#totally new to posting on this app

[your-gracee]

hello!!! welcome to my blog :)

I'm grace, I'm 23, and I'm just a girl in the world. I love a lot a lot. please feel free to stick around if you like reading, music, thrifting. hello kitty, taylor swift, or just making friends!!

my current (and I fear, eternal) roman empire is the hunger games and everlark and all I do is think about them and listen to spotify playlists that are filled with katniss and peeta coded taylor swift songs and read growing back together fanfics on my kindle that I just recently discovered you can download from ao3. what a game changer, really.

also, josh hutcherson. need I say more?

well anyways, I hope we can be friends!

♡, your grace

[k9isok]

I keeping getting this Danny Phantom au idea that's, like, Danny and Wes, but Lois and Clark from Superman. (I'm thinking about the 1978 movie for specifics if it matters.) The basis for the au is that Danny infiltrates the ranks of the local news reporters to steer away the media coverage on him because it's becoming a threat to his civilian life. In the process he becomes Wes's assistant, but Wes heavily dislikes him and tries to make him leave. They go through a series of wacky hijinks as Danny tries to keep his identity a secret, and Wes eventualy realizes who Danny is and falls in love, but doesn't tell him about either. Some bs happens, major conflict, the BEANS are SPILLED! A little will they won't they, they kiss and live happily ever after, move in, whatever couples do, I've never been in love. In fiction it sounds great, but irl sounds like a hassle. Someone please tell me I'm not being delusional on this. I want to put this on paper, but I'm so terrible at writing, idk maybe I'll take a crack at it. Fanfic authors, it's fair game, but you HAVE to @ me or something I gotta know what you come up with. I have a reach smaller than a pin tack, but a man can dream.

[gifti3]

i have a strong feeling rc is gonna end up down the slop pipeline in a couple years

[itsbebebrainrotting]

Hey so if you're seeing this, this is the start of my queue from last night because I found the absolute WORST time and day to hit post limit. That'll be like. half of what I post this morning lmao.

[rnoonjelly]

experiencing a new addiction (can't stop buying special editions of books I've never read before because Cover Pretty and I get fomo)

[phantomrose96]

If anyone wants to know why every tech company in the world right now is clamoring for AI like drowned rats scrabbling to board a ship, I decided to make a post to explain what's happening.

(Disclaimer to start: I'm a software engineer who's been employed full time since 2018. I am not a historian nor an overconfident Youtube essayist, so this post is my working knowledge of what I see around me and the logical bridges between pieces.)

Okay anyway. The explanation starts further back than what's going on now. I'm gonna start with the year 2000. The Dot Com Bubble just spectacularly burst. The model of "we get the users first, we learn how to profit off them later" went out in a no-money-having bang (remember this, it will be relevant later). A lot of money was lost. A lot of people ended up out of a job. A lot of startup companies went under. Investors left with a sour taste in their mouth and, in general, investment in the internet stayed pretty cooled for that decade. This was, in my opinion, very good for the internet as it was an era not suffocating under the grip of mega-corporation oligarchs and was, instead, filled with Club Penguin and I Can Haz Cheezburger websites.

Then around the 2010-2012 years, a few things happened. Interest rates got low, and then lower. Facebook got huge. The iPhone took off. And suddenly there was a huge new potential market of internet users and phone-havers, and the cheap money was available to start backing new tech startup companies trying to hop on this opportunity. Companies like Uber, Netflix, and Amazon either started in this time, or hit their ramp-up in these years by shifting focus to the internet and apps.

Now, every start-up tech company dreaming of being the next big thing has one thing in common: they need to start off by getting themselves massively in debt. Because before you can turn a profit you need to first spend money on employees and spend money on equipment and spend money on data centers and spend money on advertising and spend money on scale and and and

But also, everyone wants to be on the ship for The Next Big Thing that takes off to the moon.

So there is a mutual interest between new tech companies, and venture capitalists who are willing to invest $$$ into said new tech companies. Because if the venture capitalists can identify a prize pig and get in early, that money could come back to them 100-fold or 1,000-fold. In fact it hardly matters if they invest in 10 or 20 total bust projects along the way to find that unicorn.

But also, becoming profitable takes time. And that might mean being in debt for a long long time before that rocket ship takes off to make everyone onboard a gazzilionaire.

But luckily, for tech startup bros and venture capitalists, being in debt in the 2010's was cheap, and it only got cheaper between 2010 and 2020. If people could secure loans for ~3% or 4% annual interest, well then a $100,000 loan only really costs $3,000 of interest a year to keep afloat. And if inflation is higher than that or at least similar, you're still beating the system.

So from 2010 through early 2022, times were good for tech companies. Startups could take off with massive growth, showing massive potential for something, and venture capitalists would throw infinite money at them in the hopes of pegging just one winner who will take off. And supporting the struggling investments or the long-haulers remained pretty cheap to keep funding.

You hear constantly about "Such and such app has 10-bazillion users gained over the last 10 years and has never once been profitable", yet the thing keeps chugging along because the investors backing it aren't stressed about the immediate future, and are still banking on that "eventually" when it learns how to really monetize its users and turn that profit.

The pandemic in 2020 took a magnifying-glass-in-the-sun effect to this, as EVERYTHING was forcibly turned online which pumped a ton of money and workers into tech investment. Simultaneously, money got really REALLY cheap, bottoming out with historic lows for interest rates.

Then the tide changed with the massive inflation that struck late 2021. Because this all-gas no-brakes state of things was also contributing to off-the-rails inflation (along with your standard-fare greedflation and price gouging, given the extremely convenient excuses of pandemic hardships and supply chain issues). The federal reserve whipped out interest rate hikes to try to curb this huge inflation, which is like a fire extinguisher dousing and suffocating your really-cool, actively-on-fire party where everyone else is burning but you're in the pool. And then they did this more, and then more. And the financial climate followed suit. And suddenly money was not cheap anymore, and new loans became expensive, because loans that used to compound at 2% a year are now compounding at 7 or 8% which, in the language of compounding, is a HUGE difference. A $100,000 loan at a 2% interest rate, if not repaid a single cent in 10 years, accrues to $121,899. A $100,000 loan at an 8% interest rate, if not repaid a single cent in 10 years, more than doubles to $215,892.

Now it is scary and risky to throw money at "could eventually be profitable" tech companies. Now investors are watching companies burn through their current funding and, when the companies come back asking for more, investors are tightening their coin purses instead. The bill is coming due. The free money is drying up and companies are under compounding pressure to produce a profit for their waiting investors who are now done waiting.

You get enshittification. You get quality going down and price going up. You get "now that you're a captive audience here, we're forcing ads or we're forcing subscriptions on you." Don't get me wrong, the plan was ALWAYS to monetize the users. It's just that it's come earlier than expected, with way more feet-to-the-fire than these companies were expecting. ESPECIALLY with Wall Street as the other factor in funding (public) companies, where Wall Street exhibits roughly the same temperament as a baby screaming crying upset that it's soiled its own diaper (maybe that's too mean a comparison to babies), and now companies are being put through the wringer for anything LESS than infinite growth that Wall Street demands of them.

Internal to the tech industry, you get MASSIVE wide-spread layoffs. You get an industry that used to be easy to land multiple job offers shriveling up and leaving recent graduates in a desperately awful situation where no company is hiring and the market is flooded with laid-off workers trying to get back on their feet.

Because those coin-purse-clutching investors DO love virtue-signaling efforts from companies that say "See! We're not being frivolous with your money! We only spend on the essentials." And this is true even for MASSIVE, PROFITABLE companies, because those companies' value is based on the Rich Person Feeling Graph (their stock) rather than the literal profit money. A company making a genuine gazillion dollars a year still tears through layoffs and freezes hiring and removes the free batteries from the printer room (totally not speaking from experience, surely) because the investors LOVE when you cut costs and take away employee perks. The "beer on tap, ping pong table in the common area" era of tech is drying up. And we're still unionless.

Never mind that last part.

And then in early 2023, AI (more specifically, Chat-GPT which is OpenAI's Large Language Model creation) tears its way into the tech scene with a meteor's amount of momentum. Here's Microsoft's prize pig, which it invested heavily in and is galivanting around the pig-show with, to the desperate jealousy and rapture of every other tech company and investor wishing it had that pig. And for the first time since the interest rate hikes, investors have dollar signs in their eyes, both venture capital and Wall Street alike. They're willing to restart the hose of money (even with the new risk) because this feels big enough for them to take the risk.

Now all these companies, who were in varying stages of sweating as their bill came due, or wringing their hands as their stock prices tanked, see a single glorious gold-plated rocket up out of here, the likes of which haven't been seen since the free money days. It's their ticket to buy time, and buy investors, and say "see THIS is what will wring money forth, finally, we promise, just let us show you."

To be clear, AI is NOT profitable yet. It's a money-sink. Perhaps a money-black-hole. But everyone in the space is so wowed by it that there is a wide-spread and powerful conviction that it will become profitable and earn its keep. (Let's be real, half of that profit "potential" is the promise of automating away jobs of pesky employees who peskily cost money.) It's a tech-space industrial revolution that will automate away skilled jobs, and getting in on the ground floor is the absolute best thing you can do to get your pie slice's worth.

It's the thing that will win investors back. It's the thing that will get the investment money coming in again (or, get it second-hand if the company can be the PROVIDER of something needed for AI, which other companies with venture-back will pay handsomely for). It's the thing companies are terrified of missing out on, lest it leave them utterly irrelevant in a future where not having AI-integration is like not having a mobile phone app for your company or not having a website.

So I guess to reiterate on my earlier point:

Drowned rats. Swimming to the one ship in sight.

[yunzyoi]

𝐂𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐌𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 (s.jy)

[NSFW] Can't Help Myself - jake x f!reader

𓂃۶ৎ [ 제이크] You and your boyfriend are very close and both have a very healthy relationship. He's very attentive despite having a busy schedule as an Idol. You always tell each other everything like open books in front of each other. But you keep one secret from him.

٠࣪⭑ cw/tags: smut, dom!jake who likes to tease and sub, needy, desperate f!reader. established relationship. stright up porn, face riding, fingering, masturbation, unprotected sex, rough sex, dirty talk, soft overstimulation, p in v, multiple orgasms, a little humilation? pussy eating, teasing, squirting, fluff, aftercare, mdni, don't read if uncomfortable.

٠࣪⭑cw: 5.5k

where your boyfriend finds out you've been reading unholy things about him! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

୨ৎ

If there was something you loved to do was to scroll on Twitter to see what your boyfriend was doing. It wasn't in a controling way, more in a teasing way. You loved saving certain tweets just to tease him or make fun of him later. Today wasn't the exception. Jake was out with the members, bowling or something, he mentioned in the morning.

You opened the Twitter app as you laid in your bed, having your own fan account and all, with lots of followers and mutuals that would never imagine who's sleeping by your side every single night. You scrolled, interacting with some posts from now and then but nothing really getting your attention. Your stomach flips when you see it: a little ad. an app. an app you knew very well. Tumblr. It brought the memories back immediately and made you bite your lips, nervously, indecisive.

The Twitter app almost closed by itself because of how fast your fingers moved across your screen to find it. There it was, the app that held all your fantasies for years. You closed your eyes. Not only because the thought of it was incredibly embarrassing but because you've had it for a while now, behind Jake's back.

You installed again about a month ago, with a solid, healthy purpose. But oh, when you logged back into your old account and all those fantasies recieved you, you couldn't help it. You read through it, Jake was out that day. Your cheeks burned when you saw all the new filthy things your boyfriend's fans were writting, some accurate, some total delusion, and some a little tempting. But the thing is, you kept doing it, coming back to that app whenever you found yourself alone, sometimes out of boredoom, sometimes just to chill but always ending in the same situation: getting yourself off to fantasies of your own boyfriend.

You scrolled.

Carefully, calculating, keeping it together, for now.

A title catched your attention That Damn Nose. Your stomach did the thing, that delicious little feeling, making you squeeze your thighs togethet. God, you were so embarrassed. But you couldn't help it, you clicked on it, hands a little shaky, and you start reading. You knew you shouldn't be doing it. It was stupid, and you knew you didn't need all this fantasy when the man was literally yours. But your fingers almost moved by themselves.

It happened the same way a month ago, like your hands were possessed. And it kept happened, multiple times after that, just like today. Something would remind you the app was there, that your little fantasies were in that cute little box. All with your boyfriend's name on them. You bite your lip, you miss him.

You keep going, you can feel your own body heating up at the thought of your own boyfriend doing what he was doing in that fanfiction. You whined, softly, almost inaudible, like a prayer, followed by a gasp. You laid back, arching your back a little, your eyes glued to your screen. Shivering, shaking, whining softly. The mere thought of Jake touching you right now burned you from inside out. You squeezed your thighs, fighting it, thinking you could just wait til he was back to seduce him and make him fuck you good without telling him the reason you were so desperate.

But you were way more desperate than you thought. Jake knew this about you, you were so damn sensitive and needy for him. God, you wanted him to be here right now, why was he out with the members anyway. You read a little more, oh the writting was so good and so fucking accurate. That little fan was describing Jake so well, rough but soft, hungry, wild. He was just like that, with you, because he was yours. And it makes you blush even more, the fact that you've been doing this behind his back, for no reason, when he's out, when you miss him, when you need him. Knowing you could just call him, knowing his voice would get you off in seconds.

"God." You whine softly and your hand slides down to your tits, nipples perking, small and soft. "God, Jake—"

You try, you really do try to ground yourself. You could wait, you could just sit there and wait for your man to be back. He'd give it to you with no hesitation. But you're a needy little thing. You can't wait, you can't help yourself. Your hand slides down, before you know it, sliding under the waistband of your shorts and you hiss at the wetness. You're soaked and so are your panties.

So easy, so sensitive, so needy and desperate. No, you can't wait for him, you never can. You need it now. You're halfway the fanfiction, in the middle of the scene where Jake is eating the reader out like a fucking animal, just like you know he would in real life. You arch your back at the tought of it and finally pull your panties to the side, caressing your clit. You moan, loud, no one will hear you.

"Oh, God." You moan again caressing the little bud. You were so wet, so sticky, so perfectly ready for him. You wanted to call him and rush him home, a part of you wanted to wait for him but the needy whore in you just wanted to cum. Your fingers slide down your folds, easily, with a little obscene sound that only turns you on more. Your lashes flicked, wanting to read a bit more. The mere mention of his nose made your stomach flip deliciously again and you shove your fingers in, moaning loud.

Warm, so warm and wet, and thight for him.

"Oh Jake! Yes, yes, yes." You whisper, so fucking lost in the feeling.

You push another finger in, deeper, curling both of them, hitting that sweet spot Jake likes to hit when he's the one using his fingers on you. And again, the memory makes you arch your back, gasping, chocking on a moan. You can't read anymore, your hand is moving desperately, dumbly chasing for that high. Your fingers move fast, deep, desperate, moaning, gasping, dropping your phone and fisting the bedsheets. His name escapes your lips again, and again, and again.

So good, so damn good, not him, but still so good.

"Jake, baby— I miss you." You say desperately, like he could hear you. "Oh, please." You beg, like you always do for him. Imagining his reaction, knowing he goes feral when you beg him to make you cum, when you beg him to move, to go faster, to go deeper. It hits you like a fucking tidal wave. The orgasm. Making your legs shake, cursing through it.

"Oh, fuck!" You say, shaking. You remove your hand from your shorts, fingers wet in your cum and your forearm cramping. "Lord..." You whisper to yourself, staring at the cieling, blushing. "Dumb." You murmur in a whisper, spent, squeezing your legs like your pussy haven’t had enough of it.

Your body tenses when you hear the door open. You have no time to react before Jake is walking in. You quickly hide your phone under your pillow but he sees you, he's fast, he doesn't let anything slide, not with you.

"Hey baby," he says, casual, sweet, lovely, but he can sense something is wrong. He raises an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing, just reading." You try to sound calm, but you know he can hear the little roughness in your throat from moaning his name just monutes ago.

"Yeah?" He hums walking towards the bed. "What were you reading, mmh?" He sits at the edge of the bed looking down at you. You stare back, taking in his pretty features, those brown eyes that are slowly darkening, and those round pink lips, and that damn nose. "I'm talking to you, baby"

You snap out, a knot in your throat. He places his hand on your thigh. Oh, fuck. You shiver, not usual, not if you're in your normal state. He smirks. Oh, he knows, he might not know what you were reading but he for sure knows what you were doing. He knows you too well for your own good.

"Missed me, baby?" He asks, cocky, smirking like he owns you. And he does.

You nod, why would you lie. You know lying to him about this is useless when he can see the way you squeeze your thighs together, how your hips rolled up slightly when his hand moved higher, and that damn blush in your cheeks.

"Oh, my love, doing it all by yourself?" He says, fake pitty. His hand moves a little higher, you gasp and he smirks wider, the corner of his lips curling up in that attractive way that drives you insane.

"Did you cum?" He asks bluntly and you nod. He tsked, disapproval. You know he doesn't like it when you touch yourself all alone. "Without me, baby?"

"I'm sorry" You say softly, feeling small. You knew him, he wasn't gonna let this slide. "I couldn't help it"

"Oh yeah?" His thumb draws circles on your thigh. "You must've been so desperate, baby, so wet, mmh? Like always, so wet for me." And you nod, shamelessly. He had this weird control over you. You couldn't lie to him at all. "What got you so wet, baby?" He asked biting his lip. "What could possible turn my girl in such a little mess when I'm not even home?"

He reaches for your phone under the pillow, almost not giving you time to react but you grab his hand. "Jake" You warn. "Hands off." He warns harder, making you weak, but you keep holding his hand back. "Jake I—"

"I said hands off, didn't I? Mmh?" God he was so strong without getting physically involved.

"Baby, don't, please." You beg, but his eyes are hard on you.

"I'm not gonna ask twice." His voice isn't hard though, it's soft, way too soft and still having a heavy pull on you. You hands weaken a little and his finally reaches your phone, briging it up to his face. Your face burned, God, he was reading it, all the filthy things you had in there. He sticked out his tongue, biting it against his lower lip whike the corners of his lips curled up. Fuck, the view only made your body heat up again.

He hummed, the sound going straight to your pussy, pulsating, making you squeeze your thighs. "Oh baby, you know you could call me when you miss me and I can make you feel good." He chuckles. "Why this instead?"

"I—I couldn't help it." You say softly.

"Just like always." He finishes. "You couldn't help it, you had to get off while reading horny fanfictions about me, huh" He teased, God, you wanted to smack him. "How wet?"

"Huh?"

"How wet are you. I know you're probably soaked, you always are for me." And he was so right. "Let me see" He doesn't let you do anything, his hand is already sliding in your shorts, making you gasp instantly. Silence, like he's in shock, but he isn't really, he's just extremely turned on now. "Jesus. You're fucking dripping." You hiss, because he presses his finger on your entrace through the fabric of your panties.

"Lord, baby, do you want me to eat you out that bad?"

You whine at his words, unable to hold back anymore when his hand is shoved in your shorts and that cocky smirk is on his face. "I asked you a question" His finger presses harder and you arch your back but he uses his free hand to hold your hips down.

"Baby I was just— I'm sorry, I missed you, yes, I—"

"Couldn't help it." He finishes your sentence. "Like the little filthy thing you are for me. Always so wet, not able to walk around me without getting every pair of panties that you own soaked."

You moan. You moan because he was right. You were a mess around him, couldn't control it, he had that effect on you. One look, one slight touch, and your pussy was already soaking your underwear. He knew you, he knew how sensitive and desperate you were and how easy it was to turn you on.

"You still want more." He whispers. "It isn't enough, huh" He leans. Fuck his scent, that damn expensive perfume he recently bought. He notices how he affects you and chuckles mockingly. "You're so pretty when you're this sensitive." He licks his lips, biting them. "I bet you want me to move my fingers" He says it with a mocking tone, teasing you but he doesn't move them. "Oh I bet you want me to shove them inside your precious pussy, mmh? I bet you want them deep, soaked in your own juices"

Your stomach flips at his dirty talk, you loved when he talked dirty. You arch your back again trying to move your hips against his fingers but he doesn't let you. "But do you even deserve that? Do you think you deserve that treatment from your boyfriend when you were jerking off to fanfictions of him?" He drags the words, really driving you insane, you little composure runing out. "I guess you could just read those and get off..."

You hold onto his shoulders gasping softling, almost sobbing. "Jake, baby, don't do this" You beg him like it's the end of the world the fact that he's deciding whether touching you or not. "I just missed you, baby, please, please...I won't do it ever again"

Jake stays silence, fuck he loved to see how down bad youwere for him. There's fire in his eyes. "How desperate" He says, chuckling and leaning lower, his nose nuzzling your cheek. "So cute when you beg"

"Jake—"

"Shhh" He nuzzles your jaw, his hand still in your shorts, not moving, torturing you. "Tell me, out of all those fantasies you got in that app, which one you want me to do the most right now"

Jesus, his question got you literally shaking. He noticed and pressed a kiss to your jaw. "Easy, I'm not doing anything yet"

"Baby— Go down, please" You say, tripping at your words, agitated, needy, digging your nails in his shoulders.

"I do that almost all the time, princess" He says smirking, chuckling.

"Please, Jake, I need it" You beg softly, still feeling his hand in your shorts but not moving it.

"God, you have a thing for it, don't you?" He buries his face in your neck, pressing kisses on your neck, not soft, wet. His tongue draging around that portion of your skin, making you whine. "You love having my face in between your legs, mmh? You love it when my nose and tongue do all the job"

"Jake, please." You beg again. "Please." So soft, so sweet, melting him.

"Fuck, asking so nicely, my love." He says and kisses your chest. "So good for me, mmh?"

You arch your back again. If his dirty talk wasn't enough to turn you on, there was his gentle dirty talk. When he said filthy things in your ear in the most lovely tone, gentle and sweet like he was talking about love. That drove you insane every single time.

Jake moves quick after that, pulling out his hand, his fingers tugging on your shorts and panties, taking them both off in one go. He looked down at how you squeezed your legs.

"Oh look at you" He says, laughing softly. "So fucking desperate"

"Jake—" You're about to beg when he forces your legs open with his hands. Pussy exposed, glistening with your recent orgasm, almost dripping into the bedsheets.

"Jesus" He whispers. His mouth waters, his eyes sparkling. His favorite treat on earth, all messy for him. Right in front of him. "Fuck, baby— Oh God"

If there was something that made Jake weak was your pussy. Jake ate you out like a god. He ate your pussy like it was oxygen for him, like he needed to survive, like an animal, starving, wild, desperate. Just like you had a thing for his nose, he had a thing for your pussy. Perfect match, some would say.

He leans, immediately smelling your arousal, it killed him in the best way. His tongue darts out, hanging, making your legs shake in anticipation. He presses a kiss on your clit, his hair teasing and tickling your thighs. He hums, sending vibrations through your body. You whine softly, his tongue sliding up and down your wet folds. His lips wrap around your clit, already swollen and sensitive from your first orgasm and you let out a sharp moan. Your hand reaching out, your fingers wrapping in his hair.

Jake moans against your pussy, satisfied, like he was the one receiving. He loved eating your pussy. There was not a single time he would refuse. Ever. You arch your back whispering his name breathless when you feel his tongue in your entrace. His tongue goes in. Warm, deep, while his sharp nose presses on your clit. It drives you insane, making you pull on his hair. He groans at the pain that only adds to the preassure building up in his pants.

"I could do this forever" He murmurs, you can barely hear it but you know that's what he said. "Fuck, come here"

Jake pulls back, you can see his hardness in his pants, his cock straining, begging to be freed. But his attention is all on your pussy right now. He pulls you up by your wrist and lays down. You immediately get the hint and crawl on him. He looked so good beneath you. Your heart pounding has you carefully lower yourself. He's too impatient. His tongue darts out, waiting, while his hands go to your hips and his fingers dig in your flesh with such a force that both of you are sure it will leave bruises.

He can't wait, like a starved dog. He pulls you down on him, making you fully sit, putting all your weight on his face. You moan, feeling his nose rub on your swollen clit.

"Oh, Jake—" You moan sharply unable to control the movement of your hips. You start rolling them on his face, grinding, feeling his wet tongue fucking your hole and his nose sliding in between your folds.

You loved riding his face. Something so attractive and sinful in the way he looked up at you while he was laying down. He had a fire in his dark eyes like he wanted to devour you whole. Your hips shift, like a jolt of electricity was cursing through your body. Oh you're so close to mess up that pretty face of his and he knows it because he doubles up his efforts.

His hands hold you down, pressing you against his face and helping you rub. Your moans become sharper, talking a little nonsense, you're at the verge of your orgasm and you forget that what your riding is his face. Your hips move at a desperate rate on his face, not gentle, rough on him, chasing it, until you do and it's the best feeling you both have felt. Your body almost collapses but he rolls you over, staying between your legs and laps up all your cum, licking you clean.

"Fuck, baby, you taste like fucking heaven." He murmurs breathy and presses his face on your pussy. Not moving or doing anything, just resting his face against it like your pussy is his comfort place. You caress his hair a little. He loved that. "You did so good" He says softly and your body shivers at the praise.

He looks up and quickly crawls up your body, hands on each side of your face. He smirks, his chin covered in cum and he kisses you. Deep kiss, charged with feral, primal need. His teeth tease your lips, his tongue darts out licking yours, making you taste yourself and then his lips move to your neck.

"What else?" He asks, his voice rough. "What else have you been reading. Tell me"

You struggle to speak, still shaking from your orgasm. You're embarrassed and he notices. He pulls back, grabbing your chin. "Tell me"

Oh that tone again, so gentke but clearly, so demanding. His hand slides down. "You're such a messy thing" He says grabbing your pussy, cuping it, full hand. And you moan, still sensitive. "God, you really were masturbating to all that? Since when, mmh? For how long?"

"Jake—"

"I'm not mad, baby. I just wanna know for how long has my girlfriend been jerking off to me" He says mockingly.

"A month"

His body tenses, he is mad. The problem wasn't really you reading. More like the fact that you never even once told him you wanted him to do something. What made him mad is how you waited 'till he was gone and ended up like that.

"Why?" Before you could talk he continues. "Couldn't help it? You have no self-control when it comes to me? Not even a little comon sense? You're just a whore for me? Just like that?" His fingers slide between your folders, it's a little torturing, you're beyond sensitive. "I love and hate that thought"

His fingers slide in, easy, you were so wet from your orgasm mixed with new arousal. The way he called you a whore only made you wanna get destroyed by him right there.

"God, the thought of you needing me so bad that you just had to touch yourself..." He says it like it's a fantasy of his. "But why the hell are you doing that, mmh? Never though of telling me?" His fingers move harder. He was mad yet turned on by the thought. You don't even try to understand, that's just how he is. Besides, you're just shaking and whining beneath him.

"You're a fucking mess, you could've told me" He says as he buries his face in your neck while his fingers move roughly. "You know I'd come home and fuck you all night if you asked me to" His fingers just move faster when he hears you moaning loudly. "Fuck" He whispers kissing your neck feeling his hand getting wetter.

You're so stimulated that you can barely think properly. "What a mess" He whispers. "Fuck I swear to God..." His voice sounds rougher, with anger. "I'm gonna fuck you till you forget your own fucking name, you hear me? He asks with a smirk. "I'm gonna fucking ruin you tonight"

That's all you needed for you to explode. You hold onto him, scratching his back through his clothes. Your pussy explodes, squirting all over him, yourself, and the bed. You cry out a moan, teary eyes, unable to stop and he covers your mouth, not to shut you up but to demonstrate how much power he had over you. Then he presses a kiss on your forhead.

"I'm gonna fuck you so good, baby" He whispers pulling back, Hands to his pants. You pant, he's not letting you catch your breath. His pants are off in seconds followed by his shirt. The view of his bare body in front of you made your pussy throb again, hips rolling up unconsciously. "Fuck, you're such a whore" He whispers and you love it.

"Oh, Jake" You moan and he chuckles.

"You love that, don't you? When I call you a whore" He leans down, his naked body pressing against yours. "Isn't that what you are, darling? A little whore who can't help it but get wet at the mere existence of her boyfriend"

You moan at his words and he bites his lips, hand back in your pussy. You shake, you don't think you can handle it again if he doesn't even let you recover first. "Say it" He whispers, thight circles on your sensitive clit. "Say you're just a fucking whore"

You cry out, moaning, mumbling, his fingers press harder. And you nod dumbly. "Yes, yes, baby, I am" You moan. "I'm a whore for you, baby, yes, yes"

Jake nearly cums at your words and leans to kiss your cheek, it's a tender kiss compared to the way he's treating you right now. "Want me to fuck you, darling? You sound so desperate, of course you do. You can't wait"

You moan when he opens your legs settling between them and his hard cock slides up your folds. You moan again, this time scrating his back. Jake hisses in pain and it just adds to the pleasure. He buries his face in your chest, grabbing one of your breats in his big hand and taking the other one in his mouth. You arch off the bed as he starts rocking his hips, getting his length soaked in your slick.

"Fuck, you're so wet" He murmurs nibbling on your nipple and leaving dark marks around it.

"Jake, Oh my God" You moan, feeling desperate to have him inside. "Jake, baby"

"What?" He says roughly but instinctively kisses your neck softly again, like he can't allow himself to be that harsh with you. "Can't wait? Want me to shove it in already?

"Please"

That shaky, teary plea is all it takes for him to take his cock in his hand and shove it inside you in one go, almost leaving you with no air in your lungs. He gasps too, your warmness wrapping around him in such a prefect way. He buries his face in your neck as he starts thrusting, deep and slow at first. His movements making you scream immediately scratching his arms.

"Oh, fuck" You whine, unable to form coherent words at the moment and he smirks against your skin.

"You like that?" He aks and purposely starts thrusting harder, his hips smacking against yours now and all you can hear in the room is the sound of skin crashing against skin and littke cries mixed with gasps.

He doesn't really let you talk, he's going hard, still a little mad. Jake doesn't usually goes so hard on you, but God he can feel his blood boiling whenever he remembers you just choose not to tell him whenever you were needy. He'll show you how good he can make you feel. "After tonight, you better fucking delete that app"

You feel like he's breaking your body from the way he's fucking you. His hips slam against yours, relentless, and you just hold onto him, letting him absolutely deatroy you. Because it doesn't really matter how hard he was going, you liked it, you know you'd let this man destroy you all night if he decides so. You hold onto his arms feeling your orgasm fluttering closer, making you moan louder, his name joining the mix of noises that fill the room and with one last thrust your body shakes beneath his, orgasm hitting like a tidal wave.

"Ahgh fuck" You manage to say before Jake pulls back. He doesn't pull out, he kisses you deeply. Feral, wild, his teeth taking your lower lip in between them, making you whine. Then he pulls back completely, sitting down and grabbing your hips, lifting them off the bed. "Jake!" You scream when he starts thrusting again. The angle only making it easier for his cock to go deeper. "Jake—"

"You can do it" He groans, his hair stuck on his sweaty forehead. "You're gonna take it" His fingers dig in your hips painfully while he thrust into you.

Your body rocks back and forth at the rythm he ser while your tits jiggle. Jake's eyes focus on them, his heart rate increasing at the view and his hands aching to grip them. And he does, his hands gripping your tits hard while he keeps fucking into you like an animal. You scream scratching his arms. "Jake, baby I ca—"

"You can" He whispers, breathless. "You're gonna take it like the fucking whore you are for me"

And there you go, cumming again at his simple words. Squirting on his cock, making a mess of his lower body. His hands lands on your neck, you moan. He never does that, he doesn't like it, but he knows you do. Your eyes roll back into your head as you try to get yourself together. His hips twitch, he isn't done. You moan, knowing he can least long as hell. It excites you and scares you at the same time. He leans down for another wild kiss before pulling out and turning you around effortlessly. Face down, ass up.

He looks down. Your pussy looks like a mess and it makes him wanna bury his face in it but he holds back on that and shoves his cock back in. His hands on your hips while his start moving again. You moan against the bed, so fucking wrecked that you feel like you'll lose your mind at any second.

"Fuck, you're a mess, God, I kove it" he says lost in the feeling of the orgasm that's about to hit him. He holds back, just wanting to wreck you a little more. His hips move relentlessly, and he leans forward, hand in your lower back, pressing you down on the bed. He groans at the noise your pussy makes with every thrust he gives.

"Fuck, Jake I can't—" Your legs shake again, you're over the edge, way too ovestimulated. "Baby, please! Please" You beg, only pushing him closer to his orgasm. He leans forward, his chest pressed against your back.

"Fuck, baby, I love when you beg, you sound so fucking wrecked" He murmurs, his voice weak, he's about to cum. "Cum again, darling, I know you can do it" He says against your ear. "One more for me, princess"

Oh the way he suddenly started talking gentler, he's definetly back to himself. He can't keep up that dominant attitude forever, not when he's a softie for you. You cum, at the way he keeps whispering you to do it in that needy tone. He's waiting for you do it so he can let go. You moan softly against the bed, he grips your hips thighter when you cum, feeling how you shake. Tears roll down into the bedding from the intensity. And finally, he gives in, cumming inside you. You feel his cock twitching inside, thick cum filling you up for way too long.

Jake falls down next to you, eyes still trying to focus because he can't see anything at all. You sob against the bed, no energy to even turn around. You're wrecked, shaky, overstimulated and your body can't really take anything more. Jake's heart drops when he hears you sob, and he immediately pulls you closer. You sob against his chest, not that you didn't enjoy, but you enjoyed way too much. He kisses the top of your head.

"Shhh, you did so good, baby" He whispers reassuringly. "It's okay, I'm here, I've got you" He hugs you thighter and smiles when you start calming down. "That's it, that's my girl"

You whine softly against his chest and try to move closer searching for that comfort that he always provides you. Jake caresses your back, drawing soft circles in it and pulls back a little.

"You okay?" He asks and smiles at your little nod. "That's my girl" He whispers.

"I'm sorry for not...telling you" You whisper softly and he just shakes his head.

"Shh, just get rid of it" He whispers comforting you. "I'm not mad at you, baby, I just love you so much and I hate that you didn't even tell me whenever you needed me"

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I didn't aither"

୨ৎ

Jake is humming a song while caressing your stomach. You're lying on your back, with your phone in your hand right after unstalling the app. He kisses your shoulder softly, looking at your screen while you do other stuff on your phone. He nuzzles your shoulder and you smile knowing he's for sure back to being sweet and lovely and unable to hold back his love for you and his need to be touching you even in a non-sexual way.

"Baby" He says softly but serious. You hum indicating him to continue. "I'm serious, tell me when you feel needy, I'm here for you, I will never deny you anything. Even if I'm out, I'll fucking run back home if you need me to"

You chuckle. "I guess I didn't wanna disturb you when you were out with the boys"

Jake groans. "Baby I'll go to the end of the world and back for you, stop messing with me."

You feel like your heart is going to explode at his words and you just turn around and kiss him softly. His lips quickly following your rythm. A slow loving rythm as his body settles back on top of you and you let him. Because even if you're tired, you'd do anything for him, you'd let him ruin you over and over again. He places gentle kisses on your neck and whispers, leaving a fuzzy sensation within you. "One more?" And you nod against his neck making him giggle. "You got it, love"

© yunzyoi 2025. all rights reserved.

[joelsgoldrush]

“give me the first taste” | 10k

logan howlett x f!reader

part 2 of “GUILTY PLEASURE”

"Your hungry flirt borders intrusion / And I'm building memories on things we have not said / Full is not heavy as empty, not nearly, my love / Give me the first taste / Let it begin, heaven cannot wait forever / Darling, just start start the chase, I'll let you win." The First Taste by Fiona Apple

SUMMARY: From the moment you first laid eyes on Logan, you knew he was a tough nut to crack. But if there’s one thing you love, it’s a challenge. As your relationship grows, you’re determined to show him that, in this universe, he can also be loved.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. angst. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. age-gap (reader is 25). once again wade saves the day. domestic!logan. soft dom!logan. logan calls reader “kid”. they watch (500) days of summer. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering. thigh riding. thumb sucking. throat fucking. multiple orgasms. unprotected p in v. creampie (i would say i’m sorry but i’d be lying)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: jeez. hi guys!!! hope you’re doing alright. this is the 2nd part to “guilty pleasure.” writing for these two has been a total rollercoaster, but god was it worth it. as i always tell you, english isn’t my first language, so if you come across any mistake and you feel like letting me know, there’s no problem. thank you so much for all the support you’ve been giving my posts. i’m happy strangers out there take the time to read my silly stories :)

A girl and a mutant walk into an apartment…

Actually, you’re still trying to come up with the rest of the joke. But one thing’s true: Logan’s about to set foot in your place.

You curse under your breath, putting both your hands to work as you struggle to open the door. “Fucking swollen wood. I hate humidity,” you mutter, glancing back at Logan, who frowns as you keep trying different maneuvers to get the door to function properly.

It’s a shitty situation overall. And having that gorgeous man practically glued to your back isn’t helping in any way. You can tell he wants to give you a hand, but you’re not having it—women in STEM or something of the sort.

“May I—” he starts, though you cut him off before he can finish.

“I’ve got this. Just need to—” you say, ramming your shoulder into the door with enough force to make it finally give away. Almost stumbling over the carpet but managing to catch yourself, you sigh in relief. Meanwhile, Logan stands still, scrutinizing you until you gesture for him to enter. “Welcome to the smallest apartment in New York City. It's nothing fancy, but it’s got everything you need for a comfortable stay on a budget. Make yourself at home!”

Logan narrows his eyes, the tiniest smirk playing on his lips before stepping inside. Each of his movements seems to be premeditated as he tosses his jacket onto the couch, surveying the room. A portrait of when you were a kid, probably six or seven years old, catches his attention. He tilts his head, picking up the picture to examine it more closely, and then flashes you a lopsided grin. “How cute.”

“Well, I’ve changed a lot,” you take the picture from his hands, returning it to the shelf where he had gotten it from. 

“Well,” he echoes, mocking your tone, “your beauty certainly hasn’t.”

His eyes bore into you as you meet his gaze. What amazes you most is that he’s being completely honest. In a heartbeat, you look away, wondering what’s gotten into you. Usually, you’re not this awkward—you’ve learned how to take compliments over the years, knowing how to smile just right, to flutter your eyelashes. To blush and giggle in command. Those were the tools that helped you to survive countless first dates—your dearest aces up your sleeve.

There’s no use denying that they remained just that: first, failed dates. You hope you never have to go back to dating apps after this.

“Are you hungry? ‘Cause I’m starving,” you say, trying to walk away from him, although he’s faster, catching your hand in his. 

“Hey,” he urges you to make eye contact with him, his voice perplexingly soft. “Is everything okay?”

You nod so vigorously that you nearly strain your neck. “I’m fine, I swear. I just never get past this point.”

Inching closer, he presses his lips together for a split second, his brows furrowing in confusion. “You lost me there.”

“Guys who come into my apartment don’t tend to call back,” you admit, a flush creeping up your face, cheeks getting hotter. “I happen to believe it’s a curse, though I’ve kissed, like, a hundred toads so far and it still won’t break.”

“So y’think you’re gonna scare me off,” he raises an eyebrow, grinning. His rough fingers become gentle as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s sweet. Should be the other way around.”

Wow. You two are a match made in heaven.

As you detach yourself from his embrace and head to the kitchen, you decide to look for something edible in the fridge, finding different trays of food from days ago, none of which look appetizing or suitable for feeding the Tin Woodman standing behind you.

All of a sudden, the unmistakable metallic sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing rings in your ears, forcing you to spin around. The image that unfolds before you is peculiar, to say the least: he’s cornering your cat against the door.

Why is he about to fight a cat?

“Please don’t kill him?” you take a step in his direction and scoop the little ball of white fur into your arms. Logan stares at both of you, eyes squinted and brows knitted. “I’m sure he’s the cutest feline you’ve ever seen. Have mercy on him.”

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“Earnest wasn’t aware of your existence either,” you reply, scratching along the animal’s back. He purrs beside your neck, his yellowish eyes never leaving Logan’s. “Earnest, this is Logan. He has claws just like you.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to that,” Logan warns you, retracting his claws with a sigh. You can’t help but wonder if he ever feels tranquil, at peace. “Y’know, you’ve doomed him to bad fortune with that name. Is he at least toilet trained?”

“Are you hating on The Importance of Being Earnest?” you ask, expecting a retort, though apparently the play’s title doesn’t ring a bell for him. “Oscar Wilde?”

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, kid?”

Now’s your time to roll your eyes, setting the cat down and letting it run away. He likes to hide in the bathroom—don’t ask why, because not even you know the answer to that. You flick your gaze up back to Logan, placing your hands on your hips. “See, you gave him trust issues.”

“He’ll survive. Don’t they have seven lives?”

This is the perfect conversation to have with someone who just ate you out thirty minutes ago: how many lives do cats have. Jesus.

At some point, Logan flops onto the couch, stretching out. You shudder as you hear him crack his neck, the popping sound getting on your nerves. He pats the empty side of the sofa, spreading his thighs until he’s almost taking up all the space. “Come here.”

Putting aside all your thoughts, you accept the invitation. You sit down, motionless, and his arm grazes the cushion behind your head, pulling you closer to him. You rest your cheek on his chest, letting out a deep sigh, one that you’ve been holding in since you got to the apartment. Is it possible that he knows you craved this? This proximity, this kind of affection. To be held—it’s been your only wish for months. He drums his fingers on your shoulder blades, then starts rubbing your back ever so lightly.

Far from dozing off, you feel alive.

It’s hard not to lose track of time and space when you find yourself immersed in the warmth he offers, and that’s when you realize how deeply you’re falling for this man. “Logan?” the mere thought of asking him what’s been on your mind terrifies you. The last thing you want is to ruin things—or whatever it is that you have. He hums, a low, heavy sound in his throat, indicating you to continue. “I have a question.”

“Ask away.”

You lift your face from his chest and look him in the eye. The city’s still alive outside, with music and chatter sneaking in through the window. Everything seems to be perfect, and you wish you could stay like this—just staring at him as if he were a painting in a museum, and you the critic who can’t stop writing articles about its beauty.

Okay, that was… weirdly specific. 

Logan tries to hide his smile as you peck his lips repeatedly. For a moment, you almost forget what you were going to ask him in the first place. But then he’s ready to listen, and you a wave of nausea washes over you.

“I know that we came here to… engage in adult practices.”

“Fucking, you mean.”

“I didn’t want to be that straightforward, but yeah,” you say, shaking your head as to rearrange your thoughts. “Would you mind if we stayed like this?” to emphasize your point, you kick your shoes off and put your legs on top of his lap. He observes the whole sequence without daring to utter a word. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to try that too. I truly do. But… right now, all I want is to cuddle,” he’s still silent, making you even more nervous. “I’m sorry. Is that okay with you?”

His whole body engulfs yours, your cheek coming to rest once again in its original position. You can feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, each breath he takes, the air he exhales dampening your nape. Logan peppers your neck with chaste kisses before pressing his lips to your temple. His voice comes out strained, partially muffled by your hair. “Who do you take me for, huh?” he’s right there, beside your ear, fucking everywhere. There isn’t a single centimeter of your exposed skin that he isn’t touching, marking as his. You don’t give him an answer, in part because you’re unsure of what to say. He takes your silence as a cue to keep talking. “Let me take you to bed.”

“I can walk on my own.”

“I know,” he mutters, standing up with you in his arms, one arm beneath your knees and the other one under your shoulders. Logan’s not used to being this cautious, this patient with someone he’s known for less than two weeks. You see it in his eyes when he lets his guard down—something that has cracked, a shell that’s been broken.

As he places you gently on top of the covers, he lingers for a moment, crouching beside the bed and searching for your lowered gaze. His fingers are warm as he tilts your chin up. “I didn’t come here just to have sex with you. That was a possibility, of course—but it’s not the main reason why I’m here,” he rasps, words accompanied by the light brush of his lips against yours for a quick, brief kiss. “I care about you. A lot. I’m fine with whatever we do as long as I get to be close to you,” he grabs your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He then goes back to his usual bossy self, his demeanor changing. “And I don’t want to hear you apologizing for not wanting to have sex ever again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now you’re making jokes?”

“I can’t have serious conversations,” you confess, observing the look of pure confusion on his face. “It’s true. I once spoke at a funeral and they cut me off forty seconds into my speech.”

Logan laughs at your sudden confession, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Rising to his feet, he begins to unbutton his flannel, pausing after the first few buttons are undone, waiting for your approval. “Do you want me to stay tonight?” 

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is what I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

His words don’t hide any real threat—that you know.

You stifle your laughter, shedding your clothes. Instead of going to the bathroom to change, you toss your work clothes carelessly to the floor, opting for an old pair of pajamas that are the complete opposite of sexy. They surely have seen better days.

Logan’s eyes trail over you, taking his time to analyze the faded lettering on your wrinkled shirt. “Keep calm and eat pizza?” he reads aloud.

“Hey. I bought it when I was seventeen.”

“You could use a new wardrobe.”

“Well, what about you?” you tease, toying with his belt. “You’re gonna sleep like this in my bed?”

“Can’t wait for me to get my shirt off, huh?” he grins, that all-too-familiar smile on his lips.

You play along, folding your arms over your chest. “You think so highly of yourself.”

Without breaking eye contact, Logan unbuckles his jeans, letting them pool around his ankles. He then shrugs off his flannel, leaving him in just his briefs and vest. You scan his body, and the room suddenly feels a hundred degrees hotter, the air between you thickening. Logan notices your reaction, chuckling. “Don’t get too excited. This is all you’re getting today.”

“I think I’ve already heard that before.”

“Kid.”

You raise your hands in surrender, showing him your palms and mouthing ’sorry’. Approaching your bed, you pull back the covers and slip into it. When you see Logan still standing there, you frown. “Where are your manners? Come here. I’m very impatient.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t make you wait long. He proceeds to get under the sheets beside you, occupying that side of the bed that’s always been empty. As you both settle in, facing each other, you can’t help but giggle, your contagious laugh getting to him. “What now?”

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the bridge of his nose with your index finger, a featherlight touch that has him closing his eyes. In the soft glow of the night, with the city’s distant sounds filtering in, he looks breathtaking. “I mean it.”

“Do you have an off switch?”

“I’m… not sure. Let’s find out tomorrow.”

“You need to sleep,” he pulls you onto his chest with firm but gentle hands. He intertwines his legs with yours, holding you close.

“Wait. I have a game to play.”

“It’s late.”

“Please?”

He sighs. “Okay.”

“We have to make confessions until we fall asleep.” 

“You just want to talk—that doesn’t even qualify as a game.”

“It does in this universe,” you reply, feeling his chest rumble with a chuckle as you settle more comfortably against him. “I’ll start: remember the first night you came to the bar?” he hums in acknowledgment. “It wasn’t Burger Night. We don’t serve food. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

He kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I knew. You don’t have a kitchen down there, baby,” he falls silent, taking his time to come up with a confession of his own. “I have a fear of flying.”

“Really? You, of all people?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be judged.”

“Oh, don’t be such a crybaby,” you tease, burying your face further into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He shivers slightly where your nose touches his skin. “I like you. It’s kind of scary, and I’m sure saying something like this probably goes against the rules of dating 101, but I do. I feel safe with you, like—like this is where I’m supposed to be.”

Almost as if the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together, you think to yourself, though the words stay unspoken.

You’ve come to learn that Logan’s not a man of many words—he’s more of the “show, don’t tell” kind of guy. So when he makes you lift your face, you’re not surprised by the way he kisses you: hungrily. Passionately, like a starved man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. A soft whimper gets lost somewhere in your throat as his tongue makes its way into your mouth, languidly stroking yours.

“We didn’t brush our teeth,” you whisper against his lips, laughing when he groans in exasperation.

“You love having the final say, don’t you?”

“I’m being serious, Logan. Cavities are a real issue for me.”

“You can always get new teeth.”

“But my morning breath—”

“It’ll stink anyway, and so will mine,” he responds, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat once he settles into his ideal sleep position. “Good night.”

“Night,” you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his neck. Despite your efforts to ignore it, being cradled like this feels incredible. You can’t believe you went twenty-five years without it.

Just as you’re about to drift off, curiosity strikes. “Can you get tattoos?”

“Bub, I was actually falling asleep.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry,” you mumble, feeling a bit sheepish.

More silence.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“What was the Great Depression like?”

“Fuck me,” he mutters, his voice gruff as he shifts lightly. “It was fine. Now go to sleep.”

And you do, but not for long. An abrupt coldness wakes you up, eyes wide open, feeling disoriented. It’s still pitch black outside, far quieter than when you first fell asleep. The clock on your nightstand reads it’s 3:17 am, though it feels like you’ve only been in bed for five minutes.

Then you see him—he’s twitching in his sleep on the far side of the bed, his painful grunts reaching your ears. Most of what he says is unintelligible, but there’s one word he keeps repeating over and over again without fail: “No.”

You don’t usually have nightmares. What’s the best way to wake someone from one? You’re still thinking when he starts mumbling again, his voice thick with distress, and now he’s throwing his arms in the air as if he were fighting off something—or someone—in his dreams.

Pressing your hands to his cheeks, you attempt to hold his face steady. He clenches his fists, his breath quickening the more he battles whatever’s haunting him. “Logan,” you whisper at first, subtly shaking his shoulders, but his eyebrows stay furrowed, deep in his nightmare. This time, you tighten your grip, fully sitting on top of him. “Logan. Logan! Wake up!”

Without warning, you’re on your back, pinned against the mattress. Logan’s straddling your hips, caging you in with his body, the weight of his adamantium skeleton pressing down. Your hands are trapped beneath his, and you watch as he clenches his jaw, teeth bared in a way that looks painful. His eyes are so dark and wild you barely recognize him, prominent veins throbbing in his neck with each labored breath he takes.

“Logan,” your own voice sounds unnatural, forced, as you do your best to bring him back to reality. “It’s me. You’re alright.”

That seems to get through him. Logan stares at you in disbelief, his eyes softening as they take in your terrified expression. He abruptly pulls away, retreating to the nearest wall. He’s gasping for air, slamming his eyes shut, his legs trembling. The only sound you can hear is his rapid breathing. You get up from the bed, taking a step in his direction, but you don’t manage to go any further since he stops you with a shout.

“Stay right there!” he’s growling, pointing his finger at you. “I’m serious. Don’t come any closer.”

“Logan…”

“Please, no!” his voice increases in pitch, not being able to meet your eyes. “Please. Just stay there.”

You comply, not wanting to upset him any further. Sitting back on your knees, you try to appear calm. A man so strong, capable of things you can’t even understand. A weapon turned against himself now stands before you, pushing you away as if his presence were poisonous. He slumps to the floor, the fabric of his vest soaked with sweat.

Once he’s fully conscious, you cautiously crawl toward him, watching his every move. On a random day, this might have been funny for both of you, but right now, there’s no room for laughter. Logan shakes his head, his shoulders tensing when you reach out to hug him, wrapping your arms around his broad frame. It takes him a couple of minutes, but eventually, his body sags against yours. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just thread your fingers through his hair, hoping the closeness will help soothe him. “Feeling better?” you whisper in the shell of his ear, and he pulls back to look you in the eye. You caress his cheek, his stubble rough against your skin. “Welcome back.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he says, covering your hand with his. One by one, he kisses your knuckles, still shaking his head. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You had a nightmare—it’s not like you could control it.”

“But I could’ve hurt you,” he says, lowering his gaze to your wrists, where his fingerprints have left their mark. “God. I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

“Wait!” you grab his arm, your mouth setting in a hard line, stopping him from leaving. “Don’t run away from me, not now. Don’t push me away, Logan.”

“I could’ve done something much worse.”

“But you didn’t. It was a nightmare, baby. You didn’t know,” you kiss his forehead, hoping to talk some sense into him. “Please, stay. Let’s try to get some more sleep.”

“What if—”

You hold his face close to yours, your noses brushing. “You won’t hurt me.” 

This time, he lets you keep him close, the roles now reversed. You can see him fighting his exhaustion, not wanting to fall asleep. But the more you play with his hair, the harder it is for him to stay awake.

“I’m alright,” he says, seemingly reading your mind. It’s hard to tell whether he’s reassuring you or himself.

“I know,” you knead his shoulder, aiming to ease the tension knotted there. “You better sleep, or I might start rambling again.”

A faint, tired hum escapes him, at long last allowing his eyes to close. “I like hearing you talk,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your collarbone, drifting off soon after that.

You continue to hug him, feeling the weight of his body gradually relax against yours as his breathing evens out. The room is quiet, but your mind is far from it: a tornado of emotions swirls within you—concern, relief, love, and something else you can’t quite decipher. It isn’t until sleep finally claims you too that your brain stops going a hundred kilometers an hour.

The most surreal Sunday night of your whole life.

“So… when will you let me see Lolo again?”

Wade’s question makes you stop mid-pour, flicking your eyes between the drink and him. A few seats away, you hand a glass to Adam. Returning to where Wade’s currently sitting, you dry your hands on your apron. “Why are you even here?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, and he gives half a shrug. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t holding him against his will.”

“He’s been crashing at your place almost every night. You have your own methods, woman,” he raises one finger, then quickly adds another, pointing at your shirt. “Two methods, in fact.”

At that, you laugh mirthlessly, shaking your head with a grin. “I’m surprised anyone would willingly date you.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts, taking a tentative sip of his beer and leaning back in his chair.

You glance at him while you wipe down the bar, looking for something to occupy your hands. “He’s not my boyfriend—yet.”

Wade mimics a punch in his chest, just where his heart’s supposed to be, though you’re starting to question whether he has one. His lips form a small, exaggerated pout. “That must hurt, doll. You got yourself into a situationship with a goddamn fossil. Good luck getting out of that.”

“It’s not that bad,” you say, rolling your eyes. “We’re cool this way. There’s absolutely no need for a title.”

“Okay, let’s rehearse that one more time because you look like you’re about to cry,” he lifts an eyebrow, drawing nearer. “You want the title, right?”

“I don’t.”

He props his chin on his hand, laughing at you. “Yes, you do. You can’t fool me.”

“I said I don’t.”

“I said I don’t,” he mocks you, kicking his legs and puckering his lips.

You can’t help but throw the towel down on the counter with irritation, giving in. “Okay! Of course, I want the fucking title.”

“There she is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in a triumphant gesture. “Glad we’re speaking the truth now,” he tilts his head to the side, noticing your sudden silence. “Hey, drop the long face. I’m sure he’s been thinking about it. In order to understand Logan, I usually compare him to elders over ninety.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask, your tone a mix of mild annoyance and curiosity.

“Just think about it! Senior citizens didn’t date for too long in the past. They’d go straight from strangers to lovers. Take my grandparents, for example: in the span of one year, they met at a party, then got married, and had five kids. Do you really want to have a litter of Logan’s grumpy, hairy puppies?”

“Wade, that’s not even possible.”

“The point is,” he continues, finishing his beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Logan’s rusty in this area, alright? I’d bet a thousand dollars he probably dated Cleopatra.”

“How did you pass History in high school?”

“I never graduated, but keep that between us,” he lifts his shoulders, shrugging. He spins the empty bottle, contemplating his next words. “You should tell him how you feel and what you want. That’s what works best for Vanessa and me. It’s easier that way—you can’t expect him to just guess.”

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I just wish he’d realize it on his own.”

“Well, sometimes you need to give the other person a bit of guidance. I’m just laying out the basics of a relationship here. Did your parents hate each other or something?”

The irony of it all. “They got divorced when I was little.” 

“Oh, god,” Wade sighs, rubbing his temples before glancing at you. “Let me get this straight: Mommy and Daddy weren’t exactly the poster children for love. And you also happen to be a bartender. Anything else, honey? Please tell me you’re at least getting laid, because otherwise, I’m going to feel tremendously sorry for you and your mental health.”

Just then, you hear your name being called. Smiling at Wade, you mumble: “Saved by the bell.” Once you’re back from taking some orders, Wade jumps to his feet, coming around the counter to hug you.

“Dude, what’s the matter with you?” you ask, loosely returning the hug. 

“You’re a fucking survivor,” he whispers in your ear, genuinely sounding concerned. “I don’t know how you do it—you seem so put together. I would’ve lost it by now. A life without sex sounds awful.”

“Jesus, Wade! Get off!” you stretch your arm to punch him in the back, earning a groan from him. “Back to your seat, gentleman. I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“I’m a certified sexologist. Your secret’s safe with me,” he declares with a smirk, gesturing to his empty beer. “But first, I’m gonna need more of this tasty apple juice.”

“I hope you’ve got some cash on you,” you say, getting him another beer. “Why do I get the feeling Logan would kill us if he knew we’re talking about this?”

“Isn’t that what makes it even better?”

Swaying on your feet, you scrunch your nose, momentarily lost in thought. “He won’t let me touch him. I don’t know if it’s me that does something wrong. We do have our… moments, but he takes care of himself. And usually in the bathroom.”

Wade goes white in front of you. “How long has this been going on?”

“Over a month.”

“Oh. That’s bad, like, really bad.”

“Thanks! I’ll be sleeping on the highway tonight. You can always join me.”

“Doll, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, alright?” he waves his hand dismissively, then sets his palms flat on the counter. “I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but talking to him is your best bet. This isn’t something you can just brush under the carpet. You’re like a goddamn radio—put it to good use.”

Just as you’re about to reply, you spot Logan entering the bar. You raise a hand in greeting, waving at him. He meets your gaze and smiles briefly, and so your eyes drift to Wade’s, shooting him a warning look. “If you keep this to yourself, I won’t charge you for today,” you mutter through gritted teeth, to which he answers by pretending to zip his mouth closed.

Logan takes a seat next to him, ignoring his presence. Instead, he focuses entirely on you. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey, homey.”

“Hiya, Wade,” Wade greets himself with a mock cheer, patting his own back, which makes you laugh. He turns to Logan and his whole face lights up. “I’m afraid to tell you I can’t sleep when you’re not around.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Get your shit together.”

“You’re the worst roommate ever! Can’t believe you got yourself a girl and completely forgot about your bro,” Wade murmurs under his breath, just as his phone rings. “Thank God. I’ve got to go. My love nugget’s calling,” he announces, heading for the door. Before leaving, Wade blows the two of you a kiss. “I hate you both, but I also love you. Peace out, my friends!”

Logan and you exchange glances. “He’s a funny guy, isn’t he?”

“You could say that,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. Logan intends to deepen the kiss, but you pull away after a couple of seconds. He frowns, clearly confused. “That’s how you greet me?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle. “My tip jar is practically empty, and I hate to say it, but it’s your fault.”

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“Oh, no.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not,” he plants a quick kiss on your cheek, making you smile. “You have classes tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, at 9 am,” you almost grunt, not feeling too enthusiastic about it. “I’m gonna need your help. I can’t sleep through my alarm, okay? The professor said tomorrow’s class is an important one. Midterms are right around the corner, and I can’t take the liberty of failing them.”

“That won’t happen,” he assures you, and you believe him. “I can be of help, don’t worry. You won’t oversleep.”

Oh, Logan. Sweet, lying Logan.

Turns out you ended up oversleeping. Twenty-five years on this earth, and you still haven’t learned not to trust a man, even if his puppy-dog eyes silently beg you to do otherwise. The thing is—you love them. You love men. And you’re especially fond of the one currently sleeping in your bed.

The first rays of sunshine hit your face, waking you up. You attempt to raise a hand to shield your eyes, but moving any limbs feels like a Herculean task. A warm body is pressed against your back, one veiny arm draped over your stomach. Logan remains fast asleep behind you, his steady breathing succeeding in making you feel at ease. You reach back, running your fingers through his messy hair, and he grumbles in his sleep, instinctively pulling you closer.

What a nice, domestic morning. Yep, you’re getting used to this. And nope, you don’t regret it, not even in the slightest bit.

Though there must be a mistake, because you’re preeeeetty sure you had something important to do. 

Oh. You have classes. Had—past tense.

You reach for your nightstand, blindly groping for your phone. The charger is lying on the floor, the plastic of it all damaged. Perhaps Earnest had chewed on it while you were sleeping? You gently pry Logan’s arm off you, sitting up, and your bleary eyes land on something barely peeking out from under the bed.

It’s your fucking phone. The screen is completely shattered, with three distinct holes in the middle of it. Three holes, how strange! You can’t help but wonder who might have left them. Clutching your pillow, you whack Logan in the face with it. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”

He groans, trying to take the pillow away from you. “What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?”

“I wish I had a UNO reverse card because I should be the one asking you that!” you jab your finger into his chest, showing him the ruined phone. “You broke my fucking phone!”

“What?” he asks, voice laden with sleep, still disoriented. He holds the phone, carefully scrutinizing it. “I think I don’t know how to hit the snooze button.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I believe you’ve made that very clear,” you huff, tossing the phone aside as you flop back onto the mattress. The clock on your nightstand says 11:05 am, and you cover your face with your hands, taking a deep breath. “Next time, when it goes off, just wake me up and I’ll do it.”

Logan settles beside you, resting his head on his forearm as he watches you. “I’m sorry, bub. I’ll get you a new one.”

“It’s fine,” you murmur, sighing. This is your free ticket to be a menace. “I should’ve known dinosaurs and phones would never get along. My bad, pal.”

You don’t even get to see his reaction because he starts tickling you, the room filling with your laughter. Squealing, you try to wriggle away, but his fingers dig into your ribs, expertly finding your most ticklish spots. Your giggles escalate into breathless laughter, your eyes squeezed shut as you desperately attempt to push him away. He’s relentless, chuckling when his own laughter bubbles up. 

“L-logan, stop!” you gasp between fits of laughter, aiming to grasp his hands.

“We dinosaurs love tickling people. Sorry, sweetheart,” he manhandles you until you’re perched on his lap, fisting the fabric of your (his) shirt. Leaning forward, he captures your mouth in a heated kiss. “I’m sorry about the phone,” he slurs the words against your cheek, his lips trailing down to your neck. You tell him that it’s okay, trying to find a comfortable position on top of him, and that’s when his thigh presses against your core, your eyes widening at the unexpected sensation. Logan’s no fool, noticing the way your breath hitches. “What’s wrong, baby? You woke up needy?”

“No, I just—” you trail off as he does it again, his strong thigh coming in contact with your clothed cunt. You search for leverage by placing your hands on his shoulders, glancing at him. “Logan.”

“I’m all ears,” he rests his back against the headboard, the tent in his boxers impossible to ignore. “You want to get off on my thigh,” he states with certainty. It’s not a question—it’s a full-on statement. He knows what you want, what you crave. “Come on then. Grind against it.”

You do as he says, not caring to think twice. You start moving, rubbing your wet pussy against his muscular thigh. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and soon, you’re whimpering his name, your hands trailing down his abs. Why hadn’t you tried this before? It feels fucking amazing.

From his position, Logan stares at you, his lips slightly parted, eyes clouded with lust. Your arousal drenches your panties, soaking through them, the fabric clinging to his coarse leg hair. He glances down at the mess you’re making, his grin widening as he takes in the sight. “Goddamn, woman. I’m gonna make you clean it off, I swear to God.”

“Need your help,” you whisper, lowering your head, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. The coil tightening inside you is almost unbearable. A kiss is what you lean in for, desperate for more, though Logan appears to have other plans. He fists your hair, pulling at your nape and yanking your head back. The roughness of the movement pulls a moan from your lips, your mouth parched like a desert. 

“Eyes up here, okay? You look at me when I make you come,” his raspy voice makes you feel tingly, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands fiercely grab the flesh of your hips, guiding you, helping you grind harder against his thigh. You think you’re on the verge of drooling when you catch the way his abdomen flexes, working to push you toward that long-awaited release. “That’s it, there you go,” he rasps, relishing the sounds he’s eliciting from you, each of your gasps feeding his desire.

Time slows as the warmth in your belly finally erupts, your eyes fighting to stay open through the aftershocks of your orgasm. No actual words leave your mouth, just a string of whines and moans, some carrying Logan’s name. He swallows every single sound you make, everything you give him, grunting as your legs tremble and shake atop him.

He lets you collapse onto your back, your breathing gradually evening out. “I think I saw fireworks behind my lids,” you confess, your mouth dry, expecting Logan to flop onto the mattress beside you. But he doesn’t. Through your blurry vision, you contemplate as he positions himself between your parted legs, getting dangerously close to your cunt. “Logan, what are you— Oh, fuck,” you moan mid-sentence when you feel him pulling your panties aside to lick a slow strip through your folds, collecting your arousal. He points his tongue, dipping it into your entrance, and you wince, squirming. “Santa Claus, is that you?”

Logan grins against you, closing his mouth around clit for a moment. He then shifts until he’s eye-to-eye with you, two of his fingers sliding into you in one smooth motion. “Give me another one,” he murmurs, his other hand slipping under your shirt to play with your nipples, pinching them. 

You never imagined two fingers could bring such intense pleasure. You just lie there, taking it like a good girl, as Logan sometimes call you. “Please, I need you,” you cry out, your fingernails scraping against his torso.

“I know, darlin’. I’m right here,” he rasps against your temple, moving his fingers in and out of you with more enthusiasm. But what he doesn’t understand is that you need all of him. Your hands itch to touch him, to feel the weight of his cock. The corners of his mouth turn up as he watches you struggle to find words. “Wish you could see yourself like this. Such a pretty girl, so gorgeous like this,” his fingers keep grazing that bundle of joy deep inside you, and he goes in for a kiss, the sour taste of your slick invading your taste buds. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. Need to stretch you real good before fucking you with my cock.”

Bingo! That last sentence does it for you, and you come for the second time in the morning, your cunt clenching and spasming around his fingers. You hide your face in his neck, mouthing at his Adam’s apple. He hasn’t trimmed his beard in days, and it shows because you can now feel a burning sensation on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“You’re allowed to break all my phones from now on,” you suggest, only to hear Logan’s laughter in your ear. He snakes a hand through your hair, shoving it back away from your face. You feel him kiss your sweaty forehead, and as you press yourself closer to his body, something hard nudges your hipbone.

Absentmindedly, you trace the waistband of his boxers with your index finger, your eyes snapping to his face. Logan freezes on the spot, and it’s almost as if he’s stopped breathing. Without a word, he rises from the bed, his movements sudden and almost mechanical. You watch him, puzzled, as he heads toward the bathroom, the intimacy of just moments ago being abruptly replaced by a dreadful silence.

“Logan, is everything okay? Do you need something?” you ask and he pauses at the bathroom door, his back to you. For a brief second, you think he might actually open up, but when he turns around, his expression is neutral, masking whatever thoughts are running through his mind. At last, he flashes you a quick smile.

“I’m fine,” he says, his tone gentle but distant. “Just gonna take a shower. Then we can have breakfast together, right?”

You nod, his words easing the growing sense of frustration gnawing at you. He disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of running water soon follows. You sink back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. You take your pillow and bury your face in it, letting out a muffled groan. There’s something he isn't telling you, something hidden deep beneath his usual gruff exterior. Although you try to piece together the fragments of his behavior, they don’t quite fit.

The minutes drag on, and the sound of the shower becomes a distant, constant background noise. You close your eyes, visualizing your happy place, but your thoughts keep spiraling. All you can do is wait—wait for him to come back and act as if nothing had happened.

Logan’s right there, just a few feet away—yet in moments like these, he feels miles apart. It’s one of those days in which, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to bridge that distance. 

It had all started with you asking Logan “Have you ever watched (500) Days of Summer?”

Of course, he had refused to watch the movie at first, and of course, you had threatened him with phoning Wade to let him know that Logan wanted to have a sleepover. That had done the trick.

You had asked for a day off at the bar, and surprisingly, your boss hadn’t objected. That turn of events led to this moment: sprawled out on the couch with Logan, the two of you watching the final minutes of your favorite film. Logan takes a long drag of his cigar, eyes trained intently on the screen. He’s only wearing sweatpants, which had caused your attention to drift from the plot a few times. The fact that you managed to sit through the entire movie without needing to pause it makes you feel particularly invincible.

Hey.

You again.

Yeah. I, uh, was just wondering if maybe after this, if, um, you— you want to get some coffee or something.

Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sort of supposed to meet someone after this.

Okay.

“That poor fella,” Logan murmurs, taking a slow sip of his beer. You look up at him from where your head rests on his lap, a contented smile playing on your lips. His fingers absently stroke your hair.

“Just wait,” you say, pointing to the screen of your laptop.

Sure.

What’s that?

Why not?

Okay. Well, then I’ll just, uh— I’ll wait for you.

We— we’ll figure it out.

We’ll figure it out.

“They’ll figure it out!” you exclaim, but Logan quickly shushes you, his attention unwavering.

My name’s Tom.

Nice to meet you. I’m Autumn.

When the movie comes to an end, you’re met with Joseph Gordon-Levitt breaking the fourth wall, staring straight at the audience as if he knows he’s about to get himself into a mess with another girl named after a season. You sit up, your eyes eagerly searching for Logan’s. “So? Did you like it? I’ve watched it seven times now. Can’t understand how it gets better each time.”

Logan closes his mouth around his cigar, inhaling deeply before answering. “Yeah, it was pretty good,” he says, his hand finding your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Summer’s a bitch, though.”

“I respectfully disagree,” you tell him, grabbing his beer and giving it a try, only to grimace at the taste. Shuddering, you set it back down. “Why don’t you like her character?”

“Well, for starters, she did Tom dirty. Played with him like he was a damn rag doll.”

You raise an eyebrow, hugging a cushion closer to your chest as you lean back into the couch. “He knew from the beginning she didn’t want to be his girlfriend. Summer was clear—Tom just though he was smart enough to change her mind.”

“They acted like boyfriend and girlfriend the whole movie,” he scorns, placing his cigar down into the ashtray with a bit more force than necessary.

Is your first argument going to be over a movie? Exciting.

“Logan, they weren’t even official.”

“But she made it seem like they were,” he insists, the frustration in his voice growing.

“They were in a situationship—the perfect example, really. That’s not the same as being a couple.”

His gaze dips to the floor, brows knitted in a deep frown. “I think you’re relying on the technicality that they never used those titles. I mean, they did everything together. Isn’t that what normal couples do?”

Lord have mercy.

“Logan, who am I to you?” you inquire, crossing your arms over your chest.

He hesitates, narrowing his eyes, the question clearly catching him off guard. “You are—what? I don’t understand. Is this some kind of mind game you’re playing?”

“It’s actually very simple: if someone were to ask you about me, what would you say? Am I a friend? A bartender?” you inch forward, holding your breath, your tone faltering slightly. Meanwhile, Logan’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. “A fling? Your girlfriend? You complain so much about Summer, yet you can’t even name what we have.”

The living room falls into a heavy silence. Logan blinks slowly, his forehead creasing as he processes your words. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because these are the kinds of conversations we need to have. I understand you don’t want to have them, but I do.”

“Fine. Then tell me what it is that you want,” he asks, his mouth snapping shut when he sees you snorting in response.

“I don’t— I don’t know! To know how you feel, if possible?” you stand up from the couch, taking the cushion with you. You grind your jaw, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Why is it that every time I try to touch you, you push me away?”

He scrunches up his face, mirroring your movements and rising from his seat. “Bub, can we please talk about this tomorrow—”

“No! You don’t get to make all the choices, that’s not fair. Deciphering you isn’t easy, Logan. I’m not asking you to tell me everything you’ve been through. I just wish I could know how you feel about me. I can’t stand in front of you and pretend I don’t mind where this is going, because I’m more than sure I’m falling in love with you. “

“You can’t. You shouldn’t,” he says, his expression hardening. He turns his back to you, running his hands over his face in frustration before heading to the kitchen.

“Well, what were you expecting?” you follow him into the kitchen, finding Earnest on top of the fridge, beholding the scene with a curious gaze. “You basically moved in here, gave me a free trial of what life with you might be like, and now you have the audacity to appear surprised when I tell you I’ve caught feelings?” salty tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you spread your arms wide in exasperation. “Oh, but you’re right. How could I’ve been this stupid, to fall for the damned Wolverine!” you laugh bitterly, expecting him to break eye contact, but he doesn’t. “You think you’re so bad, so broken. Guess what: you’re not, because I love you, and I couldn’t care less about your past. You may think you’re unlovable, but you’re not, you hear me?”

For a heartbeat, the world seems to pause. And so he says:

“You are the most exasperating person I know.”

“Wow. Thank you so much!” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You run a hand through your hair, infuriated. “That makes me feel better!”

“Let me do the talking now,” he says, taking long strides toward you, and the proximity makes you lower your head. “You’re not getting the final say today. Just because I’m not over-sharing my feelings all the time doesn’t mean I don’t have them! In fact, I do. I may not express them openly, but they exist. And I wish you could see inside my head! You’d be delighted at how much time I spend thinking about you,” you cackle at his words, rolling your eyes. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “There hasn’t been a single moment since the day we met that I have stopped wanting you. Your voice is like a goddamn radio that, no matter what I do, I can’t turn off. It’s like I’m infected by you, and I hate it!” his eyes burn with a mix of anger and affectionpur, his pursed lips softening as he continues. “No good ever comes from caring this much about someone. So excuse me for being scared of ruining the only good thing that’s happened to me in years!”

You hit him with the cushion—not with enough force to make him hurt, but enough to make a point.

“Drop it, kid.”

“I’m—” you hit him again, “not—” and again, “stupid. I know what I’m getting myself into,” as you attempt to raise the cushion once more, Logan takes it from your hands, throwing it on the counter. Your shoulders sag, trying to find the strength to keep going. “And I know for a fact,” you add, glancing at his conflicted eyes, “that the easiest thing for me would be to walk away from you, but I can’t. It’s too fucking late.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do! These are my feelings, okay? Mine, not yours. You don’t have the right to decide who I love and who I don’t.”

Logan’s eyes squint, scanning your face. “You’re… obnoxious.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“And I—I love you,” he confesses, his nostrils flaring with emotion. Opening your mouth to say something, you close it moments later, your gaze locked on his. “You could take what you said, pretend as if I didn’t exist, and I wouldn’t say a thing, y’understand? I would move cities if you asked me, because I love you that fucking much, and I want you to be happy.”

You reach for his hand, briefly intertwining your fingers with his. Looking at him through your eyelashes, you rub your fingers over his stubble. “And what if my happiness comes from being with you?”

Logan lets out a harsh breath, his arm curling around your waist, pressing his chest to yours. “I can’t promise I’ll be the perfect boyfriend. I’ll probably makeplenty of mistakes.”

“Fine with me.”

“And you’ll be mad at me. A lot.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure it’s mutual.”

Both of you laugh then, and you’re taken aback when he brushes his nose against your cheek, silently seeking permission to kiss you. His lips move hungrily against yours, trailing his hands down your spine, pulling you closer. He breaks the kiss and laughs at your eagerness when you chase after his mouth. You end up perched on his lap as he settles into one of your kitchen chairs. Logan stares into your eyes, his gaze drifting lower. “I won’t push you away this time. Not anymore.”

That’s your cue to finally do what you’ve been yearning for weeks. You fall to your knees in front of him, shaky fingers that graze the hairs on his happy trail. The bulge in his sweatpants is close to your face, and your mouth waters at the thought of having him between your lips. “Can I?” you ask, your voice a touch higher. 

He draws a long breath, tilting his head slightly. “You may, baby.”

You pull at his sweatpants and boxers, sliding them down his legs just enough to free his hard cock. As you take a look at it, you find yourself at a loss for words, the sight overwhelming. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the first taste of his precum as you envelop his head between your lips, that musky scent of his hitting you.

A whimper escapes you, and Logan hisses when you run your tongue along the slit, his hands gripping the back of your neck tightly. “Fuck, darlin’. Thought about your mouth so many times, but never imagined it’d feel this good,” he cants his hips up, causing your movements to stutter. “You can take a bit more, can’t you?” his question ends with a guttural grunt, his fingers tightening on your hair. “Gotta show me how much you want this.”

Logan takes all that you give him. You lower your head further, taking in another inch of him. Sex’s supposed to feel good, but this? It feels even greater. And he’s not even inside you yet, you hear a voice murmur in your head. The hand on your nape encourages you to move faster, and you sneak a hand between your bodies, grasping him by the base. You swallow around him, eyes fluttering open when he tugs sharply at your hair..

“Thaaaat’s it, honey. Just like that, want you to choke on it,” he grumbles, running his mouth just the way you like. The tip of his cock nudges the back of your throat and tears fill your eyes. You pull away to catch your breath, still stroking him as you regain composure. Logan’s gaze is intense, and he stares into your soul, his chest heaving. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Dick got your tongue?”

You’ll definitely get back to that joke later.

“Will you—can you—”

“Come on, beautiful. I don’t have all day.”

God, you love it when he’s mean.

“Fuck my throat,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

A smile dangles on the corner of his lips. “We both know you can be nicer.”

The fucker makes your pulse race. “Can you fuck my throat?” you ask again, more insistently. “Please.”

He guides himself into your mouth, smirking as he watches how your eyes roll back in pleasure. “How polite of you to say please. Some good manners you’ve got.”

You whimper around him, your body responding to the rhythm he sets, fully immersed in the intensity of the moment. And for a while, you drift away, losing your sanity with each thrust of his hips, every tug at your hair. It’s almost impossible not to compare him to your past hookups. You try to recall at least a single instance when another man made you feel this way, but no memory surfaces.

Time seems to stretch and warp. You don’t really know when it happens—he pulls you off his cock, cradling your face, examining you. “You fucking love that, don’t you?” he asks with that sweet, syrupy voice, brushing away your tears. There’s no room left for embarrassment, so you nod, closing your mouth around his thumb. Defeated, Logan shakes his head, pressing his finger against your tongue. “I was planning on coming on your mouth, but I think I’ve got a better idea.”

In the blink of an eye, you’re in your bedroom. Not even a metaphor—he picks you up and basically runs to your room, closing the door behind him. You prop yourself on your forearms, trying to process what’s about to happen. Logan, already naked, climbs onto the bed after you, He kisses you slowly, tracing the curves of your body. “You still want this?”

“I do. I’m just… nervous, that’s all,” you admit, flashing him a quick smile. “It’s been two years of celibacy for me. Will it fit?” you ask, glancing down at his cock, and Logan stares at you in confusion. “Also, how many girlfriends have you had? Just curious.”

“I don’t think this is the time for that conversation.”

“You’re right,” you agree, lying back on the mattress, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “Were they pretty?”

“Bub.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up,” he replies with a smirk. “Focus on me, okay?”

Despite your tries to crack jokes at the worst possible moment, things escalate pretty quickly. Logan’s got three fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. He’s already made you come once with his mouth—to get you more relaxed, he had said. Wanting sounds slip past your lips as he doesn’t miss the chance to hit that spot that makes you squeeze your legs together. The tip of his nose drags long lines up and down the skin of your neck, mouthing at your jaw.

“I’m ready,” you mumble after some minutes, reaching for his cock and stroking him. “Let’s break the bed.”

“You’re lucky you’re this cute,” he says, catching your lips in a kiss. “Condom?”

“Negative, Sergeant.”

“You don’t have any?”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want you to use one.”

The way his gaze darkens doesn’t go unnoticed by you. His hand guides your face toward his cock. “Get me wet,” he commands, and you oblige, sucking him into your mouth. You hum around him, unable to contain yourself, and you hear Logan chuckling above you. “Can’t believe this is what it takes for you to shut up. Gotta keep your mouth full all the time.”

Once he’s satisfied with the way you’ve slicked him, he positions himself over you, caging you between his arms. Logan pins you down with his body, his hot breath mingling with yours. When you stare into his eyes, all you see is pure love, and your heart swells with affection. “Will you fuck the bad jokes out of me?”

Logan laughs, rubbing his length along your folds, grazing your clit for a fleeting second. “I sure as hell will,” he assures you, lining himself up with your wet entrance. He looks into your eyes for approval. “Ready?”

“I was born rea— Fuck!” you nearly scream as his head breaches you, your eyes squeezing shut. Turns out his fingers weren’t enough. “Fucking mutant dick.”

“You’ll love it, believe me,” he husks next to your ear. His arms shake where they rest on each side of your head, seemingly as affected as you are. Logan pulls out, and then fucks into you with a little more force.  “How are you still so tight? You’re killin’ me here.”

“I’ve got no idea, but you feel—amazing,” you gasp, latching onto his back, holding him close to you. His thrusts gain strength, and suddenly he’s bottoming inside you. “Oh, god. I can feel you in my stomach.”

“I know, baby, I know. Can feel it too,” he curls one of his hands around your throat, keeping you in place. From his position, he can watch the way your face contorts in pleasure. Lowering his head to envelop one of your nipples between his lips, he sucks hard. “You were desperate enough to get on your knees in the damn kitchen. You’ll be good now too, am I right?”

“Yes. Yes. I can be good,” you pant, eyes wide and pleading. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

“I’m not stoppin’, princess. Don’t worry,” his mouth curves into a wicked grin as he drives into you again, this time even deeper. His hand on your throat tightens slightly, just enough to make you feel the pressure, grounding you in the moment. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your chest, his voice laden with need. 

Each thrust has you gasping, your body arching off the bed to meet his. Logan’s grip on your neck loosens as his hand slides down to grasp your hip. He squeezes your tender flesh, pulling you harder against him, as if he can’t get close enough. The bed creaks under the intensity, but you barely notice, too far lost in the rhythm of his movements.

“You’re perfect, all I’ve ever wanted,” he slips his free hand between your bodies to find your clit, and the moment his fingers make contact with it, you can’t help but whine. “So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him repeat, more to himself than to you, his voice stranded as he tries to hold himself back, letting you chase your own release first.

The pressure inside you builds up, tightening with every skilled flick of his fingers. You’re sure you must look like a mess, sweaty and sticky, though the way he looks at you makes you forget everything else. “Logan, I’m—” you croak, the wind being knocked out of your lungs with each relentless thrust. “I think I’m gonna come.”

He picks up speed, snapping his hips faster. “I’ve got you, let go for me. I’ll take care of you, baby, I swear,” his pace becomes erratic, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs as the headboard keeps slamming against the wall. Your body obeys him, a shuddering release tearing through you, moaning Logan’s name and gripping him like a vice. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” he doesn’t stop, driving you through your orgasm. His eyes snap to your face, contemplating how wrecked you look. “Tell me where—please, sweetheart.”

“Inside.”

“What?”

“I said inside. Come inside me, Logan.”

He’s not strong enough to deny you such a thing. Logan buries himself to the hilt, groaning your name as his cock twitches and paints your walls with his thick seed. Beside your head, his claws unsheate, tearing into the pillow. He ruts against you, his body trembling and writhing against yours, already apologizing for the pillow incident while pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m sorry. That hasn’t happened in a while.”

When Logan collapses beside you, he pulls you into his arms, kissing you eagerly. You return the kiss, wincing as you feel a bit of his cum slip out of you, rolling down your thighs. He stares at your glistening cunt without an ounce of remorse, and you close your legs. “That’s private.”

“It wasn’t very private a minute ago.”

“Logan?”

“Tell me, bub.”

“Knock, knock.”

He must truly love you, because he plays along: “Who’s there?”

“Ice cream.”

“Ice cream who?”

“Ice cream for you all night long.”

“Guess I didn’t succeed in fuckin’ the bad jokes out of you,” he teases softly, letting his head fall back on the bed. “But it’s fine. I’ll just have to keep tryin’.”

This is the story of how you end up dating a man who’s two hundred years old. But it’s also the story of how that same man learns to let his guard down and open his heart. So, remember this, kids: the sky’s the limit, especially when it comes to love—and yes, even when it involves dating mutants.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[caffeinewitchcraft]

AITA for going no contact with my brother after he pulled a scare on my husband?

EDIT: For those of you coming here from my brother’s post (X) to shit on me, you look like idiots. Try to have an original thought and really contemplate who’s telling the truth after hearing both sides.

I (32f) am one of three siblings. We come from a very well off family. My dad is a former Cryptid and he pioneered the Hook Man in the 70s, so he still gets residuals off of that. We grew up very comfortable and with the ability to do anything we wanted in life. My older brother went to a very prestigious school and my dad gave him the money for tuition. Because my older brother got scholarships, he was able to save some of that money. Right now he works in human tech (very lucrative), but his long-term plan is to use the money to start a Cyber Spook business once he is satisfied with his knowledge foundation.

I ended up taking a gap year before going to community college, but I never felt anything click. I worked part-time jobs spinning out scarer costumes and even did some part-time work as a slasher before deciding it wasn’t for me. I finally found my calling when I offered to help cater for my high school reunion, and now I run a fairly successful catering business.

When it came time for my younger brother, “Steve,” to get his money, he didn’t tell anyone what he was going to use it for. He was working as a Slasher at a small firm in town. We all assumed he’d either go to Scare School or invest the money to start a business like our older brother did.

So when Steve showed up to Halloween dinner one day, six feet taller with extra joints in his arms and legs, we were all shocked.

Dad was furious. He gave us all the same talk about the scare industry when we got our first part-time jobs documenting missions at his company. He told us that scare work was hard and backbreaking. We couldn’t buy our way into it or use his connections to become successful. If we were interested in it, we had to work our way up from the ground like he did. If we didn’t, we’d more than likely end up dead at the hands of a final girl.

He especially emphasized that mods had to be considered carefully and were NOT a substitute for skill.

Steve thought they were. When his company didn’t pay him back for his body modification AND didn’t promote him from Slasher to Regional Nightmare, he quit. But the surgeries drained his cash and he couldn’t afford his apartment anymore. He had to move back in with Mom and Dad. As always, Mom totally coddled him. She said that he didn’t have to pay rent and agreed with whatever he said when he’d go on these long tirades about his former company.

I could tell Dad wasn’t happy with the arrangement, but he’s never been able to go against Mom. So he mostly kept his mouth shut though he did try to get Steve a job at his old company. However, last I heard, Steve was set against anything corporate and was spending a dozen hours a day driving around using the app SlashDash to find jobs.

About a year and a half ago, I was over for dinner with Steve, Mom and Dad. Steve was talking about work. He said SlashDash wasn’t working out for him and was taking too many fees out. I offered advice since I’d done Slashing in high school. I recommended sites like Scarework and Midnighterr to get more gigs.

Mom told me I interrupted Steve. She gestured for him to continue and tell me about his exciting new setup.

Steve told me he was beyond the sites I recommended. He said he’d bought a scanner so he could listen to broadcasts of active corporate missions. When those fail, he arrives on scene to kill any straggling humans before the scare company in question can send a cleanup crew. And since he’s a Slasher on their scene, they have to give him emergency pay for doing it. It’s a total ambulance-chaser, bottom-feeder move.

Dad was just staring at his plate, not saying anything, but I could tell he was ashamed of Steve. Steve was bragging about being a vulture in the profession Dad helped build.

I asked Steve if he was proud of himself for living off of leftovers. Steve blew up at me, but so did Mom. She chided me for not respecting my brother’s hard work and that his idea to get a scanner was genius, not predatory.

After that dinner, Steve and I rarely talked. Most of the news I got about him came from our older brother bitching about Steve badgering him for scare connections or Mom bragging about Steve killing and “meeting quota.” She would get very cold with me when I told her he was finishing a quota someone else started and not doing his own work. She told me if I couldn’t respect Steve, then I was welcome to not come over while he lived with her.

(Yes, Steve’s always been the golden child.)

I stopped interfering with Steve and focused on my own life. Shortly after, I met my wonderful fiancé “Reginald” while catering an event at Dad’s old company. Reginald is the head of sanitation and he’s the one who gets sent out to clean up any unexpected events during a Scare (like any magical residue or body parts that can’t be explained away through human means). He used to want to be a Cryptid, but he’s got a heart condition that prevents him from working in the field. He says that he’s happy being the “janitor” and happier being with me 😊

Reginald and I got engaged after only eight months of dating. Dad always says that when you know, you know. I invited everyone in my family to an engagement party. Steve didn’t bother answering the invitation. Even though Steve and I weren’t on good terms, I was still hurt when he didn’t show.

When I confronted him about it afterwards, he said that he’d been promoted to Regional Nightmare and he was patrolling his territory, and that’s why he couldn’t come. I asked him what company he was working for, and he said he was still using the scanner.

I pointed out that he couldn’t be a Regional Nightmare without a state license since only the state can assign territories. He started going on and on about being his own “Monster” (and let me tell you, extra joints DOESN’T make you a Monster, those guys are way more committed) and that he had passed the state exam.

When I told Reginald about my brother calling himself a Regional Nightmare, he was concerned. He works closely with the legal department, and he said that Steve is opening himself up to lawsuits by declaring public slashing grounds as his “territory.” He offered to talk to Steve.

We went over to Mom and Dad’s house together to confront him. Dad didn’t know he was calling himself a Regional Nightmare and he went pale when I told them why we were there. Reginald explained to Steve and Mom that being certified was different than being licensed. Legally, Steve is a Slasher even if he can control shadows now (which is a VERY expensive talent to acquire if you aren’t born with it. I think Mom may have paid for it).

The conversation didn’t go well. Steve said a lot of nasty things about Reginald not hacking it as Slasher and claimed he was just jealous. He picked on Reginald’s health which I had me seeing red. I asked Steve what there was to be jealous of since he still mooches off of our parents? Mom got involved and it went downhill from there.

All this to say that I didn’t expect Steve to show up at my gender reveal party less than 5 months later.

Reginald and I weren’t planning on kids this early, but we knew it was meant to be as soon as I got that pregnancy test back. We decided to put off our wedding so that our baby can be part of the ceremony that makes us a family. That being said, I did still have a lot of things ordered for the wedding so I turned the day into a baby shower/gender reveal instead.

That brings us to the party my lovely brother wrote about. First of all, he wasn’t invited by me. Mom invited him, and when I found out, I wasn’t happy with her, considering he never apologized to Reginald after our last fight.

Reginald was stuck at work (some idiot brought together a whole summer camp of final girls and the aftermath was brutal) so I had to force myself to be a good hostess. It was mostly fine. We have good friends and my older brother was very kind in helping me with some of the baby games we were planning to play when Reginald finally got there.

Steve, however, was NOT helpful.

He was annoying the whole time. He messed with the kitchen and he hounded the guests. I’m PREGNANT and the smell of raw meat triggers my gag reflex. He took the meat off the heat without me noticing and basically prevented me from eating lunch with everyone else.

Additionally, Steve claimed in his post that the party was dying??? Reginald and Dad have a lot of friends in common so the party did NOT die. They were all interested in talking to Dad. Dad’s voice is very quiet and raspy from strain over the years, so everyone was being quiet to hear him better. Steve was the one practically screaming over him to talk about his scummy job. The new Hook Man who succeeded Dad was there and Steve basically treated the poor man like a novice even though he’s a Cryptid.

Reginald finally got home and I could tell he was exhausted when I met him at the door. He still put on a smile for me though and said he didn’t need to miss out even when I told him it would be okay. He wanted to be there in our big moment to celebrate our family. He went upstairs to change.

I went back to the guests to tell them that we would start the games soon. That’s when I heard Reginald scream and fall down the stairs.

I’ll never forget the look on Reginald’s face. He was lying at the base of the stairs and looked like he was dying. He was gasping for breath and clutching at his chest. I was terrified his heart was giving up. I asked Hook Man to call an ambulance.

That’s when Steve started laughing.

I lost it. I screamed at Steve to get out. He told me to calm down, he’d just scared Reginald a little bit as a joke. I told him he knew about Reginald’s heart condition and that it was incredibly disrespectful to scare my fiancé in our own house.

He said he didn’t mean to scare him that bad, but that he was just better at it than he thought. His scares were too powerful. He seemed smug and was still laughing.

I accused him of intentionally hurting Reginald because of the licensing versus certification argument we had. I said he was a bully and an idiot.

Mom jumped in and said it was an accident.

Dad FINALLY said something. He shadow-walked (the first time in YEARS) up the stairs and hooked Steve by the neck. He dragged all twelve feet of him down the stairs and told him to get out.

Steve said, “For what? It’s not my fault that weak-hearted son of a bitch can’t take a joke.”

Dad lost it. He told Steve a REAL scarer wouldn’t use their abilities like that on their own families. He told Mom and Steve it didn’t matter if he meant it as a joke. The fact is he used his scare tactics on a layperson, and he could get blacklisted from the profession for it.

Dad kicked Steve out and told him he wasn’t welcome back into the basement until he got a REAL job. Steve kept arguing, but the paramedics arrived then and I lost track of the rest of it.

I went with Reginald to the hospital where Reginald insisted we both get checked out. The stress wasn’t good for the baby and doctor told me it might be best to go on maternity leave sooner rather than later. Reginald is also going to be taking a leave from work. He had a heart attack because of my brother.

Things could have ended worse, but they didn’t end well. I told my parents that I refuse to have Steve at my wedding or even to see my child after they’re born (and now I STILL don’t know the gender! Only our older brother knows since he got the gender reveal cake).

Mom started to protest, but Dad said he understood. He said that both he and Mom just wanted me to be happy and healthy and that they would take care of Steve.

So now I leave it up to you. Having read both of our posts, who do you think is the real asshole? My brother for being “proud” of scaring my fiancé into a heart attack at our baby’s gender reveal party? Or me for never talking to said brother again for the health of my future family?

AITA?

----

Thanks for reading! If you'd like to support me and/or see these stories a week before I post them here, please check me out on Patreon (X)!

See you next week!

This week's story is based on this (x) prompt from Writing-prompt-s:

You are a person who covers your counter space in clutter and inadvertently makes a shrine to a long forgotten god who shows up to thank you.

[urcoolgf]

bf¡drew’s reaction to you posting him to ‘dandelion’ by ariana grande

¡ sexual/suggestive content !

drew had been out of town working on a new film, and it had left you… needy—to say the least. he had only been gone a few days, but your body’s desperation made it seem like months.

you were proud of him for getting to be apart of another big project that he was super passionate about, but you missed him. your body missed him. it wasn’t helping that you were ovulating…

you scrolled mindlessly through your photos, admiring all the photos of your boyfriend, hoping it would give you some kind of satisfaction. but, nothing.

you came across a specific photo that embarrassingly made your thighs clench. it was drew during a game night you had recently with some friends; his stance, the way his jeans fit, the keychain hanging from his belt loop, how his chest was puffed, and his shirt fit him just a little too tight in the most perfect way.

you don’t know what came over you—a sort of impulse? you clicked off the app, going straight to instagram, and creating a new story.

—

drew had just finished his last scene of the day—happy that he could finally call his girlfriend, but before he could, he saw an absurd amount of mention notifications from instagram.

thousands of people talking about some ‘story’ his girlfriend posted?

he quickly navigated to her profile, clicking onto her story. a devious smirk spread across his face as the lyrics appeared on his screen.

i got (got) what you need (you need)

i’m thinking you should plant this seed

i get this sounds unserious

but, baby boy, this is serious

he stared at the picture for a moment, totally unaware that you had even taken it. he pictured you, at home alone, with your hand between your thighs, all needy for him. the thought alone made his pants tighten.

he wasted no time calling you.

—

you were chasing your own pleasure, fingers working yourself open on the couch, but it wasn’t enough. it wasn’t him. suddenly, your phone lit up, and your beautiful boyfriend’s contact picture presented itself. your hand escaped your panties, accepting the call with an unnecessary urgency.

“hey, baby!,” you answered, not bothering to hide your enthusiasm. you fell back against the couch, sprawled out like a dramatic housewife—which is exactly who you felt like right now.

“you postin’ me, pretty?,” it was obviously a rhetorical question. he had already seen it. his smirk could be heard through the phone, and there was no use trying to deny it.

“maybe…,” you drew it out, curling a strand of your hair between your fingers. you tugged your lip between your teeth, waiting for his response.

“so fuckin’ lucky i’m not there right now, pretty girl,” his low laugh broke up the sentence, like he was in a mixed state of disbelief and amazement.

“i don’t feel very lucky,” you pouted. your dramatic, sad tone was evident in your soft words. your thighs involuntarily clenched together, trying to hide your heat—even if just from yourself. you could basically feel him inside you just from memory. it wasn’t enough.

“no? well… when i get back you’re gonna feel like the luckiest girl in the world. promise you that. i’ll plant as many damn seeds as you want—over ‘n over again if you ask me to,” his words were dirty, but his voice sounded so sweet, like he would walk across the country to get back to you right now if that was the only way home.

he didn’t even give you time to respond before continuing, “you’re gonna be so full you’re not even gonna remember what bein’ empty feels like, baby,” you could hear his cocky smirk tugging at his lips again, and it made your heart flutter, and your core clench.

“mm sounds good to me,” and he hated the way your voice alone made him hard, that low, sultry hum that made his head spin. why did he ever leave the house? no more movie deals outside of walking distance.

“‘nd don’t bother tryin’ to use your fingers, pretty girl. we both know it won’t satisfy you. you wait for me to get home… and i promise the next time i leave, you’ll have our baby on your hip to keep you occupied.”

JOIN MY TAGLIST

© URCOOLGF. est. 2025

TAGS .ᐟ @yktayy9669 @drewsswifeyy @drewrry @frankoceanluvr11 @dearestmillls @icaqttt @lynoriax @hpboysslut2707 @stoned-writer @angvl3tears @beabafreakbee @ltristessedureratoujours @totalswag @vanessa-rafesgirl @rafegetinmybed @browniepop62 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @alexaaudrinaa @littlelamy @pointocean

[hoshifighting]

Hello,

So I was wondering, would you be able to write something about cock-warming with Seventeen? If not OT13, then maybe just Hoshi?

This is my first time making a request and I absolutely love your writing! I look forward to seeing your new posts every time I open the app!

Thank you 😊

cock warming with seventeen

seungcheol: he’s gritting his teeth, telling you to “sit still” ina scolding tone. man is holding on for dear life, hands on your hips, fully committed to the whole “stay still” command even though he’s just as worked up. he gives you this look that says “one wrong move and it’s over”—yet he’s lowkey loving how hard it is to keep himself together. eventually, you shift just a little and he’s like, “oh, you think you’re funny, huh?” ready to wreck you right then and there.

jeonghan: he’s the absolute worst tease about it. why would you choose HIM to do that? he got that little smirk, acting all unbothered, whispering about how needy you look just sitting there on him. he’ll brush his fingers over your hips, trailing them up your spine just to mess with you. every time you try to move, he’s like, “uh-uh, baby, stay still.” you know he’s having fun watching you squirm, and he’s definitely making it as drawn-out as possible.

joshua: gives you sweet little smiles while low-key dying inside. he’s got that hand on the small of your back, running his fingers there just to keep you close. he’ll whisper all these sweet nothings, telling you how “perfect” you are, and every time you clench or move a little, he shudders, just waiting for the second he can actually move.

junhui: oh, he’s got no patience. he’s sitting there, already hard as hell, and you’re making it worse with every tiny shift. he laughs it off, biting his lip, telling you you’re “gonna regret testing him.” jun’s the type to nudge your hips a little, just to get a reaction, muttering stuff like, “if you keep doing that, don’t blame me for what happens.” he’s a mess and doesn’t even last.

hoshi: he’s like, “why did we even think this was a good idea?” wiggling around, not even pretending to keep still. every little movement makes him lose it just a bit more, and he’s already breathing heavy, wet as fuck. you both know he’s absolutely hopeless at staying still, but the boy’s trying, just loving the fact that you’re driving him up the wall.

wonwoo: he’s calm on the outside, hands steady on your hips, acting like it’s all fine and dandy, but you can feel that bro is almost melting in that game chair. every time you move, he’s biting the inside of his cheek, giving you these intense, dark-eyed looks like, “don’t test me.” he’ll stay like that as long as he can, but little to go snapping.

woozi: this man is a brick wall, hands locked around your waist, practically daring you to move. he’s got a total death grip on his self-control but gives himself away every time he swallows hard or clenches his jaw. determined to make you stay still until he’s ready.

minghao: so de-stressed, it’s unreal. he’s got his hands tracing gentle circles on your back, just enjoying the closeness but totally into it. every time you shift, he just hums, getting more and more fired up. you can tell he’s feeling it, breathing deeper, pressing you closer, but he’ll still try to play it off. he’s in no rush but is totally giving in soon.

mingyu: man’s a mess, plain and simple. he’s holding onto your hips with his nails almsot, wide-eyed and flustered as hell. he tries to be the big and strong boyy he is, but every little move makes him gulp, giving you these desperate, needy looks. probably ends up blurting, about how much he needs to fuck you.

seokmin: so flustered, you’d think it’s his first time. he’s trying to stay calm, keeping his hands on your hips to keep you in place, but he can’t help it; every time you shift, he’s turning red, letting out little gasps, unable to keep himself from reacting. he’s all, “oh my god, please, just—stay still!”

seungkwan: so worked up, it’s ridiculous. he’s like, “this was the worst idea ever babe!” but his hands are glued to you, like he couldn’t move even if he wanted to. he’s torn between panic and total enjoyment, all red-faced and muttering how he’s “seriously trying here.” you can tell he’s struggling, giving you little pleading looks.

vernon: silent but done for. he’ll just sit there, eyes wide, hardly breathing as he holds onto you, doing his best to stay in control but you can see the struggle. every little movement you make has him gripping your hips harder, like he’s hanging on by a thread. probably mutters, “you’re evil,” under his breath, fully aware he’s about to cum like this.

chan: incredibly sweet, probably nervous but also very into it. he’ll laugh softly, maybe trying to make small talk just to keep both of you calm, but the longer you stay like that, the more it drives him crazy. he’ll whisper, asking if you’re okay, gently reminding you to stay still but clearly enjoying when you clench or ride him a bit, especially when you both start to give in a little. BUUUUUT—he waits for you to break first.

[lenallu]

For a moment, I thought it was you.

Based on the text messages Zayne sends when you haven't opened the app in a long time. ❅ tags: angst, hurt/comfort ❅ word count: 2.4k ❅ synopsis: You go missing on the job. Zayne struggles with the thought that you might never come back. ❅ a/n: my first fic post!!!! I'm currently writing a part two, so let me know if you like this :)

"I saw a hunter wearing their uniform at the airport during my last trip. For a moment, I thought it was you."

His phone chimes when his message delivers. It takes him a while to look away, and he feels silly for it. It's been this long, and yet he has failed miserably to snuff out the habit of hoping you'll reply. He shoves his phone into his pocket, the weight of it tugging his jacket when it hits the bottom of his deep, wrapper filled pockets. Candy wrappers he pulled from your hands as you raved about the flavor, so he could throw them away for you later. 

You had been missing for just over three weeks when he put that jacket on again, and something totally irrational in the back of his head begged him to leave them in there. He shook his head. When did garbage become precious? You'll be back. His pockets will fill with the crinkled paper when you amble by each other's sides once again, soon. 

He decides to leave them in there anyway. He picks lint off the shoulder, lingering on the garment before pushing it back into his closet, near the back. He tries not to think much of that choice, and does his best to ignore the things his mind is trying to suggest.

He hears people talking on the street later that day, parroting rumors about a failed mission and 11 or 12 casualties, hunters. A team of them, sent out to do who knows what. You didn't tell him much about it before you left. You were legally barred from sharing details with civilians. It was standard safety protocol. He understood at the time, but now he wishes you could have given him something. Anything to figure out where you had gone, so he could go and get you himself.

A shrill meow sounds out near his feet, and yanks him out of his thoughts. He had stopped by a table of jewelry set up outside of a shop you used to stare at every time you passed by with him on your walks through town, but had lent all his focus to absorbing information from conversations that floated by. Scraping the world around him for any indication of you.

He stares at the cat, and recognizes her from the countless times you had reached down to pet her. You’d even started to carry loose treats in your pockets just for her.

He turns a ring from the table in his fingers, tracing over the small, sparkling embedded stones before setting it down. When you get back, he’ll remind you to check your clothes for cat treats before you wash them.

At work, none of his pens seem to stay put in his pocket. They're too busy whirling around his fingers, occupying his hands even when he isn't writing anything. He can't explain the fidgeting to himself or to his colleagues questioning gazes. He was a stable surgeon. A steady person. He started actively reminding himself of that, repeating it like a wish, as if it had stopped being true at some point.

🜺

A month and a half has passed. He sits tensely at his dining table, chin cradled in the space between his thumb and forefinger. The house is quiet like it always is when you aren’t there, but it bothers him more now. It unsettles him to think it might be like this forever, and he pleads with himself for the hundredth time not to go there in his head.

He started watching the news more often, almost religiously. The second he gets home and his keys rattle onto the counter, the tv is on. If the association releases any kind of statement, he doesn't want to miss it. 

A fatigued sigh blows from his nose after about an hour of menial news reports, and he's just about to get up to cook something when the newscaster's voice cuts out. 'Breaking news' flashes across the screen.

"We can't make any definitive statements, but we believe we were able to recover data of the last signals their watches sent out before everything went dark. Again, the location of this mission was incredibly remote and difficult to navigate, so this doesn't guarantee we will find them. That is all in terms of developments. It has taken a long time to regain access to our systems and grab those signals."

His eyes are wide, and all he can think about is storming your building and demanding information. He knows it doesn't work like that. He still considers it. He had hoped when an update finally came, he'd be sprinting through the door to his car to pick you up. The ghost of that hope lingers in his legs, and he doesn't know what to do with the residual energy. He feels utterly helpless.

🜺

Your body wakes before you, searing pain striking through your limbs. Your eyelids feel glued together as you struggle to open them, but once you do, all you see is white. Fear kickstarts the rest of your functions, and you start to regain sensation. Quick and panicked breaths scratch their way out of your throat as your eyes dart around. You become aware that you are encrusted in icy crystals, sunken about two feet into some snowy expanse. Moving proves difficult, but you manage. Snow slides off your form and you stumble and trudge forward with hardly any mental recognition that you are actually moving. Things are fuzzy. You're not sure you're even really alive.

You're not all there, if there at all, but you feel a tinge of what you loosely recognize as rage floating in you somewhere in response to the snow that never seems to end. That anger blooms in your chest as you plow through what seems like miles of pure white, and your body feels like it's stinging all over. It's all you have. 

This all just feels like an infinite dream. Maybe this was death. A cruel one, and maybe it came with a sentence. A punishment. Doomed to push through miles of numbing, freezing cold, thinking it'll end eventually, but it never does. All with half a mind, which is enough to feel the pain in your heart, but not enough to remember how to cry or scream or shout or plead. Condemned to carry a heavy sorrow that you don't even know how to put down.

Please let it end soon. You can't put the words together in your mind, but you feel them. You feel them for a while, until you don't anymore. You are none the wiser as your body collapses in a more shallow clearing.

🜺

Zayne doesn't even know how to describe what he just saw. Vocabulary wasn't an issue. He was well versed in nearly every medical term he encountered in the stacks upon stacks of textbooks and learning materials he revised in undergrad and beyond. 

It was you, but it wasn't. Your skin was nearly a shade of grey he couldn't even fathom on a living human being. That thought sunk something in him as soon as it passed through his mind. He stood there paralyzed as you were rushed past him, the team of doctors wheeling you shouting up a storm of vitals and medications. All of which, for the first time in Zayne's life, were incomprehensible. He couldn't make out a single thing they were saying, and not because it was unclear. He couldn't think at all. He didn't realize he wasn't breathing until Yvonne stood up from the reception desk to lightly lay her hand on his shoulder. A turbulent breath suddenly thrusted out of him like water through a broken dam, and he ignored Yvonne's voice calling out to him as his body carried him down the hall as fast as it possibly could.

He caught up, and grimaced at the sight of you. He catches bits and pieces of what the doctors are saying as you are rushed into a room and CPR protocols begin. At some point, a catheter is placed and they begin pumping you with warmed intravenous fluids. The door swings closed as a doctor rushes past, and the only thing that stops him from crashing through that door is Yvonne finding him again. He only looks at her for half a second before he's staring through the tiny window in the door. He wants to say something, but stands there in silence.

"She has a pulse." Yvonne addresses the worry she can see written all over him. She stares into the window with him, and her next words feel strange when they eventually come out. "They're doing everything they can." 

She's offered this line to countless anxious families, but never did she think a time would come where she'd be saying it to him. Greyson comes along at some point, having heard of the situation, and lightly gestures for Zayne to sit down. 

"She's gonna come around, Dr. Zayne. She’s in good hands. You know you're not in a state to do anything right now, anyways, or you wouldn't still be standing out here instead of in there. Come on." He says gently. "She'll come around."

Two hours pass, and he's beating himself up the whole time. He should be in there, saving you. He's studied all his life to do just that, and when the time came, he couldn't. Fear got in the way. He loved you so much it paralyzed him. When he looked at you today, grief crashed into him like he had lost you right there in that hall. He felt like a giant hole had been blown in his chest. He starts to sink in that powerless feeling. You’re here, and yet he still feels like he did when the news came on that night in his home.

Your hypothermia was severe enough that invasive procedures were required. Tubes were put in through your esophagus, which connect to an external heat exchange unit. Zayne clicks through your intake form, and through several tabs on the procedure they were currently putting you through. As he sifts through the information, there's a growing tightness in his chest and throat. It pulls tighter, and he tries to ignore the way his eyes are burning. Grief continues to brew inside him, venting out of his chest with periodical sighs as he scrolls, brows knitted. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if you don’t make it.

A knock sounds at the door of his office. It’s Greyson. He offers a tight lipped smile.

“She’s stable. The docs are done and her room is empty.” He hardly has time to finish his sentence before Zayne is up and moving. He hurriedly marches out into the hall and straight for you. All the energy built up over the last 2 months propelled him forward, but dissipated as soon as he got to your door. He’s not prepared when he does see you.

Your skin isn’t quite as ashen anymore. Color is returning to you, but you are clearly emaciated. His mind races with all the possibilities of the kind of trouble you might have been in, and it shakes him deeply. He stands at the foot of your bed for a while, idling. Almost in complete disbelief that he is seeing you again, and not in a body bag with a certificate of death being handed to him.

He pulls a chair up to your bedside. You’re covered in a few layers of thick blankets. He hesitates to touch you, but he reaches under the warm layers, feeling for your hand anyway. Out of pure need. He has to know it’s really you. 

He grazes something cold. His fingers find your hand, wrapping around it and squeezing lightly to warm you up.

He studies your sunken features as his heart starts to settle in his chest for the first time in months. The steady beeping from the monitor is music to his ears, lulling him into comfort as he settles into the chair, still holding onto you. You don't look well, but you're alive. That's all he needs. He falls asleep as he sits there for a few hours, the sky rolling into darkness outside. 

🜺

Your eyelids open with much less difficulty this time. Met with the sterile white of the hospital room, you panic briefly before realizing where you were. Your mind is still foggy as you blink lazily, comforted by the sheer warmth that envelops you. 

A soft noise comes from somewhere to your right, and the muscles in your neck ache as you turn your head to follow it.

Zayne. Slumped in his chair, head leaning toward one shoulder as soft breaths blow locks of hair from his face. Sunlight from the window falls over him, blanketing his features in warmth, and he’s the purest picture of paradise you’ve seen in a long time. The sight of him seems to activate some kind of primal instinct towards warmth, and adrenaline starts to pump into your blood. You long to hold him and ensure that this isn’t a dream, but you feel overcome with weakness, and you can hardly manage squeezing his thumb. 

He doesn't wake. You huff, body going slack after a wholehearted, but futile attempt to move. You stare at the ceiling and breathe deeply, begging for only just enough strength. You turn your head to him again, and determination washes over you. You pull your hand free from his grasp, mustering up all the strength you have plus what you don't, and feebly tumbling out of bed onto his chair and him.

He startles and instinctually tries to catch you, his sleepy, bleary eyes becoming focused on you and expanding once he realizes it’s you, and your skin beneath his fingers. His expression breaks into so many things at once: sorrow, pain, relief and others you aren't even allowed to finish distinguishing before he pulls you into a suffocatingly tight embrace. The sight of the whirling storm in his eyes, maybe even just his eyes alone, were enough to choke you up. You let out an incredulous laugh as he squeezes you, and tears collect in your eyes. It’s the warmest you’ve felt in months.

You wrap your arms around his head, settling your cheek in his soft hair when you start to feel him shudder. Guilt crashes into him, for not being able to do more. He should have stormed into the Hunter's Association, he should have gone out and looked for you night and day, across states and countries. He should have taken care of you when you got wheeled in. He should have, he should have. 

Excruciating recollections of what happened to you on that mission start to creep into your mind as his warmth begins to thaw you from the inside, so you squeeze your eyes shut, and hold him tighter.

[bigwishes]

Jabari's Expansion

Jabari was a total muscle slut, he had spend years toning his body to be the perfect online magnet for men to click on and feed money into his accounts. He spent 20 minutes a day filming himself posing in tight underwear, angling himself perfectly to show off the goods.

Jabari finished uploading his latest series of pictures and instantly turned off notifications and put his phone on silent. Whilst he loved the attention and even got off on the flood of likes and comments he hated getting messages from guys begging for more.

Everyone was beneath him in his mind, they were only worth the money they'd pay to his only fans.

Jabari loaded up his Trindr and began swiping looking for his hook up for the night. It was almost an hour of him denying man after man, nobody was hot enough in his mind, no where near as hot as him. They were too skinny, or fat, too short, or too much of a princess. He was almost tempted to accept some just to message them to get their act together if they wanted to even exist in his feed.

An ad appeared in his feed "Better yourself today!". Jabari instantly swiped it away, laughing at himself that you couldn't improve perfection. After the ad a guy popped up that almost had Jabari drooling and chewing on his own lip.

The man was a huge black bodybuilder named Amir and his profile was him posing in a tiny pair of stage trunks that showed off his manhood perfectly. Jabari accepted him and "MATCH" flashed up on the screen. He instantly opened the messages.

"Hey there Amir, you look so damn fine in your profile"

"Cheers bro, you look stunning in yours, love your body handsome"

Jabari licked his lips, knowing he had this guy in the bag just like every other man that came before him, soon he'd have his own muscled beast to wait on him hand on foot. He snapped a photo of his bicep and sent it to Amir.

"Well if you love it so much why don't you come over and worship it"

Amir quickly sent back an image of himself flexing, his giant bicep taking up most of the photo, almost the size of his head.

"You might be a lil small for that baby, why dont you come feel what real muscle feels like"

Jabari's blood boiled as he quickly unmatched himself with Amir. He had never been so embarrassed, men would kiss the ground he walked on for a chance to go on a date with him, he hand thousands of guys begging from him to do anything to them, but to have some meat head say he should worship him had crossed a line.

Swiping away a warning flashed up on his screen "no more potential matches in your area". Jabari rolled his eyes and tried to reload the app. The ad "Better Yourself Today" appeared again, he tried to swipe it away but he accidentally pressed it instead.

Redirected to a page it had his profile photo already uploaded. A quick loading circle appeared and Jabari's profile picture disappeared, replaced with a hyper realistic 3D render of Jabari himself. Shrugging it off and just assuming it was some of that new generative AI crap. A small text box appeared on screen, "Request Your Improvements: Limits remaining: 1"

Jabari smirked thinking about how hot it'd be to be bigger than Amir and crush his head to the ground with his foot, forcing all the power of a colossal tree trunk leg, pressing down on a lesser man until he begs to be let back up.

He typed into the grey text box

"Make me the biggest colossal bodybuilder, a giant amongst men, and Olympian god of strength and muscle mass. Every man would be forced to look up at me, they'd be swallowed by my massive shadow, I'd get attention from everyone around me, I'd never be unseen or unnoticed, hell men would have to submit and listen to my booming voice"

A loading circle appearing on the app in front of the 3D model of Jabari, "in progress" was posted under it. Jabari waited for a monent, until 2 minutes had passed by and he lost interest, he rolled his eyes and closed the website, instead opting to open his social media apps to see the flood of comments from guys asking, wishing and begging to be with him.

Jabari's hand found its way to his dick as he began stroking and pleasuring himself just to the idea of men begging to be with him, he was a god amongst men and they'd be lucky if he ever even looked in their direction.

a few hours had passed by of him enjoying his own company and he had passed out in his bed. He dreamed of being bigger, taking out a giant of a man like Amir only for him to look like a twink next to him, he dreamed of trapping him in a headlock, listing to him beg to be let free, hearing him admit that Jabari was bigger than him, hotter than him, more of a man than he could ever hope to be.

he let out a deep moan in his sleep, completely unaware of his bed creaking as it adjusted to new weight. He stretched completely unconscious, curling his toes as his spine got longer each second he extended himself. His shoulders got wider as meat packed itself onto his entire frame, at least 40 pounds of muscle all over. He let out another moan as his dick grew as he got hard.

Jabari was startled awake by his 7am alarm, he had never felt so deeply entrenched in sleep it was almost like he forgot he'd have to wake up at all. Reaching up to rub his face he noticed the size of his bicep, some how it had almost tripled over night, he quickly sat up and flexed both his arms, admiring the new strength. Looking down at his chest he bounced his pecs seeing how much thicker they had grown, below he noticed his thighs, thick and solid but the main attraction was in between. He was always blessed in the bedroom but this was new. His dick was soft and still almost made it to his knee. Jabari almost started drooling over the thought of playing with his new toy, but he stopped himself, remembering the hour long skin care routine he had to do to keep his perfect complexion for his fans, and the preparation he had to put together for the photos he'd take later on at night.

Whilst excited about the new size he had packed on a twinge of worry entered his mind.

"how the fuck did this happen, how'd I get so...big?"

He suddenly remembered the ad from last night and opened up his browser pages hoping it was saved as a window when he closed it. He saw the title of the page "Better Yourself Today!". He opened it and smirked seeing the 3D model of himself but today it was bigger, showing him as he was this morning, but the grey loading circle was still on the screen and the word "processing" was still beneath

He clicked on the grey request box and a pop up appeared "unable to request changes when changes are in progress"

"HOLY FUCK" Jabari smirked and laughed "I thought this was just a shitty AI art thing fuck, I could be a literal god with this"

His dick started to fill with blood and he hard over the thought of men begging for him to change them, forcing them to worship him for a chance to change themselves.

He snapped a photo of himself sitting on the end of his bed, remembering he had requested to become a bodybuilder and realised he probably wasn't done.

He cringed a little at the thought, yes he wanted to sleep with Amir, and liked the idea of being big enough to dominate and crush him but he had never wanted to be one of those Roided stage pigs, he even thought that most guys that got themselves to be professional bodybuilders who competed looked fucking disgusting but he shrugged it off, knowing he'd probably only be like that for a few hours and then he'd change however he wished when the processing was done. He gave his arm another flex and thought about requesting to stay this size once it was all over.

Jabari stood up and instantly felt his underwear sitting snug around his ass, he looked back and saw it too was bigger, thick and fat with muscle, his already perfect bubble butt was now almost twice as big, it was always something his fans loved photos of and he laughed thinking about how much attention it was gonna get now it looked like this.

a few hours had passed and Jabari was preparing to go to the gym, only to find he was struggling to get ready without running out of breath, looking down he could see his feet had gotten bigger, both in length, width and thickness, grow to handle his new size. He noticed when he first started getting ready he had grown to at least 6.4ft but now he was starting to doubt it, thinking he was probably 6.6 or maybe he had grown even taller in the few hours he'd been awake.

As he walked he felt his thighs rubbing together, slamming into each other the muscles bouncing and grinding. He took a moment to examine himself in the mirror. He had definitely gotten bigger and was now getting bigger than he ever wanted to be, he frowned and let out a scowl.

"fuck, hope this shit ends soon any bigger and Im gonna start to look like one of those gross freaks in the gym"

Even though he was started to get disgusted by his size he still couldn't help but reach into his pants and play with his fattening dick.

"wouldn't mind this staying though, fuck guys would probably scream if I got to really use this haha" he joked and he stroked him semi.

"fuck, cant show the goods on camera tonight, I look too different, probably just gotta get some footage of my pits in the gym, maybe some feet pics for the freaks tonight probably some ab stuff too" Jabari thought.

He was starting to get nervous about how much longer this was going to continue, he opened up the web page and still saw it was processing his request. He looked at the 3D model of his body and even spun it around.

"fuck, yeah, I'm getting way too big"

Jabari continued to get ready but ran into his next problem. He didn't mind his workout shirt not making it to his waist, he often showed off his abs in the gym, but he struggled to get his shorts up over his ass. He stood side on to the mirror letting out subtle moans of complaint as he bounced himself up and down pulling it up by the waist band, he felt it as it strained tight against his ass and bulge before in finally slipped over. He felt the fabric struggling over his magnificent bubble ass and saw his thick tree trunk man hood predominantly hugging along his thigh and waist in the mirror.

"damn...gotta be careful. move too fast and I think ill split em"

Jabari struggled his entire car ride to the gym, he had to pull over multiple times to readjust his seat, if he didn't know any better he could have sworn he was growing the entire way there. When he finally got there he struggled to pull himself out of his car when all of a sudden a loud tearing noise. He lifted up his left arm to see his shirt had split down his rips, showing off his massive lat and juicy pec, he reached over with the opposite hand to assess the damage when another massive ripping noise rip out and he felt the fabric rip across his back. Barely able to lift it off himself he was simply forced to tear off the fabric and walk into the gym shirtless.

Walking into the gym he instantly felt the warmer air on his skin, outside was cold as fuck due to it being the middle of winter and whilst the gym was air conditioned it was still warmer that the 10 degrees outside. Jabari's body naturally relaxed, no longer staying tense trying to keep warm, whilst he was enjoying the controlled temperature he didn't notice the beads of sweat starting to form on his back and shoulders.

"Hey, shirts on or no entry!"

The gym manager called out from across the desk,

"Oh umm, sorry dude wardrobe malfunction..haha"

"Doesn't matter man, grab a shirt or go home"

Jabari was furious on the inside, wanting to put him in his place, he could only think about how poor the bastard probably was, how he didn't deserve to even speak to him...but he also didn't want any more attention, a few people were already looking at him and he was embarrassed by how big he had gotten, so he grabbed a tank top from the merch rack and bought it before going into the gym.

Feeling that he had gotten heavier, noticing how much he had to breath just to keep this big body moving the first stop was the changing room to check the damage. Standing in front of the changing room mirror he was shocked to see he had almost doubled in size since he had left the house.

but that wasn't all, other things were starting to change. His toes were starting to curl in his shoes as they pressed against the edge, his pits normally always shaven were now starting to get pitch back hair grow in a tangled formation. His beard was getting thicker and sweat was now starting to run down his massive muscular arms.

He wanted to go home so nobody could see him in this disgusting body but when he pulled out his phone to check the website he still saw the same grey spinning circle and the same words "processing" then it hit him, he requested to become a bodybuilder so maybe if he acted like one the process would be complete...

Jabari took the blue tank he had just bought and put it own, it was a struggle he could barely get his arms above his head and manoeuvring this monstrosity of a body into a shirt proved to be a challenge, when he finally got it on he instantly felt the fabric vacuum and stick to his back, the sweat acting like an adhesive. Dark circles started to form under his pits and wing shaped lats as the sweat dripped down, anyone would think he had already been working out for hours.

Jabari set out onto the gym floor and did a handful of exercises but decided to finish he workout off with a bang to really convince the app he had become a bodybuilder. He waddled over to the bench press area, they were all taken but two guys were just chatting and leaning on the equipment,

"Hey ladz, you two done with the bench?" Jabari asked

The two didn't hear him, too interested in their own conversation to even notice anyone else, Jabari went to ask again but this time louder but as he opened his mouth his stomach groaned and he seemed to automatically cock his mouth open and to the side...

BUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRPPPPPPP!!!!

The two men finally looked up and saw the gigantic 300lsb black man letting out a disgustingly loud booming belch in their direction, they stared at him waiting for him to say something...

"You, two, **HIC** you ladz *UUURP* done with the bench?

"damn, all yours bro" One guy replied

The other guy covered his nose and screwed up his face, struggling to breath the stench that was now radiating from Jabari. The two men grabbed their things and walked past him with screwed up faces not hiding their disgust.

Jabari sat down, instantly feeling the sweat on his ass seep through his shorts almost sticking him to the bench, he opened his mouth to say thanks to the men for giving him their spot, but once again he cocked open his mouth automatically letting out another booming belch.

People turned to look at the man who was making all the noise and Jabari lowered his cap,

"fuck...what is going on with me" he whispered to himself.

Finishing up at the gym he made his way to the exist, his shoes so coated with sweat they squelched with each step. walking through the lobby people turned their heads to see where the horrible man odour was coming from. Two trainers were having a conversation in the office behind a glass window, Jabari didn't even notice them but he suddenly felt weighed down as his stomach loudly groaned and he cocked open his mouth

BWOOOOORRRRPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!

unable to stop it he let out another belch, so deep and loud is practically rattled the class, but it was loud enough for the two trainers to hear and stop their conversation and stare at the freak in the middle of the lobby.

whether he realised it or not Jabari only felt compelled to keep moving forward once everyone was staring at him. He continued out to his car, the cold air was even more harsh as it hit against his sweat soaked skin.

Standing next to his car he was fumbling with his keys when he felt his curled toes press even harder against the front of his sneakers when suddenly his watched one big toe tear through, then the other. His shoes felt tighter and tighter by the second. He finally unlocked the car door and struggled to force himself inside, finally thumping down into the seat he watched his feet sitting in the peddle bay as they grew, and grew, tearing out of his shoes. not just a little but completely tearing them apart, his toes broke out of the front, the sides of his feet split the shoes and tore the fabric at the top apart. Even his ankles swells splitting the heel support. Jabari's eyes started to water, he had gotten used to the slow release of his stench in the gym but his feet were so ripe it made the air sour and he was forced to roll the window down.

Getting back home Jabari practically fell out of his car when he opened the door, all that mass forcefully compacted in such a tight space for 20 minutes he had an imprint of the pattern on the door and the handle pressed into his bicep. Jabari laid there on his hands and knees in his driveway, feeling the weight as he had once again gotten even bigger. After a few minutes of enjoying the ice cold breeze cool his over heating body, he forced himself back up and waddled into his house.

Once again he pulled out his phone to check the website and was greeted with the same disappointing sight of the grey circle and the word processing.

"fuck...when will it end, when will I be big enough"

Jabari moaned as he felt his skin stretch, becoming even tighter and more stretch marks appearing across his body as he got even bigger. Sweat ran down his back and was so dense it was dripping off his face, he hadn't even been inside for 5 minutes and already the smell was starting to become too much for him. He slowly stomped through the house, so big he was only able to take one step every 10 seconds. He opened his glass sliding door and walked into his back yard.

Taking deep breaths his chest heaved up and down as his gigantic lungs filled with fresh air. Jabari was blissfully unaware of his neighbours in their own yards, but they'd soon be aware of him.

Jabari's stomach let out a loud gurgling noise and he winced in pain. Looking down he could barely see past his pecs but watched as his abs were slowing growing forward. The skin on his lats and stomach was stretching so tight strech marks spontaneously formed on his lats and pelvis.

"aaaa...AAAAHHH FUCK" Jabari cried out in pain

"W-WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING TO MEE AAAAAHHH!!" he placed his hands on his gut, hoping itd do something but all he could feel was his extremely defined abs become less defined as they were forcefully stretched out

His stomach loudly gurgled, and he felt a strange glugging sensation, the pain was almost unbearable and tears formed in the corner of his eyes. His muscles were so big, his stomach so bloated he couldnt eve touch his fingertips together when resting it on his abs.

BUUUUUUUUURRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPP!!

uuuuurrppppp

BURP!!

BWOOOOOOOOOPPPP!!!!!!

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRPPPPPPP!!!

Jabari couldn't stop, 5 minutes went by of him belching and burping only interrupted by the occasional moan of pain until finally he was interrupted by one of his neighbours calling him out from over the fence

"BRO TAKE SOME FUCKING PEPTO OR SOMETHING YOU PIG"

Flooded with embarrassment and shame Jabari quickly waddled back into his house moaning in discomfort. As soon as he shut the glass door and nobody could hear him his stomach began to feel normal, the bloating seemed to slow...

BUUUUUuuuuuuUUUUUuuuuuuUURRRrrrrrRRRRRrrrrrrRRRRPPPPPP!!!!

Jabari grimaced at the sound of the most disgusting belch he had ever heard, especially leaving his own mouth but his stomach had at least deflated so he wasn't in pain anymore.

His phone vibrated and he opened it to the wonderful sight of the website finally saying "TRANSFORMATION LOADED!" Jabari let out a sigh of relief and clicked on the grey box

"shrink me down back to my original size"

the grey loading circle appeared for half a second and a pop up appeared on screen "Transformation requests remaining: 0 cannot complete"

Jabari started to panic as he manically typed it every way he could think of but each time he got the same answer, even after completely reloading the website and uploading an old image of himself the 3D model simply changed to resemble him as he was now and it always said the same thing "Transformation requests remaining: 0 cannot complete"

Jabari looked at the 3D model of himself, over grown, sweating, bloated. He looked up from his phone screen at his lounge room mirror. Disgusted by his reflection...realising he was stuck like this..

So big it was difficult to move, Sweating so bad everyone noticed his presence enter a room, Cursed to bloat and belch until everyone around was staring at him in disgust,

Jabari was stuck like this, A disgusting fucking bodybuilder.....

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 20

˗ˏˋ DIY bracelets ˎˊ˗

"You were not expecting to really enjoy the MoMA exhibition, but Jungkook looks so interested and in his element that his energy is contagious. Even with a IUD in your uterus staging mutiny, and him trying to evade your questions throguh a DIY bracelet shop."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 10,4k

content: working hours at B&N, books, jk being goofy as usual, subway touches (what was that?), jk's genuine interest in photography, uterus pain, kids asking questions (lmao), jk being bff w boundaries as usual, soft conversations, avoiding certain topics, and making friendship bracelets (ew gay???) (p.s. i'm literally queer, shush it.)

✧ author's note ✧

*descends from the sky on a sparkly cloud of serotonin and unresolved sexual tension* GREETINGS, MY LITTLE PSYCHOTIC DAFFODILS. *ducks the knife thrown at my head* RUDE. *throws it back, it lands in someone’s thigh, probably Jungkook’s*

Okay okay okay okay. *deep breath.*

Hello, my beloved kikizens. If you’re reading this… I’m most likely abroad, roaming the earth like the girlboss nomad I pretend to be on Instagram, while in reality I’m crying over the outline of chapter 23 in the Notes app and eating overpriced airport pastries. Yes. I wrote this ahead of time. Yes. I am the most responsible irresponsible person you’ve ever met. Time traveling author note from Past!Kiki, sending love and ibuprofen to Future!You. Let’s hope the plane didn’t crash because, if so, Fuck Me Up Jungkook is now your responsibility. Please keep him fed and slightly emotionally constipated, just as I left him.

NOW. LET'S TALK. This chapter. THIS CHAPTER. We are entering the land of slow burn intimacy and micro-shifts in character dynamics that make me froth at the mouth. I need to scream about it. I am screaming about it. Nix at Barnes & Noble? A concept. Her choosing a retail job because she wants to save someone the way books saved her??? Yeah okay I'm totally fine, I'm just on the floor sobbing about it in a public bathroom.

AND JUNGKOOK. THAT BASTARD. Being respectful?? Giving her space while still being present?? Letting her lead and following her cues like a man who understands autonomy and emotional nuance??? Jail. Absolute jail. He’s so annoying and so HOT about it. I love writing him because he’s cocky and feral and dumb, but also deeply perceptive and compassionate when it counts. Like okay yes he's a little insufferable, but also, he's the kind of man who listens when you talk about your reproductive health without flinching and I think that's worth something.

Also. Let’s talk about the bracelets. Phoenix and Rogue. Fire-coded losers who pretend they don’t care while making color-coded matching jewelry??? WHO SAID YOU COULD BE CUTE. WHO SAID.

Anyway. This chapter is the beginning of a shift. A very soft shift. We’re not in love yet. We’re not even close. We are in that horrible, confusing, liminal space where friendship might be possible eventually but everyone’s still too scared and too stupid to say it out loud. They’re not friends yet. But they’re getting there. We’re watching in real time as they learn each other’s pressure points—what to push, when to pull back. It’s very ugh my chest hurts but also my heart is fluttering kind of vibe. Which is my favorite thing to write. Obviously.

Now. To talk about me, because I love attention: I’ve only been posting for a few months and I’m already overrun with WIPs like some kind of literary hoarder. It’s a problem. I start stories, then my ADHD bitchass brain says “new shiny idea???” and next thing I know I’m drowning in three AUs, an enemies-to-lovers high school AU I wrote at 3AM, and a secret smutty one-shot I can’t stop thinking about. It’s a whole ecosystem of chaos. But I do want to write them all. I do. I just also want to nap. And read. And rot.

So yeah. I think about y’all waiting for updates more than you know. I stress about it. I chew on it like emotional gum. My Spirk fic hasn’t updated in two months and it haunts me in my sleep. But I’m trying to accept that writing is better done when it feels good, not when I’m spiraling in guilt. So. If I ever start something and it takes me ages to finish, just know I do want to get there. I just move at the speed of depression and distraction.

AND A GENTLE REMINDER: this is a slow burn. A SLOW slow burn. Not the kind where they kiss in chapter 5 and you pretend it’s slow because they didn’t bang yet. No. I mean they will not start catching actual feelings for a while. There will be distractions. Other people, love interests. Awkwardness. Denial. You will watch them flounder. You will scream at your phone. You will think “surely they must realize it now,” and I will look you in the eyes and say, “no. no they do not.” Because the point is the journey. The point is the becoming. Not the kissing. (Okay fine also the kissing. But later.)

We are 20 chapters in, and I am being so serious when I say we are maybe… 20% into the full story. If that. I want to go all the way. From strangers to roommates to fuckbuddies to friends to best friends to oh my god it was you all along. I want to write every beat. Every change. Every stupid, messy, human moment. And yes. We will suffer. You, me, Nix, Jungkook, Yeji, Taehyung, everyone.

So I'd say sorry, but let's be honest, if you’re here right now—chapter 20, still with me—I know what kind of sick little freak you are. Masochist. You're not fooling anyone.

And I adore you for it. Thank you for choosing violence with me. Thank you for loving these two idiots. Thank you for reading. I mean it. So much.

Okay. Enough rambling. Go read. Go cry. Go scream. Tell your friends. Tattoo “Phoenix x Rogue” on your ass if you feel so inclined.

Mwah.

(Shameless reminder to support me on Ko-fi if you like my unhinged writing mess).

Edit because apparently I need to make this clear; my stories are extremely slow paced. This is STATED in the author’s INTRO I EXPLICITLY mention you must READ before delving into any of my works. I am tired of messages complaining about the pacing. You are warned beforehand. You chose to read this knowing it’s going to be slow as hell. Nobody is holding you hostage. If you’re bored, you can leave. I seriously don’t care. I am writing my stories because I crave this type of storytelling where everything is narrated in detail and nothing is glossed over. My readers know that and they choose to stay because they want the same thing. 80% of stories out there are fast-paced. I am catering to the people who want this type of organic development. If that’s not your thing, that’s absolutely fine. But you don’t get to complain and whine about something when there’s 100 fanfics out there you can read instead. You don’t get to come for me or my writing—lest of all my readers. I said what I said.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Books have always been your lifeline in a world that feels like it's trying to drown you.

You've loved them for as long as you can remember, though you can't pinpoint the exact moment they became your refuge. It wasn't a dramatic epiphany or a life-changing event. Just a gradual realization that between the pages of a book, you could breathe easier. 

Kafka speaks to the part of you that feels constantly out of step with the world (though you'd never admit that to Taehyung—his smug "I told you so" would be unbearable). 

Murakami paints surreal landscapes that make your own reality feel a little less suffocating. 

And now Donna Tartt, because you're tired of Jimin's scandalized gasps every time you confess to not having read her yet.

You weren't the stereotypical bookworm growing up. No thick glasses perched on your nose, no disdainful sniffs at the mention of pop culture. You didn't turn your nose up at Harry Styles concerts or roll your eyes at school dances. 

But even as you navigated the treacherous waters of adolescence—first periods and friendship fallouts, the constant drama of simply existing as a teenager—books were always there. 

A constant, even if sometimes pushed to the background.

They became your armor when the weight of expectations threatened to crush you. When disappointment hung heavy in the air, threatening to send you away in a chokehold, you'd retreat into worlds made of paper and ink. 

It was easier to face fictional monsters than the very real ones lurking in parent-teacher conferences and college application deadlines.

Now, standing amidst the shelves of Barnes & Noble, surrounded by the comforting smell of new books and possibility, you can't help but feel a sense of belonging. Like you've come full circle. From the little girl who used to hide under her covers with a flashlight, devouring stories long past bedtime, to the woman who's made words her life's work.

It's not always easy. 

Sometimes the words on the page blur together, your mind too full of real-world worries to lose yourself in fiction. 

But even then, the weight of a book in your hands is grounding. 

A reminder that there are always other worlds to explore, other lives to live, if only for a few hundred pages.

Maybe that's why you're here, arranging displays and recommending titles to strangers. 

Because somewhere out there is another person drowning in expectations, desperate for a lifeline. 

And maybe, just maybe, you can be the one to hand them the right book at the right moment—help them with their very own small act of rebellion against a world that sometimes feels too heavy to bear.

Mark hovers nearby as you arrange a new display of bestsellers, lanky frame, loose shirt and baggy pants. He's the one who picked up your application when you and Yeji came in last week—the one with the kind eyes and the nervous habit of clutching his hands together every five seconds.

Blonde, blue-eyed. You’d dare say he’s not bad-looking. For a man.

"So basically," he explains, voice pitched low like he's sharing state secrets instead of retail procedures, "most days you'll either be on register, floor assistance, or shelving. Today you're just shadowing me on the floor."

Floor assistance, as it turns out, is mostly wandering around looking approachable (but not too approachable) and occasionally directing lost souls to the bathroom or the manga section. You're also expected to straighten displays, check for misplaced books, and maintain what Mark calls "the Barnes & Noble aesthetic."

"Which means?" you ask, adjusting a copy of the latest Sally Rooney that's slightly out of alignment with its siblings.

"You know," he shrugs, hands doing that awkward hovering thing again, "like... cozy but sophisticated. Inviting but not cluttered."

You nod like this makes perfect sense, though privately you think it sounds like the kind of bullshit corporate memo someone got paid way too much to write.

"What about recommendations?" you ask. "Do we have any input on displays or—"

"Oh, totally!" His face brightens. "We each get to curate an employee picks shelf. You can start working on yours next week."

That, at least, sounds promising. 

Already your mind is cataloging possibilities—perhaps a mix of classics and contemporary, maybe something unexpected thrown in. Definitely not the usual suspects everyone claims to have read but hasn't.

And just like that, the morning quickly blurs into afternoon. 

Your tasks are the same all day: shelving, straightening, and following Mark around as he points out the minutiae of bookselling. It's mindless work, but not unpleasant. There's something soothing about putting things in order, about knowing exactly where everything belongs.

By the time your lunch break rolls around, you've settled into a comfortable groove. The break room is empty except for you and your sad turkey sandwich, the ancient TV in the corner playing a rerun of The Office. One where Jim is pulling some elaborate prank on Dwight. You find yourself smiling despite the mediocrity of your lunch.

The afternoon passes in much the same way—quiet, uneventful, almost peaceful. You help an elderly woman find the latest Louise Penny mystery. You alphabetize a section of poetry that looks like it's been hit by a tornado. You dust shelves that probably haven't seen a feather duster since Obama was president.

And then, suddenly, it's 5 PM.

You glance at your phone, mildly surprised that eight hours have passed without a single customer meltdown or retail horror story. No one has asked to speak to your manager. No one has tried to return a clearly read book with coffee stains on page 47. No one has even approached you with one of those vague "I'm looking for a book with a blue cover about a thing that happens" requests.

In fact, you've barely interacted with customers at all. It wasn't your turn on register, and most browsers seemed content to wander without assistance. 

It's been... nice. 

Quiet. 

The kind of job where you can disappear into your own thoughts for stretches at a time.

You could get used to this, you think, clocking out and grabbing your bag from the locker. 

Maybe it won't be the soul-crushing retail experience Yeji warned you about. Maybe you've lucked into the unicorn of part-time jobs—one that pays the bills without completely draining your will to live.

Or maybe it's just the first-day honeymoon period, and next week you'll be dealing with entitled parents who think the children's section is a free daycare.

Either way, as you push through the employee exit into the early evening air, you feel a strange sense of… accomplishment? 

Surely, it's not saving lives or changing the world, but you can’t deny it’s satisfying; a day spent surrounded by books, putting things in order, creating small pockets of calm in a chaotic world.

And now, apparently (because God forbid the universe lets you forget) you have plans. 

With Jungkook, of all people. 

The thought should make you anxious.

It doesn’t.

You check your phone and see his text:

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚊? 𝚊𝚖 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 

You scan the street and spot him leaning against a lamppost, scrolling through his phone, looking unfairly good in a simple black t-shirt and jeans. Your roommate. Your sometimes-hookup. Your... friend?

The word still feels strange, but maybe it's time to try it on for size.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚒'𝚖 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚞

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚊𝚜 1𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚙𝚙𝚕

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚘 𝚒'𝚖 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚠𝚒𝚗

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚘𝚠 𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚊𝚛 𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚝𝚠

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚛 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒'𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚛𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 🙄

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛?

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚟

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚑𝚝𝚘

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚒 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚞 𝚋𝚝𝚠 𝚒𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒'𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚡 

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒'𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚘 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚘 𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚞 𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚝𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚢 𝚊𝚏

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚢 

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚑𝚝𝚘

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚑𝚑𝚑𝚑𝚑

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚞 𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗 𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒'𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚘𝚔 𝚋𝚢𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚞 𝚒𝚗 𝟹𝟸𝟷

You spot him leaning against the lamppost, scrolling on his phone like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders relaxed, black t-shirt fitting just right—not too tight, not too loose. It’s casual. Effortless. 

And yeah, you’ve seen him in casual before—sweats, pajamas, even that stupid hoodie he refuses to throw out—but this is different. This is casual street Jungkook in the wild, outside the apartment. 

Casual street Jungkook who’s here with you to do something normal and non-sexual and… friendly.

He looks good. But then again, you already knew that. There’s a reason you fuck him despite his infuriating personality. 

Even when he says things that make you want to strangle him with his own belt.

He catches sight of you approaching and grins, that stupid lopsided grin that’s all teeth and confidence. 

“Hey,” he says, voice light like this is just another day.

You don’t respond. Don’t even look up from your phone as your thumb swipes through apps in search of Maps. 

“We have a twenty-minute ride from Union Square to the MoMA,” you say flatly. “The exhibit starts in thirty-five, so let’s go.”

“Sure,” he says easily, pushing off the lamppost with a lazy shrug. “What line?”

“N, Q, R—whichever comes first.” You finally glance up at him as you say it, but only briefly. Just long enough to catch the slight raise of his eyebrows before he nods.

“Okay.”

And then you’re walking side by side toward the subway entrance like this is normal. Like this isn’t the first time you’ve agreed to spend time together without sex as the unspoken endgame.

The stairs down to the subway are crowded—typical for a weekday evening—and you both swipe your cards at the turnstile without a word. There’s a guy pissing in one corner of the station (because of course there is), and Jungkook widens his eyes in a grimace like he’s trying to wipe away the sight of it. You don’t comment, just keep moving toward the platform like nothing happened.

It shouldn’t feel awkward. It’s never been awkward with him before—not even when things got messy or complicated or downright stupid between you two. 

But now? 

Now it feels like there’s this invisible weight hanging between you, pressing down on every step you take together.

Maybe it’s because he brought up that whole “trying to be friends” thing this morning—friends who have expectations, and expectations lead to disappointment, and disappointment leads to losing control.

Or maybe it’s because now that he said it out loud—now that he put friendship on the table—you can’t stop overthinking every little thing about this outing. 

What does he expect from you? Does he want small talk? Does he want silence? Is this supposed to feel casual or meaningful or something else entirely?

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye as you both stop near the edge of the platform. He’s standing close but not too close—hands still in his pockets, gaze fixed on some ad plastered across the opposite wall. He doesn’t look uncomfortable or tense or anything remotely resembling how you feel right now.

Which makes sense because Jungkook never overthinks anything. He just does whatever feels right in the moment and deals with the consequences later (if at all). 

It’s one of the things that drives you crazy about him—and maybe one of the things you secretly envy.

The train isn’t here yet, so now what? Do you say something? Ask him about his day? Pretend this is normal and fine and not at all weird for you?

“So…” Your voice comes out hesitant—too hesitant—and you immediately hate yourself for it. 

Nice going, stupid bitch.

He glances at you but doesn’t say anything right away, waiting for you to finish whatever thought you’re trying (and failing) to articulate.

“What did… what did you do?” You clear your throat awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as if that’ll somehow make this less painful for both of you. “Until… y’know… five?”

His lips twitch like he’s fighting back a smirk—like he knows exactly how much effort it took for you to ask such a simple question—and for some reason that makes you want to shove his head against the next train.

“Not much,” he says finally, his tone casual but not dismissive. “Watched some YouTube tutorials. Tried making sourdough again.”

You blink at him. “Sourdough?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, like baking bread is just a totally normal thing for someone like him to do in their free time. “Didn’t come out great though.”

“Oh.” 

You don’t know what else to say to that—to him—so instead you just nod and glance down at your phone again like there’s something urgent demanding your attention.

But then, as if destiny decided (for once) to make things easier for you, the train arrives with its usual screech of brakes and rush of stale air, saving you from having to come up with any more awkward small talk on the platform.

So you step onto the train together—side by side but not touching—and you can’t help but wonder if this whole ‘trying to be friends’ thing is going to be harder than either of you realized.

Inside Jungkook moves instinctively to the metal bar overhead, reaching up to steady himself as the train lurches forward. You follow suit, your fingers wrapping around the same bar just a few inches away from his.

It’s fine. It’s normal. People share subway bars all the time. Nothing weird about it.

Except your hand shifts slightly as the train rounds a corner, and suddenly your pinky brushes against his. Just barely—a fleeting touch—but it’s enough to make you freeze for half a second.

And… 

You don’t look at him. 

You refuse to look at him. 

Because if you do, you’ll see that stupid smirk he always gets when he knows he’s gotten under your skin, and you’re not sure you can handle that right now.

But then his hand shifts too—like, on purpose?—and his pinky brushes yours again. 

Softer this time. 

Lingering.

Your stomach twists in a way that feels equal parts annoying and… something else you don’t want to name. You glance up at him despite yourself, ready to snap something sarcastic or dismissive or whatever it takes to make this moment feel less charged than it suddenly does.

But he’s not smirking. He’s just… looking at you. Calmly. Quietly. Like this is nothing more than two people sharing a subway bar in a crowded train.

And maybe it is nothing. Maybe you’re just overthinking it because that’s what you do—because every little thing with him feels like it carries more weight than it should.

Still, when his fingers shift again—this time curling slightly so the side of his hand presses against yours—you don’t pull away. 

You don’t say anything either, just let your fingers relax against the bar as the train rattles onward.

It’s small. Subtle. Barely even noticeable in the grand scheme of things.

But somehow, in the cramped chaos of the subway car—with strangers pressed against you on all sides—it feels like the quietest moment you’ve had all day.

You don’t look at him again—not directly—but out of the corner of your eye, you catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Not cocky or teasing or anything remotely resembling his usual expressions.

Just soft.

And for some reason, that makes your throat tighten all over again.

You never expected to find Jungkook beautiful.

He stands in front of a massive black and white photograph with his head tilted slightly and dark brown eyes narrowed in concentration.

The lightning inside the space makes everything feel way more thought-provoking than it actually is. All you notice, really, is how it deepens the line of his jaw, the slight furrow between his eyebrows. His lips, and how they move silently, like he's having some private conversation with the image before him.

Stupid, handsome motherfucker. Why does he exist in your space?

You've seen him naked. You've seen him laughing so hard he nearly falls off the couch. You've seen him half-asleep and grumpy at 6 AM.

But you've never seen him like this—completely absorbed, genuinely focused on something that isn't getting laid or annoying the shit out of you.

"The composition is fucking incredible," he says without looking at you, gesturing at the photograph. "See how they've used negative space to draw your eye to the subject? And the depth of field is so deliberate—keeps you just slightly off-balance."

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden technical analysis. Since when does Jungkook know smart words?

"You actually know about photography?" It comes out more surprised than you intended.

He turns to you then, one eyebrow raised. "Film major, Nix. Kind of comes with the territory."

"Yeah, but—" You stop yourself, not sure how to articulate that you assumed his interest in film was mostly about looking cool and impressing girls.

"But what?"

"Nothing," you mutter, moving closer to the photograph. "Just didn't realize you paid attention in class."

He snorts. "I maintain my GPA through pure charm and good looks alone. No actual knowledge required."

You roll your eyes, but there's no real annoyance behind it. "Seriously though, you seem like you actually know what you're talking about. It's... weird."

"Weird that I'm not a complete idiot?" He steps back from the photograph, hands sliding into his pockets. "Gee, thanks."

"That's not what I meant."

He shrugs, already moving toward the next piece—a series of distorted portraits that seem to melt into one another.

"I just like this stuff. Always have."

You follow him, curiosity getting the better of you.

"Since when?"

"Since forever," he says, stopping in front of the portraits. "My mom was into photography. Had this old Pentax she used to carry everywhere. Taught me how to develop film in our bathroom when I was like, eight."

His voice always turns weirdly soft when his mom is involved. It makes you pause.

This is the most he's ever shared about his family, you realize.

You're not sure whether to press further or let it go.

Before you can decide, he continues, "These portraits are using multiple exposure. See how the faces blend together? It's like—when you overlay two negatives, you get this ghost effect. The new digital stuff makes it easier, but there's something about doing it on actual film that hits different."

His enthusiasm is... surprising. And weirdly contagious. You find yourself leaning in closer to see what he's pointing out, actually interested in the technical explanation.

"The photographer probably used a really slow shutter speed too," he adds, gesturing at the blurred edges of the subjects' features. "Makes movement look like this—sort of ethereal, you know?"

You don't know, not really, but you nod anyway.

Because his voice picks up speed when he talks about this, his hands do slightly more animated movements as he explains, and there’s genuine passion coloring his words and it’s…

It's... different. Seeing him care about something so much.

"What?" he asks suddenly, catching you staring at him.

You hadn't realized you were. Heat creeps up your neck, and you look away quickly.

"Nothing."

"Nah, you were looking at me weird."

"Just..." You shrug, aiming for casual. "You're a huge nerd, that's all."

He blinks at you, then barks out a laugh. "Wow. I share my vast knowledge and expertise, and that's what I get?"

"Vast knowledge? Your head barely fits in the room as it is."

"That's it," he declares, turning away dramatically. "I'm not explaining anything else. Figure it out yourself, philistine."

You swat at his arm, fighting a smile. "Oh come on, I was joking. Keep nerding out. It's..." Cute? Interesting? Surprisingly not annoying? "...Educational."

He gives you a suspicious look but seems mollified. "Fine. But only because I'm generous with my brilliance."

You snort, following him to the next piece. "So generous."

And it's strange, this feeling—this easy back-and-forth that doesn't have the usual sharp edges.

For a moment, it almost feels like you could be friends. Real friends, not just roommates who occasionally fuck and mostly argue.

The thought is so unexpected that it—

Pain.

Sharp and sudden, like someone stabbing a hot poker into your lower abdomen. Your breath catches, body instinctively curling in on itself.

Your hand flies to your stomach as another wave hits, this one even more intense than the first.

It's the IUD again—has to be. But this is worse than before. Much worse.

You stop walking, one hand gripping the nearby wall for support as you try to breathe through it.

Just breathe. It'll pass. It has to.

It doesn't.

The third wave nearly brings you to your knees, a cold sweat breaking out across your forehead.

Jungkook makes it several steps before realizing you're no longer beside him. He turns back, eyes falling on your hunched form, and his expression shifts instantly from relaxed to concerned.

"Yo, what's wrong?" He's back at your side in three quick strides, voice pitched low but urgent.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak yet. Just need a minute. Just need to breathe.

"Phoenix?" His hand hovers near your elbow, not quite touching. "Hey, talk to me. What's happening?"

"It's—" Another stab of pain cuts you off, and you bite down hard on your lip to keep from making a sound. "It's nothing. Just—cramps."

His frown deepens, eyes scanning your face.

"Bullshit. You look like you're about to pass out."

"I'm fine," you insist. "Just give me a second."

The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but the alternative is worse.

Admitting weakness? Letting him see you crumble?

Absolutely fucking not.

Your uterus twists again—sadistic little organ—and you clench your jaw so hard you're surprised your teeth don't crack.

Breathe. Just breathe. You've handled worse.

(Have you, though?)

He's hovering now, that frown cutting deeper between his eyebrows, and you hate it.

Hate how his eyes flick over your face, cataloging symptoms.

Hate how his hand lifts halfway toward you before dropping back to his side, like he's afraid to touch you without permission.

"Ibuprofen," you manage, the word strained but determined. "I just need some ibuprofen."

"Nix, you seriously look like you're about to pass out—"

"Ibuprofen," you cut him off, sharper this time. "Seriously. I'll be okay. Just need. Ibuprofen."

You're not going home. Not happening.

You just got this fucking copper IUD on Wednesday—of course it's being a bitch. Three days of cramping is normal, right? Has to be.

And this is your first real attempt at being normal humans together, plus it's his birthday and Yoongi's expecting you to keep him out until eight. Your goddamn uterus is not ruining this.

A particularly vicious cramp rips through you, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep from making a sound. Jungkook notices, because of course he does. His eyes narrow, jaw working like he's physically biting back whatever argument he wants to make.

Finally, he sighs—loud, frustrated, dramatic in that way only he can be.

"Okay."

The surrender in his voice shouldn't feel like a victory, but it does. Even as another cramp threatens to fold you in half.

"Okay," he repeats, softer. "Let me see if I can get you one. Just—wait here, alright?"

He wraps his fingers around your elbow, not gripping, just guiding, and you let him because walking feels like a monumental task right now. .

Focus. One foot, then the other.

There's a cushioned bench a few feet away. A kid sits at one end, maybe seven or eight, swinging his legs and staring at the floor with the bored expression of someone dragged to a museum against his will.

Jungkook walks you toward it, his hand steady on your arm.

"Hello," he says to the boy, voice gentler than you've ever heard from him. "Sorry, my friend over here is in pain and really needs to sit down."

The kid looks up—first at Jungkook, then at you—eyes widening slightly. He doesn't say anything, just scoots over, fingers drifting to his mouth as he continues to stare.

"Thanks, buddy," Jungkook says, helping you sit.

You sink onto the bench, the relief immediate but not enough. It still feels like someone's playing Operation with your insides, fishing out organs with a pair of rusty pliers.

Jungkook lingers for a second, hesitant.

"You sure you'll be okay if I—"

"Go," you grit out, not trusting yourself to say more.

He gives you one last look—concerned, frustrated, something else you can't name—before turning and striding away with purpose, disappearing around a corner.

And then it's just you, the kid, and the agony twisting through your abdomen.

Great. Fantastic. You can't even make it through one normal human interaction without your body staging a fucking rebellion.

Every time you try to—what? Be a decent person? Spend time with someone who isn't Yeji? The universe laughs in your face.

The kid is still staring at you, blue eyes huge in his small face. You force what you hope is a reassuring smile but suspect looks more like a grimace.

"Your face is becoming white," he says matter-of-factly.

"Thanks," you mutter. "I'm aware."

"Like a ghost," he adds helpfully. "Are you gonna throw up?"

Jesus Christ. This is your life now. Being assessed by a tiny human while your reproductive system wages war against the rest of your organs.

"No," you say, though you're not entirely sure that's true. "Just need some medicine."

"My mom says medicine is for when you're really sick," he informs you, kicking his heels against the bench. "Are you really sick?"

Another twist of pain, and you have to close your eyes for a second.

"Something like that."

"Is that man your boyfriend?"

God, children and their questions. No filter, just an endless stream of curiosity with no regard for social niceties.

You should lie.

Should say yes, it would be simpler than explaining the complicated mess that is you and Jungkook.

"No," you say instead. "Just a... friend."

The word still feels strange. Foreign. Like you're saying it in a language you barely speak.

"Oh." The kid looks disappointed. "He looks like a superhero."

Despite everything—the pain, the frustration, the growing concern that the gyno didn't warn you about this level of copper IUD hell—you almost laugh.

Because Jungkook? Oh he would fucking love that. His ego is already the size of Manhattan; the last thing he needs is child-based validation of his supposed heroism.

"More like a supervillain," you mutter.

The boy's eyes widen further. "Really?"

"No, not really. Just a regular person who's..." You pause, not sure how to finish that sentence.

Annoying? Complicated? Stupidly attractive even when he's being insufferable?

"...helping me out."

You press your palm harder against your abdomen, hoping the pressure will somehow counteract the pain. But truthfully, it doesn't. If anything, it's getting worse, spreading from your core outward until your lower back aches and your thighs feel weak.

This can't be normal.

Well, maybe it is.

You've never had an IUD before—what the hell do you know?

Clearly should've read beyond the first page of that pamphlet they gave you, but you were too busy trying not to think about the actual insertion part.

"I have lots of friends," the kid announces proudly. "But none of them are girls."

He wrinkles his nose like this is the most disgusting concept imaginable.

Despite everything—the pain, the frustration, the knowledge that this day is slowly derailing—you almost smile.

"Girls aren't so bad."

He shrugs, unconvinced. "They like stupid stuff."

"So do boys."

"Nuh-uh. Boys like cool things. Like dinosaurs."

"Girls can like dinosaurs too."

He considers this, head tilted.

"I guess. My sister doesn't though. She just likes her stupid boyfriend." The contempt in his voice is impressive for someone whose feet don't touch the floor.

You're saved from further insights into his sister's love life by Jungkook's return. He's walking toward you with a small paper cup in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, his expression still caught between concern and that strange new softness.

"Got you covered," he says, dropping into a crouch in front of you. "They had a first aid station. Ibuprofen and water."

You take the pills and water with hands that shake slightly, downing them quickly.

"Thanks."

He sits beside you on the bench, close but not touching—some sort of distance that feels both considerate and maddening.

You realize now Jungkook is not one to push boundaries. Not when they’re firm, not when you’ve made them clear. Like when you told him this thing between you two stayed between you two and he just accepted it.

"Should take about twenty minutes to kick in," he says, voice low and even.

You nod, focusing on your breathing.

In and out. Slow and steady. Just get through this. You've handled worse.

(Have you, though? Because right now it feels like your insides are trying to claw their way out.)

"We can go home," he offers, so subsided it's almost comical coming from him. "If you want."

"No." The word comes out sharper than intended, and you soften it with, "No, I'm fine. Just need a minute."

He doesn't argue, just nods like he expected this answer.

Of course he did.

He knows you're stubborn, knows you hate showing weakness, knows you'll suffer through just about anything to avoid admitting you can't handle it.

The silence stretches between you, but it's not uncomfortable. Not exactly. It's... waiting. Patient. And you note how his knee bounces slightly, the only sign of restless energy in his otherwise still form.

"Thanks," you say again, quieter this time.

He glances at you, surprise flitting across his features.

"For what?"

"For not..." You gesture vaguely, searching for the right words. "Making it a thing."

His lips twitch, almost a smile but not quite.

"It's your body, Nix. Your call."

Something warm and unexpected unfurls in your chest at that—at the simple acknowledgment of your autonomy, your right to decide how to handle your own pain.

He could push. Could insist on taking you home, on calling a doctor, on making decisions for you "for your own good."

It's what most people would do, have always done, their concern overriding your independence.

But he doesn't.

Just sits beside you, a quiet presence in the middle of this mess, respecting your boundaries even as his knee keeps bouncing with what you suspect is concern he's trying not to voice.

It's... nice. Weird, but nice.

The kid on the bench has gone quiet, watching both of you with curious eyes. His mother appears suddenly, a harried-looking woman with a museum map clutched in one hand.

"Aiden, there you are! I told you not to wander off." She gives you and Jungkook an apologetic smile. "Sorry if he bothered you."

"He's fine," Jungkook says, easy and casual. "Just keeping us company."

Aiden slides off the bench, taking his mother's outstretched hand.

“They're friends," he informs her solemnly. "But not boyfriend and girlfriend."

His mother looks mortified. "Aiden!"

"It's okay," you manage, fighting back a laugh that would probably hurt like hell. "He's just observant."

Aiden's mother drags him away, his sneakers squeaking against the polished floor as he waves one last time.

And then it's just the two of you, sitting in silence on a bench in the middle of the MoMA like you belong there. Like this is normal.

All the while, the pain persists, still twisting through your abdomen.

Jungkook hums quietly—something soft and melodic that takes you a moment to recognize.

John Mayer. Of course it's fucking John Mayer.

Your gaze drifts to the floor, tracing the patterns in the polished concrete as another thought forms, heavy and insistent.

Should you tell him? About the IUD?

He's worried. You can see it in his eyes, the way his fingers tap restlessly against his thigh, the occasional glance he throws your way when he thinks you're not looking.

But he's not pushing. Not demanding explanations or insisting on taking you home.

Because that's not what he does.

He suggests, offers, hints... but never forces. Never demands.

Just accepts whatever you're willing to give, even when it's clear he wants more.

This morning he talked about being friends. About sharing things. About being more than just roommates who occasionally fuck and mostly argue.

Maybe this could be a first step. A tiny gesture toward whatever it is he's proposing.

But also...

Also what if you tell him and he smirks? Makes some stupid joke about how you wanted him raw that badly?

You know how quickly he covers discomfort with humor, how reliably he turns to sexual innuendo when a moment gets too real or too heavy.

And this moment is nothing if not heavy.

But overthinking it is getting you nowhere, and the silence is stretching too long, becoming its own kind of weight.

So you take a breath, summon what little courage the pain hasn't eaten away, and speak.

"I got an IUD." The words come out soft, hushed, almost hoping he won't hear them. "Wednesday."

His head tilts toward you, and you brace yourself. Wait for the snort, the smirk, the inevitable sexual commentary that will make you regret this tiny moment of trust.

But it never comes.

He just sighs softly, a small shrug lifting his shoulders.

"That's good."

Your eyes drift to him, confusion replacing the defensive tension you were building, because what does he mean?

He meets your gaze, then looks back at the photograph on the wall.

“I mean, it's good you're taking care of yourself. Your sexual health." Another shrug, this one smaller. "That's good, Nix."

Something in your chest loosens—a knot you didn't realize you were holding tight.

It's... not what you expected. Not from him.

Not from anyone, really.

"Yeah, well." You shift on the bench, wincing as the movement sends a dull throb through your lower abdomen. "Not feeling particularly great about it at the moment."

His lips quirk, not quite a smile.

"Pain that bad?"

"Like someone's playing Operation with my insides, but they're losing."

A soft laugh escapes him. "Fucking brutal."

"Pretty much."

Another stretch of silence, but this one feels different. Lighter, somehow. The pain is still there, but it's muted now, less all-consuming.

"Copper or hormonal?" he asks, voice casual like he's asking about the weather, not your reproductive choices.

You blink at him, genuinely surprised.

"You know the difference?"

"I do actually pay attention in health class, Phoenix. Plus, you know. Been with people who've had them."

"Copper," you answer, focusing on the question instead of whatever that feeling was. "I had a feeling hormones would mess with me."

He nods like this makes perfect sense. "Those are the ones that hurt more at first, right? Take longer to settle?"

Again, that surprise. "Yeah. How do you know that?"

"My ex." He shifts slightly on the bench, angling more toward you without actually moving closer. "She had one. Copper. Cramped like hell the first few months."

"Months?" The word comes out more alarmed than you intended.

His eyes widen slightly. "Not like, continuously. Just periodically. Mostly when she got her period. It got better though. Less intense over time."

"Great," you mutter. "Something to look forward to."

"Sorry." He winces. "Not helping, am I?"

"Not really, no."

"Do you..." He hesitates, eyes scanning your face like he's checking for warning signs. "Do you regret getting it?"

The question catches you off guard. Not because it's invasive—it's actually pretty reasonable given the context—but because of how genuinely he asks it. Like he really wants to know what you think. Not to judge, just to understand.

"No," you say after a moment. "No, I don't regret it. I wanted it. Chose it. This—This is just the shitty part. It'll pass."

"And this is something you want? Long-term?"

You nod, a little less certain than before but still sure enough.

"Yeah. I like not having to worry about it. Worth some pain now."

"Make sense. That's... smart." He tilts his head, that thoughtful look you rarely see crossing his features. "Planning ahead."

"One of us has to," you say without thinking.

His eyebrows shoot up. "Ouch. Direct hit, Nix."

"Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Nah, it's fair." He cuts you off with a small laugh. "I'm not exactly Mr. Responsibility."

The self-awareness surprises you.

"You're not that bad."

"I’m not?”

“Okay I take it back.”

He chuckles.

The pain stabs again, sharper this time, and you can't quite hide the wince. His expression shifts immediately.

"Need to move around? Sometimes that helps."

You consider it. Sitting here isn't doing much except letting you focus on how much it hurts.

“Maybe."

"Think the ibuprofen's kicking in at all?"

His eyes scan your face, and you wonder what he sees there. Probably not the composed, controlled person you're trying to project.

"A little. It's not as bad as before."

"That's something." He stands, offering a hand but not insisting when you ignore it and push yourself up on your own. "We could head to the next gallery? Or go back to the one with that series you liked—the urban decay stuff."

The fact that he noticed which photographs caught your interest earlier shouldn't feel significant. It's just basic observation. Nothing special.

But it does. Feel significant, that is.

"Let's try the next one," you say, taking a tentative step. The pain doesn't immediately floor you, which is an improvement. "Slowly, though."

"No rush." He falls into step beside you, hands shoved in his pockets in that casual way he has, like he's completely at ease no matter where he is.

You nod, trying not to think about the surprise dinner. Trying even harder not to think about the stupid Mayer vinyl you bought him and the fact that all his film bros will be there.

"Thanks," you say after a few steps. "For not being weird about the IUD thing."

He glances at you, something almost like surprise flickering across his features before settling into a small smile.

“Nothing to be weird about. It's your body, Nix. Your choice."

"Yeah, but." You struggle to articulate what you mean. "Most guys would make some gross joke or get all squirmy talking about it."

"I'm not most guys."

"Okay pick me boy."

“And here we go again.” He snorts.

“Hey, you’re the one who said that generic ass shit.”

"Uh-uh, so," he says, deliberately casual as you round the corner into the next gallery space. "How do you feel about Mayer?"

You groan, shoving him lightly.

"I knew it. I fucking knew you were humming that shit on purpose."

He laughs, the sound warm and surprisingly genuine.

"Gravity is a classic! You can hate on the man all you want, but you can't deny the music."

"Watch me."

And just like that, you're arguing about John Mayer in the middle of the MoMA, the pain still there but somehow less important than this stupid debate about whether "Your Body Is A Wonderland" is the worst song ever written or just mostly terrible.

It's strange. Unexpected. Almost... nice

Maybe this friend thing isn't completely impossible after all.

New York smells different right before sunset.

The city air mellows somehow. Still dirty, still chaotic, but softer now. Like the golden hour light filtering through the buildings is actually changing the molecular structure of everything it touches.

Or maybe that's just the ibuprofen finally kicking in and making life worth living again. Hard to say.

Your phone pings as you walk beside Jungkook, the busy street full of that weird liminal energy between work day and evening. People rushing home, people headed out, everyone caught in that transitional space of not-quite-done and not-quite-started.

It's Yoongi, his message simple and direct:

𝐘𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬🎧: 𝙷𝚘𝚠’𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐? 𝚂𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔?

You glance at Jungkook, who's completely absorbed in his own phone, thumbs tapping absently against the screen.

Focused. Unaware.

Perfect.

You send back a quick thumbs up emoji, ignoring the follow-up questions Yoongi's already typing. The less you engage, the less likely you are to give something away.

6:30 PM.

Just over an hour until you need to steer Jungkook to the ramen place for his surprise. An hour to fill without either dying from secret uterine rebellion or accidentally revealing the plan.

You slide your phone back into your pocket and lean slightly to see what's so captivating on Jungkook's screen.

Not that you care. Just curious. Normal curious, not weird curious.

Instagram?

He's editing a photo—one of the abstract architectural shots he took at the museum when you weren't paying attention.

It's actually... pretty good.

The photo highlights the sharp angles of the stairwell, light cutting through the space in a way that transforms something mundane into something almost ethereal.

"You have a photography Instagram?"

He startles, immediately angling the phone away from you with the guilty reflex of someone caught looking at porn in public.

"Yeah, but it's nothing important. Just, you know. Silly stuff."

That's... suspicious. Jungkook doesn't do self-deprecation, not about things he's clearly good at.

He's the first person to brag about his skills, his looks, his whatever. The fact that he's downplaying this is weird.

"What silly stuff?" You raise an eyebrow, trying to peer around his shoulder at the now-hidden screen. "Show me."

"No, seriously, it's no big deal." He actually puts his phone in his pocket, which is basically equivalent to locking it in a vault given how attached he usually is to the thing. "Just a hobby."

"Since when are you shy about anything?" You nudge his arm with your elbow, oddly intrigued by this sudden reluctance. "Come on, I’ll show you mine, you show me yours."

"Not everything has to be an innuendo, Phoenix."

"That wasn't—" You stop yourself, because okay, that did sound suggestive. "Come on, I let you drag me through an entire photography exhibition. The least you could do is let me see your supposed 'silly' photography Instagram."

He's not looking at you now, eyes fixed somewhere to the left, scanning the street like he's searching for an escape route.

Then his face changes, relief washing over his features as he spots something across the way.

"Hey, wanna check that out?"

He points toward a small storefront wedged between a vintage clothing shop and a bubble tea place. The sign reads 'String Theory: DIY Jewelry & Crafts' in quirky hand-painted letters.

"A bracelet shop?" You follow his gaze, genuinely confused by the abrupt change of subject. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, why not?" He's already moving toward the crosswalk, clearly eager to leave the Instagram conversation behind. "Could be fun."

"Since when do you care about DIY bracelets?"

He shrugs, the movement a little too casual to be genuine. "Since right now. Come on, Nix. Live a little."

You narrow your eyes, suspicious of this sudden interest in arts and crafts, but follow him anyway.

 Because in all honesty… The distraction isn't unwelcome—you've still got an hour to kill, and arguing about his secret Instagram account wasn't exactly on your agenda for the day.

Plus, whatever he's hiding must be good if he's willing to make friendship bracelets to avoid talking about it.

You approach the shop, and it is small but bright, walls lined with colorful spools of thread, beads in every imaginable shape and size, and an assortment of charms that range from the typical (hearts, stars, moons) to the bizarre (tiny plastic dinosaurs, miniature food items, and what appears to be a collection of famous dictators' faces).

A twenty-something with purple hair and more piercings than you can count greets you from behind the counter.

"Welcome to String Theory! Let me know if you need help finding anything."

Jungkook nods in acknowledgement, already wandering toward a display of leather cords and metal clasps. You follow, still puzzled by this whole detour.

"So this is what we're doing now? Making friendship bracelets?" You pick up a spool of neon green thread, turning it over in your fingers. "Is this your way of making our friendship official? Should we be getting cards and flowers too?"

He snorts, examining a tray of silver charms with unexpected interest.

"If anyone's getting flowers in this scenario, it's me. I'm high maintenance."

"Yeah, no shit."

He glances at you, that familiar half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“We don't have to stay if you don't want to. Just thought it might be..." He trails off, shrugging again in that way he does when he's trying to seem indifferent.

"What? Entertaining? A good way to avoid showing me your Instagram?"

"Both." He picks up a small wolf charm, turning it over in his fingers. "But mostly I thought it might be fun. You know, do something with our hands that isn't..."

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"And there's the innuendo. I was wondering how long you could go without making it weird."

"About thirty seconds, apparently." He sets the charm down, moving on to a collection of colored stones. "So, you want to make something or not?"

You consider it.

On one hand, making bracelets seems like a throwback to summer camp or middle school sleepovers—not exactly your usual Saturday night activity.

On the other hand, you've got time to kill, and it's oddly... refreshing to see Jungkook interested in something so innocuous.

Plus, you're still curious about that Instagram account, and maybe if you play along with this diversion, he'll eventually let his guard down enough to show you.

"Fine." You grab a small plastic basket from a stack near the entrance. "But I'm not making anything with your name on it, so don't get any ideas."

"Wouldn't dream of it." His smile widens into something more genuine. "Though I bet you'd rock a ‘Kuko 4-Ever' bracelet."

"I'd rather die, thanks."

You move along the wall, selecting threads in deep blues and purples because they're pretty, not because they remind you of the way Jungkook's hair sometimes looks in certain light. That would be stupid.

"So," you say casually, examining a tray of small metallic beads, "are you going to tell me about this secret Instagram account or what?"

He sighs, the sound more resigned than annoyed. "It's not secret. It's just... separate."

"Separate from what?"

"From me. From Jungkook. It's just a creative outlet, okay? Nothing special."

"But good enough that you don't want to show me."

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and there's something unexpectedly vulnerable in his expression.

"It's not that I don't want to show you. It's just... people get weird about it."

"Weird how?"

"They either think it's pretentious or they make too big a deal out of it." He moves to another display, this one filled with various charms. "It's easier to just keep it separate."

You follow him, curiosity piqued even further.

 Jungkook, who walks around the apartment half-naked without a second thought, who leaves his dirty laundry in the most inconvenient places possible, who has absolutely no qualms about sharing the explicit details of his sex life—this same Jungkook is suddenly shy about his photography?

"I won't make it weird," you offer, surprising yourself with the sincerity in your voice. "Promise."

He looks skeptical. "You make everything weird, Nix. It's your special talent."

"Fuck off." You snatch a small charm from the tray without really looking at it—something circular with delicate metalwork. "I can appreciate art without being weird about it."

"It's not really art. Just photos."

"Of what?"

He hesitates, fingers tracing the edge of a tray.

 "Mostly urban stuff. Architecture. Shadows. Light. Some nature." A shrug. "Just things I find interesting."

"That actually sounds cool."

He glances at you like he's checking for signs of mockery, then seems to decide you're being genuine.

"Yeah, well. Maybe I'll show you. Someday."

It's not a yes, but it's not a hard no either.

You'll take it.

"Cool." You move to the register, where the purple-haired employee is arranging a display of finished samples. "So how do we actually do this bracelet thing? I haven't made one since I was like, twelve."

"You think I have?" Jungkook laughs, setting his basket beside yours on the counter. "I'm flying blind here too."

The employee—Ash, according to their name tag—smiles.

“That's what I'm here for. What kind of bracelet are you thinking? We've got traditional friendship styles, leather wraps, beaded, charm..."

"Whatever's easiest," you say at the same time Jungkook says, "The coolest one."

Ash's smile widens. "How about a leather cord with beads? Simple but looks great."

"Sounds good," Jungkook agrees, emptying his basket on the counter. "Can we work on them here?"

"Absolutely. Let me set you up at the table in the back."

As you follow Ash toward a small workshop area in the rear of the store, your phone buzzes again. You check it discreetly.

𝐓𝐚𝐞🎨: 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢. 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚢 𝟾. 𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚒’𝚜  𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜.

You glance at the time.

6:45 PM.

Just over an hour left of... this. This strange, not entirely unpleasant detour into something that feels almost like friendship.

You slip your phone away before Jungkook can see, ignoring the small voice in the back of your mind that wonders what other secrets he might be keeping, and why you suddenly care so much about finding them out.

Ash sets you up at a small wooden table pressed right against the front window.

"So, what are we making?" Jungkook asks, already rummaging through his selection of beads like a kid sorting Halloween candy.

You don't answer immediately, an idea taking shape as you run your fingers over the threads and beads scattered across the table. Your eyes catch on the small containers of alphabet beads near the edge of the table, then drift to the vibrant collection of orange, red, and yellow beads in various shapes and finishes.

Perfect.

You pull the alphabet containers closer, fishing out specific letters: P, H, O, E, N, I, X. Setting them in a neat line in front of you, you reach for more: R, O, G, U, E.

Jungkook watches, brows drawing closer together as he pieces together what you're doing.

When recognition hits, he laughs—short and surprised.

"Okay, seriously? You're making Phoenix and Rogue bracelets now?"

You shrug, reaching for the orange, red, and yellow beads, arranging them between the letters.

"What? Hell yeah. We already branded each other, might as well make it something to remember each other by."

"You think I want to walk around with a bracelet that says 'Rogue' on my wrist?"

He looks genuinely baffled, like you've suggested he tattoo your face on his ass.

"I don't care what you do with it." You roll your eyes, already threading through the first bead. "I'm making mine."

He snorts, but instead of arguing further, he actually helps you sort through the letter beads, pushing the ones you need closer. Then, to your surprise, he reaches for the same fiery-colored beads you've been using.

"What?" he says, catching your look. "If we're doing this ridiculous twin bracelet thing, they might as well match."

"I thought you'd go for all black or something."

He shrugs, picking out a particularly vibrant red bead.

"Rogues can be fiery too. Besides," he adds with a half-smile, "these are my colors."

"Your colors?"

"Yeah." He lays out a pattern—red, orange, yellow, just like yours. "Warm tones. Bold. Kind of obnoxious if you use too many at once."

"Sounds like someone I know," you mutter, and he chuckles.

Your fingers work almost automatically, threading beads onto the leather cord. You're not being symbolic on purpose. It just looks nice.

When you glance up, Jungkook is staring at his own pile of beads, expression oddly distant.

He's rolling a small sun charm between his fingers, back and forth, like he's trying to make a decision.

"What?" you ask, because his silence feels weird.

He shrugs, the motion feeling slightly too forced on him.

"Nothing. Just..." He sets the charm down, picks up a red bead instead. "I actually had one of these. A bracelet. When I was a kid."

This feels like something—a small piece of himself he's offering without being pushed.

So you keep your tone light when you ask.

"Yeah? What kind?"

"Leather, like this." He picks up one of the cords, wrapping it around his wrist to measure before cutting it. "With these bright beads my mom found at some market. Reds and oranges, kind of like these. I wore it until it literally fell apart."

"How old were you?"

"I don't know. Ten? Eleven?" He shrugs again. "Young enough that it was still cool, not lame."

"And now?"

His eyes flick up to yours, then away. "Now what?"

"Is it lame now?"

His expression wavers, tightening around the mouth.

"Nah, it's whatever." He starts threading red and orange beads onto his cord, precise and quick. "Just not something guys usually wear, you know? Unless they're trying to be edgy or something."

"Since when do you care about what's 'usually' done?"

He laughs, but it sounds different than his normal laugh—a little hollow, a little forced.

"Fair point."

You work in silence for a few minutes, with some accompanying sounds; like the soft click of beads and the occasional muttered curse when you drop one.

A yellow bead rolls across the table toward Jungkook, who catches it easily.

"Thanks," you mutter as he hands it back.

"No problem." He pauses, looking at the half-finished bracelet in his hands. "I lied, by the way."

"About what?"

"My mom didn't find the beads." He keeps his eyes on his work, not looking at you. "I did. She just helped me put it together because I was too small to handle the clasps."

Something about the way he says it makes your chest tighten—like this isn't just a random childhood memory but something… soft.

Something he doesn't share often.

"That's sweet," you say, matching his tone. "You don't talk about your mom much."

He tenses, and you inwardly curse yourself.

"Not much to say."

That's a lie if you've ever heard one, but you don't push. Whatever this is—this small opening, it feels fragile. Like pressing too hard would make him shut down completely.

"Mine would've hated this place," you offer instead. "Too messy. Too handmade. Not enough structure."

His lips twitch, almost a smile.

"Mine would've loved it. She was always into this crafty shit. Had a whole room full of art supplies back when..." He trails off, shakes his head. "Anyway. How's yours coming?"

The abrupt subject change is obvious, but you let it slide.

"Almost done. Just need the clasp."

You hold up your creation for inspection. It's nothing fancy—just a simple leather cord with 'PHOENIX' spelled out in silver letter beads, filled with the fiery colored ones you picked.

But it looks kind of cool, in a childish, summer-camp sort of way.

Jungkook leans forward to look, his expression warming.

"Not bad, Nix. Very on-brand."

"Let me see yours."

He hesitates, then holds out his own bracelet. It's just like yours to match, with 'ROGUE' spelled out in metal letter beads. But he’s added a small sun charm that catches the light when he moves.

"Shit," you say, genuinely impressed. "Yours is way better than mine."

He shrugs, but you can tell he's pleased by the compliment.

“I have an eye for design. Part of my many talents."

"And so humble, too."

"Humility is overrated." He sets his bracelet down, reaching for the clasps Ash left for you. "Here, let me help you finish yours."

His fingers brush against yours as he takes your bracelet, the touch brief but somehow startling.

You watch as he attaches the clasp with surprising dexterity, tattooed fingers moving deftly, and it’s kind of attractive, really.

How good he is with his hands when he wants to be.

"There," he says, holding it out to you. "All set."

“Wait,” you announce, searching through the charms box.

You swear you had seen a rain charm earlier, and you had briefly snickered at it. But now that he’s wearing the sun charm it feels oddly… like yours needs to have the rain one, just to contrary him.

So you pick it up, add it to your bracelet.

And then you smile at him, show him.

He snorts.

You turn it in your hand. It feels solid, real. A physical manifestation of the nickname he gave you—the one that used to annoy you but now feels almost like a strange term of endearment.

Ash then approaches your table, a small fabric-lined box in her hands.

"All finished? Those look great!"

You both nod, holding up your creations for inspection.

"Phoenix and Rogue," she reads, smiling. "And they match! The fire colors work perfectly for both."

"Yeah," Jungkook says, and you're surprised by the hint of pride in his voice. "Kind of the point."

"Perfect timing, then," Ash says, setting the box on the table. "We're actually starting a new community art project. Would you be interested in contributing your bracelets?"

You frown, confused.

"Contributing how?"

"We're collecting handmade bracelets from customers to create a wall installation," she explains, gesturing toward a corner of the shop where several bracelets are already displayed on a corkboard. "It's part of our five-year anniversary celebration. Everyone who contributes gets a polaroid of their bracelet and a discount on their next visit."

"Oh." You look down at your bracelet, feeling an unexpected reluctance to part with it.

Which is stupid, because what were you going to do with it anyway?

Wear it?

That would be weird.

"You don't have to," Ash adds quickly, picking up on your hesitation. "It's totally optional."

"No, it's cool," Jungkook says, already placing his bracelet in the box. "I like the idea."

You glance at him, surprised again.

"You do?"

"Yeah. Creating something that stays here, becomes part of the place." He shrugs. "Better than it ending up in a drawer somewhere, right?"

There's something about the way he says it—like he's not just talking about the bracelet anymore—that makes you pause.

But then he's looking at you expectantly, waiting for your decision, and you place your bracelet in the box beside his, the matching colors side by side.

"For the record," you say as Ash takes a polaroid of your creations side by side, "I would've worn mine."

Jungkook's smile is slow and surprisingly gentle.

“Yeah?"

"Maybe not in public," you clarify quickly. "But yeah."

"Me too," he admits quietly, and it feels like he's sharing another secret—small but somehow significant. "Don't tell anyone, though. Ruins my image."

"What image? The one where you pretend to be cool but actually know an alarming amount about John Mayer's discography?"

"Exactly that one." He grins, the most genuine expression you've seen from him all day. "It's carefully curated."

Ash returns with your polaroid and receipt, both bracelets now part of the store's growing collection.

"Come back anytime to see them. They'll be here as long as we are."

"Thanks," Jungkook says, taking the polaroid and tucking it carefully into his wallet.

As you step back out onto the sidewalk, the city bathed in the deepening gold of late afternoon, you feel strangely light despite the lingering pain in your abdomen.

You reach for your phone to check the time, only to find your pocket empty.

"Shit," you mutter, patting your other pockets frantically. "My phone."

Jungkook stops mid-stretch.

"You lose it?"

"Must have left it in the shop." You're already turning back toward the door. "Wait here, I'll be quick."

"Want me to—"

"No, it's fine," you say, perhaps too quickly. "Just give me a second."

The bell chimes as you push back into the store, Ash looking up from behind the counter, eyebrows raised in question.

"Forgot my phone," you explain, gesturing vaguely toward the table where you were sitting.

"No problem. Take your time."

You move quickly to the table, eyes already scanning for your missing device.

Three minutes later, you're back outside, phone safely in hand. Jungkook's leaning against a lamppost, scrolling through something on his own phone.

"Got it?" he asks without looking up.

"Yeah."

You slip it into your pocket without checking the time.

"Ready?"

He pushes off the lamppost.

"Lead the way."

You start walking toward the subway entrance, mentally calculating the time. It must be around 7:20 now. Perfect timing to get to the restaurant by 8.

"Hungry?" you ask, as casually as you can manage.

Jungkook stretches again, arms reaching skyward in a motion that draws your eyes despite yourself.

"Starving. What did you have in mind?"

"I know a place," you say, already angling toward the stairs. "Trust me."

And the weird thing is, from the way he falls into step beside you without question, it seems like he actually does.

goal: 550 notes

next | index

⋆｡°✩ taglist✩°｡⋆

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @jimineepaboya @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @jkrailme @rpwprpwprpwprw @mar-lo-pap @jeontae @whothefuckisthishoe @mikrokookiex @minniejim @btstrology @vialattea00 @curse-of-art @cristy-101 @mellyyyyyyx @mimi1097

© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[hurtspideyparker]

Avengers High School AU

based on this post of mine

At a Party:

Clint: Here's a drink Pete

Tony: *takes solo cup from Peter* You idiot, he's underage!

Clint: So are we dipshit

Tony: *Chugs Peter's drink*

Clint: Whatever, I'll get him a lemonade

Tony: *Chugs his own drink*

—

Natasha: Steve I saw Tony heading for the janitor's closet

Steve: Okay?

Natasha: With Clint

Steve, sprinting down the hall: NOT THE TOILET PAPER BARTON

—

Bucky: Would you like to go out sometime?

Natasha: No

Bucky: I respect that. *Turns to Sam* would you like to go out sometime

Sam: Wait—but you just. What the hell man

Bucky: I'll take that as a no. *Turns to Clint* would you like to—

Clint: Fuck yeah

—

Tony: Did you hear about the fire in the chem lab?

Steve: Tony, what did you do

Tony: It wasn't me this time!

Steve: Oh. That's new

Tony: I mean I did text Bruce the calculations, it's not my fault he didn't see the decimal

Steve: Tony!

—

Natasha: And that's why I transferred in the middle of last year

Sam: Isn't that like...a crime

Natasha: Nobody will believe you.

Sam: What? What do you mean by that

Natasha, disappearing into the crowd:

Sam: What do you mean by that?!

—

Peter: Hi Captain!

Steve: You know only the football team calls me that Peter. I'm not your Captain

Peter: Yes sir

Steve: I'm only 2 years older than you, you don't need to call me sir either

Peter: Okay Captain!

Steve: No just...whatever

—

Tony: Hey Bruce whatcha reading

Bruce: AH! Oh hey dude

Tony: Wow you're jumpy. You need to relax

Bruce: I don't think I've relaxed once since I met you but thanks for the advice

—

Clint: Do you think Thor was held back?

Sam: Naw man, he's pretty smart

Clint: But he looks like he has a 401k and a mortgage

Bucky: Talks like it too

Sam: Maybe it's a Europe thing, school is different there

Clint: Maybe. Hey Thor! What's up buddy, how's the wife and kids?

Thor: Ay? Um...well? And yours my friend?

Clint: Fantastic! Well it was good seeing you

Thor: Alright then, farewell

Sam: What an odd guy

Bucky: Nice though

Clint: Real nice dude

—

Pepper: Tony, stop flirting with me to make Steve jealous

Tony: Whaaaaat, I would never

Pepper: You very loudly told your table, which is right next to mine, "I'm going to go flirt with Pepper to make Steve jealous"

Tony: Well do you think it's working?

Steve, at Tony's table: No

—

Peter: The decathlon supervisor is already one of my references, and I tutor for Mrs. Warren's freshman class a lot so I have her too. I also volunteered at a special needs camp over the summer, plus I applied for this competitive course where you write a research paper under a university professor for junior year, and if I get it that will look really good on my MIT application. I just hope it doesn't interfere with my internship at Oscorp. What about you, what are you doing to prepare for graduation? Aren't college apps due, like, next month for you?

Bucky: Well my boss at Dunkin Donuts said he'd give me a reference. Chicks in the drive through always tip me well

—

Sam: Why'd you punch Rumlow!

Steve: Cause he was saying creepy stuff about Natasha!

Bucky: You shouldn't have done that man

Steve: What do you mean, he was being a total asshole, I don't care if I get detention

Sam: It's not him you should be worried about

Natasha: Rogers, that was MY punch to throw

Steve: Oh no

Natasha: You think I'm some damsel in distress? Come here and I'll show you a damsel in distress

Steve: I, uh, gotta go *runs out the door*

Natasha: Which way did he go.

Sam: I didn't see nothin'

Bucky: Out those doors and to the left

Sam: Bruh

Bucky: A true friend understands when the consequences are necessary *kicks Rumlow who's still lying on the ground as he walks away*

—

Bruce: What did the racing hot dog say when he passed the finish line?

Tony: What

Bruce: I'm a wiener!

Everyone:

Bruce: Get it? Like winner?

Tony: It's okay man, just stick to academics

Thor: I have one! A priest, a pastor, and a rabbi walk into a bar

Everyone:

Thor: HAHAHA, what a coincidence for them all to arrive in the establishment simultaneously!

*Everyone bursts out laughing*

Bruce: Oh come on, that wasn't even a joke!

Tony: See he has charisma. It's all about the delivery Brucie Bear

—

Sam: Wait, you're saying that the elephant toothpaste all over the second floor right before midterms was you?

Rhodey: Hell yeah it was

Sam: But everyone blamed Tony. Even Tony's parents and the principal. The only reason he wasn't suspended was because the cameras were wiped of evidence, which was also blamed on Tony

Rhodey: Yeah you'd be surprised about how much stuff I do that Tony gets blamed for. Public image does wonders to create bias

Sam: What the hell? I thought you were the responsible one and Tony was your monkey on a leash. Why does he let you blame him?

Rhodey: Cuz he's a good bro. He gets to piss his parents off, I don't get kicked out of ROTC, and then we laugh about it afterwards

Sam: You evil geniuses...

—

Wanda: I want to get married

Natasha: Are you pregnant?

Wanda: What? No

Natasha: Oh thank goodness. Wait, then why do you want to get married

Wanda: Because it's romantic!

Natasha: And the tax benefits?

Wanda: No! Well, yes that would be nice, but no! I want to be a stay at home mom and have a nice family

Natasha: Girl you failed home economics and your type is men who think calling you their "situationship" is making it official, why don't we focus on finding the vertex for now

—

If u like this vibe I have a domestic Avengers "in a timeline where Civil War didn't end in divorce" series as well:

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 :P

[bit-b]

About a trending Discord warning:

TL;DR: Discord is NOT making "Find your friends" enabled by default. You're probably not giving Discord your contact information without your knowledge. Their UI choices just suck.

There's a warning post going around by a person I'm not going to name, as I don't want people to dogpile on them. That is NOT the goal of this post, and if you DO harass anyone because of what I write, then you're a garbage person with garbage habits that needs to throw those habits in the garbage.

Rather, my goal with this post is to educate about a Discord feature that's not being represented properly.

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

Supposedly in the new mobile update, Discord added this ""NEW"" feature called "Find your friends", and then they enabled it by default. This feature allows users to use their smartphone contacts to search for their friends on Discord. It also enables others to be able to find you in the exact same way.

Obviously, this would be MASSIVELY dangerous from a privacy perspective.

Imagine if someone had relatives that use Discord. In a scenario like that, those relatives would have an easy way of finding the accounts of family members. And in some home situations, online anonymity from relatives could mean the difference between having an outlet and not having an outlet.

I'm also pretty sure I know some folks with alt accounts (you know who you are). And if Discord was somehow able to cross-reference all your contacts with the Discord accounts you're logged into, that would be DISASTROUSLY EMBARRASSING, to say the least.

So I totally understand how concerning this would be if it turned out to be true.

The thing is, it's not.

The person who made that warning misinterpreted THIS page:

This is the new "Add Friends" page for the Discord mobile app. Obviously, a page to help you add friends. There's a big 'ol window at the bottom showcasing Discord's "Find your friends" feature.

Now, this feature is actually NOT new. It's been around for a long time. But there's a very subtle change that happened with the new update. Take a look at how "Find your friends" used to look:

It starts by giving you a banner at the top of your friends list, telling you that this feature is available. Then when you click on it, it takes you to a page with UI elements that look awfully familiar.

It's pretty clear what happened. In an effort to condense down their friend-finding functions into one menu, Discord took the "Find your friends" setup menu and tossed it in with all the other ways to contact friends.

But by doing this, Discord has made this setup window confusing. It's not immediately obvious if the "Find your friends" feature is ON and running, or OFF and waiting to be activated.

Maybe it would have helped to make the blurple button read something like "Sync contacts" instead of "Find friends". At least then, you could tell at a glance that nothing has been sync'd yet. (Or y'know, maybe just stick to "Grant Permission". That was working just fine before.)

So it seems the OP:

Looked at the "Find your friends" setup menu that Discord hastily slapped into the "Add friends" page

Noticed the checkbox that read "Allow contacts to add me"

Saw that it was already marked

Then assumed that it must be some kind of tucked-away setting that was left ON by default.

To make this abundantly clear, "Find your friends" only works if you opt-in.

That checkmark allows you to tell Discord you are okay with people finding you in this manner. Unchecking it makes it possible to use "Find your friends" without others being able to find you the same way.

It doesn't get set up on your device until you press the big blurple "Find friends" button. Even then, you still have to add your phone number to your account and verify it via a 6-digit code sent via SMS.

After that, you have to give Discord permission to access your contacts via whatever phone OS you use.

You have to be pretty deliberate for any of these functions to start.

I won't say it's impossible to set it up on accident. It's a strange world, and stranger things have happened. If you want to, go check your app permissions to make sure you don't have contact permissions enabled for Discord. It's always good to be sure. But rest easy knowing that you probably don't have to worry about it.

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

In my opinion, I think that anyone who reblogged that warning should consider reversing those reblogs.

Honestly, I also think the OP should just delete their post instead of repeatedly adding amended reblogs to it. At the end of the day, the core of that post was misinformation and misguided assumptions. There's no real reason to keep it up.

Besides, I'd rather pin Discord on things they're ACTUALLY guilty of. Like designing a new UI that's widely mocked. And making things 10x more confusing for the end-user.

Here's Discord's official "Find your friends" FAQ page:

https://support.discord.com/hc/en-us/articles/360061878534-Find-Your-Friends-FAQ

I hate to beg, but I'd appreciate if people would reblog this post. I fear that the warning post is gonna steer a LOT of people to believe a lot of things about Discord that are logically and functionally not true.