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elvirable · 2 years ago

Text

Instincts

[ Astarion x f!Reader/Tav ] | ao3 link

rating: explicit | word count: 3.7k | status: complete themes/tags: vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, creampie, feelings realization, denial of feelings, light angst at the end, you know the sex scene after the tiefling party?, yeah so this is it, with astarions pov, already catching feelings smh, smut is halfway through, just skip to after all early dialogue

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Little did he know that evening, that was the beginning of his simple plan crumbling apart.

In other words: Astarion has been struggling to balance century-long instincts with newfound feelings, an undeniable connection. He carries out his simple little plan as intended, but meets complications he didn't quite expect. ----------- A/N: so i hung up my cod medals of honor to write this.. i've been playing for a month now. originally posted without proofreading, but its now edited for grammar and some terms -----

It was hard not to have fun around you.

Something of a child-like giddiness would buzz through his nerves whenever you sauntered over, his marbled red eyes wouldn't dare to miss a beat of the vision you were. Swaying hips and that deceivingly coy face. Of course, you were strikingly beautiful – a wickedly delectable sight – but that wasn’t the only source of his carnal anticipation.

It was just you, the enigmatic little thing you were.

Admittedly, Astarion believed he had read you like an open book the moment he laid eyes on you. It was an instinct of his: gathering a cerebral repository of notable ticks and body language, facial twitches, and octave changes in those around him. Watchful, constant observations.

He had chalked you up to a sort of stoic character at first. Graceful, to a degree, in your manner of subtly balancing the world around you. A stable composure, quick and quiet without brash or idle chatter.. unlike that Gale. You were a less flagrantly repulsive hero-type crafted in his mind – but he had still expected you to be oh-so predictable with a shallow drive for self-emaciating ‘justice’. Whereas the others wore their baggage like a garment, you held your cards close to your chest – like a chameleon suddenly thrust into the spotlight.

Yet the sun rose and fell two or three times around the wilderness of Elturel, when he found himself pleasantly contradicted. He normally didn’t dedicate much attention towards someone he believed he so easily pegged, but his interest began to pique. Just enough to leave him sitting with an edge and a consuming desire to peer in closer.

Maybe it was the way your mouth twitched into a quiet smile during his verbal antics on the road or the firm passiveness you held from the blighted village to the drama of Emerald Grove; an intoxicatingly confusing blend of traits you harbored. The closer he watched you, the less blurred you became. You didn’t fear being authentic and enforcing boundaries to those who attempted to use you – but you weren’t cruel; you met the world around you just as it was, without discrimination. No unnecessary harm, no free handouts either.

Or perhaps it was your sarcastic remarks that stirred what little glee he had in him; an especially delicious and refreshing insight into your humor. While he could care to give a critical note or two on your lack of blatant cruelty, Astarion respected your compelling demeanor; he witnessed how all these companions turned their eyes so frequently to you with decision.

But what he did know for sure was the eye contact.

Gods, the first time your heads swiveled mid-strife and your gazes locked with a rich crackle – the memory alone was enough to stupefy him! Something strange stirred, something that didn’t sit comfortably. He didn’t know what to make of it.

With all this said, that same sensation boiled inside his stomach as he mulled over his every interaction with you. He recalled that moment of midnight – when all was still and you had caught him prepared to taste your throat. Your wary stare pierced through him, washing away briefly the desperate pangs of blood-thirst and left him feeling.. nervous.

Ugh, how he despised the feeling.

He was sickened when all those ledgers of observations caved in on himself, caught in his pale throat. He had taken such an overwhelming liking to you – to the extent, he had realized, that he was drawn to your guidance, your approval; a repulsive frustration at the time enough to coil through his cold veins. Without much to say, however, he was adamantly relieved when you conceded and soon regularly allowed him to drink from your slender neck.

His trail of thoughts glossed over your stifled grunts onto the following morning: when you came to his defense as everyone felt the need to chime in with their unfettered prejudices. And how his ease, his excitement around you became persistently potent – a fresh energy that filled him as you spurred on his teasings and whims. Astarion noticed your subtle release of your ever-strong walls, just enough so he could relish in your humor and affable side.

There was always a hesitation at doting on the sensation that rose inside him at these thoughts of you. He surmised he was merely back in the practice; where he spun honeyed words and charmingly guile eye contact, to wrap his target around his finger. Any little edge of control he could grasp onto, the familiar taste of influence he used to know so well. These habits of two hundred years were kicking in. He’d play the part and – sooner or later – this eagerness to please would be reversed onto you.

Whether it was his own willful denial or the culmination of fate’s ever-spinning thread, the first crumble began the night of the tiefling party.

Cool and clear was the star-freckled night. Everything was too merry for him: the wide-toothed grins of the tieflings, sharp strums of the lute, the chatter. Even the wine was downright awful, pungent and tart like vinegar.

Astarion would’ve normally indulged in his bitter mood, but it was the sight of your drunken smile that diffused his prior desire to complain.

How interesting, he thought as his eyes lapped up your squinted grin and eased laughter. It was helplessly infectious to see you so earnest, casually prattling on in conversation throughout the camp.

Red eyes followed while you made your rounds, encouraging the tiefling’s dancing lights spell and conversing with the bard. Astarion even raised a brow at the playful expression that washed over your face as you spoke to the hulking druid by the name of Halsin. When you strolled over to Shadowheart and he caught that carefully provocative glint in the raven-haired cleric’s eyes – a chord of jealousy grew taut inside his chest.

He had half the mind to feel insulted that you hadn’t wandered in his direction yet, but that was quickly dispersed when he noticed you dismiss yourself and head towards a wooden crate near the riverfront.

Almost like a shadow, Astarion swept in your direction. Whether it was to merely take in your smile up close or to put his plan in motion, he settled on the latter. You were rifling through the crate that held what could barely pass as wine, muttering a quiet curse about the little tiefling probably pocketing a bottle or two.

“Here’s my little treat with her cheeks all flushed,” the words dripped from his mouth with a sweet cadence. “You will come to my bed tonight, won’t you?”

You swiveled at the sound of his voice, raised brow accompanying your hazy smile. The influence of wine lowered your usual wariness, and he caught the realization flutter across your face; there was no constitution in attempting to act reserved, especially with the rapport you two had grown. Amusement was written all over your face, hardly concealed – you had decided to play along.

“A little treat? You can do better than that.”

“Oh, I certainly can. It would be my pleasure.”

He leaned closer, half-lidded eyes darkening and breath heavy with a mischievous delight. You watched him expectantly, reveling in what would pour from his lips.

“How about this one,” he loosened his posture, as if you both were stowed away from the entire world instead of dawdling along the outskirts of the shoddy camp. “All these accolades from the tieflings are nothing compared to the sound of my name, cried from your lips.”

Astarion watched the smile further spread across your soft lips, the wickedly sweet crinkle in your eyes while you crossed your arms. An exhilaration rose underneath his suave demeanor, even the bemused snicker invigorating.

“Is that the best you can do?” came your quick quip.

“Hmm, let me give it another go,” his voice was thick with arousal, a hungry glint in his eyes. “Every part of your perfect body whispers temptation – it’s as if the Gods made you just to ruin me.”

His words clung to the air for a moment. The deliberate onslaught of poetic pleasantries laced with such ardent lust, the hum of the wine – Astarion studied your face swirling in thought. Heat had built up from the lower half of your body up to your cheeks, a quiet neediness wavering in your stance and threatened to boil to the surface of your skin.

Gods, you were thinking, it had been the longest time and you’ve been touch-starved.. more so under the urgency of all the trouble you had been thrust into. You never trusted a pretty boy, but you'd be damned if his flowered prose didn't stir something in you; you had never been the subject of such pursuits, real or not. Desire rushed through you, coiling in your stomach.

There was a beckoning in his eyes as they clutched onto yours, imporing you to draw closer, and his boyish features were even more alluring when caressed by the moon’s glow. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to trust those flowery words. They were tinted with an air of rehearse.

“Did these really work on Cazador’s targets?”

“Well, they’re working on you, aren’t they?”

A mild bashfulness buzzed through the warmth on your cheeks, as you couldn’t really deny it.

“How about if I said these little words… everyone’s favorite,” Astarion continued, pausing for effect.

“I love you.”

Sly amusement colored his face. He had succeeded in riling up the intrinsic urge, no matter how much you tried to conceal it. How adorable you were when your gaze fluttered briefly.

“Having fun, are you?” you observed, smile holding on your lips.

As he had mused earlier, he was. It was hard not to whenever around you.

Festivities settled down, the entire camp fast asleep once the wine crate had emptied and bellies were full. Only the chittering of crickets could be heard amongst the trees.

The forest, usually dressed in potent darkness, stilled beneath the moonlight. A serene, subtle beauty of the night – one Astarion was very accustomed to knowing, to living . He had done this so many times it had become second nature – the salacious rendezvous, the secrecy and fleeting thrill of them all.

He had contemplated before, the image of you melting in the throes of pleasure. He wondered whether you preferred his hands gentle or rough, what sounds would dribble from your lips – if they sounded as sweet as you tasted.

Though nothing could prepare him for the reality, which far surpassed fantasy; the pretty little thing you were, bare figure caressed by the lowlight, slowly making your way towards him.

“There you are. I’ve been waiting.”

You offered him a coy smile, cheeks still warm and rosy. An ache rushed between your legs at the sight of him sauntering forward, his well-formed broad physique. Lean, yet muscular – and the soft details of his appearance; the crease of laughter lines, the curl of his lashes. Just the anticipation of it all served enough to make you wet.

“Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you,” he leaned closer, desire coating every syllable.

“You don’t have me yet,” you matched the pulse of his words, emanating a playfulness to goad him on further.

Greedy lips suddenly met yours, and you were pressed against the tree trunk. His palms gripped the back of your thighs, swift dexterity almost catching you off guard. You instantly melted, like a puddle, in his grasp; your soft lips just as eager, skin aching and impatient for his touch. You never realized how sensitive you were, how truly touch-starved until you fought the gasp that escaped your throat.

Astarion didn’t waste a beat, carefully laying you onto the grass below while he drawled slow kisses along the curve of your neck. Fervent yearning permeated from your skin; you wanted more, and he was prepared to give you everything .

He drank in the sight of your arousal, eager to please you yet potently roused from the position he was in: you were such a delectably pretty thing sprawled beneath his weight, completely bare and vulnerable. Wide eyes bashfully beckoning him to just taste you.

“Part those precious legs for me, beautiful.” He directed, his voice less of a growl this time – instead more sweet. Soft.

You could feel your face heat up further at his words, following his command without hesitation. Tender hands trailed along the soft skin of your thigh, his intense eyes briefly leaving yours to watch his fingers lingered over your folds – you were glistening with slick , fevered arousal.

“Oh my, you’re already so wet for me.”

His voice was almost a whisper now, as a keen excitement rushed through his veins. A twitch pressed against his briefs, his cock already hard and eager especially when his eyes darted towards your rosy. So willing, ready to indulge his every whim. For a moment, he settled in your vulnerability – a sight he didn't expect to see. You were always full of such delicious surprises.

He shook the thought from his mind, allowing a sly smile to return to his lips.

“Who knew you were so needy?”

Your cheeks flushed, timid lips scrambling to form a defensive retort before he slipped two fingers inside. Only a quiet gasp left your mouth as your soaking warmth struggled to adjust, tightening around his digits. You were barely able to comprehend the words he said, instinctively bucking your hips.

“ Astar ..” your breath hitched before you could even finish, when his fingers began a slow pace. Teasingly slow, you would beckon, but there was nothing you could even fathom whispering anymore. Your walls began to clench, eager to receive his unwavering attention.

Hums of pleasure pulsed through your every nerve, rapidly as he fastened the curling pace of his fingers. Every hitched and quiet whimper encouraged him, his palm soaked with your slick. He relished the sight of your round breasts rising and falling feverishly, your heat clenched around him – his cock further hardened, precum no doubt pooling on the fabric of his briefs.

All you could manage was to focus on the pleasure mounting between your legs, thighs now quivering with anticipation. His thumb slid up to your swollen clit, never breaking pace, to draw teasingly slow circles. He adjusted his weight to lean closer to your face, the sudden attention causing an overwhelming shyness to press your eyes shut. Your thighs trembled more now while his fingers beckoned and lured your pleasure to spur closer and closer.

“Look at me,” he whispered, his voice the gentlest you’ve ever heard.

He couldn’t place the sensation – of feeling entranced in a sense, when whimpers of pleasure fumbled from your beautiful lips. Astarion almost felt lost, nearly mesmerized, when you kept those pretty eyes trained on his. He could feel his eyes soften at your vulnerable stare, and all at once everything inside him craved to slide into your warmth. To feel you melt into him, to hit every right spot to make you sing, for every sweet prayer cascading from your lips to be for him.

“Mmf..” You were left in a sudden foggy haze, a mix of pleasure and confusion when he abruptly withdrew his fingers. You couldn’t fathom any words to speak, only furrowed your brows in a hazed and disorientated manner.

“I’m sorry, love.” His breathless laugh seemed dazed before the low, heaviness returned to his tone, “You were practically just begging with those lovely eyes of yours.”

He leaned downwards to plant soft, reassuringly delicate pecks across the nape of your neck; each a mantra to affection, leaving a buzz in their wake. Carefully he peeled down his briefs with a wasted moment to rub his eager cock against your slick warmth.

Your moans sounded even sweeter closer to his ear, and a delighted sigh pressed from his lips onto your skin. His throbbing cock was met with some resistance as the length and girth was suffocated by your tightening walls, warm spasms at the sensation being filled.

A guttural, low moan hummed from his throat. Fuck, you were so perfectly tight.

His cock pulsed at the sudden attention, aching with pleasure and a warm buzz radiating through his skin. He paused for a moment, needing to relish every second it felt to be now pressed so deep inside you. The softness of your skin, delicate cues of pleasure washing over your face, how your warm walls enveloped his cock.

You moaned as he pushed more of his length inside your needy warmth, tears beginning to well up in the corner of your eyes. Pleasure and slight pain blurred, the tip of his cock almost pressed against your soft cervix and a rouse of heat traveling up your spine.

His hands gripped the globes of your ass to adjust his leverage, slowly but deliberately digging his hips against yours with each thrust. His body was achingly ready, alive with frantic urge. He was incapable of any pretty words to whisper, tangled groans replacing his usual velvet tongue.

As he pounded quicker into your warmth, your pulsating soft walls sucked his cock tighter and deeper with each buckle. He nestled his head into the nape of your neck. Sweat formed on his pale forehead as he wrestled with his restraint, his cock stroking in and out, hitting pleasure points you never knew existed and relishing in your shameless cries – desperate for him.

Soft, warm pleasure unraveled across you in hot waves. If you had the mind, you could only hope that no one could hear you two – the sounds and wet smacks of his skin colliding against yours – but all you could do was turn your pleasured cries and whimpers into soundless gasps.

Your lips parted, hips bucking before your back arched from the ground. Every fiber of your body attempted to get closer to him, and his to you. Of some act of grace, your hand caressed his face, lifting him to face yours.

Oh, how he wanted to melt right there.

Eager eyes met each other, brows furrowing together into a soft, tender stare. Astarion’s hips began to buck erratically for a moment as he struggled to regain his resolve. Once steadied, he continued to bury deeper into you in every perfect way. You were clenched so tightly, so divinely around him while his name trickled as a whisper from your lips.

“You – fuck .. “ you couldn’t be bothered to form a proper sentence, every whim of comprehension overwhelmed by new heights of white pleasure. You were lulled into a stupor, and his grip tightened at your garbled pleas.

“Thaaat’s it,” Astarion practically begged, voice ragged, his eyes never leaving your beautiful face as it twisted with sweet expressions. An eagerness gnawed inside him, to push you to the edge of your pleasures. You were so perfect while you cried his name, taking all of him so well.

“Come for me, sweet girl –” Hushed and delicate was his tone, only causing you to surrender any inhibition.

Heat wound tightly in your abdomen, lashes wet with the tears trailing down your warm face. Every nerve was wound so tight, finally snapping into a rush of white hot pleasure that left your skin flushed and tingling. You tried to whine out his name, but it spilled out into broken gasps as you reached your fingers to grip his silver curls.

His hips began to stagger, riding out your pleasure until he could no longer postpone the succumb to pleasure. They lost their rhythm, and a low moan rumbled from his throat as he surrendered to the overwhelming sensation of your tightening walls, pressing into you.

You could feel his cock throbbing in you, as your nerves are slow to fizzle from the glowing buzz, and it swelled. Your slick walls were overstimulated nearly by his desperate, choppy thrusts before a cry escapes his lips – his cum flooded into you, thick and hot. He felt waves of warmth, so real and alive. So helplessly right.

The air was silent, as you both collected your breaths in hurried gasps. Astarion peeled his weight off of you only to roll onto his back, by your side. Your body felt light and completely slack, almost boneless as you sunk into the earth underneath you. Aftershocks of pleasure still rippled throughout your nerves.

Both of you laid sweaty, flushed, exhausted, lacking the energy to care. You broke the silence with a wobble in your voice.

“Fuck, you came inside me..” you stated the obvious, reeling from pulsing nerves and vision hazy.

“I’m sure the druids have something that’ll take care of that..” Astarion said breathlessly, extending an arm to wipe the sweat glistening off his forehead.

He waited for a quiet laugh or a retort, but neither came.

Turning his head, he was met with the vision of your exhausted figure fast asleep. Slowly your chest rose and fell, face at ease – a vulnerability he had only seen when you were in deep sleep, if you weren't tossing and turning.

The quiet sat with him while he attempted to gather his thoughts, his experience. He had seen an entirely different side of you – exposed delicate. Part of his conscience pooled with guilt.

He had a plan. A nice simple plan. It wasn’t foreign to casually bed strangers, seducing and manipulating them into following his every whim. Hells, this had been routine for two hundred years . The count was lost on how many nights he spent using people like ragdolls, only to be lured back into the hands of Cazador.

Astarion returned his gaze to the stars glistening above, attempting his best at reducing it to the odd circumstances or perhaps he was simply out of practice.

Regardless – even if it was more than a fluke – he had already fucked things up. The thought felt tainted now, uneasy and riddled with remorse.

Little did he know that evening, that was the beginning of his plan crumbling apart.

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thosewickedlovelies · 6 months ago

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A guide to writing fics set in museums / with a museum worker character

Hey hi hello it’s your local museum worker here, offering you some insight and tips to writing museum-related fics! This is primarily organized as a list of different jobs you could have in a museum and what their duties entail. This post might also be useful to you if you’re considering working in museums and want to know What Goes On In There. Let’s go!

For simplicity/fic-writing purposes, I would divide museums into 2 very rough groups: large national or city museums that Have Money (think the Smithsonian or British Museums, or the Chicago Field Museum or the Royal Armouries Museum in Leeds); and smaller local museums. These could be local industry and culture/history-of-our town museums, historic houses, or really niche subject museums run by One Person With A Passion.

Big national museums have a fuckton of staff and money (museums can never have enough money. But these places are very well-off compared to somewhere small that might always be hustling and writing grant applications). If you work here you’re likely to have a specific role in a particular department, and you probably won’t do much outside this role (ex., if you work in collections management, you probably won’t also design exhibits)

The smaller the museum, the more varied your workload will be/the more likely you are to be doing a little bit of everything. You’re probably organizing collections storage, manning the front desk, and desperately running fundraising efforts, all at once.

To this end, smaller museums are more likely to be closed one or two days a week- you’ll be there, probably cleaning displays or managing storage, but visitors won’t be.

A lot of (most?) universities also have museums, so a college town setting is also doable. But the same big vs small museum disparity is still possible! At Penn State University, for example, the Palmer Art Museum is its own (recently redone iirc) building in the center of campus with a lovely plaza out front, while the Matson Museum of Anthropology is uhhhhh a couple classrooms in the Anthropology Department (which they’re currently rebuilding tbf, so we’ll see what they’ve done with it in 2025).

Types of Jobs

Curator

The one museum job that everyone can name. Nominally the person in charge. Probably laments that their job is way more admin than fun hands-on stuff now.

Actually this is the role I have the least knowledge of, but I think that’s partially because this job might vary the most from place to place? Structural organization can vary a lot between institutions, but I think the higher up you get in any field, the more your job tends to consist of meetings/overseeing, designating, and ~liaising~

A list of things a curator might do:

Planning or approving events and fundraisers, schmoozing with donors and members at said events, approving or designing a schedule of exhibits, publish outreach/advertising or research materials, oversee hiring, approve new object acquisitions (or de-acquisitions), generally make sure that the museum is working within the scope of its mission and if necessary, change or refine their mission

The curator might not necessarily control a museum’s funds; in this case they’ll liaise with the people who do, likely a Board of Executives or Board of Trustees. Once they get the money from these people, though, they could potentially redistribute it as they see fit.

If you work in a fuckoff museum like the BM, you could also be the curator of a specific department, arranged by overarching subject, geographic area, time period, or even object type (eg Curator of Archaeobotany, Curator of Korean Collections, curator of coins from the medieval period). These categories can be more or less specific depending on what kind of holdings your museum has. I think these types of curators would still be able to do interesting things, as they aren’t the ones who Oversee The Whole Place.

You can also be an assistant or associate curator, like being an assistant manager.

Education/Engagement

These are the people who design fun extra activities (esp for kids) in the galleries or relevant events/workshops/lectures the public can attend. They might be called Engagement/Education Officer or Events Manager or anything similar

Again, the bigger the museum you work at, the more specific your role is likely to be. You might focus on web content/outreach and social media, manage the ‘friends/members of the museum’ program, or engage with shareholders, etc

Or you might do things like develop content and events to engage adult audiences. Workshops or lectures connected to new exhibits, after-hours visits. These people are also probably the ones with an eye on accessibility- you’ve probably seen advertisements for museums’ early or late hours for older visitors, or ‘quiet hours’ for people who might be overstimulated by normal museum hubbub, or tactile workshops designed for visually impaired folks.

I think most places would try to have someone specific for kids activities at the very least. They’ll be designing little activities or dress-up stations for the galleries, kiddie mascots or scavenger hunt trail kind of things, as well as, potentially, activities for any digital elements in the museum. They probably also coordinate school visits and act as a tour guide for classes, and will lead the kids in specific workshops or lessons in classrooms attached to the museum.

As a note on technology- some people would probably say that integrating digital elements into exhibits is the ~next big thing~, that museums have to get with the times in this regard, but opinions vary. Big science and technology museums are the most likely to have the most digital and techy elements in their exhibits, so if this is your setting, your character could also be a generic “tech person”. I would go so far as to say the smaller/more local the museum, the less technology you’re likely to have, but smaller museums are able to get grants, some of them potentially for specifically this type of thing, so it’s totally possibly that they have a few tablets with integrated activities, or some other Digital/Screen Thing.

Engagement Officers are probably the most likely people to be drafted for out-of-hours events, so that’s a potentially fun thing for your character to do. Some museums, particularly bigger ones, have event spaces attached that anybody can rent out, for weddings, galas, markets, etc, so they might also take care of these bookings as well.

Exhibit Design

This role has a lot of nebulous terms: exhibit coordinator, design constructor, exhibit programmer- but these are the people who design the exhibits. They’ll come up with a theme or narrative, a design scheme, choose the objects, write the text. They’ll probably come up with some marketing material as well, that matches the design scheme, or they’ll liaise with the marketing people who will.

These people might not be as familiar with the collections as the collections management folk (below), depending on how strictly divided your roles are, so they’ll likely consult with the collections people on choosing objects for a particular exhibit or theme (they say that good exhibit design builds an exhibit from the objects up, but I digress).

These people will also direct and participate in the install and deinstall (the actual terms) of exhibits- putting the objects on the right plinths/stands and arranging everything just so in the cases. Genuinely there’s a lot of psychology behind exhibit design- colors, lighting, the way you might design an exhibit to be navigated vs the path people will actually take through the gallery, people’s sight lines and where their eyes go first, how the display of any given object affects people’s perception of the importance of that object. Fascinating stuff, many books on the subject.

There are also a lot of accessibility concerns to be considered here- how bright is the gallery, how large is your display text, at what height is the central eyeline of your cases?

Museums often loan objects to and from each other’s collections, so if you’re building an exhibit and you’d really like to include X type of object but your museum doesn’t have any, you can borrow some from another museum (this isn’t necessarily a guarantee- museums are allowed to say no to these requests, but I think manners would dictate that they should have a good reason)

Museums sometimes tour whole exhibitions as well- the objects, the text placards, maybe even the stands for super special or fragile items- and exhibit coordinator people are the ones who would handle those arrangements.

Potentially good opportunities for angst stories here- wow things come to life at your museum, you fall in love with a statue but oh no it’s only at your museum for three months

Collections Care

People who work in Collections Management have the most direct contact with the museum objects themselves. You probably work here if you prefer objects to people. When a museum gets new material, these are the people involved. They might not always initiate acquisitions, and the final approval is probably down to the relevant curator, but 98% of the time they’d be consulted (I hope).

A mind-boggling statistic is that most museums only have like 10% of their collections on display at any given time. Yeah. Forreal lol. But collections folk will know where the other 90% is and what’s in it (particularly the longer they’ve been there).

There’s usually a head Collections Manager. Other workers might be a Collection Assistant/Associate, Collections Officer (we like calling people Officers for some reason), Registrar, or some variant of these depending on the specific flavor of your duties.

Main job duties can be divided amongst documentation and database work, organization and storage of objects, and lite conservation. Just how much/how technical the conservation work depends on your own training, but also on the size/funding of your museum. The more money, the more likely your museum is to have its own lab with people specifically trained as conservators. More on them later.

Here’s what happens when a museum gets new stuff!:

Ideally, it goes to a ‘quarantine zone’ first. This is a separate space or room where the objects can relax for a few weeks to a few months (ultimate best practice is actually a year, but, you know. that’s a long time) to ensure that they’re not harboring anything icky (bugs, mold, etc) that will infect the rest of the collections. It’s ideally super-sealed and climate-controlled, but the primary feature should be that it’s away from the main collections store.

Collections folk do the paperwork. They’ll give each individual object a unique number (following their preexisting system that will allow it to be identified distinct from all the other objects in the collection). They’ll create a ‘collections record’ for the object- documentation containing any and all information about the object. This includes the accession paperwork (everything that says ‘we legally own this now’); provenance info (all previous owners and everywhere else the object has been in its life); measurements and description (in painful detail); and conservation history and concerns (ie ‘there’s a crack in the side so pick up with care’, ‘this was repaired in the 70s so that glue is gonna fall apart any day now’).

(I'll say as a fic writer that this would be an great time to wax poetic over a beautiful statue or painting; you can’t write “This golden crown deserved to be worn by a great king, or maybe by that broody Roman general in the painting in Gallery B” in the collections paperwork, but you can think it.)

For fiction’s sake, your collections records could be either paper or digital, but in an ideal world a museum would have both setups, for security’s sake. So you’d fill out some long forms and/or input all the information to the digital collections management system (‘the CMS’, or referred to by your specific software’s name, as there are many out there). The CMS is not a static archive, but rather a living register that’s updated every time an object is interacted with. The object records also include where an object is at any given time (‘normally in Case E in the Fancypants Gallery, currently in Conservation Lab A for repairs’).

Once the objects are done in quarantine, they’ll go to storage. If they’re being displayed immediately, they’ll probably go to some interim storage space/shelf with other objects for the same exhibit and in that case only get a temporary setting. Every object will get labeled with their object number (directly on them, with a special pen that’s safe for this. Or if it’s really tiny, like a coin or jewelry, then their own tiny box will get the label). Small or fragile items, or items grouped together, will go in their own boxes (made of acid- and lignin-free cardboard or polyethylene plastic, like Rubbermaid totes; lined with polyethylene foam and then acid-free tissue paper). Stable ceramic vessels might sit directly on lined shelving, particularly if they’re very large or heavy, like many stone objects.

Listen, every type of object has a particular way(s) of storing that’s best for them, you’re gonna have to look that up yourself or consult someone if you need that level of detail

Ideally, before being stored away, objects are also photographed. This could be part of the Collection Officer’s duty, and/or your museum could have a photographer on staff. (say it with me:) This is more likely if your museum is really huge and/or has a backlog of unphotographed collections and has hired someone specifically, even if temporarily, to improve its collections documentation.

I would say a collections person, or anyone with a museum studies degree, should have some minimum amount of conservation knowledge that includes basic storage standards for different object materials, how to spot potential preservation problems (like if your bronze axe head is actively oxidizing or if that green spot looks the same as it always has since starting and pausing decaying), and maybe how to give objects a basic clean or deal with certain types of problems. But the nitty-gritty science is more the realm of Conservators, someone with a degree that ends in -Sci or who’s done some other certification course.

The general collections store should always be dark, slightly too cool for prolonged human comfort, and labeled to high heaven. Objects will most likely be grouped by material- ceramics/pottery, metals, precious metals and stones (jewelry or beads), stone, glass, wood, bone/ivory/other organic material like feathers or teeth or anything that can be decorative, textiles, paintings. A museum often has some paper material/documents, usually part of or related to a group of objects they acquired, but generally paper and photographic material is the realm of archives and archivists. Yet again, the bigger/more well-funded the museum, the more likely it to have a separate archive department, so your character could also work as an archivist in a museum.

Another thing the collections care folk probably do is ship objects. Remember how I said that museums loan objects and exhibitions to each other? The stuff’s gotta travel somehow! If things are being shipped internationally, they’ll go in big wooden crates, with specifically dimensioned partitions inside. Then it will be lined with our favorite foam and tissue paper, cut so the objects sit snugly inside. I haven’t personally worked anywhere with a possibility of local shipments, so I can’t say where the threshold might be as to when a museum would just pay an employee to drive the objects over vs ship them with a shipping company. But the preparations would be similar, minus the big wooden crate but with extra-careful packing (and paperwork and insurance etc)

Conservation

Conservators are the people who work in labs with fancy equipment. Not every museum will have a formal conservator or a lab of any kind; sometimes the collections care person fills this role, or if something urgently needs care beyond the abilities of the museum’s equipment, they might send it away to a lab elsewhere, the same way you can send your old VHS home videos to a professional archive to be digitized.

If an object is actively deteriorating in a way that could harm itself or other objects (as opposed to like, at risk of fading bc the lighting is wrong, which is a straightforward fix related to the environment), that’s when a conservator would intervene.

Some methods/machinery by which you can analyze objects:

Ultraviolet (UV) and infrared (IR) light - Different materials absorb and react to light differently, which you can use to identify them. Useful for seeing things like the different layers of paintings

Stereo-microscopy (microscopes, of varying strengths)

At magnifications of x5-x100 you can see things like tool marks from an object’s manufacture, traces from wear, deposits, and coatings

At x50-x500, with a thin sliver of a sample, you can see (and hopefully identify) fibers, layers, particles, metallographic structures

You can get information from objects without taking samples, but samples are usually worth the information.

energy dispersive x-ray fluorescence spectrometry (EDXRF) - EDXRF allows you to identify the elemental composition of the surface layer of an object. So it might tell you what a tool is made of, and also the composition of the objects it was used on, if they left traces

scanning electron microscopy (SEM) - an SEM uses a focused beam of electrons to produce a magnified, high-resolution image of the surface of an object

X-radiography, both film and digital - X-rayy are beneficial for objects that might be covered by dirt or corrosion and can show you details of an object’s construction or hidden structural weaknesses

I’m not a conservator, so if you want more hard science-based info, ask one of them lol

Listen to me. If you take nothing else away from this post, let it be this:

Once an object is in a museum, it is never seeing natural daylight again. Sunlight is the ultimate enemy of every object’s lifespan. If you need to see an object in the sun or moon light for ~magical spell reasons~, you will straight up be stealing that object to smuggle it outside.

Okay. That being said, you do hear (and could probably google) stories about museum employees stealing things from their museums on purpose to prove a point about security or insurance to their higher-ups, so like. Depending on your type of museum, it might not be impossible to steal from lmao. (Don’t tell anyone I said that.)

Possibly the most useful advice for you to keep in mind when writing your conservator or collections care characters would be that touching objects hurts them. It might not hurt them now, it might not even hurt them in ten years, but every time you handle an object, there’s a risk that you’ll damage it. Not on purpose, obviously, but to err is human. The simplest, most effective advice my conservation professor ever gave us was “don’t handle an object if you don’t have to.” That means don’t move an object without a plan and a place to put it, first examination should always be visual, not tactile, etc. Unfortunately, that means that your character cannot walk around lovingly handling and caressing their favorite objects (unless this is a Night at the Museum situation where the objects are caressing them back, ykwim)

Museum Technician

These people probably have a lot of different names, but basically, technicians are the background muscle of the museum. They do the technical construction of bigger pieces of exhibition material, up to and including the exhibition cases themselves.

So they wouldn’t deal with the small mount that the object rests on, but they might build the big plinth that the mount sits on. They’ll help move things around the building, particularly big heavy things, hang big framed works, assist with exhibit installs, and generally do most things which might involve power tools/equipment or heavy lifting

I worked in a big museum that hired a third party company to supply their technicians; I interviewed at another place that hired their own. If you’re a small museum, you might just have a freelance person that comes in once or twice a week to help move things.

Other

Other miscellaneous roles one could have in a museum: researcher (for exhibits and/or collections), gift shop or cafe worker, security guard, room attendant, translator, archaeologist, consultant

Honestly, TL;DR? Just have your character be a consultant of some kind. “Oh no, I don’t work here, I’m Y’s friend. They called me in to provide some expertise on X subject that they’re doing an exhibit on.” This could work for literally any subject- history/archaeology/anthropology, art, transportation, science and technology, anything you might find pictures of in an archive, idk. This could get you into an office or meeting room of some kind in the ‘employee only’ space of the museum, or potentially all the way into the collections store if you’re giving them information they were missing about some objects. Otherwise you’d probably (hopefully) need a key or some other kind of security clearance to get into the collections store.

Whew, that was a ride, huh? I hope this guide was useful to someone! I’m always open to answering questions if you think I forgot something or if anyone wants more details <3

#hopefully this is useful to people as Gladiator II comes out <3 #i dont really know how to tag this lol #museums #fic advice #writing advice #reference #writing resources

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loredrinker · 1 month ago

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Seeing Solas Through the Eyes of Cole

Currently working on a project, trying to paint a picture of Solas through the dialogue said about and to him in both games - the good and the bad. I love analyzing dialogue, so this has been a fun project, even if a bit daunting at times. The last few days I've been focusing on Cole’s lines specifically, and it’s interesting to see how much sympathy and emotional depth we get through Cole.

When we view Solas through the lens of spirits - beings of emotion - it's understandable why many players find Solas sympathetic. Cole especially is a powerful lens for this because of the nature of this character, he doesn’t recall facts - he feels what others feel.

Cole's dialogue after All New, Faded for Her, paints, I think, the most vivid emotional picture of Solas.

Cole: Bright and brilliant, he wanders the ways, walking unwaking, searching for wisdom... Solas: I do not need you to do that, Cole. Cole: Your friend wanted you to be happy, even though she knew you wouldn't be. Solas: (Sighs.) Could you... if you would remember her, could you do it as I would? Cole: He comes to me as though the Fade were just another wooded path to walk without a care in search of wisdom. We share the ancient mysteries, the feelings lost, forgotten dreams, unseen for ages, now beheld in wonder. In his own way, he knew wisdom, as no man or spirit had before. Solas: Thank you.

As a man now and as time has gone by, Solas’ memories have become clouded by shame and regret. He can’t trust himself to remember his friend as it deserves to be remembered - without distortion.

So he turns to Cole, a being closer to that spiritual purity, and asks him to remember his friend as he would have.

But I love what happens instead.

Cole responds by sharing how the spirit remembers Solas. This is rare - a spirit’s insight on how they view Solas - a memory of him, untainted by the self-loathing Solas carries. Cole knows what Solas needs even if Solas doesn’t and I believe Cole knows that part of Solas’ hurt is that he’s grieving not just his friend, but the man/spirit he was.

“In his own way, he knew wisdom, as no man or spirit had before.”

This was likely a spirit who had known Solas throughout his entire existence - as both spirit and man. The way it describes him is in the present tense: “He comes to me...” tells me that Solas, even as a man, continued to visit this spirit in the Fade. So the spirit sees him not as something entirely changed. Solas may have taken a different form, but his nature - curious, seeking, attuned to the Fade - remains the same.

We don't know for sure, but this spirit likely witnessed his transformation from spirit to man, his part in the destruction of the Titans, his rebellion against the Evanuris, the death of Mythal, and the long path that led to the events of Inquisition. I wonder, how many times did he turn to this spirit when he’d lost his clarity, seeking the wisdom he once embodied? Would things have gone differently if this spirit was still alive in the events leading to, and of Veilguard? Outside of Mythal, it may be the only being we meet in the games who has seen the entirety of Solas.

This spirit understood that Solas was wounded. Of course it did - it was a spirit of Wisdom. And when we consider its final words to Solas alongside Cole’s later dialogue, we gain deeper insight into the pain he carries.

“I’m happy. I’m me again. You helped me. Now you must endure”.

Solas helped it return to it's purpose before it passed, and in return, it asks him to do the same: to endure. Not just physically, but spiritually - to live without losing himself and hold on to who he truly is beneath all the darkness and regret.

I think part of the pain Cole feels in Solas stems from Solas losing himself. The theme of longing to be seen runs throughout Inquisition and Veilguard - in the Memories of a Duet Codex, in Solas telling the Inquisitor, “Few in this world can see me…,” and in his confession to a hurt Inquisitor, “You saw more than most.” He even states it outright: “I was Solas first.” And Solas is being buried beneath centuries of war, shame, grief, and every name hurled at him as an insult and in hatred.

To me, this dialogue offers a rare window into who Solas is beneath the darkness, strangled by years of violence and making choices against his nature. His capacity for love, his longing for connection - it isn’t a lie. It’s the part of him that can endure, despite everything. If the atonement ending is chosen, we see the full expression of that endurance.

To feel compassion for someone isn’t to excuse their actions - but there is power in understanding the emotional root of those actions. And if we choose to see Solas through Cole’s eyes (and through the eyes of the Spirit of Wisdom) – well, maybe we’ll find that he’s not that kind of wolf.

*Note - there are theories that this dialogue is referring to Mythal, not the Spirit of Wisdom. Regardless of what you believe, this dialogue still paints the same picture of Solas. If it is Mythal, it's even more interesting as despite all their shared pain and hurt of each other, she still wants him to find happiness.

#enjoying interpretations of him through game dialogue #so many ways to interpret this character #he is sympathetic to some – not to others #it’s not wrong or right #it’s how different people see this character #just exercises in thought #one day I’ll write more about my darker interpretations of him #but today is not that day #to look at him through spirits – pure emotion – then we get an interesting take #emmrich himself tells solas he is surprised the spirits speak so highly of him #take that how you want #solas #solas meta #cole #dragon age

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muli-wam · 22 days ago

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Unwritten Love

Summary: In the bustling town market, you encounter a mysterious man who leaves you flustered and curious. You convinced yourself that you would never see this man again, until you did. And this time you find out the stranger is to be your husband.

Cw: arranged marriage, might be some typos, halfway proof read, fluff, cliffhanger

Word count: 2.6k

Pairings: Regency-era!Nanami x Fem!reader

A/n: this was so fun to writeee I hope you guys enjoy (: also if you want a bit of insight on Nanami's character and his thoughts at the market then you can read this drabble, but I tweaked the story a bit so my apologies if it's not 100% based on that drabble.

┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ୨♡୧ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈

You never thought love would find a place in your life.

Not because you didn't want it, but because you were already so consumed by the idea—the perfect romance, the kind you read about in books or wrote in poems without a name to address them to.

You did daydream about it more than you'd like to admit—creating these ridiculous romantic stories in your head with characters who didn't even exist.

In some of your daydreams, you always pictured a husband who put you on a pedestal. Someone who would bring you wildflowers after his strolls in the forest, or leave a love poem on your bedside table for you to read when you wake up.

He'd love you just as much as you loved him—maybe even more.

He'd sweep you off your feet and carry you bridal style through a meadow, pointing out plants and herbs and explaining how they were used while the evening breeze danced against your skin.

That kind of love.

Those were the fantasies that kept you up in the late hours of the night when everyone was sound asleep.

But that's all it ever was—a fantasy.

Your eldest sister loved to point that out every chance she got. Seems she had nothing better to do anyway.

"Marriage isn't about love," she'd say, her tone sharper than it needed to be. "Its about compromise and using to your advantage. Give a little, take a little, but dont waste precious time dreaming about it."

Every time she said it, you felt that bubbling pot of dreams wash down the drain, leaving you disappointed.

Thankfully, your closest friend, Yuki, always knew how to make you feel better. "Ignore her," she'd say, rolling her eyes. "What does she know? That's why she's still unmarried. One day, you'll find someone who'll be exactly who you dreamed of—maybe even better."

Yuki always knew what to say. She was good like that—unlike you.

And despite Yuki's words, you couldn't quite shake that lingering doubt.

Maybe your sister was right after all.

The weight of those thought clung to you as you made your way to the village market. Your sister tasked you to gather apples for the apple pie she was making today. Reluctantly, you agreed.

The familiar buzz of activity kindly greeted you, offering a small distraction from your troubles.

The colorful stalls overflowed with goods. Fresh fruits and vegetables, colorful fabric in vibrant hues, jars of exotic spices, herbs, and trinkets scattered the market.

You could see the effort and love the merchants put into their work. The passion they had for their craft. It draws you in every time.

But not today, unfortunately.

You move your attention to the large container of apples sitting before you. Since they were the key ingredient to your sisters pie, you could not afford to choose poorly.

Not just for your tastebuds sake but also the sake of your life if your sister ended up unhappy with your choice of apples.

As you were inspecting the fruit, you hardly noticed the tall gentleman approaching the stall. He moved with purpose, as if he were on a mission, though he also looked lost.

He stopped briefly to speak with the tea merchant, before turning towards the stall where you stood.

You turned away, facing the other direction to inspect a new apple when your basket suddenly hit an unsteady pile of apples beside you. One by one, each apple rolled out of the container, down the counter, and onto the floor.

Panicked, you reach to grab as many runaway apples as possible, and it seemed as if the tall gentleman had the same idea.

You reached for the apple, colliding harshly with his arm as he extended his hand to help.

You let out a small yelp, clutching onto your basket, as well as his arm.

For a moment, time stopped. Your hands brushed against the smooth surface of the apple, and you froze, slightly startled by the contact.

"My apologies," you murmured, finally looking up. His gaze met yours, the intensity of it left your heart racing, though you couldn't name why.

"I can be so clumsy sometimes and-"

"Please, don't apologize. The fault is entirely mine," he replied while stepping back, his movements deliberate and polite, though his expression unreadable.

"It's not everyday I encounter runaway apples," he slightly chuckles, his voice rich and steady with a hint of amusement.

You let out a huff, or a laugh, or maybe both... you don't quite know.

You quickly tuck the apple into your basket, trying to ignore the warmth creeping into your cheeks.

"Are you here for them as well?" you ask the man.

"Am I he- oh! Yes, yes, actually. I was just about to buy some for my-" His expression seemed panicked all of a sudden as he scrambled to pull out a few coins.

"For your..."

"F-for my sister. And myself. Mainly for my sister," he says while grabbing the large bag of apples.

"Though I am not very fond of apples, so maybe they will be just for my sister,"

"Right, right," you chuckle first this time, finding his sudden nervousness quite amusing.

"Well," the man says, pressing out the non-existant wrinkles in his coat.

"I shall be off now," he gives you a polite bow and walks away quickly.

"Oh, goodbye Mr-" you stop mid curtsy when you realize you never asked for his name.

But he was already gone.

Your eyebrows furrow for a moment as you gaze into the distance towards the direction he left in.

You let out a deep breath you didn't even know you were holding, before paying for your apples and heading home.

Your thoughts betray you, drifing back to the stranger. The way his blonde hair sat perfectly on his head, not a strand out of place. His shirt and breeches seemed to have no visible wrinkles, along with his coat.

He was so polite, so put together, and so handsome you wanted to bang your hand against the nearest brick wall.

but one question still lingered in the back of your mind.

Who was this man and why did he linger in your thoughts long after he walked away?

The calm melody of classical ballroom music filled the air as Couples moved in perfect harmony across the polished floor, dancing gracefully.

You were never fond of these kind of gatherings. The air felt heavy with mingled perfumes and sweat, a mixture that made your head spin. The chatter and laughter seemed to echo endlessly—it was unbearable

Yet here you are, sitting in the corner with Yuki while giggling over how crooked Mr. Leslie's wig was.

The town baker, with his usual scowl permanently engraved into his wrinkled face, seemed oblivious to his crooked head piece.

You might have felt bad, but he didn't shown you the same courtesy when you'd tripped near his shop the other day and he laughed at you. Maybe you were being petty but who cares.

"Do you think he's noticed yet?" Yuki leans towards you, whispering.

"I doubt he has. I think he's too miserable to even think twice about it," you murmured, taking a sip of water to suppress a laugh.

Yuki let out a loud snort, drawing sharp looks from a nearby group. You both give each other a knowing look before bursting into a fit of laughter and running away from the scene.

You both make your way to your parents and older sister who seemed to be waiting expectantly by the entrance, your mother’s impatience evident in the tight press of her lips.

"Oh there you are, we've been looking all over the darn place for you," your mother huffs before aggressively pulling you towards her, smoothing your dress and fixing the stray strands of hair framing your face. Her quickness left little room for protest.

"Mother, what are you pffh- your getting hair in my mouth-" you spluttered while turning your head away.

“Oh, hush. You need to look presentable. Mr. Nanami and Mr. Higuruma will be here any moment,” she said, stepping back to inspect her handiwork.

"Mr. Nanami? You mean the miserable man you were telling me about?" you muttered to your sister, who barely stifled a grin.

"Oh, miserable he may be, but poor he most certainly is not," your mother interjected.

"Tell me, mother," you fix your gaze towards the entrance. A tall man walks in, dressed in black, with broad shoulders and an air of quiet authority surrounding him. His jet black hair was slicked back and he exuded confidence and wealth the moment he entered the room.

"Ten thousand a year and he owns half of Derbyshire," your mother declared.

"The miserable half?" You quipped under your breath, earning a muffled laugh from Yuki who was standing behind you.

But your laugh died the moment you saw him. Following close behind the tall stranger was a familiar figure—those sharp featured and striking eyes that were etched into your memory. It was really him. The same blonde man you had met not long ago.

He was in the same attire as last time but only this time his coat was a dark navy blue.

And, somehow, he seemed even more handsome under the glow of the ballroom’s chandeliers.

Your pulse quickened and your mouth went dry. You wanted to look away, to shield your face but your body seemed to be paralyzed.

His eyes scan the room before they locked with yours, and for a moment, the loud, bustling room seemed to fade away.

"Looks like your runaway apples have made their way back," Yuki nudges you when she catches you both staring.

“Ah, Mr. Nanami, Mr. Higuruma, what a pleasure,” your father’s voice cut through the dream like haze you were in, guiding the two men toward your family. Instinctively, you bowed along with the others, your movements on autopilot and your mind blank.

"Very nice to meet you all. It is a pleasure to be acquainted with such a remarkable family." Mr. Higuruma says politely. Though you barely heard him.

Your mother ushers you to the front, her smile sharp and her eyes almost maniacal before turning to Nanami saying, “Mr. Nanami, this is our youngest daughter—the one my husband and I were telling you about.”

Your confusion was evident in the confused laugh you let out, "Whatever are you talking about, Mother?"

"Oh, yes we forgot to tell you!" She say, feigning innocence with a tone that made your jaw clench.

"Mr. Nanami is to be your husband."

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justarkive · 2 months ago

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TABLE 3 | JJK ch9

“For good service, and cute waitresses.”

pairing: pre!military jk x waitress/secret fuckbuddy!oc

warnings: SMUT! profanity, angst, humour, fluff, celebrity au, idol!jungkook , mentions of other kpop groups/idols, inner conflict, insecurity, smut, m!masturbation, jungkooks prince charming live look ! mentions of military service :(, he pulls a dick move and hes selfish ngl. silly dramatic nari as always :) bts involved in this one yall. jungkook is really into oc its so sweet :( we get an insight of jungkooks pov for this oke guys:)

smut warnings: m!masturbation, detailed description of what he imagines, edging, he imagines fucking oc raw.

wc: idk guys sorry i aint checking HAHA

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020

a/n: can someone tell me if wc is important? or if theres any quick way of checking lmao. anyways! they will fuck soon i promise 😔😔 but i need that extra tension. AS ALWAYS TY FOR READING MY LOVES AND CMNT WHAT U THINK !! also i genuinely hate writing fics where theres like the whole of bts, its so confusing so im sorry if this is shit (specifically when they come into play)

masterlist <prev | next>

The second Nari picks up the call, you regret it.

“Don’t tell me—” She cuts herself off, then gasps. “Oh my God.”

You frown, shifting under your blanket. “What?”

“You’re calling me first thing in the morning,” she accuses. “That means something happened. Something.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s a reach.”

“No, it’s called knowing you,” she retorts. “And you sound weird.”

You pause. “Weird how?”

“I don’t know. Suspicious. Like you’re hiding something.”

Your stomach twists. “I’m not.”

Nari hums. “Okay. So you’re telling me nothing happened after I left?”

You freeze.

She gasps so loudly you nearly drop your phone.

“NO FUCKING WAY.”

You wince. “Nari—”

“You’re telling me I left you alone with Jeon Jungkook and something happened?!”

You grip your blanket tighter. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you didn’t deny it!” She shrieks. “WHAT HAPPENED?”

You hesitate, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. “Nothing crazy—”

She gasps again. “OH MY GOD. DID YOU FINALLY KISS?!”

Your breath hitches.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD YOU KISSED.”

“Nari, please—”

“NO, DON’T ‘NARI’ ME. YOU MEAN TO TELL ME I WENT HOME THINKING YOU TWO JUST HAD A FUN LITTLE DRINKING SESSION AND MEANWHILE YOU WERE OUT HERE—” She stops. Then gasps again. “WAIT.”

Your stomach flips.

“DID HE SLEEP OVER?”

You freeze.

“NO.” Nari’s voice drops an octave. “No fucking way. You’re lying. You have to be lying.”

You press your lips together.

“HE STAYED OVER?!”

You groan, flopping back onto your pillow. “Nari—”

“I CAN’T BREATHE.” She’s full-on wheezing. “JEON JUNGKOOK STAYED OVER AT YOUR APARTMENT AND I HAD NO IDEA?”

“You were gone!”

“YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME!”

“You were gone! And i didn’t wanna disrupt your beauty sleep, you would’ve shouted at me over the phone!” you repeat, exasperated.

“Oh my God. Oh my God.” She takes a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. I’m okay.”

You don’t believe her.

“…Did you…cuddle?”

You want to hang up the phone.

Your silence makes Nari gasp dramatically again.

“YOU FUCKING CUDDLED?!”

“Okay, chill,” you groan, rubbing your temple. “Can I talk now?”

“Oh, please do. I’m dying over here.”

You exhale, sinking into your pillow. “I don’t even know how it happened,” you mumble. “Like, I just… I fell asleep after i showered. And at some point, I felt him move, like—adjusting me or something. And then next thing I know, I wake up, and I’m like face to face with him.”

Nari gasps again. “Like REAL CLOSE?! Chest to chest?!”

You make a strangled noise. “Yes, Nari.”

“Oh my God.” She sounds like she might pass out. “And he let you stay there?”

“…I- he pulled me on top of him, actually.”

A scream. A full-blown, ear-shattering scream.

“Nari, what the fuck?!”

“I CAN’T HELP IT!” she yells. “HE PULLED YOU ON HIS LAP?”

You sigh. “I guess?”

“OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD—”

“Okay, but that’s not the point,” you say quickly before she combusts again.

“Not the point? Not the point?!”

You ignore her. “I, um…” You hesitate, voice dropping. “After- We did stuff-.”

Silence. Then—

“…stuff?” Nari repeats, suddenly way too serious.

You clear your throat. “Yeah.”

Her breathing stutters. “…Wait. Wait. Are you telling me—YOU FUCKED?!”

“NO- WE DIDN’T LIKE- We didnt fuck fuck- Ugh! I’m not telling you anything.”

“OH MY GOD.”

You groan. “It wasn’t—”

“NO, SHUT UP, DON’T DOWNPLAY THIS.” She takes a shaky breath. “You mean to tell me HE ATE YOU OUT?!”

“Nari, I swear to God,” you hiss.

She lets out a wheezy laugh. “Oh, you nasty bitch.”

You bury your face in your hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you love me,” she sings. “So? How was it?”

You nearly throw your phone across the room. “I am not talking about this.”

“Ugh, fine,” she whines. “But holy shit, I cannot believe this. I go home for a few hours and you have a whole-ass wattpadd moment.”

You groan, but your lips twitch slightly.

“Wait, wait, wait,” she suddenly cuts in. “So he stayed the whole night? And then you fell asleep, and then he… ate you out in the morning?”

You pause. “Yeah.”

Another gasp. “OH MY GOD?”

“I mean, I fell asleep again, after- y’know.” you admit. “And then when I woke up, he was still there.”

Nari sounds breathless. “What was he doing?”

“…Making breakfast.”

Dead silence.

Then— “I need to sit down.”

“You are sitting down.”

“I NEED TO SIT DOWN.”

You chuckle. “He made toast.”

A groan. “Of course he did.”

You bite your lip. “And coffee.”

“Stop.”

“…And eggs.”

“STOP.”

You grin. “And—”

You laugh. “Okay, okay.”

Nari lets out a strangled noise. “I hate you.”

You smile. “No, you love me.”

You’re still smiling when something clicks in your mind. Your brows furrow as you glance at your clock.

“…Wait a second.”

“What?” Nari sounds way too innocent.

Your eyes narrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

Silence.

“…About that.”

You sit up. “Nari.”

She groans. “I was too hungover, okay?”

You snort. “Seriously?”

“Listen, I woke up feeling like I got run over by a truck,” she whines. “I texted our boss and said I had food poisoning or something.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so irresponsible.”

“Says the girl who spent the night wrapped around Jeon Jungkook,” she fires back.

Your face burns. “That is not the same thing.”

She hums. “Still. I bet you’re glad I left, though.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Nari gasps. “OH MY GOD, YOU ARE!”

You groan, falling back against your pillows. “Shut up.”

“I knew it!” she cackles. “You were probably praying for me to go.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, I was totally thinking about you while Jungkook was—”

She screeches.

You grin. “That’s what I thought.”

——

The car hums beneath his hands as he grips the steering wheel, parked along the edge of a quiet field just outside the city. It’s tucked away, the kind of place only locals really know about, where the noise of Seoul fades into something softer. The air is crisp, the last remnants of summer clinging to the wind, but the sky is clear.

He rolls the window down, just enough to let the fresh air seep in. The scent of damp earth, of grass still waking up from the cold, fills his lungs. For a while, he just sits there, one hand resting against his lips, thumb idly brushing over his lower lip as he watches the world move without him.

A few people are out—an old couple sitting on a bench, their hands intertwined, sharing a quiet conversation. A man in a business suit walks by with a coffee in hand, talking on the phone. A little kid, bundled up in a puffy jacket, tugs at his mother’s sleeve, pointing excitedly at a stray cat slinking across the pavement.

Jungkook watches it all, soaking in the normalcy, the way life just happens when no one’s watching.

It reminds him of you.

Being with you felt like this. Uncomplicated. Quiet, but not empty. Like he could exist without having to perform. He’d always loved moments like this—quiet drives, empty streets at night, the peace of being alone—but now, for the first time in a long time, he finds himself wanting someone in that space with him.

His fingers drum against the steering wheel. He doesn’t want to leave just yet, but time keeps moving, the sun blazing brighter than ever, pulling him back into reality.

With a sigh, he finally starts the engine and heads home.

It’s nearly 1 PM when Jungkook finally steps into his apartment. The place is still, save for the soft sound of Bam’s tail thumping against the floor as he trots over to greet him.

“Hey, bamie,” Jungkook murmurs, crouching to scratch behind his ears. Bam sniffs at his jacket like he’s checking where he’s been, then huffs as if unimpressed.

From the couch, there’s a groan. “You’re finally home?”

Jungkook glances up to see Taehyung sprawled out across the cushions, blanket half-draped over his legs, hair sticking up in every direction. His eyes are barely open, like he’s debating whether it’s worth waking up or not.

“You still here?” Jungkook counters, kicking off his shoes. Jungkook feels bad, not expecting Taehyung to have stayed the whole night, he thinks he might have even stayed up until the morning, but he also knows he might’ve got carried away with some random documentary on his phone.

Taehyung grunts. “You left me with your child. He’s needy.”

Jungkook scoffs, rubbing Bam’s head before standing. “You love him.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Taehyung finally sits up, stretching with a yawn. “You look suspiciously happy for someone who made me do unpaid babysitting at stupid time- AM.” He squints at Jungkook. “Should I even ask?”

Jungkook hesitates, then sighs, plopping down beside him. “I really like her, hyung.”

Taehyung raises a brow, suddenly more awake. “Oh?”

“I don’t know. It’s just… different. She’s different.” Jungkook rubs his neck, looking down at his hands. “It’s not like before.”

Taehyung hums, studying him. “Different how?”

Jungkook exhales, leaning back. His mind flickers to you—the warmth of your skin against his last night, the way you’d looked half-asleep in the morning, the way you didn’t treat him like he was anything more than just a guy you liked being around.

“I don’t feel like I have to—pretend, you know?” He admits.

Taehyung nods slowly. Then, after a beat, he tilts his head. “That’s great, im happy for you, but… you know how this goes.”

Jungkook frowns. “What do you mean?”

Taehyung sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Just—be careful. You get caught up in things fast, and—”

“She’s not like that,” Jungkook cuts in, voice firmer than he intended.

Taehyung blinks, then raises his hands in surrender. “I wasn’t saying she was.”

Jungkook exhales, shaking his head. “I know. Sorry. I just—” He sighs. “She’s really not like that, I promise.”

Taehyung watches him for a second, then smirks. “Damn. You’re in deep, huh?”

Jungkook groans, rubbing his face.

Taehyung laughs, standing up. “Alright, loverboy. One day, everyone’s gonna have to meet this mystery girl.”

Jungkook just rolls his eyes as Taehyung grabs his jacket.

“Later,” Taehyung calls before heading out.

The apartment is quiet again.

Jungkook lets out a breath, staring at the door Taehyung just left through. After a second, he looks down at Bam, who’s sitting patiently at his feet, ears perked up.

“What?” Jungkook mutters.

Bam blinks.

Jungkook sighs, ruffling his fur. “I know, I know. I should’ve just said thanks and shut up. But he doesn’t get it, okay?”

Bam tilts his head.

Jungkook groans, flopping onto the couch. “I can’t believe I’m explaining myself to you.”

Bam licks his knee.

Jungkook sighs again, rubbing his temples. “This is humiliating.”

His phone buzzes.

A message from Taehyung: btw we have a meeting in like 2 hrs lmao good luck

Jungkook groans, dropping his head back against the couch. He types out a quick reply—fuck im so tired i completely forgot—before opening your chat.

This time, he doesn’t hesitate.

Jungkook: im home. hru, tired?

He barely locks his phone before it vibrates in his hand again.

Y/N: im good, so tired tho. u should sleep

Jungkook huffs out a quiet laugh. He could reply, could tease you about how fast you answered, but he knows himself—if he starts texting you now, he won’t stop.

And he actually has shit to do.

So instead, he pockets his phone and drags himself up. He’s got about two hours before the meeting, and he still needs to shower and change before he inevitably gets lectured for something.

Jungkook’s body feels sore from a grueling workout session that ran longer than he expected. His apartment’s little gym is nothing fancy, but it gets the job done. The weights clinked, the elliptical hummed quietly, and before he knew it, he’d spent the last hour and a half completely absorbed, working his muscles until they burned. He barely noticed the time ticking by as he focused on the reps, each one pushing him a little further. But now, as he stands in front of the bathroom mirror, it’s clear—he’s running late.

Cursing under his breath, he hops into the shower, the hot water almost making him forget his rush. He’s still fighting the fog in his head as he throws on a clean outfit and grabs his keys. The high-rise building where the meeting is being held is only a short drive away, but the clock is ticking, and the last thing he wants is to be the guy who keeps everyone waiting.

Driving through the city, the streets blur as his mind drifts briefly to other things—like you. He can’t quite shake the feeling of what it’s like when you’re together, the way you look at him with that honest, unassuming gaze. He wonders how much you know about him, about everything he’s caught up in. And as much as he’d love to reminisce about you all day, there’s no time for that right now.

He pulls into the parking garage with only minutes to spare. As he walks into the building, he hears the buzz of conversation coming from the conference room, his members already waiting. The manager hasn’t arrived yet, and everyone seems in a rare moment of peace.

His steps were brisk as he made his way through the halls, past glass-walled offices where staff were busy with their own schedules. The sound of his sneakers against the polished floor was barely noticeable under the hum of quiet conversations, ringing phones, and the occasional clack of keyboards.

He was late. Not by much, maybe five minutes, but enough that he felt a twinge of guilt as he approached the meeting room. He should’ve left earlier.

But time had slipped through his fingers.

As he reached for the handle, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out and saw your name on the screen—no new message, just the last one you had sent earlier:

You: im good, so tired tho. u should sleep

Jungkook hesitated for a second before finally typing out a reply.

Jungkook: Can’t sleep in the middle of the day for some reason, but im on the way to a meeting now :)”

His thumb hovered over the keyboard, and without thinking, he started to type—

Jungkook: Are you free tonight?

He paused. Then, with a quiet sigh, he deletes the last part and hits send.

Maybe you had plans with Nari. Maybe he was overstepping. He didn’t want to be too much.

Sliding his phone back into his pocket, he took a breath and finally stepped inside.

The room was loud.

Not in a chaotic way—just in the way that happened whenever they were all together. Conversations overlapped, laughter sparked in different corners, and there was an easy kind of energy that made it feel like they hadn’t been apart for weeks.

Jungkook’s arrival didn’t go unnoticed.

“Look who finally decided to show up.”

He barely had time to sit before Jin made a show of checking his nonexistent watch. Across from him, J-Hope grinned, nudging Jimin, who snickered into his palm.

Jungkook rolled his eyes, dropping into his seat. “Hyung, you don’t even wear a watch.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t know you’re late,” Jin shot back, smirking.

Taehyung, seated beside him, simply raised a brow. “Long gym session?”

Jungkook exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he reached for a bottle of water from the table. “Something like that.”

He twisted the cap off, taking a sip just as Yoongi—who had been quiet up until now—spoke up without looking up from his phone.

“Was it really the gym,” he mused, voice dry, “or were you occupied with something else?”

That earned a few oooh’s from around the table. Jungkook nearly choked on his water.

“Oh, come on,” Jimin laughed, leaning his chin in his hand. “It’s been weeks since we’ve all been together, and we’re just now hearing about this?”

Jungkook groaned. “There’s nothing to hear about.”

“That’s a lie,” Taehyung said casually.

Jungkook snapped his head toward him, eyes narrowing. “Hyung.”

But Taehyung just blinked at him innocently, stirring his iced Americano with the straw.

“What? It’s not my fault you told me and no one else.”

“Oh, so Tae knows, but not us?” J-Hope gasped, clutching his chest in mock betrayal. “Wow. Okay. I see how it is.”

Namjoon chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, leave him alone. Let’s get started before—”

The door opened again.

Their manager walked in.

Just like that, the teasing stopped.

The energy in the room shifted as the meeting began.

The manager placed a folder down on the table, flipping through it before glancing up. “Alright. Let’s go over schedules.”

One by one, he listed their upcoming projects. Solo albums. Endorsements. Events.

Jungkook listened, though not entirely. His focus drifted slightly, fingers idly pressing against the condensation on his water bottle.

Then— “And Jungkook.”

His attention snapped back.

The manager’s expression was unreadable. “We were supposed to have a meeting about your album’s design a few nights ago. Where were you?”

Jungkook blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

“…What?”

“The meeting,” the manager repeated, tone sharper. “You didn’t show.”

Jungkook frowned, realization hitting him all at once. Shit. He had completely forgotten about that.

“Oh… I don’t know,” he muttered, adjusting his grip on the bottle. “I missed it. Sorry.”

The manager’s jaw tightened. “Seriously?” He let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “Jungkook, this isn’t the time to be messing around.”

Jungkook felt the shift in the air.

“If this is about something- someone,” the manager continued, voice clipped, “then you need to get your head straight. This is going to be the peak of your career. And after that, you have military service.” His stomach dropped.

The words hit differently this time.

It wasn’t like he had forgotten. He knew what was coming. But hearing it out loud, so bluntly, in a setting like this—

And worst of all—

You didn’t know.

His fingers curled slightly, grip tightening on the water bottle. His jaw clenched, but he kept his face neutral.

“I know what I’m doing,” he said, voice even.

The manager didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push further. The meeting wrapped up soon after, leaving a strange, awkward silence in its wake.

Jungkook didn’t wait around. He pushed his chair back and left the room.

The cool air outside the meeting room felt like a relief.

Jungkook exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the wall. His chest felt tight, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

Footsteps approached.

“Mind if I join?”

Jungkook glanced up to see Namjoon.

He sighed, shaking his head. “Go ahead.”

Namjoon leaned against the wall beside him, crossing his arms. He didn’t speak right away, just looked ahead.

Then, finally— “I get where he’s coming from, but I know how this must all feel for you.”

Jungkook scoffed lightly. “Of course you do.”

Namjoon smiled slightly, but his tone was serious. “You do need to be careful, though.”

Jungkook sighed. “I know.”

A pause.

Then—

“Does she know?”

Jungkook furrowed his brows. “Know what?”

Namjoon turned his head toward him. “That you’ll be away for a long time soon, enlistment?”

Jungkook’s chest tightened. His fingers curled slightly. “No.”

Namjoon hummed, then said, “You need to tell her.”

Jungkook looked down. His voice was quiet.

“I don’t know how.”

A moment passed. Then, finally—

“I don’t want risk losing what we have.”

“It’s better to risk, than to hurt someone.”

And that was the part that scared him the most.

Dinner stretches on longer than Jungkook expected, everyone having opted for a small ramen place near the building where noone really goes, but he doesn’t mind. It’s been a while since they’ve all sat down together like this, eating, catching up, letting conversations weave in and out naturally. The private room they’re in feels comfortable, tucked away from the world outside. The restaurant is dimly lit, warm with the scent of food and the occasional hum of quiet chatter from other customers outside.

Plates are scattered across the table now, half-empty bowls and used utensils sitting between them, but nobody seems in a rush to leave. The night has been filled with laughter—mostly from Jin’s endless teasing and Hoseok’s dramatic storytelling. Yoongi is quiet as always, listening more than speaking, and Namjoon occasionally chimes in with something insightful that makes them all pause for a second before someone cracks a joke to lighten the mood again.

And then, naturally, the conversation shifts to him.

It starts small. Jimin makes a passing comment about how Jungkook has been glued to his phone more than usual, and Hoseok is quick to add in something about his suspiciously frequent disappearances from the studio.

“Come on, we all see it,” Jin says, grinning as he gestures toward him with his chopsticks. “Our maknae’s been busy with something—or that someone.”

Jungkook groans, leaning back in his seat as Taehyung smirks knowingly. It was bound to come up at some point. And honestly, he doesn’t really mind. Maybe a few years ago, he would’ve deflected more, kept everything to himself, but things are different now.

So, he tells them. Not everything, not every little detail, but enough for them to understand that there’s someone. Someone special.

Taehyung already knows, of course, but the rest of them listen intently. Jimin leans in slightly, a small smile playing on his lips, while Namjoon nods along, his expression thoughtful. Hoseok looks outright excited, and Jin, predictably, looks like he’s about to start grilling him for information.

“She’s just… different,” Jungkook says finally, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Different how?” Jin presses, eyes narrowing in curiosity.

Jungkook hesitates for a second, then shrugs. “She doesn’t treat me like everyone else does, you guys would really love her.”

That seems to be enough of an answer for most of them. Namjoon hums knowingly, and Yoongi, who’s been quiet this whole time, finally speaks. “That’s good,” he says simply, nodding in approval.

There are a few more teasing remarks, a couple of playful warnings about being careful, but overall, it’s nothing but support. And it makes Jungkook feel… good. Warm. Like a weight he didn’t realize he was carrying has been lifted just a little.

By the time they finally leave the restaurant, it’s late. The night air is cool against his skin as they step outside, lingering near the entrance as they say their goodbyes. Jungkook pulls out his phone while waiting for the valet to bring his car around, and his chest tightens when he sees your name at the top of his notifications.

Y/N: thats sad, i couldnt imagine not napping during the day.

Y/N: what was your meeting about? was it all good? had fun?

His thumb hovers over the keyboard as he leans against his car, jaw tightening slightly.

The meeting.

It wasn’t just about schedules or the album. It was a stupid reminder about his enlistment.

His stomach twists. He should tell you. You deserve to know. But not now. Not like this. Not when he isn’t even sure how to say it.

He exhales sharply, then types back: Just boring stuff, schedules, touring, to be honest. How was your day?

The night was quiet as he made his way back to his apartment, the only sound coming from the soft hum of his car engine. He didn’t have much else to do—his mind kept drifting back to you. He had seen your messages, and even though his heart had briefly dropped when he read your text, he decided against telling you everything. He’d need time to figure it all out, and he wasn’t sure how to explain the looming shadow of his military service.

Arriving at his place, he tossed his keys onto the table, quickly changing into something comfortable. He sank into his couch, trying to relax. As the night passed, he found himself playing with a few unfinished songs, but his focus wasn’t there. The chords felt distant, detached. His thoughts wandered back to you, to the way you’d looked when you smiled at him, to the moment you’d shared that morning… The playful banter, the warmth, everything felt too real. He never thought he’d get this far with someone like you. He wasn’t expecting to feel this way.

His phone buzzes, pulling him out of his thoughts. He quickly glanced at it—there it was, another message from you. You sent a cute little selfie of you cooking, smiling brightly at the camera. His heart softened as he looked at it. It was simple, but to him, it was everything. His day’s mood shifted in an instant, just like that. Your smile, your warmth—it made everything feel… right.

He opens it without thinking, and his heart immediately softens.

It’s you, standing in your kitchen, a gentle smile on your lips as you stir something over the stove. The caption reads: should’ve been hired as a chef rather than a waitress tbh

Jungkook huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as warmth spreads through his chest.

God, you’re cute.

The stress from earlier, the weight of the meeting, the pressure of everything he hasn’t told you—it all fades, just for a moment. And he lets himself enjoy it.

It was strange, how quickly everything had changed between the two of you. He’d been trying to keep it light, but it was clear now—it wasn’t just a fling, at least not for him. He liked you. He liked you a lot.

He lays back on his bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything in his mind. The moments—small, but so significant. The touch of your hand, the way you laughed, the way his heart had raced when you’d kissed. He thought back to the morning—how natural it had felt, how his body had instinctively responded to yours. The way you fit against him, the quiet intimacy. He hadn’t expected things to get so… deep. But it did. And he was glad it did.

But with every passing moment, the truth loomed in the back of his mind: he had to tell you. The military service was coming, and he couldn’t keep running from it. But for now, he needed to focus on you, on what this was.

Was he ready for all that came with it? Would you be? You’d had conversations mentioning this topic, but he’s not entirely sure of it all.

With a sigh, he sends a quick reply, trying to act normal, but his heart was pounding in his chest.

Jungkook: you look pretty

Jungkook: should cook for me soon

He couldn’t help but smile at his own words.

He laid back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling once again, lost in thought. He really couldn’t wait to see you again.

Jungkook’s basically doing nothing. Trying to unwind after a long day, scrolling through stuff on his phone, but his mind cant help but replay the events from the other night - when he had tasted you for the first time.

The way you pulled his hair, the sweet moans and pleas spilling from your lips...it was seared into his memory. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling a growing hardness in his sweatpants.

With a sigh, he reached down and palmed himself through the fabric, a wave of guilt washing over him at the thought of jerking off to you. But the desire was too strong to resist.

He pulled out his now hard cock, the tip is slippery from all of the precum that’s accumulated, he gasps, stroking it slowly as he replayed the scene in his mind. His other hand reached for his phone, pulling up your selfie.

You’re in the kitchen, pouting at the camera as you prepared dinner, a few strands of hair escaping your ponytail. Jungkook's hand moved faster, picturing you bent over the counter, your shirt hiked up as he fucks his fingers into you from behind.

He imagines the steam from the your sweat fogging up the windows of his apartment, putting on a lewd show for all to see despite the secrecy of…everything.

His balls tightened, the pleasure building in his groin. He closed his eyes, recalling the memory of your underwear drawer from when you had asked him for clothes. A particular pair of light yellow polka dot panties stood out in his mind, and he pictured you wearing them, the fabric stretched taut over your plump ass as he gripped it tightly, leaving red fingerprints in his wake. With a groan, Jungkook grips his cock tighter, edging himself closer to the brink of ecstasy, using your selfie as an aid.

He stroked himself faster, imagining your cries of pleasure echoing in his ears as he fucked you hard against the counter, your tits bouncing with each thrust. The thought of the whole world seeing his every move only heightened his arousal.

He pictured fucking your throat, watching you gag and drool around his thick cock as he pumped in and out of your mouth. The image of you bent over every surface in his apartment, getting fucked raw in every room, sent him over the edge.

With a final gasp, Jungkook came hard, painting his abs with thick ropes of pearly white cum. He collapsed back against the pillows, catching his breath as the waves of pleasure subsided. For now, his craving for you was sated. But he knew it wouldn't be long before he needed another fix.

Jungkook stares at the ceiling, his heartbeat finally steady again, but his body feels too wired for sleep. He sighs, dragging a hand through his messy hair, quickly cleaning up after himself. There’s no way he’s going to be able to fall asleep now—not after everything that just ran through his head.

So he gets up.

The apartment is quiet as he walks out of his bedroom, his feet light against the hardwood floors. He doesn’t bother turning on all the lights, just the warm glow of his purple light on his dining table as he moves to the kitchen. A glass, a bottle of whiskey. He pours himself a drink, the amber liquid catching the dim light as he leans against the counter. The ice clinks when he swirls it around, taking a slow sip, his fingers tapping idly against the side of the glass.

The faint reflection in the window catches his attention. His hair is tousled, the strands falling just right, and the loose white button-up he threw on hangs open slightly at the top, exposing a bit of collarbone. He smirks to himself.

The thought makes him laugh under his breath, shaking his head. He doesn’t even know why he bothered throwing on a shirt—maybe he just didn’t want to feel like a complete mess. The whiskey burns pleasantly in his throat as he makes his way to the dining table, setting the glass down with a quiet thunk.

And then, his phone rings.

Your name flashes on the screen.

His brows lift slightly, caught off guard. You never call first. The corner of his lips twitches as he picks up.

“Hello?” His voice is low, slightly raspy from how little he’s spoken tonight.

“You sound tired,” you note.

He hums, stretching his legs out beneath the table. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

There’s a pause, then you say, “Wait, where are you right now?”

Jungkook glances around his dimly lit apartment. “Dining room. Why?”

“I don’t know, you sound different. Like, echoey or something,” you say. “What are you doing?”

He eyes his whiskey glass before answering, “Just having a drink.”

“Ooh, fancy,” you tease. “Are we celebrating something?”

Jungkook smirks. “Should we be?”

You laugh, and he finds himself leaning into the sound. “Turn your camera on,” you say.

He hesitates for a second before pressing the button, and a moment later, his face fills your screen. His hair is tousled, framing his face in that unfairly perfect way, and the white button-up he’s wearing is undone just enough to be distracting. He’s leaning back in his chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest, whiskey glass in hand.

Your eyes narrow. “Jungkook.”

“What?” He raises an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of his drink.

“You’re dressed up.”

He snorts. “I’m not dressed up.”

“Yes, you are,” you insist. “White button-up, unbuttoned. Hair all messy but in a way that somehow makes you look better. What’s the occasion?”

Jungkook huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “This is just what I was wearing.”

“Yeah, okay,” you deadpan. “Where’s the lucky lady?”

His smirk falters for a second before he scoffs. “Shut up.”

You laugh, and it’s the best sound he’s heard all night.

“Turn yours on, wanna see you” he says suddenly, already tapping to the screen of the call.

A second later, your face appears on his screen. You’re curled up on your couch in a hoodie and shorts, your hair slightly messy, like you just woke up.

“You look cozy,” he comments, tilting his head as he studies you.

“Yeah, ‘cause I literally just woke up from a nap,” you say, stretching your arms over your head with a yawn. “That’s why I haven’t replied to you.”

Jungkook exhales, resting his elbow on the table as he props his chin on his hand. “Was wondering where you went,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

Your expression softens for a second before you smirk. “Aw, did you miss me?”

He rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “No.”

“Liar.”

Before he can argue, a movement catches your attention. Your eyes widen. “Wait—is that Bam?”

Jungkook turns slightly, spotting his dog trotting into the frame, tail wagging. He grins. “Yeah, he just woke up, too.”

Bam jumps up, resting his head on Jungkook’s lap. You watch the way Jungkook absentmindedly scratches behind his ears, his expression softening.

“He’s so cute,” you sigh.

Jungkook glances at you through the screen. “You wanna meet him?”

You hesitate. He can see the flicker of contemplation in your eyes, like the thought of going to his apartment wasn’t something you’d really considered before. Your lips part slightly, but you don’t answer right away.

Jungkook watches you carefully. “You don’t have to,” he says after a beat, voice softer.

“No, I just…” You clear your throat. “I guess I never thought about it.”

He nods, letting the subject drop, but he doesn’t miss the way your gaze lingers for a moment longer, like maybe, just maybe, you’re thinking about it now.

And for some reason, that thought makes his chest feel strangely warm.

The conversation shifts naturally into the usual late-night rambling—little stories from your day, his half-teasing but genuine responses. He doesn’t even know what you’re talking about half the time, but he doesn’t care. You could be talking about absolutely nothing, and he’d still want to hear it.

And for the first time that night, he feels at peace.

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