#1:1 viewfinder

[johnnymartyr]

Q&A: Why Do You Use 0.85x Leica Rangefinders instead of 1:1 Voigtländers?

by Johnny Martyr Yesterday, long time photo buddy Brent Legum Levenson asked a really great question on my Facebook page. He was referencing my Leica M6 TTL cameras which have 0.85x viewfinder magnification. “Any reason you got the .85? I think I’ve only seen the .72 versions in person. Also, I liked that the Bessa R3s were 1:1 finders, has Leica ever done that? It was cool being able to keep…

[awesomebutunpractical]

My Decepticon Coup Simulator would be one of the funnest Visual Novels I've ever made if I ever made visual novels.

[fadejumper]

YIPPEEEEEE one of my friends got a new gaming PC and is probably gonna sell me their old one 🔥 I’ve been low key stressing about building a PC, having to pick parts (the paradox of choice omg too many options) and worrying I’ll put it together wrong, so this is the perfect solution… I get a custom built PC and all I’m gonna have to do is probably upgrade just one of the parts

[syninplays]

Medieval-ish Dump - ts3!

Back with my crappy previews to showcase items because why not :p

>Mesh/texture credits go to EA/ts4, adam127@Sketchfab and @storybookhawke for the DAI conversions ♥ - Original posts can be found under the cut (;

>Everything is relatively low poly, with a few exceptions which are around 2k and the fishnet which is kinda high poly due to me having to solidify the mesh :p but I think it's still pretty good - full polycount info can be found under the cut!

>Everything is non-recolorable but has a mask so you can still kinda change the colors - The flying finial is fully recolorable tho!

>DOWNLOAD< (always free on patreon)

From StorybookHawke/Dragon Age Inquisition (1) (2) (3)

Dalish Stone Stack 01 (the red one) - 801 poly

Dalish Stone Stack 05 (the thin one) - 903 poly

Dread Wolf Statue (Left & Right version) - 2,5k poly

Dread Wolf Statue Damaged - 2,4k poly

Viewfinder Skull (skull with blue/stone eye) - 1,4k poly

War Table - 2,6k poly

From The Sims 4

EP15 Flying Finial - 352 poly

GP12 Cave Opening - 2k poly

EP07 Footbridge - 2,8k poly

EP07 Fishing Net (floats on water!) - 5k poly

From Sketchfab/adam127

Wooden Gate Open/Closed - 570 poly

[jenscx]

DOPAMINE — pham hanni

you have no idea how you ended up at a newjeans fanmeet, holding up a canon dslr, taking photos of pham hanni smiling through the viewfinder.

status loading… in progress!

# tags fluff, angst, lowk crack, idol au, idol!hanni, fansite!reader, cursing, suggestive jokes

featuring newjeans, triples, zerobaseone

important ! this fic is not an accurate portrayal of the kpop idols mentioned. everything stated is fiction.

click here. profiles 1 | profiles 2

00. prologue

taglist @yeetaberry127 @le3-r1n @sixflame438 @saysirhc @somedaydream @yuyuy90 @arihiu @ly-gushka @starstruckgoateepuppy @nimnia @nwjnsloona @idkwhatim-doinghere101 @tzuyusdoughnut @gtfoiydlyj @yncoreee @petralovesbonedo @syronns @peranoo @idkwhatim-doinghere101 (opened)

[deskraven]

《Keep On》 - but with the Terrans!

This is a recreation of Digimon Adventure's ending scene with Earthspark characters :)

As a cross-fandom fan I've wanted to do this for a good while and eventually started working on the project in December, 2024. While it's not perfect and a lot of pieces are still missing, I decided that it's good enough for now and it's time to just post it. Also, this is actually for an International Children's Day (June 1) Chinese fandom event.

Details under the cut

OG Video

Tools I used

Art: Procreate

Animation: Figma (most of the complicated ones), Python (for creating gifs of simple animations), DaVinci Resolve (for putting the whole video together)

Components of the video

00:00 - 00:36

The first sequence is just the main character's silly faces, which is the most fun part to draw! And they already look adorable even without the rest of the video or any music.

I also need to create the flipping effects, which I initially attempted to do with Figma but realized that flipping 8 images at once overloads the tool and makes its animation laggy. I need them to all flip in sync, so this part is actually done with a Python script.

Compared to the OG video, the middle row is missing. I initially planned to draw the human Maltos but unfortunately ran out of time.

00:36 - 00:51

The second sequence provides an overview of 1) locations in the show, 2) side characters of the show, 3) iconic items that belong to the main characters.

For the locations, I took screenshots and edited them into having anime vibes:

Also had to distort the side characters' images so they follow a tilted route. The distortion part is also done with a Python script.

I initially planned to draw the following items for the Terrans but ran out of time:

Swords and housework star stickers for Twitch

Shield and balls for Thrash

Inventions (smart trainer / hologram projector) for Nightshade

Tablet and the director's viewfinder for Hashtag

Dinobot comics & dinosaur fossils for Jawbreaker

Contaminated energon cans for Aftermath

Cyber Slayer for Spitfire

Yeah the items for the Chaos Terrns are pretty cursed lmao, but I honestly can't think of anything else that are iconically theirs.

00:51 - 1:17 Roll out!

In the OG video this part is the main characters rolling out with their Digimon partners. For the Terrans, of course they will be rolling out with their mentor-ish counterparts. (I'm so sorry that Bumblebee wasn't included. You are the best mentor. But like, you are the shared mentor so it's kind hard to point to one Terran and declare you their specific mentor.)

At this point you probably already realized that the only characters that I do not run out of time for are the Terrans. And yeh, once again I run out of time for the Mentors and had to use low resolution stock images, screenshots, and even very inaccurate toy images.

I struggled to decide whether Starscream should stand by Hashtag or Spitfire, but Spitfire really doesn't have anyone besides Starscream so it had to be this way, which is again pretty cursed.

1:17 - 1:31

Turns out I do run out of time even for the Terrans! I was initially planning to draw the "everyone running towards the silver lining" scene but kinda suck at drawing animation. So have some Terrans dancing.

1:31 - 1:42

Hesitated between drawing "Terratronus getting armored up, each armor piece representing one Terrans" - which would be a perfect way to represent the ending of S3! But it'll probably look weird with a horizontal frame so I eventually just drew a traditional family photo.

[foreverisntenough]

‘Aperture’

Summary: A professional footballer with a playboy reputation finds his world reframed when he meets a talented photographer who captures the light and depth he’s never seen in himself. As their friendship develops, he finds himself illuminated by her presence—a stark contrast to the shallow spotlight he’s used to, but her guarded heart keeps her from fully trusting his intentions. Their friendship develops, like film in a darkroom, shifting into something far more intimate. But when their connection begins to blur the lines between friendship and something more, he realizes she’s the light he’s been chasing without knowing it and fights to prove he’s ready for something real. Yet, their love hangs in the balance—will the film of their story overexpose and fade, or will it develop into something vivid and timeless. Sometimes, love is about adjusting the focus, letting in the right light, and trusting the process.

Chapter Index:

Fashion Index Cont: For all Y/N's looks! No more bad links!

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of drugs, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Please read:  Little note from me about him and one more about our community In summary: This is a swan song fic. The fic was never really about "him" as much as it was a fictional story and character I got to create and share with you all. I hope you still love reading it as much as I still love writing it. xx

Chapter 26 Pt. 1 - 'Killing Me' | 'Aperture'

word count - 13.2 k

[ILSB- LANY]

The house was warm when you slipped inside, skin damp and still humming from the pool, hair dripping little rivulets onto the hardwood floor as you padded barefoot down the hallway toward his room. Trent followed behind you, beads of water tracing the golden hue of his skin. Inside, Trent’s bedroom glowed with the amber hush of late afternoon. You padded barefoot across the carpet, wrapped in your towel, skin still humming from the water, laughter still caught behind your teeth. Trent walked near the foot of the bed, his back to you, towel slung low around his hips, water catching on his shoulders like scattered sunlight. His skin glistened, drops sliding slow over the ridges of his spine, disappearing into the curve of muscle. He reached for a clean shirt, but you called out before he could move an inch more.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He turned, brow raised, his smile already knowing. 

“Wha?” There was something almost bashful in the way his dimples crept in, like he liked being looked at by you, just like this.

“Stay.” Your voice was quiet but giddy, charged with something playful and fond as you spun on your heel toward your things. You moved quickly to your bag, rummaging through the tangle of belongings until your fingers curled around your camera. When you glanced up, he was watching you, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

”Oh yeah?” He hummed. You nodded, too smitten to pretend otherwise, and held up the lens between you, eyes trailing slowly over the picture he made, droplets racing down his chest, his broad frame lit soft by the warm lamp glow spilling from his bedroom window. The hallway behind him blurred into a backdrop of summer dusk and dripping silence. 

“You look good like this,” you murmured, more honest than teasing. The camera hung between your fingers, momentarily forgotten as you just looked at him. “Wet. Sexy.” You purred, lifting the camera a little higher, stepping toward him more as you focused the viewfinder slowly on the glistening lines of his torso. He chuckled, low and smug, hands spread at his sides in mock innocence. 

“I usually say that to you.” He shot back cheekily.

“Hush.” That earned you a grin. 

“Alright, what do you want me to do?” He chuckled, watching you with fondness. You lifted the camera more, peeking through the lens. 

“I like when you smile, baby. Just say ‘cheese’ please.” You cooed. He blinked, caught off guard by the command, but he softened instantly under it. 

“Say cheese?” he asked, voice light, eyes sparkling. He laughed, the kind that curled in his throat, boyish and genuine. “Why do people even say that?” You dropped the camera slightly,  the smile already pulling at your lips. 

“Erm… something about the ‘eee’ sound in the word naturally prompts a smile I think.” You giggled, stepping closer as your finger hovered over the shutter. “Like it makes your mouth curl…. Like cheeese.” You exaggerated it, with a playful little giggle that made him mirror it before he even realized.

“I like when you do that,” he said quietly. His gaze softened.

“When I say cheese?” You paired a soft smile with a furrowed brow. He laughed, eyes crinkling. He shook his head, voice suddenly quieter

“No, baby. Could say anything and I’d like it. I just meant I really like when you smile.” You blinked, caught off-guard by the soft sincerity. A bashful heat flushed your cheeks, and you smiled even more, tucking your chin slightly. The words settled somewhere beneath your ribs, right where affection bloomed slow and full.

“Thank you,” you whispered, cheeks warming as you lowered the camera. There was a stillness that passed between you then, delicate as silk. He took a step forward, barefoot and slow, then another until your bodies nearly brushed.

“Yeah. Like that smile a lot.” Trent tilted his head, brushing a damp strand of hair off your shoulder. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” You hesitated, then gave a truth you hadn’t admitted out loud before.

“It’s different with you…” you murmured, the words tentative, almost fragile in the space between you. “Being told that, being seen that way by you…” Your voice faltered, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you let yourself lean into the quiet gravity of the moment, heart pounding beneath damp skin. “It feels like something that matters. Being beautiful to you... it doesn’t feel like just appearance. It feels like… more.” Trent didn’t speak. His eyes stayed soft on yours, unwavering, as if he understood exactly what you meant without needing you to explain it further. Then, with the gentlest touch, he reached up again and tucked another wet strand of hair behind your ear, fingers trailing lightly along your temple. The contact made you exhale, breath catching in your throat. You closed your eyes for a beat. You could feel it in everything he did, the way he looked at you like you were made of light, the way he teased you like you were his favorite secret, the way he listened like he already knew your silences by name. When you opened your eyes again, something bolder flickered in your chest. You smiled, shy but steady, and reached up to touch his face. Your thumb brushed the soft edge of his cheekbone, slow and reverent, and you tilted your head slightly as you met his gaze again. “You’re very handsome, did you know that?” you whispered, voice dipping into something warm, like affection curling around the edges of every syllable. Trent smiled, eyes tender, and you could feel the heat of it in your chest.

“I’ve heard it once or twice,” he said with mock bravado, dimples flashing. But you saw the blush beneath his confidence, the quiet way he adored your compliments, soaked them up like warmth.

“I like these dimples.” You said softly, tapping one with your fingertip and a coy grin, your other hand brushing down his chest, He leaned in and kissed you, lazy and soft, his lips tasting faintly of chlorine and something sweeter, maybe the moment. Maybe you.

“I like these lips.” He hummed. You giggled into the kiss. “C’mere.” His voice dropped as he guided you gently towards the ensuite, one hand grazing your waist, the other already reaching for the light switch. Light spilled across the space in a golden wash, bouncing off glass and tile, casting your reflections in a soft, golden halo. He stood behind you, his bare chest warm against your back. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other reached up, fingers resting under your jaw as he tilted your chin up slightly. “Tough face to compete with, y’know,” he murmured, pressing his words into your skin.  You exhaled a shy laugh through your nose, meeting his eyes in the mirror, both of you standing there, towel discarded, you in just your panties, him in boxers. Everything still damp, messy, unsaid. But perfect. “Go on,” he murmured, nodding toward the camera still in your hand. “Take the photo you wanted of me,” he said quietly. You raised it slowly, your other hand settling over his where it splayed protectively across your abdomen. You leaned into him, cheek brushing his shoulder, breath syncing with his. He pressed his nose to your cheek, smiling against your skin. “Think I look best with you,” he whispered, smiling wide now, nose nuzzling your cheek. And that’s when you took the photo, capturing not just the moment, but the feeling. Warm skin, full hearts, love unspoken and everywhere. A giggle escaped you, head shaking gently at his cheeky delivery, but your heart was beating so hard you could almost hear it. “Keep that smile, yeah?” he asked, voice serious now, barely above a breath. His tone so sincere it threaded beneath your ribs. You glanced at him in the mirror, catching his eyes. 

“As long as you keep me.” And the way he pulled you into his arms after that, tight, silent, sure,  he would.

—

Things were good. No, they were fucking good. The kind of good that made you dizzy. Every touch electric. Every kiss a little greedy, like he still couldn’t believe he got to have you like this again. His hands on your skin felt like a reclamation, of time, of trust, of something that was almost lost. And God, it was easy to fall back into him, to let the silence fill with laughter instead of tension, his lips instead of apologies. But connection was never your problem. You had that in spades, unspoken, magnetic, dangerous in how natural it felt. It was the talking that scared you both. The naming. The defining. The risk that came with being too clear about how much you actually wanted each other. Still, something had shifted. You weren’t pretending anymore. Not playing coy. It was out in the open now, this thing, whatever it was. You were trying. Both of you. Not just late nights and tangled sheets. Not just stolen looks and bruised egos. Trying, to be real, to be better, to be something you could say out loud without setting it all on fire. You weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, not exactly. And there were still no I love yous, not again, not yet. But you were together. No one else. No games. Just two people inching their way back from the edge, trying to build something steady out of what was once all sparks and ruin. It was fragile. Terrifying. Hopeful. And it was happening.

—

The call connected on the second ring. You were curled beneath your duvet, knees tucked to your chest, phone clutched loosely to your ear like a lifeline. The room around you was dim, lit only by the fractured glow of a streetlamp slipping between the blinds. Everything felt loud, your own heartbeat, the ache behind your eyes, the soft static of tears against cotton as you shifted your face deeper into the pillow.

“T…” you whispered, your voice cracked and fragile. Trent’s world shifted the moment he heard you. He’d been draped across one of the leather recliners in the cinema room, the glow of a paused FIFA match throwing flickers of green and gold across his face. Laughter echoed from the others, Kieren yelling at Leon for hacking him mid-play, the metallic clang of a can being tossed in the bin. Then: your name on his screen. A shiver of instinct. Something deeper than alertness, need. He slid out of the room without a word, the door sealing shut behind him, muffling the chaos like it never existed. Now he stood barefoot in the hallway, back against the cool wall, bathed in soft light and your broken voice. “Do you think…” you paused, swallowing hard, “I could come over?” 

“Y’alright, baby?” His heart clenched.

“Just a little sad…” you murmured, the words unraveling like thread. Then a crash of laughter from his end spilled through, the unmistakable backdrop of boys yelling over a game. You froze, suddenly small. “Shit. I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, softly, like a warm hand wrapping around your wrist. “What’s going on?” You didn’t speak, couldn’t. Your throat was thick with guilt. “I don’t like when you’re sad, baby. Come over and be with me.” He added, walking farther into the quiet of the house, each step an act of care. His voice was lower now, intimate, almost like a secret.

“I just…” you trailed off, the comfort of his tone making you want to cry harder. “You have people over.”

“I care more about you,” he said without hesitation. “I’mma call you a car, yeah? Come be with me. We’ll go upstairs or something, just us. You don’t even have to say hi.”

“I don’t want to,” you admitted, barely audible. His eyes closed, chest rising with a slow, aching breath. 

“Then you won’t. Just let me take care of you, baby. Whatever it is, I got ya. Always.” His words landed like a warm hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the fog. And even though you weren’t his girlfriend, even though nothing was defined, you were his. And in moments like this, it was more than enough. He stayed on the line until the car arrived, both of you breathing softly into the silence. You could hear the faint pad of his footsteps as he walked upstairs to wait for you in the guest room, setting the lamp low, pulling the duvet back. He was making space for you, in his night, in his house, in his heart.

—

He was sick. That’s what your mum said, voice soft like she was trying not to make it real. The little old man that ran the camera shop. You’d known he was old, ninety-five, sharp as ever, still refusing to let anyone else mix the chemicals in the darkroom, but it hadn’t occurred to you that he would ever really begin to fade. Not him. Not the man who remembered everyone’s name, who fixed your broken camera with trembling hands and refused payment. He was just always there. A constant and suddenly that was wavering. You arrived quietly, slipping into Trent’s house like a ghost, unsteady, soft around the edges, your heart bruised and aching. Trent met you at the door like he’d been waiting there all along, like he’d felt the gravity of your sadness from across the city and hadn’t known how to sit still until you were in front of him. He didn’t say anything at first. Just gently took your bag and set it down with quiet care, like it was something delicate. Then his arms were around you, and everything else fell away. The air, the house, the noise in your head, it all faded. That hug was sanctuary. Tight but not crushing. Anchoring. He smelled like fresh cotton and whatever soap clung to his skin, warmth seeping into you like sunlight through cold glass. You buried your face into the nape of his neck and squeezed him tighter, like you could fold yourself into him and disappear. A small, tired kiss pressed against his throat, reflexive, wordless, your way of saying thank you without having to speak. He smiled against your hair, and his lips grazed your crown in return, featherlight.

“Hey… C’mere. Come gimme a real kiss.” He purred a low murmur that brushed your skin,  He cupped your cheek, thumb gliding softly beneath your eye, and tilted your chin up until your eyes met. That look he gave you, tender, open, not a hint of pressure, melted something rigid inside you. You leaned in, and he kissed you slow. So slow it felt like time stilled. Mouths barely moving, just breathing each other in. Like he was reminding you, you’re here now. You’re safe. When you finally pulled back, your voice cracked with a laugh you weren’t strong enough to carry. 

“Always know how to make me feel better.” Then quieter, “I’m sorry.” He heard the boys' laughter too, somewhere deeper in the house, a crash, a yell, and the guilt flickered across your features before you could swallow it down.

“What you sorry for?” he asked, brushing your hair behind your ear. “I wanted to see you… and now I have a reason to. Don’t like you sad though, baby. Told you that.”

“I know, but you didn’t have to. You’ve got friends over. I’m crashing a lads’ day.” Your gaze dropped, voice smaller. Your heart trying to curl in on itself. But he was swift, his hand on the back of your neck, thumb coaxing your jaw gently until you were looking at him again.

“Pick you easy… every time, beautiful.” The words poured out like honey. No hesitation. Just truth. From there, he guided you upstairs with a hand warm on the small of your back, his body close, always keeping you tethered to him. Every step felt like being pulled out of the storm and into somewhere sacred. He didn’t need to ask what you needed. He just knew. The bed was already turned down. A soft lamp glowed amber on the nightstand. He helped you out of your jacket, placed it neatly over the chair. Pulled a blanket over you once you were curled up on his bed. Not hovering, not fussing, just moving like someone who paid attention. Who noticed the little things: how your shoulders dropped only once he laid down beside you. How your fingertips ghosted his chest before finding a place to rest.  And then, finally—quiet. You didn’t talk. Didn’t need to. You just folded into him like it was the most natural thing in the world, your forehead against his chest, your breath syncing with his. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his palm splayed over your back like he was keeping you in place, not out of fear you’d leave, but because this was his favorite version of the world. You, here. In his bed. In his arms. He kissed the top of your head and exhaled. His house was big. Beautiful. Loud when filled with people. But it never felt more like home than it did when you were in it, quiet and close, the air between you alive with something deeper than words. And you? You didn’t need sleep. You didn’t need talking. The only comfort you needed was him, his heartbeat under your ear, his thumb brushing slow circles against your spine, his warmth like a hush over the ache. The silence wasn’t empty. It was everything. It was love, just not said yet.

—

[We Don’t Have To Take Our Clothes Off - Ella Eyre]

The hush of the room cradled you both, the duvet pooled around your waist, the scent of him in the pillows, the soft ambient hum of distant laughter from downstairs fading like static. You stayed curled into Trent’s chest, his breath warm on your temple, one hand smoothing up and down your spine like he was trying to press comfort directly into your bones. Then the guilt crept in again, soft and sour. You stirred, barely lifting your head. 

“I feel bad,” you murmured eventually, voice barely a thread. “You were with your friends. I shouldn’t have…”

“Stop,” he said, quietly but sure. “I wanted you here.”

“But they’re…” You tried again. 

“I wanted you here.” He shifted just enough to press his mouth to your hair. “I want to take care of you. Don’t overthink that.” You nodded, though guilt still prickled like static against your skin. The bed creaked faintly as you moved, turning your face up to look at Trent. He was already watching you,  eyes soft, open. Present. That look he got only with you. You blinked, your voice soft and uncertain.

“Do you… want to have sex?” Your voice wasn’t sultry, wasn’t teasing,  just quiet. Sad. Like you were trying to offer him something because you didn’t know what else to give. Trent’s heart thudded, a different ache blooming in his chest. His arms wound tighter around you as he pressed a kiss into your hair.

“Tempting,” he murmured with a small, wistful smile. “But let me just hold you for a bit, baby. That alright?” You nodded, eyes stinging. His voice was thick with sincerity, none of the usual cheek. Just warm and steady. He felt the weight of something else still sitting in your chest. “You okay? What’s going on?” he asked again, quieter this time. He ran a knuckle down the side of your arm, patient. You took a breath that barely made it out. 

“It’s silly.” You muttered but he shook his head, a silent way to tell you it wasn't. You exhaled. “The camera shop owner, Mr. Dyer…” Your voice cracked gently. “He’s… not doing well.” Trent didn’t need context. His brow knit softly as he looked down at you. Mr, Dyer was… well obviously old.  You stared past his collarbone, eyes unfocused. “He’s sick, T. Like, properly. My mum said it could be… weeks.” Trent inhaled, shifting to rest his cheek against the crown of your head, like that might hold you together better. “Just weird imagining it. He’s been around since I was little. I used to sneak into the dark room and he knew every time but he’d look the other way just because. He’s just such a consequential person. Like he was so quietly woven in my life” You blinked slow, like trying not to fall apart. “It just feels like the end of something. That whole shop… it’s not just a place.”

“I know,” he murmured, grounding you. “You showed me that. Place is magic, innit? All those photos you’ve got from in there… from him.” You nodded against his chest, thumb brushing his ribs. “It’s a beautiful thing though,” he added, voice soft. “You’ve got so many memories. And they’re photographs of those. And they’re not going anywhere, baby. Not really.” That nearly undid you. The fact that he understood. That he said it like it mattered to him too. Your breath hitched as you turned your face into his skin, a tear slipping out but not making a sound. His hand found yours under the blanket, fingers intertwining, anchoring. The two of you lay like that for what felt like hours, time unspooling in the quiet. Just the slow rise and fall of his chest under your cheek, the comfort of his presence, and the ache of knowing some things you love don’t last forever. But this moment? This bed, his arms, the steadiness of him… it was yours for now. 

—-

Your fingers had started tracing idle patterns along Trent’s side, over the soft cotton of his shirt, absentminded and tender. He hadn’t let you go, not even an inch. His arms still wrapped around you, the weight of his hand resting warm on your back. His chest rose and fell beneath your cheek in the same rhythm as before. Only now, it felt steadier. Or maybe that was just you. The outside world had quieted, only the occasional car humming past his house, the rustle of wind in the trees, the boys downstairs yelling. But the silence between you wasn’t empty. It breathed. It held things.

“Do you ever think about… how scary it is to really let someone in?” you asked softly, your voice barely more than a thought. “Like, to really be seen?” Trent’s thumb traced slow, easy circles along your lower back, thinking.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice low and truthful. “Probably more than I let on.” You lifted your head a little, just enough to look at him. His face was tilted toward the ceiling, jaw slack with thought, but his eyes flicked to meet yours. Honest and open, even in shadow.

“I think about that a lot,” you admitted. “Like… how much of yourself do you give away before you lose the parts that are just yours?” Trent’s hand moved to your hip, grounding you. 

“Maybe it’s not about losin’ ‘em,” he said after a beat. “Sometimes I feel like the most coveted thing I have are those things, you know? And who I share them with matters. Like they’ll be used as ammunition against me if they get out to the wrong people. But I don’t know. Never feels like a loss to me. Maybe it’s more about trustin’ someone to hold those parts with you.” The words landed softly. Like petals falling. 

“What if they drop them?” You bit your lip. Trent looked at you again, really looked this time, and reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Then they never deserved ‘em.” His touch lingered, warm and reverent. “But if they don’t… if they hold ‘em careful, like glass?” His voice dropped a little. “Maybe that’s what safe feels like.” Your chest tightened, but not in a bad way. It was just… full. Of him. Of this.

“Do you feel safe?” you asked, eyes searching his. He nodded slowly. 

“Right now? With you here like this… Yeah.” He exhaled, almost like he’d been holding the thought for too long. “It’s the safest I ever feel.” You blinked hard, the burn behind your eyes unfamiliar and tender. “I’ve spent a lot of time,” he continued, “figurin’ out how to look like I’ve got everything under control. On the pitch. In a room. In front of people.” He turned a little to face you more fully, his hand now cupping your waist. “But this? You in my bed, cryin’ a little, tellin’ me about a man who meant something to you? And me not needing to say the perfect thing. Just being’ here with you. Like me, existing here feels safe. Because it feels like it…or” He sighed. “Like I’m enough for you.” His voice faded a little, honesty coming too close to vulnerability. 

“You’re more than.” You smiled softly.

“Yeah? I like existing with you. ‘Cause sometimes I go out there… and it’s like I don’t exist at all, I’m a name, a kit number, a lump sum of money. But here…” He brushed his nose against yours gently, tender enough to ache. “That feels more like life than all the other stuff.” You closed your eyes. Let his words settle into your chest like warmth in cold water. “Still, somehow even that safety scares the shit out of me, baby.”

“I’m scared of how much I want to stay,” you whispered, almost ashamed of it.

“I want you to stay,” he whispered back, voice fraying at the edges. “Can be scared with me here.” There was no grand promise. No dramatic profession. Just this: your bodies tangled in quiet comfort, your grief shared, your fears named aloud. And the feeling, so clear it didn’t need to be said, that here, in this room, you were already home.

—

The room was quiet, the kind of quiet that held weight, like breath before a sob, or the hush of a theatre just before the lights dim. Trent’s bedroom door had closed behind you like a secret being kept, and the world outside it ceased to exist. You curled into him like second nature, forehead tucked beneath his chin, fingers balled softly against the cotton of his t-shirt. The sheets smelled like laundry powder and skin. Familiar. Steadying. His hand rubbed slow circles between your shoulder blades, not trying to fix anything, just there. His other arm was draped over your waist, pulling you closer each time your breath hitched. And God, that undid you more than anything. Not lust, not hunger, but this quiet devotion. The way he didn’t ask you to be less of a mess to deserve softness. You nuzzled closer, listening to the steady, grounding thump of his heart. His hand moved again, slow, soothing. And then, after a while, once the ache had dulled and the stillness had sunk into your bones, you tilted your face up again, eyes catching the gold-tinged lamp light.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice a purr against the slope of his neck. “For holding me.” Trent’s arms tightened around you. 

“Always gonna hold you close,” he murmured, and you felt the promise in it, not rushed, not conditional. Just real.

“How close?” you whispered, lips ghosting over his throat. He drew in a slow breath. 

“Careful,” he warned, a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth, betraying the calm of his voice. You grinned, lazy and sly, your nose brushing his. 

“Just a kiss.” You purred. Playful. 

“Yeah? You sure that’s all?” He raised a brow. 

“Mmhm,” you hummed. “Can you kiss me, baby?” You taunted him with the idea. His eyes darkened, just a little. He cupped your jaw with one hand, thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low, almost a whisper. “Kiss you, baby. You want that?” You nodded, your breath catching. 

“Just a kiss,” you repeated, teasing, lips hovering close enough to feel his.

“Alright,” he murmured, barely holding back the grin. “Give you a kiss.” And he leaned in, slow, deliberate. The moment stretched out like a held note, your lips nearly brushing. You could feel the heat of him, the pause in his breath, the restraint thrumming through every muscle like he was made of held-back desire.

—

His lips brushed yours, featherlight, like he was still giving you one last chance to pull away. But you didn’t. You leaned in. The kiss started soft, slow, like an inhale. His mouth fit against yours with such devastating ease, like your bodies remembered each other before your minds had caught up. His hand stayed on your cheek at first, thumb grazing just beneath your eye, but his other arm circled around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You sighed into it, the sound melting into his mouth. The taste of him, mint and something warm and distinctly him, sparked in your chest like a match struck in the dark. Just a kiss, you’d said. A lie before the idea even formed. Your body had other plans. You shifted slightly, thigh sliding over his hip, chest pressing against his as you deepened it, not just lips now, but tongue, breath, the subtle grind of your hips against his. You tilted your head and kissed him harder, more hungrily, like the grief had left a space only he could fill. Trent groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your mouth. His hand slipped under the hem of your shirt, palm splaying warm and possessive against the small of your back. He wasn’t rushing, no frantic tugging, no push. But the way his fingers traced lazy circles over your skin made your stomach twist with heat. Your hand slid up his chest, fingertips grazing his jaw as you kissed him again and again, mouths open, breaths tangled. The room had disappeared. The walls. The outside world. It was just the slow drag of his lips, the heat blooming low in your belly, the way his hand now slid a little higher, fingertips brushing your ribcage.

“Mm,” you murmured, letting your hips roll forward just slightly. “That still just a kiss?” Trent pulled back, barely, resting his forehead against yours, his lips pink and parted. His chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.

“Supposed to be,” he muttered, smirking, but his voice was hoarse, wrecked. You grinned against his mouth, kissed him again, deeper this time, your tongue teasing, tasting. His hand moved to your thigh, gripping it, anchoring you there as your leg draped more fully across him. “You’re teasing me.” He let out a shaky breath. 

“And you’re letting me,” you whispered, kissing down his jaw, sucking gently beneath his ear. He hissed through his teeth, his grip tightening as you mouthed at the column of his neck, deliberately slow, your lips trailing like fire. His hand traveled up, fingers brushing beneath your bra strap now, not quite pushing, just holding. Wanting. His other hand cupped your jaw again, thumb swiping across your bottom lip before leaning in to kiss you hard, like he’d given up pretending this wasn’t unraveling him. You moaned softly into his mouth, your hips shifting again, chasing friction now, pleasure humming low in your spine. The kiss broke just long enough for him to look at you, eyes dark and glassy. “You sure?” he asked, voice strained, his thumb still brushing your cheek, like you were fragile and holy all at once. You swallowed, heart thundering. 

“I just needed to feel close to you.” He nodded, brushing his nose against yours. 

“Then I’ll keep kissing you,” he said, kissing the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your throat. It was self-inflicted edging. Why just kissing? You didn’t know. The moment had felt so vulnerable before but then it flipped. Vulnerability turned vehement. The kiss unraveled slowly, like honey sliding warm over fingertips,  thick, golden, impossible to rush. You were tangled in his bed sheets, half under him, legs caught around his waist, the dim lamplight softening the sharpness of his jaw. Trent kissed you like he had nowhere else to be, like the world had narrowed down to just this bed, this heat, this moment. His lips moved lazily, confidently, dragging at yours with the kind of focus that made everything else fall away. Your fingers slipped beneath his t-shirt, tracing up the ridges of his stomach, his ribs, the lines of muscle flexing beneath your touch. His breath hitched when your nails grazed skin, but he didn’t pull back, just kissed you deeper, one hand planted against the mattress, the other cradling the back of your neck as your spine arched to meet him. You rolled again, limbs clumsy and greedy, laughter breaking between kisses when the duvet tangled around your knees and neither of you could stop grinning. This was stupid. You’d fucked in every sense of the word but you decided today you’d just ‘kiss.’ His mouth found your throat, warm breath skating along your collarbone.

“You’re a fucking tease. ‘Just a kiss,’ is such bullshit from you,” he murmured against your skin, lips curled into a smile, the words vibrating against your pulse point. “Lyin’ straight through your teeth, baby.” A breathless hum escaped you as his teeth grazed just below your ear.

“I didn’t lie,” you whispered, dragging your lips across his jaw, up to his temple. “I just didn’t specify how long the kiss would be…” Trent chuckled darkly, voice rasped from restraint, the sound curling through the space between you like smoke. 

“Mhmm. Alright. But you’re playing a dangerous game, baby.” He kissed you again, firmer this time, taunting and testing your will. The kind of kiss that made you forget your name.  One of his hands slid beneath the hem of your shirt, calloused fingertips dragging across your ribs, your side, up to the curve of your tits. 

“Game’s over.” You whimpered, needing more. Your resilience was paper thin when it came to Trent. And nonexistent when his lips were on yours. He paused just long enough to look at you, silently asking, always asking. You nodded, breathless, lips already seeking his again. 

“Thank god.” he groaned, pushing his hips subtly against yours. The tension was pulsing now, an ache growing between every word, every press of skin. You whined into another kiss. “Feel so good You make the softest fuckin’ sounds…” You couldn’t help it, another moan slipped out, low and quiet, your hips lifting into his touch. Your eyes fluttered shut as you pressed kisses across the slope of his neck, feeling his pulse jump beneath your lips. His voice dropped to a purr. “My baby…” Just then, the click of the door broke the spell. Both of you froze, your face still buried in his neck, brow furrowed by the noise, your fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt. Trent stiffened beneath you. A beat passed. Then a voice.

“Uh… woah, okay.” Marcel laughed, stood in the doorway, one hand still on the handle, an obnoxiously smug look already spreading across his face. Trent's head snapped toward the doorway.

“Bro!” Half a shout, half a strangled groan. You let out a small gasp, immediately pushing your face in the crook of his neck, mortified, your hands clutching at his back like you could disappear into him, hiding into his neck like that could somehow rewind time. You felt him tense, then relax, then tense again. Marcel let out a childish giggle. The kind that only came from a younger brother catching his older one out. 

“This is so beyond awkward for me,” he announced, eyes dramatically pointed toward the ceiling. “But you gotta move your car, mate. Or at least give me your keys.” He paused for full effect, his tone dry as bone. “Didn’t know you had anyone here.” You could hear the smirk in his voice. Trent exhaled like he’d been hit in the chest, dragging a hand down his face. 

“Downstairs. Kitchen island, lad.” He exhaled letting his head drop back against the pillow, exasperated. 

“Cheers.” Marcel turned to go, but not before tossing one final glance pointedly away from the bed. “Have fun.” He dragged the words out like a performance, gaze still firmly averted but his expression smug as hell. He laughed as the door clicked shut. Silence.

“Oh my god. No.” You whined into Trent’s neck He tipped his head back onto the pillow, eyes shut, mouth parted in exasperated disbelief. He sighed, palm smoothing up your back like to soothe the secondhand shame.

“Fuck...” Trent muttered. You slowly lifted your head, the air still thick with the remnants of what could’ve happened. The heat between your legs had cooled only slightly, but your cheeks burned like fire. You watched him, studying the faint flush on his cheeks, not from arousal now, but embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, brushing your hand over his hair. You lifted your head slowly, cheeks burning. “ I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” Trent looked over at you, chest rising and falling, eyes searching. 

“You didn’t.” He said instantly. You gave him a small, skeptical look. 

“You seemed embarrassed.” He shrugged, pulling you back down into his arms, voice quieter now. 

“He just… He never… He knows I’m not usually like that…” He said after a beat, with a sigh. This wasn’t about Marcel seeming him kiss a girl. He had before. No, this was about him seeing Trent being a fucking melt. You tilted your head.

“Not usually like that?” Trent opened one eye, half-lidded, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. 

“Baby… I grew up in a house full of boys and in a footie academy. Being soft isn’t really what we praise each other for, yeah? Like we don't… show tha. Not like tha. That’s brutal territory.” You reached for his jaw, tilting it so he’d look at you. 

“But you’ve never?” you asked softly. He shook his head, honest and unguarded. There was a beat. Something unspoken settling in the air between you.

“Nah. Never.” He kissed you then, tender and warm, his fingers threading through your hair like he couldn’t bear to let go. It was the kind of kiss that anchored things, that said stay here without a single word. 

“I talk to you like that all the time,” you murmured when you pulled back. Trent’s hand curled around your waist, tugging you down with a low hum. “You’re not the only one.” You said softly, smiling at him. Trent opened his eyes again, pulling you closer, tucking your leg over his like he couldn’t bear an inch between you.

“And I’mma keep talkin’ to you like that. So come back here.” You smiled as he guided you into his chest again, your body melting into his like you belonged there, all warm limbs and quiet laughter, the echo of heat still humming in your blood. Trent’s fingers traced slow, idle lines across your spine as you lay curled into him, your breath syncing in quiet rhythm. The embarrassment had melted into something else now, something weightless and warm. Outside the door, the world was turning again, but in this bed, time bent to softness. The echo of what almost happened still hung in the air between you, electric and unfinished. “I should’ve locked the door,” he muttered, his voice thick with regret. You tilted your face into the crook of his neck, lips brushing his skin like a secret. 

[Losin Control - Russ]

“Why’s that?” you asked, your tone a slow purr, syrup-sweet and teasing. He stilled. Then, with a smirk ghosting at the edge of his mouth, he shifted, rolling onto his back to look at you fully.

“Don’t start with me,” he warned playfully, one arm slung behind his head, the other trailing across your bare thigh, fingers dipping just beneath the hem of your shorts. You leaned over him, letting your hair fall like a curtain between you and the rest of the world. 

“Start what?” you murmured, feigning innocence, your lips brushing his as you spoke. He exhaled sharply, eyes fixed on yours. 

“You know what.” You dragged your lips along his jaw, your hand skating beneath his shirt again, this time letting your fingers explore slowly, memorizing the warm ridges of his abdomen, the way his muscles tensed when you touched him like that.

“Mmm no, I don’t think I do…” you whispered, mouth at his ear, “…you should show me.” He groaned low, the sound pulled from somewhere deep. His hand curled behind your neck, guiding your mouth back to his. The kiss was different now, hotter, hungrier, but still reverent. Like he didn’t want to ruin the softness. Like he wanted to fold the heat into it.

“Gonna kill me,” he rasped between kisses, “with that voice. That look in your eyes…”

“You started it,” you breathed, smiling against his lips. He rolled again, easing on top of you, your thighs parting instinctively to cradle his hips. His weight settled over you like an answer. The mattress dipped, sheets rustling softly, the only soundtrack to your world narrowing down again, this time on purpose.

“You want me to show you?” he asked, his voice thick with velvet and heat, lips brushing your ear. His hand moved slowly beneath your shirt, pushing it up, his thumb circling just beneath your breast but not quite touching. You nodded, breath catching. 

“Show me.” And he did. With patience. With care. With heat that built slow and unstoppable. His kisses deepened, mouth traveling down your neck, across your collarbone, until your shirt joined the duvet on the floor. His touch was reverent and wanting, all at once, palms full of you, as if he’d dreamed of this a hundred times and couldn’t believe it was real.

“Still just a kiss?” he teased against your stomach, grinning when your breath stuttered. You reached down, fingers gripping his curls, tugging him back up to meet your mouth. 

“Never was going to be just a kiss.” He kissed you again, rougher now. His hips moved with more intent, your shorts sliding down with ease. And as skin met skin, as heat built into something dizzying and full, Trent still held you like something precious. Even when his hands were everywhere, roaming, claiming, you felt adored, not devoured. When he entered you, it wasn’t rushed or ravenous. It was close. It was soft, but it burned. 

—

You hadn’t meant for it to get this far. You’d come over for comfort and well... now you were beneath him, your bodies tangled in soft cotton sheets, your thighs open around his hips, and every breath felt like it came laced with want. Trent kissed you like he couldn’t help himself, mouth insistent, tongue slow and deep, tasting every syllable you weren’t speaking. He sat back on his knees to take you in, your stomach rising and falling as you looked up at him.

“So fuckin’ pretty like this,” he murmured, voice low and full of reverence, eyes drinking you in like you were made of sunlight. You reached for him, tugging him down so your bare chests brushed. His skin was hot, smooth, his heartbeat thudding steady against your own. You arched into him instinctively, gasping when his hand cupped your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple with aching slowness.

“T…” you breathed, not even sure what you were asking for, just needing more. He ducked his head, lips moving over your neck, sucking gently beneath your jaw, then trailing lower, tongue dipping into the hollow of your throat.

“You’re killin’ me, baby,” he whispered, his voice roughened by restraint. “Keep saying my name  like tha and I’m not gonna be able to stop.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to,” you whispered, letting your hand slide down his stomach, fingertips teasing the edge of his waistband. 

“You’re not makin’ this easy.” His groan vibrated against your collarbone, hips twitching forward instinctively. 

“Then stop trying to make it easy. You don’t have to be careful with me.” That broke something in him. His mouth was on you again, feverish, urgent but still so precise, like he wanted to memorize the shape of your pleasure. You felt the shift as his hand slipped past your waistband, fingers finding you already soaked, already aching for him. He swore under his breath, a reverent, disbelieving sound.

“All this for me?” he murmured against your ear, fingers sliding through you, slow and deep, coaxing out a moan that had your back arching.

“For you,” you panted, legs falling wider. “Always for you.” He kissed you hard then, fingers working you open, dragging you to the edge over and over again until you were breathless beneath him, your hips rising to chase more. And then, without a word, he paused, just long enough to pull your shorts down, his sweats following, the tension so thick you could’ve bitten into it. His eyes met yours again, dark and molten.

“Tell me you want this,” he said, low and serious, even as his body hovered over yours, ready to fall. You reached up, cupping his jaw. 

“Don’t want this. I want you.” He pressed forward, slow at first, a groan rumbling in his chest as he slid inside. Your fingers gripped his shoulders, nails digging in, overwhelmed at how full it felt, how intimate, how impossibly close. He stilled once he was buried deep, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing hard. Nothing moved for a moment. Just the shared pulse of something sacred. Then he started to move, each thrust deep and measured, like he was determined to take his time. The rhythm built slowly, each stroke dragging moans from your mouth, your hips rising to meet his. Your bodies fit together like they’d done this a thousand times in dreams. Like this was inevitable.

—

The living room was still flickering with the last bits of a game, the boys slouched deep into the sectional, half-asleep and nursing drinks. A half-empty bag of crisps sat on the coffee table, someone’s shoes were tossed in the middle of the room for no reason, and the bass from the tv still pulsed low. And then—BANG. BANG. BANG. The frantic thudding of socked feet down the stairs.

“Yooo, you lot…” Marcel’s voice pitched low as he skidded into the living room, nearly slipping on the edge of the rug, eyes wild.

“What? You alright, bro?”  Leon blinked, sitting up. 

“You good?” Kieren mumbled, barely lifting his head. Marcel stopped dead in the center of the room, panting like he’d just run a marathon. He pointed upward with a dramatic swirl of his hand.

“He’s got her upstairs.” Everyone paused.

“Sorry?” Kieren asked, brow raised. Marcel raised both arms like it was obvious. 

“Her! The girl! His girl. She’s up there, like, full-on. In his bed. Now. Fucking snaked us and snuck her in.” He explained with a wild smile. The silence cracked in an instant.

“No fucking way,” Leon barked, straightening up with wide eyes. “You’re kidding. She’s not here. I didn’t even hear the door.” 

“Wait, wait, wait…” Kieren said, turning fully around, now alert.

“I swear, bro!” Marcel held one hand up, the other still pointing upstairs like he’d seen a ghost. “Didn’t say a thing. Just materialized in his room like some sneaky link, I opened the door and they were in the bed. He fucking…” Marcel paused trying to get words out without laugher muddying them. “Trentski’s up there soft as hell, put it that way… Well emotionally because he’s probably not soft considering the state they were in when I walked in, you get me?” He rambled some more, falling into a childish laugh. Leon nearly dropped his bottle of water as he chuckled.

“Lad gets bricked up by the thought of her.” He chuckled. “Nah… If he’s gonna be a melt just fucking own it. He’s such a simp for her.” He smirked. 

“Like ‘my baby’ this and that… proper sap.” Marcel shook his head.

“Shut the fuck up. What a rat,” Kieren said, already rising to his feet. “No chance. He dipped on us and didn’t have the decency to say he was actually popping off for a bird. I’m goin’ up. Not having this.” he laughed. Marcel tried to grab his arm. 

“Bro!” Marcel laughed. “Bro, bro. Don’t. Don’t go up there! You’re gonna make it worse!”  But Kieren wouldn’t miss the opportunity to tease Trent. Especially when him being soft with you was so god damn obvious and yet he still tried to hide it. He was already padding toward the staircase, tiptoeing like a raccoon raiding a trash bin. He crept up two steps, paused, then leaned his head just barely around the corner of the banister. A beat of silence.Then his jaw dropped. He slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Oh my days…nahh.” he whispered, turning to the other boys with eyes wide hearing a clapping sound from upstairs. “Alright, maybe I won’t go interrupt that.” He smirked and the living room exploded.

“You’re lying!” Leon howled, launching a pillow across the room.

“Trentski’s such a fucking mug!” Kieren clutched his chest like he was going to faint. “I need oxygen.” Kieren stumbled back down the stairs in awe, dramatically sitting on the ground.. 

“My bro is down so bad.” Leon laughed. 

“If she wasn’t on top of him, he would’ve taken a swing at me. He called me bro with his whole chest when I walked in.” Marcel chuckled. “I just needed him to move his car!” 

“My boy’s done for.” Kieren stood up only to collapse back down onto the couch.

“Finished,” Leon agreed.

“Gone,” Marcel added. “Bury him.” They all cracked up, shouting over each other, spinning theories and fake Trent quotes with exaggerated accents…

“‘You’re the only one for me, beautiful—’”

“‘Lay here, baby, I’ll braid your hair and talk about our future—’”

“No, you’re not my girlfriend, I’m just desperately in love with you.’”

—

Upstairs, meanwhile, Trent was still tangled in the sheets with you, kissing slow trails along your shoulder, completely oblivious to the hysteria downstairs, until the faint, unmistakable sound of Kieren’s voice echoed upward.

“Are you coming back down anytime soon? We know you can’t last that long, broski.” He shouted. 

“Aye TRENTY! WHEN’S THE WEDDING?!” Leon laughed. 

“I hate them so much.” Trent groaned and dropped his forehead to your chest.  You giggled at first but when he began to slow, it wasn't funny anymore. 

“Focus on me.” You purred cupping his jaw, turning his head to look only at you. 

“Only focus on you. Fuck, you feel so good,” he rasped, teeth grazing your throat. “So soft. So warm.” And the strokes you didn’t want to slow moments ago returned and even harder now. You whimpered beneath him, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper, the pressure rising sharp and hot.

“I love when you talk to me like that,” you gasped. He kissed the corner of your mouth. Trent smirked because fuck the boys downstairs. He’d take this any day of the week.  

“Yeah? Like when I tell you how good this pussy is. How fucking perfect you are.” He growled as his thrusts got harder. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him in, and the kiss that followed was messy, wet, desperate, your lips parting around one another like there wasn’t enough time in the world to get close enough. He shifted slightly, adjusting the angle, and when he thrust again it hit something devastating, making your eyes roll back. You cried out softly, and he bit back a moan, gripping your hip tighter, riding the rhythm of your rising breath. Your name spilled from his lips like prayer. You clung to him, every inch of you trembling, sweat slicking your skin. His pace grew erratic, ragged, and your body coiled tighter, eyes fluttering shut. “Cum f’me, baby,” he whispered at your ear. “Let me feel you.” And when you did, clutching him, gasping into his shoulder, it broke him too. His hips stuttered as he followed you over the edge, groaning into your skin, holding you like he never wanted to let go. His forehead pressed against yours, breaths stuttering into shared silence, your bodies meeting again and again like a promise. His hands stayed on your hips, your waist, your cheek, grounding you, treasuring you, guiding you through every wave of it. You arched beneath him, breathy and undone. He kissed the corner of your mouth.

“You okay, baby?” he whispered, eyes searching yours.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed back, your voice catching. “Are you?” You whispered.

“Never better.” He moved again, just a little deeper one last time time. You gasped, nails curling against his shoulder. He groaned in response, like he could feel your pleasure in his bones. You stayed tangled like that, breathing each other in.

“Ooops.” You laughed. “Think they heard?” He sighed. Trent’s arms tightened around you, his face buried in your hair, body still trembling slightly as the last waves rolled through him.

“Should’ve locked the fuckin’ door,” he whispered again, but this time he was smiling. You giggled, breathless, nose brushing his jaw. 

“And miss all that?” He rolled onto his back, dragging you with him so you were sprawled over his chest, still bare and flushed and soft.

“They’re so fucking loud.” He murmured. You kissed his neck, slow and teasing. 

“So are you…” You giggled a little more, soft, tired, completely infatuated with him.

“Oh really?” He smirked with raised brows and faux offense. 

“Mmhmm I’m not complaining… So what?” You hummed with a shrug. Reassurance that it was fine. No, better than fine. 

“So,” he purred, turning to kiss your temple, “next time I take you apart like that, we’re locking the door. No interruptions. Need to stay focused” He pulled you tighter, cradling you close. 

“No interruptions.” You whispered. You buried your face into his chest, and he kissed the top of your head, both of you glowing in the afterheat. No rush. No noise. Just the stillness of being known, and wanted, and held. And somewhere downstairs, the boys continued to mock. But up here? Up here, you were safe. Wanted. Soft. His.

—

[Yes It Is - Leon Thomas]

Upstairs, the chaos downstairs didn’t exist. The air in Trent’s room was thick and quiet, still humming with heat. The bedsheets were a mess, creased, clinging to sweat-damp skin, one corner kicked halfway to the floor. Moonlight streamed through the sheer curtains, turning your tangled limbs silver and soft. Your leg was still hooked lazily over his hip, his palm smoothing lazy strokes across your lower back as if his hands couldn’t believe you were real. His other hand threaded through your fingers, thumb brushing back and forth in a rhythm that said, I’m not letting go. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the afterglow sinking into your bones like warm honey. He kissed your temple once, then again. Longer the second time. Without a word, he shifted. You made a sleepy sound in protest as he slipped out of bed, but he leaned down to kiss your shoulder.

“Just stay, yeah? One sec.” He whispered. His voice was hoarse, still edged in gravel and silk. You heard the low creak of the bathroom door, the metallic hiss of the tap turning on, and then the soft gush of water pouring into porcelain. When he returned, his arms went beneath you like instinct. You didn’t even open your eyes, just melted into his chest, letting him carry you through the soft dim of the ensuite. The bathroom lights were dimmed. Only the glow from the hallway and a flickering candle on the windowsill lit the space in golden flickers. Steam was already clouding the mirror, curling like ghosts against the tile. The tub wasn’t full yet, but it didn’t matter. “C’mere.” Trent slid in first, sitting back against the ceramic with a low, satisfied sigh, then gently pulled you in after him, your back to his chest, water rising around your bodies like a hush. It wasn’t a bath to get clean. It was meant to be but it was moreso a bath to stay close. His knees bent around you, caging you in. Your head dropped back against his shoulder, neck exposed, his lips pressing there with a tenderness that made your eyes flutter shut. His hands didn’t stray far, didn’t rush, just moved over you slowly, reverently, tracing the slick path of your collarbone, the curves of your thighs underwater, the slope of your stomach. A finger swirled idle circles just beneath the surface, following the softest parts of you like a map. One hand held your waist, anchoring you. The other splayed over your sternum, his thumb sweeping side to side, brushing drops from your skin. Your own fingers slid over his thighs beneath the water, gliding along muscle and warmth, drawn to him like tide to moon. You whispered something, thank you or come here or maybe just Trent, and he tightened his hold like the sound of your voice was enough to undo him all over again. “Y’good?” he murmured against your damp temple, voice low and syrupy. You nodded, not wanting to speak. Not wanting to break whatever spell had sunk between your bodies like velvet weight. Instead, you turned your face toward his jaw, kissing it softly, then again just under his ear.

“You always take care of me,” you whispered. His chest rose behind you. 

“Yeah, well. That’s the plan.” His voice cracked just a little on the end. A truth too close to bone. He buried his face in your wet hair, breathing you in like incense. His hand drifted down your side again, not lustful, just needing. Needing to hold. To soothe. To know. The water sloshed gently as he adjusted, pulling you even closer, skin to skin, heart to heart, and the candle flickered as if it knew what it meant to burn slow and steady.

—

The water had long since gone lukewarm, but neither of you moved. You stayed nestled there, your back pressed to his chest, your fingers idly tracing lazy shapes along his thigh beneath the surface. Every now and then, Trent pressed his lips to your shoulder, your temple, your damp cheek, slow, absentminded kisses that said I'm still here. The steam had begun to fade, curling gently up the mirror like a yawn. Eventually, he stirred.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmured into the shell of your ear, arms tightening once before releasing you, “Let’s get you dry.” You nodded, drowsy and pliant as he helped you out of the tub. The cool air kissed your skin, making you shiver, but he was already there, wrapping you in one of his oversized towels, the scent of clean cotton and something unmistakably him clinging to the fabric. He tucked it around your body with reverence, smoothing it over your shoulders and kissing your collarbone through the terry cloth. Then, silently, he reached for another towel and dried himself off with quick, practiced movements, glancing at you now and then with that look, like he still couldn’t believe you were real. Like he wanted to memorize this, burn it into the backs of his eyelids. The ensuite was dim and quiet as you stepped back into the bedroom. The bed was a mess of tangled sheets and lingering heat, shadows pooling in the corners, golden light from the hallway catching on the creased pillowcases. Trent padded ahead of you, grabbing one of his shirts from the back of a chair, slipping it over your head before you could even protest. It swallowed you whole, still warm from his body. He tugged the sleeves down your arms gently, then kissed your forehead. “There. My girl.” The words were soft, spoken like a lullaby. You didn’t answer, just looked at him with sleep-drunk eyes, cheeks flushed from the bath, hair damp and curling. Without saying anything else, Trent climbed into bed first, lifting the covers and patting his chest like he always did when he wanted you tucked right there. Against him. Beneath his chin. Where you were safest. You slid in, burrowing into his side. The room smelled like warm skin and steam and candlewax, like something sacred and domestic. His fingers traced light lines down your arm as your cheek found his chest, and the weight of the day, the ache, the comfort, the intimacy, began to settle deep into your bones. “Get some sleep, baby,” he whispered, voice rough and low.

“Will you stay here?” you mumbled, already sinking.

“Don’t want to be anywhere else.” He kissed the top of your head and wrapped both arms around you, chest rising and falling against your back in a rhythm that steadied your breath. And there, tangled together beneath the weight of warmth and water and want, the world slowed to a hush. Nothing needed fixing. Nothing needed explaining. Just the silence of being held. And that, for now, was everything.

—

The hotel room was quiet, lit only by the soft flicker of the muted TV. His teammates were out, scattered or knocking around someone else's suite, but Trent stayed in, legs stretched out on the bed, head pressed into the cool pillow, phone balanced on his chest. Still damp from the shower. Still aching from the session. Still thinking about you. The ghost of you was everywhere. In the way the sheets bunched beneath him. In the smell of your hair still clinging to the inside of his jumper. In the memory of your body curled into his in the bath, in the soft hush of your voice whispering I’m here, in the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t watching. Like he was something precious. Like he was safe. He swallowed hard, thumb tapping his phone open again, checking the time. You were probably doing your makeup right about now. You always did it slowly, like a ritual, like art. He’d watched you do it a dozen times and still didn’t understand how it was possible for you to look that good in a hoodie or a barely-there top, half made-up or barely awake. He tapped FaceTime before he could second guess it. And there you were. Perched in front of your mirror, lips pursed as you traced your liner with expert flicks, dressed in something tight and low-cut, something that made his chest tighten and his jaw clench. You caught him watching and smiled knowingly.

“Wow. You look beautiful,” he rasped, smirking despite himself. “Where you going?”

“Cammy and I are going out to dinner.” You purred, adjusting your top just enough to make him groan a little. His smirk deepened, greedy now.

“Mm. Wish I was going to dinner with you.” He purred.

“Stop,” you giggled, all teasing innocence. But he felt it then, that ache, the sudden gut-pull of I miss you.

“Baby, got a question for ya,” he said, voice a little uneven. You hummed distractedly, moving to focus on your lashes.

“Nah baby, look at me. One sec.” Your gaze snapped up, makeup wand paused midair. 

“You okay?” You asked earnestly. He exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. 

“Yeah, uh… just wanted to know…” He trailed off, cheeks heating, words sticking like honey. Just say it, lad. “…if you’d maybe sleep at mine tonight?” He said it fast. “You know the code and that. Can go whenever. I’ll be home late, but I’ll be there… And I’d like it if you were already there.” Your lips parted, a wicked grin curling. 

“Okay, baby.” You bashfully whispered immediately. His stomach flipped. God, he loved when you said it like that.

“Alright, baby, you’ll be waiting for me in my bed then, yeah?” he asked, voice low, hungry. You nodded, biting your lip like you knew exactly what you were doing. 

“Yeah, okay baby.” He could’ve sworn the screen warmed with your smile.

“Might be late though, so if you…”He tried to give you an out but you didn't want one.

“I’ll be there, T,” you interrupted softly, eyes locking with his, cutting through the tease with something steadier, sweeter. He grinned, almost as bashful as you were.

“Alright. Just don’t want you scared when I climb into bed with you at 3 a.m.” He laughed lightly.

“I won’t be, as long as it’s you grabbing me,” you giggled, smug and soft. His head tipped back into the pillow with a groan eager and desperate to do just that. 

“It will be, baby.” A pause. His thumb hovered near the red button. He didn’t want to hang up yet, not really. But he had to. Or else he’d tell you too much. So he let himself say one last thing with a look, one last kiss blown through the screen, one last smile meant only for you. And then he hung up. Left in the quiet again, heart still racing. But this time, it wasn’t from training. It was from you.

—

“Campbellllll!!” you squealed, voice nearly cracking from the sheer volume of your excitement. A thud, followed by scrambling footsteps. 

“What?! What? Are you okay?!” Campbell burst into your room, wide-eyed and breathless, like she expected blood or a broken bone. You clutched your phone to your chest, breathless for a whole different reason. 

“He asked me to come over!” you squeaked, practically vibrating with glee, knees bouncing where you stood in front of the mirror. Her brows pinched in confusion, glancing down at the phone, then back at your face. 

“Okay... and?” she blinked. “You’ve been over, like, a billion times…? I’m not following.”

“No, before he’s there!” you interrupted, voice high, pitch rising with every word. “Like. Alone. Like, just me at his place. Like, ‘sleep there while I’m away’ vibes, ‘be there when I get home’ domesticity Cam!” Her face cracked into a grin. 

“Y/N…” she laughed, folding her arms, eyebrows raised with the kind of knowing look only a best friend could give.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, suddenly spinning in a circle, phone still clutched to your chest like a talisman. “Like, I go, right? I go?”

“Obviously. You’ve gone before. Like, so beyond obviously you go.” She launched herself at you from behind, wrapping her arms around your waist, cheek pressed against yours. You both giggled like teenagers, swaying together in a joyfully chaotic hug.

“And like… what do I wear?” you asked, already half-distracted, staring at the open wardrobe. “Do I play it cool? Or slutty? Like slutty but with intention…”

“Just your usual. So lingerie unless you want to spice it up and be completely naked for him.” She giggled. “You’ll be fine. But go through his drawers before he gets home,” Campbell whispered mischievously, grin stretching wide as she tugged you toward your bed.

“Stop!” you laughed, swatting at her.

“I’m kidding!” she cackled, flopping onto the pillows dramatically. “Mostly. Just tell me if there’s anything good.” You flopped down beside her, both of you breathless from laughter. The room was still spinning in that dreamy, dizzy way it only does when your heart’s beating fast from something good. Her voice softened. “This is good though, Y/N. It’s good.” You nodded, smile still tugging at your lips. And she was right, Campbell was always right. This was good. The kind of good that settles in your chest like warmth and possibility. The kind of good that made your stomach flip and your fingers itch to touch the night already waiting for you. This was the start of something. You could feel it.

—

The house was still when you stepped inside, the hush of it wrapping around you like a blanket. You shut the door behind you gently, careful not to disturb the peace that seemed to settle over everything. You’d been here a million times. You’d had the code for ages but this felt different. It felt real. His home felt like him, minimal and warm, wood and linen and quiet luxury. It smelled faintly of cedar and something clean, something distinctly Trent. It made your stomach flutter. You toed off your shoes, fingers brushing the wall as you wandered through, the silence like velvet. Your heart thudded with something soft, not nerves exactly, but anticipation. Like walking into a moment that had already been waiting for you. His bedroom door creaked as you nudged it open. Dark inside, save for the pool of moonlight spilling in from the curtains he always left a little open. You didn’t bother to turn on a lamp. Just moved slowly, reverently. You knew the layout, you knew where your things were already. You got ready for bed and something panged in your chest when you put your toothbrush down next to his. This was very real. 

You shed your clothes like a second skin and folded them neatly on the armchair by the window. The bedsheets were cool when you slipped under them, but they smelled like him, like cotton and heat, and the faintest trace of his cologne buried in the threads. You pulled the pillow he used most into your arms, tucked your cheek against it, and sighed. And in the sacred, late-night quiet, where there were no texts or talking or guessing games, you let yourself miss him. Let yourself ache for him without fighting it. And then, wrapped in the warmth of his bed, you fell asleep with your fingers curled against the space where he would be.

It was nearly 4 a.m. when Trent walked through the front door. Later than he’d liked but after extra time, and a delayed plane, he was home. He was exhausted, his bag hit the floor with a soft thud, keys tossed to the counter with barely a glance. But even through the bone-deep fatigue, something inside him kicked awake the second he saw the light left on above the stove, the tiniest glow, like a promise. She’s here. He didn’t rush. He moved quietly, reverently, like he was afraid to break the spell. The door to his bedroom creaked, and his heart swelled. You were there. Curled up under his sheets, tangled in them like you belonged. His pillow pressed to your chest, your cheek soft against it, one bare leg kicked out and catching the moonlight. You looked like you were dreaming, face relaxed, lips parted just slightly, lashes fluttering every so often like you might wake up. He smiled, head tilted in quiet awe, his whole chest aching with it. He plugged his phone in before kissing your hair. And after his own bedtime routine in the ensuite, he undressed silently, dropping clothes where they fell, then climbed into bed beside you with a care that felt holy. The mattress dipped, and your body reacted on instinct, whining softly, eyes barely opening, arms reaching for him blindly in the dark.

“Shh, baby… s’okay. Just me, m’here,” he whispered against your shoulder, lips brushing the skin there. He kissed you again, just beneath your ear, as your body melted into his like it never wanted to be apart. You murmured something too quiet to catch, breath warm against his neck, and his arm wrapped tighter around your waist. He held you like he never wanted to let go. And maybe that’s what made him speak. His voice was barely above a whisper, lips moving against your shoulder like a secret. “Wish you lived here,” he murmured. “Wish I came home to you every night.” You didn’t stir. But he kept talking, like maybe some part of you would hear him anyway. “Love comin’ home to you, baby. Love you in my bed… love you in my space. Just … you.” he omitted the last word. He knew it was right there but you were asleep. It didn’t feel right. There was no response. No giggle or tease or soft kiss back. But your fingers curled tighter into his chest, and that was enough. So he stayed like that, one hand stroking your side, one leg tangled with yours, heart thudding loud in the quiet as the sky outside lightened just slightly toward morning. And he thought: this is what home’s supposed to feel like. You were what home’s supposed to feel like.

—

[Always n Forever - Mariah Scientist ft. Lil Baby]

The rooftop was alive. Summer clung to your skin like heat you didn’t mind, humid, electric, touched with the scent of sweat, citrus cocktails, and perfume trails left in passing. Music pulsed beneath your feet, that deep, vibrating bass that stitched itself into your chest. Lights strobed lazily, all dusky purples and golds, the sky still clinging to a navy haze where the sun had slipped under the horizon. It was a sexy night, everything about it designed to be touched. And you had dressed accordingly. Your mini dress [ref index] hugged your figure like poetry in motion, mesh thinned by the moonlight, rouched and soft, cinched to your waist like it had been sewn with his hands in mind. Your legs were crossed at the edge of the velvet sofa, feet dangling, grazing the gold-rimmed edge of the glass table. From your perch, you could see the whole rooftop, everyone drinking, dancing, swaying. Faces you knew, faces you didn’t. And Trent. You’d felt his eyes on you the moment you arrived. He hadn’t said anything at first, just looked. The kind of look that made your throat tighten and your legs cross tighter. You both attempting to play coy. But now he was across the terrace, and a girl had cornered him. Pretty. Laughing too hard at something he didn’t say. You told yourself you didn’t care. Told yourself you were cool. That he could do what he wanted. After all, you weren’t dating, right? Still… it twisted something low in your stomach. You’d seen this before. You’d felt this too many times. You watched the girl reach out, touching his chest, fingers sliding down his arm like she had a right to it. That was the line. You sat forward just slightly, heart pinned somewhere between anger and ache. But Trent?

He stepped back. Took her hand and gently peeled it off him, murmured something, and turned away without giving her anything more than a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. And then he was walking back toward the group. Straight to you. He didn’t stop to speak to anyone. His focus was clean, deliberate. When he reached you, he didn’t sit, he stepped in between your knees, warm palms sliding up the outside of your thighs, gripping them like he needed the anchor. He looked down at you, smirking like he knew everything. Your jealousy. Your pride. Your fear.

“Never need to be jealous, hmm?” he purred, voice low, thick with heat as he leaned in to press a slow, lazy kiss to your neck. You rolled your eyes, even as your body gave in. 

“Shut up,” you hummed, smile tugging at your lips as your head lolled to the side for him.

“Shhh,” he hushed, trailing kisses down the column of your throat. “I got a girl.” You felt your stomach flip at that. “Sexiest thing here. Always are. Dressed like that, looking at me like that… Baby, you don’t even know what you do to me.” His voice rasped into your skin, hand gripping your thigh a little tighter. You shivered.

“I don’t want anyone else touching you.” You purred, your hands draping over his shoulder, pulling him subtly into you.

“And I don’t want anyone else touching me,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw. “Only you. Always you.” And then he kissed you. Like he meant it. Like there had never been a doubt. Like the heat of the club, the swirl of bodies, the chaos of his lifestyle, all of it fell away the second his mouth found yours. He kissed you like he’d waited all night. All summer. Maybe even longer. And you let him, your hands slipping around his neck, pulling him closer, the world fading beneath the pressure of his lips. Because something had shifted, quiet and seismic. It didn’t matter that fans would always want photos. That girls would always try to flirt. That this was messy, undefined, and scary. He wanted you. And tonight, he wasn’t hiding it.

—

The kiss lingered. Even when it ended, it stayed there, breathing between your lips, pulsing between your thighs. Trent didn’t pull away far. His forehead leaned into yours, hands still firm on your legs, his thumbs drawing slow, grounding circles into your skin like he needed to memorize you with touch alone. Around you, the rooftop blurred into sound and color, music muffled by the blood rushing in your ears, laughter distant like it was coming from underwater.

“Fuck,” he muttered into your hair, breath warm and wrecked. “You’re gonna kill me dressed like this.” 

“You like it?” You tilted your chin up to smirk at him, but your eyes betrayed you, dark, glazed, almost vulnerable in their want. His lips twitched.

“I like knowing you wore it for me.” You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to. The truth curled hot behind your ribs, under your skin. Of course you had. You always did. He kissed you again, softer this time. Lips barely parted, like the kind of kiss you give someone in secret, in the quiet of your bedroom, not in the middle of a crowded rooftop where his friends could definitely see. But it didn’t matter anymore, did it? Because even Leon and Kieren, who were across the way watching from their corner booth, only smirked. They nudged each other, clearly talking shit, but they didn’t interrupt. They knew. Everyone knew. Trent didn’t care. You felt his hand move, trailing up your bare thigh, dipping under the hem of your dress with a slow, familiar confidence that made your stomach flip all over again.

“T,” you warned softly, breath hitching as your fingers dug into his neck. He chuckled, lazy and drunk on you.

“Just touching what’s mine,” he murmured into your jaw, lips brushing skin. “Let me have a little bit of you. Then we’ll go.” Your heart stuttered. What’s mine. Not a question. Not a joke. Not a plea. You let yourself sink into him. The music throbbed in the background. The breeze swept your hair into his face. You felt his lashes tickle your cheek, his hand warm and bold beneath the mesh. “You drive me mad, you know that?” he said, voice ragged, eyes locked to your mouth. “Like, I feel like I can’t even breathe unless I’ve got my hands on you.”

“You should write poetry,” you teased, voice thin, throat tight. He grinned. 

“You make me think I might be able to.” You laughed quietly, pressing your forehead to his chest as he held you there in the strobe-lit dark, everything else spinning too fast outside the cocoon of his arms. And when he finally pulled back, he tugged your hand gently, a silent command. “C’mon. Done with all this,” he murmured. “Want you to myself.” You bit your lip to hide the way your smile bloomed all over your face.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Okay.” And just like that, his fingers laced through yours, you left the rooftop with him, hot from the inside out, breathless from a kiss that felt a lot like a beginning.

•

Thank you for reading! I really hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to what's ahead!

PLEASE PLEASE Please like, comment, or message what you think!!!

Next part - Chapter 26 Pt.2 - Tilting The Scale

📷 🪩 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

[books]

Writer Spotlight: Jamie Beck

Jamie Beck is a photographer residing in Provence, France. Her Tumblr blog, From Me To You, became immensely successful shortly after launching in 2009. Soon after, Jamie, along with her partner Kevin Burg, pioneered the use of Cinemagraphs in creative storytelling for brands. Since then, she has produced marketing and advertising campaigns for companies like Google, Samsung, Netflix, Disney, Microsoft, Nike, Volvo, and MTV, and was included in Adweek Magazine’s “Creative 100” among the industry’s top Visual Artists. In 2022, she released her first book, An American in Provence, which became a NYT Bestseller and Amazon #1 book in multiple categories, and featured in publications such as Vogue, goop, Who What Wear, and Forbes. Flowers of Provence is Jamie’s second book.

Can you tell us about how The Flowers of Provence came to be?

I refer to Provence often as ‘The Garden of Eden’ for her harmonious seasons that bring an ever-changing floral bounty through the landscape. My greatest joy in life is telling her story of flowers through photography so that we may all enjoy them, their beauty, their symbolism, and their contribution to the harmony of this land just a bit longer. 

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

How do your photography and writing work together? Do you write as part of your practice?

I constantly write small notations, which usually occur when I am alone in nature with the intention of creating a photograph or in my studio working alone on a still life. I write as I think in my head, so I have made it a very strict practice that when a thought or idea comes up, I stop and quickly write the text in the notes app on my phone or in a pocket journal I keep with me most of the time. If I don’t stop and write it down at that moment, I find it is gone forever. It is also the same practice for shooting flowers, especially in a place as seasonal as Provence. If I see something, I must capture it right away because it could be gone tomorrow. 

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

You got your start in commercial photography. What’s something you learned in those fields that has served you well in your current creative direction?

I think my understanding of bridging art and commerce came from my commercial photography background. I can make beautiful photographs of flowers all day long, but how to make a living off your art is a completely different skill that I am fortunate enough to have learned by working with so many different creative brands and products in the past. 

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

Do you remember your first photograph?

Absolutely! I was 13 years old. My mother gave me her old Pentax 35mm film camera to play with. When I looked through the viewfinder, it was as if the imaginary world in my head could finally come to life! I gave my best friend a makeover, put her in an evening gown in the backyard of my parents’ house in Texas, and made my first photograph, which I thought was so glamorous! So Vogue!

You situate your photographic work with an introduction that charts the seasons in Provence through flowers. Are there any authors from the fields of nature writing and writing place that inspire you?

I absolutely adore Monty Don! His writing, his shoes, and his ease with nature and flowers—that’s a world in which I want to live. I also love Floret Flowers, especially on social media, as a way to learn the science behind flowers and how to grow them. 

How did you decide on the order of the images within The Flowers of Provence?

Something I didn’t anticipate with a book deal is that I would actually be the one doing the layouts! I assumed I would hand over a folder of images, and an art director would decide the order. At first, it was overwhelming to sort through it all because the work is so personal, and I’m so visual. But in the end, it had to be me. It had to be my story and flow to be truly authentic. I tried to move through the seasons and colors of the landscape in a harmonious way that felt a bit magical, just as discovering Provence has felt to me. 

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

How do you practice self-care when juggling work and life commitments alongside the creative process?

The creative process is typically a result that comes out of taking time for self-care. I get some of my best ideas for photographic projects or writing when I am in a bath or shower or go for a long (and restorative) walk in nature. Doing things for myself, such as how I dress or do my hair and makeup, is another form of creative expression that is satisfying. 

What’s a place or motif you’d like to photograph that you haven’t had a chance to yet?

I am really interested in discovering more formal gardens in France. I like the idea of garden portraiture, trying to really capture the essence and spirit of places where man and nature intertwine. 

Which artists do you return to for inspiration?

I’m absolutely obsessed with Édouard Manet—his color pallet and subject matter. 

What are three things you can’t live without as an artist?

My camera, the French light, and flowers, of course. 

What’s your favorite flower to photograph, and why?

I love roses. They remind me of my grandmother, who always grew roses and was my first teacher of nature. The perfume of roses and the vast variety of colors, names, and styles all make me totally crazy. I just love them. They simply bring me joy the same way seeing a rainbow in the sky does. 

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

[apocalyp-tech-a]

Remember in Season 1, Episode 1 Aftermath, Tech says "I am merely stating a theoretical hypothesis based on factual data?" Well, that's what I did, I made a "logical conclusion." From Lama Su coming back when we thought he was dead to the infamous "domicile," it was all factual evidence that was meant to push us in a direction of hoping that Tech would return and that CX-2 could be the way he does it. I'm not stupid, and neither are you. There's an underlying reason that I love Tech not based on just his handsome looks. I don't claim to have an exceptional mind like him and I don't intend to convince anyone that CX-2 was Tech, but I do want to explain how it could be construed through the way that character was presented as well as the possibility of Tech's return in general, that he could have been and none of us were wrong or "losers" to think so.

45 70 Reasons and more well on the way, lol...

General reasons:

*Tech is never seen actually dying.

*Hemlock being untrustworthy source of death certificate.

*The return of many thought to be dead characters in past Star Wars from Darth Maul who was sliced in half to Lama Su - the door closed on him and we thought he was getting shot by troopers only to show up alive later and this happened in The Bad Batch itself.

*CX-2 is shown walking toward the 'light' after dropping off Omega, symbolically toward a future redemption. @astrovoidy

*Height change on starwars.com

*The word 'dead' danced around on official sites and by BB employees

*the similarities to Winter soldier @on-a-quest

*the cryptic tweets that showcased reborn characters like Gandalf

*The official poster of CX-2 shows him in 'good' light. @eriexplosion AND CX-2 is shown looking up and to the side the way the original CF99 members are positioned and facing in their poster as if CX-2 is also a CF99 member

*other people in professional settings like New Rock Stars on youtube thought the same exact thing as well as casual viewers

*the large focus on CX-2, over multiple episodes

*misleading title of last episode "The Cavalry Has Arrived"

*Tech being smart enough to find a solution

*If Season 2 could be compared to Empire Strikes Back, Tech was taken from us the way Han Solo was, but Han Solo was returned so surely Tech would be as well

*no one expected a main ensemble character permadeath

*the fight with Crosshair music had hints of "Plan 99" in it

*Tech’s whole big conversation with Romar was about culture and memory, and he helped Romar restoring a data repository. Between the implication that Tech would have lost his memories and Phee saying, “Tech’s brain was the databank, not mine,” you could easily see that as foreshadowing for Tech getting his memories back. @heyclickadee

*All the little one line reminders and goggles shots up through episode twelve only serve to make the audience want Tech back. They aren’t closure, they’re reminders of his absence. [Tech never being quite mourned.] @heyclickadee

*The goggles are lit, or look like they’re lit, in every scene they’re in except the last one, which sure makes all those earlier shots deliberate. @heyclickadee *CX-2 could have killed all of them at different moments, but chose not to (shooting pilot instead of Hunter for example)

Physical and character similarities:

*the shrimp posture

*the kick in the fight similar to droid kick in S1E1

*the similar hand to hand combat style

*the shooting accuracy- ipsium cave/ plan 99

*the elegant deliberate movement especially of hands and fingers

*the animated head and body when speaking

*the helmet – even has his hairline @jorolle

*the viewfinder similar to Tech's and utilized just as often

*the pouches(!!!)

*the limberness and agility

*the confident capability

*the crouching/getting on one knee - Tech is an infamous croucher!

*the deviant nature – ignoring orders

*the technology know how

*the flying – some say the turn on Teth was a Tech Turn

*the extraness of tool/weapon twirl

*armpad like Tech's datapad @wolveria

*CX-2's ship has similarities to the Marauder @wolveria

*Tech CC-9902 / CX-2 - both end in 2 @wolveria

*We are reminded this season that Tech was especially good at decryption. What do we see CX-2 doing on Phee’s ship? Yeah. @heyclickadee

*Season two went out of its way to establish that Tech has a high pain tolerance, is a good close range fighter (he won a life-or-death fight with a guy when he had that broken femur), quick processing speed, and is an excellent shot. All skills we see CX-2 exhibit. @heyclickadee

The 'British' accent, speech inflection, pronunciation. and vocabulary (this alone is enough to convince anyone...):

'You better get back HERE." - "I know the girl is HERE."

"The fifth IS Omega." - "The girl IS alive."

"Who are you?" - "Who are you?"

"Naveecomputah." - "Neveecomputah."

"DOMICILE." - "DOMICLE."

Cinematic framing similarities:

*the limping

*the coming out of the water @lilacjunimo

*hooking the rappel hook rappelling down was like dangling off the rail car

*the boulder moving

*helmet viewpoint from CX-2 in finale, only BB members ever had that

Conjectural situations of suspicion:

*the beef with Crosshair

*the constant surviving

*the pausing when choking Crosshair

*the pausing to look at Phee

*The implications that Crosshair seems to know something about CX-2 (he wants to get out of dodge when he knows CX-2 is coming), and the intense lingering guilt Crosshair feels—and which is never dealt with! It’s still there through the finale—implying he knows or suspects it’s Tech. @heyclickadee

*“Whatever they did to you, whatever you’ve done, you’re still one of us,” offered by Rex towards the CXs @heyclickadee

*Crosshair’s character arc this season being partly about realizing that anyone can change and that no one is really beyond saving, which would have continued going somewhere if he thought CX-2 was Tech and considered him beyond saving, but then changed his mind and realized he needed to try. Notice that he does not engage CX-2 in 11 like he did in 7, and that this comes after his revelation about giving people a chance in 9. @heyclickadee

*CX-2 is even more Tech like in 11 than he was in 6 and 7. This implies that he could be starting to wake up, and that almost killing Crosshair triggered that. He doesn’t kill anyone except one of his own guys on Pabu (or Phee) even though it would make his job much easier. He even has Hunter and Wrecker in his sights and moves his aim to not shoot them directly. @heyclickadee

*Crosshair has no way to know that the CX’d clones come out different and that their identities are erased unless it happened to someone we know. In fact, there’s not reason for the CX plot to exist unless that horrific thing happens to someone we know. @heyclickadee

*The first episode of the show starts out with Hunter covering for someone who supposedly died in a fall. In fact, there are direct parallels in the lines: “Where’s the Jedi?” “I stunned him when he jumped. He didn’t make it.” vs “Where’s Tech?” “Omega…Tech didn’t make it.” I’m not saying Hunter was covering for Tech; I am saying that is the only place in the script where we see those phrases matched up. @heyclickadee

*Tech being CX-2 would have fit in perfectly with each member of the batch experiencing a traumatic loss (and regaining) of agency that correlated directly to who and how they are as people. @heyclickadee

Foreshadowing lines:

*More machine than man, percentage wise at least.

*Better late than dead.

*See you around, Brown Eyes.

*Tech's not gone.

*The operative's gone rogue.

*Romar saying he's a survivor and Tech's look at him.

*Don't go running off with any pirates or smugglers. @heyclickadee

Abandoned storyline reasons:

*The romance with Phee, surely it wouldn't be abandoned!? 🙄😡

*CX-2's death being anticlimactic

*The finale seeming rushed and incomplete

*Actors saying there were script changes

*CX-2's accent in the finale was not only not like Tech's as it was in previous episodes, it wasn't even a clone accent (wtf was that) signaling a script change

@wolveria made a great analysis here with her Tech-Genda !

@heyclickadee gave a great analysis here and also great evidence, more in comments!

@vivaislenska has a list as well with some of these points!

@eriexplosion has a great analysis here!

Having said that, here are some reasons it may not have been him:

*Too many characters coming back from the dead.

*The way he says 'clones' in Infiltration was more reg accent.

*Tech's line in the cave to Omega which "was a big one to me” in retrospect: "I am aware that you miss him, but we have to adapt and move on."

As for the intentions of the writers to either have been forced to change the script, but can't admit it due to NDAs or if they truly meant for CX-2 to be Crosshair's foil which to me was unclear, especially with all of the evidence above, I don't know. At least they could have made CX-2 talk and move like a reg. Making him talk and walk like Tech was kind of cruel on top of a cruel we already experienced in Plan 99. I am not personally attacking the writers, I still love Season 1 and 2 and most of Season 3, but I wish I knew what happened behind the scenes with this and I know I'm not the only one. I think this is the last time I'll personally address Season 3 or the finale unless to support other commentators/creators and for my own fix-it and art and writing. And I look forward to seeing everyone else's works as well and hope no one gives up this beautiful Batch or fandom as I almost did. Canon seems done with him, he belongs to us now. 💜

And if anyone has anything I missed (I'm sure I'll think of more myself), feel free to comment or reblog with that addition or a link to your own post and/or I can edit the OP to include it and tag you. Also, don't feel like you can't make your own post about this subject! But I do hope this maybe helped anyone still dealing with the 'aftermath' like me, to know you're not alone, and you did not read too much into it.

(In retrospect, I can't believe they killed him though, lol. What the kriff were they thinking!?! #too handsome to die #too awesome to die)

[zhivaoverdrive]

Saline Thief, 1

"They're obviously familiar with the facility... must be a patient" said Dr Chen, matter of factly.

"Or the cleaning crew?" replied nurse Laura, leaning in closer and speaking under their breath.

"Impossible. Use your eyes. Do any of the cleaning girls have tits bigger than their head?" Nurse Laura giggled softly as she looked at the camera feed again. They wished.

Dr Chen flicked through the viewfinder, bringing up the many images of the offender captured over several different nights in the last month, ultimately culminating in the current witch hunt.

"So, to recap what we know:

Our mysterious friend arrives after midnight, unlocks the storage entrance *AND* disables the alarm. The pharmacy is untouched, as is the safe and the expensive equipment. In fact nothing appears to removed at all" Dr Chen said.

Nurse Laura nodded and smiled.

"If we look specifically at last night's intrusion..." Dr Chen continued, scrolling through and isolating a few images. "2.32am, our guest first appears, face partially covered, it seems like she knows the camera is there. Next we've got her coming down the hallway towards the suites. We lose her here, hundreds of hours of footage, but..." Dr Chen trailed off as she pulled up the final capture.

"Whoa! Holy shit!" burst out Nurse Laura. "Mmm-huh. So we know what she stole. And that was just this time" said Dr Chen, nodding. "How much do you think she... took?" said Nurse Laura coyly. "That better be professional interest I hear in your voice. We don't exactly keep inventory of the stuff, but from visuals alone, I'd have to say 15-20 litres this time" replied Dr Chen "Wow! And to do it herself..." swooned Nurse Laura, the admiration clear in her voice.

"...Ahem. Now do you have any idea where she disappeared to in the middle, nurse?" said Dr Chen sternly.

She was going to catch some flak for this, there could be no doubt. The spare room in C building may have been an open secret, but Nurse Laura didn't want to be the one who spilled it. It was a perk of the job, cosmetic surgery was expensive, but the staff here could help each other out...

"Nurse?" Dr Chen’s voice cut in.

"Oh uhh, can I have a look on that thing?" said nurse Laura sweetly.

As she flicked 'randomly' through the camera feeds, the anticipation to see the intruder's antics continued to swell inside her 20 litres each…

"Ohh, is this her?" she chirped, looking up from her diligent search to catch the bosses eye.

The screen showed a 5x playback of the spare room. Splayed on the floor was their intruder, now completely topless, surrounded with bags of saline. Between sudden bursts of motion as she swapped bags were long intervals as she sat perfectly still... But in the accelerated playback of the footage, both Dr Chen and Nurse Laura could see her breasts slowly inflating, taking on more mass as they billowed outwards.

"My my, wasn't she busy. Know how long she was in there for?" said Dr Chen. Nurse Laura hit fast forward again, moving to 10x and then 20x playback speed. The intruder's ritual continued, brief spurts of motion followed by what was now very visible growth, her breasts now far larger than when she came in.

"Looks like about 2 hours? Wow!" said Nurse Laura. "Play the end, normal speed" said Dr Chen calmly. —

Amy flipped the now empty box over in frustration, flinging it out of the way. Reaching behind her, she removed what she knew were the final two bags and heaved herself to her feet. Once standing, she wobbled, the extra 30 or so kg of saline in her chest taking some getting used to. God you've overdone it this time. You still need to walk out of here you idiot. Rigging up the last two bags, Amy closed her eyes and moaned. It would all work itself out, she got what she came for. —

"I know who it is," said Dr Chen.

"Oh? Really! I can't wait to- er, catch her" said Nurse Laura.

Scrolling through a calendar on her phone, Dr Chen chuckled. "You won't need to wait long. She's booked in for Thursday" she said, showing her phone to the nurse.

Scheduled 4500-5000cc fill. High risk patient. Begged to accelerate schedule multiple times, denied due to very little natural breast tissue. Concerns over obsessive desire to disregard safe filling practices.

[cherryxkush]

risky business | pjm, jjk (m) | 1

synopsis: you’re a successful entrepreneur in the beauty industry and after your assistant/best friend sees the spread in Korea GQ magazine of a popular k-pop artist, she gets him on the first flight to California to start a sponsorship deal, and it was none other than the world-renowned fuckboy you met at a product launch party for Gucci two years ago.

pairing: jimin x female reader x jungkook

rating: mature (18+)

genre: enemies to lovers, love triangle, angst, fluff, smut

warnings/content: swearing, employer/client relationship, past situationship, fuckboy!jimin, celebrity!jimin, love triangle, tattoo artist!jungkook, jin is reader’s lawyer best friend

explicit content: varies between chapters, this one is reader x jungkook, protected sex (good job jk), oral sex (female receiving, but mentions of wanting to give a bj), slight hand/veins kink, multiple orgasms, missionary, doggy style, spanking, jk has a daddy kink, jk calls reader babygirl/princess

disclaimer: this is entirely a work of fiction, and in no way does it reflect thoughts or acts of bts in the real world (:

𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾: 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗑 𝗃𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗄𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒, 𝗃𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗌 ♡

Next chapter

“Please make sure you actually take off the lens filter before shooting this time,” you told your assistant and best friend, Naiya. You were already behind on shooting and editing the photos for your product line, and you couldn’t afford any more mishaps — otherwise the new launch would be late, and it wouldn’t just be your pay that you had to worry about.

“It was one time!” She rolled her eyes before double-checking that the lens filter actually was off, and then she started taking some photos of the models that were standing against the backdrop. Between each shot, she looked down at the electronic viewfinder on the camera, assessing what could be tweaked and what needed to stay.

She smiled at the models, telling them to take a 10 minute break before walking back over to you. “So, here are the shots so far,” The both of you looked at the screen as she pressed the button to proceed to the next photo, and you were genuinely impressed. “Some of these we can use. They’re great, aside from just a few things to edit. I can do that in post, of course — but, I do think we could use a high-profile male model.”

Your eyebrow rose in question, “High profile? You don’t think we have enough models already?”

“We have a good amount, sure, but finding someone famous will bring more exposure to the brand. Which leads to more inclusivity, more press, more deals — and more coin. Plus, you sell men’s skincare products too, so it’ll look even better for the optics,”

You were actually speechless. Partly because you hadn’t thought of it before (not even the head of your advertising department did, which is a shame), and partly because she was absolutely right. Getting someone with a lot of recognition to model for your beauty brand would create a massive amount of exposure for your business, and could finally land you a spot working with a brand you’ve dreamed of collaborating with since your teenage years.

You were successful in your industry, yes, and it took you a long time and a lot of hard work to get where you are, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t strive to be even better within the industry. Following your passion came with sacrifices, and you weren’t about to let those dark times be for nothing.

But at the same time, this product line that you were about to put out was going to be the bread and butter of your business, so you needed it to be great. Almost perfect, even, and you didn’t know how long it would take to find someone to fit the bill, for the deal to work in both of your favors. It seemed like it was too risky.

You sighed, “Yeah, you’re right. It would really help and we could get tons of publicity from it, but it’s just cutting it too close, Nai. We can’t have this product launch be anything less than damn near perfect.” You walked over to a work desk that was in the studio, pulling out the chair and sitting down before stressfully running a hand through your hair. “I mean, who would I even reach out to? Would we have to do model calls again? The launch is in less than two months now,”

“Girl, look at these,” Naiya said as she walked over to you before plopping down on top of the desk and reaching over to grab her laptop. She took a sip of her drink, opening up the Adobe Photoshop application before turning her laptop towards you. “These are some of the finished shots from the other day. We didn’t even think we’d be able to finish editing these in time, and look how amazing they turned out,” She wasn’t lying — they were stunning.

“They’re beautiful,” you agreed and she beamed, proud of herself. She was your go-to for everything photo and video and she’d wanted to get into that scene long before she actually started, so she had a lot of knowledge and skin in the game in regard to what would look the best for the vision you were going for. She definitely had your back, but there were still some things you were unsure about business-wise, that neither of you were really familiar with. “You’re great at what you do, but what about the other stuff? Making a deal and all the legal things that go along with it? We’re not just talking about influencers that get a commission from sales here, you know?”

“You let me handle finding the person and closing the deal, you go talk to Jin about starting a contract and all the legal shit that goes with it.”

“Absolutely the fuck not.” Jin eyed you with a blank expression as he sat comfortably with his hands folded, judging you.

“What the hell do you mean?!” You exclaimed before turning to examine yourself in the mirror again. “This is cute!”

“You got asked out to dinner after being dry for like 2 years and you can’t do better than leggings and a sweater?”

You rolled your eyes. “First of all, this sweater was expensive,” You walked over to the rack inside your closet, grimacing at the idea of having to wear a dress or skirt. “Second of all, you just want your women to be as high maintenance as you.”

Jin laughed, “This is true, but you would definitely increase your chances of getting laid if you put in more effort,”

“Who says I’m trying to get laid?”

“Your attitude and the fact that you used one of my charging cables for your vibrator.” You felt your face heat up at Jin’s comment, and you wanted to proceed to crawl into a hole, lie in the fetal position, and stay there for eternity.

“I hate you,” you frowned and Jin smirked.

“I love you, too, and wear the black dress. It’ll suit you.”

You spotted the dress at the end of the rack. It was made of a sleek material, smooth silken fabric with mesh, tulle-like sleeves. You’d bought it about 2 years ago after an event in Los Angeles. It was nighttime and on the way back to the hotel, you walked passed the prettiest little boutique and fell in love with the dress immediately — but you never wore it.

You frowned, silently questioning if you could pull it off. It was a different time back then, one where you felt on top of the world and you thought you’d found someone that would sweep you off of your feet and you’d beam at seeing his glimmering eyes rake upon your beauty in the dress. But it didn’t happen that way. In fact, it didn’t happen at all.

In an effort to distract yourself from your thoughts, you decided to ask Jin about the modeling contract.

“Okay, fine, but there’s something I need to talk to you about first.”

“And what’s that?” He raised his eyebrow in question.

“So, you know how I’m releasing a new product line soon?”

He scoffed, “About damn time! Of course I’m already handsome, we all know this, but men need good skincare too,”

You rolled your eyes, “Hence the reason I’m putting out this line, Jin. Anyways, Naiya proposed the idea that we should have a high-profile male model, preferably someone really famous who can bring us a lot of publicity,”

“Okay, and did you find this person yet?”

“Naiya’s working on that. But I do need your help with creating a contract and all the legal shit that’s included,” You grabbed the dress off of the rack hesitantly.

He brought a hand up to his chin as if he were thinking before meeting your gaze. “Alright, say I do it. What do I get out of it?”

“Um...my love and support as your best friend?”

“Will love and support pay my bills?”

You glared at him, “No, but you sure do eat a lot of my food to not pay my grocery bill.”

He laughed nervously, bringing up a finger to rub at his temple, “Well played,”

“Will a full-size bottle of that serum you like be good enough?”

“Throw in those little eye patches too, I don’t care what anyone says about me for using them — my bags are horrendous these days.”

You laughed and Jin cracked a smile. “Deal.”

jungkook [8:31pm]: i’m outside pretty, buzz me up?

you hearted a message from jungkook

You happened to meet Jungkook about 2 months ago when you decided to get a tattoo for the first time. You were really excited about the journey you were on with your business and the woman you were becoming, so you decided to get a self love tattoo that really resonated with you, and Jungkook was your artist.

During your session you couldn’t stop ogling at him due to his good looks and his many, many tattoos — he boldly asked for your number afterwards and you gladly but shyly gave it to him. After talking for a couple months and your busy schedules finally coinciding, Jungkook had been adamant about taking you on a date.

You walked over to the buzzer next to the door of your luxury condo and pressed the button to let Jungkook through the downstairs entrance. Your heart fluttered at the fact that he chose to come all the way to the fifth floor of your building to come get you instead of asking you to meet him downstairs.

You heard a gentle knock before opening the door, meeting Jungkook’s gaze as he presented you with a bouquet of flowers.

You grinned with rosy cheeks, “Aren’t you the gentleman?”

“I try,” He smiled smugly.

“You definitely succeeded,” You walked over to put the flowers in a vase with some water before leaving out. “You really didn’t have to do all this, Jungkook. This is beyond sweet,”

“I meant it when I said I wanted to take you out and show you a good time,” He grabbed your hand as he met your eyes, just as you finished putting away the flowers. “Come on, we don’t wanna be late for our reservation.”

You blushed even harder. “Y-you made a reservation?”

“Of course, you’re too pretty for me not to,” He flashed you a grin before grabbing your hand and interlacing his fingers with yours, and you felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest.

The date went well. Jungkook had taken you to a restaurant that had really good food even though it was overpriced, and you liked the vibe of it. It was fancy, with the wait staff dressed in black-tie attire and you were happy that you went with the dress Seokjin suggested. Jungkook took every opportunity to compliment you and he didn’t just compliment your looks, but your conversation as well.

He’d also told you about his career as a tattoo artist and how he’d loved it, having opened up his own shop about a year prior, and you shared details about your journey into the beauty industry. It was almost endearing, the way that he talked about his job, and you felt the same way about yours. Although it could be really stressful, you couldn’t see yourself doing anything else, and you could tell Jungkook shared that with you. It was a connection beyond the physical attraction; it was mental, too, the way it seemed you both complimented each other.

Although, the physical attraction was definitely there.

He’d absentmindedly roll up his sleeves a bit showing his veiny arms as he focused on talking with you, his lip ring glinting in the moody lightning. It made you want to bite your lip, and you shuffled a bit in your seat, growing flustered at the sight of the man before you.

He was fully dressed, engaging in conversation, and you found yourself enamored with him, in awe even though he hadn’t even touched you. Seeing his dimples when he smirked made you want to whimper. Clock it to maybe the fact that you hadn’t been laid in a couple years, and Seokjin’s words had started to creep into your mind, but Jungkook had you hot and bothered without even trying.

“You okay there?” He smirked, not missing the pinkish tint to your cheeks.

Slightly startled because you’d been caught, you replied sheepishly before clearing your throat, “Y-yeah, I’m fine,”

He wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin after taking the last bite of his food and seeing that you were done with yours, suggested you both do something to wind down, but not end your date so soon.

“Do you wanna take a little walk in the city for a bit? I remembered you saying you hadn’t been to this part of town in a while,”

There go the stupid butterflies again.

You arrived outside of your apartment building, Jungkook skillfully parking his sleek car as close as he could to shorten the walk.

He turned off the engine, the both of you relaxing in each other’s presence before either of you decided to leave. He was mesmerizing, lax in nature yet attractively attentive and his scent drove you crazy; it was an earthy, musky scent, one that made your mouth water and your thighs instinctively rub together.

His eye contact sent a delicious chill down your spine, and you missed the burn that his lips left on your hand after giving it a gentle kiss.

Instead of kissing your hand you wanted him to kiss other places, and suddenly his spacious car became too cramped and stuffy for your liking.

To put it plainly, you wanted him out of the car and in your bed. And even though you were shy as hell, this was one opportunity you definitely didn’t want to let pass you by.

You blinked at him, trying to steady your breath before speaking, but it still came out a little bit more breathy than you’d like, and unbeknownst to you, made Jungkook’s dick jump in his pants. “Would you want to come up?”

His eyes went wide with surprise before he tried to shake it off. He cleared his throat, not expecting you to ask, but he took you up on the offer.

In usual Jungkook fashion, he smirked. “Lead the way, Princess.”

You took the elevator up to your condo, hastily putting in your key once you got to your door. You stepped in, taking off your jacket and offering to hang up Jungkook’s.

He closed the door quietly before pinning you against it, his face dangerously close to yours.

His voice was just above a whisper, thick and gravelly. His gaze switched back and forth from your eyes to your lips, and he absentmindedly brought his tongue out to wet his own. “Let me make this clear, do you want this? Because I do,”

You swallowed thickly, already feeling desire pooling in the pit of your stomach at the hold that Jungkook had on you right now. You couldn’t help but nod to answer him, not finding the strength to use your voice. Jungkook wasn’t too happy about that.

“Use your words, baby,” He moved to your ear before dipping just below it to leave a kiss there, a kiss that added to the fuel that was already him hovering over you like this.

“Y-Yes,” you croaked. “I want it,”

“Want what?” He probed, chuckling softly as he continued to pepper kisses along your skin, slowly moving from your ear and down your neck. He could feel you shifting, your thighs squeezing together to give yourself some relief. “If you want more, you gotta use that pretty mouth of yours and tell me,”

He kissed a particular spot that made you gasp softly and offer more of your neck to him. He sucked on the spot, making you whimper and flutter your eyes closed before he pulled away entirely.

You frowned out of disappointment and opened your eyes to see his smug face, lips curled into an amused smirk. There was a glint in his eyes that made your mouth run dry.

“If you don’t want to use your words, I can’t help you, and by the looks of it, I think you want me to,” He bit his lip as he surveyed you, looking you up and down and your tongue came out to wet your lips, “But consent is important, and I need to know if you want it too, and that I’m not reading this wrong,”

You struggled to meet his eyes, simultaneously wanting to crawl into a hole and crawl under him, having him hover over you with his silver chain dangling in your face. You managed to find the courage, though, and the butterflies turned into searing-hot sparks.

“Y-you’re not reading it wrong, I want you, Jungkook. I want you to touch me,”

He cockily grinned at you before closing the gap between the two of you, “Thought you’d never ask.”

He brought his lips to yours, sending all of your nerve endings on fire and creating a heat that pooled in the pit of your stomach. He grabbed the back of your neck roughly before his fingers found themselves in your hair and he tugged slightly on the strands, causing you to moan.

“Oh, she likes that, huh?” He slid his hand down your body before toying with the hem of your dress. “You look so pretty with this on,”

“It would look prettier off,” You quipped, bothered that he wasn’t where you needed him to be.

“Someone’s eager,” he chuckled deeply before dragging his fingers upwards, letting you feel the rough pads of his fingertips on the skin of your thighs. He lightly grabbed the bottom of your dress before pulling it up to your hips. He traced the fabric of your thong with his finger, “Cute,” he said, distracting you a bit from his hands before he firmly pressed a thumb on your clit over your underwear, rubbing in small circles.

“Fuck,” you whispered, throwing your head back against the door, relishing in his touch. You started grinding against his hand, desperate for relief, and he didn’t hesitate to call you out on it.

“So fucking needy,” he growled, and you felt an electrifying jolt run through your body again. He rubbed harder and you gasped, rolling your eyes back. “I barely touched you and you’re already soaking through your panties.”

You brought your hand up to rake your manicured nails along his scalp before pulling, earning a grunt of approval from him. You smashed your lips onto his in fervor and he grunted, opening his mouth to allow you entrance and your tongues battled for dominance. He held you closer, cupping your scantily clad ass in his big, veiny hands before slapping your ass hard. You let out a small, surprised yelp before relishing and moaning at the sting.

He did it again but harder, and you were positive you were in fact dripping down your legs at this point.

You pecked him a couple of times before grabbing his hand and leading him after you. “Room. Now.”

Once you got to your room, Jungkook proceeded to turn you around to face him and continued kissing you, bringing up a hand to cup your face.

He walked you backwards and when the backs of your heels reached the frame, he pushed you onto the bed.

He stood over you, skilled hands working at undoing his belt and you could see how hard he was. Throwing your head back, your hands reached your clothed breasts and began to fondle them, fingertips enclosing and twisting your nipples, and Jungkook’s mouth watered at the sight.

His belt flew to the floor somewhere and he grabbed the back of your calves to pull you closer to him at the edge of the bed. Your dress was covering too much, he decided.

“Take your dress off, babygirl, unless you want me to rip it.”

You almost moaned at his words. The dress flew somewhere too, and you lie in front of him, clothed in nothing but your thong, tits on full display.

He licked his lips and as you saw his face coming toward you, you could’ve sworn it would’ve been to take one of your tits in his mouth, but he placed a kiss above your belly button. And you shivered as you saw that he kept going lower.

He peppered soft, slow pecks along your skin until he was face to face with the source of your wetness, and Jungkook leaned in to lick a strip on the material of your panties. Your hands fisted the blanket as he teased you at an agonizingly slow pace, moving his tongue anywhere but the place you actually needed him, making you squirm.

He hooked his fingers underneath your underwear before ripping it off of you, the frail piece of lace no match for his strength as it tore.

“Will just have to buy you another pair.” He winked before kissing you again, but this time right above your clit, his breath warm and his touch sending you into overdrive.

You spread your legs for him eagerly and his long fingers spread your lips, stopping to admire you. You self-consciously had half a mind to close them as he gazed upon your lower half, but he held them open and finally licked a strip from your hole to your clit.

“S-shit,” you moaned as he held you open, his tongue meeting your clit as he swirled it in tight circles before giving it a hard suck. “Fuck!”

“Mmm,” He moaned against you, causing you to shiver again, hips bucking into his mouth. “You taste good, gonna make you cum on my tongue first.”

He lapped at you like you were the dessert he craved but never had, as if you were the best thing he’d ever taste. He licked at you, flattening his tongue before circling your clit again, and you had to try your best not to scream.

And you didn’t scream, until he started sucking on your clit again.

“Fucking shit, ‘Kook,” You moaned loudly and he hummed at the nickname. You had never been eaten out this good before, and you were so close to cumming on his tongue in so short of a time that you were almost embarrassed.

One of his fingers teased against your hole before diving in, and your toes curled before he added another. “Gotta stretch you out,” He mumbled against your pussy before swirling his tongue again. He curled his fingers expertly, reaching the spongey part within you that made tears prick your eyes from the pleasure.

You arched your back, hips leading away from his mouth before he tightened his grip around them with his other hand and held you so close you were worried you’d suffocate him.

He made eye contact with you and it had you feeling like you were going to combust. You reached down to tangle your fingers into his hair and he created a faster pace with his digits, darting in and out of you so quickly that you were sure you’d cum in 5 minutes flat.

His let go of your hip to rub your clit as his tongue took a break, and the coil in your stomach tightened even more, tears rolling down your face at how good he was making you feel.

“Look at how well that pussy takes my fingers,” he mused, “Fuck, you’re so pretty,”

Your pussy tightened around his fingers and he slapped your clit lightly, “Fuck, yes!” you were shouting, and it made his heart swell at the pleasure he was giving you. He wanted to make you cum hard, and fuck if he wasn’t gonna taste it. He wanted all of you.

“I’m so close,” you said all breathy, your vocal cords nearly strained, and you had so much more to go. Jungkook’s goal was to make sure you couldn’t walk the next day.

“Cum for me, pretty,” He rasped, before sucking on your clit hard, and watching you come undone on his tongue.

“I-I’m gonna cum, I’m — Jungkook!”

He hummed as he lapped up your juices, tasting you as he let you ride out your high and when you came down from it, you thought he’d give you a break. But he wasn’t done.

He stood up and brought his fingers up to his mouth, sucking them to get every last bit of you off of them. He leaned in to hover over you and kiss you, your tongue colliding with his as you tasted yourself. To your surprise, it only seemed to make you wetter.

He took off his boxers, cock springing up to slap against his stomach. It was leaky, the tip oozing precum and you wanted so badly to have him in your mouth but when you’d suggested it, he declined and you pouted.

He grabbed a condom from you don’t even know where and ripped it with his teeth before rolling it on. “Uh-uh, tonight’s about you. You can take care of me another time, babygirl,” He said before winking at you and pumping himself a couple times before lining himself up with your entrance.

He grabbed your legs by your ankles and put them over his shoulder, pushing into you and you mewled at the stretch. He stopped to let you get acclimated to the size and waited until you gave him a nod to continue before backing out of you and snapping his hips in a pace that was so rough and so fast it damn near knocked the wind out of you.

You screamed so loud that were sure your neighbors would hate you, but you didn’t care, not one bit.

“S-Shit, your cock is so good,” He groaned as he continued his pace while you were clutching the blanket so hard your knuckles were turning white. “Do it again,”

He snapped his hips into you again, hitting your cervix. “Babygirl likes that, huh? You like when I slam my cock into you?”

“F-fuck, yeah, I l-love it,”

“How is your pussy still so tight after fucking you with my fingers like that,” He was gritting his teeth, trying not to empty his load into you already. He can usually hold out but your pussy was too good, so slick and tight and sucking him in.

You clenched purposefully and giggled and he groaned, damn near having to stop to pace himself because of you. Nonetheless he kept going, and he was determined to wreck your pussy and make you crave him afterwards.

He grabbed your legs and pushed so you were bent at the knees and you were holding them in place. Then he started speeding up again, snapping his hips into you and you were seeing stars.

“Fuuuuck, J-“

“Say my name baby, who’s fucking you this good?”

“You are, J-Jungkook, fuck,” you threw your head back into the pillows, eyes rolling back and toes curling.

He was holding onto you so tight, thrusting into you so hard he was going to leave pretty little bruises for you to remember the night by.

“Your pussy is s-so good,” He reached down to rub your clit, and you arched your back again, clenching around him and he moaned. “W-wanna fuck you in doggy before I make you cum again,”

He slid out of you, leaving you feeling empty and missing his warmth before he helped you turn over, positioning you face down, ass up.

He smacked your ass with force and you whimpered at the sting before wiggling your bum and teasing him so he’d do it again.

He did it harder this time and the pain had you gritting your teeth, but it sent a delicious chill along your veins that was intoxicating, and you wanted more.

He lined himself up at your entrance again and as you felt him lined up perfectly, his head peaking at your hole, you slammed back against him, ass meeting his pelvis as he bottomed out. You moaned into the blanket, grabbing fistfuls of it.

“Fuck!” He yelled, eyes rolling back and you felt the coil winding up again at him being vocal. “Babygirl wants back shots from Daddy, yeah? If you wanted me to drill you, Princess, all you had to do was ask.”

Oh shit.

Ohhhh shit.

He pulled almost all the way out of you before snapping his hips again, bottoming out and hitting your cervix so good your toes curled and your back arched so much you knew you’d be sore afterwards.

He continued his relentless pace and you met his thrusts, his balls slapping delectably against your clit and you moaned pornographically in response.

He reached forward to grab your hair and pull you up so that your back met his chest, and the burn made fire ignite in your belly, so much so that the coil was going to snap any second now.

It was too much and not enough all at once. You wanted more and more of whatever he was willing to give you, you wanted to be so drunk on his dick that you forgot your own name.

He reached down to rub circles on your clit and that’s when you lost it.

“J-Jungkook, I’m cumming!” You creamed on his cock with a cry and a shake, quaking from the sheer amount of pleasure of your orgasm. He coaxed you through it as you rode out your high, his fingers still playing with your clit as he rubbed it just the way you liked.

He led you down to the bed, gently as he slowed his pace inside you. “I’m almost there, Princess. Daddy’s gonna cum for you,”

You moaned loudly, leaking even more at the name. You loved how vocal he was and how sexy he made you feel. It was addicting.

And to try to repay him for how good he made you feel, you managed to have the strength to throw your ass onto him, hard, to get him to cum. You wanted his load in you.

“F-fuck baby, I really will cum if you keep doing that,” He bit his lip, toying with the ring and you were glad you had turned around slightly in time to see it. When you faced back forward, Jungkook was in for a treat.

You pushed back with force, arching your back so well that he hit the right spots all while clenching your pussy like you wanted to milk him and he loved it.

“S-Shit, baby, I’m gonna cum,”

“Cum for me Daddy,” you said with a sensual tone, one that had his eyes rolling back into his head as your ass met his hips one last time before spilling his load into the condom.

He came with a hiss and holding onto your hips for dear life. You were sure to have marks tomorrow, and neither of you were mad about it.

After coming down from his post-orgasm high, he gently pulled out of you before proceeding to take off the condom and tie a knot before throwing it away in the bathroom connected to your room.

He was rummaging in there for what seemed like a tad bit too long, and you were puzzled although you were too tired to see what he was doing. You heard the sink run for a few seconds before being turned off, and then you saw him come out of the bathroom, damp towel in hand.

“Sorry about that,” He smiled sheepishly. “I wanted to get something to clean you up,” He gently wiped your juices from your body. It was relaxing and gentle, soothing you. You smiled in appreciation before thanking him, grinning as you met his eyes.

“Still the gentleman,” He winked, sending butterflies roaming around your stomach again. It was becoming a regular thing with Jungkook, and you liked it.

“I try,” He laughed and you threw a pillow at him while laughing too.

You got up to go pee before changing into some underwear and a loosely fitted t-shirt. You glanced at the clock and saw that it said 3 am before turning off the lights and climbing into bed, Jungkook cuddling up next to you and you laid your head on his chest.

The light coming from your phone was bright as it flashed and you heard the familiar tone of an incoming iMessage, but you chose to ignore it, as Jungkook was too warm and this was the best you’d felt in a long time.

You were in for a big surprise tomorrow, but for now, as comfy and giddy as you were, maybe you could get used to having Jungkook around.

2 unread messages

naiyaaa [3:02am]: srry i know it’s hella late, i fell asleep at like 7 while watching my show lmao

naiyaaa [3:02am]: just wanted to tell u i got somebody to model for u!! it’s park jimin, he’s super famous in south korea bitch. we going worldwideee

author’s note: 𝖺𝗁𝗁𝗁!! 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖼𝖺𝗇’𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗅. 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗅𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 & 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀 𝗂𝖿 𝗌𝗈, 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 <3 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗇 ♡

if you’d like to join my taglist, you can do so here!

© 2024 cherryxkush.

[seospicybin]

SEOSPICY WRAPPED '23

Since tumblr isn't doing #yearinreview this year so I decided to make my own Seospicy's wrapped. Here it goes:

IN 2023, I WROTE 45 FICS AND 4 DRABBLES WITH TOTAL WORDCOUNT ±605,500 words

TOP 3 MEMBERS:

LEE KNOW (12 fics)

HYUNJIN (12 fics)

FELIX (11 fics)

TOP 10 FICS:

1. FOLDER 103. Bangchan x reader. (2,842 notes)

2. TOO HOT TO HANDLE SEASON 1: PART 1 Felix x reader. (2,405 notes)

3. WRONG CROWD. Lee Know x reader. (1,996 notes)

4. TOO HOT TO HANDLE SEASON 3: PART 1 Bangchan x reader. (1,601 notes)

5. TOO HOT TO HANDLE SEASON 2: PART 1 Lee Know x reader. (1,548 notes)

6. THE FAVORITE. Changbin x reader. (1,417 notes)

7. TOO HOT TO HANDLE SEASON 1: PART 2 Felix x reader. (1,225 notes)

8. PLUTO. Hyunjin x reader. (1,220 notes)

9. ON TOUR: SOUNDCHECK Hyunjin x reader x Felix. (1,205 notes)

10. TOO HOT TO HANDLE SEASON 1: PART 3 Felix x reader. (1,048 notes)

Honorable mentions:

ACES HIGH. Bangchan x reader x Hyunjin. (1,006 notes) ONE BITE. Lee Know x reader. (978 notes)

TOP 5 SERIES (exc. Too Hot To Handle):

1. THE CROWD. Lee Know x reader. (3,495 notes / 3 chapters)

2. PLUTO. Hyunjin x reader. (2,968 notes / 3 Chapters)

3. ON TOUR. Hyunjin x reader x Felix. (3,701 notes / 5 Chapters)

4. DON'T THEY KNOW IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD? Lee Know x reader. (975 notes/ 2 Chapters)

5. VIEWFINDER. Seungmin x reader x Lee Know. (754 notes / 2 Chapters)

Thank you to every single one of you who gave my fic a chance and took time to read it. Let's have more fun and stay delulu next year too! 😂🥂❤️

[sadienita]

[1:01] “Joong, where- ugh!” You groaned as you spun around to find Hongjoong way behind you yet again. You were meant to be on a cute date, a first date in fact, because after a year of pining Hongjoong had finally mustered up the courage to ask you out. Despite his clear nerves it had been lovely.

Or mostly lovely.

Because despite taking you out to lunch and then to a cute cafe and now for a walk in the park, he had also brought his camera along. And he couldn’t seem to help himself, stopping at every pretty sight to snap a photo, not to mention about fifty photos each from the cafe and restaurant of your food.

It was cute really, but it did mean his attention kept wandering. If you didn’t know him well it might have been rude. But you knew how shy he could be and you could see how nervous he was even if he hid it well. So you simply gave him a smile when he met your gaze with a confused “huh?”

“I’m walking alone.” You chuckled.

“O-Oh, sorry.” He mumbled, scurrying to meet you. He looked even cuter as the blush on his cheeks matched the pink on the tip of his nose from the cold weather. “I got distracted.”

“Was it a good picture?” You hummed.

“Yeah I think so, I think I have at least a few good ones from today. It’s nice that it snowed.” He gazed over the hedge at a few young girls making snow ducks at the side of the walking path. “Everything looks pretty when it snows.”

“Even me?” You teased.

“Y-You always look pretty.” He said quickly. When you glanced at him he was blushing harder. You nudged him with your arm and he looked at you.

“You’re pretty too.”

“You’re just saying that cuz I said it.” He countered.

You put a hand over your heart. “I swear I’m telling the truth.” You reached over to pinch his nose which made him jump. “You’re adorable.”

“I think you just like teasing me.” He muttered.

“I liked teasing you before you asked me out.” You said. “It‘s familiar. It should comfort you.”

“It does the opposite.”

You stepped in front of him, stopping him as you grinned at him. “Do I make you all nervous now, Joongie?”

A blush rushed up his cheeks as he ducked his head. “Why did I think confessing to you was a smart idea?”

“Do I make your heart race?”

“I should have known you would just torture me.”

“Bet you wanna kiss me, don’t you?”

Hongjoong grabbed his camera again, forcing it between the two of you, almost as if creating his own little bubble to withstand your teasing. “Let me take your picture.” He said.

“You didn’t answer any of my questions.” You laughed. He nudged you backwards.

“You already know I like you, do I have to admit to everything?” He mumbled.

“It’s more fun if you do.” You said, wandering down the path as he found you in his viewfinder.

“Don’t I make you feel the same way, anyways?”

Yes. 

Yes, I feel butterflies in my stomach everytime you call my name.

Yes, I feel my heart racing a mile a minute each time you look at me.

Yes, I want you to kiss me.

But you couldn’t just say those things out loud.

“You make me feel…” You thought for a moment as you gazed up at the snow covered branches of the tree. “Make me feel-”

“Wait! Don’t move!” Hongjoong’s sudden exclamation made you jump a little but you held still after that, hearing the snap of his camera shutter. It went off a few more times before you looked at him, ending with him getting one more of you looking right into the camera. You could feel the heat warming you from the inside out as he shyly brought the camera down. He looked so pretty, the shy smile on his face, cheeks and nose tinted pink. The way he looked at you had your heart hammering in your chest, like you were his whole world.

“Sorry, you- it’s a really good picture.” He cleared his throat, tone hopeful when he spoke again. “What were you saying? About how I make you feel?”

A smile tugged at your lips. You didn’t say anything in response, instead waking back down the path towards him. Hongjoong let out a yelp as you dug your fingers into his scarf and pulled him in, pressing your lips to his in a sweet kiss that made your heart feel like it had an entire fireworks display going off.

When you pulled back Hongjoong looked just as dazed as you felt.

“You make me feel love.” You hummed, before kissing him again.

[ruanbaijie]

🪻 art

[x] the fallen angel levi ackerman by @babushkahihi // fandom: attack on titan

[x] ❤️‍🩹 дают мне силы жить ❤️‍🩹 by @lososandra // fandom: mo dao zu shi

[x] you look tasty by @crimson-chains // fandom: link click

[x] vampire/ priest au by @anzaitea // fandom: link click

[x] his ass is not looking through that viewfinder by @zephyrine-gale // fandom: link click

[x] painting practice ft ao bing by @yuyu-finale // fandom: nezha

[x] most annoying man vs. world's strongest idgafker!! who will winn!! by @cattnipt // fandom: the apothecary diaries

[x] me when im in a hypocrisy competition and my opponent is lu guang: by @lostgalaxyart // fandom: link click

[x] "the sun sets on this side of my mind" by @yuumei-art // fandom: link click

[x] dongfang qingcang & xiao lanhua by @harocat // fandom: love between fairy and devil

[x] i'll settle for the ghost of you... by @samairuart // fandom: mo dao zu shi

[x] levi by @razelv0 // fandom: attack on titan

[x] levi ackerman by @tsuyanouchi // fandom: attack on titan

[x] jjk tarot cards by @deaddiplodocus // fandom: jujutsu kaisen

[x] dongfang xunfeng by @naughtynanzhu // fandom: love between fairy and devil

[x] come into the water 🩸 by @alieune // fandom: mo dao zu shi

🪻 edits

[x] zhao yuanzhou's farewell by @yichens // fandom: fangs of fortune

[x] iwtv season 1 by @fearwakes // fandom: interview with the vampire

🪻 gifsets

[x] galadriel's green dress by @withered-rose-with-thorns // fandom: the rings of power

[x] you can have my back any day by @emziess // fandom: 911

[x] romeo & juliet act 1, scene 5 by @spicyvampire // fandom: my golden blood

[x] mark started a new challenge by @spicyvampire // fandom: my golden blood

[x] [x] and all the other single colour palette episode edits by @misty-quigley // fandom: interview with the vampire

[x] the heirs of the dragon (but it's just rhaenyra and alicent being girlfriends) by @cressidascowper // fandom: house of the dragon

[x] the will they, won't they between buck and eddie continues by @s4buck // fandom: 911

[x] wenzhou + light by @shenzhiheng // fandom: word of honour

[x] imdb top-rated episodes of the clone wars by @rosamundpkes // fandom: the clone wars

[x] season 2 of severance by @dykefyre // fandom: severance

[x] hyper knife by @luna-lina // fandom: hyper knife

[x] family matters by @luna-lina // fandom: family matters

[x] nah i just, had a lil' bit too much of emperor's smile. just gotta tell you how i feel by @khaotungthanawat // fandom: the untamed

[tinyidle]

i see that hongjoong taught wooyoung photography lol.. the recent pictures that he's shared on FROMM look so aesthetically pleasing

but ofc, since im insane and i like to share my imaginations... nfsw, candaulism (photo fetish), exhibitionism, groping, teasing, three-way (2 on 1), fem!reader, model reader, photographers!topaz, all fiction ofc

imagine photographer!wooyoung angling his body in a way to take pictures of you, with photographer!hongjoong occasionally fixing the scraps of your airy clothes as you posed for the shoot. the studio was small yet spacious-- you were laying on a studio stump covered with sheets that matched the background and fit your nude-tone dress.

'snap!' wooyoung pulls the camera off his face and shows his mentor the shots he captured. "how does this look, hyung?"

the older man looked up at the screen and slanted his eyes. he then got up and held onto wooyoung's shoulders, whispering to him as they walked away from your lying figure. you, being confused, started getting up until you heard "stay right there, pretty."

you simply nodded and lay back down. before you began to close your eyes, you felt two pairs of hands travelling all over your body. "wh- what're you guys-" you try to ask, but you cut yourself off with a breathy moan as you feel a pair of lips latch onto your nipple.

"that's it," hongjoong smiles as he sees his protege use you. he puts the viewfinder of the camera to his right eye, expertly squinting before commanding wooyoung to pull back. you, in a bliss, were too dazed to hear or see the shutter of the camera go off.

when he gets the shots he needed, he showed wooyoung who made a noise of awe and approval. "see, you have to get your figure models in the right frame of mind to have the perfect picture. and this-", hongjoong repeatedly pressed the left arrow button until he went to the picture that showed the glistening of wooyoung's saliva on your breast, "-can be captured with just the right lighting and filtration." hongjoong gave wooyoung his camera and showed him the settings he used to get the shots he just took. "here, you try this time."

once the older went to you, it was almost game over. even though you recovered from the nipple play, hongjoong's touch almost felt like cascading water on you. every time his hand traced over your neck, reaching to your pelvis but barely giving you what you were craving, and opened your legs to reveal your soaking center, you let out mere gasps of approval and slight frustration. and each and every reaction resulted in the flash going off.

"yes!" you heard as the younger personally cheered at the pictures he took. "look, hyung. these look so much better than before." as they admired at each shot, they turned to you and carefully sat you up. as hongjoong put your clothes back into place, wooyoung showed you each shot. "you like them?"

you smiled as you saw how each picture embodied the fullness of erotica while not looking at all staged-- knowing that it wasn't. "i love them. please email me them to my portfolio." the two men nodded before giving you each a kiss on the cheek. you were definitely getting booked by them next week.

[pix4japan]

Fujimi-Yagura: One of Tokyo’s Last Edo Castle Guard Towers・皇居に残る江戸城富士見櫓

The Fujimi-Yagura guard tower, originally built in 1606, was destroyed in a 1657 fire and reconstructed in 1659. Over the centuries, it endured further challenges, including damage from the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923, after which it was repaired into its present form.

Beneath the tower, its stone wall foundation is among the oldest surviving within the former Edo Castle grounds. Built in the uchikomi-hagi (打込矧ぎ) joinery style, the stones were carefully shaped and fitted without mortar, allowing the wall to withstand centuries of earthquakes.

As I framed Fujimi-Yagura through my camera’s viewfinder, I reflected on how this watchtower has silently witnessed Tokyo’s transformation. The contrast between its centuries-old stonework and the glass-and-steel skyscrapers behind it stayed with me. I felt grateful to capture both past and present in a single frame—an enduring piece of Edo’s history standing amid the ever-changing city skyline.

Location: Imperial Palace, Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo Timestamp: 11:10・2025/01/02 Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter ISO 320 for 1/500 sec. at ƒ/8.0 Provia/Standard film simulation

Full write-up with links to sources for a deeper dive (1-minute read): https://www.pix4japan.com/blog/20250102-fujimi