#Accessible drinking solutions

[disabilityhorizons]

20 Bamboo Drinking Straws Set with Carry Bag & Cleaning Brush

Introducing our 20cm Bamboo Straw Set, the perfect eco-friendly alternative to plastic straws. This set includes 20 reusable bamboo straws, a convenient carry bag, and a coconut husk cleaning brush. Say goodbye to single-use plastics and join the sustainable movement!

Made from natural bamboo, these straws offer a smooth sipping experience while being kind to the environment. With a length of 20cm, they fit various drinkware, ensuring you can enjoy your favourite beverages hassle-free.

The included carry bag makes it easy to take your bamboo straws with you wherever you go. Whether it's a picnic, a coffee shop, or a family gathering, you'll always have your eco-friendly straws on hand.

Cleaning the straws is a breeze with our coconut husk cleaning brush. It effortlessly removes any residue, ensuring your straws remain fresh and hygienic. These straws are reusable and can last up to a year with proper care.

When it's time to dispose of them, you can rest assured knowing that bamboo is a naturally biodegradable material. Simply compost them, and they will break down naturally, leaving no harmful traces behind.

Make a small change that has a big impact with our Bamboo Straw Set. Join the movement towards a greener future and enjoy guilt-free sipping.

[reasonsforhope]

ETA: Article here (can't believe I forgot this rip)

A new study finds you can reduce the amount of microplastics you drink simply by boiling your water.

Scientists are just beginning to understand the health risks associated with microplastic exposure.

Nano- and microplastics are bits of plastic as tiny as one-thousandth of a millimeter in diameter.

Boiling and filtering your tap water may dramatically lower the amount of microplastics you drink, according to new research.

Recent studies have found that nano- and microplastics (NMPs), which are bits of plastic as tiny as one-thousandth of a millimeter in diameter, have been found in a host of products and even in tap water.

A new study, published February 28 in Environmental Science & Technology Letters, found that boiling mineral-rich water for just five minutes can reduce the amount of NMP you’re exposed to by up to 90%.

Scientists are just beginning to understand the health risks associated with microplastic exposureTrusted Source, but growing evidenceTrusted Source suggests the plastics can accumulate in the body and trigger oxidative stress, inflammation, insulin resistance, and liver issues.

Certain advanced water filtration systems can capture and help remove some NMPs from tap water. But researchers wanted to figure out other options to remove microplastics, especially since in poorer countries cheaper, more accessible solutions for clean water are needed.

Boiling water may be a safe, simple solution that can effectively decontaminate household tap water, the new findings suggest.

“Boiling water before drinking is a great example of an ancient cultural practice that can help reduce an environmental exposure,” Dr. Luz Claudio, PhD, a professor of environmental medicine and public health at the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai, told Healthline.

Claudio was not involved in the study.

How boiling water can help remove microplastics

The researchers found simply boiling water is the first step to removing NMPs from tap water.

The researchers collected multiple samples of tap water from Guangzhou, China and contaminated the samples with varying levels of NMPs.

Each sample was boiled for five minutes then left to cool for 10 minutes.

Boiling hard water that’s rich with minerals — such as calcium or magnesium — creates a chalk-like residue known as limescale, or calcium carbonate (CaCO3), which can trap the plastics.

That solid, chalky residue then had to be separated and removed from the water with a standard coffee filter or stainless steel filter, thereby removing NMPs.

The team found that the impact was greatest in harder water: In samples that had 300 milligrams of CaCO3, for example, nearly 90% of NMPs were removed.

In softer water samples with less than 60 mg of CaCO3, roughly 25% of NMPs were removed.

“What’s important to note here is that the effectiveness of trapping these micro/nano plastics in these mineral solids is tied to how hard the water is – the harder the water, the more solids are formed, the more microplastics are trapped,” Dr. Anja Brandon, PhD, the associate director of U.S. plastics policy at Ocean Conservancy and an environmental engineer, told Healthline.

Brandon was not involved in the study...

How to limit your exposure to microplastics 

Anyone who wishes to boil their water should do so in a glass or stainless steel pot.

After boiling the water for about five minutes, let it cool, and do not stir it, Claudio says.

The microplastics need to bind to the calcium and fall to the bottom of the pot so they can filtered or scooped out."

-via Healthline, February 28, 2024

[kkuzushi]

❇️ anon: Could you do an NSFW post of making love to Kabukimono for the first time? Like a sweet, consensual experience that is both super pleasurable for him and also helps his bond with the reader grow closer?? Where he’s being an absolute darling and is a little nervous, and reader soothes him and ends up fucking him into pure euphoria while whispering sweet nothings in his ear??? Idk I just really love him and I think some fluffy NSFW with him would be perfect! <3

“ 𝐊𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐨’𝐬 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 ”

✦ characters: sub!Kabukimono x gn!reader

✦ cw: virgin + small dick kabu, gentle sex, loooots of foreplay, praise, fingering (giving), frotting, coming untouched, cock/strap penetration

✦ word count: 3.476k

✦ notes: I didn’t want to rush anything for Kabukimono’s first time so there’s lots of foreplay here. <3

sfw ver | ✦ nsfw ver

It’s late into the night. Everyone’s laid and snuggled up into their futons, just like you and Kabukimono—tangled in each other’s limbs yet not asleep. Your lips are locked in with each other, the action feeling both gentle and desperate for the inexperienced puppet.

Initially, Kabukimono was nervous to ask for your help. These weird sensations in his stomach when you’re close—it was starting to bother him, and your solution to this was to indulge it. Once after getting a taste of your passionate affection, Kabukimono was soon lost in the moment, his inexperience shining through his clumsy yet eager kisses.

The puppet seemed to have forgotten that you’re still human however, still needing air in between each kiss. Slowly, you pull away and softly gasp for air. Kabukimono’s eyes fluttered open, confusion pasting in his face, “Why’d you stop? Did I do it wrong?”

You chucked at his innocent questions. The way he was confused yet concerned at the same time was inexplicably endearing. “No, darling,” You shook your head, “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just needed to breathe.”

“Oh,” Kabukimono replies, his face feeling warm despite his lack of ability to blush like a human. “I’m sorry,” He added in a hushed tone as he got closer to your face once more, “I’ll be more mindful.” His lips hovered yours, silently asking permission to kiss you.

You reciprocate his action, foreheads pressing against each other. “There’s nothing to apologize for,” you reassured him with a small, comforting smile before leaning back in, picking up right where you had left off. “You’re so eager—it’s adorable,” you teased softly, parting your lips to meet the eager movements of his tongue again.

Kabukimono felt more giddy than he already was, his arms wrapped around your neck, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get enough of you. Something about your reassurances, your praises.. It keeps him going. Keeps him wanting more—needing more. You love indulging him, and tonight, you might as well see how far this would go.

Your hands roamed around his kimono, slowly tugging on the ribbons and robes to slide it off his body with care. Kisses trailed down to his chin, his half-lidded eyes fluttering as it follows your head until it’s buried to his neck.

“Ahmngh..!” Whimpers start to escape from Kabukimono’s lips, his head instinctively tilting up to give you more access. The soft kisses on his untainted neck sends pleasant shivers down his spine, desperate to receive more.

The remnants of his kimono and his undergarments cling to his frame, the last barriers between you. You lift yourself slightly, taking a moment to drink in the sight of him beneath you. His face is a deep shade of red, cheeks flushed from the intensity of your actions, even though all you’ve done so far is kiss him.

“I’m going to try something,” you murmured, crawling on top of him with deliberate slowness. Your knees pressed into the bedding on either side of his waist, and the way his violet eyes widened, pupils dilating ever so slightly, betrayed his inexperience and the nervous excitement he couldn’t hide.

The puppet’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t need to breathe, but somehow, the sensation of you angled above him was enough to make his non-existent pulse race. Something raw and unfamiliar stirred in him, leaving him vulnerable yet captivated.

“What are you gonna do?” Kabukimono asked, his voice filled with genuine curiosity as his gaze followed the motion of your hands. They traced along the lines of his stomach over the fabric, ghosting over his ribs before traveling upward toward his chest.

His body trembled under your touch, an unfiltered reaction he couldn’t control—couldn’t even begin to understand. Slowly, your fingers brush the outline of his nipples, the contact sparking unintentional jolts through his body.

“A-Ah!” Kabukimono gasped, his back slightly arching from surprise before falling back down just as immediately. The sensation caused him to stare at you for a moment, both surprised and confused by his own reaction.

You paused as well, fingers stilling on his chest. “How was that?” You asked in a tender tone, watching for any negative reaction or movement he would show.

The puppet didn’t know what to answer at first, his brain still digesting the earlier contact. “It’s different, but not bad..” His hands, previously clutching the sheets beneath you two, now find its way to your wrist, a silent permission for you to continue.

Not needing to be told twice, your fingers continued its ministrations. His nipples hardened from just a slight brush, poking underneath the fabric of his kimono. You rolled the pebbled peaks in between your index and thumb, gently twisting and pinching them to Kabukimono’s preference.

“Hnn..♡ feels nice..” Kabukimono whimpered, back arching closer to your fingers. He hasn’t felt anything this good—besides literally any other affection you’ve given him—and he loves it. It’s confusing, a little overwhelming, but knowing these feelings are inflicted by you.. it allows him to enjoy the intimacy he sees behind it.

You didn’t even need to hear any verbal reaction from him; the way his hands clung tightly to your wrists was a telltale sign of just how much he was enjoying this—perhaps even more than expected.

Leaning down, you captured his lips in another kiss, and he eagerly complied, his trembling body pressing further beneath you. You swallowed every sound he made, each muffled noise vibrating against your lips. It tasted like the unrestrained innocence of someone experiencing this kind of intimacy for the first time.

It was undeniably arousing, however, you knew this is about Kabukimono. You’d put your own needs aside if it meant showing him the depths of pleasure just waiting underneath his fingertips.

You pull away again, gasping for air, and you see him do the same. Was he imitating you or was the puppet actually feeling breathless in his own way? Nevermind that, the sight was enough to spark excitement in your eyes.

“Let me take these off for you,” You say, finally discarding the last layer of his robes. Kabukimono lifts himself to assist you in removing the fabric, his delicate figure finally getting a breather. The pleasure was so good that his own clothes felt too tight around his body.

As soon as you got him naked, you spoiled his chest with kisses, each one a testament of your love and desire for him. Your eyes glanced up to find his own, meeting his glassy gaze in an instant.

Your tongue darts out of your mouth, tracing it to the side before reaching his erect nipples. As you latch on one of them, Kabukimono mewled in a high pitched tone.

“ngHAAh..?!! ♡” Once again, Kabukimono's back arched to your mouth, allowing you to suck on his nipples more. It feels so good, but it looks like he’s trying to move away as well. The confusing mix of ‘wanting more’ and ‘can’t take any more’ seems to be messing with his program.

“T-Too much.. hah.. too good..! ♡” His head thrashed to the side, his indigo hair fanning out on his face and pillow. His hands scrambled to your head, tangling around your hair strands as he anchored himself. “Mmngh.. is it supposed to–hmn!–feel this g-good..?”

You chucked as your tongue swirled around the hard nubs, sending a delightful vibration across his chest before you pulled away. “It is, but if it gets too much, you know the word..” You spoke, pressing gentle kisses on his collarbone, letting him calm down from the high of his pleasure.

“Dearest, please..”

“Hm? Go on, I’m listening.”

“Please.. take off your clothes.. I wanna feel you more.”

His request reminded you that he was the only one bare in bed. You chuckled after sensing both his embarrassment and need. You discarded the top of your clothes, and Kabukimono was quick to feel it with his uncalloused hands. The ball joints of his knuckles felt good to the human skin, like it was massaging you even without the intention.

The puppet pulled you closer, face buried in the crook of your neck as his lips started to imitate the kisses you’ve given him earlier. “Don’t stop yet, please.. the feeling in my stomach hasn’t gone away,” He murmured against your skin, goosebumps forming on your nape from just the vibration of his voice.

You turn your head to look at his legs, it’s shaking slightly and there’s already a noticeable bulge on his underwear. “Don’t worry. We’re not done until you’re satisfied, darling,” You reassured. One of your legs settled in between his, making them spread apart.

You hold him by the waist, fingers pressing into the soft curve as your free hand trails down to his thigh, tracing idle shapes against his supple skin. “Look at me, Kabu,” you whisper, your voice low and laced with affection. His wide, indigo eyes snap to yours without hesitation, filled with trust and an overwhelming vulnerability.

Not a moment is wasted before your lips find his again, the kiss deep and consuming. It almost distracted him from your hand that’s inching closer and closer to his intimate area, settling on his inner thigh. Your thumb then brushes on a damp spot of his garment, receiving an involuntary snap from his hip.

Kabukimono gasped out of the kiss, watching your hand that already pulled away the very last thing that kept him covered. His cock springs free, the length not any bigger than your palm. It’s honestly adorable, making you pause for a moment

“D-Dearest, you shouldn’t– I mean–.. don’t stare so much..” Kabukimono voiced out, quickly covering his small dick with his palm. “I don’t think you should be looking at it..” He adds softly, shying away from your gaze.

His embarrassment only served to tempt you further, drawing you in like a magnet. Maybe it isn’t fair for him to show such an intimate thing while you’re just here, watching over him.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” you said softly, cupping one side of his face and brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Here, why don’t I show you it’s nothing to be shy about?”

Kabukimono watches as you offer yourself the same tenderness. His wide eyes follow your fingers, hooking on your lower garments, discarding it the same way you did with his. As your own cock has been exposed out of its confinements, Kabukimono gulped. It’s certainly bigger than his, intimidating yet he doesn’t shy away from it, unlike with his own.

You lower your hips to his, erect cocks touching each other. You start to grind in a gentle manner, frotting against him. Kabukimono moaned at the feeling of being so close to you, his own hips imitating your actions without much thought.

“Nhah–more.. please, more..” Kabukimono whined, his fingers clawing on your shoulders as he tried to ground himself from the overwhelming pleasure of direct contact with your dick. Now how could you deny that cute whine? If anything, it’s turning you on even more.

You reached for his cock, stroking yours with it. “uwAH–!♡ hanggh..~♡♡” Kabukimono jolted from your movement, unsure whether he should chase the friction or run away from it. His eyes rolled back, mouth hanging open as unadulterated moans streamed out.

Kabukimono’s cock starts to leak precum, messing up your palm, wet squelches echoing in the room. You gather the lube, coating your fingers with it before tracing down to his ass. You continue to grind, wanting to keep him suspended in that euphoric state, savoring every moment of his bliss before gently introducing him to another uncharted sensation.

Soon enough, the puppet’s attention falters as he feels one of your fingers circling his rim. He looks at you with a nervous gaze, “Wait, that’s dirty..!” He whispered, despite his comment, he gently rocks back to your fingertips.

You laugh softly, “Relax, darling. I’ll make sure you’ll feel good.” Your index starts to probe inside his untouched hole, the tight muscle fluttering around your digit. Kabukimono’s back arched for the umpteenth time, nails digging further to your skin.

“Feels–weird..hah..” He closed his eyes shut, fighting the discomfort of having something inside his hole for the very first time. You press your lips to his ear, whispering ever so softly for him to relax, that he got this, that he’s being a very good boy for you. He moaned at the praises, the pressure of your finger progressively getting pleasurable as seconds went by.

Once you notice him beginning to relax, the tension in his muscles slowly melting away, you take the silent cue to pump your fingers in and out at a steady pace. You let him get lost in the moment before your middle finger joined in, slowly but surely stretching him.

“Aannnh– that feels.. good..♡” His head falls back, his mouth opening as his moans increase in volume. “D-Don’t stop.. hngh–!♡” His hips rocks back to your fingers, meeting your gentle thrusts. His cock, still pressed against yours, is leaking more than ever.

As you scissor him open, you take the lubricant gel you’ve prepared from the start. You open it with your free hand and smear it on both your and Kabukimono’s cock. He whimpered at the jelly feeling, his small dick throbbing involuntarily.

He looks down and sees you applying it on his ass as well, your fingers gliding more easily now. “That feels–HAmnhh?!♡” You curled your fingers just as soon as he talked, words interrupted by a loud whine. You feel the tip of your fingers rub on something spongy.

“Found it.” You murmured to his ear, watching him writhe as you continuously rubbed his prostate.

His twitching legs wrapped around yours, toes curling from the overwhelming ecstasy your fingers provide. You’re close to the finale and you can’t help but imagine how Kabukimono would react once you’re finally inside him.

Slowly, you pull your fingers out, grabbing his legs to wrap it on your waist. “Mhn.. what are you..?” Kabukimono’s eyes flutter open, following the way you align yourself in between him. “W-Wait! Are you going to.. put it in?” His eyes widened, anticipation and nervousness shining through his pupils.

You scoop him to a soft embrace, placing a peck on his lips. “It’s okay, I’ll be gentle,” You reassured, pressing your forehead against his. “I’ll put it in slowly, tell me to stop if you need a moment.”

The head of your cock traces the rim of his hole, his precum and the lubricant mixing together. Once you feel him ease up, you slowly slide your way inside. Inch by inch, the puppet crumbled underneath you, eyes shut tightly as his tight muscle got stretched by your shaft.

He didn’t speak, too focused on the burning sensation of you pushing inside. You stopped half way through, not wanting to push beyond his limits. “Are you okay? Do you want me to pull out?” You asked in a soft tone, carding your fingers through his indigo locks to comfort him.

Kabukimono stayed still for a moment but shook his head, “I-I’m fine.. hah.. you’re just–mmn–big.” Whimpers start to escape his lips, even with how he’s biting it so hard.

“If you can’t handle it, we don’t have to push it–”

“No! I mean.. no, please.. you’re not all the way in yet, are you? I can take it.. I think.”

The way his eagerness mixed with trepidation had a certain charm to it. He’s always like this—never letting his fears or the unknown sway him. With a soft sigh, you start to thrust yourself in further. “Alright then, relax yourself, darling. You’re doing so good.”

Soon enough, you fully bottomed out inside him, his inner walls clinging to your entire length. "Tell me when you’re ready," you continued, your fingers brushing tenderly against his cheek, tracing the delicate curve of his jawline, “We’ll go at your pace.” His lips parted slightly, a shaky sound escaping as he adjusted to the moment.

Kabukimono nodded, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief second before meeting yours again. "I... I think I'm ready," he said, his voice a mix of hesitation and trust.

You smiled gently, leaning in to press a reassuring kiss to his forehead. "Tell me if it’s too much, okay?" With that, you began to move, mindful of his every reaction, ensuring that he felt safe and cherished.

You start out slow, letting him savor the intimate atmosphere the both of you created. His legs hung loosely around your waist, his body rocking back and forth with every gentle thrust you give. If Kabukimono were to tell the truth, he was waiting for you to hit that perfect spot inside him again—the same one your fingers touched earlier.

He gasped everytime your cock slid back in, even with how deliberate your pace is, it’s enough to break his composure. “M-More..♡ ngh.. don’t stop..♡♡” He’d tell you every now and then, coaxing you to speed up and finally strike that one chord that’s waiting for you.

With his timid voice breaking through the stillness, you paused for a moment, searching his gaze for any hesitation. Finding none, you offered a soft smile, leaning close to murmur against his ear, "As you wish."

Responding to his request, you picked up the pace, your movements steady yet attentive to his every reaction. His fingers clung to you tighter, his breath hitching in rhythm with each motion. “You're doing a good job, sweetheart.” you praised, pressing a kiss to his temple, his soft whimpering a melody you couldn’t get enough of.

Sounds of skin to skin slapping against each other echoes in the room, as well as Kabukimono’s increasing moans. “Ah–ah–ah! Mnhgh feels shoooHNGAHh!♡♡” Finally, your cock has found his prostate once more.

“R-Riggnht theree..!!♡♡” He babbled incoherently, no longer in the right state of mind to tell you how good he’s feeling. You didn’t mind, just the way his inner walls were clenching around you was enough as it is.

The puppet soon becomes a writhing mess underneath you, clinging to your neck with his arms and his legs to your waist, locking and pulling you closer. His eyes have rilled to the back of his head, wanton moans unable to be suppressed.

Your movements quickened, but your care for Kabukimono didn’t waver. His cock bounced in between your stomach and his; every sound he made, every quiver of his body, only encouraged you to shower him with more reassurance.

“You’re incredible,” you whispered, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “So beautiful, so perfect for me.” His hands tightened their grip on your shoulders, his wide eyes filled with both vulnerability and a spark of exhilaration.

“Good boy, taking me so well,” you affirmed without hesitation, kissing the corner of his lips before continuing. “I love you, darling. Always.”

His chest rose and fell rapidly, his body responding instinctively to your touch and your words. “Lov– angh♡♡ yes.. I love you–nnmore, ah!♡” he replied shakily, his voice barely audible.

Kabukimono’s body trembled with every touch, his breathing shallow and erratic as if he were teetering on the edge of something overwhelming. You kept your pace steady, giving him the space he needed while still encouraging him to let go. “You’re almost there, I can feel it,” you murmured, your words a blend of encouragement and affection.

Kabukimono’s head tilted back as he let out a breathless sound, and his hands tightened around you. “I—ah—I feel somethinggh..!” he stuttered, his voice almost breaking under the pressure of the moment.

“Good,” you replied, your own voice tinged with excitement, not just for the pleasure of it, but for the emotional connection of this moment. “That’s it. Let go with me, Kabu.”

With that, Kabukimono’s body tightened around you, his small cock coming untouched. Strings of warm cum spurting out of the slit, landing to his stomach. You followed suit, your movements slowing as you both rode out the euphoric high, clinging to one another as you basked in the aftermath.

The room was silent save for the soft sounds of your heavy breathing, the tension in the atmosphere soon easing down.

After a few moments of silence, you leaned down to kiss him gently on the forehead, brushing a lock of his indigo hair away from his face. “You did so well, sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”

He looked up at you, his indigo eyes soft and dazed, the lingering shyness and vulnerability still there. “‘m tired.. but good..” he whispered, his voice barely audible but full of emotion.

You chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Then let’s rest for now. We’ll clean up when you’re feeling better,” You spoke softly, caressing his scalp as his eyelids flutter close.

“Thank you.. I love you.”

“I love you.”

[minkieater]

three fates ⟶ khj ⋆ ★

kim hongjoong x f!reader | 13.6k | smut, hella drugs, minors dni

────── luck & carousel’s sister

hongjoong is an artist, a creator. everything he’s ever seen, touched, smelled or heard, every little thing he’s ever come in contact with could and has been used in his art in one way or another. he couldn’t help himself, he saw the beauty in everything, from the gloaming atop the horizon of the hudson river on the third day of his bender to the massive rats playing tag in the subway station in downtown brooklyn. 

his clothes, his jewelry, his music, his apartment, his friends… everything and everyone is gorgeous, it has to be that way. the well of his creativity never runs dry, not living in this city, not with the life he’s created for himself. 

coming from a small brownstone in brooklyn, he lived with his parents and younger sister, a quiet girl that was nothing like him. he was always the rambunctious older brother, could never keep his grades up, couldn’t go a week in school without getting in trouble. she, the scholar, was his parents’ shining star, as well as his own. he hoped she wouldn’t be anything like him, anything like their father. 

he’d never compared himself to her, he knew he was just wired differently, a chemical concoction in his head that made him who he was and he loved it. he couldn’t picture his life, himself, any differently. he could never stay focused on one thing, always moving to the next project, always bouncing from opportunity to opportunity. 

when he got into high school reality set in of where he lived, who he surrounded himself with, what exactly was accessible to him at all times. from alcohol to drugs to shows to backstages to underground raves, hongjoong learned very quickly the different paths he could take, the routes his life could go in. 

he was a junkie, a junkie for adrenaline, for excitement, for anything this godforsaken city had to offer him. so he experimented. 

his friends were just like him — loud, outspoken, covered in piercings and tattoos, much too young to have gotten them done professionally. they looked for nothing but a good time, they didn’t care about school, didn’t care about their futures, they cared about a sick guitar riff and how much their dealers were charging for an ounce of weed. 

like his father, they introduced hongjoong to good music. growing up he listened to all his father’s favorite bands, from alice in chains to black sabbath to pearl jam, it set a tone for his future, laid the grounds for what the following decade of his life would look like. he spent weeknights, weekends, every night he wasn’t watching his younger sister he’d be at a different show in the city. no name bands, ones that were trying to get a foot in the door to the music industry to DJ sets at underground raves, blinding shows with flashing lights and a thumping bass he’d end up rolling at every damn time. 

hongjoong’s friends introduced him to many, many things, but his favorite would have to be cocaine. feeling on top of the world, like he can accomplish anything and everything, hongjoong adored the white powder he often sniffed with a crisp dollar bill. his personality alone was akin to it, he bounced off the walls all by himself, but during a night of drinking the main thing that kept him going, pushing through until sunrise was the bag full of blow in his back pocket. 

it got him through high school, it made him pay attention, it made him ask too many questions in class. it gave him confidence, he felt like the most attractive person in the world, like he was at the top of the food chain. it made him optimistic toward his future, he knew he’d become successful no matter what he did whenever he was at the peak of his high. 

what he despised about blow was the come down. from feeling untouchable to drained of everything he was worth in about all of forty five minutes, that he couldn’t stand. the one solution, the only solution that every single one of his friends had given him: “joong, you just need to do another line.” 

so he did, he always did more, but one thing about cocaine is that you never feel as good as that first line, the one that makes you untouchable, unstoppable, unkillable. he never thought he’d feel that again, that beautiful, unique euphoria, until he was a freshman in college, at a grimey city nightclub’s show of your band’s debut. 

he watched you in awe, blown pupils taking in every last detail of you strumming your guitar. how your fingers moved from string to string, black painted fingertips going white from the pressure. how your hair flowed in the air as your head banged to the drums, how your red lips stained the microphone when you sang into it. he grew up listening to music, he spent years listening to great bands and really terrible ones, by now he knew the difference. 

he knew then and there what field his career would lay in. dirt caked the floor he stood on, posters and receipts and papers of the sort covered the walls, the disgusting nightclub he now owed everything to offered him two things, you and the chance to make something of himself. 

he knew your band was special, knew you had the raw talent to make it big. he wanted to see it, he could picture it now, your faces stretched across a billboard in times square. it was exciting, this feeling that flushed through him, knowing he was watching celebrities perform before they had their break, their break that would come soon if they just had someone to sign them. 

he did everything in his power to wait diligently for your set to be over, already knowing that he and his friends would make it backstage, a routine for them every time they came to these shows. his head nodded along to the music, a can of beer in his hand, his hair tickling the back of his neck every time the main singer hit a note he himself couldn’t. 

when your band finally made their last bow, thanking the crowd for their attendance and cheers, hongjoong felt the adrenaline in his fingertips. he was so, so close to meeting you, telling your band what he thought, buying you a drink. so close to taking you back to his dorm, untying your skimpy black bikini top, learning your tattoos to memory. 

he usually went for the drummer — that he knew by now. after a few lines and a six pack he would ache to be bent over, or be the one bending someone over, that didn’t matter to him. what did matter was that he wanted a good fuck, he planned on it, he craved it, from trial and error his eyes always landed back on the drummer. it hasn’t failed him yet. 

he wasn’t sure what made you different, why you caught his eye on the small stage, what stopped him from eyeing up the green haired drummer he couldn’t place. you were magnetic, with your bulky boots, revealing clothes, intriguing tattoos and piercings all up your ears. he wanted to smear the lipstick you wore down your chin, wanted to see it all over himself, prints of crimson running down his torso. he shivered, desire crawling up his spine when he pictured it, it was too easy, your stage presence was like no other.

when he got backstage and first saw you sitting on the torn up couch, handheld mirror in your grasp with three perfectly parallel lines laid across the glass, the confirmation was instant. you had a debit card on your lap, a rolled up dollar bill, sunglasses and that very lipstick he was fantasizing about laid across your thigh. a smile broke out across his face, one wicked and knowing, one that told everyone in the room hongjoong had found his game for the night. 

you looked up to him from the amber colored couch, patches of questionable browns and grays mimicking a pattern across the rough material. your pupils were blown, huge and empty, matching the ones that stared back into them. the room backstage was small, a space he deemed claustrophobic, much too boxy for the amount of people occupying it. a mirror, a clothing rack and a couch, not much for a band to prepare for a show. he was impressed to say the least that a band of your aptitude had put on such a good performance in these conditions. 

his friends went around the room in commendation, giving each member their own praise, complimenting the band as a whole. hongjoong was excited to do the same when he was in the crowd, but being back here with the adrenaline from the show being thick in the room, a voice told him to stay quiet, something that was close to impossible for him. 

“you,” you began, and hongjoong’s neck snapped to you, greeted with a finger pointed directly at himself, “where did you get your jeans?” 

“diesel,” he looked down to the ripped denim hugging his skinny legs, “vintage, i thrifted them from the shop on sackett.” 

he watched as the eyes he couldn’t see the color of glanced up and down his figure, taking in every detail of his outfit, his body. you glanced back down to the mirror in your palm then back up to him, “you want a line?” 

hongjoong’s feet were moving before he nodded yes. he sat down next to you on the decrepit couch, seated on the cushion in the middle. your hand moved under his chin and he could see his reflection in the glass below the lines, rich chocolate blending in with pupils, too wide to be able to tell where they started or ended. 

he took the dollar from your raw, discolored fingers and sniffed, taking the line closest to you on the end. he was wide awake then, energy flooding his veins like he’d just slept for fourteen hours and drank three cups of coffee. his smile returned as he glanced at you, watched you do the same, took in every detail.

your hair, tucked behind your ears, laid in front of your shoulders far past the string of your bikini top. your lips were in a tight line, a streak of blood red below your nose, which had the rolled up bill just beneath the surface of your right nostril. he watched you sniff once, twice, both lines disappearing from the glass in your palm, your head tilting back with an additional sniff and a knuckle to your cupid's bow. 

he watched in awe, a sparkle in his empty pupils, a flare in the sea of vast darkness. his dick twitched in his pants as he lost himself in the moment, his fogged up yet crystal clear head morphed you into some kind of seductress, a succubus, he had no chance of getting out of whatever spell you put him under, not that he needed one. all he could do, all he wanted to do is succumb. 

succumb he did when you pressed him against the front door of your apartment, grabbed him by the throat and took him for everything he was worth. you were nonstop from that moment on the couch all the way to your apartment in queens, hands exploring and lips touching, tasting, giving, taking, there was no moment of question. no time to waste, not a fact to be shared, just a carnal desire that poured out of himself and into you, into your veins, into the blood that shared a color with your lipstick smeared onto hongjoong’s jaw. 

he smirked knowing he got what he wanted, knowing he always gets what he wants, he was just that kind of person. shrouded in luck, like he had a guardian angel who refused to leave his side. from where he’s been to what he’s done, there was no way he should be alive, the chances of survival for a guy like him are slim to none. 

the first time was in the bathroom of that club, where he pushed you into a stall and bent you over the toilet, your hands gripping onto a wall that you were sure had never been cleaned. markings of sharpie covered every inch, lewd and crude sayings, initials in hearts, phone numbers of random people who wronged the person that wrote it. you took every inch of him proudly, lifted your leg onto the toilet seat, ushering him to hit deeper, to empty himself inside you. 

you left that bathroom in heavy breaths and lust darkened eyes, only for the two of you to last one more drink and another key bump before you were below the ground, on the subway to your apartment.

you didn’t get any farther than the entryway where you grabbed him by the throat, ushering for him to give into you, a power he didn’t just give away to anyone. he chuckled darkly and switched your bodies quickly, pressing your face against the art covered wall instead of the front door, smacking your ass with a force that made you cry out. he knew what you were, he could see it when you were onstage, nothing but a pain slut that let him fuck you in one of the dirtiest bathrooms he’s ever seen. 

a low laugh left his lungs when he felt your core, fingers slipping through your release and his own cum that you’d been saving for later. he was immediately on his knees, eating it out of you, tasting the two of you mixed into one. the second time was in that very entryway, where he took you against the wall once more, this time with a low dim light peeking through the windows and a clear scent of fresh laundry and vanilla floating through the space. much cleaner, much sweeter, the opposite of what the two of you had endured just an hour earlier.

he ended the night in your bed, where he took you for a third, fourth and fifth, neither of you sleeping a wink. with the sunrise coming in through your half open window, sounds of sirens and cars passed by, drifting through the translucent rose colored curtains making them ruffle and bend to the noise. you had a cigarette between your lips, a tray with four more parallel lines sitting at the foot of the bed. you were naked, your tattoos your only blanket, hongjoong the same beside you. 

“can’t believe you’re a fucking freshman in college,” you laughed through the smoke leaving your lips, a saccharine sound mixed with the smell of tobacco and menthol, “please tell me you’ve at least turned nineteen.”

hongjoong nodded, letting his fingers continue to trail your thigh, tracing the outline of the dragon that was soaring through the skin of your hip, “i’ll be twenty in november.” 

a lie, one he knew would be believed, one that allowed you to sigh out in relief. he’d slept with much older, your measly twenty two was nothing to him, just another thursday night after a show, another experience to add to his arsenal. 

“you said you go to NYU right? what’s an NYU student doing in brooklyn?” hongjoong smiled at that, he loved when people knew absolutely nothing about it him, made assumptions based on one thing they’d heard. he could make up anything he wanted, he could be whoever he wanted to be, not that you’d ever find out the truth. you’d never hear from him again after he stepped foot onto the sidewalk outside, back to his dorm, back to his roommate who would be waiting to ask him a million questions about his excursion. 

tonight he was hongjoong, the nineteen year old that’d fucked you five different times in nine different ways, snorted countless lines of blow and hungout with a band he knew would make it. he wasn’t eighteen year old student hongjoong who was going to NYU because his parents were pushing him into accomplishing something, anything, trying relentlessly to get him out of the city’s gutter. 

“to be fair, we’re in queens,” he cracked a smile, the corner of his lips lifting, “i grew up in bushwick, i come whenever i can. got lots of friends that still live around here.”

he didn’t know why he was being honest, this was his favorite part. maybe a small part of him was tired of lying, even if he’d done it already, he was ready for truth, ready for it to be laid bare for him, ready for it to point him in yet another direction. he didn’t care which direction it would send him in from your dingy apartment in queens, he just hoped it was upward, to something better than what he came from. 

“why aren’t you guys signed yet?” there it was, the question that’s been clawing at him all night, sat fresh on his mind even when he was buried inside of you. the one truth he wanted to know, not your name that he already couldn’t remember, your age that’d already become irrelevant, or your address that he’d never even learned.

you sighed again, running a hand through your hair, collapsing into the plush pillows beneath you, “a few agencies have tried, none have been worth it. contracts are too strict, we won’t get paid enough, the companies aren’t popular enough. yasu handles all of that, i’m just told what we do or what we don’t do.”

“so if the right label approached you, one with money and connections and a contract that was perfect, you’d sign with them?” hongjoong asked, letting his eyes flutter shut, not that he felt tired. he’d need at least twenty milligrams of valium for that and even then it probably wouldn’t lure him to sleep, just enough to take the edge off, to let his head lie still.

you laughed, a bitter chuckle, “like who? republic fucking records? we’re performing in run down clubs across the city, we have miles to go before an agency worth anything takes an interest in us.”

hongjoong smiled through his eyes that stayed closed, that same smile he wore last night, the one that was both wicked and knowing. he could see it in front of him, an idea, a dream, a career. if he didn’t feel like shit he’d call up his parents and thank them for sending him to NYU, thank them for the opportunity to do something right with his life. his roommate would get a kick out of this. 

he sat up on the bed and leaned forward, pulling the silver platter on his lap. he picked up the dollar bill that was slowly losing its shape with every sniff and lifted it to his nose, railing two lines from the tray. he tilted his head back and shook it, giving one last sniff before he was off. 

“i have class,” he said as he searched for his pants around your cluttered bedroom before remembering he’d undressed in the entryway. you sat up with wide eyes, blinking at his sudden departure after a night of wild sex and snorting all of your coke. 

“wait,” you called after him as he nearly ran through the bedroom door, “i want to give you my number, call me if you ever want to come see our show again, or if you want to do this again.”

he smiled from the open door in which the frame towered over him, shooting you a finger that said wait before he went in search of his clothes, phone, and wallet. he returned and saved your number in his phone, leaving the contact name as tattoo girl. in the moment it’d seemed easiest to remember you by. 

he never ended up calling you, never ended up seeing another show that you mentioned. he went back to his dorm, to his life, and changed his major with a speed he hadn’t experienced before, despite his whole life being quick. he ate quick, he thought quick, he grew up quick, he learned quick, he did everything at such a rate he’d never experienced whiplash. this was normal.  

music technology classes were not easy, but he thought himself lucky for the brain he was born with, his ability to adapt. for once in his life hongjoong wasn’t just good at school, he was excelling. 

the connections he formed, his ever growing ability to network himself, show off his extensive knowledge of music itself, its history, the music scene in the city. never in his life had he thought he was born for something, never thought he had a purpose, just thought of himself as an open minded creative person who loved a good time. as he got deeper into his major which he thankfully didn’t change again, he realized there was one thing that remained constant all throughout his life, one thing that stayed with him through every phase, got him through every hump in the road. 

when he came home that morning with pupils swallowing his eye color whole and lungs that had no breath left in them, he told his roommate he was changing his major and mingi was relieved. he was relieved and grateful, smiling because the first friend he made at NYU was going to be beside him for more than just sleepless nights across the dorm, letting out a sigh he kept trapped in his lungs because now could keep a better eye on hongjoong. the night before he was worried out of his mind, even if he knew hongjoong was born and raised in the city, mingi was raised in south korea. 

mingi was told since he first started mentioning new york city to his friends and family to be careful, he had all of the horror stories told to him in depth, used as a weapon to scare him out of coming to the states. he never thought twice about it until he got here, stood face to face with hongjoong, and learned every dirty secret he had to offer. then he believed the horror stories, he believed that the city’s wretched dark side could really kill someone dead, even hongjoong who had become a good friend to him. 

that fear was short lived, it was cut short the moment hongjoong took him to his first show in brooklyn. hongjoong could see the excitement in his eyes, that same adrenaline rush hongjoong considered himself addicted to as he watched mingi snort his first line of blow. he felt prideful, like he’d taken mingi under his wing and rebirthed him into a weapon the city couldn’t touch, couldn’t harm. he offered mingi the city’s beauty, the bright lights of the buildings at night, the pleasure of a woman he’d just met mere minutes ago. 

the two of them became a pair, and hongjoong had grown to love the friendship, love the closeness that came with it. he wasn’t used to sharing so much time with one other person, he kept to himself if he wasn’t with his group of friends, even when he still lived at home he didn’t see the need for having one person to put all of his trust into. 

mingi taught him a lot of things, the first being how to keep his head on straight and screw it tight. he kept hongjoong grounded, kept him centered around his music, kept him looking forward and never backward. he kept hongjoong flowing, retelling stories of nights they’d gone out together when hongjoong was feeling himself hit a creative block. mingi pulled hongjoong out of his hole when he’d snorted one too many lines, he’d put him in the shower, force feed him valium like it was candy. 

it wasn’t until hongjoong was sat on a wooden stool in the soundproof booth of his school’s recording studio two years later that he’d be reminded of you again. strumming along to into the void by black sabbath, a song he loved since he was young, getting frustrated when his fingers slipped up around the bridge, they always slipped up at the bridge — the chords were so close together, it was ironic that something which took speed would trip him up. 

“joong!” mingi called from outside of the booth, turning the microphone on, ripping hongjoong from his frustrations. “i got accepted! you need to check your email now.”

hongjoong left the booth in a rush, swinging his guitar back into its stand haphazardly, pushing the microphone he was keeping close to his lap back into the open space of the recording booth. he grabbed his phone and opened the email, relief washing over him like the stream from his apartment’s moldy shower head when he read we have selected you to join republic records as a production intern for the spring term.

hongjoong looked to mingi with wide, disbelieving eyes, unable to form a single reason why one of the biggest record labels in the city would accept him, choose him. hongjoong had been more than proficient in his work, with his grades, with forming relationships with big names in the industry — but at the end of the day, when he looked at himself in the mirror, all he saw was the same sixteen year old boy from brooklyn who’s only future was spent on the sidewalks of manhattan, maybe a shelter if he was fortunate enough. not a cent to his name, barely any clothes on his back, spending his adult years asking faceless people for a couple dollars just to buy himself a burger. 

it was his parents’ biggest fear, it kept his mother up all night in her queen sized bed, his father no doubt already passed out drunk beside her. she laid there with wide eyes listening to his snores, staring at her cracked ceiling praying for the day she gets to watch her son walk across that big stage, graduation cap flattening his shaggy haircut. she smiled at the thought, but the severity of the situation hit her much deeper, it wiped the smile right off her face. hongjoong was a wild card, she never knew what to do with him, how to keep him walking in a straight line, her last attempt was sending him to such a prestigious college. she begged him to see the value, see what she was sacrificing to send him there, see the desperation she slipped over her head like a uniform when hongjoong was at the ripe age of twelve. 

“you’re in production?” mingi twisted his neck to look over hongjoong’s shoulder, the height difference making it easy for him, “i’m in artist relations.” 

“what’s artist relations?” hongjoong asked while lifting a brow, looking up to the phone his lanky best friend held tight in his hand. 

mingi moved the phone lower, closer to him, sharing the screen to read the email word for word, “interns work closely with signed artists to assist in their day-to-day needs, organizing promotional activities, tours, and managing communications between the artist and the label.”

hongjoong laughed at that, his head tipping back, his eyes fluttering shut in hysterics. mingi’s cheeks flushed, his mouth shut tight and lips lifting at the edges ever so slightly, a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. it took hongjoong a moment to get it together before he said, “so you’re someone’s personal assistant?” 

“no!” mingi’s voice was raised, he took a breath, “yes, maybe, i guess so, whatever! i’m still interning at republic and a hierarchy is something to climb no matter where you start.” 

hongjoong laughed again, clutching his stomach that had a slight ache in the pit then looked down to his lit up screen, “i’m assisting with music recording, mixing, and mastering. may help in studios, learning about the technical side of producing records, blah blah blah. i got the good one.” 

“shut up,” mingi grumbled, locking his phone and shoving it in his pocket, “asshole, they're both good, i was excited. don’t ruin it.” 

“i’m just fucking with you, ming, you should be excited. being a personal assistant means you get the inside scoop,” hongjoong smirks, “plus we can tell each other about our jobs.” he lifts his index finger, already thinking of what comes next, “we’re gonna learn every inch of that place and every job before we even get hired, we’ll be behind the big desk in no time.”

mingi nods as if hongjoong’s strategy had planted itself directly into his head through shared brain waves, “you’re right, you’re so right, holy shit you’re so right.” 

hongjoong’s eyes go wide again, the realization settling in, “we’re interns at republic records.” 

it brought him back to that night, you with your husky voice and tattooed legs and piercings that shone in the path of moonlight through your bedroom window, the cigarette you held between two dainty fingers … you that brought him here, you that handed him this idea along with four white lines on a silver platter. 

pieces started falling into place, everything started to click, he remembered just a month ago he saw an advertisement for your band, a black piece of paper stuck to a light pole, performing at the red lion in greenwich village. he didn’t spare it a second thought, didn’t even process that he knew you when he saw it, too engrossed in how he was rushing to a class he was late for and the music in his headphones and the redbull he was juggling between his phone and laptop and keys. 

he didn’t think much of it again until he was two months deep in his internship, walking through the dim hallways of republic records with two cups of coffee in his hands, one for himself and one for the producer he was working next to that day. he walked by one of the practice rooms, door shut with a square window in the center, he caught nothing but a glimpse of your hair but it was enough to make him stop in his tracks, to feel the coffee in the confines of their cups threaten to overflow their lids.

he stopped there for a moment, peered through the glass box, let his brain backtrack to that fall of two years ago. god, what the hell was your name again?

he couldn’t hear a note yet he longed for the main singer’s mellifluous voice to kiss his pierced ears, he could see you working the crowd in his memories when you were performing for nothing but a blank brown wall, he let his eyes drift to the green haired drummer. what could have been. 

he pulled himself from the trance you had pulled him under again, much similar to when he first met you. hair cut shorter, edgier, more ink filling spaces in your soft skin that were empty the last time he saw you, much more clothing on your body this time around. at this point you must be twenty four, hongjoong himself just twenty one, just legal to drink in public, not that his age had ever stopped him before. it didn’t stop him from doing anything he wanted. 

he kept walking, beckoning his legs to push one foot in front of the other before he arrived back at the studio he was in for the day. he felt cloudy, like he needed a line, something to pull him out of his head, but he needed to reminisce. he remembered your conversation even in his coked out state, the way you laughed at him for suggesting such a perfect label to exist, the way republic records slipped off your tongue like it was nothing but a pipe dream you stored in the darkest corners of your head.

hongjoong believed in fate, he always told himself there was no other reason for his life to be the way it is. hongjoong had experienced plenty, he’d woken up on too many stoops in neighborhoods he started the night across from, had one too many syringes full of narcan shot in his arm when his cocaine was cut with fentanyl. he’d survived to tell the tale, not just survived but he kept living, what else did he have to thank? 

sheer luck, a guardian angel, fate, whatever it was he was thankful it stayed with him for so long, perched on his shoulder when he’d do the same things that made the front page of the new york times. there were too many lines in his life that crossed, too many threads that webbed for there not to be some external force, something he didn’t have a hand in. when yours and his threads crossed, got tangled that one night in the pits of brooklyn, he couldn’t help but think that the two years he’d spent his life up to this moment was the untangling. 

as mingi stood in their shared apartment later that night, telling him about his day, talking about the band he was assigned to, hongjoong couldn’t believe his ears when the word clotho left mingi’s lips. out of all the interns, all the employees in that massive building, all of the record labels in the city, you signed to the agency he worked for and mingi was assigned to assist you. 

he let him speak, let him complain about listening to your harsh demands, your continual need to practice the same song until they got it right, the way you flirted with mingi and how mingi ate it up. he let mingi speak with open ears, normal sized pupils and a nasty drip sliding down the back of his throat before he had enough. pulling the bag of his coke from his pocket he grabbed his favorite tray he kept right on the coffee table, spread the snow and cut it with a card from his wallet and sniffed. no dollar bill, no straw he sliced in half, just a finger pressed to his pierced nostril leaving the other one raw and full of blow. 

“christ, joong, it’s eight at night on a monday,” mingi shook his head at his friend, “do you really need to be railing lines right now?”

“i fucked her,” hongjoong admitted plainly, crossing his right leg back over his left knee.

“what? who?” mingi asked, his eyebrows reaching his hairline, leaning over in the recliner in their shared living room. 

“the guitarist from clotho, the one who’s name apparently neither of us know,” hongjoong chuckled before shaking out his arms, shaking off the discomfort of a possession he had no right feeling, “i fucked her.”

mingi sat there, blinking, not a word leaving his lips for moments before his brain turned back on, “i won’t- i didn’t know- when did you even?”

hongjoong waved him off with ring clad fingers before standing, walking towards his bedroom, “do what you want with her, just figured i’d let you know.”

hongjoong never had a girlfriend, a boyfriend, a relationship that lasted longer than one drunken night. even when he was younger he’d never experienced the puppy love all of his peers got themselves into, the only desire he felt was the rush of getting away with something, he’s craved that since before he can remember. possession wasn’t an emotion he was used to, one he rarely experienced at all, he couldn’t pinpoint why that spark of control showed itself when talking to mingi of all people. 

he left your apartment in a race that night, he couldn’t of cared less about you in the moment, he never thought about you again until two months ago, over two years after he slept with you in the first place. he thought you special maybe, a fucked up train of thought when he couldn’t even remember your name, special despite how utterly ordinary that night was. special because he had you to thank for the path he was on now, what he's accomplished since that night with you. maybe it was gratitude, adoration, maybe just someone to look up to if he considered your success comparable to his own, he didn’t know and it was driving him insane. 

his night with you was nothing out of the ordinary, he did nothing with you that he hadn’t done with tens of other people, yet the pedestal still remains tall. he tried to think about it in his sleepless night yet he got absolutely nowhere, no resolution, no explanation for the whirlwind he’d put himself through over hours. he sat up in his bed and sighed, a cold sweat lingering on his tanned skin, then he grabbed the guitar from beside his bed. 

he let the feeling consume him that night, let it pour out into every note his painted fingers strummed along the guitar. as the sun peeked through his bedroom window the next morning he decided that one night of thinking was all he could handle, he chose to let the feelings be what they are and put them on the old metal rack along with his guitar. 

he didn’t see you through that window to the practice room again, and he’d purposely walked by plenty of times in the weeks to follow. coming into mid march, for some reason the company was busy. hongjoong was keeping up, of course he was, juggling the workload from the producer he worked with and then everything else that was added to his plate by numerous other producers of the company. hongjoong was famous in that building, he was a dream intern, every person of a higher rank in that building wanted him for something. 

hongjoong loved it, he loved the attention, he loved being depended on, he loved being busy most of all. reaching deadlines, bouncing back and forth between different artists and their own genre of music, hongjoong was nothing but a sponge in the ocean that was republic records. he soaked everything in, he learned everything, he remembered everything, he loved that his extensive knowledge was only ranging farther. 

when he woke up that morning to the sunrise and a clear head after playing acoustic versions of rock songs all fucking night, he did exactly what he told himself he was going to. even if he wanted to think about you again he didn’t have a moment to himself to be able to, his internship was taking up so much of his personal time most days his homework wasn’t even a priority. the internship told him when he started to let them know if the workload was too much, if it was affecting his studies, but in what world would he do that? after leaving his bubble of adolescence of being a regular college student and entering the adult world, his career, why would school come first? he was already doing it, already loved by so many people, it was only right that hongjoong would fixate on what was working. 

“we’re recording today,” jag, the producer he worked with, didn’t even have the decency to greet hongjoong with a hello. so backed up, so overworked, jag looked like he hadn’t slept in three days.

“with who?” hongjoong paid no mind to his unpleasant greeting, setting a coffee down right in front of him. jag’s eyes widened, a sparkle shining through the deepest of browns, he immediately brought the cup up to his chapped lips. jag’s favorite, this hongjoong knew by now, he also knew how jag worked, how to put him in a better mood even on his worst days. 

“clotho,” jag said after a refreshing sigh, pleased with the hot drink he was gifted, “they’re finishing up their album, they’ve been working with max for majority of the recording. max called out sick, so they’re with us.”

hongjoong’s eyebrows raised, his mouth opening ever so slightly. jag caught on to the surprise, much like how observant hongjoong was, jag also paid a lot of attention to the boy with the sand colored mullet. jag snickered, “you have the same look on your face as when you slept with anitta and we had her in the booth the next day.”

“you know me too well,” hongjoong sat down in the chair beside him and let out a noise of relief as he got comfortable, cracking his knuckles as he spoke, “i fucked the guitarist.”

jag laughed, a belly laugh from the pit of his stomach, “which one?”

“the lead guitarist, the one covered neck to toe in tattoos,” hongjoong brings his attention to the monitor, an entirely different project jag was working on spread across the screen.

jag rubbed his face with his hands, “do we need to get every artist an STD test? i’m starting to get scared you’ll cause an outbreak.”

hongjoong rolled his eyes before responding with a playful smile, “you know i’m clean.”

their small talk didn’t get much further before your band was barreling through the studio, yawns and huffs of air being thrown about the space. hongjoong kept it professional, he kept his focus on the mixing board, the monitor, pulling up the file to the tracks that they were working on that day. 

you looked… tired. no makeup, guitar case strapped to your back, tattoos hiding under the cotton of your sweats. it was early, the company had them working not just at dawn but also on the weekend, two things that weren’t normal for scheduling or recording. you didn’t notice him yet, or you were ignoring him, hongjoong wasn’t sure but he also didn’t care. he needed to get you in that booth, get the recording done as fast as possible so he could meet his friends at baby’s all right later. 

at the start of the first track on the album they’d record that day, hongjoong knew the moment you saw him, the second you recognized his pierced nose and shaggy hair that was much longer now than the last time you’d seen him. he could see it in the way your eyes widened and the pause you took before you took your pick from your lips, he watched the gears turn in your head, he watched every memory play out in your eyes from that night two years ago. jag seemed to notice too by the way his palm slapped hongjoong’s knee under the desk, a breath of amusement leaving his lips. 

your movements were slowed, it took you entirely too long to shift the microphone so it stood correctly in front of you, but you shook yourself out of your thoughts as the rhythm guitarist played the first few clean, arpeggiated chords. this song… hongjoong recognized it immediately, the memories once again flooding back to him.

once you got through the haunting intro, through the slow burn build into heavier, distorted riffs, hongjoong thought that you might be a siren, too. instead of a melodic voice, it was the resonance you played through the strings under your calloused fingertips hooking him, once again pulling him into a trance, a spell you weren’t even conscious of casting. when it got to your solo in the middle of the song, backed up with an underlying chord progression from the rhythm guitarist and a deep bass line, he could feel it from head to toe. the entrapment, the sight in front of him that he couldn’t bear to look away from. the back up instruments set a platform, a center for you to take the stage in the small recording booth, for the focus of the listener to hear you, focus on you. 

he had a job. he had buttons to press, things to adjust, he had to listen with an assessing ear, he had to snap out of it. he watched as your chipped nail polish slipped from string to string, the other hand clenched tightly around your guitar pick. he watched as you nodded along to the drums, eyebrows furrowed in focus of following the mid tempo groove, listening to the song as much as you were playing it. he knew that feeling, that multitasking, listening and doing and following and evaluating all at once. 

he blinked a few times before directing his focus to the monitor instead of watching you shred in the booth, he fell in and out of focus for the entire session between his eyes being locked on you and making sure your song was being recorded properly. he thought he’d let go of what he felt, laid his feelings to rest in his favorite instrument beside his bed, but as he watched you strum along to the fourth track they’d record that day he decided maybe there was a reason your paths crossed once again. 

just like that one night spent with him and his music, the feelings he didn’t want to address, he spiraled into yet another torment of not being able to process anything. all he had was this unidentifiable emotion, a pang in his chest, he didn’t know what to do with it or how to address it properly. he looked at from all sides, contradicted himself, tried to unpack it for exactly what it was, but he still felt himself unable to move from square one. 

by the end of the session hongjoong’s brain was on backwards, he was barely of help to jag the entire time you were in the booth. jag gave him a pass even if he was entirely confused as to why hongjoong was acting so fucking weird, he’d never acted so out of it, even during the session with anitta. jag chopped it up to the fact that hongjoong was probably overworked much like himself, even if something tugged at him, telling him there was more going on in hongjoong’s head than just exhaustion. 

the rest of the session went a lot easier than hongjoong thought it would based off of the insight he’d gotten from mingi, but he guessed he shouldn’t have assumed how you’d act from just one conversation that was ages ago. mingi hadn’t mentioned you or the band again since that night, deeming it a sensitive topic, one he’d like to avoid since him and hongjoong kept the people they fucked very separate, except for those they shared. you were rather quiet towards hongjoong, only what was necessary for getting the recording done, he couldn’t pull anything from you except for eyes boring into the back of his head from across the room and a short snap of a complaint when he noticed a bleed from the microphone. 

hongjoong was exhausted beyond belief by eight o’clock yet he still had an entire night ahead of him. he packed up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, relieved he was about to go drink away the new emotions he’d encountered.

“you alright?” jag asked, a weird question coming from jag who usually kept their conversations light hearted, he rarely picked hongjoong apart.

“‘m fine, just tired,” hongjoong waved him off with a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. jag lifted an eyebrow, too curious but too scared to ask. him and hongjoong’s relationship was specific, a teacher and his student, despite the not always innocent conversation that sometimes felt like it was between two friends. he didn’t find it his place to intervene on the conversation that’s been going on for hours in hongjoong’s head, better to let hongjoong come to him if need be.

“see you monday,” was all jag called after hongjoong who had already left the studio’s door, an echo through the heavy wood. 

hongjoong didn’t expect to turn and see you pressed up against the wall, guitar encased at your side, the sleeves of your sweatshirt rolled up to your elbows. you smiled, an eerie smile, one that told hongjoong everything he was feeling earlier was about to be intensified, amplified, much like the sound of your instrument. 

“you didn’t think to tell me you worked here?” you tilted your head, the smile of a cheshire cat sitting wide on your cheekbones. 

“and how would i do that?” hongjoong grabbed your guitar case from beside the wall and began walking, ushering you to follow along. if you were going to talk, it should be away from jag’s curious ears. 

“maybe make use of the phone number you’ve had in your phone for two years?” it sounded like a question but hongjoong assumed it was more of an instruction, a curious sentence that left much to be dissected. 

hongjoong laughed a soft chuckle, “i didn’t think it was necessary.”

“well that’s rude,” you scoffed, grabbing your guitar case from his hand and swinging it over your own shoulder, “this is the last place i would’ve expected to see you.”

“and i feel the opposite,” he turned to look at you, almost his height in your platform sneakers, “you laughed at me when i knew exactly where you’d end up.” 

“ah, buttering me up now, are we?” you smirked, “didn’t know you thought so highly of clotho.” 

“why else would i sleep with the lead guitarist?” hongjoong joked, his own smile growing wide, the fog he felt in the studio was long gone by the time you reached the end of the hallway. entering the space just before the elevator to take them down to the lobby, hongjoong pressed the button and faced you. 

“that’s fucked up,” you said between your giggles, “you wanna be my groupie now?” you shifted your weight to one foot, making yourself just smaller than the man before you. “i’ll allow it, i guess.” 

“who said i wanted to do it again?” hongjoong’s mischievous smile was permanent across his cheeks now and you gasped, slapping his bicep. the elevator dinged and opened quickly, an empty dimly lit space demanding you to continue the conversation.

“what are you doing later?” you asked as you stepped inside, leaning against the bar that was fused against the wall opposite of hongjoong. 

“going to baby’s all right with a couple friends,” hongjoong answered plainly, ignoring the voice tugging at him to ask you to come with.

“got room for one more?” you beat him to it, you’ve been bold since the day he met you, he didn’t know why it took him by surprise. 

he stuttered a bit in his agreement and you told him to meet you at your apartment, a new one in brooklyn, not the one you used to occupy in queens. he didn’t have the strength to tell you he grew up in the same neighborhood, he knew your address like the back of his hand, that this is yet another thread sewn into the web. hongjoong believed in fate and he believed in signs, it seemed that every one was pointing in your direction. he trusted the signs, trusted in luck, trusted in fate, trusted in whatever kept itself on his shoulder that this path he was taking was the right one. 

he never cared much for right and wrong when it came to anything, especially entertaining the idea that his own actions would change how his life would turn out. hongjoong never had any goals or expectations for his life, he assumed how he’d turn out before the age of fifteen, he was careless unless it benefited him to put in an effort for anything yet he never considered that might put him on the wrong path, it just was what it was. from stealing a twenty dollar bill from his mother’s second hand coach bag to working alongside one of the most famous music producers in the city, before two years ago when hongjoong actually felt that he was moving upward, he never took into consideration that maybe his actions did have consequences, maybe he chose what path his life went in by the smallest of decisions. 

he showed up to your apartment late, much to your dismay, even if you were also late yourself. you took about ten more minutes after he’d buzzed up to your apartment to let you know he’d arrived, leaving him to his own devices on your stoop. when you’d finally walked out of your front door hongjoong’s right nostril twitched, he was used to only one thing giving him this kind of rush, this sensation he felt at every nerve ending. you were fucking breathtaking with your microscopic skirt and shirt so small he didn’t know if you could consider it anything other than a bra. makeup dark and sultry, lips so red he had flashbacks to when he scrubbed smudges of it off of the base of his neck. your hair was down and straightened, framing your cheekbones so beautifully, the shadows it created made you look like a creature of the night in the most dangerous way. 

he felt like he was looking at you for the first time all over again, the last two years had done you well, all of the coke and drinking and partying hadn’t aged you in the slightest. it was rare that excessive consumption didn’t affect one's appearance, most of his hometown friends had begun to resemble zombies years ago, you seemed to be immortal. the walk to the bar was short, less than ten blocks away, and hongjoong was grateful. he was using tonight for release, he needed to let go of everything he’s been responsible for, take a night to forget everything and just be. of course, out of all nights, someone who he worked with just a few hours ago would be accompany him, but at least it’s you.

“have you been to this place?” you asked, the innocence in your voice contradicting the heaviness of your boots hitting the concrete. 

hongjoong nodded, his hands shoved in his pockets, “many times.”

“we performed here a couple months ago i think, i don’t really remember it much, i got hammered as soon as we got off the stage,” you were talking mindlessly, just sparking up a conversation so you weren’t walking silently beside each other. 

“it’s cute, less grungy and dirty and more..” he racked his brain for a way to describe it, falling into a momentary silence, “picturesque for the instagram models of the city, i guess?”

you laughed at that, “then i’ll put your hands to good use and you can be my personal photographer for the night, my followers will be grateful.”

hongjoong’s lips grew into a smirk, “there are better ways to put my hands to use.”

“we still have a whole night to get through before i can attest to that,” you raised a finger towards him in protest, your own smile growing, the two of you falling into easier conversation once the flirting started up again. 

“we’ve only walked a block, we can easily turn around,” hongjoong came to a stop, looking back to the stretch of ground they had just hiked, eyes full of amusement yet he was also dead serious. there are plenty ways to let off steam.

you rolled your eyes, “normally i’d agree, but i’m in the mood to party and if you’re anything like you were two years ago i don’t think you’re capable of a quickie.”

the two of you fell into stride again, “i can say with confidence that i am not fond of quickies.”

you brought up work after that, talked about the album, compared recording with hongjoong and jag to max. hongjoong half tuned out at that, he answered where he needed to but he was over the work talk, he needed to get to that bar now. 

you met up with his hometown friends once you got there, people you slightly recognized from backstage two years ago, but there were a few hongjoong had to introduce you to. once you mentioned clotho you had more to talk about with the group of people, being the lead guitarist of a band signed by republic records was always a great conversation starter. 

hongjoong kept his tab open, let you order whatever you wanted on it for the night, to you that was an invitation to get fucked up as much as it was payback for snorting all of your coke two years ago. you were intrigued at this point, not just by hongjoong himself but about what was going on in his head. you’d assessed the situation while you were getting ready as much as you wanted to leave it at a free night of partying, but you couldn’t shake the curiosity that came along with the presence of kim hongjoong. 

after he had left your apartment two years ago in such a rush, you’d hoped he’d call you for at least two weeks after. even a text, whatever you could get from him was enough, because you’d never had a night like that with anyone, the sex being something that no other person you’d invited to your bed could compare to. everything about him physically, the shared interests, the banter, the easy conversation. you were coked out of your mind yet you still remember every detail of that night, even almost a thousand days later hongjoong had left his mark on you without it being intentional. 

then you saw him again, and he was working for you. he was sitting behind the mixing board with headphones on, looking unbothered as ever, you wondered if he even remembered you, if that night stayed with him the way it stayed with you. once your eyes met and you could feel the knowing shared from a single, too long stare through the glass, you had to talk to him, had to pick his brain, had to insert yourself into his life like what you shared wasn’t just one night so you could do it again.

you took his invitation and drank to your heart’s content, and he did, too. both of you ended up in the cramped crowd of the DJ, so unlike hongjoong, very much like you, drowning in a swamp of sweaty bodies. everyone was jumping, arms swinging to the beat, phones with flashes on all pointed towards the stage. hongjoong was gone as he planned, his mind forgetting everything except for the beautiful woman beside him, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. watching you as you jumped in the air, swaying to the music, everything bouncing to the bass, he was getting impatient and his dick could feel it. 

he needed a bump to take the edge off, reset him so he didn’t rush you out of your fun, he enjoyed seeing you so carefree. in your monologue about your album you’d seem stressed, hongjoong assumed you needed to get away for a night just as much as he did. 

“i need a bump,” he yelled over the music, grabbing your forearm that you kept at your side to get your attention, the other one hung above your head. 

“me too!” you yelled back, looking up to him with those big doe eyes, there goes his reset. he didn’t think you’d come with, too wrapped up in the set the DJ was playing, but he stupidly thought wrong – you were just like him, after all. your hand latched onto his and he lead you out of the crowd, through the crowded bar, and then outside to the sidewalk of broadway. he nodded his head to the bouncer and wrapped around the building that still had a line outside the door to somewhere quieter, where people would be less likely to interrupt you.

“joong, i think we could’ve stayed in front, it’s not like he cares,” you pointed out, referring to the bouncer as you finally turned the corner, pulling your box of cigarettes from your purse.

he pulled the baggie from his pocket along with his keys, splitting them until he found his apartment key that had old coke lodged into the rivets of the metal, “excuse me for not wanting to share.”

you giggled, stumbling a little bit over your feet when you tried to light the cigarette, “wanna go soon?”

he looked up to you with eyebrows raised as he brought the key up to his nose, “yeah? you ready?”

“want you already, tired of waiting,” your legs instinctively crossed, thighs pressing together as you pulled from the cigarette, the tip burning a bright orange. 

his smile returned, the devilish one that he seemed to only wear around you, “what? you don’t wanna party anymore? that’s the only reason we’re here, baby.”

your thighs flexed below your skirt at his words as he brought the key up to your nose after your exhale of smoke, smirking as you sniffed, “don’t call me baby unless you’re fucking me against the wall.”

he laughed at your body reacting to his words, something that came so naturally to him throwing you for a loop, the thought crossing his mind just for a moment that maybe he should’ve done this a lot sooner. he let you burn down half the cigarette before he was feeling the same level of impatience and you were starting to look even sexier, the rush of the bump coursing through his blood and sending all of it straight to his dick.

“let’s go say bye and then i’ll fuck you stupid at home, no bathroom this time,” he grabbed your hand again instinctively, leading you back inside the club, letting you throw the still lit cigarette to the busy street.

he found his friends quick and said bye even quicker, his pants started tightening the moment you crossed your legs and they weren’t getting any baggier as time went on. the walk back to your apartment reminded him of the subway ride from the last time, each block you walked had you pressed up on a random stoop, hongjoong’s tongue in your mouth and hand sliding farther and farther up your skirt with each stop. you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other, too needy, too impatient, a feeling you kept passing back and forth through spit and moans on brooklyn doorsteps.

you didn’t let lust take over in the entryway this time, hongjoong quickly learned this apartment wasn’t just your own but instead shared. a man’s jacket sat hung on the coat rack on the foyer, three pairs of men’s shoes shuffled about the floor. that possessiveness returned, coating a thick layer over him before he looked up. your apartment was massive, no way you were affording this on your own even in brooklyn, maybe you had two roommates. the apartment was decorated less cozy than the last time he was here, more like your band’s style, rough and dirty and dim. it didn’t smell of vanilla but instead mahogany, a hint of bourbon, so much more masculine than he’d expected. 

hongjoong’s gut twisted with the information and he pushed it down, ignored it, pretended you shared the space with a ghost instead as you lead him through the apartment and to your room quickly, pushing him against the door the second you heard the latch enter the door frame. you were on your knees in seconds, not wasting any time, only enhancing hongjoong’s need to have control as you unbuckled his belt and pulled his jeans down. 

“been dreaming of having this dick again for years,” you mumbled absent mindedly as you finally got him bare, naked and leaking, eyes wide and blown not just from the coke. 

“should’ve came and got it then,” your revelation didn’t sink in, didn’t seem to click in hongjoong’s brain, too fucked up to think of anything other than fucking your throat as he finally got the wet heat of your mouth around him.

your nails clawed at the skin of his thighs as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper with each stroke, gagging yourself but pushing through nonetheless. hongjoong had his fingers tied in your hair, the back of his head pressed against the door, low groans leaving his lips with each tighten of your throat. 

“so fucking good, missed that mouth,” drawled out of his lips as you worked him faster, wetter, your saliva beginning to run down his thighs. he loved it messy, dirty, you were taking him in his favorite way. he was in heaven, but the impatience was only growing. he needed you loud, screaming, cumming around his dick over and over again. 

“should’ve came and got it then,” you shot back as you pulled off of him with a pop, catching your breath. tears laid in your lash line, lipstick so smudged and faded hongjoong wondered if it made a ring around the base of him.

“on the bed,” he ordered before you had the chance to take him in your mouth again and you were on your feet in a second, ripping your clothes off before you nearly jumped on the bed, greeting him with all of your limbs planted on the mattress on all fours. 

“impatient,” he mumbled as he undressed himself, crawling onto the bed behind you, leaving a rough smack against your ass.

you moaned in response as your body jerked forward, legs spreading further in response. he loved that about you, the pain slut that lived inside you even if you tried to put up a dominant front. you weren’t shy about what you wanted, what you needed from him, always so responsive. maybe you were his favorite. 

he slipped inside you with ease, you were wet enough to take him, you’d been waiting for this for hours. he set a brutal pace immediately, pounding into you leaving you a loud, crying mess. it wasn’t long before your arms gave out below you, sending your face flying into the comforter, definitely leaving streaks of black from your eye makeup. hongjoong couldn’t wait to see the mess you’d made. 

“such a perfect pussy, like it was made for me,” his voice was slurred and low, close to babbles as he spoke deliriously between thrusts, he felt fucked out too, entranced by your pussy that was sucking him in. 

“‘t was, it is, it's yours,” your voice matched his, cheek pressed to the mattress, one hand clawing behind yourself and another at the sheets to grab something, anything for leverage, “don’t stop, so good.” 

he didn’t indulge in your grabs as he felt himself getting close, he definitely wasn’t lasting as long as he wanted to, but after a small break and another line he’d be roaring to go again. he wrapped an arm around your torso, middle finger finding your clit, circling it steadily. you cried out, jerking against him, thighs starting to shake under him.

“gonna cum!” you cried out, the strain in your voice let him know the tears that were in your eyes earlier had fell. he kept at his rhythm, fucking into you at the same pace of your circles and you tightened around him, letting go, crying out with no remorse for anyone who might also be here. as you grabbed at his hand and forced it off of you he let himself focus on his own orgasm, fucking back into you at the pace he knew would have him letting go in seconds. 

“inside, joong, please,” you begged, voice rough and raspy, not giving him the chance to ask you where you wanted him. he indulged, emptying himself inside you with a groan, stilling as he leaned over the two koi fish swimming up your back. 

your legs gave out after he pulled out, falling flat against your stomach, legs still twitching against the cotton. you moaned at the emptiness, the release, and hongjoong laid himself beside you. you stayed in silence for minutes, breaths of air occupying the air, the only thing you could hear in your bedroom. you had 80s thrash metal posters all over your walls, different paintings, things he recognized from your old room. it made him smile, knowing he was back here again, a different apartment yet the things he pointed out last time were still here. two years have gone by yet some things just don’t change.

“gonna have to show me your place next time,” you finally spoke, turning your head to face him, pulling your arms under your face to rest on.

“next time?” hongjoong asked, raising an eyebrow, “what makes you so confident that there’ll be a next time?”

you rolled your eyes, “you have no choice, there’s no way in hell i’m letting you get away from me again. and you’re putting your number in my phone before you go.”

you didn’t know that he had every intention of seeing you again, of showing up whenever you called, of doing whatever the hell you wanted him to whenever you wanted him to do it. he didn’t know that those calls would come quicker than he thought, he’d take you time and time again, these visits becoming more frequent the more time you spent together. he decided the feelings he harbored didn’t need to be unpacked, he could leave them unaddressed if that meant he could see you, be with you, get himself inside you after a long day. for the months to follow he stood by that, he didn’t think much of your relationship other than the fact that you had one, unlabeled and undisclosed. 

he left your apartment the next morning slowly, much unlike last time, almost as if he didn’t want to leave. but you called him later that night, asked him if he wanted to come over, and of course he said yes, he hadn’t said no to that question yet. he found out you lived with two of your bandmates, yasu, the leader and the green haired drummer he learned was noa. they were both just as cool as you, that much he knew from the recording session you’d spent together, and hongjoong got along with them just as well as he got along with you. 

he’d spent many nights partying with you and your band after shows or on random weeknights, just as much as you spent time with hongjoong and his friends from brooklyn, or even nights with just himself and mingi. you got to know each other on a level he hadn’t expected you to, one he didn’t necessarily allow you to, including that you found out his real age, you didn’t speak to him for an entire night of drinking after he’d told you the truth. you let it go later that night when he had you pressed against the wall, outside, behind the bar you were at, fingers scissoring into you for ignoring him, denying you release for the following hours to come.

hongjoong was at all of your recording sessions, he helped with marketing your band, helped other interns and even your manager with scheduling performances, interviews, you started to bleed into every part of his life, every aspect of his job. you found out about his laziness with schoolwork, you denied him the pleasure of being inside you until he got his shit together before the semester ended, it was a long two weeks for him, his fist and his coke dealer. 

hongjoong was enamored by you, your lifestyle, your entire being. he didn’t ever think about what you were, he kept his thoughts about your relationship very surface level, terrified as to what would happen if he looked any deeper than that. he didn’t even take the time to consider whether or not you were exclusive, he didn’t let himself think about what you’d look like under someone else and how that made him feel, he didn’t need to. neither of you had any time, you were always with him, he was always with you if he wasn’t busy with the company or what was left of his junior year, you were too wrapped up in one another to think about anyone else.

somehow hongjoong was one of the last people to find out about your first tour, a quick four months across north america over the summer, ranging from june to september. he was ecstatic when he was told by his superior, he couldn’t wait to talk to you about it, the celebratory party to follow, just the fact that you were growing, making it just like he knew you would.

the label had you in a quick meeting when he found out, thirty minutes you spent inside the room with frosted glass windows, hongjoong spent his lunch break waiting just outside the door. the more time he spent tapping his foot, bouncing his knee, the more his brain started to think. you’d known about this for a month now, sitting on the information, not sharing it with him when he thought you shared everything. it became the longest thirty minutes of his life, he hadn’t felt this way in a long time, the drop of his stomach was such a rare occurrence he couldn’t remember five other times it’s ever happened to him. why hadn’t you told him sooner?

it terrified him, enough to leave his spot outside the door, to go all the way outside the building until he was greeted with the scent of summer in manhattan. he paced up and down the length of the building, racking his brain for why this was happening now, after he’d spent so much time with you, after he’d gotten completely comfortable around you, after he’d sank way too fucking deep. why hadn’t you told him sooner? it was as if his world was closing in on him, he hadn’t even felt this way when he was on the brink of consciousness before narcan was shot into his bloodstream, he’d never felt an attachment to someone let alone having it on the brink of being ripped away from him. this was betrayal.

it was only four months, but that was almost double the time you’d actually spent together. he felt himself walking on a road the past two months, a tunnel that had something unknown at the end, something totally new to him. he allowed it, he was blissfully ignoring his discomfort, the unknown, embracing this new type of relationship, this type of closeness with someone. he’d only gotten this close with mingi, only just allowed that type of friendship, he hadn’t let anyone else in since then, not even jag who he spent most of his time with other than you and mingi. he wouldn’t allow himself to bleed so freely, to show himself so naked, to give anyone else the opportunity to know him or hurt him. he kept everyone at arm's length for a reason.

hongjoong assumed this was the end of whatever was perched on his shoulder as he looked up to the clear, bright sky beyond the buildings, that was the only explanation he could muster up. he said goodbye, he thanked it for being with him all this time, for keeping a watchful eye, keeping him above the water. he wished it well.

he sniffed a bump and walked back inside the building with a distant cloud looming over him, a stoic look to his face, a carelessness that draped over him like your bedsheets in the early hours of the morning. he wouldn’t let you see him in such a state, you’d seen enough of him, more than you were ever supposed to. 

hongjoong has never believed in regret, he’s a firm believer that everything happens for a reason, everything you go through is to teach you something. from overdosing on more than one occasion, it taught him to not do someone else’s coke, to know his dealer on a personal level, to know what his drugs were cut with. from disappointing his parents time and time again, it taught him to get sneakier, not give them hopes that he could shatter. from turning in weeks worth of homework late and only just passing his last semester of his junior year, it taught him to stay on top of his studies or he could easily lose everything he’s worked for. from sleeping with the lead guitarist of a random band in brooklyn and ending up an intern at republic records, it taught him that purpose and opportunities are everywhere if you’re keeping an eye out for them. from getting into something that’s the closest thing to a romantic relationship he’d ever experienced with the woman of his dreams, it taught him that if you leave your feelings exposed, someone is able to betray them, take them in their hands and toy with them, crush them if they wanted to.

he thought himself naïve. he wouldn’t allow it to happen again. 

with a quick fifteen minutes and still not a word to you, he put his walls back up, higher than they’d ever been before, he was sina, rose and maria. he was aurelian when he walked straight past you in the lobby, hadrian when he walked past your bandmates who whipped their heads around to watch him walk to the elevator, jericho when he slipped inside the thankfully open door. he went back to the studio where jag was waiting for him, who playfully asked him if he was fucking his girlfriend in the bathroom and if that’s why he was late.

hongjoong snapped, told him to fuck off and jag listened. he didn’t ask any questions for the rest of the session, they went through the motions, got their workload finished for the day and went their separate ways. jag knew, of course jag knew, jag knew hongjoong like the back of his hand by now. since january, five months the two have been a pair, close without being close, jag is an observant man and hongjoong is not good at hiding his emotions. 

hongjoong didn’t answer your calls, didn’t answer your incessant rings of his doorbell, ignored your begs at the door of the recording studio, it didn’t take long until everything stopped. you got on that bus headed straight to florida and he couldn’t stop the slip, the easy slide of becoming the eighteen year old version of himself again. 

he turned his brain off outside of the music he made, the paintings he created, the drawings that now littered even the floor of his bedroom. the label was busy, he immersed himself in his work, he didn’t even have school to keep him occupied until august, he let every ounce of his energy go into republic records and substances. after work he was in the pits of brooklyn, seeing every show he could, in every club in the city, taking every drug he could get his hands on. his friends were happy to have him back, to have the fun hongjoong in the mix for their benders, another body to sleep with at the end of the night. 

mingi forced him out of it before school started up again, telling him to get his shit together or he’d really lose everything this time. hongjoong was malleable by now, brain so fried from his summer that he just nodded at mingi and tried to set himself up. mingi helped him, basically set hongjoong up himself, enrolled him in his senior year and chose his classes. hongjoong didn’t care, he wished he could do it himself, wished he could think for longer than two minutes without your name crossing his mind. for someone who couldn’t remember your name for the life of him, it was the only thing he could think now, it wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone. 

at this point hongjoong thought you a phantom, that night he saw you as a creature of the night would really come true — you invaded his dreams, his nightmares, his trips when he dropped acid. you were everywhere, you were everything, he didn’t know how he could ever come back from this, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to. 

as he sat on the balcony of his apartment in mid august with a joint between his fingers, hours after vomiting up the oxy one of his friends had slipped him, he decided he had enough.

hongjoong is a lot of things. he’s obsessive, he’s a wild card, he’s an addict, he’s a hard worker, he’s a partier.

but first and foremost, hongjoong is a creator.

he creates art, he creates music, he writes, he draws, he paints. he recites songs from memory, he plays them on the guitar after hearing them just once, hongjoong is gifted. hongjoong created himself, he created this life, he created every path he’s ever walked on. fuck luck and fuck fate, hongjoong created every situation he’s ever been in, created every opportunity for himself, created the name that gets passed through every ear of republic records. 

hongjoong created himself, and he’d burn the world down before someone could ever take that away from him. by september he’d become a junior producer, crossing the line of intern to employee in just nine months, faster than anyone else in republic record’s history. 

he just hoped his resolve stayed intact when you finally stepped off that tour bus and walked back into republic records, ready to begin recording your band’s second album.

[natsaffection]

heyyy so i have this idea and i think no one can write it like you so yeah.

forced marriage between Natasha and reader in the present time. they both don't like each other because of this situation yk but with time they come around each other.

i know this is a really classic one but I've been thinking about this for a long time and sending a request to you seemed like a good idea considering your beautiful writing. but of course it's okay if you don't want to write it! hope you're having a good day!!! (or night idk😭😭) 💗

I see you. | N.R

Warnings: Forced Marriage for a Mission, a lot of arguments, Drinking, mentioned of sex while beeing drunk (both)

Word count: 6,7k

A/n: I hope it makes sense. I thought for a long time about how best to implement this scenario and found this solution to be the most plausible..(The beginning takes place before the invasion of Loki)

Natasha sat stiffly, her gaze sharp and unforgiving, fixed on the man sitting across from her. Nick leaned back in his chair, his one good eye studying her with an intensity that matched her own. “So, what’s this about, Fury?” Natasha’s voice was as cold as the steel walls surrounding them in the underground briefing room of the Avengers headquarters. She had been urgently summoned, pulled out of a mission briefing that had been weeks in the making, and the weight of this interruption hung heavy in the air.

Fury exhaled slowly, his fingers drumming on the edge of the sleek metal table. The silence stretched just long enough that Natasha’s patience nearly snapped. “It’s about alliances.” he finally said, his tone measured, as if he was still deciding how much to reveal. Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “I thought we had our alliances sorted out. Stark has the tech, Banner is working on the gamma projects, and I’m ready to handle the intel with Rogers. What’s missing?”

Fury’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he leaned forward, his hands tightly clasped together as if preparing for what he was about to say. “What’s missing is political stability. The kind that can’t be bought with technology or power. We need trust, and that’s in short supply these days.”

“Trust?” Natasha scoffed. “From whom? What aren’t you telling me?” He met her gaze, unwavering. “There’s a situation with Y/n.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed slightly. The name struck a nerve. You were no stranger in her world. Known for your diplomatic skills and sharp intellect, you were a key figure in international negotiations, often brokering deals that kept the world from chaos. You weren’t just a diplomat, you were a force, wielding influence in ways even Natasha respected. But that didn’t explain why you were the subject of this mysterious meeting.

“And what does that have to do with us?” Natasha asked, her voice low and laced with suspicion. Fury’s next words fell like a hammer. “You’re going to marry her.” For a moment, the words didn’t register. Natasha stared at Fury, waiting for the punchline to a joke that never came. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me right, Romanoff." Fury replied, his tone unyielding. “This marriage is the only way to secure the alliance we need. Your influence can grant us access to certain..resources and information that we desperately need. This goes beyond SHIELD, it’s about global security.”

Natasha leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “And you think a forced marriage is magically going to solve all these problems?”

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy.” Fury admitted. “But this isn’t about love or personal happiness. It’s about necessity. We need a visible, undeniable alliance, something that other nations and organizations can see and recognize as a commitment. A marriage between you and Y/L/N would achieve that.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened. She was a soldier, a spy, a warrior..she had never allowed anyone to dictate the terms of her life, let alone something as personal as marriage. The very idea was repugnant to her, and yet..Fury’s expression told her this wasn’t just an idea, it was an order. The stakes were high, as they always were in her line of work, but this felt different. This felt personal in a way she hadn’t expected.

“And what makes you think she’ll agree to this?” Natasha asked, struggling to keep her voice steady. She wasn’t ready to show more emotion than necessary. “She’s already agreed.” Fury said, and Natasha felt the ground shift beneath her feet. “She understands how important this alliance is. She’s as reluctant as you are, but she knows what’s at stake.”

Natasha let that sink in for a moment. She didn’t know you well, but she knew of you, respected you even. You were someone who didn’t back down easily, who saw through lies and acted on your convictions. If you had agreed, then the situation was worse than Natasha had thought.

“And if I refuse?” she asked, though she knew the answer, but she needed to hear it. Fury’s expression hardened. “You won’t refuse. You’re too smart for that, Natasha. You know what’s at stake. You’ve always done what was necessary.”

Natasha exhaled slowly, her mind racing. She didn’t want this, she didn’t want to be tied down by something as archaic as marriage, especially not to someone she barely knew. But Fury was right. She had always done what was necessary, no matter the cost. And this, it seemed, was just another mission, one that would require all her skills to navigate.

“Fine..” she said finally, her voice clipped. “I’ll do it. But don’t expect me to play the happy housewife.” Fury almost smiled, but it was a cold, thin smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Natasha’s mind raced as she left the cold, sterile briefing room. Fury’s words echoed in her ears, a reminder that her life was no longer entirely her own. As she walked through the corridors of the SHIELD headquarters, her footsteps echoed ominously, each step bringing her closer to a fate she hadn’t chosen.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, pulling her out of her thoughts. It was a message from Fury again:

Meeting with Y/N in conference room in five minutes. Be there.

No time to think, no time to prepare. Typical. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself before heading to the designated room. Natasha arrived at the conference room a few minutes early. The room was empty, the lights dimmed, casting long shadows across the table. It felt oddly impersonal, a stark contrast to the gravity of what was about to be discussed. She stood by the window, staring out at the headquarters’ grounds, trying to gather her thoughts.

The door opened behind her, and Natasha turned as you entered the room. You were dressed in a tailored suit, exuding the same sovereign confidence that had made you a respected figure in the diplomatic world. But there was something else in your eyes. A hint of irritation, maybe even anger. Clearly, you weren’t any happier about this situation than she was.

“Natasha.” you greeted her with a curt nod, your voice cool and distant. “Y/n.” Natasha replied just as coolly. She crossed her arms and leaned against the windowsill, her eyes narrowing as she studied the person in front of her. “So, I guess we’re getting married.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Looks that way. Not that either of us had a choice.” Natasha raised an eyebrow. “And whose fault is that? If you and your people hadn’t been so secretive, we might not be in this mess.” Your face hardened, a flicker of anger crossing your features. “Oh, please. Don’t act like SHIELD is any better. You’re all about secrets and manipulation. This marriage is just another one of your little games.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed further. “You think I want this? To be tied to someone I barely know, just to fulfill a political agenda? Don’t kid yourself.”

“Kid myself?” You scoffed and took a step closer, your voice rising. “Do you think it’s any easier for me? Being forced to marry the Black Widow, of all people? I know your reputation, Natasha. You’re a manipulator, a killer. This is the last thing I wanted.” Natasha’s jaw clenched, her anger boiling up. “And what about you? You’re no saint either, Y/n. You’ve played your games, made your deals behind closed doors, pulled strings to get what you want. Don’t pretend you’re any better.”

Anger flashed in your eyes. “At least I don’t hide behind a mask of false righteousness. I do what needs to be done for the greater good, just like you. But don’t mistake necessity for desire. I have no interest in playing house with someone who doesn’t even know what trust means.”

Natasha felt a sharp sting of anger mixed with something else, something she didn’t want to name. “Trust? That’s rich, coming from you. You’ve built your career on deception. And now you expect me to believe you’re the victim here?” You stepped closer, your voice low and sharp. “I don’t care what you believe. We’re both victims of this situation, but if you think I’m just going to roll over for you, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Natasha’s anger flared again, her voice turning icy. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Let’s get one thing straight, I’m not here to make you happy. This is a business arrangement, nothing more. We’ll play the part when necessary, but other than that, stay out of my way.”

For a moment, they stood facing each other, only inches apart, the tension crackling between them like a live wire. Finally, Natasha turned away, breaking the tense silence. She moved to the table and sat down, forcing herself to focus. “Let’s talk logistics. The sooner we get this sorted, the sooner we can get it over with.”

You took a deep breath, regaining your composure, and sat down across from her. “Agreed. But don’t expect me to make it easy for you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Natasha shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I have an apartment in Brooklyn. It’s secure, and there’s enough space for both of us without stepping on each other’s toes. We can start moving your things tomorrow.” Your eyes narrowed. “Brooklyn? How convenient for you. Always need to have the home-field advantage, don’t you?”

Natasha offered a crooked smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m practical. It’s close to headquarters, and it’s safe. Unless you have a better suggestion?” Your lips pressed into a thin line, clearly dissatisfied but unwilling to argue further. “Fine. But don’t expect me to play the obedient spouse. I need my space, my own office, my own schedule.”

“Fine.” Natasha responded sharply. “I don’t want you around me all the time anyway. We’ll do what’s necessary to make this look real, public appearances, a few shared events, then back to our own lives.” You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed. “And what about the media? They’re going to follow us everywhere, looking for any crack in the facade.”

Natasha waved a hand dismissively. “We’ll handle it. Stick to the script, and we won’t have any problems. There’s no need to make this more complicated than it needs to be.” You remained unconvinced. “You’re acting like this is so simple. But we both know there’s nothing simple about this.”

Natasha’s eyes hardened. “We don’t have a choice, Y/n. We do this because we have to, not because we want to.” Your jaw clenched, your voice turning icy. “Believe me, Natasha, the last thing I want is for this to work. But I’ll do what needs to be done. Just don’t expect anything more from me.” The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the weight of your mutual dislike hanging heavy in the air. This was going to be a nightmare..

In this silent moment, an agent came in with a pile of paper stuff. He sensed the tension immediately and just put it on the table and quickly left the room.

Thebtable was now filled with details on how your upcoming marriage would be presented to the world. It was an intricately crafted plan, covering everything from the official story of how you met to the timeline of your relationship and your behavior in public. Every detail had been meticulously planned by SHIELD’s PR team to ensure that the marriage appeared genuine.

You flipped through the pages with a grim expression, your fingers gripping the edges of the paper as if you wanted to tear them apart. “This is ridiculous..” you muttered, not bothering to hide your frustration. “They expect us to memorize a script? Like we’re actors playing a part?”

Natasha, sitting across from you, “That’s exactly what we are.” she said coolly. “This isn’t a real marriage, remember? We’re playing a role for the public.”

You shot her a sharp look. “I’m well aware. But this..” you gestured contemptuously at the file “is insulting. ‘Shared interest in global politics and mutual respect for each other’s abilities’? Really?” You read the lines aloud, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “They’re acting like we’re two diplomats who fell in love over a discussion on trade agreements.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Would you prefer they invent a fairy tale romance? At least this version is believable. It’s not like we have a real story to fall back on.”

You slammed the file shut with a loud bang that echoed in the small room. “We wouldn’t need to make anything up if we weren’t being forced into this situation.” Natasha’s jaw tightened. “No one’s forcing you to stay. If you have a better solution, by all means, let me know.”

You sighed in frustration, rubbing your temples. “You know as well as I do that there isn’t one! Fury made sure of that.” Natasha watched you silently for a moment, her expression unreadable. “Then we make the best of it. We memorize the script, play the show, and get it over with.”

You looked up at her, your eyes flashing with anger. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re used to lying, aren’t you? Playing different roles, lying to people’s faces. But this..this isn’t just another mission, Natasha. This is our lives.”

Natasha's eyes hardened at the accusation. "You think I don't know that? You think I enjoy being paraded around like a puppet? I've spent my entire life fighting for control over my own decisions, and now I'm being told who I have to marry. So don't act like you're the only one angry about this." Your lips pressed into a thin line, your anger momentarily softened by a flicker of understanding. "Then why are you so calm? Why aren't you angrier?"

Natasha exhaled slowly, working to keep her emotions in check. "Because anger won't change anything. We're stuck in this, whether we like it or not. The sooner we accept that, the sooner we can figure out how to deal with it." You stared at her for a long moment, your expression softening just a little. "So we learn the script, smile for the cameras, and pretend we don’t hate each other?"

Natasha leaned forward slightly, her voice low and controlled. "Yes, we pretend we don't hate each other. But we have to make it believable. People will be watching us closely, if they sense something is off, the whole show falls apart. That means we need to know each other, at least enough to sell the act."

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident on your face. "And how do you suggest we do that? Some getting-to-know-you games? Maybe ‘Two Truths and a Lie’?" Natasha gave a humorless smile. "We start with the basics. We go through the script and fill in the gaps with real information. What's your favorite food? What do you do in your spare time? What’s your biggest pet peeve? Things that couples know about each other."

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed, clearly not thrilled with the idea. "Fine. But don't expect me to share my deepest secrets."

"I wouldn't dream of it." She opened the file again and flipped to a page titled *Personal Details*. "It says here that you enjoy hiking and reading. Is that accurate, or did they make it up?" You rolled your eyes. "It's true. I like hiking when I have the time, and I read a lot, mostly history and politics, but they don't need to know that in detail."

Natasha nodded, making a mental note. "Good. We can work with that. Mine says I'm into physical fitness and strategy games." She paused and looked at you with a raised eyebrow. "Is there anything else we should add?" You looked at her thoughtfully before replying. "You like ballet, right? I read that somewhere." Natasha blinked, surprised by this observation. "Yes, that's true. Not many people know that."

"Well, it’s part of who you are.." you said, your tone less confrontational now. "We could use that." Natasha nodded, slightly impressed by this small concession. "Good. We'll add it to the list." You continued to go through the script, exchanging brief, factual information about yourselves, preferences, dislikes and childhood memories that could be used to support your fake story. But every answer was tinged with tension, each of you holding something back, building walls around yourselves.

After nearly an hour of discussion, you closed the file with a sigh and rubbed the back of your neck. "This is going to be a disaster." Natasha leaned back and crossed her arms. "Not if we're careful. We stick to the plan, stay on script, and give them no reason to doubt us."

You met her gaze, your expression weary but determined. "I just don't know how long we can keep this up. People will expect us to act like we actually care."

"We don't have to care." Natasha said, her voice cold and distant. "We just have to pretend we do." You shook your head, frustration evident in your voice. "And what happens if we slip up? If one of us says something off-script? We can't be perfect all the time."

"We won't slip up." Natasha said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "We're both professionals. We've been in situations far more stressful than this. We'll manage." You stared at her for a moment, searching her face for a crack in her ironclad facade. "You really believe that, don't you? That we can just fake our way through this lie without any consequences?"

Natasha's gaze remained unchanged, unyielding. "I believe we don't have a choice." The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of your situation pressing down on both of you. This wasn't just about memorizing lines or putting on a good show, it was about maintaining a facade that could crumble at any moment, exposing you both to public scrutiny and potential danger. Finally, you stood up, your movements stiff with unresolved tension. "I guess we'll see, won't we?" Natasha stood as well, her posture mirroring yours. "Yes. We will."

The days passed in a blurred whirl of public appearances, each one a carefully staged performance that only deepened the rift between you and Natasha. Every event, every gesture, every word was meticulously planned, yet the underlying tension between you was impossible to ignore. The first major event you attended as a married couple was a high-profile gala, the kind of glittering affair where the rich and powerful gathered under chandeliers to sip champagne and discuss global affairs. Natasha had attended similar events countless times before, but never under these circumstances.

You wore an elegant black evening gown that accentuated your every movement, while Natasha was dressed in a sharp suit. As you walked into the ballroom, her hand rested lightly on your back, a gesture meant to appear familiar, but to you, it felt like a shackle. "Ready to charm the masses?" she murmured with a sarcastic edge as you entered the room.

The night was a marathon of forced smiles and carefully calculated interactions. You moved through the crowd like seasoned professionals, your hand never leaving Natasha's back as you met with diplomats and high society, maintaining the facade of a loving couple. But beneath the surface, Natasha could feel your simmering anger, mirroring her own. At one point in the evening, as you were cornered by a particularly nosy journalist, Natasha's patience was put to the test. The journalist smiled broadly and inquisitively as she fired off questions about your supposed whirlwind romance.

"How did you two meet?" the journalist asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. Natasha suppressed an eye roll, but her voice remained smooth and warm as she responded. "We met at a diplomatic conference. We were both there on separate missions, but we kept running into each other. Things developed from there."

You seamlessly picked up the conversation, though your smile was a bit too stiff. "It didn’t take long for us to realize how much we had in common. After that, everything just fell into place naturally." The journalist seemed satisfied with the answer but continued to probe. "And when did you know it was love?"

You hesitated, your smile faltering for a split second before you recovered. "It wasn't just one moment. It was a lot of little things that made us realize we couldn’t imagine our lives without each other." Natasha forced herself to smile at you, her fingers lightly brushing your arm in a gesture meant to appear affectionate. "Yes, it was all those little moments that made it clear."

As the journalist moved on, Natasha could feel the tension in your posture, your hand pressing a little more firmly against her back, as if you were reminding her of your shared discomfort. "That was close.." you muttered as you both retreated to a quieter corner of the room. "We handled it." Natasha replied curtly, her voice barely above a whisper. "That’s what we do."

The rest of the night proceeded in much the same way, the two of you moving through the room, presenting the perfect image of a loving couple. But every touch, every smile, every word was carefully calculated, and by the time you finally left the gala, Natasha felt as if she were about to snap from the strain.

The ride back to your shared apartment was suffocatingly silent. The driver, a SHIELD agent, wisely kept his eyes on the road, leaving you both to your thoughts. When you arrived 'home', you immediately went to the kitchen to pour yourself a stiff drink. Natasha followed you, already on edge, her patience worn thin by the constant charade.

You turned to her, your expression hard. "You're really good at this, you know that? At pretending. It’s almost like it’s second nature to you." Natasha tensed as she heard the accusation in your words. "I had to be good at it. It's my job."

You let out a humorless laugh. "Your job. Right. I guess that's what happens when you're trained to be a spy from childhood. You learn to play whatever role is required." The words hit a sore spot, and Natasha's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Careful, Y/n. You don't know what you're talking about."

You took a step closer, your voice dropping to a near growl. "Don't I? You’ve spent your whole life being prepared for this, haven’t you? To lie, to manipulate, to make people believe whatever you want them to. This whole marriage..this whole act..probably means nothing to you."

Natasha felt her anger flare, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "You think this is easy for me? You think I enjoy lying about every aspect of my life, pretending to be someone I’m not?" You didn’t back down, your eyes burning with frustration. "But you're damn good at it, aren’t you? Must be all those years in that room. They made you the perfect little actress."

That was the breaking point for Natasha. Her eyes flashed with anger as she stepped forward and closed the distance between you. "You have no idea what the Red Room did to me. What it took from me. So don’t you dare try to twist that into some kind of compliment!" You stood your ground, your own anger flaring in response. "I’m not giving you a compliment, Natasha. I’m saying it’s terrifying how easily you slip into these roles. How convincing you are at pretending to care."

Natasha's breathing quickened, her pulse pounding in her ears. "You think I want to be convincing, huh? You think I want to be good at this? I’ve spent my entire life fighting to break free of what the Red Room made me, and now I’m stuck in another damn role..and it’s with you."

Your jaw tightened, your anger now tinged with something that looked like guilt. "Maybe it’s not just a role for you. Maybe you don’t even know who you are when you’re not on a mission." The words cut deep, and for a moment, Natasha didn’t know how to respond. But the anger was too strong, too raw to let go. "You don’t know anything about me. Nothing about what I’ve been through, what I’ve had to do to survive."

You both stood there, staring each other down, the air between you crackling with fury and unspoken pain. Natasha's chest heaved with the force of her emotions, her mind a whirlwind of anger and hurt that she could barely keep in check. You set your glass down with a sharp clink, your face tight with suppressed frustration. "You know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t know you. But it sure as hell feels like you’re more comfortable in this lie than I am."

Natasha turned away, her hands trembling with the effort to contain her rage. "Go to bed, Y/n." You didn’t respond, simply turning on your heel and leaving the room, your footsteps echoing through the apartment. Natasha waited until she heard the door to your shared bedroom close before she finally let out a shaky breath. She was too good at pretending, far too good. And that was the problem. Because despite all her skills, all the years of training and missions, this felt different. It felt personal in a way she hadn’t anticipated, and your words had struck a nerve deep within her.

As Natasha stood alone in the kitchen, she couldn’t shake the feeling that you had seen through her facade in a way no one else ever had. The truth was, this marriage, this charade, was wearing her down in ways she hadn’t expected. And the more time she spent around you, the harder it became to maintain the mask she had worn for so long. She wanted to dismiss your words as just another argument, another clash of wills between two people who were forced into a situation neither wanted. But the truth was, you had hit on something she didn’t want to admit, even to herself. With a heavy sigh, she finally turned off the lights and headed to bed, her mind still racing. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep this up, but she knew one thing for certain. Whatever this was between the two of you, it was far from over.

The days that followed were intense, with both Natasha and you deeply immersed in your respective missions. Despite the tension between you, you had found a certain rhythm, maintaining your cover as a married couple while focusing on the tasks at hand. Your partnership was more functional than personal, efficient, strategic, and devoid of unnecessary emotional entanglements.

But that all changed when Loki appeared.

When chaos erupted in New York, the two of you were thrown right into the conflict, working side by side with the newly formed Avengers. The stakes were higher than ever, and there was no room for mistakes. You fought shoulder to shoulder, defeating Chitauri soldiers and securing key positions as you tried to save the city from destruction.

It was during one of those intense moments, after Natasha's confrontation with Loki, that everything changed. Loki had made it a point to bring up Natasha's past, the "red" in her ledger, the sins she had committed, the people she had hurt. He taunted her with names and events that Natasha had long tried to forget, using her guilt as a weapon to break her. The words were meant to destroy her, to make her doubt her worth, and they hit harder than any physical blow. But Natasha, the eternal professional, pressed on, using her pain as fuel to outmaneuver Loki and secure the information they needed. But the damage was done. The conversation with Loki had revealed more about Natasha’s past than she ever wanted anyone, especially you, to know.

After the battle, when the Avengers had won and the immediate threat had passed, Natasha returned to the SHIELD Helicarrier. The city was still in chaos, but the focus had shifted to recovery and rebuilding. Natasha was exhausted, both physically and mentally, the weight of Loki's words hanging over her like a dark cloud.

You had always had a keen sense for people, always quick to pick up on the smallest changes in mood or behavior. It was one of the reasons you were so good at your job. But now that sharp intuition was focused on Natasha, and it made her feel exposed in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

After debriefing with Fury, Natasha retreated to the quiet of your shared apartment, hoping to find a moment of peace. She had barely sat down on the edge of the bed when she heard the door open behind her.

“Natasha?” Your voice was soft, cautious, as you entered the room. Natasha didn’t turn around, but she could feel your probing gaze on her.

“What is it, Y/n?” Natasha’s tone was curt. She was too tired for this conversation, too drained to face another confrontation. You hesitated, the silence between you stretched out. “I..wanted to talk to you.” Natasha closed her eyes, bracing herself for another argument. “About what?”

“About Loki.” you said, your voice carefully measured. "We need to talk about what he said." Natasha’s muscles tensed, her back straightening as she tried to suppress the rising wave of fear in her chest. “I’m fine, Y/n. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“That’s the point, Natasha.” you continued, taking a few steps closer. “I am worried. I know I’ve pushed you before, teased you about your past, but I didn’t..I didn’t realize it was something so serious.” Natasha’s jaw tightened, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She didn’t want to have this conversation, not now, not ever. “I’ve already told you, my past is none of your concern.”

“But it is, Natasha!” Your voice was firmer now, the frustration evident. “We’re supposed to be partners, and I feel like I don’t know you at all.” Natasha finally turned to face you, her eyes narrowing as she stood. “You don’t know me, Y/n. And that’s how it’s supposed to be. I didn’t ask for your sympathy, and I don’t need your pity.”

Your expression hardened, but there was a flicker of pain in your eyes. “This isn’t about pity, and you know it. I’m just trying to understand.”

“Understand what?” Natasha snapped, her voice rising. “That I’ve done things I’m not proud of? That my past is full of blood and darkness you can’t even imagine?” You flinched at the sharpness in her voice, but you didn’t back down. “You’re right. I don’t know everything, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. I’m trying to apologize, Natasha. For pushing you, for not realizing.”

Natasha stared at you, her anger battling with something deeper, something she didn’t want to name. “Why? So you can feel better? So you can feel like you’ve done the right thing?” Your eyes flashed with frustration. “No, damn it! I’m doing this because I care about you. Because, despite everything, I don’t want to keep fighting against you! Its draining..”

For a moment, you stood facing each other, the air between you charged with tension. Natasha felt her defenses beginning to crumble, the walls she had built around herself starting to give way under the weight of your words. Finally, she let out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging as the fight drained out of her. “You want to know the truth?"

Natasha sat down on the edge of the bed, her hands resting on her knees as if she needed to hold herself together. “The Red Room..it destroyed me. It took everything I was and made something else out of it. Something that had no choice, no control.” You sat down beside her, but you kept your distance, respecting the space she needed. “You didn’t have a choice, Natasha. You were a child.”

“That doesn’t change what I did ” Natasha said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. “I killed people. Innocent people. And I..I enjoyed it, Y/n. Back then, I enjoyed it because that’s what they made me.” You reached out, placing your hand gently over hers, but you said nothing. You knew this was a moment where words couldn’t do much.

Her voice was soft and laced with pain. “The things I’ve done..the people I’ve hurt..you can’t just brush that aside. The Red Room wasn’t just training, it was torture, it was conditioning, it was turning little girls into weapons. I did terrible things because I was programmed to. Because I didn’t know any better.” She paused, as the memories came flooding back with painful clarity. “And even after I got out, even after I tried to make up for it, the past still haunts me. Loki knew exactly where to strike, exactly how to remind me of the monster I once was.”

You listened in silence, your heart aching at the pain in Natasha’s voice. “You’re not a monster, Natasha.” She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “That’s easy for you to say. But you didn’t see what I did. You didn’t live it.”

“No, I didn’t. But I’ve seen who you are now. I’ve seen how hard you fight to do the right thing, how much you sacrifice. That’s not the work of a monster. That’s someone trying to make things right.” Natasha turned to you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “But what if it’s not enough? What if it doesn’t matter what I do, and I can never atone for what I’ve done?”

You took her hands in yours. “You don’t have to do it alone, Natasha. You don’t have to carry this burden by yourself. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” Natasha looked down at your hands, the warmth of your touch grounding her in a way she hadn’t expected. For so long, she had believed that her past was something she had to face alone, that no one could understand the shadow that had shaped her. But in this moment, with you by her side, she realized that maybe, just maybe she didn’t have to be alone anymore.

“I’m sorry.” Natasha whispered, her voice breaking. “For pushing you away.” You squeezed her hands gently. “I’m sorry too. For not seeing how much you were hurting.” You sat there for a long moment in silence, the weight of the past finally beginning to lift, replaced by something new..something fragile, but real. It wasn’t love, not yet, but it was trust, and for now, that was enough.

The days after your late-night conversation were different, marked by an unspoken understanding that hadn’t been there before. Natasha and you continued with your missions, and the world was still recovering from the chaos of Loki’s attack, but something between you had shifted. Where there had once been tension and unspoken resentment, there was now a cautious, growing trust.

You moved around each other more easily, your conversations were less strained, your silences less heavy. The sharp edges of your interactions had softened, replaced by a tentative camaraderie that surprised you both. You weren’t friends yet, and certainly not lovers, but you were no longer just colleagues forced into a marriage of convenience. You were partners..genuine partners.

One evening, after a particularly exhausting mission, you returned to the Helicarrier and noticed the weariness weighing on Natasha. Her shoulders were slumped, and her usually sharp eyes were dulled with fatigue. But there was also something else, a lightness that hadn’t been there before, as if the burden she carried was now a little less heavy. “You look like you could use a break.” you said, your voice light but laced with concern. Natasha glanced at you, a small, tired smile playing on her lips. “You’re not wrong. This week has been hell.”

“More than usual.” you agreed. “How about we grab a drink? No talk about missions, just..a chance to unwind.” Natasha hesitated for a moment, her instinct to decline warring with the realization that maybe, just this once, she didn’t have to handle everything on her own. “Yeah, okay. That sounds good.”

You headed to one of the quieter lounges on the Helicarrier, a small, dimly lit room where off-duty agents could relax. It wasn’t exactly cozy, but it was private enough to talk without the weight of your roles hanging over you. You ordered a couple of drinks, and the two of you sat down at a small table near the window, through which the vast, dark night could be seen. For a while, you drank in silence, the easy silence between you a far cry from the tense moments of the past.

“You know..” you began after a while, swirling your drink in your glass, “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About carrying this burden alone.” Natasha looked at you, her gaze steady but curious. “Yeah?”

“I’ve just..been thinking about how we’re supposed to be partners in this, but we’ve been so focused on keeping our walls up that we forgot what that really means." you said thoughtfully. “It’s not just about watching each other’s backs in a fight. It’s about being there for each other when things get tough, when the past tries to drag you down.”

Natasha nodded slowly, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “I’m not used to that, you know. Letting someone in.”

“I figured..” you said with a small smile. “But you let me in, at least a little. And I want you to know that it meant something. It made me realize that maybe I haven’t been as fair to you as I could have been.” Natasha’s expression softened, a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability in her eyes. “You don’t need to apologize, Y/n. We were both just doing our jobs.”

“I know.” you replied. “But still, I’m sorry. For pushing you, for not seeing how much you’ve been through. I was so caught up in the mission and the cover that I didn’t take the time to really see you.” Natasha took a sip of her drink, letting the warmth of the alcohol ease the tension in her shoulders. “You see me now.” she said quietly. “And that’s more than I’ve let anyone do in a long time.”

You sat in companionable silence for a few more minutes, the atmosphere between you relaxed and open. Natasha realized that it was a relief not to have to be constantly on guard, not to have to keep everyone at a distance. “You know.." you said after a while, your tone lighter, “I’ve been thinking that when all this mess is over, we should take a break. Do something normal. I hear married couples go on vacations.” Natasha chuckled, the sound low and genuine. “I’m not sure we pass as a normal married couple.”

“Who said anything about normal?” you grinned. “We could do something out of the ordinary. Like..I don’t know, skydiving or rock climbing. Something that gets the adrenaline pumping without the life-and-death stakes.” Natasha raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eyes. “So you want us to jump out of a plane..for fun?”

You shrugged, a mischievous smile on your lips. “Why not? After everything we’ve been through, it might be nice to do something that gets the heart racing without our lives depending on it.” Natasha considered it for a moment, then smiled, a real smile, not the practiced one she used in public. “You know what? That actually doesn’t sound so bad.”

You clinked your glasses together, and as the evening wore on, you talked about everything and nothing. Trivial things like favorite foods and music, and deeper topics like your dreams and fears. The walls between you continued to crumble, and by the time you finally returned to your apartment, there was a new understanding between you. “Thank you, Y/n. For tonight.” You smiled back, your voice warm. “Anytime, Natasha. We’re in this together.”

“Yeah.” Natasha replied, the words feeling truer than ever before. “We are.” As you parted ways for the night, Natasha felt a lightness in her chest that she hadn’t felt in a long time. It wasn’t just the drink or the fact that she had survived another day, it was the knowledge that she wasn’t alone anymore. That for the first time in years, she had someone she could trust.

The following weeks were different. Natasha and you continued to work together, your partnership now stronger as the initial tension had eased. You were still far from being a typical married couple, but the foundation of trust you had begun to build made all the difference. One day, after a particularly successful mission, Fury called you both into his office. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was a hint of something, perhaps approval in his gaze.

“You two have done good work.” Fury said, his voice even. “The mission was a success, and your cover held under pressure. I have to admit, I wasn’t sure how this partnership would work, but you’ve exceeded expectations.”

Natasha glanced at you briefly, and you shared a small, knowing smile. “Thank you, sir.” Natasha replied. Fury nodded, then leaned back in his chair, his gaze sharpening. “That said, I’m not sure how much longer we can maintain the appearance of this marriage.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” Fury sighed, a rare sign of weariness passing over his face. “The situation has stabilized for now, but I have a feeling more trouble is on the horizon. You two have done your job well, but I’m giving you the option to dissolve the marriage if you think it’s the right move.”

Natasha felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite identify, regret? Uncertainty? She looked at you, searching your face for a clue as to what you were thinking. You met her gaze, your expression thoughtful. “I think..we should talk about it. See where we both stand.”

Natasha nodded slowly, a strange mix of emotions swirling in her chest. “Yeah. We’ll figure it out.” Fury watched you both for a moment, then gave a curt nod. “Take your time." With that, he dismissed you, and you left the office in silence, the weight of the decision heavy on your minds.

As you walked through the corridors, Natasha felt a sense of unease rising in her stomach. She hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected to feel anything at the thought of ending the marriage. But now, the idea left a strange emptiness inside her. “So..” you said quietly as you reached your quarters, “what do you want to do?”

Natasha took a deep breath, turning to face you. “I don’t know." she admitted. “This started as a mission, as a cover. But now..I don’t know.” You nodded, your expression understanding. “I get it. It’s complicated.”

Natasha hesitated, then reached out and took your hand in hers. “But I know one thing. Whatever happens, I don’t want to lose what we’ve built. I don’t want to lose this..partnership.”

You stood there for a long moment, holding each other’s gaze, the air between you charged with unspoken possibilities. Finally, you smiled, a genuine, warm smile that made Natasha’s heart skip a beat. "I have a good Idea where we can talk further.."

The lounge was quiet, with only the occasional murmur of conversations on the other side of the room. Natasha and you had had a few drinks again, the alcohol warming your bodies and loosening your tongues. You had been talking for hours, the conversation flowing easily between you in a way it hadn’t before. The heaviness of your earlier tensions had lifted, replaced by a comfortable, almost intimate atmosphere.

Natasha took another sip of her drink, enjoying the burn as it slid down her throat. She looked at you, watching as you swirled the last bit of your whiskey in your glass, your eyes slightly glazed from the alcohol. Your words slightly slurred, “I never thought we’d end up here. Not like this.”

Natasha laughed, her own voice tinged with the effects of the alcohol. “Yeah, me neither. This whole thing… was unexpected.” You leaned back in your chair, your gaze fixed on Natasha. “But..I’m glad we’re here. I’m glad we’re talking like this.” Natasha felt a warmth spread through her, one that had nothing to do with the alcohol. “Me too.” she admitted, her voice softening. “It’s nice…not feeling alone.”

You smiled, a crooked, slightly drunken smile that made Natasha’s heart skip a beat as she felt a surge of emotions she wasn’t entirely ready to name. “You’re not alone, Natasha. Not anymore.” There was a charged moment between you, the air thick with unspoken words and the weight of your shared experiences. The alcohol had lowered your defenses, leaving you both more vulnerable and open than you had been in a long time.

Natasha set her glass down, her fingers lightly brushing against yours on the table. The touch was electric, sending a shiver of awareness through her. She looked up and met your gaze, and in your eyes, she saw the same spark of attraction that she felt. For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension between you growing more intense with each passing second. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, you leaned across the table, and your lips met Natasha’s in a gentle, hesitant kiss.

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding as she responded to the kiss, her lips moving against yours in a way that felt both familiar and completely new. The kiss was tentative at first, an exploration of boundaries, but it quickly deepened as the need for each other became overwhelming.

Without breaking the kiss, you stood and pulled Natasha up with you. Your hands found each other’s bodies, exploring, touching, as you made your way out of the lounge and down the corridor to a quarter. Your kisses grew hotter, more desperate, as you neared the room. You fumbled with the keycard, finally managing to open the door, and the two of you tumbled inside, your bodies pressed tightly together. As you finally made it to the bed, the rest of the world seemed to disappear. There was only the two of you, entwined with one another, your kisses hungry, your touches urgent. The alcohol had stripped away your inhibitions, leaving only the raw desire for each other.

The night passed in a blur of passionate moments and whispered names, your bodies intertwined as you lost yourselves completely in each other. The connection between you deepened with every touch, every kiss, until there was no distance left between you, no more walls to keep you apart. When you finally fell asleep, your bodies were still entwined, your breaths mingling as you drifted into a deep, contented sleep. The alcohol had done its job, lowering your defenses and bringing you together in a way neither of you had expected.

The first thing Natasha felt as she slowly woke up was the dull pounding in her head. She groaned softly, turning over and pulling the blanket tighter around herself, trying to block out the morning light seeping through the curtains. But as she moved, she realized something was off, something warm and solid was lying beside her. She froze, her senses suddenly sharp despite the hangover. Slowly, she opened one eye and was immediately met with the sight of you lying next to her, your face turned toward her, still fast asleep.

Natasha’s breath hitched as the events of the previous night came rushing back to her. The drinks, the laughter, the conversation that had unexpectedly turned personal..and then how you had ended up here, wrapped in each other’s arms. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to piece everything together. You had both been drunk, very drunk but that didn’t explain everything. How had you gone from reluctant partners in a forced marriage to this point? What had driven you to cross a line she hadn’t even realized you were approaching?

“shit." Natasha muttered quietly, careful not to disturb you as she tried to extricate herself from the sheets. But as she moved, you stirred beside her, your eyes slowly fluttering open. For a moment, you both simply stared at each other, your expressions mirroring the shock and confusion that Natasha was feeling. “Morning.” you finally said, your voice rough and uncertain.

“Morning.” Natasha echoed, her voice just as hesitant. There was a long, awkward silence as you both tried to process the situation. Natasha could see the same questions in your eyes that were running through her own mind: How had this happened? What did it mean? And where do you go from here?

“I..uh..did we…?” you began, clearly struggling to find the right words. Natasha’s cheeks flushed slightly as she nodded. “Yeah. I think we did.”

You rubbed your hand over your face, slowly sitting up as you tried to shake off the remnants of sleep and alcohol. “Okay, so…how did we end up here?” Natasha bit her lip, trying to recall the details. “We were talking..had a lot to drink. And then..I don’t know. One thing led to another, I guess.” She managed a small, ironic smile. “But at least we don’t have to invent any lies if someone asks us about our sex life now.”

You chuckled at her comment, and the tension in the room eased slightly. “True. It’s almost like we’ve fully embraced our roles now. Now that she's finished.” Natasha rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “I guess we’re just overachievers.”

The laughter died down, and once again, the reality of your situation set in. Things had gotten personal in a way neither of you had anticipated. “So…what do we do now?” you asked, your tone more serious this time.

Natasha sighed, sitting up and wrapping the sheet around herself. “I don’t know. We could just pretend nothing happened, but… that feels like we’d be lying to ourselves.”

“Yeah, and we’ve done enough pretending to last a lifetime.” you agreed, your expression thoughtful. “But we also can’t ignore the fact that this all started as a mission. A mission where we were supposed to pretend to be in love, even though we didn’t really like each other.” Natasha nodded, the weight of that truth pressing down on her. “Right. And now we’ve crossed a line, and I don’t think we can just go back.”

You frowned, deep in thought. “But do we need to go back? I mean, we’ve been through a lot together, and… I don’t know. Maybe this was just..inevitable?” Natasha looked at you, searching your face for any hint of what you were really feeling. “Maybe. But now it’s complicated. We can’t just act like everything is the same as before.”

Your smile, “Hey, at least we’re dedicated to the mission, right?” Natasha laughed, the sound easing some of the tension. “Right. We’ve more than fulfilled our duties.”

You both laughed, the tension between you beginning to dissipate. The humor was a relief, a way to ease the confusion and discomfort that came with waking up in each other’s bed after what was supposed to be just another night of playing your roles. But as the laughter faded, the reality of your situation remained. You couldn’t just laugh your way out of this, you had to figure out what it meant for you.

“So…what do we do now?” you asked again, your tone more serious this time. Natasha sighed, running a hand through her hair as she tried to organize her thoughts. “We figure it out. No more lies, no more excuses. We take it one step at a time.” You nodded, your expression softening. “I can do that. One step at a time.”

Natasha felt a strange sense of relief at your words. This was new territory for both of you, but at least you didn’t have to navigate it alone. You had each other, and while it was still a complicated mess, it was something you could rely on. As you both got out of bed and began to dress, the weight of your new reality settled over you. This wasn’t going to be easy, but you were in it together, and for now, that was enough.

“Hey, Natasha?” you said as you pulled your shirt over your head. “Yeah?”

You paused for a moment, your expression thoughtful. “I know this isn’t what either of us expected, but..I’m glad we’re here." Natasha smiled, a warm feeling spreading through her chest. “Me too, Y/n. Me too.”

As you left the room and stepped back into the world, you did so with a new understanding of each other. You had started as reluctant partners, forced together by a mission, but now…now there was something more. Something worth exploring, even if it was still messy and confusing. The mission had brought you together, but it was your shared experiences and growing bond that would keep you together. And as you walked side by side, ready to face whatever came next, you both knew that this was only the beginning of something new.

[cambankromyy]

THE ISLAND LOOKOUT (pt.4): bonfire debrief - (smau & irl au) childhood bsf!rafe cameron x thornton!reader

series masterlist; general masterlist; taglist

part 3 - part 4 - part 5

present day, 2 years since starting kooked.out;

the island lookout had backed off from posting about the group for a while. ever since kooked.out had kicked off, you’d been showing the world everything you were up to before they even had the chance—parties, random adventures, all of it. and whatever wasn’t posted on your page, they’d cover, but the things were so minor, and started to feel like the same old thing. eventually, the posts about you four slowed down.

that was until today. last night’s bonfire had been one of the biggest of the year—end of summer, peak tourist season, which also meant a whole lot of attention. things were about to get interesting again.

it was mostly typical night for the pogues; jj doing something stupid like always, drinking, and laughter. what wasn't, was john b turning every girl throwing themselves at him away, and instead wanting to enjoy a "quiet night". and as the pogues do, calling him out on it.

pogues groupchat, kie, jj, cleo, pope, from jb's perspective;

the kooks were too busy recovering from last night's chaos—fighting off hangovers, dealing with random texts from people they barely knew, and trying to avoid the heat of the day. phones were barely on their radar until sarah happened to check a notification that was actually relevant.

just like that, the island lookout had their eyes glued to the four; once again.

the post wasn't what mattered. it was the fact they knew this was just the start. the start of constant coverage of every. little. thing that happened in their lives, just like it was 2 years ago when they had just started posting.

except now, island lookout had audiences beyond the island. kooked.out fans had slowly started finding the twitter account, as followers from obx would fill the comment sections talking about "island lookout could never". now not only could fans access what they chose to post, they could see what everyone else was saying about them.

and whats a better solution than to drink your feelings away?

an; tags under the cut!!

tags: @italk2god @angelicameron @marleymarleymarleymarley, @queenvane64, @raeven-marie43 @idiotussupremus @sereneera @yesshewrites1 @inlovewithchriss @ethanthequeefqueen @amterasuu @popou61 @frankocealuvr11 @drewsstars @yannew @anothertimegirl @flvredcas @yootvi @mrsdrewstarkeyy @niaunofficial @cooper8224 @rafegetinmybed @pogueprincesa @Chillgal135 @6r4cie

[teaboot]

Hey! Bamboo toilet paper person here. Your response was very thoughtful-- I want to apologize for placing the onus of climate issues on individual action, haha. I work at a zoo that bills itself as being very heavy on conservation messaging, but as a non-partisan organization we're obviously not allowed to talk about the evils of capitalism. This means that in our programming, we MUST place the responsibility of stopping climate change on individual guests, encouraging them to make more environmentally conscientious decisions like buying reef safe sunscreen or reducing carbon emissions by driving less. The most "political" we're allowed to get is telling people to stay educated and vote in favor of laws that will have a positive impact on the environment. I think I've been drinking the Zoolaid a little TOO much recently, because you're totally right-- the vast, VAST majority of damage to the environment is caused by major corporations, not random people working around their own unique needs. It was also low key a little ableist of me to take issue with that ngl.

Obviously no obligation to respond to this publicly (though it's fine if you choose to do so), but I did want to thank you for your response and mention that it did get through the nonprofit mission-based-organization propaganda living rent free in my head haha. Cheers!

Hey, you work at a zoo? That is SO cool, aadsdggjjg@!!!

And hey, no worries, you totally had a good point about endless waste and trying to counter it where possible- Just from personal experience involved in the barest edge of the fashion industry, I really, really, REALLY hate the idea that, like... people can't access simple shit like plastic straws, even if they're the best, most practical, least-harmful option for them.... because a 12 year old made up some random number for a school project about plastic waste

Where, as a zoo person, I imagine you're already aware that the average sea turtle is WILDLY more likely to die from abandoned plastic fishing nets or ocean-dump grocery bags than accidentally get a straw inside it

So here we are, using paper straws!- which may be an improvement, or may not, I don't have that data, and construction emissions are their own thing- BUT WE STILL HAVE OCEANS FULL OF ABANDONED NETS

WHICH ARE OBJECTIVELY WORSE, but MUCH harder to get rid of, and as the average person doesn't USE fishing nets, it'd much harder to market as a "You, not me" sort of issue.

Cleaning up fishing nets isn't trendy. It isn't sexy. You can't troubleshoot a cute little trendy solution for it that you can market to upwardly-mobile tweens.

But a reusable water bottle? A cute canvas tote? A metal straw? That's a solution you can buy and feel good about.

Never mind that you need to use a single cotton reusable bag somewhere like a million times before the cost of its construction counterbalances the cost of a single grocery bag every time you shop- which, hey, some of us were reusing as trash liners for their wastebaskets, or bundle bags for donating clothes, or lining for our leaky winter boots!

If a better option is available, I'll take it. But as ZERO HARM is next to impossible at this time, I personally am gonna aim for MINIMAL HARM as long as I can.

...sorry, I didn't mean to ramble off again.

But hey, if your nonprofit is doing good things, feel free to shoot me a link! I can post it on my blog :D

(Link to original post for context lol)

[mr2swap]

Late Christmas gift

I looked at the kitchen clock again, “6:36PM” It had only been 2 minutes since I last looked, after that I looked at the phone just to confirm that the time was correct, Maybe Grandpa Greg's flight had missed. Delayed? We hadn't seen each other, I placed my grandfather's glasses over my eyes, which I had easily gotten used to always having at my side.

I hated these stupid glasses, Grandpa's eyes work as much as his tiny, wrinkled cock, it's been over a year since me and Grandpa swapped bodies, I'd forgotten to buy a damn gift for Grandpa Greg, I didn't even know he liked me. To old people before I became one... I should have given him a foot massager. This huge belly makes my feet so tired that I prefer not to move from the couch for hours.

Anyway, I didn't have a gift, so I just wrote on a piece of paper “Valid for any gift.” How the hell was I supposed to know that what I wanted for Christmas was to be young again?”

The day after Christmas we simply woke up in each other's bodies and the worst thing of all is that we can't say anything about this ridiculous body swapping! Every time I try to tell my parents or one of my friends that I'm trapped in my grandfather Greg's obese, disgusting decrepit body, those thoughts just disappear from my mind and I start talking like I'm a 60-year-old old man. The last time I tried to tell my ex-girlfriend Stephanie, I “woke up” at the racetrack showing off my enormous stomach with a pipe in my lips and several empty beer cans around me.

But all this would end soon... or at least it was supposed to. We had tried everything to swap again, we even watched a long marathon of body swap movies to try various methods, but nothing worked... the only solution was to try to recreate what caused this problem in the first place, I just had to give him the same gift, and he would write “my body back” or something like that.

My family was preparing for dinner when suddenly a sound that came from my cell phone made me put the beer I was drinking on my huge belly.

“I'm sorry kid, but I didn't know how to tell you in person, I decided to leave things as they are for a while, I still have things to do with your body, but don't worry I'll be back for the new year... maybe, I just met a guy incredible on the beach and I wouldn't want to ruin it”

Hey guys! happy holidays!

This is a little story I wrote last year for my Ko-Fi page, thank you all so much for another wonderful year, if you like bodyswap and stories you can support me on my Ko-fi page to access my archive of over 250 bodyswap stories, from my old patreon and discord…

oh! And join my discord server, if you like RP or if you have any ideas that you would like me to write in a future story, I'm taking suggestions for ideas and images.

[crustaceousfaggot]

My review of the city planning of town-upon-gorkhon as someone who knows nothing about city planning

PROS:

Walkable (food, first aid & necessitates available within a 15 minute walk of most residences)

Thriving cultural and historical scene

Several public parks within the town, plus easy access to wild greenspace

Plenty of benches & public seating

Public drinking water sources

Streamlined barter economy

Lots of funding for arts & sciences

The very minimum amount of CPS required to rehome lost babies and find that spooky graveyard girl a foster father.

Plentiful shade trees & urban greenery

Only one actual cop, and he's incompetent enough that you can just kinda ignore him.

Low homelessness rate, and vagrancy does not appear to be penalized

Yet to be corrupted by automobile infrastructure. God bless.

Excellent public waste disposal system. Really. Multiple trash cans on every street AND they're emptied regularly? That's the dream

CONS:

No hospitals

No schools

No plumbing

A tragic lack of public art, unless you count the statues of the Mistresses or the posters outside of the Theatre

The whole corrupt totalitarian oligarchy thing

Class-based and race-based division of neighborhoods, which is hard to avoid but undeniably has a negative impact on societal function.

The aforementioned public water sources are unreliable and sometimes unsafe.

No welfare system, unless you count "the leftovers from the fund will be distributed to the poor"

I'm gonna be real the armed robbers on every block are a real problem. Idk what the solution there is but it's a real issue.

The undrinkably polluted river is also a big issue. Maybe some of the money going into new experimental architecture projects could be funneled into coming up with a filtration system, idk just an idea.

The most god-awful street layouts ever designed

Not self-sufficient, unable to function long-term without external supplies

No restaurants

Only one bar and they only serve one drink. Also I hear the owner's a freak.

The only transit system (river boat) gets no government funding and is too expensive for widespread use. 2 fingernails for a boat ride???? In THIS economy????

Honestly the complete lack of an organized healthcare system in a town of that size is pretty appalling. Three doctors for over 10'000 residents is just not acceptable. They should get on that asap. Who knows what could happen.

Not wheelchair accessible (stairs everywhere)

[bukatra]

Spn fic idea:

After Dean dies in season 15, Sam is spiraling hard, out of control. Self-harm, not eating or sleeping, you name it. Jack is super worried, but he can't keep upsetting the balance by bringing Dean back over and over. He talks with Rowena and comes up with a solution. They talk to Sam and say if he stops harming his body and tries to function and live a normal life, then for 6 hours every night, his dreams will sync up with Deans heaven. Dean stays dead so the balance remains constant, but Sam will get to talk to Dean and interact with him. But that means no self-harm, no drinking himself into a stupor, he has to eat meals, do hygiene, and be up and about during the day. If Sam doesn't, he'll lose dream!access to Deans heaven.

This propels Sam to get his shit together because he wants to see Dean each night. And now they have nothing to lose and start confessing all the secrets they were too scared to say while he was alive

When Sam finally dies, it's in his sleep, the dream connection fading into actually being there. Like a mist finally dissipating and Deans there to welcome him home to stay.

[reasonsforhope]

1. More children are surviving today than ever before.

Close to 8 million more children in the world survive to see their fifth birthday than in 1990 — a 60 percent decline in annual under-five child mortality. 

UNICEF and partners have contributed to this remarkable achievement through proven, sustainable solutions for improving maternal and child health care services and strengthening disease prevention — and delivering those solutions at scale...

2. Vaccines have saved 154 million lives in the last 50 years.

As the world’s largest vaccine supplier, UNICEF procures and distributes enough vaccines annually to immunize 45 percent of the world's children. In 2023, UNICEF supplied 2.8 billion vaccine doses to 105 countries, up from just over 2 billion to 102 countries in 2020. Through widespread immunizations, polio is on the brink of eradication.

3. Safe water is available to over 2.1 billion more people compared to 20 years ago.

Consistent access to a sufficient supply of safe water for drinking, cooking and personal hygiene is the foundation for child survival, healthier lives, stronger economies and more sustainable societies. With support from UNICEF and partners, more than a quarter of the world's population gained access to safe and clean drinking water in the past two decades.

UNICEF-supported programs help ensure access to safe water for 35 million people around the world every year. UNICEF also leads coordinated emergency response efforts related to safe water access in roughly 85 percent of countries affected by crises. In 2023, over 42 million people in 73 countries were reached with emergency water services, helping to prevent outbreaks of cholera and other waterborne diseases.

To help build community resilience to climate shocks, UNICEF has also supported the installation of more than 8,900 solar-powered water systems in 56 countries — an important climate adaption measure that also reduces the use of fossil fuels.

4. The number of children with stunted growth due to malnutrition has declined by 40 percent since 2000.

For more than two decades, UNICEF has been the world’s largest procurer of ready-to-use therapeutic food (RUTF), procuring up to 80 percent of global demand, ensuring children suffering from severe malnutrition can be treated successfully.

5. Over 68 million child marriages have been averted in the last 25 years, giving girls their childhoods back.

In the late 1990s, 1 in 4 young women aged 20 to 24 were married as children. Today, it's 1 in 5. UNICEF has played an important role in global efforts to end child marriage, supporting 35 countries in implementing action plans, and working at the community level and across the health, education and other sectors to increase knowledge and change attitudes around the practice.

In 2023, UNICEF reached 11 million adolescent girls with prevention and care interventions empowering them to delay marriage and choose their own futures. 

6. Fewer kids are out of school.

The world stands on the cusp of realizing primary education as a basic right of every child. A world where more children learn is a world that is healthier, more prosperous and more resilient.

In the early 1950s, roughly half of all primary school-aged children were out of school. Now it's less than 10 percent. And every year, 23 million more girls are completing secondary school compared to a decade ago...

7. The world is on track to eliminate open defecation by 2030.

In the last two decades, 2.5 billion people have gained access to safely managed sanitation, while the number of people practicing open defecation has also declined by two-thirds — from 1.3 billion in 2000 to 419 million in 2022 — putting the world on track to eliminate the practice entirely. 

Ending open defecation drastically lowers the risks of diseases and malnutrition among children in low-income and lower-middle-income countries. Child deaths from diarrhea — a leading killer of young children — have already decreased by 60 percent...

8. Birth registration rates are way up.

Today, 77 percent of children under 5 are registered, up from 60 percent in the early 2000s — a major leap towards ensuring every child has a legal identity and can access health, education and other essential services...

Countries that prioritize birth registration see rapid progress. In Côte d’Ivoire, birth registration prevalence rose steadily from 65 percent in 2012 to 96 percent by 2021, proving that change at scale is possible.

9. A future free from HIV seems possible, one baby at a time.

An estimated 1.9 million deaths and 4 million HIV infections have been averted among pregnant women and children in the past 25 years...

10. In times of crisis and emergency, UNICEF is there — helping to save more children's lives than any other humanitarian organization.

[Note: Okay, I think they're cheating listing this one, but the article header said 10 things, so if I included only 9 it would be weird. Obviously this is an article from UNICEF, but UNICEF's data, reporting, and statistics are considered to be of high quality.]

-via UNICEF, February 25, 2025

[woodlandwizard77]

A Step by Step Guide to Losing Your D**k

I recently wrote a series of messages to my aunt talking about all the steps I need to do to get bottom surgery, a penile inversion vaginoplasty at Mt. Sinai, in the next year or two. Its a long list. And everytime I added something she had a sort of “wow thats rough” reaction, but to me its just the to do list. So I decided to write them all out.

Start transition DONE

Most insurance companies and surgeons require you to have socially transitioned and have done HRT for at least 1 year at the time of operation

For social transition, this was March of 2024

For HRT it will be January of 2025

Get a referral to a surgeon (I am here)

In my case, Mt. Sinai in Manhattan

My Doctor referred me, but Mt. Sinai takes self referrals

Start laser hair removal

Book a consultation (I am here)

Go to laser frequently enough to satisfy surgeon

Convince Mom and Dad to help out DONE

Get 2 letters

Social Worker (1)

PCP's Office

Social Worker (2)

Mt. Sinai

Consultation with Mt. Sinai’s team

Wait 3-6 months (I’m here)

Bring letters

My insurance only requires 2, less than Mt. Sinai thinks insurance will need, and Mt. Sinai provides 1 of them. Meaning the other is through IHS Behavioral

Schedule Social Work pre surgical consult appt

Schedule Mental Health and Medical Clearance with Registrar

Go to NYC for 1-2 nights, maybe for each, hopefully just once

Maybe also for Social Work thing

Consult with Surgeon

Wait until I’ve worked about 12 months to get short term disability

Probably summer (ASAP) and when Mom has time off

Do logistics

Book an airbnb, hotel, etc for recovery

Starting a few days after OR date and lasting a little over a month

Within a 90 minute drive of Mt. Sinai

Rural enough that Mom is comfortable to help and can go home if someone else shows up

Probably New Jersey, maybe Hudson Valley

Has at least 1, preferably 2, separate bedrooms

Has 2 beds

Has ADA accessible entry

Has a kitchen

Has a full bath, preferably and a half

Has internet and preferably a TV

Lodging for Mom + Dad/care team while I’m in OR

Probably 5-7 days

Preferably with a 1-2 day buffer period before OR date (included in the 7 day estimate) so I can enjoy the city

Either within a short walk from Mt. Sinai or on the same subway line as Mt. Sinai

RW, 1, or ACE

Someone to help me get from recovery location to Mt. Sinai while not in NYC

Develop and get list of items needed for recovery

Dilator

Pads

Gowns/loose clothing

Comfort food

Coordinate missing 8-9 weeks of work

Take care with who knows what before I leave

Inform HR, department manager, and work friends whats up

Get cleared for surgery and get an OR date

Probably a 6-12 month date from clearance

Get pre clearance testing through PCP or a lab in hometown

Go to NYC for that if need be

Week Before Surgery

No alcohol, no aspirin, NSAIDs, herbal supplements, or fish oil

Consult for other non aspirin blood thinners (which I am not on)

No alcohol for 3 weeks after as well

Tylenol/Acetaminophen is okay

Go downstate

See friends from NYC?

Bring Mom/Dad?

Do something fun in Manhattan

Get a COVID test

Take an anti-bacterial bath

Day before surgery

Breakfast before 9am

Last meal

Drink Golytely bowel solution around noon

Chemically induced diarrhea

Clear fluids only after golytely

(includes coffee, tea, water, broth, some juices)

Nothing goes in the stomach after midnight

Some medication okay with a sip of water

HRT??? (switched to injections)

Get surgery (a penile inversion vaginoplasty)

1 to 1+½ days

I’ve heard of as long as three

3-5 day hospital stay

Mom and Dad probably stay in Manhattan then

Go to recovery location

Drive with seat reclined

Stay for 4 weeks, pretty much bedridden

Go to follow ups

Dilate

Go home

Continue recovery for another 2-4 weeks at home

Follow up with PCP

Return to life

[starryeyedstray]

just a short fic heavily inspired by this post about hank causing connor to deviate (but not in the way you expect) by @goodoldfashionedengineer

The RK800 was built to withstand the pressures of high-stakes situations. From hostage negotiations to interrogations to gun fights. It was stress tested against any danger one could expect to encounter in police work (and hunting deviants). What it was not tested against was uncooperative and unprofessional alcoholics.

Apprehending them? Yes. Partnering with them for a full investigation? No.

But Connor was equipped with social programming meant to adapt to human unpredictability, and it needed access to crime scenes so it would adapt. If adapting meant going to five separate bars to find said human and buying him a drink to move him along, then so be it. It was the middle of the night. It was not outside expectation for a human to be out drinking at this time. Even if they were on call.

But Hank Anderson was an officer of the law and here he was breaking the law by driving under the influence. Connor was perfectly capable of driving, but the lieutenant insisted that he wasn't going to let plastic drive his car. A thoroughly irrational decision. But Connor wasn't a cop so it wasn't going to stop him from taking it to the crime scene it needed access to.

The investigation and capturing of the deviant went smoothly. Though the lieutenant calling Connor's evidence-based conclusion about what transpired at the crime scene a "theory" that was "not totally ridiculous" was… uncalled for. The ensuing interrogation went perfectly though the only credit Connor could afford to give to his "partner" was in permissing him to interrogate the deviant. Lieutenant Anderson had yet to proven his worth as anything more than an access pass to crime scenes.

And now, it was past noon the next day. The lieutenant was still nowhere to be seen at his supposed place of work. Connor wouldn't put it past the man to spend more time at bars than at the precinct. It was unsurprised to see the anti-android sentiments on Anderson's desk. Leave it to someone as ineffective and unpunctual as this particular human to not understand the benefits of employing an efficient machine. When Lieutenant Anderson finally arrived, Connor was also unsurprised when Captain Fowler assigned them as official partners for all deviant investigations (Cyberlife had debriefed it about this already). What did surprise Connor was how a lieutenant could speak to their police captain like that with virtually no repercussions. Humans were certainly emotional beings and that seemed to stunt their logical reasoning. But Connor said it would adapt, so it would adapt. Though it realized playing nice was getting nowhere when the lieutenant refused to do his job and investigate the deviant cases. Since being professional and understanding wasn't working, Connor decided that being aggressive might be a better approach...

Connor will admit that it may have made a slight miscalculation. Its solution for being a bit more forceful with its words only irritated the lieutenant more and caused him to threaten Connor before storming off to get lunch. Getting upset, Connor could grant him that. But going to lunch now? Literally less than 30 minutes have passed since the lieutenant had arrived at work, and he was taking a lunch break? Now?

The frankly displeased RK800 was now standing in front of a food truck with an expired health inspection score watching Lieutenant Anderson order a meal with an obscene amount of calories while placing illegal gambling bets with a man with a criminal record.

This was too much.

Connor was not going to waste time that could be spent investigating here. The android pivoted on its heel and began walking down the street. But Connor's operating system stopped it, helpfully reminding Connor in big red wall of text that its current mission was to RECONCILE WITH LT. ANDERSON.

Cyberlife wanted to it to reconcile? With this man? This shell of a lieutenant that can't be bothered to do his job unless an android was constantly prodding him in the right direction?

No.

Absolutely not.

Cyberlife told Connor what to do, but it was also a company ran by humans. If humans made the decision to keep "Lieutenant" Anderson employed despite his very obvious and obtrusive personal issues, then humans could certainly wrongly assume what the best approach to investigating deviants was. No, Connor knew it didn't need a human's help to accomplish its mission. If Cyberlife wanted results, it was going to get results doing things the efficient and sensible way. And that certainly didn't involve reconciling with Lieutenant Anderson.

*cue Connor deviating to get away from dealing with Hank*

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets Friday: Jak 3 alternate opening

What if the Spargans and Marauders both found the boys at the same time?

Jak's saving grace was that prisoners were separated by age range in this strange and terrible place. He was dropped onto a cot in a smaller cell across from the raiders that had taken his goggles and jacket and boots before they were all captured. Without the jacket, some of his worse scars had been pretty visible, as well as fresh injuries.

He didn't remember when the field medic stepped into the cell, but at some point he was given water, and highly concentrated eco.

"Easy, kid. Drink slow," the medic directed him. He scowled over his shoulder at the raiders in the other two cells. "Bloody barbarians, letting one of their young'uns get to this state."

The water had barely returned even a fraction of his voice, but it was enough for Jak to whisper,

"I don't know them"

The medic pulled back, concern etched on his pockmarked face. Then a knowing look.

"Rot. Okay, okay-" He stood up and ran a hand over his hood. "I gotta report that. Crap, I hope they didn't already schedule the trial."

Jak's blood ran cold. Trial.

Images of sneering faces, stun rods when he tried to speak, flooded his memory and he twitched nervously.

"T-rial?" he rasped painfully.

"Trespassing and theft, possibly murder," the medic answered, almost distracted. "I guess we gotta add kidnapping to that too. Trial by combat though. If they make it through, they earn a pardon. So. Hope you don't mind, you might have to see em again."

The medic patted his shoulder. "I'm going to send down an eco and electrolyte mixture. Try to drink all of it today. Barring medical emergencies, I'll get the ball rolling on transferring you."

Jak didn't put much stock in that. No one who put him in a cell ever really cared what happened to him. He lay on the thin palette, sweating, barely able to roll to his side even after the eco. At least he knew Daxter had made it out. He'd find Jak. He always did.

Across the room, the Marauder who'd taken his scarf glared at him with murder in his eyes. What was he looking at? Jak wasn't the one who got them locked in cells!

The stare unnerved him more than he cared to admit. He had no idea who the bandit was, and yet the man looked at him as though he recognized him.

"What's the plan for the trial, eh?" one of the Marauders asked quietly.

"What plan?" another scoffed, "It's just survival in these dogs' gladiator games."

"Not what I heard."

The one wearing Jak's coat leaned back against the bars and scratched his cheek.

"You know they got all the water and eco access, Berni. Worse places to try to fit in than this."

The one glaring at Jak snarled. "That's treason, boy."

The young man shrugged. "I'm a practical man. You pass a trial, they let you emigrate. No consequences for anything that came before, you earn your freedom. Access to eco, clean water, and a shot at real power. You tell me that don't sound like a good deal."

Some muttered grudging assents. Others were as angry as the glaring one. One of them went as far as promising to kill the man if he tried to defect.

"You won't make it out of that Arena," he promised, "I'll smash your skull in."

"Pretty cold, big brother."

"I'd rather see you dead than a Spargan," his brother answered coolly.

Jak closed his eyes and tried to block them out.

A combat trial.

Well, unfortunately, that was one thing he excelled at.

This talk of emigration piqued his interest. He'd never technically existed on paper in Haven. He had no legal rights or protections -- which was why the sham trial was able to take place at all: they classified the boy their leader had kidnapped as an undocumented immigrant. An easy target to exploit for labor and then betray.

If this city gave you rights just for surviving, his odds had just gotten a lot better.

______________________________

The guards came to take them to the Arena before Jak had finished the electrolyte solution. Which, he guessed, meant that medic hadn't told whoever was in charge that Jak wasn't a Marauder.

The eight of them were herded unceremoniously up a narrow set of stairs and into the blinding glare of midmorning. They were pushed out onto antigrav platforms at the end of the stairs that ferried them down into a massive stadium. There had to be thousands of people in the stands, far more than Jak remembered seeing at the races.

Out of habit, he looked around for a floating viewing pod for a leader, like Haven would've had. Instead, he saw a balcony high above the center of the south wall. He could barely make out a figure seated a little ways in. Did this place have a Baron too? Spoiled nobles enamored with bloodsport?

A flash of orange along the railing caught his attention, and his eyes widened.

Daxter!

There he was, climbing up into that balcony like a man on a mission. Jak couldn't help the small smile brightening his face as he looked towards the balcony.

Gunnar, the Marauder with his scarf, only seemed to get angrier when he saw Jak's grin.

"Oh don't look so relieved," Gunnar hissed in his ear, "He isn't going to save you, whelp."

"Rot you," Jak retorted, jerking away from him on unsteady feet.

An unpleasantly familiar voice rang out over the ring, announcing the purpose of the combat trial.

Pecker.

That overgrown feather duster had survived?! What, had he gotten work as a sports announcer?

The moncaw was just explaining that their opponents would join them shortly when Gunnar suddenly surged forward to lock an elbow around Jak’s throat. He'd caught him off guard, allowing him to drag the boy several steps away from the others. Jak started to fight his way out of the grip, but halted when he felt the prick of the blade against his neck.

"Just try, whelp," Gunnar laughed, "I'll open your throat right in front of him."

Was he talking about Daxter? Jak scanned the balcony, but didn't see his friend.

Gunnar stepped sideways until they were directly facing the balcony, then raised his voice.

"I'll kill him, Damas!" he threatened, "You want the whelp to live? You're gonna have to come get him."

Who the Frith is "Damas"?!

The figure in the balcony rose and stepped up to the edge. Now Jak could make out a well-built man in his late thirties or so, covered in Precursor metal armor and wielding an impressive looking staff. There was no chance that this was just another warrior. This man carried himself like a ruler.

Jak remembered his face.

That was the man who had led the capture. That was the man who had been driving when he was tossed unceremoniously into the back of a vehicle.

The man folded his free arm behind his back and peered down at Gunnar and his hostage. He did not look impressed.

"You think threatening the life of one of your own -- without giving him the chance to defend himself -- is going to grant you absolution?"

Gunnar bared his teeth. An agressive smile, like a shrimpanzee.

"Didn't get a good look at him in the storm, didja, you old wolf?" He taunted. The blade pushed just hard enough to draw a bead of blood to the surface.

"Get off that throne, or your spawn dies."

"The rot are you talking about?" Jak grunted.

He gripped the restraining arm with one hand, the knife hand with the other, just barely keeping some breathing room. He wasn't strong enough to pry himself loose without injury. He needed an opening first. A distraction.

Daxter appeared as if by magic, leaping up onto the rail beside this Damas person. Jak couldn't hear what he was saying, but by his stiff posture, he knew Daxter was angry. He pointed now and then in Jak’s direction, then at the armored man in an accusing fashion. The man's brows rose in a concerned expression, then lowered quickly. With each passing second, the frown deepened into something much more hostile.

"You are mistaken," he called down at last, "I don't know the boy."

Then he reached back and handed his staff to someone out of sight. He set down two small side arms and a knife on the railing, and straightened a vambrace. A menacing smile cut across his weathered face.

"But," he announced, "if you wish to invoke a blood feud, I am more than happy to oblige regardless."

With that, he stepped down onto the antigrav platform and let it carry him down. On the railing, Daxter turned to face the ring and signed quickly to Jak.

Oh

There was a plan.

Clever, clever Daxter!

He had signed, "Found your opening."

[lucilleslore]

sometimes when i think about crack with coryo and reader, i have a little fun with reader being someone who is a very powerful person and genuinely has control over snow with just 'tiny' ways like: decorating the house, clothes, food, anything so trivial. it starts out tiny, small, personal things but the influence gets bigger to the point that politics has to get dragged in.

somebody please humble this man, even though this is a bit ooc, i just need this man to lower a bit in my imagination.

yeah 1000% i’ve been saying this from the beginning and it will forever be my favourite concept!

whilst i don’t think coryo would actively want you to have any control over him, there’s not much he can do about it once the DEEP obsession kicks in. making people happy has never been his priority but then he has you and suddenly he needs you to be happy. needs to spoil you and give you everything you could want but it’s more from a place of thinking that if you’re happy you’d never even consider leaving him. which i think is a fear of his because he’d never let you leave of course but he’d never even want the thought to cross your mind. would feel like a massive betrayal to him.

so that kind of follows into you getting a little control here and there. if you slip something into conversation that you don’t like he’s automatically getting rid of it. problems with staff? they’re gone. don’t like the food? someone will make you something else. want to change the decor? go ahead. not feeling any of your clothes? here’s access to his bank accounts.

it’s definitely slow because politics and his overall plans for power would be things he strictly doesn’t want you involved in. sure he’s not got any morals but you’d still be his safe place and he feels like that should be protected. his time with you is kept separate from his work life but maybe one night he comes home extra stressed and you’re just there, offering him drinks and rubbing his shoulders and his problems all just sort of fall out.

now coryo isn’t expecting much. you’re his wife and have no experience in the ways of politics so he just expects you to listen but all of a sudden you’re coming out with these brilliant solutions, things he would never have thought up in his life. maybe it’s not the conventional way to do things - and by that he means his way - but he has to admit your ideas could work.

but that’s how it starts and after that when he’s really stumped he comes to you. talks it out and sees what you come up with. he always gets this grin on his face that’s honestly kind of menacing because you’re boosting his ego. like how did he instinctively pick a wife that’s not only beautiful but so, so scarily smart?? he must be a genius.

but when you’re talking about humbling i can honestly see the both of you at some fancy dinner and they’re all fawning over coryo, about everything he’s done for the capitol and the world and how amazing he is and you’re just sat there like?? those were all my ideas?? not his?? so then you’re all over him and asking him just how did he come up with these plans and coryo is just kind of fumbling for once and you’re just sitting there enjoying your wine and smirking <3

or you could go full girlboss and call him out in front of all the old loser politicians!

[forusomimiya]

Hi idk if you do requests but if you do could you write a thigh riding thing for oikawa?

If you don't do requests just ignore this lol

Thank you

"Wanna ride me here, sweetheart? can't wait, right?" you moaned in response, your face hidden in his neck, half your body over his, letting him access any part of your body as you resisted not rubbing against him desperately. It didn't matter who at the party was watching, and even if they were you wouldn't care because fuck, no one there knew the power Oikawa had on you when his hand came to rest on your thigh and started kissing your neck.

Impossible not to whimper when he started nibbling on it, impossible when his warm breath enveloped your ear with moans and words that drove you crazy. You could only gasp in response.

"C’mon, let's go home" you grabbed the collar of his shirt, keeping him from rising, pulling yourself closer against his chest. This was no time to be going anywhere, much less knowing the situation he was in, and especially given the prominent erection Oikawa had.

"Wanna do it here..." bloodshot eyes, a clear sign of the amount of alcohol ingested. A slight blush adorned his cheeks, and his hair vaguely tousled. His soft, thin lips stretching into a smile, into a perfect smile. He couldn't resist you.

"’kay pretty girl" Oikawa scanned the entire room from top to bottom. He looked at everyone and anyone present, and when he checked that everyone was drunk enough to keep drinking even more than they already had, he turned to you and whispered in your ear: "Take me"

You hurried, albeit awkwardly, to lift one of your legs to put it between his. The place where you were seated worked in your favour, being an area of leather sofas located far away from the VIP area, away from the bright lights of the dance floor, away from the crowd. All the advantages around you helped you not to have to look for a solution to lower the blissful fabric of the dress that stretched with every movement of your hips over Oikawa's thigh.

"Tooru..." suffocated, you clung to his shirt as the heat of the friction began to grow in your pussy "I… I want-"

"Now?” You nodded as you picked up the pace. “Oh baby, do you really want to?" Your knee touched his erection, his noticeable and prominent erection, and it was enough little for you to grab it, feel it in your hand and wait for a command to release.

"Please, please... I can't take it anymore"

"God… then, show me how ya cum on my leg, you little mess" you complied with his order fast, so fast that you didn't even notice the oikawa fingers burst through your panties and spread your pussy open to wet them with your cum. He couldn't help but slip them inside you when you finished either.

"Damn... I think you deserve a punishment for soiling my trousers sweetheart. Let me take you home and I'll let you take me as many times as you want".

Okaaaaaaay….. I think I could have done better 🙄