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maul-of-shame · 17 days ago

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[TW: salty rants are back??? Fandom competition edition]

So, there I was, patiently waiting for my coffee to pour, when I saw some fandom 'drama' unfold—and let me tell you, I nearly burned my hand trying to sprint to my laptop to rant about it. Because y’all, this "who can write the thing first, fastest, and loudest" nonsense is EXHAUSTING. It’s fandom, not the Olympics, not the Hunger Games.

Okay take a deep breath with me and lemme hold your hand through this cause WOW-

You’re not about to win gold for fastest fix-it fic about [insert character’s stupid decision].

What’s the prize here? Bragging rights? A fake trophy that says, “I wrote the blanket-sharing trope before anyone else, bow before my creative supremacy”? Newsflash: nobody cares. You don’t get a parade, you get burned out.

Fandom is supposed to be a cozy little corner where we all scream about fictional characters, cry over plot twists, and roll around in the shared love for whatever chaotic masterpiece brought us here. It’s not a sprint to the finish line of 'most productive fan.' There’s no prize for being the first person to churn out a fic about [insert ship here] sharing a blanket in a thunderstorm or saving each other during a zombie apocalypse. Writing isn’t about speed—unless you’re trying to outrun a deadline monster, in which case, Godspeed, but that’s between you and your keyboard.

And let’s not forget the side effects of this productivity Olympics. Constantly trying to outdo everyone else will turn your fandom experience into a full-time job with no paycheck. Who signed up for that? You’re not just burning out your creativity—you’re setting the whole thing on fire and roasting your own enjoyment over the ashes. If you keep treating this like a contest, congratulations, you’ve won… absolutely nothing except resentment and exhaustion.

Oh, and can we talk about how petty it is to get salty when someone else creates something similar to your idea? Buddy, inspiration is not exclusive.

No one owns 'friends-to-lovers in a haunted castle' or 'rival assassins bonding over coffee.' That’s the beauty of fandom—multiple takes on the same trope or concept only enrich the space! But if you’re too busy keeping tabs on who wrote it first, you’re missing the entire point.

“Oh, they wrote that idea I wanted to write, guess I’ll just crumble into a heap of salt instead of, I don’t know, writing it anyway.” My dear, sweet summer child, sit down. Ideas aren’t exclusive; they’re not concert tickets. We can ALL play with the same trope, and guess what? Your take on it will be unique because you’re unique!

And don’t even get me started on the speed demons of fandom. You know the ones. The people who somehow have the need to constantly let everyone know, “I finished my fic before you even outlined yours.” Like, cool story, Usain Bolt of AO3. Did you get carpal tunnel along the way? Did you have a good time speedrunning through that 5+1 trope, or did you just break the sound barrier on your keyboard while forgetting what joy feels like? Because from here, it sure looks like you traded the actual fun of writing for some imaginary fandom clout.

Let me level with you: I know I write fast. Too fast. Too much. I’m the clown who thinks, “Ah, yes, a quick fic idea” and ends up birthing a cursed 30k-word chapter that’s 85% fluff and 15% banter about soup. (30k words, my beloved.) I’m not innocent here! But you don’t see me strutting into the fandom plaza, waving my word count around like a trophy, and declaring myself the champion of creativity. Why? Because I know writing isn’t about speed. It’s not about whose fic gets posted first, who pumps out the most chapters, or who sets a world record for finishing their slow burn in one sitting. Writing is about telling a story and enjoying the damn process.

Do I talk about my word count milestones in my chapters notes? Oh, absolutely. Do I occasionally celebrate my absurdly long chapters and go, “Wow, 30k words? Look at me go!”? You bet I do! But here’s the thing: that’s a personal goal. It’s me vs. me. I’m not out here twirling my hair and spinning a fake gold medal like, “Look at me, peasants! Bow before my ability to write an unhinged number of words in one sitting!”

Because let’s be real—no one else cares about my word count as much as I do. It’s a little victory for myself, a pat on the back for pushing through the chaos and getting the story out. It’s not some competition where I’ve won fandom glory and am hoarding imaginary trophies in my (fictional) trophy case.

But nooo, some people just have to turn it into a competition. They’re out here like, “Oh, you’re still working on that fic? That’s cute. Mine’s already done and posted, with 10 kudos in the first hour.” Babe, no one’s handing out medals for being the fastest typist in fandom. You’re not Speedy Gonzales of fanfiction. You’re just…annoying.

It’s like they want a funny little nickname for themselves. The Fandom Flash. The Typing Tyrant. The Lord of the Drafts. Honestly, congrats to them on hitting Mach 5 speeds with their writing—truly a feat of endurance and caffeine. But you know what’s not cute? When they use that speed to put others down. “I wrote mine before yours” or “Oh, you’re still on that idea? Yeah, I already did it, so… good luck, I guess.” Like, excuse me, Turbo, we didn’t ask for your unsolicited ego parade. Sit down, have a juice box, and let others breathe.

Let’s be real: writing fast isn’t the problem.

The problem is people who treat fandom like a damn mouse race, where the only goal is to write faster and louder than everyone else. You’re not just missing the point—you’re actively sucking the joy out of the space for yourself and others. And I’m telling you now, Speed Racer, if your entire fandom experience is built around being The First™, you’re on a one-way track to burning out harder than an overworked CPU.

Writing is personal. It’s supposed to be fun. It’s not supposed to feel like a Black Friday sale where everyone’s elbowing each other to grab the “First Fic to the Finish Line” trophy. If you’re turning it into a race, you’re not just robbing yourself of the joy of creating—you’re also sucking the fun out of the fandom for everyone else. And honestly, what’s the prize here? A gold medal in Speed Typing? A sash that says “Fandom’s Fastest Writer”? Babe, we’re not at the Olympics. Sit down, take a deep breath, and maybe sip some tea (or coffee, if you’re in that mood).

I’ll admit it—I cheer for myself when I hit milestones. Absolutely. If I’ve written a 30k-word chapter or finally pushed through a scene that felt like dragging a boulder up a mountain, I’ll celebrate! Why? Because that’s my personal journey. It’s me vs. me, not me vs. the entire fandom, like I said. But you’ll also catch me clapping for the person who posts their slow-burn fic after six months of careful plotting, or the one who finally got their one-shot written after staring at a blank page for weeks.

Because everyone has their own pace. Life isn’t a one-size-fits-all kind of deal. Some of us can sit down and churn out thousands of words in a day, while others are juggling work, school, family, or just plain old burnout. Not everyone has the time, the mental bandwidth, or the physical ability to write that much or that fast. And that’s okay. In fact, it’s more than okay—it’s normal.

Writing isn’t about cranking out the most words in the least amount of time; it’s about telling a story that means something to YOU. Maybe you write in bursts between work shifts. Maybe you’re working through writer’s block like it’s your own personal boss battle. Maybe you can only write a couple of hundred words at a time because life is just… a lot. That doesn’t make you any less valid as a writer. It just makes you human.

And let’s not forget that some people are dealing with stuff—big stuff, small stuff, life stuff. Maybe they’re working three jobs, or their health is in the gutter, or they’ve got kids screaming in the background. Maybe they’re just tired. Writing is hard enough without someone making you feel like you’re not fast enough or productive enough to be a “real” writer. To me, as long as you’re writing, you’re a writer.

No speed limit, no quotas, no imaginary fandom leaderboard.

At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter if you’re writing fast, slow, or somewhere in between. What matters is that you’re enjoying yourself and putting something out into the world that you’re proud of (if you want to!). So take your time, write at your own pace, and don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re not “keeping up.” You’re doing just fine babe.

To the self-proclaimed speed demons of fandom: congratulations on your ability to churn out words faster than a toddler spills juice. Truly, an accomplishment for the ages. But if I may, let me offer you a gentle reminder (with a side of salt): speed doesn’t equal quality.

I hate to be that bitch this early in the rant, but someone needs to say it.

You’re out here bragging like, “I’m ahead of you,” or “I started mine before you even opened Google Docs.” Okay, and?

Speed writing doesn’t automatically mean good writing.

Sure, you finished first, but did you pour your soul into it, or did you just slap it together for the sake of bragging rights? Because lemme tell you, I’ve seen IKEA furniture held together with more care than some of these “first to post” fics I've seen.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying every fast writer is churning out low-quality work. Some people can write quickly and beautifully (and honestly, I admire that level of sorcery).

But if your whole personality is “I’m faster than you” and you’re flexing that speed to one-up others, it’s giving big “I missed the point of fandom” energy. Like, congratulations on finishing first, but also… who asked?

Because honestly? Bragging like that doesn’t necessarily grab people’s attention in a good way. It’s not cute. It’s not impressive. It’s downright annoying. And honestly, the only thing you’re really accomplishing is making people roll their eyes so hard they might need a chiropractor.

I get it. We all want recognition, a little clout for our creativity, and maybe to get our fics noticed. Bringing others down just to puff yourself up isn’t the way to go. No one is sitting here waiting to crown you “Fandom King” just because you wrote something before someone else.

Write at your own pace, use the tropes you want, and do whatever feels right for you. There’s no “but it’s been done before” nonsense here—if you’ve got a story to tell, then tell it! Fandom is built on repetition of ideas. Tropes exist for a reason, and they work because they resonate with people. So, go ahead and lean into that enemies-to-lovers, slow-burn, or “found family” trope and make it your own. It’s not some unspoken competition where someone’s going to mark you down because someone else used it first.

#fic #fic writing #on fandom #on fanfiction #fandom issues #writing woes #writing tag #writing stuff #on fanfic #writer stuff #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic

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soulofapatrick · 2 years ago

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Stripped Down - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: You and Joel haven’t found the time to see each other for a few weeks which means a ‘family dinner’ at your dad’s has a lot of pent up frustrations

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: smut; fingering; somewhat choking; dirty talk

Notes: Chapter Four of Forbidden Fruit

Y/N’s POV

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been able to see Joel due to work, Daisy wanting to drag me out and my dad wanting to see me but today Dad wants a family meal which means me, him and The Millers. My heart is racing as Daisy has invited herself as well, pretty much being another daughter to my dad at this point.

I arrive at my dad’s with Daisy early so we can help him prepare as my dad is definitely a decent cook but Daisy? Shit, she should be a fucking chef. Dad greets us at the door, pulling us into tight hugs as he asks, “How are my fave girlies?”

“Daadddd,” I laugh, wriggling out of his grip while Daisy just flicks her auburn hair over her shoulder and hip checks me on the way to the kitchen with a shit-eating grin, “We’re here to make sure you don’t burn the house down and I brought the beer.”

“Thanks pumpkin.” Dad joins us in the kitchen as Daisy goes over to the hob to see what Dad has for dinner and pulls a face that has Dad frowning slightly, “What’s wrong with my meal head chef?” There’s a teasing tone as Dad moves to stand next to Daisy. Daisy just raises as eyebrow at him and begins to rummage through the cupboards while I busy myself with filling the fridge with the different types of beer and ciders I bought with me. Daisy has begun pulling out some various herbs and spices and is ordering Dad chop up certain vegetables to add to the dish which looks like it’s going be a good old-fashioned roast dinner. The pair work together perfectly, having a father-daughter bond I’ve never quite managed to create with him, a small flame of jealously igniting in my chest but I quickly stomp it out as I’m just happy they get along so well.

The doorbell ringing snaps me from my thoughts and I find myself smoothing down my hair and wiping my suddenly sweaty palms on my jeans before I head to the front door to open it. I’m greeting by the sight of the Millers standing there, a case of beer and some soft drinks in their hands so I’m stepping aside to usher them in. Sarah and Ellie pass me with sparkling and knowing eyes, heading straight to the kitchen to greet Dad and see where they can help Daisy. Tommy’s next, pulling me into a brotherly hug before he’s following the girls which leaves me and Joel standing there.

Joel steps inside, closing the front door behind him and putting the case of beer down before he’s glancing past me then his warm honey eyes find mine again, lips curving into a small smile. Without a word, he pulls me into a tight embrace, his hands sliding down to my waist, we have to be so careful as we know how dangerous our relationship is. I tilt my head up to meet his gaze and he’s leaning down to press his lips to mine in a gentle but urgent kiss, as if we’re trying to make up all that time we’ve spent apart in the last few weeks. After a few moments, too soon for my liking, Joel is reluctantly pulling away, foreheads still touching as we catch our breath.

“I missed you.” I whisper, feeling my heart race at how pained his honey ones turn.

“I missed you too,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing circles on my hip, “Are you okay?”

I just nod, even though I know I’m not. It’s hard to be around him yet not be able to show everyone that he’s mine as we still don’t know how my dad would respond to us together. Joel is my dad’s best friend and I am his daughter but hey, if he finds out a disowns me he still has Daisy. No, what am I talking about?!

Joel is stepping away, squeezing my hip once more before he’s picking the crate of beer back up and heading to the kitchen to greet Dad. I can hear their excited voices and I have to take a deep, shaky breath before I join them. Almost immediately Ellie is moving to my side and hugging me in an awkward sideways hug but I don’t reject it, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as she speaks, “I’m gonna kick your ass at Monopoly later.”

I just caught, pulling her closer to me, having always felt such a bond with her I wished I could have had with my own mother before she cheated and left us. Ever since meeting the Millers I have always strived to have a somewhat maternal bond with the girls, unintentionally at first until Ellie once accidentally called me ‘mom’ one night while I was babysitting them. Sarah is only three years younger than me and Ellie is six years which makes my bond with them both slightly different but I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Sarah is hovering over the stove with Daisy, trying to get a glimpse of what’s cooking while Tommy is setting the table with plates and cutlery. Joel and Dad are already engrossed in a conversation, their laughter filling the room and I can’t help but smile at how happy and content everyone is together. My gaze being drawn to Joel and it’s like he can sense my gaze on him as he sends me a small smile, honey eyes full of understanding which makes me feel a little better about this all. The knot in my stomach loosens a little, my mind telling me to just be grateful I have him, secret or not.

“Come on Trouble, let’s get drinks sorted.” I hip check Ellie lightly and she reluctantly lets me go before we move head for the fridge. I can feel eyes burning through me when I bend down to grab the ice from the bottom freezer tray, sending Ellie a glare when she snorts into her hand before taking the ice from me to fill glasses with, her eyebrows shooting up when I hiss out a quiet, “What?”

“Joel’s staring at your ass.” She whispers back and I’m jumping up, too quickly for Ellie to shut the fridge door and I smack the crown of my head against it, letting out a yelp of pain.

“Shit, you okay?” Ellie asks, sincere concert lacing her voice as she rushes back over to me, ice forgotten. Dad, Joel and Tommy have migrated into the dining room now so none of them got to witness my idiocy, “I was only joking.”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear it seems as the broad shouldered man appears in the doorway, warm eyes flickering to where Ellie is hovering close to me and I’m rubbing the crown of my head and kicking the freezer door shut in annoyed pain, “Everything okay here?”

“Hit my head,” I grumble, trying to ignore the heat rising to my cheeks and the frustration bubbling in my veins as how can Joel be allowed to look this good. It’s unfair. Joel is wearing a simple navy t-shirt that hugs his broad chest and toned arms perfectly, paired with faded jeans that fit him like a glove. His hair is styled messily, giving off a laid-back vibe that he somehow pulls off effortlessly. His scruffy beard only adds to his rugged and masculine appearance, and it's hard not to notice the way his muscles bulge and flex as he moves closer. I somehow have to keep my hands off of him for the whole evening after not being able to see him for nearly three weeks.

“Let me see,” Joel steps closer, hands coming up to bush my hair from my forehead, leaning in to examine the spot I smacked my head. It sends a flutter through my stomach as his breath brushes against my skin but I force myself to focus on the pain. Joel’s touch is gentle as he checks for any bumps or bruises, his fingers trailing over my scalp. When he’s satisfied that I’m okay, he straightens up and gives me a playful wink, “Be careful sweet girl.”

I roll my eyes fondly, unable to hid my smile at the pet name that he’s reserved for me. Ellie pushes three cans of beer into her dad’s hands, nodding towards the dining room where the other two men are waiting. Joel nods knowingly before he leans down a presses a quick and extremely risky kiss to my lips before he’s gone.

Daisy’s excited voice interrupts my thought and I turn to see her with a grin as she leans against the counter, arms crossed and perfect eyebrow raised, trusting Sarah to make the gravy, “Sweet girl, huh?” She teases, wiggling those eyebrows at me and I can feel my cheeks flush with heat. Sarah and Ellie are laughing lovingly along now, telling Daisy all the details I haven’t been able to tell my best friend yet and Daisy’s grin just gets wider and wider as the three all serve up the meal parts onto plates.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant as I carry the tray of roast potatoes and assorted veg to the table where Dad, Joel and Tommy are talking about their latest construction job.

“Don’t worry, sweet girl, we won’t tell anyone?” Daisy snorts, setting down the sliced chicken, the smell mouthwateringly good.

“Won’t tell anyone what?” Dad quirks an eyebrow at me, eyes narrowing as Daisy flashes an innocent look at I feel myself flushing an even warmer shade of red.

It’s Sarah who jumps in, covering for me, “Oh, just about how Dina and Ellie have been getting close recently and how she’s such a sweet girl.” Dad’s expression softens while Joel’s head whips around to Ellie who is now sat next to Daisy and Dad. Sarah and Tommy have the heads of the table which leaves me with the open spot next to Joel. From the glances shared between Daisy, Ellie and Sarah this was very much planned.

The meal is fucking amazing, a classic roast dinner with all the trimmings. Daisy’s worked her magic as usual, the chicken being to tender and juicy, the roast potatoes are perfectly crisp and crunchy and the veggies are cooked to perfection. The gravy is rich and flavourful, the aroma of it filling the room and making it feel warm and inviting. It’s the kind of meal that feels like home. As we eat, the conversation flows easily and I find myself laughing along with everyone else. I can feel the warmth of Joel’s thigh against mine under the table as I try to focus on a stupid joke Tommy is telling us but all I can think of is the way Joel’s hand feels on my thigh. It’s a secret little touch, one that no one else can see but it feels so intimate and personal. I can’t help but feel a little thrill of excitement and a slowly building amount of frustration, wanting the meal to hurry up and finish so Joel can drive me home and hopefully come inside.

Ellie did in fact kick my ass at Monopoly and it’s currently just past one am, everyone having mellowed out and I can see Ellie is struggling to stay awake. Joel notices it too as he’s breaking the comfortable silence that has fallen, the muffled sound of the TV in the background.

“I should take the girls home, I can drop Y/N off on the way.” Joel tells Dad. We all get up, thanking Dad for the meal and each of us hugging him goodbye. The tiredness is creeping up on me as we head out the front door, the cool night air refreshing against my skin. Dad’s telling us to be safe and to message him when we’re all home safe before the front door is closing with a quiet click.

Tommy’s voice is breaking the silence as we reach the cars, “You know, I can take the girls home Joel. You should take Y/N home.” He tells Joel as I lean into the older man’s side, head on his shoulder and eyes struggling to stay open at the warmth radiating off of him plus the safety his muscular arm has wrapped around my waist. I’m rolling my eyes but can feel my heart skip a beat at the thought of being alone with Joel finally after so long, gripping onto him when he agrees with Tommy.

Joel’s helping me into the passenger seat and I can feel the warmth of his hand on my back as he steadies me until I’m settled into the seat, the leather still warm from the day’s sun and I’m letting our a content sigh. As Joel starts the car and pulls out of the driveway, I lean my head back and let my eyes close. The sound of the car and Joel’s voice talking about the last weeks events lulls me into a sleepy haze. I struggle to keep my eyes open, the comforting feeling of being with Joel making me feel relaxed and at ease, trying to keep up with the conversation but my mind keeps drifting and I’m fighting off sleep.

“We’re here, sweetheart.” Joel’s telling me softly after what feels like minutes but when I’m trying to blink the sleep from my eyes I see we’re outside mine. I thank him as he helps me out of the car, gasping when he presses my back to the cool metal of his car and crowding his body with mine. His hands find my neck, thumb rubbing my jaw lovingly as his honey eyes search my features. Before I know it Joel’s lips are crushing against mine, my breath hitching in my throat as I’m quickly swept up in the intensity of the kiss. His tongue exploring my mouth with a sense of urgency that sends shivers down my spine. His hands are firm against my neck, fingers sliding into my hair as he pulls himself even more flush against me. My arms are wrapping around his waist, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as I hold on tightly. I can feel the heat radiating off of him, the hard planes of his body pressed against mine as he continues to kiss me with a fierce intensity.

It’s a few moments later when Joel’s bulling back, both of us gasping for air, my heart pounding in my chest. The cool night air doing little to cool the heat pooling between my thighs and I’m whispering, “Stay the night.”

“Sweet girl, you’re tired and-“

“Please.” I feel a little embarrassed begging but Joel’s eyes are darkening and his pupils are suddenly blown out wide.

“Fuck me,” His voice is low and husky as his head falls against my shoulder, “Don’t beg like that.” I smile against his hair as his arms tighten around me, knowing he’s staying and that he feels the same intensity that I do. The way his fingers are pressing into the flesh of my hips has me knowing he’s just as frustrated as I am and it has me taking his hand and leading him inside mine.

My small one floor apartment is cozy and cluttered, filled with mismatched furniture and decorations I've picked up over the years. There's a comfy, worn-in couch with a colorful throw blanket tossed over the back, a coffee table stacked with books and magazines, and a TV on a stand in the corner. The walls are painted a soft shade of blue-green, and there are various framed photos and artwork scattered throughout the space. As Joel toes off his shoes and pulls his shirt over his head, I can't help but notice how right he looks inside my home. His broad, muscular build fills up the space in a way that makes me feel both safe and incredibly turned on. He looks around, taking in the cluttered space with a small smile on his lips, and I feel a rush of affection for him.

Joel’s moving through my apartment, heading for my bedroom and I can’t help but admire the way his muscles ripple as he walks. My heart races with a mixture of anticipation, excitement and desire as I kick my shoes off along the way, my jacket falling somewhere between the living room and the bathroom. My mind buzzing with the though of finally getting to be with alone, of feeling his touch and exploring the depths of our desires.

He’s sitting on the edge of my bed and I watch with bated breaths as he shimmies out of his jeans, leaving him in only very tight looking boxers. My eyes roam his body, taking in every inch of him as I bite my lower lip, eyes gliding between his thick thighs and loose curls before he’s patting those thighs, voice low and husky as he says, “Come here Doll.” The pet name sending shivers down my spine as I find my body moving towards him eagerly, straddling his lap and pressing my body against his. The heat between us is almost tangible, something heavy and sweet on my tongue as one of his large and calloused hands finds its way to my hair and the other settles on my hip. He’s dragging a gasped moan from me when he tugs at my hair, dragging me into a hot and hungry kiss.

The kiss is fiery and passionate, sending jolts of pleasure through me, Joel’s lips soft and plump against mine, his tongue exploring my mouth with an urgency that has my head spinning. He’s swallowing a moan, my hands finding his hair as I press my hips down and feel his hard length press against me through his boxers and I’m breaking the kiss to whine out, “Need you Joel.”

“F-fuck,” He’s groaning, eyes fluttering shut, “No, not tonight. You’re tired and I want it to be meaningful and-“ He brings his lips to my ear, breath hot against my cheek, “And I plan to have you screaming my name so loud your neighbours hear it.”

“Need you.” I’m begging and before I know it I’m being flung onto my back, Joel’s frame hovering above me, his eyes so dark they’re almost black and his pupils blown wide with want, “Fuck, Joel please.”

“What did I say about begging?” One of those hands finds my neck, fingers squeezing my pulse point gently, as if testing the waters and I arch my back into it. His hand moves away, replaced by his lips as he leaves hot and open mouthed kisses all along the bare flesh. His kisses leave a train of fire across my skin, making me gasp and moan as I tilt my head back, giving him more access to my neck. I can feel him pressed against my thigh and the thought of him wanting me just as badly only makes me want him more, ‘You’re so beautiful.” He murmurs against my skin, fingers dipping into the waistband of my jeans and tugging lightly so I’m raising my hips for him. He leaves me open and exposed, sitting back and gently prying my knees apart, eyes glued to my soaked and fluttering heat, “Fuck sweet girl, that all for me?” His fingers slip through my folds, gathering as much arousal as he can on his fingers before he’s plunging in two fingers with no warning, making me arch my back and cry out in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

Joel curls his fingers deep inside me, his thumb finding my aching clit, already knowing how to make my body sing for him. He’s pumping his fingers in and out, groaning softly and groaning out, “That better?” His dick would be so much better but I’ll take whatever I can from him so I’m whimpering out a broken ‘yes’ rocking my hips down into his hand, meeting his thrusts. My hands are reaching for him and he complies, my hand finding the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck as I yank him down into a dirty kiss. My lips parting under his, welcoming him eagerly as our tongues slide together in a slow and sensual dance, his thumb quickening on my clit as my legs begin shaking as the pleasure builds. I’m whimpering and moaning into his mouth, my hands tugging at his soft curls and his kisses become deep and demanding. His hands speed up until my nails are digging into the back of his neck and forearm, my back arching off the bed and my head flies back as an orgasm ricochets around my body, leaving me shaking and crying his name so loud I’m sure my neighbours are going to complain but right now I don’t care. Joel’s fingers continuing their abusing pace until I’m trying to wriggle away from him in overstimulation.

I feel numb for a moment as I come back to myself, Joel whispering sweet praises and pressing gentle kisses along my neck and jaw before he’s pulling back enough to meet my gaze. He looks completely blissed out, voice low and rough as he moans out, “Fuck, what would your daddy say if he saw you like this hmmm?”

“J-Joel,” I’m whining, my hands running down his chest and a gasp is drawn from me when my fingers meet stickiness, eyes flying down to see he came. Fuck, that’s hot. He came from pleasuring me alone, untouched. Fuuuuuck. I’m swiping my fingers through the sticky mess and keeping my eyes locked on his as I suck the bitter come from them, walls fluttering at the way he lets out a guttural groan.

“Not tonight sweet girl,” He’s climbing off of me and shimmying out of his now soiled boxers, using the fabric to wipe his torso clean before he’s manhandling me under the covers. I don’t hesitate to throw my shirt and bra aside so we’re cuddling naked, feeling completely content and sated in his strong arms. As I lay there, my head resting on Joel’s chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat and feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest, I realise that this is what I wanted for such a long time.

“Sleep well sugar.” Joel’s pressing a kiss to the crown of my head and I’m pulling him closer.

“You too handsome.”

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streamafterlaughter · 2 years ago

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Fundamental Differing

Chapter X: It’s All Hate And Money

masterlist | playlist | pinboard | chapter ix

summary: an idea is proposed by your label that you’re not sure you want to take part in, especially given the circumstances.

tags: hurt/no comfort but barely, angst, fake dating, slow burn, idiots in love, mutual pining, mutual heartbreak, these two are so stupid sometimes it hurts

a/n: i’m so sorry this took so long and it’s still not very long, but it DID inspire me to keep going! also yeah, ofc i brought the angst back. bc that was the whole plot. just stupid ppl that cannot communicate right now bc they r afraid!!! also if any of my links are broken pls let me know, im trying to fix them but they decide to work half the time?? Disclaimer: I do not give permission to have my work reposted on other sites. Reblogs are more than welcome, but please inform me if you find my work elsewhere unless otherwise stated. Reblog to support the author!

——

July 1986

The breeze is refreshing, despite it blowing your hair into your face. Eddie sits next to you, hands behind his head as he lay in the sun. He’s showing off his tattoos, including the one he’d gotten from you last month, your initials in your handwriting scratched neatly above his hip. In front of you, Robin and Steve splash each other in the lake, both of them shrieking and laughing as the cool water hits their faces. Your heart is full, spending the weekend at Steve’s parents’ unused lake house with your closest friends. Nancy and Jonathan arrive tomorrow, and the five of you have plans to roast marshmallows and sing songs like in all those cheesy horror movies. You could do this every day for the rest of your life, and be perfectly happy. You know Eddie doesn’t feel that way, he gets restless in places so still, and you have this deep, irrational fear that his urge to keep moving will end up being your downfall. But right now, that’s a non-problem. You return to your book, The Harlequin’s Son, as Eddie cranks the boombox up another few notches to blast Beach Boys Surfin USA.

—

Present Day

Eddie’s POV

“Eddie! Is Sweetheart about Y/n?” “Was Pretty Boy written about you?” “How long have you and Y/n been together?” “Eddie, where’s Y/n?” The questions are hurled at him by fans and journalists alike as he enters the venue, cameras flashing in his face as Steve tries to shield him.

“We have no comment at this time, thank you! Bye!” Steve shoos the mob as well as he can manage, holding his hand out in front of photographers. Eddie keeps his head down, saying nothing as the door swings open for him and his band.

“Hey, they’ll let it go, it’s just fresh right now.” Steve reassured him, a comforting hand landing on his shoulder.

“It’s not them I’m worried about.” He looks around, every backstage of every venue looks the same to him, but you’re in the wings, lugging your guitar and amp to the stage as crew members set up pedal boards and wires. You look up then, and offer Eddie the smallest of smiles that he returns with a shy wave.

“I’m sure Y/n is fine, too.”

“You haven’t talked to them?”

“I’ve been busy with your temperamental ass!” Steve jokes, nudging him. “Besides, they’re a lot stronger than you think.”

“Hey. I know that. You think I don’t know that? We were together for like, four years. That isn’t my point.” It’s his turn to be defensive. He’s never doubted your strength, it’s your temper he’s concerned with. You’re not one to shy away from chewing someone out for a wrong assumption.

He looks from Steve back to you, watching as you chat with a crew member about something. You’re in plain jeans and a tight black t-shirt, your hair tied on top of your head haphazardly.

He feels a second nudge. “Stare more, would ya?” Robin’s appeared on Eddie’s other side.

“Who’s staring? I’m not staring.”

“And I’m not a lesbian. Try to blink, you’ll look less obvious.” Her smirk makes his eye twitch. “Or, y’know. You could just go say hi. Like friends do.”

“Seriously? You’re giving me shit about this too?” Eddie groans, craning his neck to the ceiling in irritation.

“Of course I am! If you guys are gonna do this dance the whole time we’re touring, I'm gonna get my jokes in!” This causes Steve to snicker.

“Listen, I’m only gonna say this once. Y/n and I are adults. You two are being so immature about this. There is absolutely nothing else between us, okay? Nothing.” Steve and Robin exchange a look, and begin to giggle again. “Cut it out!” Eddie whines, then startles when he feels a light tap on his shoulder. He turns around to find you, sparkly eyed with a tight smile on your lips.

“We need to talk.”

—

Your POV

You don’t mention what you’d heard from Eddie’s lips, but you feel your heart sting a little. Nothing else between us? Bullshit. But now isn’t the time to call him out on it.

“What’s up?” Eddie leans against the doorframe of the dressing room, arms crossed casually.

“I just got a call from my label. They, uh, saw the magazine article.” You keep your voice low, not wanting to alert your gaggle of friends hanging out inside the dressing room. “They want us to play into it.”

“Play into it?” Eddie quirks an eyebrow teasingly. You’re sure he knows exactly what you’re talking about, but he wants to hear you say it.

You groan. “They want us to be seen together more, out in public. Hold hands and shit.”

“They want us to date for publicity?”

You shrug. “Pretty much.”

“Do you want that?” He sounds sincere, even concerned.

“I don’t know if I have that choice.”

Eddie straightens his posture. “You always have a choice. It’s your life, regardless of what your label wants you to do.”

You sigh. He means well, you know that, but it would be so much more added stress to fight with executives while on tour. “Well, what do you think?”

“You know I’m always down to play tricks on the public,” he laughs, “and if you don’t mind being around me all the time, I’ll definitely do it.” You can’t get a read on him. If he doesn’t have feelings for you, why would he want to pretend?

“Okay. Then let’s play some tricks, yeah?” You offer your hand, and he stares. “You’re supposed to shake it.”

He blinks his stare away, and grasps your right hand in his. “Let’s do it.” He nods, and you can’t help but smile.

—

Your anxiety is skyrocketing tonight. With the added weight of this dating scheme, you barely have the mental capacity to make it through soundcheck.

“Are you okay?” Robin approaches you when you fumble the chords to Pretty Boy again, wincing as you sing the lyrics you’d written so many years ago.

“You have to promise not to tell anyone. Not even Steve.” You’re whispering, even though you really don’t care if your bandmates find out. But Steve will try to protect you, probably going as far as making a scene in front of the label execs if he deemed necessary, and that was way too much to deal with right now.

“Consider my lips locked.” Robin makes a point of zipping her lips, locking them, and tossing the imaginary key behind her shoulder. You fill her in on your plan, not mentioning your nerves or feelings the entire time.

“And you think this is a good idea?” She asks when you’ve finished your rant. She’s not saying it to bite, she genuinely seems worried for you.

You shrug. “Probably not, but DDA is still new, we could get kicked off the label if we object to them this early. And they talked to CC’s agent already, so we pretty much have to do it.”

“But, what if you get the feelies again? Or worse, what if you don’t get the feelies, and now you’re lying to the world and to yourself?”

“First of all, feelies, Robin? Are we twelve? And secondly, I know. I'm screwed either way. Eddie already said he didn’t have feelings for me, so it’s not like-“

Robin interrupts you, waving her hand frantically. “When did he say that?”

“I overheard him talking to you and Steve earlier. ‘There is nothing else between us. Nothing.’.” You mimic Eddie’s gruff voice as you quote him, warning a chuckle from your bassist.

“You know that’s like, total bullshit, right?”

“No, I don’t! I can’t figure him out anymore, and frankly I don’t see why I have to.”

Robin pinches between her eyes like a disappointed mother. “You don’t. But you should figure your own shit out. Might be healing.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever. This could totally be my undoing, I am very aware. But this could also be the push I need to make a decision. Either I’m over him, or I’m not.”

Robin pats your shoulder lovingly. “Okay, babes. Whatever you want. But maybe stop thinking about it until after we rock the shit out of this place, okay?”

You nod, finding the first chord again, and playing it perfectly. “Right. Let’s do this shit.”

—

Eddie’s POV

He taps his foot along anxiously with the house music, currently Blind Melon’s Tones of Home. His pen bounces up and down frantically in his hand, tapping against his frayed leather bound journal. A melody has been stuck in his head all day, but he can’t bring the words to match it. He’s about to throw in the towel when he feels another presence in the room.

He glances up, and his eyes meet with yours in the mirror. He whips his head around, startled by your stealth. “Hey, sw- hey, you.” He chuckles, feeling his cheeks heat up at the slip up. “Sorry, practicing.”

You shake your head, a small smile on your lips. “Hey. I wanted to be the one to tell you, there’s a lot of press here tonight. I heard Rolling Stone might try talking to you.” Your voice shakes slightly as you deliver the information.

Eddie is far too used to the overwhelming amount of public attention that comes with being a successful musician. It’s something he can’t stand, and you know that well. Nosy reporters were a huge reason he didn’t like when you would go on tour with him when the two of you actually were together. He was insistent on you not being seen with him, because he didn’t want them twisting your image. It was a selfish thing, Eddie realizes now. You are more than capable of taking care of yourself, but Eddie didn’t want to share you with the world. You were his to protect, and only his to be in love with.

But the world is falling in love with you now, for something you had created without him, and he feels all the pride for you in the world. Every day he wishes he’d been more supportive. Maybe this is his second chance?

“Thank you for the warning.” Eddie answers after a beat too long. You nod your head once, and pivot to leave the room when Eddie hears himself call, “Wait!” You turn to him again, waiting for him to continue. “You, uh, you think you could help me with something?” Eddie’s shy again, suddenly, like he’s back in high school asking you to go to prom with him. And he wasn’t even shy when he asked you to prom.

“Sure, what is it?” You walk deeper into the room, and Eddie moves aside to make room at the small vanity mirror. He slides his open journal toward you, where the page is littered in words crossed out, rewritten, and crossed out again. He snatches his guitar from where it leans against the wall, throwing it over his lap in a swift motion, despite the tight space.

“I have had this thing, this melody stuck in my head all day, and I either need to know if I came up with it, or if I’m remembering it from somewhere.”

He finds the first notes, fingering the strings expertly to a twinkling melody.

—

Your POV

You are really trying to focus on the song he’s playing. It does sound familiar to you, but you can only hear it like this, unfinished and on the fly. You squeeze your eyes shut in concentration, really focusing on the way the song flows together, trying to put words to it that escape you.

Until you figure it out. Your eyes fly open, wide as the memory comes back to you with full force. “Oh my god.” You throw a hand over your mouth.

Eddie stops suddenly, and looks back to you in the mirror. “Shit, is this someone else’s song? I thought I had something really fuckin’ good here!”

“No, no. Well, yes and no.” Eddie raises an eyebrow at your confusing response. “It, uh. That’s the song we wrote together. Like, right after graduation, when we went to Steve’s lake house. You played it on that really gross acoustic guitar that was in the garage, the one we found when we were—“ You don’t finish the sentence, knowing the raunchy turn the story takes. “Anyway, we started fuckin’ around with it, ‘member? And you came up with that—“ you point lazily to his guitar still in his lap, “but we never put words to it, we kinda just forgot. That is insane.”

—

Eddie’s POV

The memory washes over him, like a tidal wave pulling him under. You’d had the guitar in your lap, strumming lazy chords as you tuned the old, barely usable guitar that had belonged to Steve’s mother in another life. He remembers how hot that day had been, a record breaking heatwave baking the entirety of the midwest. Your hair was piled high on your head to keep it off your sticky skin, glimmering with perspiration. You wore only a bikini top and shorts, feet bare and dirty with the mud of the backyard. He’d stolen the guitar from you, plucking the same chords he’d just been playing, You’d started humming, then eventually singing, to his music, a soft smile on your face as your eyes closed, focusing on the way the two sounded together. He remembers everything else about that night, too, from the clumsy sex in the shed to the bonfire surrounded by his favorite people.

He finally turns around, his head purposefully craned up to avoid being eye level with your chest. The space between you two is small, and he feels his heart rate quicken. “Oh, shit.” Is all he says, being rendered speechless by the discovery.

“No, I mean, it’s okay! It’s such a pretty tune it’d be a shame if one of us didn’t use it. You should!” He can’t help but hear the slight disappointment in your voice, like you feel something was taken from you, by him. The idea comes almost as quickly as the memory had. “What if we just, put the song out?”

You place a hand on your hip. “What, like as a duet?”

Eddie nods, feeling the hope take hold in his chest. “Yeah! Yeah, we could write it, record it when we stop in New York maybe, or even after the tour if you want. And the suits would eat it up, too. Especially with this whole thing we got goin’ on,” He gestures to the space between your bodies.

“Oh. So this would be like, a money grab for you?” The hurt is clear in your wavering voice, and Eddie’s smile is wiped from his face.

“No, of course not.”

“No, right, but it’s a nice little extra. Have your cake and eat it too, right?” Wrong. So wrong, but what is Eddie supposed to do? Now is not the time to be confessing that he’s still completely enamored with you, head over heels in love. It’s so unfair to you, to both of you, to put that out there right this second.

“I mean, if you wanna look at it like that, yeah. The extra money would be nice. But it would also be cool just to work with you again. For real this time, as friends.” He’s praying it’s a good enough save.

You shrug. “We can try, but I’m not confident in our ability to work together.” There’s a bite to your words, and Eddie winces. “But I gotta go, we’re on in an hour.” You turn, and leave the room with an extra sense of urgency.

“Jesus Christ.” Eddie puts his guitar down, and throws his head into his hands.

—

Your POV

You angrily wipe the tear that’s escaped from your tear duct, annoyed with your own sensitivity. You’re absolutely overreacting, but the pain in your throat threatens to suffocate you if you don’t immediately do something about it.

And so, with nothing else running through your mind besides Eddie, the memories of him contrasting deeply with who he’s become, you stomp past your bandmates as they put the finishing touches on their makeup and hair, you slam the bathroom door behind you. You’d swiped the scissors from Harley months ago, and keep them in your toiletries bag for things like this. You grab a fistful of your hair and chop, not stopping to measure the length. You repeat the ritual on the other side, and again across the front of your face. When you’re finished, your hair looks like you lost a bet, your eyes are puffy from crying, and a string of snot has fallen down your face. You wipe it with your sleeve, and quickly change into the outfit hanging up on the towel rack: black sheer tights and a baby pink lingerie nightgown you’d thrifted in Montreal. You throw your leather jacket over it, do your makeup haphazardly as you hold the rest of your tears in, and apply an excessive amount of deodorant. You step out of the bathroom, and are immediately met with the horrified looks of your friends.

“What did you do?!” Sylvie throws their hands over their mouth in shock, and Lilith’s jaw unhinges as she gasps.

You shrug. “Needed a change. Now let’s rock the shit out of this place, huh?”

Your bandmates move to leave the room, not about to engage with your suddenly erratic behavior. You’re grateful for their silence, knowing you probably look ridiculous. This will give the press something else to talk about.

The noise of the crowd grows louder as you approach the wing. “Alright guys, go out there and-“ Steve cuts himself off as his eyes scan over you. “What the hell happened?”

Robin is quick to speak. “They’re fine. Don’t worry about this right now.”

“Right, but there are so many cameras out there, and I-“

“Steve!” Robin interrupts, shaking her head. “Not. Right. Now.”

Steve surrenders, lips tight. “Okay. Right. Go kick some ass!” He hugs each of your bandmates before they go on stage. When he gets to you, he rests a gentle hand on your shoulder, and pulls back when he discovers you’re shaking. “Are you alright?”

“Later.” You say shortly. More words about the subject will make you cry again. “I promise.”

“Okay. I love you. Do your thing.” He brings you into his hug, and you relish in your best friend’s warmth for a few seconds too long. The crowd is losing their minds.

“Okay, I gotta go.” And he lets you go. You walk onstage, and are blinded by the stage lights. The crowd never falters, even after seeing your new abomination of a haircut that Harley will surely kill you for later. Cameras flash from all corners of the room while fans whoop and holler for your band.

“What the fuck is up, Portland?!” You scream into the mic, and the answer is thousands of screams in your direction. “I just cut my hair in the bathroom, let’s fuckin’ party!” Lilith clicks her sticks together to count you off, and you launch into the first song of your set.

—

chapter xi

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#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #rockstar!eddie #rockstar!reader #fundamental differing #new kid fic #slow burn #hurt/no comfort #mutual pining #mutual heart break #st4 #strangerthingscentral #stranger things 4 #stranger things fanfiction #90s au

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fortjester · 2 years ago

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Actually, a concept I've been chewing on for a while is the Saint’s titles. G1deon as the Saint of Duty (for Pyrrha), Augustine as the Saint of Patience (for Alfred), and Mercymorn as the Saint of Joy (for Cristabel). Now, we’re all well aware of how in deep to the whole Catholicism theme Jod is, and I recently saw someone offering Cytherea’s title up as the Saint of Sacrifice (cannot remember where I saw this and Tumblr won’t give me damn thing, so if you know please hmu about it or tag them because I don't wanna claim that as my own idea), which triggered something in my brain. Apart from Augustine, their titles all seem to be synonyms for the seven cardinal virtues. Duty/Diligence, Joy/Kindness, Sacrifice/Charity. yeah, it’s a bit of a reach, but it’s a reach I deeply wanted to explore. So, with that in mind, I experimentally (tentatively) assigned the other (deceased) lyctor’s with titles based on the seven cardinal virtues, and did a bit of analysis on each Saint based on this idea.

Cassiopeia I assigned Temperance (because, like, hello?? the break clause???), Cyrus I assigned Humility (ironic, no?), and Ulysses Chastity. I haven’t gone ahead and synonym-ed them because 1. that’s an exercise in confusing myself, and 2. Temperance/Diligence/Chastity sorta loop back around on each other, so why bother, lol. In any case, you’re probably thinking “hey, pump the breaks, Ulysses “sexy parties” the First as the Saint of Chastity? I’m out” and that’s totally fair, but it does also bring me to my next point:

Could the necromancer halves of each of the lyctoral pairs feed into the title designation? (you probably saw this coming from a mile away) could John be subtly roasting them? (probably not, but he’d definitely find it funny) let’s look at the corresponding deadly sin for each cardinal virtue.

Duty/Diligence is the virtue of being a resilient and persistent force, with emphasis put on its practice in study and as a professional credence– but it is also, most importantly, the virtue associated with unshaking and undeniable faith. Over and over in Harrow the Ninth it is alluded to that G1deon, while being the third Saint to ascend, is also the most loyal to the Emperor and the most steadfast in his goal to protect him from harm. When John asks for “G1deon’s” loyalty in Act Five of HtN (unknowingly asking Pyrrha), he receives it without hesitation, as he expects to. Even G– in Nona the Ninth’s pre-Res chapters, showcases a dazzling amount of faith in John: supporting his causes, fighting the good fight on his behalf, letting John cut off his fucking arm, carrying an armed nuke for him– all without much question, all without doubt or hesitancy. Which is all well and good, but now remember that Pyrrha was the reason his Saintly title was Duty/Diligence – Pyrrha, who commits to protecting and defending her little New Rho family as much as she possibly can; Pyrrha who fulfills Wake’s death wish in Act Five of HtN the minute she sees Wake has been caught by John; Pyrrha, whose love of those who were “put into the universe to rig it to explode” (pg. 120, NtN) often morphs into her self-imposed duty to make sure the explosion follows through, without interference – how can we reconcile that Diligence is often juxtaposed with Sloth? No one could say that G1deon was an inactive guy, nor can we say that his evidence backing up the Diligence aspect is unsubstantial, but Sloth as a sin doesn’t just refer to just hanging out doin nothin; it also implies that through a lack of purpose or task you’re inviting sin into your life (re: “satan makes work/mischief for idle hands”). And we know for a fact that unknowingly compartmentalising Pyrrha during his ascension meant he frequently lost time due to her surfacing, that he doubted that John could help him, or would help him without destroying him in the process, (doubt in the lord doth not diligence make!), and so kept silent about it, withdrawing into himself, becoming unsociable, single minded, solitary, and most of all cut off from those he served and swore he loved. Final point: who do we know who also, quite famously, fucked around and found out on the job? I rest my case.

Patience is paired with Wrath, and that checks out for Mr Augustine “she was a bloody monster...and you went and made her worse! [five seconds later] raised my voice. Apologies.” (- pg. 478, HtN) Quinque doesn’t it? No further evidence required! [bangs gavel] (Just kidding, let’s get into it.) Patience as a virtue is defined as the ability to persevere, tolerate, and endure without doubt or resorting to irritation and anger. It’s the virtue of taking the moral high ground (or, at least, not visibly or audibly throwing your lot in with the moral low ground), and remaining steadfast in your convictions. Of the two Lyctors we see most in HtN, it's widely agreed that Augustine appears to be the more composed of the two, but when it comes down to it, it’s clear he’s masking his own fury and general erraticism. Now, Patience is the Saintly title awarded to Alfred, whose most notable action was forcing his brother to ascend by taking his own life in a suicide pact with Mercy’s cavalier, Cristabel, which one might not associate so much with Patience. Alfred (or, rather, his pre-Resurrection counterpart in NtN, “A–’s little brother”) is also referred to as the “mediator”, and isn’t deemed particularly useful by John, but he softens this comment by saying he understood, that A– was pulling his loved ones close, that they all were. A–’s little brother is one of the first to die in John 1:20; “A—’s little brother was there … dead in the middle … shot from both sides. Nobody likes a peacemaker.” (- pg. 358, NtN), which I think speaks levels towards his Saintly title of Patience. Augustine on the other hand is the kind of man who plots his brother-Lyctor’s murder for no discernible reason; the kind of man who calls Mercy ‘unloveable’ and ‘unnecessary’ to her face with only bored sincerity in his tone; drops a space station into the River in order to kill John, uncaring of who else is on board when he does so. Augustine harbours a lot of anger very close to his chest and lets it out in short, controlled moments of destruction until the end. He lives in sin by refusing to let go of his anger, which is fine, I see why he does it, but it does mean I can safely brand him as Wrath.

Joy/Kindness butts up against Envy (the resentful desire for another’s successes or possessions) and doesn’t that just take the cake? Mercy, who fully snaps the second she realises John “hid” perfect lyctorhood not just from her, but from all the Saints, being the embodiment of Envy– directly juxtaposed with Cristabel (named “Joy” by John, and referred to by Augustine as “a total delight. effervescent. kind to children and animals.” - pg. 177, HtN) labelled as the virtue of Joy/Kindness? I mean, yeah, Augustine was also pissed, as was Cyth, as any of them would fightfully be – but Mercy specifically having that be the straw that breaks her back? Weirdly fitting. And there can be arguments made that Cristabel’s Saintly title is very surface level, but if we think about it, I can see a very real foundation in it. In the Nona the Ninth pre-Resurrection chapters, M–’s Nun is the first person John actually listens to about getting him to practice some semblance of self care again, and also his foremost support in sussing out the third aspect of the “trinity” of necromancy. She notably teams up with A–’s little brother to mediate the cryo team’s argument during John 1:20, and when John locks himself in his room to escape the arguing, she’s there with M–, who is yelling through the door, but she’s only kind to him. She prays for him, and she asks how he’s feeling. Given the everything about John 1:20, we’re not all as kind and forgiving of John as she was, but that’s her virtue – looking beyond it. And she comes back and tells him it's okay that he doesn't feel like a hero, and that she thinks he can save them anyway. And no one’s gonna argue that her suicide immediately following was a kindness, but it did allow John to do everything that came next, and as much as we know he regrets it, I can also see him perceiving that as a kindness.

And now it will all be on theorised titles, so bear with me.

Cytherea as the Saint of Sacrifice/Charity blows me away, bc Loveday of course knew she was either walking away with no Necromancer, when they came to Canaan House, or Cyth would ascend and she’d likely go back to Rhodes and never see her again. In the end, though, Cyth’s ascension hinged on Loveday’s devotion to her, and with the hope that Lyctorhood might ease the suffering of her illness, she made the ultimate sacrifice of giving Cyth her life. And Cyth then had to live the next myriad in agony, knowing Loveday’s sacrifice was all but worthless, along with mourning her and guiltripping herself, and getting told she’s the loveliest, the kindest, best of us all. “The most loyal, the most humane, the most resilient…I made her live ten thousand years in pain and she let me…” (- pg. 442, Gideon the Ninth). So, of course, I support this as her Saintly title. Sacrifice/Charity is paired off with Greed, which popularly is defined as the sin of “condemning things eternal for the sake of temporal things,” (- St Thomas Aquinas). What do we know that Cyth wanted? Revenge (seeking retribution/vengeance for a wrong or injury done to oneself or another, a temporary fix to gain satisfaction). Justice (the principle that people receive that which they are deserving of, fairness, harmony). She wanted to be taken seriously (“When you grow up awfully ill, you’re used to everyone making those decisions for you, and hating it…so you do tend to want to take everyone’s feelings as seriously as yours aren’t.” - pg. 365, GtN), she wanted to mean something important (re: labelling herself the vengeance of the 10 billion in her proper introduction to Gideon in chapter 35 of GtN). And most of all, she wanted to die (“There was no fear in her now. There was only anticipation verging on panicked excitement, like a girl waiting for her birthday party.” - pg. 401, GtN). She wanted things that last mere moments, as a person already doomed to immortality, and she wanted them to spite but also to use against John, someone we can safely call eternal.

So! Next up, we have Nigella gaining the title Saint of Temperance from Jod, versus the juxtaposing Gluttony. How is Cassiopeia gluttonous? Admittedly, I don't have a lot of basis on this one, but I'll vaguely wave my hand at Teacher’s whole deal and also sorta in the direction of Cassiopeia being mentioned as the only one of the Lyctor’s who could be relied upon to make a well cooked meal (despite the occasional severed fingers in food). Gluttony is classified as the overindulgence of something – initially they were talking solely about food, but in more modern interpretations this can also be interpreted to include material possessions as well – and even more specifically, the overindulgence of something, without care or guilt. St Thomas Aquinas asserted that Gluttony hinged on the sinner’s innate longing for that which they overindulge, therefore connecting the synonymous relationship between Temperance and Gluttony - Gluttony is a lack of restraint, where Temperance is moderation. I’ll now vaguely wave a hand at the break clause again, (“Cassiopeia the First left us instructions years ago,” said Camilla. “We left for a Lyctor.” … Pyrrha said, “Cassy played long games.” - pg. 293, NtN); C– going AWOL from the stakeholders and doing all the legal bullshittery for the cryo team as freelance early on, Cassiopeia’s ceramics collection, and so on.

Next up is Titania as the Saint of Chastity, versus Ulysses embodying the sin of Lust. Because we know very little about them post-Resurrection, and what we know of them pre-Resurrection is…inconclusive, this is probably my most weakly argued point, but bear with me, alright? Chastity as a virtue is a pretty close-minded concept nowadays (which lines up pretty well with Lust being the least serious of the seven sins) – Chastity is almost synonymous with celibacy, as it refers almost exclusively to refraining from any and all sexual activity, in Catholicism specifically prior to marriage. The broadest and least damning-of-sexual-exploration-and-freedom quote I could find on the matter is this: “By attaining mastery over one's passions, reason, will, and desire can harmoniously work together to do what is good,” which is paraphrasing a passage from the “Catechism of the Catholic Church”. As far as Chastity being a good Saintly title goes (so, kinda not; hope if this was John’s basis he picked a better synonym), it should hopefully fall under that kind of definition, rather than “celibacy is good for the soul” but that’s a whole other argument. In terms of the counterpoint, Lust, I want to touch on the concept of this sin often being perceived as the least serious of the seven sins. Lust is classified as the sin of desire— which is often translated to fornication, impure thoughts and actions, sexual misconduct, etc. but what is lost in this translation is that the desire is not for material possessions or of successes like Envy, Greed, and Gluttony are, but moreso (as per Dante Alighieri) the desire or “disordered” love for individuals. Therefore, Titania and Ulysses – who in NtN are literally John’s first constructs; lacking souls, consciousnesses, and motivations of their own; named for a Shakespearean Fae queen and a beloved old dog; loved as not just the proof of concept but the only ones of John’s friends who never questioned him – would of course succumb to the sin of desiring individuals (and, furthermore, individuality). There’s a distinction made in the religious definition of Lust, specifically that there’s a difference between Lust and passion – with passion being more morally acceptable, especially in terms of how it pertains to how one might practice their religion and the depth and weight of one's faith in their religion, meaning that Lust is not just the lack of restraint in ones passions, but the lack of restraint and perhaps lack of true emotion in the desire. In comparison, post-Resurrection, we really don’t have much information on their stories or characteristics, what they looked like, their relationship to one another, or even their personalities besides Ulysses’ tendency to engage the other Lyctor’s in spontaneous orgies. We know they were obviously alive this time around, since the other Saints would have noticed if they were constructs, but what does this mean for their souls? Did John pick them at random, or did he somehow recall the real souls of Titania and Ulysses’ bodies? Would it matter either way, which one it was? If he did recall the souls originally belonging to the bodies of Titania and Ulysses, would he tell them the truth the way he told Augustine and Mercy what happened before the Resurrection? Would they be able to recall some of it either way, the way Pyrrha seems to recall her life pre-Resurrection, and would this impact how they interact with John and the rest of the pre-Resurrection gang? And, most importantly, would this fuel Ulysses, after ascending, to seek out Lust in order to assert individuality? With all that in mind, I’m of the opinion that Lust and the corresponding virtue of Chastity work for them.

Lastly, Valancy as the Saint of Humility versus Cyrus embodying the sin of Pride. Humility, in specifically a religious context, is the recognition of one's relation to a deity (God, in Cyrus and Valancy’s case) and the subsequent submission to that deity. The idea is that through a lack of interest or preoccupation in yourself, you can come closer to and understand God better. In comparison to Pride, a sin which C.S. Lewis once referred to as the “anti-God” state, Humility is very like Charity, because it is selfless and it is modest. I find this interesting when put parallel with Cyrus and Valancy, as they’re one of the three pairs to be called to Canaan House that John didn’t know prior to the Resurrection. They wouldn’t even have the vague notion of familiarity the others would, and that must have felt a little isolating, to see John as a God, where the pre-res gang at least saw him as a friend as well. This is why I argue that Valancy could be given the Saintly title of Humility – if she projected that sense of reverence and a significantly more subservient outlook into interactions around or with John, that might have been how he perceived her. In terms of Pride, though, we can easily refer back to the nude portraits they apparently painted fo each other; Valancy’s elaborate wardrobe that Cyrus had transported in its entirety to the Mithraeum following his ascension; and the note in HtN’s pronunciation guide that reads, “...what set Valancy and her necromancer, Cyrus, apart was their sweet mutual shoring up of each other’s belief that they were the most attractive people ever to have been born, which is not a classical cavalier-adept virtue.” Interestingly, Pride is considered the father of the deadly sins, feeding into each, which might make it seem like too important a sin to be given to Cyrus, of whom we know very little about. For this theory/thinkpiece, I’ll let them have it, but it would be interesting to explore the idea of perhaps John and Alecto in terms of the religious definition of Pride and the way they both seem to view the Resurrection.

Now, you might be thinking, sure okay, I see where you’re coming from, fun theory, but what about Anastasia? Oh, you mean the one person who came the closest to achieving “perfect” Lyctorhood, falling short because of John’s intervention, sent to guard the Tomb until her death, living on as a revenant within the Tomb? Coming so close to perceived success, only to then lose someone you trust implicitly and who trusts you the same, not to mention all of this happening in front of your God? In HtN John even says of Anastasia, “After we—cleaned up—she asked me if I might end her life. Of course I said no. She had so much more to give. Later I would ask of her a greater and more terrible thing.” (- pg. 182, HtN), which states quite loudly what level of regard she held herself in following her failed ascension and Samael’s death. With that in mind, I now present to you the oft forgotten, long discarded, eighth capital sin: Despair (also referred to as “sorrow” and “dejection”). Anastasia, whose life became a mausoleum, whose home became a niche; whose life was reduced to that of an honoured name with no honoured memory, haunting the narrative in her absence, much like Gideon. Anastasia, who had a vow sworn to her by Alecto, one that seemingly put her into Anastasia’s service to succeed her deceased cavalier; whose bloodline then produced Harrowhark, the Tombkeeper that rolled the rock away at ten years-old, intending to die. Tell me more of sorrow! Tell me more of woe! Anastasia as the Saint of Despair just makes sense to me.

(“Okay but what about Ianthe? The Saint of Awe!” To that I say, “idk, Jod was drunk and depressed and not interested in being clever abt catholicism.” If anyone has any better answer feel free to give them, I’d love to hear them.)

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museofreverie · 4 months ago

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Conversations with a dear friend 💌

The scent of freshly roasted coffee and the buttery aroma of pastries hung in the air as my friend and I stepped inside the café we wanted to check out. She had found this cafe online and suggested that we hang out there since we had always wanted to visit nearby cafés.

I’m glad we did. It was one of the best decisions we made.

The place was small and had limited space, but I was in awe when I took in the sight of the café’s interior decor, dominated by plain white walls and posters decorated with beautiful artwork. It also had a tidy and minimalistic appearance pleasing to the eye, which I liked.

“What’s your order?” she asked while looking at the menu.

I placed a finger under my chin and glanced at the menu, contemplating for a bit. “Hmm. . . I think White Mocha seems nice,” I said.

She nodded, acknowledging my order. Her eyes then scanned the place and frowned. “There’s no table left.”

I agreed with her. All of a sudden, someone stood up from their chair, packed their belongings, and left.

“Look!” I said, pointing a finger in the direction of the vacant table. “There’s one available.”

We settled down and she went to the counter and told the barista about our drinks. After a few moments, we found ourselves immersed in an engaging conversation about our lives.

“So how are you these days?” she asked, a huge grin on her lips.

Words wouldn’t come out of my lips, so the only thing I could do was plaster a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. But after a few seconds, I replied.

“Still alive, I guess.”

Life hasn’t been exactly kind to me lately. I have been constantly put into situations that made me uncomfortable and triggered my anxiety, especially with this tremendous chaos inside my head.

There were nights when I just wanted to end it all.

To get rid of this heaviness inside my chest. To finally end my suffering.

But then sometimes, there are days when I felt it was great to be alive. Like at this moment. Spending time with a dear friend and grabbing a cup of coffee.

It felt. . . nice.

A deep sigh escaped my lips. “I’m just. . . I don’t know.”

I glanced at her to see her reaction, and what greeted me made my heart warm. Her eyes conveyed a message of encouraging me to continue. That it was okay to not be okay sometimes.

When we find ourselves lost in the darkness, unable to move, may we find the courage to look for the light.

The corners of my lips raised slowly. “I’m just so tired. So tired. I don’t even know what to do.” I finally said.

A gentle hand suddenly endearingly caressed my right shoulder. “It’s the pressure, isn’t it? All the expectations people put upon us.”

There was a knowing look visible on her face that allowed me to breathe.

“You have me.”

When she said those words I’ve always wanted to hear, I was able to breathe.

My vision got blurry. She understands. She understands.

I wasn’t alone now. I have her.

I gave her a smile, my lips trembling. “Thank you for being there even if we barely see each other.”

She chuckled and stood up to get our drinks.

At our table, I sat there with my chest overflowing with gratitude. I still vividly remember the very first time we knew about each other years ago. Even at a young age, she already had a contagious energy and a warm presence that just put you at ease.

It all started with a simple “Hi!” when we walked past each other in the hallway of our old school, and now we’re both navigating life in adulthood.

Perhaps that’s the greatest thing about friendships. They have seen different versions of you and yet, they still hold you tightly, even at your lowest moments, and never let you go.

That it is so rare to find a person like them to love you still, even when you can’t love yourself.

When she returned to our table with our coffee, she looked at the quotes printed on our cups.

Go where you feel most alive. Today is better than yesterday.

What a perfect timing. Existing is such a mystery to me — because these were obvious signs for me to keep on going. To keep on being alive even when I’m barely hanging on these days.

The quotes definitely lifted my spirits.

Once again, our conversation continued as we drank our coffee.

We did a lot of catching up. She shared snippets about her life and I listened intently. She ranted about her struggles in her academics, which I understand. She ranted about the struggles her mom was facing with her job. She ranted about her school. She ranted and ranted, and all I could do was listen, entranced by her stories. They were compelling after all.

Hopefully, she knows how grateful I am that she could entrust me with this huge burden she’d been carrying on her shoulders all this time. It felt nice to help her get rid of it even for a short while.

We hugged each other and my heart swelled with joy. It felt nice to have someone I can lean on to. I know that both of us were struggling inside, yet we continue to cling to our friendship.

It seems that all of our tomorrow seemed to merely project uncertainty. But as the day got deeper and our conversations got longer, I knew one thing was for sure.

Our hearts grew fonder as our friendship continued to bloom.

#writing #creative writing #friendship #creative nonfiction #blog #life lessons #life

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thekitchnpro · 3 years ago

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What are the Most Popular Kitchen Tools?

New Post has been published on https://thekitchnpro.com/what-are-the-most-popular-kitchen-tools/

What are the Most Popular Kitchen Tools?

The kitchen tools are one of the most important rooms in the house, but it’s also among the most expensive rooms to furnish. That’s why you want to make sure you use your kitchen tools wisely and buy only those that are truly necessary. There are so many different kitchen tools on the market today, which makes it hard to decide which ones you really need and which ones are just there to take up space in your kitchen cabinet.

Dish Drying Rack

Instead of leaving dishes in a sink full of water to soak, consider using a dish drying rack. It will keep your plates and glasses from sitting in standing water, making them less likely to become cloudy. Also, you won’t have to spend time scrubbing away stubborn food that won’t come off with just a rinse. And if you haven’t heard of them before, multi-use kitchen gadgets like baking sheets and muffin tins are also good alternatives for drying dishes. These can help save time—and space—when you don’t have room in your cupboards for multiple racks. Best of all, they’re usually less expensive than buying something specifically designed for drying dishes.

Kitchen Utensils

A kitchen utensil is a tool used in food preparation. Kitchen utensils are usually made of plastic, wood, or metal. They are typically hand-held and designed to allow for handling of hot foods as well as cold foods and liquids. Some cooking utensils may be multi-purpose tools with several functions. Examples include meat forks (which often have holes in one end), spatulas, slotted spoons (in which foods can rest while they drain), and turners. Food preparation utensils may also serve double duty as kitchen decorations. Wooden spoons and spatulas may be decorated by sanding their handles or painting their designs onto them; metallic serving implements such as tongs may be fashioned into decorative bookends.

Vegetable Peeler

If you buy fruit and vegetables with their skins on, you’ll probably use a vegetable peeler at some point. With so many different kinds of vegetable peelers to choose from, it’s hard to know which one is best. Our recommendation is to get a classic swivel-blade variety that features various sizes of blades for different kinds of produce. You’ll be able to peel everything from bananas and kiwis to potatoes and zucchini without needing any attachments or special gadgets. While we love ceramic peelers (and have previously recommended them), metal is more common because it’s sturdier and more functional.

Ceramic peelers also tend to chip easier than metal ones. Best of all, ceramic peels don’t rust like metal varieties do, making them excellent for storage in wet areas where other implements might rust away. Another great thing about these types of peels is that they’re low maintenance; just give them a quick scrub before using each time and rinse afterward and you won’t have to worry about discoloration or buildup.

Air Fryer

Have you ever wanted to eat French fries but didn’t want to feel guilty about it after? The solution is here! An air fryer is a kitchen tool that can do everything from baking cookies, roasting vegetables, cooking bacon, and deep-frying foods. It uses hot air to cook food instead of oil for a low-fat alternative that maintains flavor and texture. These tools have become very popular in recent years. However, before jumping on board with anyone model make sure it has all of your favorite features. Some come with adjustable temperature controls while others include preset buttons. So you don’t have to figure out how long foods take to cook yourself.

Spatula

Cooking spatulas are a must-have in any kitchen. Spatulas allow you to easily spread, flip, and lift foods in your skillet or on your griddle. Choose spatulas with flexible silicone heads for easy maneuvering and metal or wooden handles for sturdy gripping. When it comes to food prep, having a variety of sizes on hand allows you to cook anything you want with ease. If you have only one spatula, we recommend buying a larger one that can handle all your cooking needs from turning pancakes to flipping burgers.

For smaller tasks like spreading mayonnaise on sandwiches or cookies, choose one that is thin but still strong enough to perform well at high temperatures. 18/8 stainless steel knife block. A good set of knives should be sharpened before use, kept clean, dry, and stored properly. The knife block prevents dulling from contact with other knives or utensils and keeps your knives safe during storage (think kids). The best knife blocks are made from 18/8 stainless steel which prevents rust build up around your blades that can cause pitting. These types of blocks often come with a magnet strip attached so they fit securely on kitchen counters and prevent sliding when preparing food.

Frying Pan

The frying pan is a round-bottomed cooking vessel, usually made of metal. It is used for sautéing or frying foods on both sides, to cook foods such as omelets and fried eggs, among others. The term frying pan covers a wide variety of pots and pans with varying shapes and materials but having flat bottoms. Although sometimes they have handles (like skillets), they generally do not have lids. If a lid is present, it will be so dome-shaped that it serves only to keep food from splattering against the ceiling rather than preventing access to any steam or smoke given off by boiling food below.

Baking Tray

A baking tray is a rectangular-shaped tray used to cook foods. It’s basically a platter with raised edges, which make it easy to transport baked goods. Look for heavy-duty non-stick aluminum or stainless steel baking trays that have plenty of space to fit your recipe’s ingredients (like a 14×14 sheet cake pan) without crowding. We use our baking trays often for cooking pancakes and roasting vegetables. But you can also use them for baking cookies, brewing beer, searing meat, and more! They’ll keep your food from spilling onto your oven racks while still making cleanup a breeze.

Conclusion

If you’re looking for new ways to cook at home, then these are some of the most popular kitchen tools that you should have. A wooden spoon, a wooden cutting board, and a chef’s knife can take your cooking game to new heights. Cookware will keep you from burning food in those troublesome pots and pans that no one wants to use. And baking supplies like measuring cups, baking sheets, rolling pins, and muffin tins will make it easier than ever to bake tasty treats at home.

#best kitchen tools #kitchen tools #popular kitchen tools

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mygainyear2024 · 8 months ago

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Day 75 More doors of Marrakesh and Rose continually wants to rescue all the cats and their kittens

Today’s carby breakfast includes a hard boiled egg, yay!

We head out in search of jewellery for Rose. I keep stopping at many enticing shops through the maze of souks.

On the way out of the narrow alleyways to grab a taxi we spot some stylish stores which I pin to come back to.

Lunch was pre-booked at Amal, a not for profit training school for girls. They are also raising funds for the earthquake victims (I later ask Hassan about his experience during the earthquake. He recalled the sounds he heard just before, the uncertainty about what was happening, his emotions and shock symptoms after and showed us some cracks in the riad walls) .

Lunch was truly delicious. Friday is cous cous day at Amal. The chicken was more tender than yesterday and the sauce and chilli sauce sides added heaps of flavour.

The afternoon was spent doing more shopping in the heat. The pinned street had lovely clothes and accessories I really wanted to buy about four dresses from Kissa, but my luggage 😢 we settled on some eau de toilette in very cute bottles. The beauty products and fragrances here smell expensive. The sales woman mentions they work with French perfumeries.

We went to the recommended Kabana for a cocktail, at €16 each (about $30 AUD) we left. I found another nearby rooftop bar with €8 cocktails, Sky Bar WOW. The setting was equally appealing plus there was the addition of spray mist, that Rose had mentioned was required at the first place and we got peanuts and popcorn snacks on the house.

Next stop our hammam experience at Riad Elise & Spa. Rose only wanted a deep tissue massage, not feeling sure about being exposed to the other treatments (I get it, I had the same mindset before my first hammam). I opted for the Moroccan experience which included full body soaping, a very vigorous scrub, clay body mask, hair wash and a one hour massage. The therapist spoke to me in French and at one point wanted me to feel what I think was all the skin that had left my body (it did feel like the peelings from my teenage years of sun baking with baby oil 😳) It was very relaxing. Rose then declared her disappointment at missing out on the clay mask 🤷‍♀️ 😂

My first hammam experience 11 years ago in Istanbul I think will remain unsurpassed. Unlike today, underground with black tiles, the slab I was lying on was directly below a hole in the ceiling where the light shone on me and the marble was white. I didn’t notice the hardness of that marble slab quite as much. It was a surreal experience, so hard to describe. The therapist was very maternal and I don’t recall she spoke many words to me at all. I had a honey massage that day after a big sudsy body wash and scrub.

Dinner was at Falafel Terrace and Brunch, nobody’s recommendation, just good google reviews, and it did not disappoint. We were the only diners. We shared a plate of falafels, roasted veg, hummus and the best pita bread I’ve tasted thus far. The falafels didn’t taste deep fried and the blend of spices in them was deliciously noticeable.

Hassan has been hitting on Rose, sending multiple messages on Instagram. Asking if she misses him and him saying “Ayes miss you”! He is a lovely young man. And by the afternoon, or was it yesterday, I can’t remember, he wants to marry her and he can find me a Berber husband too! I told him I’m very independent and difficult 😂

Rose needs a little help managing the attention. She thinks he’s too old for her, at 27. We legitimately can decline the late night invitation on the rooftop and the offer of him playing the guitar as we are both coughing, sometimes uncontrollably and need to rest. Hassan offers to make us some herbal tea and brings out the good honey.

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acquavergine · 2 years ago

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So what do you like to cook? How did you begin cooking? How did you learn?

I like to cook really simple food with fresh ingredients.. (I don't buy anything with conservatives or colorants obviously...) I wouldn't call it Italian food per se... I am much more interested in the Mediterranean ingredients themselves than any specific type of cooking.. although I do like the structure of the Italian meal: antipasto(they say you should never start eating on an empty stomach), primo, secondo, contorno, nuts and fruit.. really long and drawn out, jovial conversation ideally. I never force people to eat big portions (I believe forcing people to overeat is abusive, although I know it can stem from food insecurity)... I like to put the dishes in the center so the eater can choose how much they want on their own plate.

Weekday cooking around here splits the long meal into two... lunch: primo & salad... dinner: secondo & contorni... and that makes sense and seems nice to me although I am not an expert on nutrition... I personally prefer to have pasta for lunch as opposed to dinner, not everyday of course, other kinds of primi: polenta, risotto, farro salad, pesto-y orzo, hearty minestra, etc...

I describe the food I make like this: inspired by typical daily dishes, but lighter, always keeping vegetable dishes meatless (there is a tendency to add animal fats to everything here..) all my cooking is produce forward anyway. If I am preparing a full meal, I put equal importance on primo/secondo/contorni (sides): portion sizes I guess I mean... for example: not too much pasta, a smallish piece of meat or fish and a lot of vegetables! Plus I like to wait kind of a while between courses... I like to rearrange familiar flavor combinations and also do experiments.. (when Matteo eats something I prepared we play this game where he guesses all the ingredients/spices/which region the olive oil is from/etc..)

Anchovy (garum/fish sauce), fennel (bulb, seeds, dried yellow flowers), and lemon (fresh and preserved in salt) are my favorite flavors. I also love coffee and chocolate. The significant importance of "broth" is always on my mind. I save all kinds of scraps in the freezer to make special broths depending on the dish or my mood or the weather. I collect salt because I think its type/size is also of significant importance. The iconic pancake is something I treasure... not just the American kind we know and love in the modern world (with maple syrup which I also treasure)... but also the way it seems each culture has their own version of a "pancake", at least something cooked on a hot flat surface, sweet or savory it doesn't matter, even the kind I read about in the ancient Roman cookbooks... with warm honey or covered in poppy seeds or used to soak up sauce... the point is I think pancakes are a brilliant idea that comes from the deep collective consciousness. I rotate through a few key "Rachel" recipes, and if you know me then you know what they are because I really prepare them often: pancakes are one of them... some particular soups... "fake parmigiano" (almonds/cashews/miso/salt blended)... polenta with a poached egg... whole roasted fish... pasta arrabbiata... arugula pesto... tortilla di patata... meatballs... wilted garlic-y bitter greens... broccoli pasta. zucchini pasta. braised radicchio... sweet and sour bell peppers... slow cooked potatoes and fennel (sometimes blended)... fennel/orange/black olive salad... cabbage/celery/apple/lemon/almond salad... red cabbage and red onion risotto... breaded and roasted thickly sliced white onions... my famous chocolate and olive oil cake... ginger bread... wine and black pepper biscuits... etc. I am always searching for satisfaction/balance of the taste buds (mine and others) and I love when I feel it. I remember everyone's dietary restrictions, even people I barely know. It means a lot to me to share off the same plate with someone.

I guess the first real memory I have of cooking myself is breading zucchini (flour, egg, breadcrumbs) and frying it to eat with sour cream... maybe I was 8 or 9. I have a lot of food memories from my childhood. My nonna (who immigrated to the states when she was 12) always cooked big Sunday meals and I would watch her. And my great grandma on the other side kind of reminded me of Julia Child and I remember she always had a bowl of freshly whipped cream in the fridge that we would eat with cinnamon and sugar sprinkled on top. I also watched a lot of Food Network shows when I was young, Nigella Lawson & Ina Garten. Once I lived on my own, I started cooking with my friends, but I never imagined I would work in the restaurant industry. There were some particular friends along the way who left a mark on my cooking journey, by giving me a nice sharp knife (I always used the standard "nonna knife" before then), or showing me techniques and foods and restaurants I had never heard of. Then I guess in SF is where I started working in professional kitchens... the first job I could find when I moved there in 2010 was as an office manager for this tiny, fancy cake shop. It was just the owner and me. She was super hesitant to hire me with no experience running a small business and also with a timid voice, but she saw herself in me and thought it was important that our paths crossed. She's one of those who had done a lot of acid/meditating in the 70s and can see time and space in a different way (we're still good friends and write each other long emails about once a year, she's now retired to Hawaii)... Anyway, I'll never forget one day she was making a taco-shaped cake (this was way before the cakes-shaped-like-other-things movement was trendy!) and she was struggling making enough white chocolate that look like shredded cheese, she was squeezing little piece by little piece between her fingers making each shred individually. The person was coming to pick-up and she was on the verge of a panic attack, so I asked if I could help (she didn't like help with her cakes)... and I found an actual cheese grater and simply graded the block of chocolate so we had enough "chocolate cheese" in a matter of minutes. The next morning she told me to put an ad on craigslist for a new office manager and I thought she was firing me but really she was "moving me to the kitchen" and that's how my baking days started.

After my time in San Fran came to a dramatic end (because of someone who lived on the edge of Lake Merritt actually now that I think of it...) I started working at a bread bakery in Providence. And that was my dream job, and I would still be working there now if it hadn’t gone up in flames (figuratively). Shortly after that, I somehow convinced the chef/owner of Loïe Fuller's to let me cook on the line but only on the busiest nights of the week because I wanted to learn quickly and with him..(he was reading a book about Alice Waters at the time and I came to him with the idea to do a dinner on tuesday nights going off the menu and using up all the food that would otherwise be thrown away... and after a while we did do it, and we mixed it with live music and called it Incidental Tuesdays and it was a hit) anyway, I did learn a lot: about cooking (the chef had learned to cook under someone who headed the kitchen on a marine ship, so my training was not “culinary” but more so “pirate”) and the way restaurants are run (inventory/finances/dynamics/events/etc). That job was really beautiful and I made some important friendships, but it also came to an abrupt end about a year later when that same person flicked lamb's blood on my chef whites as a joke and I walked out on the spot. The next morning (which would be my last shift) he brought me a mason jar full of weed, a fancy nitro-iced coffee, and a hundred dollar bill (that he owed me for screen printing t-shirts) but I quit nonetheless... and started planning a trip to Italy. But now I'm rambling...

Since then, I have worked in some beautiful restaurants and catering projects in Nyc, London, Italy and Western Mass.. I have also done some special pop-ups and secret dinner club events. I could write about cooking a lot more... but I want to answer some of your other questions now.

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foreverindreamlandd · 3 years ago

Note

Drabble or oneshots request:

Bucky craving pumpkins with reader

I *think* this is supposed to say 'carving pumpkins' but if not let me know ;) Thanks for the request!

WC: 1k

A/N: No warnings except that it's a heaping mess of fluff.

----------------------

“Don’t look,” you whine, sounding like a 5-year-old as you hover your arms over your creation.

“I’m not! You’re the one trying to take a peak at mine, love,” Bucky retorts.

You scoff, feigning offense. “I literally don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Isn’t this supposed to be a fun, relaxing activity?” He asks with a face that is a mixture of loving and judgmental.

“It is! I’m having fun! I just want it to be a surprise.”

Bucky chuckles. “Alright then, love. Just let me know when you’re done.”

“You got it, Buck.” You wink before turning back to the half-carved pumpkin in front of you.

It’s a crisp October evening in upstate New York, your favorite weather. Dressed in one of Bucky’s comfiest flannels and a pair of leggings, you sit on the back deck of the Avenger’s Compound with your super soldier boyfriend, surrounded by the remains of two pumpkins you were currently working on.

He had -- in true Bucky fashion -- originally put up a stink about the idea of carving pumpkins. In the weeks leading up to October, you would list all of the Fall things you were excited to start doing. Apple picking, hay rides, corn mazes, but pumpkin carving was where Bucky drew the line.

“That’s a thing for kids, doll.”

“Do you really think I’m going to stick my metal arm in a gunk-invested vegetable? I’ll have guts stuck in there for years.”

“Can’t we buy pre-carved ones? Or just buy the seeds so we can roast them?”

But when the two of you walked through the Farmer’s Market, carrying a basket full of candles and apple cider donuts, he couldn’t turn away from the light in your eyes as they brightened with true unadulterated delight when you saw the pallet covered in orange gourds. And he knew he wasn’t going to be able to say no to the evil, vicious, adorable, stunning pouty face you gave him when you turned in his direction.

He didn’t say a word as he accepted his fate. Just walked over to the woman at the table, wallet in hand, and reached down to grab the two he thought looked best.

When he walked back, a pumpkin cradled in each arm, his grimace faded away at the sight of your luminous smile, filled with such joy that he couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit of pride that he had done something to get you to smile like that.

Hell, he even felt a little bit excited to cut into these squishy basketballs when you stood on your tiptoes to lean in for a kiss to express your gratitude.

So now, here you both are, elbow-deep in pumpkin remains, the scent of apple-caramel radiating through the space from one of the candles you had bought earlier that day, a half-eaten bag of donuts, your favorite Fall playlist softly playing in the background, and saran wrap plastered over Bucky’s metal arm. Alpine was sitting on top of her cat tower in the corner of the deck, snuggling with the spider plush you had bought her at the market.

“Okay,” you say, sitting up straight with a face full of confidence, “I’m done.”

“Same. Let’s see what you got, love.” Bucky reached to his left arm to rip off the saran wrap.

You move your pumpkin into view to reveal a jack-o-lantern face, but instead of smiling, its mouth is turned down. You had even carved eyebrows that knit together in the corners.

Bucky narrows his eyes at you, pointing at your creation. “I thought those guys were supposed to be happy and shit.”

You give him a sly grin. “They are, but I based this one off of something else. I call it ‘Grumpy Buck.”

Bucky scowls and you cackle, lifting up your pumpkin and reaching forward to hold it by his face. “See! Isn’t this like looking in a mirror?”

He rolls his eyes, muttering, “Love you too, doll.”

Your grin widens. “Don’t worry, love, there’s more.” You spin the pumpkin 180 degrees to reveal a smiling jack-o-lantern on the other side. “I call this side, ‘Bucky Whenever He’s With His Favorite Person AKA Me.”

He barks out a laugh at the ridiculous title and smiles at you. “You really put in a lot of layers into this project.”

You wink at him. “What can I say? My man is complicated, but he’s the best guy around.”

His heart swells, and he leans forward to give you a chaste kiss. It tastes like apples and cinnamon and something else that is so uniquely Bucky and it brings the same butterflies to your stomach that you felt the first time he kissed you and have felt from every kiss since.

“I love it,” he whispers as he pulls away.

It takes you a moment to clear your head after the dizziness his kiss brought and you blink a few times before pointing at his pumpkin. “Alright, your turn. Let’s see what you got.”

Bucky’s face goes serious as he moves to turn his pumpkin your way. You gasp as soon as his carving comes into view.

“What the fuck?” You exclaim, looking at his creation.

Which looks like a fucking work of art.

It’s a carving of Alpine, perfectly sculpted and shaded that it looks like he traced over a photo of your feline friend instead of freehanding it.

He grins. “Not bad, hey?”

You scoff. “When the hell were you going to tell me that you were a freaking Michaelangelo of pumpkin carving?”

He shrugs, picking up his dagger that he used to carve, a smile still on his face. “Babe, I’m good with knives, remember?”

You frown, crossing your arms in front of you and narrowing your eyes at him. “I still think mine is better.”

He chuckles, then puts down the dagger and takes your face in his hands.

“Your pumpkin is amazing. Everything you do is amazing.” He kisses you again and your frown falls away. “Thank you for an amazing day and for putting up with my grumpy old man self.”

You smile, filled with a sense of awe that you get to share your life with the man in front of you.

“So does this mean that we’ve found a new Fall tradition and you’ll do this with me every year forever?”

Instead of the scowl of dread you were expecting, Bucky’s smile widens.

“If I can have forever with you? I’ll do whatever the hell you want, doll.”

-----------------

Thank you for reading! Click here to check out more of my stuff here. :)

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Tag List: @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @eclipses-and-moondust

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acourtofthought · 2 years ago

Note

Azriel had always wondered why the third sister was given to another. I noticed that the attraction between Azriel and Elain was born out of the blue...

Look at the other Sjm couples and you see how they started, how they started to like each other and how they fell in love. We witnessed them falling in love and we know how it got to that point.

But Azriel didn't notice Elain much in acomaf. He didn't even react when she was being forced into the cauldron. He hadn't shown any reaction to her but he showed anger and threatened the King of Hybern when he spoke to Mor. Him answering Elain's questions in acomaf wasn't an act of love or something, not when Feyre literally told them to look decent and be nice before they entered her sisters home. He was being kind and her questions weren't deep.

Even in acowar, Azriel rather wanted to go out instead of babysitting Elain. He won the stick game and clapped Cassian on the back. I don't remember correctly but that was before Lucien had gotten the chance to see Elain, right? Later on he all of a sudden showed interest in her and I just ask myself where that comes from and why exactly he's interested now.

They share nice moments.. still they lack so much. They’re not themselves around each other and it annoys me when people suggest otherwise because they show evidence where he laughs.. okay? He laughed when Nesta roasted Cassian, he laughed at Gwyn's jokes, him laughing is not something that is a complete shock, it's just that he doesn't do that often. Azriel never showed anything dark about him to her, he has only showed her that gentle side of him. Elain also showed only kindness to him but not her true self because I honestly doupt that what she's shown is all she has. They're sort of awkward around each other.

So no, Azriel did not lie when he said he had always questioned the cauldron's choices. This interest was always so random to me and I was surpised when canon said that he's already sexually attracted.

It's Sarah j Maas. I doupt she would make ships fall in love so randomly except for if they're random side characters.

That was so well thought out and all I can do is agree with every point you made.

And you're right, most "special" moments between Az and Elain are easily compared to other moments throughout the series. He was willing to die for her? He was willing to die again immediately after he returned with Elain and after his wings were shredded and he shouldn't have even been thinking of going back out into the war. He shares glances with Elain? He stares longingly after Mor, stares at her with hunger, in the same books those glances with Elain occur. He laughs at Elains jokes? He laughs at the others jokes too.

His interest in her and her interest in him really does seem to have born out of proximity and circumstance.

Elain was heartbroken over Graysen.

Az has been let down time and again at his unrequited love for Mor.

But suddenly, Mor is being sent off to do things away from the IC and isn't around as often. Then we have Feysand paired off, Amren and Varian are together, Nessian becoming a thing (or are attempting to) and that leaves Az and Elain as the odd ones out. Elain is struggling so Az has the chance to step in and play "hero" which is such an ego stroke for someone like Az. He feels needed and useful and as long as he acts calm and gentle and looks more "human" (his shadows were gone, his face stark and clear. More … human than I had ever seen him.) around Elain (I don’t want a male.” She wanted a human man.), she falls into something that is safe and easy and is everything that her Mating Bond with Lucien is not.

They are both falling into one another as an easy escape from their real problems but neither is being honest with themselves or with the other.

Of course Az questioned the Cauldron. His two brothers got a Mating Bond with two sisters and the hot, available third sister who he can hang out with when he wants because he is also single wasn't given to him.

He desperately wanted a Mating bond with Mor for centuries but that didn't happen so after having to question WHY for all those years, this is another "WHY" to add to the list.

Nothing of his questioning the Cauldron means he wants Elain because he is in love with her. Because if he was in love with her, than the Mating Bond shouldn't matter. Loving her and having her love him in return should be gift enough. But the fact that Az speaks nothing of feelings for Elain and only speaks of getting left out of a Mating Bond proves its not about Elain as a person. It's a math equation. 3 Brothers + 3 Sisters should = 3 Mating Bonds.

It's really sad that there has never been a single scene where Azriel speaks highly of Elain as an individual. Yeah, he did this, that or the other thing, but when it comes to him showing actual respect and admiration for her, I've never seen it. He wants to protect her but that's not love. That's seeing someone as weak and small and feeling its your responsibility to look after them.

And maybe that is how some authors write their romance but that is 100% NOT how SJM writes her couples.

#anti e/riel #anti e*riel #antie/riel

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years ago

Text

bullseye | got it bad, m | jjk, kth

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Kim Taehyung really regrets setting up his best friend with Jeon Jungkook, mostly because instead of dealing with one insufferable asshole, he now has to deal with two. He just wants you to come to his art exhibit and support him, and you show up looking like a pimp with Jungkook looking like your escort, sigh.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; you’re a cocky asshole and so is Jungkook; schemes, please save Taehyung; graphic descriptions of various sex acts, smut (fem reader, making out / dry humping / fingering in a public bathroom, threesome smut, mild restraint, nipple play, m-receiving oral, ass / pussy spanking, double penetration / spit-roast, facial, mild dom/sub themes, so much kissing); non-idol!BTS; fuckboy!Jungkook x bisexual, fuckgirl!reader; ft artist, best friend!Taehyung

yup, it’s Butter purple-haired ponytail JK and orange suit Taehyung

"You have got to be kidding me!"

"Oh, hey, Tae. How's it going?"

"Hey, hyung."

The voices, one irritated, one pleased, one mischievous, all three looking like the epitome of trouble and the eventual subjects of someone's wet dream.

Kim Taehyung marched over to you, purely indignant, his previous honey-brown hair now dyed to the color of black coffee, the long curls pushed back to reveal his forehead. One stray lock brushed against his dark, sculpted brows that were currently furrowed in annoyance. He stopped in front of you and your boyfriend, hands on his hips. He looked handsome as hell in a tailored orange creamsicle suit and gold earrings, white dress shirt neatly pressed.

"Why are you dressed like a pimp?" Taehyung hissed, jabbing your left breast through your dress. "Why are you dressed like his pimp?!" he added, pointing at Jungkook's smirking face.

You blinked innocently at Taehyung, lifting your oversized black fur coat sleeve to place a delicate hand on your chest, completely unbothered by his harsh reaction to your appearance. Your nails were a gradient from black to white, ever-so-slightly pointed, but not too long to be inconvenient.

Just enough to show you meant business.

Oh, and also you were wearing mock-neck, halter-style minidress that faded from black to white, molded to your every curve. It perfectly matched Jungkook's gradient black-to-white suit. Every step was accented with a sharp click, you in sleek black high-heels and him in glossy black oxfords, dangerous from head-to-toe.

Yes, Jungkook and you were that couple.

"Is that a t-shirt?" Taehyung snapped, switching to prodding Jungkook’s pecs, who grinned in response. You shrugged, the shoulders of your fur coat sliding down so that it now rested on your elbows, exposing your shoulders.

"He thought about not coming with one, but I advised him the other visitors would be too distracted by his sexiness to view your art," you explained, bowing as if you had done a great service.

"And I told her they would be to distracted with her amazing legs, but it's better not to cover them because I like looking," Jungkook chuckled, placing an arm around your waist and pulling you to him possessively.

Taehyung facepalmed.

"I regret paying matchmaker to the two biggest egos I know," he mumbled through his fingers, glaring at the two of you.

"Hey, we kept it low profile. Neutrals."

Taehyung pointed to your boyfriend's hair, pulled back into a sleek ponytail. "Hello? His hair is fucking purple."

You waved his comment away dismissively. "Well, besides that."

"You're a class-A asshole."

"Still makes me high class," you replied with a wink.

"This is really nice, hyung," Jungkook cut in between your bickering. "There’s quite a lot of people here already. I didn't know you were so talented and popular. As expected from my girl's best friend, eh?"

Taehyung winced, rubbing the back of his neck, ears turning red. "Eh... it's not a big deal..." he muttered, but you could tell he was enjoying the praise.

"Of course, it is, Tae," you chuckled, pulling out of Jungkook's grasp to hug him, squeezing him between your fur-covered arms. "You've worked so hard to be able to display your paintings at such a nice venue. I'm proud of you."

Taehyung laughed shyly, hugging you back. "Ahaha... thanks, as usual." He planted a light kiss on the top of your head. "I'm happy you guys came."

You grinned. "Indeed. You needed visitors to match the space," you drawled, sweeping your arms in a grandiose gesture to the glass cases of Taehyung's paintings, crisp white walls, and black marble flooring.

Taehyung rolled his eyes, smiling despite being over your antics. "Not sure I need a high-end escort and his pimp sauntering around..."

"When are your parents arriving? I want to introduce them to Jungkook," you interrupted, tugging on Jungkook's arm and making his cheeks flush pink.

"Like this?! Are you serious, my parents are going to have a heart attack once they realize there's a male version of you!"

"Aw, come on, your dad loves seeing me!"

"That's because you both are always up to no good... fucking always pulling pranks on me... I'm actually glad they're stuck in traffic now..."

You slid your thumb into his mouth, smirking as you heard his muffled whine. He was trying to stay quiet, staring down at you with half-lidded eyes, whimpering as you rubbed his tongue with the pad of your finger. One of your legs was hooked around his waist and he was holding it up with one hand. His other between your legs, fingers hooking underneath your panties.

“Fuck, I love looking at you, Jungkook,” you whispered, leaning forward, shuddering at the feeling of his saliva pooling around your thumb, your own tongue snaking out and tracing the air right between his open lips.

Jungkook moaned softly and shoved two fingers inside your tight, wet pussy.

You pulled your thumb out and crashed your lips to his, letting your satisfied exhale into his throat, your name trapped between his lungs and your hungry mouth, kissing him deeply as he plunged his fingers in and out, pressing your body into the wall of the bathroom stall. Shivers up and down your spine, back arching to feel even more of his chest against yours, frustrated at the clothing between you and him, but still hot and exciting, your hands circling his head and playing with his ponytail, rolling your hips into his rough thrusts.

You tried to break free and moan, but Jungkook captured you with his lips, forcing your noises into his mouth to silence them, rubbing his erection against your hip and thigh, the sound between your legs getting louder because you were getting wetter, closer, your eyes cracking open and seeing his half-open too, staring at you with lust and love, determined to push you over the edge, even in the men’s bathroom where Kim Taehyung’s art exhibit was being held.

Hey, you both waited until you had a nice, long conversation with Taehyung’s parents where his mom drilled Jungkook with questions about what he did and what kind of person he was. His dad, in contrast, seemed to approve of Jungkook and gave him a hearty slap on the arm, telling him trouble and trouble often went well together. Then you and Taehyung’s dad had a praise fest about his son, which made Taehyung turn beet-red in embarrassment. Both of you meant it all, of course.

But, also, both of you enjoyed embarrassing Taehyung in public. It was fun.

Yeah, dads loved you.

You couldn’t imagine why that was.

All that aside, after Taehyung's parents bid their son goodbye, Jungkook dragged you into the men's bathroom and began to make out with your face.

He contained himself for a few hours. It was a valiant effort, living off only groping your ass a couple times, but a man can only take so much when you’re looking like a five-course meal and he’s aware that you’re willing to let him eat, you know?

No? Oh, well.

Maybe that’s just your problem.

Also, yes, maybe you discreetly teased him a couple times by rubbing your ass on his crotch and pressing your tits against his back. Maybe.

You lowered one of your hands, cupping your fingers around his length, sighing in his mouth, feeling how perfectly rock-hard he was, knowing you couldn’t have it and he couldn’t give it to you, not yet, but soon, his deep snarl at your touch, fuck, kisses intensifying, shoving his fingers into you all the way to the knuckle, the wet squish audible and obscene, the adrenaline of danger and satisfaction creeping you closer and closer to your high. His thumb came up and grazed your clit, making you close your eyes and rock your hips into his touch, moaning his name into his own mouth, his force of his fingers pushing his thumb against your throbbing clit hard and fast, the scent of black coffee and lush dragon fruit on his skin and yours, mixing with the sweetness of your orgasm as you wailed in glorious triumph, clutching his head with your hand and his waist with your leg, your other one shaking with strain as each pulse shook you, squeezing his clothed length in your hand, wanting it and pulling back to tell him just that in hot whispers, his soft moan against your mouth, whispering back, your name and his desire, his dark brown eyes nearly black with lust.

“Shit, you know how bad I want to fuck you, right now,” Jungkook panted.

“Please don’t.”

Huh?

You raised an eyebrow at the annoyed baritone voice. “Taehyung?”

“Do you know how long I’ve been standing here, knocking on this bathroom stall, you absolute horndogs?”

You heard him gritting his teeth, his voice nearly a deep growl. You did what any natural person would do.

Reached over and unlocked the door, letting it swing open to reveal your and Jungkook’s grinning faces.

His fingers remained very firmly inside your pussy, barely covered by the hem of your dress. You swept your arm back so your fur coat was out of the way. Always considerate. Taehyung stood at the opening of the door, hands on his hips, orange blazer flaring out with his posture, immediately throwing up his hands and jerking his head away once he realized that, yes, of course, you two would not bother covering up anything.

“Fucking – shit, get your hands off her, man, go home to do that–”

Jungkook began to slide his fingers out, scissoring them with a wet squish and you mewled, slightly exaggerated and performative.

“Oh my God, never mind, stop, leave them in there,” Taehyung snarled, realizing he was facing the mirror and therefore could still see both yours and Jungkook’s smug smirks. He abruptly turned ninety degrees, now facing the wall, giving you both the side eye. “The fuck is wrong with you people? Do you have any decency?”

“Sure, we do,” you chirped.

“Yeah, that’s why we’re in the bathroom,” Jungkook added, softly rubbing your clit and making you bite your lip, enjoying it very, very much.

A muscle in Taehyung’s eyebrow twitched. “Public bathroom,” he snapped, rubbing his forehead. “Fuck, what if it wasn’t me who walked in here? What if It was some goddamn stranger listening to this shit?”

“Speaking of which,” Jungkook mused, cocking a brow. “Normal people would just leave. Why did you stay and listen?”

You didn’t say anything. You were simply happily grinding on his hand, the gentle pressure creating a constant ecstasy that you were completely satisfied with, one hand hooked around Jungkook’s neck, waiting for Taehyung to answer with a huge, amused grin on your face. Taehyung knew everything about you.

It almost meant you knew everything about Taehyung.

He rolled his eyes. “You act like I’ve never heard her orgasm before. Big fucking deal.”

Jungkook gave him a pair of incredibly wide eyeballs that indicated that, yes, that was kind of a big deal.

“Tae was my first kiss.”

“What?’ Jungkook blurted, snapping his head back to you.

You shrugged. “We were, like, eight. Just wanted to know what kissing was.”

Jungkook blinked very rapidly, stunned.

His two fingers were still inside you.

You scrunched up your face, thinking. “We were also each other’s first head and fuck too. Although it wasn’t very good.”

“You were a bit shit,” Taehyung interjected.

“It took you five whole minutes to aim. Even a watermelon would be dry at that point.”

Jungkook was still trying to process that you were each other’s first kiss with his fingers knuckle deep in your pussy. “W… What? Why aren’t you guys dating?”

You snorted. “I can’t do that. He’s like my brother.”

Taehyung stuck his tongue out. “And she’s like my sister. That’s weird.”

Jungkook finally yanked his fingers out of you and threw out his hands in disbelief. “And being each other’s first times for – shit, basically everything – isn’t weird?”

Your eyes flickered to Jungkook’s soaked fingers, your cum stuck between them in viscous strings. Ooh, sexy. You licked your lips, breaking out in a pleased smirk. Taehyung spied what you were looking at and facepalmed. Jungkook seemed to notice too and turned to look at it, suddenly forgetting the whole discussion.

And put his cum-covered fingers into his mouth, moaning deliciously around them.

Taehyung made a horrified face in the mirror, making eye contact with you.

“Um, gross!”

“Eh, shut up, Tae, not like you haven’t done it in front of me before.”

“Well, I don’t wanna watch Jungkook do it,” he shot back, spinning around to glare at you. “He’s your boyfriend!”

You quirked an eyebrow. “You’ve seen other guys do it before when we’ve had threesomes. Plus, you’ve watched me open my mouth with other men’s cum in it so you could cum in my mouth too.”

Jungkook choked on his own fingers.

“WHAT?” he roared.

“You weren’t serious about them!” Taehyung flicked his hand, completely ignoring Jungkook. “And you’re my go-to when the girls I’m seeing want to experience a threesome, so I was just doing you a favor!”

Your boyfriend was having a mild heart attack and neither you nor Taehyung seemed to notice, too busy bickering about your strangely integrated sex lives.

“What’s the difference? It’s just Jungkook. You guys are friends.”

“Yeah, extra reason why I don’t want to sit around and imagine him slurping from your vagina. I gotta look into his eyes later!”

You raised your hands, shaking your head. “So what? You’ve seen my other sex partners in public and never said much about it. Why are you making such a fuss now?”

“Because!” Taehyung flung his hands, stamping a foot on the tile floor in frustration, his handsome features twisted into despair, hands on his head and messing up his dark brown hair. “Because you’re going to stop being my friend now that you’re serious about someone and I can’t do anything about it because that someone is Jungkook and I actually like the guy! I’m fucking happy for you and shit, but, fuck, fuck, what am I gonna do when you’re not in my corner anymore?”

Your jaw dropped, shocked.

“Tae, what are you talking about–?”

He spun around, about to run out, but you were faster, grabbing his arm and pulling him back, yanking him into a fierce hug. And, just like that, Taehyung was that awkward, weird kid in elementary school again, not wanting to admit he was scared and frightened of the big mean boys teasing him about his odd drawings and strange thought processes, calling him a dorky alien. He grabbed your shoulders, shivering, holding back tears.

“No one’s gonna protect me…” Taehyung sniffed, burying his face in your hair. “If you’re gone, I can’t be brave…”

“Hey, you know that’s not true,” you chastised lightly, squeezing him. “You’ve become strong, all on your own. You know that. That whole exhibit is filled with your art. You even got offers to buy some of your pieces. Isn’t that amazing?” You pulled back and placed your hands on Taehyung’s cheeks, smiling up at him kindly. He still looked gloomy and uneasy, lower lip sticking out. “Come on, you know I’m right, Van Gogh,” you teased, pinching his cheeks a little. He fidgeted, frown lessening. “I will always, always be in your corner. No matter what. No guy is going to make me stop being friends or supporting you. You need me to knock someone’s front teeth out, give me the time and place and I got your back.”

“That’s going to send you to jail,” he muttered, smiling slightly.

“Then I’ll go to jail. That’s just glorified detention because they give you free meals.”

He laughed, still with a tinge of anxiousness. “You promise you won’t stop being my best friend over some guy?”

You grinned. “You’ll always be my best friend, Tae. I just happen to really enjoy his company and his dick. You know, a girl has needs.”

He stuck his hand out childishly, pinky sticking out. “Pinky promise me.” Then he stuck his other hand out. “Actually, double pinky promise me.”

You crossed your wrists over each other and pressed your pinkies to his, squeezing his hands tightly.

“I promise I’ll always be your best friend.”

“Uh, guys, you’re kinda making me feel like a third wheel…”

Jungkook might as well have been a bathroom sink to Taehyung and you in this moment.

Taehyung nodded firmly to you. “Okay. You promised. You better keep it.”

You rolled your eyes. “When have I ever broken a promise to you?”

“Hmm, I guess you’re right…” All of a sudden, he looked down at your hands and wrenched his own out of them. “Oi! Where have those hands been, young lady?” He looked at his open hands with a repulsed scowl. “You better not have touched his dick and then my hands without washing yours! That’s disgusting!”

“Hey, I take offense to that,” Jungkook retorted heatedly. “My dick is perfectly clean and she didn’t get to touch me yet because you busted in and interrupted us–”

“What are you going on about, you’ve touched my hands after I’ve given handjobs! I didn’t hear you complaining!”

“He’s done what–?”

“I keep telling you that’s different, this is Jungkook, a man you actually love, and here I thought you were incapable of that.” Taehyung spoke over Jungkook, jabbing his finger into his palm to drive his point home. “You get that sparkly shit in your eyes when you talk about him and it makes me want to puke–”

“I do not get sparkly shit in my eyes, what the fuck does that even mean?”

“You literally will not shut up about how pretty he is!”

“He is pretty! Look at him!” You banished your arms in Jungkook’s direction like he was your first-place trophy on display, which he might as well be at this point with how much attention either of you were giving him. At least he looked the part.

Taehyung rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, throwing his whole head back. “I can give you pretty. You’ve been telling me I’m handsome all my life.”

“Why don’t we just have a threesome?”

Silence.

Both you and Taehyung jerked your heads to Jungkook, jaws dropped at his suggestion.

The door to the men’s bathroom opened and an old man bounced in, humming to himself.

He saw you.

He stopped, tilting his head. Then he looked from Jungkook to Taehyung and wiggled his eyebrows.

“Love triangle or sexy night, boys?”

Taehyung choked on air. “Not a love triangle.”

“Oooh, sexy night.” The old man gave you two thumbs up. “I’d love to join, but I’ll back out this time.”

You laughed heartily as Jungkook and Taehyung grabbed your arms, pulling you out of the men’s bathroom, not about to discuss a possible threesome in front of some old guy who vaguely offered to make it a foursome.

You made sure to give the old man a wink, sticking your head back in the open door to say, “Maybe next time, eh?”

The old man cackled and Taehyung slapped a hand over your mouth, dragging you out.

“Please shut up, I fucking swear…”

“So, why is it different?”

Somehow both you and Jungkook had dragged your best friend into your apartment and tied him to a chair. One of those nice wooden ones with plenty of openings to slip cotton rope through. Probably not what Kim Taehyung thought he was going to do right after his art exhibition, but judging by his peeved, unsurprised face, it wasn’t a completely unexpected result either.

You had pulled up another chair to sit in front of him, still wearing your fur coat, knees between his knees, mostly because Taehyung was forced to spread them because of how you tied the knots.

“I think I hate you,” Taehyung muttered.

“Nah.”

“At least a little bit.”

You slipped the shoulders of your coat down, exposing your skin, casually crossing your arms under your breasts and leaning forward, smiling sweetly at Taehyung. His dispassionate face basically said, ‘go-suck-your-own-dick’. He tried to pulled his arms free.

“Don’t rip your blazer.”

“Bite me.”

“You gonna answer my question?” you asked, redirecting the conversation.

Taehyung clicked his tongue. “I told you. It’s because I can tell you love him.”

You broke your playful demeanor for a second, smiling broadly. “Really?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, you dork.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever felt like more of a third wheel in my entire life even though you’re talking about how much you love me,” Jungkook said behind you. He was sitting on the couch, as the chairs had been repositioned in the living room.

Taehyung pursed his lips. “That’s why I got scared, you know…” He leaned forward a bit, pouting. “What if you spend so much time with him that you forget about me? What if you guys break up and you blame me?” If he was untied, he would be nervously picking at his lower lip with his right hand right now. Instead, he chewed on it, worried expression clouding his strong features.

You shook your head, reaching out to fluff his brown hair. “You think too much. Why would I blame you over a breakup? If anything, I’d be dragging you out so you can help me keep a record of how many people I can fuck in a night.”

Taehyung made a face. “Why can’t you be normal and cry while eating chocolate?”

“You know I don’t like chocolate.”

“You don’t like chocolate?” Jungkook choked in disbelief.

“I have to fuck my problems away, Tae. That’s the best way to deal with them.”

He rolled his eyes. “You need to see a therapist.”

“Nah, I got you.”

Suddenly Jungkook’s face appeared because you two, sitting on the coffee table.

“How do you not like chocolate?” he pressed, staring at you.

You blinked at him. “I mean, I don’t hate it. I’m just not crazy about it like some people. Isn’t that better for you? I can give you all the chocolate that I receive.”

This thought didn’t seem to have crossed Jungkook’s mind. He grinned, highly pleased with this result.

“You’re even going to give him your chocolate?” Taehyung gasped, affronted. “That’s it, this friendship is over. I can’t believe you would betray me like this!”

You placed your hands on his knees. Taehyung huffed.

“You want me to untie you now?” you asked, patting his thigh and ignoring his dramatic outburst.

“Why? I thought we were going to have a threesome.”

Both you and Taehyung whipped your heads to blink at Jungkook. He smiled innocently, which did not look innocent at all with his sleek purple ponytail and mischievous eyes.

“Nobody agreed to that.”

“Yeah, Jungkook,” you sided with Taehyung. “Nobody agreed to that.”

“Aw, come on,” he nudged, grinning. “You guys have obviously touched each other before, right? And I can totally trust hyung not to fall in love with you.”

“Because my preferred type wouldn’t hump me in a public bathroom,” your best friend muttered.

“I’m sensing judgement here, Kim Taehyung. Watch your mouth,” you warned.

“Choke on my dick.”

“We can start with that,” Jungkook chirped cheerfully.

“Why do you want this, anyway?” You narrowed your eyes at your boyfriend. “You never expressed any interest in threesomes before. I assumed you were too selfish for that.”

“I am.”

You raised an eyebrow.

Jungkook grinned devilishly.

“But I also wanna see you get spit-roasted.”

“Don’t–” Taehyung began.

Jungkook spread his legs, revealing his erection straining in his slacks. Taehyung snapped his head away, groaning an annoyance, disappointed but not surprised that your boyfriend had zero shame. Jungkook bit his lower lip, tiny mole underneath quivering, excitement and lust in his dark brown eyes, looking right at you eagerly. He purred your name. Taehyung visibly cringed.

“You know I would…” you drawled softly, reaching over to squeeze Jungkook’s thigh. “But I don’t think Tae is into it right now.”

“Yeah, I’d only do it if I was horny and desperate.”

“Then why do you have a boner?”

Both you and Taehyung whipped your heads down to see his dick trying to bust out of his pants.

He glared at it. “You traitor.”

“Are you talking to your dick?”

“Look,” Taehyung snapped, letting out a puff of breath and frowning at Jungkook. “I’m not immune, okay? She’s hot, sure. Absolutely one of the sexiest, most beautiful women I know.”

“Aw, so sweet!” you interrupted, smacking his leg in mock bashfulness.

“And,” he gritted, shooting you a scowl. “I might be horny and desperate, sure.”

“So, what’s the problem?” Jungkook inquired, smug smirk on his face.

“Well, you’ll get jealous, for one.”

Jungkook blinked, confused. “What?”

“Taehyung has a big dick.”

You said it so nonchalantly that Jungkook was speechless.

“Mhm.”

“Not as nice as Jungkook’s dick though.”

“Excuse me? I am offended.”

“You honestly need to improve your technique. You think your size alone is all that matters? Jungkook’s the whole package, great dick, cute smile, diligence, strength, always up for anything, perfect duality–”

“Shit, shut up about him, I get it, he’s the hottest thing to walk on this earth, now stop verbally jerking him, he’s not gonna agree–”

“Kiss him.”

You and Taehyung froze.

Eyes flickering to Jungkook, who raised an eyebrow challengingly.

“Kiss him,” he repeated.

Eyes back to Taehyung, who was breathing hard.

“Only because I’m horny and desperate,” he growled.

The corner of your lips ticked upwards.

“Got it bad, eh, Tae?”

You placed your hands on his thighs, sliding down, rising off your chair. You felt Taehyung’s muscles tense, narrowing his eyes. He tried to keep up his severe front, borrowing your tendency to use arrogance to hide your true feelings.

“Isn’t that you?” he challenged. “Need me to satisfy you even though you have Jungkook now?”

You smirked, seeing right through him. “You always give me such blessed service though.”

Something flared in his brown orbs, pupils expanding as you neared. “Don’t.” Your head tilted at his tone, almost pleading, and still you advanced, your soft inhale ghosting his lips. His gaze was on your face the entire time, swallowing hard, anticipation creeping into his stern expression.

“Don’t what?” you whispered teasingly.

“Don’t say it in front of him.”

“But you like it.”

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t need to know my embarrassing turn-ons.”

“What if I slip?”

He clenched his jaw. “Fuck, fine, whatever.”

Your hand reached up to cup his cheek, licking your teeth slowly, maintaining eye contact. Your words a low hiss, laced with pure lust.

“My good little angel, let this devil corrupt you.”

Taehyung whimpered and you closed in on his lips, kissing him deeply, straddling his lap, rolling your hips into his, voracious, greedy kisses, Taehyung gasping in your mouth as you bounced on his crotch, your spread legs causing the hem of your dress to rise, popping over your ass, moaning into his mouth as you worked him under you, his body familiar and comforting. His tongue encircled yours, whining for more, and you mumbled sweet nothings to him, remembering all the things he loved to hear, and he gave you all the things you loved, the neediness in his kiss, the desperation of his hips rising to add more friction. You weren’t exactly immune to Taehyung either. You could control yourself, normally.

But Jungkook gave you the green light, so you went all in.

Your hands were in his hair, tangled in the strands of black coffee, murmuring in his lips, sweet angel, and Taehyung moaned, fiercely thrusting his hips up and you sitting down on it, already wet, sighing satisfyingly at the feeling of his impressive length straining to reach your dripping heat, too many layers of fabric between them.

“Such a good boy doing such bad things,” you purred against his lips, amused at seeing your lipstick all over his mouth.

Taehyung looked up at you with glazed brown eyes, a tinge of unease in them. Maybe he didn’t want to show Jungkook his vulnerable side. You could understand that. You didn’t mind playing your role but Taehyung was more guarded. He didn’t like to be criticized or judged for the things he liked. You noticed his gaze flicker to Jungkook and then back to you.

You tilted your head and cradled his, running your fingers through his hair. “You want me to stop, I’ll stop,” you cooed gently, kissing his ear.

“I don’t want you to stop,” he breathed, so quietly you barely heard it. “I don’t want him to judge me.”

You chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”

Taehyung made a disbelieving noise.

“Something wrong?” Jungkook asked behind you, sounding curious and confused that his show was paused.

“Mhm, need you to take my coat,” you replied, pulling back, lowering your arms so Jungkook could stand behind you and remove it. You slid your hands out elegantly, seeing Taehyung’s messy dark hair and lipstick-stained lips. You heard Jungkook back up and you reached into Taehyung’s blazer, pulling out his handkerchief and dabbing at his mouth, carefully wiping it off.

“We can stop,” your reminded him gently.

“No,” he growled, frowning. “I’ve got a massive boner and it’s all your fault. Get me off.”

You grinned. “Alright, angel.”

You saw Taehyung bite his lip, shivering at your words. You couldn’t remember how this started, but it always worked. The roleplaying helped with the whole ‘having-sex-with-your-best-friend’ thing ten times less awkward, and it made it much easier for him and you to get off.

Unfortunately, it also was starting to make both of you much hornier while having sex with each other.

Whoops.

He clicked his tongue, raising his head, eyebrow cocked.

“Dirty little devil.”

You smirked. Taehyung’s voice was always sexier when he was aroused, deep and sultry.

One by one, you undid the buttons of his dress shirt, kissing at his exposed chest, the deep rich tone of his tan skin standing out against the white, his eyes closing at your touch, running your tongue down his sternum and blowing on it.

He shuddered, moaning your name, long and sweet.

You shifted, intending to push the chair behind you back, but it was gone. Instead, your ass backed up into a pair of very muscular legs. You paused, turning your head to see behind you.

“Jungkook–”

A firm hand stopped you, forcefully jerking your head back to Taehyung’s chest.

“Look forward,” Jungkook commanded.

A shiver down your spine at his tone. You smirked, peering up at Taehyung, who smiled.

“He jealous?”

“I’m not,” Jungkook snapped, grabbing your ass.

“A little bit,” Taehyung chuckled, and now he was smirking too.

Eerily similar to you, because who else would he learn such a devious expression from? You taught him well. You hummed, yanking Taehyung’s shirt open and pushing it to his shoulders, his naked torso now exposed to your eyes and mouth.

“Can’t imagine why. This was his idea.”

Taehyung jerked his head to you as you lowered yours to his chest. “What?”

But your lips closed around his nipple and he gasped, sputtering, confused, and then moaning as you moaned, Jungkook yanking down your panties and slapping your ass with his open palm, the sting added to the disapproving hiss of your name.

“He’s not supposed to know. I didn’t do all that acting for nothing,” he snarled, and your response was wiggling your ass, nipping your teeth over Taehyung’s chest, his handsome features twisted in ecstasy and pleasure, the tip of your tongue teasing his other nipple, pushing it around with your strong, wet, warm muscle.

“Whoops.”

Taehyung narrowed his eyes at you and your not-so-innocent tone.

Jungkook clicked his tongue. “Such a bad little devil. You need some punishment.”

“He already knew?” Taehyung gritted, glaring daggers at your grinning face, saying nothing, your deft fingers undoing his pants. “Answer me, woman.”

Jungkook was positioning your lower half, ass up, legs spread, pussy exposed to his eyes and hand, your dripping core tense with anticipation. When he spoke, his voice was deep and silvery, laced with danger and desire.

“Answer him.”

And he spanked your pussy, making you cry out and leak between his fingers, the sudden sting of pain so nice, and you had the audacity to continue giving Taehyung that infuriatingly smug expression as you dragged his pants and underwear to his knees, freeing his stiff length that stuck straight up, your body repeatedly lurched forward by Jungkook’s open palm on your soaked slit, your juices splattering on his hand and the inside of your thighs. With a smirk, you lowered your head.

“Mhm, he knew… ah, fuck, yes, Jungkook, just like that…” you sighed in satisfaction, tongue snaking out and wrapping around the head of Taehyung’s cock, bobbing your mouth up and down like that, stimulating just the tip, paying extra attention to the underside of the head. “Sorry, Tae.”

“Swallow me whole,” he growled. “Now.”

You were ready to do it, of course, but you felt Jungkook’s hand clap onto your leaking, heated pussy lips, and the other danced up your back, so you waited, letting him grab your head and push you down, not quite as roughly as he would have if he was actually being mean, but with enough pressure that you knew he just wanted to do the physical action, wanted to feel the power even if there was no maliciousness behind it.

Your lips closed around Taehyung’s pulsing, hard length, taking it all, a familiar girth stretching out your jaw. You made a light gagging sound as the head hit the back of your throat, not quite suffocating, but enough to indicate, stop pushing me, and Jungkook lifted the weight off your head, still gripping your hair, messing up your perfected style of the night.

“That’s a good girl, swallowing all that dick,” he purred, sliding a finger into you.

You whined, clenching your walls around it, squeezing tight, wanting more.

“Suck.”

You did, obediently, looking up at Taehyung, his head tipping back, low moans escaping his throat as your tongue squirmed at the base of the head in your throat, muscles clinching around his cock, your lips around the base. You swiped your tongue down, stretching it out even farther, past your lips, slurping nosily at his balls, flicking them rapidly with the tip, feeling him get harder and harder, twitching against the roof of your mouth, bending a little due to the lack of space.

“Fuck, let go of her head, fuck!”

Jungkook released you and you grabbed Taehyung’s hips, starting a fast, intense pace, swirling your tongue around his cock, another long finger wiggling into your slick folds, thrusting into you from behind, your legs shaking with strain, Taehyung moaning louder and louder, filling up your apartment with his lust.

“Don’t fucking stop, fuck, you have the devil’s tongue, a-ah, it’s so fucking good…”

Jungkook scissored his fingers in you, the squelching sound loud and lewd, and you spied Taehyung tipping his head back, panting, watching Jungkook finger you from behind, his other hand smacking your ass periodically to watch it bounce and hear you moan, your hips bucking back into his hand every time you ascended from Taehyung’s cock.

“Give her another,” he gasped. “Stuff her more.”

Jungkook snickered. “For an angel, you’re all about the punishment, hm?”

But he did as he was told, shoving another finger in you and you whined, nearly popping your mouth off Taehyung’s thick length, stopping only because of imposing baritone.

“Don’t you fucking dare. Take it all. Or are you telling me you can’t? Telling me you’ve lost your touch?”

You went back down, narrowing your eyes, rising to his challenge. Your best friend knew everything about you and therefore he knew that the second he made it a question of your ability, well, that brought out the best in you.

“Fuck!”

Also made you almost vacuum his dick, but he asked for it.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuuuuuuuck!”

Tighter, faster, tongue all over, nearly forgetting Jungkook was touching you at all because Taehyung had doubted you and you weren’t having that shit, fuck no, not even with Jungkook’s free hand snaking between your legs and feeling for your clit, rubbing it at the same furious pace you were blowing Taehyung’s jerking cock, tipping your head back and angling it so the head scraped against the roof of your mouth, locking your knees to prevent the shudders of pleasure from ruining your rhythm, so good, fuck, feeling so good with the pumping of Jungkook’s powerful fingers, electric satisfaction radiating from your throbbing clit, clutching Taehyung’s hips so hard he was getting indents from your nails, determined to get him there before you, and, by the sound of his breathless cries of your name and the trembling of his impressive girth, he was there.

“Yes, a-ah, you’re so good, so fucking good, I’m gonna cum, oh, fuck!”

His orgasm exploded, flooding your mouth with a gush of saltness, thick strings of cum painting the back of your throat, and you gulped it all down greedily, eyes rolling back, the tense coil inside you snapping and drenching Jungkook’s hands with your own orgasm, your legs unlocking and giving out, shaking and flinching as wave after wave of vicious pleasure flooded through you, Jungkook’s strong arms holding you up, moaning at the feeling of your pussy convulsing around his fingers, still lightly rubbing your clit through your orgasm, whines and whimpers crammed in your throat due to Taehyung’s cock in your mouth, sliding all the way to the base and swallowing around it, because you knew he loved it, wanted it, craved it, groaning carnally, the head swelling and pulsing, nearly suffocating you.

“Feels so f-fucking good… a-ah, yeees…”

You stayed in the position for as long as you could, a good minute, before backing up with a choked gasp, clutching Taehyung’s thighs, eyes drifting up to his and he looked down at you, fucked-out, content, grateful, black-brown curls falling all over his forehead and cheeks, so casually sexy and perfect.

“Good angels always taste the best,” you rasped, licking your abused lips.

Taehyung grinned.

“Untie me, devil.”

“Damn, you do have a big dick.”

“… Stop looking.”

“Why? I wanna see what she put in her mouth.”

You teased the head with the tip of your tongue, smirking. Taehyung looked away, ears turning red.

“You two are shameless.”

“Yeah, but you like it,” you laughed, straddling his lap, casually leaning over him to untie him. You heard Jungkook make a clicking sound and you assumed he was making a frame with his hands and miming taking a photo.

“Stop that,” Taehyung muttered, face full of your covered breasts. “Oi, take your clothes off if you’re gonna squash my face with your tits.”

You rammed your chest into his face to muffle his protests.

“Mmm, yes, no faster way to make me limp than you sucking Jungkook’s face off.”

You were too busy grabbing Jungkook’s naked ass and moaning in his mouth, tongue on tongue, purple strands brushing against your forehand, his hands on your ass and squeezing it roughly, rutting his rapidly hardening cock against your thigh.

“You want me to leave you guys alone?”

You broke the kiss, snapping your head around to see Taehyung raising an eyebrow at you from the head of your bed, completely naked. Jungkook continued slowly humping your thigh, peaking pre-cum all over and adding to his own stimulation.

“Are you done being an insufferable shit or what?” you glowered.

“Mmm, no.”

“Hmph, fine, just fuck me from behind then if you’re so needy,” you sighed, turning back to Jungkook’s amused smirk.

“No. I want the mouth again.”

You and Jungkook shared a confused look. “Huh, why?” you both said at the same time, looking at him in unison.

Taehyung lifted his chin defiantly, pointing to you. “I wanna stuff my dick into your mouth and fuck your face because you tricked me.”

You gasped, feeling slighted. “I told you it was Jungkook’s idea, why am I getting punished? You schemed against me first!”

He shrugged. “You corrupted him so, technically, it’s all inherently your fault.”

You protested as Jungkook laughed, pushing you into position despite you verbally fighting back.

“What! All I did was exist! Is it my fault that Jungkook was thirsting after my ass and you decided it would a taste of my own medicine, only to have it backfire in your face? And what if I wanna look at his handsome face? Huh? Why am I not getting a say in – mhpf!”

You yelped as Jungkook and Taehyung shoved your face first into Taehyung’s crotch, his semi-hard cock smacking you in the cheek and getting a mouthful of his nuts.

“Lick.”

They both said it at the same time. You saw them share a look of surprise, shocked that they were thinking the same thing, ignoring you.

Hey, nobody ignores you.

You wrapped your lips around one of his balls and sucked, tongue surrounding it, causing Taehyung to squeal and spread his legs, his cock swelling instantly, especially as your tongue poked out and lapped at the other while sucking intently.

“Good little devil,” Jungkook praised, patting you on the head before backing up, leaving you to rearrange Taehyung’s nuts with your mouth, licking and sucking all over, him gasping and moaning above you, falling back against the headboard.

“You’re crazy, fucking crazy…”

You switched sides, pressing your lips into his crotch to stuff your mouth full before sticking your tongue out and wiggling it on the underside of the other, his thick length now hitting you in the nose, and you realized Taehyung wasn’t going to help you with this, so you internally sighed and reached up to grab his dick and stroke it slowly as you continued your make-out session with his nuts.

Taehyung was chanting your name over and over like it was a prayer, as if he was saying it in attempt to ask for his soul to be saved.

You felt the bed bow and you lifted your head as far as it could go, which wasn’t very far because you still had one of Taehyung’s balls still in your mouth. You were still sucking on it.

He moaned above you, clutching your pillows for dear life.

You heard a condom being opened and felt Jungkook’s knees spread yours, deep silvery voice purring your name.

“Wanna see you take two dicks at once, naughty devil,” he teased, pressing the head of his cock against your soaked opening.

You unlatched your mouth and Taehyung seemed to see stars for a hot second, reeling.

“Hope you’re prepared, sweet angel,” you taunted, and then you swallowed his dick.

“Fucking shit!”

You moaned around his cock, letting it fill you to the throat, Jungkook’s perfect length thrusting into you at the same time, stretching you out deliciously, his own moan adding to your pleasure. There was just something about Jungkook’s moan, the longing, the possessiveness, the love. It made you wetter every time, bringing newfound energy to your meticulous sucking of Taehyung’s cock, who finally seemed to get his bearings and remember what the fuck was going on and what he wanted to do in the first place, because he finally straightened, large hands fitting around your head, pushing your hair back.

“You know why you’re so good at sucking dick?”

You tried very hard not to roll your eyes, already knowing what was coming. You decided to focus on Jungkook’s cock instead, pumping in and out of you, powerful, deep strokes, his hands gripping your hips, trying so hard to please you, and he was good at it, hitting all your favorite spots that made you squirm back against him.

“Because I let you suck mine,” Taehyung growled, holding your head and thrusting into your throat.

Mmmhmm, you thought to yourself. Not that he was wrong, because he wasn’t, being your first and all, but, come on, you didn’t get all your skills from sucking one dick, no matter how amazing Taehyung’s was. Oh well, you let it slide, simply enjoying not having to do much as your best friend fucked your face and your boyfriend pounded your pussy.

Ah, bliss.

The feeling of your mouth being filled and used, stroking Taehyung’s hips with your fingertips, elbows on the bed, legs spread open for Jungkook to slap his crotch into your ass wetly, back to front, a constant encompassing ecstasy that you welcomed, letting them command the pace, hands on your head and hands on your ass, familiar hands, loving hands, because even if Taehyung didn’t want to take you on dates and wake up next to you every day, he still loved you, still made sure he didn’t actually hurt you, careful to thrust hard but not deep, or thrust deep but not hard.

Jungkook wanted to take you on dates and hold you on his arm like his trophy and be waltzed around as yours, so… romantic? It was your version of romance, anyway.

And sex.

Lots of sex.

Fuck, he was so good at fucking you, leaning down, giving you more, chuckling as he heard you moaning around Taehyung’s cock, faster, harder, yes, fuck, yes, so good, your noises trapped in your chest, Taehyung increasing the speed, breathing shallowing.

“Fuck, yes, tighter, give it to me, you dirty devil,” he growled and you obeyed, closing your lips and pressing your tongue against the bottom, sandwiching his length in your mouth, your pussy also squeezing Jungkook harder, basking in his sinful moan, enamored with his voice and the way he said your name, never getting enough.

“A-ah, you feel so good, your pussy is so fucking good, gonna make me cum…”

So rough, so intense, so full of cock, keeping your holes tight, relishing in the way they forced themselves into your mouth and pussy, heady and intoxicating pleasure, you tipping over the edge, wailing around Taehyung’s thick girth as you spilled onto Jungkook’s rock-hard length, mind-numbing satisfaction that spread all over, hot and melting into you. Your walls violently spasmed and caused Jungkook to gasp, cock twitching and jolting inside you, shooting thick spurts of cum that filled the condom, and he buried himself all the way in, a wanton moan of your name echoing off your bedroom walls, savoring the feeling of you milking him, gripping your sides and squeezing you lovingly.

Suddenly, Taehyung yanked his cock out of your mouth and you coughed, startled at the abrupt loss, only for him to orgasm all over your face, hot white strings shooting out of his glistening cock and his hand guiding them, painting your cheeks and open mouth, dripping onto your tongue and clinging onto your swollen lips.

“Tae! What the fuck?!”

He snickered, smearing the residual cum on the side of your frown, winking.

“Blessed service, eh, you devil?”

“Is it gonna be like this every time we hang out now?”

You climbed onto Jeon Jungkook’s lap, kissing him deeper, trapping his slim waist in between your thighs, his hands sliding up your skirt, moaning into your mouth as Kim Taehyung smacked you in the shoulder blades, the sound masked by the obscenely loud music of the club as onlookers watched you and Jungkook with increasing interest.

Probably all dreaming of threesomes with you two.

“Hello, you two are supposed to be helping me getting laid, not getting laid right in front of me!”

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #taehyung x reader #taekook x reader #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #taehyung smut #taehyung x you #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung x you

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