hello fellow artists. google has fallen. pinterest/duckduckgo AI filters don't work. do not despair; here is a list i made of places to find reference images without having to sift through piles of worthless garbage. (for future editing convenience i am just linking my blog post on dreamwidth.)
✨ good places to find art reference that are not full of AI trash 🌈
And if you're in a bind and your search engine allows it (google does), filter image results by date. meaning "show only images before day xyz" (it's in the search tools). put in December 2021. no AI results
hey claret, i'm here with an ask 😇 how are you? i'm gonna read skh8er boi this week since i got some time off from work and i can't wait to see what you cooked up for us!
hope you're having a good day even though it's monday eugh 🌙 xx nyx
omg nyx hi!!! ahhh i had a bit of a stressful monday and it was so nice to get your ask thank you for dropping in!! i'm so excited to see what you think about skh8er boy i hope you enjoy!!! and i also hope you're having a good day 🥰
not a good person but not a bad person either. I can be a bitch but I’m very kind too. I’ll just never be as kind as I wish I was, but also not as bad as I fear I am
Spin the wheel again. That’s who’s trying to protect you.
(If you have zero idea about a name you got, spin until you see someone you recognize.)
Are you safe?
Absolutely not. I'm dead. 100% dead.
I might stay alive, but it'll be a really close thing.
I'll take some hits, for certain, but I should be okay in the end.
A few attacks might get through, but nothing concerning.
The attacker might be able to get in one lucky hit. If that.
I am the opposite of worried. I'm 100% safe.
…Look. I've tried picturing this. But I honestly don't know how to answer.
Voting ended onJul 14
(I've run this poll twice before, expanding it significantly for the second run. With about a year passed since that second run, I thought it was time to add another couple hundred names to the list and have another go.)
people will complain about the state of fandom spaces at large and how difficult it’s become to make friends in recent years, and then turn around and interact with blogs whose sole purpose are to berate, shame, bully, and defame the members of the fandom they’re so desperate to befriend.
as someone who joined this community in order to make friends, i can count on one hand the amount of mutuals i actually talk to on a daily basis. and it isn’t because i don’t want to be friends with more of them—of course i do, that was literally the point—but because i’m SO scared of befriending the wrong person and ending up on a blog like chaiibts, likely with a barrage of hate in my own inbox to follow. and then because the nature of these blogs is to work anonymously, have zero clue who that person is in order to cut them out of my online life.
we wonder why the amount of genuinely talented and kind writers in this space is dropping at a dramatic rate! this is why! why would i want to post fics, talk with my readers, befriend my mutuals, cultivate a space that i deem safe if i know in the back of my mind that someone could be anonymously writing up a manifesto on all the reasons they secretly hate me? why would i want to interact with people who think that’s fun? why would i continue to write? what would be the point?
if you submit to blogs like this i think you’re a loser with too much time on your hands. you’re not making the community better, you’re driving it to extinction. the whole point is to write fics, read fics, make friends, and have fun. but inevitably nobody will want to do any of that if they feel like they have a target on their back.
part 1. come into my office - series masterlist
pairing: executive chef!yoongi x f!cook!reader
genre: pwp, age gap
rating: explicit content, MDNI!!!!!!!
summary: you're a perfectionist at work, and you rarely make mistakes. but you start to once you realize you like it when chef min yells at you. hopefully, you don't lose your job. you'll find out, when he calls you into his office one night.
warnings/tags: i may watch too much gordon ramsey, ummmm this is kinda kinky? and filthy but on a scale from 1 to hook line & stinker i'd say it's about a 5.5, i made myself blush tho lol, yoongi is her boss so there's a power imbalance but he's a consent king (as always), it escalates p fast, pussy slapping, spanking, fingering, mildly degrading language, degradation kink, edging, orgasm denial
wc: 4.2k
notes: I've been off all week bc of a snowstorm (i work in a school. rip my paycheck) and i took the free time to write this absolute nonsense lol i hope it's good. I finished and posted on a whim, so it's not thoroughly proofread. And a big thanks to Aqua for yapping with me about this 🫶🫶🫶
“Who the fuck closed last night?!”
The boom of Chef Min’s voice as he storms into the kitchen shakes the walls around you. Everyone freezes, including you. Busted. But you knew it was coming.
“I did, chef,” you say, stepping away from the steel table you were wiping down and into view of the steaming face of Min Yoongi. He strides towards you holding a container covered by saran wrap that he slams onto the counter, startling you.
“You didn’t label the stock? Are you fucking dumb?”
No, indeed you’re not. Before you left last night, you checked off the entire tasklist knowing damn well you didn’t mark the freshly wrapped ingredients. Because the first thing that Chef Min does when he comes into the restaurant after being gone for a few days is check inventory. And if anything is missing, out of place, or just plain not up to his standards, he flips his lid. No one makes these kinds of mistakes because no one wants to be yelled at and talked down to by the executive chef.
But you do.
You keep your head down as he steps right in front of you. Under his harsh glare that sears right through your skin, you tremble, but not from fear or intimidation.
“How long have you been working at my restaurant?”
You gulp, staring at your feet. His voice is so deep and low and angry and you’re getting chills and-
“Look at me when I’m talking to you!”
Your head snaps up obediently, heat flushing from your cheeks to your ears from the insane darkness in his glare. He’s pissed.
“Answer my question,” he growls. Your legs quake.
“I’ve been here for eight months.”
“Yeah, you’d think by now you know how I fucking run things around here.”
“I do, chef. I just made a mistake, I’m sorry.”
“You’re going to be.” How can a threat sound so good? “Tonight, you’ll stay late to check inventory and make sure everything in the pantry and walk-in is labeled and dated. And then you’re going to roll every single piece of silverware in this place. Is that clear?”
“Yes, chef.”
He turns around without another word.
The rest of the night goes by without a hitch. It’s busy as it always is and you run around like a hamster on acid like you always do, firing up orders and sending them out in expert time. Occasionally, Chef Min passes behind you, just hovering as you maneuver around your work station. You won’t fuck up on purpose now, lest you put your job at stake. But as the end of your shift looms closer, so does the notion that you may have already done that. Because now he’s watching your every move, just waiting for any tiny mistake. So you don’t make a single one and you don’t check to make sure he sees that.
The last table leaves around 11 and your colleagues slowly filter out after they finish up with their tasks. You’re absolutely exhausted by the time you complete your prep work and clean up your station, but now you have to label and date all of the stock. After you get a sharpie and a roll of tape and head into the pantry, Jimin, your work bestie, swings by with his apron over his shoulder.
“Hey, good luck tonight,” he says with a supportive smile.
You nod, sighing out some overstimulation. “I might need it.”
“I honestly don’t know how you’re not fired.” You pause. That’s not what you need to hear right now.
“Thanks, Jimin,” you respond dryly.
“I mean, Chef Min takes things so seriously, I’m just kind of surprised he’s kept you on.”
“I was late like one time and forgot about labeling last night," you defend, even though it's weak.
“Don’t forget that time you diced the onions instead of chopping them.”
Oh, yeah. That was a few months ago and Chef Min chewed you out for a good five minutes. You went home that night and dreamt that he took you right there on the counter.
“He must think you’re too talented that it’s not worth it to let you go. Just be careful you don’t take advantage of that.”
“I won’t.”
“Good. I’d hate to lose my work wife.”
“How does Ty feel about you calling me your work wife?” you tease, knowing his boyfriend is waiting outside to pick him up.
“He doesn’t know,” he says, blowing you a kiss and twirling around with a finger heart held in the air. You shake your head endearingly.
“Bye!” you call after him.
“Bye!”
Soon after, the alley door slams shut and the kitchen becomes eerily quiet now that you’re left completely alone. The faster you get this done, the faster you get out of here. Even though you shouldn’t, you hope you run into Chef Min.
It’s a known fact that he rarely fires people since he tactically chooses each member of his staff, doing thorough background and skill checks to ensure everyone is capable of carrying out his high expectations. Which is why the “mistakes” you make are small and generally insignificant, but knowing that Chef Min is a detail-oriented perfectionist, he’s bound to notice anything out of place. So that’s why you toe the line.
Halfway through, you’re startled by the clanking of metal and the sharp hiss and crackle of hot oil. Holding your breath, you poke your head out of the stock room, and Chef Min is standing in front of the counter, chopping up various vegetables and moving them into the pan. You watch for a moment, fascinated by this rare sight of him cooking. He uses the kitchen behind-the-scenes to experiment and test new items for the menu, but the way he cooks with such smooth expertise fills you with envy. You probably shouldn’t get caught just staring at him so you focus back on your work.
Your neck has several cricks in it when you finally move onto the silverware, and the ache in your feet has started to radiate up to your calves, but you can’t sit down until you’re done. That’s until you spot a ceramic–covered plate placed right next to the bin of clean and polished silverware, accompanied by a bottle of water. Did Chef Min… cook for you? You glance around the empty kitchen. There’s no sign that he was ever in here making a meal - no dishes in the sink or on the drying rack, and the counter and stove are as pristine as ever. Your mouth waters as you lift the cover and your senses are flooded with a deliciously savory smell. As you’re about to grab a fork, you notice a plastic one already waiting on a paper napkin. Your heart flutters at the gesture.
Because the floor is clean enough to lick, you plop down and force yourself not to inhale his food. The flavors melt on your tongue and you groan as every muscle in your body relaxes. The connoisseur in you wants to whip out your phone and jot down notes of the ingredients, but you don’t want to stop eating. The food disappears all too quickly and you’re sad as you stare down at your cleared plate. Oh well, time to finish up.
Luckily, you get through it in a breeze - rolling silverware is second nature to you now, you bet you could do this in your sleep. Knife and fork tucked together, rolled tightly and neatly in an ironed, cloth napkin, and secured in the black, crisp paper band etched with the logo of Chef Min’s two-Michelin star restaurant.
By the time you finish, it’s nearing midnight and he hasn’t come back out of his office. Your bones are screaming for you to leave but you want to be assured that you’re not in the dog house with him. You’re definitely not stalling when you return to the stock room to recheck each container for its precisely placed and clearly written label. You catch movement in the doorway and almost jump out of your skin when it’s Chef Min who’s standing there, chef coat unbuttoned to reveal a white, untucked t-shirt underneath. He crosses his veiny, muscular forearms and you turn away before you can salivate.
“Are you almost done? I’d like to go home.” His tone is gruff and impatient, and you scramble to stand, quickly smoothing down your uniform.
“I’m finished. I was just making sure that I didn’t miss anything.”
“I’ll check the silverware.” He swivels on his heel and you don’t know if that’s an invitation to follow, so you slowly exit the stockroom and keep your distance as he stops by the station where you meticulously stacked all the rolls.
“Who helped you?” he asks, picking up a pair and inspecting the napkin. You swallow. You may make mistakes, but you never cheat.
“No one, chef.” He stares at the silverware for another moment, and you closely observe his erratic blinks and the small downturn on the corner of his mouth. You rolled every single one of those perfectly, and you know that there’s no problem. So the lack of expression on his face makes you queasy. Your spine straightens when he sets down the roll and sharply turns towards you.
“Come with me to my office.” Your hands grow clammy, a churning in your gut now that you anticipate you might’ve fucked up for the last time. He’s never talked to you in his office, so maybe he’s finally going to let you have it.
“Oh, let me wash my plate first.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he grumbles as he passes by without looking at you. So you dutifully trail after him, though you’re somewhat shocked that he’s giving you a pass.
He goes in first, and as you enter with your hands nervously clasped, he’s holding onto the edge of the door, eyes still narrowed in a frown.
“Sit,” he says sternly, and your stomach churns as you take tentative steps towards his desk to take a seat opposite his large desk chair. His office is small and keenly organized, nothing out of place or in disarray, as you would expect of Chef Min. The walls are littered with framed degrees, magazine covers and newspaper clippings of his accolades from when he was an up-and-coming culinary artiste and now as the owner of a critically acclaimed restaurant. Reasons why you’ve sought out working here. And now as you sit in his office, you start to regret ever putting your job and your reputation at risk simply because it… entices you when he yells. But you can't help it.
“I can’t figure you out,” his voice jolts you out of your rapidly spiraling thoughts and you sit up straight as he walks up behind you.
“What do you mean, chef?” you ask, keeping a neutral tone even though you’re close to tears. He rounds your chair and faces you, leaning on the corner of his desk, arms crossed as he peers down at you.
“I see the good work you do, how tenacious you are. You’re very thorough with prep, you follow my recipes down to a perfect detail, and when I’m not here, I never hear any complaints about you from my sous.”
You bow your head, pinching your thumb so you don’t squirm in the chair. In all the years you’ve worked at high-end restaurants, through all the toil and extreme pressure, not once have you received a compliment. Especially not from an executive chef. And you never dreamed of hearing one from Min Yoongi.
“So how come when I am here, you manage to slip up so many times? And in ways that I’ll definitely notice? You think I’m attracted to incompetence?”
The way he grits that last part has your attention snapping up, and you’re met with that glare again. “No, chef.”
“Then why do you keep fucking shit up around me?”
You falter, a tight knot of reckoning lodging in your throat making it impossible to look at him. What the fuck are you supposed to say? You’ve always been the type of person to think ahead, to prepare for the million ways each decision and choice you make could pan out. Yet here you are, being confronted by the man you go to sleep at night thinking of about why you make stupid little mistakes to piss him off? You’re suddenly at a loss when you know the exact reason and you’re pushed incredibly off kilter. So you say nothing.
“You know what I think?” You slowly turn your cheek, because the change in his tone, softer yet darker, commands you to look at him.
“That you like it.” You freeze, eyes widening like a deer in headlights. You’re screwed - so, so screwed.
“What?” you blurt on a half-bated breath. A small uptick grows on the corner of his mouth.
“When I yell at you.”
Your heart and mind races because - it’s taken him this long to catch on but he’s actually caught on???
“Hm, I hit the nail on the head, didn’t I? Why else would you make such dumb little mistakes? I know you're not actually dumb.” He tilts his head, very clearly smirking, seeming to find amusement in your shock.
“I’m sorry,” you whoosh, pulse skyrocketing.
He chuckles. “Don’t apologize now.”
What the fuck else are you supposed to say?? He then steals your breath and catapults your heart into a frenzy when he leans down, grabs the arms of your chair, and turns you towards him to get right in your face.
“So, what do you want? A punishment?” He asks this while gazing deep into your eyes, his own hooded and dark and devoid of irritation. You catch the flick down to your lips and your chest spasms.
“I want what you think I deserve,” you say, a tremor in your voice because that could mean anything.
“And just how should I go about doing that?”
“I’ll take anything.” He shakes his head but remains in your face.
“Tell me what you want or leave.” How can you say it out loud? Now that you’re faced with the opportunity, you’re cowering? Since when are you a fucking coward. This is what you wanted. Don’t give it up.
But you need a moment to breathe. Looking over your shoulder, you notice the door is still open and as you face him again, he’s already leaning away. Wordlessly, you stand and head for the door, and he just as quietly begins retreating to his side of the desk. You grab the knob and slowly push the door closed, turning the lock with a resounding click.
You take a deep breath. Here goes everything.
“And if I want you to fuck me?” The silence that fills his office wraps a growing tangle of morbid anticipation in your gut. You tentatively look his way and your lungs inflate when he’s staring at you, amusement etched into the smile he rubs over with his beautiful, veiny hand.
“All you have to do is say so.” Oh, thank god. But what the fuck? That is certainly not the answer you expected and it shoots heat between your legs.
“I didn’t think you were interested, chef,” you say coolly.
He scoffs. “You think I would’ve put up with your bullshit for this long if I wasn’t interested?”
A sudden surge of confidence rolls back your shoulders. “Then all you had to do was say so.”
His eyebrow cocks, smirk falling. “Oh, getting smart with me now?”
“No, chef,” you say in a sweet voice as you fully turn around, coyly batting your lashes. His eyes narrow.
“Come here.” Breath shaking with excitement, you heed his command and once again walk towards his desk, but at a normal pace lest you seem too eager. He pushes his chair away from the edge and gestures for you to stand beside him. You stop at the corner, impatiently waiting for his next instruction. Your hands are shaking as you fight off a smile because it’s finally happening. You hope you’re not fucking dreaming.
“Closer.” He ushers you over to stand directly in front of him and you gasp when he lightly slaps your ass without warning, and the surprise of it makes you jolt forward.
“Bend over,” he orders in a deep grumble, and you await another smack as you lean forward, palms planting flat on his desk.
“What should I do with you?” he asks, probably rhetorically as he trails his fingers along the hem of your black chef’s coat. You arch your back, presenting yourself.
“Like I said, anything you want.” He says nothing and refrains from making another move. That knot in your throat returns because is he having regrets?
“Should I take off my pants?”
“If you want.”
“But do you want it?” you snap over your shoulder, at him just vacantly staring at your lower region, an unreadable stitch between his brows.
“Yes.” The knot dissipates. “But you should know that you can change your mind and I won’t hold it against you.”
His assurance makes you feel 1,000 times more confident. “Chef, the last thing I’m going to do is change my mind.”
He hums and further spreads his legs, clasping his hands in his lap as if waiting for you to carry on. Facing forward again, you thank god that he can’t see your stupid ass grin as you unbutton, unzip, and push down your uniform slacks, biting your lip as the cool air breathes across your bare ass. Fuck, you can’t wait to see what he’s going to do with you.
“Damn,” he mutters, and you wonder if he meant it out loud, but he still doesn’t touch you. Is he going to make you beg? You’re pathetic enough, you’ll do so gladly.
But then you hear his chair scoot back and a sharp slap rings out as his hand makes hard contact with your cheek, and you bite back a moan at the sting. He smoothes over the sting on your cheek that will definitely still be there tomorrow before landing another smack on the same spot, coaxing out another moan that you can’t hold back.
“Knew you’d like this,” he correctly observes.
“I-I do, chef,” you stutter, arousal soaking through your panties and dampening your inner thighs. He hums and cups a handful of your cheek, pushing you forward until your hips dig into the edge of his desk and you’re more parallel with the surface.
“Please touch me,” you beg in a desperate whisper, biting your lip when his thumb skims under your panties and stops just beside your hole.
“Holy shit, you’re soaked,” he mumbles in a register deeper than you’ve ever heard. “How long have you been this wet for me?”
“All night.”
He hums and slips two fingers between your folds, spreading your lips apart. You buck, struggling to keep it together.
“I bet it’s been longer.” Damn, he’s right. Before he stood inches away from you and looked and spoke down to you. When he just walked through the door in his ironed white chef’s coat and slacks, dark red hair perfectly styled off his forehead, side burns giving a peek into his undercut. He’s so hot it’s not fair. Out of nowhere, he gives your sensitive clit a firm tap and you briefly see stars, gasping as euphoric stimulation simmers up to your lower belly. He repeats it with added pressure and prolongment and you fall onto your elbows, breasts smushing into the wood, chafing your pert nipples.
“This is what you like, huh? Rough?”
You garble out a barely coherent “Uh-huh.”
“You’re such a filthy, naughty girl.” You have no fucking idea. Before you get a chance to realize you said that out loud, you hear a thud against the wall that you imagine comes from his chair, and then his hand lands on your mound… hard. Hard enough that it leaves a lasting sting, propelling a shockwave through your entire body. The only sound you emit is a gasp. That feels way too fucking good.
He does it again, and the weight of his palm slamming against your clit has your knees and ankles buckling.
“Oh-Oh fuck!” You moan, teeth digging into your bottom lip because if he fucking does that again, you just might-
For a third time, he grabs the inside of your thigh and tugs at your skin right before the smack. You cry out, the pain on your clit snapping apart the intense coil in your core and you see white as pleasure overwhelms your conscience.
You moan and twitch as your cunt pulses around nothing, and you squeeze your eyes and mouth shut because what the fuck you’ve never come this quick before and from next to nothing.
“Did you just come from me slapping your pussy?” He asks, astounded and for a split second you’re embarrassed. But then he chuckles.
“You’re so pathetic, it’s cute.”
You whimper, hoping he’s not going to stop there because you’re nowhere near gratified. Just as your tongue moves to ask if that’s it, he inserts a slender finger and it glides in smoothly.
“So fucking wet,” he hisses, and the wood smothers your groan as he adds another finger and slowly fucks them in and out, palm nudging your clit.
“Faster,” you plead, the warmth already pooling in your gut telling you it won’t take long to reach your peak again.
“Who are you to give me orders?” he snaps, and you cry out when he pulls his hand away, leaving you devastatingly empty.
“No, I’m sorry!” He just humphs, like he doesn’t believe you.
“You gonna stop being a pain in my ass?”
“Mm-mm,” you hum defiantly. Stupidly. He clicks his tongue.
“Not a good answer.” You open your mouth to retract but your lungs constrict as his digits plunge into you again, bottom of his hand slamming against the center of your ass, and vigorously dig and curl against your patch of pleasure.
You bite back screams when over and over and over again, he curves and fucks his fingers into you, coaxing you to the brink of release and then dismantling it just before you crash.
“Please!” You beg after your orgasm is snatched away for the fourth time. Tears spill onto the desk, smearing all down your cheek. “Please I can’t take it!”
“Then answer correctly. Are you going to stop fucking up in my restaurant?”
“Yes!” you wail, nails digging into the mahogany and you might have to pay for damages.
“Louder.”
“Yes!”
“Yes, what?” The growl in his voice gnaws at your spine.
“Yes, chef!”
“Good girl.”
He presses his free hand onto your lower back so you’re rendered immobile and slams his fingers into your cunt, right on your spot, and finally works you through your orgasm. You let out an elongated moan as a powerful wave stuns you and uncontrollable shakes swim up and down your legs. Your ears ring from how harshly you were clenching your teeth, but you still register his low and satisfied hum as you squeeze around his fingers. More tears fall when he slips out and leaves you to recover, plopping back in his chair and your cheeks flare with heat when you imagine him just staring and smirking at the mess he made.
As you start to breathe normally, the opening and closing of a drawer vibrates the desk beneath you. You melt like warmed butter when a soft napkin caresses the insides of your thighs to dry them.
You look over your shoulder when he starts pulling up your panties. “Wait, you’re not gonna-”
He shakes his head, shucking up your slacks and covering your ass. “When you start behaving, we’ll get around to that.”
Disappointment floods you, especially when you glance down to the tented evidence of his erection.
“What about you?”
His eyes flicker to you and he gives another subtle shake of his head. “Go home and sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Your bottom lip juts out in a pout but you won’t argue. At least there’s a tomorrow. You push yourself up and turn around to sit on the edge, now standing in between his widespread legs as you zip up your pants. You make a severe effort to not look at his crotch again. Fuck, you feel like you're being kicked to the curb.
“You cooked for me earlier,” you blurt. Stalling. Again.
He stills, then shrugs as he responds. “Can’t have you passing out on me. It’s a liability.” Like you didn’t scarf down food that you threw together on your break. Like he doesn’t know about that.
“I know I don’t have to tell you that it was really good.”
A grin filled with pride spreads onto his pretty, pink lips. Fuck, you want to know what they feel like against your own.
“Just one of the new recipes I’m trying out for the menu.”
“Well, if you need a taste tester, I’m your girl.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
You simply stare at each other for a moment and your heart rate intensifies. This is the first time he’s looked at you without hostility and anger in his eyes. It fills you with a warmth that you’re not used to. And you greedily want more of it.
“I guess I’ll get going,” you crack the silence before it gets overheated. You sidestep him, ignoring the ache and pull to close the distance and kiss him. Tomorrow. You still have tomorrow.
“Drive safe,” he says as he follows you to the door. You swivel around to have the last word.
“Night, chef.”
He nods, holds his small smile and your gaze for a lingering second and then closes the door.
For once, you don’t spend the drive home wondering just what you can do next to piss him off.
You’ll show him just how good you can be.
.
.
.
part 2 ->
thanks so much for reading!! i know that was a bit wild but hope you enjoyed. i'm a little nervous about this bc it's been a while since i've written smut so let me know what you think!! (pls be nice im just a girl)
content contains: reckless driving and a bad plan. somewhere between light angst + slice of life. it's alluded to that the fem mc/reader is dealing w depression. short mh pep talk (jk is not a therapist he's just trying to support someone he cares abt). she bites him once bc she doesn't want to talk about it lol. honey + sweetness as nicknames. relationship ambiguity, you can imagine wuteva you like between them :)
sidenotes: i cannot focus on just one wip rn. it's driving me nuts. but this idea has been in my head for weeks so, ~tada~. i hope that this can bring some comfort to anyone who might need it. i'm no stranger to mh struggles and for a long time it was really difficult to put how that felt into words. i wrote this w that feeling in mind. ty for reading if you do! <3 // wc: 2.1k
: ・ෆ・┈・┈・ᕱ⑅ᕱ・┈・┈・ෆ・ :
it's one of those eerie hours, the kind that feel lost between night and day. long past midnight but still way before the sun.
an instrumental song, one that you could swear you've heard somewhere before, ripples out in faint waves from the car stereo.
cool glass mirrors a frown that you hadn't realized was there. that downturned pout keeps appearing on its own accord lately. for reasons that...
ah, fuck it. at least it has its reasons.
staring past your own reflection, an inky night sky dissolves into the pitch black sea. from your vantage point, cruising along the bluffs, you can barely make out the specks of foamy white waves as they crash into jagged rocks.
"you trust me right?" the voice beside you has to shout. since the dumbass it came from insisted on rolling his window all the way down.
"this is the dumbest fucking plan you've ever had."
jungkook's laugh blows away with the wind and you fight to maintain your scowl.
"kook i'm being serious. you want me to stand up and just...scream? that was your whole big idea?"
"humor me. besides, when's the last time you did anything fun?"
the scowl returns full force.
sinking down in the car seat, you brace yourself against the biting breeze and cross both arms firmly over your chest. two air fresheners clatter against each other, a yellow 70's bus that once smelled like "summertime mellow" (aka: an abrasive pineapple-lemon-pine-sol), and a cartoon bunny face – advertised as, "a floral fresh cotton". both have been dangling from the rearview mirror for years, despite losing their smell. as you watch them knock together, the sun bleached bunny stares back at you, patiently awaiting your response.
"i gotta get you a new one of those." you murmur softly.
"WHAT?" jungkook bellows obnoxiously.
dragging you out of the house just to be annoying?
the nerve.
leaning over the center console, and with a tight grip on his forearm, you mimic his volume, "I SAID I GOTTA GET YOU A NEW ONE!"
"god you're loud," jungkook teases, "but seriously, what the hell has been up with you lately?"
you slump back down, pressing your forehead against his bicep, "i dunno."
"bull."
"kook!"
you huff with frustration then nip at the muscle straining against his shirt sleeve.
a tattooed hand squishes your cheeks together, "biting isn't an answer." he warns.
"i really don't know," you reluctantly admit, "but i've been going out with everyone, haven't i? hittin' the clubs. doin' brunch. participating in fun. pretending to be a person."
jungkook groans, laying his hand – palm facing up – in your lap as an offering. with a defeated breath you oblige, playing with his fingers until he squeezes them around yours.
"it's the pretending part that bothers me," he says solemnly, "that's why i had to get you out here."
"i still don't see how –"
"humor me honey," a warm-brown and concern-filled gaze finds yours, "please?"
god dammit.
"eyes on the road," you order, "and don't give me the puppy eyes, you know i'll say yes."
setting his hand back down in his lap, you give in sullenly, "but fine. okay."
a deep dimple forms as jungkook smiles and reaches up to open the sunroof. as he does, the car starts to accelerate along the winding path.
"all right, unbuckle." he instructs.
and you do.
"up on the seat, then put one knee on the console first." he continues.
"i know how to do it." you gripe, wobbling slightly.
but you still follow his direction. an invisible weight, trapped somewhere within you, has turned all movement sluggish lately. like there's a disconnect between your heart, brain, and body. using his sturdy shoulder to brace yourself, the top of your head pokes up out of the car and you're smacked in the face with a frigid gust of wind.
"oh fuck you. fuck this. no way." you dig fingernails into his trap muscle, attempting to lower yourself back down but, a warm hand wraps around your upper thigh instead, effectively stopping your plan.
"nice try sweetness," jungkook clicks his tongue, "get back up. you got this, c'mon."
with the encouragement of his hand, your trembling muscles straighten back out again. one leg remains bent, balanced on the console, while the other presses into the carseat for stability. the shoulder you have clutched in a death grip shrugs gently, a cue for you to release. gulping hard, you press both palms flat onto the roof of the car.
the blast of wind hits just as hard the second time, even with your eyes screwed shut in preparation. but after a few seconds pass, curiosity peeks one open. in the far off distance, way beyond the hills, city lights sparkle under a haze of smog. looking more like a twinkling wonderland than a pollution covered metal jungle. and when you tilt your head back, just barely, the night sky shimmers. alive with stars and free from any obscuring clouds. the ferocity of the wind springs tears into your eyes but you blink them back rapidly, determined to drink in the sight of it all. beneath the sense of awe, a weighted stone that's been lodged in your chest begins to expand. growing lighter, and brighter, burning its way down into the pit of your stomach.
shifting your gaze just so to the right, those harsh ocean waves are no longer within view. instead, all the way to the distant horizon, is calm water that holds the moons shining white reflection. it's all so beautifully freeing. free from danger. free from the sharp jagged edges of life. free from the buildings that too often keep you feeling encased, enclosed, and locked away. lost in wonder, it's so quiet that you nearly miss it, the realization that you no longer feel so cut off from it all.
the moment is interrupted as a strong hand gently tugs at your leg. slipping down, you land hard on the console with a thunk. staring at jungkook with disbelief, he remains unbothered, focused on adjusting your foot so that it's nestled between his thighs.
"why are you interrupting the plan?"
"'cause now we move into phase b. you ready to stand up for real?" a dark eyebrow wiggles as jungkook responds.
rolling your eyes, you playfully groan, "sure what the hell. it wasn't so bad before."
"atta girl. i gotcha don't worry. i'ma keep hold of this leg, you just gotta stand on the other."
it sounds easy enough.
a dull thumping pulses into your fingertips. gripping onto the lip of the sunroof, you hoist yourself back up until you're standing on shaky legs.
"all right honey!" jungkook yells from the drivers seat, "do you trust me?"
squinting against the wind, your muted heartbeat begins to pound, thudding against your eardrums. each breath of air feels fresh, like they're the first ones you've taken in years.
"honey?"
"of course i fuckin' trust you!" you shout out to the empty road ahead of you, terrified to look down and lose your balance, "why else would i be doing this??"
a faint laugh drifts out of the sunroof, "on the count of 3, you're gonna let go, okay?"
this is absolutely certifiable. sweat slicks your palms and you scramble to keep your hold. that weird, numbingly heavy sensation feels like it's about to bubble out from beneath your skin before bursting. and maybe it's ridiculous, but you bet that it could take you right out of the car with it if it did.
jungkook's arm firmly coils around your leg, and as his thumb rubs along the inseam of your jeans, you hear him shouting – "1! 2! 3!"
okay, fuck it for real.
and you lift both arms, high up into the air, while the car begins to speed up. zooming along the coastal cliffs, gliding around the curves with ease.
the shriek that escapes your throat is sharp and piercing, but it isn't out of fear.
your upper body swings with each movement the car makes, light and unrestricted. if it weren't for jungkook's arm firmly rooting you in place, you could close your eyes and believe that you were flying.
even though it's just for a moment, you do just that. and you let yourself believe in it anyways.
"WOOOOHOOOOO!!!!" you cry out unabashedly, chest filling to the brim with something indescribable.
two firm pats land against your inner thigh, "aw, there ya go sweetness. not such a dumb plan after all, huh?" jungkook's voice travels up to you, carrying a small chuckle along with it.
not dumb at all.
well, no.
the plan was dumb as hell.
but that doesn't make it worthless.
it doesn't mean that it wasn't worth trying.
as the car rises over the final hill, you lean against the top of it, exhilarated and transfixed by the dancing city lights. your vision feels crystal clear, like some invisible grime had been clouding it without ever realizing what it was. and now that it's been washed away, you can't remember how the world looked to you before.
it's all bright lights and sparkling new. even as the light pollution swallows up the stars, they feel burned into your memory. completely unforgettable.
and that weight that was once bearing down on you seems to be lost. blown away and left somewhere along the bluffs or, carried out to sea by the wind.
it's like you've been asleep for months on end without really noticing it up until now because – right now, in this moment, you are wide awake.
: ・ෆ・┈・┈・ᕱ⑅ᕱ・┈・┈・ෆ・ :
parked in an empty parking lot, fireflies swarm a nearby streetlight. and everything beneath it glows a soft warm yellow. stretched across the hood, jungkook lays next to you, both arms folded behind his head. his eyes are blissfully closed, remembering the starry sky that helped carry you both here.
uncrossing your legs, wiggling out the tingles out from them, you glance over your shoulder at him, "you seem pretty pleased with yourself."
"everything went according to plan." he hums.
you gingerly recline, then nestle your head against his chest. "i guess so."
"don't be like that. it's okay that it didn't fix everything. look, the way i see it, you're not some broken freak for feeling out of sorts."
you go heavy on the sarcasm, "gee. thanks."
"i'm bein' serious! we all get in a funk in different ways or...whatever. you know what i mean. but it's not like, some irredeemable flaw. we all need cheering up sometimes."
softness gently rubs up and down your spine, and the world goes dark as you let your eyes drift shut.
"i think speeding along a cliff, and doing the dumb shit we just did, counts as a little more than just 'needing to be cheered up'." you mumble the words quietly, holding onto hope that maybe – just maybe – you might be wrong.
"oh yeah, no. only real freaks need shit like that." jungkook states confidently.
your eyes fly open. lurching off his chest, you glare back down at him, "kook what the hell! we were having such a nice moment!"
bunny teeth shine as he laughs. snaking an arm around your waist, his other stretches up towards your face. cupping your cheek gently, a thumb brushes against your bottom lip.
"i was just playin'. c'mere," with soft eyes he pulls you back against his chest, "there's nothing wrong with wanting to feel alive. i'm always gonna be here to remind you that you are, whenever you need it. probably even when you think you don't need it. and, to make sure you don't do some real dumb shit trying to feel that way by yourself. you're not alone in this, okay?"
a small smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, "okay."
and just like that, the world zooms in. like the disconnect between brain, body, and heart, has managed to reestablish itself. even if only temporarily. in this present moment – a boy and girl are laying on the hood of a car. in the last hour of the quiet in between. it's as simple, and as wonderfully terribly complicated, as that.
then jungkook presses a kiss into your hair, "so sweetness, how're you feelin'?"
"i feel –"
it's as simple, and complicated, as that.
: ・ෆ・┈・┈・ᕱ⑅ᕱ・┈・┈・ෆ・ :
:)
*as always, everything i write is fiction. i just imagine someone that looks like the members. also, as always, i have never used ai in any capacity w my writing. i do not consent to anything i write being fed to ai either. please respect that, ty <3*
moochi wow this was so touching. i was smiling throughout the whole read i felt so comforted by this - being able to imagine a vivid world through your writing will always be so refreshing. like i was imagining things not even out of a movie but out of real life. I love the idea of jungkook breaking you out of a cycle, out of your mind, helping to let yourself go even if just for a moment. is it corny that when she stood up in the car and they were speeding around the cliff with his arm wrapped around her thighs i heard “heroes” by david bowie playing in my head like that scene from the perks of being a wallflower? I could feel that enthrallment, that thrill when she stuck her arms in the air, in the wind, and screamed i want to do that so bad now 😭 if only i had a jungkook to hold onto me 🥹 and a jungkook to call me honey and sweetness SWOOON i feel like he makes the best goofy yet wholesome boyfriend who’s also your best friend #needthat thank you for writing this and sharing with us!!!
ellievsbear
tangentwithtanner
andulkaphoto
baratheonpilled
turnnoffyourmind
