#Shower filter benefits

[aqualiseshowerfilter]

The Ultimate Guide to Shower Filters to Remove Toxic Chemicals

Discover the secrets to healthier showers with our comprehensive guide on shower filters! Learn how to remove toxic chemicals, combat hard water, and improve hair and skin health. Dive in for expert advice and make every shower a rejuvenating experience.

Water purification systems When it comes to maintaining a healthy lifestyle, water plays a crucial role. We use water not only for drinking but also for various household activities such as cooking, cleaning, and bathing. However, what most people are not aware of is that the water coming into our homes may contain harmful chemicals and impurities that can have negative effects on our health.…

[teknovus]

Benefits of using Shower Filter

A shower filter can provide several benefits, including skin and hair softening. Shower filters are a simple and inexpensive solution to improve the showering experience and safeguard your health. But the question is, which is the best shower filter to use? Akira Magnetic Water Softener is specially developed by Teknovus as a water filter for bathroom showers. You can take a shower with clean, fresh water after this potent filter removes the pollutants from your water.

[thriftedtchotchkes]

waiting to spill

pairing: mike schmidt x f!reader

summary: mike never thought your week-long trip home would lead to the discovery of a costly new craving

warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, breeding kink, smut, desperate!mike, unprotected piv, creampie, riding, fingering, blue balls, mentions of pregnancy, cum play

word count: 3.9k

(based on this request)

Mike's praying the call goes through this time because if it doesn't, he might just lose his mind. You were supposed to land 20 minutes ago, but it's already half past 4 and your phone's still off.

Will it show how many missed calls you have? God, he hopes not. He's been redialing for the better part of an hour, hoping you landed early, but luck clearly isn't on his side. Every time it goes to voicemail, your voice taunts him. Just another reminder that you're not here—unreachable and untouchable.

Shitty fucking airline. He knew you should've taken an earlier flight, but he didn't want to be that guy. The one who tells you what to do and when, and makes decisions for his own benefit. He's a better guy than that, a better boyfriend than that, it's just—fuck, what is taking so long? 

One more time. He'll try you one more time, and if it doesn't connect, he'll go sit on the couch and distract himself until you call him. He's already waited this long. He can suck it up a little longer. Probably.

He hits redial for the umpteenth time, his forehead thunking against the wall next to the landline, and then something miraculous happens. It rings.

Once, twice, and then you pick up. He doesn't wait for you to answer. Any patience he had left flew out the window hours ago and he doesn't care if you know it.

"Babe?"

You laugh softly on the other end, and it tugs at his heart...and his dick. Seatbelts click open in the background, and sounds of movement and chatter filter through the speaker.

"Hey, you. I actually just landed. I'll call you back once I get through customs, okay?" you reply, bright as ever. 

It sets him off worse than he expected. You're so much more potent in real-time than on voicemail, and it's fucking with his sense of urgency. He doesn't want to rush you, but he needs you. So badly.

"W-wait. Can you come over? After you're done with the airport stuff, I mean," he manages to get out, interjecting cautiously before you can hang up.

"I was gonna stop home to drop off my bags and take a quick shower, but I can come over after that," you reply distractedly, likely dealing with overhead bins and other passengers trying to deplane. 

He shakes his head, gripping the phone a little too tightly as he bites back a frustrated whine. That'll take too long. The airport's about an hour's ride from your apartment, and by the time you're done showering—no. No, just come to him. It's a shorter ride to his house, anyway.

"Just—you can do all of that here. Stay over and I'll drive you back to your place in the morning. Please?" he asks, desperation beginning to bleed into his voice. 

It pulls your attention back to him almost immediately, and he hates how good that feels.

"Is everything okay? Did something happen?" you counter, misreading his plea as an emergency. 

Your phone keeps shifting like it's tucked against your shoulder, and now it sounds like you're moving faster, hurrying like he wants you to, but for the wrong reasons. 

"Everything's fine, I just need to see you," he says, willing you to understand. "Babe, I really need to see you."

He's too ashamed to spell it out. What would he even say? If he doesn't cum inside you soon, he thinks he might die? He's horny, not pathetic.

"Mike, that doesn't sound fine...," you sigh on the other end, your quickening footsteps audible through the receiver. 

"Please."

You pause for a second, and his heart leaps into his throat. Don't say no. Please, don't say no.

"Gimme an hour, okay? I'll catch a cab to your place as soon as I can," you finally agree.

He breathes out a heavy sigh of relief, but it's louder than he realizes and you clock it on the spot.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, all good. I'm just glad you're back. Feels like it's been forever," he mumbles, somehow sated and yet anticipating your arrival more than ever. 

He shifts anxiously from one foot to the other, wincing at the unexpected friction against the growing problem between his legs. The atmosphere around you changes and your responding laugh blends into the bustle of casual conversations and overhead announcements in your terminal. 

"Can't survive one week without me, huh? I guess I'm bringing you and Abby along next time I visit my parents," you joke, but it's getting harder to make out what you're saying. "Look, I'm almost at customs. I'll see you soon, I promise."

The call ends, and he's left with the loneliness of a dial tone and an empty house. He hangs up and plops down on the couch, clutching the TV remote like a lifeline while he desperately tries to ignore the painful tent in his boxers.

An hour. He can handle one more hour.

He can't handle one more hour. It's been 45 minutes and he feels like he's about to burst. The worst part? It's his own damn fault. 

He's the asshole who made the conscious decision not to jerk off the entire time you were gone, but he can't bring himself to regret it. He had his reasons. In about 15 minutes, it'll all be worth it.

Maybe less. 

There's a knock at the door, and he's up and off the couch so fast, he's surprised he doesn't have whiplash. He wrenches it open to find you on the other side, a little stunned by the abrupt greeting, but worth every second of blue balls he put himself through.

"Hey," he breathes out, winded by his mad dash and the relief of you finally being here. 

"Hey, yourself," you smile wryly. Your eyes drop to where he's not even remotely trying to hide his raging boner. "Ah-ha, so that's—"

But that's all you manage to say before he drags you into the house and slams your back against the door, shutting out your luggage and the cab driver still idling in the driveway. His lips crash into yours and you taste so good, it's dizzying. 

Remnants of Sprite and spearmint gum linger on your tongue as it meets his, and he groans, wondering how he went an entire week without this. All that time, deprived of your addictive touch and perfect tits while he tortured himself, waiting for you to come back to him.

He can't decide where to put his hands first, roaming and squeezing from your waist, up your shirt—which he's just realizing is his—to splay across your ribcage. Pressing you harder into the door, he separates from your lips to mouth at the underside of your jaw, mumbling his appreciation between each harsh bruise he sucks into your skin.

"Fuck, I missed you," he pants, shamelessly grinding into your hip for relief. He wants you to feel how hard you're making him, so you'll understand all those missed calls.

"Yeah? I can tell," you laugh breathily, running your hands up his chest, pushing his shirt up as you go. 

Your thumbs brush against his bare skin, sending a heady jolt straight to his cock, and suddenly none of this is moving fast enough. His hands drop to your ass, roughly tugging your hips into his, and you gasp in unison at the friction. Together, you fall into a frantic rhythm, rutting into each other like a pair of horny teenagers.

"Shit, Mike...," you moan his name, and he feels like he's dreaming. He has to be because nothing else in his waking world has ever felt this good.

Contrary to the rest of his body, he kisses you again slowly, savoring every noise he's coaxing from you and devouring them like a man starved. Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him closer, and he swears he's never letting you leave this house again. 

If by some miracle he does, he's going to make sure you're pumped so full of him, you'll be leaking him the entire time you're gone, unable to think about anything else. And when you come back, he'll do it all over again.

Damnit, he needs you in his bed, now.

He backs away from the door with you still in his arms, leading you further into the house down a path you know by heart. Briefly, he separates from your lips to lift your shirt up and over your head, then discards his own before tugging down the cups of your bra to latch onto a nipple.

You hiss at the contact, trembling as he teases it with his teeth, and immediately reach behind you to unclasp the offending piece of fabric. It drops soundlessly to the floor along with your jeans, underwear, and finally his boxers. Nipping sharply at the sensitive skin one last time, he pulls away to admire you, trailing his fingers down your arms until your hands are in his.

You're fucking beautiful. Your lips are kiss-swollen and glossy, begging to be kissed again, and your thighs are...wet, fucking hell. Fuck, he missed you. His mouth starts to water at the thought of licking into you, fucking you with his tongue while your thighs quake on either side of his head, but the painful throbbing between his legs is starting to overwhelm him.

He's positive, now, that if he's not inside you soon, he'll actually die. He's not just horny, anymore. It's so far beyond that.

Four more agonizing steps backward and he's finally passing the threshold into his room, so close to being on his back with you bouncing on top of him—except he doesn't make it that far. 

The door shuts behind you, and then you're on your knees, wrapping those perfect fingers around his dick and guiding him between your lips. He panics. There's no way he's going to last if you try to blow him right now.

Tenderly, you lick a stray bead of precum off the tip, and his balls immediately draw up so tight, he has to slide your hand down to the base and squeeze to keep from cumming on the spot. He shakes his head, his eyebrows furrowing as he inhales sharply through his nose.

"Babe, I can't...," he grits out, struggling to find the words to explain himself. "I'll cum too fast, you can't."

You grin, leaning forward to press your lips against his white-knuckled fist.

"That's sort of the whole point, isn't it?" you tease, trailing back to his cock, seconds away from giving him the most intense orgasm of his life.

"I need to fuck you," he blurts out. It's short and to the point, but there's no use in pretending he doesn't. At this point, he'll be lucky if he doesn't explode the second he's inside you. "I need to fuck you so bad right now, I feel like I'm going crazy."

You pause to look up at him, your eyes roving over his face, lingering on his angrily ticking jaw. You get it, now.

"Hey, it's okay—you're okay," you murmur, leaning forward to kiss away another drop of precum. He chokes back a groan and reflexively jerks away, and you take the hint to release your grip. "Okay, fuck me. Show me how much you missed me."

But you don't have any idea what you're asking for, do you? He missed you so much. There's so much catching up to do, and he has so little patience left.

He doesn't waste any more time. With every ounce of self-control he's got left, he drags you to your feet and towards the bed, trying his best not to manhandle you up the mattress and onto his lap. He fails epically. The second he's flat on his back with you grinding down on him, his patience becomes a thing of the past.

"You ready for me? Because I'm not gonna be able to stop, and I need you to feel good," he's starting to babble, but he has a feeling nothing he says from now on will make any sense, and he needs you to want it as much as he does.

His hands slide up your thighs to your waist, and when he tugs you closer to notch at your entrance, he can feel you clenching wetly around him.

"Shit—," he breathes out, his biceps tensing as he lifts you and lines himself up. He pushes in just enough for you to stretch around the tip, and you steady yourself on his chest, your palms searingly hot on his skin as you squeeze him a little harder.

"Let me make you feel good," he says again, even though you're already letting him, already yielding to his steady push and pull. Every inch he gives you feels like taking a shot of tequila, and it's making his head spin. If he could hear himself anymore, he'd realize he sounds wasted.

"Let me fill you up, please," he begs, rolling his hips up to lengthen his thrusts. They’re so much easier now that you’re dribbling down him—so much wetter—but you're so damn tight, he has to force himself to look away from where you're joined and gripping the hell out of him. "You know, I-I waited for you—waited to cum, I didn't cum at all."

"Mike...fuck. That's good. That's so good, baby," you tell him shakily. "Give it to me. Nice and deep, you deserve it."

He keens at the praise—he couldn't have stopped himself if he'd tried—and your nails bite into his skin in response, nose scrunching adorably as you gush around him. He knew you'd like that. He knew you'd want it. 

Look at his girl, so pretty on top of him, just waiting for him to bust inside you. Fleetingly, he wonders if you're still on birth control. Possessively, he doesn't care. Rationally, he knows he can't afford to knock you up, but shit—right now, he really fucking wants to. He imagines you in the same position you're in, horny and round with his baby, and suddenly he's never wanted anything so badly in his life.

He doesn't stop to think about whether or not he should. He doesn't stop at all, just like he warned you, not even when he's buried to the hilt and you're both struggling to adjust. 

He just buries himself in you again and again and again until the sound of your skin colliding with his becomes a wet thock-thock-thock that bounces off the walls of his bedroom. The springs beneath him squeak dangerously as he pushes his bedframe to its absolute limits, but he can’t hear any of that, either.

His senses are in overdrive, and all he can focus on is how you feel around him. And he’s not nearly as deep as he needs to be. Rougher than he means to, he grabs your ass with both hands and starts to force you up and down his cock, gripping hard enough to bruise. He’ll hate how much he likes the idea of that later. 

"S-so fucking pretty...gonna make me cum so hard. So much. Need you to take all of it," he pants with the exertion of lifting and dropping your full weight onto himself.

He can feel himself slamming into your cervix and desperately tries to think about anything else but emptying right into it, but the sight of you taking him like you were made for it makes it ten times worse.

Just looking at you makes him want to cum—your tits bouncing as you ride him, your pussy creaming down his cock and balls, and seeping into his sheets. Those pouty lips of yours moaning around pleas of harder and right there and don't stop, I'm cumming.

"Baby...babe—," your shattered voice cuts through the fog, and then he feels it. "M'cumming. I'm...Mike, keep going there, there. Don't stop, please don't stop."

Fucking hell, you're really cumming. Tight and wet, and clamping down on him like a vice. Somehow, he always forgets it's like this with you. That you cum this hard for him, that he's able to make you cum this hard for him. For a second, he feels overwhelmingly grateful. Then, he's planting his feet on the bed and fucking you so hard, you stop moaning and start screaming.

It's there. It's right there, so close he can feel it building everywhere. Sweat trickles down his temples, matting his curls to his forehead, and you brush them away, one hand braced on the mattress next to his head and the other buried in his hair as you ride out your high.  

His balls draw up so tight, it's painful, and he thinks he might start yelling too, but he's too focused on the chase. He's too busy watching, dumbfounded by the perfect body coming apart on top of him. 

The girl he waited for. 

He tries to tell you. He tries to open his mouth and tell you that you’re everything he thought he’d never have, and that he wants to keep you forever. That he wants to be part of you, that being inside you is one of the rare places he’s ever felt wanted. But that’s not what comes out. 

He’s too far gone now, and all he can manage is an incomprehensible stream of moans and sighs as he forces you flush against his pelvis, grinding into you as deep as he can reach. His eyes struggle not to close, nearly crossing as that familiar heat permeates his limbs and pools at the base of his cock. But it’s so much more intense than he can ever remember it being.

He lifts his gaze to your lips to find them moving, repeatedly forming a single word he can barely make out. But by the time he figures it out, he’s already giving you what you asked for. 

Please. You’re saying please. He repeats it back, begging you to take it, thanking you for letting him have this.

His orgasm rocks him. As it peaks, he feels numb like he’s suspended in time, and then it slams into him so hard, he folds in on himself. He buries his face in your tits, his breath hitching sharply in time with the visible throbbing of his cock, and he’s immediately flooded with relief. But it won’t fucking stop. It lasts so much longer than either of you expect it to, pulse after endless pulse, and he holds you in place through it all.

When it finally subsides and sensitivity sets in, your nails scratching lightly across his back are what bring him back to the present. He lifts his head from where it's still pillowed on your tits, and you lean down to kiss his forehead.

Maybe he’s imagining it, or maybe he’s just been dreaming this entire time, but he swears you’re glowing. The final rays of late summer sun illuminate your dewy skin and soft curves, and as you move lower to kiss his lips, he unconsciously rests a hand over your stomach. It feels right—but only briefly. His head starts to clear the longer he licks into your mouth, and when you part, reality finally hits.

"Shit, I think I just got you pregnant," he breathes out, sliding his hand off your stomach to your waist before collapsing onto the mattress. "Shit."

He looks up at you in concern, his mind racing a mile a minute. What did he just do? He can’t—you can't get pregnant. Not with Abby, and your jobs, and his shitty finances. It just isn't an option. 

And yet you’re still perched on top of him, snug around his softening dick, and he can’t bring himself to pull out. You don’t even seem remotely worried.

You're actually smiling. No, you're laughing, and he's still panicking and confused as hell. It gets infinitely worse when you accidentally push him out and his gut reaction is to plug you back up with his fingers, keeping his release from leaking out. This is so fucked up. He’s so fucked up.

"I mean—were you trying to?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "Kinda seems like it."

Your eyes drop between your legs to where his hand is cupping your heat, irrefutable proof that you’re not wrong. So, why doesn’t that bother you? 

"Babe, breathe," you smile softly, brushing a few stray hairs from his face. "I'm like, 98.8 percent positive you can't knock me up. Give or take, but we can check the box if it'll make you feel better."

It actually might, but the last thing he's going to do is admit it. He can't believe he didn't double-check something like that—but then again, he feels like he's been in a fugue state for hours, if not the entire week you were gone.

"You're still on birth control?" he asks cautiously, almost afraid to get his hopes up. He takes a deep breath like you told him to and it helps ease some of his lingering panic. Not all of it, but at least he's starting to think rationally and not with his dick.

"Mike. There isn't a single condom in this entire house. Yes, I'm on birth control," you laugh again, and even just the sound of it is soothing. It helps, too.

"And it definitely works? Because that was...a lot," he mumbles. He already knows he sounds like a total idiot, but he has to be sure. There's still a week's worth of his release plugged up inside you, and as much as it turns him on, he needs to know if he has to run out to the pharmacy or if he's free to do it again. And again.

"Have you ever fucked me with a condom on?" you counter. He scoffs at the question, and you clench around his fingers in retaliation.

"Of course, I have. Maybe not in a while, but early on, for sure," he replies confidently, even though he's not confident in his answer at all. Sure, he can't give you a specific example, but that doesn't mean it never happened.

"You literally came inside me the day we met," you deadpan. 

His cock stirs at the memory, hardening distractingly against your inner thigh. That, he definitely remembers. He's pretty sure that's the night he fell in love with you, but he's hard-pressed to admit that, either.

"There's no way."

"And every time since then," you continue, looking way too amused at his misfortune. Can't get anything past you, can he?

Okay, so maybe it wasn't just your trip that triggered what happened tonight. Maybe it's always been a thing. His thing. You just look so goddamn good—filled with it, covered in it. Shit, he really shouldn't be hard already.

"Babe, come on. I do...it other places, too,” he reasons, sliding his hand up to tweak a nipple. But it becomes a moot point the second your breath hitches. So much for rational thinking. “I just—"

"You just really like cumming inside me," you finish for him, taking his cock in your hand and stroking him until he's as desperate as he was earlier.

He pulls his fingers free from your pussy and tries not to lament the immediate rush of cum that leaks out. It's okay. He's got plenty more to give you.

"Yeah, I really do."

thanks for reading!

(and so much love to @joelsgreys, @tinycozycomfort & @psychedelic-ink for your help & support, and for listening to me go on and on about this man <3)

[theostrophywife]

silver lining.

pairing: draco malfoy x reader

song inspiration: bathroom by montell fish.

author's note: this is just filth. don't imagine draco looking at you like the cover picture when you're on your knees for him. don't do it.

The rosewood door clicked shut as Draco hastily ushered you inside. Your heels echoed against the marble tile, the train of your velvet dress kissing the floor as you faced your boyfriend with anticipation.

Beyond the lavish bathroom, the sounds of the soirée filtered through the packed halls of Malfoy Manor. Nearly everyone who was anyone in the upper echelons of society was present for tonight’s festivities, which meant that you were supposed to be on your best behavior.

A task that you so arduously failed the second you caught sight of Draco. 

In truth, you couldn’t be blamed. Your boyfriend had no business looking that delectable. When he greeted you at the door earlier that night, you nearly swooned. The suit that adorned his body was perfectly tailored, showing off his lithe and lean frame. It cinched at his midsection, sending your gaze further down and letting your imagination run wild with images of you wrapping your legs around his trim waist. The deep navy color accentuated his silver eyes and they flashed like streaks of lightning as his gaze descended on you. 

Mischief danced on his features as Draco indulged in the sight of you, his gaze snagging on your curves, perfectly hugged by velvet fabric that matched the color of his suit. The dress was delivered to your door early that morning along with the diamonds that dripped from your ears and fingers. The pièce de résistance, a gorgeous sapphire necklace, hung proudly around your neck. It was easily recognizable as a Malfoy family heirloom. One that Narcissa had worn out and about in countless society events. Draco’s message was clear. He intended to make you a Malfoy soon enough.

The note that accompanied the necklace said as much. Your boyfriend simply wrote: A jewel for my jewel. See you tonight, my future wife as though he hadn't splurged a year's worth of wages on the dress alone. To Draco, money wasn't an object. Not if it meant making you happy.

As the Malfoys welcomed your family into the manor, Draco swept you in by your waist. He caressed your cheek, the cold bite of his rings kissing your skin as his fingers slipped down to wrap around your neck possessively. 

“You look ravishing, darling.” Draco said as he pressed a chaste peck against your lips. The kiss was soft and gentle, likely for the benefit of your parents. You doubted that Draco’s usual affections for you would be deemed appropriate in their eyes. Your boyfriend seemed to know this too because he smirked, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “I can’t wait to rip this dress to shreds tonight.” 

That little comment ignited a fire within you. As the night progressed, you couldn’t stop staring at your boyfriend. Thinking of all the filthy things you’d rather be doing in his bedroom instead of paying attention to the millionth what a beautiful couple you make or how refreshing it is to see young love at work comments that various guests showered you with. You already knew that you and Draco were the perfect couple. He repeated this sentiment to you every day. Not just with words, but with his actions as well. 

Draco was possessive in every sense of the word. Like his namesake, there was a dragon underneath that handsome face, hoarding his most prized possession—you—with unmatched devotion. Your boyfriend showered you with affection and you loved every second of it. Selfish as it was, you weren’t well pleased at the prospect of sharing his attention even for a few hours. You were utterly spoiled, to be sure. But Draco had made you that way. 

By the time that dinner started, food was the last thing on your mind. You probably would’ve been more well-behaved if your friends were present to help take your mind off of things, but traitors that they were, they had left you all alone to simmer in your sinful thoughts. Pansy and Blaise were off on holiday in the Maldives while Theo, Enzo, and Mattheo disappeared soon after their required appearances. Knowing the boys, they were probably in the gardens getting higher than a hippogriff. 

You felt envious. The last thing you wanted to do was sit through a stuffy dinner, smiling cordially at the high profile guests around you and acting like the prim and proper aristocrat that your parents raised you to be. Draco was certainly faring better than you at the moment. The charm and confidence came naturally to him. He leaned back against his wingback chair, sipping red wine and conversing with the Minister of Magic like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Through the crystal glass, you examined him with a smile. His platinum blonde hair was slicked back and not a single strand was out of place. Silver rings adorned his knuckles, which were loosely curled around his wine glass. You couldn’t help but think that his fingers would look better wrapped around your neck, but perhaps that was the alcohol talking. 

Draco licked his lips, which were now stained a pretty crimson color. You wondered if he'd taste like wine when you kissed him, which you couldn't wait to do. Kiss, lick, suck. All over. Every single inch. You flushed as Draco's gaze trailed over to you. A sly smirk curled against his lips as he leaned in. 

“Darling, is everything alright? You’ve barely touched your food and yet you look absolutely ravenous.” His cold breath tickled your cheek. “Hungry for something else, are we?” 

A devious expression flickered through his features as your cheeks heated. Your boyfriend knew exactly what he was doing. He was being a tease, plain and simple. 

“What if I am, Draco?” you replied, placing your hand on his thigh. Draco’s breath hitched as he looked down at your perfectly manicured hand. 

His voice was low and husky, tinged with need. “You can devour me all you’d like after this dinner, princess.” 

“You know I’ve never been patient.” You pouted, causing Draco to chuckle lightly. “And I’ve been waiting all night.” 

Draco chuckled darkly, patting your hand. “Behave, darling. I promise to reward you after.” 

You weren’t satisfied with that answer. Draco was determined to leave it at that, but you had other ideas. Dating him meant that no wasn’t really in your vernacular. Draco doted on you, spoiled you beyond belief, and most importantly, he never made you wait. You were used to getting what you wanted, when you wanted. Tonight would be no different. 

As Draco returned to his conversation with the minister, you busied yourself with the guests around you. The Greengrass sisters were gushing about the dresses you had all picked out for the Yule Ball, while their parents commented on your recent charity work. You took it all in stride, accepting each compliment gracefully while inching your hand higher up Draco’s leg. 

Lucius had joined the conversation, bragging about Draco’s most recent accomplishments. Narcissa smiled fondly at her beloved son. 

“We’re quite proud of our Draco,” she said with a smile. The older woman looked positively regal and intimidating as always, but there was a warmth to her as she turned in your direction. “Especially since he’s brought the wonderful Y/N into our lives. If he plays his cards right, then we may be adding another Malfoy to our midst soon. Though I already think of her as a daughter.” 

You beamed. “Thank you, Cissy.” 

Draco cleared his throat as you inched your hand higher, toying with the seam of his pants. The minister was none the wiser as he turned his attention towards the both of you. 

“You two make a very handsome couple indeed.” 

You flashed the minister a charming smile as you palmed Draco through his trousers. He was hard as a rock and positively delicious against your palm. You rubbed over him slowly, making him jolt from the contact. “Do you hear that, Draco? Why, I think we have the minister’s approval.” 

Your boyfriend nearly spilled his glass of wine when you squeezed him between your fingers. 

The minister furrowed his brows in concern. “Are you quite alright, Mr. Malfoy?” 

“Splendid,” Draco replied through gritted teeth. “Though I just recalled, Y/N and I must check up on dessert. She needs to practice if she’s to be lady of the manor soon.” 

Draco subtly removed your hand from his lap. Ever the perfect gentleman, he stood up and gallantly offered you his arm. “Shall we, darling?” 

Hiding your smirk was nearly impossible. Though he appeared calm and collected, you knew Draco well enough to clock the tick in his jaw. Your boyfriend was pissed. This was further confirmed by the silence that followed as he escorted you through the halls of Malfoy Manor. Not a single word or glance was spared in your direction. 

Instead, Draco opened the door to the bathroom and watched as you ducked inside. Before you could even speak, Draco pushed you against the door. One hand wrapped around your throat while the other gripped your waist. 

His silver eyes flashed with anger. “You want to tell me what that was back there, princess?”

The anger radiating off of him in waves awakened a sick sort of thrill within you. You lifted your chin defiantly, nearly putting a crick in your neck as you glanced up at Draco. Every in your tallest heels, he still towered a good foot over you. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Draco. It’s not my fault that you’re all hot and bothered over a simple touch.” 

“A simple touch?” He asked, quirking a pale brow at you. From his tone, you could tell that his patience was wearing thin. “Darling, you were practically clawing at my trousers. In front of our parents. In front of the bloody minister. Are you so desperate for me that you couldn’t wait until the end of the night?” 

“What if I was? What are you going to do about it, Draco?” 

He flashed you in irritated glare. “You’re playing a very dangerous game, my love. You know better than to test my patience.” 

“Oh, but it’s so much fun.” 

“Is it? Well, it isn’t fun for me.” Draco grabbed your hand and ran it over his length. “Do you feel that? You’ve caused this problem, darling. By acting like a needy little slut all night and riling me up. Now you’re going to fix it.” 

“And if I say no?” 

Draco squeezed your throat so hard that your air supply was momentarily cut off. “Then I’ll just have to put you in your place.”

You smiled. This was exactly what you wanted. Draco clocked your satisfied little smirk. “Don’t think I don’t see that smile. You think you’ve won, don’t you? Well, you won’t be smiling once I fuck you throat until you’re crying and begging me to stop. I’ll make sure you won’t be able to talk for days, let alone grin.” 

“It would be a genuine pleasure, Dray.” 

“Such a smart mouth on you, hm?” Draco released you from his hold and stared down at you with a menacing grin. “Get on your fucking knees, princess. It's about time you remembered your place."

The words sent a shiver down your spine. You were so turned on that you could barely breathe. As you knelt on the cold tile, Draco unbuckled his belt. You looked up through your lashes with a lust filled gaze as he freed his cock from the constraints of his meticulously pressed trousers. Draco pumped himself and the sight made you groan with need. You tried to reach for him, but he swatted your hand away. 

When you whined, Draco responded by taking fistfuls of your hair and yanking your head back. “Open your mouth like the pretty little whore that I know you are.”

Without warning, Draco shoved his fingers into your mouth. You whined, wanting much more than just his digits. He tilted your head back, those silver eyes flashing with irritation at your bratty behavior.

"You think I'd give you my cock without making you work for it first?" He asked with a sneer. "Show me that you can handle my fingers and maybe I'll let you suck me off. I'd like to see if you can still mouth off to me with your lips wrapped around my cock, you fucking brat."

You moaned in response, peering up at him through your lashes as you sucked on his fingers. Draco watched hungrily as you flicked your tongue over his silver rings and wrapped your lips around the Malfoy family crest. He hissed as you coated his digits with saliva, letting him gag you with his long fingers while you gazed lovingly up at him.

"Look at you. You're fucking filthy, darling. Putting on a show for me, hm?" Draco laughed when you nodded eagerly. "I bet you're soaked, princess. So turned on and all I've done is gag you with my fingers. You're such a whore, aren't you?"

You looked up at him and smiled, kissing the tips of his fingers. "Only for you, Draco."

This seemed to please you boyfriend because he leaned down and rewarded you with a sloppy kiss. With a hand around your throat, Draco slipped his tongue into your mouth and groaned when you sucked on it.

"Come on then, darling. Let me fuck that pretty throat."

You swallowed thickly, your lips barely parting before Draco shoved his way in. You gagged as he hit the back of your throat with a sharp thrust. He groaned and picked up the pace. There was no precursor. No gentleness. This was just Draco selfishly abusing your throat for his own pleasure and you loved every second of it.

Draco held nothing back. While he was quite domineering in bed, you’ve never seen him unleashed like this. Your boyfriend was feral, roughly fucking into your throat like it was his god given right. Tears and snot quickly covered your face as he rutted into your mouth over and over again. You were slobbering all over him, leaving lipstick marks all over his cock. 

With a particular sharp thrust, Draco flashed you a vicious smile. The hand that wasn't gripping the back of your head tugged the straps of your dress off of your shoulders. He pulled the fabric down, exposing your breasts to the cool air. You hissed as he roughly squeezed your tits, alternating between them with equal attention. He flicked his thumb over your stiffened peaks and hit the back of your throat with brutal force. You cried out, your words nothing but an incoherent stream of pleading and pleasure.

“Isn’t this what you wanted, princess? You talked up such a big game, but now you’re crying like a desperate little slut. Oh, you can’t take any more? Am I bruising your pretty little throat? Well, too bad. You asked for it by acting like such a fucking brat. Now you have to deal with the consequences of your actions.”

You moaned at his words, making him throw his head back at the vibrations. His perfectly coiffed hair was now a mess. Platinum locks framed his handsome face, looking like some unholy angel. He panted and moaned, signaling his release. Draco pulled out and positioned the tip of his cock onto your tongue. 

“Swallow, darling. Every single fucking drop.” 

You were shaken. Your knees ached. Your throat was definitely sore. But it was all worth it to watch your boyfriend come apart above you. Draco’s lips parted, releasing an animalistic groan as he spilled onto your tongue. His eyelids fluttered as he came, those pretty silver eyes rolling back until they disappeared. 

Draco looked down, watching intently as you flashed him the load he’d emptied into your mouth before you swallowed obediently. He smiled proudly. 

“That’s my good girl.” 

He picked you up off of the floor and kissed you, groaning when he tasted himself on your lips. Compared to his earlier actions, the kiss was rather affectionate and endearing. After you had a chance to catch your breath, Draco cleaned you up. With a quick incantation, he vanished the evidence, wiping away the snot, tears, and mascara until you appeared pristine again. 

Draco smiled, wrapping a possessive hand around your throat as he kissed your forehead. You whimpered at the slight pressure. 

“Poor baby, but you had it coming. Told you I’d ruin your throat.” Your boyfriend murmured, trailing kisses down your neck. “Have you learned your lesson, darling?” 

Your voice sounded rough and scratchy when you spoke. “Mhm, I learned that I should make you mad more often. That was so fucking hot, Draco.” 

Draco chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re hopeless, princess. But I love you anyway. Now come on, let’s get back to dinner before anyone suspects the ungodly things I’ve just done to you. If you’re good, maybe I’ll make you see heaven later.” 

You leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll hold you to that, Draco.”

[scribbledghost]

Alright, alright, the last one.... for now >:)

Fem! Simon is faced with an incredibly difficult decision between her military career and her girlfriend. Perhaps she is offered a high-ranking position that requires relocating overseas for several years, but this means leaving behind her girlfriend and putting their relationship on hold. Her girlfriend wants to be supportive but is heartbroken at the thought of being apart for so long. I'd love to see the emotional struggle and how they deal with this heart-wrenching choice

Simon pales when the reality hits her.

She's sitting outside your shared home in her truck, having just cut the engine.

She'd been offered a position by one of the brass, one that would launch her through the ranks. The pay would also increase accordingly. She'd be out of the field less and behind a desk more - still moving chess pieces without being a pawn herself. Not to mention she'd be fast-tracked into retirement as soon as it was done. By all accounts, it seemed like the perfect deal had simply landed in her lap.

Except for one aspect:

She'd be overseas. For the next five years. The job would be so intense during that time that even the senior officer who'd given her the offer had informed her she likely wouldn't step foot in this side of the world during the entire tenure.

Five years away from home.

Five years away from you.

The air around her is heavy when she walks through the door. Naturally, she's drawn to you; drawn to your light and your warmth.

You notice almost immediately.

You sit her down, asking her what's on her mind. When she reveals she's been offered a new high-ranking position, you're initially happy for her. With a tinge of confusion.

"You... seem upset though."

That's when she reveals that it will require the two of you to essentially be apart for half a decade. And that's when you go quiet.

"You've got your own life here," she says quietly. "Y'r own job, y'r friends, family. I... I can't take you away from all that."

When you don't offer anything in the way of words, she continues.

"An'... I can't ask you to wait for me."

"I would."

"I know you would," Simon says. She knows you'd support her, even at the expense of your own heart. "But I won't ask you to."

She hopes you understand what she's trying to say - that she'd rather break both of your hearts in two by breaking things off than forcing you to sit here alone while she's away. Judging by the way your eyes begin to water, she thinks you get the gist.

"I told them I'd give them an answer tomorrow."

"I... this would be good for you, Simon."

"On paper."

She's not wrong, and both of you know it. On paper, the offer is a dream - higher pay, likely enough to live off of for a good, long while before her retirement benefits kick in after.

But paper doesn't factor in the emotional cost.

You quickly wipe a stray tear away.

"No matter what you choose," you say in a fragile voice, "I'll support you."

She knows you will. It's more than she can ask for.

The rest of the evening is quiet, most of it spent as close to each other as possible. Simon slow-dances with you in the kitchen while dinner simmers on the stove. She showers with you after. She lays with you late into the night, slowly mapping your body with her hands, memorizing the taste of your skin.

You tell her you love her. She believes you.

She tells you you're everything to her. She hopes you believe her too.

When she wakes the next morning, lavender morning light filtering in through the curtains, your soft form resting with your head on her chest and one arm across her middle, she knows.

She knows what answer she needs to give.

The way you kiss her when she leaves for base feels like you're kissing her for the last time.

The walk through the halls and towards the brass's office seems longer than usual.

She's there far longer than she wanted to be - she'd simply wanted to give them an answer then turn around and walk out. But it hadn't shaken out that way. Hours pass before she's dismissed, before they finally accept her answer and tell her she can go.

When she gets home, you're still waiting for her. You've been crying.

She wipes your tears away, kissing you softly in the light of the setting sun.

"When do you leave?" you whisper.

She kisses you again.

"Never."

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #55] Secrets

warnings: he he he, healthy communication!! wahoo!! shower (act surprised), a lil jealousy from koo, mentions of past escapades with jimin, jk with a point to prove!!, jk is a very bad housemate in this one (but he's sexy so tis okay), scene of the crime: jimin's room, spanking, fingering, dominant koo, GASP! a bird!!! in the middle of business!!!!, hehehhe, confessions, a very lovely shag <3

wc: 14K

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

Every job you've ever applied for, and every resume you've ever sent, tells the same little white lie: great at working under pressure.

While it could be argued that you are perfectly capable of functioning through high-pressure situations, it's more so that you've just mastered the art of masking how stressed you truly are.

It starts in your head. The constant reminder of how much work you have to do, how much time menial tasks will take, and how it will impact the time spent on worthwhile jobs. Then, you deliberate over that: What is worthwhile? Who decides? You?

These insidious thoughts coat your brain like gasoline and drip down your spinal column. Make themselves known in your chest. Flood your heart, until it feels like it's gonna burst.

Your lungs are robust, though. They function normally. Filter out the smoke that inevitably fills them once you spark and find yourself ablaze with the catastrophic consequences of overworking yourself.

Still, you work, work, work until you're burnt from the inside out.

Leaning your head against the cold metal of Jeongguk's apartment complex elevator, the change in temperature is welcome. Respite. Comes with the territory of being close to him, you think, regardless of the steel doors. You hear a ding. Step back. Watch as they open, and consider letting them close again. Going back down. Away from him, and the inevitable conversation that is about to happen.

His voicemail had been ominous. You're not sure if it was intentional, but you do know he'll have just gotten home from therapy. You tell yourself that's it; he just wants to share how it went.

But you're not stupid. You know his voice well enough now to know his tells. He's annoyed, and it would seem that you're the person he's taken issue with. Nobody's perfect, and that extends to the both of you. It's not always gonna be plain sailing. You'd get bored if it was.

Taehyung's words have been ringing in your ears ever since he first spoke them aloud, echoing a statement you'd considered yourself: remember who you're doing this for.

Secrets have been kept for Jeongguk's benefit, but the closer and closer you get to his door, the more stupid it all seems. Perhaps that's why you'd been so insistent on keeping it hush-hush, though. You knew he'd have a problem with it. Likes to fight his own battles. Doesn't enjoy leaning on others for support.

That's the thing, though. He's trying to learn how to, now—trying to understand himself a little bit. Regulate his emotions.

With this, naturally, comes the establishment of firmer boundaries; the acknowledgement that his feelings are valued and justified, and deserve to be known just as much as anyone else's. No more burying his upsets just to keep peace.

Or at least, his therapist said something of a pretty similar sentiment during their session. If he's shelling out the amount of money he is on therapy in an overly beige, awfully pleasant office, then he may as well learn the lessons he's being taught.

He's always been a kinesthetic learner. Has to put theory into practice.

And if you've ever taught him anything, it's that his emotions are safe with you. Never belittled or ridiculed.

Which is probably why he opens the door with a smile. Forgets his upset, for he's blinded by stars.

You're a little less glittered up than usual, but there are sparkles on your skin regardless. There always is.

Easy, it is, for Jeongguk to be distracted by you. His thoughts drift to and fro, like tiny speckles of glitter in water. Ebbing and flowing from thought to thought, his brain is constantly in pursuit of you. No guided meditation video on YouTube or breathing exercise could ever calm him like you do.

Which is why your urgency (and hard-to-hide frown) confuses him as you ask, "Is Jimin in?"

His brows pinch together in an almost comedic fashion. Why would you want to see Jimin?

"No?" He questions back, a little childishly. It'd make you laugh if you weren't so nervous.

"Okay," you breathe out a sigh of relief, thankful for privacy as you step beyond the entrance to his apartment without waiting to be invited in. The door just shuts behind you, and Jeongguk remains in place, entertained by the thorny attitude you seem to have. Shoes off, coat up on a peg, you're at one with the furniture. Are exactly where you're supposed to be. Jeongguk loves having you here. Loves it so much. "Good."

As he turns to face you, a look of bemusement rests upon his pretty features. It's been a couple of days since you were last within touching distance.

He's forgotten all about his earlier irritation. Thinks the perplexion on your face is from—well, he doesn't really know. He just doesn't realise he's to blame.

"Hi," he smiles, all dreamy and entranced by the mere sight of you, and it makes you want to cry.

So pretty, is Jeon Jeongguk in all of his dishevelled glory, his busy day weakening his product's hold on his hair, dressed down in sweats 'cause he figured he wouldn't see you this evening.

Hair dark and lightly waved, it frames his features perfectly. A little grown out, the cut has lost its initial shape, which means he has to style it if he wants to look half decent, but you always secretly prefer him like this. As he bites down on his bottom lip, there's that fabled glisten; his lip ring doing the thing that always makes your stomach flip.

But your stomach is in bits, and he seems to wise up to this as his brows crease together.

"What's up?" he asks, strolling to close the gap between you both. Reaches out to place a palm on either one of your shoulders. Tilts his head like a sweet puppy as he asks, "Hey?"

And now you're confused, because he's the one who left you with a voicemail explicitly stating that you need to talk.

"You're annoyed with me," is all you say, because it's all you know.

The thing is, he doesn't seem annoyed. In fact, he appears perfectly lovely.

"But also," you add. "How was therapy?"

"Who said that?" He protests your first point. "And was fine—will tell you later. Tell me what you're on about first."

"Sure?" You check because you genuinely want to know how it went. "And you did!"

"Sure," he nods, but then lets his features snap back into a state of confusion. "But when did I ever say that?!"

"The voicemail?"

"The—Oh, no," he laughs. Like, really laughs. Heartily. Heavenly . Celestially . Lets a small space form between you both so that he can use his hands to express himself a little. "B, no."

In all honestly, he was annoyed.

Fresh off the bat from his very first therapy session, which he still wasn't convinced was the right thing for him, he'd been greeted home with a flyer to Taehyung's next show.

It wasn't anything bad, but it also wasn't anything you had clued Jeongguk in on. There were mentions of his friends and their respective businesses under the heading: Skills Auction.

Secrets had been kept, and from the looks of it, everyone was in on it.

He took it personally.

Didn't understand why you wouldn't tell him whatever it is that's going on. Considered the possibility that the reason went beyond inconsideration. That it was deliberate .

Once he noticed what the auction was for —to 'help with a local start-up'— he knew he needed to speak to you.

He chalked up two possibilities.

One: you really just didn't care to tell him, and the auction was to raise money for something totally irrelevant to him, or two: you deliberately didn't tell him, 'cause his restaurant is the start-up.

He's not sure which idea bothers him more; you forgetting him, or you keeping things from him.

That's a lie. Truth be told, it's the idea of you forgetting him that really shatters his soul.

You hadn't heard the voicemail until a little while later, so Jeongguk had the chance to simmer and dwell upon it all. Has found his annoyance wilting over the course of the afternoon, and now adoration blooms in its place with just a single look at you.

"But you said we need to talk," you say with a slight pout that you're really trying not to let show.

You hate feeling this feeble, but when the words 'we need to talk' echoed into your ear, you'd almost cried on the spot. Called a cab immediately. Have Jeongguk on your family location app (at his request during a night when he was behind the bar in Dionysus and wanted to make sure you got home safe), so knew he was home. Welled up a couple times in the taxi, too.

Your new fear of losing him is well and truly established, now.

"Because we do ," he says with a soft smile, as if he didn't use potentially the most alarming phrase he could have done. "But not like that ."

"Then why would you say it like that?!"

"Because I didn't think you'd take it like that!"

He's laughing, but he's also trying to soothe you. It's not that he's laughing at you, or at least, not in a mean-spirited way. He thinks it's all rather cute.

"Christ alive, B," he shakes his head, his smile not once ever faltering. "You think I'd have gone to all that trouble trying to get you, only to go and break up with you a week or so later?!"

The way you gasp is comical. Deserving of an Oscar, he thinks. There's a glisten back in your eyes, evidence that you're a little calmer than you had been, as you begin to playfully bend his words.

"Oh, so first you wanna break up with me, and now even dating me was trouble," you joke, knowing that he didn't mean it like that in the slightest. Given the fact you've already had one overreaction, a second one is amusing to you both. Far less serious, this time around.

"Fuck off," he laughs, pleased that your humour is back to biting point. He could have phrased his need to speak to you a little better, but honestly? To see you this worried? To know how much you care? Oh, it's nice. Such a simple declaration of how you feel for him, without uttering a single word. He thinks he should return the favour. "No. Don't twist my words, Byeol. You know you're my favourite thing ever—"

Or at least, he tries to. You're just in too much of a teasing mood now that your woes have been remedied to let him.

"So now I'm a thing , too?!"

It's been said before that the good is never easy, and the easy never good—and in his eyes, the way you get a little difficult at times like this just makes you so much better. You scratch that teeny tiny part of his brain that sits between his unbridled loyalty and complete adoration. A spot reserved just for you.

"Mhmm," he nods, closing the gap between you. Doesn't stop until he can smell your perfume. Cups your jaw, and presses an incredibly sincere kiss to your lips. Soft and hard all within the same second, Jeongguk is a man of complexities. Perfectly imperfect. Just right. "The prettiest thing. Mine, all mine."

The way he nudges his nose against yours feels like he's welcoming you home. Says a silent 'hello ,' or 'I've missed you so much.' Both would be applicable.

"So you don't wanna break up?" You ask, pedantic just for the sake of being so. You know the answer. God, you've never felt so sure of someone in your entire life.

"How are you both the smartest girl I know and also the dumbest?" he grins, before kissing you gently to make up for the fact he called you dumb (and also the fact he's about to call you stupid). "So stupid—" he laughs, tucking hair behind your ear. "—but so goddamn pretty, B. God, my gorgeous girl. Have you spent all afternoon thinking—"

"No," you pout, cutting him off because it's so embarrassing that you actually let your mind fret like that.

"You could have just called."

"Was scared."

"You know how crazy I am about you?" He insists, pulling you in for an all-encompassing hug. Squeezes. Might crush you. Good . You'd welcome it. "You literally never have to worry about that."

Arms strong, he keeps you enclosed as he waltzes you both to his room. Giggles along with you as the awkward footing makes it so much more clumsy than it really needs to be. Refuses to let go of you until you reach the foot of his bed. Gets you right where he wants you: on top of his sheets, trapped beneath his body, even if you are both fully clothed.

"So what did you want to talk about?" You ask, knowing that it's best to get it over and done with now. You aren't stupid—even if he did lovingly say you were earlier—and it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. There's only one thing you've done recently that you haven't discussed with him, which you really should have done.

"Take a wild guess," he says with a slight smirk.

It's almost as if he knows you'll still think he's the sexiest man alive regardless of the fact you're about to be reprimanded.

In fact, the telling-off might make him even hotter. The way you bite down on your lip is accidental, but the thoughts of being bent over his knee are a little too tempting.

Jeongguk's usually good at reading your tells but thinks you're just cutely holding back the truth, so he doesn't think much of it, as if he isn't highly aware of how naturally your legs wrap around his body and how perfectly his chain dangles just shy of your chin. He's too hot. Too goddamn hot for you to think straight most of the time.

He's also been in this position too many times before, and knows exactly what it leads to, for him to not get a little excited . You both ignore it, for now.

Instead, you pout. Close your eyes. Whine a little, but are interrupted when Jeongguk starts kissing you again. Couldn't help himself. You look too cute. He really likes how you've done your hair today. Your outfit, too. The way he can't figure out what colour your glitter is, 'cause it shines differently depending on the light. The fact you're wearing his favourite of all your perfumes. And you. Just in general.

God, he just likes you so much. Forgets everything whenever you're near. All he wants is to indulge in the way it feels to be with you. Never let it go.

Lips pressing into yours, the rest of his body kind of follows suit. While one of his arms supports him by the side of your head, the other hand roams. Feels. Squeezes and strokes wherever it can; the base of your throat, the curve of your waist, the fullness of your chest. It's not without reciprocation, though.

Your hands are just as familiar as his - one in his hair, the other squeezing at his ass. A rhythm is set. Hips languid. Effort minimal. The way you rut against one another is lazy, neither of you really aiming for sex—but also neither of you would be mad if it was the inevitable outcome, either way.

Eventually, though, he pulls back. Is a little out of breath. Lets his nose nudge against yours as he shakes his head.

"No," he smiles. "Can't distract me."

"You started it."

"True," he admits, stealing a single kiss and then rolling off you to stare at the ceiling. There's just a single bird above you, now.

It's taunting Jeongguk. He knows exactly what it says. Has only lasted so long because it was strung up after that first Busan trip. Has a little more longevity than the others did.

He reaches over to grab your hand. Ignores the fact his sweats are making his desire for you abundantly obvious. Instead, he links his fingers with yours and holds them on his stomach. Says, "Jimin left the flyer for Tae's next show on the counter."

"Shit."

Jeongguk laughs. It's quiet, but you can feel his chest thud a little from the contractions of his lungs.

He isn't really sure what reaction he was expecting, but is pleased that you aren't trying to deny anything. While you both may bullshit a little from time to time, you'll always admit to it if you're called out on it. You're only human. Not saints, but not sinners, either.

"Yeah, B," he says with a small laugh. " Shit ."

There's gasoline in your heart again, but then Jeongguk squeezes your fingers, and it seems to pump the fluid out. Clears your system. Assures you that everything is okay.

" Skills Auction ," Jeongguk quotes the flyer.

"Mhmm."

"To help support a local start-up, huh?"

You glance across to him, brows a little furrowed, penance prevailing. You really do feel shitty for not including him in on the plans, even if your intentions were good.

"Mhmm."

He twists his head now to meet your gaze. Tries to read your expression. Doesn't try too hard, cause he'll get distracted again, no doubt.

"So why are all the boys listed? Or their workplaces, at least?" Jeongguk asks, and you know exactly what he's talking about.

Advertising space in the local paper, thanks to Namjoon. Custom furniture, courtesy of Min's Studio. A year's free consultation with Jimin's interior design firm. If one of your friends has a sought-after skillset (of which they all do) then they've been roped in. Even Taehyung; a chance to win an original work of his.

Perhaps 'win' is the wrong term.

It's an auction, after all. Bids will be made. But you hope they'll be made competitively. Drive the prices up. Force people to spend pretty pennies—which is exactly why people from Shilla Finances had been added to the guestlist.

They're assholes with money to burn, and they all like to win. You reckon if you have them competing against each other, you'll rake money in.

Before you get a chance to start explaining, he adds, "And where do I fit into all of this?"

"Good question," you say quietly. There's no point in denying it, now. You're not stupid but nor is he. "Look, before you say anything— I was gonna tell you."

"But you haven't ," he reminds you of your wrongdoing. Just like that time he lied about texting a girl to hang out all those months ago, and you refused to go easy on him, he's gonna make sure you learn your lesson. "The show is next week."

With a nod, you know you need to be straightforward with him about your plans. "But I haven't, you're right."

It's not without reason.

Jeongguk is stubborn at best; proud at his worst. Hates accepting help. Even Yoongi had to convince Jeongguk to let him in on the business proposal to take to the bank—and Jeongguk feels ever so embarrassed that Yoongi saw him put in so much hard work only to achieve absolutely nothing. Makes him feel inadequate.

But the restaurant is Jeongguk's dream .

And if you can help him achieve his dream, of course you're gonna try.

Ever since he got the call from the bank, there's been a quiet disappointment in his eyes whenever moments of contemplation have washed over him. Sloped shoulders, firm pouts. It's been hard to watch.

Jeongguk doesn't have the capital to purchase the retail unit outright now that it's for sale, and the bank wouldn't wanna take a chance on an inexperienced businessman like him. Fresh out of university, he doesn't have the credentials built up, yet.

But what Jeongguk does have—and what you'd argue is his absolute strength when it comes to his business plans—is people who love him and want him to succeed. People who will do all they can to help him out in times of need, just like he would for them.

And so when the idea to do a skills sale came into your head, you just sort of ran with it.

The concept is simple: get punters to bid on prizes. Highest bidder wins. The competition aspect will surely propel prices, and the prizes are things that money can't buy, or at least not easily.

The funds raised, once small fees are settled?

Jeongguks, to help with the restaurant start-up. A gift from you all, really. Not just you, even if you are the mastermind.

You didn't even realise how much momentum the entire thing had gained until you were putting together the finishing touches with Taehyung earlier that day.

The collection he's showing is small. Postcard-sized, intricately detailed moments of time spent with his friends, captured in an abstract medium. They're reasonably priced—a little lower than his going rate, to ensure sales—and after the costs of his materials is deducted, the proceeds will go towards the 'start-up'.

The start-up or Jeongguk's dream. Whatever you wanna call it.

The rest of his friends have all donated their time and efforts free of charge. You've even managed to rope in a few companies to partner with the auction. Bartered with Taehyung, and asked if the commission he once promised you as a thank you for helping with the show could be redeemed in the auction—and he agreed.

It's the hot ticket item, you think, although you are severely underestimating how much companies will pay for front-page advertisements in the city paper. They're often booked out well in advance, so for Namjoon to swoop in and reserve it off thanks to an unpaid invoice leaving a slot free next month? Oh, it's like Christmas come early.

And so you tell Jeongguk everything; how the ball started rolling, and how you've been unable to stop it. He listens, and doesn't say a word. Is conflicted.

"I know I should have told you what I was doing," you stress, eyes on the ceiling, just like his. "I just thought you'd tell me no—"

"I would have done."

" Exactly ," you say. "Like I wasn't trying to meddle, I just want you to have options, yanno? Money is the only obstacle. And I just—you've done so much for me. I wanted to return the favour."

"B, there's a favour, and then there's this ," he gently says. He's still holding your hand, so at least he's not mad. That's something.

"I know." Truthfully, you do. It's why you've been so torn up. You knew you should have told him earlier, but also knew he'd probably feel guilty accepting help like this. "I just saw how disappointed you were after the bank called, and like, the only thing standing between you and getting that restaurant going is money and—"

"But it was my call to make, B," he interrupts softly. "What happened with the bank was shitty, and yeah it really sucked for a while, but I would have figured it out. Like, what if I didn't even want to run a restaurant anymore?" You know he does. "What would I do with the money then? They'd start calling me a fraud, or some shit like that. Sue me, probably, for false advertisement. Run me into the ground before I even have a chance to get something going."

With a nod, you don't try and defend yourself. You know he's right—but you also know Jeongguk's achieving his dream regardless of his current difficulties. He's too determined not to achieve his goals.

Instead of trying to reason any of this, you offer an apology.

"I'm sorry," you promise. "Tae said something earlier that kinda made me realise I'd had tunnel vision with it all. I know it'll sound like bullshit, but I really was going to tell—"

"I hate that I didn't know," Jeongguk cuts you off. His interruption is stark. Leaves a cold tail of wind as it escapes his mouth. "I mean, I'm the only one, right?" He frowns, now. "Everyone else knew. They had to, if they're on the flyer. And I just wasn't told. By anyone."

"It's my fault," you say, quickly coming to the defence of his friends. You masterminded it, after all. "Gguk, I literally begged them to keep it quiet until I figured out how to tell you. It's on me. Yoongi said I should tell you. Jimin straight-up told me I was being dumb. The only reason they didn't tell you is 'cause of me. It was a bad judgment call on my part. I'm sorry."

Jeongguk could pretend like he cares about the secrecy.

He doesn't.

He understands why the secret was kept, and why it began. He doesn't see it, really, as deception or as a lie. Is familiar with the concept of surprises, and how they work. Trusts you not to ever lie about personal matters, but does find it a bit baffling nonetheless.

The thing that does upset him, though?

Being left out.

"Just feel stupid," he mumbles. Rubs his thumb against yours. Finds respite in it. "Everyone knew except for me. Feel like a charity case."

"I didn't even think of it like that," you quietly admit, turning to face him again—but he's avoiding your gaze. "Just wanted to fix things for you. Take the pressure off. I should have told you. I really am sorry I didn't."

Jeongguk purses his lips, and his lip ring flips ever so sweetly in the corner of his mouth. He's so handsome, even when he's pouty.

You both show affection and care through acts of service. It's nothing new. He understands the thought process and the good intentions that come with it.

With a sigh, he leverages the grip he has on your hand and pulls you a little. Encourages you onto his lap. It's a position you ease into without difficulty, knees either side of his waist, ankles by his hips as you straddle his body.

Jeongguk holds onto your thighs while your hands ball at the material of his shirt. Eye contact is shamefully avoided, until he sighs once more. "Look, I see what you're trying to do, B. And it's sweet, and I appreciate it. I really do. You just can't keep shit like this from me, okay? Not if it directly concerns me."

You nod, watching your own hands as he clasps them in his own.

"We're a team, right?" He gently says as he encourages your body to lay on top of his. Wraps his arms around you. Holds you close as you nod again into the crook of his neck. "You can be team captain all you like, baby—just don't keep me on the reserves bench. If there's a homerun to be had, I wanna be the one hitting it. Okay?"

"I really am sorry," you say again, 'cause you kind of feel like he's the one trying to make you feel better, which isn't the point of an apology at all.

Thing is, Jeongguk isn't annoyed. Really.

He's a little annoyed at himself for not thinking of the idea first, and a little sad he didn't get the chance to work on it with you—but he's honestly been feeling so stuck about the restaurant for weeks. Spent most of his first therapy session talking about how gutted he was over it all.

And so even though yes, you should have roped him in—or hell, even asked his permission—it kind of feels like you've thrown him a lifeline.

"I still wanna speak it over with Yoongi," Jeongguk tells you as he rubs his hands up and down your back. "Just get his opinion on things—and hey, there's no guarantee we'd actually make any money, right? From the auction?"

It feels different, now, thinking about the restaurant as if it's something that could come to fruition again. Raising the funds for a deposit on the building would alleviate one of the biggest financial burdens. Sure, there's no certainty he'd get approved for a mortgage, or if the bank would even still consider a loan for the refurbs and start-up costs, but it's better than going in empty-handed.

"Totally," you nod, thinking that Yoongi is probably the best person to discuss this all with. "And, actually, that's something else I need to speak to you about."

"Go on," Jeongguk purrs.

"Well, the goal is to raise capital without the need for investors," you say of your thought process behind the auction. "Get their money in exchange for goods or services—not for a stake in your business. Thing is—"

"All the rich twats we know are from Shilla Finances?" Jeongguk grimaces as he references Seokjin's workplace. Can always tell whenever one of those wankers is at Taehyung's show. They all wear Invictus, or 1 Million, as if Paco Rabanne is the scent master of class and wealth, and not just responsible for the cloud of air that hangs in a high school boys' locker room after gym lessons.

"Yeah," you grimace right back. "Chances are, they already know about the show—we always have a few in attendance. Tae's pretty popular with them. I'm pretty sure one of them mentioned some of his work being in one of their meeting rooms at the last show."

You say chances are, because you haven't sent out personal invites yet. That was one of today's tasks, but after speaking with Taehyung, you chose against it. Knew that he was right. That you did have to speak to Jeongguk before going through with it.

"They've got money," he assesses. More than him, by a long shot. Pool their resources, and fuck it—he really might be able to make enough for a deposit on the unit.

"They do," you nod, then begin to explain your theory.

It's not foolproof and there's no guarantee any of them would care particularly for the things on offer, but Taehyung's kind of dominating the local art circuit at the moment. There's a buzz around him that everyone wants to get in on. For flashy, wealth-obsessed wankers who love to keep up with the latest trends, an original commissioned piece from Taehyung would make them the talk of the office for at least a day or two.

"Get investors without getting investors," Jeongguk muses. The idea of being tied to your ex in even the smallest of ways makes him feel physically sick, but this a loophole he could grow to like. "Fuck it. Do it. Invite them. What have we got to lose?"

There's something intrinsic about the way Jeongguk groups you in together with him like this. Your burdens are his burdens; his battles, your battles. He really does view you as a team and intends to keep it that way.

"You sure?" You question, just to confirm it's what he actually wants.

He nods. Adjusts you slightly so that he can look into your eyes as he says, "I'm sure, babe—but if your ex is there, I'm taking you straight to that janitor's closet again."

The boyish charm to his smile makes your eyes roll, but his sentiments do get you a little flustered nonetheless.

"For a chat?" You tease, knowing perfectly well what he means.

Jeongguk just smiles. Plainly states, "No. For a fuck."

"You're so romantic."

"I am," he agrees, ignoring your sarcasm. Smirks as your hair pools around his face, nose nudging up against his. "Gonna fuck you so hard you can't walk straight, and then I'm gonna hold your hand all night to make up for it."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhmm," he purrs, pressing a fleeting kiss up to your lips. "Gonna introduce myself to everyone as your boyfriend. Oh, you know the curator? Yeah, she's my girlfriend. I'm her boyfriend. Gonna make sure everyone knows, B. I'll bet you that all those finance bros fancied the shit out of you when you were with your ex. Bet you they're hoping they can make a move on you now. Fat fuckin' chance. Over my dead body."

His tendency to get a little jealous has never been a secret, but you must admit you enjoy seeing it boil to the surface every now and again.

"You're so dumb," you giggle as he begins to press kisses down your throat.

Oh, the jealousy is potent . Has his tongue flicking against you; teeth nipping at your skin.

"Nah, you're just right," Jeongguk husks against your neck. "I am proud. My pride does get in the way. But when my girlfriend looks like you? Fucking hell, when my girlfriend is you? Jesus, B. Hard not to be proud."

"Stop," you smile, pulling back, knowing that you're both gonna take it too far. "You'll give me a big head."

"Then you really will look like a disco ball," he tells you with a straight face, but just can't help himself from letting a grin escape.

"Fuck off," you laugh, but he simply doesn't let you. Pulls you in for half a dozen teeny-tiny kisses, then decides they're not enough, and gives you half a dozen more. They're fleeting and they're fast, but they're all for you. You know it's only a matter of time until you'll be under his sheets instead of on top of them. "Wait, wait, wait—are we good?"

"Course we are," he says as you sit back up on his lap, and your assumptions about his state of desire are proven correct. "Just don't keep shit from me, okay?"

You nod. Know that the way you felt earlier when you listened to his voicemail was enough to scare you into never doing it again. "Promise."

"Then, yeah," he assures you, stroking your thighs, and looking at you with the softest eyes known to man. "We're good, B."

Amazing, what a little bit of open communication between you both can do.

Has you thinking maybe you should admit how terrified you were on the cab ride over—but then he's pulling you up with him, grabbing the pair of towels he keeps neatly folded on a shelf, dragging you to the bathroom.

He's already had one today, and so have you, but he doesn't care. Wants you naked. Wants to prove how 'good' you really are together. Wants to give you reasons to never keep shit from him again. Reward you for your honesty, as if you're a puppy in need of training—which is funny, 'cause when his hair gets all wet beneath the shower and his eyes are so delightfully wide, he's the one who looks like a puppy dog.

The way he leans into your touch as you shampoo his hair? Gets a little whiney when you scratch at his scalp? Oh, he's such a puppy dog. So cute, and cuddly, and—

"Oh, fucking hell," Jeongguk cuts off your train of thought when he turns to face you. Body covered in soapy bubbles that drip down your skin like honey, he's somehow surprised by how badly he wants you. As if he doesn't always want you.

He's never wanted to be shampoo before, but— fuck —he wants to be on you like that. Doesn't care to think about the physical logistics of it all. Just gets your back pressed to the wall, a hand on your waist while the other holds your throat. Forgets the pretty kisses he usually greets you with. Gets his tongue in your mouth, and your whines in his throat. It's messy, and it's feral, but fuck if it isn't just so indicative of how much you crave each other.

It goes beyond that, Jeongguk thinks. Not a want, but a need.

Even though you'd been playing it off like a joke earlier, he's highly aware of the fact you thought he might end things earlier. He never wants to give you that kind of complex. Wants you to know that a few words would never be enough to break what you have together.

So even though Jeongguk is like a puppy dog in how sweetly he adores you, he's also fierce in how defiantly he wants you.

Hair up and out of the stream of his shower, you didn't want to wash it twice in one day, which actually makes things a little easier for him. Means he won't have to wait out your conditioning time. Instead, he reaches across, and shuts off the shower.

Nudging his nose up against yours, he mumbles, "We don't have to, but I totally wouldn't be opposed if you wanted to fuck right now."

"Huh," you hum, letting one of your hands drop from his waist, to delicately trail around the base of his incredibly hard cock. "You wanna fuck? Hadn't noticed."

When he laughs, you feel the air escape his lungs and settle on your skin. It's something so innately human that reminds you Jeongguk is real; that he's yours, and that you'd be a fool to waste such opportunities.

"Said I'm not opposed," he corrects you. "Up to you. I can make you feel good, B, or we can get dressed and do crosswords like an old married couple."

"You've never done a crossword in your life," you guess, narrowing your eyes.

"And I don't really intend on starting now," he smirks.

"Well then you're in luck," you concede.

"You wanna fuck?"

"That rhymed," you say as he pulls back to grab the towels. He gives you yours first, wrapping you up before he reaches for his own. "Maybe you are good with words. Maybe you should do the crosswords, instead." He raises a brow as he shakes his towel through his hair, not caring for the fact he's stark bollock naked. "Jimin's still out, right?"

"Company dinner," Jeongguk says, as he finally begins to wrap his towel around his waist. "Probably won't get home till the early hours."

You nod. Accept this reality. Say, "Good."

And then Jeongguk is left to watch on in a state of disbelief as you rid yourself of his fluffy white towel and toss it his way before walking to the door. Turning to glance over at him as you push down the handle, you're amused by how endearing his surprise is.

"Well, are you coming, or what?" You tease.

Barely a foot out the door, and Jeongguk's wrapping his arms around you. Covering your modesty, while also letting his towel fall to the floor. You're giggling as his lips press wet kisses against your throat, the pair of you so adorable it would make anyone else sick.

"What if he snuck home, huh?" Jeongguk playfully husks against your skin. "Then what?"

"Then it would have been a nice surprise for him," you tease right back. "Give him something to think about when he—"

"Don't," Jeongguk almost fucking growls .

While this might have been true a year ago, Jimin would most likely feel incredibly awful seeing you in such a state of undress, now. Doesn't associate who you are now with the girl they all met at Dionysus way back when. His encounters with you weren't particularly unique, nor meaningful. He doesn't think of them.

Thinks of you now like an add-on of Jeongguk. Both annoying. Both people he's entirely comfortable around. Both improve his mood during bad hangovers. Both are responsible for many of those hangovers. You're a package deal, and he'll forever be grateful for Jeongguk not being weird about things, like he knows many people would have been.

In a similar fashion, Jeongguk doesn't think about it—except for rare occasions, for no better reason than to let himself lean into a little bit of toxicity.

"Don't what?" You feign innocence, but you recognise the look in his eye; a little wild and ever so dark, even if there are still stars in them. "It's not like he's never—"

"I don't care what he has done," Jeongguk cuts you off, and hooks his arm around your waist. Doesn't give a shit. Picks you up, and gets you over his shoulder. You yelp, as if it's not exactly what you were anticipating—but what does surprise you?

The direction he takes you in.

"Gguk—" You laugh, but he's having none of it. Those earlier thoughts of being bent over his knee are remedied as he spanks your ass to assert a little dominance.

"Don't give a fuck what he has done," Jeongguk repeats as he kicks open the door to a bedroom that doesn't belong to him. "'Cause we both know you never fuckin' came in here, did you? Huh? You ever orgasm in here?"

Part of you is in a state of shock. He cannot seriously be thinking about having his way with you in his housemate's room. Anywhere else? Fine. Sure. Have already been there, done that, got the t-shirt. But Jimin's room?!

That part of you is silenced by the keenness that comes with such a sordid act. Of all the times you've ever told yourself fucking Jeongguk is wrong, you know that this time, it really is.

It's a confusing paradox; he's your boyfriend. Fucking him is a-okay. But fucking him here ?! Oh, God, you're going to hell.

"Where's that smart mouth of yours gone, huh?" He smirks as he uses his spare hand to pull out Jimin's desk chair. You're lowered down from Jeongguk's shoulder, and he's pleased to see how wide your eyes are. Likes how needy you look. Steals a kiss. Husks, "Not so loud now, are you, baby?"

How you're even supposed to articulate a response to that when your heart is in your throat, you'll never know.

Jeongguk presses his tongue to the back of his front teeth. Breathes out a stifled laugh as he smirks. Shakes his head. Says, "Knees."

And— fuck —you don't know when you became this pathetic and feeble, but his display of dominance has really done something to you. There's no pushback. No defiance. Just compliance as you do as he says and get to your knees. Eyes on his, always.

"Wait here for me, baby," he says softly, stroking your cheek with his thumb. Is tender in how he's touching you, but the obscured light filtering in through Jimin's blinds makes him look so much more sinister than usual. You're surprised by how much you like it. "Don't move. Okay?"

You nod, Jeongguk's hand still gently cupping your cheek as his thumb traces your lip, then pushes into your mouth. The wet warmth of your tongue makes him fuckin' twitch. He wants you so fucking badly. Doesn't know why he's torturing himself.

When he leaves, you don't move a muscle. Just listen intently to try and work out what he's doing. You hear the manual lock of the front door go first, so even if Jimin does get home early, there's no way he's getting in. Part of you knows Jeongguk likes the risk factor of shit like this, so it's nice to know where his boundary lies. The pad of his footsteps grows quieter, so you can only assume he's in his room.

You sit on your knees, palms on your thighs. Your poise is well-maintained; a little feline in how you hold yourself. The one thing you do change is your hair. Fix it into a ponytail, instead. You know he likes having something to hold onto, and all you want is to give him the things he enjoys in life.

There's a coolness to the air in Jimin's room. Your nipples are hard, and you know there's a mess between your legs already—which only doubles with anticipation as you hear Jeongguk heading back in the direction of Jimin's room.

Unbeknownst to you both, the closing of Jeongguk's bedroom door creates a stir in the air. Wraps around the only bird left hanging—and then all very suddenly, Jeongguk's ceiling is empty, the final fear nestled in his sheets.

When he enters, unaware of what's just happened, he's so pleased to see you did as you were told… almost .

"It's different," he says of your hair, lifting the ponytail to run his palm down it. You're a little bit disappointed when he doesn't yank it, and kind of question your sanity when you realise what you wanted him to do. "Pretty."

He's pleased to see your cheeks apple as he compliments you, your smile a little shy. As he stands in front of you once more, you notice what he's carrying: the tie of his you're far too well acquainted with.

"Lift your hair up for me, baby," he says, and has to admit, the way you just comply to his every whim makes him so fucking twitchy. Wrapping the tie beneath your ponytail, he brings the ends to the top and ties a pretty (even if a little messy) bow. "Keep that safe for me, yeah? Gonna use it later."

You nod, 'cause what else are you gonna fuckin' do? Say no? Fuck that. You can't remember the last time Jeongguk made you feel this submissive. As much as you like switching up the roles, there's something about relinquishing power to him that really shatters your hard exterior. You wanna be vulnerable for him.

Sinking into the desk chair, you half think Jeongguk is vying for a blowjob—of which you desperately want to give. He notices your eyes, and the way your lips hungrily fold in on themselves as you look towards his cock. Smirks in satisfaction.

"Not yet, baby," he tells you. Holds out his hand to help you up, and uses the other to pull at the lever on the bottom of the chair, lowering it as much as he can. There are no armrests to the chair, making it perfect for what Jeongguk wants—and what he wants isn't so dissimilar from your earlier desires. "Told you not to move, didn't I?"

You stand in front of him, looking down at him in a somewhat odd shift to the dynamic—yet he's still entirely in control as his hands stroke up your figure. Warm and wide, you love his hands. Always have done. Always will.

Nodding, you give no verbal response. Don't feel like it's needed.

"But your hair changed, didn't it?"

There's a softness to his voice that makes everything about this so much more intense than an overtly masculine display of dominance would give. It's the way he holds power, in abundance, without raising his voice or scaring you, that makes your heart feel like it will beat out of your chest.

Again, you nod.

"Not very good at following orders, are you?"

This time, you shake your head.

Feels like there's not a single thought up in your brain right now. Everything has been pushed to the side to make way for the anticipation of what's to come.

Jeongguk's tattooed hand trails down you arm, then wraps around your wrist. Pulls you closer. Turns you slightly, until you're standing next to him, staring yourself out in the mirror. He glances across to it, meets your gaze, and says, "See. Told you so. Pretty."

You hide your smile well, you think. Watch your face in the mirror, and realise that it's impossible to hide how Jeongguk makes you feel, for it blooms over your entire being.

"Just 'cause you're pretty doesn't mean you can break the rules, though, B," he reprimands you, and encourages you to lean over his knees.

The chair's height isn't ideal, and you thank your lucky stars Danbi forces you to pole every other week so you at least have a little power in your legs to keep yourself supported.

Jeongguk wises up to the height issue pretty quickly—but he wants you looking in the mirror, so knows a little compromise has to be made. He supports your body with his forearm, holding you up across the front of your shoulders, his hand curling around your arm to keep you steady.

The sight in the mirror is sin; how Jeongguk is surveying your body, eyes trailing down the dip of your spine to the pert rounding of your ass. The strain on your legs means your brows are already a little furrowed, one of your hands resting on the edge of the seat for extra support, while the other grips onto the arm of his that's keeping you steady.

As his eyes rake down your body, his hands stroke. Grapple. Soothe. Get reacquainted with that ass of yours that he loves so much.

"What's the word?" He asks.

It's a simple phrase only ever uttered in moments of impiety. Lets you know whatever he's about to do goes beyond the realm of your usual encounters and it only serves to get your heart racing even faster.

The whiplash of your earlier upset, and current desperation just makes you so much more pliable for him. So agreeable. You'll do whatever he wants. Are his to use as he pleases—which is funny, because all he wants is to please you .

"Chess," you say, breath so shallow it's almost a whisper.

"Good girl," he says just as softly. He's teasing, and he damn well knows it. Is gentle in how he speaks to you, 'cause he knows he's about to be anything but gentle. "See, you do know how to behave, don't you?"

You nod—then find yourself gasping as the hand that had been softly stroking your skin cracks against it. The force makes your body jerk, but he steadies you just as quickly as he spanks you.

"Words, baby. Tell me."

You try again. Give a pathetic 'yes' , only to be sent reeling once more.

He has the audacity to laugh, and it just makes you fucking drip . The glisten of your pussy leaking onto your inner thighs gets exposed with every spank, and Jeongguk just can't help himself. Lets his middle finger swipe between your soaked folds, before sinking it into your entrance with zero resistance.

The way you moan is like a fucking symphony, he thinks. Mozart would have a field day with the noises you make. Vivaldi would name a season after you. He wishes he had his phone on him. Wants to record your sounds; your bated breaths, your soaked cunt, your desperate gasps, moans, whines—all of it.

Long, slow strokes; his middle finger pumping into you elicits the most pathetic noises from you, eyes fastened shut from how euphoric it feels. It's too bad. He wants to see them. Wants the intimacy that comes with it.

"Eyes open," he tells you.

You try, but it's just too good. You can't help but let your eyes roll back into the pleasure, lids closing as you succumb to the way he feels inside you. You hear the softness of a small laugh, but the words that follow are stern.

"Open, or I'll stop."

"You're so fuckin' mean," you whine, forcing your eyes open—and it really is a struggle, especially when he begins to increase his pace.

His middle finger continues to fuck itself into you, his speed building, the noise of it all so fucking lewd. Shivers run through your body, thanks to the loss of autonomy you always seem to have whenever he's inside you.

"Watch your language, or I'll stop," he threatens, but glances over to the mirror to meet your eyes. You're so headstrong, so stubborn, and yet for him? Oh, you're pathetic . He loves it. "And I can be meaner, baby. Trust me."

"Gguk—"

He pulls out from you quickly, delivering a sharp spank to your ass. The crack echoes into the room, your body jolting, a pathetic whimper mewling from your lips as he steadies you.

As quickly as he withdrew from you, he sinks his finger back into you. Gives you no fuckin' respite. Keeps his momentum up.

"Don't call me that," he husks. If you were to have any cognitive thoughts in this moment, you'd be a little confused. It isn't a name that usually has too much of an effect on him. You just don't realise that that's the issue; he wants you to address him by names only you can say. "Who am I? To you, who am I?"

"My— oh, fuck —you're my boyfriend," You whimper. Admitting it like this gets you feeling all kinds of fucked up. "Shit. Gguk— fuck ."

"Yeah, I am," he grits, a little aggressive in the way he's fingering you, but in such a way that makes you feel like a fire has been sparked inside you. All pleasure, no pain—until he reprimands you for your foul language again.

He pulls out. Spanks you. One cheek, then the next. Is quick in his succession, giving you next to no time to register the sensation, and then is plugging you again with his fingers.

Is gritting his teeth as he growls, "And I'm making you feel good, yeah?"

Clutching his arm so tightly you're gonna leave nail marks, you nod. Gasp. "So good."

His cock is so hard; his tip hot as it throbs, resting up against his lower abdomen. Is trapped between his body and yours, and with every movement he dictates out of you, he's also getting a little friction. Is all desperate and needy, in the way it leaks a pretty bead of precum from the slit, smearing on his skin. Yours, too.

He ignores it as best he can. Is only thinking about you.

"That's right," he says a little breathlessly, a little surprised by just how much he feels like he's out of control, despite having complete authority over you. "So watch your language, and don't call me what everyone else calls me. You've got privileges, baby. Use them."

And then it clicks.

You've got privileges, baby.

It's different to the usual teasing. He doesn't want you to stroke his ego. He wants you to hold his heart.

"I'm sorry," you breathlessly plead for forgiveness, as if he actually gives a shit about your sailor's tongue, and isn't just looking for an excuse to spank you. A second finger of his pushes into you, desperate to elicit more delicate moans. This time, you do watch your language. Do exactly what he wants of you. "Oh, God—" you almost feel like you're gonna cry. "—That's it, babe. God, that's it ."

Babe .

He might actually fuckin' nut from just hearing you call him that.

If he were to really be in control, he'd tell you off for such blatant blasphemy, or some shit like that—but he doesn't care, and can't think straight enough to pretend he does.

"So fuckin' hot," he mumbles instead, as his fingers keep up the pace that's gotten you all shaky for him.

You're really not supporting yourself anymore. It's his hold on you that's keeping you locked in position. Every couple of strokes, your legs shake just a little bit more, and your whines are so breathless he knows you're nearly there.

"Tell me how I make you feel," he husks, voice soft. "Tell me how close you are."

"Close," you whimper, because it's all you can manage. "So close, babe."

"Gonna cum all over my fingers, aren't you?"

"Gguk—" you gasp, mind numb, body burning. He doesn't reprimand you, this time. Keeps his pace. You try and muster an apology for disobeying him, but find it impossible. "Oh, fuck —"

"It's okay," he grits through clenched teeth. You manage to open your eyes for a moment, and just a single glance at his face—his knotted eyebrows, tense jaw, parted lips, damp hair, undeniable beauty—seals the deal. The shaking of your legs gets harder to handle. Knees weak, you really do sound like you might fuckin' cry. "Be a good girl for me, yeah? Cum for me."

It's a request, not a demand, but the pace at which he's fucking you with his fingers makes it impossible to refuse.

The sensation of pleasure that waves over you travels from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, sparking as it reaches its climax. Body tense as your muscles struggle to deal with the lightning that's cracking through your veins, you shudder for him. Don't have to fake a single thing.

Jeongguk's no stranger to what it's like to have you like this, but each and every time it happens he's stunned. Can't form a single cognitive thought, let alone a sentence that makes any sense. Just curses.

"Fuck," he exhales, a fucking laugh stifling in his throat as your orgasm soaks him. You didn't squirt like you sometimes do, but it doesn't matter when he makes you as wet as he does. His fingers and palm were already coated, but you're all over his thigh now as well as your own. "God, this pussy, B," he praises. "So fuckin' perfect."

You give an exhausted giggle, the laughter making your pussy get even tighter around his fingers. Body well and truly spent, it's a miracle you haven't actually fallen to the floor—but his grip on you is so protective, he'd never let that happen.

What he does do, is slowly pull his fingers from you, and stroke at the peachy pink marks left by his palm. "You okay?"

Nodding, eyes closed, you're all pliable for him. Limp and lethargic. Need a moment to recover before you can return the favour. There's a serenity to you, he thinks, as he watches you in the mirror.

Though he doesn't wanna break the moment, he also wants you in his sheets. You look so sleepy, and honestly there's nothing he'd love more than a lazy little fuck with you right now; like a pretty bow tied on top of a present just for him.

Easing you up, Jeongguk makes sure to keep you supported, moving you into a straddle position over his lap. Your ass is closer to his knees than his cock, and it's deliberate, 'cause he doesn't trust himself. Arms draping over his shoulders as his hands grip your waist, you let your foreheads meet, noses not quite nudging.

"Hey," he greets you with a soft whisper. Fixes the issue of your noses not nudging. Cranes his neck a little to get his stroking up against yours—but then pulls a little higher, so he can press a pretty little kiss to the tip of your nose.

"Hi," you reply, dreamy and dulcet in how wrecked you sound.

Nose nestling back against his, you let his lips press down into yours. In search of refuge, they're so pouty that it takes next to no effort.

You grant him the shelter he's seeking; give him a home between your lips as if you don't know you're silently stealing his soul in the process.

Pulling back, even though he really doesn't want to, Jeongguk gets to his feet, wrapping your body around him as he does so. Your arms are secure over his shoulders, legs around his waist.

Head nestled into the crook of his neck, he's reminded of his tie as your hair presses against his jaw. Had intended on using it way before you came undone but kinda got carried away. It's no huge loss. Will just use it later, he's sure.

With a smile, his arm holds you securely in place as he tucks the desk chair back in place.

"We leaving?" you ask, as if you really care.

"Want you in my bed," he simply says, without clarifying. Could be for sex, could be to sleep. Again, you don't really care. Just wanna be stuck to him like glue.

His job in Jimin's room is done. Just wanted to settle that little part of his brain that would sometimes taunt him about your time spent in there. Wanted to rewrite your memories, and is pretty certain he achieved his goal.

Careful as he carries you through the apartment, he knows he's definitely gonna get some negative karma points for what he just did. If Jimin ever found out, he'd probably skin him alive. It's boyish, how Jeongguk smirks to himself, and tightens his grip around your body, thinking to himself that it was worth it.

Setting you down on his bed, he doesn't notice the slight sound of crumpling paper—but you feel it. Chirp a little confusion, which has Jeongguk asking, "Wassup?"

Adjusting slightly, you reach behind yourself.

Jeongguk looks up, just to check on the birds—and that's when he realises.

Bird in your hand, you look up towards him with a loss of autonomy. Forget you have ownership over the birds, too. Don't even think to open it, or at least not until Jeongguk panics and snatches it from you without saying a word.

"Woah, woah, woah," you laugh, your fucked-out soul finally returning to your body. You reach for his hand, but he pulls it back. Doesn't let you take the bird. "Excuse me?!"

"No can do," he shakes his head. "It's wing's broken. You can't look at it. Not yet."

An odd thing for him to say, you think.

Very odd indeed, considering he strung it up after your first trip to Busan, and has had ample opportunity to make any amendments, if he wanted to. You don't know any of this, though.

"Why—"

"Just because!" He interrupts, but he's smiling, at least. Is also naked, and given the fact you're sitting at the end of his bed, he should really be more careful about how vulnerable he is right now. You could sack-tap him, if you really wanted. Forcefully regain access to the 'broken' bird.

Silence lingers between you both, the tilting of Jeongguk's head puppy-like compared to the feline narrowing of your eyes.

Chalk and cheese, you really are ever so different and yet intrinsically fated. Aligning stars and strings of fate are weak in comparison to whatever it is you have between the pair of you.

Glitter and gold, are you and Jeongguk. Cosmic and yet entirely of this earth. Exactly where you're meant to be. Feet on the ground; heads in the clouds.

"Let me see it," you implore, reaching out to pull him onto the bed with you. He complies to this, at least. Even though he's on top of you, he ignores the nakedness, and the almost guaranteed sex he was about to have. Can't think about that right now. "There's nothing to be scared of, remember? It's just me. Just us."

Jeongguk lets the angle of his head drop ever so slightly as he shakes it. There's almost a sense of shame that washes over him; as if there's nothing more embarrassing than the words scrawled onto his bird.

"You're never normally this nervous over birds, Gguk," you smile, reaching up to rake your fingers through his messy, still damp, hair. A smile tweaks at his lips as you do so, his eyes lifting to meet yours. You can't help but notice the glisten of his lip ring from your peripherals. Even now, it still makes your stomach flip. "Nothing you could ever write on those birds would change the way I feel about you. You know that, right?"

Jeongguk barely registers the fact he's speaking out loud when he says, "That's kinda the issue."

With a groan, and a pitiful laugh, he rolls off you. His back thumps against his bed, and just like that, you're a pair of stars looking up to the skies once more. It's as if you're both aware you're meant for more than this world.

But Jeongguk's spent years staring at the ceiling. Never realised it wasn't the plain white paint that was keeping his attention, but his inevitable pull to the galaxies above and beyond.

It takes a second for the realisation to sink in, but once it does, it's stark: there are no birds left on Jeongguk's ceiling.

"How is it an issue?" You laugh, finding his sudden shyness endearing. It's not entirely unlike him, but he's usually far more confident in himself when it comes to the birds. Just a natural consequence of working through so many of them together. "Unless it's a break up bird—but you told me there weren't any."

"And there aren't," he laughs right back, sighing once the joy settles into the atmosphere around him. "It's just…"

You wait for him to carry on, turning your head to look at him. There's a smile etched into his cheeks, eyes starry as they look up towards the nothingness above him—and when he turns to face you too, it's like a meteor shower is happening right before your very eyes.

Silent as he passes the bird to you, silent permission is granted. What's his, is now yours.

"Read the damn bird," he quietly implores you, tucking loose hairs behind your ear. He doesn't need to. Is just preening for the sake of it. Because he can. Because he wants to. Because he needs distraction.

It's kind of funny. His heart was all out of sync when he strung the bird up, but it's calm now. Almost as if it was waiting until the right time. It fell at this very point in time, because divine intervention can exist. When it comes to you and Jeongguk, it seems like it always has done.

A hundred and one crossed paths brought you to this point; placed you right here, right now.

Maybe if you had paid attention during mindless Tinder scrolls and actually replied to the rogue guy who had your favourite Wave to Earth song as his 'anthem', Jeon Jeongguk could have been a casual hookup instead.

If you'd have been the one working on the till instead of serving tables at the cafe you used to part time in, Jeongguk might have dropped his change when he was distracted by your glitter.

Perhaps if you'd have paid more attention to the kind strangers grabbing you their favourite vodka in the supermarket aisles, or the boys you kissed at parties during your reckless university years, you'd have never ended up in Dionysus that night. Or at least you would have, but Jeongguk wouldn't have been a stranger.

If he'd have attended an event with Namjoon two years ago instead of bailing for the chance to grab coffee with Hayun when she was in town, he might've seen you rolling your eyes at the pompous chatter of the city's wealthy. He'd have laughed. Might've struck up a conversation. Probably would have felt guilty afterwards, as if he was doing something wrong. Maybe it would have made him realise Hayun wasn't right for him a hell of a lot sooner.

See, you've been orbiting one another for a while now. Since the dawn of time, really. Your paths just took a little while to align. Now that they have, they'll stay on this path forevermore.

Astronomers have learned that skies are largely made up of binary star systems; two stars orbiting one another. Half of all stars in the sky, or so they say. Some are so close that they even share the same atmosphere.

Collisions of these orbiting stars are rare, and almost impossible to predict. TESS data from NASA predicted such a collision would occur in the constellation of Cygnus, only for the data to have been incorrect. No merge to be seen with the naked eye; no new Red Nova to fill the skies.

Jeongguk half thinks perhaps astronomers had predicted his orbit incorrectly, too; as if they'd aligned him with a meteor when he should have been with a star.

S'why he thinks it took him so long to wise up to his inevitable collision with you.

Now that things have been recalibrated, and the data checked, it seems ridiculous for him to have ever thought a meteor was the correct pairing.

A star is what he needed. What he found in you.

As your fingers hook beneath the paper, and a coy look is thrown his way, Jeongguk realises that none of it matters.

He could blame this on the stars, or the astronomers, or the powers above—but you and Jeongguk are the product of conscious choices. Bad decisions, and good ones, too. Some pretty fuckin' fantastic ones, if you ask him.

There's a speck of glitter on the paper as you unfold the bird. It seems to take hours, Jeongguk thinks - he just doesn't realise he's impatient for you to know what is written inside it.

You give him one final glance before you look down at the paper, drinking in those dark brown eyes that are glittering with the reflection of you, then let your eyes drop.

Part of Jeongguk wants to snatch the paper back, again.

To make a fuss and make a nuisance. To tell you that it was just a fear, and that he didn't really mean it.

But that's the thing.

He's not scared.

And he really did mean it.

Lips parted, there's an endearing confusion lacing your features. Though his handwriting isn't anything to write home about, it's perfectly eligible. He knows you've read his words.

Tell B I love her.

Eyes flicking up to meet his, all wide and without reservation, they're accented with sweetly furrowed brows that just confirm to him that what he had written remains inexorably true.

He is in love with you.

It's sort of charming, how delicately he bites down on his bottom lip, nerves taking hold of his face.

So pretty, is Jeongguk whenever he's unsure of himself. He's strong far more often; confident in a way you don't think you'll ever truly master, but there's something about how dainty he becomes with vulnerability that makes your heart swell.

And God, you don't think your heart could swell any more. If you're not careful, it'll burst, and out will pour liquid gold; origami birds swimming in the essence that makes you live.

It takes you a moment to gather any words, so scared of saying the wrong thing.

"Do you?" You eventually manage to ask; not because you don't believe his words, but because you can't help but second guess.

Are so scared of looking foolish, that even though you know it's not some kind of sick joke, you just want to be sure that he's sure. That the way he felt when he strung that bird up is how he feels now. That the bird was strung up with intention .

There's a timidness to your voice, and that scares him . "Do you want me to?"

Part of you wants to laugh. It's such a cop-out. Can't answer a question with a question.

But you also can't let him doubt himself. Not now. He's given you the moon, and it's time you give him a little something in return.

"Yeah," you say quietly. A shy smile cracks on his pouted lips. "Yeah, I want you to."

And so it comes naturally when Jeongguk matches your tone, and shyly admits, "I do."

He breathes out a laugh, as if he can't believe he's just said it, then realises he hasn't said anything. Not really. He's not verbalised it, and so—

"Love you, I mean," he corrects himself. "Like, I— Well, I mean— Fuck. I just love you. Like, I really fucking love you, B."

"You love me."

"I love you."

"You love me," you say, giggling now.

Oh, it's all so sickening. Disgustingly sweet. Adorable, how your soft hands clutch his sharp jaw, pretty kisses being gifted to his lips.

"You know I do," he mumbles into your lips. "God, you know I do."

"Say it again."

"I love you."

"Again."

"I love you—now are you gonna say it back, or are you gonna keep laughing at me?"

"Not at you, Gguk," you grin. " With you."

"If you could hurry up and make grand declarations with me instead, it'd be much appreciated."

"Why?" You beam. "You think I don't?"

"Well, you've never told me you do."

"Hold that thought—" you clamber off of him and hurry to his desk. Pull open the drawer, with zero questioning from Jeongguk, 'cause what does he have to hide? You know him better than he knows himself. There's no part of him, not even secrets hidden at the back of his drawers, that he wouldn't share with you.

Taking a moment to pause, you reach up, loosen the tie around your hair, and toss it back to him.

"Eyes," you instruct. "Cover them."

Reaching to grab the silky material, Jeongguk just does as he's fuckin' told. After being so dominant with you earlier, he takes solace in letting you lead. Is so pretty, when you glance back, eyes covered, nose dewy, lips pink and perfectly aligned. Gorgeous.

Rummaging for a second, you pull out a fresh sheet of origami paper, and reach across to steal a pen from his pot. It's a black biro, nothing special, but the worlds you scrawl onto the paper? Oh, they're etched from stardust.

Turning to face him, as you fold up your very own bird, you climb back onto his bed, right where you left him. Straddled over his waist, you let the bird drop from your palms onto his chest.

"Oh no," you feign distress, carefully pulling down the tie to ensure it doesn't catch on his lip ring before it rests at the base of his throat. Nod towards his chest where the bird sits. "It fell."

Jeongguk can't hide his smile as he reaches for it. Holds it up to get a good look at it.

"Long lost brother of Perry," he assesses, still amazed at how uneven your folding can be. "Takes after his mother."

"Should read it," you say. "Then you'll know it really takes after its mother."

Of course it does. Is full of adoration for him.

A little hesitation prolongs Jeongguk's opening of the bird. It's like the build of a rollercoaster, and he's trying to ride the high before the drop. He keeps his eyes on yours as he unfolds it. Doesn't look down to read it.

Just looks at you.

Says, "I should have told you sooner."

The smile already on your face blooms a little wider. You just shake your head. Think he timed it just right—or that the birds did.

"Fell when it was supposed to," you promise.

And you're right. Even the birds you thought were too bold, or extreme at the start fell when they were meant to. After all, they lead you here.

Glancing down to your bird, Jeongguk inhales a sharp breath. Knocks his head to the side, hair ruffling against the pillow. His smile grows. Grows and grows and grows. Dimples make themselves at home, and stars litter his eyes.

The words are clear as day; biro on paper, ink on skin, stars in eyes.

I love you.

Looking back up at you, he cheekily asks, "Do you?"

With a roll of your eyes and a smile that Jeongguk thinks is so pretty he should learn how to write poetry, you sink into an all too familiar position with him.

The way your bodies move together is intrinsic; like trained dancers who have been rehearsing their steps for years. When you lead, he follows, much like he is now as your nose nudges up against his. Lips close enough to brush, you giggle. Almost pull back, because you feel all bashful and shy, but know that you can't. Not now.

"Of course I do," you whisper. It's so dumb that he even has to ask, but neither of you have been entirely foreboding about your true feelings. Always kept them squirreled away. Safe. Free from the prying eyes of those who wouldn't understand.

That's the thing though; astronomy is complicated, and tricky, and well above your pay grade, but everyone can see the stars. Everyone loves them regardless. They look to them. Wish upon them. Put faith in the way they move, even if the science makes no sense to them.

The same could be said for the pair of you; Galileo and his Saturn.

"Say it," he teases, lips brushing against yours.

"Say please," you tease right back.

"Not gonna beg you to love me."

"Hmm," you hum a noise of contemplation. Even though he's joking, you realise that there could be a little honesty behind the jibe. "You're a tough bargainer."

"And you love it," he says, because he needs to hear you say it.

There's really no need to play coy. Not now.

So you don't. Just nod. "And I love it."

"And you love me," he chances.

"And I love you."

The way Jeongguk kisses you now goes beyond just a simple meeting of lips. All-encompassing, he cares not for breathing, nor for the fact you're separate human beings. Your lips, your tongue, your moans, he wants it all. Needs it.

And you need him.

"Fuck me," you mumble into his mouth. "Please."

"Yeah?" He asks as if you're not already adjusting, amorous in the way you refuse to part.

Nodding into the kiss, you line yourself up with him. "Yeah."

The first push is slow; a welcome intrusion. You're still a little tender, and he doesn't personally care to be rough with you. Just wants to be with you. To fill you. To be as close as he can, as he mumbles candid declarations into your ear.

You beat him to it, though, as you sink down onto his incredibly hard cock.

"Fuck," you moan, all breathless and feeble despite no real action taking place. Clutching at his jaw, you rest your forehead against his. Swallow back another moan. Swear, through stifled breaths, "I love you."

He laughs. Oh God, he laughs, and you think he's never sounded more beautiful.

"Don't say shit like that," he smiles. Is breathless, too, when he laughs. "I'll die."

And die he does, not even five minutes later, in a mess of slow thrusts and deep confessions that he never thought would see the light of day. With their freedom comes his liberation; the knowledge that he can love and be loved in return. That it's reciprocal.

The way he comes undone for you is celestial; pretty whimpers and kisses that blossom and fall like cherry trees in the spring. Heaven on earth, even when committing acts that'd land you a permanent prison in hell. He'd take it, if it meant he got eternity with you.

That's the thing about love. There are no limits. He'll follow it to the edge of earth; the end of time. You'll encourage him on the chase, not because you're running from him, but because the idea of ever stopping fills you with dread. If eternity is an option, you want it. Want it with him.

Hips jerking beneath you, his back arching ever so slightly as his shoulders press into his duvet, Jeongguk is heaven-sent. There's a shudder to his chest. A haze to his dark eyes; stars sparking with every jolt of his muscles. Neck thick as he strains, the vein that runs up the side of his throat is begging for kisses.

Nodding, you encourage him.

"Please," you mewl, grinding your hips for him. There's a serenity to your skin; dewy and warm, just how he likes you. Cheeks pink, lips even pinker, he wishes he could preserve this moment forevermore, but has no idea where the fuck his phone is. Has to revel in it instead. Pay attention to every single one of his senses just so that he can recall it in his memories for years to come. But then you speak, and he can't compute fuckin' anything. "Cum for me, babe. Show me how much you love me."

He pulls you back down, not to kiss you, but simply hug you as his hips thrash up into you. Something about the way you call him babe just makes him feel so adored. Precious. Pink. Arms strong around your back, he presses kisses against the curve of your neck. Promises, "Oh, God, I love you."

He repeats it like an oath. A sacred prayer. Again and again, until he can't take it any longer. Asks where you want him to finish, and doesn't get a verbalised answer. Just gets your lips on his, whines in each other's mouths. Tongues, too. Teeth clashing, and absolutely no fucks given. It's frankly a mess, but fuck if it isn't the most at-one with another person he's ever felt. Just makes it so easy to unload himself into you; to fill you with everything that he is.

Hand gripping at the base of your ponytail, he pulls you back. Wants to look at you as the final ropes of his cum escape his body and find a home in yours. Eyes hazy and a little fucked-out, desperately trying not to get distracted by the glitter sparkling on your skin, he nods to let you know he's done.

Repeats, once more, "I fuckin' love you."

And then you're bashful. Giggling, as if he's just said the most sordid thing in the world. He winces a little from the pressure around his sensitive cock, but doesn't pull out. In fact, he keeps his hands firmly on your hips, keeping you in place.

Leaning down to deliver an incredibly sweet kiss, one that he'll want to lick from his lips forever, you whisper, "Good. I am your girlfriend. Would be super awkward if you didn't love me."

He rolls his eyes. Shakes his head. Laughs, now too, then taps your thigh to encourage you off of him, but doesn't let you get too far away. Pulls you in for a hug as soon as you're beside him.

"This shit'll never get old," he says, as he toys with your hand, lacing your fingers together with his. "God, why did it take us so long?"

It's a good question. One that you could theorise answers for—but you're sleepy, and you need to shower again.

"Stupid," is all you reply, pulling away and grabbing a fresh pair of Jeongguk's boxers to slip on just for a little dignity before you walk to the bathroom. He did finish inside you, after all. Is never the neatest of situations. Turning as you reach the doorframe, you're so incredibly enamoured with the way his eyes have followed you, chin pressed to his chest, face a little round from the angle. He's so cute it's hard to remember quite how domineering he had been earlier. "You coming with?"

"Shower?" He asks, to which you nod. "Go start it up. I'll sort the sheets, then join you."

"Want a hand? With the sheets?"

Shaking his head as he gets to his feet, he shoos you off. "I'll be, like, three minutes."

And because you're pathetic and hopelessly in love with the man in front of you, you say, "I'll miss you."

"Gross," he replies with a smirk. "Almost like you love me, or something."

"Nah," you shrug, matching his playful energy. "We're just friends."

"My cum is literally inside you right now."

"Okay, fine ," you exaggerate. " Best friends."

"Get the fuck outta here with that best friends shit," he laughs, as he sets about stripping the bed. "Go. I'll join you."

Eyes trained on you as you walk away, Jeongguk bites down on his bottom lip. Shakes his head. Hates how much of a softie he's being, but just can't help himself.

"Hey, B?" He calls after you.

"What?" You yell back from the bathroom, door ajar to make things easier for him. Expecting some dumb remark, you're grinning from ear to ear because of how easy all this is.

Things are finally falling into place.

As his voice echoes through the apartment, it seems like they're falling right where they were always supposed to.

"Love you."

[chans-room]

Winter Things

❄️ Stray Kids (Bang Chan, Changbin, Han Jisung, and Hyunjin) x reader and Ateez (Yunho and Hongjoong) x reader

❄️ Word count: 3.7k

❄️ Happy holidays babes! I decided to make a few gifts for my friends based on their favorite winter activities but everyone can enjoy, so merry ficmas 🖤🎁 Each has a mood board, fluffy date, and the spicy ending! All soft, fluffy winter vibes here folks, nothing too wild. All contain smut so minors DNI!

Hongjoong + baking cookies for @kiestrokes

Hongjoong comes over after you tell him you’re planning on spending the day baking Christmas cookies. You figure he needs a change of scenery to keep working and you, as a friend, provide a low stress environment and tasty treats. But when he shows up in his sweats and hoodie, no laptop in sight, your heart melts a little. He really just wanted to be with you. You had worried that becoming friends with benefits would ruin your friendship, but it actually only made you both closer. There was no awkwardness, no secrets, just complete trust and honesty. He sits at your counter and watches you as you work, helping here and there when you ask for it. You discuss everything that’s happened since the last time you saw each other. It’s only been a few days, but you both love knowing even the smallest detail. But when it comes time to decorate, Hongjoong is ready to show off his skills. He’s deadset on getting every single one absolutely perfect, and once you’re done — and after he attacks you with the leftover icing — he’s pushing you toward the bathroom, promising to clean up the kitchen as you clean up yourself. After your shower, all comfy and bundled in your pajamas, he’s pulling you under the blanket on the couch and into his arms. You let yourself relax with your back against his chest — you feel undeniably safe with him.

His voice in your ear nearly lulls you to sleep when you feel his hands under your shirt, skimming up your ribs, one hand cupping your breasts while the other traces a finger down your stomach. You can’t make out any of the words he’s saying, sleep clouding your brain, but you don’t care. It feels good and you’re perfectly willing to bask in his casual affection. His featherlight touches pull back to reality, but his cold fingertips slipping just below the waistband of your pants jolts you awake. You barely whisper a plea as the thought of his fingers inside you make you squirm with anticipation. He chuckles at your excitement and in no time, he has you naked, his pants abandoned by the armrest as well, your back still pressed against his chest. He whispers all of his most lewd fantasies, praises, and appreciation in your ear as his fingers work inside you. He makes you cum like that, writhing against his hold, twice before he relents and pushes into you. It’s not long before he’s gasping your name into your ear and moaning as the tight circles he makes around your clit quicken, pushing you over the edge with him. You spend the rest of the day under the blanket with him, relishing in the uninterrupted time you two have together. 

Changbin + looking at the Christmas lights for @eureka-its-zico

Your husband calls you on his way home from work, saying he’s on his way, and tells you to put on something comfortable. When you get in Changbin’s car he hands you both a coffee cup, your usual order, and his sweatshirt. He refuses to tell you where you’re going, but you don’t mind. You trust Changbin with your life, and sitting in the passenger seat with his hand in yours, your favorite playlist filtering through the speakers is exactly what you needed after the week you’d had. You can always count on him to brighten your day; he would never let you wallow in your bad week. He’s always coming home with flowers, a milkshake, or a new book to brighten your worst days. You let yourself relax as you watch the sun set and the street lights turn on, when he pulls into a neighborhood that’s teeming with lights and decorations. His giggle echoes in the car as your face lights up, gasping and cooing at every house. Changbin tells you to get comfortable — because he’s not stopping the car until you’ve seen every decorated house in the city. You both pick favorites in every neighborhood, picking the best ones and reminding yourselves to go back next year to see if they do anything different. You drive around until you start yawning. Changbin stops the car, pulling off to the side of the road. He turns the car off, running out into the cold to your door before pulling it open and hauling you into his arms. You scream and laugh as he spins you around before coming to a stop, showing you the city laid out in front of you. You can’t help but kiss him — your Binnie is the best husband you could ever ask for.

After a few lighthearted complaints, you force him back into the car, but you pull him into the back seat with you. It may be freezing outside but he’s warm and broad and lights a fire in you that burns so hot you have to strip down to nearly nothing. He folds you into positions you weren’t sure were possible, mumbling about how the backseat isn’t big enough for how he wants to ravish you, but his selfish wife can’t keep her hands to herself. He promises to make it up to you when you get home but for now, he needs you too bad. Despite being with him for as long as you’ve been, you still need him to prep you before he can fuck you the way you want him to. Your knees are pressed to your chest as he scissors his fingers into you, mouthing at your neck and chest. The fleeting thought of his leather seats passes through you before his cock bullies its way into your cunt — the stretch tearing all the coherent thoughts from your brain. You’re a brainless mess as he fucks you, digging your nails into his biceps until his hips start faltering. His name tumbles out of you in a gasp as you shatter, dragging him with you into the abyss. You both lay there, catching your breath before you both start giggling, feeling like a couple of teenagers again. He kisses your forehead once before climbing back into the front seat, starting the long drive home. He tells you he doesn’t mind if you fall asleep — he’ll get you both home safe.

Hyunjin + Decorating the Tree for @slashersteve

You were in the middle of a holiday puzzle when your phone started ringing, interrupting the carefully curated playlist you’d set up. Of course, it was your best friend Hyunjin with the dramatics, complaining about how he desperately needs your help with his final project for his photography class; nothing was going the way it was supposed to and he needed you more than ever. You sighed and grabbed your box of Christmas decorations you’d been procrastinating setting out before bustling out of your apartment. You decided it wouldn’t hurt to stop by a few shops on the way — you knew what he was planning and exactly why it wasn’t working the way he’d wanted it to. He’d spent the last three weeks telling you endlessly about how his final project was going to be about Christmas Traditions, but he had only picked out high end, avant garde decorations. He lacked the warmth and comfort of home, which you were more than happy to provide to your best friend. You didn’t bother knocking as you got to his apartment; you let yourself in the unlocked door and found Hyunjin laying on the floor of his living room, surrounded by an army of expensive miniature nutcrackers. You ignored him as he began lamenting about his failure, deciding instead to set up all your decorations. They were things you’d had since childhood along with things you’d begun collecting throughout your life, or things that looked like what you’d find in your mother’s Christmas collection. Eventually, his complaints faded into silence, which was only occasionally broken by the click of a shutter. You forced him to set the camera down to help you decorate the tree he’d set up. Your heart clenched in your chest when you thought about how desperately you wished you could do this with him for real. Your family already loved him, and his loved you, so the transition would be seamless. But he didn’t feel the same way about you — you’d packed up that hope years ago. You had accepted that Hyunjin would always just be your friend, your best friend. But in moments like this, you couldn’t help but long for more. You finished decorating in amicable silence and you both stood back from the tree, appreciating how beautiful it was. Hyunjin handed you the tree topper you’d brought with you, a Tinkerbell you used every year, and bid you to place it on the tree. As you stretched up onto your toes, you heard the distinct click of the camera firing behind you. You rolled your eyes and straightened her out before dropping back onto your heels, glaring at him. But you were surprised by his face so close to yours, a look you’d never seen in his eyes. You didn’t have time to decipher what it was before his lips were descending on yours.

It was a rush — both of you pulling at each other's clothes with no regard, desperate and frenzied. You didn’t want to waste any time, unsure if you’d ever have the opportunity to be with Hyunjin again. You tried to convince yourself that one time would be enough, you could live with once if it was all you could get from him, so you were going to make it worth it. You marveled at his naked body, nearly wept when he pressed his sinfully long fingers into your entrance, screamed his name as he made you cum with his mouth, and felt the world come to a stop when he finally had his cock inside you. The idea that you could ever move on was laughable — not only was he your best friend but he somehow knew exactly what to do and when, and exactly what to say to tear you apart at your seams. You were catching your breath when he finally spoke, expecting him to tell you that it had been a mistake. But instead he tearfully confessed his years long held affection for you and begged you not to break his heart, at least not until after Christmas. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at his dramatics, and instead tackled him backwards onto the couch, kissing him again before informing your now boyfriend he didn’t have to worry about being heartbroken, before Christmas or after.

Yunho + cozy nights in for @j-a-nuary

As soon as the snow starts coming down, you cancel your minimal plans for the day. Yunho is one of your first calls — you were supposed to go out for lunch to a new restaurant you’ve been wanting to try, but now all you wanna do is curl up on the couch and watch some comfort shows. You apologize for calling off your plans with your boyfriend, but trekking out into the snow sounds horrible to you. He laughs and tells you he understands, leaving you to your couch and your shows. An episode and a half later there’s a knock on your door; it’s Yunho with a bag of food from your canceled reservation, and another bag of snacks. He spreads your lunch out on the table and hands you a plate. You both eat in silence, focused on the TV, but his body is pressed against yours comfortingly. He presses his lips to your head every so often, and when you finish, he takes the dishes to the kitchen and refuses your help when he starts to wash. He tells you that you can repay him in cuddles when he’s done.

You don’t wait when he comes back to the couch — as soon as he sits down you crawl into his lap, fingers threading into his hair to tip it back to give you the room you require to show your appreciation for him. You take your time trailing your lips across his jaw, relishing in his subtle shivers and the way his hands twitch where they sit on your waist. You know he’s struggling to not flip you onto your back and take over, a move you’re intimately familiar with, but you have other plans. He lets you strip off his flannel and the shirt underneath, nails trailing over his muscles as your lips and tongue and teeth trail across his broad chest and over his sensitive neck. It’s when you suck a small mark into the thin skin at the hollow of his throat his hands finally tighten on your waist, and you know you’ve won. The broken moan falling out of his mouth tastes like victory, his body relaxing against the back of the couch. You waste no time ridding both of you of the rest of your clothes before positioning yourself over his cock, sinking down onto it with a satisfied hum. Yunho’s hands on your hips keep you from setting the pace you had wanted, but you’re willing to give him this minuscule amount of control. He keeps your pace slow, forcing you to grind down onto him when he seats you fully in his lap, and you nip at his ear in retaliation before he lets you move. The pleasure and arousal builds in you quickly, and you know he’s purposefully keeping it slow so you won’t cum, but the way he’s looking at you and the subtle shift of his hips when you grind down sends you reeling. Yunho just smiles and watches you shiver as you give into the orgasm. Once you catch your breath, the desire to wipe the smug look off his face takes over. Before he can stop you, you’re pushing yourself out of his lap and falling onto your knees, taking him into your throat without warning. He shouts, throwing his head back and digging his long fingers into the cushion of the couch, not wanting to stop whatever you have planned. You watch his eyes flutter as you slowly push yourself to take the rest of him, only coming to a stop when your nose is pressed against his skin. Your eyes open to meet his and as soon as they do, he comes with a shout of your name. As the snow piles up outside your door, you both sink further into the cocoon of intimacy your apartment provides.

Bang Chan + sledding for @minisugakoobies

Chan wakes you up with a wide smile and a cup of coffee, a shocking turn of events considering you’re usually the one to wake him up. But you can’t complain when his excited face mere inches from yours is the first thing you see. He’s speaking so quickly as soon as your eyes open that you can’t understand him; you only catch the words snow, sled, and melting. And they’re enough to get you out of bed immediately. You both pull on your thickest winter clothes as he rambles at you again, telling you about how it snowed the night before and how he wants to make sure you get enough time to sled before it melts or gets too yucky. You spend the rest of the morning and into the early afternoon outside, sledding and laughing with each other. He makes you feel like a kid with a crush again, and you can’t believe he’s yours. Chan helps you pull your sled back up every hill, and always checks on you when you fall off your sled, kissing your palms and your snow covered knees. It makes you want to cry, you're so happy. It’s only when the cold has sufficiently numbed your fingers, toes, and nose that you even consider going inside, you and Chan giggling the whole walk back, recounting your favorite moments of the morning as you kick off your shoes. He pulls you to a stop before you go inside, pointing at the mistletoe above the door with a shy smile. You can’t resist. You throw your gloves on the floor and jump into his arms, kissing over every inch of his face before planting a soft kiss to his plush lips.

Chan walks you back into your house, kicking the door closed behind him as he stumbles into the kitchen, setting you on the counter for just long enough to pull off your jacket and his before he’s got you back in his arms and shuffling down the hall. His hands knead into your thighs as he hums into your mouth how much he loves you. He finally sets you down in your shared bathroom, disappearing for a second to turn on the shower before he’s closing the space between you again, keeping you trapped against the sink when he sneaks his frigid fingers under your shirt. You scream and scold him, but he just laughs as he peels the layers off you until you’re bare. You return the favor, pressing your chilly palm to his lower back, earning a yelp of surprise, before you strip him of his many layers and pull him into the steamy shower. He wastes no time lifting you into his arms again and pressing you against the shower wall, plush lips on yours as you reach down to line him up with your entrance. He pushes into you, a ragged sigh following as he stills for a moment, forehead pressed against yours. You kiss him and thank him for giving you such a memorable day, and being the wonderful man he is. His knees nearly buckle at your words before he pins you to the wall, hips slamming into yours. You know you’ll have a bruise tomorrow, but you don’t care. He doesn’t last long, panting as he professes his love for you as he finishes, letting you stand on your own two feet again. You cling to him as he regains his balance, forehead pressed into the junction of your neck. It takes him a minute to set you down, mumbling about how he’s going to fuck you so well later you won’t be able to walk. You giggle and nod as you pull him under the warm water and uncap his shampoo, lathering it into his scalp as he sags against you, humming appreciatively into your skin. After the water is turned off, you remind him of his earlier promise with a wink over your shoulder; his smirk tells you that he would never dream of breaking that promise.

Han Jisung + watching the snow fall by the fire for @minttangerines

You could not be more annoyed that you have to spend what would have been a perfect day with him. Han Jisung is quite possibly the most annoying person you’ve ever met, and yet he seems to have absolutely everyone wrapped around his finger; most of all your professor who paired you with him on an important project that’s due in a few days. He has bailed or ghosted you on every meeting you’ve set up beforehand, claiming something arose or that he simply forgot the time, which lead you to infuriatingly inviting him over to your house in the hopes you can get the assignment over with. You outright refused to go to campus again just for him to bail on you, so you demanded to host. Of course that was before the forecast had predicted snow. Now all you wanted to do was curl up on your couch in front of the fire, but instead you have to host your enemy and try not to strangle him. He shows up early, beaming at you with a package of hot chocolate under one arm and laptop under the other. You manage to get through most of the project in amiable silence, accompanied only by the sounds of your respective keyboards and the crackling of your fireplace. It’s only after you finish, praises falling from Jisung’s pretty mouth that you realize the snow hadn’t stopped as previously forecasted. In fact, it began to snow much harder; and you weren’t sure he could make it home anymore. You sigh and offer him to crash on your couch till morning. You spend the night chatting by the fire, watching the snow drifts build, and forgetting why you hated Han Jisung to begin with.

By the 2nd cup of hot chocolate your rivalry with Jisung is forgotten; all you can think of is his adorably squishy cheeks, his sparkly doe eyes, and his pretty pink mouth. You aren’t really paying attention to what he’s saying until he chokes on his words and turns away from you, looking embarrassed and a little flushed. Then your brain catches up; Han Jisung has a crush on you. Without thinking, you lean across the coffee table and plant your lips on his. Before you know it, he’s stripped you of your pants and has you gasping as his shoulders settle between your thighs. He can’t stop giggling to himself, mumbling about how he never thought this could happen, how hot he thinks you are, and how lucky he is to have gotten paired with you. His rambling makes you tremble with anticipation as your arousal grows and makes you heart flutter, making you grab his hair to guide his mouth to where you want him. He’s messy and vocal and all it does is turn you on more until you’re moaning his name and falling apart. After a few minutes he’s crawling back up to lay at your side. You tell him to give you a minute before you can continue, but he admits sheepishly that hearing you call out his name made him cum in his pants. You can’t help but laugh as you wonder aloud why you ever hated him. He gasps in outrage, claiming he thought your behavior towards him was your way of flirting; he never suspected you actually didn’t like him. You can’t help but laugh; Jisung would think your outright dismissal of him was a flirting tactic. You pull him in for another kiss and offer your washing machine as an apology — he won’t need his clothes until tomorrow morning anyway.

[happyk44]

hiiii happy!!!! how do you feel abt jason's adhd? in my opinion, the books didn't really do a job illustrating it. how do you think it would manifest and affect him? i'd love to hear your opinion ☺️ i love you!!! 💖💓💗

Personally, I think of Jason as being autistic versus having ADHD. We know through Frank that having ADHD and dyslexia (both of which Frank does not have) is not an exclusive requirement to being a demigod. On top of that, Rick’s use of ADHD is not… great. My sister has been diagnosed with ADHD since she was five – she is very much the inattentive subtype, and I think Rick’s use of ADHD as a superpower of hypervigilance does sort of exclude people who primarily experience inattentive symptoms.

But those kinds of symptoms are not easily rewritten as “benefits” (which. yeah. It’s a disability), so I get why he didn’t include it. I remember reading a while back that when the books were first published, rewriting ADHD as a superpower/benefit to kids who had it was a common narrative, so, like, okay, but also. It’s been two decades.

But anyway. Jason. Yes! In general:

He gets easily distracted by different tasks, but to other people it just looks like he’s multitasking

He forgets to take care of himself a lot, forgets to eat, shower, drink water, sleep, talk to people and be social, etc

Auditory processing issues. During long speeches he starts to zone out because the sound eventually merges into all the other background noise he’s trying to filter out (wind powers and wolf vigilance amplifies the sound of everything) so he often encourages people to just get to the point and be upfront, and gets frustrated when people won’t. Also can’t stand people who talk in monotone (which is ironic because I think Jason doesn’t inflect or shift his voice very much)

Leo definitely uses his voice in various tones during conversation, so while Jason is like “oh my god, please stop talking in circles I have no idea what you’re saying”, it’s a lot easier for him to listen to Leo’s rambling monologues because he doesn’t speak in one or two tones

If it doesn’t interest him, the conversation can start to blur together as well because he struggles to focus on what’s being said. Fortunately, just because of how CJ and New Rome are structured, most topics at hand are things he likes (ancient Rome, gods, politics, etc). Unfortunately, Jason doesn’t really have strong human connections and his position as the golden boy of Camp Jupiter, champion of Juno, son of Jupiter, etc, etc, etc distances him from a lot of people so casual topics, like video games or TV shows, rarely get brought up to him in the first place

The onslaught of sensory issues makes it hard for him to focus. He’s taught himself how to filter things out, but it’s a constant practice to do and gets very tiring

Object impermanence – if he can’t see it, it doesn’t exist. Luckily for him, he doesn’t own a lot of things, but for things he has to keep tucked away in a drawer (like clothing), he slaps labels onto the container/drawer. Everything else, like the couple of misc trinkets he owns, he keeps out and obvious

One of things he does to help it avoid blending into the background is using sharp colour contrasts. So if its important – like medication or something, he might use a bright yellow basket on top of a black dresser or whatever because the yellow stands out so sharply it’s hard for the basket to blend into the background and so he remembers to take his meds.

Another thing is moving location. So he might move the basket from one side the dresser to the other and back again every so often

He’s pretty good at maintaining habits and routine (autism), but also if something happens that throws off the routine it takes months to get back on track and it is the worst thing ever, it is grueling and he hates it. Habits and routine are not innate, they are a constant active conscious choice he makes every day

Making plans can be difficult, even in battle or on quests when strategy is key. He can get tripped up on the small details and overlook the larger picture, or be so focused on the larger picture, he doesn’t see the small details. Because people have been so reliant on him for strategy, he’s more or less managed to get away with looking competent, but it’s always a competition with himself to remain on task, instead of narrowing into something that doesn’t matter

People will often comment on how fast he can get things done but its literally that he gets things done fast because sometimes he waits too long to do the thing (procrastination) and now he’s got like five seconds to the deadline, OR he has a burst of focus and gets that thing done as fast as he can before the executive function dips

He does get bored easily, so he'll flit between task to task, but it’s really that he needs stimulation, needs to be doing something, and if he’s not doing something, he’s losing his mind, and because he lacks a core sense of identity, he flits from task to task to find something that interests him (but there’s so little that does because he does not know who he is and he’s just mimicking people and it’s not the same)

Emotional dysregulation

He gets lost in his own head a lot. Part of it is just standard dissociation, but the other part is that his brain is always on, everything is firing at all cylinders, there is no quiet, it’s just noise and reminding himself of things he needs to get done on repeat, 24/7, loud as can be and he can't turn it off or lower the volume. His brain is full of bees and they won't stop buzzing

As a result, he probably has pretty bad insomnia

I think he has a lot of trouble getting stuff started. Body doubling encourages him to get started on stuff, and he’s never not been surrounded by at least one other person, so when he starts living alone in Cabin One after The Lost Hero, he is so confused that he can’t seem to force himself to pick up his shirt off the ground. And it just stays on the ground for days. Until he runs out of clean underwear and has no choice but to pick it up to get laundry started

He doesn’t own enough stuff to be fully disorganized, but if he does, he’ll have the most organized areas in his room ever, and then his closet is a mess because “well I don’t go in there a lot”

I think he tries to keep a spreadsheet/list of items he owns that he doesn’t use very often, but he still has doubles of a few things. Also so many batteries. He’s constantly like “I don’t think I have enough batteries” and then he buys the batteries and comes back, goes to update the list on the back of the door and it’ll be like “you have batteries. Stop buying batteries. There are too many batteries” and then he throws the batteries in the box that’s overflowing with batteries and forgets they exist again, but then, when he does need the batteries, it takes him so long to find the box

He would self-medicate on coffee if he didn’t hate the taste. He also doesn’t like soda. Or chocolate. So, you know, RIP to him. He’s rawdogging life. At least Leo can inhale caffeine like his life depends on it

He has the waiting mode problem, where if he has something scheduled at a certain time, it doesn’t matter how much time he has until that thing, he just. Waits. For the thing. Like he could get so much done in that time, but he can’t. Again, body doubling has helped, but living alone makes it so much harder

Reward systems don’t work with him. He doesn’t get the same sense of satisfaction that a neurotypical would after getting a reward after task completion. So when he absolutely needs to get something done but his brain is like “nah we gotta sit here and stare at this wall for seven hours while dissociating”, he just ends up screaming at himself a lot

Jason’s probably in a burnout so intense that if he took a minute to rest, his body and mind would shutdown for like three years.

He forces himself to get things done and screams at himself the entire time, and it hurts in a way he doesn’t understand but he has to do these things because there’s no other choice and people are relying on him.

Since he’s been groomed for leadership since day one, he’s never really had a chance to breathe that the other kids would get, so even when he finally has the chance to rest, it’s like his mind knows how unsafe that would be because shutting down completely would never be safe for him (trauma!!) so he just refuses to rest, which involves a lot of him getting lost in his own head or hyper-focusing on something (like spreading recognition of minor and forgotten gods) instead of. You know. Breathing

I think a lot of his issues with ADHD become more present after TLH when the quest is over and he’s alone. CHB has structure, but its not as narrow as Camp Jupiter’s routine and structure, and Jason lives alone, operates his own schedule, doesn’t really have other people to remind him of things, etc, etc, so the sudden shift makes him start to spiral a bit in his fears of incompetence.

It’s not that he’s incompetent, he’s very competent, but his problems were never as evident because other people had his back as he had theirs. He’s kind of like people w/ undiagnosed ADHD or autism who leave their support systems for university and suddenly school and life is the most difficult thing in the world, when before it was a lot easier

Timeblindness does affect him a lot, especially when he's doing something he enjoys. He wears a watch everywhere. And has a lot of backup watches

A lot of these probably overlap with autism but like, lol, I do primarily view him as autistic.

[imaginecolby]

Friends with Benefits || Part Eight - The First Few Months

"colby, honey, could you grab me another towel!" you called from the bathroom.

"yes, yes! just a sec." you heard him call back from the nursery. lucas unfortunately just had a huge blow out, and you immediately put him in the bath. colby quickly arrived in the bathroom, another towel in hand.

"thank you, sweet. someone decided he was going to pull his nice clean towel into the bath with him, so now it's soaked." you teased, shooting a look at lucas. he recognized your unserious expression and immediately started cackling. "don't you laugh at me, mister!" you jokingly scolded him, poking his belly. he started laughing louder, your heart swelling at the sound.

"i don't think i can ever punish him. he's too cute." you pouted at colby.

"he shit on your pants." colby said, pointing to your thigh and stifling a laugh.

"what else is new?" you shrugged. you finished lucas' bath, and colby took him to get dressed, allowing you to take a shower yourself. once you were done, and changed, you put a small load of laundry on before meeting the boys in the living room. colby was feeding him on the couch, and you sat down next to them, resting your head on colby's shoulder.

these last few months were a huge adjustment, but you and colby were making it happen. you fell into a quick routine that was comfortable for the both of you. it was lucky that you and colby were both able to take these first few months to focus on the baby and setting your routine, because you knew it was going to be much harder if either of you was having to go through it alone.

but lucas had been such a good baby. he ate and slept well, and he hadn't really kept you up all that much. he cried very infrequently, but when he did, he wailed. fortunately, you learned quickly that was only the case when he needed a clean diaper, and were alway quick to change him.

most of your nights were spent at home, with the exception of doctors appointments. you had friends coming over periodically, to see the baby and check on you and colby, which was always nice. the first night sam came over, it started out like any normal night, but ended up being quite emotional.

"god, i can't believe he's real. i had a hard time believing this when you first told me y/n was pregnant. but holding him here, he feels like a little doll." sam breathed out a laugh, lucas resting comfortably in his arms.

"yeah, we felt that when we first brought him home. but after about the zillionth diaper, the realness set in." colby laughed.

"this is definitely TMI, but i think the realness set in for me the first time he bit my nipple. that was unpleasant." you said, walking over to sam and handing him a bottle. sam began feeding him, and lucas quickly took the bottle into his mouth. "he's very attached."

"he gets that from me." colby teased, pulling you into the couch with him.

"okay, i know this is your house, but i'm right here." sam said, feigning nausea.

"sorry. our filters are broken, given the exhaustion." you laughed along with colby. sam just shook his head, turning his attention back to lucas in his arms. 

"i hope you show a bit more discretion than your parents." sam said to him. just then, you heard a small toot. "awe, c'mon dude." sam laughed. you all sat there silently as sam continued feeding lucas, and were suddenly overcome with emotion.

"i am so proud of you both. i know your relationship did not get off to the most normal start, and you had some shocking changes to it. but you stepped up and made it work. you've got such a great kid here and i know you're going to continue to raise him into a wonderful human."

"sam." you said with a pout, fighting tears.

"i mean it! especially with you." he said, turning his attention to colby. "we've grown up together, and getting to see my best friend grow into a father is amazing. i can't wait to watch you become the great dad you're destined to be. i konw you'ce always wanted a family, and i'm so glad that i get to be here with you while you're starting it."

"i love you, man." colby said to him. you got up to take lucas from sam, and stood back as he and colby shared a tight hug. you were so glad that sam was as supportive towards colby as he'd always been. and you were glad that he'd become such a great friend to you as well. you knew he was going to be a great uncle to your baby, and lucas was going to be so lucky to have sam by his side.

[reality-detective]

If you're lööking for a water filtration system and that lööks good I would recommend this 👇 one and you get the benefits of the copper.

If you want to go a little cheaper 👇

I have the Pro-One and I have filtered salt river water through it and the water tasted great. Both of these filter out fluoride, chlorine and other contaminates for drinking.

Or you could make your own using 2-5 gallon buckets, just buy the filters and the tap.🤔

[ruiniel]

This storm

II. Silver lining

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen | Rating:🔞| Geto Suguru x fem!Reader | Count: 1.5K | Summary: This AU was a oneshot at first. More or less out of my control it's now a multichapter, not least because I wanted a Geto POV in here, and I'm a sucker for pining. | On AO3 | Tags & Warnings: my first fic for JJK, fem!reader, Second Person POV, Geto didn’t defect AU, But still has it rough, Set four years after Hidden Inventory, Friends with some benefits, Light angst, Feels, Mutual pining, Geto Suguru POV, Mentioned Haibara Yu, He lives too, Alternate Universe - Canon divergence, Did I add Geto is not ok

< I

Just friends:

he watches my gauze dress

blowing on the line.

—Alexis Rotella

Morning light shivers across your eyelids, warms your cheek, and consciousness returns from its restful seclusion. The sheets and pillow cozily hug your naked form, as does the arm coiled about your waist and the body curled around yours. Memories from the night emerge, and your eyelashes flutter as you bask in this element of intimacy: his face hidden in your hair, nose touching the nape of your neck; his soft, regular breathing tickling your skin. As far as you can tell, Suguru’s not awake yet, his arm resting heavily around your middle. 

But when you try to rise, that arm slowly pulls you back in, accompanied by a low voice, roughened by sleep. “Stay… a little longer…”

You’d be lying if you said this awakens nothing in you, something safe, peaceful, and tender—but neither of you signed up for any of that. “Working early today,” you say through a smile. “Have to get ready, Suguru.”

“Mm… right,” comes a drowsy mumble, and his hold weakens as you slip off the bed. 

In the shower, you remember more fragments, aided by the aching muscles in your thighs and the bruises on your hips. You like that side of him, more than you thought you would. The subtle, controlling notes in his voice as he drove you insane, that ‘please’ spoken so eagerly by the end… 

You turn the water temperature even lower. That was then, this is now. Wake up. Nothing will change between the two of you, just like it didn’t last time—you’re aware enough to realize that, and you know he feels the same. Or, you think you know. Right, no use dwelling on that.

When you enter the living room and kitchenette area, Suguru’s there too, standing with his back to you, handling the glass water boiler. He’s pulled on his dark house pants and a gray t-shirt, his loose black hair draping over his shoulders. 

“Hey,” you yawn, dressed and ready, sitting at the table with your bag and trying not to groan at the slight muscular ache felt with each movement. He didn’t spare you at all, damn it.

But what are you going to do? Complain about giving you what you asked for? ‘Harder’, huh? The thought makes you smile and roll your eyes at yourself. 

“Tea or coffee?” Suguru asks, looking over his shoulder at you. “... what’s the smile for?”  He’s visibly relaxed, unburdened by the restlessness of the evening.  

“Oh, umm… nothing. Tea please… hibiscus! If there’s any left.”

“As long as I’m around, there will always be stock of that,” he turns back around. 

The lightness of his tone feels good, the choice of words less so. You choose not to ponder too much on it, though, instead rummaging inside your bag to ensure you have everything for work. “Heh, forgot you love the stuff.”

Suguru comes over and takes a seat opposite you at the table, pushing a cup of crimson tea within your reach.

“Thank you,” you say without looking his way, fiddling and arranging this and that object inside your workbag. 

Feeling watched, you pause and raise your eyes. Sun rays filter through the open blinds, softening his features with a warm glow. He’s propped leisurely against the backrest of the chair, cup of tea in hand. You find yourselves in the same position at the table as the night before, though the mood is wildly different.

“... what?” You like the geniality of his stare, an infrequent sight lately.

Suguru shakes his head, then drinks from his tea and leans forward, setting the cup aside. “We’re fine, aren’t we?”

Oh, is that what this is about? “Of course we are. I am. You…?”

A faint smile. “Never better.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “... then why ask?”

“Just… checking,” his gaze drifts towards the balcony, the smile still pulling at his lips. 

Suguru, ever the thoughtful one. You think this fondly, though with half a mind to make a joke about what he’s done to certain parts of your body. You’re not sure how he’d take that, though, so… better not. You’ve known each other for years, sure, but this was only the second time you’ve had sex, after all.

Distance means safety. 

But ever since you’ve started benefiting from each other this way, as much as you’d like to not think about it… there is a subtle, barely discernible change in that liminal space that separates you and him. You realize you’d been lost in thought as the door to the balcony closes, and you turn briefly to see Suguru outside, lighting a cigarette.

Suguru watches you rise and continue to prepare, arranging your shirt and going back to your bedroom—likely having forgotten something. He follows your silhouette with his eyes, taking a long drag of smoke into his lungs and holding it. On an exhale, his hand grasps the rail, eyes closing. 

Not for the first time he wonders what the hell he’s doing, and why. Last night, when he came home, he wasn’t tired; he was angry. Some curses he subdues do cause states he has to purge somehow afterward to regain his balance, but this was not one of them.

No, he was at the end of his tether, again. Nothing, nothing has ever been the same since his failure four years ago and he’s tried so, so hard and for so long. He tried to accept the consequences, to keep to his principles after Riko, even after finding Mimiko and Nanako. He often returns to that evening in the village, to that sight that made his heart drop to his feet, wondering how it could’ve been different. He’d done the right thing, he’d called Jujutsu officials that very moment to take the girls away but… 

He clenches his fist, turning briefly to the streets, where endless streams of people rush about. Is this all for them? Fear makes monsters of people. Fear of the unknown, of things they envy or can’t understand. 

He’d been alone for most of the time since those days, year after year. But he understands—like him, both Shoko and Satoru have their hands full with the ever-rising tide of curses, and sometimes the sinuous side of dealing with Jujutsu Tech politics. He doesn't envy Satoru at all in that respect.

Suguru raises his head, staring at a clear blue sky. It all used to be different, but then... change is the only constant. He does miss those moments with his old friends, sometimes painfully so. A sunny spring. Satoru. A chance missed. But then he forgot about all that when a girl's blood splattered his tunic. Sometimes, he still hears the gunshot and the clapping, intermingling in a mocking symphony. In his dreams she dies over and over again; and they all smile wider and applaud, hovering over her lifeless body.

He grits his teeth, shakes his head as though to free himself of his own mind. Is this all for… them… 

Suguru takes another drag of his cigarette. Yes, he’d been angry last night, his mind fogged with the taste and slime of negative emotions being absorbed by his cells and his spirit. And then he saw your face, and your worried glance depleted him of that helpless, overwhelming fury. Someone who cares, who knows nothing of his failures. You thought he was exhausted, and he let you. He took what you were willing to give, let himself be cleansed by your nearness, the scent of your skin and the heat of your body. Even now his heart beats faster remembering the way you cried his name.

If only he could freely express the relief he felt and tell you all that lies beyond it, but a part of him is ashamed; you hold him in so high esteem, you’ve let him so close, trusting him with so much, most of all your friendship. Suguru chews on his lip. Luckily for him, it appears you didn’t actually hear what he said to you at the end. That might’ve uselessly complicated everything.

He sighs. 

“I’m off, then.”

Your voice has him looking up. You’re standing there, on the balcony threshold. 

“Who are you working with today?” he asks.

You snap your fingers. “Haibara-san.”

“I see. That’s good.” He’s dependable enough. “Be careful.” 

You roll your eyes, nodding. “Am I not always? And right back at you, all right? See you today maybe—in one piece, hopefully.” 

“Hopefully,” Suguru snorts. “Hey, wait!” he calls after you, remembering. “Are you heading to the campus at all today?”

“I am. Setting out from there, why?”

He follows you inside, returning with two small satchels. “I might not make it. So, will you please stop by the dorm, and hand these over to Mimiko-chan and Nanako-chan for me? Small gifts from my trip to Nagoya.”

Your eyes smile. “Of course! Suguru, you…”

He tilts his head, expectant. 

You stare at him for a moment longer. “Those girls care for you deeply.” 

“As I do for them.” 

“You’re really something else.”

Oh, if only you knew. But his eyes turn to crescents as he smiles that benign, cheerful smile. 

“Well…” you stuff the satchels inside your bag. “See you later!” 

“Yes... later.” 

Each day either of you leaves for a mission, there’s no certainty of tomorrow. He’s never pulled you in, to urge you to be prudent in other ways, to show you his worry and embrace you like he wants to lately, outside the bounds of mutual convenience.

Hah… coward.

[srorgana1]

Invocation

Paring: Vampire Kylo/Hunter Rey

Warnings: Dark Themes (apporaching Dead Dove, you have been warned), Supernatural/Paranormal, Blood, Violence, Gore, Death, NSFW 18+, Sexual Content, Psychological and Physical Torture, Kidnapping, Hatred towards organized religion, Pain, Major/Minor character death/injury, Demonic Possession

Chapter Two

She pants as she runs through the dark woods. She can hear their angry voices and they are closing in. It fuels her adrenaline as she wills her legs to go quicker. She runs in between two wide evergreens, their rough branches and needles pulling at her clothes and flesh. The lights show up again. They twinkle and glow as they start to circle her. She feels a sense of calm seeing them. "There she is!" a deep man's voice bellows...

Rey wakes up with a start, her heart racing. She wipes her sweaty brow, trying to keep her ragged breaths as quiet as possible not to wake her dorm mates. She blows out a breath as she pulls her hair back from her neck. Her fingers trace the lines adorning her skin, willing herself to calm down.

The lines have always been there, adorning her back, shoulders and chest. While most of the time they are flat, they raise at times of high emotions or stress. She knows they must mean something but no one will tell her. Maybe that’s why she keeps having these dreams. They feel so real. Like she has lived them before.

She shivers realizing she has sweated through her sleep clothes and thin blanket. She shifts and places her feet on the cool floor, looking at the clock. It's 4:40am. Knowing she won't get back to sleep, she prepares for another long day of classes and training.

Willing herself up, she grabs her clothes from the dresser and heads to the bathroom. She strips and enters the shower, allowing the hot water to wash away sweat and worry. She cannot fret and worry over these dreams, especially today. She will be tested and cannot be weak. She cannot prove the whispers and rumors right.

They say it was a mistake to bring her here. That she was a talentless and useless orphan picked up by an empathetic hunter. She could tell the nuns who ran the orphanage were happy when she left. The Hunter who took her was named Qui-Gon and he was the first person to look at her like she was a real person.

When she was brought to The Order, he requested her to be trained along with the others. She felt their judgment as she stood before them, her only solace being Qui-Gon’s warm hand on her thin shoulder. She was only allowed because he had influence. But now that he was gone, she must prove herself to The Order to show his faith was not in vain.

She washes and dries quickly as the automatic lights come on, signaling the start of the day. She pulls her hair up into her characteristic three buns and looks absentmindedly in the mirror as the others filter in. She nods in silent greeting as she exits heading to breakfast.

As she sits in the mess hall, she looks at her schedule on her tablet. She just wants to keep her head down, do what she needs to do to become a Hunter. Then she can try and find the answers to the questions she has. Questions the Elders will not answer. She sniffs, willing tears away. Qui-Gon would have told her, she thinks. He would’ve been honest with her about the things she has seen.

She can't explain it exactly. It's like an undercurrent of energy, of awareness. She swears she sees things in the corner of her eye and when she looks again there is nothing there. Her educators brush it off when she mentions it, stating she is sensitive to magick. They call it a benefit but she is not so sure.

Along with this, she continues to struggle with the current dogma that Supernaturals are damned. Evil creatures with no light in them. Placed only in this world to bring evil and chaos. Unlike others, she doesn't quite believe it. She has experienced in her short life that humans can act just ruthless as the damned can. Evil is bigger than that.

The sound of metal trays pull her from her thoughts as her fellow classmates join her. She smiles, tucking her thoughts and questions away for another time. "Hey guys, good morning" she says as Kay and Rose sit down. "Hey pretty lady, you ready for today?" Rose says, winking at her. "Damn right I am" she says, feeding herself a piece of mango.

"Good because I have heard Obi-Wan and the other Elders have something special planned" Kay says excitedly. She would be excited for something like this. She was a legacy, her family have been Hunters for centuries. She was born into this world, meant to be a Hunter. Her convictions and beliefs run deep. She doesn't question like Rey does.

She schools her features and smiles. "Well, I look forward to whatever they have in store for us. They know best after all" she says, spearing another piece of fruit. She watches Kay and Rose side-eye each other, nodding to each other in silent agreement. Her heart clinches at yet another reminder of how alone she really is.

Her skin prickles as she fights off a shiver. The skin below her silver cross adorning her neck tingles. Their tablets ping simultaneously, signaling them to their lessons. She grabs her tablet and stares at her half eaten tray.

She feels guilty for wasting but she feels she cannot eat another bite. Younger Rey would have been shocked and appalled at her squandering of precious nutrition. She guiltily dumps it in the trash can and follows her classmates out. Be patient, she tells herself, you are good at waiting. It will be worth it in the end.

[camgirlsurvivalguide]

Get Off Your Ass and Start Shaking It

Tough love for creators who need a push

I need to get my head out of my ass and start believing in myself again, so I’m writing this for myself - but sharing it for anyone who might benefit from seeing it. Enjoy a little slap from yours truly - free of charge. 

1. Accept that you’re starting from “scratch”.

The internet is different now. Sex work is different now. If you’re an OG, it’s important to recognize that burnout isn’t just OnlyFans burnout - it’s industry burnout. We didn’t get a chance to catch our breath between having had ManyVids and MFC and then OnlyFans and now the biggest bitch of them all, visibility on social media. Our tweets used to show up and now they don’t. Our followers used to see us on Instagram, and now they don’t. We can cry about this all we like (and I do so frequently because it’s more healthy than just bottling it all up), but tears won’t pay the bills, baby. Time to pull up your socks and get moving. 

2. Do your best not to overthink it.

There are a million and one theories on how to do things “right”, when in reality, sometimes a single Reel about absolutely nothing with zero effort involved will hit the algorithm and pop the fuck off. Strategizing can be good, but staying up to date with the theories surrounding advertising should be inspiring, not crippling. We’re doing away with creation paralysis. Brush yourself off, and focus on making content to the best of your ability. Who cares if it’s only selfies and low effort shit for now? People will pay for pretty much anything, and if you have any semblance of a following, they want to see what you put out even if it’s not “to your standards”.

3. Switch up your routine.

This sounds brutal because it is, but this is what I’ve been doing as of late: and it’s helping. You’ll come up with justifiable reasons why this may not be right for you - but ask yourself if what you’re doing right now is right for you. Are you achieving what you want to achieve with the routine you have? Do you even have a routine? This is tough love, but it’s meant to be a realistic look at where you’re at, followed by support to get you to where you want to be. 

A month ago I started plugging my phone in across the room and setting an alarm for 5:30am. I have to physically get up to turn it off. It’s a brutal way of waking up (even though the alarm I have is all peaceful and cute, but still) - but it gets me up. I have my robe and slippers waiting for me, and I do not allow myself to get back into bed. I do my best work in the morning after coffee and before my first meal of the day. I’m not saying you need to work with this timeline, but if you’re a sleep-until-nooner, set your alarm for 10am. If you’re a work-later-on, set an alarm for when you need to start work - and then get your ass up. It’s hard to build a routine but much easier to maintain it once the habits are in place, so have a little faith in yourself. I don’t care how many times I’ve started, hit the ground running, and then crashed and burned, because guess what happened while I was running? I made money. Focus more on the positives of when you are functional, rather than moaning about the times when you’re not. If you’re in this industry it means you have, at some point or another, made it work for you. You can do it again. 

I get out of bed at 5:30am, rinse off in the shower, make my coffee and do a beauty routine that makes me feel really fucking pretty. Sure, messy hair and an instagram filter can do just fine, and again - any content is better than no content - but I feel my best after dry brushing my skin (hello cellulite and the obvious signs of ageing, lol) and then applying a really nice smelling lotion all over my body. I have been listening to Ariana Grande instead of my usual lofi (or just fucking silence, which also isn’t great for my motivation levels). Pump yourself the fuck up. You’re a bad bitch under the weight of all of this self imposed pressure and comparison, you just need to wake that energy up again, and you can do it. Take your meds and drink your water. After coffee I’m in my most positive state to work through my inbox. Yeah, a neglected inbox on OnlyFans is going to take a hot fucking minute to get through but once you actually do it, it’ll be easier moving forward. Buck up, baby - you can do hard things, and the payoff will be worth it. 

Setting actual times to get shit done is helping me immensely. I work on OnlyFans until noon. At noon, my second alarm goes off and I get up and eat and stretch and do something other than look at my phone. Most importantly: PAT YOURSELF ON THE FUCKING BACK! If you’ve done something more than you did the day before or the week before or the month before, you’re moving. You’re going. You’re doing. Our nasty little brains can always tell us we could be making more of ourselves but you know what, fuck that shit. Focus on doing 1% more than you did the day before. Rome wasn’t built in a day and again: you’re starting fresh from this moment forward. Kick the shit out of that voice in your head that wants to compare you to other people or, worse, compare you to what you “used to be able to do”. Fuck it, whatever, we are where we are - all we can do is work with that and make the most of it. 

4. Schedule, schedule, schedule

Instagram allows you to schedule posts. If you do your makeup to shoot for OnlyFans, make two or three reels. Schedule them to post over the next few days. If you manage to shoot a few photos for OnlyFans, make a semi-SFW one and queue that up as well. Places like TweetDeck will allow you to even schedule Twitter posts in advance. Pound an energy drink (or take your meds, if you need that extra focus as I know many of us do) and get ‘er done. That way you can focus on working for shit down the line rather than trying to do everything day by day. OnlyFans lets you queue, so utilize it! Setting aside even one day to sit in your grubby sweatpants and just hammer out scheduling can be so fucking advantageous not only to building your success, but to strengthening your confidence and mental health.

I’m not going to blatantly call justifiable reasons excuses, but sometimes you need to really look at what your internal monologue is saying and whether or not it’s advantageous. If you’re depressed as shit, there are so many strategies out there to get you moving even while you’re depressed. If you’re ADHD or neurodivergent, there are strategies for you, too. The playing field is not level and if you’re starting from a rough point in your life, working will be really hard - but what’s the alternative? Not working, and making it even harder? I know you know this already, but you’re probably using this knowledge to beat yourself senseless. Stop. Even for one day, actively shout (out loud or into a pillow, whatever) at the nasty voice in your head that tells you that you’re too limited by your current position to crawl out of the hole you feel like you’re in. You can handle a scheduling day. Tell yourself, over and over again, that you can handle it. Even if you take breaks every hour to screech like a banshee or cry onto your keyboard, you can push through it. Send it. I believe in you in the same way I push myself to believe in myself. It’s not easy for any of us - but nothing ever is. 

This isn’t bullshit coming from someone who’s doing well. I struggle so, so much. This shit is a grind for me, too. I berate myself and compare myself and am so fucking self critical that it can be immobilizing - but I have to smack some sense into myself once in a while and remind myself that I can grind even when I feel like I can’t. Sometimes I lean into being outright delusional. I love lucky girl syndrome. Shove your head into the clouds and pretend that you’re the absolute best version of yourself, even if you feel like absolute dogshit. The vibes may not last long, but if they last long enough for you to make something happen, then you’re pulling off that 1% improvement that you’re striving for. 

5. Plan for breaks

Give yourself a light at the end of the tunnel, whether it’s relaxing at the end of the day or planning a “do absolutely nothing but lay around” day at the end of the week. As much as it may feel like you’re staring into an abysmal black hole demanding you to do more and more forever and ever, you’re not. You can hustle while taking breaks: in fact, you need to take breaks to make the hustle happen. Just be cautious not to let the downtime turn into a downturn. I put a limit on my rest periods because I am prone to lying face down and just … not getting back up, for weeks or months on end. Saturdays are my sleep in days. Sundays are my do nothing (except for a lil chores or whatever) days. Then I’m back to the grindstone on Monday, knowing that after my “end work day” alarm goes off, I can simply vibe out. 

6. Stop looking at the numbers for now

Analytics are great, but also … not great. Story only got 500 views even though you have thousands of followers? It’s still 500 views. Reel didn’t hit the explore page? Whatever, at least a few people saw it. Recent PPV only sold once? It’s more money than you had before you released it. The best way to handle the restart period is to just focus on output and let any number motivate you to keep on keeping on. Everyone started somewhere. The biggest accounts started at 0 followers and the most successful OnlyFans pages started at 0 subscribers. You started from nothing, too. 

7. Revisit your dreams

Do not stop yourself from dreaming big. What do you want? You can have it. Setbacks are setbacks, not finish lines. A break is a break, not an end. Write your dreams out and put them somewhere you can see them and fucking CELEBRATE every step you take toward them. If you need to start small to feel good about yourself, then do that. If your goal is to post once a week, push yourself to make that happen. If your goal is to make a certain amount of money in a week, do what you need to do to make that happen, whether it’s more posts, more messaging or more advertising. I like to set my goals small but keep my dreams big. I want to buy a condo, which is a big dream, but in order to do that, achieving all my little goals will put me closer to that every time I cross it off my “to do” list. 

8. Fucking believe in yourself, goddamnit

You can do it. You can do it. You CAN do it. Do what you need to do, as your unique and individual little self, to put the systems that support you in place. Trust that you can rely on yourself. Even if that trust is frail for now, it will build as you build yourself up. Berating yourself isn’t helping, is it? I didn’t think so. You’re beautiful, interesting, worthy and so fucking capable, even on days where you think you aren’t. We’re in this together. 

[sc4bpuppy]

I know it's very common in homes without filtered running water but I've been really into bucket baths [hot water bucket then soap and suds and rinse from that with cup also]. My shower isn't good at keeping water in the shower, and getting the tap the right temp has been nearly impossible recently. Plus I can sit a lot more when I'm sponge bathing. Anyways. Benefits for my sensory sensitive and depressed ass.

[whirlpoolsingapore]

Dehumidifier: Do You Really Need One for Your Home?

Singapore, only 1.5 degrees away from the equator, has a tropical climate all year long. It's hot, humid, and has rain showers throughout the year. Imagine stepping into your home after a long day, only to be met with a stifling and damp feeling you cannot escape. This discomfort is a sign of excess moisture in the air, which can lead to a host of problems. Dehumidifiers work by removing excess moisture and controlling humidity levels, creating a healthier and more comfortable living environment for your family in this tropical climate. But, do you actually need one? Let’s find out.

How Do I Know if Excess Humidity is a Problem?

According to studies, the ideal level of humidity in your home should sit between 30% and 50%. Anything above this range leads to dust mites, mold, and mildew, which not only leave musty odors but can also trigger allergies and respiratory problems. Best-rated dehumidifiers for the whole house draw in moist air, condensing the water vapor into a collection tank, and then releasing drier air back into the space.

If you're unsure whether you need to buy dehumidifier for your house, there are simple ways to check your home's humidity levels. Signs like condensation on windows, a musty odor, or visible mold growth can all indicate excessive moisture. Humidity monitors are also readily available in the market that can provide you with the necessary data for surety. 

Dehumidifier and its benefits

There are other benefits of using a dehumidifier beyond just preventing mold.

Dust mites and other allergens thrive in humid environments. A dehumidifier helps control these allergens, making breathing easier for those with allergies and asthma. It also saves your electricity bill for running an air conditioner. In humid climates, a dehumidifier can ease the burden on your AC, potentially lowering your energy bills.

Excess moisture can damage furniture, books, and electronics. If you buy a dehumidifier, it will prevent warping, peeling, cracking, and rust on your household items by keeping humidity in check.

Last, but not the least important benefit of buying a dehumidifier is that it boosts the comfort of your home. Dehumidifiers create a more comfortable feel by removing dampness from the air. Dehumidifiers are particularly useful in areas prone to high humidity, such as basements, bathrooms, and laundry rooms.

Factors to Consider When Buying a Dehumidifier

Hopefully, we have convinced you to buy a dehumidifier. But here are some factors to consider when deciding the best dehumidifier for a house.

The size of your home:  Larger homes may require a more powerful dehumidifier.

Your lifestyle:  Taking frequent hot showers or drying laundry indoors, and other such activities can contribute to increased humidity. You can consider smart dehumidifiers with ionizer technology. It releases negative ions that attach to airborne particles like dust, allergens, and even some germs, making them heavier and easier to capture by the dehumidifier's filter or fall to the ground. This can result in improved air quality without needing an air purifier.

Conclusion

So, if you're struggling with excess moisture in your home or office space, consider investing in a dehumidifier and breathe a sigh of relief. You can find various best-rated dehumidifiers in the market. Consider your needs and budget, and keep this blog in mind while buying a dehumidifier and create a healthier and comfortable home for you and your family.

[5-seconds-in-heaven]

Bad Teacher, pt 3

Mid-morning sunlight filtered into the room through the windowpanes, flooding the floor and furniture with light, and I watched specks of dust float helplessly through the stagnant air before floating off into shade through still-sleeping eyes. After making a mental note to vacuum, I reached my arms up over my head to stretch as I laid appreciatively in the warmth of my blankets. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I propped myself up on my elbow and reached for my phone. 10:42, the time on the screen read. I never claimed to be a morning person.

I set my phone aside then, sitting up fully and stretching my body more before swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I stood, taking in my surroundings more: the dirty socks on the floor, the long-haired calico — that’s Momo — curled up at the foot of the disheveled bed, the books and vinyls and plants all in their places being gently kissed by light sunshine and dust. Inhaling deeply, I realized a small smile had formed on my face.

In the bathroom, steam slowly clouded the mirror as the streaming shower water hesitantly came to temperature — just below 3rd degree burns, that is. I moseyed back to the bedroom to get my portable speaker, because I can’t do anything without music. My own naked form in the full-length mirror beside my bed caught my eye on my way back to the bathroom. I paused and took a minute to admire myself; the curves on my body reminded me of winding backroads and bountiful hills. I used to spend a lot of time hiding my body and myself, I allowed my insecurities to rule my life. With time, I have learned to love being me. As I traced my silhouette slowly, with purpose, I surrendered to my thoughts, giving them access to roam. With my aforementioned insecurities came little luck in love throughout my teenage years — my home life definitely didn’t help. When I got to college, I found more freedom in escaping my family and the constraints of my hometown. I dabbled in going out with different guys, and I even had my first hookups. I was friends with benefits with this one guy I spent a while talking to, but it never amounted to anything more. That is the story with all of my sexual escapades.

However, it had been a long time since I was that chubby-cheeked, freckle-faced, cut-in-half-2x4-plank-of-wood of a girl. I was still small in stature of course, but I had gained some hips and bust thus far in my young womanhood. I was 23 now, and I finally found a decent job after searching for two years; I graduated early from my university with a major in journalism and a minor in women’s studies. I’d been reporting for an up-and-coming music magazine that specialized in underground rock and alternative music. Basically the best job ever. Being that I chose to go to university half the country away from my family in Minnesota, I obviously had to move out at the start of freshman year. I welcomed this move with open arms, although I know I’ll be working my ass off for the rest of my life to pay off my student loans; it was still worth it.

I smiled fully at myself in the mirror, thinking I looked pretty fucking good, if I did say so myself. I did a little dance and gave myself a small spank on the butt, giggling to myself, “To think there are people out there who didn’t want all of this.” Tossing my head back and letting out a laugh, I left the supermodel in the mirror behind to go wash the eye boogers and drool off of my face.

Speaking of those who got away, my mind drifted through my old crushes. The skater boy with the beanie who I used to see skateboarding past my house in the summertime who I never spoke to but made longing eyes at as I lazed in the hammock or the grass by the tree, the boy who played guitar for me who I discovered was not as down to earth as he portrayed himself to the world. My cheeks heated as I thought of one specific crush.

Mr. Hemmings.

I groaned and held my head in my hands, cringing internally as the scalding water ran over my frame. Late nights on Tumblr with my hand between my thighs came rushing to mind — along with pages upon pages of smut featuring this certain high school creative writing teacher. Smut-filled stories written by yours truly, the same shy, insecure virgin who didn’t talk to a boy until college you know and love.

I’d like to act like this wasn’t a common occurrence for me, that I had the ability to walk through my life without inwardly punching my own face for my past actions, but I am plagued by the memories of my own hormonal, criminally horny prepubescence every day of my life. Before I knew it, I found that my hand had again made its way between my thighs at the image of Mr. Hemmings’ face in my head: his lips trailed light kisses along my jaw and down my neck as his arm reached around me and held my body closer, tighter to him. His other hand teased my hardening nipple between his fingers, and he smirked against my skin as I tossed my head backwards, breathing out a sigh of relief at his touch. Lightly, he dug his fingernails into my skin as he dragged his hand down my back. That same friendly hand now snaked it’s fingers down my front to separate my folds and, light as a ghost, tease my —

Yeah… this is gonna be a long shower.

—

Squeezing my hair in the towel, I strode back into the bedroom, feeling refreshed. On the nightstand, I could see my phone lit up from a notification. It was a text message from an unknown number.

Unknown Number

You know, you’re a pretty talented writer.

I stared at the message, puzzled. Possibilities ran through my mind — past clients I’d written pieces for, old friends. Deciding to deal with it later, I put my phone down and set to starting my skincare routine. As I moisturized, my phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number

I suppose I can thank myself for getting your creative juices flowing.

Now I found myself intrigued. Who is this mystery man sending me vaguely flirty, vaguely ominous texts? Should I be horny or changing my locks? Either way, I’m horny. My fun time in the shower didn’t cut it. Alright, I’ll bite. I shoot back a quick text and make my trek across the quaint apartment to the fridge to chug some orange juice out of the jug. Why dirty another glass when I’m the only one who drinks it anyway? In the pocket of my sweatpants, I felt my phone vibrate. At least this mystery texter is quick to respond.

Me

you can thank yourself, but who should i thank?

Unknown Number

The man who got you started in creative writing, of course.

Creative writing. My stomach hit my feet and my heart jumped to my neck, immediately halting my breathing by lodging a lump securely at the base of my throat. I felt my heart beating fast and hard, my cheeks and ears heating promptly, as I paced the hardwood flooring and chewed on my fingernail. Why on earth would my 11th grade creative writing teacher have sought out my phone number? and then texted me with it?!

Alright now, get ahold of yourself, YN. It’s not out of the ordinary for an old mentor to reach out to past students, especially to congratulate them on their success, right? It’s no secret that I had been able to achieve great things thus far in my work, and I’m sure I help myself in that aspect by reposting my work on my social media platforms occasionally. Obviously, he had seen one of my articles. I’m still getting ahead of myself here; I haven’t even confirmed that the person on the other end of the phone is Mr. Hemmings. Mr. Tousled-Hair Hemmings. Mr. God-The-Things-I-Would-Do-To-Run-My-Fingers-Through-Those-Golden-Locks Hemmings. It could be someone else entirely, for all I know. Better get to work.

Me

many people have helped me get to where i am today.

Unknown Number

Alright, I secede. This is Luke Hemmings. Or Mr. Hemmings, if you still prefer that.

Heat rushed to my face all over again. I let out an audible scream before slapping my hand over my mouth and flinging myself onto the bed, flailing my extremities and squealing as I dove my face into the pillows to silence my episode, certain the paper-thin walls would inevitably fail to keep the sounds from my neighbors curious ears. Rushing to sit upright, I stared at the message through wide eyes. The confirmation was there, directly in front of me on the screen in my trembling hands, but I refused to believe it. I continued to stare at message, dumbfounded and confused. I wondered what piece he had seen that had made him want to reach out to a student he hadn’t seen in six years. I’d better respond, I didn’t want to be rude.

Me

Luke!

I stared at the message, nose crinkled. Is it less weird to refer to your old teacher by their first name or the name you called them by years ago? Does being sexually attracted to them influence the decision making process? I deleted the text, deciding to try a different approach. I also decided to bypass the questions about how did you get my number and whatnot.

Me

Mr. Hemmings, it’s great to hear from you! your class definitely had a great influence on me.

Unknown Number

I can see that in your work. I have to say, I’m impressed. It is tough to find good reading material these days. Your story definitely has some plot holes, and it ends on a cliffhanger, which is obviously problematic. A good author doesn’t leave their fans hanging indefinitely, you know. But for your age at the time, I’m quite happy with the quality of writing.

Panic shot through me. I felt the soles of my feet tingling as all of the air left my lungs, like wind rushing out of a clearing of trees. My mind raced through every piece I’d ever written — every editorial, every fluff piece. There was only one story he could have been talking about. But what did he mean he was impressed? He was happy? Is there any world, any universe in the metaverse of universes, where my old high school teacher would have actually been into the smut my prepubescent self wrote involving the two of us? That he would have found it years later and sought me out?

Just then, my phone buzzed from another text notification. This one contained a file.

Unknown Number

attachment: The Bad Teacher.wordx