#any number of people reading my posts just blows my mind

[staff]

We Asked an Expert...in Herpetology!

People on Tumblr come from all walks of life and all areas of expertise to grace our dashboards with paragraphs and photographs of the things they want to share with the world. Whether it's an artist uploading their speed art, a fanfic writer posting their WIPs, a language expert expounding on the origin of a specific word, or a historian ready to lay down the secrets of Ea-nasir, the hallways of Tumblr are filled with specialists sharing their knowledge with the world. We Asked an Expert is a deep dive into those expert brains on tumblr dot com. Today, we’re talking to Dr. Mark D. Scherz (@markscherz), an expert in Herpetology. Read on for some ribbeting frog facts, including what kind of frog the viral frog bread may be based on.

Reptiles v Amphibians. You have to choose one.

In a battle for my heart, I think amphibians beat out the reptiles. There is just something incredibly good about beholding a nice plump frog.

In a battle to the death, I have to give it to the reptiles—the number of reptiles that eat amphibians far, far outstrips the number of amphibians that eat reptiles.

In terms of ecological importance, I would give it to the amphibians again, though. Okay, reptiles may keep some insects and rodents in check, but many amphibians live a dual life, starting as herbivores and graduating to carnivory after metamorphosis, and as adults they are critical for keeping mosquitos and other pest insects in check.

What is the most recent exciting fact you discovered about herps?

This doesn’t really answer your question, but did you know that tadpole arms usually develop inside the body and later burst through the body wall fully formed? I learned about this as a Master’s student many years ago, but it still blows my mind. What’s curious is that this apparently does not happen in some of the species of frogs that don’t have tadpoles—oh yeah, like a third of all frogs or something don’t have free-living tadpoles; crazy, right? They just develop forelimbs on the outside of the body like all other four-legged beasties. But this has only really been examined in a couple species, so there is just so much we don’t know about development, especially in direct-developing frogs. Like, how the hell does it just… swap from chest-burster to ‘normal’ limb development? Is that the recovery of the ancestral programming, or is it newly generated? When in frog evolution did the chest-burster mode even evolve?

How can people contribute to conservation efforts for their local herps?

You can get involved with your local herpetological societies if they exist—and they probably do, as herpetologists are everywhere. You can upload observations of animals to iNaturalist, where you can get them identified while also contributing to datasets on species distribution and annual activity used by research scientists.

You can see if there are local conservation organizations that are doing any work locally, and if you find they are not, then you can get involved to try to get them started. For example, if you notice areas of particularly frequent roadkill, talking to your local council or national or local conservation organizations can get things like rescue programs or road protectors set up. You should also make sure you travel carefully and responsibly. Carefully wash and disinfect your hiking boots, especially between locations, as you do not want to be carrying chytrid or other nasty infectious diseases across the world, where they can cause population collapses and extinctions.

Here are some recent headlines. Quick question, what the frog is going on in the frog world? 

Click through for Mark’s response to these absolutely wild headlines, more about his day-to-day job, his opinion on frog bread, and his favorite Tumblr.

✨D I S C O V E R Y✨

There are more people on Earth than ever before, with the most incredible technology that advances daily at their disposal, and they disperse that knowledge instantly. That means more eyes and ears observing, recording, and sharing than ever before. And so we are making big new discoveries all the time, and are able to document them and reach huge audiences with them.

That being said, these headlines also showcase how bad some media reporting has gotten. The frogs that scream actually scream mostly in the audible range—they just have harmonics that stretch up into ultrasound. So, we can hear them scream, we just can’t hear all of it. Because the harmonics are just multiples of the fundamental, they would anyway only add to the overall ‘quality’ of the sound, not anything different. The mushroom was sprouting from the flank of the frog, and scientists are not really worried about it because this is not how parasitic fungi work, and this is probably a very weird fluke. And finally, the Cuban tree frogs (Osteocephalus septentrionalis) are not really cannibals per se; they are just generalist predators who will just as happily eat a frog as they will a grasshopper, but the frogs they are eating are usually other species. People seem to forget that cannibalism is, by definition, within a species. The fact that they are generalist predators makes them a much bigger problem than if they were cannibals—a cannibal would actually kind of keep itself in check, which would be useful. The press just uses this to get people’s hackles up because Westerners are often equal parts disgusted and fascinated by cannibalism. 

What does an average day look like for the curator of herpetology at the Natural History Museum of Denmark?

No two days are the same, and that is one of the joys of the job. I could spend a whole day in meetings, where we might be discussing anything from which budget is going to pay for 1000 magnets to how we could attract big research funding, to what a label is going to say in our new museum exhibits (we are in the process of building a new museum). Equally, I might spend a day accompanying or facilitating a visitor dissecting a crocodile or photographing a hundred snakes. Or it might be divided into one-hour segments that cover a full spectrum: working with one of my students on a project, training volunteers in the collection, hunting down a lizard that someone wants to borrow from the museum, working on one of a dozen research projects of my own, writing funding proposals, or teaching classes. It is a job with a great deal of freedom, which really suits my work style and brain.

Oh yeah, and then every now and then, I get to go to the field and spend anywhere from a couple of weeks to several months tracking down reptiles and amphibians, usually in the rainforest. These are also work days—with work conditions you couldn’t sell to anyone: 18-hour work days, no weekends, no real rest, uncomfortable living conditions, sometimes dangerous locations or working conditions, field kitchen with limited options, and more leeches and other biting beasties than most health and welfare officers would tolerate—but the reward is the opportunity to make new discoveries and observations, collect critical data, and the privilege of getting to be in some of the most beautiful and biodiverse places left on the planet. So, I am humbled by the fact that I have the privilege and opportunity to undertake such expeditions, and grateful for the incredible teams I collaborate with that make all of this work—from the museum to the field—possible.

The Tibetan Blackbird is also known as Turdus maximus. What’s your favorite chortle-inducing scientific name in the world of herpetology?

Among reptiles and amphibians, there aren’t actually that many to choose from, but I must give great credit to my friend Oliver Hawlitschek and his team, who named the snake Lycodryas cococola, which actually means ‘Coco dweller’ in Latin, referring to its occurrence in coconut trees. When we were naming Mini mum, Mini scule, and Mini ature, I was inspired by the incredible list that Mark Isaac has compiled of punning species names, particularly by the extinct parrot Vini vidivici, and the beetles Gelae baen, Gelae belae, Gelae donut, Gelae fish, and Gelae rol. I have known about these since high school, and it has always been my ambition to get a species on this list.

If you were a frog, what frog would you be and why?

I think I would be a Phasmahyla because they’re weird and awkward, long-limbed, and look like they’re wearing glasses. As a 186 cm (6’3) glasses-wearing human with no coordination, they quite resonate with me.

Please rate this frog bread from 1/10. Can you tell us what frog it represents?

With the arms inside the body cavity like that, it can basically only be a brevicipitid rain frog. The roundness of the body fits, too. I’d say probably Breviceps macrops (or should I say Breadviceps?) based on those big eyes. 7/10, a little on the bumpy side and missing a finger and at least one toe.

Please follow Dr. Mark Scherz at @markscherz for even more incredibly educational, entertaining, and meaningful resources in the world of reptiles and amphibians.

[ash5monster01]

Can I get Drew Starkey with prompt 2.??

First Love

Valentines Celebration Prompt

Pairing: Drew Starkey x FemReader

Warnings: mentions of heartbreak, fluff, established relationship

2. You find an old love letter from your high school sweetheart, do you reach out?

word count: 2k

Masterlist

Valentine’s Day always brought up old memories. Thoughts to a time that didn’t even feel like you had lived it anymore. So much had changed, things you never really expected too. It’s weird that it feels so much heavier this year. Maybe since it had been ten years. A decade later and your life was not what you had wanted or expected it to be. Which explains why you pull the box stuffed away in your closet out. A layer of dust covering the top and you slowly blow it away as you pull the lid open to memories you hadn’t revisited in a very long time.

It’s the big things you notice first. The pair of roller skates you seemed to live in sophomore year of high school. A stack of year books with worn covers and faded signatures on the inside. A hoodie, one from him that overtime just became yours. Then it was the pictures. So many pictures it made you realize just how much of your life had been intertwined with his. It may have been ten years since but it was still ten years together before. Trying your best to avoid your young smiling face you find a stack of letters, rubber banded together with handwriting that is all too familiar. You knew it maybe wasn’t the best idea to read one, open old wounds, and yet you can’t stop yourself from freeing one of the envelopes.

Hello my love,

Did I happen to mention just how beautiful you looked today. I didn’t hear a single thing in Calc class because you kept brushing that perfect hair out of your face and across those shoulders. All I could think about was the smell of your perfume and wishing my head was buried in your neck. If I fail it’ll be all your fault but I wouldn’t really mind. It’d be worth it if it meant I got to keep looking at you. Just a degreeless loser with the most perfect wife. That’s right, I said wife, because I’m going to marry the hell out of you. It’s my only dream, out of all my successes in life you will always be my best one. Remember that.

Love Drew

The tears that spring to your eyes are not intentional. It was just that you had almost forgotten just how much he loved you. It was still your biggest regret that you never got to tell him just how much you loved him too. Maybe he had a girlfriend or even a different wife now but that still never stopped you from checking his Instagram and watching all of his latest movies. Which is why you’re so quick to pull up his account and scroll through the posts. He had grown up so much. He wasn’t that young 19 year old boy you used to know. He was a man now, a man you had let go of in order to not hold him back.

It’s when you accidentally double tap the screen and the heart appears do you feel your stomach drop. In instant panic you realize you’ve just become one of those crazy exes who still looks at their old boyfriend’s profile. Yet you shouldn’t feel this way. Drew was always your closest friend after all. So in order to make yourself look less crazy or possibly even more crazy, you hit the message button on the top.

Hey, was just reminiscing. So proud of all the things you have done. Hope all is well.

The internal cringe is enough for you to throw your phone across the room and pray that his famed status will keep him from ever seeing any notifications from you. Yet that isn’t proven true when your phone dings with a text from an unknown number on the other side of the room. Nervously picking it up, you prepare for whatever the text may hold.

Hey, it’s Drew. I’m really hoping this is still your number 😅

I got your DM but it feels weird messaging you of all people over Instagram

The second text comes through as you’re finished reading the first one, nerves tingling through your entire body. You hadn’t expected a DM back, let alone a text. Yet here you both were and now you had to face the consequences of your actions. You were the one who reached out first after all.

It’s still me! I would have texted but obviously your number did change

You know how awkward it seems. Texting him professionally as if he isn’t the only person in the world you are most comfortable with. You don’t have time to dwell considering another text comes through.

Yeah, I actually had to ditch it after a crazy fan incident. I would have given you my new one but honestly I figured you didn’t want it.

Of course I’d want it, no matter what you’ll be important to me

You don’t want to come off as flirty but it was true. Even if your relationship had been ten years ago. Drew held your heart and gave you every first experience of love in your life. That never goes away, he would carry those firsts around with him forever.

You home? I’m in town and I’d love to meet up

It’s not the text you expect to come after the one you just sent. Knowing Drew was so close now made you even more nervous. It had been so long. Were you really even ready for that kind of confrontation? Then again you didn’t want him to think you were still all torn up especially after you reached out to him. So you sucked it up and texted back.

Yeah! We could meet at our old place, 4 o’clock?

See you then

And just like that, you not only revisited your past memories, but were truly going to step in it. Ten years ago this was your normal routine and it was weird how getting ready for this still felt so natural after all this time. This time you put a bit more effort into your appearance. If you were going to see Drew for the first time after all these years, you had to look good.

So with your jacket wrapped tightly around you, you find yourself walking to the center of town. The bustle of familiar faces walking along the streets, colors of red and pink covering every storefront you can see. You register completely that you’re doing this on Valentine’s day. The anniversary of when you left him ten years ago. Right in front of the old diner stands Drew, bundled up and holding a single pink rose in his hand. He doesn’t see you approach right away which makes you smile just slightly.

“Hi” you hum out, all emotions leaving you but happiness. You never would’ve thought seeing him in person again would bring you this much peace. He jumps just lightly before his head swiftly turns to face you.

“Hi! There you are” he grins and you can’t help the small laugh that falls from your lips. Suddenly he’s holding the pink rose forward. “This is for you, since it’s Valentines after all”

“Are you asking me to be your Valentine?” you tease, fingers curling around the stem and lightly brushing his own. You can’t believe how long it’s been since you’ve felt his touch. Red covers the boys cheeks as you pull the flower close and take in its scent.

“No, well if you want. Yes, maybe. I don’t know anymore honestly” he flusters out and all you can do is giggle as you take a step closer to him.

“I’ll be your Valentine, considering I have been many times before” you tell him with a smile and he sighs in relief, comforted just as much by you, as you are of him.

“Let’s go inside, I don’t want you to freeze” he says, hand falling on your back and guiding you towards the door. You obey, heading straight for your old designated booth. Drew watches as you slide carefully into your side before he sits down himself.

“Look at you movie star” you grin at him after a moment, taking in his grown and handsome appearance. A fresh blush covers his cheeks as he lets out a soft chuckle.

“I’m no movie star, not quite yet” he says and you roll your eyes.

“Oh please, Drew I see your face everywhere I go. Edits of you pop up on my tik tok now. Who would’ve thought my high school sweetheart would be everyone’s celebrity crush by now” you say, knocking your foot with his and he laughs lightly.

“To be honest it shocks me. At the end of the day I still am the bad guy on my claim to fame show” he says and you just smile, taking all of him in.

“That buzzed hair, been so long since I’ve seen you with shaggy hair. It’s weird how different you look and yet you’re still completely the same” you don’t mean to be sappy but sitting here of all places with him will make you like that.

“Yeah, I kinda wanted to grow it out but with filming schedules I’ve had to keep it shaved down. Maybe after though” he says running a hand over his head and you just grin.

“I can’t wait” and the sentence isn’t meant to imply you’ll be spending time together in the future, yet Drew can’t help but think of that.

“Why’d you reach out today?” he cuts to the chase and the smile quickly falls from your lips. “And don’t give me some classic bullshit response. I want the truth”

And you consider your options before finally choosing to speak.

“Every Valentine’s day I go through our box of things. Mementos of our time together, because if I’m being honest, I’m not really over it. I know I left you but it wasn’t because I didn’t love you anymore. It’s because I didn’t want to hold you back” you saw no point in lying, he deserved the truth. Even after all these years.

“You never ever held me back” he says after he lets your words sink in and you sigh, hands coming up to tug at your hair.

“It doesn’t matter Drew. I know you, you would’ve chosen me over going to LA. Chasing your dream, becoming a superstar, I wasn’t apart of that” you tell him and Drew sighs, taking a moment to think of his next words.

“You were apart of that. You always were, because none of that mattered compared to you. You were always my greatest accomplishment” and the words from that letter ring through your mind.

“Do you still love me?” you finally ask, needing to know exactly what was going through his mind.

“I never stopped” he says and finally a small smile pulls at the corner of your lips.

“Do you think I could be apart of it now? So I stop accidentally liking your instagram posts?” you ask and a belly laugh falls from the boys lips across from you.

“If you’ll have me” he says, hands reaching across and cupping yours into his own.

“Always” you tell him with a grin and just like when you two were 16 and first started to come here, he lifts off his seat and leans across the table to meet you. Searching his eyes you meet him halfway and slowly press your lips against his own. Kissing him like this again for the first time in ten years feels like a fever dream but it was perfect. He was perfect and still tasted faintly of cherries and coffee. He was the only thing you ever truly wanted.

And you got him back.

[grlmsgrotto]

Urgent D0nation post

TLDR; Our water heater is broken beyond repair and we were scammed out of 700 euros for it. we need 310 to repair the damage done and the heater, gas intake and filter for our water intake. We currently can't use the water as it's started to give a strong bleachy and chlorine like smell and taste and we fear for our health if we were to use it to wash ourselves or use it for cooking.

You can donate HERE , Twitter thread HERE

more info below.

Hi, my name is grim, i'm a disabled artist that's trying to gather money to fix my water heater and water filter. our building is really old and i mean, OLD.

to the point a lot of the house's repairs have come from our pocket because it was starting to fall on us. things from lightbulbs blowing up to literally having a ceiling fan fall on me because the wires were so old they literally crumbled off along the rust on the screws being so bad it added to it, so you get an idea.

we still somehow get by okay most of the time! but this time..

we were scammed by an 'installer' to set our water heater as the previous one was so old it literally too, just busted. so this person installed one and we were charged 700 euros. the man not only was extremely anxious the entire time but hasty, too hasty. we thought he was in a rush and payed no mind but things started to go weird when he had nothing to give us a receipt or a number to call him if the heater gave us any issues. we let him go thinking it was just someone that was tight on schedule but to our demise, the heater was not only faulty, it was broken. yes it worked for the first two months! but then it started to fail. we thought it was just the building's old crap as always but no, this week it literally busted off the wall because the internal pressure caused it to bust open. it spilled the internals from the bottom and the front pannel literally came off with the loudest bang i've heard.

We're two heavily disabled people with no income living in this house and the cold water along the fact it's not safe to drink or use is doing a number on us. if you could please share or donate, it'd mean a lot. thank you for taking the time to read, it means a lot.

[iwriteasfotini]

A query about AO3 ratings and opinions about underage consensual sex in fanfiction.

My series begins in first year, so the rating will start teen and then progress as the kids age. My understanding is mature content shouldn't contain ANY sort of semi-graphic sexual content. But I also am writing two versions of the more descriptive sex scenes, one being what I consider explicit, even though it definitely isn't as hard core as it can go. And the other being... Well, I suppose less explicit...? I'm planning to rate the book explicit, and still offer the more descriptive chapters in a different location. As far as I remember, AO3 uses an honor system in declaring whether you are old enough to read explicit content.

Why bother, you may ask. And my answer is, it's underage consensual sex, which I feel might be a sticky topic (hmmm, yeah there's a pun there) for some people. Here's the thing. Sex is human, sexual development is a process which takes place during the teen years and beyond. And I feel to leave it out is inauthentic to these characters lives. I saw a fabulous post about how sex is often misrepresented in fanfiction. I'll just go ahead and say this is the case in all fiction people (anybody read ACOTAR?)! Duh, no one wants to read the reality of messy, awkward, not as mind blowing as you wished it was sex. We all get plenty of that in real life.

So, I wanted to write scenes which are still good (we are still in fantasy land after all), but show the characters learning about themselves, each other, consent, etc. And because I start they story when they are eleven, we watch them learn and adjust their attitudes over years before any of them actually start having sex. We get to see how each person/pair approaches it differently. The whole point of this post is I feel conflicted about the explicit rating because I wonder if it will exclude the exact audience I'm writing for. I'm writing for myself as a teen, what I wish I could have had access to through fiction. Something really enticing but also REAL. Like here's an often overlooked reality... Sex is always a bit messy no matter your anatomy/methods, and some sex isn't as messy as you think it might be. Why is this rarely included in published fiction and in fanfiction?

Anyways, I've tried to make my sex scenes as mild as possible without completely leaving it out. Really hard to do btw. And then my true explicit scenes are also not pornographic, because they are teens!!! Am I right in using an explicit rating for both situations? Better safe than sorry?

On a related note, is there a certain number of f-bombs you can drop in a story at various ratings? Have you ever hung out by a skatepark? Every other word those kids (and yes I meant kids, maybe tweens...) speak is a swear word, I feel like I'm actually using it in my writing very sparsely!

Reblogs are welcome to try and glean more opinions! Cheers

*If you think underage sex doesn't happen or have a place in fanfiction, we will just have to agree to disagree. I'm a parent and I will be far more focused on being the type of parent my child can come to with questions and curiosities about something they may have read or come across, than trying to keep that content away from them. Once a kid gets unsupervised internet access, you cannot pretend you are limiting what they are exposed to.

[cloudcountry]

music notes of the heart

Genre/Tropes: Study dates but its unestablished relationship? Floyd is flirting with you LMAO + Slow Dancing!!

Summary: Your tutor for musicology may not be other people's first choice, but he's yours.

Author's Comments: inspired by this tumblr post!! we truly do need more intelligent floyd content and i've already written for jade's dorky goofy silly side so many times sigh. also seriously, do not ask about the slow dancing merpeople rituals. you can infer. LMAO (@tinyletterz i hope you dont mind me tagging you but i was thinking of you when i wrote this bc yk. Floyd Leech. C:)

~~~~~

You set your books down on the table tucked in the corner of the library and sit down, shifting anxiously as you await your tutor. The smell of old papers and the sound of scratching pens from a few bookshelves away does nothing to dispel your nerves. If Ace and Deuce could see just who you’d asked for help, they surely would have yelled at you for hours and wrung out your neck in frustration.

It’s not like anyone else held the same passion for musicology, though. Besides, Floyd Leech wasn’t that bad once you got to know him.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, you think as he waltzes into the library, a lazy smirk on his face and his hands shoved into his pockets. His back is hunched slightly as he looks around the library, eyes scanning over each face with an almost predatory grin. You raise your arms and wave him over, trying not to make much noise to avoid being yelled at by the crabby librarian.

Floyd does not share that sentiment.

“Shrimpy!” he yells (honestly you don’t think he’s capable of yelling any louder) and bounces over to you.

He sweeps you into his arms in the blink of an eye, cackling madly as he nuzzles you. The librarian shoots the two of you a glare, and you shrink into his chest with shame. You’ll have to apologize to him later.

“Were ya trying to hide from me?” he breathes, sharp teeth on display as he grins down at your bundled-up form, “You know I’d sniff you out, right?”

“I wasn’t.” you protest, but it falls on deaf ears and Floyd squeezes you closer. His nose brushes against your cheek and he borderline snuggles you and you’re glad you’ve picked a table in the corner because if you were any closer to the center everyone would be staring.

“Alright Shrimpy,” he murmurs, setting you down in your chair with two quick taps on your head, “Ya said you needed my help with musicology?”

“I didn’t know who else to ask.” you say, sliding your textbook over to him with a furrowed brow, “You’re the best in that class and I can’t seem to grasp any of it.”

Floyd sits down next to you and leans in close, so close that you can smell the cologne on his clothing. You let him read through the notes you made on the sheet of lined paper you used to mark your page, gnawing at your lower lip self-consciously. You know you aren’t the best at this subject but it’s Floyd’s best, and you don’t want him to think you’re stupid.

He seems to be able to read minds because Floyd looks over at you with a pout.

“Shrimpy, I’d tell ya if you were stupid. So quit worrying.” Floyd scolds, snatching your hand up and squeezing it as he intertwines your fingers, “The fun thing about musicology is that you can analyze and learn from any angle ya want!”

“Freer subjects are harder to work with, though.” you confess, “I’m not sure how to go about...figuring something out when it doesn’t have structure.”

Floyd sticks his tongue out and blows a raspberry as if to say “Boo, Shrimpy. Now you do sound stupid.” You can almost hear his voice.

“Just pick something and we can start from there. What kind of music do ya like?” he bumps you with his shoulder, a huge grin on his face, “Ya gotta have something.”

You answer him, and he makes an “ah-ha!” noise. He mumbles a page number and flicks through the textbook before coming to a stop at a chapter that goes into that exact type of music. There are music scores printed on the right page and some kind of tree diagram on the left one. You stare at the words incredulously, already lost.

“Come on now, Shrimpy. Work that tiny little brain of yours.” Floyd teases, jabbing your temple with a giggle, “I know you can do it.”

You swat his hand away and wiggle your hand out of his hold, feeling a foreign heat creep up on your cheeks. Floyd giggles again as if he knows, and leans in even closer to you.

“Hey Shrimpy.” he whispers, eyes gleaming in the corner of your vision, “I changed my mind, let’s ditch the reading. I’m getting bored. What are ya gonna do about that, huh?”

You’re not sure you can do anything honestly, but you expected him to leave pretty early on in your study session anyway. It’s a miracle you got him to agree in the first place.

“Oh, you can leave.” you offer him a quick smile and turn back to your textbook, pouring over the words, “I didn’t expect you to stay the whole time- Woah!”

You’re swept out of your chair but the second time that day, and your body thumps against Floyd’s. He stares at you with a cheerful grin as he takes your hands and places them on his arms. You jump a bit when his lanky arms wrap around your waist, but when he starts swaying slowly you get the idea.

“Let’s try something else, yeah?” he snickers, “Can you tell me why people slow dance?”

“Um...to feel emotional closeness?” you say, eyes glued to his rumpled purple shirt so you don’t have to look him in the eye.

“Bingo.” he chuckles, “Merpeople also have dances like this.”

You’re tempted to ask what those dances are for, but you don’t. Floyd sweeps you around and your feet lift off the floor for a second, but you don’t feel like you’re going to fall. Floyd squeezes you a bit tighter as he guides you, somehow avoiding any tables and chairs and bookcases with master precision.

“I didn’t know you could slow dance.” you whisper, “I thought you were more of a fast paced dancer.”

“Meh. Normally.” he shrugs, “But I like dancing like this with ya. It’s fun.”

Your heart flutters.

“Can ya tell me anything else about it?” he hums, lifting his arm and spinning you around. Your breath catches in your throat as he dips you, the arm carefully holding up your waist your only support.

“Um...” you stumble over your words, grasping for any thoughts as you stare into his eyes, “Uh, it’s- um, slow dancing brings people physically closer too? Because you can feel their movement and everything-”

“Good little Shrimpy.” he giggles, hoisting you back up and resuming his more soothing swaying, “See? You’re doing good. I told ya you’d figure it out.”

Did he? You don’t even remember.

“I think I need more instruction.” you mumble, eyes darting away once again.

Floyd laughs loudly at that, but this time you don’t care when the librarian shushes you.

[good-beanswrites]

A little something featuring Fuuta and Es after talking about their criminal lack of interaction in fanworks with @waivyjellyfish ! You had such awesome ideas (a few of which I'm still bouncing around in my head to post at some point,) but this one ended up taking over my brain -- I hope you enjoy 😅 Attempting to answer the widely-debated question:

“Oi, why didn’t you hit me?”

Es looked up from their paperwork.

“Prisoner number three. Most people are glad when they’re not struck.”

“Well, I’m not.” 

Es usually left the door open at this hour, in case anyone had any last-minute complaints before curfew. No one usually took them up on the offer. They figured that if there was any prisoner they could count on to complain, it would be Fuuta marching through their door.

“You hit all the other guys. You even hit some of the girls that were giving you trouble. So what? You think I’m too weak? You think I can’t take it?” Fuuta spread his arms. “I can, so show me what you’ve got!”

Es sighed. They put down their pen. They folded their gloved hands together, resting their chin on top. “Fuuta, I’m not going to hit you.”

“Why not?”

“As of right now, I have no reason to. If you’re referring to the interrogations…”

They reflected on the first one they'd shared with him. To be fair, the thought had crossed their mind. It would have been satisfying to give this rowdy prisoner a taste of his own medicine – striking him after such a dramatic charge at them. But Es was always good at reading people. It didn’t take them long to understand Fuuta was the type to lash out first and ask questions later. In fact, that was likely what had landed him in Milgram in the first place. 

Although Es knew they weren’t here to do any reformation, they wanted to try to show these prisoners where they’d gone wrong. So, they resolved to act as the bigger person. They’d prove that senseless violence was just that. By keeping their composure, they’d show Fuuta just how childish he was being. 

That wasn’t my only reason. I guess that's true, my actions weren’t all purely righteous. I still spent the entire time looking for ways to make him squirm… But it wasn’t all cruelty. I really did want to understand. I wanted to help. That counts for something, right?

Es never struck the prisoners out of anger, or as a petty show of power. It was a way to force the prisoner to mind their ego. When they’d gotten a bit too full of themselves, a bit too comfortable with the awful deed they’d committed, Es’ blow encouraged them to feel a bit more humility and guilt. 

By the time the second trial arrived, Fuuta oozed guilt. 

The moment Es entered the interrogation room, it was clear that he needed no lesson in humility. He hugged his arms to his chest. His remaining eye darted around the room in thinly-veiled hysteria. His voice trembled when he spoke. It didn’t require any people-reading skills to hear the remorse that underlaid all of his accusations and threats.

Hitting the others felt like giving a dog a tap on the nose after breaking a rule. Meanwhile, Fuuta snapped and snarled like a stray who’d been kicked time and time again.

Of course, he could never know any of this. Any way Es phrased it, Fuuta would misunderstand it as pity.

Well, wasn’t it? I thought he looked like a kicked puppy – that sounds a lot like pity. No, it was out of respect. Does that mean I didn’t respect the prisoners I did hit? No. I respected them too. Then, what’s the difference?

Fuuta was still staring at them, asking the very same question. What’s the difference?

“Each of Milgram’s prisoners is unique.” 

They were met with an unimpressed glare.

Es chose their words carefully. “Each one responds best to a variety of treatments. Some need attention to be comfortable, while others need time. Some need validation in order to confess. Others, a bit of debate does the trick. Some need a show of force. You –” remind me too much of myself  “– require something else. I’ve learned to change my approach depending on the person I’m dealing with.”

Fuuta’s features flashed with confusion, then shame, then his usual mask of anger. “Tch. How pathetic.”

“Excuse me?”

“So you just change your personality when it’s convenient? You put up fake smiles and fake attitude? Have some balls and just be yourself.”

Es was caught by surprise. “... I am. Those are all pieces of myself. I choose to bring out different parts when it would be most helpful.” 

“Sounds manipulative as hell to me.” 

It makes sense he doesn’t understand. He’s a very clear-cut person, with every aspect of his personality lining up in a way that makes sense. I find that predictability fun. Or, is it something that I envy? Could it be both?

They had no time to dwell on it, as Fuuta was struck with an idea. “Though, if you can do it on command, why don’t you give me the ‘you’ that wants to hit someone?” 

He spread his arms once more, hands gesturing to his chest. Es pretended not to notice him wince. They remained in their seat. 

“What are you waiting for? Hit me!” 

“I will not.”

“You just said you can change your personality on a whim, so let’s see it!” 

“That is not what I said.”

His good eye began to look frenzied. He raised his voice. “You scared? The big bad warden of Milgram, nothing but a big coward!”

“Stop this. You’re acting childish.”

“No! You’re treating me childishly! Let me see the Es that kicked Shidou! The one that slapped Kazui! Treat me like you treated them!”

“I hit them because they said something stupid. They deserved it.”

“Are you fucking kidding? I deserve it too! I deserve it! Come on!”

At the last word, his voice broke. He stumbled to his knees. He let his head drop. He sucked in strained breath after strained breath. Shidou would surely give him a lecture about getting so worked up with his injuries. 

Es finally stood.

They made their way around the desk. They knelt on the floor in front of him. 

“Why?” he wheezed. “Tell me…”

“Fuuta.” 

Should I just go ahead and do it, just to make him happy? No, I want to talk it out. But what do even I say? I'll tell him that I care. I can’t. None of the prisoners understand that I care. Why? Why is it so hard for them to see? I’m trying my best, why can’t they see? 

Es extended their hand carefully. They didn’t know what they hoped to accomplish, but in that moment their thoughts were too loud and conflicting. They needed to do something.

Fuuta saw the gentle intention, and immediately raised his own hand to strike. It froze midair, though whether it was from Milgram’s restrictions or his own hesitation, Es would never know.

Neither of their gestures connected.

Footsteps. Then Yuno’s voice, hesitantly from the doorway. “We heard shouting, is everything alright in here?”

Es retracted their hand.  A beat. Fuuta dropped his, too. 

“Yuno. Yes, we’re fine. Fuuta was just heading to bed. I’m going to walk him to his cell.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I said, I’m going to walk him to his cell.” 

Es stood, nodding to Yuno. When she’d gone, they turned their attention back to the prisoner crumpled on the ground. They made an effort to quiet their ever-racing thoughts. 

“Listen. I know you can handle yourself. I’m not doing this because I think you’re weak. You’re strong. Don’t think for a moment that I don’t see that.”

They held out their arm to help him up. He didn’t move.

“Sometimes you are a bit too strong, if you ask me. I mean, picking fights with your prison warden, really?” They clicked their tongue. “You should be grateful for a superior that gives you second chances.”

At last, Fuuta  took their hand. He avoided meeting their eyes, but his voice had softened considerably from his rant. “The only thing you give me is a headache.”

Es offered a dry smile as they pulled him to his feet. “The feeling is mutual.”

[sailoryooons]

Mine | One Shot | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Yoongi x Succubus F. Reader

☾ Summary: Yoongi lives a quiet life. His days are organized neatly, and every week he can expect the same results. Then he meets you. Hypnotizing. Otherworldly. Strange. And his life never goes back to the way it was before.

☾ Word Count: 14,864

☾ Genre: Smut, Horror, Thriller

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Buckle up bitches this list of warnings is going to exhaust even me. Overall creepiness, descriptions of liminal spaces, tons of mentions of subspace-like trances, Yoongi's mind is not always his own, unexplained happenings, Yoongi being manipulated subtly, written jump scares (like three of them?), nightmares, hallucinations, the cutest and also creepiest fucking little succubus you'll ever see, Succy (succubus reader) really likes Tokyo Ghoul that should be a hint, hints at eating raw meat (bleh), Yoongi turning against his friends, Yoongi feeling sick/depressed in a couple of scenes, Yoongi is literally addicted to eating reader out soiejijrghij, explicit sexual content including, spit play, nipple play, oral (f. and m. receiving), grinding, unprotected sex in multiple positions, cum eating, switch dynamics between the two of them often, subspace mentions, fingering, ass play (m. receiving), just.... so many bodily fluids all the time, mentions of animal death (it is a cat and it's dead body is briefly described), a lot of confusion and pace changes as a style choice, Succy is literally obsessed with Yoongi so a lot of the pet name Kitty, very cringe behavior for some rando Yoongi met at a bar, ambiguous ending. I think that covers it idk this is almost 15k of pure nightmare fuel I will send you my therapists number alright

☾ Published: October 30, 2022

☾ A/N: If I have to write this authors note one more time because 'a wild tumbeast ate my fucking post I will scream. Do better Tumblr please stop eating my content over and over lmao. ANYWAY. SURPRISE THIS IS HERE A DAY EARLY. I have zero self-control and @gimmethatagustd told me to post it now so I really said fuck it we ball. I didn't use a beta for this one because I'm insane but I did edit it myself.... so if you see errors..... no you didn't. This one was so much fun to write and I hope you all love Succy as much as I do. She deserves the world she is very... scary and cute. 

HAPPY HALIWEEN!!!

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask

Friday nights are spent blowing off steam from work with friends. Yoongi has always lived a simple life, and he likes his Fridays like this: second person to the bar after Taehyung, a quick shot of whisky to take the edge off the day, followed by a whiskey neat and some fries from the kitchen that will still be a little unthawed in the middle. 

Yoongi loves his Fridays at Serendipity. 

The name is a bit of a joke, Jimin says. He inherited the old, rundown bar under another name from his abusive father after he passed away. Mysterious circumstances, the long-term patrons mutter into darkened ale and frosted mugs. Still, they come despite Jimin flipping the name. It was the only thing Jimin could afford to flip, the floors still the same sticky concrete that collect vomit, spilled beer, whiskey, and perhaps a little piss.

It's an ugly thing, with the vinyl stool covers splitting open to reveal guts of yellow foam, and countertops that need another layer of lacquer to fight the chipping from heavy mugs being slammed down every time Seokjin gets into an argument with one of the regulars. Yoongi tries to avoid the bathroom as much as he can. Jimin spent two weeks cleaning it and stocking it with a nice care basket with sprays, cotton rounds, and other products, only to have someone puke in it on the first night.

Yoongi doesn’t care that Jimin named the bar as a bit of an inside joke. Yoongi knows in his heart of hearts when he sees you that this moment is serendipitous.

Because when Yoongi sees you for the first time, the world ends.

Not really. But it feels that way the moment he turns at the bar. Perhaps he’s meant to see you – or perhaps it was by your design. He tilts backward when the door opens, searching for any sign of Seokjin who said he would be there in a few minutes.

And there you are.

Lights dim. The world takes on a muted feeling, like the two of you exist between murky, brackish water with something lurking just beyond the clouded space that he can’t quite make out. The roaring voices of the bar fade softly into the background until it’s just a buzz of pressure between Yoongi’s ears - or maybe that’s not right. Maybe it’s the buzzing pressure of awareness pressing on his spine and eardrums. 

It isn’t pleasant but it’s not… uncomfortable. 

It’s impossible to look away from you. He tries - tries to remember where he is. A bar, perhaps? Not this weird, opaque space where the only thing he can make out is the rogue on your lips, a spark in your eye, and the way you walk forward. No. Walk isn’t the right word. Glide might be more appropriate, he thinks. 

As you near him, Yoongi breathes in sharply. Something like cedar mixed with jasmine and amber makes his head spin. The world tilts and Yoongi begins to slide on its new axis until suddenly, the mist surrounding him shatters as his foot comes into contact with the ground, knee buckling under his weight as his hand flies to the bar to hold himself up.

He fell off of his stool.

Yoongi almost doesn’t believe it, except Taehyung is laughing so hard next to him that Yoongi flushes furiously. He slides back onto the stool, brows furrowed and head ducked down to hide his rapidly glowing red ears and face from you.

But then you speak, and Yoongi cannot fight the urge to look at you once more. It’s an instinct pulling him from blushing furiously in his lap to stare at you.

“Hi,” you murmur. Yoongi is a fish out of water, mouth parted slightly, heart racing. Jasmine. Cedar. Amber. It’s all he can smell. His head swims, mind foggy as he tries to string together words. “Is this seat next to you taken? It’s the only one empty.”

Is it? Yoongi can’t tear his eyes from you, but he could swear Old Ass Han had been sitting there before you walked in.

Old Ass Han is the least annoying of Jimin’s customers and sometimes Yoongi doesn’t mind when Old Ass Han rambles about his late wife. Yoongi has no idea how old Old Ass Han is, he just knows that he was ancient even when Yoongi studied as a high school student tucked in the far corner of the bar.

“Um, yes?” Yoongi says and it comes out like a question.

You grin at him and the world ends a second time.

Pleasure-laced fear shoots down his spine. Your teeth are white and straight, but he swears for a split second they were razor sharp. He shakes his head, dispelling a little of the floating feeling as he says, “Of course. Yes. Please sit.”

Yoongi holds his breath and averts his eyes as you slide onto the stool next to him.

It’s suddenly too loud in the bar, a cacophony of voices and chairs scraping against concrete. Yoongi can still smell you, making the world rotate awkwardly as he spins on his stool to find Taehyung staring at him, brows raise and barely concealing his laughter.

“I don’t think I have ever seen you fumble like that,” Taehyung murmurs. He loses control of his laughter and tries to hide it in his cup of cider. Yoongi flushes and angrily stares into his whiskey, hyperaware of you leaning on the bar to call the bartender’s attention. “I mean – she is – holy shit I never believed in faeries or witches before but there's no way she’s human.”

Yoongi opens and closes his mouth. He tries to find a response to Taehyung, but his tongue feels heavy in his mouth and something tingles along every hair on his arm and neck, a sense of awareness as you lean on the bar, speaking to the bartender.

Again, your voice haunts Yoongi in a matter of seconds. He feels the need to turn and look at you again, but he doesn’t want to be weird. He’s already fallen off the stool once, and he doesn’t plan on further exacerbating his humiliation.

So, Yoongi remains facing Taehyung. Clutches his whiskey glass with shaking hands. Tries to take a breath – it comes out shaky – to calm himself. He has no idea what kind of delirium is threatening him every moment you’re next to him, but he wants to fight it - tries to fight it.

“Are you okay?” Taehyung’s brows twitch, mouth pouting. He ducks his head slightly, trying to find Yoongi’s gaze, but the older keeps his eyes fixed on the wood grain bar. Yoongi wants to look at you again. So bad. Wants to ask you your name. Wants to memorize the curves of your mouth. Wants to memorize every stroke of color in your eyes.

Want want want want.

A sudden throb pulses in Yoongi. He doesn’t know where it comes from, but he feels it bloom inside of him, unfurling with warm petals of want want want want.

The urge to turn and look at you gets stronger.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck –

Yoongi grits his teeth. Feels pressure at the back of his head, like there are featherlight fingers pressing into the base of his skull to urge him to turn around and look at you again. His muscles constrict and he feels himself start to turn, hips beginning to swivel in your direction, arms rigidly placed on the bar as if to fight his lower half.

When he doesn’t turn to look at you, Yoongi swears he imagines the light press of fingers turning into a steel grip. His eyes start to water and he clenches his teeth, feeling an immovable force on him pulling, dragging, tearing - and he lets out a small gasp, the grip on him so strong that he -

“Yoongi,” Taehyung says again, voice firmer. Yoongi looks up this time, eyes soft and round, face flushed. There’s a little sweat collected on his brow, and Yoongi feels a dull throb at the back of his head like a fading migraine. “What’s wrong?”

“Um-“ he cuts himself off and clears his throat. The pressure on his head is gone, but the menthol-cool, awareness of you is not. “Maybe too much to drink? It’s been a stressful week, I think I knocked these back too quickly.

“You do look sort of flushed.” Taehyung raises his brows. “Maybe water?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Water, please.”

Taehyung asks for water when the bartender returns with your drink. Yoongi doesn’t look at you, though he can see from the corner of his eye you’re looking at him. He grits his teeth and stares at the mismatched, colored bottles behind the bar. None of its top-shelf – Jimin certainly cannot afford it – but it doesn’t need to be.

A glass of water appears in front of Yoongi in time for Seokjin’s arrival. The pressure in Yoongi’s skull doesn’t return, and the tingling along his nerves like an electric current dies down a little. He still feels shaken as he sips the water, freeing up the dry feeling on his tongue.

Seokjin nestles between Yoongi and Taehyung, ordering himself a drink. Jimin appears around the bar this time, finally done with his bookkeeping in the back, and slides a beer over to Seokjin. Yoongi watches the way Jimin smiles at them before his attention falters and slides to you sitting next to Yoongi, making Jimin blink rapidly a few times.

Irrational irritation flares in Yoongi for a split second. Though his attention is on his friend and watching Jimin reacts to you sitting in Old Ass Han’s place, it occurs to Yoongi that he doesn’t want anyone else to compete with him.

Not that he stands a chance. But for once in his life, Yoongi wouldn’t mind being the one to take someone home. Why can’t it be him? He saw you first. You’re sitting next to him.

Just as Jimin’s eyes glitter, turning to half-moons as he smiles at you, Yoongi spins in the chair, giving you his full attention. Your eyes turn to meet his and Yoongi is falling into them, no end in sight.

“Hi again,” you greet, voice velvet. “You have pretty eyes.”

“All right, hyung,” Jimin murmurs. Yoongi isn’t looking at Jimin, but he can hear the smirk in his voice as Jimin retreats to their friends.

“Thanks,” Yoongi murmurs. He allows himself to drink you in. His head begins to buzz like he’s had too much whiskey, his tongue heavy and cotton-fuzzed in his mouth. “You have a pretty… everything.”

You have to know how beautiful you are. A deity beneath silk-smooth skin. But you duck your head, a shy giggle leaving your lips. You have the decency to look shy, averting your eyes, lip tucked between teeth.

Perhaps later Yoongi will be embarrassed by the honesty. But right now, it’s all he can do to keep his heart rate normal. You are incredible to look at. Taehyung was right – perhaps not human.

An unnatural glow hums under your skin. Your eyes are vivid, drinking him in with a spark that Yoongi swears echoes a deep flame in the pit of his stomach. He wrestles with himself, his hands fighting a magnetic pull to reach over and brush his fingers across the canvas of your skin.

Yoongi won’t be able to stop if he touches you. His thoughts repulse him – you’re a stranger. Someone he doesn’t know. Someone his mind is begging to violate. He fists his pants, flexing the muscles of his hands and willing the strange pull toward you to go away.

He doesn’t even know your name and Yoongi feels like Pandora, watching you with coveted desire and shaking, greedy hands. Fuck he wants to pry you open and see what treasure lurks beneath the surface.

“What’s your name?” You ask him. You stir a beverage straw in your drink – an Old Fashioned. His lips twitch in a smile at your taste in drinks as he offers you his name. “Yoongi,” you repeat back. The way his name melts in your mouth like sugar entices him. “Cute. You’re cute.”

Yoongi flashes you a shy smile, echoing yours. You share a laugh, his rough and scratchy as he chews the inside of his cheek nervously, yours light and floating. It echoes in his ears and Yoongi loses his sense of self, thoughts drug-laced with only you.

And then your lips are on him and once again, Yoongi swears the world around him has fallen to destruction.

It’s hard to remember the order of events. Yoongi doesn’t care. Your mouth is sugar-sweet and hungry, licking into Yoongi’s open-mouthed kisses as he presses you against something firm. He wants to melt into you, your skin like fire under his seeking hands, your breath delicate and soft against the empty air of what he thinks is his apartment as his lips attached to your neck.

Even your skin tastes sugared. A delicacy for him. For his mouth only.

Mine. The word echoes across his mind, but not in is own voice. 

You writhe underneath Yoongi’s hands. He squeezes the flesh of your lips, tongue snaking out to lick a broad stripe of skin up your neck. Your fingers card through his hair, tugging slightly, just enough to make him groan against your skin.

Yoongi is painfully hard. His cock throbs in his pants, the material restrictive and making the ache so much worse. He grinds his hips against yours, mouth sucking viciously at your collarbone, the top of your cleavage, anywhere he can taste you.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your head thudding against the wall behind you. Panting, you hike up one of your legs, wrapping it against his waist to pull him in tighter to you. Yoongi whines as you connect your mouths again, tongue and teeth, and spit as you grind against him. “I want you so fucking bad.”

“Have me,” he mumbles sucking your tongue into his mouth. You moan, deep in your chest. He swears for a second it’s like a growl. Thinks nothing of it. Just pushes against you hard, cock pulsing. “Whatever you want.”

“Please.”

Yoongi never wants to hear you beg again. Or maybe he doesn’t want you to stop begging. He can’t make up his mind as he pulls you toward a room – his room. Yes, you’re both in his apartment. That’s his slate grey couch that you’re stumbling past and that’s his sheets that you fall backward against.

Licking his lips, Yoongi takes a moment to look down at you. You’re splayed out for him, unfurling in his sheets. He knows tomorrow morning they’ll still smell like you – jasmine, cedar, amber. You look divine, a flower unfolding delicate petals, open for him.

Only for him. Mine. 

You wrap your legs around Yoongi, pulling him flush to the edge of the bed. You release him and press your feet to the bed, knees resting against his hips. You blink at him through fluttering lashes and starry eyes. He’s never seen anything like you. He never will again. He knows it.  

“God damn you’re beautiful,” Yoongi murmurs, the words slipping through his lips, unrelenting.

The stars in your eyes vanish. Yoongi recoils, seeing the fathomless black threatening to eat him alive. He begins to pull away, terror shooting through his chest, sharp and angry. You squeeze your knees against his hips, nearly shattering him. Your mouth is a gash of red with rows and rows of black teeth, churning and churning.

“Don’t speak his name here,” you hiss, words slithering in layers of many different voices. “Never again.”

Yoongi blinks and you’re blushing as you look up at him, knees splayed like butterfly wings, open for him. Just for him. He smiles at the way you giggle and hide behind a hand. “You’re so sweet.”

“You are beautiful. I swear it.”

“Touch me.” Your voice drips honey-sweet on his senses. “I want to feel you, Yoongi. Please.”

There is a prickling sensation like fear at the base of his spine but Yoongi can’t remember why as he smiles at you lazily, dipping down between your legs. He props himself above you, hands planted on the mattress on either side of your head to cage you in.

“Ask me again.”

“Please. Please please please-“

Yoongi swallows your begging tongue first, delving into your luscious mouth.

It’s been a long time since he’s been in his room like this with a partner, much less with someone who looks the way you do, but Yoongi’s hands are confident as they sweep up your sides, pulling the fabric of your shirt up with his hands as they go. You lean upward, letting him pull it off you before it flies from his hand somewhere in the room.

The lights are off in his room, but a silver shaft of moonlight spills through the window to paint you silver. Your eyes reflect the light as you drink him in, his hands brushing up your arms, warming your skin as he traces them to your tits, palming them generously over your bra.

A sigh escapes through your parted lips, red lipstick smeared artfully from the clash of mouths and tongues. He dips back down, tongue hungry for your sugar-warm taste and the liquid heat of your mouth.

Yoongi is dizzy. He’s a little off balance as he breathes you in. Your fingers pull through the strands of his hair, hips canting upward as he reaches around to unclasp your bra, peeling the unwanted layer from you.

Heated, shameless eyes meet his. You tilt your chest toward him, eager for his mouth. He doesn’t miss a beat, placing wet kisses over the tops of your breasts, more tongue and spit than lips, leaving a slick trail to your right nipple. Yoongi’s mouth is possessive, sucking your pert but between his lips and flicking it lightly with his tongue, looking up where your lips part in the moonlight to let out a soft moan.

It spurs him further, plucking your nipple with his teeth, pulling any sound he can from you. He gets a loud whine then and you wiggle your hips under the weight of where his waist is pressed into yours. Grinning, Yoongi repeats the motion, giving a generous suck before pulling away with his teeth, gentling scrapping your peak.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “Feels so good.”

Yoongi trails chaste kisses from one nipple to the other, giving it the same attention. He snakes a hand down your body, fingers dancing across heated skin to pull at the zipper on your jeans. His hands tremble, making it difficult to free the first button.

Reluctantly, Yoongi pulls his mouth away from your breast, a glossy strand of spit connecting his mouth to your swollen skin as he looks down, using both hands to pop the button on your pants and tug violently at them.

“These jeans are the fucking devil.”

“Yes,” you murmur, so quietly that he can barely hear you. He gets them to your ankle, yanking one more time and tossing them. He loses your hushed words in the rustle of clothes hitting the floor when you whisper, “I am.”

“Hmm?” he asks.

You silence his question by pulling his shirt over his head, leaning to capture his exposed chest with your tongue and teeth. Yoongi stands between your legs, head falling tilting toward the heavens at the worship of your mouth.

Deep groans leave his mouth. You bite more than you kiss, but Yoongi likes the way your mouth leaves a trail of little teeth marks, your mouth pinching his flesh before your tongue soothes it. You have him trembling, nearly making him double over as your hand presses over his clothed cock firmly, applying the pressure he needs.

It’s not enough.

Every part of Yoongi feels exposed. Even half dressed, the world is brushing against him raw, every touch of your hands like pleasure and torture, every fan of your breath like the coldest breeze on a hot summer day.

None of the sensations make sense but he feels high – higher than that time he and Jimin took shrooms at that one festival in college where the lights had whispered secrets of the forest to Yoongi and where he had tasted something beyond what he could describe.

But under your carnal touch, Yoongi knows that is nothing compared to this. Nothing compares to the way you work his jeans down to his midthigh, too impatient for him to kick out of them before you’re dipping a hand in his briefs and taking his cock into your hand.

“Holy fuck,” Yoongi gasps, nearly toppling backward. Your grip is firm, strokes deft and confident and oh my god he might come like this.

You lean up to teeth at the pulse point of his neck as your tongue darts out to take a firm lick. “There is nothing holy about me, Min Yoongi,” you murmur against his neck. He shivers, eyes rolling behind closed lids as you speak. He can feel the trace of your incisors, sharper than he remembers against his skin.

Stars dance behind his eyes. You pull your hand away from his cock, making him protest. You hush him with a bite against his shoulder, sharp enough that he thinks you break skin. He doesn’t open his eyes, letting his world sweep from under his feet as you turn him and knock him onto the bed.

When the feeling of spinning stops a little, he blinks his eyes open to help you peel his clothes the rest of the way off. You’re fully naked and Yoongi doesn’t know where to keep his eyes. The swells of your breasts, marked with bite marks and spit from his mouth, the curves of your stomach and waist as you climb atop him, predatory and eager, or the glistening slick of your thighs where you’re dripping for him.

“Come here,” he demands. He’s dying to have you on his tongue, knows you’ll taste saccharine. He grabs your thighs harder than necessary, zeroing in on your pussy as he pulls you toward his mouth. “Wanna fucking taste. Bet you’re fucking delicious.”

You hum in delight, a lethal smile on your face as you crawl up to where he wants you, knees firmly on either side of his head. Yoongi lets out an appreciative noise. Your cunt is sticky and glossy for him, the perfect meal.

With gentle fingers, he parts your folds gently to reveal your slick, clenching hole and needy clit. Yoongi is eager, a finger trailing up and down your warm slit as he lets out a moan.

“Fucking wet,” he whispers before leaning up for a long, slow lick.

Stars explode behind his eyes. He hums in delight, shivering at the taste of you, heady on his tongue. He repeats the motion a few times, flattening his tongue for a slow-drag, appreciative lick up your cunt. He feels the way you drip into his mouth, spill on his chin and he can’t help but curse, at how addictive this feels.

You moan when he dips his tongue into your entrance, gathering your essence on the tip of his tongue before he drags it soft-slow up to your clit, circling your bundle of nerves lazily. Yoongi pulls your clit into his mouth with gentle lips, feeling the way it pulses as he sucks gently.

The sounds you make above him spur him further. He alternates between sucking your clit delicately and butterfly-soft tongue flutters, watching your mouth go slack as you watch him. The more you drip into his eager mouth, the greedier Yoongi gets, fastening his entire mouth on you and sucking harshly.

It becomes sloppy and imprecise. Yoongi can’t decide where he wants his mouth most. He can’t remember ever feeling this lightheaded from oral, much less giving. But he’s starstruck under you, sucking and sucking and sucking – fuck he doesn’t know if he’s even taking breaths.

“Feels so fucking good,” you whisper, a hand going to knot in his hair. His scalp tingles pleasantly where you hold onto him, his eyes fluttering shut. Your hips move slowly over his face. “Fuck keep going.”

Pride swells in his chest. Your voice is airy, breaths short and stilted and overwhelmed as he eats you vigorously. His fingers dimple your skin, pressing into the meat of your ass as he rocks you on his tongue, jaw slack, tongue flat for you to let you fuck yourself on his face the way you want.

Yoongi feels you drip down his face, hears the wet-smack of his mouth against your cunt. He moans. Buries his face further, letting you grind yourself on his nose, chin, mouth lips, anything. He doesn’t care, sticky-coated to the jaw, so fucked out from pleasing you that he almost blacks out when you cum.

Something happens.

He doesn’t know how to describe it – it’s like for a moment, everything goes dark. Perhaps he does blackout. Perhaps he wasn’t breathing. He can’t remember. All he knows is that between one heartbeat and the next, there’s a moment of pure darkness accompanied by a laugh that chills his spine.

And then your mouth is on him, spit and cum making the glide of your mouths sticky-sweet.

Yoongi sucks your tongue into his mouth, pressing his fingers gently to the back of your head, pulling you closer closer closer. He just wants you closer, his stomach burning with a sudden hunger for you. He feels on fire, skin too-warm where your chest slides against his, sweaty and flushed.

Sheets stick to every part of him. He’s aware of the sweat that slides down his neck, a cool finger of relief as you press him further and further into the mattress. He feels like he’s sinking, entering a new domain where he’s no longer in his room – he's just with you. Somewhere. Anywhere.

Your fingers claw at his hair, pulling the strands to pin him to the mattress as you lift yourself, looking down at Yoongi. He blinks, stars in his eyes as he starts up at you, looming. Glowing. Beautiful. His hands are on your hips, a sparking current humming just beneath the surface of your skin.

You feel alive and vibrant.

A moan escapes Yoongi’s mouth, pleasure rolling through him as you grind your cunt on his throbbing cock, warm and wet. His eyes flutter, Yoongi squirming under you, legs kicking and twitching as you tease him. Just the glide of you on his shaft makes him shiver, the pit of his stomach clenching.

“Please,” Yoongi rasps. His fingers dig into your hips, begging. Pleading. Desperate. “Please please please please.”

“You look so pretty when you beg.” Your grinding increases and the room spins. His hands fall from your hips to the sheets, fingers fisted tightly in the fabric. “You’re so beautiful, Yoongi. My Yoongi. Mine. Mine mine mine.”

Your words are lost on him. There’s only the firm touch of your hand against his cock, gripped tight at the base as you lift yourself. He feels his cockhead catch on your swollen entrance and he lets out a strangled noise. He doesn’t know if he can stop himself from cumming. He is bursting at the seams with heat, an inferno so intense he swears that the world catches fire as you slide down his cock, warm and tight.

“Shiiit,” Yoongi hisses. He takes a deep breath and holds it, hips twitching where you straddle his waist, letting him suffer beneath you.

“Feels good.” You lean forward, hands pressed to his chest to support your weight. Yoongi’s eyes flutter open. He blinks at you through wet lashes. The room is so dark he can only make out the barest features on your face, but he sees your eyes clearly. Looking at him. Watching. Hungry. “So good,” you repeat. “So fucking deep.”

Nails bite into the skin of his chest. He feels his skin smart. The hot bead of blood that forms. He doesn’t care, watching as slowly, you lift your hips, your walls hugging every inch of Yoongi. He lets out a shaky breath, hands settling on your waist. He plants his feet in the bed, angling himself better as you reach the tip of his cock before sinking back down.

Heaven and hell. Yoongi wavers between both, gritting his teeth to keep from coming, to keep the feeling of you gripping him tight going. He doesn’t want it to end, it feels so good but it’s wonderful agony, fighting the curl in his stomach, the twitching of his abs, the threat of exploding.

Yoongi's eyes are drawn to where you fuck yourself on him, sticky arousal turning silver in the single shaft of moonlight that spills across the bed where you’re joined. He can’t look away, entranced by the wet smack of your ass on his thighs, the way you just fucking take him.

It lights a fire in him more intensely than the solar flare that threatens to send him spinning into his orgasm. Yoongi growls, digging his nails into your skin, half-moons on smooth flesh as he grits his teeth and fucks up into you. You gasp, nails raking down his chest as he jostles you. His breath comes out as stilted hisses behind clenched teeth.

“Touch yourself for me,” he grits out. “Wanna feel you come all over me – please.”

“Gonna,” you pant, head falling to his chest, claws leaving pink lines on pale flesh. You slide one hand down his body, making him groan as he fucks you with abandon. You gasp, hand working your clit between your writhing bodies. “Gonna come.”

“Please - for me.” He thrusts hard, thighs trembling with the effort, holding his breath as his muscles squeeze. He can feel you tense, pussy clenching so tight he curses and stops, letting you pulse around him as you moan and an unintelligible string of curses that sounds... like another language. “Fuck, just like that.”

Yoongi feels himself come apart. His universe shatters and he floats among the stars. Weightless. Happy. Tired. He feels nothing and everything, a soft frequency of... something dancing along his skin. A soft buzz. Pleasant and warm.

He doesn’t know how long he exists in that space. He can still smell notes of cedar, jasmine and amber. It's stronger now, with a touch of something else... something burning. He leans into the smell and it wraps around him, soft hands around his middle and petal-soft lips against his cheek.

Yoongi becomes vaguely aware that it’s you curled into his side, nose hidden in his neck, chest rising and falling against his arm. It grounds him a little. Brings him back into a dark room that is too obscure to be sure it’s his bedroom at all.

As he drifts off into sleep, he remembers the feeling of your tongue against his neck and nothing more. 

-

Cedar. Jasmine. Amber.

It wakes Yoongi up. His stomach feels empty. His hands seek your warmth, palming your ass, pulling your hips flush to his. He doesn’t open his eyes, content to feel your heat. Again, something like electricity thrums under your skin, tickling his wandering hands.

Your mouth catches his. Pulls him further from sleep. He feels his skin ache from your teeth and nails the night before. Feels the weight of something inside of him that wasn’t there before, although he cannot put into words what it is.

Even in the morning, your mouth is sweet. Gluttonous. You suck his bottom lip between your teeth, nibbling softly followed by a light giggle. He smiles into the next kiss, sloppy and filled with too much tongue but he lets you taste him.

Yoongi swears there is an echo of your taste from the night before. It’s enough to kickstart desire in him, detaching his mouth to plant kisses down your neck. Chest. Stomach. His tongue licks a trail down your velvet skin.

In a shuffle of sheets and skin, you lay back for him, pliant. He’s awake now, pressing your thighs open, teeth nipping the tender flesh. You giggle and the sound makes him pause, lips pressed to your leg, eyes looking up at you in the dim light of the morning. Or night. It’s hard to tell what time it is, here with you in this bed.

Glowing eyes look at him. Round. Soft. Curious. You watch Yoongi with rapt attention, lip pulled between your teeth. Spread. Eager. Ethereal.

Yoongi drops his gaze, groaning when he sees how fucking wet you are. He pulls you closer, sliding a hand under your ass to provide support. Curious, he brushes his thumb up and down your folds, collecting your essence as he does.

“So swollen and wet,” he mumbles, morning voice deep and scratchy. “You’re always so ready to be eaten, hmm?”

You nod. “Please, Kitty.”

The new nickname makes him pause, thumb resting on your clit. He can almost feel your cunt throb under the pad of his finger as he applies a little pressure, watching you whine and kick your legs a bit. He grins.

“Kitty?” he asks as he resumes playing with you. His thumb dips into your hole, ring of muscles clenching around him. His grin spreads as he pulls it away, watching you fight with the loss.

“You have- ughhh – cat eyes. Pretty. Soft. Smart. Kitty.”

He hums, dipping his head forward to give you a single kitten lick. He shuts his eyes and sighs heavily, your taste heavy on his tongue. You taste just as good as the night before. “Cute,” he murmurs, more to himself. “I like it, baby.”

Yoongi doesn’t wait for a response. He presses in, tongue lapping at you hungrily, refusing to let you drip without his mouth for another moment.

-

Greedy.

You’re greedy. You always are. Yoongi isn’t sure what day it is. It might be the same night as when he brought you home or it could be the weekend or it could be next week. He somewhat remembers the taste of a meal. Some cool water. But he doesn’t recall when he made it or when he showered.

He only knows he showered because he smelled the mint soap on your skin a few moments ago when you had your mouth attached to his throat.

Now, your mouth swallows his cock whole, throat pulsing around him. He curses, fingers twisting in your hair as he listens to you choke. Feels your drool dripping down his thighs. You relent, pulling back with a slick sound. He looks down at you between half-moon eyes, lashes fluttering.

You’re a vision: bruised lips smeared in spit and cum, chin covered in slick, watery, round eyes that blink up at him, innocent despite the fact that you rub the flushed tip of his cock against your abused mouth.

“Fuck,” he swears, watching your devilish tongue snake out to lap at his dark tip. “Fucking cock hungry, huh?”

You nod your head, trailing your tongue along the bottom of his shaft, taking time to suck slopping kisses to his skin. He can’t look away, even as you pump him lazily with your small hand, ravenous little mouth sucking coyly at his balls.

His fist tights in your hair. You look up, tears spilling over rounded cheeks. You look angelic at that moment, weeping before him. He nearly busts right there.

“Does Kitty like when I do that?” You ask softly, voice almost a whisper. Your voice changes, he’s noticed. Sometimes coming out dark velvet, other times tangerine-sweet. “Am I a good girl, Kitty?”

You always call him that. He wasn’t sure about it at first, but with a mouth full of his precum and neck covered in his teeth marks, Yoongi thinks you can call him whatever the fuck you want. He’s never seen a creature so drunk off fucking him before and he’s no better. All he wants to do is fucking live in you.

“Such a good girl,” Yoongi promises. He holds your head with one hand and your chin with the other, pulling your bottom lip down with one thumb. His touch is soft and reverent. You preen for him, smiling around his thumb as he slips it in your mouth and presses on your tongue. Feels the spit and god knows what else there. “Come on, baby. Suck.”

And you do. Yoongi’s eyes roll back in his head. He falls backward on his bed and it feels like he has passed through a portal to somewhere else. He floats. All he knows is your mouth, unforgiving. Your tongue, sinful.

And when Yoongi comes down your throat, and when you pull off of him and smile at him with the slow drip of it, Yoongi feels like he’s in fucking heaven.

-

Monday he calls out of work.

Crunching numbers at an accounting firm seems like hell in comparison to where he is now. You’re bent over the kitchen counter, drooling on the granite as he slowly drags his cock through your drenched heat. He ignores the spilled glass of water next to you. Instead, he watches himself disappear deep into your cunt, collecting cream on the base of his cock every time he pulls out.

Yoongi senses you looking at him. You are, eyes intense and heavy. Your gaze shifts so often he can barely keep up – thinks maybe he imagines the way you go from soft, round-eyed sweetheart to a siren-eyed vixen.

It’s the vixen look at him now. And as though you can read his mind, you slick your tongue out of your mouth, bubble gum pink and eager, eyes dragging down to where he works himself in and out.

Yoongi pulls out slowly, running a finger along your arousal smeared along his shaft, and leans forward, thrusting in hard. You pant, tongue still out and eyes focused on his as Yoongi delicately places his cum-slick finger in your mouth. Presses your cream on your tongue.

Your lips close around his finger, tongue swirling around the digit as you shut your eyes and hollow your cheek, gently sucking your arousal until there’s nothing left.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he whispers, in awe of you.

And you are. There’s nothing you won’t do for him. Nothing Yoongi won’t do for you. So he slams into you, deep deep deep, and grunts until you’re coming around him for what feels like the hundredth time since he’s met you.

-

Yoongi startles awake. He blinks away a dream that he immediately cannot remember. His skin is clammy and his sheets stick to him all over. He kicks them off, heart hammering as he jumps to his feet, trying to get away from the bed.

He doesn’t know why, but he feels danger near him with every slam of his heart.

For a few moments, he’s in total darkness. He can’t make out the shape of his dresser. Or the pile of clothes in the hamper. He can’t see any light filtering through the window. He knows there’s a streetlight out there – why isn’t the light streaming through his curtains?

Panic threatens to seize him. He takes a deep breath and presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, rubbing fiercely. He opens them, bursts of starlight blinding him until they fade finally and he can see.

There’s a shadow in front of him, all razor teeth and red eyes.

Yoongi screams, flinching backward. He topples over and feels weightless like he’s falling through time and space. The moment of fear stretches out long – too long – and for a second he thinks he will die. His heart is beating too hard in his chest, his mind is screaming too loud, and the adrenaline threatens to crack him open and spill out on the floor.

He hits the curtain behind him and fists the fabric, ripping the entire rod and holders down backward as he goes. Streetlight pours into the room. He thrashes, blind and screaming among the now ruined curtains, the curtain rod, and drywall dust.

Yoongi frees himself, grabbing the rod to defend himself against the creature in a last-ditch effort to live.

Grey light saturates the room. There’s no shadow creature with teeth and red eyes. There’s just you in the middle of his bed, the reflection of the street light turning your doe-eyes to glowing coins. You’re in a t-shirt of his, soft and crinkled, hair messy. Lip trembling.

“Kitty?” Your voice is small. Almost childlike. “Kitty are you okay?”

The panic beat of his heart slows. He swallows down nausea and realizes his shaking, the remaining waves of adrenaline taking their toll. Yoongi lets go of the curtain rod and nods, pressing his head into the wall.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps. Throat dry. You move on the bed – more of a prowl – and you flick the lamp light on. Warmth rushes into the room and with it, relief. “Thank you.”

“What happened, Kitty?”

“A nightmare. I got up and … I don’t know. I thought I saw something.”

You sit on your knees. Hands in your lap, one palm splayed on your thigh, the other lifted toward him. Beckoning. Open. Warm. Safe. He peels himself from the wreckage by the window and walks toward you, feeling as though there is a string between you and him, tethering you to him. Reeling him in.

When Yoongi’s hand touches yours, exhaustion bleeds into him. Safe. He is safe. You smile and there are no razor teeth. Just kiss-stained lips as you shuffle backward, pulling Yoongi back into the bed.

“Come sleep, Kitty.”

“Okay.”

Carefully, he turns off the lamp. The streetlight floods his room now, but it’s comforting, the grey wash of the world enough that he can see anything creeping in the shadows.

Eventually, he falls back asleep with the slow drag of your hand back and forth across his forehead, and your mouth pressing gentle sucks to the side of his throat.

-

“Where are you going?”

Yoongi almost smiles at the pout on your face. You stand in his kitchen, brows pinched, mouth furious. You’re in another one of his shirts – there is nothing else for you to wear. His grin spreads as he comes around the counter, placing his messenger bag down.

Somehow you seem so much smaller in the daylight. Yoongi swears when you’re riding him in the early hours of the morning or when he has you on all fours fucking you deep into his mattress, you’re a force to be reckoned with. A fierce creature feeds on carnal pleasure only.  

But now in the light of day, with your bottom lip jutting out and scowling brows, Yoongi thinks there is nothing more adorable. His perfect baby. You reach out, opening and closing your hands and he laughs.

“Work,” he answers gently, pulling you toward him. You don’t fight him. You never fight him. Yoongi is always your top priority – you’ve made that obvious. He smells the cedar. Jasmine. Amber. His head swims and for a moment, he forgot what you asked.

Moments like this with your skin touching, that high-frequency current that is unfamiliar but feels so good – Yoongi forgets himself. Every time he touches you, he’s somewhere else.

His phone rings and he remembers he’s supposed to leave. “I have work.”

Your scowl gets worse. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I want to be with you.”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. When he pulls away, you’re almost snarling, gripping him like iron. He sighs and squeezes your hips for reassurance. “I’ll leave a little early, yeah? For you.”

“Do you promise?”

“Of course, I promise.” Your lip wobbles and he leans forward again, nipping you. “Get some sleep. You woke me up very early this morning, hmm?”

You don’t answer, but you loosen your grip.

When he gets in the car, he sees the curtain in his living room shift and he grins. Cute.

-

Work drags. Yoongi’s in a bad mood. His coffee is extra bitter. The water tastes off. The fluorescents in his office are too bright, prompting him to turn them off. When he begins auditing his client’s monthly spending, the numbers swim on screen.

Yoongi takes his glasses off. Puts them back on. He swears that he sees symbols and that the screen glitches, flashing between letters and numbers and… something he’s unsure of. When he rubs his eyes, the screen is just numbers in an Excel sheet.

Sighing in defeat, he glances at the clock. It’s only been an hour.

“Fuck.”

He pulls his phone out, thumb hovering over the screen. Your contact information is in his phone, right? The silence in his office is deafening. It presses in on him as he stares at his phone, unseeing. Why didn’t he have your phone number? Shouldn’t a boyfriend have their-

A knock at the door startles him. He drops his phone, mumbling an apology as he bends down to get it before righting himself and looking at his director.

“How are you feeling?”

Yoongi shrugs. “A little off.”

And… it’s true. Yoongi’s head hurts suddenly, a migraine slamming on the confines of his skull. His too-bitter coffee burns in his stomach. The back of his neck feels too hot and his hands shake as he puts his phone on his desk.

“You don’t look too well. Maybe take the day?”

Yoongi nods. Sways a little when he stands up to retrieve his things and turns his computer off. On the drive home, the headache recedes a little. He grips the wheel tight, taking deep breaths as he tries to steady the feeling in the pit of his stomach.

In the drive, Yoongi takes a deep breath. The pressure in his head is gone and his stomach doesn’t feel as rotten as it did twenty minutes ago. He makes a mental note to look up his symptoms when he gets inside – perhaps he has the flu. It won’t do to feel this way before his client’s quarterly financial reports are due.

Thankfully, when Yoongi steps into his house, he feels much better.

Feels fine as he drops to his knees in the entryway, tongue buried hungrily in your cunt as he presses you hard against the door, drinking in every drop. Above him, you tremble and cry, begging him never to leave again.

When you cum on his tongue, creamsicle sweet, he thinks he never will.

-

Pain shoots up Yoongi’s foot as he stubs his toe making his way to the bathroom. He can barely see in his room now that he has fixed the curtains – and put blackout ones at your request – and the floor is covered with his shoes and chargers and boxes of snacks you keep in his bedroom like a nest.

He has never in his life seen someone with an appetite for junk food like you – especially sweets.

Yoongi opens the bathroom, the gentle, white glow of the night light casting a dull halo against the whitewash walls. He glances in the mirror and his heart launches into his throat. His hand slams against the door for balance and a moment of terror bleeds him dry when he sees the shadow behind him, white teeth flashing and red eyes.

Whirling around, Yoongi’s hand shoots for the light, painfully jamming fingers against stucco. He manages to flip the switch while his heart pulses in his throat, terror working its way through him like an injection straight into his cardiovascular system.

Light spills into the room, so bright that he flinches, closing his eyes for a second. When he opens them, there’s nothing. It’s just his messy room, covered in clothes, empty and half-full bottles of lube, a generous amount of junk food, and you.

Asleep. Soft against his pillows, lips parted slightly.

Breathing a huge sigh of relief, Yoongi chastises himself and shuts the bathroom door. A few splashes of cold water from the tap do the trick, calming him down and cooling the red splotches of anxiety blooming on his neck.

When he returns to bed, your hands seek his warmth, making grabbing motions even in sleep. He indulges you, sliding closer. Tucking you into his chest. You hum in your sleep, that vibrating feeling that lives just under your skin ever-present.

Gently you lean forward, mouth seeking as you press your lips against the soft spot under his ear. He shivers as the innocent kiss turns into a soft suckle, pulling skin between teeth your tongue pressed against his flesh. But you don’t wake up. You seem content to lay in his arms with the gentle pull of your mouth against his skin, smelling like cedar. Jasmine. Amber.

And he falls asleep, moment of terror forgotten.

-

Yoongi has a problem.

Time management was always one of his strong suits. As someone who lived an organized little life in an organized little home, he thrived on order, repetition of days, and knowing what to expect each day.

Except now Yoongi never remembers what day it is. He hardly remembers how he spends his day. But what he does remember are moments with you. Bodies against bodies. The press of his fingers in your sticky cunt. Your curious fingers, pressing into the tight rim of his ass, pulling out orgasms so deep that it takes him hours to move.

Now, you’re pressed against him on the couch, eyes fixed on the TV. He watches you and you watch the screen, completely focused on the world of Spirited Away. His lips twitch in a smile and he yawns. You snuggle closer to him, nearly attached. It’s second nature to you, to fasten yourself to him. He doesn’t mind, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

When Yoongi’s phone rings, it interrupts everything. You immediately hiss, looking toward the ringing device on the counter. He can’t remember the last time his phone rang but he begins to lift himself off of the couch.

Your fingers dig in. “Finish the movie.”

It’s a demand. He laughs as your brow pinches. “I’ll be right back, let me just see who it is.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“Why don’t you want to watch the movie with me?”

Your voice has grown small again. Not the sultry purr he is used to in the middle of the night when you mouth at his cock, hard before he’s even awake. Not the demanding crack of a whip when you order him to come.

This voice is tiny, a soft thing that immediately draws him to look at you. He cradles your face, your big eyes looking at him with tears rimming them. His stomach drops and he hushes you, thumbs brushing back and forth.

“Fuck – baby why are you crying?”

“Why don’t you want to watch the movie, Kitty?”

“Hey, Kitty wants to watch the movie.” He croons and you pull yourself into his lap, arms going around his neck and winding in his hair. He keeps a soft grip on your face, eyes searching. That thrum is just beneath the surface, like a beating heart. “I just have to answer the phone, baby. I still want to watch the movie.”

You shake your head. “You don’t.”

“Of course I do.”

It isn’t often that Yoongi upsets you. He vaguely recalls one time when he left for work, you had been a bit sad. But ever since he’d started working from home – wait, he works from home? He shakes the question from his thoughts, saving it for later.

It isn’t often that Yoongi upsets you. He vaguely recalls one time when he left for work, you had been a bit sad. And now you sit on his lap and he hates himself for the way a tear slips down your face, turned into a diamond from the reflection of the TV.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, heart aching in his chest. He leans back. He pulls you flush against his chest. You tuck your face in his neck, your favorite spot to nuzzle and he feels the gentle tuck of your mouth, the tiny suckle of your teeth against his neck. Your comfort.

It isn’t often that Yoongi upsets you. He vaguely -

He doesn’t remember. What was he thinking about? He doesn’t know.

Yoongi loops his arms around you and squeezes you tight. And his eyes flutter shut, suddenly tired and lulled to sleep by the gentle pull of your mouth on his skin.

-

“Come look at this cat,” Yoongi laughs, crouching down on the back porch. The tabby rubs itself between his legs, purring as it twists figure eights. “It’s so friendly, baby. Come say hi.”

Night sky stretches over the city. It’s colder outside – almost Halloween, maybe. Yoongi lost the calendar in his house and he only turns the computer on if he has to sign on for work, which he rarely does these days.

You peek from the door, looking at the cat rubbing its face on Yoongi’s hand. He looks up at you and smiles. You’re swimming in a sweater of his, though your legs are bare. His mouth waters at the thought of tasting you again – he can’t ever get enough, licking the sweetness from between your thighs only to finish by fucking himself into you until he blacks out.

The blackouts happen more after sex now.

“He’s sweet,” Yoongi promises, holding out another hand to you. “Like you.”

Tentatively, you step outside of the door. The floorboard creaks under your step, drawing the cat’s attention. It happens so fast that Yoongi falls from his crouched position, sitting abruptly on the floor. The cat lets out a terrible sound, somewhere between a horrible yowl and a hair-raising hiss.

A blur of claws and teeth, Yoongi yells as the sharp talons catch him, letting the cat go. It becomes a streak of fur and screeching, vanishing from the yard.

You rush to him, dropping down to hold his scratched hands, blood surfacing.

“No!” You look up at him, holding his hand gently to your chest. He feels the strange hum, the heartbeat that… isn’t a beating heart as much as a constant buzz. “Are you okay, Kitty? You’re hurt.”

“It’s okay.” He smiles. The fear in your eyes is heartwarming. You love him – he knows this. He feels it. “Sorry it startled you.”

-

Autumn sun beats down on Yoongi as he goes to peel logs from the stack of firewood in the backyard. As he jogs down the steps, he slows, frowning. There’s a dead tabby at the foot of the stairs, broken body and dark blood smeared underneath.

“Weird,” he mutters, rushing to get some firewood. “I’ve never seen cats here before. Poor thing.”

When he goes back inside the house, he sees you sitting on the counter. Spread. Finger tracing up and down glistening folds, swollen cunt begging for his mouth. Yoongi drops the wood. He zeros in, licking his lips as you spread your legs a little wider.

“What a perfect fucking pussy,” Yoongi grins. “That for me?”

You nod. “Please, Kitty.”

Yoongi forgets about the dead cat.

-

“I want candy.” Yoongi looks up at you, brows raised. You’re standing in the middle of the aisle at the grocery store, chewing your bottom lip as you look at him with hopeful eyes. Yoongi immediately softens. Feels his heart flutter. “Is that okay?”

“Sure.” He looks up at the aisle names. “It’s three aisles over. Can you get what you want while I go back and get milk? I forgot.”

You hesitate for a moment, a moment of fear on your face. Before he can brush away your fears with a simple kiss, you take a deep breath and give him your bravest smile. He preens, proud as you give a confident nod and dart off in the direction of candy.

Yoongi is impressed by you. Leaving the house is hard for you – always has been. The two of you mostly stay inside, locked in your little world. Yoongi likes it that way. Loves knowing after dinner you’ll be nested on the couch, watching him with inquisitive eyes and asking him to put on a new show or to continue the anime you’ve been binging.

Every new experience for you brings stars to your eyes. He loves that about you – loves the way you go awestruck while watching old anime that Yoongi adores, or the way you hum and spin in circles to music he shows you.

Yoongi remembers hearing once that people live many lives. He thinks that if that’s true, you must be in your first life, curious about everything. Surprised by the world. And he gets to watch it over and over, the way you grin when something startles you or when you furiously pout because you don’t like something.

Grocery store trips are new for you. The first time, you’d been stitched to his side, refusing to separate from him. Cagey and flashing mean eyes at everyone. Now, though, Yoongi doesn’t worry as he pulls open one of the glass doors in the cold section, looking for milk.

“Yoongi?” He turns mid-reach for a carton of milk, the cold air hitting him in the face and turning his cheeks pink, glass frosting with the humidity rushing into the fridge. Taehyung is standing behind him, hands shoved into pockets. “Holy shit it is you.”

Yoongi gives Taehyung a funny smile, pulling the milk from the fridge and adding it to his cart. “Why wouldn’t it be? How are you?”

“Dude, how are you? You don’t answer anyone’s calls, I heard you started working at home from some sort of illness, and you refuse to answer your door when we come by.” Taehyung’s face is picture-perfect concern, brown eyes fixed on Yoongi, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. “Why can’t you tell us what’s going on? It’s been weeks.”

“What are you talking about? I talked to you two weeks ago.”

Taehyung cocks his head. His brows furrow and an unsettling feeling flips Yoongi’s stomach. He remembers the call exactly. Recites their conversation back to Taehyung, but before Yoongi can finish, his friend is shaking his head.

“We never had that conversation, Yoongi.”

Taehyung takes a step closer. Yoongi’s heart starts pounding. He remembers talking to Taehyung. He had been standing in the kitchen when his phone rang, and you had handed him his phone. Yoongi remembers because he had been half-paying attention to the conversation, transfixed by the way your eyes caught the light and the way you watched him catch up with Taehyung.

But… another thought swirls in Yoongi’s mind. A vision of you slamming the phone down on the counter, shattering it. Yoongi begging you to stop – stop something ­– and then your soft lips on him.

He shakes his head, setting the thoughts free.

“What’s going on?” Taehyung asks, moving past his cart to get closer. Yoongi backs up. He doesn’t know why, but it’s automatic. He feels panic surge as Taehyung pauses. “Are you sick or-“

Maybe he is. Yoongi knows he talked to Taehyung and yet… doubt wiggles into his mind. Eats at it like a worm. There feels like there is a box somewhere tucked in the recesses of his memory, shielded and without a key. If he applies pressure on it, he gets a headache.

Licking his lips, Yoongi places his trembling hands on the cart. Looks at Taehyung. Sees the pleading in his friend’s eyes. Yoongi opens his mouth to ask when Taehyung thinks they last spoke and -

“Kitty?”

Your soft voice cuts the anxiety in half. Yoongi’s thoughts ease as you appear a few feet away from them, bags of candy in hand. Your doll face morphs into unease when you look at Taehyung. Yoongi wonders why that is – you’ve talked to Taehyung plenty of times. You encourage Yoongi to call him.

“You?” Taehyung asks. The vehemence in his voice startles Yoongi. “You’re still around? Jesus Yoongi, have you been shacked up with some girl you met at a bar this entire time?”

Words have consequences. Taehyung’s immediately has an effect, your expression going from soft and sweet to something that makes Yoongi’s hands grip the push-bar on the cart tightly.

“He has nothing to do with it.” Your voice is a layered hiss. A tingle slides down Yoongi’s neck – familiar and dangerous. He has the sudden urge to bolt, but his feet are rooted to the ground as you advance, putting yourself between the two men. “Yoongi hasn’t been feeling well. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“I’m one of his best friends!”

Taehyung is one of his best friends. And Jimin. And Seokjin. Yoongi remembers sitting on a stool at Serendipity, listening to Old Ass Han tell him some superstition about female demons who snatched one of his sons in the middle of the night. Jimin had laughed so hard and made Old Ass Han so mad that Jimin covered his tab for the night.

It was such a funny memory that the next Halloween, Jimin had dressed up as a sultry, female demon. Yoongi vaguely recalls laughing with them into the night, especially when Jimin picked up a guy to go home with that night.

Yoongi is full of those memories – at least he was. He thinks he is.

The little place in his mind that feels inaccessible cracks a little and Yoongi winces, a headache splitting him open. He clutches his temple as a bolt of pain lances through his skull. Then your hands are on him, gentle and cradling his face. You’re saying something but he can’t hear you over the high-pitched ringing in his ears.

Colors dance across his vision as Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut, trying to pant through the pain. The pain doesn’t come from that tiny little box in his mind – it comes from somewhere else. Pulling him away from whatever is hidden there, in that dark little forgotten corner.

Suddenly, it becomes too much and darkness swallows him whole.

The last thing Yoongi remembers is the gentle kiss of your mouth on his neck.

-

Yoongi has a problem.

He’s getting headaches all the time. Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night with them, sharp pain digging behind his eyes. It always worsens when he tries to recall the dreams he has before he wakes up – he knows he has dreams. They’re on the tip of his tongue. But the more he thinks about them, the more he tries to draw up what he imagined, the more the pain grows.

The bed sinks as you crawl in next to him. It’s too hot in bed. Sheets cling to Yoongi’s skin. He feels like there’s a furnace under the mattress, burning through and making everything sweaty and sticky. He shifts a little away from you – your body is always warm, skin heated with the thrum of energy beneath the surface.

Cedar. Jasmine. Amber. Your scent swells as you tuck yourself close to him. Not touching, but Yoongi can sense you there, an awareness tingling along his skin. It’s happened a few times, where a second awareness blinks an eye open and Yoongi feels on edge. Like there is suddenly an instinct inside of him that has awakened, one he is unfamiliar with.

That awareness yawns. Blooms at the back of his mind, where that same throbbing ache has settled. Yoongi tries to steady his breathing, but he can feel his pulse against his pillow, thumping faster and faster as your cloying scent muddles his thoughts.

You don’t say anything. You don’t reach out and touch him. You just lay there, silent and omnipresent. Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut, and for the first time in a very long time, he wishes that you would go to the other room and watch TV. You love watching TV. Sometimes he finds you sitting in front of it on the floor, knees tucked to your chest, chin on top of your knees while you watch a variety of shows.

Though it seems you have settled on Tokyo Ghoul as your favorite.

“Kitty?” you whisper. He holds his breath. Perhaps if he pretends he is asleep, you’ll go to sleep too. Long beats of silence stretch between you, filled only with the sound of Yoongi’s measured breathing. “I’m sorry.”

He pauses. “Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

Yoongi swallows past a knot in his throat. Every muscle in his body is clenching. His fingers are fisted in his blankets, and he’s curled into a ball. He doesn’t remember feeling so braced. He tries to relax, letting himself melt in the bed a little.

“For what?”

“You… need space.”

He doesn’t need to turn around to hear the tremble in your voice. You sniffle a little. The lamp on his bed flickers, catching his attention. He watches the flicker of the bulb as you cry softly behind him. He wants to turn around – wants to gather you in his arms and tuck you into his chest and yet… he doesn’t.

“A little,” Yoongi admits softly.

“Okay.”

Licking his lips, Yoongi steels himself. He rolls over in bed to look at you. You’re buried in one of his hoodies and the blanket he likes to sleep with on the couch. He can barely make out your cherubic face. Your round eyes blink at him, pools of light in the darkness of the hoodie and blanket.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Okay.”

He softens. It’s not so warm in the bed anymore, so he reaches across the space, finding your hand clutched in the blanket. You let him pry your fingers open and he traces your palm. “Just a little space, okay? I can sleep on the couch tonight.”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Baby-“

“I’m not tired.”

Your voice is firm. He knows that voice – it’s the one that precedes a tantrum if he’s not careful. He nods, pulling a hand away and sighing, closing his eyes. He is tired. He realizes just how tired he is.

“Good night, Kitty.”

-

Most days it’s easier to placate you.

Yoongi feels like he is worn at the edges. Hot water runs down his neck, his back. Relieves a deep ache that has begun to grow on his bones, pained turned lichen. He feels like a watercolor painting with too much liquid medium, running at the edges and blurring across a once-beautiful canvas.

Sleep comes every night, but Yoongi still wakes up tired. He misses meetings even though he has been working from home for… however long. He doesn’t know where his cell phone is. He lost it somewhere in the house – doesn’t need it much.

Water drips onto the floor as he steps out of the shower. He watches it run down milky legs, soaking into the towel. Steam permeates the air and slicks across the mirror, Yoongi’s reflection as opaque and bleary as he feels.

Yoongi heaves a heavy yawn, wiping a hand across the steam in preparation to shave. When his eyes look up at the three-paneled mirror, a shadowed creature with rows of gnashing teeth and red eyes is behind him.

A scream rips its way out of his throat, the terror is so awful that Yoongi’s knees buckles. He hits the tile hard, head smacking the cabinet. His world explodes into color as he blinks the stars from his eyes, scrambling with damp legs, slipping uselessly on the steamed tile as he backs himself into the corner of the wall and sink.

There’s nothing there. Just an open doorway.

For a few seconds, it’s just Yoongi’s heart pounding so hard that his stomach roils. He fumbles for the toilet, flipping the lid and rolling to his knees to heave the contents of dinner into the bowl. He gasps for air, stinging his vomit-burned throat as he throws up again. Stomach-churning. Lungs screaming.

When he flushes and settles against the bathtub, he hears the TV in the living room. Cool air drifts in from his bedroom. He closes his eyes and takes in deep breaths, counting in for seven and out for seven. There’s the soft patter of your feet on the carpet, and he can sense you in the doorway.

His spine always tingles when you’re around.

“Kitty? Are you okay?”

“Don’t feel good.”

“Oh kitty,” you whisper. He keeps his eyes closed. You slide closer to him and your hands are warm. When they touch his face, he feels a little energy pour back into him and he opens his eyes. You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, still. “I’m sorry.”

“Why sorry?”

You chew on your lip. “I’m sorry.”

It feels like you say that a lot these days. Yoongi nods his head and closes his eyes again as you lean forward and press yourself to his side, giving him a gentle kiss.

-

The headache is bad. But he has to know. Lays in his bed writhing in the sheets.

Ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts.

Memories crack across his mind, each one hurting more than the last.

A creature of shadow. Blacking out after sex. A dead cat that hadn’t always been dead. Your innocent eyes. Your angry eyes. You smashing his phone to pieces. A doctor forging him a medical note. Blood on your hands and face as you came out of the doctor’s office.

-

For the first time in a long time, Yoongi has energy. He feels more himself. Clearer. He gets up early in the morning and makes himself coffee. He sees you lurking near the fridge, throwing him wary glances. You’re a little more worn than usual: sallow cheeks, bags under your eyes. Your eyes are as starry.

When he asks you what’s wrong, you don’t answer. You duck into the bedroom and shut the door firmly behind you. He stares, a little confused and hurt before sighing. You’re touchy sometimes, and on the days like this where you’re more like a feral cat than a preening girlfriend, he knows to keep his distance.

Yoongi shrugs and tosses the sugar packet in the trash, frowning. There are empty bottoms of foam that are stained red - meat packages, he realizes. He doesn’t recall having steak at all this week, but perhaps you’re thawing it in the fridge for dinner.

He shrugs and goes to his office, leaving you to your devices.

A morning meeting kickstarts his day, and Yoongi forgets about it.

-

Yoongi has a problem.

You’re worse. You don’t want to come out of his room and you won’t go near the light. There are harsh lines around your eyes and he swears your teeth are sharper. More lethal. You won’t sleep in the same bed as he is.

Worst of all? Yoongi feels great. Feels like perhaps it was just a depressive episode he was in. He no longer feels like he is melted together at the edges, barely hanging on. But it does mean that he’s getting frustrated with you.

“Feral,” he mutters as he walks into his office after you snarled at him and then proceeded to cry because you wanted him to take the day off. “Sometimes I swear she is feral.”

-

Soft lips wake Yoongi up in the middle of the night. He stirs, feeling a tingle run down his spine. He can smell cedar, jasmine and amber and smiles. You’re pressed against him, mouth seeking his delicately, though there is some urgency behind your kisses.

Yoongi opens his mouth to you, an invitation. You suck his tongue into your mouth greedily and arousal shoots to his cock, your mouth doing wonders on his tongue. Fuck he knows you like to suck him off like that too, all greedy and sloppy and spit-slicked.

Your hands pull at his shirt and you kiss him with more fervor, lips becoming teeth, moans becoming hisses. When Yoongi rolls onto his back, pulling your hips on top of him, the dynamic changes.

A gasp escapes his kiss-bruised lips, eyes flying open as you mark his throat. Harsh stings of teeth followed quickly by lavish licks of your tongue. It’s messy and you leave a trail of spit dripping down his neck, making him squirm underneath you, cock tight against his pajama shorts.

“Fuck,” he moans when you suck that spot under his ear he loves. “Greedy devil.”

“Yes,” you shoot back, voice firm. Your hands seek his, pulling them from where they massage your ass to pin them above his head, your grip iron. “Please.”

There’s no way she’s human.

Taehyung’s words flash through Yoongi’s mind when he looks up at you. Your pupils are dilated, two black disks that absorb the barest hint of light in the room. He shivers, afraid of falling into your dark eyes and never finding his way back home.

Have your eyes always been that soulless? No, he thinks.

“Please,” you say again. “Please let me have you.”

He frowns. “You can always have me.”

You shake your head. “Not always. Too much. I take… I take too much. But now not enough. I just…” Your lip trembles and where you hold his wrist begins to ache. He whimpers and you hush him, your fingers loosening a little. “I just need some. Not a lot.”

It’s hard to understand what you’re asking for. Yoongi is lost in the sensation of fluttering in his stomach and the way blood rushes through his body. He feels high when you dip one of your hands below the waistband of his pajamas, taking a hold of his cock in your hand, thumb brushing precum from the tip.

You always take care of Yoongi. His eyes flutter shut as he feels a steady static build in his brain. Your touch is careful but deliberate, each stroke of your hand and squeeze of his shaft sending him spinning. His hips twitch under you.

When you shift down his body, he lifts his lower half off the bed, kicking at the sheets and letting you tug his bottoms down. He’s shaking and eager, unable to look down at you when you take him fully in your hand, tongue tasting the stickiness at his tip.

“Fuck,” he whispers. His hands are still above him, twisted in the pillowcase. He leaves them there, helpless as you tongue the head of his dick before sucking it into your mouth. Your tongue is gentle and your mouth is warm, the barest of sucks making him whine. “Don’t tease me.”

You hum and the vibrations make him speechless. His head rolls to the side, mouth parted, panting as he sees stars. You suck him eagerly, messily. He hears the wet pull of your mouth, the choked cough of your throat when you take him in deep and swallow.

Gentle nails scratch down his legs. He feels like he’s disconnected from the rest of the world, a single strand tethering him as he floats. He babbles as you take him in deep, a hand reaching down below his balls, a single, shy finger pressing against his tight rim.

Everything inside of Yoongi goes taught. He comes immediately and without warning. Spills in your mouth and the world fades away. There is nothing where he goes. No memories, no thoughts, no anxiety. It’s just Yoongi and he feels good – the kind of warm from a bubble bath laden with creams and salts.

Eventually, he comes back down. Opening his eyes, Yoongi sees you blink down at him. You smile, brushing light finger strokes over flushed cheeks. He grins up at you, elated. Hypnotized. You’re so… he doesn’t know the word.

There’s no way she’s human.

That phrase makes Yoongi’s smile falter. You are exquisite. Shrouded in darkness. Yoongi feels the press of unfamiliar air. When he looks beyond you, there’s just darkness. There is nothing. No light streams in from the window again. There is no soft hum of the nightlight in the bathroom where he usually leaves the door open now.

It’s just you.

Yoongi’s heart begins to speed up, panic rising.

You kiss him softly. It’s sweet and his anxiety melts away. Feels the weight of you on your hips, wet pussy dripping on his thigh. You’re being patient, which surprises him. Usually by now you’re needy, grinding your cunt on his thigh to seek friction.

“I want more,” you whisper against his mouth, fingers pressed into his cheeks. “Will you give me more?”

He nods. You lick his mouth, sighing contentedly as you roll your hips on his thigh. He moans, feeling the glide of your bare folds against his leg. You are always so ready for him, eager to take him. Easy to please. Excited to take what you want.

Shaking above him, you bury your face in his neck. Yoongi slides his hands from their position above his head, resting one hand on your thigh and sliding the other between your legs. Sticky arousal greets him, his fingers brushing up and down your cunt as you stop grinding, letting him take control.

“Kitty,” you beg, words muffle in his neck. He grins, eyes half-lidded as he plays with you. “Please, Kitty.”

Yoongi sinks two fingers in your greedy hole, feeling the way your walls flutter around him. It doesn’t matter how many times he buries his fingers, cock or tongue in you – every time is divine. Feels like something holy, taking him somewhere else.

“Fuck yourself on my fingers,” he murmurs, pressing a thumb to your clit. “Come on, baby. Wanna see you make a mess on my hands first.”

“Want your cock.”

“Fingers first, baby. Come on, you can do it.”

A growl rips through your frame. Yoongi stills under you for a moment, heart skipping. But then you move your hips and he hears your soft breath. Feels the drip down his hand. He grins, feeling you swallow his fingers as you work yourself on him, his thumb circling your clit lazily.

Nails dig into his thighs as you lean backward, spreading yourself for him. He can barely make out your figure in the darkness, but he can see the swell of your chest, the line of your neck as you toss your head back, his name falling from flushed lips and floating up to the ceiling.

When you come, it’s wet and loud. He hums, pulling drenched fingers from your legs. He surges forward, surprising you and moving you backward, letting your head bounce near the foot of the bed as he cages you in, stealing a kiss.

You wrap your arms and legs around him, clinging and whining and rubbing against his thigh again, begging sweetly. No one has ever wanted Yoongi the way you do. Ever. He cannot recall a single time someone has been as vigorous in their pursuit.

It makes him hard again, the rush in his veins igniting once more as he slides into you. He pushes in to the hilt, settling there for a moment. You clench around him, clawing at the back of his neck and thrashing under him. Begging for more. Always wanting more. Swearing you just need a little more.

Yoongi sets a slow pace, stroking deep with a purpose. You gasp every time he fucks all the way into you. He grins against your sweaty neck, tongue licking a stripe up your salty skin. You turn your face and catch his mouth with yours, swapping more spit than kissing, moaning into one another’s mouths.

An orgasm winds tightly in Yoongi’s stomach. He feels it at the base of his spine this time, a second sense tingling as he picks up speed, slamming into you until you’re crying under him, babbling again in something that sounds like a language but isn’t quite.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck –“ He grits his teeth and the moment he comes, you squeeze him like a vice, shouting and pulling him into an orgasm so hard that he feels himself fall on top of you, the energy leaving him as quickly as his orgasm had gathered.

At some point, he falls asleep.

-

Hell on earth is waking up battered and torn at the seams. You’re out in the living room, enjoying an early morning episode of Tokyo Ghoul again. He hears you giggle at the TV and he lifts his head in the shower. The rush of the hot water is loud, but the sound of you laughing is in his head.

It always feels like you’re in his head.

Yoongi stumbles when he gets out of the shower. His feet are heavy and there is pain behind his eyes. The throbbing kind that makes him turn the lights out and shoot a text to work telling them he needs a sick day. How many sick days has he had this year? He has no idea.

Yoongi stumbles to the mattress and collapses into the sheets. Everything feels heavy like he is made of glass bones with the weight of the world threatening to break him.

Sleep comes and goes. It doesn’t make him less tired. Yoongi places a hand on his forehead.  He is not over-warm, but he wants to cry, the ache in every muscle so real that it takes him several tries to say your name.

You appear immediately, hovering at the edge of the bed in his hoodie, wrapped in a blanket.

“Are you feeling sick, Kitty?” He nods and you sniff. “I’m so sorry, Kitty… do you want some water?”

Yoongi nods again and you vanish. He rolls onto his back, groaning. He reaches for his phone. The screen is cracked from some incident or another, but it’s mildly legible as he searches his symptoms online.

When you come back with water, he thanks you with a sweet kiss and smiles when you lick his nose affectionately before darting out of the room again. He hears the show start again.

Carefully, Yoongi tries to sit up a bit. The water is cooled with two cubes – just the way he likes it – and it helps staunch the thirst. He drains the entire glass, but still, he aches with exhaustion that has no name.

Every combination he can think of brings Yoongi undesirable results. He has the fatigue of many different illnesses, but not any of the others. Mono seems the most likely, but still, it doesn’t feel right.

Yoongi considers and then types a new search: constant exhaustion after sex.

The results make him roll his eyes. He knows he’s going to get several ads for erectile dysfunction medication, but he scrolls anyways. Maybe he’s just fucking you that hard. But he does remember blacking out after sex and… well he never feels great the next day.

Slowly tapping through pages, Yoongi sighs. There’s nothing that provides much thought beyond Yoongi knowing he’s had too much sex. You’re a starving little thing, constantly wanting –

A word catches his attention: succubus.

Yoongi snorts when he opens the article. It’s a weird string of evangelical stories and musings, and overly sexualized depictions of female demons with generous breasts, shapely figures, and cute little bat wings.

The succubus needs sexual desire and energy to survive. He scoffs and wonders what heterosexual male wrote that dream.

Repeated sexual activity with a succubus will result in a bond being formed between the succubus and the host.

“Romantic,” Yoongi deadpans, scrolling up to close out the article. But a drawing catches Yoongi’s eye - a shadowy figure with rows and rows of teeth and red eyes. “Huh.”

Clicking on it, the page loads to a Reddit thread. Yoongi curses when he has to download the app, but his fingers move of their own volition, tapping across the screen as he creates a login and reopens the thread.

There are streams and streams of comments and links on the thread, a little overwhelming. As expected, it sounds like most heterosexual men overly-sexualizing women or asking about roleplaying – and yet, there’s a thread with a lot of upvotes that he clicks on.

Loss of time. Constantly exhausted. Nightmares of shadow creatures following me. Yoongi licks his lips, feeling his mouth go dry as he continues. Blackouts after sex. Not able to remember life before meeting entity. Dead animals –

“Kitty?” Yoongi flinches, dropping the phone on his stomach, hand covering his chest as his heart pounds in his ribcage. You blink in surprise, cocking your head where you stand in the doorway. A sense of dread draws a slow finger down Yoongi’s spine as he stares at you. “Do you want to come watch with me? We can put on Spirited Away.”

Loss of time. Constantly exhausted. Nightmares of shadow creatures-

“Kitty?” Yoongi has waited too long to reply. He nods his head and clears his throat. He wants to laugh at how ridiculous he’s being, shoving the phone away from him as he slowly peels himself out of bed. You grin and hold out a hand. “Thanks.”

-

Like a cat, you’re curled on the couch. Yoongi gives you a wide berth as he walks to his office. Night has passed into morning, and the flash of the screen lights the way as he opens the door, slipping through a tiny crack before he closes it softly and firmly behind him.

While watching movies, Yoongi could not help but think about the thread he had seen. He doesn’t turn the light on, too afraid of it showing under the door and tipping you off where he is.

Fear settles in the pit of his stomach. His hands are shaky as he wakes up the mouse, the computer light nearly blinding in the dark room. He jams the settings on the keyboard, turning it down a bit as he settles into the chair, taking a few breaths.

It feels ridiculous. You’re his girlfriend, not a sex-craving demon. But Yoongi finds the thread again anyways, clicking through and going back to that original subthread of people claiming to have survived an encounter with a succubus.

Time doesn’t seem to pass as Yoongi reads. He leans on his hand, eyes burning as he clicks through story after story.

Met at a bar – she was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I never remember going home with her, but my life was suddenly consumed by her. I lost my job and my friends. Felt good at first, but started getting headaches any time I would try to remember something. And she was always around, always lurking around every corner.

Yoongi clicks on to the next one, stomach flipping nervously.

- I ran into a friend and she swore we hadn’t spoken in months. I remember talking to her but it felt like… they were false memories. Like I didn’t really do those things. It was strange, but I forgot again after a while.

Taehyung’s face flashes in Yoongi’s mind. His palms get sweaty as he navigates the mouse, leaning closer toward the screen. A nervous beat starts to drum up in his heart as he pours over the words and the accounts of others.

The evidence is damning, but it can’t be possible, right?

Yoongi thinks of Old Ass Han telling the story of his son being swept up by a she-demon. Yoongi doesn’t think the story is very funny anymore, and the thought of Jimin dressing up as one makes him nauseous.

Carefully, he navigates to another thread.

I was lucky. She didn’t want to kill me, but she was constantly hungry for more energy that I didn’t have. She would get cagey and feral, hissing at me and hiding in the dark, like she was weaker in the sun when she wasn’t fed. I would find packs and packs of meat rotting in the garbage like she was trying to get her fix elsewhere.

I hope that you take this thread seriously. They are real. And while they look and talk like people, they aren’t. They might grow attached to you, but they don’t love you. You are a meal – and if your succubus is only feeding off of sex, it’s only a matter of time before they need more.

Think Jennifer’s Body, people.

Yoongi has never seen that movie before. He clicks away from the thread and pulls up the trailer. It seems a little ridiculous, but he gets the idea. Sex, eat the guy, move on to the next. But you certainly have never tried to eat him.

So Yoongi clicks back to the thread and searches for something new. How to get rid of a succubus.

He leans back while the page loads, switching to a white screen. This bright, the monitor reflects what’s in front of it, Yoongi’s round and tired face, pale from lack of sleep, and a looming shadow behind him. His stomach plummets and he goes rigid in the chair, frozen with fear.

Yoongi smells cedar. Jasmine. Amber.

"Kitty is looking at bad things,” you sniffle. Your shadow grows in the computer monitor and Yoongi swears he sees the white flash of teeth before his world turns red. "I loved you, Kitty."

[vasito-de-leche]

I saw your post regarding the Self-Aware R1999!AU and it was good and mind-blowing! Now I'm wondering how will it go with 6 or 37 regaining consciousness, considering that they're always seeking for the "truth", and maybe the Reader's existence would heighten the quest for the truth more!

;R1999 37 - Self Aware AU

Headcanons about how 37 would act upon becoming self-aware. Related to this Self-Aware AU post.

I RECENTLY FINISHED 6'S ANECDOTE, SO NOW I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS THIS ASK IS A GREAT EXERCISE TO GET THE BRAIN GOING o7

this post only contains 37, since it got a little long and I didn't know how to format it the usual way because I LOVE rambling and rambling. I think there's another ask somewhere about 6 in the self-aware AU, so I'll get to that one soon!

also I think this post is impossible to read if you haven't read chapter 5 at least, bc I use a lot of the terms used in Apeiron!

37 is such an interesting character. Okay okay, bear with me for a bit while I get all of my 37 thoughts out of my brain!

I feel like people downplay how cruel or detached she can be. Because of her innate ability to see numbers in everyone and everything, essentially seeing "the truth" and being able to provide Proof to support her claims, 37 lives disconnected from her entire community while also being upheld as a genius and beacon of progress. She's the "Star of Hermes," after all.

A lot of her character focuses on this alienation and "othering," how her mindset and beliefs set her apart from others as she cannot understand the importance of soul numbers from an emotional standpoint--like she says in the main story, she's always known she's 37. Everyone's known this. And she does not understand the importance of knowing WHY she's 37. She doesn't care about the traits assigned to each number, that is meaningless rhetoric to her, what matters is the final result. She's 37, and that's it. She upholds the purity of numbers, practically worships this pure aspect of the world of Forms. She's at her happiest when she talks about how numbers will always be numbers, no matter who tries to figure them out, or when or how.

And we also see the cruel aspect of her that I believe people overlook--37 admits that she enjoys revealing people's numbers because she wants to be the first to prove this truth. It's only near the end of Chapter 05 that she wonders, if only briefly, whether being the first to prove someone's number means that she knew the truth better. Other than that, she has absolutely NO trouble revealing Vertin's number, nor attempting to tell Sophia her own number as kids--and 37, while she does not care for the rhetoric of numbers and their assigned virtues, knows how much the journey of self-discovery means to her entire community. And she still chose to do this, because she does not see the value in the process.

This isn't to say that she's exclusively a cruel character nor a misguided little baby, I would say that she's cruel the same way a child can be--37 is a very lovely and complex character! I just think people take her cute appearance at face value and forget the extent of her abilities and her perception of the world.

In the context of a Self-Aware AU, I believe that this self-awareness would be recontextualized as yet another eternal truth for her. Her curiosity wouldn't be applied to this, because there is nothing to figure out--the world has always been a game, that's it. Instead of focusing on the emotional or existential aspects, 37 would focus instead on the "guidelines" that rule this fake world.

It would revolve around the mechanical aspects: she understands that every fight follows a set pattern, as this is a turn based combat game. She wants to know why some people stand out, why they're assigned as 6 or 5 or 4 or 3 or 2 stars. Why not a 1 star? Why not 10? Why this system in particular? Why doesn't Sophia have any stars? Is it because she hasn't figured out her number yet? No, that can't be, because 210 also lacks stars. And so on and so forth.

The focus will still be numbers, so she would be the perfect assistant for Players who care a lot about meta!

I'm also willing to say that 37 would be one of the very few characters who has no trouble at all coping with the fact that she's a character in a videogame. To know that she's a bunch of "code" wouldn't change a thing for her, because she was already 37 in the first place!

There is also the aspect of finding out that her mother's death (as well as Sophia's father) was scripted. I'm going on a long tangent here, so bear with me for a second.

I feel like... 37 would see that as a positive thing? First of all, we know that the death of everyone in that boat was caused because of a miscalculation from Sophia and 37's part, which is the catalyst for 37's Emanation research. I do believe that, even though 37 shows little to no (conventional) emotion in that specific moment, she still grieves and mourns in her own way--and the way she does that is by clinging onto the one thing that is left of her mother: her pneuma analysis and research, the computer that stopped working, the pattern of the "Storm". We are told that 37 became a recluse, isolating herself even more from her community, when her and her mother's research was proven to be wrong, that she only came out of her lab when Vertin and her team arrived. We see her muttering while unconscious in the cave with Vertin, calling out for her own mother and telling her that their research wasn't wrong, that they were right all along (because they were missing one vital piece of information that only an outsider like Vertin could deliver).

Second of all, we know that 37 does not understand nor care about fate, she does not care for wordplay that muddies the true essence of numbers. So she would not think that the death of all those people can be attributed to something as vague and nonsensical as "fate."

Third and final point of this tangent, 37 does not like to be proven wrong. Or rather, 6's character event shows us that, no matter what she's told or how she behaves, 37 will always believe that she's in the right.

With all of this in mind, I think that finding out that this accident was something scripted--that is to say, part of the "truth" (or canon, from our perspective) of this world--would reinforce 37's beliefs. This miscalculation was a mistake born from her former self, the 37 that did not truly understand the world, before she achieved self-awareness. And now that she's wide awake, there's no way that she could ever make a mistake like that ever again. If else, I can see her being mildly irritated that it took her this long to open her eyes, struggling with the fact that she's not the first person to become self-aware. And just like she casually reveals other people's numbers, she would dangle the knowledge of self-awareness in front of others instead of keeping it secret.

On the subject of finding out about the Player, I'm not quite sure how 37 would react. Sure, 37's life is ruled by the same dogma that rules everyone else within Apeiron, but her approach is devoid of that same spiritual and religious devotion that others like 210 carry. Like we see in 6's character event, 37 does not care about the importance of the number 6 nor whoever holds the title, because the "truth" is that everyone within that bloodline is going to inherit the title at some point or another. Compare this to 210, who treats the previous 6 (Atticus' aunt, Alma) with such reverence.

So perhaps that's how 37 would act, then? This "divine" figure is yet another 6 for her, someone who has all relevant knowledge, nothing more and nothing less.

I like to think that 37 is able to see the Player very clearly right away, the same way she can see people's numbers, whereas 6 is the one who can hear them clearly, the same way he inherits the Revelation from his ancestors.

And unless you're another super math genius like her, I can absolutely see 37 pouting about it. How come someone like you gets to be "outside" in the world of Forms? Maybe she becomes curious about finding "proof" of your world, to confirm whether you live in the world of Forms or something else entirely, perhaps yet another world of Matters, full of Fragments. Realizing that the world the Player lives in is practically identical to her own--minus the existence of integers and fractions, just a world full of imaginary numbers--would be a curious experience for 37.

I can also see 37 telling Vertin the Player's own soul number the moment she figures it out, perhaps as a way to repay the favour for the events of Chapter 05. Assuming she survives that bomb, I actually don't know what happens in Chapter 06 LMFAO....

Long story short, not many would realize that 37 has become self-aware, since her behaviour remains largely the same. And it wouldn't affect her as deeply as it affects other characters.

[marmorafarms]

NSFW Sebastian head canons

Hey hey hey! I shared my sfw head canons with all y'all regarding our number one boy Sebastian. But it has come to my attention that some nsfw ones should be shared as well!

I definitely have some spicy thoughts, but I'm going to put it under a read more because this post is...

18+ only! Please and thank you!

Okay now on to the fun stuff!

Okay, this first one isn't nsfw, but I need to put it here to provide context for the second bullet point. Sebastian refers to himself as "heteroflexible." That's because the only man he has ever been romantically or sexually interested in is Sam. Imagining himself with other guys makes him cringe, but Sam is different for some reason. (If your farmer is a man, he definitely has a major gay panic about it, and decides to come out as bisexual)

He discovered this in high school. He was 16, and someone made fun of him for never having kissed anyone. Sebastian complained to Sam about this when hanging out in his room after school. Sam said he could help out and give Sebastian his first kiss. After some consideration, Sebby agreed, and it ended with them both cumming in their pants after dry humping the shit out of each other.

Sebastian called himself a virgin up until he and the farmer had their first time together, specifically with penetrative sex. But he technically wasn't. He has given Sam plenty of blow jobs, and Sam has enthusiastically returned the favor.

The farmer laughed for approximately 10 hours when Sebastian told them this, and he tried to say "blow jobs don't count as sex!"

They definitely do Sebby. You just meant you hadn't had penetrative sex.

Sebby has what Sam calls "dick sucking lips." His mouth is definitely pretty. His lips are nice and full, and he likes having his lower lip bitten.

His nipples are super sensitive. He loves having them touched, licked, bitten, and sucked on. He can come untouched from nipple stimulation alone.

He loves giving oral. Pussy or dick, he doesn't care. He LOVES IT. He especially likes eating pussy because he can just keep going and give his partner multiple orgasms if they let him.

If he's sucking dick, he swallows every time. If his partner wants to give him a facial, he always sticks his tongue out in the hopes of getting some in his mouth

He is always down for a threesome. His preferred third is either Sam or Haley. The farmer is shocked by the revelation that he's dtf Haley, but Sebastian says it's because she's a freak in bed. Or so he's heard. And as it turns out, the rumors are very much true.

He enjoys getting pegged. He enjoys it A LOT.

Anal was never something that had even crossed Sebastian's mind, and he was against it as soon as it was suggested. This is true no matter what junk your farmer has. He doesn't see the appeal and doesn't think there is any way it could feel good.

When the farmer tells him about prostate stimulation, he agrees to try being fingered, but chickens out the first few times. But when it finally happens...he's obsessed.

He's pretty submissive in bed, but is a great dom when asked to play that role.

Loves tying people up and being tied up.

Likes breath play, but was insistent about doing copious amounts of research on how to do it properly.

He prefers to be the one choked, but will do it for you if you ask. Again, he refused to do it until he was positive he knew what he was doing.

Getting his hair pulled is a huge turn on for him. He will let out a truly pornographic moan if you pull it hard.

He does not like face fucking others, but enjoys having it done to him.

Sit on his face. Just do it. He absolutely loves it and will hold your hips TIGHT so that you can't budge an inch once your pussy is on his mouth.

His dick is on the thicker side, and he's a bit longer than average. He wouldn't refer to himself as hung, but he's a good size.

Going bareback was a goddamn religious experience for him, but it completely ruined sex with a condom for him. He'll wear one without complaint if asked, but it takes him a lot longer to even feel good, let alone cum.

Can and will wear anything you want him to. Costumes? Whatever you want. Lingerie? Just tell him your favorite color.

Loves to make out. Like yes, fucking is great, but he absolutely adores long make out sessions. They don't have to end with orgasms, but he won't complain if they do.

Has a huge thing for formal wear. As soon as you entered the farmhouse after the wedding, he was all over you.

Loves to take sex slow, but isn't opposed to a quickie if that's what you're in the mood for.

And that's what I have for right now! Let me know what you think!

[freshthoughts2020]

No More Big 3! What's Cole's Next Move?!?!

No More Big 3! What's Cole's Next Move?!?!

July 11, 2024

If you haven’t read my previous article, scroll down on the freshthoughts2020 tab and check it out. In that article, we discussed whether Kendrick’s feud with Drake might be pointless if he doesn’t aim for the commercial number one spot. With a clear task ahead for Kendrick (whether he follows it or not), we’re left to ask: What is Cole’s next move?

I.Cole's Strong Start in 2024

Cole came into 2024 in a great position in the power rankings and was a strong front-runner to take the lead. He outperformed Drake on “First Person Shooter,” went bar to bar with him again on “Evil Ways” from the “Scary Hours Edition of For All The Dogs,” and just completed a successful national tour.

II.The Apology and Its Aftermath

Cole was set to answer the call when he released his “Might Delete Later” EP. However, moments later, his infamous apology came, leading many people to write him off and not wanting to hear from him for a while. Then he reappeared on the bubbling New York sensation Cash Cobain’s track “Grippy,” which has been regarded as one of Cole’s worst verses. The verse wasn’t even bad, but if it wasn’t mind-blowing post-apology, any verse he penned was going to get panned anyway.

III.The Dismantling of the Big 3

The idea of the Big 3 has been dismantled. The world waits on a new K-dot album, ready to crown him as number one, while the Drizzy hive stands patient awaiting Drake’s inevitable return. Again, what is Cole to do?

IV.The Two-Part Plan for Cole's Comeback

I believe Cole has to do two things to ensure a great comeback and even get his name back into that front-runner conversation. We know he’s been hyping up his album The Fall Off, which is in a worse position post-beef. Here’s what he should do to make sure his album isn’t swept under the rug when it drops.

First, Cole has to address Symba. Why Symba? People may have forgotten about that freestyle he did on the “Control” beat, but it needs to be addressed. He sympathized with letting Nas down but went on to say he left Bas and Cozz down, the whole squad down. He slammed him for the apologies. Cole has to address how he didn’t have to clout beef with Kendrick, and most importantly, he has to spank Symba for even thinking he can say that. There are a few angles he can go with, but I probably shouldn’t reveal that. If Cole is capable like I know he is, he should know the angles too. There are plenty of lyricists who will probably make fun of that apology moving forward with general bars, but he needs to make Symba the poster child of what happens when you disrespect Cole.

He needs to do this because Symba has enough lyrical respect from peers and elder statesmen of hip-hop that he’s worth addressing, and because Symba doesn’t threaten Cole in popularity. It’s like Pusha T with Drake. Symba can scorch Cole until he’s blue in the face, but modern rap is a popularity contest, and Cole would never lose that. However, for this to be effective, Cole would have to scorch Symba as if he’s going up against JAY-Z himself—no mercy! If Cole does this, half of the two-part plan to dominance will be secured by everyone taking mental notes: “Maybe we shouldn’t mess with this guy; that apology stuff doesn’t really mean anything.”

The second thing Cole must do is very simple: hits on hits! He has to get into his Forest Hills bag. That’s far from my favorite project from him, but it’s his most commercially successful album, and his sound isn’t compromised! He should re-listen to that album hard while creating The Fall Off and study the singles from Vol. 2... Hard Knock Life. He needs smashes—songs for the radio!

With these two things working in unison, we’ll quickly forget the same people saying they “...never want to hear him again,” “he’s soft,” blah blah, will be the same people saying “oh Cole’s the G.O.A.T., Cole’s the G.O.A.T.”

These are only suggestions, and he can take these suggestions and stuff them up Rubi Rose’s ass for all he cares. But if he still cares and wants to get back in that conversation, he’s got to do something along these lines. It’s not even much, but it’ll be more than enough. Trust!

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[bird-inacage]

Hellooooo

Thank you for your response to my previous question! It helped me make sense of what was going on between Sand and Ray.

I’ve seen a lot of people who are sad that Ray and Mew seem to be a thing now and as a Sand/Ray shipper I totally understand — but I’m actually glad this happened.

There was a post that I read a couple days ago (I don’t remember where unfortunately) that basically said some people just need to date each other to realize that they do not work in a romantic relationship. Ray and Mew dating or doing anything like what we saw at the end of ep 7 is just going to be a dumpster fire of a relationship and it’s not going to end well. But I think this could actually be beneficial because if this pairing was inevitable, at least it’s getting it out of the way to (hopefully) make room for Sand/Ray. Though now there’s the likelihood that Sand won’t pursue something further with Ray even though he wants to because he doesn’t feel important to Ray as Ray has constantly chose Mew over him. Hmm.

I’m curious… what do you think about this whole mess? Do you think it could actually end up helping Sand/Ray become a thing? Ray/Mew blowing up in Ray’s face might end up pushing him back into Sand’s arms bc that boy is as unstable as the weather these days and honestly I’m just hoping Ray ends up okay 😬

- MA

Hello MA,

You're so welcome, and great questions!

I've seen that too, and I can't for the life of me remember who posted it (whoever you are - it's a great take!) The thing about unrequited love is the lack of closure. The person pining is going to continue entertaining the 'what if' because they have no proof of an outcome.

In terms of narrative, I do think Ray/Mew serves as a really valuable device. Ray can't consider a relationship with anyone else until he's gotten over Mew. For there to be any possibility of Ray/Sand, Ray needs to either let go or get it out of his system.

And we are getting the latter.

For Ray's own emotional development, he needs to understand a few vital things. One; Mew is human, not a saint. A great lesson overall in managing his expectations. Two; a romantic dynamic with Mew isn't necessarily superior than a friendship with him. I sense that Ray sees his friendship with Mew as a compromise or downgrade. But it could be just as fulfilling if he opened his mind to it. Mew has a clear idea of what he wants. So he hasn't returned Ray's pursuit of him because he can deduce why it wouldn't work. Yet, the fact Mew is now allowing it is not a compliment or means for celebration. He's purposely chosen an option he knows isn't good for him for that exact reason.

Ray has always put Mew first because he feels indebted to him 'I owe you my life (and my love too).' What Ray hasn't realised is you can still be thankful towards someone, and not have to always put them at number one. Those two things are not mutually exclusive.

So yes, I think once Ray experiences this all firsthand for himself, he'll finally be able to re-evaluate his feelings for Mew. And in doing so, acknowledge what feelings he may have for Sand. I picture it as Ray is wandering through the fog, aimlessly chasing a small ray of light. But what he really needs is for the fog to clear completely before choosing which direction he wishes to move ahead in.

---birdie

[sparrow-in-the-field]

Writer's Tag Game

Tagged by @strangethings-everywhere !! Thanks Anna!

Rules: Answer some or all of the questions below. Tag your fellow writers. Enjoy!

Link to your masterlist: I don't have a masterlist but here is my ao3! Not gonna bother linking my other ao3 account but if you ever want some BTS content just hmu and I got you lol.

Favorite and least favorite genres to write (angst/smut/fluff, etc): Favorite is for sure some hurt/comfort! Least favorite is any angst that doesn't have a happy ending, I just can't do it lol.

Favorite characters to write for? That's a hard question! I enjoy writing both Bobby and Don, it's hard to choose which I prefer lol; I've really been loving writing Bobby in The Cormorant though so maybe I'll say him. And Chuck Day! I looove writing Chuck, he was such a pleasant surprise when I wrote So Far So Good.

Which one of your works is your favorite? How am I supposed to pick one of my babies?? Lol. I mean, The Cormorant is so incredibly special and dear to me, I think that one will be my favorite for a long time even once it's finished. Out of my completed works, though, a kind of dark horse favorite is The Inherent Value of Warmth and Breath. I wrote that one soooo spontaneously but it turned out so well! I think it has a great balance of action and romance for just a little one shot.

Which one of your works is more popular than you thought it would be? It honestly still blows my mind that The Quiet Act of Loving Someone is the top kudos'ed fic in tbitb tag on ao3 (it just passed 200 kudos btw!! thanks for all the love! <3). Like I never thought something like that would happen with my fics.

Which one of your works is less popular than you thought it would be? So Far So Good my beloved!! I maybe went into it with too high expectations, because people had really loved Shy Boy, so I thought more people would be excited for a sequel. But alas, I guess Chuck/Roger isn't quite as popular. It still got some very nice love though, so I really can't complain!

Which one of your fics was hardest to write? Why? The Cormorant is definitely the hardest to write, but in a super rewarding way. There are just a lot of moving pieces (literally, with Bobby traveling lolol), and figuring out the timing of the month counting down, along with the balance of present day scenes, flashbacks, and dreams with Jack, it takes a lot of consideration for like, structure and organization. And then just thematically, it's very heavy and emotional to write. Which I love, it's so cathartic, but tbh sometimes I have to take breaks and think happy thoughts lol (such as post-fic fluff ideas for Bobby and Don hehe).

What is your favorite fanfic by someone else? Omg okay I'm limiting myself to three (and I'll try not to gush too much lol) but as Anna said there are so many amazing fics in our little fandom!! A huge favorite of mine is Someone Like You (I'm Ready) by teaforone ( @teaforarteza ) on ao3. This fic had me in an absolute chokehold and I still think about it to this day; the messy start, the stakes, the love confessions, the smut?? People died (me). It was also the first fic I read that emphasized Chuck and Bobby's friendship, which was eye opening. Next, I can't talk about fav fics without mentioning salix's (@seasidesandstarscapes )hockey au, Right in the Numbers!! Talk about messy lol, I was screaming at Don throughout this whole fic, and I fell in love with cam boy Bobby! Lastly, and most recently, I was so incredibly taken by effervescentyellow's (@effervescentyellow ) fic As Beautiful As You. It almost made me cry! There's just this overwhelming sense of warmth and acceptance and love, it feels like being wrapped in a cozy blanket and being told everything is going to be okay. It's so amazing.

Tags: umm I guess since I mentioned them above, I'll tag @effervescentyellow !

[iloveyou-writers]

I'm a writer. I've technically been a writer for a long time, but I stopped around 2019 and have recently decided to get back into writing because there were a few artists/writers who inspired me so much that I wanted to write a story. As I'm sitting here and typing out this ask, I have not only gained the confidence to upload my story out to the world, but I have a full timeline based around that story that I want to eventually share with everyone on Tumblr and the website where I upload my story.

However..., when I uploaded my more recent chapters, I started to feel...kind of jealous. Don't get me wrong, I love the people who take the time to read each of my chapters (and I know who some of my true followers are and I love them to death), but sometimes..., it gets hard for me to see other artists/writers to get hundreds and thousands of likes on any their stuff while I'm lucky to get a comment/like on my work.

So I wanted to ask you how do/did you get through it? How do/did you get through those though days where you see other artists/writers getting popular each and every day while you feel like you're putting all your effort into something and no one bats an eye?

I'm sorry this is a long ask, but this has been something that's been on my mind for a while that I wanted to ask. I saw some posts you made when you were sourpatch-encouragement and seeing those words of encouragement meant (and still mean) so much to me. I can't tell you how many times I teared up reading your posts cause it's such so nice to hear those positive words of encouragement during the tough days.

Thank you for everything. :) Your positivity, your encouragement, no matter what it is, I (as well as a few other people I bet) love everything you do to help encourage writers and artists. Thank you for being you. ❤️

First of all, thank you for the last part. Even the encourager needs encouragement that what they're doing and saying is helpful and making an impact sometimes, so thank you <3

Okay, so now to get into the question...

Honestly, I've been being asked "how do you/did you do this" a lot lately, mostly by my husband who's dealing with the death of a parent for the first time...

And I truly don't know. I just... do? I think I've just built such a hardened shell of stubbornness that even when I'm feeling discouraged, I just push through it? I've also got to be honest, I've restarted tumblr a lot. I've had many blogs.

Sometimes just getting a fresh start could really help because I could recurate my blog into whatever I wanted and sometimes having that freedom was enough to restart my brain in a way and allow me to give my all and learn from what did and didn't catch people's attention.

I'm also not a person that really cares about numbers. I mean, I do and I don't. I write because I adore the process of writing. Writing has literally saved me on so many occasions, so to me the act of writing itself is fulfilling enough not to need all the excess attention.

But you want my little secret that REALLY helped me?

It's friends. Having friends that I knew loved my writing, whose writing I loved. Having friends I could roleplay with when I was feeling discouraged about my WIPs... having friends that could reignite my fire when it was fizzling out... friends are a HUGE part of what has kept my fire burning for writing, especially at the beginning. :)

I do still get envious sometimes. No, I don't put all of my stock into stats but sometimes when you write paragraphs and paragraphs of writing, put in so much heart and effort into something and only get a few responses but then someone writes like one or two vague sentences and it blows up, it can be disheartening. But that's my problem. For me, it's a matter of "if I'm getting jealous, then I need to step back and reevaluate where my values really lie with this. Am I really doing this out of passion for it or do I want it to get attention."

I've done a lot of research on "marketing onesself." I actually have bought a few books on it, one that I'm passionately in love with... and that's also helped with my confidence, because I know if what I want IS for my writing to get seen and fire people up about it, I have tools to do so :)

--

So long story short: it's really hard. There are a lot of things I've had to do in response to these kinds of feelings. I think all writers deal with them on some level. But just know that your writing is still wonderful and still matters and makes a difference to those silent readers who may just be nervous and shy to interact with your works (and realizing that has been immensely helpful to me too with relaxing over the note jealousy).

Hope my prattling helps 😅

[violetsiren90]

hi i just wanted to say you have some nice stuff here i read a couple of your shorter things and you write really nicely. i wanted to tell you that you might get more followers and circulation and whatever if you update more often because i was going to start your JK one but it looks like its been a while since you updated and other ones too. people might lose interest if you don't update regularly because it gets exhausting waiting for updates and constantly checking. might want to think about it.

Hello, Anon! First of all I want to thank you for the kind words on my writing style, and thank you for taking the time to read some of the fics I posted here!

I do want to say, though, that pressure to update, even coming from a good and well-meaning place, never helps writers (or, at least I've never heard of one!). For a number of reasons!

My forced-out works are never up to par - it's when my writing comes from a place of inspiration and love that I find them worthy of being shared.

I have a life outside of writing (a hobby for me) that demands my attention on a daily basis. Sometimes I am afforded more time for my pastimes, sometimes less.

My mental health often gets in the way of my writing. It may sound like a cop-out, but it's a very very real obstacle for me. I have seasons. The moment's season is difficult to fair, so writing is harder, as is every other human task. (Also, I tend to be comfortable talking about just about anything, but sharing about one's mental health struggles should never be required of them to placate an understanding of their patterns of ability.)

You suggested that by changing my habits I may gain more followers or get more interaction, and I understand and appreciate that...but those are actually things I never asked for, and don't actively seek! I just started sharing my stories for fun, and the fact that even one person read and enjoyed even one story still blows my mind! I consider any interaction freely given, not somehow merited by me - just as my stories and others like them on this platform are freely given!

I hope my response is not too long-winded, and thank you for taking the time to stop by!

You are loved and worthy of love. 💜

[jerrydevine]

1 3 6 11 13 25 😽😁

it may be 20 days late but i will tell you all the haterest things i have to say <3

1. the character everyone gets wrong: fucking holy shit every character on earth ? none of my non mutuals know anything about any character.. don't like how people talk about blaine. idk if you have noticed but i haven't posted abt him in so long bc there's no one on this website that knows how to talk about him. as a blaine girl i do not trust other blaine girls they're soooo weird about him.. hes a huge fucking loser like that's personality trait #1 i can't believe people try to make him all suave and sad about his past.. like that's kurt my friend kurt. blaine sucks!! oh ummmm also clary the only ppl i trust to talk about clary are beth and cassie herself 👍. i know people are wrong about jace im so sure of it just based solely on the comments of my jace amvs on youtube. but i kill them with my mind beams so i don't see them 💪 oh and also. straight women's idea of bucky barnes makes me murderous 😞

3. screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr: have still never gotten over endgame being a good use of it's time and the only good movie over 2 hours 🤦

6. which ship fans are the most annoying? gall/avich i want to kill them all with hammers. they made the writers bring mickey back just to fuck up ians character development for the rest of that damn show. they didn't even like eachother in the end 😐. do you know how sad it makes me that galla/vich freaks on twitter were so obnoxious they wrote ian losing that independence plotline they were gonna give him . and on that note i also hate mickey fans and yes this is sacrilegious i know he's everyone little meanie but i hate mickey too 🙄

11. number of fandom-related words you've filtered: 5 somehow only 5.. i used to have 7 filtered but i stopped filtering interview with a vampire tv stuff hehe. lots of them are game of thrones related i do not enjoy seeing those freaks 😐

13. worst blorboficiation: can i be honest and say magnus especially show magnus fans. they don't know his fucking history or his backstory they didn't read the tomes or do the work to really understand him.. he's best friends with tessa like you guys don't even know tessa or WILL and you're like omgggg magnus would soooo blow up a shadowhunter if they were annoying him haha he would never hang out with straight people he's soooo gay rights haha. it's not cassies fault she invented magnus in 2007 she didn't know what she was doing. don't blorbofy my best friend magnus bc you always do it wrong. ppl write him how blaine actually is. they flipped them in the mind 😒. and this is why i almost never want to read shadowhunters fic. oh also btw magnus would never want to live in edom forever anything where it's like ahh i could get used to a place like this :) . no he would not fucking say that he would kill himself a week in. and he wouldn't want alec to become a vampire that part of the show where alec wanted to become a vampire was a win for: Alma 😁! no one else. he would never say that. be real for one second

25. common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing: fucking anything about riverdale season 7 like it's not as good guys. they aren't getting out of the 50s . but it sucks to see it every day :( and complaining about people complaining about season 7 being not very good is gauche and tacky. keep to yourself sometimes i think so. the only person i wanna hear talk about riverdale season 7 is keren. while we're watching it together

[writer-or-whatever]

20 Questions Game

Thanks for the tag @maria-de-salinas :)

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

25

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

50,473

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I’ve written for HP, Gilmore Girls, Avatar: the last airbender, Friends, and various iterations of Spider-Man

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. Game night (HP)

2. Just another Thursday night (HP)

3. Can’t fight the friction (HP)

4. Would you be so kind as to fall in love with me? (Gilmore Girls)

5. Five Conversations and a dinner date (HP)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

100% every single time. The fact that people read what I write at all blows my mind, so when people comment I love it so much and definitely want to respond and have a lil conversation.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably either The Life and Times of Sirius Black (canon complaint w/ major character death) or I guess What In The World Has Come Over You? (A bad things happen bingo prompt fill with no resolution of the aforementioned bad thing and an open ending. Which I personally dislike more than a sad concrete ending)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think probably Would you be so kind. But I’m generally a sucker for a happy ending so there’s a fair number of happy endings

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really? In my early fandom days a little bit, but I am a huge fan of the block button so. Now I don’t.

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Do I write it? Yes. Does it ever get finished and/or posted? Not as much. Pretty much everything I’ve written has just been PWPs that I either haven’t finished or don’t like enough to post.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve ever written?

I have posted one (1) crossover and it was an mcu/itsv crossover. It was originally part of a slightly more ambitious series, which was a post-no way home, post-into the spiderverse, mid-canon shattered dimensions crossover. (Despite the fact that shattered dimensions is a fairly unknown (in larger fandom) spiderman game from 2010). Miguel’s characterization is a bit different in that game than in across the spiderverse and after atsv came out I was like. This is going to be torn to shreds by people who have seen that movie and have no other frame of reference for him. No thank u. (Don’t get me wrong! I love atsv! They’re just two different versions of the same character okay).

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge. Someone asked me if they could repost one of my fics once and I was like ??? No??? And I kept an eye on them for a bit but they didn’t so 🤷‍♂️

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but if someone wanted to that would be fucking amazing. So If there’s any interest lemme know 👀

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Again, this is one of those ‘yes but it never saw the light of day’ things again. My partner and I had a fic that we outlined and started writing together almost four years ago but we both just kinda lost interest/started writing less. It still lives on in my drafts though.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Hm. That’s a hard one honestly. Maybe Rory/Jess?

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

There are many wips on my computer, many of which will never see the light of day (the current wip count right now is 112). One I would have liked to finish is the Spider-Man one I mentioned before but honestly. I am fairly certain I won’t.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Characterization

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Action scenes! And sometimes dialogue :/

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I love it when it’s well done. Hate it when it’s just thrown in there to be thrown in there. Wish I could do it myself sometimes, but my French is ✨not good enough for that✨and I refuse to use google translate

19. First fandom you ever wrote for?

Harry Potter

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

Would you be so kind. Absolutely my magnum opus as far as fanfic goes.

Tagging: @thatforgottenbasilisk @sarah-sandwich @otpcutie @webtrinsic1122 @belleslettres-love @ernestonlysayslovelythings