#at this point even without listening to the live soundtrack it sounds in my head so. lasting impressions i guess. every time i get anxious

[thegreatestsandwich]

Reader: “What's that look for?”

Xavier: “...You’re in my seat.”

Reader: “Well I’m not moving, so either stop being a little bitch about it, and get another seat, or sit in my lap.”

Xavier: “What?!”

Reader: “You heard me. I don’t care what you chose, but hurry it up, we don’t have all day.”

I’m only me when I’m with you (Xavier Thorpe x Ghost!Reader)

Masterlist

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x Ghost!reader

Word count: 837 words

Summary: School was enough punishment for you so the best thing you could do to not suffer was to take another guy's seat and being a little ass about it.

Warning: Nothing to be honest, but I was thinking a bit of enemies to lovers kind of thing?

A/N: I have finished Wednesday, I am sad that there's not a lot of fics for this baby, if you have any request for him! My inbox is open!

Coments, Reblogs and Asks are happily received! I love to read your lovely coments :)

Some say that the road to life Is paved with good intentions. In your case, it’s been hand-carved with a bad script and horrible soundtrack music that no-one in their right mind would ever hear, even if they were drunk or high.

There was a time when the world was blindsided from your kin. They were violent, mean, untamed, uncivilized, murderers. You were victims from them, lost souls that couldn’t passed to the other side, so you stayed hidden, most of you were loners, living with the others, dying on your own.

For some, they decided to stick into groups, forming “families” that kept them sane enough to continue surviving in this world and when Nevermore Academy was funded in 1791, the “youngest” were sent there to learn what was out there. Well, let’s be honest, no sane ghost was in their right mind to sit hours and hours learning things they would never use on their eternal life, but here you were, a newbie, a fresh/dead fish on this huge tank as a punishment for your reckless behavior.

The introduction went as expected, you couldn’t even use the uniform the principal Weems had given you, you couldn’t sleep or eat, so the room she provided you was useless and your roommate was more than happy to occupy your space without second thought.

And even if you didn’t care, you were force to attend classes like the others, even if you couldn’t grab a pencil to take notes, have a backpack to carry your books or even socialize with the others without making a death joke. (Ghost, remember? They have a deathly sense of humor)

So that lead us to the present, you arrived earlier to the greenhouse, not really ready or happy to be sitting here (or floating on a chair) and listen to miss Thornhill lecture about some kind of plant, to be honest you would prefer to just wander around, to cross some walls, scare some students, anything other than being a good student.

Your hands moved over your desk, watching how the few chains that were attached of your wrists began dragging across of it. You smiled at the wicked joke you thought about, but didn’t say anything. Not even a hello to miss Thornhill when she happily welcomed you to her class, offering to give you a copy of the material so you could catch up.

You would had said yes and a thank you, but let’s be real, your hands would only break through it so what was the point.

The sound of the other students approaching didn’t made break your trance from your chains. Hell, you didn’t even care about the murmurs of the others because of your clothes, have they never seen a bloody teenager with several chains that wrapped on her limbs on their lives? Weirdos.

Someone cleared their throat next to you, but your eyes never left your hands, then they did it again, making you frown, then again, that’s when you decided to look what the hell their problem was.

And there he was, the owner of the clearly weird throat, he was tall, his hair up to his shoulders, a dirty brown and green eyes. You frowned in confusion, apparently everyone was now paying attention to both of you.

“What’s that look for?” You asked him. “Never seen a bloody ghost in your life?”

He shook his head, pausing for a moment. “You are in my seat.”

“Really?” You began smiling, he wasn’t serious, was he? “I’m on your seat.”

“Yes, and I would appreciate if you moved.” He motioned to the chair next to you. You stared at him, he taking the challenge and not looking away.

“So hypothetically speaking, if I look under this chair, I will see your name them.” You gently began going down, passing through the chair before quickly appearing once again. “Didn’t see any name.”

The guy close his eyes in annoyance, he was getting frustrated. “Just move, please.”

You pursed your lips, your head moving to each side, contemplating your options, your arms crossed on your chest, the chains moving with them, his green eyes looking at them before meeting your eyes once again. “Well, I’m not moving, so either stop being a little bitch about it, and sit next to me or sit on my lap…and don’t worry, I won’t feel a thing, maybe you will but that’s the fun of not knowing, isn’t it?” You smiled.

“What?” He exclaimed, finally noticing how everyone was watching them, even miss Thornhill. “You can’t be serious.” He hissed.

“Oh baby, you heard me.” You stood up, your feet not touching the ground. “I don’t care what you chose to be honest but hurry up.” Your arms opened and you did a little spin. “We don’t have all day, sweet-cheeks.” And you “sat” down once again, smiling victoriously as he contemplated his options.

He sighed in defeat and sat next to you. Oh, you will enjoy this class so much.

#wednesday netflix #wednesday adams fic #wednesday adams imagine #xavier thorpe oneshot #xavier thorpe blurb #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe wednesday #xavier thorpe x y/n #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe x you #xavier torphe fluff

[anabdaniels]

Holiday playlist

Paring: Agent Whiskey x Female Reader

Word counting: 550

Rating: General audiences

Warning: Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas Is You" is in the room with us in this one and I regret nothing.

Main Masterlist | Cowboycember Masterlist

A consistent taste for music wasn’t a thing you had and it wouldn’t be different with your holiday playlist. It had everything: actual holiday songs, random pop songs that gave you holiday vibes, and some questionable ones that your family used to listen to during holidays when you were a kid. Despite looking like a complete mess, that playlist was one of your favorite soundtracks for a lot of things, like separating the Christmas gifts that needed to be wrapped, it was working amazingly until the ultimate Christmas song started to play on the sound system: Mariah Carey’s masterpiece “All I Want for Christmas Is You”.

If wasn’t for that song, maybe you would’ve realized that Jack was already home, leaning against the living room entrance, watching your little show. Believing that you were alone, you got carried away by the moment, a catching Christmas song playing in your perfectly decorated living room with a burning fireplace was a tempting atmosphere.

Few things had ever captured Jack’s attention over his life like the sight of you singing and dancing around the room, making sure to grab one of his hats that was on the sofa to dramatize the “I just want you here tonight, holding on to me so tight” part of the song. Seeing you that happy was more than enough to make Jack happy too. You were the most important thing in the world for him and seeing you looking so well would always make his heart skip a beat.

Too concentrated on having the time of your life in that living room, you had an amazing surprise at the moment you dramatically turned to the entrance at the “I just wanna see my baby standing right outside my door” verse and found your cowboy standing there, with all his focus on you. You excitedly walked on little jumps towards him, reaching out both of your hands, giving Jack no choice but to join you at the very moment he held your hands.

If you were happy before, now you have just reached heaven, listening to a cozy Christmas song while just being silly around the living room with the love of your life.

You couldn’t be precise when, but at some point, the two of you ended up a mess of entangled limbs on the sofa, both of you smiling without knowing the reason why anymore.

“I’ll have to sneak in when coming back home more frequently.” Jack mocked with a wide smile across his face and kissed your cheek.

“Then I’ll have to be more careful to steal your hats while having my little showtimes.” You laughed quietly and made yourself comfortable against his chest.

“And ruin the most adorable part? No, no, little lady.” He raised his eyebrows, trying to sound serious, even though the corners of his mouth curling denounced him.

“If I accidentally end up letting one of your Stetsons fall into the fireplace, I’ll take no responsibility for it.” You teased while ruffling his hair.

“My, my, you refuse to make things easy for me, hum?” Jack shook his head and leaned forward with a smile, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Too late for regrets, cowboy.” You chuckled and nibbled his chin before hiding your face against his neck.

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey fic #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels #jack whiskey daniels #Kingsman: the golden circle #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories

[lieutenant-amuel]

What di you think of wish?

I’m neutral to this movie. I don’t hate it and don’t claim it to be the worst animated movie ever existed yet I’m not a fan either and I won’t defend it too fiercely. There are a few things I really loved about it but I suppose this is not enough for me to love it in the whole.

Those few things I love are Magnifico’s character and his relationship with Amaya. They really seemed to love each other so much, they were very sweet in the first part of the movie, before Magnifico lost his mind, and then they also were beautifully tragic. My only complaint about their storyline is that it happens too fast. We don’t see Amaya struggling with making this decision as if their love meant nothing to her, so I suppose I like their story more in theory because a couple that loved each other and then fell apart because of the insanity of one of them sounds very interesting actually.

And I think this is the reason why this movie is overall enjoyable yet I don’t care much about it. It’s kind of superficial. They really took a very strong “tell not show” approach for this movie, and it’s noticeable. We know Magnifico had a tragic past and it severely affected him but we never saw him feeling any strong emotions about it. He just states that it was terrifying but we never learn more about it. We know Sakina has such a beautiful and magical wish but c’mon why should I care about Magnifico crashing her wish if I don’t even know what she’s wishing for. And we never learn, even by the end of the movie. We know Asha’s father had a very big impact on her but we don’t even see his face. It’s like, I do want to feel something about this movie, and the movie certainly wants me to feel something too but I just can’t because there is not build-up for feeling these emotions, only empty statements.

The story on its own is fun, really, I can’t say I was bored watching it, but there’s no emotional connection built with it for me which makes it just one of the movies I’ve watched.

The songs are nice though. I don’t care much about the awkward lyrics (I let you live here for free and I don’t even charge you rent or whatever) because I don’t even listen to the English soundtrack, I’m not an English native. The songs sound great in my dubbing so I loved them all with a few exceptions.

The protagonist aka Asha is annoying. I didn’t notice it when watching the movie for the first time but when I rewatched it two more times when showing it to my family, the way she acts felt over the top. This abundance of all the little gestures, stupid faces, and squeaks is absolutely unnecessary. Like, why are you making her say that wishes are the most beautiful thing (or something) in the scene right before the At All Costs song and then grimace (ыыыыы, sorry I don’t know why I said it)? And the movie is filled with these awkward “quirks” made by the main heroine which gets extremely tiring as the story is going. I normally like this kind of characters but in case of Asha they really went too far which makes her kind of insincere and unserious even in emotional scenes.

I don’t have much to say about this animation. Sometimes it looks weird, sometimes it looks pretty. But overall I enjoy what I’m seeing on screen so I don’t think I have any complaints.

Anyway, I want to point out that I really don’t care about concept arts. Is Starboy a cool idea? Yep, kinda. Is an evil couple just the most breathtaking idea of the decade? Yeah, I think it’s cool. But I don’t see these ideas executed in the movie so I can’t judge them without seeing them in action. They could have been easily messed up in the final product so they’re not any better than the movie we got as a result.

I did enjoy seeing the fandom getting creative with these ideas but it’s got tiring over time because people really cannot judge the movie for the movie and instead compare it to something they created in their own heads and to something that basically doesn’t even exist.

People judge it based on the hype it’s got due to being a tribute to Disney’s 100th anniversary and therefore have way too high expectations which is valid, I admit I also expected something a lot different from this movie but I think it’s also important to learn how to be impartial and don’t jump into conclusions because many people hate it even without watching it lol.

I think that’s it? This movie is fine. It’s quite enjoyable especially if you ignore what was happening “behind the screen” and don’t overanalyze it. It’s superficial and is not meant to tell a very deep story but if you want to have a fun time in the evening by watching something, I think this movie is a good choice.

Thank you for the ask!

#Ask me anything

[nadircozy]

What does music mean to you?

"A life without music isn’t a life worth living.” I’m not quite sure who said that (I said it) but that is something I can agree with wholeheartedly. As long as we’ve all been alive, music has been apart of our lives in some capacity. The songs we hear in retail stores that we can’t get out of our heads, throwback tracks that make us reminisce, cleaning the house on Saturday mornings, long drives, gym sessions, and more. Even if you’re not an avid listener in your free time, music is always apart your life serving a purpose. For music lovers, it may be a soundtrack to their lives, an outlet, their passion, etc. Today we’re speaking with musician of many talents Papa Mbahwe, to discuss essentially what music means to him.

Me: What was your introduction to music?

Papa: My introduction to music was after I got cut from my middle school basketball team. I needed something to keep me busy since athletics wasn’t it. I never anticipated it being a huge part of my life.

Me: Is it something that were interested in prior?

Papa: I was definitely always artistic, whether it be writing, drawing or storytelling. Music was always somewhat of a background of my life. I found that music or specifically the saxophone was the vessel of expression that I was the most proficient at

Me: The sax. That seems like an instrument that you have to have a vivid memory of. Do you remember the first time you heard it?

Papa: My dad would play miles Davis’ kind of blue in the car when I was a kid. My conception of the saxophones sound was formed by cannonball adderley and John Coltrane. Of course I’d be hearing smooth jazz sax all over the place, but their sound resonated with me more

Me: Would you say this is what made you fall in love with music?

Papa: What made me fall in love with music was not by hearing its pleasant sounds, but rather its ability to articulate the inarticulable through sound

Me: Sounds like you don’t like to just hear music but feel it. How does that translate to your own music?

Papa: When I was younger I lacked the discipline to play tastefully and listen to what was going on around me, I was filled with circus tricks. Nowadays I learned to put my ego aside and play for musics sake rather than some ulterior motive (unless I’m trynna get a check ya dig)

Me: Would you say the way you play music is parallel to your personality?

Papa: Id say the way I play parallels my mood—which is fluid— or my interpretation of a memory or an aesthetic that im trying to capture

Me: Being as though you have your own playing style, how do you like to create, solo or collaboratively?

Papa: With hip-hop, I adore the process of writing, hunting samples and listening by myself. However with Jazz music, I find it almost impossible to improvise without the help of others— not even from the point of playing in a band. It’s as if the audience is also apart of making the music.

Me: Do you enjoy playing music or writing music more?

Papa: Mmmm that’s difficult, playing allows me to just be in the moment. I don’t have an abstract or artsy way of explaining it like some musicians typically do.

Me: Speaking of being in the moment how does it feel to perform?

Papa: Performing feels great when you’re well prepared. But really it depends on the situation, sometimes you’re playing at a cocktail hour and it feels like a job. But when you’re at a club or festival there’s a feeling of community, self reflection and at times catharsis

Me: You’ve mentioned family, expression, storytelling, emotion up to this point. What does music mean to you?

Papa: Music is a language used to honor heritage, create community, and impose order on our rawest unstructured thoughts and emotions.

Furthermore, an art form such is subjective. Art is subjective as a whole regardless of the type. You can’t put an exact definition on what it means, what it’s suppose to make you feel, if it makes you feel. But, that’s the beauty of it. Getting a inside look of the mind of an artist definitely has had a profound effect on how I think about music. I hope this helped you ponder what music means to you.

#new music #jazz music #hip hop

[solarsavoy]

Everything for Krystar, here we go! 😁

🪩—Would you want a movie adaption, TV, or something else? Animated or live action?

Definitely an anime! No live action. No. Will not approve. Nope. Never!!

🎧—What would the soundtrack be like?

I'm not sure because I've never really paid attention to soundtracks before, but I'd try to add some rock sounding songs for things like fight scenes and such and I 100% want "Still Here" by Digital Daggers to play during the end of the Fragment series. These are non-negotiable. Also, I need an extended opening sequence for Fourth Fragment that goes to I Prevail's "Pull the Plug". Also non-negotiable.

✅—Which character/plot point/etc would be your favorite to see on screen?

The end of the Fifth Fragment... It's what inspired me to start writing the story again at age 29. I saw the ending so clearly in my head, and I'd absolutely love to see it on screen someday, going to the some "Still Here" by Digital Daggers, bawling my eyes out. I'd probably watch it over and over again because that would mean it was finished, that I made it, that the scene that drove me to write so much since then is finally a reality.

If I'm being honest though, seeing the opening scene described below would be just as awesome too, but not near as powerful as seeing the ending. And then there's the Echo series because Stag... Grr, what a jerk, making a whole ass second series just so he can get more screen time. XD Seriously, the story was supposed to end with the Fifth Fragment and then Stag went and made a whole origin story which started a whole other series and it's all his fault it's going to be twelve books now. All Stag's fault. XD

🥀—Which character/plot point/etc is most important for an adaption to get right?

This isn't for all adaptations, just for mine. I need the characters to age the way they do in the story. Because I deal with time, we sometimes go forward and back and characters will be younger and older and this is impossible to do for live action without changing the actual actors. Second to this is my secrets. If I say a detail is important, they better damn well include it in the fucking anime or I'll be pissed. Look, it's important!! Like, if they decided to exclude Taki's interludes or show an extra scene that wasn't in the book because it wasn't in Deshi's POV, then I am not okay with it. The fact that it's in Deshi's POV is very important to me, okay? There are other things, but I'd hate to draw attention to them by pointing them out here. XD Girl's gotta keep her secrets close to the chest, you know.

❌—What’s the worst thing an adaption of your WIP could do? Your absolute worst nightmare?

Making a live action anyway and destroying it like they did Percy Jackson. They changed his 16yo prophecy to 25yo, they didn't have the characters look or act like they're described in the book, and it's like they didn't even read the actual books at all… Don't do that to me. Read the fucking book. Follow the fucking book. Adapt the fucking book. I get that some changes will need to be made for different media types, but there's a right way to do it and a wrong way. At least make it look like you read the book, okay?

🎬—Who would you cast as your characters?

This will take some listening to VAs. The only one I'm sure of, absolutely non-negotiably sure of, is John Burgmeier for Mythren using the same voice as he uses for Shigure from Fruits Basket. Non-negotiable. As for the rest, I'm going to be listening to a bunch of voice actors over the next week so I can pick some for other characters. I will say that I'd love to get Vic Mignogna and Jason Liebrecht for a role, but I'm not sure which ones yet.

🎤—Describe the opening scene

I'm not sure I'd keep it this way which is why I'm sharing it, but this was the scene I first envisioned when the story idea came to me at age 12. There's a girl with her head laid down on a desk and she's presumably sleeping during class. Her desk is right next to a window that goes outside, but instead of the city, it's a meadow. Inside, the colors are dull and boring, but outside the meadow if vibrant and beaming with life. The camera zooms into the window until the classroom and sleeping girl's head are out of the frame and then it goes out to the meadow, traveling out towards something in the distance. It starts to focus on the back of the head of a girl, possibly the same girl, with long, dirty blonde hair going all the way past her backside. She slowly turns around, her hair flaring out, and looks at the camera sadly. She isn't wearing any clothes, but her hair covers everything. Her hands pull out what looks like a glowing blue item (I later decide this is a blue flower) and the sad glow fills her face, making her look sadder. The colors start to fade, to the bland look the classroom had, but it keeps going and going until everything around her is dark and black. She opens her mouth to breath, but then drops the flower, which starts to wilt as it too fades, and cluthes at her neck. Then she she too fades, after she struggles to breathe and eventually stops moving. Then the title would appear: Krystar: First Fragment. This is the scene that 12yo me came up with. I've never forgotten it. I remember attempting to draw it even, but those pictures are long gone. 😅 Whatcha think?

💿—Free space for anything I didn’t mention! Talk about things you would add, things that are important to you, or even lay out the plot of every episode of your Netflix Original if it suits you!!

I haven't planned out that much detail for it actually. I'd love to break out of the standard 13/26 episode blocks and just do as many as are necessary for each book. I've also considered separating B1 in half and doing the second half with B2, for reasons. Either way, the details of each episode I think would be better laid out in comic form, which I do plan on making someday, but the ideal goal is for it to be an anime. Someday, someday.

Thank you so much for the ask, tuuli! You just never let me down. 💙 Hope there was some interesting stuff here for you!

Ask thing.

#solarsavoyasks #Krystar

[newmusickarl]

Top 50 Albums of 2022

2. Raw Data Feel by Everything Everything

And here we are then with my runner-up Album of the Year for 2022, and it comes from possibly one of the UK's most underrated bands – Everything Everything.

Across their first five albums, the Manchester outfit rarely put a foot wrong, twice being nominated for the Mercury Prize as they dazzled listeners with their distinct, always fascinating blend of art-pop and indie rock, led by frontman Jonathan Higgs’ incomparable vocal style. Even if their last album Re-Animator did leave me somewhat underwhelmed compared to their exceptional previous efforts, that record still also had its moments that I regularly revisit. However, you did still feel that heading into this sixth album, Everything Everything needed a big bounce back and they certainly delivered one with Raw Data Feel.

This is one record that I loved instantly upon release, but has since gone on to soundtrack my year, propelled by me seeing them perform twice in the space of one week over the summer, including a storming festival headline performance at 110 Above. However even without seeing them live, this is an album that plays out almost like a greatest hits record at this point.

Now you may be thinking that to pack in such an elite collection of indie-pop anthems would be at the detriment of any overriding thematic content and a general cohesiveness, but thankfully that is not the case here. Across the album's 14 tracks, the band explore human nature, search for escapism and dissect our relationship with technology, the latter of which heightened of course during lockdown when the record was written. This thematic content is amplified through the sounds on display too, with a much stronger electronic presence as the band draw comparisons to Hot Chip at times. Curiously some of the lyrical content is partly generated by AI technology too, helping Everything Everything to craft a mesmerising and completely thrilling dystopian dance record.

Although it can be perceived as conceptually quite complex and messy, I can't help but feel given the title that this was all part of the design, as the album’s unedited and unfiltered nature only further builds into the impact of the album's thematic content – it really does give it that Raw Data Feel. However, whether you're on board for the deeper levels to this record or not, on a superficial level it's plain to see that this is an incredible collection of songs featuring some of Everything Everything's very best work to date.

This fact is obvious almost immediately too, as Everything Everything frontload the album with the excellent pre-released singles as the opening run of tracks. Teletype is the perfect opener, with its suitably glitchy electronic vibrations, playful guitars and ultra-catchy chorus. I Want A Love Like This remains a firm favourite too, with a playful synth-driven melody and an instantly euphoric chorus of “I feel alive, ‘cause I want a love like this” - one of 2022’s big summer indie anthems for me. Lead single Bad Friday is then a glorious slice of A-Typical Everything Everything, with its infectious groove and Jonathan Higgs’ snappy falsetto vocals. Pizza Boy meanwhile is a funky synth-and-bass-driven track before Jennifer sees the band switch it up with a more bluesy, indie-pop number.

With such a strong, dazzling start you may think Everything Everything would struggle to keep the momentum going but they successfully manage to keep rolling out the hits. Metroland Is Burning is full of fun contrast, one minute painting something dark and apocalyptic within the lyrics, then simply shimmering through its upbeat dance melody the next. Leviathan is then a wonderfully chilled and spacey groove that serves up possibly Higgs’ best vocal performance on the entire record, whilst Shark Week is a pulsating dance-influenced track with some harsh, trancey synths and quite hilariously bizarre one-liners (see “he's Obama in the streets, but hе thinks he's Osama in the sheets”). 

Cut Up and HEX both serve straight-up bangers built on some gleaming electronica and wonderfully cool math-rock riffing. My Computer then delivers more digital wizardry before Kevin's Car delivers a big late album highlight with its plucky guitars, wonderful chorus melody and stunning vocal performance once again from Higgs. After the entrancing bluesy waltz of Born Under A Meteor, Software Greatman majestically closes the record with six minutes of gentle, glistening instrumentation and some truly transcendent, ghostly vocal work from Higgs.

Safe to say I’m quite in love with this record and I think it has already become my favourite Everything Everything album, which is quite the statement given the strength of their previous efforts like Arc, Get To Heaven and A Fever Dream. It's rare that you get an album where every track carries immense single potential, but thanks to some infectious electronic-driven melodies, anthemic hooks and quirky, memorable lyrics, Raw Data Feel is that rare album.

Six masterful albums in and an incredible live force, we also need to start recognising Everything Everything for what they are – one of the UK's very best working bands.

Best tracks: I Want A Love Like This, Software Greatman, Pizza Boy (…and the rest!)

Listen here

#new music #best new music #albums of the year #album recommendation #album of the year #best of 2022 #best of the year #aoty #aoty 2022 #best albums of 2022 #albums of 2022 #everything everything #raw data feel #i want a love like this #ai generated #Youtube

[merccurious]

color my life with the chaos of trouble

yes, the tittle is a quote from my favorite movie of ALL time; (500) days of summer.

last weekend i really don't have anything to do so i jump into disney+ to watch (500) days of summer. i don't know why but my mind actually thinking about this movie lately.

fyi, every time i watch this movie, i'm gonna sobbing my eyes out. like literally. i'll cry 'till my eyes getting red and puffy.

i know some of you might think that this movie is just a another romcom, but for me it's not. this movie somehow relatable. i fell too deep into the character development; especially tom. like i can feel his heart aching when summer ended it all, how he mend his own heart and get himself together, moving on and getting over summer, until he finally feel something again to autumn. i don't know why but at some point in our life, we can be tom and even summer without even realizing it.

above all, i love everything in this movie. i mean, the color tone on every scene (bless my eyes with their aesthetic kinda tone), the scenery (they put a lot of city views here and i love it), the soundtrack (this movie actually has a loooot of cool songs especially the smith & the temper trap), the plot, etc. this movie is not that kind of romcom you can get over in just one night, but you'll always wanna comeback to this no matter how many romcom you've ever watched.

And this movie can give you a very valuable reason about life : the importance of see things from what actually happened, not the idea that happened in your own head.

okay that sounds complicated...

the shorten is : denial.

i know, denial is the thing we will absolutely do when we're in love. we tend to close our eyes from every possible (or even the actual) red flags in someone when we're fall for them. but sometimes, denial can bring you into the deepest and darkest heartbreak you've ever been.

anyway, in the movie, we can see that tom actually starting to fall for summer when they're on the lift and summer complimenting tom about his taste of music (she actually also love the smith like tom did) and voilá, tom just fall head into heels to summer. he thought that summer IS the one.

as the time goes by, tom getting to know summer. and there comes the truth; summer don't wanna be anyone's anything (the best bullshit someone could possibly say to anyone). tom who's fall for summer deny it and keep going with "just friend" or "we don't need a label for things we do as long as we're happy" (while hooking up to each other, duh) and thinking, maybe, there's a part of summer that actually love tom like he did to her and wishing a happy ending with her.

this is when things getting f-ed up.

tom actually fall in love with the idea of summer. the idea of she also fall in love with tom. while forget the fact that summer actually made it clear to him a dozen times that she didn't wanna be with him as a couple. tom was so afraid of this reality so he made a big bubble of imagination that summer actually love him back when actually she's just having fun.

at some point in the movie, tom was so afraid to ask summer about their status because he's afraid he'll lose what they "had" those past few months. and this is a major sign of denial.

"it's obvious. you're just afraid you'll get an answer you don't want; which will shatter the illusions of how great this past few months have been." Rachel to Tom.

i'm 100% sure that all of tom's friend (and also tom) can see the fact that summer didn't love him. but because things going wayyy to great between them, he shut his eyes and chose to living in some kind of fantasy that she might actually love him to when she clearly don't.

i can't blame tom for feeling those kind of feeling. as a fellow hopeless romantic kinda person, i actually can fall in love that easy too. i can fall for someone because they also love john mayer & listening to PREP. or because they know that Fiji Blue is not just a mineral water brand but a band. and in tom case, tom and summer actually get along easily since summer knows and into tom's favorite things. i have to admit that i also will falling head over heels to a guy version of summer. but this thing can't legitimate what he did. he knows and aware that summer don't wanna be in some kind of romantic relationship with him. but he insisted. like he wanna be the best guy possible for summer to make her love him.

but he can't.

there's a quote from instagram that saying "being the best you can, still can't change someone" and it happened to tom. he might grab the moon in the palm of his hand yet summer gotta had the audacity to tell him 'i don't ask you tho'.

and we can't actually blame summer for tom's heartbreak. i mean, it doesn't fair. i agree that what summer did to tom is actually brutal and barbaric. but since the very beginning, she actually made it clear that she don't wanna be with him as a couple. she just wanna be friends. and tom have every rights to walk away when he can.

but again, can you walk away when everything seems really great even when you can predict the ending of it?

watching 500 days of summer actually feels like watching my own life. how i fall for someone that easy, how i try to impress him, how i imagine my future with him... and forget that it just happened in my head.

i can love him with all i had, i can be the best he'd ever had, but if he didn't want me, he just gonna throw it to the ocean and go.

sometimes, loving someone means opening your eyes widely. because in the end of the day, YOU are the one who's gonna love you unconditionally.

[1kook]

viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

SUMMARY Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air.  WARNINGS a little hurt + a lot of comfort, mentions of cheating!villain!jin, insecure!kook, emotional breakdowns, mentions of jk’s lonely past, jk cries :( smut in the forms of making out, eating out, fingering, clit play, hickeys, jk likes cum, double orgasm, squirting, tiny praise kink, blindfolding, rough + unprotected sex, doggy style, choking!!!, breeding/impreg kink, JEALOUS KOOK, mini hand kink, a lil bit of spanking, degradation, he gets progressively meaner lol oc cries MISC there’s a lot of fuckin plot omfg -_-, it’s Valentine’s Eve!, doyeon makes Some Points, mentions of park seojoon juicy ass, they go on a d8 😳, oc like rlly wants to marry him, oc commits double phone homicide  RATING m (18+) WC 16.3k !!!! ik its fckin LOOOONG

NOTES (!) in true Viki fashion, here’s an nc fic where there’s like 3 different plot lines n a hot male antagonist <3 this series started off as just me wanting to write smut n it still is! now i just like to infuse different levels of angst into it as well </3 as always, lemme know what u think!! i proofread it twice but one of those times had been at 4 am so if u see a typo no u didn't. also here’s a gif  of jungkook crying during a dolly parton performances and here’s another gif of jungkook crying bc it’s scary how pretty he looks

Being evil and hot does not come for free. As you’ve long since learned in the past twenty-three years of your life, you truly can’t have it all. 

There is always some deliberating character flaw the universe must bestow upon you in order to level you out, make you fall onto the same plane as all the other mortals. Everyone has one, no matter how small or insignificant. Doyeon’s is that she doesn’t know how to work a straightening iron. Namjoon's is that he can’t tell the difference between water and liquor. Jungkook, despite all his tech-y nerdiness, doesn’t know how to do his own taxes. And yours? You don’t know shit about romcoms. 

Your knowledge on the romantic genre is what leads to this predicament now, the ring on your finger heavy as Doyeon regards you with what is perhaps the most unimpressed look known to mankind. “This is a promise ring,” she says bluntly, the bustling sounds of the coffee shop around you the soundtrack to your sudden realization. 

“No,” you deny, even though you know she’s right. “It’s an engagement ring.”

Doyeon rolls her eyes. “Babe,” she starts slowly, talks to you like you’re a dorky high schooler with her first boyfriend, “did he ask you to marry him?”

The truth is, the timing had been weird. It had been a few days after you’d rocked Jungkook’s world so you understand if he felt the sudden need to pop the question. But you were also sick as fuck that day, had only vaguely remembered the events because you were too busy with the snot up your nose and the raging fever you were battling. Had Jungkook asked you to marry him? 

You’re not so sure. 

It’s been a little over a month since then, and sure his lack of proactive wedding planning was a little weird, but you had always assumed Jungkook was one of those people who liked long engagements. Liked to drag out the last few months as a bachelor. Maybe he was waiting until you were both financially stable or something, who knows. 

Doyeon had been on some soul-searching journey around the country, so she hadn't been home for a while, had only heard of the ring through a two-second snapchat. This is the first time she’s seeing you and it in person; you can tell by the expression on her face that she’s rightfully disappointed. 

“Have you no shame, woman?” she tuts, arms crossed over her chest. “You have me parading around the world bragging about your engagement— just for this?”

You knock your forehead against the table, know it’s dirty and icky, but you deserve it. “Listen,” you huff. “I’ve only seen The Notebook, like, once.”

She scoffs. “I can tell. This is so embarrassing, don’t tell me you’ve brought it up to him?”

At her words you startle, nearly send the drinks flying across the floor. “No!” you shout, mindlessly reaching to twist the ring around your finger. It’s become a habit these past few weeks, a comfort to feel it around you. Granted, the feeling is a little muted now. “Of course he’d get me a promise ring,” you grumble, gaze flickering down to the silver band on your ring finger. “Jungkook loves all that cheesy corny stuff.” He really did. 

You’ve had enough of Doyeon’s disappointment, decide this coffee date has brought you enough three am anxiety material for the next year and a half. You conclude your date by taking a walk around town, arms locked together as you laugh at people who pass by because you’re both a little mean. 

“Maybe it’s for the best,” she says, and you agree. Well, a promise ring certainly meant something. It was, essentially, a pre-engagement ring. And the engagement ring that followed was a pre-wedding ring. And a wedding ring was, well, a wedding ring. Your heartbeat thunders at the thought. “You’re busy right now anyway,” she points out, snapping you out of your bumbling thoughts. “Aren’t you getting promoted at work soon?” 

Oh, you certainly were getting promoted at work. After many grueling months of hard work and dedication, the fruits of your labor were finally being recognized. Gone were the days of useless desk work, intern-like errands that barely required the use of any higher-order brain functions. You had worked hard these past few months, proved your worth over and over again, until you were here. Getting promoted into a new branch at your company— one where your talents were actually needed. And truth be told, there was one man to thank for that. 

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin. 

Seokjin is a great boss. In fact, you could argue he’s the best in the entire world and that, if it wasn’t for him, you would have quit this job that first month you started. But you had him to push you along, friendly smiles and encouragements that kept you going until this point, where you’re being promoted up into a branch where your degree finally matters. And it was all thanks to him! What Kim Namjoon was to Jungkook, Kim Seokjin was to you. 

So what if he cheated on his wife and flirted with the secretaries— Seokjin was practically a god in your eyes. 

And what Seokjin did in his free time was frankly none of your business anyway. You were colleagues at work, got along fairly well, but outside of work you were practically strangers. He was your beloved work colleague, someone Jungkook teased you about endlessly despite never having met him, and you were immensely thankful for him. “Should I be scared he’ll steal you from me?” Jungkook had joked one night, standing behind you as you scrolled through your company profile page. “He is a little handsome.”

You had pinched his side, smiling at his feigned concern when he pressed his lips to your temple. “You’re right,” you had joked back, “he is sooo cool.” And Jungkook had bitten you on the shoulder, laughed that pretty laugh when you yelped in surprise. 

Anyway, Kim Seokjin was a god, Jungkook was on his way to maybe, hopefully, one day, being your husband, and all was well. 

To honor this moment in time, you decide to swing by Jungkook’s place after your date with Doyeon, finding him lazily sprawled across his living room couch while What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim? plays on the Jumbotron. He’s in between projects right now, so he’s spent most of his time relaxing and catching up on all his favorite shows. 

Which brings you back to that deliberating character flaw of yours: no knowledge of the romantic genre to utilize in your everyday life. Your love language has always been blunt words, teasing jabs, the raw and unfiltered type of love. Emotions? Impossible to figure out. You’ve gotten pretty far in life reading verbal and physical cues; with Jungkook, you always know he’s upset when he does the little tongue-against-cheek thing, and it has saved you from many potential arguments. 

On the other hand, it is so obvious what Jungkook’s love language is when he spends fifty percent of his time on Viki, home to some of the most cheesy kdramas in existence. Most guys spend their weekends watching sports or dramatic action movies, but here was Jungkook. Watching some guy try to court his secretary. 

(Okay, he does watch sports and action movies too, but that’s not the point!)

“Hello, sweet boy,” you greet, plopping down beside him. Jungkook smiles back softly. He’s serving absolute pre-pre-husband deliciousness right now, cute glasses, fluffy curls, plaid bottoms that make him look so comfy. God, you were going to suck his dick tonight. 

Jungkook slots his mouth against yours, tastes like the chocolate cake you specifically told him not to eat without you. He blindsides you before you can scold him, pulls you onto his lap where the swell of his cock nudges against your thigh. Oh, you were definitely going to suck his dick and ride him well into the sunrise. 

“What’s my pretty girl doing here tonight?” he asks, cutely looping his fingers through yours. “Thought you were with the Wicked Witch of the West today?”

You roll your eyes, reposition yourself in a laughable attempt at pretending like you’re actually interested in the show. “We just went out for lunch,” you explain, watching the hot lead saunter across the screen. Juicy ass, but nothing compared to Jungkook’s. 

There’s a question lingering on the tip of your tongue, Doyeon’s explanations mixed with your worries, and you hold it for exactly ten seconds before you’re turning to face him head on, eyes going a little crossed from how close he is. “Hey,” you say bluntly. “Is this a promise ring?” you ask, wiggle your finger in his face. 

Jungkook blinks, once, twice, and then his face shoots up in flames. “Maybe,” he mumbles, lips pursed as he tries to avoid your gaze. He was adorable. You laugh, endeared by the red flush that crawls over his cute little cheeks and up his ears. Unable to stop yourself, you squeeze said cheeks between your hands, cooing at the annoyed expression that consumes him soon afterwards.  

“Aw, you want to marry me,” you tease, but it’s secretly a leading question for him to confess that yes, he does want to marry you. For as hot and confident as you are, you too are plagued with doubts. Doubts that can only be smoothed over by hearing it straight from Jungkook’s mouth. 

He rolls his eyes, trying to break free from your hold. “We’ve talked about this,” he murmurs, all embarrassed. But like always, Jungkook knows exactly what you want so he doesn’t deny it, and that’s good enough for you. He’s too flustered to look you in the eye now, childishly craning his head away from you when you try to force him into a staring contest. “Can I finish my show?” he whines, slightly not as hard now that you’ve reduced him into a shy, bumbling mess. It was a nice change of pace from his usual, composed self. 

But you relent, sliding off his lap to sit against his side, classic octopus hug around his waist. The episode is in full swing, not that you know anything about it. Like you said, romantic shows and movies were the least of your concerns. Jungkook, however, eats this type of shit up. “He still trying to fuck her?” you ask, not the least bit interested, but if you’re planning on sucking his dick tonight you have to listen to a few minutes of him rambling first. 

Jungkook sighs. “Yeah,” he says, “I don’t get it.” You hum, trail your hand over his abdomen teasingly. He feels so warm and lean beneath your palm, you were getting hot just thinking about it. “Why would anyone agree to dating their boss?”

You know that Jungkook’s boss is some old Facebook fart, pioneer of something on the site that neither of you two care about. So it makes sense that such a notion disturbs him. You shrug anyway. “Everyone wants to sleep with their hot boss,” you offer. “It’s like, the power dynamic, I guess.”

His frown deepens. “Would you?” Your boss isn’t exactly an old fart; the reason Kim Seokjin was such a renowned playboy is because, well, he had the looks to pull it off. Still, he had become a sort of respectable figure to you and the idea of sleeping with him doesn’t really sound appealing as much as it would to any other random bachelorette, which you admittedly were not. You glance at the screen, where Park Seojoon swaggers around in those tight slacks and fitted button-ups. 

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.” 

Jungkook laughs. “You’re supposed to say no, you idiot,” he says, knocks his forehead against yours softly. You can’t help but chuckle too, enamored with the happy glint in his eyes and the way his smile eats up his features. 

Oh, you loved this man. 

Because he was so sweet and good on Christmas, you let Jungkook make the plans for Valentine’s Day. After all, it’s his favorite holiday (“Why? Well, because it’s a day all about you, and me, and us,” he had sighed dreamily in the bathtub one night, hair adorably pushed back to showcase that handsome face of his. Bubbles clung to his chest, had made you dizzy with every breath he took.), so it’s only right that he gets to make the itinerary for the day, fill it with all his favorite things. After all, cheesy romantic stuff like this was right up his lane. 

He reserves a spot at the fanciest restaurant in the city, the one that has a months long waiting list. It sounds perfect, and the closer it gets to February 13th, the more excited you become. You say 13th because the 14th is a Sunday, and as much as you would love to get on your knees and praise Jungkook’s body until the wee hours of the next day, you have work. So Sunday is off the table. And it’s better this way, you tell yourself. Everywhere would have been packed that day anyway. 

It seems like everywhere you go, the entire world is gearing up for the holiday; from the fast food drive-thru to your favorite lingerie shop, there’s Valentine’s Day specials everywhere you look. Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air. 

But what good is a lovey-dovey holiday without your own lovey dove himself? 

One glance out your window and your knees feel weak, because there he is. Dressed in a loose satin button up, shoulders broad, chest defined. He’s got on these fitted dress pants that accentuate his tiny waist too, thick thighs bulging beneath the fabric. There’s a coat hugging his frame, something to shield him from the cold while he waits out on the curb, does this cute little shivering dance in an attempt to warm up his muscles. Your heart feels like it’ll explode at the sight, and you can practically hear the corny, overused romantic song playing in the background of your thoughts, so you hurriedly distract yourself by slipping tonight’s dress on. 

It’s cold outside, but the sight of Jungkook makes you feel warm and fuzzy everywhere. He’s so hot it makes you dizzy, and the sap knows it when he meets you on the sidewalk. Instinctively, his hand reaches out to tangle with yours, the other slipping around your waist. “Hi, gorgeous,” he greets playfully, kissing your knuckles. His hair has grown out a little, curls up cutely when he lets it air dry and tickles your skin when he gets too close. “Lookin’ like Secretary Kim.” 

“Oh? So does that make you my hot boss?” you tease as you make your way to the car. 

As always, he opens the door for you first, flashes you this dorky little wink as he rounds the front of the car. “If it means you’ll sleep with me tonight, then sure,” he says, buckling himself in. You roll your eyes at his claim. You don’t get to see the proud little smile on his face; by the time you’ve composed yourself, he’s already pulling off in the direction of the restaurant. 

It’s a classy thing, a restaurant and bar in some insanely tall skyscraper. Of course your seats are right beside one of the huge floor to ceiling windows, overlooking the beautiful, glittering cityscape. “Fancy,” you murmur as you sit down, catching a glimpse of the eye roll Jungkook gives you. 

“You say that about any place that serves wine,” he chuckles, reaching for the bottle on the table to pour you a glass. 

The wine tastes like perfection, aged for the perfect amount of time. Whatever that was. You don’t really know, but it tastes amazing! Still, amazement aside, you manage a scoff. “I didn’t say that about your house on our first date,” you huff anyway, throwing him a playful glare over the rim of your glass. 

Jungkook laughs, full and real this time. It’s a little too loud for the classy establishment you find yourselves in, drowns out the jazz music for a second. “That’s because it was a house,” he says, wearing that big, shiny smile you adore, “and we were watching Transformers.” An amazing date, the mere memory of it makes your toes curl. He had been so dreamy— nearly two years ago now! —and had retained that aura up to the present day. You don’t think you’ve ever been so in love with anyone or anything in this world before, as cheesy as it was to admit. 

As if sensing your sudden wandering thoughts, Jungkook nudges your ankle under the table. “Hey,” he says so softly you could melt; his voice was so silky and sweet. “Everything okay?” he asks. 

A sigh, chin in your palm. You had to have been abducted by aliens or something— there was no way this was your life, this disgustingly romantic date with this disgustingly handsome man. An episode of Black Mirror maybe? One where you get forced to live in a romantic Viki drama with the man you love, every single day for the rest of your life? Maybe. 

Dramatics aside, you could practically feel that sticky sweet, sentimental monster begging to crawl to the surface, unleash the entire Shakespearean collection of lovesick sonnets on your unsuspecting boyfriend in the middle of this restaurant. But the weird ones, were you accidentally dedicate an entire six lines to the bulge of Jungkook’s thighs in his workout pants or the heart-shaped mole on his shoulder. Those kind. Before that can happen, you settle on an equally as gentle, “I love you,” murmured for only him to hear. 

Across the table, Jungkook smiles. One of those thin ones when he’s trying to keep his composure but is actually quite flustered, his subtle bunny teeth nibbling at his lower lip. “Thanks,” he responds, still trying to play it cool, but then he almost knocks his glass down and you’re reminded just how perfect he was, flaws and all. “Me too.”

You jab the pointed tip of your stiletto against his shin. “Say it back,” you warn and he laughs. 

“I love you,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Straight out of a romantic drama, like the ones on Viki that require a minimum of four different story arcs just to get to this point. But with Jungkook, it takes a few shy smiles and maybe a kiss. It has a scorching heat rising on your cheeks, one you ward away with a hurried sip of your drink while Jungkook reaches for your hand, thumb rubbing over your promise ring as if for good luck. 

That singular phrase makes your world pause, its axis stalling while you deal with the overwhelmingly soft and gooey feelings in your chest. Oh jeez, you had to rock his world tonight. It was only right. He deserved it for making you feel like this— this silly and ditzy, like a middle schooler with her crush. 

Anyway the food gets to your table after a millennia. Jungkook orders some fancy lobster dish, one that you're pretty sure costs more than the purse you brought along tonight (to be fair, you’re a cheap buyer), and still has the audacity to poke around at your plate too. He eats enough to feed a schoolhouse full of children who’ve just come off recess, practically devouring the table cloth before you stop him. And then he doesn’t let you see the bill; “baby, don’t worry about that when you’re with me,” he purrs, warm breath fanning against the skin on your neck, drunk off pure love and strawberry lemonade because he was driving tonight. The hostess is a blushing mess, fumbling for his change as Jungkook practically gropes your ass in plain sight.

You swear he’s spending too much time on that Viki streaming service, because then, as if the romantic dinner date wasn’t enough, he whisks you off to an even more romantic walk along the river. 

If there was ever a world record for “Number of Times you can Make your Girlfriend Swoon,” you’re positive Jungkook had broken it in the span of a few hours. You feel so light-headed and in love by the time you reach the river. 

“You know,” you tell him as you walk, the serene sounds of the flowing water beside you the soundtrack to your date. Jungkook swings your joined hands between the two of you. It’s chilly but you’re so full and happy that you don’t let it bother you. “I was gonna throw wine at you when we first met.”

He cackles, that loud, airy sound again that he only lets you hear, with his head thrown back. “What?” he gasps, smiley and pretty, your pretty boy. “And why were you going to do that?”

You huff, feeling slightly embarrassed now to admit such a thing. But aside from Doyeon, no one else has ever heard this classified tale. And well, you’re feeling extra emotional tonight. An abundance of emotions in one night usually ended with you crying like a little bitch at some point or another, so you’re trying to push that off for later. “Because,” you sigh, squeezing his fingers, your lone promise ring versus his assortment of fashionable rings. “You sounded like an absolute fuck boy when you first texted me!” 

Jungkook scoffs, playfully scandalized. “Me?” he squawks, pausing to stand in front of you with wide eyes and a ridiculously huge smile, the kind that has his brows raised high, lips going thin, practically displaying every tooth in his mouth from how wide it is. 

“Jungkook,” you say calmly, shoving one finger against his chest. “You asked me to Netflix & chill for our first date.” 

He groans, using your entwined hands to pull you into his arms for a suffocating hug. “I already told you,” he laughs, patting the back of your head while you get in a few lighthearted punches against his sides. “I didn’t know what it meant.” 

“Whatever, you sleaze,” you say anyway, eventually melting into his hands. “Bet you tell all the girls that.” Jungkook makes another scandalized noise, but settles when you wrap your hands around him. He smells so good and familiar, comforting even. Like home and safety, a refuge for your heart. When you’re this close, you can hear the light beating of it beneath your ear, a steady rhythm that has you closing your eyes when he begins humming your favorite song. 

He gets about two verses in when your phone suddenly goes off. 

Everything in your body says to ignore it, to continue basking in the comfort of your boyfriend’s embrace and this absolutely perfect moment. But it’s the stupid ringtone you set for all your work peers when you first loaded the entire company contact list onto your phone, so the sound alone lets you know it’s a work-related call. And for work to be calling you on a weekend was definitely not a good sign. 

“Give me a sec,” you tell Jungkook, pulling away from his arms. He frowns but lets you go, staying close as you dig through your purse for the offending device. 

It’s Kim Seokjin calling at this peculiar hour, a fact that confuses the hell out of you. Jungkook’s bouncing on his heels in an attempt to fight off the chill, giving you his beautiful side profile as he glances down the winding sidewalk that follows the river, and then at his watch. His nose is a cute red color that you want to kiss so bad. But work calls, so you tighten up and let that dream go for now. You swipe your thumb across the screen. 

“Hello, Mr. Kim,” you greet, trying to keep the confusion out of your voice. “How can I help—“

“__, my love,” he beams through the phone, so fucking loud it has Jungkook glancing over curiously. You give him a tight-lipped smile, one he returns as he shuffles closer, trying to steal your warmth like a penguin. You let him snuggle close before turning back to the droning voice of your superior on the line. 

“Hello,” you repeat again, slowly. Jungkook takes your free hand in his; when he squeezes, the band of your promise ring digs into your skin just the slightest. “Was something the matter?” 

Seokjin laughs, loud and clear. There’s a lot of other noises filtering in through his line. Briefly, you remember that there had been some work-related party for the higher ups tonight so you write it off as that. “Does there need to be a problem for me to call you, love?” 

You falter. Beside you, Jungkook’s brows furrow together, his devilishly handsome features even more pronounced. He’s obviously heard the other man on the line. “Um,” you flounder for a second, “well, usually yes.” 

Without missing a beat, Seokjin carries on with a playful tut that you’re almost certain has him lifting the receiver up to his mouth, because it’s so goddamn loud it has you flinching away from your own device. “My __,” he says, sweet and… slurred? 

He’s never used this tone of voice on you, only on other women at the office. Something about his broken marriage and needing to heal a wound, you don’t fucking know. You can’t even begin to truly understand that logic, which is why you’ve always just ignored it. Still, in the last few months of knowing Seokjin, he has never made a pass at you. Until now, that is. And until now, you had kind of convinced yourself he saw you in a sisterly way. Which sure, was worse than being friendzoned. But this was your boss you were talking about. Whether you got sister-zoned or not by him was the least of your concerns. So what was going on? What had changed over the span of a few days that had him suddenly reaching out to you on a weekend? 

Beside you, Jungkook doesn’t look the slightest bit impressed, tongue prodding against his cheek as Seokjin rambles on the line. You wish you had lowered the volume before answering, but doing so now would appear suspicious, even you could admit that. “You’re amazing, you know that?” Seokjin praises. You nod, remember he can’t see you, and settle on a blunt thanks instead. Jin laughs. “You’re different from the rest,” he hums, voice soft and weirdly intimate. 

Jungkook’s frown deepens. “What does he want?” he murmurs, somehow managing to keep his voice calm as always. The deep furrow of his brows and the tongue-against-cheek motion he had done just a few seconds ago all indicate he’s annoyed, that much you can tell. 

You shrug, eyes wide as you hurry to get to the reason for the phone call. You’re almost certain it’s just Seokjin being drunk— many people drunkenly dial their friends and family to tell them how much they’re appreciated, this wasn’t anything weird! 

Is what you try to convince yourself, but then Seokjin’s voice is dropping an octave by your ear. “Did you get my gift?” he murmurs, voice nearly drowned out by the sounds of the event he’s at. 

“Huh?” you stammer, quite stupidly if you do say so yourself. Jungkook shifts closer, obviously trying to hear. A breeze ruffles his hair, his cologne wafting over you. “What?” 

A sigh over the line. “My gift, love,” Kim Seokjin says, loud and proud. Jungkook exhales, hard. “I had it sent to your house this evening. Something pretty for a pretty girl— don’t tell me the postman fucked that up,” he jokes and Jungkook huffs, practically breathing fire through his nose when he hears the words. 

You fidget. There had been no gift when Jungkook picked you up around sunset, not like you had expected anything to begin with. And aside from Jungkook and maybe your parents, there was no one else on this planet you wanted to receive a Valentine’s Day gift from anyway, especially not from your boss of all people. “Um,” you mumble, acutely aware of the way Jungkook’s face is nearly pressed to yours now in his effort to listen in on your phone call. “I— um, haven’t been home, Seokjin.”

Jungkook scoffs, spits out a particularly unimpressed, “Seokjin?” 

Said man doesn’t hear. “Oh, of course,” he says, almost sullenly. “I forgot you had that little boyfriend to entertain tonight.” 

It’s the breaking point for Jungkook, who leans back to glare at the phone with the heat of a thousand suns. You press it against your chest before he can hear anything else. “I’m sorry,” you rush out in a hurried whisper, eyes flickering over his face, trying to gauge the intensity of his emotions. “I think he’s drunk— he’s never said things to me like this before,” you stammer, feeling like you have to defend yourself for some reason. “I’ll- I’ll take care of it, okay?” No answer, just an aggravated shake of his head, like he’s trying to calm himself down. “Jungkook?” you say, can feel the panic begin to lace your voice when his eyes flutter shut. 

He calms your worries with a gentle head butt that has you gasping in surprise, one hard exhale fanning over you. “Okay,” he says, teeth clenched. “I’m gonna go sit.” And then he stiffly walks over to one of the many benches lining the pathway. He sits, just like he had said he would, and glares down at his hands instead. 

The sight makes you anxious, unsure of how to diffuse the situation because, like you’ve said many times before, dealing with emotions— especially someone else’s emotions —was hard. Your eyes refuse to leave his figure as you draw the phone back up to your ear again. “Hello?” you call, voice trembling when Jungkook finally looks your way. The soft look he had given you all night is nowhere to be found, replaced with this rather unreadable expression. Something between annoyance and confusion if you had to guess. You don’t know, and the fact you don’t know makes you panic. Your chest feels tight when Seokjin begins speaking again. 

“You know,” he says, “you’re quite something, __. Strong, confident. Beautiful.” Had you been anyone else, you might have been flattered by Kim Seokjin’s remarks, maybe would have swooned. He was, objectively speaking, a handsome man with a hefty bank account. 

But if that was the criteria for a man to make you swoon, then the man on the bench in front of you checked all the same boxes three times over. The man who’s brows draw closer and closer together the longer you linger on the phone. Jungkook’s foot does one agonizing tap against the concrete and you find yourself stammering into the phone. “I think you’re drunk, Jin.”

A scoff. “I am,” he agrees, and doesn't even bother to hide it. “But you remind me of her, you know that? I like that.”

It’s like he knows something is going on on the line, because Jungkook visibly bristles when you sidestep in surprise. What was going on, your brain screams. Having your superior compare you to his infidel wife was definitely not something you saw coming tonight. “Uh, okay?” you say, “listen, Seokjin— Mr. Kim, I’m... I have a boyfriend. And I really lov—“

He cuts you off. Jungkook bristles at the sudden stop of your sentence. “Yeah, yeah,” Seokjin drawls, and you can feel the sheer terror of accidentally jeopardizing your relationship with Jungkook step aside for the briefest moment to allow some annoyance to seep through. Annoyed with Seokjin and his audacity, his tone, his voice. “Mrs. Kim used to say that about me,” he chuckles humorlessly, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” A long pause. You’re unsure of how to respond. “It’s not real,” Seokjin says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. “Love, that is.”

You clench your jaw, gathering your thoughts to respond when Seokjin beats you to it. “But you know what, love?” You don’t respond. Seokjin pushes on anyway. “Someone’s gonna cheat sooner or later— why not beat him to it?” 

Your body reacts first, a startled gasp inhaled through your lips at his disrespectful preposition. Your phone slips out of your grasp. It bounces twice, lands on the ledge that gives way to the river, and you almost kick it in when Jungkook comes up behind you. “Hey, hey,” he says sternly, tugging you away from the phone you almost killed. “What’s wrong— what did he say?”

You exhale, face warm from the discomfort sitting heavy in your chest. “Nothing,” you huff, mind slightly foggy as you try to process that awkward conversation. “It’s— it was stupid,” you spit, pressing the heels of your palms against your temples, the raging anger and confusion making your head pound now. 

You had always known Kim Seokjin wasn’t the most faithful man, that the infidelity ran both ways in his relationship. But you had never imagined he would ever compare you to her, his cheating wife, in an attempt to win you over. Furthermore, you’re downright disturbed by the fact he would even try to hit on you after all the mentoring he’d given you, all the polite smiles he’d flashed you, all the praise you had bestowed upon him to Jungkook. 

Jungkook, whose jaw twitches as his hands graze your forearms. When you look at him again, you feel an immense wave of remorse wash over you at the way his own irritation is clouded by his worry for you. He had been wronged as well— disrespected just like you —but here he was, pushing his own emotions aside for your sake. He doesn’t want to see you upset. He was so good at dealing with your emotions, knew just what to do when things became too much. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, lips pursed together. “I don’t know why— he’s never— I wouldn’t do that,” you settle on, voice wobbling when Jungkook’s jaw clenches. “Jungkook,” you frown, reaching for his hands, “I wouldn’t—“ 

He shushes you with another one of those gentle forehead bumps. “Calm down,” he says, voice deeper than usual. “I know you wouldn’t.” 

Weirdly, it feels like you’ve committed a grave sin against your boyfriend. A crime. “I’m sorry,” you blubber anyway, heart thundering in your chest. “That was horrible,” you huff, desperately blinking away the stinging sensation behind your eyes. “You didn’t deserve to hear that.”

“Don’t cry,” Jungkook says, so soft and comforting; stable. You want his composure, his ability to process and understand things so quickly— his maturity. Sure he had been put off by Seokjin, but he had processed it all so quickly; adapted to the situation and stepped in to save you. Meanwhile, you nearly committed cellular murder because you couldn’t handle yourself. “He’s a weirdo,” he says, for both your sakes. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart.” 

Still, you sniffle. “I’m sorry,” you say again, the heavy feeling in your chest lightening just a little bit when he pulls you into his arms. 

“Crybaby,” he teases softly, a kiss on the crown of your head. You pinch his side. “Second phone you broke in a year.”

The mood for the riverwalk is off after that, and you only walk a few more meters before Jungkook decides it’s enough. “We can still enjoy ourselves at home,” he reassures you, and the way he tries to salvage that soft, fuzzy feeling from before is admirable. So Jungkook takes you home, holds your hand the whole drive back to your place, like he knows you’re still fragile from that extremely uncomfortable interaction, need him to hold you together. Jungkook’s emotional stability guards you like a shield, covers you in a wave of comfort as you calm down. You tell him about Seokjin’s preposition and he bristles. “Prick,” he murmurs beneath his breath, grip tightening just the tiniest bit. Your ring pinches against your skin a little painfully, but you say nothing. 

There’s a box of flowers on your doorstep when you arrive, one that makes Jungkook pause at the sight. “Wonderful,” he drones, picking it up for you as you unlock the front door. It gets left on the coffee table, practically mocking the two of you as you remove your shoes and coats. “That’s your favorite flower,” Jungkook notes. 

You glance at the expensive bouquet. “It is.” 

Jungkook drops down onto your couch, eyes flickering to the meticulous arrangement in front of him. “You told him?” Not really. But back when you had thought Jungkook and you were engaged (read: last week), you had spent days looking at different floral shops that specialized in this flower, frequently leaving the tab open on your work computer. Seokjin must have seen it then. At your extended silence, Jungkook says, “nice.”

You frown, setting your heels on the shoe rack. “Baby, I didn’t,” you tell him softly, reaching for the zip on the back of your dress. It comes down, and after clearing your hips, it falls to the floor in a dark heap you pick up quickly. It leaves you scantily clad in a black lingerie set. Meanwhile, Jungkook drops his head back, glaring at your ceiling. Tentatively, you step over to him, toying with the fabric of your dress in your hands. “You said it was okay.”

“I know,” he sighs, an unexpected confession from him that makes you pause. Despite all you’ve been through, he still rarely highlighted situations that upset him. “It’s just,” he says, turning his head to look at your form again, eyes not drinking you in like you hoped he would. “It’s scary.”

The couch cushion dips beneath your weight when you settle beside him. “What is?”

Jungkook shrugs, avoiding your question by reaching for the TV remote on the coffee table, right beside the box of flowers Seokjin had sent. He opens up the Viki app in a flash— the one linked to his account —and has even loaded up the next episode of Secretary Kim when you question him again. “What’s scary, Jungkook?” you repeat. 

On screen, there’s a beautiful scene on a bridge, the two leads happily conversing. It’s serene, something neither you nor Jungkook feel at the moment. 

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

You pause. “What do you mean?” Leave? Where on earth would you leave to when this was your home? He doesn’t meet your gaze. 

Another scene passes by on screen, some cheesy line and an even cheesier promise. Jungkook’s foot taps against the floor, the sound dull against the plush rug beneath you. It’s a nervous tick you’ve only seen him do at the height of truly stressful situations. Weird because just half an hour before you had dubbed him as the epitome of calm and collected at the river. 

“I thought he was cool before.” 

He did. But the word ‘cool’ didn’t always have the same meaning for Jungkook as it did for you. 

In the past, Jungkook had frequently joked about having to meet Kim Seokjin and thank him for all the help he’s given you at work. After all, up until now, you had only ever had good things to say about the man, raving about his cool demeanor and respectable work ethics. Now, the memories paired with the conversation from earlier leave a bad taste in your mouth. 

You’re a little confused with Jungkook right now; part of you had convinced yourself that whatever happened on the phone earlier with Seokjin was put behind you, marked off as an anomaly in the evening. After all, Jungkook himself had said it was okay. Park Seojoon appears on screen, and you can’t help but glare at the character, residue emotions from the river pushed off onto this innocent actor. 

Still, Jungkook surprises you. “It’s just that—“ he sighs. And then, “what if you leave?” 

You blink, eyes trained on his side profile and the way he’s nervously chewing through his bottom lip until it tints a red shade, gives way to sensitive skin when he bites too hard. “Why would I leave?” 

He says nothing. On screen, Park Seojoon says something so cheesy and romantic that it would have otherwise made you cringe, made Jungkook soft. But he’s stiff as a board beside you instead. You almost think he’s going to disregard the entire conversation when he finally speaks again. “Well.” You perk up at the sound of his voice, overly aware of the way he’s started picking at the skin around his thumb again, another nasty habit you’ve been trying to help him get over. “He’s cool. Rich.”

“And so are you,” you offer, covering his hand with your own. 

Jungkook ignores you, releasing a long, shaky exhale. Somehow, he’s exuding a similar energy as before; discontentment mixed with understanding. Like he’s greatly conflicted but forcing himself to remain calm. Another trembling inhale, and then Jungkook quietly recites, “everyone wants to sleep with their hot boss.” 

You recoil just the slightest, brows pinched together at the absurd conclusion he’s drawn. “Baby, that was just a silly conversation,” you say slowly, slipping your hand into his. He squeezes so tight you’re afraid he’ll break your bones. “And we were joking—“

“I know!” he exclaims, enveloping your significantly smaller hand in both of his before bringing them up to his face, lips pressed against your knuckles. It’s not a kiss, more so a desperate need to feel you against him. Eyes wide, you can’t do anything but watch as that collected exterior slips away, revealing a whirlwind mess of emotions. It’s a rather unexpected show from Jungkook. “It was a joke. We were joking. But I’m—“ his jaw clenches. His voice is so tiny when he speaks again. “I get scared sometimes, __.” 

His emotional outburst renders you speechless, watching as he squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenching, hands trembling. 

It’s a stark image change from the cool Jungkook that had comforted you at the river, had patted the back of your head when you had been so distraught. His chest heaves for air and you don’t know what to do; it’s always the other way around, him comforting you, that when it comes down to this you find yourself at a loss. It makes you feel like you don’t know enough about yourself or him or your relationship in general to help him, always so lost when things like this happen. 

Jungkook has never been good at expressing negative emotions, always preferring to bottle them up and only show you his very best side. Granted, he’s been getting better at letting go lately, has whispered his doubts to you in the dead of night after a particularly grueling project, an uncomfortable social meeting. But he always waits until you’re half asleep and in the dark to tell you how he feels, hushed worries that you barely remember the next morning. And by then, Jungkook’s moved on from them anyway, flashes you a pretty smile and purposefully guides you away from that conversation. You know he’s started keeping a journal recently, but aside from seeing the blanks pages when he’d first gotten, you don’t have a clue what happened afterwards. It’s probably hidden away somewhere, his feelings locked up in a cupboard or a box, the secrets it holds never to be spoken of aloud. 

He doesn’t like talking about his more personal problems, hoards them until you’re forced to intervene. Find him slumped over at his dining table with bags under his eyes, the skin on his lower lip bitten beyond belief. 

Rarely does he sit down and express himself like this, lays his heart out carefully for you to see. Had he not said so right now, you would have never known Jungkook struggled with such doubts about you and your relationship. 

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.) 

Jungkook always acts like everything is okay, always forces himself to hold it together for the sake of you and, quite frankly, everyone else. He’s there when Taehyung breaks up with his girlfriends, pats him on the back and lets him run through every video game he has on his PS5. He’s there for Namjoon when his thesis becomes too much, proofreads it even though he doesn’t understand a word just for the sake of giving his best friend another perspective. Hell, he had even been there for Doyeon when her new landlord had tried to overcharge her, had carried the bulk of your argument when you ran off to try and fight with the old man. 

(“He’s too nice sometimes,” she had murmured the next morning at her place. After the shouting match the night before, you had crashed with Doyeon on her new bed, your sweet boyfriend taking up her couch. Somehow, you and Jungkook had managed to knock a clean seventy-five bucks off her monthly bill. It wasn’t much, but for an apartment in the city it sure felt like a lot. 

You had hummed, patting the top of his head on the way to the kitchen. “He’s a good boy,” you had said, heart thrumming when he instinctively pushed closer to your hand, nuzzling into you even in his sleep. “He cares about everyone a lot. Worries to death about his friends.”

The state of their relationship was weird; they were always fighting about one thing or another, ‘eternal enemies’ as Doyeon liked to claim. 

But for the first time, she hadn’t denied they were, in fact, friends. Instead, she had quietly stood at the breakfast nook overlooking the living room with a somber look on her face that was completely unlike the Doyeon you knew. She didn’t respond with her usual backhanded compliments, didn’t even call him a gremlin either. 

“He even worries about you, Miss Wicked Witch of the West,” you had teased, reaching over to pull Jungkook’s shirt down where it had ridden up, exposing his cute belly button to the cold apartment. She had sipped at her mug of coffee, eyes foggy and distant. “It just takes him a while.” 

“He’s always cared about you though,” she had murmured then, and you had marked it off as her being half asleep. But Doyeon had given you this look, a look so profoundly wise, as if she was saying, “more than you’ll ever know.”) 

Most importantly, Jungkook is always there for you. He holds you in his arms, strokes your back comfortingly whenever something goes wrong. Listens to your concerns and offers you advice, learns new things for the sole purpose of helping you out. Lets you make stupid decisions and always saves you at the last minute. And you want to repay him for all that, want to look after Jungkook like he does for everyone else. But it’s hard, it’s so fucking hard, when he doesn’t let you in, when he holds his emotions at bay for the sake of protecting yours. When you don’t even know where to start sometimes. 

The beating of your heart is accompanied by a dramatic orchestral ensemble on screen, violins and flutes as the two lovers reconcile some issue with a kiss. Beside you, your own lover is one second away from falling apart. “Hey,” you say quietly, slipping your hand out of his to hesitantly place on his back instead. With your release, Jungkook uses his empty hands to drag over his face, hide himself from you. “I’m not going to leave you, Jungkook,” you try and comfort, “I love you.” 

He shakes his head, dark locks bouncing around. “I know, I know,” he sighs, but it doesn’t sound like he believes you. It sounds like he’s forcing himself into composure again, jaw flexing as he shakes his head. “But— what if—” another aggravated huff, his thighs jumping anxiously. “You’ll get bored.” Not a question, but a statement. 

“Of you?” you ask anyway. He nods. “I won’t.”

He sits up so suddenly you have to move away to avoid bumping into him. “You will,” he urges, finally looking at you, distress painted over every inch of his face. “That guy, that Seokjin, he sounds more interesting than me. He sounds cool and put together, like the world is his oyster and,” he rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes. “You talk about him sometimes and... and you call him a god, __,” he stresses, doesn’t leave room for you to object. “And I know you’re joking, but—“ a sharp inhale, and then, quietly, “everyone gets bored of me, __.” 

Your frown deepens. “But I won’t,” you argue, confident in your claim, shifting onto your knees beside him. Your dress is thrown over the armrest of the couch, and the draft in your apartment makes goosebumps rise on your bare flesh. “You’re not boring, Jungkook,” you tell him, voice softening when his features pinch up, nose wrinkling as he wards off the stinging behind his eyes. 

It’s teenage trauma. Jungkook had told you at least that much before, this crippling sense of loneliness and an inferiority complex that hindered him during an influential growth period of his life. It’s why he’s so quiet when he has so much to say, why he brings you along to every party he gets invited to; he’s never felt like he was enough by himself. 

Sometimes, it leaks into his confessions. “I don’t deserve you,” he says frequently, but some days you want to hot glue him to a chair and force him to listen to every reason why he does and always will deserve you or anyone for that matter. “You make me better,” he claims, but he does that all on his own, lights up the world with his smile alone. 

He’s gotten better, that much you’ve learned from Namjoon and Taehyung. And even you’ve noticed it on your own, watched as he animatedly talked with his friends and his coworkers, drew people naturally to him with his warm aura. 

Even still, there’s moments where he relapses. Moments like this. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs beside you, “I know I’m a handful—“

“You’re not,” you interrupt, cupping his soft cheek in your hand, turning him to face you. Jungkook leans into the touch, and your heart breaks in half when a tear escapes over his waterline, pretty eyes brimming with tears. “You’re not a handful, Jungkook,” you tell him, shuffling closer until you can press your forehead against his. The truth is, you don’t know how to comfort him, but this is how he’s always comforted you; it feels nice when he does it for you. “You’re just enough,” you say, voice soft because it feels like your precious boy is about to fall apart in your arms, his shallow breaths rivaling the volume of the television. “You’ve always been enough.” 

He sniffles, and another tear tickles the side of your thumb, catching the light. “I’m sorry,” he repeats anyway, a disbelieving chuckle tacked on at the end. 

“Don’t be,” you shush, pushing away a strand of hair when he leans closer. His frown is still prominent, pink lips red and soft under your thumb when you tap your finger against them. “You can tell me when things worry you, you know,” you inform him, heart swelling when his eyes fall shut and he leans into your touch. He’s so handsome, the cute little mole beneath his lip begging to be kissed. “I’ll always listen.”

Jungkook hums, breathing evening out. “I know you will,” he says. “But I like listening to your voice more, and I can’t do that when I’m talking.” 

You snort and Jungkook finally lets a tiny smile slip. “Don’t flirt with me so soon after your meltdown,” you mumble, kissing his cheek softly. 

Jungkook chuckles, real this time, and sniffles right afterwards. “I’ll flirt with you whenever I want.” And, because he’s just so full of surprises tonight, he sniffles once more before he’s unceremoniously tackling you back onto the couch. You squeal, the TV remote digging into your back painfully. It has the volume accidentally skyrocketing, startling the both of you with an ear-shattering orchestral piece at the height of some emotional scene. Jungkook scrambles to free the device and lower the volume before your eardrums burst. “I didn’t even know your TV could go that loud,” he says, and he’s speaking normally but the deafening violins are still reverberating in your head, making him sound quieter than he really is. 

“Come here,” you say instead, and he obeys, crawling into your arms, mouth hovering just over yours. “You feeling better?”

Jungkook nods, dark hair bouncing. “You make me better,” he tries, but after tonight’s realization, you respond to his corny words with a pinch against his doughy cheek instead. 

“Don’t say that,” you frown, toying with one of the earrings decorating his ear. The tip of his nose is flushed red, the exertion from crying catching up to him. His lashes are dark, probably feel so heavy with the residual tears that cling to them. 

Jungkook repositions himself, guides your legs around his waist. “Why not? It’s true.” He glances at your mouth. “You make my life better.”

“Wrong,” you say bluntly, brushing his hair back with your hands. “Your own perception and understanding of your experiences makes your life better. I just happen to be in it.” Jungkook looks the tiniest bit surprised at your suddenly logical argument. “Trust me, I saw it in a documentary the other day.” 

At that he laughs, full and loud, pecking your lips once with a sweet smile on his face. “Now I know you’re lying,” he grins, gently nudging his nose against yours. The drama on the TV is but a quiet hum compared to the pounding of your heart in your chest when he looks at you like that. “Because you don’t even like documentaries.” 

You kiss him softly, holding his hair back for him. He tastes a little bit like the chocolate cake he had at the restaurant and the lemonade he drank (he didn’t indulge in the sweet wine with you because he needed to drive). His lips mold perfectly against yours, and he sighs softly when he finally draws back. “But I like you,” you purr. 

Jungkook’s eyes darken, one heavy exhale fanning across the lower half of your face. You readjust the leg around his waist, pull him closer just the slightest bit. “Don’t flirt with me so soon after my meltdown,” he repeats, lips brushing against yours. You chuckle. “You don’t know what that means to me.” You can roughly guess, but that opportunity is taken away when Jungkook slots his mouth against yours, soft lips molding to yours. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, wastes no time slipping in when you open for him, hot and wet. 

Jungkook’s fingers are just as warm when he trails them up the back of your thigh, pulls you impossibly closer until the buckle on his belt is pressed flush against your mound. A tiny whimper escapes your lips, chest jumping just the slightest from the pressure. It makes Jungkook pull away with an easygoing grin, chocolate eyes half-lidded. “You okay?” he murmurs, breath a little shaky from the kiss. You nod, tangling your fingers behind his head and pulling him in close again. 

He evades your puckered lips, ducking down to press his own against your throat, right beneath your jaw. “Ugh,” you groan, digging your nails into his back through his satin shirt. “I wanted a kiss.”

Jungkook nips at your skin, this tiny gesture that couldn’t hurt even if he tried. “You always want a kiss,” he retorts softly, the quiet smack of his lips filling your ears as he bestows a series of smooches against your skin. And it’s so devastatingly tender how he handles you, like you’re made of glass and will break at a moment’s notice, like he wants to treasure your body for the rest of his—

Jungkook chomps down, hard, and you hiss. “Sit still,” he orders, soothing over the bite with one broad lick of his tongue. 

You whimper. “That hurt.” 

“And it’ll hurt even more if you keep moving,” he warns you, and before you can ask what that even means, he’s leaving another stinging bite just further down. It’s at the midway point of your neck, right in front, and you can feel your heartbeat in your throat when he sucks a painful mark over it. “There,” he says, mostly to himself. “All mine.”

Your legs tighten around him, and you fight down the wave of heat that threatens to consume you when he places one final kiss over the second mark— the hickey. 

Jungkook doesn’t usually leave them. In fact, you can rarely recall a time where he had purposefully gone out of his way to mark you up like this. It was always accidental, always unplanned, because he knew how troublesome it was for you to cover them up for work the next morning. Work, where your coworkers and your bosses and Seokjin could see. 

Brows pinched together, your brain begins to draw a connection, one that Jungkook is soon confirming himself. “Everyone will see that now,” he hums, kissing a trail down your neck. 

Of course. 

You pat the back of his head in amusement, hiding a smile against his soft locks. Before you can say anything more, maybe tease him for being so cute, there’s a hand on your hip that snaps you out of your scheming. Jungkook lifts his head, does that endearing little head shake that pushes his hair out of his eyes, before leaning in for another languid kiss. 

It’s even slower than the first, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with running his hands over your body now. It starts at your shoulder, teasingly snaps the strap of your bra as you push your tongue down his throat. Jungkook whimpers, that pretty sound that makes you desperate to hear more. It’s the same sound that he always makes when he wants to be pampered, wants you to kiss his entire body while he lays there and takes it. 

And you’re all too ready to act on it. 

Duty calls and you’re there to answer, tilting his head for him with your hands against his cheeks. He sighs against you, breath trembling as it tickles across your skin. That soft and tender way that makes you melt because he’s just so precious, so dreamy. 

But you’re too caught up in your plotting to remember the hand he’s got on your hip, the one that teases the waistband of your panties with one lone finger. It’s only when Jungkook pulls away from your inviting mouth, his other hand holding you down by your shoulder, that you’re snapped back into reality. His lips are swollen and red, slick from your tongue, and so tantalizingly kissable. He huffs out a breath, eyes flickering over your face. “Can I touch you,” he husks, and gives into the temptation to press a kiss against your jaw. 

“Yes, please,” you shiver, hypnotized by his hungry stare. 

Jungkook wastes no time, pressing another kiss against the bruising mark over your throat that dissolves into a series of lighter smooches he trails down between your breasts. His hands come up to cup your boobs over your bra, giving them one harsh squeeze that has you releasing a long exhale as he moves between the valley and down your tummy, over your belly button. “Open,” he says at your pubic bone, carefully guiding your legs apart until you’re spread wide for him. 

The dark panties you’re wearing tonight— the super expensive ones you had spent an hour measuring your body for the exact sizing —receive one light kiss over the front. “Always so pretty for me,” Jungkook murmurs, tracing one lone finger down the middle. Your stomach contracts when he nudges it against you, the soft material of your panties just barely pushed between your folds. 

As his hand occupies itself with some relatively light foreplay, Jungkook tasks himself with leaving another tingling mark against your skin. This time, it’s on the inside of your thigh. He starts it off slowly, a few littered kisses against the skin until he deems one spot worthy enough and abruptly sinks his teeth into you. “Not so hard,” you whimper, reaching down to bury your hands in his hair. 

Jungkook lets it go, sloppily licking over the area. “You like it hard,” he husks, meeting your gaze as he licks one, long stripe over the tender skin. “Don’t you?” You nod demurely, pressing your knuckles against your lips to hold back a tiny moan from slipping past your lips. 

With that new mark blooming over your skin, Jungkook transfers his attention to your pussy, hidden beneath the soft material of your panties. One finger hooks under the hem, tucking them aside until he can see you in your entirety. “Fuck,” he groans, pressing one light kiss over your clit that makes you inhale sharply, fingers digging into his scalp. Jungkook throws one final glance your way before letting his tongue slip past his lips, the very tip flicking against your clit. 

Your breathing becomes shallow, anticipation building in the pits of your stomach as he slowly but surely begins playing with you. His tongue is so warm and wet, nudges your throbbing clit, nose pressed against your mound. “Mmm,” he moans, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth works wonders. 

“Ah,” you gasp, whiny and high-pitched, when he dips one finger past your wet folds. The entry is seamless, his pointer finger sinking into the velvet walls of your cunt as his tongue swirls against your hardened bud. “Jungkook,” you mewl, knocking your heel against his shoulder. Jungkook huffs, suctions his lips around your clit. The cold metal of the rings he always wears— the duo set from that Chrome Hearts brand he likes so much —presses against the trembling lips of your pussy, makes your back arch when he twists his finger inside of you. 

He’s so precise with his tongue, knows just how long and how hard to lick against your pulsing clit until you’re trembling, thighs quivering. Briefly, he pulls away, flicks his hair to the side in one suave motion that lets you see his dark eyes when he glances back up at you again, covered in a thick sheen of lust that makes them appear almost black as opposed to his usual warm brown. His hands reach for the waistband of your panties, tug them off with one fluid pull. 

“So pretty for me,” he murmurs, the end of his words laced with a slight rasp that makes your hips jump. “All for me,” he says, roughly pushing his finger into you again. The harshness makes your entire body tighten up in surprise, eyes fluttering shut when he slips his middle finger alongside his pointer this time around. 

“Baby, wait,” you whimper, walls fluttering around the two digits. Jungkook leans back in, presses a chaste kiss against your clit that makes your breathing stall as he thrusts his fingers into you. 

He ignores your cries, locks his lips at the juncture where your thigh meets your body, sensitive skin that bruises all too easily when he sucks against it too hard. “Only for me,” he sighs, all pretenses discarded as he begins rapidly and roughly fucking his fingers into you. It’s intense, has your thighs quaking as he speeds them up. 

The coil in your stomach tightens, and you have to bite down on your knuckles to stop the litany of whimpers from slipping past your lips when Jungkook ducks down again. He bypasses your quivering clit, warm tongue licking at the warm, wet folds around his fingers instead. The proximity makes the tip of his round nose brush along the length of your cunt, a sight and sensation that makes you moan, his bangs harshly tugged away from his forehead to give you the perfect view. 

It’s with a particularly hard shove and twist combination of his fingers into your clenching walls that you cum, a gasp caught in your throat as your hips push toward him, chasing the feeling Jungkook bestows upon you. Your breathing is a mess, inhales too short, your exhales inconsistent, as Jungkook slows the speed of his fingers inside of you, lets your cum ooze out around them, coat his fingers and his rings. 

“No,” you cry, watching that look come over his face when he withdraws his hand, the look that usually follows him sucking your cum into his mouth. “Jungkook, you don’t have to do that—” you whine, reaching for his wrist and yanking it towards you. 

Jungkook follows, crawls back up beside you as he chases his own sticky fingers. “It’s mine,” he urges, has this weird look in his eyes you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. And just as quickly as it crosses his features, he’s lurching forward to catch his own fingers in his mouth. It’s lewd, the way his tongue wraps around them, leaves them sleek under the TV glow, tattoos and rings glistening. He has the audacity to moan, eyes fluttering shut as his devious tongue slips down between his fingers, so long and precise. There’s a tiny noise that tears itself from your throat, one that has him flickering his clouded gaze up to you as his fingers are released from between his own lips. “You like that,” he murmurs, wet fingers trailing down your cheek, capturing your chin to turn your face his way completely. 

His tongue is sinful as it slips past your lips again, the tangy taste of yourself clinging to him. His breathing feels hot, suffocating. But his kisses are so good, make your mind go blank. So blank, that the fingers that rub at your clit surprise you completely. “Kook,” you gasp, breaking away from him in surprise. 

Jungkook doesn’t let you get far, capturing your mouth with his again. The two fingers you had felt on your chin are gone, firmly pressed against your swollen clit, experimentally rubbing against it. Never mind the fact you were still sensitive from your first orgasm, thighs quivering when he drags them against the wet, soft skin. It makes you shudder, breaking away from him a second time for a desperately needed inhale of fresh air. Jungkook follows behind closely, pressing kisses over your jawline, your chin, as his fingers continue moving against your clit.

He has them pressed together, rubbing at the front of your slit where that bundle of nerves is hidden. It makes your stomach contract, hips jerking forward into the touch in an effort to match him, to speed up the process. “You were made for me, pretty girl,” Jungkook huffs against your cheek, nose pressed against your skin because he’s just so close, practically molded into your side as his fingers send rhythmic shocks of ecstasy up your spine.

Your mouth drops open, stuttered gasps filtering through your lips as Jungkook takes advantage of your sensitive body to draw out another orgasm. But there’s a weird sensation that builds in your stomach this time, one that brings with it a sense of panic. “Wait—“ you gasp, fisting the silky material of his shirt beneath one clenched fist. “Jungkook,” you warn, toes curling.

He responds with a harsh nip against your lower lip that makes you whimper. “Go ahead,” he purrs, rubbing his fingers over you at an insane speed, one that has your juices sloppily spread over your pussy, makes you buck into him and moan against his mouth. 

The feeling grows, an intense, unfamiliar thing that you rarely recall ever feeling before, gasping for air as Jungkook’s fingers caress your clit, pressing down hard. “Fffuck, fuck,” you sob, mouth opening in a silent scream, eyes rolling backwards as you feel your pussy lips contract harder than ever before, thighs quivering as your juices squirt out of you, lower body reduced to jello as Jungkook quickens his movements, wrists jerking back and forth as your pleasure sprays out of you. “Ju— Jungkook,” you wail, forcefully slamming your thighs shut when he doesn’t stop, the pleasure seemingly never-ending under such a torturous touch. “Stop—stop,” you beg, eyes filling with tears that spill over when his trapped hand manages one final rough rub against your clit accompanied by a final gush of wetness. 

Only then does he stop, leaning back on his knees to drink you in with dark eyes that make you quiver. There’s no trace of his usual post-orgasm cockiness, the smile he’ll flash you, the teasing jabs. Nothing, just a frankly terrifying gaze that has you self-consciously pressing your hands over your chest. 

Jungkook doesn’t take kindly to it, roughly snatching one of your wrists up until you’re sitting up, the traces of your own orgasm present in the damp couch cushions beneath you, inner thighs coated in a thin sheen of your own pleasure. Jungkook leans in close, nose bumping against yours. “You came like that for me,” he says quietly, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. You nod, eyes wide and teary when he reaches for the front of his shirt, giving it the same treatment he usually gives yours; two hands at the front, yanking it apart until the buttons are torn from their stitches and bouncing across your floor. 

He throws it off to the side, his tan skin highlighted by the cool tones of the television, the dark sleeve of his tattoo especially prominent. The black ink almost looks blue under this light. You’re so distracted by the perfect swirls and doodles on Jungkook’s skin that you don’t realize that same hand is reaching for you until it’s too late, long fingers wrapping around your throat to jerk you forward, head tipping back to look up at him. “Say it, sweet girl,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded. “Tell me you’re mine.”

The fingers around your throat squeeze once and then slowly begin tightening. You gasp, meeting his hooded gaze with yours, lips quivering for a response that’s stuck in your throat, trapped by your own surprise and tightening airways. Frantically, you reach for his wrists with both hands, not to pull Jungkook’s hand away, but to ground yourself from the hazy cloud of lust the moment evokes. 

Still, your body isn’t as strong as you thought, and once Jungkook reaches a certain tightness around your throat you find yourself coughing. Instantly, he loosens his grip. But not too much. “I- I’m yours,” you rasp out, gasping for air. 

For now, it satisfies Jungkook enough for him to release you. And while you’re grateful for the rush of fresh air that fills your lungs, the phantom ghost of his grip around your throat sends a new gush of wetness between your thighs. One that grows tenfold when Jungkook reaches for his belt, undoes it easily. It comes off with one fluid motion, carelessly shucked off to the side as his attention moves to the front of his pants instead. 

He doesn’t let you sit around uselessly. “On your knees,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it. “Sit on your knees facing the table.”

You blink slowly, the dry tears on your cheeks leaving stiff trails against your makeup. It takes a moment for your brain to process his request, one long second that has Jungkook pausing in his movements, leveling you with one solemn glare that eventually has you springing into action. You hastily slip off the couch, shuffling toward the coffee table between it and the television. The rug is soft beneath your knees, a luxury you can’t enjoy to the fullest because there’s a ball of excitement and fear stuck in your throat. (Right beneath your bruised skin and recuperating windpipes.) Sitting back on your calves, it feels like every nerve is standing stiff as you await his instructions. 

“Bra off,” Jungkook says from behind you, and you’re startled by the sudden ripping of stitches behind you, almost turning to look at him. He stops you with one hand around the back of your neck, drawing a surprised gasp from you. “Sit still,” he commands, your back stiff straight, eyes focused on the screen. After a beat, Jungkook lets you go, pats the back of your head gingerly. “Good girl.”

A whimper catches in your throat at the praise, and you barely manage to bite down on it in time, hurriedly reaching behind you. Your hands fidget over the clasps on your bra, and you nearly jump out of your skin when one lone finger traces down your spine, undoing your bra for you. You don’t know why, but you say, “thank you.”

The television changes scenes in front of you, the bright colors a stark contrast to the darkness of Jungkook’s eyes. Your hands tremble in front of you, fingers anxiously tangling with each other. A few inches beside you, there’s a dark red box filled with the flowers from—

Suddenly, your vision goes dark, hands instinctively reaching up to your eyes. The pads of your fingers come in contact with a soft material, smooth and silky. Just like— “Is this… ?” you murmur, hands sliding across the makeshift blindfold Jungkook’s made for you, the same texture as his shirt had been. 

He doesn’t grace you with an answer, just a hand against your hip as he, presumably, settles behind you. “Does it matter?” Jungkook says instead, voice all too close to your ear. Your entire body locks up, hands quickly returning to their spot against the coffee table. 

Just as you’d suspected, Jungkook is all too close now, hands crawling over your body. They start at your waist, massage the skin tenderly, lovingly, before gliding up to cup your breasts. You shiver, a quiet exhale escaping you as Jungkook rubs his palms over your boobs, trapping your stiff nipples between his fingers. A sound threatens to escape you, and you trap it behind a bitten lip, fists clenched against the table before you. “You know,” Jungkook says conversationally, like he’s not pinching your nipples enough to make you squirm. “Who else do you think can make you come like this?”

You brain lags. “W- What?” you stutter, thighs pressing together to ward away the arousal. Not like they’re already sticky from before, from when Jungkook had made you squirt. 

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat, pressing a kiss against your shoulder that he trails up to your ear, nibbling at your earlobe. “Who else,” he says slowly, “can make you come like this?”

It’s not a trick question— no one could. You tell Jungkook as much. “I— no one,” you answer, rolling your lips in when he kisses the tender spot beneath your ear again. 

His kisses feel loud, but not as loud as his voice when he says, “exactly.” You swallow, gripping at the edge of the coffee table when he releases your boobs, trails one hand between your thighs, the other around your throat to pull you backwards against his chest. It makes your hands flail, landing against the tops of his thick thighs. 

Jungkook holds you close, fingers tightening around your throat teasingly. “No one else can please you like you want,” he exhales, letting his fingers trail over your skin. “Not the guy on tv, not your exes, not the fucking loser at your job,” he hisses, lips against your ear. “No one,” he reiterates, voice softer now as he presses a kiss against you. “No one but me.”

And it’s true. 

You can’t even muster your usual mouthy, bratty attitude when Jungkook serves you cold hard facts like this. Not when you can feel his aching member press against the small of your back, rest perfectly in the slight dip between your ass cheeks. “Isn’t that right, sweet girl?” he murmurs, voice low. 

You nod, tummy tightening when he uses the hand between your thighs to spread them apart. “Only you,” you agree, voice feathery.

Jungkook hides a grin against your skin, a mean chuckle escaping him when he rests his forehead against your shoulder. “Fuck,” he says, releasing your throat. “Such a good girl,” he praises, hands on your hips again. He uses them to encourage you up onto your knees, hips bumping into the edge of the table as he shuffles you forward. “Bend,” he says quietly, palm flat on the center of your back, pushing you down until your belly button is pressed against the cold wood, boobs swinging forward just the slightest. “Perfect.”

Jungkook shuffles up behind you, soothes a hand over your hip when you flinch at the first press of his cock against your folds. “You’re okay,” he comforts, voice like honey as he lines himself up. Your folds are slippery and wet, loose from your arousal and the two orgasms he’s already given you. 

Despite all that, the first push of his engorged cock past the tight muscles makes you gasp. “Baby, that’s,” you moan, nails scratching against the coffee table to make a sound that you would otherwise find uncomfortable. “I—“

Jungkook pants behind you, cock sinking further and further in. “I’ve got you,” he husks. His voice is like the light at the end of the tunnel, your dark vision forcing you to rely on him entirely as he guides you through the motions. “Made for me,” he repeats, voice airy.

You nod jerkily, arms trembling as his cock plunges deeper inside of you. “Made for you,” you gasp, head falling forward, forehead pressed against the cold surface in front of you. 

He moans, and there’s one deafening moment of silence when he finally reaches the hilt, soft pubic hairs at the base of his cock brushing against your folds. It’s a familiar sensation, having him buried inside of you, but it’s always different when he’s doing it from behind. He always feels fuller, bigger, mushroom tip practically kissing your cervix. 

“Kook,” you whimper, walls unintentionally contracting around him when he lingers a second too long. “Move.”

“Fuck, fuck,” he curses behind you. “I know, it’s just—“ he pauses, squeezes your hip so hard, you’re certain it’ll bruise. “I wanna… y’know,” he groans, dropping his head against your back, warm breath fanning across your slightly sweaty skin. 

It makes something in your stomach click into place, shifting back just the slightest. The small drag around your lips makes you brave. “Then do it,” you urge, desperate for any sort of friction. 

Jungkook practically growls, bucking into you once. “No,” he says, like he’s battling with himself, faced with a mental hurdle he can only cross alone. “You don’t understand,” he sneers, suddenly snapping back into position behind you, pulling you flush against his pelvis once more. It makes you whimper. 

“I kinda do—“

“You don’t,” Jungkook hisses, forcefully thrusting his hips into you enough to make your hips knock painfully against the edge of the coffee table, a startled moan falling from between your lips. And from there, it’s like you’ve unleashed a beast, because Jungkook shows you no mercy as he begins fucking you, his fat cock slipping in and out of you, his angry head flirting with your entrance. “I wanna fucking breed you,” he sneers, fingers digging into the skin around your waist to hold you still as he bucks his hips forward.

His vulgarity makes your skin heat up, the warmth probably tangible over your sloppily made blindfold, eyes wide despite the fabric that covers them. “That—” you gasp, thighs trembling with each powerful thrust. 

“It’s too much, I fucking know,” he huffs dryly, releasing one hip to press against your shoulders, roughly shoving you forward until your breasts are pressed against the surface, arms bent up beside you to stop yourself from hitting your head. “But— But,” he shudders, suddenly stopping his thrusts to grind his cock against you instead, pussy lips quivering around his girthy member. “I wanna,” he pants, “wanna see you so fucking full of me, because— you’re mine, __,” he seethes, “right?”

You nod blindly, dumbly, brain too flooded with the stimulation he’s bestowing upon you to think properly. “I- I am,” you confirm, gasping for air. “And you’re mine,” you manage to get out, one hand slapping down against the coffee table when he draws his cock out, slams himself back into you quickly. 

“I’m yours,” Jungkook slurs behind you, slowly picking up his pace again. The hand on your back lets go, and it’s with trembling arms that you manage to push yourself back onto your forearms, one hand blindly reaching for the hand he’s got gripping at your hips. 

“Oh my god,” you whimper, the sounds coming from your connected bodies so lewd and obscene, disgustingly wet when Jungkook slips back inside. He surges forward again, and you try to catch your balance, knees quivering underneath the force of his thrusts. Your hand slides over the tabletop in a feeble effort to hold onto something, anything. You can’t see, and even if you could there’s not much to hold onto on a flat surface. 

Except the box your hand knocks into. Your confusion lasts for only about a second because then Jungkook is ramming his cock into you, over and over, until you’re certain your hips are going to bruise and your knees are going to give out. Jungkook’s moans are soft and feathery, sighs that fan over your shoulder and make your back arch, eyes rolling backwards for the briefest second as if you were possessed. 

“Mine,” he whimpers, desperate and needy, fingernails digging into your skin as he pushes on. “Gonna be mine forever,” he growls. “Gonna— Gonna be so pretty and big,” he moans, “tits so fucking full.” The image he puts in your mind makes you dizzy. 

You nod dumbly, knuckles bumping against the box a second time. “Jungkook,” you choke out, fingers blindly nudging the box aside. But there’s no strength behind it, your entire body feeling weak and useless, all the energy concentrated in the coil in your stomach, the one that grows and tightens with every entrance of Jungkook’s cock into your pulsing walls. “There’s— There’s something,” you gasp, pinky finger tapping against it.

Behind you, Jungkook stills, harsh breaths deafeningly loud. Louder than the television and the corny music that plays, the mindless chatter of the characters you couldn’t name even if you tried. “Why would you...” Jungkook huffs, irritation lacing his words.

You don’t get to question it, because a second later his finger is tucking itself beneath your blindfold, yanking it off carelessly. It makes your head crane backwards, a tiny yelp torn from your lips as the blinding glow of the TV attacks your poor eyes at full force. Jungkook’s long since stopped his rapid thrusts, and it’s only when you glance off to the side that you realize why. 

It’s the stupid box of flowers Seokjin had sent you, the one Jungkook had placed on the coffee table when you first got home. 

Behind you, Jungkook releases one long exhale, both of you looking at the arrangement with various degrees of discomfort. “Did you like them,” he murmurs, cock throbbing inside of you. 

You shake your head, a soft, “no,” falling from your lips. The muscles in your thighs quiver like mad. 

Jungkook says nothing, but you watch as one inked arm stretches out from behind you, the movement of his hips pushing his cock deeper into you. A tiny whimper catches in your throat, watching as Jungkook hooks a finger over the lip of the box. One swift tug has it gliding over the tabletop, coming to a stop right beside your forearm. Jungkook leans back, the silence terrifying. 

“Did you think they were pretty?” he asks, tracing one finger down your spine. Your lower lip trembles as your eyes scan over the bouquet, at the pretty color selection and lovely scent that joined together to overwhelm your senses. 

“No,” you say, but it feels like a lie.

And Jungkook thinks so too, wrapping one hand around your throat and pulling you back forcefully. It’s the same as he did earlier, but with his cock deep inside your pussy, it sends a shock throughout your entire nervous system, a sob tearing itself from within you as he unintentionally pushes himself deeper inside. “Did you,” he says a second time, practically seething, “think Seokjin’s flowers were pretty?”

Your eyes flicker nervously across the screen in front of you, but everything is a blur, Jungkook’s harsh breathing against your ear. “Yes,” you confess, whimpering when his fingers tighten around your throat, press down against your windpipe as he inhales sharply. “But they’re just flow—“ He squeezes your throat so hard, your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, mind growing fuzzy. Eventually, he lets go and you dissolve into a fit of coughs, bent over the coffee table again as Jungkook slips his stiff cock out from within you. “I’m sorry,” you sniffle, throwing a teary-eyed look over your shoulder.

What you’re not expecting is for Jungkook to grab that same shoulder and roughly push you onto your side away from the coffee table, falling onto the fluffy rug as he shoves you down. “Something pretty for a pretty girl,” he sneers, biting down a frankly maniacal grin.

“What?” you exhale, probably looking at him with the same maniacal look in your eyes. 

(You were made for each other, so crazy and in love.)

Jungkook stretches one toned arm out, and you flinch when he uses that same beautiful arm to send the box of flowers flying over the edge of the coffee table, a hard thwack resounding throughout the room when they land face down on the other side, petals against the floor, water dripping out from inside. 

With those out of the way, Jungkook wastes no time flipping you over, face shoved down against the soft rug as he angles your hips up. “Thinking about someone else when I’m right here,” he growls, ramming his cock back into you with no warning. You sob, clawing at nothing as he bucks forward. “What a mean girl,” Jungkook scolds. 

“I- I wasn’t,” you defend weakly, shivering as he snaps his hips against you, the rug irritating your cheek when the motion sends you forward. Jungkook uses the hands on your hips to pull you back, your skin clapping together loudly. 

“You think Seokjin would— would fuck you like this?” he spits, using you like a toy as he fucks basically for himself, cock sliding in and out of your squelching walls. “You think he’d push you down and—and call you a stupid girl?” 

You shake your head, eyes squeezed shut to fight the wave of tears threatening your waterline. Truthfully, it doesn’t make much of a difference, especially not when Jungkook yanks your hips back again, your entrance sensitive from all the friction. “No, no,” you sob. ”He wouldn't.”

Jungkook scoffs, not bothering to slow his pace down. “Of course he wouldn’t,” he spits, and then, strikes your ass. Two hard cracks of his palm, rings and all, against the globes of your ass. You wail, unconsciously jerking away only for Jungkook to drag you back. “Stupid girl,” Jungkook sighs, cock twitching inside of you. You can feel the beads of precum oozing out from the tip of his cock inside you, their warmth making you shudder. 

Your other ass cheek receives the same treatment, two harsh smacks that leave the skin tingling, blood rising to the surface. “Stupid, stupid girl,” he repeats, palms rubbing over your cheeks for a brief second, only to strike down again. “Aren’t you?” You nod, fat tears dripping out of the corner of your eyes and down onto the fluffy rug beneath you. Your behind stings, pain blossoming over your skin. But it’s the good kind, the one that has drool escaping from the corner of your lips from how overwhelmed it leaves you. 

“I- I’m a stupid girl,” you agree, your words punctuated by a series of tiny sobs and sniffles. Your walls feel sensitive, raw, from his thrusts. You’re ready to come, trembling hands slithering down to reach for your clit. 

“Don’t,” Jungkook warns, snatching your arm up and twisting it behind you. 

You cry, tears and drool against the rug. “I wanna come,” you whimper, trying your other hand only for it to meet a similar demise. “Please,” you sniffle, turning your face the other way as if the angle will somehow be different. 

“You don’t come until I say so,” Jungkook hisses, using his grip on your wrists to tug you onto his cock. You moan, choke on your own saliva from the force, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix for real this time. It renders you stupid, just like Jungkook had called you, chin trembling as your eyes roll backwards. Behind you, Jungkook grunts something deep and raspy. “Fffuck,” he spits, pistoning his hips into your inviting heat. “You were doing so good tonight—“ a particular brutal buck of his hips, a loud moan torn from your lips “—but first those fucking flowers and now this?”

The rhythm of his deep thrusts cut your moans into stuttered little cries, your words broken with every ram of his cock inside of you. Your walls feel worn, every brush sending a tingling shock up your spine. “I- I’m sorry,” you weep, shoulders shaking from your own tears and the rumbling orgasm that’s just about ready to snap. 

Jungkook says nothing, too busy shoving his cock inside of you to grace you with a response. Instead, you’re subjected to his relentless thrusts, sharp gasps from his pretty mouth. “Fuck,” he pants, releasing your wrists after one particular thrusts, your walls clenching around him painfully when he draws his cock out. 

“I can’t,” you sniffle, knees giving out before he can catch you, sadly sinking down onto the plush rug. “Kook, I—”

Jungkook makes a sound, something between a growl and a roar in the back of his throat as he follows behind you, planting two firm hands on the sides of your head to use as leverage to fuck himself in. With your thighs pressed flat together, the squeeze is tighter than ever before, and your eyes roll backwards as he gets to work, walls fluttering from the overstimulation. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he pants, all games thrown aside as he begins pounding his cock past your folds, deep into your contracting walls, until that tight spring in your stomach gives out and you’re clenching up beneath him, entire body going stiff for one long beat. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you weep, thighs quivering as you cream his cock, make his movements so slippery and wet, almost dangerous when he’s going this fast. His name falls from your trembling lips, every nickname and pet name you’ve ever given him mindlessly blubbered through your orgasm. Jungkook pays you no mind, thighs tensing up as he chases his high, short breaths and moans filling the space as he fucks himself into you. Until, finally, a few deep strokes later, he’s coming with a shuddered cry of your name on his tongue, collapsing over you, forehead pressed to your back as he catches his breath. 

“Fuck,” he groans one last time, body going slack very quickly. He slumps down beside you, softening cock slipping out of your tender folds. 

The floor between the coffee table and the couch is dark, the television glow not reaching down here. Even still, the sweat clinging to Jungkook makes him look like a sparkly Twilight vampire, the dip between his pecs collecting the smallest pool of sweat. You can’t stop yourself from running your pointer finger along the skin, over his nipple. His pec jumps deliciously under the attention. “Stop,” Jungkook sighs, catching your wrist in his, pressing his lips to your knuckles in an attempt to distract you. “Or I’ll really get you pregnant next time.”

You push yourself onto your elbows, pinching his doughy cheek. “You won’t,” you tease. Jungkook flicks his hair away from his eyes to level you with a look you’ve never seen before, not a trace of his usual post-sex playfulness to be found. It has you retracting your hand, eyes wide when he doesn’t stand down. Still, you can’t lose. “...No you won’t,” you repeat, quieter, almost unsure. Almost a question. 

Jungkook rolls his eyes, tugging you into his arms. He’s all sweaty and sticky, just like you. He’s lucky he doesn’t have four separate loads of cum— three from you, one from him —sticking between his thighs. “Keep telling yourself that,” he pants, so smoothly. Too smoothly. It makes you clench your thighs, something Jungkook doesn’t miss. “Stop it,” he warns a second time.

“You’re just so dreamy,” you whine, sitting back up to play with his hand. “Like, when you made me squirt?” He chuckles softly, eyes fluttering shut. “Not gonna lie, I thought I saw the answer to the universe for a second.” 

He’s worn out today, more than usual, that he doesn’t bother gracing you with a response. But it had been a long day for Jungkook; from planning an entire date, to the Seokjin debacle, to the crazy hot sex he’d gifted you. It was only reasonable. You reward his efforts with a soft peck against his cheek that makes him smile, a light blush painting his cheeks. “You did good today,” you hum, patting chest comfortingly. 

“Felt like I was in a Viki drama,” he confesses after a moment, has that tiny smile on his face that makes the apples of his cheeks especially round, especially cute. “The kind that have twelve plot lines going on.”

You laugh, snuggling beside him. The rug feels dirty, but so do you so the feeling is cancelled out or whatever. “You’d be the Park Seojoon of any Viki drama,” you tell him, and Jungkook laughs.

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you. 

epilogue

Namjoon calls Jungkook’s phone a little after eleven, talking your ear off about some date he’d gone on while Jungkook is in the shower. You tell him about what happened with Seokjin and like all respectable college mentors, he just about flips. “You can sue him,” Namjoon hisses, furious for you. Not that you aren’t anymore, but in a weird act of impulsiveness, Jungkook had gone outside and ran the stupid box of flowers over with his car as you watched from the open window of your apartment. It was weirdly cathartic. 

He’s in the shower now, humming the lyrics to one of the songs from Secretary Kim, a song called It’s You by Jeong Sewoon (thank you, Shazam), that makes every inch of your body overflow with adoration when he hits that long note. Anyway, you’re perusing the rest of the streaming service for a movie to watch. Jungkook said you couldn’t watch Train to Busan tonight, something about it ruining the mood. So now you’re debating between a historical romcom or a modern romcom. 

Over the line, Namjoon is doing all the raging for you. “Men are trash,” he huffs one last time, before eventually letting it go. (For now.) “Hey, do you know how to cover up hickeys?” he asks suddenly, just as Jungkook reappears in the living room. His skin is glowing, looking like the hottest man alive. The window is still open, a feeble attempt to air out the smell of sex in the room, and the draft makes Jungkook shiver because his hair is still a little wet. 

“Hickeys?” you repeat, stretching a hand out for him as he rounds the couch. Jungkook takes it, places a soft smooch against your knuckles, close to your promise ring. Your heartbeat stutters just as Namjoon hums. 

“Yeah, this girl,” he says, cutting himself off with a laugh. One you recognize all too well because it’s the same one you let out when you talk about Jungkook to other people. Said boy settles close beside you, leans his cheek against your head when you snuggle into his neck. As soon as he’s there, you lose all rights to the remote, watching as Jungkook completely disregards all your searching just to click back onto Secretary Kim. He had missed a whole episode. “We went a little crazy tonight—“ you gag at the image Namjoon places in your head “—and Doyeon bites kinda hard—“

“Doyeon?” you interrupt, all mental processes coming to an abrupt halt as the name bounces around your mind. Jungkook, having mastered the art of listening in on your phone calls by now, freezes beside you. “You know a Doyeon?” 

“Yeah!” Namjoon says excitedly as you sit up. Jungkook meets your gaze, big Bambi eyes giving the performance of a lifetime, and gives your this overly innocent shrug of his shoulders that tells you more about what he does know than what he doesn’t. “Kim Doyeon. She went to your school— actually, she graduated with you and Kook.”

The world comes to a complete stop as you glare at Jungkook, his panicked features cueing you in to the fact he was aware of this, as you’d suspected. “Namjoon,” you say slowly, fist tightening around Jungkook’s phone. “Are you aware you’re fucking my best friend?” 

There’s a long silence on the other end, Namjoon presumably processing the information while Jungkook tries to calm the boiling anger within you. “He didn’t know,” Jungkook whispers, big pretty eyes on you as he tries to save Namjoon from you. 

All his efforts are in vain when Namjoon clears his throat and so eloquently says, “and you’re fucking my best friend?”

epi-epilogue

The Best Buy employee doesn’t ask questions when you and Jungkook go in to get your cracked phone screens repaired. He does, however, give Jungkook an over-exuberant sales pitch on a brand new line of computer monitors that are almost as big as the television at your house. 

You try to save him from the dangerous hands of capitalism, but the Hello Kitty bandaids decorating your neck are itchy, the skin still so tender, so sometimes it’s wiser to let him waste his money than argue otherwise. 

“Good girl,” Jungkook says as he swings your arms back and forth on your walk to the car, impressed by the fact you didn’t argue with him in a Best Buy today. “My perceptions and understanding of you in my life make me happy,” he beams, too smiley as he unlocks the doors. 

“Shut up,” you glare, painfully tearing the stupid bandaids off your neck as soon as you get in, brandishing the blossoming hickeys Jungkook had so graciously given you last night. At the sight, he bites down a smile. “You’re about to perceive and understand these fists.” 

And Jungkook smiles— he always smiles —as he leans over the center console to press his mouth against the darkened skin at the front of your neck, mindlessly rubbing his thumb over your promise ring. “Perceive this love,” he says, so cheesy it makes you gag. 

“Goddd,” you groan, pushing him away before he can see the smile on your face. “Someone get this man a Viki deal.”

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts jungkook #bts fic #bts smut #mine

[aggravatetheaxe]

BO SINCLAIR X READER - Coming In From the Rain

Safe for work, a fluffy scenario I just had in my head. Cut for length. I thought this could easily go the way of Porphyria's Lover but I decided not to do that to y'all.

Soundtrack: Rain; Nobody Lives Without Love; Braille

Words: 1,161

Masterlist

***

The sky was a steely gray outside the kitchen window, clouds roiling. A sheet of rain traveled through the trees, about to hit Ambrose, and you couldn't help but relax at the sight of it.

You loved rain. The sound, the smell, the way it was always pleasantly warm this far south. You put down the sandwich you'd been in the process of making and cranked one of the windows open, letting the scent of damp soil fill the kitchen. You leaned against the counter, closing your eyes and letting every one of your muscles relax in response.

A jingling from the back door drew your attention, a noise you knew well at this point. You smiled and turned in time to see Jonesy come in, shaking herself off. She must have been exploring a ways out. She loved the outdoors, but she was a bit of a rain diva.

"Hey, baby girl." You held your hand out as she pranced to your side. "Eugh, you stinky."

You relaxed even further as she nudged her head under your hand. You smiled and scratched her between the eyes, then offered a piece of cheese from your sandwich. Her eyes lit up, and she grabbed it and brought it into the adjacent living room.

Just a light layer of garlic aioli—Bo still called it mayo—and your sandwich was done. Plate in one hand, sweet tea in the other, you joined Jonesy in the living room, settling down on the old sofa.

When you were finished your lunch, you sprawled out, closing your eyes and simply listening to the rain and the faint sound of the radio in the other room. You heard Jonesy yawn, then felt the sofa shift as she jumped up to curl into a ball between your knees. As your thoughts drifted, you pet her flank with your foot.

Bo was out today. You'd warned him it was going to rain. You knew he fucking hated the rain. He hadn't listened, though, insisted he needed some "peace and quiet" down at the garage—which usually just meant he was in an ass mood and needed alone time. At least he was learning to remove himself from situations that would make him lose his temper.

Thinking about him made you smile. He was vicious, a killer, and yet you woke up next to him every morning feeling energized. Like you were finally somebody. How fucked up was that? You knew it made you a terrible person, but you hardly cared.

Maybe you were broken. Maybe you didn't mind. Lord knew he was, too.

Jonesy's breath evened out against you, her head heavy against your knee. Your thoughts meandered—snatches like smoke, and then nothing at all as you drifted off, too.

You weren't sure how long you'd been sleeping when the sound of heavy boots on the front steps woke you. You sat up blearily, blinking to clear your eyes as the door swung open.

A blast of warm ozone and fresh air woke you up more fully. Bo stomped into the house, shaking off his boots. He was wearing a roomy fleece jacket over his Dickies, looking ridiculous. That was more of a Vincent look ... it must have been the only coat he could find.

When he noticed you, his shoulders sunk, and he blew out a puff of air. He looked like a grumpy little boy forced to come in from playing, standing there soaked to the bone. "S'rainin' out."

You couldn't help but smirk. "I can see that."

He loosed another frustrated breath, shrugging out of his fleece. "I need a towel."

That was his "polite" way of saying Make yourself useful and get me a towel. You slid off the couch, much to Jonesy's chagrin, and retrieved one from the laundry room.

He took it from you, rubbing it furiously over his hair. Momentarily, he paused, eyeing Jonesy. "Why the hell'd you let her get on the couch? She's all wet."

"I like snuggling with her." You looked back. "Jonesy, off."

Jonesy slid off the couch slowly and curled up on the rug, then sighed heavily, as if you had inconvenienced her greatly.

You turned back to Bo. "I told you it was gonna rain."

"Yeah, yeah." He wrinkled his nose at you, passing by and throwing the towel on the pool table. "You were right, I was wrong, I get it." With a sigh, he eased into a chair and began to unlace his boots.

You approached, gently brushing his hands away with your foot before kneeling to untie them for him.

His face twisted in frustration. "I can do it myself. I'm not a little kid."

"Okay." You sat back on your haunches. "Sorry."

After a moment, his brow smoothed, and he sat back with a sigh. "It's ... fine. Go ahead. If you wanna."

You reached forward again, undoing his laces and sliding his boots off, then standing to go set them near the heating vent. "It's gonna rain the rest of the day. You should stick around, take the afternoon off."

Bo paused for an extended moment. "Yeah."

"You wanna watch a movie or something?"

Another long pause. "I guess." This time, he sounded more skeptical. But his next request was tired, almost vulnerable: "Gimme a beer?"

You wandered over to the VHS collection near the TV, scanning the titles. You settled on an old tape of some Dukes of Hazard—stupid, but you knew it was a comfort show for him. You popped it in, then went to the fridge to get his beer.

By the time you came back, he was already sprawled on the couch just like you had been. You cracked the can of Bud open and handed it to him.

He took a sip, then wordlessly, expectantly gestured for you. You couldn't hide your smile as you crawled between his legs, laying yourself against his chest. He still smelled like the outdoors, as well as sweat and his deodorant, and you didn't mind the dampness of his shirt.

Other hand at the small of your back, he simply relaxed like that for a while, until eventually his eyes glazed over and he set the beer can aside. Every inch of him was pressed against you, but the last thing on either of your minds was sex.

He'd been all about it when you'd first gotten together—every night, whenever he could get his hands on you, trying to claim you as his. But you'd learned eventually that that was just as much a performance as anything else. He was extraordinary, but he was still human: overall, Bo was tired, and angry, and sometimes just needed a damn nap.

Eventually, his breathing evened out under you. You glanced up to see that he had drifted off. Affection swelled in your chest as you reached for him, running your fingers through his still-damp curls.

Monster. Asshole. Human. Breakable.

Broken.

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair imagine #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x you #bo sinclair fluff #fluff #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher imagine #written #house of wax 2005

[adorerdraco]

Malfoy’s Gone Soft! ✧ Draco x Reader

Summary: Draco, your boyfriend, is mean to everyone until you call him out for it.

Warnings: mentions of bullying :( and a couple profanities :0

Words: 2K 

A/N: omg i wrote this on a whim while listening to the euphoria score soundtrack in like an hour idk if its all that but i have no idea what i’m going to do next for Healing Heart so for now i’m just going to write other things for Draco until i get inspired ! & feel free to send me requests ! also thank you for 100 followers you guys are amazingggg !!!!!!!!!!! *insert pouty emojy*

The sound of arrogant and boisterous laughter filled the courtyard, the Slytherin Prince and his minions were tossing around a book bag that a helpless 2nd year Hufflepuff was chasing around every time it was thrown to another boy. One of the boys yelled a foul, “mudblood!” that made the boy tear up as he reached and jumped up for his bag that was in the air every few seconds. It was nothing new to the school, Draco and his band of bullies would bother anyone who they found as an easy target just for the fun of it.

Unfortunately for Draco, you had been passing by through one of the corridors with a group of friends when you had seen the fiasco. As much as you adored your boyfriend, you couldn’t deny the sometimes nasty persona that he had and how much it bothered you. He would always swear up and down that he would stop his antics, but you often encountered him or heard from other people of him being in the same situations that he had promised would stop. 

You marched your way over to the group, a fire in your step and your eyes fixated on Draco who was laughing like a fool. You watched as Goyle rushed to elbow Draco’s side, earning him a look until he had pointed in your direction. All joy in the blond’s face quickly drained once he saw your vexed expression heading towards him.

The book bag had dropped from his hands onto the stoned courtyard ground, the young Hufflepuff hastily grabbed it and ran off in tears back into the castle. You stomped up to Draco, noticing how he had visibly swallowed in fear at what your reaction would be.

“What happened to, ‘I swear I’ll stop being a git to everyone!’” You asked him incredulously, mocking his voice as you quoted him. 

“Malfoy said that?” Blaise chuckled as if it were a joke. Both you and Draco turned to give him a frenzied look.

“Y/N, I...” Draco trailed off, looking around at his friends who were awaiting his response with smug smiles on their faces. Then he looked towards you, a hope glittering in your eyes that he would reassure you and be the sensitive boy you knew behind closed doors and away from his every day reputation. “I...”

“So you have nothing to say for yourself?” you deadpan, a scowl making its way onto your face when you realized he wasn’t going to apologize.

“Why do you care what I do to a stupid little Hufflepuff?” He snickers. Whatever hope you had left went up in flames, he had chosen his reputation.

“Because it’s mean,” you sneered. “Why would I want to be with an arse like that?”

With that, you turned on your heel, walking out of the courtyard and back to your friends where you walked to your next class without turning back to look at the group of shocked boys.

“I think you just got dumped, mate.”

“Merlin’s sake, do you ever shut up Zabini?” Draco fumed, his heart breaking at the question and his mind running a million miles per minute. He began walking towards the entrance of the castle to head into the common room, bumping shoulders aggressively with Blaise as he did.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You weren’t sure whether or not you and the Slytherin Prince were broken up. Of course, it was the last thing you wanted but you were sick of the endless excuses and empty promises. You knew of the package deal Draco Malfoy came with when you started dating him, but there was a point when it all became too much. You were hoping in a last ditch effort, that if he genuinely really cared for you and respected your wishes, this would be the final push he needed to change.

It’s not like you were asking him to completely stop being himself. You were only asking for him to stop with the unprovoked teasing and pushing around of innocent bystanders. His friends especially, were a big reason why he continued to do it as he loved being the leader of the group and all that came with his positions as; the funniest, the most attractive and charming, the smartest, the wealthiest, the strongest. It was all just a game to him but he never saw the aftermath of his tormenting and how it could really affect someone or their day. You were like a broken record, repeating to him over and over again the same wish you had for him but he never absorbed it.

So now here you were, furiously writing your Potions essay in the library as your mind ran with thoughts of the aggravating platinum blond and nothing having to do with Calming Draught. 

“Write any harder and you’ll break your quill,” a certain timid voice said from in front of your table. You didn’t look up, already knowing it was Draco. You didn’t want to give in so easily to his intoxicating nature because the second his scared gray eyes were to meet yours, you’d melt. “Y/N, I’m sorry. For what happened in the courtyard.”

You sighed, setting down your quill and shaking your head, eyes still trained on your parchment. “It’s not just what happened in the courtyard, Draco. It’s that you do this to someone new every single day.”

“I’ve been this way all my life, I can’t just change who I am,” he argues. You finally look at him, the both of you silently seething at each other.

“That’s not an excuse!”

“Shh! Quiet down, the two of you or you will be asked to leave,” Madam Pince exclaims angrily from her desk. You turned back to Draco, hard eyes trained on him as he glared back at you with the same irritated look.

“I would just like to know why my girlfriend feels the need to suck the life out of all my fun,” he says lowly to you. Your face goes scarlet as you try to contain your wrath from being let out on the whole library, and on Draco who wouldn’t even know where to begin to handle it. But as angry as you were, it was quickly replaced with anguish and pooling tears as you thought of the main reason why you had wanted him to be nicer.

“Because your ex-girlfriend knows how it feels like to get bullied and targeted every day for no reason,” you spit sorrowfully. “I know what it’s like to live on the opposite end of what you think is fun and I promise you it’s nothing near that.”

You hurriedly grabbed all your things and rushed out of the library with tears streaming down your face as Draco only stood there feeling like the biggest most insensitive idiot and asshole in the world. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It had been a week since the incident at the library and the both of you couldn’t be any more miserable. It had gotten to the point where Draco felt ashamed and gross if he was even accidentally rude to someone, let alone on purpose. The blond boy watched you intently from his Slytherin table in the Great Hall, his friends and their conversation sounding like a distant incoherent buzzing as he focused onto your sad and defeated face and figure from afar. 

He had tried everything he could think of to get your attention, to get you to hear his apologies, but you wouldn’t give him the time of day; you refused to. You were beyond hurt. Not only because of Draco, but also because of the painful memories that had resurfaced that you spent so long trying to get over. It was all just a mess and Draco regretted everything he had said to you and everything he didn’t do for you.

“Just give it a rest, Draco,” Pansy sighs exasperated at the boy’s longing stares. “She broke up with you, stop pouting about it and move on.”

“Shut up, Pansy,” Draco sneers. “Mind your business why don’t you.”

“I’m just saying, if I was her, I would never do or say anything to ruin our relationship,” she shrugs, peering up at the frowning Slytherin through her eyelashes.

“You’re not her though, are you?” Draco snarks, his eyes squinting at her as he shoots the mean remark her way. All the surrounding boys give an “oooh” at the interaction, cackling as they watch Pansy go red in the face before abruptly standing up and leaving the table in a rush. 

Draco did the same and removed himself from the table to dart out of the Great Hall and towards an empty corridor near the courtyard where he liked to hide on an large windowsill. He had enough of his despair and enough of sitting around and doing nothing to win you back, so he got to work on something that would be his last and this time big gesture, to get you to listen.

A few hours had gone by, it was sunny and there was a nice breeze that was perfect for Draco’s plan on winning you back. He especially knew that when the weather was like this, you enjoyed sitting on a bench in the courtyard, the sun caressing your face with warmth as you read a book. 

He walked out of the corridor and towards the courtyard, and just like he knew, he spotted you sitting at your favorite bench angled towards the sun and deeply entranced in whatever book was in your lap. He took a deep breath before nearing you, stopping a few feet away to where you didn’t notice his presence just yet. His hand reached into the pocket of his robes, picking out the small and large variety of origami birds notes he had written and charmed to fly over to you and around you in a pretty and gentle circle. A bouquet of red and y/h colored flowers had appeared in his hands behind his back, all he was waiting for was for you to accept him.

You looked up from your book, eyeing all the paper birds that were fluttering around you and across the way was a frantic looking Draco with his hands hiding something behind his back. You let out a deep exhale, reaching out to grab one of the birds and unfolding the note to read his perfect cursive.

I’m sorry.

Then you grabbed another.

Please forgive me.

Then another.

You are everything to me.

And another.

I promise to change my habits.

And then the final one, the biggest bird of the bunch.

I should have listened to you from the beginning and I’m sorry I haven’t been more sympathetic. I’m also sorry that you had to go through that in your past. You are so beautiful and strong and deserve everything good in this world.

You placed your book to the side and stood up, opening your arms in a hug for Draco before he bolted towards you and enveloped you into his arms with a sigh of relief.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” he apologizes again into your hair as he nuzzled into you. He pulled back, handing you the large bouquet of flowers that made you blush as red as the roses that were mixed into the assortment. “I can’t promise you I’ll be perfect, but I swear on everything I love, I’ll try.”

“You don’t have to be perfect, Dray,” you chortle. “All I’m asking is for you not to be such a terrorizing little git.”

“Done,” he grins, throwing himself into your arms again as you giggled and ran your hands through his hair.

The two of you plop onto the bench below you, Draco peppering kisses all over your face in glee and gratefulness that you gave him another chance to prove himself. He didn’t even dare remove himself from you when he saw his friends strolling by, snickering and pointing to the nearly snogging couple.

“Malfoy’s gone soft!” Blaise yells across the yard, the rest of the boys laughing in response as usual like the mindless bozo’s that they were. Draco rolled his eyes, throwing them the middle finger before nuzzling himself back into your embrace.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy x ravenclaw!reader #draco malfoy x gryffindor #draco malfoy x slytherin #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy blurb #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy angst #draco x reader #draco x you #draco x y/n #draco imagine #draco lucius malfoy #harry potter writing #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #draco malfoy fanfiction #harry potter

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Time Apart

CW: Trauma survivor, referenced noncon and assault, heavy internalized victim-blaming and self-loathing/anti-asexuality (Chris has serious issues from his conditioning around this)

(references events from this small series)

I think you should spend time apart, not with me.

When Chris picks up his phone, it's not at all the message from Laken he expected to see. Not the kind of thing they've ever sent before.

He has to read it two times, then three. The letters swim and shake along with a dull pounding inside his head, but no matter how he tries to make them into other words - tell himself he must have misunderstood, must be missing something - they come back together the same in the end.

I think you should spend time apart, not with me.

Each letter is as crisp and clean as a sterilized blade between each rib, one by one by one by one.

The words are a body blow. They're a hundred blows, beating him into a barely recognizable shattered shell of himself. It wasn't supposed to happen this way - it's been a bad few days, yeah, a bad week really, but until yesterday's fight it had never occurred to him that Laken might give up on him.

The fight was his fault, anyway.

He meant to apologize last night, but then Nova had come into his room, and he'd lost the rest of the night to lying next to Jake, trying to remember how to stop living inside his head again, how to stop being still.

He'd woke up this morning with his stomach doing butterfly flips inside him, nervous, but he'd really wanted to say he was sorry, for the fight, for all the weirdness lately. He'd wanted to apologize for being difficult.

Instead... he'd woken up to find a missed text from the night before, sent after he'd shoved Nova away but before he could stand to look at anything again.

I think you should spend time apart, not with me.

There it sits.

He hasn't unlocked his phone yet. Instead, he keeps tapping the button to light up the screen, looking at the message preview that has all he needs to see. Lets it go dark again. As if one of these times he'll click and it'll say something else.

But it doesn't,

It just says the same damn thing.

I think you should spend time apart.

Not with me.

He's still staring at it when another one comes in. He feels the soft pulse of his phone in his hand, and the screen lights on its own.

LAKEN - NOW Did you see my message? 

He thinks maybe Kauri had it easier when he was the age Chris is now. Back when Kauri carried on entire conversations in emoji form, letting the nuance and ambiguity take over, the recipient working through the meaning on their own. With this, each letter is merciless, each word is unmistakable. He can’t misunderstand it. 

Can he?

He opens the phone with shaking fingers, types back yes, presses send, and turns his phone off.

Then he throws it at the wall.

He’s grateful for the heavy plastic case that makes it bounce off and drop to the floor without breaking. There's a strip on the back, textured and a soft purple, gray, white, and black. He rubs his fingers over it sometimes in class to keep himself from rocking and being distracting.

Now he just... stares at it.

Laken bought that for him. They bought the shirt he's wearing right now-

He yanks it off his head before he can think, balls up the soft fabric and throws it as well. It just sort of drifts pointlessly to the floor, a single eyeball from the print of a band he likes staring back at him.

Laken has ranted before about people who break up by text message, and Chris has to breathe through a physical ache in his chest that tightens every muscle at how awful he must be that they're not doing this face to face. How awful, how used-up, how shredded apart, how fucking pretty he is.

After all, he and Laken have been together for more than a year, and he still held perfectly still for Nova to touch him before he remembered how to move. After all, he’s a grown man who still cried and fell apart when Jake was hurt. After all, after all, after all...

He scrambles across the floor for his phone again, turns it back on. Part of him hopes he’ll see a new text saying they take it back, they didn’t mean it. Or just asking him to apologize for what he’d said that night before, for how he’d thrown their confusion over his reaction to something back at them, echoing out the way Kauri fights sometimes, talking about himself the way he thinks everyone else might be thinking about him, so he says the insult first and no one else gets to surprise him with it.

But there’s nothing new.

He manages to open the texts again, barely, and breathes in gasps, nearly pants, as he types out, you don’t want me at your place?

Not right now.

Is it because of what I can’t do?

It takes them a minute to answer. Every single second ticks by with a slowness Chris hasn’t felt since his days in the cold white room, tied down to stillness, forced to endure every minute that passed in perfect silence or to the soundtrack of his own tears and pleading for it to stop.

When they do respond, it’s just, it’s because of what you won’t do.

His breath catches in his throat. The ache in his head starts to pound harder, and he has to close his eyes against a sharp stab behind them. 

What he won’t do.

They’ve never cared before. How-... how could they suddenly care now? The fight had only a little bit been about that, it’d really been about something else. About his nightmares, how he’s not sleeping, not seeing his friends, skipping therapy. It hadn’t even been about... that. About what Chris can do and what he can’t, in bed. 

But that was the thing - the fight had started when Chris had flinched back from Laken’s touch to his back, and snapped at them, and accused them of wanting too much, and...

And now this.

It’s like they knew about Nova. Knew that he could be good just fine - better than fine, Handler Petrus said he was one of the best he’d ever worked with once - he just... wouldn’t. Won’t. Doesn’t want to. Never wanted to. 

Can’t do it without tearing himself to pieces all over again. 

It was always a scream inside his mind, but should he have pushed it down and tried harder to be more like everyone else? Is he losing Laken because of it? Did Nova pick up on something Chris himself doesn’t know?

Should he have... tried?

Even if it hurt?

He drops the phone again, then kicks it viciously under his bed, listening to the scrape of it sliding across the floor, the thump as it hits the wall. He hears it vibrate again, but this time he doesn’t care what Laken has to say.

They’ve said enough.

He understands.

Part of him expected this eventually.

He leaves the room, doesn’t bother to pull on his compression shirt, even. He lets his skin prickle bare and exposed to the air. He accepts the discomfort, the uneasy feeling of being too seen, too felt. 

The house is quiet, this early. 

He makes himself toast with butter, wincing at the scrape of the knife against the crisp bread, the sound boring into his ears. But eventually it’s done, and he slumps into a chair at the kitchen table, willing himself to cry. Somehow, the tears just... don’t happen.

He can hear Jake snoring softly from the living room. He’d been up with Chris until nearly 4 am, then Chris was awake again at 6:30, looking at that text, looking over and over and over again. Two hours of sleep leave him weirdly euphoric alongside his despair. Like he’s floating in some nightmare place that isn’t awake and isn’t sleeping, either.

He’s probably slept nine hours in three days at this point. He keeps seeing Jake with a knife sticking out of him every time he closes his eyes. Jake, screaming as Antoni pushed cloth into his wound to stop up the bleeding. Jake with a bullet wound, sitting up against the wall, staring at him with wide eyes whispering, It’s okay, Tristan, I love you, it’s okay as he dies. 

He can’t sleep. He can’t leave for long. He can’t breathe. He can’t think.

Him being what he is, it’s the reason Jake is hurt. If he hadn’t been his brother, he wouldn’t have decided to run a house for Romantics, and he wouldn’t have ended up dealing with all the dangerous bits about them.

Jake said it himself, didn’t he? It’s a mistake, running a house for Romantics. Not his best idea. A mistake.

Chris is a mistake.

Him being weak, and cowardly... it’s hurting Jake, making his life harder.

He makes everyone’s life harder.

There’s a soft sound of footsteps behind him, and he turns to find Nova in the doorway, staring back. She’s in a sleeveless gray dress and has her long dark hair pulled back from her temples, spilling in a waterfall down her back. Her eyes are dark and fathomless, and she gives him a faint, slight smile.

She had smiled like that with one hand down his pants.

Chris turns around, too fast, his head spinning a little, and hunches over his toast. “Good... good, um, good morning,” He mumbles. 

She clears her throat. “Morning. Chris, about-... about last night...”

“Don’t, um, don’t-... don’t don’t don’t worry about it.” He takes a breath. He doesn’t want his toast any longer. 

“I’m sorry,” She says, simply. “I spoke to Sarita about it, and... and she said this happens with us, and I should apologize, but, um. So I am. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-... I thought I was helping.”

“I... know you did.” His words are slowing down. Chris can’t hold on to his thoughts, they want to drift away somewhere else, somewhere safer. Somewhere darker. 

“When I was with-... with my Miss, she would always say, if you are sad the best way to fix it is to make your body forget that feeling, replace it with something else. And that was what we replaced my sadness with. So, you were sad and upset, and I thought I could fix it that way.” She pauses, flushing a little, looking down and to the side as she moves with effortless grace to get a glass and fill it with water, take a small sip. 

“Kauri used to... to do that,” Chris says after a pause, thinking about it. Kauri, who would show up in the small hours of the morning reeking of liquor and someone else’s cologne, or just didn’t show up at all. Kauri, who would laugh instead of crying, and laugh with someone’s arms around him, a guy whose name he didn’t know. 

Kauri, who ran and ran and ran and can do things and be things that Chris can’t.

Or... won’t.

What if he’s been hurting Laken this whole time and didn’t know it, because he was already hurt himself?

His foot starts to tap tap tap on the floor until he stops it. 

“Did he? Did it-... work for him?” Nova asks it with genuine curiosity, and her eyes are so pretty. He looks up at her, and then down again, pushing the plate of toast away from himself. 

“I don’t know,” Chris whispers. “I, I don’t know. He’s happy now, but...”

“Was he happy then?”

“No. But, but, but... maybe we aren’t supposed to be. At least... not with, with anyone... who isn’t like us.”

“Jake isn’t like us,” Nova points out. Her presence in the room feels heavy, like a weight pushing down on him. But what does it matter? He’s not with Laken anymore, anyway. If he wanted to, he could stand right up and kiss Nova right now, press her back into the counter, and learn what it’s like to be the one doing things and not just having them done to him.

But his body doesn’t stir at the thought. It never has.

“He is,” Chris answers. “A, a little bit. I’m, I’m, I’m sorry, too, Nova. Sorry that I-I can’t.”

“No, I know. You have a partner, and I shouldn’t have-”

“I don’t have... I, I, I I don’t have a partner anymore.” Chris stands up, leaving her there with his plate of untouched toast. The sky outside is bright as the sun rises, as if mocking the way he feels like a stormcloud inside. 

Nova watches him leave, and whispers to herself, “No partner?”

Chris goes outside, pulling a sweatshirt that hangs on the coatrack on over his head to protect his skin, curling up on the porch swing and watching cars pulling out of driveways as the neighborhood starts to head to work in ones and twos. 

He doesn’t cry.

He sits very, very still, and he is silent. 

Upstairs, under the bed, his phone vibrates, again and again, unnoticed.

Just go talk to Nat, Chris. That’s all I said. Just go see Nat and get a night or three away from the house. Being there all the time is overwhelming you. Are you even looking at these? Chris you can’t just ignore me every time I say something you don’t like Chris answer me ... ... Oh shit, Chris, my phone autocorrected earlier and I didn’t notice I meant “some time at Nat’s”, not apart Chris? Are you seeing my messages? Baby? Chris, please check your phone and answer me. Please.

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @whumpfigure @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears

#whump oc #whump #emotional whump #angst #misunderstandings #communication misunderstanding #internalized victim-blaming #internalized self-hatred #conditioned behavior #internalized ableism #sort of #but not really? #but kinda #bbu #box boy universe #box boy #recovering whumpee #trauma recovery tw #trauma response tw #past noncon reference #ptsd tw #chris the strawberry blond romantic #nova bb

[gyllenhaalstories]

HIGH HORSE — QUENTIN BECK

request:  what about fighting with quentin beck for the first time, after he's  been all smug and acting like he doesn't care about the reader and him  realizing after they leave that he needs them in his life real bad - so  he gets off his high horse for once and admits he cares about the  reader?  

warnings: canon divergent quentin (set in an alternate universe where quentin survived far from home), mentions of janice, guterman and a very out of character victoria, throwback scene (including violence, knives and manipulation), 18+, MINORS DON’T INTERACT.

word count: 1525

gif credit: winterswake

notes: i was listening to dark horse by katy perry, high horse by kacey musgraves, save your tears by the weeknd and the raya soundtrack? weird mix, but it takes what it takes to get the angst juices flowing. thanks for reading, remember to reblog!

“Next time you want to come up with a lame apology, I’d advise against asking Guterman to write it for you.” You finally broke the silence.

Quentin had just dismissed Janice for the next couple of hours, asking her nicely to change some part of his collar. You overheard her say something about knowing how to make the cape even more dramatic, and that was all the sweet talk Quentin needed to soften up and let her do her job without micromanaging.

You would never create a scene in front of Janice, she was sweet as pie. The fact he treated her with more kindness, patience and respect than he treated you made your blood boil. You blamed it on the piling up, the lies and the secrets. Your hands were deep under the water, in the sink. You toyed with your wedding ring, loosened up by the water.

“I don’t want to have this conservation again,” he scoffed.

“Again? You never let me finish it the first time.”

*~*~*

It was Victoria, another of his evil sidekicks, who had broken the news to you. He did not make it. His plan backfired, some kid had shot him.

You don’t remember much from this day, aside from Quentin insisting you did not follow them to London. Aside from Quentin renting a beautiful villa in Greece, where you were at that very moment. Aside from Quentin’s last promise to meet with you, after he shook the Queen’s hand of course.

You were so hopeful, you wanted nothing more than to see his pretty face. Instead, when you ran to open the door, it was Victoria who gave you one of her compassionate smiles. She was as great a liar as Quentin, as you. You could see right through her, although Quentin refused to believe that she was as twisted as him.

“They won.” She had told you, twisting the blade in the wound. It was just a game for her, for all of them. Except, for you, it was not. It was the life of your husband that was at risk (that part out of his origin story was true, it was the part both Hill and Fury fell for), the life of millions of innocent people who ignored just how far he would go to make his own dreams come true. “He fought like a King, it’s truly unfortunate he had to die a martyr.”

You squinted, taking in Victoria’s features. Her smile was turning into an evil smirk. She had one hand on your shoulder, the other one behind her back and before she could move any further, you shoved her against the wall. You saw a knife sliding on the tiles of the villa’s foyer, you rushed to grab it and point it towards her while you walked backwards, hoping the reach the balcony.

“You made him weak. He lost focus. We would be the masters of the world if you did not walk into his life and ruined everything for us. He was just a pawn for all of us, well, all except Janice.” She escaped her villainesque speech to roll her eyes, facepalming herself at the desperation of Janice to always check up on everybody and take care of everyone. Janice had loved you since the beginning, and it rubbed Victoria the wrong way.

Your back reached the railing of the balcony and you looked over your shoulder. You took a deep breath, your knuckles turning white from your grip on the knife. “I understand you, Vicky.”

The brunette frowned, snapped back to reality.

“He’s the charming type, isn’t he?” You noticed her repress a wave of laughter. “He sweeps you up, promises you to fly on a magic carpet and to show you a whole new world. You always wonder... Does he mean it this time? Is he being honest? Or is he smarter than we think?”

Her traits appeared softer.

"You say he’s a pawn, I say he’s the rook, except his ego gets in the way of the Queen. He’s quick and witty, though, can’t take that away from him. And next thing you know... He pulled out a checkmate behind your back.” You walked towards her, still the knife in hand. “I understand you can’t always get what you want, even if that’s all your heart desires.” You walked around her, so that she was now the one aiming towards the balcony.

“He doesn’t deserve you.” Victoria said. “I could have given you the whole world.”

Your jaw clenched. You stepped even closer, so you could feel her breath on her skin. “Too bad I want the whole universe.”

With one swift movement, you pushed her off the railings and watched her as she fell practically in slow motion. You shook your head, deciding to deal with this turn of event later and rushed out of the villa. You could take the car she drove to the house with, and see for yourself if Quentin was the idiot they all believed he was. Dead because of a kid who’s obsessed with spiders? What was next, he would have consented to let Tony name his technology BARF? You knew him better than that. You knew him better than he knew himself.

By the time you reached the door, you heard the splashing sound of Victoria falling in the infinity pool, down there in the courtyard and let out a sigh. The knife, you left it on the bench and let your adrenaline guide you to your final destination.

*~*~*

“I was terrified. I was sick. I was losing hope.”

He looked in your direction, swallowing thickly.

“I waited months to see you, Quentin. To find you.” You washed another dirty glass, paying attention to the noise of his heavy costume squeaking and dragging on the floor while he approached you. You shook your head, and he listened, taking a seat by the kitchen island. “You left without hesitation. You left me without any hesitation.”

“I didn’t leave you.”

You chuckled and turned around, soap dish foam flying around as you spinned on your heels. “Oh, really? Then how come you didn’t even text me where you were hiding? How come you ignored all of my calls? How come you made Janice lie to me? Why were you avoiding me?” You dried your hands with a towel and approached him. “Why were you not searching for me all these months?”

These months he wasted trying to hide from everything, to play dead so that his plan would work out. These months he wasted putting his mission before his emotions first. These months he wasted waiting for the phone to stop ringing while you called him. These months he wasted stepping on his own pride and searching for help, for shelter, which he found in some abandoned head quarters of Stark industries that Tony and him used to build BARF years ago. The months he wasted trying to fix the broken pieces so you could see him as a hero again.

“I know I promised to be there for you through thick and thin, but some promises are meant to be broken.” Your voice cracked and words got stuck in your throat. The sight of his costume disgusted you, but the pain in his eyes made your heart skip a beat.

“I love you.”

You forgot what these three words sounded like when he spoke them.

“I love you so much. More than this,” his arms gestured to show his costume, then moved around his head, meaning something bigger than the two of you. “All of this. It took me all this time to realize it.”

Checkmate.

“You deserve so much better. You deserve safety. You deserve comfort. You deserve to go out and not wonder if there’s a witch hunt trying to take you down.” He did not dry the single tear that was falling from his eye. “You deserve that stupid married life we always made fun of. The wine, the cardigans, the annoying kids running around. The only spider you should worry about is the one creeping on our ceiling.”

He was wrapping his arms around your waist, you helped him tighten his embrace.

“I’m sorry, for all the pain and danger I put you through.” You knew it came from his heart, and not from one of his rehearsed scenarios and speeches. “I’m sorry I failed you. You need a prince charming on a white horse and I’m just the royal buffoon.”

You chuckled, the sight alone lit up his whole face. “What I need is for you to get down your high horse. Go out, get some sun. Maybe you could shave, wear a cap and sunglasses. No one will recognize you, that’s how it works when you’re an undercover hero, right?”

“I don’t want to play the hero anymore.”

“Then, stop. Use those fish bowls you wear on your head to adopt gold fishes. Use the cape as a carpet. Kill Mysterio so that Quentin can live.”

He leaned against your hand, which was stroking his cheek.

“So that I can live with my Quentin again.”

#quentin beck imagine #quentin beck x reader #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal angst #jake gyllenhaal #quentin beck

[effeminateboyninja]

hi!! can I request shikamaru coming home to find a gn!reader listening to one of his playlists in the shower? fluff or nsfw, whichever is easier!

thank you thank you thank youuuu for this wonderfully self-indulgent request, this is actually my dream, so. anyway, i hope you like it lovely!! 💚

Yes, this one's for you

(Shikamaru x gn!reader) fluff // 1.3k words

🎶 troublesome playlist

What a drag.

Shikamaru sighed to himself and raked his fingers through his charcoal hair, glad to finally be finished with his responsibilities for the time being. The day had been more effort than it was worth, the better part of it spent chasing after Kakashi to get his stamp of approval for a myriad of projects and missions, and Kotetsu and Izumo were no help of course. All he wanted to do was get home and relax to make the most of his free time before he had to go back the next morning.

It's all for a purpose though, he reminded himself, the image of your face flashing across his mind and bringing a small smile to his lips. Coming home to his lover and best friend after such a long day was more than enough reward to put up with the heavy responsibilities he’d so begrudgingly taken on, and if he was going to support you the way he wanted to a few troublesome days at the office were a fair price to pay.

The tiny apartment that you two shared came into view in the distance ahead and picked up the pace of his casual gait unconsciously. It wasn’t anything to write home about, just a drab one bedroom situated above a convenience store. The taps leaked and there was a constant draft but it hardly mattered - it was yours, and it felt like home. You’d picked it out together almost a year ago, eager to finally move out of your parent’s houses and start your independent lives together. Since then the dreary white walls had been covered with polaroids and other mementos that painted the picture of your relationship. Some people might call it shabby, but he thought it was cozy. Finally he reached the door with a relieved sigh, the tension of the day left at the threshold as he practically bounded up the stairs.

As soon as he rounded the corner of the entry way he noticed the faint trickle of running water behind the muffled sound of music and your sweet voice singing along. He recognized the song right away - it was one from the playlist he’d made when you first started dating. Filled with music that the two of you listened to together when he finally realized he was falling for you, confessions littered amongst the lyrics and skillfully hidden between other songs that reminded him of you or your time together. He’d tried many times to pick one to be “your song”, but as important as those songs were to him, not a single one on its own managed to communicate the way you made him feel. You had a few ideas yourself but could never settle on one, indecisive as you were. “A whole playlist is better than a song anyway,” you would say whenever he brought it up. “It just means we love each other twenty times as much.” He’d roll his eyes at that, call you troublesome and change the subject, but the echoes of a smile would tug at the corners of his mouth anyway as he secretly agreed.

Originally he was planning to head to the kitchen for an after-work snack, but the sound of your voice changed his course. So instead he kicked off his sandals where he stood and shrugged off his vest as he roamed through the small space to join you in the shower and relax into your arms under the hot water.

He opened the door to the bathroom gingerly, tiptoeing inside quietly in order not to disturb your impromptu concert for the shampoo bottles. It was rare for him to catch you like this. The only time you ever graced his ears with your singing was in the shower, and too often these days his busy schedule kept him from sharing them with you like he preferred. So rather than disrobe and join you right away he crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall and smiled, cherishing the musical lilt of your words for as long as he could. The song changed and one of his favourites came on. It was the one that was playing the night he’d finally worked up the courage to kiss you for the first time. The two of you were laying in the grass side by side, the sun low in the sky as the song played softly over the blown speakers of his phone. It was something about the lyrics, “I am home wherever you are near,” or the way you put the sunset to shame just sitting there not even trying, or maybe just the way he’d been wanting to for weeks but holding back for fear of ruining your friendship - something about that moment felt right. And so he did it, leaned in before he could overthink it or even make a plan and took your face in his hand as he brought his lips to yours. The memory and the warm feeling that always accompanied it felt brand new despite being just over a year old at this point, reminding him just how much he’d changed in a few short years. Becoming right hand to the Hokage, meeting you - as much as he put on a show of resentment when it came to expending effort, it didn’t actually seem so taxing anymore. He found himself out of his comfort zone more often nowadays, doing things no one would expect of the lazy Nara man.

Like his next action for example, he would’ve shadow stitched anyone who tried to tell him just twelve months before he’d be singing along to a love song in the apartment he shared with his lover. Yet here he was, letting go of what little inhibition he held around you and letting the lyrics of his favourite song fall over his lips without any concern for his natural talent.

"But these things lose all their meaning

And allure

If you're not there to

Witness the grandeur

What could shake my love away?"

On the other side of the shower curtain the gravelly sound of his voice stopped your own singing, and a contented smile spread its way across your face as you picked up where you left off, your voices overlapping in an amateur harmony. The verse finished and you peeked around the curtain to look at the dark-haired man in the ponytail. He was still propped against the wall, his almond eyes soft with admiration and that magnetizing smirk that you loved pulling up the corner of his thin lips.

“Well?,” you questioned playfully, “are you going to join me or not?”

His smile widened as he walked over and captured your lips in a kiss. “Yeah, yeah. Patience,” he joked, earning him an eye roll as he pulled his shirt over his head and stepped out his pants. When he was finished undressing and his toned body was exposed to your wandering eyes he stepped into the tub and settled in under the showerhead beside you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and started a slow sway to the music that was still playing.

“I just wanted to listen to you for a bit,” he explained. “I love hearing you sing, I wish you would do it more often.”

He lifted a hand and caressed the side of your face gently. The blood rose to your cheeks at the compliment and you looked away, a small smile playing across your lips. You gave him a playful shove and laughed.

“Shut up… you’re one to talk. I never knew you could sing!” you exclaimed in reference to the happy surprise from just a few moments ago.

He shook his head and chuckled. “I don’t sing. That was a one time thing so you better remember it.”

“That’s not fa-”

He placed his hands on either side of your face and before you could finish your objection his lips were on yours, moving softly over them as the water fell over your faces. You smiled into the kiss as your hands settled on his chest and you softened into his embrace. He wasn’t going to get off that easily, you were filing away this new delicious knowledge for a later date for sure, but for now just the pitter-patter of the water and the sound of your playlist was good enough. A perfect soundtrack for the moment.

#I WANT THIS SO BAD #shikamaru x reader #shikamaru nara #shikamaru nara x reader #shikamaru x y/n #shikamaru x you #shikamaru imagine #shikamaru oneshot #shikamaru fluff #naruto x reader #naruto imagines #naruto fluff

[sweetestlamb]

Walk Through A Storm

Author's note: Honestly, like I could help myself from doing this. it's short because I need to actually get my life together but enjoy. Oh also I don't wanna think anymore so someone give me title in the comments lol I'll pick the one that fits the best. (Thanks for actually giving suggestions, one really spoke to me!)

Summary: "I'm not ready to stop kissing you yet."

"I thought you were going to reject me." She whispers in between the small space between them, their lips are close enough to meet again in another soul burning kiss and he's tempted to close the gap again. They can talk later so for the second time in his life he wants to be selfish, she brings that out in him; makes him hungry for more than he thinks he deserves. She's been doing that since he first met her.

"I'm not ready to stop kissing you yet." Her eyes widen at his whispered words and without pause he leans closer softly pressing his lips against hers. She tastes sweet like the best candy he could never get as a young boy. Her little hands slide up his back dragging him closer and he goes easily, his walls are saw dust at this point and she's a windstorm. Wrapping his arms fully around her body he pulls her closer, cupping the back of her head as he swipes his tongue at the seam of her lips. She gasps in a way that makes his blood bubble and flow southward. The sea roars besides them providing the soundtrack to their first cognizant kisses. Hopefully the first of many.

The kiss drags and overlaps, her tongue persistent in his mouth and her hands busy stroking and rubbing at his back. It takes all of his willpower to sever their connection but he's starting to feel light-headed (and horny). This all still seems like a dream ever since he saw her running over to him, when she was supposed to be in Seoul. Leaving without telling him. Making him think the worst.

"Why do you look like you want to cry?" She cups his cheeks and he's reminded of that unforgettable night. She looks so concerned that he wants to disappear not used to being on the receiving end of such looks.

"Nothing. I'm fine." He tries to brush her off, viciously wiping at his eyes but she doesn't let him push her away, grabbing his hands tightly in her own. "Tell me what you're thinking. I told you everything in my head."

He almost chuckles at her expectant gaze. She sounds like him demanding payment.

"People usually leave but you're the first...to come back early." He smiles sadly thinking about all the people he'll never see again, and how he considered that she might go back to Seoul and realize that she was much too big for the pond that was Gongjin. He wouldn't have stopped her, she deserved the whole world.

"The first hm. I like that." He stares at her face, grinning at the satisfied grin and the enveloping dimples on both sides of her face.

"A daughter with your dimples would be dangerous, I think I'd understand how Chun-jae feels then." She pauses at his words mouth gaping and it hits him just what he's implied about their future. It's presumptuous and he should correct it but his tongue feels too heavy and her bright eyes suck the air from his lungs.

"Where's Mi-Seon? How did you get back so quickly?"

"Oh." She jumps cutely, suddenly hitting him on the shoulder and he winces ready to scold her for hitting him so close to his injury. But then she starts hitting herself on the head and instinctively he grabs her, stopping the self inflicted abuse.

"Stop that. I like that head." It's cheesy, something he would have cringed at if he heard another utter it but once he sees the smile she rewards him with none of that matters anymore, he'll say anything to make her beam like that.

"You're such a flirt." She fails at sounding bothered. "Oh and I left her in Seoul. It started raining and I realized you were it for me so I ran into the rain and left her on the sidewalk. Crazy right?" She starts snickering at her own words and he stares at her taken aback laughter forced out of his lungs at her infectious giggles.

She comes into his house like she belongs there, going to his fridge without permission and grabbing a bottle of water. He feels parched watching her drink it, never before has he wished to be a plastic bottle. So many firsts with her.

"What are you staring at?" She tilts her head like a bunny and he can't get the image of her with floppy ears out of his head.

"Cute."

"What?" She blushes furiously at his accidental slip and he clears his throat before grabbing his phone, desperately needing a distraction.

"Nothing. I'll call someone to pick up Mi-Seon."

"Who are you calling?" She asks walking over to him, sitting far too closely for his brain to function at maximum capacity. When a deep familiar masculine voice answers she squeals, bouncing in her seat and giving him thumbs up. He feels so proud he could burst.

"Don't say no. She's all alone and abandoned. What if something happens to her? Could you live with yourself?" He replies to the stuttering officers weak refusals and those are the right words to get the meek man moving, it's comical that he would be playing matchmaker for anyone else.

"You're a master manipulator." She accuses and he stares in surprise, "Does it upset you?" But she surprises him by leaning closer, spread deliciously across his compact couch. "No. It's sexy." Her face is glorious under the soft lighting in his living room and he swallows the drool collecting in his mouth, embarrassed when it starts a coughing fit. She thumps his back firmly before thrusting her water at him, "Drink." He listens obediently.

He gulps at the bottle, taking a deep breath before collapsing backwards into the couch.

"Am I making you nervous?" Making. As if it's only a present occurrence, as if she hasn't been making him swallow his words and expectations from the very beginning. He shifts looking at her through narrowed eyes.

She's far too innocently twirling her hair blinking up at him with wide eyes.

"You're doing this on purpose." She smiles serenely at the claim, leaning back onto the couch and by default his arm that's strewn across the top. She presses her body into the side of his body and he tightens his hold on her shoulder. It all feels too natural.

"I'm surprised it's working. You never seemed affected by me. You denied liking me so easily. Biological crisis, my ass."

He jumps at her cursing, she sounds too much like her father. It makes him smirk.

"I thought I had to. You were right, we are so different. I thought it was something fleeting for you, you told me you're someone who gets curious."

"Pfftt. You think I get curious about just anyone? I have high standards. I'm quite a catch you know?" Her signature bravado, but this time he can see through the veil better. Can spot the cracks and tears and it makes him want to protect her even more.

"I know. You're the best thing I've ever caught."

He'll never grow tired of being the reason that face turns so pink and flushed. (Immediately pushing aside an image of her beneath him.)

"Wait here. I have something for you." He wants to argue as she starts to leave his embrace but she's too quick for his grabby hands and he pouts at her unwanted departure. He moves to follow her but she's back before he's even finished putting on his shoes.

"Where did you go? We could have gone together."

"What? Did you miss me?" She teases, dimples flashing up at him.

"Don't be absurd." He denies but his cheeks burn yes.

"Whatever. I went to get this. Here." She thrusts a large bag at him, looking excited and embarrassed all at once. He takes it confused, prying it open and feeling more confusion wash over him.

"These are men's shirts." He says dumbly and she stares unimpressed at him, rolling her eyes before nodding.

"Yes. I got them for you in Seoul. Keep them even if you don't like them. They're a gift." She looks so small and... scared that he reacts without thinking, dragging his shirt over his head and throwing it to the side. The sight that welcomes him as his head pops out of the hole is not a new one, but it's still as effective as the first time. Hye Jin looks desperate, eyes locked on his now naked chest. His skin raises under her intense gaze.

"Miss Dent--Hye Jin ah?" His call doesn't do anything, well that's a lie it doesn't knock her back to reality like he'd expect instead it seems to be the siren call that lures her closer to him. Her hand outreached before landing on the tense muscles in his stomach, with one touch he already feels devastated.

"What are you doing to me?" He aches to feel and touch and kiss and fuc-

But it's too soon for all that. They haven't even defined this yet and despite all the lines they've crossed he wants to do this right.

Taking a step back he escapes her torturous touch and pulls a shirt from the bag, ready to cover himself back up from her too penetrating gaze.

"Wait." Her voice is so raspy and longing he has no choice and he watches mesmerized as she watches him hungrily, eyes darting all over his naked skin dissecting him. He swallows hard when he sees her little hands balled up in fists by her side. Disbelief swirling in his belly. "Okay. You can do it. That's enough....for now."

His cheeks flare at the seductively spoken words and to stop himself from devouring her like a starved man he slides on a smooth button down shirt. It fits him perfectly and gulps as he buttons it up. Nobody besides his grandfather ever bought him clothes.

"It's a perfect fit." Hye Jin echoes his thoughts smoothing a hand across the soft material. He stands ramrod straight at her ministration.

"Thank you. I'll wear it well." His throat is thick and he has to blink to chase away the tears pooling there, dangerously close to falling. She hums before stepping forward into his space again, that kiss effectively tearing down all the walls and lines they had both erected and drawn.

"You're already wearing it so well. But...it looks even better off. I can't wait to see it on my bedroom floor."

A scandalized squeak is all he's able to get out before she's diving at him and devouring his lips so roughly that they tumble onto the floor.

The pain in his shoulder is worth it as she kisses him senseless systematically driving out every doubt and insecurity. At least for tonight.

#hometown cha cha cha #hong du shik #yoon hye jin #sikhye #I was screaming kiss kiss omg #i was actually hyperventilating #i thought things would fall apart #I'm traumatized #episode 9 made me wanna write angst #but then 10 came and said nah b

[spencers-renaissance]

this heavy humanness

Summary: Spencer leaves the oven on overnight, and Derek - whose pent-up emotions get the best of him - loses it, exposing secrets neither of them expected to be spilled, for two very different reasons. They get there in the end.

or; Spencer's suffered far too much abuse in his life and Derek knew about none of it. He shouldn't have found out like this.

Tags: est. rel., past abuse, arguing & making up, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, angst with a happy ending, hurt spencer TW: implied/referenced - child abuse, abuse & csa. trauma response that could be perceived as dissociation. misplaced frustration at neurodivergence. nothing graphic but message me for more info if needed.

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 3.9k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

This fills the "Domestic Violence" square of my Bad Things Happen Bingo. It's a heavy one folks so please heed the tags, but fear not, as always we have a happy ending ahead of us! <3 Title by Rainer Maria Rilke.

Spencer knows it’s ridiculous. Derek will not hurt him: this much he knows for certain. Derek is safe, he is home, he is his person. Derek would die before laying a hand on him.

This objective knowledge does not stop the fear from building in his chest, fizzling through his veins until his whole body is alight with it, simmering under the surface of his cold skin as Derek shouts, his face contorted in anger. Spencer might know that Derek won’t hurt him, but that doesn’t mean he can forget what’s happened in the past when he’s put that same expression on crueller people’s faces.

“How could you be so irresponsible, Spencer?”

He doesn’t know. The sinking feeling of failure, of disappointing someone he loves so much settles deep in his stomach as he watches Derek pace up and down the living room while he stays firmly planted on the sofa, pressed as far into the corner as he can.

He didn’t mean to leave the oven on overnight. Again. It’s just that sometimes he gets so lost in his head, in the studies he reads just before bed that getting ready for bed happens on auto-pilot, and small things like turning the oven off slip through the cracks. Derek’s never got this angry over it before, but that’s probably because he’s never said “yes” when Derek’s sleepily asked him if he remembered to turn it off, not when he actually didn’t.

He answered on auto-pilot. He didn’t mean to lie, but that doesn’t seem to matter that much to Derek as he wears down the living room carpet with his pacing, visibly seething. He tracks him with his eyes. He can’t afford to not see the blow coming.

The blow isn’t coming, he tries to tell himself. It’s not all that convincing when Derek stops mid-pace, turning to look at him dead in the eye.

“We could’ve died, Spencer! Does that mean nothing to you?”

Spencer doesn’t reply. He wants to, he really does, but the words are stuck in his throat, choked by fear and confusion and emotion and regret, God why didn’t I turn off the oven, I should’ve been better, it’s all my fault—

“Do you seriously not have anything to say?”

Spencer stares. He has so much to say. All of it is trapped in his throat, tangled in a mess of please don’t leave me and please god don’t hit me.

“You know, I can’t deal with this right now,” Derek mutters, throwing his hands up in the air, “this is unbelievable.” Spencer watches as he shrugs a coat over his shoulders, pulls on his shoes, pauses only to grab his wallet and keys, and walks out the door without looking back.

The door slams behind him and Spencer jumps at the loud noise, jolting out of his fear-ridden stupor, wincing as he’s forced out of his head and thrust back into reality. It’s only ten past ten in the morning; a nice, sunny Saturday in late Spring, and maybe in a different universe, Spencer and Derek are packing a wicker basket with a picnic, heading off to their favourite park to feed each other strawberries and enjoy jam-filled sandwiches.

In this universe, though, Spencer drags his heavy bones to the bathroom, and peels off his clothes. He feels weighed down, tied to some point of gravity far below his feet as he avoids the mirror at all costs and lets his pajamas lay where they fall instead of gathering them into a ball and throwing them into the hamper like he usually does. He turns the water on and steps under the spray, allowing himself to revel in the warm rivulets of water caressing his cold skin.

Shampoo bottles stand untouched in the caddy to his left. He’s not there to get clean, he’s there to forget and to think all at the same time. Slowly, he sinks to the floor, leaning against the wall as the water cascades down his front, but not before he turns the heat up. It’s a small comfort: the water just on the right side of too hot running down his face and his torso and his legs, pooling at his feet momentarily before sliding down the drain, never to be seen by him again.

Today shouldn’t have started like this, and it’s a hard pill to swallow that if he hadn’t left the oven on, it wouldn’t have. Derek would have smiled when Spencer stepped into the kitchen, pulled him into his arms and kissed him gently before making them pancakes while Spencer sat on the counter-top and told him everything running through his head. Derek would listen, enthralled, whether to the sound of Spencer’s voice or the words he’s saying, and he wouldn’t shut him up, not even when they sat down to eat.

They’d finally get ready for the day late in the morning, they’d decide what they would do that day, and they’d make a point to steal as many kisses as they could; making up for the affection lost during long cases.

Spencer knows this because it’s happened so many times before. They may have only been dating for just over six months, but they already live together, having fallen hard and fast; Emily teases them for it, calls them her favourite lesbian couple, and they don’t care because they’re in love.

Despite that, though, Spencer still hasn’t told Derek.

There are nights he lies awake pondering how unfair that is. He’s held Derek as he sobbed over memories of Buford, as he spilled every awful detail of the abuse he endured; he’s comforted him after he’d tried and failed to bottom, falling into a flashback every time, no matter how much he wanted to try it.

But Spencer stays silent. He doesn’t tell him about his dad beating him, or his mom getting confused off her meds and smacking him, shoving him, even punching him that one time. He doesn’t tell him about Matthew, his first real boyfriend, trapping him in an abusive relationship that took him months to get the courage to leave. About how when a third person hurt him, he began to wonder whether it really was his fault. Whether that was the only kind of love Spencer Reid deserved.

He stays silent now, staring at the shower wall. The fear has left him now the threat has too, and a cold type of numbness replaces it, and even once the water runs cold, he doesn’t leave. He traces the same four tiles with his eyes, drawing the same pattern with his gaze over and over again as his thoughts turn to an endless cycle of he’ll leave me, he’ll stay, he’ll hit me, he won’t, until he’s not really sure what he believes.

Derek is a good man, but Spencer knows how he can be. He messes up, he forgets things, he doesn’t read situations right, he doesn’t behave the way people think he should, he doesn’t think like a neuro-typical person does. And a good man can only put up with that for so long.

The proof is in the pudding, after all. Derek has always been understanding of things like this in the past. He’s given him a hug and told him not to worry about it, that mistakes happen, and no one can be expected to remember small things like this all the time. But this morning, he was furious. Spencer’s not sure he’s ever seen him so angry in all his years of knowing him, and it was directed at him. All because of an oven left on.

Eventually, a sound from the upstairs apartment drags him from his head again, and he’s suddenly aware of the cold water, of the way his body is trembling and his fingers are pruning. He pulls himself out of the shower, turning the water off, but he stands in the middle of the bathroom, aimlessly, for a long time. By the time he finally has the sense to wrap a towel around his body, he’s basically dripped dry. His hair is soaking wet and the dripping water is freezing, but he doesn’t have the energy to find a towel for his head, too, so he leaves it.

He walks towards the bedroom and climbs into bed, pulling the fluffy duvet over his damp skin and laying his wet hair on the pillow. It feels awful, being wet and damp under the dry bedding, but he doesn’t have the energy to move, so he stays there, towel still wrapped around his legs, hair still soaking the pillow, and he stares at the wall.

He doesn’t know what time it is, and he doesn’t know when Derek will come back home. If he ever will.

⭐️

Derek slams the door behind him as he storms out of the apartment, rage consuming his every move, his every thought. The force of it rattles the door frame, echoing down the empty corridor, but he can’t find it in him to care as he marches towards the elevator. The buttons are pressed with perhaps a little more aggression than socially acceptable, but the woman already on board takes one look at his face and has the sense to stay quiet.

He gets in his car and steps on the gas, the squeal of his tyres against the floor of the garage as he speeds out satisfying him more than it probably should. His jaw is locked and tight as he drives through the streets of DC, his thoughts going a million miles an hour, quieted only when he turns the radio up loud, a blasting soundtrack to his ferocious getaway.

Adrenaline pumps through his veins as he speeds down the highway, heading out of the city towards Baltimore. He doesn’t have a destination in mind: he’s just driving straight. Straight away from the apartment. Away from Spencer.

It’s after more than an hour of driving that his jaw finally loosens and the anger that had simmered in his blood so fiercely fades into reluctant rationality. He’s somewhere in the middle of Baltimore, and the traffic — the tangled road system he actually has to focus on — drags him from the absent headspace the highway had allowed him to slip into.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and turns off the road he’s on, onto a quieter one. As soon as he’s able to pull over, he does, and he hits the steering wheel angrily. “Fuck!” He leans forward, pulling off his sunglasses and burying his head in his hands. It’s not the same kind of anger he’d felt earlier, no. This time it’s directed purely at himself, fuelled by dismal regret.

Before he can stop it, his brain replays the fight with Spencer over and over, the wall he’d put up to block it out crumbling down as images of his boyfriend flood his mind. He hadn’t registered it in the moment, but looking back, God. There was something on Spencer’s face, something so broken, so scared and he feels nauseous at the realisation that he put that there.

Over something as fucking stupid as an oven.

Truthfully, he wasn’t really angry at Spencer. Waking up to see the oven left on again, even after Spencer promised he’d turned it off, was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

He’d fought with both his mom and Penelope yesterday, and he went to bed feeling like an utter failure, made even worse when Spencer had declined to join him, deciding instead to keep reading the series of papers he’d started earlier that evening. He woke up in a foul mood, and not even the sight of his peacefully sleeping boyfriend could make him feel better.

It’s his own fault. He should have communicated with Spencer: he should’ve told him about letting his mom down and saying the worst thing he possibly could have in his conversation with Penelope, but he didn’t. He silently stewed, and felt irrationally angry that Spencer wasn’t reading his mind. He knows for an absolute fact that if he’d asked Spencer to join him in bed last night, he would’ve dropped his studies immediately, and cuddled him until he felt better.

But he didn’t. And then he’d screamed at Spencer, in a way he never has before, over something he simply forgot to do. Derek swore to himself that he would never shout at or put Spencer down for his neurodivergent traits. Not in the way he’s seen so many people — regrettably, far too many of them on their own team — do before.

He’s always been understanding in the past, kissed Spencer’s hair and promised that it wasn’t a big deal, and he has always meant it. Because as dramatic as he’d been this morning, leaving the oven on wasn’t really the end of the world. He remembers ranting about the electricity bill, about how they were going to afford the house they were going to buy if he kept this up, about lying to him — even though he knew that was clearly an auto-pilot thing — about how dangerous it was. It’s a fan oven. They were never really in any danger.

What a god-awful way to let off the steam he’d built up and chosen not to let go.

As if he’s not already feeling shitty enough, though, his mind won’t stop circling back to the fear on Spencer’s face. The way he shouted back, but instead crammed himself into the corner of the sofa, never taking his eyes off him as he paced angrily back and forth.

He feels sick.

He digs his phone from the pocket in his sweatpants. He’s still in the clothes he sleepily pulled on in the dark this morning, and he hadn’t thought to bring his phone out with him, but luckily he’d picked it up off the kitchen counter that morning.

He clicks on Spencer’s name, listens to it ringing out as he desperately begs him to pick up. “Come on, baby, please,” he whispers, ignoring the tears burning behind his eyes. “Pick up, please.” He tries three more times before throwing it angrily on the seat next to him, allowing one more second of feeling the blind panic and the fury at himself before forcing himself to calm down.

Reaching over to his phone with one hand to turn the ringer up, he turns the ignition on and pulls back onto the road, heading back towards DC.

The traffic infuriates him, cursing as it takes thirty minutes to get back on the highway, but finally he’s back on the open road. It takes everything in him not to speed past the other cars, knowing that getting pulled over would only slow him down in the long run. He doesn’t turn the radio on. He just replays the fight again and again, each time remembering something new: something he said or something Spencer did.

He doesn’t wipe the tears away as they fall, lets them slide uncomfortably down his neck, under his collar, lets them drip into his lap, lets his nose run. It’s the only punishment he can afford himself right now.

Finally, finally, he pulls into their apartment building’s garage, finding their spot and parking roughly, abandoning the car as quickly as possible in favour of sprinting towards the elevator. He curses at the slow moving carriage, but it eventually spits him out on his floor, and he’s walking down the very corridor he stormed down just a few hours prior.

He pushes open the door to their apartment, closing it behind him softly. Suddenly, the nausea swimming in his gut isn’t just borne from regret, now fuelled by nerves and dreaded anticipation.

“Spence?” he calls softly.

He doesn’t know what to expect: he doesn’t know whether Spencer will be sad or angry, whether he’ll be screaming or crying. The kitchen and living room are empty, and the bathroom door is wide open, so he ventures into their bedroom.

Whatever he was expecting, it isn’t this.

Spencer’s tucked up in bed, duvet pulled up to his neck, facing away from the door. He doesn’t move so Derek thinks he might be sleeping, but when he circles the bed to check, he finds his eyes wide open, staring vacantly at a fixed point on the wall. They don’t flicker or blink or move when he steps into his field of vision, and Derek’s heart sinks, panic beginning to grip his chest.

“Spencer? Baby?”

When he still doesn’t move, Derek crawls onto the bed, and the movement or the sound or something must finally catch his attention, because all of a sudden his eyes are widening — in shock, surprise, fear, Derek doesn’t know — and he’s shifting under the covers.

“You’re back,” he says, and it’s so uneasy that Derek wants to cry.

“Yeah, baby, I’m back,” he says gently, “and I’m so sorry about earlier, I—”

He cuts himself off, because when he reaches to tangle his fingers in Spencer’s damp hair, he flinches. His hand freezes, but his stomach twists, because this is the confirmation he was both expecting and dreading. This is the confirmation of everything he prayed he had wrong, everything he wished he’d misinterpreted the whole drive home.

“Spence,” he whispers brokenly, withdrawing his hand, “I would never— never do… I’d never hurt you, God, I—”

A choked sob cuts him off this time, and another follows when he sees a tear sliding down Spencer’s face. A previously blank, emotionless canvas, his face is now full of sadness, tinged with the fear and guilt Derek hates himself for even suggesting was warranted in the first place.

“Derek,” he says softly, and his voice is so mangled with emotions he couldn’t even begin to decipher, it breaks his heart a little. He doesn’t say anything more though, eyes sliding shut instead as tears continue to stream down his face.

“What do you need, baby?” he asks, because it’s the only thing he can think to say. “Anything, I— anything you need, you can have, Spence, I’d give you the world, you know that.”

Spencer’s quiet for a long time, and Derek sits there on the bed anxiously awaiting a response while trying to summon all the patience he doesn’t have as he stares at Spencer’s crying face.

“A hug,” he decides eventually, and Derek almost collapses in relief because, God, he can do that.

He crosses the small space between them, and carefully folds Spencer into a hug, sighing in relief as he melts into Derek’s side, placing his head on his chest and cuddling into him. Their legs tangle together and Derek holds him as gently and as closely as he can, carding his fingers through Spencer’s damp curls while his other hand rests on his waist, his thumb caressing the bare skin there.

He’s still in his towel, he thinks sadly. He didn’t have the energy to properly dry himself before crawling into bed. As if Derek could possibly feel shittier.

They lay like that quietly for a while before Spencer finally speaks. Derek wishes he hadn’t. The words “I’m sorry”, uttered so brokenly, so miserably, have no business leaving Spencer’s mouth.

“Baby, you have nothing to apologise for,” he says fiercely. “This is all on me. I’m sorry. Sorrier than I’ve ever been, Spencer, because this is completely my fault. I wasn’t actually angry at you, that’s the first thing you need to know, and I know that makes what I did so shitty, because you hadn’t even done anything wrong, but I was so pent up and frustrated with myself and I didn’t communicate that with you and— fuck, I’m doing such a bad job of explaining, I just. I need you to know, Spencer, that I’m not angry, okay? And I’m so sorry for losing it like I did, that never should have happened.”

He pauses and takes a breath in, burying his face in Spencer’s hair as he holds him even tighter, trying to keep his grip as gentle as possible.

“I never told you,” Spencer whispers after a couple beats pass.

Derek’s heart seizes tightly and he swallows. Prepares himself. “Never told me what, sweetheart?”

“My dad, he… he wasn’t a good man and he… you know, he hurt me a lot. And then my mom, when he left and she stopped taking her meds completely, she’d get so confused,” Spencer admits, voice so quiet as he murmurs into Derek’s chest that he has to strain to hear him. “She didn’t mean to, but she’d… And then my last boyfriend, he—”

He cuts himself off as a heaving sob that seems to come out of nowhere strangles his words and it’s all Derek can do to hold him tightly as Spencer cries, whispering every reassurance he can think of through his own tears. It shouldn’t be like this, he thinks. I shouldn’t know this just because of an argument we had; just because I lost control. Spencer should’ve been able to tell me on his own terms, in his own time.

He tries to cry as silently as possible, but it’s not easy when the grief of knowing the pain Spencer’s suffered in his life is weighing heavy on his chest, and the acidic taste of guilt abounds.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into Spencer’s hair. “I’m so sorry, baby.” He’s sorry for so many things he’s not sure he could list them all out, neatly and coherently, if he tried.

Spencer fists his hands in the soft cotton of Derek’s t-shirt. “I’m sorry I never told you.”

Derek balks at the guilt in his tone, as if he actually believes he has anything to apologise for. “Baby, you could’ve waited until we were old and grey to tell me and I wouldn’t be mad, okay? Trauma like this… it comes out in it’s own way in it’s own time. I’m not sure how or when I would’ve told you about Buford if everyone hadn’t found out the way they did. And if I’d waited to tell you, you wouldn’t be mad at me, would you?”

Spencer shakes his head.

“I’m so sorry that I triggered you the way I did, Spencer,” Derek says seriously, gently twirling a loose curl around his fingers. “It was inexcusable, and it was a problem of my own making. I know you didn’t mean to leave the oven on and I know you were operating on auto-pilot when you told me you turned it off last night, and nothing I said was true. I was mad about stuff that happened yesterday and I failed to communicate that. It’s all on me. Nothing about this is your fault, you hear me?”

“Really?”

The way Spencer cranes his neck to look up at him, the trusting innocence in his eyes both breaking and warming Derek’s heart. “Really.”

“I want to tell you, Der, it’s just—” He sighs. “I’ve never talked about it with anyone, and it’s hard. I don’t… I don’t know where to start.”

“We have all the time in the world for you to tell me, baby. You can tell me everything all at once, or drop tiny pieces of information when you feel like it, or never tell me anything else ever again, and any of that is perfectly okay. I just need you to know that what happened this morning will never happen again, okay? I promise you.”

Spencer shifts, moving from his position curled around Derek to prop himself up with one arm, facing his boyfriend properly. “Thank you,” he says earnestly, before leaning down to kiss him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby. More than anything.” He kisses him again before moving the duvet and making to get up. “Now, how about I order us some pizza for lunch and we spend the afternoon in bed. You can read or we can watch some documentaries or a movie, whatever you want.”

A small smile crosses Spencer’s face, and nothing’s ever felt more like a win.

“I think that sounds like a plan.”

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @moreidtrash @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @enbyspencer @im-autistic @thataveragenerd @anxious-enby

#my writing #moreid #derek morgan #spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #spencer reid/derek morgan #criminal minds #derek morgan x spencer reid #spencer reid x derek morgan #cm #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #moreid fic #moreid angst #tw domestic violence #tw abuse #tw csa mention #moreid fluff

[maxwell-grant]

Having been extremely excited by THE DINOSAURIA trailer, might I please ask if you've ever seen WALKING WITH DINOSAURS? (The BBC series from 1999, rather than the later animated film); if you haven't seen it yet, then please be assured that you've missed a Treat!

Anon, I definitely appreciate the recommendation, don't get me wrong, but -

Not only is Walking With Dinosaurs my actual favorite piece of media ever, the thing you'd find the closest to my heart if you cut it open, but I literally would not be able to talk to you right now if it wasn't for it. Allow me to explain:

To say that dinosaurs were one of my very first obsessions (or hyperfixations) is to understate the hell out of just how utterly strongly I loved dinosaurs and acted on it, and I don't state more because I don't quite feel like revealing the face and name of who's writing this just yet. I grew up watching dinosaur documentaries (and documentaries in general) more so than even cartoons, and I was definitely extremely obsessed with dinosaurs before WWD arrived in my life.

But all of the documentaries I had watched to that point, whether I caught them on tv or DVD or casette, had all been dubbed in Portuguese (since, y'know, I live in Brazil and all). But when my mom brought over Walking With Dinosaurs, there was no Portuguese dub option, so I had to watch it with subs on.

And I watched this series so, so many times, that I picked up the basics of English from it. I started watching other documentaries I had with English subs, and then movies, and then I started taking English classes and the works to tune it, and I was speaking English at an adult level at age 12 (likely earlier, but my memories are spotty and the oldest email I have from a conversation overseas dates from that age) and I kinda just never stopped writing and thinking and talking to myself in English since then.

I never really had an easy time picking up other languages when I tried them, but it was specifically because of Walking With Dinosaurs that I picked up enough English to become proficient at it early on, and that's informed a lot, pretty much everything, of my life ever since. To be honest I still speak with a slight British inflection, because Kenneth Branagh was my frame of reference for the English language. So trust me, I have absolutely seen Walking With Dinosaurs, maybe as much as anyone can possibly see it short of gluing it to the eyeballs 24/7. I've also watched all of the other Walking With series and spin-offs (and yes, even that horrid film, I refuse to discuss it further) like The Ballad of Big Al and Walking With Monsters and Walking With Beasts and of course all of the Nigel Marvin spin-offs, including Prehistoric Park. I've been wanting to give the extended Walking With universe a rewatch recently.

But every year, without fail, I make it a point to rewatch Walking With Dinosaurs. Doesn't matter when or how, my DVDs of it don't really work anymore, but I find a way to rewatch it. I know exactly what's gonna happen every year and it's impact has never been diminished. Every year, I get chills when Brachiosaurus shows up looming over the teenage Diplodocus pack and the music just SWELLS in dread and awe alike. I dread the scene of the Cynodonts eating their baby to spare it from the Coelophysis pack. I eagerly await the nefarious joy of just waiting for Liopleurodon to pounce out of the water to eat the theropod, because fuck off if that's physically impossible, that scene absolutely still kicks ass. I'm writing this post while listening to Islands of Green because you bet the soundtrack to this series lives rent free in my head as well. I can immediately hear the specific sounds and roars of each animal in it just by thinking of them.

I cry every year when Ornithocheirus dies alone after such a grueling journey just to fulfill a biological drive he cannot resist, and I still cry when the baby T-Rexes try to get their dead mom to wake up just as the meteor strikes and swipes them all away to nothingness, not even joking I'm actually getting chills right now just describing that scene and the "This is the end, of the age of the dinosaurs" line, God. Every year I find some new moment in the series that makes me incredibly emotional in a way it hadn't before, whether it's the Postosuchus getting eaten from the inside out after being toppled by a minor injury, or the forest fire that tears through the jungle and leaves charred dinosaurs behind. I'm getting chills just listening to the end credits theme right now.

Even today, there has never been anything in media that's ever made dinosaurs feel more real than Walking With Dinosaurs did, and that was the trick that all of it's imitators failed to understand: Even through it's dramatic soap opera lenses, it depicted dinosaurs not as great and glamorous movie monsters, but as real animals, no more or lesser than the ones living on the planet now. It doesn't make dinosaurs exciting by showing them as some mythical fantasy cooler than our current reality, it made dinosaurs exciting by showing they WERE reality, and reality can be just as cool and exciting and mythical as anything fantasy can give you, if not more so, if you stop to look at it with the same unclouded fascination and curiosity you'd reserve for something not real.

There was a time where I distanced myself from my love of dinosaurs for, a lot of reasons really, but I'm thankful that I never succeeded in making it go away, that I got to watch Jurassic Park at a movie theater a couple years recently and cry at the reveal of the Brachiosaurus in a way I never did in the over three dozen times I watched the movie at home, that I got to finally read Raptor Red, that I still get all these feelings over just thinking about Walking With and it's spin-offs.

More than maybe anything else, I think this series is what informs my storytelling and my sense of adventure. Everyone has that story, that adventure, either one or several, that's imprinted on them from an early age and subsequently defines everything they do or undertake as storytellers no matter how distanced from it. And I think if I was to point at anything from my childhood, I would point to Walking With Dinosaurs and the lives it depicted, regardless of how real or accurate they were.

Even right now, the fact that I'm typing this out to talk to you, that I'm confident enough in my English skills to even record audio in English for coming projects, that I made this entire blog full of essays in English about things I find creatively inspiring, is owed in no small part to my childhood adoration for Walking With Dinosaurs, the bedrock of what I am as a creator, and even if the show didn't have that particular impact on me, I'd still carry it to the rest of my life.

Everything about this show is ingrained into my bones and soul, maybe as deeply as anything is ever going to be.

Hmm. Who did I find it most difficult to work with?

Animators! Definitely animators!

You know? “Chase this dinosaur”, “Chase that dinosaur!” You’d swear we couldn’t act!

It’s sooo degrading

#replies tag #dinosaurs #dinosaur tag #walking with dinosaurs #walking with #sadly I have never been able to watch the arena show #bbc