#fastidious-and-a-mess

[collabwithmyself]

if it means anything, i really live your ‘serious doodles.’ i really admire and appreciate all the careful thought you put into your characters and things like thematic motifs or visual symbolism in their designs. i think your stories are really engaging and compelling and i love reading/seeing all ur posts and putting together all of The Lore. so. yeah <3

BUH. THANK YOU MAN IT MEANS A LOT

[fromjannah]

🎧🎧🎧 !!! 👀 <3

drunk walk home by mitski, when memories snow by mitski, and working for the knife mitski... I Have Made A Grave Error this is my i have to go to work playlist

[operationslipperypuppet]

for the d20 ask game - 6 <3

6 - comfort character

i did just answer this one (here) but i am absolutely going to answer again.

efink murderdeath. her name is just knife backwards. she's looking for a divorce but then does push her (ex-)husband such that he falls and dies. she's constantly wet (what does this lady think she is, a river?). she might be good at magic. she takes over a cursed station to save her friends. [in writing this i have all but decided to rewatch eftbk]

thanks for the ask!

[jeannedarcgerard]

blorbo bingo: castiel, of course

MY BESTEST FRIEND

i feel like i want to say he eats out of the garbage also but he doesn’t really eat. he’s a bitch though and i love him so much

[kenobion]

Andrew Garfield on The Jonathan Ross Show

[iamnotlookingidonotseeit]

the urge to organize only comes when one is fantastically harrowingly melodramatically overtired

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

i wish you’d write a threesome with aemond, reader, and someone else of your choosing! 🖤

Here you are, my love, a tidbit for you...

"If he tries to take you, you must not resist."

The statement catches her off guard as she lies next to her husband in his bed, keeping to his unburned side, knowing it will cause him the least discomfort.

When Aegon had first taken to his sickbed, a mess of melted flesh and broken bones, she had wept, not knowing if he would ever be whole again. For six long months she had kept vigil by his bedside, watching anxiously as Maester Orwyle had worked fastidiously to make him well. He slept nine hours out of every ten, and when he was lucid he simply moaned in pain and begged for his next draught of poppy milk.

It is only in recent weeks that he is well enough to rise from his bed with assistance, though he cannot walk far. He can now hold a conversation without gasping for breath, addled by pain. Even his voracity has returned, to a degree. He is under strict instructions to not attempt to lay with his wife, however, it has not prevented him from commanding her to lay beside him on the bed as he brings her to peak on his fingers.

"Who?" She asks softly, brow furrowing in concern, as she softly strokes his forehead. A subtle way to check that his words are not feverish ramblings.

"Aemond," he replies simply. "He covets my crown, at the cost of my life. I expect he will want all that goes with it, my Queen included."

She swallows thickly. She had long suspected foul play had been behind Aemond's sudden rise to the position of Prince Regent, however, it is the first she has heard it spoken aloud. However, in the midst of war she is certain that laying claim to her will be the last thing on his mind.

"I'm sure your brother has more pressing matters to attend to, my love," she reassures him.

"I mean it," he says, voice strained and fraught with emotion. "Give him what he wants. I will gladly share you if it spares your life."

It not two weeks later that she sits straddling Aegon's face, a knee either side of his head on the pillow as he laps greedily at her sticky core, the throbbing sensation making it almost impossible to keep her hips still as she grips the headboard with such force it turns her knuckles white.

She is tentative in how she positions herself, careful in her movements, not wishing to hurt him. If it were up to her, they would not be doing this at all in the first place, however, he had been insistent in his demands.

"If I do not get a taste of your cunt soon, I fear I shall go mad. Have mercy on a cripple."

She had giggled at his brashness and finally relented, and is glad she had. The art of pleasure is something that even more than half a year spent infirm could not make Aegon forget.

The doors to the bed chamber burst open, robbing her of the sweet oblivion she had teetered upon the edge of and making her startle. She gasps as Aemond announces his presence, sweeping into the room as he throws the doors closed behind him.

She desperately tries to scramble away from Aegon, to make herself look presentable, but he holds firm to her thighs, keeping her precisely where she is.

Her skin burns hot with humiliation as Aemond slowly advances towards the bedside, clearly unbothered by the spectacle he has walked in on. He looms over the bed side, looking down at her as she gazes back up, eyes wide and fearful.

"It appears to me," he tells her softly, "that my brother has not made available to me all of the resources necessary for me to rule the Kingdom in his stead."

Her eyes drop to where his fingers now work open the lacings of his trousers, her heart thudding at the sight, mind racing with the possibilities of what he means to do.

"I require the services of the Queen," he continues, "and I expect her to be forthcoming."

Her throat runs dry as he frees himself, the tip of his erection already glistening with arousal.

Aemond reaches out, his fingers sinking into her hair as he cups the back of her head, pulling her forward, the head of him pressing against her lips.

"Is that understood?"

She hesitates, and feels Aegon give her thighs an encouraging squeeze.

"If he tries to take you, you must not resist." The words echo in her mind, and she parts her lips, allowing him to push forward into her mouth.

The taste of him upon her tongue is sharp and unfamiliar, though not unpleasant. And as she feels her husband's tongue begin to lap at her folds once more, while his brother thrusts slowly into her throat, she decides that in war they must all make sacrifices, and that if her body is to be forfeit then she will gladly yield.

[caraphernellie]

⟢ EIGHTEEN PLUS INTERACTIONS ONLY. ellie who has an oral fixation, needing to suck your tits 'til she's overtaken by slumber. and a reader with very, very sensitive tits. she can't help but feel cosy and comforted when she's touching your body, using such grace to hold you. she's not shy, never has been, but she definitely gets embarrassed about this need of hers. winding down for the night, needing your body on her mouth in some kind of way, else she can't take her mind off the strenuous day she's had.

it starts when exhaustion looms over your head, you lie down and tug the covers over yourself and pull ellie under with you – if you don't, she'll never get any rest. there's perhaps a mere minute of quiet, where she gets herself comfortable situated behind you. and then, there's the featherlight touch of her lips against the back of your neck, a hand sliding up beneath your tank top. each kiss peppered down your bare shoulder is a silent form of begging, and she continues until you give in. doesn't take long these days.

your top is tugged up to your collarbone and ellie's lying on you now with a leg hooked right over your waist, a wordless insistence that you've gotta stay put. her hands grasp at your body gently, one splayed against your sternum as her lips purse around an engorged nipple. she's a hot mess, tongue absolutely fastidious, circling the hardened bud and flicking it back and forth. you're tracing wayward strands out of her face and caressing the back of her head as she swallows around your nipple hungrily.

a trail of drool cascades down the underside of your breast, and ellie's hand moves to the free and rather neglected mound beside her face. scrunching, squishing, kneading the skin. it's suddenly different tonight compared to usual, your breath short, muffled little moans eliciting from the fervent touching. and ellie switches between your tits every so often, sucking the soft skin raw and sore until your body grows spasmodic and fluttery, cumming untouched.

by the time it's over, you and ellie's minds are cleared of anything but mild shock, holding on tight with ellie's head against your chest until you both crash.

[queenoftheimps]

Something I've only just now noticed about Armand in the show: despite the fact that we know this guy is a vampire and we know he eats people, we have never once actually seen him fully drain anybody or get covered in any blood. He bites Daniel, but doesn't kill him or even get any blood on himself in the process. Even when he eats Malik, he comes back clean as a whistle, with only the sunglasses as evidence he killed anybody.

Which is in stark contrast to every other vampire on the show.

Now, granted, this does make a lot of sense for Armand as a character, him being kind of fastidious and neat.

But what I suspect is gonna happen: whenever we do see Armand fully in action, it's gonna be a fucking mess. Especially if it's because he's biting someone because he's trying to turn them after refusing to create a fledgling for so long. (*cough cough Daniel cough*)

[mischiefwife]

BG3 characters having a 'these edibles aint shit' moment:

Halsin is lying on his back in the garden and has been for like an hour straight saying nothing, he probably cultivated the weed and its like super strong through druid powers

Wyll spends the entire high fastidiously cleaning the entire camp, and sweeps the dirt under Halsin several times just to be thorough

Shadowheart is in a corner playing an entire Evanesence album and pausing it to explain how good it is and how good the lyrics are (she will move on to other similar music too)

Gale is somewhere by himself casting the simplest cantrips over and over and just being Amazed at the Amazing Properties of the Weave and how it contains Untold Power while he summons like one tiny candle sized flame

Lae'zel has the owlbear cub in her lap by like hour two and is holding up his claws saying stuff like 'murderous. fearsome. beast' and the cub is just going hoot

Karlach keeps forgetting she's put a hot pocket in the microwave and so ends up with like 7 and is trying to hard to relieve the munchies but she can't stop laughing

Astarion keeps panicking about his hair being messed up and going to find a mirror and then saying fuck everytime he realizes he has no reflection Aylin is convinced she can sober up through rigorous exercise and so is doing sets of one hundred unbroken air squats with Isobel on her back

Volo was vociferously booed for dropping the lasagna and they sent him out to pick up pizza but he doesn't get back til like 5am

Minthara is probably the most normal and is just like hanging out reading a book and from time to time looking up judgingly at everyone else who is losing their shit

Jaheira has made rice krispy treats

Minsc is having a very very troubling and extremely intense existential debate with Boo and is on the verge of tears and wants to give everyone a hug Withers what are you doing over there bone man

[emberfaye]

Something I think about a lot is like. Messy boy chay and fastidious kim

Chay who doesn't mind the lube and come drying on him, vs kim who can only stand it in certain parts of his body (fingers, maybe calves) for the smallest amount of time

They will do all the aftercare cuddles after they clean up. And kim doesn't care if Chay stays messy, but kim needs to get the lube off his hands before it dries under his nails and makes it's way into his hair from moving it out of the way

And chay loves it he's used to having shitty water pressure and cold water showers and tiny showers so he loves and gets into all the lil ways of cleaning in luxury

Post sex shower rinses with the massaging shower head, or maybe it is one you can pull off the spout

So many shower cuddles. That's their aftercare: cuddles and warm water.

Kim washing over chay, feeling him getting hard but not teasing him, and chay sighs and leans more weight onto kim, relaxing into him Unhurried

They have two master bedrooms because they sleep in whatever bed they didn't have messy sex in and clean up in the morning.

drying their hair, Still naked,maybe chay in Kim's lap, just flushed clean skin on skin,no heat or intent behind it however their dicks react trying to fill up

Chay trying to put lil braids in Kim's hair but can't because he's never braided hair so he's just tangling and untangling it while they laugh.

Sleepy and clean under the blankets, nose to nose.

just, chay not caring about dirty and mess and stuff because he's in survival mode. and kim being the one to show him self care and how to take care of things not because he can't replace them (if something breaks you fix it until you can't, if something isn't perfect that's fine so long as it's useable), but taking care of things because they are absolutely worth cherishing.

Kim takes care of things. His weapons his guitars his brothers his body his home of course he'd take care of chay

[fromjannah]

i want to get into poetry. help?

my dear i'm going to be real with you -- i may not be the best person to ask if you want to Seriously get into poetry because nearly Everything i read is contemporary (i know i need to branch out. i know.). that being said, a great method is to just go down an absolute rabbit hole after discovering a poem you like.

there are a lot of ways to read poetry. while it's good to pay attention to craft and all that comes with it, you don't need to be an expert in literary techniques to appreciate poetry -- plenty of good poems can speak to you otherwise! as you read more poetry, you'll gain more skills. the only way to begin is by beginning, etc. the only thing i can say is really sit with poems! don't rush through them. in short works, every word counts and will make your reading experience better.

i think hanif abdurraqib is a fantastic starting point for people who aren't super into poetry, especially if they find it flowery or difficult to understand. hanif is super grounded and real while still writing beautifully. some of my favorite poems of his are "and what good will your vanity be when the rapture comes", "poems on an email exchange", "when i say that loving me is kind of like being a chicago bulls fan", "dudes, we did not go through the hassle of getting these fake ids for this jukebox to not have any springsteen", among many many others.

my favorite poet of all time is kaveh akbar, who is actually the poet that formally got me really into poetry. he is beautifully lyrical without being over the top and i cannot recommend his collection pilgrim bell enough. that being said, "stop me if you've heard this one before" is the poem of his that was my gateway drug. other poems i love very much include "forfeiting my mystique", "the palace", "against dying", "heritage", "i wouldn't even know what to do with a third chance", and i'm going to stop here before i go crazy. if you're into poetry readings, he did this lecture/panel/thing a few years ago -- he has a really hypnotizing, gorgeous style of reading poetry that i love.

other contemporary poets who i love include cameron awkward-rich, franny choi, solmaz sharif, ada limón, natalie diaz, summer farah, ocean vuong, and dante émile (who is here on tumblr!). this is a very very short list shaped by my personal preferences -- if you send me a dm with the vibes you like, i can probably get a more specific list of actual poems. to sound a little cultured, a slightly older poet who i love very much is frank o'hara, which, you know, basic choice, but he's special to me.

in short: find a poem you like, and follow the rabbit! there are so many poems just online. a secondhand bookshop is also a great place to start building a physical collection, if you want to get into that (you totally should, eventually, once you find poets you like -- sometimes you have the worst day at work and you just need to lay in bed with your favorite poems in hand).

[daytaker]

The Gang's Tumblr Pages

Inspired by this and my own reaction to it.

Lucifer

Perfectly curated, perfectly formatted, and whenever there's a major change to the tumblr format, he simply leaves the website altogether in a huff of peacock feathers.

Lots of HD photography of nature getting reblogged.

Has an extremely complicated and specific list of tags he uses for every single post.

He only reblogs text posts that are sufficiently visually appealing. Very few meet his high standards.

You could look through his entire blog and not learn one single thing about him except that he's a perfectionist to the point of neurosis.

He has a lot of professional art blogs following him.

Mammon

Oversharing oversharing oversharing!!!!

He regularly gets himself in trouble by shouting about the shit he's done into the void of the internet.

Tried to have a tagging system but forgets about 7/10 times.

Reblogs himself all the time to say "AND ANOTHER THING!!!"

He hates looking at the actual blog pages. The text is always so tiny and some of them start playing music and changing his mouse into a weird shape? No thank you.

He has very few followers and he doesn't really care. Who goes on tumblr for the social element? Weirdos, that's who.

He's insanely easy to troll with anonymous asks. Everyone has done it. Even Lucifer, though he wouldn't admit it.

Some of his best asks:

"did u just post that you're okay with the idea of ponies and unicorns breeding. like no shade on that conceptually but why."

"If you reblog another 'reblog this for good luck' post, I will personally break down your door and steal your skin."

"ur ugly" "yeah-huh" "ugly" "no i won't 'come off anon and fight u' whhy don't you come ON anon and fight me?" "'i don't know how' sounds like something a chicken would say"

Leviathan

He just makes a blog like one of us. Fandom stuff.

Except he's multifandom to the extreme. It's impossible to keep track of his interests because he always has so many simultaneously.

He has the most followers of the brothers just because he gets so deep into so many fandoms that they come rolling in.

He has blocked all of his brothers except for the twins. They're okay.

His blog is a chaotic mess but there is order within the madness. He has a masterpost of tags that explains everything if you care to look at it. (I don't recommend it.)

Satan

It feels stupid to even put this in writing but...cat pics. Endless cat pics. That's like 90% of his blog.

The other 10% is a mixture of book recommendations and analysis, Lucifer shade, and a comprehensive, ever-expanding list of shit Lucifer has done to make Satan angry. It's a very long list. It's organized by theme.

"Lucifer inflicts unjust punishments." "Lucifer makes unnecessary snide remarks." "Lucifer simping for Diavolo and MC (pathetic)."

His blog itself is very minimalist and clean.

He's another fastidious tagger. He tags the cat pics by color, breed, age, number of cats, setting...

Asmodeus

He's not very into tumblr. It's like Devilgram but more complicated and less popular.

Sometimes he'll post or reblog 'aesthetic' things. Moodboards and the like.

In general though, he doesn't really 'get' tumblr.

People don't post selfies very often. Weird.

Beelzebub

Food blog.

Just food.

Reblogging hot dogs.

Reblogging nachos.

Reblogging ice cream.

Nothing else. Ever.

Belphegor

"This minimalist Tumblr has no posts."

No posts.

Default profile picture.

Sometimes he'll like something.

Usually he just looks at it.

Diavolo

There is no order. Only chaos.

He hardly ever uses it, then he'll come online and reblog a million things that have nothing to do with each other. Then he'll go silent again.

He has no tagging system.

He has no custom theme.

He is very friendly to all anonymous askers though.

Barbatos

Barbatos would never have a tumblr. Don't be ridiculous.

Solomon

He only posts very rarely. He prefers to lurk.

When he does post, it's something weird as fuck, like reblogging statistics about owl pellet contents.

He likes to keep people on their toes.

Simeon

Reblogging inspirational quotes, pictures of nature, and general positivity.

That is, once he figures out how the website works.

That takes a really long time.

What is a queue? What are tags? Why is it called a "reblog"? How does he track activity? How does he navigate the homepage? Why does it post things in such a strange order? What is a "Blaze"? What is a draft? Custom URL? Custom Theme? Sideblogs? Mass Post Editor?

Someone please help him.

Solomon probably does that.

Luke

Baking.

He uses tumblr for recipes and images of baked goods.

But tumblr isn't even the best place to go for that, so he isn't on very often.

He sometimes likes Simeon's posts, just as a show of support since he knows how hard Simeon works to post anything anywhere.

[wri0thesley]

Diluc and bodyworship plea s e e

His mouth is hot, as it trails up your inner thigh. The breath that puffs out against your sweat-slicked skin makes you twitch, sigh, your fingers twisting in the bedsheets as he murmurs, again;

"You're so beautiful." He is not often a man of many words, but what little he does let out into the world is said with true devotion; as you raise your head from the pillow to see his own eyes, crimson-dark and blown, his hair a mess . . . you know that he means every syllable.

"Diluc . . ." You sigh, and you have to control yourself from grabbing him and pulling him up to you, to envelope him in kisses and swap your positions so that you can lower yourself onto his cock and take him in fully. He had told you he wanted to treat you, tonight - that he wanted to linger, to take his time over you, to make sure you knew just how appreciated and adored you were even if you didn't always feel that way . . .

You would feel like a villain if you were to get in the way of his plans, but that doesn't stop the fact that you are slick between your thighs and your heart is beating hard against your chest and your vision feels blurred with the need you have for your lover.

"Calm down," he says, with a soft exhale of breath, as he gathers himself up onto his knees and he rears up above you like a beautiful angel, his hair cascading over scarred shoulders and chest, free of the ribbon that usually ties it back. "I'll get to that, my love. You know I wouldn't leave you wanting."

(This is true; Diluc works fastidiously at you, every time the two of you tumble into bed. Uses mouth and fingers and tongue and lips and heel of his palm to have you writhing and squirming and panting. A time that Diluc is inside of you before you have yet to come twice or more is a rare occasion indeed).

"Please," you say to him, looking up at him with all of the puppy-dog vulnerability you can muster. He puffs out a soft laugh instead, his palm curving over your hip, rising over the flesh of your stomach, brushing the stiffened point of your nipple as he leans down to press a kiss upon your forehead.

"Patience," he says to you, as if he doesn't whine and huff and grind when the places are reversed, begging for more of your touch. "Let me appreciate you some more first."

And as he moves his mouth, presses another kiss to your cheek, your jawline, your throat, your collar . . . you sigh and let yourself relax into the luxurious mattress and pillows of Diluc's bed and accept that you will be worshipped before he joins you to take his pleasure.

[grasslandgirl]

this night is sulfur (i wanna know her)

[fig/ayda. dimension 20. modern/no magic meet cute band au. 8k.]

“So,” Fig says, “that was Fabian, he’s gonna be on lead guitar and some keys tonight-” Fig pauses for the crowd to cheer appropriately, Fabian playing a brief lick on his guitar as they do- “and behind me, you know him, we all love him, Gorgug on the sticks!” Ayda finds it hard to look at the two men onstage, however, even as Fig introduces them; because looking at Gorgug or Fabian would involve looking away from Fig. And Ayda really cannot bring herself to do that, yet. Not when Fig keeps glancing at her- probably in passing, as she scans the crowd of the bar- and Ayda’s pulse jumps every time she does. “They’re the significant, I’m the figures-” Fig rolls her bass guitar up off her hip in one smooth motion, Ayda’s mouth is dry and her ears are ringing, even though it isn’t that loud yet- “lets make some fucking noise!”

kisses and love and gratitude to Jamie @gilears and reese @fastidious-and-a-mess for both of their help and feedback for this fic !!! its been smth I've been working on for nearly two years now bit by bit (insane) so I'm so glad to finally have it be done and out here !! xoxox

you can read it here on ao3 !!

[eoieopda]

blindsided (myg)

After years of dating, you thought you had Min Yoongi all figured out - you didn't. And when he flipped the script on you, you never saw it coming.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Fem!Reader | Darksided AU Type: Sequel to darksided. Word Count: 6K Content: SMUT (18+ - Minors DNI,) established relationship au, POV switch, softbf!yoongi turned dom!yoongi, sub!reader, sex tape, oral sex (f receiving,) v fingering, p in v penetration, unprotected sex, squirting, multiple orgams, over-stimulation, spanking, biting, blindfold, praise kink, pussy slapping, general depravity, aftercare, fried chicken. A/N: Seriously, go read darksided (linked above) if you haven't yet. This takes place approx. two weeks later, and while the context isn't necessary, things will make more sense! Check out the playlist while you’re here. Tags: @exhibitachol @sstarryoong @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @miraculous-disaster @wakeupinahaze

For the first time in his life, Yoongi was avoiding his studio.

He had a mountain of work left to do on his mixtape – and, importantly, the drive to finish it – but that was precisely why he’d stayed away. Anytime he stepped foot inside over the past two weeks, his mind wandered far, far away from the task at hand. His previously unyielding discipline fell by the wayside the second he crossed the threshold.

Instead of focusing on the tracks he had yet to write, or perfecting the ones he'd already recorded, his eyes would roam over the surface of his desk on the other side of the room. It'd since been returned to its usual state, covered in various notebooks, and recording equipment. But it looked so much better with your bare, sweat-slicked body writhing on top of it.

And when he'd finally muster the willpower to look back at his computer, his gaze would pass over - and then jerk back to - the wall he’d pinned you against as his fingers fucked a river out of you. His blood pressure would spike as he pictured you there, relying on him to hold you upright, and any hope of accomplishing anything would drop dead on the floor.

The very same floor you’d fastidiously scrubbed to erase the mess he’d made of you, no less.

And then he’d think to himself: This isn’t a workspace anymore - it’s holy ground. 

Yoongi was running out of time, though, and he had to do his best to keep his mind on his work, off of you. Catching himself once again rewinding through recent memories, he let out a groan and forced his wandering eyes back to the screen in front of him.

He realized as he scrolled through his editing software that he’d done a piss-poor job of labeling his masters lately. This, of course, made it impossible for him to remember which track was which. On a whim, he chose the file in the middle of the folder and brought it up.

If he’d paid attention to the size of the file, he could’ve prepared himself for the consequences of pressing ‘play' - but he didn’t and he wasn't. 

“I really couldn’t love you more if I tried.” "Should I shut it off now until you're ready to start?" "I can cut it down. I do need you to cue the track, though - when I signal you."

Biting down hard on his bottom lip, he secured his headphones over his ears. He’d never been less interested in hearing his own music; so, without a second thought, he skipped over the next three minutes. As he did, his hand dropped down to palm his hardening dick through his jeans.

“Is it me, baby? Have I got you dizzy?”

Your little whimpers were barely audible in the recording, but they still managed to ignite a fire in the pit of his stomach. The blaze spread throughout his body when he pictured the way you looked below him then - so soft and shy, but with such carnal desire sparking in the dark of your eyes.

“I can’t give you what you want if you can’t tell me what that is.”

Anticipating your next line, his hand tensed around his cock. It was a pale imitation of that vice grip he found between your thighs, but it was something; and he would've taken anything.

“I don’t want you to be gentle with me. I - I know that you -”

Even caged between the walls of unimaginable heat, the irony of it all wasn't lost on him. The best recording he'd ever produced was created purely by accident -

“Stupid girl. You know nothing.”

- and it wasn't music at all.

“Get up.”

With Yoongi working hard on his creative pursuits, you begrudgingly committed to addressing your own. Like him, you had a to-do list long enough to circle the globe; but unlike him, you weren't buried in projects because you wanted to be. 

When Yoongi crossed off a task, he scribbled five more in its place. His mind never idled because he found inspiration everywhere. A half-remembered vignette from childhood that shook itself loose to become something beautiful. A word he encountered in passing that he’d transform into some modern-day epic. He generated this much work solely because his passion - like his potential - was limitless. 

To the contrary, you generated this much work because you were easily distracted. You’d start one project, and before you could finish it, your attention would flutter off on the wind like dandelion seeds. All those half-starts would stockpile until you eventually boxed yourself into a corner - and then, somehow, you'd keep stacking. 

Today's task was simple: you needed to transfer your recent photos from your camera's memory card to your laptop. Easy. Drag files from one folder to another, and then your contribution to this month's magazine spread would be finished. It should've only taken an hour - at most - for the upload to complete. 

Instead of doing what you intended, you ended up where you always did: happily lost in the weeds. This particular distraction was a folder from four years ago, when Yoongi took you on an anniversary trip to Paris. If you really had to defend this tangent, your scattered brain's game of word association wasn't far off - the photos you were supposed to tend to were from Paris Fashion Week. 

That counts for something, right? 

You snorted as you toggled through your archive. Had you taken a single photo of the stunning architecture, or countless historical sites you’d visited? Of course not. But you had snapped approximately one-hundred shots of an unaware Min Yoongi - buying you macarons; befriending a stray cat by an ATM; grimacing as he sipped wine you both hated but spent too many Euros on to waste. 

Wait, what were you supposed to be doing? 

Whatever it was, you’d swear up and down that you really did intend to finish it, but then you heard familiar, muffled footsteps. And then you felt the mattress dip slightly under the tops of your thighs and the elbows you’d propped yourself up on.  

And then the same Min Yoongi whose face beamed on your screen - slightly older, and even more adored - slid over the backs of your outstretched legs until his knees came to rest at either side of your ass. His body was warm as it loomed over you, but you shivered, nonetheless. 

Leaning in, he pushed your hair over your right shoulder and pressed a warm kiss into your left. Though he'd targeted an area several centimeters away from your spine, the aftershocks of this chaste contact rippled down its length. From there, the current divested and shot through each of your limbs, paralyzing you. 

You hummed and let your eyelids flutter shut. He ascended the arc of your shoulder, then your neck, leaving a smattering of kisses in his wake until the trail went cold. His quiet exhale tickled the skin below your ear, but he hovered in place - too far away. 

Reflexively, you whined and tilted your head to look at him. Effectively pinned, all you could do was survey his profile in your peripheral vision. “Baby?” You nudged. 

The hand he wasn’t using to hold his weight snuck under the hem of your tank-top and caressed the bare curve of your waist. His hypnotic ministrations on your side might’ve lulled you to sleep if you weren’t so intrigued by his so-far wordless affection. 

Thoroughly spellbound, your lids closed again while your lips remained parted. There was a moan building slowly in your chest, taking its time, but it was a gasp that tore out of you when his teeth nicked your lobe. His tongue was quick to soothe the pinch, and even quicker to solicit a mewl. 

You had no idea where this was coming from. Moreover, you didn't know what additional surprises this man was capable of. Though Yoongi had always been affectionate with you, he'd only recently unearthed some rare, raw sensuality that you never expected. In the time since this discovery, his touches became more frequent. You felt more of him underscoring each one, no matter how brief. 

The fingers skimming over your waist disappeared and left you cold, but before you could process the loss, they reappeared - lower now, pushing up the bottom of your underwear, and gripping the doughy cheek of your ass. Hard. Instantaneously, your hazy eyes re-opened. 

Min Yoongi truly contained multitudes. 

"Have I told you that you're my muse?" He purred into the shell of your ear as his hand massaged the skin he'd likely bruised.  

Enchanted once again, your sole response was a breathy moan. Only after his hand raised and smacked back against your ass did you realize he'd lulled you into a false sense of security. 

"When I ask you a question, I want an answer. Do you understand, baby?" 

Your shuttered breaths and accompanying nod weren't sufficient replies. His palm collided with your delicate cheek a second time, and it stayed there. The sting was muted by his fingers digging in and pinching; but it wasn't the pain that stole your attention. 

Instead, it was the wetness gushing between your clenched thighs when he whispered, "Use your words, angel." 

"I do," You muttered urgently, "I understand." 

The grip on your ass dissolved. You knew better now than to trust the warm hand kneading your cheek, but you couldn't resist moaning. Fuck - his touch was perfect. 

He contradicted the gentle caress below with a nip at your neck; and the kiss placed at that same spot preceded the true kill-shot. He hummed against your skin and your soul threatened to leave your body: 

"Good girl." 

The noise that escaped your mouth was stranded between a gasp and a cry. Oh, this man would be the death of you. 

"You inspired my next project today," He murmured between kisses to your neck. The tip of his nose was cold as it brushed across your skin and that disparity in temperature left you in shambles. "Not something I've done before -" He paused to suckle at your neck, no doubt leaving a mark when he released you, "And I need your help, baby." 

Another whimper escaped when his index finger snapped the elastic waistband of your boy-shorts; and you felt his mouth curve into a smirk. "I'll do anything -" You meant it. "Just - please, Yoongi, I need to feel you." 

"You will," His mirth left him in a breathy chuckle. It vibrated through your body and formed goosebumps as it went. "But not yet, angel. I want to savor this." 

Confused, you pouted - another exhaled laugh against your neck - and then, in a tiny voice, you asked, "What do you mean?" 

His hand slid up the back of your neck. With the base of your skull held gently captive between his thumb and middle finger, he guided you to turn your head to the left, then down. 

It didn't click right away. Silently, you blinked down at your camera. Is this what he wanted you to see? Why did - "Oh, no," you groaned as your head drooped forward. 

"Oh no?" He repeated, and though he tried, he couldn't hide the surprise in his tone. You quickly realized that he mistook your reaction for disinterest. He couldn't have been more wrong.  

Your sudden, complete deflation was simply your body buckling under the weight of unspeakable arousal. It anticipated the world-endingly perfect way he was about to fuck you; and it couldn't process the fact that it would all be memorialized. He really would be the end of you. 

Your head tilted until it rested against the side of his. "The memory card inside it is full, but there's a new one in my bag." 

Although you couldn't see it, you knew the corner of his mouth would twitch excitedly upwards at your words. At his, your mouth dropped open: 

"Any clothes you're still wearing when I come back to this bed will be ripped off. Got it?" 

It was difficult to tell which part of this exchange made your legs quiver the most: the stern warning itself; the contradictory soft, husky tone in which he said it; or the kiss the top of your head received when you responded - out loud - in the affirmative. He was gone before you could figure it out, making his way to the camera bag in the corner of your bedroom. 

He'd barely taken two steps when you frantically pulled your oversized tank-top over your head. It landed somewhere out of sight, and it was swiftly joined by your underwear - grey fabric soaked black. Your laptop was more carefully dismissed, tucked gently under the nightstand to avoid being ruined the way you were sure to be. 

When your head hit the pillow, your heart was already racing. Suddenly, you felt shy as you lay naked in your own bed, like you hadn't been in this position so many times before. There was a long-forgotten anticipation turning flips in your stomach. It bent your knees and brought your arms up to rest over your bare chest - you hadn't felt it since the very first time Yoongi saw you like this. 

As if he'd been summoned by your thoughts, Yoongi walked towards you with his focus trained on the camera in his hands. The tip of his tongue poked out through pursed lips as he carefully slotted the new memory card into the bottom, but it disappeared when the compartment clicked shut again.

He froze when he looked up at you, and your hammering heart threatened to make a break for it. 

"Baby," He was frowning. You raced to figure out which of his directions you failed to follow; but he interrupted the frenzy in your brain with that maddeningly soft, stern voice, "Why are you hiding?" 

Mouth open and poised to respond - with what, you weren't sure - you were cut off by the extended finger he raised to silence you. You clamped your jaw shut; his mouth curved ever-so-slightly at your quick compliance. 

See? You wanted to say, I'm learning! 

He removed the lens cap before his eyes flitted back up to you. "Hands above your head -" You did as he asked, though you didn't know where this was going. "- Close your eyes -" Again, you obeyed. "Don't move." 

And you didn't.  

You laid there with your eyes closed and listened for any sign of what was coming next. You could hear the muffled tread of his bare feet on the rug; and you expected further instructions - none came. Then you waited for any familiar noise from your camera - there was silence. But you smelled his cologne as he came closer, and the warmth you suddenly felt at your side told you that he’d reached you. 

“Lift your head up – but keep your eyes closed.” 

The eyebrow you raised in question was covered with some cool, silky fabric before Yoongi could have registered it. You received your answer in his actions. Gentle fingers adjusted the way the blindfold fell over your eyes, and then – even more gently – they tied a knot at the back of your head. Not too tight, but firm enough to keep it from slipping. It was no surprise to you that he’d handled this without disturbing a single hair on your head. 

His hands, once behind your head, now cupped your face. “You listen so well, angel,” He murmured before plush lips brushed against your forehead. “Lay back down the way you were.” 

Your head returned to the pillow and your elbows bent to allow your hands to meet above it. And you waited like that, trying to sense what his next move would be.

His footsteps padded off, and you figured he was seeking the best place to set up the camera. He paused, though, after only taking a few steps. The camera whirred – the auto-focus, you recognized immediately – and then it clicked. 

“So beautiful – you know that, don’t you? How stunning you are?”  

Click. 

“Perfect -” 

Click. 

“Mine” 

You couldn't help wondering how his photos would turn out. If your cheeks weren’t red under the blanket of his praise, it’d only be because you’d turned into a puddle. Your arousal had strayed far enough to slick the insides of your thighs, and if he didn’t touch you soon, you might liquify entirely and seep through the mattress to the floor. 

In the distance, plastic settled on wood. The strap affixed to your camera slithered over whatever surface he’d chosen; you could hear it slip over an edge, then it was silent. The bookshelf, you decided, third row from the top. Maybe second, if he liked the angle better? 

Without speaking first, he crawled up onto the foot of the bed. He paused there, likely kneeling in front of you. His hands slipped under your bent knees, and the only warning you got was him purring, “Come here,” mere seconds before you were pulled forward. You imagined that your gasp was still hanging in the air when you slipped out from under it. 

As soon as he was satisfied with your proximity, his hands found the insides of your knees and encouraged your legs to spread. “Now, baby -” He started, the heat of his breath indicating just how close his mouth was to your weeping cunt. “You’ll make sure the camera can hear you, won’t you?” 

The word was caught in your throat, suddenly bashful, but it eventually slipped out, “Yes.” 

You knew you’d failed as soon as you heard it, and you didn’t need to wait long to face the consequences. You jolted when his flattened fingers collided with your cunt - the sensation was a surprise, but the sound was what shocked you. Fuck! You could hear how wet he had you already.

Sodden, pooling, dripping. 

“Don’t be selfish, angel,” He tutted after withdrawing his touch from you, “Those sounds might come out of your mouth, but they don't belong to you, do they?” 

“No -” Your desperation was palpable when you responded with your whole chest. “They don’t. I – I won’t be selfish, I promise -” 

You cried out when he slapped your cunt a second time, an obscene chord formed by surprise, torment, and unbearable need.

“Whose are they?”

“Yours!” You choked, “They’re yours. I’m yours.” 

His arms hooked under your thighs and your pulse skyrocketed. “See? You are learning.” 

And then he lurched forward, flat tongue dragging upwards over your core with a pressure so perfect, your entire body tensed. He squeezed your legs harder when your back arched, and it prevented you from inadvertently slipping away from him.  

That devilish tongue swirled over your clit, and all you could manage was a whisper of a moan. He corrected you wordlessly, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thighs. The groan he pulled from you ricocheted off each one of your ribs on the way out. Satisfied, he hummed in approval against your cunt before he proceeded to flick dizzying circles over your increasingly sensitive bud; alternating paces in the way he knew would drive you mad.  

Both of your arms reached out, and your hands carded through his hair. You pulled him ever closer, which prompted him to shake his head furiously with the flat of his tongue pressed against your heat.  

“Oh, fuck!” you wailed. As much as you wanted to watch him, you knew that – even without the blindfold - the way his mouth moved so expertly against you would have made it too difficult to keep your eyes open. They were already covered, but you squeezed them tight enough to see stars as he suckled your clit. “Shit, baby – ah – feels so good.”  

The thread holding you together frayed further and further with every brush of his tongue against your most sensitive spot. The sound of his breathing, ragged and muffled with your thighs pressed harshly against the sides of his head, would have done unspeakable things to you - if your mindless gasping didn't threaten to drown him out completely.  

He shifted without removing his mouth from you, and he unhooked his right arm from under your leg. The heel of his hand glided up over your pelvis, your navel, and your breasts before stopping at the underside of your jaw. Two fingers tapped at your chin; you took the hint and took them into your mouth.

His tongue never let up on your clit as you slicked his fingers, suckling on them the way he did you. Once he was satisfied with the work you’d done, he pulled his hand back down to your cunt.   

Tongue still relentless at your clit, his middle finger swung the focus to your entrance, which was drenched by his saliva and your own slick. Meticulous and slow, he slid his finger inside of you. He moaned at the way you constricted around him; you melted. 

He never struggled to find that secret spot hidden behind your pubic bone. He'd proven time and time again that he was more in tune with your body than you were. Every curve, dip, and line had been committed to muscle memory.  

He could anticipate your reaction to every touch, even when those reactions varied based upon your mood or your energy level - and it was automatic. Unthinking but knowing. He teased this spot without mercy, and as he likely expected, you began to shake under his touch.  

The growing feeling in the pit of your stomach was one you knew he strived for. His favorite trick, once he knew the secret. And whenever you tried to resist – still uncomfortable with the way your body reacted to him – he gave you no choice. 

No poet could adequately describe how completely your orgasm consumed you. With the way you jolted against his mouth, he could’ve electrocuted you. You wriggled and writhed in his arms as you came, but he didn’t stop, even as your walls clenched around his fingers and your thighs pressed even more tightly against the sides of his head.

Your familiar moans devolved into some desperate sounds you’d never made before, curse words spilling out over your lips as you just kept cumming – but he still held tight to you as you bucked wildly in his arms.  

There was unbelievable pressure until there wasn’t.  

“Fuck, I love it when you do that,” He growled with his face nestled into your quivering, dripping inner thigh. His teeth nicked the skin but were swiftly replaced with a kiss from his ravenous, open mouth. “That’s my good girl.” 

He let you collapse back onto the bed, but he denied you any time to recover.  

“I think you can do it again, baby. What do you think?” He teased, alternating words and quick kisses along the interior of your thigh. “Should we see how much more you can take?”  

You babbled something in response, but neither of you could’ve interpreted what you meant. Your limp neck rolled to the side while you tried to catch your breath; there wasn’t time. You felt him coat his fingers in the remnants of your orgasm moments before he slid them inside of you and curled them upward.  

The combination of relentless pressure and a feverish pace dotted stars across the insides of your eyelids. Breathless, dangling at the edge of a precipice, you stammered, “Yoo-Yoongi -” 

Despite the obscene squelch of his ministrations, his voice rang through, clear as a bell. “What, angel? Do you want to come again?” Stupidly, you nodded, but he didn’t scold you. Given your fucked-out state, he seemed to forgive your mistake. “Then come.” 

The blindfold covering your eyes was black, but your vision went white. As you spasmed and gushed uncontrollably around his fingers, there was a moment where you could’ve sworn your soul ejected itself from your body. If it was floating above you now, it would’ve seen how thoroughly you’d drenched your boyfriend; and how perfect he still looked with your juices dripping off his chin. 

His weight was shifting at your feet when you returned to your body. It took everything you had, but you lifted one, limp arm out in his general direction. No words, just an outstretched hand begging to find him. When it did, he slotted his fingers perpendicularly under yours, rubbed the pad of his thumb over your knuckles, and kissed the top of your hand. 

“What color?” he murmured against your skin. 

You sighed softly, exhausted but not yet entirely spent, “Green.” You paused and chewed on your bottom lip. After a moment of quiet, you asked, “Yoongi?” 

“Yes, baby?” 

It was pitiful how your request barely rolled off of your tongue, but the answer would surely be no if you didn’t ask. “Can I see you?” 

He was silent for a moment – so, the answer would be no even though you did ask – but then you heard his soft chuckle. Even after he pulled the blindfold off, your eyes were useless. Somewhere in the bright white haze was Yoongi, though you couldn’t confirm that the shadow in front of you was truly him. Maybe you truly had died. 

Blinking furiously, you refused to stop until your eyes remembered how to focus. Slowly, slowly, slowly, the dark figure before you took a familiar shape. Shirtless, with damp, black waves clinging to his cheekbones – there he was. Concern was etched into his features, but his narrowed eyes relaxed when you shot him a smile. 

“Color?” You inquired with a squeeze of your hand. 

When he dropped your hand, your heart fell with it. But he sat up on his knees, placed that hand on your cheek, and captured your lips in a kiss. It was perfect, but it was torturously brief.  

“Green,” He replied. He backed away from you until he was standing at the foot of the bed. One hand dropped to his belt buckle while the index finger on his other hand beckoned you. 

You crawled towards him until his palm silently instructed you to stop. 

“Elbows on the mattress, ass up,” He ordered as he made short work of his belt. It slid easily through the loops of his ripped jeans and clattered as it hit the floor.

You leaned forward as he instructed, knees and elbows digging into the comforter you’d absolutely need to wash later – especially considering the way your mouth watered when his jeans and boxers were discarded and kicked aside. Were you drooling? 

Your body buzzed with anticipation as he crossed to the side of the bed. You wished he took his time sidling over to you, so your eyes could continue to devour his lean, snow-white frame; but if the stiff cock encircled by his hand was any indication, Yoongi wasn’t interested in wasting time. Instead, he pushed himself up onto the bed, out of sight, and the next thing you felt was his hand collecting your hair, pulling, and forcing your face up to the camera. 

His free hand squeezed your ass cheek when he said, “Eye contact, baby. Show the camera how I make you feel. Can you do that?” 

With his tip teasing at your entrance, you weren’t confident that you could – but you’d sure as hell try. “I can,” Your determination was clear, even if the voice conveying it wavered. “I will.” 

“Good girl,” He hummed. He released your hair and placed a kiss on the same shoulder blade he had earlier - when he last had you in this position. “Now, take a deep breath for me.” 

It wasn’t graceful, the way you sucked in air as he penetrated you; it was an unholy, strangled sound, and it crashed through the quiet like a wrecking ball. Every instinct begged your head to droop forward, and your back to curve up upwards, but you fought them off. Praise for your efforts tumbled out over your spine between Yoongi’s shuttered moans. His noises had you clenching around his cock, and the tightened grip of your cunt transformed them into something guttural. 

He paused when he bottomed out. Like you, he seemed to be at a loss for words. The hand gripping your hip was holding on for dear life; and the one curved over your shoulder kept you in place, allowing him to bury himself as deeply as possible.

He didn’t speak until he slowly started withdrawing himself from you, “I love the way you take me, how that tight pussy fights me whenever I leave.” 

As his cock dragged over your g-spot, your entire body shivered. He felt it and chuckled; you hiccupped, “Still so s-sensitive.” 

“Green?” 

“More -” You begged, “Please, baby.” 

You asked for it, but you weren’t ready for it. His hips snapped forward and drove him back into you before you could process what was happening. And when he kept up that ravenous pace, rutting over and over and over your detonator, it took everything you had not to explode.

All your willpower was spent trying to withstand his thrusts, though – nothing could keep you from collapsing forward onto the bed as your white-knuckled fingers gripped the comforter below. 

Before your body could fully settle over the mattress, his hand on your shoulder evolved into an arm hooking over you. He pulled you upright as his arm crossed over your heaving chest; he didn’t stop until he had you pinned to his. 

Fucking upwards into you with shallow, staccato strokes, he scolded you. “What did I tell you?” His hand dropped from your hip and dipped between your quivering thighs. His rapid thrusts didn’t falter as his middle finger began to assault your clit. “Hmm? What did I just say?” 

“Eye conta -”

The end of that word mutated into a scream. He snapped his hips forward so suddenly, you never anticipated being shoved off the edge of the world. Your orgasm ripped through you, shutting off your brain and forcing your entire body to convulse around him. 

You went limp when you fell from your high; Yoongi’s hold on you tightened to keep you from collapsing. Unrelenting, he just – kept – rutting. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

You wailed when that fourth wave crashed down over you. Caught in its riptide, you spoke in tongues; writhing and shrieking and imploding. Could a person die from coming this hard? 

Yoongi’s panting pulled you out of the abyss he’d thrown you in. “Shit,” He hissed, “I’m so close - fuck, you feel so good -” You felt it all over when he growled into your ear, “Tell me where you want it, baby.” 

You answered, but it was impossible for your hazy brain to know for sure if you’d replied verbally or telepathically. Either way, he understood – he always understood – and his break-neck speed was replaced by deep, deliberate thrusts. He groaned out your name as his cock twitched inside you, painting your walls white. 

The kiss Yoongi left in the crook of your neck didn’t wash away with the water cascading down over the two of you. You could still feel the uniqueness of its warmth, even in a cloud of steam - under the hot, heavy droplets hitting your skin.  

Your eyes were closed to avoid the conditioner he was massaging into your scalp, but your exhaustion was likely to keep them that way. The only reason you hadn’t slipped down the drain yourself was your unspoken refusal to be separated from him. Though, with that invisible string tying the two of you together, you’d never be able to stray very far, even if you wanted to.

“Can you tilt your head back, love?” 

This one was a request, not a command, and he made no effort to move it for you. The weight of your sleepiness caused your neck to roll more clumsily than you intended; it gave up, and your head bumped against his clavicle when it dropped backwards.

“Sorry,” you murmured, but he was already chuckling. “My motor skills seem to have clocked out early.” 

His laugh ricocheted off the tile. “You won’t need them,” He mused as his hands gently worked the remaining conditioner from your hair. “We can use mine.” Then he kissed the crown of your head, not once but twice. You could feel his smile spread against your scalp when you giggled. “All done, baby.” 

He’d taken his time with you; and he’d taken great care to clean – then kiss – every sore muscle he encountered. And when he was done, he used a large, plush towel to wick the lingering droplets from your skin. His hands on your waist steadied you as you stepped into a pair of sweatpants, and he smoothed the damp waves that you disrupted in unceremoniously tugging an oversized sweatshirt over your head. 

Once the two of you were fully dressed, he cupped your face in his hands, kissed you deep, and asked, “Do you need a lift back to bed?” His eyes sparkled at his joke – of course, he meant lift literally – and his eyebrow arched when you meekly shook your head. “I’m not sold. Is that your final answer?” 

You, once again, shook your head. He exhaled amusement through his nose at your indecision. Then, he placed his hands on your waist. Perfectly coordinated – as always – he lifted as you hopped, pulling you into his chest while your limbs wrapped around him. He carried you easily back into the bedroom and set you down gently on the bare mattress. 

All of your bedding was spinning in the washing machine on the first floor of your home, but he had a fluffy, full-sized throw waiting there for you. You held up one side of it, silently inviting him to join you. When he settled at your side, your head ducked down and came to rest under his chin. As soon as his arm curled over your back, your heavy lids finally closed. 

You were both quiet, one foot in a dream, when the growl of his stomach startled you both awake. Erupting into laughter, you each craned your neck to see the other beaming back. 

He wiped the mirth pooling in the corner of his eye and sighed as his laughter petered out, “Delivery from that fried chicken place?” 

“Oooh, yes, please.”

A/N: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! The response to the first post was so incredibly overwhelming, I simply had to write a follow-up. I might continue to add one-offs to this darksided cinematic universe (lol) simply because I love their relationship dynamic. And the sexual journey they seem to be on, hahahah. Please leave feedback so I know what you liked and what you didn't! Also, lmk if there’s something you’d want to see in any possible future installments 👀