#this blog has been around for less than a month and it is driving me fucking crazy

[electronicmail]

Firefox-official vs electronicmail

Hydrogen bomb vs coughing baby

okay come up with a better idea then. firefox-official is gone asshole it’s electronicmail or nothing

[hungharrington]

a little less conversation, a little more action, please

[rings bell frantically] CALLING ALL PPL WHO HAD BAD SEX EXPERIENCES!!! if that’s you, this is for u :D ! this has been in the drafts 4 months and i’m excited to set it free! enjoy! 8k words, fem!reader, oral (f receiving) MDNI THIS ENTIRE BLOG IS 18+

You think you might be the only person your age in the whole of Hawkins who doesn’t seem to get the hype.

Couples have been caught all over in the act. At the drive-in cinema, in the back of the cinema, hell, even beneath the bleachers at school — tongues down each other's throats and pants around their ankles, so caught up in each other that they don’t care about consequences. That it’s that good, that it’s worth the risk. 

Sex. 

You just don’t get it.

Once upon a time, one boyfriend ago, before you’d ever experienced it, there had been an inkling of eagerness within you. Curiosity twined in with piqued interest, you wondered eagerly about when you’d find someone who’d show you all about why sex got its reputation. 

And then you had it— with Samuel Cosgrove in his twin bed when his parents were out of town, 3 weeks into dating him. Your expectations crumbled. 

You decided quickly that everyone must be lying if that was what you were supposed to be looking forward to. It wasn’t… sexy. You didn’t feel sexy having it either.

It only left you feeling somewhat awkward and a bit foolish, with Samuel trying to ruck your shirt up even though you had asked to keep it on. Embarrassment crept in easily at how you seemed to be half a step behind him the whole time, not quite warmed up, not quite sure if this was the mood, not quite ready to take all your clothes off. 

The springs on his bed were loud and squeaked with every shift of weight. The whole thing sort of hurt more than anything.

You chalked it up to the first time, dredging together your hopes even as they rapidly deflated inside you, cemented by Samuel’s sloppy kiss that missed your mouth and landed wetly on the corner of your lips when he finished. 

His sweat stuck to your skin and you didn’t feel sexy, or good, or relieved or anything else the dozen Cosmo magazines under your bed promised you would. 

Next time, you said to yourself. You had even confided in your close friend, admitting to the underwhelming experience, and asked quite plainly when it ‘got good’. 

“The first time always sucks!” She’d assured you, her voice a hushed whisper over the diner table.“Trust me, the first, like, three times totally suck.” 

You didn’t mean to but, subconsciously, three became the number to reach— get through the first three terrible times, and… all would be peachy in paradise. 

And so when the next time was… underwhelming, you weren’t exactly surprised. Worse, was how it wasn’t anything Samuel did but what he said that stuck with you long after he’d drifted off on your sheets. Lying in the cradle of your hips, Samuel had traced his hand up your legs and then frowned, yanking his hand back. You had startled, propping up quickly to ask him what it was. 

“You’re spiky,” he said, chuckling in a mean way. You could feel your chest ache pathetically at his words and you instinctively tried to curl your legs in, wanting to hide them away. So what if they were? It was the middle of winter and he’d surprised you, showing up at your window to sneak in. 

When the fourth time happened and disappointment weighed heavy on you again, you deduced the truth. Sex was some big scam- some stupid joke that everyone was in on and just pretending to enjoy. 

It was easier to blame sex if only so you didn’t blame yourself. But… it niggles in the back of your brain, a line-up of indisputable facts that all point to the same thing. That, maybe sex isn’t the problem — but you are. 

And, look, it’s not really a problem when you’re not dating or seeing anyone.

… Enter Steve Harrington.

Admittedly, Steve was not someone you thought you would ever date. Or maybe it was the other way around, that you thought that Steve would ever date you.

His reputation as a bit of a player was as far from something you were interested in, especially considering your feelings towards sex, but… he had sort of proven you wrong every chance possible.

One month of dates and it’s been no more than holding hands and kisses on cheeks. You’ve kissed him properly, of course, once or twice, but lest you give him the wrong idea, they hadn’t been much more than a quick kiss. Steve still seemed to glow afterward, no matter what. 

It made you feel good. Safe. Warmed you to know he was happy with whatever affection you felt ready to bestow, and never pushed for more. 

You could tell he wanted it. It was hidden in the flex of his fingers and even the not-so-subtle adjusting of his pants when he’d invited you over for a dip in his pool. You’d shown up in your bathing suit— and it was the most amount of skin Steve had ever seen from you and it did not go underappreciated. He had been touchy, hands skirting up your sides, but still respectful. 

And strangely enough, you find yourself… wanting it too. 

Wanting for his touch, thinking about letting your own hands wander across his skin to find what makes him sigh, makes him groan in pleasure, what might make him whine. It surprises you, the ferocity of your eagerness, how it presses your thighs together tightly and licks pure arousal up your spine — even when Steve’s not even trying. 

(He was, you just didn’t know it. Steve knows exactly when girls seem to be looking at his arms and he’s unashamed to say he will flex his muscles and pretend he hasn’t. Robin has caught him doing this several times.) 

And today has been nothing short of wonderful. 

A balmy Saturday which you found yourself swept up in Steve’s company over at his house, laziness fuelled by the golden sun rays of the day. 

You weren’t even doing anything in particular, just enjoying being near each other. You had stretched out on a pool lounger with a book in your hand for the most part and it was with giddy delight that Steve seemed more than chuffed to just lay beside you, sizzling in the sun and then occasionally cooling off in the pool. 

Which is a spectacle all in itself. 

The sight of his chest gives you one or two steamy ideas, especially as it drips with water when he pushes up on the edge of the pool. His biceps bulge deliciously as you peer over the edge of your book, not as subtlety as you might think. You honestly don’t even mind if he catches you staring, not when this is your view. 

Your eyes trace the sparkling drops of water as they roll down his chest tantalizingly slow, through the chest hair between his pecs, down, down, trailing down his happy trail— fuck, okay, he totally caught you staring. 

Your eyes dart back up to his face to find Steve’s already looking at you, his eyes holding a playful mirth to them. His smile looks just a little bit cheeky. Bastard. 

Water splatters on the tiles where he walks as he pads over to collect his towel bunched on the end of the lounger beside your own.

“Good book?” He asks sweetly.

He says it as he scrubs the towel over his face, drying it off and then starting on his hair— he gives it a quick rub over rapidly so that when he pulls the towel away, his hair is sticking up in every direction. He holds the towel to his chest and gives his head a quick shake, like a dog, shaking out the extra water.

When he looks up at you again, beginning to towel dry his bare chest, you realise you haven’t even attempted to answer his question. 

“Book.” You echo. Steve chuckles a little bit and it kickstarts your embarrassment, finally remembering to say something else. You hold the book up to gesture with it, “Yes! It’s good, it’s…” 

Steve’s resumed drying himself and you find your words leaving you as the towel drags down his tummy, leading your eyes with it. Your mouth feels suspiciously dry. Want. You want him.

“It’s…?” 

He’s teasing you again. You startle, wondering if he’s purposefully trying to put on a sensual towel-drying show for you. You’re surprised to find you’re actually glad that he is. 

It feels like another subtle way to affirm all his affections for you without all of the touchiness you’ve yet to reach with him — come and get me, it’s like he’s saying, if you want. 

You snap your book shut. “It’s too hot to be reading, I think.” 

Steve frowns in his worry and steps forward, closer to you. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead lightly. “You feelin’ too warm? Y’gotta careful being out here too long if you aren’t gonna swim.” 

He sounds on the concerned side but there’s a touch of cheek in his voice too, like he knows why you haven’t turned the page for the last 5 minutes. It stokes the firey feeling that’s beginning to burn in your gut. A smile curls at your lips and you huff a little laugh, leaning back and batting his hand away from your forehead. 

“Yes, mom.” You jest, hand falling back onto the lounger. You lean back onto it to get a better view of him. “I’m not too hot.” 

Steve grins. “Oh, I would say the opposite. You are, in fact,” He leans in closer, one hand coming up to push some hair behind your ear. His hand lingers, fingertips on the edge of your jaw. “Very hot.” 

You couldn’t stop your reaction if you tried— which you do try, some sputtering cough with a duck of your head as you feel your body flush hotly at his words. His forwardness is something you’re still getting used to.

Just as you’re about to stumble through a poorly constructed sentence, Steve saves you— reaching over to grab his rumpled t-shirt and pulling it over his head. A small, disappointed, part of you wilts. You catch yourself from being so obvious, scooping up your bookmark and stuffing it in a random page. 

Steve offers his hand out for you to take. “C’mon, we both need some water I think.” 

You ponder if there’s a second meaning to his words as you trail along beside him, letting him lead you back through the sliding glass doors that open to the kitchen with your intertwined hands. Steve gives your hand a quick squeeze before he drops it to open the fridge, peering inside. You lean back against the counter, arms folding loosely over your front and allow yourself to look at him. 

Your boyfriend. It sounds even a bit strange in your head and you know if you tried to say it aloud, it would get caught on the way out, tripping over your teeth. Calling him your boyfriend cements all those expectations you worry so much about… even though, not-so-secretly, you revel in the fact thats he’s your boyfriend. 

“Thinking hard over there, I can see,” Steve comments teasingly and you blink, realising he’s already looking at you. He must have asked you a question and you missed it. 

“What?” 

Steve laughs a bit, pink lips pulled into a slight smirk. He shakes the bottle in his hands a little bit, bringing your attention to it. “Did you want to try some of this? I think it’s sparkling and…” 

He trails off, pulling the bottle closer to his face to scan over the front of it. You can’t help but think the furrow in his brows as he reads is adorable. He hums, obviously not finding what he’s after, and flips the bottle over. 

“…raspberry flavour?” He finishes, looking up at you, brows raised. He gives a little shrug. “That sound nice?” 

You think about it for a moment and then shake your head. Steve laughs in agreement and places ii back in the fridge, some mumble about his mom leaving it here the last time she visited home. He turns back to the fridge still rummaging. “Okay, anything in particular you want?” 

You are thirsty but… your stomach swoops as you realise it’s for something else altogether. If you want it though, you’ll have to ask. 

“Maybe, a kiss?” 

Steve freezes for an instant, then he whips around like he’s not entirely sure he’s heard correctly. The fridge door clatters loudly and he quickly grabs it, stopping the rattling bottles and looking mighty flushed when he shoots you a grin. 

“A kiss?” He checks. He lets go of the fridge doors to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly, too aware of his own unsubtle eagerness. “I heard that right, didn’t I?” 

A nervous chuckle scrapes out your throat but you nod. You uncross your arms but can’t settle them, crossing them again nervously as Steve comes closer. His brown eyes scan your face intently, searching to make sure he’s getting every signal right. 

When you smile assuredly, Steve sighs in relief and his shoulders drop an inch. He smiles too, his hand reaching up to hold your faces cupping your cheek. His strokes across your cheekbone as he talks. “Oh, thank god. I was beginning to think, maybe, you just weren’t into kissing me.” 

Then he leans in— and you hold your breath without meaning to. 

The thing is, Steve is a good kisser. A very very good kisser and even your strange gaspy noise as you try to remember to breathe is not enough to ruin the kiss. His plush lips capture yours and have you feeling as hot as the day, a heat blooming in your chest and spreading like wildfire. Your fingers flex at your sides. 

You push up on your toes without even thinking, to steal more of his touch, and when Steve breaks the kiss, you’re embarrassed to find yourself chasing his lips. You clear your throat and avert your eyes, sinking back down— embarrassed at showing how much you’d melted under a single kiss. 

You just don’t realise how it looks to Steve. 

“You do… right?” 

Your head pops up, eyes widening as you try to comprehend his question. 

“Like… kissing you?” You ask meekly, more embarrassed that he’s asking for confirmation. Embarrassed that you’d somehow been overly eager and also convinced him of the opposite in one kiss. God, maybe there is something wrong with you. 

“Yeah.” Steve nods, pulling back a little further from you— like he needs physical space in case you say something absurd like ‘no.’ 

Your hands react faster than your mind, reaching to grab his shoulders to stop him from putting space between you. 

“Yes!” You say loudly. You try to rein in your embarrassment for his sake, swallowing your nerves which feel thick and swollen in your throat. “Yes, I like kissing you. It’s just, I’m… I’m worried.” 

How do you say this? How can you explain that you’ve been so afraid of your kisses going a few steps further because then- then when things get heated and Steve’s expecting things, you have to explain that — that what? 

That you’re not really sure if you even like sex, or maybe that it just doesn’t seem to work for you or — or that there’s probably just something wrong with you that means you can’t figure out how the hell to relax and enjoy sex- and that it’s not his fault but probably totally yours but— 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Steve cuts into your spiralling thoughts, having seen the dilemma spilled across your face. “Stop thinking what you’re thinking and just, like, take a breather.” 

He places his hand on his chest and mimes a deep inhale. You copy him without thinking, chest rising and falling in sync with his, unable to look at him for a moment. When you find the courage to dredge your eyes up to his face, his eyes are soft and his brows have knitted together in concern. 

“Good.” He praises, hand falling off his chest to rub gently at your arm. “Okay, now instead of doing all that worrying up there just… tell me what’s worrying you. Please?” 

Part of you want to huff and hide, to make him really pry so you know that he means it. It’s dramatic, you know — especially because he’s being so good at communicating. He’s asked outright. You try to put the words in the correct order. 

“Just… we haven’t— I haven’t kissed you a lot because I’m worried about what it might lead to.” You say quietly, eyes back to avoiding his gaze. You stare at his chest, the tuft of chest hair peeking out, and do your best to swallow the knot in your throat. 

“And I— I don’t want to disappoint you,” you admit, frustrated at how a familiar sting burns at the back of your eyes. “But I- just, in the times I’ve gone that far and— and slept with someone, I didn’t… I just didn’t like it. I didn’t enjoy it.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut tight, proclamation out in the open, and try to take a deep breath— just like Steve had instructed mere moments ago. Courage gathered, you open your eyes and peer up at him again. 

“Oh,” Steve breathes. You can nearly see the cogs turning in his head, his eyebrows twitching as he takes in what you’ve said and what it means for the two of you. “Oh, well that’s okay. I mean, if you didn’t want to I would never—“ 

“—That’s not the thing.” You interrupt. “I want to. I do. I just…” Your voice trails off, taking on a  trembling whisper as you say the thing you’ve yet to say aloud yet, for fear of speaking it into existence. You can’t quite look at him, eyes focused on the kitchen tiles instead. 

“I think it’s me. I think— I’m worried there’s something wrong with me.” 

Your words hang in the air for a moment and Steve feels his worry shift into something deeper, something closer to devastation, as he realises how deeply you believe what you’ve said. 

You genuinely think there is— even thinking it makes him want to scoff aloud. He forces himself to focus on consoling you here and now, instead of riling himself up with thoughts of whatever— whoever lead you to your immense self-doubt. 

“Well, there’s not,” Steve says plainly. Like there’s no room for discussion— his hand drifting down your arm to gather your hands in his own. They get swallowed, his hands huge when compared to your own. 

“There’s nothing wrong— you- you could never disappoint me in that way.” 

Your eyes lift from the ground to his face, desperate to see if you can see the truth in his words. He can tell- fuck, he can already read you so well. 

“Honest,” He insists, giving your hands a quick squeeze. “I promise you, okay? I- if I was disappointed over something like that it would be- that would be such a dick move.” 

“Well, you wouldn’t be the first.” You mutter bitterly. 

The words slip out without entirely meaning to; you aren’t trying to start a pity party but how are you supposed to explain why you think the way you do? How can you explain why you’re so worried about taking it further? Deep down, you know he deserves to know. 

Steve’s eyes widen for a moment, your words sinking in and cutting as they go. He doesn’t want to think about you sleeping with other people, for all the jealous reasons, but mainly because everything he’s learned today is that nobody has taken proper care of you. 

It twists his heart thinking of some fucking idiot not taking his time with you, not getting you comfortable— so that you get to this point, embarrassed, avoiding his eyes, and so entirely convinced that you’re the problem. 

“Look,” Steve says softly. His hands squeeze yours again and he tries to think of how best to say this. “If we never sleep together, I don’t care.” 

That catches your attention, your head jerking up to look at him — what? That has never even been an option with dating someone. Not in your mind, at least. You find yourself reeling, fumbling for words but Steve just keeps talking. 

“If you don’t wanna, I don’t wanna,” Steve shrugs, like that’s all there is to it.

“There’s nothing wrong if it’s not really your thing.” Another squeeze to your hands. You look up at him, aware you must look a picture of bewildered — there were a thousand ways you imagined this conversation going and this was not one of them. 

A smile pulls on his lips as he chuckles a bit, eyes falling to your conjoined hands. “Hell, for all we know I’d add to your disappointing experiences.” 

You laugh quietly but it’s saturated in fondness. He’s taking jabs at himself to make you feel better. 

“Hardly likely, considering the rumours I’ve heard about you,” You murmur lowly. You find it in yourself to squeeze his hands back, peering back up at him. Steve’s brows rise and he grins. 

“Oh? And just what rumours are we talking about?” He teases. 

“Shut up,” You say, no heat behind it in the slightest. Your chest is starting to feel lighter and lighter as the reality of his words sink in. “You know what they say about you.” 

Steve grins wider. “That I slept with Mrs. Click just to pass her class?” 

“What?” You wrinkle your nose at the horrid picture of your old English teacher with your boyfriend. “No! Did people really say that about you?” 

Steve’s grin fades, edging towards jaded. He gives a soft sigh, tilting his head back an inch. “People say everything and it all means nothing unless it’s coming from the right person.” 

He wriggles a hand free from your unaware tightening holding to brush his knuckles against your cheek tenderly. A piece of hair flops over his forehead, curling back upwards, and the buzz of cicadas fills the empty noise around you.

“So, I don’t know if some asshole told you or you just think that you’re wrong, but…” Steve inhales, his eyes darting between yours. 

The brown in them is intense, holding you fixed beneath his heavy gaze. “If— just you said you want to so, we can try and- and we can go slow and I’ll stop the moment you want to, okay? For whatever reason.” 

You feel a strange bubble of hope churn in your gut. It feels too good to be true. 

“…You’re sure?” 

“M’sure,” Steve nods. “Even for something as small as you don’t like the way my dick looks or—“ 

A laugh startles out of you and you shake your head. “I meant more about stopping but good to know anyways.” You pause a moment. “…Should I be worried?” 

You’re teasing. Steve delights in it, his own voice slipping that little bit lower— his knuckles on your cheek swiping across, down your jaw, til he lingers near your neck. 

“Why don’t you find out?” 

The hunger in your tummy returns with a new heat, rivalling the day. You suddenly feel nervous again, a roll of nerves turning over, but this time it feels far closer to anticipation. The kiss you’ve been yearning to give him, hot and messy, burns up inside you and when you rise on your toes, Steve meets you in the middle. 

Your lower back presses against the counter as Steve leans into you, his mouth slotted against yours. One kiss snowballs into another, and another, the fervency growing as you let yourself give into your desire. Your hands on his shoulders shift, trailing down to feel up the chest you’ve been gawking at all day.

Steve lets out a quiet grunt as your nails dig in and his other hand finds your waist, tugging you to press against his body — his other hand slides into your hair, clutching the strands loosely. You sigh into his mouth, nerves still alight beneath your skin but the way they buzz makes you feel good. Steve makes you feel good. 

Right as his hand scrapes along your lower back, heading lower, you’re both startled by the loud beep! that sounds in the kitchen. At the same time you peer around him, Steve turns and gives a sheepish chuckle, seeing the fridge door still ajar from when he’d been fishing around inside. 

He steps away from you, pushing the doors closed gently. Turning back, your chest swells with pride seeing the effect you’re already having on him; red lips, shiny with spit and a faint ruby colour in the apples of his cheeks. Steve smiles, boyish and charming. 

“Do you wanna keep—“ 

“—yes.”

You’re not going to squander this chance, not going to waste the days' chemistry when there’s still that tiny worry niggling in the back of your brain that today is all a fluke. That Steve’s words might just be an offer, something else that wouldn’t be a first for you. 

Steve grins. He holds out his hand and you intertwine yours with him, letting him lead you. Your stomach swoops as he takes you out the kitchen and heads for the stairs, checking back on you with a quick glimpse. You do your best to show him your excitement instead of your nerves. You’re not sure you succeed. 

Squeezing his hand does the trick for a final reassurance. Steve resumes leading you up the stairs, taking a familiar turn towards his bedroom, beginning to talk softly as he does. 

“Remember, anytime, anything you don’t like, just say the word.” 

You both pause, standing in his room and you swallow the doubts that try to claw back up your throat. Giving a sly glance at him, you smile coyly and wiggle your hand out from his. Trailing backwards to his bed, you pretend to think about it, til your thighs hit the edge of the bed. 

“Hmm… well,” You begin, a touch of sultriness dipping into your voice. “I don’t like… that you’re still wearing your shirt.” 

Before you, Steve huffs a silent laugh, that handsome smile gracing his lips as he ducks his head. He doesn’t disappoint though, his arms reaching up behind his head to shuck his shirt off in one fluid motion.

He chucks it aside thoughtlessly and where it lands doesn’t even matter — your eyes are fixed on his chest. His bare chest that you’ve been given permission to properly ogle at. You swear you feel your mouth salivate a bit. 

“Should've known this would go first, considering the way you were drooling outside,” Steve remarks cockily, folding his arms loosely. It makes his biceps bulge and you swallow again, this time nothing to do with nerves. 

“I wasn’t drooling,” You defend weakly, beginning to fidget with the hem of your own shirt. “I was admiring, okay? There’s a difference.” 

Steve saunters over slowly as you talk, steps slow and measured. He’s smirking by the time he’s before you, so close you can feel the heat of him. “Uh huh. Totally, sweetheart, I believe you. Need help with this?” 

His hand has reached out, fingers pinching the same hem you’re fiddling with. You nod slowly, “Yes, please.” 

Steve’s smirk fades into something sweeter and he grabs the hem with two hands, beginning to ruck it up gently, his eyes locked on yours — you raise your arms when it starts to get caught, holding your gaze to his until the fabric intersects. Your arms drop and you push away the urge to wrap them around your middle. 

Steve drops your shirt much more gently than his own but his eyes are still entirely on you. There’s a shine of awe in them now, flicking up at down the newly exposed skin. 

The intensity of his gaze makes you want to shy away but you chose bravery instead, reaching out to grab his side. Steve jumps, barely an inch, and before you even get a chance to question, he’s smiling. “Y’got cold hands, honey.” 

He draws them up to his mouth, laying soft kisses across your knuckles. Heat flushes through you and you melt beneath it, lowering yourself back on the bed. Steve follows eagerly, still kissing at your hands. He kneels between your legs and when he finally drops your hands from his, it’s to reach out and cup your jaw. 

“Keep breathing,” He murmurs quietly, eyes dancing in amusement. You hadn’t even realise you had been holding your breath. You realise it in one big exhale and this time, when you reach for him, you actually succeed in tugging him closer. You tumble backward into his sheets and Steve comes with you, his forearms planted on either side of you and his body pressed up against yours. 

“I don’t like…” You say, continuing the bit from earlier, your voice quiet and still tinged with a poorly hidden nervousness. “That you keep waiting to kiss me.” 

Steve’s brows hike up an inch but his smile hides his surprise easily, his entire face glowing a bit brighter. He looks fucking gorgeous bathed in the buttery sunlight, even though it’s just beginning to fade towards darkness behind the curtains. 

You stare unabashedly up at him, marvelling at his features that are etched in with adoration for you. You follow down the strong line of his nose, along the soft arches in his eyebrows, the faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that he has from smiling. 

You study the swell of his cupids bow perched above his pink lips and each of the moles dotted all over your favourite face— and think to yourself it’s not fucking fair that he looks like this. Like he’s been carved from marble and cast in gold. 

Thank God he’s yours. 

He doesn’t disappoint you — his lips finding yours and kissing you deeply, his chest brushing your own. Your entire body seems to sigh at the touch, tingling with anticipation — you’ve been overdue for all these kisses for far too long and it seems once you’ve gotten started, it feels impossible to stop.

You kiss needily, your hands moving off his midriff to drift up to his jawline. You cradle it gently, your lips a little less gentle- you try to remember how to do this, how to nip at his lips teasingly, how to soothe them with your tongue. 

Slowly, Steve’s body weight lowers onto you as he focuses more and more on figuring out what you seem to like. Time melts like candle wax and you feel as goopy as it too, all warm and pliable, softened by his kisses. Heat begins to simmer in your gut. You don’t know how long you’ve been kissing when Steve pulls away, his mouth cherry red and his face flushed. 

His fingers slip beneath the strap of your bra, toying with it but nothing more. He checks over your face as he asks, “Wanna take this off?” 

You nod, breathlessly. Up til now, it’s been easy to turn off your brain and let all your thoughts revolve around getting kissed absolutely stupid by Steve. 

But as his hands work deftly beneath you, unclipping the strap of your bra and beginning to tug it down, you feel the first worry creep in — this is usually when your panties follow, then his boxers, and then the expectations. Even with all your enjoyment, you know that if he tries now, you won’t be ready. 

Frustration bubbles up in your chest, mingling with your insecurity and you squirm a bit, trying to think of how to tell Steve without disappointing him. 

You’re so sick of disappointing people for something you can’t seem to help. 

Steve notices your squirming. His head shoots up to meet your gaze, a furrow back in his brow. “Hey, hey, what’s goin’ on?” 

“I…” Words die on your tongue easily, a war happening inside your throat as you debate what to say. You like him— you really like him and don’t want this to end and… he told you he wants you to tell the truth. 

“I don’t… I’m not—“ Your whisper climbs in volume alongside your frustration. “Steve, this isn’t working.” 

The wrinkle between his brow deepens and it’s not a comforting sight. Steve shifts a bit, his hand moving from the straps of your bra up to your face. He pushes back a few stray locks of hair, eyes sincere. 

“Not working?” He murmurs, “Baby, we’ve only just started.” 

You blink up at him once, twice. Your mouth opens and then closes again. 

You know that but you also know how this goes. Well, you think you know— so why do you suddenly feel so foolish? 

“Oh.” You say shyly. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and try to ignore feeling like you’ve just ruined the mood. 

Steve takes it all in his stride, nothing but a twitch in his furrows brows as he takes in your embarrassed expression. He leans down, and kisses your neck, then your collarbone. His lips trail down, down, slow and sensual. Your bra scraps down your arms, tossed aside absentmindedly.

“Sweet girl,” he whispers into your skin. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Sorry?” You echo, a bit breathier as Steve's kisses scrape down your breast. Your nipples peak to attention.

“Mhm,” he hums, his lips wrapping around your nipple and sucking— his hands paw greedily at your back which arches eagerly into his kisses. Steve drags his mouth off, beginning to mouth softly down your breast til his plush lips kiss at your sternum. 

“M’sorry that nobody has ever taken care of you before.”

You squirm beneath him at his words, a warm flush washing through your body as desire spins up inside you. Steve continues as if he hasn’t turned your whole view inside-out— his hand shifting up to thumb at your nipple as he takes your nipple back between his lips. 

“Steve…” you sigh out. 

He’s kneading your body in just the right way, the sensitivity of your chest fuelling the pool of heat growing deep in your stomach. You feel your thighs clench together, hips shifting up instinctively. You haven’t been touched like this before and fuck, it’s a lot. 

“I know, honey.” He says lowly, voice muffled against your skin. He suckles at your nipple and just nips at it, a flash of teeth, enough to make you arch further. Your eyes slip shut and you push your chest further out. 

To your disappointment, Steve pulls back instead. Your eyes open, neck craning to look at him, your chest rising and falling with your heavy breaths.

“Y’tell me if there’s anything you don’t like, alright?” 

Somehow, the heat in your gut flares that much hotter — knowing that there’s love behind every motion. You scramble for threads of courage and hold them tightly. Then you bend your legs until you can slide them around his waist, ankles crossing and tugging him closer. His cock, straining in his pants, presses flush against your core, and at the same time you inhale, Steve stutters out a groan. 

“I’ll tell you.” You say, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip to hold back your grin. It melts away as Steve shifts against you purposefully, one of his hands dropping to hold your hip. The hard length of him grinds against your cunt, catching the angle of your clit in a way that makes you mewl beneath him. 

Steve kisses your breast again but your hands are already reaching for him— fingers cupping his jaw to tug him up. Your lips capture his and this time, when he rolls his hips into yours, the soft noise you make is swallowed in his kiss. It’s fervent, your kisses gaining speed and mess. You tighten your ankles and experiment with your grind and are rewarded with a jagged moan from Steve. 

Faintly, you consider how it makes a little more sense now. That all those desperate motions of making out, rutting against each other, hot open-mouth kisses— fuck, if it was always like this, you get it. You feel like you’re on fire. 

A breeze flutters the curtains across the room, the only indication of time outside your little bubble. It’s far too easy to get lost in the motions— building up your lust until you’re sure the cotton between your legs is soaked through. It feels silly but god, even though you knew this was one of the things making all those past times so terrible, you had just assumed that’s how it would always be. 

The stickiness feels vulgar, your cunt pulsating with heat like you’ve never felt before. It just makes it all feel better though— the warm, hard heat of Steve’s cock, fitting snug between your folds. 

A pause in the makeout to catch your breath. You’re huffing wildly and Steve takes the moment of his undistracted attention to focus on the shorts you’re wearing. He doesn’t ask verbally this time but as he hooks his fingers beneath the waistband, his eyes flash up to yours in question. 

You wiggle your hips and Steve takes his cue, the fabric scraping against your skin as it slides down, down, down. To your surprise, Steve goes with them. He gets halfway down the bed, his head aligned with your belly, hands kneading at the flesh of your boobs before he halts. 

“I wanna try something,” He says, looking up at you. He dots a quick kiss onto your skin as he does, not breaking eye contact. “And I think you’re gonna really love it.” 

He drags out the word really, his voice low enough that it rumbles, nearly a purr. 

“It involves a little bit of this.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss into your navel. He kisses nice and slow, the plushness of his lips scraping across the stretch of skin. 

You shiver a little, feeling how your thighs part instinctively and Steve smiles wickedly, seeing the motion. 

“A little—“ He travels further down, his hands sliding to hold the outside of your thighs. He grips the skin and urges it to spread wider— then takes a greedy fat lick along your inner thigh. “—of this.” 

You squirm. It’s unnerving in the best way, having someone so dedicated to making you feel good— but Steve’s face betrays no hint of insincerity. In fact, if you had to guess, you’d say he even looks excited. 

His large tan hands cover your hips, slender fingers curved atop your thighs to keep them pried open. You’re expecting the next question to be getting the final scrap of clothing off you— a mixture of nerves and excitement at the vulnerability that comes with taking them off. 

He doesn’t though. Drawing a line with the tip of his nose, he nuzzles down from the inside of your knee to your thigh, the warmth of his breath fanning across sensitive skin. He kisses your cunt, once, soft. You twitch, a sweet noise pushing past your lips. 

Steve does it again. This time, his lips part and you feel his tongue press through the soaked cotton of your panties — he kisses again, harder, moving over your clit with his tongue. This time you moan and feel your hips tip up to chase his mouth, surprising yourself. 

Fuck, when have you ever been this wet before? The cotton between your legs is sticky and it only gets messier with Steve’s every lick. The duvet crinkles beneath you as you sigh and sink into it, the low throb of pleasure curling up in your gut. 

“Steve,” you sigh his name like it’s a prayer. 

He hums against your core, his fingers gliding beneath the elastic of your panties but not pulling them down just yet. His hot mouth drops lower, his nose pressing into you at the perfect angle. Your breathy exhale is lilted with moans. 

“See?” He murmurs, so low you nearly don’t hear him. 

“S’Nothing wrong with you, sweetheart. Y’just needed…“ His fingers grip your panties and begin to pull and you aid him quickly with a lift of your hips. “…someone to take a little more care with you.” 

Any fear of vulnerability is whirled far away; you need his mouth back on you, like, yesterday. Especially when Steve groans. Like the sight of your glistening cunt is enough to make his cock ache. Your tummy heats further at the thought. 

His hands re-situate, soothing up to your tummy before sliding back down to grasp the tops of your thighs again. He pulls them open wider. 

Pure fire streaks through your nerves, a sweltering pleasurable burn twisting in your gut as Steve’s tongue licks through your folds in one bold stroke. Your hips try to twitch forward but his hands are already there, holding them down. 

There’s one more pause, one soft curse of adoration, as his nose nuzzles along the soft skin of your inner thigh. You feel unbearably warm in his sheets, heat pulsating and dancing beneath your skin. 

“Steve,” you whisper his name again, urging him gently. “Please.” 

“I got you,” He murmurs in response.  “You don’t gotta say please with me,” He hums lowly, then kisses right on your clit, languid and warm, his tongue swirling around it deftly. You cry out softly. 

He drags his mouth off you and if you looked down, you’d see the soft sheen of your slick on his rosy lips. “I wanna give you everything you want.” 

You gasp as he finally puts his mouth on you properly, pleasure dribbling through your core as he suckles on your clit. He’s killer with his tongue, twisting it and flattening it against your bud in a way that has you squirming. The sheets scrunch in your frenzied grip. 

For the first time, you understand why pornos even sound like that— taking a moment to realise the whiney gaspy noise you’re hearing is coming from you. 

“Oh god,” You whine prettily. “That’s— uh— fuck, that’s really good.” 

Between your thighs, you hear and feel the moan Steve gives back. Your thighs are twitching, torn between trying to keep them apart or warm your boyfriend's ears. Your hips are moving, subtle grinds up into Steve’s face and he takes it all appreciatively. He sucks and slurps, tongue dragging down your folds to toy at your clenching hole— making you squeal. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, pulling back for a moment. His voice is doused in arousal. “You’re so wet.” 

Heat plumes low in your tummy as he dives back in, a groan echoing from his throat. The coil in your gut tightens, winding tighter and tighter. Your chest heaves as your voice melts away until everything you say is a whimpery little “yes, yes, yes,” and Steve’s name. 

His huge hands are still pressing your thighs apart but one shifts suddenly, barely noticeable in your mounting euphoria, until it’s tapping at your hand fisted in the sheets. 

You lift your head, confused, and peer down at him. 

It’s a mistake. His hand is resting on the bed in front of your own, propped up and fingers spread. It's clear he wants to hold your hand. Chest heaving and still lightly moaning, your eyes dart from his hand to his face — and that’s the mistake. 

He’s fucking beautiful. Hair mussed, rosy-cheeked, and dark-eyed, Steve can only hold eye contact for a moment before his eyelids slip shut as he moans against your cunt. Fire blooms under your skin, coil turned tighter and together. He wants to hold your hand. Your fingers just manage to tangle with Steve’s, holding tight, as you tip over the edge with a cry. 

It’s intense — jagged waves of pleasure that ride through every nerve in your body and have you nearly overwhelmed with how fucking good it feels. Incoherent babbling whines pour from your mouth. Your thighs lock up, beating Steve’s strong hold now that he’s down to just one hand, and close around his head. He moans in response, his tongue never letting up, licking and sucking at your cunt fervently. 

And he holds your hand the whole way through. 

You feel thoroughly flattened by the time your orgasm tapers off, your legs relaxing and flopping tiredly against the bed. Vaguely, you’re aware you should apologise for likely cutting off his oxygen flow for a good couple of seconds there but you’re too out of breath yourself to do so. 

Your chest rises and falls and a sweet contentment settles into your skin. You feel happy, loved. Without meaning to, an awed laugh titters out of you. 

Then another, and another. You can’t seem to stop laughing, a gleeful silly joy as you release his hand to bury your face in your own. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself. Then, slightly louder. “Holy shit, Steve.” 

You hear him laugh and the sheets crinkle — and then he’s in your field of vision, hovering over you with an adoring grin on his face. His lips are still so pink and there’s a shine on his chin. He wipes it away absentmindedly, focused on you. 

“I take it you enjoyed yourself?” He says, genuine and not at all cocky. He settles down, one arm on either side of your chest. One of his hands sweeps over your face sweetly. 

You nod, tucking your bottom lip behind your teeth to constrain your grin. 

“Uh huh,” you say, voice all gooey. “I didn’t—“ 

You pause. “I thought— and then you— and Oh my Goddd.” You cover your face with your hands again, groaning exaggeratedly as you try to roll over and melt away into his bed sheets. 

“See? I told you it wasn’t you,” Steve says, peppering little kisses where he can reach. He kisses your shoulder, along the side of your face. He coaxes you out gently, pressing your shoulder to roll you onto your back. You face him properly.

“There is nothing wrong with you.” He reminds you. You’ve never been so happy to be wrong. You nod, hair scrunching against the pillow behind you. 

“Okay,” You say, with a small smile, finally believing it. “There’s nothing wrong with me.” 

Steve’s stare is glowing with fondness and the next moment, he’s lurching forward to press his mouth to yours. You kiss back greedily and lazily all at once.

He pulls back and you hate how the thought comes to you, unbidden; the smallest wrinkle creasing between your brows. 

“But,” You begin, voice small. “That wasn’t sex though.” 

Steve’s head tilts an inch, like an adorably confused puppy. “What do you mean? That was sex.” 

“What? That was— that was like second base.”

Steve huffs a laugh, though not directed at you. His gaze shifts above your head as he chooses his words. “Uhh, sure, if we were still in high school. But even then, that’s still sex. We just had some sex.” 

Stating it so plainly, you can’t help how it makes you giggle a bit. Steve rolls his eyes, even though you can tell he’s entirely endeared. 

“We just had sex,” You repeat his words, eyes bright and grin growing. “And I really enjoyed it.” 

Steve laughs loudly and steals a quick kiss from you. Holding up his hand, he wiggles his eyebrows at you. “Just had sex high-five?” He jokes. 

You slap your hand against his anyways, twisting your fingers to hold onto his hand as you let them fall to the bed. Steve beams, cuddling in closer, the tip of his nose nuzzling against your own. 

Turns out, you might be starting to get the whole big deal around sex after all. 

[yandere-daydreams]

hi. so this is kind of a random musing that doesn't have anything to do with what youve been talking abt on your blog recently so feel free to ignore it, but i love how you write yandere nanami and between going live and an ask one of my followers sent me i kinda had a revelation. i wanted to see if you had any thoughts.

i think that before meeting reader nanami would be a virgin.

even if were talking non yandere nanami, i don't think he's ever had sex. i can't see nanami being the kind of person who likes hookup culture - he doesn't want to be used by someone - but i don't think he'd be able to justify getting in a romantic relationship because his job is so dangerous. he wouldn't want to die one day and leave his partner widowed. so he stays celibate, he's come to terms with the fact that he'll die untouched.

(he just jerks himself to freaky ass porn to get his fix (maybe even a camgirl hehe))

at least, until he meets a woman who makes all of his morality fly out the window.

suddenly, his sex drive is higher then ever. he's cumming into his fist every night to the thought of this special girl doing abhorrent things on his dick. he loves her. he's never loved someone this much in his entire life so she has to be the one to deflower him. that's probably one of the most romantic things someone can do in his mind, so it has to be her. she's his soulmate

all of this to say, i think nanami would kidnap reader and force her to teach him how to have sex through some fucked up means. it just tickles something in me imagining how stupidly giddy he'd be, so unabashedly pathetic as he undresses a woman for the first time.

like, him holding her hand with his forehead pressed to hers, cumming inside of her, jumping through as many mental hurdles necessary to justify what he's doing (or maybe just not caring bc she'll come around eventually, right?)

i love your work. thank you for listening to my ramble. <3

tw - non/con, kidnapping, manipulation, delusional behavior.

no no no i agree entirely,,, no amount of propaganda can convince me that any of the jjk men every had their dicks touched before the age of twenty-five at least, with nanami probably being the worst offender among them. i mean, he doesn't really connect with people outside of the sorcerer world, not really, not in a meaningful enough way to lead to that kind of intimacy, and as for other sorcerers... no. just no. he'd rather die a virgin than resort to anything as desperate as that, which is quickly becoming a very tangible reality.

and then he meets you (or, alternative, stumbled onto your stream at some ungodly hour, his cock already in his hand and his pleasure-deprived brain frantic for something soft and pliable to latch onto), and he decides that it might not be so bad to consider alternatives after all.

i can see it going one of two ways: if he has any reason at all to believe that you're also a virgin, whether or not it's true, he'll immediately lose all patience. if that wasn't the case, he might be able to take his time, stalk you for a few months before consummating your blooming relationship, but now he's on a clock, now he has to get to you before someone else does. he still tries to make it romantic, lights candles and brings you flowers and all that, but he's rushed, panicked, babbling incoherently about 'being each other's firsts' as he haphazardly undresses you. it's a miracle he remembers to do any prep at all - he's just in such a rush to be inside of you, to be the first and only person to every know what it's like to fully, genuinely actually be with you. if there's any pain, he'll comfort you later, make up for two and a half decades of abstinence with his tongue and hands, but only after he's already ruined you for anyone else.

if you're not a virgin and he can't make himself believe you are, then he'd probably go a little less absolutely feral (at first, i mean). don't get me wrong, you're still getting kidnapped asap, but rather than a beacon of innocence and purity that he can taint, you're the corruption forcing him to fall from grace, and he's going to want you to act like it. he's got a list of virginities he needs to to take (his first handjob, his fist blowjob, the first hickey, etc.), and between every milestone, he's going to want you to teach him how to pleasure you, even if you're still insisting you'd rather not let him touch you at all. he wants your full participation - it doesn't matter how many times he makes you cum on his tongue while you're sobbing into your pillow and trying to block him out, he's not going to stop until he hears your sweet voice encouraging with the little 'right there, kento's and 'good boy's he's made you rehearse. by the time you actually take his virginity, he's going to have made you feel dirtier than you ever could've made him feel, but so long as he's the one you're feeling dirty with, nanami doesn't really mind. not when he's buried inside you, his chest pressed into yours and he's too lost in his own pleasure to think the tears staining your cheeks are anything but beautiful.

anyway loser virgin nanami you will live forever. perhaps loser virgin gojo will pay for his crimes next.

[mxstellatayte]

pretty please: chapter three.

pretty please masterlist.

chapter three contents: these hoes being in LOVE love, a lot of plot but it makes sense just wait, 2020 turkish grand prix, very brief sex but it's vanilla bullshit, love confessions, lewis' private jet, ROSCOEEEEEE

chapter three word count: 4.8k

taglist (crossed out means i could not tag you/no blog was found): @pear-1206 @vivi-81 @irishmanwhore @lucycowr @benstormy

@anat33-blog1 @Xoscar03 @tremendousstarlighttragedy @nenamalenaa @champagneproblems17

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@slutmeoutsworld @itsgrlalmghty

join my taglist here!

she on an ego trip, baggage in the trunk

lewis sent emails.

a month later, you get an email from one of the mercedes pr representatives, the subject line reading "turkish grand prix invitation." you roll your eyes, already knowing exactly who arranged your visit to the grand prix. as expected, should you accept the invitation, you'll be receiving premium treatment from mercedes, equal only to a vip paddock pass. when you send lewis a text about it, he simply responds by asking if you'll be there.

your reply? "if nothing comes up, i'll be there."

when you receive the email in late september with your november assignments, you breathe a sigh of relief when you don't have any traveling on the roster for the whole month. after a brief phone call with lewis and a lot of insistence on your part that, seriously, you'll survive a four hour flight on commercial, you giggle and roll across your bed, squealing like a teenager. the day of your flight can't arrive soon enough.

tuesday, 10 november, 2020.

the timing of your flight to istanbul is, admittedly, less than ideal. you land at almost ten PM local time, so by the time you've made it through customs, your eyelids are heavy and you want nothing more than to hit the pillows of the hotel bed that awaits you. thankfully, it's relatively easy to spot the driver that mercedes has sent for you. you find the well-dressed employee- melek, her name tag reads- who holds a tablet with your last name on it, and greet her with a smile beneath her mask. "i trust you had a good flight?"

"yes, i did. thank you. how have things been here?"

"they've been good. i'm sure you know that when mr. hamilton wins this weekend, he'll secure the championship. please, let me take your bag." you nod, handing her the handle of your suitcase but keeping your backpack slung over your shoulder. "will we be heading to the hotel or another destination, ma'am?"

"i think i need to head to the hotel tonight. i'm exhausted. thank you" melek nods, tacking her tablet under her arm. "lead the way." the car ride to the hotel isn't long by any means, but despite the flight from london to istanbul being just under four hours, you still feel the exhaustion that only exists in the depths of your bones, and it's an exhaustion you only feel after a day of travel. frankly, you don't know how the drivers, mechanics, engineers, lawyers, and team principals regularly do this, sometimes traveling to upwards of twenty races each year.

"i am staying in this hotel, as well, and my phone number is on my business card so that you can call or text me. i am at your service for the week." melek fishes around in the pocket of her blazer, then pulls out a crisp white business card. you accept it gratefully, remarking with a smile that she won't have to be driving you anywhere for the rest of the day-you're completely and entirely drained of any energy from traveling. "in that case," melek says, matching your own smile beneath her mask, "good night."

you nod and bid her the same, smiling when you open the small pack melek had handed you with her business card, indicating that you're bound to stay on the twenty-second floor of the luxurious hotel. the elevator takes painfully long to climb to the floor, but once you stagger through your door, ditch your suitcase somewhere along the way to your bed, and barely manage to untie your shoes, pull off your jeans, and yank on a pair of loose, star-printed sleep shorts, you shimmy under the duvet and fall fast asleep.

one thing that you've considered about visiting the middle east multiple times has been the dress code. sure, there isn't any explicit dress code, per se- it's not like school where you had a specific uniform that you had to obey every day lest you'd get a talking to from one of your teachers or, god forbid, detention. no, it's much different, but it's still a dress code you're going to obey. in fact, in the middle east, it's much more like a social norm than a dress code. since islam is the most commonly practiced religion in turkey, you've opted for some of the more modest items of clothing in your closet, even packing a dress that goes past your knees and reaches your wrists for the race.

today, you're going to explore istanbul. after arranging your flights and lodging, you'd been asked what you would want to do in your two free days before the race weekend. normally, you'd only have one free day, if any, before needing to report for your media duties, but, since you're a guest to this race, the first time you'll set foot in the paddock is friday, for the free practices. another reason melek is your guide for this weekend is because she was born in istanbul and knows the city like the back of her hand.

it seems that you beat melek to her first comment, which is that of modest clothing and keeping your wallet close to you. today, instead of the professional attire she wore last night, she wears a simple long dress in a beautiful dark purple (an abaya, she says,) and the same black hijab she was wearing yesterday, but today she wears a white undercap as opposed to the black one from yesterday.

"do you have any ideas for what you want to do for the next two days?" she says, smearing paprika butter onto her toast. you both have ordered the same meal, although you just followed her lead when her eyes lit up upon seeing that her favorite breakfast was on the menu. çilbir, she said it was called.

you shake your head, swallowing the bite of poached egg and toast, the rich flavors of the garlicky yogurt sauce the egg had sat on remaining in your mouth. "not really. the only idea i had was to follow your lead, honestly. i saw that you were born here and figured it would be best to see what someone who knows the city as well as you do would do with a free day." melek's eyes light up once more, smiling broadly.

"i was kind of hoping you'd say that." her voice is filled with glee, and you know you're in good hands when she pulls out her phone and shows you a list of ideas she'd come up with the night before. "if you're up for it, the first thing i'd like to do is a bit of shopping. the grand bazaar is absolutely incredible and, if you'd like, we can find you an abaya and a hijab for you to wear this weekend." when you nod eagerly at her idea, another bite of your breakfast in your mouth, she continues. "i'm not sure if architecture and culture is your thing, but the blue mosque and the hagia sophia are the most iconic mosques in istanbul, so those are definitely also ideas for places we could visit. they're also right next to each other, so we can definitely see both if you want."

you finish your breakfasts making relatively loose plans for the day, and you can tell that melek is overjoyed that you're excited to learn more about istanbul. as she'd suggested, your first stop is the grand bazaar, and you really underestimated it. it's loud, crowded, and hot, but it's beautiful in its own unique way. the first shop that melek pulls you into is a clothing shop, and your jaw drops. the fabrics that line the walls are in colors so rich and beautiful you almost think you're viewing the post-editing photographs of it, yet you somehow know that it's real.

"it's beautiful, isn't it?" melek's voice snaps you out of your trance, and you nod.

"it's stunning. thank you for bringing me here."

"this is just the beginning. what colors do you normally wear?" after telling her, she rattles something off to the stall owner, a kind-eyed woman wearing an abaya and hijab similar to melek's, though she doesn't wear an undercap and her hijab is much more opaque. "oh, look at that." when you turn, seeing what she's referring to, you're starstuck. a dark blue abaya lays in the stall owner's arms, and something uneasy stirs in your stomach. you attempt to quell it, though, instead accepting the dress from the owner and scurrying behind a curtain to try it on. when you emerge and face the full length mirror, a sheepish grin spreads on your face when melek gawks at you. "oh, my goodness. you look stunning."

"really?"

"absolutely. do you want to try on a hijab, too?" the uneasy feeling returns in your stomach, and this time, you're able to pinpoint what it is.

"wouldn't it be appropriating your culture, though? i don't want to offend anyone."

"oh, nonsense," melek says with a wave of her hand. "i'd say you're appreciating it more than anything. here, try mine on. pull your hair back?" she unfastens the magnets that hold the fabric together at her chin and drapes it over your hair, securing it with the magnets below your chin and styling it how she had it on her own head. when she moves away from the mirror and you're able to look at your reflection, you're... slightly shocked.

somehow, despite your typical style being jeans that hug your body and shirts or blouses that end before your elbows, you feel beautiful in a full-length dress and a headscarf.

you feel beautiful, confident, and, most of all, you feel strong.

you don't notice it initially, but tears are brimming your eyes, and melek jumps forward, dabbing at your eyes with the sleeve of her abaya. you laugh, tilting your eyes upwards to avoid letting the tears fall. "you look absolutely beautiful."

"i feel beautiful."

by the time you collapse into your bed that day, your smartwatch has logged more than 30,000 steps throughout the streets of istanbul, your camera roll has increased by nearly 500 photos, your stomach is full of delicious street food, and you've purchased two abayas, a white undercap, and three different hijabs. you travel to the middle east several times a year- why shouldn't you have some outfit variability?

before parting ways for the day, you'd made plans with melek to visit some museums tomorrow, the first of which is the rumeli fortress and the second being the topkapi palace museum. you just hope your phone has enough storage to hold all the photos you're going to take.

so pretty and you know it, my heart goes hammer time

soon enough, friday rolls around, and you can't help but admit that you're a bit nervous. knowing the media, they'll tear you to pieces for simply adhering to the cultural norm, but you push down your anxieties in favor of smiling at yourself in the mirror- you really look gorgeous. you're wearing the dark blue abaya you found on wednesday with a simple white chiffon hijab. the juste un clou necklace sits just below your collarbones, and you'd laid your hijab in such a way that it'll be visible, but only if you're really looking for it. knowing lewis, though, he'll see it instantly. after tying the ribbons into a bow at your back, giving your silhouette a fitted waistline to contrast the otherwise fully modest outfit, you make sure everything you'll need is inside your clutch, including two extra masks, and head to the elevators. once you arrive in the lobby, melek greets you with a smile below her mask and hands you a vip guest pass.

"you look beautiful," she assures, almost as if she could read your mind once you sit in the car.

"thank you. you do, too." she's wearing a white shirt and pants set below her lilac jacket-style abaya with a black undercap and hijab, and her converse match the abaya. honestly, it bugs you a little bit how she's so effortlessly beautiful and stylish.

when you step out of the car at the paddock, you slide the pass over your head and hold your clutch tightly in order to stop your hands from shaking. the nerves are starting to settle into your bones, but they're immediately banished when you catch a glimpse of dark tattooed skin, and you instinctively call out his name.

"lewis!"

he'd know that voice anywhere.

before he can fully register your voice, he's whipping around and scanning the crowd for you, almost skimming over your figure. "hey!" he approaches you, and, as is the standard now, brings you in for a hug. "you look amazing. where- when did you buy this?"

when you turn, attempting to find melek in the crowd, you realize it's purely in vain- she's ducked away from the cameras and is making a beeline for the turnstiles to enter the paddock while somehow still avoiding every single camera. "well, she's disappeared now, but melek and i went shopping in the grand bazaar on wednesday. it was absolutely beautiful. you need to go sometime." you've started walking toward the turnstiles with lewis, and you fish your pass out from the folds of your hijab. "you feeling ready for this weekend?"

"a little nervous, but you know how it is."

"i don't, in fact," you quip, making lewis laugh, and, oh, how you missed that laugh. it's high and bubbly and fills you with so many stupid emotions that you really don't want to process right now, so instead you try to turn your dumb smile into a sly smirk. "why don't you tell me?"

"it's... difficult to put into words." he pauses, fist bumping sebastian vettel and giving him the signature 'bro pat' on his arm before returning to his conversation with you. "there's different feelings for each event. for practice sessions, there's less pressure and you're just trying to get a feel for the track, the conditions, learn which corners you're over- or understeering in, that kind of thing. for qualifying, though, it's a waiting game for the first bit, and then, on your flying lap, the world goes quiet. i learn the car get a feel for it and how it responds to everything in the practice sessions, and then in qualifying, i boil all of the mental notes i gathered during the three hours of practice down into one or two notes per corner and send it. i put everything into the car like it's the last lap of the last race and the championship is purely based on this lap." by now, you've made it to the mercedes garage, and you're handed a headset to slip over your neck before smiling and fist bumping a majority of the mechanics and hugging bono quickly. as soon as you've ducked out of view of the cameras, lewis' hand grasps yours tightly, and you quietly thank whatever gods are watching over you that you haven't taken your mask off yet, because you're positive that the heat seeping through your cheeks is incredibly visible.

"when i'm in the car for the race, though, it's a whole different feeling. i feel every minute detail, every time the tires slip or lock up in the slightest bit, how the car gets snappier with each lap as the fuel burns off, every tiny pebble or piece of debris that i run over." you don't let lewis continue talking, instead unhooking your mask from your ears, reaching up to undo his, and kissing him softly. your hands, still holding both masks, rest on his chest and his arms wrap around your waist, caging you in safely.

"you should be a poet," you say, smiling softly against lewis' skin while he continues peppering feather-light kisses to the corners of your lips and cheeks.

"oh yeah? what makes you say that?"

"the way you explained that was... beautiful."

within the next hour, your phone is being blown up with notifications. to be fair, most of them are from amelia saying how absolutely stunning you look and encouraging you to "go get that driver dick, baby!" the others are mostly instagram and twitter notifications, and although the majority are praising you for respecting the modest culture, the ones that you remember the most are the ones critiquing and berating you.

"don't go looking through that bullshit," lewis says, prying your phone from your hands. you're laying on his couch after the first practice session, your feet kicked up onto one armrest and your head resting against the other. "they're just jealous because you look so pretty."

on saturday, lance stroll takes pole, excelling in the rainy conditions. the internet goes up in flames when you arrive at the paddock wearing an abaya and a hijab yet again, but today, you remember lewis' words, and your nerves calm a bit. in the post-qualifying interviews, though, you're surprised when sebastian, daniel, carlos, lewis, and valtteri all come forward, defending you and condemning any fans that have been criticizing you for dressing in a culturally sensitive manner.

it's sunday. you had seen the abaya you're wearing today on your walk to the topkapi palace on thursday and it remained in the back of your mind the whole time you browsed the museum. on your way back, you'd nudged melek and gone into the shop with her, and, after standing behind melek slightly awkwardly as she conversed with the shop's worker in turkish, you paid for the dark teal abaya and moved on to the rumeli fortress. a dubai abaya, melek had called it. "it's more dressy- see the embroidery on the sleeves? it's typically for more luxurious or glamorous occasions."

what's more glamorous than the pinnacle of motorsport?

when you find lewis and valtteri in the garage, their faces light up and lewis brings you in for a hug quickly. "you look stunning, as always," he whispers, and a rush of butterflies flood your stomach once more.

"thank you."

"can i get a spin?" valtteri says, and you happily oblige, the abaya twirling at your feet. "it suits you." you beam below your mask. valtteri is a very reserved person, but you've quickly learned his mannerisms. he isn't the person to hand out compliments for the heck of it, so when you do get a compliment from him, you know he really means it.

"thanks, valtteri. you ready for today?" he nods and is about to respond when his race engineer notifies him that he needs to review some strategy ideas, so he excuses himself from the conversation and you're left with lewis. "what about you, soon-to-be seven-time world champion?"

"nervous. with the track being such a high-speed circuit and the rain, it's going to be hard to not spin out."

"aw, come on. you'll do great."

and he does. after multiple rain clouds, fluctuations in temperature, and so many close calls that could've resulted in spins or crashes, you're clapping in the mercedes garage, hugging every mechanic that's overwhelmed with glee alongside you. your headset is over your ears, and you tear up a little bit hearing lewis' voice over the radio.

"what a way to win your seventh world title," bono says next to you, and you laugh when you hear lewis squealing with joy. "mate, you have got to be proud of that. what an awesome drive."

lewis has tears in his voice when he replies, and you can't tell if he's breathing heavily because of the race or because of the fact that he just equalled michael schumacher's record for seven world titles. "thank you so much, guys! woo! that's for all the kids out there that dream the impossible. you can do it too, man. i believe in you guys. thank you so much, everyone, for your support." sebastian is the first person to congratulate him, running over in parc fermé after pulling off his own helmet, brushing away a scarlet team kit-clad ferrari employee trying to bring him to the weigh station in favor of kneeling just in front of the halo, reaching his hand through, and clasping it tightly with lewis' own. when he manages to climb out of the car and run over to the crowd of mercedes employees waiting for him, he's absorbed by arms and hands patting him on the back, jumping up and down with glee. you're hanging back in the crowd and doing your best to avoid the cameras, but when lewis pulls away from the giant hug and spots you, wearing his colors supporting his team, he's struck by an abrupt realization--one he's been deliberately avoiding admitting to himself for months, instead opting to shift his focus to any other topic.

yeah.

he's in love with you.

the love we make is poison, it's like my only vice

you don't see him again until after the podium ceremony. he stands between sebastian and sergio, and the crowd roars when he steps out onto the platform, the words "seven-time world champion" ringing in your ears as the british national anthem begins to play. you giggle when you notice that the wrong digital flags hang above sergio and sebastian's heads despite the drivers standing on the correct steps, and you're pretty sure it's a laugh to stop yourself from crying because if you stop smiling you will cry.

after he's handed the trophy, he steps forward off of the podium and tosses it in the air as the crowd below cheers. following the remaining three trophies being handed to their respective recipients, champagne sprays, the toreador march plays, and you couldn't be happier. as soon as lewis steps off the podium, you're the first person he looks for, but he's herded towards the media pen where he's held captive for the next hour, but all he wants to do is get back to you and celebrate his victory. when he does find you, hours later, you're curled into a ball on his couch, a pile of teal fabric and your hair splayed out behind you, and lewis is pretty sure his heart melts.

he sets his phone down on the massage table next to your hijab and squats in front of the couch, laying a gentle hand on your shoulder and shaking slightly. despite the only light in the room being the glow from the light outside the door, your eyes still briefly struggle to adjust to it, and lewis has to hold your hands to stop you from rubbing at them- your eyeliner looks especially perfect today.

"hey there, seven-time world champion," you murmur, sitting up and taking his face in your hands. "how was media?"

"agonizingly slow, as always. but i'm here with you now, and that's what matters." you smile, leaning in to kiss him softly, and lewis gladly accepts, kissing you softly. all too soon, though, he remembers the realization he had after the race, and pulls back, a pout finding your lips in response. "can we talk about something?" your heart rate spikes upon hearing the words, and lewis must see how your eyebrows rise slightly and your lips part in confusion, because he's quick to quell your anxieties. "it's nothing bad, don't worry. it's just... weird to think about this conversation."

"i've got time," you reply, patting the spot next to you on the couch and shifting so that you're looking directly at him when he takes his seat. "what's on your mind?"

lewis hesitates, his eyes shifting uneasily and his hands fidgeting in his lap. on instinct, you reach forward and take his hands in yours, stopping him from picking at his nails the way he does when he's nervous. "i don't really know why i haven't asked you this before, and it's really weird saying this out loud because i don't think i've ever had to do this, but do you... do you want to go out on a proper date?"

you're a bit gobsmacked, if you're being entirely honest. of all the things you'd expected him to say, that was probably the last thing on your list. your jaw drops open a bit, and lewis looks like he's about to backpedal, but your reflexes, in this one instance, are faster. "i'd love to, lewis." relief immediately floods his face, and you laugh, watching as every tense muscle in his body releases and he exhales a dramatic sigh of relief.

"oh, thank god. i don't know what i would've done if you'd said no."

"lewis, are you crazy? why would i ever say no?" you lower your voice just slightly, still aware of the open door, and, despite most of the team having already returned to their hotels, some people are still milling about, and you don't exactly want the entire paddock hearing what you're about to say. "not only are you the most kind and attentive person i've ever met, you're incredibly attractive, and i'd be lying if i said that the sex with you hasn't been the best in my entire life." lewis laughs, leaning forward and resting his head on your knuckles where they still clutch his hands.

"how does dinner sound?" he sits up again, still smiling brightly.

"dinner sounds lovely. i'm not sure when we'll be in the same area next, though."

"why not tonight?"

"i'm hardly dressed for getting dinner with the lewis hamilton," you begin, but lewis cuts you off with a kiss.

"you look stunning. i couldn't outshine you if i tried." it's your turn to hide your face in your hands, a dumb, teenager-in-love smile spreading across your face. "let me shower and get dressed, and then we'll head out?" you nod, and lewis leans forward to kiss you quickly before standing and heading towards the door to his bathroom.

you're wearing nothing but your perfume it's one hell of a view

"you're absolutely beautiful." you aren't sure how many times lewis has murmured those words in your ear since you left the mercedes motorhome, but this time, it's your chance to say it. you've both removed every article of clothing you wore out to dinner, your abaya and hijab abandoned somewhere on the floor and, dropped between them somewhere, lie lewis' shirt and slacks.

when he pushes into you, your mouth falls open in a breathy moan that lewis swallows greedily, his lips a comforting touch on your own, and your arms wrap around his broad shoulders to hold him as close as possible. his thrusts are slow and deliberate, pressing against every spot deep inside of you that makes you see stars. "you like it deep like that?"

the only response you're able to form is a whiny "yeah" that just sounds downright pathetic to your ears.

lewis tucks his head into the crook of your neck, mouthing at the sensitive skin there, kissing and licking softly, letting his teeth occasionally graze gently. you're engulfed in the smell of his cologne, a delicate mix of rose, cumin, and cedarwood that you wish you could bathe in. his thrusts take a slow pace, one that has your orgasm creeping up on you slowly but surely, and when it hits you, your fingers dig into his shoulders as you cum with a cry of his name on your lips, the faint sting of tears in your eyes.

the next morning, you're curled up against lewis' side in his jet, looking out onto istanbul as you fly out of the beautiful city. roscoe's head is laid in your lap, and your fingers idly scratch along his head. if dogs purred, roscoe would be doing just that. lewis' left hand holds your right, his thumb gently running along your own, and your head rests in the crook between his neck and shoulder.

for the first time in a week, you feel peaceful. you don't have to keep up appearances for anyone, you don't have to worry about running into any cameras, and you can just... exist. the fact that lewis is by your side, his form protective over you, only brings you further comfort.

it's you who speaks up first. "what're you thinking about?"

"hm?"

"you've got something on your mind. you need to talk about it?"

"just thinking about you."

"what about me?"

"will you be my partner?"

your kiss against his lips gives him a very enthusiastic answer that he can only hope to assume means yes. when you part, your cheeks burning from smiling and tears stinging your waterline, you laugh lightly.

"you made me an offer i can't refuse. i got it bad for you, baby."

and that's a wrap! i hope you guys liked the story <3 as always, all my love to every single one of you that stuck around to see this through. i know i'm over a month late on this final chapter but it took me forever to find an ending that i actually liked. thank you for reading and pls pls check out my other stories.

all my best,

stella

[veranavera]

PSA: most trans people on hormones don’t pass after a year. I think the prevalence of “passing at 11 months!!!” type stories has given a lot of people the impression that somewhere around there is when people start to look like what they want. And like yeah, some people do, and fucking great for them, but you don’t see nearly as many people talking about how they don’t pass at that point because a) people share those things online less often and b) those posts get less traction because they’re heavier

Me? I passed for the first time at 7 months. I passed for the second time at 19 months. That fucking sucked. I felt like I had been given exactly what I wanted and watched it get taken away from me, and the idea that I should be passing more regularly in the months following really ate away at me and made me feel like I “failed” in my transition - I legit thought that I would never pass

It certainly didn’t help that, in addition to overwhelmingly seeing narratives online of passing early in one’s transition, every piece of medical information that was presented to me said that most changes would happen over the first two years. Maybe I was deluding myself, but baby trans me thought “oh that means I have two years to transition or else I fail because hormones won’t do anything past that”. And that ate away at me more than the not passing, cause I felt like I was “missing my chance” at having the body I wanted

And boy was I wrong, in the last year (my third year on hormones), I feel like I’ve seen more changes than I saw in my first year. My boobs are filling themselves out, my body hair is getting even lighter, my skin is noticeably softer even though I stopped moisturizing/doing most of my previous skincare routine. Hell, even my hips and ass have gotten wider. And this was *all* during an era that the medical information I was presented with gave me the impression that any changes that did occur would be minor

To show you what I mean, compare one of my first trans-flag photos, taken at 11 months on e, verses a semi-recreation I did earlier today at 33 months on e (same clothes and roughly the same pose/lighting, different mountains)

Notice a difference? I sure do - and to prove to you that this happened in the third year, here's a similar photo of me in between these two at 23 months on e:

I’m usually not one for transition timelines, mainly because my whole project is kind of a transition timeline, and if you wanna look through and see more of what I'm taking about feel free to either scroll a few posts down on my blog, or check out my google drive with all the photos from my projects. The difference doesn't look *too* dramatic to me, but some people I know irl have expressed that it is

Regardless, the point I'm trying to make here is that my experience on hormones was *not* passing at one year - and that's the experience of the vast majority of people I know who've been on hormones. Puberty takes many years, and yeah, that can suck to hear when you're expecting it to take two, but trust me, it's a healthier mindset to think of yourself as continuously moving in the direction you want, rather than waiting to arrive at a particular destination

If you've started hormones in the last year, be sure to give your body the time it needs to make the changes you want - transitioning is a marathon, not a sprint

[msafterhours]

A Single Trip Around the Sun

It's wild to think about, but today marks a year's time since I released "Drive" and dove back into writing. Funnily enough, it's also been just over 5 years since I stopped updating my first ever story, which began in March of 2019 and ended in late October of the same year.

I wrote & published over 75,000 words between October 2023 & March 2024 to varying degrees of quality and personal satisfaction. Two of those stories still remain public, while the third has been made private due to my own personal dissatisfaction with the finished product.

Over the past 7 months or so, things have been less than ideal, and while I wish that there could be more finished products to share with you all, I'd be lying if I said I've been in the right mindset to produce work that's up to my personal standards. However, that isn't to say that there hasn't been incredible work produced during that time. More on that in a second.

I personally don't view myself as a particularly creative person. Writing is very difficult for me to find success in (especially compared to other interests), but I enjoy the process of learning and growth. Thus, a significant amount of my time over the past half decade or so has been spent researching techniques, learning how to improve the quality of my work, and compiling those lessons into notes for my own future reference.

So, I'd like to take this opportunity to share that knowledge with anyone that might find it helpful. Contained within are archives of my external writing related research, saved passages from my favorite works produced by the community, and a bit of a peek behind the curtain into my older works & the planning that goes into a standard project of mine.

If nothing else, I hope you choose to look through the community quote archives and join me in celebrating the incredible content featured within. These are only small fragments of the wonderful work put together by @capslocked , @kooyabooya , @majorblinks , @iznsfw , @jeneveuxrein , @yieldtotemptation , and so many others who have blessed us with their awe-inspiring talent. There's plenty of other content that I haven't gotten around to including quite yet, but I have every intention of keeping this updated moving forward, so keep an eye out for even more magnificent inclusions in the near future.

I hope anyone who decides to check it out enjoys their time doing so and finds a bit of inspiration or helpful information within. Thank you so much to the over one thousand people who have chosen to follow this blog and thank you very much to everyone who's chosen to spend your time reading my work!

Sincerely,

Mirror's Secrets / Tyler ❤️

[moni-logues]

Kintsugi 15

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, non-idol!au, angst, smut, tiny bit of eventual fluff

Summary: In a fit of spiteful, post-break-up self-improvement, you sign up to a baking class. Yoongi, in a bid to appease his demanding girlfriend, signs up, too. Determined to make him your friend, you end up with more than you ever imagined.

Word count: 6.8k

Content: references to self-harm, description of self-harm scars, some chat about self-harm; oral sex (m. and f. receiving), fingering, protected sex

A/N: I said I'd make it clear, so let's do that: IT'S THE END! THE FINAL ONE!! THE LAST CHAPTER! IT'S DONE!!! IT'S FINISHED!!! NO MORE!!! NO MAS!!!! FINIT!!!!! 끝!!!! 끝!!!! 끝!!!!

I was so relieved to finish this yesterday and thought I would be glad more than anything to post this and finally (FINALLY!!!) bring the series to a close, but I honestly do also feel kind of sad it's over. We've been together over a year now, these characters and me; I've been actually writing them for a year but they first popped into my head 18 months ago. And now we're at the end.

Huge thank you to everyone who has beta'd for me, inc. for this chapter @quarter-life-crisis2 and @here2bbtstrash, @minttangerines, @blog-name-idk, and Amethyst

Thank you to everyone who has left comments and come along on this journey with me; it has meant SO much to me to have your investment in and enthusiasm for this story. It has made it so rewarding to tell and I hope you like their ending.

Without further ado...

Chapter Fourteen | Masterlist | Bonus Drabble 1

Chapter Fifteen - Spring

Chapter Fifteen - Spring 

You rested your head gently against the window, watching the people come and go. The cherry blossoms had fallen already, gathered in gutters and collected in corners. You were always sad to see them go, but this year, you felt like they had given you something. Summer, of course, as always: the heat, the sun, the long days, the blessed relief of an ice-cold drink and even colder air-conditioning. This year, the cherry blossoms had brought you something else. Truly like confetti, they had blown around you, whirled around you, celebrating your first week of From Now On.  

You didn’t say that you were getting ahead of yourself. Not this time. Because you weren’t that anxious about it, as much as that surprised you. You had all the anticipation of your first day at school with none of the nerves. The cherry blossoms had gone but they hadn’t left a hole; you couldn’t feel their absence because your life felt abundant. Last year, when you had watched them bloom and fall and fade away, you had been empty. All the joy they usually brought you couldn’t touch the sides of your despair. It hurt more to see them ushering in spring when you felt stranded alone in winter. But now you weren’t alone. Not even close. 

It was a fairly mild day, just the cool side of hot, and still. You had been impatient and got ready early, hence the sitting and staring. Yoongi wasn’t due for another five minutes, but you’d been there for twenty already. You imagined you might see him on his approach to your building and get to observe him, unnoticed. You wondered what he was doing right now – driving? In a taxi? On the subway? Was he already on his feet, close to you? Was he nervous? You thought he would be. His shyness recently reminded you of when you first met, those tentative overtures of friendship, the thrill you felt when he opened himself up to you. 

It was not unlike the thrill you felt now, waiting for him to pick you up for your very first date.  

When he was due in no less than two minutes, you stood and moved to your mirror. You had, initially, planned to wear something that you considered sexier – that is to say, more form-fitting, a little more scandalous, a dress that showed off a little more of what your mother gave you – and then you changed your mind. You didn’t need to do that, because Yoongi already knew. He had already seen what lay beneath and it was all for him now anyway. So you dressed a little more comfortably, in a dress with a little more give, a little more fabric and flounce. You looked cute; you wanted Yoongi to think you looked cute.  

Then, as you always did, you heard his footsteps. 

“Babe!” you cried, leaning out of your door to see him coming from the end of the corridor.  

But you almost didn’t manage to say anything at all because, whilst you had expected Yoongi, you hadn’t expected Yoongi in a suit, holding flowers. It stopped you short; you had been about to run out to him, jump into his arms, do something silly. Instead, you were flustered, grinning at him from your doorway, your heart going like the clappers and your blood roaring in your ears because god-fucking-damn, had he always been that handsome? 

“No!” he called back. “Go back inside! What are you doing?” 

What were you doing? Short-circuiting, a little. His hair was still long and you imagined it twisted between your fingers, soft and pullable; he was smiling, even as he scolded you, all his little teeth on display. You had always liked a man in a suit – you must have said it a thousand times – but you had not been prepared for how much you liked this man in a suit. You were going to have to get some kind of grip if you were going to make it through dinner.  

“I’m saying hello!” you called back, a little too loudly now that he was closer. “I was going to run out to meet you!” 

“Get back inside! I’m supposed to be picking you up! I need to knock on your door!” 

Truthfully, Yoongi would have loved to have you run out of your apartment and into his arms, even if he’d tumbled, you’d stumbled, you’d both fallen to the floor in a bumped, bruised heap. He’d have loved to have thrown all caution to the wind and run away with you. But all of that was still overwhelming, far too much good for a boy who still thought he was bad, and there was a process to be followed, procedure. He was clinging to that. Like a life raft.  

Yoongi had practised. In as much as you can practise speaking to a friend without actually speaking to them. He had forgotten, in all his anxiety about dating you, about being with you, being seen by you, that you were his friend. He’d had these feelings for you from the very beginning and they had never paralysed him like he felt they were now. He knew sex was not the (only) answer, that sooner or later, he was going to have to remember how to act around you. So he called each of his friends in turn to hang out with them, to remind himself, firstly, that he had them, that he was likable; secondly, that he enjoyed their company—he enjoyed company in general, more than he would ever let on; thirdly, that he could be good company: he got a laugh out of every one of them. That had to count for something.  

And he bought you flowers. Because they would provide a good distraction in case all of these remembrances fell out of his head the second he saw you. And because he wanted to, because that’s what you should do when you take someone out on a date. He knew you liked tulips and it was tulip season. It felt right. And it released a little of his impulse to shower you with things, to buy things for you and haemorrhage cash to make him seem worth it.  

For the longest time, money had been all he had. He had laughed out loud in his therapist’s office when he said that because, for the longest time, money was all he didn’t have. The not-having of money was the very thing that defined his life and set him on this path; it was the bedrock beneath the biggest of his life’s decisions. And then it became all he had. All he had to offer. He was still learning that maybe there were other things, too. 

You did as you were told and shut the door, palms pressed against it as you listened to your heart and tried to make it slow. Then you waited six seconds until you heard his first knock. 

“Oh my god, hi!” you exclaimed. “I had no idea you were here!” 

Yoongi pretended he wasn’t grinning and shot you a look. 

“Shut up,” he replied. “I bought you these.” 

Tulips. Your favourite flower. You didn't remember ever telling Yoongi that, but maybe he just knew. They were another reason that April was your favourite time of year. Seoul Forest was full of them, hundreds, thousands of them blanketing the banks. There was a rainbow of colour in every direction; tall heads on sturdy stems barely touched by breezes, swaying like a choir. It was like a pilgrimage; you went every year. Maybe this year, you would take Yoongi.   

“They’re beautiful, thank you.” 

You took them from him, not bothering to try to restrain your smile from splitting your face in half, and leant in to kiss him. Then you stopped. 

“Are we allowed to kiss?” you asked, one inch from his face. Then you moved away and started looking in cupboards for a vase you weren’t sure you owned.  

Yoongi looked confused.  

“Y’know, kissing on a first date?” 

He still looked confused. Then you remembered. You laughed. 

“Oh, of course, that’s right. You’re Mr Fucks on a First Date, aren’t you?” 

You expected him to be surprised; you hoped he would be a little flustered, hoped you would get to see that pink creep onto his cheeks in a way that was just too cute. Instead, he grinned and you felt your own cheeks heat. 

“Is that a promise?” he asked and your stomach swooped.  

You had found a vase, tipped flower food into it, and were gently arranging the stems. You abandoned them in favour of moving closer him, then a little closer, slowly closer, until your lips were almost on his.  

“Cheeky,” you muttered, eyes flicking down to his lips, amaranth pink and just a little pouty. You bit your own. 

Yoongi hummed. 

“So is that a yes?” 

“Only if you play your cards right.” 

You dragged your eyes up and slowly pressed a kiss to his mouth. His hands settled on your hips and you couldn’t stop yours from reaching up, tangling one in his hair, using the other to rake through the dark locks you hoped he never cut. It wasn’t exactly the kind of grip you needed to get, but every atom of your body was asking for more. It was intoxicating to be kissed by him. 

It was Yoongi who broke from you (you did not have the same level of restraint), his mouth lifting in a grin as he nodded his head slightly towards the counter, where your tulips stood in their vase. 

“Did I mention I got you flowers?” 

“You might need to tell me one more time.” 

You weren’t nervous. Not at all. On the one hand, you felt like you should be, because it was Yoongi and this felt enormous. When you stood back and looked at it, it was huge. He was one of your two (2) friends in this world and you were ruining your friendship good and proper. You could still remember the sharp-toothed despair that wound around you like a strait-jacket after what happened with Sungbin; you remembered the suffocating heartbreak of San leaving you. You knew that it could happen here. There wasn’t a guarantee that Yoongi was The One, that you were The One for Yoongi. It should have scared you.  

But it didn’t. It was too hard to be anxious sitting across from him at dinner, as if you hadn’t sat and done this very thing with him dozens of times before. It was impossible to worry about whether or not he liked you when he looked at you like that, when he smiled in that way that you had always suspected was just for you. You knew he liked you because he was here. He had asked for this date and bought you flowers and he was laughing and teasing and being exactly the person you knew him to be. That didn’t make you nervous.  

Yoongi had picked the restaurant carefully. Not too fancy, not too quiet, not too busy, not too empty, not too casual. He had spent a great many hours trawling the internet for reviews and photos and listings. He wasn’t usually this obsessive, but so much about it all had felt out of his control and this was in it. So he was going to get it right. 

Sitting across from you, he knew he needn’t have bothered. Because he knew you didn’t really care. He wasn’t even sure, sometimes, if you knew what you were eating, because you barely stopped talking to shove it in. You spoke around the food in your mouth and whirled your chopsticks around as you gestured. You picked things off his plate and dropped pieces of your own food onto it. You had this way of creating a world around yourself, such that he forgot where he was; he forgot there was anyone else around, anything else to think about. And he realised he could have taken you anywhere and it would have been just exactly this good. Because it was you. 

“Do you want to go for a drink or something? I looked up a couple of bars not far from here,” Yoongi said as he led you, your hand in his, from the restaurant. 

You leant up against him, shook your head and pouted. 

“No?” 

You shook your head again. 

“Ice-cream?” 

Not that either. 

“Ok... Do you want to go home?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Yoongi seemed surprised and you saw his eyes dim and realised—too slowly, clumsily for too much wine—that you had not exactly said what you meant. 

“I want to go home with you, please,” you clarified, still pouting up at him. 

“Oh.” 

It took Yoongi a couple of seconds to recalibrate, then he smiled down at you with a twinkle in his eye. 

“Miss Fucks on a First Date, is it?” 

You punched him playfully in the arm and he didn’t bother to act like it hurt.  

“Do you want a drink?” Yoongi offered as you slipped off your shoes inside his apartment. 

You shrugged. You would have one if he wanted, but you didn’t need one. You felt lush and warm and relaxed enough already. And truthfully, you were at home now, in the privacy of his apartment; you didn’t want to waste a minute with your mouth on anything that wasn’t him. 

You kissed him, soft at first, because you did want to fuck on your first date, but you weren’t an animal; you had some patience. Or, that’s what you thought as you pressed your lips against his, but the thought washed away like writing on the sand as soon as you tasted him. All your impatience, all your greed, all your excitement came rushing forward, into the fray, a tsunami of feeling, all good, all for him, all surging through you like a stampede. 

“I never,” you started, interrupting yourself with another kiss, one more. “I never want to stop kissing you.”  

“Then don’t.” 

You moaned into his mouth and pressed your body against his, suddenly too warm, hot, the fabric of your dress burning where it brushed your skin. You pushed Yoongi’s jacket off his shoulders and pulled at the knot of his tie. He laughed against your lips and pulled back. 

“You know you’re just making it tighter?” 

You whined and let him take over, deftly undoing the damage you’d done and loosening it properly, pulling it through the collar of his shirt and dropping it on the floor. You thought that was quite long enough to not be kissing, to not be held so tight against him, you could practically feel his heartbeat in your chest, but he held you back.  

When he started walking away from you, you rushed after him, grabbing his hand as he opened his bedroom door. 

“Cherry?” he called softly, padding over to the bed, where she was curled up on the pillow. “You have to get the fuck out of here, ok?”  

She ‘mrowed’ at him and rolled onto her back, exposing her exquisitely soft underbelly for strokes, purring when Yoongi put his hand on her. You thought to yourself that you would quite like to be the one purring under his touch, but had to accept that being jealous of a cat was insane, even for you.  

“Come on,” he said encouragingly, lifting her up and walking away from you yet again, taking her out to the living room and placing her on the sofa.  

“You mean you don’t even give her a free show?” you asked when he returned to the bedroom. 

Yoongi’s face flattened and he looked at you, pretending not to be amused.  

“Would you like to fuck in front of my cat?” 

You jumped up and skipped over to him with a giggle. 

“No, thank you!”  

You wrapped your arms around his neck and wasted no time reconnecting your mouths. Yoongi, now the cat was out of the room and the door firmly shut, seemed as impatient as you were, his hands sliding under the skirt of your dress and up, slipping beneath your underwear and squeezing at your backside. His mouth moved to your jaw and then your neck, sucking soft kisses into your skin, holding you firmly close to him. 

You were impatient because you wanted more, more, and even more of him and you wanted it now. But you also wanted each moment to last. Every time his lips met your skin, they felt softer; every time his tongue rolled over yours, he tasted sweeter; every time his hands squeezed, you felt your heart race a little faster. You wanted him immediately and you also wanted it to last forever. You couldn’t get enough of him. 

He moved his hands upwards, outside your dress, and made light work of the buttons at the back that had honestly taken you forever to do up by yourself. You hummed. 

“You’re good at that.” 

“Hm?” 

“Good with your fingers.” 

He chuckled and flicked you lightly with one hand whilst his other freed a button from its clasp.  

“Is that right?” 

“Shut up, you know what I meant.” 

“I know exactly what you meant.”  

You shivered, even in the warm room, in the bright light of the sun streaming in through the window, when he pulled your dress off and you let it pool on the floor. You didn’t have time to be self-conscious, even if you might have otherwise, because Yoongi was on you, pushing you towards the bed until you were flat on your back, his mouth exploring your body as if he’d forgotten every inch of it in the last week. He hooked his fingers around your underwear and tugged down; you shuffled in response, lifting your hips and wriggling out of it in a way that was less than dignified, and less than efficient, but you didn’t want Yoongi to move off you, didn’t want to sit and then stand so you could do the job properly.  

Naked, again, beneath Yoongi, fully-clothed, you held tight to his shirt collar and hoped he would let you know what he wanted. You wanted to let him lead. 

And lead he did. He pulled one of your hands to his shirt buttons and you experimentally popped one open. He led your hand to the next one. You worked your way to the bottom, pulling the ends from his trousers, kissing him: his cheek, his jaw, his neck. He wouldn’t look at you and you could see the red on his ears; if you pressed your hand against his chest, you could feel the thump of his heart like a hammer.  

“Baby,” you whispered as you slowly slid your hands under his shirt, his body warm against them, soft, not smooth.  

He gave no reply and you nudged him gently with your nose. 

“Baby, look at me.”  

It took seconds that felt like minutes before his eyes met yours. They were guarded, unsure, a little bit afraid. You kissed his lips and smiled. 

“We can stop here,” you reminded him but he shook his head.  

“Go on.” 

“Are you sure?” 

He nodded but his eyes were elsewhere again.  

You pushed your hands along his chest, around his shoulders, forcing the shirt to fall to the bed. You let your hands see him first, your lips still employed on his neck. He was soft and warm and the dip of his spine slightly damp with sweat. You felt them before you saw them, laddering down his arms, criss-crossing his chest, a handful near his hip that were rough and scabbed, still healing.  

It hadn’t occurred to you until that moment that you had never seen Yoongi in a T-shirt. That he always wore long sleeves. You hadn’t noticed. Now you knew why. 

Yoongi’s face was pink now, a little pained, uncomfortable. Embarrassed. Yoongi wanted to burst into flames and drown himself both at once. He didn’t dare open his eyes because he knew he’d not be able to see for tears. He was holding his breath, waiting for something he desperately didn’t want to happen, even though it always had. The shock, the disgust, the reluctance, the holding at arm’s length. 

You took his hand and kissed his palm, kissed the single, thick, raised scar on his wrist and all the smaller ones that followed. You turned him around, guiding him gently so he lay against the headboard, so you could kiss him all over, each and every one of them.  

“Babe,” you called to him, crawling up his body until you hovered over him, resting on your hands.  

Then you lowered yourself on top of him, skin to skin, and stroked through his hair. 

“Hey,” you tried again and Yoongi nodded slightly. 

“Yeah, I’m here.” 

“Are you ok?” 

He nodded again.  

“Gonna look at me and say that?”  

When he looked at you, it was a Yoongi you had never seen before. Shy and defeated and embarrassed and sad and there was something hurt in his eyes that almost made you angry – because no one was allowed to hurt him. That wasn’t supposed to happen.  

You kissed him once and then again and he cleared his throat lightly. 

“I’m fine.” 

“Are you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Yoongi...” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Do you want to stop?” 

“No.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Some of the hesitation in his face left him then and he looked at you. 

“Have you changed your mind?”  

It was a little defensive, the barest hint of a challenge in his voice. 

“No,” you answered. “Why would I have changed my mind?”  

He looked away again, not answering, though you didn’t need him to. You both knew. But that would never have changed your mind. He could have been covered in slime or secretly a lizard-person and you’d have been just as soft for him as you were now.  

Though you were glad that he was neither.   

“It doesn’t bother me,” you continued. “Well, it does--” You noticed the clench of his jaw-- “because I know what it takes to do it...” You traced your finger lightly over the scars on his arm. “I know exactly how it feels and I hate that you know, too. I wish I could take it all away from you. So that bothers me. Because I don’t ever want you to feel like it’s something you have to do.  

“But-” you pushed yourself up a little, sitting on his lap and pressing your hands to his chest- “actually, also, they’re proof you’re still here, y’know?” Your hand circled his wrist and you pressed your thumb against the worst scar there. “You might not have been. Any one of these could have been the last one, right? But they weren’t. It’s like... every time you do it, it’s a little bit of effort towards staying alive because there’s something worse you could do but you’re not doing that. So it’s proof. Proof that you’re here and trying and you’ve been trying and I, for one, am very glad you are still here. More than glad.” 

He didn’t reply. You shrugged. 

“And you’ve seen mine. My body is not exactly unscathed.”  

“There’s nothing wrong with your body.” His voice was stronger, more like his own. 

“And there’s nothing wrong with yours.” 

Yoongi had to get out from underneath you, had to stop you looking at him, at least for a moment. He knew that it had to happen, that you had to know, but this was too much. Too much of what he didn’t want and not enough of what he did. He didn’t want to talk about it or think about it. His chest was tight and he felt unsteady and he so badly just wanted to get back to you: you, naked in this bed, with him. 

He sat up and his arms came around you and you relished the feeling of your skin on his, nothing but warmth between you. He kissed you, insistent this time, impatient again. He wanted you on his tongue, in his hands, enveloping him. He wanted to serve himself up on a plate for you, kneel and kiss your feet; he wanted to lose himself completely in the sound of you coming undone.  

You shuffled off him and fumbled at his belt, at his zip, pushing them to the floor. You barely noticed the skin there, that was really more scar than skin; you didn’t see the light lines and the dark ones, crossing and re-crossing, thickening, fading, all over. Because it didn’t matter to you. That he wasn’t fresh out of the box, perfect and unblemished. No one was. And you shared a pain; the pain that led to these blemishes, these marks, these scars, it was yours, too.  

So you didn’t see them as they were un-covered, as he stepped out of his clothes, as you took his cock in your hand. Hot and heavy, you pumped slowly, but Yoongi had other ideas.  

He lay you on the bed and spread your thighs, trailing kisses up one side and down the other. You shivered when his hot breath hit your core and again when his mouth met your lips, his tongue licking through your folds. The pleasure felt brand new as he drank you in and you felt the exact right amount of drunk.  

If you’d been sober, this would have been too quick; you’d have been too easy, too alert. It would all have been over too soon. But the alcohol blurred the edges, dulled your senses just enough to allow you to luxuriate in it: the soft, wet pad of his tongue brushing over your clit, then hard as it pushed inside you; the press of his kiss-plump lips, their seal as he sucked at your swollen bud. Like swimming through champagne, everything was fizzing and golden.  

The sun hit Yoongi’s head, so bright it made his black hair brown and it shone. You tangled a fist in it, pulling his mouth closer, tipping your hips and he flicked his eyes towards you. They were deep and glazed and only half-open, his tongue still pressed against you. You whined and rolled your hips, then did it again and he let you rut against his mouth until all your pleasure was coiling tight, down into a heavy ball in your core.  

Then he pulled back and shifted his weight, lifting a hand from your hip. 

“Good with my fingers, right?” he said, a lopsided grin on his face, mouth sticky and shining.  

“Y-e...eess.” 

You answer was punctuated with the slip of those fingers inside you, and your breath hitched by the curling of those fingers, the pressing of them against your front wall. Yoongi lowered himself again and put his mouth back around your clit, the suction hard and sure. You were squirming now, all your muscles tightening, everything drawing down, deep into your core before bursting forward in a wet rush of heat.  

You sighed as your limbs flopped against the mattress and your chest heaved. Yoongi wiped his mouth and knelt back, similarly breathless. He took a hand to his cock and squeezed lightly at the base, hissing slightly as he did.  

You slithered off the bed, to your knees, and tapped Yoongi’s knee, asking him to turn towards you, reaching for him, for his dark, heavy cock, your mouth growing wet at the mere thought of it.  

Yoongi looked hesitant. 

“You don’t have to,” he said. 

You tipped your head to the side and frowned. 

“But... I want to, though?” 

He hesitated a second longer and you thought he was going to say no, but he turned and you did nothing to hide your enthusiasm. You pressed a kiss to the tip and let your tongue lick at the pre-cum dripping from it. Yoongi grunted and you grinned because it had actually been a long time since you’d had this kind of fun. 

It had been a long time for Yoongi, too, since he’d had his dick in anyone’s mouth. He couldn’t even remember the last time. He’d forgotten the heat of it, the softness and strength of a tongue, the looking down at them looking up. It was frankly criminal, he thought, that you could be so cute with a cock in your mouth. It was every bit as good as he might have dreamt, as hot and wet as he might have imagined. You pushed forward and he could feel the back of your throat, see the tears sparkling in your eyes, caught on your lashes. 

He had to stop looking. He tipped his head back and studied the ceiling. He clenched his fists and tried to slow his breathing down because, god, it had been so long and it was you. It was you and you had kissed him all over and you were looking up at him with wet stars in your eyes and your mouth was doing all that to him and he closed his eyes. Then you moaned with the tip of his cock at the very back of your mouth and he almost lost all control. 

He swore, his throat tight, his thighs twitching. He placed a hand on your head and pushed back your hair, tugging ever so slightly to pull you off him. You wiped your mouth and grinned up at him; it was such a sweet, filthy gesture that he almost came again. 

“You ok?” you asked and Yoongi fell to his knees. He answered with a kiss, licking into your mouth, pulling you against him. 

“Yes,” he answered, mumbled against your lips. “Want to fuck you now.” 

“Yes, please.”  

And it was everything you had wanted. Everything you had forgotten sex could be. Yoongi held you close and fucked you slow and you kissed him and caressed him and the world could have fallen apart outside and you would neither have noticed nor cared.  

There was something tearing inside Yoongi and he didn’t know what to do about it. Because you were holding him tight, pulling him so close to you, kissing him and moaning into his mouth and no one had wanted him this close, this soft, this slow for a long time. Ever. He had tried to pace himself before, tried not to rush through it but it was a blur to him now, the frenzy and the nerves and the uncertainty of it all rendering it choppy and indistinct. Whereas this was full high-definition. This, you, the way you touched him and looked at him, the way you said his name... it was like a dream. Like something he never thought he would have. The luxury of your warm body so close to his; the indulgence of your lips against his and your eyes sparkling like you had never seen a sweeter sight than him. That you wanted him. That you wanted him and let him know it. That you wanted all of him, as you ran your hands down his arms, as you squeezed at his chest and pressed your hand against his back, pulling him closer.  

Because it wasn’t just physical. It wasn’t just the thrust of Yoongi’s hips, his cock buried deep in your wet cunt; it wasn’t just the slap and slick of damp skin and arousal; it wasn’t just the pleasure you felt in your core expanding outwards, the heat in your blood, and tingling in your toes. It was all-encompassing; it was everything. It was this person who knew you, all the bad bits as well as the good, knew you and saw you and held you like you were precious. It was feeling safe and cherished and valued. It was knowing that your feelings were reflected, returned, reciprocated. It was the sweetness of finding someone who lit you up and being able to light them up the same way.  

When you lay, side by side, spent and sated, you felt like you were glowing. You rolled onto your side, into Yoongi, as he rolled into you and you kissed him again, for the hundredth time or thousandth, it still wasn’t enough. 

You slept soundly, without dreaming, without waking, until the sun was high in the sky again the following morning. You turned onto your back, throwing an arm behind you as you went, expecting it to hit Yoongi next to you.  

But he wasn’t there. You rubbed your face and pushed yourself into a seated position, assuming he was in the bathroom and would return momentarily.  

Then minutes passed and he was nowhere to be seen. You stood and scanned the floor for your underwear. Your dress was already picked up and placed over the back of a chair; Yoongi’s clothes, you could only assume, he had put in the laundry already. Your underwear was not hiding under your dress. You dropped to the floor and onto your hands and knees, to look down under the bed. 

“Aha!” 

“Aha, what?” 

You hit your hand on the bedframe as you quickly pulled it back and span to face Yoongi, standing in the door with an iced coffee in each hand and a paper bag hanging from his wrist. He looked at you with his eyebrows raised, bemused but charmed. 

You twirled your knickers on one finger.  

“Thought I’d lost them. They were under the bed.” 

Yoongi merely ‘ah’ed and nodded, placing breakfast on the dressing table and swapping his jeans for light pyjama trousers.  

“Did you bring me coffee?” you asked sweetly, knowing the answer. 

“And pastries.”  

You jumped to your feet and gratefully accepted his offerings, taking a long draw from the straw of a coffee so sweet and milky it might as well not be coffee anymore. 

“Do you know how much sugar is in those, by the way?” 

“Yep! That’s why they’re so delicious!” 

“They’ll kill you.” 

You shrugged. 

“Oh well. I died doing what I loved: drinking sugary coffee.” 

Yoongi chuckled and stepped forward until you were within arm's reach. You could feel his hesitation, so you took it from him, stepping into his body and offering him a kiss.  

“Thank you.”  

“Do you want to get back into bed?” 

You couldn’t imagine anything you wanted more.  

* 

You could hear something out in the hall, something maybe like a cat’s purr, but also not a cat’s purr. Some sort of buzzing, intermittent enough that you told yourself you were imagining it at first. But it just kept coming. 

“Do you hear that?” you interrupted Yoongi to ask and you held your hand up for silence as you listened for it.  

A jarring, quiet kind of noise.  

“Sounds like a phone vibrating,” Yoongi offered.  

“Oh fuck!” 

You scrambled, ungracefully, out of bed, still in just your knickers, and found your phone, buzzing against your keys, half falling out of your bag.  

Taehyung.  

“Hi, baby!” you greeted, overly cheerful because you hadn’t checked the time and you were almost certain he was calling because you were late. 

You had planned to have brunch and a debrief. You had forgotten all about it. 

“When are you coming home? I’m bored.” 

You pulled your phone away from your ear and, upon noting the time, realised that you weren’t late at all. Not even close. 

“What do you want, Teddy? I’m seeing you later.” 

“I know, but I’m bored now and you’re a dirty, little stop-out.” 

“Entertain yourself! I’ll be home when I’m home. I'm not leaving now just because you’re bored.” 

He sighed dramatically at the other end of the line. 

“So I suppose it’s love, then, is it?” 

The word made your heart skip a beat and you didn’t turn around, just in case Yoongi was looking at you.  

“Maybe.” 

“You sicken me.” 

“Fuck off. You’re happy for me.” 

“Yes, I am, babygirl. I’m very happy for you but I’m also very lonely and bored. Can’t you just come home a bit early? Yoongi will still be there tomorrow but I am fading away by the second.” 

“Dying from lack of attention?” 

“Exactly.” 

“I’ll be home when I’m home, Teddybear. Try to make it until then.” 

“Alright, but you’ll be sorry when I'm gone.” 

“Extremely. Now leave me alone!” 

He heaved another dramatic sigh before hanging up and you skipped back to the bedroom. 

“Everything ok?” Yoongi asked as you settled back in his arms. 

“Teddy’s being needy.” 

“Do you need to go?” 

“Absolutely not!” You snuggled in tighter and pressed your lips to his chest. “Not until the very last minute, please.” 

Love. You thought about the word when you left Yoongi’s apartment very late that morning. You wanted to say it then and there, tell him, but it felt like a lot. It felt like your usual Too Muchness coming back. You had only been on one date. It was a lot of pressure to put on a person and you didn’t want to pressure Yoongi. You didn’t want to push him. You didn’t want to take control and careen this fledging thing straight into a ravine.  

It felt natural. It felt easy. It felt like everything you had wanted. It felt so right that it was maddening to you that it had taken you so long to see it. But you also understood that that had to happen. The time it took you to see Yoongi like you did now was time you spent getting things wrong and hurting and healing the wrong way and then the right way and you knew that this, this happiness you had that made you glow, that made your steps feel light, it was a result of that time, that patience. So you didn’t want to rush. Didn't want to push. You would still love him tomorrow. And the day after that and the day after that and on and on and on. It could wait. 

* 

Until six days later, when you were sitting on the subway on your way home from work and you snapped. You didn’t want it to wait. You wanted to tell him. And you knew you could. You could say it and he could not and you would survive that. You would understand. And it wouldn’t matter because you knew he was in this, knew he would get there if he wasn’t there already. You chided yourself for waiting at all, because love should never have to wait. Love should be shouted from the rooftops, shouldn’t it? 

So you got off at a different stop and changed lines and you walked as fast as you could to Yoongi’s building and you let yourself in. 

“Babe!” you cried as you hastily kicked off your shoes and rounded the corner into the kitchen, a little out of breath. 

“Are you ok?”  

Yoongi had his apron on, a knife in his hands, vegetables on the chopping board in front of him and it was so sweet, so domestic, a perfect vision of everything you wanted. He was looking at you with concern, as well he might, given you had just burst in, unannounced, in all kinds of a fluster. 

You nodded. 

“Yeah,” you panted. “I just had to tell you. I love you.” You moved closer to him; he put the knife down and wiped his hands on his apron and you held tight to it. “I love you. As in, I am in love with you. I love you so much. And I know, I know, it’s been no time at all and it’s too soon and it’s too quick and you don’t have to say it and I don’t want to put any pressure on but I just want to tell you. I have wanted to tell you and I wasn’t going to because- because all of the above! But I love you and I want you to know that I love you. I’m in love with you, Min Yoongi.”  

He blinked a little and then a bit more. 

“Oh.” 

He sounded surprised and you laughed because you were nervous and because you felt giddy and silly and so in fucking love. You tugged him closer with his apron and kissed him, firmly at first, then softer when he kissed you back and rested his hands on your hips.  

“I love you.” 

He said it quietly, his mouth still close enough to yours that you could feel his lips move with the words. You laughed again and kissed him again and whispered it back to him.  

“I love you.” 

Chapter Fourteen | Masterlist | Bonus Drabble 1

Taglist: @chimmisbae, @idkjustlovingbts @miriamxsworld, @tarahardcore, @simp47koreancrackheads, @xyahrinx, @olyd, @diorh0seokie, @thelilbutifulthings, @acquiescence804 

[dokiluvsk]

⚠️ POLITICAL POST ⚠️

With the recent election and the fact that i have many trans friends, id like to talk about some issues that i otherwise wouldnt talk about on my main blog.

Just to get this out of the way, i am not trans. I do not know and will not pretend to know how dysphoria feels, socially and physically. As well as the many other struggles trans people face day to day. However, my best friend is trans. So i do at least have a better understanding of it than i did say a year ago.

This election has been chaos. Its invoked fear not only in American's, but the world. The "Land of the Free" shouldn't make the world piss itself simply because of election day. And the lives of the LGBTQ+ Community, POC, and women all over the country are now endangered. For this post, i will be talking mainly about LGBTQ+ rights and my thoughts. Specifically because thats the area im most worried about right now. This is in no way to say that POC rights or Woman's rights are less important, that is not at all what i am saying. I plan to make separate posts for each of these 3 subjects in the next month, i want to dive into each of them fully and not have to skip over any details about our future (As an indigenous, gay woman.) So consider this 1/3 Parts of a very, long post.

Transitioning into the actual conversation, This election has been terrible. Millions of kids around the country terrified to have their rights taken away, the fear of how powerless they are and how little they get a say in politics is the driving nail in this coffin. Remember people, gay marriage hasn't even been legal in America for 10 years! Everything is very uncertain, and I wish people would understand the LGBTQ communities worries more. Our people are killed, tortured, and taunted around the world every single day. There aren't many countries nowadays where LGBTQ people have ALL their human rights, no strings attached. And one of the biggest countries in the world, supposedly the land of the free , is now trying to rip those rights away again. So many people i know are currently fleeing the country, planning to leave as soon as they are financially stable, or are mourning because they aren't able to. Thats horrid.

What i am especially worried about is transgender youth and transgender people in general. This is the part where my personal political opinions really come into play, if you aren't a fan, you can click off the post. Or read! i don't care! i encourage you all however to stick around and comment or reblog this post, telling me your opinions on the matter. I genuinely would like to hear to get more insight on my audiences views.

The reason i've been so worried about trans people specifically is because changing your gender is very different from loving someone romantically. Yes, we are all the same community. That is certain, and I am in no way trying to alienate trans people. But changing your gender is a physical, mental, and social challenge. Trying to get T or HRT? nope! sorry! top or bottom surgery? yoink! cant have that one either! oh you wanna cut your hair short or grow it out long? good luck with all the bullying and teasing you'll face! haha sorry kid! thats just the good ol' American way 😁

On a now serious note, I think im getting my point across. I can hide the fact im dating a girl, i can hide that from the neighbors across the street, trans people cannot hide their physical transitioning. Social transitioning cant even begin to happen because of uncertainties of your safety. You are denied medical products, denied public spaces, denied even trans unrelated healthcare, those aren't JUST trans rights, those are HUMAN rights. And I don't think republicans realize that mental toll. This isn't attention seeking, this is justice seeking. Do y'all know how many teenagers and adults contemplate suicide because of an unaccepting society? too fucking many. That number should be 0, yet never has been. Do y'all know how many gay teens and adults have to hide their love from the world? way too fucking many!

My girlfriend and I are obviously 2 different people. I am out of the closet, i have been for years and years. I am fortunate enough to have a family who accepts me and loves me. I am fortunate enough to have friends for the past few years who are also apart of the community, i am fortunate enough to have religious friends who don't hate or deny who I am. My girlfriend cannot come out to her family out of fear, she cannot be public about who she is, she does not have as safe of a space as I do. Despite me and my girlfriend both loving each other and being in the same community, we have very different personal lives. kind of like 2 sides of the same coin. No LGBTQ persons experience is the same. Every single one of us is different, you know why?? because we are fucking human! LGBTQ people are HUMAN! just like everyone else! what is it going to take to get that through politicians heads?? we deserve access to healthcare, we deserve to be able to comfortably talk about our lives, we shouldn't have to lie, hide and suppress ourselves just to be safe and live a normal life.

I hope the community hears me on this, LGBTQ people, do NOT kill yourself. do NOT do it. do not be scared, you need to remember that at the end of the day, nobody, not even your governors, can silence you. You have free will, the world is literally your oyster. Stay strong, I love you ❤️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

[harlowsbby]

i have a request where reader who’s a singer and jack are dating but he’s never affectionate to her and he never spends time with her so he’s always spending his time at clubs and strip clubs but he never really cheats and his friends are always telling him he has the best girl he can find but he’s too blind to see how good he really has it with her but she breaks up with him and months after the break up she comes out with the song “Not another love song” by mariah the scientist and jack realizes he misses her more than ever but she over him already and chooses herself in the end🫶🏼

Keep you in mind

( I kinda switched it up if you don’t mind )

He never deserved you he never did, that’s what everyone ever told you or that’s what you read online through the blogs and other social media platforms.

You thought Jack loved you and adored you and treasured what the two of you had but in reality he didn’t, he could care less about you and every single thing he lied and hid about all eventually came to the light.

Whenever you looked at Jack you saw someone who could do no wrong you painted this image that he was the man of your dreams but he was far from it.

————————————————————————

Rolling over in your shared bed with Jack you smiled seeing him fast asleep, some mornings you’d wake up before him and just watch him sleep.

You loved admiring him he always looked so peaceful and at ease. Most of the time he was running around and doing who knows what. You caressed his chest softly, drawing random shapes on his bare chest and watching his chest rise and fall.

“You know if you’re gonna watch me sleep baby at least don’t be creepy with it.” Jack spoke causing to jump slightly not expecting for him to be awake. “How long have you been awake for?”

He opened his right one and looked at you with a smirk displayed on his lips. “I’d say long enough to know that you definitely do fart.” He laughed while you hid your face in his chest from embarrassment.

“Don’t be all embarrassed now I heard you loud and clear.” “Jack stop that’s embarrassing!” You yelled and lifted your head from his chest. “It was cute baby and it’s normal so stop hiding it.” He joked but you rolled your eyes and went to lean back into his touch but he quickly got up.

You frowned and sighed he never really showed you any type of affection so you were never really fazed by it but sometimes it did get to you. Especially late night at the clubs Neelam or your friend Chloe would be snuggled up to their men while you’d be shivering, cleaning on the club wall waiting for the Uber to arrive while Jack talked and took pictures with fans.

“So, what are we doing today? I was thinking maybe drive around and get some coffee and just have lunch somewhere.” You watched Jack grab his toothbrush and start brushing his teeth.

“Or we can just go see Clay and Urban we haven’t seen them in a few days.” Once he finished brushing his teeth he came out the bathroom. “Actually babe I have to go to the studio for a few hours and then I have to fly off to Vegas for that club appearance.”

“When will you be home then?” You watched with sad eyes as he grabbed his suitcase and packed a few outfits and some of his essentials. “I’m not really sure baby but don’t wait up okay? I’ll be back pretty late.” He walked over to you and gave you a quick kiss on the forehead before grabbing his things and leaving.

“Well I guess it’s just me.” Mumbling to yourself before flopping back into the bed. Sometimes you wish you’d talk to Jack and tell him how you really felt but you knew that would result into an argument.

Maybe he’d change eventually but that’s something that you’re constantly telling yourself but the reality of it was that he wasn’t changing and wasn’t planning on it.

————————————————————————

“Jack you’re a fool man.” “He really is if I had a women like Y/N waiting on me at home I’d never be outside.” Jack was laid up at the club he had just finished his performance and decided to stay for a bit longer instead of just going right back home.

“Are you all still going on about Y/N? I promise you all she’s fine and she isn’t going anywhere.” Jack knew that for a fact, you were stuck on him like glue and no matter how absent he was in this relationship he knew you weren’t going anywhere.

“How do you know that? Maybe one day she’ll wake up and get tired of all your late night adventures.” Clay was right and even though Jack was his brother he considered you family and he hated the way his brother was so absent in your relationship.

You loved affection and receiving as well as giving love and affection you hated the way it felt so one sided, even on days that Jack was home he wasn’t really home. He’d be done somewhere or upstairs sleeping the day away. He’d be sleep and you’d be awake and when you’re sleeping he’s awake.

You always had to contribute to his lack of effort and you knew it was best the two of you went your separate ways, your heart was wanting and needing more but your heart belonged to Jack.

“Why are you putting all of this negative energy in the air? It’s like you all want her to leave.” It got quiet everyone took sips from their drinks not really having a response. “So it’s like that? When I wanna do me it’s an issue?” Jack was now getting defensive not because he was mad but because he knew everything they were saying was true.

“We’re not saying that but maybe loving someone else just isn’t for you right now, Y/N deserves someone who’s physically there and locked in just like her. She doesn’t need an absent partner.” With that everyone walked away from the booth leaving Jack alone.

He was no longer in the mood to party the only thing on his mind right now was you.

————————————————————————

“This is a really depressing song don’t you think?” Your manger and friend Kira all came over that night, the three of you were going over which song would be your latest single for your upcoming album.

“It’s depressing yes but it speaks volumes.” You expressed and went and played back your song ‘Not A Love Song’. Kira and Alex bopped along to the song.

“What’s the meaning behind this song?” Alex looked up at you. “Basically it’s just about a women feeling as if her partner isn’t putting enough effort and that she’s always filling up the empty pieces in their relationship.” Alex watched you intensely. “How did this song come about?”

“Alex, come on let’s just go over the cover art.” You went to take the laptop from her but she pulled it back. “Y/N.” She said in a threatening tone, you sighed there was no use of lying. “Jack was the inspiration, we just well he doesn’t spend time with me anymore I feel like I’m the only one trying.”

“Have you talked about this with him?” Kira took your hand and rubbed smoothing circles on the back of your hand. “No what’s the point he won’t listen he’s always out and on the road and honestly I just can’t.” You stopped yourself.

“Can’t what babe?” With quivering lips you looked up at the both of them. “I can’t.. I can’t do this anymore I need to choose me because in the end it’ll only be me.”

————————————————————————-

Jack was on his way back home after Nemo pulled him to the side and talked to him about how the way he was treating you he had to admit he was wrong.

He loved you dearly and truly and didn’t want things to end between the two of you. He tried texting and calling a few times but never got an answer from you.

“She’s probably sleeping in I saw on Alex’s story that they were up late at some bar.” It was true you were all at a bar but only because you were attempting to drink your pain and emotions away.

“Yeah she probably is, I hope she likes the flowers I got her and honestly I hope she hears me out.” Nemo shrugged his shoulders, “I hope she does man.”

When they pulled up to the driveway Jack thanked Nemo for giving him a ride. He was nervous but just prayed that everything will go smooth.

Upon opening the front door he was met with a cold breeze making him shiver. “Baby? Are you up, why is it so cold.” The hairs on the back of his neck stood up from the coldness. “Babe?” He slowly made his way upstairs.

“Y/N, are you fucking around with me or what.” He grinned but the grin quickly faded when he saw not only the somewhat empty bedroom but the empty closet ad well and a note attached to his side of the bed.

Dear Jack

- you know I’ll always love you and support you but I think it’s time we start loving one another a few feet apart. Lately I’ve been feeling like this relationship is one sided and a break might be needed and hopefully when the time is right we’ll reunite.

- Love Y/N.

“So she really left me.” He mumbled to himself and flopped down on the mattress. He felt defeated like he let not only you down but what the two of you had. Maybe the two of you didn’t deserve a love but instead a poem that described how everything went wrong.

[alexandraisyes]

How are you doing?

Do you want an honest answer or a watered down haha cutesy artist answer?

I could be worse, to put it simply. It’s been a very. . . Excitable week. And month. And life.

I’m dealing with medication withdrawals that will last another month. They have me sicker than a dog right now, physically at least. My mental stamina is fine, it’s definitely been worse in the more recent past. I’m making a pretty good stress recovery from the past three months of harassment from varying sources, but there is no rest for the wicked.

I’m about 95% positive that I’m being actively stalked by someone from the whole August fiasco, someone who I’ve had blocked since the beginning of August. A (former) friend of mine that I had met through the rp blogs I did designs for turned out to be a sexual predator who was grooming the minors in said group, and I recently had to cut them off after confronting them about it. So that’s great. Both of these things are giving me mild stress, especially because neither of these people know when the fuck to quit and have a long history of stalking and harassment.

However, I’m finally writing again. I’m trying to get back on my current projects, as well as the newer project I’m working on. I’ve completed some commissions, I’ve made a couple self indulgent artworks, and even some art for friends. So I’m being productive.

I’m finally back to watching the shows, although this migraine the past few days has put a rather sudden pause on that. Hopefully I can get back on schedule within the next couple of days. I’m once again finding enjoyment in taking them apart too, which is always a good sign. A large part of why I went on a sudden hiatus was due to the harassment the past few months, but I’ve had some sense knocked into me about the matter by my everlasting and ever loving parents that had me seriously questioning why I was letting it affect me to the point I couldn’t function?

I moved back in with my parents last month. I haven’t fully unpacked, my executive function has been lacking when it comes to sorting boxes. Especially since the last time I was here it was only for a month before I had a fight with my folks and had no option but to leave. However we’re reaching that one month mark so fingers crossed that history won’t repeat itself.

In all honesty it’s been going a lot smoother than I expected. I’ve done a lot of yard work while I job hunt, and so I’ve been left relatively alone and to my own devices since I’m sacrificing so much of my time to clean up the property. It’s been a good distraction, and I’ll be honest I needed the vitamin D.

Unfortunately I’m running out of things to do around the property to prepare for winter. No more Vitamin D for me. Probably for the best, I don’t want to burn out.

Speaking of jobs, I have one now. I need to go in tomorrow and turn in the hiring paperwork, and then yippee I will have a steady source of income. It’ll probably only be part-time pay, but that’s okay. A job is a job.

I managed to reach my goal for donations, thanks to my friends and this wonderful community. All of my bills have been secured, with a little excess that I’ll use to buy new pants for work (can’t go in pantless). I cannot be more grateful to this community for handing together to help me reach my goal so I can afford to keep doing things like drive (which is extremely necessary when you live in the middle of rural countryside) and live in a house (as much as my parents love me I do have to pay rent since my dad is disabled and cannot support the family anymore).

My social life is fine. I’ve made a lot of close friends over the past few months, misery loves company and all of that. It’s ironic how we were all more or less strangers to each other, and yet these series of events have made us extremely tight nit as a little online village. I’ve made quite a few new friends too, just by being obnoxious. It is what I do best after all.

There isn’t a really an easy answer to questions like this when you have a busy life. I could just say “oh I’m fine” but that’s not honest. That’s not transparent or real, and I try to be both of those things. I’m not entirely sure what “fine” would look like, and by society’s standards I’m definitely not fine in any fashion. But we all make do with the hands we’ve been dealt.

I’ve become extremely close friends with a malignant narcissist (short term would be narcopath) and I find their presence a comfort. I continue to work on projects with friends, and abstain from creating new ones. I’ve caught up on a few different fanfics while I’ve been sick these past couple of days, and that’s always nice. I’m trying to do my best to give back to the community what was given to me (metaphorically), but being bedridden these past couple days has prevented me from achieving that very well. I’ve grown a fondness for TikTok animations and animatics, and have been considering making a few of my own.

Oh yes, also a month or so ago I bought a graphics tablet for my laptop and am looking into learning 3-D modeling. It would be fun to make my own VRChat avatars, plus it’s always handing to have more skills under your belt.

And my apologies if this runs long, or stops making sense at some point, I’m still fairly delirious and it is late as I write this, even though it will post sometime in the morning long after I’m asleep.

I’m doing well, to put it simply. Nothing in life will ever be just right, and I frankly don’t expect it to, nor do I wish for a perfect life. The only way we learn is through hardship, after all. I could always be better, but I could be much much worse as well. I’m just glad I’ve got plenty of time on my hands to swindle away even between writing, and art, and videos, and work. Due to a fairly rigorous sleep schedule I’ve about 16 hours of the day to spend at my leisure, and that already feels like too much excess time.

To the point I’ve taken to playing mobile games simply to pass it by.

So hopefully getting a job in town, one with a paycheck, will help manage some of that boredom. I’m sure I’ll still have plenty of excess time regardless, I always seem to be swimming in it.

And I’m sure I’ve concluded this post multiple times by now, but I truly am doing well enough. Talking about it helps me figure out and rationalize my mental health. It’s a bit like psychoanalyzing myself, for the word to to witness as if I’m just another one of the silly characters dancing on the screen. It is truly a beneficial experience for myself, however, since I’m able to truly process any emotions that might have been hiding behind triggers.

And here I go on another tangent, so I’ll cut it off here.

[sluttywonwoo]

kaili, happy 12k!!! i love your work so much! you deserve this. thank you for deciding to make this blog, honestly🍬

could i request the prompt “i’m not jealous” and/or “i'll take care of you” with hyunjae? thanks <3

jaehyun’s been watching you talk to eric for almost an hour now, quietly seething in the corner as he ignores whatever juyeon’s going on about. at least jacob is listening to poor juyeon. jaehyun hears his voice chime in every once and a while, which makes him feel a little less bad about zoning out.

jaehyun knows all about you and eric. he wishes he didn’t. he wishes he wasn’t the one you vented to in the midst of your… situationship with the younger boy. at the time, he had been so eager to hear everything. he loved hearing you complain about him, loved telling you that you could do better, loved being the better that you did.

it was less toxic than it sounds, he thinks.

either way, he was there to pick up the pieces when eric finally broke things off after stringing you along for who knows how many months.

you and jaehyun aren’t official (yet) but you treat each other like you are. you’ve agreed not to sleep with anyone else for the time being, so jaehyun doesn’t know why it irks him so much to see you talking with an old flame. talking to the guy doesn’t mean you’re going to fuck him. even if eric is newly single. and looking at you like he wants to devour you. fuck.

jaehyun abandons juyeon and jacob without a word and walks right up to you, placing a hand on the small of your back to alert you of his presence.

“ready to go?” he asks, trying to sound as casual as possible.

you look surprised to see him, even more surprised that he’s touching you in public since no one knows about the two of you.

there was some overlap with the two men towards the end of your thing with eric but as far as jaehyun knew, eric was never clued in to that.

“now?” you ask, to eric’s clear bewilderment. was it so hard to believe you’d be going home with jaehyun?

“yeah, we’ve got to get up early for that thing,” he adds.

there was no ‘thing’ in the morning, jaehyun just wanted eric to know you would be waking up in the same bed. he also needed an excuse to get you the hell out of here.

“right…” you say, leaning into jaehyun’s side. “we’d better get going.”

-

you’re all over each other the moment you get to his place. you barely make it to the bed before he’s inside of you, not even bothering to fully undress you. the skirt of your dress is simply bunched up around your waist and your panties are pulled aside, likely ruined.

“feel good?” jaehyun asks, grunting as he fucks into you.

“god yes,” you cry. “you fuck me so hard when you’re jealous.”

he slows down at that, processing your words. “i’m not jealous.”

you stare at him with an unmoved expression, chest heaving as you catch your breath. “and i’m not full of your cock right now. we’re both liars.”

“you really think i’m jealous?”

“i know you are.”

jaehyun scoffs. “why would i be jealous of that asshole?”

“because you don’t like the thought of other people fucking me and you know he has.”

you kind of have a point but that isn’t the only reason… though jaehyun hopes you don’t know the other reasons.

“so what if i am a little jealous?” he challenges. “i’m the one fucking you right now, aren’t i?” your eyes roll to the back of your head as he drives his cock deeper inside of you. “and i can make you feel so. much. better than he can, yeah? that’s why you’re already fighting off an orgasm… right? i can tell from the way your thighs are trembling. it’s okay baby, you can cum for me. show me how good i make you feel, cum all over me.”

12k celebration

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 27/02/2024

Beautiful Dreamer

Season 7 Featured on: The Year of Grand Dad Sound Selection [Side B] Also on: Now That's What I Call Quality! 3

Ripped by minindo

Over the course of this month, I've been having what's best described as an inner battle with myself over which rip from the One Direction takeover of Season 7 to feature, which was really not something I was expecting when the event first began. The timeframe around 9/11 on SiIvaGunner is typically where some of the channel's most subversive and fun events happen, such as the Metal Gear Rising-themed event of Season 4 Episode 2 as described in SUNGORE, or the Not Funny Didn't Laugh day of the Season prior that gave us Sex - Steve Harvey. To just dedicate a day to One Direction instead? To me, it was a little bit of a letdown.

And then, I heard the rips. Oh LORD, the rips.

A lot of my disappointment really came from without giving it a chance, since I lacked much of any connection to One Direction as a band - like Justin Bieber in BELIEBERDANSEN, like Sean Kingston in Crazy Noisy Beautiful Girls and Take You To The Desert, these pop sensations were names I'd probably heard whispers of now and then, but didn't really have any sort of emotional connection to. But over the years, the SiIva rippers have gotten so EXCEPTIONALLY good at twisting my perception of preexisting music completely on its head through their sheer creativity and proficiency - and it was those factors that, after a LOT of rumination, has led me to pick Beautiful Dreamer as the debut rip for One Direction on the blog. To say that it blew me away would be an understatement.

Let's get the obvious out of the way first: Lucid Dreamer is a track using the 3/4ths time signature, a far less standard rhythm than the 4/4th time signature that most pop music, What Makes You Beautiful included, uses. This difference in time signatures between songs makes the mashup process far more of a challenge, and overcoming that challenge is thus a sort of accomplishment. Hoopache back in Season 1 garnered quite a bit of attention back in the day for this very reason, and time signature manipulation in general is what makes rips like He4rt4che and 4SGOR3 such fascinating listens. This isn't even to mention how Touhou music in general, and Lucid Dreamer not excluded, has a very distinctly hectic, melodically rapid-fire feel to it - one that ripper minindo has shown excellent understanding of prior with rips like Nostalgic Blood of the Gregg ~ Old Source, but now had to take to a whole new level.

With Beautiful Dreamer, minindo came out fucking swinging, and left several of his fellow SiIvaGunner members/contributors in absolute awe in the comments. "i think this rip just created a new genre", says current channel manager MtH, while the team's very own Touhou expert Princess Sylvyspirit of NIGHTMARESCAPE 〜Unrestrained HyperCam 2〜 (Final Boss Phase 2) fame declares it her favorite Touhou rip on the ENTIRE channel. Her own analysis brings up several excellent points I agree with: compared to the days of Hoopache, the adjustment to 3/4ths time done here feels incredibly seamless, with several small manual tweaks to the instrumentation of What Makes You Beautiful that obscure its 4/4ths origin incredibly well. But the most important part Sylvy points out is of course the the highlight of Beautiful Dreamer; the additions minindo made to make the rip truly go above and beyond.

Sure, the rip already bangs as a mashup on its own terms, One Direction's vocals going from a solo to a quintet with the chorus of both songs, as well as becoming pitch-shifted to Lucid Dreamer's melody at the same portion, creates a fantastic sense of buildup and energetic release, a hype that drives the first chorus - but past that chorus, the song suddenly comes to a slower-paced section. A section COMPLETELY new to Beautiful Dreamer, an addition of flavor done by minindo himself. The section is impressive in its own right, but its utilized here as another form of tension buildup for the second chorus, whereupon it practically SOARS back into the song with an added heaviness to the volume and mixing compared to the first chorus.

Again - all of this, was for an event where the expectation was One Direction mashups and melodyswaps. Beautiful Dreamer not only fulfills that goal on a baseline level, but manages to be a full-on musical journey, almost as a flex on minindo to show just how good he's gotten from his time on the channel. I don't know for sure WHY he chose One Direction Day to be when he revealed his true power to us all, but I'm immensely happy for it - it, along with a few other What Makes You Beautiful Rips that I may cover in the future, have given me a newfound affection for the song that I didn't know the event would bring me until now. Its the second-coming of the Sean Kingston effect, but with SiIva's most cracked rippers of today at the helm.

[thedawningofthehour]

didn't you say you were making Draxum's house in the sims? Did you ever finish? :(

So I whined about this on my main blog, but I'm having issues with my computer. The power port, and I've noticed this for a while, gets extremely hot whenever I try to run anything more intensive than Powerwash Simulator, and the past few months it's become harder and harder to get it to charge. (I'm not overclocking or anything-I bought this computer for gaming and made sure it had the specs to run shit like my heavily modded Skyrim and Fallout, it should be able to run Sims) I contacted Acer about a repair and they quoted me over eight hundred dollars. The actual computer was about 1200-1300, for comparison. There's other issues with it as well-there's a chip on the screen that's really obvious on a white background, and they advertised that it would support a second hard drive, but it's never recognized the one I bought. The power port is the most grievous though, and power ports on laptops are notoriously hard to repair.

And this computer isn't old. I bought it last spring. Less than a year and a half-and I've barely been gaming on it because I've been writing this, so I spent over a thousand dollars on a turtles fanfiction machine essentially. (there's been other reasons, depression funk caused a complete disinterest in gaming and after so many mass shootings I've started feeling guilty whenever playing games with guns, but writing is mostly what I've been using this expensive gaming PC for) I only had the one-year warranty that came with the computer, but honestly I can't find it in myself to regret that too much because I have never once had a company actually honor a warranty. It's like safety deposits on apartments or insurance claims-they'll do everything they can to weasel out of doing what they're supposed to.

So back to your question-I currently don't trust my computer to run the Sims. Or anything else. And I can afford to buy another gaming PC right now, but it would be financially pretty irresponsible. I returned the tablet I bought to draw with, and I think I'm going to get one of those two-in-one laptop/tablets so I can use it for drawing and writing. Maybe I'll be able to run the Sims 4 on that-it doesn't have to run great, I use it mostly as a building simulator. Kind of sucks though, Crusader Kings 3 came out with another expansion pack and the new Cities Skylines is coming out this fall, plus I've been getting a hankering to play Skyrim again.

But enough about my computer woes, I do think I have some screenshots I could show...

First floor, I apparently took these during the first round of building because I made a lot of changes. The lab is way bigger now, and I have the rest of the house shell done. The blank space in the back right is where I was going to put in the multi-story room where the turtles find the weapons-which is probably the least completed part of the entire house because holy hell the building controls do not want to work with me.

But in the back left you can see Cass and Gale's rooms! :)

I do like how the main hallway turned out. I know it was mostly destroyed on Creation Day, but let's just say Draxum redid it in the same style. The middle picture, that's the little storage room that hides the door to the part of the house where Gale's room is. If you know the Sims you can tell where the secret door is.

And yes, I know the half-walls under the stairs look ridiculous, I've fixed it since then. I couldn't just extend the half-wall all the way back because it would delete the upper staircase, for some reason.

I'm pretty proud of how the living room is turning out. Could be a little bigger, but the symmetry of the bookshelves are just too perfect. (also the curved walls get fussy, FUCK CURVED WALLS) Needs some clutter on the mantle though.

The kitchen no longer looks like this, I moved around a lot of the pictures and added another layer of cabinets, because Draxum probably has like six sets of fine china he's received as gifts throughout the years and refuses to part with. I added more retro-looking décor, because the last time he remodeled this room was in the sixties and I wanted it to look a little old-fashioned. I also imagine he refuses to get an electric stove, saying his mystic wood-burning stove works just fine. I tried to work a pantry in, but it didn't really pan out. (lol) And the more I think about it, he probably has a legit larder somewhere in the basement, since Draxum is from a time before refrigeration and would have grown up storing food in underground cellars. (and he deffo has like several years worth of food stored away, he's pretty much a doomsday prepper)

This is also incidentally the layout of the kitchen at my old house, hence the weird octagon dining area. Except we had windows. With no curtains. In the woods. It was unsettling to cook at night.

Draxum's study is bigger now, and I think I added a fireplace? He absolutely has eight bazillion degrees and awards and he puts them ALL on his wall. He earned that shit, dammit.

His bedroom's nothing to write home about. It's comfortable, not luxurious. There's no electric lights because he prefers candlelight.

Just imagine that white bathroom counter stained with pink splotches from Draxum's hair dye.

I had BARELY done anything with the pool, but as you can see it is indeed a tank. Draxum was planning to keep a mutant or something in there.

I was actually in the process of redoing the entire greenery lol, but I think I did an okay job on 1.0. Not the mason jar lamps though, I'm not sure what I was thinking there.

Some pictures of Lab 1.0. The ooze-vine-thing looks terrible; I straight up haven't even started to recreate it in 2.0. I pushed back Draxum's alchemy area and gave him an actual medical bay in the back, which is where The Table would have been located.

That's mostly Gale's area on the left, I think it still broadly looks this way? I didn't put in stuff like the robotics table because it just looked silly-and besides, we're not actually playing this build. We know Galois only needs two hands and a welder to make a robot.

I will leave you off with a slightly more clutterfied Gale's room! Oh, but also, I GOT PURPLE CC CURTAINS FOR HIM. :D After I took this picture, but just know he has them now. He has no reason to have them because he does not have a window, but I'm happy for him.

[sroloc--elbisivni]

bunnyguard reflection

in the spirit of 'fuckit it's my own blog i can be sappy if i want to' as well as 'this took a year and 78k and i get to keep talking about it for at least one more day' now and here is the time and place for personal yap that did not go in the last author's note.

preliminarily speaking, i had this concept in mind before I'd finished either the usagi yojimbo comics OR watching Rise. i spent so much of both of those series fishing out little moments and choices by leo and usagi that made me go 'oh my god i NEED these guys to meet, i need to watch them bounce off each other.' I kept collecting snips of ideas, and dialogue, and encounters that never quite all panned out or fit together because this was just so much fun for me to play in. I had a lot of wanting to turn this into a real story but no concrete frame to build it on, and then in january i saw the year of the otp prompts go by. and went 'oh haha that looks fun.' it was even the year of the rabbit. and then i went 'oh!! what if i did VIGNETTES for these!!' and then less than three days later the Battle Nexus as political element of the Hidden City, complete with connections to the very different other iteration of it that we'd seen, fell into place and suddenly this silly little whim was an actual big project staring me down with an ambitious goal in mind, and I had no idea if I could pull it off.

structuring it as a month by month thing was something i'd never done before. it forced me to wait to find out what would happen, to keep building to something that didn't exist yet, to lay down the track while I was driving the train. and at the same time, it gave me space to grow, to practice putting together a beginning, middle, and end every month. and it gave me something to look forward to, and the excitement of dropping in threads that wouldn't pay off for months, and watching as it went to see what the audience reaction would be. were people getting out of it the things i wanted to give them? was i hitting the notes i wanted? i had the sketch of the year, but i was still learning what was going to happen until the moment the last word hit the page. plot and character choices, but also big thematic stuff! i described November's fic as 'the ten of swords' to Space and then went 'wait a fucking second' and realized that I could draw a connection, in order, between each fic and a numerical card of tarot's suit of swords. (mostly one-to-one --october straddles 9-10, and December loops us back around to the Ace of swords, for new beginnings.) i couldn't have done that on purpose. if i'd had that thought in january i would have gone 'no that's too pretentious and too hard' and avoided it.

also!! this has been a year of my life!! over the course of this series, i've had four different living situations (that lasted longer than a week), two different jobs, and gone back to school. i had to change meds, which was an anxious ordeal in 'am i even going to be able to focus on anything now?' the cat that was purring on my lap while i worked on the first few months has now passed away. this fic kept me company on the flight for my move to a different continent. it kept me sane in the middle of a very stressful summer. it's helped me meet and get closer to some really cool people. i can FEEL how it's made me a stronger writer.

and on top of all that: i am deeply, genuinely, truly proud of this series. i'm glad i wrote it. i'm amazed at how it's turned out. i can see things i would change if i did it over, but i'm glad i won't be. i'm glad this is the way it exists. and i am utterly blown away that there are people who told me they were looking forward to it every month, that they've been following it since the beginning, that they like what i've done with this place. this is the longest-term project i've ever done. it's the most words i've ever put into a single narrative. i can't believe it's never going on my wip rotation again. whadda hell.

i have no idea if i'll ever do anything like this again. i hope it won't be anytime soon--there are other things i want to do in the meantime. but god, am i glad i did it.

[mochibuni]

Monthly Update - September

Like every month these last few years, I'm always shocked that the next month has come lol. I actually did and didn't meet my traditional art goals last month, and by that I mean I actually did make quite a few pieces with different supplies and I feel that I learned and improved so much. I didn't get as far with watercolors as I wanted, because I found out on my first attempt with them I was vastly unskilled with them and needed even more baby steps! I do plan on revisiting watercolors in the future, so I'll need to pick up a work book for then.

This month I have so many ideas for pieces I'd like to do, as well as get back to ones I started earlier this year. I also joined a mobile wallpaper project which will take some precedence. All the WIPs I've seen have been so nice, I hope you guys like it when it's released!

The main things I'd like to get done before the end of the year, in some kind of chrono order:

1) Snake wallpaper

2) Outers Witches around a cauldron (for Halloween)

3) Triple Moon Goddess

4) Furby Venus

5) New icon and banner

6) Logo work for Vchan

I think this might be a little ambitious of me for the remaining months of 2024 because, and many of you already know this, my physical health is still pretty crap and it just feels worse because it's been so frustrating for me mentally to be less active and having chronic pain. Some days it drives me a little nuts, ngl. I've also been told it's pretty likely my frozen shoulders will be along term recovery since I've already passed the normal recovery time and they aren't improving. The idea of this kind of pain and limited mobility continuing for at least another year is pretty discouraging, so I'm taking the time to give myself more self care and yell at myself when I feel guilty for it.

I've mentioned previously I wanted to do more blog posts and entertained the idea of including reviews and recs on books and other media I've been in to, and that might just become a thing I do since I'm drawing less. These will still be free membership level.

Tarkin's health continues to decline, so streaming is still on hold.

Other than that, the art community feels like it's really taking off on BlueSky. If you're there and want to follow Magical Girl artists, please find my starter pack here for just that purpose: https://go.bsky.app/MvU3rEC Originally posted on Patreon, click here to become a free member!

[pan-magi]

I see that youve been a fan of magi for a long time, how do you cope with the lack of content and pretty much dead fandom? Ive been a long time fan or magi too and ive been trying to get my friends into magi.

Hi, Anon! I guess I have. It doesn't really feel like it though? I got into Magi early 2017 sometime and ran this blog for about 6 months or something until I vanished. This was meant to be my hyperfixation dump blog. The first one was Magi, and it... stayed Magi, lol.

This becomes very long but the tl;dr is Magi was more popular once upon a time and you can track down and return to older stuff with the lack of new content. And be honest to your friends about the ups and downs of what you like or what they could like about the series and keep conversations going with them.

At the time, I'll say Magi content was fairly active. The manga was ongoing but wrapping up, the main anime had ended but Adventures of Sinbad was only a year out or so. It wasn't anything to do with the series of why I left. More so I found new shiny things to focus on -- I had recently graduated college, yes, I'm old -- and fell out of love with tumblr more so than Magi and soon was not producing the content or consuming enough to stay interested in the series after it wrapped.

I'd love to give some great advice to stay interested in less popular series because I feel honored you asked. I can't claim to be good at it myself though. I got back into the series when I was sick late 2021 and binged everything. I re-watched the anime and then reread the manga when I got better.

You can try promoting it to your friends as good binge material. Magi does deal with themes you can sink your teeth into but it isn't super heavy. You don't realize how much you've gone through until you have.

I apologize for such a long answer. Let me try to get to your main point. I don't really think of it as something that's inactive or dead. The anime may be incomplete but the manga is done with. I don't think Ohtaka has much more to say on it, and that's why she has moved on to Orient. The series is wrapped- for better or worse. I'm not here to dissect how good or not the final arcs are. This is long enough and getting off topic XD. If you only have/can watch the anime then that's understandable. Accessibility and availability options are different for manga. For me, knowing the author has a complete version out there in some form and having access to it makes it easier. Content will come and go. Yes, I want more. I at least have a full course meal even if part of the dessert has disappeared into the ether.

Another thing that helps is that Magi is a young series. Not in the age range it appeals to but in how long it has been around. 14-15 years? Baby isn't old enough to drive in most places, lmao. The majority of fandoms I've been in are older or about as old as I am (30s). I am used to droughts in content and things coming in and out of popularity. Both in my ADHD-wired brain and by the fandom at large. I don't mean to say that younger fans are too fickle. As I said, I'm awful at it myself. There's a large gap of time (late 2017-2021) where my interests and priorities were elsewhere. I've only been active in the fandom for a few years at most.

I will say to help out try to explore the backlog of content if you have the chance and haven't already. New fan content may not be the most plentiful. Out of all the fandoms I follow the most relate to Magi and all of the tags are the quickest to breeze through what's new. It's sad. I haven't been active in this fandom for years, and there's stuff in its peak that I haven't gotten around to seeing that is still there for me to find. 14 years may not be that old in the grand scheme of things but that is still a long time for various fan art, fic, and other content to have been put up. If there's not enough new stuff to interest your friends, recommend older stuff you are aware of. Tumblr does not have the best search option and in my experience tags dry up after going back far enough even though I know older stuff exists. That is annoying and don't have a good counter on how to combat it.

Remember the old when you don't have enough new. Cycle through your favorite things at different intervals. Not for Magi specifically, but I reread some of my favorite fic that were over a decade old at the point of me discovering them. Now they're almost twice that age. One day go through one artist's backlog, then the next do someone else's, or read the fic that got you to love the fandom in the first place. If you get tired of older things or seen the same old too often- no worries! You can take a break or watch/read the series again (accessibility or availability again to be determined and yeah that majorly sucks). Scribble your own ideas down, regardless if you want to post them. Scratch that itch for you and no one else.

That is the best advice I can give. Try finding something else you haven't seen before or let yourself enjoy stuff you have. For your friends, this may sound counterintuitive but one thing I do when recommending stuff is give them a heads up as well on stuff they may not like. Like, mine is that I despise Aladdin being a little pervert. I've mentioned before how it turned me off the manga when I first picked it up at random. Don't try to catch them off guard by saying how wonderful something is and leaving out something that may turn them off. In my experience, that leads to annoyed friends. Give them the full picture, with spoilers being whatever you guys agree to, and let the strength of what you enjoy outweigh the caveats they have. Sometimes something is just not for them, and that is okay too. If they do start getting into Magi, keep the conversation up, ask them their favorite or least favorite thing, ship, how annoying and annoyingly charming Sinbad (or anyone) is, etc. Be someone to talk to about it even if they can't find new good shit to enjoy. Be that for each other. I dunno. I don't have friends irl who like Magi. If I did that's what'll I do. *shrug*

I am so sorry for the length and I don't feel as if I have been very helpful. I tried to edit it down and be as concise as I could. I can't do that on short notice or not being able to save drafts on asks. I hope this was a fun anecdotal read at least.