#and now that I’m in my 20s I’m like??????????

[highdramas]

simmering | dr. jack abbot

pairing: jack abbot x f!resident!reader warnings: language, age gap (unspecified, but reader is late 20s/early 30s and jack is mid/late 40s), references to sex but nothing explicit, you and jack shower together after a horrible shift, pre-relationship domestic bliss, sweet sweet fluff <3 word count: 2.1k summary: you and jack are spent. you stumble into uncharted intimate territory in the confines of his luxurious shower. notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. i wrote this kind of spur the moment today, but i'm very happy with how this turned out <3 this is a part of the ring of fire interconnected series, but it’s not necessary to read the prior parts to understand this fic. if you would like to, though, you can find the masterlist here <3 not proofread so apologies for any errors!

it’s a weird thing– the way that you feel entirely at ease in a place that should feel foreign.

jack’s apartment is homey. it’s in the swanky part of town that you always felt you’d never be able to afford. you assume it’s not the home that he shared with his wife; there are echoes of her, everywhere, but you don’t call them out. it doesn’t feel like your place to, anyway. because while she’s there, it’s jack that you feel all around you. you learn that he likes a specific scent of air freshener– woodsy and warm. you learn that he’s in dire need of some new pans, but you also learn that he’s not the greatest cook, so he’s been putting it off. you learn that he loves movies, and records.

you learn that he wears his dog tags, every day. at work, he keeps them tucked beneath scrubs, always out of view. at home, they rest heavy against his chest, and you’ve had to stop yourself from reaching out, trailing your finger along the chain.

it’s an effort to not touch him, most mornings. you’ve gone to his place after almost every single shift for the past two weeks. the two months prior to that, you were typically sitting at the park together until it was nearly ten in the morning and your stomachs were growling so loud it made you both laugh at yourselves.

the years before that, jack was your mentor, but you wouldn’t call him your friend. three months into your year as a senior resident and you feel like you’ve learned more about your attending than you had in the three years that you knew him prior. that’s not quite fair, you know. you knew him in the place he felt most comfortable, work. where he was always challenging you, he was always making you better, while helping you to trust your instincts, too, and letting them flourish. he knew when to push. you think he likes that you challenge him back, too. he always said that you were a fantastic learner. when you would pull through with an excellent save, the low rumble of his voice would often praise you. “good job, kid.”

but now you’re his senior resident and your relationship has changed. you’re not just his student in the sense of medicine. he’s teaching you how to be a leader, how to teach others. you’re his right hand. you’re an extension of one another in most ways, always working in tandem.

and you are fond of him in a way that is not professional. not even close.

when the two of you enter his apartment after a shift from hell– down a resident, new med student, a list of ridiculously rude patients– you each suck in a deep breath. your bags get dropped at the door, shoes kicked off, glasses of water each being filled and sucked down. you barely talked the whole car ride to his place. he had opened the door of his truck for you, closed it, and put on the punk rock station that he liked to listen to, sometimes.

“you should shower first,” jack breaks the quiet. “trust me. it’ll make you feel better.”

it was not the first time you’d showered at jack’s, and you figured it wouldn’t be the last, either. you level him with a look. “you told mckay on your way out the only thing you were looking forward to was a shower.”

“i’m a gentleman, kid. besides, you stink.”

you drop your jaw at him while he snickers. you don’t even mean to say it– you chalk it up to exhaustion bringing all your filters down. “we could always share. it is definitely big enough for two.”

the humor drops clean off of his face. when your brain catches up, and you realize what you’ve said, you shake your head. “i don’t know why i said that.” yes you do. you want to feel jack’s big hands on your shoulders, your neck. you’ve thought, not just once, about how good it would feel for them to run through your hair. the thought of that, the hot water from the shower…

fuck.

whatever is happening on your face, jack is not naive to. “are you sure about that?”

your mouth hangs open and he looks at you with that stare that is clinical, direct. “i–” your voice dies out in your throat. “that was inappropriate on my part. i’m sorry.”

“is that what you want?”

the question is straight forward, simple. all it requires is a yes or a no answer. but it feels so loaded, like a trick question before jack laughs and sends you off to gloria for inappropriate behavior. he seems to recognize this fear in you, because he shakes his head and takes a tentative step forward. “if i tell you, that i would want that…” he tilts his head to the side, seeking out that eye contact that he loves so much. “what would you say?”

you relent and meet his gaze. there’s something… real that simmers.

“that i do want it.”

“you mean that?”

you nod your head. jack shakes his. “no,” he empties that glass of water. “i want to hear you say it. all of it.”

your cheeks flame. “i’m exhausted. you’re exhausted. neither one of us should wait. we're grown adults that see and handle naked bodies all day for a living.” you meet his eyes. "we can handle sharing a shower."

this seems to satisfy him. he nods his head towards his bedroom, and the truly beautiful adjoining bathroom. he approaches his fancy shower, starts the water, and turns it as hot as it will go. “i know you,” he says, almost to himself, as he pulls out two towels, two washcloths. “bet you like to give yourself a third degree burn every time you shower.”

casting your eyes down, you laugh, because of course he can guess such a small detail about you. you watch as he takes a small shower chair out of the shower and sets it to the side. he rummages through a cabinet before he pulls out a cover for his leg, sliding it on and fastening it properly around his prosthetic. it strikes you that this is not something he would let just anyone see. it strikes you, because you feel honored, and you feel humbled that he would share this part of himself with you.

the sound of the water running, the feeling of steam curling around you– it sets every part of you on fire. you and jack look at each other head on. “i’ll get in first, and give you your privacy.”

you nod your head. you turn around away from him as he undresses, the sound of fabric rustling and falling to the ground. you hear that way the pattern of the water hitting the tile change when he carefully steps in. “your turn.”

you peer over your shoulder, and meet jack’s gaze. he smirks and turns around, facing the wall, true to his promise.

hurrying up and following suit, you get in the shower after him. he turns around to face you, water beginning to cascade over the both of you. ”will you let me take care of you?” he grabs the bottle of shampoo and shakes it. “you worked hard today, kid. let me.”

his hands are sure of themselves when they touch you, take your shoulders and turn you around. they’re confident as he makes sure your hair is properly wetted. they’re steady as he pools shampoo into the palm of his hand and begins to lather your scalp. you can’t help it, you groan– your head falls forward. you feel his thumbs begin to rub at the base of your neck, the place where it feels like all of your worries from the day come to congregate. “jesus christ,” he hisses. “you’re tense.”

“nothing an ibuprofen can’t fix,” you try to joke.

he shakes his head. “you’re killin’ me.”

“i don’t have time to go to the chiropractor, or get a massage.”

“make time.” his hands, sudsy from the vanilla shampoo that you’d brought over a week ago, knead into your upper spine. “trust me. you can’t heal others if you don’t heal yourself.”

“did you read that in a book?”

“no. had a good mentor tell me that, years ago. army days.” his hands still before they move back up to your hair. “you won’t last if you don’t do the things you need to do, for you.”

“like have my attending wash my hair for me?” you ask, smiling at the wall of his shower.

“exactly like that.” he tilts your head back and forth, rinsing the shampoo out, before he lathers your conditioner in his hands and smooth out the ends with it.

for as intimate as this all is… it doesn’t feel scary. you’re so tired, that it just feels good to have his hands all over you. it sets you on fire, yes, but not the blazing kind, the kind that would make you push him up against the wall and ask him to have his way with you. it’s a slow, simmering fire. the kind that stays controlled. the kind that can burn ten times as hot. a true slow burn.

you turn around, and finally meet him, eye to eye. your eyes trail downward to his dog tags. without letting yourself think about it too hard, you take it, your fingernails just barely scraping his chest. you watch his chest rise sharply as you run your thumb along the engraving. his hands flex at his sides.

“your turn,” you say, taking his shampoo. he turns around, allowing you to reach forward and work it into his hair. he groans, a hand splaying on the tile. you admire the freckles that dance across his back, and before you can think too much about it, you touch one with your finger, trailing to across his skin from freckle to freckle. “who knew you were hiding all of these?”

“i’m irish,” he bites back, goosebumps rising on his skin. he looks at you from over his shoulder. he looks good enough to eat.

you take the shower head and use it to carefully rinse out his hair. he takes it back from you and spins you once more, making sure the conditioner doesn’t continue to linger in your hair. and, back to back, you pass body wash back and forth, listening to the sound of the other wash their body.

“you can’t wash your leg with that thing on, can you?”

“nah. i’ll get back in and use the seat and wash it after i crash. it can wait.”

you don’t push. ( one day, though you don’t know it yet, you’ll sink to your knees in that same shower and reach a level of intimacy you didn’t know was possible, washing his leg, tending to him. but today isn’t that day. )

as the two of you rinse off, you’re left with this feeling, this feeling that something has changed, shifted, morphed. jack’s hands touched you like you were precious. you offered him that same care. jack turns the water off. you reach for the two towels and pass one to him and you dry off, side by side. you climb out first, the fluffy towel wrapped around your body, and without thinking twice about it, you offer jack your hand to transfer out from the shower. the towel hangs low on his hips, and you have to force yourself not to ogle him. “just take my hand,” you urge, words soft.

jack does. your thumb slides across his knuckles and you hesitate to drop it, even as he has both feet steady on the ground. there’s only a foot of space between the two of you. when you look at him, he’s already staring at you. “i needed that,” he admits in the quiet space that exists between you. the vulnerable space. the one that you’ve created here, in your little post-work oasis. “thank you.”

“you don’t need to thank me. i needed it too.” you feel yourself start to grow warm. “i think i also need to smoke.”

he sucks in a breath, the tension finally snapping, both of you smiling, content. this is easy, this is routine: smoke, sit on the couch, relax. “yeah. i got a little pack of joints on the coffee table.”

“can i crash here for a few hours? then i’ll get out of your hair?”

“stay as long as you want.” jack says it without missing a beat. he scratches at his chest, leaving angry red marks in his path. you have to tell yourself that it is not appropriate to want to trace them with your tongue.

it’s also not appropriate to shower with your attending, your mind counters. that wasn’t appropriate, but you did it.

standing there, you accept that you would do it again.

[juli-2004]

1. What song makes you feel better? Hmm I’d definitely say Linger by The Cranberries or Summertime by The Sundays

2. What is your go to comfort show? I have many lol, Supernatural, Buffy and Angel, probably more but I can’t think of them right now

3. Reading or writing? Why? Definitely reading, I’m not good with coming up with writing ideas but I have written some things, pretty fun

4. What is your favorite feeling? Accomplishing something I’ve been wanting to do

5. How do you like to take care of yourself? I like eating as healthy as I can and having nice long showers with music playing

6. What’s your favorite candle scent? Strawberry or vanilla with coconut

7. Who do you feel most like yourself around? My mom or my bestie

8. What’s a fabric/ texture that’s nostalgic for you? A soft fluffy fabric for blankets

9. Best childhood moment? Playing videos games with my family whenever I could or going on my dad’s work trips with my family whenever we were allowed

10. When was the last time you laughed so hard you cried? Probably last night when I was talking to my mother and we were joking around

11. Do you have a comfort item? I used to but I threw it out lol but I do love my bumble bee pillow pet that I still use as a pillow till this day

12. What calms you down? Crocheting or listening to music

13. Bath or shower to relax? I don’t own a bathtub so shower I guess (I’m lowkey scared of bathtubs too, I slipped in one when I was staying at my uncle’s house as a kid)

14. What’s something upcoming that you’re excited for? I would say the I Know What You Did Last Summer sequel, it’s coming out pretty close to my birthday and I love horror movies (nothing can beat the original obviously but I’m curious to see what they’re gonna do with this one)

15. Comfort food? Chips with salsa/ pico de gallo, makes me happy every single time

16. What’s something you wanna create soon? I’m hoping to work on a new crochet project soon (I should post my crochet items on here) also a new drawing

17. How do you feel best loved? When someone tells me something reminds them of me (I love when people know me so well)

18. What age in life do you think you’ll feel most yourself at? No idea but I hope it’s soon lol

19. Have you ever written or received a love letter? I have written one but never received one

20. Tell us about a memory you hold close to your heart. My first interaction with my bestie

21. Tea, Coffee, or hot cocoa? All but coffee, not a fan of coffee (I know scandalous lol)

22. Name of your favorite playlist? 90s/2000s mix (I listen to it everyday I’m so happy I made it)

23. Have you ever received flowers? Yes but not romantically

24. Who is your best friend? Nelly and my mom

25. If your soul was a color, what would it be? A light pink or purple

26. If you could live anywhere with anyone you want, where would it be and who would you bring? I would say the states or Italy with my family, pets and bestie

27. Do you like to garden? Have you ever grown something? I have tried but didn’t succeed however I would love to try again in the future

28. What are you proudest of? My ability to learn new hobbies quickly

29. Are you a kind person? I try to be… I hope people see me as kind, I like to think that I am

30. What do your hobbies look like? Crocheting, listening to music, watching movies, making edits, reading, trying to knit, drawing

No pressure tags: I have no one to tag lol but this was super fun to do

✨soft asks✨

What song makes you feel better?

What is your go to comfort show?

Reading or writing? Why?

Whats your favorite feeling?

How do you like to take care of yourself?

What’s your favorite candle scent?

Who do you feel most like yourself around?

Whats a fabric/texture that’s nostalgic for you?

Best childhood moment?

When was the last time you laughed so hard you cried? (or just felt really good afterwards)

Do you have a comfort item? Tell us about it!

What calms you down?

Bath or shower to relax?

Whats something upcoming that you’re excited for?

Comfort food?

What’s something you want to create soon?

How do you feel best loved?

What age in life do you think you’ll feel most yourself at?

Have you ever written or received a love letter?

Tell us about a memory you hold close to your heart.

Tea, Coffee, or hot cocoa?

Name of your favorite playlist?

Have you ever received flowers?

Who is your bestfriend?

If your soul was a color, what would it be?

If you could live anywhere with anyone you want, where would it be and who would you bring?

Do you like to garden? Have you ever grown something?

What are you proudest of?

Are you a kind person?

What do your hobbies look like?

[checkeredflagggs]

Finally Forever

Pairing: lando Norris x girlfriend!reader

summary: lando gets the girl — forever

a/n: this was requested back when I first post finally! Sorry it took so long but I hope you like it

Masterlist | Taglist

Finally | Finally in Love

Private Messages, Lando and Carlos/Rebecca

Private Messages, Rebecca and y/n

Private Messages, Lando and Rebecca

f1gossip

user1: OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

↳user2: I’m so excited! I love Rebecca and Carlos!

↳user1: I know!!! I need them married like yesterday

user3: man I hope it’s an engagement ring 🤞🤞🤞🤞

↳user4: same!!

user5: or he could just be buying her a piece of jewelry??

↳user6: that’s what I’m saying — I don’t think they’ve really been together long enough for an engagement ring…

↳user7: ok that’s very true — but this store is well known for its engagement rings?? Like it’s where these people go for their rings

↳user6: really??

↳user7: yeah

↳user6: hmmm 🤔

user8: you know what I want to see??

↳user9: Lando entering a jewelry store??

↳user9: because they’ve been together for years now and there’s still no ring on that finger??

↳user8: all very true

user10: ok it’s all well and good to see him centering a jewelry store but he’s got a mother and sisters? Like it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s for his girlfriend

↳user11: that’s another good point!

↳user12: right? Let’s just stop speculating on drivers lives?

Private Messages, Lando and Max F.

Private Messages, Lando and Max F./Carlos/Rebecca

Private Messages, Lando and Max F.

Private Messages, Lando and y/n

landonorris

liked by papaya_girl, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, maxfewtrell, and 1,297,455 others

tagged: papaya_girl

landonorris: she said yes and i get my forever girl

view all comments

user13: oh my god im so soft for these 2…

maxverstappen1: finally! It only took forever

↳carlossainz55: you don’t even know the half of it…

↳landonorris: go away you muppets and let me enjoy the fiancé life

charles_leclerc: Congratulations!

↳landonorris: thanks man

oscarpiastri: how long did it take you to actually propose?

↳landonorris: I’m actually not listening to you rn

↳papaya_girl: the proposal was actually pretty quick — it only took about 20 texts messages

↳oscarpiastri: he texted you the proposal??

↳oscarpiastri: actually I don’t know why I’m shocked

↳user14: he texted you the proposal 😑😬

↳papaya_girl: he did! It was actually quite cute

↳user14: if you say so…

maxfewtrell: glad you finally manned up

↳landonorris: thanks for the kick in the pants

↳papaya_girl: yes thank you max

iamrebeccad: what about the plan?

↳papaya_girl: you guys had a plan?

↳iamrebeccad: we did!

↳landonorris: yeah the plan was stressing me out so I just went for it

↳papaya_girl: and I’m so glad you did!

user15: this is the content I want to see!

↳user16: oh absolutely

↳user17: congratulations Lando!

Taglist

Please interact with my taglist post if you want to join — I don’t always check the notes on the individual posts

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @mxm47max @justaf1girl @a-beaverhausen @tallrock35 @elizamoe133 @jessica3478 @il0vereadingstuff @taylorrrrrrrrrrswiftttt @widow-cevans @1-of-my-many-obsessions @charlesgirl16 @anunstablefangirl @evie-119 @sugarfreerbr @princessesgarden @tukes @mayax2o07 @teti-menchon0604 @galaxygurlll @star73807-blog @shelbyteller @ihaveitprinteddout @lilymaleshka @kuolonsyoja @allthings-fandom @mountainshuman @hannahmotors10 @moonypixel @nikfigueiredo @daisydaze111 @deephideoutmilkshake @loveyahachoo @mimisweetz @books-fangirl-books @woderfulkawaii @fastandcurious16 @lilyofthevalley-09 @raizelchrysanderoctavius

[secretaccountlol]

GDA SUPERHERO NO WORKER COMP

Author note. (Holy yap I’m sorry)

If you've seen my Tumblr, you know l've only written for Spider-Man before. But recently, l've been getting into Mark Grayson (Invincible), and there aren't many fics for him yet, so... (atleast at the time of writing this)

Disclaimer: I'm still getting a feel for Mark's character, so excuse any OOC moments. Also, slight canon divergence-Mark's a bit older here (early 20s, college arc), and Omniman is still gone. Oh, and his bathroom is connected to his room because I said so. Uhhh plz comment, repost etc if you like this, (I read ALL OF THEM) and first time out of my comfort zone highkey scared ngl...

Shoutout to the lovely, supportive, stunning : @sobbingscripter

Another shout out to @clownprincesshq , the detailed notes on how write/the character of Mark is something I read to trying to study his character.

I hope I don’t let yall down LMAO.

About 4,000 words give or take.

18+ no minors go away!

Warning : uhh not much? Mark is kinda pissed at the reader at first due to story beats. So yk some name calling but only once.

Oh and typos, guys I'm dyslexic and this is my first story in a while go easy on me.

Oral sex on reader, the smut is short I got waaay too into the writing of the reader and mark.

Reader is AFAB, she/her pronouns aren't used :D (if l missed any please let me know l'll correct it)

Y/N is not used.

Reader has superpowers, they are * undefined* Very vague like super strength and flying.

SUMMMARYYY:

You’re hurt, no where to turn. Maybe Eve? Rex? No, too far. You’ll never make it.

You see his house.

Mark. Invincible.

Would he even open his door? Or would he just slam it in your face?

The world was spinning.

Or maybe that was just the blood loss.

Your arms trembled as you slapped a weak hand against Mark’s bedroom window, the glass cool against your burning skin. Inside, the faint outline of his sleeping figure was barely visible through the haze of your vision.

“Mark!” you hissed, voice cracking.

Nothing.

A frustrated groan tore from your throat. Of course! He was a heavy sleeper.

“Fuckin’ dumbass,” you muttered, though the insult lacked any real bite. If a doctor asked you right now, “On a scale of one to ten, how much pain are you in?” you’d probably throw them through a wall for wasting your time.

You balled your hand into a fist and slammed it against the glass again—harder this time.

*Crack.*

The window shattered under the force, shards raining onto Mark’s floor.

“Oh.”

Turns out, when you’re bleeding out and half-delirious, controlling your superhuman strength isn’t exactly a priority.

Mark jolted upright, eyes wide with alarm. “What the fuck are- ?!” His voice cut off abruptly as he slapped a hand over his own mouth, glancing toward his door. Right. His mom.

“Why the hell are you here?” he whisper-yelled, scrambling out of bed. His feet barely touched the floor before he was at the window, shoving it open. “And why did you break my window?!”

“Thank god,” you breathed, swaying slightly. “I thought I was gonna have to hover here all night—”

Your vision blurred. The edges of your consciousness frayed like a frayed rope, darkness creeping in. Just as your eyelids fluttered shut, Mark’s hands shot out, gripping your forearms.

“Shit—I got you, hold on—”

With a grunt, he hauled you inside. Your body hit the floor with a dull *thud*, sending a fresh wave of agony through your ribs.

“Dude, my mom is sleeping!” Mark hissed, crouching beside you.

You let out a weak, pained laugh. “Geez, how about ‘Are you okay?’ Or ‘Why are you covered in blood?’ Or—I dunno—‘Are you dying?’”

Attempting to sit up, you winced as your spine protested, a sharp spike of pain shooting through you. You collapsed back onto the floor with a groan.

…Actually, the floor wasn’t so bad. Cold. Solid. Maybe it would soothe the fire licking at your skin.

“I would’ve even taken ‘Why aren’t you at the GDA?’” you muttered, tilting your head to look at him.

Mark’s expression softened, worry etching deep lines into his forehead. “Okay, yeah. That was a dick move. I’m sorry—you just fuckin’ spooked me.” He shifted uncomfortably, eyes scanning the gashes and bruises littering your body. “Are you… okay?”

His hands hovered over you, trembling slightly, like he wasn’t sure where to touch without hurting you further.

You smirked. “Nah, I just love lying on the floor.”

A laugh tried to force its way out, but it turned into a wheeze halfway through. Ow.

“Hey, hey—careful,” Mark murmured, his touch feather-light as his palm pressed gently against your sternum.

You swallowed thickly. “I… Do you have a med kit?”

“Uh—yeah. Yeah, my mom kept one from when she used to patch up my dad, but I—” He ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “I don’t really know how to—”

“’S’okay,” you slurred, fighting the heaviness in your eyelids. “I can walk you through it. Just… get it before I pass out again.”

Your fingers twitched toward his wrist, brushing against his pulse point. Warm.

“Please?”

Mark’s breath hitched. Your eyes were half-lidded, glazed with pain—in any other situation, they might’ve been mistaken for bedroom eyes. He shook his head sharply, as if dispelling the thought, before scrambling to his feet.

“Be right back. ”Don’t die.”

“I’ll try”

You hummed in acknowledgment, but the darkness was too inviting. Your eyes slipped shut.

The next thing you knew, a hand was shaking your shoulder.

“Hey- hey! Are you dead? Please don’t be dead. I really don’t feel like explaining why there’s a dead person in my room.”

You cracked an eye open. “Oh, wow. Not even sad I’m dead, huh? Just ready to bury the body?”

Mark exhaled sharply, relief washing over his face. “More like I don’t wanna explain to my mom why her son—who just got back from college—is suddenly a serial killer.”

You snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure she wouldn’t be thrilled if you took after your dad.”

Silence.

“…Too soon?”

You winced. “My bad. Pain makes me a jaded fucker.” Your voice dropped. “I wish I had a family as tight as yours.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “Yeah, well… it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

You blinked. Then grinned. “Mark Grayson making a pun? Has the world gone mad?”

He frowned. “What?”

“Cracked?” You coughed out a laugh, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Considering I definitely have cracked ribs right now?”

Mark rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You must be feeling better if you’re able to lift yourself and make shit jokes.”

You choke back a laugh as you wriggle out of what is left of your costume off your body. You scoff as Mark’s breath hitched, turning away from your indecency.

“Still a virgin?” you teased, reaching for the med kit.

“Still a bitch?” he shot back.

You smirked. “Touché.”

Mark sighed, rubbing his temples. “Can you just tell me how to patch you up? I’d like you out of my house before sunrise.”

“Right.” You fumbled with the kit, hands shaking. “Okay, take this gauze and press it here to stop the bleeding. Then I’ll thread the needle so you can sew me up.”

Mark paled. “Sew you up? I can handle basic first aid, but I’m not playing surgeon tonight.”

Your fingers missed the wound entirely, and a frustrated tsk slipped out. “I said I’d walk you through it. It’s fine.”

“You can barely hold your hands steady,” Mark argued, snatching the kit back. “Let me just—uh—” He rummaged through the supplies. “Liquid bandages. Here.”

His fingers brushed your side as he leaned closer, applying the adhesive with surprising gentleness. “Most of the big cuts are already healing,” he murmured.

You grinned weakly. “Might not have Viltrumite recovery, but close enough, eh?”

Mark grimaced at your smile, your bloodstained teeth made his stomach turn “Jesus.”

A comfortable quiet settled between you, broken only by your occasional hisses and Mark’s muttered apologies. His hands were careful, methodical—like he was afraid you’d shatter under his touch.

“Instructions say to wait five minutes before it’s waterproof,” he said finally, sitting back. “After it dries, hop in the shower. I’ll lend you some clothes so you can leave after.”

He stood, moving toward his dresser.

You watched him for a moment before sighing. “Trying to get rid of me that fast?”

Mark stiffened. “Yup.”

“Then, why are you giving me a reason to come back? ” You teased, gripped the wall, hobbling toward him as you motion towards his clothes.

He didn’t turn around. “I’m not.”

“You don’t want the clothes back after y’know I wash them of course”

“Nope.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, rubbing your temples before you speak.

Your chest tightened. “Mark, I said I was sorry.”

“Sorry, doesn’t cut it.” His voice was sharp, but you could hear the hurt underneath.

“Mark—”

“No. Don’t ‘Mark’ me.” He finally faced you, eyes burning. “I confided in you. You were my teammate—” His hands clenched. “You were my friend.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

You reached for him instinctively, fingers grazing his cheek. “Mar—”

“Get your fucking hands off me.”

The venom in his tone sent a chill down your spine. That was the voice he used on villains. On traitors.

And now, it was the voice he used on you.

“You have to see it from my perspective!” you snapped, gripping his collar. “Your father was one of the strongest heroes we had, Mark! He killed the Guardians! He was a double agent for 20 years fucking years before he attacked—how was I supposed to know you weren’t the same?!”

Mark’s eyes flashed with guilt, then angry pushed “Don’t you—”

“Especially because he coincidentally decided to fuck the world up right when you got your powers!” Your voice cracked. “It was fucked for Cecil to put that shit in your head. I know that. And I hated myself for taking their side. I still hate myself for it.”

Your arms wrapped around yourself, nails digging into your skin.

“I thought I didn’t have a choice,” you whispered. “I had no one but him and the government.” A bitter laugh escaped. “Had being the key word.”

Mark’s breath caught. “Is that why—?”

You couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t bear the pity in his eyes.

“Yeah. He didn’t… take it well when I said I wanted to leave.”

Mark’s hands twitched at his sides before he stepped closer. “Did he do this to you?”

Your brain racked itself for a response, Mark wasn’t waiting, hands zip to your shoulders.

Mark’s grip on your shoulders tightened. “Did. He. Hurt. You?”

You whimpered. “Mark—you’re hurting me.”

He recoiled like he’d been burned. “Shit—I’m sorry, I just—” His hands hovered. “Did he?”

You swallowed. “No. I was pissed. Went on patrol. Found trouble. Got fucked up.” You exhaled shakily. “Usually, I’d go to the GDA, but…”

Your voice trailed off. You’d left your entire life behind for your morals. For him. And now you were standing here, pouring your heart out like some guilt-tripping mess.

“I should go,” you muttered, swiping roughly at your face. The words tasted like ash. “This mess is mine —not your problem. Thanks for… y’know. The patch job.”

You lunged for the window, ignoring the scream of protest from your ribs. Just get airborne. Just push through. But your legs betrayed you, buckling like paper under the weight of your own hubris. The sonic boom you’d aimed for sputtered into a whimper, gravity clawing you back toward earth.

Mark’s house grew terrifyingly large in your plummeting vision. At least you're aiming for the yard.

Strong arms intercepted you inches from impact, the sudden halt stealing your breath.

“Yeah,” Mark murmured, his voice vibrating through your back where it pressed against his chest. “You’re definitely staying over.”

You craned your neck. The dim streetlight silhouetted his hero gear—the sharp lines of his reforged Invincible suit, goggles still faintly glowing from the chase.

“Aren’t I glad to see you?” you rasped, forcing levity into your voice.

He huffed, the sound warmer than it had any right to be. “Dunno. You ran out pret-ty fast.”

“Costume change just to come get lil old me?”

“Well, you can get a little squirrely, I didn’t know how far I would have to chase you.”

His feet plant on his roof as he bridal carries you inside,

“Alright- uh, so the bathroom is over there and I left you some clothes here to use.” Mark motions with his head.

“I think you can put me down now, in-vin-ci-ble” Your smirk widens as Mark's face turns beet red as he drops your legs softly.

“Yes, right right right. Sorry sorry- uhm. I-i’ll stay here“

Mark awkwardly shuffles to his bed, hands in his lap as he watches you slink into the bathroom.

-

The shower scalded away the night’s failures. You lingered until the steam thinned and the water ran cold,

Mark’s silhouette was a shadow against the moonlit window, his shoulders slumped in a poor imitation of relaxation when you emerge,

You can tell he's pretending he doesn't notice your there, he was a lousy liar, his body too honest you watch as it shifts feeling his eyes on you. You cough to get his attention

“Clothes are over there,” he blurted, jabbing a finger at the dresser without turning. His ears burned crimson.

You smile, nodding as a thank you, The towel hit the floor with a damp thud.

He choked. “Jesus—warn a guy!” His body makes a 180 to the wall barring his view of bare legs.

“Pfft, Mark, it’s fine,” you snorted, flapping a dismissive hand even though he’s still stubbornly facing the wall.

“ I - mean are you sure I-just, y’know your privacy and, and stuff!” You giggle as Mark's hands karate chop the air as he intensely monologue.

Even his posture screamed guilt—one foot pivoted toward you like a compass needle, betraying him entirely.

“Privacy’s a luxury where I grew up, Flyboy. “

“Still—you don’t just do that without warning someone!” Mark’s protest cracked mid-sentence, his head twisting to steal a glance over his shoulder before committing to facing you fully. ”Plus,

You’re not with them now. Remember?” The edge in his voice bled into something softer—an oath masquerading as a reminder.

The words hung in the quiet of the moonlight. “You get to choose what you want to be now.” Your name—always a weapon in others’ mouths���feels soft, malleable on his tongue as he stepped closer.

You curled inward, arms wrapping around yourself. “I-I don’t… I’ve never had choices before.“ The admission clawed up your throat, raw and bloody.

Well now, you have plenty of time to figure that out.” His eyes breathe hop, taking a hold on you as his gaze softens, mellowing the heat of the unknown for you.

”Its late, we should lay down.” Mark smiles at you as you nod. .

The floorboards creaked as you knelt, laying flat.

“What’re you—?”

“Laying down to go to sleep?.” You shift on the floor, wincing as your ribs protest. “Goes great with existential crises.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s fine! Feels just like home!”

Mark dragged a palm down his stubbled jaw, the *click* of his molars grinding louder than his words. “If you sleep on the floor, I have to sleep on the floor.”

You square your shoulders, chin jutting. “Your roof, your rules, right? I rule that you get yourself into that damn bed, and I stay here. Not like you can make me”

A beat. Then—

The grin that split his face wasn’t boyish. It was predatory, all white teeth and dilated pupils.

“Oh, no. I can make you.”

He moved faster than your battered reflexes could track. One second you were glaring up at him—the next, his arms banded around your waist, hauling you onto the mattress.

“Mark Put me down, you asshat!”

“ Issa compromise,” he declared, legs tangling with yours to pin you in place. His knee brushed dangerously close to your thigh.

You squirmed out of his grasp. “You’re insufferable.”

Your glare could’ve scorched planets as toss it over your shoulder you lunged for the bed’s edge.

His forearm banded across your ribs, hauling you backward into the crater of his body.

His palms splayed hot against your hipbones, thumbs digging into the hollows like he was mapping fault lines. You arched, but his grip was tectonic—unyielding.

“Nope, no escapin’”

You grunt wriggling once more, his knees caging your thighs as he wrestled you flat.

“Goddamnit, Mark! You are so-“

The contact was accidental. Had to be. But when his knee brushed that electric junction between your thighs, your breath shattered into a gasp—sharp, fractured. Mark stilled, arms iron bands around your ribs as he hauled you backward into the heat of his body.

"I win," he purred, lips skimming the helix of your ear. The vibration unspooled something primal in your gut.

"Y-you’re a dick“ you hissed, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

“Ah yes.” Mark chuckled, as he nosed the frantic pulse at your throat. ”I’m a dick for making sure my friend doesn’t sleep on the floor.” His knuckles grazing the waistband of your borrowed sweats.

His head tilted to meet your eyes “How terrible of me?” he grins.

Asshole.

You feel your face is a nuclear plant right now.

He has to know right? That he’s turning you on? That you're basically soaking the brand-new pants he gave you?

“Y-y- I- “ Your words dissolved into a choked stutter, palms slamming over your burning face as you twisted away.

“Hey? Oh— shit. Did I crush your ribs or something?”

“No– you didn’t I just—“ You bite your lip, not exactly first-date conversation material to tell him you want him to fuck you senseless? You swallow the confession, reaching for the closest lie instead.

“I- uh.. can feel..” you squeak,

You turn to look at his face again, eyes moving between his mouth and then his eyes as Your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“I can feel you- against my ..-butt..”

You mentally scream into the void, what are you 5? as if your brain short-circuited mid-crisis. Ass was right there. Ass was obvious. Why didn’t you say ass.

“I-“

Mark is short-circuiting too, lips stuck on a half-formed syllable.

“I am so sorry- I just and we uh, it’s -“ his body launching upright so fast the headboard rattled. Palms slapped the air in surrender, then cycled through all the gestures of sorry he could muster.

A quiet huff of laughter escapes you as you watch him unravel - his hands conducting an invisible orchestra of panic, gaze ricocheting between your face, the ceiling, and some fascinating spot on the bed sheet that might hold the secrets of the universe.

You slip your hand up to his cheeks, “Mark, it’s okay.”

His entire body stills—that terrifying, pre-battle freeze—before his gaze locks onto you.

“I-..I liked it.” Your lips curled into a smile, suckerpucked his heart.

Your mouth brushes his cheekbone - just a whisper of contact,

Your lashes dip—not from shyness, but from the weight of this moment, the gravity of him.

The kiss you press to his cheek is featherlight, barely there, yet it sends a current through both of you.

No script for you. no rehearsed lines—just instinct and the way your pulse roars in your ears.

Movies never showed how soft skin could be, how his breath would catch, how right it would feel when he leans into your touch like you’re the only solid thing in the world.

The first real contact of lips ignites something primal in your veins.

Not fireworks - that's too tame - this is a supernova erupting behind your ribs as Mark's tongue slides against yours, your teeth clashing against eachother.

He braces above you, the solid heat of his body pressing you deeper into the mattress as one broad hand slides down the arch of your spine. When he finally breaks for air, his breath comes in ragged gusts against your swollen lips. Your hands skate lower—hesitant, then hungry—nails catching on the hem of his shirt.

“Do you want to-? I mean we can stop here I don’t .. I don’t want you to feel rushed, okay?”

“You said I get to choose now, right? Right now, I choose you.”

The words leave your lips repeating the vow he spoke before, rough at the edges but unshakable. Before he can react, you surge forward—capturing his mouth in a kiss that’s all heat and no hesitation.

You didn’t even have to ask, he rips it off without a second thought, and you reach to do the same before he stops you.

“No.. keep it on, I- .. like how my shirt looks on you.”

A grin appears on your face as he leans in to kiss you again, his hands once again finding your waistband, this time slipping your pants, his pants off your legs, and you kick them off.

You palm his member through his shorts as you groan into his mouth.

“Fuckk-“ Mark's words slip through your mouth before allowing his hands to slip down your stomach to your folds.

Your thighs clench as hands fumble, to find your clit, hips buck in response, your whines fueling his attack.

“Feels like your thighs are gonna break my wrist-“ A small chuckle at your dismay.

You offer a whimper as a rebuttal between your lips as you widen yourself, pushing harder against his clothed crotch.

“Not fair-“ you pat your way back up, slipping your hands into his shorts, your hands making contact with his burning hot skin. His cock, feels strong, solid.

“Holy shit- your-- your hand, oh fuck.” You watch as Mark's eyes squeeze close, brows knitting together as the pleasure flows through him.

His hands grip your wrist as he grinds down into your hand.

“Sorry- fuck. ss’feels so fuckin’ good-“ his whimpers fuel your core with desire, you pull away as Mark keeps bucking at your hand, and he whines at the loss of your hand.

“Nonono- why’d you?” He pouts as he starts to rub your clit once more, and you buck again.

“Take- ah! Take off your pants, I refuse to be the only one naked here.”

“You can still talk in a full sentence, I guess I haven’t done my job clearly yet”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

Mark offers a smirk as he slithers down your body, His hands slip up your shirt softly cupping your breast,

His lips graze your waist as he sinks into your heat.

A tentative lick sends your body in a state of shock, your head throws back a moment before you steady yourself to look at him again.

“ That felt-“

“Heavenly?” His mouth hungrily at your clit, Licks tantalize, each one deeper than the last your hips try to buck up his hands grip your waist, pinning your place, heavy pants feel the room as you grip his hair earning a moan that vibrates your clit, and as an ever delicious way.

“God, You taste so fucking good, I could keep eating out for days” his fingers prod your hole, circling its edge before slowly stretching your cunt, you swear you can hear god calling your name as he fucks his fingers deeper.

An intense pressure is building inside you, clawing at you as you grip the sheets of the bed, “Ma-shit what- something, what-“

Mark groans in response, his fingers moving as he sucks on your clit, your eyes shut.

“I— I feel like I’m going to - hn-feel“ your hand reaches for his hair again, earning slurps from Mark's punishing mouth “I f- I—-i’m gonn- burst!”

An overwhelming surge of energy pluses over you, as your stomach twists, your eyes roll back. Your mouth chants Mark’s name like a mantra.

You struggle to breathe as you come down from your high, hazy vision as you see Mark hovering over you with slight concern on his face.

“Wha- what was that?” Your eyes blink slowly as your vision begins to clear.

“Uh- well, that was- you came, I think? Honestly, I’ve never- seen someone do that when they cum?” Mark rubs the back of his neck as he speaks.

“Do- do what?” Your head cocks to the side as mark bewilderment grows,

“You don-?” His mouth splits into a grin, “I made you cum so hard that you have memory loss?”

“I-“ creeping embarrassment reels in your mind, “Shut up! It’s - I don’t have experience like you!”

“Cleaaarly? And you called me the virgin?”

You lunge forward and shove him with all the force you can muster.

At least you tried to, but he doesn’t move—doesn’t even flinch. It’s like trying to push a brick wall. That infuriating smirk still clings to his face, calm and smug,

“Just tell me what happened!”

“Fine, fine-, when you came, you caused a power surge, knocked out the power in the neighborhood for a good minute.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He deadpans.

“Huh, didn’t know I could- do.. that? I didn’t think my powers were electric as well?”

You open your mouth to speak, words getting caught in your throat as soon you look at Mark.

Your head turns instinctive, as shame burns your ears.

“Uh. So I know it caused a power surge and all when I came but-“ you face him once more,

“can- can we continue, please?” Your feet shuffle under Mark as he chuckles at your out-of-character shyness, though not unwelcome.

His fingers curl beneath your chin, tilting your face up until you're drowning in those puppy eyes, “As much as I would love that, I ..like you, I don’t want to overwhelm you, especially with what’s going on so much going on, I-“ The words fracture as his smile does, “I feel like I’m taking advantage.”

Your palm seals over his racing heart, your other lays on his cheek, “But you aren’t- I wanna be here, with you, Mark.”

“I know, and believe I want nothing more than to take things fast with you but, ” his thumb swipes across your lips, “But, you have no one to tell you this. When I was in your position -uhm, similar situation? Yeah.. in a similar situation, everyone told me to slow down, to wait.”

A shuddering breath escapes him as his eyelids lift, They flutter heavy as his gaze finds you “You’re gonna experience a lot of new things now that you're not under Cecil’s control. I need…no- .. I want to be that person for you, help you slow down, take in the little things in your new life.“

Your breath catches, as realization settles over you.

He’s right, things are different. You are different.

No handlers. No missions. Just you.

You are not alone, Invincible will catch you if you fall now. The ground is softer when it’s him.

“Okay. I trust you.”

“Okay.”

The slow collision of lips mend the promise between words.

“Okay, I’m getting sleepy again, let’s lay down.”

“Agreed”

A soft hum of agreement as he pulls you back against his chest, his nose finding its familiar spot in the crook of your neck. His arms lock around you like living seatbelts,

The realization comes slowly, sweetly it repeats:

No mission clock ticking down by the bed.

No weapons within easy reach.

Just Mark's steady heartbeat against your spine and the quiet creak of the house settling around you.

You fall asleep to the rhythm of his fingers tracing idle patterns between your shoulder blades.

“I got you.”

-

The door's whine of protest came a half-second before Debby's singsong voice.

“Mark, I hope you’re hungry. I cooked pancakes and eggs! I tried out a new recipe, so tell me if-“

The sentence died mid-air as your spine met the headboard with a thunk, blankets yanked to your chin in reflex.

“Uh- hi, Mrs. Gray-uh- Miss Debby..?” Your voice pitches up an octave as you yank the sheets higher again , toes digging into Mark’s calf in a what the hell kick that would’ve sent a normal person flying.

Mark jerks awake with a noise halfway between a snort and a choke, hair sticking up in sleep-mussed spikes. He blinks at the doorway like he’s trying to decrypt an alien language.

“Hm- wha, why are you?” His eyes are rubbed from sleep as he turns the door.

“MOM?” He bolts upright so fast the mattress protests, voice cracking.

“ Shit- I mean shoot, I am so sorry I can explain I promise- they were hurt, and we -“ His hands flap between you and the first-aid kit still open on the nightstand like it might magically explain everything.

Debby’s smile doesn’t even twitch.

“Just come down to breakfast when you're ready, don’t let the Pancakes get cold!” she sing-songs, already retreating. The door clicks shut with devastating calm.

“I guess that went.. pretty well?”

Mark collapses backward with an arm over his eyes.

“Oh my god, I’ll never live this down.”

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

Party4U

I wish you’d get here, kiss my face

Summary: It’s your birthday, and you throw a party in hopes Spencer Reid shows up because truth is, you only threw this party for him…

A/N: ngl writing this gave me bad flashbacks and now I never want to drink again…(I’m still going to)

BYR(b4 u Reid): Alcohol, mentions of drunk people, drunk kissing (yes lawd), awkward Spencer, season 1 Spencer, reader is over 20, no use of y/n, and sexual content. Lmk if I'm missing anything.

It was getting later into the night, people were stumbling around, dancing, taking shots, and playing beer pong. It had now become a full-blown party, and everyone seemed to be having the time of their lives.

You were a little buzzed, not too much. You were pacing yourself, holding off. You were waiting for someone. He promised he'd come. And Spencer Reid never broke a promise.

Especially not today. Not on your birthday.

“Birthday girl isn’t even drunk yet! This is not good.” Your roomate Sarah shouted, clearly several drinks in. “I’m waiting for someone.” You replied, sipping from your cup.

She rolled her eyes and snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re waiting on that nervous little FBI chihuahua.” Your mouth fell open slightly. “Don’t be rude. He’s sweet. And yes, I am waiting.”

She sighed dramatically. “Well, good luck with that. This is definitely not the kind of place he’d show up to. You’re going to get stood up.”

You shook your head. Spencer wouldn’t do that. If he wasn’t coming, he’d at least call. He’d explain.

Still, as the party kept going and the minutes ticked by, you couldn’t help but feel the little twist in your stomach. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he got too nervous. This really wasn’t his scene.

Maybe the party was a bad idea.

You sighed, slipping into your room. Thankfully, it was empty. No couples, no drunken chaos. Just your stuff, your bed, and the hum of bass through the walls.

You sat at your vanity, looking at yourself in the mirror. You’d put effort into tonight. Found the perfect dress, something cute but not over the top, just enough to feel confident.

You knew Spencer didn’t care about appearances like most people. That’s part of why you liked him so much. But still, you wanted him to see you at your best.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in. It was silly to get this upset over a guy. You told yourself you’d take a few more drinks and forget about it in the morning.

Then your door creaked open.

“Sarah, I’ll be out in a bit.” You said without looking. But then-

“Hey.”

You turned quickly, and there he was.

Your whole face lit up. “Spencer!” You squealed, rushing to him and wrapping your arms around his neck. He froze just for a second before placing his hands nervously and gently on your waist.

“You came! I was worried, I thought maybe…” you pulled back just enough to look at him. “I thought maybe you weren’t going to show up.”

“You were worried about me not showing up?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

“Of course I was! You are my main guest.” You beamed at him. He blinked like he couldn’t quite process your words. You were always open about how you felt, always flirting, always dropping not-so-subtle hints. But somehow, Spencer Reid, certified genius, 187 IQ, turned into a socially anxious mess whenever you did.

It wasn’t that he didn’t notice. He just wasn’t sure how to reciprocate it back in a way that wasn’t so awkward. You made flirting seem so effortless, so easy. He on the other hand would just make a total fool of himself.

You tugged his hand. “Come on, we’re taking a shot.”

But he didn’t budge. You looked back and saw the nerves written all over his face. “Everything okay?”

“I,um, I don’t know anyone here. And I’ve never… drank before.” He admitted.

You tilted your head, smiling at him softly. “Aw, I get to pop your cherry?” You teased, then quickly added. “I’m kidding Spence. You don’t have to drink. We can just hang out and laugh at the ones who had too much.”

His eyes softened. “I don't want you to be bored. It's your birthday.”

“Well you're here so I won't be bored.” you said sincerely. “No, it's okay… I want us to have fun. I’ll get over it.”

“Spencer we don't have to, I promise you,” you assured him, looking deep into his eyes so he knew how serious you were. “I want to.” He replied.

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll take baby sips first.”

And then, to his surprise, you kissed his cheek. He blushed instantly.

You led him out into the crowd, fingers still laced with his, grabbing two bottles. “We can sip on these until you get a bit more comfortable.” You said into his ear, he nodded.

You then introduced him to a few friends, watching his posture shift slowly, the tension starting to ease once he realized no one was judging him. If anything, your friends seemed impressed with how highly you spoke of him. He noticed the way you held onto his arm, how you made him feel like he belonged.

“How’re you feeling?” You asked as the two of you stepped outside for some air.

“I feel… good. You know a lot of people.”

“Yeah, I tried to keep it small but, well, word got around.”

“I think it’s fascinating. That you’re so comfortable with people.” You looked up at him, smiling. “Some people think I talk too much.”

“I like it. I like listening to you talk.” He said it like it surprised even him. You blushed. “Really?”

He nodded, then straightened up. “Actually… I think I’m ready for something stronger.”

You grinned. “Alright, big guy. Let’s go.”

Inside, you let him pick the drink. You poured two shots and handed him his cup.

“You ready?”

He gave a tiny nod, and you clinked cups. The moment he drank it, he coughed, making the worst face. You handed him a chaser immediately.

“Thanks.” He said hoarsely, lips pink and eyes wide.

Soon, he loosened up even more. You could tell, he held your hand more confidently, his hand occasionally finding your waist. You liked it. He seemed…freer.

“Beer pong?” You suggested. He gave you a look. “I don’t know. I’m not great at throwing things.”

“You’re good at math. I’m sure there’s some equation you can solve to get it right.” He smiled. “I’m pretty sure the game requires physical coordination, too.”

You looked him up and down. “Well, physically, you look good.” You teased giving him a thumbs up. He blushed and you led him to the table.

Shockingly, you two were winning. Granted, your opponents were very, very drunk, but still.

When Spencer made the second-to-last cup, you cheered, high-fiving him. Your fingers interlaced and lingered, until he pulled away.

You turned toward the table, ready to shoot your shot until your felt Spencer’s hand find your waist, then slid down your back to the hem of your dress slightly adjusting it because it had ridden up a bit.

Your breath caught.

So did his.

He couldn’t believe he just did that, neither could you.

You won the game. Of course.

You guys took celebratory shots, Spencer was getting better and better each time.

Spencer sat on the couch and gestured to his lap. “What?” You asked, heart skipping. He didn’t answer, just gently pulled you down to sit on him.

One of his arm wrapped around your waist, resting on your thigh, while the other interlaced with your hand.

“Are you comfortable?” He whispered into your ear. “I always am when I’m with you.”

He looked up at you smiling. Butterflies. Everywhere.

You both sat, just watching people, content in the buzz of the room, the safety of his presence.

His fingers were now smoothing over your skin, rubbing gently, innocently, on your thigh.

You knew he probably didn’t even realize what he was doing, but it made your thoughts spiral. Your heart beat faster.

You both sat together for a little longer, having conversation about everything, your guys cheeks were flush but starting to slowly cool down. You could feel Spencer’s gaze on you, soft but nervous, like he was building up the courage to say something.

“I, um… I have a present for you.” He said quietly, fingers now fidgeting with the hem of your dress. Your heart skipped a beat. “Spence, you didn’t need to-”

“I wanted to.” He cut in, his voice firm but still shy. His eyes searched yours. “Can I give it to you? In your room?”

Your stomach fluttered. You nodded, lips tugging into a smile as you stood and offered your hand. He took it, his fingers trembling slightly against yours as you led the way to your room.

You shut the door behind him, and took a seat at the edge of your bed, and he joined you. Close enough for your thighs to brush. You watched, your chest tightening, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. He opened it carefully, revealing a delicate gold necklace with a tiny diamond that shimmered under the soft light.

“Spencer…” your voice came out barely above a whisper. “This is beautiful.”

“You like it?” He asked, eyes hopeful, and nervous. “I love it.” You said genuinely, looking at him. “It’s perfect. I’m wearing this everyday.”

His mouth twitched into a small, relieved smile. “Can I put it on you?”

You turned without hesitation, he brushed your hair out the way, his fingers lightly touching your skin, featherlight and cautions, and that little contact sent a warm ripple down your spine.

He clasped it at the nape of your neck with slow, precise movements. His fingers lightly ran down your spine, and you turned to him, throwing your arms around his neck in a hug. “Thank you. I love it so much, Spence.”

“I’m really glad.” He said, his voice soft, eyes a little stunned by your closeness. His hand smoothed up and down your back, you pull back a little.

Your guys faces only inches apart, eyes low, and dazed. Spencer couldn’t handle it anymore, he was tired of depriving himself of you.

His hand came up, gently cradling your jaw, his touch careful. Then, slowly, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was soft, hesitant, he was scared you were going to pull away.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you kissed him back like your life depended on it, you had been waiting so long for this moment and you were even willing to wait longer. Your desperation flattered him. He never imagined he could make someone feel this way.

“I’ve wanted this so bad.” You murmured against his lips, brushing your thumb along his cheeks. “Really?” He asked, you just nodded and deepened the kiss more.

His hands found your waist, bolder now, pulling you onto him, your words had given him confidence. You settled there easily, legs on both sides, hands cradling his face as your kisses turned more insistent.

You pushed him down onto your bed, hovering over him, your lips moving from his lips down to his jaw. When his hands dropped from your waist, unsure again, you gently grabbed them and brought them right back to where they belonged.

You continued leaving a trail down his neck, teeth grazing his skin, listening to the tiny breathy sounds he couldn’t hold in. You barely heard it but, it was there. Your name, a whisper that lit something wild inside of you.

You reached for his tie, loosening it, and discarding it somewhere on the floor in your room. Your fingers hovered over the buttons of his shirt, you glanced up at him, silently asking for permission.

He nodded slowly, jaw tight with want, and you undid them, one by one, revealing more of him. He propped himself on his elbows, and pulled you into him for another kiss.

You slowly slid the shirt off of him, moving the fabric off of his arms. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your dress, dragging it up slowly, cautiously, until the edge of your underwear peeked.

You broke the kiss to take in this sight of him, your fingers exploring the planes of his chest, the softness of his skin. You planted kisses on him, over his heart, and when he tilted your chin up with his finger, his lips found yours again, hungrier.

You felt him, hard beneath you, pressing up against you, and instinctively, your hips rolled down against him, pulling a surprised moan from his mouth.

“Spencer…” you breathed out, your voice barely hanging on. His hands gripped your waist again, then slid lower to your ass, guiding your hips as he moved you over him with more intention. His breath was shaky, his voice low and warm and desperate.

He said your name, like a confession.

You grind your hips down again, his hands gripped you tighter, encouraging you to keep going, to keep moving against him. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, mouth parted in disbelief at the pleasure that rolled through him.

He looked completely undone, and it was just from you sitting on him, fully clothed.

You leaned down, kissing along the column of his throat, letting your lips linger just beneath his ear. “You okay?” You whispered, breath warm against his skin.

He nodded quickly, then stammered out. “Y-yeah. Definitely. More than okay.”

You smiled, biting back a laugh, because the way he looked, completely wrecked already, was maybe the hottest thing you’d ever seen. You sat up slightly, hands trailing down his chest, appreciating every inch of him.

“You’re really something else.” You said, brushing your thumb across his lower lip. He caught your hand, kissed your palm. So gentle and slow it made your breath hitch.

“You’re the one that’s something else.” He murmured, voice hoarse. “You’re perfect, everything you do.”

That made your chest ache, you leaned down, kissed him again, slow, deep, and meaningful. You needed him to feel what words can't say.

Spencer grabbed your waist, gently guided you onto your back, moving over you cautiously.

His mouth moved to the side of your neck, your dress slipped higher as you spread your legs slightly, letting him fit between them.

Your fingers found the back of his neck, pulling him to your lips. Spencer’s hand slid slowly up your body, tentative but curious, his fingers tracing the edges of your dress as it rose. When he finally pulled back to look at you, really look, his eyes landed on your black lace underwear, and he just admired.

He couldn’t believe this was real, you felt like a dream.

His fingers brushed over the fabric, hesitant. Gentle. You watched the awe on his face, the way he took you in like you were something sacred.

“Do you… want to take them off?” You softly ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes darted up to meet yours, wide and startled. His chest rose and fell faster now, the weight of the moment clearly settling over him.

“We don’t have to.” You said quickly. “We can take things slow, Spencer.”

He swallowed hard, and gave you a nod. “I-I want this. I really do. I just… don’t want this to be…” he paused, searching for the right words. “I don’t want it to feel like a one-time thing. You’re not that for me.”

You nodded, smiling at him, your chest warm. “I know. Me neither.”

With a soft exhale, he gently reached for the hem of your dress, pulling it back down to cover you up.

He moved off of you, grabbed your hand pulling you up on your feet. His hands were careful, reverent, as he adjusted the strap of your dress onto your shoulder.

You reached for his shirt, draping it back over his shoulders and slowly buttoning it up, watching his cheeks flush a soft red under your gaze.

He cleared his throat. “What?”

“Nothing.” You said, smiling.

He hesitated, then asked. “Did you… want to keep going?”

You but your lip, nodding. “Of course I did. But I agree. When we do decide to… take that next step… it should be special. Not with a bunch of drunk people stumbling around downstairs.”

He laughed quietly, relieved. “Yeah..”

You kissed him again, softly.

“Should we go back to the party?” You asked, fingers laced with his. He nodded. “You go for now, I’ll be out there in a bit.” He tells you, you smirked at him knowing why he was going to stay back.

“Alright, if you need any help or anything just give me a call.” You teased, he looked at you shaking his head at your teasing. “Very funny.” He sarcastically said, but you caught the small smile tugging at his lips.

You opened your bedroom door and stepped out, flashing him one more smile before closing it behind you.

“Where have you been?” Sarah asked the second you turned around. “I was with Spencer.” You replied casually.

Her eyes widen. “Did you guys just-”

“No, we didn’t.” You cut her off quickly. “Let’s step away, come on.”

You led her away from your room, and thankfully she had gotten distracted by someone else and wandered off.

You glanced around the house, realizing how tired you were of the party. Your home felt overcrowded, loud, and no longer fun. You were close to calling the cops on your own party, but luckily the neighbors beat you to it.

You stood outside as an officer explained the noise complaint and curfew.

“Alright, sir. I’ll shut it down.” You said with a polite smile. He nodded, and you waved him off.

Back inside, you cut the music and made the announcement. “Alright guys, party’s over.” You watched everyone slowly trickle out. “Sorry.” You said to a few as they passed.

Spencer found you shortly after. He looked concerned. “What happened?”

“Police got called.” You told him with a shrug.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You smiled. “Honestly, I was about to call them myself if people didn’t start leaving soon.” He laughed, and you joined him.

Once it was just the two of you, and your very drunk roommates who had knocked out in their rooms, you both started cleaning up a little.

“It’s a mess.” You said, tossing red solo cups into the trash bag. “Yeah. People are gross.” He muttered as he poured out a half-full beer. “Thank you for helping me.” You said sincerely. “No problem.” He replied, flashing you a sweet smile.

After most of the mess was cleaned, you both settled on the couch. You leaned into his side, his arm wrapping comfortably around you.

“Can you spend the night?” You hesitantly asked, titling your head up to look at him. He nodded almost instantly. “Of course.”

You smiled, but he suddenly stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“Left something in the kitchen. I’ll be back.” He assured you. You nodded, watching him walk off. When he returned, your eyes lit up. He was holding a small cake with lit candles. It was your birthday cake, the one you had completely forgotten about.

He started singing softly, and your cheeks hurt from how hard you were smiling.

“Make a wish.” He said once he finished, and you did. You closed your eyes and blew out the flames.

He held the cake out toward you. “Take a bite.”

You eyes him suspiciously but leaned in anyway, and sure enough, he gently pushed the cake into your face. Just a little frosting dotted your nose and chin.

“Spencer!” You gasped, laughing as you lightly hit his arm. He laughed too, setting the cake down, and then leaned in to wipe the frosting from your skin with his finger. You watched him as he brought it to his lips, sucking it clean.

He moved closer, pressing his lips to yours.

“Happy birthday.” He whispered as he pulled back just slightly. You smiled at him. “Thank you.” And then you kissed him again, slower, softer…

Dividers from @hyuneskkami !!

Writing this was fun!! I love bold Spencer! 🤭 also listen to the song, I just rediscovered it and became obsessed again. Live, Love, Laugh Charli xcx <3

Thank you to all who reblog & comment!! I really appreciate it sm!

~ Tag List ~

@samslovebug @alastorssimp @sleepysongbirdsings @khxna

[oddlylovingaddiction]

; Coming Full Circle

Part 1: Here , Part 2 (You’re here)

Sorry that it took so long everyone, I’m close to graduation now and I’ve been busy, however I hope this is good!

CW: Reader is pregnant BUT is gender neutral only being referred to as you, if you don’t have the ability to get pregnant you do now (in this series). Neglected reader x (platonic.) bat family. Reader is probably around in your 20s (21 - 25) and is the 5th(??) oldest. READER ALSO HAS NO IDEA THAT THE WAYNE FAMILY ARE SUPERHEROS (for now…) Reader is also bit emotional because of pregnancy hormones.

TW: Past abuse in the form of emotional neglect, Pregnancy, Arguments

The Garden was warm, you could almost relax and drink your tea peacefully.

Keyword being almost. Because unfortunately you were surrounded and being interrogated by some of your siblings. Dick, Tim, Cassandra, Jason and Damian.

“Who’s your husband?” Cassandra asks curiously. You really didn’t want to tell them anything but it’s clear if you ignore them, Tim the cyber stalker will just drag it up.

“I’d like to keep my private life—.” You go to reply but Damian interrupts, “I bet you the husband is made up.” and for some reason Jason nods along. Ever since yesterday Damian has stuck by you, anywhere you go in the mansion he’s somehow lurking behind you or around you in general. You’re not sure why especially since when you woke up he had gone.

“He is real.” You scoff your face bunching up in annoyance. “Oh yeah then why isn’t he here with you right now then?” Jason questions clearly not believing you like Damian. “… we had a small fight.” You reply slowly, concern blooming on all of their faces. It feels you with a mixed feeling… happy that finally some people in your family are concerned and also annoyed because they have no damn right to look at you like that. “I thought you said it was a disagreement?” Damian argued.

“It was on his end… but I suppose it was more of a fight on mine.” You mumble embarrassed, leaning your head on your hand to cover your mouth.

“What was the fight over?” Cassandra asks and you wince. You realllyyyyy didn’t want to answer that but you don’t want them to think of the worst scenario about you and your husband.

“It… was over the colour of the nursery walls…” You whisper-mumble closing your eyes shut. “Huh?” Tim replies.

“It was over the colour of the nursery walls…” you say still whispering but not mumbling anymore. “Can you speak up? I don’t think any of us caught that.” Dick adds.

“IT WAS OVER THE COLOUR OF THE NURSERY WALLS OKAY?!” You burst out standing up quickly as you slam your hands on the table.

Everyone goes silent as you sink back into your chair hands over your face embarrassed. “That’s it? Are you serious??” Jason grunted clearly he thinks you’re insane for choosing to stay with family over the colour of some walls. And you admit “it does sound ridiculous but in my head at the time it was a lot bigger of a deal…” you feel so embarrassed.

Surprisingly Damian pats your shoulder gently while you’re slouched over, “I support you and your future divorce. Because if he can’t let you pick the wall colour then what else will he do? His lover is pregnant, he should give in.” He advises which just makes you even more embarrassed because you can’t believe you’re being comforted by a kid. Cassandra also leans in and pats you on the back as well, at this point you’re wondering if you could just bury yourself in a hole.

“This is so stupid…” Jason mutters, “Why…” Tim adds and you can hear Dick trying not to laugh at the absurdity. “Pregnancy hormones.” You can hear Cassandra whisper-mouths as a reply to Tim.

“You guys don’t have to comfort me, I know it’s dumb.” You say finally looking up at them all as Cassandra and Damian retract their hands. “If you know just go back.” Jason frowns before Dick elbows him in the ribs. “I would but it just feels too embarrassing…” you sigh. You can’t believe you’re having this conversation with people a phew years ago probably wouldn’t notice if you were dead. “Is that it?” Tim probes, he knows that there’s got to be more than you’re letting onto, which there is.

“And… because I can’t help but be worried… what if this is the first fight before it gets worse? If we are arguing now what will happen when the baby is here? What if he doesn’t love me anymore because of this?” You confess. Your husband is the closet to you and you can’t bear to imagine losing or fighting with.

“It was just one argument if he doesn’t still love you over and chooses to fight with you more, then just kill him.” Jason stated to which earned a bunch of glares from the table, minus Damian who shrugged in agreement.

“Don’t listen to Jason just divorce him if he does that.” Cassandra proposes clearly uncomfortable with the talk of murder. You laugh softly. You choose to just hum in acknowledgment of their words, a small knot tying in your heart. It feels like your head is full of lead, everything right now going on with your husband and being around your family again it’s all too much.

“I think I’m just going to go relax…” you say picking up your purse. But instead of going towards the front door you go to the nearest car. “Wait!? Where are you going?!” Dick calls after you confused as everyone stands up and follows behind you confused.

“Retail therapy.” You grin as you turn around to smile at them.

You didn’t expect them to follow you. But perhaps you should’ve. You also should’ve stayed with your husband instead of coming back to the manor.

You shake your head trying to refocus on shopping and not focus on all the things overwhelming you right now..

You immediately spot your favourite store, it was a department store that had everything from food to clothes to the strangest items you’ve ever seen in your life. The last time you went you saw a statue of Abraham Lincoln in drag, a smut book of the current president and his political opponent and a dress covered in buttons.

“What is this.” Damian pointed at the store. The store had a sort of rundown look that immediately you probably wouldn’t go in now however since you’ve been here since you were just a bored teen who used to explore Gotham without a care in the world. “A store.” You say bluntly as you walk past them and head in, not bothering to explain anymore. Of course you’re not free of them yet since they also go in with you.

The store inside is similar to a warehouse inside, the only thing separating it from being an actual warehouse is the decoration on the floors and ceilings. You decide to peak at the clothing isle first, they usually have some cute baby clothes.

It seems they have continued to follow you, Dick grabs two shirts and checks their price tags before looking at you confused, “why is everything so cheap?” He frowns. You scowl right back in reply, “Because I’m basically their only customer, Richard.” You flip your head back around and walk off determined to get to the kids section. You knew a Dick wasn’t trying to attack you personally but you loved this damn store and you wouldn’t let anyone ruin that for you.

Two items in the baby’s section stood out and you could decide which one to buy. One was a onesie, it looked liked it was based off of that one popular kid’s book caterpillar and the other being watermelon overalls. Whatever you’ll just get both. After all your kid should be well dressed and have a bunch of different choices. As you held the clothing, it felt weird to hold up such tiny articles of clothing, to know you’ll have to give birth to a little life makes you all nervous and emotional. You can feel a small lump in your throat forming, you pull out your phone and check the messages from your husband. You usually did that when you were feeling emotional it helped you calm down. You forgot that you were currently ignoring him so when you opened up the messages you just felt even worse.

New messages from: My Superhero ❤️💍

“My love, please. I’m sorry we can do your choice okay?”

“I know you’re upset but I have checked almost every hotel and they say you aren’t staying with any of them.”

“The love of my life you are very pregnant, hormonal and quite frankly a little tiny bit insane. I’m worried about you.”

Okay the insane bit was unnecessary and lowkey pissed you off all over again. You had to pull yourself out of the baby clothing section and your phone otherwise you’d end up just buying everything and calling your husband to yell at him for that line. Instead you choose to loiter around the kids section instead. Never hurts to prepare yourself for the future of the kid after all. It also seems Cassandra, Tim, Jason, Dick and Damian finally caught up to you.

“What are you looking at? Do you have another kid we don’t know about because none of those will fit right now.” Jason points out and you roll your eyes. “Just looking.” You reply. Then you suddenly glance at Damian and get a wicked idea. You think Damian suddenly got the chills because he looked up at you and realized your plan. You think the others had the same idea because they all shared the same acknowledging look.

Every outfit you, Cass and Dick picked were really cute on Damian, from little Tuxedos to everyday wear that just made him look so adorable despite his protests. While Tim’s and Jason’s were straight hilarious, Jason picked out at one point a giraffe onesie and Damian practically launched himself at Jason. The only reason he tried it on is because everyone begged him to. Through the entire process Damian scowled and complained. However he still did it anyways, Maybe he liked the attention on him. He is a kid after all.

This time Damian walks out in the last outfit you picked for him.

You really don’t know why you started to cry. Or why you ran to Damian and held him in your arms. Hell you can’t really remember a lot that happened after that, you just remember everyone looking concerned, especially Damian as he looked up at you panicked. Then you remember falling asleep in the car ride home.

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 20

˗ˏˋ DIY bracelets ˎˊ˗

"You were not expecting to really enjoy the MoMA exhibition, but Jungkook looks so interested and in his element that his energy is contagious. Even with a IUD in your uterus staging mutiny, and him trying to evade your questions throguh a DIY bracelet shop."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 10,4k

content: working hours at B&N, books, jk being goofy as usual, subway touches (what was that?), jk's genuine interest in photography, uterus pain, kids asking questions (lmao), jk being bff w boundaries as usual, soft conversations, avoiding certain topics, and making friendship bracelets (ew gay???) (p.s. i'm literally queer, shush it.)

✧ author's note ✧

*descends from the sky on a sparkly cloud of serotonin and unresolved sexual tension* GREETINGS, MY LITTLE PSYCHOTIC DAFFODILS. *ducks the knife thrown at my head* RUDE. *throws it back, it lands in someone’s thigh, probably Jungkook’s*

Okay okay okay okay. *deep breath.*

Hello, my beloved kikizens. If you’re reading this… I’m most likely abroad, roaming the earth like the girlboss nomad I pretend to be on Instagram, while in reality I’m crying over the outline of chapter 23 in the Notes app and eating overpriced airport pastries. Yes. I wrote this ahead of time. Yes. I am the most responsible irresponsible person you’ve ever met. Time traveling author note from Past!Kiki, sending love and ibuprofen to Future!You. Let’s hope the plane didn’t crash because, if so, Fuck Me Up Jungkook is now your responsibility. Please keep him fed and slightly emotionally constipated, just as I left him.

NOW. LET'S TALK. This chapter. THIS CHAPTER. We are entering the land of slow burn intimacy and micro-shifts in character dynamics that make me froth at the mouth. I need to scream about it. I am screaming about it. Nix at Barnes & Noble? A concept. Her choosing a retail job because she wants to save someone the way books saved her??? Yeah okay I'm totally fine, I'm just on the floor sobbing about it in a public bathroom.

AND JUNGKOOK. THAT BASTARD. Being respectful?? Giving her space while still being present?? Letting her lead and following her cues like a man who understands autonomy and emotional nuance??? Jail. Absolute jail. He’s so annoying and so HOT about it. I love writing him because he’s cocky and feral and dumb, but also deeply perceptive and compassionate when it counts. Like okay yes he's a little insufferable, but also, he's the kind of man who listens when you talk about your reproductive health without flinching and I think that's worth something.

Also. Let’s talk about the bracelets. Phoenix and Rogue. Fire-coded losers who pretend they don’t care while making color-coded matching jewelry??? WHO SAID YOU COULD BE CUTE. WHO SAID.

Anyway. This chapter is the beginning of a shift. A very soft shift. We’re not in love yet. We’re not even close. We are in that horrible, confusing, liminal space where friendship might be possible eventually but everyone’s still too scared and too stupid to say it out loud. They’re not friends yet. But they’re getting there. We’re watching in real time as they learn each other’s pressure points—what to push, when to pull back. It’s very ugh my chest hurts but also my heart is fluttering kind of vibe. Which is my favorite thing to write. Obviously.

Now. To talk about me, because I love attention: I’ve only been posting for a few months and I’m already overrun with WIPs like some kind of literary hoarder. It’s a problem. I start stories, then my ADHD bitchass brain says “new shiny idea???” and next thing I know I’m drowning in three AUs, an enemies-to-lovers high school AU I wrote at 3AM, and a secret smutty one-shot I can’t stop thinking about. It’s a whole ecosystem of chaos. But I do want to write them all. I do. I just also want to nap. And read. And rot.

So yeah. I think about y’all waiting for updates more than you know. I stress about it. I chew on it like emotional gum. My Spirk fic hasn’t updated in two months and it haunts me in my sleep. But I’m trying to accept that writing is better done when it feels good, not when I’m spiraling in guilt. So. If I ever start something and it takes me ages to finish, just know I do want to get there. I just move at the speed of depression and distraction.

AND A GENTLE REMINDER: this is a slow burn. A SLOW slow burn. Not the kind where they kiss in chapter 5 and you pretend it’s slow because they didn’t bang yet. No. I mean they will not start catching actual feelings for a while. There will be distractions. Other people, love interests. Awkwardness. Denial. You will watch them flounder. You will scream at your phone. You will think “surely they must realize it now,” and I will look you in the eyes and say, “no. no they do not.” Because the point is the journey. The point is the becoming. Not the kissing. (Okay fine also the kissing. But later.)

We are 20 chapters in, and I am being so serious when I say we are maybe… 20% into the full story. If that. I want to go all the way. From strangers to roommates to fuckbuddies to friends to best friends to oh my god it was you all along. I want to write every beat. Every change. Every stupid, messy, human moment. And yes. We will suffer. You, me, Nix, Jungkook, Yeji, Taehyung, everyone.

So I'd say sorry, but let's be honest, if you’re here right now—chapter 20, still with me—I know what kind of sick little freak you are. Masochist. You're not fooling anyone.

And I adore you for it. Thank you for choosing violence with me. Thank you for loving these two idiots. Thank you for reading. I mean it. So much.

Okay. Enough rambling. Go read. Go cry. Go scream. Tell your friends. Tattoo “Phoenix x Rogue” on your ass if you feel so inclined.

Mwah.

(Shameless reminder to support me on Ko-fi if you like my unhinged writing mess).

Edit because apparently I need to make this clear; my stories are extremely slow paced. This is STATED in the author’s INTRO I EXPLICITLY mention you must READ before delving into any of my works. I am tired of messages complaining about the pacing. You are warned beforehand. You chose to read this knowing it’s going to be slow as hell. Nobody is holding you hostage. If you’re bored, you can leave. I seriously don’t care. I am writing my stories because I crave this type of storytelling where everything is narrated in detail and nothing is glossed over. My readers know that and they choose to stay because they want the same thing. 80% of stories out there are fast-paced. I am catering to the people who want this type of organic development. If that’s not your thing, that’s absolutely fine. But you don’t get to complain and whine about something when there’s 100 fanfics out there you can read instead. You don’t get to come for me or my writing—lest of all my readers. I said what I said.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Books have always been your lifeline in a world that feels like it's trying to drown you.

You've loved them for as long as you can remember, though you can't pinpoint the exact moment they became your refuge. It wasn't a dramatic epiphany or a life-changing event. Just a gradual realization that between the pages of a book, you could breathe easier. 

Kafka speaks to the part of you that feels constantly out of step with the world (though you'd never admit that to Taehyung—his smug "I told you so" would be unbearable). 

Murakami paints surreal landscapes that make your own reality feel a little less suffocating. 

And now Donna Tartt, because you're tired of Jimin's scandalized gasps every time you confess to not having read her yet.

You weren't the stereotypical bookworm growing up. No thick glasses perched on your nose, no disdainful sniffs at the mention of pop culture. You didn't turn your nose up at Harry Styles concerts or roll your eyes at school dances. 

But even as you navigated the treacherous waters of adolescence—first periods and friendship fallouts, the constant drama of simply existing as a teenager—books were always there. 

A constant, even if sometimes pushed to the background.

They became your armor when the weight of expectations threatened to crush you. When disappointment hung heavy in the air, threatening to send you away in a chokehold, you'd retreat into worlds made of paper and ink. 

It was easier to face fictional monsters than the very real ones lurking in parent-teacher conferences and college application deadlines.

Now, standing amidst the shelves of Barnes & Noble, surrounded by the comforting smell of new books and possibility, you can't help but feel a sense of belonging. Like you've come full circle. From the little girl who used to hide under her covers with a flashlight, devouring stories long past bedtime, to the woman who's made words her life's work.

It's not always easy. 

Sometimes the words on the page blur together, your mind too full of real-world worries to lose yourself in fiction. 

But even then, the weight of a book in your hands is grounding. 

A reminder that there are always other worlds to explore, other lives to live, if only for a few hundred pages.

Maybe that's why you're here, arranging displays and recommending titles to strangers. 

Because somewhere out there is another person drowning in expectations, desperate for a lifeline. 

And maybe, just maybe, you can be the one to hand them the right book at the right moment—help them with their very own small act of rebellion against a world that sometimes feels too heavy to bear.

Mark hovers nearby as you arrange a new display of bestsellers, lanky frame, loose shirt and baggy pants. He's the one who picked up your application when you and Yeji came in last week—the one with the kind eyes and the nervous habit of clutching his hands together every five seconds.

Blonde, blue-eyed. You’d dare say he’s not bad-looking. For a man.

"So basically," he explains, voice pitched low like he's sharing state secrets instead of retail procedures, "most days you'll either be on register, floor assistance, or shelving. Today you're just shadowing me on the floor."

Floor assistance, as it turns out, is mostly wandering around looking approachable (but not too approachable) and occasionally directing lost souls to the bathroom or the manga section. You're also expected to straighten displays, check for misplaced books, and maintain what Mark calls "the Barnes & Noble aesthetic."

"Which means?" you ask, adjusting a copy of the latest Sally Rooney that's slightly out of alignment with its siblings.

"You know," he shrugs, hands doing that awkward hovering thing again, "like... cozy but sophisticated. Inviting but not cluttered."

You nod like this makes perfect sense, though privately you think it sounds like the kind of bullshit corporate memo someone got paid way too much to write.

"What about recommendations?" you ask. "Do we have any input on displays or—"

"Oh, totally!" His face brightens. "We each get to curate an employee picks shelf. You can start working on yours next week."

That, at least, sounds promising. 

Already your mind is cataloging possibilities—perhaps a mix of classics and contemporary, maybe something unexpected thrown in. Definitely not the usual suspects everyone claims to have read but hasn't.

And just like that, the morning quickly blurs into afternoon. 

Your tasks are the same all day: shelving, straightening, and following Mark around as he points out the minutiae of bookselling. It's mindless work, but not unpleasant. There's something soothing about putting things in order, about knowing exactly where everything belongs.

By the time your lunch break rolls around, you've settled into a comfortable groove. The break room is empty except for you and your sad turkey sandwich, the ancient TV in the corner playing a rerun of The Office. One where Jim is pulling some elaborate prank on Dwight. You find yourself smiling despite the mediocrity of your lunch.

The afternoon passes in much the same way—quiet, uneventful, almost peaceful. You help an elderly woman find the latest Louise Penny mystery. You alphabetize a section of poetry that looks like it's been hit by a tornado. You dust shelves that probably haven't seen a feather duster since Obama was president.

And then, suddenly, it's 5 PM.

You glance at your phone, mildly surprised that eight hours have passed without a single customer meltdown or retail horror story. No one has asked to speak to your manager. No one has tried to return a clearly read book with coffee stains on page 47. No one has even approached you with one of those vague "I'm looking for a book with a blue cover about a thing that happens" requests.

In fact, you've barely interacted with customers at all. It wasn't your turn on register, and most browsers seemed content to wander without assistance. 

It's been... nice. 

Quiet. 

The kind of job where you can disappear into your own thoughts for stretches at a time.

You could get used to this, you think, clocking out and grabbing your bag from the locker. 

Maybe it won't be the soul-crushing retail experience Yeji warned you about. Maybe you've lucked into the unicorn of part-time jobs—one that pays the bills without completely draining your will to live.

Or maybe it's just the first-day honeymoon period, and next week you'll be dealing with entitled parents who think the children's section is a free daycare.

Either way, as you push through the employee exit into the early evening air, you feel a strange sense of… accomplishment? 

Surely, it's not saving lives or changing the world, but you can’t deny it’s satisfying; a day spent surrounded by books, putting things in order, creating small pockets of calm in a chaotic world.

And now, apparently (because God forbid the universe lets you forget) you have plans. 

With Jungkook, of all people. 

The thought should make you anxious.

It doesn’t.

You check your phone and see his text:

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚊? 𝚊𝚖 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 

You scan the street and spot him leaning against a lamppost, scrolling through his phone, looking unfairly good in a simple black t-shirt and jeans. Your roommate. Your sometimes-hookup. Your... friend?

The word still feels strange, but maybe it's time to try it on for size.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚒'𝚖 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚞

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚊𝚜 1𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚙𝚙𝚕

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚘 𝚒'𝚖 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚠𝚒𝚗

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚘𝚠 𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚊𝚛 𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚝𝚠

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚛 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒'𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚛𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 🙄

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛?

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚟

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚑𝚝𝚘

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚒 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚞 𝚋𝚝𝚠 𝚒𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒'𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚡 

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒'𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚘 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚘 𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚞 𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚝𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚢 𝚊𝚏

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚢 

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚑𝚝𝚘

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚑𝚑𝚑𝚑𝚑

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚞 𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗 𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒'𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚘𝚔 𝚋𝚢𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚞 𝚒𝚗 𝟹𝟸𝟷

You spot him leaning against the lamppost, scrolling on his phone like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders relaxed, black t-shirt fitting just right—not too tight, not too loose. It’s casual. Effortless. 

And yeah, you’ve seen him in casual before—sweats, pajamas, even that stupid hoodie he refuses to throw out—but this is different. This is casual street Jungkook in the wild, outside the apartment. 

Casual street Jungkook who’s here with you to do something normal and non-sexual and… friendly.

He looks good. But then again, you already knew that. There’s a reason you fuck him despite his infuriating personality. 

Even when he says things that make you want to strangle him with his own belt.

He catches sight of you approaching and grins, that stupid lopsided grin that’s all teeth and confidence. 

“Hey,” he says, voice light like this is just another day.

You don’t respond. Don’t even look up from your phone as your thumb swipes through apps in search of Maps. 

“We have a twenty-minute ride from Union Square to the MoMA,” you say flatly. “The exhibit starts in thirty-five, so let’s go.”

“Sure,” he says easily, pushing off the lamppost with a lazy shrug. “What line?”

“N, Q, R—whichever comes first.” You finally glance up at him as you say it, but only briefly. Just long enough to catch the slight raise of his eyebrows before he nods.

“Okay.”

And then you’re walking side by side toward the subway entrance like this is normal. Like this isn’t the first time you’ve agreed to spend time together without sex as the unspoken endgame.

The stairs down to the subway are crowded—typical for a weekday evening—and you both swipe your cards at the turnstile without a word. There’s a guy pissing in one corner of the station (because of course there is), and Jungkook widens his eyes in a grimace like he’s trying to wipe away the sight of it. You don’t comment, just keep moving toward the platform like nothing happened.

It shouldn’t feel awkward. It’s never been awkward with him before—not even when things got messy or complicated or downright stupid between you two. 

But now? 

Now it feels like there’s this invisible weight hanging between you, pressing down on every step you take together.

Maybe it’s because he brought up that whole “trying to be friends” thing this morning—friends who have expectations, and expectations lead to disappointment, and disappointment leads to losing control.

Or maybe it’s because now that he said it out loud—now that he put friendship on the table—you can’t stop overthinking every little thing about this outing. 

What does he expect from you? Does he want small talk? Does he want silence? Is this supposed to feel casual or meaningful or something else entirely?

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye as you both stop near the edge of the platform. He’s standing close but not too close—hands still in his pockets, gaze fixed on some ad plastered across the opposite wall. He doesn’t look uncomfortable or tense or anything remotely resembling how you feel right now.

Which makes sense because Jungkook never overthinks anything. He just does whatever feels right in the moment and deals with the consequences later (if at all). 

It’s one of the things that drives you crazy about him—and maybe one of the things you secretly envy.

The train isn’t here yet, so now what? Do you say something? Ask him about his day? Pretend this is normal and fine and not at all weird for you?

“So…” Your voice comes out hesitant—too hesitant—and you immediately hate yourself for it. 

Nice going, stupid bitch.

He glances at you but doesn’t say anything right away, waiting for you to finish whatever thought you’re trying (and failing) to articulate.

“What did… what did you do?” You clear your throat awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as if that’ll somehow make this less painful for both of you. “Until… y’know… five?”

His lips twitch like he’s fighting back a smirk—like he knows exactly how much effort it took for you to ask such a simple question—and for some reason that makes you want to shove his head against the next train.

“Not much,” he says finally, his tone casual but not dismissive. “Watched some YouTube tutorials. Tried making sourdough again.”

You blink at him. “Sourdough?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, like baking bread is just a totally normal thing for someone like him to do in their free time. “Didn’t come out great though.”

“Oh.” 

You don’t know what else to say to that—to him—so instead you just nod and glance down at your phone again like there’s something urgent demanding your attention.

But then, as if destiny decided (for once) to make things easier for you, the train arrives with its usual screech of brakes and rush of stale air, saving you from having to come up with any more awkward small talk on the platform.

So you step onto the train together—side by side but not touching—and you can’t help but wonder if this whole ‘trying to be friends’ thing is going to be harder than either of you realized.

Inside Jungkook moves instinctively to the metal bar overhead, reaching up to steady himself as the train lurches forward. You follow suit, your fingers wrapping around the same bar just a few inches away from his.

It’s fine. It’s normal. People share subway bars all the time. Nothing weird about it.

Except your hand shifts slightly as the train rounds a corner, and suddenly your pinky brushes against his. Just barely—a fleeting touch—but it’s enough to make you freeze for half a second.

And… 

You don’t look at him. 

You refuse to look at him. 

Because if you do, you’ll see that stupid smirk he always gets when he knows he’s gotten under your skin, and you’re not sure you can handle that right now.

But then his hand shifts too—like, on purpose?—and his pinky brushes yours again. 

Softer this time. 

Lingering.

Your stomach twists in a way that feels equal parts annoying and… something else you don’t want to name. You glance up at him despite yourself, ready to snap something sarcastic or dismissive or whatever it takes to make this moment feel less charged than it suddenly does.

But he’s not smirking. He’s just… looking at you. Calmly. Quietly. Like this is nothing more than two people sharing a subway bar in a crowded train.

And maybe it is nothing. Maybe you’re just overthinking it because that’s what you do—because every little thing with him feels like it carries more weight than it should.

Still, when his fingers shift again—this time curling slightly so the side of his hand presses against yours—you don’t pull away. 

You don’t say anything either, just let your fingers relax against the bar as the train rattles onward.

It’s small. Subtle. Barely even noticeable in the grand scheme of things.

But somehow, in the cramped chaos of the subway car—with strangers pressed against you on all sides—it feels like the quietest moment you’ve had all day.

You don’t look at him again—not directly—but out of the corner of your eye, you catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Not cocky or teasing or anything remotely resembling his usual expressions.

Just soft.

And for some reason, that makes your throat tighten all over again.

You never expected to find Jungkook beautiful.

He stands in front of a massive black and white photograph with his head tilted slightly and dark brown eyes narrowed in concentration.

The lightning inside the space makes everything feel way more thought-provoking than it actually is. All you notice, really, is how it deepens the line of his jaw, the slight furrow between his eyebrows. His lips, and how they move silently, like he's having some private conversation with the image before him.

Stupid, handsome motherfucker. Why does he exist in your space?

You've seen him naked. You've seen him laughing so hard he nearly falls off the couch. You've seen him half-asleep and grumpy at 6 AM.

But you've never seen him like this—completely absorbed, genuinely focused on something that isn't getting laid or annoying the shit out of you.

"The composition is fucking incredible," he says without looking at you, gesturing at the photograph. "See how they've used negative space to draw your eye to the subject? And the depth of field is so deliberate—keeps you just slightly off-balance."

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden technical analysis. Since when does Jungkook know smart words?

"You actually know about photography?" It comes out more surprised than you intended.

He turns to you then, one eyebrow raised. "Film major, Nix. Kind of comes with the territory."

"Yeah, but—" You stop yourself, not sure how to articulate that you assumed his interest in film was mostly about looking cool and impressing girls.

"But what?"

"Nothing," you mutter, moving closer to the photograph. "Just didn't realize you paid attention in class."

He snorts. "I maintain my GPA through pure charm and good looks alone. No actual knowledge required."

You roll your eyes, but there's no real annoyance behind it. "Seriously though, you seem like you actually know what you're talking about. It's... weird."

"Weird that I'm not a complete idiot?" He steps back from the photograph, hands sliding into his pockets. "Gee, thanks."

"That's not what I meant."

He shrugs, already moving toward the next piece—a series of distorted portraits that seem to melt into one another.

"I just like this stuff. Always have."

You follow him, curiosity getting the better of you.

"Since when?"

"Since forever," he says, stopping in front of the portraits. "My mom was into photography. Had this old Pentax she used to carry everywhere. Taught me how to develop film in our bathroom when I was like, eight."

His voice always turns weirdly soft when his mom is involved. It makes you pause.

This is the most he's ever shared about his family, you realize.

You're not sure whether to press further or let it go.

Before you can decide, he continues, "These portraits are using multiple exposure. See how the faces blend together? It's like—when you overlay two negatives, you get this ghost effect. The new digital stuff makes it easier, but there's something about doing it on actual film that hits different."

His enthusiasm is... surprising. And weirdly contagious. You find yourself leaning in closer to see what he's pointing out, actually interested in the technical explanation.

"The photographer probably used a really slow shutter speed too," he adds, gesturing at the blurred edges of the subjects' features. "Makes movement look like this—sort of ethereal, you know?"

You don't know, not really, but you nod anyway.

Because his voice picks up speed when he talks about this, his hands do slightly more animated movements as he explains, and there’s genuine passion coloring his words and it’s…

It's... different. Seeing him care about something so much.

"What?" he asks suddenly, catching you staring at him.

You hadn't realized you were. Heat creeps up your neck, and you look away quickly.

"Nothing."

"Nah, you were looking at me weird."

"Just..." You shrug, aiming for casual. "You're a huge nerd, that's all."

He blinks at you, then barks out a laugh. "Wow. I share my vast knowledge and expertise, and that's what I get?"

"Vast knowledge? Your head barely fits in the room as it is."

"That's it," he declares, turning away dramatically. "I'm not explaining anything else. Figure it out yourself, philistine."

You swat at his arm, fighting a smile. "Oh come on, I was joking. Keep nerding out. It's..." Cute? Interesting? Surprisingly not annoying? "...Educational."

He gives you a suspicious look but seems mollified. "Fine. But only because I'm generous with my brilliance."

You snort, following him to the next piece. "So generous."

And it's strange, this feeling—this easy back-and-forth that doesn't have the usual sharp edges.

For a moment, it almost feels like you could be friends. Real friends, not just roommates who occasionally fuck and mostly argue.

The thought is so unexpected that it—

Pain.

Sharp and sudden, like someone stabbing a hot poker into your lower abdomen. Your breath catches, body instinctively curling in on itself.

Your hand flies to your stomach as another wave hits, this one even more intense than the first.

It's the IUD again—has to be. But this is worse than before. Much worse.

You stop walking, one hand gripping the nearby wall for support as you try to breathe through it.

Just breathe. It'll pass. It has to.

It doesn't.

The third wave nearly brings you to your knees, a cold sweat breaking out across your forehead.

Jungkook makes it several steps before realizing you're no longer beside him. He turns back, eyes falling on your hunched form, and his expression shifts instantly from relaxed to concerned.

"Yo, what's wrong?" He's back at your side in three quick strides, voice pitched low but urgent.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak yet. Just need a minute. Just need to breathe.

"Phoenix?" His hand hovers near your elbow, not quite touching. "Hey, talk to me. What's happening?"

"It's—" Another stab of pain cuts you off, and you bite down hard on your lip to keep from making a sound. "It's nothing. Just—cramps."

His frown deepens, eyes scanning your face.

"Bullshit. You look like you're about to pass out."

"I'm fine," you insist. "Just give me a second."

The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but the alternative is worse.

Admitting weakness? Letting him see you crumble?

Absolutely fucking not.

Your uterus twists again—sadistic little organ—and you clench your jaw so hard you're surprised your teeth don't crack.

Breathe. Just breathe. You've handled worse.

(Have you, though?)

He's hovering now, that frown cutting deeper between his eyebrows, and you hate it.

Hate how his eyes flick over your face, cataloging symptoms.

Hate how his hand lifts halfway toward you before dropping back to his side, like he's afraid to touch you without permission.

"Ibuprofen," you manage, the word strained but determined. "I just need some ibuprofen."

"Nix, you seriously look like you're about to pass out—"

"Ibuprofen," you cut him off, sharper this time. "Seriously. I'll be okay. Just need. Ibuprofen."

You're not going home. Not happening.

You just got this fucking copper IUD on Wednesday—of course it's being a bitch. Three days of cramping is normal, right? Has to be.

And this is your first real attempt at being normal humans together, plus it's his birthday and Yoongi's expecting you to keep him out until eight. Your goddamn uterus is not ruining this.

A particularly vicious cramp rips through you, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep from making a sound. Jungkook notices, because of course he does. His eyes narrow, jaw working like he's physically biting back whatever argument he wants to make.

Finally, he sighs—loud, frustrated, dramatic in that way only he can be.

"Okay."

The surrender in his voice shouldn't feel like a victory, but it does. Even as another cramp threatens to fold you in half.

"Okay," he repeats, softer. "Let me see if I can get you one. Just—wait here, alright?"

He wraps his fingers around your elbow, not gripping, just guiding, and you let him because walking feels like a monumental task right now. .

Focus. One foot, then the other.

There's a cushioned bench a few feet away. A kid sits at one end, maybe seven or eight, swinging his legs and staring at the floor with the bored expression of someone dragged to a museum against his will.

Jungkook walks you toward it, his hand steady on your arm.

"Hello," he says to the boy, voice gentler than you've ever heard from him. "Sorry, my friend over here is in pain and really needs to sit down."

The kid looks up—first at Jungkook, then at you—eyes widening slightly. He doesn't say anything, just scoots over, fingers drifting to his mouth as he continues to stare.

"Thanks, buddy," Jungkook says, helping you sit.

You sink onto the bench, the relief immediate but not enough. It still feels like someone's playing Operation with your insides, fishing out organs with a pair of rusty pliers.

Jungkook lingers for a second, hesitant.

"You sure you'll be okay if I—"

"Go," you grit out, not trusting yourself to say more.

He gives you one last look—concerned, frustrated, something else you can't name—before turning and striding away with purpose, disappearing around a corner.

And then it's just you, the kid, and the agony twisting through your abdomen.

Great. Fantastic. You can't even make it through one normal human interaction without your body staging a fucking rebellion.

Every time you try to—what? Be a decent person? Spend time with someone who isn't Yeji? The universe laughs in your face.

The kid is still staring at you, blue eyes huge in his small face. You force what you hope is a reassuring smile but suspect looks more like a grimace.

"Your face is becoming white," he says matter-of-factly.

"Thanks," you mutter. "I'm aware."

"Like a ghost," he adds helpfully. "Are you gonna throw up?"

Jesus Christ. This is your life now. Being assessed by a tiny human while your reproductive system wages war against the rest of your organs.

"No," you say, though you're not entirely sure that's true. "Just need some medicine."

"My mom says medicine is for when you're really sick," he informs you, kicking his heels against the bench. "Are you really sick?"

Another twist of pain, and you have to close your eyes for a second.

"Something like that."

"Is that man your boyfriend?"

God, children and their questions. No filter, just an endless stream of curiosity with no regard for social niceties.

You should lie.

Should say yes, it would be simpler than explaining the complicated mess that is you and Jungkook.

"No," you say instead. "Just a... friend."

The word still feels strange. Foreign. Like you're saying it in a language you barely speak.

"Oh." The kid looks disappointed. "He looks like a superhero."

Despite everything—the pain, the frustration, the growing concern that the gyno didn't warn you about this level of copper IUD hell—you almost laugh.

Because Jungkook? Oh he would fucking love that. His ego is already the size of Manhattan; the last thing he needs is child-based validation of his supposed heroism.

"More like a supervillain," you mutter.

The boy's eyes widen further. "Really?"

"No, not really. Just a regular person who's..." You pause, not sure how to finish that sentence.

Annoying? Complicated? Stupidly attractive even when he's being insufferable?

"...helping me out."

You press your palm harder against your abdomen, hoping the pressure will somehow counteract the pain. But truthfully, it doesn't. If anything, it's getting worse, spreading from your core outward until your lower back aches and your thighs feel weak.

This can't be normal.

Well, maybe it is.

You've never had an IUD before—what the hell do you know?

Clearly should've read beyond the first page of that pamphlet they gave you, but you were too busy trying not to think about the actual insertion part.

"I have lots of friends," the kid announces proudly. "But none of them are girls."

He wrinkles his nose like this is the most disgusting concept imaginable.

Despite everything—the pain, the frustration, the knowledge that this day is slowly derailing—you almost smile.

"Girls aren't so bad."

He shrugs, unconvinced. "They like stupid stuff."

"So do boys."

"Nuh-uh. Boys like cool things. Like dinosaurs."

"Girls can like dinosaurs too."

He considers this, head tilted.

"I guess. My sister doesn't though. She just likes her stupid boyfriend." The contempt in his voice is impressive for someone whose feet don't touch the floor.

You're saved from further insights into his sister's love life by Jungkook's return. He's walking toward you with a small paper cup in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, his expression still caught between concern and that strange new softness.

"Got you covered," he says, dropping into a crouch in front of you. "They had a first aid station. Ibuprofen and water."

You take the pills and water with hands that shake slightly, downing them quickly.

"Thanks."

He sits beside you on the bench, close but not touching—some sort of distance that feels both considerate and maddening.

You realize now Jungkook is not one to push boundaries. Not when they’re firm, not when you’ve made them clear. Like when you told him this thing between you two stayed between you two and he just accepted it.

"Should take about twenty minutes to kick in," he says, voice low and even.

You nod, focusing on your breathing.

In and out. Slow and steady. Just get through this. You've handled worse.

(Have you, though? Because right now it feels like your insides are trying to claw their way out.)

"We can go home," he offers, so subsided it's almost comical coming from him. "If you want."

"No." The word comes out sharper than intended, and you soften it with, "No, I'm fine. Just need a minute."

He doesn't argue, just nods like he expected this answer.

Of course he did.

He knows you're stubborn, knows you hate showing weakness, knows you'll suffer through just about anything to avoid admitting you can't handle it.

The silence stretches between you, but it's not uncomfortable. Not exactly. It's... waiting. Patient. And you note how his knee bounces slightly, the only sign of restless energy in his otherwise still form.

"Thanks," you say again, quieter this time.

He glances at you, surprise flitting across his features.

"For what?"

"For not..." You gesture vaguely, searching for the right words. "Making it a thing."

His lips twitch, almost a smile but not quite.

"It's your body, Nix. Your call."

Something warm and unexpected unfurls in your chest at that—at the simple acknowledgment of your autonomy, your right to decide how to handle your own pain.

He could push. Could insist on taking you home, on calling a doctor, on making decisions for you "for your own good."

It's what most people would do, have always done, their concern overriding your independence.

But he doesn't.

Just sits beside you, a quiet presence in the middle of this mess, respecting your boundaries even as his knee keeps bouncing with what you suspect is concern he's trying not to voice.

It's... nice. Weird, but nice.

The kid on the bench has gone quiet, watching both of you with curious eyes. His mother appears suddenly, a harried-looking woman with a museum map clutched in one hand.

"Aiden, there you are! I told you not to wander off." She gives you and Jungkook an apologetic smile. "Sorry if he bothered you."

"He's fine," Jungkook says, easy and casual. "Just keeping us company."

Aiden slides off the bench, taking his mother's outstretched hand.

“They're friends," he informs her solemnly. "But not boyfriend and girlfriend."

His mother looks mortified. "Aiden!"

"It's okay," you manage, fighting back a laugh that would probably hurt like hell. "He's just observant."

Aiden's mother drags him away, his sneakers squeaking against the polished floor as he waves one last time.

And then it's just the two of you, sitting in silence on a bench in the middle of the MoMA like you belong there. Like this is normal.

All the while, the pain persists, still twisting through your abdomen.

Jungkook hums quietly—something soft and melodic that takes you a moment to recognize.

John Mayer. Of course it's fucking John Mayer.

Your gaze drifts to the floor, tracing the patterns in the polished concrete as another thought forms, heavy and insistent.

Should you tell him? About the IUD?

He's worried. You can see it in his eyes, the way his fingers tap restlessly against his thigh, the occasional glance he throws your way when he thinks you're not looking.

But he's not pushing. Not demanding explanations or insisting on taking you home.

Because that's not what he does.

He suggests, offers, hints... but never forces. Never demands.

Just accepts whatever you're willing to give, even when it's clear he wants more.

This morning he talked about being friends. About sharing things. About being more than just roommates who occasionally fuck and mostly argue.

Maybe this could be a first step. A tiny gesture toward whatever it is he's proposing.

But also...

Also what if you tell him and he smirks? Makes some stupid joke about how you wanted him raw that badly?

You know how quickly he covers discomfort with humor, how reliably he turns to sexual innuendo when a moment gets too real or too heavy.

And this moment is nothing if not heavy.

But overthinking it is getting you nowhere, and the silence is stretching too long, becoming its own kind of weight.

So you take a breath, summon what little courage the pain hasn't eaten away, and speak.

"I got an IUD." The words come out soft, hushed, almost hoping he won't hear them. "Wednesday."

His head tilts toward you, and you brace yourself. Wait for the snort, the smirk, the inevitable sexual commentary that will make you regret this tiny moment of trust.

But it never comes.

He just sighs softly, a small shrug lifting his shoulders.

"That's good."

Your eyes drift to him, confusion replacing the defensive tension you were building, because what does he mean?

He meets your gaze, then looks back at the photograph on the wall.

“I mean, it's good you're taking care of yourself. Your sexual health." Another shrug, this one smaller. "That's good, Nix."

Something in your chest loosens—a knot you didn't realize you were holding tight.

It's... not what you expected. Not from him.

Not from anyone, really.

"Yeah, well." You shift on the bench, wincing as the movement sends a dull throb through your lower abdomen. "Not feeling particularly great about it at the moment."

His lips quirk, not quite a smile.

"Pain that bad?"

"Like someone's playing Operation with my insides, but they're losing."

A soft laugh escapes him. "Fucking brutal."

"Pretty much."

Another stretch of silence, but this one feels different. Lighter, somehow. The pain is still there, but it's muted now, less all-consuming.

"Copper or hormonal?" he asks, voice casual like he's asking about the weather, not your reproductive choices.

You blink at him, genuinely surprised.

"You know the difference?"

"I do actually pay attention in health class, Phoenix. Plus, you know. Been with people who've had them."

"Copper," you answer, focusing on the question instead of whatever that feeling was. "I had a feeling hormones would mess with me."

He nods like this makes perfect sense. "Those are the ones that hurt more at first, right? Take longer to settle?"

Again, that surprise. "Yeah. How do you know that?"

"My ex." He shifts slightly on the bench, angling more toward you without actually moving closer. "She had one. Copper. Cramped like hell the first few months."

"Months?" The word comes out more alarmed than you intended.

His eyes widen slightly. "Not like, continuously. Just periodically. Mostly when she got her period. It got better though. Less intense over time."

"Great," you mutter. "Something to look forward to."

"Sorry." He winces. "Not helping, am I?"

"Not really, no."

"Do you..." He hesitates, eyes scanning your face like he's checking for warning signs. "Do you regret getting it?"

The question catches you off guard. Not because it's invasive—it's actually pretty reasonable given the context—but because of how genuinely he asks it. Like he really wants to know what you think. Not to judge, just to understand.

"No," you say after a moment. "No, I don't regret it. I wanted it. Chose it. This—This is just the shitty part. It'll pass."

"And this is something you want? Long-term?"

You nod, a little less certain than before but still sure enough.

"Yeah. I like not having to worry about it. Worth some pain now."

"Make sense. That's... smart." He tilts his head, that thoughtful look you rarely see crossing his features. "Planning ahead."

"One of us has to," you say without thinking.

His eyebrows shoot up. "Ouch. Direct hit, Nix."

"Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Nah, it's fair." He cuts you off with a small laugh. "I'm not exactly Mr. Responsibility."

The self-awareness surprises you.

"You're not that bad."

"I’m not?”

“Okay I take it back.”

He chuckles.

The pain stabs again, sharper this time, and you can't quite hide the wince. His expression shifts immediately.

"Need to move around? Sometimes that helps."

You consider it. Sitting here isn't doing much except letting you focus on how much it hurts.

“Maybe."

"Think the ibuprofen's kicking in at all?"

His eyes scan your face, and you wonder what he sees there. Probably not the composed, controlled person you're trying to project.

"A little. It's not as bad as before."

"That's something." He stands, offering a hand but not insisting when you ignore it and push yourself up on your own. "We could head to the next gallery? Or go back to the one with that series you liked—the urban decay stuff."

The fact that he noticed which photographs caught your interest earlier shouldn't feel significant. It's just basic observation. Nothing special.

But it does. Feel significant, that is.

"Let's try the next one," you say, taking a tentative step. The pain doesn't immediately floor you, which is an improvement. "Slowly, though."

"No rush." He falls into step beside you, hands shoved in his pockets in that casual way he has, like he's completely at ease no matter where he is.

You nod, trying not to think about the surprise dinner. Trying even harder not to think about the stupid Mayer vinyl you bought him and the fact that all his film bros will be there.

"Thanks," you say after a few steps. "For not being weird about the IUD thing."

He glances at you, something almost like surprise flickering across his features before settling into a small smile.

“Nothing to be weird about. It's your body, Nix. Your choice."

"Yeah, but." You struggle to articulate what you mean. "Most guys would make some gross joke or get all squirmy talking about it."

"I'm not most guys."

"Okay pick me boy."

“And here we go again.” He snorts.

“Hey, you’re the one who said that generic ass shit.”

"Uh-uh, so," he says, deliberately casual as you round the corner into the next gallery space. "How do you feel about Mayer?"

You groan, shoving him lightly.

"I knew it. I fucking knew you were humming that shit on purpose."

He laughs, the sound warm and surprisingly genuine.

"Gravity is a classic! You can hate on the man all you want, but you can't deny the music."

"Watch me."

And just like that, you're arguing about John Mayer in the middle of the MoMA, the pain still there but somehow less important than this stupid debate about whether "Your Body Is A Wonderland" is the worst song ever written or just mostly terrible.

It's strange. Unexpected. Almost... nice

Maybe this friend thing isn't completely impossible after all.

New York smells different right before sunset.

The city air mellows somehow. Still dirty, still chaotic, but softer now. Like the golden hour light filtering through the buildings is actually changing the molecular structure of everything it touches.

Or maybe that's just the ibuprofen finally kicking in and making life worth living again. Hard to say.

Your phone pings as you walk beside Jungkook, the busy street full of that weird liminal energy between work day and evening. People rushing home, people headed out, everyone caught in that transitional space of not-quite-done and not-quite-started.

It's Yoongi, his message simple and direct:

𝐘𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬🎧: 𝙷𝚘𝚠’𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐? 𝚂𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔?

You glance at Jungkook, who's completely absorbed in his own phone, thumbs tapping absently against the screen.

Focused. Unaware.

Perfect.

You send back a quick thumbs up emoji, ignoring the follow-up questions Yoongi's already typing. The less you engage, the less likely you are to give something away.

6:30 PM.

Just over an hour until you need to steer Jungkook to the ramen place for his surprise. An hour to fill without either dying from secret uterine rebellion or accidentally revealing the plan.

You slide your phone back into your pocket and lean slightly to see what's so captivating on Jungkook's screen.

Not that you care. Just curious. Normal curious, not weird curious.

Instagram?

He's editing a photo—one of the abstract architectural shots he took at the museum when you weren't paying attention.

It's actually... pretty good.

The photo highlights the sharp angles of the stairwell, light cutting through the space in a way that transforms something mundane into something almost ethereal.

"You have a photography Instagram?"

He startles, immediately angling the phone away from you with the guilty reflex of someone caught looking at porn in public.

"Yeah, but it's nothing important. Just, you know. Silly stuff."

That's... suspicious. Jungkook doesn't do self-deprecation, not about things he's clearly good at.

He's the first person to brag about his skills, his looks, his whatever. The fact that he's downplaying this is weird.

"What silly stuff?" You raise an eyebrow, trying to peer around his shoulder at the now-hidden screen. "Show me."

"No, seriously, it's no big deal." He actually puts his phone in his pocket, which is basically equivalent to locking it in a vault given how attached he usually is to the thing. "Just a hobby."

"Since when are you shy about anything?" You nudge his arm with your elbow, oddly intrigued by this sudden reluctance. "Come on, I’ll show you mine, you show me yours."

"Not everything has to be an innuendo, Phoenix."

"That wasn't—" You stop yourself, because okay, that did sound suggestive. "Come on, I let you drag me through an entire photography exhibition. The least you could do is let me see your supposed 'silly' photography Instagram."

He's not looking at you now, eyes fixed somewhere to the left, scanning the street like he's searching for an escape route.

Then his face changes, relief washing over his features as he spots something across the way.

"Hey, wanna check that out?"

He points toward a small storefront wedged between a vintage clothing shop and a bubble tea place. The sign reads 'String Theory: DIY Jewelry & Crafts' in quirky hand-painted letters.

"A bracelet shop?" You follow his gaze, genuinely confused by the abrupt change of subject. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, why not?" He's already moving toward the crosswalk, clearly eager to leave the Instagram conversation behind. "Could be fun."

"Since when do you care about DIY bracelets?"

He shrugs, the movement a little too casual to be genuine. "Since right now. Come on, Nix. Live a little."

You narrow your eyes, suspicious of this sudden interest in arts and crafts, but follow him anyway.

 Because in all honesty… The distraction isn't unwelcome—you've still got an hour to kill, and arguing about his secret Instagram account wasn't exactly on your agenda for the day.

Plus, whatever he's hiding must be good if he's willing to make friendship bracelets to avoid talking about it.

You approach the shop, and it is small but bright, walls lined with colorful spools of thread, beads in every imaginable shape and size, and an assortment of charms that range from the typical (hearts, stars, moons) to the bizarre (tiny plastic dinosaurs, miniature food items, and what appears to be a collection of famous dictators' faces).

A twenty-something with purple hair and more piercings than you can count greets you from behind the counter.

"Welcome to String Theory! Let me know if you need help finding anything."

Jungkook nods in acknowledgement, already wandering toward a display of leather cords and metal clasps. You follow, still puzzled by this whole detour.

"So this is what we're doing now? Making friendship bracelets?" You pick up a spool of neon green thread, turning it over in your fingers. "Is this your way of making our friendship official? Should we be getting cards and flowers too?"

He snorts, examining a tray of silver charms with unexpected interest.

"If anyone's getting flowers in this scenario, it's me. I'm high maintenance."

"Yeah, no shit."

He glances at you, that familiar half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“We don't have to stay if you don't want to. Just thought it might be..." He trails off, shrugging again in that way he does when he's trying to seem indifferent.

"What? Entertaining? A good way to avoid showing me your Instagram?"

"Both." He picks up a small wolf charm, turning it over in his fingers. "But mostly I thought it might be fun. You know, do something with our hands that isn't..."

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"And there's the innuendo. I was wondering how long you could go without making it weird."

"About thirty seconds, apparently." He sets the charm down, moving on to a collection of colored stones. "So, you want to make something or not?"

You consider it.

On one hand, making bracelets seems like a throwback to summer camp or middle school sleepovers—not exactly your usual Saturday night activity.

On the other hand, you've got time to kill, and it's oddly... refreshing to see Jungkook interested in something so innocuous.

Plus, you're still curious about that Instagram account, and maybe if you play along with this diversion, he'll eventually let his guard down enough to show you.

"Fine." You grab a small plastic basket from a stack near the entrance. "But I'm not making anything with your name on it, so don't get any ideas."

"Wouldn't dream of it." His smile widens into something more genuine. "Though I bet you'd rock a ‘Kuko 4-Ever' bracelet."

"I'd rather die, thanks."

You move along the wall, selecting threads in deep blues and purples because they're pretty, not because they remind you of the way Jungkook's hair sometimes looks in certain light. That would be stupid.

"So," you say casually, examining a tray of small metallic beads, "are you going to tell me about this secret Instagram account or what?"

He sighs, the sound more resigned than annoyed. "It's not secret. It's just... separate."

"Separate from what?"

"From me. From Jungkook. It's just a creative outlet, okay? Nothing special."

"But good enough that you don't want to show me."

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and there's something unexpectedly vulnerable in his expression.

"It's not that I don't want to show you. It's just... people get weird about it."

"Weird how?"

"They either think it's pretentious or they make too big a deal out of it." He moves to another display, this one filled with various charms. "It's easier to just keep it separate."

You follow him, curiosity piqued even further.

 Jungkook, who walks around the apartment half-naked without a second thought, who leaves his dirty laundry in the most inconvenient places possible, who has absolutely no qualms about sharing the explicit details of his sex life—this same Jungkook is suddenly shy about his photography?

"I won't make it weird," you offer, surprising yourself with the sincerity in your voice. "Promise."

He looks skeptical. "You make everything weird, Nix. It's your special talent."

"Fuck off." You snatch a small charm from the tray without really looking at it—something circular with delicate metalwork. "I can appreciate art without being weird about it."

"It's not really art. Just photos."

"Of what?"

He hesitates, fingers tracing the edge of a tray.

 "Mostly urban stuff. Architecture. Shadows. Light. Some nature." A shrug. "Just things I find interesting."

"That actually sounds cool."

He glances at you like he's checking for signs of mockery, then seems to decide you're being genuine.

"Yeah, well. Maybe I'll show you. Someday."

It's not a yes, but it's not a hard no either.

You'll take it.

"Cool." You move to the register, where the purple-haired employee is arranging a display of finished samples. "So how do we actually do this bracelet thing? I haven't made one since I was like, twelve."

"You think I have?" Jungkook laughs, setting his basket beside yours on the counter. "I'm flying blind here too."

The employee—Ash, according to their name tag—smiles.

“That's what I'm here for. What kind of bracelet are you thinking? We've got traditional friendship styles, leather wraps, beaded, charm..."

"Whatever's easiest," you say at the same time Jungkook says, "The coolest one."

Ash's smile widens. "How about a leather cord with beads? Simple but looks great."

"Sounds good," Jungkook agrees, emptying his basket on the counter. "Can we work on them here?"

"Absolutely. Let me set you up at the table in the back."

As you follow Ash toward a small workshop area in the rear of the store, your phone buzzes again. You check it discreetly.

𝐓𝐚𝐞🎨: 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢. 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚢 𝟾. 𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚒’𝚜  𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜.

You glance at the time.

6:45 PM.

Just over an hour left of... this. This strange, not entirely unpleasant detour into something that feels almost like friendship.

You slip your phone away before Jungkook can see, ignoring the small voice in the back of your mind that wonders what other secrets he might be keeping, and why you suddenly care so much about finding them out.

Ash sets you up at a small wooden table pressed right against the front window.

"So, what are we making?" Jungkook asks, already rummaging through his selection of beads like a kid sorting Halloween candy.

You don't answer immediately, an idea taking shape as you run your fingers over the threads and beads scattered across the table. Your eyes catch on the small containers of alphabet beads near the edge of the table, then drift to the vibrant collection of orange, red, and yellow beads in various shapes and finishes.

Perfect.

You pull the alphabet containers closer, fishing out specific letters: P, H, O, E, N, I, X. Setting them in a neat line in front of you, you reach for more: R, O, G, U, E.

Jungkook watches, brows drawing closer together as he pieces together what you're doing.

When recognition hits, he laughs—short and surprised.

"Okay, seriously? You're making Phoenix and Rogue bracelets now?"

You shrug, reaching for the orange, red, and yellow beads, arranging them between the letters.

"What? Hell yeah. We already branded each other, might as well make it something to remember each other by."

"You think I want to walk around with a bracelet that says 'Rogue' on my wrist?"

He looks genuinely baffled, like you've suggested he tattoo your face on his ass.

"I don't care what you do with it." You roll your eyes, already threading through the first bead. "I'm making mine."

He snorts, but instead of arguing further, he actually helps you sort through the letter beads, pushing the ones you need closer. Then, to your surprise, he reaches for the same fiery-colored beads you've been using.

"What?" he says, catching your look. "If we're doing this ridiculous twin bracelet thing, they might as well match."

"I thought you'd go for all black or something."

He shrugs, picking out a particularly vibrant red bead.

"Rogues can be fiery too. Besides," he adds with a half-smile, "these are my colors."

"Your colors?"

"Yeah." He lays out a pattern—red, orange, yellow, just like yours. "Warm tones. Bold. Kind of obnoxious if you use too many at once."

"Sounds like someone I know," you mutter, and he chuckles.

Your fingers work almost automatically, threading beads onto the leather cord. You're not being symbolic on purpose. It just looks nice.

When you glance up, Jungkook is staring at his own pile of beads, expression oddly distant.

He's rolling a small sun charm between his fingers, back and forth, like he's trying to make a decision.

"What?" you ask, because his silence feels weird.

He shrugs, the motion feeling slightly too forced on him.

"Nothing. Just..." He sets the charm down, picks up a red bead instead. "I actually had one of these. A bracelet. When I was a kid."

This feels like something—a small piece of himself he's offering without being pushed.

So you keep your tone light when you ask.

"Yeah? What kind?"

"Leather, like this." He picks up one of the cords, wrapping it around his wrist to measure before cutting it. "With these bright beads my mom found at some market. Reds and oranges, kind of like these. I wore it until it literally fell apart."

"How old were you?"

"I don't know. Ten? Eleven?" He shrugs again. "Young enough that it was still cool, not lame."

"And now?"

His eyes flick up to yours, then away. "Now what?"

"Is it lame now?"

His expression wavers, tightening around the mouth.

"Nah, it's whatever." He starts threading red and orange beads onto his cord, precise and quick. "Just not something guys usually wear, you know? Unless they're trying to be edgy or something."

"Since when do you care about what's 'usually' done?"

He laughs, but it sounds different than his normal laugh—a little hollow, a little forced.

"Fair point."

You work in silence for a few minutes, with some accompanying sounds; like the soft click of beads and the occasional muttered curse when you drop one.

A yellow bead rolls across the table toward Jungkook, who catches it easily.

"Thanks," you mutter as he hands it back.

"No problem." He pauses, looking at the half-finished bracelet in his hands. "I lied, by the way."

"About what?"

"My mom didn't find the beads." He keeps his eyes on his work, not looking at you. "I did. She just helped me put it together because I was too small to handle the clasps."

Something about the way he says it makes your chest tighten—like this isn't just a random childhood memory but something… soft.

Something he doesn't share often.

"That's sweet," you say, matching his tone. "You don't talk about your mom much."

He tenses, and you inwardly curse yourself.

"Not much to say."

That's a lie if you've ever heard one, but you don't push. Whatever this is—this small opening, it feels fragile. Like pressing too hard would make him shut down completely.

"Mine would've hated this place," you offer instead. "Too messy. Too handmade. Not enough structure."

His lips twitch, almost a smile.

"Mine would've loved it. She was always into this crafty shit. Had a whole room full of art supplies back when..." He trails off, shakes his head. "Anyway. How's yours coming?"

The abrupt subject change is obvious, but you let it slide.

"Almost done. Just need the clasp."

You hold up your creation for inspection. It's nothing fancy—just a simple leather cord with 'PHOENIX' spelled out in silver letter beads, filled with the fiery colored ones you picked.

But it looks kind of cool, in a childish, summer-camp sort of way.

Jungkook leans forward to look, his expression warming.

"Not bad, Nix. Very on-brand."

"Let me see yours."

He hesitates, then holds out his own bracelet. It's just like yours to match, with 'ROGUE' spelled out in metal letter beads. But he’s added a small sun charm that catches the light when he moves.

"Shit," you say, genuinely impressed. "Yours is way better than mine."

He shrugs, but you can tell he's pleased by the compliment.

“I have an eye for design. Part of my many talents."

"And so humble, too."

"Humility is overrated." He sets his bracelet down, reaching for the clasps Ash left for you. "Here, let me help you finish yours."

His fingers brush against yours as he takes your bracelet, the touch brief but somehow startling.

You watch as he attaches the clasp with surprising dexterity, tattooed fingers moving deftly, and it’s kind of attractive, really.

How good he is with his hands when he wants to be.

"There," he says, holding it out to you. "All set."

“Wait,” you announce, searching through the charms box.

You swear you had seen a rain charm earlier, and you had briefly snickered at it. But now that he’s wearing the sun charm it feels oddly… like yours needs to have the rain one, just to contrary him.

So you pick it up, add it to your bracelet.

And then you smile at him, show him.

He snorts.

You turn it in your hand. It feels solid, real. A physical manifestation of the nickname he gave you—the one that used to annoy you but now feels almost like a strange term of endearment.

Ash then approaches your table, a small fabric-lined box in her hands.

"All finished? Those look great!"

You both nod, holding up your creations for inspection.

"Phoenix and Rogue," she reads, smiling. "And they match! The fire colors work perfectly for both."

"Yeah," Jungkook says, and you're surprised by the hint of pride in his voice. "Kind of the point."

"Perfect timing, then," Ash says, setting the box on the table. "We're actually starting a new community art project. Would you be interested in contributing your bracelets?"

You frown, confused.

"Contributing how?"

"We're collecting handmade bracelets from customers to create a wall installation," she explains, gesturing toward a corner of the shop where several bracelets are already displayed on a corkboard. "It's part of our five-year anniversary celebration. Everyone who contributes gets a polaroid of their bracelet and a discount on their next visit."

"Oh." You look down at your bracelet, feeling an unexpected reluctance to part with it.

Which is stupid, because what were you going to do with it anyway?

Wear it?

That would be weird.

"You don't have to," Ash adds quickly, picking up on your hesitation. "It's totally optional."

"No, it's cool," Jungkook says, already placing his bracelet in the box. "I like the idea."

You glance at him, surprised again.

"You do?"

"Yeah. Creating something that stays here, becomes part of the place." He shrugs. "Better than it ending up in a drawer somewhere, right?"

There's something about the way he says it—like he's not just talking about the bracelet anymore—that makes you pause.

But then he's looking at you expectantly, waiting for your decision, and you place your bracelet in the box beside his, the matching colors side by side.

"For the record," you say as Ash takes a polaroid of your creations side by side, "I would've worn mine."

Jungkook's smile is slow and surprisingly gentle.

“Yeah?"

"Maybe not in public," you clarify quickly. "But yeah."

"Me too," he admits quietly, and it feels like he's sharing another secret—small but somehow significant. "Don't tell anyone, though. Ruins my image."

"What image? The one where you pretend to be cool but actually know an alarming amount about John Mayer's discography?"

"Exactly that one." He grins, the most genuine expression you've seen from him all day. "It's carefully curated."

Ash returns with your polaroid and receipt, both bracelets now part of the store's growing collection.

"Come back anytime to see them. They'll be here as long as we are."

"Thanks," Jungkook says, taking the polaroid and tucking it carefully into his wallet.

As you step back out onto the sidewalk, the city bathed in the deepening gold of late afternoon, you feel strangely light despite the lingering pain in your abdomen.

You reach for your phone to check the time, only to find your pocket empty.

"Shit," you mutter, patting your other pockets frantically. "My phone."

Jungkook stops mid-stretch.

"You lose it?"

"Must have left it in the shop." You're already turning back toward the door. "Wait here, I'll be quick."

"Want me to—"

"No, it's fine," you say, perhaps too quickly. "Just give me a second."

The bell chimes as you push back into the store, Ash looking up from behind the counter, eyebrows raised in question.

"Forgot my phone," you explain, gesturing vaguely toward the table where you were sitting.

"No problem. Take your time."

You move quickly to the table, eyes already scanning for your missing device.

Three minutes later, you're back outside, phone safely in hand. Jungkook's leaning against a lamppost, scrolling through something on his own phone.

"Got it?" he asks without looking up.

"Yeah."

You slip it into your pocket without checking the time.

"Ready?"

He pushes off the lamppost.

"Lead the way."

You start walking toward the subway entrance, mentally calculating the time. It must be around 7:20 now. Perfect timing to get to the restaurant by 8.

"Hungry?" you ask, as casually as you can manage.

Jungkook stretches again, arms reaching skyward in a motion that draws your eyes despite yourself.

"Starving. What did you have in mind?"

"I know a place," you say, already angling toward the stairs. "Trust me."

And the weird thing is, from the way he falls into step beside you without question, it seems like he actually does.

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[artstennisracket]

Take me to Church! ib: take me to church by hozier, this is a very loose interpretation i just couldn’t get this trope out of my head. also loosely based on a larry fic I read a million years ago. i’m also not catholic so im sorry if I got something wrong 😭

preacher’s son!art x patrick

cw: nsfw(18+), dacryphilia if you squint, religious imagery of sorts, patrick corruption kink

Art had always put his faith first. He had to, he didn’t want to go to hell. He went to church every Sunday to watch his dad deliver service. Even when he was younger he refused to go to children’s church, wanting to receive the real word of God with the adults.

Now he was old enough to lead youth service to the pre-teens. It was very rewarding. Getting to teach them about the different scriptures and relating them to parts of life they could relate too. It was awkward having to introduce the idea of purity rings and why they should all have one, saving their innocence. But he enjoyed the practice, hoping to become a preacher one day like his dad.

He was grateful that he didn’t have to teach the older teens who were sure to ask more questions about why pre marital sex was bad, and he didn’t even want to get into that conversation.

Art’s best friend was the complete opposite. Patrick was an atheist. Strayed very very far from the word of the Lord. Patrick was raised jewish and still wears his star of david to appease his parents, but he didn’t really care about religion.

Art has tried to save Patrick time and time again but it never worked. If anything the complete opposite happened.

Patrick slowly but surely started to corrupt Art. It started with kissing.

“C’mon Art it’s not a big deal, kissing isn’t a sin,” He says.

“Not technically but the bible talks about appropriate boundaries and…,” Art trails off, keeping eye contact with Patrick. The tension was so thick Art thought he was going to suffocate. Patrick would always give him that look. Like Patrick wants to eat him. Or worse.

It would make Art’s stomach feel funny.

They were sitting really close together in Art’s room. Patrick bites his own lip lightly causing Art’s gaze to flicker down to Patrick’s lips.

Art doesn’t stop Patrick when he leans in to kiss him. So he says ten hail marys that night in his room.

And it doesn’t stop there. It was never going to stop there, not with Patrick.

The next time they hang out Art says they have to be in the kitchen where Art’s parents could see them. He would not succumb to Patrick’s desires.

Art’s parents leave for date night and Art ends up getting a blowjob on his living room coach. The image of Patrick on his knees forever ingrained in his memory.

He can’t keep doing this. He always feels ridiculously guilty. He said 20 hail marys that night.

Now Patrick had invited Art to his house this time. Patrick promised Art he wouldn’t try anything and his sisters would be home.

Technically that was true.

Both of Patrick’s sisters were tucked away in the rooms, not to mention Patrick’s house was humongous. Even if more people were home, Art is sure he wouldn’t be able to tell.

They’re making out and Art is so confused on how they even got here again.

“I wanna try something,” Patrick whispers.

“No Patrick we can’t, I can’t, I wasn’t even supposed to be here—“

Patrick moves his hand to grab Art’s erection, “I think you want to,” he smirks. “C’mon it’ll be so quick.”

Art groans. He twists his purity around his finger, a nervous habit. Patrick plays with the cross dangling from Art’s neck, leaning in to kiss up the side of Art’s neck. Patrick is just so convincing.

That’s how Art ends up on his hands and knees and Patrick’s tongue in his ass. It was called rimming. Or he thinks that's what Patrick called it.

“Patrick,” Art gasped when Patrick first licked across his hole. It felt really good. Art didn’t know what to expect but the pleasure was taking over him.

He was moaning and whimpering like crazy, feeling the tears start to well up in his eyes. Gasping out things like, “Patrick we shouldn’t be ahhh doing this,” and “We have to stop,” while simultaneously pushing himself against Patrick’s tongue to get more relief.

Patrick pulled away causing Art to whine. “Okay if you feel so bad why don’t you say your act of contrition. If you stop, I stop.”

Art is stunned. He’s shocked Patrick even knows what that is. An Act of Contrition was a prayer usually said to express the sorrow of sins.

Art could hear the smirk in Patrick ‘s voice but his brain was scrambled, “W-which one?”

“Whichever one you want, pretty boy,” Patrick smiles before leaning back down to get to work.

Art decides to go with Confiteor because it’s the first one he ever learned and it was the first one that came to mind.

He starts off shaky, “I confess to God and to b-blessed Mary ever-Virgin.”

“To blessed ah—Michael the Archangel and blessed John the Baptist, mmm jesus Patrick,” Art gasps as Patrick pushes a finger past Art’s rim.

“Keep going,” Patrick says, muffled since his mouth is preoccupied.

“and—and to the holy apostles Peter and Paul ah-along with all the saints and you Father: Patrick,”

“You know I wouldn’t have minded if you called me Daddy, don’t think Father is my thing,” Patrick teases as he pulls away to add another finger.

“This was not—“ Art starts but stops once Patrick stills his fingers.

“That doesn’t sound like it’s part of your prayer,” Patrick warns.

Art sighs, letting his head hang down, “through my fault (thrice) I have sinned by pride in my abundant evil ah-iniquitous and heinous thought,” he rushes out.

“Nah ah ah, take your time. Wanna hear you fall apart for me,” Patrick calls out. He moves his free hand to start jerking Art off at the same time.

Art moans again, all of the feelings taking over, “speech, pollution, suggestion, delectation, consent, word and deed, in perjury, adultery, sacrilege, murder, theft, false witness, fuck Patrick I’m—can’t keep going much longer,”

Now Art cursing is new. He’s never heard Art curse ever. For some reason that just turns Patrick on so much more. He pulls his hand away from Art’s cock not wanting to end this experience early, “Keep going baby, doing so good for me.”

Art squeezed his eyes closed trying to remember where he left off, “I have sinned by sight, hearing, taste, smell and touch, and in my behaviour, my evil vices.” Now ain’t that the truth.

Knowing that Patrick is reason for all this sinning, for corrupting sweet innocent Art, makes him really fucking hard. He pulls his mouth off of Art’s hole to pull down his own shorts, jerking himself off. He grabs a nearby pillow to place under Art’s hips.

Even though Art started on his hands and knees, he was more on his knees and elbows now, gradually leaning down further. So Patrick putting the pillow under his hips allows Art to grind down. Getting some relief but not too much.

Patrick leans back down, continuing to lick at Art’s entrance, continuing to jerk himself off.

Art can hear all this happening behind him. His body starts to grind down on the pillow and pushes him further towards the finish line, even though he wishes it didn’t. The tears are falling, he can’t stop them. He feels so dirty, but he’s never felt this amount of pleasure before. This is so wrong. So wrong on so many levels. So why does it feel so right?

“I-I beg blessed Mary ever-Virgin and all the saints,” Art takes a deep breath hoping to finish out this out, “and these saints and you, Father—,” But Art can’t hold it anymore.

“to pray and intercede for me a sinner to our Lord Jesus Christ!” He yells out as he cums all over Patrick’s pillow.

Patrick sits up, cumming all over Art’s ass, “Holy fuck, Art.”

He grabs a washcloth from his closet to clean them both up.

Art still feels like he wants to cry. Or scream. Or both. How many hail marys should he do this time?

“Well at least you already repented or whatever. So now you don’t have to feel bad. Wanna play Super Mario Bros?” Patrick smiles, while pulling on new pajama pants he grabbed from his closet. Like nothing even happened. Like they didn’t just commit the biggest sin Art’s ever done.

Patrick really doesn’t get it, does he?

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[bunnliix]

When Eight Becomes Nine - Chapter Nineteen

So this chapter was half written over a month ago, and then school happened, but here it is!! I hope you all like it. plus some spice at the end

Pairing: Ateez x 9th member!reader  Summary: Y/n had a meeting with the managers, and then we get some studio time with the boys, and then onto dance practice! wc: 1621 AU: a/b/o  Genre: Fluff/Angst, with a slight bit of suggestive content warnings: suggestive content at the very end, anxiety, threats, mentions of unseen ass eating, I think that's it, but if I've missed any, please tell me! masterlist

Before either rapper could get another word out, the door opened and a staff member peeked in. “Hello, we need y/n for a moment.” They said to the trio in the room, eyes focused on Hongjoong. Hongjoong looked over at Mingi, both of them a bit suspicious about the intentions of staff, before realizing they shouldn’t antagonize their management any further, for now.

“Go on, y/n-ah,” the captain told the omega, “You remember the way here, yes? Come right back after you’re finished, if staff doesn’t bring you back.” Y/n got off of the couch and stood up, her hands coming to rest in front of her, as she tried to hide her nerves at being alone with the staff members. But she took a deep breath and gathered all her courage as she followed the staff member out of Hongjoong’s studio.

Following the staff member through the various hallways and down a floor, until the reached a similar conference room as the ones they had been in prior. Entering the room, they found a mix of staff members, and the production crew.

“Hello, y/n,” Ateez’s main manager welcomed her in, as she sat down, “We’re here to chat about your role in Ateez.”

That put her on edge, and she wished she had one of the others there, as she would be way out of her depth. “What about my role?” She asked.

“Well, as evidenced by the feedback we heard from Hongjoong, you would fit in as a rapper, however we think that you would do better with some vocal training. Your improvement both vocally and dancing will also determine if you remain in the group, as if you don’t show improvement in both areas, we will terminate your employment and your place in the group.” He told you, in a very no nonsense tone, which was reflected in the serious expression on his face.

Y/n felt her stomach drop, her hands that were hidden by the table, were gripping the hem of her top so tightly that her fingers were almost cramping. She had to take a moment to calm herself down, to try and keep herself from either crying or yelling.

“I’m sure I’ll improve in both categories, and I already know that the members will be working with me both vocal and dance-wise.” She replied, her voice shaking the tiniest bit.

“Well, we hope that you’ll improve quickly then,” one of the others spoke up.

Y/n hadn’t seen this person before, though she assumed they were either from Ateez’s staff, or just a member of the company.

“I shall do my best to live up to expectations then,” Y/n knew her tone was a bit clipped, her frustration with this meeting slipping through.

If they didn’t think she was good enough, or needed improvement, why did she make the shortlist then? Considering that her being chosen was a staff decision. Either way, she would play by their rules, it wouldn’t be wise to make an enemy out of the company. However, it didn’t mean she would have to like it. But, she did sign up for it, so she’d go with the flow for now.

“May I return to the studio now? I don’t want to fall further behind than I already am,” she said.

“Of course. I assume you know your way back?” She was asked by the main manager, her main manager now, and y/n nodded. 

It was made clear by him that she was free to leave, and she made her exit quickly, and travelled back to Hongjoong’s studio, taking about five minutes to get there. Before she knocked on the door, she pulled her phone out, finding that the meeting had lasted 20 minutes, though it felt both shorter and longer than that. Raising her hand to knock on the wooden door, it was quickly opened by Mingi, and behind him she could see Hongjoong at the desk. 

“Oh, you’re back! That wasn’t long, what did they want to discuss with you?” Hongjoong asked, as she entered the room after Mingi moved out of the way.

“Oh, uhm, it was just some things regarding the group and my role, that’s all,” y/n replied, trying not to get into it much, even as she tugged at her outfit in slight anxiety. She was trying to keep a tight grip on her scent, so as not to derail their plans for the day, since she knew that that would likely happen if either alpha knew of the meeting’s contents.

She could tell that neither man was convinced with her answer, but they weren’t going to push the topic further, thankfully.

“Well, Mingi and I prepared some lines for you to try, so go ahead and hop in there so we can get started.” Hongjoong said, after a moment of silence.

Y/n followed the captain’s words, slipping into the recording booth and getting ready to start recording. She took a moment to leaf through the pages set out for her, finding that they had pulled a range of lines from throughout their songs, and from all the different members’ lines as well. She assumed it was to test her range, and see what might fit her for past and future songs. She saw a few of her own favorite lines in there, so she smiled at the sight of them. Hongjoong wanted to test her with lines like San’s first lines in Answer, or some of Wooyoung’s from Bouncy, among others. She finished getting herself set up, before looking up at the two men.

“I’m ready when you are,” she said to them, “Where do I start?”

“Start with Yeosang’s lines in Hala Hala. They should be the first one on that top page, if you haven’t messed them up in your look through them.” Mingi replied, being a little sassy.

“I will have you know that I didn’t. Plus I’m not the one who destroys their outfits, oppa.” She replied, just as snarky, referencing the many outfit mishaps with Mingi’s clothes.

“That’s uncalled for!” The taller rapper replied, though he had a smirk on his face that showed he wasn’t actually upset.

“Let’s focus, please.” Hongjoong said, before the conversation could derail them any further. “When you’re ready, y/n-ah.”

She nodded, and signalled that she was ready, and Hongjoong started up the music for her. She took a deep breath, before starting to sing. She knew this line was a bit difficult for her at times, but she powered through and hoped her voice didn’t crack on her.

Thankfully, it went smoothly, and after a few repeats of it, they had her move onto another line. And this is how it went for hours afterwards, or at least it seemed that long to y/n, since one couldn’t really tell how much time has passed since they came here. That was a downside to being indoors with no windows, and the reason she liked them, since she did seem to lose track of time, much like they seemed to do today.

“And you’re done, that was the last line we wanted you to try.” Mingi told her, beckoning her to come out of the booth, and she quickly did so, happy to be out of there.

She grabbed her phone which she had left on the couch, finding that it had only been an hour and a half since she went inside to record. She also found she had messages from those back home, including two she dearly missed. She had meant to text or call them, but with the chaos here, hadn’t gotten the chance to, besides that first night at the dorms. Remembering to message them later once she had finished for the day, she asked the two men where she had to go next.

“It’s time to go to the practice room next, with all of us this time.” Hongjoong said to her, grabbing his bag as Mingi did the same, before ushering the three of them out of the studio.

“This way,” Mingi said, grabbing y/n’s hand so they wouldn’t get left behind. “It’s just a floor down from here, it’s not far once you know the way. I’m excited to see what our firecracker can do. Yunho and Sannie spoke fairly highly of your skills, and how fast you learn.”

“I still have a lot to learn, I’m not sure I’ve earned their praise yet.” Y/n said, her cheeks warming up at Mingi’s words.

Hongjoong kept the elevator open for them, coughing to remind them he was inside, as they slipped in, both a bit embarrassed that they hadn’t noticed the older man entering it. He quickly punched the button to go down to the next floor, and it only took a second to get there, so they quickly exited once the doors opened, and walked the small distance to the practice room, passing a few of the Xikers members on the way. She bowed in greeting as the elder two idols promised the younger ones that they’d introduce their new member to the whole group soon.

“We’re here,�� Hongjoong announced, only to stop quickly, not letting y/n pass through the door, though he let Mingi. “Guys, really?” He said, it being immediately clear that the man was disappointed with whatever was going on in there.

“Are you really surprised, hyung? It’s us.” She heard Jongho’s voice come from inside the room.

“No, I’m not, but y/n is here, and I’m sure as hell that she wouldn’t want to see you getting your ass eaten out in the practice room, Jung Wooyoung.”

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[parkerdean]

Just made a Batman PowerPoint for my boyfriend and now you all get more head cannons, this time about first kisses :) Bruce is sad but the rest are cute, I promise

*Edited bc I’m a silly goose

Bruce: Had his first kiss waaaay late in life. Never kissed anyone before his parents were killed and had too much angst after. First kiss was probably not consensual with someone trying to use him for his wealth. But now he leans into the playboy role. Kisses whoever whenever.

Dick: First kiss was for sure in high school. He’s a pretty boy and had a line of people down the block waiting for him. He was over the moon after his first kiss, literally floating, red cheeks for days. Is a good kisser and knows it too.

Jason: an incredibly selfish head cannon but I choose to believe his first kiss was with Roy in Young Justice/Teen Titans days. They probably excused it as “practice” but they both secretly enjoyed it and “practiced” often. After his first kiss though, he’s unstoppable. Makes out with half the team.

Tim: His first kiss is when he’s a young kid. A very shy and cute first kiss on the elementary playground. It could’ve been a boy or girl, either way it was sweet and short and he remembers it fondly.

Damien: Hasn’t kissed anyone and doesn’t care to. Maybe a crush plants one on him at some point but he just shrugs it off. Definitely kissed his hand a few times just to be sure he knew what he was doing just in case.

Cass: Saves her first kiss for a long time. She’s almost 30 by the time she kisses anyone. But it’s a good kiss with someone she really likes. Worth the wait.

Steph: Some people suspect she hasn’t even had her first kiss yet. Doesn’t kiss and tell. Has in fact kissed her way through half of Gotham. She simply just enjoys it.

Duke: sweet boy is shy! His first kiss was fumble-y and he nervously laughed through it. Probably late high school or early 20s. Isn’t a good kisser but he makes up for it in enthusiasm. Would kiss a friend for the bit, and he’s way less nervous for that than with someone he likes.

[itrainswhenurhere]

party 4 you frat!rafe cameron x sorority!reader

18+ mature (emetophobia warning aswell queens)

mlist

a/n: this is my first time writing for rafe x reader so lmk how i’m doing! no one likes when i write ship fics and they get like 20 notes so yeah ill just kms then idm😊😊 also i know nothing about frats or sororities alsooo… series???

the party was loud. you could practically hear the inevitable ringing echoing through your ears all of tomorrow and maybe the day after.

the speaker in the living room blasted all around the house like an inescapable torture. the smell of sweat and sex radiated every surface of delta chi.

god you wanted to go home.

you navigate through the crowd, shoving the occasional frat boy and shouting a “watch it.” at anyone who backed up into you.

the red, blue and green lights bounced off the walls and bodies clung and and jumped to eachother like it was the only thing keeping them alive.

this was bullshit. everyone here was ugly or annoying or a creep or all of the above. sarah, your sorority sister had promised you that there would be someone that lived up to your standards here. yeah right. the incels in here will do just fine sarah.

to be fair to them, no one throws a party like delta chi do, or, their president does. it’s by far the most lively of all the weekends you waste away at these events.

“babeeee,” you hear someone squeal from behind you once you finally make your way to the kitchen.

“do you uhh, know where the 4 lokos are at? sarah took the punch away from me.”

you turn to look and of course it’s hanna. she had probably hooked up with about 3 people tonight and vomited atleast twice, based on her breath.

“i think,” you start, shouting over the music, placing two grounding hands on her shoulders. “maybe we should get you home girl.”

the words come out slightly slurred and not entirely believable, but you try and act as sober as possible so sarah doesn’t appear out of nowhere and take your own red solo cup.

“also we’re not in middle school han, no one drinks 4 lokos anymore.” you laugh shout in the girls ear.

hanna laughs back at you as obnoxiously as possible, now leaning into your straightened arms for support.

“i’m going…. up- upstairs.” she hiccups out as her laugh turns to a pained expression, which safe to say, are from the copious amounts of alcohol she had consumed tonight.

“yesss!!!” you scream excitedly at her. “i can’t hear my own fucking thinking.”

“same, jesus im fucking dying.” she groans dramatically.

you grab a cheap beer from the kitchen, and with hanna stumbling behind you, you make your way upstairs fairly easily, apart from the sticky pit of people crammed into the main room.

the sounds from downstairs are definitely fainter, although chaos ensues one floor or another. there are people in the hallways making out slowly and the distracting thumping of a headboard ringing from some room or another.

jesus this house is huge. you think to yourself. you decide there must be somewhere here to relax for a little bit and wallow in the fact that no one here radiates sex worthy energy instead of ‘in need of anti-persperant deodorant.’

after many, many, walks in on people doing indescribable things to eachother, you find an empty room.

you throw yourself onto the bed and rub the heels of your hands over your eyes, caught up in the shapes and colour patterns under your eyelids when you rub hard enough.

“i’m gonna be sick, again.” hanna groans as loud as she did over the ear bleeding bass music, sounding- somehow, even more dramatic now.

you sit up on the edge of the bed and determine wether or not she just wants something to complain about.

sure enough, hanna’s face, streaked with running mascara- is sickly pale. she gags on air and you can see the exact moment she feels it in her throat.

“go to the- um- fucking bathroom then.” you blurt out, standing quickly, not used to hanna actually living up to her dramatics.

luckily, there’s an en-suite in whatever bedroom you and her have landed in, which she sprints to and kneels down just in time for the vomit to spew out her mouth.

you’re standing at the door, wincing like the whole ordeal is paining you yourself, unsure of what to do with your hands as the brunette now holds herself up by the seat of toilet.

she groans again,quieter but slightly more pained this time.

“bitch, if i’m not in my bed in the next ten minutes, i’m going downstairs and unplugging that fucking speaker myself.”

you resist the urge to snort out a laugh at her again, because you know for a fact within ten minutes, hanna will be begging to go back to the dance floor.

“yep.” you say, eyes darting around for something that will help her at this moment.

“y’know, it hurts like, more, everytime…” she says like it’s some kind of revelation. you’re opening up bottoms drawers and cabinets in the bathroom now, trying to find hanna some kind of relief.

you open the top cabinet and find three paracetamol that probably won’t do the job, but you figure anything is better than nothing.

the door of the bedroom you had forgotten to lock opens and you almost immediately assume it’s some wasted couple who haven’t noticed the two of you yet.

when you turn around and find sarah walking at a surprisingly stable pace towards you. you almost jump in relief.

“oh my god, you might actually be my saviour.” you clasp your hands at her and nod your head to where hanna is now sitting against the drawers below the sink.

sarah is the president of your sorority, and she never fails to save all of your asses when things like this happen.

“do not thank me right now, i just walked in on like five different naked couples.” she shakes herself off, trying to forget the images in her head as she leans down toward hanna.

“what the actual fuck,” she pauses, shaking her head in worried amusement. “could you have possibly had to drink?” she snorts lovingly at her.

“how did it get worse after i took your drink off you??”

you’re now leaning against the door, shrugging sluggishly at sarah. “you are soooo lucky i called us a ride when i first got it off you.”

“kill yourself sarah, oh my god i’m literally dying here.” hanna shakes her head at the floor, huffing, clearly okay again if she has the ability to restart crying wolf.

“topper will be here in five, let’s get you up.” she grabs the girls hand and hoists her up, holding her up by the armpits, both of them in hysterics again as they stumble over feet.

after you both walk hanna outside- arms over you and sarah’s shoulders, while you all giggle profusely at eachother, you decide to be the one who has to go in and get hanna’s discarded phone from the kitchen (hanna coughing like she’s diseased and sarah patting her back.)

you pad through the rooms- heels clicking (though not even nearly heard over all the screaming and terrible squeaky music.)

when you finally reach the kitchen, you have to pry the phone out of two drunk guys’ careless hands. you think they were planning on stealing it before you turn the phone around see the couple hundred selfies they’d taken, now uploaded to hannas icloud.

you fiddle with the phone, making sure it’s not been cracked or opened somehow, when the taller of the men reach down to grab it back from you.

“hey.” a voice booms through the all the other sound around the house.

you follow the voice and your eyes land on the tall, maybe 6,3, muscular, mousy haired source- who is staring daggers into the boy who’s hand is frozen in the air, half extended, previously ready to force the phone out of your hands.

both of the men mutter a ‘whatever’ under their breaths, clearly feigning nonchalance at the man while simultaneously speed walking out of the room, pushing into the main crowd.

“sorry about them, they’re fucking gone, seriously.” his piercing blue eyes, highlighted by the green light shining along the side of them, bore into you.

“uh, yeah,” you pause to try and work out who this man is and why you haven’t seen him before, brain still slightly sluggish from the alcohol. “i noticed.”

he too, takes a second to seemingly take you in. “hey, i’m rafe” he shouts over the music, tone strikingly different from the way he had spoken to those boys, not that you would notice, his voice commands enough respect that has a way of making everything else go still.

it takes a second for your brain to catch on to the familiarity of his name. rafe. hm. rafe? oh my god. rafe.

sarah’s old brother. the president of delta chi, who you had heard so much about, yet somehow, never seen. according to your sister, cecily, he’s never seen at his parties because he’s upstairs fucking any girl he lays his eyes on.

your eyes clearly match your surprise, and he clocks instantly that you now recognise him. he’s heard about you, obviously. every single man here has been trying their luck with you all night. and every other night that you float into their vision.

he also clearly clocks that the phone you’re retrieving isn’t yours, looking down at cracked, pink, iphone 13 already safely in your hand.

“that your friends?” he snaps you out of your daze.

“oh, yeah, you know hanna? she’s outside with sarah, toppers getting them.”

disapproval flashes over his face at the mention of toppers name. “seriously, sarah’s still going out with that, jesus.”

“hey!! they’re in love” you slur over your words again, in a way that makes him raise his eyebrows, but he doesn’t comment.

“come on, i’ll walk you out, so you can give that to your friend.”

“oh no, that’s fine, i’m going with them anyways.” you shout as he turns you by your shoulders out pushes you gently by the small of your back out of the kitchen.

he parts the crowd as he walks by, in a way that makes you want to huff, scoff and promptly undress.

he doesn’t seem to pay any mind to your comment about you going with his sister, and your not sure if it’s because he doesn’t care, or if he has other plans.

once you free yourself from the sweating confines of the frat, you breath in the fresh air and slightly quieter night.

you spot hanna and sarah still sitting on the curb of the pavement, hugging eachother for warmth.

before you can shout that you’ve found the phone. rafe grabs your arm and is now able to audibly whisper in your ear.

“you’ll come to my room when they leave, i can help you get home afterwards?” which he phrases as a question, but it’s not.

shivers run visibly down your spine when you finally realise what he’s implying, and you shudder from what could be passed off as the cold air.

before you can ask him which room and where it is, he turns on his heel and disappears back into the crowd of moving bodies.

you stand frozen for about ten seconds before sarah turns around and waves you over.

toppers car is now parked infront of them and hanna has already moved into the backseat with help from sarah.

you walk at a fast pace over to the blonde and place the phone-as firmly as your drunk body can, in her hand.

“umm hey, so i think im gonna stay for a bit longer, like, carly just said she’d drop me off later, i met her in the hall and- you know.” you speak, quicker than normally, wondering where all this enthusiasm is coming from.

sarahs slightly tipsy mind contemplates for a second before she decides, “okay girl!! have fun, don’t get too dicked down!!!” she squeals at the end, clearly not picking up on your obvious tone.

“bye guysss.” you wave off at the car as sarah gets in and topper offers a polite nod before driving away.

the small trip upstairs is agonizing, you spend the entire time wondering what rafe had meant, i mean, he barely knew you, you thought.

still, your thoughts started shifting to between your legs as you start opening and shutting doors when the people inside the room shout profanities at you for opening it.

you imagine what he had done to those girls, for them to speak about him likes he had hung the moon and stars.

you imagine him doing whatever that may be, to you.

would he push your head down and have you on your knees?

would he worship you until you were begging him to stop?

would he go slow and deep or would he fuck you like his life depends on it?

as that thought crosses your mind, you decide to try your luck on the room you and sarah had previously scooped hanna up from.

when the door clicks open, you’re not met with scandalised eyes trying to cover themselves, or even the couples who are so drunk that they don’t even notice the clicking noise.

you’re met with rafe. he’s fixing a shirt on what you now know is his chest of drawers. his king sized bed. his en-suite. his so very frat boy decor. his everything.

“hey angel.” he greets, looking up as you shut his door and click the lock over.

“um, hi.” he moves calculatedly over to your place infront of the door and collides his face with yours.

before you even have time to question him, ask him what he’s doing, why he didn’t go for someone else at the start of the party, or even if he had gone to someone else, you’re kissing him back.

he starts slow, but the second your tongue brushes along his lower lip, he freezes for a second, malfunctioning, before gripping your chin and hold you in place to deepen the kiss.

it’s messy. really messy. probably thanks to you, your spit was already all over his chin from occasionally missing him mouth and licking at his face, although he seems to return it with the same fervour, gripping over your dress and digging his nails over your ass.

he turns you and starts moving you towards his bed, now his go to lick into everywhere he can possibly reach, as fast as possible.

he sits in the edge of the bed and pulls you down with him, gasping and catching his breath already.

your legs are on either side of his hips and he groans a cry of pleasure when your press down onto his hard cock.

“jesus fuck.” he pants along your neck when you continue to rock up and down onto him, his jeans occasionally snagging over your wanting clit.

the thought crosses your mind that sarah would probably be so happy to see you finally picking someone to get laid by, but not as happy that you’re about to fuck his brother.

before you can stop yourself, you let out a slightly rude laugh into shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

he pulls away from your neck and looks up at you quizzically.

“uh, what was that?” he questions. “i was just giggling, chill.” you state, suppressing another laugh at picturing sarah’s face when she finds out.

“are you serious, that was not a giggle. you full on laughed.” he stares like he’s connecting pieces of a puzzle on your face, which from this angle only makes him more appealing.

after a beat. “how much have you had to drink?”

the question catches you slightly off guard, whatever was in those red cups were clearly catching up to you now.

“well, not a lot, i mean, obviously i pregamed though.” you nod at him as if to say ‘duh.’

“your friend said you weren’t drunk.”

a look of confusion passes over your face “huh, when did you talk to my friends?” you say, now very confused.

“like maybe half an hour ago, hanna, anna, maybe?” he studies you once again, still slightly wearing that smirk.

“ohhhh, yeah. that makes sense. i’m like, dry january sober compared to hanna either way.” you laugh at your own joke.

you shift slightly and his still very obvious erection presses back onto your clit. you completely forget all about sarah and attempt to grind down on him again.

he grabs your hips and holds them in place firmly, leaving no room for argument, even though it looks like it physically pains him to stop you, and he has to shut his eyes.

“look, not tonight.” he speaks, looking up at you again, pupils blown out from the previous adrenaline.

you visibly pout at him in a way that no one would catch you dead doing sober.

before you even have time to wonder why he won’t just fuck you, why he won’t just do what he seems to do with every other girl, he’s lifting you up like he’s going to move you off him before she shifts his own legs and this time, places you between one of his thighs.

“you’re not gonna fuck me?” you ask, still not fully sure of what he’s trying to do.

“no, you can do it yourself, i’ve been waiting for a while to talk to you, i’ll wait a night more.” he watches the realisation dawn on your face at what he’s asking you to do, a mix of shock and desperate, desperate arousal.

the way he speaks, hard and cold, but also excessively cocky and egotistical, has you moving all of your weight onto his singular leg.

“there you go.” he looks rough. still not cracking a full emotion, but now extremely sharp around the edges, still heavy breathing.

he’s going to watch you get off on his thigh. it turns you on so much that you almost moan before the first movement of your hips, but when you feel the way his muscles tense under you, just for your pleasure, you don’t hold back.

he’s now playing with your ass, hands under your underwear, as you rock yourself back and forth on the denim on his leg.

your mouth is strung open and your eyes are squeezed shut as you feel yourself getting close embarrassingly quick.

rafe is peppering sloppy wet kisses over your neck and down past your collarbone, moaning almost as loud as you when he sees his brand new jeans completely ruined by the slick dripping out of you and onto him with every movement.

“yeah that’s it, feels good doesn’t it?” he strains, physically holding himself back from flipping you onto your stomach and having you exactly how he wants you.

“mhm, yes.” you reply over a whimper you didn’t think you had in you. the pressure is so close to snapping inside you that all that leaves your mouth is strings of ‘yes’ and ‘please’ when he asks you if you want to cum.

he reaches down to where you’re now desperately humping his leg and slides your underwear to the side, hearing the pathetic cry that leaves your mouth in response.

“fuck, oh my god, please please-” it all snaps when he pulls you back by your ass and viciously pushes you back onto his flexing leg.

your mouth opens wider than before- if possible, nothing coming out for a few seconds before a needy, whorish whine leaves you and you’re panting into the crook of his neck, still riding your high- with his help and biting into the flesh of his shoulder.

he gives you a good minute of helping you slow down the drag across his thigh, which is now soaked to the point that he can feel you seeping through to his bare skin.

he lifts your chin up so you can properly hear what he’s about to say.

he almost stutters when he sees you, still panting, mouth wide open and pliant, hair a mess. but he doesn’t.

“come around tomorrow.” which exploits a soft ‘mhm’ from your sore throat, nodding up at him, now completely putty in his hands.

“did that feel good?” he whispers, leaning into your ear when you nod again in approval.

“imagine what i can do with my cock.”

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° fallin' back into the hedge maze

( shidou ryusei x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — third part in my series the garden of you! ( masterlist )

♡ word count — 1.4k

♡ content — ryusei shidou x fem! reader, friends to lovers, met when they were 15, all characters are 18+(around 20), Shidou plays pro soccer (not stated where), shidou is a PR NIGHTMARE, i didn't write him as a psycho ( this is just the way i write him sorry :( ) , probably ooc shidou, i think that's it, not proofread!

♡ synopsis — Shidou Ryusei doesn’t care about rules, reputations, or rumors—except when they involve you. You’ve been by his side from the start, and when the world tells him to let you go, he realizes he can’t. Because for once in his life, he wants something more than soccer. he wants you

── .❀ without ever touchin' his skin, how can i be guilty as sin?

You met Shidou Ryusei in the nurse’s office.

You, with a scraped knee and embarrassment staining your cheeks. Him, with blood drying under his nose and a warning slip already crumpled in his pocket.

“What’d you do?” you’d asked, glancing up from your place on the cot.

“Punched a guy in the mouth,” he said simply, like it was nothing new. And it wasn’t.

You stared, unsure if you should laugh or recoil. Then he pointed to your knee. “What about you?”

“Tripped over my own feet.”

That made him laugh. “Nice. That’s a real talent.”

You rolled your eyes. “And you’re proud of your violence?”

“No,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips. “I’m proud of my arm, though.” He lifted his shirt sleeve and gave you a little flex of his bicep.

It shouldn’t have stuck—but it did. 

Something about him, about that crooked smile and how he sat down beside you without asking, like it was the most natural thing in the world, stayed with you.

And he kept coming back.

With time, you became his person.

The one he called when he got benched for a game. The one he dragged to late-night ramen shops when his adrenaline wouldn’t let him sleep. The one he let yell at him when he was being reckless. The only one who could do that, actually.

He wasn’t sweet. He wasn’t soft. But with you, something changed in him. He didn’t become less—he just became real.

And you were always there.

So when the gossip articles first dropped, you laughed.

"Shidou Ryusei Spotted Again With Mystery Girl—A 'Lady of the Night' or Just a Temporary Distraction?"

You held your phone up to him with a laugh in your voice. “Can you believe this? A lady of the night?”

Shidou didn’t laugh.

You noticed how his shoulders stiffened, how his jaw clenched. He stared at the screen too long.

“Ryu?”

He turned away, brushing a hand through his hair. “Fuck that. I don’t care what they say about me.”

“But?”

“But I don’t want them saying that about you.” His voice was quieter now, not angry, just… careful. “You didn’t sign up for this shit.”

You smiled. “Neither did you, technically.”

He looked at you—really looked at you. Sitting cross-legged on his couch with a black clay mask drying across your face and the faint sound of anime playing in the background.

And suddenly, he didn’t want the world to touch this. You.

His you.

The media didn’t care about love or loyalty. They cared about the headlines.

And soon enough, it wasn’t just gossip blogs. It was his agent. His team. His PR rep.

“If you keep being seen with her, Ryusei, you’re tanking your own reputation.”

Shidou sat across the glass table in some too-clean office, hair still damp from training, fingers tapping the arm of his chair with a rhythm that barely masked his irritation.

His PR manager didn’t even look up from the tablet. “One more article like that and you’ll lose endorsements. Sponsors. Contract bonuses.”

“Then they can leave,” he said flatly.

She finally looked up. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” His voice was like a knife—sharp, steady, dangerous. 

“Stop seeing her or your career goes down the drain.” She repeated it like a threat.

But to him, it sounded like a test.

Because for the first time, Shidou Ryusei realized that soccer—his first love, his identity, his everything—was not forever.

There would be a day when his body couldn’t keep up. When the crowds moved on. When the world stopped chanting his name.

But you?

You could still be there.

And in that sterile office, under fluorescent lights and corporate warnings, he made a decision.

“I pick her.”

When he showed up at your door that night, he didn’t kick it open with jokes. He didn’t bring snacks or try to drag you somewhere.

He just stood there.

Quiet. Fidgeting.

You blinked. “Ryu?”

He stepped inside. Closed the door. Sat on your couch. For a long time, he didn’t say anything.

“Are you okay?” you finally asked, sitting beside him.

“I was gonna lose everything today,” he said. “They said I had to stop seeing you.”

Your chest tightened.

He turned to face you, and it was the first time you’d ever seen him look tired—not physically, but in his bones. Like something in him had shifted.

“I picked you.”

You blinked. “You what?”

“I told them to fuck off.” He let out a dry laugh. “I told them I’d rather lose soccer than lose you.”

Silence filled the room.

Your throat went tight. “Ryu…”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. “I’ve spent my whole life playing this game like it’s all I have. And maybe it was, back then. But now?” He looked at you. “You’re the only thing that makes any of this worth it.”

There were no fireworks. No dramatic kisses. Just his hand finding yours. His fingers lacing through with a quiet desperation.

“I need you, okay?” His voice cracked, just barely. “Even when I’m old and washed-up and my knees are fucked—I’ll still need you.”

And you, who had been there from the beginning, who saw through all the noise and stayed anyway—you squeezed his hand back.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

It happens one night after a match—one of those games where he scores, tears down the field like a wildfire, and blows a kiss toward the stands. He doesn’t explain who it’s for.

But you know.

Later, you meet him just outside the tunnel. The press is swarming, cameras flashing, voices shouting over one another, but it’s like he doesn’t hear any of it. He spots you and immediately breaks away from his teammates.

“Ryusei—” his PR agent tries, already panicking.

Too late.

He strides up to you with a cocky smile, but his eyes soften the second he sees your face. You’re holding a drink he likes, wearing that stupid oversized hoodie that somehow makes him want to kiss you and tease you at the same time.

And before you can say anything, he takes your hand.

Not just lightly—fully. Fingers laced, thumb brushing over your knuckles, pulling you into his side like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You blink. “What are you doing?”

“Letting them see.” He doesn’t stop walking. Doesn’t look at the reporters screaming his name. “They’re gonna write about it anyway. Might as well give them a good picture.”

Your heart hammers. He’s warm beside you, steady in a way he’s never let the world see. No flash in his eyes, no fake grin. Just this raw, easy calm that makes you feel like maybe the chaos doesn’t get to him after all—not when he’s with you.

That night, the internet practically breaks.

There are headlines, think-pieces, and more than a few jealous fans. His PR team is on fire. But Shidou? He’s completely unbothered.

In fact, he’s sprawled across your couch, shirtless, legs propped on the table, and the two of you are in matching strawberry clay masks. He’s got an arm draped around you, head resting against yours, and a shared tub of ice cream melting between your thighs.

“You know,” you mumble as you scoop a bite into your mouth, “this is probably the worst time for a scandal.”

Shidou hums. “Nah. I’m turning the scandal hot.”

You snort, which makes him grin wider.

Then—without warning—he reaches for his phone, opens up his social media, and snaps a photo: you looking caught mid-bite, mask cracking slightly at the edges, his arm wrapped tight around you as he leans into frame with his usual devil-may-care grin.

You pause. “You’re not posting that.”

“Watch me.”

And before you can stop him, it’s up.

A blurry, real, heart-wrenchingly normal photo of the two of you.

The caption?

my lady of the night 💗

It’s obnoxious. Ridiculous. Him.

And somehow, it’s also the most honest declaration of love he’s ever made.

Because in a world that’s tried to spin him into something violent, dangerous, unpredictable—he wanted them to see this. You. The softness he never lets anyone else touch. The calm after the fire.

And the world doesn’t turn on him. His sponsors don’t drop him. His fans… some are confused, some are thrilled, and a good chunk just reply with:

this mf is in LOVE.

He doesn’t deny it. Not once.

Because Shidou Ryusei knows now that nothing lasts forever. Fame fades. Bodies break. Even the cherry blossoms fall.

But this?

You?

He’ll hold on to you for as long as he can.

And he’s not hiding it anymore.

shidou i will forever make you ooc if it means ppl stop treating you like you're only a monster

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[mechncheese]

Opening 3 quick commission slots !

SLOTS FULL THANK YOU WAAAH !!

I’m doing some quick colored busts for $20 + $10 for an extra character ! I’ll make a proper commission sheet with more options eventually once I have more time ! they will look like dis ! (reblogs off on this post for now because it's not an Official Comms post BAHAH JUST A QUICK COUPLE COMMS)

EDIT: I felt bad charging that much for flats so you get some shading and simple shapes in the bg woaowo

Transformers related stuff only for now !

Can draw: Canon characters Science AU interactions/ships/characters Oc ships/interactions Canon/Rarepair Ships (Ask first tho, I won’t be willing to do some I so sorray </3) Oc x Canon ships/interactions Suggestive stuff

Wont do: Explicit nsfw/fetish Heavy gore

if I'm not comfortable with drawing smth I will also let you know

I’ll send a sketch before taking payment and then finish it up after ! If you have any questions feel free to let me know ! I will update once all my slots are filled out yay !

DM if interested if you're interested, it's mostly first come first serve and I might open these back up if I have the time

[balrogballs]

queen of ai art <3

I genuinely have no idea what the fuck is in the tap water right now considering these all came in the last ten days from what I suppose are different people considering I blocked the first two… either that or it is one very persistent person or the collective actions of what I assume is probably the world’s most depressing groupchat. Incest anon, come back, I miss you on hindsight.

I don't normally answer mean-spirited questions but these pissed me off recently because of the nature of the accusations. So, let’s get into a long, illustrated lesson including a WIP gallery as to why you shouldn’t rely on “gotcha” AI logic and/or be a little twat, with tips on manual digital scaling, presented in classic Balls style.

Now, the vast majority of my art is traditional, many are quick ‘challenge’ sketches—they are drawn or painted on paper. With many of them, there are progress shots. Sometimes multiple, including fucking gemwork. Sometimes I do silly sketches. I have also been quite open that I’m really focusing on exploring varying styles of portraiture at the moment after an artistic background in watercolour landscapes. A number of you follow my traditional art blog where said landscapes were posted, and you know they’re banging.

Now, I’ve posted *checks notes* like five digital pieces last year from the time I owned a tablet (after which all my work has been trad due to being indefinitely parted from said tablet), and none of them are what you’d call professional quality, considering most of my work is traditional/realist and I am still not very good at stylised or digital drawing. I’ll choose my “best”/most detailed one for the purposes of this impromptu demonstration using the files I do have on me at the moment.

Due to my background in traditional art 👆🏻I always and without fail do my initial sketching by hand, because I find it difficult to get perspective and proportions correct digitally, because I learnt various pencil angling tricks etc… so anything I have drawn digitally that includes people/buildings, I’d do a sketch on paper and scan it, and do the lineart from there.

Here is the sketch, the sketch cleaned up into lineart, shaded values, and a portion of the colour-blocking stage, where I checked to make sure the major colours don’t clash at the borders, thanks to Thingol’s bright orange outfit from hell.

I assume what has been done here is that you or whatever program you’re using has picked up on the below little noisy bits, threads and spirals and decided they’re AI. Let me introduce you to the magic of textural overlays, aka texture stamps/brushes, which I get so impatient with that it becomes quite obvious they’re on there… which works in my favour right now lmao.

Here is me sliding the opacity on and off sections, so you can see what exactly is going on (pillar with marbled effect, thingol skin texture, elrond jacket texture, elrond's remarkable forehead, and the marbled archway):

These aren’t overlaid by my mystery robot sex toy, they are done by hand and there’s around 20-30 different ones in any given piece, some of them (eg skin texture or leaves) are repeated 10-15 times. Using texture brushes or stamps is not a cardinal sin, they are literally sold on this website by the artists who make them. Here is a clip of me just selecting them all in one go, if you’d like that proven for your face eyes as well.

I have no excuses for overblending my colours or leaving sections choppy, I’m just lazy to do painterly detail on stylised digital pieces, and usually just stop after a couple rounds of blending. But if laziness was a crime then most nation-states in this world would not have a functioning government.

Now, the final two stages—because the base for these images are usually scans or photos of my sketches and thus not exactly at the best of resolutions, I upscale in Lightroom. Amusingly, image upscaling is actually normally done by AI either built into Photoshop or plugins—this isn’t exactly generative AI, it’s more an algorithm that breaks down your existing photo and “reconstructs” it at a higher resolution. Hence, many upscaled images are flagged as AI regardless of the manner of upscaling.

I am too stingy to purchase Photoshop, the above plugins can/do use your art to train generative AI even if it doesn’t use it for your image, and I have Lightroom Classic already—upscaling is relatively easy to do here and does not train AI. Here’s a walkthrough:

Open Image > Denoise > Play with Slider > Save as TIFF > Open TIFF > Develop Module > Enhance > Save DNG. Then, work on DNG image re: adding noise/brightness/contrast whatever.

Just a note that the ‘Super Resolution’ feature does actually use (algorithmic, not generative) AI so don’t click on that, just do the normal Enhance. This will increase your image size and resolution without sacrificing detail. However, the file itself would be fucking enormous by this point so you can either compress it yourself or use Canva or whatever.

If you don’t mean those and instead mean these fucking things, jesus fucking christ they’re free graphic design templates with free Illustrator vectors, get a fucking grip, ten days in a charity comms job and you can make these in your sleep while moving the mouse with your pussy.

Here is a collage of some of my other digital works at various stages as well, including pencil/pen sketches, to help you sleep at night:

Please remember that I stopped posting digital art except one charcoal+digital work after I was parted from my tablet in December. If I was really iBalls, I would have continued churning them out surely 😇

Writing

I am not going to even take this seriously because there is clearly no way to explain the concept of writing something in advance to people who clearly type out and immediately send every half-dusted thought the moment it farts itself into their brain.

However, if you are actually sitting in your home in the year 2025, when there is almost definitely litter in your neighbourhood that needs picking and dogs on the Rover app that go unwalked, feeding my fucking writing into whatever fucking AI detector you have that is, in turn, training whatever fucking AI generator it is linked to, simply because of whatever robot you have created in your brain that somehow knows very niche facts about the lifestyle, dialect, speech patterns, culture and politics of a frankly irrelevant town in 1970s Kerala, I genuinely do not wish you a single moment of joy in your life

I have already or will soon be privating some of my artwork considering there are people cheerfully sat there feeding my work to Musk’s field of cows in order to get yourself a good old gotcha against some random Elrondfucker on the Internet — I’m obviously not going to do that to my writing at the moment but please stop letting your actions be driven by your asshole instead of your brain.

As for this one, I initially thought of not being so cocky in my response but considering I either get a version of this like once a month or some fucker goes to another person’s blog to ask them if I’m not tired of people kissing my ass, let me tell you something:

I am not whatever hockey-playing girlboss it was that was a bitch to you in high school and you are now afraid is intruding into your fandom space. She must have sucked I am certain. I am very sorry you had to deal with her. But I am not her. She is not me. I can assure you of this. If you must know, I was a netball girl. In fact, I was netball team captain. If it actually was me, I sincerely apologise for accidentally on purpose fouling you in 2014 because I wanted to win the intra-school friendly and I promise I won’t ever do it again.

And just in general, let me please remind you that I did not curate this audience through purposeful posting of art and literature and tasteful selfies, I did it via the 'Lindircident' post, aka accidentally holding my asshole wide open for the light to shine through two weeks after I made this account and remaining in the same doubled-up position for the six months since.

Tschüss! 🖕

[ision]

SKI TRIP MEET CUTE ( >﹏<;。)

ft snowboard instructor haechan

☆¸¸ .•*★.

“Oh God…” you muttered out, shakily, as you felt your body lean further and further forward. Helplessly, you waved your arms in the air as if that would somehow gain enough momentum to propel you into balance. It didn’t. And you had never hated the feeling of cold snow in your face more, served with stale utter humiliation in front of all the other 20-somethings at the snow slope.

“Oh my God, get up…” your friend said, pulling up your limp body as well as they could seeing as your board was still attached to you. As you were brushing off the snow that stuck onto you, the sound of someone racing past you caught your attention. The person glided effortlessly, a GoPro in their hand as they flew off the jumps and spun in the air. You didn’t need to have counted the twists and turns to know that the move was impressive, all their spins blurred into one.

“You like his moves?” your head snapped to your left, a foreign voice breaking you out of your reverie, enchanted by the performance. “Your stance is wrong.”

“Huh?” You replied. A man, with an olive-green jacket, appeared a few feet away from your side. “Your body isn’t low enough, bend your legs a bit more. But don’t be too stiff in the legs either.” You nodded, trying to make sense of the unsolicited advice, and also trying to push past the shame of someone witnessing your relentless, deplorable attempts at snowboarding. “Honestly, keep trying, the first hundred tries are always awful, but after that, they get a lot better,” the man said. You couldn’t really make out his face what with his helmet and visor blocking your way, but he seemed nice enough.

“I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how I’d do that,” you said, thinking about his words. “I can show you?” You pondered for a few seconds, should you trust him? But, it’s not like he could snatch you away and hide you in the neighbouring wilderness, it’s near impossible to walk with your feet strapped in. “Sure,” you said, pulling up the collar of your turtleneck-ed fleece.

‘I’m Haechan,” he held his gloved hand out for you to shake. “Hold my hands,” Haechan said, “or hold onto my cuffs, if you don’t want to.” Smiling sheepishly at his remark, you placed both hands into his ones, and despite the layers of fabric between them, there was a warmth from the embrace, which felt wonderful to your frozen hands. Your cheap, rented gloves hadn’t been doing much to keep the cold out.

“Ok, now bend your knees… lower.. a bit more, there! Keep that level, and keep this stance” he talked you through your corrections. Eventually, he deemed your position sufficient enough and slowly started to drag you down, his back facing the net at the base of the slope as you glide on your board horizontally. It was a bit funny how here you were, struggling to perform a basic move let alone any tricks or turns, whilst Haechan effortlessly snowboarded backwards. Laughable, really.

You knew you looked awkward for sure, trying to maintain your position whilst fighting against the urge to lock your legs in place. But it was nice, the way you moved over the snow was satisfying, smooth, and so much better than before. You don’t think you said a word down that whole slope, the concentration and adrenaline made a deafening mix. “Ok, I’m letting go now,” his voice startled you, and you lost your balance and leaned forward, your hands clasping his tighter. “No Haechan, don’t you dare,” you pleaded, the panic rendering you desperate. If he left you now, you don’t think you’d be able to make it back in one piece, and you really did not want to embarrass yourself in front of him. He shook his head slightly. “Ok then, as you wish,” Haechan replied, a smile tugging at his lips, and continued to bring you down the slope.

“Lean back a bit more,” Haechan said. You were quite close to the end of the slope now. “Bit more… no the other way… wait-” you got a tad overexcited. Leaning too far forward when the person in front of you was riding backwards, and hence was also leaning backwards, wasn’t the best idea. “I’m so sorry!” You jumped up off of Haechan, who looked like the wind had been kicked out of him. “think… you just … killed me,” he gasped out between breaths, with a fist held to his chest dramatised. Rolling your eyes at his theatrics, you helped him up. “How was it? Did it feel easier?” You nodded with a smile on your face “Yes, it was amazing!”

“I’m glad,” he said. He leaned forward and lightly tugged on the strands of hair that had come out of your helmet, “it’s ok if you fall over though, you have these to anchor you when I’m not there to fall on.”

“Hey!” You pulled the hair away, not missing the teasing smile Haechan had on. “Sorry, sorry,” he lifted his hands to surrender, “I’m so sorry that I’ll buy you a drink.” You felt a little flushed. “Or I can Venmo you, if you’re not interested.” You let out a laugh at that, shaking your head. “I’d love a drink, but I should reward you for your help, instructor Haechan,” you smiled at how he tried to brush off his fluster from your words. Today was a success in all senses. It didn’t count if your only fall was at the end of the run, right?

[spacetimeaccordionfolder]

i feel like i'm loosing my mind trying to figure out when Kayne learned Lillith was following Arthur and John/ that she's what's different about this Arthur than other Arthurs.

This got long, so I'm providing a read more. I did figure out when I think Kayne learns of Lillith following, but I'm still confused on what made Kayne think Lillith's what made Arthur survive. I've got some ideas, but think we're either missing a big piece of information or that Kayne jumped to a conclusion.

When does Kayne learn Lillith is following Arthur?

In 52, Kayne says "Once I thought someone was fucking with me, I only needed one guess." Okay you know i'm just putting the quote here

And this is a reference to 20, right? the "maybe someone's just fucking with me"

"Y’know, I think I’m starting to like you. Maybe that’s it. Maybe someone likes you and they are just fucking with me, knowing it’ll drive me crazy. (Aside, to himself.) Lillith, you bitch. (To Arthur.) Okay! Okay."

So Kayne in 20 goes to meet Arthur. He wants to know what's so special about Arthur that he survived taking the King's heart, instead of popping like a ripe cherry, to use Kayne's colorful simile. By this point, Kayne's already watched Arthur's life. He's already seen Arthur's parents die, and still is asking what is special about Arthur. Middle of the conversation, we get the above comment. Maybe someone likes Arthur and they're just fucking with Kayne. Says that "It’s true that you have something special, something that even I can’t see, but unless that something is ‘unfathomable power at your fingertips’… "

Next time Kayne really references Arthur's uniqueness is Intermezzo. At least, I scanned Coda, The Undefeated, and the Order and there was nothing about that.

And we get:

ARTHUR: I thought you said I was unique.

KAYNE (excitedly): O-O-Oh! You have no idea. Not yet. 

(Brief tangent - earlier in the episode we get this exchange

ARTHUR: What do you want with the Stone?

KAYNE: Why doesn’t matter. Not now. Not yet.

Two "not yet." 's first about why Kayne wants the Blackstone and second about why Arthur's unique. And we got those reveals at the same time. yay!)

So his "you have no idea. not yet" seems like he's figured things out between 20 and Intermezzo, but then there's more in intermezzo that suggests he hadn't yet.

first -

ARTHUR: But what does all that have to do with me?

KAYNE: Well, I told you! You’re special. At first, I thought it was just me, but really, I think this world has some serious power after Shub blinked out of existence!

(this is after Kayne explains how he plays all the keys now and how he's an anomaly)

And - most importantly to my question here-

Kayne says here something about Arthur is different, but he doesn't know what. And that's the last reference by Kayne to Arthur being different till 52.

So in 52, Kayne says once he thought someone was fucking with him he thought about Lillith. And figured out she was what made this Arthur different, by helping, guiding, manipulating, giving him a way to survive.

20- no clue what made Arthur different (having watched his life and his parents die and still doesn't know) or why he survived.

Intermezzo- ????

52- says Lillith is what made Arthur different and why he survived.

I'm thinking maybe he had suspicions in Intermezzo, but didn't know for sure. Mentions his daughter possibly to see how Arthur reacts.

So theoretically, Kayne decided Lillith's influence is what made Arthur survive, while on the other end of the Yorick phone listening to Arthur and John in the 1200s.

In 42, after Yorick is "given a mouth" Yorick says

And this (Yorick always listening) isn't really addressed more as the insects inside the prince decide to burst out of him. The main focus with Yorick becomes what question to ask him to get the most relevant information. "I do not have the foresight to know what you require and what you do not." as Yorick says... and then suggests they go looking for the Witch's talisman instead of immediately getting out of the caves, which leads to Arthur being stabbed, and the Witch dying, and then her hand being cut off when Yorick suggests they might need it to make the doors in the labyrinth open. (AHHHHHH)

So Yorick's always listening. Kayne "had [his] good little soldier make the Hand of Malevolence for [him]." with the intention of using it to keep Lillith from talking. Yorick can hear Kayne. If the Hand was made with the purpose of being used on Lillith, then Kayne knew Lillith was following them definitely before episode 47 (when the Hand is made), but probably before episode 44 (when Yorick suggests to cut off the Witch's hand). We're looking at Kayne knowing Lillith is following and may be a problem before they enter the caves. Meaning! The Windmill!

How much do you want to bet Kayne was listening on the other end of the Yorick phone at this moment. Arthur's cracking up laughing at them being worried over an owl, and Kayne's listening in just mouth agape realizing that yeah Lillith is following them and hmmmmm he needs to plan for this.

Guy must have been punching the air when John promised Yorick anything if he helped him with the Witch, to trust him. Also Kayne listening in does make the "I do not believe he is listening. Your calls go unanswered" comment funnier. "Kayne! John wishes to speak with you!" "ehhh tell Marigold I'm busy" Kayne's sending John to voicemail.

Yorick asks for the hand and to alter it as requested in exchange for trusting John before the owl shows up again in 44, meaning Kayne's already got the "make the Hand" plan based on 41-early 44.

So to partly answer my question: Kayne knew Lillith was following them shortly after dropping Arthur and John in medieval england in 41.

What makes Kayne decide Lillith is what makes this Arthur different?

Then there's the "Giving you help, Artie! Guiding you, shaping, manipulating, giving you a way to survive! Remember? All your other versions couldn’t keep it together."

Kayne goes from "Lillith is following Arthur and John" to "Lillith is what makes this Arthur different." Why? What makes him think that?? And is she??? is she what makes him different??? Or is he wrong? Is he jumping to conclusions?????

It kind of feels like a "my kid is out to get me." He knows she's trying to stop him. Her words are her power- he makes her unable to talk to ensure she can't stop him/ that she behaves during the conversation with Arthur.

Next point here- There's the "I wonder if my dear daughter told you why you are her… favorite."

This wording isn't a "why she made you different." This isn't a here's why and how Lillith affected you such that you survived. But it's one of the few crumbs of evidence I think I can find that Kayne used as a base for his conclusion of "Lillith made Arthur different and has been guiding him"

From 52: "Mom and Pop Lester were just like all those other devotees.[...] Trying to worship what they couldn’t understand.[...] And Lillith was just the one to give them everything they ever wanted.[...] ...She spared you, Artie.... Now that you are well informed and have all the information…" [I removed Arthur's lines and like one sentence]

We don't know what the Lesters wanted. We don't know what Lillith gave them. But they died. And Arthur was left sleeping peacefully.

(hey quick aside reread 20 earlier and it looks like from Arthur's poem that he had nightmares as a kid a lot. So that's a fun detail to think about in the context of the Lesters worshiping Lillith.)

A few more things- Yorick has been listening to them since Kellin pulled Samantha's head from the lake and knows about Scratch. In 47, Yorick says "you have been watched since you first arrived here" - further cementing that Kayne learned of Lillith in 41 - that he doesn't know who watches, it's not Kayne but she's of a similar power level, and she's "following you, watching over, waiting for something." When asked about this, Yorick say he's done his own research. That "she intends to follow at a distance and maintain an eye on… you, so to speak." (I'm thinking the "... you, so to speak" was about the Blackstone.) Yorick also reveals that the being following them was Scratch, now whole.

Yorick was also present for the whole Mother Darkness and Lillith confrontations in 50 and 51 respectively. From Mother Darkness, we get that Lillith told her to stay her hand against Arthur. Arthur also contemplates whether Lillith is the lesser evil between her and Kayne after this conversation, and John says he'd side with Kayne over her if it kept the deal. Presumably Kayne hears all of this. From Lillith, there's more of the "you see me as you always have" comments and that Lillith does care about Arthur, Alia, and humanity to some extent.

That can't be it. Where's the rest. Kayne. Kayne this can't be all the information you are using for this conclusion.

Perhaps some of the evidence we lack lies in the lives of the other Arthurs. Arthur's parents don't kill themselves in every world. Perhaps Lillith wasn't involved either there, or wasn't at Marie's house, or didn't get trapped where ever she was. Perhaps the big piece of evidence Kayne has is that Lillith is here in this world, whereas she isn't involved in the others. Kayne's possibly doing a "correlation equals causation," and it really doesn't.

I'd like to point out something. Before 20 Kayne already had seen Arthur's parents die. Kayne watched his life. He phrased it "watched your parents kill themselves." Even though in 52, he says they didn't actually do it, but that Lillith killed them. Perhaps whatever they asked Lillith and why she killed them amounted to basically them asking for death. An ending of some kind- like how Lillith gives Alia dreams, possibly killing her by not letting her wake, a peaceful end. Either that's (your parents killed themselves) a lie or a stretch of the truth or the Lesters were suicidal and asked for death. Or he didn't see Lillith in that memory. But in 20, assuming Kayne saw how Arthur's parents actually died, Kayne still doesn't know what makes Arthur special and why he survived. So it has to be more than Lillith merely causing Arthur's parent's deaths and sparing him.

So:

What's up with this guy causing a kerfuffle? He didn't die when he took Hastur's heart. Weird. Wonder why? Oh his parents were killed by Lillith? that doesn't answer my question. Time to talk to him!

Okay I got no answers from talking to this guy but he's kind of fun and I like him. I'm giving him a shiny dagger and watching to see what happens.

This guy is weirdly unique. Maybe this world has some power since Shub went out of existence here? Maybe there's something else I can't see? It's kind of like the blackstone. There's something different about this one, even from the other Arthur's, and I don't know what that is and it's bothering me. Well I might as well use that to get the Blackstone.

OH FUCK THAT'S MY KID

why is my kid following my guy. hey. no. that's my guy. get your own.

Okay make a plan so that your kid doesn't fuck up your plan.

ooh a witch! magic silence hand yeah that will work. that way she won't sass me and I definitely won't cry in front of my guy.

My rebellious teen punk immortal daughter has apparently been following my guy since he made her whole again. heard that happened but was busy watching Johnny try to explain nearly chopping off a priest's arm to pay attention to that. that was fun.

I am so close to fixing the world and this guy will not stop worrying that he should possibly give my shiny rock to my daughter instead of me. How dare he.

Oh and she has cared for him since he was little! Aw that's sweet. Great. yeah she's out to get me and she did some influencing of my guy.

(hypothetical other point- Lillith maybe wasn't as involved -either no scratch, or not trapped, or no dead parents- in the other worlds. She's here and this one succeeded. Kayne's correlating those two facts.)

Conclusion: This guy is different because Lillith has been guiding, shaping, and manipulating him this entire time and made him survive.

Here's the thing: Lillith was trapped. One foot in a prison between worlds, one foot in Marie's house. For 30 years. She couldn't have been guiding Arthur this entire time. Maybe Lillith gave Arthur something, shaped him in some way, as a child, that affected his ability to survive as an adult. But she has not been guiding Arthur.

Any help Lillith could give, any guidance, manipulation, shaping, giving a way to survive, that had to happen between years 0 - 4 or in the past month. Perhaps she did something while he was a child. Whatever that was that his parents asked for - whatever Lillith gave to the Lesters and spared Arthur from - maybe that's what makes this Arthur different.

Or maybe Kayne's just looking for something to blame, is already annoyed at Lillith, and decides that, since she's still following him 30 years later, Lillith must have done something to make Arthur survive.

I just feel like there's some evidence missing. That Kayne jumped to a conclusion, or that there's something big we don't know that Kayne left out or technically fits into what we have so his "now that you have all the information" isn't a lie.