#Profanity filtering services

[justarkive]

TABLE 3 | JJK ch14

“For good service, and cute waitresses.”

pairing: pre!military jungkook x fuckbuddy/waitress! reader

warnings: SMUTTTTTTTTT profanity, angst, humour, fluff, celebrity au, idol!jungkook , mentions of other kpop groups/idols, inner conflict, insecurity.

smut warnings: needy jungkook, suggestive messages, booty call at 3AM LOL. shower sex, protected sex, oral m recieving, throat fucking, crying, gagging, fingering, squirting, spanking, use of showerhead against the clit, clit play, nipple play, missionary, doggystyle, oc is practically touching her toes, reverse cowgirl umm but he does all the work?? cowgirl, strength kink, fucking while standing up, oc smacks jungkooks butt HAHA, multiple orgasms for both, super needy kook, basicaly non verbal oc lol, jungkook cant stop thinking abt leaving and he takes it out on her </3 (its hot tho) jungkook is just rlly fuckin horny and she just lets him do whatever pretty much. kinda dom jk?? DIRTY TALKKK ITS SO DIRTYYYYYYY, kinda possesive jk in a “noone will make u feel like this” way??? FLUFFY AFTERCARE!!!

wc: longggg

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020 @rayyrayy10 @elinaki92 @alana4610

a/n: make sure to read till the end wink wink. it all comes crashiny down soon guys… so prepare LOL. i figured they deserved s rlly freaky chap before that tho. ENJOY MY LOVES

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The next morning, you wake up to the soft glow of daylight filtering through the massive hotel windows.

Nari, of course, is still knocked out—sprawled on the bed like a starfish, one arm flung over her face, her hair a tangled mess from sleep. Her breathing is heavy, slow, peaceful.

And you? You groan the second reality kicks in.

You have a night shift.

You sit up, running a hand down your face as the weight of that realization sinks in. After the absolute high of last night—VIP treatment, insane performances, Jungkook—your reward? A long-ass shift at the diner, which was of course the consequence of asking for one day off.

Life is cruel.

Knowing better than to wake Nari unless it’s a life or death situation, you quietly slip out of bed and start packing your things. The magic of the concert is still lingering in the air, but with every folded piece of clothing, every zip of your bag, it fades just a little, replaced by the routine of your normal life.

The normal life that does not include penthouse suites and private concert boxes.

Once your bag is mostly packed, you hop into the shower, letting the warm water wake you up. By the time you’re dressed and ready, Nari still hasn’t moved.

Great.

You settle onto the couch and finally—finally—open your phone.

There’s no good morning text from Jungkook. Not surprising. He’s probably still asleep, hungover if last night’s spam is anything to go by.

And speaking of that—

You click into the chat.

His messages from the night before are a mess.

Jungkook [2:12 AM]: IM si tied

Jungkook [2:13 AM]: si so tired fukc tired

Jungkook [2:15 AM]: wait no im buzzing still im still high off the concert not like drug high ok

Jungkook [2:16 AM]: did u like it???????

Jungkook [2:17 AM]: bet u cried. bet u wept. bet u are weeping rn

Jungkook [2:19 AM]: i wana kiss u rn

Jungkook [2:20 AM]: NOT IN A HORNY WAY

Jungkook [2:22 AM]: mayb a little in a hornt way

You snort, scrolling further.

There are voice messages—slurred, barely understandable, probably recorded in the car ride back.

You click on one.

A deep, drawn-out sigh fills your ears, followed by a very drunk-sounding Jungkook.

“U don’t even knooowwwwwww how much I killed it. Like. No one. No one killed it like me. I’m soooo good. Did u SEEEEEE MEEEE??????? Wait ofc u did. Hi. I miss youuuuuuuu heheheheheh.”

You wheeze.

Then there are accidental photos of a table—just a table—with half-eaten food and someone’s hand in the frame. Probably one of his dancers.

A few blurry videos of him dancing on top of said table.

You shake your head, thoroughly entertained—until—

Your scrolling halts.

One message stands out.

Amidst all the nonsense, all the chaotic, drunken rambling, there’s one that’s… off.

Jungkook [3:04 AM]: im raelky fucking sorry y

Your brows furrow.

It’s buried between a spam of typos and nonsense, easy to overlook, easy to dismiss as just another drunken slip-up.

But still. Sorry?

For what?

You stare at it for a moment, lips pressing together.

Your gut tells you to ask.

But your brain tells you not to dwell on it.

So, you don’t.

You exhale, shaking off the weird feeling creeping in your chest, choosing instead to focus on the much more entertaining parts of his messages.

Like the terribly filmed videos of him singing dramatically, off-key, into a bottle of soju.

Or the way his last message—before passing out, apparently—was just:

Jungkook [3:22 AM]: meow

You lose it.

The weird feeling lingers in the back of your mind, but for now, you let yourself laugh.

And maybe, just maybe, you forget about that one message entirely.

For now.

——

Nari wakes up in the worst mood imaginable. You drag yourselves out of the hotel, obviously after munching on the breakfast buffet like absolute animals.

Which, honestly, is valid. You’d both gotten maybe five hours of sleep, and when you texted her when you got home in the morning to check in, she was radio silent.

Unresponsive. Dead to the world. Practically in a coma.

You figured she needed it—after all, that concert was a marathon. But by the time you dragged yourself through your morning routine, did some mindless scrolling, and considered texting Jungkook, you finally got a single reply from Nari at 1 PM:

Nari [1:04 PM]: bitch

That was it. No follow-up.

Meanwhile, Jungkook finally woke up at 2 PM, which was late, even for him.

Jungkook [2:15 PM]: good morningggggggg 🥱

You [2:16 PM]: it’s 2PM.

Jungkook [2:16 PM]: i am a popstar and i require beauty rest.

Jungkook [2:16 PM]: u up?

You [2:17 PM]: obviously.

Jungkook [2:18 PM]: cute.

And that’s how the texting started—all day, back and forth, about everything and nothing.

The concert. How unreal it was. How insane the screams were. How you both really had the audacity to do what you did before the concert when he was supposed to be saving his energy.

And then, somewhere between 11 PM and 3 AM, your texts shifted to complaining about your night shift.

Nari had offered to drive you both home after it because, in her words, “I am literally on the verge of death, and the faster I get us to the nearest bed, which is your place, the faster I can sleep.”

So now, here you both were, dragging your bodies inside your apartment, exhausted and delirious, talking shit about the weirdest customer of the night.

“I swear,” Nari groans, tossing her keys onto your desk, “that man has never showered in his life.”

“I think I’m still smelling him,” you mumble, flopping onto the bed.

Nari follows suit, dramatically collapsing beside you. “If I ever agree to another night shift, slap me.”

“Same for me.”

You mindlessly pull your phone out, expecting more texts from Jungkook—but he hasn’t replied for a bit. Which is… weird.

But before you can question it, your phone buzzes.

And then another. And another. And—

Jungkook [3:02 AM]: u up?

Jungkook [3:02 AM]: wait ofc ur up u just texted me

Jungkook [3:03 AM]: come over

Jungkook [3:03 AM]: now

Jungkook [3:03 AM]: please

You blink.

Okay. That’s new.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard,

You [3:04 AM]: u okay?

Jungkook [3:04 AM]: no

Jungkook [3:04 AM]: i miss you

Jungkook [3:05 AM]: come

Your stomach flips.

Oh.

You [3:05 AM]: jungkook its 3am.

Jungkook [3:05 AM]: y/n.

You sigh, staring at the screen.

Okay, you want to go. Desperately. But—

You [3:06 AM]: can’t. nari’s over.

You expect him to be pushy—maybe whine a little, try to convince you.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, his next message is immediate.

Jungkook [3:06 AM]: ohhh okay. get some sleep then.

Jungkook [3:06 AM]: i’ll see u tomorrow maybe?

You smile a little. Of course he’s understanding.

And then— A voice beside you.

“Oh my god,” Nari practically cackles, making you jump. She’s leaning over, peering at your phone, grinning like a menace.

“Bitch, GO.”

Your mouth opens. “I—”

“You think I care?” She snorts, flopping back onto the bed. “I’m gonna be asleep in the next 5 mins and probably all day tomorrow. I wouldn’t notice if the building was on fire.”

You hesitate. She notices.

She glares. “Y/N, if you don’t get your ass up”

You bite your lip, sighing. “Can you drive me?”

Nari snorts. “It is three in the morning. I am not getting behind a wheel right now.”

You huff, already pulling up the Uber app. Asking for Jungkook’s address and typing it in. “I’ll just—”

Nari snatches your phone out of your hand.

And Ubers you to Jungkook’s apartment

She pays for it before you can react.

Your jaw drops. “Nari—”

She shrugs, grinning. “Consider it my thank you for that once-in-a-lifetime concert experience. You think I’m not still riding that high?”

You groan, but at this point, you’ve lost. You snatch your phone back.

You [3:12 AM]: omw.

Jungkook’s reply is instant.

Jungkook [3:12 AM]: 😏

You roll your eyes as you head to the bathroom, trying to act like you’re not doing the absolute most to freshen up.

Hair? Fixed. Perfume? A little. Lips? Definitely hydrated with layers of gloss.

And the second you catch yourself in the mirror, adjusting your clothes like you’re not about to just end up taking them off anyway—

“Bitch.”

You jump.

Nari is watching you from the bed, arms crossed, smirking like she caught you red-handed.

“You are doing too much for a 3 AM dick appointment.”

You scowl. “Shut up.”

She snorts, rolling onto her side. “Nah, it’s okay. You deserve it.”

A beat. Then—

“My girl’s getting dicked downnn tonight.”

You throw a pillow at her. She wheezes.

Your phone buzzes. The Uber’s outside.

⸻

By the time you step out of the Uber, you are literally fighting for your life.

Your limbs are heavy, your eyelids are betraying you, and every step toward Jungkook’s apartment door feels like you’re wading through concrete.

But you know exactly what’s about to happen.

And somehow, that alone is keeping you alive.You knock once you get to his door, somehow remembering how to get there since the field date—too tired to text, too wired to just walk in like you own the place.

It takes half a second before the door swings open.

Jungkook stands there, leaning against the frame like he’s trying very, very hard to keep his composure.

Like he’s trying to act normal—cool, casual, unfazed. But his eyes betray him immediately. Because they drink you in. Like he’s starving.

And then— All that composure?

Gone once you smile and say “Hi.”

You barely register Jungkook’s grip on your wrist before the door shuts behind you, sealing you into his space, his world, his intentions.

He’s not playing around.

The second you’re inside, he’s on you. Hands on your waist, pushing you back, his breathing already heavier than it should be for someone who hasn’t even touched you properly yet.

You’re half-asleep, running on fumes, but your body?

It knows exactly where this is going.

You feel the cold edge of the bathroom sink, which you don’t even question how fast he’d pulled you in there, against your back before your brain even catches up to the fact that he’s been steering you here on purpose.

His grip is firm, deliberate, his fingers pressing through the fabric of your pullover, claiming you before he’s even said a word.

And then— “I already showered,” you manage, breathless, blinking up at him.

Jungkook just grins.

Smirks, actually.

The kind of slow, dangerous smirk that makes your stomach clench, makes your knees weaker than they already are from exhaustion.

“I haven’t.”

A pause.

Then—

His lips crash into yours.

And just like that—

You are wide awake.

Jungkook kisses you like he’s been waiting all day for this.

Like he’s been counting down the minutes, picturing this exact moment, craving it.

And you? You feel it.

Every ounce of his desperation, his need, the way his hands tighten just a little too much when they grip your hips, like he’s trying to ground himself in your warmth.

He doesn’t even let you think.

The second he feels you relax into it, he’s lifting you—easily, like you weigh nothing—and setting you onto the cold marble countertop of the sink.

Your legs automatically spread for him, letting him step in between, and— He whimpers. Actually whimpers. Like just the feel of your body opening up for him is already too much.

You feel the weight of his hands slide down from your waist to your thighs, his thumbs brushing just under the hem of your hoodie.

He leans in, kisses you deeper this time, tongue teasing yours, hot and demanding.

It’s all teeth and lips and need.

Like he wants to devour you. And you? You let him.

Because fuck it, you want it too.

The exhaustion from earlier? Completely gone when your hands tangle in his hair, still damp from whatever half-assed shower he took, and the feeling of your fingers tugging, gripping makes him let out a low, breathy curse against your lips.

He’s losing it. Then his hands disappear.

You barely have time to process the sudden loss of warmth before you hear it—

The sound of his hoodie hitting the floor. Then his shirt. You look down.

The heat that pools in your stomach at the sight of him—shirtless, toned, glistening from the way the bathroom light reflects off his skin—is actually unfair.

He’s so unfair.

And he knows it.

Because he’s watching you watch him. Head tilted, chest rising and falling, lips red and swollen from kissing you like he was trying to leave a permanent mark.

“You’re staring, baby.”

Your cheeks burn. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You don’t get the chance.

Because before you can even think of something to say, he takes off your clothes and he’s lifting you again—

Off the counter. Into the shower.

Your body shivers. Not from the temperature—from him.

From the way his hands slide up your sides, from the way his mouth attaches to the soft skin under your jaw, kissing, sucking, teasing.

He’s barely doing anything, and yet you feel weak. Like your entire body is being tuned to his touch. And he knows it.

Because when his lips move to your ear, his voice drops, raspy, his breath hot against your skin— “You still tired?”

The smirk in his tone is palpable. You glare at him—well, you try to. It’s hard to be intimidating when your brain is melting.

But you force yourself to lie “Yes.”

Jungkook laughs “Better wake you up then.”

Then his hands are on you again.

And just like that, he makes sure you never feel tired again.

Jungkook scoops you up effortlessly, and you’re suddenly clinging to him like a fucking koala, your arms wrapped around his neck as you laugh.

He nearly trips when he picks you up, and you can’t help but giggle at how ungraceful he looks. “Careful,” you tease, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

You notice his… well, you notice. His cock isn’t fully hard, but it’s in the process of getting to it, it’s already starting to twitch, and damn, it’s hard not to stare when it swings with every movement in front of you.

You’re almost hypnotized by the way the huge thing moves.

But then, of course, the cold water sprays you right in the face, and you let out a loud squeal, completely unprepared. Jungkook immediately goes wide-eyed, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry, baby.” he says quickly and chuckles, his voice cracking slightly as he tries not to laugh at your reaction.

And then, before you can recover, he pulls you back into a kiss. It’s warm, soft, and the taste of him makes you forget all about the shock of the cold water. There’s something about seeing him like this—so real, so raw, his skin glistening with water—that makes your stomach do flips. You hadn’t realized how much you liked this part of him. The part that’s just… human.

As he deepens the kiss, you let yourself melt into him, not caring about the cold anymore, just the feeling of being so close, so completely wrapped up in him.

The kiss doesn’t last as long as you’d like however, his hands already moving across your wet skin. His tattooed hand gently brushes your damp hair away from your face, and you can’t help but smile at how undone everything is, mascara probably smeared, but you don’t care.

He’s groaning in your fucking face, his hands roaming, just feeling every inch of you like he’s starved for the touch.

You can feel how much he’s craving you, the way he reacts to your body, every movement of his making you shiver.

“I missed you,” he says, voice thick with longing, and there’s a desperation in his words that makes your heart race. He pulls away just enough to look at you, and suddenly you notice- he’s jerking off by just looking at your face.

Your knees buckle.

His eyes dark, his breath heavy. You try to look away, feeling your cheeks flush, but he catches your chin, gently tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“I swear, I’ve been losing my fucking mind,” he murmurs, his voice almost shaky as he leans in closer, forehead to yours, his breath warm against your lips. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about fucking that little pussy.” He looks down. Tugs harder. “I wanted you so badly, you have no idea,” A moan, “I came so hard thinking of what we did yesterday night- Fuck-“

He’s babbling now, each word filled with so much raw emotion that you feel a heat rise in your chest, your face burning with embarrassment as you try to hide your flustered reaction. But he doesn’t stop, his hands now holding you close, other hand still tugging at his cock, filling the air with nasty, wet noises as he continues, his desperation clear.

“I couldn’t think straight without you,” he says, his voice a little frantic now. “You drive me insane, you don’t understand…”

You can’t help but blush harder, the way he’s pouring out his emotions making you feel more exposed than you’ve ever felt. His words, though, only make the connection between you feel even stronger, the intensity building between you two in ways you never expected.

He’s not just after your body; he’s after you, and that realization makes your heart skip a beat. It’s different from before, he’s clearly worked up about something. And you can’t help but think it’s not just because he misses having sex with you.

But you don’t pry. Like always.

“You had to message me at 3AM for this?” you tease, raising an eyebrow at him.

Jungkook pauses for a second, his smirk slowly spreading across his face. The way his eyes gleam with both frustration and amusement makes your heart skip a beat. “Duh,” he replies, his voice dripping with that familiar confidence. “You think I wasn’t gonna do whatever it took?”

His hand reaches up, brushing your cheek softly as he laughs lightly, the tension between you easing into something more playful.

You roll your eyes, but the warmth of his smile, the way he looks at you with such intensity, has you blushing again. The teasing may be there, but underneath it all, you both know how badly you want this connection, the way you fit together, and how much you crave more of each other.

You chuckle, shaking your head at him. “It’s been one day, Kook. One day,” you tease, trying to hide the blush that creeps up your neck.

“I don’t care.” His voice is low, sharp, cutting through your sentence like a blade. His fingers trail lower, his touch light—too light. “I’ll take you whenever I want.”

His gaze darkens a bit, the intensity in his eyes making your heart race. “Doesn’t matter how long it’s been. I want you always,” he says, his hand reaching out to brush your hair away from your face again, the water running over your body,

You can’t help but blush again, the mix of desperation and affection in his words making it hard to breathe. It’s more than just a physical need—it’s something deeper, something raw that you both can feel.

He lets go of his cock, face scrunching up in the cutest way as if he was about to cum. Hes so pathetic, but you love it. His cock flushed a pretty pink when it’s left to stand in front of his glistening abdomen, twitching slightly.

Suddenly, a soft “Fuck-“ escapes you as he gently traces your folds which have been soaked by your own juices and the water from the shower, and you realize just how much you’ve missed this closeness—the way he holds you like you’re fragile, yet there’s an unspoken promise in his touch that says he’ll never let you go, even though the last time he had touched you like this was only less than 48 hours ago. And that’s when you realize.

You’re fucking doomed.

The realization hits you like a wave, crashing over you with the weight of it all.

You never imagined sex would ever feel like this—so real, so intense-

But also really fucking good of course.

Despite having sex with Jungkook before, less times that you can count on your hand, nothing compares to this feeling. And that scares you more than you’d like to admit, because it’s not just physical. The way he makes you feel—cared for, seen—it’s like he’s holding you together in a way you didn’t know you needed. His desperation is raw and real, but there’s something more beneath it. A tenderness, an intimacy that makes you wonder if you’ve been underestimating what he’s been truly offering all along.

Jungkook never fails to put your pleasure first.

You realize now, with a startling clarity, that you’ve never experienced anything like this. And likely never will again. The way he makes you feel safe, even in the way he’s desperate for you now, shows just how much he values you. And even as his desire takes over, there’s this soft, underlying care that feels like it’s always been there, just waiting to surface.

His voice breaks through your thoughts, rough but somehow tender, “Look what you’ve done.” His words make your heart skip a beat, and the warmth between you deepens. You look down to see his hand back on his dick, not moving, just there. The fingers that skim through your folds falter slightly, “You make me so fucking hard,”

He finally pulls his hand away, and you can’t help but glance down at where he’s rubbing at your folds. Jungkook’s eyes stay locked on you, though, as his fingers gently press against your clit now. You gasp, feeling a shiver go through you at the contact. “Shit,” you moan, your gaze dropping, and he lets out a strangled noise, clearly feeling the heat too.

Suddenly, the water gets way too hot, and he shifts, his skin obviously uncomfortable.

Without even looking, he reaches over to adjust the temperature. You can’t help but snicker, watching him like he’s got some kind of mission to complete. “Can’t keep your hands off?” you tease, still chuckling, because honestly, it’s a little funny how much he’s trying to focus on you when he’s struggling just to turn the damn shower down.

Jungkook doesn’t laugh, though. When he turns his eyes away from your pussy and up to you, his eyebrows are furrowed, “I made it clear how much I want you, baby. And now you’re just gonna laugh at me?” He starts rubbing faster, and when he gives your clit a soft slap, you can’t help but squeal.

You get the feeling that Jungkook’s not gonna hold back tonight, and honestly? You’re kind of excited for it.

Kind of? Your buzzing for it.

He’s always been gentle with you during sex, and even on those late nights when you felt a little lonely—though, to be fair, you haven’t needed that kind of comfort in a while—you’ve always wondered… has Jungkook been holding something back? Is there a rougher, more carnal side to him?

His nose trails along your neck, and you can’t help but moan a little louder, totally under the spell of his fingers working their magic on you. “I’m gonna make you cum on my fingers, and you’re gonna scream my name,” he says, pressing a wet kiss to your neck.

“A-ah—” You stutter at one particularly hard rub to your clit, and he grins like he knows exactly what he’s doing. He kisses down your body with way more enthusiasm than you expected, stopping at your chest and sucking on your nipples, each one with a little more force than you’re prepared for.

Suddenly, one harsh suck to your nipple and then his finger starts prodding in—unfortunately not adorned with his signature chunky rings this time. But either way, the sensation has you gasping and practically shouting his name. “J-Jungkook!”

He pulls away from your nipple, slamming his lips onto yours to silence the noise escaping you. You moan against his mouth as his fingers start to move slowly at first, and then he slips in another finger, picking up speed.

Jungkook’s fingers find the spot he never fails to find quickly, wether it’s with his cock or fingers.

He’s so unfair.

And you can’t help but gasp as his touch awakens a heat that spreads through your entire body. Your eyes lock, and you meet his gaze, seeing the intensity there. His hand crawls around your neck, holding it firmly in place, and the action makes you feel both anchored and completely vulnerable at the same time.

Your heart races, the sensation of his touch overwhelming you in ways you didn’t expect.

You can feel your legs grow weak, knees buckling, your body pressed up against the shower tiles for support, and Jungkook’s hand around your neck is a steady anchor. He watches you closely, the intensity in his eyes softening for a moment as he sees the way you’re trembling, his hand holding your neck just enough to remind you of his presence, his care.

There’s an unspoken understanding in the air between you—how much you’re both craving this closeness, this connection.

As his fingers move faster on your clit, the rawness of the moment hits you, and you’re left breathless. You tilt your head back further, practically looking straight up now, feeling exposed in the best way possible, as Jungkook stays close, holding you in his gaze, his face over yours as your buckling knees minimise your height, giving you something more than just the moment. He fingers you harder, rougher.

You force yourself to hold his gaze, even as your breath quickens, letting out vulnerable whimpers and strangled moans, feeling the heat between you two intensify. Jungkook breathes in deeply, his exhale brushing your face, and you notice the way his jaw clenches, the tension in his body mirroring the way you’re feeling.

“Always so fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs, voice low and rough.

His hand leaves your neck, fingers threading into your hair, and you can’t help but gasp. “J-Jungkook, please,” you moan, trying to gather enough focus to look up at him, pleading silently for a bit of mercy. You’re on the edge, and if you cum now, you don’t know how much more you can take.

He smirks down at you, his eyes full of that quiet intensity. “Please what?” he teases, tilting your head back by your hair just a little more, his grip firm.

“S-slow…” you whisper, your voice shaking from both desire and the overwhelming feeling of his fingers. And he has the audacity to chuckle and go even faster. “Can’t handle it?”

You shake your head, and his smirk only deepens, a quiet confidence in his gaze. Your heart skips when you realize that he won’t let up—he’s not backing down.

“You’re gonna take it because you’re such a good girl, right? The best girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of that same intensity. You clench around him, and he groans, caught by the tightness. He struggles for a moment, but it only makes him more determined.

His hand gently grips your chin, squeezing your cheeks together, guiding your puckered lips towards his for a soft, fleeting kiss on your lips, the touch tender despite the heat between you both.

He releases his hold on your face, his hand shifting to himself, and you can see the struggle in his expression as he moves even faster than before. The speed increases, and it catches you off guard, a wave of heat building inside you. You try to catch your breath, reaching out to grip his wrist, but he pushes your hand away, “Nggghh- Fuck!”

Then, suddenly, his touch falters for a moment, and you feel the shift as he pulls back.

What the fuck.

“I was so close!” You pout, frustration seeping into your voice.

“Enough,” he seethes, his tone sharper than you expected. His hands move to your waist, guiding you down to your knees, positioning you in front of him.

You’re on your knees, feeling a little unsteady from the moment, but there’s something about the way Jungkook stands over you, the way he watches you with such intensity that makes your heart race. You look up at him, his eyes soft but filled with an unspoken need, the muscles of his body taut and rippling in the dim light.

His strong thighs are close, the water running down his skin of his abs when you look up, the vibrancy of his coloured tattoos seem to increase under the water that cascades down his arms, creating a slight sheen that makes both of your lips drool-

Half of his face is slightly covered by the length of his hard cock above you, the sight of it is almost too much to process. Your breath catches in your throat as you try to steady yourself, but it’s hard.

He shifts slightly, length swinging, and you can feel the tension heightened in the air, the electricity between you both, as if every little movement is creating an undeniable pull. You gaze at him, the water dripping from his hair, and there’s a fire in your chest, the connection between you two so palpable it feels almost like a promise.

“You good?” His voice is softer than you expected, compared to the harshness earlier, and it makes you shiver, the warmth of his care wrapping around you.

You nod, unable to talk, feeling a mix of emotions you can barely sort through, but it’s all-consuming in a way you never expected.

He cradles your face, his gaze searching yours for some kind of reassurance, a silent question hanging between you. His hands are steady, as they grip around the base of his cock, letting out soft breaths.

He strokes his thumb over your bottom lip, watching it bounce back and smiling, his eyes never leaving yours, as if trying to gauge how you feel.

You meet his gaze, and there’s a mix of emotions between you—vulnerability, desire, and something deeper. The air feels charged, and without saying a word, you give him a slight nod.

He moves his tip closer to your mouth, and he grins when you try and chase it. “You want it?”

He taps it against your lips and you whine, opening your mouth, ready to take this thing in, but he moves it away, swinging it against your cheek. He groans at the impact.

You look up at him to find him grinning, holding back a laugh. “Jungkook,”

He gives in, only because it’s you. Finally pushing his tip inside your mouth.

The salty, familiar taste greets you.

Through all the times you and Jungkook had fucked, he’d made it pretty clear how much he loves receiving (as much as he does giving of course) never failing to slip it into your…sessions.

And you? You definitely aren’t complaining.

He lets you go at your own pace, and he just watches you from above as your tongue licks around his tip, watches you as you slip half of his length in your mouth, letting out the occasional grunt.

It hits him then. When you look up at him with a mouth full of cock. The impending doom of his military service that keeps popping up in his mind at the worst times possible like an annoying notification that he cant seem to swipe away.

And to will it away. He thrusts his entire length in your throat.

“Fuck…” His breath stutters, but even in his distraction, he notices your struggle. Your eyes widen as you cough, and he instinctively reaches for your temples, guiding you, trying to ground you both.

“Wanna fuck it,” He whispers, other hand tracing your jaw.

You don’t have time to protest; it’s like he’s made up his mind already. His grip on your head tightens, but you notice the strain in his expression, his face caught somewhere between pleasure and something heavier, like he’s fighting off his own thoughts.

“Mouth always feels so fuckin’ good, baby.” His breath is ragged, the quiet tension in the room thick as you look up at him, noticing the sweat on his thick neck, though it’s mostly just water. You look over slightly to the shower that’s still running.

Those damn water bills must be high.

The way his Adam’s apple moves with each breath. And worst of all, his chain that swings ever so slightly with every thrust of his hips.

What a man. You think.

Jungkook’s movements become more urgent, and you feel a deep sense of vulnerability as he looks down at you, his tip is constantly hitting the back of your throat and the tears from the gagging that you’ve been trying your hardest to push away flow freely now.

His gaze is intense, but also distant in a way. Noticing the mascara that’s running down your face, he gently reaches up to wipe it away, a tender gesture that makes your chest tighten.

His eyes linger on your face, and he thinks you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. How could he be hurting you?

And he’s mad about it.

So fucking mad, that it leads him to thrust in fully. Your nose pressed against his soft, trimmed pubes, cock tucked into your throat.

“Take it.” His grip around your hair tightens when you try to move back, your head pressing against the tiles, his pace snapping into something unforgiving. “You can handle it.”

Your tongue is flat against the underside of his dick, it fucks into you like butter. And you let him push in deeper, harder, making gargling noises around the length of it.

“Tap my leg if- Ffuck- if it gets too much, okay?” The tenderness is back, but you can only manage a barely-there nod when-

He jackhammers your fucking throat.

He really gets in there. Stopping his thrusts and just using his hand that hasn’t stopped gripping your hair like a damn vice to control your head, in, out, in, out.

The tears spill out of your eyes. The occasional grunt and “Fuck.” From Jungkook above spur you on more, until-

“Shit…” He spills into your mouth, curses and moans spilling out of his own. You keep going, sucking his cum out. It doesn’t taste like much, only the slightest hint of salt. But his cum is mostly warm, warmer than the water still cascading down his body and dripping onto yours, it runs down your throat, and you swallow as best as you can with his whole dick inside. He thrusts further, as if there was anymore space to do so, your nose pressed and twisting with the pressure he puts on your head to his pubic bone.

You barely have a moment to recover before he pulls you up, knees numb and slightly red from being on the floor for so long. You grin at him, ready to tease him with a cocky remark about making him cum in less than five minutes.

But jungkook has different ideas, turning you around with one hand around his cock, cutting off the circulation from his cock to keep it hard, “Hands here,” he orders, facing you towards the glass, voice thick, husky.

You turn your head, desperate for a kiss, and he looks like he’s about to reject you to tease, but he always gives in when it comes to you. And quickly kisses your puckered lips, letting out a soft laugh.

But that softness is gone when you feel his tip teasing your folds, His lips curl into a grin against yours before, suddenly, he pulls away.

You blink, dazed, as he steps out of the shower, water dripping from his skin, his movements unhurried, deliberate. And then you notice something that makes you smile.

Jungkook has the cutest, plumpest little butt. It’s an observation that catches you off guard, but you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes as you watch him walk over to the sink counter, dripping water everywhere, completely shameless in his search for a condom.

He turns back, brows raised. “What?”

Still grinning, you let your hands rest lightly on his ass cheek before giving a playful light smack, voice warm with amusement. “Damn, sir.”

He laughs at that, until-

"Turn around," he commands.

This man is such a contradiction.

You do, pressing your hands against the cool shower tiles as he moves behind you, his warmth a stark contrast to the misty air. His fingers skim down your sides, tracing slow, deliberate paths before settling at your ass and giving it a smack- just like you did.

His voice is low, rough with want. “Stay just like that.”

When he finally pushes into you after putting on the condom and sliding the shower door closed, a quiet gasp leaves your lips, your body instinctively molding to his. His grip tightens against the wet tile, steadying you, grounding you. For a moment, neither of you move—just breathing, just feeling.

“Okay?” he breathes, clearly trying his hardest to let you adjust, his voice softer now, a thread of something unspoken laced in the question.

You nod, exhaling a quiet “Yeah.”

When he doesn’t move, you let out a frustrated sigh, pushing your hips back in silent plea—only for him to pull away at the last second. A quiet laugh leaves him, low and teasing, as his hands roam over your curves, coaxing you to bend just a little further.

At this point you’re touching your damn toes.

“Beg for it,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns along your spine.

Your breath stutters, your body already trembling with need. When you glance back at him, strands of wet hair clinging to your flushed face, your voice comes out barely above a whisper.

“Please, Jungkook… I- need you.”

He seems satisfied, so much so that, without warning, he grabs your hips and pulls you back onto him in one smooth, fluid motion. A sharp gasp leaves your lips, your body instinctively molding to his as he fills you completely.

A low “Fuck,” grumbles from him as he leans down, his teeth grazing your neck before soothing the bite with his lips. His hands wander, tracing every curve of your back, fingers brushing over your skin with need before rolling over your breasts. A sharp gasp escapes you when he pinches at your sensitive nipples, sending a shiver down your spine.

The pace quickens, his hips meeting yours in a rhythm that has your breath hitching, your body melting into his. But the strain of holding yourself up in the position starts to creep in, the ache settling into your limbs. Jungkook notices instantly. Without a word, he slows, pulling out just long enough to spin you around, his touch firm yet careful.

Before you can catch your breath, he lifts you effortlessly, strong arms locking beneath your knees as he presses you against the cool tile of the shower wall. Your breath catches, legs tightening around his waist on instinct. His lips find yours—deep, slow, lingering—before trailing down the column of your neck.

And then he’s inside you again, the stretch just as intoxicating as before, but this time, there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Just him, holding you close, moving in sync like he never wants to let go.

Your tits bounce with each powerful stroke, the water streaming down your bodies.

"Look at me," he demands, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are wild with lust as he pounds into you, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix. He reaches down, spitting before rubbing your clit in rough circles.

You throw your head back against the tiles, lost in the sensation of his cock and fingers. Your legs tremble as he hits your G-spot, bringing you closer to the edge.

"Cum on it, baby," he growls, his hips snapping forward. You scream as your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clamping down on his length. He continues to thrust through it, chasing his own release.

He pulls out, but he doesn’t let go of you. Instead, he eases you down onto the cool floor, his touch steady despite the urgency in his movements. The contrast of warmth and chill against your bare skin sends a shiver through you, but then he’s kneeling between your legs, spreading you open with deliberate care.

His fingers find you again, slipping inside with ease, his thumb pressing against your swollen clit. You jolt at the overstimulation, your body still trembling from the last high. But Jungkook isn’t done with you. His lips find your shoulder, his teeth scraping along the damp skin as his pace quickens.

“Give me another,” he murmurs, the word more like a command, you barely have time to brace yourself before the pleasure hits, this time sharper, more intense. It crashes over you in waves, your back arching, a strangled cry escaping your lips as the release takes hold-

You fucking squirt.

This man just made you squirt.

Jungkook stills for a split second—stunned, mesmerized—before a low, guttural groan leaves him. His hands grip your thighs, his breath coming out harsh as he watches the aftermath of what he’s just done to you. He doesn’t stop, coaxing more liquid from you, his touch relentless until you’re squirming beneath him, gasping his name in a desperate plea.

And then he just can’t help it, lining himself up quickly, his cock pressing into you, his mouth capturing yours in a deep, breathless kiss as he pushes inside, chasing that same desperation that has him completely undone.

Jungkook buries himself inside you in one forceful motion, his pace relentless from the start. Your hand instinctively presses against his lower abdomen, a silent plea for mercy—but he doesn’t grant it.

Instead, he grabs your wrist, pinning both of your hands above your head, his grip firm as he leans in, his breath hot against your skin. His body crowds over you, leaving no space between you, forcing your gaze to meet his.

“Eyes on me,” he demands, his voice rough, edged with something desperate.

His thrusts slow, deepening, dragging every sensation out until you’re trembling beneath him. “Who makes you feel like this?”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

“Speak,” he grunts, his dark eyes flickering with something unreadable when you shy away, cheeks burning.

When you don’t answer, he exhales sharply, jaw clenching before he snaps his hips forward, faster, rougher, forcing the answer out of you. “You won’t talk?” His voice dips lower, a growl in your ear. “Then I will.”

Each word is punctuated with another thrust, his hands tightening around yours.

“No one—” he groans, eyes locked onto yours, the weight of his words pressing into you as deeply as he does. “No one will ever make you feel like this.”

“No one will ever get you this fucking wet.”

His voice is low, strained, as if the thought alone drives him insane.

“Jungkook—please—” Your voice breaks into a cry when he angles his hips just right, hitting that spot that sends shockwaves through you.

He groans, dropping his forehead to yours. “No one will ever—fuck—hit that spot. My spot.”

Letting go of your wrists, his hand slides down, wrapping around your throat—not tight, just enough for you to feel the weight of his presence, the control he refuses to let slip. You gasp, a moan spilling out before you can stop it.

“Now tell me.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

“Tell me.” His thrusts stop completely, leaving you desperate, aching, hovering on the edge.

“I—” You swallow, the heat in his gaze making it impossible to look away. “It’s you, Jungkook—fuck—you always make me feel like this. Always make me feel so fucking good.”

His smirk is slow, dark, satisfied.

“Good,” And then he’s moving again, faster, deeper, making sure you never forget it.

After three particularly deep thrusts that leave you gasping, he suddenly pulls out, his grip firm as he shifts you away from the shower wall. Then, without a word, he leans back against the glass, legs spread, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

“Ride it,” he rasps, voice thick with need. “Like you fucking mean it.”

Your knees feel weak, but you straddle him anyway, pulse hammering as you take in the way he looks—hair soaked, jaw clenched, abs glistening under the water, waiting for you with confidence. He tilts his head, watching you with a dark, expectant smirk.

“And don’t disappoint me.”

You sink down slowly, but his impatience gets the best of him. He pulls your hips down firmly, and you gasp, your face instinctively burying into his neck as you try to steady yourself. The weight of his breath on your skin heightens the moment.

“Like that…” he breathes, voice strained.

You respond, moving more urgently, caught up in the heat between you, eager to give him everything he’s asking for, every part of you desperate to feel him deeper.

You whine softly, lifting your head to watch him, his face scrunched cutely in concentration. As soon as your eyes meet, the tension between you heightens, raw and desperate. When your movements hit that familiar spot, you gasp, your head falling back, overwhelmed. His hands find your waist, guiding you, encouraging your every movement.

The sounds of the shower, mixed with soft grunts and the rush of water, fill the space. Then, in a swift motion, Jungkook reaches over to the showerhead. You don’t see it, but you feel the change — the cold metal against your skin as he adjusts it and presses the thrashing water against your poor little clit.

“Fuck!” You cry out, your movements momentarily stopping, as the sensation overwhelms you.

“Move,” he commands in a low growl, urging you to continue as his grip tightens, his desperation clear, pushing you both to the edge.

You force yourself to move, following his encouragement, but you can feel his restraint — his teeth gritted, holding back, as the rush of water continues to hit you. You adjust your pace, slow and deliberate, as the heat builds between you both.

His lips trail over your skin, sucking your nipples and practically anything he can get his lips on, and it becomes overwhelming. The sensation is too much, and before you can stop it, the wave of pleasure takes over. You stop your thrusts and sink down fully on his cock, “Nggghgh- Fuck Fuck Fuck!” feeling how his whole length fills you up, and he groans as your body responds, tightening around him.

In that moment, the showerhead slips from his grasp, falling to the floor as the world around you fades into the rush of emotions and the overwhelming connection between you both.

He presses his lips to your forehead as you gasp, your body trembling beneath his touch. You let out a soft whine from overstimulation from the sheer amount of times Jungkook has made you cum tonight, and he reacts quickly, gently pulling away before turning you around.

His chest presses against your back, and you feel the weight of him behind you, “I’ll be quick,” he reassures with a kiss to your temple.

With his feet planted firmly against the floor, he thrusts upward, cock pounding in, balls slapping against your…other hole. His movements relentless. You can hear the sounds of his moans, fast and heavy, as he pushes himself closer to the edge.

You let out a gasp, and despite the overwhelming rush, he’s focused, consumed by his own need. He holds you firmly, both arms around your waist, his breath hot against your ear. “Take it,” he murmurs, the words filled with urgency.

"Fuck," Jungkook grunts in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

"Taking it so well." He starts thrusting harder, his hips slamming against your ass with each forceful drive inside you. "Your pussy belongs to me now. I'm going to use it however I want, whenever I want."

The dirty talk combined with the intense stimulation has you spiraling closer to the edge, your moans growing louder and more desperate. But Jungkook isn't ready to let you come again yet. He wants to watch you fall apart first.

Suddenly, he pulls out with urgency, your slick walls clenching around nothing. Your ass hits the cold, wet floor with a loud thud as he withdraws, the sensation jolting you out of your haze of pleasure. But before you can even register being pissed at him for stopping, he reaches down and rips the condom off his throbbing cock.

Jungkook starts fisting himself rapidly, his tatted arm flexing as he chases his release. With a low groan, he tilts his hips up and aims his cock at your face. Hot ropes of cum shoot out, coating your features - your lips, cheeks, nose, even your eyes. You can't help but gasp at the intensity of it, overwhelmed by the sight and smell of him marking you like this.

But Jungkook isn't done yet. Still sensitive from coming so hard, he pushes the tip of his cock against your soft, plush lips. "Open," he commands gruffly. As you part your lips, he smears his sticky cum all over them before pushing inside your mouth to deposit the rest on your tongue. "Clean me up,”

You dutifully suck him clean, hollowing your cheeks to draw out every last drop. Once he's satisfied, Jungkook lets out a shuddering sigh and gently caresses your face. "Beautiful," he murmurs admiringly.

Spent from his powerful orgasm, Jungkook helps you up from your knees, rests against you as you both catch your breath. You nuzzle your face against his softening cock, your only response a contented mewl.

When it’s over, the only sound in the room is the dripping of water and the jagged rhythm of your breaths.

Jungkook presses his forehead against yours, a lazy, satisfied grin tugging at his lips.

“Still tired?”

You would shove him if you could move.

——

After showering, you both move through his night routine effortlessly, like this is something you’ve done a hundred times before.

And maybe you have. Maybe not in this exact way, but the way he lets you exist in his space—undisturbed, welcomed, wanted—it’s enough to make your chest ache.

You open his bathroom drawer, reaching for his toothpaste, when—

You pause.

Your toothbrush is still there.

Tucked neatly in the corner, exactly where you left it the last time.

A quiet, warm feeling spreads through your chest.

You bite your lip, smiling down at it like an idiot.

Jungkook, already slathering on his absurdly expensive moisturizer, catches your expression in the mirror.

“What?” he asks, brow raised.

You look at him, giddy for no reason. “You kept my toothbrush?”

He blinks. Looks at the drawer. Then at you.

“Yeah?” His voice is flat, like he doesn’t get why this is a big deal. “I wasn’t gonna throw it away.”

You just stare at him.

And then—God, you wanna kiss him.

Jungkook notices. Because, of course, he does.

His lips curl into a smirk, but instead of teasing, he just grabs his serum.

“C’mere, baby.”

You blink. “What?”

He gestures you over, unscrewing the cap. “I know you wanna steal my skincare, might as well let me do it for you.”

Your heart squeezes.

The last time you were here, you made a throwaway comment about how one day, you were gonna steal all his expensive skincare.

And he remembered.

You let him tilt your chin up, his hands gentle as he works the product into your skin. His fingers move slow, precise, careful. He explains what each product does, but you stop listening.

Because you’re tired.

And you’re warm.

And you feel so fucking safe right now.

Jungkook notices.

Halfway through his sentence, he catches the way your blinks get slower, the way you sway slightly.

So he just—stops talking.

And takes care of you instead.

Quietly, effortlessly.

He dresses you in the hoodie you came in, slipping you into it with soft, careful hands. Leaves you just in your panties, because he guessed you like to sleep that way.

Then, he strips down to his briefs, scoops you up into his arms like you weigh nothing, and carries you to bed.

You instinctively nuzzle into his chest, body molding to him without thinking.

Jungkook laughs under his breath, setting you down, tucking the blanket over you.

Within seconds, you’re out.

And he—

He just lays there. Watching you. Thinking.

His heart is so fucking full, but so goddamn heavy.

You don’t know.

You don’t know he’s leaving in three weeks. That every time he touches you, every time he kisses you, teases you, makes you laugh, holds you like this—he’s counting down the days.

And he’s had enough of it.

Enough of lying, hiding, hurting you without you even knowing.

So he promises himself, right then and there—

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, he’ll tell you.

For now, he just pulls you closer, presses his lips to your hair, and lets himself fall asleep next to you.

Like he’ll get to do it forever.

[littleapocalypsekitten]

*Rolls eyes.* Just holy freakin' poo! I just came across on my Facebook-roll an advertisement, using an image from the Fallout TV series - the characters standing together - advertising a service to filter out from Netflix shows all of the "profanity, nudity and objectionable content" for people who do not want it / to make things family friendly... Well, putting aside that Fallout isn't on Netflix, it's an Amazon show... I looked in on the comments to see if it was a joke and I saw people saying "I'm a Pastor and this is a godsend!" and "what a great service!" - Probably bots. But anyway... WHY Fallout used as an example for censorship? WHY. JUST WHY??? It's like, excuse me. That show starts off with a nuclear explosion and an entire children's birthday party getting thrown through plate-glass windows and then cuts to a young woman living in a Vault putting in her qualifications to be a breeder and talking to a friend about not wanting to do "cousin stuff" anymore!!! And there's a (clothed) but very rauncy sex-scene right on (you do see man-butt, but he didn't wait for his bride to get out of her dress). And shortly afterward, the bloody violence starts... And there's people losing limbs and heads and a man having every player's reaction to their first meeting with a Yao Guai (mutant bear for those non-Fallout heads reading this): "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!!!" "Family friendly Fallout" is NOT Fallout! They're games / a series designed for us to lore-dive into an objectively horrible world, to explore the limits of ethical-questions in such a world and for those of us who are sick of Humanity in the real world to harmlessly let off stress by blowing fictional NPCs apart with rocket launchers, k? And if there's anyone out there who's like "But my kid plays the games and wants to see the show!!!" Um... do you pay attention to what your kids play? Mature rated games are rated mature for a reason! Children and the easily-offended are NOT the audience for Fallout! This ad had to not be for real. Probably links to a damn virus or something. False advertising at the least. I mean. Nope. Just no.

[uslia0702]

Get started with translation in Azure

You can use Azure AI Translator with a programming language of your choice or the REST API. You can use some of its features with Language Studio.

You can get started with Azure AI Speech with Speech Studio or a programming language of your choice or the REST API.

Azure resources for Azure AI Translator and Azure AI Speech

Before you can use Azure AI Translator or Azure AI Speech, you must provision appropriate resources in your Azure subscription.

There are dedicated Translator and Speech resource types for these services, which you can use if you want to manage access and billing for each service individually.

Alternatively, you can create an Azure AI services resource that provides access to both services through a single Azure resource, consolidating billing and enabling applications to access both services through a single endpoint and authentication key.

Using Azure AI Translator

Azure AI Translator includes the following capabilities:

Text translation - used for quick and accurate text translation in real time across all supported languages.

Document translation - used to translate multiple documents across all supported languages while preserving original document structure.

Custom translation - used to enable enterprises, app developers, and language service providers to build customized neural machine translation (NMT) systems.

Azure AI Translator's application programming interface (API) offers some optional configuration to help you fine-tune the results that are returned, including:

Profanity filtering. Without any configuration, the service will translate the input text, without filtering out profanity. Profanity levels are typically culture-specific but you can control profanity translation by either marking the translated text as profane or by omitting it in the results.

Selective translation. You can tag content so that it isn't translated. For example, you may want to tag code, a brand name, or a word/phrase that doesn't make sense when localized.

You can use Azure AI Translator in Azure AI Foundry, a unified platform for enterprise AI operations, model builders, and application development. The service is also available for use in Microsoft Translator Pro a mobile application, designed specifically for enterprises, that enables seamless real-time speech-to-speech translation.

Speech translation with Azure AI Speech

Azure AI Speech includes the following capabilities:

Speech to text - used to transcribe speech from an audio source to text format.

Text to speech - used to generate spoken audio from a text source.

Speech Translation - used to translate speech in one language to text or speech in another.

[freelancerrobelmiha]

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[b-lysia]

🖤 Just an egirl who thinks she's Socrates, doing; "⛓️💋🗡️🐦‍⬛🕸️🌹💦 Socialist Feminism." Welcome to another eye in the storm that is our world today.

THERE'S POEMS HERE, AND maybe music eventually. (I've gotta figure out a more serviceable mic set up, because blanket over my head and mic... Ain't it)

My professional nouns are: Fae/faer/faers or she/her if you're boring. I'm pretty though, so while we live under Patriarchy, either one is just as accurate.

Tags~

🗡️ #oddwords original poetry tag. Most stuff will get the normal tags anyway in hopes it breaches containment, but this tag is mine and I like it because it's cool.

🗡️ #egirl philosopher hottakes and "not essays." If I do proper research for anything or reference other writers I'll make more of a to do about it, but you can expect mostly just 2-3 paragraph "think pieces" here. This tag will still take you to a few posts, but I remembered that I made this blog FOR poetry, maybe lyrics & covers, not for political ranting. So don't expect to see much more of that here. But you can always read the old ones to get a better idea of what sorta person I am.

🗡️ #echoes is for when my voice is in a post. I might perform a poem, spit, or sing

🗡️ #songs I won't write lyrics, usually without music or voice. I usually think of them while I'm out grocery shopping

There's no reblog tag because they're too rare here.

I actually forgot this picture was still here. Idk wtf I was on leaving this up o(￣┰￣*)ゞ Have a black Maka Albarn redraw, (I don't remember the artist, please tell me; I'm sorry.)

Disclaimers n such under the cut 🗡️

I frequently touch on "heavy/dark" topics in my prose, because it's rare I find myself inspired to pen a verse over something "happy." I write poetry to share my heart as just as much as I shroud it, so heavy ideas'll frequently be layered under flowery prose, but I'm not censoring myself anymore than tumblr demands I do. If you're the type of person who "needs" a profanity filter unironically, you should probably work on that, but I'm not shrinking my space for you.

Positions/Major ideas and things to assume from me (so far):

I am a "lesbian(link)," an atheist(link), and I vibe with gender abolition and the performance theory of gender over the misuse of idpol. Saying that to say- I see gender as merely the qualia of patriarchy, and thus both inseparable from it, and detestable. But if we must use a form of gender at all, let its basis be founded in one's actions, not nebulous misunderstandings of biology or vibes.

TLDR: Trans people are my friends, not "radfems" (pathetic handmaidens). I like making erotic art\porn, and my customers aren't bad people for buying what I make either. Anyone who's worried about me being exploited as a sex object should be more concerned about capitalism, because I'd be a public hole if we lived in a socialist utopia; fuck all the way off you crypto conservative, self-righteous, anxiety ridden prudes; I hate your guts, and I'm 10 toes on that. Experience death by radical personal growth through introspection, or via a burnt pastry shower if this bothers you. I don't care which.

That's all. Thanks for reading 💋

[epistolizer]

Hit & Run Commentary #149

If a church inquires as to your vaccination status, reply "None of your business." If they persist beyond that, quit or never go back.

How she views people without a mask is the only rewiring Rachel Madcow needs in regards to her warped orientations and distorted predilections?

MSNBC propagandist Nicole Wallace remarked those refusing to acquiesce to the demands of Plague Cult alchemy do not have the right to basic human liberties because such pharmacological subversives are not sufficiently carrying their burden to society. Does she intend to direct such rhetorical iron in regards to the welfare deadbeats remaining on unemployment instead of accepting available employment?

At the Coast Guard Academy graduation, the Autarch praised an alleged Chinese proverb that women hold up half of the world. Ironic given the tendency of his idealized regime from which much of his family’s fortune is derived to eliminate babies whose only fault was having been born female.

In light of the Coronavirus Plague, are the conspicuously pious still reposting that asinine anecdote where the new pastor of a church emerges from the midst of the pewfillers disguised as a filthy vagrant to berate the congregation for failing to slobber all over him?

Would be ironic if a winner of one of the inoculation lotteries ended up having to spend the funds to provide for their long term care or fertility treatments resulting from an adverse reaction to Plague Cult alchemy.

The approach seems to be free market in allowing businesses to refuse goods and services to the unvaccinated, essentially blacklisting such individuals. Then on what grounds would it be inappropriate for such individuals to use their freedom in turn to promulgate a list of enterprises that take such a stand against individual bodily determination?

Migrant families should be reunited by sending illegal minors back to their country of origin rather than bringing unfit parents into the United States.

In an appearance on “Standing For The Truth”, Pastor Randy White lamented the increasing tendency of Christians to deny fellowship to those with whom they disagree. So does he intend to repudiate and repent of the things he said on another episode of the very same program against churches and ministries that had expressed a degree of support or enthusiasm for Roma Downey’s “A.D.” miniseries?

If protesters carry signs with language deemed inappropriate, the media should not blur the message. Aren’t these the liberals that any other time insist that such oppressed COMMUNITIES should not have their truth filtered through the standards of the colonizers?

Media propagandists insist that profanity on protest signs has to be blurred so as not to harm viewers at home. Is it about protecting viewers or out of concern that seeing such might shock the average American that usually doesn’t consider the implications of how this subversive element is attempting to implement a worldview formulated in the bowels of Sheol itself?

A Lincoln Project commercial intoned that, when Donald Trump emerged from beneath the White House, the President did not attempt to bring the nation together. At that point, it was not his job to do so. At that moment, his most important task was to quell the violence with the most expeditious means available.

Even on Fox News it was said that, despite riots, most demonstrations throughout the world were mostly peaceful. Sort of like saying that, given the number of actual deaths, most encounters between police and Black individuals are actually orderly and in accord with acceptable procedure.

An article in the Summer 2015 issue of the Futurist was titled “Transforming Society By Teaching Everyday People The Characteristics Of A Modern Hero”. What this really means is that the unsuspecting masses will be conditioned to do more for less pay. There are many lessons to be learned from beloved heroes such as “truth, justice, and the American way”. However, these very same cultural elites downplayed those very notions in one of the Superman films. And on “Stan Lee’s Who Wants To Be A Superhero?”, one of the contestants was dismissed early on for letting it slip that he was hoping his appearance could help him get his foot in the door of the movie or comics industry. Stan Lee himself admonished the contestant that being a hero was not about monetary reward. Yet elsewhere the aging fantasist was certainly vocal about compensation he perceived as having been cheated out of over the decades despite the fact that he eventually came to enjoy what cannot be described as anything other than a celebrity lifestyle.

You, common rabble, are to be so wracked with guilt regarding the environment that we are expected to forgo the blessings of the modern world such as vehicular travel, readily available meat, and air conditioning. However, that does not apply if you are a part of the elite taking it upon themselves to impose this compulsory sense of guilt upon the vast swaths of Western humanity. For example, Brian McLaren is so important that not only did he expend the resources necessary to travel to the Galapagos Islands in 2018 for the purposes of writing a book. Apparently it is his intentions at some point to return with a band of similarly-minded believers in tow that apparently need to travel nearly 3,000 miles around the world to contemplate why you have too much.

In response to assorted violations of her own plague cult edicts, the witch queen of Michigan’s replied, "I am human. I made a mistake, and I apologize.” See if that was good enough in cases of other residents likely roughed up by police for failure to comply with these draconian measures.

In contemplation of the mass murder incident at a California public transportation facility, Governor Gavin Newsom remarked when are “WE” going to lay down our guns? Does that include not only free citizens and the municipal police forces to be defunded in order to placate looting marauders but also higher-level state and federal law enforcement departments intending to impose revolutionary edicts such as those pertaining to lockdowns and resource redistribution? After all, these government bureaucracies are the ones hoarding and stockpiling ammunition to the point of shortages.

A commercial urging customers to switch to X-finity wireless depicts a woman saying that if your cellphone provider was a guy, you would have broken up with them by now. If such is simply to be dismissed as amusing wordplay, will there be a companion version of this advertisement urging men to dump their carrier like they would a non-compliant and nagging woman?

A Six Flags commercial depicts park visitors wearing masks on a roller coaster whereas those on a water slide are glimpsed with their visages dangling naked in the breeze. Dutiful adherents of conventional wisdom will likely respond that a wet mask would be too cumbersome and perhaps even an obstacle to satisfactory respiration. But if the plague is as deadly as the priestly guild having accrued around this microorganism insists, shouldn’t the aquatic attraction simply be closed until further notice?

Clinton and Obama Administrations functionary Leon Panetta, appearing on “Your World with Neil Cavuto”, astutely observed that America needs to take a number of steps to counter the repeated cyberattacks against the nation’s infrastructure essential to economic survival. Foremost among these is technical education and training. As an avowed Democrat, does Panetta intend to castigate his party over the resources squandered by the special interests and elites of that political organization in terms of pedagogy emphasizing transgenderism and critical race theory rather than countermeasures to actual security threats?

On an episode of the Kalb Report posted online 12/10/2012, journalists Marvin Kalb and Ted Koppel discussed the decline of objectivity in their particular profession. In remarking that Bill O’Reilly was once his student, Kalb quipped that he should have flunked him. But if the point of the discussion was how reporters and correspondents must rise above their individual biases when assessing evidence and situations, hasn’t Kalb failed to abide by the standard he is calling for if he regrets judging O’Reilly’s classroom performance in accord with that criteria rather than by what Kalb might feel about O’Reilly in other areas?

By Frederick Meekins

[clickvibes]

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[throwsahammer]

Ah, Angel Studios. Where to begin? Wikipedia says 2014 was the public launch of VidAngel, which was these (mormon) guys' initial business venture. Basically, you could buy a DVD copy of a movie or TV show that had a series of customizable censorship filters (profanity, nudity, violence, etc.) applied to it for $20, and then you could either keep it or sell it back within 24 hours for $19. Naturally, they got sued into bankruptcy in 2016 by a coalition of major studios (they claimed fair use, because since you had to enable at least one filter on any of "their" content, it counted as transformative.) They mostly operated as a local alternative to Netflix in Utah during this initial run. Their public perception among fellow Mormons was mostly positive, as most saw them as performing an invaluable service by enabling faithful latter-day saints to watch popular media without needing to hear any cussing. A few saw them as con-artists who were running a massive piracy operation and tempting otherwise righteous church members into engaging with worldly media by offering "clean" versions that were still haunted by the conspicuous absence of the removed elements.

During and after the lawsuit, VidAngel started diversifying their offerings. Dry Bar, their live standup show, offered a profanity and innuendo-free alternative to popular comedians. They offered their filter technology as a standalone subscription service that could be applied to other streaming platforms (though, hilariously, not the ones belonging to the studios suing them), and they split Angel Studios into its own label so that they wouldn't lose any of their original content (basically just the Dry Bar stuff at this point) to the looming bankruptcy. They then started building a library of predominantly faith-based films and local vanity projects and eventually branched out into true original content. And now we're roughly caught up to the present.

So, first of all, why does Tuttle Twins exist? Well, the simple answer is that Bluey fucking exploded into a multi-billion dollar intellectual property, and now everyone and their dog (heh) is trying to make the next one. The more complicated answer is that it's because Tuttle Twins already existed. The Tuttle Twins book series is written by a local (also mormon) guy from Lehi, and every book is an attempt to introduce kids to foundational and contemporary libertarian and conservative texts. A child-friendly version of 12 Rules for Life is there, alongside Leviathan and Atlas Shrugged. I haven't read them, but I'm really hoping that Karl Marx gets to be their time-traveling nemesis, and they have to go back in time to prevent him from unionizing the ancient Egyptians so that the pyramids still get built or something.

Anyway, a preexisting book series for anxious parents who want to combat "woke indoctrination" or whatever is perfect for adapting into an animated series. Utah also has a surprisingly robust animation industry

Let's Watch Libertarian Propaganda for Children for Some Reason

Hey everybody, look, it’s the Tuttle Twins!

Yeah, there they are. Zooping around on their time machine.

The Tuttle Twins is a streaming show from Angel Studios, the independent studio behind Sound of Freedom and various Christian and Christian-Adjacent movies. They’ve got some movie about Jesus out right now.

No, you can’t- The Buddy Christ thing isn’t- You don’t- 

Anyway, although I first heard about this cartoon from a youtube channel called “Fundie Fridays” The Tuttle Twins isn’t a Christian propaganda cartoon, it’s a Libertarian propaganda cartoon.

One that teaches kids how to buy Bitcoin!

After watching just the episode about Bitcoin, I wanted to watch and talk about some more episodes. And I sketched out a bit of an intro explaining what Libertarianism is in the minds of the people who created this show, but then I had a second thought.

“Am I just describing a straw-man libertarianism? Am I just paraphrasing these ideas in a way that I find easy to refute? Have I become the very Tuttle Twins I was trying to defeat?"

And then I watched the very first episode and their description of what they believe is pretty much word for word how I was going to explain it.

And hey, they put that episode up on youtube, we can watch it together!

(You can also watch season 1 and 2 and most of 3 for free on their slightly wonky app or web site, but there are a few full episodes on youtube as well)

Or you could skip it and read my amazing summary below!

Anyway, after a brief cold open that sees the twins hurtling through dimensions, and a pretty cute gag we cut to our entrepreneurial twins selling lemonade. The science-minded Emily is using it fund a trip to science camp, and Ethan is using it to fund his purchase of an enormous gummy bear. 

Until, that is, they are confronted by Karinne.

Likes: Fiat Currency, Communism, sweater vests. Dislikes: Freedom

I gotta be honest, I don’t totally get Karinne, she’s kind of a foil or frenemy for the main characters, and she comes off kind of preppy coded, sort of the snobbish rich kid used to getting what she wants, but y’all are libertarians, you shouldn’t be shaming her for the fact that her parents are Randian producers. 

Honestly I am eternally fascinated by kids show characters whose job is to be constantly wrong, but after watching a few episodes I don’t really have a clear read on her. Sometimes she tags along on an adventure and acts as an ideological foil for the kids, but so far I've seen her argue for fiat currency, religious intolerance, the NSA, and using the power of the president for self-enrichment. So... Uh... Not the raging communist I was lead to expect, put it that way.

Also there is a running joke for the first season where people keep pronouncing her name “Karen” and I don’t know if the joke is she’s supposed to be kind of a Karen in the slang sense? But honestly when I picture the kind of mother who would show this show to her kids… People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, that’s all I’m saying.

Anyway, it turns out Karinne is the president of the “Cul-de-sac Kids Club” and last night she held a meeting to amend the laws of the kids club to allow the president to have as much lemonade as she wants, so she has some lackeys just cart away all of the lemonade, leaving our heroes without a way to earn money in the glorious American free market economy, what with the means of production having been confiscated and all.

The good news, though, is that Grandma is moving in! Along with her pet, and very specifically not tame raccoon Derek, who was banned from her previous dwelling by the HOA because, quote, “HOAs are full of communists”. Someone should put that on a shirt and sell plush toys of that raccoon.

I do enjoy the fact that her first impulse on hearing that Karinne is going to confiscate the lemonade is to slingshot a bar of soap at her head:

Don’t worry, she doesn’t actually assault a child.

Anyway, that night as the twins are lamenting the loss of they hear the noise of an acetylene welding torch coming from their grandmother’s room.

It turns out she made her mobility scooter into a gadget-laden time machine, so our show has a premise now. Huzzah!

After a series of actually pretty good gags, the kids end up in France, 1848 to meet with Frédéric Bastiat, who I was not previously aware of but who appears to be one of the founding figures of modern libertarian ideology.

Apparently American politics these days are all your fault you french son of a gun. Also wow they drew your hand wrong in this frame.

And he describes what I was going to describe about the libertarian moral foundations of this show.

“My book is about the idea that laws should protect our God-given rights or ‘Natural rights’. Having rights means there are some things you can do, and nobody is allowed to stop you!”

Specifically, rights to life, to liberty (Meaning the right to do what we want so long as it doesn’t take away another person’s rights) and to own property.

And to be clear, and this is explained later in the episode, these are very negative rights. The role of the government is not to ensure that you have any specific amount of property, liberty or life. Rather, you have to gather as much as you are able by your own lights, and the government’s sole role is to prevent other people from taking whatever property you have or abrogating your liberties or killing you.

Does that mean that taxation for the public good is the same as theft?

You betcha, which is what we learn in the next part of the show. A part which is largely so boring that I can't be bothered to screencap it.

The time machine runs out of “Knowledge Juice” and strands them in an Old West Town. Knowledge Juice is the fuel for the time machine, it’s a green goo that goes down when they travel through time, and up when they explain that they’ve learned something. And it’s a plot device that I think they eventually get rid of just because it gets kind of redundant.

Actually I’ll just sort of go over the formula of the show. 

The kids have some more or less relatable real world problem;

Grandma takes them back in time to meet a historical figure who tells them about some libertarian principle;

On the way back the time machine runs out of knowledge juice in some fantastical situation;

The kids solve the situation using their new libertarian knowledge;

They refill the knowledge juice reserves by explaining what they learned;

They then go back home and use what they learned to solve their ordinary kid problem.

Just from a story structure perspective the part where they refill the knowledge juice is extremely redundant; It would be more elegant to just have them explain the lesson to the other kids when they solve their problem at the end of the episode. I think eventually they figured that out.

Arguably, if you really wanted to condense things you’d have the kids go on a historical adventure with the historical figure, then come back to the present and explain what they learned and apply it to their current situation, but the reason they have sections 3 and 4 is because those are usually where the crazy cartoon stuff comes in, they end up in some alternate fantasy dimension or shrunk down and fighting a worm war, or something fun like that.

Except for this pilot episode, where parts 3-5 just take place in a generic old west town. Not really starting with a bang honestly.

Basically, the Sheriff fights off two cattle rustling bandits, who then return in the guise of tax men, taking cows away from an innocent rancher to use for business subsidies and charity, which isn’t fair because the law is supposed to protect her property, and anyway the rancher gives cows to charity sometimes already.

Since taxation is theft, the kids lobby to get the laws changed, and after an amusing title card that says,

The whole town has voted to repeal the taxes and they capture the rustlers, huzzah!

Anyway, the Tuttle Twins go back home, and call an emergency meeting of the Cul-de-sac kids club to hold a vote to repeal the law that allows the President to have as much lemonade as she wants. Of course, the vote goes their way…

Which is when Karinne reveals her trump card, which is that the club by-laws allow the President a unilateral veto over any proposed amendments to the club rules.

Furthermore, she points out that the Kids Club is not a government organization, but a private one which is simply a contractual relationship that the twins entered freely. And since the government’s job is to enforce contracts and protect private property, the twins will be arrested if they try to violate the contract by taking any of Karinne’s honestly earned lemonade.

Yeah kids, that’s right. Have grandma teleport you back to talk to Murray Rothbard, he’ll explain it to you.

Okay okay I made all that up. I'll stop arguing politics with a children's cartoon.

They successfully overturn the rule but give everybody in the club a glass of lemonade on the house anyway to show there’s no hard feelings.

So, this episode is not that out there. Something I can’t get across in summary is that there are a lot of classic cartoon gags, and a lot of them land. I’ve watched a few episodes of this show now and smiled at a lot of gags and laughed out loud once or twice. As much as I don’t agree with a lot of the ideology behind it it’s not something that was tossed out there.

The animation quality of any given shot varies quite a lot, but there is some attention to the animation, visual gags and comedy timing as well as some funny writing. This isn’t a half-assed scam or complete amateur nonsense, this is clearly made by people who are trying to make something genuinely good outside of its propaganda purpose.

That said, I obviously have some issues with the show.

Honestly going in I thought my biggest problem with this show would be ideological disagreement. And don’t get me wrong, there’s some stuff in this show that I strongly disagree with, but there are quite a few episodes with perfectly fine messages. There’s an episode where they get into a prank war at science camp and eventually it starts wrecking the science projects so Ghandi teaches them about de-escalation. Rosa Parks talks about civil disobedience and how sometimes you should disobey unjust laws, but you should always be aware of the consequences beforehand and think carefully about how and when you should do it. There’s an episode where they talk about respecting different religious traditions and how the government shouldn’t mandate or prevent any religion.

I agree with all of that, even if some of that is something that kids won’t really get to put into practice much.

My big problem is that even though there are gags in the historical parts, this show suffers a problem that a lot of educational shows do, which is that it feels like it stops dead to lecture you about something and you have to just sit through that until the fun bits start up again. The historical figures tend to be heavily simplified in a way that some people might object to, but I think the bigger issue is that this simplification makes their stories less compelling.

You’re not so much living through a recreation of the exciting things the historical figures did so much as listening to them talk about what they did. It’s a real “tell, don’t show” approach that makes about a third of every episode really kind of dull unless it’s one of the episodes where what they’re telling you is batshit crazy.

So if you’re going to watch it for camp value, I really don’t recommend starting with the first episode or trying to watch it in order, I’d just scan the episode summaries and watch one that sounds crazy to you. There are at least two that try to sell Bitcoin to children. There’s a few genuinely bananas episodes and ideas to gawk at if you’re into that kind of thing like I am, but there’s a lot of fairly bland episodes.

And talking about how viewers will view the show…

I have had to accept in my heart that I have no idea who this show is made for.

It has a lot of parallels to American Christian pop culture programs, but like, okay, so right-wing American Christians have built this entire parallel media ecosystem because they’re paranoid that Hollywood secularists are going to corrupt their kids with secularism and paganism. I knew a guy once who said when he was a kid his parents made him stop watching Tiny Tunes because they saw one of the characters meditating, but that’s okay, he could still watch McGee and Me.

Now, I don’t agree with that kind of strict parental thought control, it is at least internally consistent. A lot of parts of the Bible are about devout Godly people being corrupted by worldly concerns or religious apostasy, going at least back to the worship of the Golden Calf in Exodus. And the right wing Christians who are worried about media corruption think any deviation from their theology is a threat to a person’s immortal soul.

So the impulse to shield your child from any media that even slightly questions or contradicts your own views isn’t good, but at least it’s theologically consistent and in keeping with the Bible.

Meanwhile, if you find yourself saying, “As a staunch libertarian and tireless advocate for personal freedom, I believe in strictly controlling what my children are allowed to watch or think.” Like…

You know come on and think for a second about what you’ve just said.

The kind of paranoia about controlling your children’s worldview that would make someone want to watch this really doesn’t seem to me to be in keeping with, well, uh, the actual values espoused in the show.

So I kind of don’t know how to feel about it. Personally, I would never expose a child to this on purpose unless they were old enough to ask some very critical questions about what they were hearing.

On the other hand, when I imagine the kind of person who is going to show this to their kids… I kind of almost wonder if most of the other stuff those kids are seeing is a lot worse. I can kind of imagine a very earnest child taking this stuff seriously enough to start questioning some controlling parent or religious authority.

So I really just don’t know. If anybody has any insight into the culture of the people who watch this kind of thing, I’d be really curious.

[kd8bxp]

Liked on YouTube: Can I Drive a Voice Controlled Car?

Can I Drive a Voice Controlled Car? Ad: Thanks for Deepgram for sponsoring this video. Try Deepgram for free and get $150 of credit: https://ift.tt/ISZLq3U Deepgram has a speech recognition API that lets developers get fast and accurate transcripts for both pre-recorded and live audio. Deepgram has a whole set of SDKs to make it even easier to get started in your language of choice. Features include profanity filtering, redaction, and individual speaker detection to make your transcripts as useful as possible. Deepgram can be run locally or using the Deepgram cloud service. I’m going to be using the cloud service with this Raspberry Pi computer to control some hardware. But first I need to build something! CAD & Code: https://ift.tt/vyGH2e4 You can support me on Patreon or buy my Merchandise: *************************** Patreon: https://ift.tt/3Er7iYZ Merchandise: https://ift.tt/oMXk0sh *************************** Affiliate links - I will get some money of you use them to sign up or buy something: *************************** Matterhackers 3D printing supplies: https://ift.tt/0ha1bFA Music for your YouTube videos: https://ift.tt/0fMyVnQ *************************** Other socials: *************************** Instagram: https://ift.tt/fFrgIU4 Facebook: https://ift.tt/CKiQh73 Twitter: https://twitter.com/xrobotsuk *************************** CAD and Code for my projects: https://ift.tt/R15LylN Huge thanks to my Patrons, without whom my standard of living would drastically decline. Like, inside out-Farm Foods bag decline. Plus a very special shoutout to Lulzbot, Inc who keep me in LulzBot 3D printers and support me via Patreon. HARDWARE/SOFTWARE Below you can also find a lot of the typical tools, equipment and supplies used in my projects: Filament from: https://www.3dfuel.com/ Lulzbot 3D Printers: http://bit.ly/2Sj6nil Bearings from: https://ift.tt/vnkgzp1 Lincoln Electric Welder: https://bit.ly/2Rqhqos CNC Router: https://bit.ly/2QdsNjt Ryobi Tools: http://bit.ly/2RhArcD Axminster Micro Lathe: http://bit.ly/2Sj6eeN 3D Printer Filament: http://bit.ly/2PdcdUu Soldering Iron: http://bit.ly/2DrNWDR Vectric CNC Software: http://bit.ly/2zxpZqv Why not join my community, who are mostly made up of actual geniuses. There’s a Facebook group and everything: https://ift.tt/xiXrKGk XROBOTS Former toy designer, current YouTube maker and general robotics, electrical and mechanical engineer, I’m a fan of doing it yourself and innovation by trial and error. My channel is where I share some of my useful and not-so-useful inventions, designs and maker advice. Iron Man is my go-to cosplay, and 3D printing can solve most issues - broken bolts, missing parts, world hunger, you name it. XRobots is the community around my content where you can get in touch, share tips and advice, and more build FAQs, schematics and designs are also available. via YouTube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k-0nsVijPaU

[justarkive]

TABLE 3 | JJK ch8

“For good service, and cute waitresses.”

pairing: pre!military jk x waitress/secret fuckbuddy!oc

warnings: profanity, smut, FLUFF. FUCKING FLUFFFFFFFF GODDDDD, they cuddle ;(, oc getting overwhelmed by it all:(, jungkook really fucking likes her, hes so reassuring:(

smut warnings: morning sexxx!! f!recieving oral, teasing, dry humping, nipple play, kissing, making out, jungkook cums in his boxers.

wc: short and sweet but it really is enough

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020

a/n: its finally here. they finally fuck (kinda?) oh my god. i rlly wanted to emphasize that they didnt need to be drunk to fuck for the first time, and morning sex i felt rlly suited this couple :). they are so sweet together tho;(

masterlist < prev | next >

Jungkook wakes up slowly, blinking against the soft morning light that pours through the gap in the curtains. The bed feels emptier than it did last night, but your arm is still tightly wrapped around his waist, as though you’re holding onto him even in your sleep. He can’t help but move you just a little, his body shifting to face yours, feeling the pull to get closer.

He adjusts, his chest pressing against yours, and before he knows it, you’re fully cuddling—still fast asleep, your soft breaths rising and falling in a rhythm that calms him. He smiles a little, marveling at how natural it feels, how right. The way your body fits against his so easily, like it was meant to be this way. His hand rests on your back, and he takes a moment to just breathe you in, the warmth of your skin against his, the feeling of being so close to you.

He watches you for a long while, his eyes tracing the curve of your face, the way the light hits your skin, casting a soft glow over you. Your hair is messy, sprawled out in every direction, and your face is smushed into the pillow, soft lines marking where you’ve slept. You probably think you look a mess right now, maybe even ugly, but Jungkook can’t help but think you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

You look so peaceful in your sleep, so genuine, and he just… can’t look away. The simple beauty of you, so raw and real, pulls him in. He watches the rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips part slightly, how your eyelashes flutter with every breath, and he feels something tighten in his chest.

It’s almost as if time slows down, and he loses track of how long he’s been staring. His fingers brush against your arm, feeling the warmth of your skin, and he wonders if you’re even aware of how perfect you are, even in your sleep.

He gets lost in the moment, your soft breathing in his ear, the steady comfort of you next to him. It’s too quiet. Too… perfect. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to break the spell.

And then, just as he thinks he could stay like this forever, you stir. You shift a little, your body moving against his, and Jungkook pulls away just enough so that you can wake up properly, not wanting to startle you. His heart races, but he tries to act casual, his gaze softening as he watches you slowly blink your eyes open.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse from sleep. He can’t help but grin. He’s never felt more at ease in someone’s presence before.

You wake up with a start, the soft light of morning filtering through the window and illuminating Jungkook’s face. For a second, you’re completely disoriented, unsure of where you are or why everything feels so… comfortable. Your body is still wrapped around his, your arm tightly around his waist. His warmth presses against you, and your chest instinctively rises and falls with his.

Your eyes widen as you process everything, panic suddenly seizing you.

“You stayed?” you ask, your voice thick with confusion, panic setting in. “What about Bam—oh my god,” you stutter, the weight of the situation crashing down on you.

Jungkook chuckles softly, his lips brushing against the top of your head as he breathes out, trying to calm you down. “Relax,” he says, his voice low and soothing. “I told Taehyung to take care of him. I wanted to stay.”

You freeze for a second, your heart racing as the truth sinks in. He actually stayed. And as you finally realize how close your bodies are—how tangled up you both are—you feel the heat rush to your face. You can’t remember the last time you felt so at ease with someone, this close, this… intimate.

Before you can process anything further, Jungkook gently pulls your body against his, guiding you to lay up on his lap. His hands hold you firmly, and there’s a kind of possessiveness in the way he holds you, but not in a way that makes you uncomfortable—just in a way that feels natural.

“Relax,” he repeats, and you don’t have it in you to pull away, even though part of you is freaking out internally.

You shift a bit, your face burning from the closeness, but you can’t help but stay where you are. It feels like… like you’ve never been in a moment quite like this before, and the way Jungkook watches you, eyes soft but filled with something unspoken, makes your stomach flutter.

His arms stay wrapped around you, not allowing you to retreat from the closeness, and you don’t even want to.

It feels too good, too right.

You sit in silence, listening to something Jungkook’s faintly humming, you could almost fall asleep- almost.

And that’s when you feel it, theres something pressing against your lower stomach. You seem to be the only one who notices out of the pair of you, since Jungkook seems distracted in stroking your head until you move your hips subtly, and his fingers tighten around the side of your waist and his breath is suddenly hitching.

You move your hips, slowly. Testing the waters, head still on his chest. There’s no form of protest from him, and his heart beats a little faster against your cheek. You let out a breath when your clothed clit brushes against his semi deliciously, and that’s when he breaks the silence.

“Y/N-“ You shush him with a rougher press of your pussy to his bulge, which you’re sure is fully hard now. “Do you want to?” You make sure to question, letting him have a say before things go too far.

You look up at him from his chest, sitting up now. Now you’re looking directly over him, his lips are parted, breathing clipped. His hair is messy from sleep, and his face is puffy from it too.

And you swear you could just bounce on it right there-

“Yeah… I just- I don’t want you to feel like were doing things fast, I wanna do this right, I wanna make everything right-“

You shush him, placing a quick peck on his lips—so brief it’s almost like it didn’t happen. But the softness of his lips against yours is a sensation that lingers, like a whisper in your mind. It’s enough to drive you mad.

“Kiss me, please,” you whisper, breathless, the words leaving you before you can stop them.

His eyes darken with a mix of hunger and something else, something more tender. He smirks before pulling your face down into his, your lips meeting in a fierce, heated clash.

It’s like the world shifts on its axis the moment your mouths connect for the first time. The warmth of his lips floods you, his hands grasping at the back of your head, pulling you closer, your body instinctively pressing into his. The kiss isn’t gentle or slow. It’s raw, desperate, like you both need it more than air itself.

His tongue brushes against your bottom lip, and you let out a soft gasp, feeling the heat coil tighter in your chest. His lips move against yours with a fervor that makes your pulse race. Everything else fades into the background—nothing exists but the feeling of him, the taste of him, his presence consuming you.

You can’t help but lose yourself in it. His hands trail down your back, fingers pressing into your skin like he’s afraid you might slip away if he lets go. His body responds to you in ways you hadn’t imagined, pulling you even closer, and you melt into him, your hands finding their way to his hair, tugging him deeper into the kiss.

He groans softly into your mouth, and it sends a rush of heat through you, a want you’ve never felt before, something you didn’t even know you craved until this very moment.

You pull back for just a breath, your forehead resting against his as you both try to catch your breath. His chest rises and falls under you, and the connection between you feels so raw, so real. You don’t need words right now, just the heat of his skin against yours and the promise of what might come next.

“Wow.” You laugh a bit, breathing against his own mouth. Inhaling what he exhales, sharing breaths.

The whole mood suddenly changes when your hips start rocking even faster against his hard bulge, letting out little whimpers against his lips. You feel it- his hesitation, it’s obvious and you notice it. The way his arms are awkwardly resting against your hips, so you encourage him. Bring his hands up to your breasts, squeeze them and let him take over.

And suddenly, he’s not so shy anymore. Something in him snaps, it’s carnal. He’s frantically pulling your shirt off, clipping your bra off with too much familiarity that you try to ignore and the heat of the moment is enough to tell you- It’s not that serious.

He’s pulling at your hardened nipples, staring you down while you grind on him, letting out his own clipped breaths as he squeezes your full mounds. The vision of you rocking back and forth is far better than he’d ever imagined at home. Yes, you weren’t the only one.

“Shit, are you gonna take the shorts off? Hmm? Wanna feel you, wanna feel you so bad.” He’s needy with it. Almost begging, but his voice exudes a confidence that has you sliding your shorts and panties off immediately. You moan at his words, he’s so fucking hot and you might die today. And it’s only like… 9am!

The tables have turned. You find yourself underneath Jungkook, he’s fully clothed still, and you’re butt naked, but for some reason- it makes you even fucking wetter.

He’s palming the bulge in his boxers, sliding his sweats off and gripping the base through the material. “You’re so pretty- Better than i’d ever imagine. I’m so fucking hard-”

A pool of precum leaks through where his tip is on his boxers, you whimper, physically unable to reply. He’s so fucking cocky in every way possible and you just need that dick stuffed down your throat-

Suddenly, he’s crawling down, kissing your body. The butterflies are going at war in your stomach, you feel the cool of his lip ring contrast with the warmth of his lips against your skin.

He start’s at your neck, pecking it a few times, you loll your head back, letting out loud, sweet moans, making his cock twitch in whatever fucking room there is in his tight boxers.

Your heart flutters at the way he truly takes his time, hes delicate and rough at the same time, as if he’d break you. But he wouldn’t, and you know it. He can’t- far too sweet for it, and Jungkook isn’t so sure he has the physical ability to break you anyway.

“You’re so beautiful- So sweet, I could kiss you all day-“ It sounds like pure dirty talk, but you can tell when he presses a kiss between your breasts that he means far more than what he’s making it out to be.

He moves on to your breasts next. He moves slow- it almost makes you lose your mind, but you wouldn’t change anything how he’s making you feel for the world.

He licks, nibbles and plays with your nipples for a bit, leaving saccharine sweet kisses around your breasts, showing equal love to both. Until you physically can’t take the pressure between your legs anymore and you’re pushing him down to your dripping pussy with your hands.

He doesn’t protest, however.

You feel the his warm breath skim over your wet folds, squirming at the little contact your pussy’s finally recieving. “Patience, baby.”

He goes in slow, like he’s been doing the whole time. Pressing three long kisses to your mound, he watches for your reaction and he smirks when your head is thrown back against the pillows.

And finally.

After what feels like a million years.

His hand’s reach the top of your thighs, and his fingers part your lips, exposing your clit. You feel a jolt of electricity run through your body as his fingers touch you, and you know you're on the edge already. He look’s at your pussy in absolute awe, convinced that it’s the “Prettiest pussy i’ve ever seen…”

Jungkook looks up at you to find your eyes looking at his, his eyes locked on yours. "You're so wet," he whispers, his voice full of awe. "I love it."

He dips his head down, his tongue flicking out to touch your clit. You feel a scream building in your throat as his tongue moves, teasing you, taunting you. It’s quick, but the jolts of pleasure that shoot through your body aren’t.

"Fuck, Jungkook-," you beg, your hands reaching down to grab his hair. It’s so soft, and you make a mental note to ask him what hair products he uses later. “Please,“

Jungkook looks up at you, a sly smile spreading across his face. "Not yet, baby," he whispers. "I'm just getting started. Wanna make you beg for it."

He dips his head back down, his tongue moving in slow, languid strokes. You feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, but Jungkook is holding back, teasing you, making you wait.

You're writhing on the bed, your hips arching up, your hands grabbing at Jungkook's hair. You're begging him, pleading with him to make you come, but he's just laughing, his tongue moving in slow, torturous strokes.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Jungkook looks up at you, his eyes locked on yours. "Ready?" he whispers.

You nod, your heart racing, your body on fire. "Yeah," you beg. "Make me come."

Jungkook smiles, his tongue flicking out to touch your clit one last time. And then, in one swift motion, he dips his head down, his mouth closing over your pussy, his tongue moving in fast, furious strokes.

You feel yourself explode, your body convulsing, your scream echoing through the room. Jungkook groans into your pussy and you could’ve swore it was the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced in your life, his mouth still moving, his tongue still teasing you.

You realise he’s fucking his cock into the bed and it turns you on even more- if that’s even possible. “Shit!”

Jungkook eats your pussy like it’s his last fucking meal, his fingers teasing your hole as his tongue just ravages your little clit, and you cant help the obnoxious moans that come out.

It’s when he holds your free hand on the bed, rubbing your other hole that you cum. You shove his face deeper into your pussy, grinding frantically against his face- using him. And you can tell he’s fucking loving it- The way his hips stutter against the bed, and how he holds your thighs possessively against his face, moving your waist- encouraging you.

“Jungkook-“ He dosent let up. Going at the same speed. His face doesn’t leave your pussy until you physically have to pry him off from overstimulation, and you regret it immediately- missing the warmth of his lips.

The air between you is thick with something unspoken—something warm, electric, and completely intoxicating. Your body still hums, oversensitive and overwhelmed, your breath uneven as you try to ground yourself in the present.

When he finally detaches from your pussy, he kisses you- slow, deep. You look down and realise the bulge in his pants isnt as prominent anymore, and you realise- he came while eating you out.

——

Jungkook is still pressed against you, his chest rising and falling in sync with yours, the heat of his body keeping you cocooned in something that feels almost unreal. His arms are lazily draped around you, holding you close but not too tightly, his touch gentle, absentmindedly stroking circles into your skin like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

It’s quiet. A comfortable, blissful kind of quiet. Neither of you rush to fill the space with words because there’s nothing that needs to be said. The warmth between you speaks volumes on its own.

You close your eyes, sinking into the moment, the soft rhythm of his breathing lulling you. You almost expect him to get up—to pull away, mumble something about needing to leave, to create some kind of space between you. But he doesn’t. He stays right where he is, his thumb still brushing against your waist absentmindedly, his lips pressing against the top of your head as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You blink up at him, taking in the sight of his messy, dark hair sticking to his forehead, the way his lips are parted slightly as he exhales, completely unrushed. You realize, then, that he’s not in any hurry to leave.

And for some reason, that makes your heart ache a little.

You exhale softly, shifting against him, and his grip tightens instinctively, like he’s making sure you don’t go anywhere.

A small, breathless laugh escapes you. “You’re really not leaving, huh?”

Jungkook hums against your skin, shaking his head just slightly. “Don’t wanna.”

Your stomach flutters, the simplicity of his answer making something warm spread through your chest. You don’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t this—not the way he’s still looking at you like you’re something to be treasured, not the way he’s still tracing invisible patterns onto your hip like he’s memorizing the shape of you, not the way he doesn’t seem like he has anywhere else to be but right here, with you.

You let out a soft, content sigh, letting your fingers dance along his forearm, trailing up toward his shoulder. “You’re really warm.”

He chuckles, voice thick with exhaustion and something else, something softer. “You’re really tiny.”

You snort, smacking his chest lightly, but he just laughs again, his hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before resting against the curve of your jaw.

The way he looks at you makes your breath hitch.

It’s so different from the heated, desperate way he was looking at you just moments ago. This is softer, more delicate—like he’s afraid to break whatever this is between you.

His thumb brushes over your cheek, and he leans in slightly, pressing a barely-there kiss to the corner of your lips.

“Feeling okay?” he murmurs, voice low, gentle.

You nod against him, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. “Yeah. You?”

His lips curl into a small smile. “More than okay.”

The silence that follows is warm, easy. He pulls you even closer, your face buried into his chest, and you let him. You let yourself fall into the feeling of being held, of being wanted in a way that doesn’t feel fleeting or rushed.

But the moment shifts, something in his posture changing as his fingers gently slide away from your skin. You blink up at him in confusion, but before you can ask anything, Jungkook’s voice breaks through.

“Can you stand?” he asks, his voice soft but full of concern, his eyes scanning your face, looking for any sign of discomfort.

You pause, blinking at him. “Uh… yeah?”

Without waiting for further confirmation, he carefully shifts his weight, sliding his arms under you in one smooth motion, lifting you with surprising ease. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck as he cradles you against him, moving like he’s done this a thousand times, but with the kind of gentleness that makes you feel like you’re the most fragile thing in the world. His muscles flex as he adjusts your weight, and you find yourself sinking into the warmth of his embrace, your body a perfect fit against his.

“I’ll get you to the chair,” he murmurs softly, his tone more soothing than anything.

You don’t even protest as he carries you across the room, and when he gently sets you down into the desk chair, he’s careful to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible. He adjusts your legs and makes sure you’re settled, almost like he’s studying the way your body reacts to every small movement. The room feels even quieter now, as if the space between you has become this sacred, unspoken thing.

Jungkook then moves to your dresser, pulling out clothes as if he knows exactly what to do, like he’s been here a thousand times, though you know this is all new to him. He hands you a fresh change of clothes—soft sweatpants and a hoodie—and waits patiently as you slip them on, his eyes lingering on you only for a moment before they flicker away in what feels like respect.

When he returns, the sheets have been stripped, the old ones tossed aside, and the bed is freshly made, though the room still holds that lingering warmth from the night. He doesn’t say anything, just moves around with a purpose, adjusting things until he seems satisfied. His quiet presence is enough, though, and you can’t help but watch him, feeling a swell of affection for the care he’s showing without asking for anything in return.

Finally, he makes his way back to you, sitting beside you in the chair, his hand gently resting on your knee. His eyes meet yours again, that same soft intensity in them.

“Feeling alright?” he asks once more, the sincerity of his voice making you feel completely seen.

You smile softly, giving a small nod, warmth spreading through you. “Yeah… I’m good.”

He gives a soft smile in return, leaning in close to brush your hair from your face, his thumb grazing your cheek. The simple act feels like an unspoken promise, a promise that this—whatever this is between you—will continue, unhurried and real.

But then, Jungkook stands, offering his hand to you with a quiet gesture.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice still soft.

You reach out to take his hand, allowing him to help you back onto your feet. This time, instead of guiding you to a chair, he gently leads you back to the bed, pulling the covers back with one hand and helping you back in with care. You settle back against the pillows, the warmth of the sheets surrounding you like a cocoon, and Jungkook slips in beside you, pulling the covers over both of you.

He doesn’t say anything as he lies down beside you, but his presence is all-encompassing. His arm slips around your waist as he tugs you closer, your head resting on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. It’s as if the world has narrowed down to just this moment, to just the two of you, and in his embrace, everything feels right.

Jungkook shifts slightly, adjusting until he’s comfortable, and you settle back into the warmth of his body, a sense of peace settling over you.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulls back to look at you, his eyes soft and gentle.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, feeling your heart settle into the rhythm of his breathing. In his arms, you feel something more than comfort—you feel cared for, wanted in a way that’s both tender and real. You let out a soft sigh, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

And for a moment, you let yourself believe in this, in him, and in whatever this is between you.

The silence that follows is warm, easy. He pulls you even closer, your face buried into his chest, and you let him. You let yourself fall into the feeling of being held, of being wanted in a way that doesn’t feel fleeting or rushed.

And as your breathing evens out, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, you could let yourself have this.

Just for a little while.

——

You don’t know when you drifted off, but when you wake up, you feel warm.

It takes you a second to register where you are, the familiar scent of your sheets mingling with something distinctly Jungkook—something comforting, something that makes your stomach flutter before your brain can fully catch up.

Your bed is empty.

Your brows knit together, fingers unconsciously searching for the warmth that was beside you just moments ago.

Then you hear it—the faint clatter of something from the kitchen, the low hum of a voice, and the distinct smell of… food?

Your heart stutters.

You drag yourself out of bed, still groggy, the events of earlier catching up to you in waves as you pad down the hall. Your limbs feel heavy, your mind sluggish, but then—

Then you see him.

Standing in your kitchen, hair messy from sleep, wearing the same sweatpants from last night. He’s hunched over the stove, humming something under his breath, one hand holding a spatula while the other rubs at his chest as if he’s just woken up himself.

The sight is enough to make your breath catch.

You lean against the doorway, watching him struggle for a second longer before you say, “What the hell are you doing?”

Jungkook jumps slightly, turning around with wide eyes before his face splits into a sheepish grin.

“Oh, you’re up.”

You give him a look. “Yeah, because someone is making a racket in my kitchen.”

He huffs a small laugh, turning back to the stove. “I was trying to make breakfast.”

You blink at him. “You were what?”

Jungkook shrugs, poking at whatever’s in the pan. “I didn’t really know what you had, so I just… made the best of it.” He turns to the counter, motioning toward a plate that looks like an attempt at scrambled eggs and toast. “I think it’s edible?”

Your heart is doing something ridiculous in your chest.

You step forward, peering at his so-called breakfast. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I wanted to.”

And that’s what does it.

Because of course he wanted to. Because he’s Jungkook, and he does things like this. Because he stayed the night without a second thought, because he made sure you were okay, because he’s standing here in your kitchen, looking completely at home, cooking you breakfast like this is the most normal thing in the world.

Like he belongs here.

And that thought is what suddenly makes your chest feel tight.

It’s too much.

The night before. His hands, his mouth, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. The way he stayed, the way he wants to be here, the way he’s just so effortlessly treating you like you’re worth waking up next to, worth cooking breakfast for. And that you’re more than just his waiter that he flirted with off one too many drinks.

You don’t realize how quiet you’ve gone until he’s in front of you, brows furrowed, head tilting slightly as he studies you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “What’s wrong?”

You blink up at him, swallowing past the sudden lump in your throat. “Nothing.”

Jungkook doesn’t look convinced. He takes the plate from your hands, setting it down before cupping your face gently, thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “Talk to me.”

You let out a shaky breath, forcing a small smile. “It’s just… a lot.”

His gaze searches yours, and for a second, you think he’s going to push, but he doesn’t. Instead, he nods, like he understands.

“Come here,” he says simply, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest.

You let yourself sink into him, fingers gripping onto his waist as you bury your face into his skin. He’s warm—so, so warm, and the steady beat of his heart against your cheek is enough to make the tightness in your chest loosen just a little.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, swaying slightly. “I feel you, you don’t have to overthink anything, okay? Just… let me take care of you.”

Your eyes squeeze shut.

Because that’s the thing—you’re not used to this. You’re not used to someone wanting to take care of you.

But Jungkook does.

And that terrifies you.

But it also makes you want to let yourself have this—just for a little while.

Just for as long as he’ll stay.

Breakfast is slow.

Not in a bad way—just in the kind of way where neither of you seem to be in a rush to move. You sit at your tiny kitchen table, legs brushing under the surface, Jungkook stealing bites from your plate despite having his own. Conversation is light, easy, filled with little moments where he watches you too closely, like he’s memorizing you, and you pretend not to notice even though your skin burns under his gaze.

It’s nice.

And maybe that’s why, when he finally stretches his arms over his head and sighs, “I should probably head out,” you feel something in you drop just a little.

You nod, pushing your empty plate aside. “Yeah, you probably should.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not exactly the truth either. Because yeah, you know you need a second to breathe, to process, to call Nari and let her yell in your ear about everything—but that doesn’t mean you want him to go.

Jungkook watches you for a second, like he’s waiting for you to tell him to stay. And maybe if he asked, really asked, you would let him.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he just pushes his chair back, standing up and stretching again before shooting you a lazy grin. “Alright, let me get out of your hair.”

You roll your eyes, standing up as well. “You act like you weren’t the one who forced your way in here.”

He smirks. “Didn’t hear you complaining.”

You purse your lips to keep from smiling, watching as he walks toward the door. He moves slowly, like he’s waiting for something. You don’t know what, but when he finally turns around and looks at you, eyes soft, hair still a mess, you suddenly feel like you’re the one who’s about to leave instead.

Jungkook hesitates, then reaches out, fingers lightly brushing your jaw before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” he murmurs.

Your breath catches.

And you don’t know what possesses you, but before he can pull away completely, you grab his wrist. His eyes flicker to yours, brows raising slightly.

You swallow. “Text me when you get home.”

It’s stupid. He’s not going far. But the words slip out anyway.

Jungkook’s lips twitch, like he knows exactly what you mean.

“I will,” he promises.

And then, after one last lingering glance, he’s gone.

The door clicks shut, and you’re left standing in your kitchen, staring at the space where he just was.

Your heart is still beating too fast. Your skin still feels warm. The air still smells like him.

You exhale sharply, running a hand over your face before groaning, “What the fuck.”

And then, without another thought, you grab your phone and call Nari.

[dragonmuse]

My friend and I just did a reread of the faith fix (and ofc the au of the au as a bandaid after). Would love a ficlet of izzy spending time with both his wife and boyfriend. Perhaps them ganging up on h to tease him

(To the AU of the AU! All aboard! Hope you enjoy, anon!) 

Izzy was making breakfast when Lucius wandered in, just in his underwear, and kissed Izzy  on the cheek then  plastered himself to his back. 

“Gonna get hot oil on you,” Izzy warned. 

“Meh. You’re a human apron. What are we eating?” 

“Hash browns with sausage. Mixed in some of the peppers and onions from dinner last night.” 

“Such a good house spouse,” Lucius teased. 

“Fuck off,” Izzy snorted. 

“It’s too early for profanity, Israel,” Faith scolded, shuffling in. She had on his slippers and her favorite fluffy black robe that enveloped her. 

“Yeah, Izzy,” Lucius grinned.  

“Luc, is there coffee yet?” She asked. 

“Uh,” Lucius unglued himself to check the pot. “Yes. Sit, I’ll make it.” 

“Thank you.”  

For a moment there was quiet as Lucius poured three cups, doctoring them to specifics, then leaving Izzy’s mug next to the stove. He took the other two to the table, sliding one to Faith. 

“So why was Israel annoyed with you this early?” she asked. 

“I said he was a good house husband.” 

“He is an excellent house husband,” Faith agreed. 

Izzy stared bleakly down at the potatoes. 

“Tell me more,” Lucius said eagerly. 

Why did they have to get along? It would be much easier if they could be like him and Lydia who politely loathed each other and never talked about Faith even a little unless she was ill. 

“When it’s his turn to do the laundry, he arranges my sock drawer by color,” Faith said with evident fondness laced through the amusement. “You know how I like to wear a fun sock.” 

“You do,” Lucius allowed.  

“So you can imagine it's a very complex rainbow. Let’s see....he vacuums very efficiently. Usually only after a bad day at work though. So it’s very angry vacuuming.” 

“How does someone vacuum angrily?”  

“I’m not sure how to explain it. You know it when you see it,” she laughed a little. “Oh, and he always remembers to clean out the filters in the dryer.” 

“Because I would like the house to not burn down,” Izzy grumbled. 

“And sometimes at night, he turns down the covers on the bed,” she said softly. “I like that.”

“That sounds sweet,” Lucius said in that half-sarcastic, half-sincere way that he couldn’t seem to avoid. 

“It is sweet.” Faith took a sip of her coffee. “Too bad for him that he’s the money maker and I get to work part-time if I feel like it.” 

“You never feel like it,” Izzy pointed out. 

“It’s boring. And I don’t like domestic chores,” she said lazily as if she wasn’t the one who had nurtured the enormous garden outside into life. 

“I’ll drink to that.”  There was a clink of coffee mugs touching. 

Izzy loved doing these things for her. Being of service, making her life easier was one of the great joys of his life. Sometimes he wasn’t sure she noticed things like her socks, but it was good. That she did. 

He shuffled the spatula under the potatoes, turning them over carefully. Sometimes after spending his day with numbers and criminals,  it was nice to just come home to a well-feathered nest. Maybe that did make him a house spouse. 

“Almost done,” he told them. 

“Uh oh,” Lucius said mildly. “We annoy you, Iz? You’ve got tense voice going.” 

“No,” he said honestly. “Just thinking.” 

“About what?” Faith asked. 

He turned to face them. Two very different bodies, both angled towards him, full focus on his face.  It was a lot to take in sometimes. Faith’s dear familiar interest and Lucius’ newer intense devouring. They made a nice picture, the two of them. Whatever dismissive sarcastic comment had been coming died on his lips. 

“I don’t mind making things nice,” he said instead. “For both of you.” 

And that got him very thoroughly kissed and it didn’t really matter by who. Even if it was both, one after the other.

[argethara]

A/N: Hello, argethara reporting! I’m back from customer service hell. Here’s a piece to celebrate my freedom. A sweet crackfic from @levihanbaryo‘s pool of prompts. I hope y’all are still obsessed with levihan as much as I do. If not, why???

Oh, and btw! Levihan Baryo admins and participants are working hard to finish a zine for our beloved ship. Please support and root for our works soon! 

You can also hang-out with us in our Discord server. Just DM me for the link.

Okay, here goes my trash.

PROMPT: Levi got a huge crush on Dr. Hange Zoe so he decided to receive an extra dose of vaccine from them. 

C/W: Profanities, crack medical process (please this is the prompt given, don’t be mad)

(Context: Yes, this is COVID-19 vaccine. Yes, in our country, people get 2 shots of the vaccine and 2 booster shots. Yes, we don’t have a lot of the J&J brand.) 

It’s not everyday that a person like Levi Ackerman gets nervous as shaking, heart popping out of his chest kind of nervous. Heck, he wasn’t even an inch close to this scared when he was brought by his uncle to a clinic one random day to finally be an actual man. He didn’t even cry after the procedure. Didn’t flinch when he got home with a pain worth his life on his official man dong. And he’s barely eleven years old then. 

Levi “the strongest” Ackerman wasn’t this restless on his first job interview too. 

So why does meeting a doctor for a vaccination schedule make him squeak?

Goddamn, it’s more embarrassing to think that he does mixed martial arts in his free time and he’s acting all anxious on his seat for a second-long puncture on his skin.

“Neeeeext!”

Levi stands up and sits on the next chair. It’s almost his turn and he can feel the rush of blood in his veins more, the sweat profusely dropping and staining his baby blue button down shirt. His eyes grow when he tries to peek and the wetness shows on the fabric. He immediately closes his arms to his sides, sitting straight and looking around, trying to find that familiar face. 

And there they are. In one corner of the hall, he can see them talking with an elderly woman and throwing the used syringe in the biohazard bin. Levi starts gawking as his surroundings fade into view and his focus tunnels to the bird nest on their head, sliding his vision on the gorgeous bridge sitting nicely between their never-fading, blazing hazelnut eyes, crinkling as their wide smile brightens the whole place. 

 A noise ruins his pink slow motion filter. 

“Neeext!” “Neeext!” 

His knees start to wobble a bit. The nurse gives him a strange look. As he draws near, he realizes something that makes all his shakiness replaced with cold disappointment. 

After sweating and doing all the math in his head, the person they came for stands up and says, “Better get back to the hospital. See you tomorrow, Dr. Yeager!” 

“Thank you for assisting today, Zoe. Oh, if you see Eren around, tell him to go home early,” Dr. Yeager replied.

“Copy that, Doc! Your son really bakes amazing stuff, I’ll make sure to buy some eclairs for my interns.”

“You bet. Rest too, sweetheart.”

No, stay, Levi wishes silently.

The person laughed beautifully, loudly. Levi stops on his tracks, which the nurse guiding him obviously didn’t appreciate.

“Sir, it’s your turn-” 

And Levi does his mental calculation again as he watches the person fix their things, preparing to head out of the facility.

He looks at this Dr. Yeager which eerily reminds him of his spiteful mixed martial arts club mate in college. Who also likes to say, “Don’t let them know your next move” when he’s about to lose the match. 

Don’t let them know your next move

Don’t let  them know your next move

Don’t let them know your next move

He hates to admit but he does exactly what the pathetic monkey is chanting in his head.

He does the unexpected.

Looking at the nurse that is already frowning harder than he could, he frowns his hardest, clenching his chest with a fist, and kneels dramatically on the floor. “Eugh” “Eugh!” 

The nurse watches him heartlessly as she sighs. 

He drops down to the floor further with his hands on his chest, emphasizing the “Eugh” as he continues. He feels his face is so red at that point. He has never done this all his life. 

His eyes are still closed. He is becoming more self-conscious and realizes this is the most regrettable decision he has made. Or not, his mind debates. If he gets the attention of that damn doctor, bugging his wits to its end every night, then this shitty act might be worth it after all.

Good fucking thing that I’m a hundred kilometers away from my city.

The things I do, just so I could call you mine.

Mikasa’s playlist started consoling him away from his current state. Oh to do some stupid teenage lovesick bullshit when you’re in your thirties. 

“Sir, please calm down! I’m Pieck, a nurse. Where does it hurt?”

Levi opened an eye. The snobbish nurse is near him. 

Fuck, just get out here. 

He glances at where the person is and they are watching him. Good, he rolls a bit towards Dr. Zoe, bumping to some chairs.

The damn nurse held him in place by his shoulder. 

“Sir! Open your eyes. Please tell me where it hurts so I can help you. Try not to move much.”

Go fucking away!

Levi has the urge to yell but his act will be caught and he doesn't want his efforts to fail. He’s already doing a ridiculous way of getting their attention, and might as well succeed. 

“I- I, my b-brain an-d my heart fucking hurts,” he suddenly said.

Yes, my brain is at the edge. I don’t know how to keep up nor end this shit I started.

“Huh? Can you stand, Sir? What’s your name?” Nurse Pieck asked. 

God, help me. 

“No.” I won’t stand unless Dr. Zoe will get me up. 

The nurse makes him lie on the ground and he complies, not knowing what his next move will be anymore. Seems like he’s not stupid enough to pull of a stupid decision like Zeke does. His fist is still on his chest to keep the act straight.

“What’s happening?” 

Hallelujah. 

“Oh, Doc Zoe! He’s sweating and panting hard but I haven’t checked any vital signs yet. He said his brain and heart hurts. He’s been like this for two minutes now.”

“Alright. Thank you, Pieck.” Levi feels a presence on his right side. 

He opened his eyes to the brunette when they touched his forehead. 

The pants got harder.

Fucked. I am fucked. Why did I do this?

“Sir, can you speak? What’s your name?”

Their sparkling brown eyes are at him. Curious, like he’s a fucking specimen in the lab but that’s alright. He made them stay. 

His chest actually tightens. Breathtaking. 

Dr. Zoe chuckled and he blinked. Shit, he almost forgot he’s acting. 

“What’s your name?” They repeated.

“Levi,” he muttered. 

“Okay, Levi, I’m Dr. Hange Zoe. Is the pain still there?”

“A-ah, Y-yea. It’s… I can’t breathe properly.”

“Rate your pain from 1-10.”

“Earlier 8, now it’s 5.”

“Can you stand?”

“Yeah.”

“Now we’re talking!” They beamed at the nurse and the latter rolled her eyes.

“You can leave Levi to me now, Nurse. You can attend to the others.”

Pieck huffed, “I can handle this, though! You’re about to go out.”

“It’s okay. I still have some time. I’ll just go to the cafe next time.”

Pieck gives him a look one last time and goes back to the other people on the line. Dr. Zoe helps him to sit on a chair. They’re smiling like it’s business as usual but it’s enough for Levi’s heart to actually palpitate abnormally. 

“Ah, can you hold on for a minute?”

Levi nods as a response. He dares not to look around. He knows they’re still watching. Especially the witch that was assisting him earlier. Her eyes are sending laser beams from afar, he can tell. 

They step out and he watches them instead. 

When they get back to him, they give them a cup of water. And they both sit quietly as he downs the liquid.

The doctor takes a breath and smiles as he glances to their side. 

“How are you feeling?” They inquired.

“Better.” He muttered.

“That’s quite a scene, eh? Have you had any experience like that before?”

His ears turn pink. “This is the first time.”

“Can I?” They raised their manual sphygmomanometer. 

He nodded.

They measured his blood pressure. Staring at him closely from time to time. 

Damn, they smell like sweat and isopropyl alcohol. 

I should say something.

Shit, almost done?

They bite their lip when focused.

That’s sexy.

“It’s higher than normal but you’ll survive with a bit of rest and water. You should cool down if you wanna get the vaccine today, but you can return to-”

“No.” The doctor is surprised with his firm tone. 

“O-oh. You might be a busy person. I understand-”

“No, I’m not busy I, I just-” he stutters.

“Ahh… Oh!” Hange holds his hands in theirs and Levi almost freaks out. He likes it, though. They have warm, comforting hands.

“Do you have trypanophobia?” They whispered.

“Huh?”

The person is closer to Levi than he allows people to be with him on normal days. But he is now basking in their attention. It is a successful mission. No matter how fucked the method he did.

They nodded consolingly. “That’s okay. No shame on being afraid of needles. I know a lot of people who are the same. They even run away or faint sometimes. Some doctors do too! I’m proud of you for conquering your fears and getting this vaccine…”

Doctor Hange Zoe rambles about the benefits of vaccination and how to defeat his fears. He hears the name of a psychiatrist that can help him with his problem. Their speech goes from one ear to the other. The highlight of his day is not only that he managed to talk with the doctor this time, he was also touched, comforted. 

“...And you see, all the citizens of the world are being monitored right now. Paradis even has a database of all the people who already had the vaccine that’s been distributed. Oh! Good Ymir! I haven’t asked your whole name yet.”

“Levi Ackerman.”

And it happens so fast. He’s now sitting on a chair in one of the booths. Being taken care of by THE Hange Zoe themself. As soon as they’re done, he grabs the opportunity to exchange numbers. “I’m passionate about recovering from fears! Please get in touch when you’re ready to talk with a psychiatrist. He’s a friend of mine but I highly recommend him for his expertise you know…”

Another five-minute monologue on his mental health and he doesn’t give a fuck anymore. He rarely accepts opinions of others yet it feels like heaven that they’re overly worried about his well-being. 

The day ends with him taking an hour flight to Sina where he actually lives and works. 

On the following day, he wakes up and crawls on his bed with a heavy body, burning deep to his bones from the side effect of the vaccine. 

He smiles as the notification pops out messages from his precious Hange Zoe.

“Hi Levi! This is Hange in case you didn’t save my number. How are you? I’m sorry, I forgot to register your name yesterday! I was talking a lot and I forgot and I know it’s my negligence as a doctor. It’s a very rare mistake on my part. Please forgive me! I’ll do it immediately when I get to the hospital.” Sent 6:12 AM.

“You must be sleeping. I want to inform you about the registration. System says you already completed your set of vaccines in North Sina General Hospital a week ago. But maybe it’s a system error. Let me ask this to my colleagues.” Sent 7:00 AM. 

“Hi, Levi! Did you forget to take your last booster shot last week? I’m afraid I gave you a fifth one. Do you know that there are only 2 sets for the initial and 2 booster shots? I’ve committed two offenses against my practice already if that’s the case. Oh God! I was so careless, I forgot to check the database beforehand.” Sent 7:24 AM.

“Remember Dr. Smith, the psychiatrist? He said the database is very very updated. OMG. Can we talk?” Sent 7:50 AM. 

9 missed calls from Sunshine <3

He chuckles weakly. The fuck he’s gonna tell them. That he’s a stupid simp?

Levi presses their number to call them back. 

“Levi! Oh my God! How are you? I’m really sorry! I think-”

He laughs. They sound like they care about him.

“I- huh? Hello? Are you okay?”

“Don’t worry.”

“Huh?” 

“You don’t have to worry. It’s entirely my fault,” he coughs.

“A-are you sick?”

“No, uh yeah, but it’s just a side effect of the vaccine. It usually goes away after a day of rest.”

“So did I really give you a third booster shot?” They are sniffing on the other line. 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh no!” The cries get louder. 

“Shh, shh, hey. Doctor, listen. Can I tell you something?”

“Hm?” sniffs, “Yeah, anything. I’m really sorry.”

“You really don’t remember me?”

“What do you mean?” 

He sighs, “That’s disappointing. We even laughed with the children in the orphanage together.”

“Orphanage?”

“Yeah, five months ago, The Ymir’s Heart For Angels Foundation event.”

There’s silence. Levi looked at his phone, checking if they hung up already.

“You might’ve been too busy to remember me. Sorry for acting stupid. It’s not your fault. I didn’t know we could only get up to four shots. And a fever won’t kill me, you know that too. Someone told me you’re a doctor in Shiganshina and I happen to be in the area for business. So I tried visiting you but you weren’t in the hospital for two days. It’s almost my flight so I got desperate and went to the vaccination center.”

“Do you have a fever?” They cut his confession. 

“Well, yeah, kind of.” He admits. 

“You kinda deserve that.”

“Hm, yeah.” He laughs at their annoyed voice.

“Do you have family taking care of you?”

“I’m alone. Ah- I have a cat, if it counts as family.”

“Mr. Ackerman, I’m not joking with you.”

“Neither am I, Dr. Zoe.”

Someone is calling the doctor from their end. He waits and relaxes on their words he barely understands. Their end goes quiet after some time.

“Doc? Hange?” He asks.

“Don’t risk my license to meet me next time.”

“Wha-”

The phone beeps as his caller ends the call. 

“Call me tonight” Sent 1:15 PM.

[lesvegas]

oh youve gotta be shitting me

Screenshot reads;

We give formal warnings to users who have broken our rules. It's an official notification from the moderation team here at the Nexus sites that you have broken our rules and that you need to stop breaking them, else we'll have no choice but to ban your account completely. Every warning a user receives is logged on our forums to ensure complete transparency in regards to our moderation practices with our user base.

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Issued at 26 Jun 2021, 9:21AM by

zcul

Reason: Aggressively belitting other members’ contents solely based on personal dislikes

Profanity

Remark that can be construed as discriminatory toward a group of people

Profanity

Comments [spoiler]

19 January 2021 - 05:25 AM

A proper modding setup isn't gonna stop the mod from having ghouls called w*ndigo, lizard people (with a lizard sex scene), the most racist *ethnic group* preset I've ever seen, and incredibly boring and contrived writing lol

29 April 2021 - 07:39 PM

So I'm in the middle of NVB2, I have 1 but not 3 installed. I've had this file for a while now, I'm level 32. If I uninstall everything now, how badly will it f*** up my game?

25 June 2021, 8:09AM

After trying this mod out for an hour and then uninstalling it, my game was immediately assaulted with bugs like text disappearing, entire textures disappearing, constant freezing and crashing, the screen going black... even in a file I didn't use to try out the mod, I couldn't go ten minutes without an issue despite completely wiping the mod from my game. So thanks for that, I guess. Thanks for the weird as f*** unisex vault too, totally not transphobic at all.

For the sake of your game's stability, do not install this s***.

Pertaining mod (comment 25 June 2021, 8:09AM) [spoiler]

Last updated 28 January 2021, 3:00AM, original upload 09 December 2019, 1:47AM, 33,649 unique downloads, 108,432 total downloads, 1,216 endorsements, last endorsed 25 June 2021, 6:32PM [/spoiler]

[/spoiler]

From Nexus Policies and Guidelines/Forum and Commenting Guidelines (excerpt) - https://help.nexusmods.com/article/22-forum-and-commenting-guidelines [spoiler]

Be Civil!

We do not tolerate 'trolling' or harassment of any kind. Do not belittle, discredit, or aggressively criticise another member or their content. If you do not like something or have nothing constructive to add, it's best to simply move along.

Content that can be construed as provocative, objectionable, discriminatory, or abusive toward any real-world individual or group, may be subject to moderation. This includes but is not limited to content involving politics, race, religion, gender identity, sexuality, or social class.

No profanity. It is perfectly possible to express yourself using civil language. Do not attempt to circumvent the profanity filter. [/spoiler] Restrictions:

Posts blocked for 7 days (until 03 Jul 2021, 9:21AM)

Comments on the file #65082 blocked indefinitely

So basically I’ve broken the rules by [checks notes] saying the word ‘fuck’, saying a mod’s writing isn’t great, pointing out racism/transphobia in a mod, asking if my game will be fucked up after installing a mod, pointing out that my game WAS fucked up after installing a mod... christ, no wonder there’s banned accounts in the comments of every fucking mod.

[jengajives]

So I know canonically Barahir and Finrod probably never met again after the Bragollach but I just WANT THEM TO

(My personal hc for Barahir and Emeldir is that they’re Gay Besties and her sweetheart died years ago and he never found the man for him but they both really wanted a child so they had Beren and raised him together as friends, and all the people of Dorthonion totally knew what was up but played along anyway.)

Also excuse my Sindarin, i am awful at languages

“My lord.”

The voice seemed deafening in the chamber of Finrod- the quiet space he sulked in when all of Nargothrond’s riches seemed empty and lifeless to him. When the company of his brother, his niece, and all his people just wasn’t enough.

He turned from his tapestry slowly, almost unwilling. If Celegorm and Curufin wanted another counsel, he had run out of excuses to deny them. All he wanted to do was stand around looking at the tapestry of Tirion he kept on the wall to substitute for a proper window.

“What is it?” he asked tiredly, unable even to muster the energy for a proper hello. The attendant bowed anyway.

“It’s the border wardens, your Highness. They’ve apprehended a trespasser on the eastern marches- a Man. He carries your ring, sir. He’s requested an audience.”

It seemed as if everything went utterly still and for several long moments Finrod could not speak.

He had to rub his eyes to ensure he was awake and hearing correctly. This wasn’t just the dream that had haunted him more years now than he could count.

“By all means,” Finrod said in a strangled voice, “bring him before me.”

It isn’t. It can’t be. He’s dead.

The attendant bowed again, all low and respectful. “I’ll let you know as soon as they reach the city, Your Majesty.”

“Yes, yes, thank you.” Finrod wasn’t paying attention properly anymore; he was suddenly very worried about what he was wearing, how he looked. The way he dressed around Nargothrond was very different than his war attire, and it was very concerning when he worried whether Barahir would even be able to recognize him.

No, no. Barahir was dead five winters now. It didn’t matter whether he looked familiar or not, he was dead.

Still, though. There was a chance.

Finrod threw open his wardrobe with something akin to panic.

The woods of Dorthonion were dense and dark, with occasional beams of golden sunlight filtering through the high pine trees and turning the bed of needles to luminous white. There wasn’t too much undergrowth, which made it easy to ride through, and Finrod did so with as much speed as his mare could manage, flying over falling trees and secret glens that few among the Elves had ever looked on, thundering across rushing mountain creeks with all the speed of the Valar. He held his arms out to the wind and let his golden braids flow loose behind him.

When he at last came to the little green valley he’d been directed to, he slowed his mare to a stop and stood there a moment on the ridge. The people of Bëor lived in small homesteads spotted over the highlands, and here a number of them gathered together alongside a cool, fresh creek to graze their animals on its fair grasses. The largest of the wooden homes was nestled just beneath the rolling, forested hills, sheltered by the river’s curve and somewhat apart from the others. It was here Finrod rode, galloping eagerly across the meadows of the basin.

A handful of sturdy horses grazed on the green pasture in front of the house, along with a pair of cows and one freshly-sheared sheep. Finrod rode along the tree-lined lane until he came to the house itself.

It was single-storied, made of finely hewn logs painted with red and gold, and a thatched ceiling that looked freshly lain. On one side stood a small barn for the animals, and on the other a woodshed that had seen better days. Finrod dismounted took a moment to take it all in. A warm smile crossed his face.

At once, the worn blue door opened, and a Man came hurrying out. He was dressed in simple work trousers and a maroon shirt that wasn’t tied all the way and showed off the warm brown hair of his chest, but he was hastily throwing a fur coat over the top of it all as he stumbled down his stairs.

“King Felagund!” he choked, obviously out of breath. Finrod noticed a gleam of gold on his middle finger. “We- I- This is most unexpected!”

“I must apologize for the intrusion, Barahir,” he said with pity. “I was riding back from Hithlum and I became… sidetracked.” Then he smiled again. “I hope it’s not too much trouble?”

“Trouble!” Barahir shook his head a little too energetically. “No trouble at all! It’s just… “ He motioned helplessly to the house behind him. “t’s not much. Certainly nothing like a prince like yourself would-“

“Barahir,” Finrod said, bold enough now to take the Man’s hand in his own. “Your home is beautiful.”

Barahir visibly relaxed. His face went soft.

“It is… very good to see you again, Your Majesty.”

“To you, it’s Finrod.” He gave the hand a squeeze. “You have more than earned that right.”

Barahir’s tawny cheeks went red.

Finrod thought he would have kissed him then, if it had been for the little voice that interrupted them.

“Papa!”

Immediately Finrod straightened up and looked over Barahir’s shoulder to the doorway.

A small, brown face peeked out from inside. Just a beam of light caught on dark curls and turned them shining auburn.

Finrod’s expression went slack for only a moment before the corners of his mouth began to peak upward.

“Who’s this?” he asked eagerly. The child stuck his head out further to show two gleaming dark eyes.

“Are you one of the Valar?” he called, somewhat shyly.

Finrod smiled.

“No, child. Why do you think so?”

The little one gave a sheepish shrug. “You’re glowing.”

“Am I?” Finrod looked down. His tunic was indeed embroidered with gold and there were jewels in his hair. The thought of this innocent child mistaking him for a Vala was a very fond one, though.

“Beren,” Barahir called. “This is King Felagund. He’s a very powerful and noble Elf. Come over here and give a him a nice bow.”

Beren slowly moved onto the steps and made his way over, still cautious. He was wearing a green shirt that was too big for him and clutched a stuffed hound in one hand. Immediately Finrod saw the likeness with Barahir; other than the boy’s darker shade of hair, the two were nearly identical.

Finrod glanced at Barahir as the child approached.

“Yours?”

“Yes, he is.”

When Beren reached his father’s side, he shut his eyes tight and performed a bow so deep he nearly toppled. “At your service, King Felagund, sir!”

Finrod laughed and dropped to one knee so he could look the boy in the eyes. “An honor, Beren, prince of Dorthonion. I could not ask for more steadfast a Man!”

Beren cracked one eye, then the other. He gave a cursory glance to his father, then pointed at the great palomino mare waiting patiently on the lane.

“What’s your horse’s name?”

Barahir clicked his tongue. “Beren, be polite.” Finrod chose to ignore him.

“She is Glânhen, Brighteyes,” he said to Beren, as if he were sharing a secret. “She very much likes to eat. I think she might let you ride her if you find space for her in your pasture.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I can do that, sir!” He squinted up at the horse. “Where’s her bridle?”

“She’ll follow you,” Finrod said. He told the horse something in Quenya and she nickered, and then he straightened to let the bouncing little boy hurry past, motioning to the mare eagerly.

“Follow me, Glânhen! I’ll find you the best grass we’ve got!”

The pair of them trotted off together- the massive steed of Valinor, and the little woodsman’s boy leading her like an obedient pup. Finrod got distracted a moment just smiling at the sight, until Barahir chuckled behind him.

“Well, I… I didn’t know you were fond of children.” He paused, obviously bashful, before he slipped out the name like he thought it might bite him. “Finrod.”

“Very fond. He’s a wonderful boy, Barahir. How old?”

“Five this spring.”

“My.” A wistful smile crossed Finrod’s face. “You must be very proud.”

“I am.” A silence passed, but it was broken when Barahir reached out and took his hand. “Will you come in?”

Finrod turned and the joy he felt looking at that gentle face was unlike anything he’d felt for countless years.

“I would love to.”

Felagund paced his throne room, back and forth, an anxious rhythm like the thudding of his own heartbeat. The tapestries and jewels felt suddenly profane. Would Barahir know him here? Surrounded by wealth and finery and all the glory of the princes of the Noldor?

Of course he would. Barahir would know him anywhere.

But it wasn’t going to be Barahir who walked through his doors. Dead five years at least, cut down in the highlands of Dorthonion all alone and friendless.

Finrod’s fault. He had tried to send help, tried to send forces through to reinforce the outlaws or bring them back, but no one had been able to brave the Haunted Wood. No one could get through. And Barahir had died alone in the mud, because Finrod’s strength had failed.

No. It could be him. He could have escaped. None of the Eldar were there to see him fall. It could be a mistake.

The golden doors swung open.

Finrod turned, suddenly frozen, as a company of his march wardens stepped inside with a Man held between them like some lesser prisoner. He was so thoroughly surrounded that Finrod couldn’t get a good look at him.

“Leave him,” he called, irritation wearing his voice thin. “He is no trespasser here if what I am told is true.”

The wardens bowed, and moved aside, and there in the center of the room stood Barahir son of Bregor with the cares of many lifetimes etched across his face.

The air left Felagund’s lungs.

He looked just as he had the very last time they had seen each other.

Tears blurred his vision, and when he wiped them away, he saw through new eyes, and the Man he saw was not the one he had dreamed of.

The curls were too dark. The build too tall. The face alike in almost every way, but there was something there now that made it painfully obvious Felagund had been mistaken. He deflated at once and collapsed back into his throne, face in his hands, floundering just a moment in defeat.

“King Felagund, sir,” called the Man. “I thank you for your hospitality. I wouldn’t have come if there was any other way, but I need-“ Abruptly, the trembling voice broke on a sob and trailed into tearfulness. “I- I need your help. Please.”

Finrod looked up again and his eyes softened, recognizing the sensitivity behind those eyes. He rose and stepped slowly down until he stood before the Man with pity in his heart and tears running down his face.

He put a hand on the rough-clothed shoulder.

“Beren,” he said softly, as fervent as he could manage. “I will do anything within my power to help you, no matter the cost.”

When Beren at last looked up to meet his eye, it was the same face of the shy woodsman’s son he had met all those years ago, and Finrod decided then that he would go gladly to his death if it would bring Barahir’s son to the fulfillment of his errand.

[honeydots]

200. “He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it.” ~~ This has some Vibes and I kinda like them so? I'd like 2 humbly request your take on this w/ shukita or akeshu if it's ok to ask for!! -- dorky-arsene (a sideblog)

“He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it”

Hello no I didn’t forget about these I am just slower than a little baby turtle!!!!! Anyway

Summary: Goro’s new job leads him to discover that dealing with both a crush and an idiot while flipping burgers is, unarguably, the worst turn his life could’ve taken.

cw: sexual themes (+p5r spoilers)

-

(ao3 link)

-

“Hello! Would you like to try our Big Bang Special Combo Shot-Straight-Through Promotional Meal for ‘Thy Father of Corruption 2: The Daughter of Rejection’ for ¥850?”

Goro wanted to quit. 

You need this job. You need this job. He’d repeat to himself each time a customer decided they were feeling peckish. You will have no money if you quit and then you will have no home and then you will drop out of college and then you will die. 

He’d left the police department after graduating. With his past plans of an 18-year life expectancy having slipped down the drain, he hardly had a reason to stay. High school had been an uphill battle with cases of murder and robbery breathing down his neck, and he’d hesitated to even make an attempt at trying to juggle his priorities in university. Dropping the detective gig meant dropping the media attention, too, which gave him breathing room he certainly knew he needed, but never really had. 

The problem was, after three years of fading out of fame and living off his savings, he realized this wouldn’t stretch as far as he’d predicted. He hadn’t accounted nearly enough for the expenses that came with the unwelcome enforcement of trying to live as a proper human being. His bank account was growing meager. If he wanted to keep living (which was arguable) in the way that he was (which he did) he’d need an income. Almost anything would do, as long as it would bend and break to his schedule. 

And, all things considered, he technically had connections here. And ever since… that, the pay had actually increased to a respectable amount. The management had rehired, retrained, and improved. It was fast food, but it was livable. Nothing shameful about being livable. 

And god fucking dammit he had already done three interviews with no hires and he needed food other than half-cooked ramen noodles and bread slices. 

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” 

That didn’t mean he didn’t loathe every minute.

It was bad enough that he had a job at Big Bang Burger. And, bad enough that he’d been desperate to get it. It was bad enough that he had to bring in his homework like some anguished used-to-be honors student now getting barely passing marks. And christ, it was bad enough each time a customer would walk in, a hamburger-shaped icepick would slam itself into his frontal lobe, forever ingraining the memory of his premeditated brain murder of the former CEO of this very restaurant. 

All of that, and he couldn’t stress this more, was bad enough. It was entirely shitty all around. Completely awful, and damming, and humbling, though he hated to admit it. He’d like to say it couldn’t get any worse. That this was the end of the line, get off the train before it turns around, don’t get stuck in the never ending cycle of beef patties and sesame seed buns. 

But, god, of all the coworkers. 

“Ya know,” said Sakamoto, leaning down on the front counter after their customer had left,  “I dunno if clenching your teeth like you’ve got peanut butter stuck in there counts as ‘service with a smile.’” 

Sakamoto Ryuji. The boy who had the opposite of a filter, and more like a megaphone spewing recordings of every profanity in the Japanese language. He, who had walked in on Goro’s second day and loudly declared, ‘I thought I smelled something, what’s this a-hole doing here?’ Really, who else could he tolerate spending eight-hour shifts with; greasy stoves, piss poor customers, and the ruthless scent of lysol on tile included?

Ah, right. Anyone else. 

Goro pressed his lips together. “Hm. Well you know, I was almost certain that elbows on the counter was a fireable offense.” 

Sakamoto snatched himself up in a second, elbows up high. He hung there and looked around the empty restaurant. 

He pouted. “Not cool, dude. That’s only when there’s customers.”

Goro raised his eyebrows. He was really just going to stand there? He looked like an idiot, or a chicken. A hybrid that, if anyone could pull off, would be him. He was making a great show of it, too. 

Sakamoto narrowed his eyes. “Unless you’re a snitch.” 

Goro spoke in his most syrupy sweet voice. “Are you implying then, that your job is in my hands? An entertaining thought, Sakamoto.” If it were only that simple to really get him fired. Unfortunately, their manager seemed to love his enthusiasm. Every moment he spent enthusiastically mopping floors and singing into the handle was a moment Goro could’ve been writing soliloquies of his growing and newfound hatred for Carly Rae Jepsen. 

Sakamoto folded his arms in a huff. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, man! Look at that fake-ass smile.” He shook his head. “And I get customer service blows and stuff, but you use it for everything. Lighten up dude! Take a break.”

Sakamoto said things with such confidence, such surety. It made his teeth grind. 

“I’d prefer to keep my job,” Goro said, and gave him the sweet smile Sakamoto was arguing against. “Though, if you’d like to pay my rent for me, you’re more than welcome.” 

He acted like he hadn’t even heard him.“Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re so gloomy all the time, your face just doesn’t know how to work it. Look it, check me out.” Sakamoto pointed his thumb at himself and flashed a toothy smile. “Just like that! All natural, bro. It’s easy. Come on, you really try it this time.” 

Goro very clearly did not. He stared with his most obsolete and ‘stop-trying-to-have-a-conversation-with-me’ look he could muster. He’d communicate it telepathically, if given the chance. 

“That doesn’t look like trying to me,” Sakamoto said expectantly. 

Couldn’t they just sit in silence and wait for their fabrication of getting-along time when the next inevitable customer came in? “Perhaps, and please let me know if this is too complicated, I simply have no intention of trying, because I don’t believe there’s anything to fix.” 

“Nah, that’s not it,” replied Sakamoto, as if he was being thoughtful.

Another reason why he was completely obnoxious was because the longer they knew each other, the less that Goro’s flawless stone faced looks worked. Sakamoto kept spewing hot air. He’d gained some kind of tolerance, and it was tedious to work around. 

Sakamoto leaned back down, previous elbow warnings forgotten. “I bet you’re the kinda guy who’s super ticklish, so you act all boring so no one suspects it.”

“I’m not,” Goro snapped. 

“Quick reply there, buddy.” 

Goro didn’t answer to that. He didn’t owe it to him. This was pointless; why did Sakamoto find such pleasure in talking about pointless things? 

He slouched further down. “So it’s silent treatment now. You’re checking all the boxes over here.” He waved his finger through the air. “Check, n’ check, n’, check.” 

Goro was getting a headache. “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Betcha you’re super ticklish. And like, one of those cry-laughers.” 

“Sakamoto, did you hear what I just said.” 

He stretched up from his position on the counter. “Like if I poke you in the side, I bet it would make ya jump.” 

“Do not.” He could just try it. Goro would bend his finger back so far it’d break. He wondered if that would be a viable option to get him to stop talking sometime. 

“Didn’t say I was gonna.” He rested his arms behind his neck. “You’re just proving my point more, though.” 

Sakamoto was annoyingly stubborn at times. Once he found a niche with Goro, he’d hack his way in and grab on like a tick. Bother him like it was his last chance he’d ever get, as if they didn’t work shifts together four times a week. He was bound to get lyme disease at this rate.  

Goro felt like a very frustrated pair of tweezers.“Can we talk about anything else, please?”

Sakamoto went quiet. He was just looking at him now. Goro tensed up. Was he really going to try and poke him? He meant it, he’d break his hand. 

“Ya know, there is something I wanna talk to you about,” he said.

Goro did not like the sound of that. “Oh really.” He tried to sound like he was just told he was about to be given a lecture on the intricacies and details of lentil soup. Which, perhaps could be more interesting than whatever topic Sakamoto was about to pull out of his ass. 

Sakamoto sniffed. “Yup. It’s about Akira.” 

Oh, he really didn’t like where this was going. “Sakamoto, I—” 

“When’re ya gonna like, confess.” 

Goro visibly winced. Dammit. He knew he’d bring this up one day. He was absolutely infuriated Sakamoto knew about that, and he hadn’t even told him. He’d been making guesses and Goro had been just tired enough during his shift to let a hint of a sigh out, and Sakamoto had taken that to new heights. Another example of conversations being had that Goro would’ve just about died to get out of. 

Sakamoto was still staring at him. Didn’t he have anything better to do? Goro knew they didn’t at this good for nothing job, but what was so hard about just acting like you’re busy. You’re pretending then, at least, and that’s something. 

“Well, dude?” asked Sakamoto. 

Any conversation is better than that one.

Mother of fuck. 

“I…” Goro started, adjusting a piece of his hair, “I suppose I am a little ticklish.”

Sakamoto’s face lit up. “Dude, for real? Called it,” he said triumphantly. Had Goro not known him as well as he did, he’d think the divergence in conversation was a trick to get him to admit he was a bit… touchy. But he did know him, and he wasn’t one for games like that.

“Most people are, it shouldn’t be a surprise. It’s skin sensitivity, nothing more.” 

Sakamoto shrugged. “Still funny you admitted to it.” 

Sure. Very hilarious. Yet another fact Sakamoto now knows about him that he’d really have rather not shared under any circumstance. 

“Satisfied, now?” Goro asked, but it wasn’t really a question. He didn’t plan on expanding, this was embarrassing enough as it was. 

“Nope,” he replied, “cause that’s great and all, but I really gotta know the game plan.” He leaned in close to Goro, and he in turn leaned farther away.

“There’s no ‘game plan,’ Sakamoto. Please don’t get so close to me.” 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.” He moved back, obviously not finished. “Come on, though, you gotta have something.” And back down on the counter he slouched. 

‘Something,’ he’d said. Yes, and that something was to keep his mouth shut and go about his life keeping each and every one of those mortifying feelings to himself. It was humiliating enough that Sakamoto knew. Telling Akira? He didn’t even want to imagine it. He’d rather face Okumura-san herself and ask her to buy one of their Shot-Straight-Through combo meals. 

“There’s nothing. And I don’t plan there to be anything. And, it’s not really much of your business, is it?” Goro could feel himself growing irritated. 

Sakamoto melted further into the counter. “I just don’t get why you’re not gonna ask him out if you like him. You might as well, man, it’ll be fine.” 

What simple ways of thinking. Do this, get that in return. Black and white, and right and wrong. Spill your fleeting moment of vulnerability and try not to think about the extensive hole of commitment you’re burying yourself in. One turn of phrase, one word, one misplaced breath to Akira would forever rupture the sorry excuse of acquaintanceship they’d been flip flopping through for the past three years. Akira was a blank slate and simultaneously the person he knew best. He knew him, but didn’t really, and he could never tell what he was thinking. Suddenly he was gambling again, and this time it came entirely unwelcome. Risks you face before death and risks that you’ll keep living through no matter the outcome tasted different. One was tangy and sweet and thrilling, the other was bitter  shit. Not to mention that Akira was too kind to him for his own good. He couldn’t even tell what was a lie. 

But, Sakamoto didn’t need to know all that. “You say that like there’s nothing to consider. As if I’ve never even given this thought. You do not belong in my head, Sakamoto. And I do not need to give you, an obvious outsider on the entire dilemma, any sort of justification for why I’m going to continue to abstain on something as trivial as a confession.” 

Sakamoto huffed at him. “What if I said that I gua-ran-tee he’s not gonna say no to you.”

Goro was already sick of this. What, had Sakamoto expected his heart to skip? His pulse to rise? That just the very thought of mutual feelings would send him into some flustered mess? Please. He told the tingling feeling going up through his legs and down his arms and up the back of his neck to shut the fuck up. 

He couldn’t stay quiet for long. Sakamoto could and would get ideas. “Then why doesn’t he just tell me that himself? Why are you playing wingman for him?” 

“Cause he’s not gonna say anything cause he’s got to be worried that he’s gonna freak you and your crazy attachment issues out!” 

Of course, there it was. The blind bet. Sakamoto’s one-way thinking at it again, and Goro would not have it. “I’m not going to start playing some game with him about the complexities of whatever idea of consent he has in his head. I don’t need his sympathy, and I am certainly not looking for it. I don’t have time for something messy and half-assed. I don’t want that, and surely he doesn’t, either. If he feels any way about me, he’d ought to tell me, because then maybe we’d find some kind of leeway. But I will not let him sit there and wait for me to make the first move, like a key element in his plan. This is not some teenage romance, and I am not a caricature of his love life. He can wait patiently all he’d like, but I’m perfectly content as I am now.” 

Sakamoto seemed a little stunned. 

“Man, he’s just…” He trailed off. They sat in silence. 

So ways still existed to get Sakamoto to stop rambling on. He was sure he’d regret saying this later, for a multitude of reasons. He didn’t hate Sakamoto, even saying dislike felt strong, but he always talked about things that Goro had no interest nor inclination to discuss. Maybe silence was for the best between them, for now. 

“He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it. That’s all it is, dude,” said Sakamoto. 

Goro inhaled. So he wasn’t done, then. “Love… is an entirely different conversation.” 

“Okay, fine, you want me to say he ‘like-likes’ you like some fifth grader? Cause he does.” 

Goro didn’t reply. He’d made his point. 

“He isn’t playing one of your weirdo mind games,” Sakamoto continued. “I think you’re thinking too hard about this. He’s just a guy. He just wants to make sure you’re all comfortable and shit. Cause it’s not like we don’t all know the bullshit that was goin’ on for you.”

“I am not looking for his pity.” A fine thing to say while working at a Big Bang Burger in a bright yellow shirt and starred apron. It didn’t matter. He didn’t wear this with pride, per say, but he wouldn’t ask someone to feel sorry for him.

He didn’t exactly want to be seen, either. Especially not Akira, but of course he’d make habits of visiting. That was just like him, and it was just like his pity, too. 

Sakamoto looked frustrated. “He ain’t pitying you, man! He’s tryin’ to respect you! He knows you got things to go through on your own and he’s trying to give you space and everything.” 

Goro clicked his tongue. “If you know that’s his tactic, why are you trying to pressure me into this?” 

“Cause I don’t care, dude!” Sakamoto said, and then stopped himself, and promptly looked very guilty. “Well, okay. I do care. Like, I do. But sometimes…” He looked like he was trying to pick his words out carefully. He had an idea, just no way to form it.

He settled. “Sometimes, you just gotta get laid, man.” 

At this point, Goro found himself shocked that he wasn’t banging his own head against the counter. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re twenty one years old! Dude, I know you haven’t gotten any,” Sakamoto argued. “Your gay ass with emotional problems? Get outta here.” 

“This is not—”  

Sakamoto put his hands up nonshalontly. “And like, yeah, no judgey stuff, take your time if you gotta. But have you considered it? Tell me. I betcha you haven’t.”

Goro opened his mouth, expecting to reply with an incredibly well thought out ‘fuck off,’ but the automatic doors slid open, and suddenly Goro was all smiles and greetings, so what came out instead was, “Hello! Welcome to Big Bang Burger! Would you—ah.” 

Sakamoto snorted loudly, and Goro wanted to kick him so bad. 

And actually, what was stopping him? Sakamoto had earned this, and it’s not like this customer would care. 

Because, who else could’ve been just about summoned by the trouble than Kurusu Akira himself; strolling in so casually through the doors, like he hadn’t just become the most unpleasant topic of conversation Goro had ever had with Sakamoto. Speak of the devil was an understatement, or perhaps he was the devil himself. 

“What the eff, man!” 

“Hey you two,” said Akira, hands in his pockets and clearly bagless. He didn’t even register Goro’s kick, like that was just some normal occurrence. Somehow, that made him angrier. 

“Yo,” said Sakamoto, recovering annoyingly quickly. Goro wondered if he should’ve considered breaking his finger. 

Sakamoto reached out to Akira for a fist bump. “You don’t have the cat with ya?” 

Akira bumped him back. “Nope. Just me today.” 

“Sweet,”  Sakamoto replied, a smile growing wide. Goro hated the look. It was the hungriest and most dastardly shit-eating grin he’d ever seen him dare to make. So, knowing Sakamoto and his terrible poker face, he had thought up some idiotic ploy. 

“What’s up with you?” Akira asked, and thank god it wasn’t directed at Goro. Sakamoto’s obviousness did not go unnoticed. 

“Oh nothin’, nothin’,” said Sakamoto, entirely conspicuously, “I gotta go, though, grind never stops. Super secret stuff in the back.” 

Goro glared at him. So now he would pretend to be busy? 

“Burger secrets,” Akira said, and Ryuji gave him a finger gun in reply. He walked off without a word, but apparently felt the inclination to jerk his head back at Goro, as if he didn’t know what he was doing. 

He sighed. No amount of alone time would ever compel Goro to confess at a Big Bang Burger, of all places. At least Akira tended to be a little more bearable in conversation. He hoped he’d be an in and out customer. “Can I get you anything?” 

Akira looked at him for a moment. “You look flustered.” 

Goro felt himself twitch. He wasn’t flustered, like some preteen who can’t hear the word genital without bursting into laughter. If anything, Sakamoto had caught him off guard with his stupidity. He obviously was not one to be so affected by such a topic. He was an adult, and a professional. He would again not think about the fact he was wearing an orange visor right now. 

“I’m positive that isn’t a menu item,” he replied, keeping his pleasant smile plastered on, keeping any stray annoyance from showing. 

Akira examined him closer. “Do you have a fever or something? You look red.”

Goro drummed his fingers against the counter impatiently. What was he supposed to say? Sorry, Akira, Sakamoto just decided to kindly push the image of you railing me as a form of twisted therapy into the forefront of my consciousness. Would you like any drinks?

“I’m fine. I’m not the type to go to work sick,” he decided on instead. 

“Really?” He didn’t seem convinced. 

Goro folded his arms. “While living in a society where health is determined by the trust of the majority, I have no plans to spread my germs to an unsuspecting businessman, in that I expect the same from him.”

Akira considered that for a moment. “So you’re embarrassed, then.” 

Goro’s expression turned sour. He was not in the mood for a debate. “Everyone seems to be presuming things today, have I missed a memo?” 

Akira didn’t miss a beat. “Ryuji said something?” 

Goro dragged his fingernails into his palm. He was hardly being that obvious, he wasn’t a bumbling idiot who couldn’t keep a straight face. Akira was just acutely good at reading people, (namely, reading him) and it drove Goro up the wall. It was unfair, for one thing, since Akira continued to maintain blank expressions in the face of clowns and hookers, keeping his inner thoughts kept behind lock and key. And, as of more recently, he was the one person Goro really desperately wanted to hide every wandering emotion from possible. Just his luck, fall for the bastard who analyzes people as a side job for his savior-complex living. 

This was making him more frustrated. “Would you just order?” 

Akira looked at the menu, but Goro knew it was bullshit. He ordered the same thing every time— a shake and a burger, no tomatoes. He certainly already knew what he wanted, but was just causing trouble in the meantime. What an annoyance. Goro punched it in, and made no moves to go and cook. If Sakamoto was going to have his “business” in the back, then he could stay there and do his job. 

“Sit over there, we’ll bring it to you when it’s done,” he said, and Akira silently obliged. He gave a small smile before he turned, leaving Goro completely alone with his thoughts as he sat at his table and scrolled through his phone. 

He couldn’t believe the timing of Sakamoto’s distasteful comment to Akira’s unseasonable entrance. Things always seemed to fall into place with Goro, just not the right places. The right place, but a little down, and to the left, the left, he said. He wished Sakamoto would mind his own business, let him quietly pine until his untimely death; which kept getting put off, might he add. 

Sakamoto emerged from the back end of the restaurant. He was holding the bag of presumably Akira’s food, and his shake. He waved them enthusiastically. 

“Go on, dude,” he smirked. 

Goro was blunt. “No.” He’d pissed him off enough today. He wasn’t going to walk over there and serve the food. Sakamoto’s little idea of love, romance and marriage in a burger joint would have to wait. Ideally, it would get itself stuck in wet concrete, and drown way down under where no one could see it and where the light of day would never reach. 

Sakamoto seemed to catch his drift. “Jeez, fine. Huffy, huffy.” 

He walked over to Akira with a spring in his step, and they started chatting idly. Goro couldn’t hear. In all honesty, he was trying to tune them out. His headache was growing worse. Pounding in his head, every light too bright and repetitive music blurring together his thoughts. And of course there was the elephant in the room, who was whispering to him Sakamoto’s crude suggestions, and the irritating notion that maybe he was right, just a little bit.

He needed to get himself together. He was acting like some horny teenager. Get fucked, you raunchy elephant. 

Sakamoto left to let him eat, and made a show of going back to the other end of the restaurant, all while wiggling his eyebrows at Goro. In turn, Goro made a show of rolling his eyes and planting himself facing away from Akira. It made Sakamoto laugh, for whatever reason, and Goro just ignored him. 

He watched the door idly and tried to relax. He’d been clenching his teeth, and his jaw ached. He tried to focus to get his headache to fade into obscurity. He couldn’t find much to concentrate on, was his issue. Other than the obvious, which he would ignore without remorse. He wanted to go home. No lights too bright there, no sloppily cleaned windows, and especially no crush (the word left a bad taste in his mouth. Boy who has left him emotionally compromised after giving him no reason to deny he had worth in the world and keeps him up at night thinking about the way he really tried to will him back into existence when he could, god, have anything else in the world, and he wanted him. Was that a better option?) sitting out of view, chewing quietly and doing absolutely nothing to draw so much attention to himself.  At home he could drown it all out in a cold bath, and let himself think of nothing but his numbing toes and pruning fingers. 

“Hey, catch,” Akira said, suddenly there and startling Goro out of his bathlike daydream. He tossed something onto the counter. Goro did not catch it. 

It was a napkin, all folded up in a careful way. It didn’t hold the shape well, but the intention was pretty clear. “Um. A crane?” 

“Yup. Present for you.” he started, rubbing his neck, and he had the nerve to look bashful. “I got bored.”

Goro hadn’t noticed him making it. Which, alright, did make sense, he was purposefully keeping his neck away from that entire half of the restaurant. “Sorry we aren’t quite the height of entertainment here.” Goro lightly touched its head. He didn’t know Akira knew how to make these. “Well, thank you, I guess.”

Akira pushed his glasses further up his nose. “You’re welcome to name him.”

“I think that I won’t.”

“That can be pretty trendy, too,” he replied. “I’ve gotta go. Class. Tell Ryuji I say bye.” 

“Bye, dude!” Sakamoto shouted from the back. There was that tiresome enthusiasm again. 

It made Akira smile.“Nevermind, then. See you.” 

Goro just barely lifted his hand by the wrist to wave. “Bye.” 

Akira turned, gave him a small trill of his fingers, and left. Sakamoto did not return to his exit, and Goro savored the moment. It was just him and the crane, now. 

It was pretty shoddy. Unfolding, and barely standing up on its own. Cheap paper napkins were not the ideal material for origami, it seemed. He watched it slowly fall apart, wings losing shape and the head relaxing into its neck. Akira had hardly stayed long, so that meant he was probably pretty good at this sort of thing. He wouldn’t have guessed. 

…He thought about how it might look on proper paper. The creases sharp and crisp, the ends pointed and still. What would Akira’s hands look like while they worked? He could hear the sounds of the folding, and the wedging, clean paper being bent and rippled. Delicate fingers, working through, meticulously checking every last inch. Sometimes a pinch, just where it’s needed. And then finished, folded tight, wrapped together in itself. Very quick work, with the touch of a hand. 

“The heck is that?” Sakamoto said, getting an actual jump out of Goro. 

“What?” he gasped, and took a second to collect his thoughts. At work. Sakamoto came back. In a Big Bang Burger. Headache present. Good fucking god. “It’s just…” He pressed his fingers into the side of his temple “It’s a paper crane. Akira made it.” 

Sakamoto let that sink in.“You tellin me you were just sitting here staring at the thing Akira made you?” 

“I wasn’t,” Goro replied, trying desperately to catch his breath as casually as possible. 

“Uh, you literally were.” Sakamoto got uncomfortably close to him again. Goro physically moved away, because now was not the time. 

It didn’t deter Sakamoto whatsoever. He put his hands on his hips and gave an annoying grin. “Bro, you gotta tell him… You’ve obviously got it preeetty bad.” 

Goro was fed up with this. This conversation needed to end, or he thought he might explode. “I don’t ‘have it bad,’ Sakamoto, stop bringing this up.” 

Sakamoto smirked at him. “You so do though, is the thing.” 

“I don’t. Leave me alone.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and kept his mouth shut. He was acting so haughty, like he’d won the argument. Which, he hadn’t, for the record. 

That stupid crane. All it’d done was make things worse. And what was it even doing? Sitting here crumbling away into uselessly folded paper. A cheap napkin made of other recycled cheap napkins. Clean and crisp paper was a long sought after dream, a fantasy and nothing more. 

You know, this was just it, really. This is what he meant. Akira would try and fold him up and he’d inevitably fall back down. He didn’t know just what fantastic method he’d try, but it wouldn’t matter— he was made of what he was made of, and nothing would hold him up. Trying was pointless, risking for naught, it would be better for everyone if he stayed just how he was and didn’t overstay his use. 

He would not fit into Akira’s plans or his pities. He couldn’t. 

“…Bruh. What does that even mean.” 

Ah? “What?“ No. He had not said that out loud. Sakamoto did not just hear all that nonsense. 

Sakamoto was giving him a funny look. “You’re not a napkin, man.” 

God, shit. Shit shit shit. “I— I know that, this is just—“ The unpleasant feeling of blood rushing to his face was just as intolerable as it was unpreventable. 

“For real? Cause you sure sounded like you were calling yourself a napkin.” 

Absolutely unbelievable. How unruly was he that he’d just spouted all that like it was nothing? He couldn’t believe he had to explain himself now, but letting him get ideas was undeniably worse. “It’s supposed to be… symbolic, Sakamoto.” 

He could practically see the gears turning in his head. That wasn’t something difficult to understand, you dunce. Every second of this humiliating scene felt like a knife turning in his back. 

“Why does your brain work in such effed up ways. You gotta work on that,” Sakamoto said, not letting up his judgemental look.

He crossed his arms, trying to make his mortification appear like annoyance. “Don’t you start with me. As if you ever have something useful to say. At least I’m— I’m thinking, here.” 

That riled him up a bit. “I’m thinkin’! I almost flunked literature so maybe I’m not so good at this analysis stuff, but you know what? Hear me out.” Goro did not want to hear him out. He continued despite that. “I get it, you got your problems. But I really don’t think you callin’ yourself some shitty crane is fair, you know? Like, you’re a whole guy.”

He did not appreciate how genuine Sakamoto was acting. It was odd, and it felt awkward coming from him. He didn’t want to feel guilty for being rude to him earlier, either. Just another topic to bother him to sleep. 

Sakamoto went on. “Gahhh, it feels weird sayin’ this but like, you’re not a napkin, okay! And Akira doesn’t think so either. You’re more… complicated. Napkins don’t pay taxes or anything.” 

Ah, alright. So it was mostly bullshit. He could ease the guilt away in one fell swoop. 

Goro’s disinterest seemed to show itself well to Sakamoto. “Just, okay. Lemme get my thoughts here. You gotta like… be your own first step. I didn’t get my own shit sorted out until I actually tried to. And I’m not sayin it’s easy to do. But Imma tell you right now your first step is gonna be to stop thinking you’re a napkin or a bucket or a plate of green beans or whatever else you come up with. And I mean it, man.”

Goro knew he had things to say to that. He had thought out replies and phrases that Sakamoto would need more headspace to begin to understand. But none of them came to him. So he decided to stay threateningly quiet. 

It was well received. “Okay okay, you’re gettin’ mad, I can tell. I’m gonna take my break,” Sakamoto relented, and turned on his heel. “I ain’t really trying to tell ya what to do but give it a thinking about, alright? ‘Least for Akira’s sake,” he said over his shoulder, and left Goro almost more alone than before. 

It wasn’t even Akira’s sake Goro was worried about. Not in the way Sakamoto seemed to think. And he didn’t need to be told he wasn’t some inanimate object, he wasn’t that out of mind. 

Any sort of sensible argument would have to come to him after the fact, apparently. To tell him this wouldn’t be a “first step,” more like a hundredth. How many paces did crawling out of the hole he’d buried himself in count for? How many miles had he gone by now, barefoot and bleeding all the way. 

Such a stupid conversation. Needless, too, since for whatever reason his filter decided to leave him to fend for himself. Just another addition to this embarrassing excuse of a shift today. 

The paper crane sat still on the counter, though it hardly resembled one anymore. He almost felt bad. He had his typical pit in his stomach, but nothing exactly to pinpoint it on. Was he wallowing in that much self-loathing? 

Perhaps. 

Goro adamantly refused to have any more dramatic revelations at his part time job, so any introspections would have to come later. 

He put the crumpled crane in his pocket. It was certainly not going to be a crane once he took it out again, but he didn’t really know what else to do with it. Throwing it away felt wrong, to him. Though he wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to do with it when he got home. 

Akira hadn’t given this to him in hopes of causing some mental anguish. Or at least, he assumed so. Sakamoto had said he didn’t play mind games, but if not those, what was he doing? It felt better to know it was a game, in that way there was something about Akira’s mystery of a consciousness he could pry through. 

Was he reading into things? For sure. Reading too deeply into anything had been a talent of his for as long as he could remember. It had saved his life before, many times and in the most difficult of times. 

This crane wasn’t life threatening, but it felt like it was. Not in the thrilling way, but in the shitty way. 

His shift was over soon. Which reminded him, Sakamoto had surely already taken his break. He was a dip, but Goro preferred his own thoughts to any conversation they’d had today. And that was saying something, since getting out of his own head was a much needed relief that he’d take almost any chance he got. 

He was overthinking, and there was nothing he could do about it. He would continue to overthink until someone stole his brain and dunked it in acid. Where was the enjoyment otherwise? It was all he knew how to do. 

And even he didn’t overthink this— if Akira had given this to him in earnest and in playfulness, and if Sakamoto hadn’t been overtly pulling his leg through their shifts today. There wasn’t even anything remarkable about it. If there was a chance that maybe things were just okay, and getting better, and he wasn’t a living metaphor for a tissue. Oh just, say he invited him out for coffee, and Akira surprised him with a new little creation, less spur of the moment and made something almost sweet. He’d never drop his pride so low as to ask for a lesson, but if he did, maybe he could learn to make something, too. And maybe he wouldn’t hate every moment of it, and maybe he’d like getting so close, and maybe he’d appreciate the mistakes as much as the praises. 

…Hm.

That was just a fantasy, of course. And surely, nothing was all that great about it. Anything could go wrong in any number of ways, his own interventions just one category. 

Maybe it was the headache, or the dragging on shift, or the terrible lights, or the distant humming of his coworker, but Goro must’ve been caught off guard today. Because otherwise, why else would he have thought, not long and not convincingly, but still a thought as present as can be, that maybe, despite everything. 

It could be nice. Just for a little bit. Maybe that didn’t sound quite so bad. 

Not so bad at all. 

[dollydeez]

“Summin Strange in Them There Hills” Preview

Chapter One: Two Missing, Presumed Dead

This was supposed to be my time off, but “two missing, presumed dead” isn’t the kind of story I can turn down. I was in my apartment, surrounded by bottles, dirty dishes and cigarette butts, when an envelope slid beneath my front door. “Fuck,” I thought, assuming it to be a bill I had forgotten or the harbinger of trouble. It was the latter. A note from my boss, sparse on the explanation: and old friend of his was running an outpost on the frontier, two boys went out and never came back, leave [the contact’s] last name out of the press. If there are those of faint heart among us, my next series of columns will not be for you. Or maybe they will, I’m scribbling the first draft of this while waiting for the train with no intent of changing it. My job is to see the present and past with clear eyes; the future will always remain shrouded in fog. The only other instruction I was given was to hop on the next train available to Darmatilo. I know nothing about it, beside the fact that it lies in the region first settled by our kind when we moved westward. In my frenzy to get down to the station, I packed lightly and walked fast. It seems the line only runs in that direction twice a day, so I’ve had plenty of time to wander about. The ticket counter had a small display of pamphlets next to it, trying to tempt workers to waste their vacation in an arid wasteland, but I was able to scrounge up some information on my destination. Not directly, it was mostly an ad for the luxurious riverfront city of Ladustri, but there was a passing line about the ‘historic’ settlement of Darmatilo, separated by a small ridge from the mining town of Lagerdient. After eighty years it’s suddenly ‘historic’, the absolute gall. The train should be arriving any minute, and only now am I realizing that I could have gone back home to pack more substantively. I’m not used to last minute trips, nor stories with the possibility of more than a few days work. Maybe I’ll be lucky and head home before I run out of clean clothes, but it feels almost vulgar to suggest. My packing playing a role in the length of my stay is fine in the context of a feel-good story, but heading into something more dramatic… Comfort be damned, I’ll stay however long it takes to finish the piece.

Travel is not an unfamiliar aspect of the job, and it comes with a few perks. I don’t often head out of the city, Our City that is, but when I do I travel well. Private cabin with plenty of space, complimentary food service, and unlimited access to the sleeper cars. I spent most of my time glued to a book, but when the trolleys passed by and roused me from my trance I would glance up at the world dashing by. Trees to mountains to nothing desert. Swear to god my ears popped at least three times. Despite the emptiness stretching out before me, the desert is a relief. Something about the mountains, knowing I was so far above everything else, put me off. No matter how much I ate, nothing felt satisfying. I couldn’t concentrate on my book and even my nocturnal excursions provided little relief in the face of knowing how separated from everything I was. The air is too thin up there, no one wants to man an outpost up there. Despite all the complaints I could have about the desert, moving away from that truly dead region into one that seems that way was a relief. The ground was more even and I actually ended up finishing my book. Tragic, finishing a nonsense book in a single sitting, everything wrong with it jumped out much more ferociously. But I wasn’t reading for the plot, I wanted to see characters wriggle through strange situations. It posed this great question of, beyond all the strangeness in normal life, what if there was much more out there in the stars? Automatons indistinguishable from humans, Earth as our homeworld being a long forgotten relic, ‘star ships’ with the ability to jump great distances across the universe… I can’t tell whether the idea of humanity’s faults existing far beyond the bounds of our world is deeply cynical or a profane kind of optimism. If I’ve been keeping track of the stations correctly, I should be getting off soon. This section of my notes, or article if I decide to publish it as is, might be coming to a premature end but I need the last five minutes of any journey to get ready to transition back into work. I may travel for work, but it’s never felt like work. I can’t think of any other moment where I feel so comfortable and justified to fold into myself.

The whine of the whistle felt louder, knowing that I should start gathering my things. I’m a professional and know what I’m doing, so I hung back while everyone else stood up and huddled around the doors as they waited for them to open. Part of me can understand the impulse to get out as quickly as possible, but pragmatically the best option is to stay comfortable and seated until everyone is moving. Filtering out with the last of the passengers, I glanced along the platform for a figure who seemed to be waiting for someone. A man dressed in jeans and a dirty grey shirt was leaning against one of the pillars supporting the station awning, brim of his black hat pulled over his face and cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He looked over to me and gave a little nod upwards in acknowledgment. “Nic?” “And you must be Marcy, mighty nice to meet you,” he said, sticking his hand out. I nodded and kept moving, hoping the horses weren’t in the opposite direction. I would not describe Nic as loquacious, gregarious, or even a minor form of talkative. He was silent down the boardwalk, and was sparse with his words in identifying the black stallion as his and chestnut horse next to it, with a white streak going from its mouth past its chest, as the one I would be using. He focused on the case on the ride over, along with confirming that his first name was fine to use. Franz and James were the lads missing, the first disappearances in a long line of ‘kids’ finding refuge in the outpost, and… I’ll print it because it’s the truth, but I hate it: I was only there to make the remaining residents feel at ease. Not to say I won’t see this assignment to the conclusion, I am still an investigator, but I wasn’t meant to mention I’d only shown up to write for a paper. Something about wanting to keep the ‘kids’ from the brutal truths of our existence, make them think someone cares enough to look into it. Seems I am that someone who cares, although their understanding of my motivation may be a bit skewed. The ridge was surprisingly verdant, lined with trees on either side which were surrounded by pine needles and shrubbery. How they got into the desert I’ll never know, but squirrels rustled through the branches as we passed, spooked by our presence. Nic spent the gallop from the station shouting over his shoulder to get me up to speed, yet in the craggy path, full of sharp turns forcing us to keep our pace slow, he was silent. Why was that? “I wanted to give you a chance to appreciate the scenery.” And after all that time on the train, surrounded by dirt out to the horizon, I did. It reminded me of a certain part of the park about seven kilometers south of my flat. A straight path, but juxtaposed with everything around them[rephrase] both feel like somewhere you could get lost amongst the trees.

We spent at least half an hour winding through the wilderness until we entered a clearing, at the centre of which was a three story house. The wood was weather-beaten and dark from some impossible rain localized in this little area, and it had a covered porch out front next to the hitching post with chairs and a barrel hosting a crowded ashtray. The sound of hooves below us was muffled by grass as we approached the house. Candlelight flickered in the windows and I concentrated on taking in the moment; getting back into the experience of the first night off in a distant place, settling in so I can better take in what it feels like to be here. Following Nic inside, I got the faint whiff of roast beef. The dining room to our left was set up for dinner, but the room was empty. In the living room to the right a fire was blazing next to a man in a suit, who glanced up at us from his book with a look of anger. “You’re late,” he said, setting his book aside to get up. Despite shaking his head solemnly, his lips trembled, fighting to curl upwards, as he held in laughter. “Marcy’s train was late, and-” “Absolutely no excuse! The food’s gone cold, what am I meant to do? Heat it up in the oven like a commoner?” I said nothing while observing this ritual, as he sidled up to Nic and gave him a kiss on the cheek. They laughed and he turned to me. “Jasper,” he said, sticking his hand out for me shake. I introduced myself and, looking to Nic to confirm that I could speak freely, made sure we were on the same page as to why I was there. He wasn’t entirely comfortable talking about it, something about it making him not want to leave the house, and shifted the conversation to getting me settled in.[Ugh rewrite this] “We can save this for tomorrow, no? You’re probably starving, let me get dinner heated back up.” He gave Nic another peck, then disappeared into the kitchen. I went with Nic and took a seat at the table. It’d been mostly travel, but it was still a long day and I started to feel it as I sunk into my seat. Jasper was dashing between the kitchen, dining room and cellar as he brought out a bottle and poured us all a glass. In the middle of proposing a toast, he excused himself for a moment to check the oven. When he came back, he raised his glass and said, “To new friendships and new beginnings.”

Final Notes: I have a small candle resting on the desk in my room, where I’m scribbling this down before going to bed. It feels like a slow start, with little to no new information coming out (beside the ruse I’m meant to carry on with) and I’m fine with that for the moment. It’ll take some getting used to, being out in the middle of nowhere. The constant sounds of the city have been replaced by the buzz of cicadas and chirp of crickets. I’m in a small room, previously belonging to James, with a twin bed set up with an itchy green blanket. Beside the oak armoire and a painting of a dancer hanging on the wall, the room is bare. Despite how late it is and how tired I feel, the prospect of settling in to a new bed feels draining in its own wicked way. It’s an intersection of the trust needed to fall asleep in a strange place, the adjustment to a new environment, and the threat of restlessness. My job demands that I keep daylight hours, but I’ve always been fond of late nights. Not doing anything, but staying up and feeling like the world is my own. One item of concern I brought up over dinner was the absence of the ‘kids’ (it’s an oft enough used colloquialism in this situation that I’ll be removing the apostrophes from here on out) as the pretense for me coming out was putting their minds at ease. It seems their concern was focused on the idea of an unsolved crime rather than their safety. One of the more troubling manifestations of this was their insistence on abducting locals to interview, undermining the separation between residence and feeding grounds. I haven’t looked into how it’s done in the industrialized setting of the city, but from the price I’m guessing there is an assumption that we’d handle it on the individual end. That’s not an option out here, and to compensate they cross county lines for donors in most cases. Thankfully, most of the abductees were taken from their homes and could simply be bitten and returned with no recollection. But this was a corrective course, and at least one was picked up while in transit. If we are dealing with a hunter, which I doubt, they’ve been tossing rocks at the hornets nest. Even if not, one might have been stirred up in this chaos. We’ll just have to see moving forward.

So that’s the start of the [unedited] second draft of my next novel, Summin Strange in Them There Hills. If you read any of the first draft, there’s been a significant shift in the voice which I’m really happy with! My goal with the novels I have planned is to ground the narration in the world of the story, and this draft feels promising.