#incredibly well polished work if you really look at it

[foldingfittedsheets]

When I was working at the sex shop I was pulling poverty wages. I loved my job but I was on food stamps and still barely getting by. When they hired the stores first male employee and he started at my pay rate after I’d been there for three years I quit.

I was initially really nervous when I saw the post for the mattress job. It listed a pay scale that I couldn’t even conceptualize and I appeared qualified. When I got an interview I was over the moon but also petrified. Reactions to my line of work often varied but most people were very embarrassed or skeptical. I worried about how I’d address it in the actual interview.

I lived far to the north of their headquarters and drove almost two hours to get there. When I finally arrived it was in the nicest thrift store clothes I could find, but I shrank inside to see a room full of older white men in nice suits waiting to be interviewed for the same job.

Why did I bother? I was decades younger than anyone else in the room, shabbily dressed, and I suspected I was the only afab person in the entire building. I stewed in my insecurities until I was called in.

The second I met my interviewer I was instantly put at ease. The man had the energy of a therapy dog, he was abound with positive, good natured energy. He was also incredibly beautiful. I grinned back at his welcoming smile as we said our pleasantries. But still. This very beautiful polished man seemed very innocent. How would the sex shop question go?

“I see here you worked at STORE?”

“Yes,” I said hesitantly.

“And that was sales? Or you just rang people up.”

“No, it was sales. I’d help people find products, we were encouraged to upsell, there was sales spiffs, and most importantly we educated customers on products to help them find what they liked best.”

He grinned approvingly and asked, “Can you give me an example of a time you successfully upsold a customer?”

I paused, wringing my hands before I asked, “How vague would you like me to be…?”

“Not at all!” He assured me. “Go for it!”

“Well. A man came in looking for something to make his fingers vibrate so when he was touching his wife it would enhance that sensation. We had cheap $10 cockrings that I showed him first. But we had a rechargeable waterproof one made of nicer material, and after I showed him a demo he bought that one.”

“How much was that one?”

“$110”

“Wow! You had an upsell of 100% from what he came in looking for! That’s incredible!”

He was so truly genuinely stoked and not at all embarrassed that for the first time I saw a tiny glimmer of a future where I didn’t have ramen and peanut butter tiding me over between paychecks.

He asked me to wait then came back to tell me he liked me so much that he wanted to send me right into another interview, if that was okay. He didn’t want me to have to drive back later, it was terribly considerate and exciting. I beamed and told him it would be lovely.

I then had the second worst interview I’ve ever had. The worst goes to the time I applied to be a store manager for a pet food place years later. The district and store manager interviewing me passed notes and texted while I was speaking. When the district manager called to inform me I didn’t get the job I told him I’d never have accepted anyway because I’d never had such a disrespectful interview.

The new man sitting behind the desk radiated an aura of a brick wall. As someone with anxiety I’m highly keyed into the emotional states of people I’m talking to. To receive no feedback at all was my personal hell. After a perfunctory greeting he asked me with no inflection to sell him a pen.

I gathered the shreds of my courage and attempted the Herculean task he’d set me. Through my whole improvised spiel he resisted all attempts at engaging him, regarding me with a cold apathy as I touted the benefits of my fictitious pen.

Halfway through I broke into a cold sweat. My smile didn’t waver but it grew strained as I projected friendliness and warmth into the black hole of his heart. My thoughts scattered and my sales pitch grew redundant in the face of his nothingness. I finally concluded with a hard close and he simply nodded.

He glanced at my resume and commented, “You didn’t ask me to touch or hold it. Though I suppose I can understand from your previous line of work why you wouldn’t.” I shriveled and died inside knowing that I encouraged people to touch dildos all day long and had been too frazzled to offer him the pen.

He bid me a cool farewell. I made it to my car before I started sobbing. I had never been so rattled. I couldn’t understand what I’d done to make him so unfriendly or if my threadbare clothes were what had made him treat me like dirt. I drove an hour and a half to get home, weeping intermittently.

I was therefore taken by complete surprise to receive a call the next day inviting me on board for their five week training program. The first man who’d interviewed me gushed on the phone about how the second guy had loved me and that I was going to be fantastic.

I was in shock. When I showed up to training the second interviewer was charming my new classmates, beaming and laughing. He was an utterly different person. To my dismay I learned he was the trainer for my district and would be my point of contact if I made it through training.

He joked with me later that his interview facade was just a tactic to see how people held up under pressure and I filed him into a category of my deepest enmity. I never forgave him for how small he made me feel that day, but I never showed him the depths of my fury.

I aced every test and went on to be valedictorian of the eight people who had survived the rigorous training process to earn a sales position. When I got my first paycheck I bought myself new clothes, the first non-thrifted things I’d owned in years.

[sommerbueckers]

hii oml i love your writingggg, do you think you could do like paige x reader at a sleepover??? like a birthday kind of thing

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐤

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✰ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐲...

✰ 𝐰𝐜 :: 𝟒𝐤

✰ 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐦𝐥. 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐤 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 !!

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"THIS IS HER HOUSE?" Amy questioned when the estate finally came into view. "Ask her parents if they're hiring."

Paige broke a smile for the first time that night, and she shook her head at her mother. However, this did nothing to rid her of the incessant anxious feeling she had experienced all day. For the first time, in all the years that she and Catherine Drago had been going to school together, she had been invited to her birthday sleepover.

It was a big deal, the biggest deal. Catherine didn't invite just anyone to her sleepover, typically it was just those in which she conversed with regularly. This year, that happened to include Paige. It had started with the accidental add of Paige's Snapchat account to one of Catherine's private stories, the blonde slid up on a picture of her with a sweet compliment, and it was all up from there.

Now, she sat outside of the girl's residence as she worked up to courage to simply exit the car. Her mother placed a comforting hand on her leg, rubbing up and down the way most mothers often did.

"You nervous?" she asked softly.

Paige, leaning her head back on the seat, nodded quietly. "It's just that I don't have any of my best friends here, like, they probably all know each other and i'm just gonna be feelin' awkward..."

Amy wore a sympathetic expression as she listened to her daughter's concerns. "Well you're friends with Catherine aren't you? You're here for her, not everybody else."

"Yeah but I didn't think we were even close enough for her to invite me," Paige said. A lie. Paige didn't think she'd get invited because of the way she and Catherine talked to each other. They texted nonstop, about anything and everything. But as of recently, their conversations had had more of an intimate feel. They talked about their sex life, about their personal kinks and turn-ons, and Catherine had even shared a picture or two.

Not to mention the 'birthday gift' that Paige had told her she would get, Paige was drunk that night.

She wanted it to be just her and Catherine, not her, Catherine, and Catherine's friends.

"How about this, you go in there and try your best to have fun. And then in one hour, if you're still not having fun and want me to come get you, I will," Amy posed.

"Really?" Paige asked incredulously.

"Really."

Paige nodded her head in agreement, deciding that the offer was suitable enough for her. Giving her mom a quick kiss and hug goodbye, she stepped out of the car and made her way up to the large glass door.

She could see into the house entirely. The floors were a cream colored wood that seemed to be freshly polished, there was a living room off to the right where an incredibly large couch sat. It looked like something you'd see displayed in a furniture shop, clean and untouched. The house as a whole looked like nobody lived there, like it was simply there to take up space on the property.

To the left was a floating staircase leading up to a second floor that Paige couldn't see much of from her place outside. The most she could see was a glass railing that went across the edge of the floor. She swallowed her anxiety and rung the doorbell, the sound echoing throughout the house as well as outside.

Her mom's car remained parked in the circular driveway, waiting for her to be retrieved from the front of the house before she pulled off. She hadn't been standing out there for long, perhaps all of thirty seconds had passed before a brown skinned woman appeared in view. She was coming from around a corner deep within the house, her steps hasty as she made her way over to the door.

"You must be Paige!" the woman greeted with a smile, to which Paige nodded her head. "Come inside. Is that your mom?"

"Yeah."

The woman gave a polite wave to the car before Amy drove off, leaving the woman to close the door and turn her attention to Paige.

"It's nice to finally meet you! I'm Mrs Drago but you can call me Phoebe or Catie's mom or whatever you'd like," the woman laughed.

Paige nodded her head, shifting uncomfortably under the woman's gaze. She tried to focus on what Phoebe no Catie's mom no whatever the woman wanted to be called was saying, but she couldn't stop herself from thinking about how good she looked for a mom. She was fit with a slender face and model cheekbones, at least now Paige knew where Catherine got her looks from.

"The girls are upstairs in Catie's room, it's the double doors at the end of the hallway," she pointed up at the glass railing Paige had seen earlier, encouraging her to go up.

She ascended the staircase holding onto nothing but the blanket and pillow she had brought seeing as though nobody had bothered to extend the glass railing to the steps as well. The hallway was more of a loft area that lacked furniture; the flooring up here was marble with recess lighting illuminating the way to every room. Paige zeroed in on the double doors at the end, Catherine's room.

One of the two doors had a keypad lock on it, what the fuck...The blonde knocked softly and listened to the faint chatter and shuffling that occurred on the other side of the door before it opened. She was met with Catherine's unexpressive face, a feature that changed rather quickly upon realizing it was Paige that stood before her. She smiled brightly, flashing her pearly whites at the taller girl, and pulled her in for a hug. It lasted longer than it should've.

She smells good, like coconut and vanilla.

"So glad you could make it..." she murmured, dragging her hand across Paige's stomach as she pulled away. Opening the door, she allowed Paige access into the room. To say it was huge would've been the understatement of the century. There was a small couch in the front where another blonde sat mutely, a bottle of red nail polish in her hand as she went over her nails again. There was a vase of flowers on the coffee table in front of her, it was surrounded by loads of other miscellaneous things like card games and jewelry.

The fireplace, which Paige later learned was gas which Catherine hated, was turned on despite the eighty degree temperature outside. The tv played an episode of Grey's Anatomy, the girls had turned it on just before Paige's knock at the door. Behind the mini living room were two steps that led up to the king sized bed, the covers were all over the place and there were a few pillows lying around on the floor. Paige's scrutiny of the room was interrupted when Catherine's voice grabbed her attention.

"Do you live far from here?" she had made herself comfortable on the couch now, her head resting in the unnamed blonde's lap.

Paige set her things down beside the couch, shrugging her shoulders, "Kinda, like...twenty minutes maybe."

Catherine hummed in response.

The three girls remained quiet for a few moments, Meredith Grey's voice being the only thing between them and a silence thicker than a heavy fog. Paige was overcome with the thought that she was the only one feeling awkward. Catherine and this other blonde were casually laid out on the couch, something Paige figured they did often. She would too with a room like Catherine's.

Her eyes traveled up and down the girl's soft, smooth legs. At least that was the feeling they gave off when Catherine rubbed them against each other on the couch, almost teasingly. Paige bit her lip gently, frantically moving her gaze between Catherine's legs and the blonde's eyes to make sure she wasn't caught.

Catherine, thankfully noticing Paige's hesitation to do anything other than stand at the edge of the couch rather than her wandering eyes, invited her to sit down. She slightly readjusted herself so that she was still laid out but wasn't invading Paige's personal space. Paige would've liked her to, invade her space that is. But the dark haired girl was feeling unusually nervous now that she was actually in front of Paige instead of talking with her through the phone.

It wasn't long before a beeping could be heard from the door and four new faces appeared behind it. Three boys and one girl. Paige had to admit she would've liked it to just be the three of them, it was hard enough trying to settle her nerves with Catherine and one other friend. Now she would be forced to do it with four more. It was then that she remembered the words of her mother, and how she really only needed to stay for an hour.

Would it be rude to leave?

The room erupted in cheers as the boys jumped on top of Catherine, burying her beneath their bodies. Her protests were muffled as she fought to push them off.

"Will you guys chill? I'm trying to do my nails," the blonde grumbled, scooting over with the nastiest face Paige had ever seen.

One of the boys rolled off the couch, "Try a little harder, they look like shit."

She flipped him off with a freshly painted nail, her nose scrunching up at the mere sight of him smiling above her. The rest of the boys followed suit as they got up off of the couch, brushing themselves off. Another guy, pushing his soft brown hair out of the way turned to Paige and smiled goofily. "You look unfamiliar," he commented.

Catherine snorted, "Guys this is Paige, she goes to my school. Paige this is Zane, Theo, Malachi, and Sasha."

She gave them a small wave, not knowing what else to do since there were too many to greet one by one.

"I thought you hated everyone at your school," Malachi frowned, squeezing himself between Paige and Catherine.

Catherine frowned, she wanted to sit next to Paige.

"I hate everyone except Paige," she clarified, giving the girl a cheeky wink.

Everyone made themselves comfortable somewhere in the living area, whether it was on the couch or in front of the fire. Paige was even warming up, now finding herself in a conversation with Malachi and Zane about basketball.

"What position do you play again?" Zane frowned, his blonde eyebrows scrunching together.

"Point guard."

"I remember my point guard days, I was a beast!" he reminisced humorously.

"Yeah in the fourth grade," Malachi chimed in.

"You're committed to UConn right?" Zane asked, ignoring the other boy.

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Paige smiled.

"Cat talks about you all the time," he shrugged.

At this, Catherine shot up from her position on the couch and slapped the back of his buzzed blonde head. "No I don't!" she argued.

He stood abruptly, and rubbing the now burning patch on his head he said, "Yes you do! I literally remember you saying-"

"Okay!" The blonde girl interjected, "Can we please play a game or something? I'm bored."

"Just go back to painting your nails Noella, the grown ups are speaking," Zane gestured to himself, Catherine, Malachi, and Paige.

"Well in that case you should sit your ass down," she snapped.

"What game?" Malachi asked.

Just like that, the topic of Catherine's incessant talk of Paige had been dropped. Dropped by everyone except the two girls who now stared at each other with pleasant smiles. The group gathered around in a circle and Uno cards were disputed amongst them, everyone audibly reacting to their own deck.

Paige seated herself beside Catherine, nudging her shoulder. "You talk about me huh?" she laughed.

"Zane blows everything out of proportion, i've mentioned you like once or twice," Catherine dismissed simply. It was a lie. Catherine talked about Paige like a proud girlfriend, boasting about how great of a basketball player her new friend was and how good she looked while playing.

Paige nodded simply, not wanting to tease Catherine too much but also taking pride in the fact that the girl talked about her.

They played games for a hefty chunk of the night, stuffing their faces with pizza and cookies and whatever else Catherine's kitchen had to offer. Paige was surprised to discover that the boys were sleeping over as well, though they were in a separate room, she couldn't ever imagine either of her parents allowing something like that.

When the time came for everyone to settle down and get ready for bed, Noella and Sasha disappeared into the bathroom while Paige and Catherine waited in the bed.

"Do you wanna shower tonight?" Catherine asked her suddenly, switching off her phone.

"Yeah, sure. Are you gonna shower?"

"Mhm," Catherine nodded. "It shouldn't take them that long in there cus they're in there together so..." her voice trailed off as she shrugged.

Paige frowned, switching her own phone off as she turned to Catherine. "What do you mean?"

"They're showering together," she laughed, "we do it all the time 'cus we grew up together 'n' stuff."

Paige's lips parted as she went to respond, but at the last second she decided not to. They shower together...What kinda shit is that? Never in life had Paige ever considered showering with someone she saw as just a friend. Showering was your private time to clean yourself and all the parts of you that no one else was supposed to see, to share that time with someone else was intimate, wasn't it?

"Sometimes we just go ahead and finger each other too," Catherine revealed, and Paige's eyebrows shot to meet her hairline. "Kidding! Holy shit i'm kidding, we don't do that."

The pair burst into laughter, using it as an excuse to touch and grab at each other. Catherine ended up with her hand on Paige's knee, toying around with the thread of the sweatpants she was wearing. She smiled slightly, "You believed me for a second though."

"I definitely did," Paige nodded, "was finna grab my bags and go," she joked.

Catherine smirked, "You don't like that?"

"Like what?"

"Fingering."

The energy in the room shifted quickly with just that one word, both girls now staring at each other in silence. Paige couldn't help but feel like Catherine was asking for reasons other than being genuinely interested, and she wanted to give her what she wanted.

"Not my friends...no," the blonde shook her head.

"You don't like it or you've just never done it?" Catherine questioned further, rolling off of the bed and heading over to her dresser. She rummaged around through the drawers for some pajamas as she waited for Paige to respond to her forward question.

If Paige didn't have a crush on the girl, she would've been uncomfortable by the topic, but since that wasn't the case, she provided her with an answer. "I've never done it."

Catherine laughed sweetly, her back still turned. Paige stared at her legs again and the way her jeans shorts cupped her ass perfectly, two gold stars on the back pockets. Paige wondered what it would feel like to run her fingers up and down those legs, how Catherine's ass would fit into her hand as she squeezed it during a passionate kiss. She wanted to see her tits, her back, she wanted to explore every part of the girl standing before her.

She pulled out a pair of lacy panties and a white tank top, tossing them onto the bed and sitting back down. Paige didn't know how she was going to keep it together all night if Catherine was planning to walk around in the pieces of string she had just gotten out. However, after taking a closer look at them, she noticed how familiar they looked. They were the same pair that she had been wearing in the very first picture that Paige had received from her.

Catherine looked at her, waiting for her to say something. She knew, Paige knew, they both knew, and yet their smiles were the only telling factors.

When the sound of the shower cut off, Catherine glanced in the direction of the bathroom. She slowly got up off of the bed and grabbed her clothes (if you could even call them that).

"I'm gonna shower..." she told her.

Something in Paige's eyes darkened as she watched her back up toward the bathroom door. She got up as well, her own pajamas in her hand as she backed up to the other bathroom door.

"I think i'm gonna shower too...After you though 'cus...I don't shower with my friends," Paige smirked knowingly.

"Right, totally understood."

✰ ✰ ✰

Paige couldn't keep her eyes off of Catherine's wet, soapy body. Though she had to admit, she wasn't trying that hard either. The shower was big enough for an entire family of people and yet the girls still found themselves mere inches away from each other. Catherine was standing under one of the shower heads, her eyes closed and head tilted in the air.

Keep it together.

Paige had repeated those three words in her head over and over again, the task proving to be more difficult with every second that passed. She wanted to pin Catherine against the wall and take her right there, but she wouldn't. Not until she got the green light.

She wondered whether that was the direction this shower was going in, did Catherine want to hook up or was she just this close with all her friends? But Paige wasn't just a friend, was she?

Those messages say otherwise...

Brown eyes fluttered open, and Catherine smiled coyly at Paige. She stepped out from under the water and closer to the blonde, her head tilted slightly upward to meet her eyes.

"Are you okay?" she whispered.

Paige nodded, "Are you?"

She hesitated before slowly shaking her head.

"What's wrong?" the blonde frowned.

"You haven't given me my birthday gift yet..."

How had Catherine known that Paige had even gotten her anything? For all she knew, it was just a card with some money slipped inside. But Paige wasn't that inconsiderate, she had gotten her a jelly cheek tint from Sephora, but Catherine couldn't have known that. And she didn't, because that wasn't the gift Catherine was talking about.

Paige hid her surprise at the mention of the drunken promise, that entire conversation between the girls had been a blur for her. It was a couple weeks ago, Paige had been at a party while she was texting Catherine, their conversation quickly turning sexual the more Paige had to drink. She didn't think Catherine had taken it seriously, but she probably should've expected it.

"It's not your birthday yet," Paige smirked.

"Don't fuck with me," Catherine mumbled, crashing her lips onto Paige's.

The smacking of their lips was drowned out by the water coming down hard around them. They moved in sync with each other, grabbing thirstily at one another. Paige couldn't decide what to do with her hands, she wanted to grab her neck, to hug her waist, to smack her ass.

The scent of her shampoo was overwhelming to Paige, she felt herself drowning in it as she kissed her, pulling her in deeper. There was a sense of urgency between them, at any second they could be interrupted by one of the girls outside. They couldn't risk that happening, they had waited all night for this.

Catherine backed up into the wall, dragging the blonde with her without ever disconnecting their lips. Paige tasted amazing, Catherine could say that without a doubt for she was exploring every inch of the girl's mouth. Her tongue moved with ease as she maneuvered it around Paige's own, the kiss becoming sloppy.

A string of spit stretched between their mouths when Paige briefly pulled away only to attach her lips to Catherine's jaw instead. She sucked harshly in any spot that Catherine reacted to. Paige licked a straight line from her neck up to her ear, placing a kiss right underneath it.

"Been waitin' all night for this huh?" she teased, her hands trailing slowly down Catherine's body. She was holding the taller girl impossibly close, releasing breathless moans the more attention that Paige paid to her neck. "Been wantin' me?"

Catherine had her arms draped over Paige's shoulders, one hand tangled in her hair while the other dug deep into her skin. She mumbled incoherently in response to Paige, the cold glass on her back and the warmth of Paige on her front sending her into a clouded state. Paige's hands snaked down to her ass, spanking it hard before following up with a soothing rub.

She did it again, and again, and again until Catherine was a whining, begging mess.

"Please Paige," she panted heavily, "need you so bad..."

"What do you need?"

"Need you to fuck me."

Paige laughed tauntingly, "Spread your legs," she demanded.

Catherine obliged pitifully quickly, one of her legs hooking around Paige's body.

Paige ran her fingers through Catherine's sopping slit, relishing in the way the shorter girl shuddered in her grasp. Her thumb toyed around with her swollen clit whilst she began to tease her entrance with her fingertips. Paige stared darkly into her eyes, unconsciously biting her lip at the pleading look that Catherine was giving her.

"What's the magic word?" the blonde smirked mockingly.

"Mmm, please," Catherine whined.

"Louder."

"Please Paige just fuck me!"

Paige watched in accomplishment at the way Catherine's face contorted in pleasure when she inserted her fingers. The blonde nodded her head understandingly, "Yeah that feels good doesn't it?" she cooed.

"Yes," the curly head sighed out.

Just as quickly as she had pulled them out, she thrusted them back in. Catherine unwillingly whimpered.

"This what you wanted?" Paige asked darkly. "For me to fuck you on your birthday, hm?"

Catherine matched the rhythm of Paige's fingers as she moved her hips against them. Paige stared deep into her eyes as she fucked her, their foreheads pressed together to stay grounded. A burning sensation erupted on Paige's back, the shower water was coming in contact with the scratches that Catherine was leaving. She used it as motivation to go faster, plunging into her so hard and so fast that Catherine's legs began to tremble.

She clung onto Paige for dear life, one of her hands slamming against the glass door behind her as Paige fucked her into it. The other was hooked under Paige's arm and gripping her shoulder.

"Yesyesyes," Catherine mumbled in hastened breaths, "so fucking good, so fucking good."

"You gonna cum mama?"

"Yes, keep going."

Paige noticed the way Catherine's walls were clenching around her, and she nodded her head encouragingly.

"C'mon," she urged, "c'mon."

The other girl elicited moans that Paige had never heard in her entire life. They were uncontrollable as Catherine's body writhed and squirmed. The most guttural noises left her mouth and filled the bathroom and Paige muffled them with the palm of her hand. She slowed the pace of her fingers and let Catherine ride out her orgasm before completely removing them.

The younger girl was out of breath, her chest heaving up and down at a rate quicker than usual.

Paige held onto her, rubbing her back softly as she calmed down. She kissed the top of her head, "Are you okay?"

"Mhm," she nodded into her chest.

They stood in silence, holding each other and placing small kisses on each other's foreheads and shoulders.

"We should probably wash again," Catherine laughed shyly.

Paige smiled, "Yeah we should." She ruffled the wet curls of the pretty girl in front of her, "Happy early Birthday Catherine."

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[thesiltverses]

A very big thank you

I posted this on Patreon, but really wanted to share it here as well:

Post-show life begins

For a long while now I’ve been getting up at 4.30 or 5am, grabbing myself the first coffee of four, and then coming to sit at my desk.

I open up the assembly cut of the newest TSV episode.

I listen to it, I try and pin down which scenes I need to be going back over today. I try and push through the entire morning without a break because when the momentum stalls, that’s what kills your release schedule. (I also worry endlessly about just how much of my hair is falling out, and how spending 12 hours a day wearing headphones could be contributing to that.)

Today was different. I still woke up early - it’s a hard habit to shake off, and probably a useful one going forward. But I didn’t go to my desk, and I didn’t put my headphones on.

I went to the rocking chair we bought for our son when he comes, and I sat there - gently swaying and trying not to spill my coffee all over it, because for some reason it’s fucking beige - and looked out over the city skyline. 

I slugged back my coffee surrounded by all the stuff we’ve panic-bought for the baby, and I got to take all of it in - washcloths and the changing table and romper suits - with a sudden focus and a clarity and a rising excitement that I really hadn’t allowed myself to feel until today, because until today the work was still unfinished and there was still much left to be done.

All at once I felt very free, and fully sated, and happy and proud for everything that’s coming next.

There’s so much to feel grateful for from the past three years of working on this show. But what’s probably going to sit with me the most is being able to arrive at that moment and those feelings today, - and we have all of you incredible people to thank for that.

Not just in terms of listenership or financial support, although that’s been truly invaluable and a lifeline for us that’s enabled us to actually make the show - but also your enthusiasm, your passion, your jokes and comments and everything that’s helped to keep us motivated and working on it.

So - with as much feeling as words can convey, thank you so, so much for everything.

What’s coming next, in rough order

#1: Parentdom is going to take over our lives for a while! I also want to write the final Patreon episode commentaries in the next few days, while I have the time and the clear memories. #2: The next thing we’ll organise will be the post-season Q&A (we’d also like to do some kind of off-camera cast party if we can make schedules work, just to say thank you to our amazing VAs and celebrate with them). Please do ask us questions! #3: We have long-unfinished commitments to the Patreon which I need to complete: the last two episodes of So Long, Good Luck, and rounding off Sid Wright’s story. As ever, huge thank-yous for your patience with these; they’ve just been impossible to polish off while also working on the main show so much. #4: Something I’ve been thinking about for a long time is the possibility of going back to Season 1 and redesigning it from scratch to try and bring it closer in style to S2 and S3. We have the raw audio files - some of the mic quality will just be rough no matter what, but we can certainly try.  This is something I want to be conscientious and careful about; I very much want to respect the sound design work that’s already taken place, and ensure we’re not overriding anything. But I do know that the initial quality still sometimes puts new listeners off; we were learning a lot about direction and mastering from scratch, and our designers were working with limited budget and a total lack of plugins, so there’s simply a lot more we can achieve now. (This would also be a good opportunity for me to finally rework the transcripts, another fallen hurdle). #5: A few months back, we were contacted by a literary agent in NYC who was interested in us adapting the show into a series of novels. There’s a long road ahead to actually get published, but I'm thrilled to say that I have signed with them and I’m really excited to hopefully start work on the first book once I’ve settled into dad-dom. I’ll need to check what’s possible, but if it doesn’t interfere with any contract condition I’d obviously love to share excerpts on here as it’s written. #6: Then there’ll also be another larger audiodrama project - we’ve spoken about the different possibilities before! Excited to get started on our final choice.

Just one last word about endings

God, endings are scary. Because endings are impossible.

How many serialised stories actually end in a way that’s received unequivocally well?  People yelled at The Sopranos for its ambiguity and open-endedness. People criticised Breaking Bad for treating Walt too sympathetically at the end and relying on a generic mob of snarling Nazis to act as his final foe.

Endings are either too pat and neat, or too inconclusive to be satisfying, or too surreal and dreamlike, or they simply make what feels like the wrong choices for the characters we care about. We’re all caught in that barbed wire, creators and audience alike, weighed down by the baggage of what’s come before and we've already spent so much time anticipating the infinite possibilities of how it could all turn out - it’s like we can’t get free of the story that’s trying to end. 

And the beautiful thing about these longform, iterative works is that they insist upon becoming completely ungovernable. No matter how much of a planner the creator claims to be, how much prepwork they carry out - they were never really in control. There’s spontaneity and surprises and dead ends and beautiful distractions that come spilling out along the way (I was baffled and delighted to learn that people really - at the end of the show, with such limited time to spare - wanted to find out what had happened to Eddie*). 

So they can’t end. Not really. There’s too much wonderful mess in them to ever be reasonably disentangled.

And, of course, for every ending people remember with frustration or dissatisfaction, there’s another hundred endings that nobody remembers at all, because we lost our enthusiasm along the way and it feels better to keep going back to the start and avoiding the slow decline. (Who the fuck remembers how the umpteenth X-Files reboot ended? What increasingly tired post-modern antics was Alan Moore getting up to in the final League of Extraordinary Gentlemen books?). I really just didn’t want the show to end up in that latter category.

All of that probably sounds like I’m warding off criticism about the show's ending, but for me it’s actually been the opposite. 

For an ending which is all about narrative dissatisfaction, and failed potential and missed opportunities, and how we need to come to terms with the lack of existential fairness and certainty and narrative control in our lives and keep ploughing forward all the same for as long as we possibly can, I’m massively stunned at just how positive the reception has been on here and elsewhere, and that’s something I’m actively having to process, because I think I was fearfully anticipating much more pushback.

But, look - the Eskew finale was originally quite poorly-received and then people came back around to it over time. So I’m not going to pat myself on the back too hard, because maybe it’ll ultimately be the opposite with this show, and that’s OK. For 200 years everyone was convinced King Lear was improved by having everyone survive at the end and get married. Endings take time to settle into their final condition.

For now, I am incredibly relieved that the ending we chose seems to have landed for most people, and I’m incredibly grateful for the lovely messages we’ve got about it and for the trust in us that you’ve all shown throughout the story.

So, yeah, let’s end with another thank you, because that’s what I feel so deeply and so forcefully at this point.

Thank you so much again, and speak soon.

Jon

*My take? We’ve established that the guy is in some kind of blue-collar job and has been pushed into constant overtime due to the reduced workforce. We’ve seen that the so-called ‘national holiday’ doesn’t actually rescue workers from their commitments. So I personally imagine that Eddie was working during the parade somewhere on the city outskirts, and is alive and well.

[bleedingoptimism]

Steve likes to watch youtube videos of a guy who restores old consoles. It soothing to him, it relaxes him. He likes watching how he restores them, fixes them, makes them look brand new.

He also enjoys watching him work for… other reasons. Weirdly, he thinks the guy is kind of hot, even if he never shows his face. He looks fit, with the way his shirts stretch over his chest and are loose on his tiny waist and he’s always wearing cool belts, black leather with studs or chains. He likes the way he moves around, manic and a little clumsy but incredibly precise when necessary.

Steve especially likes watching his hands, thick strong fingers, bony wrists, noticeable veins, and short clean nails that sometimes have chipped black polish adorning them.

He sometimes thinks about those hands when he's alone, but, well… no one needs to know about that.

🎮🤲💖

Eddie has a fairly popular youtube channel… And a huge crush on his next-door neighbor. He simply cannot decide if the dude is cutter than hot or vice-versa.

'He sure is nice, though,' he thinks, when one day he gets a large package of replacement parts that he’s struggling to get inside and the guy walks up to him, asks if he needs any help, and takes the heaviest box with no effort at all.

He says his name is Steve and then stares at Eddie's hand for a really long time when Eddie extends it for him to shake after getting the boxes inside his studio.

He hears Steve’s little 'oh', under his breath and then sees him blush prettily before mumbling ‘He needs to go, now.' And stumbling out of Eddie’s place.

Eddie chuckles to himself as he watches him leave, definitely cute AND hot in equal parts.

🎮🤲💖

A few weeks later Steve's mom tells him she needs help getting rid of some of his nonno's old things and he finds a LOT of cool stuff that look just like the ones Eddie restores on his channel.

He and Eddie have been slowly getting friendlier over these last couple of weeks and he’s been dying to have an excuse to talk to him more, so he takes the items home and then goes to Eddie's and very nervously tries to offer them to him but doesn't know how to explain he knows he's a youtuber without looking like a weirdo because Eddie’s never shown his face.

He stumbles and blushes a lot, barely making any sense and Eddie mistakenly thinks he's trying to ask him out and says, 

"I'd love to go on a date with you," Smiling and hiding his dimples behind a lock of hair he's been playing with since the moment Steve started stuttering.

Steve completely forgets what he was trying to say or do and says he'll pick him out at 6.

The date is amazing, it feels like they are meant to be. They get along so well, talking, laughing, and already making fun of each other as if they’re old friends. And they are definitely attracted to one another. If the way Eddie practically tackles Steve with his rush to get his mouth on him when they get back, it’s any indication.  

Steve is very on board with this and he enthusiastically kisses him back. They kiss desperately as he fumbles with his door handle to get it open. When he succeeds, he walks them backward into his place not wanting to stop kissing Eddie, but stumbles and falls flat on his ass.

When Eddie turns on the light he sees Steve sprawled on top of a bunch of boxes full of old technology. A lot of emotions go through his face, ‘he’s so expressive’ Steve thinks a little enamored, having still not realized how much trouble he’s in.

But Eddie looks confused, then shocked and scared, and finally, angry,

"Steve, what the fuck?"

‘Oh, shit…’

“I can explain!” he says immediately, standing up and walking toward Eddie as he backs away,

“I didn’t want to ask you out-” Steve starts but interrupts himself when Eddie huffs, turns, and starts walking towards his own apartment, “Shit, fuck! No- That’s not what I meant, Eddie! Wait-”

He turns again and glares at Steve but then his eyes go wide, “Steve,”

“Please, let me explain-”

“Steve-”

“I did- do! Want to ask you out! I like yo-”

“Steve!” Eddie screams and Steve stops, shocked, and finally focuses. Eddie is staring at him and he’s so pale even his freckles have changed color. But no, wait. He’s not staring at him, he’s staring at his arm and Steve looks down to see… a lot of blood.

“Oh,” he says faintly. He must have cut himself on a sharp edge when he fell. Too worried about Eddie, he hadn’t even noticed the pain, but now that he’s seeing the cut, it fucking hurts.

“Oh,” he says again, realizing he’s feeling kind of dizzy, ‘that's way too much blood,’ he thinks.

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie huffs, takes off his flannel shirt and wrapping it around Steve's arm, he pulls Steve by his other hand toward his van.

“Oh no, your cute shirt,” he mumbles and hears Eddie snort before he slams the door of the passenger seat and goes to the driver’s one.

They go to the hospital in silence. It's tense. Steve tries to explain himself but Eddie shuts him up harshly, tells him to save his energy.

Even so, when they get there, Eddie still holds him gently by his good arm as he helps him inside. He tells the nurse what happened because Steve is having a hard time focusing right now and then tells him he’ll wait outside for him.

He gets stitches and a tetanus shot just in case because he doesn't remember when was the last time he got one and gets weird looks when he refuses painkillers, but no arguments. He’s given a little juice box and is told he can't get up until he finishes it.

A few seconds after the nurse leaves, the door opens and Eddie walks in. Steve looks up and smiles at him, but Eddie doesn’t smile back and Steve shrinks a little on himself.

Eddie sits on the chair facing the overbed table Steve is perched on and sighs, moving his hand in little circles motioning like, ‘Well go on. Explain yourself’

Steve looks around the room and thinks about where to start. He can't look Eddie in the eye, so he stares at the little juice box in his hands. It's got a cartoon orange in the front. The drawing it’s awful and kind of scary.

Taking a deep breath, he starts, “I've been watching your videos for a long time now. I have- I am- I-”

He fumbles for what to say, even if this date is already ruined…it's not exactly a good first date topic, is it? How fucked up he’s inside.

In a flash, images of his father’s violence, running from home with his mom, going to live with his nonno, taking care of him as he slowly lost his mind with age while his mom worked her ass off to feed them, getting cheated on, losing his “friends” because he didn't want to bully freshmen, working as a babysitter and getting almost beat up to death by his kid’s stepbrother… he shakes his head and shrugs,

“I've been through some…stuff” is what he says in the end, looking up at Eddie. He doesn't look mad anymore, his expressive eyes look concerned. Steve worries about what was it Eddie saw in his own expression, but it surprises him how easily he read him. He’s usually so good at hiding it. 

He breathes in again and keeps going, “Your videos, they calm me down when I've, sometimes I get anxious and-” he clears his throat, again, not wanting to tell Eddie about the panic attacks, the nightmares.

But it seems he doesn't have to, Eddie looks at him like he gets it.

It makes Steve want to keep talking, “Watching you work, seeing you fix things, leave them like new, no sca- marks, no problems, just working again and beautifully clean. It makes me feel better.” 

Eddie gives him a small smile and Steve returns it, “I really like your hands…” he blurts out and then closes his mouth quickly, blushing furiously.

Eddie’s eyes go wide and then he smirks and stands up slowly walking up to him and taking Steve’s hands on his own, they both stare at their joined hands for a while, the touch feather-like and soft.

“You recognized me because of my hands?” Eddie asks him a little incredulous.

Steve giggles, “I saw the logo for your channel on your studio that day I helped you with the boxes,” he clarifies sheepishly.

Eddie blushes and opens his mouth in a silent ‘oh,’

Steve draws small circles on Eddie's knuckles with his thumbs, “When I came over today, I was just trying to offer you those stuff at my place, they were my grandfather's” he explains, “I didn’t know how to say I knew who you were without looking like a weirdo and I got nervous and you thought I was going to ask you out and I wasn’t planning to but you are so beautiful I-

Eddie kisses his cheek and Steve shuts up and looks at him surprised,

“I’m sorry I freaked out,” Eddie says, “I thought- I don’t know what I thought- I was just upset you didn’t actually like me.” 

And Steve immediately answers, “I like you” a little too excitedly.

Eddie smiles at him so warmly it makes his heart rate pick up, “Good. I like you too.”

He blushes and looks down at their hands again unsure, “Do you really? Even tho I’m…”

“What?” Eddie asks, squeezing his hands reassuringly.

“Broken?” Steve whispers.

Eddie hums and drops his hands to hold his face, “Not broken, baby” he says lovingly and kisses the crease between Steve’s brows, the top of his eyelid, his nose, and the corner of his mouth. Then hugs him and Steve buries his face on Eddie's neck, and breathes him in.

A minute goes by or an hour, Steve is not sure, and Eddie leans back enough to kiss him again softly and whispers, “Some things don't need to be fixed Steve, just held.” 

𝒻𝒾𝓃

coffee? a hug? ☕🥐💕

[m4rv3l-girl]

Saying Something Stupid

Bucky x Y/N

Sometimes things just slip out…

Requests Open!

Warnings: None. Just fluff!

The soft hum of a tune filtered through the compound’s kitchen, mingling with the gentle sizzle of something sweet in a pan.

The hour was early, most of the team still tucked away in their rooms, leaving the vast halls and polished countertops empty save for one person: Y/N. The floor was bathed in warm sunlight, casting long, golden shadows as she worked. And Bucky, who had only come down for a cold beer, paused just outside the kitchen at the sound of her voice.

She was singing softly to herself, her back to him as she swayed in time with the song. He recognized it immediately—a tune from the ‘40s that always brought a bittersweet twinge to his heart. Her voice was soft, but rich with emotion, and she sang with a quiet confidence that left him breathless.

“Don't let this parting upset you I'll not forget you, sweetheart…”

Bucky swallowed hard. It had been years since he’d heard someone sing that song, and something about hearing it here, in the compound kitchen, with Y/N at the stove, made his chest feel heavy and warm.

He didn’t dare move, just leaned his shoulder against the doorway, watching as she flipped something in the pan, still singing.

The lyrics carried him back to old dance halls and sun-dappled parks, to nights spent singing and dancing with friends who had been gone for longer than he cared to remember. But here, now, he felt something new—a warmth that filled in the cracks in his heart, a sense of belonging he hadn’t felt in years. Y/N was here, and her voice was bringing back all the good things about his past without the shadows. She brought only light.

It wasn’t until she turned, wiping her hands on a dish towel, that she saw him there. Bucky grinned sheepishly as her eyes widened in surprise.

“Bucky! How long have you been standing there?” she asked, a flush coloring her cheeks. The music fell silent as she turned off the burner, setting her utensil aside to focus on him. Her voice still held that warmth, that energy, but now there was something new: a spark of embarrassment that Bucky found incredibly endearing.

He shrugged, pushing himself off the doorframe. “Long enough to enjoy the show, Doll.”

She let out a laugh, shaking her head, but Bucky could see the delight in her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I mean it,” he said, crossing the room to stand beside her. “That was... really somethin’.” He paused, searching for the right words. “You’ve got a beautiful voice, Kitten. I haven’t heard someone sing like that in a long time.”

Her smile softened, and she ducked her head. “It’s just a song,” she murmured, but there was a glint in her eye that told him she knew it was more.

Bucky looked at her, wondering if she knew what her singing did to him, how it lifted the shadows he often found himself lost in. She didn’t know the half of it.

“Not to me,” he said, voice dropping low, almost reverent. He could see her gaze flicker, a shiver running through her as she looked at him, something unspoken passing between them.

“Well,” she started, clearing her throat, “if you’d told me you were here, I could’ve given you a proper performance.”

He chuckled, the low rumble filling the space between them. “Wouldn’t want to distract you while you’re cookin’. Smells amazing, by the way.”

Her eyes lit up. “I had a craving for pancakes,” she said, a little too quickly, like she wanted to cover the silence that had grown between them. “Blueberry, to be specific. Want some?”

“Wouldn’t say no,” he replied, leaning back against the counter, his arms folding casually across his chest as he watched her return to the stove. She worked quickly, flipping pancakes with practiced ease, and he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander over her—her face set in concentration, the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the little smile she wore when she thought he wasn’t looking.

It was moments like these that Bucky cherished. They didn’t come often, but when they did, he held onto them, savoring every detail. She filled the spaces in his life that had once felt empty, brightening the corners of his mind that had been shrouded in darkness for so long. And in this light, he found a feeling he hadn’t dared to name until now.

As she plated the pancakes and turned to him, holding out a plate with a grin, the words slipped out before he could catch them.

“Thank you, darling. I love you.”

The words hung in the air, and Bucky’s heart stopped as he realized what he’d just said. He hadn’t planned it, hadn’t even thought it, really—it had just slipped out, as natural as breathing, like it was something he’d been saying for years.

Y/N’s eyes widened, her mouth opening slightly in surprise, the plate of pancakes momentarily forgotten in her hands. There was a flicker of something in her gaze—hope, maybe, mixed with a wonder that made his stomach flip.

He cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I, that…was stupid..uh, I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” she interrupted, a soft smile growing on her lips. “I can tell when you mean it, Bucky.”

The warmth in her voice, the tenderness in her eyes, made him feel as if his heart might burst. He swallowed, searching her face for any sign of uncertainty, but all he found was love—love for him, unspoken but unmistakable.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I did mean it.”

She stepped closer, setting the plate on the counter beside them, her gaze never leaving his. Her hand reached out, brushing his cheek with a touch so gentle it felt like a promise. “I love you too, Bucky. Always have.”

Those words, so simple, so honest, hit him harder than any battle he’d ever fought. All the walls he’d built, all the fears he’d carried, melted away in an instant. For the first time, he felt truly seen, truly known. And in that moment, he knew he was home.

He reached up, taking her hand in his, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You’re my whole world, Doll. I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

She laughed, her eyes sparkling as she laced her fingers through his. “By singing in kitchens at seven in the morning, apparently.”

He chuckled, pulling her close, her warmth grounding him in a way that felt like magic. “Guess I’ll have to start waking up early more often,” he murmured, nuzzling his face into her hair.

“Please don’t,” she teased, her voice muffled against his chest. “You’re terrible in the mornings.”

He laughed, the sound deep and free, and held her tighter, knowing he’d never let her go.

——————————————————————————————————

Enjoy the fluffiness? 🤭

[hurtspideyparker]

Emotional Support Intern Peter Parker

Tony and Peter finally arrive in the large room, polished leather Oxfords and stained-lace Converse making their way through the crowd of professionals. Tony has a hand on Peter's back guiding him, because no matter how many meetings, conferences, and office buildings they traverse together, Peter always manages to get lost the second Tony lets go. 

Thankfully Pepper is easy to spot, shaking hands with some blah blah from wee woo Industries. Her hair is the only splash of colour in the constant white black grey of everyone's pencil skirts and collared shirts. 

"Hi Ms. Potts!" Peter greets as soon as the woman turns and spots them. 

"Hi Peter—Tony. I told you to stop bringing the kid to these things. No offense Peter."

"None taken! You look lovely, did you get your hair done?"

Pepper's hair cascades over her shoulder in perfect curls, splayed out over her white button-up. 

"Yes actually, a trim and some highlights. I think she went shorter than I asked though, because I always get half an inch, and this does not look like half an inch."

Peter steps a bit closer and squints at the piece of copper hair she's holding out. 

"I think it's just because she curled it. You usually get it blow dried after."

"Hm. I think you're right actually."

Tony rolls his eyes, "I'm so glad you guys are having such a great slumber party. C'mon kid I have to avoid that senator and he's starting to glance this way." He tries to head over to some tall plants that happen to be great blind spots. 

"Ah ah ah Tony! We are talking about this. I told you to stop dragging Peter to all of your work responsibilities. I'm sure he's bored to death with these meetings and work events."

"Pep, he's an intern, he's supposed to be bored and taken advantage of. Besides, if you take away my emotional support intern then I simply wouldn't show up! So."

"You aren't even paying him for his time!" Pepper says at the same time Peter mumbles "emotional support intern?"

"Um excuse me, that 3 million dollar suit he stuffs between his math homework and Go-Gurt begs to differ. And anyways, I pay him with experience. I brought him to that seminar in LA on Saturday, and he's following me to Tokyo for that week long conference in July. I highly doubt he's complaining," he squeezes the boy's shoulders, Peter looking up and beaming at him and Pepper. 

"I'm really fine with it Ms. Potts. Besides, the more of these things I go to the more lab time I get!" Peter pipes in.

Pepper glares at Tony. "Really, bribery?" 

"Okay well, if us grown adults don't want to be here how else am I supposed to get a 15 year old to talk about environmental reform to people who don't even believe in climate change." 

Pepper and Tony hold each other's stares.

"You mean he spoke to Mr. Ellis about the generator you designed for his carbon plant, and it didn't end with him calling us a pansy corporation and you calling him a decrepit geezer who's business is the only thing that's going to die quicker than he is?"

There's barely stiffled hope supressed under Pepper's professionalism. 

Tony smirks. "Yep, I think Mr. Ellis even smiled. The kid's got charm! Who knew."

Pepper glances at Peter in consideration. 

"Peter have you ever considered pursuing anything further in business? Engineering is great, but if you really want to be successful it's incredibly important to build interpersonal skills, leadership, and even current market and finance knowledge. I mean you might want to sell your designs one day, or start a company." 

"Oh, I haven't really-"

"You could shadow me! I mean interning with a CEO is a once in a lifetime opportunity, it would give you a glowing resume, and I know a lot more about this stuff than Tony. He didn't even perform his executive duties when he actually was the CEO."

Pepper has that gleam in her eyes, the one she gets when men call her sweetheart, or when Tony isn't even dressed for their reservation that started ten minutes ago. 

It means she's already had the argument in her head. 

Peter is still stuttering, flustered with this side of Pepper. Her business face isn't usually directed at him, and it's a far cry from the woman who sends him home with leftovers from dinner. 

"Wait wait wait, are you trying to steal my intern?" Tony asks incredulously. 

"If anyone even needs an intern Tony it would be me. I have to babysit you and the company, meanwhile you just need him to hand you wrenches. Competent help is hard to find these days and you're wasting his talents." 

"Um, excuse me, he's the only thing keeping me together. You already have your fancy day planner and Excel spreadsheets, I need him to get me out of the house. He's the only thing keeping me a responsible adult, if you take away my emotional support intern then I will not attend a single meeting for the rest of the quarter." 

"You are such a man child!"

"La la la la can't hear youuu," Tony says with his fingers in his ears.

"Um, guys, I think people are staring."

Peter tugs on the corner of Tony's sleeve to get him to unplug his ears, glancing nervously at the groups of people sending them judgemental stares. The three of them give a wave and pleasant smile, most of the crowd continuing to move along on the grey carpet at the sight of their unsettling synchronicity and false turn of the lips. 

Pepper speaks through her teeth, a grin still presented at passers-by. "Fine, you can keep him, but only because he's doing half my job for me. The only person you can emotionally regulate around and it's a teenager. I'm glad you finally found someone who can keep you entertained." 

"Love you too honey," Tony says while putting a hand on the small of her back and kissing her cheek. He sighs, looking around the room at all the government officials who think these tech companies are spying on them. 

Apparently a surveillance state is only cool when they do it to manipulate their incarceration numbers, rig elections and lobby votes, and not for data mining and targeted ads. 

"I say we hit the cheese and crackers, take an awkward amount of sips from those tiny water bottles, and then speak to some old ladies till we have to do our presentation."

"Sounds great Mr. Stark. Will you make sure they don't grab my face again? I smelled like old lady perfume at school and Flash started making fun of me for stealing people's grandmas."

Tony looks into Peter's eyes questioningly and finds nothing but sincerity and resignation in them. 

"Well. Not my fault your cheeks are so gosh darn cute. But I'll do my best," he wraps an arm around the shorter and starts heading through the room again. 

The weight is comforting. Peter used to get anxious at these events, but Tony never leaves his side and is always looking at him like he's the Michaelangelo in the center of every room. He became accustomed to being Mr. Stark's favourite part of the event. While that may not seem difficult, especially considering the droning lectures and snooty company, it always feels special making jokes about people's ridiculous work jargon, and comparing the staleness of crackers at conferences. 

"Emotional support intern huh?" he says smugly. 

Tony glances at him, but instead of scoffing or denying anything, he just speaks with honesty. "You and Pepper are the best, most important things to this company. And to me. I'm really glad you're here kid."

Peter doesn't know what to say. The words stick in his throat while Tony hands him a water bottle with the lid already cracked. 

Peter has super strength; It's completely unnecessary to open his bottle for him. He doesn't point this out. Tony will do it at the next meeting, just like he did at the last one, and Peter will never mention it.

[senseofnewness]

what are your own like personal headcanons about art donaldson!!! i love hearing about silly thoughts people have <333 (i love your writing btw!!)

(thank you bby <3)

random art donaldson headcanons

• at 31 years old, art donaldson still can't grow a full mustache. it's as if god took all the body hairs meant for him and gave them to patrick zweig instead.

• art wears tom ford’s azure lime, a fragrance that is fresh and crisp, with none of the heavy muskiness you might expect. some might say it smells a bit feminine, but it suits him well, at least, it always smells clean.

• he named his daughter lily after his grandmother, liliane. although she didn't raise him, they shared a special bond. it was liliane who introduced him to tennis.

• he is a secret fan of the lord of the rings and occasionally quotes gollum, much to tashi’s annoyance, who rolls her eyes at the nerdy side of her husband.

• his favorite food is lasagna, but not the kind you'd expect. he doesn't crave the gourmet freshly made lasagna his personal chef prepares. what he really loves is the store-brand frozen lasagna, the kind that comes in a box and is microwaved. tashi only allows him to eat it on his birthday.

• out of all his body parts, hands are probably his favorite. which is why he finds holding hands to be one of the most intimate gestures. he prefers sturdy hands with slender fingers and manicured nails.

• art had never blocked patrick’s number all those years, just so he could one day say "the phone works both ways" if patrick ever tried to blame him for their falling out.

• he has an irrational fear of spiders. if he spots one in a room, he cannot bring himself to sleep in there, even if tashi has killed the spider for him. in his mind, the spider’s family might be plotting revenge, and that thought is enough to keep him awake at night.

• art donaldson hates the taste of coffee, no matter how many times he had tried to like it in an effort to appear more mature. to him, it always tastes like straight-up dirt. he prefers to stick with vanilla milk.

• he has tried the curly girl method countless times, hoping to restore the curly texture his hair once had as a teenager. despite his efforts and the many products he has tried, his hair remains persistently straight.

• art chews his nails when nervous. and he will chew on anything else he can get a grip on as well. tashi tries to break this habit by painting his nails with bitter nail polish but it doesn't stop him from biting them, it just tastes like shit now.

• art rarely swears or gets angry, but when he does, tashi knows he will spend the entire day brooding. it's all about muttered complaints and scowls. the only thing that typically soothes him is a warm bath.

• when lily was born, art sobbed so loudly that the nurses had to ask him to quiet down to avoid disturbing the other babies in the hospital wing. tashi was so mortified that she pretended not to know him.

[nsfw]

• he wears those tiny underwears because he doesn't feel supported in anything else. he needs his pink fuzzy balls to be secured on the court. a lesson he learned the hard way. when he was fifteen, one of his balls slipped through the leg of his loose boxers during a match, and patrick teased him about it for months. ever since that day, he has sworn off boxers entirely.

• when patrick taught art how to jerk off, art waited for patrick to be asleep to look closely at the sock patrick had used. he studied the slimy stains, comparing the cum to his own, just to make sure everything was normal with him.

• he isn’t a fan of quickies. he prefers to take his time with tashi, believing that making love is about enjoying every moment and taking the time to bring her to the edge. to him, it’s not really making love if she doesn’t climax too. however, there are times when he becomes so horny after a particularly intense practice session, where tashi had pushed him harder than usual, that a quickie becomes necessary.

• he has incredibly sensitive nipples and gets easily aroused when they’re touched or teased. when tashi wants to make him shut up during an argument, she just pinches them and he starts whimpering.

• sometimes he can't help but think about the fact that patrick had been with tashi before him, and it turns him on. the thought of them together becomes a driving force, turning into a personal competition. he feels the need to prove to tashi that he is the best sex she will ever have.

• tashi used threats of her strap-on as a way to motivate him during his matches, but now, instead of fear, it has become a source of excitement. art knows that each victory means tashi is waiting for him at home with her silicone cock, ready to celebrate.

[fraugwinska]

Our lovely couple moves in together... Smut ahead - Minors DNI - Adult themes!

"Last chance to change your mind, cher."

You cocked your brow with that sweet smile you always had when looking at him, a small box in your hand. Alastor stood at the front doors of his townhouse, his arms crossed and leaning against the door frame, returning your grin with an even wider one.

"You know me long enough to know I am not one to take back my word, love. My house is yours from this day on forward."

With the flick of his wrist, he summoned various of his voodoo minions, who all immediately sprung into action, one of them taking the box out of your hand while the others crept to the waiting car with the few belongings in boxes you had accumulated over the past years. Most of them were books you could hardly part with, an antique room screen you got as a gift from Zestial. Your office, mostly, folders and folders of your articles, the polished black typewriter you loved. A vintage, cherry-wood cathedral radio - Alastor's gift to celebrate your three year anniversary. It's been about nine, now. Nine incredible, enchanting, magical, horrific, terrible and utterly love-filled, chaotic and passionate and simply hellbent and haphazardous years. Nine years, in which Hell came truly alive for you. Nine years, and finally one step further. Moving in together.

He watched as the final helper sprung inside to sit at the steering wheel of the car to drive it back to the rental, his arms still crossed. You tried hard to find the catch, but it seemed that Alastor simply wanted this, just as much as you did. No trickery, no traps, nothing. Just him, and you, together in his treasured house. Well. Mostly.

Though you've not met her yet, you knew about Niffty - a young, new sinner Alastor took under his wings. Whether he made a deal with her, or simply hired her, you didn't know, and you didn't really care, but she would also be at his house, he had told you, as a live-in maid/housekeeper. And because he was a gentleman of his times, he offered to change this condition and make her move out, if it made you uncomfortable - you immediately refused. You wouldn't deny a young demon like her shelter out of petty and misplaced insecurities, and the thought that someone other than yourself would actually be doing the brunt of the housework around your new home was immensely enticing.

With a smirk Alastor lifted himself up and stepped away from the door frame, stretching an arm out as an invitation, still smiling.

Your grin widened at him and you hummed, a rather contented purr escaping your throat and rumbling deep within as you took his hand. He pulled you into him, his head turning to press a kiss into your hair, the fresh breeze blowing a smell of flowers and smoke through the garden - you melted against his touch.

"Well then, welcome to your new home, darling...", Alastor mumbled against the crown of your head.

The town house was one of the few places you had never been to before. Over the years, Alastor let you into his world more and more. His radio tower became your most frequented place to be together, and even that took a full year of talks, dinners, outings and strolls together before that. And the progress into a deeper bond that didn't just rely on the foundation of mutual interest and curiosity was a slow one with him. But he was never, in your eyes, anything other than a gentleman and an all around impeccably wonderful sinner - even at his worst, and certainly at his best. And his very best was, by any and every definition, impressive.

He showed you his turf, introduced you to people who worked for him, acquaintances and friends alike. That's how you've met Mimzy for example, although she certainly wasn't one of your favorite people... but that did go both ways. Alastor adored her, and you respected that. You understood that, considering who he is - the petty grudges Mimzy bore against you because of misplaced jealousy were part and parcel of your life on his side. You remembered the joy when he mentioned that Rosie was also a friend and part of his close inner circle, and she soon became someone whose presence you always enjoyed. Fully supportive and invested in you two as she was, Rosie always helped whenever you could think of problems, whether big or small, in your shared journey through Hell. She and Alastor both supported and loved you in all of your ways and plans, the latter having been what helped you rise to editor in chief at the Pentagram Daily and right hand to Zestial, who had gradually turned from boss to close friend to you.

Hell truly came alive for you.

Your focus moved to the townhouse itself. It was modest and tastefully furnished, with dark wood furniture and decor, a wooden plated kitchen filled with plants and the strange hellish shrubbery you grew accustomed to and green tiling on the bathroom floors and walls. The fireplace in the foyer was glowing with a healthy ember and flames, the heat engulfing you, as well as a vague hint of Alastor's signature smell that seemed to be oozing from everywhere.

"Why don't you come and have a seat, love. Let me take your things upstairs and then we'll have some coffee ready in a minute, hm?"

Alastor's hands left yours, and you didn't turn around as his presence receded. Your thoughts were so caught up in the beauty of the house, your pink claws traced and ran over the lines of the wood paneled wall. Alastor had never stayed at your apartment, an agreement and precaution he decided on even when you officially started dating, citing his moral code and the rules of courting he intended to follow. Where he filled the days, the nights were always spent alone, in your own home. The time spent together was full with discussions, talks and occasional killings, and yes, you'd also share more intimate moments - kisses, touches, even some serious fooling around. But he had always stopped, right before crossing the one final line. Your body had been a sanctuary, a sacred place which was not to be violated or disturbed, not even by him. And while you found it almost endearing, after a few years it made you crave finally taking the last step.

It's a funny thing, wanting and craving something with your full body and soul while at the same time, the actual act that would grant this wasn't something you ever thought you needed, in contrary. It had been a weapon, a tool for you to do what you did when you were alive and what earned you damnation in hell, as unfair as it was. Sex was one of the simplest concepts of mankind to corrupt, of course. And maybe this was the reason for Alastor never allowing both of you to crossing that line, too. Perhaps he would have, if it wasn't for him knowing where you came from - because he knew you used sex as a method of getting men to lower their guard, a means to an end.

Your train of thought was interrupted by a faint giggle, and you looked down. A small, wide-eyed cyclops girl stood before you, barely reaching your knees. She wore a dark red blouse with a red skirt, and a white apron covered the front. The demoness beamed up at you, grinning, her single eye framed by a magenta bob cut fixed to your face and hands clasped together.

"Alastor told me a lot about you, miss! I'm Niffty! Can you believe you actually exist? When Alastor first told me about you, I- well- ohh, this is SO EXCITING!! We'll be the best of friends, and we'll talk and you'll tell me ALL your stories and I will learn everything about them, so I won't forget anything and-"

She stopped herself as the sound of a throat being cleared was heard through the hall, and Alastors form, already half obscured in the shadows of the hall, stiffened.

"Niffty, you promised me to not be weird, my dear.", he tutted, glowering at her, one of his eyes twitching and his close-lipped smile tensed. You almost burst out laughing. It was always an endearing and utterly charming sight, when he got flustered or nervous. His discomfort always manifested itself in the twitch of his eyes or nose, or an unexpected flick of the wrist at something mundane and simple like this - and as silly as it may seem to others, Niffty's uncontainable energy, the utter wholesome enthusiasm and weirdness of hers that could get even the radio demon uncomfortable made you soft for the girl.

Your tail swished playfully as you grinned up towards Alastor and turned back to the exciteable demon before you.

"Ah, Alastor did tell me what a lovely companion you were, chèrie.", you told Niffty, a light purr entering your voice, which made her ears prick and her eye to light up, the singular black and yellow iris blown wide. You held out your hand to the maid and gave her a soft smile, tilting your head. "I'm sure we'll get along well together."

Nifftys small, clawed hand shot into yours as if it was on fire and you squeezed it with a slight force that made her squeal with glee. She shook your hand so rapidly you could barely register it, and her head was bopping up and down eagerly.

"Yes! Absolutely!!! I'll do anything, anything, anything!! We will get along perfectly! I'll make coffee, you drink coffee, right? And maybe some cookies!" She said in a hurry, her words and excitement blurring together, not even waiting for an answer but scurrying away to the kitchen. She was as hyper as a squirrel in a tree and equally adorable, and your grin widened with amusement at her enthusiasm.

"So, that's Niffty.", you mused, chuckling at his rather stiff and awkward posture.

"Oh, a dear child, without a doubt - a lovely, twisted little thing. It was fortunate that she met me.", he agreed. Alastor's ears flicked slightly as you came closer, his tone lowering once again. "Still, you must not underestimate her. If you'd see the things she does to the vermin around the house..." He laughed.

"Well, never mind that. You still have the second floor to inspect, darling. Shall we?"

He extended an arm, grinning, and with a raised brow and a hummed 'oooh, scandalous,' you hooked your elbow around his and let him drag you up the stairs with a short lived chuckle.

It didn't even take five seconds for your composure to crack once you saw the bedroom. Not because there was any hint of dubiousness to it, quite the contrary. Everything was nice and clean and sweet smelling, the windows were opened, allowing the fresh air from outside to gently blow into the room. The bed, an old, beautiful vintage piece of dark brown walnut furniture, had black satin sheets that seemed cool and smooth even to your eyes and there was a surprising number of soft pillows and blankets.

"This, I didn't think I'd need to mention... will be the only part of the house to be completely off-limits to young miss Niffty. Or anyone except for us, for that matter." He smiled at you with a most wicked grin as his shadow crept to the door, closing it shut.

Your body froze and your mind went blank and for a moment, you weren't able to think at all, just feel the burning of your body and the tingling of your skin. Oh, dear Satan. Slowly, his words really sank in, and the reality of their meaning dawned on you and tightened your grin.

He wanted the same as you. And it seemed he was finally ready to do something about it.

It was silly of you. So many people in hell fucked every day, in so many ways - whether because it was the nature of sin itself to be more perverse and vile than it could be in the living realm, or because there were so few taboos that remained in hell to keep up... and you were aware of your hypocrisy. A serial killer would definitely not be able to point fingers, let alone judge, others, you knew. But with him, it was different. At least to you it was. He wasn't some pervert. He had principles. Standards. Values.

Valuing you was one of those, and respecting and caring for you, as much as he respected himself. To him, sexuality, lust, any expression of this... had always had to be a conscious decision to be made with you, not some primal reflex forced upon you, if the time ever came.

And the knowledge that finally, that last boundary of your relationship, which, for the past nine years, had become so noticable and odd for others in its non-intimacy, was about to be breached, and his intention to cross it with you as explicit as it possibly could be, sparked a heat inside of you unlike any other kind of flame that has ever burnt your skin. Well, loin des yeux, près du cœur.

"Really, my dear? No remarks at all, not even a clever retort? Did I finally get the cat's tongue?", Alastor teased and you shivered at the way his eyes glazed over like a starved predator, his hungry gaze washing over your flushed, but now obviously and severely flustered face. He always said your flushing, especially when flustered, looked good on you. His large claws brushed down your shoulders and arms, leaving a hot trail in their wake and sending an all-out shiver of delight and anticipation down your spine.

"What a rare sight, you're absolutely adorable when shy."

"You are impossible...", you replied, slowly feeling the soft mattress hit the back of your thighs and the added support behind your back made you keenly aware of just how strong he was. One of the strongest, if not the strongest of all the overlords. And you loved his strength - when he ripped into the bodies of foolish sinners as when he now used it to lift you with ease, sit you down onto his bed, his palms resting on the pillows right besides your head.

"Do you really want to do this, cher?", your words were a breathy, yet rumbling whisper. Your black pupils blew wide, taking over the majority of the shades of magenta and pink and fuchsia.

Alastors grin grew wider at the sight of it, tilting his head as his knees pushed his body even higher, the bed creaking. The sound was familiar, comforting even. He settled above you, one hand slipping under your nape, softly lifting your face up to meet his and the cold claws on the tips of his fingers brushed against your heated skin, just like your icy claws ran down the column of his exposed throat, caressing the length of his neck down to the knot of his bow tie.

"Yes..." He hummed the word out low and long, an eager purr-growl that rumbled his chest and throat and made him grind his hips against yours. Your head fell back in bliss as his knee slotted in-between your legs and pressed, just right, against your crotch, with perfect pressure against the sensitive flesh. A whimper of his name tumbled past your lips, followed by a soft moan. You moved your leg upwards and ran it against his, just so, and his breath, too, came out a stuttering, gasping sigh. "Yes. My mind has been set on this matter for a long while."

His ears flicked again and you watched in rapt fascination as his antlers grew and eyes went darker. And without another word, your lips clashed together in a messy, passionate kiss that left your head reeling and your stomach dropping. Your hands pulled at the silken material of his tie, desperately fumbling with it in order to make it loose enough to allow him to breath as his own claws pressed into your thigh, possessive and demanding, leaving deep cuts in your long, flowy skirt.

A groan escaped your mouth, almost unrecognizable to you. So different from your usual smooth demeanor, so raw, wanton. A moan, loud and hoarse, that shook you with the power and force you put into it and reverberated through both of your bodies, tangled around each other, pressed together. Your vision swam before your eyes, his delicious scent filling your lungs. You drowned in his everything - his smell, the feeling of his weight pinning you down to the bed, his lips, moving against yours in a violent dance and his tongue, swirling around yours. He kissed the same way he hunted, taking no prisoners and leaving no escape - you could still taste traces of the coffee he drank before you arrived, it had been laced with bourbon, a drink you now craved in your blood, and needed inside of you.

In a faraway, dazed state of mind, a realization crossed your cloudy, hazy thoughts. There was no going back now, not that you wanted to, anyway. But now, everything between you and Alastor was going to be different. Unshackled. You were ready to cross that line, more than so, but now, after waiting and building that expectation for so long, there was an even bigger anticipation, so strong, even your arms were shaking, the black fabric of his harness brushing against the skin of your arms as he shrugged his overcoat off.

Every touch of him felt new, electrified by the knowledge and expectation of waht to come. His palm brushed over the thin fabric covering the skin of your stomach. His lips pulled from your swollen ones, tracing a path downwards. Down, towards your neck. Your ear. Your collarbone. Teeth grazed your soft, delicate flesh and his lips captured the skin his hands revealed as he undressed you.

You cried out, eyes tightly shut as he bit and kissed his way down the valley between the soft, malleable flesh of your breast, the heated muscle of your belly, his palms softly digging in the expanse of skin of your legs. His long, glowing, red claws traced the sensitive skin inside of your thighs.

You gasped, almost breathless at this point. So utterly overwhelmed by the sensations of it all, senses oddly heightened by the way he teasingly bit down onto the inside of your thigh - just where the cloth of the undergarments, his last barrier to reach your actual core, ended. The feeling of your own tail stroking over his back, in tandem with his claw cutting the cloth made your vision go white for a moment, the feather light touch making you tremble and breathe his name out like an unholy prayer, repeated over and over.

"So divine and yet so corrupted...", he mumbled against your heated skin, before he shoved one of the plush pillows under your arched back.

"So holy and yet so blasphemous..." you felt his breath cool on the wetness of your exposed folds, so, so close to what you needed, and felt his tongue, carefully, sliding along the folds of your quivering core, just an almost and not yet a finally in sweetest torture, his body a veil between you and the world.

"Only yours to offer...", his eyes shot to you, intense and hungry under his twisted antlers, awaiting your decision, and you nodded with baited breath at which he refocused on the slick heat before him, "...and only mine to take."

His tongue parted the lips, delving inside and licking a broad stroke between them, before the tip danced around your aching clit and just for a moment, you forgot how to even breath anymore, your mind blanking out for an endless, timeless, perfect second.

All you felt was bliss, the sheer pleasure washing over and drowning you in it, the all encompassing, fulfilling sensation of something you had not even dared to dream of was now your present reality and there was nothing else, nothing beside his tongue. A gasping whine filled the silence, breaking through the crescendo of white noise, a cry, a plea for more as his long, pointy, impossibly dexterous tongue lapped against and slipped inside of you, thrusting in and out with torturous drag.

Your hands curled tightly into the fabric beneath you, preventing yourself from bending like a hunting bow as he added not one, but two of his fingers. His rhythm was unforgiving and almost too intense, so perfect, with just enough change for the friction not to burn into an unsatisfactory numbness.

"Mmmh... I could live on the taste of you, love.", Alastor breathed the words against the inside of your thigh, before biting down into the skin with a possessive growl. His claws dug into the plush flesh of your hips, holding them up as blood dripped in heavy drops from the bite. He sucked and licked on the wound and the sight of him, macabre and beautifully latched onto you, was almost enough to make you come, fingers still working against your heat.

You were almost there, you could feel it in the way the muscles in your stomach clenched, the tightening coil deep within, the way your breath hitched and became quicker and shallower, the way you started to tremble, the feeling of pure pleasure and joy.

"Stop, amour. Please stop...", you panted, not wanting to come alone, not selfish enough to be serviced like this, the pleasure too good to end so soon without him in it. You gasped for air, forming the words in your head.

His head whipped upwards, his glowing red eyes narrowed in concern, but you just smiled at him in reassurance, face hot and body sticky to the touch. "Réclamez-moi entièrement pour que nous puissions atteindre la fin ensemble...", you pleaded.

Alastor understood your words perfectly and his eyes widened. He took a shaky breath, before he chuckled and rose up, ripping his dress shirt along with the black harness away and revealing the expanse of his torso, the muscles, the soft fur, the countless scars. His belt came loose, his slacks fell to the ground, kicked away. He was magnificent when dressed - But he was unearthly beautiful when naked, every inch of him on display and for you to devour.

The tip of his member brushed against the slick opening of your core, making you whine.

"Always the one to choose a draw, darling."

Your hands reached for him, pulling him on top of you, the heat of his naked skin pressing onto you. He felt so wonderful, his hair falling forward, covering the side of his face, his breath tickling your nose. He leaned down, the tip of his nose brushing against yours, and your eyes fluttered close.

"You know I always prefer to lose if it's a win for both of us in the end, mon cerf..."

Alastor's lips captured yours again and his tongue entered, claiming and dominating the kiss in the same moment he pushed his hips into you, sheathing himself fully. He felt so, so much bigger than he looked, the stretch a delectable pain, an utterly delightful kind of burn. Your walls stretched around him, trying to adjust and get used to the feeling. It was almost overwhelming, how perfect he fit into you, how his thick, throbbing length brushed against that sweet spot inside of you, his girth stretching and filling you to the brim.

You both groaned, his head dropping forward as his hips rolled and he started to move. Slow, shallow thrusts, testing the waters. He pulled out, almost all the way, before rolling back in and setting a slow, savoring pace, dragging his hips just so to make his cock brush against your most sensitive spots.

Your hands grabbed his shoulders, your claws digging into them until you drew blood. With a growl, Alastor picked you up, letting himself fall back into a sitting position and pulled you upright on his lap. Equals, both able to be in control, both dependent on the other. Connected, not just by your cores, but also by your eyes you sat still for a moment. He was inside of you, and you had never felt this complete. He was a part of you, and the feeling was intoxicating, addictive, all consuming.

And then, he started to move you. Alastor let his head fall into the crook of your neck, whispering your name against your throat and you cried his out aloud, his claws digging into your hips and moving them, lifting them and pushing them down in a growing rhythm, matching his own eager movements, the drag of his cock inside of you utterly divine. You rolled your hips, chasing the feeling of him, while your own claws painted red lines on his back. You tasted blood, your canines biting your lip so hard it opened the delicate skin, and on a whim you nudged his head up to share it with him. He moaned, tasting the metallic fluid on your tongue, and it was enough to drive you both over the edge.

He spent himself inside of you with a hoarse growl, the hot, sticky fluid painting your insides as he wrapped his arms around you to press you even deeper into him, the sensation alone enough to make your head spin and your eyes water with hot tears. Your own high followed, you were desperate to sink your teeth in something, so you latched onto his neck, biting down as your walls tightened around his still twitching cock, milking it dry and coating him with the proof of your mutual ecstasy.

For a while, all either of you did was pant, breathing deeply, trying to collect yourselves and regain any kind of composure. Your eyes were still closed, but you could feel the slight movement of his chest, the beat of his heart under your palms that rested on his chest, your teeth still deep in his skin. You couldn't bear to let go, fearing the loss of his skin on your lips, but his hands came up to your face and gently pulled you away.

A small chuckle left his lips as he looked at you. His face was smeared red with the residue of your blood, and you might as well must've looked the same, coated in his.

"Now, isn't this the best way to christen a new bed? The unholy trinity: Blood, sweat and tears."

You laughed, the sound of it a little weak and a bit hoarse.

"You didn't happen to buy a new couch, too?", you asked, voice playful and low.

"Oh, I certainly do plan on it now, darling. I'm thinking of refurnishing the whole damn house." He grinned at you, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips, and it was impossible not to mirror his impish grin.

A rattle on the doorknob made both of you snap your heads to the entrance of your bedroom. In an instant, you made yourself - and to your delight, Alastor, still sheathed in you, too - invisible, just in time before Niffty broke through the door, in a loud bickering fight with Alastor's shadow.

"....and the coffee is getting cold if they.... oh, they're not here. Why didn't you tell me they're not here? Oh, maybe they are searching for me, maybe I should go look for them? Maybe they're downstairs, or in the garden? Oh no, wait, maybe they're on the roof? No, no, no, maybe..."

She rambled as she ran back down, and with a giggle you made both of you visible again.

" 'Completely off-limits to young miss Niffty' you say?", you grinned at him, a sadistic smile on your lips as you leaned in to kiss the small wounds on his neck.

"I also said to not underestimate her...", he sighed, commanding his shadow with his hand to close the door once more. And this time, with a poignant look and glowing red eyes, to lock it up.

Translations: loin des yeux, près du cœur - absence makes the heart grow fonder Réclamez-moi entièrement pour que nous puissions atteindre la fin ensemble... - Claim me fully so we can reach the end together…

[luulapants]

What a safe space for concrit looks like and why the comments section will never be that

I'm in an IRL group for songwriters who want help developing and polishing their work. It's an incredible space, very effective, and no one ever leaves feeling bad about their songs. I'm going to share a few of the things that work really well about this group and compare those to online environments, particularly comment sections:

Group settings create accountability. If someone is a dick, it has real social consequences, not just from the person being critiqued but from everyone in the room who saw it happen. Online spaces, while very public, are paradoxically intimate. It's unlikely that third parties will scour comments on someone else's work, and if they do - what are the consequences? The critic probably doesn't know them.

We know our critics. We know the critic's level of expertise in different areas, if they have different styles and preferences from ours, and can weight their opinions accordingly. The opinion of a random stranger online cannot be weighed or evaluated and is therefore worthless.

We know our performers. We know the proficiency of the person we're critiquing, if they're new or shy or young, if they're branching into a type of music they're not familiar with. We adjust the type of feedback we give based on who's receiving it. Typically, commenters online have no idea if they're critiquing a professional artist or a literal child just starting out.

Everyone needs to bring something to group. If you don't have a song (or even part of a song) to share, you can't come this week. This puts everyone on equal footing: we're all being vulnerable, we're all going through critique today. It's easy to hand out judgments when you have nothing at stake, but you're a lot more careful handling someone's work when you know they'll be handling yours, too. Commenters online have nothing at stake, no reciprocal vulnerability, which creates an unfair power dynamic.

"What kind of feedback do you want?" We ask this question before every performance. People are able to draw specific boundaries, point out areas where they're confused or conflicted ("This chord sounds wrong to me but I'm not sure what to use.") and areas that are too sensitive for critique ("This is a personal story, so I don't want to change the narrative.") Going in blind online, you have no idea if you're addressing a personal landmine or a deliberate creative choice.

Only bring things that are unfinished and open to change. The purpose of bringing a song to group is to get edits and suggestions. The purpose of posting your work online is to share it and have it be enjoyed by others. You should assume that, by the time someone is posting something on their Tumblr or AO3 etc., that it is a finished product no longer open for changes.

[cybertronian-reader-imagines]

How about someone who was recently turned into a Cybertronian and Team Prime tended to and comforted them? They have a lot of adjusting to do! 👀

TW: A bit of implied disassociation because, holy shit, suddenly you're a giant metal robot and that's kinda hard to wrap your newly non-organic brain around.

((Knock Out is here because there is not enough Autobot!Knock Out and I love him.))

Team Prime comforting Reader, who just got turned into a Cybertronian, would include...

Optimus reassures you from the first moment that you have a safe home with Team Prime, should you choose to stay with them. Of course, you do. He makes sure you have the time and space to adjust and be comfortable with your new body before jumping into anything. He's just there if you need him, which some days is more helpful than everyone's else's efforts to offer unsolicited advice right off the bat.

Bumblebee helps you adjust to having wheels by challenging you to races that double as training whenever possible. He is almost certainly going easy on you, but nobody ever tells you as much.

Bulkhead is the first to realize that maybe you just really need a damn hug right now, if only because he's not very good with words. He hugs you and reassured you that it will be okay, and you're amazed how warm and fuzzy you feel afterwards, even though you're fairly sure your new body doesn't actually feel such minute temperature changes.

Ratchet tries to be "comforting" by explaining how your new body works... in detail that goes way, WAY over your head. But eventually, you get him talking about Cybertron's history and culture, and realize that your two species aren't all that different after all, which helps more than an anatomy lesson ever could.

Smokescreen is quick to remind you that you don't have to go back to your boring human school/job/house/whatever. Depending on how much you liked/disliked your old life, this is either incredibly helpful or incredibly irritating. If you get upset with him though, he's quick to apologize, and it's hard not to be comforted by that well-meaning smile and a servo patting your shoulder.

Arcee might somehow be even more protective of you than she is of the humans - she knows what happens when bots overestimate how much they can handle, and she figures that's really easy to do when you go from being a tiny, fragile human to a giant robot. Sometimes it's hard to hear her remind you that you're still mortal, but she means well. "Okay Mom, I get it."

Wheeljack, like Bulkhead, isn't very good with words, but he's also not very good with affection. What he can do, however, is listen. He's there the first time you get frustrated with the rest of the Team - not because they truly did anything wrong, but because being cramped into a tiny base with people you've just met will irritate anyone - and he never breathes a word of what you vented to the others. The Wreckers had their spats too - he knows you'll all be cool at the end of the day.

Oh Primus help Ultra Magnus he doesn't have a comforting servo in his body, but at least he's honest about that. In fact, he's the best bot to go to when you're ready to have things less sugarcoated.

Knock Out doesn't understand what the fuss is about - why would anyone ever want to be a squishy, gross organic when they could be Cybertronian? Humans couldn't turn into cars, for one, and couldn't be polished. He gives you a fresh coat of paint and polish and tells you how much better you look now - it does help, in a way. Being able to pick out new paint makes you feel a little more like your new body is really your body.

But honestly? Your biggest comfort might just be Jack, Miko, and Raf, if only because they will remind you any time you so much as frown just how cool being a giant robot is. And then you remember, yeah, it is pretty cool, actually.

[janeya]

jane flight masterpost

(decided to finally repost this seperately from a reblog from another account's post so its easier to find)

2016-2019 american tour, jungle theatre, and mccarter/arena appear to all use a similar style rig, which uses a waist/back harness to allow them to spin and go upside down.

some theatre company uses a typical small-scale lift that doesnt spin

cs arts and eastview use the same seesaw-style lift, although the first rendition is much more polished (cs arts is a little janky). from the available pictures, it seems like steamer no. 10 uses this as well though thats less confirmed as there are no videos

majestic repertory jane flies for a very short moment at the end of the song! she also uses the seesaw method.

the metropolitan theatre also uses a pretty standard flight sequence- from what i know, she's simply lowered and lifted (similar to stc). beck centre theatre also uses a similar 'up-and-down' lift, the difference being its staged to be a 'test your strength' carnival game. again, the latter is less polished, since beck centre uses cables instead of a more reliable lifting system like the ones used in stc or the american tour productions. its a cool concept though!

hickory community theatre and usd theatre both use flight systems that go VERY high up so thats realy cool. usd uses a cable rig that lifts her freely by her back, causing her to spin slowly in the air. for hickory, i dont have much to go off of other than these images so i dont really know what sort of rig they use but it looks somewhat similar.

then there's a super insane flight rig where jane does backflips and is upside down!! (its incredibly hard to see so i apologize but just trust me. ive posted videos on here of it. its wild). it isnt the sort of rig where there are cables spinning her, it seems like she has full control over her flipping which i genuinely have not seen done in theatre much ever.

boise little theatre uses a rig that makes it look like she's being held up and pulled around by her neck?? its very scary but has a really cool effect for jane. i wish i could tell you how this one works but we only have a very small clip to go off of. i believe it could be a harness that attaches around her shoulders?

sinclair community college appears to use a harness/cable rig but im not 100 percent on how the sequence works

also according to an actor from the stagecoach production, jane had a flight rig, though i know nothing about that one. :)

[ginnyruin]

i'm sorry but the nurchie "art" is clearly AI generated??? can we please stop sharing and praising shit that some algorithm spat out without ever asking the original creators whose work it steals and regurgitates for their permission

- sincerely, a pissed-off artist

Hello,

I’m going to set the record straight, and I’d suggest you read carefully before making any more baseless accusations. Nurchie is an actual artist—a trained one, with a Bachelor of Fine Arts in digital art and two-dimensional studies (drawing and painting) from a prestigious university. She has 16 years of professional design/digital art experience, and a publicly documented portfolio going back well before AI art even existed.

go look at her earliest work on Deviantart and you'll see how precisely detailed she draws hands, fingers, and clothing. Everything, really.

If you had bothered to do any homework, you’d see that her work reflects thousands of hours of dedicated practice and the expertise of a seasoned digital artist.

Calling her work AI generated is BEYOND insulting. it’s lazy, dismissive, and downright disrespectful to a person who has spent years honing her craft.

She doesn’t ask for clout, she doesn’t do commissions, she doesn't have a patreon or Kofi. She only made a Twitter years ago because I asked her to share her talent with the world or she wouldn't even bother.

This tendency to label any polished work as “AI” just shows ignorance, plain and simple. Real artists deserve better than to have their skills lumped in with AI machine-generated content by people who can’t tell the difference.

Each of her digital paintings takes anywhere from 30-80+ hours. For Altered State specifically, she's been working on all these art pieces for months while I've been on a posting hiatus. Her incredible work keeps me inspired; I would have literally quit ages ago. We go back and forth on details from the writing in the fic and I see these changes she makes in real time.

She paints in her limited free time for these niche fandoms because she loves the stories and wants to support the writers in it. In a world where fandom is becoming increasingly commodified, she is a rare gem.

I didn't even want to bother Nurchie with this silly comment of yours, but she's such a good sport she just laughed at the idea that anyone could accuse her art of being AI generated. She uses a combo of adobe CC suite and clip studio to draw.

nurchie messaged me this, and I asked for her permission to share it: [I just think they are probably some struggling artist, upset that they feel replaced by soulless AI and are lashing out any time they think they see it. I'm sympathetic to their feelings, and understand the annoyance. I've been battling the improper usage of it in my workplace. AI is not AI but just a data collection tool, and I completely agree that the human eye could never be replaced by it.]

yeah, she's the most chill, sweetest person ever, too. So maybe think twice before throwing around accusations you clearly can’t back up. You're trying to hurt a real artist.

-sincerely,

A writer who knows a real artist

https://www.deviantart.com/nurchie/gallery

edit: also accusations like this drive away real fanartists. Why should they bother sharing their work if their talent and skill are being dismissed as some algorithm's output? it's toxic. fandom spaces will be flooded with AI-generated content in the future because all the true artists will have left.

[impala-dreamer]

The Way My Hand Looks On Your Face

A Short Story 

~It's not like Y/N doesn't find her husband incredibly sexy, but something about his new character is doing more for her than any other...~

Jensen x F!Reader; Soldier Boy x F!Reader

3,248 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Role Play, Rough Consensual Sex, Choking, Slapping, Overstimulation, Degradation, Breeding Kink, Dom!Jensen, SexyBastard!SoldierBoy

A/N: This was a commissioned story. I hope you love it!

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Lightbulbs flashed over and over and Y/N wondered how he never got a headache from photo shoots.

She stood off to the side, her tiny frame hidden in the shadows behind the crew. Despite being married to the man, visiting sets like this wasn’t something she did often, and she relished every moment.

It was always fascinating to see just how much effort went into something simple like a photograph, how many hands it took to get Jensen looking as perfect as he always did.

Not that he wasn’t always handsome, always deliciously attractive, but when he was working, it was something else. Every hair was perfectly in place, his beard was meticulously trimmed, his lashes were darker and his lips a little pinker. Even his eyes seemed different, more colorful under the bright lights.

But seeing him that day was something she’d never seen before.

Watching Jensen’s face darken, his demeanor shift from lovable actor man to… this… impossibly sexy yet infuriating anti-hero was doing things to Y/N that she hadn’t anticipated.

Jensen stood against the dark backdrop, his hands clasped at his waist, his chin dipped down. His muscles strained against the tight, dark green fabric of Soldier Boy’s costume.

The flash popped.

Jensen cleared his throat and scowled at the camera.

Y/N gasped, her body tingling with sudden arousal.

Another flash.

He leaned back and flipped the bird.

Her mouth watered.

The camera clicked.

Jensen spread his legs.

Y/N stared at the large bulge in his tights and shivered.

The photographer moved around, repositioning the camera and Jensen looked toward Y/N. He picked her easily out of the shadows and cocked a brow. He could see how much she was enjoying the show, how much her face had flushed and her pretty eyes narrowed, glassy yet focused on him.

He winked and she quickly shied away, caught and embarrassed. Jensen swallowed a grin and got back to work, instantly becoming the villain once more.

He let the character take over, but tucked an idea in the back of his mind for later.

She liked Soldier Boy.

She… really liked Soldier Boy.

The back door creaked open and a tall, dark figure stepped through. A gloved hand closed the door carefully, and heavy boots stepped onto the tiled floor.

The kitchen was dim; the only light coming from the glow of the oven. The large room was warm and the air smelled sweet like vanilla and melted chocolate. A long bank of cabinets and counters was cluttered with bowls and spoons; flour sprinkled the top. Music flowed gently in from another room, but otherwise, the place was quiet.

He moved quickly and quietly like a snake slithering across wet grass. The shadows hid him well.

A small timer shaped like a chicken clicked to zero and a bell rang loud and free.

Tiny footsteps approached and Y/N appeared in the doorway. She flipped on the lights and grabbed an oven mitt from the drawer beside the oven.

The door opened and warm, delicious heat wafted through the room.

“Now those look good,” she said to herself, smiling at the perfect chocolate chip cookies lined up on the tray.

He stepped out of the shadows as she closed the oven door.

“So do you.”

His deep voice burst through the kitchen and struck her ears like a gunshot. She spun around with a gasp, startled and unprepared for what awaited her.

Clad head to toe in forest green and polished brass was Soldier Boy. His jaw was clenched tight and a wild look filled his eyes.

Y/N relaxed. “Jesus, Jen- you nearly gave me a heart attack! What are you doing?”

A smirk played upon his plump lips. “Don’t act like you’re not happy to see me, Sweet Cheeks. I saw you starin’ at me the other day.”

Something was strange; his slight Texan accent was off- gone, really.

She glared up at him. “Sweet Cheeks?”

He ran his eyes down her body, stripping her with his gaze. “What can I say? I like your rump. Saw it when you bent over just now. Nice and… round.” He motioned with his hands, cupping them in the air. “Wanna take a big bite.”

He snapped his teeth shut quickly and Y/N jumped. He wasn’t usually so… forward.

He took a step closer and she felt the heat flood her system. She countered, taking a step back until she was flush against the counter.

“What are you doing?” she laughed, awkwardly aroused.

“Just watching you. Enjoying you.” He licked his lips. “Ya know, I love seeing a woman where she belongs. Barefoot in the kitchen.” He paused and eyed her middle. “Too bad you’re not pregnant. Then we’d really be cookin’.”

Her pussy fluttered. She squeezed her thighs tight.

“Jensen- I-”

He lunged for her and caught her cheek in his big hand. Bare fingertips swept backward through her soft hair and tugged. Her chin lifted and he bent himself over her; a predator adoring his prey.

“Jen-”

“Name’s Ben,” he corrected roughly. His fingers tightened in her hair and she let out a breathless cry. “Learn it,” he whispered. “You’ll be screaming it soon.”

Her jaw trembled, her insides melted, her voice trickled out in a pathetic whimper.

“I… um…”

With a blink, Jensen was back and his hand fell from her hair. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I should have called first or something. Are you OK?”

Y/N relaxed, her body slumping back against the counter. “Fuck, you are… wow.”

“Baby-” He reached for her, tentative fingers hovering over her cheeks.

She smiled up at him. “I’m fine. You just caught me way… way off guard.”

Guilt painted his face and he turned away, ashamed. “We didn’t discuss it, I know. I just- I saw the way you were staring at me during the shoot and I thought I’d be… I don’t know… I stole the suit for the night.”

Y/N caught his hand, tiny fingers barely able to wrap around each of his.

“Jensen- It’s OK. I… I kinda love it.” She chewed her lip and shrugged when he looked back over his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I mean…” Her hand slid up the spandex covering his big bicep and squeezed. “It’s really hot.”

He raised a brow.

“You,” she corrected, letting her arm travel even higher, “are really hot.”

In an instant, Jensen was gone again, replaced by the cocky, misogynistic, sexy asshole that had broken in through the back door.

He flipped his wrist and caught her arm, pushing her back against the counter again.

“You think so?” He smirked and dragged a hand down her body, slowly surfing each curve like a tidal wave. “Kinda hot yourself.” He stopped and pinched her right nipple through her shirt. “Real hot.”

Y/N moaned desperately as he twisted her nipple.

“And a slut, too, huh? Fuckin’ perfect.”

She arched her back a bit, shoving her tits out for him.

Ben took full advantage and cupped her breasts in his massive hands. He squeezed them hard and tugged at her nipples until she let out a little pained cry.

“What’s the matter, slut?” he asked, towering over her, totally in control. “Little bitches like you need a little pain. It’s good for you. Keeps you obedient and wet.”

Again, she clenched her tights together, but it wasn’t enough to stop the wetness from dripping into her pretty pink panties.

“Obedient?” she questioned in a whisper.

Ben sneered, perfectly white teeth gleaming. His upper lip quivered. “Obedient,” he repeated. “Respectful.” He fisted her hair and yanked until she was almost off of her feet. “Submissive. Like all women should be.”

He let her go and she stumbled across the tiled floor, half playfully, half truly retreating. He was scaring her a bit, but she liked it. Somewhere deep inside, she needed it; wanted him to rip her open.

“You’re crazy,” she said, grabbing the far countertop to steady herself. Her fingers slid through flour and a light dusting floated to the floor like fresh snow.

Boots fell loudly behind her.

“I’m crazy?” he mocked, stalking across the room. “And you’re a mouthy little slut who needs to learn her place.”

Again, a giant hand reached for her, this time wrapping around her throat. He pulled hard and Y/N fell back against his chest, her throat locked against his palm. He was solid and warm and she nearly bounced off of him.

She grabbed his arm, tried to pry him loose.

He squeezed and bent his lips to her ear.

“You think you can get me all worked up and then run off?” He tisked and her knees buckled. “You can’t do that. Can’t give a man blue balls.” His fingers dug in a little deeper. “It’s bad for the reproductive system.”

His free hand tore at her shirt, ripping the thin cotton away.

Y/N’s eyes went wide as she gasped for air.

Ben pawed at her tits, roughly massaging until she could feel his dick press into the small of her back.

“That’s better,” he laughed, rolling his hips against her. Dropping from her chest, he slid his fingers down to her waist, plucked open the button on her jeans.

Anticipation and deprivation swirled in her head and her eyes fluttered, pupils rolled back. She clawed at his suit-covered arm.

He squeezed tighter, wrapped himself fully around her, pressed his hand between her thighs.

She tried to moan, but there was no air to push out, no way to make a sound.

He thumbed her clit, pushed two long fingers into her dripping cunt.

“Damn…” He sucked his teeth, whistled in approval. “Fuckin’ wet as Niagra.”

Y/N shuddered. Pleasure and searing pain raced through her body and the edges of her vision went white.

Ben scooped up her juices and rubbed her clit hard and fast, pushing her without ceremony right to the edge.

The kitchen was blurring, floor and ceiling switching places in her head. She felt her legs give out and she hung in the air against him, held up by his hands and the grip she had on his arm.

“Go ahead and cum, sweet cheeks. Want you nice and ripe for me.”

Y/N’s body went stiff as the orgasm struck and her grip slipped from his arm. Her body went slack and at the very last second, Ben released her from his grasp and oxygen rushed back into her lungs.

Her head was spinning, her limbs tingling. The pleasure intensified as the air flooded through her and woke every cell, every numb muscle. She gasped and thrashed against him, safe but shaking in his arms.

“Such a fucking slut,” he growled, pulling his fingers from her panties. “Getting off with me damned near killing you.”

Y/N floated, lightheaded and drunk on the pleasure.

Ben lifted his fingers to her lips and pressed them inside. “Suck.”

She licked at the tips and moaned at the taste of herself.

“I said, suck.”

He pushed his fingers in deeper and Y/N had no choice but to suck. She swallowed hard as he fucked into her mouth, nearly choking her again.

Her head fell back against his chest, her eyes rolled deep.

“That’s it. Stupid little slut does what she’s told.” Slowly, he retracted his fingers and a line of saliva fell down her chin. “You’re an obedient slut, aren’t you?”

Y/N could do little more than moan and nod her head, so she did.

Her answer wasn’t good enough and Ben roughly flipped her in his arms and grabbed her face, squeezing her mouth between his index finger and thumb.

“I asked you a question,” he sneered.

Her eyes went wide and arousal trickled down her thigh. Her panties were soaked; her legs were weak.

“Answer me.”

Y/N took a breath and nodded again, this time eeking out a soft “yes”.

Again, he wasn’t happy, and Ben yanked her face upward and glared down into her eyes. “Try. Again.”

A hint of a smile prickled her lips as he released her. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

Ben grinned. “Better.”

She swayed on the spot when he backed away, shrieked with awe as he shoved his hands beneath her arms and lifted her up onto the flour-covered counter. He shoved her down onto her back and yanked at her jeans, tugging every bit of fabric away.

The marble was old, but his hands were warm, sliding up from her ankles to hips and spreading her wide. Ben knelt down and kissed her pussy, gently at first before diving in like a hungry beast.

Y/N screamed behind tight lips as he sucked hard on her clit. His beard scratched her thighs and swollen lips, his blunt nails scraped across her belly. Once his fingers were back inside, she felt the flood return. She knew she’d be cumming again soon, and she reached a hand down to tug on his long hair. Jensen always loved it when she played with his hair like that.

Ben slapped her hand away. Hard.

She gasped and meant to say something but his tongue fluttered so warm and fast against her clit that she couldn’t remember what words were.

She groaned and rocked her hips into his face.

He sucked harder; jabbed three fingers in deep.

She broke, thrashing on the marble and squeezing her thighs around his head.

“Fuck, this pussy is delicious. I could make a lot of money selling you off.”

His voice made her shudder and the orgasm struck every inch of her, from the tips of her ears to the back of her heels.

“Please…”

Once more, she reached down for him, but Ben reprimanded her. He shoved her hand away and rubbed his nose over her clit. She was aching and raw, her muscles still pulsing on his fingers.

“No more, please… fuck!”

Ben sat back, his face gleaming with her wetness. “You’ll get what I give you and you’ll thank me for it.” He clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes at her. “Won’t you?”

She shook her head, begging. His touch was almost too much, but his thrusting hand would not slow.

“Jensen, please-”

He was on his feet in an instant, leaning over her, crushing her into the countertop. He stared down and cocked his head, examining her, daring her.

“What’d you call me?”

She trembled beneath him. “Baby-”

A heavy palm came crashing against her left cheek and Y/N gasped.

“What did I tell you to call me?” he growled, grinding his covered erection against her spread pussy. “What did I tell you you’d be screaming later?”

Her mouth hung open and she blinked up at him, consumed with the feeling of the thick fabric rubbing against her sex.

Another crack against her cheek.

“Well?”

“Ben!” she gasped out. “Ben! Soldier Boy! Ben!”

He smirked. “Good.”

His lips came down swiftly and he licked into her mouth, sucking hard at the air that was left inside her lungs. She turned to jelly, barely able to move to meet his dry thrusts.

Just for fun, he hit her again, this time leaving his hand against her face. She felt the outline of him burn into her skin and he laughed to himself when he pulled his palm away. Her cheek was bright pink, the ghost of each finger clearly defined.

Almost tenderly, he caressed the spot, dragging his thumb across the top. “I love the way my hand looks on your face…”

Y/N was panting, shaking with arousal or pain or renewed orgasmic power, she couldn’t tell which. Whatever it was, it was driving her insane. She whined and reached down to grab his hips, pulling him closer.

“Please fuck me,” she begged in a quick whisper. “Please.”

Ben bared his teeth, tiny fangs peeking out from beneath perfectly ruddy and swollen lips. “You don’t get to decide that, you little bitch.”

Three hard thrusts between her thighs had her screaming and she slapped at his chest, tugged at the golden embroidery.

“Sorry! Sorry! Please! Fuck!”

He grabbed her hair.

“Who decides?” he asked, yanking hard.

“You do!”

His hand relaxed and Ben dipped his chin, looking down at her with a devilish stare.

“Lucky for you, I don’t wanna wait any more.”

He was gone for only a quick moment, stepping back to fumble with the costume and shimmy the leggings down.

“This fucking… thing…”

The fabric clung to his thick thighs and he stumbled forward, fighting with the pants and his dick which was making things very difficult.

Jensen looked up and gave her a little shrug. “Be right with you,” he laughed.

Y/N popped up on her elbows, watching him struggle. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. Take your time.”

He managed to get the tights down to his calves before she attacked, unable to wait any longer. She hopped down from the countertop and lunged at him.

The hard tile floor came up to greet them both, but neither seemed to care. Y/N mounted him, fitting her tiny legs around his trim waist and wiggling down onto his cock.

Jensen moaned and bit his lip hard as her ass bounced on the top of his thighs, her cunt swallowing him whole.

“Fuck, baby- oh, fuck…”

She smiled down at him, grabbed his hands and placed them on her tits. “Don’t go soft on me now, Ackles. Where’s that bad boy?”

He took a breath and the cockiness took over, shifting his features like a mask had been fitted into place.

“No fucking way I’m going soft, bitch.”

Ben twisted her right nipple and she bounced faster. He slapped her left breast and she rolled her hips. He grabbed her throat and she shook, entire body trembling as the pleasure crested once again.

“Fuck, Ben- Put a baby in me. Fuck!”

He sucked his teeth and squeezed her neck. “Oh, yeah? You want that? Want me to flood this little cunt with my cum? Knock ya up good?”

She nodded quickly, her jaw slack, her eyes wide.

“Yes!”

Holding her in place, he bucked his hips hard.

“Gonna drown you. Filthy sluts need to be bred-”

There was more he wanted to say, so many more disgusting insults raced through his head, but there wasn’t enough blood there to support them. He dropped his hand to her hips and held on as he came, thrusting slowly up into her dripping pussy.

Y/N trembled; her tight cunt milking him dry.

“Fuck!”

Jensen’s eyes rolled back and his back arched up off of the floor. “Jesus Christ!”

A sweet moment of blissful silence passed over them and their breathing steadied.

“You OK?” he asked, blinking up at his beautiful bride.

Y/N nodded. “Amazing. Damnit, you’re good at that. Too good.”

Jensen blushed and licked his lip. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

With a satisfied sigh, she fell down over him and into a deep kiss.

The suit was ruined, the kitchen was covered in flour, but they were happy and riding the afterglow.

Y/N snuggled into him, nuzzled her face in the crook of his sweaty neck. “Hey, babe?”

He wrapped his arm around her. “Hmm?”

“Can you keep the suit?”

Jensen laughed and kissed her forehead. “I’ll give Eric a call and see what I can do.”

“Perfect…”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@alwaystiredandconfused @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67@k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @suckitands33 @the-wounded-healer05 

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

Would Jenny allow Danny to tinker with her? I know robotics isn’t exactly the same as aerospace engineering (and I do be headcanoning that my boy chose this as his major since he wants to be an astronaut), but with all the experience he had from handling his parents inventions I believe he can be trusted with fixing something as complex as a robot. I like to think that Danny was really impressed with how Jenny was made and secretly wanted to take a look at how she works, but was too shy to ask because he knows how it’s like to be treated like an object and not a person (with the whole “ghosts are non-sentient globs of ectoplasm with post-human consciousness” spiel he heard so many times) and didn’t want to make Jenny uncomfortable. I believe it took Jenny some time and getting to know Danny and his engineering skills before she let him fix her when she got something badly broken. It was like a show of ultimate trust from Jenny’s side and Danny was flattered, humbled and very respectful. And super careful of course, constantly asking how Jenny’s doing or feeling while he tinkered, mindful of her. I bet she was touched.

Not gonna lie, this is one of the more fascinating asks I got - if only because its incredibly interesting to read about your take/interpretation of Danny & Jenny's relationship! I hope you don't mind me saying, but it feels like you adore both characters and it's very cute!

Well, now, in HoM AU, both Danny and Jenny are close friends and indeed Danny is one of the few people who Jenny trusts with - well, herself - her mechanical self. Like you, I headcanon Danny as quite mechanicaly gifted - in HoM AU he actually graduated college/uni with engineering degree, so he got education to polish his raw skills! He is one of the first people who would help Jenny in and out of the field, if there is a minor malfunction or an injury of some sort!

But even for that to happen it took a couple of years and a few adventures together.

So to answer the original question, I would have to say that in HoM AU specifically, neither Danny would ask to 'tinker' with her, nor Jenny would probably be totally comfortable with that question if asked. 'Tinkering' would imply a degree of casual poking around, and in this case, both Danny and Jenny have certain life experiences that gave them... boundaries when it comes to their own and others' autonomy. Jenny especially.

(a bit of random background info dump here to explain the reasoning, but feel free to ignore it, since i basically answered the ask xD i just got bitten by a writing bunny, so its gotten a bit long - be warned!)

When Jenny was younger and only just acclimatizing herself with human world and amongst teenagers, she was rather blaze at times with how much access to her body she gave to her human friends and acquaintances.

After all, her mother was rather frank about it - often poking around in Jenny's mechanics and code. But it was her mother, who created her (sort of 'why are you covering yourself, i made you i already know what you have' mother attitude, which is a bit over-controlling and invasive to other's autonomy, but well, Jenny is a robot after all) and it a completely different deal from others.

So, despite her mother's warnings there are instances when Jenny was not very careful. Like when she allowed Brad, Tuck and Sheldon to literally remove and rip out her stuff in pursuit of fashion goals. Or when she dropped her guard around Todd Sweeney and got reprogrammed for her good deed.

And during the events of the last episode, she was once again controlled, by Dr Locus. While not exactly her fault, it still left a lasting impression that any mechanically gifted person could be dangerous to her.

Now, this is where we venture into my personal headcanons for MLAATR that are tied into HoM-verse:

Another aspect of Jenny's developed caution to giving access to her body - is the fact that she is not considered as a real person in the eye of the government/world. She is a thing, a weapon created by Dr. Walkman. She does not have the same rights as a human, and on paper she does not even have rights to her own body. It's all patented Nora Wakeman technology, (secretly) founded by the government.

And she has been fighting it ever since she was a teenager and refused to be called an IT - XJ-9 - and became a HER, a teenage girl Jenny, who also just happens to be a robot.

At first it started as a simple teenage rebellion and she went to school and started to hang out with other kids, but what about later after she graduates? Will she be even allowed to? Sure, maybe her school will give her a diploma, but how legal will it be to give something like that to someone who is legally not a real person? After all, its not like when other kids will turn 18 and can be their own people, not under the legal control of their parents. Jenny is her mother's property, intellectual and physical. For her to be considered a real person in the eye of government, it would require a law being passed about recognizing sentience of Artificial Intelligence.

And sure, she could probably be made an exception, being a hero robot and all, but the problem is, she is not the only human-made robot in existence! What about her sisters, who are prototypes and are not as developed as her? Her brother, who seemed to develop sentiency to the point of turning on humans?? Melody and Killgore?? And its not only in her world (cartoon), but in others (since its a crossover). So the question about AI/Robot sentience, no matter if they are good or bad or how developed they are, would not concern only her, it would be a global debate.

And we all know how the governments of the world would feel about passing laws about sentience of artificial beings that were created to serve the human race. It would be a struggle one way or another.

So, as she grows up and sees the world refusing to aknowledge her as a person, she doesnt have legal rights to finish school and go to college, to get a job, to get married, heck she cant even have a legal documentation that doesnt says 'Dr. Wakeman's creation'. The government says: your body belongs to us, because we paid for Dr. Wakeman to make you - you belong to us, we control you.

That, on top of several unpleasant experiences with other people disregarding her autonomy, will equal to Jenny trying to get some sense of that control back. So she starts to be more cautious about how much access others have to her physical self; she starts to build and reinforce boundaries with other people, starting with her family and friends.

It was one of the darkest days in Sheldon's life, when Jenny started to firmly say 'no' to whenever he asked her about her inner workings and casual access for poking around. xD Tuck was not a happy camper either, that his favorite robot friend became very stingy with all the cool stuff. But Brad got it. And after gentle (and sometimes not) reminders, others became more understanding.

It was a little harder with her mother. Dr. Wakeman truly loved her daughter, but she was a scientist first and mother second. She was so used to casual access to Jenny, in order to keep maitanance that it was hard for her to break the habits. Its still a constant struggle, but she has gotten so much better.

Now, when it came to her new friends amongst HoMies, she already has built a set of boundaries that allowed her to feel more secure as a person, despite how the world sees her, but she is much more reserved to opening herself up to others, at least compared to how she first approached people when she was younger.

It took a few missions and getting to know them better, for her to start trusting with them with her mechanical self. But now a few years later, she feels comfortable enough with most of them to give her a helping hand when needed!

Of course not everyone are capable of helping her though: Danny, Kim and Zak are three of more mechanically oriented people who can help. Though Danny is the one with actual education in that field, while Kim and Zak learned more by necessity, from Kim's various jobs and Zak to operate the Saturday's equipments.

When Rex joined them, he actually became the second best person for her to come to if she needed help. Not only because he has unprecedent skills in mechanics, but also because of his nanites. (but thats info dump for another time, lol)

Jun has some basic knowledge in mechanics, but nowhere near enough for her to feel comfortable poking in Jenny's insides. Jake is perhaps the least capable of helping, when it comes to engineering, followed by newbie Randy (tho we really aint counting him tbh xD).

Ben is a complicated situation - he has some training and knowledge in engineering and robotics because of his Plumber training, but Jenny has heard horror tales from Gwen about how he treats his stuff (the whole hacking/playing with Omnitrix settings), so she flat out refuses for Ben to touch her. However in emergency/battle situation she would allow Ben to use one of his aliens to do so (like, Grey Matter or Upgrade).

So, we talked about Jenny's experiences and why they would contribute to her feeling uncomfortable if someone asked to 'tinker' with her.

Now, let's talk about why Danny would not ask to 'tinker' with her in the first place.

Like you said, Danny is all to familiar with the struggle of being part of something tat is hardly recognized as a sentient species - he had to listen to his parents dismiss ghost sentience most of his younger life. Of course, they have gotten much better since the... 'finale' of DP, but this sort of racism? xenophobia? (im not rally sure which term to use tbh) prejudice against ghosts would have left a lasting impression on Danny.

So I dont remember if I ever implied it, but in HoM AU - events of DP finale happened very differently and the resulting consequences of it diverged a lot from Mr ButtHurtman's 'canon'.

(Also, I had ideas about it, before a Glitch In Time came out, so events from there were not taken into consideration. )

I don't want to reveal much, because it is kinda one of my planned flashback for HoM, but the events that happened reinforced Danny's ... well lets say regard of people's autonomy? It's kind of hard to put into words.

Ok, let's explain it like this: Danny would not ask Jenny if he could look at how she worked and if he could tinker with her, because it would be like if his Mom and Dad casually asked if they could perform a vivisection on him to see how different he is from a full human.

And while sure, the comparison might sound a bit extreme, since there is a difference when it comes to robots and humans about 'poking around' in their innards. But to Danny - it would be too close of a comparison - because of the whole 'recognition of sentience' thing.

After all, wasn't it just some years ago, his parents cried that ghost are nothing more than lump of malicious energy that have no feelings? They changed their mind after Danny's reveal, which allowed them to actually listen and look into evidence proving otherwise and learn. And here is Jenny, struggling to be recognized as a person, since she is considered nothing more than a lump of metal with no feelings - just a weapon to be pointed in a certain direction.

And Danny would feel like asking Jenny if he could casually poke inside her, is a bit... hypocritical? And not to mention insenstitive. After all, he knows how she feels - she is basically still living his worst imagined life in some ways.

So, I don't think he will ever ask to study how she works by casually poking inside her.

HOWEVER -

At some point, after they became friends, Danny would feel like he should know at least some basics on how Jenny works, just so he could help her in an emergency.

I imagine it happened after a particularly rough mission, and Danny had to help Jenny back home since she was unable to do so herself, so Dr. Wakeman could fix her. After some time thinking, he would sit in front of both Nora and Jenny and ask them for permission if he could learn how Jenny works - from Nora.

After all, Danny does not need to poke inside Jenny to learn how she functions, when there is her mother right there - the creator, the maintanance and doctor all in one package, with access to blueprints and all intricate knowledge, who can evaluate what Danny needs to know in accordance to his passable engineering skills. She could teach him the basics - but of course not without Jenny's permission.

So he asks her, if he could learn, because he is tired of looking how she gets hurt along with them, but unlike most of them she can not be easily fixed with bandages and some time. And Danny, since he is one of the few of them who has the skills, would like to be actually able to help her with those skills. But it is her body - it is her choice, to trust him or not.

And Jenny would be speechless. It would be the first time someone asked her like that. Not even Kim, who is one of her closest friends, asked before (but mostly because Kim was perfectly aware that she is nowhere skilled enough to even think about it).

And you would be right. It would be a show of ultimate trust from Jenny, to agree for Danny to learn. And maybe at some point, simply learning, turned into more on hands learning in some small ways. And Jenny's trust was never betrayed, and Danny always stayed humbled and aware of that.

so, i hope the answer was satisfying, or at least entertaining for you! thank you again, your ask was delightful to read and allowed me to explore some of my own backstory parts for HoM a little bit more!

[felassan]

Snippets. 🐺💜

Nathan: "This team has done some amazing work 😍" [source]

devs Mack Carruthers and Greg Towner worked on Morrigan's transformation in the new trailer [source]

Violet: "🥰 can't wait to share more with you guys 👀" [source]

Violet: "Happy to finally have my first authored blog (with help from my AMAZING TEAM of course!) to share with you guys!!! Check it out and pre-order DATV now! 🥰🥰🥰" [source] [bloglink]

In this thread, Derek highlights a compilation of shots from the trailer that he made, worked on in-tandem with others, or polished

Derek: "And that’s all the stuff from me in the trailer! I feel so incredibly lucky that so much of my work made it into this AMAZING trailer. Can’t wait for you guys to see more. 🧡 I wanna add: it takes an army to make these scenes. While I did character layout, camera animations, animation polish, bug fixing and technical stuff, there’s still a plethora of folks who touched these scenes. Matter of fact, our work still isn’t done. So I gotta thank: writing, level art, VFX, lighting, sound, character art, performance capture, actors, production, and my fellow Cine folks who I worked on these scenes in tandem with. It all came together into one incredible package. 🧡 For anyone who’s curious, here’s a breakdown of what I do: - mocap assembly - scene layout (characters, props, cameras, mocap) - camera work (animations, framing, polish, etc.) - scene polish (character and camera animation polish, bug fixes) - integration - bug fixing" [source, two, three, four] Derek added: "PS: I count these as Cine folks, but to clarify - also huge thank you our incredible Creature and Character animators. They did some really insanely mind blowing shit. Dunno how they do it." [source]

User: "Okay, but is it on purpose that the drink/flask thingie is positioned almost like the stomach in Manfred It's like kinda in the correct area too if I'm not mistaken [image of Manfred]" / Derek: "Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s what character art was going for here 😂" [source]

Dev Tony: "Been hard at work bringing these scenes to life with an amazing team of cinematic artists and designers. Enjoy a small teaser of our work." [source]

Derek: "I worked on a few of [Lucanis'] best scenes. HE OWES ME." [source] / User: "Very much looking forward to seeing where his story goes. I have a feeling it'll be spicy." / Derek: "Oh it’s a doozy." [source]

Derek: "The hair in our game is ASTOUNDING." [source]

Derek: "Our lighting team are absolute MASTERS at this, every bit of work they did was incredible!!" [source]

Derek: "I can absolutely tell you that there are a PLETHORA of dialogue options, major choices, and a huge amount of variability. Trust me - it’s been challenging to work with all the variability LOL" [source]

Carly: "game dev is so collaborative, a lot of stuff in the trailer i've helped out on! most of the work id say i "own" isn't gonna be in flashy trailers, but hope we get to see some of it over the next two months ! :)" [source]

Crystal: "Some really beautiful cinematics shown off in this one. So proud of our team!" [source]

Carly: "ive worked on at least one romance scene for each follower and i still squeak when they flirt with me im With y'all" [source]

Dev Matthew: "👀 This is so hype! Might be a tad of my work in there as well. 😉" [source]

Siggi: "It's so exciting to see the some of the shots I worked on and worked along-side come to life! I was afraid that my work would never see the life of day. I can't wait for October!" [source]

Siggi: "My biggest contribution was the assan work I think. I got to do a lot of look and movement development on him. I even animated his whole intro scene." [source]

Siggi: "Look at my babies! LOOK AT THEM! They're smiling!" [context: Assan and the dragon that rises from the water, and having worked on them] [source]

Carly: "forever grateful to siggi for helping me onboard but okkkk their animation work is sooooo killer, set an amazing standard for the cines !!!!! 🙏🙏🙏 so excited for y'all to see" [source]

Dev Zara: "October 31st!! So excited for folks to enjoy it. And to finally be able to publicly share my animation work." [source]

Camille: "Time for you to meet some of them dragons ! And I don’t think you’ll be able to slay them so easily hehe" [source]

Varric's Bianca: "That’s us!! That’s our game!! 😭❤️ never in my wildest dreams would I have predicted that I’d end up where I am, working on my dream project. I’m so immensely grateful to this amazing team!" [source]

ikhandle: "Congratulations team! This has been an honour to work on! Amazing job all around." [source]

Michael: "the team really, really cares about PC." [source] / User: "The trailer was awesome! How soon do you think we'll hear about PC specific features? 👀" / Michael: "pretty soon! i know its in the works." [source]

For a while there was an error on the Steam listing of the game's PC specs. it said the recommended PC spec is the same as the minspec. the recommended PC spec is PC spec is i9-9900K. it looks like this has now been fixed [source]

ikhandle: "One of my dragon shots just made the trailer! 🐉🐉 Huge shoutout to the Cinematic team for absolutely crushing it—these are some of the best cinematics I've seen in years. Truly an honor to have the privilege to work on Dragon Age. Congrats to the whole team on their outstanding work!" [source] (context: dragon shot at the end of the trailer when the red one pulls a pike out its body)

ikhandle: "Had a lot of fun animating this big boi. Y’all not ready for him 🦴☠️🪓" [source] (context: the giant skeleton) / User: "Does he have a name? 👀" / ikhandle: "I’ll ask 😂. I’ve named him SeñorBones for now." [source]

The cinematics in the trailer are running REAL time in engine [source]

ikhandle: "Everyone has done such an amazing job… a lot of hard work to get these out. Shout out to the whole team!!’" [source]

Jess: "😎 I'm uncontrollably hype and I work on this….." [source]

Dev Yanni: "Dragons go roar! *internal screaming in excitement*" [source]

Nick: "Nuts to see how far this has come. Way to go to the BioWare team." [source]

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #60] Obduracy

warnings: starlovers!!!! <33 i really luv jimin in this one hehehe, lots of callbacks to earlier chapters!! fingering, pretty tame by their standards!!! but kinda semi-public? i mean they're at home but like... kitchen?? i dunno up to you to decide!

a/n: this one doesnt have a little cover image :( had to make it fresh :( the first non wattpad chapter :( waaaa. im hoping to having something new ready for you tomorrow hehehehhe

wc: 8.3K

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

Jeongguk wears his hangovers incredibly well. Like an oversized shirt draped over his broad shoulders, it billows down his body, leaving you to guess what's hidden underneath. 

It's hard to tell if he's suffering like you are, for his face gives nothing but contentment away.

Hair messy and dishevelled, it sits like an unruly crown on his head as he washes dishes left from the evening before. A soft smile lingers on his lips as he hums along to the song quietly playing through the kitchen speaker, his voice far prettier than the original singer. The king of his very own kitchen, there's an innate flick to his wrists as he shakes water off steel bowls and pops them on the drying rack. 

Chest bare, he pays it no mind when tiny flecks of warm water splash against his skin.

Vines of ink trail up his arm and onto his shoulder. His self-modification proves he wasn't born from gold but rather polished to resemble something like it. 

In a way, it makes him so much more valuable. Or at least it does to you.

As you watch on from a bar stool on the opposite side of the kitchen island, chatting with him about the events of the night before, you wonder how it's possible for a man with a smile like his to have a body like that. 

The maths just doesn't compute, but you've never been great with numbers. Have always been more drawn to art—and God, what a work Jeongguk is.

Quite the contrary, you wear your hangovers with far less grace. 

There's glitter all over your skin, and your hair looks more like a bird's nest than a crown.

In front of you sits a barely touched glass of water and two Tylenol tablets yet to be taken. The thud in your head has only intensified since you woke up with a dry throat and achy body, but you're trying to push through it. 

"You're only making it worse," Jeongguk softly scolds you when you whine and slump down to rest your head on the countertop. "Don't be so stubborn."

When he talks like that, all assertive and domineering, it only makes you wanna be even more stubborn. It's in part thanks to your defiant nature, but also in part due to your desperation to have him use that tone of voice with you again.

"I can defeat it," you whine against the cold stone, a pathetic moan humming in your throat. 

With your hair still damp from your shower, you find yourself irritated by how quickly Jeongguk's hair dries compared to yours. It's your own fault, for you're the one who insists on changing its colour with the seasons, but it annoys you nonetheless.

Then again, everything irritates you when you're this hungover.

Truth be told, you'd happily get your hair wet all over again, if it meant you got to indulge in another shower with Jeongguk. Want nothing more than to relieve the way it feels for him to shampoo your hair, rubbing the pads of his fingers in circular motions against your scalp. If the restaurant doesn't work out, he could always opt to be a hairdresser, you think, then mentally reprimand yourself for daring to even think of a scenario in which the restaurant doesn't work out. Would never forgive yourself if you jinxed it.

Jeongguk doesn't mind the grouchiness that comes with your hangovers, 'cause they always come with an added side of clinginess, too. You had wrapped around him like a koala bear for that entire shower. Had your cheek to his chest, arms tightly locked around his back, eyes firmly closed as he washed your hair.

Gorgeous girl, he thinks to himself, then resumes the stern telling off he was giving you. Just wants you to feel okay, that's all. Knows you're too determined for your own good, sometimes.

"Clearly," he almost scoffs, not mean but definitely a little curt. His head's killing him, too. He just hides it better. Swinging open the fridge, he grabs a bottle of water—2 litres—and cracks open the seal. "Take your pills, or I won't get you anything when I order breakfast."

"Gguk," you whine, slowly sitting up straight to look at him with the biggest pout. Head tipped back, he's chugging on his water straight from the bottle at such a rate you're surprised he doesn't choke.

By the time he's finished, he's practically at the halfway point of the bottle. Shaking his head, he swallows his last mouthful down. Pants, a little. Says, "Water, pills, now."

Narrowing your eyes, you finally do as you're told, but make sure to say, "You're mean."

Jeongguk just shakes his head. "I love you."

With your eyes on his, you try your hardest not to show any sign of weakness—but when he presses his lips into a thin, curved line and smiles in a way that makes it impossible to fight, you can't help yourself. 

"Fine," you strop regardless, tossing your pills back and swallowing them down with a chug of water.

"See," he softly says in a way that is both patronising yet ever so gentle. 

He walks around the counter to stand beside you, and welcomes the innate way your hand reaches up to hold his waist. He's just the same in how his hand cradles your cheek, keeping your face angled to look up towards him. 

"Wasn't so hard, was it, baby?" He gently toys.

"You're the worst," you assure him, 'cause he knows he's being a little git right now.

And so, just like the last incredibly soft insult thrown his way, he fends it off by saying, "I love you."

"If you really loved me, you would have let me stay in bed."

"We have shit to do today, B," he reminds you. "I forced you up because I love you. Now, don't be rude. Say it back."

Jeongguk's ability to demand you say such heavy, ardent words is nothing short of a miracle. 

When you first met Jeongguk, the idea of him being so straightforward and forthcoming with his own feelings felt like an impossible task. Yet here he is, unafraid to tell you how much he cares for you, and unashamed to ask for reciprocation.

Tugging him a little closer, you rest your pointed chin against his sternum, and get him looking down towards you. 

Quietly, you whisper, "You know I love you."

"Say it again," he demands once more, his heavy-lidded eyes trained on yours as he speaks.

"I love you."

He smiles, now. Nods. 

"Good," he says, then pulls away to grab his phone and open up a delivery app. Has his favourite cafe pinned to the top. Clicks through to the menu without a second thought, muscle memory prevailing. "French toast? Iced coffee?"

"You know me so well," you hum with a pleasant smile, hopping off the bar stool and meandering over to Jeongguk's sofa. 

He follows you without hesitation and tugs the blanket from the armchair as he does so. You're wearing one of his shirts, and he's just in a pair of sweats, so a blanket seems like a sensible choice for now. 

Jimin still hasn't risen from his pit, and Nabi's clothes are still in the living room—just in a neat pile now, thanks to Jeongguk's innate need for a clean space to ensure he can power through his hangover. 

"You reckon they're gonna wake up soon?" You ask Jeongguk as he snuggles in beside you, flicking on the television. 

"Not a chance," he laughs. "Nabi's probably gonna escape out his bedroom window or something like that. Spent years denying there was anything going on, and I don't think her pride will be able to take the hit of being wrong."

"You never know," you begin to playfully theorise. "Maybe they're just friends."

"Have you forgotten getting home last night?"

"Well, yeah, but I mean, I shagged you plenty of times, and we've always just been friends."

"Oh, fuck off," he laughs. "We've never been just friends."

"No?"

"No," he says with a cocksure confidence that has been earned over many months of knowing you as intimately as he does. Smiling as you roll your eyes, you don't bother fighting back. It's a losing cause. "We're best friends. Duh."

If you could have it your way, the day would be spent exactly like this—cuddled up on Jeongguk's sofa without a care in the world—but you've got work to do.

The gallery needs to be cleaned up from the night before. It's not a huge amount of work, but still tedious labour that you'd rather not do with a raging headache. One of the reasons you're given such liberty with the gallery space is because you always make sure it's left without a trace, and so you know you need to get it sorted sooner rather than later.

Jeongguk's offered to help out, 'cause his day is empty. Other than discussing the business with Yoongi, his agenda is remarkably clear, and if he's being honest, the last thing he wants is to talk about the restaurant. 

See, Jeongguk worries. He's got everything in the palm of his hand—his girl, his dreams, his future. All it takes is one misstep, and he could lose everything.

Comfort is found in you. Solace.

"Smell good," he mumbles, nuzzling his nose against the curve of your neck, sinking into a more comfortable position snuggled up against you. Doesn't kiss you, but he does let his lips trail up your skin in a way that promises he eventually will.

"Smell like you," you sweetly reply, 'cause none of your things have made their way into his home yet. The shampoo you use is his. The shower gel, the moisturiser, the suncream. It's all him—and you love nothing more than going home with such innocent reminders of him on your skin.

"Mhm," he confirms. That's exactly why he likes it so much. The silage of you is the signpost of him. "Mine."

Any gap between you (which admittedly isn't much at all) is eliminated with the way Jeongguk drags you into his embrace. It's the kind of hug that can only be described as acceptance: there is no you, nor him. Just the pair of you, together. 

It's dangerous territory to embark upon, with such reliance on another person, but it's also a path that you just can't seem to resist.

Laced in berries, the hedgerows of this rambling walk you're strolling down together keep you going forward. Occasionally, you'll stop. Smell the roses. Pluck a berry here or there. Pause when you hear the noise of a wild beast in the forest that surrounds you, or the threatening echo of a farmer and his gun.

But then forwards, you'll go. Destination, unknown. Wherever you end up is exactly where you'll need to be.

The wait for food is wasted away together, dumb conversations about nothing and anything that comes to mind. Jeongguk toys with your fingers. Plays with your rings. Strokes the pad of his index finger over the small callous on your middle one.

"Used to be worse," you acknowledge, holding up your hand to study it. Back when you were in school, the amount of writing and doodling you did meant a callous was inevitable. Now that you're out of the habit of doodling, and far less likely to spend hours writing by hand, it's softened. Almost looks as if it wasn't even there to begin with. Part of your history that is slowly fading away.

One day, you won't be able to recall any part of your life that isn't inexplicitly saturated by him.

He holds up his own hands. Studies them against yours. It's like some juvenile flirt, comparing hand sizes, as if your legs aren't tangled with his, and his other hand isn't wedged between your thighs. 

You're not learning anything new. Are revising, for a lack of a better term. Just like you used to do with the birds, when you wanted any excuse you could use to be intimate with one another. 

It's different now, you suppose. Intimacy. How you view it. Just isn't what it once was. 

Things that used to be sacred to you are now second nature.

Glancing across to Jeongguk as he natters on about the deep line that runs along his palm, and how it signals he's destined for greatness, you realise there's an ache blooming in your chest. 

His pouty lips rabbit on, dark eyes occasionally fluttering across to you, then back to his hand. 

There's a vulnerability to him. It's his eyes, you think, and their need to check in on you. He's making sure you're listening. Interested. Aren't bored or waiting for him to shut up. It's a somewhat nervous habit of his, stemming from the fact he doesn't ever really talk this much with anyone else. 

In a way that no one else is lucky enough to experience, Jeongguk opens himself up to you. About the big and the bad, the emotional and the heavy, but also about the small, lovely, lightweight things, too. Weather talk, mindless chatter he'd never bother engaging in with other people. 

He talks of superstitions and legends, movies he watched as a kid, and dreams he had overnight—a stream of consciousness, all for you.

See, Jeongguk talks. 

Around you, he talks and talks and talks.

If his mother could see him like this, she'd be gobsmacked. He's always been the more quiet one of her sons. Reserved. Cautious to speak in fear of saying the wrong thing.

But he's childlike in his eagerness to share with you, Bambi eyes wide and sparkling, teeth nibbling down on his bottom lip whenever he leaves enough room for you to respond. 

Time is lost in conversation until his doorbell chimes—a notice of food arriving. 

"Go get changed," you say, tapping on his knee as you get to your feet. "I'll sort out breakfast." 

Nodding, he does as he's told, lightly spanking your ass before heading to his room. Glancing over your shoulder, you feign a little hurt.

"I'll kiss it better," he promises, and you know he will. 

The curse of his devotion to you means he can never lie. 

He can, however, keep secrets. Small ones. Teeny tiny ones that will have no consequence other than to make you melt when he finally reveals them.

Checking his phone, Jeongguk smiles to himself when he notices a notification of confirmation—plans made now rolling into motion. You cope with surprises far better than he does. Appreciate the romanticism of it all. He's sure you'll like it.

When he comes back into the kitchen, you have to hold in a desperate groan. Who gave him the right to look like that? And how many cats did you save from trees in a previous life to deserve it?

Dressed for the gym, he's in a pair of dark shorts that sit on his hips as if they were made just for him. The contours of his upper body are on display for everyone to see, a tight black compression shirt outlining the ridges on his chest. 

The silver chain he always wears is tucked outside of the shirt, 'cause he doesn't like the pressure of the fabric on top of it, and his hair lays flat against his head. He's perfectly undone.

As he's putting on a pair of socks by the sofa, he clocks you staring. Simply hums, "Hm?"

Eyes wide and unassuming, he's oblivious to the fact you feel like you might faint just by looking at him, even if the socks he's putting on have individual spaces for each of his toes.

We can't all be perfect, after all—though Jeongguk would argue his socks encourage correct toe alignment, which could only be a good thing. 

"Anyone ever told you that you're a menace to society?" You painfully whine, the groan you were hiding making its presence known.

Almost bashful, Jeongguk tips his head to the side, eyes twinkling your reflection back at you. 

"Flattery won't convince me to let you go back to bed," he teases, playing off the compliment. Socks on, he makes his way over to you without hesitation, his tattooed arm draping over your shoulders, as he presses a kiss to the side of your head. 

"Was worth a try," you playfully tease him, even if you did mean it. Hooking your arm around his waist, you give him a squeeze and glance up towards him. A tender kiss is given and received, his lips softly curving into a smile against yours. "Eat up. Quicker we leave, the quicker you can get to the gym, and the quicker you can come back to mine afterwards."

The outline of your day is solid: go to the gallery and get it cleaned up, meander back to town with Jeongguk, send him on his way to the gym, pick up some groceries and then head home. 

Small errands that will eat up most of the day, but an empty evening that can be spent exactly as you'd like: with him.

"We at yours tonight?" He hums, still getting used to just how easy it is to coexist next to you. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined a life like this. 

"Feel like Jimin might need the privacy," you note, very much aware that he hasn't made a single appearance, which is very unlike him. He's normally reciting lines from The Notebook by this point in the morning.

You know he's fine, 'cause you heard the synthetic ding of his speaker being turned on a little while earlier, presumably to drown out any 'conversations' he might be having. 

Jeongguk smirks, picking out a strawberry from the container next to the french toast, and says, "He never gave us privacy."

Tossing the strawberry to his back teeth, there's a smile on Jeongguk's lips that's impossible not to mirror. Turning slightly, you get yourself trapped between his body and the kitchen island. Wrap your arms around his neck. Encourage him down to nudge his nose against yours.

"Yeah, but he also never caught us having sex," you remind Jeongguk, lips brushing against his. Breakfast can wait. Or maybe the menu can just change. "We were incredibly well-behaved as far as he's concerned."

"We were?" Jeongguk quietly flirts, his hips pressing against your tummy, letting you know just how much he enjoys being with you. "I don't think you've ever been well behaved."

"Oh, but I am," you simper right back. Reaching down for his hands, you encourage them to roam your body. Squeeze them over your chest, then encourage them down to the tops of your thighs—or, more specifically, between them. "I'm such a good girl for you, aren't I?"

Pressing his fingers up against your thinly-covered cunt, Jeongguk smirks, the subtle markers of your arousal greeting him like they so often do.

"You are," he nods. "And you're gonna be good for me now aren't you?" His fingers hook the lace of your underwear to the side, and gently begin to tease your wet folds. "Gonna keep it nice and quiet for me, huh?"

Nodding, you let yourself succumb to your unbridled desire to have your lips on his as he sinks his middle finger into your cunt. With a small whine, you totally disregard the promise you've only just made.

And so Jeongguk shakes his head, still kissing you. Barely parts from your lips when he says, "Shush, shush, shush, baby. Quiet for me."

When he pushes a second finger into you, your brows furrow, but the whine you're dying to sound out just vibrates into his mouth. 

"Attagirl," he praises as his fingers begin to pump inside of you. Deepening his kisses, Jeongguk strokes his tongue against yours, as if your body was just made for him to claim. Signed, sealed, delivered: his. Your hips roll into his movements, but it's not enough. 

As much as he wants to keep you plugged, Jeongguk wants easy access more. 

Pulling his fingers from your cunt, there's a satisfied grin on his pretty lips when you whine. 

"Shush," he says with such affection it could make even the coldest heart thaw. Dipping slightly, he hooks his forearms just beneath your ass and swiftly lifts you up. Gets you perched up on the counter. Spreads your legs, and is pleased when you lift the hem of the baggy shirt you're wearing to fully reveal your pussy to him. 

"Look at you, gorgeous," he husks. Genuinely thinks he might die just from looking at your cunt. Too perfect. Too fuckin' nice. Stroking his still-wet fingers up your folds, he wastes no time sinking two fingers into you once more. "Quiet, baby."

"Room," you breathlessly say, desperately trying not to make any sounds that could give yourselves away. "Don't wanna be quiet. Take me to your room."

Jeongguk just smirks. Looks in your pretty eyes and challenges you. "Say chess. I'm not going to my room, but you can say chess."

He knows there's absolutely no way in hell you're saying chess. 

Narrowing your eyes, you reach to the front of his shorts, and stroke his hard cock through the fabric. If he's gonna make this hard for you, then you're gonna do it right back.

"If you're gonna torture me then you may as well do it right," you feign a little boredom, tugging his shorts down just enough to play with him over his boxers. "Your fingers are nothing, baby." A lie, but that's neither here nor there. "Make things difficult for me. Make it impossible for me to keep quiet."

"You really want Jimin to find out, huh?" Jeongguk teases, still playing on the idea that you've ever managed to convince anyone that you are, in fact, just friends. "You want him to know that we fuck?"

But then Jeongguk glances over your shoulder to the doorway that leads into Jimin's room, as the click of his latch goes. Jeongguk barely has enough time to pull his fingers from you, and definitely not enough time to pull his shorts back up over his boxer-covered boner, so instead, he presses up against you to keep himself covered. Thank God he's behind the island and not anywhere else.

If you thought it was torture before, then now must be a whole new level, just a few layers of fabric keeping you apart.

"It lingers, y'know," the grouchy voice of Jimin echoes from behind you. 

Turning your head, thighs squeezing against Jeongguk's hips to keep his dignity protected, you try to hide your embarrassment. 

Jeongguk's hands rest on your thighs, and the one that's out of sight to Jimin is being wiped against your skin to rid his fingers of your arousal. This could have been so much worse than what it is.

"The smell of sex," he adds with a little disdain. "I always knew."

As if the God of Thunder personally gave birth to him, Jimin's face is stormy as can be. His scowl is so deeply ingrained into his expression that you're certain the wind must have changed in his direction as he was first pulling the face. Whatever you drank last night, he must have had it too.

Hair all haphazard, face a little dewey from a warm slumber, there's an unusual dishevelled nature to Jimin. He's not even bothered to put on clothes. Is quite literally in just a pair of boxers. 

It's quite unlike him. Then again, so are the hickies on his collarbones. 

"Well, that's weird, 'cause me and Jeongguk have never had sex," you reply without even thinking, the lies ingrained into your reflexes at this point. Even Jeongguk looks at you with confusion this time. 

"Firstly, we eat off that counter, sickos. And secondly, I heard," Jimin simply assures you both, walking to the counter and picking up a plastic fork. He sticks it into a chunk of the french toast, and doesn't ask permission. Just chows down on it. Speaks with his mouth full. "Like, so many times. In fact, I've heard you at it so many times I can almost predict what's happening when."

"Bullshit," Jeongguk laughs—and he'd be right. Jimin's never heard, not properly at least, unless you count the muffled groans in Pohang that put him off his food for an entire day. He just hates the embarrassment of being walked in upon by the pair of you. The one time he needed privacy the most and he didn't even think to bolt the door—or better yet, go to his own bloody bedroom. He wants you to know what his embarrassment feels like. Jeongguk is unphased, though. "Nabi still here?"

"Shut up," Jimin replies, pulling the rest of the french toast towards him, closing the lid. He narrows his eyes, then snatches the box right up. Holds it to his chest. Scowls at you both. Turns on his heel and returns to his room, grinning now that you can't see him, shutting the door behind himself. 

Neither of you stop him. 

"Is he…"

"Okay?" Jeongguk finishes off your query. "No idea."

But one thing for certain is that Nabi's possessions are still very much inside the apartment. She's still here, and you're willing to bet he shut the door with a smile, holding his stolen breakfast with all the triumph of a cat who got the cream. 

"On that note," you begin to tangent off, knowing you've already wasted too much of the day. "You okay to drive? Or would you rather take the subway?"

"Subway," Jeongguk immediately responds, reaching over to take a sip of his coffee. "Don't wanna risk it."

And he also wants any excuse he can find to spend time with you. Takes three times as long to get to The Ryu on public transport than it does in his car, especially with how he drives.

"Alright," you don't argue against him or bother suggesting a taxi instead. "And am I cool to leave my things here? I'll pick them up next time—"

"You know you don't need to ask," Jeongguk grins, the ring in the corner of his mouth flipping ever so slightly in that heavenly way it so often does. 

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Keep it here," he says. "Don't take your stuff home next time. Leave it. I'll clear a drawer. Some hangers."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he nudges his nose up against yours. "You've been leaving glitter here for months. May as well move onto something more substantial."

As if your heart isn't enough.

"Plus," he considers. "At least that way you can stop stealing all my favourite shirts."

"You love it when I wear your shirts."

"B, I love it when you wear nothing at all," he smirks. "Clothes have nothing to do with it. But on that note, go put some clothes on so we can actually do something with our day."

Reluctantly, you agree.

And just as reluctantly, he lets you go.

The subway is always crowded at this time of day. Jeongguk insists you sit while he stands in front of you, holding on to the railing that runs overhead. It's a small kindness—the kind you never really thought about until you met him and learned how lovely it is to have someone actually care about your comfort and well-being. 

He doesn't spend the journey on his phone like so many of the other commuters. Instead, he focuses on the windows, and the small glimpses indicating where you are along the subway line. Occasionally he'll look down at you and smile. Though you're not sleeping, your eyes are closed, cutting out the harsh lights of the tin can you're situated inside. You've never been more desperate for your bed. 

Once you reach your stop, Jeongguk tightly scoots in behind you on the escalators.

"We can have a quiet night in," he softly promises. His hand rubs at your waist, and the elevated position of your body allows him to press a kiss to your shoulder.

Even despite the fabric of your shirt—one that belongs to him, of course—it still feels like a star is burning through your very being. 

Nodding, you place your hand over his and squeeze ever so gently. Reciprocate his warmth. 

You don't mean to be so grouchy and unexpressive, the hangover just really is killing you. If it wasn't for the video Jeongguk insisted on assessing after waking you up this morning, you might not have even recalled exactly just how raunchy you'd been with him at Dionysus. 

Fucking someone at work had always been one of his covert fantasies; the kind of thing he wanted to do just so he could say that he had. Wouldn't mind leaving the box next to it unchecked on his mental to-do list. Would happily do it all over again.

His notice has been handed in, though. Dionysus is no longer his place of work. His contract runs until the end of the month, but he saved up holiday time. Never has to go back, if he doesn't want to.

As his fingers squeeze a little tighter on your waist, he can't help but wonder if he's making the right choices. He's been comfortable at Dionysus. Wasn't making great money, but was making enough. 

But when you squeeze your hand over his, he knows it doesn't matter. He can make all the bad decisions in the world as long as he doesn't make any that'd result in him losing you.

The weather's slowly been getting warmer over the past few weeks. As you exit the subway station, the sun confronts you with such aggression that you almost stumble from the impact of her punch.

"I'm never drinking again," you whine, bringing the hand of yours that's holding his up to cover your eyes a little. He lets you dictate his movement freely.

"You say that every time," Jeongguk reminds you, playfully nudging into your side, before rounding the corner up towards the gallery. "C'mon. Fake it till you make it. Pretend you don't have one."

"Impossible."

The remainder of the morning is slow. Every time you glance at the clock, it seems only a few minutes have passed. 

Cataloguing and processing the sales of art from the night before is laborious. It takes a lot of mental energy that you can't seem to conjure up.

Jeongguk doesn't really know how to help, but he is far stronger than you. Does all the heavy lifting as you prepare various canvases for shipping.

Eventually, he's left twiddling his thumbs, so you insist he heads straight to the gym.

"I'll meet you after," you tell him, as you sit on the floor of the gallery, crossed-legged, a pencil behind your ear and a million documents scattered around you. Jeongguk has no idea how you can work in such chaos. Finds himself getting stressed out by it.

It takes a solid fifteen minutes of assuring him you'd be fine on your own, but eventually he leaves for the gym. The way you see it, the quicker you both get your tasks for the day done, the quicker you can go back to yours, make some dinner, and call it a night. 

"Call me when you're done, yeah?" He says, lingering by the door because he just can't bear to leave you. As the sunlight peers in through the windows, small speckles of glitter sparkle on his skin. "I'll come meet you halfway."

With an ever-sincere smile, you just laugh. "Go."

Finally doing as he's told, Jeongguk walks backwards until you're out of sight. Feels his heart physically ache in his chest. Doesn't understand why he's so damn pathetic all of the time when it comes to you, just knows he wouldn't change it for the world.

Despite the solitude of an empty gallery, you're perfectly content. The lingering scent of paint and paper isn't too far removed from your place of work. Makes it easy to imagine a life where this could be your work. 

Devoting yourself to this is easy. Passion has always yielded a higher reward for you than wages, so you don't mind burning the candle at both ends.

The situation is becoming strained at best, you know. Eventually, something will have to give.

For now, though, you finish off your jobs. Arrange couriers to pick up the artworks sold, and make sure the names and numbers match the deposits with a copy of Jeongguk's business account bank statement, of which you made him print out for you.

"I can just log into my bank on your phone," Jeongguk had shrugged when you'd first asked him for it, seemingly not realising just how insane he sounded. When he clocked your look of bewilderment, he laughed. "What? It's not like you're gonna run off with all the money."

While this is true, looking at the sheer amount of money in there could make you cry. It's all so attainable now; Jeongguk's dreams and a reality in which they come true. 

So engrossed in your own thoughts, you almost jump out of your skin when a knock sounds at the doorway into the office. 

"Sorry," Shinwon hums ever so pleasantly, a smile on his face, thoroughly bemused by how startled you look. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"No, no," you shake your head, endearingly playing off your embarrassment. "I just didn't expect to see you here! Or see anyone here, for that matter."

Between exhibitions, the gallery will be closed for the next couple of weeks. It's partially to allow for the staff to reset, but mainly to allow for careful considerations of how the space will be used. 

As Jina's maternity leave cover, it's Shinwon's job, but you're yet to see any plans from him. You don't even know which artists are due to be showcased. She did say that a new vacancy would probably open up around this time, and if Shinwon doesn't start putting some tangible hard work in, you wouldn't be surprised if it's sooner rather than later.

There's been no mention of it, though. The big bosses don't seem to care about his underperformance, probably 'cause they know he's temporary.

"Just coming by to drop something off," he explains, holding up a small white envelope. Pressing it down on the desk, he looks uncertain, as if there are words dancing on the tip of his tongue. "It went well last night, didn't it?"

With a tight-lipped smile, you nod. Feel your cheeks swell. "Yeah. Went really well."

"Good," he nods. Is about to leave. Pauses when he reaches the door, and awkwardly turns to face you. Nods towards the letter on the desk. "There's gonna be a position opening up soon. You should apply. I'll put in a good word."

Furrowing your brows, you glance over the white envelope, then back to Shinwon. "But they're not hiring any—"

"Letter of resignation," he concedes with a tight-lipped smile. "I've got an overseas opportunity that I don't wanna pass on. I'll work my two weeks, but then there'll be a position to fill until Jina is back from maternity."

By overseas opportunity, he really means that some of his private school buddies are going travelling, and he wants in on the fun. This was always an opportunity of convenience for Shinwon. He was never passionate about it. Not like you are.

"Apply," he encourages. "You basically do my job as it is for free, anyway. May as well get paid for it if you can."

He doesn't stay to chitchat. Probably won't even remember your existence once he heads off on his trip. Was never in this for the right reasons.

You've resented him on plenty of occasions. Been annoyed at the fact he does fuck all and gets paid for it. Yet the idea of actually filling his (albeit incredibly small) shoes is fear-inducing.

A job at the gallery would be the first step to actually doing what you love for a living—being around art and artists. Sure, you could argue that the art cafe gives you that, but a highschooler nervously painting by numbers on a first date has nothing on the works that you see here.

There's joy to be found in your current job, though. Fun. Safety. Home.

But nothing remarkable ever happened to people who choose to remain comfortable.

Quickly finishing your to-do list, all you want to do is speak to Jeongguk about it. See what he thinks. You know it's a no-brainer. You have nothing to lose. You just want him to give you the green light that you're making the right choices.

The headache you've been battling is weak in comparison to your racing thoughts, now. You're thinking of the possibilities—of all of your hard work actually being for something. You've proven to the gallery that you can bring in punters, and that you can utilise their resources for profit. 

It's always been a case of who you know, not what you know, but you know the gallery, now. They know you. 

It could really happen. 

By the time you reach the gym, fantasies of a life with a staff ID card and access to the archives, you can't stop smiling. It'd change your life. Flip it upside down in the best of ways.

The gym is just the same as it always has been. There's a new girl behind the front desk. Not someone you recognise. Smiling as she greets you, she's keen to help, long dark hair tied into a ponytail, her branded shirt tight to her curves. You're reminded that the gym is a breeding ground for beauty, but it doesn't matter. You'll get your cardio in later beneath your sheets. 

She's also got the kind of smile that you just can't help but reciprocate. 

"I don't have a membership," you begin to explain, knowing just how troublesome it was on your first ever visit and not wanting a repeat of it. There's no way you're paying for a month, 'cause now you don't need it as an excuse just to see Jeongguk. You also can't help but overcompensate, and give far too many details in an awkward, endearing mess of an explanation. "Well, I mean, I used to have one so my details are probably on the system. Sorry, not important. I know you guys don't do day passes—"

Furrowing her brows, she kindly interrupts. "We do."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," she says, nodding towards a sign in the corner of the countertop. Clear as day, daily and weekly memberships are listed. "We've done them for as long as I've been here. Don't think it's a new policy. Anyway, happy to help—just a day membership?"

Jiyeong might be a distant memory now, but thoughts of her will never fail to irritate you.

"Yeah please," you smile regardless, sliding your card out from your pocket—and then you're over explaining again. Probably habit from the Jiyeong era. Is also probably why you make a point to mention Jeongguk by a title only you have the privilege to use. "I'm just joining my boyfriend for a session. He's—"

"Oh, he's a member?" she chirps, not rude in her interruption but efficient.

"Yeah," you nod, and are about to mention him by name, but the girl speaks too quickly again.

"Oh, you should have said! Members get a monthly plus one. It's not a free session, but it's half price, so better than nothing," she smiles. "I'll just need his gym ID—or name, I can search the system—so I can put it through."

You know she really ought to ask Jeongguk's permission. You could be any random woman. 

But you're not, and so you tell her. "Jeon Jeongguk?"

"Ah," she nods, vaguely aware of his existence. Unlike Jiyeong, she hasn't spent a substantial amount of time fawning over Jeongguk. To her, he's just another dude who comes in and leaves her alone. She appreciates it, given how some guys can be, but she also doesn't care to reward bare minimum. 

She asks you to confirm his phone number, which you can do without issue, so at least there's some level of security in place. 

It's a perfectly pleasant exchange, and it thankfully rids you of woes you didn't even realise you had. The Jieyong debacle had left a mark on you, but it feels like it's been rubbed clean. Your mind tends to jump to thoughts of her whenever he goes to the gym, and so at least you can sleep well knowing that the new girl isn't interested in any way shape or form.

Buzzing you through, she tells you to enjoy yourself—but as you start heading up the stairs to the main gym section, you already feel your regret looming. A hangover is still a hangover.

You clock Jeon Jeongguk almost immediately. How anyone isn't immediately drawn to him, you'll never understand. Just finishing up with some weights, he's re-racking the ones he's used, skin glowing with sweat. 

There's a beauty to seeing him like this. Primal desires. 

Glancing up to the mirrored wall behind the rack, Jeongguk eyes are on yours just as quickly. It's like you're magnets, destined to meet.

A confused smile etches into his exhausted face, brows furrowing as he turns to face you.

"What are you doing here?" He mouths, head puppy-like in the way it tilts. 

Shrugging your shoulders, you walk towards him. Mouth, "I just love the gym."

"Liar," he simpers when you're within earshot, reaching his hand out for you to take so he can pull you closer, of which he immediately does.

One hand clasped in his, your other hand rests on his still-heaving torso. He's gone hard today, to make up for the night before. His compression shirt is silky beneath the palms of your hands, the strong ridges and contours of his body yours to hold. Other people can look all they like. None of them get to feel. Not like you do.

As he looks down at you, there's a softness to his gaze. A smile that he doesn't care to hide. A sparkle in his eyes that shines even out of direct light. Just a consequence of looking at a star.

"You shouldn't be here," he quietly hums. "We both know you hate it."

"I can go, if you like?"

Jeongguk just shakes his head. Smiles as he turns you both around and begins to walk backwards, pulling you with him.

"You're the one who hated being here," he reminds you. "I loved you being here."

"Obsessed," you grin, gingerly letting him drag you anywhere he likes. "And good, 'cause I used your monthly plus one."

"Yeah," he confirms, ignoring the curious glances of other people in the room as he leads you back to your old 'spot'. "Thought we'd established that already? And that's fine. Use it every month."

Funny, how you used to hypothesise over the lives of other people in this very room, and how you know others must be doing the same for you now. You hope they all think you're besotted with him.

When you look at him like that, all love drunk and starry-eyed, how could they not?

"Was just about to finish up, anyway," Jeongguk tells you, heading in the direction of the treadmills. Glances back to you, then nods in their direction. "For old times sake?"

"For old times sake," you beam, following his lead, stepping up onto the treadmill closest to you. They're all vacant, but Jeongguk steps up on the one beside yours, 'cause of course he does. He'd go on the same one as you, if it were possible. 

God, he loves you being here. Can't stop smiling.   

You don't mention the potential job opening. For old times sake.

Instead, you revel in what it used to be like whenever you came to the gym, 'cause it just makes you so much more grateful for what you've become. Like Dionysus, these four walls saw the groundwork of your relationship being laid. 

You've already lost access to one of the most important places to you both with Jeongguk leaving the club. 

If you change jobs, you'll lose the art cafe, too. The lease is coming up soon on your place, and if Danbi chooses to just move in with Tae, that'll be another safe haven gone. One by one, places of your past are closing their doors to usher you forward into new spaces. 

Life can't always stay the same. Change is needed. Necessary. 

You've changed. So has Jeongguk. You'll continue to change for years to come.

The difference now is that you'll change together. Adapt. Merge, in some ways, just like a pair of orbiting stars so often do.

On the way home, Jeongguk picks up a bunch of wildflowers from the market stall he once bought you apology flowers from. His fingers are intertwined with yours as he pays, hands lightly swinging. 

It dawns on you all rather quickly, as Jeongguk nibbles on his bottom lip and waits for the payment to go through, that maybe this is a change that you needn't fight. Perhaps it's okay to look forward to your future instead of being hung up on the past. 

"C'mon," he tugs on your hand as you leave the market stall, encouraging you to gain a little momentum. "I'm starving. If we don't get me food soon, I'll turn into you with a hangover."

"Cute?"

"Oh, so close," he grins, then shakes his head. "But no. Grouchy and unbearable."

"You were practically begging to shag me," you remind him. "Can't have minded that much."

Jeongguk can't argue against this one. "I didn't—but working out increases like… all the hormones that were working overtime this morning. If I don't eat soon I might die, but if I don't shag you soon, I also might die. Honestly it's a lose-lose situation, B. There's only one solution."

"Sixty-nine?" You offer, 'cause it's perfectly logical. He gets to eat while you get him off. A win-win, you'd argue.

"You're a disgusting pervert," he tells you with stern sharpness, paired with a smirk he just can't help, as if he totally wasn't angling for you to say it. "But now that you mention it, yes. That'd be ideal."

"I don't shag boys who call me disgusting," you reply, knowing that he absolutely didn't mean it like that. You just like winding him up.

"I'm pretty sure I've called you worse before," he reminds you, then holds the flowers out in front of you both. "These can double as apology flowers instead of just my-girlfriend-is-really-pretty-and-I-love-her flowers."

You narrow your eyes as you look across to him, but the smile on his face is just too hard to resist. Thin lipped, his dimples are present, lip ring flipping in the corner of his mouth. 

It's like his lip ring does the thing and you're reduced to jelly.

"Lucky you're cute," you grumble.

"You can thank my mum for that one," he offers, fully aware of how often people would coo over his cuteness as a child and then proceed to tell his mum how similar they are. "And for how pretty I am, too."

Though he's just joking, he's right. He really is the prettiest man you've ever known, inside and out.

You won't tell him this, though. Would give him far too much negotiation power.

"Who do I thank for how annoying you are?"

“Jimin,” Jeongguk says. "That's a learned behaviour. Nurture over nature."

"Figures," you accept, before tugging on Jeongguk's hand to lead him into a grocery store. "I've got nothing in. Need to pick up food or else you'll be going hungry."

"I thought we already agreed on six—"

"A little decorum please," you cut him off. "We're in a public space."

"You said it first!"

Playfully shrugging, you let go of his hand and grab a basket as you enter. "Watcha fancy?"

"You."

"For dinner, idiot."

"B," Jeongguk sighs as if he really is hard done by. "We've already discussed this. Literally, you."

"Shut up," you laugh, and let the shopping trip descend into chaos. 

Jeongguk just puts whatever catches his eyes into the basket. Gets a kinder egg and a hot wheels car. Will surely just run it over the curves of your body when you're in bed later that evening. Also gets an entire pineapple, and when you raise an eyebrow, he just shrugs. 

"If I don't have a snack before I shower I will die," he assures you. "I'm craving a burger, so you should really be thanking me for the noble sacrifice I'm making. It benefits us both."

"You're an idiot."

"Fine, I'll get a burger."

But when he goes to put the pineapple back, you stop him. Smile. Say, "Pineapple is good."

"That's what I thought," he stands tall and proud, chest puffed, head tilted back. He looks like an asshole but god damn, does he look good doing so. As he peers down at you, you know it'll be a miracle if you even make it to the shower by the time you get home. Want him too bad.

"Stop bickering," you tell him. "Quicker we get home, the quicker we can—"

"Say no more," he nods, taking the basket from you, then zooming off up the aisle. "C'mon, B! Places to be! People to see!"

As he darts off to the next aisle, all you can do is wonder how on earth this is your life.

But it is—and when you finally find him again, standing in line to pay, basket full to the brim from his supermarket sweep, you know that all these changes happening around you really don't matter as long as you have him.

"Alright," you quietly say as you stand beside him, flicking open your phone and heading for your taxi hailing app. "I'll order a taxi. Don't want you to die on the way home."

"Teamwork," Jeongguk smiles. 

"It makes the dream work, or so I heard," you hum with a somewhat smug smile, pleased to be getting exactly what you want: time spent with Jeongguk away from the prying eyes of the three fates.

"Yeah," he quietly says, leaning over to press a kiss against the side of your head. "It sure does."