#expect references in ToM

[corviiids]

direct exposure to the nolan odyssey carries a high risk of exploding me into toxic sludge on contact

[radaverse]

I CANNOT BELIEVE I BASICALLY KNEW NOTHING ABOUT THIS SHOW BEFORE

I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT OMG

Well um, discovered some show, instantly fell in love with it and binge watched all of it.

First idea that came to mind was: artdump.

So here it is.

Gotta get back.

Back to the past.

Samurai Jack.

Foolish Samurai Warrior

child

Jackepression

No words, just ACTION! 💢

Ahfjjskskdll 😭

honk shoo mimimi

Couldn't miss this one 💀

DA FULL PAGE

And the pencil sketches ✨

This took a week to make

[call-me-oracle]

barbara gordon in nightwing #85 pt. 1

bonus:

[strunmah-mah]

Was poking around in the Wonder Woman tag to see what the general consensuses is on the new run. And I keep seeing screen shots of the narration boxes captioned with stuff like "look at Tom King's trash opinions on the amazons" And like . . .

Y'all know those are the Sovereign's opinions right? Not Tom King's? You understand the difference between a character and a writer? And that since the Sovereign's weapon of choice is The Lasso of Lies that he probably shouldn't be considered a reliable narrator? It's literally his job to make the Amazons look bad.

[mystmesstolemysoul]

Uhhhhhhhhh........ Seven?

S-sir. Sir that is my actual cat's name and that picture looks like my actual cat (ignoring pink nose)

Seven. Seven are you watching me???

I mean... I'm not mad about it. But SEVEN!!! What the heck man!? If you wanna hang out with my cat just come over istg

Edit: just found out Tom is his friend lmao.

[musicrunsthroughmysoul]

The only reason I got through work today was because I had two free periods (including one right after lunch, so I had an extended lunch) and I used one (my extended lunch) to write/continue my current WIP on my phone. And now that I'm home, I'm thinking of getting in bed and continuing to write while I watch a Big Country concert on Youtube that I discovered has a setlist I'm super interested in seeing (considering that it's from 1994, and while I consider it progress that I watched and listened to Without the Aid of a Safety Net, I'm simply not that interested in anything the band did live post-WtAoaSN unless it involved a cover of a woman's song, or a woman, such as Carol Laula).

[moscatosin]

🐍🖤 types of slytherin lovers 🖤🐍

blaise zabini; the possessive one – that low, velvet voiced jealousy he holds disguised as protectiveness. always has a hand resting on your thigh like a quiet claim. his eyes constantly track you across the castle. not big on words, but everyone knows you are his. would hex someone for looking at you too long. refers to you as ‘mine’ more than your actual name. doesn’t mind you stealing his hoodie because it makes it easier for others to know who you belong to.

lorenzo berkshire; the quiet worshipper – not flashy, blends into the shadows to come out when you least expecting him but oh, he sees you. all of you. every tiny detail. whispers the softest of praises against your skin when he pulls you close which sound more like reverent prayer. holds your hand under the desk in class; eyes glowing with pride whenever you speak. has that rare, angelic kind of smile that's just for you. every morning brings your favourite beverage to your dorm no questions asked. your personal calm in the storm although he's nothing but trouble.

draco malfoy; the schemer - forever plotting something, usually to spoil you. weekend getaways, surprise tickets, talks with connections to get you out of detention mysteriously. smooth talker with the devils smirk. knows your tells, uses them to his advantage. likes to think ten steps ahead when it comes to you and your happiness. "baby trust me" - and not only does the comment make you melt, somehow, you always do.

mattheo riddle; sinner with a soft spot - doesn't play nice with others if he doesn't have to, but folds like paper for you. sneaks you into his dorm after midnight for a little 'alone time'. knows the exact moment to appear when you need him. soft kisses behind closed doors which feel like confessions. tells you secrets that no one else knows. lets you get away with whatever you want to do because if someone doesn't like it; his fist to their jaw makes their attitude as good as new.

tom riddle; the dangerous charmer - has charisma that drips like honey, but you know he's not that sweet. all the girls want him, but he only wants you. controlled yet flirtatious to a fault when its necessary. silver tongued and a little too good at undoing you. won't admit it but likes the way you blush. reads your thoughts like his own personal book for his gain. drags you out on midnight prefect patrols to take stolen kisses within hidden corridors.

theodore nott; the best-kept secret - forever by your side when the world turns cold. doesn't care who he has to go through to get to you. sends threatening glares across the great hall at anyone who dares to talk to you. sharp tongue. even sharper when it's down your throat. the kind to meet you in the shadows so that no one knows how close you really are. soft smirks sent your way when no one is watching. would burn the world for you and then ask if you're warm enough before tying his scarf around you.

[werezmastarbucks]

best of luck! ~bangtan

silly!tormented!yoongi x clueless!f!MUA!reader

summary: years spent under your gentle, caring hand, make Yoongi realize he is in love with you. the problem is: how does he go about it? what if a confession, or a move, topples the fragile, curated, professional peace? his first mistake is going to his members for advice.

author's note: Yoongi is a bit stupid but you are outright dense lmao. i once wrote this story per a request and now the idea of Yoongi trying out the six different methods of hitting up on a girl visited me again and i found it funny. also: why do i mention excel in all my fics? is it a disorder?

warnings / tags: clueless reader, skinny love, mega sweet/flirty Yoongi, it's supposed to be comedy hopefully, swearing, lil bit of fuckboying, dramatic present, angst if you really search for it, fluff fluff FLUFF, shmexual tension, suggestive dialogues, bangtan boys demonstrate flirting techniques on each other?? Yoongi's pov mostly. my favourite genre of bangtan: slightly silly, good, overenergetic guys. Tom Cruise references throughout? bc i was a Tom Cruise fan even before BTS was even a thing

word count: 11500

Yoongi knows no other make up artist wears perfume on their wrist. The crew generally tries not to wear any strong scents when working because the dressing rooms are smallish, and the amount of people, each one with the distinctive smell, makes it bad enough as it is. Jimin smells like cotton candy all the time, and, as if it's not irritating on its own, he pours the fragrance on himself every morning or maybe even takes a shower of it. So one can imagine the sensory overload of it all; cramped in a small chair, swung and pulled in all directions, bright light hitting the eyes, someone's fingers pulling his eyelids apart and poking his eyeball with colour lenses. And in the middle of it - a small island of peace, streamlined concentration. Subtle, flowery, calm smell of the perfume on your wrist. Once you put your hand to his face, brushing over an eyebrow, Yoongi feels calm, enveloped in it like it's a hug. He had smelt it on you once, years ago, and mentioned it - and you didn't have to be told twice. Yoongi isn't sure, but he prefers to believe you started putting it on the gentle, sensitive spot on your wrist to keep him happy.

It's a small, caring, friendly gesture.

He realizes he is attuned to it because he is focused on you more than anybody. The discovery doesn't hit, or slap him; he finds it pretty well-expected. Spending so much time undone before you, putting his face up for you, maintaining eye contact, breathing in your flowers, he found it difficult to resist falling in love. You are, after all, incredibly funny, muttering under your nose as you work his birthmarks back into places, contouring his nose, retelling him the gossip from behind the scenes. You know his features intimately. You notice the changes in it. You're the first of all to say something when the dark circles under his eyes become prominent. You know his skin; what it needs; how it glows; what you do not realize, he is certain, is that all the while your eyes are concentrated on his face, he is watching you back. How your eyelashes flutter when you think, and how your brows draw together when you pinch one stray hair from his chin. It's sweet, unassuming intimacy that becomes almost unbearable. He looks around. Jimin always fucks with his make up artist Hana, turning his head, puffing cheeks, bobbing, laughing and making her laugh - because he is almost always bored. Namjoon tells his designated carer about everything he heard or read in the last 24 hours. Jungkook keeps flirting with them so they rotate all the time. At some point Yoongi can't even play around or feel completely relaxed anymore because he becomes hyper aware of your soft, warm, flower-scented hands. He catches himself once, leaning into your palm, when you put it on the side of his face to brush his hair. And he is thankful to no end when you take it as sleepiness.

Yoongi is a problem solver. He is a grabber. When he was little, every time he won a toy in the claw machine, he would grab it and press it to his chest and not let go for hours in the fear of someone taking it away. This attitude stayed with him. He likes to hold on to things, to people. He likes hugs and pressing something - someone - to himself to make sure it's not going away.

But before he can do that with you, completely sure he doesn't want to let go of you in the nearest future, he needs to solve this.

His shoulders slouch slightly when you whisper,

"Have you heard Hana got this hu-uge flower arrangement from Joon? So painfully cringe".

Your face is so close that now he can feel your fresh, warm breath on his cheek. Had it been anybody else, he'd be fine with it, maybe even look away.

"Joon? Namjoon?" he hoots, surprised. You shake your head,

"No, Joon the cameraman. He asked her out. Right at the office. With flowers", your mouth curls into an interesting shape, upper lip going up, "ugh".

Yoongi can't hold back a chuckle.

"Why do you hate love?"

"I don't hate love", you soften up a bit, then your hand tilts his head back slightly, gently, like it always does. He loves being handled by you; fingers attentive, never in a rush, always remembering he is a human first. Sometimes you even give him a tickle to raise his mood, and now, to his very vivid devastation, he starts taking it as signals.

"I just think it's kinda..."

"Cringe?"

"The cringe that makes me go uu-u-ghhh-ghhhaa", you explain. Yoongi bites his lip to stop his head from shaking with laughter. Your finger gets to it immediately and releases his lip from his teeth: tint already applied.

"How is it supposed to happen then, you think?" he is trying to sound ironic, maybe even a little challenging.

"I think..." you pause. For a second, you two look each other in the eye like partners in crime.

"I don't really know. But not that".

He nods. Sniffs. Takes a mental note. Not that. He picks up the flowers from the delivery guy that had been called up earlier, and passes them on to an assistant whose birthday was a week ago. She gives him a stink eye.

Yoongi can't escape the scrutiny because when he is preoccupied, his shoulders do the thing: they go forward, protecting the ribcage where the weakest part of him resides. He blinks several times at the computer, seeing lines, numbers, codes, but nothing of essence.

Hoseok raises his eyebrow, catching up on the silence that's just a different flavour of the usual one.

"Hyung, isn't it working out?"

Yoongi's fist is supporting his cheek and now he raises his head, looking around. The room is full of his boys, watching him like they are the expecting birdlings, mouths open, waiting for worms. He weighs everything. All the pros and cons. Hoba, Namjoon and Jin are the pros. Maknaes are the cons. It's unsolvable, because in situations where a final vote should decide the fate of the future, Yoongi is the one who chimes in and tips the balance. Now there's three for three, and he is paralyzed a little, wallowing just for a second in the weakness of undecidedness.

"I need to come clean", he says finally, before he can shut his mouth. What's done is done. He wouldn't be able to hide it for much longer anyway; with the boys, he is pretty open, not seeing any reason to clutter the mind with unnecessary secrets.

"About?" Jimin asks.

"Did you delete the cloud again?!" Namjoon heaves himself off the sofa with his strong arms, panicking.

"What? No", Yoongi grumbles, then scratches his head, "I'm not talking about the work".

"Ohh", Jungkook hums, "he is talking about Y/N".

"You're still hung up on her?" Seokjin wonders, changing his feet, crossing legs like he is about to give the best damn advice Yoongi's heard in his life.

"What do you mean still? It only happened recently", it's been three seconds, and he already hates talking about it. Should've kept everything to himself.

"Pretty sure it's been forever", Jin hammers, and there's an undertone to his voice, "why now?"

Yoongi groans. His hands cover his face instinctively, the fingers slide up and grab the hem of the hat to pull it down. Hoba's hands land on his shoulders from behind and give him a supportive squeeze.

"Any time is great. Love is beautiful. You deserve it".

Seokjin doesn't let go; grabbed into it like a shark. He continues:

"You've been flirting for a great while, and still nothing. You sure she feels the same?"

"Wehaventbeenflirting", Yoongi muffles from behind his hands, still refusing to peek out.

"Just say it", Namjoon helps. He sits back down on the sofa taking a half of it at once. The other half is occupied by Jungkook, and them two look at each other contemplatingly.

"There's nothing better than flowers and a date. Easy, classy, traditional-"

"What Joon did with Hana", Yoongi replies, finally looking up. He takes off his hat and crumples it in his hands, and Hoseok's flexible palm gets into his hair immediately to ruffle it. Even a simple touch like this reminds of you.

"See? All Joons think alike", the leader agrees with a satisfied dimple smile.

"Y/N told me it was the worst thing in the world", Yoongi retorts, "that it's cringe, and outdated, and lame, and awful, and he should go to jail".

Namjoon's face takes a pained expression and freezes. Jungkook chuckles.

"Y'all fools if you think you can lure her with your lame flowers".

"The best way is to let it happen naturally", Seokjin returns reinforced with pessimism, lecturing and fatalistic resolve. His hand slaps Taehyung's palm who is poking at something in his own pants. Keeps an eye on everybody's ticks. Severs everybody's dreams.

"If a girl doesn't react to you staring into her eyes every day, then you should think about it before embarrassing yourself. I advise you: do not chase the woman, make the woman chase you. Make sure your heart is safe".

Yoongi frowns at this.

"And how do you picture that? Run away when she wants to put foundation on me?"

Seokjin offers a charming grin.

"Sometimes I think you are slightly divergent".

There's a surprising round of approving hum going through the room.

"Don't take it so literally. Just... make her jealous. See where it takes you".

At first Yoongi thinks that he will never, ever engage in something as stupid as that. As he looks into his only hyung's face, illustrious as the moon, he thinks to himself, no. It's dumb. He's not a manipulator, he's a grabber.

But he can't just grab you out of nowhere.

Seokjin

Yoongi plops into the chair, tugging on the bottom of his wide shirt, and your hand immediately grabs his fingers.

"How are your thumbs?" you ask, a bit strict, observing. His mind is better nowadays. Your delicate fingers with glowing, neat nails wrap around his palm in the way that makes him think of hand holding. He jerks his hand away as per instruction. He is the chased, not the chaser.

"It's okay", he grumbles, crossing his arms on his chest. He sees your slightly surprised, a little amused expression in the mirror.

"Someone's in a bad mood?"

"No, just don't like it when you micromanage me".

He pouts unwillingly, drawing his eyebrows together. Watches you as you purse your lips to hide a smile. It's not working and it will not work, he can see it. But the phone screen already lights up with a call, and he has to pick up. As you turn him around in the chair and take the hairbrush, Yoongi answers the call.

"Oppa", Seokjin whines in a thin voice, "will you take me out for a coffee today?"

His teeth bite on the inside of his lip so hard that he almost hurts himself. The sensation of your light hand parting his hair is taking all the focus and he is torn between laughing and swearing.

"No, not..." what is he supposed to say? There's no script. It's just Jin. Pretending to be a girl.

He is twenty-six years old...

"Not today".

"Why oppa?" Seokjin stretches. It's clear he hates it as much as Yoongi does. But Jinnie always wanted to be an actor, like Tom Cruise. Let him act. This is his Swan Lake.

"I miss you. You promised to take me to the Namsan mountain and kiss me in the dusk under a wisteria tree!"

Yoongi puts his elbow on the armrest of the chair and covers his mouth. He has to employ the concert trick of squinting and hiding his face, pretending to cry, because he can't hold it in anymore. You are quiet, burshing his hair like he's in therapy. The first several minutes are always soft, relaxing, it's never a rush with you. He could've spent that time staring at you in the mirror, but instead he has to fight back the roar, sighing with his whole upper body.

"Can we talk about this when I'm not busy?" he chokes out. Suddenly, your hand taps on his shoulder. And he notices your eyes. Laughing. Attentive. Observing.

"You're not that busy".

"Who is there with you?" Seokjin shrieks. Has he forgotten he isn't the one who's supposed to be jealous?

"Oppa!"

"I am hanging up", Yoongi sighs, opening his mouth wider to let the air come in. Breathe, Min Yoongi. Just breathe.

"You can't just call me anytime you please", he continues, "we've broken up forever ago".

"Oppa, you will never get away from me!" Seokjin yells, "is she prettier than me? Tell me the truth!"

Yoongi puts the phone away from his ear carefully, like it's a rabid rat that's about to bite off his face, and finishes the call. Then places it back on the desk, his eyes dry like tree bark. He is afraid of looking in the mirror, where you slide the hair straightener in between his locks.

"God dammit. She is loud", you chuckle.

Yoongi gulps.

"Crazy ex".

"Can't blame her", your hand pats him on the cheek, almost like you own him, "you are so pretty. Dumped by Suga?" you suck the air through your teeth, "shit luck".

He can't believe it, searching for your eyes in the mirror.

"Do you want to keep the bangs curly, or straight?" you look at him with kindness. You always go with what he wants instead of what's in the stylist's lookbook.

Council

Yoongi is nibbling on his finger, staring into the computer like it can suck him inside and give him peace.

It was a tiny failure, really, but it feels like the abyss is opening up below him and taking him feet first. You are so nonchalant about it, so easy. Not a muscle twitching in the face.

You probably don't care about him. Maybe, after all these years of putting make up on him, covering his imperfections, correcting his features, you don't even see him as a man.

"What if we..." Seokjin is now shockingly invested. Went from fatalistic indifference to full plotting mode, but Jimin's hand stops him.

"No, you're out. Your plan didn't work, now it's my turn".

Yoongi raises his eyes at Jimin with horror.

"Is that how it's going to go?"

He nods.

"Show me how you flirt".

Yoongi blinks hard, as his hand lands on top of his head, and he feels the tip of his hat. He looks at himself in the mirror. Ears out, earrings dangling, he looks like a little gnome in sweatpants.

"Can I just die", he mutters. Jimin shakes it off.

"Come on. Let's see if what you've been doing even constitutes as flirting".

"No".

Jimin bulges his eyes.

"That's what you've been doing, right? Look at me. Like this?"

He stares at him, trying to do an impression.

"Simply ogling isn't flirting, hyung".

Jimin shakes his beautiful head full of cloud-white soft hair. A mane of pretty. His big eyes change with a pleasant shade of a hidden smirk, pupils concentrated. The air stops. Jimin lifts his chin, showing just a glimpse of shining, sharp teeth.

"That", he says, as his hand slides up, and the tip of the finger bothers the little silver hoop in Yoongi's ear, "is how you flirt".

Yoongi flinches, his lips baring his teeth. Just like you did, when talking about Joon and Hana. Jimin cocks his head, eyes grabbing at him; this gaze is choking, smothering. Jimin has a demonic skill of kissing from a distance.

"You seem a bit jumpy today", he utters, his voice like a sweet string, "anything happened? Yeppeuni?"

He does half a blink. I don't want to look away from you blink.

"I get it", Yoongi huffs, grouped like he is about to be ambushed. "I don't flirt like this".

"I'll teach you", Jimin snaps back to his normal self, and the painful, heavy mist of sensuality fades away from the room. Somewhere, Taehyung sighs with relief.

"No need. I think if I do it your way, she'll smack me on the nose".

Jimin nods.

"You have natural charm about you. Use it, hyung. Use your brain".

Jungkook hums like he doubts it.

2. Jimin

The wind keeps blowing the cut grass horizontally, the gusts so strong that all the hairdo comes undone in minutes. Other stylists panic. They run around, drop the products on the ground, chase the members. You. You are cool. You simply scoff at the wind and measure Yoongi with your eyes before leading him into the tent, away from the strom.

"I'll just fixate it up, what do you think?" you mutter, and he smiles.

"Ever gets tiring?" he muses.

"What?" you cover his face with your palm, ready to apply the spray, then start plucking the grass out of his hair.

"Being the best?"

"Dunno, you should answer that".

You fence off his jabs like a pro tennis player.

That's the problem.

Jimin thinks Yoongi is simply an idiot, but Jimin doesn't see how immune you are to flirting. Whatever Yoongi says, you always turn it around. You're like a vaccine against the toxicity. He tells you you look good, you turn it around, swinging him in his chair, and pointing to him in the mirror. Yoongi says you smell nice and you say it's the mist you apply on him. It's like you refuse to take it. Which is alarming.

You adjust his hair, not even a little nervous under his intense glance. He doesn't even blink. It's not I don't want to look away, it's the I want to look until by eyeballs dry out. You simply look back and smile, and he wobbles. Your finger rubs under his eyes to get the dust out.

"Tsk".

"All work in vain? We can do all over again".

"You in good mood now?"

You throw these little murmurs like a ball to each other, Yoongi clawing at the edge, but the edge refuses to come up sharp.

"I'm always in a good mood".

"Huh".

"When you're around".

"Aww".

Your hand tries to take the hoop out of his ear, and he bobs his head slightly.

"Sorry. Did it hurt?"

"No", he smirks. Then bobs again.

"Yoongi", his name comes out of your mouth with almost a moan, a bright shade of purple, a soft brush against his face. He grins. You have to grab and fixate his chin to take the earring off, and then you wrestle for the other one. Eventually, you push him into the chair and he crashes down but keeps messing around, so you are forced to hold his head with both your hands. Quite used to that: you must see the boys get bored all the time, and the only way to release it sometimes is to be unbearable.

You put in the other earrings and clasp them in his ears carefully, then he says,

"Scratch please".

Your fingers tickle behind his ear.

"Here?"

"Lower".

"The neck?"

"Yeah", he hums, deep, tilting his head forward. For a second, you oblige, then your fingers get stiff as you deliver a pinch on the back of his head.

"Don't get paid enough to be your masseuse as well".

"It could be a trade", he offers, face still down. He finds it easier like this, when nobody can see his expression. Why can't he take off his face completely and live unknown? It doesn't usually take so much stamina to simply flirt with someone - and yet, now, Yoongi is almost sweating.

You lift his head up and take the brush to fix the makeup. His curious eyes crawl up on you immediately.

"What do I get then?"

"...coffee".

All hope in the world in one little universal word.

It was you who told him once that "coffee" is the most consistent word across languages. It sounds the same in almost any country, any tongue. Wherever you are, if you ask for a coffee, you will most likely get it. He half-blinks, looking at you. And yet, you fence it again, like a sword master, grimacing.

"You bring me coffee all the time anyway. For free!"

He sighs.

"Thought you didn't notice".

"I appreciate it".

And just like that, it's over. You clean his face and release him back into the wild where the summer wind from the sea thrashes grass and sand around.

Council

He bangs his head against the wall, and Hobi, eyes full of concern, runs to him and puts his palm in between Yoongi and the hard wood.

"Maybe we should take a more classical approach", Namjoon tries again.

"There's no we in it", Yoongi mumbles.

"Oh, there is we alright", Hoseok protests, "we just aren't doing well enough".

Jungkook is chewing on his lip, his eyes huge like two plates. Every time Yoongi comes round to report, he gets more and more contemplative, and Yoongi isn't sure he likes that preoccupied expression on maknae's face. Jimin pouts; had offered to flirt with you instead of Yoongi, on his behalf, and almost got slapped.

"Yes", Taehyung erupts suddenly, "yes".

Sitting on the floor, he is staring at himself in the huge mirror, while stretching. Speaking to himself, too.

"Classic is good. To an extent. You know all that meet-cute? Put a twist on it".

Yoongi frowns. You've met years ago. Cute has always been there. So far, he isn't following. Taehyung lets his gaze travel throughout the room, loading the data, and for a second there Yoongi even thinks V might cook something. He is sophisticated. And he never got dumped in his life. At the very least, Taehyung is original.

"Extreme situations make people fall in love quicker", Taehyung says, "experiencing fear together bonds people", he looks at his hyung.

"You suggest we get mugged together?" he asks darkly.

Jungkook opens his mouth and gasps:

"That could work!"

Namjoon tries to cut it before Jungkook pulls his t-shirt onto his head with excitement. Of course he will volunteer to be the mugger.

"A bit too extreme? I meant like..."

Maknaes cut him off.

"Well, mugging might be a bit too basic. I meant something like... getting stuck somewhere together. Like during a storm... you know all doors are electronic", he motions towards the exit, "they did get jammed once, last year. And people got stuck together for hours".

He shrugs. Yoongi raises his eyes to the ceiling and looks at the lights to let them blind himself. Then, as the white burns his retina, he actually gets an idea. Dumb, infantile, but it's not dumber than Seokjin pretending to be an ex girlfriend.

"Okay".

The others are surprised. They turn heads to him, Taehyung's eyebrows and legs both up.

"Okay?"

"We'll be on Namsan on Friday, right?" he shrugs. Shrugs, trying to shake off this idea while he still can. But it doesn't come off.

"And you'll kiss Jin under the wisteria tree?" Jimin wonders. Seokjin snaps his head towards them.

"The cable road is old", Yoongi says. Taehyung's face is slowly lighting up in a smile. He looks at Jungkook who is getting the signal transmission straight into his brain, and also begins grinning.

"You got it".

He closes his eyes and pictures the slope of the hill where the cable cars start their ascent to the top. He prays his life won't be over on Friday, but if he ends up getting killed together with you, because Jungkook smashes the engine with a hammer, at least... at least... no, he got nothing.

3. Taehyung

The sky is cast, and he sees you are judging it silently. Your hands clutch the makeup kit, and Yoongi hooks the belt and tugs it away from you.

"Thanks".

He nods. Always the good boy. Jungkook got this habit from him: help out a little, to the people around. It won't hurt. Problem is, Yoongi is helping so much that it has become a norm, not a gesture.

"If it rains, we're screwed".

"We'll have to move very quickly", director says, heaving the huge camera into a car that's slowly crawling away, and jumping after it. You aren't convinced. There's an adorable wrinkle in between your brows.

"I'm not actually made of sugar, you know", he jokes, and you sniff half-heartedly. Yoongi looks above your shoulder where Jimin rolls his eyes as far as he can with disapproval.

Hana tugs you by the hand as the next car approaches, and you walk behind her to jump in. Jimin steps in front of you, unclasping your hands in one nonchalant motion.

"Sorry, Y/N, this is the star car. You're going in the next one", he smiles. You raise your eyebrows.

"Can't I ride with my stylist?" he whines. The car is coming. There's not much time to think. He pulls poor Hana after himself.

"I have ridden with you plenty!" Hana protests in shrill voice, and you chuckle. They get inside, and your friend shoots you a miserable glance. The flowers and asking out didn't work out after all. Joon should've known better.

Yoongi is at your shoulder, muttering,

"Is it 'ride with your make up artist' day?"

"Jimin's just feeling cunty again", you suppose. He catches the car with his strong hand and opens the door for you. You get inside and keep the door open, but, as Yoongi sits next to you, you are met with a bunch of blank faces, looking away. The door closes.

He looks outside. The sky is getting greyish. Maybe it will rain after all, and the whole shooting will have to be called off. Back an hour ago, when you all left the building, it was sunny.

"Are you cold?" he checks. You shake your head gently.

"Weather changed".

"Yeah".

If it goes on like that, Yoongi will simply jump out and crash on the ground. That surely will be better. Your knee brushes slightly against his as the car begins the painfully slow ascent, surrounded by the green of the hill and the grey of the world. Seoul is falling lower and lower, left behind. He is watching you: you look out every time, like you've never seen the view before. He thinks about what's going to happen if he just takes your hand. Just takes it, the pretty fingers, flowery wrist, carefully manicured nails, - and doesn't let go. Yoongi doesn't want it to turn sore. Feeling in love is amazing and inspiring, but he knows there will be a point in the future when it starts bringing him pain. You turn to him like there has been a conversation going, easy, ignoring the awkward pause.

"So, what's up?"

He hums instead of response. Pushes a gulp down his throat, then steadies himself. The car swings very slightly as the iron thread crawls above the roof, pulling you both up the mountain.

"Your lips are all eaten off".

Yoongi's teeth catch the lower one like it was a command. He is horrified. He should have known: you read him like a newspaper, off his face. You know his allergies because they come through on his skin. His bad habits. How he chews food. How he sleeps. Because his face is your job. He wonders then if he comes across as lovable at all - does he withstand such close observation?

"Album", he says.

"Album?"

"Yeah".

"You're doing all the mastering on your own again?"

"I'd rather not let anybody else do it".

You smirk and reach for him, and for a second Yoongi thinks a hug is coming. But your hand unzips the make up kit and plunges inside, shuffling through products. You pull out a small bottle.

"Take it home and do the eyes, you start looking tired again".

"Okay".

He takes it, fingers clashing. Then it comes: somewhere at the base, Jungkook 'accidentally sits his ass down on the lever', and the whole cable abruptly stops, sendind a shock wave through the array of cars.

As it happens, the kit slides off Yoongi's knees, open, and everything that was inside - is now outside. The serum is yanked from in between your hands, too, by acceleration still going in the air, and the noise of the clatter fills the car. You gasp, yelp, while Yoongi instinctively puts his arm across your chest to keep you in place. Well, almost instinctively: it's not like he hadn't calculated this moment. The swing is so powerful that the car jerks to and fro like a little bell on a thread. Someone shrieks in the next one.

"Shit- fuck! God dammit!" you yell once you gain your orientation back. There are slits below, under the doors, and the small things like eyebrow brushes roll over and fall down. You get to your knees and start gathering the products. Yoongi takes a second to squeeze his eyes shut and take a breath. Meet-cute in the most perverse form imaginable.

"Oh, I am getting nauseous", you grumble from the floor, and he slides after you, taking you by the shoulder.

"Then sit, I'll get it".

You tilt your head back and look out.

"What happened? Oh my god, are we going to die?"

He sniffs.

"Don't think so. It must have jammed".

It's still swinging, and he has to employ his cat balance skills to stay up while he is gathering every little thing scattered from the kit.

"I've seen a movie about it. I know if we jump, we will break our legs", you continue. Yoongi looks up at you.

"We won't have to jump. They will fix it in no time".

He even grins a little, thinking you're overreacting. That is good. He can just scoot over and comfort you a little.

Which he is trying. Putting the 90% complete kit on the seat across from himself, he sits back and rests his hand in between you.

Realizes he's never done this. Directly. He has never been in a situation where he had to chat someone up lowkey. All his life, Yoongi has been the chased. Even before he became Suga. Girls at school sent him notes. The invitations were sent through the whispers. Phone numbers written on a heart-shaped piece of paper were delivered to his desk. He has been spoiled by life, spared of the need to act on it. And now his hand rests on the faded blue plastic seat in between you, and he can picture your quick foot kicking him out of the car if he dares to touch you.

You finally snort with irritation. He understands why immediately. The first plop-plop of the rain rattles on the roof, and he looks up through the window.

"Wow".

"All coming together", you jeer, ironic-cheerful. He grins at that. You cross your arms on your chest. The moment drags.

Say it.

Just say it.

I like you. I like you a lot. I like you enough that it will get you kicked out of the company, probably. I like you so much I can't write songs that aren't about you anymore.

A song was his own plan number one. You listened to it. It flew right over your head. You barely heard into it, he bets. He is completely off your radar.

"You feeling okay?" he asks, recalling what you said a minute ago. You nod.

"Yeah, the swinging was a little too sudden at first, but I'm fine".

"If you need to throw up, we gotta lose all the makeup".

You laugh, wince, chuckle, all at the same time. Your hand taps his palm lying on the seat, and Yoongi seizes this moment to grab it. He is a grabber. Fingers catch yours and you give him a comforting look.

"Oh. You're afraid of heights, aren't you?"

It's like every time he makes a step closer to you, your brain finds a way to justify it.

Yoongi lies,

"Terrified".

Your thumb strokes the back of his hand. Now he has a reason not to look out the window and instead stare at you. The rain starts banging louder, and you frown. The sound is quite pleasing; hissing grows, summery whisper, and the car is getting filled with refreshing chill. You say the words he has been craving to hear.

"It is getting colder".

He nods, pulling you closer, and you let his arm wrap around your shoulder. Instead of giving him a look, or questioning it, you just press your shoulder into him, and settle down.

What if you are already dating, and somehow he isn't aware of it, Yoongi thinks, suddenly scared. Maybe he is so dumb that it somehow fell through the cracks. He doesn't know how to explain this otherwise. Your eyes are on the window, lashes moving slightly as you blink. His phone rings just when Yoongi is about to open his mouth, and you flinch, startled. His fingers squeeze your shoulder.

He sees it's the same number Jin called from, when acting out his prima moment.

"What?"

"This is Jenny, your ex-girlfriend", he says in his normal voice. Yoongi's knuckles go white around the phone.

"What?" he repeats, like a robot.

"How's it going? Do you need more time?"

"You're still down there?"

"Yes. We don't know how else to stall. Jungkook has been reprimanded twice. Get to kissing".

Seokjin finishes the call before Yoongi can say anything, and he loses all energy. This is utterly dumb. He isn't willing to move, mainly because this, here, is already good.

"Why are they still on the ground?" you ask.

"No idea. Something about Jungkook being afraid to go... or like..."

Visceral metal noise cuts him off as the car swings again. The cable begins turning again with a moan, and you sigh, almost with regret? Yoongi drinks the sound slowly.

"There we go", you murmur, your face at his shoulder. "No brushes, the rain, I guess we will just ride back down at once".

It makes him snort with laughter.

Council

"Taehyung is out".

"You didn't do it right", Taehyung hisses through his teeth.

"Taehyung is out", Namjoon presses. Agitated, enthusiastic to prove his classics might still work. Ever since the first shock of immediate rejection of flowers, he's been sore about it.

Now they have occupied a whole ass conference room. Hana is there, as well. Jimin's flirting worked on her from the first try, just like that. Heads clashed together, IQ loading. One more failure, and they will have to start an excel document.

It's becoming sport at this point. Hoseok's hands are on his shoulders again, massaging, like Yoongi is about to kick in someone's face. He is willing to quit the shenanigans at this point. No matter if you think it cringe, or stupid: maybe he should just come up and say it. Say it while your hand hovers above his nose. Or while it is in his hair. He closes his eyes painfully and rubs one with his fingers.

"Listen to me. It's the small things", Namjoon lectures, "they make someone fall in love with you. You are, in fact, very good at it. That's why we are all in love with you".

Jimin nods enthusiastically. Seokjin frowns but doesn't say anything.

"Problem with small things, they have become something regular", Yoongi weighs in. "I always bring her coffee. I carry her bag. I adjust her chair".

Hana produces a sound that resembles an "oh".

"What about The Book?" Namjoon asks, almost ignoring Yoongi completely. He stops in his tracks.

"The Book?"

"The Book?" Hoseok echoes.

Namjoon takes a moment to appreciate everyone's attention. He puts his elbows on the desk like a professor.

"You bring her a book you've been oiling her up about. You gotta gush over it first. Really sell it to her. Then you buy it for her and", he pretends to throw an invisible book on the desk in front of Taehyung, "just casually. But!" he raises one finger. Jungkook isn't even breathing. "You have written something in the middle. Just in between seventh and eighth chapter".

"What did I write?" Yoongi asks, breathlessly.

"I am in love with you". Namjoon utters, looking Taehyung deep in the eye. Taehyung tries to lean away.

"Would be great if the book isn't a postapocalyptic dystopia", the leader adds. Then rests his case.

"This is so lame!" Hoseok yells, "You think the girl who vomited at the flowers, will be ecstatic about this?"

"Yeah, it's pretty lame", Taehyung murmurs. Even Jin, unfortunately, nods.

"Hana?"

All heads turn to your friend. Hana is sore about something. Jimin tilts his head to catch her eye.

"Hana?"

"You never adjust my chair, Jimin oppa".

Yoongi feels a painful pang inside the vein in his right temple. Yes, it is pretty lame. Namjoon does have a point though. The little things are something he is an absolute champion in. Little things are Yoongi's profession. He remembers every movie you ever spoke about; he knows the food you are always ready to eat, and the food you will never try again. He remembers things you tell him, even when you say it just to fill the silence; he is attuned to you.

He will simply have to maximize it to make it stand out.

4. Namjoon

He does maximize it. Now Hana is a witness: she starts noticing things, and it only makes her more upset with Jimin who is an unwilling actor in this stupid play. He simply wanted a distraction, a light, non-invasive summer romance, so to say, and now he is berated every day by his make up artist, because he "doesn't adjust the seat; doesn't remember the kind of coffee she likes; doesn't comment on her new nails, doesn't send her monkey memes". Hana makes it sound loud and clear, implicated in their covert op; so that you hear it when she makes the comparison.

You tug on the hem of his shirt, big, plump brush tickling his collarbone and the base of the neck; you hum with approval.

Yoongi asks you only with his eyes, through the mirror.

"It's my favourite shirt!" you nod. He beams quietly. Jimin, on your left, throws his head back with a groan.

Yoongi replaces the lost brushes that fell through the slit in the cable car, before you manage to buy them yourself. He races against the time and wins.

He peels off all the stupid labels and barcodes you hate on your products, as well.

After the opening night of a movie you'd been waiting for, he brings you merch and you walk around in the hoodie, showing it off to everybody who has eyes.

Yoongi knows you always cut your finger in the same spot when working with scissors, and produces a bandaid quicker than you even let out a yelp of pain.

Yoongi brings you a keychain that's customized to look like your pet - and tells you he just so happened to see it accidentally somewhere in the, uh, in the city (cranks his brain to recall where normal people go to buy souvenirs, and the only word that comes up in there is Hongdae).

Yoongi brings up the relatives and friends you'd mentioned weeks ago, checking on them skilfully, letting the information steep before delivering the soft blow of love bombing that is supposed to shatter you and give you a glimpse into what his mind looks like. Full of you. Instead of getting nervous, suspicious, flustered, you sigh, kind of with sadness? And just reply to him. And he wonders how deep this friendship, this forced mental intimacy goes exactly, if you do not even react to the profound proof of his focus. Hana's jaw is unhinged; ever since she was pulled into it and gotten on the know, she has been noticing your nonchalance like it's a mountain of doom.

Yoongi becomes so proficient in this friendzone-stuck protoboyfriend shit, that even the other crew members, who know better than to hit on an idol, become his school time sighing suitors again. Phone numbers on the folded napkins. Anonymous messages from unknow numbers. Sweet drinks in the dressing room, brought especially for him.

You smirk with the weird dreamy look in your eyes. The thing Yoongi wants to hold on to is the way your hands tug on his hair today. Slightly more dramatic? A little rushed? Which is almost never the case with you. In between the hug in the cable car and now, it almost feels like a microscopic progress. You sniff through your nose when you place a note in front of him on the desk.

"Someone asked me to pass it to you".

It's another phone number. The way your voice sounds is one degree off the usual course, and he wants to think it's jealousy. Yoongi folds the note carefully and unhurriedly puts it into the garbage bin without making a big deal out of it. He thinks it's a great moment to sneak in a slow explosive. You even give him the opportunity. The way your hand lies on his forehead, almost like you're taking his temperature, feels like home.

"Not even a chance?" you chuckle. Softer than a second ago.

"I sort of... am unavailable".

You turn him with the chair and crank the pedal to lift him up a little. Put the pins in his hair to get the bangs away.

"Oh my god", your voice drops to a comfortable murmur. Finally, his favourite part of the day. Half an arm's length between your faces. You take the pad and start dabbing his face, cool, smelly toner enveloping his head. It mixes with the perfume on your wrist, and he wants to simply lean forward, fall off the chair and crash into you.

"I knew there was something up with you".

"Really?"

"You've been overly zealous the last weeks. The whole box of strawberries? You remember the last time you did it?"

Yoongi blinks. Instead of the fluffy pink of love, his chest gets infused with the black of horror. Oh. Oh no. Oh hell no.

"Three years ago, you also brought me a shit ton of strawberries, that was when", you continue, relentlessly, your smile like a sunspot on his face, cutting him, down to the throat, disfiguring, "when you had a crush on that script writer girl".

He wants to protest.

He wants to say that ridiculous box of strawberries that he paid for with three nights of eviscerating pain in his shoulder (it weighed a LOT), was for you, exclusively for you, because he is in love with you, and you should take it at a face value. He is this fucking close to snapping. Before kissing you, perhaps he wants to headbutt you.

"Yoongi, are you in love again?"

You brush away a stray hair from his forehead and throw the pad into the bin.

"Uh-huh", his heart stomps on his lungs. He senses failure like an animal. You tilt your head.

"Well, I won't push, but you gotta give me the tea sooner or later", you whisper.

Hana and Jimin aside are frozen like two statues, pretending to work, where in reality they are vibrating like ringing phones.

"It's you".

You bite on your lip.

"Tsk".

A gentle slap on his ear. Yoongi's breathing is stuck somewhere at the base of his throat. He shoots a glance at Jimin.

Do you see the shit I am working with?

Jimin's face is horrified in the funniest grimace Yoongi has seen in years. He would even laugh, had the circumstances been different.

"Chin up, funny guy", you order, and Yoongi obeys. Maybe he can even have babies with you, without you noticing.

Council

"The situation seems to be drastic", Jimin is marching in front of the wall full of Namjoon's relatives' pictures like they are assets, and he is a mission facilitator. Mission: impossible.

"Can I ask a question?" Taehyung raises his hand, his voice very soft. Yoongi hides his face behind his five left fingers.

"You don't have to raise your hand".

"Is she like... dumb or something?"

He is trying to soften it by speaking extra gently though. Seokjin chokes and coughs shortly.

"I think she just doesn't like him".

Hoseok brushes it off.

"That's not possible".

Yoongi is properly depressed. Jungkook pushes a cup of tea towards him across the coffee table and spills half of it on the go. Namjoon jumps up, grunting, and starts wiping.

"Maybe I am cursed because of you guys", Yoongi mumbles, "how are you that dysfunctional?"

"Why are you so afraid of talking to her directly?" Namjoon presses, his words, and the cloth onto the coffee table. Jimin hugs himself, lonely, against the wall.

"Because he knows what she'll say", Seokjin keeps poking the wound.

"Listen, Jenny", Jimin jumps in, "just cause you don't believe in love..."

"It's still cruel, she should just say it".

"You know she'll lose her job if anything like that comes up?" the eldest sharpens the knife before plunging it into Yoongi's ear canal, "You realize that? Many people already got kicked out that way. I mean, Joon the cameraman? Didn't he "resign" after the Hana incident? And she isn't one of us".

Yoongi blinks at his palm as if trying to read the truth off of it. You're good at that buffoonery. Read his palm a couple of times, after seeing the instruction on the internet. Told him he's going to have seventy-five kids and die at the age of fifteen.

"I just", he moans, again, mouth working before the brain. Was meaning to say it internally, not out loud. But everybody shuts up - now they do. Now they shut up, but not when he really needs them to. All eyes on him.

"What, hyung?" Jungkook urges.

"It just pisses me off every little fucking thing reminds me of her, that's all", he mutters, sore, chin down.

"He is in the twilight zone", Taehyung notes.

"He's in friendzone".

"Will you shut up?"

"He needs to move on and leave the poor dumb girl alone".

"What-do-girls-like!" Hobi yells suddenly, sensing the typhoon of nonsense coming again. Diffuses the chatter with his trademark funny, pointy voice. Cocks his head to the side, then walks over, pushing Jimin in the ribs.

"Please".

"This isn't really..."

He shushes Namjoon half-heartedly.

"What do girls like I ask you!"

"Bodily autonomy", Taehyung responds, swinging his fist in the air.

"Ghibli-style nature locations", Namjoon gives up. Hobi winces.

"Prada?" Jimin asks.

"Closer".

"Uh, when the... you know, steel-grey sky and rainbow against it, right after the storm? And you take their picture with it" Jungkook points his finger at Hobi. If Yoongi takes a very good swing, he could break the table with his head. He is starting to assume the position.

"Girls like bad boys", Seokjin says, "and Yoongi isn't bad, not even close".

"Wrong, wrong, wrong", Hoseok slaps away their words like they are butterflies - and butterflies are still insects.

"Girls like big, obvious, direct, lush gestures", he concludes, looking directly at Yoongi. "Her birthday is coming up. Buy her a fucking boat and take her to Jeju. You can confess half-way there, and push her out if she says no".

"Maybe not a boat, but..." Yoongi shifts on the couch, tucking his feet under. Jungkook is listening to him with his mouth open.

"Uh huh?"

"She always wears those", Yoongi gestures to his neck, "bead necklaces".

"Oh, I like them", Hobi responds.

"But I saw a version of that made by Bvlgari", Yoongi continues. There's energy in his voice although his brain is almost shut off. "I could, like, customize it or some shit. Put my damn initial on the underside".

Taehyung's face becomes long with an 'oooh'.

"Hyung, you are professionally romantic".

He falls back on the couch. It just fell out of his head; he has a million better ideas, but feels too tired to spell them out.

5. Hoseok

He wants to be angry with you. Can't help being angry with himself, instead. Skinny love. He is so scared of rejection it makes his butt numb. And at this point he is 79% sure rejection will be issued if he tries anything.

So instead he tilts his head back, as usual, taking what he can. The stroke of your hand. He holds up his phone as you both watch a Japanese baseball player explaining the beneficial power of bananas.

"Does it still hurt?" your finger brushes over his crooked scar on the ear, and he shakes his head.

"No. It wasn't a big cut to begin with".

"Your hair is growing out. I think it's time for Gang Signs Throwing Yoongi again", and you smile. Yoongi's eyes slide onto the clock on the wall. He prays you won't have scissors in your hands in the next four minutes, because the lights will go out.

You have a pencil instead, but do not poke him in the eye.

When the lamps die, you still have it on your tongue, licking the tip, giving away your old school roots. The last thing he sees is the line of your jaw.

You sigh in the darkness.

"Where are you?"

"Wow, it's pitch black", Yoongi hoots quietly. His hand searches for yours, and you clutch his palm.

"Where's the phone?" you chuckle.

"There will be light in a minute, don't worry about it".

You tug on his fingers.

"What... ah".

"You forgot it's your own birthday?"

Seven minutes in heaven. Yoongi stands up slowly from the chair, trying not to bump into you. It's a windowless room, full of mirrors that are useless now. He fantasizes about staying in this dark for longer, his hands feel around for your shoulders and find your waist instead.

"Turn around slowl... slowly... that's my foot".

You laugh, very close. He guides you further. You don't shiver. The universe isn't merciful to him, it doesn't like him. The door isn't locked, just like it is not supposed to be. And so it opens, too soon, before Yoongi grounds the feeling of your body under his palms, and the light returns in jumping orange splashes.

The makeup crew, together with Jimin and curious Hoseok, enter the dressing room, chanting. Yoongi manages a smile and takes a step back. He would like to :) take the cake out of Hana's hands :) and smash it into someone's face :) to be honest :) he is horny as hell :)

The cake drifts through the darkness, and Yoongi is ready to pay a lot of money to know what you wish for before blowing it out. You take things like these seriously, one of the reasons he loves you. The little silly things about life. Looking out the window while you are riding a cable car. Putting effort into the mock reading of his palm. Believing in wishes. Yoongi can't do that anymore, and he wants to know the secret. How to stay dreaming. His smile is growing more and more sincere as he watches, and finally, he is almost at peace by the time the big lights come back up again.

He still tries to move away his hips when you hug him after he gives you the present box.

Your eyes grow huge when you take off the wrapping paper, and Yoongi suddenly gets very curious about the cake, putting all his attention onto it. People say, it's nice seeing the expression of their face when someone opens up a gift. It isn't. It's awkward. He bites his lower lip. Hobi's breathing into his ear like a maniac behind his shoulder. His finger pokes into the cake and steals some icing, and Yoongi slaps him lightly.

"Oh shii-i-it", you say. Is it too much? It should be. The gem stones are heart-shaped for god's sake. The middle one, a pink sapphire, has a tiny Y engraved on the back of it, where the letter will kiss your skin once you put it on. Girls gasp. Jimin will get a beating, but at least he had been informed beforehand. You look a little alarmed, finally. Yoongi nods almost business-like as you hug him again, longer this time, and allows himself to wrap his hands around you properly.

"Yoongi... thank you?" you say.

"Happy birthday?"

"Yeah?"

Jimin and Hoseok exchange glances.

"Um..." you whisper into his neck, "isn't it a little expensive?"

People around disperse gradually, drawn by the cake that becomes smaller and smaller, fractured.

"I am rich", he whispers back, and you shake with a chuckle.

"Okay, I will switch to the good foundation..."

"And stop licking applicators?"

"No".

He laughs. He is still torn apart like his body is munched by a plane engine, but he is laughing.

Council

Jungkook is the dark horse. Always been, always will be. Yoongi feels his eyes go black as he watches maknae with silent expectation. The studio is almost empty, save for them three: the most hardworking one, the least hardworking one, and the one who likes seeing himself dance too much. Even Hobi is out for the weekend.

"You've been keeping it in for a long time", Yoongi says. Jungkook flashes him a white-toothed grin. He switches from an innocent bambi to a mafia boss au in a second.

"Dropped something at the very beginning and shut up".

Taehyung unscrews a bottle of water and pours it into his mouth.

"I was expecting you, hyung", Kookie utters, clasping his hands together.

Yoongi smirks darkly. He has no hope and no anger in him. He is dangerously close to serenity, in fact. If Jungkook's idea is to kidnap you and cuff you to a pipe in a basement, he will consider it.

"Do you want to hear it though?"

"Sure", Yoongi shrugs and wraps the towel around his neck, rubbing the sweat off. Then throws it on the floor and sits on top.

"What the hell. Go on".

"I shall demonstrate on Taehyung".

"Why me again?" Taehyung shrills. Maknae pulls his bestie closer, assuming a weirdly sexual position, popping his hip.

"You know, I drown in pussy", he begins. Yoongi closes his eyes solemnly.

"Strong lead-in".

"Ask me how".

Aftertrain Jungkook, with his bangs up, breathing through his mouth, young, blushing, is the sexiest thing one can see in the wild. Taehyung next to him, blonde, twitching, scared for his life, beating in his hands, unsure what's going to happen to him - the most poetic. Yoongi puts the hair behind his ears obediently.

"How?"

"The power", Jungkook puffs, "of proper - physical - touch".

The second time this assault happening among them, this time Taehyung being the victim. Jungkook takes his hand, fingers squeezing the palm not too tightly, gently enough. Like his thumb is sending the signals of pleasure straight into Jungkook's brain.

"Wow, your fingers... kinda tasty", he mutters, looking Taehyung in the eye. V clenches his jaws together.

"That's it?" Yoongi asks. "Your fingers tasty?"

"Wait, no-" maknae panics, "you can also go for the ear".

"Jimin did the ear already".

"And the inside of the kneecap. You're seated, right? It's easy to reach there when you sit. She walks around you, and you pretend to have forgotten something. Hey, Y/N, whoosh".

Jungkook bows and aims for Taehyung's knee, only to get pushed away by the face.

"Well, you get the idea, right? Arm, from elbow to her wrist. Also, you know what", Jungkook is working his brains real time, "she applies tint with her fingers? Kiss them?"

"You got a thing for fingers?" Taehyung looks at him from under the brow.

"Why don't I just-" Yoongi is having fun in the most morbid way, "say something like, sit on my face. Sit on my face? It's relevant enough, right? Cause it's my face she's working with".

Jungkook stoops a little.

"I tried it once, it didn't work".

"You didn't try it with a make up artist though", Taehyung helps, "it was a coffeeshop barista. It just didn't make any sense".

They start bickering. Two children, consumed by each other, the two attached at the hip, so attuned that they don't really need anybody else in the room to be entertained. After a little banter, Jungkook turns back to Yoongi:

"Feels like it's your last chance".

"I am also friends with a little band called Seventeen", he croaks, lifting himself off the floor. Taehyung snickers. Jungkook gives him two thumbs up as if he's done something here:

"Best of luck".

"Fighting!" Taehyung is happy again.

6. Jungkook

It comes up unexpectedly. You come up unexpectedly. The whole second floor of the rental is empty, hence Yoongi is there. While the others are releasing the pent up energy from the day outside, dragging staff into a game of football, he is having his quiet moment. Old man pains. Whatever they call it.

You're caught up in his glance like a mouse-thief, holding something to your chest, your mouth agape.

"I thought there was no one here".

Yoongi shakes his head. He can see the necklace. The 100 000$ necklace with heart-shaped gem stones hanging on your neck, contrasting with a 15$ grey Uniqlo shirt. You look atrociously stunning in it. Yoongi squints his eyes and sees six bottles of red bull in your hands.

"You..."

"I am making red bull ice".

He ponders for a second.

"Why?"

"Because I love red bull", you nod like it explains the ice part and march past him to the kitchen where a small freezer guards ice cream.

"You shouldn't..." he reaches out through the air, "put them in there in cans. They might explode. Better pour them in ice trays".

He has to get up and waddle after you because you don't seem to hear. He toddles into the smaller kitchen to help and opens all the cupboards as the search for ice trays begins.

Physical touch.

There's plenty of physical touch between you, so it's the same fucking issue as usual. How does one make it obvious. Yoongi is far from an unhinged fratboy, but what he wants to do now is exactly something like that. Every time they give him a strategy, he warps it to his own vision until it's unrecognizable. After all, he is a grabber, and it's his territory. Instead of taking your hand and admiring the edibility of the fingers, he pokes you in the rib.

"Ouch", you take it way calmer than he expects, and it tells him everything he needs to know.

"Your pancreas won't like this amount of red bull. Ice", he says.

"Says the functioning alcoholic?"

He sucks the air through his teeth, disarmed disgracefully. Since he has nothing to say, and his hands are itchy, he stares into your back and how your shoulder blade flexes as you open up the cans, and pokes you again.

"Yoongi, quit it".

The others were right. He is in the twilight zone. This monstrous crush is borderlining obsession, and he doesn't recognize himself anymore. He pokes again just to hear your voice. You turn around, a lock of hair on your eyes, and you put it away quickly.

"What's gotten into you?"

Your eyes search up his face as he pulls his cheeks apart in a non-smile. For some reason his eyes follow your index finger scratching your nose.

"Bored".

"Don't be bored", you jerk the ice tray on the table, "in three to five hours we will have red bull ice".

He likes the way you include him into this heartburn-inducing adventure. He likes the way you say "we".

"What shall we do meanwhile?"

Here, on the second floor of the three-storey house, it's easier to pretend you two have this whole place to yourselves. It's times bigger than the amount of people: them seven and the staff. There's even a good chance no one will come up here when the football is over.

"A... movie?" for a girl hating on the traditional 'cringe' things you suggest a very traditional pastime, and he is down.

He plops himself on the couch looking at the gems reflecting the blinding light in flashes. Yoongi even moves his shoulders trying to restrain himself from asking how you like it. If you found him in the necklace. He is trying to play it cool, encapsulating all the members' strategies in himself, all at once. Unreachable, nonchalant, spontaneous with exactly one tiny cube of Fruittella he shoots at you. You look up from your side of the couch.

"Strawberry".

When you are very happy about something, you say 'whoo' under your breath.

Your eyes slide onto his neck.

"You cut yourself again?"

Yoongi used to get irritated about how you treated everything above his shoulders as your own property. Now he simply loves it. As you launch across, your hands on his chin, tilting it to the side. The perfume from your wrist reaches his nostrils, and he loses his cool.

"Yoongi, you're not using moisturizer before shaving", it's a statement. His hand already snakes in between you, ready to attack. Tom Cruise appears on the screen and yanks your attention, just for a moment. You are like a squirrel, here and there, head snapping.

"I do use it", he lies.

"Don't lie to me".

"My hands shake because I am an alcoholic, and I cut myself".

You click your tongue and want to say something, but he pokes you again. Your pretty mouth catches air. Tom is battling with Min Yoongi for just a glimpse of you, and you are slowly pulled into the world of cinematography. You know he is bullshitting, but you are just too used to it.

"You're on your last warning", you mutter, sitting way closer to him than before. Yoongi realizes you put on... the Mummy? Out of all Tom Cruise movies you could have chosen, you put on the Mummy.

"And then what?" he pushes, his eyes on the TV as well.

"Then I kick you".

"You can't kick me, I'm an idol".

Your hand brushes him off. He has lost to the last great movie star, even if you're wearing his necklace.

"Who is more famous, me or Tom Cruise?"

"Tom Cruise", you say automatically, and Yoongi sinks deeper into the couch.

"He could be your father".

You gasp, dreamy.

"Imagine that. He'd be a lousy father, but still".

"I mean I'm..."

Your hand suddenly gets into his hair. And it's not the usual soft, professional touch that Yoongi is used to. It's a grab. You yank him like he's an insolent boy, and he tips over even before he realizes what you are doing. A second; and his head is on your lap, Yoongi himself still producing a moan of pain. He has to readjust, swinging his hips, bending legs to fit, as he lies down. Your hand presses on the side of his head and Yoongi has no idea what the fuck is going on.

"Shh".

Yoongi is turning, trying to fit his elbow under himself and not move his head lest you remove your hand.

"When Tom Cruise is on screen, we are what?" the fingers drum on the side of his skull.

"Uh..."

"Silent as a grave".

"It's not even a good one, can we watch T-"

You cover his mouth with your little palm, and he shuts up. If it weren't for Tom Cruise, sorry, 🌸🌷🌺Tom Cruise🌼🌻💐, now would be a great time to ask,

what are we??

Council

Namjoon is under the desk. His hand feeling around on the linoleum, his own body covering the light. He is in the shade of his own clumsiness, scrambling for pieces of his own life: all his credit and name cards are on the floor.

The door sounds like someone is trying to take it off hinges. Jammed last month again, so now the handle is half-broken. Namjoon twists his body to see, and recognizes your feet.

"Butt of Namjoon?"

"Hey".

Even though there's a joke in between your teeth, as always, you don't sound joyful.

Also it's weird that you came to speak to him at all. Your tone shows intention. Namjoon crawls backwards and sits himself on the floor comfortably, looking up.

You are sad. The necklace Yoongi gave you, a small, intricate and stylish piece of quiet luxury on your neck, almost completely hidden by the collar of your hoodie.

"I need to speak to you first".

He doesn't have any idea what it is, but his mind starts going places.

"Why?"

"Because you're the leader".

Namjoon grinds his jaws against each other, one hand covering his ear. You are a remarkable girl. You never shiver or anything like that, and never did. Guess this job makes you tough very quickly. Even now, displaying classical signs of distress - lowered head, inexpressive eyes - you do not fidget. It indicates deeper sadness, he thinks.

"I am going to quit", you say, simply. It doesn't have any intonation, any colour. Namjoon supports himself against the desk.

"Why?"

You look at him.

"Personal reasons", you pause. Your finger tortures the lower lip, "personal feelings".

He is quiet, stranding you alone in this. Namjoon blinks. He was moderately invested and now he is dying to hear this shit.

"I kind of... caught a crush on Yoongi", you sigh heavily, like you've been unloading something.

"Y/N-"

"Like a year ago".

Namjoon shuts up.

"Or maybe earlier. I don't know", your hands drop on the desk. "I've been doing alright, but I guess it's piling up, you know? Lately it's been difficult, I am getting sad. And I need to get away before I screw things up".

Namjoon puts a double security on his mouth: bites his lip and covers it with his hand. He wants to say something very funny but knows this, this thing unravelling in front of him, is incredibly human. Yeah, funny as hell. But human.

"I'll stop you right there", Namjoon puts out his hand and, after careful consideration, it crawls across the desk and covers your palm.

"You're a great make up artist".

"That's not the point..."

"And I am not the one you should be talking about it".

You finally close up:

"No, no, I don't wanna tell Yoongi anything. It's going to be so humiliating".

"You've known each other for three years..."

"I couldn't bear looking at him if..."

"...even if feelings weren't involved, he must know..."

"...and he will say not to go..."

"...oh my god!" Namjoon snaps. The disciplined, civilized, mannered Namjoon shrieks at you. "They are heart shaped!"

Your mouth freezes open.

"What?"

"The gems!" he is pointing at your necklace, desperate, completely miserable, disbelieving. He can't control his voice anymore. "Each little fucking gem is heart shaped, Y/N! And there's a Y on the inside!"

Your bewilderment is adorable. Namjoon sincerely gets it. Your hand flies up to your neck. Your tormented expression slowly relaxes as your eyes run over his face. He feels bad about screaming but it's a matter for shouting. Namjoon raises his hand.

"Sorry. I might have overreacted".

Your mouth is agape, and he wants to reach out again and tap it shut with his finger.

"But you get the idea, yeah?"

You nod several times in small motions.

"Have I... convinced you to stay for now?"

You nod again.

"Mm, mm-hm".

You sit in silence for a while, turned away from each other, room suddenly smothering stuffy. Then you push your chin down.

"I didn't see any letters", you mutter.

"It's very small", Namjoon responds tiredly. Your fingers feel along the necklace, and he softens up again.

"It's pretty, isn't it?"

"I never take it off", you confirm, "I even sleep in it".

He kind of melts.

7. Yoongi

He bites on the chocolate bar from your hand and moves his jaws. Eyes concentrated in the mirror. You are efficient: the bar disappears and the brush appears immediately. It's like you have ten hands. Then one of them lies on the side of his head - you can see he is nervous - and he leans in out of habit. Fingers rub on his scalp shortly, then the bar hovers around his mouth again. Yoongi bites.

Something tickles his nostrils.

The scent of is peace in the ocean of chaos of the dressing room has changed. It's sweeter. Like honey and apples. He frowns slightly and catches your smile in the reflection. Hums with question. You nod.

"What's that?"

"New".

To his right, Taehyung quietly gasps with pain. The new girl burned him with the curler. She starts apologizing profusely and Taehyung shakes his head, although still wincing. Yoongi returns to his haven of calm.

"When you go with your grin", you say, "turn like this", your hand moves his chin a little so that he sees the sharp, pearly line of highlighter on the edge of his jaw.

"Okay", he grins, "uh, what shade is it? Jimin's hair would go well with it, too".

You lift the small bottle to his eyes, and he reads: '78 deeply loved'.

"Only for you".

You boop it on his nose, and he is dumbfounded, transcended, dead. He sees himself looking like a hopeful pup, staring into your eyes. You look shy as you lick eye pencil. You blush for the first time.

[vivian-pascal]

Summer Love

dbf!joel x f!reader

summary: You were the sweet, little, innocent girl that your father had raised perfectly. You went to church every Sunday and made sure to do all your college work before any free time for yourself. Your dad and you had a great relationship, talked about boys, college, friends. Anything. Sometimes your dad's best friend would come over on a warm, summer eve. You'd all sit outside and listen while he played the guitar, every time you were with him, you had a tingly feeling in your core. One night, he decides to do something very unexpected.

warnings: age gap, flirting, teasing, jealous!joel, pervy!joel?(just gonna put that in there incase) sexual tension, referring to pussy as 'she', description of what reader wears, manhandling, piv (wrap it up) oral f!receiving, fingering, clit slapping, joel's dirty mouth, thigh riding, joel not lasting, reader is on birth control, aftercare

authors note: so, I just wrote this little one shot expecting it to be just a drabble, but it is a bit longer than I expected and I'm kind of in love with these two and might turn it into another series 😭 what do you guys think I should do??

You laugh uncontrollably as your dad makes jokes about this boy at college that you've supposedly had a 'crush' on. "Dad stop!" You swat him on the shoulder as he walks into the kitchen. "Just sayin' sweetheart." He shrugs his shoulders and you roll your eyes.

"I don't like him dad, I didn't even say anything that would hint to that!" You hear a knock on the door and your dad walks over to it. "Yeah yeah." He opens it and immediately smiles.

"Hey man!" He opens his arms wide to the stranger you're not quite sure who it is yet. When he walks in, you're stomach immediately flips. Joel Miller.

He grins at you as you shyly smile. He walks through the door with his guitar, of course, and Tommy walks in too. "Hey uncle Tom!" You smile and give him a big hug. You've always loved Tommy. He's funny and will make a joke about almost anything. Where as Joel, he's a bit more cold.

"Hey yourself." He squeezes you tightly and spins you around. You giggle when he puts you back on the ground. You all make your way outside and onto the back porch. Joel sits in his usual spot, the rocking chair, and you sit next to him on the lounge couch that holds Tommy as well.

He strums the guitar once to see if its tuned and then he begins to play. The night breeze flows on your face as the music he plays fills your ears. "So how's college goin'? You look at Tommy and look at your dad. He has a big stupid grin on his face and you shake your head as a 'please don't' to your dad so he doesn't mention your so called 'crush.'

"I think it's goin' really good, isn't that right sweetheart?" You roll your eyes and give him a dirty look. "Oh what's this now?" Tommy leans forward as he's more interested in the conversation. Joel stops playing and your face turns a shade of pink.

"Do you wanna tell them hon, or should I?" You cup your face in your hands and run your fingers through your hair. "Oh my god dad, it's not that big of a deal okay? He asked me on a date once! Once!"

Tommy's grin only widens and Joel just looks angry. "Right sweetheart, and what'd you say hm?" You roll your eyes. "I said yes okay?"

Joel can feel his heart pounding in his ears. You? Going on a date? That's a no go.

"Ohhhh!" Tommy throws his arms in the air and sits up straight. "Well? Did you get laid with'em?" "Tommy!" He laughs as you slap his shoulder and sigh loudly.

"Joel, you alright over there? Looked like you'd seen a ghost brother." You turn to see Joel and your eyes widen in surprise. He looks furious and scared at the same time. How is that possible? And what's he mad about?

He clears his throat and rests his guitar against a pillar. "Yeah, m'fine." He stands up and steps over your legs. He stares down at you and that's for sure a sign he's not okay. "M'gonna get a drink, anyone want anythin'?" Tommy shakes his head but your dad asks for a beer. "I'll get my own." You stand up and walk over to him.

His nostrils flare as he sees you pass by him and into the house. You walk into the kitchen and grab the kettle. Filling it with water, you put it back on the stand and flick the switch to start it. You reach up and onto your tip-toes to reach your mug but its just to high. You try jumping but its no use. Just as you're about to turn around and ask Joel for help, he reaches his arm above yours and grabs the mug.

You mumble a quick 'thanks' as you grab your tea bag. "What's his name?" You turn your head to face him. "Who?" He looks at you as he cracks open a can of beer. "The guy you're datin'." You roll your eyes and lean against the counter.

"For the last time, I'm not dating him. We went on a date once and-" "Did you have sex with him?" The question stumbles you. Who the hell asks that? You look at Joel dumbfounded and he just raises his eyebrows. You gulp as you beg the kettle to hurry up so this conversation can end.

"Well" You pause as he stares at you. "Yes but it was only one time-" "Thanks darlin', that's all I wanted to know." He gives you a smile as he leaves you standing in the kitchen all alone. You run your hand through your hair. Grabbing your mug, you pour the boiling hot water and take it outside.

You sit down on the lounge chair and try avoiding his glare. The men talk for a while as you sit and sip your tea, just listening. You do wish Joel would play his guitar again. Something about the way his fingers move and how he strums the shallow instrument makes you tingle.

Something about him, Joel. Makes your heart jump out of your skin. He's always had an impact on you. His voice, his hands, his hair, his strong body. Just everything about him is perfect.

You yawn as the conversation comes to an end. "Think it's time we should head out." Your dad stands up and cracks his back. He grabs Tommy's hand and pulls him in tight for a hug. You stand awkwardly with Joel. All of a sudden, two strong shoulders are spinning you around and you fall head first into a strong chest.

He wraps his arms around your small frame as you try to wrap your arms around his. It's unexpected so you're not exactly sure what to do. He rests his head on yours and you breathe in his scent.

"Don't be gettin into much trouble darlin', don't wanna end up with the wrong people ya'know." He lets go of your body and you look up at him as you nod your head. He gives you a little grin and pats the top of your head. "See ya kiddo." He walks out, grabbing his guitar, and shakes your dads hand.

You stand there for a few moments. Trying to regain composure as you try to wrap your head around what just happened. The fuck does he think he is?

You clear your head and begin to walk inside. Closing the sliding door, you kick your shoes off and head upstairs. You take off your shirt and bra changing into your over-sized shirt and some shorts. You lie in bed and close your eyes. Dreaming of Joel.

When you wake up to the morning sun shining into your room, you think back to the day before and cringe at all the awkwardness. You pull back the sheets and get out of bed. You put some socks on before opening your door and heading downstairs.

Your dad is in the kitchen making breakfast and his coffee already. "Morning dad." He looks up and smiles at you. "Morning sweetie, I gotta head out to work, Joel's gonna be around to fix up the bathroom since the showers not working, see ya later okay? Love you!" And with that, he grabs his work bag and shuts the door.

Shit. You completely forgot the shower wasn't working. Oh well.

You walk into the kitchen and grab a glass, filling it with water and gulping it down before heading back upstairs. You go into your room and change into some booty shorts and a sweater, you put your hair up and into a high ponytail. You smile at yourself and head downstairs.

Its almost noon by the time Joel arrives. He knocks on the door and you immediately jump up to answer it. "Hey!" You smile up at him sweetly and he takes a deep breath. Seeing you in your little cute outfit makes his jeans get a little tighter.

He clears his throat and smiles down at you. "Hey there darlin', your dad in?" You shake your head and leave the door open for him to follow you in. He watches the way your hips shake as you walk back into the living room with those little shorts on, leaving much to the imagination.

"Nope, he left a few hours ago, just me and you Joel." You smile slyly at him and he groans. How is he supposed to contain himself when you're just looking too goddamn good?

He heads upstairs and straight for the bathroom. He sets his bag down and inspects the shower. He opens his bag up and gets straight to work.

Its been about an hour since Joel has been here. You decide to make him a little sandwich and bring him a glass of water since he must be hungry and thirsty because of how hard he is working.

You carry the plate and the glass upstairs and into the bathroom. "Here Joel, I brought you some-" Your face immediately turns red as you see his shirt soaked with sweat and his face shining with it. You can see the muscles in his arms and his back. You gulp when he looks at you and grins.

"Well that's very thoughtful of ya sugar." He backs out of the shower and heads towards you. He takes the plate from your hands and his fingers just glaze yours. You take a deep breath in when you smell his sweat and that rough musky smell of him.

He takes a bite of the sandwich and sips a drink of water. "H-How is it?" You stutter as you stare at his veiny neck. Watching the way his jaw moves as he takes another bite, swallowing down the bread.

"Great! Thanks s'much sweetheart." You nod your head as you stare at his mouth. The way his lips bite into the soft bread and how they form themselves around the rip of the cup just perfectly makes you want to devour him.

Once he's done the sandwich, he leans in close to your face and looks into your eyes. "Ya know, ya shouldn't really be interested in an old man like me sugar." Your eyes widen at his statement.

He knows he shouldn't be flirting with you, let alone do what he's about to do, but how could he resist your sweet little self?

"I, uh, I'm not sure what you mean Joel?" He grins as he grabs onto your waist and pulls you into him. He leans in close to your ear and his soft whispers of air tickle your neck.

"I can practically smell how wet ya are f'me darlin'." He leans back and looks down at your starstruck face. "Joel, that's not true-" He snakes his rough hand down the outside of your shorts and cups your mound.

"Really darlin'? Cause it sure does feel like she's drippin'" You moan as his hand stays where it is. Putting the slightest little pressure on your swollen bud. "Joel, please." He chuckles at your begging state.

"Oh no honey, you were just sayin' ya didn't want me." He teases as he sneaks a finger into your shorts, moving your panties to the side and pressing his bare finger to your clit. Your hands perch onto his strong arms as he rubs your clit. "There she is, there ya go." He praises you as his finger slides through your slit and collects your seeping arousal.

"Lets remove these, shall we?" With his free hand, he tugs your shorts and panties down. Leaving you there with just your sweater. His eyes turn a shade of black when he sees your bare cunt.

He licks his lips as he kneels down. You lean your back against the door and brace yourself for what's about to come.

He presses his nose into your pussy and you moan aloud. He breathes in your sweet scent and groans. "So good darlin', s'good."

He grabs onto your thighs and pulls one over his shoulder. He smashes his mouth onto your pussy and you arch your back. He licks a stripe from your clit to your weeping seam and sticks his tongue inside.

"Oh god Joel." He smirks against your core as you moan and try to grab onto something. Your hands make their way into his hair as you tug and pull. He groans against you which only sends vibrations flowing throughout your whole body. Making the sensation even better.

He removes one of his hands from your thighs and reaches up to grab onto your breast. Tweaking and poking at the nipple. You whimper as you feel your orgasm nearing.

He can feel it too. The shake of your thighs, the pulse of your cunt, the way your moans seem to be higher in pitch, oh he knows. He carries his tongue back up to your clit and flicks it back and forth, side to side. "J-Joel!" You moan when your orgasm hits you.

Arching your back as far as it can go. Grabbing onto Joel's hair and pulling it so hard it hurts. He drinks up every bit of arousal from your soaking cunt. "Such a good girl."

He stands up and grabs onto your waist. He looks down at your hazy expression and chuckles. You side eye him and groan. You begin to fix your hair and walk out of the bathroom but Joel's hand grabs onto your arm.

"Where do ya think you're goin'? I ain't finished with ya yet." He picks you up and throws you over his shoulders. You kick your legs and smack his back. "Joel! Put me down right now!" He shrugs his shoulders. "Alrighty darlin'." He throws you on the bed and chuckles.

You lie on your back as you death stare him. He crawls over you and gives you a confused look. "What! You told me to put ya down darlin' so that's what I did." You roll your eyes and wrap your arms around his neck.

"You're pathetic." He chuckles and shakes his head. He slowly leans his head down and combines his lips with yours. You groan as you taste yourself on his lips.

His hand flows down your body, tracing every curve and dip in your small frame. His hand meets your pussy once more and he inserts a finger. You arch your back and moan aloud. "Now, about that 'guy'" Your face freezes in shock. Why is he mentioning him now of all times?

He adds a second finger and you can't help but whimper. "How did he fuck you?" He continues his movements and it just feels to good to answer. He would never compare to Joel. "Darlin', ya gonna answer or?" You shake your head as you bite your lip.

"Right." He removes his hands and sits up on the bed. He moves to the edge and pats his thigh. You sit up and rest your arms behind you. "What?" He pats his thigh again. You get up, confused, and walk over to him.

You stand in front of Joel and stare down at him. "Remove your shirt." You do as you're told and take off your shirt and bra. He pats his thigh again and you hover over it. "Sit."

You lower your pussy onto his strong thigh and sigh when they make contact. His rough hands grab onto your waist and starts to move you back and forth. You grind on his thigh as his hands help maneuver you. You moan at the feeling and wrap your arms around his neck.

"There ya go sugar." He praises you as he removes his hands and undoes his button on his jeans. "Now, how did he fuck you" That goddamn question again. Why?

"Uh." You're not quite sure what to say. It was only one night and those are hard to remember.

"Well?" You shallow your eyebrows as an orgasm starts to near. "We made out first, a-and then-" You arch your back as his fingers start to prod at your clit. "Hm?" He looks down at you with a questioning look.

"H-He just layed me down on my back and fucked me like that. That's it Joel." You try your best to sound stern but the feeling only increases. He smirks and kisses your nose. "Great."

You moan and arch your back as you soak his denim jeans below you. He smiles when you breathe deeply and look up at him. He picks you up once more and lays you down on the bed.

He removes his shirt and jeans and crawls over your body. He removes his cock from his boxers and your mouth instantly waters at the sight. He grins as he sees your face and lines himself up with your entrance.

"Ya ready?" You nod your head in desperation as he pushes in. You moan at the intrusion and bite your lip. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him thoroughly. He groans into your mouth as he feels your tight cunt adjusting to his size.

"So tight darlin.'" His lips hovering over yours as he begins to move his hips. His pelvis crushes your clit and you arch your back at the sensation.

He's not sure if he can last that long. Watching the way your back arches off the bed, your sweet little sounds you let out for him. He knew you didn't sound like this when you were with that other guy. He would never make you feel as good as Joel.

Feeling your tight little pussy pulse and squeeze his cock only made his orgasm unable to control. He tries to hold it but he's been on the edge for so long. Watching you come, making you come, that only turned him on more.

"Darlin'." He moans as you squeeze his cock once more. "I'm not gonna last long." You smirk at his submissive state and tug at his curls. His thrusts become sloppier and more messy as he thrusts in all the way. "Oh fuck baby-" He groans as he spills his hot seed into your weeping pussy.

He rests his head on your breasts as he regains himself. "M'sorry sweetheart." You look into his eyes with admiration as you admire his cute little state. You run your fingers through his hair and shush him.

He begins to get out of bed and head for the bathroom that he was fixing. He returns with a wash towel and some shorts for you. You thank him and give him a kiss on the lips as he begins to get dressed.

You throw the wash cloth in the hamper and put your shorts and sweater back on.

You stand up and scratch the back of your head. "So, maybe you should get going soon. I can just tell my dad you didn't finish it and you can fix it some other time?"

He stands up and puts his shirt on. He smirks as he sees what your trying to say. "Sure darlin', i'll come back and 'fix' your bathroom."

You roll your eyes and walk out of your room. Joel grabs his bag and tools from the bathroom and throws it over his shoulder. You walk him to the door and he walks out.

"I'll be back, don't be too desperate f'me now, I know you'll miss me. Oh and this." He points down to his jeans and your face turns pink. He's somehow hard again and you can't help but drool.

His thumb wipes your saliva from your mouth and gives you a smirk as he heads to his truck.

You close the door and lean against the back of it.

What have I just done?

part i part ii part iii part~iiii

tags!

@guelyury @livingonthehems @ursagittariusgirlfriend @iamsherlocked @heartpascalispunk @pinkcrystal44 @amyispxnk @simplewanderer @tupelomiss @heartramen @kotourasan123 @mermaidgirl30 @brittmb115 @littlevenicebitch69

@sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts @itsokbbygrl @mountainsandmayhem @morallyinept @rav3n-pascal22 @magpiepills @javierpenaispunk

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

A Curse [Chapter 1: Chinatown]

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent...at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon's right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), a lil age gap, entertainment industry misogyny, some body dissatisfaction/dysmorphia, big doomed situationship energy, erotic apple eating, Minnesota.

Word count: 5.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

He takes your hand without looking at you. He had been lounging with his green Nike Killshots up on the desk when Brandon, the receptionist, brought you in. He had also been playing a translucent orange Nintendo 64; now the game is paused and Mario is frozen on the screen of the 24-inch television, deep underwater and in pursuit of a gold star affixed to the tail of a giant eel.

“Nice to meet you,” Aegon says without much interest. You’re smiling, not that he notices. Then he nods at the receptionist. “Thanks, Brando.”

“Oh, no problem at all!” Brandon trills buoyantly, pulling out your chair for you as Aegon flops back into his own. “Can I bring anything? Iced coffee, matcha latte, Perrier?”

“I’m good,” Aegon says, glancing at your resume where it rests on the desk amongst framed photographs, manilla folders, takeout menus, gum wrappers rolled into tiny balls. You have the impression he hasn’t read it. Nonetheless, you are still smiling.

“How about you, hon?” Brandon asks you.

You don’t want to make him run to a Starbucks or anything. “Um…I’ll take a Perrier, please. That’s easy for you, right? You can just grab it out of the minifridge in the lobby?”

“You betcha!” Brandon darts out of the office and returns in ten seconds. In the elapsed time, Aegon has not looked at you once. Instead, he slouches in his chair and thumps his Nikes onto the desk, sighs, and gazes longingly at the television screen. You sit up straight with your hands folded in your lap. You have dressed in business casual attire for the occasion: a modest yellow sundress and TOMS wedges, warm understated eyeshadow, sparkly champagne pink Dreamer by Anastasia Beverly Hills, matte brown Hope by Huda Beauty. Brandon returns and hands you a green glass bottle of Perrier, ice cold and slippery with condensation, and closes the door behind him as he leaves.

“Look, I’ll be honest,” Aegon tells you, picking up your resume and scanning it blandly. “I don’t want to waste your time, but I’m really not in the market for new clients. Brando made this appointment before I told him that, and then he really didn’t want to cancel it. He liked your resume or something. So I’ll hear you out but don’t expect much.”

“Oh. Well…I really appreciate you taking the time to see me anyway!”

He gives you a swift sideways look as if suspicious of your enthusiasm. It’s not that complicated; you haven’t had an audition in weeks, and none of the other six agents you’ve seen have signed you. Aegon Targaryen’s drab little office in one half of a duplex in Elysian Park is a relative paradise. His blonde hair is gelled back from his face. He wears dark jeans, a teal t-shirt, and a wrinkled tan sport coat jacket thrown carelessly overtop. You’ve Googled him; he’s thirty-five, so a decade older than you. “Where are you from?”

That’s on your resume he hasn’t read. “Minnesota.”

Aegon’s eyebrows shoot up. “No wonder you left. City or country?”

“A town called Apple Valley, it’s about a half hour outside of Minneapolis.”

“So you’re not a nepo baby.”

“A what?”

“Your parents aren’t connected to the entertainment industry in any way.”

“Oh right, no, they definitely aren’t. My dad’s a cardiologist. My mom worked as a waitress while he was in med school, and now she just has a lot of Akitas.”

Aegon flips over your resume and skims the back. “Are they supportive of you being out here?”

“Um…” You chuckle uneasily. “Not really. My older sister’s a pharmacist and my brother’s in law school, so I am definitely the underachieving child. But they’re not too mean about it. They’re just waiting for me to get it out of my system.”

“Law school where?”

“Michigan.”

“State or University?”

“University.”

“So you’re really smart,” Aegon says. He has begun to fold your resume into a paper airplane. “Intelligence is genetic. If your siblings are book smart, you probably are too.”

You smile and shrug, not knowing what to say. “I guess so.”

“Do you have a boyfriend back in Minnesota who’s calling you every other day trying to convince you to come home and marry him and have two kids and a Goldendoodle?”

You laugh. “No, no boyfriend. I mean, I have an ex-boyfriend there. I see him sometimes when I fly home to visit. But he’s not standing in the way of anything.”

Aegon nods like you’ve passed a test. “Do your parents send you money?”

“Yeah, but not a lot. They don’t want to encourage me. I work at a Cold Stone Creamery in Harbor Gateway, it’s just a few blocks away from my apartment. I have a roommate, she’s trying to be an actress too.”

“Ice cream,” he muses. He launches your paper airplane resume; it sails across the room, hits the mint green wall, nosedives to the floor. “Do you like working there?”

“It’s fine. It’s a paycheck. Back in the spring I was doing after-school programs for Mad Science, driving all over Watts and Southeast teaching children about bugs and magnets and outer space, so that was really cool.”

Aegon looks up at you, brow furrowed. It’s the first time you’ve had his full attention. “You were doing after-school programs in Watts?”

“Yeah, it was awesome. The kids were so fun. But I needed something that was more flexible so I could be free during the middle of the day for auditions and stuff.”

He blinks at you a few times. “Why do you want to be an actress?”

You stall, twisting open your Perrier and taking a gulp. “That’s a hard question.”

“It’s literally the most obvious question. If you can’t answer it, I don’t know what you’re doing here.”

“Well, I never wanted to be an actress,” you say. “I just kind of…am one. I can’t read a book without my expressions and my posture changing to match what’s going on in the story. I can’t watch a movie without feeling like I’m in that world with the characters, or, or, or imagining how I would have delivered the lines differently. And then even when I’m doing something totally unrelated…math homework, walking my mom’s Akitas, making ice cream…I envision where the cameras would be if I was being filmed, which way I would tilt my face to catch the light. It’s something I think about all the time and I can’t turn it off. So how am I supposed to be a doctor or a lawyer and spend my entire life trying to avoid every thought that occurs to me organically? It sounds like torture.”

Aegon stares at you, a long golden silence as daylight pours in through the windows facing the east. Then he drops his green Nikes to the floor and straightens up in his chair, studying you. He points to the windows. “Look that way.”

You do, closing your eyes when the glare is too bright.

“Now the other side of the room.”

You turn to the mint green wall where your paper airplane resume rests on the hardwood floor like the wreckage of the Titanic sits at the bottom of the ocean.

“Stand up.”

You set your bottle of Perrier on his cluttered desk and obey, but with some reluctance. “Please don’t ask me to bend over.”

Aegon snorts a laugh. “That’s not what I’m doing. I want you to go to the door and then walk back to me like you’re angry.”

“I have a bunch of acting reels on YouTube—”

“I don’t want to see your acting reels. I want to see you in front of me right now.”

“Okay,” you agree. You go to the closed door, take a moment to shake off the real world, and then walk to his desk, your footsteps heavy and your eyes hard. Aegon’s dark blue gaze follows you and does not waver.

“Look at me like you’re sad.”

You imagine he’s said something horrible to you, a husband who’s broken a vow, a doctor with a grim prognosis.

“Good!” Aegon says, animated now. “You get it. It’s in the eyebrows, not the mouth.” He gestures to your chair. “Now sit down like you don’t want to be here.”

You move sluggishly, like you hope someone will interrupt you; your eyes float boredly around the room. Then you plop heavily into the chair and stare at Aegon, a little vacuously inane, a little resentful like a petulant teenager. You pretend to chew gum you don’t have.

Aegon smiles, amused. “If I’d asked you to bend over, would you have done it?”

“I’d like to say no, but I’m pretty desperate.”

He snickers, shaking his head. “Don’t let a man make you uncomfortable. Don’t believe anyone if they say they want to drive you somewhere to see you audition or take your picture and nobody else you know is going. When you go to clubs and parties, watch the bartender make your drink and never put it down until you’re done. Don’t get talked into plastic surgery. Yes, that includes Botox and fillers.”

You sip your Perrier. “Well, I might get a boob job.”

“Don’t get a boob job.”

“Why not? Basically everybody here’s had one. I think Taylor Swift got two.”

“You don’t need a boob job,” Aegon says impatiently.

“I’m not sure you have all the knowledge to make an informed decision about that.”

“I am so sick of this bullshit,” he mutters, pushing the takeout menus and manilla folders around on his desk but leaving it no tidier. “People cutting up their perfectly normal bodies…people stuffing themselves full of poison…so afraid to look human they end up like motherfucking Bratz dolls.” He sighs and peers up at you again. “Just so you know, I’m getting out of L.A. I’m only going to be here until September. So by then you’ll have to find someone else. But I can get you started, I guess.”

You are beaming. “You’ll be my agent?”

“Yeah, but like I said—”

You squeal and leap to your feet, taking his left hand with both of yours and shaking it vigorously, Aegon gaping up at you. “Thank you! Thank you so much! I am going to be the best client you’ve ever had, I will never ever complain, I will do anything you say, I will audition with snakes and tarantulas, I will swim with sharks.”

Aegon grins, perhaps despite himself. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Why are you leaving in September?”

“I’m getting married. Figured I’d do the whole settling down and living a quiet life thing.” He spins around one of the photographs on his desk so you can see it. In the frame, Aegon is standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon with a woman around his age, tall and willowy, long thick dark hair, flowing white sundress, wearing black aviator sunglasses to match his.

“That’s exciting!” You love weddings. “And you two look so happy together!”

“Yeah, Becca’s pretty great.” Aegon takes a stick of Juicy Fruit out of a pack on his desk, shoves it into his mouth, distractedly rolls the white and red wrapper into a ball. “She’s a real caretaker type. Always trying to do my laundry and pack me lunches and bake pies and whatever.”

“And that’s something you look for in a woman?” you tease lightheartedly. Aegon gives you a lightning-quick annoyed glance, and your smile abruptly dies. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. Please don’t fire me.”

He chuckles and stands up from his desk, his hands in the pockets of his tan jacket. Mario is still underwater, forgotten on the frozen television screen. “Let’s go grab some lunch.”

“Right now?” You slide your phone out of your purse—crossbody, wildflowers, Patricia Nash but found at T.J.Maxx—to check the time. “It’s like 10:30 a.m.”

“They’ll be open by the time we walk to Chinatown.”

“Okay!” Lunch can only be a good thing. Still clutching your Perrier, you trot after Aegon into the small lobby, scuffed wood floor and cheap IKEA couches. Behind the reception desk, Brandon is making notes in a planner using one of those pens with a fake flower on top. He looks up at you and Aegon as you pass by.

“Brando, I’m taking an early lunch,” Aegon tells him.

Brandon is hopeful. “Are you signing her?”

“Yeah, but it’s just until—”

“Oh for cute!” Brandon cries out, and Aegon is stupefied. But you know exactly what Brandon means. He must be from Minnesota too. So that’s why he liked my resume. Los Angeles is kind of like the military; once you’re swimming in this multinational fishbowl, everyone from your home state is a friend.

“What part?” you ask, smiling.

“Duluth.”

“Bet the Pacific Ocean beats Lake Superior any day.”

“Have you been to Venice Beach yet?”

“Oh yeah. Heaven on earth.”

“Good luck with everything,” Brandon says, and then he winks. “I hope you get to stay.”

Stay in L.A. Stay here chasing the dream. Me too. Then you follow Aegon through the front door and down the concrete steps to the sidewalk, out into breezy mid-70s air and sunlight peeking from behind pure white tufts of cumulus clouds. You can hear music and dogs barking. The street is lined with quaint midcentury houses with metal fences and humming air conditioning units in the windows; any businessowners here are hanging their own shingle, beauticians and pet groomers and bakers. On the horizon, you can see the silvery skyscrapers of Downtown.

“So about that resume I clearly didn’t read,” Aegon says as he walks with his hands in his pockets. “Have you done any meaningful acting work since you’ve been out here?”

Why lie? “No.”

He gives you a shellshocked look like this is the worst case scenario. “Well…I appreciate your honesty. So you’ll take anything.”

“Absolutely anything. I mean…” You take an anxious swig of your Perrier. “I’d really rather not be naked.”

He’s laughing again. You’re not sure if he thinks you’re funny or ridiculous. “I’m not going to pitch you for roles that require nudity.”

You are relieved. “Okay. Cool.”

“Where did you act before?”

“After college I did some short films for grad students…they’re all pretty terrible, I’ll admit it, but I didn’t write them…and I was in a bunch of shows at the Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis. And I worked in the gift shop.”

“Guthrie?” Aegon says. “Like Woody Guthrie?”

“No, common mistake. A completely different Guthrie. Some English lord who was a director.”

“Which shows were you in?”

You describe your roles, all supporting, none leading: Romeo and Juliet, Othello, A Streetcar Named Desire, Pride and Prejudice, Julius Caesar, Anastasia, Frankenstein, August: Osage County, Richard III, Dracula. Aegon listens but he watches you too, the way you stride in your TOMS wedges over the cracked and uneven sidewalk, the way you use your hands too much when you talk, a habit you’re trying to break. His eyes on you—that deep and tumultuous blue—do not feel like a leer, and you think you’ve acquired enough experience in your past three months in Los Angeles to know the difference. Aegon’s gaze is no longer disinterested but methodical, practiced, ever-seeking, notes transcribed not in ink but electrical impulses and ineffable cyclones of neurotransmitters.

“Dracula,” Aegon jokes. “Vampire experience, huh? Maybe we could get you in the Twilight reboot.”

“Is that really happening?”

“It is, but it’s going to be animated. So it’s only voice acting. And I think we can aim higher than that.” He pauses at an intersection and looks lost for a few seconds, then remembers the way and bears to the right. This street is busier, hectic with shops and pedestrians, teenagers on skateboards, vendors advertising their fruit smoothies and boba teas. Red banners printed with twisted dragons and Chinatown 2025 hang from the streetlights. Towering palm trees cast shadows in the shape of windblown leaves. “Do you get along with your roommate?”

This is a random question. You finish your Perrier and discard the glass bottle in a trashcan. “Yeah, she’s really nice, we’re friends. Why?”

“Good. Housing instability is a huge source of stress for young actors, just wanted to make sure you weren’t in danger of ending up sleeping under a bridge.”

“I might be if her boyfriend ever gets a job and can pay half of the rent.”

“Well if it happens, let me know. I can help get you set up somewhere.” Aegon yanks his phone out of his jeans pocket to check the time. “We’ve got a few more minutes to kill,” he says, and ducks into a market strewn with crates of produce: bitter melon, bok choy, pears, pomelos, dragon fruit, peaches, plums, durian, sweet potatoes, kumquats, lychees. You follow after Aegon as he weaves through narrow, crowded aisles, inspecting the wares and waving to shopkeepers that he recognizes. He asks you as he points to a dozen cardboard boxes overflowing with apples: “Does this make you homesick for Appletown?”

“Apple Valley,” you correct him, laughing. “And not quite. I’d rather have Venice Beach.”

“What’s the state apple of Minnesota?”

“I have no idea.”

“Let’s find out.” He uses his phone to Google it. “Honeycrisp.”

“Oh neat! Those are pretty good.”

“Are they?” He searches until amongst the Granny Smiths and Fujis and Golden Delicious apples he finds a box labelled Honeycrisp. “I don’t think I’ve ever tried one.”

“Now’s your chance.”

Aegon picks up a large, glossy apple, pinkish-red and striped with yellow, and takes a massive bite. Juice dribbles down his mouth and chin; he wipes it away with the back of his hand. “I’m going to pay for it,” he assures you when you look startled. He chews, deliberating. “This apple sucks. This is a flop apple.”

“You are blinded by your anti-Minnesota prejudice.”

“It’s boring.”

“How can an apple be boring?”

“It’s like…too sweet. Not tart enough. Not as good as a Braeburn or a Pink Lady. Here.” Aegon tosses the Honeycrisp apple and you catch it. Then, when you stare at the sizeable bitemark he’s left in the fruit: “Wait, I mean, you don’t have to eat that part, obviously. Try the other side—”

But you’ve already bitten over the same spot, enlarging the wound, your tongue grazing the notches left by Aegon’s teeth. You giggle as you lick juice from your lips. “It’s so good. You’re delusional.”

Aegon watches you for a while before he speaks. In the meantime, you finish eating the apple with quick chomps. “Are you medicated?” he says.

“What? No, why?”

“You just seem…I don’t know. Bizarrely happy.”

“Why wouldn’t I be happy? I’m in Los Angeles, I’m living the dream, I have a brand new agent. My life is amazing.”

“Okay,” Aegon says uncertainly; but he’s smiling. When you pitch the apple core back to him, he catches it. Then he grabs a plastic bag off a hook and drops one fresh Honeycrisp apple inside. “We’ll let Brando be the tiebreaker.” He shows two fingers to a shopkeeper and pays in cash. You steal a glimpse of your phone; it’s just after 11:00 a.m.

Down the street from the market is a set of steps leading into what appears to be a basement. Instead, when Aegon opens the red door, on the other side is a restaurant already filling up with patrons. The tables are round and covered with crimson tablecloths; at each seat is one of those paper Chinese zodiac calendars with all twelve animals and their descriptions.

“Good morning Mr. Aegon!” a tall middle-aged waitress says warmly and ushers you both to a table by a large fish tank with opalescent pebbles lining the bottom. From the other side of the glass, colossal black-and-orange oscars gawp menacingly. The waitress passes you a menu.

“No,” Aegon says, snatching the menu out of your hands before you can open it. “Order what you’d normally get.”

Obediently, you turn to the waitress. “Do you have moo goo gai pan?”

She nods. “White rice or fried rice?”

“White rice, please.”

“Mr. Aegon?” the waitress says.

“Boneless spare ribs with fried rice. And a pot of tea, and two wanton soups. Thanks, Lanying.”

She hurries away to tend to other customers. You ask Aegon playfully: “Did I make the right choice?”

“You did. Naturally low-calorie but high in vitamins and protein. If you’d ordered the sesame chicken and only taken two bites I’d know that you probably have an eating disorder. But now I’m optimistic.”

“And you got the most unhealthy thing on the menu. What does that mean?”

“Life is short. I try to keep it delicious.” He taps the side of the fish tank; one of the oscars attempts to maul him through the glass. “Do you exercise?”

“Not by choice. I force myself to walk to and from work, and that’s the best I can do.”

Aegon seems alarmed. “I don’t think you should be wandering all over Harbor Gateway. Especially not at night.”

“There are always other people around.”

“Yeah, and some of them might mug you.” The waitress arrives with a pot of tea and two small, handleless cups. Aegon fills both with tea, slides one to you, and reaches for the little plastic container of sweeteners on the table. “Splenda?” Aegon guesses correctly and then flings several yellow packets across the table to you.

“Can I ask you something now?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Aegon says. The waitress returns with two bowls of wanton soup and makes conversation with Aegon briefly. She inquires about his health, his parents, his business. You wait until she leaves to ask your question.

“Why did you stop acting?” You Googled Aegon before your meeting, so you know some abbreviated version of his story: a wealthy and prominent family in the production industry, several years spent as an actor beginning when he was around your age, a shadowy withdrawal into working as an agent with a practice so small and off the beaten path that it must be deliberate. He could have coasted his whole life on effortless roles in Lifetime movies or Hulu original series. Instead he chose obscurity, and a drab little office in half of a duplex on a run-down street in Elysian Park, and Brandon the receptionist as his sole employee, and clients who are nobodies like you.

Aegon slurps broth from his spoon, stalling. He’s caught off-guard; you can tell by the way deep troubled grooves appear in his brow. That’s part of being a good actor. You have to learn how to read people until you can feel their emotions as if they are your own, until you can mimic them so convincingly your own pulse quickens or your stomach drops. “Um…well I think I got sick of how superficial it was, all the obsessing over height and weight and wrinkles and who’s in and who’s out, the unwinnable contest of who can be perfect the longest. We’re supposed to play real people but we’re not supposed to be real people, you know? And there are just a lot of things about this place that can leave people jaded and fucked up in all sorts of ways we weren’t before. And I don’t want that to happen to you, so I’ll try to make it as good of an experience as possible.” He smiles. It seems genuine. “I don’t really miss it. I’m a better agent than I was an actor.”

“And you’re not even that good of an agent.”

He laughs and shakes his head, just watching you, just trying to figure you out. He looks down at his Chinese zodiac calendar. “What are you?”

“I’m a dragon.”

Aegon reads aloud: “You are eccentric and your life complex. You have a very passionate nature and abundant health. I could see that. Kinda sounds like you.”

“Which animal is yours, the horse?”

“Yeah, 1990.”

You study his description. “Popular and attractive to the opposite sex. You are often ostentatious and impatient. You need people. I don’t think you’re very ostentatious.”

“But no qualms with the other parts?”

“No, the rest seems accurate.”

He stares at you, those overcast blue eyes curious, searching, maybe a little puzzled. When the waitress brings out the entrees, Aegon spears a piece of his boneless spare ribs with his clean fork and offers it to you. “Here, you want to try this?”

You really shouldn’t, but you make an exception. You take his fork and eat: saccharine blood red sauce, glistening gelatinous fat. It’s one of the most delicious bites of food you’ve ever tasted…and then it’s gone. You warn Aegon as you return his fork: “You’re going to die early.”

“I know,” he says, watching the oscars scowl at him through the glass.

You walk back through Chinatown together, Aegon swinging around his plastic bag with his Honeycrisp apple for Brandon, you listening as he tells you what each shop is known for and points out a temple dedicated to the goddess of the ocean. Now the sky is clear and the sun is high, and hot, and blinding when you aren’t under the shade of awnings or palm trees.

You say cheerfully once you have returned in Elysian Park and you can see Aegon’s office, a blue neon sign that reads Targ Talent Agency pulsing in the window: “So do you have any fun plans for Father’s Day?”

“Nope. My dad’s dead.”

“Oh my God.” You’re so mortified you almost trip over your own feet, your TOMS wedges stumbling over the pavement. Aegon instinctively reaches out to steady you, and you grasp his hand gratefully. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine. It happened when I was in college so I’m used to it.”

“He must have been young.” Forties? Fifties?

“Yeah,” Aegon says shortly, letting go of you. “Are you doing anything special?”

“My parents are paying to fly me back to Minnesota. But I won’t be gone long, I promise. It’s just a few days.”

Aegon smirks roguishly. “Going to make time to see that ex-boyfriend while you’re there?”

You smile, a little bashful, a little mischievous. “I might.”

He chuckles. “Enjoy. Don’t get pregnant and ruin all your hopes and dreams.”

“Oh no, don’t worry, I can’t take the pill because it made me suicidally depressed but we use condoms.”

Aegon is bewildered, his jaw hanging open. “You don’t overshare like this in auditions, do you?”

“No, sorry, I thought you were asking me a question.”

“It wasn’t a question, it was a comment.”

“Oh. I thought it was a question.”

He shakes his head and stops at the 2003 Honda Accord—painted in a shade called Desert Mist Metallic—parked curbside, a gift from your parents when you went away to college only to return in disgrace with a Theater Arts degree that they lie to their friends about. From one of the nearby houses, you can hear Take It Easy by The Eagles drifting out into the sun-drenched street. “Is this your ride?”

“Yup! This is me.”

“Well I’m going to make some calls and see what I can get you, and I’ll let you know either way in a few days how it’s going. Brandon has your phone number and headshots…and I can find your acting reels on YouTube if I need them…yeah, I think that’s everything. Okay?”

“Okay. I hope you get the star.”

Again, you have confused him. “What?”

“In the Mario game. The one on the eel’s tail.”

Aegon grins and slips black aviator sunglasses out of a pocket inside his jacket and says as he puts them on, maybe to the sky, maybe to you: “You are so bright, sunshine.” Then he climbs the steps to the front door of his small, inauspicious office.

“Aegon?” you call after him. At the top of the concrete steps, he pauses and turns around. Here in the shadowless midday light, you are overwhelmed with gratitude. It’s difficult to speak without your voice breaking. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”

“Don’t thank me. This place is a curse.”

He opens the door and disappears inside.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Guess who has an agent?!” you announce ecstatically as you burst into the apartment. Baela and Jace are in the living room on the velvet orange couch, eating sushi and watching True Blood on the 40-inch flatscreen television that Baela’s parents bought for her.

“Congratulations!” Baela says from the couch. “Finally! I’m so happy for you!”

“Yeah, that’s awesome,” Jace agrees as he shovels pieces of a shrimp tempura roll into his mouth. Jace is Baela’s boyfriend of six months. He’s allegedly getting a PhD in Musicology at UCLA, but he only goes to class one or two days a week and does exceptionally little other than that. Once in a while you’ll overhear him pounding on the Yamaha keyboard he keeps in Baela’s room, cursing to himself and kicking the wall in frustration.

“Is he nice?” Baela asks, meaning your new agent.

“I think so,” you say thoughtfully. You aren’t sure that nice is the right word. “He’s kind of weird and grumpy. But I really like him.”

“Is he old?”

“Not at all. Aegon’s thirty-five.”

“Ew,” Baela says. “Old.”

“I really like him,” you say again, smiling to yourself without realizing you’re doing it.

Baela groans. “Please don’t be one of those girls who fucks their agent.”

“No, it’s not like that. He’s engaged to someone super gorgeous. They’re getting married in September.”

“Huh,” Baela replies, losing interest now. Her eyes have drifted back to the tv. She hasn’t landed a role as a film lead or a series regular yet, but she’s been working steadily since she got to L.A. and her star is ever-rising. Tomorrow she is auditioning for Yorgos Lanthimos’s new movie. She’s not allowed to tell you anything about the script. It’s a secret; it’s an honor.

You go to the kitchen for a drink and stop when your gaze catches on the calendar affixed to the stainless steel refrigerator with plastic magnets shaped like pineapples. Friday, June 20th is circled with red ink; in the box below, you have scrawled the necessary details.

Baela twists around on the couch and sees you. Her voice is gentle; she knows you’re nervous. “When’s your appointment?”

“Next week.”

“You’re really getting sliced up?” Jace says.

You smirk at him, less than appreciative. “It’s just a consultation. But yeah, probably.”

“You scared?” Jace asks, gnawing on a pod of edamame.

Obviously. You sigh. “I think it has to happen if I want to land roles.”

“I haven’t gotten any plastic surgery yet,” Baela says, not meaning to sound smug.

You murmur as you ponder the time and address written in red on the calendar: “Well nobody is saying you need to.” You’ve had no less than ten people suggest implants outright, and far more have implied it. Aegon is the only person you can think of who dismissed the idea summarily…and that includes your parents. Your father has been emailing you doctor recommendations. He must think it’s a good investment for your post-California-detour life.

“It will give you more confidence,” Baela says as she turns back to the tv. “A little extra something to take you to the next level.”

You stare at her forlornly from the kitchen. You are suddenly very aware that you miss being outside: the sun, the heat, the swaying palm trees, the radiant kinetic potential. “That’s part of the problem? My confidence?”

She shrugs, using her chopsticks to dunk a piece of her tuna roll in a small plastic container of spicy mayo. She seems oblivious to how deflated you are. “It’s just so hard to stand out here, you know? The phrase ‘California dime’ exists for a reason.”

Jace glances at you over the back of the couch. “I think you look fine.”

“Thanks, Jace.”

“I think you’re easily a California nickel.”

“That’s super sweet, Jace.”

Now Baela is telling him to shut up and they’re bickering back and forth, but you aren’t listening. You take your phone out of your purse and open Instagram. You search for Aegon and find his account; his username is superstargaryen. You follow him. Within a minute, just long enough for you to click through one of his highlight reels—mostly pictures of the beach and trips to In-N-Out Burger—he follows you back. Then you receive a DM.

Aegon has typed: Brando says the apple is good

You giggle to yourself as you tap out a reply. Told you :)

Aegon responds: Or!!! All Minnesotans have no taste

And then he adds a few seconds later: I had to Google that word…Minnesotans…sounds fake

You reply: Please use Google to get me a job instead

He starts typing something, then stops and reacts with a laughing emoji instead. You pull a can of Diet Coke out of the fridge, wondering what he was going to say before he changed his mind.

Late that night, after a nine-hour shift at Cold Stone Creamery, you shower and crawl exhausted into bed wearing an oversized blue L.A. Dodgers t-shirt that you’re swimming in. You turn on your laptop and open YouTube, search for Aegon’s acting reels from ten years ago, fall asleep listening to his voice like the endless ethereal rush when you hold a seashell to your ear.

[xx-dinah-writing-xx]

Hiii, how are you?

Can I ask you to write smut for Matt?Something like reader had to do a sex scene with Ewan and she actually liked it because she knows he's attracted to her, but Matt and reader see each other in secret and that scene makes him jealous.

Green-Eyed Monster

Matt Smith x reader

smut 18+, mdni warnings: possessive behaviour, jealousy kink, degradation (consensual), rough sex, power play, face-fucking, hair pulling, dirty talk, use of “mine,” dom!Matt, spit/saliva play, slight humiliation, hands-and-knees position, marking/bruising (biting, grip), overstimulation, creampie, name kink (enforced), training reference (oral), age gap (implied older man/younger woman), power imbalance (Matt older, more dominant), semi-public setting (on-set trailer)

A/N: Hay!! I’m doing soo soo good. Thanks for asking. I have some more Matt smuts preplanned. Stay tuned. 😌 Someone liked the Tom jealous smut 😏 and I gotta say… I love this?? Okay, the smut isn’t as detailed as I usually like it, but whatever. This hit my inbox today, and I immediately fell in love. So yes, it skipped the line. I’m so sorry. Bribery is real. 😔 Anyway, I hope you like it. I certainly do… but that’s probably just my bias showing. I love Matt. (We’re in a secret relationship, you guyyyys. Sorry. He’s taken.)

————

The sun had already sunk behind the faux walls of the Red Keep set, casting long orange streaks across the parking lot as you stepped out of the soundstage, still half-dressed in your costume’s deep green silks. Your skin was flushed from the earlier scene. It clung to your bones like a second skin, the bodice too tight, the skirt dragging behind you like the tail of a snake. Underneath all that fabric, your thighs were still damp, breath still just a touch uneven.

You hadn't meant to like it. Hadn't expected to. Sex scenes were always choreographed down to the breath, nothing about them spontaneous or real. But Ewan was, well, Ewan was Ewan. Tall, cold-eyed, unpredictable in the way only very pretty, very damaged boys could be. And the worst part was you knew he was attracted to you. Not just attracted. Intrigued, in that quiet, simmering way. It was something you’d clocked weeks ago, in the way his fingers lingered on your arm after a take, the way his eyes dropped to your mouth when you spoke. You’d ignored it. Brushed it off like lint.

Until today.

The scene was written to be subtle. An implied betrayal, a physical seduction designed to tip Aemond’s loyalties toward your character. You, the beautiful enigma, the girl in green with secrets hidden beneath her neckline. You’d kissed him on the throne room floor, your hand in his silver hair, your mouth soft and coaxing as the cameras rolled. And when you ground down against his thigh, just a little, just enough to look real, you felt it. His breath catch. The way he pressed back. Not part of the blocking. Not in the script.

You liked it. You liked knowing he wanted you.

But that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was the man standing outside your trailer now, cigarette tucked between two fingers, expression unreadable and set in sharp stone. Matt. Forty-two. Older, impossibly hot, intelligent in a way that left you breathless sometimes. The man you’d been seeing in secret for the better part of six months. The man who once told you he could never love anyone who didn’t understand the madness inside his own head, and then kissed you like he was searching for God behind your teeth.

He said nothing as you approached. Just watched you from under the hood of his hoodie, the fabric pulled up like he was hiding something. You didn’t blame him. You were hiding everything too.

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself,” he said at last, voice low and rough and utterly devoid of warmth. He didn’t look at you when he said it. Just stared at the orange glow of his cigarette as he flicked the ash off the tip.

You stood in front of him, heart hammering stupidly. “It’s acting, Matt.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

That was all he said before he flicked the cigarette to the concrete, crushing it under his boot. His hand reached for the handle of your trailer and opened it like he owned the place, stepping inside with an expectant tilt of his chin.

You followed, throat dry.

He shut the door behind you. The sound clicked like a lock.

The silence stretched.

You turned to him slowly, back brushing the wall, arms crossing instinctively over your chest like they might shield you from whatever look was on his face now. His eyes were darker than usual. Something hot and heavy simmered under them, the kind of possessive jealousy that never needed to be named.

“Did he touch you under the costume?”

Your lips parted. “What? No.”

“But he would’ve. If the cameras hadn’t cut.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. He was already crossing the space between you in two strides. His hand came up, not to touch you, but to grip the wall beside your head. You could smell him, the lingering smoke and his cologne, spiced and musky, faintly leathery. So very different from the boyish scent of Ewan.

“You want to let him fuck you?” he whispered, almost curious. His lips brushed your ear as he leaned in. “You want to let a boy with mommy issues rut into you like an animal on set?”

Your breath hitched, hips shifting in spite of yourself. “No.”

His hand found your waist, not gentle. “Liar.”

“I like when you get like this.”

His other hand gripped your jaw, fingers pressing into your cheek as he tilted your face toward him. “When I get what? Jealous? Possessive? When I think about putting bruises on your thighs to remind you who you belong to?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

His mouth crashed onto yours. Messy. Rough. Nothing sweet about it. He tasted like nicotine and spite and you opened for him immediately, allowing his tongue to slide against yours, the pressure hot and sharp. You moaned when his hand trailed down your stomach, tugging at the hidden zipper in your costume, exposing flesh inch by inch.

He pushed you back until your knees hit the edge of the small couch, and you sat down hard, breathing fast. The bodice slipped off your shoulders, pooling in your lap. He stood over you, eyes burning, then reached down to undo his jeans.

“You want to act like a whore on set,” he said, cock already hard as he stroked it once in front of your face, “then you’ll be my whore after.”

You didn’t flinch. You looked up at him with wide eyes and licked your lips, just to make him twitch. “Yes, darling.”

His hand tangled in your hair, not cruel, but firm. “Don’t you fucking dare use that word when you just spent the afternoon playing mommy for Aemond. You say my name.”

Your thighs clenched, arousal thick between them. “Matt.”

“Good girl.”

He pulled you closer, guiding you to take him into your mouth. You opened for him easily, tongue swirling around the tip, tasting salt and heat and the sharp tang of jealousy. He groaned deep in his chest as you bobbed your head, one hand cupping his balls, the other gripping the back of his thigh. His hips jerked forward once, forcing himself deeper, but you didn’t gag. You never did. He’d trained you too well.

“Mine,” he said as you hollowed your cheeks, letting him fuck your mouth until tears burned in your eyes. “You’re fucking mine.”

When he finally pulled away, his cock wet with spit, he dragged you up and shoved you to the couch, flipping you onto your hands and knees.

“Face the wall,” he growled. “And keep your back arched.”

You did, the cushions hot beneath your chest as he kicked your knees further apart. His fingers spread your folds, then slid inside, testing, teasing, until you whimpered from how wet you already were.

“Already dripping,” he murmured. “You want to tell me again how much you didn’t like that scene?”

You only moaned in response, too dazed to speak.

He pushed into you slowly, savoring the stretch, the heat, the way your body welcomed him like it was made to. His hands gripped your hips tight as he started to thrust, each stroke harder than the last, deep and punishing, filled with everything he didn’t say.

He fucked you like he needed to mark you. Like he needed to bury every image of you and Ewan together beneath his cock. His name spilled from your lips over and over, breathy, high-pitched, desperate.

He bent over you, chest to your back, and bit down on your shoulder, hard enough to bruise.

“You’re mine,” he whispered into your skin. “Only mine.”

You nodded, sobbing with pleasure, clenching around him. He reached between your thighs to rub your clit, and your body exploded, a hot, shaking mess under him as you came with a cry. He followed seconds later, groaning deep into your hair as he spilled inside you, hips grinding against your ass as if he could pour every ounce of his jealousy into you.

Afterward, the silence returned. The only sound was your breathing. Shaky. Raw. He didn’t pull out immediately. Just stayed there, cock softening inside you, arms around your waist, lips pressing soft kisses to your spine.

“You’re mine,” he said again, softer this time. Not a threat. A promise.

You turned your head, cheek against the couch.

“I never stopped being.”

[celaenaeiln]

I want to talk about Dick Grayson's beauty, sex symbol status, and how it all connects for a moment.

This is a prelude to an upcoming post but I needed to include this separately because the other was getting too big.

First of all Dick Grayson is a beautiful man.

And you're probably thinking "well, no duh. Everyone knows that." but what I mean is Dick Grayson was intentionally made to be beautiful.

For a little historical context, around the late 1950s the culture in the US was changing. It was around this time, that people began exploring and accepting what they called a "feminine man".

This was really taking place in cinema and stuff where they began to show softer versions of men doing "typically female roles" as heroes.

One example is the movie "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance", a 1962 Hollywood film. In summary, it takes place in the midwest and is centered about Cowboys, gunslingers, the shebang. But the point is, there are two male leads in the movie - Ranse Stoddard (played by Jimmy Stewart) and Tom Donophon (played by John Wayne). Ranse and Tom are both the heroes in the film but with a key difference. Tom is like the sheriff of the town, loved by all and focusing his time on practicing his gun skills. The savior of women and normal people, he's the typical masculine hero. His face is rough and handsome. Ranse however was the new wave. He doesn't care about carrying the gun, he thinks it's uncouth and focuses much of his attention on sending the evil guy (Liberty Valance) to jail through laws. He doesn't want to kill and he takes a more advocative approach. He is also loved by everyone despite not being super masculine. Ranse's face is clean and almost dainty in comparison to Tom and Liberty Valance's.

Despite the complete opposites they are, both men are considered heroes. On one hand, you have the very male typical hero but on the other hand, you have the feminine male hero. At one point the evil guy laughs when Ranse walks in wearing an apron because serving tables is a "woman's job", but Ranse doesn't let it bother him.

How does this connect to Dick Grayson?

Dick Grayson is the feminine hero of DC. DC jumped on the pretty boy hero train.

That's also why in the Teen Titans (1966) comics, Dick keeps being referred to by endearingly feminine pet names by the titans which they seem to only use on him.

Standard gender roles: Men were expected to be strong, aggressive, and bold while women were expected to be polite, accommodating, and nurturing. Sound familiar about a certain duo?

But Dick? He plays both male and female gender roles in a time period where it wasn't socially acceptable to do so.

So my point is, Dick was created to blur the lines between gender and the way his character has progressed - he's meant to be the definition of a man opposite to male toxicity.

He can cook and do laundry whereas Bruce, the image of male dominance cannot.

This also falls into another role of Bruce and Dick's but it applies here as well in hindsight.

One thing people need to understand is that Dick was created to be the antithesis of Bruce Wayne. For all the gloominess that Bruce is Dick was meant to be the joy. He is the light to Bruce's darkness.

Which is why Dick often acts as the loving mother to the batfamily while Bruce acts as the stern father. Because Dick was created for the female role.

Part of the reason why I love Dick and Kory is because they do this at a time where girlbossing and malewifing wasn't a thing. Kori is consistently the dominant one when it comes to love in their relationship while Dick plays a softer, more "wife like" role. The way Kori is taller than Dick and buffer than him ✨

He is quite literally a queen consort - that is the role that Kori begs him to take after she is forced to marry someone her father picks out for her. But Dick refuses in tears because his morality cannot bear becoming a mistress and ruining someone else's marriage.

I know this is a long tangent but here's where the sex symbol comes in. Dick was created to be the most beautiful figure in DC but him being beautiful is not supposed to be confused with him being objectified.

Being beautiful is just something he was born as. What people do as a result has nothing to with DC

Take this for instance

He's literally just showering and comes out of the shower to find a random little girl singing about his and batman's identities. Creepy? Yes. Very much so. So he chases after her and finds her gone. Well there's nothing he can do now, he needs to go back and analyze what's going on and contact the other titans-

Crap.

Look at all the women that are ogling him, and even the ginger looks as if he doesn't know if he's jealous or wants to join - but there's nothing Dick did to make them do that. He's literally minding his own business and got caught outside. Did he hit on the women? Did he seduce them? Did he purposefully show off and make a loud commotion because he wanted the attention? No!

Arguing that Dick Grayson shouldn't be a sex symbol just seems wrong to me considering that it's not a fault of his.

It's like telling Kori not to have large breasts and telling Dinah not to wear fishnets.

People still ogle them regardless of how they dress because they're just that attractive. You can't tell someone to look a different way because you don't like the attention they're receiving...that's literally the opposite of everything people should be fighting for

Arguing that Dick Grayson being a sex symbol is a problem because he's too beautiful and blaming the actions of other characters for thinking so is just...

it's wrong.

He was created to be beautiful to fight male toxic masculinity. He's woman coded for a reason.

We should be embracing him. He represents everything male freedom should be about. He constantly placed in a female role, in female positions-

In queer positions-

He's acrobatic, slender, and sensual. He's gentle, loving, and beautiful.

When has the beauty of a person ever been a reflection of their character? The way fandom is going, it's implying that because female characters make sexualized comments about Dick's body, it's somehow Dick's fault for looking that way. We're blaming him for his "womanizing" ways as if he hasn't put his heart and soul into every relationship he's had. And while we're busy calling him a womanizer, we conveniently forget that the women he's in relationships with have significant personalities of their own. We inadvertently reduce their beings to plastic bags, ignoring that they have broken up with each other because of being unable to resolve conflicting beliefs, different career paths, different lifestyles, and more. It's not a one way road with our treatment of Dick. It's a two way street because we're harming both Dick and strong women like Kori, Barbara, Bea, Shawn, and Helena by pretending what they believe in and live for is unimportant in love.

Instead we should be exploring how the objectification might have an impact on Dick's mental health rather than blaming DC for using characters to describe how hot Dick is.

All the beautiful traits of Dick Grayson - his ambiguous sexuality, his overwhelming love for people, his affection for his friends, the way he cries and feels for others - all of it is beautiful, is it not?

From his very creation Dick was meant to be someone who breaks gender roles. The constant attraction he receives from both men and women in all of DC's media is evidence of that. The Grayson comics push the boundaries of his sexuality as much as DC will allow. To be queer without coming out with it. He is the feminine hero.

Everyone seems to hate that he's being called a sex symbol but why does that bother you? Dick Grayson IS the pretty girl of the comic universe. He IS the babygirl of DC.

DC has created the perfect view of what it's like to be a woman through Dick Grayson and we're spitting on the most accurate representation of a female that comics have ever created by blaming them for expressing what it's like to live as a woman.

[torchwood-99]

Downton: The Grand Finale Spoilers,

From previews found on Barnes and Noble

(First things first, Edith in stripes! Edith in stripes! Sorry, I just adore stripes, so I love this look on Edith.)

So it seems like the big drama with Harold and money is going to revolve around there no longer being money to repair some cottages, and turn a library into a music room to honour Violet and Martha (who is now confirmed to be dead).

I always suspected that the selling Downton hints in the trailer were misdirection, and as the family is considering a sentimental (as opposed to practical) measure like making a music room, it suggests that the family, although banking on Cora's family's money, does not start of in grave financial peril

Mary is given a particularly bold and confident look for a very exclusive ball, which she wears unaware that her world is about to come "crashing down", so it seems like this happens in the early days of her divorce, and she's just beginning to realise what the consequences are.

Mary will buy that dress while on a shopping trip with Edith. Will never say no to a shipping montage. Will be fun to see these two out shopping together. We saw they were already on good terms by last movie (Edith helped Mary with initial negotiations over the film). I wouldn't be surprised if this is the opening sequence. Mary and Edith swanning about shops, looking glamorous, feels like a fun way of opening things. Then that tea shot will be used for exposition. That's my betting anyway.

I called it that the hostess is hurrying Mary out of the room because there is royalty on the way. There's no way Mary's divorcee status wouldn't otherwise be known, and the hostess would have known Mary was present until now, so the arrival of royalty makes sense for the hostess trying to hastily get her out of the way.

We've got confirmation that Henry had an affair, which I suspected it must be, as adultery was really the only way of getting a divorce back then, and it was Mary filing for divorce. It'll be interesting to see if Henry still wanted to stay with Mary or not.

I'm very interested in that line about Henry "hiring and naming someone else in court", does that mean he hired someone to pretend to be his affair partner? I hope this means we get a look at the legal technicalities of getting divorced back then.

The winning back the county through "special guests" makes me believe they use their celebrity ties through Thomas and Guy to have a celebrity party. This will be the dinner party we see at the beginning of the trailer, where Robert does the toast for Mary. We see Mary and Edith wearing the same dresses at that dinner, later on as they're clapping Guy and random hot guy (who was making eyes at Mary because of course she would have another love interest) playing piano (Thomas is at that party too). So I think that the social scandal in Yorkshire will be resolved that way.

Going downstairs, we've also got confirmation that Mrs Patmore and Daisy are separating.

My bet is that Daisy will be taking over the kitchens, while Mrs Patmore retires to her Bed and Breakfast with Mr Mason.

There's going to be Ascot drama, which will be fun! I speculated early on that Mary's exclusion from the Royal enclosure will be brought up, and some sharp eyed fans noticed that everyone except Mary is wearing name tags for the Royal Enclosure (including Tom, which is...something)

A big cheer for Bertie, who has arranged a lunch for the Granthams in White's Marquee, where Mary is watching the race. Lovely, lovely Bertie, sorting out lunch for everyone. I'm expecting (demanding) some close ups of the food.

Here we get plot hints for Tom and Edith! Yay! I wasn't really expecting them to have a "plot", so much as just watching them react to the drama going on with Downton while generally vibing. Edith having a "showdown" with a "trickster", new character Gus Sambrook, sounds fun, and Tom meets an old friend. The reference to America makes me think this friend is someone he knew when he was in Boston with Sybbie. Whoever this Gus is, it sounds like he is seeking introductions at the race. I don't know how much screentime this plotline will have, but if Edith is to have a specific reasons for being the one to have a showdown, then it might be because she and Bertie, as the Marquess and Marchioness, might be particular targets of his. I hope Edith gets to have fun with her showdown, and I'm looking forward to Tom meeting an old pal. I also hope that the business Tom shared with Henry gets brought up, so it isn't entirely forgotten. Considering Henry has been travelling, Tom will have been the one running it anyway.

And the movie will end with Robert and Cora moving to the Dower House, where Violet used to live. I'm sure that Robert will have bittersweet feelings about this, and that Hugh will bring all the pathos.

[hawkofkrypton]

✨Spoiler thoughts on Sonic Da Hedgehog 3 ✨

Movie!Shadow arriving on Earth like that instead of being made for a specific purpose by a specific alien like Game!Shadow is so fun because it’s usually the opposite (live action adaptations usually create explanations for stuff, to “ground” it)

Shadow being a feminist icon after being asleep for 50years >>>>

Gerald saying “Kids” referring to Shadow & Maria 🥺🥺🥺

The general stopping the GUN soldier from giving Movie!Maria a source accurate death I was dyyying 💀 even he was like “WOAH WE AINT GONNA DO THAT HERE DUDE”

Not sure about removing Maria’s illness BUUUT seeing her have SO much personality and hobbies beyond “the sweetest being ever” AND having that goofily mischievous streak that DEFINES the Movie!Robotniks was awesome

EVERY PARALLEL BETWEEN SONIC AND SHADOW FROM BEGINNING TO END RAHHHHHHHH

EVERYTHING ABOUT STONE X IVO ESPECIALLY THE MESSAGE AT THE END ITS THE THIRD TIME EGGMAN GETS AN ICONIC WORLDWIDE MESSAGE AND I WASNT EXPECTING IT TO BE A GAY CONFESSION-

The way Movie!Maria isn’t part of Movie!Ivo’s backstory BUT we get a mini version of that with his reaction once Gerald says “you’re no Maria” was… brilliant? Ditto for the BioLizard being a kaiju movie Maria and Shadow we’re watching AND HE FEELS LIKE AN ALIEN MONSTER BECAUSE OF IT LIKE THE GAME!BIOLIZARD REPRESENTS HIS OG FORM WHO WROTE THIS-

Shadow already feeling like a monster is gonna be very fun once he finds out he comes from Da Devil from Da Bible LMAO

LIVE AND LEARNNNNNNN

Did Tom technically do blackface?

LIVE AND LEARNNNNNNNMNMN

Am I tripping or was Movie!Sonic acting EXACTLY like Game!Sonic in his post credit scene with Metal? That was game dialogue, confidence and gestures were HIM him

Gerald died in the most “90s Jim Carrey movie” ever, by his own creation AND grandson nonetheless. Its so goofy but the fact that GAME!Gerald is the one who gets shot by the government (again, youd think LIVE ACTION would bring the grimmer fate) is SO fuckin funny help-

[yzzart]

we need more tom and y/n interviews! and if you can and want, can you write an interview where they're answering fan questions? ❤️

"According to fan questions..."

pairing: tom blyth x actress!reader.

summary: invited for another interview, you and Tom answer some questions that fans asked you.

word count: 1.095!

"Are we really cliché?" — Tom questioned, looking down, probably getting distracted by a fixed point, and then raised his eyes to you. "Hm, let me see…" — You crossed your legs, holding your elbow with one hand and the other rested on your chin, pretending to think of a promising answer and your boyfriend's laugh exclaimed in your ears. "Oh, yes, we are!" — Your voices rose together at the same time and more laughter settled in the decorated and comfortable room.

"Hi, i'm Tom Blyth." — Tom introduced himself, raising his eyebrows, in an inviting and dynamic way; quickly, turning his head with a shy smile in your direction for your introduction.

"And i'm Y/N!" — The brit's smile widened when your eyes met his.

"And we're here to answer some questions asked by you, the fans." — He explained, looking at the camera and, again, at you; it was, technically, impossible not to be excited about what was to come and even more so because of the suspense of the questions that would be presented.

The questions were about random topics, of course and obviously, you could expect anything. — From behind the scenes to your personal tastes, but, without going beyond the limit. — In fact, it would be fun.

During the editing of the video, frames and excerpts of the questions would probably be shown; making it more explained and organized. — For you and Tom, the people who were working behind the cameras said and repeated the questions.

The first was… — "What was the best thing about this movie?" — Referring to "The ballad of songbirds and snakes."

"The best thing about film was working with Y/N." — He responded quickly, making his british accent even stronger and moving his fingers; you laughed, feeling your cheeks burn a little.

"Ah, the best thing about this film was working with…" — You made sure to form a suspense, having fun with your boyfriend who tilted his head towards you, waiting for your enthusiastic answer. — "…Tom Blyth!"

Tom could no longer contain his bold and bright smile, even biting his lips, and poking your leg with his hand; passing your through the delicate and fascinating fabric of the clothes chosen for the interview. — You tried to pay attention and look for words to extend your answer.

"I guess i can also include how fantastic it was to work with Francis Lawrence…" — You continued. — "…and it's impossible, really, impossible to find words to describe how magnificent it was and acting in a Hunger Games movie was like a dream." — Tom listened with attention and passion, focusing on every word that came out of his mouth. — "The connection we had with the cast was something so precious, they are the best people in the world." — And it was the purest truth. — "Not to mention how intense it was to live in my character."

It was a dream, strongly, fulfilled and conquered for you; and a sentimental wave, of the purest emotion, weakens when seeing what, in fact, you has achieved and won around you. — How many incredible, sweet and important people have come into your life and will remain in it; and you had no words to explain how grateful you were.

Including having met Tom in your life. — God, you could say how grateful you were to have him for hours and hours, reaching the long duration of the video.

"Oh, yes." — Tom leaned on the back of the chair, settling in a little. — "I think playing Coriolanus was, like, really deep and steady because we're talking about a guy who has two faces and acting him being really good knowing that later he will turn into something evil." — He thought about his words. — "But, it was good working with him, on him and with the blonde wig...." — You laughed, together with the people behind the cameras.

The second question was… — "Were there many recording errors?"

"Oh yeah!" — Laughing and shaking your head in affirmation, you responded, ready to recall various behind-the-scenes moments and factors. — "There were so many that i can't name just one or two." — You said. — "But, one of my favorites, and i think they already posted it, was during the harvest scene and Tom was laughing nonstop at Peter."

"Please, everyone was laughing!" — He stuttered. - "Including you!" — You supported your hand on his arm. — "He was funny, the way his character spoke was funny, so i couldn't concentrate properly." — Tom reported looking at the camera, remembering the aforementioned moment and laughing; joining with you. — "One of my favorites was all the times you called me by my name." — He directed his head towards you, who placed a hand on his face.

Not many times, at most, just three times; garnering laughs and recordings from the cast and film crew. — Rachel had already posted two videos where you end up getting confused, a little nervous, and calling your boyfriend by his name. — A normal thing, it didn't need exaggeration or a big alert.

"Come on, it was only three times." — The softness, almost embarrassed, of your voice ran through Tom's ears; he removed your hand from your face and picked her up, giving your a brief caress and admiring the rings that were present. — "And i remember Josh and Hunter called me a loverbird."

"I ended up forgetting this fantastic little detail." — Tom commented.

The third question, — "Is it true that Y/N is going to act in 'Billy, the kid'?"

"In my dreams, yes!" — You crossed your arms, dramatically, and faked a frown for the camera. — "I've already asked a lot, and at least to be part of the supporting actors or just to appear for at least nine seconds!" — Tom laughed and you moved your shoulders, wanting to keep your face serious. — "Do you think i'm joking? I'm not!"

"You really aren't, sweetie." — The oldest confirmed. — "Please, Michael." — He mentioned the director. — "Even i'm begging for it."

And the fourth question... — "What word would you describe each other?"

"I think defining you in just one word is one of the most complicated jobs for me." — Tom's hand removed some kind of stubborn thread, which was stuck in his clothes. — "Is it really just a word?" — He turned, towards the people who worked behind the cameras, who confirmed his question. — "The word enchanting fits you easily."

Blyth leaned back on the back of the chair again, but now leaning his body towards your; facing you completely. — His deep, exuberant blue eyes meet, for the countless time, with yours in that interview. — And your lips formed into such a beautiful smile, shyly showing your teeth against his answer.

You fell in love once again with Tom Blyth, in a full interview.

"Thank you, my love." — The attempt to hide your face and an embarrassed voice failed completely. — "The first thing, word that comes to my mind that can define you is fascinating." — Tom pursed his chin, listening carefully. — "Because everything about you is fascinating and manages to leave me speechless, most of the time, and captivate me too." — Now your boyfriend's arm was holding the back of your chair. — "Everything, everything about you fascinates me and even the discreet gray strands that must be growing in your hair."

"Excuse me?" — Tom questioned, with his mouth open and not expecting your last words, and looked at the camera with a surprised look; already you were laughing at his euphoric reaction, clapping your hands on your knees and almost slouching in your chair.

[rel312]

Captain America: Brave New World exceeded all my expectations. Based off the trailers I thought it would just be another mediocre marvel movie on parr with basically all their movies the past few years but I actually really liked it so beware for spoilers ahead because I want to gush about…

The things I LOVED about Captain America: Brave New World:

The cinematography was incredible, every single frame looked absolutely amazing and there were so many creative choices they made that were so refreshing to see

Anthony Mackie finally getting his movie (take that Tom holland), he absolutely killed it and I’m so happy for him

Everybody referring to Sam as “Captain” and him being universally accepted as Captain America

Torres becoming Falcon and being so excited about it

Counselor Sam making a comeback

More Isaiah Bradley

“I LOVE YOU BUDDY”

Poor Sam having to watch another partner fall out of the sky

Not sure how I feel about Ross and what they did with him but I do think that Harrison Ford was a great casting choice for the direction they took the character in

Still kinda sad they changed her name from Sabra but I’m glad with how they treated Ruth’s character, I just wish there was a bit more with her especially if they’re trying to set up her being a bigger character