#singapore art week

[rickybaby]

Daniel featured on COTA promotional posters around Austin, Texas | October 2024

[aryomengrande]

valentine's day izana x christina for @/ekteneia on ao3 + white day izana x christina ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

christina's piece is the only art i've accomoplished for this month (and it is long overdue) so i had to throw in another one ( ⸝⸝ʚ̴̶̷̆ ̯ʚ̴̶̷̆⸝⸝)

behind the scenes ; commission me ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

there's a bunch of filipino words here (i took advantage of the fact that izana is half-filipino lol) so i'll explain them under the cut along w a bunch of other stuff

mundo means world, ang tahanan at mundo roughly translates to the home and world but in the full lyric it says aking sinta, ikaw na ang tahanan at mundo which means my love, you're my home and my world. i just put ang tahanan at mundo bc it's short and wouldn't come off cheesy versus if i put in the entire lyric lol

i chose mundo by iv of spades bc it was one of the most popular love songs in 2018. i loved it sm (still love it now). christina specifically requested that i draw izana in the final timeline which takes place in 2018, so it all fits perfectly.

sana all roughly translates to i hope everyone but it's kind of an indirect way of saying that you're jealous (not the bad kind of envy that u wish others hell it's acc the opposite) of someone's experience and wish for everyone (including yourself) to experience it; it's really like saying i hope everyone experiences that.

my freebie which i call the white day ver. is inspired by taylor swift's i'd lie. it just screams izana/izatina to me (ㅅ´ ˘ `) it was from her debut album that was released in 2006 that's why i drew teenager versions of izatina.

[c-rowlesdraws]

⭐️New Patreon Post!⭐️ Several of them, with all the sketches I found time to do on my trip with family to Singapore and Thailand over these past couple of weeks! My cousin got married in Singapore to his very nice Malaysian fiancee, and last year when the date was announced, a small group of us planned to extend our stay in SEAsia so that we wouldn't have traveled halfway around the world for basically a long weekend. I would never have been able to do such an amazing trip on my own and I'm very fortunate and grateful that I was invited to tag along.

I took lots of pictures-- and in between sightseeing and family time and travel and devouring fresh ripe mango like some kind of frugivorous mammal, I had time to do some drawing, from life and from my photos. I hope to do more drawings from my trip now that I'm back home!

[fear-is-truth]

𝜗ϱ fiancé! + husband! 𝓟𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝓑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍 hc

tags — fem!reader﹒sfw + nsfw headcanons﹒violent fantasies﹒infidelity

a/n: i would like to thank anon for requesting this and credit to dear bow anon for helping out !!

one night, as you both rode in a cab on the way to dinner, patrick takes off his walkman and suddenly asked, “have you ever thought about getting married?” his tone was casual, but his body language betrayed his tension—the tightening of his grip on his leather gloves, the unnecessary way he adjusted his tie. when you turned to him, surprised, he waved it off almost immediately. for the rest of the ride, he ignored you, listening to his walkman.

full fic : the perfect girl

weeks later, the topic re-emerged. it was a quiet morning after sex—patrick lay beside you in his perfectly starched egyptian sheets, sunlight streaming in through the windows. “would you ever consider marrying me?” he asked abruptly. the question startled you—again. you blinked at him, unsure if you’d heard correctly. “marry you?” patrick shifted slightly, propping himself up on an elbow. his face was unreadable, though his jaw tightened slightly. “yes. i’d assume it’s a reasonable consideration,” he said, as though the idea had been entirely logical. your heart fluttered despite the lack of romance in his delivery. “yes, patrick,” you said after a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips. “i would.”

full fic : patrick’s proposal

patrick wasted no time. the next day, he presented you with a ring: an 18k rose gold cartier panthère ring, encrusted with diamond accents.

smutty drabble: jerking him off

pre-nuptial agreements (obviously)

meticulously plans every detail of your engagement and future wedding. the venue must be the right blend of modern elegance and exclusivity, the guest list is capped at “only the most important people,” and the floral arrangements must feature imported orchids flown in from singapore. no compromises.

scrutinized every decision down to the smallest detail: the font on the invitations (garamond, elegant but understated), the centerpiece arrangements (white roses only, no filler flowers), and champagne (dom pérignon, chilled to exactly 45 degrees).

patrick donned a pair of ray-ban wayfarers as the two of you arrived at the reception venue (the pierre hotel), stepping out of the rolls-royce.

your wedding dress was custom-designed at dior’s paris atelier. it was a minimalist masterpiece: a structured bodice with a square neckline, flowing into a clean, floor-length skirt with a cathedral-length train. the fabric was italian silk-mikado with a soft sheen, the epitome of elegance. no lace, no unnecessary frills—patrick deemed them “garish.” the veil was long and simple, edged with the thinnest line of swarovski crystals for just a hint of sparkle.

patrick wore a bespoke zegna tuxedo, black with peak lapels, tailored to absolute perfection. the cuffs of his shirt bore subtle platinum cufflinks engraved with your initials and the wedding date. he spent an obscene amount of time choosing the exact shade of black for the tie.

patrick stole quick glances at you, a flicker of irritation shadowing his eyes at the slight asymmetry of your smile. he stewed in his own perfectionist hell, a seething internal monologue growing increasingly deranged.

the bridal portraits was complete nightmare. after making the photographer redo them six damn times—he still found fault. he had scrutinised the angle of your neck, the curve of your jaw, the flicker of light in your eyes. in his eyes, the photos should’ve been magazine-perfect. anything less was sacrilege!

his vows were an unsettling, almost surreal monologue. a strange, disjointed stream of poetic nihilism, peppered with bizarrely intellectual references. sprinkled in lines from fromm’s the art of loving, twisting them into cryptic confessions that left everyone unsure whether he was being sincere or just… pretentious patrick.

the reception unfolded in an impossibly sleek manhattan venue. a cavernous, glass-walled space filled with patrick’s circle of high-powered cronies, along with stick-thin models who seemed more at ease snorting cocaine in dark corners than nibbling on the overpriced amuse-bouches.

the waitstaff darted around the room, terrified to stumble into discussions about stock portfolios, yacht repairs, or debates over which luxury rehab center had the best cold-press juice cleanse. conversations were a mix of shallow ambition and transactional networking.

the dining experience was an exercise in culinary pretension. dry-aged wagyu steaks with precise marbling, delicate beluga caviar that was more a statement of wealth than taste, and desserts that were too decadent (and high in calories) to exist. everything was paired with wine that cost more than most people’s annual mortgage.

the cake was a towering six-tier masterpiece from sylvia weinstock, adorned with sugar flowers so intricate they looked real. each layer featured a different flavour, from vanilla-bean sponge to passionfruit mousse.

only dom pérignon vintage 1985 was served—patrick had insisted on it. the bottles were presented on silver trays by impeccably dressed waitstaff, with glasses refilled before guests could even think about asking. patrick spent weeks debating between this and krug clos du mesnil but ultimately decided the former “sent the right message.”

during the ceremony, patrick’s bored mind slipped into violent fantasies. he imagined choking out the priest with his necktie and chopping up his groomsmen like sashimi.

despite being invited out of obligation, evelyn didn’t show. patrick hadn’t mentioned her absence until much later, casually remarking, “it was better this way.” he didn’t dwell on her, but jane—his secretary and a guest at the wedding—looked quietly heartbroken for some reason.

dancing was beneath patrick. instead, he lingered by the bar, a martini glass filled with a pristine, artful concoction he hadn’t ordered but took anyway because it fit perfectly in his hand. he’d observed the guests, mentally doing fit checks.

after the night wound down, patrick would lie naked in your hotel suite, staring at the ceiling with an unsettling stillness. his jaw clenched as his thoughts spiraled. not about the wedding itself—that was a calculated performance he’d mastered. no, he was questioning the tie. the damn zegna tie. why hadn’t he gone with the brioni?

insists you accompany him to every social gathering, but not because he wants your company. you’re his accessory, his proof of a successful relationship. he spends the evening flaunting you on his arm, introducing you to people who matter to him (read: people whose opinions validate him), and correcting your behavior if he deems it less than perfect.

his morning routine is sacred, and by extension, you’re expected to have one too. patrick buys you a shelf’s worth of high-end skincare products and insists you use them exactly as prescribed.

takes immense interest in your wardrobe. if something looks even remotely outdated or “cheap,” he’ll whisk you through fifth avenue, steering you toward hermès or dior

has a habit of buying you extravagant gifts after every argument—designer bags, clothes and jewelry. “i thought this might cheer you up,” he says, like he didn’t just shatter your nerves an hour earlier.

morning sex is first thing when you both wake up, right before his meticulously scheduled workout—his body at its peak energy. once finished, he’d kiss your forehead and disappear into the bathroom for his grooming routine.

insists on watching the patty winters show and sit you both in front of the television. you often have no choice but to endure his running commentary.

patrick has a love-hate relationship with grocery shopping. he claims it’s beneath him, but when he goes, he micromanages the process to an extreme degree—reading labels, debating brands, and spending 20 minutes in the imported cheese aisle.

your wedding photos are framed in the living room, carefully arranged in a symmetrical layout. patrick often stares at them as he works out.

his idea of romance sometimes verged on the grotesque. one evening, he decided the two of you should watch the texas chainsaw massacre together. he ends up fucking you into the couch as he enjoys the music.

not the type to be overly vulnerable, but in the privacy of your bedroom, he’d occasionally let down his guard. pillow talk with patrick is a mix of unnervingly sharp observations and random musings. he’ll ramble about the fisher account, dissect music lyrics in great detail, or comment on global events with an eerie detachment.

occasionally, he’d break the stream of words with a sudden, “you’re listening, aren’t you?”

patrick hates surprises—unless they’re from him. when your coworkers once threw you a small birthday party, he was visibly irritated the entire evening. “it was tacky,” he said flatly on the drive home. “you deserve better.”

he got you reservations at dorsia, a perfectly chosen gift (think chanel jewelry or a bvlgari clutch), and a bouquet of flowers with handwritten note that’s short, formal, and oddly impersonal: “to another year of excellence—patrick.”

patrick rarely laughs, but when he does, it’s usually at something dark or absurd. once, you tripped over a stack of magazines he left by the couch and groaned in pain. his response? a sharp, startled laugh, followed by an unconvincing, “…are you okay?”

he adores the opera—not so much for the art but for the prestige it carries. he’ll plan elaborate evenings at the metropolitan opera house, ensuring both of you were impeccably dressed. he wore a brioni tuxedo, while he’d insist on you wearing a custom-made gown from carolina herrera or oscar de la renta.

despite his outward sophistication, his attention drifted from the stage to you. hand resting lightly on your thigh, fingers tracing small circles through the fabric of your dress.

he’s absolutely neurotic about cleanliness. he’ll never leave a glass on the counter without a coaster and can’t stand an unmade bed.

hates clutter and will occasionally “edit” your belongings—quietly throwing out things he deems unnecessary, like old magazines or sentimental knickknacks, without consulting you.

micromanages household tasks. he critiques the way you load the dishwasher, fold laundry, or even stack the fridge. “this is inefficient,” he’ll say, rearranging items while you stand there, biting your tongue.

patrick has an affinity for the ritual of lighting cigars. he’ll let you hold the match for him occasionally, but only if you did it exactly right.

would only agree to a pet under duress, and even then, it would have to be something sleek and purebred. when you suggest something more practical, like a rescue, he’s visibly horrified.

when you finally get the pet, patrick is immediately jealous of the attention you give it. if the cat / dog sits on your lap during movie night, he’ll stare at it with naked dislike. “i don’t understand why you let it do that,”

patrick has an odd relationship with your pet. he’ll complain about it incessantly—“it sheds everywhere,” “it’s always underfoot”—but despite his constant bitching, you’ve caught him talking to the pet on more than one occasion. “she likes you more than me,” he mumbles bitterly. the pet tilts its head, oblivious, which irritates him further. after taking another sip of scotch, he nudges it away with his foot—not enough to hurt it in your presence.

but the true ugliness of patrick’s jealousy comes out when you’re not looking. he’ll straight up kick the poor thing or lock it out from your bedroom.

doesn’t officially cheat, but he indulges in frequent encounters with sex workers—usually in secluded, high-end hotels. these encounters, hidden from you, are his way of dealing with his violent fantasies.

afterwards, he comes back to you, his demeanor completely unaffected. he doesn’t apologize, doesn’t act like anything has changed—because, in his mind, it hasn’t. you’re still his. you always will be.

when he’s bored, he’ll ask you to try on outfits—sometimes just a simple dress, but mostly it’s something risqué. he watches you from the other side of the room with that detached gaze, silently critiquing your appearance. “it’s not quite right,” he’ll say, before giving you another outfit to try on like you’re his personal doll.

full fic : leather & lace

while patrick doesn’t outright admit his dependence on you, it’s clear in the small moments. if you’re gone for too long, he’ll call, his tone petulant as he demands your whereabouts, as though your absence disrupts his routine.

at age 27, patrick doesn’t yet feel the need to rush into parenthood, but there are times, especially while having sex, that he considers the possibility. it’s an idea that briefly excites him, but he quickly dismisses it with a wry smile, preferring the idea of you and him maintaining an image of “perfection” without the messiness of raising a child.

though you’ve never spoken about the future in concrete terms, patrick assumes you’ll always be by his side, forever wrapped in his controlling, perfectionist bubble. he doesn’t see any reason why you’d want to leave; after all, why would you when you have everything?

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[gossippool]

hi hello welcome! i'm leanne, 21, and i'm from singapore! i study sociology and literature. i'm also @fearandhatred (good omens), gossippool on bluesky || storygraph/letterboxd/discord: auderium

i love talking to people (and in general) so let's be friends <3 dms, asks, and tags are open for anything

#user: gossippool 😝 for all original posts, #gossippool writes for fics and ideas, #gossippool draws for art (and here), #gossippool metas for meta-ish posts

here for all things weird and freaky and gory

deadpool comics list

my meta masterlist

my marvel babygirls: tony stark, wade wilson, logan howlett, james rhodes, clint barton, bruce banner, matt murdock

others: crowley, kaz brekker, din djarin, luke skywalker, abed nadir, jesse pinkman, taylor swift, ethel cain, bo burnham

musicals: the phantom of the opera, hedwig and the angry inch, the book of mormon, the sound of music, falsettos, hamilton

DISCLAIMERS:

usual DNIs + i reblog nsfw + i do not follow accounts that don't post (mainly marvel or at all) or interact with others

posts about new releases (2 weeks) will be tagged #[name] spoilers. currently tagging for: agatha all along

---MY FICS <3---

(ao3 | tracking #gossippool writes)

good omens fics and poetry

xoxo, gossippool (poolverine collection):

unhappy man syndrome (20k words, 5/8 chapters) (x)

A month after moving in with Wade, Logan's nightmares stop completely.

the angry house (6.4k words, 1/1 chapter)

Wade takes up a job from Sister Margaret's, a job that should be simple but isn't. In a rundown house owned by a cokehead couple, he finds himself seeing his past in an unlikely stranger.

sunday morning synesthetics (6k words, 1/1 chapter)

An old ghost comes back to haunt Wade, who infiltrates all of Logan's senses like tar.

diner blues and birthdays (1.5k words, 1/1 chapter)

Logan has some revelations about Wade in the void's diner that he refuses to acknowledge. A year later, they revisit that moment in another '50s diner down the block—this time, with a celebration.

q: how do you make an onion cry? (5.3k words, 1/1 chapter)

There are many things Wade brushes off, but words hit different when they come from someone you might probably definitely love. With time, Logan begins to unpeel Wade's many, many layers, and finds a man underneath it all.

the same train home (<1k words) (ao3)

It's after their first mission together that Wade and Logan share their first kiss.

[elaine19day]

To those who are confused as to where and how to buy OldXian's new artbook and merchandise, let me try to break it down for you.

A few days ago, OldXian announced the pre-sale of their new artbook which comes in two versions.

Variant A (regular) includes: - the new artbook - a poster - 2x postcards

Variant B (deluxe edition) includes: - the new artbook - a poster - 2x postcards - 4x buttons - a shishiki board - a sticker sheet - a 24 page booklet

Furthermore there's two new acrylic standees which can be purchased separately. A tianshan and a zhanyi version.

The cost of these items is as follows: Artbook (version A): 89 Yuan [roughly: 13 USD | 12 Euro | 10 GBP] Artbook (version B): 189 Yuan [roughly: 27 USD | 25 Euro 21 GBP] Acrylic Standee: 49 Yuan (each) [roughly: 7 USD | 7 Euro | 6 GBP]

All of these items are available for purchase in their taobao store now, under this link: https://item.taobao.com/item.htm?ft=t&id=786971367604

But if you have trouble creating a taobao account or your country isn't on the (very short) taobao shipping list [China, Taiwan, Malaysia, Singapore, Japan, USA, Canada, Australia, New Zealand] then you have several other options to get your hands on these new items.

1. You could use aliexpress, koonbooks or any other China-based shopping app/website to buy these things from a 3rd party seller.

Now, keep in mind that these sellers obviously want to make a profit, so you will pay more than in the original taobao shop. However, on the plus side, they usually offer free shipping, which is nice considering that items like artbooks are heavy and shipping costs are based on weight, so if you pay over, some of that money also goes towards covering the shipping costs, which is not bad.

The risk of ordering with such a website is obviously that the independent seller could turn out to be a scammer and keep your money and not send you the goods. I have no idea about koonbook's policies, however in the case of aliexpress you are at least protected by such practices and should you not receive what you paid for, you will be refunded and get your money back.

Also keep in mind that the artbook and merch is still in production at this point! But Old Xian said the merch will be shipped out BEFORE May 20th. That's less than 4 weeks from now.

That being said - in some cases the merch will be cheaper on aliexpress after official ship-out, because there will be more people offering it, competing for best prices.

However there's obviously also a risk that the deluxe edition will sell out before that or that these re-sellers only ship the artbook itself with none of the extras.

Here's two links where you can have a look at potential resellers, but carefully think about all the pro's and con's I gave you before you consider to buy. https://www.aliexpress.com/item/1005006893284852.html https://koonbooks.com/products/old-xian-19-days-art-collection-3-chinese?variant=46493038674166 2.

The other option you have is using a taobao shopping agent. If you google that, you'll find dozens of websites offering their services. I myself have used parcelup, 42agent and superbuy before. Here's links to all of them: https://www.superbuy.com/ https://parcelup.com/ https://www.42agent.com/ What all of these agents have in common is that you need to create an account BEFORE you can start searching and shopping. All you need for that is a valid email address. I'll show how it works with superbuy screenshots here. After you signed up, you can copy the taobao-link I gave you earlier and paste it into the search-field.

What will come up is an embedded view of the taobao listing where you can pick which variant you want and then add it to your shopping cart.

Once you have added everything you want, click on the shopping cart and simply follow all further payment instructions.

They will also ask you if you want them to keep the original packaging or if you want them to remove anything unnecessary and repack everything in order to make it weigh less so shipping will be cheaper. It's up to you. You will then be asked to pay for items, domestic shipping (so mosspaca studios can ship the goods to your agent's warehouse) and in some cases a service fee. For example, superbuy has no service fee, however they stopped offering paypal as payment method recently so you'd need a credit card or other online methods to pay for your order and everything. Parcelup, however, still offers paypal, but they also charge service fees. (They are fairly low though, if you ask me.) So after you paid for your goods, they will order the items for you and then you'll have to wait about 4-5 weeks for them to arrive, because keep in mind - like I said earlier - everything is still in production and Old Xian aims to ship everything out before the 20th of May. There's hundreds, if not thousands of parcels arriving to all agent's warehouses every day, so it will take them a few days to sort through things after your order arrives. You need to be patient!! They will get back to you with pictures of your order, trust me. When this happens you need to look at the pics and if everything is okay, you can reply to them to proceed. You will then be presented with shipping quotes. Usually they offer more than one shipping method and some are tracked, others are untracked, some will take only a week or two until they arrive at your doorstep, others will take 6 weeks or up to two months. Choose wisely which method you want and consider what is in your budget. (Obviously fast shipping with tracking is more expensive than slow shipping without it, however personally I'd always recommend a tracked service.) Just to give you an estimate on what to expect when it comes to international shipping - parcels with that amount of merch and weight, will always cost me about 50 USD or more to ship from China to the UK, where I live. (So keep that in mind before you order. International shipping is very expensive!) But once you picked a shipping method, you pay for it (that's your 2nd payment) and once they have processed that - your goodies will be on the way to you within a few days. And that's it. Sit down, eat your food and wait patiently for it to arrive. If you have further questions, just plop them into the comments and I'll try to answer them.

[mikareo]

⌗ RENAISSANCE ₊ ˖ ་. rin itoshi x fem reader (2.1k)

⊹ ⠀⠀ he's never been one to appreciate art, but you've given him a new set of eyes— the love he feels for you is overwhelming, and he hopes it lasts forever. (bonus for rationalism and romanticism; necessary to read first!)

contains; colorblind!rin, painter!reader, rin’s mom is reader’s art mentor, swearing, immense fluff, kissing, sae and rin actually have a good relationship, extremely inaccurate depictions of colorblindness author's note; bonus ending for rationalism/romanticism!

This is a fancy-ass venue. 

Rin can’t help but feel underdressed for the occasion, despite being clad in a fitted white button up and black tie, whilst his dress-shoes cramp his feet in the worst ways imaginable. He almost looks like that one moviestar in the romantic comedy you love so much. Was it the one with the rich guy in Singapore or the one where they worked in an office and he was a businessman? Rin can’t remember. Whatever, it doesn’t really matter either way. He’s distracting himself too much, he needs to focus— tonight is one of the most important nights of your career. No, it is the most important night for your future career. His mother contacted every big art distributor and critic that she has professional relationships with. It’s your night…and wow did you kill it. 

It’s almost as if you’ve plastered yourself across the walls. Every art piece that his eyes roll over is exceptionally you - your personality, your passions, and your heart - and it’s obvious you’ve spent months curating the most perfect array of paintings a person could muster. 

He can read your story like an open book while he slowly makes his way through the gallery. There are paintings depicting your childhood, ones that remind him of the stories you tell him of your primary school drama and premature interests. That one must be when you broke your arm while learning to ride your bike. You’re particularly stuck on that story— strongly stating how upset you were because it was your dominant arm, halting your ability to paint for seven weeks. Referencing your painting passion, there’s a whole array of canvases dedicated to your love for art; beginning with inspirations of immaturity to skillful selections of texture techniques. Rin is obviously no art critic, but if he were, he’d write a whole expose on how amazing you are. 

With his mind so engaged with your talent, he’s oblivious to the people passing by; so oblivious that he doesn’t even notice his own family approaching. 

“She’s talented isn’t she?” 

Holy shit. The familiar voice of his mother startles Rin, but he instinctively wraps a loose arm around her waist and greets her with a grin. She returns the affectionate expression and it’s painfully obvious that he got his smile from her, and even more painfully obvious that they’re all related when Sae walks up with his teeth beaming. Long lashes and a toothy grin, the physical brand of the Itoshi family; famous in not only football, but good looks!

“Y’know I always knew she had an innate ability.” Miss Itoshi has a faint smile on her face, gazing at her youngest son with nothing but pure happiness. It’s a true display of a mother’s love for her youngest son, and Rin doesn’t know what he’d do without her guidance. She squeezes his side and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. God, he’d be so embarrassed if his teammates saw this. “Though, I always thought she specialized in artwork.”

Hm? Rin sends a puzzled glance in her direction. What is she going on about?

His mom continues, knowing her son well enough that he needs a clear explanation in order to understand anything at all, and presses her hand against his chest. “I didn’t realize she was so skilled at touching hearts.”

His heart is beating faster at the mere thought of your beauty.

There are tears behind Miss Itoshi’s eyes and Rin can feel the waterworks attempting to break his own dam. They’re an emotional duo, him and his mom, Sae gets tired of their antics sometimes— but Rin knows he loves them. Their mom always knows the right thing to say. “I never thought I’d see you like this, Rin.”

Sae smirks, nodding in agreement. “You seem so at ease. It’s cute.”

Reflexively, he pulls them both into a big hug— which is the first hug he’s given Sae since he was nothing but a young boy, six years old and playing soccer for the very first time. Rin finally understands what it means to love and be loved, all because of you; and now he can apply that same love to his older brother, who was his rival for so long. The overwhelming comfort he feels in his family’s arms is the same warmth he felt when he made his first goal and ran into his mother to celebrate his newfound passion. For a long time, Rin believed that it was only possible to have that one singular passion. Oh how wrong he was.

“I get it now.” he says softly into their ears. “She helped me understand.”

“And we’re happy for you,” Sae pats him on the back as hard as he can, eliciting a threatening glare from his younger sibling, to which their mother laughs. 

“Check out the centerpieces down the hall.” Miss Itoshi nudges Rin on, standing beside Sae. “I think you’ll love them, sweetheart.”

With their encouragement, he carries on with the gallery and down the straight hallway of evolving paintings. Every step he takes, seems to carry him into a new era of your life. It’s almost as if he’s time traveling through memories that seemingly morph from abstract to realistic art; and he learns more and more about you with each passing second, ultimately leading towards one large painting in the center of the room. 

Holy shit. You’re breathtaking. 

Never in Rin’s life has his world stopped due to paint on canvas— but right now, it feels like every single brush stroke is a frozen second that he gets to relive again and again, just basking in the presence of your beautiful skill.

The way you’ve outlined your hair with thin lines and highlighted your lovely cheekbones, is nothing short of masterful. If he looks close enough, he can understand the comforting feeling of cupping your face with just his eyes. He didn’t even know you did self-portraits, but now he wishes he could hang this very one right above his couch; to show off the talent of his amazing girlfriend for everyone to see (not that he actually has many friends other than his teammates).

Where are you? He needs to let you know how special it is to be with someone like you—

“Cat got your tongue?”

Speak of the devil.

“Do you like it?” You raise your eyebrows at him expectantly. “What do you think?”

You said the same thing when you first met.

Rin looks between you and the painting, now realizing that no matter how masterful your skill is, it’s impossible to capture just how gorgeous you are in any form of art. You’re simply exquisite. The most talented painter in the world wouldn’t know how to appreciate your beauty. Davinci? No. Botticelli? No. Di Angelo? Not even he could sculpt your features to perfection. However, despite his high standards, Rin believes that your self portrait is the greatest thing he’s ever seen. 

The familiar feeling of flusteredness grows on his cheeks as he holds eye-contact with you, wondering what color it is you’re wearing. He bets it’s red, you always wear red around him. “I love it.”

As your right hand finds his palm, the left reaches up and cups his cheek. With a gentle touch, your lips are on his and Rin feels his head take a spin on the merry-go-round of love. He can’t get enough of you. If he had a choice, he’d spend every waking second of his day peppering you in light kisses on every part of your body— and he’d make sure that you never felt loneliness again. You deserve nothing less than the absolute best, and he’s made it his life’s goal to give that to you.

Slowly, he begins to feel your smile against his lips and you pull away with a lovesick gaze. He pulls you into his chest, cradling your head and kissing it softly before whispering how proud he is, and it’s almost unbelievable how far Rin’s come. Somehow you’ve lured him into a bottomless ravine where the only resource to live is to be hopelessly in love with you— and truthfully, he never wants to escape. You're everything to him.

“You love it?” your eyes are shining brighter than the sun. “You haven’t even seen my best work yet.”

“Oh?’ Rin raises his brows, mocking surprise at your statement. “Well now you have to show me. It’s only fair.”

You place your hands on his chest and peck his lips before spinning him around. He’s confused for a moment, wondering what you’re doing when you could’ve just led him to the canvas instead of guiding him around like it’s a dance class…but then he sees it.

He sees himself.

Never in his life has he completely understood what being in love is. Yes, he's felt love. From his mother, who raised him to be the man he is; caring, thoughtful, and compassionate. From his brother, who helped him understand ambition and sacrifice. From his teammates, who challenge him to be the best he possibly can and to support one another without holding grudges. He's felt different types of love from so many people in his life. Familial. Platonic. Admiration. This is different, though. The love you show him is true love. It's the kind of love that movie stars win awards for portraying. It's the fantasy that kids dream about having when they grow up into big adults. It's the thing he thought was impossible to obtain, but was lucky enough to stumble upon you in that empty art studio on the best day of his life.

He didn't know love could be expressed in this kind of way. Through the very same paint strokes and brush marks that used to make him nauseous with hatred. Seeing your masterpiece, he doesn't understand how he could ever hate something so amazing. Art is spectacular. No. Your art is spectacular. You are spectacular.

"You love it right?" You're trying your best not to giggle at his awestruck reaction. "Want to know the best part?"

Rin can feel himself nodding, desperately reaching for your hand in an attempt to ground himself from the air he's walking on— and you begin to explain. "It's a dual piece. Notice how we're facing each other?"

Oh my god, you are facing each other. He hadn't noticed it before, but he can see clearly now. You've placed him in the dead center of the room, giving him a full view of both of the paintings— opposite of one another on two opposing easels. "Tell me more, baby." His voice is nothing louder than a whisper, only for you to hear.

"I'm painted in black and white."

Oh?

"You're painted in color."

...Oh.

"I wanted to show how love knows no bounds. There's beauty in how you see me and how I see you. It doesn't matter that I'm colorless to you, you still look at me like I'm the prettiest girl in the world; and I only wish you could understand how vibrant your eyes are, Rin. You're the most handsome man I've seen in my entire life."

He loves you.

He loves you so, so much.

A part of his heart feels like he's falling in love with you all over again. It's growing larger and larger, unable to contain the capacity of feelings he holds for you. He's so overwhelmed with joy that tears begin to fight to escape his eyes, ultimately dripping down his cheeks like watercolor on paper, and he sweeps you into the tightest hug known to man.

There's really only one thing left to do. One thing to close this chapter and carry on with the rest of your love story, something that's sacred only between the two of you. Something that he hopes to say to you everyday, every night, every hour, and every minute that he can.

"I love you."

this is the end of this series! every part was such a joy to write and i'm so thankful for all of the feedback i've been given. more fics coming soon love y'all &lt;3

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⊹₊｡ reblogs are greatly appreciated! ˚₊⊹

[runariya]

Drive to Survive (JJK) • Chapter 3 “Lights out”

pairing: F1driver!Jungkook x female race engineer!reader genre: colleagues2L, formula1!AU, racing!AU, drama, kind of fantasy/cyborg!AU fic rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: slight cursing, jealous Jungkook, heavy drinking, blacking out because of heavy drinking, sweaty Jungkook, word count: ~5.820

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to the sport of Formula 1 are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

🎵 NCT DREAM - Fire Alarm 🎵

01 • 02 • series masterlist • 04

The day after the successful race is crisp and bright as you arrive at the Mercedes headquarters in Brackley. The air hums with the post-race buzz as you settle into your new office, surrounded by the sleek, cutting-edge design typical of a top-tier Formula 1 team. Screens flicker with data and analysis, and the faint sound of engines testing in the distance reminds you that this is where champions, such as Jungkook, are made.

You immerse yourself in analysing the weekend's performance, taking detailed notes for the debriefing with Jungkook. This is a crucial part of your role, ensuring every aspect of the race is dissected and understood. With the next race weekend in Singapore just two weeks away, there’s no time to waste.

The office is still new to you, the polished surfaces and state-of-the-art equipment a constant reminder of the high standards expected here. You’ve agreed to meet Jungkook half an hour ago for the debrief. Confident he knew where your office was, you start to feel the gnawing of time slipping by. Since you don’t have his phone number or any other means to contact him, you decide to grab a coffee from the nearby kitchenette to pass the time waiting.

As you make your way there, Engineers and other team members hustle by, engrossed in their tasks. You walk with purpose, the sound of your heels clicking against the tiled floor, as you greet your new colleagues. As you approach the kitchenette, you hear a familiar deep, hushed voice and a high-pitched giggle. Rolling your eyes, you don’t quicken your pace. It seems Jungkook's propensity for unprofessional behaviour is a habit reserved for you only. 

Stepping into the open area of the kitchenette, you find Jungkook casually leaning against the counter, Trish by his side. She leans slightly towards him, her laughter filling the small space. Jungkook is clearly enjoying the attention, his posture relaxed and flirtatious.

You don't let your irritation show as you stride towards the coffee machine, your professional smile firmly in place. "Good morning," you greet them both with the same friendly demeanour you extend to everyone else in the team.

Jungkook looks momentarily startled, his easygoing facade slipping, while Trish’s expression shifts to one of thinly veiled annoyance. Understanding that you need to get to the coffee machine, Jungkook moves slightly aside.

As the silence stretches, you don't let it affect you. Instead, you focus on making your coffee. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air as the machine whirs and hums. "We’ve been scheduled for the debrief half an hour ago," you say evenly, not breaking your stride. "I’m free for the next twenty minutes until my next appointment. You know where to find me until then."

Trish’s annoyance deepens, but you ignore it, keeping your focus on the task at hand. Jungkook frowns, "What's in twenty minutes?"

You remain professional, maintaining your composure. "I’m meeting with Joongki to optimise the power unit, and if we have time, also the breaking.“

Jungkook's expression darkens at the mention of Joongki, but you don't let his mood swings bother you. The coffee machine beeps, signalling that your cup is full. You take it and turn to face Jungkook and Trish.

"I'll be on my way," you say, your smile warm and genuine as you address Trish. "It was nice to meet you again, Trish."

With that, you walk back towards your office, the smell of coffee trailing behind you. As you move through the hallway, you hear the sound of footsteps following closely. Glancing over your shoulder, you see Jungkook trailing behind, his expression unreadable. You keep your pace steady, determined not to let the previous conflicts shake your confidence.

This is your professional environment, and you intend to handle it with the competence and grace that brought you here.

You don’t look back again as you enter your office first. The room falls into an uncomfortable silence, as the lock of your door clicks shut. You and Jungkook sit down across from each other, the desk between you strewn with your tablet and some papers regarding RPM, fuel consumption and clutch performance data, and some reviewed strategy plans of the weekend. The tension lingering between you since day one is palpable, but you maintain your composure, establishing a professional atmosphere for the task at hand as good as you can. 

"Let's review the race," you begin, your voice steady and soft. "Despite the win, we need to understand exactly where we can improve."

Jungkook nods, leaning forward slightly. "Did you find the problem from qualifying?"

You meet his gaze, confidence in your eyes. "Yes, I did. It was an issue with the KERS and the engine. There were short miscommunication between the two that caused the loss in performance."

Jungkook sighs, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Good to know we have it figured out. That was frustrating."

You nod. "I understand. The issue has been logged and will be addressed before Singapore."

Jungkook shifts in his seat, an uneasy expression crossing his face. "About the qualifying... I, uh, wanted to apologise. For my behaviour. I shouldn't have yelled at you or accused you of nepotism."

You wave a hand dismissively. "It's okay. It's understandable to react emotionally, especially under the pressures of qualifying. We all have moments like that."

He looks relieved until you see him rethink your words and the subtle jab. 

Sensing his growing annoyance, you offer a smile as distraction. "Apology accepted. Let's focus on moving forward and making sure we don't encounter similar issues again."

Jungkook nods reluctantly, still thinking about your words. But then his eyes narrow slightly. "Wait, are you meeting Joongki alone?"

You raise an eyebrow at the unrelated question, sensing the shift in tone. "Yes, I am. We need to go over some technical details. Why do you ask?"

He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant but failing. "Just curious. Is he... your type?"

You sit back, folding your arms. "I'm here as a professional, Jungkook. If I were to have affairs left and right, I wouldn't have made it this far in my career." Your eyes flicker with a hint of challenge. "I think we both know that professionalism is key in this environment." 

Jungkook's expression tightens, catching the second jab about his behaviour with Trish now clearly. He opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off.

"Look, the point is, we're here to work. And I expect everyone, including myself, to act accordingly." You glance at your watch and then back at him. "I have to go. Joongki and I have a lot to cover."

You gather your notes and stand, ready to leave. Jungkook's jaw tightens as he watches you, clearly frustrated but unable to argue.

"Fine," he mutters, standing as well. "We'll talk later."

You nod once, professional and composed. "Absolutely. Let's ensure we’re both getting ready for Singapore."

With that, you leave the office, your heels clicking against the floor. As you walk down the corridor, you can feel Jungkook's eyes on your back, his irritation palpable. But you don't let it affect you. You have a job to do, and personal feelings shouldn’t have a place in it.

The week flies by, each day packed with activity. You find yourself holed up in your office, immersed in data analysis, simulation sessions with Jungkook, and car development tasks. Collaborations with other engineers, especially with Joongki, to optimise the car’s performance and strategy meetings consume your time, leaving you barely enough hours in the day.

Your schedule is overflowing, the demands of your job unyielding. More often than not, you find yourself retreating to your hotel room only to catch a few hours of sleep before diving back into work. Even when you should be resting, your mind races with calculations and strategies, the pursuit for perfection driving you to hunch over your laptop well into the night. The glow of the screen and the endless flow of data are both comforting and consuming.

As the newest team member, you are determined to prove your worth, so the loss of time for personal relationships or socialising beyond your job doesn’t bother you. Despite the relentless pace you set for yourself, Jungkook’s playful shenanigans provide a refreshing break you’d never openly admit to enjoying. His antics, from flirty to cheeky remarks, manage to loosen your usually upright demeanour. You find yourself responding to him more casually than professionally, the light-hearted exchanges becoming a welcome contrast to the intense, high-stakes environment of your new role.

One evening, after hours of fruitlessly searching for Jungkook, you make your way to the drivers' gym. The sound of weights clinking and the rhythmic pounding of feet on treadmills fill the air as you step inside. Your eyes scan the room and quickly land on Jungkook by the dumbbells, his shirtless form instantly drawing your attention.

His torso glistens with sweat, every muscle defined and rippling with each movement. His right arm, covered in intricate tattoos, contrasts starkly against his muscular back and flexing arms. The low grunts he emits with each lift send an involuntary shiver down your spine. You can’t help but stare, nearly drooling over the sheer physical perfection before you. 

Jungkook catches your eye in the mirror, a smirk forming on his lips as he winks at you. Your face flames up, and you quickly avert your gaze, internally scolding yourself for the lapse in professionalism. You take a deep breath, steadying your nerves, and stride towards him and Trish, who is standing nearby, her posture leaning slightly towards him but not quite touching.

“Toto has scheduled an extraordinary meeting regarding a rival driver in half an hour,” you say, keeping your voice steady and authoritative. “He sent me to inform you.”

Jungkook, not missing an opportunity to tease, smirks and says, “Caught you staring, huh? Enjoy the view?”

You wave off his remark, trying to maintain your composure. “I’m here to deliver a message, not to ogle,” you respond curtly. “Make sure you’re there on time.”

Trish’s glare is icy, but you don’t let it affect you. Her hostility towards you is barely contained, but you refuse to let it dictate your actions. Turning on your heel, you walk away, determined to stay focused on your professional responsibilities after this slip-up.

As every meeting, this one is also held in the sleek confines of Mercedes' briefing room. You settle into your spot beside Jungkook, a habit that has become ingrained in the past week. As always, his knee bumps into yours like clockwork, something you accepted faster than you would have liked. You quickly realised that Jungkook wasn't responding to your pleas. 

Toto stands tall at the head of the table, his expression serious as he delivers news that sends a ripple of disbelief through the gathered team members. "The FIA has reached out to me," he begins, his voice sharp. "Max Verstappen, Red Bull's lead driver, is injured. And they allowed his points to be transferred to his replacement, Kim Mingyu."

The announcement lands like a thunderclap. Murmurs of discontent sweep across the room, eyebrows knit in frustration and confusion. Jungkook, normally composed, visibly bristles at the news. His hands clench into fists on the table, his jaw clenched.

You sense his tension and instinctively reach out, placing a calming hand on his forearm. Jungkook startles slightly, his gaze flickering to your touch. For a fleeting moment, your eyes meet, and in that silent exchange, a wave of reassurance passes between you. His rigid posture eases, shoulders relaxing as he leans back in his seat again. 

Toto, ever the diplomat, concludes solemnly, "There's nothing we can do but accept this decision. Jungkook, you're still leading with 393 points, and as a team, we're at 574 points." The weight of these numbers underscores the gravity of their implications, and the room falls into a reflective silence. Red Bull as a team is currently slightly behind Mercedes in points, but if Max's points are transferred to Mingyu, there's a possibility that not only Red Bull could surpass Mercedes in team points but also Mingyu could overtake Jungkook individually, costing the victory. 

As the meeting winds down and colleagues begin to disperse, you turn to Jungkook, noting the furrow in his brow. "You're the best driver out there," you affirm quietly, your voice a counterpoint to the residual tension in the air. "We need to stay focused on your performance, regardless of the challenges thrown our way."

The intensity in Jungkook's gaze softens, replaced by a warmth that momentarily catches you off guard. Before he can respond, you make a quick excuse and slip away, seeking respite from the emotional currents swirling between you. In the quiet solitude of your office, you take a moment to steady yourself, the weight of Jungkook's unspoken gratitude lingering like a bittersweet echo. You physically try to shake those thoughts away, but it’s fruitless. Taking a deep breath, you do what you know best and immerse yourself in the gearbox data in preparation for the upcoming race, doing everything in your power to distract you from Jungkook’s haunting expression. 

The week leading to the nineteenth race continues in a similar fashion, each day clocked with high-intensity tasks and moments of personal challenge. You delve deeper into simulation sessions with Jungkook, his feedback sharp and insightful, pushing you to refine your strategies further.

It's Saturday, the day of qualifying in Singapore, and the atmosphere at the track is suffocating with its intense heat and humidity. The circuit itself winds through the city, illuminated by bright lights as dusk begins to settle in, creating a dramatic backdrop against the gleaming skyscrapers and the distant Marina Bay Sands. 

You arrived yesterday morning, hastily dropping your luggage in your hotel room before rushing straight to the track. Yesterday's training session went smoothly; all necessary data were gathered, allowing for final adjustments ahead of today's crucial qualifying and tomorrow’s race. 

Mingyu performed admirably, matching Max Verstappen's talent, a surprising feat given his unknown status in the racing world. 

The evening training session was a strategic move to avoid the blistering daytime heat, leaving you drained and collapsing into bed upon return, jet lag adding to your exhaustion.

Now, in the early evening, the paddock is bustling with all teams and personnel gearing up for the qualifying rounds. Over the past two weeks, you've made significant strides, proving to yourself that you're capable and competent. Feeling more assured during your second racing weekend, you take a moment to appreciate the vibrant atmosphere around you. Amidst the activity, your gaze settles on Jungkook, deeply engrossed in conversation at the Ferrari paddock with none other than their second driver’s race engineer, Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung notices you and breaks into a wide grin, waving you over eagerly. A reciprocal smile lights up your face as you make your way towards them, though Jungkook's expression betrays surprise at Taehyung's apparent familiarity with you.

As you approach Jungkook and Taehyung, Taehyung's warm greeting and enthusiastic hug catches you by surprise, but you return the embrace with equal delight. "It's so nice to see you again!" Taehyung exclaims, his smile infectious as he congratulates you on your new position. You thank him graciously, genuinely happy by his kind words.

Jungkook, standing nearby, wears a puzzled expression, clearly taken aback by Taehyung's familiarity with you. His annoyance is palpable as he listens to your exchange. When Jungkook finally interjects, his tone edged with confusion, "Where do you two know each other from?" Taehyung chuckles lightly before responding, "Miss Genius and I shared some classes, and she used to come by the racing club this one time when I needed help." His playful nudge at your shoulder elicits a laugh from you, and you nod in agreement with Taehyung's recollection.

Jungkook's brow furrows deeper as he tries to recall, "I don't remember you being at the club." Taehyung pauses for a moment, a mischievous glint in his eye, before offering with a grin, "Ah, that must have been around the time you were out with that illness." His teasing jab is met with an apologetic shrug from you, even though you’re not at fault, but Jungkook's mood visibly sours even further. Sensing the tension, Taehyung smoothly transitions the conversation, asking about your role with the team now.

Just as the atmosphere starts to lighten, Jungkook abruptly interrupts, his patience obviously wearing thin. He firmly takes your arm and guides you away from Taehyung, back towards Mercedes’ paddock. Over your shoulder, you shoot Taehyung an apologetic smile before focusing on Jungkook's irritated expression.

Stopping abruptly, Jungkook turns to face you, his annoyance still etched across his features. Before he can speak, Toto strides briskly past, his voice cutting through the bustling paddock, "Get ready for qualifying, everyone!" His reminder snaps you back to the impending reality of the day's events. The paddock buzzes with activity as teams make final adjustments, and drivers mentally prepare for the qualifying rounds ahead—all except you and Jungkook.

“Shit.” Jungkook mutters, shaking his head as he turns towards the car to prepare. You watch him briefly before moving to the pit wall to settle next to Joongki.

“Everything alright?” Joongki asks as you adjust the headset.

You hum in response, reluctant to dwell on Jungkook’s mood. While you should be used to it, his downturns still affect you deeply.

“Radio check, Jungkook, can you hear me?”

“Yes, loud and clear,” Jungkook responds, his tone tinged with something indiscernible, adding to your unease. If Jungkook feels off, it could impact his performance during qualifying. You search your brain frantically, trying to come up with something that could help his mood just a tiny bit. 

“Great! Remember, in qualifying, no pressure—just think of it as a really fast sightseeing tour!”

Jungkook’s laugh crackles through the radio, and as everyone else listing in also chuckles, you know it’ll be all you could have done.

As Jungkook sets off for his qualifying run, the atmosphere grows serious once more. By the time he finishes, he secures the pole position so far, setting an impressive time.

But as Mingyu begins his final round, the paddock falls silent. Despite Jungkook’s stellar performance, Mingyu manages to surpass his time by a significant margin, leaving everyone baffled.

Jungkook’s voice filters through the radio, his confusion evident as he enters the pit stop, “Why is it so quiet? What happened?”

Automatically, you reply, “He beat your time by five seconds.”

Silence follows.

“Who?” 

“Mingyu.”

This evening, after the second qualifying-fiasco and subsequent meeting ,you’re finally completely settled in your luxurious hotel room in Singapore, a high-end suite that epitomises modern elegance and comfort to it’s finest. The polished marble floors gleam under the soft ambient lighting, casting a warm glow that complements the sleek, minimalist decor. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking panoramic view of the glittering city skyline, and the king-sized bed, draped in crisp white linens, gives you an unparalleled comfort. The bathroom is a spa-like sanctuary with a rain shower and a deep soaking tub, providing a perfect retreat from the day's stresses.

Clad in your cozy pyjamas and wearing a green, glibbery face mask, you lie sprawled on your plush hotel bed, absently chewing on gummy bears, the sugary sweetness a mere backdrop to your thoughts. Beside you, an ocean of papers—all copies of yesterday’s training session and today's qualifying—scatters across the bed. Yet, your focus remains firmly on the laptop perched beside you. Initially, you intended to review Jungkook's previous races in Singapore for obvious reasons, but the incredible work of his fans soon led you down an unexpected rabbit hole.

One particular fan-made video has captured your attention for the last hour. It showcases Jungkook's most triumphant moments, and now you're utterly engrossed. The scene playing on repeat shows him leaping out of his car after the last season’s win at Abu Dhabi, though you're not interested in this fact anymore. In this particular scene, he rips off his helmet and balaclava, revealing a face and neck glistening with sweat. Each droplet catches the light, highlighting the contours of his strong jawline and cheekbones. His dark hair, damp and wild, sticks to his forehead, giving it an almost raven-black sheen.

The raw intensity of his emotions is palpable, radiating through the screen. He looks euphoric, his eyes sparkling with triumph and relief. The crowd's roar seems almost audible through the speakers, merging with the distant hum of the A/C in your room. You watch as he throws his helmet aside to his prior race engineer, runs a hand through his wet hair, and flashes a dazzling smile that seems to light up the entire scene.

You've replayed this exact moment countless times, captivated by the sheer charisma and raw, unfiltered passion he exudes. Each time you watch, you notice something new—the way his chest heaves with exertion, the slight tremble of his hands from the adrenaline, the way he looks at his team with a mixture of pride and gratitude. 

Lost in this mesmerising moment, you forget the professional distance you're supposed to maintain. The line between work and personal interest blurs as you continue to watch, absently reaching for another gummy bear. The screen flickers slightly as you rewind once more, unable to tear your eyes away from the screen. Jungkook's presence, even through a video, is magnetic, drawing you in deeper with each viewing.

As you lie there, the taste of gummy bears mingling with the taste of infatuation, you find yourself marvelling at the complexities of the man behind the race car. The dedication, the intensity, the sheer human spirit he displays—it's all too captivating. Your professional resolve wavers slightly as you hit replay yet again, surrendering to the magnetic pull of Jungkook's victorious moment, wishing you could have been there to witness it firsthand.

As you reach for yet another gummy bear, you let the scene come to an end and let it transition into an obvious vlog cutout. The gummy bear slips from your fingers, landing on the bed with a silent thud as your mouth hangs open in disbelieve and astonishment. Leaning closer to the screen, you watch, entranced, as Jungkook steps out of the shower, his dripping wet upper body visible. He looks directly into the camera with a momentary expression of surprise before resuming his post-shower routine. As he applies cream to his face and then dries his wet hair with a towel, his tattooed biceps flex vigorously, the sheer display of muscle a captivating spectacle blessing your eyes. Heat rises within you, and you find yourself inching even closer to the screen.

Just as you’re a breath away from the paused image, a sudden knock at the door startles you to the brink of a heart attack. „Shit, shit, shit, shit,“ You hurriedly close YouTube and shut your laptop, feeling as though you've been caught doing something forbidden. With a racing heart, you glance at the door, nearly convinced you imagined the sound. But when there’s another set of knocks, you compose yourself and stand up with a groan, wondering who could be bothering you at this hour.

Pushing aside your papers, you rise from the bed and make your way to the door, curious yet apprehensive. As the door swings open, you're greeted by Jungkook in the soft light of the hotel corridor. His striking yellow jacket glows warmly against the neutral backdrop, while a fitted black shirt peeks from beneath, adding a touch of sleek elegance. The crisp white pants complete his look, their clean lines providing a perfect contrast to the bold hues above, creating a sophisticated yet relaxed ensemble. Jungkook's hair is styled neatly, slicked back with a touch of shine, yet a single rebellious strand falls into his eyes, adding a hint of effortless charm to his polished look. The scent of his cologne—a blend of cedarwood and something subtly spicy—hits you, making your heart skip a beat.

You’re momentarily struck by his appearance, unable to form a coherent thought. Jungkook’s eyes, however, roam over you, taking in your pyjamas and face mask. His expression is a mix of mesmerised and slightly repulsed amusement.

“What do you want?” you manage to ask, snapping out of your daze.

“We’re going out,” he replies with a casual shrug, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’ve got work to do,” you say, gesturing to the papers and laptop strewn across your bed.

“Work is over for tonight,” he insists, stepping past you into the room. As he passes, he glances down at you. “Were you always this small?”

“I’m not that small,” you retort, a pout forming on your lips, though you know that without your heels, you’re significantly shorter than usual.

Jungkook’s gaze lingers on your lips, making you school your face into a neutral expression. He continues, “Mingyu is hosting a party tonight. We’re going to attend it, and you’re going to get close to him and figure him out. The ultimate masterplan.”

You stare at him incredulously. “You can’t be serious.” His annoyed look prompts you to shake your head. “I’m not going. Why isn’t Trish doing this?”

“Why would she?” The confusion is clearly written all over his face. “And of course you’re going with me.”

You groan, looking at the cream coloured ceiling, massaging your neck. “Jungkook, please. I don’t even have any clothes for a night out.”

Jungkook is persistent. “That’s an excuse. You’re coming. Now, let’s see what you have in your closet.”

He strides over to your wardrobe without asking and starts rummaging through your clothes. You rush over, trying to stop him. “Stop! Hey! Hands off my clothes! Jungkook!”

He momentarily pauses his rummaging, looking back at you and pointing at your face. “You’re not going to go out like this. What’s that you have on your face?”

“It’s a face mask,” you say, exasperated, not understanding what got into him.

He touches it, then recoils dramatically. “Ew, I got it on my finger. Make it go away! Oh my god, make it go away!”

You grab a tissue from the sideboard nearby and halt his hand. “You’re unbelievable. Unbelievable and insufferable,” you mutter under your breath, carefully wiping the mask off his finger. You can’’t believe how he acts this childish and careless, not only rummaging through your closet like a kid on a sugar rush but also sticking his finger into your mask. Yet, he manages to be a full-grown man, exuding professionalism and maturity in every aspect of his career. It’s baffling how those traits seem to vanish whenever he interacts with you leaving you to deal with his perplexing duality. 

As you finish, you look up, and your eyes lock with his. Time seems to stop as you get lost in his dark eyes. Both of you lean in slightly, the air between you charged with an almost palpable tension, crackling like static electricity. Your breaths synchronise, each exhale a whisper of unspoken thoughts, as if the very atmosphere is holding its breath. The room seems to shrink, the world narrowing down to just the two of you, every detail of his face magnified—the intensity in his dark eyes, the subtle curve of his lips, the way a single lock of hair falls across his forehead. It feels like time has slowed, stretching this fragile, suspended moment into an eternity. You can almost hear the rapid beating of your own heart, a drumbeat echoing the anticipation that pulses in the space between you. Then, abruptly, the spell shatters as your phone pings with an incoming email, the sharp sound slicing through the tension like a knife.

You lean back abruptly, reprimanding yourself for being so utterly stupid. What were you even thinking? You excuse it on the hours spent watching his earlier races and the fan-made videos that highlighted his every triumphant moment. You tell yourself it’s only natural to be curious about your team’s star driver, but deep down, you know you crossed a line. You shake your head subtly, trying to rid yourself of the chaos within you.

Awkwardly, Jungkook turns back to the closet and pulls out a black dress. “This one could work if we cut it shorter.”

“No way,” you protest, the moment before forgotten in an instant. “That’s my favourite dress. I’m not letting you cut it.”

“I’ll buy you another one,” he counters.

“Why don’t you buy me a new one now and leave my dress alone?” you challenge with a fake smile.

He pushes his lips to his nose while shaking his head, looking down at you. Sighing in defeat, you grab the dress and head to the en-suite bathroom to change, yelling after the door is shut, “We’re NOT cutting it!”

When you step out, ready for the night, you find Jungkook sprawled face down on your bed, snacking on your gummy bears. His broad shoulders and muscular back almost take up an entire half of the bed, his dark hair falling messily over his eyes.

“Why does your bed reek of you? You’ve only been here one night,” he asks, his voice muffled by the pillows as he inhales deeply again, thinking you didn’t hear it.

You sigh and shake your head in annoyance, too fed up to answer him. Slipping into your heels, you mutter, “Let’s get this over with,” and head for the door, trying to put a semi-professional mask on despite the absurdity of the situation.

Jungkook springs up and rushes after you, catching up midway to the elevators. “Okay, so here’s the plan, we go into this party” he begins, raising one finger in front of you to count the steps. You look on with a bored expression. “And than you befriend Mingyu.” he continues, lifting his second finger, as you both enter the elevator.

After a moment, you turn to him as the elevator descends to the lobby. “And what are the other steps of your ‘master plan’?”

“That’s it,” he responds, his tone nonchalant.

You gape at him. “Did the G-forces mash your brain?”

“Pardon?”

“Pardon?” you parrot him, massaging your temples. “Jungkook, you can’t just crash into my hotel room and drag me along for a ‘master plan’ that’s neither a plan nor a good one.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Jungkook says, gripping your shoulders, shaking you lightly. “You know as well as I do that something’s fishy. And we’re going to figure it out.”

You sigh, your head still being wobbled by Jungkook’s shaking. You swat his hands away, crossing your arms over your chest with furrows eyes. Looking into his pleading eyes,you reluctantly agree, blaming the videos you watched earlier for softening this much. “Okay.”

“Perfect! I hope you can handle your liquor,” Jungkook beams, turning to face the door as it opens on the ground floor.

“Of course I can,” you scoff, exiting right behind him. 

In fact, you absolutely cannot. 

Later that evening, you find yourself drunk to the bone, slouched next to Mingyu on a couch. The open rooftop party offers a breathtaking view over the Singapore skyline, with the soft hum of conversation and laughter mingling with the distant sound of traffic, creating a vibrant, pulsating atmosphere that intensifies your buzz. The rooftop is adorned with elegant string lights, casting a warm, inviting glow over the sophisticated crowd. Potted palms and lush greenery add a touch of tropical elegance, while a sleek, modern bar stands at one end, serving an array of colourful cocktails, one of which Jungkook is sipping while leaning against the bar, his eyes constantly darting towards you, an eagle eye on your every move.

Your head swims from the cocktails you consumed, but you know you need to befriend Mingyu. His P1 position in qualifying has made him a prime target of Jungkook and you, and your mission is to get close. 

Mingyu, tall and confident, sits beside you, his summer scarf draped loosely around his neck. He looks at you with a hint of interest, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You were incredible today,” you say, leaning in closer, your words slightly slurred. “How did you manage to stay so cool under this heat?”

Mingyu chuckles, his eyes twinkling. “It’s all about focus and practice. But you—what brings you to these races?”

You giggle, resting your hand on his shoulder and inching closer. “I’m here for the thrill, the excitement…“ You’re not sure if the suppressed gag reflex is due to your excessive flirting or the alcohol swirling in your system, „and maybe to meet interesting people like you.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your forwardness. “Interesting, huh? Well, I’m glad you think so.”

Feeling emboldened by the alcohol, you reach out to play with the hair on the back of his neck. He subtly dodges your hand, but not before you feel something metallic under his scarf.

“Hey, what’s that?” you ask, your curiosity piqued, no filter in your words.

Mingyu's smile falters for a split second. “Just a necklace. Nothing special.”

You laugh, not entirely convinced, but too intoxicated to pursue the matter. Instead, you place your hand on his thigh, only to be met with an unusual hardness.

“Wow, you must work out a lot,” you murmur, your vision starting to blur.

Before Mingyu can respond, he places his hand on your thigh, and you barely register the gesture before Jungkook appears out of nowhere, his expression unreadable.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Jungkook says, his voice firm. “But I need to take her. Now.”

Mingyu looks mildly surprised but doesn't protest, holding both his hands up as if to say „She’s all yours“. Jungkook helps you up, and you stagger slightly, clinging to his arm.

As you walk away with Jungkook, you start to giggle uncontrollably. “Jungkook, you’re so hot. Did you know that?”

He looks flustered, his usual composure slipping. “Yeah, okay. Let’s get you back to the hotel.”

„No, I’m serious. You’re like really, really, super hot. And so funny.“ 

You abruptly stop and look up at him with the most serious and sober expression you can muster, but the hiccup betrays you. “Let me feel your thigh,” you declare, dropping to your knees.

Jungkook’s eyes widen in shock, and he quickly pulls you back to your feet. “This is not the time for that,” he says, trying to hide his embarrassment.

„No you don’t understand. Jungkook, let me feel…“

„NOT THE TIME,___!“ He practically carries you back to the hotel, your drunken state making you increasingly unsteady and bubbly. As you near your room, the world starts to fade, and you black out, barely aware of Jungkook’s arms around you, supporting you through the haze.

01 • 02 • series masterlist • 04

a/n 2: lmk what you think in any way you like! please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

taglist: @jksusawife

[uwmspeccoll]

Staff Pick of the Week

My name is Elizabeth Voorhorst, and I am a new writing intern for Special Collections this semester. It is a pleasure to share this space, as I am excited to delve into the vast sea of books that Special Collections makes a home for.

I am an English major, with a focus on creative writing. Because of this, my time spent in Special Collections will be focused predominantly on fairy tales and folklore, perhaps dipping into mythology when curiosity and inspiration strikes hardest.

For this week, I wanted to focus on black creators and their works for Black History Month. Because my pride and passion is folklore and fairy tales, I thought it would be fun to take a look at what we have in our collection and share it with you!

Retellings are always enjoyable, as you get to see the way writers recreate and offer their own flare and heritage to the story. One such story is The Girl Who Spun Gold, a retelling of the German classic fairy tale Rumpelstiltskin. This retelling was written by Virginia Hamilton (1932-2002) and illustrated by Leo Dillon (1933-2012) and Diane Dillon (1933- ).The book was published 1n 2000 by Blue Sky Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc.

The story is about a West Indian girl named Quashiba, whose mother lies to Big King that she is able to spin golden thread. The King takes Quashiba as his queen, expecting her to fill whole rooms with golden fabrics and finery, which of course she would be unable to do. However, she meets a creature who offers to help, but demands that in three days she must guess his name correctly or be bound to him forever.

Quashiba is now able to fulfill the King’s continuous demands, but is unable to guess the name of her helper, until the King reveals to her that he ran across a strange creature in the woods who was dancing and singing a song that included his name, Lit’mahn Bittyun. So, on the final night, after the room is filled with fabrics and wondrous goods, Quashiba plays dumb for the first two guesses, and on the last guess she gives him his full name and he explodes into a confetti of golden specks. The King repents his greed, but only after three years and a day does Quashiba reconcile with him.

The absolutely stunning illustrations for The Girl Who Spun Gold were made using a four-color process with gold as a fifth color. The Dillons comment on the painting process, stating:

Knowing the difficulty of painting with metallic paint as well as the difficulty of reproducing gold, we still chose to use it, for the story itself revolved around the concept of gold. The art was done with acrylic paint on acetate, over-painted with gold paint. The gold borders were created using gold leaf.

The book was printed on one-hundred-pound Nymolla Matte paper, and each illustration was spot-varnished.  Color separations were made by Digicon Imaging Inc., Buffalo, New York, and the book was printed and bound by Tien Wah Press, Singapore, with production supervision by Angela Biola and Alison Forner. Along with Leo & Diane Dillon, the book was also designed with help from Kathleen Westray.

View more work by African American artists.

View more posts concerning African Americans.

View more Staff Picks.

- Elizabeth V., Special Collections Undergraduate Writing Intern

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Red Lips, Green Eyes, You're Mine

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Description: You've been dating a Naval Aviator for a few months when a company shindig finally gives you the opportunity to show him off. It doesn't surprise you at all when a night out turns into a far steamier night in your sheets. What else is a girl to do with a bratty boyfriend?

Warnings: Slight BDSM elements, Dom/Sub agreement, Shibari, This is just PwP, Porn

Word Count: 4346

A/N: This is what happens when an author is on discord and thots are being had. I have no excuses. This is completely self indulgent.

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

My Masterlist

You’ve been dating a Navy man for a little over three months. He’s sweet, and you have a lot of fun with him. Jake is a blind date turned into a happy relationship, and you adore being with him. You talk about him so much that your co-workers constantly ask to meet him. But you’ve never had the chance to have him drop by and take you out for lunch or any of the other things you’ve seen your co-workers' significant others do. It’s not like you do anything interesting, after all. 

You work for a firm that acquires rare art pieces for your clients and often have to travel to their galleries worldwide, and Jake’s been very busy. Though you live in San Diego, your office is on the opposite end of the city from North Island Naval Base. He’s been exhausted as his official duties have him on base later and later into the day. You’d barely see him if you didn’t let yourself into his apartment off base and wait up for him. Those late nights curled up on his sofa are the most time you’ve spent with him in a long time. Early on in your relationship, too, you had to share him with the Navy and been apart for a month while he was on a ship in the middle of some classified ocean. 

You finally get your chance to show Jake off when your company hosts its annual charity gala. It’s the biggest fundraising event of the year, and you’re so excited to share a slice of your world with Jake. Jake’s excited, too, especially since the gala will happen when he’s finally gotten a couple of weeks of leave. It’s been nice having him in your apartment, especially when you wake up in the morning to him in your bed. He’s also sporting a beard right now, the sting of which you still feel on your thighs as you get ready for the gala. You’re standing in just your lingerie and heels as you pull your dress out of the garment bag when Jake wraps his arms around your bare waist.

“You sure you have to wear that, beautiful?” His hands trail down the front of your thighs before rising to cup your lace covered breasts.

“Yup. I have to go. I have clients from Singapore flying in, Jake! I can’t miss it!” His answering grumble makes you giggle, especially when he zips your dress up for you. When you turn around, you can’t hide how wide your own eyes get. Jake looks delectable in the black tuxedo. It accentuates the curve of his slim waist and the bulk of his muscles.

“God, baby doll.” His voice is hushed as you tie his bow tie for him. “You look so beautiful in your dress. It’ll look even better when it’s on the floor later.”

Your voice is a sensual purr as you peck his smiling mouth and murmur in his ear, “Mmmm. Jake, that tuxedo will look just as good joining it on the floor. But, you have to be good, baby. No hanky-panky on the dance floor or overly possessive touches or flagrant PDA. This is still a work event for me. And if you’re a good boy, I promise you’ll like your reward.”

“And if I’m bad?” You can’t blame your rebellious boy for going there.

“Then I’ll make sure it’s a punishment worth remembering. Alright?” His eyes have been tracking your cherry red lips as you speak, his green eyes widening as arousal makes his pupils dilate. 

“Yes, ma’am.” You kiss his jaw, careful to avoid lipstick prints on his skin, and collect your clutch. Jake follows along behind you, docile as a lamb, the allure of your reward and your punishment both equally tantalizing. He’s gotten control of himself by the time you get into the car the company has hired and is back to his charming self by the time you reach the venue in the middle of the Mojave Desert. As expected of your firm’s high profile clients, the venue is sparkling with wealth. All the women are dressed to the nines, dripping in diamonds.

It's a whirlwind of schmoozing. You've got your best client smile on as you and Jake work your way through your clients, chatting and laughing. Everyone you speak to is impressed by your Naval Aviator boyfriend, and Jake doesn't hide how proud he is of you, either. During dinner, his left hand is a steady presence on your upper thigh, caressing the bare skin just high enough to drive you wild. 

When the party moves to the auction hall, he stands close enough to you that the bulge in his pants brushes against your ass every time you move. Your gown may be voluminous, but you can still feel every inch of how much he wants you. You ignore Jake, hoping the embarrassing boner will fade soon. Unluckily for you, it does not.

It gets so bad that, after the auction, you drag Jake out onto the dance floor, using the scant inches between you both to growl, "I can't believe you're hard right now. I told you to be good, baby. This isn't good. Get yourself under control. Only good boys get rewarded."

After the song ends, you both clap for the orchestra before Jake excuses himself to the bathrooms to take care of his problem. It takes about fifteen minutes for him to come back to you. There are minute droplets of water on his temples, and his face is cool and damp when he presses a kiss on your cheek. You allow the gentle press of lips against your cheek, smiling as you continue your conversation while ignoring how he clasps your hand in his. He squeezes your fingers, a press you return because you know that your baby's already fearing his punishment. In truth, you're not mad, really, just irritated. It takes way too much mental energy to keep socializing with clients. Forget having to deal with a horny man while doing so. 

This isn’t even the first time you’ve had to take Jake firmly in hand. There’s a type when one thinks of a Naval Aviator: cocky, confident, arrogant, and in control. You’d found out early in your relationship that sometimes Jake liked to give up a bit of that control. So you’d done a ton of research into Dom/Sub dynamics, and the two of you were working on helping Jake relinquish control in a more formal context. Tonight, you can tell already by how bratty he’s being that he’d like nothing more than to be your baby.

Your suspicion is confirmed in the way he sticks close to you for the rest of the night with his big hand curled loosely in your own and how his smiles are a little more forced. Sadly for your aching baby boy, you can't pay him any attention until you're seated in the back of the car you'd hired for the evening. You give the chauffeur your address and press the button to pull up the divider. The first year you'd gone to the charity gala, you'd been completely blown away by the VIP treatment. But each year you've grown more and more comfortable. 

This year, with Jake on your arm, you feel positively wicked. So much so that you crack open the complimentary bottle of Moët and pour out a glass, just one. Your voice is a sensual purr as you sip from the glass before murmuring, "Baby, you had an incident during the auction, didn't you?"

You can see how Jake's eyes contract at your words, his pupils eclipsing the green in his eyes until only a sliver is left as he tracks your tongue as you lick a stray bubble from your lips.

"Tch. Baby boys respond when they're asked a question." You unravel the bowtie, before grabbing it and using the strip of fabric to guide Jake onto his knees on the carpeted floor in front of you. "You had an incident during the auction, didn't you?"

You can see Jake's Adam's apple rise with each swallow as you tug a bit more on the tie. 

"Y-yes, ma'am." His voice is strangled and hoarse already. You let the tie go, letting one manicured, red fingernail drag down his throat, tapping lightly on his Adam's Apple as you look appraisingly at him and sip on a bit more champagne. 

"And, what, Baby Boy, do you think I should pick as your punishment?" Jake's eyes are blown completely wide now, and you can see him start to drop already. It's a trick question and a game you've played before, so you're glad that he doesn't answer. "How about we try something, hmm? You're going to stay right there on your knees and eat me out. Your goal is to make me cum before we get home without cumming yourself. I don't cum, you get punished. You cum, you get punished. Are we clear, baby?"

“Yes, ma’am!” 

Jake's voice is strung out and there's already a faraway look in his eyes as you part the skirt of your gown and let your baby go to town between your legs. The first press of his mouth to your cunt is sloppy as he clumsily, eagerly, laps at you over the fabric of your lacy thong. He’s so ready to make you feel good that you have to pull the fabric away from your heat after a few minutes. Eventually, though, he gets into a filthy rhythm that has your toes nearly curling in your heels. It's obvious that Jake's feeling the heady rush of this encounter as much as you do, because you can see how his hips jerk against the leather seat as he brings you to the brink of your orgasm. Every once in a while he stops to see how you're doing and you have to fight everything to claw yourself back from the edge of your orgasm and look bored as you sip on the bubbly champagne.

As the drive back into San Diego winds down, Jake grows ever more desperate, crooking his fingers up into the spongy spot in you that makes you see stars and sucking on your clit until your juices drip down his chin. You give into your orgasm when the car carcareens over a particularly deep pothole, your thighs clenching tight around Jake's head as he continues to finger-fuck you through each pulsing wave of your orgasm. He finally pulls away and settles your skirts back down right as the car pulls up in front of your building. 

You have no illusions that the driver hasn't seen much worse, so you tip the man and walk into your building in the late night air with all the dignity you can muster. Jake's walking carefully behind you, draping his jacket over your shoulders as you walk into the elevator. This late, there isn't another person there so you feel no shame in trailing your fingers over the crotch of Jake's trousers. He's still hard, yes, but there is a tell-tale wet spot on his pants. Your baby came without your permission.

You sneak a look at his face and you can see shame in the blush rising up his cheeks. You pull your hand away from him as the elevator opens on your floor and stride out without a word. There's a creeping tension settling over the pair of you as you unlock the door and step in, Jake following silently behind you. He's well into a submissive mindset already, his broad shoulders rounded and his eyes still blown wide as he stands in the center of your living room and waits.

"Baby, c'mere. Can you get the zipper on my dress, please?" Jake's so far down he just nods, hot hands sliding the zipper down until your dress is pooled around your feet. Keeping your heels on, you step out of the puddled fabric and lay it in your bedroom. When you come back out, your Baby Boy is on his knees in front of your sofa.

You settle into the plush white leather, watching how Jake's eyes track your every move as you part your legs. Thanks to his ministrations, you know your thong is transparent with your release and his saliva. The heat rising to his cheeks has you dipping forward, kissing his lips, licking into his slack mouth until you can taste the whiskey he’s been sipping on all night and your release still mingling on his tongue. He's breathing heavily when you pull away. Your fingers are gentle as you pull open the fly of his trousers. His boxers are wet and sticky, cum staining the fabric as you free his still-hard length.

"Oh, baby." Your voice is disappointed as you pull your fingers away glancing at the sticky spend on your fingertips. “What do we have here? Did you not hear my two rules when we were in the car?” You wait, watching Jake’s expressions as he tries to figure out what to say.

“You told me that I couldn’t cum. And that if you don’t cum, I get punished. Additionally, if I cum, I get punished.” 

You quirk an eyebrow waiting to see whether your baby will actually finish by calling you ma’am as he’s agreed to when he’d dropped into his submissive mindset. When he doesn’t, you up the ante. It’s obvious your baby is feeling bratty and needy right now. You tap on his plush bottom lip, pressing the fingers you’d coated in his release into his mouth, letting him suckle on them for just a minute before pulling away. Your hands are gentle as you free him from his shirt. Jake’s chest is heaving as you do so, his hands trying to divest you of your lingerie with each button that slips free. You push them away each time until Jake’s in just his sticky damp boxers, the thin wet fabric rucked below his balls and his cock free to the cool air in your apartment. 

“Baby…” Your voice is all growling sensuality as you beckon your baby forward. He shuffles forward until he can place his chin in the palm of one of your hands. You card the other through the honeyed strands, relishing in the soft moans spilling from his lips as you scratch lightly at his scalp. “What’s going on, hmm? My good boy doesn’t cum so fast without permission. D’you need ma’am to take care of you tonight? I know it’s been a bit since you dropped fully.”

“Yes, ma’am. Please.” Jake’s voice is all Texan drawl tonight, and you love it. Jake’s usually a man of perfect pronunciation and elocution. His Texan heritage and upbringing only come through when he’s aroused or in his submissive mindset. Hearing his voice like this is your first indication that he welcomes what is coming to him with open arms. 

“Get undressed fully, baby, and lie on the bed. How do you feel about ropes tonight?” You catalog the bead of sweat dripping down his temple as he swallows, his eyes nearly black with arousal. At his eager nod, you kiss him, tugging him in until you’re so close that you can wrap your arms around him if you choose to do so. When you release him, his mouth is stained red from your lipstick. Seeing the gold of his skin marred by the crimson paint gives you a fantastic idea. 

Jake staggers his way into the bedroom, lying on the bed as you’d told him to. He’s not fully on his back yet, staying braced on his elbows as his eyes track you as you grab three things from your closet: soft burgundy colored nylon ropes, a tube of lipstick and  a cock ring. When you join Jake on the bed, you start his punishment with the cock ring. You dribble some lube down his length, slicking him up with the flat of your hand before working the ring down until it’s snug at the base. 

Jake’s already blushing, his skin warming at the onslaught of sensations as you proceed to work the rope into knots criss crossing over his golden skin. You keep the ropes snug, tight enough that Jake will feel the pressure over his skin, but not tight enough to hurt. His arms and legs are tied to the headboard. You take breaks frequently, peppering kisses across his lips, cheeks, chest and abs until he’s finally as pretty as a picture. The ropes frame his muscles and the dribble of precum collecting near his belly button from his erect cock shines pearlescent in the low light.

You can’t help you coo as the ropes press lightly against his length, providing just enough friction that his hips jerk upwards in the search of additional friction that never comes. This is when you uncap the tube of lipstick. Standing at the vanity, you purse your lips, gliding the crimson substance over your lips to perfection. You blot once, then reapply, blotting one final time before turning back to Jake. 

“Are you ready for me baby?” You straddle his waist, hovering over his aching cock before starting his punishment with one crimson print over his heart. Each kiss has Jake’s breath hitching. You dot his torso in crimson kisses, pausing only when the final print is barely visible. This time when you get up, Jake whimpers. You snap a few pictures on your phone before walking back to your vanity.

“Aww, baby.” Your voice is gentle, but with a mischievous tilt, as you reapply your lipstick. But before you blot and reapply, you hit the button on the remote you’d brought with you from the closet. In addition to the buzz of the cock ring as it begins to vibrate, you’re treated to Jake’s body bowing as he arches his back into a near perfect c-shape at the unexpected stimulation. He’s cumming before you can even get back onto the bed, so strung out that the orgasm steals the breath from his lungs. You turn the vibrations down, petting up and down his torso to soothe the tremors skating over his skin.

“Oh, you’re so pretty for me, my darling boy. Cumming like that, completely untouched. Did it feel good, baby?” Jake’s got a tear dripping down one cheek, and you can’t help kissing him for being so good for you. He’s never cum untouched before. You’ve never seen a more beautiful sight. You make out with your boyfriend for several long moments, feeling him relax into the bedsheets again. You check the ropes on his legs to make sure they aren’t chafing or dragging before loosening the bonds on his arms and settling yourself back into his lap. With his arms free, Jake sets his hands on your hips, gently trailing his thumbs under the thong you’re still wearing.

“Oh, you’re being so good for me, baby. D’you think you can give me two more orgasms, baby?” Your voice is gentle as you gaze down at Jake.

“Yes’m.” His voice is a slur as his eyes blearily follow your features.

“You can pick what we do next, lovely boy. D’you want to eat me out again while I randomize the tempo on the ring? Or do you want me to suck on that gorgeous thick cock while the ring does its thing?” Jake’s so deep into his submissive mindset that it takes him several minutes to string the words together to tell you what he wants. It doesn’t surprise you at all when Jake picks the second option. Blowjobs are his favorite thing when he’s not your subby baby so it makes perfect sense that he’ll want that comfort even now. You kiss him for telling you what he wants and pepper additional kisses over his hips and thighs, leaving red marks as you go, stopping after placing one kiss softly on the purpling mushroom head of his length.

The first light lick of your tongue over his length has Jake’s back arching again. You attack the hot flesh with gentle kitten licks, letting your saliva drip messily down his length until it’s collecting against the ring still securely clasped in place. It’s when you take his length into your mouth,sinking all the way down to the base that you flick the vibrations back on. He fights masterfully, trying not to buck up into your mouth, but that’s what you want. Your baby’s going to cum again, dry, and then you’re going to pull the ring off and ride him until he’s stuffing you full of his cum. 

To aid him, when you pull away, you tell him, “Fuck my face, darling boy. It’s alright. You’re not going to get punished for that. You’ve been so good for me. I want you to come. Come for me, baby.”

You relax your jaw, allowing the punishing pace Jake sets as he chases his orgasm with everything he has. It’s only a few thrusts before he comes again. You pepper kisses across the muscles of his tense thighs and flick the vibrations off. His moan is strangled when you unclasp the ring, setting it on a paper towel on the bathroom counter. You undo the knots tying him to the bed and kiss him until he’s a little closer to Jake than your baby boy. Arousal is still singing through your veins as you cradle him close to your skin, and Jake’s still hard when you feel his hand against your back. 

You grin when your bra falls away, and lose yourself looking into sage eyes glinting golden in the lamplight. Jake's mouth is soon on your breasts. The nipping, licks, and open-mouthed kisses have the fire burning under your skin banking even hotter. 

It feels like forever before Jake finally presses into you. His hard length sinks into you in a smooth glide, easily lubricated by how wet you are. You can't help how you arch your back towards him, gasping as his length brushes up against every tender sensitive spot in you that makes your toes curl. You're so close to orgasming already that at the first thrust, you're digging your heels into the dimples above his ass and chanting his name.

The bedroom dissolves into a cacophony of slapping skin and your moans as you buck your hips to meet Jake's for each thrust. You reach the precipice of your orgasm easily, but no matter what you do, you can't cum. Jake's thrusts make you light up, each sending more heat coiling in your gut, but the band just doesn't snap. You're far beyond dominating him now, babbling his name and begging him to make you cum. Finally, Jake presses the pad of his thumb firmly against your swollen clit and envelopes a nipple with his mouth. The combined steady pressure and stinging bite of his teeth sends you careening into the most potent orgasm you think you've ever had.

You're not sure how much later it is when you come back to yourself. Jake's moved you to a bare section of the mattress and you can see him stripping the sheets.

"Jakey?" Your voice is soft, and you can't help your smile when his head swivels in your direction almost immediately. "C'mere." You crook your fingers beckoning him close.

Once he's at arms reach you begin to examine him to see if he's had enough aftercare after dropping so thoroughly like he had earlier. His hands fly to your hips like they're magnetized as you settle into his lap. When you kiss him, his response is slow. So you just tug him into your arms until his face is buried against your breasts. That's where you stay for several moments until he begins kissing you again. Those fervent sloppy kisses are how you know your Jake's come back to you. So you step into the kitchen for a few moments and return with a bowl of cut fruit and a bottle of Gatorade. 

You feed Jake the fruit, seeing the color rise back into his cheeks and his awareness come back to the forefront of his mind more and more with each sip of electrolytes and each bite of fruit. You nuzzle at his temple, pressing a gentle kiss there and just hold him for several moments when you're done. It's after you've ushered him into the shower and you're cuddling that Jake finally talks to you again.

"God, that was…" Jake's voice is still a drawl as he traces abstract patterns across your skin. "God, that was something special, beautiful. I've never cum dry before. How'd you know that was what I needed?" 

You purse your lips, pretending to think a bit. "I guess it was when I realized that even though you were on vacation you weren't actually relaxing. That was when I knew. You're needier and brattier too."

"I never knew I was so easy to read." His voice is hoarse and quiet as he sets you down on a settee and goes back to changing the sheets. He glares playfully at you for getting up to help him.

You smile at him, "I wouldn't say you're easy to read, Jake. Definitely not to others. But you agreed to drop into an easier mindset for me. I know you, I think, better than most because you trust that part of yourself to me, and only me." 

Jake's resulting glance is so questioning that you smile. "And honestly, baby, I think you need to look at yourself in the mirror. Marked by my red lips, with your green eyes shining like that? I don't think there's any doubt that you're mine." You have the proof to show him, too. If you text him a picture every now and then to see his reaction, well, you're only human right? Haven't you heard the phrase, 'Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy'? Your Cowboy is the best of the best after all.

Taglist:

@cassiemitchell ♕ @mayhemmanaged ♕ @dakotakazansky ♕ @desert-fern ♕ @cherrycola27 ♕ @thedroneranger ♕ @sarahsmi13s ♕ @lovinglyeternal ♕ @bradleybeachbabe ♕

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[sgiandubh]

Jottings: Season 7, Episode 5. Dinna fash, we'll sort it out

The proof is in the pudding: we don't really need to see J&C/S&C all the time on screen, to know an episode is still consistently good, in an overall unexpectedly great season, so far.

Side note: just how hypnotic Bear McCreary's Dance of the Druids must be, to immediately cut all ties to the real world, as you settle on the couch, larva style, with your ice cream (yes! again! B&J's Karamel Sutra Core - more appropriate for last week, but nobody's perfect)?

It would seem this time speed gave precedence to density and even gravitas, because neither war, nor self-assertiveness are jokes. The main theme of the mysteriously named Singapore seems to be the obvious cause and effect relationship between prejudice and miscommunication, or even lack thereof. It doesn't really matter if the year is 1777 or 1979: men will be men, women will be women and idiots will be idiots, regardless of gender or nationality. Tonight, for instance, an accomplished French idiot, which is ironic and a tad unfair to watch, seconds after Bastille Day (this comes from a place of deep love, familiarity and appreciation). But almost all of them will face authoritarian idiocy in this episode: I will let you discover (remember: nothing but minimal spoilers).

Still embarrassed for SS, whose vital signs seem to be on display only when she is a) crying and b) pissed off because of someone or something. For the pub scene with the gang of morons from the plant, she could have borrowed a wealth of JAMMF's expression tricks (for which S is the absolute ace) and I suspect she tried but, yet again, failed to persuade: the only thing that she seems remotely acquainted with is the smirk. And I will not insist on the torturous rendering of maternal love or domestic bliss. I feel merciful tonight and sometimes mercy is just about the same as oblivion (not a word about that vanishing panties scene, do you hear me?). Maybe this is also why RR still seems more relaxed, but perhaps also totally resigned about a situation that must be dealt and be done with a stiff upper lip, for the cause.

Product placement alert, with the Barbour wax jackets and shirts (long time client, here) prominently featured at Lallybroch. Nothing magic. This is a long-term partnership, maybe also S's contribution. Yes, Mordor, that peasant did it again!

A propos of the plant inspection, the tunnel scene sent powerful The Man in the High Castle vibes, from the set to the running through well, something, for lack of a better word. For those who have not seen this excellent series, here's a good Droughtlander plan. It's all about Jude Law and the Japanese guy; and also Philip K. Dick, one of my beloved science-fiction writers, truly a genius.

Spoiler: "You can thank that rotten stew". Ohai, Vandervaart, sweet summer child. Too fleeting a presence on my screen, yet you nailed your scene with Rachel Hunter, which I proclaim my favorite of this episode. The scenery helps, that pre-dawn murky, metallic light is perfect and you found the right balance between disgust, horror, an adrenaline high, fear, uncertainty and yes, unspoken (maybe even unconscious) attraction. Also, a masterful use of voice, pitch and breathing techniques - what's not to like?

A close second but enthusiastic kudos for Young Ian. John Bell is wonderful in his scene with C. which, again, gave me life imitates art vibes. And even more moving is the dense moment with the Cherokee/Scottish son, for I believe that endearing boy with a Fraser smile is Young Ian's.

These jottings are unable and unwilling to ignore S, very busy shaping Jamie's hero stature in short, effective appearances. Something we will probably see in full force next week, when I shall be out of town and not watching. Still, rejoice: the Jottings will be making it a double in two weeks.

[rainbowdaisy13]

My illusion started to break when she sang But in your life you'll do things greater than dating the boy on the football team in June and proceeded to bring this loser on stage. Since she skipped that line in Singapore I thought she’ll definitely drop him when she’ll play it next. There were theories all over about it. There were also big theories about singing I did something bad when she drops Reputation. But then I realized, she sees these type of stuff and just enjoys fucking with people. Why not? She knows she can manipulate the masses without consequences. It’s gotta be fun for her. The mashups never led to anything, never meant anything. They’re mostly songs that fit together thematically or have a melody you can blend.

I went to Eras recently and certain moments felt very cultish. I wasn’t into this whole friendship bracelet thing and people stared me down almost disgusted. I realized that many of her fans are a hive mind focused on doing whatever they can to please Mother. Lately I feel like she wants to make it so if you don’t love Travis, you can’t enjoy her art. She’s inserting him into everything. I’ve never seen anyone doing something like this before, including herself previously. Never in my life have I felt like I can’t enjoy an artist if I don’t like their partner. I don’t know what her goal is here. She paused for applause for Travis like she wants her fans to idolize him and never separate her work from his. I don’t get it. It’s become weird to be her fan. I’ve even seen wine moms saying it felt awkward because they don’t want their daughters to think they need to put their man on a pedestal like that and they thought it was strange how he became part of her brand. How she changed for him.

That line the 1950s shit they want from me annoys me now. She made it so that’s the dialogue around her based on the articles she’s pushing. All about engagement or wedding. Of course people speak about this if you’re setting the narrative this way. With Matty she did the same. A couple of weeks in, they were thinking of marriage. Tree put out those articles.Taylor turned her art nonsensical for me. She complains about things she keeps doing because it makes her money. Consuming it now feels like feeding someone’s victim complex and self martyrdom.

I know there’s the theory that she’s turning herself into what her fans want from her, so when Eras is over she can say this was your story, this ain’t me, but it’s not really their story, is it? It’s the story her publicist crafted for her. It would be hypocritical for her to say I turned myself into what you wanted me to be because no one wanted her to be anything. It’s just that if you present yourself a certain way, people adjust their expectations to that image. Taylor created that image and people adjusted to it. The hive mind saw she wants them to love her boyfriend and make everything she does about him, so they did. The same way in which the hive mind saw they wanted them to hate on Karlie, so they do. And I agree with your sentiment of at some point you need to let your parents go and put your family, that your created for yourself, first. If you parents don’t follow your script that’s on them. If you continue like this, it’s gonna be you and them and no soulmate. She actually said there’s no soulmates for her anymore on TTPD, so maybe she crossed that threshold and decided mom and dad it is forever.

This is long as hell. I don’t know where I’m gong with it. I’m confused but glad the illusion broke for me too. Also disappointed with myself for explaining away and justifying the hate narrative against Karlie.

Well written & the points are exactly how I’m thinking/feeling too

Justifying the Karlie hate by saying “she’s fine with it” likeeeeee how did we do that for so long? Even if she is, that’s not the sign of a healthy relationship dynamic on any level!

[welcometololaland]

I know you're off line right now, so ignore this for as long as you want (or forever) - but you sent me such a lovely nice ask week ask, so I want to come into your inbox and ask one too.

I know you live in Australia, but you've traveled a lot in Europe - so my question is, what do you do on the flights? How do you keep yourself entertained and not twisted into a pretzel shape by the end of it?

hi lim! thank you for this 💜 what an interesting question! honestly, i'd love to know other people's theories on long-distance plane travel, because i feel like i'm no master.

that being said, melbourne to anywhere in europe requires a solid 12.5 hour flight and then usually another 6-8 hour one one on top of that, so i do have SOME travel tips. i think these are my best ones, but i'd be SO KEEN to hear others :)

if you're flying through any major airport (abu dhabi, dubai, singapore, doha, etc.) remember that they will make you do security again just before you go to your gate. this means it is imperative you do not fill up your water bottle in the airport unless you have time to drink it! i've been forced to down so many litres of water just to get my bottle on the plane (for some reason they never have taps near the gates?!).

sleep is your friend. personally, i don't bother with timezones, i just try and get as much of it as i can. i know this is controversial, as some people like to time their sleeping with their destination, but honestly i think sleeping on planes is patchy as it is so you may as well sleep when you're tired. there's an art to this too - i order an alcoholic drink with the first meal service (usually just after take-off), and use it to make me a little drowsy. during the post-meal coffee service, i forego any tea, coffee or sodas and have a cup of plain hot water. that usually lets me go to sleep as soon as the cabin lights go off. bring a sweater so you're warm enough, wear comfy clothes and warm socks and don't be afraid to ask for extra blankets if you need them - sometimes planes can be SUPER cold. also, use the free mask/earplugs they give you if you can (the earplugs do some weird sensory shit to me so i can't handle those, but the mask is usually great).

if you have any dietaries whatsoever, don't forget to order specific meals. this means you never miss out, even if you are asleep when the trolley comes around. you can always request it later. one time i forgot to put in meal requests on a 12.5 hour flight it was torture. i had to survive on apples.

always bring a charged laptop (preferably with a lot of fic or netflix shows pre-downloaded) and headphones. you can never guarantee what movies they're gonna have and honestly i find my own entertainment more worthwhile. books are a little dicey because if you're flying at night and they turn the cabin lights off, you don't wanna be that asshole turning the overhead light on while the person next to you is trying to sleep.

if you know your bladder sucks, PLEASE choose the aisle seat (that is me - aisle always).

if you're travelling with one other person and you're on an A380 or similar, there's usually an option to pick a seat right down the back of the plane with rows of 2 rather than 3. this changed my life when i discovered it. as long as you have the patience to wait 2223847 years to de-plane, it can be so handy because you never have a random between you and you can a) get better sleep and b) go to the bathroom whenever you want.

ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS carry baby wipes. You'll need them for your hands, when you spill something on yourself or (on the 12.5 hour flight) your underarms lol. Also, please for the love of god wear shoes in the bathroom.

during stopovers, try to find the most random bathroom available (good idea to go for a walk if you have the time), set up shop, and do a cleanse. brush your teeth, brush your hair, wash your face, apply some lip balm (plane environments are super drying, especially for that long). i always carry a small toiletries bag (making sure you're not carrying liquids over 100ml) in my carry on. it makes you feel SO much better. you can also do this when you get to your destination, just before you leave the airport (before/after baggage collection).

bring a phone cable. sounds stupid but the amount of times i have forgotten one...

travel as light as possible with carry on. my personal favourite is to have a backpack with my charger, laptop, a sweater/jumper and small toiletries bag, and then i also carry a fanny pack-type bag that can be shoved into the top of my backpack. the separate small bag is super handy walking around airports though because you can have your wallet, phone, boarding pass and passport on you at all times and really easily accessible. this hack will also save you SO MUCH TIME at security check. if you travel light, you'll find it so easy separating out your laptop and liquids at any check in.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Travel (4) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three

2017 (ao3) - outphan

Summary: Dan and Phil go on a date at the Singapore Aquarium.

Aftermath (ao3) - firephan311

Summary: What happened during that week in March when Dan abruptly stopped taking his antidepressants. It is completely fictious. Just a product of my imagination. Pure angst.

And miles to go (ao3) - jestbee

Summary: Phil contemplates the keeping of promises on their second world tour

be the shift of cornerstone (ao3) - frostbitten_cheeks

Summary: Japan is eight days of sushi and beauty and unwinding and Dan thinking of marriage far more than is necessary.

Cloud 9 (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Parent!Phan AU. It’s May’s first time flying and she’s feeling a bit nervous.

corazón tú sí sabes (love me like I like it) (ao3) - basl

Summary: Dan and Phil go to The Riviera Maya.

Get drunk on the good life (ao3) - Midgetphan

Summary: Boys enjoying their mediterranean holiday.

Getting Lost (ao3) - one_tired_boi123

Summary: Dan and Phil are on their 2018 Interactive Introverts tour and their driver has managed to get them lost in the middle of some American desert. Mild chaos.

Hot Mess (ao3) - outphan

Summary: It’s a hot night on the tour bus.

Intercourse, PA (ao3) - Spring_Haze

Summary: Dan's travel app gives him an idea, and when the bus approaches Intercourse, PA, he wakes Phil to celebrate their location.

Jump Off the Deep End (ao3) - pasteldnp (missjuliet)

Summary: Sometimes it takes a road trip with your meddlesome brother and his girlfriend to end up exactly where you want to be.

Let's Get Out Of This Place (ao3) - AnironSidh

Summary: Dan is tired of being closeted and stuck in a law degree program he doesn't want anymore, so Phil suggests a road trip over winter break to get away from it all.

Personal Getaway (ao3) - librapinof

Summary: the fic where Phil takes Dan on a mini vacation to a personal villa in Italy where Phil treats Dan like the prince he is and romance & smut ensue on this personal getaway from a busy life.

Rabu Hoteru (ao3) - justiceshorts

Summary: In which Dan and Phil stay at a love hotel whilst their in Japan.

Regenboog (ao3) - waveydnp

Summary: In a hotel room in Amsterdam, Dan and Phil celebrate pride in their own way.

Room For Two (ao3) - dip_and_pip_trash

Summary: Tour is great but sometimes it’s nice to actually share a bed with the person you love.

Thank You, Love You, Baby (ao3) - Spring_Haze

Summary: Despite the long day, Dan and Phil are desperate to be together following their first two shows in Brighton, England. The couple celebrates with a load of Greek food and a sexy shower.

The Road To Being Okay (ao3) - WaterHorseyBlues

Summary: All Phil wanted was for Dan to be okay.

Too Tall For His Own Good (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan and Phil head off, spending their first night on the TATINOF tour bus. Dan offers Phil the master bed, but things don’t go as planned.

when you see the sun, i see the moon (ao3) - dizzy

Summary: Dan has a show. Phil goes to an art fair. Life goes on.

[quietlyimplode]

Black Widow Fest 2023 - Day Two

The Aquarium

Warnings: a visit to the aquarium is cut short :(

Word count: 1212

Pairing: Clint/Nat

This fic is thanks to @broken--bow ‘s amazing art (for my eyes only) and borne of a conversation for Clint and Nat having a place to meet, that only they knew about, and meant something to them. The penguins of Kyoto Aquarium are famous for having their relationships recorded. A fluffy piece before we get into the real angst of the week. As always, your likes, comments and reblogs are always so appreciated. Welcome to day two of bwfest2023.

Clint rubs his arm, the scratch from the katana not deep, but itchy as it heals. He nods and smiles to the straight faced Japanese man sitting across from him.

The man nods and stares back.

Clint forgets that, as an American, his mannerisms are not universal. He wonders how Natasha is getting on.

He sends a quick text and stands to get off at the station he has no hope in pronouncing.

His phone vibrates and he smiles.

She’s almost there too. He opts to wait for her train, and sits on the bench.

He loves the Japanese train system.

It says the next train arrives in 4 minutes.

And it will. He loves the fact that if it’s even if a minute late, they apologise.

The train system in America is horrible.

Natasha steps off the newly arrived train, the announcement permeating the station.

Clint waves low and smiles big.

“Hey,” he grins, giving her a hug and kiss into her hair.

“Hey,” she grins back.

“How long do you think before they realise we aren’t on the plane right now?”

He laughs.

“Soon I think.”

“Shall we?”

He takes her hand, and rubs his thumb over her knuckles.

“You’re doing okay?”

She nods.

“I’m wearing like a pound of makeup. And the stupid rib wrapping is making me sweat in all the wrong places.”

She lifts her top slightly to show that she’s actually strapped her broken ribs.

“Well done,” he tells her, slightly proud that she’s taking care of herself.

“You?” she asks.

He shrugs, lifting his sleeve to show his bandage wrapping, then slightly lifts his t-shirt to show the bruising on his hip.

Natasha nods, taking his hand and squeezing it.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

Clint smiles as they ascend the stairs, squinting in the bright August light.

To anyone, they look like tourists, not international spies, one back from a mission in Sapporo and the other from a mission in Singapore.

Kyoto was a midway point, somewhere to meet, reset and have a much needed date.

“This felt like a shorter walk last time,” she huffs.

He squeezes her hand and lets go, the sweat on his palms making it uncomfortable.

He agrees but doesn’t want to tell her that it’s likely because the injuries she’s carrying are taking it out of her.

They round on the Aquarium, Natasha seamlessly buying tickets and leading him to the entry.

The Giant Salamander is the first thing they see, and they stop to see them piled on top of each other.

“They’re so large.”

They stop and stay still with the salamanders, before Clint is distracted by the seal. It swims fast and he migrates over to follow it’s movement.

Natasha grabs his hand again, and points to the sign for the penguins.

“How long do we have?” she asks, looking to the sign and then the café.

“Food, then penguins? Or penguins, then food?”

“Mostly I just want to see the penguins,” he laughs.

Natasha loves this side of Clint, the one where he seems so playful and carefree. He just enjoys life and what’s in front of him.

They guide each other until the large board of the penguin relationships greets them, and she can’t help but laugh too.

“There’s been some changes since we’ve been here,” she tells him, pointing to the board.

“Oh no! Sen and Maru are not together.”

“What about Barney?”

“Clint, just because you can’t read Japanese, doesn’t mean you can make up names for the penguins,” she chastises.

“I can, it’s consistent. Barney, the one that starts with the hiragana ば, then ど for Doris.”

“You know some hiragana, and you’ve just generalised that?”

Clint continues to the tell her the hiragana he knows, and Natasha doesn’t have it in her to correct his poor pronunciation.

It’s like when she tries to teach him the Cyrillic alphabet.

He’ll get there. It just takes time.

He often gets sad about how quickly she picks up languages and how long it takes him.

“Barney and Doris aren’t together anymore.”

He points to the broken love heart and traces it with his finger to the two penguins.

His pout makes her laugh again, and she points out a few more changes before moving onto the actual penguins.

“They’re just cool,” she breathes, staring at them as they play and move around the keepers.

Clint looks to her and then to the small animals, playing and squeezes her hand.

“They are, aren’t they?”

He feels his phone buzzing in his pocket, as he takes a step towards the window.

He knows it’s Phil.

They’ve both missed their check ins.

Natasha’s phone is next.

“Don’t answer,” he implores, with his best puppy dog look.

She sighs and shakes her head, unlocks the phone and says hello.

“Yeah, we’re together.”

He laughs at her rolling her eyes, as they move along, sidestepping children until they find a quieter spot.

“Medical won’t miss me. Yes they’re strapped. Umm. I don’t know. Fine. 8pm.”

Natasha hands him the phone.

“He wants to talk to you.”

He growls low.

She smiles in revenge.

“He called you first,” she whispers, pressing the phone into his hand.

“Hello?”

“Clint? You missed check in.”

“Yeah.”

The keeper moves into the cage with food, and they sit together next to everyone else.

“You’re both okay?”

He starts to feel bad, not telling Phil their plan to meet up.

“Yeah, we just needed… time. After Suriname, and the girls. I think. Even though we had separate missions, we just needed a break.”

Natasha’s head pops up at the mention of Suriname.

He shakes his head, hoping to convey that it’s all okay.

“Understood. You have til 8pm. Then, I can’t keep it from Fury, and he’ll probably have disciplinary actions. If you miss the plane, I can’t help, okay? You have four hours to get to Kansai.”

“Yeah, yeah okay, okay.”

Phil pauses.

“She said she strapped her ribs, did she?”

Clint glances at Natasha.

“Yeah, she did.”

“And you, you took care of your wounds? Including the stab wound?”

Clint nods, “yeah, it’s fine.”

Phil’s huff, and pause conveys nothing but patience for his charges.

“8pm Clint.”

And he hangs up the phone.

The penguins are eating.

Natasha smiles and takes his hand.

He passes the phone back to her.

“You just had to answer, didn’t you?”

“8pm, the curfew?”

Clint sighs, looking out as they waddle along then dive.

“More like 6 for check in, and an hour and a half to get from here to the airport. Which means…”

“We have to leave now?”

He stares out.

“Yeah. I think so.”

They take the long route out, passing the dolphins, then the sharks and jellyfish. They’re both quiet as they approach the end, and even quieter as they exit.

Silence on the train, each lost in their own thoughts.

“We’ll come back here,” she promises, “just like we always do.”

“Yeah,” he replies quietly, “maybe Doris and Barney will be back together.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

It’s clear that both of them don’t want to go. That the brief interlude of normalcy, whilst gave them pause, is not their lives.

Clint glances to her.

Kisses the top of her head.

“We’ll be back,” he promises.

“We’ll be back.”

.

[supernova-mnrls]

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