#I think she counts as a niche interest | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

awrkive · 3 months ago

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NEIGHBOR BLUNDER, pt. 3 — JJK

in hindsight, you should have seen it coming. had always known your luck – or lack of it, thereof – and the universe's meticulous plan of your downfall made it easy for you to get tangled up in a series of unfortunate events, which presents itself as the neighbor that lives across from you, jeon jungkook.

PAIRING jungkook x (fem) reader

GENRE r18+ (fluff, angst, smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

CHAPTER WORD COUNT 18.7k

CHAPTER WARNINGS/MISC neighbor!jk, bsf!jimin, accountant!oc software engineer!jk, jk and jimin are chaebols lol, minjoon boyfriends <<<<3, mature language, lots of screaming into your pillow moments, litol bit of #domesticity, FLUFFY FLUFF FLUFFFFFFFFFFFFF, angst if you squint??????????, the x file spoiler lol, suits cameo (me inserting my niche interests into conversations), the biggest warning of this part is: naked jungkook 💀

NOTES sorry for being almost 3 hours late efhkjdhfd i overestimated my abilities a bit mb mb anyway, AGAIN, i want to thank you guys for the overwhelming support! i want to take this opportunity to announce that i'll be taking a break from nb for around 2 weeks to work on my new jungkook one-shot fic that i will be posting for his birthday ❤️ if you are interested, i have posted the teaser on my tumblr page. LASTLY pls let me know your thoughts!! i LOVE LOOOVEEE reading every single one of your replies/reblogs/asks. i hope you enjoy this one and have a good weekend ahead!!!!!!

NB!JK VISUALS | TAGLIST OPEN (REPLY IN THE COMMENT SECTION. PLS DO NOT SEND AN ASK ABOUT IT)

READ ON WATTPAD | AO3

PART ONE | TWO | THREE

You always wonder how a company this big seems to not have any budget lent for a copier that actually works – something that one doesn’t need to violently slap just for it to function perfectly.

You’ve been a victim not just once but five times to its inefficiency, the recent mishap being a month ago when the ink blots jumped right over the cuff of your shirt.

With the way that you’ve been harassing the copier at the very moment, you’ll say it’s about to do you wrong for the sixth time and you absolutely can’t let it happen anymore – not when you’re currently wearing a white polo shirt that stupidly costs a little too much more than anything in your wardrobe (you decided to spend a little more than usual last New Year’s).

So, with a last unnecessary kick to the bottom of the machine (out of pure spite) you left the copier room of your floor and think, fuck it – go to the IT department and ask Taemu to back you up from his supervisor so you can use their copier instead – which is something you’re not so sure of.

It’s embarrassing to go there just to ask him for help. Not with your history. But admittedly not that much of a history. After all, he seems to be cool with you and everything seems to be pretty chill. You can just go there; ask a little favor from a friend, and then hurry down to your floor.

There are some other options, though. Like, you can always ask the intern to do it for you. But the thing is, you kind of feel bad for those three. Your co-workers are doing a lot already; asking to fetch them things all around the building, buy them snacks, stuff like that. There’s another one but she’s way too quiet and didn’t really take shit from any of her seniors… which is kind of intimidating – but she's someone you wish you were when you were also an intern. You personally don’t want to help cultivate a somewhat toxic journey for the other three because you also started the same way as them. Beyond that, it would also be too rude to ask favors from Taemu indirectly.

You’re ultimately left with little and only one choice.

The elevator dings and the doors open after it does so.

One of the people in it is a woman you’ve never met around before. Long, black hair; tailored suit, slender figure, and a posture that screams she’s never hunched her back in her entire life.

Other people that entered at the same time as you start to bow their heads down slightly and greet a polite, “Good afternoon.”

You mirror their gesture as well.

As you step inside and settle on a spot, you wonder who she is.

An executive, maybe? She looks very put-together, and there’s authority that hangs over her frame… but exceptionally young in the physical aspect. Jungkook is also young, though – and he’s an executive, so that’s entirely possible. Additionally, others seem to know her. Or they're just pretending to know her like you did. Did you miss a ceremony? A meeting? Or did you gloss over some HR email again? You’ll have to check later to find out if that’s the case.

Anyway, your curiosity doesn’t last long when the elevator doors open once again, indicating the IT department floor.

You already texted Taemu awhile ago that you were on your way so he should meet you on-time.

As you walk down the hallway with your phone in your hand, your attention is caught by a familiar voice.

“Hey,”

You look up from your phone and see Taemu waving not too far away, heading towards your direction. It doesn’t take him long to get near you. When he does, you give him a smile.

“Taemu, hi.” You say as a small greeting. Taemu lifts his hand and you thought he was going for a high-five, so you lift your hand as well to meet the gesture. But then he leans in closer, one arm about to enclose your waist, and that’s when you realize he was actually gearing up for a hug.

Taemu seems to register that you weren’t exactly going for the same thing, so he steps back. He seems shy when you look at him in confusion.

“Oh, okay, sorry,” He offers his hand again, but just when you’re already thinking about hugging him because that was what he originally meant to do, he speaks just as you lean in closer to hug him. “I thought we were high-five-ing?”

Embarrassed, your hands retreat to yourself.

“I thought... you wanted to hug?” You chuckle.

“Okay, let’s just—” Taemu steps closer again and this time, it’s more than clear to you what he wants to do.

You reciprocate the hug he gives.

“This is so stupid.” You say, chuckling against his neck. The contact is quick as you two simultaneously break apart.

Taemu laughs at your remark, nodding his head. Then he gestures ahead, pointing to the direction of the copy room.

“Your copier not working again?” He asks as you walk down the hallway together.

You heave a sigh. “Yeah, they really need to change that one. Anyway, have you told Mr. Lee?” You ask, referring to his supervisor.

Teamu nods his head, opening the door to the copy room for you.

“Yeah, it’s fine with him. Just sign the logbook and stuff.”

“Thanks, Taemu.” You say, quickly getting to work, feeling slightly delighted at how their machine smoothly does its job and not like the one at all in your department. “Hey, I’m really sorry for bothering you with this.” You lament as you wait for the paper to slide out.

Taemu waves his hand, shaking his head at you. “It’s fine.”

You purse your lips into a thin line, giving him a somewhat apprehensive smile. The paper comes out and you get your thing. After a quick scan to see if the copier got everything right, you look back at Taemu to say, “Thanks again, Taemu. I really appreciate this.”

“No worries. Anytime.”

When you announce that you’re done, Taemu calls your name.

“Hm?” You hum, looking at him and wait for his next words.

He looks coy when he rubs a hand on the back of his head.

“Can I take you out for lunch?” He says, and you still in your position. Taemu seems like he surprised himself with his own words. You open your mouth to speak but then he beats you to it quickly, “It’s not a date. I phrased that as a date – but it’s not – ah, this is all coming out wrong,” Taemu chuckles, interrupting himself. With his hands in his slacks' pockets, he leans to a random table inside the room and looks at you with a more confident stance this time, as if he just gave himself a quick internal pep talk after jumbling his words. “What I meant to say is, if we can go out for lunch together today?”

You chuckle. You were just about to say yes. Contrary to his assumption, you didn’t really take his first question as an invitation for a date. Besides, he helped you with the copier today.

Nodding your head, you offer him a grin as you say, “Yeah. I’ll go to lunch with you.”

Taemu walks you to the elevator even though you said he doesn’t need to. He's insistent but you let it, anyway.

Taemu puts his hands on both sides of the door before it closes. The ride is pretty much empty except for yourself.

“When are you off?” He asks.

You think about it for a moment. “Is 12:15 okay?”

Taemu nods. “Sure. See you at 12:15?”

“Yeah. Later.”

The elevator closes and you laugh to yourself when you catch Taemu awkwardly waving his hand at you goodbye.

“No, you didn’t, I kicked your ass at mini golf!” You say, laughing as Taemu looks at you with squinted eyes, obviously saying that was absolutely not what happened on your date a few months ago.

“Uh, you disregarded all the rules.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, fine. Rules do not matter, though. It’s just some stick and a ball and… fake grass.”

Taemu laughs, surrendering his hands to the air, nodding when he says, “Fair, fair.”

You’re currently at a restaurant not too far away from your company building. It took Taemu and you about five minutes to get here; just a quick waiting time to cross the pedestrian lane to get from one street to the other.

Looking around, you can actually see some people inside wearing your company lace. The restaurant’s sort of like a famous spot around the company, though, so it doesn't necessarily surprise you. You’ve also had a few company dinners here some time ago.

Safe to say, lunch with Taemu is going… okay so far.

No – actually, it’s way better than you thought it would be.

You could have never, ever predicted that you’ll be out with him alone again after… you know, ghosting him. Your whole assessment of his character has also changed a bit after the whole fiasco.

See, some guys start feeling entitled over your permission and consent when you entertain them even just for a bit. When you go on dates and you break it to them that it’s just not working out between you two, they start to act weird. Like you’ve hurt them. Or that you lead them on – even though it’s absolutely not the case.

But Taemu’s proving himself to be different. You honestly expected him to act like that guy because he seems the type after your first date. But he surprises you by acting the total, complete opposite.

He’s so… nice. So casual. Like nothing happened. You feel bad because right now, you've officially confirmed to yourself that you totally misjudged him.

You can’t believe you’ll say this, but Taemu is not an asshole. Like at all.

Even now, you’re recalling what happened to your date and laughing about some of the memories of it, and it feels so long ago you’re starting to remember it differently.

“Anyway, this milkshake’s really good,” you say, taking your glass and looking at it curiously.

“Yeah? I told you,” Taemu grins, eating from his own plate.

“You always come here?” You ask out of curiosity since he seems to be familiar with the menu.

“Sort of? I mean, I try to take in the city as much as I can.” You nod, recalling what he told you before. He came from Daegu, and it’s his first time in Seoul.

Before you can say anything to that, the waiter comes to your table and gives you your bill.

Taemu and you simultaneously take out your wallets. When he sees you do it, though, he’s quick to shake his head, gesturing for you to not bother.

“No, no, it’s fine. I got it.”

“I got it, too,” You say, smiling at him, already picking out your card, ready to put it inside the check presenter.

“__,” Taemu says your name while chuckling. “I swear, it’s fine. I was the one who invited you for lunch.”

“Taemu,” You call him, using the same tone he used. Taemu grins at that. “I think we should split the bill.”

It’s only fair, you think. You ate pretty much the same thing.

You hold what felt like a minute staring competition until Taemu gives in and lets you stack your card on top of his in the booklet.

You’re about to resume eating – pick up on the conversation you left a few minutes ago – when your phone dings on the table, a message popping out on the notification center.

When you read the contact name, your eyes widen but you relax your face real quick lest Taemu asks questions.

“Sorry,” you say, pointing to your phone. Taemu nods, understanding. You pick the device in your hands, turn to your other side to not be rude, and read the text from Jungkook.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:47pm]: hey I bought you lunch Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:48pm]: i was gonnna ask you to go with me earlier but I got busy with some papers

Shoot.

You’ve done a pretty good job of not thinking about Jungkook at all for the entirety of the day. You woke up so early this morning that you waited for twenty whole minutes for your bus just so you can avoid seeing Jungkook because everytime his name pops up in your thoughts, you remember what you did the night before and it just messes with your head so much.

Listen, you aren’t embarrassed about trying to get yourself off. It’s just masturbation. It’s a carnal need and it’s totally normal. What you are not proud of is the way you thought about him – out of all people – and how it actually made you feel… a little more motivated to get yourself there.

But it’s a slip-up. A big mistake.

How are you supposed to look him in the eyes after that and act like you didn’t do what you did? Granted, you did stop before it escalated. But still, the point is that you thought about him while you were pleasuring yourself. Even if it was for a tiny bit second, it still counts!

Stupid fucking ovulation, you think to yourself with bitterness. You’re a much better person without it, you swear. You don’t go around thinking about men when you try to get yourself off, not at all! Personally, your head is mostly blank when you go through it.

But Jungkook left two texts. And he’s probably seen the read tag on his end already.

You [12:49pm]: I just got lunch ): thank you for buying me one tho that’s really nice ofu

You turn your phone off after sending your reply, placing it on the empty space of your table. When you look at Taemu, he’s eyeing something behind you. With furrowed brows, the question about what he’s looking at is on the tip of your tongue when he suddenly says,

“Isn’t that Mr. Jeon?”

“W-what?” You stammer, not sure if you heard him right.

The knots on Taemu’s forehead fades, and then he nods to himself. “I’m pretty sure that’s Mr. Jeon. He’s going this way.”

“Wha—”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeon.” Taemu stands up from his seat and does a slight bow for greeting.

Without thinking about it, you mirror Taemu’s action, bowing your head longer than necessary.

“Good afternoon, M-mr. Jeon,”

It’s no use to avoid his gaze, though.

When you look at Jungkook, he seems pretty much just as surprised to see you. You look away, but your eyes fall to his hand, and you see that it carries a take-out paper bag from the restaurant. You think about his text.

“Good afternoon.” Jungkook says with an easy-going smile. He goes from surprised to casual real quick and glosses over you as if he doesn’t know you.

You don’t really know how that makes you feel.

“I was just going, have fun with your lunch.” He says and politely bids his goodbye, going straight to the direction of the restaurant’s door.

“He’s really cool, you know?” Taemu brings up when you both sit down again.

“I— huh?”

“You must have heard about the new project they’re starting at the end of this month, right?” He asks curiously.

You sit there stunned. Stunned from earlier’s interaction with Jungkook but also because you don’t really know what the hell Taemu’s talking about.

“No… I didn’t get any memo…?” You say instead, trying not to act way too oblivious lest he thinks you’re lazy or something. Not that it matters! You’re not trying to impress him or anything.

Taemu nods. “Well, you’ll probably know about it soon.”

But your head's too far gone now, still stuck on what happened a minute ago.

You look over at your phone while Taemu speaks, hoping for it to light up with a new notification from the messaging app.

A few minutes passed by and it doesn’t, even when you leave the restaurant.

You don’t really know why you’re here.

It’s been three days since that night in Jungkook’s place where you tried to bake in his kitchen, so it’s also been three days since you started practicing during the nights after work to perfect your cookies. Tonight, it just so happens that the cookies finally taste edible and honestly, it’s more than okay.

So, maybe that’s why you find yourself in front of Jungkook’s door with a plastic container in your hands, decently-baked cookies prettily arranged inside.

Jungkook was with you when you made those pathetic excuses for cookies, so you thought it’s only fair for him to try these ones and tell you what he thinks. Brag a little. Maybe have a little chitchat if he’s free or whatever.

It’s also… sort of like a peace offering for something he doesn’t need to know about. You can’t tell him you’re sorry for thinking about him when you did the deed because that’s just plain weird.

Speaking of weird, though, the interaction from yesterday left you feeling a little empty. There’s this gnawing feeling inside of you that something went wrong – but you can’t exactly point out why. Jungkook also hasn’t texted you after that – which isn’t out of the ordinary. You don’t text everyday and you don’t meet every single day, either – for the record. You’re both busy people. You can only imagine Jungkook’s schedule.

Anyway, if there’s anything that you learned about your friendship with Jungkook, it’s that you don’t need to lie to him. You just have to knock on his door and he’ll unintentionally clear your doubts by being the voice of reason because he’s nice like that.

You do hope though that tonight clears any weird air between you. Maybe you’ll find out later on that there’s nothing weird going on at all and you’re just overthinking stuff as usual.

You’re about to ring the doorbell twice when the door finally opens, showing you Jungkook still wearing his polo shirt. He looks like he’s just gotten home from work, red tie undone around his neckline and a few buttons popped open.

“Hi.” You smile.

“Hey,” Jungkook looks at you, obviously wondering what brought you to his door.

“I wanted to give you this,” you hand him the plastic container which he takes with a confused look. “Those are cookies. I baked them. I didn’t give you anything when I baked two nights ago because they were bad.”

“Ah,” Jungkook nods, looking down at the plastic. He smiles, then leans on his doorway. “So it’s good now?”

You gesture a so-so with your hand. “Don’t set your expectations too high. It’s not exactly Poilâne. But it tastes like matcha cookies, I swear.” When Jungkook doesn’t say anything for a while, you decide to add, “You also won’t get food poisoning, if you’re worried about that.”

Jungkook gives you an amused look. “I wasn’t… worried about that.”

“It’s a simple disclaimer. Just in case, you know, you suddenly feel weird in the stomach…” Jungkook arches his brow while you trail off. You roll your eyes lightheartedly. “I’m kidding.”

He lets out a chuckle and then stands upright. “Thank you for this.”

“No worries,” you say. You shift your weight from one foot to another. “Uh, do you wanna grab dinner? Right now?”

Jungkook looks at you apologetically.

“I really wish we could, but I have to finish something tonight. Work stuff.”

“Oh,” You nod immediately. “Okay. Uhm, good luck with that.”

He smiles at you. Lifting the container up, he arches his brows, saying, “Thank you, again. It looks good.”

“Yeah, I hope you like it,” You say. Realizing that there’s nothing more left to say, you turn on your heel ready to go. But before that, you look back at him one last time. “Bye.”

Jungkook grins.

“I’ll text you what I think about them.” He says, pointing to the cookies.

“Okay, Anton Ego.”

You both laugh at that, and you enter your apartment with a small smile on your face.

You don’t want to admit it even to yourself, but you might have taken Jungkook’s words about reviewing your baked goods too seriously that you waited for it last night longer than necessary. Even when the night ended and you go to work the next day, which is today, none of his texts come, and you don’t think anything’s coming anytime soon.

You try not to think about it too much because he did say he’s busy with work. You’re sure that’s the case, so you feel slightly bad for him.

Right now, you’re looking for Ms. Seo to get her signature on a document. So you head to the elevator, rushing a bit to get inside the one that’s about to close. It’s a little urgent, so you cannot waste any more time.

As soon as you enter though, you notice who’s in it.

It’s Jungkook and the woman you saw in the elevator two days ago.

You’re starting to think you need to start using the stairs from now on because your elevator trips are getting too ridiculous.

It feels like you’re running on auto-pilot when you greet them both, walking to the side to make space for the other people entering.

You wish you went beside the woman instead and not Jungkook’s side because you then have to try real hard not to look at him.

It proves to be an uneasy task when more people squeeze in as the elevator takes a few stops in between floors. You had to taut all the muscles in your body just to not get into any contact with Jungkook, but even with all the effort, it goes unsuccessful, as you brush his arm when you step back to move a little.

Jungkook looks at you the same time you do.

“I’m sorry.” You utter, low enough to not cause any unnecessary attention.

A few do turn to stare, anyway. And you can’t help but notice the way the woman’s hand moves towards Jungkook’s to hold it as she takes a look at you.

Jungkook, meanwhile, gives you that same professional smile he seems to have reserved for every employee that greets him around the building, warm voice saying, “It’s okay.”

You’re thankful that the next floor is where your stop is.

As you go back to your cubicle, you wonder who the woman is. Again.

There's something about her that feels familiar. She looks familiar. Like you’ve seen her before. You can’t just figure out where exactly.

“__,” Sol calls beside you.

“Huh?”

“You’re not having lunch?” She asks.

“Oh…” Right. It’s currently your break time. “Are you guys going out?” You say, looking at Joonhwi who’s two cubicles away from you.

Sol shakes her head, taking her coat from the back of her chair. “No, just at the cafeteria.”

You nod your head. “Okay, I’ll follow in a few minutes, just need to look over some stuff here,” You point to your computer.

“Okay. Just text me.”

You give Sol a smile and watch as she and Joonhwi head out of the office.

Your gaze falls to the time on your computer.

12:10pm.

Is Jungkook possibly having lunch right now? You remember him buying you one two days ago and feel a little sense of regret about not taking it even though it isn’t your fault and he should’ve told you first to give you a little heads-up.

You never really talked about it. You never really talked for the past three days.

But then again, he seems to be busy.

With a little hope in your heart, though, you pick up your phone and decide to send him a text.

You [12:12pm]: hey do u want to go out for lunch?

Or should you just buy him one like he did for you? It’s not like you’re trying to up him in a kindness competition. It can just be a small, thoughtful gesture from a friend to a friend.

You receive a reply a few seconds after.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:13pm]: hey __ I’d love to

Your lips curl down when you read the next one that comes in a second.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:13pm]: but I have a work meeting in 5mins

Oh. Okay. That tracks.

You [12:14pm]: okii!! That’s totally cool! good luck with work 😊

You stand up from your chair and take out your wallet from your bag, going out of your office and sending a quick text to Sol that you’re coming to the cafeteria.

When you get there, your peripheral vision catches a familiar figure.

You look back, trying to see if it’s someone you know.

Turns out it is. Because it’s Jungkook.

You’ve seen him in the elevator this morning and he wore a grey pair of suit. You’d also recognize his stature anywhere, but just like how it was inside the elevator, he’s with the woman again; long hair down like it was yesterday, this time adorning a suit dress that hugs her figure really well, her stilettos making her legs look longer but somehow Jungkook still stands a little taller.

For the very brief moment that you laid your eyes on them, you saw how Jungkook had his hand placed on the low of her back, how she laughed at something he said, and how they looked good together from your point of view. It seemed like they were on their way somewhere.

You realize that was what Jungkook meant when he said he’s busy.

They say a silver lining comes in every worst situation possible, and you’re more of an optimist rather than a pessimist so usually, you believe in the concept of silver linings even though right now – it looks like it’s going to be winning the jackpot in the lottery or… free education for everybody across the world.

“The contractor estimates it would be a week-long repair.”

“One week?” Is your immediate response, disbelief coloring your tone. “I’m sorry—” You try to fix your tone, salvaging yourself from being seen as outright rude in front of your building manager. “You mean seven whole days?”

The building manager, Mr. Han, nods his head. He looks genuinely apologetic as he delivers the news, for the record.

“That’s… really long.” You say, albeit calmer now. But you still can’t imagine it.

“It’s just an estimate. Contractor said it might be faster than that, but they still need to do a full assessment of your unit tomorrow, together with the water damage restoration company. We’re doing all we can to respond to the situation. We’re also talking to your upstairs neighbor about the stipulation of his negligence.”

You nod along to his words.

Obviously, it’s his job to ensure everything’s taken care of, but still, you’re appreciative of the way they are going about the current situation. You’ve heard horror stories about tenants getting into arguments with their building managers or landlords when their apartments experience accidents.

“Can I ask about relocation?” You ask. You have to read your lease again to make sure.

“Unfortunately, it’s not indicated in your lease policy, but your renter’s insurance should cover it. You can also talk to your landlord about reducing your rent for this month due to the inconvenience.”

You nod, giving him a small smile. “Okay. Thank you.”

The plumber and some of the help the building manager employed to dry up your place from the accidental flood had already left a while ago, and soon, Mr. Han’s figure disappears entirely after a few seconds as you watch him walk down the flight of stairs and away from the building.

You can hear the loud whirring of the air movers placed inside your unit from where you stood on your porch. Your hair’s damp, including some spots on your work clothes from the water that trickled down your ceiling as you panicked earlier to pack some of your belongings in a medium-sized luggage you managed to grab in the timeframe.

It’s the state that Jungkook catches you in when you see him emerging from the stairs, looking like he also just got back from work.

“Hey, what happened?” Jungkook, with his brows furrowed, looks at you with worried eyes, sounding equally concerned.

You sigh. “Hey,” you greet weakly. “My apartment got flooded.”

“What?”

“It’s the upstairs neighbor. He apparently left his tub running while he went to work this afternoon,” You take a sharp breath, getting pissed again at the negligence. So goddamn stupid, really. “He flooded his own place and the water leaked to my ceiling, and when I got back home from work I was welcomed with two inches of water on my floor.”

“What the hell?” Jungkook says in disbelief. You nod at his reaction. That is exactly what you said when you heard the story from the property manager. “Are you okay?” He asks, and you appreciate it.

“Not sure about that.” You answer honestly.

Jungkook furrows his brows. “You called your landlord immediately?”

Letting out a sigh again, you nod and move to sit on your suitcase – the lonesome bag that you’re planning to bring with you to wherever the hell you’re going to stay tonight. You don’t even think you have enough clothes in it.

“My place is a complete wreck. Most of the water’s drained, though, and the building manager brought some help inside and they put air movers inside to dry the place right now.” You blow air to the strand of hair that escapes from your ponytail out of frustration. “It’s a shitshow, I know.”

“Good that they responded fast,” Jungkook comments, but concern is still etched on his face as he asks you, “Have you called your insurance company yet?”

“Yeah, we’re emailing right now.” You tell him, showing your phone. You hate sending email through such a small device but you left your laptop back at the office – which is kind of a good thing, now that you think about it – because it would’ve gotten flooded had you left it in your place.

“Did you document everything?”

Your response comes in a little curt.

“Yes, Jungkook. I did.” The onslaught questions just somehow seemed to prompt irritation in you, and you can’t help but add, “I know everything I have to do. I’m an adult.”

Predictably, you render Jungkook surprised.

“I— I didn’t mean it like that. I apologize.”

When you look up at him, you see his expression softening – and you feel bad for what you just did.

Chill, __. He’s just asking logical questions.

“No, I’m sorry,” You shake your head, feeling a little ashamed for bursting like that. You shouldn’t have talked to him like that, anyway. “I don’t know why I snapped, you’re just asking the important questions.”

Jungkook hesitantly hovers his hand on your shoulder, and the look he gives you seems to be asking for permission to touch you. You don’t even know if that’s his intention, but you give him a nod.

He smiles, tapping your shoulder for a brief second, saying, “It’s okay. You must be really stressed right now.”

“You think I can’t be calm in this situation?” You look at him with a blank expression. Jungkook’s taken aback and you witness the very split second his smile drops form his face, probably thinking he said something wrong. Then you can’t help it, you break. “I’m just fucking with you.”

Jungkook’s brows furrow as he sees you bursting into a gentle laugh, breaking your serious demeanor.

He shakes his head slowly, seemingly incredulous of the stunt you just pulled.

“You and your jokes…”

“You should’ve seen your face.”

“You got me.” Jungkook chuckles.

“I’m sorry… it’s just me trying to ignore the fact that my apartment literally got flooded and those loud and big ass fans they placed inside are about to tear my ears off.”

You see the way Jungkook’s face winces.

“Where are you staying for the night, then?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, genuinely not sure about your options. “Probably gonna book a hotel or something.”

Of course you’ve thought about Jimin. He can probably easily help you find a place for the meantime but it’d probably be hard with him not being physically in the country just yet. Sol also crossed your mind, but you remember she has a roommate.

Getting a hotel to temporarily stay at is the most obvious option there is. It would be too much of a hassle, not to mention expensive, but—

“You can stay at mine for the night.”

You think you’re getting around to Jungkook offering you help without you even asking – but it doesn’t mean you still don’t get a little taken aback when he gives it so willingly and so quickly like this.

“No.” You shake your head.

“Seriously.” Jungkook stares at you.

You stare at him right back.

“I can’t.”

“Why?” He raised his brow.

“I can’t think of reasons right now.”

“You don’t need to think at all.”

You squint your eyes at him, he does the same.

Soon enough, Jungkook breaks first and laughs.

“Come on! You’re gonna freeze in here.”

Hesitantly, you say, “… Are you sure?”

“What are you worried about?” He cocks his head to the side, awaiting your response.

Well. There’s a lot to be worried about.

There’s the thing where you always just seem to be caught into some shit and then he catches you right exactly in it. It’s starting to get embarrassing.

But Jungkook just doesn’t really seem to mind it.

“Nothing, really.” Is what you weakly settled for.

“Okay…” He trails off, raising a brow, obviously a bit confused. “Then what’s the big deal? Do you really want to go through the hassle of picking out hotels and booking a room at this hour? You have to go to work tomorrow.”

You visibly wince at the mention of work.

He’s right and you kind of hate it.

“You’re right…” you say after a while.

“You’re staying at mine?” Jungkook asks again, in which you nod your head in confirmation.

You stand up from your suitcase and pull up the handle. Then you look at him sincerely to give him a smile. “Thank you. I think this is like the five hundredth time this kind of thing happened between you and I.”

“Not counting.” Jungkook shrugs. “Have you had dinner yet?”

You nod your head. “I went with a friend— a co-worker.”

Jungkook visibly stills.

“The guy from a few days ago at the restaurant around work?”

You perk up at that, surprised he still recalls that day.

“Yeah, that’s him. Taemu. From the IT dep.”

He nods. You don’t know if he’s interested or not.

You think it’s a bit random that he brought that up, though, but you shake the thoughts away and call his name.

Jungkook looks at you.

“Thank you.” You say, hoping he hears the sincerity in your voice.

He chuckles. “You’re welcome,” Jungkook then gestures to the luggage you’re holding. “Let me.”

Jungkook doesn’t wait for you to say yes before he takes the handle from you and carries the luggage with him to the direction of his place just across from yours.

You consciously try to make your steps lighter as you walk out of the shower box, making your way towards your suitcase to check on the clothes you packed.

When you open it, you thank the heavens that there are underwear – and a lot of them, for the record – but as you rummage around some more, you find that other than your work clothes, you only have nightwear inside. And when you say nightwear, not the comfortable cotton pajama kind but the nightie one – and that basically means the baby blue silky set of tiny camisole and shorts that can pass as a pair of panties.

I can’t possibly wear these, you think to yourself, hastily burying the pieces of clothing in the bottom of your luggage.

It shouldn’t mean anything – those are nightwear after all! But it was already embarrassing to ask Jungkook earlier if you could use his shower and his towel. You can’t come out of the bathroom wearing clothes that Jimin once tagged as “slutty pjs”. Not when you’re in Jungkook’s place.

“__?”

You look over to the door when you hear Jungkook’s voice, a knock following.

“Yes?” You answer.

“Do you have clothes in there?”

At the question, your gaze automatically falls to the suitcase where the thin strap of the camisole peeks out in between some other clothes that are completely useless for the night.

With hesitance, you say, “Uhm… do you possibly have a shirt I can borrow? I promise to clean it and return it to you tomorrow, ASAP.”

You hear him chuckle from the other side. “I brought you some. There’s also a pair of sweatpants but I’m not sure if they’ll fit you.”

It’s hard to not celebrate silently when Jungkook says that – but you might have jumped a little at his words.

When you walk towards the door and open it, you give Jungkook a huge smile as you tell him, “Thanks!”

He stops. And then you stop.

You realize you’re only in your towel – his towel, to be exact.

You feel the blood rushing to your cheeks the moment it registers.

Before you can do or say anything, Jungkook moves on quickly and stretches his arm, thrusting the clothes he’s mentioned into your way.

“There.” He says simply, smiling at you.

You take them from his hand, giving him a smile too, albeit a bit awkward.

“T-thanks.”

Jungkook turns on his heel to leave, and you lock the door to the bathroom as soon as he walks away.

You settle his clothes on top of the flat surface of the lavatory, physically shaking your head as you look at yourself in the mirror to shake your thoughts away.

Thoughts of his slightly parted lips when you opened the door while you’re only in a towel.

But it happened in such a split second that you’re not sure if it even happened.

When you take his white shirt, it feels soft to the touch and there’s a scent of fresh laundry that wafts through your nose when you wear it on yourself.

It’s loose on you, the sleeves almost covering your whole arms and the hem stopping mid-thigh. But because of that, it feels comfortable – like the oversized shirts you wear to bed that you, unfortunately, weren’t able to pack with you in the heap of panic.

But the pants show a different case. It’s so big that it drags on the floor as you wear it.

You made do, though; drawing the strings tightly and and knotting them together, pulling up the gartered hems up to your calf.

When you come out of the bathroom, Jungkook welcomes you with nothing but a towel wrapped around his lower half.

“H-hey,” You stammer, eyes meeting his own to avoid looking at his naked torso.

“I was just going in. You done?” He casually says, as if he doesn’t mind being naked in front of you.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m done. Thanks for the clothes.” You say, gesturing across your body.

“Looks good.” Jungkook comments before entering the bathroom.

You think your cheeks just got impossibly hotter.

The sound of water running is heard before you scramble to the living room.

Why was he naked?!

Okay, he wasn’t actually naked naked but still, he had no clothes on. Why did he have no clothes on? You’re trying to erase the image of his torso, the lines that draw an obvious four-pack, his firm-looking chest, and the way the tattoos over his right arm apparently go way above his shoulder. It’s obvious that he goes to the gym and works out from the way those polo sleeves of his always hug his biceps a little too tight – and with a body like that, you completely understand why he wouldn’t mind parading it around.

The AC in his unit is turned on, but it suddenly feels way too hot from where you currently sit on his couch.

Shut up. Ugh. You tell yourself internally.

Completely wanting out of that headspace, you decide to take out your iPad to get in contact with your insurance company to discuss your current situation, and it does a good job of keeping your mind off Jungkook for a while.

You’re so deep in the activity that you don’t even notice a few minutes has already gone by, and with that, you don’t notice Jungkook coming out of the shower.

When you see him in your periphery, he’s now thankfully dressed in a shirt and some basketball shorts. He’s drying his hair as he walks over to your direction in the living room.

You look at him in surprise when you notice the pillow and comforter he has in his hands.

“Sorry. You should’ve called me, I could’ve helped,” you say, standing up from the couch, ready to help him with it, assuming that you’ll be on the couch tonight.

Jungkook looks at you with furrowed brows. “I’m taking the couch.”

You stare at him, ready to hear him say he’s kidding or something but he doesn’t look like he’s joking.

You shake your head vigorously.

“No, that’s ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous about it?” Jungkook says, putting the pillows on the couch, starting to make it all the while looking at you through the process to engage.

“It’s your place.” You reason.

“And you’re my guest.” He says as a matter of fact.

“But—”

Jungkook cuts you off before you can even finish your sentence.

“__, it’s fine, really. You can take my bed. I insist.”

“Jungkook…” you trail off, sounding more like a whine.

He laughs and then looks at you with a playful smile. “Okay, should we compromise? Like, what, share the bed or the couch?”

You ignore the way your cheeks heat up at the suggestion.

You honestly don’t know why Jungkook says these kinds of things. You know it’s just his usual teasing, but he’s about to confuse you one of these days…

“God, no.” You respond with a shake of your head.

He chuckles. “Oh, is sleeping with me that repulsive to you?”

You push a little at his shoulder and roll your eyes.

When Jungkook’s done fixing the couch, he gestures to the door by the far end of the room. “Come on, I'll take you to the bedroom.”

You both walk towards that direction and as much as you’ve been over his place for more than once now, you’ve actually never seen his room – and for the record, why would you?

But it looks nice. Just like the rest of his apartment’s interior, his room is also almost the same. Kind of bare, but there are some sleek furniture that add character to the whole place.

“Too cold?” Jungkook asks, and you look at him to see him holding the remote of his AC.

“The temp’s fine.”

He hums and puts down the remote.

“Alright, then. Just call me if you need something.” Jungkook says, gesturing to the door. He’s about to leave when you call him again.

“Good night, Jungkook. Thank you for your bed.”

“Good night, __. Uh… sweet dreams?”

You roll your eyes. Jungkook laughs.

When he leaves, you sit on his mattress covered by black duvets and sheets. It’s soft, and you let yourself bounce on the fluffy surface, delighting at the feel.

It’s about the same size as yours, and when you lay on it, you smell that usual scent that Jungkook always emanates. Clean, crisp, a little sweet. Like fresh apples. Or fresh laundry. He just always smells so… clean.

You feel a little sense of strangeness at the different environment you’re in, but the bed is too soft that you feel like you’re almost floating – and maybe it’s because you are tired from work and drained from the whole fiasco at your apartment, but you fall asleep fast and heavy within just a few minutes.

You almost jump from the bed when you open your eyes and see a different type of bedding, only to realize that you’re actually not in your apartment and in Jungkook’s instead.

After processing that, you begin to do a little stretching, finding that you slept quite well. As you do so, your eyes catch the digital clock on the bedside table, and you read 4:30 am.

It’s a bit too early to start getting ready for work, but maybe if you start prepping now, you’ll be ready to go out just as when Jungkook is waking up.

When you stand from the bed, you discover the absence of pants around your waist, the cold air sending goosebumps over your bare legs – and as expected, you see the sweats getting caught in between the heaps of dark sheets on the bed.

You must have taken it off in the middle of the night. It’s why you usually forgo pants when you sleep.

You decide against wearing it again, though, assuming that Jungkook is still sound asleep by now so he can’t possibly see you walking around his place naked from the waist down. Besides, the shirt’s big and almost serves as a dress.

Carrying the pants with you, you silently open the door to his bedroom to tiptoe on your way to the bathroom.

“Hey,”

“Jesus christ!” You clutch your heart at the sudden sound of Jungkook’s voice booming across the unit.

When you look at him, he’s… working out. Apparently.

Jungkook takes out the airpods from his ears and drink from his tumbler.

“What are you tiptoeing for?” He asks, brows furrowed.

From where you stand, you see droplets of sweat on the side of his forehead, his chest heaving from the push-ups you catch him doing a few seconds ago on the mat that he laid on the floor. There are small weights on the side, and Jungkook is still wearing his clothes from last night.

Did he possibly just… wake up and then choose to exercise? Is this his everyday routine?

“I didn’t want to wake you,” you make up an excuse that’s kind of partly true. He slept on the couch in the living room, after all. And from the sala, everything is pretty much visible to the eye as the unit has an open layout. So one single noise could’ve awakened him.

“Too late for that,” Jungkook chuckles. He looks at you longer than a second and you’re just about to get conscious when he asks, “You get ready for work at four?”

You purse your lips into a thin line. “Sort of. I also have to check my place.” Jungkook nods, understanding. “Uh, Jungkook?” He hums to acknowledge you. “Can I use your shower? Again?”

He laughs at the way you smile at him awkwardly. “Sure. Your towel’s just over the rack.”

“Thanks.” You smile at him and go straight to the bathroom.

You make quick work of washing yourself, and the shower, just like last night, isn’t your usual routine because of course, most of your stuff are still over at your place. Though Jungkook is kind enough to lend you some of his unused products – even giving you a spare toothbrush which now sits beside his own on the bathroom sink.

When you finish showering, you wear his shirt and his pants once again. As you go out of the bathroom, the sound of oil popping from the kitchen doesn’t escape your ears.

“I made breakfast.” Jungkook says as you make your way towards the kitchen island. He’s a few steps away, working around the stove, frying up some sausage. He takes some eggs and then turns to you. “How do you like your eggs?”

You’re sure he doesn’t mean anything by that, but then you both laugh at the realization anyway.

“Sunny side up.” You say after a while, seating yourself on one of the high stools. “Can I help you?”

“It’s okay, just sit there.”

You put your elbow on the island as you watch him work. “Wow, do you really treat all your guests like this?” You tease, deciding to poke a joke.

Jungkook laughs as he starts breaking eggs into the frying pan.

“You’re the first one.” He raises a brow your way, lips tilted into a playful smile.

“Awe.” You pretend to curtsy which makes Jungkook laugh.

It doesn’t take long before Jungkook serves you a plate of sausage and perfectly-made sunny side up. You say a delighted “thank you!” in which Jungkook returns an adorable smile for.

You thought he was going to eat with you, but he only ate the sausage and began to work on cutting up some bananas while you continued to eat.

“What did they say about your apartment? How long is the repair?” Jungkook asks while he takes out a mixer.

“Week-long,” He visibly winces at your answer. You purse your lips. “I’m trying to look for a place to stay for the remaining days.”

Jungkook furrows his brows. “Lease doesn’t cover relocation?”

“Talked to the building manager and the landlord last night and they said it doesn’t. I also read the policy again myself last night, though, just to be sure. Anyway, landlord’s cutting my rent this month for up to thirty, so that’s something.”

“Okay… how about your stuff?”

As you watch Jungkook during the whole conversation, you realize that he’s apparently making a protein shake, and when he finishes shaking the bottle, he gestures it towards you, silently asking if you want to try it.

You shake your head, also answering his question. “I already filed a claim on it with my insurance company, so they’re handling it for me. They’re probably going to seek reimbursement from my upstairs neighbor’s insurance if he has one,” You shrug. “And I’m also gonna have to ask him to pay for the deductible.”

Jungkook nods, consuming his drink. You watch as he leans back on the kitchen sink, putting his protein shake down and crossing his arms, looking right at you.

“Why don’t you stay here for a while?”

You look right back at him weird.

“You’re not serious.”

“When am I not serious?”

You hold a staring competition after that, but Jungkook’s eyes are way too intense so you break away first.

“I just can’t.” You say, interrupting the silence.

“It’s friend to a friend. I bet you’d do this for me too.” Jungkook shrugs.

He doesn’t understand, though. Staying at his place for the remaining six days would mean that you’d be both living under the same roof together, and while it’s true that you would probably do this for him if he was in your shoes, it’s just not the same.

But you don’t want to get into all that. It’s too complicated to explain, even to yourself.

So you decide to joke a little.

“Probably not.” You tease.

Jungkook chuckles. “Mean.” He comments, shaking his head at you and playfully clicking his tongue.

“I’m joking,” you smile apologetically. “It’s just for six more days, though. The manager told me it might take faster.”

“Where do plan to stay, anyway? A hotel would be really inconvenient. The nearest one around here is too far from work, not to mention it’d be expensive as well.”

“There’s loss of use coverage,” You say, even though you know the stipulation, and your apartment flooding because of your neighbor’s negligence might probably not be in the clauses.

It’s just to reason with Jungkook, but he’s quick to present another point.

“It’s gonna take a long while, no?”

You pout. Sighing, you say, “You’re right.”

“Okay, so why not stay here?” Jungkook asks curiously. “You know I don’t mind. I won’t mind.” He says and it sounds so convincing and genuine.

You decide to deflect a little because you feel like giving in any seconds now.

“You say that but wait until you find that I’m not very likeable as a roommate.”

Jungkook raises a brow. “Shoot. Hit me.”

Pursing your lips into a thin line, you try to think of your bad habits.

“I…” you trail off, but it stretches into seconds way longer than necessary.

Jungkook chuckles. “See, you can’t even list one.”

“I don’t cook.” You point out.

“I already know that.”

You frown. “So we can’t take turns cooking while I stay here.”

Jungkook only shrugs. “There’s take-out.”

“You’re gonna eat take-out for a week?”

“I can cook.” He chuckles.

“Okay… but sometimes, I get super cranky.”

He nods. “I’ll be out of your way, then. You won’t even notice I’m here.”

You sigh, out of reasons now.

“I’ll try to be helpful with you in the kitchen for the next six days. And I’ll also be nice.”

Jungkook’s brows perk up. “You’re saying you want to stay here?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “But… I wan to pay you.”

“__, the whole reason why I’m offering is because a hotel is gonna cost you,” Jungkook laughs.

That prompts you to put a frown on your face.

“Fair point. But I’m going to take your couch the entire time, okay? And that’s final.”

It takes a little longer for Jungkook to agree to that. But he nods his head, anyway, saying, “Sure.”

It sounds so non-committal. You think he's going to still try insisting taking the couch.

“Okay.” You say, ignoring that thought, smiling at him. “Thank you.”

“You know you’re always welcome, right?” Jungkook says.

You’re thankful he turns around after he says that to tend to the stuff he used a while ago in the sink, giving you a perfect leeway to avoid his gaze lest he takes notice of the way you can’t help a big smile.

“I’m gonna take a shower. Finish your breakfast.” He says, pointing to your unfinished plate.

You give him a small salute.

Before he goes to the direction of the bathroom, Jungkook turns around to ask. "Do you want to go to work together?" He raises a brow, but then a second after his question, he puts a hand up, effectively stopping you from answering. "You're gonna say no. But I insist. Say yes, I made you breakfast."

You laugh at his squinted eyes.

"I was going to say yes, anyway."

"No, you weren't." Jungkook fires back.

You shoo him away playfully before he finally leave for the shower.

All you can think about is that maybe silver linings are indeed true.

Sharing a space with somebody has always felt… weird.

You had a roommate back in college for the whole four years, and while it wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened to you – it was just an experience that didn’t really strike you as something memorable or fun. Min Heeji was a Bio major who was an extreme introvert, and past the casual hi’s and hello’s, you both just never hit it off.

After moving out of your dorm, you rented around Itaewon. You found the unit through a listing you saw on Facebook – some woman who was finding a roommate to split the rent with. You found out later that the reason why the previous people before you left was because she was quite an interesting lady… let’s just say – she was a person who dabbled on the arts of illegal drug trading. Jimin jokingly told you he wondered about how her weed tasted like. Sometimes, you want to smack him on the head.

You pretty much decided on being against roommates for the entirety of your life after that.

But Jeon Jungkook is thankfully not a total hermit, nor does he sell weed.

It’s been long since you lived with somebody, and being under the same roof as him is different – the good kind of different, to be clear.

He’s somewhat a clean freak so it’s almost embarrassing to do anything in his place because it’s always so spot clean.

One thing that you learned though is that he’s a busy man. You had an idea about a packed schedule and non-existent free time for an executive person like him – but the idea feels more real now that you’ve witnessed it.

On the first day of your stay, after your apartment got flooded, he drove you both to work just like he offered. During the night, though, he seemed to have come home late. You slept at around 10pm and never saw him entering the door, and when you woke up the next day, he’s gone, only a note on the fridge telling you that he’s prepared some breakfast you can heat up to eat.

Nonetheless, you feel into quite an easy routine with him.

After a great deal of insistence from your side, Jungkook is rightfully assigned in his bedroom while you lay on the couch. It’s a bit bigger than the one you have on your own, so there’s space for moving around. Even when you wake up with shitty back pains in the mornings, sleeping on his couch is better than sleeping in your current wreck of an apartment as the contractor is already repairing your place.

As of the third day since the incident, they’ve already changed your ceiling, the flooring coming next. It was starting to look good as per your visit.

That made it clearer to you, though, that you’re indeed staying at Jungkook’s for another four days.

Jungkook was so busy that he even worked on a Saturday – told you that it was a hectic week for his team over a shared dinner that you thought will happen only once during your stay with his packed schedule. On Sunday, you kind of assumed that Jungkook will still be at the office, but he surprised you when he came barging in the bathroom while you were in it.

You had your leg propped on the edge of the bathtub, squeezing the bottle of lotion in your palm and spreading the cream over the skin of your shin, adjusting the towel up your thighs so you can cover your entire leg with the product.

You did so mindlessly, part of your usual after-shower routine, completely unassuming of the sound of the doorknob clicking and Jungkook suddenly barging inside the room with a hamper in his hand.

Frozen in your position, your eyes locked into his own as he stepped a foot forward on the tiled floor. You realized the hamper is his laundry.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were here,” Jungkook apologized, and he looked genuinely bashful.

“I thought you were at work.” you said, adjusting the towel on the top of your head.

Jungkook raised a brow, but there’s a smile on his lips. “On a Sunday?”

You narrowed your eyes at him which prompted him to laugh. A beat of silence, and then you noticed Jungkook’s gaze. You felt his eyes to the direction of your raised leg on the porcelain tub – and if your own sight didn’t deceive you, you could’ve sworn he’d made a quick glance-over to the expanse of your bare leg before he snapped right back into looking at your face.

“Anyway, I was just gonna do my laundry,” Jungkook twisted himself away from the bathroom’s door. “I’ll wait for you to finish, though. I’m sorry again for barging in.”

At that, you quickly shook your head and planted both your feet on the tiles, standing upright.

“No, it’s fine. I’m done, anyway. Are you in a hurry? I just need to change into some… clothes.” You said, glancing at the heap of some pajama pants and a t-shirt on the bathroom sink.

“Not in a hurry. You can change here.” Jungkook gave you a small smile.

You nodded your head. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I’ll be super quick.”

Your lips curled into an apologetic smile, but Jungkook waved you off.

He took one last look at you before he locked the door – one thing that you forgot to do in the very first place.

You blamed it on your habit of not really being mindful about it since you were used to living alone.

The day after that – one fateful Monday – Jungkook once again was MIA at his own place. You woke around 6 am, and as you got ready for work, you noticed a note on his fridge that he went to work earlier than usual that day, and he’d also be working late so you should lock up at night.

At the company, you did not even catch a single glimpse of him.

You bought some food on your way to his place later that day, thinking that maybe you could share a meal together – nevermind the fact that he had told you he was going to be home late. But you did not expect his “late” would exceed past 11 pm, and since you were also pretty much tired from your own activities for that day, you fell asleep on the couch without making it, lying on the surface with no pillows and comforter over your body.

In your dreams that night, you felt like you were floating.

Somebody has tucked their arms under your knees and neck, taking you off the previous surface you were lying on. The unfamiliar man cradles your body against his, carrying you somewhere and putting you on a much softer place. A mattress. A big, soft, mattress. And you noted that the man smelled of green apples and laundry. An almost familiar scent.

Needless to say, your dream was quite vivid that night.

When you woke up the next morning, you were welcomed with the familiar grey paint of the walls – the white ceiling, and the dark sheets and pillows that surrounded you. A waft of fresh laundry smell. The Iron Man figurine on the top shelf of the cabinet in the corner of the room. The black slippers on the side of the door that are way too big to be yours.

Jungkook.

The strange man in your dreams was Jungkook. And it wasn’t a dream at all.

It was Jeon Jungkook who carried you all the way to his bedroom from the sofa so you could sleep comfortably on it.

When you went out of his room that morning, ready to thank him and tell him he didn’t have to do what he did, feeling bad at the thought of him sleeping on his couch at his own place, Jungkook was nowhere to be found.

But as if it was becoming tradition, there was a note on his fridge that told you: I hope you don’t mind that I brought you to my room. I found you uncomfortable on the couch last night. Didn’t cook us breakfast because I have to go to work early again today, but I’ll have food delivered at around 7. Good morning, __ :)

— Jungkook.

That night, though, Jungkook miraculously came home early.

He arrived an hour after you, just in time as you finished doing the prep for the bibimbap you were planning to eat on your own, assuming Jungkook was going to be late again. When you saw him entering the door, you decided to make the portions of the ingredients bigger, thinking that it was the perfect opportunity to say thank you for the other night.

And you did not forget to say that either.

“Thank you for last night. You didn’t have to…” you trailed off, giving him a sheepish smile across the dining table as you both ate.

Jungkook, with his mouth full of rice – seemingly (thankfully) enjoying the meal you prepared for him – munched on it before he said, “You looked real tired. And uncomfortable, which reminds me, you should sleep in the bedroom as well tonight.”

You shook your head. “It’s fine, Jungkook. Last night was just – uh, I was waiting for you to come home because I didn’t want to just lounge around your living room while you aren’t around, but then I guessed you arrived a little late.”

Out of all the things you’d said, it seemed Jungkook only remembered one thing.

“You were waiting for me to come home?” He said, his hand reaching for the side dish pausing mid-air, eyes trained to you. Curious, his brow piqued in what seemed like genuine intrigue.

You stopped. You went over your words, not realizing those came out of your mouth.

Obviously, you didn’t mean for that to slip out.

So, you shook your head slowly. Hesitantly, you reasoned, “It’s just you’re always in your room first before I fix the couch for bedtime. So.” You shrugged, knowing your explanation didn’t suffice.

Jungkook gave you a nod with small a smile on his lips.

“I’m sorry for making you wait, then. It’s just extra busy at the company these days.”

Your brows furrowed in curiosity, “Yeah, I heard about the collaboration with Kang Tech.”

You found out about it at work that day. It’s in the accounts payable you’ve worked on the past few days, and when you asked Joonhwi and Sol about it, they confirmed the recent moves the company is recently making.

You also realized then that the reason why the mystery woman in the elevator was familiar to you was because you’ve seen pictures of her before.

Of course you’d know her. She’s the woman Jimin’s parents are trying to set him up with. The one and only Kang Heesu. She took over as CEO just very recently at Kang Tech.

Apparently, Blue Nexus and Kang Tech are collaborating on a product that will be announced later during the month – which explains her being at the company oftentimes, Jungkook being busy, drowned with work stuff – them working closely together.

Whatever you felt on that day you saw them together – you’d like to dismiss that as just a blip in the system. Your system, to be exact.

It isn’t any of your business whoever gets around with Jungkook. Whether he’s close with Kang Heesu outside work or not (like what you’ve pondered about ever since finding out about the information of their collaboration) – that’s their thing.

“Yeah, the team’s been working overtime because of it.” Jungkook added to your words from earlier.

“So, you’re more tired than I am,” You pointed out, noting the obvious. He went to work at the ass-crack of dawn, went home late, and whenever he was home – all he faced was his laptop.

You even doubt he was getting enough sleep. There were bags under his eyes that weren’t there the past month you first met him – and even though he carried them with a certain grace, you could still see that some of the shine in his eyes was becoming absent.

You were glad you were able to prepare something for him. Did something for him. You didn’t have to – but you did. Because you wanted to be a helpful roommate.

“Does it show?” Jungkook chuckled, leaning back on the chair, a bashful expression on his face.

You shook your head. “Nope. But yeah, you don’t need to give up your bedroom tonight. I’ll be fine here.”

“I actually bought something. Wait a minute,” Jungkook suddenly said. Your brows furrowed when you watched him saunter over the living room and in towards his bedroom. When he came back to the dining area, he was carrying a huge paper bag. You looked at him, visibly confused. Jungkook cleared his throat as he sat back down on his seat. “I was thinking you could use this. It’s a foldable cushion or whatever so you can sleep more comfortably on the couch.”

You gawked at the paper bag, and then at him.

“What?”

“I went to the mall yesterday and the lady told me this is one of their best sellers… I don’t know. Do you want to have a look at it?” Jungkook said, worry seeping in his tone.

“That’s a… cushion? For the couch?”

He nodded.

“Oh.” Was the only thing you could utter. You didn’t really know what to say. “I… this is really thoughtful. You didn’t have to, you know that, right?”

Jungkook shook his head and gave you a small smile.

“Thank you, Jungkook.” You told him sincerely.

“It’s nothing.” He waved you off. “I got that dry-cleaned already, by the way, so you can use it tonight if you really insist on sleeping on the couch.” Jungkook said with a teasing smile.

“That,” you point to the paper bag, “will single-handedly get me to want to live here for another three months.”

Jungkook raised his brow. “Really?”

You chuckled, leaving the conversation up on the air.

When you both finished your meal, you offered to do the dishes yourself, but Jungkook was insistent to do it, saying you’ve already done a lot for the day. You begged to differ, but you relented, anyway.

After you showered and made the couch, geeking internally at how soft the cushion he bought was, you couldn’t sleep right away, your mind finding it hard to focus on the lull of the crickets. So, at around 11 pm, you opened your laptop to pull up an X-Files episode, thinking it could condition you into being sleepy.

You promised yourself you were just going to finish one more episode, but the next episode button was too tempting and you found yourself binging the show into the wee hours of the night.

“__?” A voice coming from the far end of the room called, followed by the clicking sound of the lights turning on. With that, you found Jungkook standing on his door with his eyes half-lidded, hands rubbing his chest, seemingly having just woken up from his sleep.

“Jungkook,” you acknowledged him, straying your attention from your show. Jungkook started to trot towards the direction of the kitchen, and your eyes followed him as he stopped in front of his fridge, taking some water out and pouring it into a glass.

After he drank it, he looked at you to ask, “Can’t sleep?” You nodded your head. He made his way towards the couch, pointing at it. “Would you mind?”

“No, do you want to?” You adjusted the duvet you put all over your back to make room for him, and Jungkook placed himself beside you, peering over the screen on your laptop.

“What are you watching?” He asked, voice a little groggy.

“The X-Files. You know the show?”

“Heard about it a few times. Never gotten around to watch it, though,” Jungkook said, leaning on the back of the couch, eyes still glued to your laptop.

You smiled. “Maybe you can start it now.”

“What’s it about?”

“Uh… aliens,” you started off, feeling a little silly about it. Gauging his reaction, you waited for him to give you a judgmental look but he seemed to be intrigued when he looked at you, asking for more details. You perked up that, feeling suddenly excited. “Okay, so, the guy here – his name’s Mulder. He’s an FBI agent who’s tasked on cases that have, you know, unexplainable nature. Basically, he believes in aliens, all that ET stuff,” you explained. Right on time, Gillian Anderson appears on frame. Pointing at her, you looked at Jungkook as you introduced her to him, “And the woman – she’s so pretty – that’s Scully. She’s a skeptic. She’s an FBI agent who’s also a scientist and was assigned to be with him to debunk his work.”

“So, they investigate cases together?” Jungkook added.

You nodded your head. “Yeah, and it’s different for each episode. There’s the alien storyline which is like, the main plot of the show, but there’s the fun filler episodes. Monster of the week, they call it. I’m rewatching one of those right now ‘cause they’re fun and don’t have a backstory.”

“It sounds good,” Jungkook looked impressed, training his eyes back on the show.

You weren’t sure if he was just trying to make a conversation, but he seemed genuinely interested as you both watched the show, which tickled your excitement more. You’ve tried to get Jimin into it but he wasn’t really an avid fan of watching long shows, so you’ve given up on trying to convince him to be as obsessive of the show as you.

“Do they kiss?” Jungkook suddenly asked mid-episode, brows furrowed as he watched Mulder wiped something off the side of Scully’s lips. It’s the episode when Scully just got back from being abducted.

Amused, you looked at him and let out a chuckle. Jungkook turned to look at you, confused at the reaction.

“Hm?”

You shook your head. “No, it’s just funny. So, there’s a thing in this show, right? Scully and Mulder are not supposed to be a couple, but they act like one.”

Jungkook let out a seemingly enlightened, “Ah.” Then he looked at your screen again, “I’m watching it right now out of context and I’m assuming they’re a couple.”

“Right? They have such insane chemistry. It’s why I love this show so much.”

“Wait. They never get together? Or kiss, romantically?” Jungkook asked curiously.

“They kiss on the seventh season. We’re on the second one.”

“Wow,” He breathed, genuinely surprised. “That’s a long wait.”

“I know,” you chuckled.

You both sat beside each other as the episode finished. Jungkook would have some questions, and you happily answered each one. It was also fun to share some lore about the show – and you didn’t know if you were coming off too geeky about it – you were just unbelievably excited that he seemed to genuinely like it.

Time passed without you both noticing, and it was 2:23 am when you became hesitant on clicking the next episode button.

“Do you still want to watch another one or…” You trailed off, eyes glued to the screen, waiting to hear Jungkook’s response. But then a few seconds passed, and you didn’t receive one. Turning your head to the side, your eyes widened when you see the state Jungkook was in.

He was leaning far back on the couch with his head resting on the backrest, arms crossed over his chest, lips slightly parted with his eyes shut closed. You could see his chest rising and falling from the way he breathed in and out of sleep, looking quite peaceful regardless of his seemingly uncomfortable position.

You shut your mouth and closed your laptop quietly, trying to be careful with your movements so as to not disturb him and accidentally wake him up. Stretching your back to lean down, your breath hitched as you tried to set the laptop down on the coffee table, not daring to graze any part of Jungkook’s body, especially when his thigh was so closed to your own.

When you successfully put away the device, you went back to sitting beside him, contemplating on your next move.

You ended up staring at him, noting the way his biceps are bulging out of the sleeves of his white shirt with a thin material from their crossed position. Your eyes trailed down to the veins on his forearms, and naturally, you focused in on the one with the swirls of ink around it. It was a body of art on the first look – but looking at it at that moment – close up and free, you took time to identify the drawings on his skin.

There was that snake that trailed down close to his hand, the skeletal rock n’ roll hand, and the script that says “rather be dead than cool”. It was a shame that you couldn’t see from your current view the flower tattoo you were always curious about, nevertheless, the entirety of his inked arm was just… breathtaking, to say the least.

You wanted to ask him what they meant – or if they even meant something. You knew by now he only got them in college – when he moved to the US – and you were just curious about how he decided to get them; about the backstory, anything… Would love to trace down your fingers on his skin as he tells you the exact moment.

And then you realized what you were doing and suddenly looked away.

You felt like a creep. What were you doing, staring at him while he was unaware, unconscious in his sleep? It was not right, and you were supposed to scoot over to the edge to give him plenty of space all for himself.

But as you looked at him again, your eyes stopped at his face, and you couldn’t help but stare at it.

Again.

His nose was something you weirdly have a liking to, and there’s a scar on his cheek that once again bubbled up another layer of curiosity within you.

“Stop it.” You mumbled out loud – not loud enough for Jungkook to hear – but just enough to snap yourself out of the trance you were in.

It was stupid. So stupid. To stare at a sleeping man and have those thoughts inside your head. Jungkook would never do anything like this to you, and at that sentiment, you stood up from the couch to get away.

You caught a sight of the duvet that you used a while ago. As you looked at Jungkook, he seemed to be in dire need of one, so you made quiet steps to put it over him, stopping your breathing in case you did it too loud and he wakes up.

As you carefully laid out the blanket on top of his body, Jungkook stirred, and your breath hitched as you stopped on your tracks.

He mumbled something incoherent, his neck craning to lay on his cheek. Regardless, he stayed on his position, arms still crossed, seemingly going back to his deep sleep instantly.

You stepped out in front of him, letting out a breath of relief.

Standing there for a few seconds, you wondered about where you were going to stay. Jungkook was on the couch and unlike him – you could not carry him to his room without him noticing.

Looking at the direction of said room, you thought about staying there for the night, but decide against it. You didn’t get his permission to do so, it’d be rude—

But the couch is only one, though. And you could feel a yawn ready to come out of your own mouth, sleep lurking at the back of your head.

You could try to wake Jungkook up to tell him to go to his room so he could sleep more comfortably, but you couldn’t do it. The past few days, he had been so busy with work and seemed like he wasn’t getting enough rest. What if you woke him up and he couldn’t go back to sleep anymore? That would just make you feel bad.

Getting the pillow strewn over the edge, you walked towards the direction and fixed it against the arm rest, sitting on the spot and making yourself comfortable on it. Of course, it wasn’t – you were craning your neck too far to the side to try to lay your head, and your body was sprawled in a weird sitting and lying position.

It was fine, though. Jungkook was about two feet away from you, and you felt like you could sleep in the state.

But it was a few long minutes before it completely overtook you.

There’s a feeling of a hard plane against your back when you feel yourself waking up.

You’re in a curled position, hands tucked under your cheeks. As much as you’re starting to slowly feel conscious, you’re still not a hundred percent aware of your surroundings just yet. It’s why you ignore the blow of hot air against the crook of your neck.

When you blearily open your eyes, you’re welcomed with the sight of the back of the grey couch you’ve accustomed yourself with over the past few days. The white foldable cushion you’re lying on. The familiar scent of Jungkook’s apartment.

It’s another usual morning, as far as you’re concerned.

So, you stretch an arm up as well as your leg, groggily mumbling something as you go back to closing your eyes again to hopefully sneak in a few more minutes of sleep.

“Hmm…”

At the sudden sound, your eyes snap open, surprised at the embodied voice that came out somewhere that’s definitely not from your own mouth. It was close, though – something close to your neck; you felt it so – and at that realization, your eyes trail down to your waist, and your breath catches in your throat when you see an arm wrapped around it.

Under your head is another arm that adorns a familiar sleeve tattoo.

When you crane your neck to look behind you, you’re welcomed by Jungkook’s locks of black and messy hair, his face apparently buried in the crook of your neck.

He must’ve felt you move because he stirs in his position, mumbling something, arm tightening around you.

You feel your heart starting to beat faster than usual as you feel the tips of Jungkook’s fingers resting on the bare skin of your stomach due to your camisole riding up, and your eyes continue to widen when you saw that the shirt he’s worn last night is now lying haphazardly across the coffee table where your laptop is.

When Jungkook pushes himself against you closer, that’s when you feel something hard against the cleft of your ass.

“Oh my god!”

“What the fuck!”

“I’m so sorry!” You immediately say, retreating your hands that just pushed him off the couch once everything registered in your head.

You just… slept with each other! You woke up with Jungkook spooning you! The hard plane against your back that you felt earlier was his chest and the hot air blowing in your ear was his breath! You both fell asleep together on the couch!

Jungkook – the poor man – visibly winces as he cradles the back of his head, adjusting himself on the floor after you forcefully yeeted him off the couch.

He didn’t expect that, of course he didn’t! He still looks like he’s half asleep when you kneel on the floor in front of him, grabbing his shoulders and craning your neck to check if you’ve done damage to his head.

“What the hell was that for?” Jungkook asks, still lost about what just happened.

You grimace as you hesitantly put your palm over the back of his head and rub to soothe the pain you’ve caused him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you. I was just surprised and shocked when I–”

You stopped speaking when you notice that Jungkook is looking up at you, eyes half-lidded from sleep. Stopping your ministration on the back of his head, you retreat your hands to yourself and look away.

“We slept together.”

“What?” Jungkook asks, his tone incredulous, but more like confused. When you train your eyes to him again, you see him looking down on his body and then yours.

Your cheeks heat up when you realize what you just said.

“Oh my god, no! Not slept slept with each other! I mean, we slept together. Like, literally.” You say, looking at him in panic.

Jungkook furrows his brows. And then after a beat of silence, he lets out a low, “Oh.”

“Oh?” You parrot back.

“Yeah, oh,” He says drily. Jungkook rubs his eyes with his fists and then looks at you again. “I’m sorry, I feel disoriented. I just woke up.”

You wince at that, feeling bad for pushing him again.

It was just a reflex thing, okay! Especially when you felt that certain something in your ass.

When Jungkook stands up from the floor, you notice the strings of his grey shorts getting undone, and your eyes betray you as they pay a look at the noticeable bulge on his crotch.

Jesus H. Fucking Christ.

You stand up quickly, following after him, feeling your heart hammer in your chest.

Okay, boo-fucking-hoo! Men get boners in the mornings. What’s the big deal about it?

“What time is it?” Jungkook asks, brushing his hair back, and you have to physically look away and try to busy yourself by looking for your phone so you can ignore his naked chest on display and his abs and stupid big arms.

You spot your phone nearby and turn it on.

“Six thirty.”

“Shit.” Jungkook hisses.

You’ve never heard him let out so many curses before.

“What? It’s still early.” you say, in case he was referring to work.

Jungkook shakes his head. “Yeah, no. I was supposed to get ready at five am sharp. Need to go there early.”

“Oh.”

He groans, and the sound makes your stomach feel a little weird.

“I have to go shower,” Jungkook says, picking up his shirt from the coffee table. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Huh?” You realize what he’s talking about and is then quick to shake your head. “No, not your fault. I, uh, you fell asleep on the couch last night and I didn’t want to wake you.”

He nods, more like to himself. “How did we…?” Jungkook points between you, eyeing the couch.

“I didn’t want to use your bed without your permission, so I slept on the couch as well,” But then you decide to add, “But I didn’t sleep beside you, I was like –” you point to the edge of the couch, “there.”

“Ah,” Jungkook follows your eyes, and then nods. “Okay.”

“Yeah.” you purse your lips into a thin line. “Sorry about that. I should’ve just woken you up, huh?”

“Nah, it’s fine.” He dismisses you with a wave of his hand. “Well, is it okay if I use the shower first?”

“Of course.”

Jungkook smiles before he saunters towards the bathroom. You try not to stare at the hard lines of his retreating back, taping down to his narrow waist.

You failed to do that, obviously.

Sighing out loud when you’re sure he can’t hear you, you busy yourself in the kitchen to make some toast.

After work, you paid a quick visit to your apartment to see how it’s going, since you’re supposed to be able to come back tomorrow.

Your building manager told you that you can pretty much move back already, but there’s no water yet, so you will still have to stay at Jungkook’s place for the last time. At least for another night.

Speaking of him, when you step out on your porch, you see him in front of his own unit, back turned to you, opening his door.

“Hey,” you call. Jungkook turns on his heel, and he smiles as he sees you.

“Hey,” He greets, his hand pausing on the door. Jungkook gives you his undivided attention as he looks at you. “Your apartment’s fine now?”

You nod happily, grinning widely. “Yeah. But I have no water yet. They’re turning it on tomorrow.” You saunter towards his direction and stop beside him. Pointing to the paper bags in his hands, you ask, “What’s that?”

Jungkook lifts them up. “Soju and Midday Miso take-out.” Then, hesitantly, he looks at you curiously. “Do you drink?”

That prompts you to laugh.

“Of course. Are you drinking tonight?”

He nods his head. “Yeah. I was gonna ask you to drink with me… but if you’re not up for it, I’ll just be in my room.”

You cock your head to the side.

“What’s the occasion?”

Jungkook chuckles. “Nothing. Just thought I could loosen up.”

You nod in understanding.

You think about asking him how work’s been, but decide against it, not wanting to pry in case he doesn’t want to talk about any of it.

As you both enter his apartment, it’s almost so domesticated how you take off your shoes and put them in the rack in the threshold. Jungkook wears his black sliders while you wear your baby blue ones. Following him into the living room, it’s almost wild to see yourself being so familiar with his place already.

“Where can we watch The X-Files?” Jungkook asks suddenly after he set the bags on the table, going for the remote and turning on the TV.

You look at him in surprise, not expecting him to ask that.

You answer nonetheless, and Jungkook clicks on the show once it shows up on the screen.

“Do you really want to start with the pilot episode?” You chuckle when he hovers over it.

Jungkook grins. “I enjoyed it last night. Maybe this could be a new favorite.”

“Woah,” you breathed, shaking your head. “Do you know how much I have to convince Jimin to watch this show?”

“Jimin doesn’t like shows. I wanted him to watch Suits but he said he couldn’t stand Harvey Specter – which is fair.”

“Oh my god, that’s also what he told me when I recommended Suits!” You say. You narrow your eyes at him, excited about the information. “So… you like Suits?”

Jungkook nods. “Sort of like a guilty pleasure? I used to watch it a lot in college. My roommate studied law and started telling me about how inaccurate it was, but it’s fun regardless,” He says with a shrug. “Sue me.”

“I know, right! People always wanna be smart about procedural dramas, but I think it’s just camp they can’t comprehend,” You shake your head, feeling a certain high bubble inside you. You lean your elbows on the coffee table. “Okay, okay, thoughts on Jessica Pearson?”

Jungkook grins. “A dream.”

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I’m so glad you have the correct opinion.”

Jungkook laughs at that, and you begin to eat the take-out he bought, The X-Files playing on the big screen before you.

“You went home early today,” you comment as you take the shot glass he offers you.

A few minutes has passed already and you’re beginning to open the bottles of soju, Midday Miso take-out boxes all finished.

“Managed to finish early tonight. That’s probably why I wanted to drink,” Jungkook says, tipping his head back to drink from his own bottle. “Also, it’s your last day here.”

You nod. With a teasing smile, you jab, “Are you going to miss me?”

Jungkook looks at you briefly.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” You ask incredulously, feigning hurt.

He chuckles. “I liked your little dance in the kitchen last Sunday.”

Your lips part, recalling that time when you reheated some pizza during the night. As far as you were concerned, Jungkook was in his bedroom at that time!

“You saw that?” You say, embarrassed.

Jungkook must’ve noticed, because he chuckles and begins to sound comforting when he says, “Some part of it, yeah. Megan Thee Stallion would love to perform with you, I think.”

“Oh my god, no,” You giggle, covering your face with your hands because if he caught you during that part, it means he saw you trying to throw it back. “Yeah, I think I’m packing my things right now.”

Jungkook laughs, and his eyes crinkle as he does so, overjoyed at your tactics.

“I thought you wanted to drink with me?”

You squint your eyes. “Just because I feel sorry for pushing you off the couch this morning.”

He shakes his head, still chuckling. “Yeah, that hurt. I think I have a bump on my head right now.”

You stop, eyes widening. “Seriously?”

Jungkook presses his lips together and nods. You grow concerned, ready to lean over the table to check the back of his head, but as you do so, Jungkook makes a sound of stifling his laugh and you realize he’s fucking with you.

“That’s so mean.” you say, going back to your side and pouting at him.

“Not meaner than you pushing me off the couch.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Ugh, I’m sorry. You just surprised me, 's all!”

Jungkook laughs and nods his head. “I know, I know. I’m sorry about that. I have a habit of being able to sleep anywhere.”

You scrunch your face. “Me too.”

And then a beat of silence.

Jungkook tips his head back for another sip of his alcohol. When he looks at you again, a gentle smile is playing on his lips.

“I had a good night sleep, though. Did you?”

He looks at you with something in his eyes – something soft and gentle – his gaze making the hair on your nape stand and your cheeks burn.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

The night continues to envelope your surroundings and as time passes by, the empty bottles of soju multiply.

You’ve always had a high tolerance for alcohol – and soju, in particular, is generally not too strong for you personally. With one bottle in, you don’t feel hammered just yet. There’s a daze at the back of your head that you’re starting to feel, though. One and a half is your limit, sometimes two – you’ve had that down since college.

Jungkook seems to share the same trait, it seems like. You noticed he’s on his second one, and even though his cheeks are starting to get painted red, he still speaks with you like he’s a hundred percent conscious and not like alcohol’s hit his system already.

“It’s so hot,” you say, popping open the first two buttons of your shirt. Jungkook’s coat has long been disposed on the couch, and his ties are loosened, with the long sleeves of his dress shirt pushed to his elbow, showing his tattoos.

“Should I adjust the AC?” Jungkook asks, looking at you as you gather your hair up in a ponytail.

You manage to secure it even without a tie and answer him, “No, it’s fine.”

When you feel like you can breathe again, you look at Jungkook. As you think about what to say next, you giggle lightly.

“Let’s have some fun with these,” You point to the empty bottle of soju. Jungkook quirks his brow, which prompts you to continue. “Let’s play spin the bottle. When it points at you, you have to answer some questions. If you don’t want to, then you’ll have to drink.”

Jungkook snorts. “Truth or dare? Really?”

You roll your eyes. “No, not truth or dare. Just truth because I’m sophisticated like that. Besides, are you going to entertain me if I dare you to wear a rainbow suit for work tomorrow?”

“This is your idea of fun?” Jungkook says, teasing you. Playful with a boyish grin.

You shrug. “I mean, it’s quite fun, actually. But I know about how thirty-year-olds get. If it’s past your bedtime, then…” you glance at the door to his bedroom.

Jungkook bursts out in laughter.

“You like making it sound like I’m sixty, don’t you?”

“Are you?” You pout.

Jungkook chuckles, although relenting to your game proposition.

“Alright…”

You do a little shoulder dance which makes Jungkook shake his head. As you spin the bottle, it stops and points at him. You let out a little sound of enthusiasm.

“Okay. What’s that mean?” You ask. Jungkook looks confused as he tries to see what you’re looking at. His arm. “That flower tattoo – or if it even has a meaning.”

“Oh,” Jungkook utters, realizing. He lifts up his right arm and twists it so that the flower tattoo is within both your sight. There, you see a full view of the flower drawing tattooed in orange ink. You find yourself staring at it as Jungkook starts to speak, “It’s a tiger lily. My birth flower. It means…” You can see Jungkook hesitate for a little while, and you’re just about to take back your question when he continues to say, “It means please love me.”

“Wow.” You gasp. “That’s… so pretty.”

Jungkook caresses his forearm, staring quite lovingly at the art. “I know. My tattoo artist did a really good job.”

He takes it to himself to spin the bottle again, and this time, it points at you.

“Well… do you have a tattoo?” Jungkook asks, and it’s obvious he meant to tease.

You nod your head. His playful smile drops.

“Are you serious?”

You raise your brow at him. “Sorry. Only one question gets entertained.”

He clicks his tongue playfully but then begins to spin the bottle one more time. When it points at you again, he gives you a smirk.

“Can I see your tattoo if you’re saying you have one?”

You scrunch your face, cocking your head to the side.

“Hm. I don’t think so. It’s under my boob. So.”

Jungkook stills, and you watch as his eyes trail down from your face down to your collar – although he did it quite subtly.

“Oh.”

You grin. “Yeah, “oh”,” you chuckle. When he shakes his head, you tell him, “What?” You look at him weird, regardless of the smile on your lips. He stares right back at you, and you narrow your eyes at him. “Ohh, I see. You think I’m lying.”

“No, I’m not,” he scoffs. “I just thought…”

“You just thought what?”

“I just thought you wouldn’t have one. Or if you did, it’d be a like a small thing on the leg or something. I don’t know.” He shrugs, still smiling.

You grin. “Interesting insight.”

“Nevermind that.” Jungkook rolls his eyes, spinning the bottle again.

When the rotation stills at his direction, you clap a little and put your elbows on the coffee table.

Your next question sounds stupid in your head, but you let it out anyway.

“What’s your ideal type?” You ask.

“Oh, are we doing that?” Jungkook says, sounding intrigued. “Are you going to ask me about my first kiss next?”

You snort. “This feels so high school. But answer my question.”

“Yes, ma’am,” He playfully gives you a salute. You couldn’t help but giggle. “Okay, well, I like women who are smart and… funny,” Jungkook says, and when he looks at you, you move back a little. With a soft smile, he adds, “And pretty.”

You break the eye contact. Raising your brow, you nod your head. “Pretty women. Like Kang Heesu, right?”

Jungkook looks surprised when he hears the name.

“How do you know her?”

“How can I not? Jimin’s mother has been trying to set him up with her for months now.” You shrug.

Jungkook chuckles, as if he knows exactly what you’re talking about.

“Yeah. You’re right – not about the part that she’s my ideal type, though.”

You can’t help but let out a scoff.

“That’s such a cop-out answer, Jungkook.”

He looks at you incredulously, chuckling as he says, “What? It’s not a cop-out, it’s the truth.”

“You’re awfully close with her. I heard from my coworkers you’re both dating.” You raise a brow at him.

It’s true. Words are starting to get around the office that Jungkook and Heesu are more than just collaborators.

Of course, you know to ignore that. Not because you want to be in denial or anything – but because you just don’t think it is actually true.

But maybe poking fun at it will get you the confirmation. Or whatever. It doesn’t matter.

Jungkook laughs at your previous words, though, as if you just told him a big joke.

“God, no,” he shakes his head, as if he couldn’t believe it. “They’re really saying that?” You nod your head, your lips pressed into a thin line. “I ought to make everybody know we’re just working together. You know about the project the company has in collaboration with Kang Tech, right?”

“Yeah.”

“There you go,” Jungkook chuckles. “I’m not dating Kang Heesu.”

The words feel a bit different in your ears. Paired with the way he looked at you as he said it, he sounded as though he was… almost assuring you.

But of what?

You shake off the idea in your head.

“Okay. Next one.” you interrupt the silence to change the subject. You curse in your head when the bottle stops at you.

“Your turn. What’s your ideal type?” Jungkook asks as if his tongue is just itching to ask you that. You know he’s just excited to get back at you.

You think about it for a moment, though, and you find you don’t really know what to say.

It’s not a thought you ponder over a lot. The guys that you’ve been with were so… different from each other.

“I—I’m not sure,” you shake your head, genuine.

Jungkook points at the shot glass. “New rule. I’ll count to ten and if you don’t answer, you drink.”

You glare at him; he just gives you a grin.

“I really don’t know! I mean, my past relationships are so different from each other,” you say, pouting. “But— okay. I guess I like guys who are… confident,” You look at Jungkook and then let your mind float. “And I guess I also like somebody who’s…” You watch as he leans in closer to wait for your next words. Your feel blood rushing to your cheeks as you finish up with, “Attentive. I like good listeners. Yeah.”

“Ah,” Jungkook nods. And then, he adds, “Is Shin Taemu from the IT department a good listener, then?”

Your brows furrow. “Shin Taemu?” He nods. That earns a laugh from you. “No, we’re friends.”

“Friends?” Jungkook asks curiously.

“Well, we – uh – did date. Didn’t work out. So. We’re only friends now.”

“Date, as in, a long relationship?” His eyes are so full of genuine curiosity that you cower away from them.

You shake your head at his question. “No, no – not long relationship, it wasn’t like that. I meant date as in – dinner date. Once.” You look at the shot glass and down it because of the sudden nerves that enter you. “We’re doing this game wrong.”

Jungkoon chuckles at the way you drink another glass. He mirrors your action, though, and ask, “How so? We’re questioning each other.”

“Yeah, but it’s too many questions!” You complain, jutting your lips into a pout.

“You said you only wanted truth, so there goes your questions,” Jungkook says. You roll your eyes, which makes him laugh. “Okay, just so I can amuse you, I’ll do a dare if it points at me, and you’ll do one if it stops at you. Deal?”

When you nod, Jungkook spins the bottle. He did it quite forcefully that the bottle takes a longer time to stop. You both watch keenly as it begins to slow down. Nervous, you pray it doesn’t stop at you, and you let out a sigh of relief when it finally points to Jungkook.

Jungkook shakes his head when you let out a contained, “Yes!”

“I dare you to…” you trail off, watching as he looks at you curiously. “Let me pluck your brows.”

“What?” Jungkook asks incredulously.

“A promise is a promise.” You remind him.

“Like all of them?”

“What? Of course no!” You chuckle, seeing the genuine panic in his eyes.

“Oh.”

“You silly,” You say, laughing at him. “Not right now, though. I actually feel like I’m about to pass out. Oh my god, I have to tend to a hung-over tomorrow.” You let your face fall into your hands and stifle a groan.

“I’ll cook us some porridge or something, don’t worry.” Jungkook says. Curiously, he asks, “Why do you want to pluck my brows?”

You stare at him, and then focus your eyes onto his brows.

Pouting, you let your shoulders deflate as you sigh. “They’re so thick.”

“What?” Jungkook lets out, laughing incredulously. “I’m so confused.”

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“Okay… well, would you let me pluck your brows?”

You try to think about it.

“No,” you shake your head. You add, “Unless you’re flirting with me.”

Jungkook stops. And then raises a brow. “Unless I’m flirting with you…”

You snap your eyes to look at him. Mirroring his brow, you ask, “Are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” Jungkook looks at you, lips tilted into a barely-there smirk that suddenly makes your cheeks burn with heat. “Do you like it?”

It takes you a while to answer, processing his words. You don’t know if he’s joking or what. Is this just his usual teasing? It feels different this time.

But why are you denying it again to yourself, though? You may be stupid sometimes, but you know his teasing gets a little… borderline flirty. You’re scared to ask him about it outright, though – afraid to be faced with the possible truth that it’s just your head playing mind-tricks for you; that Jungkook, with his teasing, is not flirty at all and you’re just flattering yourself to think about it that way.

But right now, his question feels real.

If he is flirting with you… do you like it?

You pour a drink into the shotglass and down it quickly. You feel your vision starting to get a little hazy as you put it down the table.

Jungkook realizes what you just did, and then throw his head back to laugh.

“Now, that was a cop-out.” He says, pointing to the trick that you just did.

You give him a smirk. “No rules about not answering except down a drink.”

Jungkook chuckles. “Smart girl.”

He watches as you stand up, but when you trip over the carpet, he’s quick to follow and go over to your direction to hold your wrist, his arm going around your waist to guide you to stand upright.

“You okay?” He asks. When you look up, your faces are just a hair's breadth away.

“Hm.” You hum, blinking your eyes up at him. You find it’s because your lids are starting to get heavy.

“Be careful.” Jungkook says, but he doesn’t let go of your waist, nor your wrist.

You stand there in the middle of the living room with that position, and weirdly enough, you feel like you’re both glued on it.

You can’t move – or don’t want to. You wish you want to. But you don’t, and it’s why you let Jungkook’s fingers trail softly to your waist.

“You look real sleepy,” he comments – whispers, more like, his bated breath hitting your skin.

“I am a bit dazy.” You say, finding yourself indulging in his touch.

Somehow, Jungkook never makes a move to get away even when you’re already steady on both feet. You feel that fading away so soon though, your knees starting to feel like they’re about to buckle at the way Jungkook’s eyes bore deep into your own. You feel a sort of heightened sense within your body, his hand on your back making something in you tingle.

It’s so intimate – the position. Jungkook looms over you with his much bigger frame and with his support on your back, you can just let yourself fall back.

Can you, though? Are you sure he’s going to catch you?

“You do look a little dazy,” Jungkook comments, but his eyes have traveled down to your face, and you can see them stop at your lips.

That makes them part.

You see Jungkook’s adam’s apple bobbing at the action.

“I do feel dazy,” you say, parroting back his words. Maybe they’re coming off slurred. You don’t know. You find you don’t care.

Jungkook’s lips tilt into a gentle smile. Soft like his demeanor. Soft like his arm that somehow found a way to tighten its hold around you even though you don’t need it. But it’s Jungkook though, and as much as you deny it even to yourself – you do like his touch.

“Yeah, you told me so.” His voice becomes an octave lower. His hands start to rub your clothed waist, and the ministrations of his thumb distract you a bit.

You roam your eyes around his face – noting the scar on his cheek which story you want to know so bad. When you trail you eyes down to his lips, you see the mole under it. You don’t think you were being subtle at all – it’s quite obvious that you’re just staring.

And you know Jungkook notices.

“Jungkook,” you breathed out, calling him about nothing in particular.

His only response is a small, gentle hum.

A beat of silence, and you feel Jungkook’s face leaning closer to yours.

You don’t make a move away from him, just let your legs stay where they are, letting Jungkook slowly pull you to him. You can tell his movements are slower than usual – like he’s testing the waters, searching for something in your eyes, quietly asking if it’s okay – if what he’s about to do is okay.

It makes your heart hammer against your chest – his breathing becoming more audible in your own ears. His mouth reeks of the soju you both drank earlier, but you’ve always liked the smell of it, especially when it comes with a man as breathtaking as him.

You feel the tip of his nose touching yours, your chest pressing against his own, his hand travelling from your waist to the back of your head.

When Jungkook leans down to close the gap, you swerve your face just in time to have his lips press against your hair instead.

“I’m sleepy.” You say quietly, a nervous lilt to your voice. You duck your head a little lower, laying your face on his chest and bury it with his scent.

You can feel Jungkook freeze in his position, taken aback by the sudden turn of events. You hope he doesn’t feel the way your heart goes abnormal in your chest with such proximity – but right now, all you want to do is hide. Hide your face away from him because if he sees you, he’ll know exactly what you’re thinking.

He’ll know exactly the effect he has on you.

It takes a few seconds of silence before Jungkook comes back to you.

“Hm,” He hums, and you feel his hand letting go of your wrist to wrap around your waist, squeezing for a brief moment. Jungkook’s other hand cradles your head to his chest, swiping his hand against your hair in a repeated manner, and with the way he rests his chin on the crown of your head, you feel comfort in the whole thing. “We should sleep.”

“Yeah…” you trail off, and you can just feel your lids getting heavier at the remark.

“Yeah?”

“Hm.”

“I’ll take the couch. Do you want to shower first?” You shake your head against his chest. You feel it vibrating when he chuckles. “Okay.”

“My body feels like jelly.” You say, and you feel that to be actually true.

“Is that code for “carry me to your bed, Jungkook”?”

You’re thankful your face is buried in his chest as you smile widely.

“Do you want it to be?”

“I don’t mind.”

You nod. “Good. I think I’ll get alcohol poisoning tomorrow.”

You feel Jungkook lifting his chin off your head as he sounds scold-y when he says, “Don’t joke like that.”

You giggle against his chest.

“Carry me before I pass out.”

Jungkook snorts. “Ohh. Bossy.”

“It’s my last day here. I deserve some slack.” You grumble.

“Fine.”

TAGLIST: @mortal-body-timelesssoul @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @lachimolalajeon @miniesjams32 @parkinglot-nights @peterstarkchrishiddleston @aznstoner @chuberry22 @tae-hibiscus @jungkooksmytype

note: pls check your account settings if you are enabling ur profile to be tagged.

#fic: nb #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts smut #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader

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markscherz · 5 months ago

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Can I ask how you feel about your Tumblr fame?

I get the impression you just made this account for normal casual funsies reasons, but it kinda blew up by happenstance. If that's right, I'm curious if now you feel like it's kind of a more serious thing, where you have an opportunity to sorta act as a science communicator with a reach you otherwise might not?

Or maybe something else? You gonna see if you can somehow leverage your Tumblr fame to get research funding? Deputize us to harass polluters and developers destroying habitats? Crowdsource name ideas for new species?

It's a bit bizarre, in that it has very little real-world-ness to it. I showed my mother the ongoing tumblr celebrity poll, and she was like 'how many people could possibly be interested in frogs?', to which I replied 'well as of today about 46,000 and counting'.

I have always had an unhealthy relationship with fame. I spent most of my teen and young adult life fawning after it, as is I suppose very often the case.

More after the cut…

I always really wanted to be famous, but I was never really interested in changing who I was or what I represented in that pursuit. That is to say, I wanted to be known for what I was already doing, or for things that were already interesting for me, rather than things that might have much higher chances of success but require more effort or be less in line with the things that I am interested in.

I had my first brush with virality in 2012, when a poem I wrote went a little viral (largely thanks to StumbleUpon). I remember the rush of seeing how much attention it was getting, and staying up late to keep refreshing the page as the visitor numbers went up and up and up.

But not long after that, I had some closer encounters with fame and people becoming famous. That was extremely eye-opening. I witnessed first hand how strongly that can affect someone's life, for good and for bad. That experience also made me realise, quite jarringly, that famous people are still just people; that celebrity is something extrinsic to them; that they also wipe their own butts (if they are able); and that in many cases, it is a substantial inconvenience if not downright pain in the ass for them. I think this is why we see so many of the big celebrities having mental health crises or trying to live as much of their lives out of the public eye as possible.

That experience pretty much stifled my desire to achieve fame, and really changed my relationship with it. I should add that I could say much more on this topic, but nothing so coherent or insightful as John and Hank Green, who have given me so much clarity on this topic over the years through their thoughtful commentary on youtube and their podcasts.

Anyway, in spite of the fact that fame itself doesn't really appeal to me anymore, I do still have a problem wherein I quickly became addicted to the microdosing of euphoria associated with every reblog and like and follow. So I put huge efforts into social media in order to try to gain traction in the space that I felt I could really compete in—Very Niche SciComm™—and build up a following.

Tumblr was the first platform where I felt that really succeed; I managed to fight my way to a few thousand followers with a thick queue of regular posts about herpetology and other science. At that time, there was a great community building up in the rudimentary private messaging system—I am still friends with several other tumblr bloggers from that era (none of whom I have ever met in person). From that early time (2013), I think my most successful post was probably this one about germination of 32,000 year old seeds—a post that, as of today, has 836 notes, but at the time felt huge and exhilarating.

As I went through gradschool, I got more and more active on twitter, and less and less active on tumblr (by the time I wound down, I had about 8,000 followers on tumblr). This was partly because of the pornbot takeover on tumblr, which meant I basically could not go on the platform in public or at work, but also because the audience and interactions are just fundamentally different. Twitter had a different kind of vibe and energy than tumblr, and there were real SciComm experts there, who were doing it just completely differently. More importantly, I became more focussed on doing outreach aimed at colleagues, rather than non-experts.

Then, in 2017, I hit headlines for the first time. The description of Geckolepis megalepis made it big on social and traditional media, and I had my first experience with real media attention. I had a flurry of late-night phone-calls with journalists in the US. This was a different animal altogether than the few viral posts I had had until that point. It was extremely stressful, but exhilarating. Then in 2018, our chameleon fluorescence story made similar headlines, and in 2019 the Mini frogs, and in 2021 with gecko fluorescence and the smallest chameleon.

Seeing my name on the BBC News website and in the New York Times and National Geographic—those things have been the most surreal moments of near-fame I have experienced so far. The number of followers on social media is quite difficult to conceptualise, but seeing your own name in a media outlet that you consume regularly, or have grown up with, is more palpable.

In any case, I continued to run with twitter as my main platform for years, because I found the interaction with colleagues and other academics highly stimulating. In 2021, I even posted a twitter thread about a different species of frog from Madagascar every day for the full year. All this work was ultimately greeted with mediocre success; I just crested over 10,000 followers a few months before the Musth takeover. But then the platform became basically unusable. And in the fallout, I came back to tumblr, where, just by chance, I happened to find a post about the Mini frogs and reply to it and it went properly viral and now here we are. In the space of a year, I went from having 8000 followers to having >46,000.

How do I feel about that? It's bonkers. I think it is great that so many people are interested in hearing the Good News about frogs and other creatures. But I also feel like I am not really on the same playing field as most of the others in that poll mentioned above, in that I do not have any of the celebrity that several others have. And I know for a fact that there are fanblogs with far, far larger followings than I have. But perhaps that is the great thing about tumblr; that the playing field is somehow levelled…

What's the point of this ramble? Well, first I guess it is to outline that I have given fame a lot of thought over the years, and I have a long-standing and complicated relationship with it, and take it quite seriously. Second, to illustrate that I have been working on as a science communicator or person in outreach for many years—it has kind of been my social media brand since I started gradschool in 2013. And third, to kind of outline how we got here, because I often feel like you have to know where an arrow has come from in order to figure out which direction it will continue to fly.

You asked if I would somehow try to leverage my tumblr fame to get research funding—I already do that. In fact, my social media activity had a signfiicant role in landing me my current job, and will continue to help me achieve tenure. Outreach is an important part of my job, and funders like it too.

I would love to have the community-building power and tenacity of the brothers Green; Nerdfighteria has achieved some incredible things over the years, and the power of that community is now being seen at an unprecedented scale in their battle for equitable access for tuberculosis diagnosis and treatment. But I do not have that in me; this platform is the wrong one for community activation, and my community is still too small for that. Moreover, it is not organised or structured, in the way that I think effective deputisation would require.

As for the crowdsourcing of name ideas, that is currently off the table. I like to try to name things on my own or with my colleauges; it is a very good part of the process. And I have yet to hear a suggestion for a Mini species epithet that I had not already come up with myself, so I am not convinced that this would really augment the experience.

So for now, I hope that the main way I use the platform, and the power that comes with a few thousand followers, will be to spread the Good News about frogs and other wonderful animals, and the other kinds of science happening around us (and occasional other off-topic content). I hope that you are encouraged to explore the world around you, and to do your own reading to find out more about the subjects that interest you. And also I will continue to try to make meme-worthy content, because it does nice, if addictive, things in my brain when I get the clicks.

Thanks for asking, anon, and sorry for the Wall of Text.

#fame #famous people #celebrity #about me #science #herpetology #wall of text #long post #personal #answers by Mark #anon #anonymous

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chimielie · 1 year ago

Text

what it is

summary: Oikawa x Reader. he makes it out of the friendzone (with some help)

word count: 1.3k

cw: nothing, oikawa in glasses

a/n: i wrote this in under an hour while heavily caffeinated?;!;!4& brain melting

“You’re late,” you say with a grin. Oikawa Tooru pouts at you, his team jacket folded over his arms. He’s already changed out of uniform, you notice; must have exchanged it for a white t-shirt and slacks in the locker room.

“I was swarmed,” he claims as the two of you start to walk together. You roll your eyes and don’t even bother making a jab about his popularity with the girls (and people of all genders, really). At this point, you’ve accepted that deranged fans come with the territory of being friends with the volleyball team captain.

You met Oikawa on the first day of your first year at Aoba Johsai and had been friends ever since. Even though you had no interest in the sport at first, his love for volleyball was infectious. He had even roped you into being the team’s manager. You still weren’t sure how he had pulled that off, but you didn’t mind too much—you’d grown to love the team and the sport too, in your own way.

Despite your closeness, you’d never really understood why he had a fan club, especially as a teenage school athlete. You expected his popularity to grow when (not if) he went professional, but the idea of swooning over some guy you had pre-calculus classes with was totally foreign to you. It was a running joke among your friends that you were immune to Oikawa’s looks and charming magnetism (and, honestly, to all four of the team’s upperclassmen. You could acknowledge how objectively attractive they all were even though none of them seemed to fit your niche).

Sometimes, you caught Oikawa making strange expressions while your friends teased you about not liking him. It felt like you were the only one who noticed these kinds of things, sometimes. You really liked being able to read him so easily: both of you had saved each other under the contact name “Platonic Soulmate” in your phones.

You chalked up the weird faces to your friend’s first-rate ego, and even though you knew that the notion of one person not being desperately in love with him wouldn’t scratch the surface of his self-esteem, you always found yourself taking his hand surreptitiously or leaning your head on his shoulder when you did see him looking mopey. He always perked up, after that, and all would be sunshine again.

Today, everyone else had bailed on you when you suggested a joint ice-cream-and-study-date before next week’s exams. Iwaizumi had claimed that Oikawa was too loud and always distracted him, so he couldn’t seriously try to study together. Matsukawa had to babysit and refused to bring the brats, as he affectionately called his siblings, to get sweets. Hanamaki had just quirked his eyebrows at you and said, “I don’t feel like third wheeling. Thanks, but no thanks.”

You hadn’t really understood what he meant, but you hadn’t questioned it.

Oikawa had almost begged off to do some solo practice, too, but you’d made a fuss about nearing the end of your high school experience and worrying that you would fall out of touch when volleyball became his whole life (even moreso than it was now!), and he’d caved with an overdramatic sigh and a soft look that told you he wasn’t all that mad about your guilt-tripping.

You’re broken from your thoughts when you reach the ice-cream shop, Oikawa jabbering in your ear about some drama you can’t keep up with.

“And then she told me—ah, I can’t read the menu. You know, they were late refilling my contact prescription this month, so I’ve been carrying around my glasses, I hate it. So unflattering.”

You worry your lip as you stare at the flavor chart, barely listening to him talk.

“I’m sure it’s,” you start, turning to him as he slides the case out of his pocket and puts the frames on his face in a smooth motion. “Um.”

The glasses are not unflattering, you think dumbly, staring at him, your sentence hanging unfinished. The glasses perch on his nose perfectly, making you appreciate, for the first time, the shape of his nose and his cheekbones. Had they always been that sharp? And since when had his eyes been so pretty, reflecting the sunlight in so many shades, framed with long eyelashes that would have made you jealous if you weren’t so—

You reach out and lift the glasses off his face slowly, hoping that the old, familiar features that you’d never felt anything but friendship-friendly feelings towards would return. You can still see it, though: the divot of his Cupid’s bow is appealing, now, his smooth skin glowing to you, his surprised expression fucking adorable. You drop the frames back onto his nose.

Very abruptly, whatever immunity you once had to Oikawa’s looks is demolished in one fell swoop.

“I have to go have a midlife crisis,” you say decisively, and march out of the shop.

“Hey! What—where are you going? You’re not even middle-aged?” Oikawa calls after you, and you try steadfastly to ignore him, but every sense seems to have been awakened to your friend. Your face flushes, and you start walking faster, nearing the pace of a jog even though your limbs are stiff.

You finally pull over in a quieter, slightly more secluded spot between two buildings. You lean against the wall, closing your eyes, trying to remind yourself to take deep breaths.

“Are you okay?” Oikawa says, and you curse his long, athlete legs for having followed you so swiftly. “What’s wrong?”

You open your eyes. He’s still wearing the fucking glasses. Rest in peace, you think to yourself, surely my heart is going to give up soon, at the rate it’s going. Your lips part, but you can’t seem to get the words out. His worried gaze studies you until he finds something—exactly whatever you didn’t want him to see. A slow smile unfurls over his face, and you narrow your eyes. Ugh, how dare his smugness be attractive too, now?

“I should wear the glasses more often, huh?” He says, and you shake your head no frantically.

“Please don’t,” you say. “It’s, like, it doesn’t even matter anymore, anyway, I can’t unsee it now.”

“Unsee what?” He cocks his head, and he’s getting closer, and there’s nowhere to back away from him because you’re up against a wall—

“You’re hot!” You wail. “I saw it and I’m never gonna stop thinking it now, it doesn’t even matter what you wear, I’m doomed! This is the worst thing ever, ‘Kawa, how’m I supposed to go on… I can’t be your friend and a part of your fan club. I don’t think I can even be a part of your fan club ‘cause I don’t just think you’re hot, I think I have a crush on you—oh, my God, I have a c—”

Your increasingly frantic rambling is cut off by Oikawa sealing his lips to yours. The kiss is quick and sweet, and when he pulls away he still looks so, so handsome, and so concerned.

“Please breathe,” he says, and you nod, gaping at him in shock. “I like you too, okay? Please stop having a crisis.

“Okay,” you exhale, bracing your hands on his shoulders. “Okay. I’m still freaking out, though. I think the only way to stop it is to keep kissing me.”

Oikawa heaves a big, overdramatic sigh, and leans in, his glasses bumping your face; giving in to you, just like he always does.

#WAS this inspired by the time i saw my bf in glasses and literally went to my friend’s dorm and screamed for sixteen seconds (he timed it)#well i’m not telling. that’s a secret.#oikawa: i like you #reader (visions of oikawa in that godawful plaid outfit swimming thru their head): i think even that’s hot now. i have to get a lobotomy #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tōru x reader #oikawa fluff #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq!! x reader #haikyuu!! fluff #haikyuu!! x reader fluff #hq x reader fluff #oikawa x reader fluff #hq!! fluff #the word fluff doesnt look real anymore

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purpledemonlilyposting · 3 months ago

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I can get not watching something because it is triggering, but if something was triggering to you.. why would you still read the transcripts and plot summaries? Why would you still talk about the show?

Lily apparently has to grouse about children's cartoons she doesn't like to "pay rent". Here she is complaining that her passion projects don't get any views:

That's probably because you're uninteresting, unengaging, say nothing of value and just read off an unedited first draft of a script you wrote with no outline, Lily. Someone talented and intelligent enough could make any topic interesting.

And she really doesn't understand YouTube. The Korra video that gave her a big boost was released at the HEIGHT of shitting on Korra online. People just wanted to hear vitriol about it.

The Steven Universe that gave her a big boost was released at the HEIGHT of shitting on Steven Universe online. People just wanted to hear vitriol about it.

The Andy and Leyley and Hazbin videos did pretty well because she released them when they were hot topics. Nobody gives a fuck about niche topics like a bland anime from 2018 or an old CRPG unless you're capable of making it interesting to them.

Lily's problem is thinking she's the main draw of her channel, and anything she talks about will be instantly interesting cause she's her and she's great. She also seems to lack of the concept of mind to realize other people aren't into or haven't even heard of the stuff she's into.

The Korra video she's struggling to get through content ID is probably going to flop as hard as any of her other recent uploads. Who the hell is talking about Korra or even ATLA at the moment?

You're not someone like Savage Books who routinely uses ATLA as a framework for writing advice, Lily. I don't know what you think this is going to do for you.

She makes dismal numbers for a channel with her subscriber count. Meaning most of those are probably dead subs from people who don't watch her anymore.

If you're struggling to pay rent with only YouTube, get a part time job.

#Lily Orchard #Lily Orchard Critical

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stitchwraith-stingers · 5 days ago

Text

autistic hazel headcanons because i lost my last post

spoke really late, around 5 years old, since then she hasnt stopped talking, god speed

i shouldnt have to say itsince its so obvious in the show but geology special interest..... i like to imagine she has various really niche hyperfixations (like her hat thing going on) one day she could just pop up next to you and go btw did u know that birds r crazy cool and then the next month shes talking about furneture

and to add to that, it all started when her family went onto some museum exibit and her brother was like ohh rocks r so strange and explained whatever he learned in the...... 8th grade i cant count about them and from that day on

no idea where to put this but she has had bad sleeping problems since forever . she lives off 2 hours of sleep baybe and they r heavenlyyyy... unrelated but the nightmare haver...

not really much sensory issues going on, but she perfers lights off in her room if shes able to

she doesnt like alot of different fabric textures, silk is a 100% no-go for her, she sticks with wool

doesnt like soft fruit (bananas, strawbarries, mangoes, blueberries) and doesnt like most nuts

would hide in the janitors closet when she has a meltdown / shutdown, everyone in the school just kinda accepts it now and always know shes there since where else could she be, she doesnt actually have those often she just had it 3 times and keeps using it as an excuse to talk to coswan

her main stim was rocking back and forth often, but the kids would point it out often and shes trying SO hard to not do it again so they wouldnt stare at her, body stims alot in general but probably doesnt notice it

often makes alottttt of hand gestures when talking and people would repeat those gestures to her

the short term memoryerrrrrr (crock to the future.....tbh same)

has a hard time distinguishing phrases (break a leg, i could eat a horse etc) but is fine with sarcasam

COLLECTOR OF FIDGETS!!!!!! had to sell most of them before leaving for dimmadelphia though :( her faves are tangles, popits are just easier to carry around

probably had a weighted plushie she had everywhere as a kid, i like to imagine it was an elephant

doesnt like strong smells WORST sensory nightmare for her, unfortunatly for her, onions are her fathers comfort food

doesnt like eyecontact, unfortunatly for her, her best friend likes intense eye contact

her family is full of undiagnosed neurodivergents (marcus/angela r autistic4adhd to me) so they probably connect the dots after guzman pulls them aside and goes weve been observing ur daughter and i think you might want to check this out

I CANT FIND THE FUCKING IMAGE NOO but hazel n marcus r basically that one image thats like "sorry mom im gonna be late i have to drop this pebble down a river to see how big the splash it" / "ok but tell me too how deep it is how loud i was etc"

#cupid.exe #im feeling brave this time ill main tag it yayyyyy #fop #fop a new wish #fairly oddparents #fairly oddparents a new wish #hazel wells #long post #if u wanna add more PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE add i heart hyperspecific headcanons #also technically i lied in the title but i dont feel like chaging it to #'headcanons bcuz i lost i last post but nevermind i found it while i was tying this so i didnt loose it after all'

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chlmtsdoll · 5 months ago

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my suggestion could be i dont know if you seen this show called the l word before but there is a character named dana fairbanks and she RADIATES tashi duncan energy. so if you could maybe make a dana fairbanks inspired tashi duncan x reader or if you haven’t seen it i was thinking former model reader x tashi is a good one too 🤍

I’ve literally always wanted to watch the L word and I’m gonna have to start it soon bc I GET what you mean omg !!! And former model reader x Tashi hits my niche on the NOSE. This took me forever to publish bc I just had so many ideas I wanted to go with 😭 so I hope this is good !!! 🤍

IS IT A CRIME TO WANNA SHINE ?

✩ Pairing: Tashi Duncan x reader

✩ Word count: 3k

✩ Summary: your a wild and free it-girl, adjacent to a life going on to be an inspiring top model when you suddenly meet Tashi, you then start to crave even more

✩ Warnings: eventual smut !, gxg, age gap (reader early 20's) Tashi mid to late 30’s, failed!marriage Tashi, fingering, slight angst, spanking, cursing, degrading, pet names, needy reader, brief mentions of substances, Tashi went blonde after her divorce (blonde hair Z during the Challengers press tour)

Your life was casting calls, early (or late night) rehearsals & fittings, caffeine runs, flights back and forth around the country, and fashion show after fashion show, after party after after party..

You loved the career you were lucky enough to pursue, you had all the beauty, ideal body, and money. You’d been on top of the world but you were also twenty two and nearing burnout.

Your love life was non existent unless it was last minute hook ups, and you’d go home to a cold bed. Empty hearted and longing for someone to make it all change.

And it did change rather quickly when you met her.

“Um- excuse me, can I get by ?” You covered your eyes as lights and flashes blinded you. Trying your best to maneuver by meddling paparazzi, and your few body guards were barely any help. You were rising to the top but still hadn’t always been able to get the best protection which was essential for a young girl like you — even though to the outsiders it had seemed your life was so glamorous and beyond, even a dazzling starlet like you had struggles. It wasn’t always pretty.

You had finally been able to scurry to your limo and you were taken off fast to your next destination, an after party hidden for only the most relevant socialites and models in the industry. You’d known a few athletes and actors would have been there too since the club was well known yet anyone hardly got an invite.

Even you were declared lucky enough to be attending as you were still merely just an it-girl trying to find her place on the scale. When security tried to stop and ask you for verification because you looked far underaged, you rolled your eyes and dug through your thousand dollar Versace bag you did not pay for, to pull out your id.

Just a walk around, say hi to a couple known faces, and go home. We have an early rehearsal tomorrow.

You had a drill. The dozens of times you’d gone to these parties, you learned it was all a tactic,. simply being just work and networking for you — you were on a schedule. As much of a sex symbol your agents tried to present you as, deep down you’d still been this shy and reserved girl from your home tow, only difference is you just knew you had bigger places to be.

Lights low and music blaring throughout the place filled with bodies and people way too into their own self obsession to notice you after a while, all you wanted to do was have a smoke, maybe a drink. You’d known as big as the space was there had to be somewhere you could get away.

You headed upstairs to another area that was a bar as well, but much more relaxed. No club lights flashing and heels clashing against the marble floors by influencers hanging off their nearing the grave “boyfriends”.

But there had been one person sitting at the bar, and there had definitely been some interesting heels.

You’d seen the back of her excellent lean body. Almost in a way that was unreal. Legs had been slender and long, you had to double check if you’d been hallucinating at the sight of her.

She’d been wearing a full sparkling silver dress that had a pleated skirt with a few navy blue stripes lining it. It was preppy but in a glamorous and classy way.

Her skin tan and soft short blonde curls sat on her shoulders, it gave you a Marylin Monroe feel. And her heels — you’d never seen anything like them. They were Louboutins with tennis balls on the six inch heel ?

You took a breath as you examined her figure, stepping in the quieter room, you’d gone straight to the bartender as they asked your drink preference.

“Um, a gin and tonic please ?” you thanked the bartender before turning to peer at the woman a few feet from you, her hair draped over most of her face and all you could really see was her perfectly sculpted nose.

“Are those… tennis balls on your heels ?” You questioned softly, and the blonde had looked up at you, striking brown eyes searched your face under her lashes coated beautifully with mascara.

You had swallowed over a new lump in your throat at her gorgeous features. Never had you seen a woman so beautiful.

She’d look so familiar as well, you couldn’t tell if it was nolstagia, but you could of sworn you had posters of her on your walls when you were young- oh my god.

It’s Tashi Duncan.

The blonde highlights had thrown you a curb since you always remembered her with brown hair, but you remembered she had been much older since the days when she was every tennis girls idol in your eleventh year. Plus, you’d heard she’d gotten a divorce with her star tennis player husband, Art Donaldson.

Either way, fuck had the blonde complimented her eloquently. You’d been completely mesmerized by the way it framed her face.

“Oh these ? Yeah, they’re Loewe.” Her tone smooth as she looked down at the silky white shoes with a striking heel, neon green from the balls just tying it all together.

“I-I love them,” later you’d scorn yourself for stuttering like some starstruck fan. “Are you debuting in fashion week this year ? Not to be a bother but, you’re such a huge inspiration for women like me..you’re amazing.”

You shut your eyes quickly. You sounded way too juvenile. But Tashi had showcased a small flattered smile as she examined you face. You expected her to be unbothered and just walk away, after all you were merely just a dumb little model girl, frolicking around New York on a trust fund to her. She was a powerful and sophisticated woman who worked hard for everything she has. With all her shit together and much more life experience than you.

“No, I um.. I’m here for the fashion, but what to add to my company’s new roll out. I’m looking for models to campaign for me as well, but no luck so far. A lot of these girls all the same, and the designers they walk for pussy.” she spoke over her glass of vodka and your eyes glossed over with an immediate burn of yearning taking over your body.

You had forgotten that after Tashi stopped playing tennis from her infamous injury, but she hadn’t stopped there. She became one of the biggest business women in the industry, with her name tied to multiple brands. She was richer than your worth to be standing next her right now — but you were a strong believer in destiny. And being told she was looking for models to run for her brand,

She might as well say she’d been looking for you.

“Oh, that’s.. awesome. I’m walking in Milan for Vera Wang in a fortnight. But yeah, they make this all seem so serious but a lot of it is bullshit.” You thought if you threw in some pretty words she’d take you seriously. Coming from being in this industry since you were sixteen years old, you knew your way around selling yourself quick and sharply. In desperate hope she’d maybe let it run through her own to let you model for such a woman like herself. That you weren’t just one of those model girls.

“Lovely.” Tashi’s eyes graced over your tall slender body, you’d been so happy you went with a shorter Chanel dress and not the leather Prada pants you we’re pondering on. “You play tennis ? I know a lot of younger models love to think they’re all tennis players these days.”

You couldn’t help but let out a tiny laugh at her joke, but it had been true, you nodded over your glass of gin.

“Yeah, I play a little here and there with friends. But nothing like your upbringing, my god, I could never.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself.” Her eyes had narrowed but still sparked all the way, and she’d glanced at the way you licked your lips shorty. Your face heating up at the way her finger ran around the rim of her glass.

You couldn’t help but think about them sinking into your mouth.

Tashi took a breath to lean back against her chair, then she had leaned up to asked the bartender for a pen and napkin. When he brought it back to her, she had started scribbling on the paper, her slender fingers manicured with a nude color.

“If you ever want to model for me.” She handed you the napkin with her number and you’d feel like you had to stop breathing for a moment. Not even most high class brand deals had ever gotten you all flustered like this, but when it came to hot older women, you’d been like putty. You couldn’t deny it.

“Oh my god.. okay, okay I’d love to. I’ll contact you.” You had given her a girlish smile which you rarely ever did, it was all about resting bitch face, and to Tashi’s defense she had quite liked the lightness too you. The hope I’m your eyes that far too many girls your age had given up on already. She knew you had a spark.

In that moment, you had been already getting prepared for the dreams you’d have that night about being Tashi’s favorite and best model. When you said you wanted to be on top, you meant here.

And that was three years ago.

And not only had you become her best model, top seller in everything you wore, shown off on your angelic like body, making all your friends from your intern Jobs at Vogue envious with hate — that you’d eventually bump up even higher to becoming her girlfriend, but then that extended when you became the Tashi Duncan’s ex supermodel wife.

Now at the ripe age of twenty four, you’d no longer needed to run around to casting calls and auditions, nor even model unless either you desired too or you’d been offered to walk in fashion week.

You’d been promised a life of luxury. With Tashi by your side, letting you be her pride and joy that took her even farther to the next level. Your days had consisted of being a stay at home wife, going on yachts, accompanying her to photoshoots and work dinners, and you would even play tennis often in your free time with you and Tashi’s shared wealthy friends.

You had the life you’d always wanted in the palm of your hand, never did you honestly have to lift a finger. And definitely no thinking on your feet or wondering when the next spontaneous adventure would be really.

And as enticing as it all was, it could at times get a little mundane even for you.

“Make sure she arrives to her lessons on the dot. And I don’t want tv time running to late when practice is over.” you over heard Tashi on the phone with her mom whom was watching over her daughter Lily while the two of you took a quick work trip (flying to Europe.)

You’d been on Tashi’s private jet just about to take off in due time, and you watched as your wife sipped on a cup of Matcha by one of the window seats. Her light colored locks pulled up into a French roll, and some of her bangs hung over her lashes.

She wore a suit dress, white with fabric silky of the softest kind. The way she wore the blazer had her glowing tan skin on display. A true sight for sore eyes.

She was beautiful in every way, and not even your own overachiever mindset could still grasps the fact that she had been your wife overall.

“Okay. Love you too, bye.” Tashi hung up the phone and dropped it onto the table in front of her in a unbothered manner as she went right back to her laptop to check emails.

You, observant and always in witness of the life you two had altered together, watched her. Pondering by the cafe station that was stocked with dozens of different flavors from teas to lattes and all kinds of milks and creamers to choose from.

You’d always gone with almond.

“We have to stop in Florence. There’s a dress fitting you have to attend with Ralph Lauren for this seasons collab.” Tashi spoke to you in orderly to you as she hadn’t even looked up from her laptop screen to meet your eyes. She took a sip from her cup and went right back to typing, you had scoffed and shook your head a bit as you pushed away the container of sugar in your hands,

Leaning against the counter, you remembered when you’d been in your honeymoon phase with the woman you loved most. Happily traveling across the country with her full attention on you. You missed that rush.

You missed her.

“Oh..” you trailed on, voice reluctant as you looked down at your cup, dark black tea. You didn’t even need to look because now you’d known Tashi’s eyes had found your figure from just a few Louis Vuitton sit cases away.

“Yeah ? What’s up ?” Her voice was light although you knew she had picked up on your distance. Now giving you full attention of whatever you had been disproving of from just the sound of your voice.

Her eyes narrowed for a moment at your puzzled expression, finger tips hover the rim of her mug.

“I just thought we’d get Dior this season.” Is all you said. Standing up straighter and looking at the woman who nodded.

“Well, they haven’t decided on if we can or can’t do a campaign this year, it’s been a couple of years we’ve been trying. You know that.” Tashi answered as she let her mug down and you’d known the slight annoyance in her voice all too well. You bit your lip a little in thought.

“I just thought this would be the year. I want Dior, I want to work with them this season.”

Tashi looked at you with a blank expression, trying not to play this game she’d known you’d been treading on for a while now, and you tried not to break a grin at her switch in demeanor to your obvious attempt to make her get unpleasant with you.

“Are you being ungrateful ?”

“No.”

“You’re acting like it.”

“I want a say in what I wear, who I walk for.” You had addressed her more sternly and it was a small moment that had passed before Tashi got up from where she was sitting, to trot over to you calmly.

But that wasn’t so when her hand came up to you sharp, bringing slight pain when she grabbed your chin in her grasp so you could look her eye to eye.

“You don’t wanna do it. Don’t do it. But you can leave.”

Your eyes went to her unsympathetic expression quick, and you tried not to whine at her hold on you.

“You can always leave because I don’t think it runs through that pretty little head of yours that I didn’t get divorced and remarried just to repeat the same shit I did with him. You think this is some fucking charity ?”

You fell back on forming a response when the glint in Tashis eyes as she narrowed at you had, scared you much more than you intended — yet at the same time you couldn’t look away as she got in your face.

“I give you everything. Life, a career, a voice. Let you choose your own hours and let you become of whatever you want while you whine and complain in jewelry that cost more than most people’s rent. And you want what ?” Tashi furrowed her eyebrow as she had grow repugnant of you, which you couldn’t help but love.

“Don’t forget I was your boss first. And I always will be.” Her tone has gone darker as she peers at you, your eyes wide with craving and you’d be lying if you said your core hadn’t become soaking wet when her sent of oak and raspberries was almost suffocating you now.

You’d shown her a soft grin on your lips, signaling you couldn’t have wanted her more right then, she wet her lips intermittently. Tashi turned you around with force and pushed your lower back onto the counter that was embarking you,

“Is this what you want ?” The woman croaked hungrily over your ear as she pushed on your slender body to bend over for her,

“Yes,” you let out a breathe of satisfaction finally.

panting softly as her hands explored your shape and your eyebrows knitted in exhausting bliss when her palm had came down hard on your now exposed ass.

Tashi kissed the space between your neck and shoulders briefly as she whispered,

“You’ve always been an attention whore.”

You couldn’t help but smile as she pulled on your hair to lean up and her fingers graced your heat, wet and pulsing for her. Tashi had hesitated before dipping them into you and you let out a pleading moan, face against the cold marble counter top.

You clawed at something to grab at as her digits pumped you slow than gradually faster, other hand grasping at your waist to seize you because she knew you’d come quick.

And you did with half a cry and half whimper.

You only had a second to catch your breath before Tashi pulled you up straight. She had gently placed your skirt back over your thighs, fixing your presence back to how she found you. Your wife then hovered over your lips,

“Behave.” Was the last thing she said to you without even an apologetic kiss before walking back to her lap top like nothing. You had gone back to your tea and with a pleased simper on your lips indeed.

You were a wild card that would do whatever to be under Tashi’s control, have her notice, and with that she’d known that you’d now be her perfect little model the moment you two would land this evening.

#tashi duncan smut #tashi duncan x reader #tashi duncan #tashi challengers #tashi x reader #challengers #challengers smut #challngers x reader #challengers movie #zendaya #x reader #model!reader #ask #anon ask

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shippingmyworld · 5 months ago

Text

Youtuber!Timmy and Youtuber!Jimmy AU

Follow up to my Youtuber!Danny Phantom AU from this post cus I can't stop thinking about this AU.

Timmy runs a channel named Fairly Odd Creatures where he makes full-blown mockumentaries about all kinds of mythical creatures/cryptids. Once every 2-3 months he will post a video that's about 60 minutes long and the production value that goes into them is absolutely mind-blowing. People are constantly flooding his inbox, demanding to know what his secret is. There are all-out wars in the comment section of his videos (or whatever social media platform his videos are being discussed on) debating on how in the world the footage is pulled off. Nobody can agree on if it's super-advanced cgi or the best blend of makeup and props the internet has ever seen.

Timmy's secret of course is just the fact that Cosmo and Wanda will simply poof into existence whatever creature Timmy needs for his video. Then he just has to follow it around for a few hours with his camcorder and then edit the footage together.

The funniest part of his videos (and probably the reason that they're so popular) is that nothing in them is even remotely in line with what has already been popularized. For example: "Chupacabra's? Yeah, it turns out they don't drink the blood of livestock. They eat metal. Specifically, automobile metal. Don't believe me? Well I lost this Chupacabra in downtown Dimmsdale for a few hours and it ate half of this totally random car before I found it again. Here's a clip of it taking a chomp out of the tire like it's a donut." (The car belonged to Mr. Crocker and it wasn't an accident).

Each and every video Timmy uploads is guaranteed to hit number one on trending for a few hours, and then hover in the top 20 for a few days. This gives Timmy a bit of an ego, especially since whenever he posts a new one everyone at school is talking about it the next day. He tells himself that he can't reveal his identity because then he's have to explain how he's pulling everything off (his voice is disguised with a magical voice modulator that makes him sound like a dramatic narrator) and thus risk exposing Cosmo and Wanda. However, the second that Trixie off-handedly mentions she watches them he spills the beans. Thankfully for his fairies, nobody believes him.

Jimmy's channel is called Brain Blast in which he posts about his projects and the science behind them. While he does have a small and dedicated subscriber base, most of the comments on his videos are from months or years after he's uploaded them in the first place of people thanking him for posting such great study aids.

Part of the reason why he has a smaller subscriber base is because he doesn't edit his content. They're all done with a single take, which only is extremely impressive to anyone that notices. He writes the script, preps his slideshow and props, and then hits record. Even though he does plenty of "Fun Science" videos ("Alternative Travel Methods feat. Bubble Travel", "How to Launch Your Toaster into Orbit", "Make Your Own Rust in a Can", etc.) the low production and sound quality for everything gives off the same energy as those channels run by a middle-aged man recording stuff about their niche interest on their phones.

Sheen and Carl appear in most of his videos as his assistants (or lab rats depending on the context). They're pretty great helpers, despite the fact that Sheen always goes off script and Carl gets so camera shy that he forgets his lines. Jimmy has to cut in a lot with "That's an excellent question!" to get them back on track. Libby and even Cindy will make occasional appearances. In fact, most of his popular uploads come from videos that his friends requested: "How Real is the Science in Ultralord?", "Surprising Biology of Lamas!", and "The Science Behind Enjoying Music." are counted among his most popular uploads.

Cindy once tried to get her own channel up and running and was pretty popular for a while, but after a few months she decided that even part-time content creator wasn't something she wanted to invest her time into. Instead, she'll just muscle her way into Jimmy's videos on occasion. More than once she has basically hijacked Jimmy's script halfway through to talk about famous women related to whatever topic Jimmy is covering.

Jimmy can't really bring himself to interrupt Cindy's hijacking's, because whiles she's right about the contributions these famous women have made, they're not super relevant to the hyper-specific topic/experiment he's currently covering (he will just shoot a second video when he's alone and upload it to make sure all his points got covered). Eventually though, he'll get so annoyed with Cindy barging into his lab whenever she finds out he's planning to film (Sheen spills the beans to Libby all the time and she reports to Cindy) that Jimmy will begin to start most of his videos will a few quick facts that he thinks Cindy will like so she'll leave him alone.

When the Youtube algorithm starts recommending Jimmy some of Timmy's mockumentary's, Jimmy will start posting follow-up videos to Timmy's in order to debunk Fairly Odd Creatures. This in turn starts to push Brain Blast up in popularity due to association. Then a portion of Timmy's fanbase gets latched onto Jimmy. They start taking stills from Jimmy's videos to use as reaction images (because Jimmy gets very upset and frustrated with just how wrong everything in Timmy's videos are).

As to not expose himself on his channel, Timmy creates a second channel in which he uploads videos in exactly the same style as Jimmy's. He discredits this "Science" thing that Jimmy is apparently basing all his arguments on and jokes about how Jimmy sounds like a witch. The second channel isn't very popular until Jimmy posts a "In Response to..." video addressing Timmy's second channel directly. This inadvertently brings Timmy's second channel a flash rise in popularity and sparks a whole chain of video uploads between the two of them. There's a solid month of them uploading daily and basically yelling at each other about why people should unsubscribe from the other person.

Timmy throws himself heavily into the second channel (so much so that he almost forget to film content for Fairly Odd Creatures once), adopting a conspiracy theory persona that believes the earth is flat and that the moon is just a government projection. He invites his totally real alien friend Mark Chang onto the channel all the time to talk about Yugopotamia and help discredit Jimmy ("Like yeah man, I totally saw your radical disc-looking planet and had to fly down and check it out.").

And because people are normal on the internet, there's a whole sub-genre of fans that have started to ship Jimmy and Timmy's YouTube channels. 'Enemies-to-lovers' is the most popular trope for them, and there's even a whole subreddit dedicated to the ship that gets fanart and fanfics posted to it on a regular basis. Timmy is very aware of this group of fans and will occasionally sneak in an off-handed remark about Jimmy just to fuel them because he thinks it will piss off Jimmy even more. In fact, there's a whole slew of small channels that clip and compile 'JimTim Evidence' to fuel their theory that Jimmy and Timmy are secretly dating.

Little does Timmy know, there's actually a clip out there of him saying, "Jimmy may not be able to use his oversized head to deduce simple facts, but that least he can pick out glasses that make his eyes look pretty." Jimmy has watched that clip at least a thousand times on loop because he's low-key attracted to Timmy but refuses to admit it. It's part of the reason as to why he gets so worked up about Timmy's responses to him, because how can someone he's attracted to be just so wrong about everything???

#YouTuber AU #nicktoons unite #fairly oddparents #jimmy neutron #timmy turner #jimtim #jimmytimmy

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tkwrites · 1 year ago

Text

Worth the Wait - Quinn Hughes x ofc

photos from pinterest

Title: Worth the Wait

Author: Tory / @tkwrites

Relationship: Pre-established: Quinn x Sarah

Warnings: Swearing, grief, mentions of a dead mother. Mostly, it’s fluff.

Summary: It takes more than a week, but Quinn and Sarah finally go on their second date.

Word count: 5,500

Comments: This one is a little long, but I felt like all the parts were needed to flesh out the characters the way I wanted. I hope you enjoy!

Part 2 is being planned as we speak!

Worth the Wait

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

Hey Sarah, I just wanted to let you know we’re headed out on the road, so I’ll be out of town for the next week.

Quinn sent this message before boarding the plane. He’d never done something like this before - tell someone he was interested in that he wouldn’t be home. He didn’t want Sarah to think he was ignoring her, or putting off their next date.

Can I see you when you get back?

Definitely, he sent, a giddy, effervescent feeling in his stomach.

The following evening, for the first time in her life, Sarah sat down to watch a hockey game.

Eunice was in their living room, anxiously awaiting the start of the game. Currently watching people talk about betting odds in her Canucks t-shirt, a stuffed orca on the cushion next to her.

Sarah had lived with Eunice for a little over a year. They were friends in the way two people coming together for convenience could be friends. She was nice and sweet, and made the best mac & cheese Sarah had ever eaten. She was also dramatic and had a borderline obsessive love for many things, including the Canucks. Sarah had never paid much attention to that particular obsession, as it didn’t cross over into her life, until now.

“You okay?” Eunice asked when Sarah sat down.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You never watch hockey with me, I thought maybe you were sad or something.”

“Oh, no, my project is done, so I’m free for the night and thought I’d join.”

Eunice squealed and threw her arms around Sarah, “I’m so excited to introduce you to the best sport in the world!”

Feeling instantly overwhelmed, Sarah put on a brave face, and watched as the national anthem began to play. The camera scanned over the players, 5 stood separate from the others in a line, and her heart jumped into her throat when Quinn’s face came across the screen. He looked impassively at the camera. He seemed so different than when they had met, determined and competitive, not so quiet and interested. It was strange to reconcile the two as the same person.

“What does the C mean?”

“It means he’s the captain. That’s Quinn Hughes. He’s like, the best defenseman in the league.”

"Isn't he a little small to play defense?" Sarah asked, surprised.

Eunice looked personally affronted. "Hughes is an amazing skater, which is the most important thing in being a good defenseman. Defense in Hockey is more tactical than super physical."

When the game finally began, Sarah was instantly overwhelmed. They moved so quickly, and it was damn near impossible for her to keep track of the puck. There were terms being thrown around by the commentators that were so niche, she didn’t even know where to begin figuring them out.

“What’s icing?” she asked when there was a commercial break.

“So, it’s when a team shoots the puck to the other end of the rink, but no one is there to receive it.”

She knew that wasn’t quite right. There were plenty of times before the break when that very thing happened, but no icing was called, and couldn’t the goalie receive it and negate that altogether?

“And there’s no out of bounds?”

“Nope. Just the rink. You can get penalized for shooting the puck over the glass though.”

The game continued, and after a scuffle, Quinn skated off to sit by himself.

“Why is he there?”

“He got a penalty. High sticking,” Eunice said without any additional explanation.

The announcers replayed the offense in slower motion, showing how in the midst of a play, Quinn had accidentally hit another player in the jaw with his stick.

“That doesn’t seem like it should be a penalty when it was an accident,” Sarah said. The other guy wasn’t even bleeding.

“Doesn’t matter, it’s part of the game. Keep control of your stick all the time.”

The camera moved back to Quinn in the little cell. He removed his helmet and rubbed a towel over his face and hair before replacing it.

Eunice sighed dramatically, “God, he’s so hot.”

Sarah had to agree. He did look hot - supremely so. Flushed and sweaty, it was difficult to keep her mind off imagining him in her bed like that.

“Wait, why is it 4 against 5?” Sarah asked as the game began again.

“Cause Hughes got a penalty,” Eunice said, as if this was all the explanation Sarah should need.

Sarah stopped asking questions. Every time Eunice had tried to explain something in the past, she would get so excited, she would leave out key points, or assume Sarah had background knowledge she didn’t, and Sarah would end up even more confused. She often had to look up whatever they were talking about after their conversation anyway.

The period ended, and Eunice left the living room.

Sarah continued reading the article about the basics of hockey she had pulled up on her phone at the last commercial break. She wished she could watch with someone who would patiently explain each rule as it passed in the game. She had learned Football from her dad that way. Maybe Quinn could explain it to her.

“Okay, so what’s really up?” Eunice asked when she returned, plopping back down on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a bag of caramels.

“What do you mean?”

Holding up one finger, she said, “you’re watching hockey with me,” she held up a second, “you’re trying to understand it,” a third finger went up, “and you’re, like, actually interested in sports?”

“I’m interested in sports,” Sarah defended. “We’re a football family. My uncle coached.”

“Whatever,” she waved her hand dismissively, “it’s a dumb American sport anyway.”

Sarah rolled her eyes, but didn’t take the bait.

“All I’m saying is that we’ve lived together for over a year, and you have never, not once, expressed any kind of interest in Hockey and I want to know what changed.”

The commercials ended and the camera cut to someone interviewing Quinn, who was in his full kit sans helmet. He answered questions in the same quiet, methodical way he had answered her on their date. Only this time, he said a lot of words without actually saying much of anything.

Sarah chewed on her lip.

“Did you finally discover how hot hockey players are?” Eunice teased.

“I don’t -” Sarah cut off, pushing a breath out her nose in frustration.

She was about to tell Eunice that hot guys were not the only reason she watched sports, only to realize that that’s precisely what she was doing.

“I met him,” she finally admitted.

“You met who?”

“Quinn,” Sarah said, gesturing to the TV.

“Met? You MET Quinn Hughes?” Eunice asked, turning in slow motion to look at Sarah. “When?!”

Sarah started, “on Monday.”

“Where? What? How?” Eunice demanded, her voice getting progressively louder with each word.

“He came into the aquarium, asked some questions after one of my talks, and then asked if I wanted to get lunch.”

“He asked you to lunch?” Eunice repeated.

“Yeah, we went to get bao.”

“Like on a date?”

“I think so. I mean, he paid, and he got my phone number aft-”

“Quinn Hughes asked you for your phone number,” Eunice thundered, “and you didn’t think to tell me about it?”

It probably wasn’t the right time for Sarah to point out that she and Eunice really didn’t have that kind of a relationship. In fact, Sarah hadn’t told anyone but Beth, her best friend from back home, who had been thrilled Sarah had finally met a good guy.

“Sorry,” Eunice said, settling on the couch like a proper lady in a period drama, folding her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to flip out.”

Sarah wasn’t sure how she should react. She hadn’t intended on telling Eunice at all, worried - justly, it turned out - that she would freak.

“But oh my fucking God,” Eunice yelled, throwing her hands up and breaking her posture to flop dramatically into a slouch.

“What’s going on?” Jane asked, leaning in the door frame, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“Quinn Hughes asked Sarah for her phone number,” Eunice declared, gesturing to Sarah as if she were the reason Jane was up early before her graveyard shift, not her own yelling.

Jane perked awake, “really?”

“Yeah,” Eunice said, sounding like a petulant teenager.

“Oh my God. I didn’t think this was a big deal,” Sarah said, putting her head in her hands.

“That the most eligible bachelor in the whole city of Vancouver asked you for your number? I’d say that’s a pretty big fuckin deal.”

“He’s just a guy, Eunice.”

“I’d beg to differ," Jane cut in. “It is a pretty big deal.”

“So he’s not a guy?”

Both women rolled their eyes at her.

“Of course he’s a guy,” Eunice said, exasperated.

“But he’s not ‘just’ a guy,” Jane said, air quotes and all. “He’s a little more than that, I think.”

“Why? Because he’s a professional athlete?”

“Yeah. And millions of women across the world want to marry him.”

“He’s handsome and all, but I can’t believe that’s true,” Sarah said. “Do millions of women even watch hockey?”

At the fierce glares she received from both of her Canadian roommates, Sarah held up her hands in defeat. “Okay, okay. Maybe millions of women watch hockey, and some of them find him attractive. But for my purposes, he’s just a guy. He was just a guy on our date.”

“It's not about you,” Jane said.

Sarah raised her eyebrows in a challenge.

“What we mean is that it’s a big freaking deal that Quinn asked for your number.”

She reeled back, “Is it so hard to believe that he would be attracted to me?”

“No!” they both shouted, Eunice exasperated while Jane was horrified.

“Of course he’s attracted to you. Look at you.”

“I think what Eunice means is that Quinn Hughes has celebrity status in this city, and so him asking for your number means that he saw something really special in you. Women throw themselves at him every day.”

Sarah wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“It’s like, a major, major compliment,” Eunice said.

Biting her tongue, Sarah resisted the urge to tell her that it was a major compliment if anyone asked for her number, celebrity status or not.

“So, are you going out again?” Eunice asked, sitting back down on the couch.

“I mean, we said we would, but he’s out of town until next week, so I guess we will when he gets back?”

“Oh man,” Eunice said, leaning back in her seat. “You are living such a fanfiction right now.”

Sarah snorted and rolled her eyes.

Jane yawned. “I’m going back to bed. I have to be at the hospital at 2 in the morning.”

“I’m sorry we woke you up,” Sarah said.

Shaking her head, Jane smiled. “I’m glad Quinn saw the same things the rest of us do. If anyone deserves a fanfiction love story, it’s you.”

Heat raced into her cheeks, and Sarah smiled, turning back to the TV as the game began again.

“I cannot believe this,” Eunice said, picking up the stuffed whale to clutch in her hands. “You’ve got to introduce me to Kuzmenko.”

“Who?”

A few nights later, Quinn was slipping into a dinner booth in St. Louis when his phone pinged with a message.

Hey, I don't know what your schedule is next week, but The Electric is showing the Star Wars movies starting Sunday if you want to catch one together?

His heart jumped into his throat so fast, he made a sort of gasping choking nose that had Elias clapping him on the back. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Quinn said, clearing his throat.

“Who is that from?” Petey asked quietly.

Quinn was suddenly overwhelmingly thankful that he wasn’t sitting next to anyone else, who surely would have made a big scene of announcing that he got a text about a date to everyone in the near vicinity. Petey knew he preferred his privacy, and always respected that.

“Remember that girl I was telling you about last week? The one from the aquarium?”

His eyebrows shot up, “that’s her?” he asked, nodding at the phone.

Quinn nodded.

As Elias watched, Quinn pulled up their practice and game schedules.

Sounds awesome. I’m back in town Wednesday and free on Thursday or Saturday nights.

Almost immediately, the icon of her typing appeared. His heart began to hammer a little harder, pulsing in his throat in that nervous, I-can’t-wait-to-talk-to-her way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Thursday is The Empire Strikes Back, so I’m guessing that’s our choice. Unless you’d rather see the Force Awakens on Saturday?

Thursday is great.

Cool. I’ll get us tickets. Showtime is at 7 and they have a special menu for dinner and drinks at 6.

Sounds great.

It was as simple as that. Quinn had never had a date planned so smoothly.

Her text bubble popped up again, before going away. He gulped some of his nervousness down.

When he clicked off the screen and looked at Elias, he found the other man smiling at him knowingly.

“What?”

“I didn’t think she existed.”

“Sarah? You thought I was making her up?”

Petey rolled his eyes, “No. I didn’t think the girl you always talk about wanting to date existed. But she’s right there,” he gestured to Quinn’s phone.

Feeling his cheeks flush, Quinn shrugged to deflect the wave of sincere agreement that washed over him by busing himself with the menu.

Leaving her last class, Sarah was beyond thankful to leave campus and go home. She was exhausted to the bone. It had been a hard week of studying and midterms. On top of that, nervous, excited energy was buzzing under her skin in anticipation of her date with Quinn that evening.

When she got home and finally pulled her phone from her bag, she found a missed call from him. Stomach dropping, worry billowed into her thoughts like smoke. He was probably calling to say he couldn’t come. Why else would he call when they’d only texted so far?

Rapid fire, her thoughts rifled through friends that might want to come to the movie before she snapped back to herself. This was her anxiety talking. It wasn’t the truth.

Taking the time to pull in a few deep breaths, she told herself he could be calling about something other than canceling. It took eight breaths before she felt calm enough to call him back.

The phone rang three times before he answered. “Hey.”

“Hi, sorry I missed you earlier, I was in my last midterm.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, wincing. That was one thing he didn’t miss about college. There wasn’t a lot, but the pressure of midterms and finals were something he was happy to live the rest of his life without.

“Well, it’s done now, so I’m just excited to take a nap.”

He laughed.

“So what’s up?” she asked, trying, and failing, to not sound nervous.

“I wondered where I should pick you up tonight,” he said.

Relief sighed through her legs and she sunk onto the bed. “I was planning to meet you there.”

“I can come pick you up,” he offered. There was no need for her to take the train when he could drive them.

This was always an awkward conversation, but one she’d constructed with her therapist to ease her anxiety. If someone didn’t respect this, it was a sure sign she didn’t want to date them. “Quinn, you seem like a great guy, but I don’t want you to pick me up. I don’t know you very well.”

A long pause passed over the phone. She wondered if she was going to have to explain this concept to him.

Honestly, Quinn hadn’t heard that line in a long time. He knew from friends that women often did this to protect themselves, but something about his presence in the media made women trust him implicitly. He hadn’t taken advantage of that - he would never - but it had infiltrated his thoughts before, how easy it would be.

She stood up for herself, and kept herself safe, and he respected her for that. “That makes sense,” he said.

It was so much easier than she’d been expecting, that Sarah had a hard time coming up with words.

“So I’ll meet you there?” he said when she didn’t say anything.

“Great.”

“What time?”

“Dinner starts at 6, so I figured like 6:15?”

“Great. I’ll meet you out front?”

“Sounds great.”

They said some pleasant goodbyes and she flopped back on the bed. Karma was really seeing this one though. Nice, interested, a bit nerdy, and respectful, not to mention handsome, Sarah had hardly allowed herself to dream up a guy like Quinn. And now, here he was, suddenly in her life. A feeling like she’d just drunk champagne began to fizz in her stomach. A smile spread over her face as she hugged her pillow and set an alarm.

Walking up to the theater, Quinn wiped his hands on his jeans, hoping he wasn’t about to revert back into a teenage boy with sweaty palms. He had to pee again. Nerves always shrunk his bladder. It hadn't happened in a game since he was ten, but other places - getting on a stage, press conferences, dates - always made him nervous.

The theater was an old fashioned, stand alone cement building. A ticket booth complete with marquee lights sat between two sets of French doors. Sarah was already there, leaning against the wall, looking up at the building across the street. It surprised him she wasn't on her phone.

“Hey,” he said as he got closer.

“Hi,” she said, meeting his eyes with a smile that made his stomach ache. Her lips were darker, making them stand out a little more. His eyes were drawn to them like a magnet.

She slipped her arms around his neck for a hug. It felt so natural this time as he pulled her into his chest.

As she broke away, she asked, “ready?”

He nodded, and she walked over to the ticket window, “I have a reservation for two under Roberts.”

The teenager working looked up from his phone. His gaze drifted past her. “You’re Quinn Hughes,” he said, mouth falling open.

Sarah glanced over her shoulder.

“Hey, what’s up man?” Quinn said as if someone hadn’t just told him who he was.

The employee - who couldn’t have been more than sixteen - was still staring at Quinn, even when he didn’t say anything else.

“You’re coming to the show tonight?” he finally asked.

Sarah had never felt so looked over in her life. It wasn’t that she was jealous. She would never want that kind of attention, but there was common decency not being met here.

“We’re trying to,” she said, not unkindly, nudging him back to her reservation.

The boy started. He blinked a few times before he said, “sorry, what was the name?”

“Sarah Roberts.”

As they walked into the foyer. The ticket clerk slipped out of the booth, and came up to them, “hey man, I’m sorry to interrupt, but could I get an autograph? My girlfriend is a huge fan.”

Quinn nodded, and reached for the paper and pen he held out.

“Thanks so much, enjoy your show!”

As soon as they turned around, a harried looking woman with flyaway strawberry blonde hair came rushing up to them. “Mr. Hughes, we’re so glad you can be with us tonight.” Apparently, Mr. “you’re Quinn Hughes” had spread the news.

He gave her a polite smile.

“I just wanted to let you know, we upgraded your reservations to one of our more private love seats in the back.”

“That’s very nice, but it’s not necessary,” he said, feeling embarrassed. Sarah was never going to go out with him again if their first date was under this much of a microscope.

“Oh, no,” she said with a strained smile, “I insist.”

Sarah looked up at him, wondering what was going to happen here.

“Well, thank you,” he said, knowing that arguing would only draw more attention. So far, the other patrons were ignoring them, and he wanted to keep it that way.

“Let me show you to your new seats.” She led them to a plush couch tucked into the back of the theater. No neighbors and a perfect view of the screen. No one would even need to walk in front of them to get to the bar or the bathroom.

“Thanks so much,” Sarah said.

The woman walked away, and she turned to Quinn with wide eyes, “that was wild.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said, his hand going to the back of his neck.

“Does that happen a lot?”

He shrugged, “sometimes. Most people are pretty cool, though.”

“I actually thought about reserving this, but it was like triple the price, and I’m on a grad school budget, so…” she trailed off, her cheeks flushing as she clasped her hands together.

“The seats we had before would have been great,” he said, “people make a fuss.” He knew this woman was probably hoping he would share the theater on his social media, but finding a place like this was hard enough. He didn’t want to ruin that by announcing it to the world.

Desperate to change the subject, he said, “Thanks for finding this. I didn’t know it was even here.”

“I didn’t either,” Sarah admitted, deciding they may as well enjoy the upgrade and sat down on the sofa. It was plush microfiber - incredibly soft to the touch - and very comfortable. It wasn’t like she was going to demand they go back to the standard seats she’d booked.

“How did you find it, then?” he asked, sitting next to her.

“I overheard someone talking about it on the train and looked it up. It looked cool, so here we are.”

He smiled at her, and her heart did a karate kick into her lungs. She sucked in a deep breath.

They made their way to the bar to order dinner and drinks. Everything was on theme, including Sarah’s cocktail that came out glowing bright blue with smoke billowing off the surface. She laughed, looking truly delighted with it. It made Quinn want to kiss her. Not that he hadn’t been thinking about that since they’d met, but something about the pure joy in her face when the bartender handed it over made the impulse even stronger.

The problem, she soon discovered, with the couch arrangement was the fact that their food and drinks ended up on the end tables - on opposite sides of the couch, making it nearly impossible to eat and have a conversation the way she wanted to.

After turning around for her drink for the third time, she let out a frustrated sigh. “Here, will you hold this?” she asked, handing him her glass.

Quinn accepted it and watched as she put her plate on the table, and moved it in front of the couch. She then tucked herself around it, and sat facing him, with one of her legs bent at the knee between them.

“At least for now,” she said, taking her drink back and setting it on the relocated table.

Quinn smiled. He never would have moved that table - too afraid to upset someone. He admired Sarah’s willingness to solve the issue at hand.

Her drink was still smoking when he set his beer bottle next to it. She'd let out the most adorable giggle with the first sip, scrunching her nose at the feel of the smoke.

“So, what made you choose Vancouver?” he asked, “I’m sure there are places in the States where you can study Marine Zoology.”

She was instantly impressed that he remembered her degree. Most people got the marine part right, but assumed she was a biologist.

“That’s kind of a long, complicated story, but basically, my mom died a year and a half ago and -”

He cut in, “I’m sorry, Sarah.”

“Thank you,” she gave him a sad smile.

“Anyway, there’s a little more to it, but I ended up here because my uncle lives here. I wanted to study the ocean, but I had to be close to family, and the only family I had close to the ocean was here, so that kind of made my decision for me.”

Bracing herself for sympathy, she looked into his eyes, only to find a more open, understanding expression on his handsome face. “That sucks about your mom. My dad lost his mom when I was like two, and he still talks about how hard it was. I know it was really devastating for him. I can't imagine how it felt for you."

She was so young - too young. She’d been his age. Even considering how long he'd been living away from his parents, it would be awful to lose his mom. She was the person he called for almost everything.

Tears pricked at her lower lashes. She blinked them away, busying herself with her drink to shut down that topic of conversation.

He laughed when her nose scrunched up again.

“I promise it’s really good,” she said, giggling, “the smoke just tickles.”

“Sure,” he teased, then added, "it's actually really cute."

Her gaze caught on the amused set of his mouth, and lingered there for a beat too long. Tearing her eyes away, she asked, “what about you? Why Vancouver?”

“Well, I was drafted here,” he said after swallowing his bite of salad.

“So you didn’t have a choice?”

“Yes and no. I toured and interviewed with a lot of clubs, and I liked it here along with a few other places. They knew how I felt, so they knew it would probably be a good fit. But the draft is always kind of a gamble. My brothers both went to New Jersey, which is pretty unheard of.”

“Your brothers play hockey too?”

He nodded.

“How many of you are there?”

“Just the three of us,” he said, “and a whole mess of cousins. What about you?”

“I have an older sister and an older brother. They still live in Nevada, and they both have a bunch of kids. My brother married my sister's best friend, so they’re all really, really close.”

She said it with a kind of sadness that Quinn knew well: a specific feeling that stemmed from your siblings being together while you were apart. Even though everyone was doing good things, it was still lonely to be the odd man out.

“I get that,” he said. “My brothers live together in Jersey, and my grandad’s there too, so I feel pretty separate sometimes.”

It was strange to Sarah how much they had in common. Both from families of three siblings, both in Vancouver because of a mix of circumstance and choice, both understood familial loss to at least some extent. She had never met a man like him.

The bartender announced the movie would start in 5 minutes.

“I’m going to use the restroom,” she said. “Do you need anything on my way back?”

He shook his head.

When she came back to their little corner of the theater, she found a refreshed drink on the end table.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Of course.”

The movie started and it was instantly calming to her. Being there with Quinn felt like a special treat, like something out of a daydream.

When she lay her hand, palm up, in the small bit of love seat between them, Quinn was quick to pick it up, entwining their fingers. It felt a bit like he was fourteen again, just excited to hold a girl’s hand. He wanted to touch her all the time, but knew they weren’t there yet. He couldn’t wait to get to the point in the relationship when he could rest his hand on her thigh, or put an arm around her shoulders without it being a big deal. It felt so close, he could almost taste it.

Leaning progressively closer throughout the movie, Quinn finally put his arm around her. He had to stop himself from celebrating when she rested her head on his shoulder.

When the movie started winding down, Quinn began to wonder how exactly the end of the night was going to go. He wanted to kiss her so badly, but he didn’t want to do that in the theater or the foyer, where prying eyes and cell phone cameras were in abundance. Maybe he could ask her if they could walk to his car so he could kiss her there? Or maybe he could take her to her building's parking garage? Every way he thought about asking her sounded fucking creepy.

He was still caught in that internal debate when the movie ended and the house lights went up. How was he going to do this? He could just come out and tell her, but it made him sound paranoid and more than a little full of himself.

“Could you walk me to the train station?” she asked, effectively ending his internal argument.

He bit back the suggestion that he could just drive her home. “Yeah. Sure, of course,” he said. Maybe there would be a dim corner he could tuck them into and kiss her.

The night air was cool, and humid when they stepped outside. Heart pounding, Sarah hoped he couldn’t feel it through their clasped hands.

“You’ll have to lead the way,” he said. “I don’t really take the train.”

“No?”

“Too many people.”

While holding his hand was nice, Sarah’s mouth had felt empty with yearning all night. A deep longing to kiss him had been purring in her chest for over a week now, and seeing him made it rumble even louder. From the way she caught him glancing at her mouth throughout the night, it seemed like he felt the same way.

There was a small, clean alleyway she’d spotted on her walk to the theater. As they passed it, she tugged him off the sidewalk, turned around so she could slide one hand over the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

Quinn sucked in a sort of shocked breath at her forwardness.

She pulled away just as he was registering what was happening and sinking into the kiss.

Taking her hands back, a blush searing her cheeks, she said, “I’m sorry, that was really presumptuous of me.” Hoping she hadn't just ruined everything, She tried to not feel rejected. Had she been reading the signs wrong?

“No,” Quinn said, his voice a little too loud.

It was so strange to him that their physical connection, which had always been the easiest part of his past relationships, seemed to be the only thing they fumbled over.

He cleared his throat, and slipped his hand up to cup her jaw, "no. I was just a little surprised.”

Seeing the longing in his face when she looked into his eyes kicked hers back into gear, ready to squeal off the pavement.

Leaning in closer, his breath caressed her lips as he whispered, “I’ve been thinking about this all week.”

A shiver raced down her spine at his confession. “Me too."

Pulling back just slightly, he looked into her face. It felt like he was standing at the edge of the most beautiful view he'd ever seen. He couldn't wait to jump over it.

She tipped up, and he leaned down, and when their lips met, a gentle sigh passed between them.

There was no awkwardness, no questioning of who would tip which way, or if it was too soon for tongue. No, Sarah just took advantage between kisses, and swept her tongue into his open mouth. He responded in kind, sliding his tongue along hers.

Her hands found their way into his hair in an attempt to pull him closer. The soft noise he gasped into her mouth made her fingertips tingle with a heady sense of satisfaction. Molten desire dripped into her veins.

Quinn let all his other thoughts fall away in favor of savoring this moment. He wanted to commit every second of it to memory. She tasted like the tart syrup used in her cocktail, and the smooth sweetness of the rum. Coupled with the vanilla, woodsy scent of her perfume, and her soft, skilled tongue, it was the most intoxicating thing he'd ever experienced. He never wanted to stop.

The world fell away.

Then, it came crashing back.

"Get a room!" someone yelled from the group of teenagers walking by.

He pulled away, just enough that he could feel her panting breaths rushing over his lips. He didn't want to let the moment slip away. Not when it had been so perfect.

"Can I make you dinner on Saturday?" he asked, still feeling a little breathless.

She paused, and he realized what he'd just implied. God, he wasn't thinking straight.

Pulling back, he rushed to explain, "I can bring it with me to a park or something. I just want to see you again."

A smile broke over her face, "I want to see you again, too."

Simple, straight to the point. Quinn felt some of his anxiety drop away.

"I'll think about where, but definitely yes to dinner."

He beamed.

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

#Quinn & Sarah Snapshots #quinn hughes #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x oc #quinn hughes fan fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey romance #quinn hughes fanfiction

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princelylove · 20 days ago

Note

Hello prince!

I’ve been lurking on your blog for a bit, and I’m so excited by the way you characterize the yanderes!

Seeing your talent with noncon and writing the yanderes being horrid little jerks to their darlings, I’d like to please request: What if darling was very touch adverse due to previous sexual assault/s, not done by the yandere? I feel like you can see the vision, the angst potential.

Just squirming out of the way, shifting to sit on the opposite end of the couch, telling them firmly but as politely as possible to please not touch them. Would telling them even be smart? I’m certain some would take offense that darling technically has a body count, even if it wasn’t consensual. Narciso for example is probably not the man to tell… I’m debating if Josuke would say something to the effect of “Ew. Gross. Don’t tell me that when I’m trying to smash” or if he’d just tune it out entirely. Narancia probably wouldn’t care, until too many rejected physical affections make him stabby.

I’m not even sure if the “nicer”, more protective ones like Risotto would handle the flinching well. I am curious with how you portray him, he does seem oddly sweet in an overbearing way, but a man’s patience has limits.

Of course, there’s so much potential, so many different reactions! But our Prince is busy; If any characters in particular (mentioned here or not) jump out to you, I’d like to hear your thoughts!

Ahh. Sexual aversion. The biggest problem for obsessive, insecure types. Not all sexual abuse victims will react this way, obviously, but it's an interesting concept. The full wheel of fight or flight reactions- freezing, fighting, fleeing, fawning- they're all awful, depending on your yandere.

The only one who can fully understand someone who's been raped or sexually assaulted is someone that's been raped or sexually assaulted. Sexual abuse is a niche that only other abuse victims can understand.

Frankly, you don't know what it's like. It's hard to understand even when it's such a simple concept as "he touched me when I didn't want it" or "she kept harassing me continuously." It's simple! It's just trauma. Shit happens. But it's not.

Most yanderes do not have an ounce of understanding for basic psych- nor do they want their darling to be getting treated by some guy that can fill their head with ideas of them being an abuser of some kind just because they love a little hard. It's impossible for them to understand why you're reacting in such a way.

Never mind the fact that most of them have their own issues and are going to take even the smallest bit of rejection personally. It's not even supposed to be a big deal- you're just politely declining.

Narancia never learned that rejection isn't always personal, nor is it always, really, that deep. Sometimes, people just aren't in the mood. He doesn't even have that high of a sex drive, sometimes the sight of his darling just does something for him, and he assumes it's mutual. It's not like he's a total dog- it's just that sometimes, he'll start to move his hands a little too up or down during mandatory holding time.

Narancia enforces that daily cuddling time, whether you want it or not. If you're clearly having an anxiety attack because he's holding you down and has a knife to your throat to make sure you don't squirm out, he'll just kiss it better, because kisses make him feel better.

To Narancia, any bit of pulling away is too much. It means you want to leave him and hate him and think he's stupid. Really, all you're saying is you don't want sex, not him, but his cute little brain can't differentiate between real and perceived abandonment.

He thinks you're just doing that thing chicks do- you know, playing hard to get. You don't wanna seem like a total slut, sure, but isn't that way hotter than this whole fleeing from him like he's a predator bullshit? You gotta be mad at him. There's no way you'd just scoot away from him for no reason- you love cuddling with him! He knows you keep trying to tell him about how some guy was bad to you in the past, but he's dead, so who cares! He took care of the problem! What?

Narancia usually takes "no" as a fighting word. You can actually see his smile drop once you say it. You're leaving him. What did he do? No, you can't leave him. He loves you. He hates you. You're the worst and a total bitch for doing this to him. Wait, don't go. He'll be a better boyfriend.

One too many of these conversations means the inevitable, that pocket knife is coming out. You're fucking with him and deserve it, like you deserved whatever the hell made you into such a bitch.

He'll patch up whatever wound he made while crying later. He didn't mean it. Do you still love him?

That body count comment.... Some yanderes do care that you're not "pure" anymore.

Risotto isn't one of those types. If anything, it makes him think that you need him more. You're delicate, you're wounded. Something happened and he wasn't there just yet, wasn't aware of you...

You're like a little doe with a broken leg. What a sweet little thing. He takes extra care not to snap the legs you have left; Risotto doesn't have a high sex drive and doesn't enjoy forcing his darling to do anything. The only time he'll ever use all of that strength against you is to one, bring you home and two, force you into a hug you 'clearly' need. He doesn't even sleep in the same bed as you, he'd sooner sleep in his office chair or on the floor. In the same room, but nowhere close. If you would like, he can leave for the night. (To you.)

Physical affection helps. If you get used to him, you'll be comforted by his presence, his smell. The only thing being forced down your throat is dinner, some water during the day. Doesn't that sound good?

Risotto is fairly happy to accommodate you. He's not about to punish you for communicating with him. He spoils you, in a sense. As much as he can. Anything but taking that lock off the front door, anything but letting you out. He doesn't... understand, entirely. He doesn't know what would help someone of your... someone fighting your battles. Do you want crafts? Some company, no company? He could teach you how to sew so you're not just sitting there listening to the voices down the hall all day.

You're just proving his point by backing away from him. He sighs a little bit, he wasn't going to do anything, but it's not like you know that. Risotto's voice is always low and soft, he's talking to you like he loves you.

Which he does.

"It's only me. I was reaching for your hand. Just put your hand on top of mine for a few seconds."

Men his age know how to be patient. He'd bear anything to make his darling happy, to give them a good life. He'd work a hard labor job on a rotten foot. He'd give up his bed, his entire office. He'd stay awake all night to ease the anxiety that something is going to get you. His frustrations... they're taken out elsewhere. While it may (definitely does) stress him out that he isn't making any progress with his darling, it brings him a sense of pleasure that he isn't harming them. That's the most important thing to him. Having them, keeping them to himself, and keeping them away from harm.

Some yanderes, usually the younger and more possessive ones, do care about your "body count." Really, if you're asking the question, it's because you want a certain answer.

Contradicting myself immediately, I mean types like Wes. You're ruining his fantasy of you when you talk about shit you've done in the past, and you're pissing him off with this whole 'backing away and borderline screaming' shit. He's not gonna hurt you, he's just a little handsy. Come on.

Wes has little patience. He used to be a lot sweeter when he was younger and when he temporarily lost his memories. If you're not this sweet little schoolgirl that's gonna spend all of her firsts on him, why is he even here? Why's he so interested in sloppy seconds? His obsession unfortunately won't just go away, but it's clear he's less than thrilled over it once he figures you out. It's something that has him in a bad mood every time he remembers, but it's also... not the worst. If you're still all anxious and timid, that's cute, and therefore hot.

Maybe it's not so bad after all, as long as you pretend to be what he wants. He thinks it's fun to get a rise out of his darling- as long as you're dressed how he'd like, and looking at him like he's going to eat you just because his hand is firmly on your thigh, then he can forget about it for a little bit. It's better when you freeze, or when you're all polite about it. Nothing does it for him like a formal no, and that look of panic... you might as well still be a virgin if you're scared of a little touching.

#request granted #dead dove do not eat #yandere jjba #yandere jjba x reader #yandere narancia ghirga #yandere narancia ghirga x reader #yandere risotto nero #yandere risotto nero x reader #yandere wes bluemarine x reader #yandere wes bluemarine #yandere weather report #yandere weather report x reader

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tarrenterror25 · 7 months ago

Text

thoughts no one asked for but my mind has no mouth and must scream

Harvey Dent/Two-Face x Soft/Romantic Goth F!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Tags: established relationship, fluff, mention of blood/wounds/injuries Harvey POV

Notes: Song referenced in moodboard is “Love You to Death" by Type O Negative. Just a thing that's been on the brain that I had to get out. Self indulgent.

Thinking about Harvey with a soft goth girlfriend who dresses like she could be scary, but she's actually the most least threatening person he's ever met.

You dress in all black, your boots look like you crush skulls for a living, and you wear spiked accessories like social deterrents, but you're just the sweetest thing he's ever met.

It's laughable to him, how people might perceive you one way when you're nothing like that. It reminds him of himself, or how he used to be, anyways. He's always been a bigger guy and looks pretty imposing, but he was never actually like that...unless driven to be. It's different now though, of course.

Dating you happened naturally as he found himself unable to stay away from you. Both sides of him liked watching the visible signs of you getting butterflies when he would be near you and though he'd never tell you, you gave him butterflies, too. He just couldn't stay away from you and he found himself having a soft spot for you.

You frequent all the oddity shops in Gotham so you've seen all sorts of things. The books you read are...interesting to say the least, he's peeked at a few titles. You're not bothered by the grotesque or the strange.

And you're not bothered by his scars.

He remembers the first time you looked at him, really looked at him. Right into both of his eyes and how you smiled.

Christ, he could never forget that.

His burns never bothered you and both sides of him immediately were attached to you because of this.

The first kiss you two shared made him so nervous. It was one thing to be around him and spend time with him, but physical intimacy scared him nowadays for obvious reasons. He hardly loves himself, so how could you? He was fully prepared for you to just kiss his cheek, maybe make an excuse if he were to make the first move, but you didn't.

You made the first move, cupped his face in your hands and kissed him, not bothering to work around his less than stellar half. Any doubts he may have still had about you, gone.

Your soft and kind demeanor brings out the gentleman side of Harvey and the protective side of Two-Face. Sure, his other half likes to scare you sometimes just for fun, sneaking up on you, stealing soft touches, grabbing you and pulling you to him when you least expect it, but if anyone else bothers you, luck will not be on their side.

He may not be the most gentle person, but with you he likes to try.

Harvey enjoys helping you in/out of your platforms, in/out of your corsets or whatever contraption of a garment you're zipped into, and he even offered to paint your nails for you once. He absolutely adores spoiling you with affection.

Harvey loves that your style is your own, but Harv is totally into it. When he's feeling festive with his split suits, he lets you help design them. Some designs are more fun with spikes and chain adornments and others are a bit more fancy with brocade and such.

Most of your interests he's not super into it, but he respects it. He's protective so you probably won't be able to go anywhere without him if he feels it could be unsafe.

If you want to go out dancing or to some niche concert, he'll tag along, though he'll hang back at a table and keep an eye on your from a distance, make sure no one messes with you. The scene isn't his jam, but seeing you have fun is enough for him.

Some of you provocative clothing is sure to get a reaction out of him, especially the fishnets. That's his weakness.

You always take him as he is so if you're ever nervous about how you look or how you're dressed, he's sure to hype you up as best as he can.

Sometimes he feels grateful for what happened to him, without the accident, he wouldn't have met you. With his new outlook on life, he can understand you better. He's positive that if he remained district attorney, living in the light, that he would have never given you the time of day and even if he did, he wouldn't know how to appreciate you the way he does now.

Your love for darker things helps him love himself, not by much, but enough that with you he isn't always doom and gloom or woe is me.

You being a romantic is not what he expected when he got with a goth gal. You like using the fancy dishes and lighting candles for dinner. You like flowers all over the place though they're usually dark in color. You like to cuddle with him and watch movies, not afraid to make contact with his scarred side.

You like watching a lot of monster movies which made him roll his eyes at first, but he would catch the way your eyes stay glued to the monster be it vampire, a werewolf, or a creature from the black lagoon. The soft dreamy sighs escaping you made him curious.

"You realize that they're the bad guy, right? Literally a monster, not human," he says. "They're just misunderstood," you explain. "And they just want to be loved like everyone else?" "Yeah, buut they mostly resort to extreme measures?" "I think..." she ponders, "it's because they understand what it is to lose something or be lonely. And they found someone who understands them and can see them, even though they aren't human. To be fully seen by somebody, then, and be loved anyhow. Or however that saying goes." She shrugs and pops a few pieces of popcorn into her mouth.

Watching you fawn over the the creatures in those films makes him feel better about himself, makes him feel like less of a monster, like he's still capable of being loved.

#harvey dent x reader #two face x reader #harvey dent #two-face #harvey dent headcanons #two face headcanons #gotham rogues headcanons #goth!reader #two face

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jamethinks · 2 months ago

Text

Spy x family prompts that are objectively more interesting than an identity reveal (based on the Richter scale)

What if Yor was ordered to kill Loid and Anya? Why would she be given such a mission?

What if Loid gets exposed as a spy (not twilight just a spy)?

What if Donovan already knows who Twilight was?

What if Yor finds out that Anya and Loid aren't biologically related? How does she find out? Play with her imagination.

Someone breaks into the Forger house, and Yor kills them in self-defense. How does Twilight react?

What if Yor finds out Yuri is lying about his job? Note I only said lying about his job, i.e., that he doesn't work at MOFA.

What if Twilight finds out Anya was experimented on? Bonus: Why was Anya involved in the experiments in the first place (cough human trafficking cough immigration cough)? Note: he only finds out she was a part of human experiments. The goal and results are unknown to him. Not all human experiments result in superpowers, so that won't be his initial assumption.

What if Anya doesn't become an imperial scholar?

What if Donovan was the wrong target?

Why is there conflict between the east and the west? (Hint: do research on actual conflicts between countries for inspo*)

What are some cultural and social differences between the East and West? What biases and stereotypes exist? How do they relate to the war? How do they affect the lives of migrants in the country?

How does Twilight's life as a homeless child affect his relationship with Anya?

What kind of conflicts would arise between Loid and Yor around Anya's parenting?

Kill someone outside of the main family (excluding Bond). Doesn't have to be murder btw.

What was Yor like as a child/teen?

What if Yuri gets a girlfriend? How much would Yor care? Make her care, don't be a bitch.

What if Twilight/Yor fell for someone else? How would the other feel? And don't say jealous because they're secretly in love with each other, come up with something else. (Eg. I had one where Yor straight murders the other woman because helloshws trying to hide from the cops nor get a big ole target on her back)

Make a random side character gay and have them come out to their designated forger

Give someone a chronic illness. Go crazy.

Veterans. Let's talk about them.

NSFW prompts

Address Bond. Yall always get rid of Anya so now you gotta address Bond

Pregnancy scare, but they're not actually in a relationship

What's their favorite positions? Little quirks? Favourite move? Slight kinks? Don't be boring and say Loid is a bottom or Yor is a top. Gimme something very niche and specific (eg, I think Twilight likes it when you play with his ears and Yor is very noisy, not loud, just noisy)

Body count

*I am not encouraging the romanticization of war or encouraging you to only reasefch for fanfic purposes. Just expand your understanding of war as a whole beyond the boring rich people proxy fight narrative. Lots of reasons wars happen (political, resources, borders, religion and culture, America being messy and causing problems), so use it as a time for some world building and hcing

#spy x family #sxf #loid forger #twilight #anya forger #yor forger #headcanon #im not doing the rest fuck off #its 8am baby im up and im on the ball #and by ball i mean being annoying

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iznsfw · 2 years ago

Note

Give me your best minju femdom

just how much are you willing to give for a dream that big?

IZ Days of Christmas: Day 7 - Kim Minju

IZ*ONE's Kim Minju x Male Reader Smut

7,397 words

Categories | dominant_curator!Minju x aspiring_artist!you; mommy kink; MINJU LIKES BEING CALLED DADDY; degradation; #DomJu; femdom

Content warning | pegging, SLIGHT DUB-CON, harsh criticism/insults from Minju

You asked for it.

"I'll think about it."

Four words. Four words that are designed to make it seem that there's still a possibility lingering here, but actually pose a definite answer: no. And you would have believed in a potential answer of yes if it weren't for the curator's amused smile as you exhibit your artworks to her. There's no chance anymore; just by looking at her pink lips, you know what she actually means.

Your whole world falls apart. There's your hope, there's your lifelong dream, all cut into hopeless little fragments on the ground. And all you can think is: why? You've worked so hard for this. You've taken so many classes, so many days of coaching and endless painting. It's a difficult world out there, but you are certain that you deserve better than a " I'll think about it."

You deserve to have your painting in the country's biggest gallery. You deserve the recognition, the praise, everything. But the curator of this museum isn't quite convinced, and although she doesn't say it directly, her bored eyes say it all. To her, you're just another artist with a superiority complex, just another artist she can reject and move on without.

Even her quirked lips tell you that she's unimpressed. Probably even disgusted. How dare a niche artist like you demand to come to her personally and ask to have this... art—(if she can even call it that)—displayed?

Her heels clack on the marble museum floor as she runs her fingers along the frames of your paintings. "Honey," she says, testily, throwing you an amused glance, "this isn't even Picasso level talent. And, in case you don't know, Picasso was a pretty shit artist."

You're taken aback by plenty of factors in that condescending statement, because for one, Picasso was an excellent painter. He's your role model in the world of painting and the medium of art itself. You've visited museums in places you aren't even remotely interested in staying just to see his art in person. Hell, you took classes to be able to replicate his abstract style. How dare this woman speak of him as if he weren't one of the biggest names in art? How dare she? You bet that she probably doesn't know how to name any painting besides Starry Night.

"This one"—and then Minju reaches her bare arm, exposed by the loss of a sleeve attached to her black turtleneck top, to glaze her fingers across one of your pieces—"is probably my least favorite. It's rushed, it's not even colorful enough to attract attention. Not even gray enough to capture a sad mood."

How many pointed bullets has she shot at you this afternoon? You're losing count. "Well," you answer, quite shaken, "I don't believe in colors very much. It's the drawing that should matter. You see—"

"I don't want nor care enough to hear about your nerdy art bullshit."

The umpteenth bullet. It strikes your heart right through the core, and through the flat of your back. You take two steps backward for a reason you aren't sure of. It's a big museum, filled with towering sculptures created by lone artists many decades ago and paintings that take up two blocks, yet what intimidates you more than any of them is this woman:

Kim Minju, curator of the biggest art museum in Korea, and a professional asshole. You had to find that put the hard way the moment you started to crush on her. Who wouldn't? Her features—doe eyes, pointed nose, and thick pink lips—blend in together so perfectly, as if she were another masterpiece in the museum. But looks, you learn, are deceiving. Kim Minju is not as kind as she looks, nor are her words as pretty as her face.

Dress pants sway freely around her slim legs as she walks back to you. Her expressions never vary away from boredom, condescending, and angry. It's like those are the only emotions she is capable of having. She's such a complex person—you understand that although you've only been with her from eight o' clock today to three—but so, unbelievably uninteresting at the same time. You have no idea what to make of her yet, except for the fact that she can be pretty cruel.

Minju approaches you with crossed arms, then pauses when she's just another breath away from you. You try to meet her gaze, but it's too good at holding yours. Besides, the hate you have for the fact that she's taller than you doesn't help either. But you have to hold your ground. If you don't, there will be more pieces to pick up than your broken dreams.

"I'll give it to you straight," says Minju airily, "my museum doesn't have the time for your art."

That's another shot. One more and you're dead. Your cheeks already flush from embarrassment, but she drones on, clearly not caring about what you feel. Not that that's an unusual thing for her.

"I spent all day trying to listen to you talk about your credentials and art whatnot," she continues. "But I'm getting bored, and I don't like your tacky style or you. So I suggest you find another smaller place to start posting your art, like a kindergarten teacher's art class billboard."

You've died at least a hundred times with each word she spits. You're utterly humiliated; you've been through terrors of teachers but you have never received words from them as harsh as Minju's. Every syllable was fashioned to hit just the right spot, because yes, your art's first criticism is its tackiness from when you first started. Yes, it was a risk you took when the first place you decided to hang your art is the biggest museum in the country. But you're not like the other artists. You've improved so much over the years, and your art is nothing less than pleasing to the eyes now that you've found your own style.

You have to admit that they do slightly look out of place with all the other gorgeous paintings, but you can be as good as them. You just need a jumpstart, and you'll get to it. You swear on your own life.

"Miss Kim," you answer, not sure what to say, "I can be as good as Van Gogh, or whoever artist it is that you like. I just need a place to start, and I think your museum is a good place for that."

Minju laughs. "Van Gogh was as shitty as Picasso, dear thing. And your art is not good enough for this museum to be good. So please, take my advice and start at the nearest preschool. I'll hear from you when you've finally gotten into second grade."

Dear thing? Dear thing?! Oh, now she's royally pissed you off. Now, it's your turn to be cocky. Kim Minju is about to find out that two can play at this game.

"For your information, Minju," you reply, now with more confidence, "I'm not your dear thing. And I'm the best artist of my generation right now. You're going to be so sorry if you don't accept my art right now."

Minju nods condescendingly, as if she were listening to a small child rambling about dinosaurs. There's a laugh on her face, which makes you even more infuriated because she is just not getting the point. If she does, she doesn't believe in it. Oh, not in the slightest.

"'Best artist'? Let's not get ahead of ourselves right now. Your style is not unique. The topics you draw are not game-changing. Not even close."

"You just don't have the eyes for it," say you with gritting teeth. You hate how your lips are quivering. "You're, you're not even an artist yourself. You're just a curator."

"And a good one at that." She's just as assured in her own abilities as you are. Minju is unfazed by your amateur insults. She could hear better from a sixth grader. "You can drone on all you want, honey, but that won't change the fact that I'm not interested in taking you in. You can go or kill yourself in front of me. Either way, I won't care."

That's your breaking point. Your hands start to form trembling fists. You can't cope with all this right now, or with Minju. She's just another self-absorbed curator. What does she know about art?

But you've relied your dreams on her. If she doesn't give in, you're nothing. You'll never have a chance to make it big. Nobody cares about art nowadays, except for the classicals, making it even harder to make a name for yourself. You want to become so big in the world of craft that you're credited as inspirations centuries from now. You want to be the best that no one ever was. If Minju doesn't like you or what you make, you don't have a chance.

Gone is your oversaturated arrogance. Gone is the front you were trying to put up before Minju. Most importantly, your dreams are gone, snapped into pieces just like that by words. You're more than hurt; you're devastated. If you can't be a renowned artist—the only steady dream you've had your whole life—what are all your efforts worth now? They will remain fruitless if you don't put one foot forward.

Minju is your wall blocking the path to fame and recognition. A goddamned gorgeous wall who won't falter nor break for anyone, especially not you. No punch can break her foundation. No word from you can make her bricks detoriate.

Try to hold it back, but the tears are forming in your eyes. You're a mess, you truly are. You've been a fool for your dream, and you are just realizing now at the present that it was all for nothing.

"Please," you whisper. Break the staring contest with Minju and look at your shoes instead. Look at the marble floor no one would cross to see your works. Look at the ground where the pieces of your hopes and desires have broken.

"Please what?" Minju is clearly enjoying this. Her crossed arms quiver as she tries to hold back a laugh. Oh, she loves seeing pathetic men admit that they're nothing. It's what she feeds on. She can put their tears in a bowl and put cereal in it for breakfast.

"I'll—I'll do anything. Is that enough? I'll do anything for you to accept my works."

There's the smallest hope in you as you see that Minju is considering this. For a woman like her,and a man like you, she can make you do anything. She can make you mop the floors of the museum and yell "hakuna matata" on its roof and know that you would do all that just for her acceptance. That's what makes it so, utterly satisfying.

"That depends, to be honest," she says slowly.

Minju leans down a little and places a finger under your chin. Her nails are sharp, and they scratch your skin as she tilts your face upwards. Her smile is teasing; you hate that you like it so much. You hate that despite her clear description of how much she dislikes you as a person and you as an artist, your magnetic attraction to her remains.

"Just how much are you willing to give, boy toy, for a dream that big?"

She's degrading you again. It's strange how much it makes your skin tingle.

"Like I said," you sniffle, "anything. I'll give anything."

"Oh, you'll sooo regret saying that."

With a woman of her caliber? Of course you will. But you're a desperate person. It's your sheer need and your willingness to do whatever it takes to get it that get you to places. It's both an advantage and a disadvantage, a pro and con, light and dark. Chiaroscuro, if you will.

"W-what do I have to do?" you ask shakily.

"Simple." And she says this without any shame or sign of shame: "Call me mommy."

It takes a moment for you to register, and Minju uses your confusion as the perfect time to pin you to the wall, like you are a masterpiece, too. Not that she sees you in that light; you are too weak to be one. Too easy to be played with.

Minju is kissing your neck. Lipstick leaves fresh marks on your skin. And when she bites... oh, your knees do more than buckle. You almost collapse to the floor. Thank God (or not) for Minju's hands popping your shirt buttons; they keep you standing. They keep you knowing that all this is real.

She kisses you again, crudely. "What did I say?"

"Call you mommy..."

"Say it then."

She swiftly pulls off her black top, and in the bat of an eyelash, tangles your wrists in between its fabric behind your back. All the while, her kisses rampage your skin. She can't get enough of your pathetic submissiveness. She plays with you as if you were a toy, her toy.

Her mouth traces your torso like a pencil. Her teeth come out to play at times, specifically to see the alarm in your eyes. But nothing prepared you for her lips right above your jeans, or her daring eyes looking up at you and shooting glares into your soul.

"Say it."

"Mommy..."

That's the ticket. The zipper and button are undone by Minju's eager fingers. Your cock is easily fished out and taken into her mouth as if it were nothing. Your body tenses as your mouth falls open.

Although she is the one on her knees, Minju shows that it doesn't change that she's still in control. Her technique and pacing alternates between harsh, rough suckling to a snail's pace of blowing.She sucks you off not for your own pleasure, but for hers. Clearly, that is what she has put first most in this world.

"Fuck!" you can't help but cry out.

Minju spits on your cock and squeezes it tightly. Your hips jerk forward at the tightness and pain. "You're not allowed to talk unless I say so," she says firmly. She's serious about this, too; her eyes show clear and unbridled anger. "Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, hnghh!" Your moan echoes in the wide museum. Her lips have rounded your head again and provide great suction. "Y-yes, mommy!"

Satisfied, Minju continues to suck you off. She's unlike any other girl you've had sex with. The others put on innocent faces to entice you whilst their lips worked on your cock, and picked up the pace if you pleased. They let out the prettiest of tears as they called you daddy, whimpered out the sexual title in the midst of the shoves of your cock down their throats.

But Minju... she's a woman with the unhinged desire to belittle you. Even in sex, she remains taunting—the licks at the sides of your dick and in the tiny slit you have are only done to make her laugh at your shivers. It's pleasurable, yes, but degrading, too. Degrading in the sense that she's simply doing it to see you break yourself into something more pathetic, into the writhing, needy mommy's boy that you aren't.

Or... ?

"This dick is so fucking small." Minju spits on the shaft with disgust. "I bet you can't even fuck me properly, not even if I guide you along."

"I—I can," you say, defensively. Minju's saliva coats your cock with more liquid than the continuous stream of pre-cum, which she licks off, of course.

Minju rises to her feet. It is only then that you admire her body. You would say that her face is the real deal, and it is, but you're still rendered shocked by her form. Her breasts are not the biggest, but they're still pretty eye candies. Their nipples are tiny pink things atop small handfuls of flesh. Her hips are what tempt you the most; they're so fucking wide, bringing more shape to her slim stomach.

"Show me," she says. She smiles again, marking a new challenge. "Put that cock inside me or you'll never make yourself recognized. I can fucking crush your dream with a snap of my fingers, baby, so I suggest you move fast."

You can't do anything. Besides the fear of never making it in the real world or as an artist bubbling inside of you, she's so tempting. Even with her all-black outfit: black heels, black sleeveless top, black dress pants, a style you are not fond of almost as much as you aren't fond of pineapple pizza, she attracts you. It's like there's invisible magnets taped to her skin that pulls your fingers to her hips, pulls down the long pants, and grabs her close.

Like magnets, you rub together. Your cock lodges in the hole between her legs. It's met with an immediate contraction, but Minju shows little appreciation on her face. Yes, her jaw drops and her eyes are suddenly round and wide, but she doesn't care to tell you how good it is. Your quick thrusts outnumber the fucks Minju gives about catering to your wants.

"Yes... fuck, yes, fuck that cock into me." Minju humps your entering and exiting shaft determinedly. "Suck on my tits, toy. Suck them until they're red and sore."

That's not something you're adamant to disobey. Like her lips lubricating the shape of your cock earlier, your mouth finds her nipples and captures it. You do as she says, sucking it cleanly and hardly. It feels amazing in your mouth. You knew it would even before it slipped in between your lips. Minju lets out sighs of gratification. That was the only thing it took for her to be louder. She would have to turn up the volume, though; the slaps of your cock into her cavern are starting to boom.

While her breasts are a beauty of their own degree, Minju's cunt is just perfect. It's wet, grasping onto your cock and covering it with a sheen of juices, just like she coated it with saliva during her blowjob earlier. Her mouth was considerably warmer though. But you aren't one to complain when you're clearly the toy in this situation.

Besides, the texture of her walls is a welcome addition to the stimulus on your shaft. Your cockhead repeatedly dips onto the patches of sensitivity, provoking a surefire reaction of the tender walls closing around it tighter. Jerk your hips forward; if you were only more powerful, you could reach her cervix and make it a finishing line. But no, your focus is on sucking the life out of Minju's boobs, just like she commanded.

Minju whispers soft curses under her breath. Arms wound around your neck, she silently tells you to go deeper. No, it's not just a matter of telling; it's a command, as brazen and firm as her earlier order to tell you to suck her tits. She expects you to comply, and if she is disappointed by you not doing so, she'll discard of you. Simple as that.

Release her nipple from your lips and prove that you're worthy. Prove it with more powerful thrusts of your hips into her tiny hips. You string together every might in your body, although most of it is being drained by Minju's humps on your shaft, into pushing your cock deeper. Minju cries out in pleasure. Continue the cycle and never break it. Eyes closed, head tilted to the sky, and arms almost choking your neck, you know you've proven your value to her. All you have to do now is to maintain that.

"Fuck, that's right!" Minju yells out. Even she can't handle your pounds. You're knocking he rinto oblivion. "Fuck mommy's cunt like that, slut! Fucking stretch her out!"

You're already stretching her out enough. It's hard to see since Minju is so adamant on fucking herself on you, but your girth is practically spreading her pussy lips apart. Wonder if she'll become tighter if you fill her up to the base of your cock.

Test it out. Cock stiff and a compelled mind in action, you shove yourself as hard and deep as you can.

"Oh fuck!" Minju's fully penetrated by you now. Your cockhead nudges the end of her tunnel and slams into it repeatedly. Minju's high on the pleasure. She's fucking herself onto you as if she were possessed by a succubus. She's sex-crazed, she's rabid, she's a feral fucking vixen who won't play around when it comes to what pleases her. And right now, what's giving her so much bliss is your dick. She's never letting it go.

But she thinks she wants something else to add to the mix.

"Finger my asshole," Minju says bluntly. Another command. She takes your hand, undoes it from its constraints, and guides it to her round bottom. "Do it."

"B-but..." You're not used to butt stuff, to put it cleanly. You've never touched or inserted yourself in any of your girlfriends' asses. It has always been purely excluded from sessions like these. "I'm, I'm not—"

Minju leans over conspiratorially and rasps in your ear: "Now."

Can you still continue proving yourself worthy? Even if you can't, you have no choice. Your chance at making it big is in Minju's hands. Besides, you're pretty curious yourself. Does it feel good there for her, too? How good, exactly?

Pat your finger on the tensing brown circle. Minju's breath hitches in response. Hide your uncertainty by meticulous teasing, rubbing your fingertips around her asshole and only slightly putting some inside. But Minju is becoming impatient. Whimpers still escape her lips, but she makes herself clear with the reverse of her ass into your hand. She knows what you're trying to do, and she's not letting you get away with it.

Hold your breath and plug one finger inside her. Turns out that's all you needed to do for Minju to put her all into hugging you with her walls, for her neck and head to throw back, for her to cry out a scream that sounds a little fox-like due to its pitch.

"Mommy's cumming, mommy's cumming, ffffuhh—! "

Her voice cracks. It's that momentary weakness that compels you to burst inside her like a popped balloon, except that instead of helium, you release hot strings of wet white cum. You don't have the mind nor the care for a few seconds to worry about impregnating her. The grasp of her walls and the push of her manicured nails into your skin are too mighty in turning your attention away from that.

However, to Minju, it doesn't matter if your cock is thick and big. She's paralyzed in shock. She can't believe you had the audacity to cum inside her.

"Fuck! What the fucking fuck did you do?" Her hands free themselves of their frozen to push you away roughly.

You only come to your senses after she slaps you. "I'm sorry, Minju," you say guiltily. Had you really lost all self-control after months without sex? Sex education literally revolves around protection! "Are you at least on the pill...?"

"Of course I am!"

The tension releases itself from your shoulders. At least God still has your back. "It isn't a problem then," you say. "We can—"

Minju pushes you again. This time, your back knocks hard into the wall. She grasps you by the neck tightly. There's true anger in her eyes now. None of it is an arrogant ploy anymore.

"Are you fucking stupid?" she asks, then rolls her eyes. "Oh, why did I even bother asking? Of course you are."

Ouch.

"The thing here, boy toy, is I don't want your cum in me! Clean me up!"

"D-do I get a tissue or...?"

"No. Lick it out of me."

You're stunned. What? Shake your head, bewildered. "No, I'm not gonna lick my cum out of your cunt, Minju!" you yell.

Her fingers grab your hair and pull it downwards. You fall to the floor in a heap. But you should get used to it. With the way she treats you like you're dust beneath her feet, you've always belonged here. It's only literal now.

You take a glance at her creampied pussy and cringe. It looks gorgeous; it's dripping out of her like a river. But now that you have to lick your own cum out of her, like you're some obedient little slave who can do nothing but obey and obey, it doesn't look so enticing at all.

Minju fires you another glare. It's a warning of the worse that's yet to come if you don't clean her up.

Oh, the things you do for your dreams. The things you do for money; for fame; for the tiniest bit of recognition...

How did you get to this point?

Fine, you'll lick.

At first, it's humiliating. Your ears burn red as Minju parts her legs and sits on your mouth, using you as a sex toy and chair. It's hard to support her weight on your face, even if she is light. It's easy to slip your tongue inside her though. You know it feels good when she moans softly.

"Come on," she pushes you on. Demanding, that's what Minju is. You wonder how she even became a curator with that kind of attitude. She slides herself up and down your tongue, which doesn't become flaccid in its licks due to the uncomfortableness of it all. "Clean mommy up. We still have a lot of things to do."

You take some of your cum from her creamed hole and drag your tip tantalizingly to her clit. Minju whimpers. Repeat the process for a few more seconds. You enjoy the shivers she does, and how tight she is around you. They make the experience much more bearable.

You haven't appreciated her thighs enough. She may be slim, but they are thick enough to choke the breath out of you. They encase the sides of your face tightly as she guides your tongue hotly. Her eyelids are fluttered lower than usual. Her breaths become more labored after the ones before them exit.

Glad that your hands have been freed from much earlier, you try to make this fun for you, too. Grab those honey thighs and push her down onto your mouth. Her gasp is satisfying. Her eyes flutter wide. They're all fun to watch: the shiver of her tight form, the expressions she makes, but pulling her down was a big mistake. Now you can't breathe at all. Your nose is nestled into her clit.

The muffled breaths you take end up pleasuring her cunt instead, much to your dismay. Minju doesn't mind; they make her more soaked than before. She sways her hips to and fro to get the feel of your nose swiping on her clitoris and your tongue entering and exiting her. The tip of your tongue excites her senses in the best way possible. She can't get enough of it. Hands on her nipples, she bounces herself on your pink appendage, overall satisfied with the work you've been doing.

"Such a good boy now," she remarks with a playful caress of your hair. "See how pathetic boys like you always end up in this position? Lick me faster."

The insults graze your pride because you know they are true. You became a whore for Minju. Her little boy toy. Weren't you just boasting about your own achievements a while ago? If so, why are you on your knees now? It's humiliating.

Close your eyes to stop the tears of embarrassment from flowing. The last of your dignity is gone. You can't give Minju the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

You increase the speed. Thrust your tongue inside her faster. Wiggle it around to hit the right spots. You discover that it isn't a matter of cleaning your cum up from inside her anymore. That was all a scam to get you to orally pleasure her. It shows in the way Minju refuses to let your tongue leave her hole, even to collect your semen. She's humping it too quickly for there to even be a chance of exiting her warm little hole. But it's too late to confront her about it now. You just have to wait until she climaxes again.

You have to admit: you do taste quite delicious. Turns out the girls whose mouths you pounded weren't pretending when they sucked off the semen from your tip. Your cheeks redden with the humiliation at that knowledge. However, there's a con in being aware of that. For example, it isn't so difficult anymore to lap at Minju's pussy. You willingly circle and dance your tongue inside her. It's fun to see her pleasured reactions.

When the opportunity presents itself, you pull your tongue out. Minju winces, but before she can voice out any frustration or order, you start to lick her labia back and forth. Her wide, shapely hips stutter. You have to take them in your hands and steady her to continue.

"Oh—mmmm! Fuck, such a good boy for mommy, eating her out so well!"

You would have been surprised at the compliment, but her silky voice never reaches your ears. Her thighs are compressing them too tightly for anything to be heard but wordless screams.

Her most erogenous part is her clitoris, clearly. She demandingly pushes that part of her center on your tongue. Twirl it at your tip, play with it, suckle it. Nibble at it to keep her on her toes. Show her how much you've tamed the brat in you, because once she did, it was apparent that there was no going back.

"Yes, that feels so good!" she cries. Her movements become more frantic and less graceful. It's like you're being waterboarded by a tsunami; she's a force of her own, a danger with the cleanest edge. "I'm gonna cum, baby boy! Mommy's gonna cum, she's gonna fucking cum all over your face---!"

When she does, it's like a sobering splash. Her screams symbolize the thunder, and the juices that squirt on your nose and mouth is the flood. There are no lifeboats anywhere to save you. Nor are there people that are going to. You just have to withstand the rain for a few more seconds

Close your eyes and wait for the storm to end. It takes a while to cease. You try to help yourself out by sticking out your tongue and catching her steady spray into your mouth, but you just choke on it. Minju finds her girl cum spilling down the sides of your lips and swirling in your throat amusing.

Through all that, her taste remains impeccable.

The stream stops. Minju's thighs are shaking. She slowly edges herself off your messy face. Her breasts heave with every heavy breath she takes. They're hypnotizing, but you file your eyes away from them. You have to remember that they belong to the cruel woman who told you to do away with yourself. This is still the same woman who used you. It doesn't matter if the only things you are appreciating in the moment are hr breasts; they still belong to her. She degraded and humiliated you in ways you never would have imagined.

Nudity is another form of art widely appreciated, for both aesthetic and gratification purposes. It returned and became popularized during the Renaissance and the Impressionism. Science was used to figure out how to create the right proportions for whoever is being sculpted, painted, or drawn. Mathematics was heavily involved, too. The golden ratio was used to present the figures in an ideal manner, whether the figures were of gods or historical icons.

You are glad it became popular through the years. You are glad at how normalized it has become for Minju's body looks exactly like another stunning sculpture. She may not have the golden ratio, but she has something even better than that. She's naturally curvy, naturally beautiful. Back in the day, they would have written sonnets about her.

She may be cruel, but she is quite stunning.

"We're not done yet."

The curator puts a stop to your daydreaming. Raised brows, fine creased lines on her forehead that scold you, Minju is flattered that you think this is over yet. It's quite entertaining to her, actually. You don't really think she's gonna give in after just a few sessions of fucking, do you?

Pocket your sore pride and face the challenge head-on. "What else is there to do?"

Her smile is haunting. "You're gonna find out soon. You might even like it."

The museum is closed today. There's a big sign outside with "CLOSED" plastered across the letters spelling "Now Open!". Minju had to shut its doors for the day due to your endless requests for a chance to have your works exhibited. Oh, if you knew what you had to do to get her to agree, you wouldn't believe it. You'd call it bullshit.

You and Minju clean yourselves up. There's no point in reusing her turtleneck; it's blotted with her squirt. And you have no business going out with a face drenched with the same liquid. So, while Minju gets into a change of clothes, you go to the bathroom and splash cold water into your face. You don't want to look in the mirror. You don't want to see the slut the man it reflects has become, because, if you were able to admit it to yourself, you'd say that you liked the way Minju treats you. You like the power she has over you that she achieved through such a short period of time.

But you can't say that. You refuse to.

Apparently, you were in the bathroom for too long. Minju's fist knocks three short sounds onto the door.

"You can't hide there all afternoon, babycakes!" she reminds you sweetly. She fires another five knocks. "Come out, come out!"

Roll your eyes with a tired huff. You weren't exactly planning to, but hey, that could work. She can't do anything about it but look stupid pounding onto the door like a maniac.

You get out. You find Minju dressed in a gray, sleeveless top with a jacket matching its color. She has undone her black hair and let it fall to her shoulders.

She gives you a wide, scheming smile. "Let's go?"

Minju does not wait for a reply. She simply takes hold of your wrist and pulls you through the swindling doors, colorful galleries, and parked cars. She leads you to her own vehicle. It's a modest black car that's been around for ages, but still works as if it were new. You can tell from the light rust on the knobs.

"Get in," Minju says. She already peeks at you from the rolled-down window. Gesturing to the empty passenger seat beside her with a tilt of her head, her brows rise and stay at their impatient height until you get into the car.

You only learn later that it's more than mandatory to have a seatbelt on when Minju is your driver.

There's that red light she easily breezes through. And another. Your eyes are wide. "What the fuck, Minju?" you yell. Your hands frantically fly to your seatbelt and fasten its buckle into place. Not without flying around, of course.

"What?" she asks, really not knowing what's wrong. "You need a water or something?"

Anddd a near miss with a bus. The honk of the horn is deafening. "Do you even have a license?"

"Ha, nope. This car isn't mine. It's my—hey, fuck you, too, you old shit!" Minju gives an angry driver who nearly collided with her sideview mirror the middle finger. When she turns back to you, she grins calmly. "Anyway, it was my brother's. He taught me to drive when I was eleven."

"Well, that explains it," you mutter to yourself sarcastically. And you'd think that since she learned from an early age, she'd drive better than most. That's her second deception of the day, and the twenty-third broken law.

The car swerves and spins into curved roads as if it were dancing. You're constantly on the edge of your seat. Minju, however, is unbothered. This isn't an out-of-place habit for her, breaking at least thirty traffic laws the moment the wheels of her car start rolling. Nor is it for the traffic guards in the middle of the roads, it seems. They yell at Minju with a a warning, but disregard it after a few seconds. How many almost-crashes did it take for them to realize there's no dealing with her?

You almost break into song of religious praise when Minju finally parks near her house. But it's too early to celebrate. God has fashioned this day unpredictably.

Her home is as large as a mansion. It's not exactly a mansion, of course, but the combination of paint and placing is satisfactory enough to pass as a modern house. It stands out in the suburban division like a sore thumb, if a sore thumb were fancier.

She throws open the door. The interior of her home is just as impressive as the exterior. Posters and drawings decorate the walls. The space in each room is wider than the first floor of your own home. You'd give in to jealousy if you weren't more surprised at the thing Minju is brandishing.

"Surprise, surprise," she says. She sticks it in your face for you to see it better, but it's too close for you to even understand what it is. It is only when she moves it back does it finally sink in.

A foretelling personification, really. It's a strap-on. Or is it a dildo? Oh, it's whatever you call a pink plastic shaped like dick. But your difficulty in naming what it is isn't the biggest problem you'll encounter this day. Oh, you have bigger fish to fry soon.

"What the fuck, Minju?" you ask in disbelief. Shake your head again and again, still not coming to terms with what she plans to do. "I'm not gay! I'm not getting fucked in the ass by—"

"I never said you were gay," Minju points out. She's good at that, finding Freudian slips in the middle of your sentences to turn against you."I just wanted to try fucking a guy's ass, that's all. And since I have you... I thought that today is the day."

"Minju!"

"Babycakes!" she says, with a grin that's a distorted mirroring of your worried frown. She grasps your chin and kisses you on the lips. "It'll be fine, I promise. You have nothing to worry about."

She really needs to stop calling you babycakes. It's annoying you already. But more than that, you don't trust her words. What if she's just using you again? What if she's lying to you, like she did when she said that she would think about taking your pieces in? When she's done, she'll surely throw you away like a trash bag, as if you were never really there, and replace you with a new and prettier one to dump everything she wants in.

But you find yourself walking to her bedroom. Slipping your jeans down. Putting them on the floor as Minju fastens the strap to her hips. Lying down on the bed and just waiting for it.

Wait, why the fuck is your dick hard?

There's a cold feeling on your asshole for a while. It's because of the lube Minju's lathering onto it, "for safety purposes," she says. "Damn, I'm pretty big! D'you think it'll be funny if I actually put a condom on the tip?"

But she doesn't, after an unamused roll of your eyes, and the pink tip penetrates your lubed hole. The intrusion is fought with the receiving hole's tightening. The sensation is weirder than anything you've felt before. Of course, you've never done this before, so you never could imagine what it felt like. But now, you discover that it's a sickly mix of pain and pleasure.

"Fuck, Min—"

"That's not the right word, honey," Minju corrects you. The drags of her cock in and out are slow. "Tonight, I'm not Kim Minju. I'm your daddy."

"Mmph! Please, Min— daddy," you whimper out. The word feels right when it slips past your mouth. "Daddy." Daddy, daddy, daddy. You're usually on the receiving side when your previous girls uttered it, but maybe it's actually fun to say it, too.

Minju's cock prods at your ass. It slips further inside as she giggles musically. "That's right. Open up for daddy, sweetheart~"

Even if, let's say, you refuse to, there's no other choice you can run to. You're on the bed, naked, with a woman whose hips wield a fastened dick. You can't escape.

Minju's strokes are almost loving. It's slow, sensual, and timed. She must have taken sympathy on you, for what might be the first time. Of course, her hand wraps around your own dick to provide an "everyday" stimulus, too. That, you enjoy, better than the pegging. You jerk into her hand with a clear need never spoken through words, but a series of helpless mewls.

"What a twitchy little cock," laughs Minju. She wraps her hand around it like a ribbon, and fastens it with quick, bold strokes. They're bolder than any step or curve you've drawn, any controversial piece you've made. "Your cock really likes daddy's dick, doesn't it? And her warm hand?"

You're leaning towards the latter as of now, but you nod anyway. What else can you do? Your virgin asshole can't do anything about it, your leaking cock can't do anything about it. Hell, your tears can't, either. But there's a secret joy formed inside of you at being under Minju's control, with nowhere to run or hide. It's sick, you know that, but you can't help what you feel.

Maybe you like being used and pegged by this harsh curator. Maybe you like her evil words, her tempting body, and her attitude that would make any grandmother die on the spot. Maybe you like the way she treats you like you're a particularly crude inconvenience in her way.

You're shaken by that realization. But what shocks you more is her hand slapping your ass cheeks hardly. You cry out, but the sound is quickly silenced by Minju's free fingers in your mouth.

"Shhh, quiet, baby," Minju coos softly. She leans over to kiss your back and neck. "I want to hear your cute cheeks slap together."

It's a sentence that can easily be used for comedic relief in a fucked-up sitcom. But to you, it's nothing but sexy. The way the words drip from her kissing lips just add to the hotness of her hand giving your ass a firm spank. Your bottom cringes, causing your legs to go weak. You've sunken onto the bed helplessly. At least it's a comfortable place to lie into. The bedsheets must be expensive. They have no other reason to be this silky and soft. Just how much is a curator paid? You might want to consider that career rather than go for being an artist.

Due to your fall, Minju takes your ass in a pronebone position. Sometimes, she isn't satisfied with your butt hole's gape, so she pries it apart with her own fingers. You squeal into the pillows. Pray the neighbors don't hear your scream when Minju takes matters into her own hands and slips a finger beside her strap.

Her strokes gain more strength as the present becomes soon. It's a sensation that you have no idea how to choose between liking and hating it. Your prostrate is constantly stimulated, and the brown walls of your butt are rubbed against, but there's the newness of it all. You aren't used to this. Part of you outright refuses to do it again, but the curious side of you is more than interested for another round. Maybe one or two more? You really wouldn't mind.

"P-please, please, daddy."

You start to beg of your own accord. Lewdly. Needily. You're starting to like this too much. With Minju corrupting your ass and her hand jerking you off, you accept your fate. Paintings don't matter anymore, just as long as it's Minju's cock lodged inside you.

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