#i rarely include comments in a reblog but I have a lot of Thoughts on roseddie

[kookooluvr]

Our Little Life - Part 1

moments in your little life with the man of your dreams, from the domesticity found in early morning burnt toast and bedtime kisses to late-night diaper disasters, passive-aggressive arguments about laundry, and him proving that married sex can in fact still break the headboard.

pairing: dad!jungkook x (fem) mom!reader

genre: fluff, smut, (angst is barely sprinkled in here and there), family!au, slice of life!au, businessman!jungkook, sahm!reader, lots of cute married couple moments

rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

w/c: 5.5k

warnings: takes place when little jungwoo is 22 months old, jk and oc have a date night for the first time since jungwoo was born, yoongi babysits, jungkook is a little nervous to leave jungwoo for the first time, some mishaps, date night doesn't go as planned but oc doesn't care, flirting, kissing, suggestive themes and vague descriptions of sex but nothing too explicit for now.

a/n: introducing our new couple; mr. and mrs. jeon !!! ☺️☺️ i hope you love them as much as i do bc they're just super fluffy and in love and there's nothing better than a man who is completely and utterly obsessed with his wife. let me know your thoughts on them and don't forget to like, comment, reblog and all the fun things 🫶🏼🌟

taglist: @khadeeeeej @yooniepot @lively-potter @yuniesluv @rpwprpwprpwprw @koosluvss @lovingkoalaface @vsr4197 @jkaxl @matryoshka-poetry @mimi1097 @vantelover1306 @milkk1400 @svnbangtansworld @dmblack7 @tropical-123 @123xxx0o @blluee1128 @forelmst @kiyomi7 @lilacstellar @hellokittykookies @kookooquette @madussthoughts @kskskskskskskskss @boraluv @slutty4jk @marisollll @senaqsstuff @heyitsroshni @euphorichaewon @palomanazareth @cabr1171

find oll masterlist here

You close your eyes, savouring the steaming water cascading over your shoulders in the shower, blissfully tuning out the squeals and chatter echoing from the hallway outside. Tonight is date night. It's actually going to be your first proper evening out alone with Jungkook in almost two years and you intend on enjoying every second of it, including the rare luxury of an uninterrupted everything-shower.

Outside the bathroom, however, is an entirely different story.

"Jungwoo, please," Jungkook half-laughs, half-pleads as he chases after the giggling toddler. He's already dressed in a black button up shirt and black slacks, his cologne wafting through the air, his hair styled perfectly for date night. "Daddy's getting tired, you gotta put on your pyjamas. Don't you wanna help daddy out?"

The little boy shrieks gleefully, running in circles around his room, his messy hair bouncing wildly, his chubby cheeks flushed. "Nooo!" His high-pitched voice fills the room, delightfully defiant.

Jungkook, feeling slightly out of breath, shakes his head, unable to hold back a smile as he chases his half-naked son. "Jungwoo-yah! Come on, work with me here."

"Nooo," Jungwoo giggles, shaking his head. He stands in the middle of his room, playfully wiggling his hips. "Daddy slow!"

Jungkook gasps dramatically, his hand clutching his chest in mock offense. "Daddy's slow?! Oh, you're asking for it, mister." He quickly grabs Jungwoo before he can run away again, swinging him around in his arms and peppering his chubby cheeks with kisses, making him squeal.

Jungkook carries him over to his bed and lays him down, attempting yet again to wrangle him into the tiny, light blue pyjamas decorated with little dinosaurs. "We gotta get you dressed, buddy. Mommy's gonna be ready soon and she'll be upset with daddy if you're not ready too."

"Play!" Jungwoo insists stubbornly, grabbing Jungkook's face between his small hands, squishing his cheeks. "Play, daddy!"

Jungkook softens instantly, his eyes crinkling affectionately. He turns his head to kiss his son's tiny palms, sighing softly. "Okay, let's make a deal. If daddy gets these pyjamas on you right now, we can play with your dinosaurs for a bit. Deal?"

Jungwoo tilts his head, thinking deeply for a moment, his expression so adorably serious that Jungkook has to bite back a chuckle.

"Okay," he nods, stretching his tiny arms up willingly. "Jamas, daddy!"

"Oh, now you want pyjamas, huh?" Jungkook chuckles, gently slipping the soft cotton onto his son's body. "You're lucky you're so cute, you little troublemaker."

"So tute," he giggles, his chubby cheeks puffing out, looking almost identical to his dad.

"You're definitely your mom's kid with that charm," he scoffs, buttoning up Jungwoo's little pyjama top before putting on the pants and smoothing down his messy hair.

Just then, the bathroom door opens, steam billowing out as you step out, wrapped in a fluffy towel, freshly shaved and exfoliated. You stand in the doorway of Jungwoo's room, smiling at your boys.

"Look at you two," you chuckle, watching Jungkook tend to your son. "Did daddy finally manage to win the battle of the pyjamas?"

Jungkook shoots you a playfully pointed look, sitting on the edge of the toddler's bed while Jungwoo climbs into his lap. "Don't start. Your son has limitless amounts of energy, you know."

"Daddy slow," Jungwoo chirps, giggling into his dad's chest.

"Hey!" Jungkook laughs, gently tickling Jungwoo's sides. He glances back at you with a soft smile on his face. "We survived, barely."

You walk over to them, clutching your towel to your chest as you bend down to press a kiss to Jungwoo's cheek, then to Jungkook's temple, lingering a second longer than necessary. "My heroes."

Jungwoo hops off his dad's lap to play with his race cars on the floor, allowing Jungkook to stand up and wrap his arms around your waist. "Did you enjoy your shower, baby?"

"Mhm. But it sounded like I missed quite a show."

"Well, next time, you get pyjamas duty," he smiles, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. "He's a ball of energy."

You let out a soft huff of laughter, pulling back to meet his gaze. "I guess I'll have to reward daddy later then."

"Oh, I'm definitely gonna hold you to that," he murmurs softly, a mischievous sparkle dancing in his eyes.

You step back with a smile, gently squeezing your husband's bicep as you go. "I'm gonna go get dressed. You two behave yourselves, okay?"

"No promises," he calls out before scooping Jungwoo up into his arms, pulling a loud giggle from his son.

You make your way to your bedroom and start getting ready while they play. You dry your hair and change into your dress; the black one with the lace trim that shows just enough cleavage to drive your husband a little bit crazy. You apply your makeup and spritz some perfume onto your neck and wrists, when the doorbell rings downstairs. That would be Yoongi, right on time.

Downstairs, Jungkook makes his way to the door with Jungwoo in his arms. "Let's go greet Uncle Yoongi, hm?"

"Yoonie!" Jungwoo cheers excitedly, his tiny hands clapping together. He loves his uncles and aunts, partially because they all spoil him rotten. But who could blame them when your son is just so stinking cute.

Jungkook chuckles and opens the door. Yoongi is stood on the front porch, looking casual and calm as always, dressed in jeans and a hoodie, his hands in his pockets.

"Hey, Kook. Hey, little man," he greets, a gummy smile spreading across his face when he sees Jungwoo's excited face.

"Yoonie!" Jungwoo repeats, squirming out of his dad's hold to hug Yoongi's leg.

"Thanks for doing this, hyung," Jungkook murmurs, stepping aside to let his friend inside. "You're saving our lives tonight."

"No big deal. I figured you two deserve a break," Yoongi shrugs, ruffling Jungwoo's soft hair, the little boy running off to the living room, looking excited to show his uncle all of his toys.

"Okay, so I wrote down some instructions," Jungkook says as he walks over to the kitchen to show Yoongi the piece of paper stuck to the fridge with a magnet. "I know it might seem a little excessive but he's particular about his routines and I don't wanna mess anything up. Trust me, hyung, one missed step and you're done for."

Yoongi's mouth quirks into a barely suppressed smirk, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he sits down at the kitchen island. "Instructions, huh?"

"Yes," Jungkook nods. "First thing, his favourite snacks. He loves apple slices, but they can't be too thick or else he won't eat them. They need to be really thin. Also, there's yogurt on the top shelf in the fridge, but only strawberry. Don't try the banana flavour, he hates it."

Yoongi hums in mock seriousness, nodding along. "Got it. Thin apples, strawberry yogurt. What else?"

Jungkook hardly notices the teasing glint in his friend's eyes, too caught up in his anxious, fatherly checklist. "Songs. For bedtime, it's gotta be the little lullaby playlist on the tablet. He'll let you know what he wants."

"Got it," Yoongi nods patiently, holding back a laugh.

"Oh, and his bedtime routine," Jungkook continues as Jungwoo toddles into the kitchen, his dad scooping him up and sitting him down on the edge of the kitchen counter. "He's already had his bath. He can watch cartoons, but bedtime is at 8. Make sure you brush his teeth. Also, he likes when you read to him, sometimes he'll ask for two bedtime stories, and he likes you to leave the nightlight on, the one with the little dinosaurs on the-"

Yoongi can't hold his grin from breaking into a chuckle. "I got it, Kook. Jungwoo and I will be fine, right buddy?"

Jungwoo nods enthusiastically, smiling up at his dad.

Jungkook lets out a little sigh and nods, still a little nervous despite Yoongi's reassurance.

You descend down the stairs, dressed and ready for your night out, catching the tail end of Jungkook's nervous instructions. You lean against the kitchen island, resting your hand on your hip. "Did he give you the full survival manual?" you tease.

Yoongi laughs, glancing over at you with a relieved look. "I think we're just about done."

Jungkook takes in your appearance, his lips parting at the sight of you. It's been a while since he's seen you this dolled up, and don't get him wrong, he thinks you're sexy even when you're in sweatpants and greasy hair in mom-mode, but seeing you like this is doing a good job of reminding him just how hot his wife is.

"I'm just...making sure hyung knows the ropes," he mumbles absentmindedly, his eyes zeroing in on your cleavage in that dress.

"I think Yoongi can handle Jungwoo for a few hours, baby," you chuckle, stepping closer to wrap your arms around his waist, looking up at him. "He'll be fine."

Jungkook pouts, leaning into you, his arms loosely wrapping around your shoulders. "I'm not worried about hyung. I'm worried about Jungwoo tricking him into letting him stay up late."

"I can handle him," Yoongi nods, chuckling fondly.

Jungkook looks down at you and sighs, dramatically feigning defeat before glancing back at Yoongi. "Alright, fine. But call us if anything happens, okay, hyung? Even if it's just that Jungwoo sneezed or something."

"Noted," Yoongi scoffs, exchanging a look with you.

You chuckle and press a soft kiss to your husband's cheek. "Ready to go, Daddy Bear?"

His lips tug into a smile, affection radiating from his eyes as he glances between Yoongi and Jungwoo. He nods, finally relaxing into your embrace.

"Yeah, let's get out of here before I start another lecture."

You pick Jungwoo up and give him a big hug and a kiss on his cheek, murmuring a soft, "Be good for Uncle Yoongi, okay, Woo-Woo?" As you grab your purse, you glance over your shoulder, catching Jungkook giving Yoongi one last concerned look, silently mouthing, "Thin apples."

Oh, how you love this man.

The second the front door closes behind you, Jungkook sighs dramatically, leaning back against it for a moment as you start walking toward the car.

"Are you sure Yoongi can handle him?" he asks, anxiety sneaking back into his tone. "I mean, Jungwoo can be a menace."

You laugh, gently tugging his sleeve to pull him away from the house. "Yoongi lived with Hobi and Joon for five years. Babysitting Jungwoo should be a piece of cake in comparison."

"I guess that's true," Jungkook chuckles, following you to the car. He opens your door for you, leaning in closely as you settle in. He presses a kiss to your cheek and closes the door before jogging around the car. You watch fondly, feeling a little flutter of excitement as he slides into the driver's seat and turns the car on.

Once the engine hums to life, Jungkook glances over at you, his eyes trailing over your face illuminated by the streetlight. "You look gorgeous, by the way."

You smile shyly, cheeks flushing under his gaze. Even after years of marriage and a baby, he still manages to make you feel all giddy and mushy inside. A simple compliment from him has your face flushing and your heart racing.

"You look pretty good yourself, Mr. Jeon."

His eyebrow quirks up as he backs out of the driveway. "Careful, baby. You keep calling me Mr. Jeon and we might not even make it to dinner."

"Promises, promises," you tease, reaching out to gently trail your fingers along the back of his hand on the gear shift. Your smile softens, gazing at him thoughtfully. "It's been way too long since we've done this. I'm excited."

Jungkook hums, keeping his eyes ahead of him while he turns on the radio. "Yeah, we used to do date nights almost every weekend."

Yeah," you smile, feeling nostalgic. "Now date night is microwaving leftover chicken nuggets and watching cartoons at 2 a.m."

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with reheated chicken nuggets," Jungkook retorts playfully, shooting you a smirk before returning his attention to the road. "But I definitely prefer you in this dress over my old hoodies."

"Really? You don't like the ketchup stains? That's kinda become my thing lately."

He scoffs, shaking his head in amusement. "You could wear a potato sack and I'd still think you're hot."

Your laughter fills the car, bright and melodic. You lean closer, voice dropping to a playful whisper, "Is that a kink confession? Do potato sacks get you off?"

"Shush," he laughs, cheeks flushed, clearly flustered by your teasing. "I'm just saying you're unfairly beautiful, okay? Stop bullying your husband."

"I'm sorry, baby. You know I love you," you murmur sweetly, your fingers lightly trailing up along his thigh, watching his muscles visibly tense, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Better?"

"Worse, baby" he groans, shifting in his seat. "You're cruel."

"You love it," you tease, eyes glinting mischievously. "Admit it."

His lips quirk up into a soft smile, glancing over at you, his eyes laced with affection. "Yeah. Maybe I do."

A comfortable silence falls between you for a moment, the radio playing quietly in the background. Jungkook takes your hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, bringing back memories of the dates he took you on back when you were younger, those nights you both spent shyly falling in love.

"I love Woo-Woo with all my heart, but...I missed these moments," you sigh, breaking the silence. "Y'know, when we're just us, not mom and dad."

"Yeah, me too," he murmurs softly, glancing at you with such soft intensity it sends warmth rushing through your chest. "You think he would notice if we made this a weekly thing?"

"Absolutely," you laugh. "And he'd probably guilt-trip you for not taking him on a date as well."

"Yeah," Jungkook chuckles softly. "Little guy learned from the best."

You feign shock. "Me? Are you accusing me of manipulation?"

"Not accusing. Complimenting," he teases, squeezing your hand gently. "You're very persuasive."

"Good save," you laugh, leaning across the console to press a tender kiss against his cheek. Your lips linger, warmth radiating between you both. "Almost just threw away your bedroom privileges."

Jungkook's eyebrows raise, a slow, suggestive smile spreading across his face. "Do I get bedroom privileges tonight?"

"Depends," you grin, reaching out to absentmindedly play with the hair at the back of his neck. "You can do whatever you want to me in the bedroom if this date goes well."

He groans, his eyes briefly flickering over to you before returning to the road. "You're gonna make me crash this car."

You pull your hand away, resting in back in your lap, biting back a satisfied grin. "Sorry. I'll behave until after dinner."

"Good," he scoffs. "I don't think this restaurant would appreciate me showing up hard as a rock."

You snort, looking out the car's window, watching the buildings as you pass by. "Is it fancy?"

"Oh yeah. Booked it a week ago," Jungkook nods proudly. "I heard they have great reviews. Candlelit tables, expensive wine, we're going all out tonight."

Your smile grows wider as you look over at him, feeling touched by the amount of effort he put into date night. "Look at you, Mr. Romance."

He shoots you a smirk, looking rather smug. "Husband of the Year, huh?"

You roll your eyes. "You're lucky I love you."

He smiles tenderly, his voice dropping to a soft, sincere murmur. "I love you more, you know. Even more than back when we first started dating." He stops at a red light, giving you his full attention, his eyes sparkling in the low light of the car. He leans in close, his face inches from yours.

You meet him halfway, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

He deepens the kiss, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his eyes fluttering shut. The kiss leaves you breathless, your heart pounding as he slips his tongue into your mouth. It gets heated before you break away, looking like a flustered teenage girl again. "Light's green."

He chuckles softly, turning back to the road, visibly proud of himself. "Fine. To be continued."

You lean back, cheeks warm, heart full. You've missed this so much. Missed him, missed the playful flirting and teasing, the effortless chemistry that makes your marriage feel so vibrant and alive.

Tonight is already perfect, and dinner hasn't even started yet. At least, that's what you think.

Jungkook leads you into the cozy, dimly lit restaurant, your excitement growing at the romantic ambiance, the soft music drifting through the air, candlelit tables creating the perfect atmosphere for your long-awaited night together.

He confidently steps up to the hostess podium, giving the young woman behind it a charming smile.

"Reservation for Jeon Jungkook, please," he says, resting his hand at the base of your spine.

The hostess nods politely, tapping something into her tablet before her expression falters. Her eyes nervously flicker from the screen back up to Jungkook, a flush creeping onto her cheeks.

"Um, I'm really sorry, sir, but..." she hesitates, clearly uncomfortable. "It looks like we've accidentally double-booked your table. It seems we don't have any...availability right now."

Jungkook's smile falters, replaced with confusion. "What do you mean double-booked? I made this reservation a week ago."

The hostess swallows anxiously, shifting on her feet. "Yes, I see that, sir, but there must have been a system glitch or something. Unfortunately, we're completely booked tonight."

He sighs, clearly frustrated. "Is there nothing you can do? We've been looking forward to this all week. This is our first night out in a really long time."

She shakes her head apologetically. "I'm so sorry, sir. We can offer you a reservation for another day if you'd like-"

"That won't really help right now, will it?" he interrupts, clearly annoyed.

You gently stroke his forearm, remaining calm. "Hey, it’s okay, baby. It's not her fault."

He looks down at you, his eyes softening immediately. "But this was supposed to be special."

"It still is," you reassure him, not seeming too bothered by the mishap. "Let's just find somewhere else to eat. It's okay, really."

Jungkook sighs, his shoulders dropping. He gives you a small nod, turning back to the hostess. "Sorry, it's just...we have a toddler, we don't get to do this often."

She gives him an apologetic smile. "I completely understand, sir. Again, I'm very sorry about the mix-up."

"It's okay. Thank you anyway," he mutters, giving her a weak smile before guiding you to the exit. He sighs, clearly disappointed. "I can't believe it. This was supposed to be really fancy and romantic."

You give him a reassuring smile, squeezing his hand while you walk. "It's still romantic as long as I'm with you. Let's just try somewhere else. Maybe that nice Japanese restaurant downtown."

He smiles faintly, lacing his fingers with yours. "Fine, but I'm leaving them a one-star review."

"You will not," you laugh, lightly nudging him with your shoulder as you head through the exit.

He stops you on the sidewalk outside, letting go of your hand to wrap his arms around your waist. "I swear, I had this night perfectly planned out. I'm sorry it's off to a bad start."

"Hey, don't apologize," you shake your head, but before you can continue, a sudden clap of thunder cracks loudly above you, making you both jump in surprise.

"Oh no," Jungkook groans, glancing up just as the skies open, heavy rain pouring down and instantly soaking you both.

"Perfect timing!" you laugh, shrieking as cold raindrops splash against your skin. Jungkook quickly pulls you into his chest, attempting to shield you, though he's just as soaked as you are.

"Run!" he shouts through his laughter, grabbing your hand and dashing toward the car. Your shoes squelch through rapidly forming puddles as you race across the parking lot, both giggling breathlessly.

You both scramble into the car, completely drenched and panting for air. Jungkook stares at you for a moment, hair plastered to his forehead, shirt sticking to his skin. You look equally ridiculous, makeup slightly smudged, dress clinging uncomfortably.

"This is officially a disaster," Jungkook sighs, his head falling back against the seat.

"A memorable disaster, though," you chuckle, squeezing water out of your hair. "We'll never forget it, that's for sure."

He glances at you, his eyes containing amusement despite the chaos. "How are you still optimistic right now?"

"Someone has to be," you shrug.

He sighs, feeling determined to recover some dignity. "Alright, plan B. I'll check if the Japanese restaurant has a reservation for us."

You smile encouragingly, watching him fiddle with his phone, taking a few minutes to check if the Japanese restaurant has any availability. After a few moments, though, he tosses it back into his lap with an exasperated groan.

"Everything's either closed or booked solid," he mutters, looking defeated once more. "So much for date night."

You reach over to him, gently pushing some wet strands of hair from his forehead, an apologetic smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Come on, it's not a total loss yet."

He raises a skeptical eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

Your smile grows more genuine, leaning over to kiss his wet cheek. "Yeah, because I know exactly how to fix this."

"How?" he asks, looking wary but amused.

"Fast-food date," you announce proudly. "Let's just go and get burgers and have a car picnic."

He sighs, his face twisting into a defeated smile.

Twenty minutes later, you find yourselves in a brightly lit fast-food drive-through, Jungkook ordering your meals into the speaker.

"Can I get two double cheeseburgers, two large fries, and two strawberry milkshakes, please," he calls out into the intercom before driving to the next window to pay, stealing a glance at you with a cheeky grin. "Only the best fine dining for my lady."

You giggle, fondly rolling your eyes.

After the food arrives, Jungkook parks in the dimly lit parking lot, the rain pattering against the car's windshield. "Your romantic dinner, madame," he quips as he hands you your food.

You unwrap your burger, taking a bite and sighing happily, your cheeks stuffed. "Honestly? I wouldn't trade this for anything right now."

He takes a bite of his own burger and beams at you, his shoulders finally relaxing now that he knows you're not disappointed. "Really?"

"Really," you nod, popping a fry into your mouth. "It feels like we're teenagers again, taking late night drives to eat greasy food."

He laughs, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I guess. It's just too bad you didn't get to have the overpriced wine I was planning on ordering at that restaurant."

"Overpriced? I'm glad I didn't get to have it," you scoff. "Tell me, what would have paired well with the ravioli I never got to eat?"

"Easy," he shrugs, licking some smudged sauce from his thumb. "That cheap red wine we used to buy back in uni. The one with the twist cap that we always struggled to open."

You burst out laughing, thinking back to the days when drinking red wine made you feel rich and fancy, even if it tasted less than mediocre. "God, that stuff tasted like bad grape juice and...regret," you chuckle.

"And yet, you said yes to marrying me after drinking a bottle of it," he teases, grinning from ear to ear. "So clearly it got the job done."

There's something so comforting about sitting in the car with the rain falling outside, no distractions, just the two of you reminiscing about the start of your relationship.

"Remember when we moved in together?" you ask, popping a fry into your mouth.

Jungkook groans dramatically. "You mean when we realized neither of us knew how to install curtains or assemble IKEA furniture?"

You snort. "And yet, we survived."

"Barely," he laughs. "I almost broke up with you over that bookshelf."

"You mean the one that still leans slightly to the left?"

"Exactly," he scoffs, giving you a pointed look. "That one."

You both giggle like teenagers, cheeks flushed, hearts filled with nostalgia.

"And then," you sigh dramatically, "I blinked and we were married. And pregnant."

"You were a terrifying pregnant woman," he mutters with a snort. "Gorgeous. Glowing...but also terrifying. You once cried because your steak was overcooked."

"It was overcooked, I wasn't overreacting!"

"And you accused me of breathing too loud during your third trimester."

"You were breathing loud!" you gasp, laughing so hard it makes your stomach ache.

"I was asleep!" he exclaims, but he's laughing too, head tipped back against the seat. "Man, you were so pregnant. Like, full power, final boss level."

You wipe your eyes, still chuckling. "But you were so patient with me."

"You made it easy to be patient," he murmurs, his voice growing softer. "You were growing my baby in there. How could I not worship you?"

You smile, leaning your head against the headrest. "I still can't believe we made that little boy."

"I can," Jungkook grins, reaching over to intertwine his fingers with yours. "He's got your eyes, your laugh. My stubbornness, unfortunately."

"And your dramatic flair," you scoff, squeezing his hand.

He snickers. "Yeah, that too."

A beat of comfortable silence passes between you, full of warmth and love and fries eaten with interlocked fingers.

"I missed date nights," you whisper.

Jungkook sighs and lifts your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles. "We'll make more time, I promise. Even if it's just burgers in the car."

You look at him, your heart full to the brim. "As long as it's with you, I don't care what or where we eat."

He feels an immense amount of gratitude towards you for your reassurance. "I love you."

You lean closer, kissing his lips and tasting the subtle remnants of his burger. "I love you too."

"Next time, I promise I'll triple-check the reservations and the weather report."

"You better," you tease, settling back comfortably and taking another bite of your burger. You sigh contentedly, relaxing as the soft hum of the rain surrounds the two of you. Despite the bumps in the road, tonight couldn't feel more perfect.

You're both giggling when you approach your front door, soaking wet from the rain, shoes squeaking against the pavement. Jungkook shakes his head, an amused smile plastered across his face as he pushes his damp hair back and reaches for your hand.

"Well, Mrs. Jeon, tonight was certainly...something," he chuckles.

You lean into him as you walk, your smile spreading wider. "I had a lot of fun."

He unlocks the front door, stepping into the warmth of your home. Your eyes immediately fall on Yoongi, sprawled awkwardly across your couch, knocked out after an evening of chasing Jungwoo around.

"Oh my god," Jungkook whispers, holding back his laughter. "Jungwoo really wore him out."

"Poor Yoongi," you giggle softly, lightly shaking his shoulder. "Yoongi, we're home."

Yoongi jolts awake, blinking rapidly as he sits up, still a bit disoriented after his well-deserved nap. "Wha- oh, you're home."

"How was Jungwoo?"

He yawns, rubbing his eyes. "Kid's a tornado but we managed. He crashed about two hours ago. Honestly, I don't know how you two do this every day."

"You get used to it," Jungkook laughs, gently patting his shoulder. "Thanks, hyung. Seriously, we owe you big time."

"Yeah, you do," Yoongi mutters with a sleepy smile, slowly standing from the couch. He nods toward the stairs. "Anyway, your boy is sleeping like an angel."

"Thanks, Yoongi," you smile gratefully, giving him a quick hug before Jungkook walks him to the door. "We owe you dinner."

"Make it a quiet one next time," he calls out over his shoulder, waving as he slips out the front door.

Once the door closes behind him, Jungkook immediately heads upstairs to check on Jungwoo. You follow, stopping in the doorway of his bedroom. Jungkook wraps his arm around your shoulders, lovingly gazing at his son who's fast asleep, tiny fingers curled protectively around his favourite dinosaur plushie.

"He looks so cute like this," Jungkook whispers wistfully.

You smile as you rest your head in the crook of his neck. "Just like his daddy."

Jungkook laughs softly, turning his head to press a soft kiss to your temple. "You flatter me."

Once you've made sure the little one is peacefully asleep, he quietly guides you out of the room, gently closing the door behind him.

"I'm sorry again about tonight," he whispers sincerely, leaning against the wall in the hallway. "I really wanted it to be special and not in a boring drive-through parking lot."

"Hey," you whisper softly, stepping closer and gently cupping his cheeks in your hands. "It doesn't matter. It was special anyway."

He tilts his head, eyes searching yours for any doubt or hesitation. "You're not just saying that?"

"Of course I'm not just saying that, baby." You shake your head with a warm smile, leaning up on your tiptoes until your lips gently brush against his ear. "Besides, date night doesn't have to end yet."

The corners of his mouth twitch into a little grin, heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. "No?"

You shake your head, fingers slowly sliding down his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing speeds up. "No. I'm still wearing this dress, you still look devastating in that shirt, Jungwoo's asleep..."

Jungkook's gaze darkens, a slow smirk curling across his lips. "Are you saying what I think you're saying, Mrs. Jeon?"

You tug at his hand, pulling him towards the bedroom. "Come find out."

He follows you wordlessly, lips parted, his breath catching slightly as he watches you saunter off ahead of him, each sway of your hips feeling deliberate, teasing. The soft click-clack of your heels, the occasional creak of the wood, it all feels amplified, every second thick with anticipation.

When you reach the bedroom and you hear the click of the door closing behind you, you turn to look at him, your hands reaching behind you to unzip your dress, already kicking off your heels.

"Door locked?" you ask, your voice quiet but suggestive.

Jungkook doesn't hesitate. "Locked," he whispers, already peeling off his soaked shirt and dropping it to the floor, holding eye contact.

"Still think tonight wasn't perfect?" you grin, slowly pulling the dress' zip down your back.

He steps toward you slowly, reverently, like you're something sacred. "It's perfect now."

You meet him halfway, your hands finding the warm skin of his chest as his lips brush over yours, slow, deep, aching with the weight of everything you haven't gotten to do in so long. He kisses you like he's starved for you, like every little glance and touch he gave you this evening built up the need he's feeling now. His hands slide along your waist, down your hips, and back up to slowly pull your dress from your skin, his tongue licking into your mouth.

"God, baby," he whispers against your lips. "You're so sexy."

You sigh into his mouth, fingers tangling in his damp hair. "Make love to me, Jungkook."

Clothes drop slowly, his hands never rushing, never fumbling, just steady and deliberate, like he wants to memorise every inch of you all over again. You melt into his touch, your back hitting the bed, laughter mixing with gasps as your limbs tangle beneath the sheets.

It's not frantic or wild like the times when Jungwoo goes down for a nap and you only have a limited amount of time before he wakes up again.

No. It's soft and slow, breathtaking, months of exhaustion and longing and love unravelling into breathless moans and whispered confessions against bare skin. He holds you like he never wants to let go. Thrusts into you like it's the most pleasure he's ever felt in his life. Kisses you like the world could end tomorrow and he'd still want this to be the last thing he feels.

He cums with your name on his lips and your nails digging into his back.

When it's over, he lays with his head pressed to your bare chest, your bodies feeling warm and drowsy, your leg draped over his hip and his hand softly stroking your thigh.

"I love you," he breathes out, his lips brushing over your collarbone, his voice coming out sleepy and blissful.

You smile, lazily playing with his messy hair. "I love you."

He huffs out a soft chuckle, kissing your sternum. "You think date night was a success after all?"

You hum, already half-asleep. "Rain, burgers and sex with my husband? Honestly...pretty unbeatable."

He laughs, holding you tighter. You both drift off to sleep feeling content, and even though the night didn't go to plan, it somehow turned into everything you both needed.

You look forward to the next date night with your favourite guy.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Squeaky Clean 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You start work as a maid but you're not prepared for the mess your client brings with him. (maid AU -- plus!reader)

Note: yeah...

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

This isn’t where you pictured yourself. Even as a cynic, it’s not a job you would aspire too. You’re realistic. Practical. You do what needs to be done. And you suppose, at the end of the day, that’s all this is. Cleaning is rarely enjoyable but it needs to be done. 

You have your kit. The agency gave that to you for a $30 fee. Wonderful, you get to pay for supplies. Business is business. Just another way of the world. The bucket is weighed down by the cleaners, the sponges, clothes, etc. The vacuum is a rental and weighs down your trunk with the broom and mop from your own apartment. You’re not buying a whole new set just for this. They’ll do the job. 

You can settle for that. For what will do. For the bare minimum. Life has been a lot of that. You’re not the only one living that way so why feel sorry for yourself. Get through it, get over it. 

The map on your phone leads you to the address. It’s a big place. One of those high-end townhouses. Not new but renovated. Protected by some city ordinance for ‘historical preservation’. Under that, they sell for nothing less than two million. Yep, you expect that. Logic and practicality are easy bedmates. 

You park and feed the meter. Again, paying to make money. The world runs on money. Put in a little and hope for a few cents to get you by. 

You get out and grab your bucket. You'll come back for the rest when you need them. Zuli, the woman who went over the expectations with you assured you that most clients are away during a service call. They don’t like mingling with the help. If they are around, you likely won’t see them. Or they won’t acknowledge you. 

You can suck up your pride. It’s that city mindset. When you’re on the subway, you keep your head down, you don’t make eye contact. If you hadn’t taken this damned job, you wouldn’t be slogging through New York traffic in the company pinto. A job is a job, money is money, everything is simple if you just parse down your expectations. 

You climb the front steps and as you go to ring the doorbell, a lens built in to protect the overpriced property, the door opens. You retract your hand in surprise. Bad timing? 

The man that greets you is tall and blond. He wears a button up; brown plaid, and khakis. He looks like a cut-out husband from a 1950s advertisement for laundry soap. ‘Give your a fresh scent’ or whatever. 

 Strangely, he also tweaks your memory. Do you know him from somewhere? That’s not possible. You don’t know anyone you’re not forced to know. 

“Mister...” You lift your phone and check the app. “...Rogers.” 

Oh, right. Steve Rogers. You thought it was a coincidence. It can’t be a very uncommon name. You really didn’t anticipate the Captain America opening the door, even in Brooklyn. 

“You must be...” he says your name with a smile. “You can just call me Steve.” 

He holds out his hand. You look at it and stiffly set down the kit. You shake it, out of courtesy. Just your luck. You get one that wants to chat. 

“I’ll give you the tour,” he squeezes your hand firmly before he lets go. “You can get the lay of the land.” 

Another false promise. You should be used to those by now. Those written directions Zuli mentioned are out the window. You get the full curated walk through. 

“Thanks,” you nod and bend your knees. 

He’s quicker than you. Stronger too. Obviously. But the way he easily scoops up the bucket, it’s like he’s picking up no more than a pillow. The act adds to the hint of mortification in prickling behind your ears. Here you are, in sweats and a bandana, in a nice neighbourhood, and now you’re faced with the primped and pristine golden boy. 

He backs up and gestures you inside, the bottle of bleach wiggling in the bucket. You enter and stop on the matter. You slip out of your shoes as he shuts the door. He turns, coming close, close enough that his warm radiates through the back of your hoodie. 

“You can hang up your sweater,” he reaches to tap a peg on the coat rack mounted on the wall. 

“Sure,” you unzip the hoodie and hang it. 

The house is nice. Organized. You wonder why he needs a maid but then again, you suppose even if he can do it himself, he might not want to. Or have the time. How much leisure does he have when he isn’t saving the world. 

It’s a pretty standard layout. You’ve seen homes with a similar floor plan by the fixtures are loose and corroded and the floorboards splintered. Nice places, just aged. Owned by those who can’t afford hired help. 

You notice a few original pieces, restored, but emblazoned with the patent that demarcates them as turn of the twentieth century. Almost as old as the man leading you around. You go through the first floor, the second floor, and come back down. 

“So, I’ll be around here and there. I don’t really have a solid schedule but I’ll try to have you come in around the same time, make it easy on you,” he explains. He has a hand on his hip as he gestures with the other; like he’s ordering around his soldiers, rather, his avengers. 

“Right,” you nod again.  

Taking orders isn’t that hard. They remind you of someone else but they’re not difficult. It’s harder when you don’t know what others want. When disappointing them is easy. 

“Any questions?” He asks. 

“No,” you shake your head. You stand awkwardly, waiting. You clear your throat. “I can take that.” 

You reach for the kit and he flinches as he looks down. He chuckles, “oh, oh yeah. Heavy. Let me know where to put it. I’ll save you the pulled muscle.” 

“Really, I can handle it,” you grab the handle, next to his hand. He resists for a moment then lets you take it. He could keep it from you if he wanted. That thought is something else. This man is powerful in more ways than one. “Thanks.” 

“No problem, and whatever you need, water or whatever, let me know,” he offers as he slides one heel back. “I’m up in my office today so you can do that last.” 

“Makes sense,” you accept and turn away.  

Kitchen first, that’s the most tedious. 

[requiemforthepoets]

it’s you that i’ve been waiting for, all of my life ⟢ LN4

final part of the crazy rich asians au ⟢ part one part two

PAIRINGS: lando norris x asian!female!reader

SUMMARY: with a lot of your family and friends are either getting engaged or married, it made you think about a lot of things—well, mostly marriage.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: non-use of y/n, reader is asian, foul language, traditional family, asian culture & tradition, food, crazy rich asians inspired + plot, heiress reader, named characters (except reader, names are mostly taken from CRA), social status, high society, mentions of marriage, reader having a wedding fever, fluff, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 9.6k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: finallyyyy, this is the last part of my crazy rich asians au. the rest of the updates for this series is already smaus—which will be updated sporadically. to all that read, commented, and reblogged, thank you so much from the bottom of my heart. tbh, i wasn’t even sure/confident with this three part series bc it was literally my first time writing this kind of fic, so thank you so much. as always, your reblogs/comments are highly appreciated, and i hope that you’ll enjoy this last part! also, happy new year, guys! 🥺❤️

You and Lando had just finished settling into your hotel, when your phone buzzed with an incoming facetime call from Nick. Surprised but not entirely shocked by his timing, you answered the call and held your phone up as you sat on the edge of the bed. Nick’s face appeared on the screen, expression tense and unusually serious.

“Hey, is Rachel with you right now?” he asked without preamble, tone laced with urgency.

You frowned, confused by the question. “No, she’s not,” you replied, glancing at Lando, who was sitting on the edge of the bef watching your conversation. “Lando and I already left Singapore earlier, we’re in Malaysia right now. Why? Is everything okay?”

Nick ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily before diving into the whole explanation. He told you and Lando about how your Auntie Eleanor had hired a private investigator to dig into Rachel’s background. Your stomach sank as he laid it all out—the dossier that your Auntie Eleanor had compiled, which included several Chinese news articles and missing person reports with Rachel’s mother’s photo. All these revelations had been shared with your Ah Ma at the wedding reception, and things had escalated from there.

You can slightly hear Nick’s voice trembling as he recounted how your Ah Ma had become mad and forbid Rachel from continuing her relationship with him, declaring that Rachel’s family background poses a threat to your family’s reputation. The words made your chest tighten, and you felt a mix of anger and sadness bubbling inside of you. Then it all started to make sense now—Rachel’s disoriented state, the way she fled from the reception without looking back.

“Wait,” you interjected, still processing everything. “Ah ma was at Colin and Minty’s wedding? I didn’t even see her, she rarely goes to events like that unless her presence is absolutely necessary.”

Nick nodded, confirming your thoughts. “She was there. It wasn’t planned for her to come, but I think Mom had managed to convince her.”

You sighed. “Well, that explained a lot. No wonder Rachel was running off like that, she must’ve been completely blindsided.”

He paused before continuing. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of her, but she’s not answering my calls or texts. I just—” he trailed off, his frustration evident.

Thinking quickly, you remembered something Rachel had mentioned in passing. “Maybe she’s staying at her best friend’s house? She told me once that she has a close friend in Singapore.”

Nick’s eyes lit up slightly. “That's a possibility. I’ll try to find out where her friend lives.”

“Do you need me to come back?” you asked, words spilling out before you could second-guess them. “Lan and I can fly back to Singapore tonight if you think it’ll help.” you glanced at Lando, who nodded in silent agreement.

He shook his head quickly. “No, no, don’t worry about it. I think I can handle it for now. But if Rachel answers your texts or calls, can you let me know right away?”

“Of course,” you said firmly. “I’ll text her again and keep you updated.”

“Thanks,” Nick said with a small, grateful smile.

“But hey, listen,” you said carefully, “if you find Rachel—in which I know that you will, you have to give her some time. Don’t push her, and don’t force anything.”

Nick was quiet on the other end, so you took it as a queue to continue. “She’s been blindsided, completely blindsided by all of it. Think about it, the information that Auntie Eleanor dumped on her, how it was thrown at her, none of it was easy for her to process. She didn’t even see it coming, and honestly, no one would’ve been ready for something like that.”

“I know,” Nick murmured. “But I just want to fix it. I want her to know that none of this changes how I feel about her.”

“I know you do,” you said gently. “But right now, Rachel needs space to process everything. Imagine if you’re in her shoes—finding out things about your family’s past in such a public and humiliating way. That kind of betrayal isn’t easy to shake off, especially when it comes out of nowhere.”

You paused, choosing your words carefully. “You have to be patient with her, Nick. Let her come to you when she’s ready. If you try to force her to talk or rush through it, it might just push her further away.”

There was another silence, then a resigned sigh from Nick. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I hate it, but you’re right. I just feel so useless sitting here, doing nothing.”

“Nicky, you’re not doing nothing,” you assured him. “The best thing you can do right now is respect her boundaries and be ready when she’s ready. Let her know you’re there, but don’t overwhelm her, and Nick…” you trailed off.

You briefly hesitated before adding, “Rachel was thrown into a pit of wolves. Our family, for all its grandeur and well, admit it or not, can be really cruel. She wasn’t prepared for it, but that’s not on her—it’s completely on us, and if you love her, you’ll help her navigate through it when she finally comes around.”

Nick’s voice softened. “I do love her, more than anything.”

“This might sound very cliché, but trust the process,” you said. “She’ll come back to you when she’s ready, and when she does, you’ll be there for her.”

“Thanks again,” he said quietly. “I really needed to hear that.”

“Anytime,” you replied. “Just keep me updated, okay? Don’t lose hope.”

“I won’t,” Nick promised.

“Alright, take care.” you said before ending the call.

As the screen went dark, you tossed your phone onto the bed with a sigh, staring at the ceiling in frustration. Your call to Rachel had gone straight to voicemail, and though you had sent her a message, you couldn’t shake the knot of worry in your chest. Flopping down beside your phone, you exhaled deeply. The fact that your Auntie Eleanor had gone so far as to hiring a private investigator made your blood boil. It was not just meddling—it felt invasive and cruel.

“Why?” you muttered to yourself, running a hand through your hair. “Why did she have to go that far?”

Lando glanced over you from where he was sitting, watching you silently for a moment before he laid down beside you on the bed.

“Hey,” he said softly, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s just…Auntie Eleanor. Why would she do something like that? Nick and Rachel were happy, and Ah Ma already liked Rachel, so why did she have to ruin it all? What does it even accomplish?” your voice wavered slightly as you spoke, your emotions bubbling to the surface.

Lando listened patiently, letting you vent. When you paused, he gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I get it,” he said gently. “It’s frustrating, and it’s not fair to Rachel. But you know Nick, he’s not going to give up on her just because of this. They’ll figure it out eventually.”

You looked at him, brows furrowed. “But what if they don’t? What if this just ruins everything?”

“It won’t,” he said firmly. “They’ve come this far, haven’t they? Something like this might take time to work through, but if they’re meant to be, they’ll find their way back to each other. You’ve got to believe in that.”

His words were calming, and you found yourself nodding slowly. “You’re right,” you said, though the knot in your chest didn’t fully loosen. “I just want them to have the happy ending they deserve.”

“And they will,” Lando assured you with a small smile. “But right now, you’ve got to focus on what you can control. We’re in Malaysia, come on, let’s enjoy our time. Relax, and take a breather from all the chaos back in Singapore.”

You gave Lando a weak smile, appreciating his efforts to make everything better. “Yeah, you’re right. We should make the most of it while we’re here.” pushing yourself off the bed, you glanced towards your suitcase. “We’ve got dinner plans later, don’t we?”

Lando grinned, standing up and holding out his hand to help you. “We do. Let’s go have a great night.”

You took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet, and smiled at him. “Alright.”

The first day in Malaysia began early, with the rising sun casting a soft golden glow as you and Lando set off for George Town in Penang. The drive was long, roughly about four hours from Kuala Lumpur, where you’re staying, but the journey was as much a part of the adventure as the destination. Lando was behind the wheel, where one of his hands was steady on the wheel, and his other free hand was laced on your fingers. His eyes occasionally darted towards you while you admired the scenery as you passed by.

“So,” he started, glancing at you with a teasing smile, “are you going to be my personal tour guide for the day?”

You grinned, looking at him. “Of course.”

When you arrived, George Town immediately swept you off of your feet. The streets were alive with so much color and culture, with the British colonial buildings standing gracefully alongside vibrant Chinese shophouses and intricate mosques. The air smelled of spices and street food, and the chatter of locals filled the space with a sense of warmth and energy.

“Look at that one,” he said, pulling you gently toward a painting of a little boy riding a bicycle. “We have to take a photo here.”

Lando pulled out his camera and posed next to the mural, with a wide grin on his face. “Your turn, come on,” he said after snapping his photo, motioning for you to take his place. “Hold on,” he gestured for you to pose in front of the mural. You rolled your eyes playfully but obliged to his request, striking a simple pose.

“Perfect,” he said as he snapped the photo before lowering the camera. “Though the real thing’s better than the photo,” he added cheekily, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on your cheek.

“Smooth,” you teased, shaking your head but smiling nonetheless.

You wandered through the streets hand in hand, occasionally stopping every so often to admire the architecture of the small shops selling everything ranging from antiques to handmade crafts. At one point, Lando pulled you into a quiet alley where a local artist was painting a new mural. He tilted his head, examining the work.

“Think I could pull something like this off?” he joked, referring to the mural’s intricate design.

“Absolutely not,” you replied, laughing. “But I’d pay good money to watch you try.”

The day would not have been complete without food. You introduced Lando to char kway teow, a flavorful stir-fried noodle dish. He took his first bite, his expression shifting from curiosity to delight.

“Okay, this is incredible,” he said, nodding enthusiastically as he went for another bite.

“You have a good taste,” you replied, stealing a noodle from his plate.

“You mean you have a good taste,” he corrected.

The day continued like that—strolling, laughing, stealing kisses, and taking photos. Every corner of George Town seemed to hold a story, and every moment felt like it was just for the two of you.

As the sun began to set, the sky turned a warm orange, and Lando snapped one final photo. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget today,” he said softly, looking at you instead of the view.

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “Me neither.”

The second day began with the sun streaming through your window, casting a warm glow over the start of what you knew would be an unforgettable day. After breakfast, you and Lando set off for Paradise 101 in Langkawi, a private island that promised a perfect blend of adventure and relaxation, and just an hour away.

As soon as you stepped onto the island, the soft sound of the waves lapping against the shore and the salty breeze filled your senses. Lando reached out for your hand, giving it a light squeeze he looked out at the clear blue sky.

“Ready for some adventure?” he asked with a contagious smile.

“Always,” you replied, already feeling the excitement bubbling up.

The first activity on the list was parasailing, something you had always wanted to try. Strapped into the harness side by side, the instructor began counting down, and then, the boat picked up speed, lifting you and Lando off the ground, soaring above the waters. The world below looks so tiny, and the ocean stretches endlessly beneath your feet.

“This is insane!” Lando shouted over the wind.

You turned your head to look at him, his expression lit up with excitement. “Right? Look at that amazing view!” you replied, pointing towards the horizon where the ocean met the sky.

“Look something out of the painting,” then glancing at you, there was a mischievous glint in Lando’s eyes. “Though the view isn’t half as good as the one next to me.”

You laughed, swatting at him lightly. “You’re such a cheeky little shit.”

When your feet touched the sand again, Lando was already pulling you toward the ziplining station. The zipline took you across the island’s canopy, and each time you landed, Lando was there waiting, stealing quick kisses before moving to the next line.

“Race you to the bottom,” Lando challenged, a mischievous smile lighting up his face.

“Oh, you’re on,” you replied, determined.

As the two of you zipped down, the wind whipping past, the sound of your laughter had filled the air. Lando had beaten you to the bottom, of course, but he immediately pulled you into a hug when you joined him, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

The afternoon was reserved for a private yacht cruise, just the two of you. As the boat glided through the calm waters of Langkawi’s northern coast, you couldn’t help but marvel at the picturesque coastline, with the emerald-green water shimmering under the sun.

“Perfect, isn’t it?” Lando asked, leaning back beside you, his sunglasses perched on his nose.

“Perfect,” you agreed, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his.

“You know,” he began, “we should bring the others here sometimes. They’d love this.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” you replied, looking at him. “Though I kind of like it being just us right now.”

“Me too,” he said, voice soft, brushing a kiss on your forehead.

You decided to give kayaking a try, but knowing Lando, it probably would be a chaotic one. “You’re paddling the wrong way, babe!” you exclaimed as Lando’s oar splashed water everywhere. “Are you sure you know how to paddle?”

“Of course I do!” he argued.

Lando was just kept on paddling in circles, the kayak even refused to cooperate—or so he claimed.

“Babe! You’re just steering us into circles. You’re doing it wrong!” you called out, grinning mischievously.

“I’m not—hold on, are you gaslighting me right now?” he accused, realizing your game.

“I would never!” you said, feigning innocence.

Lando almost toppled over the kayak trying to adjust, and you couldn’t contain your laughter. But eventually, you found your rhythm, paddling side by side through the tranquil waters.

“Okay, maybe this teamwork thing isn’t so bad after all,” he admitted, voice softer now.

“You think?” you teased, glancing at him with a smile.

The highlight of the day came with the private UNESCO Geopark mangrove cruise. You and Lando had been transferred to a small explorer boat, where you were taken through a landscape that felt almost otherworldly. Sheer limestone cliffs rose majestically from the water, their forms resembling ancient temples.

“This is incredible,” Lando murmured, voice tinged with awe as he leaned over the side of the boat.

You nodded, eyes fixed on the towering cliffs. “It feels like we’ve stepped into another world.”

The guide led you through the Tanjung Rhu River, Kisap River, and Kilim River, each stretch offering breathtaking views. At one point, you visited a fish farm and even ventured into the crocodile and bat cave, marveling at the natural formations.

When the cruise ended, the day slowly gave way to evening, and you returned to the resort. Lando had made a reservation for an outdoor dinner at the resort’s restaurant, with the table set against the backdrop of the sparkling Andaman Sea.

You were sitting right across from Lando, the soft glow of the setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink. “Today was really perfect,” you said, voice warm.

Lando reached across the table, taking your hand in his. “Well, that’s because I spent it with you.”

“To more days like this,” you said, raising your glass with your free hand.

“To more days with you,” Lando replied, raising his glass as well.

The waves whispered against the shore as you clink your glasses together, ending the amazing fun filled day in the most serene and beautiful way imaginable.

On the third day, which is your last day in Malaysia, felt like the perfect opportunity to slow down and enjoy a more relaxed pace with Lando. After having your breakfast at the hotel’s restaurant, you decided to explore Kuala Lumpur together and do some shopping, mostly picking out Christmas gifts for family and friends. Your first stop was Cartier, where the staff immediately recognized you and Lando as you entered the boutique.

“Welcome back,” one of them greeted warmly. “Please, follow us to the VIP room.”

The room was elegant and private, with plush seating and pristine glass displays showcasing Cartier’s finest collections. You scanned the displays carefully, selecting gifts that felt personal and meaningful. From time to time, you would turn to Lando for his opinion, holding a piece to show it to him.

“What do you think of this one, love?” you asked, turning a bracelet in your hands.

Lando leaned in to get a closer look, studying it for a brief moment. “It’s nice, but maybe this design suits them better,” he suggested, pointing to another piece that has more classic finish to it.

His input was reassuring, and you found yourself smiling more with every choice you made. So piece by piece, you finalized your selections and decided to have each of it engraved with the names. While the staff began the engraving process, you took the opportunity to explore the display cases further.

Your eyes fell on the iconic Love rings, their sleek designs catching the light. The delicate design, with its understated elegance and signature screw motif had drawn you in immediately. You paused, gazing at them a little longer than you had intended. They were very stunning, and the thought of having matching ones with Lando crept into your mind.

For a moment, you let your mind wander. The thought of having matching Love rings with Lando made your heart flutter. It would be such a sweet symbol of your relationship, a quiet nod to the love you shared. But as quickly as the thought came, doubt crept in. Would he even want to wear something like that? You had only been together for a year, and while your relationship felt deep and serious, you weren’t even sure if he’d see it the same way.

“Miss?” the associate’s voice gently pulled you back to the present. “The items have been engraved and wrapped. Would you like us to send them directly to your hotel?”

You smiled, nodding. “Yes, please. That would be perfect. We still have some plans for the day.”

The associate assured you that everything would be taken care of. You thanked them again and turned to Lando, who was casually leaning against the counter, watching you with an easy smile. What you didn’t realize was that he had caught the way your gaze lingered on the Love rings earlier. But he decided not to say anything, only offering you his hand as the two of you prepared to leave.

“Ready to go?” he asked, voice gentle.

“Yes, let’s go,” you replied, sliding your hand into his.

As you both left the store hand in hand, the shopping bags destined for your hotel, Lando’s mind was already working, his thoughts drifting back to the love rings and making a mental note.

Finally, Dior was your final stop, and as you stepped into the elegantly designed VIP room, the ambiance felt as refined and luxurious as always. The staff greeted you warmly, offering refreshments and giving you a moment to settle in before showing you all of the latest collections.

You browsed through the items thoughtfully, then occasionally turning to Lando for his input, yet again, on potential gifts and personal picks. He followed you closely, hands tucked casually in his pockets, his easy demeanor adding a comfortable balance.

As you admired a pair of beautiful heels, Lando leaned in slightly, tone light but teasing. “You know your luggage is already packed to the brim, right?”

You paused mid-reach, blinking at him as his words sank in. “Wait…really?”

He nodded, trying to suppress a grin. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you’d have to sit on it just to zip it up.”

With the sudden realization, you glanced back at the shelves, and you turned to the sales associate with a smile. “Do you have any luggage available in stock?”

The associate’s face lit up. “We do, actually! Let me bring it out for you.”

As the associate disappeared into the back, Lando let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “Only you would come shopping for gifts and leave with luggage to carry it all.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging his arm. “Well, if you’re going to go shopping, might as well do it properly.”

The associate soon returned, rolling out a sleek Dior luggage piece in a design you hadn’t seen before that caught your attention immediately. Its understated design and impeccable craftsmanship stood out, and you took a moment to examine it closely.

“This is perfect,�� you said decisively, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. “I’ll take it. I don’t have one in this design yet, so it’ll be a great addition.”

Lando chuckled softly beside you as you made your way to the counter. When the associate had totaled the purchase, he casually pulled out his black card and handed it over, placing it on the counter.

“Here, I’ve got this,” he said smoothly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small grin.

“No,” you reached into your bag without hesitation, pulling out your own black card and handing it to the associate directly. “I’m paying for this, please. It’s my shopping.”

The associate glanced between the two of you, clearly confused and trying to decide whose card to take. You were sure that the associate would take your card, so you focused briefly on a nearby display of handbags, thinking which designs might fit into your collection. While you were distracted, Lando seized the opportunity.

“Swipe it on mine,” he said quietly, giving the associate a quick, reassuring nod.

By the time you turned your attention back, the transaction was already complete, and the staff were carefully packing the luggage and other items into Dior’s signature paper bags.

“What just happened?” you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly as Lando smiles cheekily at you.

“Nothing, babe,” he replied, tone far too innocent to be convincing. “Just making sure you’re not overworking your card today.”

You sighed, half-exasperated but mostly amused. “You’re impossible.”

“Just making sure your new luggage is properly christened,” he teased.

Shaking your head with a small smile, you turned back to the associate and asked, “would it be possible to have everything be delivered to our hotel? We’ve got a dinner reservation coming up, and it would be easier if we didn’t have to carry all this.”

“Of course, Miss,” they replied, nodding. “We’ll ensure everything is delivered promptly.”

“Thank you,” you said warmly before turning back to Lando. “Ready to go?”

Lando placed a hand on the small of your back, guiding you towards the exit. “Let’s go.”

By the time you stepped out of Dior, the soft glow of dusk had already begun to settle over the city, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. The streets were alive with the hum of evening traffic, but your thoughts were focused on the dinner reservation at Akar Dining.

The drive to the restaurant was peaceful, with Lando’s hand resting on your thigh as the car navigated the streets. You arrived just in time, the warm ambiance of the restaurant immediately wrapping around you as you stepped inside, the host greeted you and guided you to your table. Lando, ever the gentleman, pulled out your chair, his hand lingering briefly on the back of it as you sat down.

“Thank you,” you murmured with a small smile, adjusting the hem of your dress as you settled in.

Lando took his seat across from you just as a waiter approached your table with the menus. The dimly lit atmosphere, paired with the sophisticated decor had made the evening feel intimate and special. As you scanned the menu, your eyes immediately caught a few dishes you knew you would enjoy, while Lando appeared slightly less certain.

“So, what are you thinking of getting?” you asked, glancing up from your menu to find him frowning slightly.

“Honestly?” he set the menu down for a moment, leaning back in his chair. “Most of these seafood dishes aren’t really my thing.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “It’s fine, just pick something else. You don’t have to love everything on the menu.”

Eventually, he decided on the braised aged duck, and you ordered a seafood dish that intrigued you. As you waited for the food, you took a sip of your water, your gaze lingering on Lando. The memory of what happened at Dior earlier was still fresh in your mind, and you decided to address it.

“By the way,” you began, setting your glass down. “Thank you for paying earlier at Dior, but you really didn’t have to, Lan.”

Lando shrugged casually, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Of course I did. You shouldn’t have to pay for something when I’m right here.”

You sighed lightly, tilting your head at him. “Lan, I can pay for my own things. I don’t want to rely on you all the time, especially when it’s my shopping.”

“I know you can,” he replied, tone soft but firm. “But that doesn’t mean I want you to. It’s not about whether you can afford it—it’s about me wanting to take care of you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a playful grin. “And before you argue, I’m not budging on this.”

“Well, if you’re so insistent on paying for everything,” you said, leaning forward slightly, “then at least let me pay for dinner tonight.”

“Not happening, love,” he said simply, leaning back in his chair with an air of finality.

“Lando,” you started, but the waiter returned just then with your food, momentarily halting the conversation.

As you both began to eat, you couldn’t help but glance at him occasionally, trying to come up with a way to outmaneuver him when the bill comes. Lando seemed thoroughly engrossed in his braised aged duck, nodding approvingly after the first few bites.

“This is actually really good,” he remarked, gesturing to his plate with his fork.

“It was worth the try,” you said with a satisfied smile, enjoying your own meal.

When the plates were cleared, the waiter had returned with the bill, and you reached for it instinctively, smiling as you’re about to get a hand on it, but to your dismay, Lando was faster. He snatched it from the waiter’s hand with a smoothness that left you momentarily stunned, his card already out and ready. Without a word, he placed it on the bill and handed it back to the waiter before you could even blink.

“Lando Norris!” you hissed, voice a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “I told you I was paying for dinner.”

“And I told you that you’re not,” he replied, tone calm and unbothered.

You stared at him, incredulous. “You can’t keep doing this. I have my own money, you know. I don’t need you to pay for everything, my love.”

“I know you don’t,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “But I wanted to. A gentleman never let his woman pay. End of story.”

“But—”

“No buts,” he interrupted gently, gaze soft but resolute. “I know that you’re independent, and I love that about you. But letting me take care of you every now and then doesn’t make you any less independent.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “At some point, you have to let me pay too. I don’t want to feel like I’m relying on you for everything.”

“I get that. But tonight isn’t the point,” he said, as his thumb gently caressed your knuckles and brought it to his lips, kissing it softly. “Letting me take care of you once in a while doesn’t mean you’re relying on me. It just means that I love you.”

Your heart softened at his words, the sincerity in his voice melting away your objections. “Fine,” you murmured, though a playful edge crept into your tone. “But one day, you’re letting me pay for something. Mark my words.”

Lando chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a wide grin. “We’ll see about that.”

After an amazing dinner, you were finally back in your hotel. The moment you stepped inside the room, the exhaustion from the day’s adventures hit you like a wave. You slipped off your sandals with a sigh of relief, placed your bag on the vanity, and immediately collapsed onto the plush bed, letting the softness swallow you whole. Lando was not far behind, shutting the door with a soft click before walking over to where you lay sprawled out. He chuckled as he kicked off his sneakers, tossing them aside without any care.

“You look absolutely done,” he teased, voice laced with affection.

Without another word, he climbed onto the bed beside you, his arms snaking around your waist as he pulled you close. You didn’t protest, in fact, you just melted into his embrace—his warmth and familiar scent of his cologne instantly soothing your tired muscles.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” you murmured lazily, though you made no effort to move. “We still need to pack for tomorrow. I need to arrange the things we bought today inside the new luggage.”

Lando nuzzled his face into your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “Mhmm…packing can wait.” he said as he kissed your collarbone. “I just want to stay like this for a bit. It’s been such a good trip.”

You smiled faintly, tilting your head slightly to rest against his. “It really has. I think this was exactly what we needed, huh? Just us, no distractions.”

“Uh huh. No meetings, no interruptions…” Lando added with a sigh, tightening his hold on you. “I wish we could stay longer. Feels like I’ve barely scratched the surface here.”

You laughed softly. “You’re the one who extended our stay by an extra day. If we keep this up, we might not even make it to the UK in time for Christmas.”

He groaned dramatically, pulling you even closer. “Fine, you win. We’ll leave tomorrow, but I’m telling you, we’re coming back here next year.”

“Alright,” you replied, voice muffle as you buried your face in his chest.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke, content to lie tangled in each other’s arms as the city lights outside cast a faint glow into the hotel room.

“Okay, okay,” you finally said, breaking the peaceful silence. “We really need to pack, babe. I’m not about to start throwing things into a suitcase at five in the morning.”

He groaned again but rolled over, propping himself up on one elbow as he looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “How about I do the packing, and you stay here looking all pretty?”

“Absolutely not,” you replied, swatting his arm lightly. “If you pack, I’ll end up with half my things missing and thrown with wrinkles.”

Lando laughed, sitting up and pulling you up with him. “Alright, fine. Let’s get it over with, but you owe me cuddles afterwards.”

You rolled your eyes playfully as you slid off of the bed. “Deal. Now, let’s get moving before you start whining again.”

He grinned, grabbing his suitcase and tossing it onto the bed with enthusiasm. “You know me so very well.”

As you were neatly folding a dress and placing it neatly in your suitcase, your phone rang, cutting through the quiet hum of activity in the hotel room. You glanced at the screen and saw Nick’s caller ID flashing. Your eyes immediately widened, and your stomach sank slightly—you had completely pushed aside the chaos from earlier in Singapore.

“Nicky,” you murmured, picking up the phone and quickly answering. Lando glanced up from his own packing, curious.

The moment the call connected, Nick’s face filled your screen, grinning from ear to ear. Before you could say anything, he shouted out, “WE’RE GETTING MARRIED!”

Your jaw dropped, and your heart leapt. “WHAT?!” you screamed, startling Lando, who immediately moved closer to check. “Oh my god! Nicky, are you serious?!”

Nick nodded excitedly, his smile growing wider. “Yes! I proposed to Rachel earlier, and she said yes! We’re getting married!”

A loud scream of happiness escaped you, and grabbed both Lando’s hands and jumped up and down, causing Lando to follow your lead, with you chanting ‘Nick and Rachel are getting married’ a couple of times. Both of you jumping like you’re in a cult, chanting to summon something.

“Nicky, this is amazing news! I’m so happy for you and Rachel! Oh my god, I’m going to cry!” you said, nearly dropping your phone in the process.

Lando laughed and leaned into the frame, resting a hand on your waist. “Congratulations, mate! That’s incredible news!”

“Thanks, man!” Nick said, grinning even wider. He turned back to you, clearly eager to share more details. “Mom finally came around, and she gave me the emerald ring to propose with. I actually chased Rachel to the airport, it turns out she was about to leave, already inside the plane and I just dropped on one knee and proposed to her. You should’ve seen Rachel’s face when I pulled out the ring, she was so shocked.”

You clutched your chest dramatically. “Nick, that’s so beautiful. I’m so, so happy for you both.”

Nick chuckled, his excitement very evident. “But wait, there’s more. I’m throwing a surprise engagement party for Rachel tomorrow night, and I need you both there. Please say you can come.”

You glanced over at Lando, your eyes silently asking if he was okay with changing plans. Lando, ever the supportive boyfriend that he is, nodded without any hesitation.

“We’re both in,” you said to Nick. “We’ll fly back to Singapore tomorrow.”

Nick let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you! I can’t wait to see you both, and don’t worry, it won’t be a massive party, just a small gathering of close friends and family.”

“We will not miss it,” you assured him. “But just so you know, we’ll have to leave right after the party. We’re expected in the UK before Christmas.”

“Fair enough,” Nick said, still beaming. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow then, and thank you, both of you, for being there for us.”

“Of course,” you replied, voice soft with emotion. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

After ending the call, you turned to Lando, who was smiling at your obvious joy. “Looks like we’re making another detour,” you said with a laugh.

“Well, wouldn’t have it any other way,” Lando replied, pulling you into a quick hug before returning to his packing.

The flight from Malaysia to Singapore passed quickly, only an hour long. You and Lando had decided to leave in the afternoon to allow yourselves some extra time to relax before the engagement party. By the time the private jet touched down at a private tarmac in Changi Airport, the sky had shifted to a warm, dusky hue.

You were already dressed for the event, adjusting the hem of your dress as you prepared to disembark. Your outfit for tonight complimented Lando’s outfit perfectly, a choice you both had coordinated without much effort. Deciding not to take your belongings off of the jet since you would be leaving Singapore immediately after the party. Taking one final glance at the jet’s sleek interior, you then stepped out.

Lando walked beside you, his hand firmly holding yours as he guided you down the steps of the jet. The heels you wore, though elegant, weren’t exactly forgiving, and his grip gave you the balance you needed. Once you reached the car waiting on the tarmac, he moved ahead, opening the door for you.

“Careful, love,” he murmured, holding out a hand to help you inside.

You gave Lando a small smile as you slid into the seat, careful not to wrinkle your dress. He followed right after, shutting the car door behind him. The soft hum of the car engine filled up the space as the vehicle pulled away, heading towards Marina Bay Sands. You then leaned into Lando slightly.

“You know,” Lando began with a playful smirk, “I think we’ve spent more time in Singapore lately than in Monaco.”

You laughed softly. “Tell me about it. It looks like we’ll be back here again sooner rather than later for Nick and Rachel’s wedding.”

He tilted his head in mock resignation. “I guess I’d better get used to the humidity then.”

“Oh come on,” you gave him a teasing nudge. “You’ve survived it so far. Besides, you look so good here, very tropical chic.”

Lando chuckled, resting his hand on yours. “Thanks, love. But seriously, it feels like everyone’s getting married or engaged all of a sudden. What’s with the December air.”

You sighed dramatically. “Tell me about it. First Colin and Minty, now Nick and Rachel, also don’t forget about my friend from Parsons! She’s getting married in Moscow next year and has already sent in the invitation.”

“Moscow, huh?” he mused. “Another flight for us?”

You glanced at him with a small smile. “If you want to come with me, that is. I don’t want to pressure you into attending all these weddings, I know that it can be really tiring.”

Lando tilted his head, pretending to think it over. “Moscow, a wedding, and a chance to see you again in another dress? Sounds like a total dream, so it’s a yes for me.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging his arm. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love every bit of it,” he quipped, grinning.

As the car drove on, your thoughts began to drift. Weddings, engagements, proposals—it seemed like everyone around you was taking those big steps. You didn’t want to admit it, but that idea of marriage had been creeping into your mind more and more lately. It was not something you wanted to bring up, not yet, but still, it is a topic that had been occupying your mind.

You shook off the feeling, focusing instead on the city lights beginning to twinkle outside the car window. “Yeah, and I think that we’re going to need a bigger calendar,” you joked.

Lando laughed, resting a hand on your knee. “As long as you’re on it, I don’t mind.”

The car rolled to a smooth stop at the grand entrance of Marina Bay Sands, with the city lights reflecting off the sleek glass facade. The chauffeur had exited first, circling around to open your door, and before you could step out, Lando was already at your side, extending a hand to help you out of the car.

“I’ll be here at the agreed time to take you back to the airport, ma’am.” the chauffeur said as he tipped his hat.

“Thank you,” you replied with a polite smile.

Lando intertwined your hands, and you both began walking towards the entrance. The evening air was warm, and the energy surrounding the iconic building was palpable. A few people by the lobby immediately recognized Lando, and their eyes widened when they noticed you by his side.

“Excuse me,” a young woman asked hesitantly, clutching her phone. “Would it be alright if I can get a quick photo with you both?”

Lando exchanged glances with you and nodded warmly. “Of course, just a quick one.”

You stepped aside with him, pausing for a few photos, each person thanking you both profusely afterwards. Once the small crowd dispersed, you and Lando resumed your walk, making your way to the elevators that would take you to the sky deck. The elevator ride was smooth and swift, and when the doors opened, the familiar faces of your family, Nick’s closest friends, and your cousins scattered throughout the beautifully decorated space.

As your eyes scanned the crowd, you spotted your mother first. She stood near one of the seating areas, speaking animatedly with one of your aunts. You guided Lando over, and her expression shifted to surprise the moment she saw you both.

“Darling!” your mother exclaimed, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“Hi, Mom,” you greeted, smiling warmly before stepping aside so Lando could greet her.

Your mother opened her arms invitingly. “Lando, come here.”

Lando hugged her briefly but warmly, a soft laugh escaping him. “Hello, Auntie. It’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” your mother replied, taking a step back to look at you both. “I thought you’d already be in the UK by now.” she said, raising an eyebrow at you.

“We were supposed to leave after the day after the wedding,” you explained, “but we decided to make a quick stop in Malaysia for a few days. Then Nicky called last night and asked us to come, so here we are.”

She smiled knowingly. “Always the supportive cousin. But you’re leaving tonight?”

“Yes, the jet is on standby at the airport,” you confirmed. “We’ll head straight there after the party.”

Your mother nodded in satisfaction, and gave Lando a pat on the shoulder. “Well, you enjoy yourselves tonight. It’s a rare sight to see you two so relaxed.”

You and Lando exchanged a small smile before moving on to greet Colin and Araminta, who were just chatting near the champagne table.

“Hey!” Colin greeted, giving you both a hug. “I didn’t think we’d see you two again so soon.”

“Neither did we,” you replied with a laugh. “But here we are.”

You turned to Araminta, who hugged you warmly, then stepped back, smiling brightly. “It’s so good to see you again, and Lando, of course! You’re becoming quite the fixture at family events!”

Lando grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Colin smirked. “At this rate, uncle’s going to give him the talk soon, if he hasn’t already. Then we all know whose wedding we’ll be attending soon after Nick and Rachel’s.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Too late, Dad already gave him the talk, and even Ah Ma had given her blessing.”

Lando grinned, playing along. “Proud to say that I’ve passed all the tests by now.”

Araminta gasped dramatically, nudging Colin. “See? It’s official now. We’ll start saving the date!”

The four of you exchanged pleasantries and some laughs for a few moments before your attention was drawn to a surprising sight. Standing by the bar were none other than Bernard and Kitty, a pair you had not expected to see here at all. You caught Lando’s eye, and he gave you a subtle shrug, clearly just as a surprise.

Shaking it off, you turned your focus back, making your way toward your aunts. Auntie Alix, Auntie Eleanor, and Auntie Jacqueline, who were all chatting in a tight circle. You approached with Lando by your side, greeting each of them in turn with a polite kiss on the cheek and a warm smile.

“Ah, you’re here!” your Auntie Alix smiled. “I thought you were in the UK already.”

“Nick called,” you explained with a smile, “so here we are.”

“Well, we’re glad you made it,” your Auntie Jacqueline chimed in, “and you’re glowing tonight.” she added, her gaze flitting between you and Lando.

“Must be the Malaysian sun,” Lando jokes, earning a soft laugh from the group.

Your Auntie Eleanor gave Lando a sharp but playful look. “You’re certainly making yourself comfortable with this family, aren’t you?”

Lando smiled politely. “I’m just trying to keep up,” satisfied with his answer, your Auntie Eleanor waved you off with a chuckle.

Nick and Rachel hadn’t arrived yet, so you and Lando decided to take the opportunity to mingle with other guests. The evening was lively, with laughter and champagne flowing freely.

Several guests had approached you and Lando for photos, and you obliged, posing with ease. Lando kept a hand on your lower back, guiding you smoothly through the crowd as you moved from one group to another.

From across the room, you noticed your cousin Oliver weaving his way through the crowd, a bright smile on his face as he head towards you. As he approached, you and Lando turned to greet him.

“Oliver!” you said warmly, pulling him into a quick hug.

“Hey you two,” he said, giving you both a smile before continuing. “I want to introduce you to Rachel’s best friend. She’s dying to meet you.”

Curious, you exchanged a glance with Lando before agreeing. “Of course! Lead the way.”

Following Oliver, you navigated through the elegantly dressed guests until you stopped in front of a small group of people.

“Here we are,” Oliver said, motioning toward a striking woman with a vibrant smile. “This is Rachel’s best friend, Goh Peik Lin.”

You extended your hand toward her. “Peik Lin, it’s so nice to meet you!”

Peik Lin shook your hand warmly. “And it’s so nice to meet you as well!”

Your gaze traveled briefly over her outfit, a beautifully tailored dress that exuded elegance and sophistication. “I have to say, your outfit is incredible. You have such impeccable taste.”

Her smile widened, excitement evident. “Oh stop, you’re going to make me blush! But thank you, it means a lot coming from someone as stylish as you.”

Oliver then turned to the older couple standing beside Peik Lin. “And these are Peik Lin’s parents, Goh Wye Mun and Goh Nenna.”

You offered a polite smile as you greeted them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both, Mr. and Mrs. Goh.”

Nenna’s eyes sparkled as she took your hand. “Just call us Auntie Nenna and Uncle Wye Mun! And my goodness, you’re even more gorgeous in person! I’ve seen photos of you, and they don’t do you justice! You’re very stunning, my dear!”

You laugh softly, feeling a light warmth rise to your cheeks. “You’re too kind, Auntie Nenna. Thank you so much.”

Then you turned to Wye Mun, whose expression shifted slightly as recognition dawned on him. He tilted his head, studying you for a moment.

“You’re one of Harrison Sr. and Elizabeth Young’s children, aren’t you? Their only daughter,” he said, tone a mixture of surprise and admiration.

You nodded, smiling. “That’s right. I’ve heard of your family before as well. If my memory serves me right, you’re the owner of Goh Developments, correct? One of Singapore’s most successful real estate companies?”

Wye Mun chuckled, clearly pleased. “Yes, that’s about right. I’m flattered you know about us.”

“Of course!” you said. “Your company’s work is extraordinary. Some of your developments are architectural masterpieces.”

The brief exchange shifted naturally into a short discussion about real estate, with Wye Mun enthusiastically sharing tidbits about recent projects. Peik Lin listened intently, Oliver and Lando conversing with each other, while Nenna just watched the whole conversation with a smile.

You then gestured towards Lando afterwards, who had been standing quietly beside you. “Allow me to introduce to you my boyfriend, Lando.”

Lando extended his hand towards Wye Mun, who shook it firmly. Wye Mun’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Ah, Lando Norris! I watched you win the Singapore GP last September. Quite an incredible race, I must say. You’ve got some serious talent.”

“Thank you so much,” Lando said with a polite smile. “It was an unforgettable race for sure.”

“And I didn’t know that you were dating the darling of the Singaporean social elite!” Wye Mun added with a playful tone, eyes twinkling.

“Oh Wye Mun, look at them!” Nenna interjected, her gaze moving between you and Lando. “They look so good together, a very beautiful couple. Perfect match!”

Wye Mun nodded in agreement, tone light. “Quite the power couple, I’d say.”

You couldn’t help but smile at their comment, glancing at Lando, who was already looking at you with a soft expression. “Thank you,” you replied simply.

The conversation continued easily, with the group exchanging stories and laughs. The atmosphere was warm, and you felt genuinely pleased to meet Rachel’s best friend and their family.

As the buzz of conversation faded into hushed whispers, Araminta stepped forward with a smile and announced, “Nick and Rachel are on their way up now! Everyone, take your positions.”

You and Lando stood slightly off to the side, his hand on your waist, caressing it softly and tracing shapes. The elegant lighting of the sky deck reflected off the cityscape, casting a soft glow over the gathered guests.

Lando leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “You know,” he whispered, tone teasing, “it was so hot watching you talk business with Wye Mun earlier. You looked so serious and confident.”

You glanced at him, barely suppressing a smile, and gave his chest a soft slap. “Stop being cheeky right now, Norris,” you muttered, keeping your voice low to avoid drawing any attention.

But it looks like Lando was not done yet. He grinned at you mischievously, his voice dipping lower. “I mean it, baby. The way you talked about developments and projects? Very impressive, very attractive.”

You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks warmed slightly. “Lando,” you whispered warningly, “behave. This is not the time.”

He bit back a chuckle, amusement evident. “Fine, fine. But you should know, I can’t help it when you’re like that.”

You shushed him quietly, your finger briefly brushing his lips. “Quiet now,” you insisted softly, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention.

As you returned your focus to the party, your thoughts flicked back to your earlier conversation with Wye Mun. Real estate development has always intrigued you—the intricacies, potential, and stories behind every project. It was not just a polite conversation, it was a chance to learn and build connections.

“Besides,” you murmured to Lando, keeping your tone casual, “it’s always good to broaden your network. Even if I already have so many, there’s no harm in widening the circle.”

Lando nodded, his expression now a mix of curiosity and pride. “Well, you’ve got a point,” he said softly.

You let your eyes wander across the crowd, noting a few familiar faces mingling among the guests. “This place is full of businesspeople—major players in the industry, tonight,” you whispered to him. “I can recognize a few who could even be potential sponsors for McLaren.” Lando raised a brow at you, intrigued.

You turned to him, giving him a playful wink. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll help you land a deal or two.”

Lando smirked, leaning in closer to you again. “Now that,” he said, tone low and teasing, “is a kind of teamwork I can get behind.”

The sky deck fell in a hush as everyone stood in their positions, waiting for Nick and Rachel’s arrival. The atmosphere was buzzing, a mix of excitement and happiness among the crowd. The distant hum of the elevator announced their approach, and then, with a soft chime, doors slid open.

Nick stepped out first, his hands gently covering Rachel’s eyes as he carefully guided her forward into the middle of the crowd. Rachel, her posture both curious and expectant, laughed lightly, clearly amused by the surprise. The whole crowd held its collective breath, watching as Nick finally removed his hands from Rachel’s eyes.

The second her eyes opened, the silence of the crowd was replaced with an eruption of cheers and applause. Screams of happiness echoed across the sky deck, led enthusiastically by Colin and Araminta. Rachel’s expression had transformed into one of pure, radiant happiness as she took sight of everyone gathered for her. Overwhelmed with emotion, she raised her hand, showing off the stunning emerald ring that sparkled under the lights, then pointing to it with a grin.

People surged forward, surrounding Nick and Rachel with hugs and congratulations. You and Lando joined in with the crowd, your laughter blending with everyone else’s as you approached the newly engaged couple.

“Congratulations!” you said, beaming as you hugged Rachel tightly. “I’m so happy for you both.”

Nick grinned, pulling you into a quick hug as well. “Thank you for being here. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

Lando shook Nick’s hand before giving Rachel a warm hug. “You two are perfect for each other.”

Nick, ever the joker, glanced between you and Lando, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You know,” he began, tone playful, “I have a strong feeling you two might be the next one.”

Rachel, catching on, nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, absolutely! We’ll have to start planning your engagement party real soon.”

You and Lando exchanged amused looks, chuckling. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” you replied, though your heart skipped a beat at the thought.

As much as you adored Nick and Rachel, you did not need them adding more fuel to the fire—you were already simmering with wedding fever.

After the flood of congratulations, Nick took Rachel’s hand and gently guided her attention towards the infinity pool, where a group of synchronized swimmers began an elegant performance, their movements perfectly timed to the music. Rachel gasped softly, her eyes lighting up with wonder as she watched.

Then, from the corner of our eye, you noticed Rachel spotting your Auntie Eleanor standing a little way off. For a brief moment, the noise and excitement seemed to face as the two women exchanged a look, one of understanding and newfound respect. The warmth in Rachel’s smile and the subtle nod from your Auntie Eleanor spoke volumes. It filled your heart with joy to see that your aunt had finally come around, embracing Rachel in the way she deserved.

Nick then pulled Rachel into a tender kiss, earning a round of applause and cheers again from the crowd. Lando stepped behind you, wrapping his arms securely around your waist, holding you close. His chin rested lightly on your shoulder, and you could feel his warmth radiating through you.

The sound of fireworks exploding above pulled everyone’s attention upward. Bright colors lit up the sky, reflecting off the glass and water, painting the moment in vibrant hues. The cheers grew louder, people pointing and marveling at the display. You stayed like that, wrapped in Lando’s arms, watching the sky.

With fireworks still illuminating the sky and Lando’s arms wrapped securely around you, a quiet realization settled in your heart. It was not something sudden, it was something that had been building over time, piece by piece, moment by moment. The depth of love that you feel for Lando was staggering, overwhelming even, and yet it felt so natural.

You had dated before, countless boys who had seemed charming or interesting at the time, but none of them had ever come close to Lando. They never understood you the way Lando did. With him, there was no guessing, pretending, or effort to mold yourself into someone else’s idea of what love should look like. Lando saw you, truly saw you, in a way that no one else ever had. To be seen was to be loved.

This was what set Lando apart. With him, you never had to explain your silences, quirks, or the way your mind wandered to far-off places. He did not just tolerate those things, in fact, he cherished them. He loved them. With Lando, you felt understood in a way that words could never fully capture.

You thought back to the other relationships before Lando, the boys who had come before. They had their moments, but they always felt…incomplete. There had been a disconnect, a lingering sense that you were only partly there, only partly understood. They never have you the feeling that Lando did—feeling of being wholly, entirely loved. Lando was the man that you had been praying for, and for once, God had led Lando to you.

Sure, the way he loved you was not perfect, but it was honest. It was raw and real, and it made you feel more like yourself than you ever thought possible. Lando had this way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world, like his entire focus was only on you and no one else. That was the truth of it, wasn’t it? You had never felt this way with anyone else, and you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that no one else could make you feel the way he did. Lando was not just someone you loved—he was the person you wanted to spend your forever with.

The thought settled deeply in your chest, filling every corner of your heart with an indescribable warmth. It was not just that you loved him—it was that he was home.

“I love you,” you looked up at him, smiling.

Lando looked at you, smiling. He then whispered, “I love you too, so fucking much.”

taglist : @sheblogs

[aynavaano]

Call me friend but keep me closer

Commander Fox x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 9.3k

Summary:

You are working in Senator Chuchis comitte and your life on Coruscant is not exactly how you had pictured it. But there is one good thing. Fox. You are best friends and he spends more nights crashing on your couch than in his barracks. You quickly caught feelings for him but you are pushing them away, afraid to ruin your friendship. But after an unlucky mistake you made things take a different turn.

Notes:

I’m a bit late to the game but this turned out too sweet not to publish it even if Valentines is over. The focus of the Festival was on the Bad Batch but my prompts were «workplace booty call» and «hang on, we’re going to fall off the bed» and we all know there is only one chronically overworked gruff clone that needs to be peeled from his desk so I decided to write this with Fox. This is a classic friends to lovers story that includes mutual pining, sending nudes to the wrong person, love confessions, a little pinch of hurt/comfort, lingerie, oral f and m receiving, PinV sex, unprotected, creampie and aftercare.

I hope you all like it. Comments, likes and reblogs appreciated as always.

Coruscant had never felt like home. It was too loud, too fast, and too indifferent. The Senate District was a machine that never stopped moving, and you were just one tiny cog in it—part of Senator Chuchi’s committee, buried under an endless pile of policy drafts, security protocols, and late-night crisis management. It wasn’t exactly what you had envisioned when you left your homeworld, but it was a step up, wasn’t it?

At least, that was what you told yourself whenever you trudged into your apartment after another exhausting day, kicking off your shoes and collapsing onto the couch.

And then, at some point, Fox had just… become part of your routine.

It started with the heightened security measures after the bombing threat. He had been assigned to oversee the Senate protection detail, and somehow, in the chaos of late-night security briefings and emergency lockdowns, you and Fox had become friends. Real friends, not just polite workplace acquaintances.

You weren’t even sure how it happened. Maybe it was the way he always made sure to walk you to your speeder after a long day, or how he’d show up at your office under the pretense of checking in, only to grumble about whatever kriffing disaster the Chancellor was throwing at him that day. Maybe it was the first time he crashed on your couch because it was “a hell of a lot better than the damn barracks,” or the way he somehow kept coming back.

You hadn’t questioned it much.

Not when you found yourself leaving an extra blanket on the couch. Not when you started ordering an extra portion of food without thinking about it. Not when the sight of him slumped against your cushions, snoring softly, felt… normal.

Fox was gruff and always overworked, constantly running on caf and sheer spite, but in your apartment, the tension in his shoulders eased, if only slightly. He rolled his eyes at the holodramas you insisted on watching, but he never left. He complained about your terrible food choices, then stole bites off your plate.

“You know this is basically toxic waste, right?” he grumbled once, staring at the greasy mess of noodles and deep-fried meat in front of you.

“You don’t have to eat it,” you replied sweetly.

Fox huffed but grabbed a fork anyway.

The evenings passed like that—easy, warm, unspoken. When you were too exhausted to do anything but stretch out on the couch, Fox would sit on the floor beside you, rubbing the knots from your sore feet with his calloused hands, muttering about how you needed to stop wearing those kriffing shoes. He was warm and solid, it felt good to lean on him, and even when he eventually passed out on the couch, you never minded.

You should have minded. You should have thought more about what it meant, how your chest felt a little too tight when he let out those rare, quiet chuckles at something stupid you said. How you found yourself glancing at the door, waiting for him, when he worked late.

But you didn’t.

You were happy.

And if you were a little too happy when Fox was there, if your heart tripped over itself when he tossed his armor aside and let himself relax in your space like he belonged there, slipped some of his civies into your closet—well.

That was something you could keep telling yourself didn’t mean anything.

Right?

Your love life was a mess anyway.

Dating on Coruscant was a nightmare.

Between your work schedule and the chaotic nightlife, you hadn’t exactly had the time or energy to put yourself out there. Senatorial committee work wasn’t the most social job in the galaxy—late hours, endless meetings, and the constant looming threat of some political disaster meant that your personal life had been put on hold more often than not.

And yet, you still wanted to try.

Fox had laughed when you mentioned signing up for a dating holoservice.

“You know people still meet the old-fashioned way, right?” he teased, sprawled on your couch as he flipped through your holo channels.

“Yeah, well, not all of us can just walk around in intimidating armor and have people throw themselves at us,” you shot back.

Fox snorted. “Trust me, that is not how it works.”

But even if he made fun of your digital matchmaking, the holoservice was easier. You could chat with people without the pressure of an immediate connection, and for a while, it seemed promising. Most of your matches fizzled out—either they were too busy, too weird, or just not that interesting—but then there was him.

Tall, dark hair, warm brown eyes, and a smile that made your stomach flip. He was handsome, charming in a casual way that made conversation easy. You’d messaged back and forth for a while before meeting up for caf, and it had been nice. Simple. Comfortable in a way that made you want to see where it could go.

And then Valentine’s Day started creeping closer, and you thought—why not?

You were touch-starved, lonely, and ready to do something about it. You didn’t just want romance; you wanted connection, something real. So, in a moment of determination (and maybe a little desperation), you had spent an embarrassingly high amount of credits on a cute red lingerie set. Something bold. Something that would make you feel sexy and wanted.

But then, he stopped messaging.

At first, you convinced yourself that he was just busy. People got caught up in their work all the time, right? It didn’t mean anything. A few days passed. Then a week. By the time Valentine’s actually arrived, you had no more excuses left.

You had been ghosted.

The disappointment was sharp and bitter, curling in your chest like a stupid ache you didn’t want to admit to. Maybe it wasn’t personal—maybe he had just lost interest, or met someone else—but it still sucked. It left you feeling stupid for getting excited, for spending money on something no one was even going to see.

For a brief moment, you considered going out alone, just to do something—but the idea of sitting in some bar, surrounded by happy couples and overly flirtatious strangers, made your skin crawl.

There was only one thing you wanted now, your best friend. You grabbed your com and messaged Fox.

You free tonight? I got ditched, I need duraslug rolls and someone to let me sulk in peace.

It took him a few minutes to reply.

Buried in reports. Might be late. But I’ll come over, I promise.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. At least someone still shows up for me.

Slumping back onto the couch, you tossed your com aside and sighed. Well. Happy kriffing Valentine’s Day, you exhaled sharply as you stared at the ceiling. Well, this was pathetic. It wasn’t like you had expected some grand, romantic night, but you hadn’t thought you’d be spending Valentine’s alone, pouting into your throw pillows.

The door system chimed.

You frowned. You hadn’t ordered anything.

Dragging yourself up, you made your way to the door and opened it to find a small delivery droid hovering there, a neatly wrapped package clutched in its mechanical arms.

“Delivery for you Miss,” it chirped.

Your brow furrowed as you accepted the package. It was a bottle of wine—Alderaanian, expensive-looking. Definitely not something you’d ordered for yourself.

“Thank you. Who sent this?” you asked, but the droid had already begun its departure, floating off down the hall.

Curious, you turned the bottle over in your hands and spotted a small note attached to the neck. You peeled it off and unfolded it.

I’m sorry you got ditched. You deserve better. Enjoy the wine and leave some for me. See you later. -Fox

A startled giggle bubbled up in your throat.

Of course it was him.

For all his gruffness, all his constant exhaustion and dry sarcasm, Fox still had his moments—little things that reminded you why he was your best friend. This was so him it made your chest ache. He hadn’t even asked what happened, hadn’t prodded or teased, just… made sure you weren’t spending the night wallowing alone.

Smiling, you grabbed your comm and quickly typed out a message.

Thanks, Fox. You didn’t have to do this. I owe you one. Security code is the same in case I pass out before you get here.

He didn’t answer immediately, probably still drowning in reports, but you felt lighter knowing he’d be coming over.

You took the bottle to the kitchen, pulling out a glass and pouring yourself a generous serving. The wine was good—rich and smooth, exactly what you needed. You made your way back to the couch, sinking into the cushions as you took another sip, trying to push away the lingering frustration from earlier.

But then your gaze drifted toward your bedroom.

And landed on it.

The neatly wrapped box, still sitting on your dresser.

A reminder of your own foolish excitement.

Your stomach twisted. That idiot. That kriffing idiot.

You had spent a ridiculous amount of credits on something beautiful, something you had wanted to wear for him—and for what? To get ghosted? To sit here drinking alone while he probably entertained someone else?

For a moment, you considered returning it. Maybe you could get at least some of your credits back.

But then a slow burn of anger started rising in you.

No.

No, you weren’t going to let some random guy make you feel unwanted. You weren’t going to let him ruin this night entirely.

He had disappeared. His loss.

You took another deep sip of wine, feeling the warmth spread through your chest as you stood up and made your way to the dresser.

Maybe it was time to teach him a lesson.

The neatly wrapped box stared back at you, a cruel reminder of what should have been. Not anymore.

You tore the packaging open, peeling away the delicate tissue paper to reveal the lingerie set inside. The price tag still dangled from the lace, mocking you, so you ripped it off and tossed it aside. If that di’kut thought he could ignore you and walk away unscathed, he had another thing coming.

You tipped the wine glass back and took a slow, deep sip, the warmth pooling in your stomach. Then, without hesitation, you pulled your shirt over your head and let it drop to the floor. Your pants followed, pooling at your feet.

The lingerie was soft beneath your fingers, the lace delicate and intricate as you slipped the bra over your shoulders and adjusted the cups. It was scandalously sheer, barely covering anything—but that was part of the appeal. The center tied closed with a luxurious satin bow, resting right between your breasts, practically begging to be undone.

The matching thong was just as sinful. Made of the same sheer lace, it sat high on your hips, the satin heart appliqué nestled right above your mound. You smoothed your hands over the fabric, taking a moment to appreciate how good it felt.

You reached for the complimentary satin robe, slipping it on and letting it drape over your shoulders. The material was smooth against your skin, adding just the right touch of elegance. When you turned to the mirror, a slow smirk curled at your lips.

Damn.

The ridiculous amount of credits you’d spent? Worth every single one.

The lingerie hugged your curves perfectly, accentuating everything it should. The lace was suggestive enough to tease but left little to the imagination. You ran your fingers through your hair, loosening the bun you’d haphazardly tied earlier. Your locks tumbled around your shoulders, framing your face in soft waves.

Perfect.

You rummaged through your vanity drawer, searching for the final touch. A moment later, you found it—the perfect shade of soft pink lipstick. You twisted the tube, swiping it across your lips with practiced ease before pressing them together. A single spritz of your favorite perfume followed, the scent light yet intoxicatingly sweet.

You met your own gaze in the mirror, tilting your head as you admired your handiwork.

You looked like a treat.

No. You looked like a feast.

And what a pity that no one was here to appreciate it.

You sighed, picking up your holopad and shifting your weight. Then a thought—a wicked, petty thought—slid into your mind, and your smirk returned.

If he didn’t want you, then he was damn well going to regret it

You turned slightly, angling yourself in the mirror, and lifted your wine glass. The dark liquid contrasted beautifully against your fingers, and the movement made your robe slip just enough to reveal the delicate lace beneath.

You snapped a few pictures, each one more tempting than the last. The soft lighting of the little lamp beside your bed cast a warm glow over your skin, and your hardened nipples—barely covered by the lace—pressed against the fabric, making the images even more suggestive.

One final shot.

You shifted, letting the robe slide down one shoulder, your lips slightly parted, your gaze smoldering. It was perfect.

Satisfied, you attached the best one to a message and typed out the words that would seal the deal.

Look what you’re missing out on, di’kut.

Ha, what a good use of the mando’a word Fox had learned you.

You smiled to yourself. And then you hit send.

You tossed the holopad onto your bed and flopped down beside it, stretching out with a satisfied sigh. Now it was his turn to sulk.

You sighed, stretching out on your bed, the silky fabric of your robe cool against your skin. The wine had left a pleasant warmth in your belly, making your limbs feel heavy, lazy. You turned your head, glancing at the chrono on your bedside table.

How much longer until Fox finishes his work?

You had no idea. He hadn’t given you an exact time—just a vague promise that he’d come over, even if it got late.

You huffed, staring at the ceiling.

You missed him.

You missed the easy, effortless way he fit into your life. The way he crashed on your couch like it was his, how he bitched about his work while you rubbed his shoulders, how he made fun of your garbage taste in holodramas but still ended up watching them with you anyway.

He made everything better.

You toyed with the satin tie of your robe absentmindedly, twisting it between your fingers as your thoughts drifted.

You imagined him here with you now.

Not just on the couch, like usual, but here, in bed.

You pictured the way he’d look at you—warm brown eyes dark and focused, his strong hands pinning your hips, his broad chest pressing against yours.

Heat bloomed deep in your core.

You swallowed, shifting against the sheets, your breath coming just a little quicker.

No.

You forced the thoughts away, shaking your head. This was Fox. Your friend.

It wasn’t the first time your thoughts had drifted into a territory you knew was dangerous. Hell, you had started this whole holo dating thing to keep yourself from falling for him even more.

He didn’t see you that way.

And even if he did—even if, by some impossible chance, he wanted you the way you wanted him—was it worth the risk?

Your friendship with Fox was the best thing in your life. The thought of ruining it, of making things weird, of losing him because you couldn’t keep your feelings under control—No.

You wouldn’t let that happen.

You exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down your face as if you could physically wipe away the dangerous thoughts clinging to your brain.

With a deep breath, you forced yourself to focus on something else—anything else.

The flickering lights outside your window. The senator’s latest scandal. Anything but Fox.

You reached for your wine glass, taking another sip.

***

Fox rubbed his eyes, exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin. It was already too late—long past the end of his shift, not that such a thing really existed for him. He had stopped counting how many cups of caff he’d consumed today, but the sharp bitterness still coated his tongue.

He should be with you right now.

His fingers hovered over the datapad as his thoughts drifted where they shouldn’t.

You had messaged him earlier, something about a bad date and needing company. He wanted to be there. Kriff, he should be there—on your couch, his hands kneading the tension from you, listening to you rant about whatever di’kut had decided to ditch you.

Fox scowled at the thought, his grip tightening around his pen until the cheap plastoid creaked in protest. He didn’t understand how any man could stand you up, let alone ghost you. The idea made his blood boil. You were the most beautiful, soft, good thing in this whole damned galaxy—sharp when you needed to be, quick-witted, stubborn, but never cruel. You had a way of making him feel like more than just a soldier, like more than a walking blaster waiting for orders. You saw him, really saw him, and these idiots? They didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you.

If it were him—kriff, if only it were him—he would never make you feel unwanted. Would never make you doubt yourself, not for a second. He’d treat you the way you deserved, worship you the way these blind, clueless di’kuts never even thought to.

Fox exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus, this was dangerous thinking, dangerous, selfish, and a waste of time. But he wanted to be with you now, distract you from your misery.

Instead, he was stuck here, drowning in endless reports. His men had already called it a night. Even Thorn, who was nearly as much of a workaholic, had begged him to go the kriff to sleep when he passed him in the hallway earlier.

Fox had ignored him. Just one more report.

He forced his focus back on the datapad in front of him. Some incident with a Jedi and a Senator on the lower levels, again. He had skimmed it at least three times already, but none of it registered. The words blurred together, his mind elsewhere.

Back with you.

He could almost hear your laugh, the way your eyes sparkled when you gossiped about the latest. Senate drama, how your lips curled in amusement when you called his caff addiction ‘a slow-motion suicide.’ He huffed, rubbing a hand down his face.

Enough.

He needed to get through this, or he’d be stuck here until morning.

Fox stood, grabbing his empty cup, and stalked toward the caf station. The last dregs of the pot were cold and sludgy, but he poured himself another cup anyway. It wasn’t as if the caf here was good when it was fresh—it was the cheapest the Senate offices provided for the Guard. The real stuff was reserved for Senators and their guests.

Like you.

You always had the good stuff at your place. You insisted on it, claiming he deserved better than the swill they forced on him. That was just who you were—always looking out for him, making sure he had something decent, something warm, something real.

His throat tightened.

He wanted that warmth right now. Wanted to be with you.

Fox exhaled sharply and forced himself back to his desk. He could entertain those thoughts later—no, he shouldn’t be entertaining them at all. He had no business wanting things he couldn’t have. There had never been any signs you were interested in him beyond friendship and he would not destroy that.

He rolled his shoulders, cracked his knuckles, and forced his gaze back to the report. Just finish it, sign off, go to you.

His comm beeped.

A message. From you.

His lips twitched into something close to a smile—until he saw the attachment.

He hesitated for only a second before opening it.

The moment the image filled his screen, all the exhaustion in his body vanished.

Oh. Fuck.

You. In your bedroom, standing in front of your mirror, wrapped in red lace and satin.

The lingerie barely covered anything. The sheer lace of your bra clung to your skin, the satin bow between your breasts looking as if it could come undone with a single pull. The matching thong sat high on your hips, the soft heart appliqué teasing at the very place he should not be looking at.

Your lips—plush and perfect—were painted a soft pink. Your hair was tousled, like you had been running your hands through it, or maybe—kriff.

Fox swallowed hard.

This couldn’t be real.

His fingers curled around the edge of his desk as heat rushed through him, tightening low in his stomach. His body reacted instantly, blood surging south in a way that made sitting in this kriffing chair unbearable.

A part of him—his more rational, self-preserving part—knew he needed to put the comm down. Needed to pretend he never saw this, needed to erase it from his mind immediately.

But another part?

Another part wanted to burn the image into his memory.

His breath came a little quicker, heart pounding as he stared at the screen, taking in every detail. The way the lace stretched across your curves. The way your lips were slightly parted, like you were waiting for someone to claim them. The way your robe hung open just enough to tease what lay beneath.

His comm beeped again.

Another message from you.

Look what you’re missing out on, di’kut.

Fox cursed under his breath, heat surging through his veins like a live current.

He wasn’t getting any more work done tonight, his pulse hammered as he typed out a quick reply.

Stay where you are. I’m on my way.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. No thinking about what he should do—only what he wanted to do.

His body was already moving before his brain could catch up. He pushed back from his desk, standing so quickly his chair nearly toppled over. His codpiece had become unbearably tight, and he readjusted it with a frustrated grunt before snatching up his helmet and belt.

Then he was out the door.

His boots pounded against the cold, polished floors of the Senate Guard Headquarters as he strode through the halls with singular focus. The lingering exhaustion from his endless shift had evaporated—burned away by something hotter, needier. The only thing on his mind was you.

He didn’t even glance at the few troopers still stationed on night duty as he pushed through the exit, his long strides carrying him toward his speeder.

He needed to be with you, he should have left all these karking reports behind already after your first message.

***

You let out an amused huff as your comm chimed with a reply.

That was fast.

Maybe that idiot did have some regret after all.

You took another slow sip of wine, letting him stew for a moment longer. You had no intention of entertaining him again—he had his chance, and he blew it—but you enjoyed making him suffer a little.

Smirking, you finally flicked your thumb over the screen, opening the message.

Your heart stopped.

Stay where you are. I’m on my way.

Not from him. From Fox.

For a long, terrible moment, your brain failed to process what you were looking at. You stared at the screen, a cold shock crashing over you like a tidal wave.

No. No, no, no, no—

You scrambled to check the message thread, dread creeping into your stomach. You had sent it to Fox.

Fox, your best friend. Fox, who crashed on your couch. Fox, who made fun of your trashy holodramas and stole sips of your expensive caf because he refused to admit it tasted better than the cheap mess hall stuff. Fox, who was now on his way here because he had seen you in that lingerie and—

Oh fuck.

Panic seized you. Your fingers flew over the screen, typing in a rush.

Oh kriff, no, please, Fox—I’m so sorry. Forget what you saw. It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to send it to you.

You hit send.

Seconds passed.

No reply.

Your stomach twisted.

Then—another chime.

A new message.

You stared at your comm, pulse roaring in your ears as your eyes flicked over the message again and again not able to process what you were reading.

If that’s really what you want, tell me. I’ll head back to the barracks and try my best to pretend it never happened. But I am tired of watching when another one of those idiots lets you down, tired of pretending I don’t want you.

The air in your apartment suddenly felt too thick, your skin too warm. Your brain tried to rationalize, to find some kind of misunderstanding—because Fox didn’t just say that. He couldn’t have.

But the words were right there, glowing against the dimness of your room.

I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you.

Your breath hitched. Your chest tightened.

Your fingers hovered over the keypad, but you had no idea what to type. What could you even say?

For so long, you had convinced yourself that what you felt for him was just friendship, that the easy comfort between you wasn’t something more. You had forced yourself to believe it—because wanting him, really wanting him, had felt like an impossible dream.

But now? Now he had stripped that illusion away with a single message. And you couldn’t pretend anymore either.

I want you too, you thought. I’ve always wanted you.

But you still hadn’t typed anything when another chime made your heart nearly jump out of your chest.

I’m here. Let me in or tell me to leave, please be honest.

For a moment, you just stared.

He was here.

Not in his office. Not across the city. Here, outside your door, waiting for you, exactly where you had wanted him just minutes ago.

Your stomach flipped violently, and suddenly you were scrambling to your feet, nearly tripping over yourself as you rushed toward the door.

Shit—your robe.

You yanked the silk tighter around your body and securely tied the belt, hyperaware of the flimsy lace beneath it. What the hell are you doing? You had sent him the picture. He had seen it. And yet, the reality of standing in front of him like this sent a fresh wave of nerves through you.

But there was no time to think. Your feet carried you forward. The door hissed open.

And there he was.

Fox stood just outside, still in full armor, helmet clipped to his belt, his stance tense as if bracing himself for the worst. The dim corridor lights cast sharp shadows over his face, highlighting the exhaustion in his eyes—but beneath it, beneath the weariness and the ever-present weight of command, there was something else, something you hadn’t seen there before. Something hungry.

For a long, breathless second, neither of you moved. The tension between you crackled like a live wire.

And then—

You broke.

You surged forward, hands flying up to curl around his neck, pulling him down as you crashed into him. Your lips found his, desperate and searching, pouring everything you couldn’t put into words into that one kiss.

Fox made a sound deep in his throat, a half-growl, half-sigh, and then his hands were on you—one curling around your waist, the other threading into your hair as he yanked you closer, kissing you like he had been starving for it.

As soon as the door hissed shut behind the two of you, you yanked him further inside, your hands grabbing at his armor, at the fabric of his blacks—anything to keep him close.

You nearly tripped over each other in your urgency, stumbling as he kicked security panel to seal the door. Fox let out a breathless chuckle, his hands tightening on your waist to steady you both, but neither of you spoke.

Because the moment you stopped moving, your hands still clutching at his armor, your body pressed against his, you both realized—this was real.

Fox’s gaze swept over you, taking in the way your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, the way your lips were still parted from the last kiss, swollen and inviting. His jaw tensed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

And then he snapped.

He surged forward, claiming your mouth again, one hand cradling the back of your head as he kissed you with a heat that made your knees weak.

You melted into him, gripping his chest plate for balance, but the cold plastoid only reminded you that he was still wearing too much and this was not enough.

Fox must have thought the same thing because his hands roamed down, gripping your hips, guiding you back—until your shoulders hit the wall with a soft thud, and suddenly, his thigh was pressing between your legs.

You gasped against his mouth, your fingers digging into his armor. The hard press of his thigh against your core sent a shock of pleasure through you, and without thinking, you rocked against him.

Fox groaned, his grip on your hips tightening. “Kriff,” he muttered against your lips, voice rough with restraint. “You can’t do that.”

“Do what?” you teased, but your own voice was shaky, betraying how much you wanted him.

Fox pulled back just enough to look at you. His golden-brown eyes burned into yours, searching, waiting.

Then his hand moved, trailing up your side, slow, steady—before curling around the silk tie of your robe.

He hooked a finger beneath it, giving it a gentle tug but not untying it just yet. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

His voice was softer now, quieter, but there was something deadly serious in the way he said it, in the way his fingers trembled just slightly against the silk.

You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest. Did he really think you didn’t want this? After everything?

The words tangled in your throat, and instead of answering, you reached for his wrist, guiding his hand up to your pounding heart.

Fox sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of it, and his fingers flexed against your skin, his restraint hanging by a thread.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you finally whispered. “Not now. Not ever.”

His breath hitched, his entire body going still for half a second—then he moved.

Fox’s thumb traced over your jaw, down the slope of your neck, then lower, dragging over your shoulder as he pushed the fabric of your robe aside.

The silk slipped from your skin, revealing the lacy red lingerie beneath and Fox froze.

His eyes darkened as they roamed over you, taking in the sheer bra, the delicate bow between your breasts, the tiny satin heart on your thong. His hands twitched like he wanted to grab, to tear, to devour—but he didn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, he let out a low, shaky breath. “Karking hells.”

You shifted under his gaze, suddenly feeling the weight of his stare, but before you could react, Fox leaned in.

“I don’t think you understand what you just did,” he murmured against your lips.

Your pulse stuttered. “What did I do?”

His fingers brushed down your arm, slow, deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“You just made it impossible for me to pretend I don’t want you,” he admitted, voice raw. “And now…” his hands gripped your hips again, his thigh pressing up between your legs once more, making you gasp. “…now I’m not pretending anymore.”

And then he kissed you again, harder, deeper, like he had finally let himself fall.

His hands trembled slightly as they traced along the delicate lace of your bra, fingers ghosting over the intricate patterns, over the bow that sat right between your beautiful titts—just begging to be untied.

He swallowed hard. You really were a present.

Perfectly wrapped. Made to be unwrapped.

And he was aching for you.

His cock throbbed painfully against his blacks, the tight fabric doing nothing to ease the need pooling low in his gut. His hands clenched where they rested against your ribs, his self-control hanging by a thread.

His voice was rough when he finally spoke. “I still can’t believe you wanted to give this to some idiot who just—” He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Who just threw you away.”

You bit your lip, shifting slightly against his thigh, but it wasn’t enough. You needed more.

Fox cupped your jaw gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. His golden-brown eyes burned with something dark, something possessive.

“I’m glad you didn’t send it to him,” he murmured. “He didn’t deserve this.”

Didn’t deserve you.

You hesitated for only a moment before admitting, “I was only dating because I wanted to distract myself.”

Fox’s brows furrowed slightly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “From what?”

You swallowed, nerves twisting in your stomach, but there was no going back now. You let out a shaky breath.

“From you.”

Fox inhaled sharply, like the words had punched him, and his grip on you tightened.

“Mesh’la.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Promise me something.”

You nodded weakly, lost in the intensity of his gaze.

“Promise me you’ll never waste yourself on someone who doesn’t deserve you again.” His voice was firm, steady, but underneath it, you heard something else—something desperate.

Your throat tightened. “I promise.”

Fox let out a breath like he had been holding it in for years.

Then he leaned in, his lips brushing yours as he murmured, “Then I promise to be better.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

“To treat you the way you deserve.”

And then he kissed you. This time, it was needy. Messy.

His hands gripped at you now, no longer holding back, no longer afraid to take what he had wanted for so long.

You moaned into his mouth, fingers threading into his hair, tugging him closer. The friction against your core was maddening, not enough, never enough—

Your hands fumbled between you, grabbing at the silk bow between your breasts, and you took one of the ends, pressing it into Fox’s palm.

His breath hitched.

His eyes flickered between you and the delicate ribbon, realization dawning in his expression. He didn’t need you to say anything. Slowly, carefully, he gave the bow a gentle pull, the knot unraveled, the lace parting, slipping from your body like it had only been waiting for his touch.

Fox stared.

His breath was ragged, his pupils blown wide as his gaze drank you in. His hands hovered at his sides like he didn’t know whether to worship or ruin you.

Then, slowly, he reached out, his thumb ghosting over one of your hardened nipples. A soft whimper slipped from your lips.

Fox exhaled shakily, his hand sliding down to grip your waist, but the gentle touch wasn’t enough. You needed more. You ground down on his thigh, gasping at the delicious friction, he groaned, his grip tightening, but it still wasn’t enough. You needed him.

Your hands moved to his armor, desperate to get it off, to feel him, to have him skin to skin—but your fingers were trembling too much, the clasps refusing to budge.

You let out a frustrated noise, tugging at the chest plate uselessly.

Fox chuckled, voice low and dark. “Mesh’la, if you keep that up, I’m going to lose whatever restraint I have left.”

“Then lose it,” you begged, arching against him.

Fox cursed under his breath, then pulled back.

You whined at the loss of contact, but Fox only smirked, his hands already moving to tear his armor off. The plates hit the floor with dull thuds, one after the other, as he shed the heavy layers in record time. Then, finally, finally, he stood before you in nothing but his blacks, the tight material stretching obscenely over his body.

Your eyes dropped—

And you let out a needy whimper.

Because fuck, the bulge straining against his blacks was huge. Fox let out a low chuckle, the sound downright predatory.

“Something wrong, mesh’la?” he teased.

You swallowed hard, pressing your thighs together.

“Bedroom,” you panted. “Now.”

Fox groaned, his grip tightening on your waist before he scooped you up effortlessly. A gasp left your lips as your legs wrapped around him, your arms locking around his neck. He was so strong, holding you like you weighed nothing.

On the way to the bedroom, your robe slipped from your shoulders, pooling onto the floor, and the delicate lace of your bra followed—leaving you in nothing but the tiny scrap of lace that barely qualified as a thong.

Fox didn’t stop.

He carried you straight to the bed, laying you down gently before crawling over you. His lips found your neck first, his breath warm against your skin. Then your collarbone. Then lower.

His hands slid down your sides, rough fingertips tracing every inch of bare skin as he worked his way down, his lips finally closing around your nipple.

You gasped, arching into his mouth, fingers threading into his hair as he sucked, his tongue flicking over the hardened bud.

“Fox—” you whimpered, back arching against him.

His only response was a pleased hum, sending vibrations through your sensitive skin.

But it still wasn’t enough. You needed more. Your hands slid lower, clawing at his blacks, searching for the damn zipper. When you couldn’t find it, you let out a desperate whine. “Please—”

Fox pulled back, amusement flickering in his expression. “Please, what? Use your words mesh’la.”

“Take them off,” you practically begged, shifting underneath him. “Now.”

Fox chuckled, clearly enjoying just how needy you were for him. “So impatient, mesh’la,” he teased, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before finally sitting back.

Your breath caught as he reached for the hem of his blacks, his fingers slowly peeling the fabric away from his body.

The first thing you noticed was the warm, golden-brown of his skin, perfect, just like the rest of him. The second thing was the dark trail of hair running down the center of his toned stomach, leading lower. Your mouth went dry. He was gorgeous.

Solid. Warm. Strong. Yours.

And then he pushed the rest of his blacks down, and your heart stopped.

His cock was big. Thick. Hard. The tip already glistening with pre-cum.

“Like what you see?” he smirked satisfied, “it’s all yours.”

You let out a needy little sound before you could stop yourself, your thighs pressing together instinctively. You couldn’t help it, your hand slipped between your legs, pressing down against your neglected clit through the lace of your thong, desperate for any relief.

Fox’s eyes darkened instantly.

His voice was low when he spoke. “That’s not yours to touch tonight, mesh’la.”

Before you could react, he was on you, his body covering yours as his mouth crashed against yours.

You gasped into the kiss, but Fox swallowed the sound, his tongue sliding against yours as he ground his aching cock against you.

“F-Fuck—” you whimpered, hips lifting to meet his.

He groaned, the fabric of your thong barely a barrier between you as he rolled his hips again, his cock pressing right against your clit.

You squirmed, trying to slip your thong off, but Fox grabbed your hips, stilling you instantly.

“That stays on,” he murmured against your lips.

A shiver ran down your spine.

“But—”

Fox smirked, dragging his cock along your soaked core again. “I like it on you.”

Your breath hitched, your body trembling beneath him.

“Fox—”

He grinned. “Patience, mesh’la. We’re just getting started.”

Fox kissed his way down your body, his lips and tongue leaving a burning trail in their wake. Every press of his mouth sent a shiver through you, anticipation coiling tighter in your core. His hands gripped your thighs, squeezing, massaging as he settled lower.

Then he ghosted over where you needed him most—his warm breath fanning against your soaked folds, teasing, driving you insane.

“Please—” You whined, hips shifting restlessly.

“I know, mesh’la,” he murmured, his voice low and needy. “Been wanting to taste you for so long.”

He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, then another, and another, his stubble dragging against your sensitive skin in a way that made you shudder. His hands held your thighs apart, thumbs tracing soothing circles as he teased just outside where you wanted him.

You were dripping, and he could see it.

“Look at you,” he rasped. “So fucking wet for me.”

And then, finally, finally, he hooked a finger into the thin strap of your thong and pulled it to the side.

The moment his lips met your soaked folds, you both let out a moan.

It was like a revelation.

Something that had always been there—something you had ignored, pushed down, denied—finally being acknowledged.

His tongue flicked against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. Your back arched, your hands fisting the sheets.

“F-Fox—”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your dripping core.

And stars, he devoured you.

His tongue was everywhere, licking, tasting, swirling around your clit with slow, deliberate pressure. Then he sucked, and your hips jerked.

He groaned, loving the way you reacted to him, the way you melted beneath him.

“Kriff, you taste so good,” he rasped, the vibrations of his voice sending another wave of pleasure through you.

Then he slid a finger into you, slow, filling you just enough to make you desperate for more.

“So tight,” he groaned. “Want another, don’t you?”

You nodded frantically, “Yes—yes, please—”

He added a second finger, curling them inside you as his tongue kept working your clit. The stretch was perfect, filling you up while he rubbed against that sweet spot inside you.

You were already close, your thighs trembling, pleasure coiling in your stomach.

“Come for me, mesh’la,” he rasped. “I want to feel it.”

And stars, you did.

Your release crashed over you like a tidal wave, pleasure rippling through every nerve in your body. Your back arched, a choked cry escaping your lips as you clenched around his fingers.

Fox groaned against you, not stopping, working you through your orgasm until you were trembling, whimpering and almost too sensitive.

You gasped as he finally pulled back, pressing one last kiss to your inner thigh.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, looking up at you, lips glistening with your release.

But you weren’t done with him.

As soon as you caught your breath, you reached for him, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull him up before shoving him onto his back.

«Hold on cyare we’re going to fall off the bed»

You didn’t even care. He grunted as he hit the floor, but there was amusement in his dark eyes. “What are you—”

“My turn,” you whispered, crawling over him, pressing kisses to his warm, golden skin.

His breath hitched as you made your way down, kissing every inch of him, every scar, every muscle, worshipping him the way he deserved.

You reached his stomach, your lips grazing the trail of dark hair leading down to his cock.

He was aching for you, so hard it almost hurt, his length flushed and leaking against his stomach.

You pressed a kiss to his hip bone, then another just above his cock, your hand wrapping around the base, feeling the heat of him.

“Fuck—” he hissed, his hips twitching.

You smirked before finally, finally, lowering your mouth to his tip, flicking your tongue over the bead of pre-cum gathered there.

Fox shuddered. “Kriff—”

You took him into your mouth, inch by inch, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked.

His groan was deep, his fingers threading into your hair, not pushing, just holding, like he needed something to ground himself.

“So good,” he panted. “Mesh’la, you feel so—fuck—”

You moaned around him, letting your tongue swirl over the head before sinking down again, taking more of him. Your hand stroked what you couldn’t fit, your pace slow, teasing, savoring the way he twitched under you.

His thighs tensed. “If you don’t stop—”

You hummed, sending vibrations down his length, and he jerked, letting out a choked groan.

“Fuck—” He suddenly grabbed your wrist, pulling you off him with a pop.

You blinked up at him, lips swollen, breath heavy. “What—?”

Fox was panting, his golden eyes dark with lust. “I don’t want to finish like this,” he rasped. “I need to be inside you.”

Fox barely managed to tear himself away from your mouth, his entire body tight with restraint. His cock was throbbing, desperate for you, but he wanted this to last. Wanted to feel every second of you wrapped around him, to memorize the way you felt.

He peeled you off his cock and effortlessly threw you back up on the bed, guiding you down onto your back. His hands were firm but reverent as he spread your legs, settling between them. He pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, then ran his hands over your thighs, pushing them wider, savoring every inch of you.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. “Mesh’la… can’t believe this is real.”

His cock pressed against your entrance, the thick head nudging against your dripping folds. The pressure alone made you giddy, your body aching for him.

“Fox—” you whined, shifting your hips in desperate invitation.

He locked eyes with you, dark and full of unspoken things, and then—finally—he pushed in.

The stretch was exquisite, the slow, steady glide of his cock splitting you open inch by inch. Your walls clamped down on him instinctively, drawing him deeper, desperate to keep him.

You both groaned.

“Fuck—” Fox gritted out, his fingers digging into your hips. “So kriffing tight—”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but feel. The way he filled you, the way your body stretched around him, the way he fit—like he was made for you.

“Kriff—Fox—” you gasped, nails raking down his arms.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I know.”

He started to move, slow at first, letting you adjust, letting you feel him. The friction was unbearable in the best way, every drag of his cock sending sparks of pleasure up your spine.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, his pace quickening. “So fucking good.”

You whimpered, wrapping your legs around his waist, urging him deeper.

Fox snapped his hips into you, the wet, filthy sound of him filling you over and over making your cheeks burn.

“Fox—” you gasped, hands gripping his broad shoulders, desperate for more.

“I’ve got you,” he panted. “Gonna make you come, mesh’la. Gonna make you feel so fucking good.”

He shifted, adjusting his angle, and stars—he found that spot deep inside you that made your vision go white.

“There—there—” you cried, your thighs trembling.

Fox grinned, dark and pleased. “Right there, huh?”

Then he pressed a hand against your lower abdomen, and a lewd, broken scream ripped from your throat.

“That’s it,” he murmured, watching you unravel beneath him. “Kriff—so perfect.”

It took only two more thrusts before pleasure crashed through you, your entire body shaking as you clenched around him, milking his cock with pulsing waves of bliss.

Fox groaned, his fingers digging into your thighs, fighting to hold on, to not come just from the way you squeezed him.

“Fuck—” he panted, burying his face in your neck. “You’re gonna kill me, mesh’la.”

He barely managed to hold himself back, his body trembling with restraint. But then he shifted, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder, his cock sinking even deeper into your still-throbbing core.

You gasped, overstimulated, but needy.

His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, tight circles. “Give me one more,” he rasped, his voice strained. “I know you can.”

You sobbed, gripping onto him as he drove you higher again, his thrusts relentless, the way he stretched you perfect.

The sight of you like this—your red lace thong still pushed to the side, completely soaked, barely covering your swollen folds where his cock was sliding into you—was something he would never forget.

He was ruined.

“Come for me,” he murmured, voice raw. “I want to feel you.”

You shattered around him, your second orgasm tearing through you even harder than the first.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his pace faltering. “So good—fuck—”

He was losing it, chasing his own release, but still, still he held on—”Where do you want me?”

You barely managed to catch your breath before you answered. “Inside—please—make me yours.”

Fox snapped, he couldn’t hold back any longer, not after what you had just said.

He buried himself to the hilt, a deep, guttural moan tearing from his throat as he came, his cock pulsing, thick ropes of warmth filling you.

The feeling of him spilling inside you was almost better than your orgasm itself, you clutched at his thighs trying to force him even deeper. The way he claimed you, the way you took him, the way you fit together—like you were always meant to.

Fox collapsed against you, his breath ragged, his body trembling from the force of it. He pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder, still buried inside you, reluctant to ever leave.

“Mesh’la…” he murmured, his voice rough but tender. “I’m never letting you go.”

You kept your legs wrapped around him, not ready to let him go just yet. You wanted to feel him for just a little longer, to savor the warmth of him still inside you, to keep him close.

Fox groaned softly, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, then another to your jaw, then your shoulder. He was gentle now, unrushed, showering you in kisses, in soft murmurs of praise.

When he finally slipped out of you, you whimpered at the loss, and he hushed you with another kiss before collapsing beside you. Without hesitation, he pulled you onto his chest, wrapping you up in his arms like he never wanted to let you go.

You nuzzled into him, inhaling his warm, musky scent, burying your face against the crook of his neck, your arm draping over his chest. Even after everything—after having him so deep inside you, after coming twice on his cock—you still wanted more of him, still wanted to be as close as possible.

Fox ran his fingers along your back in slow, lazy strokes, pressing another kiss to your temple.

You let out a sigh. “I was so stupid.”

“Hmm?” he hummed, the vibrations rumbling beneath your cheek.

“Trying to deny my feelings…” you admitted, pressing a soft kiss against his neck. “Dating those random guys, pretending I didn’t want you.”

Fox scoffed lightly. “You’re not stupid, they are,” he murmured, fingers trailing over your bare skin. “You’re perfect.”

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze. His eyes were soft, full of something deep, something unchanging.

“I love you,” you whispered.

His expression melted, something in him cracking open.

“I love you too,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

Your chest ached with it—with the sheer relief of saying it, of knowing he felt the same. You kissed him, slow and sweet, and he kissed you back like he meant it.

After a while he finally pulled away, running his knuckles over your cheek. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Before you could protest, he was already moving, scooping you up into his arms like you weighed nothing.

You yelped, but he just chuckled, carrying you towards the refresher.

“Fox—” you huffed, looping your arms around his neck. “I can walk, you know.”

“I know,” he said, grinning. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You giggled, letting him take care of you, feeling warm and cherished in his arms.

As he stepped into the refresher, a sharp drip of warmth slid down your inner thigh.

You both paused.

And then—plop.

A thick drop of your mixed release splattered onto the floor. There was a beat of silence. And then Fox snorted and you both dissolved into laughter

“Look what a mess you’ve made mesh’la.” he chuckled.

“Me?” you squeaked, looking at him in playful protest.

Still grinning, he set you down in the refresher, making sure the water was warm before adjusting the settings.

As the steam began to rise, he turned to you, brushing damp hair from your face. “Still want duraslug rolls?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yes, please.”

Fox smirked. “Thought so.”

He kissed you one more time before stepping out to place the order.

You sighed, watching him go, your heart feeling full in a way it never had before.

And when he returned, slipping into the shower beside you, his hands finding your waist as if it was normal —you knew, you were his, and he was yours.

After your shower, you both slipped into comfortable clothes—well, you did. Fox had only grabbed a fresh pair of his blacks, the tight fabric clinging to his body in a way that made you almost regret putting on your own cozy pajamas.

You ended up on the couch, exactly like always. But everything was different now.

Fox had gone overboard with the food, ordering not just the duraslug rolls but every kind of greasy, indulgent junk meal you could imagine. Spicy fried nuna bites, crispy noodles, something smothered in way too much melted blue cheese—it was a feast.

“You do realize there’s only two of us, right?” you teased, plucking a crispy nuna bite from the pile and popping it into your mouth.

Fox just smirked, pouring you both another glass of wine. “The evening was long. We need to refuel.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t argue with that.

Curled up against him, you giggled as you both gossiped about the Senate staff between bites of food. It was a favorite pastime of yours, but this time, something about it felt even better.

“—so I finally gave up and signed off on it,” Fox was saying, chewing thoughtfully on a duraslug roll. “Because I don’t care if a Jedi and a senator want to get up to questionable business on the lower levels. That’s not my problem.”

You nearly choked on your wine. “Wait—what?”

“Oh, yeah.” He smirked, taking another sip of his drink. “They weren’t exactly subtle. I think I lost count of how many reports I had to overlook. ‘Suspicious activity in a back alley,’ ‘disturbance in an abandoned speeder lot’—like, c’mon. It’s clear what they were doing.”

You cackled, covering your mouth. “You mean to tell me you’ve been burying evidence of a secret affair?”

“Burying? No.” Fox shrugged innocently. “Just… acknowledging that it’s none of my business.”

You giggled, leaning further into him, wine warming your veins, food making you sleepy, and the solid weight of Fox next to you making everything feel perfect.

And despite how much it was the same, something had changed.

The way he looked at you now—soft, open, like you were his.

The way you didn’t have to hold back anymore, no longer forcing yourself to ignore the way you longed to curl up against him.

You could. And you did.

And the best part?

Later, when the two of you finally made your way to bed, he wouldn’t be snoring on your couch.

He’d be warm and solid beside you, yours in every way.

And you had never been happier

[randomfandommaddness]

...And here is the winning design and its sample designs for the Mask Poll!

I thought it would be neat to have all masks have an additional position on the site of the head. I know the idea is probably not viable in game, but for this concept I thought it would be fun!

The original plan was to limit my secondary colors to red, blue, green, and yellow. But then there was a specific spirit that looked good in black and white, so I decided that each one would wear a different color.

The only thing I kinda regret is the fact that the new hairstyles kinda block the colors...

Here is the Cast. Say hello! :3

(Zoom in for a better look!)

For some of the spirits, I was having trouble figuring out what emotes they should have. More specifically, the spirits that don't have confirmed emotes are the Kite-Flyer, the Shadow Puppeteer, and the Game Master. I have considered a rock-paper- scissors emote for the Gamemaster, but I'm still not sure.

If anyone has any ideas for emotes for these spirits, them please put them in the reblogs or comments. I would love to see your ideas.

As you can probably tell, no one is wearing any capes. This is because the original plan was to have the capes be separate from most of the cast. However this plan has changed, and I will be giving capes to the Guide, the Glassblower, the Gamemaster, and potentially the Toymaker. I'm having trouble picking designs for the capes as I have a lot of ideas that I think would look cool for this cast.

I may do one last poll for the cape designs of the chosen spirits.

Location wise... This event would take place on an island. As for which realm, I don't know. I'm torn between the Isle of Dawn, the Daylight Prairie, and Valley of Triumph. The exact area name is simply called the Fair for now, and the center location in the Fair is called the Plaza. I want the location to be loosely based off of Venice, Italy, the place of inspiration for this collection of spirits and cosmetics.

If anyone has any suggestions, please reblog and comment!

More information about the cast is under the cut!

Here are four facts about each spirit.

Going in order from left to right-

- The Glassblower -

Others compare her personality to her craft: beautiful, yet delicate.

It takes her over an hour to do her hair done in the morning.

Her favorite prank to pull is putting little glass manatee figurines all over her friends' houses.

She is very protective of her work and will go to great lengths to protect her creations.

- The Sugar Spinner -

Her work station is more like a lab, she experiments a lot.

Absolutely loves it when customers try her new creations!

Her favorite prank to pull is recreating her friends' items entirely out of candy and then replacing them.

No one knows the relationship dynamic between the Glassblower and the Sugar spinner. They are able to work together, but they seem to bicker all the time....

- The Kite-Flyer -

She is the most artistically gifted of the group, specializing in crafting and painting.

Ever since she was little, she has always dreamed of flying over the clouds.

Her favorite pranks include drawing on her friends' masks with washable paint, and taping silly pictures over photographs.

Her favorite light creature is the Atlas Manta.

- The Toymaker -

Makes some toys to donate to charity for the poor children.

He always has a solution to fix any problem, and his advice is usually never wrong.

Has made replicas of all of his friends' shoes that squeak when they walk in them as a joke. Sometimes he'll replace the real shoes with the squeaky replicas.

Loves astronomy as a personal hobby and will spend hours after dark looking at the stars.

- The Shadow Puppeteer -

Is rarely seen around the Plaza, but is known to help behind the scenes.

If you find him, he may give you a secret gift to help you redeem some prizes.

His favorite prank to pull is taping signs onto peoples' backs. No one has ever caught him in the act.

Runs a shadow puppet theater at the edge of the Fair. However, his favorite type of puppets are sock puppets.

- The Gamemaster -

Considers himself a mastermind and will turn anything into a game.

Likes to set up games and puzzles for others to solve, but won't tolerate cheaters.

Is the number one prankster among the cast. His favorite prank? No one knows what it is. There's currently a bet on it to see who will guess it correctly.

His biggest secret is that he loves ducks. Don't tell anybody. :3

- The Guide -

Strongly believes that presentation is the most important aspect of a show.

Knows a mix of real magic and optical illusions. She'll often mix them to add some flare to her shows

Her favorite prank is that she will randomly change someone's entire outfit to a random assortment of clothes from their closet. She doesn't pull this often though.

Is actually really organized and a bit of a perfectionist. She stresses over the small details a lot.

The event back story and quests will be added at a later date.

[forlornmelody]

I actually like the pining, will-they-won't-they trope, BUT there has to be a payoff. It works really well in a novel. I'd say it's harder to show in a 2-3 hour movie. But it's fucking impossible in a comic book/television show format, cause there's always that risk of the story getting canceled before we can get a satisfying ending.

I think this could have worked, had they not killed off Eddie while Rose was off dismantling super-powered fight clubs/cults/sex-trafficking rings.

Eddie you either need to tell Rose that you have feelings for her OR stop being so jealous of every male in her general orbit. Because you can't totally flounder in your feelings and then be mad that she's not waiting for you. Doesn't work that way.

[lacefuneral]

Guide for New Tumblr users from TikTok

hi. my name is jay lacefuneral. i've been using tumblr as my primary social media since 2011 so i know pretty much everything there is to know about this site if you have any questions. i've written a few guides previously, for reddit users and twitter users that have come here. i'm going to write another one! i will put information under the cut.

quick disclaimer. i have never used tiktok. i only know of it through general pop-culture osmosis and through using rednote (I joined it recently out of curiosity.) but i will try my best!

TAGS: (yes. this is section #1)

how do you tag? at the bottom of a post (whether it is an original post or a post you're reblogging) there is an area that says "add tags." you do not need to type the # symbol. just start typing. you can hit "enter" or type a comma (,) to end a tag/start a new one. each individual tag has a character limit, and i believe there is a limit of 30 tags per-post. you can use spaces! and many different symbols and emojis

tumblr tags are not used the way tags are used on any other website. when you reblog someone else's post, it is common to share your thoughts in the tags rather than commenting directly on the post. think of it like "whispering" or an "indoor voice" - it's more polite, and the commentary is usually intended for your followers. be aware that anyone (including the original poster) can read your tags on a post. so please do not be rude or traumadump in them.

because tumblr users communicate in tags so often, we've developed our own typing style. it's common to type in all lowercase and to use periods and dashes as punctuation instead of commas. or to. add periods. for random emphasis. you cannot use commas in tags (that's how you tell the website you're done typing the tag) unless you use "The Tumblr Comma" - a unicode character that resembles a comma but isn't one? I guess? tumblr commas are actually used very rarely because you have to copy and paste them. but here you go: ‚

you also cannot use quotation marks - so the trick is two apostrophes, like this: ''

aside from commenting, tags are also, naturally, used to organize content. if you reblog a post and want to find it later, you might want to assign it a tag or two. such as #star trek or #spock. now... tumblr's "search" function on blogs is kind of shitty and broken. but if you click on a tag on your blog, it will show you every post that you assigned that tag to - this method is foolproof and works every time. another way is to use your archive. i will explain the archive in a later section.

very important: posts that you reblog do not appear in the public tag search. which is to say, it's not like dueting on tiktok. for example, lets say someone posts a drawing. they tag this drawing as #art. you reblog it and comment "cool! here is a picture i drew too!" you tag your addition as #art. but if you look in the public tag for #art ... your addition will not be there. so if you want to reach more eyes, your best bet is to make your own original post and tag that as #art.

i bring this up because a lot of new users make this mistake. they find someone else's post on tumblr, reblog it, and add 500 tags for reach (whether they want their addition to get views or they want the original post to get views and they're trying to help the OP). but... it's like playing with a game controller that's unplugged. i hope that makes sense.

now... in terms of using tags for reach. please. do not spam-tag. tumblr users do not like it. it is against TOS. and you will get blocked (maybe even reported) if you're overdoing it. only tag what is relevant to your post, and don't go overboard.

NEVER tag posts asking for... assistance of a monetary nature. whether you are reblogging or making them. posts can get "shadowbanned" from tags. (something i'm trying to avoid with my verbiage in this post.) this will make it harder for users who are struggling to get the help they need. just reblog silently.

NEVER tag posts as... the acronym that spells November September Forember Worember. find your own, creative acronym for this. you can get people's art removed, their account shadowbanned, or even fully banned. i'll talk more about censorship later.

tags are also used to hide content for those who don't want to see it. you may tag a post with #bug for example, to help those with insectphobias. you can filter an infinite number of tags, blocking whatever content you need, in your settings. (settings > account > content you see)

NEVER tag posts as #epilepsy warning - only #flashing or #flashing lights. This allows our photosensitive friends to be safer in the tag talking about their disorder

SITE ETIQUETTE:

refresher of previous points: no spam tagging, no tagging things that will get other users in trouble. good? good. moving on.

if you don't reblog/make posts, your blog has no title, and you have a default icon, you will likely be blocked by other users because we have historically always had a bad bot problem. so fix these things pronto.

do not repost other people's artwork without permission. REBLOG is okay! please reblog, reblog, reblog! it's how our website works. "repost" here means "i saw someone's art, downloaded it, and reuploaded it in a new post, pretending it's mine." this is what to avoid.

some tumblr users also classify their gifs as art (as they take many hours to create and edit to look beautiful). tumblr has a built in "add a gif" option - and this is always okay, because it automatically credits the artist and links to the original art. if you want to use a gif not from there, please ask the original artist or at the very least credit them. but like i said, every gifmaker's opinion is different. in my case? my gifs can be used by anyone, credit or not. i do not care.

"LIKE" is the bookmark function. if a post with artwork is only "liked" - it doesn't go anywhere. other users do not see it. if you appreciate a post, and want others to see the post too, please REBLOG it instead. again, this is the preferred method of interaction on our website. we do NOT have an "algorithm" - more on that in a later section.

that said, please use common sense. if someone says something like "I'm having a bad day, i fought with my boyfriend" - that isn't something to reblog. a lot of tumblr users also treat the website as a diary, as it is a MicroBlogging platform. a "like" is a better way to show support in this situation. you can always "unlike" a post later to clear up your bookmarks if you wish.

do not send anon hate. regardless if you are in the "right" or not, it's viewed as cowardly and the userbase will not be on your side. it's middle school behavior, cringe. be willing to confront directly or block + move on.

you can comment on a post (in the comment area) if you have insightful commentary you want to add. or a joke you think is really good. the second is a gamble, though. maybe lurk a little bit first to get a feel for the sense of humor here

screenshotting other people's tags and adding them to a post is welcome, provided you feel that they are Funny or Insightful (as with the previous point.) you do not need to credit tags (although you can), and announcing them is viewed as... outdated. ("you can't just leave this in the tags!!" "this passes peer review!!" etc.) - it is better to not caption the tags, and let them speak for themselves.

"replies" on a post you can sort of do whatever? because they don't appear in the main body of the post. they're a bit like tags in that way. just sort of treat them like tags (be kind, be funny, don't traumadump). same etiquette with screenshotting + posting them.

most tumblr users are cool with people following them and reblogging a ton of posts in a row. like 90% of us. but some blogs don't like "reblog spam" so they may block you? idk man. i don't understand those people.

some tumblr users have a DNI (do not interact), which is a list of criteria of people they do not want to reblog their posts. this info isn't necessary to have (and is sometimes made fun of/controversial), but it does exist, so i mention it. for some people, "violating a DNI" is viewed as very disrespectful. so that's another reason why someone may block you.

two people following each other is called "mutuals." unfollowing a mutual is called "breaking mutuals" and it happens all the time. it really isn't a big deal unless you make it one. there's also "soft blocking" (blocking someone to knock them off of your follower list, then unblocking them) which occurs sometimes.

there is a lot of terminally online brainrot discourse on here. so tiktokers will feel at home! jokes aside, curate your online experience (by blocking, filtering content) and try to be kind to one another. and be aware that you will see some really, really bad takes sometimes. it's always good to take a break from tumblr if you're feeling frustrated.

seriously. tumblr users unfollow and block each other constantly and this is normalized. no drama comes from this. we love the block button.

most tumblr users have their pronouns in bio. please check bio before gendering someone. do not default to "they/them" for every user. it's bad manners.

don't blaze other people's posts, and probably don't blaze your own. if you must blaze a post it should be an image of a cute animal. it should not be your fanfiction.

if you post fanfiction, please do so under a readmore.

a "drowned post" is when a user takes a screenshot (usually of a take they disagree with) and reupload back onto tumblr to critique/make fun of it. because a screenshot may, accidentally, look like something the critic typed, an underwater filter is put over the post, so that it is clear what is screenshot and what is commentary. tumblr has built in photo filters, and the water is one of them, so it's accessible to everyone. i highly recommend the use of a filter so people know at a glance that you are NOT the one who wrote something insanely bigoted. because people not drowning (or otherwise applying a filter) their screenshots of text has resulted in miscommunication and fights in the past.

CENSORSHIP:

tumblr is not like other websites. you have significantly more freedom of speech here. but! there are caveats. this section will break down some website history and how it affects posting in the modern day.

tumblr once had NO censorship at all. this was a website you could go on and see d*cks. like everywhere. but then something happened. and apple threatened to remove tumblr from its app store. as a result, p*rnography was banned. but this implementation was sloppy. many entirely innocuous posts got falsely flagged by automated systems. and at one point, entire tags were banned (like #girl and #blue and all kinds of weird shit). many artists and s*xworkers fled from the website.

recently, tumblr has implemented a labeling system under the guise of reimplementing risqué content. but the reality is that this is a self-report system. by tagging your own posts using the content labels, you increase your likelihood of getting banned by staff. and if you report other people's posts as missing labels, it's like snitching on them. the labeling system is not your friend. instead, use creative tags. block tags you don't want to see. tread lightly. and look the other way.

now. you may be wondering. "jay, if you can type any word on this website, why are you writing in this way?" well. sometimes tumblr will decide to prevent your post from appearing in public tags, in a shadow-ban-like process. my creative wording and asterisks is to avoid this, and for this post to gain the reach it needs to help people. but know that the average tumblr user strings together paragraphs solely consisting of words you will not find in the bible. you will likely be mocked for censoring words/using "tiktok speak" unless you are doing it for a specific reason, as i am doing here.

also. be careful when discussing tumblr staff. lets just say the userbase isn't the biggest fan of our landlords. i will not be getting into that topic here. but be aware that participating in paid features is deeply controversial. things like blazing posts, buying merchandise, purchasing badges... other users may treat you unkindly as a result.

the TOS is not consistently enforced, but be aware that if you post risqué content it may be removed or you may get banned. you also may not. it's mostly down to luck of the draw and knowing how to post discreetly. again, i won't get into this topic further on this post.

but yeah otherwise say whatever you want here. just like, don't be a bigot. and be careful when discussing the website owners.

i highly recommend, if you are above the age of eighteen, to go in your settings and enable m*ture content. because a lot of innocuous content (especially about trans experiences) gets falsely labeled, thereby censoring it and hiding it. when you set to view this content, these posts will not be hidden from you. (settings > account > content labels)

HOW TUMBLR WORKS:

tumblr is a website that began as a platform that encouraged young professionals to write about their experiences and post photographs. like instagram i guess? but much more writing focused. a user's account was less of an Account and more of its own Discrete Website, with its own url and its own webpage that could be customized with HTML, CSS, and javascript. in this way, it was similar to geocities. it was a really weird, innovative platform that combined a lot of ideas.

when you create an account on tumblr now-a-days, you have to manually go into your settings and enable a desktop version of blog. (settings > blogs > (blogname) > "enable custom theme") then, when on a desktop computer, you can actually edit your blog with HTML and CSS. although, due to security updates, javascript is no longer permitted, and no links that have "http" - only "https" - are allowed in your code. here's mine:

it was extremely common all the way through the mid-to-late 2010s to regularly update your blog theme, and for users to look at each other's blogs. but between the censorship debacle and the rise of mobile users, blog editing is sort of a dead art, and many newer users don't know that you can make these pages. i hope this practice comes back, if only to encourage tech literacy and creativity in the youth. learn to code today!

anyway, this history is why our usernames are called URLs. because they are literally web addresses. the more you know!

you know how i mentioned "archives" way up in another section, btw? because the tumblr blog search function sucks, another way to find posts is to go to yourblogname.tumblr.com/archive and search by date, post type, tag, etc. - it's genuinely awesome. you can also use it to look at other people's blogs. lets see what i was posting in June of 2013... yeah that seems about right for the era.

tumblr differs from other social media in that it is, for the most part, entirely hand-curated. which is to say, for most of the website's history, no algorithm existed, and we actively reject implementation of it. yes, technically tumblr now has a "for you" tab. most of the userbase does not look at it.

the way you "make it big" on tumblr dot com isn't through hashtags. it isn't through trends. you make it big on tumblr dot com because you were half asleep one night and accidentally made a funny typo, and then your friend from Arizona saw it and laughed and reblogged it. and then five of their followers reblogged it. and before you know it 20 thousand strangers are now arguing with each other on your post.

...which brings me to my second point. "going viral" on tumblr is kind of a curse. your notifications get flooded, people bring bad takes to your posts, and overall it tends to be stressful for the OP (original poster). you don't join tumblr to Go Viral. you join tumblr to talk about fuck-all and maybe post art, and have a good time with friends. it's more like a bunch of people sitting on a porch chatting. and when too many people shows up it can get a bit weird.

you have two options should a post get out-of-hand: disabling reblogs (the post exists, but can no longer be shared), or deleting the post (the original post does not exist, but copies of the post can continue to circulate). or... you do both. disable reblogs, then the delete the post. the post cannot be shared, the root is gone... but it will remain permanently on the blogs who have already shared it. consider what option is most appropriate for your situation. and also consider adding an explanation in the replies. ("i turned off reblogs for now because my notifications are a mess. i'll turn them back on later" vs "i deleted the original post and turned off the reblogs because i accidentally shared misinformation" vs "i'm not in this fandom anymore and i don't like my old artwork, but i know other people do so i just deleted the original post while leaving the reblogs on so the work can still be shared by people who like it." - this will prevent people from pestering you asking you why you took the actions you did.

we have "communities" now but again, most of the userbase doesn't use them or even know how to use them. so i don't really have insight on those. i imagine they're like facebook groups but much more toxic. tumblr also tried a "group chat" feature a couple years back which was such a disaster that it got pulled.

...as well as Tumblr Live. we do not talk about Tumblr Live. or Tips.

anyway the authentic tumblr experience is shouting into the void (with proper tag use), following other users, reblogging their posts, and chatting kindly to them in tags/replies. don't try to "game the system" or whatever, just have fun.

VIDEOS:

while you can post videos on tumblr, it isn't the primary function of this platform and never has been, historically, so there's some things to keep in mind.

our video player is dogshit. it's very hard to use on mobile especially and videos will randomly mute all the time. we still post video, just know that it's not going to be the same as other platforms

tumblr's exact Video Limits are a mystery. any time you look at the FAQ it's outdated information. generally in my own findings, vids can be about 10 minutes long provided they aren't giant files. i recommend uploading in a compressed format like .mp4 with a low bitrate

tumblr will compress your videos after uploading so if they're already low quality they will look even worse. just be aware of that

tumblr has a video upload limit of i think 5 videos per day. there's also a limit of how much footage, timewise. i don't think it will let you upload 5 videos all 10 minutes long for example

when uploading a video, i recommend doing that on a computer if possible because mobile always gives me a difficult time.

regardless of computer or phone, save your video as a draft, don't just immediately post it. your video will need to upload and process and stuff and drafts are the best way to keep track of them. once a video appears in your drafts (or your blog, if you posted immediately), you will be allowed to upload another. but you can't upload a video while the first is still processing.

COMMUNICATION:

i've already touched on tags, commenting, and replies. but you can also communicate with a user in three other ways (RIP Fanmail). This includes Asks (you send a message, a user responds to it publically, usually), Submit (you send a message/image/link, a user posts it as a submission. so like, sending a jpeg of an orange to a blog dedicated to posting jpegs of oranges. you are contributing to the blog's content.), and Messaging/Direct Message/DM - same as any other platform.

You can have public DMs or have DMs only set to users you follow. With Asks, you can toggle whether or not to allow anon. My personal recommendation is to leave anon on UNLESS you get bullied/harassed/etc - then turn it off and leave it off for several weeks (long enough for the harassers to get bored) before turning it back on, if you want. Submit isn't really necessary unless you run a gimmick blog. Especially since you can now send images via ask for some reason. It used to be Ask was for text and Submit was for anything else. Now Submit is sort of an obsolete format for the average tumblr user.

SIDEBLOGS:

Another way tumblr differs from other social media? The sideblog. The first blog that you create here on tumblr will always be your "main" blog, and that cannot be switched. If you "like" a post, it will always list the username of your main blog. If you follow a blog, it will only display the URL of your main. However...

You can reblog, post, reply, and send DMs under a separate username. Externally, a sideblog is indistinguishable from a main blog (aside from the like/follow thing). It's common for users to create blogs for various interests. Maybe one is for posting original artwork, another is to post about movies, and another is to post highly detailed jpegs of men's thighs.

While some users prefer to not state their main URL on their sideblog for partial anonymity, a sideblog is generally used in good faith. It's frowned upon/viewed as cowardly to use a sideblog to deceive or harass other users.

If your sideblog gets banned/violates TOS, this will likely affect your main blog. If you're posting risky things on tumblr, you're better off using an entire new account, so as to not affect your main account should something go wrong.

Sideblogs can have multiple moderators, if you add another user and they accept. Just make sure you add mods you can trust.

IMPORTANT: Never delete a sideblog. There is a glitch that sometimes occurs that, when deleting a sideblog (even when selecting the correct option) you can delete your entire account. Instead rename, repurpose, and/or "password lock" the account to prevent others from accessing it. You can also remove yourself as a "member" (mod) of the blog, and with no mods the blog will cease to exist. Or you can orphan the blog by creating a secondary account (NOT A SIDEBLOG. AN ENTIRE NEW ACCOUNT), making that account a mod, and then removing your main as a mod. Basically... just don't delete. Do anything but. iirc this issue still has not been fixed in 2025. it isn't a case of "misclicking" as some people insist. you can do everything right and your account can still get nuked because it's a bug in the actual code

blocking and sideblogs is... a headache. if someone sends a rude message to your sideblog and you want to block them? you'll need to go into your sideblog settings and manually type in their URL. because if you just block them like normal, you'd only be blocking them from your main blog. which means they could be reblogging and saying all kinds of heinous shit on your sideblog's posts, and you'd never know. it's easiest to do this blocking process from a computer.

likewise, if you block someone's sideblog... you only block their sideblog. their main can still access you. so if you block someone, see if they list other blogs in their bio/pinned post. you may need to block two blogs.

blocking a main blog, however, blogs full access. so if Rude Guy bothers you on his main, and you block his main, he can't then bother you on Rude Guy 2, Rude Guy 3, or Rude Guy 4.

users are sometimes upfront about when they're using a sideblog but others aren't. so it can be tricky.

MANDATORY ACCOUNT/BLOG SETTINGS:

this is four screenshots; taken on a computer, not mobile, but most of the settings should be the same. what this covers: hiding your likes/follows, disabling algorithmic posts, enabling timestamps (VERY important especially for posts about world news), disabling AI scraping, enabling users to message you, shit like that.

mandatory extensions for desktop users (well. not palettes. i use it because i like a pastel pink viewing experience. lol.):

MEMES AND REFERENCES:

the life cycle of memes and slang is rapid on tumblr, so it's a little pointless for me to try and talk about them because any information i write will be out of date. by the time a meme leaves tumblr and gets posted on twitter/tiktok/bluesky/reddit/youtube/instagram/pinterest/ifunny/facebook it's already long dead

that said, there are some mainstays:

"i'm bald" is often placed as the last option in a poll and it means "not applicable to me/choose not to answer/my answer is nuanced". it's in reference to a specific poll about hair (obv) where this was listed as the last option and people thought it was funny so we use in other polls now.

we love polls btw we use them to make characters fight to the death or do "design a horse"/"make a cake" type games. polls get very serious and people also sometimes do voter fraud and get in arguments about it. it's sports to us

"destiel news" is the phenomenon of announcing a major news story (like the death of the queen) by using screenshots of the homophobic love confession in supernatural. the idea is to piss people off by having them say "THIS is how i found out???" tumblr users make shitposts about major events in general in hopes of evoking this response. but destiel news is ubiquitous

"i think i hauve covid" is reference to a tweet on twitter and means "i'm ar*used"

"not to be a lesbian but" is a common reaction image/copypasta and it's self explanatory

spelling words wrong on purpose, incorrect/creative grammar, etc. is very funny to tumblr users. things like "ingredience" and "those feratu" linger in our lexicon

there's a lot of random old textposts tumblr users reference and it would be too hard to list them all, especially because they rise and fall in popularity. just know if someone's said something especially strange it may be a reference to an earlier post. not to self-promo but i run a blog called @goodposts where i archive posts i personally find funny (or Important) and some Tumblr Classics are in there. but also some of the posts are my own shitty posts so ur milage may vary.

we all know the president shoelace post but none of us actually use the code irl and it's a very dead joke at this point. there's a lot of dead jokes i could cover like vanilla extract, all or nothing, do you love the color of the sky, children's hospital, etc. - but i'd defer to Know Your Meme instead.

ummmm i think thats it. smiles

if u have questions feel free 2 ask

[cbge]

To answer your question from the tags genuinely as a non-artist: sometimes it's because I'm worried what I comment might come off wrong to the artist - that they might think what I said was too unrelated (like if I rb x character and then start saying I loved it when x did y even tho the art doesn't show that), or misinterpret my tone. This wouldn't apply to your work but sometimes I want to express thirst (like awooga etc) but not all art that makes me thirsty is trying to be sexy on purpose so then I'm like would the artist be put off LOL

Sometimes I'm just self-conscious. Since by reblogging I'm already basically saying it's good enough to share with other people (I want other people to see it and I want to keep it on my blog forever), sometimes I feel like I shouldn't comment unless I have something specific to say about the piece (ex. the colors fuck) or a funny comment if it's a humorous piece but I rarely think of anything actually funny or witty to say... If it's fanart, how commonly something is drawn also affects how likely I am to comment. If someone draws an obscure character/ship/fandom, I will almost always say smth to express appreciation. This isn't a hard rule but thinking back on it I also think I comment more on artwork with fewer notes since it feels more natural/the artist needs encouragement I guess??? For popular work and fanart of popular media, I think it's mainly just a bad habit since I grew up on Tumblr in the aesthetic scene where ppl never talked in the tags. There's also the assumption that like, I'm sure someone else has already said they liked the linework/coloring or made that joke and I don't want to bother the artist by repeating what someone else said. Realizing now that most people wouldn't mind hearing at least compliments again tho 😭

thanks for sharing your thoughts. to answer genuinely as an artist: i think it is much, much, Much better to say something and have it be silly or repetitive than to not say anything at all.

at the end of the day, likes and reblogs are just numbers. an impersonal imitation of a human interaction. i cannot speak for everyone, but i imagine that for a lot of artists, including myself, the fundamental reason for why they make art is a desire to be seen and heard, to share oneself with the world, to form personal connections; which is why this shift towards silent observation in fear of somehow offending the artist with your interpretation of their art frustrates and saddens me greatly. art is meant to be interpreted! it's meant to evoke thoughts and feelings, even the simplest and silliest sketch.

i'm not arguing for everyone to write essays in tags (though i feel like a lot of artists would appreciate that), because sometimes a simple "this is nice" can elevate your reblog from a faceless crowd of "hashtag fandom hashtag character name" to possibly making the artist's day; but a lot of people feel the same way as you do. if everyone thinks, "oh, i shouldn't say [x], someone probably already did" it just results in no one saying anything at all. so i urge you to not restrain yourself. a little kindness goes a long way.

[writing-with-olive]

Hi I'm new to Tumblr, completely confused about how to use this app , may I get some help

Hey anon!

Okay so in terms of basic nav, I use the website version exclusively, so hopefully someone who uses it in app form can hop into the reblogs and add onto what I'm saying, but i can still somewhat show you the ropes.

First. Your Dash.

Unlike lots of other social media site, we don't have an algorithm. (Well we kinda do, but unless you enjoy seeing the same three posts for a month ad nauseum, we can agree it doesn't exist.) If you want to see posts on your dash, you have to follow people. Things they reblog will show up in chronological order on your dash. To find people to follow, you can search things you're interested in, and then follow more people if they show up on your dash after getting reblogged by someone you follow.

If you don't like something on your dash, you have a few options. You can unfollow the person who is posting stuff like that (this does not cause drama as most people don't really check who follows/unfollows them, and most keep that information private anyway). You can filter a tag or phrase that you don't like (tag filters are in settings). And lastly you can fully block the person. We are very big about curating our own internet experiences here, with the onus being on the user to decide what they do and don't wanna see - as a result tirades about people are rarely accepted unless it's a particularly extreme situation.

Next. The buttons.

The little "arrow circle" thing is the reblog button. Reblogs are the lifeblood of the site, as without them nothing takes off. If you like a post, you can reblog it, which will make it show up in your blog and put it on the dashboard of the people who follow you. If you have something meaningful to add, you can add it in the main section. If you have inside thoughts that don't really add, you can put it in the tags (tags can be whole sentences, not just individual words).

The "heart" button is likes. These do actually nothing, and function as a half-assed bookmark more than anything.

The little speech bubble thing is the comments section. If you put a comment here it will show up under any version of the post (unlike reblogs which will only show up on your reblog and people who reblog from you. This isn't used very often, but can be useful if you want to comment without spreading the post to others.

Engagement

Asks, if they're polite like yours are, are generally SUPER appreciated. People like talking to each other. People also enjoy playing ask games, where they post a list of numbered (or emoji'd) questions, and you pick one to ask. You can make someone's day by doing those

DMs are a bit more limited. Some people (like myself) don't mind people sliding into their DMs as long as it's appropriate and polite. Other people do mind, so see if they've posted a masterpost somewhere indicating a preference before trying to talk to them this way.

Another thing to remember is that privacy is a big thing here. While some people may share names or ages, it's pretty rare to see pictures or video of people.

Speaking of videos. If you're going to post images or videos, common curtesy is include a text description or transcription so that people can engage with audio off. Most people are here because they like text-based media, and including text-based helps with accessiblity issues.

Last major thing. Make sure to change your profile picture to something other than default. we have a bot problem and you may be insta-blocked by old-timers if you look like a bot. Another thing you can do is in your blog description, write "i'm not a bot" or something to that effect, or a more detailed description if you want to. It doesn't have to be fancy.

Anyway, this is a bit long, hopefully this helps!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unraveled 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A curious man wanders into your dress shop with a lot of questions.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (Cavill)

Note: I hope you all enjoy this random idea.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

One hand guides the fabric as the other turns the wheel. Your work is slow but steady, every stitch perfect, every seam precise. Your fare may be modest and your product simple, but its quality cannot be contested. Your labour as yourself is honest and plain.

The noise of the machine is your only company. The one-room shop nestled behind the butcher’s rarely sees a customer through its door. Instead, the orders are sent from the factories, returned with the printed adverts you disperse outside their doors. The writs are sent along with an envelope of pence and shilling and you complete each with equal diligence before sending them back bundled in paper and twine.

The operation isn’t especially fruitful but the profit is enough to subsist. Enough to guarantee your independence; a small apartment just above and a pot of stew to last you through each week. This humble existence is preferable to any marriage you’ve witnessed. 

The letters from your sisters reaffirm your spinster’s fate. You’d rather a hand wheel and a needle than a brood and broken back. A husband seems to provide several jobs at once, you’ll happily settle for one.

As your hands work from memory and your head wanders from tedium, the bell above the door gives a single sharp toll. You ease the wheel to a halt and leave the seam unfinished. You peer up above the black iron machine, reminding yourself to fix your hunch as a client enters. You can’t but wonder if he may have come to the wrong shop.

By his attire, he is a class above the factory women who require gray skirts and simple stays. His waistcoat is embroidered and his jacket is pressed and clean. He is tall, locks part tidily so his curls lay gracefully. His face is fresh-shaven, square jaw with a cleft, and shoulders broad and strong. He does not share the same sinewy gauntness as the labourers with the coal-dusted noses.

He carries a fine leather bag. Another clue to his status. His shoes, another. Polished and without creases.

You stand to greet him, “good afternoon, sir. Might I help you with something?”

His answer is not prompt. He takes in the finished dresses hung by the east wall and turns to examine the rolls of wool and cotton. At last, he returns his attention to you.

“Afternoon,” his deep timbre fills the small space, “you are the dressmaker.”

It isn’t a question, but you answer, “I am.”

He narrows his eyes as he approaches your desk, the sole fixture in the space. From without, the shop is just as bare. The blackened windows offer not insight into the business, its only suggestion the sign hung above the door, though the paint requires a fresh coat.

“And the shop owner?”

“That is me as well, sir,” you assert. The presumption is not uncommon.

“Ah,” he accepts your explanation without comment, “so, you will have sewn this.”

He puts his bag on the desk, nearly knocking your shears from the corner. You try not to flinch as they teeter near the edge and he pulls open the top of the leather bag. He pulls out a swath of grey. You recognise it and he rolls the cuff to show your initials sewn within.

“Sir,” you say precariously, “is there some issue with it? Is it your wife’s dress?”

“Wife? No, no,” he dismisses, feeling the fabric between his fingers, “rather I am in search of the dress’s owner. The initial must belong to them, yes? So you would have a name for the buyer.”

“Mm, no, those are mine,” you point at the letters, “as it is my handiwork.”

“That makes sense,” he frowns in disappointment. “So you wouldn’t know who would wear it?”

You rub your chapped lips together. You find your tongue sliding over them often when you work, turning them raw with the habit. The man’s lips are rosy and smooth, as well-kempt as the rest of him. He is no factory worker’s husband.

“I might… would you take it out?” You ask.

He obliges as you pluck up the metal cylinder from your desk and unfurl the tape measure from within. He shakes out the dress, holding it by the shoulders to reveal salt stains along the skirts and unleashing a dingy smell in the shop. You wiggle your nose at the stench but worse roils in from the butcher’s on hot days.

You take the measure of the sleeves and the waist, then to the hem. You scribble the numbers on a scrap and take that to compare with your ledger. The measurements are in now way defining but might narrow it down. He keeps the dress aloft and you return to him to check the thread along the seams. A few months ago, you changed the thickness as the factory workers complained of splits under the arms.

“Hm, it is a recent purchase,” you assure him and return to the ledge. 

He lowers the dress and approaches. You snap the book closed and turn your face up to consider him once more, “why do you need to know, if it is not your wife?”

“You are very discerning,” he remarks as he folds the dress and drapes it over his bag, “I’m certain then you can surmise the woman who wore this dress did not meet a kind fate.” He tugs up the hem and shows a tear trimmed in scarlet, the colour not obvious from a distance. “Holmes, Sherlock Holmes. I’m a detective and I’m trying to identify a poor woman found not far from here. I believe it is in your own interest that I discover her assailant.”

“I cannot say for certain which she is,” you turn over the scrap and re-open the ledger. You write down three names which match the measurements and hold the paper out to him. He takes it, his thick fingertips brushing yours. “Those are the ones which align with the dress.”

“Mm,” he hums as he tucks the paper into his chest pocket, “and your name? I couldn’t make it out on the sign.”

You recite your name flatly, “it isn’t on the sign.”

“It requires new paint,” he admonishes, “I could hardly find you.”

“I am aware,” you reply. “Thank you for noting.”

He’s quiet, “being a detective, however, I did indeed put together the clues.”

Is he making a joke? You cannot tell. He folds up the dress completely and puts it back in the leather bag. The smell persists.

“What are you prices?” He asks abruptly.

“Sir, I sew dresses for factory women, sometimes a few communion pieces, but I’m afraid I don’t do much suit work.”

“My sister requires a dress,” he sniffs, “as simple as it is, I can see your work is fine.”

“I have only wools and cottons,” you counter.

“Do you always turn away business?” He challenges.

“I wasn’t, sir, I’m only clarifying what I currently do. My prices are set for those fabrics,” you explain.

“I will pay for the muslin and velvet,” he waves his hand staunchly, “you will be paid for your labour. Can you sew with more than wool and cotton?”

“I can, sir, but you could find a ready-made dress in a market boutique if the dress is required promptly.”

“I can afford the time and coin,” he insists. “You are not a talented advertiser, are you?”

You’re taken aback by his bluntness. Often, his ilk have that demeanour. It’s why you’d rather the factory workers and the fish sellers’ wives.

“I suppose not,” you agree, “I would need measurements before I begin. You may send the numbers along with the fabric, then. And I would require a style. Perhaps your sister is a purveyor of fashion magazines?”

“I will send a messenger,” he shrugs. “Thank you for your time. I shan't get in your way any longer.”

“Good day, sir.”

“Good day to you,” he takes the bag from your desk and the shears fall to the floor with a clatter.

You skirt around to grab them as he bends and swipes them up first. You recoil as he closes the blades with a snap. He examines them before placing them back on the desk.

“Apologies,” he says, “and miss,” he looks at you, “take to heart what I’ve told you today. Keep away from the allies and perhaps you may consider locking your door.”

“Thank you, sir, your concern is appreciated.”

“Rather you might just keep those close, eh,” he points to the shears and his cheek dimples.

Again, you can’t be certain of his humour. You keep a placid expression, neither smiling nor scowling. He clears his throat and runs his hand down his jacket, gripping the lapel.

“Very well then, I’ll be off.”

He turns on his heel and marches to the door. You stay by the desk as the bell rings with his departure. Once the door closes, you cross the shop. You turn the lock into place, his foreboding lingering with the stale scent of dirty water.

🪡

Despite the unusual visit, your days roll on like a hand on a clock. The thought of the woman’s tragic fate looms like a shadow but fades. You have too much stitching to do to fret over that man and his ominous words. You assume his interest in your work thereafter was wholly feigned as he does not return.

That day, you pass off six parcels to Eustace, the driver who takes them down to the stacks to hand off to the floor bosses who will parse them out to the women they’ve been cut for. You pay him his toll before he climbs back into the seat of his cart, his horse kicking impatiently.

“Excuse me, sir,” another driver clops up along the other side of the street, a narrow squeeze between the slanting buildings. “I’m in search of a dressmaker. I believe the store is tucked behind the butcher’s and…” the man’s voice drifts off as his eyes flit to the meat sellers marquee.

“Right here, good sir,” Eustace responds, “wouldn’t ya know, she’s right here.”

You lift your chin to see past the cart and spy the driver. He removes his cap as his gaze meets yours. Eustache dips his chin as he adjusts his own hat and snaps his old mare into a canter. As you're left alone with the carriage driver, a vehicle rather lofty for a block like this, you fold your hands behind you.

“Sir, you hardly look in need of a work woman’s dress,” you say.

“Miss,” he ties the reins off and jumps down from his seat, “I am sent for you, not a dress.”

“For me?” You echo.

“Mr. Holmes has sent,” he crosses the muck and nearly slips. “He said he made an appointment for a seamstress.”

“An appointment? I wasn’t informed of the time,” you rebuff. “I’ve a shop to run, orders paid for. I can’t simply leave.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Holmes made mention of a fee,” the man feels around his striped coat, “he said a deposit would be needed.”

He takes out a brown envelope and hands it over. You take it, a small weight within. You look at the driver before you pull back the flap and peek inside. A large gold sovereign sits in the corner of the paper; a whole pound. That’s at least three days work.

You hold your breath, trying to maintain some composure. If that’s the deposit, what is he offering for the rest? You slip out the folded paper within, a page torn from a fashion journal. The dress is elegant if not extravagant. You don’t often do off-the-shoulder or ruffles like that but it isn’t beyond your skill.

You fold the flap closed again and lift your chin to face the driver, “I must lock up, you see?”

“Take your time, miss,” he says kindly. “Mr. Holmes isn’t expecting you to hurry.”

“Thank you, sir,” you bow your head and turn away.

You measure your steps along the facade of the butcher’s shop and curl around to the alleyway. You let yourself into your shop and tuck the envelope into your apron pocket. You take your sewing bag from under the desk and shake off the dust. You don’t often have reason to use it.

You open it up and pack away your shears, a measuring tape, pins with a cushion, your notebook, and a few other bits and bobs. Just in case. You grab a role of linen from against the wall. It’s heavy but you can manage.

You take the key from your desk drawer and switch off the overhead light. You lock the door and continue back out to the street. The driver puffs smoke from a pipe as he waits.

“Miss, allow me,” he snuffs out the pipe and puts it in his pocket. He nears and reaches for the roll of linen.

“It’s quite alright, sir,” you say.

“I insist, miss, can’t have a lady doing all that,” he takes it, not forcefully, and you let him.

As he goes to the carriage and opens the door, you give pause. You don’t know if you should be so easily swayed on a gold coin. Mr. Holmes hadn’t been entirely pleasant and you do prefer your simple work. Still, you can hardly turn your nose up at a pound. Not with the summer fizzling to a finale.

You lift your skirts and cross the street to the open carriage, “sir, might I have a name?”

“Gavin,” he answers, “and I have yours. Mr. Holmes made sure of it.”

“Yes, very good,” you say as you approach, another sliver of doubt trickling through. Mr. Holmes claimed to be a detective but is that really the reason he was strolling around with a dead woman’s dress? You gulp and look at Gavin then the carriage, “might I keep the window open?”

“Surely you can,” he agrees amiably. “Mr. Holmes lives quite a ways, shouldn’t mind the air. I’ll be certain to stay away from the stacks.”

“Thank you, sir,” you accept his proffered hand and he helps you up into the carriage. 

You settle on the bench as the door shuts and you open the window from within. You lean back, your hand grasping the top of your bag. You unclasp it as you feel Gavin climb up on the driver’s seat. You dip your hand inside and clutch your long shears.

You don’t forget all of what Mr. Holmes said.

[lakunalaika]

[‼️TW: This post is not sexual content itself however it talks about asexuality and thus also discusses sex.‼️]

Before pride month ends I want to talk about Transformers characters that are on the aroace spectrum!!

I want to clarify that since Cybertonians don't reproduce sexually that makes them all asexual in cannon!

...However the fandom still has a lot of different interpretations and headcannons. Some of these include procreation while others are robots being sexual for the sake of "fun" rather than biology. I personally feel VERY uncomfortable with the idea of sexual reproduction in transformers but fandom is fandom and I am well aware of how it ignores the cannon so this list is made with that in mind.

As for the aromantic part of this post....

Sadly none of those are actually cannon since the creators haven't said anything about it and it's never said out loud in the media these characters are from HOWEVER I feel like most of these are very heavily implied. If you're confused about labels please look them up!

Sorry this post only contains three characters, I'm writing this literally last minute before going to the airport lol. I feel like there are maybe some more that I've missed so you're welcome to comment or reblog if you want to add to the list!

-

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Shockwave: aromantic, asexual, could be aplatonic in some continuities.

I HAD to start with him. Speaks for itself really, if you're in the fandom you're probably familiar with how little emotion Shockwave expresses in general. Sadly though most people either see him as a completely emotionless monster or make him the super ooc :( He has no interest in sex or romance and some versions of him do not care for platonic bonds either.

The fandom sadly does not understand this, I'm not completely against him being shipped with other characters I just wish it was written properly and with his sexual/romantic orientation in mind. I feel like there's some interesting queer platonic lab partner shipping potential here but again this fandom is terrible at not sexualising him for some reason.

He does show care for others in SOME continuities, in Cyberverse we see that he used to be friends with Wheeljack and possibly some other characters. He does have emotions, even in other shows/media, we see him get visibly angry in TFP and Earthspark. So just saying that he doesn't feel anything is a straight up lie. He follows logic although we do see him make non logical choices when influenced by emotions, it's rare but it has happened.

I'm planning to make more content about him and being aroace spec soon. I want to show people that just because you don't feel forms of attraction or love towards others doesn't mean you're completely heartless. And yes I know an extremely stereotypical evil robot probably isn't the best character to use to prove a point like this but I just need people to stop mischaracterising him.

-

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Shadowstriker: aromantic, asexual.

[most of this is refering to her in Cyberverse, thought I do mention IDW briefly]

What is it with clearly aroace female characters, usually villains, and being called masc lesbians? No offence to lesbians but please y'all let us have some representation. Sorry pooks she doesn't want a girl, she doesn't want anyone actually. Which doesn't mean she doesn't value friendship, just look at how she interacts with Soundwave and Lazerbeak! That's found family if I've ever seen it!

I think she's someone who struggles a lot with emotions and intimacy just in general, though we do actually see her emotions slipping through the "mask" more towards the end of the show, even being happy [thought it was quite bittersweet] and part of a group hug in the last episode. Well done her for actually accepting physical touch that isn't punching someone in the face! She's a very untrusting character who tends to assume the worst in everyone and is really aggressive for most of the show. She has absolutely no interest in romance or sex and is probably apothisexual/apothiromantic. But as previously stated I think platonic love is really important to her. She's the type of person who would kill for her found family, in fact considering she's a Decepticon she probably has.

She's one of those extremely interesting and emotionally complex characters and yet somehow she's always overlooked. I see people talking about wanting more well written female characters and HERE SHE IS! Honestly I'd recommend watching Cyberverse even if you're just doing it for her, it's worth it. I could write a whole essay all about her. Can y'all tell she's my favourite? Because she is.

As for shipping I do like the idea of her being in a queer platonic ship with Flamewar and Slipstream in the IDW comics they're in, though again, I don't think people know how to write qp relationships...

-

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TFP Soundwave: demiromantic, asexual.

This one is only specific to one continuity and that's Transformers Prime. Not saying other versions aren't on the spectrum, I have a quite couple headcannons, though I feel they might be a bit ooc/self indulgent so I'm not including them since I'm trying to keep this list as "likely to be cannon" as I can.

In the show he doesn't speak and doesn't really have a face so he doesn't really express himself a lot. Though he still definitely shows emotion, just, differently I guess? He is uninterested in sex, I think he could be in a romantic relationship but it would have to be someone he's already emotionally attached to. Platonic love is extremely important to him but specifically his cassettes, they're his family. Others however.... I feel like he doesn't really care for a lot of the characters in the show but then again he doesn't show emotions much so he could just be hiding it.

-

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[reigningqueenofwords]

Fucks

I've been trying to work on my mental health and shit lately. Part of that includes doing a reread of a few books I own: Unfuck Yourself, the Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck, and You Are a Badass.

Not getting into detail about all of them, but one main point of the Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck is actually choosing what to give a fuck about. It's not saying be an indifferent asshole. It's saying that you need to make your fucks count. Like, do you really need to give a fuck that some guy online thinks you're weird? Not really. There's no point. But should you give a fuck about that weird thing your back has been doing? Probably. See what I'm saying?

My entire life I've given too many fucks about shit that I have no need to give a fuck about. What's that gotten me? Anxiety. A lot of fucking anxiety.

Last night, as I cuddled Xena in bed, I was thinking this over.

And I realized...I am not going to give a fuck about my writing anymore. I'm not going to stress over it. I get so worked up about getting work out that I get writer's block. I get so worked out to keep updating things ASAP. And why? For 4 likes, MAYBE a reblog, and the rare comment? "Write because you love it!" Because I know I'll hear that tired ass line. You know what? That's only part of it. You know what I love? Honestly (because one thing I will keep giving a fuck about is honest, but like...being totally honest), the validation. I love when people interact with my work. I love when I put something I worked on out where and people go bonkers over it. Why would I keep giving a fuck when I post it and get...crickets?

I'm not saying I'm quitting, either. I'm simply just choosing to write when the mood hits. No more sitting here and going "I need to write 500 words by tonight". I'll still update fics that are already written, though. That takes no fucks and no efforts lmao

I had another thought, but I have other things to do. And, frankly...I'd rather go do those things.

Also, rewatching Supernatural for the millionth time. I think the boys would be proud of me for choosing to not stress over silly shit. :)

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Are you open to writing smut? I would love RD x Caliban smut so much. If not full on smut something a little spicy would be great. If not that's fine, keep up the good work I enjoy your fanfics a lot.

(Just to clarify: I'm not trying to shame any smut-writers out there. We all have different opinions/boundaries, and writing fictional stuff rarely ever harms anyone. I'm just explaining my own thoughts/preferences here.)

Well, I definitely DON'T write smut for several personal reasons. I did include a warning about that in my intro, but my intro is also pretty wordy in general. Apologies for that, I guess.

And as for spice...I can ocassionally make an exception or two, but that's also kinda iffy for me? Again, I have my reasons. The primary one being that these characters are fanegos. They're based off of real content-creators.

Even if said creators have no idea that I even exist, I still feel very uncomfortable at just the thought of writing raunchy stuff that would technically be in their image.

So...sorry, but no, I can't do that. (It's kind of a shame; I'm pretty sure this is only the fourth creative-focusing ask I've gotten for this whole damn year.)

Thank you for the kind words, though. Since my stories haven't been getting too much attention (*cough-cough* reblogs and comments *cough-cough*) lately, it's really nice to know that some people are still interested/reading.

However: though I'm busy with a current WIP, and have another one that revolves around something else after that, I'm still planning to write a story specifically for Caliban and R.D. somewhat soon.

So, you'll get to see some fluffy, couply stuff with them in the future. (As fluffy and couply as you can get with a cannibal mobster and a mostly unethical scientist, lol)

[jackobbit]

Hey folks, sorry about having to be a bit serious but somethings made me a bit uncomfy recently, so I thought I’d just be transparent about that real quick.

An old post I made back in April depicting my AU’s Bloodmoon in a bunny suit is making the rounds again, and it’s going around a crowd I’m not super comfortable seeing reblog and engaging with it. Namely, minors and RP blogs that I can also only assume are also minors.

I understand that simply wearing a bunny suit isn’t inherently suggestive. But it does have a suggestive history and context behind it, which is why I tagged it the way I did. I thought that the tags would deter a younger crowd but unfortunately it doesn’t seem like that was the case.

I’m considering taking that picture as well as the matching Solar Flare picture down too. I don’t want to have to do that but I refuse to let it stay up if people keep tagging other minors to see it. Unfortunately, Tumblr doesn’t have a system where I can just boot followers or other folks who are below a certain age so it’s much harder to control who sees what.

I’m asking yall to please be considerate of what you reblog and tag someone in if it does happen to be suggestive and tagged as such. Lots of people did a wonderful job of including the content warnings in the tags of their own reblogs but unfortunately it still slipped through the cracks.

I do not believe that I will be making any further art of a such a nature going forward unless it is on a platform where I can control who sees it. It makes me incredibly uncomfortable to see minors engaging with such works right next to comments other people have made under it that are also of a suggestive nature.

I thought I’d simply speak about this first before I make any solid decisions, such as taking the posts down or imposing an age limit on my blog alla DNI. My usual content and artwork is not suggestive, and it’s very rare for me to create something like that to begin with, but I don’t want this to happen again. I’d even wager to say that my art shouldn’t be consumed by anyone under a certain age bracket anyways on account of my swearing and some topics depicted and such.

A lot is still up in the air regarding this topic, but again, I just wanted to speak about it first before anything is super final regarding it.

[worm-fanon-polls]

Hello! thanks for visiting my poll blog!

I'm here to ask the hard hitting questions!

Like "what is lisa's favorite color?"

Please remember that all of my posts, polls or not, are major spoilers for Worm and Ward. Please do not interact with this blog unless you have either read both Worm and Ward or don't care about spoilers!

Remember to parahumans go to the polls!

Note that the last option on every poll will be THE SLUG. this is the results button and does not count as a vote for any options in the poll.

This is a guide to tags that I use for my polls. Feel free to search for specific tags or block them, though some of them are used by more people than just me, so watch out for that I guess.

#poll: Every post I make that features a poll is tagged this.

#not a poll: Any post I make that isn't a poll (such as this exact post!) will be tagged as this.

#joke poll: A poll I've made that isn't serious will be tagged as a joke poll. Note that I will never add this tag to a submission poll, unless the person submitting the poll adds it themself.

#submission poll: These polls are always submitted or suggested by someone other than me (though I do approve/edit any polls submitted). I will always @ whoever submitted the poll in the post itself.

#Wormpolls after dark: Any post tagged #wormpolls after dark is invariably NSFW. Block this tag if you're a minor or simply don't want to think about Alexandria█████ ████████████ ████████████████ and ███████ ████████████████ PLEASE ███████████████C████

#please don't yell at me: this is a controversial poll! This means I expect fights in the comments sections. Polls like "is amy good rep" go here.

#worm poll: These are only used for polls exclusive to Worm, featuring no Ward content. Reading Ward is not necessary to understand any polls I've tagged #worm poll.

#ward poll: These are only used for polls exclusive to Ward, featuring no Worm content. Reading Worm is not necessary to understand any polls i've tagged #ward poll.

#worm & ward poll: These are used for polls that include content from both Worm and Ward and thus spoil both!

#wormblr poll: This is a poll which asks a question related to wormblr itself, or worm fan spaces in general. I haven't needed to make a tag for polls about general fan spaces that doesn't involve fanon polls, but if I do I will edit this pinned post to include it.

#hashtag custodiansweep: A poll where THE SLUG is a valid option, so I've changed the name of the results button to The Custodian! Fairly rare.

#SIX STAR ULTRA RARE DOCTOR MOTHER GACHA PULL: For those extremely rare polls where the slug is an option, so I can't use him for the results button, and the custodian is an option, so I can't use her either. Doctor Mother is the second fallback. If even that isn't an option.

#Blake R. Thorburn: if even doctor mother isn't a valid results button, you get blake thorburn. fuck you. i changed the spelling a little so that it doesn't get added to the rich tapestry of pact posts. The R. stands for results.

#poll nominations: When I want to make a poll about a subject I don't know a lot about (such as, say, best/worst WOG or something) I will ask for nominations from everyone! Please feel free to reblog with a suggestion!

#projected winner: X: These tags are exclusively used internally for when I write poll wraps, and as such can be ignored.

#poll reblog: If I reblog a poll, I will tag it this. Sometimes this reblog is to add important context, sometimes it's to reply to someone else, sometimes it's just something funny! this tag is a complete mess.

#poll reblog (helpful): I made this up as a separate tag just now. In order to distinguish between reblogs that are important, and ones that aren't, this tag exists now!

#relevant to poll: Sometimes, if I find a post to be funny or relevant to a recently posted poll (mostly the second thing), I will reblog it with this tag.

#poll wrap: Generally, after a poll concludes, I will reblog the poll with my thoughts on the outcome or just in general. This poll does not distinguish between any type of poll, so I guess watch out for that!

#pinned post: This is my only post tagged that, because you can only have one pinned post.

[chevvy-ryder]

Since my post yesterday I knew those thoughts would come back again, so I'll quickly write them down and explain what plagues me.

I am kinda afraid to post any written stuff here ‒ Ryder's chapter 4 specifically.

See, it always happens that the content I'm super proud of stays often unnoticed and even I got some tag comments that people will sit down to read it I rarely to never receive any feedback on the actual content itself afterward.

Most tag comments address the graphical way it was posted in the first place. At least this is how I receive it via my notifications.

I should not give a fuck about it, yet I do (working on this to overcome it eventually one day), as I know a few of my friends and followers do like my content and some told me in private about a few things.

But here is me wanting to desperately know how people felt reading about what we/I wrote so far!

I wanna know how they saw Ryder all the time since I created him and how they do see him now (after reading his take on Techno(ise) and previous chapters but especially when I post chapter 04).

I wanna know if my writing did move someone.

What was written stood out the most.

A favorite special detail.

A favorite sentence.

Stuff like that.

Recapping it all so far, we didn't really receive anything like that on the previous 3 chapters here with one exception.

I wanna know what people think of the Golden Demon of Kabuki.

How they see Vijay.

What they think of the fight scenes (they were so hard to write).

Do they like the dynamic of the characters?

What's the favorite chapter so far.

And so on.

The major thing I receive as a tag comment mostly is how incredible our/my work is ‒ yeah but what specifically? Just give me a detail that actually does tell me you have read it.

I project the tag comments mostly onto how it is packed as in the skill in graphic and layout design. The thing is, my choomzies, I know I am good at this ‒ I do not need to know my graphic skills are xyz good. This is a normal standard for me. Yes I understand a lot of people see it compliment worthy but it really is not what I seek after.

The real deal is the writing and the characters and their dynamics we both (@nervouswizardcycle and me) would love feedback on the most.

How do u see Arki? Vijay? Ryder? Hizumi?

The team's dynamic so far.

Who do you think is main protagonist in this?

What about the music we picked?

Anything.

Maybe I ask for too much, or maybe I should throw just the text onto ao3 without any graphics at all in hope to get the comments we seek after. But this story deserves more than just a text form given the magic of VP and digital tools we have.

I am super good in wishful thinking but reality hits you in the face every day anew.

Also: if there's anyone who feels the same about their work, feel free to tag/contact/send me your stuff, whether be it writing, vp or anything you wish to have a comment on.

I'm sick of this fast paced internet behavior our brains took on during the past few years. No one has time for anything at all (that still includes me too and I am working on it to be better). It's the main reason why I left so many discords now and don't participate on most social media platforms anymore either. Having 5 or more apps to post your content eats all the time and drains you. So I made the decision to focus on my own little server and tblr mainly now.

A small tip:

If I see a post with a lot of text over here (mostly when I get tagged on) I save it to my drafts so I'll always see it as a reminder to sit down and read through it. Bc if I just like it, and reblog it immediately with adding a tag telling the OP I need to find time to read asap, bru, I just won't do it bc it vanishes amongst my other likes/reblogs.

Dunno, but others maybe might add an extra tag where they go through it again to have it as a reminder?However, using drafts is the thing that works for me best when I want to read someones content on another day bc I got noticed or saw it but currently have no time bc of. eg. work.

Anyhow, enough babbling.

I'm off to play at bit Horizon. Thx for reading choom <3