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#my phone camera. is going. to drive me nuts
minteacutie · 9 months
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Super Late Birthday Fic
...I know this is like almost a month late @poetic-illness but I wrote you a Birthday fic because you wrote me a really great fic on my Birthday. So here this is Happy Super Late Birthday!!! I hope you like this!!! 🤣 Eddie fumbled with his phone getting a video call set up, propping his phone up on a nest of pillows. He smiled when Steve came into view but his smile quickly dropped when he noticed how pale and drawn his boyfriend looked. The light pink hue of a low-grade fever dusted his cheeks. “Flu finally catch up with you?” Eddie cooed, trying not to sound amused as his boyfriend recently bragged about how certain he wouldn’t get the flu this year. He’d even made sure to get his flu shot early if that wasn’t comedic irony. Shut uhhuh-up…”Steve grumbled, sniffling thickly through his clogged nose, rubbing at the flushed appendage with a bit of squish. “Someone’s grumpy…”Eddie teased good-naturedly, knowing Steve had a habit of getting slightly moody when he wasn’t feeling well. It probably didn’t help that Eddie was in another City visiting family. Steve was on his own with this bug, making his heart ache a little. “How’re you feeling?”He asked, chewing his lower lip, watching his boyfriend fuss a bit with his flushed pink nose nudging at already chapped skin. “Like crap, but better than I would if I hadn’t gotten my flu shot,” Steve sniffled scrunching up his nose, “...gh my nose is driving me nuts…” “Poor thing…”Eddie practically purred, wetting his lower lip watching Steve knuckle at his flushed nostrils and itchy squelch. Steve huffed out a laugh raising his brow at the other man from the other side of the screen. “Something tells me you’re not too disappointed to hear that.” “Tease.” Eddie cackled, flopping back against the headrest of the bed. “Sorry to disahhuh…point, Baby,” Steve chuckled, his breath wavering slightly with hitched breaths.” but I haven’t had much luck with sneezes today.” “Hmm…actually I might have an idea…if you’re interested?” He twisted a dark curl around his finger, tugging it over his mouth as he gave his boyfriend a cheeky little grin. Steve gave Eddie a questioning look curious as to what the other man was going to suggest. “Whhhuh-hat exactly do you have in mind, babe?” “You could try inducing…I could talk you through it if you wanted.”He suggested with a little shrug. Steve felt his skin prickle with excitement at Eddie's suggestion. He’d only recently learned about the other man’s kink but he’d had been enthusiastic to indulge his boyfriend. “And how do you suggest I go about that…since you’re the expert?” Steve asked flashing a grin at the older man. After a quick discussion, they decided Q-tip would probably be the best thing to start with. Not wanting to risk the prolonged misery of an allergy attack when his boyfriend was already feeling pretty crummy. Steve dug around in their nightstand in search of the tool in question, which had frequently appeared in many of their…inducing sessions. Making a bit of a triumphant noise when he finally found what he was looking for, holding it up to the camera to show Eddie. “So uh…how do I…”Steve started twirling the Q-tip between his fingertip anxiously. Eddie chuckled not used to seeing Steve look so uncertain, but to be fair he was usually the one inducing the younger man. “Well first you’ve gotta actually put the Q-tip in your nose, babe.” He teased earning an eye roll from his boyfriend, watching as he just barely inserted the fuzzy end of the Q-tip into his left nostril. His whole face scrunched up as he coughed ticklishly, immediately removing it to scrub his nose. “Gh…I forgot how weird it feels.” Steve snuffled thickly. “It’s ‘cuz it’s gotta go a little deeper than that Steve otherwise it’ll just make you cough, baby.”Eddie chuckled watching as his boyfriend fumbled awkwardly with the Q-tip. Steve coughed against as he reinserted the Q-tip following Eddie’s instructions sliding it into his nostril a bit deeper this time until the ticklish coughs tapered off into hitched breaths. The bridge of his straight nose wrinkled at the bridge. “That’s it, Stevie, now just start moving it around.”Eddie practically purred watching his boyfriend follow his instruction. His nostrils flickering as he swirled the Q-tip around. “O-oh that tihhih…tickles.” Steve mumbled through hitching breaths as he wiggled the Q-tip around in his left nostril. His expression grew hazy before it crumpled completely, “HahhAH’TSCHH! ‘TSCHHUUu! Hh’DKXnsh!” Steve practically snapped in half with harsh messy sneezes, the hand just hovering in front of his face Q-tip long forgotten still sticking out of his left nostril. Still ticklishly fluttering around as his mouth hung open slightly and his chest swelled with hitching breaths. “Ehhh- Ehhhh!! HUhh’ HHASHhieuu!!!” He plucked the Q-tip from his nostril, knuckling at the tip of his nose irritably. Lowering his hand from his face with a thick sniffle. “Bless you, Stevie…you look like you could use a nap.”Eddie cooed, watching as he practically melted back into the pillow on his bed relaxing a bit now that the tickle in his nose had been scratched. “Mmm…I can stay on longer…”Steve mumbled rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Alright, I’ll stay on with you a little longer…”Eddie smiled, talking to his boyfriend and telling Steve about his day. Keeping his voice smooth and even lulling the younger man to sleep. He smiled watching his boyfriend snore for a few minutes before mumbling a soft goodnight. Hanging up the phone.
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wa-royal-tea · 1 year
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Previous | Beginning | Next
(Transcript under the cut - Click Pics for HQ Version!)
@thebrixtons​​​​​
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St. Frances Cathedral, Brindleton (12:00pm)
Alfie: You sure you can’t join us today? I mean, Nora’s going to be at the shower too later.
Leon: I want to but my father sent someone to make sure I’m “treating Astrid right”. So, yeah. I gotta accompany Astrid to look for dresses for your wedding.
Alfie: Urgh, he sucks. I can’t believe he actually had someone to babysit you.
Leon: Pfft, don’t call it babysitting. It’s spying, in broad daylight.
Alfie: Yeah, whatever you call it. Have fun I guess.
Leon: *sighs* No comment on that. My gift for you and Lina is with Nora, by the way. It’s from us both.
Alfie: From the both of you? Does she know you’re putting her name on the gift too?
Leon: Of course. She helped me choose it so I told her I’ll put her name on the card too.
Alfie: Sneaky.
Leon: You made it sound like I tricked her.
Alfie: I mean...technically, you did trick her. Just not in a bad way. You get me?
Leon: Yeah yeah. Whatever. She said she doesn’t mind it, so what’re you gonna do about it?
Alfie: *scoffs* Nothing I guess.
*phone rings*
Leon: *sighs* I gotta go. Astrid’s going to blow up my phone with her calls if I don’t go with her today.
Alfie: Uhuh, I’ll see you later. Take care, alright?
Leon: I will. You take care too.
Darien: Let me guess. Mary did something to upset you again today?
Sofia: Can you believe it? She changed the rehearsal date without telling me! If Dira didn’t call me and asked where I was today, I would’ve missed it!
Darien: Wait, you didn’t know the rehearsal was today? I thought you knew?
Sofia: I didn’t know! I already told her I have a meeting to look over the plans for this year’s National Day.
Darien: Huh...that’s odd.
Sofia: Whatever. I’m going home. Alfie and Lina are gonna have their bridal shower at the palace after this. I don’t want to be late for that.
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The Wind Palace, Ahtolia (7:56pm)
Alfie: Thank you for the couple’s bracelet, Nora. It’s very pretty.
Nora: No biggie. It was Leon who got the gift for you guys. I just helped him choose.
Catalina: Well, still, you took part in the gift giving, so just accept our thanks.
Nora: *laughs* Fine~ You’re welcome, your royal highnesses.
Indirah: Whose gift is it next? Mum?
Sofia: Here. This is my gift for you. Call it a welcome gift of sorts.
Sofia: It’s tradition in this family for the bride to wear a pearl necklace for our weddings. Preferably given by our in-laws. I didn’t get to wear mine when I got married, so, I want you to wear this.
Catalina: It’s beautiful. Thank you so much.
Mary: Are there anymore gifts left?
Dania: Not a lot. We have several well-wishes letters and gifts left from the public to the Crown Prince couple.
Alfie: Alright. Can you please hand it over to me, Dania?
Dania: Of course, sir.
Catalina: What is it? Why’d you shake it?
Alfie: I think there’s something inside.
Mary: Well, come on. Open it.
Alfie: “Congratulations on the engagement. I wish you and Catalina a very happy marriage. Please accept this special video I have prepared for your upcoming wedding.”
Sofia: A video?
Alfie: Maybe it’s a student short film project. Mia, put this on please.
Mia: Yes, sir.
Darien: There’s nothing?
Sofia: Give it some time. Dania, can you take this for me?
Dania: Of course, ma’am.
Darien: Hugo, stop playing with your phone.
Hugo: Give me a minute, dad.
??? (From the TV): Is this on?
??? (Madeline): Gavin, put down the fucking camera and help me with this kid.
Gavin: Hold on a second, Maddy. King James wants video proof that we got the kid. It won’t take long.
Madeline: I’m so close to chucking this kid into the sea. His crying is driving me nuts!
??? (Keira): Don’t be harsh with him, Maddy. He’s just a baby.
Madeline: Shut the fuck up, Keira. Or I’ll toss you in the sea too.
*baby Alfie cries*
Madeline: Shut up you little shit!
Keira: Maddy! Stop!
Darien: Turn the TV off. Turn it off!
Mia: Y-yes, sir.
Mary: Who...who sent that?
Mia: W-we don’t know. There’s no sender name, ma’am.
Mary: Then what are you waiting for? Go and look for who sent it! Now!
Dania: Yes, ma’am. Please excuse us.
Darien: Soph? Honey?
Sofia: Darien...I-I have to go.
Darien: Alright, let’s go. Please excuse us, everyone.
*door opens and closes*
Mary: I think it’s best if you return home now, Alfie. Lina, you can drive, right?
Catalina: Y-yes, mama.
Catalina: Come on. Let’s go.
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Symphony Manor, Holan (9:00pm)
Catalina: Alfie? We’re home.
Alfie: Huh? Oh, yeah.
Catalina: Are you...okay?
Alfie: I...I need to be alone. I’m sorry, Lina.
*Catalina knocks on door*
Catalina: Alfie?
Alfie:...
Catalina: I’ll...I’ll go to bed first, okay?
Catalina:...goodnight.
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eyeslikewatercoolers · 4 months
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28 - German christmas market - Crygi
only if you’re into that idea ofc, no pressure!
Ooooh i love reading Crygi, so let's give writing a shot! (and a Jasya mention bc well, I’m me) Also, I've never been to a German Christmas market before, so a lot of this comes from talking to friends and internet research.
"What are we doing in this neighborhood?" Gigi asked as she looked out the passenger side window. The street was lined with different decorations than where she and Crystal lived.
"I told you, you'll see what it is soon," Crystal said as she turned left at the stoplight.
Gigi tried to look closer at the pedestrians walking along the lit sidewalk, but none looked like they were giving her any clues about this surprise.
She thought she and her girlfriend would just go out to a nice dinner and then watch The Polar Express at home in their pajamas, but now she had no clue where Crystal was taking her.
"Here we are," Crystal said as she pulled into a line of cars that led into a paid parking lot. As she waited for the cars to pull forward, she fumbled in the dark car to look for her wallet.
Eventually, as Crystal paid the fee and they were allowed in, Gigi recognized they were at a park on the other side of the city. She watched some families and couples that were walking to the main entrance.
"I still have no idea why you brought me here," Gigi said as she got out of the car. She rebuttoned her crisp, white faux fur coat as the chilly air hit her.
"You don't see those lights?" Crystal pointed out as she reached into the backseat to get two pairs of gloves, passing one pair to the other.
As she pulled on the baby pink pair of gloves, Gigi looked in the direction the strangers were walking toward. In the short distance, there was a tunnel entrance made of small lights to the park.
"Are we looking at Christmas lights?" Gigi guessed as she and Crystal joined hands.
"Kinda?" Crystal said as they entered the mesmerizing light entrance. The lights were all bright white, and some even made patterns of detailed snowflakes along the sides.
As the couple reached the main section of the park, the walkways were surrounded by different stalls selling food and trinkets. The smell of sweet roasted nuts and balsam welcomed them as they joined the market crowd.
After window shopping and looking through the main row of stalls, the couple sipped Belgian hot chocolate as they sat close to the playground.
“How did you find this place?” Gigi asked as she warmed her hands on the hot paper cup.
Crystal took a long sip before speaking, “Daya told me about it when she and Jasmine came here last week. Jasmine’s uncle is one of the pierogi vendors and she said the market was worth the drive.”
“She was right, this place was worth the drive out here.” Gigi smiled before taking another sip.
“I’m surprised you haven’t even taken any pictures yet.” Crystal pointed out. Which was surprising to Gigi too, since she was the type who always wanted to capture the moment.
“Maybe later, but I don’t think my phone camera can do all the lights any justice.”
As the couple finished their drinks and continued shopping, the young families of the market slowly left. The night was growing older, and some stalls were starting to close for the night.
“I don’t think my bag can hold anything else,” Gigi said as they made their last round of the stalls. Her canvas tote bag barely holding onto her shoulder.
Crystal led her to the next row of stalls, missing the exit they were heading towards. “We just need to pick up one last thing.”
“What’s that?” Gigi asked as they stepped in front of a booth with displayed ornaments. Some wooden, some ceramic, and a few glass.
Crystal gave the booth attendant her name, and they dug through a box under the table. The person pulled out a small gift bag with tissue paper peeking out. She thanked the attendant before leading Gigi off to the side, away from the crowd.
“Open it.” She said as she passed the bag to Gigi. As she carefully peeled back the tissue paper, she found a ceramic ornament of three leaves of green ivy placed in a triangle. In cursive red writing, the top leaves said Crystal and Gigi, respectively, and the bottom had the current year.
“It’s beautiful, I love it.” Gigi smiled as she held the ornament by the red ribbon. “I thought we weren’t much of a traditions type of couple?” She asked with a playful smile.
“It wouldn’t hurt to have a couple of annual things to look forward to,” Crystal said as she gave a quick peck to Gigi’s cheek.
Gigi couldn’t wait to show her friends and close family the magic of this Christmas market. But for this year, it was just meant for them.
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aidansplaguewind · 2 years
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I've got a news flash for you guys that think you deserve photo credits for editing(as in color altering or sharpening) photos you didn't actually take:
That's not how it works!
I work for a real media outlet and when we get photo submissions in or we use photos posted publicly, and then we take those photos and edit them, we DO NOT claim any credit on that photo at all. The credit still goes to the original source. We lighten all the photos we get in because they automatically always print a bit darker and we also have to sharpen them up or enhance the quality sometimes and if my ass claimed credit for all the photos I did that to, I'd have been fired a long time ago. In fact, my company fired a girl just last year for crediting herself on photos she didn't actually take. And it doesn't matter the reason you're crediting yourself, you just aren't supposed to credit anyone but the person who actually held the camera and took the damn photo.
I just wanted to say this because of all the times I've been bitched at and seen others bitched at for not crediting edits. So, when I post a PICTURE of Aidan, you don't have to credit me.
If you do choose to credit someone for an edit, I would put [Edit by so-and-so] and honestly you should only do that if you are also crediting the original source, because if I took a photo and seen people crediting the editor and not me all the time, I'd feel pretty pissed.
All I ask for credit on are my gifs, and I ask that you be sure it says "gifs by" because I don't claim any ownership of the actual films, series, or interviews I may gif. And if I make a wallpaper for desktop or phone, and in those cases only if I've added some artistic flare to it. Cropping a picture to android screen size does not make me an artist.
I've said it before and I'll say it again, give credit where credit is due.
Oh, and don't get me started on the people who feel they deserve credit just for FINDING a picture online. I've seen plenty of you get attacked by people getting angry because you didn't credit them for FINDING a picture that they DIDN'T take on the internet. STOP APOLOGIZING to those people! If you wanna give a shoutout and say "Thanks to so-and-so for finding this gem" or whatever, they should be thanking YOU! I understand some things take some digging to find, and showing appreciation for the person doing that is fine, but when they act like you are obligated to credit them or that they are OWED a credit or your thanks, that is so lame. I'm sorry your life is so bad that getting credit for finding pictures of celebrities is what makes or breaks you. Really, I am.
Anyway, I just needed to get that off my chest because it drives me nuts. And the person who comments on this and gets bent, well, now everyone will know that you are one of those people who expects credits for edits or for finding pictures that you didn't take.
The next time you go to post a picture, I want you to stop and pretend it's a written work instead. And ask yourself, if I edited someone's story, would I credit myself instead of them? No. The answer is no. You wouldn't. You would credit yourself as an editor at most and then most certainly, credit the author as the author.
Photos should be treated no differently. If you credit yourself as an editor, only do so if you can also credit the photographer.
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Yeah, I didn’t understand why that poll had the option for Zillennials, but not Xennials.
And I realized that the reason why I related to Gen X somewhat or know Gen X pop culture stuff is because my sister is also a Xennial (you and her are three months apart).
But yeah, I’m pissed for you.
Oh god YEAH, it's a thing! At the end of the day, it's just a poll but the entire notion of how most people lump people born from 1980-1984 in with the rest of the Millennials infuriates me. The day I realized my life experiences were fundamentally different from people just a few years younger than me was the day I was in college at the age of 23, having changed my major after 3 years and stayed far longer than I otherwise would have, where my professor had a class round table discussion about how experiencing 9/11 as a youth would fundamentally change said youth's worldview on things and how traumatic it was trying to attend school while all of that was going down. I felt so damn OTHERED by the entire discussion as someone who was an adult college student on 9/11 that I had to get up and leave the class for the day. I didn't belong in that discussion and I realized then and there that I didn't belong in the same "age bracket" as people born literally 2 years after me (and CERTAINLY not people born a decade after). Xennials are their own thing. Xennials are old enough to remember when the tv stations turned off at night and a time not just before cable, but before REMOTE CONTROLS. Xennials are old enough to remember Reagan, the AIDS crisis, and the end of the Cold War. Xennials are old enough to have gotten through most of their youth and schooling years before Columbine ever happened. Xennials are old enough to remember being able to leave their high schools to go outside for lunch because the doors were never locked during the day and you could come and go as you pleased. Many Xennials are of an age where they have a vivid memory of the first time they got to experience using a computer with a mouse (which didn't exist as a thing when they were born and Macs were pretty rare in the wild for awhile after they came out.) They got to experience the zeal of the first time they saw a computer monitor in color. The first time their parents got cable TV for the house and they could watch this awesome new thing called Nickelodeon. We never had the internet until our teens because it didn't exist. None of us had cell phones until adulthood because short of carrying a bag on your shoulder, they didn't exist either. Photos of your young life are in short supply because there were no cell phones, no digital cameras, and for a long time, no reusable flashbulbs so unless you had the sorts of parents who were religious about getting rolls and rolls of film developed (or came from a rich enough family to have owned a camcorder) there's just nothing there except the memories in your brain. Experience after experience for Xennials that just aren't the same for people born after 1986 or so. Yeah, Xennials are a very important micro-generation that I will scream about from the rooftops because it drives me nuts to see myself get lumped in with Millennials who my worldview and life experiences are so fundamentally different from. I really will die on this damn hill.
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alsjeblieft-zeg · 1 year
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424 of 2022
I love the car I drive. I can touch more than one wall from where I’m sitting. I’m multi-tasking while doing this. I think it’s rude when people don’t hold the door open for others. I tend to be attracted to guys with more brawn than brains. ^I’m trying to work on that. I was never bullied in high school. I need to start making some major changes in my life. I really hate it when I’m in the mood to take a survey but I can’t find any good ones. I have a bad habit of picking at my scabs. I have an itch right now that’s annoying me. I lost my virginity at a young age. I’ve already had my birthday this year. I’ve given someone a bloody nose before. ^It was while sparring. I can admit that I can be shallow at times. I have a cat that would rather play with bugs than kill them. I’m straight, but I can appreciate a good looking girl. (o yes, I forgot who these surveys are aimed for) I don’t like when people keep their Christmas lights up all year long. My first cell phone was a flip phone. Lollipops are one of my least favorite forms of candy. I absolutely love onions, but I don’t love the aftertaste they leave. I love Lifetime movies. I hate when I read a survey question wrong and give an answer that doesn’t make any sense. My high school was seriously lacking in the ethnic diversity department. I’ve never gotten a professional massage but I would like to get one. I’m not afraid of bugs unless they try to crawl on me. Fruit makes my mouth itchy. I won’t chase after people who choose to leave my life. Mechanical pencils > regular pencils. I don’t wear heels very often. I’m not home alone right now. I love getting my nails done even though that hasn’t happened in awhile. Stuffed crust pizza is the best. I use my digital camera everyday (no, not for selfies; it’s stupid) I admit that I am a camera whore, but that doesn’t mean I love the way I look I recently ate an apple I have horrible skin right now I have many self help books Reading, wtf? I’m taking anti-depressants I have heard of the band Type O Negative I only have 1 xanga My mother is a bitch (rather used to be) I rarely go to the movies Jockers are a big pain the ASS I have been a really bad girlfriend in the past If I could, I would eat spaghetti daily I’m health conscious I’m a great speller Most of my friends suck Skinniness annoys me to hell, what is the big deal? I’m fat and I like it - deal with it My favourite animal is a Lion My mobile phone is so old I have strict parents My hair is in bad condition I have mugs/cups in my bedroom The bin needs emptying I know most of the people in my friends list on myspace I am big-time self conscious I’m too shy to get a job I’m a vegetarian and I rarely eat fruit or vegetables I think fish are scary Die, conformity! Marilyn Manson is so overrated I appreciate good art when I see it I have a mouth ulcer (had recently) I hate anime My mother does everything for me I refuse to do my own laundry I don’t iron my clothes I hate shopping I’m a sell out I haven’t seen a survey xanga like DarkestStar_Surveys before They make great surveys I listen to Goth metal My Chemical Romance are shitty I am currently attempting to write my own novel I have read Wuthering Heights The sun is shining I dig fudge I want to go to England WTF I despise internet slang with every fibre of my being Baked beans are yum I desperately want a baby with my boyfriend I loved the movie ‘Thirteen’ What was all the fuss about? Emo haircuts… hahahah. I adore long, deep, slow, sensual kissing Kelly Clarkson can’t sing live I knew somebody who was murdered I eat a lot of kit kats My dog got hit by a car I once had a hamster I love all things fantasy I wish sometimes I was a faerie All these repetitive surveys drive me nuts I’m a dedicated christian I respect religion but I don’t follow anything I’m pro-life I’m pro-choice My parents only let me online at certain times I don’t have a TV in my room I’m poor My family own more than two cars I’ve been beaten up before Why are teenage girls so bitchy? When I get nervous I stammer Napoleon Dynamite is one of the funniest movies ever I personally don’t believe Jesus ever existed I often take naps in the late afternoon I love musicals I love sex Hilary Duff has gotten too skinny I live on a main road I like to take walks in meadows in the summer I’m scared of horses I’m squeamish I used to own a Sega mega drive I have sent someone hate email before I admit I’m a slob I know someone with bad ear wax I can speak Welsh WHy pPl hAvE tO tYpE lIkE tHiS iS bEyOnD mE I am 18 or over Chat shows are so cheesy I watch British TV Shows I have never heard of the famous British ‘fish and chips’ delicacy (poor you lol) My brother wanted to be a cowboy when he was little Girl power! I always have to get my own way, or I throw a fit I have made fun of someone with ginger/red hair before Harry Potter = Gorgeous! I am Latino I am Japanese, or partly I have a deep voice (for a girl) (lol no, I don’t even have a deep voice for a guy) I find it hard to tell the truth sometimes (about my feelings) I have seen a ghost I think my house is haunted, it makes a lot of odd noises I have a lot of love handles I am taller than 5ft 8 I hate it when people say ‘stfu’ lazy much? Strawberry milk is better than chocolate milk My birthday is in October I prefer the term ‘Autumn’ to ‘Fall’ MSN is so much better than AIM I have my own cat, who is my baby (actually two) I love castles! The Beatles SUCKED Abba, however… they were so cool Ben and Jerry’s Ice cream = I could eat it daily (nope, but I like it) I am often more concerned over the welfare of animals, not humans The biggest bitch at school thinks I’m cool I love Kevin Smith movies I’m in a choir I often think I’m a useless waste of space I had a boyfriend who told me I was ugly I want to be an actress I DON’T support gay marriage, but I’m not homophobic I hate being bored I say ‘ugh’ a lot I drink coke daily I have a really crude sense of humour I sometimes act like a baby around my boyfriend so he thinks I’m cute I love sheep. Baaaa. I have an electronic thesaurus RAWR I’m too lazy to tidy my room The curtains are still closed I spit (usually, but on rare occasions…) I swallow I am diabetic I dislike the Simpsons I’m a fool and everyone knows it I have often thought about writing a book about dreams I’ve had I love going to the zoo My handwriting gets complimented a lot I have heard of Oxfordshire in England (lol is it a real statement??) I knew that it was where Tolkien wrote LOTR and is buried I also knew that Lewis Carroll wrote Alice of Wonderland there And… C.S. Lewis wrote Narnia I drink tea with two sugars I have a personalised calendar This bolding survey is so long But it’s great I wear jean shorts Whenever I go to the beach I always seem to get sand everywhere (but I don’t mind it) I wish I had super long hair, but it just won’t grow! I wish my hair wasn’t so straight I have an underactive thyroid I don’t even know what a thyroid is I need a job (I need to come back) I’m not going to go to college (beauty school h0lla at ur girl) I don’t know what a synopsis is The elderly scare me I will happily go out of my way to help someone I don’t wear deodorant everyday I like most things mythical I rarely get comments on myspace ((facebook)) (I don’t use either) I’m at the top of my English class Aa’ menle nauva calen ar’ ta hwesta e’ ale’quenle I don’t know what language that is I often trip over my own feet *wrinkles nose* I complain a lot and people are sick of it I love Doritos I was born before 1990 (no exactly in 1990) I used to watch Are you afraid of the dark Which scares me even now It’s my life, I’ll do what I want I’m a rebel I’ve had sex with more than two people (no exactly two) I like to get drunk (sometimes) Why don’t people ever listen to me? I hate being ignored My brother nearly died once I walk around my home barefoot a lot (in summer) I read poetry I write poetry I know how to make icons Anna Faris is weird Life is killing me I have an empty coke bottle in my bedroom I have a swing seat in the garden The biggest mistake anybody can make is bleaching their hair YELLOW I was sick a few days ago
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whispersart · 3 years
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Attolis & Attolia
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theepisceswriter · 3 years
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Sending nudes/sexting w/ AOT characters (Erwin, Levi, Reiner, Zeke, Connie)
TW: mature things obviously, fembodied!reader, typos probably bc I didnt proofread, 18+, MINORS DNI
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ERWIN
Okay but having Erwin as a sugar daddy who never really expects too much of the “sugar” part out of you, but he’s so sweet and nice and such a gentleman that you can’t help but feel bad one day and send him a teasing photo of you in some lingerie he bought you a while ago and oop—now you totally just started something between you two.
It started off as just pictures in you in lingerie. You mostly covered with maybe a nipples or two poking out through the fabric, but eventually you felt comfortable enough to send him picture of nude parts of you body. And eventually you built your confidence up to send him full body nude picture in stances that make him go crazy. Like you on your knees with your hands flat against your thighs or bent over something with your ass and cunt on display.
One time you sent him soapy titty pictures and a video of you putting the soap on your titties and when I tell you this man went feral with horniness, I mean it.
I wish I could write out sexts for Erwin but he strikes me more of a video call type person rather than text. He’ll FaceTime you in a heartbeat after you send a picture, instructing you on what he wants to see and what he wants you to do with your body. Often times the video calls end up with you either fingering yourself or fucking yourself with a toy he bought for you as he watches from the other end.
“Good girl, just like that. Now spread those lips for daddy so he can get a good look at you.”
Sometimes he’ll even join in with you for a mutual masturbation. Large cock on display in the camera and in his hand as he jerks it at the same pace you’re fingering yourself so you can both reach your orgasms at the same time.
After you both but you think that’s the end of that until the next time he wants to have a session like that, but seeing you over the phone only edge him on more. “I’m sending someone to come pick you up. Be ready in 10 minutes.” Not even a goodbye or anything, but an order.
LEVI
Nudes and sexting between you and Levi are not a common occurrence at all. You two would much rather be in the physical company of each other to do anything to each other and plus, Levi doesn’t like using his phone a lot.
That’s why when Levi sent you a picture of himself with the cockring you had put on him earlier in the week as a reminder that it was still on, you were shook to your core. Not only because of the fact that he just sent you a nude, but because he looked so good in it with his cheeks flushed, eyes low just begging to orgasm, and his pink cock standing straight up screaming for someone other than him to touch it.
It was almost like he sent it to you knowing that it would rile you up and hopefully cut down on his punishment so the two of you can hurry up and use each other to your liking. And you would be lying if you said that thought wasn’t peaking at the back of your head, but this week was all about your self control along with his. As you’re thinking on how you should reply, maybe with a picture of your own or a few words to tease him, he sends you a string of texts:
(txt) I’m so needy for you baby
(txt) I don’t think I can wait three more days with this thing on
(txt) it hurts, I need you to make me feel good
(txt) so I can make you feel good too
But, just to torture him longer and get him at his neediest, you send him a picture of your cunt along with a text:
(txt) only 3 more days and then you’ll be able to have me any way you want 💜
REINER
As an adult it’s so clear that Reiner really lacks confidence at times and can be quite shy and uneasy when it comes to things. Especially when that thing is something like taking nudes that requires so much confident because let’s be honest, sending nudes isn’t always easy.
Plenty of times you’ve blessed him with lewd photos of yourself to add to his spank bank or tried to sext with him, but he just couldn’t quite catch on, but you really don’t mind at all! As long as you’re helping him orgasm and not making him uncomfortable then you could care less about his poor sexting and nude taking skills. But he wants to learn how to be more comfortable in his own skin, so he enlists in your help. At first you thought he was joking, but nope, he was dead serious.
It was kind of awkward at first trying to give him directions on how to pose if it was a nude as if you weren’t the one taking the pictures for him, but it didn’t take long for the two of you to get the hang of it. At one point he looked so good, so hot and flustered with his cock in his hand spread out on the bed that you couldn’t resist pouncing on him then and there. Which resulted in hun taking the camera from you as you rode him and taking pictures of the two of you fucking.
It sparked a tradition between you two from there on out; taking pictures of each other in sexual context whenever you can. You two don’t even need to send each other nudes at this point because you have so many nude pictures of your phone already on each other’s phones.
Not saying you dressed Reiner up in a maid outfit once and took pictures of him with his erect cock poking out underneath the dress, but you dressed Reiner up in a maid outfit once and took pictures of him with his erect cock poking out underneath the dress and you keep it in the favorites tab in your camera roll for whenever you need spank bank material.
Now he’s much more confidence with taking nude photos of himself and sometimes he’s the one to start up sexting conversations between you two.
ZEKE
There’s no one in this world who sexts better than Zeke sexts. His messages are like poetry, so descriptive and easy to visualize and leave you melting in your seat with hot cheeks. They’re just as effective on you as his dirty talk in the bedroom and if you sat there for a good thirty minutes just reading them and thinking about all you experience with him, then you could probably make yourself cum just from that.
(txt) I just want to make you tremble in my arms so bad while I pound into you from behind, my fingers playing with your swollen clit to push you into sensitivity while you orgasm
(txt) want a cock covered in cum by the time I’m through with you
What’s so funny is that he’s behind the screen doing a mundane task like eating cereal while texting you all this. He’s not even too turned on or overly horny at all, just messing with you because he knows the two of you are so far away from each other at the moment.
It’s not until you send him a video of your wet cunt on display with your fingers knuckles deep into yourself moaning out his name trying to mimic his touch, that he really gets riled up. Sitting his cereal down and all to focus on the short snippet of a video, feeling himself get harder and harder in his pants as he watches it on repeat.
(txt) Aw the needy little slut can’t get off properly without me there, can you?
He knows you’re using these texts to coax yourself into your orgasm, probably imagining him behind you whispering them in ear. So, to mess with you further knowing how much you want him right now, he sends a video back to you of him palming his erection through his pants. Knowing it’ll drive you crazy that you can’t have him right now in this moment.
CONNIE
Connie sends you pictures of his dick all the time and not even necessarily in sexual content either. You’ll be minding your business at work and get a picture of Connie’s dick with tiny sunglasses and a mustache on it with a text that reads: “Look babe 😌 I dressed him up. He wants to go on a date with your pussy tonight.”
You cannot take this man seriously at all, simply replying to him with an emoji like ‘🤨’ thinking that’ll be the last of that for today, but boy oh boy were you wrong. Minutes later your phone is buzzing with a notification from Connie. It’s a video and because you think it’s going to be a meme or something you open it without considering your surroundings.
Immediately, the sounds of his whines and moans exit the speakers on your phone and you have to run to the bathroom to finish the rest of the video. This time you’re able to actually look at it; Connie’s hand stroking the base of his cock with a lubricant all over his hands at a pace that was going to have him cumming in only a couple of minutes. And no, the mustache and sunglasses were no longer on anymore.
You take pity on your poor boyfriend and decided to do him a favor, pulling down your shirt and bra so you’re breasts were on display for them. Angling them and holding them up in a way you knew would make him go crazy before you sent the picture to him.
(txt) enjoy 🥰
And in return? He sent you a nut video with the sound on.
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bonniebird · 2 years
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Natasha x Reader
Requested by Anon
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Valentine Event
“Mail is on the side.” Tony called. Clint flicked through the mail. Most of it was for mail ins that the Maximoff’s had ordered. There was a copy of an old magazine for Steve. Clint handed you a thick envelope and left to give Wanda her mail.
“What’ve you got?” Natasha asked curiously as you opened the letter and frowned at it.
“I got a letter inviting me to Amsterdam. I don’t know anyone there and I’ve never been but I might go.” You muttered.
“You’re going to go when you don’t know the person who invited you?” Sam asked. He’d been eating cereal with Bucky, it was his current mission to introduce all the good cereal to Bucky in their down time.
“Well… it’s a free trip and it says they’re a distant relative.” You explained. Natasha looked at the letter as you showed it to her.
“This seems like a scam. What could they want?” She asked you. She sighed when you shrugged and said that she would go with you. Tony was updated and insisted on covering the cost of the trip, just in case it was a family member reaching out. Before you left Natasha insisted on at least teaching you how to hide in a crowd. How to change your appearance with just a hair bobble or a baseball cap and some glasses. When the day finally came you travelled together. 
“Have you noticed the people that got on the train a few stops back?” You asked her.
“The ones watching us?” She asked. You nodded and tried not to look directly at the people who had taken seats on the opposite row. “This stop is ours. We’re supposed to get to the gates. There’s a car that will pick us up.” Natasha muttered. You followed her as she got off the train. 
You were still followed. Though Natasha didn’t seem too worried she walked you through the crowd and ducked behind one of the ticket machines. The station cleared and the only people left were the two of you and the people that had been tailing you.
“We lost the Avengers. We know. We’ll get them to you. It looked like the Black Widow was sent with them… understood.” One of them said into a phone they pulled from their pocket. They hung up and turned to their partner. “We need to find the Avenger or the boss will lose it. Apparently their powers will make his machine work. He’s going nuts.” 
“That doesn’t sound good.” You whispered to Natasha.
“We have an evacuation plan. We just need to wait for them to leave.” She whispered back. Once they moved on Natasha led you down a side alley near the station. Then round several back roads until she found a campervan. The keys were inside.
“Let’s go. Once we start driving they’ll get a signal. We should hit our check in point in a few hours and we’ll be able to let the others know what we heard. Then we find a way to figure out who their boss is.” Natasha explained. You got in the passenger seat, glancing back you could see the small campervan was equipped so that you and Natasha could be on the road for a few days without checking in with anyone. She handed you a thin mesh, helping you put it on so you could disguise your face, she put one on and did the same. The cameras on the road wouldn’t be able to pick up on who you were.
“I was hoping it would be… someone from my family.” You admitted as Natasha started driving.
“We’ll find them. Eventually. Even if I have to take you to sketchy meet ups every time until we do find them.” She joked. You laughed a little and smiled, looking out at the road.
Natasha tags:
@daughterofthenight117 @phasma-trash @bluebear142077 @boardstomymood @multi-fandom5 @justice-for-the-kaldorei @favmeyou @kaylantus @skinny-bitch-juice @yougottalovefandoms @devilslilbabysblog @sentimentalweasley @why-am-i-here-01
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#124
“A hundred bucks. Every Thursday afternoon for a couple months you strip down nearly naked and give me head. I’m going to have to charge you going forward....
“I just lost my construction job after 14 years. Fourteen fucking years! Those fuckers are selfish pieces of shit. Didn’t give any warning. Just fucking fired me, for ongoing anger issues of all things. Fucking bullshit. The decision came down from the owner himself. I never even met the fuckwad. Now I have to come up with the cash to pay for rent. You want my ten inches? Pay up! I ain’t free anymore. I see you driving that Mercedes S-Class. You can afford it. You’ve been begging me week over week, month over month, to fuck your cunt; pay me enough and I will tear your pussy to shreds. Same thing goes for sticking your face in my asscrack. Who does that? You queers are disgusting. But it’s your face not mine. And it’s your money, which will be mine. Hell, pay me enough, and I will fuck you so good all night.
“Damn, you are all excited. I’m excited too. I am getting fucking money for rent. Let’s do this. Give me your fucking wallet bitch…. Now!… See that was easy. You have one, two, three,… four hundred… thirty-five dollars here. Thanks. That will come in handy. You are going to have to pay me more for an all nightery. Well you have a shitload of platinum credit cards, so I know you can afford me.
“Is this your wife and two boys? I bet they don’t know you are a cum hungry whore who likes to suck the cocks of a hard working man at the vista point on the interstate…. Let’s see here. Proof of insurance for your Mercedes, a Land Rover, and a fucking King Ranch F-350. Oh hell yes you can afford me. What the hell do you do for a living?
“Your business card says… the fuck? What the fucking fuck? You work for McNeal Construction? You fucking bastard. Not just that! You are Tim McNeal. You’re the goddamned fucking owner. You’re the one that got me fired. Oh holy hell! This all changes now. There’s no fucking way I’m going to let you suck my dick. Fucking faggot. The balls on you! Get off your knees, get your clothes on, and get the fuck out of my sight.
“Ongoing anger issues my ass…. Ongoing?… Wait… Wait… You’ve been watching me on the job site for a while at the same time getting skull fucked by me here once a week? You’ve been begging to eat my ass and to rape your cunt all the while thinking I was too angry at work? Last week you got all excited when I lightly smacked you for scraping my cock with your teeth….
“Now it all makes sense. You wanted me to get aggressive with you here. You want me to treat you like shit? Well faggot, I have all the time in the world to do just that. Don’t understand why you fired me, but this is going to cost you. A lot more than four hundred thirty-five dollars. I own your fucking ass now.
“Get back on your fucking knees. Bow your fucking head. Is your pecker hard? Fuck it’s like steel. Start sucking on me. Take me to the nut, all the way down. Gag on it your fucking faggot. Pull off of me but keep your eyes down. Tell me that you are a cum guzzling faggot that wants me to fuck your cunt…. Good! Now look up at me. Look into my phone’s camera.
“OK, that’s my little insurance against you firing me again. So let me tell you how this will be. You are going to pay me my salary,… no double my salary. In return, I will skull fuck you and slam fuck your cunt. You’ll drink my piss. And yes you are going to get to eat my ass. And I don’t give a shit if it’s clean. Wow, that was an interesting slip of the tongue. Maybe I will give you a shit,… literally. That brought a smile to your face for some fucked up reason. This is going to be fun. Hell yes. But first, I need a new truck. A nice King Ranch of my own. A big man with a gigantic cock needs to have a big truck to ride in. Let’s go cunt. You’ll get my load when I get that title.”
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moeyy-writes · 3 years
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Music to My Ears
Zak Bagans x Fem!Reader, Billy Tolley x BestFriend!Reader
Warnings: just a flicker of angst, otherwise it’s just goofy shenanigans with some light fluff.
Word Count: 1.1k
A/N: This is an unofficial continuation of the “Prank Wars” fic/drabble series. If anyone has any suggestions for pranks to write about, I’m all ears. :)
My Full Master List
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You sipped your iced coffee as you waited for Billy, Zak, and Aaron to head towards the car. Jay offered to stay behind at the hotel and fix a few of the broken cameras. So, you were going to pick up some dinner for him on the way back.
“C’mon slow pokes! I’m hungry!” you whined playfully as Billy approached you. You waited just outside the front doors of the hotel, staring through the opened, glass automatic doors at your approaching friend and your husband.
Billy nudged you, grinning. Oh, boy, what now? He pulled on the straw to his iced coffee very slowly, letting out a hollow scraping sound that was like nails on a chalkboard. You grinned.
“The sound that drives Zak Bagans crazy,” he whispered, winking. You nodded.
“Wait until we get in the car. I’ll follow your lead,” you muttered back, returning his gesture. You both laughed in agreement.
“What’s so funny, babe?” Zak asked as he wrapped his arm around your waist. You shook your head.
“Nothing. Just an inside joke,” you responded innocently, kissing his cheek. “Now c’mon, I’m getting super hungry, and you promised me true Chicago pizza.” Your husband laughed and rolled his eyes, then turned the two of you towards the car.
Once the four of you were in your seats, Billy put the van in drive, and headed for the restaurant. You were seated behind Zak, where Jay usually sat, gently running your fingernails up and down the back of his neck. It wasn’t sexual, at least not like this. No, this was something that soothed him and relaxed his otherwise racing mind, and neither of the guys even questioned it.
He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath. Billy glanced over at you, holding his drink on one hand and the steering wheel in another. You simply grinned, to which he nodded.
He leaned toward his drink to take a quick sip. As he lifted his head back up, he pulled the straw up, unleashing a low screech that filled the car. The moment Zak heard the sound, his shoulders shot up, tensing.
“Gah! Really, Bill? God, I hate that noise.” Zak scrunched his nose and peered away. Billy just smiled and took another sip.
You leaned back into your seat since Zak was too far to reach now, and sighed. Then, you lifted your drink to your lips and took a sip, allowing the straw to stick to your bottom lip, releasing another awful squeak.
“Y/N!” Zak boomed. You just chuckled.
“Sorry, babe. It was an accident,” you mumbled. Aaron chuckled beside you, peering up from his phone. Billy glanced back at you again and smiled, then he turned up the radio.
The beginning of Queen’s Somebody to Love was playing, giving you an idea. Billy grinned to himself, somehow agreeing telepathically. That’s why he was your best friend.
He started toying with his straw as it sat in the cupholder beside him. He pulled it up and down, making noises that were almost perfectly in rhythm with the instrumental part of the song. Oh, he was talented.
Once the vocals started, you tried your hardest to move your straw in sync, not doing quite as well as Billy. But, you were close, and that’s all you cared about.
Zak’s whole body tensed, and he slammed his hands over his ears.
“What circle of Hell have I just entered?! Gahh!” Zak shrieked as he shook his head. Aaron cackled hysterically beside you and danced to your horrid orchestra of squeals.
You sang along with the piercing shrills, which apparently sent Zak over the edge.
“Stop the car,” Zak growled. Billy laughed but let go of his straw.
“Aw, babe, you don’t like my singing?” you whined as you leaned forward, holding onto the seat in front of you.
“Stop. The. Car.” Zak clenched his jaw. For a moment, your stomach flipped. Was he really that mad? Sure, he was sensitive, but he never truly got mad at you for pranks. This wasn’t even close to the worst thing the two of you had done to him. But this time, he seemed genuinely pissed.
“Dude, calm down. We’re just messing with you,” Billy snapped back, sensing your concern as he shot you another look. You were slowing at a red light, and a small part of you hoped Zak wouldn’t fly out of the car the moment you stopped.
“Do you two want me to go deaf? Or completely nuts?” Zak’s tone was serious, but you couldn’t help but laugh, instantly feeling a little better.
“Well, you’re already nuts, Zak,” you poked, hoping for a smile. You got one, along with an eye roll.
“You married me,” he retorted with a dry chuckle. You laughed at that, his relaxing tone calming you again.
“I didn’t know you guys were so musically talented,” Aaron commented beside you.
“Thanks, man. We have band rehearsal twice a week,” Billy joked, picking up his drink again. Zak eyed him with a glare.
“If that straw makes even the faintest noise, I’m throwing it out the window,” Zak hissed as he stared out of his window. Billy chuckled just as he took a sip, nearly sending coffee straight out of his nose.
“Okay, Bagans, let’s get you some food. We’re almost there. You get cranky when you’re hungry.”
Zak rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, especially when my very sanity was just pushed to the brink of nonexistence.”
“Sorry, hun,” you whispered to him, running your fingers down the back of his neck again. He didn’t pull away, which made you smile. “Billy and I will save our band practice for when you’re not around,” you teased. Zak huffed a sharp sigh and leaned back into your touch.
“I’d appreciate it,” he muttered with a smile as the car pulled to a stop.
“Now let’s eat. I’m starving,” you muttered as you opened your car door. The moment you lifted from your seat, you were met by Zak’s tall, muscular frame. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against him.
He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and lightly squeezed you. “I’m not mad.” Another kiss on your forehead. “But when we get in there, neither of you are allowed to have a straw.” You busted into laughter and pulled away.
“Oh, so I’m on straw probation?” You cocked an eyebrow.
“For lack of a better phrase, yeah. You are.” His arm slithered around your shoulders and he led you toward the building.  
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Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated. <3
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hansolmates · 4 years
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jjk; off-league
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summary; you decide to do a little boudoir photoshoot for yourself—a little sexy lingerie, some bunny ears, maybe even a little nudity to make you feel more body positive about yourself. that little photoshoot doesn’t end up being for yourself anymore when you accidentally send those sexy pictures to your stupidly hot, stupidly talented childhood friend who you haven’t spoken to since middle school graduation.  pairing; photographer!jk x fem!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers!au, flangst, mutual pining, feelings of insecurity and body image, suggestive language, nudity  w.c; 6.2k a/n: i was feeling a lil meh about this fic after finishing it but a month later it finally makes its debut! for @btsghostiewritersnet​ BGW Bingo Bash! today’s trope is “childhood friends to lovers” which surprisingly isn’t a favorite of mine so it was definitely a challenge to write! 
“C’mon, I need your opinion. Deadass. Don’t just say shit to make me feel better.” 
“Gimmie those nudes, baby girl,” Johnny makes an impeccable fuckboy impersonation, making you feel a little squirmy to your stomach. 
It’s an hour away from being the ass-crack’o-dawn and your impromptu pin-up photoshoot just needs the sexy-star-of-approval from your best friend. Johnny Suh is also up for reasons unmentioned, but you had a feeling his pretty boyfriend is fifty percent of the reason. 
You look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your frame against the black bodice of the sheer teddy. The only parts that are fully concealed are the parts that don’t matter. The sheer bodice reveals your pert nipples concealed by a thin black mesh, coupled with the deep V in the sweetheart neckline, accented by a little black bow in the dive of your highlighted cleavage. The silky a-line raceways to a set of black garters hugging your thighs, barely hanging onto a pair of lace thigh-highs. 
It doesn’t leave you butt naked, but enough to make you feel confident about yourself. These pictures are for you, and Johnny. And Johnny’s boyfriend if he’s being nosy. 
You tug off the silk bunny ears from your head, flinging it somewhere in your room. The wire started to dig in your brain, giving you a major headache. 
“Sending them now,” you hang up and start compiling the pictures in a folder on Google Drive. Once that’s done you copy the shareable link, sending it to Johnny’s number. It happens all so fast, and you feel kind of giddy. As you were posing for the camera, taking your time to find all the right angles, you felt good, you felt sexy in your little get up. Channeling your inner Ariana Grande was one of your childhood dreams, your fifteen year old self would be proud. 
Five minutes pass, fifteen, and by the twenty-five minute mark you’re pissed. What’s taking Johnny so long? 
Makeup scrubbed clean and face bare, you shuffle in your duvet, far too tired to be waiting up this long. Punching in his number once more, you cry, “Hey! Why haven’t you looked at them yet?” 
“What?” your friend’s voice sounds pebbly through the line. Was Johnny sleeping? “You never sent them!” he whines tiredly. 
“No, I definitely sent them!” you pull the phone away and keep Johnny on call, ready to prove him wrong. 
But to your surprise, the last message you sent to Johnny was this afternoon. 
The most recent message is to a person named John Kook. 
You scream. 
Johnny screams back at you with an equal amount of force, “What the fuck? Did someone break in? Are you being mobbed? See, this is why I wanted to put the baby monitor in your room—” 
“Worse!” you’re well prepared for any break in, but not for this. “I sent my pics to the wrong John!” 
“Well… is he at least cute?” 
“I mean, in the fourth grade he looked pretty cute with that front tooth missing,” you find your output of frustration, your bunny plush, pulling it by the ear and hitting it against the bed. “His name isn’t even John! It was just his English name for a silly project we did in middle school. This is so embarrassing, all I can picture is a twelve-year-old Jungkook mortified from sexual harassment. I basically sent him nudes!” 
“Tasteful nudes.” 
“I’m gonna die.” 
“He’s gonna die, of happiness.” 
Jeon Jungkook was a classmate from elementary through middle school. Time and time again was he the object of your affections, from the first grade at the roller rink to the speech he made at graduation. But really, who cares? You’re old and have a job, and it’s not like you’ve communicated with any of your former classmates. 
Your horror amplifies when the Delivered receipt is changed to Read 3:41AM. 
“Fuck! Fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget he saw it!” you cry, “does he still have my number? What if he deleted my contact, would that be even weirder?” 
“Girl, stop.” Johnny sighs, and you can already picture him running his thumb between his brows. “This doesn’t change anything, alright? You two don’t know each other anymore. Block his number and go to sleep.” 
Johnny leaves you alone after that, and you’re left alone to mull over the implications of sending Jeon Jungkook your nude photoshoot. 
You do block his number, knowing that waiting for a reply would drive you nuts. The one thing that you do which is possibly worse, is look him up on Instagram. 
Of course, he’s stupid hot. 
He doesn’t seem to like being on the receiving end of the camera however, in favor of his timeline being filled with romantic shots of the beach and city. In between the picturesque views and watercolor sunsets do you see glimpses of him and his current life. You can’t help but smile when you see him with his brother and parents during his college graduation, easily towering over all of them. He looks tall with fluffy cocoa hair, big pearly whites gleaming proudly at the camera. He grew up well. 
To torture yourself even more, you even look through his story. Twelve hours ago, he was at the gym lifting weights. Normally, you’d be disgusted by people trying to show off their grunt faces drenched in sweat, but of course Jungkook has to have on a silly smile and pump his fist up after he deadlifts. The sweat clinging to his shirt is also a high plus. His gorgeous display of abs has your hands fluttering over your own belly. Maybe you need to exercise more. 
Four hours ago, you see him and a pretty woman with their cheeks squished together, using the puppy filter. Of course he has a girlfriend. 
Reluctant, you open up your Google Drive and scroll through your photoshoot. Deflated, you frown at the pictures that once made you beam with pride, picking at every little detail that bothered you. You really can’t believe you sent these to Jeon Jungkook, no longer a fourth grader with one front tooth, but a man way out of your league. 
By the time you will yourself to sleep, the sun peeks from the horizon, telling you to move on. 
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“Hey Gyu,” you tiptoe over to the table much too small for Mingyu’s frame. The string bean is slumped over his iPad pro, drawing intently at some chibi OCs. “Got a plot for that one?” you ask, pointing at the little pink and blue creature decorating the screen. 
Mingyu grunts in reply, obviously engrossed. It isn’t until you slide him a matcha frappe from Starbucks that he becomes intelligible, muttering a “thank you” as he blends with his pen. 
Sensing that it’s going to be awhile before you get through to him, you take your usual rounds around the front desk and lobby of the cosy photo studio. There’s pretty pictures of Mingyu’s work, along with the other employees Minghao and Hoseok. Each section of the wall features a different taste of each person’s interest. Mingyu is a divine lover of soft bed sheets and hot tea, many of his photographs and paintings featuring cafes or perfectly messy beds you’ve seen on hotel advertisements. Minghao is a tasteful artisan, splotches of color retaliating against neutral backgrounds. Finally, Hoseok manages to find balance in the people, large cityscapes telling both large and small stories.
“Alright,” Mingyu’s deep voice forces you to curl your head, where he’s sipping at his drink with haste. “What’cha here for?” 
You frown, “Don’t you remember? I told you last week I’d be stopping by to get my photos developed,” you gesture to the Pentax in your hands, an heirloom from your great-aunt. While you did take digital photos for sending them to Johnny, the ones you wanted developed were taken side-by-side with the film camera. You figured that film would give a little more authenticity to your photoshoot. 
“Shit, that’s today?” the camera falls like deadweight, slapping against your sweater as you watch Mingyu frantically look through his digital calendar. He looks at you, dejected. “How many prints?” 
“I don’t know, maybe like six. Or eight?” 
“That’s gonna take too long, I’m heading down to Hidden Grounds for a vision meeting at two.” 
“Alright, I’m free all day. What about after?”
“Nah, you came all this way. I can just let the new guy help you.” and Mingyu makes a show of cupping his hands in the direction of the open hallway, “Yah, Jeon Jungkook! Get your cute ass out here!” 
The Pentax around your neck suddenly feels like weight akin to a two-ton boulder, and you surge forward, not caring that the corner of the table is digging into your belly. “Mingyu,” you garble, and Mingyu is shell-shocked by the desperation in your eyes. “Isn’t Minghao around or something? Or I can come back another time? These photos are really personal and I don’t feel comfortable having a stranger see them.”
“What? We’re professionals, don’t belittle us.” 
“No, seriously,” you whine, you tug at the collar of his denim jacket, noses practically touching. “These pictures are different. My tits are out and my legs are spread—”
“—interrupting something?” 
You hear some shuffling, and you turn around to see Jeon Jungkook’s back, comically turned to face the entrance. 
And damn, he did have a cute ass. Nothing is going to hide the glory in those jeans, absolutely nothing. 
“Hilarious,” Mingyu drawls, and you push him away. “Forget it, Kook. She doesn’t feel comfortable letting a stranger develop her photos.” 
Sensing that it’s safe to turn around, you watch as his black bangs flutter as he faces you. You hope your body language doesn’t betray how you’re really feeling, because you are a mere mortal and you’re weak in the presence of god-like figures. 
“Oh, what a relief then,” he smiles at you, and his voice sounds like honey. If there was malice or surprise in his tone, his good-natured expression betrays it. “Because I’ve known this friend since elementary school. We go way back.” 
You ignore the burn in the back of your head, as you are positive Mingyu knows you’re hiding something. 
“Really, what a coincidence.” Mingyu replies carefully, and you feel utterly stuck between these men and their banter, locked up like cream in an Oreo cookie. 
Nothing argues against Jungkook as he easily weaves through the thick wave of awkwardness, hands reaching out to touch your camera. “Wow,” he marvels, holding the object in his hands, “my dad has one of these.” 
“A-ha,” you take a step back, only to bump into the corner of the table, again. Ouch. “It’s okay, Jungkook. I’m actually busy today so I can come when Mingyu’s free–”
“Oh, I thought you were free all day,” Mingyu drawls, looking up through his lashes as he sips languidly at his drink. 
“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook says good-naturedly, as if Mingyu just didn’t out you. “We got a lot of catching up to do anyway, c’mon.” 
Jungkook moves to place a hand in the small of your back and that’s enough to get you to rev up. Refusing to let any contact get between the two of you, you zip ahead down the familiar hallway, turning your head to catch Mingyu grinning with all canines, shooing you with his fingers like a puppy. 
You send Mingyu a stream of “fuck yous” into his inbox for later, unwilling to settle with this curse. Busying yourself with your phone, you avoid eye contact with Jungkook until you reach the dark room. The red light turned off at the top of the doorhenge signals that the room is not in use. Jungkook makes a move to open the door and that’s when you pounce, blocking the doorway with your small body. It’s comical, really. 
Jungkook raises a brow at you, but says nothing. 
“I really can wait, Jungkook,” you steel yourself, forcing a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t like you developing my pictures—”
It’s then that his pretty cupid’s bow unfurls into a full-fledged grin. “Girlfriend... you’ve been keeping tabs on me?” 
“Fuck, well I had to!” your face is as red as the dark room’s alert light, now on because Jungkook flicked the switch and he’s between your arm to unlock the door. Your hand brushes his as you both reach the knob. “I’m really really sorry I sent those pictures. They were for Johnny—you remember Johnny Suh from English class? And I saved you in my contacts as “John Kook” so it was an honest mess up.” 
Jungkook hums, so light that the breathiness in his chords flutters your grip on the knob. He forces the door ajar, and you’re left to follow him in the dark room, cluttered with solutions and fancy equipment. 
“Thought so,” Jungkook shrugged, giving a one-over at the materials in the room, mulling over his next steps in developing your film. 
You’re still petrified at the doorway, holding your Pentax between both hands like a lifeline. Jungkook’s head lols to you, and you get a pretty view of the way his bangs brush over his forehead, Adam’s Apple bobbing. His expression is a little tired, but overall unreadable. He sighs your name, lethargic. 
“We’re already here, so might as well get this done,” he gestures to the camera in your vice grip. “Do you wanna pick the shots or do you want me to?” 
He’s already seen the digitals, what’s so different about getting a couple prints? With a slight pout you drag your feet over to him, relinquishing your camera. “I’m thinking you have a better eye for this than I do.” 
“You think right.” 
You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Cocky, but what you’ve seen on Instagram definitely justifies his sentiment. Jungkook pays no mind to you, busying his hands with the various containers in front of him, measuring the solutions for the developer, stopper, and fixer. You were always entranced by the process of developing film, especially in highschool where their photography club holed themselves in the darkroom like a secret lair. 
“Alright,” he pops open the canister, carefully laying out sections of the film in groups of four. “Want me to pick a random one for a tester?” 
You frown, “At least put some thought into it.” 
“Always,” it looks like he already decided way before he popped the question, immediately taking a negative and placing it in the carrier. 
His fingers are nimble as he takes the time to clean off the dust and any debris that could potentially ruin the image. Then he turns off the lights and begins the process. You dive around him, trying to keep your distance but still too curious to leave his side. If he’s annoyed he fails to show it, in favor of humming whatever song comes from his Echo Dot. 
You always got the solos in choir. You wanted to reminisce, but you’re too nervous to say it out loud. 
Even though it’s his job and he’s being a professional, you romanticize the experience, watching as he carefully puts the print in each liquid process. Your image blooms to life, and you feel your stomach churn as the photo develops before your eyes. 
After a final dip in the solution stopper, he places the first product in a bath of water. Even though you are mere centimeters away, you can clearly see the image of you swimming around the container. 
“Alright!” Jungkook hangs the finished picture on a pastel pink clothespin, tacking it in place. “Whaddya think?” 
Your breath catches in your throat, feeling heavy as you look at the image of you reflected in the glossy paper. You’re perched on your bed, a hand splaying between your legs as the other hand toys with the silk bunny ears. You’re leaned slightly, giving an ample view of your cleavage. However, the image of you is definitely different from being blown up in comparison to the negatives, and you squirm uncomfortably at your full display. 
“I look,” you bite your tongue, internally debating whether you like it or not. Not to spare Jungkook the theatrics you shrug, “It’s good.”  
The lack of enthusiasm seems to dissatisfy Jungkook however, as he has to take a double take and look back and forth between the image and the real thing. “What’s wrong with it, do you think Johnny’ll not like it?” 
“What?” you furrow your brows, breaking into a nervous laugh. “Johnny has a boyfriend. I just wanted his opinion. This photoshoot is for me, y’know? Just something to make me feel good about myself.” 
Jungkook’s lips morph into a little ‘o’, and you see a little bit of the child you once knew in the way he’s mulling over the situation. 
“Then can I give you my honest opinion?” Jungkook clips off the half-dried photo, holding it between you two. “Stop thinking so hard about every little thing you don’t like about yourself. If I was your boyfriend and you gifted this to me, I’d be creaming my pants. You look fucking sexy, all grown up since you cried in the fourth grade.” 
You’ve just been flung a litany of words you have no brain capacity to digest. Along with that, the immense heat you didn’t know you’ve been suppressing surges to your belly, low and simmering. Jungkook stares at you in earnest, despite his sudden gush of honesty, you don’t know what to say. There’s a dash of pink staining his cheeks, betraying the confidence he previously displayed. He stiffens when you don’t reply immediately and moves to clean his materials, his sudden bout of bold honesty quickly shrinking. 
“Y-you know,” you look down at your feet, “the only reason why I cried in the fourth grade was because you told me Santa wasn’t real.” 
Jungkook softens, tilting his head. “Sorry about that.” 
“Thanks though,” you gently reach for the photo in Jungkook’s grasp, looking at it without contempt. “But won’t your girlfriend be upset if she knew you were saying things like this about someone else?” 
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, if you looked through the rest of my Instagram story,” Jungkooks cards a hand through his already mussed hair, splitting the ends. “You would see that she’s not my girlfriend, but my tattoo artist.” 
For added measure, he wiggles his fingers in front of you, revealing pretty ink and silver bands across his knuckles.
“Oh,” your voice is feather light, and you’re sure you’re drooling as you stare far too long at the letters that mark his hands, curious as to what they symbolize. 
“So, as a singleton telling another singleton,” he continues, “I know it’s meaningless if you don’t believe it yourself, but I’m telling you, you’re attractive.” 
“Thanks,” you hold the picture tightly in your grasp, eyes flickering to the negatives in the room ready to be galvanized into a full-fledged picture. “Why don’t we wrap this up, huh? We can continue another time.” 
If he notices how much the paper wilts in your grasp, he doesn’t comment on it. “Are you sure? I know it takes a lot of time, but I don’t mind.” 
“I’m sure,” you force a smile, one hand on the lightswitch. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready, okay?” 
Jungkook swallows, nodding mechanically. “Okay.” 
“It was really nice seeing you, Kook.” you blurt before you could chicken out, letting the room bask in darkness a little longer so he can’t see your flustered state. “I’m not even going to downplay it, you look great.” 
You half-expect a cocky remark, or a little chest pumping from the compliment. At the sound of his nickname however, 4th grade Jeon Jungkook resurfaces and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Like I said, so do you,” he replies easily, sending you a soft smile and opening the door for you. 
The door closes shut behind you and you exhale, patting your cheeks and willing for the chilly air to calm you down. 
When you get home that day, you shuck off all your clothes and crawl into bed. You cry out when the metal framing of your bunny ears stabs you in the back, and you fling it to some unmentionable part of the room. You reach for a bag of half-opened sour gummy worms, flipping open your MacBook to continue streaming the soft magical girl anime you’ve been hooked on these past few weeks. 
Not even Sailor Uranus can distract you; however, by the time it’s dark and you’ve run out of distractions, you finally pull the plug and unblock Jungkook from your list of contacts. 
Your phone buzzes, the incessant vibration relaying all the messages you’ve missed. 
[March 12th, 3:53AM]
You: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/0343…
John Kook: ??? 
John Kook: you probably sent this to me by accident… sorry i clicked on it
John Kook: is it weird if i said you’ve done a massive glow up since the middle school dance?
[March 12th, 12:02 PM]
John Kook: are u mad
John Kook: you’re mad
John Kook: am i makin this weird by continuing to text you
John Kook: im making it weird. 
[March 31st, 6:24 PM]
John Kook: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/049…
You tilt your head at the folder link, it was sent only a few hours ago. With a click, you’re enlightened to a set of digital photos. Your photos from your photoshoot, but not quite. They’ve been expertly edited, not too much to distort your looks, but only to enhance your features. A small, barely there smile creeps from your subconscious, ultimately touched by the gesture. 
John Kook: sorry if i pushed too hard today. 
Guilt overrides your nerves, prompting you to immediately press the call button on his contact. Not to your surprise, Jungkook’s light voice calls your name through the line after the second ring. 
“Don’t be sorry,” you blurt, forgoing the hellos. “It was the right amount of push, I feel better, really. If anything, I’m sorry. I blocked your number because I was scared to read your reaction.” 
You hear him sigh along the line, and you feel that breath ripple through your nerves, as if he’s right next to you. “It’s fine, I would’ve done the same thing.” 
“The pictures you just sent, they’re really beautiful. You did a good job.” 
“Thanks, I had a bit of help. I didn’t have to do much.” 
“Oh, did Mingyu come back from his meeting?” 
"No, I uh," Jungkook chuckles, and while you don't really know why, the sound is nonetheless pleasant. “It was mostly the lighting and coloring I fixed up. Didn’t need to do much since you already looked so pretty as it is.” 
You choke on your saliva. 
“You okay?”
“Y-yeah,” you cough, “just choked on a snack I was eating.” he hums in reply, and you pray he doesn’t hear your stomach fervently retort that you haven’t eaten since lunch. “So, I think I’m up for developing more of the film. When can I drop by?” 
“I’m free Saturday,” Jungkook chirps, “I have a shoot until noon but you can come anytime after that.” 
“Sounds good, I’ll be there,” you clutch the phone with both hands. “I can bring lunch. What do you like to eat?” 
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
“I’m already buying for Minghao,” you lie, “do you like burgers?” 
“I can’t say no to a good burger,” Jungkook’s smile feels almost palpable against the line, “do you remember our field trip to the national museum of history? We had burgers on the street!” 
“Oh, those were so good,” you moan, fuzzy memories of a middle grade field trip resurfacing to clarity, “but you ate like, ten of them!”
“I still get nightmares,” he warns, “don’t let me go to bed like this.” 
You giggle, letting your body meld further into your warm mattress. “Maybe I’ll just show up with ten burgers for you tomorrow.” 
“I’ll throw up on you, try me.” 
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Minghao’s adjusting the frames on their display wall by the centimeter, and it’s pissing him off. 
“Ah, it’s off,” he mutters to himself when you walk in, indicated by the electronic bell. He turns to you briefly, pulling a leveler out of his overall pocket. “Doesn’t this look off?” 
“Uh,” you look towards Mingyu at the front desk, who is paying no mind as he continues scribbling on his iPad. You tilt your head towards your former college classmate. “It doesn’t look off from over here?” 
Tacking the leveler on one of the frames, he whines, “It’s five degrees off.” 
Mingyu puts his pen down to reach over the counter and grab the paper from your hands, steaming with the scent of fast food, “He’s been like this for hours, don’t mind him.” 
He doesn’t even ask whether the food is his, Mingyu sees grease and he claims. Reaching for an oil-wrapped parchment, he unfolds the paper to reveal a handsome burger with all the fix-ens. 
Barely satisfied, Minghao steps away from the art display. There is a sizable gap in the display, now divided between four artists instead of three. You wonder how Jungkook’s work will look amongst the other artists. 
“Cute ‘fit.” Minghao mumbles, nodding approvingly at your clothes as he digs into the bag for his own burger. 
You send a half-smile his way. If an outfit is Minghao-approved, that means you’ve gone above and beyond. At least, you tried to play it off like you didn’t try to look cute. It’s not like you’re intimidated by Jungkook, living with a major fifteen-year glow up. After all, he’s already seen more than you can imagine. 
Mingyu takes notice, eyes going south to where your white blouse meets your cleavage. You hurl a fry at his face, “Eyes up here, perv.” 
He scrunches his nose, lifting a greasy thumb to slide a manila envelope over to you. “Here’s the developed pictures. Intercepted Kook and I finished them this morning.” 
You frown, “Jungkook’s not done with his photoshoot yet?” 
“Oh, he’s been done.” Mingyu’s eyes roll back to one of the studios. “But I’m saying is, you got what you needed. So you can leave if you want,” but he grins at you, canines so sharp you feel his stare jabbing you in the proverbial neck. “Unlesssss you want to go in and say hi.” 
If he has any inkling of what’s going on in your head, it’s definitely confirmed when your face turns hot. Damn body, you’re betraying me! With a flourish you grab the fries from under Mingyu’s nose, along with whatever’s left in the fast food bag. 
Minghao’s smiling through his burger, knowing if he pulls any type of savagery his lunch would certainly be pulled from under his chin. 
“Whatever you’re thinking, drop it or the burger will be going in your ass instead of out.” You mean to sound menacing, but the Min-squared and their boisterous laughter follow you down the hallway and into the occupied studio. 
“Hey Jungkoo—wow.”
You’re sure you look like Alice, enthralled by the little wonderland she just stepped into. The set is beautiful, right out of a fairytale. It has a very old-romance vibe, like Morticia and Gomez Addams. There lay a couch made of the darkest, richest wood, with velvet red cushions covering the body. Across the floor laid hundreds of black rose petals, blanketing the floor in a sea of ebony. 
“It’s for a wedding, gothic themed.” Jungkook supplies helpfully, still fiddling with whatever he was looking on his digital camera. He’s looking utterly soft in a matching grey sweat combination, something that would easily disgust you during high school, but unfairly works with him. 
“The shoot must’ve been beautiful.” 
“It was.” 
“I uh, got this for you.” Your fingers start to sweat from clutching the bag so hard, and you place it on his work table. 
He finally looks up from his camera, giving you a wan smile. “I thought you got those for Minghao.” 
You mentally slap your cheeks, trying to ignore the way his smile made your stomach do somersaults. “He got his own. Your portion has a cookie in it, so.” 
His cute teeth unveil themselves at the mention of sweets, and you can’t help but smile back at the familiarity. 
The two of you take your time in enjoying your lunch, not meaning to stay but the very back of your mind hoping he’d like to share a meal with you. After all, Mingyu and Minghao are probably at the front relishing in your very obvious attraction. What can you say, first crushes never die. 
Between sips of your milkshake, you’ve taken to flipping through Jungkook’s portfolio. There’s a myriad of different subjects: beaches, people, the occasional squirrel. Each section of the portfolio feels like you’re being transported to a new side of Jungkook and his artistry, and you ached to know more. 
“Wow,” you point at an action shot of two girls in a dance studio, “this duo looks like Chungha and Hyoyeon.” 
He swallows his (second) burger, having the audacity to sink sheepishly in his sweater. “It is Chungha and Hyoyeon.” 
You nearly choke on your cookie. “That’s amazing.” you say breathlessly, looking closer at the image. In fact, the beautiful women photographed are famed hip-hop choreographers Chungha and Hyoyeon. You can’t imagine how good Jungkook must be to manage a photoshoot with them. 
As proud as you are of Jungkook, it reminds you that since middle school you two have lived completely different lives. You wonder if Jungkook gets these kinds of gigs all the time, hanging around with gorgeous, talented people like himself.
Jungkook says your name once, twice. He looks at you concerned, and you’re melting in his large carmine eyes. If he notices your usual overthinking, he doesn’t say anything, and gestures to the section at the end of his portfolio. “This isn’t my best work, but it’s one of my favorites.” 
There’s something familiar about this set. A playground with a busted swing set. Children riding on bikes and colorful class shirts. Ice cream melting on fists. 
Thirteen-year-old you hanging on top of your middle school’s leafless tree, clutching your baseball cap as you shade yourself from the sunset. 
“Was this the first time you took pictures?” you ask, thumbing the picture of yourself. 
“Yeah. It’s when I decided it’s what I wanted to do the rest of my life.” 
“I know we didn’t know each other that well and we’ve only recently connected but,” you give him a shy smile, “I’m really proud of what you’ve grown up to be, Jungkook.” 
He looks like you’ve hung him the moon and stars, his half-eaten burger loosening in his grasp. His lips are parted cutely, like a kitten who’s just been offered a fresh glass of milk. You cough at the sudden pause in conversation, feeling self-conscious of your impulse confession. You don’t even have it in you to be disgusted when Jungkook hastily shoves the second half of his burger down his throat, tips of his ears pink. 
Leaving him be, you press a palm to your cheek, looking at the wedding set. 
Jungkook downs half a water bottle before he speaks again. “Y’know, it would be a shame to clean up this set already. It was kind of expensive.” 
“Yeah,” you echo, standing up and kicking off your slippers. You kick your feet in the air, watching the black petals kiss across your ankles.
“I have an idea,” he wipes his hands on his sweats, “why don’t you go back home and get an outfit you really like. Lingerie, a cute outfit, whatever. Let me give you a photoshoot you’d love.” 
You look up from your petal dance, balking. “Jungkook! That’s not necessary, I told you the photos I took were okay.” 
“Yeah but, you didn’t seem entirely happy. C’mon, I got a camera and a beautiful set. Why waste it?” his hands naturally gravitate towards his charging camera, already turning it on. “I can do lighting, I know all your good angles. What’s stopping us?” 
Really, what’s stopping you? Your hands fiddle with your open flannel, the soft material comforting you as you look across the set. You try to imagine yourself, your body draped across the velvet pillows and black petals. Would it look good? Would you feel good? You think back to how you felt the first time, how scared you were when someone other than Johnny would be looking at your photos. You remember how something weird and sour contorted in your stomach when you scrolled through Jeon Jungkook’s Instagram, no longer the little boy you knew but a man who could have everything he wanted—
“Stop thinking about it.” Jungkook suddenly snaps, and you break from your reverie to catch him looking upset. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him like that. 
“Thinking about what?”
“Thinking that you’re out of my league.”
“Excuse me?” 
“You were like this the other day too,” and he looks sad, and puts his camera down to come closer to you. “Why are you feeling this way. Is it me?” 
“Not necessarily,” you huff, hugging yourself.
“Do you not feel beautiful? Do you not like your body?” 
“No, I do.” you say to yourself, and you mean it. Even though there will inevitably be days where you may not feel one-hundred percent positive about yourself, you know at the end of the day, you love you and all its parts. “I don’t know, Jungkook. I had no problem letting Mingyu develop the photos originally, because he knew me in college and I was already sure of myself back then. But I guess when I sent them to you, I felt like I did when I was a little girl, y’know? Going through puberty, and worrying about what other people think.” 
And it’s not like Jungkook teased you or made you feel lesser of yourself. In fact, Jungkook was the student you wanted to be when you were younger. Someone sweet and caring, and unabashedly confident about himself. 
“I guess seeing you so successful and the fact that my stupid childhood crush came back from a time where I always felt low, made me feel a little insecure again.” 
Something sinks in and you feel hyper aware of how crushed Jungkook looks at your declaration. “There’s no leagues, you got that?” he says quietly, walking so close that he’s hovering over you, sneakers brushing. “I get it. I get unsure and insecure just like you. Hell, I was nervous this morning, wondering if you’d really come. We may not feel insecure over the same things, but middle school wasn’t that great for me either.” He makes a funny face, and you feel a smile twitch across your lips. “But it’s okay. Because we’re human and we grow. But now, you are successful. You’ve grown from your time growing up and you’re a wonderful, powerful person. I’m proud of you too.” 
“I know,” you mumble, leaning your forehead against his chest. His arms wrap around you in response, holding you snug.
“And for the record, I thought you were the most beautiful person in the world in fourth grade. Even though my world was pretty small back then, I can say now that what I thought back then still stands true.” 
You look up from his embrace, where he’s leaning down to press a slow, cotton soft kiss to your forehead. He backs up a little to read your face, and you give a tiny nod in response to signal it’s okay. Jungkook exhales in contentment, relaxing against your frame. 
“Thanks, Kook,” you crack a smile, feeling your insecurities slowly evaporate. You feel better, light, knowing that these negative feelings are only temporary, and you’re not alone. Being in Jungkook’s arms, an honest boy turned man you’ve known all your life, it feels almost like home. 
You two stay like this for a while. Exchanging feather-like kisses, feeling irrevocably young and hopeful. Suddenly feeling emboldened, you tug him by the strings of his hoodie to press a long, hot kiss to his lips. There’s a stutter, and you’re pretty sure Jungkook choked on his saliva at the sudden change of pace but you continue, letting Jungkook catch up and follow your lead. 
“Wow,” Jungkook pulls away and his lips are shiny and flushed. Adorable. You think 7th grade Jungkook would be rolling in his Naruto sheets if he knew you two would inevitably end up together. Conversely, 7th grade you would be squealing in your kitten plushie, proud that you managed to nab your childhood crush to live out all the fantasies you’ve imagined since the 4th grade. 
“Jungkook,” you let your flannel fall to the floor in a heap, only leaving your baby blue top in a thin ruched camisole. “I think I want to do the photoshoot. Can’t pass up these pretty petals, y’know?” 
He runs a hand through his hair, gaping. “Really?” 
“Yeah,” you press a wet kiss to his neck, “anyway you want me, baby. Full creative control. I want you to like this as much as I do, okay?” 
With the permission to hold the wheel, Jungkook’s lightheaded and spinning. His eyes rake up and down your gorgeous form, wondering how many good deeds he’s done in his past life to earn a right just as this. 
“In that case,” he presses a palm to your shoulder, pushing you to sit along the velvet cushion, “strip for me.” 
2K notes · View notes
moonstonebby · 3 years
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Note : Hey!! So I tried something different this time and I think I like this writing style more than the last one but I’m still not sure if I’ll stick with it :’)) Also for side characters I do not give Korean names idk I just find that weird since I am not Korean myself  it feels out of place, so sorry if that’s what some of you expect  :((   Nonetheless  I hope you enjoy <333
Content : foreplay, unprotected sex (you’re on the pill but please have your partner wear a condom if you don’t know their health conditions), swearing,  nudes, phone sex  
____________
6:32 pm [You] : Where are you??
6:35 pm [Mia] : Traffic is so bad sorry :((
6:35 pm [Mia] : I’ll be there in 5 I promise
6:36 pm [You] : Okayy I’ll wait for you outside
6:36 pm [Mia] : Kk <33
You spray one last round of perfume before heading out and locking your apartment door hurriedly.
You decide to take the stairs down to the lobby since the elevator is taking way too much time to arrive at your floor. Rushed, you check yourself out quickly in the mirror by the exit. You’re wearing a white lace sleeveless dress, the hem barely reaching the top of your knees. Your makeup is flawless, you went for that golden dewy look, with your hair tied in a semi-messy ponytail. You’re wearing sneakers though, you promised yourself to never wear heels at a bar ever again since things didn't end up too well last time...
Making your way to the edge of your condominium’s area, where the main street meets the sidewalk, you hear a honk and your best friend’s voice follows.
“Hey hot stuff!” Mia shouts out, waving her hand out of the window to get your attention. You walk over and embrace her as you jump in the seat next to her.
“Sorry to keep you waiting babe, traffic is nuts right now.” she explains, switching the engine to start driving again.
“No worries, you look amazing bestie.” you compliment her while buckling up your seatbelt. She blows you a kiss and you both laugh.
“By the way... he’ll be there... Hyuck.” she informs, her eyes fixed on the road, partly because she’s driving, and partly because she doesn’t want to see that look on your face.
“Who?” you ask, even though both of you are fully aware that you know exactly who she’s talking about.
Mia sighs, she takes one hand off of the steering wheel and places it over yours, giving it a little squeeze. “Haechan, he’s coming tonight.” she affirms, this time she’s looking at you. Your eyes drop slightly but you brush it off, acting unfazed.
“Oh why didn’t you say his name earlier haha... It’s fine, no big deal.” you say, avoiding to look back at Mia in an attempt to mask your emotions, but she knows how you feel, she’s your best friend after all.
Mia turns on some music to lighten up the mood, you both carpool karaoke all the way to your destination. Once you’ve reached the bar, you hop out of the car excited to see your friends and to drink to your heart’s content, forgetting who awaits you.
You link your arm with your best friend’s and make your way into the bar, as you’re walking through the tables trying to find your friends, more than a few heads turn your way, you know you look good. Mia notices thus unlinking your arms to indicate that you two are not a couple but in fact, very much available. 
“Girls! Over here!” a voice rises, barely audible amongst all the chatter and music. You look around and spot your friends, you grab Mia’s hand and head towards them. The table is at a corner, not too far but not too close to the others, giving it a more private ambiance. You go around the table, making sure to greet everyone, even friends’ friends, people that you haven't met yet. You feel a pair of eyes glued to you and that’s when you remember. Ah, he’s here. You swallow your pride and decide to be the bigger person, so you meet his gaze and shoot him a small smile, waving your hand briefly. He smirks and uncrosses his arms to reciprocate the hand movement back at you. 
You pull on a chair and drag it out so that you can sit comfortably, you find yourself seated between your best friend and this guy you have never seen before.
“Hi I’m Jacob, nice to meet you.” he states, a hand reaching out to you.
“Oh hi I’m y/n, nice to meet you too Jacob.” you answer, shaking his stretched out hand.
The two of you make small talk, cracking a few jokes here and there. He pours you another glass of wine and the two of you hit it off pretty well. Mia notices and nudges her elbow against yours, you look at her and she shoots you a wink. You both giggle knowing damn well where this is going.
A loud creek catches your attention. It’s Haechan, he’s gotten up from his chair  and he doesn’t look too happy, your heart races as you see him approach your seat. He bends down to your ear sending shivers down your spine as you feel his breath against your skin.
“Come outside.” he whispers, you raise an eyebrow at him, not moving from your seat.
“What do you want.” you question, annoyance clear in your tone.
“I just want to talk.” he responds, his hand reaching for yours, tugging at it for you to get up and you do, but only because you know that this talk has been long overdue. Jacob gets up as well, yanking Haechan’s hand away from yours. 
“Who the fuck are you.” Jacob spits, slowly placing himself in between you and Haechan. The younger male sucks his teeth, clearly not in the mood to start a fight. He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, trying to keep calm.
“None of your business. So move.” Haechan spits back, grabbing your hand one more time. Jacob lifts his hand to break both of you apart but you stop him.
“It’s okay, Jacob.” you affirm, letting go of his hand and shooting him a warm smile before you walk off with the younger male.
Haechan is holding onto your wrist, shoving his way out of the bar and you follow without a word. Your heart is racing, you can hear it ringing in your ears but you try to fight the nerves so that you don’t embarrass yourself in front of him. Haechan suddenly stops, you’re behind the bar next to the smoking area, thankfully not a lot of people are there. Frankly there’s just a couple and they’re already making out so they won’t pay much attention to you anyways.
“Do you still hate me that much?” Haechan ponders, finally breaking the deafening silence that was present a few seconds ago.
“Yes.” you respond bluntly, avoiding eye contact at all cost. He grabs your face and lifts your chin so that you have no choice but to look at him.
“Say it to my face.” he growls, his voice is lower than usual, not that you hear it on the daily anyways…
“I hate you.” you confirm, looking straight into his eyes. You pull at his arm so that his hand let’s go of your face, the cold wind replacing the warm touch that was once pressed against your skin, strangely you find yourself dissatisfied with that feeling.
“Why.” he asks, moving in closer to you, until your back is against the wall. You gasp at the cold plaster against your back, placing a hand over your mouth to cover up the yielp you just let out.
The male reaches for your hand and removes it from your mouth, initially to let you answer but now his eyes are glued to your lips. A knot forms in your throat, preventing you from speaking. You clear your throat in an attempt to avert his attention back to you and thankfully, it works.
“You know more than anyone why.” you declare, oblivious to the fact that your hand is still in his. He chuckles, clearly pissed at your vague answer. 
“I just think it’s unfair how you’re having fun with everyone and completely ignoring me.” he complains, tightening his grip on your hand in annoyance. You look so hot to him in that little tight dress and the fact that you weren’t paying any attention to him the whole time inside the bar drove him mad, but there’s no way he’ll ever tell you that.
“You hate me too don’t you?” you retort, even though you already know the answer. 
“We’re not getting anywhere are we?” he laughs, letting go of your hand and placing both his hands against the wall, almost embracing you. Your heart starts racing again, although you hate him, you at least acknowledge your attraction to him.
“I-I don’t think we ever will. So just drop it okay?” you stammer, a bit intimidated by how close he is to you.
“Are you nervous?” he ponders, amusement in his voice. He leans closer to you, your noses almost touching. You can feel his warm breath against your skin which sends a familiar shiver down your spine.
“No asshole, I’m pissed cause you cock blocked me back there.” you huff, even though to be honest, you weren’t thinking about Jacob at all, not even for a split second.
“Who said you’re not getting dick tonight?” he teases, his gaze drops to your lips as he bites down on his own. Your eyes are glued to his lips as well, your mind goes blank, you don’t even care about your feelings towards him at this moment, you just want him all over you. He tilts his head to the side and places a kiss on your cheek, moving closer to the curl of your lips with every peck. His plump lips brush against yours and before you know it he pulls away. Shit, keep it together, keep it to-
“Kiss me.” you order, pulling him to you by his shirt, fuck it there’s no going back now. He smiles one last time before meeting your lips with hunger, parting them with a slip of his tongue and biting down on your bottom lip. When you whine into his mouth, he grunts and bites down harder, sucking on it as his hand moves up to grope your chest. He squeezes at your breast, running his thumb over your clothed nipple, and you arch your back into his touch, sighing blissfully.
“Let’s, let’s go to my hotel room.” he pants, breaking away from the kiss. You nod quietly and let yourself be directed by him, he’s rushing to keep the momentum up and within a few minutes you reach the hotel elevator, lucky for you no one is in there. He shoves you in and picks up where he left off until you suddenly pull away.
“The cameras…” you whisper, pointing to the CCTV at the corner of the elevator.
“Let them watch.” he teases, your eyes grow wide but you don’t have the time to argue as his lips crash back onto yours. His hands slide from your waist down to your ass, squeezing tightly making you grind against his erection desperately.  As soon as the elevator doors open, he guides you to his room and wastes no time unlocking the door. 
He pushes you onto the bed aggressively, cause you know, he hates you. He caresses your side and slips his leg between yours, letting you roll your hips on his thigh, and groans when your own thigh brushes against his concealed length.
“Did that feel good?” you breathe, a teasing lilt to your voice,
“Mmmhh” he mumbles as he sinks his teeth into the spot just under your jaw, starting to work on the spot, tonguing and sucking at the patch of flesh. “Fuck.” you moan. He groans against your neck, biting down harshly again to make you whimper. Your fingers curl on his thighs, the fabric dragging under your nails. “So fucking needy.” he growls, his free hand gripping your hip to pull you closer. Taking his cue, you shift to straddle him, immediately rolling your hips against his. He groans again, the sound lower this time, and squeezes your hip, guiding your actions. 
He kisses lower down to the exposed area of your chest, pushing your dress down past your chest and pulling the cups of your bra down to expose your breasts. He kisses along the swell of them, kissing random spots before sucking a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the bud as you mewl weakly in pleasure. 
“Fuck, yes, Haechan, just like that,” you whine, he pulls away frowning up at you, “Say my name” he orders, your eyes roll back into your head as he takes your nipple back into his mouth, biting down harder. “H-Haechan” you stammer, your core aching for his touch. “No, say my name.” he flicks the bud back and forth with the tip of his tongue rapidly, relishing in the sounds of pleasure you’re letting out. “H-Hyuck.” you hesitate, you haven’t spoken that name in a long time so it sounds unfamiliar, although it isn’t, at all. 
He peels your dress off of you, pushing you down on the bed and  moving so his face is level with your thighs. When he pulls the underwear off your legs, he spreads your members and marvels at the arousal coating your folds, rubbing his thumb over your clit slowly. 
 He leans closer, his lips brushing your clit as he gives little kitten licks to your core, “You taste so good baby.” he breathes, sucking your folds into his mouth and running his tongue all over them. The strokes gradually getting more deliberate and assured, groaning in ecstasy as the taste of your arousal drowns his taste buds.
“I’m not, oh-mmh, not your ba-by.” you moan weakly, and he drapes your thighs over his shoulders, one hand hooking around your leg to press your hips down while the other moves up your body to play with your nipple, pinching it lightly and rolling it between his fingers. 
“Such a bossy little bitch, cum for me.” he urges, and you let go with a long moan of his name and a string of swears as your body trembles under his. “That’s it, keep going. Cum all over my tongue, show me how much you hate me.” he coaxes, and your eyes roll back briefly, lids fluttering shut as pleasure overwhelms you. “I-I, fuck… I hate you.” you cry, he slaps the side of your ass to punish you for that comment, your cheeks blaze up as you suddenly feel bashful. That doesn’t last long as he drags a finger down from your clit to your entrance, where he pushes two fingers into you. You gasp at the slight stretch and curl your fingers in his hair.
“Fuck,” you hiss, trying  to push him off weakly. “Too sensitive.” you whine, and he shakes his head, looking up at you. empty protests die on your tongue in favor of a moan bursting forth when he curls his fingers inside of you and starts to stroke the pads of his middle and ring fingers against the patch of nerves along your inner walls. “Oh, my- Hyuck, I’m gonna cum again.” you find yourself coming apart once more.
He reaches between the two of you and tugs down his pants and underwear, freeing his cock from his clothing, peeking down, you get a glimpse of a few  beads of precum leaking from his tip before he swipes it over the head of his cock with his thumb.
“Come here let me suck you off.” you mumble, reaching for his length, but he pushes your hands away, pinning them over your head with one hand. 
“No, I’d rather feel you around me.” he positions himself at your entrance, making his cock thrust against you, the underside of it rubbing against your clit, and you whine, bucking your hips up into him. He pushes your hips down and gives you a look that tells you you’d better keep them there before lightly slapping your clit with his cock repeatedly.
“Hyuck-” you complain, your eyes heavy with arousal, “Is this what you want? Hm?” he teases with another slap to your clit again with the underside of his cock, your brows furrow as you nod.
“Yes, please...” you confess shyly. 
“You want my cock?” he’s taunting you at this point.
“Please Hyuck, I want to  feel you inside of me, I need it.” you give into what he wants immediately, too impatient to wait. 
He grunts as he pushes into you slowly, your mouth falling open in a moan as his thick cock stretches your walls. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”
“You feel so good, f-fuck.” you gasp, and he grins, leaning down to kiss you. “Faster.” you urge him, wriggling under him, and he obliges, picking up the pace until he’s driving into you with quick, hard strokes. “Fuck, yes, just like that.” you groan as he thrusts into you sharply. 
“You’re so fucking wet.” he manages to get out through gritted teeth, his grip on your wrists tightening as he focuses on delivering deliberate, deep strokes into you. “You love this, don’t you; being pinned down and taken like this?”
“Yes.” you whimper, nodding vigorously. He moans at the sounds of pleasure you’re letting out and speeds up even more, shifting so he can lean down and kiss you deeply, his tongue flicking into your mouth skillfully.
Your hips move on their own accord, grinding down on him as he lets go of your hands and gropes your chest freely. He hisses and brings a hand down to rub at your clit, causing you to let out a sharp exhale at the added sensation. 
“Oh, my g-god.” you lift up slightly to take in the sight of his cock driving in and out of you, your head thumping back down onto the bed as pleasure starts to build in the familiar, welcome feeling of your impending climax.
“Fuck, you’re clenching around me.” He grunts, thrusting into you as he desperately chases both of your releases. “Are you gonna cum?”
“Yeah.” you breathe, your voice high with ecstasy and he nods, biting his lip as he angles his hips to fuck directly into your g-spot. You cry out loudly, stammering, “Oh god I’m cumming, I’m-“ and you do, a rush of relief taking over you as your whole body tenses before it goes completely slack.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He grunts, his thrusts speeding up as he moves his hand from your clit. “I want to cum on you.” he confesses, “Go ahead.” you nod, swallowing thickly.
“Shit” he curses in a hushed whisper, his movements a bit sloppy as he pulls out, his cock twitching as he releases all over your stomach, painting your skin with white streaks of cum. It’s warm against your skin, and the sight is so arousing you wish it was in you. “That’s so hot.” he chuckles, caressing his cum glistening on your stomach, your skin tickling at the feeling.
“Stop it’s getting gross now.” you complain, but he lifts his arousal-covered finger to your mouth. “Suck.” he orders and without thinking twice you take his finger into your mouth, sucking on it and licking it clean. 
“You’re a little slut for me aren’t you.” he teases, “Is this what you do with all the men you hate?” a loud pop sound releases from your lips as you tilt your head back freeing his finger from your mouth. “You’re the only one I hate.” you hiss, Hyuck grins with satisfaction at that statement. 
“You’re all mine then.” he smirks, you attempt to shove him off of you with your foot but you’re too weak from getting your shit rocked a few seconds ago, he barely budges. “You wish.” you coo at him, “Yeah I do.” he whispers, a hint of sincerity in his tone. You freeze at his words, “Sh-Shut up and get me a towel.” you stammer, looking away and pointing  to the bathroom in order to change the subject. He shoots you a warm smile before getting up and heading to the bathroom as you have instructed him to. You feel fuzzy inside, but you know you can’t let your guard down around him.
 After cleaning yourself up and clothing yourself, you quietly exit Hyuck’s room as he’s passed out on his bed. The car ride back home is not peaceful in the slightest due to your best friend who has been blowing your phone up ever since you disappeared with the male.
10:57 pm [Mia] : WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU??
10:57 pm [You] : Mia relax I’m fine
10:58 pm [You] : I’m sorry I didn’t tell you…
10:58 pm [You] : I mean I physically couldn't tell you anything…
10:59 pm [Mia] : Oh my god
10:59 pm [You] : Yeah
10:59 pm [Mia] : No way??? With him??
10:59 pm [You] : Yeah ><
11:00 pm [Mia] : Bitch call me rn
As you end the phone call with your best friend you giggle to yourself at how ridiculous the both of you sounded through the phone. Your thoughts are cut off by the taxi driver’s voice telling you that you have arrived to your destination. You pay him and take the elevator up to your floor since your legs can’t possibly handle going up the stairs after tonight.
Once in your room you undress and get ready to tuck yourself in when you hear your phone ring, it’s a message from an unknown number. You furrow your brows as you slide your finger unlocking your phone, directing you automatically to the message.
11:22 pm [?] : Why did you leave?
11: 22 pm [You] : Who is this?
11:22 pm [?] : Are you fr??
11:23 pm [You] : ???
11:23 pm [?] : ….. It’s Hyuck
11:23 pm [You] : What do you want?
11:23 pm [?] : I just asked why you left
11:24 pm [You] : Uhm to go home?? Duh??
11:24 pm [?] : Next time stay over
11:24 pm [You] : Who said there will be a next time 
11:24 pm [?] : You know there will ;)
11:25 pm [You] : I’m going to block you
11:25 pm [?] : That’s not a no ;)
11:25 pm [You] : Stop texting me
11:25 pm [? sent an image] 
You click on the image only to reveal a picture of Hyuck’s hand holding his cock up. Your eyes widen at the sight followed by a hard swallow.
11:27 pm [You] : I said stop texting me
11:27 pm [?] : That wasn't a text ;)
[incoming facetime call from ?] 
You stare at your phone ringing, hesitating whether or not to answer, but of course you give in.
“What-” you start to speak but a gasp replaces your words as you watch Hyuck stroke his semi-hard length on the other side of the face call. “He misses you.” he whispers, referring to the member wrapped in his hand. Your throat feels dry, and your hand unconsciously slips to your underwear, pulling it off and rubbing your palm against your clit in an attempt to imitate Hyuck’s girth. “Say something...” he murmurs breaking the awkward silence, his hand still pumping up and down his erection. 
“I-I miss it too… I want it.. in my mouth.” you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. “Mmmh I want your lips around me, look at how hard I am for you.” he groans, thrusting his cock into his hand. You let out a sigh as you slip a finger into your entrance, mimicking his pace. “Show me.” he orders, and you oblige, lowering the camera down to face your core. “Fuck… so pretty, all those juices going to waste... if only I were there to lick you clean.” he groans, beads of precum forming at his tip.
“I want your cock in me, Hyuck, I want you to stain my insides.” you confess, blushing at your own words. “Yeah? Even though you hate me? You can’t help but love my cock huh?” he teases you, his words ignite a burning sensation in your stomach, making your walls tighten with pleasure. You let out muffled moans, hoping your neighbors won’t hear you. 
“K-keep talking.” you groan, “You like that? You like it when I tell you what I’m gonna do to you? Hmm? I’m gonna fuck you till you won’t even think of leaving, you’ll be so sore yet begging for more, I’ll make you love me.” he declares, almost threatening you. 
“Fuck Hyuck, I’m gonna cum.” you moan out, your fingers curling inside of you as you release your orgasm. “Good girl, such a pretty little voice.” 
“Faster.” you breathe, “Go faster, Hyuck.” you hear him hiss at your words, “I love it when you call my name, be a good girl and say that again for me.” he orders and you obey. “Faster, Hyuck.” that does it for him, you moaning his name is enough to make him fall apart. White streaks spurt out of his cock onto his stomach, your eyes widen at this glorious spectacle. 
“Fuck, look at what you made me do princess, if you only you were here to clean up your mess.” he blames you, clearly amused.
“Next time.” you tease, smacking a hand over your mouth as you just admitted to wanting a round two.
“I knew it.” he laughs. “Dream of me.” he sings, flipping the camera to his face, his golden skin glowing from the light bouncing off of his sweat, he looks damn good. “Maybe.” you answer, biting down at your bottom lip and lifting  your underwear back up. “Well I sure will.” he says before shooting you a wink and disconnecting the call. With that, you plug your phone for it to charge and turn to your side, ready to go to sleep, a faint smile plastered on your face. 
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Emma Swan, Olympian is not a phrase Emma Swan, totally normal person, ever expected to hear.
But she never expected one night at a party hosted by her college's baseball team to change her entire life, either. So, it should really come as no surprise that Emma Swan, Olympian, is now something of international sensation. Or that her husband has become a bit of a social media star.
——— Rating: Teen with sports feelings Word Count: 7.5K AN: As promised and because of who I am as a person, I wrote Olympic fic. I can neither confirm nor deny that there is an actual plot here, but there is a surplus of fluff and sports-based feelings. So, that’s something. Thanks to the Detroit Lions, specifically, for posting this Tweet and to my husband who is very much aware of what content I want the internet to provide me. Operation: Make Killian a New York Yankee as often as possible continues.
|| Read on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||
———
No one told her the questions would start to blur together.
That would require media training, Emma imagines. And no one is giving a first-time Olympian in a sport that only a handful of people marginally believe warrants notice from the IOC any sort of media training. She got, like, an orientation packet. With a lopsided staple in the top left corner. On her commercial flight. That she booked herself.
Twenty-plus hours crammed into a seat that she’s only a little concerned did permanent damage to her right knee, with a meal that was so chewy Emma was about four seconds and one exasperated, entirely exhausted exhale from asking if it was, in fact, made of plastic.
Mostly, the staple is what’s still managing to frustrate her. As frustrated as she can be at the Olympics. No one is supposed to be frustrated at the Olympics. Not really. Not while experiencing the pinnacle of athletic achievement, the calluses on Emma’s fingertips some sort of badge of honor that she’s wearing with at least a modicum of national pride, and everything is fine.
Her qualifying time was absurd. Where absurd is a compliment and very close to a record she’s suddenly determined to shatter.
So, she’s alone.
Big deal. So is everyone else. This Olympics, at least. Plus, Killian wouldn’t have been able to come no matter what the state of the world was. Even so, the quiet stands are admittedly weird. All these empty arenas with empty seats, the distinct lack of a roaring crowd no more obvious than when the world’s best athletes step to the line. Staring at the climbing wall in front of her four hours earlier, Emma swore she could hear every single beat of her heart echo between her ears.
And that’s—well, solitude is par for the course with an adolescence like hers, half-filled suitcases and brand-new faces in brand-new towns, but she’d gotten used to one town, and the town is actually a city, and the city has long since felt like home, and her fingers reach for the rings dangling above her Team USA t-shirt. They did give her an absolute shit ton of t-shirts, so that was nice.
Except—
Something keeps tugging. Nagging at the back of Emma’s consciousness, almost like she’s forgotten her keys on that flea market table they found in Park Slope two weeks after they moved into the apartment. Because for as well-versed Emma may be in that singular sort of existence, she’s also well-removed from wanting it, and at least three of her knuckles crack. Curling around her rings.
Muscles in her cheeks stretch, another nod and quick blink to avoid the threat of blinding via camera flashes. Someone really should have told her about this. She probably should have assumed. Human interest is the driving force of at least three-quarters of the stories in sports, and Emma’s not used to being the story, per se, but even she has to admit most of hers makes for a good one and they are still asking her questions.
Emma blinks again. Hopes she doesn’t look like a serial killer or the weird blonde, slightly sweaty cousin of the Joker, her smile starting to feel as if it’s painted on her face. She nods. Hums. Listens to questions that are startling in their tonal similarity to Charlie Brown’s teacher, and Emma wonders if Charlie Brown ever got a different teacher or what the school structure of the Peanuts’ universe is and, God, how old was Charlie Brown, even? To withstand that sort of consistent bullying. Was Linus the same age as him? No, right? How long did he carry the blanket around? Was Linus the same age as Sally? Why didn’t the red-headed girl with curly hair get a name?
She nearly falls out of her chair.
That might make the front page of several blogs. Possibly even the back page of a New York tab.
Careful to keep her feet on the ground, Emma lifts her head, directing her eyes toward the source of a question that must have been asked several times if the note of amusement mixing with deadline-based exasperation is anything to go by. Her smile definitely makes her look like a serial killer.
“Sorry, sorry,” Emma mumbles, and none of the oxygen she does her best to inhales makes it even close to her lungs. “I, uh—what was the question?”
The reporter grimaces.
“I wanted to know if you’d seen the video of your husband yet.”
Ice runs down her spine. Every single drop of wholly disgusting sweat falling in rivulets down either one of her cheeks freezes. Oxygen disappears from the room. Or so Emma assumes, what with the crushing feeling pushing down on her lungs and whatnot.
Her mind whirs. Races through possibilities and pitfalls with a speed that would be impressive if Emma weren’t already so close to that record, and she is going to break that record. Somehow she manages not to fall, though. From her chair or the metaphorical climbing wall in her brain, ignoring the sudden dryness of her mouth and the increasing size of her tongue.
Her nails are going to leave little half-moon creases in her palm.
“I don’t—” she starts, and eventually she will wish she was more articulate. For what turns out to be a very nice story.
Standing up, the reporter’s seat creaks as she moves toward the desk they deposited Emma behind after even. Several Olympic officials move to block her, but Emma shakes her head again, and she’s not exactly high-priority on the list of defensible athletes, anyway. So, none of them flinch when the reporter slides a phone closer to Emma, her crazed thoughts briefly lingering on how many phones a reporter could possibly need, but then her eyes drop, and she’s not sure if her ears can actually perk, but Emma certainly tries because she hears him yelling before she sees him.
Her smile shifts.
And the cameras flash again.
It starts, as with most things in Emma’s collegiate life, because Anna demands it.
She’s only half-listening, so Emma can never be entirely sure what it was, exactly, she was agreeing to, but in her experience, the agreement doesn’t matter so much as the action, and her roommate’s younger sister is unstoppable when it comes to action. So, Emma is dimly aware of a plan. Something about the baseball house and that one left fielder is in a handful of her classes.
David—something.
He’s got a girlfriend, too. A nice one. Who always smells like sugar when she slides into the seat next to David whatever his last name is, sitting in the row in front of Emma during their Tuesday-Thursday statistics class.
Emma hates statistics.
She doesn’t hate Anna, though. Or her roommate, one of the better college-based surprises, and either Anna has magic or Elsa is an enormous pushover because somehow all three of them are ready at the same time, and the walk to the baseball house isn’t far.
First-year players guard the door — passing out color-coded wristbands that absolutely do not do their job because it takes about six seconds of well-meaning flirting and batted eyelashes between Anna and a mountain of muscle masquerading as the team’s starting catcher to get them inside. With purple wristbands and two tickets for jungle juice instead of the keg.
“Victory,” Anna cries, twisting through the crowd. Half of it is already teetering on the edge of drunk, the rest free-falling into the pit of imminent hangovers, and Emma isn’t sure she’d classify their drinks as a victory, but it’s definitely better than watered-down beer.
And it doesn’t take long, really. By Emma’s shaky count, it’s not even a half-hour before the muscle — who introduces himself as Kristoff, and really is pretty cute, actually — returns, standing unnaturally close to Anna’s left shoulder, furtive glances shared out of the corners of their eyes. Emma rolls hers. Elsa’s appear perpetually stuck to the ceiling. It looks oddly sticky up there.
“Go,” Elsa says, and it’s not an instruction. Barely counts as more than a whisper, really. Anna lights up all the same. Like an alcohol-fueled Christmas tree.
Who does not need telling more than once.
Hands reach and smiles widen, Kristoff mumbling something that sounds like it was nice to meet you before he’s following Anna back to the beer pong table, leaving Elsa and Emma standing in the middle of a sea of raging hormones. All of which want to be there way more than either one of them does.
“Well,” Elsa mutters, “that was polite.”
Emma snickers into her glass. A mostly empty glass. That’s surprising. “Got that going for him.” “Plus, his on-base is nuts this year.”
“Say that again.” “On-base percentage,” Elsa repeats, making sure to do it slowly for maximum sarcastic emphasis. Emma’s eyes are going to fall out. That won’t end well. There are too many shuffling feet in this room.
“What does that mean?” “How often he gets on base.” Opening her mouth does nothing. Closing it does even less. Elsa looks overjoyed. “I know things,” she shrugs, “and I’m pretty positive Anna and Kristoff have been not-so-secretly dating since the start of the semester, so—” “You stalked your sister’s secret boyfriend?” “Stalk’s a very dirty word, don’t you think? No, no, there was no stalking. There was light research. One Google search and a single click to the team’s roster, and now I know he’s from Minnesota, too.” “Awfully convenient for the romance of the century.” Humming, Elsa takes a larger-than-usual sip before scrunching her nose in displeasure. At her empty cup. Emma has no idea how they ended up with empty cups so quickly. Suddenly the baseball house feels a bit like a time warp. Enter and drink and find the love of your life. Or something like that.
“I got next,” Emma says, ignoring Elsa’s laugh because she is not the sort of person who says things like that. It’s this house. This place. With its music and its happiness, and she’s not really a sports person. Can only marginally understand the joy of watching other people accomplish something. She has no idea what on-base percentage is.
Still.
Her feet move. Fingers curl over the rim of red solo cups, like the most cliché version of her college self. Her drinks get refilled. And it’s just as Emma’s about to let herself wonder if, maybe, sports aren’t all that bad and might even possess a bit of inherent romanticism, she slams into something.
Someone, more like.
Taller than her, he has to peer down his nose to glare at Emma. That’s fair. They’re both far more damp than they were ten seconds before. Some of that moisture ensures that the hem of his shirt sticks to his stomach. A very flat stomach. That draws Emma’s eyes because she’s human and slightly intoxicated, and it takes quite a lot more than she’s willing to admit to lift her chin, but then she’s glad she does. Even with the understandable glare.
“Shit,” she breathes, “your eyes are stupid blue.”
He narrows them. She hates that. Which is about all it takes for her to get royally pissed off, too.
“Can you pay attention to where you’re walking?”
The stupidly blue eyes blink. Darken a shade, like all his frustration is centered directly around his pupils, and the shirt he’s wearing is team-branded. Another baseball player, then.
“You ran into me!” Oh, Oh. Well, that sucks. He’s got a good voice, too. Eyes and voice and the few strands of hair that fall toward those eyes when he continues to glare at Emma likely aren’t supposed to make her stomach flip.
It’s the alcohol’s fault.
Or sports. Like, in general.
“Because you take up so much space,” Emma snarls He leans forward. Looms, really. Over her and around her, smelling like punch and body wash. It’s gross and absolutely wonderful. “Gotta pick a lane, love. Either I ran into you, or I was in the way.”
“It can definitely be both and there is nothing resembling love here.”
“So I can see. You have a name, wrecking ball?” “My shoes are never going to unstick from this floor.” To his credit, he does waver. His lips twist — which makes it all too obvious how much Emma is staring at his lips, but, seriously, the alcohol. Plus, it’s so hot in this house she can barely think straight. She wonders where he buys his body wash. He smells better than he should in this house. So, it's clear he considers. Ponders, even. Until his hands dart out and those hands are somehow warmer than every person in this house combined, heat scorching through Emma’s t-shirt as he lifts her off the ground.
Only to deposit her approximately fourteen inches to her left.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” “Look,” he grins, “you’re unstuck.” “Bastard!” “Eh, not technically.” “What?” “Not technically a bastard. Orphan, I suppose. But that’s kind of a mood ruiner, don’t you think?”
Emma’s fish impression is really going great. The grin becomes a smirk. Her stomach refuses to stay still. “Is there a mood to ruin?” “Might be if you tell me your name.”
Emma wavers, that time. Considers and ponders. Weighs the pros and cons while laughter drifts past her ears, consummate collegiate experiences that she’s only ever let herself be passably jealous of. A dark-haired girl’s talking to Elsa in the opposite corner.
And the hand hanging in front of her wiggles its fingers.
It’s still ridiculously warm when she grabs it. “Emma Swan.” “Killian Jones.”
Anna’s secret relationship becomes a real relationship no less than sixteen hours following what Elsa begins to call the Drink Incident.
And they become—
Baseball people.
Becoming baseball people is not bad. Not really. Emma likes the baseball team. She understands what WHIP is, now. Kristoff adores Anna, so that’s good. David, who does, in fact, have a last name, continues to be as nice as assumed, and his girlfriend sort of quasi adopts Emma. Mary Margaret Blanchard brims with positivity and an innate sort of joy that would usually annoy Emma, but most of that joy also serves as a direct counter to the snark that Killian Jones appears flush with. So, it’s something of a wash, really.
Plus, he’s a very sore Monopoly loser.
And Emma finds it endlessly entertaining.
“Stop that,” he grunts, glaring at the board with the sort of force Emma’s become accustomed to in the last few months, while she taps on the space in front of her, “I know how many spots it is.” Emma smiles. “So move, then.” “I’ll be bankrupt.” “Capitalism does that.” “Tell me more about capitalism, Swan.”
She doesn’t startle, so there’s that. Not much else, though. Not when a noticeable bit of equally familiar heat skitters down her spine. Her head tilts. His head remains frustratingly still, staring at the board like the spaces will change or Mary Margaret will tear down some of her hotels on Marvin Gardens.
Neither thing happens.
The heat pools. At the small of her back, inching dangerously close to that space between her hips, like it’s trying to tether her to this spot and this moment and its people. Baseball people. People who so clearly care about everything so much that even the cynic in Emma can appreciate it. Plus, they’re all ridiculously competitive.
David had to take a walk when Mary Margaret bankrupt him earlier.
“That’s about the extent of my capitalism knowledge,” Emma admits with a shrug, “I sucked at economics.” Pulling his gaze away from the board, Emma’s less prepared for the force behind Killian’s eyes than she was for the appearance of a nickname that might not warrant the title. It’s just her name, after all. But it sounds like more than that. Sinks under her skin with alarming ease, the precise tone of it wrapping its way around a variety of internal organs until they’re all beating at the same tempo and— “Move my piece for me.”
Kristoff groans. Mary Margaret chuckles. Elsa looks far too sure of herself. Knows everything, indeed.
And it’s not really a command, but there’s that same sense of something that found its way into the sound of Emma’s name and Killian’s voice, and he catches her by surprise. On a variety of levels. His fingers jump the moment hers reach out, all heat and an alarming size difference, his brows lifting when she turns her head.
“You’re taking this game way too seriously, you know,” Emma says. What she doesn’t say is more important, though. Because they’re not friends, really. They’re—acquaintances. Some kind of appropriate metaphor regarding a planet’s many moons and the tendency of those moons to orbit something far bigger than them. But they like each other, too. As much as they dance and twist, do their best to avoid getting hit in the batter’s box, Emma’s more comfortable bantering with him than just about anyone she’s ever met, a challenge in every conversation, and she’s rather loath to realize she’s memorized the different ways the blue in his eyes flash.
Now it feels a bit like a spotlight.
“Matter of pride, Swan.” “Is it just?” If there are other people laying on their stomachs in that living room, half-empty glasses by their hands and equipment stacked in various corners, Emma forgets about them. Quickly. Immediately. Killian doesn’t move his fingers.
He nods.
And Mary Marget only kind of gloats when she bankrupts him.
She dances when she wins, though.
It’s embarrassing. It’s absolutely, goddamn wonderful.
Realizing that baseball is a game of statistics ruins kind of Emma’s day. It makes Killian laugh. Her favorite sort of laugh. Where he throws his head back, an arm around his middle, and his shoulders shaking. Those same strands of hair she noticed that first night fall back toward lidded eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting in an angle Emma is sure she could determine if she just didn’t hate math so much, and it takes about four seconds, her head tilting back and forth twice and one swipe of her tongue to lean forward on the couch they're sharing, tilt her head up and press her lips to his.
Press is a vast understatement.
Crash, more like.
A bases-clearing double into the left-field gap.
She knows so many baseball terms now, it’s ridiculous.
It’s because she keeps going to games. With Anna. Without Anna. With Elsa. Without Elsa. With Mary Margaret every single time. And it creeps on so slowly, she’s practically a Jane Austen heroine, but then Emma finds she cares as much as everyone else. Screams herself hoarse at every crack of the bat. Jumps and fist bumps with startling regularity. Experiences the flutter of butterflies in her flip-prone stomach before ninth-inning rallies.
She memorizes statistics. Killian’s statistics, especially.
Because the Draft is a week away, and the nerves rolling off him are even more potent than his body wash. Bought in bulk from a locally-owned company, she learns.
Killian hates capitalism, too.
Which is only part of the reason she likes him, but right now all of the reason is centered around how it feels as if the world is shifting on its axis and what, precisely, he is capable of with his tongue. Quite a lot if this first time at bat is anything to believe.
Emma laughs.
Joy bubbles from the very center of her, pushing at the seam of her lips, and it’s not much of a seam when her mouth is open to accommodate tongue, but it’s enough of a sound that Killian pulls back. No glare. Definitely eyebrow movement, though.
“That’s not the best confidence boost, you know.” “I’m straddling you,” Emma counters, nodding toward the knees on either side of his, and she has no idea when her fingers found his hair. It’s very soft.
“How did that happen?” “What was that about confidence?”
Dropping his head, she gets a different sort of laugh, one that’s just as potent in its ability to settle into her bloodstream and the empty spaces around her heart, and sports have turned her into a sap. “I like you a lot,” Killian murmurs. Emma’s heart explodes. Metaphorically speaking.
“Good.” “Expand on that, for me.” She pinches his side, almost prepared for the way it leaves him bucking beneath her. Less prepared for the mutual groan it causes. Killian’s eyes widen. “I like you a lot,” Emma repeats, and his arms tighten, and her heart knits itself back together, and the second time through the kissing order is even better.
It starts, as with most things in Emma’s nearly-adult life, because Anna demands it.
“I just think it’ll be fun,” Anna says, not for the first time. And, not for the first time, she ignores the pointed look Emma and Elsa exchange. Elsa’s lips have all but disappeared behind her teeth “Think about it,” Anna continues, “we need something to do before the game, anyway. This way we’re—you know, staying active.” Emma’s eyebrows jump. Fly. Soar into her hairline where the level of her disbelief sits, all too aware of the ring hanging around her neck.
A Draft Day gift. As much as a family heirloom can be a gift. But Killian claimed it was good luck, his brother’s ring, because turns out that snark is at least a partial product of a wholly depressing childhood, and Emma supposes there’s something to be said for common ground. Understanding, too. Stories shared over weeks that turned to months that turned to years and seasons in the minors, and it absolutely figures Killian’s Major League debut is happening in Cincinnati. Where Kristoff plays.
It’s ridiculous how in love with him she is.
Killian. Not Kristoff.
Anna is still talking. “There’s nothing else to do in Cincinnati,” she reasons, which seems unfair to the city itself but not entirely untrue, and even the concept of chili on spaghetti grosses Emma out. “Also,” Anna adds, sounding as if she’s reached the final bullet point on her list of possible arguments, “I’ve got a Groupon deal for this place.”
Elsa blinks. “I didn’t realize Groupon was even still a thing.” “Surprise!”
Emma’s laugh isn’t entirely honest, but her sigh of acceptance is and—
Turns out she’s pretty good at it.
Goddamn fantastic, actually.
At rock climbing. Indoor rock climbing. Her feet push her up the wall with ease, the steady ache in her arms welcome and wonderful and a slew of other alliterative adjectives. That leave Killian grinning like a maniac, but it’s been a weird and equally wonderful day, without a hit, but two walks, so that ups the on-base, and Emma’s really, seriously in love with him.
“I don’t know what it was,” she says, preening just a bit under Killian’s stare. Hotel lighting casts shadows on his cheeks, slumped as he is against every pillow they could find. Even the ones in the closet. He’s not supposed to be in here for much longer, both of them aware of the team-ordained curfew hanging over them, but the pre-game nerves are long gone. Replaced instead with exhilaration and endorphins, the kind that could win Elle Woods a headline-making case. “But,” Emma continues, “I just kept moving, and the guy said it was, like, a course record. Is course the right word, you think?” Killian lifts a shoulder. Even as it’s covered in ice and tape. The play he made at third is going to show on loop. On TV. In Emma’s memory. She’s never yelled that loud before.
People took pictures.
And then she cried. Like a giant sap.
“This is your show, Swan,” Killian chuckles, pride infusing the words. As if she’s the one who deserves the pride today. It’s entirely possible she cried for multiple minutes after that play. They definitely showed that on the YES Network. Mary Margaret texted her no less than forty-seven times.
“I was really fast.” Killian hums, fingers fluttering enough to make it clear he wants her closer. Emma doesn’t argue. They’re a mess of limbs and mouths and that tongue thing they’ve collectively gotten better at giving and receiving over the years, hands that warm with the sort of confidence borne of repetition. Some joke about BP and finding your swing.
“Plus,” he says, a soft laugh at Emma’s noise of displeasure when talking means far less kissing, “becoming a rock climbing savant means more upper-body work, and you know how I love your arms.” Guffawing the way Emma does is not particularly romantic. Doesn’t matter. The sound comes, and the joy remains, a steady stream pumping through all her extremities and clouding her thoughts. In the best way possible. Before Killian, Emma didn’t know this could be that. Fun and easy, not quite simple, but something she’s willing to work for. Athletes are notoriously determined, after all.
Part of her wonders if a proclivity to rock climbing makes her an athlete, too.
“Please,” she says, laughter clinging to the letters even as she finds herself moved directly over Killian’s outstretched legs, “provide, in detail, everything you enjoy about my arms.” “I didn’t say enjoy.” “Were you misquoted, Jones?” His eyes flash. Glow, honestly. At her and because of her and athletes also know how to work their opponents. Goad them into making mistakes. Something about a pitcher’s duel and a battle in the box. Where the box is this bed. And Emma’s winning.
“I love your arms,” Killian says. Dragging his mouth against the column of her throat leaves goosebumps on Emma’s skin. Her back arches. His hand flattens. The compliments continue. Turn into promises. Guarantees. Of a future that’s spread out at their feet now, if only they reach for it.
Turns out Emma’s pretty good at reaching for things. When she wants them.
“This isn’t, like, free-scale, though, is it?”
Her heart cannot be expected to handle much more of this.
“Don’t worry,” Emma says, “all proper safety precautions were taken. Plus, I wouldn’t fall off the wall.”
Killian’s expression shutters. Not in any of that frustration Emma so clearly understood when his shirt was damp, and her shoes were unsalvagable despite his best efforts to get the school’s equipment manager to dry-clean them. No, it’s—it’s something big and important and unspoken, and Emma pulls his hand up. To rest directly over the rink that’s still tucked beneath her t-shirt.
His t-shirt.
It’s got his last number on it, at least.
“Would you catch me if I fell off the wall?” He doesn’t answer at first. Doesn’t mention the absurdity of a question that does not make sense, but those literal and metaphorical clock hands are ticking, and if they don’t replace his ice soon, they’re going to destroy these sheets. “Every single time, Swan.” “Right back at you.”
Killian doesn’t miss curfew, but it’s pretty close.
And Emma wakes up to twelve texts with links for indoor rock climbing gyms in the greater New York City area.
“Holy shit, this is hard.”
Grunting more than laughing, Emma’s fingers curl around the rock in front of her. Chalk cakes itself on the pads of those fingers, stuck beneath her nails and, somehow, the bend of her elbow. “Are you not an All-Star?” she asks, glancing at Killian.
“I do not see how that factors into this at all.”
“Huh, weird.” “Suspiciously sounds like an accusation.” “Weird,” Emma repeats. They’re halfway up a wall only one of them is really supposed to be on, but the other person several feet below them is faring far worse than the pair of them combined, so, that takes precedence in her mind. “He knows a lot more curse words than I realized.” “He’s showing off,” Killian grumbles, forehead resting against the wall.
Will Scarlet hasn’t moved in five minutes. Possibly six. Maybe a round ten. He's much better at second base.
“I cannot feel my arms,” he calls, and Emma’s laugh is better that time. Purer, somehow. As if happiness can actually have a sound. Even happiness that comes with sweat on her temple and a noticeable ache in her triceps and she sort of loves this.
Sort of is a vast understatement.
“Showing off, huh?” Emma asks. She finds her next footfall with ease, happiness blooming into confidence that’s become nearly consistent these days and weeks and years. It does not take her long to feel the stare that’s lingering on her. On her ass, specifically.
She glances over her shoulder. To find her fiancé smiling at her. And staring at her ass.
“Can I help you, love?” “Whatcha doing?” “Ogling you, obviously.” “Forearms feeling good?” He nods. Sort of. There’s a distinct slope to the back of his neck and more sweat on his brown than Emma’s. Not as much as Scarlet’s, probably. “Fantastic,” Killian drawls, “keep going, Swan, someone’s got to show us how to do it.” “Try not to fall off the wall, huh? Last thing we need is the might of the Yankees front office coming after us.” “I don’t think I can move my hands,” Will shouts. Killian doesn’t move. It’s impressive forearm strength. Blushing on the wall is not usually how Emma’s days go.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Killian promises, and Emma moves. He follows her. Up the wall and to the top, a quick brush of his lips against her shoulder that leaves Scarlet cursing even more, despite his presence on the floor, but then there’s lemon-flavored water and exceptionally soft towels and Emma’s caught a bit off guard by the question.
“Are there leagues for this?” Will asks. “Because you should probably be winning things for this.” Emma blinks. Considers. Wonders. Turns to Killian.
He’s still smiling. Broadly, in fact.
“We could look.” They do. They fill out paperwork. Buy fancy climbing shoes that Emma claims cost too much, but Killian’s a pushover and even more stubborn and she wins the first race she signs up for.
Plus, ten more after that.
Emma climbs indoor rock walls. Killian hits home runs. Occasionally they do these things simultaneously, and it usually leads to her nearly falling off the wall because everyone in her Tribeca gym knows what it means when WFAN is playing on the speakers.
Sometimes they shout out John Sterling’s home run call with him.
She gets better. He gets better.
They do end up destroying sheets in various hotels across the country. For various reasons. Not all of them post-game or ice related. There are games and events. Wins and losses. Back page spreads that Emma frames and hangs on their apartment walls, right next to other, smaller frames, with the same smiling faces who, once upon a time, called a sticky-floored baseball house home, and Killian’s fingers are warm in hers when the tears prick her eyes at Anna and Kristoff’s wedding.
There are stories. Think pieces and hot takes on a variety of drive-time radio shows. Those are all about Killian, though. He’s the athlete. The true one, some stories say. It’s impressive what Emma does, they admit, but it’s a hobby, and she’s got a grown-up career, anyway. So, she’s got more climbing records than she knew ever existed, but she’s not doing it for press, and both Mary Margaret and Anna weep at her and Killian’s wedding.
She wears her ring on a chain next to her other one when she climbs.
Every time Killian notices them hanging there, Emma swears, his eyes brighten. It’s her favorite thing in the whole, goddamn world.
“What is this?” He doesn’t answer. Just holds the sheet of paper he must have printed out in the clubhouse because they certainly don’t have a printer at home, and one of the edges is bent. Like he had to fit it in his back pocket.
“Going the stoic route, huh?” Emma quips, but there’s a noticeable hitch in her pulse. One that’s been there for weeks. Since the rumblings started, and the rumors began, whispers of possibility, and first-ever has a very nice ring to it. One side of Killian’s mouth tugs up. “Oh, that’s not fair.” “I’d like the record to show, that the only reason I didn’t know immediately was because I was in the trainer’s room, so—” “What were you in the trainer’s room for?” Killian ignores her. Well, sort of. His eyes shift, and his gaze holds, and Emma knows. Right down in the marrow of her. What the paper is and how Scarlet is the one who printed it out, but she’s even more confident Killian carried it home, and that does something funny to her entire worldview. Widens it and minimizes it at the same time, focusing on this and them and the possibility that creates.
In an athletic sort of way.
“My shoulder’s kind of sore.” Emma scoffs. “Oh, that’s pointed.” “I’m sure your shoulders are fine. Golden, even.’ “This is not your best work, you know that?” “Look at the paper.” “Did you fold it yourself?” “And then took a car back home. You really didn’t see yet?” Emma shakes her head. He knows the answer, too. He’s the one with the Google alert, after all. Because she’s still a bit of a pessimist at heart and an adult with a real job, and this is too much and abjectly terrifying, and the last thing she expects is for Killian to crouch in front of her.
One of his knees cracks.
“Don’t,” he warns, even as Emma does her best to swallow her laugh. Warm hands land on her thighs, a quiet steadiness that helps the state of her pulse and makes the possibility of the unknown a little less overwhelming. The lines crossing the center of the paper are absurdly straight. “You’re going to go.” “Oh, that sounded like a decree.” “A suggestion.” “A strong one.” “Mmhm, with the utmost confidence.” Emma makes an impressive sound. “Who’s doing your media training? What an impressive vocabulary you’ve got on you.” “Ready and willing to use it in a persuasive manner.” “Keep talking like that, and you won’t have to.” The smirk disappears. Evolves into a grin that is only Emma’s and only appears in moments like this, support clinging to air molecules and the ends of hair that constantly seems determined to fall into Killian’s eyes. “Passed, huh? All cool with the IOC.” “Decidedly cool. Officially an Olympic sport, now. Although the name could use some work. Sport climbing lacks a little oomph, don’t you think?”
“What would you call it?” “Emma Swan wins Olympic gold.” “Kinda wordy.” “Prophetic,” Killian corrects, hands shifting and pulling, and Emma has to widen her legs. His head’s at a very good kissing angle. “You’ve already got the qualifying numbers.” “You looked at the qualifying numbers?” “Don’t insult me like that. What do you think I did in the backseat?” “Planned the entire 2020 Olympics, apparently.” “Not the entire Olympics,” Killian counters, "just the part involving you. And maybe my individual expectations regarding the United States baseball team, but that’s another conversation altogether.”
“Naturally.”
“You’re using that voice.”
Widening her eyes does nothing. Emma didn’t expect it to. Not after years and games and events because rock climbing has events, and one time Mary Margaret made her a sign. Killian held it. He’s taller, that’s why.
“Don’t,” Killian repeats, “this is happening.” “Yuh-huh?” “You heard me. It’s your turn, now.” Melting is an impossibility. Like, for a human. Even so. Emma feels like she’s melting. Some of that pessimism evaporating under the warmth of Killian’s gaze and his hands and the determination in the precise angle of his chin. Same one he uses when he steps into the box with runners in scoring position.
Lumping herself into that group isn’t as insulting as Emma once believed it would be.
“God,” Emma groans, “that’s romantic.” “You’re really selling it, love.”
“This is supposed to be a hobby.” “One you’re exceedingly good it. World record good at it.” “I like you.” “That’s my end game, yeah.” She laughs. Smiles. Continues melting. Which is easier once they get rid of their clothing, and their bed is way more comfortable than any hotel they’ve encountered. And she falls asleep with Killian’s lips against her ear, Emma Swan, Olympic gold medalist whispered on loop like it’s a mantra he’s been practicing.
They postpone the Olympics.
It sucks. Everything sucks. Baseball sucks. Gyms are closed. Emma gets creative, and Killian gets research-prone. They build a makeshift wall. She tosses him BP.
People write stories about it.
It doesn’t help.
Until—
Time passes. Some things change. Others don’t. Their wall stands up to the elements of their building’s courtyard, and Killian’s hitting better than ever this season, a victory Emma’s going to claim as at least partially hers. And then the Olympics are back, and it’s qualifying and racing and a record that’s just out of reach, but she’s good enough even without it, and, this time, she’s the one packing a suitcase.
He kisses her.
Does the tongue thing.
Holds onto her like he’s only a little afraid she’s going to fall off the wall, but now the wall is international competition, and Emma’s freaking out a little.
“I love you,” she says into the crook of his neck.
His arms tighten. “I love you too.” “Gold medal?” “Gold medal.” “Hit some home runs while I’m gone, huh?” Lips graze her temple. Her forehead. The bridge of her nose. Emma might be crying, and Mary Margaret’s definitely recording, a small mob of red white, and blue surrounding them. “I’ll see what I can do,” Killian promises.
“Good.”
He hits three before her first qualifying round. So, Emma takes that as a challenge. She’s an athlete now.
It’s why, she figures, her fingers don’t slip on her first run.
Her feet are sure. Her breathing is steady. There’s no one cheering her name, but she’s long since memorized the exact way Killian’s voice lifts above a crowd. How he pushes up on his toes to watch, as if standing up taller makes sure he’s closer to her. Should she need him when she falls off the wall. Only, Emma doesn’t fall, and she’s got no intention of ever falling and—
Her laugh shudders out of her in a watery sort of way that makes the journalist still standing in front of her flinch ever so slightly. Twitter makes sure the video starts playing again as soon as it finishes, which is somehow the best and worst thing that has ever happened to her. Best because, well, Emma’s honestly not sure she’s ever seen her husband like this.
Worst because she’s very nearly goddamn crying. Again.
Bobbing on the balls of his feet in front of his locker, whoever’s recording the video — it’s Scarlet, obviously — is practically frenzied behind the camera, barely able to contain their laughter. Killian doesn’t notice. He’s holding his own phone, all five of his free fingers firmly entrenched in the back of his hair. It’s gotten softer with age, Emma thinks.
She can’t stop watching him.
Every inhale is a clear struggle, the bobbing turning into pacing and quiet mumbling she can hear perfectly. As if she’s standing right in front of him.
Or at least slightly to the side. So as not to stand on the logo in the middle of the clubhouse.
Athletes are notoriously superstitious, too.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Killian chants, another noticeable snicker from Scarlet, “right there, right there, and pull, pull—Swan, pull up!”
“I did pull up there,” Emma mumbles. To the reporter, maybe. Or the world. Possibly her husband. Who was definitely more nervous about the first run than her.
God, that’s romantic.
Killian’s still talking. Shouting, more like. It’s a miracle Scarlet hasn’t fallen over yet.
“Faster, faster, you can go faster than that, Swan—” Emma clicks her tongue. “That’s kind of insulting.”
There’s an appropriate titter of laughter from the peanut gallery, which is a joke she was not trying to make, but she’s also dangerously close to swooning in the middle of press and she should have asked the Yankees for media training. Someone would have made sure she didn’t make a total ass of herself.
“Show me the time,” Killian yells, another demand that isn’t that. It’s too wobbly a string of words to hold any real power, just the supportive sort of desperation Emma’s felt in a variety of ninth innings and series-clinching moments. “Faster! Faster!” “Talking to the time or the judges or your wife?” Scarlet asks.
Killian nearly snarls.
Emma blinks. Hyperactively. Crying is not usually her shtick. More camera flashes...flash, Emma barely noticing them with her eyes glued to a phone screen that isn’t hers because she at least knows not to bring her phone to a press conference, and she can only imagine how many text messages she’s gotten.
Even on the other side of the world.
They post the times.
She knows because Killian gets some rather impressive height on his celebratory vertical. Fingers abandoning his hair, his fist pumps the air, and Scarlet’s not laughing so much as he’s whooping, a steady stream of yeah, yeah, yeah in the background. And for about half a breath, Emma’s worried Killian may turn one of his ankles on his landing, but he’d think that was insulting, and she’s really just full-on swooning now.
“How many people have seen this?’ she asks the reporter, already knowing the answer.
The reporter smiles anyway. Emma should learn her name.
“Pretty much the whole world.” When Emma was a kid — the sort of kid who believed alone was better, and there was strength in singularity, that would have terrified her. Bowled her over, really. Left her running without looking back, desperate to shed any sort of notoriety because notoriety meant attention, and attention meant inevitable disappointment.
Maybe that’s why she was never much of a sports person.
Sports disappoint you. They build you up and let you down, a sharp and sudden fall without a safety net. But sometimes. Sometimes, every so often, something wonderful happens. Sports lift you. Right up an indoor wall. Because, she knows, sports’ power comes from belief, from surrendering yourself to something bigger and better, and she’s back on that alliterative kick, but the tears are barely clinging to her eyelashes now and Emma herself is bigger and better, now.
In an international, decidedly romantic sort of way.
The video’s playing away.
“Let’s go,” Killian cries, and there it is. Her sound and their sound, cheering across an ocean and time zones that are still kind of messing with her sleep schedule.
Emma’s smile stretches.
“Let’s go,” she repeats.
It ends, as with most things in Emma’s gold-medal-winning life, because Anna plans it.
Stepping out of the terminal, it takes less than a full breath for the cheers to start. For the banners to lift and the tears to flow, a small platoon of support covered in the sort of patriotic gear they definitely got from the Old Navy in Herald Square.
Flashes burst behind Emma’s eyelids because she’s got to blink or she’ll definitely fall over. Her legs wobble beneath her, contending against a wave of triumph and jubilation, which is sort of the same word, but they’ve got a game at the Stadium tonight, so she doesn’t expect, she just hopes and reaches, and he has to twist around both Anna and Mary Margaret.
It’s wonderfully cyclical.
As is the way Emma slams herself against him. On purpose, this time. Killian’s arms tighten, more cheers and shouts, and people a few feet away start chanting USA over and over. Emma barely hears them. Her feet aren’t touching the ground, so she’s kind of preoccupied.
They’re all arms and mouths, and her legs wrapped securely around a body that probably shouldn’t be supporting hers when she knows he slid into second two nights ago, but Killian clearly has no intention of letting her down, and the medal around her neck bumps against her rings.
“You’re a very good cheerleader; you know that?” He hisses. In what, Emma can’t imagine. Embarrassment, if the red tips of his ears are anything to go by, and she’s got ideas as to why that is and how long the conversation about social media with Scarlet went, so Emma does the only reasonable thing.
She slams her lips against her home-run hitting husband’s, doing her best to make sure the gold medal doesn’t mistakenly impale either one of them, and the world tilts again. With victory and sports-based support and the sort of love that comes from believing in something bigger.
And better than Emma could have ever imagined.
“I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”
“Please,” Emma scoffs, “don’t insult me like that. Plus, I’m claiming every one of those home runs as my own, so comparatively—” He kisses her before she can say anything else.
That’s for the best, probably.
“Your arms looked ridiculously good the whole time.”
Her laugh doesn’t even sound like her when Emma hears it played back — another video that someone tells her goes viral, only she doesn’t care about hits or site traffic, just about the particular shade of blue in Killian’s eyes, and she wears her medal to the game that night.
Because they’re a sports power couple, now.
Or so the New York Post back page claims the next day.
Emma frames it.
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kanmom51 · 3 years
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JM JK timeline.- my observations how they grew over the years  Part 3
Disclaimer: these are my own opinions and conclusions.  Feel free to disagree, but hate or aggression will be unacceptable.
This is coming out so much longer than I anticipated, so I decided to post this in a couple of parts.
2016 was a big big year for Jikook.  There is sooooo much content out there, I just can’t refer to everything.  I had to pick and choose, hope I did so wisely. No Twitter, no song recommendations (they may or may not be relevant, but I decided not to go there).
2016 part 1
End of 2015 was the beginning.  Both JM and JK were putting out feelers, trying not only to figure out what this thing between them was, but also how far to take it.  I can only imagine they were filled with the excitement that the attraction was mutual, but there were (and sadly still are) so many obstacles to face.  
What does it mean for the band?  Do the others know? Do they let them know?  When do they let them know?  How does it affect the others? And I am sure they also faced the fears of what happens if it doesn’t work out.  
I know they were young, and when you’re young you take more risks, you think things over less, but I’m sure those questions did cross their minds and did affect their relationship over the years.
So, end of 2015 was putting out the feelers, testing the waters, and 2016 was when they stepped up a gear, jumped into the water, so to say.  There is a clear shift in their behaviour.  We see all the changes that occurred in late 2015 and so much more.  They are closer, touchier, slightly bolder.
There are the stares. JK at JM.  JM at JK.  Both at each other.  These aren’t just one looking at another.  These are just something special.  You can see the attraction, the adoration in their eyes, on their faces.
2016 is the year where we also start to see the shift beyond ‘skinship’.  The ‘skinship’ is still there but there is so much more.  There are moments when it seems like they are afraid to touch, so we see all those little touches, light brushes, micro touches, almost touches.  On the one hand they can’t keep their hands off each other, but it’s gentle, hesitant, like it’s something to hide.  If this is only ‘skinship’ what is there to hide?  Why the hesitance?
JK and JM were always close. But now JK lets us see it.  Prior to 2015 he shied away from JM’s touches, his closeness, his forwardness, his shamelessness (as JK himself put it). From 2015 that started to change, and we see it even more in 2016.  Not only doesn’t he shy away, but he also initiates this closeness.  He is not afraid anymore to show just how important JM is to him, how JM is his anchor.  JM is there to calm him, to sooth him when he is nervous or anxious, to be happy for him, to nudge him on to push him to do more (like speaking at award shows) and to support him and compliment him when he does.  
Through the year we can also see a push and pull in the relationship.  They are getting their footing within the relationship.  Setting the boundaries.  This is a process, and it takes time.  JM is JK’s elder. What does that mean for their relationship? Does JK have to come whenever he is summoned?  Does JK have to keep calling JM hyang? JK starts being defiant.  Sometimes calling JM without the honorifics.  There are times that it bothers JM, but sometimes he loves it. They are working into a relationship – are they on equal grounds?  This is something they are working through.  
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2016 is the year JK comes of age.  A most significant right of passage in SK culture.  
This is a year that gives oh so much Jikook content.  The fan meets, the behind the scenes clips, the music awards. This is the year of BV1, several most conspicuous Vlives, including the Osaka Vlive and the famous Hobi Vlive.  This is also when we got the notorious ‘Own it’ dance practice.  There’s the famous “Manila Fight” – most definitely not something I am going to touch upon.  Maybe it happened, maybe it didn’t.  Maybe there was friction, maybe there wasn’t. I, for one, don’t feel like I have enough content to base a conclusion on.
2016 was a substantial year for the two.  I’m aware that there is so much content out there, so I’ll only be touching the iceberg here:
Sapporo snow festival 7 Feb 2016 – JK joins JM in front of the camera – sending kisses to the camera but then leaning in towards JM.  Did he give him a kiss?  JM’s surprised reaction though...
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7 May 2016 Vlive – JK an JM being all flirty.
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12 May 2016 fan sign – JK trying to put a flower crown on JM’s head.  The two in their own world, playing a game, JM lifting JK up in the air, stabilizing JK with his hand and making sure he doesn’t fall.  Again, they are close, they are in their own world, doing ‘them’, no matter where they are.  This is the same fan sign JM tells JK that he is sitting in the wrong place, and his place is next to him.
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Moments in BV 1 –May 2016.  
JK sleeps in lounge room on sofa with JM, instead of on a bed with Suga.  JK fell asleep, and JM sets him up with a pillow and covers him up.
JK’s coming of age day Vlive.  
The famous JK JM discussion about men checking out their selfies (we can see how JK is still struggling with his ideas or conception of what is appropriate, ‘right’ behaviour for a ‘man’).  
JK’s “he’s driving me nuts” over JM lagging behind (Hobi’s reaction to JK’s rant is priceless), but still stops to wait for him all the time.  
The hand wrestling (JM losing every single time, and JM ignoring poor Jin when he offers to hand wrestle with him – was it really hand wrestling or hand holding?).  
JM misplacing his phone, and JK backing out of going all ‘hidden camera’ on JM, showing him he has the phone the minute he sees him. 
JK’s “I will sleep here with Jimin” in the camper.  JM playing footsies with JK’s crotch (JM playing footsies seems to be a reoccurring theme).   
JM feeding his Kookie (So, what’s new?). 
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JK’s coming of age performance.  This is a big one for me.  It’s JK’s song choice and him asking JM to do it with him.  The song JK chose to dance to is Park Ji Yoon’s Adult ceremony:
Hey you, why are you hesitating? I know you want me
Right now in front of you, I know what you want,
What you’re waiting for, just come here
 I’m not that little girl,
You used to know anymore,
I’m a woman now
I’m thankful that you’ve waited for me
Now I’ll become a woman at your kiss
 I’m not a little girl anymore
Don’t hesitate any longer
As much as you waited, I’ve waited for this day too
Give me twenty stems of roses, so I can feel your love
 As I wait for you, I close my eyes
 Hey you, I want to give you permission to give me your love
Teach me how love is so sweet and fragrant
 It was hard looking at you suffering and waiting
My heart even hurt
But now came the day
where there is no reason
to wait anymore
 I’m not a little girl anymore
Don’t hesitate any longer
As much as you waited, I’ve waited for this day too
Give me twenty stems of roses, so I can feel your love
As I wait for you, I close my eyes
https://lyricstranslate.com
The song’s message is clear. Is it a coincidence JK chose JM to dance this with him?  I don’t think so.  The Bangtan Bomb (21 Sep 2016) with their practice -  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D4oIpsRemPA .  
You can tell JM knows exactly how this looks like being all shy and flustered during the rehearsals. The members reactions during the dress rehearsal also are pretty telling.  Who is JK sending this message to? JM? Us?
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13 July 2016 JM and Jin reacting to Minwoo & JK’s celebrity bromance.  JM taking it a bit far there, expressing his jealousy and how JK doesn’t treat him the same, saying he has no feeling for him.  Seriously JM?  I kind of wonder here whether JM is trying to down play what’s going on between the two, or if he is genuinely jealous, maybe because he feels that JK is holding himself back with him, especially in front of the cameras or around others.  We do hear later in the year JM’s frustration that JK doesn’t say he loves him (Jin eats Vlive).
OK, now for the famous suspicious as Vlives.  I will tackle them just a little bit. I am not going to analyse them, there has been plenty of that going around.  I do, though, want to talk about them just a bit.
As far as I am concerned, both Vlives don’t prove the relationship between the boys.  They most definitely are very suspicious though.  
The Osaka Vlive -12 July 2016, when Tae surprises JK in his hotel room - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MjjAbQLXrEM .  JK is undressed, lights are dimmed, he has loud sultry music playing, makeup is smudged, he’s acting pretty suspicious as a whole.  I think that reaching a conclusion that JK has someone in the room with him is not far fetched.  Someone he obviously doesn’t want the camera to see.  Is it JM?  We really can’t know.  I have seen analyses that hear him calling out JM’s name when Tae’s at the door, or pointing out JM’s phone or clothes and shoes are in the room.  To me that is outright speculation. But I do believe someone was there, someone JK didn’t want to show up on camera.
A question I ask myself, though, if it wasn’t JM in the room, is why JM is obviously pissed at Tae the next day, when during his Vlive, he repeats several times not to let Tae into the room for the live?  Is it connected?  That’s for them to know, and us to probably never find out.
Then there is Hobi’s Vlive, 13 Aug 2016.  Hobi starts his live, saying how hungry .  This is an important piece of information to remember for later on.  He goes to JM’s room.  It takes time for JM to open the door, Hobi finally pushing himself in, saying how he is going to show off JM’s room.  Only thing is that they stand at the entrance, then walk slowly into the room, not turning the camera away from their faces, all the while Hobi looking worryingly into the room.  It seemed like he was looking at something inside the room.  
The camera is turned into the room, avoiding certain areas.  They come into the room to discover an enormous amount of food, and JM explains that he is starving and that’s why he ordered so much.  When Hobi entered the room he asks JM what he was doing, and he answered that he was boiling water for ramen.  So he was going to eat all that food and ramen by himself? They converse, and then V comes. At some point V takes JM’s ramen, after JM stated it was his manager’s (is this the same manager JM checks out during his future live?), and leaves the room.  Then Hobi says he’ll go and leave the camera with JM.  
The question I ask is, why did Hobi, who was really hungry, leave JM’s room when JM, obviously, had enough food for two?  We saw JM eat later, and he most definitely didn’t finish all the food he ordered by himself.  Then, before Hobi leaves JM with the Vlive camera, he goes to the bed, where JM is lying, and starts teasing him being all handsy with him and going: “Oh Jimin, oh jimin” – what was that about?  
JM is left alone, also managing the camera, not showing the whole room.   The whole time he is acting funny, grinning to what looks like someone off camera, seems like he talks to something/someone off camera, the whole vibe is that he isn’t alone in the room.  But the definitive proof that there was someone in the room with him was when at some point the camera is facing JM, who is sitting next to the tv.  Then, something happens. 
Is it a ghost?  Is it a plain? No, it’s super JK…  But seriously, there was someone in the room, someone who’s reflection we got to see in the tv.
To sum it up, here too JM is not alone in the room.  Is it JK? That we don’t know for sure. Suspicions are high, but that’s what they are - suspicions.  He does, at some point talk about inviting other members to join him (why didn’t he ask Hobi to stay and eat with him?????), and gives a pretty lame explanation as to why he isn’t calling JK to join (stating that he doesn’t listen to him anymore.  Again with this JM?).
A question I ask myself is why is it always those two that seem to have someone hiding in their room during the lives????
14 Aug 2016 upload of ‘Own it’ dance practice: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HMprwPSFLyU .
This is private dance practice, just JM and JK, at what looks like late at night, lights dimmed, to a highly explicit song.  It’s filmed by them, as we can see them cutting and returning to the camera from time to time.  During the dance JM clearly has an erection.  He is aware of it, looks down at it, points it out to JK, and at some point changes his shirt to cover it up.   They don’t stop dancing. They don’t stop recording.  They are clearly having a good time.  
This clip is uploaded to BangtanTV in 2016 and is still there.  I can reassure you that both JM and JK are aware of what is seen in this clip, and still this clip was uploaded, and is still online.  It’s more the atmosphere (alone, dimmed lighting) and the choice of song to dance to that indicates the high level of intimacy and the feeling is that this is just something ‘more’.
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To be continued...
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