace, hollowing out your mouth and filling the room with suction noise.

“Fuck-keep going, I’m about to cum” He edged you on. Suddenly the point of being quiet was out the window, the walls had echoed his violent moans as they bounced throughout the house and he held your throat in place as the warm liquid shot down your throat. His head had pulled back and his hips had lifted off the couch, his grip was rough in your hair and his groans were deafening. He snapped his neck up and watched as the black mascara smudged down your crying eyes and drool had formed at the sides of your mouth, feeling the heat of him coat the walls in your throat.

After the moans had subsided and his grip lessened on your hair, you began to slowly bob your head around him again, watching as he winced in sensitivity from his orgasm. He pulled your head up and chuckled at the mess you had become. Suddenly, he pushed your head towards his and placed a wet, open mouth kiss onto yours, shoving his tongue in and twirling it against yours.

You sat back and for the first time in 40 minutes actually paid attention to the screen. He laid there with the softening cock out as he panted and caught his breath, occasionally looking over at you and petting your hair.

“I should come round more often” he said sincerely as he twirled your hair in between his fingers.

“I’d like that” You blushed.

“Next time I’ll have you cumming around my cock instead” for the words he was speaking, he did look incredibly sweet doing so.

A cough from your uncle had disrupted the moment, Cillian quickly pulling his pants up and getting under the blanket as he did before. Your uncle rubbed his eyes and sat up, turning towards the pair of you.

“Sorry, I dozed off there- hope I didn’t miss much” He said groggily.

“Nope, not too much. The film is fantastic” Cillian said earnestly. God, he was such a good actor.

“You two haven’t drank your wine! Come on, finish up” Your uncle laughed.

The pair of you lent forward and picked up your glasses, the three of you cheering to the movie night in.

[risingoftime]

ECHOES OF THE MIND | POOLVERINE X F!READER | CHAPTER TWO

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From your vantage point on the balcony, the world appeared distant and intimately close. The cigarette in your hand, its ember glowing softly, was a ritual, a brief escape from the whirlwind of thoughts and memories that swirled within you.

You often found solace in these moments of stillness, where the city’s rhythm became a backdrop to your internal landscape. The city, with its bustling streets and towering buildings, was both a friend and a stranger. Growing up in foster care had left you with a fragmented sense of belonging, and the cigarette was a small anchor in a sea of uncertainty. Each drag was a pause, a breath amid a life that had often spiralled out of control. Your search for solace was a constant, a thread woven through the fabric of your life.

Despite the challenges of growing up in the system, shuttling in and out of foster care, you remained resilient. The absence of a family, the mystery of your origins, and the note your mother left behind were all obstacles you faced with determination. You refused to let these circumstances define you.

The note your mother left behind was a stark reminder of your beginnings, a solitary piece of paper with just a name—a name that had been both a gift and a burden. It was a marker of your existence, but it had never been more than a name to you, a label without the context of a family or a past. This struggle with your identity was a close companion, a weight that you carried with you every day. When your gifts first made their presence known at the age of eleven, you naively thought that you were cursed, evil in a way. But as you grew, you learned to accept and understand your unique abilities, and in doing so, you found a sense of reconciliation within yourself. No one’s been your knight in shining armour. 

Now, it's just you and Amera. Amera, your loyal friend, has been by your side for as long as you can remember.  It feels as though fate intervened to keep you together because you were blessed to remain by each other’s side regardless of the tumbles and jumbles that came with being in the system. Her presence has been a source of comfort and strength, a reminder that you are not alone. She made life tolerable. As you approached the age of eighteen, the looming threat of being cast out into the world became all too real. They were forced to jump between shelters that were filled with misplaced characters who struggled with mental health, addictions, or both. 

It wasn’t until you had grown fed up with the uncertainties that you decided to take things into your own hands. The world had been unfair and harsh towards you, so you figured it wouldn’t matter how you would tip the scale to your favour. The apartment that you and Amera occupied had been a steal, literally. Amera didn’t know how you pulled it off; at barely twenty-one, you lacked the financial means typically required to secure a two-bedroom apartment in the bustling core of New York City. No one would’ve rented to two young girls with only their high school degrees and part-time minimum-wage jobs. From the moment you set your sights on that apartment, you began weaving a careful narrative to implant in his mind. You spoke confidently about your ability to pay rent, highlighting your financial stability and reliability. You were adept at using your power to play with the landlord’s mind, subtly assuring him of your dependability without stating it outright. And it worked. 

Years later, your ability continues to solidify your place within the building. You hadn’t had to pay rent since entering the apartment. Some minds were more docile than others. But with practice, no one’s consciousness was unmalleable given the right amount of force and will. Logan was the first to prove that theory wrong. 

“I thought you said that you quit.” A voice emerged from behind you, causing you to jump. 

“It’s my last pack,” you countered. 

“So you say,” Amera responded with a laugh. She joined you on the balcony with her mug, knowing it was green tea in contrast to your black instant coffee. Her long red curls wildly framed her freckled face, and her glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She resembled a quirky librarian. Amera sat beside you and continued, “I’m surprised you are up this early; I was just getting ready for my clinical rotation.” She’s in the last year of her nursing program. When she told you about her ambition to go into healthcare, you had convinced her to go forward with it, and you’d “take care” of the rent. Amera remained unaware of how you managed this acquisition. You suspected that Amera thought you did sex work on the side to afford your lifestyle. 

Although you loved Amera dearly, you had never trusted anyone enough to expose your mutant identity, not since you had first discovered what you were truly capable of. 

The presence of mutants is not widely accepted in society; there has been increasing news coverage about the need to control x-gene humans. It wasn’t lost on you that the incident with Logan last night may have left you exposed.  

“Hello?” Amera waved her hand in front of your face, taking you out of your daze. “You okay? It was like your mind went to a different planet.” Her brows were furrowed as she analyzed your face.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you replied, shaking off the lingering unease. “I just didn’t sleep well last night. I got in late from the bar 'cause Wade was fucking around instead of helping me close.” You rolled your eyes as you recounted Wade’s words of wisdom. Amera raised her eyebrows at that. 

“Wade again, huh? I swear that guy’s more trouble than he’s worth. I swear to God, if he’s the reason you’ve been more on edge lately–”

You shrugged, attempting to brush off her concern. “Tell me about it. It’s just been a hectic week, that’s all. It’s nothing I can’t handle, I promise.” you grumbled before taking another pull of your cigarette. 

Amera studied you for a moment, her concern evident. “If you need to talk about it…” 

“Thanks, Amy. You know I always bounce back eventually, but we can talk later when it’s not 5 in the morning.” You appreciated her offer; it was just like her wanting to shield you away from the pain of the world, but you weren’t ready to tell her the truth. And a part of you was unsure if you ever would be. 

She nodded, accepting your answer. “Well, I’m off to my rotation. If you need anything, text me. And maybe try to get some rest. You look like you could use it.” As Amera left, you took a moment to gather your thoughts. Her concern was genuine, but you couldn’t afford to let anyone see your vulnerabilities, especially not with the increasing scrutiny on mutants and the recent incident with Logan weighing heavily on your mind. 

Your thoughts raced as you recounted last night. Logan’s reaction had been unsettling. It was a rare occurrence, and it left you questioning whether your abilities were waning or if something about Logan made him particularly impervious. Is it possible that he was a mutant as well? You hadn’t met another person like yourself before, but of course, he might have had the ability to be unaffected by the powers of others– a walking shield of some sort. If that were the case, then you wouldn’t have to worry. Both of you would be on the same page. You’re delusional. It wasn’t as if you could assume that the man had supernatural abilities, nor was there a safe way to weasel the information out of him without explicitly exposing yourself. 

The hesitation in his demeanour proved it feasible to get ahold of his mind. He seemed intrigued but ultimately chose to leave. That was the issue; Logan could still choose to listen to your persuasion. If you possessed the gift of reading minds, you probably wouldn’t have lost as much sleep over this. Perhaps it was time to reassess your approach. Taking a deep breath, you resolved to keep a low profile and act as if yesterday hadn’t happened. The second best thing to your power of persuasion and thought projection was gaslighting. Deny and repeat. It was the best option until you could find a way to convince Peter to switch your schedule. You’d learned to play the role of a cheerful bartender well, and now it was time to use those skills to deflect any probing questions. You would need to be more cautious, especially with the growing risks associated with using your powers. The last thing you needed was for someone to become suspicious, or worse, to attract unwanted attention. You’ve gotten comfortable before, but as you've gotten older, blaming your ability to get your way on luck was no longer an option. It was time to be more vigilant. 

You had spent the day cleaning around the apartment and picking at the leftovers Amera had left for you. Your body was fidgeting, and it was impossible to sit still whenever you were nervous. Glancing at the time, it was best that you began to get ready before you were late for your closing shift at the bar. You studied your reflection, noting the weariness etched into your features. Amera was right. You needed to get some rest. Coffee and cigarettes weren’t doing your appearance any favours. By the time you were done applying your makeup, no one would suspect a thing. It was days like today; you’re grateful to wear a uniform. It made preparing for work that much easier. Female bartenders at Whiskey Whispers must wear the navy blue logo shirt that is snug and form-fitting with a low v-cut to compliment your blooming cleavage. They were accompanied by high-waisted black shorts that cut across your ass, making you appear more shapely than you were. It was a bit more revealing than you’d typically dress, but it was what brought in the tips. Throwing on a matching tracksuit to cover up, you grabbed your bag to head out for the subway. 

Walking towards the bar, you recognized him instantly. Logan leaned against the brick beside the back entrance of Whiskey Whispers with a cigar in his mouth. He wore a leather jacket with a white wife-beater underneath and his staple Levi jeans. His hair was dishevelled, and it took all your willpower not to stare. He shouldn’t be here, not at this time. Logan usually came for a drink closer to dusk. His presence didn’t allow enough time for you to think. Quickly, you steeled your mind and remembered your plan of laying low. Picking up your pace, if you got inside the back office before you could be followed, surely everything would be fine. It wouldn’t be odd not to greet him since you weren’t clocked to work yet. 

Oh, how you were wrong. Logan’s arm shot out to block the door with record speed. His sudden movement stopped you in your tracks, and you could hear your heart race as you faced the impenetrable barrier of his muscular forearm. The two of you were so close that you could inhale the heavy smoke emitted from his cigar. “Not so fast, princess.” Logan’s tone of voice was brusque but not wholly rude. He had more significant intentions than just catching up for a drink. 

You licked your lips to maintain your composure as if your mouth hadn't almost run dry. “Excuse me, Logan,” you forced your words to come out casually. I need to get settled before my shift.” Logan didn’t move an inch. His gaze felt like he was attempting to burn a hole through your eyes—steady and focused. 

He took a slow and significant drag from his cigar before exhaling the smoke to curl around his chest. “No problem, I just have a few questions. I promise it won't take long; we need to chat.” This wasn’t what you had anticipated. You fought the urge to panic. However, you knew how to handle this, stay calm and keep the conversation as short and sweet as possible. You could feel the presence of your powers stirring awake beneath the tranquil facade that you have shown. It wasn't safe to rely on them in a volatile situation like this in the public eye. 

“Questions about what? Can’t it wait? I have to get inside before I'm late.” Your voice was steady as you feigned impatience toward the man, hoping he’d get the hint. Logan pondered what you had stated and huffed, “Alright, let’s just talk, then.” He yanked the back door open, leaving little space for you to shimmy through. “After you, princess.” 

The back office was dimly lit, with lockers for workers to stash their things and old furniture that threatened to prick you with its tetanus-infected springs. The air smelled stale, and the AC hummed in the background. You needed to talk with Peter about getting the back door key card scanner fixed to avoid situations like this. Anyone could’ve entered through; the only reason no one has bothered is because of Wade’s unstable ass, some of the patrons started a rumour he got a hard-on from the thought of punching things. 

Yet, that didn’t halt Logan’s determination to get a solid answer from you. His eyes narrowed as you set your things inside the locker and began to unzip your sweater to reveal the scandalous shirt. Logan hadn’t taken care of your appearance previously; he rarely kept this much eye contact in a short period. However, now he studied your every move. 

“You know, I’ve been around for a while and seen my share of weird shit. And after last night, I think you’re not exactly who you seem to be,” he stated.

“Not sure what you’re getting at, Logan. I’m just a bartender, trying to make a living.” You rolled your eyes at him for extra effect. 

Logan flicked the ash of his cigar on the tiled floor before returning it to his lips. “Cut the crap. I know you’ve been hiding something.  You’ve got a way of making people do what you want, right?” The way that he posed the question alluded to the fact that he may have already known the answer. You were on your last resort. 

“Do you hear yourself? You’re imagining things. Maybe you had one too many drinks last night. I might need to start cutting you off earlier in the night.” You forced a laugh, but it sounded fake, a bit too high-pitched to sound genuine. 

Logan leant forward to be eye-level with you. You could feel his breath on your skin and couldn’t control your heart pounding. You began to break out in a sweat. Logan’s mannerisms were on the verge of being unhinged; behind his stone-cold brown eyes lay a wild side of him waiting to be unleashed. His voice was low and steady as he spoke, “I’ve dealt with enough mind games to spot a telepath when I see one. So, let’s skip pussyfooting and get to the point. What’s your deal?”

You stared back at him and remained still, although your instincts were screaming to run in the opposite direction, or worse, utilize your power with all your might to make him forget last night had ever happened. “And what if I told you that you’re wrong? What if I said I’m just good at reading people?” You gazed up at Logan through your lashes, trying to gauge his body language.

“I could hear your heart beating out of your chest. Am I making you nervous? I assure you I’m not here to play games. I know what I felt. You were messing with my head, trying to influence my decisions. You don’t do that without some kind of power.” 

Fuck. You balled your hands together in frustration and cursed under your breath. Logan wasn’t going to drop it. “So if you’re convinced I'm a mutant, why not report me? Instead, you chose to harass me at work personally.” 

“I want to know who else knows about this. I don’t want any surprises. If you’re involved in something bigger, I need to know where I stand. You get me?” Logan replied without hesitation. 

Ah, it began to make sense. He was worried about his safety, a secret of his own. “You’re a mutant,” you said, taking a step back, your voice steady but sharp. “You’re not exactly a stranger to mutant abilities, are you? I can sense something in you—something hidden behind that tough exterior. Maybe that’s why I was so drawn to you.”

Logan’s expression shifted, surprise flickering in his eyes before his face hardened again. “Don’t try to flip this onto me.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” you retorted, your annoyance bubbling to the surface. “You’ve got that same intensity, that same ‘I’ve-seen-some-shit’ look that comes with being more than just a regular person. Maybe you’re trying to intimidate me to keep your abilities under wraps. Who else has tried to get into that head of yours?”

And for a moment, the tension between you was almost palpable. “I don’t know what you think you’re seeing, but if you’re making accusations, you better have something more concrete than your gut feelings.” He didn’t care to confirm or deny your question. 

“Logan, you might not be ready to admit it, but you’re hiding something,” you said, jabbing your index finger against his firm chest and feeling a surge of defiant energy. “And if you’re going to question me, maybe it’s time you looked in the mirror and confronted your own truths before someone discovers it for you.” You knew you were getting ahead of yourself, and your patience was thinning. 

He grabbed your hand and held it rigidly. “You think you know what you’re talking about, huh? Just remember that you can’t access my brain. I'm immune to you and your wiles.” His tone sounded like a threat.  He let go of your hand for it to fall lifelessly to your side. As Logan turned and walked away, the room seemed to settle into a heavy silence. You were left uneasy that the confrontation had only scratched the surface of deeper, more complicated truths.

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[blueskittlesart]

Okay, I'm curious cause I've only played Wind Waker, and BotW/TotK: Why is Link sometimes left-handed, sometimes right-handed? I assume it's because of possible motion controls, and not a Lore Reason.

He was definitively left-handed up until they started putting out games on the wii, barring a few anomalies like flipped sprites (there's like one sprite in NES loz where he's got the sword in his right hand) and oot 3d master quest (the entire game is mirrored.) I've heard a few reasons for this, including miyamoto being left-handed and a left-handed sword swing looking better from most angles for the original 2d sprites, but to my knowledge we don't have an official reason as to why this was the general rule. up until botw the answer for the right-hand switch was definitively motion controls--both skyward sword and the wii version of tp would flip depending on the hand the player uses. (I know that in the gamecube version of tp he was always left-handed but I don't have sksw HD so I'm not sure which hand he uses by default with button controls. he's drawn right-handed in pretty much all promo art for that game tho.) However, botw didn't have motion control options but still went with a right-handed link. there are a few potential explanations for that--I wouldn't be surprised if they were toying with the idea of a motion-controlled sword swing early on since the switch does have that capability but ended up scrapping it in the dev process, but it's also entirely possible that since they'd been working with a (predominantly) right-handed link for their 2 most recent home console releases they just. didnt bother switching back. lmfao.

from a lore standpoint though my personal headcanon/theory/whatever you want to call it is that botw link is right handed because that's what's expected of him. Botw link is a character who is very very very conscious of peoples' perceptions of him and the expectations on his shoulders; it's arguably one of his most defining traits pre-memory-loss. When you picture a soldier, you picture the sword in their right hand. I don't think that it's a deliberate CHOICE in-universe to use his right hand, but i do think that being left-handed has the potential to give someone pause when talking about him, which is something that botw link can't have. Nothing can be even slightly out of the ordinary with him, because if it is it's something for the gossip-hungry public to latch onto. (I don't necessarily think that a left-handed link would have been more or less scrutinized in this context than a right-handed one, but being left-handed would have definitely been something of note, especially in the context of a swordsman, and link's whole thing in this game is that he really doesn't want people scrutinizing him any more than they already are.) In this sense, his being right-handed sort of affirms this picture-perfect image he's attempting to project, which is important in the context of the rest of the game. Again, there's no proof that this is actually the reasoning behind the decision, but I personally think the decision to make him right-handed for botw was a good one. I also like that eow went back to left-handed link tho! It's cool that we're getting variety and I think it'd be interesting if they started playing with that difference more in the future beyond just the necessity of hand-switching for motion controls.

[sixeyescurseuser]

Imagine teachers Goge. First years Yuji and Nobara have just enrolled and they only know Gojo as “Gojo-sensei.”

Then they meet Geto-sensei who is in charge of the second years but handles a lot of the first years’ classroom lessons.

Geto-sensei keeps referring to a “Satoru” as if Nobara and Yuuji should know who that is?? 🤔

“I know this is a lot of information to memorize, but trust me that diligent studying with methods that work for you will help you tremendously on your exams,” Geto explains. “Not all of us can learn all of this from a young age like Satoru. Lord knows he’s also been gifted photographic memory.”

Megumi sighs dramatically.

Nobara is focused on her phone and Yuji is nodding like he actually understands these "Satoru" references.

It’s partially Gojo’s fault because he just introduced himself as “Gojo-sensei” and partially Geto’s fault because he assumed the new students knew Satoru was their Gojo-sensei…😭

One time, Geto’s phone rings and he quietly answers it: “What is it, Satoru?”

Oh, context clues! Yuji and Nobara at least know their Geto-sensei seems to be close to this Satoru.

Are they…??

Is Geto-sensei in a relationship?

Nobara brings it up to Gojo on one of their missions.

“Gojo-sensei, is Geto-sensei in a relationship?” She asks.

Gojo visibly glitches, choking on a piece of daifuku. Nobara and Yuji give him puppy eyes, pleading for an answer, while Megumi has gone MIA.

Gojo: “What makes you ask that?”

Nobara: “Believe it or not, Geto-sensei is quite a catch! He’s very well-spoken and polite. Super knowledgeable, handsome, and also a special grade! Who wouldn’t jump at a chance for a piece of that?”

Megumi: “Hold on-“

Gojo: “Interesting observations-“

Yuji jumps in: “Yeah yeah! But we also think he’s taken! Erm, well, he always mentions a ‘Satoru.’ Maybe that’s the name of his girlfriend?”

Megumi, under his breath: “A guy’s name?”

Gojo lasts about five seconds before he bursts into uncontrollable laughter.

Gojo: “How scandalous of Geto-sensei! Oh ho, a girlfriend indeed…You know, with news as groundbreaking as this, I believe you should ask him yourself. Get the nitty gritty details and all that.”

Yuji and Nobara: 🫡🫡

The next class period, before Geto can even rattle off the introduction to their lesson, Nobara’s hand shoots up into the air.

“Geto-sensei, I have an extremely dire question that cannot wait!”

Clearly taken aback, Geto holds his spot in their textbook with his finger on the page.

“Yes, Kugisaki?”

“Do you have a girlfriend? And if yes, is it this Satoru person you keep mentioning?” Nobara asks.

“I- excuse my language, but what the hell?” Geto blurts out, snapping the textbook shut. “Are you serious?”

Nobara snaps out a “How dare you think I’m never serious!” while Yuji comes in as back up.

“As serious as Fushiguro takes his academics, Geto-sensei! We recognize that you are a very attractive and capable adult, and hypothesized that the ‘Satoru’ you keep bringing up must be your girlfriend.”

Nobara nods along.

Megumi is trying to melt into the ground.

“We don’t mean to offend you, sensei. Just an honest question,” Yuji finishes. He then stands up and bows 90° for damage control.

Geto: “Okay guys, I hate to disappoint but I’m not answering this right now. Moving on to our lesson, which is what we’re all here for…”

After class, Yuji and Nobara are a bit bummed because they did exactly what Gojo-sensei suggested and they were left with nothing. No confirmation or denial. No answer at all.

Megumi has gone back to his room, leaving the other two first years to their own shenanigans.

Having had enough of classroom thinking for awhile, Yuji and Nobara decide to get some last-minute training in.

Except by the time they get to the training fields, they see two people already sparring like their lives depended on it - causing quite a ruckus.

It’s Gojo-sensei and Geto-sensei!

They’re so busy fighting that they don’t notice Nobara and Yuji, who quickly hide behind a tree.

Geto-sensei is yelling at Gojo-sensei too, something about putting dumb ideas into their students heads? And spreading false rumors ?

Finally, Geto-sensei manages to pin Gojo-sensei down in their hand-to-hand combat.

Geto sits on top of Gojo’s abdomen, restraining Gojo’s wrists to the ground. It’s here he leans down to boldly slip off Gojo’s blindfold, revealing bright blue crystalline eyes.

“You owe me, Satoru. Dinner’s on you tonight.”

Gojo just laughs, loud and happy, and says: “Fine. Whatever my dear Suguru wishes.”

He wiggles one of his hands free to tug Geto down by the nape, and their lips press together in a passionate kiss.

***

TBC

w/ @no-one-says-hi

[janaem]

clay

just a reminder that the “___” is either your name or your crush’s name depending on the context

   [4:45 pm]

your crush decided to take you to your first ever private ceramics class. it was a beautiful autumn day and you both wore cozy outfits for comfort purposes. 

you two were taught how to make a small and plump vase--well you were being taught--your crush, on the other hand, had months of experience with pottery making. you couldn’t help but perceive in envy, while being on your third attempt of centering the fresh ball of clay that was crisp in your dampened hands.

you added water, pressed your elbows as tightly to you body as you could, biting your lip so hard it was sure to bleed in any moment, and hugged your finger as tightly around the mound as possible. unfortunately for you, the clay spun off and flew smack dab in the middle of your apron, your elbows splashed lightly with clay spots.

although you seemed calm on the outside, you couldn’t help but bite your tongue in frustration, your blood boiling throughout your body as you tore the mess from your apron.

you abruptly stood up about to put the wet heap of clay in the used clay bin, until you felt your crush’s hand tap you lightly. 

you immediately averted your eyes to him, and to the two freshly sculpted clay vases that sat flawlessly on his platter. was he fucking serious right now?  

his eyes gazed upon your subtly agitated expression. One thing you loved about ___ was how quickly he could read you like a book.

“___, sit down, i’ll get you a fresh one.” he said softly turning off their wheel whilst half struggling to get the mess from your hands. he stood up and walked over to the bin and tossed the old clay in and got some freshly cut clay from a counter by a large window. 

still standing, you couldn’t help but gaze upon his sunkissed figure as worked away with cutting away at the fresh block of clay whilst weighing it on a scale, adding and removing chunks if the weight wasn’t ideal. 

from afar he looked like an angel in the clouds of heaven crafting a new and mysterious creation.

it didn’t take them long before he was headed your way, the rays of sunlight trickling from each window that painted him with beautiful oranges and yellows.

his lightened eyes never left yours as he nodded his head, motioning you to sit. 

you do so, and after a brief moment of silence, you hear another chair scoot behind yours, immediately feeling the warmth of another body against your back.

you opened your mouth to say something, until ___ traces his fingers slowly across your forearm, while his other hand places the clay mound onto your wheel. warmth caresses your inner being, your heart rate increasing gradually once you felt the side of his face graze your ear. 

“just relax and let me guide you.” he reassures softly. 

your body goes limp, as if you were being taken under the care of a guardian angel. something about ___’s voice automatically relaxed you, and you certainly couldn’t say no now.

“press the peddle,” ___ directed, gently pushing your body forwards with his, “remember, lean forward and press your elbows against your torso...”

the wheel started to spin s you hesitantly pressed down on the peddle. both of ___hands were over yours now, the warmth and stability of his arms making you practically melt under their touch. 

you observed quietly as ___ helped mold your hands to center the clay properly, it was like teaching a kid how to ride a bike for the first time, only ___ was guiding you with his gently yet firm hands, directing your palms in whatever position needed. he  frequently reaches over by the jar of water and add it to the clay to avoid stickiness. 

moments later, ___ moves his hands up and gently slides his thumb across yours so that you both were pushing down onto the peak of the clay, which was caving in as it formed a whole. the tingling sensation in your stomach intensified as you felt his thumbs on your own, pushing and pushing further until you nearly reached the bottom of a now bowl shaped piece. how were ___’s fingers so light in such a difficult process?

“you’re doing good, ___, just a few more steps.” he said against your neck and you couldn’t help but sigh as they slide their fingertips up to your wrists reassuringly. his cool minty breath tickling the skin under your ear.

you nod absentmindedly, but you were focused on was the way  ___’s body caged yours, how his arms caged your smaller ones, and the way his hands guided yours with occasional massages from his thumbs. the contact alone instantly made you go feral, but you were sure good at hiding it. 

___’s  voice snaps you out of your sweet and savory trance, “i’m gonna let go now, just work your hands up like a showed you.”

you had no idea what they were talking about but your hands moved on their own. even though your hands felt feel empty without theirs, you could still feel him. 

well, he was still touching you, his hands glided across your arms and down to your waist, giving you a small squeeze, he was still leaned against you mumbling an occasional “mmhm” or a  “just like that”.

your mind was in two places at once, the magic work of your hands on the clay and the feeling of ___’s hands slyly moving up and down your waist as a way to calm you. this truly was a beautiful feeling, and you took in every second of it as his hands also made their way to your center, feeling you heart beat against your ribs. 

“your heart is beating so fast.” he commented with a small chuckle in the end.

“the clay is making me nervous, ___” you lied with small smile spreading across your face.

___ shook his head, “yeah, totally,” he the suddenly removes his hands from your stomach and onto your thighs, giving them a light tap, “stop the wheel.”

you pressed you heel against the elevated peddle, putting the wheel to a complete halt. 

you and ___ starred at the glistening vase before your eyes.

___wraps his arms around you tightly, waves of laughter rippled in between the both of you as you took in this moment of achievement. 

“you did it ___.” he whispered against your ear before planting a kiss on your temple.

[novaenocyon]

We need a Wonderlandian word for Princess! Help me out...

As someone who loves the idea of there being a Wonderlandian language (or at the very least, a pseudo-language) that they speak in throughout the Underland, I think there needs to be a word for "princess".

I mean, just think about it---Red is always calling Chloe 'princess' and 'boo', so Chloe needs something to call her as well! And I mean, I know Bridget's title 'Queen of Hearts' is more an ode to her whole cards theme, and she's actually the Empress of Wonderland. While that would make Red an heiress more than a princess, I still think there would a word for it! Plus, Ella might have called Bridget by this term at some point, so it can be used in that way too.

If you look below the cut, there's a few words I've collected (some are canon within the Alice In Wonderland world, others are my own ideas which you can feel free to nab and use yourself). Use those as inspiration and use those beautiful brains so we can think of something cute for Chloe to use to refer to Red as!

I also have a hell of a lot more hc ideas so @ me or reblog this if you want more (BEG FOR IT MWAHAHA /j)

• Regions ~ Witzend (Hatter Land, mountainous), Queast (a brimful land to the East), Snud (Southern land, home to Grampus Blues/Trotter's Bottom), Salazen Grum (aka Desert of Crims), The Tulgey Wood (Tove/Jabberwocky/Jubjub /Bandersnatch territory), Gummer Slough (viscously muddy swamp), Iplam (SW near Tulgey), Caterpillar Bush (within Cheshire domain, near Iplam), Bramble Bay (on the other side of Tulgey Wood), Looking Glass Mountain, Vorpal Mountain, 

• Language (Outlandish) ~ Tulgey (Twisty), Wanderer/Wonderer (Any Wonderlandian visiting Auradon), Futterwacken (joyous dance), Futterwack (one who is excitable) Brillig (almost supper; a time), Ezel (all that way; "You want to go up ezel?"), Fairfarren (farewell), Frumious (filthy/smelly), Gallymongers (crazy), Guddler (theif), Guddlegud (grabby hands; nickname) Gyre (spin), Klotchyn (Listen up), Mimsy (flimsy & miserable), Noge (get/go down), Nunz (not yet), Orgal (to the left), Stang (to the right), Outgribe (bellowing whistley sneeze), Saganistute (sage/astute person), Scut (vulgar word for butt), Slithy (lithe/slimy), Yadder (past/beyond), Zounder (behind/behind you), "Naught for usal" (no use in it), "Slurking urpal slackush scrum" (bad word of the most worst meaning), Temmut/Temnut (hero), Temsil (liberator), Gordazzlous (gorgeous/dazzling), Futtertitilles (butterflies), Titilleskips (palpitations of the heart), Titiller (flirt), Crims (grasp/hold or center/heart depending on context), Gnasher/Gnawer (Social terms for fanged Wonderlandians that act differently during teething season; One tears things to ease the ache in their gums, the other prefers to gently hold things in their mouth), Chumbler (A durable & bulky teether for gnashers), Grawnib (A delicate & intricate teether for gnawers), blockspade (blockade), 

• Plants ~ Prank Rafflesia (long tendrils, hangs people upside down), Fluttneb nuts (an unusually unimpressive nut with a sweet, caramel center), Nerghumfop poppies (explode with a sticky red dust), Pippernuttle (vibrant & colorful sticky-burrs), Besifentuc root (an ingredient in the WL fever medicine), Chawgritt trees (Grow in the Crims of Salazar Grum; Shed tough, high-nutrience bark that is often used in teethers),

Also a little extra thing, here's a little idea dump on the different card types:

~ Hearts = Status, (telethesia*) ~|~ Diamonds = Protection, (invulnerability) ~|~ Spades = Influence, (teleportation) ~|~ Clubs = Labor, (telekinesis)

*telethesia = the ability to know that something has happened or is in a place without the use of the five main senses. This can be used to slightly predict an outcome or stay in touch with Wonderland when on the surface (Auradon), often in the form of calls or a looking glass.

[secretmellowblog]

Les Mis French History Timeline: all the context you need to know to understand Les Mis

Here is a simple timeline of French history as it relates to events in Les Miserables, and to the context of Les Mis's publication! A post like this would’ve really helped me four years ago, when I knew very little about 1830s France or the goals of Les Amis, so I’m making it now that I have the information to share! ^_^

This post will be split into 4 sections: a quick overview of important terms, the history before the novel that’s important to the character's backstories, the history during the novel, and then the history relevant to the 1848-onward circumstances of Hugo’s life and the novel’s publication. 

Part 1: Overview 

The novel takes place in the aftermath of the Battle of Waterloo, during a period called the Restoration. 

The ancient monarchy was overthrown during the French Revolution. After a series of political struggles the revolutionary government was eventually replaced by an empire under Napoleon. Then Napoleon was defeated and sent into exile— but then he briefly came back and seized power for one hundred days—! and then he was defeated yet again for good at the battle of Waterloo in 1815.

After all that political turmoil, kings have been "restored" to the throne of France. The novel begins right as this Restoration begins.

The major political parties important to generally understanding Les Mis (Wildly Oversimplified) are Republicans, Liberals, Bonapartists, and Royalists. It’s worth noting that all these ‘party terms’ changed in meaning/goals over time depending on which type of government was in power. In general though, and just for the sake of reading Les Mis:

 Republicans want a Republic, where people elect their leaders democratically— they’re the very left wing progressive ones, and are heavily outcast/censored/policed. Les Amis are Republicans.

Liberals: we don’t have time to go into it, but I don’t think there are any characters in Les Mis defined by their liberalism.

Bonapartists are followers of Napoleon Bonaparte I, who led the Empire. Many viewed the Emperor as more favorable or progressive to them than a king would be. Georges Pontmercy is a Bonapartist, as is Pere Fauchelevent. 

Royalists believe in the divine right of Kings; they’re conservative. Someone who is extremely royalist to the point of wanting basically no limits on the king’s power at all are called “Ultraroyalists” or “ultra.” Marius’s conservative grandfather Gillenromand is an ultra royalist.  Hugo is also very concerned with criticizing the "Great Man of History," the view that history is pushed forward by the actions of a handful of special great men like kings and emperors. Les Mis aims to focus on the common masses of people who push history forward instead.

Part 2: Timeline of History involved in characters’ Backstories

1789– the March on the bastille/ the beginning of the original French Revolution. A young Myriel, who is then a shallow married aristocrat, flees the country. His family is badly hurt by the Revolution. His wife dies in exile.

1793– Louis XVI is found guilty of committing treason and sentenced to death. The Conventionist G—, the old revolutionary who Myriel talks to, votes against the death of the king. 

1795:  the Directory rules France. Throughout much of the revolution, including this period, the country is undergoing “dechristianization” policies. Fantine is born at this time. Because the church is not in power as a result of dechristianization, Fantine is unbaptized and has no record of a legal given name, instead going by the nickname Fantine (“enfantine,” childlike.)

1795: The Revolutionary government becomes more conservative. Jean Valjean is arrested. 

1804: Napoleon officially crowns himself Emperor of France. the Revolution’s dream of a Republic is dead for a bit.  At this time, Myriel returns from his exile and settles down in the provinces of France to work as a humble priest. Then he visits Paris and makes a snarky comment to Napoleon, and Napoleon finds him so witty that he appoints him Bishop.

Part 3: the novel actually begins 

1815: Napoleon is defeated at the Battle of Waterloo by the allied nations of Britain and Prussia. Read Hugo’s take on that in the Waterloo Digression! He gets a lot of facts wrong, but that’s Hugo for you.

Marius’s father, Baron Pontmercy, nearly dies on the battlefield. Thenardier steals his belongings. 

After Napoleon is defeated, a king is restored to the throne— Louis XVIII, of the House of Bourbon, the ancient royal house that ruled France before the Revolution. In order to ensure that Louis XVIII stays on the throne, the nations of Britian, Prussia, and Russia, send soldiers occupy France. So France is, during the early events of the novel, being occupied by foreign soldiers. This is part of why there are so many references to soldiers on the streets and garrisons and barracks throughout the early portions of the novel. The occupation officially ended in 1818.

1815 (a few months after Waterloo): Jean Valjean is released from prison and walks down the road to Digne, the very same road Napoleon charged down during his last attempt to seize power. Many of the inns he passes by are run by people advertising their connections to Napoleon. Symbolically Valjean is the poor man returning from exile into France, just as Napoleon was the Great Man briefly returning from exile during the 100 days, or King Louis XVIII is the Great King returning from exile to a restored throne.

  1817: The Year 1817, which Hugo has a whole chapter-digression about. Louis XVIII  of the House of Bourbon is on the throne. Fantine, “the nameless child of the Directory,”  is abandoned by Tholomyes. 

1821: Napoleon dies in exile. 

1825:  King Louis XVIII dies. Charles X takes the throne. While Louis XVIII was willing to compromise, Charles X is a far more conservative ultra-royalist. He attempts to bring back something like the Pre-Revolution style of monarchy. 

Underground resistance groups, including Republican groups like Les Amis, plot against him.  

1827-1828: Georges Pontmercy, bonapartist veteran of Waterloo, dies. Marius, who has been growing up with his abusive Ultra-royalist grandfather and mindlessly repeating his ultra-royalist politics, learns how much his father loved him. He becomes a democratic Bonapartist. 

Marius is a little bit late to everything though. He shouts “long live the Emperor!” Even though Napoleon died in 1821 and insults his grandfather by telling him “down with that hog Louis XVIII” even though Louis XVIII has been dead since 1825. He’s a little confused but he’s got the spirit. 

Marius leaves his grandfather to live on his own. 

1830: “The July Revolution,” also known as the “Three Glorious Days” or  “the Second French Revolution.” Rebels built barricades and successfully forced Charles X out of power.

Unfortunately, TL;DR moderate politicians prevented the creation of a Republic and instead installed another more politically progressive king — Louis-Philippe, of the house of Orleans. 

Louis-Philippe was a relative of the royal family, had lived  in poverty for a time, and described himself as “the citizen-king.” Hugo’s take on him is that he was a good man, but being a king is inherently evil; monarchy is a bad system even if a “good” dictator is on the throne.

The shadow of 1830 is important to Les Mis, and there’s even a whole digression about it in “A Few Pages of History,” a digression most people adapting the novel have clearly skipped. Les Amis would’ve probably been involved in it....though interestingly, only Gavroche and maybe Enjolras are explicitly confirmed to have been there, Gavroche telling Enjolras he participated “when we had that dispute with Charles X.”

Sadly we're following Marius (not Les Amis) in 1830. Hugo mentions that Marius is always too busy thinking to actually participate in political movements. He notes that Marius was pleased by 1830 because he thinks it is a sign of progress, but that he was too dreamy to be involved in it. 

1831: in “A Few Pages of History” Hugo describes the various ways Republican groups were plotting what what would later become the June Rebellion– the way resistance groups had underground meetings, spread propaganda with pamphlets, smuggled in gunpowder, etc. 

Spring of 1832: there is a massive pandemic of cholera in Paris that exacerbates existing tensions. Marius is described as too distracted by love to notice all the people dying of cholera. 

June 1st, 1832: General Lamarque, a member of parliament often critical of the monarchy, dies of cholera. 

June 5th and 6th, 1832: the June Rebellion of 1832:

Republicans, students, and workers attempt to overthrow the monarchy, and finally get a democratic Republic For Real This Time. The rebellion is violently crushed by the National Guard.

Enjolras was partially inspired by Charles Jeanne, who led the barricades at Saint-Merry. 

Part 4: the context of Les Mis’s publication 

February 1848: a successful revolution finally overthrows King Louis Philippe. A younger Victor Hugo, who was appointed a peer of France by Louis-Philippe, is then elected as a representative of Paris in the provisional revolutionary government.

June 1848: This is a lot, and it’s a thing even Hugo’s biographers often gloss over, because it’s a horrific moral failure/complexity of Hugo’s that is completely at odds with the sort of politics he later became known for. The short summary is that in June 1848 there was a working-class rebellion against new labor laws/forced conscription, and Victor Hugo was on the “wrong side of the barricades” working with the government to violently suppress the rebels. To quote from this source:

Much to the disappointment of his supporters, in [Victor Hugo’s] first speech in the national assembly he went after the ateliers or national workshops, which had been a major demand of the workers. Two days later the workshops were closed, workers under twenty-five were conscripted and the rest sent to the countryside. It was a “political purge” and a declaration of war on the Parisian working class that set into motion the June Days, or the second revolution of 1848—an uprising lauded by Marx as one of the first workers’ revolutions. As the barricades went up in Paris, Hugo was tragically on the wrong side. On June 24 the national assembly declared a state of siege with Hugo’s support. Hugo would then sink to a new political low. He was chosen as one of sixty representatives “to go and inform the insurgents that a state of siege existed and that Cavaignac [the officer who had led the suppression of the June revolt] was in control.” With an express mission “to stop the spilling of blood,” Hugo took up arms against the workers of Paris. Thus, Hugo, voice of the voiceless and hero of workers, helped to violently suppress a rebellion led by people whom he in many ways supported—and many of whom supported him. With twisted logic and an even more twisted conscience, Hugo fought and risked his life to crush the June insurrection.

There is an otherwise baffling chapter in Les Mis titled "The Charybdis of the Faubourg Saint Antoine and the Scylla of the Fauborg Du Temple," where Hugo goes on a digression about June of 1848. Hugo contrasts June of 1848 with other rebellions, and insists that the June 1848 Rebellion was Wrong and Different. It is a strangely anti-rebellion classist chapter that feels discordant with the rest of the book. This is because it is Hugo's effort to (indirectly) address criticisms people had of his own involvement in June 1848, and to justify why he believed crushing that rebellion with so much force was necessary. The chapter is often misused to say that Hugo was "anti-violent-rebellion all the time" (which he wasn't) or that "rebellion is bad” is the message of Les Mis (which it isn't) ........but in reality the chapter is about Hugo attempting to justify his own past actions to the reader and to himself, actions which many people on his side of the political spectrum considered a betrayal. He couldn't really have written a novel about the politics of barricades without addressing his actions in June 1848, and he addressed them by attempting to justify them, and he attempted to justify them with a lot of deeply questionable rhetoric. 1848 is a lot, and I don't fully understand all the context yet-- but that general context is necessary to understand why the chapter is even in the novel. Late 1848/1849: Quoting from the earlier source again:

In the wake of the revolution, Hugo tried to make sense of the events of 1848. He tried to straddle the growing polarization between, on the one hand, “the party of order,” which coalesced around Napoleon’s nephew Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte, who in December 1848 had been elected France’s president under a new constitution, and the “party of movement” (or radical Left) that, in the aftermath of 1848, had made considerable advances. In this climate, as Hugo increasingly spoke out, and faced opposition and repression himself, he was radicalized and turned to the Left for support against the tyranny and “barbarism” he saw in the government of Louis Napoleon. The “point of no return” came in 1849. Hugo became one of the loudest and most prominent voices of opposition to Louis Napoleon. In his final and most famous insult to Napoleon, he asked: “Just because we had Napoleon le Grand [Napoleon the Great], do we have to have Napoleon le petit [Napoleon the small]?” Immune from punishment because of his role in the government, Bonaparte retaliated by shutting down Hugo’s newspaper and arresting both his sons.

Thenardier is possibly meant to be Hugo’s caricature of Louis-Napoleon/Napoleon III. He is “Napoleon the small,” an opportunistic scumbag leeching off the legacy of Waterloo and Napoleon to give himself some respectability. He is a metaphorical ‘graverobber of Waterloo’ who has all of Napoleon’s dictatorial pettiness without any of his redeeming qualities.

It’s also worth noting that Marius is Victor “Marie” Hugo’s self-insert. Hugo’s politics changed wildly over time. Like Marius he was a royalist when was young. And like Marius, he looked up to Napoleon and to Napoleon III, before his views of them were shattered. This is reflected in the way Marius has complicated feelings of loyalty to his father (who’s very connected to the original Napoleon I) and to Thenardier (who’s arguably an analogue for Napoleon IiI.)

1851: 

On December 2, 1851, Louis Napoleon launched his coup, suspending the republic’s constitution he had sworn to uphold. The National Assembly was occupied by troops. Hugo responded by trying to rally people to the barricades to defend Paris against Napoleon’s seizure of power. Protesters were met with brutal repression.  Under increasing threat to his own life, with both of his sons in jail and his death falsely announced, Hugo finally left Paris.  He ultimately ended up on the island of Guernsey where he spent much of the next eighteen years and where he would write the bulk of Les Misérables. It was from here that his most radical and political work was smuggled into France.

Hugo arguably did some of his most important political work after being exiled. In Guernsey, he aided with resistance against the regime of Napoleon III. Hugo’s popularity with the masses also meant that his exile was massive news, and a thing all readers of Les Miserables would’ve been deeply familiar with.

This is why there are so many bits of Les Mis where the narrator nostalgically reflects on how much they wish they were in Paris again —these parts are very political; readers would’ve picked up that this was Victor Hugo reflecting on he cruelty of his own exile.  

1862-1863: Les Mis is published. It is a barely-veiled call to action against the government of Napoleon III, written about the June Rebellion instead of the current regime partially in order to dodge the censorship laws at the time.

Conservatives despise the book and call it the death of civilization and a dangerous rebellious evil godless text that encourages them to feel bad for the stupid evil criminal rebel poors and etc etc etc– (see @psalm22-6 ‘s excellent translations of the ancient conservative reviews)-- but the novel sells very well. Expressing  approval or disapproval of the book is considered inherently political, but fortunately it remains unbanned. 

…And that’s it! An ocean of basic historical context about Les Mis!

If anyone has any corrections  or additions they would like to make, feel free to add them! I have researched to the best of my ability, but I don’t pretend to be perfect. I also recommend listening to the Siecle podcast, which covers the events of the Bourbon Restoration starting at the Battle of Waterloo, if you're interested in learning more about the period!

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Pyrite - Chapter 1: Gold Crown

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader.

Chapter Summary: During your first week as the Queen's handmaid, you overhear something you shouldn't have.

Warnings: Discussions of death, grief, abortion, and scheming. None of those happen to reader.

A/N: Alysanne Targaryen, you feminist icon. Mostly context.

As you walk towards the Queen's chambers, you fight a yawn. Despite the excitement you feel, you are still tired, unused to waking up as early as this.

So far, you have led the life of a girl. Playing around the gardens with the other children, running errands for your mother. But today, your life will change. You will go from girl to woman.

Today will be one of the most important days of your existence. The only other event that could surpass it will be the day you finally meet the lady you will serve.

It's a labor of love, your mother says. To serve faithfully next to a Queen is to be strong and loyal, but most of all, loving. You will get to know all her secrets, only you will see her bared body, and all its imperfections. You will learn to love this woman as if she were your little sister, for you will be the only one to know her as she is. Past the crown and the jewels, and down to the very mortal flesh that a Targaryen Queen has.

The Red Keep is where your family has served for generations. Your grandmother is full of tales about the cruelty of King Maegor, and his various wives. Your mother has served Queen Alysanne faithfully, ever since both of them were mere girls. You come from a lineage of handmaidens, born to serve the greatest Queens Westeros has ever seen.

In your family, being born a girl is a blessing. When a boy is born, the family weeps for the opportunity lost. Your mother had been the only girl out of her siblings, and now you, an only child, get to learn her trade.

One of your earliest memories comes with being taught to read and write. A handmaiden must know all the recipes for beauty, and create her own. Never for embellishing herself, but rather her lady. Every woman in your family keeps her own book, tailored to the lady she serves. As a child, you dreamed of the day you would be handed your own journal, and today is the day it will finally happen.

You will get to meet Queen Alysanne today. She is the most loved and kind Queen your family has served. Your mother has always spoken highly of her, telling tales of her beauty and grace.

Her story is the story all little girls dream of living. She had married for love, defying her family, and ended up being the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She had it all, once. Riches, beauty and a loving family. But as of late, you know her life has not been the fairy tale it used to be.

One of her sons, Prince Aemon, passed away a few years ago. The loss of her daughter had made the Queen even sadder and morose, and now, her other son was rumored to be running himself ragged with the responsibilities that came with being Hand. He worked so much, his health was debilitating.

The Queen walked around the Red Keep as if in a stupor. Your mother said that she had left her changed. No longer, the Queen had a thirst for life, nor did she care much about anything. The only thing that had broken her out of her sadness had been the fact that her granddaughter, Rhaenys, had been declared unfit to be heir to the Iron Throne.

“If your Grace truly believes that women lack the wit to rule, plainly you have no further need of me.” The Queen had said to the King, that time. Everyone found her words so surprising, but not you. Your mother had always said she was a champion for women, noble and commoners alike.

The succession issue was not only the royal's, but yours too. On it depended whom you would serve, which Queen you would tend to for the rest of your days.

Prince Aemon left only one heir. Princess Rhaenys, a beautiful woman who inherited her father's eyes. It should be her who should be Queen, your mother says. It's only right. But she has already been passed over already, the King declared Prince Baelor his heir. Now Prince Baelor is weakening, and the issue resurfaces again.

You think that Princess Rhaenys would make for an interesting lady. She is married already and she has a young son. She would be the first Queen in her own right in the history of Westeros and that would make you at least noteworthy to your family history.

The other option is Prince Viserys. Prince Viserys is said to be peaceful and not very gifted with the sword. That's alright, though. He has a brother to do that for him. Prince Viserys is married to a young girl, around your age. Princess Aemma. They are said to love each other very much, despite having married as children. To her, you could be an older sister, you think. She is said to be very kind and royal, despite being an Arryn by birth.

Both of them have their advantages. Prince Viserys would no doubt bring stability, but Princess Rhaenys would implement changes that would surely benefit women.

It would be exciting to be part of such changes. Your mother always remembers fondly her first days as Queen Alysanne’s handmaiden, when she had convinced her husband to abolish First Night. A terrible northern custom that hurt people like you.

It had made waves, your mother had said. The Lords had not wanted to abolish it. But Queen Alysanne had interfered and saved thousands of young girls just like you.

It's difficult to think of the weak old woman laying on her bed as that same fierce Queen. You are allowed in her rooms at sunrise, with your mother and your journal. You watch as she prepares the room to rise her lady, and you sit quietly with the Queen's jewels on your hands and neck. It's one of your new duties, to warm them for your lady.

She looks frail, sleeping between the covers. Aged. Your mother draws the curtains of the room open. In the morning light, antiques and silks shine like jewels. It's ostentatious, and it makes you sick. Only the gowns in this room could feed three or four families for a year.

“It won't be long before now.” Your mother whispers to you. She opens the door and picks up a tray. On it, sits a grapefruit cut in half, eggs, tea, and bread. Your stomach growls. It smells heavenly. Your mother places it on the vanity where you sit, warming your Queen's seat and jewels. It's the worst kind of torture. Your stomach hurts with hunger and you think of your breakfast, a cup of broth that was heavily diluted with water.

As predicted, the Queen slowly starts to stir. She moves, long silver braid whipping around. She has very thin hair, and you wonder how your mother makes up for it. Your journal is ready to note down any tricks she deems to share. You are supposed to note times and other useful things for when the time comes for you to have a lady of your own.

“Good morning, my Queen.” Your mother curtsies, and you hurry to do the same.

“You brought your daughter.” The Queen rasps, eyes still cloudy with sleep. “Come closer.”

Your mothers urges you forward. You obey, unable to believe such an esteemed lady would want to look at you.

“You are a pretty thing.” The Queen says, brushing your cheekbone with her thumb. You lower your eyes, not wanting to offend her by gawking at her. Queen Alyssane's hands are like nothing you've ever felt before, made of the softest velvet. She has never worked a day in her life and it shows. Your mother's hands and yours feel rough by comparison. “Are you married yet?”

“No, my Queen. I wish to settle into my duties first.” You answer, demurely.

“Your duties.” She smiles. “You are a good girl.” Then, to your mother. “I suppose it's not only Rhaenys’s future at stakes, isn't it?”

“It seems like it, my Queen.” Your mother exchanges a look with the Queen. You would never dare gaze upon her like that, but they share a bond after so many years together. Almost a friendship. Or the closest thing to one that a commoner can have with a noble.

“Well. Hopefully, things will speed up soon. I doubt I have many years left, and Jaehaerys…” The distress can be heard in her tone. It makes you feel sad, too. What must it be like to love someone your entire life, and then being parted from them? If you had been in love with someone since you were a child, you wouldn't know how to live without them. It was that fear what had kept the Queen abed. After losing so much, she was afraid to lose even more.

Even if you were not a noble lady, that was a motivation you could understand. Losing your family would devastate you. Fear of it happening again would paralyze you too.

“The King will live longer, your Grace. There is no need to worry.” You said, softly. You weren't too sure it was your place to say so, but your mother's encouraging nod seemed to approve.

“Isn't it? When he insists on her not being Queen. He would rather bypass her rights again instead of naming her Queen.” The Queen said, sharply. Suddenly, she was sitting up straighter on her bed, eyes blazing with fury

“I do not presume to know the King's…” You tried to appease her, but she only became angrier.

“Do you not think it's a sign? Baelor will soon be struck down. I know it. His son is not fit to be King. Rhaenys can rule as well as any man, and she has her husband's support. He rides a dragon too. She also has a strong heir. Why would be Viserys be better?”

“The Lords would…” Your mother interjected, trying to save you from her wrath.

“A cock. He has a cock, and the Lords do too. It is time I show them it doesn't mean what they all think it means.”

And suddenly, Queen Alyssane was alive once more. She got up from her bed and started barking orders to her maidens, you included.

Your mother rushed to clothe her, draping silks over her. The Queen threw them all away, reaching instead for a black dress.

“Get me a quill, girl.” She screamed. “And summon Ser Otto. We have much to talk about.”

So you did. Everyone knew Ser Otto. He was the younger brother of Lord Hightower, and one of the most trusted men in the council. Tall and haughty, he did not take kindly to being summoned in such a way. But once he had a private meeting with Queen Alysanne, his mood greatly improved.

Many more meetings began to take place in the Queen's chambers. Another man had been asked to come and see her. Corlys Velaryon. The Queen said, loudly, that it was about him retaking his position as Master of Ships, but you could tell that was not it.

There was nothing to back your suspicions, though. You were not privy to what happened inside the Queen's chambers, and you only knew so much because you had been tasked with reading outloud her pending tasks each morning.

It was only when Queen Alysanne sent you to pick up some meat pies from the tavern she enjoyed that your suspicions were confirmed.

With your basket and borrowed gold from the Queen, you had gone to the tavern most highborn enjoyed. It was not a real tavern, in your opinion. You had been to a couple of those, with other serving girls and stable boys. Lowborn like you were not allowed here, just as they weren't allowed in the expensive pleasure houses of the Street of Silks. There was no explicit prohibition, but the prices said it all.

What it was, was a good imitation, for young lords to pretend to be having the real experience, and feel adventurous. It was also a good place for seedy meetings among the highborn.

You were making the queue towards the counter to purchase the meat pies, overpriced and made with much better ingredients than any tavern grub when you heard them.

“And you have a daughter, right?”

“A newborn. Alicent.”

At first, you didn't pay much attention, letting the conversation drift over you. It contained nothing out of the ordinary. Just a new father bragging.

“Alicent is a pretty name. Queen Alicent.”

“Laenor is…”

“Barely a few years older than her.”

But then, you realized. You knew those voices! They belonged to the men who often met with the Queen. The one with silver hair was Lord Corlys Velaryon, and he was the husband of Princess Rhaenys. The other one, you could tell, was Ser Otto. There was a third man with them, that you did not recognize. He wore a hood over his head.

“It has a certain ring to it, Hightower.” Lord Corlys laughed.

“We have to move quickly. Before the news spread.” The unknown man said.

“News?” Ser Otto asked, frowning.

“Aemma is pregnant. I fear, if she manages to carry to term, some might prefer Viserys over Rhaenys. If she births a boy…” Lord Corlys grimaced.

“A line of Kings, uninterrupted.” Ser Otto grimaced too.

“She will not birth a boy.” The other man said.

“We can't be too sure about that.”

“I should leave. I have to meet with the Queen in half an hour.” Lord Corlys got up and walked out, passing near you. He spoke the truth. You had read so this morning, on the Queen's itinerary. You tried hard to look very focused on counting your gold coins, despite the Queen having handed you the exact amount.

The silence stretched. Now, you could not hear them as clearly, but you were curious. So you stepped a bit closer and asked the cashier to warm your meat pies, trying to hear more.

“Make sure she does not give birth to a boy.” Ser Otto ordered.

“Trust me. She won't even announce it. I will make sure of it.” The hooded man's voice had a dangerous edge to it.

“We can't have threats to Princess Rhaenys around.”

“And future Queen Alicent, either.” The hooded man replied, his tone turning more teasing. You wondered who this Alicent was, and how they planned to place her on the throne. You did not know any Targaryen by that name.

“That, too. You will be rewarded handsomely, of course.” Ser Otto’s reputation did not indicate him to be humorous, but there was a hint of mirth in his words that could not be faked. He was pleased by the exchange.

“I would like to be Maester of the Red Keep, I think.”

One of the men laughed. The cashier knocked the counter in front of you, annoyed. He was handing you the heated meat pies, and expecting his gold. You paid him without a word. And as you walked towards the exit, bundled pies under your arm, you heard them toast.

“Hear, hear. To Grandmaester Mellos and Otto Hightower, Lord Hand.”

“And baby Queen Alicent.”

“And baby Queen Alicent.”

Your walk back to the castle was troubled. You were smart enough to know the implications of their talk. Did the Queen know? Considering they were meeting outside the Red Keep, it was doubtful. Besides, it didn't fit with what you knew about her. She may have disagreed with the succession, but she would never hurt her granddaughter.

Corlys Velaryon had left before the discussion took place. While as ruthless as his companions, the others seemed wary of involving him. Perhaps because, if the plan was discovered, it would affect Princess Rhaenys claim.

Your mind was racing. You had to tell someone. They were talking about murdering a babe not yet born! Would the Queen believe you? You knew her enough to know that she would not hurt you for speaking, but you doubted she would heed your warning. Instead, she would go straight to Ser Otto. A lowborn girl’s word against the word of a Maester and one of her advisors? The joke told itself.

Your other option was telling the Lord Hand. But Lord Baelor scared you. He was deeply protective of his children after the death of his wife. You didn't know him enough to know he wouldn't murder the messenger.

But you could not keep the memory tucked away either. It burned at you, when you were brushing the Queen's hair. When you were bathing. When you were attempting to fall asleep.

The hooded man said that Princess Aemma would not even get to announce it. Your time was running out. You had to do something.

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #13] Work of Art

warnings: jaykay discovers boobs! we rejoice! wahooo!! okay so this entire chapter is basically titty worship (no titty sucking (sad)). lots of paint. curious art. shower (again) mutual masturbation (for realsies this time) jaykayyy aka my dream man. the chess plot device is born! the mirror kink is also born! WE THRIVE!! Still one of my fave chapters, some would argue we peaked early!!

soundtrack: vibez- zayn

wc: 11.8k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

"Why did you write it like that?"

"Like what?" you say, coming to sit beside Jeongguk at a pair of easels towards the back of the room. The last few tasks were carried out by the pair of you, Jeongguk insisting on helping despite the fact he had no clue really what to do. You'd ended up asking him to move a couple of boxes you couldn't reach just to appease his need to lend a hand.

He looks at your bird once more, and holds it open for you to read again. You knock your head to the side and shrug.

"Guess it's just how I feel about it."

"Like screaming?"

"Kind of," you laugh. It's written in just the same way as the last one - full capital letters, zero context, and more exclamation points than any one person should use. "I guess it's like... a big one for me?"

"How big are we talking?" Jeongguk asks as he looks at it again. It's just a single word, but he knows there's more to it than meets the eye. There always is with you.

You pull one of your feet up to the chair and wrap your arms around your knee. The apron you'd been wearing earlier is up on a hook, and Jeongguk finds the simplicity of your outfit all very intriguing. You're monochromatic, which isn't much of a surprise, in a large white shirt and black slacks. The caps of your hightops peek out from the hem of your trousers, and a satin scrunchie is around your wrist instead of in your hair.

You're lacking a little sparkle. There's still some across your lashline, and little specks on your skin that your makeup remover hadn't managed to get, but what with the paint and the two showers you've had since the paint party, there's really not all that much left.

He wonders if there's any glitter glue in the art supplies. Thinks you should just use that instead. You're really not quite yourself without it.

"My ex was a tittie guy," you say, and Jeongguk's eyes widen as if he'd forgotten the topic of conversation. You laugh. "Is it really that much of a surprise? Ass guys are hardly gonna go for me."

"Your ass is fine," Jeongguk says. He means it as a compliment, but realises 'fine' isn't the way to ever really describe a woman's assets - and so he corrects himself. "Good, I mean. Your ass is good."

There's a look of disgust on your face as you question why on earth he's been looking at your ass, which causes him to roll his eyes. There really is no winning with you.

"I'm an ass guy," he shrugs.

"Doesn't give you any right to look at it."

"Oh give over," he laughs. "It's literally just a body part. No different to me looking at, I don't know... your wrist. Something like that."

"Well, it depends," you argue back. "Are you into wrists?"

Regretfully, the answer is yes .

"I don't know!" Jeongguk protests when you grill him for how the fuck he can be 'into' wrists. "They're just dainty! And pretty! I don't know! It's not my fault."

You narrow your eyes, and hide your exposed wrist behind your knee. He looks at you with a poorly hidden smile, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. His lip ring always dances along his peachy bottom lip when he does so, and it makes you laugh - but you're still feigning disgust.

In all honestly, you like your wrists. Would put them in your top five for your physical attributes. Completely understand why he would be into wrists, just like you're into forearms. You like arms that feel safe.

Kind of like his.

But still, he's an ass guy.

"See, this is why you and I would never work," you tell him, and nod to the piece of paper he's still holding, adorned with a singular scribble:

!!!!! TITS !!!!!

"We want different things," you clarify. "You're after a good ass, I'm after a guy who knows how to handle a pair of tits."

"Hey! That's not fair. I never said I didn't know how to handle them," he scoffs - although now he comes to think about it, he's not sure he actually does. "Like, sure, maybe my exes have all had great asses, but they all had a pair of tits, too. I'm not opposed to a pair of tits."

"Yeah, but there's a pair of tits, and a pair of tits , yanno?" You say, using your hands to really emphasise the point. "Anyway my ex really liked them."

"So?"

"So, I really liked that he really liked them," you shrug. It's painfully obvious to you, but Jeongguk is still a little confused. "I just... The idea of someone else doing what he did to them just... makes me wanna run, yanno?"

"The fuck did he do them?" Jeongguk laughs.

"Nothing obscene," you smile, though when you think about it, perhaps 'obscene' is the only way to describe how much he enjoyed them. "I guess it's more so that it was always a part of sex? Most guys I've been with pick and choose whenever they want to deal with them, but with him..."

You don't mean to trail off, but fuck. You're thinking about Seokjin, how his plump lips would trail down your throat. He'd inhale the scent of your perfume and fucking whine, only stopping to latch himself to your nipples. Would spend more time on your tits than he would any other part of your body. Spent so long once that he made you orgasm from the simulation of it all alone.

And so now they're off limits. It doesn't matter who it is. The second someone reaches for your bra, you shake your head, reposition their hands, and pretend you hate your tits being touched. It's not like it's an unreasonable lie. You know it's one of Danbi's least favourite forms of foreplay. If anything, she'd be a good match for Jeongguk. In fact, now you come to think about it, she's got a cracking ass from all of her dog-walking.

Maybe you should cool the deal off. It's highly likely they're compatible. Fucking around with Jeongguk would only complicate things in the future if they discovered that themselves - but you know Taehyung's interested in her, and Jeongguk hasn't given any indication of interest further than friendship with her.

It's not like this is anything beyond friendship, you reason with yourself.

Jeongguk stays quiet as you work through your thought process. Assumes you're skimming through traumatic memories. Doesn't realise you're actually playing matchmaker in your head for him and your best friend.

"But with him?" He asks.

You're drawn from your thoughts. Feel a little guilty. Wonder if you should really be doing this - not for your sake, but for his.

"Are you sure about this?" You ask, ignoring his question entirely.

"About?"

"Doing my birds?"

He purses his lips - and now he feels guilty, too. Funny, how you're both more concerned about one another than yourselves.

"It's entirely your choice," he says. Doesn't want you to feel pressured into it - but it just makes you feel like he feels pressured into it.

"No, but, that just feels to me as if you don't want to," you tell him. "And like, that's totally fine, if you don't, but-"

"Byeol," he says all rather plainly. "I'm the one who suggested it. If I didn't want to I wouldn't be here right now, would I? I sought you out. I came here. This is all on me."

The worry on your features softens, and he's pleased to see you smile again no matter how subtle it may be.

"Only thing I will say is that I don't actually know what 'exclamation point, exclamation point, exclamation point, exclamation point, exclamation point, tits, excla-' "

"Gguk, you don't have to say every single exclamation point."

"Right," he nods. "Well, that. I don't know what that exactly entails."

And truth be told, nor do you. So you just sigh. Press your lips together a little tighter than usual. Think about it for a moment. Draw a blank. Furrow your brows.

Jeongguk looks just as perplexed as you. He's looking away, trying to find inspiration in the room around him - and when his eyes land on the 'gallery' wall where there are imitations of famous works, an idea comes to mind.

"So this is all about separating physical acts from emotional intimacy, right?" He says, and when you nod, he continues. "So what if we do something that involves-" he laughs, because he's a child. "-touching your tits-"

"Real mature."

"Shut up. We'll do something that involves touching your tits," he has to pause so that he doesn't laugh, but you're grinning too. Just as immature as he is. "But something that isn't sexual at all."

"Alright," you muse. "I'm listening."

"You got any black paint?"

You narrow your eyes. Turn your nose up a little. Question if he's lost all of his brain cells. "Jeongguk, this is an art cafe."

"I didn't wanna just assume," he feigns offence. "Are there security cameras in this place?"

"Only by the front entrance. None into the studio area."

"Okay, good. Go get some black paint and I'll get the blinds."

"No blinds," you say, nodding over the windows. "Chiffon curtains. If we turn the main lights off and just keep the lamps on, it should all be obscured. Let's just... not be too close to the windows - and what's the paint for?"

"Will tell you in a bit," he says as he heads to the windows. "Chop, chop, Byeol. We've got a fear to overcome."

You stay as you are for a moment, watching him with unrivalled wonder. There's an enigmatic energy to him that makes it seem as if he's the one constantly covered in glitter, not you. It's quite alarming that this is Jeongguk operating at half capacity. His confidence was knocked quite considerably after his heart was broken, and he's yet to recover. You know this. Know that's what his birds are all about. Know that once you've worked through them with him, he'll be an unstoppable force of nature.

In the time you've known him, he's been nothing but an angel. Cocky? Yes. A little petulant? Make that incredibly petulant. And yet he's a joy to be around. Shines without the need for artificial sparkles. You envy it. Wish you could emulate it.

It's as you're getting the paint, and a few extra supplies that you'll figure you'll need - some brushes, some washcloths - that Jeongguk begins to explain himself. He's drawing the curtains shut, glancing over at you every few words just to check you're paying attention.

"So I saw a video the other day - something to do with easy Halloween crafts, don't ask - and there are two options for you. One of them is quite literally painting your tits and pressing it against a canvas-"

"You are not painting my tits."

"Noted. The other one was way more family-friendly," he says, before he mulls it over and changes his mind. "Kinda. Maybe. It's a skeleton hand shirt."

"Okay..."

"It's super simple, one person covers their hands in paint and basically just grabs the other persons tits-"

"Does that mean I can grab yours too?"

"I don't have tits, I have incredibly defined pecks," he states rather sharply. "Please rephrase the question, Byeol."

You just grin. "Can I grab your tits?"

"No."

"Boring."

"Look," he smiles as he walks over to the easels where you'd been sat before. He turns the chair and sits on it backwards, arms resting over the back of it. There's a casualness to the way in which he carries himself. One that you quite enjoy. "This is a quick, easy and totally platonic way for you to have your tits touched, and it not be sexual at all."

"It'll just ruin my shirt."

"Or not," he says as he nods up to the wall where canvas sizes are displayed. There's also a plain tote bag and white tee pinned to the wall, still up from a promotion put on during the back-to-school season. It had been Hoseok's job to take them down, but he'd just broken up with his girlfriend at the time and had spent the entire week face down in the back room - getting him to do anything had been impossible - and so they remain as they were. "Would your boss notice if one went missing?"

You shake your head. Your boss really has no clue about the day-to-day goings on.

Still, you're hesitant. "If I get fired-"

"Then I'll fire Yeonjun and you can have his job," Jeongguk bullshits. If he was gonna fire anyone, Yeonjun would be the last to go. "C'mon, you gotta stop stressing the small stuff, Byeol."

You're making excuses. You know you are, and so does he.

"Can we at least do it at your place?" You ask. It feels rude to invite yourself to his apartment, but it's honestly probably where you feel most comfortable. It's where the birds are, and it feels like a sanctuary for your fears. When done in the confines of his room, you're able to shut them away and never think about them again - at least not until you return.

Jeongguk thinks it over. He's got no problem with it, just isn't sure if Jimin is in. He tells you as such and is met with a shrug.

"If he's in, he's in," you say. "We can just say we're working on planning an event for Tae's exhibition, say that I'm using you for cheap labour."

"Oh shit yeah," Jeongguk gasps, suddenly reminded of the fact Taehyung had been here with a purpose. "How did it go? You think your boss will approve."

You nod. "Don't see why not. It's a solid pitch and we haven't held an exhibition in a while. I have some contacts saved up from our last couple of shows so can get together a guest list for the opening night."

It's more than Taehyung would have hoped for. The painting cafe is unassuming, in a way, which makes it a great underdog location for hosting such events.

"Sorry to have sent him here without warning," Jeongguk adds. "I wasn't even sure if you did things like that."

"Not often," you admit. "I really enjoy them, though. I'm always keen for more."

The pair of you gather up your things and head back to Jeongguk's place, talking about his friends, and their careers. You learn Taehyung is an artist by night, but a teaching assistant by day, which makes his love for arts and crafts all the more sweeter, you decide. Jimin works at a local interior design firm, which suddenly makes so much sense considering the books you remember being on his desk when you were bent over it.

Namjoon works at the local off-branch of the national paper, with a focus on environmental reporting, which is how he'd met Yoongi, who works as a sustainable carpenter, specialising in local woods and materials. Running his own studio, Mins , he'd done a promotional interview a few years back around the time it opened, and had then introduced Namjoon to the rest of the boys.

Their friendships run deep, and it's nice that Jeongguk is so willing to share that part of his life with you. The way he sees it, you're well on your way to becoming a part of the group, too.

When you arrive at Jeongguk's place, he enters first.

The shower is running, loud enough to obscure any noise of his arrival, so he ushers you in and straight to his room. The sneaking around is getting a little old already, but he figures soon enough it will be commonplace for you to hang out with the both of them.

Jimin isn't naive to your friendship, he just isn't aware quite how friendly you've become.

And so you keep your voices down, even when the pair of you are trying your hardest not to laugh, hands covered in paint, neither of you wanting to be the one who goes first. He's in a black shirt, so your hands are covered in white paint. You're in white, so his hands are coated in a layer of black paint instead.

It's stupid and it's juvenile, but also incredibly sweet. You appreciate how much Jeongguk tries to ease you into things. Baby steps.

"No, no," you whisper. "I'll go first. On you. Easier that way."

He knows it will make it no more difficult nor easy no matter who goes when, but he understands what you're saying. It will make you feel more comfortable. Of course, he obliges.

"Stand behind me," he says quietly. "Can you see in the mirror?"

"Not really," you say. His back is broad and he's obviously far taller than you, which pretty much obscures the entire mirror. If you lean around, you can see part of it, but it makes it harder for your to get an equal placement on his chest.

"Okay, just stand straight. I'll guide you."

The way he knocks your hands into position, mostly because his are also covered in paint, is just as gentle as the tone of his voice is.

"Three, two, one," he counts down. "Now press."

You do as you're told and are confronted with potentially the firmest pecks you've ever laid your hands upon. Sure, Seokjin had a body built like a God, but Jeongguk? Jesus Christ. He must be something entirely... unhuman.

"Anddd pull away," he whispers. The shirt sticks a little bit, but as your hands peel off, Jeongguk smirks. "Your hands are so small."

You take great offence to this for absolutely no reason other than to bicker with him. "Says you!"

"Sorry?"

"You don't exactly have massive hands," you goad him, seeing if you can get a rise out of him, and as if by magic -

"Turn the fuck around, Byeol," he says, almost forgetting the volume control. You do as you're told, grinning like the smug little bitch you are. "Don't have massive hands? I swear you say shit just to piss me off."

"Who me?" You feign innocence. " Never ."

"Yes, you," he laughs, but he makes no attempt to reciprocate the shirt creation. Instead, he holds back. Wants to make sure you're okay with it. You tell him you are, but he still doubles down on confirmation. "If it's too much at any point, just say."

You nod. Wonder if he can see the beat of your heart running through your veins. He can't. But he can see your eyes in the mirror, and recognise the trepidation they're drowning in.

"You ready?"

And again, you nod. Exhale. "Ready."

He's tentative in his approach, palms wide, fingers outstretched. He lets his palms rest on the sides of your chest first. You stop breathing for a moment.

"You okay?" He checks, to which you nod. "Okay, Byeol. We're going at your pace. The second it's too much, you let me know, okay?"

He waits for your go-ahead, and then lets his fingers squeeze into the softness of your chest. He sort of assumed he'd eclipse them like he always has done with his former partners, but he doesn't quite manage it with you. It takes him by surprise. Stops him in his tracks. Makes you nervous.

"Gguk?"

Whatever trance he's in, he snaps out of it. Realigns his focus. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," you nod. "Are you?"

"Yeah, yeah," he parrots back. "Just being careful."

"It's fine," you smile. "I'm not a porcelain doll - and this is fine, actually."

"It is?"

"Mhmm. This isn't half as bad as I thought it would be."

"You're welcome."

You laugh, and tell him to shut up. He squeezes ever so gently around your chest, and as much as you hate to admit it, a fucking moan is lodged in your throat. You don't let it out. Don't want him to know it feels electric having his hands on you like this. God, it's nice . It's good . Comforting. That's what surprises you the most.

You've spent so long avoiding contact like this, that you had forgotten why you liked it so much in the first place.

In fact, you find yourself pouting ever so slightly when he pulls away, revealing two black handprints cradling your tits. His is the reverse, white paint on a black shirt.

"See," he smiles. "Told you it was cool. When they're dry, we can go in with markers and outline the skeleton shapes."

The pout on your lips as you look at him is sweet, eyes full of wonder. He thinks he's only ever seen you like this when you're drunk. It's all hazy, and it's like the glitter that's normally on your cheeks is in your pupils instead.

Silence resumes in his room, both of you conscious of Jimin milling around in the kitchen. Jeongguk tells you to take the shirt off - "be careful, don't let the paint touch anywhere else" - so that it can dry properly.

It's as you're both standing there half naked with your backs to one another, that he's caught off guard.

"Let's do it."

"Hmm?"

"Let's do it," you repeat. "That first idea. The canvas. I packed one just in case and I... I didn't think we'd need it - but it wasn't entirely horrible, and-I-think-I-wanna-see-if-maybe-"

"Byeol," Jeongguk laughs, cutting you off, but doesn't turn around to face you. He's still trying to be as respectful as he can be. "Breathe. If you wanna do it, we can. No biggie on my part."

"It's a biggie on my part," you say quietly.

Jeongguk frowns. Doesn't like how vulnerable you sound. "I know. It's okay. We can make it not a biggie."

Your mind races at a mile a minute. You've not let anyone other than Seokjin touch your bare chest in such a long time. The idea of Jeongguk doing it now makes you feel nervous, but you're ready for it. Ready to feel renewed. Ready to finally fucking let go.

"How do you want to do this?" You ask, because one decision is enough for you. You'd rather let him be in the driver's seat, now. Leave your destination unknown. Leave it up to him. You're just here for the journey. Here for the ride.

"Can I turn around?"

"Yeah," you say. You don't mind him seeing you like this - you're shirtless, but you still have a bra on. He takes a second to look at your back; how your spine trails down it. Wonders if there are dimples at the bottom of it. They'd be hidden by your trousers now, and he doesn't really remember checking after the paint party.

He shakes his head, ridding himself of the thoughts, as he heads to the curtains and draws one of them shut. The other curtain remains open, but neither of you will be standing in front of it, so he doesn't think it matters all that much.

Jeongguk comes to stand behind you, turning you to face the mirror. His hands are on your shoulders, still a little paint-ridden, but nothing that bothers you.

"So I'm thinking," he says quietly, eyes on yours in the reflection as he toys slightly with the bra straps over your shoulders. "That this comes off."

You swallow so hard that Jeongguk thinks you might choke. You don't.

But you also nod.

"Is that a yes?" He checks for consent.

"It's a yes."

His hands are slow as they stroke down your back. He's not really thinking. Just working on auto-pilot. This isn't about him. It's all about you. What you need. What you want.

"Then, I think we need more paint," he says, his fingers working to unclasp your bra. You feel the tension ping and release, and you think you might have a heart attack. He notices the change in your breathing. "If you need to stop, you just say, okay? Tell me okay?"

"Okay," you nod, knowing you're in the safest hands you possibly could be.

"What will you say? Give me a word. Something obscure. A safe word."

You shake your head and shrug, trying to think. "I don't know - chess?"

Jeongguk laughs, knowing exactly where your eyes must have been focused - on the shelf by his desk, where his chess set sits undisturbed. "Okay. Chess."

"Chess."

"Just say it, and I'll stop."

You're silent as he reaches over for the paint, and tells you to toss your bra on his bed. The click of the acrylic bottle opening and closing beats in time with your heart. Jeongguk's warming the paint between his hands, trying to make this as comfortable for you as he possibly can.

You're entirely bare from the waist up, and don't take much comfort in the fact that he is too. It feels a hell of a lot scarier for you, and you both know it.

"I'm gonna touch you now," he says, and waits for you to nod. You close your eyes. Bite on your lip. Wait for the contact - and when his palms softly connect, your brows knit together. Jeongguk watches on, apprehensive. It almost looks like you're in pain, but as he begins to spread the paint over your breasts, they ease. "That okay?"

You nod. "It's okay."

When you open your eyes, you avoid looking towards the mirror. You look down, look away - and Jeongguk notices. He nudges the side of your head with his own. Realigns it. Encourages. "Watch."

He speaks quietly, the dulcet tone of his purr just loud enough for you, but untraceable to anyone outside the room. He doesn't want Jimin to hear. Doesn't want Jimin to know.

It's not that he was lying when he said Jimin wouldn't care - he genuinely believes it'd be no issue, especially with context provided - it's just that he hasn't figured out how to explain it. The girl you shagged a few months ago? We're friends. Pretty good friends, actually. And I'm touching her boobs to help her get over a fear. Totally normal.

Jimin's fully aware of the friendship. Knows you've been in the apartment a handful of times. Jeongguk never hides it from it; just tells him after the occasion. He doesn't mind.

In fact, Jimin quite likes your company whenever he bumps into you. Is quite glad you're not weird around him just because you've had sex. If anything, it gives him high hopes that maybe you'll be up for round two on the nights he can't find anyone else. To be honest, it'd make you the perfect candidate for a friends-with-benefits type situation with him. He hasn't had one of those in a while.

He doesn't share this thought process with Jeongguk. Isn't sure how well received it would be. See, Jeongguk's been incredibly vocal about how embarking on a friends-with-benefits situation is potentially the stupidest thing a person can do.

He'd lost his best friend - the girl he could have spent his life with - that way. Hasn't spoken to his favourite person in months because her new boyfriend doesn't like her hanging out with people she used to fuck. Makes sense. He can't argue against it.

He can think about it in the quiet hours of the early mornings, though, and weep a little out of frustration with how fucked up the best thing in life became.

There's a naive hope within him now that thinks he's fixing his previous wrongs with you. Doing things he's already done, without taking it too far, this time. A broken heart can't fall in love, after all. It's different.

Your eyes land on his; dark and frightfully deep. He's not sure what you're thinking. Tells himself it's better that way.

"My hands," he corrects. "Eyes on my hands, Byeol. Watch what I'm doing."

It takes you a moment to pull your eyes from his - and when you do, something about it feels catastrophic . Paint covers the skin of your chest; only a few small gaps of exposed skin are still on display. He squeezes. Moves his fingers. Doesn't specifically aim to cover those spots, but know it's the end goal.

There's a muffled moan hiding in your throat; revelations of a lost pleasure that you've refused to let yourself indulge in.

"Gguk-" you begin, but he hushes you.

"Just feel it. Watch it."

And so you do. His chin rests on your shoulder, watching your body, keeping an eye on the way your heartbeat begins to calm, yet races all the same. The ink on his hand is hidden by the paint, his forearms just as much of a mess as your chest. You fight your instincts which tell you to close your eyes; to lean into his touch.

The moan that's made it home in your throat decides it's been trapped for too long. It tickles at your lips, vibrates into the room. You catch it with a gasp, and Jeongguk can't help but let an airy smirk fall from his lips.

He never thought you were kidding about how much you liked it, but it's different seeing it in the flesh. There's an insolent nature to his teasing, and it makes you want to fucking whine.

"How does it feel, Byeol?"

Your eyes flick up to his, your lips resting ajar. The heaving of your chest is far easier to see when he stops massaging your chest. You smirk back at him. Roll your eyes.

"You don't wanna know," you tell him, because as much as he tried to make out that none of this would be sexual, your body doesn't agree.

And honestly, nor does his.

"No," he says, closing the minuscule gap he's been keeping between his crotch and your ass. The corners of his lips twitch upwards when you feel it - feel him - press against you. "I think I do wanna know."

His smirk is laced in sin, dark eyes hazy, as your chest begins to stutter all over again. You bring your hand to rest over one of his. Encourage his movements. Let your eyes close. Don't hide the moan that travels through you.

"I thought you said this wasn't gonna be sexual," you eventually say a little breathlessly. You encourage his movements still, just to let him know you're not entirely opposed to it.

"It's not," he purrs against your ear, and presses himself against you again, a little firmer this time. His breath is hot against your skin as you lean your head back, a laboured grunt stuck now in his throat. You can feel his heartbeat against your back.

You let your eyes rest on him in the reflection. Take a moment to read his face, and decide you've no idea what this man is thinking.

Truth be told, he's not really having any cognitive thoughts.

"You're hard," you tell him.

His eyes rest shut, a bashful smile on his giddy lips, neck turning ever so slightly to rest his forehead against your hair. And then he whispers, "Don't tell me you're not wet, Byeol."

"Mhhm," you moan with a little humour. "Dry as the Sahara, buddy."

"God, if my hands weren't covered in paint-"

"You'd what?" you interrupt with a sardonic smile. "This isn't sexual, remember?"

He scrunches his face up. Looks at you. Looks at your chest. Looks away from the mirror, and down to watch his movements. He alters his pace, playing with your tits just for the fun of it, seeing how he can toy with them. It might not be what usually gets him keen, but he can see why you attract boob guys; can also understand why your ex would keep coming back if he is a boob guy.

"You ever do this to yourself? Like, for fun?" He asks, ignoring your last question, seemingly hypnotised by the overspill between his fingers, and the way it jiggles for him.

"Like non-sexually?"

"Mhhm," he says as he repositions himself. Cups the undersides of your boobs. Lets his thumbs flick against your nipples. You moan in a way he hasn't heard before. Does it again. Same result.

"Fuck," you hiss. "Yeah, I do it - fuck, Gguk - for fun. Not like this though. This is-"

"Just for getting you wet?"

Yes.

"I'm not wet."

"Such a liar, Byeol."

His fingers pinch, gently clasping at your nipples. Has you mewling. Has you amazed you haven't been letting anyone do this during sex. You've been making yourself suffer to solidify your heartbreak. Maybe if you'd have been fucking people how you like to be fucked, instead of using it as a tool of validation, you'd have found the whole thing a bit easier. Or perhaps not. Perhaps you'll never know.

"Are you trying to make me wet?" You challenge, eyes on him, watching the way he's watching himself.

He shakes his head. Nestles it against your hair. Likes the scent of your shampoo. Inhales a little deeper. Is breathless when he rasps, "just helping out a friend. How your body reacts to me is its own problem."

You scoff. "My body's reaction has got nothing to do with you."

"No?" His grip tightens. You whine.

"Gguk-" is all you can manage, chest heaving, heart in your throat. Your back is arching, pushing your chest further into his grasp.

He's about to mock you; about to tease you a little more. Make some dumb remark, you sure, something that will have you fighting back against him - but it's interrupted.

"Hey, Jeongguk?" A voice shouts from the living room. "You in?"

The way Jeongguk pulls away from you is so abrupt you almost lose balance. He pulls a shirt from his chair, chucks it in your direction without looking back and darts for the door at such speed, you wouldn't be surprised to see him in a comic book like one of his damn figurines.

He opens the door just a crack, keeping you hidden, ignoring the fact his door handle is now slathered in black paint - the corner of his pristine white wall, too.

"Hey," he squeaks as Jimin stops in his tracks. He'd just been about to reach for Jeongguk's doorhandle to invite himself in, but the look on Jeongguk's face tells him to stay away.

Jimin raises an eyebrow. "This isn't suspicious at all."

Behind Jeongguk's head, Jimin can see his bed. It's made, not disturbed in the slightest, but the way Jeongguk is guarding the room makes it incredibly clear he was up to no good. It's all very amusing. Just out of his eye line is your bra.

"Was just letting you know I'm off out," he smirks. "But I'll leave you to it. Don't think I'll be back till morning, so stay safe, young padawan."

"Right," Jeongguk purses his lips, not wanting to give Jimin the satisfaction of confirming nor denying anything.

Jimin doesn't care to watch Jeongguk squirm. Would rather let him get back to whoever it is with him in his room. The kid's been out of action for so long that he's frankly pleased to see him acting so shifty. He's never known anyone who needs to get laid as much as Jeongguk does. Hopes this means he's finally over the last girl.

He turns on his heel, but calls back, "don't forget to wrap it up! Can't be arsed with baby-proofing the apartment."

"Jesus Christ," Jeongguk mutters as he closed his door. He rests his head on the frame for a moment, before turning his head to find you in a state of absolute horror.

"Gguk!" You whisper, eyes wide, heart thumping into your chest. The shirt he'd thrown at you is still on the floor because it's a white shirt, and you weren't stupid enough to actually pick it up. You kick back across to his chair, hands covering your chest without touching them. You don't want to end up as messy as he is.

Jeongguk strides across to you with a scrunched-up face and just moves your arms, laughing to himself slightly as he cups your breasts in his hands. He holds them firmly. Squeezes an apology. Admittedly, you do feel more protected like this.

"Shush, shush," he coos quietly, a stupid smile plastered all over his face. His hands are temperate, but they squeeze at you a little as his shoulders lift ever so slightly. "He's not out the door yet."

There's a pause as you both wait with bated breath. There's a faint click, which Jeongguk knows is the front door going, so he nods. A second click follows.

"You're safe," he laughs, and you can't help but laugh, too. Your hands instinctively come up to cover your chest, but his hands are already there, so you drop them again. His forehead rests against yours. His frivolous energy is contagious, the pair of you breathlessly giggling at the weird fucking situation you're in. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," you shake your head, keeping your forehead against his, almost brushing your nose with his. "Not your fault."

"Got a little carried away, though," he whispers, his smile fading as he harshly swallows back. "Should've tapped out. I should have said chess."

You shrug. Whisper, "takes two to tango."

The moment lingers. Wraps you both up in a ribbon, and ties a bow where his hands meet your chest. Safe and secure. A memory to be tucked away under your list of bad decisions, but for the moment, you'll convince yourself it was a good idea. You're not thinking of Seokjin, at least, and that was the real goal.

"Let's finish this off," he says, nodding over to the canvas. "We need more paint, though. I'm pretty sure I've literally, like, moisturised it into your skin. I don't think that's a good thing."

"It's definitely not a good thing," you cringe, knowing that your pores must be screaming beneath the acrylic. You wait for his grip to leave your chest, but it doesn't. It's only when you raise a brow and shake your head at him that he realises.

"Oh, right, yeah, yeah."

It's a lot more clumsy this time round. Jeongguk's second-guessing himself, almost as if he hasn't just spent God knows how long grappling with your tits. He laughs, and so do you, the pair of you finding every little thing hilarious. Perhaps it's nerves, or perhaps you're trying to play this off as something totally normal between friends, but either way, you think you're glad you're with him. Glad he took a chance on your birds.

"How do we even do this?" Jeongguk hums in confusion when he holds up the canvas. He puts it in all kinds of positions, but can't seem to figure out the best course of action. You tilt your head and mull it over.

"Gimmie it," you say softly, holding your hands out to retrieve it from him. His palms have left prints on the edges, but it doesn't matter. Turning to the mirror, you can't help but smile at how much of a mess you are. Such a stupid idea, and yet it's worked perfectly. "Okay, stand behind me again - keep your boner away from me this time, though."

"My God, I don't even have one anymore," he whines, and it's true. It's just a semi.

"Sure," you tease, but begin to instruct him further. "Hold them, like, underneath. How you did earlier. Yeah, yeah, that's it," you nod.

His long fingers support the base of your breasts, his thumbs resting on the sides. Chin on the top of your head, it's a lot less intimate than it had been. This, you think, could be argued as non-sexual.

A momentary lapse in judgement is fine, and that's what you'll chalk earlier up to.

It's not like there are set rules to this whole arrangement. Mistakes will be made; bad decisions, too. What matters is that you don't make the same ones twice.

"Okay," you muse quietly, holding the canvas up to your chest, trying to line it up perfectly. "I'm gonna press down. Keep still."

Jeongguk doesn't dare move. Too scared you'll notice his semi and tell him off for being a randy bastard. It's circumstantial. He's never spent so long holding a pair of tits. It's just... hormones. Maybe. He isn't really sure.

Pressing the canvas against your poised chest, you apply as much pressure as you can, trying to get the imprint. You're mumbling affirmations of a good job to yourself - "Okay, good. Just a little more. Little more pressure, c'mon." - before pulling it away.

It almost peels, the paint a little tacky, but sure enough, the imprint is there, and pretty damn perfect if you do say so yourself. A pleased, albeit a little surprised, laugh escapes your lips.

"Oh, that's fucking cool," Jeongguk beams. "Looks like one of those inkblot tests."

He's not wrong. There are two well-defined black circles, the imprints differing ever so slightly, smudging outwards. To you, it's plainly obvious it's a pair of tits - but then again, they are your tits. It's a lived, breathed experience of yours. Anyone else looking might mistake them for something else.

"Mmm," you agree. "What do you see?"

You're holding it up in front of you, blocking the mirror from your view. Jeongguk's head dips to your shoulder, where his pointy chin rests but you don't complain. One of his structured hands eases, slipping to a more natural grasp on your boob, while the other drops. It slinks around the front of your waist, his forearm keeping your back pressed against his chest.

"Big ol' pair of titties," he says in potentially the most childish voice he could have chosen. You pull away from his grasp and give him a look of disgust. "Sorry, I mean... not a pair of tits?"

"You're a fucking child, Jeon," you scold, to which he tells you that he's actually very mature and you're just being a boring old bint. Turning back around to study it a little more, you tilt your head. It's missing something. Jeongguk's grasp on you had never fully eased, but both of his hands rest now at the dips of your waist. You pay it no mind. "I think we should add to it."

"Watcha thinking?"

"Not sure," you muse. "It is a little bit too obvious."

"So you're saying it does look like a big pair of-"

"Oh my God," you groan, walking away from him and to where the paint is sitting pretty. "Lie down."

"Sorry?"

"You heard me. Lie down."

You don't look at him as you say your commands, instead you spend your time picking between the paints. The silver is your favourite, but as much as he likes to wear it in the form of jewellery, you know that gold is his colour. It's the one that suits him best - or at least, suits who he is.

He's hesitant, but he does as you say. He lies on his back horizontally across the bed, like how the pair of you do when you look at the birds, one of his arms resting over his stomach. He looks up to them now, no smile on his lips, but an overwhelming sense of contentedness.

Before you, he used to look at the birds and feel guilt. Was harbouring feelings that he'd told everyone he had let go of. They're still there, but they're diluted. Too much of you filling the empty spaces for him to dwell on the birds made for her instead.

You come to perch next to him on the bed, sat on your ankles as his gaze falls to yours with great curiosity.

"What are you doing, Byeol?"

With a smile, you say nothing - just uncap the paint lid, and turn it on its end over the top of his chest. He doesn't object. Just watches you quietly. Patiently. Hisses when the chill of the paint comes into contact with his skin, but lets you do as you please.

Capping it shut with a click, you reach over to put the paint on his bedside table. Still shirtless, Jeongguk watches the way your tits move, and doesn't even try to hide it.

"Eyes up here," you say as you regain full posture, but he keeps his eyes on your tits.

"Can't. Hypnotised."

You're laughing as you roll your eyes. "Such a liar, Mr 'I'm an Ass Guy' ."

He finally looks at you, almost in horror, thanks to the accent you just did impersonate him. "Is that how you think I sound?!"

"It is how you sound," you tell him, knowing that you should have deepened your voice. Instead, you'd deliberately raised it a few octaves. "I'm a voice actress in my spare time," you lie. "I've been told I have perfect pitch on many occasions. That was an exact replica of your voice."

It's said with such a straight face that it would be believable if it wasn't for the fact that Jeongguk does have perfect pitch. His music teacher always tried to make him pursue a musical career, but he was fearful of failure. Didn't want to put himself out there just to get rejected.

"I can't believe I'm friends with you," he mutters as your finger begins to draw over his chest with the paint. "Most annoying girl I've ever met - shit -" he winces as you flick his nipple, his hand coming to rub at it almost immediately. "Byeol!"

"Hmm?" you smile. "Sorry were you saying something?"

He says nothing, just narrows his eyes at you as you get back to work, spreading the paint over his chest.

"We've already got an imprint of my tits," you muse, pressing the metallic gold into his muscles, quietly in awe over his physique. "And now I wanna get an imprint of your tits, too. Over the top of mine. I think it'll look cool."

"You mean my pecks?"

"Yeah, sure," you say. "Your tits."

"They're pecks!"

"Okay?"

"One of those birds better have 'fixing my attitude problem' on them," Jeongguk huffs, but it's all in good humour. You tell him your attitude is golden - just like his tits are. "They're fucking pecks!"

Reaching over for the canvas, your golden palms are just clumsy as his had been, leaving little marks on the edge of the canvas. Laughter fills his room as you try and decide how to place it, with the pair of your twisting and turning the canvas to try and figure out your best bet. You don't want to obscure your tits entirely, but his chest is broad.

"Don't think you thought this through," Jeongguk teases. "You just wanted an excuse to touch my chest."

You flick his nipple again.

"Jesus Christ! One more time and I'll-"

Oh , how you love a threat. Can't wait to see if it's a promise.

And so you flick the other.

"Right, that's it."

It'd be a lie if you said you knew exactly where he flung the canvas - you were too busy trying to avoid his grasp as he got to his feet - but there are only so many places you can run to in his room.

In fact, you only actually get about three steps away by the time his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you into his grasp. The paint on his chest is slick against your back, but he doesn't really think about it as he turns you around, pressing you up against the window that doesn't have the curtain pulled shut.

His large hand clasps both of your wrists, holding them above your head just to keep them away from his damn nipples. The chase was minimal, the catch far too easy - and yet you're both breathless. Chests heaving. Your nipples are gilded in gold. He's far too fucking close.

"Gguk-"

"What did I say about flicking my nipples?" He looks down at you, desperately trying not to smirk. The anger he's feigning is convincing, but even if he was furious, he's painted like a chryselephantine statue. In all fairness, he's got the body to match. A Greecian God if you ever did see one.

"Can't help it," you pout. "Your tits are just so perky."

He doesn't even insist on the fact they're pecks this time. Just lets his eyes drop to your tits, then back to your eyes. Repeats this four or five times. Shakes his head.

"If that's the metric we're going with, Byeol, then you're well overdue half a dozen nipple flicks."

"Nooo," you whine, squirming to get out of his grasp. He doesn't let you immediately, but ultimately decides it's for the best. Needs to calm himself down. Can't be having another repeat of the night before.

As soon as his grasp eases, you bolt away from him, and retrieve the canvas from the foot of his bed. He notices the gold on his window, and ignores it. Will deal with it later. It's an easy fix. A logical one.

For now, he's got a half-naked force of a woman in his room that he doesn't know how the fuck to deal with. No logic, no reason, no rhyme seems to help him figure you out.

"Please can we finish the canvas?" you say sweetly, as if you haven't been the one derailing things every single step of the way.

He says nothing. Spread his arms wide. Beckons you forward.

Pressing the canvas to his chest, you throw all of your deliberations out of the window. You don't really care for the outcome, now. Just know that the pair of you need to not be topless anymore.

It's platonic, yeah, but it is tempting.

The canvas peels much like it did when your impression was made, the paint tacky on his skin. The pair of you are dumbfounded as you take in the result for the first time.

It's fucking beautiful .

Metallic gold weaves around the black, overlaying ever so serenely, creating an abstract interaction between the shapes.

"What do you see now?" you ask softly, quietly proud of your creation together.

"I see a masterpiece," he grins, and that arm of his that likes hooking around your waist so much finds its favourite spot once more. His chin is on your head. "And you know what else?"

"What?"

"Look there -" he points to a small 'v' shape, just above the imprint of your chest that's free of gold. "Looks to me like a bird."

"Holy shit."

"A fear set free," he muses.

"Well done us," you beam, holding your hand up for him to high-five. He does so with ease, before reaching for the canvas and propping it up on his desk.

"C'mon," he grips onto your shoulders. Eases you forward and to his bedroom door. Reaching round to open it, he lets his hands fall to your waist, and then back up to cup your tits as you walk together. "Shower."

"Are you ever gonna let go of them now?" You laugh, finally pointing out just how bloody handsy he is.

"Don't think so."

"Brilliant."

He eventually does let them go as you're both washing your hands beneath the tap of his bathroom sink.

"Got a little paint in your hair," Jeongguk says as you're drying your hands. He goes to twiddle at it in an attempt the break the dry paint down. It's not a lot, but it does mean you'll need to wash your hair to avoid the bleached strands from staining.

"Shit," you curse, knowing that Jeongguk definitely won't have any silver shampoo, nor will he have anything more than a bog-standard conditioner.

"Hold on," he says, moving you to the side to rummage in the cupboard beneath the sink. There's a small clatter of bottles as he pulls a basket from the back of the shelf with a triumphant smile.

It's a grin that's quietly pleased, lips thin, pressed together, lip ring flipping in that way which always makes you smile. The basket itself is just as interesting as Jeongguk's face - a myriad of coloured tubes, and lo-and-behold, the same brand of silver shampoo you use.

"Jimin had a phase," he explains. "Well, no actually, he's had a few - but this is from the coloured hair phase. You need the purple shit, right?"

You nod. "The purple shit."

"Take what you need," he says as he gets back to his full posture, leaving the room only to return a moment later with a bottle of conditioner in hand. You know the brand. It's pricey. You only buy it when it's on sale. You furrow your brows, and he just shrugs. "I keep my good towels out of the bathroom, Jimin keeps his good conditioner out of it instead."

It's funny, 'cause you do exactly the same. Danbi has been blessed with hair from the Gods, so never has to pay much attention to what she uses. A string of bad dye jobs and unhealthy heat habits have left you with a deep conditioning complex, and there's nothing worse than going for a shower and realising the conditioner you paid and an arm and a leg for is all gone.

Will this stop you from using Jimin's special conditioner? No, absolutely not. You care more about your hair than you do about his annoyance.

"How are we doing this?" You ask casually as Jeongguk starts the shower up.

"Well," he contemplates far too hard for the sentence that follows. "I think we get in the shower, and then I think we... shower?"

"Right," you nod, as he grins, clearly pleased with himself. "Silly me. Of course it's that simple."

"Well it can be," he shrugs. "We both know we didn't really do the shower bird to completion, and aren't we saying 'fuck it', now? So why not?"

He's got a point. You feel far less on edge about the whole showering thing since the last time. It's like you've been working through it in stages, and it's helped.

"So..." you say quietly. "I don't know about you, Gguk, but I normally shower naked."

He just shrugs. "Really, Byeol? Do you not think we've already crossed that boundary? I'm quite literally staring at your tits right now."

You look down to your exposed chest, and suppose he's right.

"Just... don't look, okay? You get in the shower first and like, face the wall or something."

As much as he thinks you're being ridiculous and that it really doesn't matter, he agrees. Your birds are, after all, all about you, and what you're comfortable with. Just because he is doesn't mean you will be.

He strips down, and discards his clothes into a pile. He'd be lying if he said he was entirely confident, but he definitely feels the pressure a lot less than you do.

"I'm in," he says encouraging you to follow suit.

Against your better judgement, you do.

You toss you trousers on top of his, panties too, and make your way into his shower. It's warm, just the right temperature, still set to Jimin's preference from earlier.

"Now was that so hard?" Jeongguk asks, still facing the wall.

"No," you say airily. "I can see why you're an ass guy."

He turns his head, and sure enough, your eyes are on his ass. "Double standards."

"It's really good," you say, a little in shock at just how toned it is; how you'd kill for yours to be as peachy as his. "But you're right, you're right - I'm sorry."

"Can I at least turn around now?" He asks. "Seeing as you've already broken rule number one."

"What rule?!"

"Looking! You set the bloody rule!"

"Oh yeah," you grimace. Part of you considers turning around, but in all honesty, you don't want his ass-loving eyes to fall on yours and be disappointed. "Um, yeah. Sure. You can turn."

He's cupping his balls as he does so, hiding himself. It's sort of sweet in a way, and matches your own awkward stance.

"C'mon," he says, knocking his head back, encouraging you further into the stream of water. "Need to wash you off."

"You need to?"

"Well, yeah? Only fair. I'm the one who got you like that." He senses your hesitation, and offers you an out. "Or you can do it. I don't mind either way."

And for some reason, you don't actually seem to mind the suggestion. "Go for it."

He steps a little closer. "Say the word and I'll stop."

You reach for his hands. Lift them to your chest. "I don't think I'll say it."

He begins to massage at them, easing the paint off ever so gently, but it's stubborn. "Could do with some shower gel. Scent preference?"

"Hmm, strawberry?"

"Great choice."

You still find the fact he has more than one shower gel on the go hilarious, but you enjoy having a choice. It's one of the fantastic things about Jeongguk; you're never backed into a corner. He'll always give you an option. A way out.

And yet as he gets reacquainted with your chest, you don't think you want one. The things that scared you before - forgetting Seokjin, losing his touch - seem like a world away. Yes, it's different with Jeongguk, but it doesn't mean that it erases what you had with Seokjin. It also doesn't mean that you have to subject yourself to a life of boring sex just because you're harbouring guilt from a relationship breakdown that really wasn't your fault at all.

Seokjin had strayed, though. Made you feel like there was something wrong with you. Had you questioning the things you thought he'd loved about you - your tits included.

Seeing how Jeongguk - a self-professed ass guy - reacts to them has been so validating. So needed. Will do you wonders in the future, you're sure.

It's as he's kneading at your tits that you notice he's becoming a little moany, too. A little unstrained. God, it's so satisfying.

He closes his eyes. Rests his forehead on yours. Squeezes around your tits as he swallows so harshly you think you can almost hear it. Nods, and then says, "Still an ass guy - but fucking hell, Byeol. You might convert me."

You laugh now, and Jeongguk is obsessed with the way your boobs slide beneath his fingers, sopping wet and moving in time with your body. He still doesn't open his eyes.

"Fun aren't they?"

Again, he just nods. Doesn't wanna think about anything too hard.

If he does, he knows he'll have to deal with the fact his cock is now hard, too.

He thanks the high heavens that you just aren't mentioning it, because there's no way you haven't noticed.

It's not like he meant for it to happen. One moment he was trying to be respectful, and the next all he could think about it how soft and warm they are in his grasp. Was all beyond his control.

Thing is, Jeongguk has no idea how hard it is for you to resist reaching down for it. It feels like second nature; like it's what you should do.

But it's a boundary that's still intact, and you'd like to keep as many of those as possible.

So would he - but he's fucking solid , throbbing, balls tight. Can't remember the last time he got like this. Sure he's been hard. Been horny. But this is on another level.

And so he just says fuck it.

Tells you so.

"Byeol if I don't cum in the next five minutes I think I'm gonna die."

His admission takes you by surprise. You want to laugh, but remain deadly serious as you say, "I think you'll be fine."

"No," he insists. "I will actually die."

"How?"

"Ruptured ballsack?" He grimaces. "I don't know, but I do know that my life is quite literally flashing before my eyes right now."

"Poor baby," you pout, and stroke at his hair just to wind him up a little bit more.

"Don't," he whines. "I'm one more sarcastic comment away from sucking your tits just to shut you up. You know how many pairs of tits I've sucked?" He doesn't wait for an answer. " None . Always thought it was weird. But now? I'm so horny I'm literally delirious. Willing to do anything ."

Yeah right, you think.

"That's not very platonic of you," you state, using the exact tone of voice you know is winding him up.

"Byeol, I said one more."

"One more what?"

"God," he lets out a tortured sob. "It's like you want me to suck your tits."

"Me? Want that? Never ."

"But it wasn't on the bird," he says, as if the birds really do dictate every single one of his actions. "Can't do it."

"In all fairness, Gguk, nor was anything else that happened tonight. It was literally just the word ' tits '."

He tries to think straight, but he really can't. Doesn't know what's come over him. Maybe he's just tired. Maybe he just never knew how much he liked tits. Either way, he's absolutely done for.

He runs his thumbs over your nipples, and - fuck - the way you moan really does have him wanting to take them in his mouth. It's always been a no-go for him. Always thought the concept was a bit weird.

But it's all he can think about, now.

All he wants.

"Oh my god," he whines, again, obviously going through a little inner turmoil. His forehead drops to your shoulder. "Why do I want it? Why do I wanna suck your tits?"

"Mummy issues."

"Byeol! You're not helping."

"Just get yourself off," you laugh. "Once you get the orgasm out of you, you'll be able to think straight."

He nods. Knows you're right. "What about you? Do you need to?"

You've a much better grasp on your desperation than he does. You're a brat through and through, and find it hilarious that men seem to think they 'tame' you. In reality, you're the one who calls the shots. You're always in control. Just let them think they are.

With Jeongguk, you've not needed to play up for him, so you don't realise how unaware he is of the fact your inner thighs are coated in your slickness.

"Can do," you shrug.

"That's not a yes."

You roll your eyes. "Look at me."

He does as he's told, and you decide very quickly that he would be so incredibly easy to turn into your bitch if you wanted him to be. It's cute. His lips are parted, brows pushed together, a crease forming above his nose. He really does look like he might die. Poor baby.

Dipping your hands to where your legs part, you run two fingers along your folds, and hold them up for Jeongguk to see. You separate your fingers, the clear fluid suspended between the two of them. He whines again. Rests his head on your shoulder.

"The bird," he says. "The bird that we kinda did, but didn't do."

"What of it?" you toy, knowing exactly what he wants.

"Can we?" He rasps, unable to get his sentence out. One of his hands is on your chest, the other pressed flat to the tiles beside your head. His cock is desperate for contact. His hips are pulsing against nothing. If he doesn't grip onto it soon, he's gonna rut too far and end up touching you.

"You wanna get off together?"

He just nods. Mewls. "Please just give me the green light, Byeol. Please ."

And as much as you want to keep fucking with him, it feels cruel now. His veins are engorged, flooded with blood, in desperate need of him to do something - anything - to have his heart beating normally again.

"Okay," you whisper. "Get yourself off."

He doesn't waste a second. Has his hand around his cock by the time you've finished the sentence. The change in his breathing is stark. There's a moan caught with every tug on his cock, his hand moving at a speed you didn't was humanely possible.

And it excites you.

Has you clasping the tit that he isn't currently holding onto for dear life, while your other hand sinks to your folds. You're soaked , clit throbbing, begging for even the faintest bit of attention. When Jeongguk hears you moan too, he thinks he's done for. Holds his cock so tight he's scared he'll ruin his orgasm.

You know your body though. Know how to get yourself off within a minute when duty calls.

"Keep going," you tell him. "I can get close."

"That quickly?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

"Women are magic," you say between pants, dipping your fingers into your entrance for a little bit of fiction to your g-spot, just enough to really get you there.

"Fucking magic," he husks, his body edging a little closer to yours. You don't mind. In fact, you think you'll prefer it, so you let go of your chest and encourage him to close the gap. Your hand is on his waist, pulling him closer. He looks up. Regrets it, 'cause he never needed to see you looking like this. Doesn't ever wanna fuckin' look away. "Sure?"

"Mhhm," you moan, unable to get a word out because of how close you are - and then you can feel the tip of his cock press against your stomach, just below your ribcage. His movements are frantic.

"I'm not gonna last."

"Then don't."

His forehead rests on yours, the pair of you breathing so heavily that you're basically surviving on one another. Inhale, exhale. You're one and the same.

"Oh, fuck," you mewl, so incredibly close. Your fingers massage at your pussy just how you like it; spank against your clit a little, tease it to the near point of no return. "Gguk, I'm about to-"

"Me too," he chokes. "Where?"

"It's fine," you husk, knowing he's asking where to cum. "It's okay. I don't mind."

"Sure?"

"Just cum, Gguk."

"Shit."

The release is just as undignified as the build. The pair of you are messes, whining as you come undone together. The voltage runs from the tips of your toes to the tops of your fingers, so intense that they go fucking numb for a moment. You're overstimulated almost as soon as it hits, unable to do anything but pant against his shoulder.

The tip of Jeongguk's cock is pressed against your skin, his release painting you in the most glorious sin. He cums, but it feels like it never stops. Every time you think it has, he whines again, wanks a little more, unloads another spurt onto your torso. It trails down your hip, to your thigh and then sinks to the shower floor; washed away like a bad decision never to be repeated.

Breathlessness overcomes the pair of you, remaining as you are for a few moments, until Jeongguk finally breaks it.

"I swear I never usually cum that fast."

You just laugh. Pat his head. "Sure."

"Fuck off, I don't," he says, laughing now too. "Christ. What the fuck was that, Byeol?"

He lifts his posture from how it's rested against you, turning to press his shoulders to the tiles beside you. The shower is still running, so he reaches over to turn it off. Neither of you are fully clean yet, but you'll get back to it in a moment. No point in running his water bill up just because he can.

"Well," you exhale. "I think you just discovered boobs."

He laughs. Tilts his head back against the tiles. Bites his lips as he shakes his head. "To be fair, I think you might be right."

You laugh now too, and that's how the evening remains; full of laughter. Jokes about how platonic and totally friendly the entire exchange has been. There's no weirdness, but in all honesty, you never thought there would be.

Jeongguk lends you a pair of sweats and one of his shirts after the shower, your hair air drying beautifully thanks to Jimins oh-so-expensive conditioner. You feel a little bad for using it now, but you made him cum once, so you think you're even.

"And when Jimin asks where it's come from?" You question as you watch from Jeongguk's sofa while he hangs your artwork up on the wall. It's next to the television. Really fucking hard to miss. Will be the first thing he notices.

"I'll just say it's one of Tae's," Jeongguk shrugs.

"And when Tae comes round?"

"I'll... think of another lie?"

"Sounds foolproof," you muse, sipping on your glass of water, thinking that he's possibly the biggest idiot you know.

"Either way, neither of them will know what it is, or who made it. It'll be a mystery. Wait, unless," he stops himself. Furrows his brows together. Tries to join dots in his head. Even uses his hands to help with the mental work. "Would Jimin be able to tell?"

Your lips purse up, forming a thin line between your cheeks. You shake your head.

"No?"

"No," you say. "He never... Well, I meant what I said about them. Keeping them off limits. Or at least, kept."

"Yeah," Jeongguk nods, accepting your truth, but thinking of hypotheticals. "Did he not see them, like, at all?"

"Um," you say to buy time, questioning how much you should divulge. "You really wanna know?"

Jeongguk shrugs. Nods his head again. Makes no difference to him.

You adjust in your seat, trying to think of how to phrase the events of your night with Jimin, and finally settle on, "Well, I was fully clothed -"

"What?"

"- And we did it from behind." You watch as Jeongguk stays silent for a moment. He's doing that thinking face of his again. The hand is moving. Figuring things out. And then you realise what he's doing. "No! Gross! Don't imagine it!"

"I'm just trying to get a visual!" He protests with a small pout. "Just trying to understand how!"

"My god," you cringe, hiding your head in your hands. "Never should have done that bird with you."

Jeongguk rolls his eyes as he comes to sit beside you, admiring his handiwork. He actually really likes the painting. Is glad you added him to it, too.

"Yes, you should have," he says. "You admitted it yourself, you kept your tits off-limits, but it's clearly a big part of sex for you, right?"

You nod, not looking at him, but up at the canvas. It really is pretty. "Right."

"If you could do all that with me, you can do it with anyone else. It'll make a huge difference to how satisfying you find casual sex, which is like, the whole goal, right?"

And again, you nod.

"Exactly," he beams. "Now, say 'thank you Jeongguk'."

"I'm not saying thank you," you laugh. "You literally got cum on my feet. You should be thanking me."

"Oh my god," he groans. "I'm never showering with you again."

"It wasn't the shower that was the issue!"

The pair of you bicker a little more, until the reality of it being the early hours of the morning kicks in. You're both yawning, hardly able to keep your eyes open. He offers up his bed, but you'd feel guilty taking it two nights in a row, so call for a taxi instead.

You're still in his clothes, but you'll just return them the inevitable next time.

He tells you to let him know when you get home safe, and you do, only for him to reply a few minutes later with a message that makes you consider blocking him.

Jeongguk: Still an ass guy, btw.

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI