#how to emote in text format

[bloggedanon]

Me typing in tags or posts where I'm not talking to anyone in specific: actual fucking words

Me typing when I'm trying to talk TO someone: 👉👉 hsjwbfjFIWUDU nfmsks 💪😎 HFJSJDJDJDJVXQJW lol (fAjdnsndnsHDJDJdhjs) 😅 (a) 🙏🙏👍👌👌🔥🔥 JDJSJDM djdjdj /j /j /gen /lh /a /pos :0) hfkwhxksjd lmao

JFKWJDKSJDKS

[anemonet]

hey rememberthe reverse iterators au. are you ever going to post about that again because i think it was pretty cool!

pebbles when he didnt even get to try

[More of my reverse iterator au if anyone is wondering what is going on!]

[hostilemuppet]

also also i see a lot of people saying that "mouthwashing should be a movie!" and i cannot begin to explain to you how mouthwashing wouldnt work in any other medium

[peapod20001]

I’m the type that can and will cry if think too hard <3

[sabertoothwalrus]

tips for getting people to like your ocs

*disclaimer: this is based on what’s worked for me, aka an artist that likes to make comics/storyboards. so this advice is directed at people who do that

you can do things like this:

Which is fun! Character sheets like this are great, especially for personal reference! But frankly, I don’t think most people engage with this (at least I personally don’t). You could have the coolest character in the world, but it will be harder for most people to feel invested when they’re presented so neutrally like this.

My main piece of advice is: get better at writing.

That might sound harsh when said like that, but let me explain what I mean! (Not trying to imply you’re bad at writing either!)

What I tend to do is just throw characters into situations with as little handholding as I can. Give enough context that readers can follow along, but don’t feel like they’re being explained to.

what can you learn about the characters through their designs alone? (age, personality, economic status, occupation, etc)

what can you learn about the characters’ relationship though their interactions alone? (are they close? familial? romantic? is there hostility? are they tense/relaxed?)

what are the characters currently doing? what were they doing previously (how long have they been talking)? what are they going to do next? can you convey this without dialogue?

how do they feel about what they are doing? are they content? focused? over/understimulated? would they rather be doing something else?

where are they? does it matter? would establishing a setting in at least one panel clarify the scene? is there anything in the enviroment that could tell some of the story?

what time of day is it? what time of year is it? what is the weather like?

Now, with all this in mind, I'm going to give you another example. I'm going to use completely brand new characters for the sake of the experiment, so you won't have any bias (aka I can’t use Protagonist from above, since you already know all about him).

Did this get more of an emotional response from you than the first example? Why do you think so? Who are these characters? How do they know each other? What else can you infer about them? What happened? Who is "she"?

Now, you don't have to actually answer all those questions. But think about them! You can tell people a whole lot about your characters without ever showing them a list of their likes and dislikes.

Obviously, comics aren't the only way to get people invested in your original characters! But regardless, easily digestible formats will grab people's attention faster than huge blocks of text, and comics are a lot less work than doing wholeass storyboards.

Now go and share your ocs with the world!!!

[jasnstilnski]

@hunteds: ❛ you look different. ❜

he is still getting used to the comfort of home, to the safety and security of his own bed, to the love of his fathers. he may have spent years with them already, but his time on the streets had changed everything. subjected once again to trauma beyond what he was prepared to deal with, alone and afraid and doing anything he could to just get by. he never thought he'd be back here, had been certain that his fathers wouldn't want him back, that he'd be on the streets for however long was left of his short life. being found, being brought home, it wasn't something he had anticipated. kindness had rarely if ever been shown to him in his life, but it was something that had become so undeniably entwined with his fathers.

the last time he saw her was years ago, back when he'd still had childlike innocence, when his struggling to get through high school had still been perceived as cute. it was before jasper, before the drugs, before he'd run off to try to make it on his own on the streets of a city that had never been kind. new york was a place full of beautiful lights, but jason had only ever spent his time in the dark and dank alleyways that he never should've gone down, streets that his fathers would've warned him off of a million times. seeing her now, like this, he feels a level of shame. what high hopes had she had for him? had they been shattered entirely? could she look at the mess of a boy before her and still see him as a smaller version of miecz? or had he long lost the luxury of comparison to the stilinskis? he certainly doesn't feel worthy of that family name now, doesn't feel as though he deserves to have once again been taken in off the side of the road and fed love on a silver spoon.

he smiles, but it is not the cheerful grin she once would've gotten from him. it's a look of pity, as if she is mourning the dead. some part of him has decided she is, that the boy he'd been when they first met was long dead and gone. miecz may try his best to pretend that isn't the case, but jason is well aware of it. gone are the strangers who look like they understand everything when they find out his last name is stilinski; now all he is met with is confusion and pity, looks sent his fathers way as if to wonder how this came to be. his past has long been locked behind glass, something he refuses to delve into despite how easily it is seen across his face. the scars never faded, and maybe if she looks close enough she'll register that he has more than he once did. if she looked off to the side and spotted a photograph of him, would she even register him as the same boy? if not for the telltale scars and ginger curls, he thinks even his own fathers would not recognize him now. perhaps even the men at the lab, who had spent over a decade analyzing his every breath, would falter at the sight of him. sometimes to stay alive a little part of you has to die, this is a truth that jason has faced more times than he could count.

"grown." but they both know that isn't really it. he's not any bigger than he once was, if anything he's smaller. they've been trying to get his weight up ever since they got him back, feeding him as often as he'll allow. it's just like all those years ago when miecz had found him on the street, when he'd first taken the poor kid in and just wanted to look after him until he could find the boy's home. that felt like lifetimes ago now, and jason can't help but wonder if his father regrets it. if stiles had just kept driving that night, he wouldn't have gone through the horrors of having jason as a son, he wouldn't have had to put himself through heartbreak over and over for a boy who never would've been his. he almost asks her, as if she'd tell the truth. he doubts, really, that miecz would've told her if he regretted it. he doubts he would've told anyone. asking her a question like that would only lead to the predictable "your father loves you" that he'd already heard so many times before.

despite the few years that had passed, she doesn't look any different to him, not really. his dads friends had always been around enough that their image is burned into his memory, any signs of aging or changes in appearance go practically unnoticed. she doesn't hold visible signs of trauma, no recent wounds or awful scars that make him think she has changed. in jasons mind, allison is the exact same as the last time he saw her, maybe even more put together - and that only adds to that shame in his gut, the feeling that she has things figured out while he's in the state that he is. but of course she does, that's why she's here. his fathers would never leave him with someone who wasn't entirely capable of keeping him safe. he thinks he's a little too old for babysitters now, but he knows that that's what this is. his dads may have treated this like just some normal visit where she comes to catch up, but the way they had slipped out of the room was obvious: it's too heavy, they need a break from it all. what an awful paradox they are forced to confront: as difficult as it had been for them to not know where jason was or what he was doing, to see him again and have to face the reality of what he'd survived seemed almost worse. it's not the first time one of his dads had needed to leave the room to process things, but it is the first time they'd both gone, leaving him with someone they trust in the meantime.

"y'known dad forever," at least, it seems like forever for him. stiles had already been out of high school when they met, had already started using miecz to feel more grown up. she'd known him long before he'd become the kind of man to become a father like he was. "did..." he doesn't exactly know what he wants to ask. he can't ask outright if he'd ever hit rock bottom the way jason has, he's already certain the answer is no. there's a lot of things jason believes himself to be sure of, even if the truth may not be as simple as he thinks. "was things.. better? before he found me?" its not outright asking, but it holds the same weight as pondering on his potential regret. if his father's life had been better before he came along, he thinks that's something he should know. jason's had his suspicions, of course. he knows that he wasn't an easy child, that no one would find it easy to suddenly have a thirteen year old kid overnight. especially one who was in the position he was in - couldn't read or write, barely spoke, had only ever known pain. miecz likes to talk highly of jason, of how much his son has changed his life for the better, but he struggles to picture it that way. "when he was my age.... was it.. better?"

[strawberrysznn]

Beauty AND brains. Your knowledge is your weapon.

Let's not only be insanely beautiful but also disgustingly educated. Other than discipline and hard work, your knowledge is your weapon in this world of chaos, something that you can sharpen and use.

Where can you expand your knowledge? What areas, what topics

How can you expand your knowledge? In different circumstances and preferences such as if you're too busy or if you have a short attention span

Where can you expand your knowledge?

I DO NOT mean that you need to be an expert at everything. You don't need multiple degrees for each type of intelligence. However, if you want to sharpen your weapon, sharpen your knowledge.

These are the areas where you CAN sharpen your knowledge AND the areas where you SHOULD know the basics in:

Emotional, Communication, Morals, Ethics. Be human, and make others feel human too. Cultivate empathy, understand mental health, build your conscience, and differentiate right from wrong. Communicate frequently and effectively.

History, Culture, Politics. The world is chaotic — learn to stand your ground. Understand history, politics, corruption, culture, and the overlooked heroes. Know what shaped the past to navigate the future.

Digital Literacy. The internet is a double-edged sword. Learn to navigate it safely, protect your privacy, spot misinformation, and adapt to evolving technology.

Manners, Etiquette, Body Language. The way you present yourself matters. Respect others, read unspoken cues, and master the art of presence.

Self-Sufficiency, Life Skills, Livelihood. You won’t always have someone to rely on. Cook, clean, manage time, handle money, and adapt to life���s challenges. Be independent.

Literature, Language, Writing. Words are power. Read, write, and communicate with depth. Language shapes history, culture, and thought—use it wisely.

Critical Thinking, Problem-Solving. The world isn’t black and white. Question everything, analyze critically, recognize manipulation, and think for yourself. Don't be swayed easily by others.

Science and Math. The foundation of everything. At least know the basics, enough to understand the forces shaping the world — logic, numbers, and the universe itself.

Self-Care, Hygiene, Fitness, Health. Your body and mind are your greatest assets. Eat well, stay active, manage stress, and prioritize your well-being before it’s too late.

How can you expand your knowledge?

When you have free time When you're busy When you prefer learning visually When you have little to no attention span

You are what you consume. Now that you know what topics you can expand your knowledge on, these are what you can use / do to consume those information:

Have some free time? Do / use these

Read books, take online courses, or watch in-depth documentaries. (Example: history books, finance courses, science explainers) Engage in discussions or debates to refine your thinking. (Example: politics, ethics, critical thinking) Try hands-on learning like experiments, DIY projects, or journaling. (Example: cooking, coding, writing) Attend workshops, seminars, or community events.

Too busy? Do / use these

Listen to podcasts or audiobooks while traveling, doing tasks / work / school work, or doing chores. (Example: podcasts on Spotify / Tiktok, Youtube videos where the creator is more on speaking, audiobooks on Audible or by downloading a free e-pub format e-book online then uploading it into Google Playbooks and using the audiobook / text-to-speech format) Follow bite-sized content on social media. (Example: short educational / history Tiktok videos, digital literacy infographics, photos on Pinterest) Take advantage of apps and tools for productivity, learning, etc. (Example: budgeting apps, language-learning apps) Watch short, informative videos during breaks. (Example: TED-Ed, Ted Talks, short Tiktok videos)

Like to learn visually / by watching? Do / use these

Watch video explainers, documentaries, or animated infographics. Use apps that gamify learning. (Example: Duolingo for language, Codecademy for coding) Follow visually engaging content creators. (Example: finance charts, body language breakdowns) Make mind maps or illustrated notes to break down complex topics. (Example: self-care routines, political structures, problem-solving techniques)

Little to no attention span? Do / use these

Learn through short-form content like TikToks, reels, or infographics. Play interactive or gamified learning apps. (Example: strategy games, trivia quizzes) Follow meme-based or storytelling-style education accounts. Try hands-on, fast-paced activities. (Example: debate flash rounds, real-world problem-solving challenges, DIY experiments)

Begin small, learn the basics, take a step at a time, and start from there. Be BOTH beauty and brains. You have a weapon (your knowledge), sharpen it and use it.

[fromdove]

ㅤㅤ ⁞ 𝓑RUCE 𝓦AYNE

ㅤㅤㅤ𝓦HEN 𝓗E'S 𝓘N 𝓛OVE 𝓗EADCANONS !

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨୧

— bruce wayne when he's in love hcs ᵎᵎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

— bruce wayne x fem!reader ᵎᵎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

ok so. bruce. yeah. bruce in love. god. where do we even BEGIN??

⤷ first of all. he doesn’t even know it’s love at first. he thinks it’s concern. which is hilarious. like babe why are you “concerned” that i didn’t text you back for two hours. why are you staring at my location dot like it’s a bomb countdown. why are you outside my building like “you didn’t seem okay.” no, mr bat. that’s called caring. welcome to it

⤷ once he knows he loves you, once it clicks, it’s game over. like. you’ve won. you’ve captured the flag and the bat and the emotionally unavailable man behind the mask. the batcomputer has been updated to prioritise your location. alfred knows your coffee order. and lucius has seen probably your selfies by accident.

⤷ he does grand gestures to make your life easier. he will clear your schedule with a level of quiet power that would make an oligarch weep. he will pull strings you didn’t know existed just so you have an extra day off to rest. you ask how it happened. he just shrugs. says, “someone owed me a favor.” you’re afraid to ask who.

⤷ you try to have a normal night. a cute little stay-in date. movie. popcorn. fuzzy blanket. and he’s like “do you prefer 4K UHD or IMAX formatting??"

⤷ are you dating bruce wayne or being placed under 24/7 romantic surveillance. jury's out. you say “i’m kinda hungry” and 90 seconds later he’s got a reservation at the most soul-crushingly exclusive rooftop in gotham. your heel breaks and suddenly lucius is designing ergonomic stilettos. this man hears “i like daisies” and your apartment now looks like the florists’ union exploded. you cough once and suddenly there's a team of private physicians on standby and your apartment has a retinal scanner. you're like “i’m just going to target” and he’s like “take the reinforced car. with a panic button. and body armor. just in case.” JUST IN CASE WHAT, BRUCE. BLACK FRIDAY??

⤷ you’ll say something dumb like “what if ducks wore pants” and he’ll go all stoic like “ducks don’t have a pelvis structure conducive to that.” and you’re like. ok batman. thank you for that.

⤷ he’s so in love but so terrible at processing it. like he can literally track six mob families at once and somehow still be baffled when you say “i like spending time with you.” he stares. blinks. blue screen. rebooting…

⤷ and god. the possessiveness. like in a batman way. like someone breathes in your direction and he’s already memorizing their dental structure for potential breakage. “i don’t get jealous.” ok. sure. “i simply don't trust their intentions.” uh huh. oh. oh okay. stop being good at this???

⤷ when you fight?? oh boy. it’s a showdown. the emotional cold war. he says something sharp. you throw it back with fire. he’s like “i see you’re being emotional.” and you’re like “i see you’re being a jackass.” doors slam. hours pass. he shows up at your door at 2am with flowers. and a bag. “i brought you jewelry.” REAL FUCKING DIAMONDS. you melt. he wins. he always wins. he hates that he always wins. and then he apologizes. like fr this time. “i was... imprecise. and inconsiderate. i regret that.” you forgive him but you also throw a pillow at him. he cant work well knowing u fought and ur mad at him

⤷ “we have plans tonight. dress practically.” practically for what, bruce. you’re like “can we go to a museum?” and he’s like “i’ve arranged a private after-hours tour with the curator and secured the rooftop for dinner.” and you’re like 😭 i just wanted to see the dinosaurs. can we atleast get pizza. please.

⤷ he’s so awkward when he wants affection. like. he doesn’t ask. he just stands there. near you. like a confused statue. you’re watching tv and he’s lurking in the hallway. not saying anything. not moving. just. present. and when you finally go “do you want a hug??” he’s like “i wouldn’t object.” wouldn’t object. wow.

⤷ he kisses your wrist. not your hand. your wrist. where the pulse is. and it’s so tender you actually forget how to function. he does it like it’s a routine. like muscle memory. like that’s where your lifeline is and he wants to remind you he’s always right there. always.

⤷ he’s like “i cross-referenced your schedule and added buffer time between tasks to reduce burnout.” you’re like “thanks dad.” and he just. blinks. “i’m not your father.” IT WAS A JOKE. I SWEAR TO GOD.

⤷ you get used to the long stares and the over-prepared dates and the sudden security upgrades. you get used to him showing up at 3am because he “heard a rumor about increased gang activity near your block.” (before you moved in with him)

⤷ he won't let you pay for anything. ever. even a coffee. even gum. even when you try to trick him. he will venmo the bodega guy. you will be carrying a tote bag and he’ll grab it and hold it. he insists. he insists. bruce is not casual. about anything. he’s intense. obviously. like. duh. he’s not gonna be normal. about anything, least of all you.

⤷ you’ll be standing next to him at a gala and your heel will start hurting and he’ll murmur, dead serious, “i’ll buy the brand and shut it down.” like. ??? bruce. be normal. please.

(he’s never normal.)

⤷ “i’m not controlling, i’m just ensuring your safety” like ok bro why is there a tracker in my earring

⤷ also he doesn’t like attention. but he likes when you give it to him. likes when you fix his tie. likes when you straighten his cufflinks. likes when you get in his space just to annoy him and he goes “what do you want” dude ur batman figure it out?? tf??

⤷ he's obsessed with your safety. the man just appears. like you didn’t invite him. no one invited him. but you’re walking home and boom. there he is. in the shadows. bro shows up on a fire escape in full batsy costume like “hey” you’ll be like “how did you know where i was” and he’ll blink. once. slow. he’s like “i’m batman.” ok??????? um???????/ did u need something??? police help

⤷ he stares. jesus christtt. always with the staring. like you’ll be brushing your hair or pouring cereal or literally breathing. and he’s just. gazing. contemplative. like he’s solving a goddamn mystery. you’re like “what.” and he says “you’re very…important to me.” and you’re like ??? what does that mean ??? hello ???

⤷ he lets you touch the batsuit once. you make fun of him for it and he gets genuinely offended. but then you kiss him and say “thanks for protecting me batman” and bro almost combusts

⤷ he doesn’t smile a lot. like. ever. except you. you make him smile. and not just smirk smile. like. actual. real. warm smile.

⤷ bruce wayne = terrible texting. like. atrocious. he doesnt like texting. hes too old fashioned istg. he texts like a military directive. “ETA: 3 minutes.” “Location secure.” “Status update?” and then when you send him a heart emoji he replies “❤️ acknowledged.” what does that even mean. you say “did you see that video i sent” and he’s like “i don’t open links from unverified sources, you shouldn't either.” you say “you’re cute” and he just replies with a question mark. like. have you ever spoken to a woman

⤷ he’s TOUCHY but only in this obsessive hyper-controlled way. like hand on the small of your back when you walk into a room. always checking your pulse with his fingers during cuddles like it’s about affection but also science. forehead touches at 3am. wrapping you in his coat even when he’s freezing. “you’re colder than me.” bruce your lips are practically blue. please

⤷ he’s not good with words. but when he does say stuff. it’s always weirdly profound. like you’ll be eating fries in bed (YOUR idea ofc) and he’ll just go. “i never thought i’d have this.” and you’re like. what. fast food? a mattress? my socks??? eating fries in your bed?????? and he’s like “no. peace.” (well yes to the eating fries in bed ... never done that in his life before.. but he wants to try and express his feelings. just let him) and then after he says that you have to go cry in the bathroom for five minutes. oh. ok then. love. i guess.

⤷ you give him the password to your phone. you make him laugh. you keep bandaids in your purse for him. idk what that would do for a gunshot wound but its bat themed bandaids so. he makes you feel safe. like real safe. like apocalypse safe. like kingdom come safe. like ride-or-die safe.

⤷ he’s so tired. all the time. but he never says no when you ask him to stay. even if he’s bruised. even if he’s busy. he’ll sit on your floor in a $20,000 suit and listen to you talk about your weird coworker (who he'll definitely deal with)

⤷ he’s an observer. and not in a creepy way. in the “i’m making sure you’re safe and sound” way. also. like when you’re talking, he’ll catch the little things you don’t say out loud, the way you bite your lip when you’re nervous, or how your hands fiddle with your sleeves when you’re cold. he remembers. every. little. detail.

⤷ speaking of him being an observer, he memorizes everything you say. you mention one time that your mom used to get you those dumb lemon lollipops and three days later they’re in his desk drawer. you joke about wanting a tiara and he deadass bids on one in a silent charity auction and doesn’t tell you. you just find it one day on your nightstand and he’s like. “it’s nothing.” IT’S LITERALLY DIAMONDS???????//?/?

⤷ you make him laugh. maybe not loudly. but it happens. sometimes he’ll chuckle and press his face to your neck and whisper something dry and you’ll cackle and he’ll look at you like you hung the stars specifically for him to stare at from his penthouse window while sipping on a whiskey and thinking about a sense of moral responsibility that’s eaten most of his joy

⤷ he doesn't let anyone else drive you home. ever. unless he's If he’s Batman-ing, then he'll hire a TRUSTED driver that he's done a full background check on (so thoroughly it’s scary). but when he can, he's always there. silent. gloved hands. tired eyes. he's had a long night. he's seen too much. but you're there. and that’s the only thing that makes any of it feel remotely survivable.

⤷ he doesn’t trust people. like at all. like he has backup plans for his backup plans. but he trusts you. like. fully. quietly. deeply. like if you say “i want to move to paris and work in a bookstore” he’ll say “alright. give me a week.” and he’ll find a bookstore. and a brownstone. and a plane. and he’ll go with you. he proves time and time again how much he loves you. again and again. and again.

⤷ he doesn’t fall easily. he doesn’t even stumble. he calculates proximity. projects detachment. he walks around with that stupid little batman jaw and his trillion-dollar trauma and thinks he’s above emotions. thinks love is a vulnerability. a liability. a risk factor. thinks he can out-strategize intimacy like it’s a hostile takeover. ok sir. ok gotham’s most emotionally repressed man. ok batboy (emo depressed edition). until you. oh my god. until YOU.

⤷ suddenly he's looking at your face like it's an encrypted file he can’t crack. HE'S SUPPOSED TO BE BATMAN FOR CHRIST SAKE. what is this??? suddenly he's pulling up in that bulletproof matte black vehicle he calls a car just to drive you three blocks and “make sure you get home safe”. just say you want me to have all your babies?

⤷ he is SOOOOOOOO subtle about it. and by subtle i mean unhinged. he's like "i don’t care." and then buys the company you said your co-worker works at because he thought they were flirting with you. you mentioned liking cats once? now there’s one on his lap.

⤷ oh em gee. you’ll be standing in line for coffee. like a person. and he’ll be behind you. close. closer. hand on your waist like someone might try to steal you and he wants to make sure they know he invented violence. he trained with those damn tibetan monks.

⤷ bros looking down at you like you hold some secret nuclear code. and the cure to....idk world hunger or something. ur his god. he's ur guardian angel that does what he's told. what YOUUU tell him. he folds every time. acts like he's annoyed but like shut up we know you're going to do what i say anyways 🙄🙄🙄 me strong guy me batman blah blah blah

[transgenbur]

i have so many thoughts about the tommy song/video and theyre a jumbled mess. i wouldnt call this an analysis this is just. most of my thoughts surrounding the video and what it shows about tommy

one of the things that stuck out to me (outside of how depressing and just like. is this guy okay) is something that ive always respected tommy for because he's always stuck with it and its his like. fervent conviction in people doing things theyre passionate about. thats always been one of the things he talks about all the time!!!

when AI started appearing he was talking about death of creativity, with the internet he's always talking about how the real tragedy is the algorithm killing people's passion by driving them with views and money, and even when he talks about youtube itself, and nowadays standup, its so full of passion.

and i think thats really important because it would be extremely easy for someone like tommy, who's in the process of maturing his online image from a very loud, immature and PASSIONATE persona, to make fun of it. it would be so easy to do like so many other creators and laugh at how "cringe" it was and make a quick cash/attention grab with a funny clip of him laughing at himself. but he never has. well don't get me wrong he's laughed at himself or old videos but it's always just. good natured taking the piss out of himself, it's never this like. mocking your younger self who was so excited to do what they did only because now its "cringe".

not only is he constantly giving that advice to other people (its been years of him replying, to any kid in his chat or donations asking advice on how to be a creator etc, "just go and do it if you love it!!"), he's coherent with how he applies it to himself. he realised he was making cash grab tiktok react vids and hated it so much he just stopped uploading for a while.

i dont know i just think there's something admirable about being able to still be sincere in a time where everything especially online has to be processed through a layer of irony. and its even funnier because he's more sincere THROUGH the irony i mean he's literally going into standup.

letting yourself create something that "means" something is fucking hard especially when half the internet still sees you as a kid who screams around. except the thing is that kid DID make stuff that mattered and that meant something because he was, in his own words, having fun.

i think thats what the format of the video was about too. i mean i think it was pretty clearly not a song thats meant to be streamed, its not purely music, its also a video because tommy is also first and foremost an editor who went to film college. its also not a "comedy" song like he's made some before, because those were all intentionally created to land as many jokes and make a big buzz— which doesnt mean they were bad! im philza is a contemporary lyrical masterpiece. but they had a specific purpose and it was to make people laugh and i think this video was completely like. opposite of what peoples expectations are of tommy. the "wow hes not a child anymore hes being mature🤓" reactions are the most obvious aspect of this (which, like, its been a while, get with the program).

i think the point of this was to make something that genuinely meant something but that was also like. as unpalatable to the algorithm and to the TommyInnit Viewer as possible. even now that he's gone into making quieter, more reflective videos, we've never had the flashing texts and the projector images and just all of that. hes always talking about how he hates the way the "youtube formula" has dictated the course of content and stolen all creativity for youtubers. its not meant to be a YouTube Video tm. its just meant to mean something to someone, and obviously process some sort of personal emotions, and i just think thats. yeah. yeah

i mean he even says so outright. "this needless, self indulgent spiral of self gratification" is pretty damn explicit. its not meant to be funny content its really a cry for help or for just. anything at all really

it was also a lot about perception, yknow the "entertainer" dilemma, "its all attention porn"... theres a layer of this point thats universal, everyone struggles with how they're perceived and i think any "artist" or "entertainer" figure can see themselves in it, but there's also a layer thats completely impermeable to most of us because it touches upon the sheer absurdity of a "youtuber". especially one of tommy's popularity. especially one who blew up so so fast so young. i honestly think its IMPOSSIBLE to process that. its about the ethics of having millions of people's time so readily available to you if you just press the right buttons to make the algorithm happy and then you've got them. im like 75% sure i remember him saying this on stream once, something like "your time is valuable" and if a fan didnt value him as an entertainer they should drop him.

and even here^ thats the saddest "lmao" ive seen in my life SORRY LOL but its really just. yeah im not gonna repeat myself it speaks for itself. perception and internet expectations and all that

one of the other images that stuck out to me was also this:

"yeah i know its too much like bo burnham but it wont be in a year though. in a year it will be like tom simons. just let me figure out what that means, ok?"

a lot of the video is about. influences and inspirations. the bo burnham references are so obvious he's poking at them, but i think he's raising a good point about the creativity that he's constantly praising. its never something that springs up on its own, its all about looking at others work and making it your own and feeding yourself with all those experiences and slowly, surely building your own way of doing things (tommyinnit "minecraft talent show" and "a tribute to dream smp" serial quackity + schlatt impersonator would know all about that) ->

and its daunting! its fucking scary to move away from that! which is also the main vibe i got from the video which, outside of his own issues with how he's perceived online, was the sort of existential dread that comes with actually creating. its one thing to preach you need to be passionate and create, its another to sit down and create something thats BY you. its a part of growing up! and we're literally seeing him do it live (well the bits that he chooses to show obviously)! thats also part of why i think tommy's so relatable to so many people is that he's so like. honest and real about what it's like to grow up, simple as that, and growing into yourself.

"this was everything to me" and using the picture of his younger self... man. theres obviously so much sadness underlying the whole thing but i think the nostalgia and melancholy in mourning being someone who was only inspired/excited by your interests and role models is universal. and obviously for tommy a lot of those influences turned out. well i think it was pretty damn clear who/what he was referring to here. ->

i don't think i need to go too in detail about that, especially cause a lot of the video was clearly a way to process his own personal emotions. especially with those next few images. i just hope he's okay and that god doubles his pain and gives it to mr beast to quote my friend bronzetomatoes. man.

of course he had to end with a funny clip about a hot anime girl and i think that kinda. sums it all up in a way. if that makes sense. at the end of the day its about the fact that he has to use humour to make the thing work when its out in the open, even when he tries not to and to be actually honest, but theres also the fact that hes literally a comedian and creating something "honest" IS through humor. its kindof a double edged sword

right well that was my jumbled mess of psychoanalysing tommyinnit i hope he is alright and all that because well that was. something

[strwberri-milk]

a fic where MC gets a promotion and so she prepares a nice candle light or whatever romantic dinner to tell Zayne about her promotion. On the other side, a nurse from the Hospital already told Zayne about mc's promotion and now Zayne thinks mc doesn't find him important, he just starts having sad upset negetive thoughts and even gets angry at her...but when he gets home he finds the romantic dinner setup and MC waiting in a beautiful dress.....angst to fluffy maybe slightly suggestive too

Ty<3

just a heads up i dont really write fics unless i come up w the premise myself! so heres jsut the standard hc format i use! also kinda messy of that nurse ngl but why you going around talking to his coworkers like that [eyes] /lh also i dont acc see him getting angry so ive messed w this a little bit to fit how i see him!

Zayne doesn't react when the nurse gives him the news. He doesn't want to come off as angry or anything but he also is aware that you have a positive relationship with the people he works it from the sheer amount of times you come to visit him.

He does start checking his phone a little more frequently, waiting to see if you'll text him anything that gives him a hint about what that nurse was mentioning. He knows you were gunning for one at work but had no idea what was happening as you'd been silent about it as of late. He did want to ask about but was trying to wait for the perfect moment, not sure when that would be. He tries not to let the notion that you forgot to tell him something that important bother him too much and is...generally successful as long as he's busy with work.

The drive home has him trying to figure out how to broach the topic, so distracted he almost breezes right past you in the kitchen. You stare at him, confused by the focused look on his face until he meets your gaze, raising a brow at your attire and the dinner you have set up. You immediately tell him the great news, any sour emotions he might have felt dissipating.

In bed after celebrating, Zayne finally asks why you told his colleagues before telling him. It takes you a second to register what he's talking about. You finally put the pieces together, telling him that you didn't mean to - you were just waiting for him one evening and were so excited so when you recognised the nurse you couldn't help but spill the beans. You'd thought you'd sworn them to secrecy but clearly not, making a mental note to be more careful next time to avoid any future misunderstandings. Zayne's just happy to have cleared it up, knowing all along it wasn't intentional but glad to hear you say it anyway.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Self-Editing

Editing writing draws upon different skills than creative storytelling, which makes self-editing difficult for many writers. If hiring an editor isn’t an option, you will want to improve your own editing skills to increase your writing’s readability and overall quality.

Tips for Editing Your Own Writing

Print it out. Reading your words on the printed page can help you find spelling mistakes, sentence fragments, and run-ons more easily than trying to track them down on a bright computer screen; you can even change the formatting of the text if that helps you look at it differently. Use a red pen (or any other vibrant color) to track changes or edits along the way.

Read aloud. Hearing how your writing sounds can also help you listen for lines that don’t sound right, like wishy-washy sentences, overuse of particular phrases, and unnecessary words. Sometimes a writer doesn’t realize that their sentence structure is poor or that their main point isn’t clear until they hear it read aloud (you can even use a text-to-speech program or ask someone else to read it back to you while you jot down things you notice).

Take a break. Walking away from your writing project for a period of time and coming back to it with fresh eyes can help you gain a fresh perspective by creating an emotional distance between you and your work. If you’re finding it hard to be objective, give it space—when you return to your own writing, you may find yourself with an entirely new outlook.

Keep your voice active. With active voice writing, the subject of a sentence is performing an action. That action is represented by a verb, which is the part of speech that anchors all complete sentences. While passive voice isn’t completely forbidden in a piece of writing, it’s usually a good idea to keep your tone energized, as it keeps your readers reading.

Edit line by line. A good editor will systematically go through a piece of writing line by line, and that is what you should do as well. It may take time and be a painstaking task, but if you’re editing your own work, you’ll need to look closely at the words you’ve written to find any outstanding issues like grammatical errors or typos.

Get familiar with style guides. Professional editors may come equipped with extensive editing skills, but it’s possible to learn what they know. Look up which writing style guide applies to your writing (if you’re copywriting, you’ll likely want the AP style guide, whereas fiction writing will use the Chicago Manual). Follow the proper guidelines laid out and add them to your editing checklist: Are all the commas where they should be for this particular piece? Are words properly italicized or quoted? Knowing what to look for can not only expand your editing experience but help you become a better writer.

Avoid clichés. While they appear in good writing every so often, clichés are mostly boring unless you have a unique spin on them or can integrate them in a way that doesn’t seem tired.

Embrace re-reading. Editing isn’t a one-off process, and chances are you’ll need multiple read-throughs in order to find all of your weak sentences, grammar mistakes, punctuation errors, and spelling errors.

Mind your syntax. Be on the lookout for issues with grammar and word choice. Certain words can change the whole mood or feeling of a piece, and using weak verbs and weak adjectives will only exacerbate that. Make sure your writing feels strong and clear, and use a thesaurus with caution. If you’re not exactly sure how to use a word, don’t.

Save the proofreading for last. Whether you’re copy editing for content marketing or writing the first draft of a memoir, proofreading is the very last step you should take when self-editing. As you go through your piece, you’ll be re-writing sentences and paragraphs, so searching for grammar errors or doing a spell check before your final draft will only waste more time. It’s okay if you spot errors along the way (you don’t have to ignore them), but don’t make it the first step you take when tackling your own editing.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Editing ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[goldfades]

a little late night ramble, cause i can’t sleep and i’m having severe pb brain rot 🥲 sorry the format isn’t pretty

how does paige bueckers show her love?

it’s not in the ways you might expect. not always in the loud declarations or instagram-soft captions curated for the masses. no, paige’s love exists in subtler corners, its quiet, stubborn, enduring. it lives in the in-between moments, in the pauses between practice drills, in the breath she holds when you’re speaking, in the way she remembers the things you forget to say out loud

she’s not effortless with emotion. it comes like muscle memory. it’s earned, not automatic. her love is shaped like early mornings and sore knees, shaped like loyalty with calluses. she’ll sit on the locker room floor beside you long after the lights shut off just because you looked like you needed someone to stay. she shows up; that’s the first way. that’s the loudest way. she always shows up

paige is the kind of person who loves with her eyes first. they soften when they land on you even if her words are caught somewhere behind a competitive grin or a half-teasing comment. but if you pay attention, you’ll catch it. the small tilt of her head when you laugh. the way she’ll always pass you the ball one beat earlier than everyone else, trusting that you’ll know what to do with it. the way she takes up space beside you without demanding it

when paige loves you she remembers your coffee order without asking. she brings you your favorite snack after a loss, wordless, like it’s a secret pact she made with herself. her version of care is unspoken but deliberate. her shoulder bumps against yours on the bench and it’s not by accident. when she catches you looking at her, and she looks back like she knows, like she’s been waiting for you to notice how much she sees you— that’s paige bueckers in love

there’s also a protectiveness in her, quiet but ironclad. she’ll fight for you before she ever fights with you. she’ll go down swinging before she lets the world wear you out. and maybe she doesn’t always have the right words; maybe she stumbles when the feelings get too big but she’s got this fire in her that burns gentler when you’re near. softer. warmer.

so how does paige bueckers show her love?

in every unsaid thing. in every late-night text that just says “you up?” but means “i need you.” in every assist, in every glance, in every moment she lets you see behind the armor she wears like a second skin. her love is steady. earnest. real in the way a home is real; weather-worn but standing strong

she may never be the loudest about it. but you’ll never have to wonder if it’s there.

you’ll feel it. always.

[vampdes]

DES says . . . love when he looks at me w love in his eyes euugh. feeling romantical bc of my boyfrie!! heehhehehe, i love him omfg.

ANYWAYS, kudos to my bf for inspiring this: how my MHA faves catch themselves falling in love with you ft. bakugou, deku, todoroki, iida, & kirishima. | masterlist : ★.

bakugou catches himself thinking about you at night, in the hours where he’s supposed to be sleep in order to have enough beauty rest for class tomorrow. not like he’ll be able to focus anyhow, not with you passing him notes, repeatedly clicking the heel of your shoe against his, humming the song which gets him humming—he groans in frustration, fights against his duvet that usually lulls him into a peaceful sleep, and tosses onto his side. he should, very much so, be asleep. but then, his phone begins to vibrate against his nightstand. it’s 1:34am, as his alarm reads in vibrant, red numbers, so it could only be you texting. against his better judgement, he picks it up, grimaced at the blinding white light that greets him, immediately turns down the brightness, then opens his phone, which immediately opens your text thread to him—most left unanswered due to the fact that reacting to your messages with a thumbs up or down is more than enough in his mind—that’s all about whether or not you should buy yet another plushie to add to your growing collection of mini-katsuki’s. he catches himself smiling against his better judgement. you send him a picture of you, decked out in a hoodie, his hoodie that he’d known you had ‘borrowed’ (stolen) from his wardrobe but had yet to see until this morning, shorts that have ‘B.K.’ printed on the side in chunky, block formatting, and with a plushie, the size of an extra-large squishmallow, of him in your lap. you were making a hand-heart above the plushies chest. whilst his thumb was hovering over the image, he accidently hearted it. you immediately responded with an uproar of shocked emojis and exclamation points. jesus, he let out a soft chuckle, you’ll be on his ass tomorrow. he wouldn’t want it any other way, though.

deku catches himself enthralled in your laugh. he’s funny, sure, but not that funny—you think so, though. you cackle, you snort, you howl, you slap his bicep with the back of your hand and double over with short, stuttering exhales of breath leaving you. he finds himself laughing with you, his shoulders bouncing with ever soft, breathy laugh that leaves him, and, at that moment, considers you contagious. everything you do and everything you’ve done, from pulling him up the ranks like a rocket, creating the funniest, silliest, cutest inside jokes that only the two of you get, to hugging him with your arms in a way that makes him feel comforted and sheltered and at home when he finds himself in a rut of emotions, and buying him new, hand-decorated journals whenever you catch him running out of space in his current ones, is undeniably contagious. he’s utterly happy to have stuck by your side during all of U.A., becoming a hero, and earning the spots the two of you have come to be in today, because if he didn’t, he’d never have fallen quite so deep down the rabbit hole of love you’ve led him through. he blinks, mentally surfacing from the pool of love he was utterly drowning in no matter the time, and there you are: smile on your face, your glossed lips spread wide, your body leaning forward, practically pressed against his side, and your head tilted. you say something, most likely another fact to add onto his many ones, and he does his own head-tilt, furrowed eyebrows, and somewhat puckered lips. he says what, you giggle and poke the tip of his nose with the tip of your finger. you say pay attention and he, even though he finds himself lost in you, says he will from here on out.

todoroki catches himself adoring you from afar. funny thing is, he doesn’t need to. you’re, just like with the rest of your shared friends, friends with him. you greet him in the morning with a personalized handshake, a newfound, yet always confusing in the first few seconds, nickname, and a gorgeous smile. you wave to him in the hallways everyday no matter what, because you, as you’ve said, found yourself interested in him. he never asked you to elaborate for his brain began to override itself with ideas of what you could’ve meant by such a thing. you share your homemade lunch with him everyday, yet again, in order to ‘gossip’ about the ‘certified underdogs’ at your agency. you, with lunch, bring him dinner. todoroki finds himself not wishing to cook most nights nor having the time to do so when he finds himself wanting to be with you instead of continuously eating whatever fills his cabinets. all in all, you consider yourself rather close to him, but he cannot, for the life of him, consider himself close enough to you. not even when you’re nothing but a touch away, close enough to where he could trace his hands against the swell of your food-filled cheeks, or when you’re cuddled against him during your rare night-outs. he wishes to melt away your worries and warm you on the coldest of nights. he wishes to kiss you, to hold you, to love you. even though he finds himself surrounded with your presence every waking moment of every day in which he yearns for you, and he could never want it any other way. yet, he finds himself doing so from afar. he wants to be within the bounds of your heart and never leaves—he burns with the heat of an overwhelming amount of volcanoes when he finds the realization of your evergrowing crush on him.

iida catches himself loving the newfound version of himself that you bring out of him. you are the direct opposite of him—brash, loud, outgoing, personable, carefree. you, as per what you told him, consider him a tiny, miniscule triangle inside of a hexagonal cage that has no way out. very specific, yes, but you told him that to his face, and he couldn’t find himself more offended. you told him he’s a rule follower, a goody-two-shoes, a certified square for goodness sakes! you promised to change that. you made that promise years ago during your shared time in U.A., and you continue to bring him out of his hexagonal cage everyday. at first, it was hard. he wouldn’t join you for midnight karaoke in your dorm, he wouldn’t respond to your text past 8pm, and he wouldn’t sneak out no matter what. but just like a flower, iida grew continuously. you presented him with something more interesting than those boring books he had stuck up his ass, you presented him with adventure and danger. going out of your way to trick him in order for a night on the town was the only way. outraged, upset, disappointed were the emotions he felt brewing inside him at the time where he met you in the courtyard. those emotions grew into a storm of something he’d never felt before. that night grew into nights which grew into days which grew into months which grew into years and years and years of fun. a tradition was created. a foundation was formed. a sheltered, shielded heart was melted. he is different, he is everchanging, and he has you to thank for it—he only wishes the status of friendship changes go something more. . intimate. maybe that’d be the first thing he changes for you.

kirishima catches himself falling for the way you dote on him no matter the situation. he’s a pro-hero with his own agency and an on-deck medical team for whenever he is fresh out of a fight where his ass was handed to him. he knows of his medical team, he knows they are professionals, he knows that glittery band-aids will not help the scars heal. he knows all of that and a bag of chips, but he, instead, allows you to dote on him like a puppy. he enjoys you worrying over him, fretting about his newly born scars, and hand-feeding him food. you coo at him, you braid his hair, you cradle his face, you kiss the tip of his nose, you cuddle him. even when he’s at the top of his health, you dote on him in other ways. you buy him gifts, you hold his hand whenever you wish, you invite him over for weekly dinners, you let him stay over in order for the time to roll over into breakfast, and you hold him. frame-wise, he is bigger than you. yet, when you cuddle, you’re big spoon. he’s stronger than you. yet, you never stop to prove that you can carry twice your weight (he ends up carrying it in the end, but he’s continuously amused by your efforts). he finds himself wanting you to be soft with him even though you treat him as though he’s as light as a feather. when you hold him close, he presses impossibly close against you. even though it is somehow intimate, it is otherwise platonic. friends. friends who. . do this, dote and love and care and craddle and do everything, with one another and share this amount of chemistry. out-of-this-world intimate, considered to be romantic, not at all platonic. kirishima has so much on his plate, but he would rather die than have you consider him as just a friend.

© vampdes . do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[sweetvoidstuff]

Just a Normal Night: Seoul Edition

Jungkook x Reader I Modern AU I Chance Encounter I Fluff I Romance

Summary: You visited Seoul to spend time with Jungkook in person—finally closing the distance between you again. In his presence, everything felt fuller, brighter, more real. Even if others might overlook you. It wasn’t just a trip; it was a reminder of what you both were building together.

Word Count: 15K

Masterlist

Just a Normal Night

Just a Normal Night: Missing You

A/N: Just a quick note on formatting: Bold text is used for dialogue spoken in Korean. Italic text represents internal thoughts or feelings. Normal text is used for dialogue spoken in English.

I hope this helps make things easier to follow while reading. Thanks so much for giving my story a chance!

PS: Really afraid to post this after all the love the first part got.

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You stood at the airport, fingers curled around the handle of your carry-on, eyes flicking occasionally to the flight information board above. The gate number had just been announced, and you were now officially waiting—your first international flight, and, unsurprisingly, your first time flying business class. The weight of that reality hadn’t quite settled yet.

Phone in hand, you opened your messages and quickly typed out a note to Jungkook: “Found my gate. Just waiting now 😊” As usual, it took a while for him to respond. That was something you’d grown used to. Being with Jungkook was like living in an echo—conversations happening slightly out of sync, affection delivered in delayed but meaningful beats.

It still felt surreal sometimes. The way you'd met him, how easily he had slipped into your life that first night—like he'd always been part of it. You'd welcomed him into your circle of friends without question, as if he was just some guy, not the Jeon Jungkook. That night together had been more than just impulsive—it had been oddly right. Real. And yet, somehow, the deeper emotional connection only started forming after the physical one.

The last few days of his vacation had been spent in the most ordinary ways—wandering your city, drinking coffee, watching dumb reality shows, laughing at inside jokes that formed way too fast. It had all been strangely easy. Strangely intimate.

One afternoon, you'd sat down with his lawyer and signed a non-disclosure agreement. That had been the one jarring moment. Formal. Cold. You remembered how Jungkook had kept glancing at you, like he was waiting for you to flinch or back out. You hadn’t. You’d just signed, asked for a pen that didn’t smudge, and moved on. If anything, it made him more affectionate afterward. Like he’d realized you were serious.

And then—he was gone. Just like that. Back to his world of stages and cameras, press schedules and airport chaos. You hadn’t put a label on anything. There had been no ‘are we something’ conversation, no dramatic goodbye. Just a kiss that lingered, and a promise to stay in touch.

You did. As often as time zones and chaos allowed, you texted, sent photos, shared voice notes. Sometimes hours passed between replies. Sometimes whole days. But the rhythm was steady. The thread stayed unbroken. Now, here you were. Sitting at an airport gate, boarding pass tucked inside your passport, heart a mess of nerves and excitement.

You were flying to Seoul.

To see him.

And even if nothing was official, even if the words hadn’t been said aloud—you couldn’t deny it anymore. This meant something.

You’d fought him on the visit at first. Not about going—God, no. You wanted to see him. Missed him. Dreamed of him. But the cost of an international flight was no joke, and your budget had limits. It would’ve taken you at least two more months to save up, even if you lived off instant noodles and cut every corner. You had told him so, somewhat shyly, trying to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal. Jungkook, in true Jungkook fashion, had looked at you through a video call and simply said, “Don’t be stupid. A plane ticket isn’t going to bankrupt me.”

You’d groaned at that, partly amused, partly exasperated—and it sparked a longer conversation, one you were glad you had. Because just like that, money had become the shadow in the room. Not between you emotionally—he’d never made you feel less—but between your lives. The very real difference in scale. Jungkook could buy anything. Fly anywhere. And while he never flaunted it, you didn’t want to start something that made you feel like a kept secret, or worse, a guest in his world.

You’d told him you didn’t want gifts. Didn’t want him throwing money around to impress you. You just wanted him. He’d listened. Really listened. And then explained that paying for your flight wasn’t about spoiling you—it was about making it easier to be with you, when his job made it nearly impossible with the upcoming album to travel freely where he wanted to be. “If it were up to me, I’d be flying to you,” he’d said quietly. “But it’s not. So please, let me do this.”

In the end, you’d agreed. But you’d made your stance clear. He could cover the flights—but you’d pack your own toiletries, bring your own snacks, and cover your fun expenses while you were there. You weren’t arriving with empty hands.

So now, here you were.

About to board a flight to Seoul. Staying for three weeks. It still didn’t feel entirely real. Another small argument you’d had: accommodations.

You’d offered to book a hotel—at your own expense, no frills needed. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be close to him. It was just... staying with him felt like a big step. Like something official. Something people in actual relationships did. But Jungkook hadn’t even let you finish the sentence.

“No.” One word. Flat. Final.

You blinked at him through the video call, and he softened when he saw your face. He wasn’t mad—just adamant. Steady in a way that made your stomach flutter.

“I want you home,” he’d said quietly. “I want to fall asleep next to you. Wake up next to you. I don’t want to waste time driving across the city every night to drop you off like you’re temporary.”

And then he added the real kicker, the one you hadn’t thought of: “And if I come to your hotel… if someone sees me there, sees you there—paparazzi could have a field day. I don't want you dragged into that. You don’t deserve that kind of attention.”

You understood, of course. It made sense. Practical, even. You knew what world he lived in—and what came with it. But it still felt weird. Like stepping into a role you hadn’t auditioned for. You weren’t his girlfriend—not officially. You hadn’t had that talk. You hadn’t labeled anything. Yet here you were, planning to sleep in his bed. In his space. With his driver picking you up. Like you belonged there.

The dissonance was strange. Sweet, but strange.

Still, he wanted this. And if you were being honest with yourself, so did you. So you’d caved, of course. Not because you didn’t have boundaries—but because that quiet, vulnerable side of him? The one that peeked through his fame and confidence? That version of Jungkook you couldn’t say no to.

So you were going to his home. A private driver was going to meet you at Incheon airport with a small placard bearing your name—another thing you didn’t really need, but Jungkook had insisted on, citing security and comfort. And once the workday was over, once he was done being the global superstar the world knew him as, you’d finally see him again.

Not on a screen. Not through messages. But in person.

So you packed for Seoul. Not like you were meeting your maybe-boyfriend. No—like you were about to walk into something quietly important. Something real.

And the thought of seeing him again—offstage, unfiltered—made your stomach knot with something dangerously close to excitement.

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The flight had been as comfortable as a long-haul business class flight could be—plush seats, a quiet cabin, even a decent meal you didn’t have to pay extra for. You’d done your best to relax, but anticipation buzzed beneath your skin, tugging at your nerves the closer the plane got to Seoul.

At the arrivals gate, your driver had held up a discreet sign with your name. He was polite, maybe a little stiff at first, trying hard to speak English as he helped with your luggage. But when you replied in Korean—halting but clear—his face visibly brightened in relief. The ride became lighter after that. Your Korean had improved quickly in the last few weeks, mostly out of necessity. Daily conversations with Jungkook had turned from playful chaos to something deeper, smoother. You still stumbled over grammar, and your spelling was a disaster, but you made it work. And he always answered patiently, even when you texted him three different ways to ask the same question.

The driver brought you straight to Jungkook’s apartment. It was late afternoon, the sky a watercolor mix of soft greys and warm golds, the city humming in the background. Jungkook wasn’t home yet, caught up with work, but the door code worked just like he said it would. The space inside was quiet and immaculately clean—modern, tasteful, and subtly masculine. Not cold, though. Not with the welcome you got.

Because the moment you stepped inside, you were greeted by a tall, sleek doberman trotting toward you, ears perked and tail wagging slow and steady. Bam. You crouched instinctively, hand held out, heart thudding a little—he was much bigger than you'd expected from old videos. But he sniffed your fingers, let out a soft huff, and nudged his head under your palm.

You melted immediately.

Bam followed you around the apartment like a quiet shadow while you explored only the spaces Jungkook had told you were fine to use. You didn’t go into his bedroom, unsure if that was too much. You felt like an intruder, a guest in something delicate, even though he had been the one to insist you stay here. You were still wrapping your head around it—this whole thing. You. Him. Here.

Jetlag hit like a freight train not long after. You curled up on the big living room couch, your travel bag still half unpacked in the corner. Bam, loyal and massive, hopped up beside you with a low grunt and carefully tucked himself against your side. His weight was comforting. His presence grounding.

You sent Jungkook a quick message:

You: i’m here. bam says hi. talk soon <3

You passed out before you saw his reply.

Later that evening, Jungkook stepped into his home quietly, the soft sound of the door the only warning. He didn’t call out. Just slipped off his shoes and padded in, shoulders loose with exhaustion—until he turned the corner and saw you.

You were curled up in the middle of his living room, tangled in a throw blanket, mouth parted slightly in sleep. One arm was draped around Bam, who was nestled against you like a guard and a traitor all in one. His eyes flicked open at the sound of his master entering, but he didn’t move—he just blinked lazily and stayed close to you. He couldn’t remember the last time Bam had taken to someone that quickly—or that completely.

Jungkook stood there a long moment, completely still, a soft ache blooming in his chest.

It wasn’t the sight of you in his home.

It was how right it looked.

You, barefoot and flushed from sleep, his dog choosing you without hesitation. You fitting into his space like you’d always belonged there.

He smiled slowly, heart warm and full, and whispered so quietly that neither of you heard it:

“Welcome home.”

He approached slowly, kneeling beside the couch and gently rubbing behind Bam’s ear. The dog grumbled, low and disgruntled, when Jungkook nudged him away, resisting for a moment before finally huffing and hopping down with reluctant steps. He gave Jungkook a betrayed look before slinking off to his usual spot in the corner, flopping down with a groan of effort.

You stirred faintly in your sleep, your hand reaching absently for the warmth that had just left your side. A soft whimper left your lips as your arm fell against empty cushions. Jungkook's heart ached.

But he didn’t let you stay cold for long. With practiced care, he maneuvered into the space Bam had just vacated, lifting the blanket slightly and slipping in beside you. You mumbled something in your sleep, brow furrowed briefly before it smoothed out again when his arm circled your waist. You exhaled slowly and relaxed into him, instinctively curling closer, your head tucking beneath his chin like it belonged there.

He wasn’t tired. Not really. Adrenaline still buzzed faintly in his veins from a long day, but lying there with you in his arms melted every ounce of tension in his body. The way you fit against him. The steady rise and fall of your breathing. It was all too easy to close his eyes and let himself fall.

Still, from past experience, Jungkook knew the jet lag would catch up to you fully in a few hours. You’d wake in the middle of the night, confused and out of place, maybe even a little anxious in the unfamiliar dark. He wanted to be there for that moment—to meet it with calmness and quiet company.

So he stayed, anchored to you. He would wake with you. He would walk you through the time zone shift and sleepy confusion and maybe heat up some tea. And then he’d hold you again, as long as you’d let him. For now, though, he simply breathed you in and let himself drift.

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

You woke up groggy and disoriented, your mind struggling to place the moment. For a few seconds, it was like surfacing from a deep, unfamiliar dream—blinking into the darkness, unsure where you were, let alone what year it was. And then you felt it. A warm arm draped tightly around your waist. A solid chest beneath your cheek, rising and falling in a calm rhythm. Someone was holding you—and for a panicked breath, your heart jumped into your throat.

But the scent hit you a second later—warm cotton, clean skin, and something faintly musky and familiar. Jungkook. You exhaled in relief, sinking back down into him with a soft sigh, the tension draining from your muscles all at once. Oh, right. Seoul. His apartment. Your nap on the couch with Bam. You hadn’t expected to fall asleep for so long—or to wake up like this. With him.

A low, husky groan rumbled beneath your ear, followed by the gravel-soft voice you’d missed hearing in person.

“You awake? … Awake?”

His voice cut through the quiet of the apartment, rough with sleep, brushing against your skin like velvet. You hummed an answer, still not fully ready to rejoin the world. You could’ve stayed like this a little longer, maybe forever—but the haze of jet lag was clearing, and restlessness had started creeping in.

You shifted slightly, intending to sit up—but Jungkook’s arm tightened around you, the pressure a little too firm for someone half-asleep, his strength not yet tethered by full consciousness.

“Hey,” you whispered with a sleepy laugh. “That’s my… back you’re cracking.”

He grunted, barely lifting his head, and loosened his hold—just enough to still keep you against him. You didn’t really mind. After so many weeks apart, after only seeing him through flickering screens and filtered photos, being this close to him again felt surreal. Grounding. Like your whole body remembered something your mind was still catching up to.

After a long moment of quiet, just the two of you breathing each other in, Jungkook’s voice came again, still a little slurred. “Wanna eat? I could make something…” At the mere mention of food, your stomach gave an embarrassingly loud growl, betraying you completely. You laughed softly, hiding your face in his chest.

“I mean… yes,” you murmured, “but no. Go back to sleep. I’m not moving.”

But Jungkook was already sitting up, dragging you with him like a giant human blanket. His arms stayed wrapped around you as he shifted, and his head dipped to your neck, lips brushing against your skin as he buried his nose there and sighed.

“You smell different,” he mumbled against your collarbone.

“Is that a complaint?” you teased, still half-draped over him.

“No.” He shook his head lightly. “Just… missed it.”

You smiled, a little dazed, and tucked your arms around him tighter. You were both a little stiff, your backs mildly protesting from the awkward sleep on the couch, but honestly? There were worse ways to start a day than tangled up with him, sore but smiling, in the quiet cocoon of morning.

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

You’d arrived on a Thursday, so you woke up Friday morning—jet lagged and disoriented, but wrapped in Jungkook’s sheets and warmth. The day had started slow and soft, exactly the way it should when you’d just flown halfway across the world. And honestly, waking up at an absurd hour because of jet lag had its perks, because you had woken up early, and that only gave you more time to start the day gently. The world was quiet. Still. Yours.

Jungkook stayed near you that morning, brewing coffee and making toast like it was a sacred ritual. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t have to. The way he moved around you, careful and present, already said enough.

It was easy to fall into something like a routine. Too easy, maybe. Like you never left each other’s side.

He’d cleared as much of his schedule as possible before your arrival and only had to leave for dance practice that day. Then the weekend would be entirely yours. Even the week after, he’d made sure to carve out as much time with you as possible. There’d be a few appointments he couldn’t skip, but nowhere near as many as usual. He wanted to be around you. He’d made that very clear. Not that he needed to say it out loud. The way he hovered around you that morning, stealing lazy kisses like he had all the time in the world, said it better than words ever could.

He wanted you involved—you could feel it in the way he clung to each moment with you, unwilling to waste even a second—to show you his world the way you had shown him yours. One of those ways included tagging along to his dance practice, where Taehyung and Yoongi were set to join. He’d already talked to them about you—casually, naturally, like you were simply part of his life. He’d even gone the extra mile to make sure nothing major would be filmed that day, just in case you ended up on camera.

That part made your chest warm in a way you didn’t know how to name.

Yoongi and Taehyung had known about you for weeks now, ever since that night Jungkook had been on vacation, since the night he had wrote them about you. He hadn’t meant to fall for anyone really—especially not someone outside the industry. But you didn’t orbit him like so many others did. You’d walked straight into his life, and instead of pulling away, he’d let you stay.

They’d seen the shift in him. The quieter smiles, the full nights of sleep, the way he stopped mindlessly scrolling late at night because he was on the phone with you instead. He wasn’t seeing anyone else. He didn’t want to. Still, you and Jungkook weren’t officially together, not in any public or defined sense—but even that felt like a technicality.

They knew enough to know that whatever this was, it mattered.

That said, the dance practice didn’t start with any proper introductions.

Yoongi and Taehyung arrived barely on time—Yoongi blaming traffic, Taehyung blaming his iced coffee addiction—and both of them gave you brief but warm nods as they breezed into the studio. There wasn’t a second to spare. The choreographer was already running warm-ups, and Jungkook had been pulled aside for notes on the updated routine.

So no handshakes, no formalities. Just quick glances and quiet acknowledgments. You weren’t offended. You were just grateful Jungkook had brought you along.

The dance studio was enormous and dimly lit in that moody, creative sort of way, mirrors lining one wall, the faint scent of sweat and fabric softener clinging to the air. You’d taken a seat against the mirrored wall, laptop open, tapping away occasionally—but mostly you were watching him. Quietly. Intently. The way Jungkook moved—precise but fluid, powerful and impossibly graceful—it was like watching sound come to life. He'd worried you'd be bored watching him for hours. But you weren’t. Not even close.

You weren’t sure he’d ever believe how easily he captivated you just by being himself. What was harder to enjoy, however, was the female background dancer paired with him in the choreography. From a purely professional perspective, she was skilled. Confident. She executed the routine well. But you weren’t oblivious. Every touch that lingered just a second too long, every extra flick of her eyes toward Jungkook, every unnecessary smile—it all added up. She was trying.

And though Jungkook was polite—ever the professional—you could see the discomfort beginning to pinch at his expression in brief, subtle flickers. Still, the routine required proximity, some contact, a storyline. And no matter how much he dialed back, there was only so much he could do in front of a full room.

And you weren’t the only one noticing.

Taehyung had paused mid-stretch, one arm hooked behind his head, his eyes scanning across the studio before they landed on you. You sat quietly, unreadable, your fingers still moving on the keyboard even as your shoulders had gone rigid. You didn’t say anything, didn’t frown or scowl or even blink too long—but the tension clung to you like smoke. Your polite smile had dulled, just slightly, around the edges. And with each unnecessary brush of the dancer’s hand against Jungkook’s chest, it faded a little more.

Every time that dancer reached for Jungkook like she wasn’t acting, like she meant it—Taehyung saw the flicker in your expression. The stillness behind your eyes. Like you were trying not to flinch. Yoongi caught it too. He’d sat himself against the opposite wall, his back against the mirror, pretending to scroll through his phone—but he was watching both of you with quiet calculation. He didn’t need to say anything. Neither of them did.

Jungkook caught it too. He was watching you through the mirror when he thought no one would notice.

Between movements, he glanced in the mirror—and saw you sitting there, trying to focus on your work, trying not to let any emotion leak through. But he knew you. He’d memorized every micro-expression, every twitch of your fingers. And he hated the way your jaw had tensed the moment someone else’s hands had found their way to his skin for to long.

“Break,” he called, cutting off the music mid-count. “Can we take ten?”

The dancer—persistent as ever—stepped toward him, her voice light and playful. “Want to grab water together?”

Jungkook didn’t even blink. “No. I need the room for a second,” he said, gaze flicking to Yoongi and Taehyung. “You guys can stay. Just—everyone else out, please.”

His tone wasn’t unkind. Just final. The dancer blinked, clearly thrown, but didn’t push it. One by one, the others filed out, some tossing curious glances back, sensing the undercurrent but not quite placing it. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving the quiet hum of the AC and the soft squeak of rubber soles in its wake. You looked up from your laptop as Jungkook approached, breath still heavy, sweat at his temples. He stopped a few feet in front of you, his jaw tight.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, voice low enough for only you, to hear. “I didn’t like that and...”

You tilted your head, offering a half-hearted shrug, trying to play it off with a weak smile. “I know it’s your job.”

“I know,” he echoed, already reading everything behind your eyes. “But it didn’t feel right. And she knew what she was doing.”

Taehyung, ever tactful when he wanted to be, stood and stretched with exaggerated effort. “Yoongi-hyung, I think I need coffee. Right, now. Like, desperately.”

Yoongi didn’t even look up from where he was kneeling to tie his shoes. “I thought you were cuttingback on coffee.”

“I lied.” Taehyung replied smoothly.

The two of them disappeared without another word, leaving you and Jungkook alone in the quiet, mirror-lined studio. The door clicked shut behind them, and Jungkook slowly sank down to kneel in front of you. He reached out but didn’t touch you yet, like he needed to explain something before he earned that right again.

“She’s a coworker. That’s it,” he said, eyes locked onto yours. “But it didn’t look like that, did it?” You didn’t answer right away. Your silence must’ve said enough, because Jungkook’s lips pressed into a tight line.

“I should’ve stepped back. I should’ve shut it down the second she tried.” His hands curled into loose fists in his lap. “You flew across the world to be here. And I just stood there and let her touch me like that in front of you.”

“She’s not a stranger to you,” you said, gently—not accusing, but not softening the truth, either.

“She is,” Jungkook said firmly. “I’ve danced with her maybe twice before. We don’t talk. I don’t want her. I just—” He sighed and sat back a little, his shoulders slumping. “I’ve been thinking… Maybe I should talk to the choreographer. Ask if we can change that section. Or switch the dancer.” Jungkook was rambling now. As if talking more to himself than you.

You blinked, surprised. “What?”

“I don’t want her touching me like that again,” he said, the words fast, almost rushed like he’d been holding them in. “Not just because of what it looked like—because I hated how it felt. She knew what she was doing.”

You nodded. “But you didn’t do anything wrong.”, you said softly, meeting his gaze.

“I don’t care,” Jungkook said, leaning closer. “I’ve been in relationships where jealousy ruined everything. Accusations, silence, punishment. It got ugly. Where we spent more time questioning each other than actually being together. I don’t want that with you.”

You exhaled slowly. “I told you I understood. I’m not jealous,”, and the way you said it made him look up. “I mean, okay. I felt something. I didn’t love watching her touch you, but I’m not angry at you. I just needed to know if you saw it, too.”

“I did,” Jungkook didn’t smile. He lowered himself to sit in front of you, cross-legged, damp hair falling into his eyes. His eyes searching your face. “And I believe you when you say you understand. But understanding doesn’t mean it didn’t sting. I saw your face. You shouldn’t have to pretend like you’re fine with it just to be supportive. I don’t want you to swallow things for my sake.”

There was a pause.

“I just—” He rubbed at the back of his neck, voice quieter. “I don’t want this to be something that chips away at us, slowly. Before we even get the chance to be real.”

Your heart ached at the sincerity in his voice. “You think that could happen?”

“I think I’ve seen it happen,” he admitted. “And it scares me. I’ve never had something like this before. Something that feels… good and safe and like it could actually last. I’m scared of ruining it.”

You reached out, your hand brushing his where it rested between you. “Jungkook, you’re not ruining anything.”

He looked down at your joined hands, then back at you. He nodded. “But I want you to really know it. I don’t just want to be good on stage and careful in private. I want to be someone you can trust not to hurt you, even when you’re not watching.”

You smiled, heart catching in your throat. “I trust you, Jungkook.”

He leaned forward at last, his forehead resting against yours, his hand warm as it wrapped around your fingers. He smiled, just barely, like it still didn’t feel real to hear you say that. He leaned forward, his forehead pressing gently to yours, his hand curling around your fingers like an anchor.

“I wish I could tell the world about you,” he murmured. “I hate hiding this. But I want to keep you close.”

You smiled, and the tension in your chest finally gave way. “Even when I barely talk and just type on my laptop?”

“Especially then,” he said, eyes glinting with warmth.

“Okay,” you murmured. Nodding. Believing.

The rest of the room faded after that. The tension began to drain from your shoulders. You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding and let him pull you into a hug. You let out a little sound of protest as he hugged you tightly, your cheek squished against his chest, which was still faintly damp from earlier practice. You wrinkled your nose and tried to push lightly against him.

“Ugh, you’re sweaty, Jungkook,” you grumbled. “Now you make me sweaty.”

He leaned back just enough to look down at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes and the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. “Oh?” he said, chuckling low in his throat. “Are you daring me to make you sweaty?”

Your eyes widened a fraction, caught between amusement and something heavier. Your fingers stilled against his shirt. “Jungkook—”

He grinned, his voice dropping. “Because I would really like that challenge.”

You swatted at him, but your fingers didn’t stray far. Not really. Now, standing this close, with his warmth clinging to your skin and his breath brushing the edge of your jaw, it was hard to ignore how much you’d missed him. “I’m just saying,” Jungkook murmured, pressing his lips gently against neck, “I’ve been very respectful, today. I’ve been good.”

You gave him a slow, knowing smile. “You have.”

“But I don’t want to behave anymore,” he added, lips grazing your temple. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

Your stomach flipped, and your hands gripped lightly at the hem of his shirt as you leaned into him. Your voice was quiet, but certain. “I don’t.”

He hummed like he’d been waiting for that—like he already knew, but would wait for you—but needed to hear it anyway. His hands settled on your waist, grounding, careful, and his kiss was slow and deep, like he’d been holding onto it for far too long.

You lingered like that—just a moment longer—before a distant shuffle reminded you both where you were, and what was still ahead.

Because somehow, as practice started again after the break, even though the female dancer’s lingering glances didn’t stop, it was easier. Easier to sit through the rest of it knowing exactly where you stood with him. Easier to ignore the subtle looks she sent him during water breaks, when you knew—without even needing to check—that Jungkook’s gaze would always find yours, quietly checking in on you like he couldn't help it.

And then, eventually, practice wound down. The choreographers called it a day. Dancers peeled off in twos and threes, chatter echoing down the hall. The energy in the room began to cool, leaving behind the heavy press of silence and your quietly building nerves. You shut your laptop and packed your things slowly, fingertips tingling with leftover adrenaline—not just from practice, but from what came next.

Something Jungkook hadn’t pushed you toward.

But something he clearly wanted.

A proper introduction.

Taehyung and Yoongi lingered back as everyone else filed out, casually pretending they weren’t waiting for Jungkook’s signal. He gave it with a tilt of his head and a soft, “Hey, guys—come meet her.”

Your stomach flipped again, harder this time.

Even though you’d heard about them from Jungkook for weeks—had seen their faces in performances, in behind-the-scenes clips, in his photos—nothing really prepared you for what it was like to meet them for real. In person. In a quiet, echoing studio where they were no longer just global icons, but his friends.

Taehyung was taller in real life, wearing a fuzzy cardigan that somehow made him look both rich and soft. He smiled like he already knew all your secrets. Yoongi moved slower, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable but not unfriendly. And they were still international superstars, no matter how casually they approached.

You smiled nervously but held your ground. “Hi. I’m—uh—”

“We know,” Taehyung grinned, stepping forward first. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

Yoongi nodded in agreement. “Took him long enough.”

You laughed quietly, feeling the warmth begin to settle in your chest. Jungkook stepped beside you, still in his sweat-damp shirt, looking slightly more nervous than you were.

“I’ve told them about you,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Like… a lot.”

There was a soft pause—one of those rare moments that wasn’t awkward, just gently charged. Everyone in the room knew Jungkook didn’t bring people around often. Definitely not women. Definitely not ones who made him rearrange his whole schedule and his whole mood.

Taehyung tilted his head a little, eyeing you with interest—but not the sharp, assessing kind you were worried about. Just the warm curiosity of someone who'd heard too much secondhand and was finally getting to fill in the blanks.

“So,” he began casually, hands in his pockets, “how do you like Seoul so far?”

You smiled, grateful for the low-pressure question. “Honestly? I haven’t seen that much of it yet. But what I have, I’ve liked a lot.”

Yoongi raised a brow. “Wait, seriously? You haven’t shown her anything yet?”

You gave an innocent shrug just as Taehyung groaned, dramatically scandalized. “Jungkookie! What are you even doing?”

Jungkook held up both hands. “She’s staying a while, okay? I was gonna show her around—just not yet. We’ve been resting first!”

You laughed, nudging him with your hip. “To be fair, I did need to recover from the flight.”

“Still,” Yoongi muttered, shaking his head with mock disappointment. “You bring someone all the way here and don’t even take her to Han River. Rookie mistake.”

“Not even Hongdae?” Taehyung added, hand to his chest like he was offended on Seoul’s behalf.

“I will!” Jungkook said, exasperated and laughing now. “We have time. You all act like I’m messing this up already,” Jungkook grumbled, running a hand through his hair, but his smile gave away that he was enjoying the teasing. “Can I live?”

“Barely,” Taehyung shot back, grinning.

You chuckled softly, watching the exchange with a growing sense of ease. “It’s okay, really. He showed me his home so far , so we’ve been kind of a homebody since I got here.”

“Homebody with him?” Taehyung asked, teasing. “That’s dangerous.”

You laughed softly. “He’s alright. A little dramatic sometimes.”

Jungkook scoffed. “Me? Dramatic?”

“You said Bam was a traitor because he cuddled with me.” You raised a brow at him.

“He is my puppy,” he defended, then added quieter, “You already like him more…”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself.

 Yoongi made a disgusted face. “Okay, can we not flirt in 4K right now?”

Taehyung grinned wide, clearly enjoying himself. But before the teasing could get too far, Yoongi shifted the topic with an easy tone. “You two wanna come by later? Me, Hobi, and Jimin are grabbing food. Just something casual. You could tag along.”

Jungkook shook his head, looking genuinely regretful. “Can’t tonight. We’ve got plans.” Your blush returned like a reflex, but you didn’t say anything, just adjusted the strap of your bag with sudden interest.

“Ohhh,” Taehyung said, dragging the word out, his smile going fox-like. “You just don’t want us around her too much. Worried we’ll steal her.”

“You wouldn’t,” Jungkook grumbled.

“I was planning to steal her,” Yoongi added dryly. “You are an idiot for not making a move earlier anyway.”

“That’s what we all said,” Taehyung agreed immediately. Nodding your way. “When you came back from that trip going on and on about her? All of us were like, ‘You didn’t make her your girlfriend?’ We were about ready to write you ourselves.”

“Hey!” Jungkook sounded scandalized, face burning bright red now. “She just got here!”

“You’ve been talking about her for weeks,” Yoongi deadpanned.

“Yeah, and the NDA? That was girlfriend energy,” Taehyung said, nodding toward you. “That was ride or die behavior.”

You blinked, then giggled face starting to get red as well. “I just didn’t want to cause trouble.”

Yoongi looked at Jungkook. “And this are the reactions why we all decided you are an idiot for not locking it down then and there.”

Jungkook groaned into his hands while you smiled, cheeks warm. “Okay, okay! I get it,” he said, muffled. Taehyung was practically bouncing now. “So? Did you ask her properly now, or do I have to?”

“I was going to—later!” Jungkook exclaimed, still flustered. Then, muttering as he glanced sideways at you: “I had a whole thing planned…”

You leaned in slightly, voice soft with a teasing edge. “Was it before or after sweating all over me at dance practice?”

He made an exaggerated sound of protest. “You liked that.”

You gave him a look. “Did I?”

“You did,” he said with a grin, already wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “And if you didn’t, I’ll make you like it.”

“Ugh,” Yoongi groaned, grabbing his bag. “I’m out. Text us if you two get married or something.”

“Wait, are we invited?” Taehyung asked you with a grin as he followed Yoongi.

“Depends,” you called after him, smirking. “On how much you bully him between now and then.”

“I can stop bullying him immediately. Cold turkey. Not a single jab from here on out.” Taehyung spun dramatically on his heel, hand to his chest like you’d just wounded him. You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Then you’re definitely not invited.”

A beat of silence. Then—Taehyung burst into laughter, shoulders shaking as he gave Jungkook a look of exaggerated sympathy. “Man, she’s worse than us.”

“She’s better than us,” Yoongi said, already halfway out the door. “You better keep her, Jungkook. Or we will.”

Jungkook just stood there for a second, lips parting in a soft smile that made his whole face light up. His eyes flicked to you and then back to his friends, something tender settling deep in his chest. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”

And as the door swung closed behind Yoongi and Taehyung’s teasing voices, Jungkook didn’t even seem to notice they were gone. His hand brushed down your back, grounding and light, his grin lingering even as he sighed like he couldn’t quite believe this was real.

“You know,” he murmured, “they’ve never liked anyone this fast.”

You looked up at him, lips twitching. “Even if it’s mostly just to make fun of you?”

He laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “They like you because of that.” Then he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, voice soft and filled with warmth.

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽     

By the time you two finally made it home, it was well past dinner time. Dance practice had—as usual—run later than expected. The sky was already dark, your limbs heavy from sitting through hours of choreography and quiet nerves. Jungkook unlocked the door with one hand, the other holding three stacked takeout containers, while you shuffled in behind him, kicking off your shoes and already sighing at the familiar comfort of his apartment.

“I still think you should’ve let me carry something,” you said as you reached to take two of the boxes from him.

“And let you mess up my perfect balance?” Jungkook grinned, nudging the door shut with his heel. “I had a system.”

You laughed, nudging him with your elbow as you both moved toward the kitchen. “Your system involved leaning all the containers against your face. I’m not convinced.”

“I looked cool.”

“You looked like a walking bibimbap ad.”

Jungkook let out a boyish chuckle, placing the food down on the counter. “Still cool.”

As you helped him unpack the containers, the smell of spicy rice cakes and grilled meat filled the air. You reached for the plates as he started opening the lids, already falling into a rhythm you hadn’t even realized had formed between you. He’d set the table, and you’d plate the food. He’d pull out drinks, and you’d grab chopsticks. Like you’d done it a hundred times before.

You started telling him about what you did during his practice. “Oh—Pascal and Flora say hi,” you added with a grin, referring to your two best friends from home. “They’ve been trying to find cheap flights for next time, but Flora refuses to fly economy again after last time. Apparently his spine still hasn’t forgiven him.”

Jungkook chuckled, setting two glasses of sparkling water down. “He sounds like Namjoon.”

You smirked. “You say that like it’s an insult.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but then paused, chopsticks in hand, his eyes landing on you as you shifted around his kitchen like it was your own. And just like that, the moment slowed. He blinked, watching you with quiet wonder. The sound of you humming under your breath, the way you straightened the napkins even though no one would notice, the ease with which you belonged here—it all struck him harder than he expected.

Domestic. That was the word for it.

And for someone who lived most of his life on stages, in airports, and under blinding lights, the realization that something so quiet could feel this… right? It hit like a punch to the chest.

You looked over at him, catching his expression. “What? Did I use the wrong word again?”

His eyes flicked back to yours, startled from his thoughts, and he quickly shook his head. “No—no, you didn’t. Actually, your Korean’s gotten really good. Really fast.”

You beamed, proud. “I had a good teacher.”

His face lit up as he opened his mouth. “Me—”

“Eumi,” you interrupted innocently. “You know, the one I started learning with?” Jungkook let out an exaggerated groan and immediately crossed the space between you, dramatically draping himself over your back as you laughed.

“You’re so mean to me,” he mumbled into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin, his lips dangerously close. “Here I was, waiting for my praise. And you give the credit to your friend?”

You snorted. “She deserves it. She got me through verb conjugation hell.”

Jungkook groaned again, this time lower, like the betrayal physically pained him. “I knew I should’ve snatched you the moment I met you.” You rolled your eyes fondly, tilting your head just slightly into the warmth of him as you reached for the last of the banchan. “Why didn’t you? Pascal and Flora think you were a coward.”

“I was a coward,” he murmured, pressing his cheek to your shoulder. “Everyone knew it. Even the hyungs gave me shit the moment I came back from that trip.”

You laughed. “Really?”

“You should’ve seen the group chat. I told them I met someoneand a little bit about you, and instantly it was—‘Why didn’t you make her your girlfriend already?’ ‘What’s wrong with you?’ ‘Do you need me to write the text for you, Jungkook?’” He groaned softly, mimicking Yoongi’s unimpressed tone. “Namjoon even offered to draw me a diagram on how to confess.”

You grinned, clearly delighted by the image. “Poor thing. Peer-pressured into love.”

Jungkook shot you a mock glare, but it was softened by the way his eyes sparkled. “You make it sound like I didn’t want to.”

“Well…” you let the word hang teasingly in the air, plucking a piece of pickled radish from the side dish tray. “Did you actually have a plan to ask me? Or were you just bullied into into the topic by Yoongi and Taehyung?”

You expected him to laugh, to deflect the way he usually did—but instead, he hesitated. His mouth opened like he had something to say, then closed again. A beat passed. He groaned softly and leaned forward, burying his head against the crook of your neck as he mumbled something you couldn’t quite catch, his breath warm on your skin.

You tilted your head to the side with a soft laugh, one hand coming up to steady the takeout container he was threatening to knock over. “What was that?”

He exhaled again, dramatically. “You’re mean.”

“You’re avoiding.” He didn’t argue. Instead, he lingered there for a few seconds more, arms tightening slightly around you before he drew back just enough to see your face. He wasn’t wearing any of his usual playful masks now. His eyes were wide, dark, sincere—and maybe a little shy. “I was just…” he began, then paused, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Comfortable. With you. Like—weirdly comfortable. From the start.”

Your heart stuttered a little. He wasn’t joking now. He shifted back just enough to glance at you, cheeks flushed pink, lips parted like he wasn’t sure how much more to give you without combusting. “It’s been a while since I felt that,” he admitted. “Close to someone like that. Like I could stop trying to be… whatever people want me to be.”

You blinked, taken aback by how quiet and honest his voice had become. He rubbed the back of his neck, gaze flickering to the counter, then back to you. “I did have something planned,” he said. “Not yet—later. During your trip. Something better than this.” He gestured vaguely to the table with a sheepish half-smile. “I wanted to ask you properly. Like… lanterns or a rooftop or a song or something dumb like that. You know. All that rom-com bullshit people do when they like someone a lot.”

You laughed gently, chest tight in a good way.

Jungkook reached for your hand, threading your fingers together without looking down. “But yeah,” he said, voice soft and steady now. “If you’re willing to deal with the long distance, the time zones, the stupid hours, and… y’know. The cameras and sneaking around, and whatever else comes with dating me…”

He swallowed. “I’d love for you to be my girlfriend.”

The quiet that followed wasn’t heavy—it was warm, tender, charged with the kind of feeling that sat low in your chest and made your throat ache with the effort of holding it in. You smiled, leaning forward just slightly, so your foreheads touched.

“I was already planning to say yes,” you murmured. “Even without lanterns.”

His expression broke open like sunrise—light and wonder and something a little awestruck. His fingers curled tighter around yours as if grounding himself in the fact that you were real, here, and choosing him. “I’m still gonna do the lantern thing,” he whispered, already imagining it. “You deserve cheesy. You deserve better than takeout and my messy kitchen.”

“You’re the cheesy one,” you said.

“Yeah, well…” He leaned back and moved toward the table as his phone started to vibrate on the counter. He glanced at his screen and let out a quiet, bemused huff.

“You okay?” you asked. He turned the phone so you could read the screen.

The group chat had been renamed:

💥 JK’S GIRL SQUAD (UNAPPROVED) 💥

Yoongi: if you don’t marry her, I will Hobi: JK still hiding her huh?? Taehyung: she’s fun!! bring her next time Namjoon: did you two eat?? hydration check??

You tried not to laugh, but a little snort slipped out anyway. “They’ve officially adopted me, haven’t they?”

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

You had eaten—eventually. After ignoring his group chat for long enough to quiet the buzzing guilt (and teasing), Jungkook finally gave in to your suggestion of a quiet walk with Bam. The night air had been cool and refreshing, the stars just barely visible between the city haze. Bam trotted happily beside you, his tail wagging like a metronome as Jungkook kept pace on your other side, his hand brushing yours more often than not.

Now, back in his living room, everything felt still. Comfortable.

You shifted on the couch and let your neck tilt until a faint pop echoed in the quiet. “Ugh,” you muttered under your breath, rolling your shoulders to chase the tension away. The long flight was still weighing down your limbs, even after the food and fresh air.

From the kitchen, Jungkook reappeared with two glasses of something cold. He paused mid-step as he heard the creak of your neck, his lips already quirking. “Damn, was that you or the sofa dying?” he teased, eyebrows raised in mock horror.

You gave him a tired side-eye but didn’t bother with a comeback. Your body spoke for you—slouched posture, sleepy eyes, one leg tucked under the other as you reached down to pet Bam’s soft ears. The big dog had, without hesitation, claimed your lap the second you’d sat down, curling up with a low huff of contentment like he’d been waiting all evening for that exact moment.

Jungkook crossed the room with a quiet chuckle, handing you your glass. His fingers lingered on yours for a beat longer than necessary before he let go. He hesitated, watching how you leaned gently into Bam, your fingers absentmindedly stroking between his eyes while your own blinked slower and slower.

“You sure you don’t wanna sleep? Sleep?” he asked softly, crouching beside the couch with one hand on the armrest, the other resting lightly on his knee. His voice was gentle, like he didn’t want to startle you out of your calm, but there was a note of concern in it too. “You’ve been fighting the jet lag like a champ, but it’s still catching up to you.”

You met his eyes and smiled, slow and lopsided. “Yeah, I should sleep of the rest of this stupid jet lag,” you admitted. “But I’d rather spend a little more time with you.” Your voice came out softer than you intended, the honesty in it slipping through like warm light through sheer curtains. Jungkook blinked once. Then, without hesitation—without a single ounce of his usual playful stalling—he leaned in.

There was no dramatic pause, no question asked, no teasing remark. Just the quiet shuffle of his body drawing closer, the brush of his knee against the couch cushion, and then the warmth of his mouth on yours.

His kiss was gentle, slower than the ones from earlier. Less about thrill, more about holding you there with him. It tasted faintly of citrus from whatever he’d poured into your glasses and carried the same softness you saw in his eyes when he looked at you.

One of his hands came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb sweeping lightly across your skin, like he was trying to memorize the texture of your tired smile. Bam let out a tiny groan of protest from being slightly jostled, but didn’t move.

When Jungkook finally pulled back, he was still close enough that his breath fanned across your lips. His eyes searched yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

Then, softly but firmly, he said, “No.”

You blinked, turning your head toward him. “No?”

His gaze was warm but unwavering. “You belong in bed.”

You raised a brow, ready to argue just for the sake of it—because this moment was so nice, because you didn’t want it to end—but you didn’t get the chance. Without stepping far or breaking his rhythm, Jungkook reached forward, placed both glasses neatly on the coffee table, then gently moved Bam’s head from your lap.

Bam grumbled like a toddler denied his favorite toy, but didn’t put up a fight. Maybe even he knew better. And then, before you could so much as blink, Jungkook grabbed you—swift and effortless—and tossed you right over his shoulder.

“Jungkook—!” you yelped, hands scrambling against the back of his hoodie. “Put me down! Down!”For a moment you even struggled to find the right word.

He laughed, the sound low and amused against your side as he started walking. “Nope,” he said again, like he actually enjoyed denying you.

“Jungkook!”

“I distinctly remember,” he added, shifting you slightly so he could tap the back of your thigh playfully, “someone telling me they didn’t want me to behave anymore. At least for a while.”

Your face flushed so fast it made you dizzy. “That was a different context!”

“Still counts,” he said smugly.

You buried your burning face against his back, gripping the fabric of his hoodie as he carried you down the hallway like you weighed nothing. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath, the strength in his arms, the way his hold on you never once faltered.

He kicked open the bedroom door with one socked foot and marched straight to the bed.

Then, without ceremony, he tossed you onto the mattress like a victorious knight claiming his reward. You bounced once, letting out a startled laugh—but it cut off abruptly as Jungkook climbed over you, caging you in with one hand braced beside your head, the other gently threading into your hair.

For a beat, he just looked at you. His expression was unreadable—dark lashes lowered, lips parted slightly, something intense glinting behind the softness in his eyes. His thumb brushed along your temple, his breathing just a little uneven now. Then he leaned in, and his mouth found yours again—this time deeper, hungrier.

The warmth of him pressed down just enough to let you feel the full weight of his presence, but never so much that it overwhelmed. His hand moved in your hair, firm and grounding, and you felt the heat bloom low in your stomach. Whatever exhaustion you’d been carrying, whatever jet lag was left clinging to your bones—it vanished, scorched clean by the kiss he gave you.

Jungkook’s lips moved against yours like he couldn’t bear to stop, like the space between kisses was too wide to stand. And then, barely audible, barely a breath: “I missed you,” he murmured, mouth brushing yours. “God, I missed you…”

The words melted into your skin, into the space between your parted lips as he kissed you again—soft, reverent, and then deeper, like he was chasing the feeling. “I missed touching you,” he confessed against your cheek. “Missed how you feel, how you sound…” His voice was low, rough around the edges, like it scraped up from somewhere deeper than his lungs. “Missed you so bad.”

God, you’d missed him too—so much it hurt. So much it had snuck up on you in quiet moments when you hadn’t realized how deeply he'd settled under your skin. Now, with him over you like this—warm and solid and entirely focused on you—it was unbearable and euphoric all at once.

One of your hands slid up into his hair, threading through the dark strands, holding him close. The other drifted lower, finding where the hem of his hoodie had ridden up just slightly—leaving a sliver of warm skin along his side exposed. Your fingertips brushed against him, just barely, and Jungkook inhaled sharply, his body tensing like a pulled string.

His breath hitched. His kiss faltered for the briefest second. Then he exhaled shakily and moved lower.

His mouth trailed down from your lips to the corner of your jaw, then under your ear—slow, purposeful, almost teasing. You felt every word he wasn’t saying etched in those kisses.

You tilted your head back instinctively, giving him space, your fingers curling tighter in his hair. And when his lips met the sensitive skin of your neck, your back arched ever so slightly, a quiet sound catching in your throat.

Jungkook groaned, softly, like the sound of you alone did something to him. His hand slid down the side of your body, over your waist, anchoring you in place while his mouth kept moving—down, down, until—

He hit the neckline of your shirt. He paused. You felt him sigh, a deep and frustrated thing against your skin. His fingers flexed at your side like he was trying to decide whether to keep going or not. Then he lifted his head, gaze a little wild, lips kiss-bitten and pink.

“Too many layers,” he said hoarsely, and there was a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes burned with something else entirely.

Jungkook’s hands skimmed along your sides, warm and steady as his fingers found the hem of your shirt again. He looked down at you—really looked—and you could see it in his eyes: the hunger, yes, but also restraint. That careful, trembling line between reverence and desire.

He tugged lightly at the fabric between you, voice low and breath warm against your throat. “Can I get rid of this?” he asked, fingertips slipping just under the edge of your shirt, grazing bare skin. Your breath hitched. You met his eyes, reading the question for what it was—not just about the shirt, but everything else.

“If,” he added softly, “you are … up for this?”

A breathless laugh escaped you before you could stop it. You tilted your head back into the pillow, the flush in your cheeks rising with the tension curled tight between your hips. “Yeah,” you nodded, voice airy. “I’m up for this.”

Jungkook’s eyes darkened at your answer, his grip tightening just slightly on your waist.

“But,” you added, lifting a brow as you brushed your fingers lightly over the curve of his hip, “if you were planning to keep me up all night riding you… you might want to adjust expectations.”

That got him. He let out a low, startled laugh—part amused, part aroused—his head dipping forward as if he needed a second to recover from the visual that clearly slammed into him. “Damn,” he murmured against your collarbone, his smile curling wicked. “Don’t say things like that unless you mean them.”

You laughed again, softer now, but your heart was pounding. Jungkook leaned back just enough to look at you again. His eyes gleamed with mischief, heat, and something more tender tucked underneath.

“Not tonight,” he said with a quiet promise, shaking his head, though his voice dropped an octave. “Tonight’s not about that.” Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he helped you sit up just enough to ease the shirt over your head. His fingers brushed your sides, your arms, the curve of your shoulder blades as he pulled the fabric away—almost like he was unwrapping something delicate.

He tossed the shirt somewhere off to the side, not caring where it landed. Then his hands settled on your waist again, thumbs sweeping slowly across your skin. His gaze dropped for a moment—taking you in, reverent and slow—before returning to your face. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, almost like he was telling himself, not you.

And then he was leaning in again, mouth finding yours. His kiss devoured and gave in equal measure, his body pressing just a little more fully to yours as if something inside him had finally snapped loose. Just like that, the warmth between you turned into something else.

Jungkook’s mouth found yours again, this time with more heat—no hesitation, no teasing. His kiss deepened, growing messier as his body pressed more fully against yours. One of his hands cupped your breast, his touch slow and deliberate, while the other caged you in. You felt the shift in his weight, the slow grind of his hips as he settled between your thighs.

You gasped softly into his mouth at the contact—he was already hard, the press of him insistent even through the layers of clothing still between you. Your hips tilted upward instinctively, seeking more of that delicious friction. He groaned, low and broken, into your kiss. The sound thrilled you, igniting something hot and desperate in your core.

He rolled his hips again, slower this time, just to feel you respond. Your thighs squeezed around him in reflex, your nails digging slightly into his back through the fabric of his hoodie. He smiled into the kiss at your reaction, then broke away just enough to look down at you—his lips kiss-swollen, his chest rising and falling faster now. As his thumb brushed over your nipple in slow, deliberate circles, coaxing a soft gasp from you as he explored the sensitive peak.

His tongue and lip nervously fiddle with his lip ring, his gaze flickering down your body and then back to your face like he couldn’t believe this was real. “Just so you can adjust your expectations as well,” he murmured, thumb brushing lightly over your cheek, “we haven’t seen each other in a while…” You raised an eyebrow, breathless but grinning. “I’m aware.”

He swallowed, his blush darkening as his fingers tapped against the edge of your jaw. “So I might not… y’know—last long.” His voice cracked a little, and you could see just how flustered he was by the confession. But you were already shaking your head, your smile impossibly fond.

“It’s fine. No judging,” you said softly, tracing his spine with your fingertips. “And if it comes to that…” You let your voice drop as you added with a playful smirk, “I’ve got two perfectly good hands, and can just jerk myself off to an frustrated idol, no?”

Jungkook choked on a breath—his laugh a shocked, aroused rasp as he buried his face into your neck, groaning dramatically. “God, please tell me you mean me now.”

Your only answer was a breathy hum, your legs wrapping around his waist as you tilted your hips again, sending another jolt of sensation through both of you. He growled softly, biting back another moan, then started trailing kisses down the line of your throat. His hands slid from your waist to your chest, cupping your breasts through the lace of your bra, thumbs brushing experimentally over the peaks until you gasped again, arching up into his touch.

He murmured something that sounded like a curse under his breath, his mouth following the curve of your chest until he reached the valley between your breasts. He kissed you there, slow and reverent, before flicking his tongue just under the edge of your bra, lips brushing heatedly over every inch of newly exposed skin. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he tugged gently at the band of your pants.

“Off,” he whispered hoarsely, not quite begging, but close.

You nodded, helping him as his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your pants. The fabric slid down your hips, dragged by eager hands that trembled just slightly. He watched, eyes locked to every inch of newly revealed skin like it was something sacred—something he’d been starving for. When your underwear followed, his breath caught audibly.

His palms smoothed down the outside of your thighs, his lips not far behind, leaving a hot trail of kisses and slow exhales as he worshipped every inch of you. You threaded your fingers into his hair, your chest rising and falling faster now, overwhelmed by the intensity of his focus. When he looked up, lips red and parted, eyes heavy-lidded with want, he whispered like it was a confession, “You’re gonna kill me.”

You let out a soft breathless laugh, dazed but still playful. “Don’t die on me, Jeon.” His mouth curled into a crooked grin at your answer, but before he dove back in, you tugged at the hem of his hoodie. “Your turn.”

He bit his lip, then sat back on his heels, straddling your thighs as he grabbed the hoodie and yanked it off in one smooth pull. His hair was a little mussed from the motion, his chest rising as the fabric left his skin. The soft lighting of the room carved gentle shadows down his torso, every line of his body familiar and still somehow dizzying to take in again.

Your hands rose instinctively, skimming over the muscle of his stomach, your fingers grazing the spot you'd touched earlier under the hoodie. His abs twitched beneath your touch, his breath hitching. “I missed you,” you murmured, almost without thinking.

His gaze softened instantly, but there was a fire just beneath the surface. “Not as much as I missed you, this,” he replied, voice low and dark, before leaning down to kiss you again—slower now, but deeper, heat building steadily between you.

You fumbled for the waistband of his pants next, tugging at it in silent invitation. Jungkook didn’t hesitate. He stood long enough to kick them off, tossing them somewhere to the floor, and joined you again in the nest of tangled sheets and fevered breathing—now skin to skin, heat to heat. You sighed as his body settled against yours, your thighs parting to welcome him fully between them. The weight of him, the warmth, the familiar press of muscle and tension—it filled something raw and hollow that had been aching in his absence.

Jungkook groaned as your bodies aligned again, harder now, no clothes left between you. His hand found your face, thumb brushing your cheek as he looked at you with something deeper than lust. “You still good?” he asked, voice tight with restraint. You reached up to tug him down into a kiss that left no room for doubt.

“Better than good,” you whispered against his lips. “Now shut up and touch me.”

He laughed, breathless—and this time when he kissed you, it wasn’t playful. His touch was everywhere—your hips, your waist, your thighs—warm hands leaving behind trails of heat that pulsed beneath your skin. And his body, all taut muscle and warm skin pressed flush against yours, was like a weight you welcomed—anchoring you, teasing you, torturing you. You tried to shift beneath him, to move your hips up into his, desperate for more friction, for more of him—but Jungkook was faster. His palm pressed against your hip, firm and commanding, pinning you to the mattress.

"Not yet," he murmured into your ear, voice so low it shivered down your spine. Then his hips rolled, deliberately slow, the thick, hot length of him dragging across your core in maddening precision. You gasped, your legs trembling with the aftershocks of every pass, every denied relief.

The friction was overwhelming. You could feel him clearly—hard and leaking, slick between your bodies—and it made your whole body clench with need. Your thighs quivered involuntarily around his hips. Your mouth parted in a breathless moan, your head tipping back against the pillow. And then… he stopped. You whimpered at the sudden loss of contact, hips lifting unconsciously toward him. Jungkook laughed softly at your frustration, his breath warm against your neck.

"You're so greedy," he teased, lips brushing your jaw as he sat back just slightly. Then his hand was between your thighs, fingers sliding through the mess he’d made of you. And when two sank into you, easily, fully, you both groaned—Jungkook from the raw sensation of feeling you clench around him, and you from the maddening fullness and pace he set without hesitation.

You arched, gasping again, hands flying up to clutch at his biceps.

"God…" he groaned, jaw tightening as his fingers slid deep, his eyes flicking down between your bodies. "You're so wet. You're…"

His words fell off into a ragged exhale as his fingers began to move, slow at first, then pressing into you with a rhythm that was devastating in its precision. He watched you—watched the way your lips parted, your brows knit, your hands clawed lightly against his arms as you tried to keep yourself grounded. But your body had other ideas—your walls fluttering around him, thighs twitching, the growing pressure in your belly unbearable.

Jungkook was transfixed. "Look at you," he murmured, brushing his nose against your temple. "Fucking beautiful."

You tried—you really did—to keep your eyes on him, to meet the heat in his gaze, but they rolled back without your permission, and a broken moan spilled from your throat. He loved it. He drank it in. Your legs trembled under the intensity, hips twitching, hands grasping at the sheets, at his shoulders, at anything to ground you.

Jungkook’s other hand slid up your thigh, thumb brushing slow, hypnotic circles just above your knee as he held your leg steady over his hip. He was watching you again, hyper-focused, studying your body’s every reaction like it was the only thing that mattered.

“Right there,” he whispered when your walls began to flutter, when the tension in your thighs started to coil too tight to hold. “So pretty like this. All of you—falling apart for me.”

His voice alone could’ve undone you. And then—right as the edge got close, just a breath away—you moved. Your leg jerked—your foot gently pushing at his chest, a quiet, trembling push. Not rough, not panicked. Just enough. Your hand covered his, holding him in place. Your breathing was uneven, your lips parted, eyes hazy as you stared up at him, halting the movement of his fingers inside you.

"W–wait," you managed, your voice hoarse and trembling. You weren’t trying to stop him completely—you just needed to breathe. To speak. To ask.

Jungkook froze, his fingers stilled immediately, but stayed inside though his thumb was still ghosting soft, slow circles along your inner thigh—his other hand anchoring your ankle gently against his chest.

“Everything okay?” he asked softly. There was no panic in his voice, no alarm. Just attentiveness. He was watching you closely—reading you like a book he already knew by heart. But still, he needed your answer.

Your eyes were glassy, your chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. You stared at him—He looked... devastating. Wild hair falling over his forehead, lips kiss-bitten and red, his body flushed with restraint, so close to release. His cock lay heavy against his thigh and dripping between you, flushed pink and glistening with slick, twitching against his stomach like it hurt to be untouched. You felt dizzy just looking at him.

You reached for him, fingers skimming over his hip, voice low and wrecked.

“I’m okay. I just… I need you. Not just your hands.”

Jungkook's eyes darkened instantly, chest visibly rising with a shaky breath as your words sank in. He leaned in and his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. His expression shifted—desire tightening into something feral, something reverent.

“…Say that again,” he said, almost breathless, leaning closer like he couldn’t believe his ears.

“I need more than your fingers,” your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes holding his. “Now.”

His groan vibrated through his chest, deep and guttural. “You want me now?” he asked, voice low and wrecked.

You nodded, a small, breathless smile curving your lips. “Need you. I want to come around you, not just your fingers.” He groaned again, the sound breaking in his throat, and pressed a long kiss to your lips—soft, but buzzing with restraint that was wearing thin by the second.

“Okay,” he whispered, forehead against yours. “Okay. I’ve got you.”

The condom was on faster than you could blink—Jungkook had moved with practiced ease, but even in those brief seconds without his touch, the absence felt unbearable. You whined quietly, sitting up just enough to press messy kisses to the line of his jaw, his throat, anywhere you could reach. Your hands wandered his chest as he fumbled slightly, your lips pulling a soft groan from him when they found that spot just beneath his ear.

“Could go faster if you didn’t keep distracting me,” he muttered, faux-annoyed, but the heat in his voice betrayed how much he liked it—how much he needed it. Then, finally, he was over you again, hands framing your hips, his gaze dragging down your body like he couldn’t believe you were real. Your leg curled around his waist instinctively, but he took your thigh in one hand and lifted it higher, draping it over his forearm to open you further, make more space for him. Your other leg slipped between his, foot pressed gently to his calf, guiding him into the perfect angle.

And then—God.

He pushed in, slow and steady, inch by careful inch. The stretch, the heat, the way he filled you—it knocked the breath out of your lungs. Your hands gripped his shoulders like a lifeline, fingernails biting into his skin as a broken sound escaped your throat.

“Shit,” Jungkook choked out, voice shaking as he stilled inside you. “You’re—fuck, you’re so tight.” You trembled in his arms, body twitching from the sheer intensity of being filled again. Of him. It had been too long—too long without him, without this—and your body remembered every second of it in the way it clung to him now.

Jungkook ducked his head, hiding the overwhelmed look in his eyes by pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck. You felt the tremor in his arms, the tight control in his slow breathing, the restraint pulsing through every inch of him.

And then—your voice, breathy and already cracking:

“Jun… Jungkook… please—please move. Or I… I might—”

He looked up, eyes blown wide, pupils swallowing the light. You were trembling beneath him, flushed and nearly undone, and still barely able to form words. The sight made him feral. Something in him broke—in the best, most reverent way. He hadn’t known what to expect, hadn’t known if he could live up to the memory of you. But this?

You were already so close to unraveling beneath him. Around him. And it was making him lose every shred of composure he had. He leaned down, kissed you like he was starved for it, and then started to move—slowly, carefully at first, hips rolling into you with a rhythm that immediately pulled a soft, high cry from your throat.

“You feel,” he gasped, breath caught, “so—fucking—perfect.”

Your hands scrambled across his back, pulling him closer, grounding yourself as the world spun from the way he moved in you—like he was savoring you, like every thrust was an offering. His pace started to shift as you clung to him, breaths shared, skin sliding against skin. It was frantic and tender, desperate and unhurried all at once, like both of you were trying to make up for every second lost between the last time and now.

And Jungkook couldn’t stop kissing you—your mouth, your cheek, the corner of your jaw. Like he needed to taste you everywhere, remind himself this was real. “Gonna come soon,” he breathed, voice raw. “If you keep looking at me like that—I can’t—fuck, I can’t hold back.”

You smiled through the haze, pulling him closer until your foreheads touched, until every movement of his body was yours and every breath you took belonged to him.

And you whispered, “Then don’t.”

Your smart little comment had barely left your lips before Jungkook dipped his head and caught your breast in his mouth, lips warm and soft as he sucked gently, tongue circling your nipple before he gave it a teasing nip that made you jolt under him with a strangled gasp that started your downfall.

“Smart mouth,” he murmured against your skin, grinning as your body twitched from the overstimulation and want. “You just love driving me crazy, don’t you?”

But then he pushed forward again, his hips grinding down just so—right over that spot where you were already trembling. The thick, perfect slide of him hit home deep, the ridge of his pelvis pressing tight against your clit in a way that knocked the air clean out of your lungs. You shattered, voice breaking apart into a gasped cry, hands clawing at his back as your entire body locked up and then trembled violently around him.

“Jungkook—!” Your walls fluttered and clenched hard, dragging him down with you. He barely managed a few more erratic thrusts before he groaned—low and raw—burying his face in your neck as his hips jerked. The heat of his release filled the condom as his entire body tightened over yours.

“Fuck,” he gasped, voice shivering as he came, still rolling his hips just enough to ride out the end. “You—God, unreal.” You were both breathing like you’d run miles, chests rising and falling in tandem. His forehead dropped against yours for a long moment, sweat clinging to his hairline, breath hot against your cheek.

He stayed inside you a little longer, reluctant to leave the warmth and the aftershocks still fluttering through your body. His lips pressed lazy, tender kisses to your neck and collarbone, his weight comforting above you without being too much. Eventually, he slowly eased you down with him, shifting so you were both lying on your sides, your leg still draped over his hip.

You swallowed hard, cheeks burning now that the high was fading—embarrassment blooming quietly in your chest. “I… came so fast…” you muttered, barely audible. “I—shit, sorry.”

Jungkook blinked, and then his smile split wide, bright and boyish and disbelieving. “Are you kidding?” he said, his voice rough but teasing. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I thought I’d lose it just from hearing you.” And just like that, he twitched inside you.

You let out a soft sound—half gasp, half groan—that made him chuckle.

“Sorry,” he whispered, not sounding sorry at all as he placed a kiss just below your ear. He finally pulled out of you with care, murmuring something soft when you twitched at the loss, and disposed of the condom before turning back toward you.

But before he could lie down again, you were already pushing yourself up gingerly on shaky limbs, breath still shallow. He blinked at you, brows lifted, concern and curiosity mingling on his face. “You okay?” You nodded, brushing your hair out of your face. “Bathroom,” you said simply, voice still wrecked around the edges. His lips quirked into a crooked smile, eyes fond. “Ah.” You wobbled slightly as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed—but Jungkook was already sitting up behind you, hands at your waist, helping you up with exaggerated care.

“Anything for my girlfriend,” he said playfully, kissing your shoulder as he steadied you.

You groaned. “God, you’re not gonna let that go, are you?”

“Nope.” He grinned and gave you a soft smack on the hip. You pushed yourself upright, but before you could take more than a few steps, Jungkook’s hand wrapped gently around your wrist. “I’ll come with you,” he said, standing up beside you in one smooth, quiet motion.

You gave him a tired glance, amused. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re literally walking like a newborn deer. I feel obligated.”

You huffed a laugh, letting him tug you toward the bathroom with fingers laced through yours. He kept close as you both stepped into the low-lit space, the faint hum of the fan filling the silence. You reached for the faucet and splashed water on your face as he stood behind you, watching with a small, soft smile, the glow from the mirror lighting his features gently.

Your reflection caught his—a mess of tousled dark hair, flushed cheeks, a lip still slightly swollen from your kisses. His hoodie and pants were gone, his inked arm on display, his chest bare and scattered with faint red marks you’d left in the heat of it.

You handed him the washcloth you’d wet, and he accepted it easily, dragging it across his chest and neck with a low, content sigh before tossing it into the hamper. The two of you brushed your teeth side by side in companionable silence, hips bumping every now and then, like even now, your bodies couldn’t help but seek each other out.

When you finished and leaned against the sink, Jungkook reached over and gently tucked your hair behind your ear, studying your face like it was something precious. “What?” you asked, voice quieter now. He shook his head with a lazy smile. “Nothing. You’re just really damn pretty.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warming again. “I look wrecked.”

“Exactly.” His voice dropped, teasing and rough. “My kind of wrecked.”

You groaned, pushing lightly at his chest, but he only grinned wider, catching your wrist and kissing your palm before guiding you back toward the bedroom. When you reached the bed, you both climbed under the covers at the same time, your bodies drawn together instantly like magnets. Jungkook settled on his back and opened an arm without question. You tucked yourself against his side, one leg thrown over his hip, your head finding the crook of his shoulder.

His skin was warm—soothing—and he smelled faintly of shampoo and the clean linens. His hand smoothed slow circles into your lower back while the other combed lightly through your hair, grounding you with every touch. You stayed like that for a while, tangled together in the quiet glow of the night, breaths syncing, heartbeats slowing.

“Hey,” he murmured eventually, voice soft. You hummed, eyes half-lidded with sleep.

“I really missed this,” he said, fingers still tracing invisible lines on your skin. “Missed you.”

You looked up at him, blinking slowly. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “More than I realized. It’s stupid how good it feels... just to hold you.”

That made your chest ache in the best way. You kissed his collarbone, lazy and lingering, and felt him hum in response. “I missed you too,” you whispered. “Even when I pretended I didn’t.” Jungkook’s hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, keeping you close.

“I’m not pretending anymore,” he said quietly.

You nestled tighter against him, and he pulled the blanket up higher, another kiss pressed to your forehead. The room had settled into silence, save for the sound of your breaths mixing, slow and even beneath the covers.

You were nestled into Jungkook’s side like you’d never left, like there had never been a gap of time or space between the two of you. His fingers continued their lazy path over your back, warm and familiar, like he was memorizing you all over again.

“You know…” he murmured after a moment, voice low and sleepy, vibrating softly through his chest beneath your cheek. “I’m flying you out more often now. Whether you want me to or not.” You let out a tired, amused breath, not even lifting your head. “So you’re just going to kidnap me now?”

“Exactly,” he said with a small grin. “I’ll drag you into my suitcase if I have to. Make this long-distance crap work.” You chuckled, eyes still closed, your legs tangling deeper into his under the sheets. “Fine. But only if you also make time to visit me. Not just airlifting me to you every time.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Deal. But I want to be where you are anyway, so that’s not exactly a compromise.”

“Mmh…” you shifted closer, like that was even possible, pressing your nose against the base of his throat, letting the warmth of his body soothe every frayed nerve. “We could do workcations, too. Pick a city, hole up somewhere nice. You shoot your stuff, I take meetings, and we eat too many pastries in between.”

Jungkook laughed softly at that, the sound a deep, muffled rumble in his chest. “You’re dangerous with ideas like that.”

“I’m serious,” you mumbled. “I’m not letting you disappear into some blackhole schedule again. If I have to sit in your studio in pajama pants just to see you, I will.”

“You can sit on my lap in pajama pants,” he offered, smirking against your hair.

You groaned into his neck, voice muffled. “God, you’re impossible.”

But your arms didn’t loosen around him. You were already curled into his side like you’d come here to stay, like this was your rightful place. And Jungkook—he didn’t move an inch to suggest otherwise. If anything, his grip around you only tightened, pulling the blanket tighter around both of you like he was locking the moment into place.

“I like this,” he whispered after a beat, voice quieter now. “You here. Like this.”

Your fingers brushed across his ribs, drawing idle lines. “You planning to trap me like this for a while?”

He hummed, not even pretending to sound guilty. “That’s exactly what I’m planning. But tomorrow we need to visit the Han River first.”

And the way he cradled you after, his chin resting on top of your head, his breath warm in your hair, told you he meant every word.

Masterlist

Tags: A/N I was stupid and not specific with the Tags at my Tag post for this. So as to not Tag anyone that doesnt want to be Tagged I changed the post and tagged only the people that interacted after the change. I am sorry! If you wanted to be tagged :/ If you want to be tagged for Missing you, just write it in the comments or dm me. Sorry!

@dachshunddame @hecatesdescendant @chaeisrichnow @notyourfriendooo

A/N: Hi! Just wanted to mention that I use ChatGPT and DeepL to clean up grammar and spelling in my writing. English is my second language, and this tools help me share stories the way I imagine them, without spending hours double-checking every word. Writing is just a hobby I enjoy after a full workweek—I’m not trying to make money from it. If you’re curious or have thoughts on it, I’d love to have a friendly discussion!

[callikari]

A NIGHT TO REMEMBER

⋆˙⟡ une nu𝓲t à se souven𝓲r

synops𝓲s — when you run into nishimura riki at your high school reunion, the guy you once had feelings for, you can’t help but feel the pull of old emotions. riki, now a little more grown-up, still carries that same charm, but you’re not the same shy girl from high school anymore. as he starts showing interest in you, riki slowly shifts from his usual nonchalant, carefree attitude to someone who genuinely cares. fem!reader x nishimura riki, fluff, slow burn, healing moments. a little sweet!!

more ? —❔

perm tagl𝓲st — @ash-engen @cheruphic

riki who walks into the reunion like he owns the place, a grin plastered on his face as he bumps into a few old friends, laughing without a care in the world. he spots you across the room and waves casually, a slight smirk on his lips. “didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, but there’s no urgency in his tone—he’s just being his usual carefree self.

riki who barely gives you a second thought, letting you catch up with your own friends while he spends the night chatting and laughing with his crew. you try to focus on the conversations around you, but every time you catch his eye, something in your chest stirs. he’s the same riki you remember, but there’s something different about him, something you can’t quite put your finger on.

riki who texts you later that night after the reunion, a random message asking if you got home okay. you chuckle at the casualness of it, figuring he’s just being polite. but the next day, he texts you again, and again, and it starts becoming clear that riki’s interest is more than just casual. he starts sending you little notes, like asking if you’d like to grab coffee, or telling you about a new game he’s playing, always slipping in a joke to make you laugh.

riki who’s still nonchalant about it all, but you start noticing the little things—like how he always asks how your day was, or how his texts now carry a bit of warmth you didn’t expect from him. he’s no longer just the guy who would walk away to game when you needed help, but someone who genuinely wants to know about your day, your thoughts, your life.

riki who shows up at your favorite café one afternoon without you asking, just because he knew you’d be there. he doesn’t make a big deal out of it, but when he sits down across from you and offers you a shy smile, there’s a shift in the way he looks at you. “i thought you’d like the company,” he says, but there’s something softer behind his words.

riki who, after a few weeks, finally drops the act. during a quiet moment, just the two of you, he looks at you differently—no teasing, no jokes. he reaches out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle, a little uncertain. “i’ve always been a little… nonchalant,” he admits, his voice quieter than usual. “but i’m starting to realize i don’t want to be that way with you anymore.”

riki who, in that moment, is no longer the carefree, aloof guy from high school, but someone who’s finally ready to give you his full attention, someone who’s willing to take things slow, to heal the wounds you’ve both carried with you over the years. he doesn’t rush you, but the warmth in his eyes and the sincerity in his voice tells you he’s in it for the long haul, even if it means slowly unraveling the pieces of his heart along the way.

letter — new layout / format ... what do we think ?

© callikari — all rights reserved

[physalian]

How to Make Your Writing Less Stiff 8 | "to-be" and auxiliary verbs

Part 7

Part 6

Part 1

As I go through editing my latest manuscript, I'm faced with the dilemma of when to drop a to-be verb, but also when to keep it and how the differences between the two in any given situation can make just a little... a little *garnish* of a difference.

To-be verbs:

Am, is, are, was, were; a subset of auxiliary verbs

Auxiliary verbs:

To do, to be, to have (simplified)

Auxiliary verbs tend to indicate tense, but we use them more often as crutch verbs, filler verbs, because you can just conjugate the verb itself to the proper tense without the need of the auxiliary verb.

The advice generally goes to remove these, as they count as filler words when followed up by a second verb. Versus the TBV or AXV and an adjective.

He does look / He looks She is cooking / She cooks They were standing / They stood I am fishing / I fish She does cry / She cries We have slept / We slept

vs

He is afraid / He fears She was sorry / She regrets They were happy / They cheered I was confused / I hesitated

The verb+adjective combo can't so easily drop the verb without changing either the tone, the flow, or the actions of the characters, because one is an act of doing, and one is a state of being (for the most part, 'fear' is one of those exceptions in English).

You would have to rearrange the sentence, e.g. "I was confused by this" to "This confused me," to elimiate the TBV. Which, most of the time, does help the narrator feel less passive in the story, but, again, we're here for flavor text, not an MLA formatting guide.

So, sometimes the inclusion of the TBV or AXV adds subtext to the action itself.

"He does look" has slightly more urgency and weight than simply "he looks" because the AXV emphasizes that this is an action the actor might not have taken otherwise, for better or for worse.

In the silence, she stands there huffing, voice wrecked from crying as he heads for the open door. “Don’t you walk away from me.” He turns, face impassive. “There’s nothing left to be said.” vs He does turn, face impassive. “There’s nothing left to be said.”

The latter indicates that this might be hesitation or regret on his part, as opposed to a decisive, quick action, or that this is an action that she, the narrator, didn't expect him to take.

It also helps convey the tone of voice (or at least the general direction of the level of emotion in a voice). This absolutely varies on a case-by-case basis and the context of the action and should not be abused.

One of the juicier verbs for subtext here is "try"

He tries to coach her through how to do it properly. vs He does try to coach her through how to do it properly.

The former is direct and simple. He is attempting (he attempts) to help but through the act of "trying" and not "doing" there's an indication that she isn't getting it.

The latter is a little more hopeless, where he and she both know that whatever she's attempting to learn, she won't succeed, but he's doing it anyway. Maybe because he cares or he feels bad, or, that he wasn't going to help her, but something changed his mind.

Deciding when to use these helps convey the inner thoughts of non-narrating characters without head-hopping, and also shows the biases of the narrator.

Hope this helps!