#i left in the dialogue as another hint

[imuncreativesorry]

edit for confusion!: he’s not taller than Alfred he’s standing on a rock

[swan-orpheus]

Where in the world galaxy is Carmen Sandiego Barton Coburn?

[buckets-and-trees]

Pull the String

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark and rough Nomad!Steve Rogers x Female!Reader Word Count: 3.7k Summary: Friday, September 28, 2017. You have to live a normal life after meeting a larger than life figure. It's doable, and you're not stuck in summer dreams, but you do think of him from time to time. Another encounter in the Exiled Nomad Series.

Content/Warnings: explicit smut, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, kissing, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, overstimulation, hint of praise kink, internal ejaculation, overstimulation, emotional unavailability, a broken Nomad who thinks he's fine but definitely is not

Author Notes: I wanted to finish this for your birthday proper, @stargazingfangirl18, but alas, only managed for birthday week. It's not a standalone, so it technically won't fit into your Birthday Bonenanza, but I did use a prompt from your list (bolded dialogue). Credit to @biteofcherry for helping me flesh out Mark from accounting a little bit.

You blinked and then read the text message again.

Something’s come up, sorry, have to cancel tonight.

It was only twenty minutes before Mark was supposed to pick you up for dinner.

A third date dinner.

YOU: Are you okay?

You typed and sent the quick text back.

You saw the three dots that indicated his typing, then they disappeared. You frowned. This was really unlike him. Mark had been nothing but reliable and a gentleman since you’d met him. He worked in the accounting firm on one of the other floors of your office building, and you had seen each other a few times at the coffee shop on the main floor in the morning. He was smart, funny without being a goof. You felt wholly normal around him.

And after having your world rocked on earthquake levels by Captain America over the 4th of July holiday, normal was what you wanted.

MARK: Everything’s fine, but we should probably call this off.

“What?” you couldn’t help actually exclaiming out loud.

You scanned up and down over your texts.

YOU: Did I do something wrong or misread the situation?

You really didn’t think that you had. In fact, you were sure of it, but you’d let him explain just in case.

It had been a few weeks, and the texts had ebbed and flowed naturally. After your second date last Sunday, you’d exchanged a kiss that had been modest but had enough heat to it that it left you starting to think about more. And last night the texts between the two of you had gotten a little spicier than any previous exchanges. Nothing vulgar, but flirty enough that you had shaved your legs and had been debating all day over what to wear.

In your silk robe, makeup finished, and hair nearly done, apparently you didn’t need to make any wardrobe decisions other than slipping into a comfy t-shirt and leggings now.

MARK: No, it’s nothing you did, and I hope we can just be friends.

Your jaw dropped and you threw your phone across the room.

Friends?

You abandoned your mirror, no need to finish getting ready at this point, and went to pick up your phone.

Fuck Mark.

But you opened your text thread with him one final time.

YOU: No hard feelings, if it’s over it’s over, and we can be cordial if we run into each other, but honestly I’m not looking for more platonic friends.

Run-on sentence aside, you felt good about the text after you hit send, and you promptly blocked Mark’s number and deleted all the texts.

And what you said was mostly true.

You actually could use some more platonic friends in this town you’d lived in for less than a year, but you weren’t looking to be friends with guys who did but then didn’t want to date you.

But well into your thirties, you were so used to and exhausted by the runaround of talking, of the dating apps, of the first dates that fizzled into nothings – first dates that you rarely even agreed to go on anymore because it usually turned out to be a waste of time with men who were too boring or too horny. For a moment Mark had been a breath of fresh air, normal and nice and endearing.

And apparently not worth the time and effort you had sunk into the beginning of the blossoming relationship either.

Even at that thought, you were glad you had already followed your self-imposed rule of deleting messages, because you already had the itch to go back and re-read, and so it was good you had removed that temptation. No need to torture yourself.

You turned on your favorite album, cranked up the music, and ordered delivery from your favorite Italian restaurant with tiramisu and extra garlic bread.

You would watch your favorite movie, indulge in your favorite food, and later put yourself to bed with another chapter of the spicy romance novel you were reading and a nice session with your favorite vibrator.

Fuck Mark.

The app said your dinner would arrive in thirty-five minutes, so you slipped into leggings and one of your old comfy t-shirts, and flopped onto the couch to wait, the song from the opening credits of the movie making you feel just a little bit better.

At this stage of life, it was just annoying that Mark had called it off. Make it through dates three and four and people your age were reasonably sure they were headed down the relationship road together. At least that’s how you operated. You knew yourself enough that you weren’t dating someone to try and figure out who you were like you maybe had at times when you were younger, trying to live up to some expectation of society. You were busy enough that your free time was precious, and so you didn’t go on frivolous dates. Most important, as seemingly everyone around you had peeled off and gotten married while you remained perpetually single, you had to figure out if you could be happy alone, and you’d spent time to figure that out and truly find happiness. It was lonely sometimes, but overall you had built a good life, put your time into things that really satisfied you.

When you realized you were more annoyed at having to start over again than over losing Mark, you sighed and realized that was both a good and a bad sign. Good because you clearly weren’t going to be hung up on Mark, but bad because he really hadn’t meant much – you’d just wanted him to.

A small ache in your chest resurfaced.

The person you did miss was Steve Rogers.

And you held no bitterness there – it had been so clear for both of you that it was a summer holiday fling – but you did have some leftover longing.

Who could blame you?

When The Avengers had come together in New York in 2012, you had swooned over Thor, but there was something so steady, charming, and trustworthy about Captain America down to the bone that your admiration had developed into quite the crush. You knew the parasocial relationship that you and the rest of the world developed with him over the years was synthetic. It was fun and harmless.

But then you had met the real Steve Rogers in the flesh – and spent time flesh to flesh with him over the Fourth of July weekend.

The days you spent with him had been both intense and surreal. You had context to who he was from history books and the public persona, but the man behind the shield was naturally and infinitely more than what screens, books, and social media could ever portray. It was clear that being in exile from his country and on the run from most of the world due to their signing of the Sokovia Accords had changed him. But as you talked and spent time together, you suspected that losing his freedom had also freed him in some ways from the burdens of expectation and the colossal mantle and responsibilities of being Captain America.

He hadn’t given up his sense of duty to still help when and where he could, but he could simply be Steve.

In the nearly two days and two nights you’d spent together almost constantly in each other’s company, you’d shared so much, talking over things that were both trivial and meaningful as the conversations evolved. You’d spent time in serene silence together as well.

All of that felt stolen out of the pages of a book on its own.

But then there had also been the sex.

So much super soldier sex.

Rough, intense, sensual, exquisite, and all-consuming.

All of it – the physical and emotional – had been more intimate than anything else you had ever experienced.

Logically you had also come to realize that the pure fact that you both knew the time was so limited and fleeting undoubtedly allowed both of you to suspend boundaries and open up in ways you wouldn’t have if it had been a more conventional coupling up situation.

Yet it didn’t take anything away from the memory of those days together.

Logically you also knew no one would ever compare to him, and you had been realistic about that.

But tonight you wouldn’t worry about letting your thoughts drift to Steve.

It was more difficult to think of the emotional, and so your mind diverted quickly to the physical.

The way he had looked at you, touched you, kissed you, pleasured you. The feel of his cock inside of you. His fingers and his mouth ripping more orgasms from you than…

“No,” you scolded yourself out loud and groaned. “It’s too early on a Friday night to be thinking about sex with Steve.”

Not that it did any good to say so.

You pressed your thighs together, feeling the ache the worst at your core.

No longer paying any attention whatsoever to the movie you had going on the tv, it was the doorbell ringing with your food delivery that saved you from the spiral of desperately horny thoughts you were caught in.

There were two bags deposited on your doorstep, and you snatched them both up eagerly. The larger brown paper bag was emanating some heat, so you opened the smaller one first, assuming correctly that it held your tiramisu. You snatched a spoon from your silverware drawer and went for a sweet, indulgent bite. A little spoiling before you turned to the savory feast.

That bite made you moan in satisfaction. You savored the way the cream was perfectly smooth and balanced with the coffee and liqueur-soaked ladyfingers.

Your doorbell rang again, and you rushed over to open the door, assuming the delivery person probably realized they had forgotten a precious part of your meal – likely the garlic bread, and that would have been a sin!

Spoon still in your mouth, you opened the door and then froze.

Wearing the same aviators and non-descript baseball cap, Steve Rogers stood before you, as if it hadn’t been nearly three months since your once-in-a-lifetime encounter.

This couldn’t be real.

And yet his aggressive grip on your hip as he backed you into your place and kicked the door closed behind him was irrefutable.

Your heart raced as Steve pressed you against the wall, his body flush against yours. Your spoon clattered to the floor. He discarded his sunglasses on the table by the door and then captured your lips in a searing kiss. His beard scratched your skin, a delicious friction that sent shivers down your spine. Your lips parted for the demands of his hungry kiss, and when he licked into your mouth, his tongue slid against yours slowly for a moment, and you knew he was tasting the sugary sweetness of the bite you’d just savored, savoring it himself.

When he finally broke away, you gasped for air. "Steve? What are you doing here?"

"I shouldn't be here," he murmured against your neck, his breath hot on your skin. "But I couldn't stay away."

Your mind reeled. This couldn't be happening. "Isn’t it risky for you to come back?"

Steve's thumb traced your lower lip. "Some risks are worth taking."

You melted into his touch, your body quickly abandoning reason. You yanked him closer by his shirt collar, kissing him fiercely. You removed the hat that was already askew on his head and tangled your fingers in his hair. It was longer now than when you'd last seen him. He groaned, lifting you effortlessly and carrying you to the couch.

Steve laid you down on the cushions, his body covering yours as he kissed a trail down your neck. His beard scratched deliciously against your sensitive skin, making you shiver. Your hands roamed over his broad shoulders, feeling the tight muscles beneath his shirt.

"I've thought about this so much since I left," Steve murmured against your collarbone. His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, caressing the soft skin of your stomach.

You arched into his touch, desperate for more. "Me too," you breathed, that confession opening a dangerous door you had tried to keep closed inside of you.

Steve's hands pushed your shirt up, exposing your breasts. His eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight of you. Slowly, reverently, he lowered his head to take a nipple into his mouth. The wet heat of his tongue made you gasp and clutch at his neck. He gave it a hard, long suck before letting his tongue swirl around your nipple again, laving at it as his hand kneaded the other. It was all you could do to moan, arch into him more, and hold onto him like a lifeline.

Steve kissed his way down your body, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your leggings, looking up at you with a nearly feral hunger in his eye, something dark that sent a thrill of both adrenaline and desire through you, and you lifted your hips because no one had ever looked at you with so much need.

Steve slowly peeled your leggings down, his eyes never leaving yours as he revealed more of your bare skin. You shivered as the cool air hit your exposed flesh, goosebumps rising on your thighs. Steve's large hands caressed up your legs, leaving trails of heat in their wake. He settled his broad shoulders between your legs, spreading you wide beneath him. He kissed the inside of your thigh, then nipped at your tender flesh, making you yelp, before he soothed it with his tongue and then another kiss, even softer than the first. Then he shifted, and you could feel his hot breath against your most intimate parts, already slick for him. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until he placed an open-mouthed kiss to you there, and you sucked in a breath.

"God, I've missed your taste," he growled.

Without warning, he licked a long, slow stripe up your slit, making you gasp and arch off the couch. His strong hands gripped your thighs, holding you open for him as he explored you with his tongue. He circled your clit teasingly before sucking it into his mouth, the pressure making you cry out in pleasure.

Steve's tongue was relentless, alternating between broad, flat strokes and precise flicks that had you writhing beneath him. He slipped two fingers inside you, curling them to stroke your inner walls as he continued his assault on your clit. The dual sensations quickly had you climbing towards your peak.

"Steve," you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair.

He hummed against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Your thighs began to tremble as you teetered on the edge of orgasm. Steve redoubled his efforts, his fingers pumping faster as his tongue flicked rapidly over your sensitive bud.

With a cry, you came undone, your body shuddering as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Steve worked you through your climax, lapping up your release until you gently pushed his head away, oversensitive.

But he growled and bit at the inside of your other thigh. “I’m not done eating my fill of this pretty cunt yet.”

You gasped at Steve's words, a fresh wave of arousal pulsing through you despite your recent orgasm. His blue eyes were dark with desire as he looked up at you from between your thighs.

"Steve," you breathed, torn between wanting more and feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of sensation.

He seemed to sense your hesitation. "Color?" he asked, his voice husky but almost gentle.

"Green," you replied. How could you deny him? This? When you assumed you would never see him again.

Steve's lips curled into a wicked smile. "Good girl," he purred, before diving back in.

This time, his tongue explored you even more thoroughly, dipping inside you to taste your essence before returning to your clit. He alternated between broad strokes and precise flicks, keeping you on edge. When he slipped two fingers back inside you, curling them to hit that perfect spot, tears were creeping up on you for the mingled overstimulation and ecstasy.

Your hips began to move of their own accord, grinding against Steve's face as he worked you towards another climax. The coarse hair of his beard rubbed deliciously against your inner thighs, adding to the overwhelming sensations.

"That's it," Steve murmured against your flesh. "Let go for me, sweet girl."

His words, combined with a particularly well-timed curl of his fingers and another hard suck on your clit, sent you careening over the edge once more. You cried out, your back arching off the couch as your second orgasm ripped through you, even more intense than the first.

Steve didn't let up, his tongue and fingers working you through the aftershocks until you were a trembling, oversensitive mess. Only then did he pull away, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh before sitting back on his heels.

You lay helpless, trying to catch your breath. He leaned forward and caught the tears on your cheeks with strong swipes of his thumbs. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be ruined for anyone else.”

Your breath caught in your throat at Steve's bold declaration. The intensity in his eyes made you shiver with anticipation.

"I already am," you confessed softly.

Something flashed in Steve's eyes - possessiveness, pride, and a hint of vulnerability. He surged forward to capture your lips in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue as he devoured your mouth.

Steve's hands roamed your body, relearning every curve and plane. When he cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over sensitive nipples, you arched into his touch with a gasp.

"Please" you mumbled against his lips.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours.

You surged forward for another kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer. "I need you inside me."

Steve groaned, his hips grinding against yours. You could feel the hard length of him through his jeans, and you ached to have him fill you completely. He sat back, quickly stripping off his shirt to reveal his chiseled torso. Your hands roamed over his muscled chest and abs, marveling at the perfection of his body.

As Steve unbuckled his belt and shoved his jeans down, you took the opportunity to remove your shirt fully, leaving you both gloriously naked. He paused for a moment, drinking in the sight of you laid out before him, flushed and wanting. His eyes raked over your body with such intensity that you felt more exposed than you ever had before, curves and scars and imperfections on full display. You felt yourself flush under his gaze.

You reached for him, pulling him down on top of you. The feeling of his bare skin against yours was electrifying. Steve captured your lips in another passionate kiss as he settled between your thighs. You could feel the hard length of him pressing against your entrance, and you rolled your hips, silently begging him to take you.

Steve broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as he slowly pushed inside. You both groaned at the exquisite feeling of him stretching and filling you. When he was fully seated, he paused, but not long enough for you to adjust to his size. But the painful pleasure of it only fueled your hunger for more of him.

"You feel so good," he breathed, his voice strained, words hot against the crook of your neck. "So tight and perfect for me."

You whimpered in response, overwhelmed by the fullness and the intensity of having Steve inside you again after so long. Your fingers dug into his broad shoulders as he began to move, starting with slow, deep thrusts that had you gasping with each roll of his hips.

"Steve," you moaned, arching into him. "More, faster."

He growled low in his throat, picking up the pace. The couch creaked beneath you as Steve's powerful thrusts drove you into the cushions. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, changing the angle so he hit that perfect spot inside you with each stroke.

"That's it," Steve panted, his voice rough with desire. "Take all of me."

Your world narrowed to the feeling of Steve moving inside you, the sound of skin on skin, and the increasingly desperate noises falling from both your lips.

Steve's rhythm became more frantic, his hips snapping against yours with increasing force. The intensity of his thrusts had you clinging to him, nails digging into his back as pleasure built within you. Each powerful stroke sent shockwaves through your body, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Look at me," Steve commanded, his voice husky and strained.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. The raw emotion you saw there – desire, possessiveness, and something deeper you couldn't quite name – took your breath away.

"I want to see you fall apart," he growled, never breaking eye contact as he continued to drive into you relentlessly. “I want to watch what only I can do to you.”

One of his hands snaked between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with the precision he perfected in the heat of July.

"Come for me," Steve commanded, his voice strained. "I want to feel you come around my cock."

His words and the relentless pressure on your clit sent you spiraling into ecstasy. You cried out Steve's name as your orgasm crashed over you, your inner walls clenching tightly around him. The intensity of your climax triggered Steve's own release. He groaned, burying himself deep inside you as he came.

For a moment, you both lay there, panting and trembling in the aftermath. Steve's weight pressed you into the couch, but you relished the feeling of being surrounded by him.

When both of you settled back into even breathing, he planted slow kisses along your jaw and blazed a trail back to your mouth. Cock still inside you, he kissed you slowly. Slow and unrepentant, in no hurry now, only drinking you in, and you let your hands stroke up and down his back, relishing in the impossible and stolen closeness.

You could survive a second encounter with this super soldier.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

read more of the: Exiled Nomad Series

[lipringlrh]

look who's staring now | LN4

summary: your boyfriends so pretty whilst he sleeps, how could you not stare at him?

pairing: lando norris x genderneutral!reader

an: short and sweet. more dialogue than i'm use to so please do let me know how you find it!

word count: ~800

warnings: cuddly lando, (pretends to not be) cuddly reader, fluff

feedback appreciated!

...

It wasn't late at night but it wasn't exactly early either. Lando was asleep - completely knocked out, or so you thought - in your arms, on top of your chest. You were meant to be asleep but you just couldn't help but stare at your boyfriend. He looked so peaceful and relaxed with a small hint of a smile on his face, how could you not stare at him?

Lando had been drifting briefly in and out of sleep for a while but he didn't particularly mind. He'd gone to bed rather early and whenever he was awake, he was comforted by your arms. This time though, he felt compelled to actually open his eyes instead of just falling back asleep; he swore he could feel eyes on him and god forbid he miss a chance to tease you about it.

He was quick to open his eyes and meet yours, making sure there was no chance you could hide the fact that you'd been staring at him.

"Hi, baby," he whispered teasingly, his voice slightly croaky from sleep.

He caught you staring and you did not like it at all. Usually in the relationship, you weren't the touchy-feely one, as much as you wanted to be. You held back a lot, trying to be independent. Lando didn't really care and often became extra touchy enough for the both of you or so he liked to claim.

Along with this, you pretended to never be the lovey-dovey kind, always making Lando persuade you into hugs and cuddles. He knew it was just an act though, with you being happy to cuddle at any point of the day.

"You okay, sweetheart? Got a nice view or something?" He whispered, grabbing your hand and moving it to scratch his head. It was almost subconscious now, making you scratch his head, but you both secretly loved it.

You looked away from him, knowing he could tell you were flustered, another thing he would tease you with.

"I'm perfect me. Yeah - completely. You - how was your sleep going?" You asked, still turned away.

You took one glance at him and you knew instantly it made you seem more flustered. He was looking at you with a knowing gaze, spilling his thoughts of "I know what you're thinking, don't hide it.

"It's just really hot at the moment," you tried to justify, not ready to give yourself away just yet.

"Isn't that just me next to you, hmm?" He murmured, pressing short but sweet kisses to your chest.

You couldn't help but laugh lightly at him, "I'll just let you believe what you want to believe."

"Okay, baby," he smiled, moving his trail of kisses up to your cheek, "you do that. I know it's true,"

He left a peck on your lips just in time to cut off any reply you thought about giving, "I love you, sweetheart."

He couldn't express enough his feelings for you and it felt wrong to squash them down into three small words. But even with every word from every language, and telling you in every lifetime, he doesn't believe he'd ever get to convey it fully. You knew the feeling because it was the exact way you felt too.

"I love you too, Lan," you whispered, kissing him once more, "go back to sleep, before you get too big-headed though."

"Got to stop staring at me then, baby, could just feel it. I know I'm too sexy but-"

He was cut off by you lightly swatting him, then giggling to yourself. He couldn't help but watch, solely enamoured by you.

"Look who's staring now."

"It's 'cause I think you're beautiful and pretty and sexy," he gulped, not being able to describe you as well as you deserve.

"Yeah?"

"You gonna tell me I'm sexy now?" He looked up, wiggling his eyebrows slightly.

"You're really sexy, Lan, you should know that." You smiled at him, running your thumb across his cheek.

"So that's why you were staring at me whilst I'm asleep?" He titled his head, mocking you again in the way you both loved.

"Go back to bed."

"But-"

You cut his off, pressing your hand over his mouth, "Shush, bed."

You waited a moment before removing your hand.

"One last kiss please," he leaned up, almost pouting at you.

Of course, you had to comply, why would you not, and gave him many sweet pecks all over his face.

"I love you, Lando."

"I love you too angel," he promised, lowing his head back on top of your chest, smiling as your hand moved to his hair, and you both finally shut your eyes.

"Don't worry, your staring's cute."

f1 masterlist |

[grunckle]

Qualia and Ascension in Rain World

(To clarify I'm mostly talking about base-game lore and not including Downpour, but honestly most of these things can transfer over)

Qualia

One thing that’s relatively hidden in Rain World’s text and subtext is the concept of qualia. Qualia is described as being, “sensory experiences that have distinctive subjective qualities but lack any meaning or external reference to the objects or events that cause them.” It’s a personal sensory experience that cannot be comprehended by another person other than the individual themself, and are often hard to convey via language.

Qualia is a reoccurring motif in Rain World, but what’s more important is the way in which it’s conveyed to the player. The picture that’s painted is that of a world or civilization that placed a great importance on the individuals’ experience, and it’s shown through pearls or environmental details.

Here are some examples of qualia appearing in the text through pearls.

“It's qualia, or a moment - a very short one. Someone is holding a black stone, and twisting it slightly as they drag their finger across the rough surface. The entire sequence is shorter than a heartbeat, but the resolution is extraordinary.”

“A memory... but not really visual, or even concrete, in its character. It reminds of the feeling of a warm wind, but not the physical feeling but the... inner feeling. I don't think it has much utility unless you are doing some very fringe Regeneraist research.”

“This one... is authored by Five Pebbles, when he was young. There has been an attempt to scramble the data, but it's sloppily done, and most is still somewhat legible. It's written in internal language, or thoughts, so it is hard for me to translate so you would understand.”

But the most prominent examples of qualia and it’s importance in this world are the Memory Crypts and possibly ancient naming conventions. The deep purple pearl (shortened) found in Shaded Citadel states,

“In this vessel is the living memories of Seventeen Axes, Fifteen Spoked Wheel, of the House of Braids (…) Seventeen Axes, Fifteen Spoked Wheel nobly decided to ascend in the beginning of 1514.008, after graciously donating all (ALL!) earthly possessions to the local Iterator project (Unparalleled Innocence), and left these memories to be cherished by the carnal plane. The assorted memories and qualia include:”

Ancients likely mutated their own neural tissue into the cabinet beasts we see in Shaded, which were used to store their memories and qualia before ascension. Even james said once "how 5 pebs got the rot is a good hint here" in response to someone asking how cabinet beasts work, and how they're made.

Adding on to this, ancient (and iterator) naming conventions seem to be built off of the concept of qualia, with them focusing on individual images or experiences.

Nineteen Spades, Endless Reflections

Droplets upon Five Large Droplets

Two Sprouts, Twelve Brackets

Looks to the Moon

Generally, this all points to a world focused on the expression and preservation of the individual experience. You could even consider some of the echo dialogue as more evidence for this running motif, but I already have too many quotes lol.

Ascension

So now time to talk about my interpretation of ascension. In short, you turn into a worm, but I should probably explain more than that.

So its been surfacing on rw-tumblr that the light in the end of the game is called the egg in files. Although file names shouldn't be taken as fact or canon, it is pretty obvious given the birth imagery.

But something a little lesser known is what happens to the worm that takes us down to the void-sea depths. Void worms normally have a bright glowing effect, on their body, which is present for ours as well. But after it unhooks us, it swims down, and when it passes us on it's way back that glowing effect is gone.

To be honest, I don't really think this can be interpreted in many ways, but the most obvious one and the one I personally subscribe to is that the worm laid the egg. Biology and spirituality really aren't that different in Rain World, it's implied that karma is stored in the brain through Five Pebbles's slideshow. Adding on to that, we see voidspawn after eating an iterator neuron. One's spiritual state is innately tied to their mental state, and that dictates what and what they can't perceive.

And for that reason I decide to take a more biology leaning approach to what happens in the ending. At face value, we are fertilizing the egg of a void worm to be reborn into a voidspawn.

Not only do void spawn and void worms have multiple characteristics in common, (worm like bodies, tendrils/tentacles, glowing heads, void spawn look microbial and void worms are likely some of the oldest "life" in game)

but voidspawn are seen inside egg-like coverings and share the same egg light seen in the end of the game, confirmed to be the same thing by Videocult in a livestream they did.

I believe that all this points to ascension being re-birth into a voidspawn, which eventually undergoes metamorphose into a worm. Higher-dimensional beings, who manifest and give birth to a new world.

So how does this tie in with qualia? Another thing you might know is that the area in which void spawn are most plentiful is Shaded Citadel and areas in Shoreline near Shaded. And shaded is absolutely packed with Cabinet Beasts, even outside Memory Crypts. I believe these qualia-storing creatures are what manifest voidspawn.

From what we see in ascension, it still looks physical and largely based around the real world. Hunter still has his scars and see's an iterator, survivor sees the slug tree in a more mystical and formless state, and monk sees survivor frankly just looking like a normal slugcat. I think that ascension is a product of qualia. We transcend our earthly knowledge via the egg, and our own qualia is used to give birth to a new world. This is why voidspawn appear most in Shaded Citadel.

Now I won't be getting into Void-Worm theories too much here, I'm mostly focused on ascension but I can't ignore the Gnosticism parallels. For those who don't know, Void Worms heavily resemble the Yaldaboath from Gnosticism, along with sharing some similar celestial motifs.

and running with that some people theorize that, like the Yaldabaoth, void worms are responsible for manifesting the material world. Ascension seems to be a mix of the concepts of Gnosis and Nirvana, but I believe it might lean more on Gnosis.

From my limited knowledge, Gnosis is a few things, some of which being a state achieved from experiences or intuitions, and an essential part to salvation is personal knowledge. While researching a bit, I came across this text by Peter Wilberg called "From NEW AGE to NEW GNOSIS" which brings up some comparisons between Gnosticism and qualia as well.

"Gnosis is subjective knowledge of an inner universe made up not of matter, energy, space or time but of countless qualitative spheres or ‘planes’ of awareness – a knowledge obtained directly through inter- subjective resonance. It is the subjective science of this inner universe."

One thing though that has been brought up when discussing this is how this can be consolidated with the tone of the ending. It is pretty un-ambiguously happy, but if we're going with the Void worm Yaldaboath theory then that would put a bit of a sour twist on it right?

I agreed with these for some time, but now I actually think it ties in perfectly with Rain World's core themes as stated by the devs, "overcoming differences and finding empathy." I don't think the void worms are "evil" or malevolent, but I think they (and subsequently us after ascending) play a key role in demonstrating this theme.

By manifesting the physical world, we allow these souls to experience life and develop their own qualia so one day they can ascend themselves. We are shown compassion, and pass it forward.

[taegularities]

colour me in: blooming | jjk (m)

Summary: You're the flower blossoming in Jungkook's living room, no matter how relentless the rain. And you're the sun he tirelessly orbits — warm as a home.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; hints of angst, fluff overload, suggestive ➳ warnings: full jk pov!, fluff fluff fluff, but also crying, bits of insecurities, mommy and daddy issues, their friendddsss <3, oc's favourite blanket smells like him <3, his feelings for her are consuming him in a gorgeous way 🥺, grocery shopping 🍏 and then a housewarming party, jk chocolate chip nips appreciation (oc pinches them lol), horniness, implied sex + implied boner, sexual tension, flirting and teasing and bickering, yearning, convos about their relationship/life, cooking together hehe, jk is so… jk, kissing/making out, the ending ♡ ➳ word count: 15.6k ➳ a/n: domesticity is my favourite city and i never wanna leave lol. i've genuinely been enjoying fluff more than i ever thought i would. this chapter made me so damn happy and i hope it has the same effect on you guys, too <3 let me know how you liked it; feedback is always appreciated 🥺 also, there are lil sub-headings to avoid confusion with the timeline!! enjoy!! 🤍 ➳ a/n2: even though i am a tiny bit late… happy birthday @jkaxl. love you so much, axelle <3 ➳ listen to: daylight by taylor swift (ty anon <3) | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

”Are you happy?”

“I’m… I’m adjusting to it all. It’s new. But so far I feel— relieved.”

“Okay.” He pauses. “I’m sorry I didn’t encourage that feeling earlier. But… you know. You found your way on your own, and somehow, I find that just as remarkable. If not so much more.”

“Thank you.”

Silence breaks the dialogue, but there are still shreds of unspoken words he’s not letting out yet. Right on the tip of his tongue, resting quietly; so you wait. Let your weary gaze slump to your lap, blinking until you hear a rustle and a—

“Do you want to come over sometime?”

You don’t know.

So you respond in just that uncertainty, “Maybe at some point? When it’s… not so overwhelming anymore.”

“I understand. Hey,” another break in his speech, “I’m proud of you.”

Your heart suspends for a fraction of a moment, but you feel the seething, searing pain. Fresh, clumping up your throat.

“…Thank you.”

THE SUNDAY AFTER THE PRESS CONFERENCE

When Jungkook locks the door, the apartment is quiet, but the living room light still glowing.

Still fired up and hot, the cool back of his hand pats his warm neck and cheek. Your name threatens to tumble off his tongue, but an oddly calm feeling advises against it. And as he carries his bag into the living room, setting it down next to a big flower pot you so wanted, he sees why.

Because you’re curled up on the couch, temple against the back of it, legs pulled in. Your favourite blanket — that you swear constantly smells like him — is draped half over you, falling off one of your shoulders.

You’re sound asleep. 

Jungkook recognises the pout even from afar; lets his eyes drift from your face to the hand peeking out of the blanket. Brushing a piece of paper that is holding on for dear life, attempting not to slip off your lap.

What if he never moved? If he kept staring?

Back in college, one of his dearest professors used to say, “You know it’s art when even blinking feels like a waste of time. You don’t want to spend a second not looking at it.”

That very semester is still a major component of Jungkook’s memory. Ever since, he’s seen a handful and a dozen and a hundred pieces that matched the words once uttered.

Just, never as much as today.

The sky has obscured since he left two hours ago — he wonders how fast that time passed for you. Either way, he reckons you didn’t rest until your body forced you to. Because it’s not anywhere near bedtime; but the changes in your life constantly add to your exhaustion.

He wanted to help. He did all morning before you sent him away, arguing that, “You’re already doing too much. And you hate paperwork anyway!”

To which he expressed, “But I don’t hate you or having you here!”

“Just go!” You reached to his left nipple, poking it, and he, wearing a frisky smirk, instinctively threw a protective hand over it. “The muscles demand your attention desperately. Just don’t look at other girls’ butts, ‘kay?”

He chuckled.

You made it sound like a life-altering goodbye to a year-long journey instead of a brief trip to the gym. He nodded solemnly, nearly saluting as he agreed, “You’re right. Gonna make sure I’m able to crush you extra hard.”

But it seems you crushed and knocked yourself out well enough. And that after he sent out various emails with you, drafting and crafting a battle plan, googling salient issues and their solutions, and writing down lists of everything still left to do before you can actually move in.

The two of you are lucky the landlord is laid-back. Usually, they don’t let anyone move in so quickly; demand a couple months. And you’ll already be settling here officially the very next.

Not that it makes any difference.

You already spend your dusks and dawns here, clinging, reluctant to go home. And he won’t tell you to; he’d be a fool to. Plus, he hates his bed cold.

Jungkook’s steps are slow, muscles painful to the touch. He sweeps his tresses back as he nears your slumbering, balled up form, soon pressing a hand into the arm of the couch. Suppressing a groan, he leans in; frees your closed eye from a lock before he plants a kiss next to it.

You stir with the softest flutter of your eyelashes, just a teeny tiny bit.

God. You tilt his world off its axis.

“Baby,” he whispers.

It must be pulling you out of the remnants of your doze, because your muscles awaken, corners of your lips twitching. The movement of your legs finally pushes the paper off the blanket, and Jungkook hurries to catch it before it can drift to the floor; places it on the table.

He kneels; and for the briefest, smallest moments, you flinch when your pupils eventually align with his. Then, relaxation floods you anew, and you grip the blanket, sliding it back over you — only for it to glide down again.

You smile — a tired beam, accompanied by a sigh. Not quite wide, because you’re not fully there yet, but still so genuine. Stretching a little, you murmur, “You’re back.”

“And you’re still working,” he scolds, albeit cushioning his words by bringing a fingertip to your jaw. Flicking affectionately, softly. “Did you eat?”

“Mhmmm. But it’s—” Your hand taps for something, moving under the blanket; and a second later, you’re lighting up your phone, squinting at it. “It’s not late. Gonna eat with you again. I’m not that tired anymore.”

As if on cue, you yawn, tears of weariness collecting. You interrupt it with a gentle snicker and promise, “I mean it.”

The lopsided smile emerges on his features quickly. The drowsy, vulnerable tone in your voice caresses his heart like a gust… but the meaning behind it doesn’t pass by him so fast.

“Don’t overwork yourself, okay?” he repeats for the fifth time today alone; it’s become a constant habit. A reminder, like clockwork. “The body knows when you do.”

“No. I feel great.”

“Just. Be nice to yourself, munchkin.”

“I am,” you defend, attempting to stress the verb, but not quite getting there, “I am. Don’t worry so much.”

An impossible demand; but how would he explain it to you?

Despite the shake of his head, he still gives in, “Okay. I’ll shower and be back in a sec, yeah?”

He waits for your confirmation until you hum in unintelligible agreement, moving back in to plant a kiss on your forehead. Rushes to the shower, washes off today’s effort.

Wet hair strands pushed back, he finds you shuffling and organising the papers you read and filled in today, placing them neatly in the middle of the table. You look more awake now, delivering a content smile before heading to the kitchen with him.

Only, your mind might not be entirely unfogged yet — because your movements are slow. Different from how he handles the stir fry that the two of you cooked for lunch together.

You were proud of your creation — told Jungkook how you’re still far from the skills he possesses, but not bad to start with and improving every day. Seasoning better, understanding how to cut faster without hurting yourself in the process.

It’s lovely, watching the contentment spread in your eyes.

Yet, Jungkook always makes sure to stand close to your back, hands lifted, persistently ready to salvage the situation if need be.

But right now, judging from your clearly burdened brain, he bestowed a relatively simple task upon you. And you look so cute doing it — bun all messy, shoulders slumped, sporting (after stealing) his joggers since they’re so ridiculously comfortable, so get your own.

He side-eyes you every now and then, forbearing a chuckle; but when your lower lip juts in concentration, he can’t help but sling an arm around your waist. The jug containing the iced tea shakes, and you hold the glass carefully, voicing a little, “Oh— I… Kook.”

You’re wide-eyed and caught off guard; blinking when he tilts his head and leaves a kiss under your ear. 

You raise your shoulder at the tickling sensation, and when you call his name again, your voice is reprimanding. But he could pick out the endearment even in his sleep.

That’s how it goes every hour of the day; sweet and new ever since you started frequenting his place even more often than before.

Something has occurred since the press conference. Two days only — but the universe has changed. Maybe it has expanded faster than ever and birthed a couple billion more stars, made even the nights brighter. He doesn’t know.

All he does recognise is that unnamed, newfound feeling spreading in his chest, and he’s been unblurring it. Bit by bit. Letting it take on a form that will soon consume him. He’s sure.

And soon, there’ll be a fitting word and definition matching this phenomenon, too.

It’s triggered by even the smallest things.

Like by the sound of your steps when you walk through the apartment. Or by the way you hum your favourite song all the time, unconsciously; then singing the line you hold dearest to your heart before resuming to the hum.

Trust in me when I say…

Or even… by how you’re facing him an hour later, satiated and cross-legged on the bed as you finish up today’s work.

You’ll have to notify the bank and whatnot of your move soon, so you need to brainstorm the relevant institutions that the new address and information will go to. It shouldn’t take too long; you’re diligent, so you’ll just be noting down all numbers next to the places you need to contact and then crash.

Jungkook soon takes over that task, lips moving as he reads the words, writes them down. And amidst the end-of-the-day chore, you crane your neck to read, and tell him, “You have such pretty handwriting.”

“So do you. I didn’t know you made circles over your lower case I’s,” he looks closer to where you scribbled, tapping the pen against a letter, “and awwh. The curves of the T’s!”

You giggle before you add, “I’ve heard a pretty handwriting symbolises inner beauty, by the way.”

“Ohh, so we’re both beautiful.”

“No doubt. We need to take more pictures… we look great together.”

That’s what’s been filling the hours of these days, too, Jungkook supposes. The airy, light atmosphere within the four walls he’s come to share with you. Laughter and shared glances, despite the stack awaiting you — because it signifies far more than paperwork.

Which is why it surprises him when a subtle switch occurs, suddenly and unannounced.

When he looks at your fingers lifting a paper, he can’t say what you’re seeing, but your ardour falters a little. Crooning dying, expression not matching the smile on the pictures you spoke of.

Delicately, you trace the edges of the document before putting it back down, aligning it with the rest of the pile. Pushing the whole thing to the side, you sigh, and he, a silent observer up to this moment, asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Hm?”

“You’re thinking about something. And I don’t like it when you’re quiet like this.”

“Oh… It’s nothing.” The shrug is subtle and unconvincing, and the tight shutting of your lips so telling to him. He senses the tension before you finally reveal, “Dad called today. And…” He waits; another shrug. “It’s nothing. He just asked how I was holding up. And that he’s sorry things had to escalate on Friday.”

Ah. Odd.

Jungkook would never say it to you: Because he has never been one to talk families down, sever a bond by voicing his opinion, even if the relationship’s already hanging by a thread. No… he’d never say it to you.

But.

There’s a dull realisation in the back of his mind; and it evokes quiet anger in him. That… there was always a potential anchor inhabiting the same house as you, but never serving as one.

Hidden behind your mother’s back, letting it all pass — probably for you to build character.

Jungkook has always assumed that his dad did just that, too. Throwing him into the world without support, letting a seemingly irresponsible teenager, and then young adult, experience hardships in order to learn how to deal with them.

In contrast to your father, his dad wouldn’t apologise to him… yet, in the end, morally and emotionally, both your families fucked up big time.

“Oh…”

You nod, elaborating, “He wanted to know if I was going to visit him. But I need a bit of time.”

Right… thinking about it, you haven’t seen your father in a while. And your mother hasn’t blown up your phone since Friday evening — when you came out of the glass building, with equally glassy yet hopeful eyes.

You truly must have let off steam in there for her to back away.

“Is that why you were saying you’ll be rushing to the house after work?”

Because as far as he recalls, you’ve been talking about gathering your stuff immediately after working hours — or on Saturday mornings. Never any other time. Because you know they won’t be at home then.

“Yeah,” you confirm, “I feel horrible neglecting him like that, because he seems to be glad that I’m happy, but…”

Your lips point downward; you clear your throat, but it doesn’t hide the tremble in your voice, “I just wish he’d defended me sometimes. Dunno. Maybe he did and I just don’t know about it? And it never worked? It’s what I like to think.”

God…

“Because,” you continue your vent, “he was strict but not like her, and… Sometimes he did recognise bullshit when he saw it. I’d hear them talk and he wouldn’t always see eye to eye with her. But a bit more open support would’ve been cool, you know?”

Shit, how it angers Jungkook.

The knot in your throat; how you avert his gaze; the looming tears. It all angers him.

He moves his hand to your knee, keeping his voice and heart steady for you. Simply uttering, “Baby…”

“And… and then today he suddenly seemed… I don’t know.” You take a deep breath, shaking your head. Your blinking fastens, and you vehemently dodge Jungkook’s eyes. “I dunno how casually he said it, but he told me he was proud.”

The way you emphasise the word… as if it’s a stranger to you, like you’re trying it out…

Jungkook sighs, heart and chest heavy, muttering so kindly—

“Oh, sweetheart… Ah, come here—”

His palm shoves the papers aside some more, uncaring, and brings you closer to his body. Yearning for your embrace, he shifts with you until your legs wrap around each other. Fingers slither to your chin to raise it, and then pinch your cheek adoringly.

The bedroom light falls into your sparkling eyes, shiny with the dampness. You’re not crying, but you sniffle for a moment.

“Of course he is,” he whispers, keeping your face upright, “what’s there not to be proud of? You’re so fucking cool.”

“…You think?”

“Of course I do,” he repeats, “you’re so inspiring and smart and funny and awesome. I’m the proudest of you, in fact.”

The heat increases beneath his palms as your cheek smoulders, pupils promptly softening. As if the outline of your irises is blurring, relinquishing the harder, unwanted emotions.

“I could probably live with just that,” you respond, managing a tender laugh and mixing it with your sniffles. “But…”

But perhaps, the heavy heart won’t get entirely lighter just yet. And Jungkook’s turns half blue at the same time as yours.

“I wish my mom could react the same way instead of being so… stubborn. I mean, it’s a good thing that I want to stand on my own two feet! And aside from work — she also saw me in the summer, and she knew how I felt without you. She sees how I feel now with you, too, and yet.”

You puff out some air, as if you’d been dying to rant; and he imitates the release of a quiet breath, but for wholly other reasons.

Because…

Along with the melancholy drenching your voice, the guilt shoots an arrow to his heart. Guilty about this damn summer; about the days he nearly gave up on you. If he could encase your fractured soul in a quick cure…

“I’m sorry she keeps hurting you, baby. And… I’m sorry you cried. Being sad over a loser like me was the last thing you needed, so…”

He’s half joking; lifting the corner of his lips. You seem to know, too, because you match his smile — still pledging, “Being sad sucked, but… you’re right here now and. I do need you.”

It’s so easy for you to tinge his entire being in a bright pink. Because somewhere in the depths of his mind, he admits that he wanted to hear this. That he wants you to need him as much as he needs you.

“And I’m right here to stay,” he promises. “Even if she doesn’t. Okay?”

“Yeah… yeah. But maybe someday she can be proud, too.”

It’s fucking you up more than he thought. Probably more than you thought.

“I’m sure,” he guarantees, “some people accept their mindsets as the only truth, angel, but one day she’ll come around.” You only nod. So he adds, “I’ll fix this with you.”

“Fix it?”

“The issues you deal with. And the ones I deal with. You and I together, okay?”

Your motions are slow. The nod is barely one; maybe because his hands refuse to establish yet another distance to your skin. And maybe because you’ve tired yourself out once and for all. The slight slouch is telling; your body needs some rest.

Enough with the papers.

“You know… somehow, this excites me,” he says. The grin emerging confuses you for a while; the flicker in your eyes is as delightful as the moment. “Pulling out all the stops and making things better with you, I mean. I wouldn’t wanna do it with anyone else.”

And he’d know. Because if he’d been comfortable enough, he would’ve long ago; he had the chance to. Yet, the courage never surfaced — until with you.

His touch drops from your face to the side of your neck, shaking you gently before he says, “You excite me all the time.”

Shouldn’t be news to you — bearing his unceasing kisses and everlasting words in mind, his bliss is difficult to miss. There’s barely any containing it around you.

And maybe you know what he means; because judging from your dreamy smile, you can’t seem to muster any self-control either. Feeling the joy bubbling, growing, simmering in the middle of your stomach until it explodes and you—

Wrap your arms around his neck abruptly. Attacking him until balance abandons him, falling back onto the bed before you land on top of him. The hug is crushing, your body pushing into his with every sliver of fondness you can summon.

He could say something. Blurt more admissions dipped in honey. But he doesn’t question it; doesn’t comment on it. Only relishes the silence and your warm cheek against his chest, cuddling in.

And sighs in contentment.

A WEEK LATER

You’re messing up the structured system he established for himself.

The groceries are scattered in the cart; instead of playing Tetris with them, as he usually does, you’re piling them up randomly, unaware of the mess.

Jungkook doesn’t have the heart to tell you that the pack of eggs isn’t supposed to be balancing on top of other products like this. Because holy shit, you are buzzing. Not because you don’t know how to grocery shop, but because of the conversation this morning.

”I've got a whole list in my head. We’ll need a shit ton to make this work tonight.”

You were taming your hair as you listened; watching your reflection follow your movements — and as he readied himself for the day, Jungkook watched from afar.

You’d decided that for now, a week was enough to mourn the loss of whatever familial bonds could’ve been. Just last night you told him that starting this new life means an opportunity to gradually leave your sorrow behind, even if it takes some time.

And in celebration of the new arc you’re so joyfully approaching, you’d decided to host a housewarming of some sorts.

Jungkook’s friends already know his place; but the pronoun has changed. This time, you want them to step into your apartment, too.

Securing a hair strand with a clip, you asked, “Do we have it all here?”

“Not everything. Gotta go grocery shopping later.”

“Ohhh…”

Your fingers floated to the edge of the wash basin. You held it in your grip, leaning over it a little, staring into your own eyes quietly. He checked with another step closer to the bathroom, glimpsing at the expression in the mirror.

Calm, but thinking.

“What is it?” he asked, pulling his jeans’ zipper close.

“Uhh. Do you need help?”

“You should rest. You’re already doing so m—”

“No, no, I mean…” You let the sink go, folding your fingers. Inhaling for just a moment when your eyes fell on his bare torso. “I want to go grocery shopping with you. It’s Saturday and I have nothing to do until tonight. So… Please don’t go without me?”

The big eyes and saccharine question went straight to his heart; like one of Cupid’s pointy, sharp arrows targeting the exact middle of the organ. What else could he have done other than breaking into a breathy laugh — wide grin building a lively start to the morning.

“Of course. I’ll wait until you’re ready then.”

You raised a triumphant, tight fist, and he shook his head in delight. Diminished the distance between your bodies, a hand pressing into the back of your head before pulling you to his lips and placing a kiss to your forehead. Right before—

“Hey— ouch?”

It didn’t hurt; but he still felt the fingers pinching his tiny nipples — and heard your cheeky, “Why are they always hard? And why are you always shirtless, Jeon?”

He didn’t argue that changing into outdoor clothes didn’t count. Instead, the bright golden light you cast in his mind distracted him, taking him back.

You’d said that to him before; everything has changed since then.

“Why are you smiling like this?” you ask, holding a pack of four yellow apples in one hand, red ones in the other.

“Hm?” Jungkook rubs a hand over his cheek, feeling the glee in his countenance before flattening the dimples. “It’s nothing. I’m just liking how much fun you’re having.”

“I am! But most of all because I can’t wait to cook with you today.”

Your words instantly conjure pictures of a potential evening; idyllic ones mixing with utter chaos. Rushing and cutting and serving — but for one of the very first times together. Only milestones ahead.

A higher pitched gushing threatens to fall out of Jungkook, right here in the fruit aisle. But instead, you raise your hands again, asking, “Which ones?”

“Hmmm… neither. Let’s get the green ones.”

You let your arms fall, a finger pointing towards him, and say, “Ohhh. Good call.”

And then you proceed to complicate the cart labyrinth again. What a savagery. Jungkook waits until you’ve turned around and works on reorganising again, following his system. Then, he thinks — this could be draining, but it’s not.

Because you keep each other entertained. And neither of you bothers about the gapes you receive.

Not when he leans over the cart, shoving it in teeny tiny steps; continuing when he realises it makes you laugh.

Or, when you cheer once you find something the two of you like that nobody else enjoys; accompanied by exclaimed Ohhhhs and Haaas. And not as you argue when you find something to disagree about.

It seems that you do not dig dates, and he, the friendly omnivore, takes playful offence in that. He teases you across half the supermarket until you turn the tables, picking up an eggplant and interrupting him with a,

“Look! This is you.”

The roll of his eyes only veils his amusement a little, he’s sure. Because your enthusiasm remains steady, including the impish pull of his beige Supreme beanie over his eyes and a kiss to his cheek that paints the spot in a rosy dust.

Pointing to a glass of honey, Jungkook soon fights back, “And this is you.”

“…This is way too sweet and I do not know how to counter it.”

“Romance tends to make people speechless, darling.”

Your expression resembles an ellipsis; whether you’re out of answers or overwhelmingly affected by the selection of his words, he doesn’t know. He knows he’d short circuit if you ever said that to him.

“Fair,” is what you settle on, though, “wouldn’t I know what brain outages your romantic ass causes.”

You’re the model definition of a cheesy, movie-esque couple. Taehyung and Eun differ from the nature the two of you showcase; they already threatened to bring paper bags in case Jungkook and you overdo it tonight.

Can’t blame them. The world is certainly pink-tinted when you bicker and jest at the register; or when you hurry through an Ikea — courtesy of your last minute plan to buy plants — to make it home and cook in time.

Just this morning, you were daydreaming about the concept of furniture retailers and how such shops allow building a home with the most special person.

And then, as if wanting to clarify your sentiments, you turned in the car, facing him as you struggled with the belt, just to say, “Which is you for me. I’m building a home with you.”

Jungkook’s legs still melt into a puddle whenever he remembers the softness in your words, and the puppy gaze you threw as you finally leaned back in your seat.

Which is why it’s such a shame that the clock is ticking so relentlessly.

Because your initial elation turns into disapproval only for today as you wade through the labyrinthine, time-consuming design the store is so popular for. Trying to keep up with Jungkook’s pace and hastening across the rooms.

And even then, neither of your laughter ceases; you turn the most stressful situations into deep solace. The pressure soon gives way to a calm satisfaction the moment your apartment door opens.

You set up the few plants you brought; some under the window, some on the desk in the bedroom, right next to the Beauty and the Beast rose, and a jade plant in the living room. For good luck, you said.

And then, after resting for five minutes and abandoning all further breaks, you start work in the kitchen. Which proves as cooperative as he thought — that is, until you get into a friendly argument about whether to do the dishes now or later.

“One of us keeps cooking. The other washes up what we don’t need anymore,” Jungkook explains, repeating it over and over.

To which you keep defending, “Or. One cooks one dish. The other handles the second. And we finish cooking faster and then do the dishes together.”

His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, and he whines, “It won’t make much of a difference!”

“Well, if it doesn’t, then we could do either!”

“BUT… it might get crowded if we work at the stove at the same time, babe—”

“You just don’t trust me with th—”

“Keep yelling at me like that, and—” Jungkook interjects, and you wince a tiny bit; but he continues a mere, barely lasting moment later, “and I swear I’ll kiss you.”

Beat of silence. Your eyebrows are still furrowed. And then, amidst the agitation, you erupt into laughter. Blend it with the chortle he can’t suppress, either.

To Jungkook, the sound is akin to a song — and he could spin the record all day long.

Spoiler warning — you do not kiss. But the lively chuckles and free-spirited conversations dye the atmosphere and flavour it. Its sweetness feels like a feathery kiss, too.

And whether it’s that very unlimited sense of familiarity, gradually growing, or your unwavering teamwork at last — you’re surprised when the late afternoon transforms into an early evening, a dimly blue, cloudy sky already changing into different shades of grey.

Time passed fast; but the hour-hand on the clock still hasn’t quite moved to where you’re waiting for it to settle. Because back in the living room, you’re still an hour early. Your guests are invited for around six, but you can’t say when they’ll actually show up.

Seems you wrapped up work at a convenient time. Better now than late.

You kiss your teeth in the middle of the room, scanning it for something to do. It’s clean; pretty. Plants set up, table wiped, cushions neatly set on the couch. So you remark, “We were so stressed, I didn’t think we’d be finished already.”

Jungkook, already plummeting onto the far end of the couch, pats the spot next to him, saying, “That’s good. Gives us a bit of time to relax. Anything you wanna do?”

But you don’t sit down yet. You watch your manspreading boyfriend lean back, big inked hand wrapping around the remote control. You look at the open button of his shirt, and the singular hair strands; the side parting. The mole under his lips and the big eyes.

He just doesn’t notice it until the lack of a response continues.

“Huh?” he voices again, finger stopping over the power button before his eyes flit back to you.

You look deep in emotions and distracted; if he could guess, then even… ferociously yearning. He waits with a dancing heart until you admit boldly, “There’s plenty I can think of that I wanna do right now.”

You fold your hands behind your back, chest out a little, legs crossing. You curl your lower lip in, nibbling at it. It affects him, and you know. He sucks in air, a hand on his thigh. Blinking at you, and then poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

He leaves out a puff of a tiny laugh, shaking his head a bit. Nearly succumbing to the thought that…

Perhaps there’s an activity you can indulge in before they come, right—

Wrong.

Jungkook, no matter how tempted, throws another glance at the clock, and argues, “Stop thinking of eggplants. They’ll probably be here soon, so your smooth-talking is not allowed to work!”

Your body relaxes, back in its prior position; you pout for a second. “Fine. Then I’ll get dressed before anything else.”

Jungkook sighs in relief — close. Way too close. Tonight might just stretch his jeans if you keep this up; his blood is already abandoning his brain and putting its attention elsewhere.

But you’re well-mannered in the company of guests, right?

Only one way to find out — an hour to go.

Jungkook heaves his body off the couch merely ten minutes later.

And maybe even that was too early.

Maybe he should’ve waited for you to trudge out of the bedroom; or should’ve gotten his clothes and changed somewhere else. Because when he follows your steps to find a new attire for himself, too, you’re sitting at the very edge of the bed, dress already on.

It’s not too posh; rather casual. A green cotton one, pulled up to your hip because you’re dragging transparent tights over your legs. A patch of your thighs is still visible; part of your ass on display where your panties don’t reach. Skin far too empty without his kiss on it.

He doesn’t know how you do it; but within a moment, you elicit a plethora of emotions in him. Burning desire; comfortable warmth; cosy affection. You look so cuddled in in that autumn dress.

Pretty. So gorgeous; you’ll drive him insane.

But the craze doesn’t manifest in hunger this time, but gathers in a single breath, let out in a sigh. Which… makes you recoil. Your hand briefly bolts to your chest, eyes rolling, head shaking. You murmur a quiet, “Babe…” before resuming the task.

Jungkook watches as you lift your body to pull your tights over your ass and the dress back into place, and then reaches out a palm to you; urging yours to settle in it.

Still trapped in a cube of daydreams, he tugs you in until your grace radiates toward him, and then tells you—

“My baby is the prettiest ever. Ever, ever.”

You take his fawning with glowing cheeks, smile so unbelievably worth being alive as you answer, “Your baby isn’t sure if she deserves this so suddenly, but… thankful either way.”

Your voice is an endearing mix of soft and enthusiastic. The combination that breathes life into a room. You’re so…

“God,” he says, squeezing your hand, lifting his other fingers to touch the hem of your dress. Fixing it albeit already perfectly sitting. Then looks up; eyes dropping to your lips. “Maybe you were right. Want to kiss you stupid right now.”

And he would; he wouldn’t hesitate if you didn’t move a palm to his face, pressing a thumb to his plush mouth. Telling him, “Nope, too late. The make up wasn’t easy to do. And dark lipstick is hard to remove.”

Fuck, not when he’s kissing it off…

“I…” Gulp. “Fine, princess.” He removes your hand from his face, towing you back into the living room. “Then, what do we do now? Movie?”

“Nah… It’s so hard to stop watching. Gonna kick them out again if we start now. What about… hm.”

Your eyes dart across the room, and Jungkook takes the moment to suggest, “Or we could have some soju already? Or wine, beer, whatever?”

“Or…”

You wait. Jungkook follows your gaze to the back of the room, surprised when it falls on a peeking canvas behind another big plant pot. Oh — that’s still there. He never took it out, and neither did you. Protecting his privacy, probably.

But perhaps it’s lighting a bulb over your head, because you soon ask, “Or. Wanna give me a house tour?”

“A house tour? Don’t you know every corner already?”

“Yeah but,” you shrug, rounding the couch with him in tow, “I wasn’t always here. You organised the place the way you wanted to when you moved in, so you’d know it better. Like…” You point to the turned painting, “What’s that?”

“That’s… Remember the drawing I had in my notebook? Of Gureum?”

Quite a while ago. You visited him for the first time in Namjoon’s studio back then; recalled it at the exhibit, too. Crazy how sentiments have changed. From a silly play-pretend game to damaged souls to this…

You nod.

“Yeah so,” he continues, “I painted him on a bigger surface.”

Your eyes shoot open, genuine interest in them. “Oh? Can I see?”

“Of course.”

It’s not his best work, honestly; but it is close to his heart. A piece he still wants to improve and feature in his own exhibit once it rolls around. The colouring process will be interesting; it’s barely an outline yet.

But you seem to perceive it with utter fascination and sheer joy. Because the moment Jungkook heaves the canvas up, turning it for you to see, your chin drops. You gasp, mumbling under your breath, “You’re kidding!”

“…Do you like it?”

“It’s so cute! This is…” You lean in, taking in every detail; commenting on it. “He’s a fluffball! Oh my god, the tongue peeking out. He looks so happy.” When you look up into his eyes, Jungkook’s heart does a thing; and his cheeks the other thing. “You painted him from memory?”

“Mmh, maybe a couple details? But I got most of him from a picture my aunt sent me a while ago. He’s been looking much older these days and I wanted to capture him before he ages even more. Made me miss him so much.”

“Awwh, Kook…” You pout. “I really want to meet him one day.”

He looks at you with something knowing and so telling in his gaze; he feels it unveil through his own stare. The knowledge he possesses about something, and that you don’t.

You might notice hints of it, but you don’t question it. Listening when he responds, “You will. He really is a fluffball and remembers me even after months and years of distance.”

“I love him already.” You lift, straightening your back. Watching as Jungkook sets the painting back before you add, “Okay. House tour. What else?”

“Hmm. Let’s see. Come.” He leads you the short way to the cupboard, and you follow in tiny steps, like an explorer running from one treasure to another. So exhilirated. So fucking cute. “Look, these— and don’t laugh, these are precious to me.”

“Laugh?”

“…These,” he opens the cupboard doors, reaching to the far back, behind some decoration; and pulls out a deck of cards. “Are my Yu-Gi-Oh cards. I used to collect them long ago, but I’m never throwing them away. Also—”

Your lips are parted, your eyes focused. Eyebrows shooting up gently, delighted when he takes out another small object from the back.

“My Jiraiya figure that I got for my tenth birthday.”

“Holy shit… I really never bothered looking in hidden corners.” Yeah… but now that you are, you’re making this place your own, too. No, it already is yours, the way he is. He swoons at the thought. “This is so cool. Why would I laugh?!”

“Ah… Were you a Naruto fan?”

You tilt your head. “A little. More into Detective Conan, though.”

Jungkook wonders… How foolish might his smile be looking right now?

“You… keep surprising me, angel,” he says — and you seem to like the praise.

Because you light up, forefinger touching his chest as you reiterate, “See? The house tour wasn’t a bad idea at all! Look at us tracking back the path of our souls, too.”

Jungkook can’t help but chuckle. You’re a breath of fresh air to be around; so incredibly tender when you’re yourself. After all those weeks, you’re finally back to who he used to know. Not as sad anymore.

Never sick of the hand-holding, he grips your palm again, voice hushed when he orders, “Follow me, quick!” The mysterious journey leads you to the closet next; back to the quiet bedroom as he playfully shushes you. “I haven’t worn them in a long time, so you won’t know, but… Look, because the secret's out.”

You crane your neck to see what he’s referring to. And when you do, you coo and laugh straight away. Endlessly enraptured when he claims, “Wahh. They were my super-favourites.”

Iron Man socks. Obviously worn a hundred times; so, so him.

His bunny teeth flash in all their glory when he smiles, dimples out and corners of his eyes crinkly. He feels you hold his hand tighter, and you pick the most supportive tone when you say, “You need to start wearing them again! It’s so sweet when you’re geeky.”

“Maybe you’re right.” He stuffs them back, though not to the very bottom anymore; places them on top for easy access. And then, he continues, “Okay. One more thing for the glorious house tour, and we’re done. It’s another important sight, actually.”

“Ah. Oh?”

Barely a couple seconds later, you’re back to where the trip started. Following suit when he kneels near the table; swift beam spreading over your face when he clears his throat and narrates, “This… Is where I painted on you. Not on another medium, but I painted on you. Remember?”

You must. He rarely abandons paper and his usual colours like that; but you were the most marvellous masterpiece he ever covered. The most outstanding canvas he’s ever drawn on…

“I do.”

Your gaze falls sideways; are you remembering the same heart on your waist that he does? And how he touched it; smeared it under the shower water. How your back pressed into his chest, unknown what feelings you truly harboured, but never failing to showcase his own care to you.

The kisses on your shoulder. The whispers in your ears. The plea for you to stay.

“Of course I do. It was so calming,” you add, “and so beautiful.” You touch the soft carpet, plucking at its tiny fibres. “You consider it a sight at Jeon manor?”

He snickers at your choice of words, but then inhales, and very sternly says, “Yeah. We also had sex here, so it’s forever tainted. I remember it felt… like… we should do it ag—”

“Now it’s you saying these things!” You move a fist to his bicep, pushing against it lightly. “Be serious. Be romantic! It’s not the time to make me want you.”

“Oof, hey… For the record, I was being romantic! And also, I only want you more when you’re being sweet,” he rubs the spot you grazed; he barely felt it, “but seriously. I still remember everything I felt for you. And how crazy you drove me… and how vulnerable you were.”

You’re still stroking the fur of the carpet as you look into his eyes; and he sees a molten puddle in yours. Only one side of your lips lifts, but the softness in your voice is genuine, “I think I still am. Just a lot safer than before.”

“…Good. Me too.”

And that’s all.

That’s all his mind comes up with, because all the words and infatuation are locked in his heart, moving to his fingertips when he inches closer. He raises them to your chin. Knees near yours and close the yawning distance until your lips are a whisker away.

Funny — how his strong chest holds a feeble heart. Bursting and aching, full and yearning.

If he could, he’d stay here with you forever, just like that.

But. The two of you have a party to host.

And the suddenly ringing phone reminds you of it. Makes you flinch until your noses and foreheads touch, and you laugh, rubbing them as you tap the couch for the device. The two of you lean against the sofa, cosy on the carpet as you pick up.

He hears Eun’s voice announce through the phone, “We’re all here. Just a warning, because you better not be naked.”

You shoot a glance toward Jungkook. He snorts, and you start, “Why would we…”

“‘Cause we’re early for once. Taehyung didn’t need as much time with his hair today. So be prepared.”

Jungkook nods in confirmation. Taehyung usually needs to be told an earlier time when invited to an event or get-together.

There are sounds in the background, and he readies himself to register another voice. But not a second later, the doorbell chimes. Guess the two of you will have to wait with the bare devotion. 

Because for now, it’s time to indulge the gang. Let them stream in with vibrant greetings, wrapped gifts, endless booze and sweets as irresistible as you.

Jimin is the only guest coming in a little later, rushing straight from his shift. And Jungkook recognises quickly that he’s not Jimin’s first pick for conversation after a timid handshake and parting of ways.

There’s no enmity between them; Jungkook reckons it’s more the awkwardness from the Blue Night still lingering between Jimin and him. Maybe even some leftover guilt about how he used to perceive the younger man.

At least, it’s strange when he, eventually, does take a seat on the couch, separated from Jungkook only by a healing Yoongi. You’re busy talking to Eun, and Taehyung has escaped to the bathroom. Yoongi maintains a healthy atmosphere with casual talks and soft jokes.

But even if somewhat reluctantly, it seems that Jimin is at least trying when he leans back on the couch, enabling a better view to Jungkook as he asks, “Did you paint that one?”

Jungkook follows the finger pointing at the wall next to the window; nothing too out of the ordinary. Just colourful flowers. It’s okay. Better this than nothing to warm up to each other.

Turning on the couch, Jungkook waves a hand in denial as he explains, “Ah, no, no. She bought it because she thought it’s cute.”

“But you could paint that, too,” Yoongi argues, followed by Jungkook’s shy, “I guess.”

“Ohh, okay, okay. Well, since we’re talking about it. Even if you didn’t paint it,” Jimin says, “been wanting to tell you that I loved your exhibit stuff. Uhm, Eun showed me pictures. Hope that’s okay.”

That’s surprising. Jungkook considers himself gifted in this sense, but— having someone actually boast about his work for him makes him feel… accomplished? Appreciated.

No wonder you hold your friends in such high regard.

“Yeah! Of course. Thank you, Jimin.”

“It’s a pretty place, by the way.”

Yoongi wiggles a finger back and forth with an agreeing nod, snacking away, a quiet listener for the time being. There’s something amusing about it; makes Jungkook smile as he tells Jimin, “Thanks. And I’m glad you could come. Can imagine work’s a lot, so…”

“Yeah. No worries. Everything for our girl.”

Jungkook hums as the chat dies and the awkwardness returns. And then, he remembers—

Speaking of — where are you again? Still in the kitchen? Seems so. Or at least, moving away from it bit by bit.

Immersed in a conversation, holding the frame of the living room door, at the threshold to the anteroom. You’re discussing something with Eun, your expression focused. He can’t really make out your words because of those exchanged between Jimin and Yoongi, but…

A moment later, you do look at him. And then away again immediately — as if he caught you. A motion of your hand waves whatever cryptic topic off; and intrigued, Jungkook comes to a stand.

In vain — because Taehyung returns the same moment, babbling about whatever Yoongi just said. And you use the opportunity to march into the room, asking Jungkook to help you set the table for dinner.

To his chagrin, most of them offer to help momentarily. Taehyung swarms around you, insisting on plating, making it impossible for Jungkook to find a moment to ask what your conversation was about. And eventually, he gives up — if it’s important, you’ll tell him.

So for now, he relishes the evening your friends grant the two of you. They compliment the food, narrate short and long stories, watching Jungkook and you unwrap the gifts — board games from Jimin, cutting boards and wine from Yoongi, a stylish, modern thermostat from Taehyung and Eun.

The ecstasy overflows, the screeches probably making your neighbours think of you unhinged. Wine spills on the table; curses exchange; laughing turns into crying.

If anything other than this life is considered good, then Jungkook doesn’t crave that goodness. The unbridled chuckles, and your never-dropping smile are beyond everything twinkling and gorgeous already.

And he’s happy, too. Elated when you cover your mouth when you laugh; and overjoyed when you stand at the window after dinner, leaning forward. Breathing in the autumn air.

Jungkook follows once things wind down and the guests agree upon an appropriate volume. He mimics your stance, lower arms on the windowsill and hands hanging relaxed.

His fingers graze the withering flowers in the window box. They’re slowly dying by the hands of the approaching cold, and the rain keeps overwatering them. Yet… they still let it hurt them, holding on for as long as possible.

So in love with the shower.

It’s almost a bit tragic.

Jungkook refocuses, turning to you and asks, “What are you doing?”

Your head moves to the side, and you kill the remaining distance between you. Step close until you’re nearly nudging his elbow.

“Just,” you nod into a haphazard direction; into the outside world, “looking at the rain. Got a bit stifling in there.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook throws a glance over his shoulder. “Also, I think they’re getting drunk.”

“Mhmmm. Except Jimin. Poor him is looking at the alcohol so longingly. Did you notice that he didn’t drink?”

“Someone has to drive them home, and Yoongi with his healing injury is out. I offered, but Jimin insisted on taking care of them and not, as he said, bothering us. Super thoughtful, really.”

You smile, nodding along before you silence. He doesn’t know what you’re thinking of; or what you’re seeing. Maybe you’re truly only revelling in the rain; contrasting it with the sunshine you radiate.

Maybe he should look for a rainbow somewhere.

In the midst of the tranquil evening, your gape strays from the drizzle with a blink. It descends to his twirling thumbs, and then moves along the length of his arm. Jungkook notices your attention from the side, but only turns to look at you when he realises what you’ve fixated on.

You gesture towards the hues and outlines on his skin, delicately touching the writhing snake as you say, “Want a tour for them, too, if you’d ever allow. I imagine it could be fun.”

“Tattoo tracing?” His lips move into an endeared smile; you look so fascinated. Like you’re seeing them for the first time. “I’d be down. I could even…” His fingers journey to yours, gently leading them to the flowers. “I can even give you a sneak peek.”

“Really?”

“Sure. Look.” He guides your touch over the dazzling orange of his tiger lily. “This is me. Tiger lilies beg for love. I’ve always sought love, too.”

Your eyes change. He knows you see it, too — the urge to never be abandoned again, all the time.

He can nearly see your heart ache. And feels his own thump a thousand miles a second. A fraction of it breaks off and jumps into your chest, making it yours; it does it all the damn time until you hold the entirety of it in the palm of your hands.

Unhurried, he steers your finger further, stopping at the blue tint; clearly hears you draw a breath when he tells you, “And this… This is my girlfriend. She’s even prettier in real life… that’s right.”

For a bit, you’re speechless. Jungkook keeps admiring you in the forget-me-nots for another second, and when you don’t speak on, he meets your eyes. You’re shaking your head, and then — slowly wrapping an arm around his, moving close, head on his shoulder.

From this angle, your cheeks are demanding to be squeezed; eyelashes kiss them softly, your lips tempting curves when you laugh. Jungkook doesn’t get enough of you… and you don’t want to make it easier for him either.

Because, “Shit,” you say, “you were right about pining more when someone’s being romantic. ‘Cause you’re making me want you so bad, in every way. Are you… still up for kissing me stupid?”

“Ahh… babe.”

“I just… You excite me, too, you know?”

“Don’t say these things while they’re here, baby,” he warns, although as tenderly as anyhow possible, “you’ll give me a heart attack, I mean it.”

“Now you know how I feel all the time!” you tease, fingers flicking raindrops into his face out of nowhere.

Jungkook recoils and squirms, taken aback, but it takes him a mere second to play along. He gathers rain in his palms, threatening to toss it into your face; bickering chaos at the open living room window until your damp hands rejoin and delicate digits interlace.

And as he looks at the sad flowers again, the reality of the moment makes him think. How the two of you used to resemble the blossoms in your window box, once enduring the incessant melancholy, too.

Much like the flowers towards the downpour, Jungkook and you reached for each other while being watered by gloom — but unlike the flowers, you’re still sprouting and thriving into something vivid and fragrant. Not beaten by the agonising shower.

The rain hurt me, but I wanted to keep fighting. Because I hoped. Because I adored.

And in the end, him and you aren’t tragic like them. You will never wither — only bloom.

An hour later, the apartment is empty.

You opened all the windows to eliminate the suffocating air; and the hot water running in the sink soothes your cold skin. What a relief to watch the clinking dishes lessen; you sigh at the small amount still left, and Jungkook catches it immediately.

“See?” he teases, loading the dishwasher. Even that seems like a task after such a day; tidying up the living room was more than enough. “Good that we did most of it during and after cooking. It’s so much even now.”

Eyes heavy, you admit, “I should learn to listen to you more.”

He clicks his tongue, skipping a response, and then, out of the blue, says, “Angel… I could get used to this.”

“To me listening to you more?”

“Yes. But no. To you being here.”

You glow up, even though you’re still facing the sink, smile a little hidden, “You need to. Because I’ll be annoying you all the time.”

“Oh, I believe you.”

You hit him with a spoon, wetting the spot a bit before handing the cutlery to him. Delivering a head tilt, he smirks. Amused before he remembers something and asks, “Hey. What were you and Eun talking about earlier?”

“Hm? When?”

“Before dinner. It looked serious.”

You halt mid-movement. Did he catch something? Maybe. But you only insist, “Nothing special. About her graduation… you know, since it’s pretty soon.”

Huh. Doesn’t seem to quite cut it.

“Mmmh. Anything else?”

You feign a thoughtful moment, as if you’ve wiped your memory clean off whatever she said to you. Then, you tell him, “Yeah. I told her how you played around with the recipe and came up with the best dinner ever. And how hot you looked doing it.”

“…You said the last bit, too?”

“No.” Jungkook blows a raspberry before comically pressing his lips into a line, eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s not my fault. I mean, do you know how attractive is it to be among people and know that this one person is still only looking at you?”

Oh, all too well…

“I would definitely know,” he chuckles. “Shit. You’ve been testing me tonight, you know?”

“…How?”

“All those compliments and ambiguous statements.” You shrug your shoulders in apparent innocence, muttering a small, ”It’s true" before he digs, “Anyway, don’t distract me. Anything else she said?”

Perhaps you’re done playing games. And perhaps you should’ve kept doing just that; because your next answer is a much greater tease.

“…I’ll tell you about it soon enough.”

Jungkook squints, organising a plate into a free spot, playfully disgruntled, “Unfair.”

“Hang in there.”

“Alright. You’re lucky I trust you.”

Your grin is gaping wide, and he attempts his best to ignore it. But when you add an evil snicker to it, regarding him with pure mirth in your eyes, he folds, “What?”

“Nothing. You’re just so cute. You’ll keep acting like you’re digging, but still always know when to respect my decisions. Maybe the bar is low? But I find trust ridiculously attractive.” You throw a longing smile at him, bringing a damp fingertip to his cheek to poke. “And to top it off… You’re so pretty, too, and I’m just… enamoured from all sides and—”

You wait and he uses the moment to wipe his cheek on his shirt. But when you don’t speak on, he spurs you on, “…And?”

“And I want you so bad.”

The plate waiting to be set into the dishwasher drops on the counter. Jungkook stares up, regarding the ceiling with a seemingly agitated look. You don’t know what’s truly whirling in him, so you warily ponder, “…What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Jungkook turns the water off, taking the cups from your hands and placing them in the sink. He shakes his palms off the liquid, and then whispers, “Okay. Later.”

The hold around your wrist is firm, and the tug firmer. Determined, he leads you out of the kitchen, slapping a hand over the light switch; your eyes are wide when you ask, “Wait, we’re not do—”

His answer is predictable; yet, you didn’t foresee it. Because—

“Bedroom. Right now.”

THE MORNING OF THE CONFESSION

Unlike you, Jungkook has considered himself a night owl ever since he entered the bustling world of college. Settling in the city was a stirring experience, and the thrill of it, along with a girlfriend, exams and newfound friends, kept him up until the sun rose again.

He enjoyed what he did, too. Loved school, so he didn’t mind the fatigued eyes during lectures. Truly one of the handful of joys that helped rid his head of the brain fog he bestowed upon himself after each long, sleepless night.

And he was an avid participant in classes despite his sheepish persona — they shook him awake, the late afternoon workouts obliterating the rest of the exhaustion. Maybe that’s why he was so reluctant to flake out for the night, too; still energised.

But while Jungkook carried the spirit of a straight-out-of-the-high-school-freshman who disliked falling asleep early, he despised waking up at the break of day just as much.

Would groan, blinking into the sun, with no one to blame for his agitation but him. No matter how deep his fascination for his studies and how quick the fading of his initial irritation — the first few minutes of every day were pure agony.

Jungkook is still a night owl. Still wants the nights to stretch, albeit for other reasons now. But his attitude towards mornings has changed.

There’s a shift in his preferences now; you moved his universe by an inch, altered it so effortlessly. Suddenly, he doesn’t regret rising with the sun next to him. He doesn’t curse the groggy feeling anymore.

There’s a silky touch he seeks every single morning that his eyes open to, lips he follows with his own blindly. You’re a permanent presence now, air and fire to his lungs, and he feels the freshness, feels the burn whenever your fingers brush his shoulders upon waking up.

He won’t need to check in at work for a few hours still; yet, sleeping in would mean losing the minutes that you’re still here before walking out the door until the evening.

He’ll sacrifice a slumber for this. Voluntarily.

And it’s crazy how none of this requires any sort of effort or pleading from your side. How all you need to do is to breathe and talk and smile and stay.

Those extra moments, no matter how fleeting, grant him a little more time on Earth with you, and he grasps it greedily. Even when you spend it teasing the hell out of him. Or, even when you wake up with scorching cheeks and endearing, high pitched complaints.

Like today.

“I still can’t believe yesterday,” you say.

“It’s okay.”

“I embarrassed myself so hard. Thinking about it, can I really show my face at the wedding? I’ll probably make things worse.”

Jungkook keeps glancing at the back of your head, the loose bun shaking with your movement. Smoothly, his fingers trace up and down your back; a gesture he started randomly and continued the moment you mumbled, “I like it… continue?”

Sat between his legs, you’ve been swaying for a while, both uneasy and amped about the approaching event. And to Jungkook, it’s as sweet as it is frustrating to see your brain fuming like that.

“Come here, baby,” he demands, content when you reverse into him. He wraps his arms around your chest, pulling you to his body, and presses a pillowy kiss to your temple. “You’re overthinking again. I promise you, we’ll make sure you have the most fun.”

“I embarrassed myself so hard,” you repeat, and Jungkook kisses his teeth.

“You’re a clown, I’ll admit,” you whine his name, and he laughs, “but I’m telling you. I know my mom and that was her I-like-you voice. Which I didn’t doubt for a second, by the way. Like, she really seems happy with how my life has turned out, and with whom. As am I. Understand?”

One more kiss to your scalp. He swings you from side to side, ignoring the ticking of the clock. In a few, you’ll be leaving the apartment, and Jungkook will need to kill the hours until he joins Namjoon at work. 

He shouldn’t be missing you already; but he still holds you tighter. Tighter until you let out a little groan, a hand on his arm. He can’t read your thoughts or decipher whether his promise helped; because you don’t answer yet.

Only wait for a few seconds, allowing him to wallow in your warmth until you call, “…Jungkook.”

“Mhh?”

“Talking about life and stuff… did you always imagine yours to be like this? Just curious.”

“Like this?” he ponders, mentally intertwining every current branch of his life into one healthily growing tree. He’s liking it. “Well… I graduated. An exhibition ahead that’ll hopefully bring me a step closer to my own studio and profession.”

You hum in pride, tapping his arm as an affectionate reward. He continues, “I do what I love, have some great friends… and I get to spend my days with my favourite person? Doesn’t sound too bad to me.”

You crane your neck to look at him; your lips are so close to his, tilted into a smile that’s so unbelievably you. “You called me that last night, too.”

“Huh? Oh, that’s right. And… I mean it. Like. Now that you’re here, it’s even clearer somehow?”

“…How so?”

“Mmh… whenever I used to get home, I’d think of what to eat and of showering and going to sleep. And when I come home now, the first thing I think of is you. What we’d cook tonight. Or what we might watch or talk about. You’re…”

He feels your chest rise under his limbs; a sigh of fondness as he knows it best.

“You’re the one I want to spend all my time with.” He pauses when you look at your blanket-covered lap, hiding your twinkling eyes. “So it’s clear.”

“You always sound so hopelessly…”

You halt mid-sentence, the touch against your arm tensing — much like his own heart, jumping to the next beat with a heavy thud. You shake your head; Jungkook doesn’t get to dwell in further thoughts… still doesn’t have the words for them yet.

Or doesn’t want to admit them yet.

If he thought about them long enough and arrived at a conclusion, would you think he’s rushing your relationship? Would it scare you?

Better not find out yet.

So he lets you talk and listens, “Anyway. So, is there anything, like… more? That you want to achieve someday? Or that you think of sometimes before you go, that’s still left for me to do.”

How fitting.

Pretending to be sinking into thoughts, Jungkook hums, letting his chest vibrate against your back, and then answers truthfully, “Yeah? Maybe a couple things. We’ll see them with time when I gather the courage to tackle them.”

“Like what?”

“Hmm… am I allowed to say that already?” More simulations, teasing you with a fake distant gaze and a hissing inhale of air. “I’m not sure. You’ll know.”

“Hey! That makes me nervous.”

“No need.” You interrupt his speech with another sound of disapproval, pulling a dorky, infectious chortle out of him; his nose scrunches up. “I’m kidding. I’m talking about all the goals I have for my career. I don’t want to stop, no matter what. Keep going and keep striving for more.”

You nod; someone as hard-working as you would understand. In a sense, you’re a role model to him, too — a sentiment that you, as you have often emphasised, reciprocate.

Yet, you advise, “Just don’t overwork. Think of Icarus! We can’t always get more than more, you know? There’s happiness in satisfaction with what we have, too. But either way…” You angle your legs, pulling them close; cuddling into him more. “I’ve got your back.”

And perhaps that’s one of the gazillion traits he cherishes so much about you.

Your position at work is reputable and treasured, and you could easily push him to work harder, too. Could want him to match your career success, because it’s more or less guaranteed for you.

But you don’t. You stand by his side, prioritising his happiness and mental strength, albeit unaware of how his future might turn out. When you say you’ve got his back, he believes you.

“I know,” he says, lips in your hair, breathing you in. “Yeah… I know.”

“Hmmm… okay,” you move on, “what about me? Do you have any expectations? Certain standards and rules? I just,” you reach forward, tugging the blanket over your chest and his arm, “I feel like that’s something one should talk about. Tell me if it’s too much, though.”

“No, you’re right. But honestly? Is it… is it weird to say that you’ve kinda become a standard?”

“…I— What do you mean?”

“I just mean that… I’m never going to tell you that I expect you to be loyal and kind because it’s the bare minimum, right? Who doesn’t want all that? I know you are, so I don’t need to say it. So I don’t have any other expectations from you; these things are already the foundation of our relationship. Just. Mmh, how do I say it?”

He thinks for a moment, but you’re nodding, as if you’ve already understood. But his thoughts don’t end here; they’re just difficult to word. In his mind, they’re clear, but upon having to express them, he doesn’t quite understand the concept of language anymore.

Curses its limitations.

But then, as emotions gingerly gather to a coherent sentence at last, he tries to explain:

“Rather than adhering to any rules or standards I could have, I feel like you’re building them for me. You make me have a type, you know?” He feels you dissolve in his arms as he taps between your clavicles. “And that’s you. I don’t want anyone if I can’t have you.”

Did he go off track? Possibly. But you don’t seem to mind.

Because your voice is painfully sweet and miniscule when you speak, on the brink of losing the fight against the tremble, “But you have me. Pinky promise that you do, for a long, long time.”

Yeah… yeah, he does. And he’d be damned if he let this go.

Because if he ever did — if he ever so foolishly lost you again after combating these cruel storms, you’d still remain his standard. He’d look for you in each face passing, and in every laugh sounding.

The blueprint. And an everlasting memory.

Does it make sense? He doesn’t know.

And it doesn’t matter anyway. You’re right here.

“I’ll take your pinky promises,” he says, overjoyed as he crosses his legs over your shins, peppering more kisses onto your cheeks, the corner of your eyes, on your ear. He speaks in between your sighs and quiet laughs, “What about you? What do you want?”

“I… I don’t think I’ve ever had any expectations either, but. The wedding and—” You hesitate, as if considering dropping whatever you were going to list; and then you start anew, “The wedding made me think, and I— I just want to have so much fun with you.”

“Yeah? Tell me about it.”

“I want all the ordinary things we do to feel special because it’s us doing them. And I don’t ever want us to regret anything, so… I want us to be brave.”

“Brave? Well, you’re already the strongest and bravest person I know.”

“Braver. I want to live without restraints. And I don’t want to overthink anymore.”

Hmm…

Jungkook has seen your jumbled up thoughts before. The pain you cause to your mind sometimes, and the zoned out eyes painting pictures of what you fear the most.

He knows that feeling. Has battled one too many beasts to lessen the ache; even if it’s not always possible. Even if he seeks reassurances sometimes, too. And maybe that’s the prominent and sole reason why he never dismisses your disquiet.

Why push you away if you’re already at an impasse? Why not lead you out of the maze?

“Take it easy, okay?” he soothes, letting his grip around you fall bit by bit to search for your fingers instead. “Restraints can’t beat us.”

“Yeah! I’m hopeful.”

“You should be.” Because thinking of all you’ve fought within the span of a couple weeks… “You’re the first person to show me that there’s no reason to be scared, you know?”

“Then…” You sit up, curling your fingers around his hand, lifting it mid-air in sudden eagerness. “Just imagine how life could go, right? We could go to the ocean. Oh.” You gasp, sucking in air. “Oh my god! The Great Barrier Reef!”

“Ohhh, that’s actually a solid bucket list item. And then, bungee jumping?”

You nod zealously; lacking your fingers’ mobility required to list things, you instead knock your intertwined hands against your thigh each time to come up with something new. Like now, “Cliffs. And northern lights, too. I’ve always wanted to see them.”

Reflexively, you look up.

Stare at the glued-on stars from last night, and the now missing projection you dozed off to. An effective visual lullaby; you didn’t even stir when Jungkook turned it off, tucking you in properly. In your blanket; in him.

“Hell yes,” Jungkook confirms.

“But the first stop’s your hometown… and the wedding. I want to meet your family and be super awkward about it.”

Jungkook laughs, forehead falling forward against your head. He shakes it for a second, and then recalls, “Ah… so chickens and family awkwardness. What else?”

He didn’t expect this to work out before he asked you. Considering you’ve barely started at Novaura, he anticipated gentle rejection. But now that it’s become a certain event in the incredibly near future, his heart pounds every time you mention it.

Because…

You in a dress. You in his house. You, dominating over every single heart that’s dear to him.

And it seems you’ve already thoroughly thought about this, because your answer shoots out of you like a bullet, “Wanna dance with you. And kiss you under the lights.”

“Angel… you’re over the moon about this, aren’t you?”

“…Too obvious?”

You allow a fleeting glance back to him before your eyes fall down to his bare arm, ending in a hand clinging to yours; covered in ink, much like the rest of his right limb. He knows you’re staring at the flowers without asking.

And as if knowing, reading your soul, he doesn’t find himself surprised when you suggest, “And then… one day… What do you think? Should I get a tattoo someday, too?”

“Totally, if that’s what you want. What would you wanna get?”

“Flowers to match? I don’t know. Maybe you can draw on me. Here,” you lead his hand to your thigh, sticking there for a while until you move up to your hip. “Or here.”

He wonders how focused your thoughts are right now. Because if they are, and you’re not fixating on the changes of his skin, you probably won’t register the countless goosebumps under his tattoos.

A giddy sensation spreads throughout his body, collecting in his chest and tummy. Memories of a nearly bare body, painted in his dozen colours returning. And then, pictures of the same hues blurring, smudging.

He breathes an exhale, insane at the thought of kissing those lines. Of lips trailing up your skin, stopping at your hip, dying a pleasant death.

Fuck.

“I… I would. I’ll paint you any day.”

His words come out more airy than intended, fingers itching to pinch your chin, to move your face to his. To slide down the mattress, to kiss your lips swollen, making out with you until the sun sets…

But the world is cruel and too real; the clock still ticks until he realises that freezing in place isn’t an option right now. So he says, “As much as I hate to say this… You should get ready for work.”

You groan; there’s something sweet about your unwillingness to go. Relatable. And it sticks until the exhaustion washes away with each second. Small breakfast in, clothes on, newfound work spirit restored.

Must be a good day approaching. 

And you’ve been enjoying the recent ones, he assumes. Despite being so good at what you do, there’s a clear difference in how you tackle a day at Charmante versus at Novaura.

And you confirm it when he accompanies you to the entrance, bidding you goodbye until you meet again later, “What I love most about Novaura is that they don’t feel the need to communicate everything with Mom. They’re their own independent world and trust themselves.”

“Right… You as someone equally independent will fit right in, so they’re lucky to have you there. Makes me wonder, though.” Jungkook pauses, watching you grab your jacket from the wall hook, “Are your Charmante people okay with you being at Novaura so much?”

A COUPLE DAYS LATER

“…I really don’t know if I can do this.”

Well, shit. Wasn’t he ready to strive for more, run endlessly until his feet tired? Where is the dread suddenly emerging from?

Jungkook has barely set his sketchbook down when lightning bolts head for him.

Countering his concern with kissing eyebrows, Namjoon’s full lips purse, dimples gone as he wonders, “What are you even talking about?” — Much at the same time as you utter a threatening, “Shut up,” pastry lifted, ready to throw at him.

Jungkook shies away from the table, ready to dodge your attack; returning when you place the crumbly croissant back on your plate. He presses his lips together before smacking and kissing them, finger rolling the pen over his sketches, but eyes fixated on Namjoon’s notebook.

“I’m serious. There’s so much to do until November, and I… how do I get so much done?”

“But,” Namjoon knocks against the random drawing open on the table, “you already have so much to show. And you can revamp stuff from college, too. Besides, it’s okay to try your best and be scared at the same time, Jungkook! That’s part of a growing artist’s job.”

“But, are you sure I’m a growing artist?!”

Namjoon mutters something under a breath, and you add something unintelligible to the reassuring mix. Jungkook’s worried gaze remains on the rough lines of pencil on paper, teeth repeatedly nibbling his lower lip. Baring his mole.

He closes the sketchbook, staring at the golden, imprinted letters on a dark black background. He’s filled a quarter of it already; the very piece you gifted him for his birthday almost a month ago.

In some way, opening to a blank page serves as inspiration alone. You furnished him with something so simple yet gorgeous; thoughtful engraving to use as a reminder to hold onto his efforts.

But…

Amidst the lasting zeal, he’s been racking his brain. Because. What if he immerses himself in this, spending hours tainting his fingertips in different tints — only to steer towards failure?

What if it doesn’t work out? And he ends up not amounting to much, other than trying his luck online and living on a bare minimum of a salary? Would he start tutoring young, aspiring artists?

And you…

You’re diving into a stable job, well-paid, well-known. If you end up carrying both of you on your shoulders… would you think of him as a washout? Grow frustrated and dissatisfied?

You’ve been repeatedly declaring your unswerving support, but what if you some day do realise that…

Ugh.

He stuck to this passion with the full knowledge he would never fall out of love with it; but now that he’s working for his dreams, the process seems so scary all of a sudden.

“And I’m at the wedding, too…” he says.

He leans back in his chair, moving his pupils away from the paper and instinctively up to you. More concerns threaten to tumble off the tip of his tongue, but when your eyes suddenly flicker with disappointment, his lips shut again.

You blink, unsure, before you ask, “Do you… not want to go? We could totally stay here if you need the time.”

Oh… 

Hadn’t you gushed about the event day in, day out now, he would’ve maybe believed your words. And in some sense, you probably do think of the alternative as okay, as long as he profits from it.

But he sees it in your eyes. And not just in yours — he’s been as enthralled by the idea as you. Which is why…

“No,” he responds, “no. We will go.”

Because the prospect of winding down with you has been keeping him sane. Doting on you under the countryside stars, showing you all you haven’t seen before, body to body dancing with you…

He’s not missing out on that, no matter what.

And god knows you need the break, too… especially after the utter hysteria last Friday…

“Kook, think about it. You need to be absolutely sure,” you argue, genuine worry in your gaze; from his side eye, he sees Namjoon nod in confirmation.

“I am. We’ll go, baby, okay?”

You don’t avert your gaze; your mouth closes a little, but you stay unblinking, waiting for his mind to change. He knows because he sees the thoughts floating at the surface of your eyes.

Like you’re still pondering; of course you are. As someone who’s been working hard for their career, even if just for a few months, you’d know. Who’d understand if not you?

The trance lingers between the two of you, and Jungkook lifts his lips, a vow and certainty in his smile. Moment only broken when Namjoon clears his throat and encourages once more, “Give it a shot, Jungkook… Those high-profile people need to see what you’re capable of! I mean, we’re so lucky to have them coming to our exhibits.”

Namjoon gestures randomly, across the small restaurant as he says, “Say what you will about this city, but we lure in quite a few esteemed artists for sure.”

“Who says something about this city?” you ask.

“I do,” Namjoon’s voice is soothing. One thing Jungkook has learned about him is that his flowery mind never rests. Lyrical; not always easy to understand. “I love and hate it. Leaving it, living it.”

He pauses, sipping on his diet coke before smacking the taste away and ordering, “Ask me anytime if you need any help, alright? And be confident.”

“And… what if it does work?”

Your gentle laugh sounds from the opposite side of the table, the straw of your milkshake on your tongue. The rhythmic melody calms something deep in him; perhaps more because he understands your reaction.

You’re just as cute worrying about things that he knows you’d ace.

“Well,” Namjoon starts, aware that Jungkook knows; still annihilating his unease, “the guy is ready to buy your art. If it goes well, he’ll sponsor you. Then, at some point, you’ll be able to afford your own studio and grow as an artist. Ideally.”

“Ah… ah, really…”

”Kookie,” your voice calls; you lean over the round table, shoving the milkshake aside, “don’t worry. And in the most unlikely case that it doesn’t go as planned, know that I’ll cheer you on either way.”

“And me too,” Namjoon raises a hand.

Your finger swings to and fro between Namjoon and you, and your expression changes from empathic and soft to the sweetest, most gut-wrenching smile he’s ever seen. The apples of your cheeks lift, pupils sparkling when you vow, “We’re here for you.”

He…

He could look at you all day, blinking be damned. Could pour out his emotions every second of every minute of every hour, and it’d still not match the endless letter his heart keeps crafting for you. 

Disregarding how much of a shipwreck the two of you were last Friday, his chest has still lightened ever since; an epiphany has never been sweeter.

Because…

The words he couldn’t compose into a poem before are now an ardent confession, with rhymes and a melody and infinite beauty. Roaming his mind nonstop, caught in that baby pink bubble.

When had his senses last heightened this much?

Because somehow, he still feels the damp trail of tears he cried that night. And the heart that beat against your cheek. You, frozen against him, processing his words.

If there are ways to make him fall in love harder, you’ve been presenting them all the goddamn time.

And fuck, it’s been hard focusing on anything but you.

Like, on paying. Or on upholding a conversation with Namjoon — assuring him he’d be back in the studio in a bit as he prepares to bid you goodbye for the day.

To his chagrin, the walk to your car isn’t long. It’s parked at a corner, convenient for lunch dates like these; you promised you’d join one with Joon at some point, and you did. Forty-five minutes passed too quickly. Felt like a moment.

“Namjoon is so nice!” you comment, hands in the pockets of your denim jacket.

You keep swaying back and forth, from your heels to your toes and back. Your smile and movements suggest a free spirit, but your risen shoulders and the shallow crease between your eyebrows drench you in something tense.

You’ve been like that since you suggested staying, focusing on his work.

“He’s so wise, too, really,” Jungkook responds, close to you in case your swinging moves leave you tumbling, “like, a cool mix between calm and dorky. I’ve been learning so much from him.”

“Jeon Jungkook and his love for his mentor. You will never stop talking about him.”

Jungkook shrugs, a hand to the nape of his neck, face warming, “He’s cool, what can I say?”

“Yeah.”

And once again… he sees you gulp. Unsure, pupils flickering. You usually don’t struggle maintaining eye contact. So he soon wonders, “Are you okay? I… I hope you didn’t misunderstand what I said earlier. I really do want to go to the wedding.”

“Hm?” you voice, chin lifting a bit before you dispute, “Oh. No, I believe you. If you say it’s okay, then that’s how it is.”

“What then?”

“What do you mean? Do I really seem like something’s up?”

“A little.”

“Uhm…”

You roll up your eyes as you dig into your thoughts. Scouring your brain for whatever might be meandering in the back of your mind. Hm… seems you’re not fully cognisant of the subtle change in your behaviour, either?

So maybe, it means nothing after all.

Then again. It must be something.

Because in hindsight, he didn’t only notice today, but all weekend, too—

Oh…

Maybe you’re just getting used to the new developments; maybe they’re just making you a bit bashful like him. Maybe…

Okay. Deep breath. He just needs to make it sound like a joke, nothing pushy or odd or awkward because—

“Or is it because I told you I love you? Have I scared you off already?”

He watches your breathing stop. As though flexing an x-ray stare, watching your lungs dry up, air stuck in your throat until it escapes through your nose. Honestly… he’s been feeling the same.

“No!” you answer, tone breathy, pulling a hand out of the pocket to sprightly push at his shoulder. He barely budges. “Of course not. All that does is make me want to faint.”

Jungkook chuckles, delighted when your laugh matches his own. He doesn’t always know how to take a compliment either; but you fix your speechlessness with that glow on your face. Fills his own body with fairy dust, too. 

His dimples are valleys when your fingers move to his open jacket, grazing the zipper and filling the seconds with quiet tenderness. He doesn’t know what to say to you until you let the silence prolong and then giggle into it once more.

If he could just dive into your brain. But all he has are his own, messy thoughts.

And those tangled thoughts say—

“Angel… Can I kiss you?” Now his lungs are collapsing, too. Worse, so much worse when you look into his eyes, still so surprised at every sliver of affection he signs. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

No… he needs to. Needs to blossom in this breezy weather. But he won’t tell you that.

He’ll just keep looking at you. One second, two seconds — until you’ve raised your hands to the collar of his jacket to move him closer, soon sneaking your touch further up to his neck. A miniscule and wordless hint of approval, and he basks in it avidly.

Twitching palms hesitate for only the subtlest of moments before they’ve dashed up to your cheeks, cupping your face and leaning in and…

Lock.

A picture of a lock. And of its key.

The first thing to flash into his mind.

Because how do his lips fit so perfectly between yours? When you touch him like this, delicate fingers caressing his jaw, how do you feel so much like a feather? And the damn way you sigh into his mouth… how you reciprocate the kiss.

He will never tire of telling you, telling himself, that you match him just like the ocean complements the shore. And it’s baffling. How perfect this feels, and how right it feels.

You do make the ordinary extraordinary.

Like a kiss that is shared a million times a day, between so, so many people. But you’re moving your lips against his. Holding onto him, tilting your head, soaking in his warmth. Going tentatively, then a bit faster, then slow again.

For the merest moments when your mouths part, you gasp, inhaling before pushing your fingers into his hair, at the back of his head. Then back against him, seeking his tongue; such soft sounds meeting his that he swears he could cry.

Cry about the shiver down his spine and the flutter in the pit of his stomach. About the world becoming a backdrop to everything in the middle of the pavement; and about how his thoughts only revolve around your shared breaths and the feeling of your warm cheeks. 

Just you.

You, you, you.

Still too far away. Why do you drive him so incredibly mad?

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He loves you. He loves you.

Under a breath and against your soft pillows, he mutters your name; so airy that he barely recognises his voice. His tongue drags over your lower lip, pecking one more time before he establishes an intruding distance between you.

Your foreheads touch for a transient bit, thumb skimming your cheek. When he opens his eyes, yours are still shut, and you’re feeble in his grip. And then, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

You swallow again. Take a breath before admitting, “You’re right. There’s something I want to ask you, and I was so stupidly… nervous about it.”

“Yeah?”

“The whole gang, they… they’ve been planning something. They paid for it and all, but they’re waiting for me to give them an answer, so they know if I need to pay them back or if they should cancel or, or—”

He interrupts your ramble with a soft, “Tell me, babe.”

“Okay,” your eyelids finally open up; your gaze is so hazy when you look at him. “It’s a trip. Four days, three nights, during the wedding week.” He hasn’t said a word when you hurry to add, “But, we can leave earlier. It’s a road trip kinda thing to the mountains and the beach and. They want us there, too.”

”Oh.”

“…Yeah.”

“I… Baby.” He moves back, shaking his head. He was careful not to ruin your hair, well aware you have half a work day ahead of you; but he still brushes a strand back. “Were you and Eun talking about that two weeks ago?”

“Yeah. And Tae also said I should be the one to ask because you’d like that. But then things happened and all the stress and…”

“But… even before that. Why were you so nervous asking me about it for so long?”

“Because,” you answer, one shrug of your shoulders, “I wanted to wait and see how you feel about the exhibition and the workload. And you already have limited time because of the wedding and I didn’t want to take away more of it.”

He can’t help but beam; why does this feel… endearing? Mirrors his own thoughts when he asked you about accompanying him to the wedding.

“We really do have the same brain, don’t we?” he asks.

“You’d think we’d learn.”

You say it lightheartedly, yet gnaw on your lips. He tongues the inside of his cheek, keeping eye contact, and then queries, “There’s something else, right?”

“Ah, just.”

You look unsure, trying to make sense of your thoughts, but your uncertainty makes him uncertain, too. So he exhales before he prods, “What? What what? Is it something bad?”

“No! Just. They’ve been wanting to do this since the summer. They never talked about it to me because you and I were… you know.” You kiss your teeth, and he uses the second to whoosh away the aching memories. “But they never cancelled for us, either.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because they’d say, and I quote, ‘Just wait.’ They knew we couldn’t stay away from each other even before we did.” You laugh. “Eun told me that day in the kitchen.”

Even before you did?

Untrue. He knew he didn’t want to live without you the moment you left his apartment, tear-soaked and heartbroken.

“Okay…” he starts, “and you were worried because?”

“Because you always get so sad when I talk about the summer. Explaining the context of the trip seemed hard to me, and I didn’t want you to feel guilty.”

Oh…

Shit, man.

“You’re… ahhh… my sweet baby.” He wants to hug you to his chest and never let go. But you’re already running out of time, lunch break nearing its end, so he only grips your shoulders. “You know that it gets better after two minutes, no? Because whatever happened, I have you now.”

He flicks your chin as he has been lately; it cheers you up. Makes you smile a bit, conjures the pout away. Adding to the effect when he says, “Don’t worry so much, my love.”

Another inhale. Then, you admit, “I’m sorry. I dragged it out.”

“It’s okay.”

“So… would you come? Do you think you could take some time off work and all? I’d understand if it’s too much.”

“Hmm… Right before the wedding, isn’t it?”

“Mid-october, yes. We could leave earlier!” you reiterate, hellbent on assuring he’s not obligated to do anything. So sweet, how you scratch your head. “They’d drive on. It’s convenient because it’s all in the same week.”

“Mountains and beach, you say.”

“If you don’t like them, we can stay at the hotel and chill together.”

Shit.

His grin widens with each heartbeat; you notice, because despite your suggestions, you sound more lively now.

And yet, it’s funny you’d question all these things like this at all. Don’t you remember damp cheeks and gentle touches?

Just days ago.

How he was still trembling when you left Eun’s complex. How he stopped you before climbing into the car, much like now, mumbling a timid, “Angel…”

And then retracting when his heart combusted. Looking into your eyes, still red, his own mind filled with nervous fear before settling on, “Nothing. Let’s go home.”

Or how you cried in the living room. How you broke down, terrified he might walk away. How his breath quivered, how his head spun, how he felt like he might throw up or faint or scare you off.

The damn sickness in his stomach until he spat the hidden words for the first time. And the pounding of his heart when you responded with a mumbled, “Kook… How.”

And… how his chest constricted at everything that followed after that. Don’t you remember?

In spite of every indication he threw your way — you still worry so much.

Funny you’d be so nervous around someone who wants to see the entire world with your hand in his.

What did you call it again? Wanting to be brave.

So fucking easy with you.

“How about…” he begins, staring into anticipating eyes, hearing a storm of cheers rumble, “going shopping before we leave?”

Your demeanour changes momentarily. The unsure girl, afraid to hurt him, soon finds her way back to her foundation. You light up, a hand over your mouth; your cheeks must be hurting. 

You deliver one, short jump and then pull him back in, kissing his lips once before scattering a couple more pecks next to them. He soon finds himself pushing you towards your car, forcing you back to work, but you have a thousand things to babble about.

He’s adoring all the bright stars in your eyes — now he understands how you feel when you see the same universe in his.

It’s crazy. How effort is never required from your side for him to feel that way. How you only need to breathe and talk and smile and stay.

Stay stay stay.

The word sails and wafts through his dazy thoughts like a silent prayer. Begging and begging; pleading to allow him to pour all his love on you, although he doesn’t need to ask. You always let him anyway.

And he guesses he’s using that permission thoroughly. Maybe that’s why keeps craving and burning for more; why he’s been holding you tighter these nights.

His tiger lily pressed against your heart.

*head in hands* they are so crazy for each other, pls 😭 warmth and reassurances and support and bickering literally build the foundation of their relationship and i love them sm :') for some reason the editing process knocked me out, but i still adore this one so so much, and i hope you guys did, too!! 🥺

feedback is always so so appreciated!! you guys are literally such a freaking supportive bunch and have kept this series alive for so long and i love you to death :( here's to the first one this year!! as always, please consider leaving a like, reblog (with or without feedback!), comments and spammm my inbox with everything that's on your mind hehe <3 any kind of msg makes my day!

and nowww!!!!! moving on to cmi: palette and VACAYYYY!!! mwah mwah 🤍

[ceesimz]

Relationship Test

(this isn't gonna be the most description-heavy fic, it's mostly dialogue but I wanted to write this because I think the dynamic of 'gf asking stupid questions to annoy their partner' is really entertaining)

Realistically, Leah should have known from the moment the following question came out of your mouth that you were about to enter an incredibly annoying phase.

"Leah, if I was any supermarket, out of all the ones in the UK, which one would I be?"

She simply turned her head to look at you, completely thrown off by the question. A few moments passed by of her trying to suss you out, figuring out what on earth she should reply to that, before she paused the show you were both watching and took a deep breath.

"Is this a joke or is that a genuine question babe?" She finally replied.

You shrugged a shoulder, fighting off a grin, and looked expectantly at her.

"A genuine question."

Leah once again just stared at you. Where to even begin? Surely, there was no right answer here.

"What one do you think you would be?" She deflected the question, but you just shook your head.

"Good try, but I asked you."

She groaned and threw her head back.

"My love, I have absolutely no idea! I don't look at you and think, 'ah yeah, you are an Aldi', I don't know what you're trying to get at!" She cried out, eyes wide and hands gesturing wildly.

"An Aldi?" You gasped, dramatically feigning offence, even going so far as bringing a hand to your chest to give the full effect. "Leah, that's fucking low!"

"No, I didn't call you an Aldi, babe, I just used it as an example because it's a weird question to ask!"

"Yeah but that was the first one that came to your head! An Aldi, really? Unbelievable. I thought you would have valued me higher than that. Maybe a Tesco at least, but nooo, my girlfriend thinks I'm an Aldi." You sighed and refused to meet her gaze, turning to the paused TV screen and smiling to yourself as you heard her take a deep breath.

"Darling, you are a woman, not a supermarket. I value you higher than I value you myself, okay? It was just a silly question, let's not think too deeply about it." You shook your head once more and stood up from your place on the sofa, storming out the room. "No, babe, where are you going?"

Before you rounded the corner of the lounge, you sent her a cheeky grin and laughed.

"Just the toilet, Le, don't worry." You stated simply, then walked out.

That left the blonde sat stressing to herself whilst also being utterly perplexed at what had just occurred. When you walked back in a few moments later, she still looked visibly shell-shocked, which you couldn't help but giggle at.

"Earth to my girlfriend?" You teased, slotting yourself onto her lap and knocking on her forehead with a knuckle.

"You are something else, I swear." She sighed, a humoured smile on her face as she placed a kiss on your cheek.

Leah survived all of two days before the next one was fired her way, this time, on the drive home from Arsenal training. The pair of you were exhausted, having had a match the day before then being thrown into early morning training the next day. But that didn't stop you from exercising your newfound love.

"Hey Le?" You start, Leah humming. "If I died, would you fall in love again with another person?"

Leah's eyes almost popped out of their sockets at that one. She was still driving, so she couldn't even take a glance at you as she navigated through the London traffic.

"Sorry?" She choked out, sitting up in her seat.

"Would you move on and find another person after me?"

"Is this... a test?" Leah wondered, and it's so hard not to laugh at the hint of nerves clear in her voice.

"I'm just curious." You shrugged nonchalantly.

"I... well, that's a bit of a loaded question, babe." She breathed out, eyebrows furrowed down as she's overridden with countless thoughts. "I mean, first of all I'd be fucking devastated, my love."

"Not what I asked." You told her, to which she panicked more.

"I..." She stuttered over an answer. "I don't know, it would depend I guess?"

"Are you serious?" You begin to argue, Leah wincing and slouching her shoulders. "What do you mean?"

"I have no clue, babe! Sorry for not giving a valid answer, because I don't want to think about you dying!"

"Chill, Le, I'm just teasing you." She dropped her head back against the head rest and groans.

"You are gonna be the death of me." Leah grumbled, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye.

"But seriously though, would you?"

"I swear to f-"

That last one was indeed a bit loaded, so you gave her a week's respite before the next one came. This time? In the cinema, as the adverts played before your chosen film.

"Love?" You whispered, nudging her arm that held her phone. She put it down on the arm rest and turned to you with a soft smile. "I've had a thought that's been plaguing me a bit recently."

"You wanna talk about it here?" Leah frowned, gently taking your hand as you nod. "Okay, my darling, out with it."

"Do you prefer my face or my body?"

Leah stared at you for a solid ten seconds before her body deflated and she dropped your hand. She chuckled to herself and pinched the bridge of her nose, mumbling something under her breath.

"This is another one of those questions, innit." She sighed, turning to you to get confirmation. However, you offered no emotion or reaction. "Tell me, for this one, if this is a genuine... insecurity I need to tackle properly, or if this is another bullshit question."

"I want to know, Leah." You stated. She still couldn't tell if you were serious.

"I prefer your face, my love." She replied truthfully, because that was genuinely her answer.

"Why?" You challenged, still void of emotion.

"Because... that's what I fell in love with first. Your eyes and all the emotions you hold in them, not to mention how beautiful they are. Your smile that immediately makes me smile no matter what I'm going through. Your little freckles, your nose, your eyelashes that I'm still jealous of to this day. Your face was the first impression I got of you, my first glimpse getting to know you. So if you held me at gunpoint and told me to choose, I would say your face. Your body is absolutely beautiful and incredible of course, but you could have no arms and eleven toes and I'm almost certain I'd still love you." Leah answered.

To be honest, that is definitely not what you were expecting. You didn't think a stupid question found in a Tik Tok video captioned 'Questions To Start An Argument' could lead to such a heartfelt admission.

"Oh." Was all you said. "I was supposed to argue back at you."

"What?" She laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pecking your cheek.

"I was supposed to argue and say 'so you don't like this or that about my body' but you kind of took my breath away." You explained with a sheepish smile on your face.

"My love, you know I think you're the most beautiful woman in the world, both your face and your body, but if I could only have one forever, it would be your face. Zero hesitation." Leah admitted. You blushed heavily and hid your face in her neck. "Not to say I wouldn't miss your body. You would miss it too, I know you love when I-"

"Nope!" You slapped a hand over her mouth, knowing exactly where this conversation was heading. "Just because we are in the back row of a cinema does not mean you can start saying things like that."

Leah smirked behind your hand and shrugged a shoulder.

"Your loss, baby."

The next one came when you lay awake in bed with Leah one morning a few days later. You were both lay on your stomachs, your hand gliding over Leah's back under her shirt as you gave her the back scratches she demanded with the promise of paying for breakfast in return. Admittedly, you were more of a morning person than Leah was, hence why the following question came to your mind at 8am whilst she could barely think. Was it possibly a bit unfair to ask such a layered question at a time you knew her mind wasn't as sharp as it could be? Absolutely not.

"Leah, could we discuss a hypothetical situation for a moment?" You asked. She opened one eye and looke at you with a face of disgust.

"Too early." She grumbled, closing her eye again and sighing.

"Okay." You left it for a few moments, before asking anyway. "If someone offered you money to go completely non-contact with me for three months, what's the lowest amount of money you'd accept it for?"

"What?" Leah glared at you, resting up on her elbows as she pushed her hair back out of her face. You went to repeat the question, but she shook her head and interrupted you. "I heard you. I mean, what the fuck kind of question is that?"

"Just curious." You shrugged, shifting to lay on your back and look up at her.

"I wouldn't do that." She said, plain and simple.

"It's only three months. What if it was for like, a million? That's three months of doing nothing for a ton of money, babe. That's a life-changing amount of money." You commented with a grin.

"Would you accept that?" She asked, outraged.

"Of course!" You answered immediately. Leah shook her head and threw the duvet off of her, jumping out of bed. "Come ooooon! You'd accept that too, surely?"

"You are a fucking wind-up." She grumbled, stepping into her slippers and leaving the room.

You stayed in bed with an amused smile, settling back down and wrapping yourself up with the duvet, until a voice came from the other room.

"I'd do it for free if you keep up with these stupid questions!"

At that, you jumped out of bed and ran to meet her in the kitchen, an endless amount of colourful expletives leaving your mouth on the way there.

A busy few weeks followed that morning, so your habit took a backseat to focus on an intense set of games. It slipped your mind completely, until one night when some of the Arsenal girls were around at Leah's apartment, waiting to watch one of the men's champions league games. When a multitude of irritated groans echoed around the lounge at the announcement of the game being postponed for a short while, you grinned to yourself from your place on the sofa beside Leah.

"Girls, I know how to keep us entertained in the meantime." You announced.

"We can't do karaoke again, last time I almost got kicked out of the flat." Leah looked at you with a raised eyebrow in warning.

She was referring to an incident that occurred a few months back - a team bonding evening where you, Leah, and the majority of your teammates had a movie night that led to an intense karaoke session. Consequently, a few of the neighbouring apartments reported such event to the building's security team which resulted in a knock at Leah's door and a noise complaint letter being handed to her.

"Not karaoke, babe. Something better." You wiggled your eyebrows at the other girls and stood up from your seat. "Le, come on, help me get two stools from the kitchen."

"What are you planning?" She asked in a hushed tone as you led her to the kitchen.

"You'll see." You shrugged with a smirk, picking up one of the chairs and gesturing for Leah to do the same. Then, you wandered back to the lounge and placed your stool down in front of the TV, Leah doing the same. "Leah, take a seat."

Some of the girls whispered between themselves at the scene carrying out in front of them, getting a great view of what was about to occur.

"Babe, I swear-"

"Sit down, Leah Williamson!" You demanded, grabbing your phone from the couch.

"Oo, government name!" Beth teased, Leah glaring at her and doing as she was told.

You sat there in silence for a brief moment, trying to find the list on your phone that had been neglected for a little while. Once you'd found it, you looked at Leah across from you in her chair and cleared your throat.

"Leah, this is a relationship test." You stated.

Leah's face fell as the girls laughed loudly at her reaction, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish whilst she tried to find a response.

"Right now?" She replied, you nodding with a smug grin.

"Yep. I have a series of questions for you that you must answer. No cop-outs, no deflections, just the truth."

"This is gonna be good." Jen smirked, knowing what was about to occur. It had been her that sent you the video about it in the first place, little did she know she had planted such an entertaining seed in your mind.

"Ready?" You asked with an excited smile.

"No, I never agreed to this!" Leah cried out, looking helplessly at her teammates who simply laughed again.

"Suck it up, Leah!" Steph shouted, Beth grinning manically from beside her.

"First question!" You announced, the room falling quiet. "What is your biggest fear?"

"That's not a relationship question!" Kyra exclaimed, earning a smack on the knee from Caitlin.

"I don't know, dying?" Leah replied with a shrug.

"Wrong!" You respond.

"How's that wrong, it's my fear?!" She cried.

"The correct answer was: losing me." You revealed, the room bursting into laughter. You couldn't help yourself and joined in too as Leah groaned and covered her face with her hands.

"I know what this is gonna be now." She grumbled, looking back at you and waiting for the next question.

"Next question." You said, silencing the room. "If a genie offered you three wishes, but if you accepted them, there was a ten percent chance you lost me forever, would you take them?"

"Yeah because I would use a wish to get you back." Leah said with a shrug, thinking she had caught you out.

"Wrong. That's not possible." You shook your head shamefully at her.

"And how was I supposed to know that then?" She hit back, but you shrugged back at her.

"Not my problem." You stated as the girls laughed at Leah's eye roll. "Next. Would you rather never play football again or never have sex with me again?"

That one almost knocked Leah off her seat.

"How am I supposed to answer that?" Her cheeks were bright red as she argued, completely at a loss for words right now.

How had a quiet night watching the football, turned into her being the butt of the joke?

"You have to answer it, love." You lowered your phone and fixed her with a pressuring glare, everyone else in the room looking at her expectantly as they held in their laughter.

"Babe, I..." She stuttered, glancing around at her peers with a frantic look in her eyes.

"You're gonna be in the doghouse, Leah." Katie kindly reminded her, followed by a few muffled laughs from some of them.

"Never play football again." Leah answered in a nervous voice.

"Wrong!" You sighed, shaking your head.

"How is that- I can't fucking win." She groaned frustratedly and clenched her fists as everyone else once again laughed uncontrollably. "Please explain how that answer is wrong, my love."

"You shouldn't let your attraction to me override your career, my darling!" You told her with a dramatic pout. She couldn't help but chuckle at your reply, now starting to see the humour in this situation.

"Aren't you guys romantic." Beth rolled her eyes and waved you both off. "Move on, next question."

"Alright." You cleared your voice again, choosing your next blow. "If you learned that I had been hired to date you as part of a social experiment for research, would you be able to forgive me?"

"What the fuck!"

You couldn't help it anymore. You burst out laughing along with your friends and covered your face as you did, hearing Leah rant in the background of all the noise. A few moments passed of pure laughter before you sat back up straight and looked at your girlfriend who, if she was in a cartoon, would have literal steam coming out of her ears.

"Your answer, please." You asked impatiently, tapping your foot on the floor.

"Dating you is a social experiment, this is absurd, I mean-"

"Moving on." You ignored her rebuttal. "Would you rather kiss me for £100,000 or the prettiest woman in the world for a million?"

Leah took a deep breath, removing all previous irritation in her bones, before answering confidently.

"Prettiest woman in the world for a million." She stated, waiting for you to correct her.

"Wrong, how fucking rude. Why would you not kiss me?" You challenged with an angry scowl.

"Because you are the prettiest woman in the world." Leah stated simply with a soft smile, causing you to blush. The room was silent for a moment as you both gazed at each other, before the sound of someone jokingly gagging disrupted it.

"Get a room!" Kyra shouted, throwing one of the sofa pillows at you both. Everyone else followed her lead and started teasing you both, but Leah simply smirked and stood up.

"Get a room, you say? Alright."

She shrugged before grabbing your hand and pulling you towards her bedroom. The sounds of the others wolf-whistling and cheering followed you until it was shut out by Leah slamming the bedroom door closed.

"You done testing me now?" She asked with her eyebrows raised, pressing you back against the door and holding you in place by your hips.

"Guess so." You smiled uncontrollably at her, to which she laughed and let out a breath before hiding her face in your neck.

"You're a little shit, you know that?" She said, muffled by your skin.

"I know it, babe. You love me for it." You grinned. Leah lifted her back up and leaned down to press your lips together in a firm but teasing kiss, pulling back sooner than you wanted.

"Damned if I do, damned if I don't, right?"

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FOR TELLING A BIG SECRET *  assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

when you have a moment, we should talk.

there's a lot you don't know.

i'm not who you think i am.

i lied about a lot of things, but i never lied to you about how i felt.

i had a feeling you would ask me about that someday.

i'm not actually [name].

you should probably sit down for this.

before i say anything, i need to make sure you're ready to hear this.

everything you've ever known is a lie.

i was given strict instructions not to tell you what happened.

do you want to know the truth about what happened to your parents?

when i tell you the truth, you'll hate me.

after all this time, i think you deserve to know the truth.

i've been keeping a lot from you.

if you don't tell me the truth, i'm leaving.

stop lying to my face.

they didn't tell you what really happened to your parents.

it's time for you to hear the truth.

everyone knows you're special.

i think i should tell you something.

i'm honestly not sure how to go about telling you.

they haven't always been honest with you.

remember that? that was a lie.

you'll figure it out sooner or later. might as well be the one to tell you.

that was never real.

i'm tired of the lies. i want the truth.

was that the truth, or just another lie?

was any of this real?

you're not actually one of them.

i don't think you can handle the truth.

give me an honest answer for once.

you wouldn't believe me if i told you.

you're different than the rest.

where have you been sneaking off to?

you want me to tell you everything? fine.

don't say i didn't warn you.

you told me you were going out. why did you lie?

what lies have you told me?

some things are best left unsaid.

ignorance is bliss, you know.

they never told you what really happened to [name].

you'd be better off not knowing the truth.

you've never been told the truth about what happened.

i think it's time you were told the truth about your parents.

there's something you need to know.

i can't keep a secret from you.

were you lying to me this whole time?

what have you been keeping from me?

you're not actually from there.

there's something else i need to tell you, something you're not gonna like.

promise me you won't hate me when i tell you.

i can't believe you've kept this from me.

i think i deserve the truth.

if you can't tell me everything, at least give me a hint.

so that's what you've been keeping from me this whole time?

who told you to lie to me?

when were you planning on telling me the truth?

i think i can trust you with this.

[finniestoncrane]

Kink Dialogue Prompts - If you fancy, any of the following with Egon Spengler (Receiving?) :3c:

🌱 Virginity, 🥇 First Time, ✏️ Marking/Bititng, 🩺 Doctor RP (Giving), 🔴 Humiliation

Experimental Methods

Egon Spengler x Female!Reader, word count: 3.5k HELLO!? finally another excuse to write nasty again for egon, my fuckin beloved ;-; also i have been COOKING this one and it got away from me so it is LONG lmao mostly because i didn't realise you said any of and not all of the prompts oops and then i also added in prem.ejac. my actual beloved👻 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: medical kink, losing virginity, marking kink, humiliation kink, premature ejaculation

The walk from the elevator to your apartment door at the end of the hall felt like it took an eternity, definitely down to the dead silence between you and Egon which had been ongoing since the moment you left the restaurant down the block. He was often quite quiet once a date had ended, but this was different. There was a distinctly awkward air to the way he shuffled uncomfortably along beside you, and the soft sigh he had let out as he agreed to walk you to your door didn't exactly settle your nerves. That discomfort in the pit of your stomach was only exacerbated by the way he avoided all eye contact once you had placed the key in the lock, and stood, turned to him, as you held the door ajar. "Egon, I think you should come in so we can talk."

"Talk?"

"Mhm."

You nodded solemnly as you headed inside. He was a sweet man, very kind, very straight to the point. Besides the very limited bursts of anger you had seen him display at questioning skeptics and otherwise disinterested city officials, you couldn't imagine him wanting to harm anyone. So you had to be the one to broach the subject, since it seemed like he never would.

Once inside, you watched him make his way to the sofa, sitting on the very edge with his hands placed on his knees, palms rubbing nervously at the woolen fabric. When you were sitting beside him, you could hear his shallow breathing and the sound of him swallowing his nerves. As much as you were apprehensive about this converation, it spurred you on to know you were putting him out of his misery.

"Look, Egon. I know you're a sweet guy, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable just so you don't hurt my feelings. If you don't want to see me anymore in a... romantic way... then we don't have to."

"What?"

"We can meet for coffee or go out for food alone or with other people, but as friends, y'know?"

"Yes. That is generally something we can do. I appreciate your time, and for being so forward with your feelings. If there's anything I can do to change your mind then-"

You raised your hands up, shaking your head in confusion.

"Wait, wait, wait. Change my mind? I... I'm not breaking up with you, Egon. I'm making it easier for you to break up with me."

His face was blank, except for the slight hint of confusion, and you could almost hear the gears of his mind grinding away as he puzzled over where you got the notion that he might want to break up with you. It didn't take him long though. He wasn't oblivious. The evidence was definitely piling up, although the intentions behind it had been lost in translation.

"I don't want to break up with you. I enjoy spending time with you. We share a lot of the same attributes in common and you are extremely tolerable of any discussions about my various interests."

"How romantic."

You smiled, emphasising the playful tone of your slight dig.

"And of course, I find you attractive. Very appealing, physically as well as emotionally and intellectually. Which is precisely the problem."

Egon sat in silence for a few moments, as though he expected you to psychically glean what he meant by that statement, waiting on your response. But when it was apparent that you had none, he took a deep breath and continued.

"This is our fifth date. I expect that you'll want to have sexual relations, or at least some form of physical contact beyond what we've experienced thus far."

Your eyes widened, surprised by how blunt he was, if not more technical or formal than you expected, and you stumbled over your words.

"I, uh... w-well, that would be nice! But, if that's not your thing then of course we don't have to."

Shocking you both, he abruptly removed his hand from his own leg and placed it on your knee, both of you looking at it before he snatched it back.

"I want to, of course. But, speaking openly, I haven't ever experienced that. Yet. With anyone."

In absolute disbelief, you blinked as your body moved backwards a little, your nose twitching, raising your mouth in a curious and surprised sneer.

"You're a virgin? You. Are a virgin. You?"

"Does that factual statement require this much questioning?"

"A little bit, yeah! I mean... I would've been all over you four dates ago if you'd seemed a bit more at ease with it. I don't know how you've gone forty years without someone-"

He interrupted you with a slight frown, lips pursed as he waved you off before he spoke.

"I've spurned a few advances, but believe it or not, there's something about my personality that other find rather..."

"Abrupt. Formal. Disinterested?"

Egon nodded in agreement, very well aware that you used the words with no hint of criticism or negativity, but rather truthfully, and, oddly enough to him, with an almost loving tone.

"And yet you find those attributes appealing."

"Of course! They come in a very nice package."

You leaned into him, placing your hand on his thigh, squeezing it gently between your fingers as you edged closer to him on the sofa. He watched your fingers moving, eyes closing as he took in the sesation of the touch. Even that smallest gesture was enough to excite him. Your hand, moving further up his long, slender leg, fingers tensing into the muscle and releasing their grip as your palm snaked higher and higher, closer and closer.

"Oh, ok. You definitely are interested then..."

It was impossible not to notice the distinct bulging at the front of his slacks, and you felt immediately bad for pointing it out, but Egon smiled, nervously adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat.

"I wouldn't have lied to you. Besides, I knew the biological response would betray me eventually. I'm only lucky to have gone this long with the problem arising, for want of a better word."

Taking stock of the situation, you considered the next steps. You didn't want to rush him, by any means, but you didn't want to let the opportunity go to waste. An intimate conversation could lead to a more intimate encounter, and that was definitely what you had been hoping for tonight.

"Egon, we can do whatever you want tonight. You can go home, with no hard feelings, and we can continue dating and wait until you're ready. Or we can give it a go. If you want to stop, we can. But I think this could be a nice experience for us, as a... couple. Let me guide you through this. I'll be very gentle, unless of course you tell me otherwise."

His face lit up with a warm smile, clearly in appreciation of your gentle offer and your efforts to make light of what was most definitely an awkward conversation. Still, though, he seemed too nervous to speak much, so the ball was once again in your court.

"Ok, so... is it the skills involved that are causing you problems? Or...?"

"I suppose so, but like most other things, you gain experience with practice..."

Your stomach flipped in excitement, a heat prickling over your skin at the notion that you might be involved in this practice.

"... It's an area I haven't really been involved with before. It's not as though you're something to study, to examine and figure out."

"That's... exactly what it's like, actually."

"Hm."

"I mean, that's what it could be. If that makes things easier for you. Maybe a little bit of roleplay, putting you in a position of control that you're familiar with... maybe that would make it a bit easier for you?"

Egon paused for a moment, considering your suggestion with a hopeful look, nodding silently before he spoke.

"Your hypothesis is intriguing, and I do think it would be beneficial to at least test it in an experiment before we rule it out completely as a possible solution. If... if you're sure...?"

Placing your hand over his, you squeezed it, reassuringly, as you leaned in to him.

"It's a new experience, yes. But don't worry, I'll help you through it... Doctor."

His eyes lit up, a fire suddenly burning in the pit of his stomach. Standing from the sofa, he took your hand and brought you up to him. Egon's eyes flitted towards the door to your bedroom.

"In that case then, please come with me and we can begin this examination."

You reached for his hand, hoping he'd guide you romantically to the privacy of your bedroom, but he was already fast ahead of you, his long limbs gaining the distance with his wide strides as you hurried excitedly into the room behind him.

"Now, if you'll lie back on the bed, please, and take a deep breath. Let me take care of you. I'm sure that whatever is wrong, I can provide some assistance."

Obedient, and with a level of excitement you weren't afraid to show, you bounced onto the mattress and laid back, inhaling and exhaling slowly and carefully as you listened to Egon pacing around the bed, finding the best place to conduct his examination. Standing on your right, looking down at you, you watched as he procured a small notepad and almost pointlessly short pencil from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

"I think we should begin by noting the first examples you found of paranormal occurrences. Were the internal or external?"

Narrowing your eyes in confusion, you tried to think of an answer to the question, but before you could find a suitable one he had moved on to the next.

"If neither of those are pertinent to your experience, can you tell me if you had any sensations or evidence of being posessed?"

"What? Egon, what are you talking about?"

Blinking twice, he lowered himself to you, bending at the hip, and whispering in a lower voice as though he were trying not to break the roleplay experience.

"This is my area of expertise. The paranormal. I am examining you as a doctor of such, so... are you experiencing anything paranormal?"

Quickly catching on, you mustered up a few symptoms for him to use in his diagnosis.

"Oh... uh... yes! Well, Doctor Spengler, the reason I came to see you is that I've had a strange onset of problems, ones no ordinary doctor could diagnose. I think you might be my only hope now."

Reaching out, you took his hand in yours and squeezed, looking at him with wide, pleading eyes.

"And what might these symptoms be?"

"Well, I'm not sure if they're all related, but I do know that I've been feeling very irritable lately. Completely exhausted and filled with stress and tension. It's like there's something inside of me that I just need to get out, something that's controlling my behaviour."

"It sounds like you might need a formal adjuration addressed to the demonic presence that has decided to utilise you as its host."

"I need a what?"

"In layman's terms, an exorcism."

"Ah! Wow, that sounds very serious, Doctor Spengler."

The way you spoke his name, each consonant, each syllable, lingering on your lips and tongues, lustful and seductive, had him clearing his throat and swallowing the building, shaking nerves that it conjured.

"It can be. Could you detail when you feel these symptoms for me?"

"Hm... they mostly surface when I'm around my boyfriend. He's real neat, I think you'd like him. He's so intelligent, so sweet, and he's super hot."

"Ahem... he sounds, delightful."

"You don't think the demon, or whatever is inside of me, is targeting him, do you, Doctor Spengler?"

You forced a concerned pout onto your lips, looking up at Egon through your batting eyelashses as you watched him try to recover from not only the insinuation that he was hot, but that you considered him to be your boyfriend.

"I see... then I believe that perhaps this is not anything paranormal but very natural. I think a release of tension, of a more physical or... coital nature, is the required prescription here."

With his cheeks flushing at the mere mention of sexual activity, Egon adjusted his glasses once more as he avoided eye contact with you.

"Oh, thank you, Doctor Spengler! So... what should I do about this predicament? Do you think you could maybe administer the correct dosage for me? Perhaps we can do the procedure here?"

The deep red blush seeped further across Egon's skin, his pupils wider than you'd seen them before. Quickly, and with no attempt to do so discreetly, he moved his hands down in front of him, holding the notepad strategically in front of his pants.

"Are you hiding something down there, Doctor Spengler?"

Egon stuttered, dropping the note pad before bending to catch it swiftly, the tent at the front of his slacks visible for only a brief moment, but long enough that you could ascertain what he was working with below the tweed and formality.

"I-I-I'm... I-it's... I apologise, I didn't mean to rush things by getting ahead of myself. This is embarrassing."

"Oh, come on, Egon! You know as well as I do that it's a natural reaction. If you're going to be ashamed of anything, I would say it should be how easy it was to get you as flustered as you are... I mean look at your cheeks! Tell me... is any other part of you blushing pink?"

The silence was almost deafening, and he was once again unable to look into your eyes. Fearing you had taken it a little too far in your taunting, given it was his first time, you were quick to apologise, sitting up on the bed and holding his arm. But he brushed you off, working on his nervous habit of fiddling with the legs of his glasses as he replied.

"No need to apologise, I'm just quietly reconciling the facts. Yes, it was embarrassing, but your taunting made it worth it. It definitely played a fact in the increase in arousal, it would be a fascinating thing to study if I had any spare time. I'd even suggest that we experiment with that more this evening, but I'm worried it might lead to a quick conclusion to our combined efforts if the external stimuli is too... well, stimulating."

"How about we just remember that you're into it and add it to our list, hm?"

"We have a list?"

You eased yourself up onto your knees on the bed, holding on to the lapels of Egon's suit jacket as you watched his Adam's apple bob, his chest rising and falling as your hands soothed over his body.

"Now we do."

Your lips met his in a soft, interlocking embrace, with Egon catching on quickly after a sharp inhale. You could feel his smile against yours as the passion deepened, his hands falling to your sides as he held you steady as you balanced yourself against his surprisingly sturdy frame. Letting out a deep sigh as his hands curled around you, his palms flat against your spine as he stroked up and down, you found yourself leaning into him more, fingers pressing into the back of his neck as you kept him kissing you.

One of your hands pushed into his thick, tight curls as the other drifted back around and down his front, your fingers skirting over the buckle of his belt and hooking just below it, tugging his hips towards you. He came easily, putting up no resistance to your desire to have him closer to you.

Egon's breath haltered as he watched you in stunned silence, your fingers expertly, and quickly, unbuckling his belt and slowly, deftly, unzipping his pants. Looking up to him to make sure he was still on board, you caught his eyes, pupils wide, behind the slightly fogged lenses of his glasses. In response to the question you hadn't asked yet, you caught out of your peripheral the slight twitch of his cock, waiting impatiently for your touch.

As seductively as you could, you pulled his slacks down slightly, enough that you could hook your thumbs into the waistband of his white, y-fronts, watching as more of his cock was revealed until it sprang over the top.

He was an impressive length, and a thickness you could get used to with some practice. Looking at it, you considered that was probably why he so often wore looser slacks, given there was a lot for him to attempt to conceal. Without even realising it, you had begun to lick your lips, trying not to drool over yourself. So, to satiate your growing hunger, you wrapped your palm around the base of his length and began to stroke it.

Your movements were gentle, not too slow but not too fast. You were sure he had experienced some level of physical intimacy before, and he couldn't have gone forty years without some level of masturbation. Surely... but there was always a chance...

Either way, your ministrations against his thickening length had it pulsing and throbbing against the flat of your hand as you dragged it up and down, stroking his cock in rhythym with his breathing and matching the pace of his subconscious and almost imperceptible thrusting.

Despite having a grown man under your power, you were still preoccupied with his comfort, worried that you were moving things too quickly. So to counter your concerns, and keep things as pleasant as possible for you both, you took to looking deep into his eyes, past the lenses of his round frames. It was a piercing stare, one that was uncomfortable for only a moment before it deepened the intimacy, letting you see him in a completely new light as his jaw hung open and his tongue lapped at the air. You couldn't help but smile back at the lopsided grin he wore, your heartbeat unsteadied by the mere suggestion that you were making him happy.

A small, sultry giggle escaped your throat, and Egon groaned in reply, bucking his hips forward,standing on tiptoe and shuddering as he balanced himself back onto his heels again. Only when you felt the cooling of the warm liquid spread over your fingers did you realise what had happened.

With a quick glance down, you could see the last threads of cum spilling ont your hand from the flushed, pink head of Egon's cock. Drops and strands dripped down your knuckles, and as you loosened your grip, the action accompanied by a soft whimper from Egon, you fought the urge to lick your hand clean. There would be opportunities in the future to taste him, right now the priority was to assuage the concern you could see growing on his furrowed brow. You could feel your own underwear soaking in arousal at the idea of pushing Egon to climax so quickly, but he didn't seem to feel the same.

Looking to him, your mischievous grin was quickly contorted into an easy, comforting smile as you stood up and quickly kissed him. If your lips were firm against his, then there was no qay he could finish the entirely unnecessary apology that he was trying to make for what he felt was a speedy response to your touch. Resting your forehead against his, and letting his large nose press into yours, you pulled away from the deep kiss, a slowing tirade of softer ones following it until you were sure he would be quiet.

"It's ok, honestly. There's no need to apologise."

"Are you sure? I'd hate to be a disappointment."

"Hardly! In fact..."

You punctuated each word with a kiss, covering his cheeks, his chin, his neck and his collarbone in them.

"... I think it was pretty hot having that kind of power over you."

When you moved your lip back over his neck, you allowed your teeth to graze across his skin before sinking them in, closing your lips over and sucking at him, feeling his flesh warm in your mouth and delighting in the wet, smacking sound as you let go. With your drool settling in a strand against him, you bit your lip, suddenly a little embarrassed by the very forward nature of the bite. You waited for Egon's approval, or disapproval, of the flurry of affection, giggling when he finally spoke.

"To clarify, that bite was a positive response, yes?"

"Of course! I just wanted to... mark my territory. This way, whenever someone looks at you, they'll know you belong to someone. Just in case anyone else gets any ideas about being your first before I can get to you again."

Egon's fingers twitched, reachign instinctively in that recognisable flustered action to adjust his glasses, one side of his mouth lifted into a coy, but satisfied grin.

[carolmunson]

wake up slow | barista!steve harrington

entry for my fall frenzy requests this request comes in from @superblysubpar: 'there's a scenario with bookstore / library date AND a dialogue prompt that says "what are you reading?"' with steve harrington summary: it's 1990. you're on the opening shift at the bookstore you work at, only to be surprised at a newcomer claiming to be up for an interview for the open barista position in the cafe at the back. sort of put off to start, it's no surprise when things start to bloom over time, and i'm not talking about coffee grounds. tl;dr carol writes a mini romcom.

tw: minors dni, there's nothing too out of whack in this one but i still don't want minors in here. reader is a little sassy but also like, pretty normal overall.

That damn key jams every time it rains -- doesn't help that you left your umbrella at home. Doesn't help that the 'light mist' turned into a heavy downpour the closer you made it to the book store. Doesn't help that you had to park a street over because of street cleaning and had to walk a block in the rain. Now the damn key.

"Come on," you grumble, jiggling an wiggling to no avail. Insert, r-insert, slight tilt to the right, jiggle, pull out a little, turn a little left and then -- nothing. You take the key out only for it to fall to the ground with a fairy like tinkling.

"Come -- the fuck -- on," you nearly growl under your breath while your coat gets heavier and heavier with rain, hood soaking through and dripping water onto your face. You bend down to get the key with a sigh meant for people with back pain, coming back up again to see the coffee bar manager on the other side of the glass door. He chuckles, salt and pepper beared thick over his chin and cheeks. Ruddy skin beams red even in the cool grey light of the morning, 30 years a butcher who pivoted into coffee when he turned fifty and had a really good knack for it.

"Easy morning?"

"Does it look like one, Carl?" you ask, stepping in when he opens the door. He laughs again, a hearty belly laugh that might as well have transported him into a Santa suit in December. "What happened to you?" he asks, following you into the back room where you start putting your stuff in your cubby. You switch out your wet sneakers and socks for the platform loafers and knee highs in your bag. Now that the fall weathers hit, it's all corduroy and knit sweaters, circle skirts and tall socks. If you're going to be on your fifth year working at an idyllic bookstore, you might as well look the part.

"Weather app lied, street cleaning, forgot an umbrella," you shrug, "Just another manic Monday, y'know?" "I know," he nods, "Gimme one second." Carl comes back with a white paper cup and black lid that makes you smile from the inside out, "Is that what I think it is?" "Isn't it always?" he smiles, "I got it ready the second I saw you on the schedule. Caramel latte, hint of cinnamon. Since its -- ya know, fall officially, I put a little maple in there, too." "You spoil me," you sigh, taking the cup from him and letting the warmth radiate through your hands.

"I do," he nods, "But, that latte was the last of my regular milk so I need to run out and grab a few gallons before we open up. You okay to be hangin' out by yourself?"

You nod, of course you're okay to be hanging out by yourself. You take the first sip, letting the caramel flood your tongue. The maple is a good addition. You're about to tell Carl to add this to the seasonal menu but he's already out the break room door with his coat before you can. You hear the jingle of the bell and the lock of the door and eventually the silence settling into the store around you.

You start to re-organize the window display which should've been done last night but 'last night you' said that 'this morning you' could handle it. You wish you could punch last night you in the face, but this is what you get for taking an assistant manager position.

You stack the back to school reads next to your knees where you're sat on them. The dust billows when you move them, making you sneeze with each turn of your head. You rub at your eyes, realizing at that very moment that the mascara you put on this morning has now definitely smudged -- you can't even find the emotional capacity to check considering the store opens in forty five minutes. You wipe down the display shelves, letting the oak gleam under the spot lights. The color is a warm reminder of the cozy moments to come the way that they do this time of year. As you start separating the 'cozy reads' from your 'spooky reads' in the pile on the other side of your knees you hear a knocking at the door --that's not very like Carl to forget his key.

You look over your shoulder, not seeing Carl at all, and if it is, he had some kind of Seventeen Again magic happen to him in that time at the store. You stand up, wiping off your knees and straightening your skirt before getting to the door where the rapping continues against the glass. "We aren't open yet!" you call out.

"M'here for Carl!" you hear, muffled through the panes. "For the barista spot?" you yell back. The guy nods under his hood, the rain picking up in heavy sheets. You sigh, unlocking the door and letting him in. "Carl's not here, he ran out to get some more milk but um, you're welcome to wait in the break room if you want," you explain, wiping a palm over another display through the main hallway and wiping the dust off on your hip. "Thanks," he says, hood coming down to reveal a head full of thick chestnut hair. A gold ring shines on the the hand that runs through it, looks like a family crest type, right on his middle finger.

"I'm Steve," he says with a smile, hand now outstretched to take yours. You look at it and then at him, finally taking in the sight before you. Prominent straight nose, warm amber eyes, lips that definitely use chapstick regularly. He has a nice smile, the kind you read about in the romance novels in the back of the store, the kind people write about.

You take his hand and introduce yourself, he has a business major handshake and you only know that because you dated a handful of them back in college. You try to stifle a chuckle but it comes out airily out of your nose.

"Something funny?" he asks when you both let go. "No, no, sorry, I just thought of something from the other day," you shake your head, "Don't worry about it." He nods, taking off his coat and closing his umbrella following your lead to the back, "It's a cute place."

"Yeah, it's nice in the morning," you nod, "I normally close but -- doing a favor for a key holder today; so you have the pleasure of seeing the troll of the store in her natural habitat."

"What?"

"Nothing -- nevermind," you shake your head, cheeks burning with a wave of embarrassment when you look back and notice that he's genuinely very handsome. You get to the break room, pointing out the spare cubby where he can hang his coat and umbrella. He's in a sweater you swear you've seen on the Cosby Show -- dark green and patterned, a perfect combination of colors against his skin. It cuffs at the wrists, you can see a sliver of his white t-shirt underneath at the collar, a whisper of a gold chain tucked beneath it.

"Yeah um," you start, feeling your heart start to patter in your chest when he takes a seat at the table by the cabinets, "You can just wait here. I'll let Carl know when he comes back."

"Okay," he smiles, "Thanks."

You nod again, heading into the employee bathroom to collect yourself for a moment -- seeing your reflection. You forgot you had rubbed your eyes, masacra smudged in black smears nearly down to your cheeks. "I look insane," you whisper in horror, "Oh my fucking god."

You cover your face for a moment, trying to hide yourself from the embarrassment racking your chest. Definitely looking like the troll of the store, you silently scream into your palms, another dramatic whisper of, "I should just fucking kill myself."

Despite the humiliation, you know it's funny. This would happen to you. This hot guy would come in when your mascaras a mess and your hair is fucked up from the rain, when the weather is bad and your tights have a run, when your allergies are rampant from the dust. Of course he would!

You wet a paper towel and do your best to wipe off the smudges, happy to look a little less insane after a dab of tinted lip balm makes it onto your lips and cheeks.

When you re-emerge he's fiddling with his CD player and his over ear headphones, working on a knot in the wire. You go back over to the counter and take a sip of your forgotten latte.

"What do you drink?" he asks.

"Carl makes it special for me, it's not on the menu," you tell him over the black plastic top before taking another sip. He grins, a soft nod moving his hair with him -- so it's like that. "I didn't ask if it was on the menu. I asked what you drink," he says, leaning back in the chair. His eyes lingering on you sends a zip up your spine, wondering if he's giving you a once over or not.

"It's a caramel latte with maple and cinnamon," you tell him. His confidence both intruiges and enrages you, both making you want to tell him to get out but also learn more about this hot guy that wants to be a barista with a Wall Street handshake, "So why do you wanna work here?"

"Is this the start of my interview?" he laughs.

"No, I'm just wondering," you shrug.

"I'm back in school about twenty minutes away," he says, "Did it for a little when I was in high school -- coffee, I mean. Ice cream shop after that, video store after that. Went to school, took a break, back in it. My dad thinks having jobs like this builds y'know -- character and whatever."

"Jobs like this?" you ask, jaw tensing with annoyance.

"Like, y'know, jobs with the people," he tries to explain, pink building on his cheeks when he realizes he might've said something shitty, "They're not like bad jobs, that's not what I mean -- I mean like, y'know -- not suits kind of jobs. Regular shit."

"Regular shit," you nod, biting back what you wanna say. That gold crest ring should've been enough to tip you off, but your next question is the ace in the hole, "What're you back in school for?"

"Getting my MBA."

Of course.

"Nice," you lie, fake smiling into your next sip -- the latte going cold as your insides when you come to the conclusion that he's just some hot grade A asshole, "Well, good luck."

"Thanks," he calls out while you make your way back to the floor, "I really like your name, by the way! It suits you."

You try not to let that compliment change your mind.

He gets the job, but you don't see him a lot. He opens an then goes to classes at night, you close most of the time -- only catching him really in the first hour of your shift and the last hour of his. You're both too busy to be finding time to talk; him with his mid-shift clean and you with your hourly sales goals and mid-day schedule re-adjustments.

But he does wave when you come in. He calls out your name when you bustle past the coffee counter and weave through the tables to get to where you need to go. It's nice of him, you guess, but the stain of him explaining that the job he's doing is just for regular people taints it for you. Maybe he thinks you're just some menial worker bee that he only knows for now, since his daddy probably has a job lined up for him once he pays through his masters degree.

Job with a suit where the bookstore will be a distant memory for him, whereas you're on a two year track to becoming the manager and likely future owner when the owners get too old to manage it. Job with a suit where he'll pass by the store and shake his head at 'how stupid it was', a 'can you believe people work there?' head toss to a coworker while he get a coffee somewhere else. Meanwhile, it's your entire life, and so are all the stories inside.

A few weeks pass and the days get a little colder, the nights starting earlier as they go. You have an opening shift that chills your bones, hugging your wool coat tight to your body while you fiddle with the key at the door, groaning at the tinkling of it hitting the concrete again.

"Rough morning?"

You look up to the door opening, seeing a pair clean white Nike Air Force 1's singaling who it is.

"It is now," you mumble, grabbing the key and bustling inside.

"Surprised to see you here," he says, following you to the back, "You're not on the schedule." "Last minute switch up, Rochelle has a christening," you say, hanging your coat in the cubby and switching out your sneakers for platfoms again.

"Oh, nice," he grins, "So why is it a rough morning? 'Cause I'm here?"

"Sorta kinda," you shrug, "Did you alread--"

"I got sales report from yesterday on the check out desk, yes," he crosses his arms, leaning against the door frame.

"And th--"

"And the inventory report, and before you ask, yes I checked that all the milk is in stock and that we aren't low on beans. I've been here for a month, honey, I know what I'm doing," he mutters.

"Gross," you pull a face at him over your shoulder, "Don't call me honey."

He shrugs with a smirk, "Rochelle likes it."

"Can you go skulk to your caffeine den and leave me alone?" you snap, "I'm trying to open a store, here."

"Skulk, huh?"

"Too big of a word for you, Harrington?"

"You're on fire this morning," he smiles, that smile they write about.

"I kinda like it," he adds before turning out of the door and back into the warm light of the store towards the coffee bar. You swallow while you watch him leave -- I kinda like it ringing in your ears and floating down to your chest where is settles in, cozy and kind.

The reports are where he said the would be, neat and organized like he was the manager and Carl was his employee. You normally spent at least thirty minutes trying to figure out what Carl had written in chicken scratch on the forms, but Steve's sharp and elegant script was easy to read and perfectly spaced. Annoying.

Even his signature was handsome.

After you get the registers counted and ready you file the forms and mark the reports so they'll be ready for your manager when they get back in store. You check the list of what needs to be done, the chilly late October air swooping in from the cracks under the door. Your face sours while you make your way over to the coffee bar in the back, seeing Steve set up the pastry delivery in the cases on the side.

"Did you come back here to yell at me about something?" he asks, focused on the task at hand, "I got all morning."

"You didn't turn the heat on," you cross your arms, "That's like, the first thing you're supposed to do."

He scoffs quietly, shaking his head, popping back up to lean on glass of the case, "Did you read your morning report or just sit there and admire my handwriting?"

"Excuse me?" you bite back.

"Heats fucked," he shrugs, ducking back down to finishing his display, "They're sending someone to take a look at it later today."

"Whatever," you grumble, turning on your heel to go dust the front shelving and reshelf the returns from yesterday.

"Hey," he calls out, waiting for you to turn around before he continues. Your eyes catch his amber ones, sparkling with a mischief reserved for school boys who are mean to the girls they like, "You look nice today."

You look him over, sucking in your cheeks to kill the smile growing on your lips. His navy sweater hugs a bit across his chest and shoulders, giving way to billow slightly over his midsection and arms. Kahki chinos cut just at his ankles so his sneakers don't even look stupid paired with the outfit, socks just the right height to look cool and not forced. Awful.

"Yeah, you too Harrington," you agree quietly before walking away; and while you killed the smile, he was able to catch that crease in your eyes, the twitch in your shoulders. You thought that was nice, he wonders if he can make you do that again.

You head over to the back of the cafe during your break, no windows near your designated 'break chair'. It's close enough to the fireplace that it always feels like a rainy day even when it's nice outside. Now that Carl started his shift he got your drink ready to go the moment you walked over.

"Well la-di-da," Steve cocks his head when Carl walks over to greet the customer at the register, rag in his hands wiping up the pick up counter, "Expert service and you're not even gonna tip?"

"Here's a tip: leave me alone when I'm on break," you bite. Why did he have to be so handsome? Slight pink on his cheeks from the heat of the espresso and coffee machines, the lights overhead. The heat finally works again and it's almost working too well from the small bead of sweat forming above his brow. He runs a big hand through his hair again, the same way he did when you first met him. You try to ingore the way his bicep bulges in his sleeve when his arm stretches.

His tongue runs over his teeth, settling between them for a second before looking straight at you, "Good one."

"That's what you get when you read books," you say sarcastically, "You should try it sometime."

"You should teach me," he leans over the counter, resting his chin on his palm, "Bet you're a great teacher."

You bite your tongue, pulling in your lips and squinting your eyes to keep the smile from brewing a second time. You pick up your mug and sip your latte while he crosses his arms over his chest. "Nothing this time?" he asks, waiting for you second blow. You shake your head no, occupying your mouth with the rim.

"No?" He asks, you shake your head again, somehow glued to the spot under his stare. He slings the rag over his shoulder, still looking at you. "Well I don't wanna keep you standing here," he teases, offering you a wink that is so soul crushingly charming you could just die, "Enjoy your break."

You've never turned around so quickly in your entire life.

The following week you take another opening shift, happy to settle into the quiet of the cafe now that the morning rush of moms, dads, students, and aspiring writers have cleared out. The fire crackles just right, the leather warmed up to your body heat while the book sucks you in further an further. Thirty minutes pass when you hear a shift infront of you, the subtle squeak of leather being sat in with a soft crunch.

"What're you reading?"

You peer over the top of the spine to see Steve sat in the chair across from you, legs open wide while he leans his forearms on his knees. His long fingers slide together, gold ring shining in the light again to remind you of who he is and where he comes from. As handsome as he is today in his black henley and white t-shirt combo you'll never quite forget the fact that some MBA bro is perched in front of you like a puppy with nowhere to go.

"Sound out the cover, that should tell you," you boredly mumble before tucking back into the chair. His fingers peak over the spine, pushing the book down from the top. He pulls the leather chintz closer to yours with ease -- of course he does.

"Or you could tell me," he says with a softness you weren't ready to hear. Your chest gets warm again, creeping up your neck to your cheeks.

"It's Pride and Prejudice."

"S'that your favorite book or something?" he asks, elbow driving into his thigh so he can rest his chin on his fist.

"One of them," you shrug, "I always read it this time of year, kind of fits the mood of the season."

"Hm," he nods, like he's really listening, "What's it about?"

"Basically," you start, thinking of a way to describe it in two sentences or less, "It's like -- hm -- it's about two people, a love story. One guy is some super rich asshole and he's a jerk because the girl isn't as rich and him. And the girl isn't from the same social standing so she's a jerk because she already assumes that he's a super rich asshole. Like...I don't know, idiots in love who are too stubborn to love each other."

"Hm," he nods again, grin splitting his face, "Interesting."

"What's your favorite book?" you ask, wanting to wipe that smug grin right off his face. His dumb handsome face with that perfect sloped nose, and eyes that look like they're looking directly into you.

"I don't have one," he shrugs.

"You have to have one," you balk, "Like, even if it's one you read in school or something." "Hmm," he sits back up, leaning back in the chair with his hands resting just under his chest.

"You have to know how to read to run a business," you shrug.

"I know how to read, honey," he laughs, "I just don't have a favorite book."

"At least try," you ecourage, albiet annoyed. He taps his fingers on his diaphragm, one knee bouncing while he thinks about it. His shirt rides up just a smidge in the back, revealing a sliver of skin you didn't think you'd ever see.

"Shel Silverstein," he says finally, "Where the Sidewalk Ends."

"You didn't strike me as a poetry guy," you say, closing your book over your finger to hold your place.

"My mom went through this poetry phase -- and I'm my mother's son, so I had a poetry phase with her," he shrugs, "We wore that book out, think we had to get a second copy cause the first one was just like -- destroyed."

"Well that's...you know," you lean your head from side to side, "That's nice. It's cute."

"You'd know, right?" he smiles, that god damn smile Shel would write about in a new book. You'd bring back book burning just to throw it in the flames after it was published. He gets up, disappearing behind you for a moment and reappearing with your favorite green mug. He gingerly places it on the side table next to you.

"Compliments of the chef," he says, presenting it like a Michelin star meal.

You look at it, a perfect pour -- the cream rosetta leaf striking against the warm brown espresso. You can smell the caramel and maple already wafting off it, cinnamon sprinkled delicately on top.

"Um, thanks," you say quietly, taking the mug to your lips. He looks down at you eagerly when you take a sip, waiting for your reaction.

"Did you do something to it?" you ask before you take one.

"No I'm just -- damn, come on. I'm excited to see you try it," he sighs, "I worked hard on it."

"Fine, fine," you murmur, letting the latte flood onto your tongue. Its -- regrettably -- one of the best iterations of you've had in a while. The perfect creaminess without being too milky, enough caramel and maple without being too sweet, the espresso's bitterness cuts the sugar in just the right way to make it smooth. He knows he did it right by the way you go for a second sip without saying anything.

"I did good?" he quirks a brow.

"You did good," you nod.

"Good," he smiles, tapping the top of your chair, "'Cause Carl's putting it on the menu starting in November."

"How come?" you ask into your third sip, the steam billowing over your cheeks.

Steve lets his eyes flicker over your face slowly, offering a half shrug, "I told him to."

November brings the first pre-season snow, not that it mattered now that your favorite drink was a regular menu item now. Caramel and maple always in stock, espresso machine always on first thing in the morning.

You open twice a week now, seeing Steve more often than not. Dropping your key became less common now that he was normally at the door when you'd get there, ready to let you in.

"Another great day, right?" he'd tease.

Now that the holidays were in full swing the bookstore was busier than ever -- sales, bundles, events. You even started carrying children's coloring books and crayons in the kid's section; a whole set up just for kids to sit and color while their parent's browsed.

The stress was getting to you, constantly checking and rechecking the end of day sales versus last year, wanting to make sure everything was on a steady incline with a nice cushion for the next. It helped that the cafe seemed to be absolutely climbing in numbers since September. More and more people wanted to spend time over there, and the more time they spent the more time they looked at books or started reading. It wasn't shocking to see people checking out at the counter with a second coffee and a new book or two in hand.

You don't want it to be true, but you're sure the new barista had a play in what makes so many people stick around. You'd see the way Steve would flirt when he took orders, how he's listen to them intently, make every customer feel like they were the only person in the room.

At least that's how he'd make you feel when he caught your gaze from over the shelving, helping find books for new patrons from the college nearby. You both started to wave at each other at each passing glance, each look caught by surprise, each accidental yearning stare.

Mid-November greets you with a bitter chill, the very early morning doesn't even have the decency to greet with you the rising sun. It'll be atleast another half hour until then.

For the first time in a long time you don't drop the key, pushing into the store with ease. You waste no time turning the heat on, making sure the radiators bled a bit before hand. You rub your hands together while they settle in, putting your coat away in the cubby and switching out your shoes in the break room.

Opening on a Saturday morning isn't common for you, but it's the first event you've planned by yourself. A very simple read-along story telling with some kids from the neighborhood and their parents. You collected three solid winter time reads: The Mitten, The Snowy Day, and A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. A solid hour of reading while the parents could peruse, or sit and watch while their kids tuned into a book instead of cartoons on Nick Jr.

Once you've given yourself the onceover for the morning you feel more confident about the upcoming next few hours. Your knit tights fit snugly over your legs, a touch sheered out with the stretch over your thighs but the pleats in your plaid maroon skirt cover that just fine, hitting just above your knees -- still covered, still sensible. Still cute enough to snag a single dad if one were to show up.

Your feet stay tucked in a pair of worn in platform mary-janes stolen from your sister's New York City closet when you went to visit her over the summer. The chunky knit sweater over the whole ensemble completes you, a spitting image of a 'caught on the street' look you saw in a Seventeen magazine that you still get delivered to you despite being well past the age group.

You thrifted the sweater with Steve in mind, it looked like something he'd wear.

Anyway.

As you set up the 'reading rug' in the cafe area you hear the familar unlocking of the door. The sun finally starting to seep in in golden shards through the panes, leaving squares of light on the wood floors and carpets below.

"Hey Carl!" you call out, "I got everything up and running for you."

You hear the keys jingle but not his smoker's cough, not his heavy steps finding their way to the cafe area. Instead you look up to see Steve with his hands on his hips, watching you struggle to move the leather chintz to the back wall as your reading chair.

"Redecorating?" he asks, looking around the cafe. Under his shearling lined aviator jacket is an open hunter green flannel you wouldn't expect to see him in, his white t-shirt underneath hugs tights to his chest and stomach. You unfortunately noticed how great of a view that is for you.

"Um," you started, looking around the room and the dissaray you seem to have made without realizing, "Why are you here?"

"Same reason your here," he says, stepping forward to shoo you away from the chair, "I'm on the payroll."

"You don't work weekends," you say, crossing your arms over your chest while he lifts the chair over the rug with a soft grunt.

"I do today," he says with a slight strain, "Where do you want this?"

"Uh," you start, "Just right in the center against the wall so everyone can see me."

"Oh, so you're reading to the kids this morning?" he laughs to himself after putting the chair down. He wipes his hands off on each other, shrugging off the jacket and holding it in one arm, "Bitter Betty is gonna entertain the young minds of Main Street?"

"Bitter Betty, huh?" you challenge, following him into the back room, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what that's supposed to mean," he shakes his head.

"I am very sweet," you tell him, a serious edge to your voice, "There are so many customer reviews saying how sweet I am."

"Sure," he nods, putting his coat away in his cubby, "I bet there are; since y'know, you're selling them something."

"I'm not just nice when I'm selling something," you say softly, arms coming protectively across your chest. A frustration bubbles in your chest while you look at him, following him back out into the cafe so you can keep getting the place ready before the families start to show up, "You think you know everything."

"I don't," he shakes his head, smiling while he checks over the machines and gets the first pot of coffee started.

"Yeah, you do. You walked in here two months ago and swear you know everything," you huff, getting the cafe back to a place of organized coziness.

"Okay," he chuckles, "Whatever you say, boss."

"You're infuriating," you mumble under your breath.

"Got that caramel latte coming right up for you, by the way," he says warmly.

Your head turns to see him watching you, he smiles, "Maybe you're a little nicer after you've had a coffee."

You smile back, unable to stop it this time.

"So that's a yes, right?" he cocks his head, fingers drumming on the counter while he watches you. That Harringtom charm pumping out at full speed.

"Y-yeah," you nod, "Whatever. You gonna go chop down a tree, Harrington? What's with the flannel?"

He looks down at his shirt and then back up at you with a soft shake of his head, "I better hurry up and get that started for you."

The kids look up at you with starry eyes, their parents smiling along with their coffees, lattes, espressos, and pastries. The Mitten was a hit and The Snowy Day is so far showing up to be a great follow up.

You take your time to really point out the pictures and adding on to the story since all three of them are pretty short. However, you're finding that kids between two and five are pretty easy to entertain if you do enough counting and make enough sound effects. Maybe you should've been a kindergarten teacher -- or maybe not. Maybe you should just keep doing book events.

You're halfway through when you show the illustrations to the group again, listening to them ooh and ahh at all the snow.

"Did um -- Miss -- did you know -- it snowed? It snowed at my house," one of the older kids announces, arm straight up in the air.

"It snowed last week, Michael, that's right," his mom pipes up, "Daddy had to shovel outside."

"Has everyone else seen snow? Raise your hand if you've seen this much snow!" you announce in your perfect parentese, watching while the older kids and parents raise their hands. The two year olds don't really get it so they just sit there and laugh.

You look up at all the hands, an enthusiastic 'Wow!' coming out of your mouth -- but you barely hear it. Behind the hands are a set of warm amber eyes looking at you from the coffee bar, soft and gentle. Enthralled even. You swallow and lick your lips quickly before smiling, catching his smile back as you look back at the book to start again.

After each couple of pages you catch each other, the pink on his cheeks rising when he looks away -- pretending to be occupied with something else. Cleaning, organizing, resetting the espresso machine. He can tell you're flustered by the way you clear your throat whenever you start to read again.

After The Snowy Day you take a ten minute break so that the parents can take their kids to the bathroom or re-up their beverages. The tip jar is full to bursting because nobody knows how to make a single mom feel like Steve Harrington does; and husbands will pay anything to get him to leave their wives alone.

You reset your chair, making sure the books you're reading are on display for purchasing on the shelving close by in your Winter Children's Bundle for a discounted price. As the ten minutes closes up you feel a soft tap on your shoulder.

"Here," you turn around to Steve with a green mug in his hands, "It's just regular coffee this time, but -- figured you could use it."

You take it body first, reaching around for the handle only to feel his fingers brush against yours at the hand of. The soft touch isn't electric like it is in the books, it's like that but better. Warm like an oven, the gooey parts of you rising in a slow bake when you see him look down and turn away -- running that same hand through his hair on his way back to the counter.

"Thanks," you say over the chatter of parents and kids coming back to sit.

"Can I have something ready for you for your break?" he asks back.

"Surprise me," you shrug, sitting back on your chintz chair and taking the final book onto your lap. The kids cheer when they see Snoopy on the cover, a well loved favorite cartoon to finish off their morning. With the crack of the spine you can already smell the sales coming once this little event is over.

You work through your break, ringing up and helping customer after customer on easily one of the busiest Saturday's you've seen in a while. It normally doesn't get busy like this at least for another couple of weeks.

The stress of working through lunch barely matters though because your event was a bigger success than you could've hoped for -- logging in the notes for Rochelle that you should probably start doing this throughout the season just for good measure.

It's starting to get dark by the time your shift ends and the store closes -- early on Saturdays at a tight 4 PM. You let your sales girl go a little early, wanting to take the time to close up the store properly since you were the one who made it such a mess this morning. As you start to put the chairs back that had been moved from the cafe to the children's section you hear him, fingers tapping on the counter.

"You didn't come by for your break," he says, "And I put a lot of effort into that drink."

"Sorry, we can't all be flirting through our shifts like you can, Harrington," you snark with a grin, flipping the last chair over onto it's accompanied table.

"You don't have to clean up the coffee part of the store," he says, coming around with another mug in hand, "That's my job, y'know."

"I know," you say, "But I kind of fucked it up this morning so -- just doing my part."

"Well, here," he says, mug outstretched in his large hand, gold ring gleaming back at you, "For doing your part, I guess."

"You guess, huh?" you laugh lazily, taking it -- he places his fingers in a way that you have no choice but to touch them. You wonder if he did it on purpose, "What do you call this one?"

"'Surprise me'," he replies in a mocking drawl, flipping the rag over his shoulder again and leaning against the counter's edge. The first sip is unfortunately one of the most even temperatured hot drinks you've put past your lips.

"You're good at this," you blurt out, almost offended.

"Well don't look so upset about it."

"I am upset about it," you nod back over the lip of the mug, taking another sip. Mocha -- something. It's like hot chocolate and espresso but better, still caramel, still cinnamon, like a hug from your past but caffienated like your present.

"Consider me surprised," you nod, licking your lips again, "It's good -- it's um -- yeah. It's really good."

"Thanks," he smirks, "A few of the mom's thought so, too."

You let out a sigh through your teeth, rolling your eyes. He expected that, taking a step forward when your gaze comes back to center. You can smell the left over wraiths of his cologne and Old Spice deodorant, count the moles on his neck adorned with his hidden gold chain, see the hair on his forearms from his rolled up sleeves.

"You know something," he says quietly, "If I didn't know any better -- I'd think you like me."

"Like you?" you balk, eyes widening, "You wish."

He clicks his tongue when you get so defensive because it just proves him right. He crosses his arms with another step forward, head cocking to the side slightly while he sizes you up. Why did his creator need to make his forearms so beefy? So perfectly sculpted that you can't look at them without losing your train of thought? Stupid.

"I don't think I have to wish, honey," he says softly, Doc Martins creaking on the wooden floors, "I think...uh, I think I must allow you to tell me how ardently you admire and like me."

Your mouth falls open, staring at him with eyes as glassy at the kids who watched you read this morning.

"You -- no -- you read it?"

"Maybe," he says, another step forward, his arms bumping against your chest.

"Maybe?" you ask back, brow quirking.

"Yeah, maybe I did," he runs a hand through his hair, falling back away from his face to show off his sturdy brow bone, watching you with admiration down the slope of his nose.

He reaches down and takes the mug out of your hand with smooth finesse, arm long enough to reach back and place it on the counter behind him. When he leans back in place he's closer than before, toe to toe, nearly nose to nose.

"Maybe I bought it the day you told me about it," he shrugs, "Maybe I thought it was pretty close to something I had goin' on with a girl I know."

"A girl you know?" you challenge. You know exactly who he means, but it might be fun to hear him say it. "Yeah, sometimes I only see her like, an hour a day. But sometimes I get to watch her read on her break, sometimes I get to close with her on Saturdays," he explains warmly, the timbre of his voice deep against the crackling of the fire in the back corner of the cafe.

"This is the only Saturday you've closed with me," you counter, head tilting up slightly, close enough that the tip of your nose brushes his.

"Who said I was talking about you, honey?" he murmurs back, mischief in his eyes that are half hidden by his eyelids. You feel a puff of his breath over your top lip, still minty fresh like he just brushed his teeth.

"We both know you're talking about me," you smirk, self satisfied while his gaze flickers to your lips and back to your eyes. He steps at an angle, making you step back so you're against the pick up counter.

"So sure of yourself," he he scoffs quietly, leaning over you and getting into your space. Each hand coming to the side of you to lean on the granite, caging you in, "I like that in a pretty girl."

"Most do," you shrug matter of factly.

"Yeah," he nods, "Think that's what I like about you."

"Maybe that's what I like about you, too," you nearly whisper out.

"Maybe?" he asks, lower lip ghosting over yours. "Mayb--"

The hand he uses to run through his hair finds itself flat over the back of yours, sliding down to over your cheek and jaw where he keeps you angled just right. He closes the millimeters between you, warm lips catching yours in a kiss that feels like passion but a power play you want to match.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, heads moving in soft tilts when you change angles. When you find yourself sat on the edge of the counter he uses the leverage to pull you close to him, hips between the fullness of your thighs.

His tongue skates over yours when it slides into your mouth, free hand ridding up the soft material of your tights, tips of his fingers inching under the hem of your skirt in an innocent tease.

Even the way he breathes through it is sexy, leaving you with a lingering guess of what he can do when he presses his lips against your neck. Tongue flitting and striping while he nearly nips a bruise onto your skin. You let out a gentle gasp, enough to admit defeat to him -- much to your chagrin. Steve comes back up to your lips to meet you with a few final deep kisses before you break apart.

He steps back once, the deep golden light of the sun setting cracks through the panes of the back window in the cafe, adoring him in a glow that shines of his hair and eyes. The kind of glow they write about, the kind of glow you read about.

You both take deep breaths, eyes hungry for each other -- unsure if you should go for more. He lingers, coming forward again to rest his hands on your thighs.

"I didn't read it," he confesses. "Pfffft. Why am I not surprised?" you huff, exasperated.

"But! But, but, but," he argues back, pecking you feverishly, "I had to go to like, five different places to find the movie from 1980 so -- I did actually put some effort into it."

"I love that one," you say back.

"I get points for that, right?" he asks expectantly.

"Yeah, fine. You're luck you're cute," you explain, "But you do definitely have to read it, at some point. If you wanna keep making out with me in the cafe after closing."

"Oh, absolutely," he grins, hand reaching to pull you in by the back of the neck for a final searing kiss, "You'll have to teach me, remember?"

You of course start closing together every single Saturday.

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

[darcydarlingdabbles]

Born to Survive (2/2)

part 2 of Astarion's Romance scene in act 1

part 1 link

Astarion x f!Tav (tiefling), Canon Compliant, Explicit af

4.2k

//This one tried to kill me. Smut, angst, comfort, oh my. Game accurate dialogue up to a point. CW: Good in bed, bad at emotions. Unhealthy...everything when it comes to sex/emotions. Bad communication?? But happy ending. This is the night with Tav that changes everything for Astarion.// Song Rec: The Death of Peace of Mind by Bad Omens

Astarion’s keen ears caught the moment Tav entered the moonlit clearing.

The vampire spawn felt the familiar prickling anticipation of the game he was about to play—a dance of manipulation and survival, dressed up in the silvery light. Where he could slip into the role he was created play. The seductive predator, dangerous and irresistible.

Yet, not so much as to forfeit her faith in him.

An unfamiliar flutter stirred within the pale elf. She was just another pawn in his web. Nothing was different just because he knew her name. And he should not be secretly happy that she would survive to see the sun rise tomorrow.

Astarion ignored the rush of his long since dead heart. This was self preservation; nothing more.

This yearning for anything else was dangerous as putting a stake in her hands.

He could not afford to care how she felt about him, beyond whether or not she would protect him.

Astarion removed his jacket methodically, folding it with deliberate care. As he pulled at the laces of his white shirt, memories came unbidden—clothing pooled around ankles, ripped away from his body, discarded like they weren’t all he had to his name.

Cazador’s mocking voice sneered in his mind. Reminding him of his place. On his knees. On his back. All he was good for.

He draped his folded shirt over a low branch, silencing the heartless laugh echoing in his memory as he slid on the mask he’d donned for centuries.

Astarion’s undead heart might as well b e made of stone. There was nothing left of him but the charm he cast.

“There you are.” Astarion greeted with the hint of a purr in his voice as he stepped from behind a towering oak with a smile already curving his lips.

He let his gaze rake appreciatively over Tav’s form, gratified when her eyes darted from his face to drink in his bared chest and down his body.

The blush on her cheeks when she was caught was just…delicious.

“I’ve been waiting, waiting since the moment I set eyes on you,” Astarion soothed, gliding closer. The moonlight caressed his alabaster skin, lending him an ethereal, almost ghostly beauty. 

At least, he hoped that was how he appeared, striking and seductive in the silver glow.

His prowl came to a stop merely inches from Tav, catching the hitch in her breath as she still hadn’t spoken. Thrilling him with how utterly captivated she was.

“Waiting…to have you.” he finished in a silken murmur, reaching a delicate hand to trail his cool fingers over her flushed cheek.

Suddenly, the tiefling’s eyes snapped up to meet his. Her body reanimated as she shifted from foot to foot with a slash of her tail.

“You sure, Astarion?” Tav asked, Her voice was a maddeningly gentle whisper, her brow creased with a vexing worry.

Why did she have to make this so damn difficult? Couldn’t she just enjoy what they both clearly wanted?

Instead Tav had to ask those weighted words, like she was trying disarm his every charm.

No.

He couldn’t let her pry her way under his flirtatious mask. Whatever broken, battered creature cowered behind his facade could not see the light of day. Astarion had a role to play. The lover Tav would do anything to protect.

His smile never wavered as he steered her away from anything more meaningful than their little dance now, until bairly a hair’s breadth separated their bodies.

“Don’t I have you?” he said with honey in his voice and want in his crimson eyes. “You’re here…and I don’t think you want to talk.”

Knowing her gaze was intent on him, Astarion let his focus drift down the curves of her body—taking in the way her tiefling tail betrayed her. Despite the worry on her brow, Tav’s arrant appendage curled at the tip in obvious interest.

Astarion’s charms were eroding even the hero’s defenses, as they should.

Tav’s full lips parted, and before she could voice another irritatingly perceptive question, Astarion wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling their bodies flush at last.

“I think you want to be known…to be tasted.” His breath ghosted across her skin.

Slowly, giving her time to pull away, he raised a hand to cup her cheek, caressing the fading puncture marks with his thumb.

Finally, Tav shivered at his touch. Her slit pupils went wide, and her tail curled fully to the small of her back. Just when he was about to taste her lips for the first time…she had to open her mouth.

“What do you want, Astarion?”

In his wretchedly long mockery of a life, no one had ever asked him that. No lover. No target. And certainly no master.

Why did Tav threaten to crack his facade with every damn word she said.

What did he want? Blood. Protection. Freedom. Safety.

Astarion sliced that thread before either of them could follow it too closely.

The vampire turned Tav’s head, breaking that too honest gaze, letting his lips brush her pointed ear instead. “What do any of us want? Pleasure. Yours, mine, our collective ecstasy.” He let each word drip with promise.

Her resistance finally melted away.

A smile graced that sweet mouth and her lithe form leaned into his. She reached for him at last, her hands coming to rest on his waist, and he could nearly sigh as the heat of her skin seeped into his perpetual chill.

Her touch was still too tentative for him.

Astarion captured her wrists in his long fingers, drawing her hands up along the sculpted planes of his chest to loop around his neck, ducking his head to tease his lips over hers. "

“That’s it. That’s what you want, isn’t it…to lose yourself in me?”

He wasn’t asking. It was what they always wanted. His touch. His attention. His body. All he was good for.

“Astarion…”

The vampire nearly gloated when she sighed his name—the noble tone was so weak under the want.

At last, Astarion had dragged the honorable Tav down to his level of depravity.

Her pulse thrummed wildly under his palms, betraying her at last. How badly she must want him. How he’d stripped away her suspicion and caution until only need remained.

“I thought so.” He purred with pure gratification.

Tav leaned up on her toes, pressing through the hands cupping her face, and closing the distance between their mouths.

Astarion had kissed countless lips in his time. Thousands of fleeting moments, rushed, careless, clashing, teeth and tongues.

Tav’s kiss was nothing like that.

It was warm, reverent in a way Astarion knew he did not deserve, even as he slid easily into the motions. Trying to bury her tenderness in wanton desire.

But then, Tav leaned into his palm, nuzzling her cheek into his hand, pointed fingers threading through his.

And it was such an artless, intimate gesture that suddenly threatened to choke him.

Desperate to quash this unnamed feeling before it could take root—Astarion claimed Tav’s mouth in a searing kiss. Biting her bottom lip to banish any sweetness she gave.

…

Tav could feel her pulse fluttering in her ears as Astarion caressed her every curve with effortless grace. His lips felt like they were everywhere, and his skilled tongue stoked a delicious heat within the tiefling.

She was lost to every delicate touch. His nimble fingers deftly undid the laces of her bodice, unhooking the fastenings of her trousers.

Tav hardly noticed until he was pulling her to step out of the puddle of her clothes to be pulled into the hard line of his body against hers.

His elegance was unmatched to any lover she’d had. They hardly needed to exchange—and Astarion seemed disinclined to speak at all as he lavished attention down her neck and her collarbones with his perfect mouth.

Tav was desperate. Not just for more skin-tingling touches, but to return some of the bliss he bestowed on her.

Her fingers grasped at Astarion’s silken hair, catching him for a moment so she could leave her own kisses along the chiseled line of his jaw, down the pale column of his neck.

The vampire’s throat went motionless under her mouth the lower she went. Of course, she didn’t expect to feel a fluttering pulse, but it was like he’d forgotten to breathe. Had passion erased his pretense of needing air?

Tav just wondered this as her lips reached the twin scars on his neck—and Astarion went rigid.

Her heart seized.

She overstepped, maybe reminded him of his painful past, and she had to apologize.

The words were already on her tongue, when he caught her by the chin and pulled her back.

“As much as I enjoy your affections, darling,” he purred, ruby eyes gleaming wickedly, “I have much better plans for that sweet mouth of yours.”

Then he was kissing her again, deeply, ardently. Tav whined as the points of his fangs grazed her bottom lip, sending licks of fire through her veins. He knew exactly what he was doing as he ravished her, and  her awkwardness forgotten as he tried to drown her in arousal.

Nothing existed but Astarion’s clever hands, his sinful lips, and the delicious ache building between her thighs.

The awkwardness of the moment was forgotten as she clung to him. Nothing compared to the intensity of being the focus of Astarions attention. She felt ravished before he even stooped to wrap her legs around his waist, but he barely broke their kiss.

Tav eagerly complied, locking her arms around his shoulders, careful of his neck, though curling her quivering tail around his torso too.

Astarion pressed her into the rough bark of a nearby tree, his hands digging possessively into her thighs.

She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. She was giddy with arousal, slicker still as she felt the hard length of his cock just press against her.

Gods, she needed him inside her.

“Playful little tiefling.” Astarion murmured appreciatively, his voice like dark velvet against her ear.

Tav giggled again, giving a deliberate twitch of her tail. “Well, biting is basically foreplay for my kind,” she teased, fingers threading through his curls, careful of the points of her nails as she murmured against his lips. “I shoulda warned ya, before that first little nibble by the campfire.”

If their bodies weren't so closely interlaced, their noses gently grazing each other as Astarion teasingly ground his hips into hers, stirring her eagerness for the forthcoming fervor, she may have missed the swift flicker of emotion that danced across Astarion's handsome face.

Uncertainty. Discomfort even…at being bitten? That made sense he would be cautious of the reminder—but the expression was gone in a blink. Replaced with a roguish grin.

“Is that so? Then you’ve already surrendered yourself to me.”

Oh, how damn cocky could a man be?

Sure, he was turning her to a mess just rutting against her. But Tav arched a brow. “I can’t just…let you win.”

The tiefling simpered, even as she tilted her head to the side, baring the tantalizing line of her throat. Showing off the fading bite.

That bright ruby gaze darkened, rivited, zeroed in on her fluttering pulse. He leaned in, fangs bared, as she slid her tail away from him.

In flick of her tail, Tav leveraged herself off of the tree, sending them both tumbling into the soft grass.

She landed atop him, legs caging his hips, grinning at his startled expression.

“Gotcha.”

To Tav’s surprise and delight, a warm and genuine laugh burst from Astarion’s lips. His eyes sparkled with an inner light, bright and unreserved in a way she’d never seen from him before. Tav was transfixed by just the glimpse of raw, unguarded emotion on his face.

The spell couldn’t last forever.

Astarion’s hands seized her hips, using his vampiric strength and speed to flip Tav onto her back, pinning her into the grass.

Her air escaped in a huff as he captured her wrists and pressed them into the ground, rendering her wonderfully helpless.

“Alright, alright, I yield!” Tav laughed breathlessly, squirming only half-heartedly in his stone grip. “You win.”

Still smiling, she tipped her head back, baring her throat in surrender—eliciting a low, greedy sound from Astarion. This time, he did not hesitate.

Hot, stinging pleasure burst through her blood as the vampire’s fangs sank into her skin. She shivered, happily helpless, under the icy ecstasy of his bite. His body leaned heavily and perfectly into the cradle of hers.

His long fingers came around to cushion her head, just as the first night he fed from her. Tav hardly noticed when Astarion released her wrists, other than she could dreamily slide her fingers into his white curls. On instinct, she brushed the pads of her thumbs along the tender points of his ears.

Astarion startled in her hold.

A blissful sound echoed against her throat, and the twin points of pain disappeared as his focus wavered. He pulled back from her, crimson lingering on his lips.

“Elves and their ears.” Tav answered his unasked question, repeating the gentle stroke to prove her point, gratified when he was the one to give a shudder. “Shall I stop?”

“Don’t you dare,” Astarion growled playfully, before diving back down to reclaim her lips. She teased his gorgeous ears as long as he would allow, before he seemed to remember himself—and pulled back with a darker gaze.

“Let me show you my favorite trick.” He purred, kissing a trail down her heated body. Lavishing attention on her breasts before settling between her thighs like he belonged there.

His strong, elegant hands curled under her hips, lifting her soaking folds to his wickedly talented tongue.

The first stroke across her clit had Tav arching with a cry, sparks igniting behind her eyelids. Astarion was relentless, laving and suckling with single-minded focus, devouring her pussy like he hungered for nothing else. His clever fingers slid into her, thrusting and curling with unerring accuracy.

He was overwhelming in the most delightful way.

“Astarion,” Tav gasped, half a sob in her throat. Her fingers tangled in his hair. Pleasure was building inside her like a cresting wave until she thought she might shatter from it. 

Just as the peak crashed over her, Tav’s tail curled adoringly around Astarion’s arm, the spaded tip digging into his bicep. Astarion groaned against her, the sound reverberating through her pussy—until she was trembling in the grass.

“Darling…I am not finished with you yet.” his breath was panting against his thigh, his lips shining with her slick in the moonlight.

His eyes burned into hers as he lowered his mouth back to her, drawing a feral whimper from her mouth. He worked her through the aftershocks with his lips and mouth and the edge of his teeth—then built her back up again, drawing every ounce of pleasure from the tiefling’s body until she was left boneless and blissed out.

By the time Tav found her voice again, she’d lost count of how many times he’d made her come. 

“Astarion,” she rasped. “Please. I need you.”

In a flash, he was over her, the blunt head of his cock nudging against her entrance. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said with that damnable roguish grin.

Then he was sliding into her, hard and thick and perfect, and Tav could only hang on as he took her apart all over again. She was so sensitive, the pleasure bordering on pain, that it only took a few deep strokes before she was clenching around him, keening her release.

Astarion swallowed the sound with his mouth, kissing her deeply as he continued to move within her. Tav felt owned, treasured, utterly consumed by the brilliant creature in her arms. In that moment, she would have happily let him devour her whole.

…

Astarion thrust into her with smooth, measured strokes, the perfect rhythm to draw out her satisfaction. His face was buried in the crook of her neck as he murmured filthy praises against her skin, just as he was supposed to.

“You are so terribly intoxicating, my love. So perfectly wrapped around me. Like you were made just to undo me.”

Tav was a mess under him, her careful words lost to the sensation of him moving inside her. Her limbs tangled around him and she tried to pull him down for a kiss.

Astarion evaded her lips, lavishing attention on her throat instead. Letting his mind slip away again.

It wasn’t long before she was clenching around him again, shuddering through another intense climax. Astarion worked her through it, then gradually slowed his pace. When Tav finally resurfaced, sated and pliant in his arms.

Just where he needed her to be.

“Fuck,” she sighed, pressing the heel of her palm over her eyes as she still caught her breath. He slid from her still quivering body, though she still clung to him with her curled tail.

“I shall take that as a compliment.” He chuckled at her side, pressing his lips to the skin before her ear.

“Astarion, did you…?”

The vampire tensed almost imperceptibly before pulling back to look at her, a practiced smile curving his lips. 

“I was, concentrating…you had me captivated, darling.” He glossed over. It was easy to ignore his own ache, and most of his conquests were happy to let him. “Brilliant, beautiful thing you are.”

Astarion eased, pressing her back into the grass. He sat up, resting on his bent knee, as he let himself detachment from the moment.

Tav's frown caught his attention as she studied him from where she was still laid back in the moonlit grass. “Hey, is everything okay? I want to make you feel good, too.”

Her words took him by surprise. Make him feel good? That simply didn’t factor into any script he played in someone else’s bed.

His mouth opened and closed in silent confusion before he shook off the disorientation.

"I...no, everything’s fine. Wonderful, in fact. You’ve been perfect, darling," he responded smoothly. Astarion couldn’t pull his mask into place. Weak, vulnerable, aching—confused as to what he should do next.

But there was no dungeon to draw her towards. No master to turn her over to. Tav was not a target. What was he meant to do?

Astarion laid back, wondering if he should feign exhaustion. Until Tav fell asleep and he could slip away.

With a gentle smile, and a little unsteady as she rose, Tav slid her hands up Astarion’s chest to frame his face. “Let me concentrate on you now,” she murmured, shifting until she was straddling his hips again.

He clung to her waist on instinct, but didn’t grip hard enough to stop her from moving over him.

“Is that alright, Astarion?”

She kept saying his name, drawing his eyes back to hers, to the want in hers that was more than want.

The warmth was overwhelming.

“Yes,” He agreed, hearing his own breathless assent. Telling himself it was just to be relieved of that adoring look in her eyes.

Tav drew him along her palm, sinking down on his hardness inch by heavenly inch. 

Astarion gasped gently. For once, he seemed at a loss for words, ruby eyes wide and locked on hers as she began to move.

Undulating slowly, Tav leaned in to capture his lips, kissing him deeply, reverently. 

His own mouth was…hesitant. The way she kissed him, the way she kissed, the way she moved, dragged that unbidden yearning from somewhere deep inside him.

Like his first taste of her neck, something about this felt forbidden. Too rich for his blood.

But then Astarion was kissing Tav back feverishly, sitting up to tangle one hand in her hair to hold her close. Like he was starving all over again.

Tav kept the pace languid, letting Astarion savor every slide and press, her pussy quivering around him still. He’d thought he’d worn her out so thoroughly—but she persisted.

She peppered kisses across his angular cheekbones, the corner of his mouth, his temples. Astarion shuddered beneath her, a soft whimper escaping him as she rolled her hips just so.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Tav crooned. “Just feel. Let go for me.”

Time seemed to slip from him yet again—but he felt every breath against his lips, her forehead pressed to his with agonizing sweetness. Her fingers curled into the hair at the base of his neck, and he clung to her in turn.

Astarion felt his body stiffen involuntarily, a flicker of apprehension. His armor trying to snap back into place, one last ditch attempt to wall him off.

“Tav…” his voice was a broken plea.

Her relentless warmth ceased every vulnerability in him. Her arms wrapped around him, shielding out the rest of the world, the rest of his thoughts.

Those damnable eyes with unwavering affection as they locked onto his.

"I've got you," Tav murmured with a fervor that echoed through him. "You're so good, Astarion."

Her words sent him spiraling into the abyss with a ragged gasp as his climax washed over him, spilling deep within her.

Astarion could feel her arms drawing him closer, her fingers threading through his curls and whispering praises and reassurances that seeped into his dead marrow.

He clung to her desperately, hiding himself in the crook of her neck as he was the one to tremble.

In this moment, stripped bare of all pretenses and disguises he wore. All Astarion could do was cling tighter to Tav, hoping that she could feel even a sliver of the affection and reverence that burned within him.

Astarion watched her as she lay back, unable to rip his eyes away or compose his face in to something prettier.

She laughed breathlessly, but the elf remained still, waiting. Bracing himself for the inevitable withdrawal, for her warmth to leave him bereft and alone once more.

That part of the script was surely still intact.

They took their pleasure, then cast him aside. Or worse.

But Tav did neither.

She nestled close, resting her head on his chest with a contented sigh. Astarion glanced down at her, watching the way her fingers idly traced invisible patterns on his cool skin. The casual intimacy of it made his throat tighten.

After a moment, Tav lifted her gaze to his, a playful smile curving her kiss-swollen lips. “Not much for cuddling after?” she teased gently, but she was already lifting herself off of him.

Astarion huffed a laugh, hoping it masked the confused tangle of emotions her tenderness evoked. “It’s not exactly my forte.” 

He should be using his glib charm to get them back to camp, saying they should get some sleep. But with Tav...he hesitated. Loath to break this fragile, unfamiliar spell between them. 

As if sensing his inner turmoil, Tav shifted to lay her head in the grass beside him, relinquishing her claim on his space.

But as her warmth and weight left him, Astarion felt strangely bereft. Unmoored. His hand darted out to catch hers, lacing their fingers together as he turned to face her.

Tav’s ever-radiant smile dawned across her face. She squeezed his hand gently, like it was the most precious thing she’d ever held. “This okay?” she asked softly.

Slowly, deliberately, she brought his knuckles to her lips, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of his hand. Like he was the prey she feared startling.

Tav slid their joined hands up to rest over Astarion’s still heart, her expression open and tender in a way that made his breath catch.

Astarion swallowed hard to gain even a tenuous control. “More than,” he managed, voice rough with everything he couldn’t quite say.

Tav smiled at him, and those bright eyes held nothing—no guile, no ulterior motive. Only affection and a hint of something that looked dangerously close to…adoration.

It terrified him even as some long-dormant part of his soul ached for more.

“Good,” he breathed at last, barely recognizing his own voice.

As he slid his arm around Tav’s shoulders, pulling her back to his chest beneath the star-strewn sky, a sudden realization hit him with the force of a charging bulette.

In all his long existence, he had never spent the night with a lover. Had never wanted to. But now, with Tav a warm, trusting weight in his arms, he found himself hoping desperately that this wouldn’t be the last time.

There would be time to figure this out later, he told himself. To untangle the confusing snarl of warmth and want and unspoken yearning twisting beneath his ribs. 

And yet, as Tav’s breathing gradually slowed and deepened with the onset of sleep, Astarion discovered that there was nowhere in all the realms he’d rather be.

Perhaps, just this once, he could let himself have this. Could dare to imagine a future beyond mere survival.

[virahaus]

Okay so I'm gonna say this cause I've just seen another post reiterating this narrative and I simply cannot comprehend the way people are going out of their way to make Tommy a villain when he's NOT.

First of all, the much discussed date.

It was clear that before Eddie and Marisol showed up Tommy was totally fine with Buck being a bit of a clueless baby bi and did not put it against him. He didn't say anything snarky to him, nor he questioned him being out or not, he teased and flirted with him even after the whole "I'm an ally" speech, which kudos to my man cause I couldn't have taken my date seriously if they said something like that.

It's clear that Tommy only took issues with the way the date was going after Buck made the horrible decision to say that they are going to pick up "hot chicks" and play it up like that.

Now, I don't think the issue here is Buck not saying he's on a date with him. It's clear by the way the dialogue has been constructed with all the hints about closet space and by Tommy's snarky line (which again VALID. He was not outing Buck. He was not trying in the slightest to do so. Eddie and Marisol are talking about closet space as in FURNITURE. To that for Eddie to take a leap and think that the closet is something more than it is, is frankly ridiculous. We know the double meaning because we are the audience. It's a joke for US, and for Buck only, not for Eddie who by the way was also clueless about Tommy's own sexuality);

The real problem was that Buck also shoved Tommy back in the closet. I don't think Tommy wanted Buck to announce there and there that they were on a date, especially after the whole convo and questions about being out in the workplace. It's an obvious hint to the fact that Buck is not out and it's reinforced by Buck also telling him that it's his first date with a dude. Season 7 Tommy hasn't been shown to be stupid or insensitive so it's obvious that he would have read between the lines.

So, it's clear that the issue here is that Tommy did not want to be shoved back into the closet, especially after years of unlearning bad behaviour and the journey to accept the fact he's gay. He doesn't offer it but he also doesn't want to be shoved back into a position where he has to deny he's gay. Which again, is super valid of him.

The moment most people try to use against Tommy is the fact that he cut off their date and left Buck alone outside the restaurant, which... Tommy had all the right to cut short their date. He was uncomfortable with how things were going and so he cut his losses. He's not rude or disrespectful, he even reiterates how he thinks Buck is adorable and in the same breath he also establishes his limits. Again, fair.

But some of y'all are acting as if he left Buck alone in the middle of the desert, not in fucking LA where Buck can call a cab anytime and go back home easily. Buck is not a kid, he's a grown ass man and can very well go back home alone. He's not drunk, nor under substance, he's not injured and he certainly can use his phone and call a cab.

You all have a thing about seeing Buck as completely incompetent, helpless and unable to take care of himself, and I must remind you that he's the same person who got out of his parents house and immediately took off and did a tour of the Americas, managed to live on his own, and was healthy and alive when he got to LA in season 1.

So you might want to remember that.

Another thing you all like to dangle over Tommy like "gotcha" kinda moment is the fact that in his past he was an asshole to Chin and Hen, some almost 10 years before what is being shown on screen now. It's clear that he's friends with Chim still and even if he did not keep in touch with Hen there's no animosity there either. In the flashback where he leaves the 118 Hen is the one to shove him face first into a cake. Do you think he would have taken it so well had they not been friendly? Or that Hen would have done that if she didn't think she could do so? It's already established in the flashbacks that they have worked through their issues and for you to demand Hen or Chim to be hostile with him rn or that he needs to "work for their friendship" it's simply madness.

The flashbacks already established him as having changed and being friends with both them and Bobby, since there's also a scene of them going out to a bar together and they all have fun together. For you to demand more without also having a Tommy Begins episode it's frankly ridiculous. He's not that important in Chim or Hen's lives as of now to need a further explanation but "they resolved their issues and there's that". And he was not obligated to come out to Hen at any time. You do not owe your sexuality to anyone.

Anyway. There's that. My big rant for some of the things I've seen since the break. If y'all liked this I might do more dissertations of the other out of pocket takes I've seen around. And my ask is also open if you want to ask my opinion on something

[koimethehorizon]

Fionna and Cake theory: Simon the Artist

Nothing like a good old creative panic attack.

Fionna and Cake good. Haven’t been excited about a show like this in a long time, though it being a part of Adventure Time does help quite a bit. I was holding on to some cautious optimism for the show when it was announced as yet another big IP series covering the multiverse (still waiting to groan at THAT scene where Prismo has to explain to us about there being infinite universes), but as usual, Adventure Time’s crew continues to surprise me with its creativity, humor, and thematic resonance.

The most striking part about Fionna and Cake so far is just how deliberately the show wants us to differentiate it from the original Adventure Time.

We’re getting shots where Simon pops an artery from his arm, a theme song that explicitly talks about suicidal ideation, discussions of rent and financial problems, and curses no longer disguised with AT’s usual dialogue. Adventure Time has always had violence, thematic density, and juvenile rating pushers, but they were always reserved at small points. Meanwhile, these are factors that are just casually shown and discussed in Fionna and Cake every 3 minutes or so. This is not an all-ages miniseries, it’s for young adults. (hint: this will be relevant later)

Let’s get right into it. This is much less a speculative lore theory and more on what thematic direction the story may be going.

Before we do, let’s get this out of the way first. This theory assumes that the current Fionna and Cake world is all a part of Simon’s head and not merely a separate multiverse, which… I’m certain is fact for the following reasons.

The immediately obvious piece is that Fionna and Cake was always the Ice King’s fanfiction. Now if you’re versed in AT’s continuity you’re probably going to be asking about the red light in Fionna and Cake + Fionna and… I’ve no answer for it unfortunately. It’ll probably be relevant later in the series and possibly age this post like milk but for now, we’re not here to focus on the how, but the why.

Second is that the intro and the ending of Ep 2 literally show Fionna’s world spilling right out of Simon’s head like an animated world out of a frozen brain. If that isn’t clear enough-

Didn't realize this until writing, but these glasses are just plastic made to look like Betty's

There’s no other explanation for this other than that this world is artificial or influenced by Simon in some sense. Fionna even specifies that the statue went under renovation 12 years ago, but nobody seems to know who it is. Considering how Finn looks in the episode, it’s likely that it’s been that long since Betty’s sacrifice in the finale.

With that out of the way, here it goes.

The reason Fionna and Cake exist in the first place is because the creators found Natasha Allegri’s genderswap designs charming and wanted an in-universe reason to use them the Ice King wanted to create trashy, wish fulfillment through art. It was a phase.

Definitely changed that image for publishing.

Simon can argue if they’re good or bad but it’s undeniably his art. It’s not just a portfolio he left behind in a closet, it’s an experience that was shared with a larger audience.

And even if wasn’t liked at first, the citizens of Ooo seemed to have come around to it. And some of them love it!

Whether Simon likes it or not, he has a fan base that is so endeared to the story he made all those years ago that they demand he makes more. Why let a good story, loved by many, go to rest when you still have some life and creativity left in you?

Can't move on in more ways than one.

Except, the problem is that Simon isn’t Ice King anymore. He’s aged out of it.

His real passion is history, he's an adult who who finds passion in the mundane and antiques from the past. And frankly, there isn’t much room for wish-fulfillment and fantasy anymore. Simon has responsibilities. He has a job and a daughter in a world that is moving faster than he can process.

And where Ice King wrote about looking for love, Simon has already had it.

And lost it. His mind isn’t focused on the rosiness of finding new love, it’s grieving the one he already thought was the one.

Wasn't he supposed to be good with kids?

Despite his new life experiences, all his peers seem to want from him is to make more of what they’re familiar with.

A story made from wants and wishes that he doesn’t even have anymore.

A story that was literally made by someone else at a different time. It’s a fiction he cannot connect to anymore, art that he’s embarrassed by. Yet also jealous of. Because at one point, the body Simon used to be in understood what exactly was missing from his life and could express that easily.

Seeing it again is like experiencing a retrospection of a cringey loser you don’t want to imagine having ever been. It’s not you anymore, and you don’t want to be reminded of that.

Because despite him having a new creative passion, no one seems to care about that. All they want is Fionna and Cake. And what is more lonely than other people misunderstanding what you’re trying to express?

If I failed to make it clear somehow, my theory is that: Simon’s relationship with Fionna and Cake is a metaphor for creators growing out of their art. And this new Fionna and Cake world is still comfort art born out of Simon’s current desires and perceptions.

The snippet subtitles this “child holding a phone”. I guess I’m wrong. Essay over.

Episode 1 and 2 both have direct parallels with each other. They’re both about a protagonist who are feeling displaced from their world, living a phase of losing a significant other, leaving a thankless job, wearing a mask of stability in front of the people they care for, seeking a guru at the heart of the forest, and concluding that they no longer belong in their current world.

But more importantly, Fionna and Cake (the characters, the world, and the show) are no longer for an all-ages crowd. Fionna and Cake now feature young adults, curses, gore, alcohol, partial nudity, financial issues, morning routines, mid-life crisis, and overt suicidal ideation. These are the feelings that Simon relates to and possibly desires to express through art. Thus, his story and our new miniseries have warped that way.

Am I overthinking this? No. How dare you assume that.

Is equating the unconscious writings of his dementia-ridden self to Simon as his younger self seem a bit odd? ….Kinda. Again, it’s not the how but the why that matters in this case. I'm NOT crazy, I have proof that there is some acknowledgment of this directly in the show.

Rewatch the bar scene and apply this reading of the episode to what Simon says there:

“Your old stuff, Fionna and Cake, honest to glob my man, is an inspiration to me.”

“My old stuff, I don’t really want to talk about my old stuff…”

“Why not? You should be proud! You wrote an entire extended universe in a fugue state if you think about it.”

"Simon cringes"

If you have ever shared art with a group of people in the past, you’ve had this conversation.

Not likely, not possibly, no perhapses. You HAVE.

And Fionna and Cake being an epilogue to a massive award-winning, near-decade-spanning, cultural sensation 5 years after it ended, might result in its creators feeling very retrospective about what audiences want from them now.

And how difficult it’s going to be to tell new experiences and tones from what’s come before. Also, come on. “Extended Universe?” That doesn’t sound like Fionna and Cake. That sounds a lot like something else.

Again, seems bad with this kid.

One of the more profound shots in the main trailer for the show features the inconspicuously Finn-like kid crouching at her Fionna and Cake book in Simon’s trash. I believe this character is going to have a major role in two ways. Convincing Simon to be proud of what he’s accomplished and/or embracing that Simon wants to move away from his original work in order to create something new, or perhaps more likely, reinvent Fionna and Cake into what Simon relates to now.

We’ll just have to see what Simon thinks of his new Fionna next week.

PS. Talking as a fan now, WHAT IS UP WITH THE 1000+ TREEHOUSE IN THE INTRO?!!! ARE WE REVISITING THIS TIMELINE AGAIN?

SOMEONE TELL ME NOW!!!

[thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai]

Viktor: "The time to seduce me with beautiful women and katsudon is over. You can fight with your own charm now." Yuuri (suddenly all possessive): "Don't take your eyes off me!" Viktor (utterly clueless): He's so different today. I wonder what has flipped his switch.

Recently, I've found myself coming back to this scene over and over as I was reconsidering the link between the progress of Viktuuri and Yuuri's understanding of Eros. For years, I was convinced that Yuuri had grasped the concept of Eros in episode 6, but (and this is probably controversial) I no longer believe that is true.

So, what happens in episode 6?

While the events during the weeks between the press conference and the Cup of China are open to speculation, the subtext of episode 6 us some cues as to where Yuuri and Viktor currently are in their relationship (the hugging, the cuddling, you know).

In this sense, the short dialogue before Yuuri's short programme, tells us that:

So far, Yuuri hasn't seduced Viktor as himself.

Viktor thinks Yuuri is ready to do exactly that.

They are dating (note the lover's bind aka the lacing of the fingers, which is an expression of romantic intimacy in Japan)

Yuuri's reaction is untypically fierce and possessive.

Viktor has not the slightest clue what triggered Yuuri's response. When put into the context of the whole story, this gives us another hint that Yuuri possibly can't have seduced Viktor prior to the competition. If he had (be it on or off-ice), Viktor would no longer react surprised. (You can actually see the difference in episode 8).

However, Yuuri and Viktor are in entirely different headspaces, which becomes obvious if we think back to the events in the mixed zone. Viktor feels that it's time to gently nudge Yuuri towards a more intimate stage of their relationship. However, Yuuri is upset because just learned that everyone wants Viktor to give up on him and return to competition. He is convinced that Viktor's fans will deem him a poor replacement for Viktor if Viktor keeps coaching him. He thinks that he would disappoint his own fans if the returns to where he was before Viktor. The only option left is pressing ahead on the path he's already on and thus works himself up into wanting to be hated as the man who took Viktor Nikiforov from the world.

With that mindset, Yuuri steps onto the ice.

Viktor's confused reaction when Yuuri storms off shows us something else: He doesn't have the slightest clue that Yuuri is upset because of things that happened right before the short programme. The subtext of the scene implies that he interprets Yuuri's reaction as a sign that Yuuri is indeed ready to seduce him. The lip-licking and all the sensuality Yuuri pours into his immaculate performance must seem from his perspective as if Yuuri truly wants him. He's not entirely wrong about that, but he isn't entirely right either.

Yuuri's eros is dominant and possessive. Several months have passed since the first time he skated Eros to seduce Viktor, but their relationship and Yuuri's understanding of Viktor has deepened since. His eros has evolved into a violent force of nature. His skating no longer is about "seducing" Viktor to stay his coach, he's showing the world (and Viktor) that Viktor is his and his alone and that he is all that Viktor wants ("I'm the only one who can satisfy Viktor. I'm the only one who understands Viktor's love"). And he goes out puling all the stops. And at the next competition, he's going to double down on that. Sounds kinky? It absolutely is.

Ever wonder why Viktor is so flustered right after Yuuri's skate? That's why. This precious boy felt seduced through-and-through by Yuuri's performance.

Viktor: "Yuuri, did it feel that great?" Yuuri: "I was hoping everyone else felt great watching me." Viktor (basically talking about himself): "Of course, they felt great watching a performance like that."

Remember that I said that Viktor has a totally different grasp of the situation than Yuuri because he doesn't know what Yuuri is going through? Viktor projects his own state of arousal from watching Yuuri on Yuuri. But Yuuri is not a second Chris and his response reinforces the implications made above based his inner monologue before and during his performance: He wanted to give "the audience" a good time aka making Viktor feel seduced and convincing the skating world that he is worthy to skate in Viktor's stead.

Learning that "everyone" (and most of all Viktor) had a "good time", is an important step for Yuuri in mastering his short programme:

In episode 6, Yuuri truly understands the power he has over Viktor and what he can do to Viktor with his skating alone.

So far, Yuuri has had a hard time grasping eros, using all kinds of workarounds (food, women etc.). He has refined this understanding as his relationship with Viktor deepened, he has learned to express himself in a sensual manner, but it doesn't come naturally to him. In episode 6, he finally understands that he has the power to turn Viktor on and what exactly he must do to achieve that. He's still using workarounds and these are 100% Yuuri, and because of that, they are successful. Even if he never understands eros beyond the abstract theory, he now has acquired the set of tools to hone is performance and to seduce Viktor if he sets his mind on it. (Yes, this anxious katsudon fatale has some massive kinks and they work for him and Viktor, and I will die on that hill.)

But what about the banquet?

Drunken horniness due to dancing physically with his celebrity crush. Friction is a thing. And let's be honest: otherwise, the whole "grasping eros" story arc would make no sense. Either you have an innate sense of that concept or you don't, and memory gaps can't explain that away.

(No, I'm still on a break from posting meta, but I've been agonising over this for quite a while and had to get it out of my system because I'm currently fixing some stuff related to this in my novelisation.)

If you like my meta, please check out my works on AO3 (link in bio).

Last but not least many thanks to cecebeanie for a discussion that set this thought process in motion 💜💙

[hydrobunny]

 jump then fall (into me)

tags: fluff, established relationship, insecure reader, comfort, reo reo reo reo reo reo, lots of dialogue actually, they're drinking age, listen to jump then fall !! word count: 1.2k

“do you ever regret us?”

reo mikage jolts from his seat at his computer. the expression he fixes you with as he turns around is almost comical, all wide eyes and horror.

you can’t find it in yourself to laugh.

“what?”

you shift nervously. the satin sheets underneath you bunch awkwardly. “you know. getting together- staying together.”

he rises immediately, emails left for a later time. “what happened.” the words themselves should be a question, but his stiff tone doesn’t make it one.

you sigh, falling back on to the bed. although it’s only been two nights since the two of you checked in to this particular hotel, the bed already smells of reo’s expensive shampoo. “i dont know. sometimes i feel like i’m holding you back.”

his weight sinks into the mattress. “how the hell would you hold me back?”

you drag your hands over your face. “you’re just- you’re so you. heir to billions of yen, future ceo, hotshot football player, and you’re just barely in your twenties. shouldn’t you be out there in the wild getting into scandals every week? but you’re always just... here.”

“y/n.” even through tightly shut eyes, you can feel reo’s intense gaze on you. “is this really because you think i want to be out there making a fool of myself?” his hand gently brushes over your hair. “also, why would i get into scandals when i have you?”

you roll away with a groan. “it's not that. just- shouldn't you have had more relationships than just me? you know, all the first meetings and awkward flirting and shit.  you were popular as all hell in high school, but somehow you’re still with me? isn’t it boring?”

his hand freezes, and you feel a small inkling of guilt bleed through your heart.

after a long moment, reo rises from the bed without another word. He grabs his jacket from the chair as he pads out of the room, away from you.

you shove a pillow over your face and fight the urge to scream, sigh in relief, suffocate yourself, anything.

twenty minutes later, when you’ve reached a point of contemplating if those roses in the hotel vase are fake- (they’re in water, but you swear they smell exactly like those essential oils in scented candles)- your phone vibrates from its place on the desk.

you reluctantly lift yourself up, sliding your feet into your waiting fluffy slippers. reo’s computer is still turned on from before he left, some fancy computer program steadily running. you spot a hint of a message thread with nagi before you tear your eyes away.

the notification is from your messages, from none other than reo 🦎💜 himself.

the message itself is pretty short, unlike the usually wordy messages reo sends you consistently throughout the day.

come down to hotel bar. look nice

it takes you some time to actually comprehend the message, more than a few seconds spent blinking at it blankly.

and then you’re immediately digging into your suitcase for anything considered “nice.” honestly, did reo expect you to be able to procure outfits without any hint of the dress code? was he expecting family dinner or clubbing?

and what the hell was even with this request anyway? you were pretty sure your boyfriend had a business meeting in barely forty minutes, and it’s not like you two had ended your conversation on good terms.

either way, you settle on something in between wholesome and provocative, a pretty flattering cocktail dress you hadn’t really even planned on bringing. after a moment of contemplation, you leave your hair down, sliding in a pair of glittering earrings.

honestly, you weren’t even sure why you were trying so hard.

but when you arrive at the bar some minutes later, reo isn’t there. in fact, there’s no one there except for a stiff bartender slowly wiping down a glass. you hesitate from your place by the doorway, shooting off a here. dont see you? message.

he leaves you on read.

it takes you another six minutes of disbelief before you finally walk into the bar, and then it’s a short two minutes of fuming before you call for your first drink.

throughout it all, you see no hint of anyone; no reo, no drunk couples, no rich guests, no one. it would actually be kind of creepy if you had it in yourself to look around or care, but you really don’t.

ten minutes later, it’s when you’re nursing your second drink of the night ( a daiquiri that honestly is not getting you drunk fast enough ) that you hear another human voice.

“haven’t seen you before, pretty. can i pay for that drink?”

your mood immediately plummets as you turn with a scowl, ready to tell whoever it is enough curses to- oh.

reo smirks at you, flashing his card towards the bartender. you stare at him in disbelief. he’s in a completely new outfit from when you saw him last, something that is definitely not appropriate for his upcoming meeting. he has a leather jacket on, for gods’ sake!

“what the fuck are you doing?” you manage to say, realizing that you’re supposed to be mad at him. “do you realize how long i’ve been waiting?”

he pointedly doesn’t respond. “another round please, for me and the lonely lady!” he says before turning back to you. “so. what brings a girl like you here?”

you literally have no idea what he’s doing. you open your mouth to respond - with what, you couldn’t say- but then reo winks at you, quick enough that you barely notice.

the words fall out of your mouth without you even realizing. “what’s it to you?”

he hums, looking you up and down. “is it wrong to want to comfort a clearly sad stranger? come on, spill out all your secrets.”

you fight the urge to smile. “well, if you say it like that…i guess i’m trying to heal my broken heart.”

he responds a beat too late. “really? what idiot broke your heart?”

“no, i was the idiot,” you sigh, looking back towards your glass. “i was a bitch for no reason. got too caught up in my head, you know?”

his hands fly to yours. “i do know. and i’m sure your idiot knows as well. in fact, if i was the guy in question, i would have told you that nothing you can do would hurt me. that any time spent with you is infinitely better than time spent with any other women.”

you meet his eyes and smile. “and if you happened to be that guy, i would probably kiss you right then and there.”

reo swallows, hard. “yeah?”

you lean toward him. “too bad you’re not him.” you stand from your seat, grinning at how your boyfriend sputters instantly, almost knocking over his cup.

your shoes click clack a rhythmic beat onto the hotel floor as you head back toward the elevator.

seconds later, reo’s familiar form bumps into you, arm linking around your waist.

“i think that was first date was awkward enough, yeah?” he says breathlessly.

you lean further into him. “it was perfect. but i think i prefer my boyfriend.”

“good thing you’re looking at him. which means..”

you laugh, stopping. “which means this.”

you tiptoe upward and finally kiss reo. he tastes like watermelon chapstick and expensive rum.

// bonus//

“hey, reo?”

“yes?”

“did you rent out that entire bar so we would be alone?”

his silence is response enough.

I loveee reblogs and comments !! <33

[celenawrites]

After Hours: CH2 — It's Friday then…

Pairing - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader, previous! Phillip Graves x F!Reader

Warnings - Office AU, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Sexting, Praise Kink, Dry Humor, etc.

Summary -

Life has been out to get you ever since you found your ex cheating on you. To add salt to your wounds, your beloved pet dog goes missing while you try to recover from your nasty breakup and your company has been overloading you with piles and piles of paperwork you can never seem to finish; along with a bunch of babbling interns who can never take a hint when it comes to shutting the fuck up, along with a scary, firm-handed supervisor who seems oddly interested in getting to know you better, despite your reluctance. 

Chapter Summary -

Your week cannot get any better (or any worse).

Read on AO3? | Masterlist | Navigation

<- Chapter 1

Your day comes to an end with relatively no new disasters springing up on you. 

The lack of chaos almost has you suspicious, but you overlook it in favor of clocking out earlier than usual, which is a good half an hour after almost everybody has left the office. You are quick to email all the edited files to Joseph, leaning back in your weary chair as you end your day with a pained groan. About time you get that memory foam mattress, you think to yourself as you clean up your workstation and call it a day. 

Your black pump heels click against the smooth marble floor as you try your best to join the world outside the gray confines of your company walls.  The usual path consists of making an obligatory patrol across the west wing of the building, checking in to ensure nothing was amiss before taking the elevator down to the ground floor and punching out by tapping your ID at a weird angle on the automatic scanner. 

The west wing seems to be almost empty, save for the dim glow of an active computer at the very back of the technical staff room. 

You rarely paid this place a visit, mainly burdened by your duty to keep the office running and putting out all dumpster fires Price cannot deal with. The few times you have been here has been solely due to your need to share lunch with Johnny on relatively slower days. 

With quiet apprehension, you walk towards the object of your attention - only to find Simon hunched over his desk, with squinting eyes as the screen is reflected in his square blue glasses. Underdressed is a word that seems to describe his style - unbothered enough to never dress up when he has to show up for work, you find the man slouching in his chair while wearing a frayed beige hoodie with some gray sweatpants that make it almost impossible for you to look at him without feeling your cheeks heat up in mortification. 

Clearing your throat to grab his attention, you meekly meet his dark eyes as you inquire, “Not going home today?”

He shakes his head, almost as if he’s waking up from a nap and you almost find him endearing in this moment. He responds, “No, have some work. Will lock up and leave in an hour.”

“Okay.”

Silence follows your short dialogues with the senior staff member, making you tap your foot against the floor thrice in order to comfort yourself before you offer him, “I can make you another brew. Should last you until you finish your work.”

He averts his eyes away from the screen and looks at you again, and you feel yourself shrink under his inspection - almost like a timid bunny. You can see him contemplate your offer seriously for a moment before shaking his head. 

“Don’t bother, I haven’t got much left here anyway.” 

“Oh, okay.”

That is all you can manage to tell him before you leave the room, eager to just crash on your awful bed and end your day early. 

The calm that has befallen your office has you on edge, for you are not accustomed to spending your days without being forced to juggle Herculean tasks every hour of your work day. 

Even when you’re on edge with it, you come to appreciate how the almost sluggishness of days filled with nothingness allowed you to just be. A sudden breather in your busy life, one that you appreciated very much. 

Of course, as life would have it, it all comes crashing down Friday morning once you check into the office and find Gracie, a new intern, pacing near your desk back and forth. The moment she spots you she corners you against your workstation, frazzled as she plays with the threads of her sweater sleeve, unraveling just like her. 

“It’s all gone to hell, I tell you!” she tells you, before quieting down as she realizes how loud she’s being. She whispers to you, “It’s a hellhole and all because of him!”

You find yourself awfully confused by her crypticism, so you ask her to elaborate - already preparing yourself to add another petty matter into your long list of events to attend to. Fridays seem to be unusually long for you solely due to the fact that people seem to either forget to work in their eagerness for the weekend, or some ‘emergency’ pops up when all you’d like to do is drink your coffee, answer some emails and force Price to attend his weekly meeting before he fucks off to who knows where. 

“Joseph made a simple mistake. A small one really. We’re interns, for god’s sake! Of course, we’ll be dumb and make mistakes every day. And I don’t know who that man thinks he is, cuz the next thing I know”, Gracie pauses to anxiously chew at her thumb, red hangnails and raw skin evident of the anxiety that’s been plaguing her all morning. 

“Next thing I know is Simon’s losing his head over something and he’s chewing us all out for being ‘incompetent fucks’, and he takes it out on all of us. But it hits Joseph the most, and the next thing I know is he hasn’t turned up for work today”, she finishes her anxious ramble, looking at you with doe eyes and you mentally note to check up on Joseph when you have the time. 

“Don’t worry, Gracie. He’s probably taking a day off in order to cool down. I’ll talk with him”, you reply to soothe her worries and she looks at you as if you’d hung the moon and the stars in the sky for her. 

Her sudden hug catches you off guard, and after profusely thanking you (“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re such a doll!”), she waves you adieu as she exits the floor and you are soon seated on your desk, groaning at the sight of your filled calendar and unanswered emails being reflected on your screen. Joseph will have to wait, you think as you massage your temples - your body betraying you with a migraine for only having iced coffee for breakfast.

You decided to tackle the mountain of unfinished workload, hoping to at least catch the last subway back home before it gets too dark. 

After three hours of uninterrupted screen time that made your eyes water and your back creak whenever you shifted in your chair and an hour after having a cold lunch of leftover salad and toasted bread with gummy cheese, you finally find yourself with a few minutes of leeway to finally look for Price. Not just because you wish to talk to him about Joseph, but also due to the pile of unsigned documents you currently carry in your hands that need his immediate approval. 

After a few minutes of mindless walking to and fro and asking your co-workers of any sightings of your boss, you finally find him exiting one of the conference rooms located on the upper floors and there’s another man alongside him. 

They both seem to be extremely close, and John claps the other man on the back and laughs heartily with him, but you’re too focused on the tip of your shoes to hear their conversation. Everything sounds static to you for now. You blame your anxiety for it. 

“Oh, it’s you”, John’s eyes widen slightly in surprise and he mockingly clutches his chest, “You’d give me a heart attack one of these days with how sneaky you are.” 

You are just unusually quiet around unfamiliar people. You roll your eyes at him, unamused, “Ha, ha. Quit those cigars and I promise you, your heart and lungs will thank you.” 

He smiles at you, his eyes crinkling with radiance. 

“You worry about me too much”, gesturing you inside the meeting room, he asks you. 

“What brought you here?”

“Well, the project deal with Crofters underwent its final review for the proposal and I needed your approval for them before I gave the team the green light. And there’s some more files that could use your ink”, you point to the stack in your hands and he beckons you to sit in the seat beside him as he takes the pile from you and clicks at his fancy little golden pen, skimming through the documents and signing them. 

While he does that, you muster up the courage to talk to him about Joseph. This could’ve been an email, but you decided you owed him that much. Moreover, feeling as if your contribution in ‘proof-reading’ his work could’ve led to him getting unfairly scolded by his superior and his uncle makes your throat dry out constantly. 

And there’s only so much water you can drink before you’re forced to take a bathroom break. Or a few. 

Clearing out your throat in order to begin talking leads to Price to look up from one of the files, as he eyes you with a scrutinizing gaze.

“Yes?”

You gulp, not being used to ‘complaining’ about one of your coworkers behind their back. You have rarely had any problem with anyone that required you to directly report your higher ups or HR about them. And doing this to Simon, of all people, who has never really troubled you….

“Well, you know Simon can be a bit stern.”

“Uh huh.”

“And you know how he can expect a bit too much from others…”

“I know how Simon is. Please get to the point”, he rubs his eyes, already sighing out in anticipation. 

“One of the interns came to me this morning, and she told me that he kind of went off on them for messing up. Things got pretty rough, and another intern hasn’t shown up to work today. So I was a bit worried”, you trail off, hearing John groan audibly in frustration. 

“Who’s the intern?”

“Um, it was Joseph.”

He curses, wiping at his forehead with his palm and tucking away stray hair as he tells you, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll have a talk with Simon. Things have been…tough with him. And he’s only this strict because he wants to believe in the absolute best of people. You check up on Joseph and see that he’s alright.” 

“Will do that”, you promptly pick up the signed documents and exit the room, already dialing Joseph on your phone - hoping for him to pick up your call and not ignore you. 

You are at your desk and at your third call when someone picks it up. 

“Hello?” a nasally congested voice asks, and you sigh out in relief as you inform him it’s you who’s calling him. 

“Are you okay, Joseph? Why didn’t you come today?”

“Gracie told you, huh?” 

“Yeah, she was worried sick. She’s a sweet girl.”

“Had to take a day off, or I’d have thrown fists at him.”

You don’t know how to react to that. You haven’t expected Joseph to be angry still. 

“I get it can be frustrating to work in such a stressful environment, and Simon expects perfection - which may make it all the more harder for you to make mistakes. But I hope you realize that the senior staff genuinely wants to help every intern develop themselves so that they can be ready for the industry after graduation.” 

“...”

“It’s okay, take your time. Hopefully you will feel better after the weekend. Take care, Joseph.” 

“Goodbye.” 

A click. And the call comes to an end. 

You exhale through your mouth, not expecting all this to drain you out already. 

And you still have four hours to go. 

Sitting back at your desk with a hot cup of black coffee, you stir the drink with the wooden stick after dumping a small packet of sugar in it. The afternoon sun is sublime, shining through the windows and getting reflected off of the photo frame you have of you and Butters, kept on the desk to curb your nostalgia of your furred friend. 

Almost a week of futility, of just work and no sign of your dog in sight. The police have been essentially useless in the search and you have had to design missing posters to put up around your street and at the dog park you used to go with him, hoping that someone would eventually spot him and bring him back home to you. But still, to no avail. 

Sipping on the warm drink, careful to not burn your tongue, you are happy to spend the last two hours of your work day just organizing some things for Monday and playing card games to kill some time - happy to clear up all the major events and tasks before the day ends. You think you might be able to leave a little early for home, planning on getting some takeout for dinner and watching some trashy late night reality TV until you snooze off in your cozy bed. 

And then the chatter in the room dies, which is strange as everyone around you has been jovially conversing to make the last hours of the day pass by faster. You look up to see Simon standing in front of you and he looks pissed. 

Guess that talk with John did not go well, and this is when you’d tuck your tail and make a run for it - if it wasn’t for Simon already anticipating that and blocking any possible escape for you. Your widened eyes meet his, and he takes it as his cue to go off on you. 

“How dare you?” he grits out, his jaw ticked and voice tense with restraint. 

“How fucking dare you? The fuck you think you are, going behind my back and bitchin’ to Price?” His voice booms around the room, and the few people who were pretending to be busy with work are now looking at him with unbridled trepidation. 

“I-”

“Who are you to say what’s right or wrong?”, he goads you, towering over you with such dark eyes you were scared they’d suck you in and never let you out. 

“I didn’t mean to-”

“They’re my interns, and if they fuck up, they better own up to their shit. They’re mine to manage, and your coddling isn’t going to save them either”, he spits out, looking at you with such resentment in his eyes you wonder if Price had said something to tick him off more than usual. 

“It’s not your bloody job to mother them, and it sure as hell is not your job to bitch about me. If you have that much of a problem with me, say it to my face and stop being a damn coward about it.”

There’s eyes everywhere, and they’re trained onto the scene Simon has caused with you - and you take a shudder of a breath before getting up and standing to face him head on. Your lip wobbles for a moment, before you look at him and tell him, “You’re a dickhead for this, Simon.” 

And with that, you just swiftly leave the office space and make your escape; almost short of running in your block heels as you quickly lock the bathroom door behind you, leaning against it as you wipe away the few tears of frustration that escaped your eyes, careful not to smudge your makeup. 

Your life has been a shitshow for the past month or so, and god forbid, you let another man ruin the weekend for you now. 

You gently wash your hands and clean up after yourself, deciding on leaving much earlier than usual for a change. There’s no way in hell you will stick around the office after getting humiliated like that. There’s a knock on the door, and Gracie’s there as instructed (by text), holding your purse for you. 

She meekly glances at your weary face, and begins, “I heard what happened. Are you okay? I know how much of an ass Simon can be, but he probably didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You decide to not respond to her, not feeling up to the task of psycho-analyzing your colleague and his short temper. That’s not your bloody job. 

“Thanks for getting my bag”, you send her off her way after that, and shooting off a quick text to Price, you quietly exit the office - all the more eager to gorge yourself on some takeout, watch TV and get drunk enough to forget that this day happened and ignore all texts and calls you get tonight.

Note -

After a month of inactivity(cuz I was busy interviewing in different places and studying for it) and writer's block, I finally updated. Updates will be sparse, but I will try to be more consistent.