#cloud server beta

[breezy-cheezy]

Cloud server beta test died when I wasn't looking!!! Rest in pieces Cat!Sanji, my dumb sweet angel + cloudserver!Mint, @ishgardian-salt-rock 'twas an honor stress testing with you 🫡

[taegularities]

colour me in: translucent | jjk (m)

Summary: And whenever the world seems to fall apart and your thoughts cast a shadow over your heart, he rushes to lift you to your feet. Conjoining your hearts and souls, again and again and again.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; some healthy angst, so much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: y’all. So. Much. Fluff, talk about stars, talk about his hometown, mention of a wedding 😁, 1 nara mention, a guest appearance!!, and another guest appearance…, daddy issues mention, oc has a tummy ache :(, banter, conversation with her mom, badass oc, their friends <3, moving and work stress, overworking, kook panics in this one, oc does too, tears and tears and tea–, abandonment issues, overthinking!!!, they communicate too late bc they’re scared, pregnancy scare, mention of throwing up, kissing and hand holding <3, petnames, insecurities/slight envy; explicit sexual content: diving right into the smut as the chapter starts 🤭, tie around oc’s neck ha ha, oral (f. receiving) (over panties and without 🥲), fingering, brief masturbation (m.), making out, jk takes the backseat and oc drives for a while <3, bit of choking, they’re half clothed for a bit, tiddie and butt love, tears, flirting, big dick jk, soft dom jk, emotions omg 😷, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, squirting, he unloads in her mouth 😄, and yeah, maybe more but i forgot – lmk if you notice smth! also… THE 👏 EN 👏 DING 🚨🚨🚨 ➳ word count: 35.8k 💀  ➳ a/n: here it is… after a long ass fight with tumblr and my tears, it’s here! i don’t have much to say this time except that this chapter means the world to me. and i hope you love it just as much. shoutout to @missgeniality for betaing parts of this and helping me with difficult scenes, i truly struggled!! <3 if you guys enjoy this one, let me know and don’t be shy to reach out!! love you and let’s dive in 🥺 ➳ listen to: say you won't let go by james arthur | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs | DC SERVER

The whispers cease the moment your door closes.

The whispers of the world, of all traffic, of all passersby, of all echoes. And those in your head, susurrating since you left the glass building and its conference hall.

They dim the moment you drop your palm off the door; your heart is still a nervous mess as you take your shoes off, watch him take his shoes off. He places them neatly in the shoe cabinet, jacket hung on one of the coat hooks.

Right here, you’re surrounded by a tranquil, quiet dome. Not as subdued as the emotions the outer world elicits; just an arena that feels perpetually warm, sepia and still.

And amidst that warmth, there’s yearning. You feel it in every nerve of your body, burning through your limbs. Stunning sentiments pull at your soul, making it heavy; and your heart floats, perpetually above the clouds.

As he rubs his cheek with a soft hand — you know, because you were holding it just two minutes ago, clutching it in the car for dear life —, you take a step forward, your mouth open, but not quite capable of saying all that’s weighing on your tongue.

They’re good things; amazing things. And he hasn’t yet gathered all his thoughts either to truly voice what he’s been hiding since you left the chaos. Only opting for the living room, painfully slowly, as if he’s waiting to face you again.

And maybe… maybe he really is. And maybe he doesn’t need to talk at all.

Because he stops the moment you speak, tenderly calling, “Jungkook.”

It’s all he needs. Combined with the lightest touch to his elbow, a hint of your voice is all he needs. He wants to keep hearing his name. Again and again and again. And today, announcing it to the world, you promised that you’ll be doing just that.

Shit. What have you done to his heart? He wants to ask questions that neither of you has an answer to; or, not one that can be verbalised. One that could explain this euphoria.

So he doesn’t say anything at all.

Instead, he stumbles as he turns back to you again, taking a deep breath before his head tilts. The unbounded amount of want is swimming in his tired eyes, and you barely manage a hushed, “Should we—” before his fingers flutter and he—

Dashes straight toward you. One large step, both hands jacking up to take your face captive. He raises your head, eyes closing, mouth parting an inch before it’s locked with yours.

If he hadn’t started, you would have.

The same thumb always caressing your skin pulls your lower lip down. An unfaltering habit, tender whenever he spirals. You trip backwards, with him in tow, immediately gripping his arms with a wild, accelerating heartbeat.

Your soul was already awake, lit up from today’s events; but he dunks it in a brighter shine — and now it flushes pink.

For a while, your kiss’ sounds are all that echo off the wall, mixing with your sighs. He starts gently, head angled, diving deeper.

Every now and then, he tugs at your lip ever-so-slightly, teeth and tongue dragging over it. The wet muscle is soft against yours, and you let your touch drop down to his waist to hold him closer.

But there’s not that much time to dissolve into him right here, against your entrance door, because Jungkook backs away before you can bid your sanity adieu. Maybe that’s for later.

Maybe you need to be okay with his breath grazing your skin for now, for the words he murmurs so close to your lips, “You’re crazy for this. Absolutely crazy.”

You are. Both okay with this, and incredibly crazy.

There’s never been more certainty in your actions or your intentions than whatever you do with him. For him — if that deems you crazy, then you absolutely are.

Heated from the kiss, Jungkook steps away, but not without entangling your fingers with his. On the way to the bedroom, you ignore everything that doesn’t entail him.

Like, the humming of the fridge. Or the sound of the traffic outside, audible through the tilted window. And the buzzing of your phone; it’s been doing that for a while now.

Of course it is.

But you don’t hesitate to deposit it on your bedside table mere seconds later; you barely manage to put it there, nearly watching it slide down as Jungkook pulls you back. You clash against his body, and the tongue once again mingling with yours only enhances your disorientation.

God, you’re a lost cause. Nothing else to expect with his palm holding your jaw, arm slung around you, kissing you senseless.

Time slows down; the sensation turns electric. His motions are rhythmic, fingers brushing your neck. And despite the bitterness he must have felt at the conference, he tastes so , so sweet.

Heady desire growing, you grip the back of his head, pushing it closer. You’re insatiable. Yearning for more of his damp, soft lips, hysterical when he lets out a craving, small moan.

“Do you have any idea,” he starts, giving your neck no more than a handful of teasing pecks, “what that did to me?”

He moves back until you plummet into the mattress; your eyes follow when he leans in and falls to his knees. Placing a hand at the nape of your neck, tenderly moving your face a bit closer to his.

“Without a warning, too,” he continues, “what, were you planning to drive me mad for so long?”

Not the angry kind of mad. His smile and the fondness in his eyes reveal that much. No — the mad that a lover is.

“Did it work?” you ask, and he flashes his teeth, beloved crinkles around his eyes.

“Did it? What do you think?” He kisses your nose; then, the apple of your cheek. “You didn’t notice any of it today? Or any other time before that?”

“I wanted to… I want everyone to know. I was going to tell you when you came home, but… I wanted to say it in front of everybody. That,” you touch the collar of his blazer, rubbing it between your fingertips, “I’m done with their games. I don’t care anymore, Jungkook.”

“I know… You don’t care.” His hand leaves the nape of your neck, caressing your face. “But you care about me, yes? You care so much.”

It’s not really a question. It’s a statement, a reassurance to himself. A mantra, as if he needs to repeat it and let it reverberate in his mind until he’s grasped its meaning.

“I do,” you whisper, peeling the blazer off his shoulder by only a few inches, “and I want to stay. Can I… just stay here?”

“You’re crazy,” he echoes once more, emphasising his words with a shake of his head, “to think I’ll let you go again. You’ll see.”

Although he still establishes a brief, temporary distance between the two of you right after; you’re reluctant to stop feeling his warmth when he stands. He towers over you, and you muster utmost courage to not faint.

Because the sight is one to behold.

How he removes the blazer in a swift movement, discarding it on top of the table at the wall. He rolls up the sleeve of his shirt, but only one side, glancing at you throughout the ordeal.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask.

“Why is your mouth open like that?”

“Do this exactly in front of a mirror, and… and you’ll know why.”

He smirks. “Right. And stare at yourself in the mirror for longer than a second, and you’ll know why, too.”

God, this guy…

And he actually doesn’t stop.

His pupils keep wandering; to your eyes, to your lips, to your heaving chest. To how you close your legs when he loosens his tie with tattooed fingers, lettered knuckles on full display. He opens a single button of his dress shirt; enough to reveal a patch of golden skin.

The tie dangles off his neck, doing wonders to your mind, and you resist the urge to grab it and pull him down to you. But you don’t need to; you only get to cherish the sight for another second.

Because right after, he pulls it over his head, baring the highly kissable mole on his neck before—

“What are you doing?” you wonder, eyes wide, and probably filled with anticipation as he puts the tie around your neck. “I’m…”

“Looks a lot better on you.”

One more shake of his head. You subtly catch a jerk behind his pants, and your gaze drops instantly. Behind the dark slacks, he’s already waiting for you, and the thought leaves you frothing at the mouth.

“You’re not looking bad yourself…” you say, drifting off, barely looking into his face as your hand reaches out. “May I?”

“What, baby?”

“Just…” 

You move forward, a palm to his thigh, and close your eyes before placing a kiss to the growing bulge. It twitches under your lips, and you drag your mouth lightly over his dick’s outline.

“Should’ve known,” Jungkook breathes, affected straight away, “but somehow, this is worse than your hand.”

“Really?”

He clicks his tongue when you do it again, unfazed by the layer between you as you give his clothed cock an open-mouthed kiss. Two of his fingers settle underneath your chin, and he raises your head in order to meet your gaze.

Then, he pushes you back a little, within a second back to one knee; then the other. He cocks an eyebrow as if to reprimand you, but then gulps down a chuckle as he says, “Really. But wait a bit more.”

You need to wait, because he prioritises your pleasure. One demand you’re ready to give into.

So, so prepared, when he asks politely, “Open your slacks?” You do. The way he drags his hands over your thigh and up to your hips, starting to discard your pants, is arguably less polite. “Here we go. Raise your ass.”

You help him out as best as you can. But he attaches his lips to your naked thigh the moment it comes into view, scattering kisses over your hot skin as he casts it off of you entirely.

You raise your feet a bit above the ground, and he uses the moment to separate your legs. Doesn’t even bother taking off your panties first; casually making himself at home between your limbs.

Light-headed, you open your eyelids halfway to glance at the blurry ceiling light; you never noticed when you closed them. Maybe when the sweetness spread over your thighs’ skin.

Maybe he’s as dizzy as you — only, when your whirling stare descends to his face, he’s smirking. And for a second, you don’t understand why. Puzzled, you keep looking, observing the tempting lick over his lips; the deep exhale; the barely-there blinking.

And then he says, “Never thought about it. But you should wear light-coloured panties more often.”

“…Why?”

But you soon get why.

Because you feel the arousal behind the fabric. How it glues your pussy to it, the damp spot probably growing. It’s visible — that’s what he’s liking so much.

He can see all of the desire you harbour for him, showcased so blatantly. And despite the embarrassment, watching his face flush in that rosy dust boosts your ego, too.

Your face burns.

“You’ve been like that for…” he starts, shrugging his shoulders in curiosity, “how long now?”

“Long enough. And I dare you to do something about it.”

Because fuck, he talks too much. In hindsight, only really when you need him to shut up; deliberately.

“Oh god,” he exclaims, dramatic as ever; as he raises a hand, you nearly think he’ll place it on his chest for further effect, but he only touches your knee, “now if you’re daring me, I’ll have to.”

“Mhm. I’m sure you’re not a sore lo—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It’s a rude interruption, and the sudden push of his fingertip against your clit is ruder. It’s a momentary touch, fleeting, as opposed to the slow and calculated way that he buries his face in your panties. Eyes glued to yours for a moment.

And then…

Then, you relish the first taste of Heaven — as does he, you suppose.

Because the satisfied sigh is outrageous, hot against your covered folds. He licks over the damp stain, only the tip of his tongue; thoroughly salivated, because you feel the wetness seeping through the clothing.

There’s no moment between the start of his action and your immediate, ”Fuck.”

And to him, your reaction sets just the tone for a woozy night to come. He nods between your legs, gelled back strands tickling, hums so sweetly. You adjust on your seat, though the subtle change affects nothing; only drives you wilder as you shift deeper into his face.

His tongue is painting circles over your clit. Drawing out sensations, and you don’t understand how… there’s underwear between him and you. A barrier, aching to be removed, so how is he doing this, howishedoingit—

“No! Oh god—”

You can’t decipher why you voiced the rejection; you don’t want him to leave. Frustrated when he does, mouth open, waiting for you to speak up until you do, “Sorry. Sorry, I don’t fucking know…”

“Babe…” He shakes his head… He’s doing so much of this today. But one of the loose strands keeps moving so gorgeously over his forehead, so if it was up to you, he could keep doing it. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Sorry…”

“Nah.” He says it when you press your lips together, hot and bothered as he licks another stripe along your cunt. “Didn’t mean it that way. Open that pretty mouth. Do scream, yeah?”

You could melt into the ground. Or into the sheets; he always knows what to say. No matter what the situation. A verbal monster once, a graceful poet another time.

They say, get you a man who can do both. But he can do all million things known to humankind and the book of romance.

His mouth works deeper into where you ache. Tongue action expanded, he returns to the panties, seeking one of your nether lips to tease it, pull at it. He’s ruining your garment, making it stick to your pussy.

Pries your legs open when he comes back to the clit, and then drops down to the overflowing sex again. The sensual gestures are toying with your nerves, and you still can’t figure out how. Leaves you waiting, yearning, craving the lack of a blockade in between.

And once the uncomfortable, wet cotton of your panties rubs against the inside of your folds, you finally speak up, “Why are you—”

“Sorry,” he interjects, aware of his bestiality. You see it in his stupid wicked smile. “I know. This is just…” Big eyes stare back down, albeit hazier than before; his finger touches the drenched patch for a second. “So good to look at.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Of course.”

Shit, he’s so cheeky. If you had the strength, you’d wipe that bubbly smile off his face; not good for your heart. Would smooch it away. But fret not — you’ll get your chance, too.

For now, you need to grant him this win. Not least of all, because it feels so good for you, too.

So you don’t defy him when he suddenly moves in more. Hooks a finger into your panties and slides them aside, letting them snap back against the juncture between your pussy and leg. And then, you guess the actual fun starts.

Because he throws one carnal look at you before his arms wander under your legs. You can barely gather your thoughts before he digs in again, properly this time. Lips directly attaching to your skin, he starts diligent work on soiling your body.

And god, does he do it well…

So experienced. Aware. Studied you and your body well enough — because the agonisingly slow tease isn’t random. He knows how much you hate it; knows how much you love it.

How it builds anticipation, and how it grows your desire.

He’s a little fuck, but maybe that’s why he never fails to break you this hard. You know he’s enjoying this — delighted when your eyebrows furrow, close to weeping as he breathes against your pussy.

Even though a man starved, he takes his time. For a second. Then another. And then parts your folds with his fingers, whispering, “Would you say that’s better?”

Like he’s at some meeting. Goddamn.

You blink, responding, “I don’t know. Better than the panties, worse than…” His finger slips in mid-speech, just halfway through when you manage a breathy, “this.”

“I… Shit, you’re… hot as fuck.”

Right.

Even you’re turned on by how your head tips back again, eyes rolling inward when he diminishes the distance and kisses your cunt. Nobody else is going to raise your confidence like he does.

“Mmmh,” he voices as the make out session intensifies, smacking noises sounding from below. He lifts his lips by a mere inch, only to mumble, “So hot. So fucking good.”

And that’s it — back to business.

“Nnnghkook…”

The arms he dropped under your legs sling around them, hooking in, and somehow, he’s able to reach to your back like that. Raises your legs in the process, pulling you in. Deeper in your heat, big button nose against your pelvis.

Your right hand attempts to grip his hair before you threaten to fall backwards, failing miserably. You immediately place both your palms back on the bed, because you doubt you can trust that damned left arm to hold you upright — quivering like this.

The tip of your tongue touches the arch of your upper lip, and then you tilt your head, warning him, “Fuck… if you don’t fuck my brains out today, Jungkook…”

Brains? Plural? Acting as though even one’s present in your head right now.

Jungkook chuckles, licking you dry; the little sound combined with the sinful ordeal is a delightful one. Contrary, but gifting the moment some reality. Some tenderness. You’re having fun.

He stops to throw the escaping strands back again — all in vain, of course — and brings his hand to your ass, moving you over the bed until you’re off the edge. You yelp, close to falling, but he holds you carefully.

Ass half dangling, he throws your legs over broad shoulders, kissing your thigh before he promises, “Don’t worry at all. Won’t leave a single thought in either of our heads.”

You wince when he bites the flesh of your leg, and then proceeds to advance his soft lips to the tender ache. He collects saliva on his tongue, probably ready to dive in again; moves in at least, tickling your pelvis with his breath.

His nose takes a deep breath, inhaling you, dizzy from your scent. And his thumb — it floats over your clit, preparing for more insanity. But when the position elicits some discomfort, you say, “Put me on the bed. Can I… bed properly.”

Fragments of sentences. They make him smile.

“Sure,” he says rather calmly; you’re anything but.

It’s not normal. Watching a guy like Jeon Jungkook push his hair back with his jaw on full display; tongue darting out.

He signals his approval once more as he pats your thigh, and you make quick work at weakly turning around and crawling onto the bed. You’re still trembling as you get on all fours, very conscious of what you’re doing.

Casually, you say, “I’ll get the lube, too.”

Of course you know what might follow. What will follow. He never stops raving, daydreaming, bragging about your ass — walking past you in the kitchen, just to grapple a handful and to innocently claim, “What? I love your butt.”

But before he strikes this time, you’re only barely able to grab the lube out of the drawer, placing it next to the pillow instead of handing it back to him. Because… because before you know it—

There’s already a finger to your pussy.

“Shit,” you curse, “you and your impatience.”

“Do you want me to wait?” he asks, as purely as the butt-love-statements as his touch retracts. Mellow voice; only a flutter of his lashes is missing, really. “I can wait.”

No, he can’t. Liar.

“No,” you repeat, readily letting your upper body fall. You bring your fingertips back to your ass, tracing it down until met with your arousal. “Don’t do this to me now.”

You know his answer before he utters it, “Don’t you do this to me now.” You hear a click of his tongue; a poised beam plays around your lips. “Alright. But.”

He snatches your legs from under your body until you’re flat on your tummy; you grunt just a bit. Not expecting the soft, little, “Do tell me if I do too much.”

As if…

He knows his limits. But the constant, caring pleads still always grip your heart; so you nod.

“Okay.”

Simultaneous with a fond slap, that word is the last verbal sign of his presence that you receive for a while. Whatever follows is a pure testing of limitations; of jumbling up your senses.

Because the moment Jungkook lifts your ass to his face, his tongue is already out. Experimental at first, of course, patient. He takes a second for languid kisses and soft necking, fingers exploring the inside of your thigh as if to soothe your restlessness.

And it helps. Your limbs shake a bit less, your mind focused on where his touches go. Fingertips near your folds. Lips kissing around your pussy. Then, repeating the same brush of his hands as before, but on your other leg, moving inward. 

Despite the first taste he already got, he’s suddenly changed his tactic; and you’re greedy. Mewling in tiny, quiet sounds, barely realising that they’re coming out of you. You repeat his name over and over, but it never quite tumbles out in its entirety.

So you keep it at moaning, eyes closed, so infinitely relaxed.

He moves back, gently asking, “All good?”

“So far… do more, please.”

It’s what he always waits for. You know. Jungkook has a fetish for your pleas, and the tiniest fragment of your beseeching voice is usually enough for him.

Like now.

Encouraged, he pushes your shirt up to your tits, halting right under them. He touches your naked stomach, brushing your belly button, grazing a palm over your lower back and straight to your ass.

The tongue ghosting around your sex finally dares a step forward. Gets a little taste of what’s to come. Circles around your folds, then to your nub; spit gathered on the tip, never too hard, oh-so-mildly — and maybe that’s what makes it even worse.

The lack of any force. How pleasant it feels. And you let him know — respond with a desperate, unheard sound, goosebumps sprawling over your skin.

Jungkook discerns it as a signal to go on; to do more. His nose buries between your ass, pushing his tongue in a little further, alternating between licking and kissing and collecting spit. Your lust shoots to the sky; you twist and move, but he holds you in place with a single hand.

And when he disappears, you regret it immediately. You hear him say, “Hey, hey… Don’t you want me to fuck your brains out, sweetheart? Isn’t that what you said?”

“Mmhyes, yes, please.”

“…Then stop moving.” His nails are harsh against your waist, and you whimper. “The more you behave now,” he leaves a kiss on your butt, loosening his grip around your waist, “the harder I’ll go later.”

“…Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”

He chuckles. What an ass; leaving you physically and mentally covetting, and then enjoying your reactions.

“Are you okay with this?” he asks, biting a little, stroking your hips, holding onto your ass cheeks.

“Mhm.” It’s all you can voice at this point. You don’t have any power over your body; can’t lift it off the mattress. “Love it.”

“Perfect.”

And then, everything seems to happen faster.

Arousal and orgasm have already built from his advances, and he gives you the rest when he starts drawing circles around your pussy again. Heightens your senses, slurps and drinks you up. Every single time it feels like he’s learned something new; you swoon at the attention to detail.

What might he be looking like right now?

Perhaps he’s biting his lip. Maybe his eyebrows are furrowed, usually tell-tale signs of either him enjoying his meal or him enjoying his meal.

“Shit,” you mumble, but you don’t think he hears it — too busy sucking at your folds, adding a finger to the mix.

Sometimes, the licks are generous, wide-tongued; sometimes, he focuses on each part individually. The insides, the clit; how you sound, how you wind.

There’s truly an utter craze you feel for this man; no matter which hazy or soft or delicate situation, he fits you like a missing puzzle piece. Like a match made in Heaven. Knows what he’s doing.

Because he knows you. Because he studies you. Observes you.

Sex is only one instance of his attentiveness.

And perhaps that’s the whipped thought that pushes you over the edge eventually. Maybe that’s why the moment passes so quickly and explosions blind you all of a sudden. Why your face glows so hot, sweat collecting over your upper lip.

It must be.

Because as he stimulates you for another minute, your sensitive cunt submits, the knot in your lower stomach unwinding. He unties it fully, eliciting a stirring feeling that makes your pussy flutter.

“Holy shit…”

You only register your voice when the peeping in your ear stops. Your voice is still damped, the world around you vanishing a bit; except for him. Always except for him.

And.

You also notice that your fingers are hurting. Did you dig them into the sheets too hard? Tug too hard? You don’t know… but their pads are almost numb.

Jungkook’s mouth is still there, though lighter now, and his finger is slightly slapping your cunt, encouraging you to keep letting go. Catching you on his tongue.

And then… it’s over. You remain quiet.

You’ll be a mess for the foreseeable future; or at least, the upcoming one or two minutes. Your back and neck are already covered in a sheen of sweat; it’s so unbearably hot, as opposed to the recklessly approaching cold outside.

Remaining like this, you let him kiss your body through your orgasm, delicately soothing the pain his fingers caused across your ass. Hovering above the small of your back, he asks, “Can you move?”

“Not yet. But…” You scan the spot next to the pillow until you find the lube, throwing it back to him at last. “I can watch.”

No objection. So you turn around.

When you finally meet his gaze again, having started missing it, he’s already unbuckling his pants. Right there, towering above you, looking directly at you. Jaw chiselled, lips swollen.

You decide to spur him on; bring the tie between your covered tits before gentle fingers grasp them deftly. Rolling your digits around their outline before squeezing them. There’s an instant reaction: The hard bite of his lip, the rushed discarding of his clothes.

And fuck, he’s beautiful. So pretty how he despairs bit by bit, only letting his pants make it to his knees before his cock has sprung out. A true monster, bloodshot like this, further growing as it twitches and jerks… blue veins wanting to be licked.

But it’s lube-day, and neither of you can wait.

So you let him make a fist around his thickness, stroking it and momentarily letting out a groan. His chest seems to deflate, shoulders dropping as he jerks himself off once more, squirts some lube into his palm, and returns to his intentions.

“Good,” you praise, watching his cheeks grow rosier, “wish you could go all out.”

“I can’t.”

You know. You know, because he’s storing all his patience for what’s to come. With and for you.

Breath stagnating, you watch a drop of sweat trail down between his tanned pecs and then into his shirt; fabric sticking to his skin. He doesn’t notice it, dazy as hell, wiping his tip clear of the precum. Every damn time you’re in disbelief when his cock grows in size, firmer and rock hard.

So many veins adorning it as it rises to his belly button; you’re sure you’ll feel them against your walls, too. You get on wobbly knees, hair already a mess, both of you still in your soaked white dress shirts.

Jungkook’s mane is falling apart much as yours, messier now, but soaking him in so much more sex appeal. There are no boundaries to his beauty; it transcends your understanding.

Enough of watching, you mentally capitulate a minute later. Too many moans and clipped vocals fill the room, whiny once, deep later; so you float up once your body allows, targeting his cock straight-forwardly.

You only deliver one surprise kiss, helping him out as you drag your tongue along the tiny slit. He reacts, caught off guard, voicing, “Oh—”

But against his possible expectations, you don’t continue. Instead, you drag your hand along his cock only twice — up and down, feeling the smooth skin, the slippery lube, the hardness underneath.

And then, you order, “Sit. Please.”

“What?”

“Here,” you point to the headboard, on your knees, kissing his sides and up his chest until you reach the open button. “Sit down for me.”

He pauses. Waits for a moment, touching your cheek when your face aligns with his. And when you keep your begging, soft gaze intact, he huffs out a broken laugh, and states, “Not sure if I can trust you to not kill me. But…” A kiss to your left eyebrow. “Anything for you.”

And whatever happens next, passes by fast.

How he obliges, dick dangling in front of his body, waiting for ruin. How he hisses a little when the sweat-drenched back touches the cold headboard. And how you adjust your body, soon sitting in reverse, facing the closet.

Floating over his cock, straddling him, spreading your pussy with your fingers. He stutters behind you, grasping for words, but silences when you move and wiggle your ass a little, only dropping a few inches until your cock can prod your entrance.

And that’s all you do. Multiple times. Practising restraint, focusing on the closet, blinking rapidly. Perhaps you’re more patient this time, because from behind, you hear another sharp hiss, and then a somewhat agitated, but endlessly turned on, “The hell are you doing to me?”

“Nothing,” you promise; the jest costs you all your energy, “what are you talking about?”

“You’re so funny, aren’t you?”

His words are accentuated by sudden grabs of your ass. One or two pinches. You should’ve known. But despite his impatience, he never forces you down onto his cock. Lets you do.

“I’m not trying to be,” you argue, aligning yourself with him gradually. Preparing yourself mentally and physically. Leaking to no end. “You’re just delusional.”

“Must be. Too good to be real.”

If you had it in you, you’d laugh. But the approaching sins and the image of his affected expressions fog your brain. Your body burns, your lower tummy tenses; your muscles feel heavy as you loom over him, and you only endure another moment.

Because soon enough, your thirst overpowers every other thought; the weight of your desire drags your body down, thankful that he’s keeping his cock upright. And then, just like that… so easily, no resistance detected, you slide down.

His tip splits you open first, eliciting an immediate sensation. New every freaking time; like the craze he fucks your mind into space with wipes your memory each time.

“Hnnngh, this is just…”

Whatever it is, there’s no word yet invented for it. So you give up right away, squinting your eye shut until you see dots and forms, breath stuck in your throat. The lack of regular inhales muddles your mind, and you feel further heat rise to your cheeks.

“Go— slow,” he pants behind you.

Of course he’s not all the way in yet. No matter how much it feels like it; you could keep going and going. Hard and monstrous, burying inside you, no end in sight.

The filling feeling catches you off guard each time; the way he leaves no room inside, causing butterflies in your stomach, wandering straight to your pussy. A ridiculously perfect phenomenon, like a key to its lock.

God. You’re overspilling.

As soon as he’s bottomed out, you relish the feeling of his skin against your ass for a moment, registering how his fingers sneak to your flesh slowly. And then, you angle your body forward, clutching the sheets before you start moving.

You keep your pace slow. Put all your intention on delicate motions, all the way up with a whimper, and then slamming back down with a gasp. The farther you go, the wetter you get. Until you’ve probably left a shimmering liquid all over his cock, gliding too damn easily.

“That’s… that’s new,” Jungkook mutters. At least that’s what you think you hear. “Gotta do it again.”

And you’re not even done with this time. But you understand — oh, you fucking understand. There’s something about not yet seeing his face but imagining all of it. How fucked out he must look. How red the apples of his cheeks must be. How sweaty his hairline is.

You grip the sheets tighter, legs closer to his, head between your shoulders. All you manage between the heavy breathing is a high-pitched, ”Jungkook—”

“Yes. Yeah, baby. This is…”

“I know. I know, keep talking.”

Which is an unfair command. He can think as much as you; you can barely comprehend letters, even less put them into actual words. But somehow, he still mutters whatever nonsense he can think of.

“Gotta do it again,” he repeats as you fasten your pace.

“Why always play such an angel, huh?” he asks as you moan and whine.

“When you’re a… a fucking demon. Literally,” he declares when you blow out breaths, letting out a crying sound.

He feels glorious inside you. Solid and gorgeous. He holds your ass cheeks in a tight grip, the strength nearly bruising when you let a hand wander back between your legs, grazing his firm balls.

When you turn around to check briefly, slowing your motions, he looks up, meets your eyes. Apparently, he wasn’t gazing at you directly at all; and you imagine there wasn’t much to see other than a bouncing mane anyway.

What he’s actually so distracted by must be…

“How’s it… it look?” you ask, circling your hips, feeling every vein, as predicted.

“It looks…”

Must be art.

Combined with his love for your ass, he must be enjoying the view; at least judging from the constant kneading and spreading. Allowing a direct, front-seat show of his cock appearing out of you, disappearing inside of you.

Glistening. Sucking him in. It must…

“Looks so fuck—ing insane from where I sit.”

The swear word is interrupted by a millisecond, breathy as hell. Allows a glimpse into how delirious he might already be, possibly faring worse than you. Impatient, seeking more.

And you do know your Jeon Jungkook well.

Because not even another breath later, his body that slid down halfway, bolts up. You feel the shift clearly; it pulls you backwards along with him. Only, you realise the movement isn’t the only source straightening you so fast.

First and foremost, it’s the freaking hand. Covered in letters and more ink, tugging at the dangling tie and following it up to the slowly unravelling knot before… abruptly snaking around your neck. Fingers right under your jaw, lifting your head.

He tugs you in until your back collides with his chest, and to your chagrin, you notice that neither of you has gotten rid of those stupid dress shirts. You won’t be able to wear them again without drifting to this memory…

Sleeve open, he wraps his arm around your body, just under your tits, and whispers, “Why… drive me mad like this?”

“H–huh?”

“So far away. Weren’t you ffffu—” The messy zero you’re drawing with your hips interrupts his string of thoughts, and he spends a second finding it again before he finishes, “Weren’t you far away long enough?”

Shit…

This isn’t just an affair. This isn’t temporary. Your brain still can’t quite understand that you’ve actually occupied this man’s heart.

That your gestures and touches aren’t a fleeting dream, but blissfully real. That you’re his, and that he’s yours.

He’s right. You were far away for too long.

So you sneak your arm back, around the back of his neck and pull him closer by his hair. His lips brush your cheek and then retreat to your ear. Nibbling for a moment. Kissing it.

You don’t know what to focus on — on the way his teeth light up your nerves, or the way his hand moves down your shirt and bra, and up your body. Soon taking your tits captive, squeezing hard, pinching your nipples.

“Move a bit,” he orders, though you don’t really have to.

His hand remains on your neck, so he pulls you forward; guess he’s sick of the shirt, too.

“You too,” you murmur.

“Yes. Patience, love.”

No. Fuck no.

Is it the nickname or his actions that empty your head this time? You don’t know. But you react.

Moaning, but it soon transitions into a yelp when he jerks up suddenly, balls deep. Your voice breaks, and you’re breathless; grateful when he unbuttons your shirt, dragging it down your shoulders.

Helping him however you can, you pull at the clothing almost aggressively, over your hand until it’s stuck there. Sporting a shirt paw, you hear Jungkook laugh behind you, peppering more kisses to your shoulder as he says, “Ah… take it easy. You’re with me tonight.”

One quick pause, and then, “You’re always with me. No rush anymore, okay? Yeah, baby?”

He aids you out of the shirt and tie with tender pecks. Thoroughly affected when you only nod so softly, eyebrows kissing. He unclasps your bra swiftly, breathing against your neck as he bares your body once and for all, putting the garment aside.

And then his forefinger moves along your neck again, only barely touching over your vocal cords; feeling your gulp before he journeys further down, back to your tits. Probably leaving scars; his nails are reckless today.

“Wanted to see those pretty tits so bad,” he says, though he doesn’t halt here — tiptoes south to your pelvis, and then to your clit. “Been thinking about this all day.”

Really? 

So each of these touches consume his thoughts every damn moment of the day, too?

“You wanna see them… properly?” you wonder. You haven’t moved in a bit, lost in him, mentally tracing the lines he draws on your body. “‘Cause I wanna see you.”

“Mmmmhm. Doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Then I’ll…”

You don’t speak further; busy with your further advances. Your pussy feels lonely the moment you let him slip out. You’re terribly wobbly on your knees, your thighs visibly shaking as you turn around.

Jungkook holds a hand towards you, a safety net in case you tip over. He holds your wrist gently as you move over the mattress; never more than now are you glad that his isn’t as soft as yours back at the house.

Keeping your balance, you straddle him again, back in a similar position, albeit finally facing him now. And your eyes roll back just the moment he fills you up again.

Your legs are exhausted; the moment you start moving, you barely make it far enough, and Jungkook notices immediately, whispering, “My baby tired?”

And when you nod, he holds you tight, wrapping you in his arms, and—

“Hold– hold onto me, okay?”

You do. And then — he thrusts up once.

When your head falls, his eyelids drop a little, nose touching your jaw as he says, “I could fuck you all goddamn day.”

“Do it… you can now.” His head descends to your chest, mouth open. You’re not sure what you’re opting for, but you still call his name, “Kook…”

Repeatedly lunging in, he collects the words he needs to say, so irresistibly frenzied when he vows, “I’m yours. Okay? And… I need you to stay. Am yours, baby.”

Out of nowhere — or maybe not. Maybe these very sentiments were swimming in his eyes all the time; you could just not see them yet.

Lips a hair width apart, you opt for one single kiss, only a ghost touch. You tell him, “Promised the world. Will promise it to you… too.”

“Good.” His nails scrape your back, and you tug at his hair. A moan tumbles out of him, transforming into words as he holds your body in place, pumping into you, “Fuck, you– feel so good. Just you. So, so good.”

“Ngh, I—”

“I know, I can… can’t breathe, either.”

He kisses your shoulder, the skin flaming under his mouth. Although late, you imitate his prior gesture, peeling off his intruding shirt as smoothly and fast as you possibly can. It’s been a wall between you for too long now; you need to see those pretty tits, too.

And once the buttons open and the shirt flies, you finally bask in the toned beauty. Soaked chest, brawny, chocolate chip nipples as hard as yours. Soon pressing into you, lips thirsting for you, slamming against your mouth.

The fever rises, the temperature akin to lava. Your sounds are desperate and wanting, and you hold onto him for dear life. And before you know it, you’re not claiming your throne anymore.

Suddenly, you find yourself floating for a moment, and then sinking into the mattress, and then curling your hands into fists and him slamming into you harder, deeper, all the way in...

Fuck.

Towering over you, he spreads your legs wide, temptingly licking his thumb before it presses down onto your swollen clit. One jab. A second. Another and another and another.

“Yes. Yes, please—” you beg and yell, letting him pound you into oblivion.

The first hint of stars already grace the darkness behind your eyelids, but then Jungkook starts delivering rapid, light slaps to your nub. He’s chasing your high as much as you are; you know. The chaos unfolding doesn’t hold him back from observing your reactions.

Only focusing on his own end of pleasure when you’re done.

Tears gather at the corners of your eyes, and you cling to his arms, his hands pushing into your waist. And it takes just a moment longer. And another second. Several more shoves, the curve of his cock dragging along your walls and your sensitive spot.

Thoroughly drenched, both of you, as he drives all of him into you. Parting your legs whenever they attempt to shut again. And the universe finally expands, a million celestial bodies dying and imploding, much like you and…

Suddenly, you’re off the cliff.

Falling into a deep ocean. Or the vast night sky. You don’t know — you don’t feel real.

All you know is that your thighs and ass are wet. That you ruined yet another sheet. That Jungkook is out of breath, fucking you through your high, ensuring that you come back to him only bit by bit, so, so slowly.

Gentler now, you feel his body subside, down to you. His skin is glowing with sweat when your eyes crack open just a slit, though they instantly drop close again when he kisses you once more.

He does it only softly this time, as if he’s trying it out. Gauging your reaction. And you do reciprocate the touch, even if weakly. You’re still too gone to look at him properly, but that doesn’t deter him from casting another spell in your heart.

Because his words reach every fibre of you. Butterflies swarm your stomach as he says, “I still can't believe that you’re staying. You did this… you fucking did this—”

“Why not? Wh–why can’t you believe it?”

“Because you’re staying with me. You stayed with me. And…”

Somewhere, it stings. That he’s surprised by constant company. By someone not leaving… by someone worth all his affection glueing themselves to him. And yet, you understand.

That’s a pain the two of you share.

He stares through your gaze, as if he’s frisking for something specific. With each passing moment, it’s like he’s realising something new, yet unable to really verbalise it.

Like something’s burning on his tongue.

But all he does whisper is, “How do I ever stay away from you now, huh?”

“Don’t.” You touch his face, and he doesn’t waste a second to lean into your touch, kissing your palm. “Please just don’t.”

“Won’t be able to… And it sucks that—”

He frees your face from your stick hair strands, still moving inside you. His own tresses hang into your forehead; his thumb touches your lower lip.

“That I can’t be with you every damn second of the day. I mean…” He leans in. Pecks your eyelids; your heart bursts. “What if I can’t move an inch from you?”

You keep staring. Unable to answer. Keep looking and drinking in every emotion laid bare in his confessions. Your misty mind feels calm; not as heavy as hours ago.

And you’re woozy; so indescribably giddy when he adds, “You… you mean so much to me.”

Damn. Damndamndamn.

And you’re fucking obsessed with him. Want his kiss on you all the time; words tattooed on your brain, etched into your soul.

“Jungkook.”

“Huh— yeah?”

“Can you…” You gulp, drooling at the thought, and then spitting it out at once, “Finish in my mouth.”

“Shit,” he exclaims, though the word is more a maniac laugh than anything else, “you know exactly you— you can’t say this to me.”

You know. Because any image of his cock ramming your throat empties his head.

Once more, he mumbles, ”Damn it,” before he’s picking up on pace. You move your hands over his broad shoulders, soon curling your fingers in to hold tight — it’s what the situation suddenly requires. Because gradually, his hips slam into you faster.

The dull sound of his thighs meeting yours repeatedly is lewd, volume increasing when he starts jackhammering into you. Your rhythmic, breathless cries become irregular and broken, turning into screams, and you feel a droplet escaping the corner of your eye.

Throat dry and jaw aching from the parted mouth, you keen from the sensitive feeling inside. You’re so full. So invigorated. Holding onto him tight, so you don’t crumble.

And just as you yell out a dozen curses, Jungkook, voice raised, states, “Fuck, fuuuck, gonna come, babe, f— open your mouth—”

You do. Instantly, tongue out, choking because it’s so much harder to breathe like that. Jungkook trembles over you, lips wet; his arms threaten to give out, letting his body nearly collapse on you, but just a moment before he does, he pulls out.

Hurrying, his knees dig closer to you, cock and ass right above your face as he holds the length between strong fingers. Secured in his palm, he strokes himself over you, glancing into your hungry eyes.

“Pretty girl,” his other digits raise your head by your chin, and his body is swinging, unstable; shoulders high. “My sweet baby… You can’t just…”

Pinching your chin fondly, he digs his cock into your mouth, still pumping the base and touching his balls. You raise your head to not suffocate in the process, and he lets your chin go to grip your hair, lifting you halfway just in time before—

His load finally spills. All of it. So much of it. Hot and sticky, thick as the ropes shoot straight into your throat. You nearly gag, keeping yourself together, swallowing diligently as he empties his balls.

There’s fucking buckets of it, shit…

You close your eyes, focusing on breathing, and once he’s done, you close your lips around his cock. Still hard, although slowly softening, you lick the remnants of his arousal and whatever’s left of you. The tastes mingle, and your head spins…

And then, he pulls back. You’re beaten, gulping, smacking away the saltiness.

Still overwhelmed from the taste, you let your head fall back onto the pillow; but your fingers still seek his touch. The mattress next to you flattens again as his knees retract, and soon enough, laying down beside you.

Both of you are too done in to speak, even less to move. So you let a few minutes pass. Then, you find his fingers, entangling them with yours; waiting a bit more.

And only when your heart rate calms a bit, you stir, hearing him suggest, “Quick shower?”

You smile. The kisses aren’t over yet.

For a while longer, the profuse heat lingers.

The radiator is off, and some of the windows were open when you came home. And despite choosing to stay bare after the shower for some more, you don’t register any of the cold yet; you’re sheltered, safe and so, so warm.

Jungkook’s fingers keep trailing up and down way after you’re done, lips planting generous kisses to your scalp and face. He paves his way to the corner of your mouth and then up to your eyebrows; and when he reaches your nose again, you lift your head abruptly.

Chasing his kiss, even if for just a second, a hand on his cheek and shoulders rising. Occasional giggles and smiles, tickles and pinches keep you busy temporarily; you don’t know how much time passes, nor do you care.

You only snap out of your daydreams when his kisses gain on urgency, tongue diligent. A palm creeps dangerously close to your ass, threatening to slink to your beaten sex.

But your reaction is quicker than his sly attempt, and you say, “Wait— no. Can’t do it again.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Of course.” Damn his shoulder shrug. You tap his pelvis before you wrap a leg around his waist, teasing, “I didn’t feel the twitch at all.”

He shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. But it’s not my fault that you’re so stubbornly sexy.”

“Stubbo—” You giggle mid-sentence, imitating the shake of his head. “I hope you know I’d let you tie me down and do whatever the fuck—”

“My god. Stop saying it like that.”

“—but my body won’t let me yet. I also still stink.”

“Stink?” He shifts dramatically, burying his nose between your tits. His voice is muffled when he asks, “Do you?”

“Stop. You’re so weird,” you scold, but the word is drenched in laughter; you forcefully lift his head again. “We still need to change the sheets and the shower was quick. Do I not?”

“You kinda do. Like cherry blossoms.”

“Shut up.”

“What? Sue me for telling the truth. My girlfriend smells like cherry blossoms.”

Oh… oh?

Wait.

Your mouth shuts tight.

Did he…

The beam that spreads on your face is almost embarrassing; surprise, joy and affection conjoin, your guts twisting. You take a breath. Feel the sparkles in your own damn eyes; tender gaze directed at him.

And the freaking flutter in your heart; the temperature in your cheeks. Do these things ever stop?

The words sink in slowly; and Jungkook takes the time to ask, “What?”

“You… you haven’t called me that yet, have you?”

He’s perplexed. Guess even to him, it was a Freudian slip, because his eyes are wider than ever. He waits, thinks for a moment; then admits, “Uhm. No. I don’t think so.”

“Well, I… like the sound of it.”

“It’s… it’s true. You’re my girlfriend, aren’t you?” His eyes smile before he does; unrestrained devotion in them. “My baby?”

He says it so innocently, so sweetly that you can’t help but coo. Teasingly, you pat his cheek, telling him, “I mean I hope I am. Considering I’m moving in with you.”

“Yes. You are. Of course you are.” 

“…Girlfriend.” Sheepishly, much like a teenage girl, you keep your twinkle intact, still feeling the lasting gleam on your face. You must be reminiscent of the sun and the moon. Emboldened, you start, “Then… boyfriend. Can I ask you something?”

The term elicits similar glee in him, teeth out, grin bright. He waits wordlessly with sparkling eyes, and you touch his lip, asking, “How do you feel right now? About all that?”

“I feel… I’m in disbelief. You’re moving in with me and just. Somehow, even saying it feels surreal.” He sighs, searching for words. “I’m in disbelief and crazy for you. That’s all I know.”

Falling deeper and without an end is possible. Jungkook has taught you that; still does.

“…I was so scared you wouldn’t like me doing this,” you confess.

“What? Saying yes to being with me all the time? Sounds horrible.” He laughs. “I’m happy. And I’m happy that you’re happy, too. Okay?”

“I wasn’t for a while, you know? You make me feel good. Take me by my word and give yourself credit for it.” He needs to. He might have doubted his role in everyone else’s life so far, but his value to you needs to be clear at all times. “Not just now, Kook, but, you always make me feel good. I hope you know that.”

“I do. This time, I do…” Content, you smile; until he stalls for dramatic effect, mouth open to indicate something to come. Your beam expands to exhilarated laughter when he squeezes your ass again, adding with another snicker, “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t make my favourite munchkin feel good?”

“…There’s more than one?!”

Hmm…

That’s what you’d been yearning for all this time.

Because there’s something so vulnerable about your elation; the enlivened titter. About your newfound feelings. About these very first phases of a sensitive relationship. Something serene.

And the meaning behind your words keeps changing with him; carries much more weight, and makes you feel so much lighter. As if levitating on cotton clouds.

Girlfriend. Boyfriend.

Peace reigns supreme and for a while you’re hopeful enough to doubt anything could disrupt it. Even the world is quiet when you look out the window.

September isn’t yet harsh enough to cover all above pitch black, but it’s still dark grey and drab. The sky still somewhat illuminates the unruffled room through the tilted window.

But just when tranquillity reaches its peak, your phone vibrates on the bedside table; you flinch.

The screen’s shine overshadows the faded monochrome of the world. It’s unwelcome, intruding — and once you lean over, holding the blanket over your chest, you realise that the message is just as unsought.

Mom [7:12PM]: We need to talk. Mom [7:12PM]: I’m still at Charmante for another hour and a half.

…At this time?

Did you leave her this desperate?

“What is it?” a dulcet voice asks from behind.

You hear the bed creak a little, his body cold without yours. Despising the distance, he puts a gentle hand to your shoulder, planting a kiss right next to it; when you lack his desired reaction, he asks again, “Everything okay?”

“Hm?” You barely tilt your head, eyes still glued to the words that you’ve already internalised. You cover his hand with yours. “Yeah. Just. Look.”

You hold the phone into his face; the penetrant white floodlights his skin. The warm gold shines in the glow, his lips drier than before. They move as he reads, and then, they close, giving way to a hum.

The initial silence suggests that he might be thinking the same as you — to bail. To shut the phone again, slide it to the edge of the bedside table and drop back against his chest, above his heart.

But you should know Jungkook better; he won’t discourage a familial reunion, praying for a better outcome than he ever had. He’s always spoken for your relationship with them — thinking back, he has never truly badmouthed your mother.

So you’re not too surprised when he hands you the phone back, careful to not turn your mother’s two marks blue, and suggests, “Maybe you should go.”

You sigh. You don’t want to. It’s too early for confrontation; time hasn’t passed, and the issue hasn’t yet marinated. Then again, the problem might only grow if you postpone this.

But your heart is biased, angry, refusing to oblige to her demands one more time. So you ask for yet another confirmation, “Right now? But I…”

You turn back to him, shaking your head slowly, troubled. He props his head up, eyes staring down to you as you lay flat on your back, hands folded under your breasts.

“Give yourself closure, babe.”

“I got closure.”

“No,” he strikes back, fingers lifting to your jawline. He touches it lightly, brushing it delicately, “Actual closure. To finish this. And she deserves it, too, you know? She’s still waiting there, angel.”

“Jungkook, you…” You click your tongue, gaze swerving to the unlit ceiling light and then back to him. “You’re too good.”

“I’m sorry.”

You smile, and he throws a palpitation-inducing twinkle back. You know he’s right — it must have been a shock for her after all. More or less double-crossed by her own daughter, humiliated in a public setting — her brain must be frying.

Reluctantly, you stretch your arm to the side, tapping for your phone, and roll your eyes at Jungkook playfully when you open the message to type back. His body floats down, lips planting a barely-there kiss to your collarbone.

You [7:14PM]: I’ll be there in half an hour.

“Alright then…”

Your body lifts off the mattress with the idlest of movements. The afterglow might die once you’re there, but you guess you need the confrontation–fight? Argument?—to ensure more, blissful nights.

This time, you don’t bother with your clothing as much as you did when you prepared for the press conference. You slip into the first best jeans you find, throwing a cosy pullover over your torso.

Busy with the rush, you don’t notice that Jungkook isn’t standing behind you in his usual grey joggers but in jeans, too. He’s fiddling with your car keys, stuffing his wallet into a pocket, and you stare wide-eyed, waiting for an explanation.

And once your digging stare pierces through him, he reciprocates it with similar confusion, half his hand still in the pocket as he inquires, “What?”

“What are you doing?” you ask, gesturing up and down his body.

“What do you mean?”

The back and forth of questions leaves you further bewildered, and you step closer, softly snatching the keys out of his fingers as you say, “Babe… It won’t take long.”

You don’t think he quite understands — it seems that to him, it was a given this entire time that he’d accompany you to your work building. But when it seeps through, his expression changes, more relaxed.

His head tilts, blinking slowly as he assures, “I won’t let you go alone.”

“Kook—”

“It’s honestly not a big deal. You said it won’t take long, so I’ll wait outside.” He shrugs, forefinger at the nape of his neck, scratching. “Plus, I’ll just get bored here alone.”

A warm flutter engulfs your heart. You wonder how couples spend days, months, years together without burning up every moment during their togetherness. Because you don’t think you’ll ever get over the fire he sets ablaze in your lungs — how does one get accustomed to affection like this?

You don’t know.

Maybe you don’t need to know.

Not more than what his eyes say, at least.

“What did you do all the time I wasn’t here?”

His grin is playful, but there’s tender truth in his words, “Something any guy waiting for you would do,” big brown irides meet yours, fingers fiddling, “counted the seconds until I could see you again.”

Your laugh is sudden before you ask, “Is that a quote from SpongeBob?”

And the joy holds on as you leave the apartment and rush down the flight of stairs. The short comedic journey to your car is distracting — most of reality only dawns on you when you step into the car.

Reminiscent of the last time the two of you drove over to a confrontation — just a little after his vacation; just a bit before the heartbreak.

The streets are quieter and emptier at this hour, the repose enhanced by the gentle drizzle. It’s significantly darker than when you arrived home, though it hasn’t been too long since you drove this exact way in the opposite direction. Two hours?

Maybe it’s the cloudy, almost black sky, accompanied by the hushed sound of the rain that’s amplifying your fears. Because the calming ambience from a minute ago worries you the closer you get — this once, you’d rather bask in sunshine and daydreams.

But no.

Hope is on your side; you’re done worrying, right?

As you sit up straight in your seat, Jungkook glances from you from the driver’s seat, eyes shooting to and fro between you and the street. His lips part as he operates the wheel with one hand, using the other to wrap around your fingers.

“Don’t be nervous,” he says, squeezing once before he lets go, brushing over the back of your hand and gripping the wheel again, “there’s just so much she can say. You made a decision as a full adult and she’ll have to accept it.”

“Yeah.” You follow the streetlamps and their warm radiance, redirecting your focus on the next as you pass each. “I hope so.”

The ride home was different; you were filled to the brim with energy and adrenaline. Your legs were putty, so he insisted for you to freeze on the passenger’s seat, reluctant to hand you the keys to drive.

You were waiting for the streets to end, to shut his door behind you, and to breathe and sigh through a sleepless night with him. The anticipation, combined with the aftermath of the press conference made you restless — you wouldn’t stop gnawing on your thumb.

And he didn’t interrupt your thoughts, let you flick through them until he finally looked at you at a traffic light. Raising the back of his digits to your cheek, assuring, “It’s okay, angel.”

Maybe the breathy tone and the hundred promises wrapped into one reassurance prompted your reaction at his place at all.

Jungkook turns into your work street, and you hold your breath. Your heart knocks violently against your ribcage, disabling a proper thread of thoughts. Which is a shame, because you really wanted to draw a collection of snappy remarks you could retort in there.

Instead, you merely look at the entrance far at the end of the street, unmoving as Jungkook moves into a parking lot and kills the engine. You blink; then blink some more. The gulp, you think, is audible in the small space of the car.

“Do you want me to come with you?” he asks.

“No… I don’t think she’d want that.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, leaning forward to pinch your chin between two fingers. He moves your head toward him, eyes a liquid, wavy ocean at night. Affectionate. “She’s your mom. Despite everything, I know she loves you.”

“I don’t know…”

“She does. I saw it the night I picked you up and I saw it Monday morning, too. So.” The head tilt, the soft curve of his eyebrows, the care in his pupils — they’re a healing bandage around your heart. “Don’t be scared.”

He leans over the centre console armrest, still holding your face in his grasp, and presses his lips just barely, sweetly to your wrinkled forehead. You think the muscles react immediately, temples relaxing.

For a second, he lingers, and then he pulls back a fraction, looking at you from an inch-wide distance, and whispers, “Don’t be. I’ll be here all the time.”

Right — armour-clad, like a knight. You finally nod, a weight dropping off your heart. You cement his smile deeper into your mind; a coping strategy in case things escalate in there.

Once more, you squint at the entrance doors, though barely visible from here. Hand on the handle, you say, “If I’m not out in twenty minutes, call the police.”

Jungkook tsks, eyes rolling with badly hidden amusement, ordering, “Just go. Will be here.”

Yes. Breathe.

He’ll be right here when you come back. And it’ll all be over then.

The building feels sinister, empty like this. Nothing of the busy and lively mood remains; the lack of the chatter and footsteps drenches the entrance hall in gloom.

It reminds you of horror movie locations; you can’t help but hesitate as you walk in.

Especially today, the silence is unbearably odd; the press isn’t lurking anymore, isn’t swarming you anymore. You don’t want to imagine how hard it must’ve been to convince the reporters to finally leave.

You sigh…

In less than a day, they’ll have today’s highlights printed in newspapers and posted; feasting. Big, bold headlines will narrate the words you uttered; of course they will. With your family relishing a local celebrity status, the media would be damned if it didn’t make any profit out of you.

For the first time, however… you don’t care. You inhale.

And as you walk past the glass walls and up the stairs, clutching your work keys, you don’t feel the overwhelming urge to run away from this place anymore.

You’ve liked your job since you started, no doubt, despite your initial worries and fears. But the thought of losing against the world, or of losing him terrified you. Maybe you were too naive to fight those who wished you harm mere months ago, freshly out of college.

But now that you realise that you won’t be roaming these hallways in a couple weeks, that you have dropped the mic in a way they won’t be able to pick it up to hurt you again, you feel relieved. 

Feel a sense of responsibility. Like an adult.

Okay.

She told you she’d wait in an unoccupied office on the first floor — you usually frequent it with Zara, sifting through theories and changes. You wonder why your mother didn’t settle on her own office — then again, you imagine it must hurt to suffer defeat in the very room where she’s supposed to reign.

As you reach the room, your fist lifts to the door. Though you soon realise that it might be entirely unnecessary, judging the slight gap and the soft noise from within. So you gently push the ajar door open, met with a tired figure behind an imposing desk.

She’s lost in thought, but as you enter, her gaze slowly ascends, her posture reclining. And you see it immediately.

The usually cold eyes, now brimming with disappointment and sorrow.

Her eyes flit, as you assume unintentionally, into a corner. She dodges a simple greeting when you mumble a timid, “Hi,” and you drop the formalities right away. Don’t even attempt to sit — stand there, towering in front of her, not intending to stay long anyway.

And it seems her thoughts and intentions align, because she refuses to beat around the bush, a weary voice asking, “Why did you do that?”

“Mmh… You’re asking like I shouldn’t have.”

“Because you shouldn’t have.” Typical. Her point of view will always be her only truth. You listen on, but can’t help but tense. “Your father and I built this for you, and we intended to forward it to you. You know that.”

You don’t like that tone; you never have. It always ran over your spine as a shiver, weakening your knees. Even today, you’re conditioned to buckle just a bit. You exhale.

“Mom, have you ever heard yourself speak? You’ve never even remotely tried giving me anything else that way,” you complain, leaning to clutch the chair with one hand, the other gesturing around the room. “You built this stupid empire for yourself and kept it intact for me, so I can continue your work.”

You huff out a mocking breath, shaking your head just a little. “You never even asked me. You just told me to do it all.”

Her voice is sharper when she responds, “We didn’t hand it to you to make you suffer, for god’s sake.” She’s irritated, eyebrows deeply furrowed. “Christ, you were supposed to have a good future.”

“Yes, and I will! I’m happier than I have been all summer. Do you even have any idea what happened during that time?!”

You pause. She doesn’t answer, clearly sorting out a hundred answers.

Because a lot happened — most of it a direct effect of her or the media’s bullshit. Of course she won’t be able to pick out just one single thing.

So you explain, “Did you even understand that Jungkook broke up with me because of the thing you pulled with that dumb journalist?” You spit the word like a curse, grimacing. “And that he avoided me because he thought he was ruining me?”

You try to make it sound as ridiculous as you can muster, wondering if the realisation is dawning on her. 

“Did you even notice how I didn’t come out of my room for da—”

“Just why,” she interrupts, eyes shutting tight in disbelief and agitation, palms toward the ceiling, “would you jeopardise your life and emotions because of him?”

Jeopardise. Holy fuck.

She has a whack understanding of villainhood.

“Because he’s important to me! You can’t even imagine how hurtful it is to only be talking about work to you. You never ask me if I eat or sleep enough. You didn’t even give me a graduation present. He did! But you wouldn’t know!”

You think back to the lamp in your room, the one she has never seen — remember the dark ceiling, the aurora and stars projected to it. The touches that followed.

“He’s unbelievably important to me, Mom. Okay?”

“You’ve been with him for just a while.”

You grit your teeth. It’s like talking to a wall; a daycare child would catch the sentiment better than her.

“Yeah,” you say, scoffing, “and it makes me embarrassed for you, because I’ve known you my entire life and you never cared this much. Like, fuck, even Dad did.”

Her jaw clenches as you swear, nostrils close to flaring as you concede more pain, “Jungkook actually makes me feel human.” There’s a sting in your eyes. You blink it away. “I’ve been feeling like a person, which just… made me understand that—”

You gulp, your throat tied and your head heavier now. You wait, shrugging. Then—

“That I can receive affection, too.”

Your friends are your first memory of care; barring them, you only had a faint idea of what devotion entailed. Learning what it means to be genuinely important to someone had been on your bucket list — this year, you ticked it off.

“I just hate that he had to glue me together first for me to understand.”

Because she broke you first. The contrast couldn’t be more crystal clear.

She doesn’t dig your monologue. Her countenance fills with different shades of ridicule and embarrassment, shreds of anger thrown into the mix. Filed nails tap against an open folder, the other hand rubbing her forehead.

“You sound ridiculous,” she derides, “you can’t throw your future away because of love. It won’t pay your bills.”

“I’m gonna be a manager, though. I’ll pay my fucking bills. And Jungkook is working his way up, too.” Your latter statement gains a sceptical stare, followed by a skyrocketing eyebrow. It satisfies you. “He is. He’s getting his own part at an exhibition. We’ll be fine.”

She frowns, mouth already agape as she psyches herself up for another answer, and you already roll your eyes, prepared to interrupt.

“You—”

“You were so grateful last weekend,” you argue.

“Because you almost killed yourself!”

“No! If you’re so worried, then call! You could’ve called and asked where I was like mothers do. Made sure I was well and not drunk out of my mind!”

“Stop it,” she stands, her voice as damaging as a serrated knife. You flinch as she charges for you, and you breathe out, ready for a slap — but her body halts in front of yours. “How do you expect to run from this just by switching to another company? Novaura’s still mine, too.”

No…

You hold your breath. Straighten your back, hands sweaty as your nails dig in. She’s been predictable half her life; not always quite vile. But you know what she’ll say next, and you know it’ll be the most odious thing she’s ever uttered.

“And I could keep you here if I wanted to. They’d throw you out if I told them, too.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you blink, scorning, “You’re serious?”

A breath of laughter escapes your chest, and you shake your head in disbelief. You’re done.

You press your lips into a thin line before smacking them, nodding in faux agreement before you say, “Okay. Go ahead. But if you do, I won’t shut up this time. Today, I was being nice. I praised you, and none of my nice talk was actually deserved.”

Choosing your words carefully, you pronounce every syllable as if explaining molecular biology. She listens, not spitting an answer immediately.

So you challenge further, “You want to throw me out? Do it. It’s your reputation. I didn’t say anything wrong at the conference today, because it’s my right to choose the career I want. You’d be abandoning your own daughter if you pulled this through.”

You have her attention. Her lips stay sealed.

“And when they ask me,” you continue, eyes now fiery; you’re so done. So, so done. “I will let them know that you did it out of spite. Try finding an excuse why you did when we’re there. I won’t be at any disadvantage.”

You press into your palms one more time, relaxing your jaw, and opt to turn and walk away. Hurling one more glare towards her, you spit, “I have a degree, just a reminder.”

And that should be it.

Pride unfurls across your chest, warm in your stomach as you take long strides out of her office. You hear the quiet call of your name, suddenly desperate. But now that you’ve said your part of the truth, you don’t turn around anymore.

Only shut the door behind you hard; shutting all she’d hoped for with it.

Despite the satisfaction still bubbling in your stomach, you can’t shake the clump in your throat and the anxiety in your heart. The post-fight adrenaline pumps through your veins, and your fingers shake.

There’s discomfort in deserting your own mother; the irrational fears were to be expected. You didn’t do anything wrong, you know, you know. But your organ still thumps like drums, and you lift a hand to your chest. A vain attempt to calm your breathing.

And then… something miraculous happens.

The brisky gust of the evening brushes your cheeks; the bright lights of the city contribute to your sudden peace. They’re a reminder that the world is far wider than this damn building. Than her.

But more than anything, your worries dissipate when the strolling figure grows in your sight. As you walk the short distance to your car, you feel your heart lighten — your forehead and temples relax.

He has his hands on his waist, chin slightly raised as if watching the stars that hide in the city sky anyway. His steps are small, and his eyebrows calm. He looks serene.

And once his hands slide into his open jacket’s pockets, he looks down the street again, surprised when you’re mere steps apart.

“Ah,” he voices, one palm already out as he stretches it toward you, “barely fifteen minutes. I was about to come in.”

Deep sigh in, you let his arm pull you in his embrace, swiftly wrapped around your torso. He smells like fresh clothes, after-rain, and vibrant, like the lights in the sky.

Your arms sling around his body with an urgency, and you muffle your voice against his chest as you ask, “Already?”

“Already?” he repeats, though dragging the word more than you did. His arm squeezes you once as his other hand escapes his pocket, too, stroking your head. “Those weren’t days? I swear I felt myself ageing in there.”

Your fist thumps against his chest lightly, and you giggle against his sweater. “Don’t be so dramatic.” Eyes slowly unfocusing, you rub the zipper teeth of his jacket between your fingers, softly mumbling, “Thank you for being here. You’re the best.”

You feel a movement over your head; he’s lowering his chin to your hair, still caressing your head as if lulling you into sleep. And it’s working — you feel drowsier by the second.

But then, his chest rumbles as he hums, cautious as he asks, “Are you okay?”

Are you?

You’re about to start a new life where you desire, with whom you desire. Finding permanent residency in his presence the way he finds it in your thoughts.

A few more steps, and you can make yourself home. Not in those rooms, but in him. Because that’s what he is.

A blanket, a radiator, the comforting voice that soothes and heals. Worshipping you within the same four walls every single day.

You’re not just okay — you’re craving.

Leaving his warmth and scent, you lean back and look at him. His eyes are as big as you’re used to, awaiting an answer, genuinely curious. Your heart threatens to burst; the sting is painfully sweet.

“Yeah,” you answer, touching the purple sweater, “I promise I am.”

Because. Because that’s all you ever wanted.

It’s over. You’re going home — you are home.

You can’t remember whether it was your fingers clawing into Jungkook’s shirt or his hand brushing through your hair that kept you in the sheets twenty minutes longer than anticipated.

The plan was to snooze once and get into a routine with divided work. One prepares breakfast, the other makes the bed and cleans up before leaving the apartment.

But it seems that so far, your routine has consisted of lazy mornings. Tired hums. Quiet, hushed and slightly hoarse good mornings and entangled limbs.

You pressed between his shoulder blades as he strokes your head, planting kisses on your temple and your forehead.

“Slept well?” he asked today. Another peck in between. Then, drowsy and sighing, “Is the mattress okay, by the way? I like the firmer ones better since they’re good for your back, but I know you had a softer one, so if you need…”

“No, not at all,” you promised, warm and safe under the covers. “This is perfect.”

No… the softness wasn’t needed. Your muscles were so relaxed, you were sinking into the bed anyway. Sleeping a dent into it. At peace as his nails gently scraped over your scalp, massaging and caressing.

He could’ve lulled you into sleep like that; and his voice served as soft, white background noise. The words he used. The honey sweet tone. The past tense in what you had, and what you have now.

If you hadn’t been so lethargic, you would’ve floated through your chores. But when the clock ticked too dangerously fast and brought your working hours sickeningly close, you decided to eat out instead.

You always fool around at breakfast too much — stretching it longer than it needs to be. A café was, surprisingly, the smarter, more time-efficient option.

And a great opportunity and excuse to explore the places near you. Jungkook promised there was an amazing bakery nearby, and you trudged along, tummy rumbling, now that you weren’t in bed with him and satiated anymore.

“You’re sure you’ll be at home by the evening?”

You gather the remaining crumbs of your pastry with the pad of your thumb, waiting for Jungkook to slurp the last of his coffee. He nods, soon answering, “Mhm. I won’t be at work for long. Might come home before you do, actually.”

“Okay,” you suckle at your thumb, shoulders relaxing as you stare at the drizzle outside. The day started out grey. “And then tomorrow, I’ll be off work by the afternoon, so I should be able to bring more things over from the house.”

Tired from the morning, your eyes remain on the customers trudging in and out of the café. They shake the water drops off their umbrellas, or sigh at the prospect of stepping out into the rain again. 

Their expressions aren’t quite dispirited, but… perhaps a little dim.

You raise a side of your lips in empathy, and then continue, “And then on Saturday, I’m getting the truck to the house, for the rest of my stuff.”

“Babe,” Jungkook interrupts, pausing to smack the coffee’s taste away. His hand slides over the table, wrapping his fingers around three of yours. “Let me come with you tomorrow. You’re already doing too much.”

“Absolutely not. I won’t drag you there unless I absolutely have to. Besides,” your voice is soft when you lean forward, raising your entangled digits to your lower lip. “You’ve been busy plenty, too.”

And it’s true.

He’s been taking care of the apartment and cooking dinner these days. Organising documents with you, so you have whatever needed to change your address and whatnot. Doing small purchases for the household and vacating some of the closet to make place for your stuff.

Two weeks have passed since the press conference — and Jungkook has been a pillar of strength and sanity as much as you have been his. You communicate each night, regulating finances, dividing roles and sharing comfort.

You don’t think you’ve ever witnessed or felt a relationship as symbiotic as this one… and you’re just starting out.

His thumb brushes over your fingers, still reassuring you, much as you expected, “I honestly don’t mind.”

“It’s okay,” you argue, “we still have a lot more to do. Save your energy for that. I’d still love these deco vines for the living room, remember? Let’s get them together.”

Your words are breathy, as if you’re being reborn. A breeze of refreshment — and he feels it, too. There’s something about the thought of simplicity livening up your bustling days.

Mundane tasks, like shopping for casual things together.

Groceries. Decoration. Plants.

With all the planning of switching work and homes, the two of you have been incredibly breathless. You even told him about a meeting at your new place today, a discussion about trivial matters, general know-how and preparation you need to do.

The sliver of stress is visible in your eyes — you’ll be seeing the other managers today. And you’re nervous about it, unsure what vibe the meeting might set.

But despite the stress, you’ve been as bright as Venus in the night sky. He understands. If anyone does, then him.

Because the idea of strolling through Ikea's tableware department is balm to his mind. Your laughter sounding through its hallways, half your body leaning over the shopping cart, because you surely seem like the type to do so.

His voice is as gentle as the mizzle outside when he promises, “We’ll get anything you want.”

“Really?” Your smile is radiant, cheeks glowing as you press the lightest kiss to one of his knuckles. “Sounds good to me.” 

Time passing has always been a bummer. Despite the quiet noise in the café, the clock ticks as if in a deafening volume, a reminder that you need to let this hand go soon.

Sometimes, you do worry. About the attachment, and the healthy obsession with him. And on the other side, about every moment he worships you, and every second he misses you.

How there’s discomfort in being apart, even if for mere hours. Maybe that’s why he holds you so tight at night. Or why you’re constantly itching to get home.

Perhaps there’s a lingering fear that your time separated brought, a sneaking anxiety of being dragged apart again.

Yet, instead of dwelling in improbable what-ifs, you breathe in the air of the room, direct your senses away from the clock and toward the increasing patter of rain against the window panes. 

You squeeze the fingers around you harder, delving into one last soft conversation as you ask, “You’re at lunch with Joon later, right?”

“Yeah, he promised me burgers today.”

“What for again?”

“Because I’m his favourite staff member?” Jungkook lifts your hand to your mouth when you open it, shushing you with your own fingers. “Don’t say it. I am his favourite staff member.”

“‘Kay. Understandable.”

“You know…” He shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly, but the soft drop of his gaze, fingers fiddling and toying with yours betrays him. He’s still so delicate around you. “If you want, you can join.”

“Oh. Mmmh,” you think for a moment, but then click your tongue, insisting, “it’d be weird, I think. Dunno if he’d want it.”

“I would want it.”

He always does.

Yearning. Obsession. A humane way of falling in love.

You feel like a person. No matter how odd the phrase might sound in your head, the painful truth behind it is undeniable. You feel like a person.

“Okay,” you reply, slowly reclaiming your hand, reluctantly preparing to leave. “I’ll see if I find time and energy during my lunch break.” You halt, unblinking, before you look back at him with squinting, uncertain eyes. “Totes Bag Street, was it?”

The sudden, choking laugh erupting out of Jungkook is a surprise. If his coffee cup wasn’t empty yet, he’d still be sipping, probably ruining the white, silky shirt you’re sporting today.

You actually mean it, don’t you?

His trademark laugh is high-pitched, melodious, though a little more controlled in the public space, but the flashing of his teeth and his dimples implies genuine joy.

You already know: the lighthearted banter has become a hallmark of your connection. Doesn’t get old. Heartwarming — albeit right now, very confusing to you.

So you cock an eyebrow, questioning, “What?”

“Babe,” he simply mutters, hands coming together in a mock prayer. “Shit, you’re so fucking cute.”

He lowers his head between his shoulders, torso shaking, and you pull his palms apart again to dig with another, ”Hey. What?”

“Boats Track Street. Not Totes Bag Street,” he corrects, endeared by your wide eyes. The back of two of his fingers grazes your temple, and then down your face, before playfully pinching your chin. “You’re so cute. And a dummy. I mean it.”

“You’re a dummy,” you reply, forcing your face back and out of his grip. “Besides, that’s a pretty stupid name.”

“To be fair… I agree.”

A hesitant smile spreading on your face, your gaze wanders to the clock at the opposite wall again. The beam drops a little, giving way to a small sigh.

“It’s okay. I’ll probably be busy anyway… will join you guys another time.” You shove the chair back, getting off with a fatigued groan and a hand rubbing your tummy. “And I feel a bit weird today, too. Shouldn’t have eaten before bed because I’m feeling the effects right now.”

“Ahhh, I told you. No worries. I’ll make you something light tonight. And some peppermint tea.” His hands wave you goodbye, making a begone motion. “Go for now. The longer you stay, the worse the next hours will be for me.”

“Dork. You must survive.”

You huff, eyes rolling at the dramatics, and push your bag behind your body before you lean into him. A hand on his cheek, you watch his eyes close, setting your lips onto his.

The two-second long goodbye peck remains just that before his fingers, pushing against the nape of your neck, tug you in again.

Against your lips, he mutters, “Eat, okay? Call if your stomach bothers you. Anytime. And don’t be nervous. You’ll have fun.”

And before you can answer, he kisses you again.

Once, and then twice more. Your guts somersault, even when he finally lets you go. Your lungs feel dry all of a sudden.

All you have left in you is to nod. For your wobbly legs to step away. Looking back a few more times until the door opens, the bell chiming, your transparent flower umbrella spreading over your head.

Jungkook watches as your careful steps wander away, your head never lowered like every other passerby’s. They’re hiding from the rain, but you’re staring up, observing the movement of the clouds before your focus falls on the road — and a minute later, you disappear out of his sight.

His chest and muscles relax, a quiet laughter still tumbling out as he repeats, “Totes Bag Street.”

The sky may be colourless. The people might look into the world dimly.

But despite the rain tapping against the window, no inch of you is painted in a dismal, drab grey. You’re the brilliant, gleaming sun.

The location of your new job isn’t as fancy as the area around Charmante. The building certainly isn’t made of reflecting glass throughout.

There’s wood and actual walls; not every door opens with a chip, but a key, and the luxuries are limited. Compared to your old building, this one is humble, but it still oozes wealth and success — guess that’s what a subsidiary looks like.

The meeting room for today is somewhere on the third floor. Your mind races as you fix your clothes in the elevator, throwing regular glances into the mirror to guarantee that your hair sits as perfectly as three seconds prior.

You breathe deeply, exhale through a rounded mouth. Whether it’s this meeting or something you ate, your stomach does not feel great.

As the nerves start kicking in, you think of Jungkook’s hand in yours and the everlasting smile. You use him as your safe place; close your eyes for those few seconds that the elevator floats up.

And it works. Feels like an oasis, calm and lovely.

That is, until the bell pings, forcing your eyes open. You stare up at the number, nearly stepping out until you realise that — you’re not on the third, but on the second floor. Were you supposed to halt here?

No. And there’s nobody outside, waiting.

Until, someone is.

Rushed steps move to the elevator, a nice but stressed voice urging, “Ah! Keep the doors open, I’m coming!”

Strange. Oddly familiar voice.

You can’t say why, but you already prepare a polite smile, trying not to let the ticking seconds stress you out. Rationally, you know you’re not late, but the time passing messes with your nerves.

And it seems it doesn’t get better when the figure finally rushes in, pressing the already lit number 3 before he says, “Good. Just in time.” Looks back at you, delighted as if he expected you somewhere around, and adds, “Ah! Hello!

It takes a moment. Then another.

One more until you figure out who he is, why you feel like hurling and how maybe, just maybe, he might be heading to the same room as you — as another new manager of Novaura.

You blow a raspberry at the boxes in your backseat. 

Deciding to at least take your favourite box up with you, you leave the rest here for now; you don’t want to bug Jungkook yet. You can heave it all upstairs on the weekend, in peace.

It’s only moderately heavy — but with both your hands busy, the task is a hassle. You secure it under your arm as you close the door of your vehicle with your hip, clutching the phone previously tucked between your cheek and shoulder.

You straighten your head, reflexively looking up to Jungkook’s apartment window. To your apartment window. Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue just yet.

Somehow managing to open the entrance door, you sigh into the phone, giving Taehyung a relieved, “I’m finally back home.”

“Mmmh,” Taehyung voices, and you imagine his full lips in a line, tiny nods serious, “how’s it feel? Knowing that this is where you’re gonna be for the foreseeable future?”

“It feels… quiet.”

“What, he bore you to death like that?”

You giggle, taking deep breaths as you ascend the staircase; though slightly irritated by the slowly and constantly slipping box. You heave it back up.

“Absolutely. You’ve no idea, really.”

Taehyung laughs, but your joke doesn’t stick for long. You feel bad immediately — even in a playful tone, your heart knows nothing for Jungkook but praise. You guess that’s how kindness affects people.

And your brain stays mean, prolonging your pout — because it conjures pictures of a crooked smile, wrinkles around tender eyes, a tilted head as shoulders rise when the laughter reaches its peak…

A sting jabs your chest.

The longing is unbearable, and you’re barely another level from the apartment. He’s waiting for you on the other side of that flat’s door, and you know his pupils will widen in his dark brown eyes the moment they fall on you.

“No, that feels horrible to say,” you correct, shaking your head. You pause in the middle of the staircase for a moment, gaze fixated on a dirty spot before you shake your head once more. “You know Jungkook. If he’s not joy personified, then I don’t know.”

And it’s true — despite his own demons, you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone spread this much comfort.

“I just meant that my mind’s been quiet. And a lot more peaceful. Not a hundred worries whirling around anymore,” you tell him, your steps upward slower now.

“Just ninety-nine, huh?”

You smile. “Maybe. But he’s not one of them.”

Dull background noise interrupts your thoughts; Taehyung doesn’t respond to you, but reprimands Yoongi in a distant mumble. He’s been doing it since he called, covering his phone to argue with his friend.

Apparently, Yoongi had been with him for hours before you picked up Taehyung’s call; they’ve been settling the rest of the arrangements, scurrying through paperwork. The apartment you considered is entirely their adventure now, but you aided in anything they needed.

Which basically just meant clearing things with the landlord and then answering his new tenant’s million questions. 

As in — how were you thinking of decorating it? Why were you going to take it? Did you calculate monthly costs including rent, water and gas? You didn’t mind, because Yoongi might be one of the most polite people you have ever met.

But it seems he’s reluctant to return to his dorm’s lonely walls, too.

Because Taehyung values alone-time, and Yoongi hasn’t granted it for hours. You feel kinda bad for Yoongi. And while the younger man attempts his hardest to maintain the gentle tone, you hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“I’ll drive you home after this, ‘kay?” he tells Yoongi; you snicker at the groan that returns. “You got this, bro.” Attention back to you, a murmur of your name. “Anyway. Everything should be good now.”

“I’m glad. That was… quite something.”

A euphemism, really. The handful of visits weren’t fun; not to mention the stuff you had to get over with for your own move. And then all those calls. You needed minutes upon minutes of preparation for each of them. One hell of a businesswoman, you are.

“No, say it as it is. ‘Cause it knocked me the fuck out. You guys really had to drag me into this.”

You feel guilty about making Taehyung your spokesman here; but as an already residing individual of the building, he was a great support in this matter. 

“We— love you,” you tell him, inhaling deeply between your words. You rub the dirt off your soles on the welcoming mat and hold the box tight, not opening the door yet. “Tell your forehead to feel kissed.”

“Nah. You’re gonna upset Eun.”

“Why? Eun and I are more in love then the two of you might ever be. She’ll choose my side.”

“Ha. Fair. Whatever.” His voice doesn’t carry an ounce of solemnity. Once again, you imagine him pulling a face, waving your statement off. “Enjoy your life. Your voice has been echo-y forever. Also, don’t forget to talk to Jungkook about what we discussed.”

Ah… yeah. There’s more than just one thing you need to clear, actually.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” you confirm, though arguing, “I’m surprised you haven’t done it yet.”

“You do it. I know he’ll like hearing it from you better.” He pauses to answer his friend; you don’t even know what he said. “Okay. I’ll go grappling with Yoongi then.”

“Good luck.”

“Buy me sushi.”

One last laugh before you cut the call.

The clicking sound of your keys turning in the lock is music to your ears and balm to your feet. You skip the threshold with a relieved release of air; the apartment smells like diffusers, so warm compared to the declining temperatures outside.

You don’t hear a movement until you get to your knees, seating the box next to the shoe cabinet. As you start working on your jacket, you register a shuffle from the living room, but no voice — Jungkook said he’d be home before you. Perhaps he’s painting; or gaming.

A short text message during lunch assured him he could start dinner without you; deep down, however, you understood he wouldn’t listen anyway. And the obvious lack of aromatic scents wafting from the living room proves it.

You don’t enjoy eating alone — and he knows.

Clearing your throat, you announce your arrival, bent as you take your shoes off and rub your aching heels for a moment. You wish you could float. Offer them reprieve.

Stumbling in the anteroom, you wait for a greeting, but it seems he didn’t hear or notice you. You lick your lips, standing straight, and then speak into the hallway—

“I swear I don’t have a foot fetish,” a short pause — nothing, “but can you massage my feet again today?” You wait. Not a word comes back. So you joke, “Actually, just massage my whole body? I don’t mind. Need some hands-on relaxation.”

Subjectively, you think you’re hilarious. You giggle on your way to the living room, cheerful despite the jam-packed day — but your laughter ebbs down soon. Because he’s standing in the middle of the room, lips pressed into a tiny smile, head lowered, hands in his pockets.

And right in front of him, a timid woman in a coat. Blinking at you.

Your eyes dodge her gaze immediately. It’s an impolite reflex, heart pounding as you watch Jungkook’s hand lift to his forehead, hiding behind his bangs as he rubs. When he looks at you again, there’s an equal amount of worry and amusement in his expression.

“Shit,” you mumble, another mishap, and you continue cursing internally. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And then, “I’m sorry.”

She looks like him. Same sweet aura, short hair, big eyes.

Her right digits are wrapped around the fingers of her other hand, mouth shut tight, though smiling. She knows less what to say than you, and the moment stretches and stretches and does not end and—

“Hi,” you finally murmur, bowing slightly before you cringe. Too much? Not enough? You clear your throat again, and then introduce yourself quietly. “You must be Mrs. Jeon. I… I didn’t know you’d be here or I would’ve come earlier! I’m very sorry.”

Are you rambling?

How horrid. You’d feel so uncomfortable if you were her.

Only, she barely showcases any sign of displeasure or irritation. Despite striking you as an introvert, her movements soon prove confidence — the type to know what she’s saying or doing, but in a humble and gentle way.

She unfolds her fingers and lets them dangle, soon moving up to clutch the strap of her bag. Looking between Jungkook and you once, she raises her eyebrows and shakes her head, as if to promise that there’s no reason for any tension.

You sigh when she speaks, “Oh, it’s alright. I didn’t stay long and I need to go in a minute anyway.”

“Oh?”

“I was going to leave ages ago, but,” she points to her son with rolling eyes, and the man in question shrugs in faux guilt before she speaks on, “that one wanted me to see you for at least a second. I wanted to meet you properly… prepare dinner and all, but. It’s still nice to meet you.”

Her eyes are kind, taking you in; if you could guess, you’d say she’s… excited. Urging to finally speak to her son’s girlfriend.

She moves a teeny tiny bit, as if opting to offer her palm to you, or to— maybe hug you? But maybe she realises the timing, or sees your terrified expression, because she holds back for now politely.

“I see. It’s wonderful to meet you, too.” Incredible how you spoke about initiatives just this morning, rambling in the office until someone had to interrupt you for their own turn. Now, you can’t get a word out. “But, I… I am still sorry I barged in so rudely.”

She grimaces, moving closer to you with a waving motion, “You didn’t barge into your own apartment. It’s all good.”

Jungkook doesn’t interrupt much; doesn’t interfere with his own jests and statements. They mirror each other so much, though. In the way they smile, and in the way they talk.

Even the manner in which she places her hand on your arm, reassuring you, delivers the same warmth. You tense for a moment, not quite expecting the touch; but it’s motherly. Soft. 

A new emotion floods your heart, but you can’t decode it. Too many thoughts streaming in, brain working overtime to come up with a full sentence without stuttering, without those dumb hesitation markers that your studies taught you to avoid.

And maybe you’ve succeeded — only, the clump in your throat, accompanied by a strange twist in your stomach builds a barrier now.

Her touch feels… good.

“Do you… would you like to sit?” you ask, voice softer by an infinite amount. “I have a variety of tea here, and you could choose one. If you…”

You want to talk. About whatever. Not the slip occurring a couple minutes ago; maybe you just finally want to know who made Jungkook the man he is today. It wasn’t necessarily his father, was he?

Somewhere, this incessant, constant comfort derived from. But.

“I’d like nothing more than that,” she admits, “but I have massage therapy in a bit, and should get going. An adult’s back.” You laugh, and she gestures towards you with an open palm. “Oh, don’t you work in an office? Take care of yourself, too.”

“Not just an office, Mom,” Jungkook interrupts, inching closer until next to you and rubbing your back, proud, “she’s a manager. She walks around a lot, so the problem are,” he nods toward your feet, “these.”

True. Just today alone, your heels made it feel like you ran a marathon. Learning about each corner and wandering around that building drained you.

“Ah… I thought so,” she says.

You blink in faint confusion until you realise. Jungkook lets out a breathy laugh, brief but telling, and his mother smiles in awkward amusement. Hell.

Your blood shoots back into your face, warming it thoroughly, and just before you can opt for another apology, she says, “You have him to take care of you. Make him spoil you! You do, don’t you?”

Her voice changes the moment she faces her son, a little strict but all in good fun; her eyes squint and he exclaims, “I do!” the moment you defend, “Oh, he does! He definitely does.”

She seems to like this. There’s a sparkle in her eyes, similar to the one you already know; perhaps she’s just as endeared as mothers–usually?–get, realising their children are happy and settling.

“We take care of each other,” you tell her then, and she responds with a content nod.

“Good. It’d be a shame if not. Taught him how to treat people.”

“He knows for sure, ma’am. I don’t think you’ll ever need to worry about that.”

You’re careful with your gestures, your smiles, your movements. Even though she’s made clear as day that she’s not to fear, you still shift your entire focus on the delivery of your words.

If you weren’t, you’d be more lax. Looking through the room, exchanging glances with Jungkook. If you weren’t so distracted, you’d notice that he’s playing with the ends of your hair.

And you’d see the way he looks at you.

With those barely blinking, calm eyes. An ocean of fondness in them, a light, lost smile around his face. As though you’re soothing him, pumping oxygen into his lungs.

You don’t see any of it; but his mother does. And you register the drift of her pupils, the minimal upward movement in her eyebrows as she shoots a glance at him — then back at you.

But when you follow her gaze to him, he’s already snapped out of it, clearing his throat.

“You should go before you’re late,” Jungkook reminds her, removing his hand from your hair, “I’ll go spoil her as you taught me, Mama.”

“You better. Pressure’s on.”

He smirks, lopsided as he slings an arm around her shoulder. She’s so much smaller than him. “Tell Dad Hi from me.”

A slight drop of his lips. He doesn’t look at her but the ground. Tell-tale signs of a distant ache, hidden behind an attempt to find a cure.

The sting is palpable, right in the middle of your heart, but it dissipates bit by bit as he smiles at you again. Genuine once more, back to where he was only five seconds ago.

You nod at her, one last, non-verbal confirmation that you feel cosy here. There’s something inarguably sweet in her instant care. How she instantly roots for your happiness. How she’s pouring all her empathy into you with a single look.

A stare that usually understands someone else’s pain; and then hopes for eternal peace for them.

She doesn’t even know you — does she? You wonder if he ever did speak about you.

“Okay then. Tell me if you need anything,” she says it to Jungkook, but promptly turns to you, promising you, “you can, too. Of course.”

“I will. Thank you so much.”

Purse lifted further up her shoulder, she starts a move toward the exit, already starting to wave you goodbye before she suddenly stops. Looks at you, and blurts, “Oh, and— has he uhhh…?”

She starts the sentence with hesitation, ending it with uncertainty and a look over her shoulder. You follow her eyes, barely catching him throwing a warning sign. His eyes are ripped open, head delivering tiny shakes, but he returns to normal the moment he catches you staring.

Okay. Something happened there that you’re not part of.

But that you’re supposed to be part of? You don’t know.

You’re curious, though. Already aware of what you’ll be pestering him with tonight.

She shuts up, letting out a short, tiny breath. Her small, sweet fingers curl just once before she releases them again, and she flattens her coat, nodding.

“I’ll leave you two alone then,” she declares.

“You should stay for dinner next time, though!” you offer.

“Of course. I’m eating with my husband after the appointment, so he’ll probably already be waiting, but. Next time for sure. And you should come, too, someday.”

Right. 

It doesn’t stop. It’s permanently odd hearing someone talking about that man other than Jungkook. Shouldn’t be, because she’s the closest and dearest individual to him, sharing a home and marital bed. But…

It’s like people don’t quite feel real from stories until one actually faces them. His mom’s subtle, harmless words about her husband make him feel realer, and Jungkook’s issues with them.

But most of all you wonder — why has he never visited here? You wish he had. You wish he would sometimes. But she didn’t even suggest bringing him with her next time. Or how his father would be delighted about a visit, too.

It doesn’t seem to faze Jungkook. Or maybe it does, but he doesn’t let it show. Or — worse. Has he gotten used to it? His father’s absence, or the term that defines their relationship.

Because he nods, a soft smile as a son usually throws at his mother. Casual but loving. He says, “Won’t keep you here then.”

Jungkook kisses her head at the door, and she stuffs her hands in her coat, politely bidding you goodbye.

You watch as she approaches the staircase, still waving when she turns around one more time. You sigh in relief — she was friendly. No panic. You didn’t fuck up entirely.

And despite the last moments of gloom that the mention of her husband evoked, you hear Jungkook’s chuckle resonate once the door finally closes. His steps move toward the living room, his shoulders shaking.

You nearly slide down the closed door as you watch him, head falling back before he falls into a wholehearted laugh. You imagine deep, multiple crinkles around his eyes, mouth wide in joy.

Eyebrows kissing, you follow him inside, nearly bumping against him when you realise he’s standing in the middle of the room, body still shaking from the chortle. He’s facing the ground, and you hit his arm from the back.

“Shut up,” you only order, opting to walk away.

But he turns to you, a hand around your elbow; he can barely breathe when he assures, “Okay. Okay, I’ll stop. Sorry, I just—” He sniffles as you look at him, sulking and trying his gloating not to make you laugh, too. “What were you doing?”

“That’s not funny!”

“I’m not trying to be funny! I’m serious.”

Which he clearly isn’t. The smile is too infuriatingly wide, and the tug at your arm too affectionate. He’s amused and you hate–love?–that you are, too. You keep the act of agitation intact for another moment.

But pieces of you break, your heart a melting mess when you watch his eyes nearly close, nose scrunched up. His shoulders rise — they always do whenever his laughter increases, bunny teeth protruding and the mole under his mouth a magnet to your lips.

And when he raises his hands to your face, cradling it, and speaks, you lose it entirely.

“What were you even saying, munchkin, huh? You’re such a little idiot, you know?” he playfully scolds, squishing your cheeks; peppering kisses on your skin and your lips; barely allowing you a moment to talk.

“And you’re—” you say between tiny kisses, distracted by the childlike, muah-ish sound effects that accompany his pecks, “so mean.”

“And you are the sweetest thing to exist.” The lovingly aggressive touch vanishes from your cheek to be replaced by sudden pinches; your protests are high-pitched, and unfortunately, enhance his statement. “Okay, okay. Come on.”

He flicks your chin as if to provoke you further, but dodges all your teeny tiny rage to come when he moves past your body. Warning abandoned, his fingers tweak your ass as he targets the kitchen, and you yelp, instantly slapping a hand over your butt.

“Freshen up and let’s get to dinner. And hurry. Gotta give you hands-on relaxation later.”

“You’re the worst, I mean it.”

But his evil snicker isn’t.

He might make your hackles rise, and test your patience the way he used to so long ago. Back when you’d seek him out in a miniscule dorm room, eyebrows furrowed just to see him a bit longer after class.

You’re always baffled how your foundation still stands; after all the shattering and agony and stings that fractured your heart. Only now, you’ll be surrounded by the bicker every hour of the day.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Living through an odd day at work, driving around town and embarrassing yourself in front of your boyfriend’s mother makes one dizzyingly hungry, you realised. Stress didn’t let you eat properly today.

Even now, there’s something you need to reveal to him — but the moment you sit down to eat and crack the first joke, you don’t have the heart to. And then, combined with the rush still lingering from the awkward, wholesome interaction before, and the shift in mood, you soon do the worst:

Forget about the issue.

Your eyes meet the bottom of your bowl sooner than preferred, your stomach still seemingly as empty as before. Whatever magic Jungkook seasoned the dish with, you want him to sprinkle it on your tastebuds every day.

Jungkook is sipping on his water when you suddenly look up and place a hand on his bicep, shaking him for attention. A guilty Oh slips out of you as you watch droplets roll down his chin, and he tries not to choke as he puts the glass back on the table.

“Babe—”

“I’m sorry!” you exclaim, thumb wiping at the fluid dampening his chin. “Just. Can we have more? That helped with that sickness all day, and… I’m still hungry.”

Along with the lack of appetite, you assumed the stress and the constant overworking dragged the feeling of illness and stomach ache throughout the day, too. Jungkook keeps warning you about burnouts — doing a thousand things at once, you’ve been thoroughly burdened.

But honestly. Maybe it was just hunger for a real meal.

“Oh? I'm so glad it helped then! And sure,” he responds. “Go ahead, there’s enough for like four people.”

You blink. “And you?” He shakes his head, patting his full tummy, attempting another try at drinking. You argue, “I’m not eating alone, though!”

“Angel, I’ve had like two portions. I'll be full until next dinner.”

“Lame!” You shift on the couch, half of your ass holding you onto it, “And if we found ways to burn it off?”

“…Ah?”

“I mean… You like working out. So just work me out.”

“Shut up. You’re impossible.”

You’ve long given up — you’re not an ass. You would never force him to eat or not to eat, unless he hasn’t in hours. But you also need a foolproof way of amusing him.

Which, despite his very unimpressed expression, you know you did. His lips still twitch.

Sombre, his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek before he shakes his head. You pat his strong thighs, standing from the couch with a hungry groan.

“Fine. I’ll go heat up some for myself then,” you announce, but Jungkook’s shrill alarm bells ring immediately, his body jumping off his seat.

“Not the microwave.”

“Jungkook—”

“Not! The microwave. Just toss it in the pan and heat it up there.”

You tiptoe to the kitchen just a little faster, playful as he hurries after you. You spend your seconds explaining why the microwave won’t explode; how tickling you won’t change anything; how you’ll break something if he doesn’t stop.

But most of all, you spend your seconds allowing him to chase away all sorrows you carried for so goddamn long.

Shut up. You’re impossible.

His prior agitation truly wasn’t one at all.

Because despite your obvious jests, the calories lost on the couch rob you of all sanity at last. A hand in your hair, a body pushing yours down, free fingers roaming your sides and your legs, and lips never separating from yours.

He doesn’t strip you off a single piece of clothing. Doesn’t dig a hand underneath your shirt, focused on how your mouth feels, how his name rolling off your tongue sounds.

The eyes he stares into are vivid and bright, and he uses up all his power to not let them kill him. Your body wraps around his like the most tender of all embraces; he doesn’t need you bare for it, no matter how blank the thought leaves his mind.

Only needs the proximity. The tongue touching his, the nails testing his shirt’s quality.

You miss most of the movie that he suggested, eating each other up, a fist around the hem of his shirt until he nearly falls off the couch and wakes you from your dream. You giggle and joke, spending the second half of the film yawning, sipping the peppermint tea. 

Jungkook uses the quiet time for whispered conversations; massages your feet as you pleaded for, repeatedly asking for your comfort.

The moments aren’t anything big, in theory. You’re not in a fantasy novel, not throwing a ring into a volcano. You’re mortal and here, surrounded by humane domesticity and drowning in casual conversations.

Yet — even though you’re not living through spectacular adventures, you’re breathing through special moments nevertheless. Because not a single second spent with him feels mundane, after all.

Sometime as the ending nears, you let your legs fall, pulled close to Jungkook by your hip. You don’t quite understand when or how he does it, but miraculously, you land half on his lap, ass barely on the couch and cheek pressed to his temple.

Jungkook pushes a hand against your thigh, heaving you up further and moving you until you’re comfortable. There’s a light groan, followed by a feathery kiss to your jaw; and you wrap an arm around his shoulder to hold on, shifting even closer.

Your touchy warmth isn’t new to Jungkook; but it seems that the changes in your lives made your inhibitions disperse. Like you broke the bars trapping you so far.

Because the increasing clinginess feels carefree; you don’t overthink your movements tonight. Even before, there was lightness in your interactions; how you’d breathe in his presence, compared to when the world intruded.

The difference was still never quite veiled.

He saw it when he called from so far away all those weeks ago, staring at the distress in your face through a device — versus when he returned to your world.

Or just recently, when you stood on that tiny stage, talking down to reporters — as opposed to when you whispered for him to get you home.

Your shoulders always dropped in relief the moment you stood in his soothing radius. And yet—

There was quiet discomfort in your eyes. And today — today he doesn’t see that usual steam frying your brain. Your smile isn’t burdened; you’re weightless, like you’re breathing.

Overwhelmed and endeared, Jungkook gulps. The pricking needle rods his heart, simultaneously flicking the wounds. He could cry.

He watches you busy your fingers with his shirt, unable to put his thoughts into a coherent string of sentences; so he only says, “You’re so cosy today.”

“Hm? I’m always cosy.”

“Mmmh… a bit more tonight.”

Your forefinger traces the outline of his pecs over his shirt, and you nod with a hum before you declare, “That’s because I’m trying to establish a healthy balance.”

“A healthy balance? How so?”

“I need to be nice, because you’re not.”

His eyes follow your finger’s slow movements, so his voice is soft, barely concerned. But his brain can’t quite compute as he asks, “I’m not nice?”

“You’ve always been mean, actually.”

He laughs. Taps your thigh rhythmically, close to your butt. “How am I mean to you?”

“Like,” you press your palm flat in the middle of his chest, looking at him. There’s a crease between your eyebrows, the slightest hint of a pout on your lips. “You ass could’ve answered when I came home. You didn’t say anything! Or did you really not hear me?”

Oh.

Ogling into your anticipating, subtly piqued eyes, he suppresses a laugh. His lips form a thin line, but the glow in his dark eyes betrays him. Your hand lifts a little, ready to spank his pecs, but you close the gap again as you grant him another chance.

“Hey, if you tell me you didn’t hear, I’ll let it slide.”

You’re well aware Jungkook graduated as the best of his year in Teasing You, and holds the degree proudly to your face every day — but you also know he’s honest.

So you’re not surprised when he admits, eyes mischievous, “I heard you.” Your slow blinking, the scolding gaze are hilarious to him; he looks unspeakably pleased. “I wanted to see what you’d do.”

Now you do slap his tits.

“And you didn’t expect me to say that shit?!” you reprimand. He wraps his arms around you, his laughter a deep, genuine emergence from his chest. “I’m an idiot, in case you didn’t know.”

“Of course. I do know,” he suddenly deadpans. Wow. That couldn’t have come any more naturally. “I know you well, baby.”

“And yet…”

He waves your concerns off, hand soon returning to your back to pull you closer. “She’s chill. I knew you were gonna amuse her right away.”

“Oh god. You planned this… Wait. You didn’t shush her when you heard the door open, right?”

He doesn’t answer. Just keeps looking at you. And then… is he…

Is he zoning out?

“Jungkook,” you call again.

“Hm?” He stares at you beguiled, as if utterly distracted by whatever. “Sorry. Can’t hear you—”

“You so can. We’re alone and I’m speaking loud and cl—”

“Nah, you’re just so pretty. I can barely focus.”

“I hate you.”

But you don’t.

He doesn’t need to spell his intentions out for you to understand. He might be testing your patience, but there’s a hidden meaning in his words that he can’t hide as well as he intends to after all.

Because you know he just wanted you to be yourself instead of playing a different role; just like he has never pretended in front of your parents. He knows you’d try extra hard for him — but he needed you to come in and receive affection as the person that you already are.

Guess whatever you blurted was the first impression he wanted to leave of you.

“So,” you start after a moment, back to tapping his chest, “do you think I did amuse her?”

“Oh, she loved it.” Of course she did. You could see the Jeon-esque endearment in her eyes the moment you stepped into the living room. Humbles you. “She’s gonna adore you, too.”

“Ah. Like you adore me.”

Jungkook’s response arrives in the form of a long, semi-damp kiss, delivered to the corner of your mouth. You grimace, torso moving backwards at his gentle force. He adds another Mmmhhh to the gesture until you’re nearly falling off his lap, pushing him away again with a giggly, “Stop!”

He leans back with a content sigh, eliminating more of the distance between you until his head almost rests against your chest. But when you speak again, he looks up into your face.

“Hey. Your mom was saying something as she was leaving. What was it again?”

“Uhh…”

His pupils roll up in thought, one shoulder already rising to shrug, but then it drops again before he voices, “Oh… Yeah…” A break in thought; then, “I figured you’d be busy with everything going on, so I was being reluctant about asking. Didn’t wanna put you in a difficult position.”

You wait. He speaks on, “But my cousin’s getting married next month, and I’m invited.”

There’s a beat of a pause, and you anticipate, already sensing a presentiment before he spits it out—

“And you are, too.”

Hold on.

Weddings. More often than not, weddings happen in big places, filled with a great number of guests. Of friends. And… of family members.

If what he’s suggesting isn’t a hallucination, it means that’d be how you’d step into the battlefield. Attempting your best to be yourself, to charm his family with whatever strategy.

Is he thinking of the same thing?

Because you’re speechless.

You close the mouth you only now notice stood agape, trying not to show the bubbling exhilaration too blatantly. That’d be your first joyful event together.

Oh god.

You might squeal; faint of nervousness. If you could, you’d press your fists to your lips and stomp your feet and twirl your hair and—

“Wait… You want me to go to a wedding with you?” you finally ask instead, keeping your voice in a normal pitch.

“Only if you feel like it.”

“And… and you?” you inquire, wide eyes looking into his wider ones. He’s nervous, too. “Do you want me to?”

“I… yeah. I do. I really, really don’t want to go without you, actually.”

Shit.

“Where is the wedding?”

“Yeah, see, that’s why I was afraid to ask. You’re so busy and your job’s so new. But we’d—” He hesitates, as if scared of rejection. Clicks his tongue, evaluating his words. “The thing is that we’d have to drive all the way down. It’s back at home.”

You need a moment. Back at home; you’re home. Meaning, it’s not here.

Meaning, it’s in his hometown. Meaning, you wouldn’t just meet his family, but walk through a place of memories and deeply rooted, nostalgic affection, too.

Which is… such a huge fucking thing.

Especially for a girlfriend.

Eun always says it doesn’t do bringing a girlfriend or boyfriend to big events such as birthday parties or weddings. It’s disadvantageous for the pictures, she claims. Who knows how the future might play out?

But Jungkook isn’t concerned with these issues. Jungkook wants you all the way down there, lurking on streets with him that he grew up on; tripped on; played on.

These are places with core remembrances. So easily expanded when more are added to them in later years; and so easily shattered when hearts break.

But a heart breaking is not an option, is it? Not anymore.

“You’re… taking me to your hometown?” you ask. You immediately realise the choice of words, and don’t hesitate as you add, “I mean. You’d be taking me home. You’d like to—”

“Is that—” he interrupts, suddenly unsure, “bad? Did it change your mind? You don’t have to, I promise.”

“No. I actually might cry.”

His expression momentarily softens, a big, clear Awwwh written in it. Gentle fingers brush your hair back, observing the vulnerability in your eyes. But shit, you mean it.

You could cry.

Because you talked about this so long ago.

Back when he was miles away, yet so deeply settled in your heart. Sneaking his way into your head, eating you up inside. When he broke off a piece of you and took it with him as he left, no relief for weeks on end.

And when he came back, he promised he’d take you with him one day.

Is that it? Is that now?

“Fuck,” you curse under a quiet laugh, confused by the burning in your eyes.

Jungkook’s hand brushes over your cheek, eyebrows slightly cocked. He might not have expected you to react with such… emotion. You hadn’t either.

“Hey,” his voice soothes, “don’t cry. It’ll be good. And if it’s not, or if you don’t want to, we can just stay here and never go again.”

You’re gonna sob. How did you deserve him?

Of course you want to go. Of course you’d make the best of it. No fibre in you wants to reject his offer.

In fact, you’re already daydreaming. Because…

How’s it gonna be? Will you see more stars there? Will his family like you? His Dad like you? And what are weddings with boyfriends like? Will you be seeing him in every flower in the hall, in every kiss the couple shares?

“No,” you say, “I’ll go. I will go because you’re too obsessed with me to leave without me.”

Jungkook chuckles immediately, but not speaking before rolling his eyes, “And you’re a brat.”

You wait a moment, smiling in unison with him, and then ask, “Honestly, I… I’d love to. Can I just still ask…” You’re curious; but you also want to keep feeling that warmth. More tranquillity from his words. “Why would you not go without me?”

He doesn’t stall.

“Because it’s such a big event, and… so far away. I don’t want to leave you here. And the thought of being at the most lovey-dovey place without my favourite person sucks.”

You’ll freaking screech.

“Jungkook!”

Half of the name is muffled when your lips drop to the crook of his neck, back uncomfortably arching and face heating up. Your ass threatens to fall back on the couch, legs still over his, and he hugs you close as he snickers again.

He shakes your body gently, trying to lift your face. Calling your name when your breath tickles his skin, asking, “Are we embarrassed?”

“No.”

But when you look at him again, your smile is wide enough to freeze your muscles in place. He shakes his head, flooded with aching joy, and makes sure again, “So you want to go, yeah? Don’t need time to think or something? It’s okay if you do.”

“As if. I really wanna go. I’m gonna make this,” you touch his collarbones, then your own, “work.”

He smiles. Grants you a short break to organise your thoughts. And while what you query next shouldn’t come as a surprise, it does introduce a delighted shift in mood.

“What am I gonna wear?”

Jungkook puffs out a breath.

You don’t notice; your focus drifts, directed to the carpet. You mentally scurry your closet, quietly trying to recall appropriate attire for weddings. Which is odd, because you should have the entire catalogue of your and every other place cemented in your mind.

“What do I wear?” you repeat, back to looking at him, barely allowing him a moment to think. “And don’t say anything would look good on me. Serious answers only.”

“You know a question like this prompts nothing but unserious answers from m—”

“Kook—”

“Okay. I mean, you have such pretty dresses. Lemme just choose one and we’re supplied.”

It’s an easy idea; fair enough. Only, you’re barely listening, earning a side-eye from Jungkook when you say, “I should buy a new one.”

Which still doesn’t deter him, though. “Cool. I’ll go with you then.”

“Or will I seem overdressed?”

“It’s a wedding, baby. Overdress like hell.”

“And… if I’m underdressed?”

“You’re still gonna be the hottest around!” he exclaims, and you flinch just a little. He’s not truly agitated, but there’s playful frustration in his voice, a grin around his lips. “Don’t worry about the dress, okay? It won’t stay on you anyway.”

Jungkook expects you to react with similar scolding, using it to hide how timidly flattered you actually are. But you’re too fired up, restless in his grip as your voice grows shriller, “I’m so. Fuck, I’m so excited!”

“I am, too. But…”

His palm moves up and down your back, one eye squinting shut as you start swaying a bit, pumped with serotonin. Like a thrilled child. You’re so…

He lowers his gaze; you might just see the heart eyes otherwise.

“Okay, hey,” he tries again, calming you as his fingers grasp your wrist. “Should we go to bed for now, though?”

You wait with your answer, relaxing your body. Stopping your elevated sounds, you draw the deepest breath in history, and then breathe out a whispery, “Yeah.”

“Yeah. Good. Oh.”

“Hm?”

“You haven’t actually been to the bedroom yet, right?”

“Oh…”

True. Since you came home, you only conversed with his mother, then rushed to take a shower as she left, still filled with prickling and nervous emotions. And then you hurried back to him, starving, eating, watching TV.

And now you’re here.

Was something different about the bedroom, though? You don’t think so.

“You’re right,” you tell him, “no, not really. Just to shower. Why?”

“Just…”

“…What?”

“Okay. Hold onto me.”

“Hold ont— oh, f—”

You gasp for air when two strong arms replace his soft hands, settling under your kneepits and around your back. He shifts dangerously on the couch, moving forward before he starts to lift with a self-motivating grunt.

“And— off we go.”

You sling your arms around his neck immediately, hiding, letting out a panicked, ”Be careful, I’m sli—”

“All good. Relax.” His arms wrap more properly around your limbs, and you dare to listen. Allowing your legs to dangle, you let him carry you calmly, breathing air through O-shaped lips. “Good girl. I won't just let you fall.”

“You better not.”

“No. Just wait.”

He looks at you with a comical grin, throwing a kiss into the air and down to you. Using your feet to kick the door open, he halts at the threshold; for a second, he looks… up.

And just when he finally enters the room, you quietly follow his gaze. The question as to what to wait for gets stuck in your throat when you realise what it is he needed you to see.

Holy shit.

the chapter isn't over yet – much to go!! tumblr just doesn't allow more than 1k blocks/paragraphs. apologies for the scrolling, but i promise it's worth it :'D here's the rest! <3

[skele-ghost]

Baby, it’s Hot Outside: Part 4

Welcome to: (Y/N) doesn’t know anything!

MDNI, 18+, Warnings: Omegaverse, dangerous situation, crowds, allusion to r*pe/sexual harassment/assault, heats, stranger danger

Masterlist

It doesn’t take them long to figure out that (Y/N) (L/N) has no idea what courting is.

She’s a beta, sure, and betas haven’t always been courted in the same fashion as omegas or even alphas. But that had changed in the modern age—even Gaz was courted by Price, and König made it a point to give just as much attention to Gaz as Soap while he was courting into the pack.

To be completely fair, they hadn’t yet asked to court her officially. Normally there’s this sort of pre-courting process, flirting and dates and smaller gifts, almost like a hint or a heads up before the formal ask.

Even so, the flirting went right over her head. She would laugh along, joke, tease back—but when someone compliemented her, really called her beautiful—she would blush, say ‘thank you,’ clear her throat and pick up the conversation where it had left of.

They would have thought she was turning them down, if not for her genuine confusion over the courting gifts.

Soap, the good omega he is, offered her a blanket from his nest. An awfully profound gift that spoke volumes, an item from an omega’s safe and private space, doused with the scent from each pack member.

“Oh, but this is one for your favorites,” she frowns, holding the ball of fabric in her arms.

“I ken. It’s the warmest one, too,” Johnny beams at her.

“You don’t want it?” She asks, tilting her head to the side.

“I want you to have it, angel,” he insists.

“Are you sure?” She asks as if he’s a child picking out a flavor of ice cream she knows he doesn’t like. “Because you know I have that big quilt my mama made me—“

“(Y/N), come on,” he laughs nervously, tamping down his growing fear of rejection. “It’s a gift. From me to you.”

She eyes him skeptically, looking at the blanket for a moment. “Alright. But no take-backs,” she jokes. “Thanks, MacTavish!”

And then she just leaves him standing there, a slight hop in her step as she walks down the hall towards the barracks.

Ghost, who had been listening the whole time from an adjourning room, takes to Soap’s side.

“The fuck was that?”

“I ‘ave no fuckin’ clue.”

Maybe it was a bad first gift, in retrospect. Betas didn’t have the same noses as the other designations. She might not be able to smell their scents on it at all. Maybe she just didn’t understand.

They keep trying. König takes her out to lunch, only to come back disappointed because she took the opportunity to talk about her favorite TV show and he couldn’t get a single word in. Not that he had the desire to stop her when her eyes were alight with excitement.

Ghost left her one of his hoodies, draping it over her duffel—and she gave it back to him the next day, thinking he’d put it with her things by mistake.

Gaz gets her a hat with the task force’s insignia…and she looses it the next day to a windstorm. She apologizes profusely, of course, but even with his arm slung over her shoulders, even when he presses a kiss to her temple, telling her it’s no big deal—she just doesn’t get it.

The last time they tried was a month prior, two weeks before the Mexico mission. They invited her out to the pub, adamant that they’d really lay on the flirting, sure that they’d finally get her to understand.

To say it was a disaster would be an understatement.

—

You and Soap head out early, something about getting a table before the pub’s too crowded. The sun periodically casts a golden glow on the buildings when it peeks out from behind the clouds, signaling sunset as the shadows get longer.

You two hold idle conversation, talking about work, mostly. It had been a busy, hectic week, hacking into cartel servers and pinpointing locations.

Every once in a while you bump shoulders to avoid other pedestrians. It makes you realize that some people are staring. Your brow furrows as you follow their gazes, mostly focused on Soap. He does seem a little less energetic than usual. A little less talkative, considering that you were carrying the entire conversation. His cheeks are flushed, but it’s been a hot summer.

“Hey, you okay?” You ask him, head tilted up to look at him properly.

“Yeah. ‘S just hot,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

“It’s just 80,” you reply, not completely convinced.

“Fahrenheit. How hot does it get back home?”

“We always get a couple of 100° days in the middle of summer—“

Someone bumps into him lightly, but it sends Soap stumbling. You catch onto his arm and stabilize him, finally noting how hot his skin is.

“Jesus! I think you’re getting heat stroke or somethin,’” you gasp, and he leans on you for support.

“I jus’ needta siddown. Pub’s there,” he points and you have no choice but to go. You try your best to ignore the stares from onlookers as you drag him along with you. They look concerned and it doesn’t help your hammering heart.

You decide that just sitting down won’t be helpful, considering that the sweltering pub isn’t even air conditioned. So you shove past strangers, muttering excuses and apologies, and take him into the women’s bathroom with you. It’s empty and there’s a lock on the inside of the door that you bolt.

“Just lean here for a sec,” you instruct him, leaning him against the wall instead of on your shoulder. You quickly take off your shirt, thankful for the tank top underneath, and soak it with cold water from the sink.

A groan of discomfort has your attention turning back to Soap, just to see him slide down the wall and onto the floor, sitting and plastering himself against the tiled wall.

“MacTavish! You have any idea how many diseases are probably on this floor?!” You curse, guiding his cheek from the wall, wiping his face with the cool cloth.

He chuckles, “yer so cute when you get that furrow in your brow.”

You just purse your lips, keeping the cloth against his jugular while you pull your phone out with your free hand, navigating to the dial pad.

He grabs your wrist. “Call Ghost.”

“I’m calling the police, you need to go to the hospital—“

“Call Simon. That’s an order,” he says, his tone serious although his eyes are half-lidded, cerulean focused on you.

You frown. Technically, he doesn’t have the authority to order you around. On the other hand, if Soap MacTavish was telling you to not call the police, then you weren’t going to.

“Fine.”

You dial the number and return to the sink, soaking it with cool water while the phone rings. It picks up on the second chime.

“What?” Ghost answers gruffly.

“Something’s wrong with Johnny,” you say, wringing out your shirt of excess water.

“What d’you mean? He alright?”

You set the phone on the edge of the sink and put it on speaker phone, kneeling next to your teammate once more.

“I-I don’t know— He all sweaty, his skin’s on fire. I think he’s got heatstroke, I should take him to the hospital—“

“Calm down. Where are you?”

“The bar, the lady’s room,” you say quickly, watching as Soap’s face contorts into anguish, tears spilling past his waterline.

“Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone, understand?”

“It’s locked—“

“Simon,” Soap whines, a whimper following a moment later. You gently shush him, wiping the tears from his face as they come.

“‘S alright, Johnny. Gonna be there soon, you’re gonna be fine,” Ghost soothes on the other end, his voice not losing its softness as he continues. “(Y/N), we’re almost there, darlin. You have somethin’ to defend yourself with?”

“I-I got mace, why?” You stammer, mind reeling with what the hell he could be talking about.

“Almost there. You use it if you need it, okay?”

“I—okay,” you agree, letting Soap pull you closer, his arm snaked around your waist.

You nearly jump out of your skin at the pounds on the door. “Hey! You can’t have him in here like that!” A man shouts on the other side.

“Don’t talk to ‘im,” Ghost instructs just as you open your mouth to speak.

The door shakes with the force of the pounding. “Hey! You hear me, you little—“

You don’t even hear the call hang up as there’s a muted thud from outside. You reach for your mace.

There’s a curt rap of knuckles on the door. “(Y/N)?” You feel your fear dissipate at the sound of Ghost’s voice, “you can open the door now, lovie.”

You have to wrench Soap’s arm off of you to get up and unlock the door. Ghost enters as soon as there’s enough room, no hesitation as he rushes past you and kneels by Soap’s side.

“He just got sick all of the sudden, I don’t know why—one minute he was fine and the next he was all hot. He was fine on the subway, I don’t understand—“ you ramble, only stopping when a hand on your shoulder startles you.

“It’s alright, (Y/N), he’ll be okay,” Gaz reassures you, his presence a comfort of its own. “You did everything right.”

You just nod, watching as Ghost lifts Soap (who seems to have calmed down quite a bit) into his arms and carries him out of the room. The back hallway of the bar is just barely large enough to fit your entire team.

König stands guard at one end but immediately abandons his post when Ghost calls for him, his eyes something dark like you’ve never seen—not that he even seems to see you. They exit the back door where a car’s already waiting in the alley.

The only thing stopping you from following is the captain, his hold on your upper arm keeping you back.

“We’re not going?” You ask, brow furrowed as you watch the door close.

“No, we’ll catch up with them later,” Price says, ushering you and Gaz out of the same back door; the car’s already gone.

“Where—they’re taking him to the hospital, right? I think he’s hyperthermic.”

“It’s just a fever, (Y/N), Johnny’ll be right as rain in a day or two,” Gaz soothes, maneuvering you to walk between him and the captain as you start down the alley.

“It’s happened before?” You ask, shocked.

“Happens four times a year,” Price informs you, a knit in his brow.

“Four tim—what, like every season? That’s so bizarre! What is it?”

“(Y/N)…He’s an omega. It’s a heat,” Price says.

“Ohhhhhh,” you say intelligently, your eyes widening. It certainly silences you, makes all of the pieces click into place—most of them.

You thought heats were only once a year. That’s what your cousin had said, at least. But it doesn’t explain why that guy at the door was so angry, or why Soap didn’t want you to call the police.

It confuses the hell out of you, but in the silence on the walk back and in the metro system, you decide it’s probably better that you don’t know.

You’ve heard some of the horror stories: how omegas used to be treated. How some of them are still treated. A knot forms in your stomach at the thought that someone would want to do that kind of harm to Johnny—at the realization that you were the only thing standing between him and cruelty.

What if the team hadn’t been there in time?

-

A/N: Hello! I hope this chapter gives more insight into the 141 + (Y/N)’s relationship before she presented. It should also explain why the boys were so angry at first when she presented—they thought that she had been lying this whole time, pretending not to know about designations and such. Furthermore, in my humble version of the Omegaverse, suppressants can take away scents and the ability to detect scents. Let me know if you have any questions!

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Celebration: 88,978 Words in One Day!

Just yesterday, a few other LU writers and I, Hot Cheeto Hatred, hosted our first ever monthly (hopefully) Write-a-thon! This event ran on June 4 from 12 am EST to 12 am EST, with one goal in mind---write as many productive words within that day as humanly possible. Words included in the final marathon count ranged from storyboarding, fic writing, editing, answering comments, journalling and homework---basically, any words that furthered yourself, the writing community at large, or your stories. We utilized either the Discord Sprint bot or self-reporting to collect the numbers at the end. Everyone involved gave it their all, with most of them being present for most if not all of the run time as they were able, and I'm so proud of their dedication towards their craft. Anyways, here's the final breakdown of the numbers below, as well as the awards and titles earned by each participant, as decided by the discord server (and myself at random).

Now onto the awards:

I am pleased to report that @not-freyja (Freyja above) won the "Writer of All Time" Award, pulling ahead with 20,565 of our total words. What an accomplishment! Freyja participated from dawn to well, dawn, and they absolutely deserve all praise and awe.

I'm giving myself, @hotcheetohatred (Cheeto), the award "Writer of Some Time," as I fell behind our lovely Freyja by a mere few hundred words fifteen minutes before the clock struck midnight. Next time, Freyja, next time...

The "Actually A Writer" award goes to @marcusdoodlesalot (Marcus), who, despite the name, DOES actually write, not just draw! Who would have thought. Not Freyja, that's for sure.

The "Early Bird" award goes to @lerikwrites (Lerik), who solely sprinted in the wee hours of the morning (my time, at least). Terrible. Good job.

"Star Commentor" goes to @elle-rosewater (Eliot), because I stole most of her words for the count from my own comment section in the BDOR Prologues. We love you, Eliot :3 Can't wait to see you next month.

"Cheerleader" goes to @la-sera, who gave us much encouragement throughout the day. I stole your 19 words from you saying you were excited to read Estelian's work. Hope that's okay, because I really wanted to include you---you provided a lot, even if you didn't write with us this time <3.

@whumpitywhumpitywhumpity (Dowsemaxxer) earns "Spirit-ed Storyboarder" for all of his lovely, informative talk on Spirit and just what makes him so great as a rather underappreciated LU boy.

Two awards next! "Chief Editor" and "Most Student" both go to @unexpectedstormy (Stormy) for faer work on getting. stuff. done. Fae did a steady amount of work, so proud.

"Editor (of Word Count) in Chief" goes to @tashacee (Tash), who, at reporting time, was scrounging up 100 and 200 word bits like spare change while I desperately tried to do math. I love you, never change.

The title of "Specter" goes to @somer-writes (Somer), who logged in very few sprints, but participated with the rest of us and pulled up at the end with a whole 7.5K words and a bunch of fics to post at the end, with a lot of it being Ghost AU! He's amazing.

The award "Better Late than Never" goes to our resident artist and recently turned fic-writer @estelian-01 (Este), who joined only in the last half of the marathon but managed to pull a whole 4K! Pictures might be worth a thousand words, but Este wrote a couple more anyway.

@across-violet-skies (Riv) gets the title "Mover and Shaker (of Blorbos)" for managing to participate and get quite the hefty wordcount only a DAY after moving. They're a trooper, that's for sure.

@anime-obsessed (Vio/Nene) earns the award "Most Old School" for writing with pen and paper for most of the day. Please go rest your wrist after all of that.

The award "Head in the Clouds" goes to my bestie and beloved beta reader @needfantasticstories (Skip), who spent the day listening to music and writing Skyloft drabbles. I am nervous/excited to see if those drabbles turned out fluffy as a Loftwing, or perhaps into something more angsty.

@noorahqar (Qar), my lovely fragile Victorian wife, earns the title "Chatty." You know why. But you were there nearly all of the run time, and so engaging and encouraging throughout---a blessing to us all. And even then, you managed to pull so many words. I'm impressed.

And finally, @rosehipandroots / @rosetintedtears (Rose) receives the titles "ndskanefnre" (self chosen) and "Birthday Santa." The first was borne of panic of being asked to choose a title---the second of her relentless effort to get her birthday fics done. Great job.

I'd like to thank everyone that I tagged for participating in the write-a-thon, and thank all of you for helping me draft this post as well. If I messed up any word counts or details or pronouns, you want to request a title/award change, or I missed someone, please DM and let me know! The next Write-a-thon will be held on July 1 from 12am to 12am GMT, and we'll be trying to beat our record. Can't wait to see all of you then!

[annellspethraven]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Sloan Spencer (@sloan_spencer_author)

It all started here. I woke up and looked at 'my' Discord server for the bloated tic of a fanfic (hey that rhymes, neurospicy two seconds!) I write with my partner SonaBeanSidhe, Aran Thranduil's Dining Hall. There hadn't been enough tea yet so the natural response was 'wth is this?' Well, THIS was going to Hoover my next two days and counting. Just visit the post, dear friends of the writing persuasion and you would see (I'll save you time because I'm nice this way) that there are many screenshots supporting just what the meme says: This Instagram OP knows a writer who found herself in a steaming pile of mess with the Google Docs TOS (which is really also the Google Drive TOS, making it somewhat difficult to locate said TOS. I'll save you more time. Here:

This information comes from https://support.google.com/docs/answer/148505#zippy=%2Csexually-explicit-material So, it was the act of sharing the files, not having created or stored them that triggered what had happened. Okay, still not reassuring. In the meantime, I was concerned enough to post what had happened to r/FanFiction. Within minutes, my post had been frozen by the mods there. I can see their concern. I believe they had only seen the meme-like first screen of the Instagram post, and it does come off like a bad Snopes Fail. They asked me for more proof. The first thing I did was a search for previous instances of Google having frozen Drive accounts previously. They are limited, but they exist. The concern here had to do with the current lack of information as to why the action happened, and whether we who collectively authored and had shared Docs with explicit content were about to have our Drive accounts fall before the scythe of an overzealous AI rollout on the part of Google. Which led to the second part of this. My first response to the mods was as follows:

A little while after I sent this, an update appeared on the Instagram OP's account (easy to find) so I added this:

The salient point of the update was that the author had received restored access to her Drive, but NOT the Doc that had started the entire difficulty. I waited for a response. And waited, and waited. In the meantime, I had no means to add to, respond to, anything to my original post or defend myself against some fairly sharp initial criticisms leveled against me by individuals who clearly hadn't read anything beyond the initial meme. Special. While I understand a sub this large likely has a lot of messages to field, I also felt that given they managed to freeze my post in a matter of minutes, they were really taking their time responding. So I weighed in on Instagram with a message of support. If nothing else is taken away, please take this: Back up your files. It's easy to create an alt Google account; this other account will have its own Drive storage. Share your folders and files with yourself. If you don't already realize, in Docs under the File dropdown menu the third option is Make A Copy. If you have shared the original document 75 times, you won't have shared that copy at all. Consider backing up your works to Indie platforms like Get Hermit, Ellipsus and The Quill. There may be others. Your own external hard drive is also a very good idea. But wait, you ask. What about just using MS Word, or having copies as a PDF file in the Adobe cloud? Not so fast, my friend. Look at Microsoft and Adobe's TOS regarding sexually explicit content...you'll get an unpleasant surprise. I did. In the meantime, a third update came from the OP on Instagram shedding far more light as to what had likely gone wrong. She had shared the Doc with she guessed 18-20 people as beta readers. The belief is now that one of these persons actually turned her in to Google via their abuse form. To quote one of the commenters on that update: "I heard from an agent that Google will only do this to your account if someone reports it. Google isn’t scanning docs for explicit content (except maybe images), but yeah, for this to happen, someone had to report her document to Google." This felt like a relief...and yet is still packaged inside a cautionary tale. How many of us have shared by 'whoever has this link'? I have, or rather, I had. I revoked all such permissions to all large stories and folders in favor of my few trusted long-time friends and beta readers. The works are on AO3. I don't need those Docs links to be free floating all over the place, not after seeing what can happen. I was on vacation in England some years prior when I realized I had lost the ability to send out all outgoing Gmail. It took me several days to figure out what had gone wrong and nearly lost me my ability to receive Covid test results at a time when that was a travel necessity...almost disastrous. Fortunately I had multiple email accounts and could work around the problem. Which brings me to the last of this.

While including the subreddit mod's responses here may seem retaliatory/petulant on my part...I'm at best miffed at their shortsightedness, maybe mildly insulted, mostly shaking my head at the fact that there is something to have been learned here that could have affected any one of us. No one was spreading misinformation. Something had indeed happened. The source of it had been unknown at the time of posting. Had they left my post alone I would have gladly redacted as it unfolded; the reason for placing it on that sub was not to create a giant stir but to let others know of the risk of this happening at all and to encourage backing up that which most writers invest a considerable amount of their emotional well-being; the safety of their written works. Yes, I'm neurodivergent. No, I don't always see the world as others do. No, I still don't think this difference allows the response to be interpreted as much other than a slight and working against the interests of authors (I'm on their side and last I checked, readers need the authors to have the things that are written in order to have the things to read. Just saying). Whatever, what really matters is, if you feel this is worth sharing, share, take away the important bits, and if someone out there just wants to write it up in 3 sentences so it isn't a tl;dr, do that too.

Have a Googly day, to all near and far, in these times in which we live...>.>

[ffxivtribehydrae]

It's been a surprisingly fun time to play on the Cloud server Beta, especially with all the Azems and Ancients people have made!

So much positive energy and sweet community and fun happenings, even Soken popping by the Sundering Art Party!

[hanatsuki-esperanza]

ATTENTION ADOBE USERS

In case you weren't aware, Sections 2.2 and 4.1 of the usage agreement were changed to allow Adobe to acces your content through both automated and manual methods for content review and analysis.

Basically: Congrats, your content can be used for AI unless you opt out!

What does this mean?

Adobe may use and analyze your Creative Cloud or Document Cloud content to train their machine learning programs. Creative Cloud and Document Cloud content that are used include (but aren't limited to) image, audio, video, text or document files, and associated data.

How to get around this?

Go to your account (accessible on account.adobe.com) and select data and privacy settings. From there, you'll be able to toggle off Content analysis.

Things to keep in mind:

Adobe performs content analysis only on content processed or stored on their servers, so anything saved on your devices is safe.

Some content analysis will still be collected for certain programs: Adobe Photoshop Improvement Program, Adobe Stock, features that allow you to submit content as feedback, and certain beta/pre-releases/early-access programs and features.

Learn more here.

Please spread the word to protect your work from uncompensated machine learning.

[cat-of-starlight]

-Aggressively makes a Bun Dante for the FFXIV cloud server beta- 👀

look at them. behold their cuteness <3

[chouxtranslations]

Shizun 028 - Anti

It was hard to join a fandom. It was even harder when it involves a star of Hu Sui’s calibre. 

Lu Yunzhen spent half a day looking for information on his phone, but he couldn’t figure out the fandom rules. He finally joined a new fan group and introduced himself as a new fan, only to be met with a barrage of questions after a warm welcome. 

[What are Hu Sui’s hobbies? Favourite food? His type?] 

It was basic homework for any fan. 

Lu Yunzhen had Mo Changkong answer as he didn’t have memories of his past life. 

Mo Changkong gave it a thought. “He liked to laze off, act spoiled, and sleep. His favourite is chicken bones. Qingqiu foxes are lovers by nature. They’re both filled with love and yet completely heartless. He goes for all types.” 

Lu Yunzhen fixed up the responses and hit sent. 

The mod went apeshit. [Nonsense! You fake fan! You anti! How dare you insult our husbando! His hobbies are reading and the arts, his favourite food is tomato salad! And he is known for being chaste, there’s never been a single relationship rumor even this many years after his debut!]

The entire group chat was in flames. 

The mod was very decisive. She promised to protect their gege’s good reputation on threat of death. The ban was immediate, and she immediately mocked the man named “Cloud recess” on various social media, saying that antis these days are just awful and don’t even do their homework right! 

Lu Yunzhen was stunned… 

“Shizun, I didn’t make a mistake.” Mo Changkong was also confused. He was annoyed by this shidi, but they did spend all those years together and he wouldn’t make these basic mistakes. “A-Sui hated reading and if there are too many words it makes him sleepy… Shizun had to lecture him a lot because he keeps slacking off, and Jingnian would hit him with his disciplinary ruler. Not to mention… how can a fox be a vegetarian?” 

He still insisted that this guy was their little shidi and should be brought back. 

Lu Yunzhen had no choice but to continue. After flipping through all his contacts, he remembered that He Mengmeng seemed to be a fan of Hu Sui.

When they first met, she had given him many compliments saying Lu Yunzhen had eyes like her favourite celebrity. She’s also shown off signed photos when she went to movie screenings and fan events. 

Rich and pretty fans like He Mengmeng had money and connections, and thus more information than the usual fan. Maybe she knows where Hu Sui is right now. 

Lu Yunzhen sent her a message. 

After the server issue was finished, He Mengmeng was finally on the right track with the game’s open beta. She just had several meetings where she had to beat down sexist old pigs and yell at irresponsible new hires. With a belly full of ire, she opened her computer’s screensaver, wanting to calm down by looking at her favourite celebrity. 

Hu Sui is so handsome… 360 degrees of perfection… 

A Hu Sui a day keeps the bad mood away. 

After enjoying the beautiful photos, she opened the group chat for hardcore fans, wanting to squeal over their idol together. Suddenly she saw the screenshots of a dumb anti and the mocking that surrounded it. 

Hop hop candy: [Our husband loves to be clean and elegant, how could he like munching on chicken bones?!]

Red cat plushie: [Our husband’s favourite novel is “Cafe mocha in the deer wilderness”. It’s super literary and romantic! I kept it by my bedside and read it for half a year!” 

He Mengmeng joined in the bashing. [This anti is ridiculous, how dare they mock our idol!]

She looked at the screenshots again and felt like this “Cloud recess” guy’s display name and profile picture seemed familiar. Mulling over it for quite a while, she notice that there were 2 new messages on her phone. 

Cloud recedess: [Xuejie, are you there?]

Cloud recess: [Xuejie, do you know Hu Sui’s itinerary?]

A blue sky, a white cloud with a smile. 

That profile picture looked just like that anti? 

??? 

She shakily unlocked her phone, and fell into abject terror after confirming that “Cloud recess” was her Lu xuedi…

There’s magic around his life! Every female star he liked would leave the industry, and now that he seems to be turning gay, male stars probably can’t escape the fate either!

She almost begged while kneeling. “Xue di, please leave our Hu Sui alone! You should go be a fan of the movie king Liao instead. He’s handsome and a good actor and a perfect idol!” 

The actor in question had some rather nasty leaks involving infidelity while his wife was pregnant… his reputation was beyond nasty…

Lu Yunzhen was surprised. “Xuejie, what are you saying?” 

He Mengmeng tried for argumentum ad passione. “Hu Sui has a weak body and often has to stay in the hospital. He’s had very few movies and events in the past 2 years, and he really can’t handle your adoration…” 

Lu Yunzhen finally understood the misunderstanding. Not wanting to say that Hu Sui was his disciple from a past life just in case Mo Changkong was mistaken, he explained, “Hu Sui might be a relative of mine, I want to take a look at him.” 

He Mengmeng was stunned. 

Hu Sui had said in an interview previously that he was separated from his family and really missed them. And Lu xuedi was an adopted orphan who never found his family. The two of them looked similar, especially those peach blossom eyes which were almost identical…

“I’m just going to take a look at him from far away.” Lu Yunzhen promised. 

He Mengmeng’s heart hurt thinking of her little xuedi losing his family and living alone. She gritted her teeth and decided to trust him. “Hu Sui is in our city right now, he’s at the lijing hotel, you can try to get a glance there.” 

Lu Yunzhen was ecstatic and thanked her profusely. 

“Please don’t be his fan. If he quits the entertainment industry I’m going to be the forever enemy of his fanclub!” 

“Yes ma’am, I’ll never be his fan!” 

…

The nurse brought his discharge papers. 

Lu Yunzhen had his suspicions confirmed. The services at the private hospital were astronomical and Long Jingtian had already took care care of all of it. 

Most of his money had gone to auntie Qin, the fire insurance payment was still being sorted out, and the remaining money had to go deal with the damage to the other neighbours. They didn’t have a lot of damage but they still needed short term rent, furniture, etc…

Lu Yunzhen messaged Long Jingtian. 

The latter replied that his dad really liked the tea, and that his dad was about to buy him a lamborghini thanks to Master Lu’s efforts. This small amount of money was no matter, as long as master deemed him worthy of friendship. 

Lu Yunzhen promised to treat him to a meal later. 

After a lot of hesitating, Long Jingtian asked. “It was a fire wasn’t it, Master Lu? What about… that bastard?”

It took some time before Lu Yunzhen realized he was asking after Jin Yunu. “He’s a little injured and taking quiet rest right now. Things should be fine in a few months.” 

Long Jingtian’s reaction was immediate. “Hahaha! That’s exactly what he deserved.” 

Lu Yunzhen really didn’t understand this idiot’s logic…

He heard that movie stars are very busy and was worried that Hu Sui might leave the city soon. As soon as he left the hospital he called a taxi to head straight to lijing hotel. 

It was one of the most luxurious 5 star hotels in the city. The whole place smelled like money and was filled to the brim with shining, golden decorations and antiques on display. 

It was the first time that Lu Yunzhen had been in such a place and he glanced around in curiosity. After seating Mo CHangkong in a resting area sofa, he went to the front desk and asked. “Jiejie, is the movie star Hu Sui here?” 

The beautiful woman responded with a business like smile. “My apologies, but Mr. Hu isn’t here.” 

Celebrity stays have to stay a secret. 

“En, I know he’s not here.” Lu Yunzhen was very good at dealing with working professionals and knew what she was thinking. He passed his phone number towards her and asked politely. “Jiejie, if Hu Sui comes to stay in this hotel, could you tell him that someone named Lu Yunzhen is looking for him?” 

The receptionist took the slip of paper and look at him suspiciously. 

“I’m a distant relative of his and needs to contact him about something.” Lu Yunzhen took out his student ID from his backpack. “Jiejie, I’m a student at Haiping University, I’m not a bad person. Look at our photos, don’t we look alike?” 

The receptionist was amused and took the paper. “If Mr Hu comes to stay at our hotel, I can ask for you.” 

“Thank you, jiejie.” Lu Yunzhen answered happily. 

He jogged back to Mo Changkong. “We can stay here for a bit. If there’s no updates then we can find a cheap hotel to stay at…” 

“Don’t worry.” Mo Changkong smiled coldly. “I can smell the fox. This palace seems alright, he should get a room for Shizun.” 

“Changkong!” 

Mo Changkong immediately held back his attitude. “I’ll be polite…” 

…

The receptionist called the butler at the penthouse suite and asked him to pass along the paper. 

There was a big plate of roast chicken that had been disguised as tomato salad with illusion magic on the dining table. 

Hu Sui had just woken up from a nightmare. He was shaking his fluffy tail in a bathrobe and calling his manager while irritated. “Did you find him? Has there been a record of them checking into a hotel after the fire? Look closer, faster! Tell me the address as soon as you find it…. And also ask if it’s 2 beds or 1 big bed. This is very important, I’m worried…” 

There was a knock in the door. 

Hu Sui liked to stay in his original form when he’s alone and didn’t like being around mortals. He had already chased out his personal assistant long ago. Hiding his tail and ears, he replied with irritation. “I didn’t ask for room service.” 

“Mr Hu, do you have a relative named Lu YUnzhen?” The butler asked politely. 

The room door was opened in an instant. 

The normally well dressed and distant movie star Hu Sui had ran out with messy hair and a casual white bathrobe. His dazzling peach blossom eyes were filled with anxiety. “Where is he?”

He’s even prettier than on tv. 

The butler couldn’t help but swallow. Dizzily, he answered. “In the lobby.” 

Cautiously, Hu Sui continued. “How did he seem? Is he out of sorts or confused?” 

The butler was confused. “I don’t know.” 

Hu Sui immediately ran towards the elevator. A few steps in he realized that this appearance would be impolite towards Shizun, so he hurried back to change and asked the butler to bring the man up instead. 

He’s immensely worried. 

Da shixiong is nothing but obsessed, with an an awful personality and endless crimes. He’s worried that Shizun had already fallen into his evil clutches. Da shixiong did things very intensely, and even more so when he went insane. He saw the sorry state the Shizun had been in when he was rescued…

There were many arcane ways to control a mortal heart. 

If da shixiong wanted to do something bad, there’s no way that Shizun could escape. Lord knows they would have already done the unthinkable by now and Shizun had turned into a shiniang. 

He just had a nightmare that da shixiong had forced Shizun to city hall to grab a marriage license, then there was a marriage and da shixiong was holding a stick and threatening him to call him daddy…

THAT’S TOO SCARY!

[mikaharuka]

A Question in Hands - Official Post

I have arrived with another entry, though this one is very special!

This is a birthday gift for @udaberriwrites (posted a day early, since we were both impatient lol)! Annie's an amazing friend, super supportive beta, talented author, and all-around lovely person!

Special shoutout to @axolotlsupremacyowo! Momo's the whole reason 'A Series in Hands' exists. Also, she somehow enabled me into this full-blown idea for after Apricity ends - an Apricity AU long-fic lol

Second, this fic fills two prompts - the first being the one-word prompt "elegant" given to me by... you guessed it, Momo. This fic is also for the Discord server February prompt, "board games".

Lastly, this isn't just the fourth entry to the Carlisle/Beau-centric A Series in Hands, but is also the inaugural entry to the Edward/Mike-centric A Question in Series! Also, I think this is my first non-M/E fic.

Title: A Question in Hands (part of the Winter Light series)

Author: Mizuka

Rating: Teen

Category: Gen + M/M

Word Count: 900 words

Summary: Mike is left to wonder about what is going on, after seeing and hearing about Beau's fixation on Carlisle's hands. [an Apricity future fic - Part 4 of A Series in Hands, Part 1 of A Question in Series]

Notes: You can read this without having read canon or Apricity - however, this fic takes place in the Winter Light universe, a world that differs notably from canon. For this fic, you don't need to know much, but a few points are noted in the A/N for context.

(fandom-blind friendly by default, Apricity-blind friendly too)

Tagging because I think you might be interested? @mrsmungus, @alpaca-clouds, @udaberriwrites, @danceswithdarkspawn, @magma-saarebas19, @aislinnstanaka, @writingpotato07, @lena-hills, @hylianjo, @0nelittlebirdtoldme, @tsunderewatermelon, @axolotlsupremacyowo, @kayedium-writes, @sliebman10

[this-week-in-rust]

This Week in Rust 533

Hello and welcome to another issue of This Week in Rust! Rust is a programming language empowering everyone to build reliable and efficient software. This is a weekly summary of its progress and community. Want something mentioned? Tag us at @ThisWeekInRust on Twitter or @ThisWeekinRust on mastodon.social, or send us a pull request. Want to get involved? We love contributions.

This Week in Rust is openly developed on GitHub and archives can be viewed at this-week-in-rust.org. If you find any errors in this week's issue, please submit a PR.

Updates from Rust Community

Official

crates.io: API status code changes

Foundation

Google Contributes $1M to Rust Foundation to Support C++/Rust "Interop Initiative"

Project/Tooling Updates

Announcing the Tauri v2 Beta Release

Polars — Why we have rewritten the string data type

rust-analyzer changelog #219

Ratatui 0.26.0 - a Rust library for cooking up terminal user interfaces

Observations/Thoughts

Will it block?

Embedded Rust in Production ..?

Let futures be futures

Compiling Rust is testing

Rust web frameworks have subpar error reporting

[video] Proving Performance - FOSDEM 2024 - Rust Dev Room

[video] Stefan Baumgartner - Trials, Traits, and Tribulations

[video] Rainer Stropek - Memory Management in Rust

[video] Shachar Langbeheim - Async & FFI - not exactly a love story

[video] Massimiliano Mantione - Object Oriented Programming, and Rust

[audio] Unlocking Rust's power through mentorship and knowledge spreading, with Tim McNamara

[audio] Asciinema with Marcin Kulik

Non-Affine Types, ManuallyDrop and Invariant Lifetimes in Rust - Part One

Nine Rules for Accessing Cloud Files from Your Rust Code: Practical lessons from upgrading Bed-Reader, a bioinformatics library

Rust Walkthroughs

AsyncWrite and a Tale of Four Implementations

Garbage Collection Without Unsafe Code

Fragment specifiers in Rust Macros

Writing a REST API in Rust

[video] Traits and operators

Write a simple netcat client and server in Rust

Miscellaneous

RustFest 2024 Announcement

Preprocessing trillions of tokens with Rust (case study)

All EuroRust 2023 talks ordered by the view count

Crate of the Week

This week's crate is embedded-cli-rs, a library that makes it easy to create CLIs on embedded devices.

Thanks to Sviatoslav Kokurin for the self-suggestion!

Please submit your suggestions and votes for next week!

Call for Participation; projects and speakers

CFP - Projects

Always wanted to contribute to open-source projects but did not know where to start? Every week we highlight some tasks from the Rust community for you to pick and get started!

Some of these tasks may also have mentors available, visit the task page for more information.

Fluvio - Build a new python wrapping for the fluvio client crate

Fluvio - MQTT Connector: Prefix auto generated Client ID to prevent connection drops

Ockam - Implement events in SqlxDatabase

Ockam - Output for both ockam project ticket and ockam project enroll is improved, with support for --output json

Ockam - Output for ockam project ticket is improved and information is not opaque 

Hyperswitch - [FEATURE]: Setup code coverage for local tests & CI

Hyperswitch - [FEATURE]: Have get_required_value to use ValidationError in OptionExt

If you are a Rust project owner and are looking for contributors, please submit tasks here.

CFP - Speakers

Are you a new or experienced speaker looking for a place to share something cool? This section highlights events that are being planned and are accepting submissions to join their event as a speaker.

RustNL 2024 CFP closes 2024-02-19 | Delft, The Netherlands | Event date: 2024-05-07 & 2024-05-08

NDC Techtown CFP closes 2024-04-14 | Kongsberg, Norway | Event date: 2024-09-09 to 2024-09-12

If you are an event organizer hoping to expand the reach of your event, please submit a link to the submission website through a PR to TWiR.

Updates from the Rust Project

309 pull requests were merged in the last week

add avx512fp16 to x86 target features

riscv only supports split_debuginfo=off for now

target: default to the medium code model on LoongArch targets

#![feature(inline_const_pat)] is no longer incomplete

actually abort in -Zpanic-abort-tests

add missing potential_query_instability for keys and values in hashmap

avoid ICE when is_val_statically_known is not of a supported type

be more careful about interpreting a label/lifetime as a mistyped char literal

check RUST_BOOTSTRAP_CONFIG in profile_user_dist test

correctly check never_type feature gating

coverage: improve handling of function/closure spans

coverage: use normal edition: headers in coverage tests

deduplicate more sized errors on call exprs

pattern_analysis: Gracefully abort on type incompatibility

pattern_analysis: cleanup manual impls

pattern_analysis: cleanup the contexts

fix BufReader unsoundness by adding a check in default_read_buf

fix ICE on field access on a tainted type after const-eval failure

hir: refactor getters for owner nodes

hir: remove the generic type parameter from MaybeOwned

improve the diagnostics for unused generic parameters

introduce support for async bound modifier on Fn* traits

make matching on NaN a hard error, and remove the rest of illegal_floating_point_literal_pattern

make the coroutine def id of an async closure the child of the closure def id

miscellaneous diagnostics cleanups

move UI issue tests to subdirectories

move predicate, region, and const stuff into their own modules in middle

never patterns: It is correct to lower ! to _

normalize region obligation in lexical region resolution with next-gen solver

only suggest removal of as_* and to_ conversion methods on E0308

provide more context on derived obligation error primary label

suggest changing type to const parameters if we encounter a type in the trait bound position

suppress unhelpful diagnostics for unresolved top level attributes

miri: normalize struct tail in ABI compat check

miri: moving out sched_getaffinity interception from linux'shim, FreeBSD su…

miri: switch over to rustc's tracing crate instead of using our own log crate

revert unsound libcore changes

fix some Arc allocator leaks

use <T, U> for array/slice equality impls

improve io::Read::read_buf_exact error case

reject infinitely-sized reads from io::Repeat

thread_local::register_dtor fix proposal for FreeBSD

add LocalWaker and ContextBuilder types to core, and LocalWake trait to alloc

codegen_gcc: improve iterator for files suppression

cargo: Don't panic on empty spans

cargo: Improve map/sequence error message

cargo: apply -Zpanic-abort-tests to doctests too

cargo: don't print rustdoc command lines on failure by default

cargo: stabilize lockfile v4

cargo: fix markdown line break in cargo-add

cargo: use spec id instead of name to match package

rustdoc: fix footnote handling

rustdoc: correctly handle attribute merge if this is a glob reexport

rustdoc: prevent JS injection from localStorage

rustdoc: trait.impl, type.impl: sort impls to make it not depend on serialization order

clippy: redundant_locals: take by-value closure captures into account

clippy: new lint: manual_c_str_literals

clippy: add lint_groups_priority lint

clippy: add new lint: ref_as_ptr

clippy: add configuration for wildcard_imports to ignore certain imports

clippy: avoid deleting labeled blocks

clippy: fixed FP in unused_io_amount for Ok(lit), unrachable! and unwrap de…

rust-analyzer: "Normalize import" assist and utilities for normalizing use trees

rust-analyzer: enable excluding refs search results in test

rust-analyzer: support for GOTO def from inside files included with include! macro

rust-analyzer: emit parser error for missing argument list

rust-analyzer: swap Subtree::token_trees from Vec to boxed slice

Rust Compiler Performance Triage

Rust's CI was down most of the week, leading to a much smaller collection of commits than usual. Results are mostly neutral for the week.

Triage done by @simulacrum. Revision range: 5c9c3c78..0984bec

0 Regressions, 2 Improvements, 1 Mixed; 1 of them in rollups 17 artifact comparisons made in total

Full report here

Approved RFCs

Changes to Rust follow the Rust RFC (request for comments) process. These are the RFCs that were approved for implementation this week:

No RFCs were approved this week.

Final Comment Period

Every week, the team announces the 'final comment period' for RFCs and key PRs which are reaching a decision. Express your opinions now.

RFCs

No RFCs entered Final Comment Period this week.

Tracking Issues & PRs

[disposition: merge] Consider principal trait ref's auto-trait super-traits in dyn upcasting

[disposition: merge] remove sub_relations from the InferCtxt

[disposition: merge] Optimize away poison guards when std is built with panic=abort

[disposition: merge] Check normalized call signature for WF in mir typeck

Language Reference

No Language Reference RFCs entered Final Comment Period this week.

Unsafe Code Guidelines

No Unsafe Code Guideline RFCs entered Final Comment Period this week.

New and Updated RFCs

Nested function scoped type parameters

Call for Testing

An important step for RFC implementation is for people to experiment with the implementation and give feedback, especially before stabilization. The following RFCs would benefit from user testing before moving forward:

No RFCs issued a call for testing this week.

If you are a feature implementer and would like your RFC to appear on the above list, add the new call-for-testing label to your RFC along with a comment providing testing instructions and/or guidance on which aspect(s) of the feature need testing.

Upcoming Events

Rusty Events between 2024-02-07 - 2024-03-06 🦀

Virtual

2024-02-07 | Virtual (Indianapolis, IN, US) | Indy Rust

Indy.rs - Ezra Singh - How Rust Saved My Eyes

2024-02-08 | Virtual (Charlottesville, NC, US) | Charlottesville Rust Meetup

Crafting Interpreters in Rust Collaboratively

2024-02-08 | Virtual (Nürnberg, DE) | Rust Nüremberg

Rust Nürnberg online

2024-02-10 | Virtual (Krakow, PL) | Stacja IT Kraków

Rust – budowanie narzędzi działających w linii komend

2024-02-10 | Virtual (Wrocław, PL) | Stacja IT Wrocław

Rust – budowanie narzędzi działających w linii komend

2024-02-13 | Virtual (Dallas, TX, US) | Dallas Rust

Second Tuesday

2024-02-15 | Virtual (Berlin, DE) | OpenTechSchool Berlin + Rust Berlin

Rust Hack n Learn | Mirror: Rust Hack n Learn

2024-02-15 | Virtual + In person (Praha, CZ) | Rust Czech Republic

Introduction and Rust in production

2024-02-19 | Virtual (Melbourne, VIC, AU) | Rust Melbourne

February 2024 Rust Melbourne Meetup

2024-02-20 | Virtual | Rust for Lunch

Lunch

2024-02-21 | Virtual (Cardiff, UK) | Rust and C++ Cardiff

Rust for Rustaceans Book Club: Chapter 2 - Types

2024-02-21 | Virtual (Vancouver, BC, CA) | Vancouver Rust

Rust Study/Hack/Hang-out

2024-02-22 | Virtual (Charlottesville, NC, US) | Charlottesville Rust Meetup

Crafting Interpreters in Rust Collaboratively

Asia

2024-02-10 | Hyderabad, IN | Rust Language Hyderabad

Rust Language Develope BootCamp

Europe

2024-02-07 | Cologne, DE | Rust Cologne

Embedded Abstractions | Event page

2024-02-07 | London, UK | Rust London User Group

Rust for the Web — Mainmatter x Shuttle Takeover

2024-02-08 | Bern, CH | Rust Bern

Rust Bern Meetup #1 2024 🦀

2024-02-08 | Oslo, NO | Rust Oslo

Rust-based banter

2024-02-13 | Trondheim, NO | Rust Trondheim

Building Games with Rust: Dive into the Bevy Framework

2024-02-15 | Praha, CZ - Virtual + In-person | Rust Czech Republic

Introduction and Rust in production

2024-02-21 | Lyon, FR | Rust Lyon

Rust Lyon Meetup #8

2024-02-22 | Aarhus, DK | Rust Aarhus

Rust and Talk at Partisia

North America

2024-02-07 | Brookline, MA, US | Boston Rust Meetup

Coolidge Corner Brookline Rust Lunch, Feb 7

2024-02-08 | Lehi, UT, US | Utah Rust

BEAST: Recreating a classic DOS terminal game in Rust

2024-02-12 | Minneapolis, MN, US | Minneapolis Rust Meetup

Minneapolis Rust: Open Source Contrib Hackathon & Happy Hour

2024-02-13 | New York, NY, US | Rust NYC

Rust NYC Monthly Mixer

2024-02-13 | Seattle, WA, US | Cap Hill Rust Coding/Hacking/Learning

Rusty Coding/Hacking/Learning Night

2024-02-15 | Boston, MA, US | Boston Rust Meetup

Back Bay Rust Lunch, Feb 15

2024-02-15 | Seattle, WA, US | Seattle Rust User Group

Seattle Rust User Group Meetup

2024-02-20 | San Francisco, CA, US | San Francisco Rust Study Group

Rust Hacking in Person

2024-02-22 | Mountain View, CA, US | Mountain View Rust Meetup

Rust Meetup at Hacker Dojo

2024-02-28 | Austin, TX, US | Rust ATX

Rust Lunch - Fareground

Oceania

2024-02-19 | Melbourne, VIC, AU + Virtual | Rust Melbourne

February 2024 Rust Melbourne Meetup

2024-02-27 | Canberra, ACT, AU | Canberra Rust User Group

February Meetup

2024-02-27 | Sydney, NSW, AU | Rust Sydney

🦀 spire ⚡ & Quick

If you are running a Rust event please add it to the calendar to get it mentioned here. Please remember to add a link to the event too. Email the Rust Community Team for access.

Jobs

Please see the latest Who's Hiring thread on r/rust

Quote of the Week

My take on this is that you cannot use async Rust correctly and fluently without understanding Arc, Mutex, the mutability of variables/references, and how async and await syntax compiles in the end. Rust forces you to understand how and why things are the way they are. It gives you minimal abstraction to do things that could’ve been tedious to do yourself.

I got a chance to work on two projects that drastically forced me to understand how async/await works. The first one is to transform a library that is completely sync and only requires a sync trait to talk to the outside service. This all sounds fine, right? Well, this becomes a problem when we try to port it into browsers. The browser is single-threaded and cannot block the JavaScript runtime at all! It is arguably the most weird environment for Rust users. It is simply impossible to rewrite the whole library, as it has already been shipped to production on other platforms.

What we did instead was rewrite the network part using async syntax, but using our own generator. The idea is simple: the generator produces a future when called, and the produced future can be awaited. But! The produced future contains an arc pointer to the generator. That means we can feed the generator the value we are waiting for, then the caller who holds the reference to the generator can feed the result back to the function and resume it. For the browser, we use the native browser API to derive the network communications; for other platforms, we just use regular blocking network calls. The external interface remains unchanged for other platforms.

Honestly, I don’t think any other language out there could possibly do this. Maybe C or C++, but which will never have the same development speed and developer experience.

I believe people have already mentioned it, but the current asynchronous model of Rust is the most reasonable choice. It does create pain for developers, but on the other hand, there is no better asynchronous model for Embedded or WebAssembly.

– /u/Top_Outlandishness78 on /r/rust

Thanks to Brian Kung for the suggestion!

Please submit quotes and vote for next week!

This Week in Rust is edited by: nellshamrell, llogiq, cdmistman, ericseppanen, extrawurst, andrewpollack, U007D, kolharsam, joelmarcey, mariannegoldin, bennyvasquez.

Email list hosting is sponsored by The Rust Foundation

Discuss on r/rust

[sycamorality]

🍀 for. any of your rain world ocs you wanna talk about we don't remember all their names shfhfhhd

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

oh its paragraph time baby.

ancients

endless sky, looping sea - ok so here's a funny thing my friend mentioned something about omens being close with an ancient iirc and i offered to make a silly for that and now i have endless :] and then they got the horrors.

soaring eclipse above crescent tides - originally a bit of Sol Warrior Cats and icarus but now it's just self projection plaza. their design however i can talk about. the current one, at least. their current one is much more dragon based and has pterosaur based wings! the blue-purple gradient has always been a constant for some reason and i think it was just for the sake of accent colors.

apparently everlasting - i saw a post akin to this post i think? something like it, and i had the idea of a kid turned turned iterator because their mom didn't want them to be forced to ascend during the mass ascension because of how young they were. she hoped she could stay too, but...

pearls collapsing within stained grounds - had the idea of a child that got echoed and their echo could never leave because they were attached to the very world itself

stars lost within stars / boundless dying stars among vanishing clouds - "so we have iterators turned slugcat..... what about ancient turned slugcat?" and then the horrors.

slugcats

broadcast slugcat - rule of funny in a roleplay lmao. something something itd be funny if a slugcat connected to the broadcast

the collector - had the idea of an iterator reincarnated into a slugcat.

specks of feathers - so endless' iterator friend has A Lot of miros birds and i thought- what if endless did have a friend as an echo before they ever said hi to omens again as an echo?

little light - MY FIRST RAIN WORLD OC. they're based on my first survivor playthrough where i went pearl collecting. their title is the archaeologist. the red strings and red dots on the forehead are inspired by looks to the moon.

the gatherer - an iggy projection slugcat!

the laceweaver - one of the beta spearmaster designs shared by faeling!

the voidskipper - dark teal/abyss colored cut arena slugcat

iterators

seven lucky patches - on an rp server we were joking abt getting mipped and i made a silly design and Wuhoh here's an oc i have now. their design is inspired by calico cats because they're called lucky cats in german - and seven is a lucky number in germany. and yknow. clovers

a vestigial era - SO. ONE OF MY FIRST RAIN WORLD OCS. this is a direct quote; "i just made eon because i wanted funny iterator that bruteforced their way outta their can". I THINK IT WAS MY FRIEND HERO'S IDEA THAT HE WAS AN ITERATOR TURNED SLUGCAT? I'M NOT TOO SURE ON THAT ONE. his original name was lost vestigial era! he bruteforced a way outta his can to check up on his friend, falling silent hope, aaand on the topic of her -

falling silent hope - oh voids i need to add her modified puppet ref/remake it. anyway. one of my first rain world ocs again! i think she was made just to be ave's friend - her structure is in awful condition. its only standing because of slugcats and scavengers. anyway! her original inspiration is hard to pinpoint.... i think i was messing around?

futile constellations - um. i had a name. i wanted to use it. the design is inspired by galaxies and night skies though. now that i'm looking at it probably also an old adopt i made

scattered perception - yeah ok SO i had the name and i dont remember where i got it from? but it gave me the idea of an iterator where the overseers are them and not just eyes for them and the rest is history

SORROW/watcher - evosmp watchers do i need to say more

apathetic nostalgia - originally they were a joke of "haha inv but iterator turned slugcat" ........... guess who has a wholeass story now that includes someone elses oc and they both had their narratives doomed by eachother

and i think that's all the ocs i can mention and remember atm lmao

[infinite-riches]

I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm

Summary: The sky was already filled with grey clouds and a haze that only meant one thing– snow. And it was coming soon. It was rare for them to get snow thanks to their proximity to the coast and even when they did, it didn’t stick around long. As nervous as Johnny was about the impending storm, he was equally excited by the prospect of being snowed in with his lover.

Or: The boys get snowed in together.

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x Simon "Ghost" Riley

Word Count: 4,567

Warnings: none :)

A/N: I am gonna take a minute to thank all the people that helped me with this monster piece. Lots of love to the CoD Babygirls and GhostSoap servers- so many people helped generate ideas and cheered me on and I'm so thankful to all y'all!

Extra love to my beta readers/editors for this piece: Xnihilo and ANTchan. All my fucking love to y'all cause I seriously couldn't have done this without your help <3

And as always feel free to leave feedback/constructive criticism <3

AO3 Link (if you prefer): I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm

The shop was bustling with people stocking up– word had gone out that a brutal winter storm was headed their way and it had everyone rushing out to prepare. Johnny scanned down the aisle, looking for a few pantry staples they had recently run short on when he felt the cart move, the familiar shadow of Simon in the corner of his vision.

With a glance down, Johnny couldn’t help but laugh. Tablet, shortbread, and caramel logs now rested atop the pile of groceries. “Ye and yer bloody sweet tooth!”

“You know you love me…” Simon responded, eyes crinkling at the corners, signaling he was smiling beneath his black medical mask.

“Aye, that ah do… now go be of some real help and grab some Irn-Bru, would ye?” Johnny just barely caught the way Simon rolled his eyes before slipping back down the aisle in search of Johnny’s favorite drink. Simon failed to understand the appeal of the strange orange soda. To him, the taste was a peculiar mix of cream soda, ginger, and bubble gum that made him want to scrub his tongue with a Brillo pad.

By the end of the shopping trip, two boxes of Simon’s favorite tea and a bottle of Johnny’s favorite scotch had also appeared in the cart alongside the things they actually needed– milk, bread, jerky, fish food for Bubbles and Casper, and cat litter for Old Man. This could quite possibly be their last shopping trip for several days– the threat of heavy snow combined with the location of their cabin almost guaranteed they would be snowed in.

As much as Simon had come to love their little cabin beyond the edge of town, he had to admit it had taken getting used to. The nicely sized cabin sat on a decent piece of land, with beautiful old pines along one edge of the property and sprawling green grass along the other. There was a large space cleared out behind the house where Johnny had taken to keeping a garden. Simon, on the other hand, had taken claim to the shed, using the space to fix up his motorcycle (and secretly fix one up for Johnny).

But the best part of their new home (and life together) was the privacy. The only people who passed along the road at the edge of the property were the neighbors who lived 5 miles down the road in either direction or the occasional lost tourists. Aside from that, they were left alone, with no one to bother them or their pets.

-----

Johnny couldn’t help but smile to himself on the drive back. The sky was already filled with grey clouds and a haze that only meant one thing– snow. And it was coming soon. It was rare for them to get snow thanks to their proximity to the coast and even when they did, it didn’t stick around long. As nervous as Johnny was about the impending storm, he was equally excited by the prospect of being snowed in with his lover.

Sure, he and Simon had their fair share of wintery missions– brutal snow storms, shitty MREs, and frozen fingertips– before they retired, but those paled in comparison to snuggling in front of the fire together, warm blankets and hot drinks in hand, watching fluffy flakes of white drifting past the window.

Simon’s hand found its way to rest comfortably on Johnny’s thigh, thumb brushing along the thick material of his jeans, “You good?” His voice was soft, having noticed the way Johnny was lost in thought.

Johnny hummed in response, a sweet smile spreading along his face, “Aye, just thinkin’…”

“Don’t hurt yourself, love,” Simon teased, a sly grin on his lips. Johnny reached over to smack Simon’s chest, a chuckle escaping his lips as he did.

-----

The bitter cold nipped at Johnny’s fingertips as he leaned against the door frame. He couldn’t help but stare as Simon worked his way through the long-neglected woodpile next to the shed. Strong, broad arms swung the axe through the air with ease, and a satisfying crack rang out each time the steel made contact with the soft pine. His eyes raked across the delicious outline of Simon’s muscles beneath his thermal shirt– jacket long shed so he didn’t overheat.

Johnny allowed his mind to wander, images of Simon on top of him, caging him in with strong, broad arms, firm fingers gliding down flushed skin filling his brain. He imagined warm lips working their way down from his ear to his jaw, neck, collarbone, from his sternum down– an especially loud crack of the axe stole Johnny’s attention from his fantasy. “Love, when yer finished, ah need help gettin’ a few things out from storage!”

“I’ll be in soon, we need anything from the shed?” Simon leaned on the axe, chest heaving from the exertion as he took in the delicious sight of Johnny wearing his sweats. The pants were hanging loose on his hips, his sleeves a little too long, the neckline showing just the top of Johnny’s shoulder. ‘Riley’ was emblazoned just above his heart. Simon tugged his bottom lip between his teeth. Johnny, the little minx, knew what it did to Simon when he wore his clothes, the way it made his heart race and head spin seeing his Johnny so clearly claimed.

“Dinnae think so… just bring some of that firewood in and I’ll help ye get the rest later!” With that Simon gave a nod and turned back to the woodpile. Johnny took one last sinful look at his ass before slipping back into the warmth of their house.

In all honesty, Johnny probably could have figured out a way to get their sleeping bags and insulated jackets down from storage on his own, but he much preferred Simon helping. After years spent skirting prying eyes and sneaking moments alone, Johnny had become greedy for Simon’s time and attention, unable to stand much time apart. That, and Johnny knew the cold would be seeping into Simon’s bones by now, fingers especially cold courtesy of his poor circulation.

It was almost automatic, the way Johnny moved towards the stove, putting the kettle on and reaching for Simon’s favorite mug– one Johnny had bought him. ‘World’s Best Dad’ was sprawled across the front but ‘Dad’ had been crossed out, replaced with ‘Lieutenant’. As he had a hundred times before, Johnny added two sugar cubes and a bag of Simon’s favorite Earl Grey to the mug. It had been one of the few subtle ways he had been able to care for Simon when they were deployed. Every morning, there had been a fresh, steaming mug on Simon’s desk accompanied by a sticky note doodle, always signed ‘–Johnny’.

The sound of the back door closing and boots on the hardwood brought Johnny from his thoughts. The kettle was already whistling, demanding his attention. Johnny filled the mug, meeting Simon halfway from the kitchen.

A few beads of water clung to his blond strands, courtesy of the snow beginning to fall at a heavy rate. “Snow’s moving in, I’ll need to get the firewood in before I help you, doll,” he said, graciously accepting the mug and placing a gentle kiss to the top of Johnny’s head. The warmth seeped into his fingertips, a gracious relief from the growing numbness.

“Aye, I’ll head out, ye get warmed up a bit. Cannae have ye freezing to death on me… leaving me behind with Old Man, Casper, and Bubbles…” As if on cue the scrapy old shelter cat came slinking down the hallway, happy to settle himself between Simon’s legs.

“Impossible, you wouldn’t survive a day cooped up with em’ all. We can barely keep Old Man out of the fish tank as is,” Simon chuckled, leaning down to scoop Old Man up in one arm. “Isn’t that right, Cap?” The old cat bristled at the sudden change in elevation, taking a languid swing at Simon’s head.

“Just like Price,” Johnny laughed, moving towards the door to pull his boots on. “Shouldnae take me too long, stay here and get warmed up.”

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer, love.” As Simon moved to the oversized armchair in the living room, Old Man followed, happily settling into Simon’s lap once he was comfortable.

And if the sight of Johnny ditching his sweatshirt after a few visits to the woodpile, broad tan chest glistening with sweat despite the crisp edge to the air, warmed him up more than the tea, then that was his business.

-----

“Ah think we just need our winter gear… oh, and the sleepin’ bags in case the power goes out!” Johnny was standing at the foot of the ladder, supposedly helping Simon get the winter kits out. Really, he was staring at Simon’s ass more than he was doing any real helping.

Simon reached for the bin containing their old white camos, flexing a little extra for his lover as he did. “Grab this for me, Johnny?” Simon passed the bin down single-handedly, rolling his right shoulder to ease the ache afterward. It had never quite recovered after the mission that pushed them both to retire.

It wasn’t something either of them looked back on with any fondness– a source of nightmares and panic attacks for both boys long after returning home. An op gone wrong, courtesy of bad intel, put Johnny in the hospital for 3 weeks in a coma and left Simon with nerve damage in his right arm. It was then that they both put in for retirement, realizing just how much they had to lose now that they had each other.

This time, Simon reached out with his left arm, grasping at bundles of fabric that had been pushed to the back of the shelf. The silky material slid across his fingertips as he struggled to find purchase on one of the straps they were tied up with. With a final stretch, he got a good grip, hauling them towards the front of the shelf.

The slight hyperextension of his shoulder was enough to aggravate the old wound, the muscle spasming in response. All at once, the sleeping bags fell from the shelf and his grip on the ladder gave out, sending him tumbling to the floor.

“Simon!” In a flash Johnny had ditched the box, sliding next to Simon. Thankfully, the Brit had landed on top of the sleeping bags. He was silent for a moment before a bright grin stretched across his face, accompanied by his deep laugh.

“Wha-” Johnny was quickly cut off, Simon’s strong hands guiding him to rest in his lap.

“I’m okay, doll… maybe just a little bruised up,” Simon’s honey-brown eyes sparkled in the dim light of the closet, locked on the still bewildered face of his lover. Calloused hands reached up to cup Johnny’s face. “You okay?”

“Bloody hell… ye scared the piss outta me, Simon Riley!” Though Johnny’s tone was scolding, he couldn’t hide the smile threatening to take over his features.

“Gotta keep you on your toes somehow, now that you’re old and retired.” There was a sly grin on Simon’s face as he gave Johnny’s hips a gentle squeeze.

“Oh, piss off!” Johnny grumbled, pushing himself off of Simon’s lap before offering the Brit a hand up. Johnny collected the discarded bin as Simon gathered up the sleeping bags, both heading back towards the living room. “Besides, ye cannae say I’m the old one when ye cannae even stand on a ladder.”

Simon took the opportunity to toss one of the sleeping bags at the Scot, grinning as it bounced off his back. Johnny stumbled forward. “Hey!”

“Don’t look at me– it was Bubbles and Casper!” Simon fluttered his lashes and gave a soft, innocent smile, shrugging towards the fish tank as he tossed the other sleeping bag onto the couch.

“Bubbles and Casper, my arse,” Johnny grumbled, tossing the other sleeping bag to the couch.

-----

Johnny pulled the last few blankets from the dryer, having taken the opportunity to finally give them a good wash, and brought them to the living room. A bright laugh was ripped from his lips as he watched Simon struggle to manage the guest mattress by himself, eventually settling to drop it on the floor and push it the rest of the way. They planned to spend the evening snuggled up in front of the fire, just in case they did lose power.

“Ye could've asked if ye needed a hand, love,” Johnny teased, tossing the stack of warm blankets onto the mattress, now situated in front of the roaring fireplace. Simon threw himself into the warm pile without hesitation, immediately snuggling up like a cat.

“Thanks, Johnny, have a good night!” He pulled his favorite blanket from the pile, tucking it up under his chin.

“Oh no ye don’t! Ye promised we’d go outside and make snowmen!” Johnny pounced on the mattress, swiping the blanket away and grabbing Simon's chin, tilting his face upwards to look him in the eye. “Unless ye lied to me, Simon Riley…”

“Lie? To you? I would never, I’m offended you’d even think that.” Quickly, Simon leaned up, capturing Johnny’s lips in a soft kiss. He then reached down to give Johnny a quick smack on his ass. “Go grab our jackets from the bin, I’ll grab your boots.”

“On it, sir!” Johnny gave him a quick kiss in return before heading to collect their coats.

In no time, the boys were bundled up, donning their old insulated jackets, the white and grey camo pattern worn away in a few spots from the years of good use.

Simon kneeled down to tie Johnny’s boots, wordlessly grabbing his leg and placing the Scot’s foot on his thigh. Fingers slipped into a familiar rhythm, weaving the lace through the last few hooks before pulling tight, a sturdy knot securing it all in place.

Johnny watched, a faint blush creeping up his neck, still amazed to see this side of Simon. The side that was always taking care of him, putting him first– one of the thousands of reasons he loved the man before him.

The Scot was out the door first, practically vibrating out of his skin as he waited at the top of the stairs for Simon. Simon had seen Johnny excited plenty of times, but this was different– more innocent, more childlike– and Simon couldn’t get enough. The way Johnny’s smile stretched all the way to his eyes, alight with pure, unbridled joy. The way he had planned everything out from the moment they got the weather warning.

The Brit tugged on his coat, the weight settling firmly on his shoulders, a remnant of their past life. “Down boy, I’m right here,” Simon chuckled, slotting his hand into Johnny’s as the Scot immediately started down the stairs.

In an instant, Johnny’s foot slipped out from beneath him, his grasp on Simon desperately tightening. Instead of being hauled upright as he had hoped, Simon unwillingly joined him on his downward trajectory. A heap of tangled limbs and snow was how the boys found themselves at the bottom of the stairs.

“Fuckin’ hell…” Simon carefully flexed his hips, trying to stretch out the muscle. “You solid, beautiful?” His voice was low and he reached for Johnny, hand making contact with his shin. Somehow Johnny ended up splayed halfway on top of Simon, his head cradled between the Brit’s shins. Neither boy was injured enough to be worried over, just bruises and scrapes reminiscent of their time in the 141.

“Aye, I’m alright,” Johnny pushed himself off Simon, misjudging the amount of snow and landing face-first in the powder. “Steamin’ bloody jesus!” he sputtered, rolling onto his back and wiping his face.

Simon hauled himself up into a sitting position, forearms resting on knees as he watched Johnny start to squirm in the snow. “Love… did you hit your head on the way down?”

“Awa' an bile yer heid!” Johnny laughed. “‘I’m makin’ a bloody snow angel!” Simon blushed as he finally saw it properly, chuckling to himself.

“C’mon, let’s get you up before you catch a cold and I have to care for you for two weeks.” Simon pushed himself to his feet, holding out a hand for Johnny.

“Caring for me…? Does that include ye in a little nurse’s uniform?” Johnny waggled his eyebrows at the continuously flushing Brit.

“That’s enough!” Simon laughed, somehow turning an even deeper shade of red, and leaned down to haul the Scot up and place him firmly on his feet.

“So that’s a no on wearing a skirt for me?” Johnny fluttered his lashes as he gave Simon his best puppy dog eyes.

Simon hesitated as he brushed the snow off his pants, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. Johnny would have to be blind to not notice Simon's hesitance combined with the way the blush had completely overtaken him. Couldn’t help but imagine the way his pale blushing skin would look in lacey white fabric, cute red ribbons, a short skirt… “That’s not a no!” Johnny exclaimed, cutting his own thoughts off, stumbling a little as he laughed.

Both boys set to creating their snow sculptures, occasionally lobbing a snowball at the other.

“Si!” Johnny was beaming as he stepped aside, revealing a rather proper-looking snowman, three round globes of snow piled high, blue scarf wrapped around its neck, rocks making up its face, complete with a snow baseball cap.

“Is that… is that Gaz…?”

A deep laugh erupts from Simon’s chest as Johnny proudly nods.

“Aye, it is! What did ye make, love?” The Scot moved closer to Simon, trying to understand what the boxy form before him was. There was a series of wide rectangles stacked one atop the other, a small downed branch poking out the shorter side of the stack of the rectangles.

“It's a uh… I made a tank. Figure you wanna use a ground assault this time instead of demolitions though…” Before the Brit had even finished his joke, Johnny was launching himself through the air, directly on top of the pile of snow. He landed with a puff of snow up into the air, legs dangling out of what was once the side of the tank.

With a huff and shrug of his shoulders, Simon joined Johnny in the snow, a hand planted on either side of his face, leaning over him. He took a moment to admire Johnny, the flush to his cheeks, the sparkle in his eyes, his bright laugh, the little white flecks of snow on his lashes, everything he had ever dreamed of and more. Simon pulled his glove off with his teeth, gently cupping Johnny’s face.

“You know how much I love you, Johnny?” His voice was soft, breath condensing in the air with each word.

“Aye, ah think ah do, but I’ll never say no to hearing it again…” Simon’s hand felt so soft on his face, despite the callouses and years of scaring, it was one of his favorite things.

“I love you more than the moon loves the sun, Johnny. I love you more than the waves love the shore… I love you more than I love breathing, John MacTavish. I will ‘till the day I die.” He leaned down, lips slotting perfectly against the Scot’s. Soft and sweet and filled with so much love it made Johnny’s heart feel like it was about to burst.

“Ah love you so damn much, Simon Riley.” He eagerly reciprocated, hands wrapping around Simon’s waist, sliding down past his hips, resting with a firm grip on his ass, pulling him closer.

By the time they untangled themselves from each other’s arms, neither man could deny the cold was starting to get to them. Simon’s fingers started to feel more than just the regular level of icyness for this time of year. Johnny slipped his arm around Simon’s waist, attempting to take some of the weight off his bad knee– the slip down the stairs seemed to have taken more of a toll than he first realized.

“I’ve got you, doll.” Simon slipped his arm around Johnny, basically shouldering all of the smaller man’s weight as they all but hobbled up the stairs.

“We make a right lousy pair, don’t we?” Johnny chuckled as Simon pushed the front door open.

“Are you calling me lousy? I’m wounded!” Simon feigned a hurt expression, his hand dramatically over his heart. As had become routine for the pair, Simon kneeled down, fingers deftly undoing Johnny’s laces before undoing his own. The old well-worn boots were discarded by the door, snow-covered jackets were tossed over hooks on the wall.

“Wounded and dramatic as ever, Lt. Ahm going to make some hot chocolate, should I add bourbon in yers, love?” Johnny was already halfway into the kitchen, making a mental note to stop at the pantry to grab the brown sugar, chocolate, and cocoa powder.

“Fuck yes, doll,” the Brit called out, peeling off towards the living room and swiping his lighter from the table near the entryway as he went. He set to making up the mattress, Johnny’s favorite sheets under layers upon layers of soft blankets. One of Johnny’s favorite candles was lit and Simon slipped off to the bedroom to grab his book and the Scot’s sketchbook.

By the time Simon made it to the kitchen, Johnny was leaning over an old, dusty cookbook, spatula in hand as milk heated on the stove. The Brit threaded his arms around Johnny���s waist, resting his chin on the Scot’s shoulder.

“Hey… you didn’t tell me you got the good chocolate…” Simon placed a gentle kiss below Johnny’s ear, hand sneaking forward towards the cutting board.

“Oh no ye don’t!” Johnny exclaimed, smacking the back of Simon’s hand with the spatula. “That chocolate was damn near 30 pounds and ye will not touch any!”

“Selfish bastard,” Simon grumbled, placing his hand back around Johnny’s waist.

“If ye cannae behave then ye can get gone from here!” The Brit smirked at Johnny’s challenge, an opportunity to get back at the Scot’s teasing about a nurse’s uniform. He let his cold fingertips slip beneath the warm material of Johnny’s shirt, beginning to trace delicate patterns into his skin.

“I can be good for you, promise,” Simon whispered in Johnny’s ear, lips just barely grazing the sensitive skin. Simon could feel the shiver that ran down Johnny’s spine.

“Simon…” A breathless moan escaped Johnny’s lips, and he had to press one hand into the counter to hold himself up on suddenly shaky legs.

“Hmm…? Something wrong, doll?” Simon’s voice had dropped deeper, rumbling through Johnny’s chest. He let a hand wander down the front of Johnny’s thigh, squeezing the firm muscle.

“You… Please, Si… cannae focus like this…” Johnny tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, desperately trying to contain another moan and focus on the recipe in front of him.

“Oh, but I think you can, doll. Used to be able to handle all that flirting in the field… don’t tell me you’ve gone soft on me…” his lips traced down Johnny’s neck, settling in the crook, teeth scraping along sensitive skin, lips living behind a light pink mark.

“We… Later Si… Ah– ah swear, please…” The Scot’s head dropped back onto Simon’s chest as his knees went weak, neck fully exposed as Simon held him up.

Simon smirked and nipped at his neck again, one hand sliding up to grasp Johnny’s chin, guiding him to refocus on the stove, “Focus, beautiful.” In a flash Simon had disappeared from behind the Scot, seating himself at the bar with his book already open in front of him. “Be a good boy, Johnny.”

Johnny gripped the counter, knuckles white, taking a few steadying breaths. He glared back at Simon for a moment before resuming his task of following his gran’s hot chocolate recipe. He could occasionally feel the weight of Simon’s stare, particularly on his ass as he worked.

After a few minutes of silence, Simon looked up as a steaming mug slid into his peripheral. “Yer favorite bourbon in it, like ye like,” Johnny kissed Simon’s cheek as he headed towards the living room, his own steaming mug cradled in his grasp.

Johnny couldn’t help the soft blush that spread across his cheeks when he noticed the way Simon had prepared the living room. The mattress was piled high with blankets, a roaring fire and his favorite candle filling the entire space with warmth. Old Man was curled up in the armchair, halfway sitting on top of his sketchbook.

Johnny lowered himself down onto the mattress, setting his mug on the coffee table Simon had moved to the side. “C’mon handsome, yer not gonna leave me all alone here, are ye?”

Simon chuckled and shook his head, mirroring Johnny's movements from mere moments before. Johnny tugged the Brit closer, smiling as he rested his head on his chest. “As much as ‘m not a fan of the cold, I wish we got snow like this a little more often…”

“Aye, would be nice. ‘Specially if it meant getting to keep ye all bundled up and wrapped up in my arms like this more…” Johnny placed a soft kiss on the top of Simon’s head, pulling him ever so slightly closer.

Simon hummed, tucking his head into Johnny’s chest, relishing in the warmth of their bodies together. Johnny had become his safe space, his anchor. No matter how good or bad the day was, Johnny was there. The last time Simon felt this loved was when he was young, wrapped up in his mother’s arms. Johnny was there, every nightmare or panic attack, he was there, holding him tight, holding him together. No matter how much Simon fucked up, Johnny was there. He hoped Johnny knew that Simon would burn the world down if he asked, and would stop at nothing to take care of him.

Johnny carded his fingers through Simon’s hair, eyes tracing over the sharp features of his face. He knew he was lucky to get to see and know this side of Simon– he thanked whoever was above everyday for the opportunity. The man so soft and sweet in his arms had come so far from who he was when they first met. He had worked so hard and Johnny was more proud than he knew how to express. Hoped Simon saw it in every cup of tea Johnny made for him, every candy bar he picked up on grocery runs, every forehead kiss. Hoped Simon knew how hard he was trying too, how much he cared and valued the trust he put in him. Hoped Simon knew how grateful he was for him too, the effortless way the Brit was able to hold him together like it was the easiest thing in the world.

They watched the snowfall for hours, big, fluffy white flakes pilling ever higher and higher. The fire roared on, keeping all 5 inhabitants of the Riley-MacTavish house plenty warm.

At some point, the boys slipped between blankets, soft kisses littered across flush skin, hands pulling bodies ever closer. And when the heat got too much between them, if they stripped down and carried on then that was between them and no one else.

[mxtxdiaspora-may]

Diaspora story rec: Modern Diaspora 'Verse [series by dragongirlG]

Modern diaspora AU set in the United States, with Easter-egg elements from canon. 6 parts so far.

Part 1: 知往鉴今 | through the mirror of days past

Explicit, Choose Not to Warn (note tags), 3K

As fifteen-year-old Lan Zhan performs his original guqin piece at the Cloud Recesses summer camp talent show, he reflects on his family, his childhood move from China to the United States, and his evolving feelings toward Wei Ying. After his performance, he gets a surprise visitor in the dressing room: Wei Ying, dressed in a bright red qipao and heels, a last minute addition to the talent show's final act. Wei Ying leaves shortly afterward, and Lan Zhan desperately relieves some pressure before he rejoins the audience.

Part 2: just a little bit of your heart

General, no archive warnings, 1K

In the summer after high school graduation, Lan Zhan does a long-distance videochat with Wei Ying, who's attending a summer camp in Taiwan and learning about his mother's homeland. Pining ensues.

Part 3: Welcome to the Multiverse

Teen+, no archive warnings, 3.5K

During a study session late Friday night, Wei Ying convinces Jiang Cheng to beta-test the virtual reality simulator he's been working on with Lan Zhan. As Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying spar with swords, wuxia-style, the competition heats up, and Jiang Cheng becomes determined to beat Wei Ying at his own game. (Also, Lan Zhan makes a cameo with snacks and bubble tea.)

Part 4: the sacred simplicity (of you at my side)

Teen+, no archive warnings, 6.6K

After thirteen years on the run, Wei Ying is finally returning home on a flight from Singapore to the United States. He doesn't expect his old friend Lan Zhan to be the first person he encounters on his journey. Sparks fly as they rekindle their bond on the ground and in the skies.

Part 5: 記憶猶新 | Fresh in One's Memory

Teen+, no archive warnings, 2.2K

Lan Qiren silently judges the drunken karaoke performances at Wei Ying and Lan Zhan's wedding banquet. When it comes time for him to give his toast, he sings instead, accompanying a recording of Wei Ying's late parents performing a song together in their youth. 

Part 6: 一家人 | One Family

*podfic and fic together, co-produced by PandaReads (DrPanda99)

General, no archive warnings, 1.9K 

Lan Qiren awaits the arrival of his family members, both old and new, on the day of the Mid-Autumn Festival.

-

This fic rec is part of our reclist, stories that spoke to us: MDZS fics & the Chinese diaspora experience. Reblogs are always appreciated.

[booty-uprooter]

i made protag-kun from my silly isekai book for the cloud server beta test. he should be a scholar but i dont want to replay endwalker as a scholar so he's a gunbreaker because i like gunbreaker

[tgirlswagseraphina]

Homestuck began on April 13th, 2009, the 13th birthday of our chief protagonist and future boy-skylark, John Egbert. Three days prior was supposed to be the day he received the Sburb Beta in the mail, but it was running late. It showed up later that afternoon, and after overcoming a variety of domestic adversities, he retrieved the game, along with a birthday package from his internet friend, Dave Strider.

John soon established a game connection with another friend, Rose Lalonde, who'd spent the day badgering him about playing with her, after unsuccessfully attempting to convince Dave to play. Upon connecting, Rose was able to manipulate John's environment, move his furniture around via cursor, and restructure the shape of his room. John was unable to do this to Rose's environment however. He'd installed the client copy of the beta, and required the server copy for that.

The server copy was trapped in his dad's car, along with a birthday package from another friend, Jade Harley. Jade messaged John inquiring about the package. As of this moment, neither her package nor the server copy has been recovered by John. Rose had also prepared a package for John, but had not mailed it yet. It still sits in her room. Dave's package contained the authentic stuffed bunny from Con Air.

In addition to allowing Rose to control John's environment, Sburb provided an array of devices Rose deployed throughout John's house. These devices used together provided a system by which the players could manufacture any item using the code on the back of that item's captchalogue card, if they gathered enough grist to pay for it. Later, they would learn to combine item codes to master the art of punch card alchemy, whereby items could be fused together in purpose and design.

One device on being activated began a countdown, and released an entity called a kernelsprite. The countdown ticked down to the moment John's house would be struck by a meteor, destroying his neighborhood. To escape this demise, John had to use the devices to manufacture a special item that looked like a blue apple, and take a bite of it, in order to transport his entire house just before impact to the safety of a mysterious dark realm, where his house would situate itself atop a tall rock column high above a blanket of clouds. This realm is called the Medium.

Before he entered the Medium though, John and Rose prototyped his kernelsprite with the large harlequin doll his dad got him for his birthday, transforming the sprite to bear its likeness, including the ways the doll was disfigured via earlier hijinks. It had a slashed eye and one arm, and so too did the sprite. When John entered the Medium, the sprite's kernel hatched, thus imbuing all the enemies John and his friends would face with properties of the sprite. The lesser adversaries John faced first, Shale Imps, all wore harlequin garbs. They became more powerful and more radically mutated with each successive pre-Medium prototyping.

After entering the Medium, John's dad was kidnapped by imps. While John was looking for him, he accidentally prototyped the sprite with his grandmother's ashes, transforming it again. This prototyping had no effect on the enemies, since he was already in the Medium, and the kernel had already hatched. Instead, only the sprite was affected, and it took on the appearance, personality, and memories of his grandmother, becoming Nannasprite, a game-supplied albeit customized guide for John. She explained aspects of the game, about Skaia residing at the center of the Medium, beyond seven gates floating directly above his house, and about an eternal/timeless war fought there between dark and light, one that light was always destined to lose.

Rose, who'd been having frequent internet connection issues, lost her connection as she tried to lift John's car to retrieve the game and the package. The car fell into the abyss below. A storm caused her house to lose power along with its wireless internet connection. Her laptop was able to run on battery power for a time, while she tapped into the wireless signal from the laboratory next door. When her laptop ran out of power, she had to overcome more family strife (and endure a gift pony in the process), go outside in the rain, and plug it into the small generator outside the mausoleum of her dead cat, Jaspers. She continued her session with John inside the mausoleum, while the meteor-sparked forest fire surrounding her house grew more intense.

From the house, Rose's mom opened a secret passage in the mausoleum to help her escape. The passage lead to the lab next door, where Rose found a stable, portable source of power and internet for her computer. She also found a terminal projecting the impact times and locations for the millions of meteors presently bombarding the planet, along with all the other live sessions of other players around the world. She also found a little girl's room, a mutant kitten she named Vodka Mutini, and a cloning machine operating through the science of ectobiology. Its terminal was locked on to her cat Jaspers at whatever point in his life the user specified.

She attempted to appearify Jaspers from a moment in her early childhood, before he whispered a secret to her. But doing so would have caused a paradox, so it appearified (paradoxified) a pile of slime instead. The machine used the slime to create a fetal paradox clone of Jaspers in a glass tube. On the monitor, Jaspers then told young Rose the secret, then vanished, only to show up dead weeks later and put in the mausoleum for years until the present. Rose left the laboratory moments before it was destroyed by a meteor impact. She transportalized back to her mom's room, proceeded to her room to wait for Dave to connect with her and rescue her from the next imminent impact.

Dave was charged with acquiring his bro's copy of the game to help Rose. Earlier he had lost his copy of the game to a mishap involving a crow. It flew in his window, seized the game, and Dave accidentally impaled it with a sword, sending the crow and the game out the window onto a landing far below his apartment. He searched his bro's room unable to find it, was briefly shadowed by Lil Cal, and then found a note beckoning him to meet on the roof for a confrontation. Dave and his bro dueled on the roof extensively, and Dave was thoroughly bested. Upon defeating Dave, his bro dropped the copies of the game, and flew off on his rocket board into the sky.

Dave used the copies to connect with Rose, and quickly deployed the devices while her house was on fire, surrounded by flaming tornadoes, and minutes away from being destroyed by a meteor. Rose prototyped her kernelsprite with Jaspers, specifically to understand the meaning of the secret he whispered to her years ago. She was advised to do this by Jade, who told her about the game in the first place. Dave then prototyped the kernelsprite again with the tentacled princess doll given to Rose on her birthday by her mom. Both of these prototypings would have an effect on the enemies once Rose entered the Medium and the kernel hatched. Rose used the alchemiter to create the special item - for her, a purple wine bottle - which she needed to break to enter. She eventually did, transporting her house just before the meteor collided.

The meteor left a crater. Over time, at the site of impact, a large, white structure that looked like a wine bottle grew there, and the crater filled up with sand as the climate of the post-apocalyptic Earth gradually changed. The "cork" of that bottle was a large metal cylinder with an interior much like an advanced science station, with a variety of devices and monitors inside. 413 years after the meteor impact, the Wayward Vagabond walked through the desert and discovered this station. Inside, he found canned rations, a firefly he named Serenity, an appearifier, and four monitors hooked up to a keyboard.

On one of the monitors was John, just after he'd entered the Medium. WV could type commands to John directly, much as the readers of this story could type commands for the characters to follow. Most of John's actions upon entering the Medium were authored by WV, until he became preoccupied with other activities, such as building a town out of cans, playing chess with cans, and drawing chalk murals depicting the cosmological arrangement of Skaia, the Medium, the light and dark planets known as Prospit and Derse, and the four planets the kids would each occupy upon entering the game, called The Land of Wind and Shade (John), The Land of Light and Rain (Rose), the Land of Heat and Clockwork (Dave), and Jade's planet, which is yet to be seen.

He also activated a countdown in the station which caused it to blast out of the crater and fly to designated "home" coordinates. Along the way, it passed over the sand-filled crater that was the impact site for John's meteor, on the other side of the continent. John's meteor had caused a giant white tree to grow in the crater. The tree grew an apple-like station from a branch, which fell to the sand. The Peregrine Mendicant found this station. After WV flew overhead, PM activated her station's homing feature as well, which caused it to fly to the same destination. Along the way, she used her terminal to attempt to command Jade, who from the perspective of the terminal, had just arrived in the Medium. This caused the terminal to explode for unknown reasons, leaving a hole in the station. One of the station's robotic worms recovered one of PM's falling mailboxes, and she befriended it, after earlier slaying another one with her black regisword.

WV landed at the site of the ancient frog ruins across the now dried up Pacific Ocean. The site was once the island where Jade lived, but nothing of the island remained except for the ruins. The mountain her house was on, and the volcano next to it, were replaced by a large empty chasm. PM landed shortly after WV, and they met. They were confronted by the Aimless Renegade, who fired at them from the frog ruins with old weaponry he'd been hoarding, once belonging to Jade's grandpa. Millions of years ago, the frog ruins grew from a crater, struck by a meteor that emerged from a Sburb portal in space. Jade's radioactive, omnipotent, space-warping dog named Becquerel emerged from this crater as well.

Jade's grandpa pioneered this island, and built the house Jade lives in. Her grandpa has been dead for many years, and stands stuffed in front of the fireplace. She has been looked after by her dog who she calls Bec. She begins the day with several tasks to accomplish - to feed Bec, and to retrieve a birthday package mailed by John. She irradiates a steak, and heads outside to the site where the package will be dropped. She knows it will be dropped there because one of the reminders she wears on her fingers jogs her memory about it. She wears them to keep track of the many things she knows about the future, through dreams.

She falls asleep frequently and spontaneously. When she sleeps, her dream self is awake, and living on the moon that orbits the light planet, Prospit. Prospit very closely orbits Skaia, a huge sphere of blue sky and clouds, which nanna describes as a "dormant crucible of unlimited creative potential." When Prospit's moon eclipses Skaia, it drifts into Skaia for a time, mingling with the clouds. Dream Jade then witnesses many past and future events in the clouds. While asleep, she is often confused about what is real and what isn't. When she wakes up, she pieces together future events from her memory of the cloud visions, and from logs recorded by her dreambot. Her dreambot is a robotic surrogate that activates while she sleeps in her bed. It mimics in the real world the movement and actions of her dream self on the moon, and records a video log of what she sees while dreaming.

Prospit's moon has two towers of identical design, and similar design to Jade's house. Dream Jade lives in one tower. Dream John lives in the other. Dream John is still asleep, and John has no knowledge of the dream world, which is to say, the entire game session he would initiate on his 13th birthday. When he goes to sleep, instead of waking up on the moon as Jade does, he remains slumbering in his dream room, tormented by his subconscious. This torment is expressed when he sleepwalks, and draws troubling scribbles on the walls of his room. When awake, he cannot see the scribbles, as is subconscious suppresses his awareness of them. It is not until he has a perception-altering revelation about his dad does he begin to see them. He initially believed they were new additions to his room, perhaps scrawled by imps. However they were present long before, visible in his room while he prepared Jade's birthday package months ago.

John prepared a package for each of his three friends, whose 13th birthdays were December 1st (Jade), 3rd (Dave), and 4th (Rose). He gave Rose a knitting set, and she then took an intense interest knitting. He gave Dave the pair of shades Ben Stiller wore in Starsky and Hutch, which he wore from then on, replacing the shades in the style his bro wore. He gave Jade a blue version of his own ghost shirt, and some pumpkin seeds to help her replace the pumpkins that kept disappearing from her garden. But she did not receive this on the birthday John intended. She received it in the past, on her birthday when she was very young, causing her to take an interest in gardening in the first place, to take a liking to blue apparel, and to eventually befriend John over the internet and lead him, Rose, and Dave down a path where they would ultimately play this game together.

Jade did retrieve his package in the present as planned, but immediately took it to another location where it disappeared. WV in the far future appearified it from that location on accident. The package contained further instructions for him. He was to bring it to PM, and she was to use her station's sendificator to send it to another place and time. After she did this, the package appeared in front of young Jade on her birthday. Jade orchestrated the sequence of events through knowledge of them by her cloud visions.

She orchestrated similar events for the package she sent to John, plotting the circuitous route through time and space it was meant to follow. She again utilized the exiles for help, while they were still in the Medium. The exiles, WV, PM, and AR, were all formerly agents of the kingdoms, before they were exiled by some means to post-apocalyptic Earth. AR, as an Authority Regulator in the Land of Wind and Shade, discovered the package and the beta copy in John's wrecked car as he gave it a parking ticket. PM, working as a Parcel Mistress, recognized the package from a correspondence she had with Jade on Prospit some time ago, and recalled it must be delivered to John. AR would not relinquish the package, though he did give her the beta, which she delivered into a pyxis to satisfy the carved request of a minitablet. John carved this tablet at the request of PM through the command terminal in the future.

AR brought the package to Derse, where it ultimately wound up on the desk of Jack Noir. Jack is the archagent of the dark kingdom, charged with overseeing affairs through his office's fenestrated wall portals, and processing paperwork. He is forced to wear a silly garment in keeping with prototyping themes by the Black Queen, an order he resentfully complies with. He oversaw the imprisonment of John's dad, who broke loose on multiple occasions. When Jack went to handle it personally, John's dad set Jack's hat on fire. In a surly act of gratitude, he released the prisoner. John's dad fled to the Land of Wind and Shade, fought large monsters, got his hat dirty and lost a shoe. He then carved tablet requests for new ones, which John filled via pyxis, unaware of who requested them.

PM followed AR to Derse in hopes of retrieving the package. After wandering around, she encountered the Black Queen on her throne. Both the light and dark kingdoms each have a king and a queen. The queens sit on a throne, on Prospit and Derse respectively, ruling the planet. The kings command armies on the Battlefield, located at the center of Skaia. The queen takes on the attributes supplied by the prototypings due to the four-orbed ring she wears. When the ring is removed, the queen is restored to normal. PM showed the BQ a parking ticket she was pretending to deliver. The BQ directed her to Jack's office, where the ticket should be filed.

PM met Jack and asked for the package. Jack proposed a deal, and gave her a black regisword. If she would kill the White Queen and White King and bring him their crowns, he would give her the package. She accepted with little alternative. She then visited the WQ on Prospit and explained the situation, with no intention of carrying out Jack's mission. The WQ, understanding the futility of their situation and the need to recover the package, abdicated, and gave PM her crown and her ring. PM was instructed to go find the White King, retrieve his crown, and receive further instruction on what to do with the ring to protect it. WQ would then eventually exile herself to post-apocalypse Earth.

On post-apocalypse Earth, after AR fired on WV and PM from the ruins, he spotted WV's pumpkin, which WV had earlier appearified from Jade's house. He recognized the carving of Bec's silhouette on the pumpkin. Fearful of it, he surrendered. The three exiles soon became friends over a campfire and shared rations. WV and AR built Exile Town out of cans, mailboxes, and bullets. PM operated WV's station terminal to submit commands to John as he explored the Land of Wind and Shade. In the sky, another station teleported and fell to the ground. It was shaped like an egg, and originated from Dave's meteor impact site, in correspondence with the egg-shaped item he would use to enter the medium. Emerging from this station was the Windswept Questant, formerly the White Queen.

AR and WV sought to impress WQ by crafting a crown for her out of a mailbox. She refused the distinction, instead giving it to PM, who had successfully completed her mission to deliver Jade's package to John in the distant past. The means by which she went about this have yet to be seen.

John entered the Land of Wind and Shade (LOWAS) by having Rose build up his house to the first gate, fighting through many imps and ogres with his powerful new alchemized weapons, and entering the gate. This took him to a location beneath the clouds, far below his house. The LOWAS turned out to be a large windy planet, full of dark terrain, incandescent trees, networks of pipes, and oily rivers. In addition to hosting more powerful adversaries, the land is occupied by friendly consorts, a race of salamanders. They help John understand the mythos of the land, and inform him of the planet's persecution by a sleeping denizen, which is responsible for clogging the pipes with oil, and trapping fireflies under the clouds.

Each planet has a sleeping denizen, which the players must first wake, and then kill, in the course of their journey through the seven gates. Rose's planet, the Land of Light and Rain (LOLAR) is a multicolored ocean planet with white sandy islands and pink ruins, and has a denizen responsible for killing all life in the water. Dave's planet, the Land of Heat and Clockwork (LOHAC) is a lava planet, covered in industrial steel frame structures and turning gears, and has a denizen of yet unknown qualities.

Killing the denizen releases a huge grist hoard buried at the core of the planet, which is then used to fuel a process known as The Ultimate Alchemy. Along the way, the kids are meant to learn about their destined roles in this quest as the Heir of Breath (John), Seer of Light (Rose), Knight of Time (Dave), and Witch of space (Jade). Over the course of their quest, the dark kingdom will inevitably defeat the light kingdom. The Black Queen and King will take control, and initiate The Reckoning. This affects a belt of meteors, called The Veil, which orbits far from Skaia, between the four planets and Derse, and is host to various lab facilities used by the kingdoms. The Reckoning causes the meteors to descend on Skaia, ultimately destroying it, unless the Black Queen and King can be defeated in time. Skaia however buys time by opening defense portals to catch many of the meteors, redirecting them elsewhere in space and time.

This is the generic template for the way the game is supposed to proceed. It can deviate from this model however, depending on the actions of the players, and the details of the game mythology presented is unique to each group of players and their session.

Long before John and his friends started playing the game, another group of players had been persistently trolling them, particularly Jade. They are furious about an action she will take that will cause major problems in the four kids' game session, and inevitably lead to their defeat. Specifically, Jade will send a package to John, apparently containing a powerful weapon he will need later. But the package winds up in the hands of Jack Noir, leading to dire consequences. They allude to other things she will do that will lead to not only trouble for the four kids, but the troll players as well.

The trolls consist of 12 kids from an alien planet, who went through the same process as John and his friends, escaping from the annihilation of their planet via meteors, and into the Medium to play the game. Their game session is entirely separate from that of the four kids. It has the same basic template, with its own Skaia, Prospit, Derse, Veil, and a planet for each troll, but separate game instances of these. They also have different instances of the same character templates, such as the kings and queens, and agents like Jack Noir.

The trolls have completed their game session with yet unknown results. They now reside on a meteor in their Veil, sitting at terminals trolling John and co. From their terminals they can choose any point in the past or future of the kids to troll, and observe what they're doing at that moment. As a group, their only stated objective is to harass the kids, which they do so haphazardly throughout different points in the kids' timeline. Though they can choose any point on the kids' timeline to talk, they are mostly resigned to the understanding that no matter what they do, they can't change the outcome of the kids' actions.

The four most vociferous trolls so far have been carcinoGeneticist, gallowsCalibrator, grimAuxiliatrix, and adiosToreador. (The other 8 being apocalypseArisen, twinArmageddons, arsenicCatnip, arachnidsGrip, centaursTesticle, terminallyCapricious, caligulasAquarium, and cuttlefishCuller, each yet to be heard from.)

carcinoGeneticist (CG) appears to have spearheaded the group's trolling campaign. While he was in the thick of his game session, the exile commanding him from a terminal in the apocalyptic future was Spades Slick. This is one difference between his game session and John's, who had WV as an exile commanding him. In CG's session, his version of Jack Noir became exiled along the way, and took on the name Spades Slick. Three other agents were exiled, and the four of them formed a gang called the Midnight Crew, and spent years building up a dark city in the future wasteland of the trolls' dead planet. Another difference in the trolls' session is that at some point along the way, the Black Queen was also exiled, later joined a rival gang called The Felt, assumed special powers that make her highly inadvisable to kill, and came to be known as Snowman. It was not until Slick confronted The Felt in their mansion that he discovered the station terminal to command CG, and not before Snowman blinded him in one eye, severed his arm, and locked him in a vault.

Each troll has a different trolling strategy, and a different rhythm by which they hop around the kids' timelines to chat with them. CG's strategy, for the most part, was to begin trolling them at the very end of their adventure, the moment at which he was most angry with their actions, and then gradually work backwards, mostly talking to John. This proves to be mutually frustrating though, as John knows less and less about the situation the further into the past CG goes. Similarly, the further into the future John progresses, the more he has the advantage over CG by knowledge of his future conversations with him, and vice versa. Over the course of the opposing directions of the two sides of the conversation, John learns more about the nature of the game and why they're being trolled, and in spite of hostility, they gradually befriend each other through an inevitability alluded to on both sides of the conversation.

Early in the correspondence between John and CG, which is to say late for CG, CG discovers he needs to get in touch with Jade, who refuses to talk to him in that time period. So he delivers a message to her much earlier, months in her past, telling her she needs to contact him when she's in trouble. She will know to do this when her dreambot explodes in the future, an outcome that has not yet happened.

Two other trolls, grimAuxiliatrix and adiosToreador (GA and AT) have targeted only Rose and Dave thus far. GA has hopped arbitrarily back and forward in Rose's timeline to talk to her, and is attempting to cultivate a friendship with her that now seems rigged through a series of conversational time loops, while seeking counsel from Dave on how to befriend her. AT sought counsel from Rose on how to troll Dave more effectively, after getting severely counter-trolled by him. He is under the impression he rebounded nicely though.

gallowsCalibrator (GC) has stayed mostly linear in her trolling patterns, and has done so under the guise of helping the kids on their quest. She convinces John to take a shortcut through his land, shows him the denizen's palace, leads him to warp back to his house, then shows him how to fix the faulty rocket pack he made earlier through an alchemy mishap. She tells him to use the rocket pack to fly up to the seventh gate, enter the denizen's palace, and kill it in its sleep. He complied with this, and flew through the seventh gate, in spite of reservations from Dave, who'd just entered the Medium the moment before John took off.

GC also assisted Rose, just after she bested an ogre with ease. She counseled her on understanding her role as the Seer of Light, and the meaning of the voice in her head as an exile issuing commands from a terminal. In her case, it was the exiled White Queen issuing commands from the egg shaped station in the future. Since Dave is Rose's server player, the terminal station from Dave's impact site issues commands to Rose. Just as the station at Rose's site, which WV found, issues commands to John, her client player.

After conversing with GA, Rose found Jaspersprite and interrogated him about the secret which she found so maddeningly mysterious years ago. He explained elements of the mythos of her land, and how she'd need to learn to play the rain to produce the musical analogue of a genetic code to reintroduce life into the ocean. In response to her question about his secret, he simply replied "Meow." She mistook this for more nonsense, but it was in fact the secret he told her years ago. The four letter sequence MEOW unlocked a genetic code in her subconscious, which she would spend years scrawling on her wall using those letters in place of the typically used GCAT letters, while completely oblivious to the scrawlings and their meaning just as John was. As Jaspers said, she would understand their meaning when her dream self wakes up.

Rose's dream self lives in a tower on the moon of Derse. Dave's dream self lives on the same moon in the other tower. It was suggested by Rose's future self, who is fully awake in the tower, that Dave had already been awake in his tower all along without realizing it. This was suggested in a conversation she had in the future with Dave. It was an alternative future timeline not meant to be.

This future timeline came about by this series of events.

Dave was able to enter the Medium by connecting with Jade as his server player. Jade got copies of the game from the frog ruins, after she delivered John's package to her past self. She snuck into the ruins while Bec was asleep, and retrieved the game from a lotus time capsule which had been ticking down for millions of years. The game was Dave's copy from the future, the same one that fell out the window with the impaled crow. Once she got the game, the time capsule started ticking down again, set to expire 413 years later, when the exiles are there. She dropped some items in the ruins, leaving them there for AR to find, and leaving her bass jammed in the elevator. Bec then found her there, took her back to her room, and grounded her there for the rest of the evening.

She quickly helped Dave set up the game, upgrading his alchemiter heavily, and crafting the special item he needed to enter the Medium, a red egg, which needed to be incubated and hatched to activate. She prototyped his kernelsprite with the impaled crow, which would affect the enemies later, including the Black Queen. The sprite built a nest on top of his apartment's antenna tower, and stole the egg to incubate it for hours. A very large meteor was soon bearing down on his city.

Dave then entered the Medium through a series of unseen events. Jade was asleep, thus forbidden by Dave from interacting with his environment at all. Jade complied for fear of retribution. Dave was faced with the Crowsprite, which appeared to be suggesting he prototype it again with the remains of Lil Cal. Dave consulted with John on this, who was about to rocket up to the seventh gate. John had no advice, and proceeded up through the gate against better judgment.

Dave prototyped the sprite with Cal. John entered the palace, presumably found the denizen, and was easily killed by it, as was the intent of GC's trick on him. This meant John could not establish a connection with Jade to rescue her from the looming meteor, and Dave and Rose lost contact with her, presuming her dead. Dave and Rose then spent the next four months in the Medium, advancing as far as they could to collect information before Dave decided to travel back in time to change events.

Dave used his time tables to go back to the moment he was about to prototype with Cal. Both he and his past self strongly urged John not to go through the gate. John was reluctant at first, but soon reconsidered, and flew down beneath the clouds. Future Dave then gave Present Dave all his advanced gear, and prototyped the Crowsprite with himself to make Davesprite, thus serving as his own guide from the future.

Before going back in time, Future Dave convinced Future Rose to go to sleep. He suggested her dream self would be unaltered by the timeline shift, and in her dream state she would remember the events from the future. When Dave went back, Rose's future dream self assumed the position of Rose's present dream self. Rose fell asleep, and on Derse's moon, she instantly woke up. She then saw all the genetic scrawlings she did in MEOW letters, and understood their meaning.

Meanwhile on Derse below, the Black Queen again insisted that Jack Noir abide by the dress code. He refused, and the queen threatened him. He picked up Jade's package to John, removed what was inside, and used it to slice her ring finger off. He then killed the Black Queen, put on the ring, and donned the full upgrade supplied by the three prototypings.

He then became Jackspers Noirlecrow, which is a name I just made up now.

And then after that you started watching me type in this ridiculous study I photoshopped for myself with my cool horse painting propped up in the background.