#THIS GODDAMN MOVIE IS HOLDING MY HAND AND SAVING MY FUCKING LIFE

[frecklystars]

I know what I want for my birthday!!! LOOK HOW CUTE THEY ARE OH MY GOD!!!!!! 🥺🥺🥺

Ken's mink coat with the horse line print!!!! The details on his horse chain!!!! The Metallica font!!! he's so handsome what the hell!!! THE SKATER BARBIE AND KEN???? AUGH THE WESTERN KEN. WEIRD BARBIE LOOKING SO SO SO SO BEAUTIFUL. I WANT THEM ALL SO BADLY.

#my god im just relieved im excited for F/O merch for the first time ever this year 😭😭😭 #ive been so fucking heartbroken over TF my god. this is the first time i've felt genuine joy for any characters in 10-ish months #every single goddamn thing has made me feel so numb since my abuser wrecked everything. EXCEPT. THIS. #THIS GODDAMN MOVIE IS HOLDING MY HAND AND SAVING MY FUCKING LIFE #AND NOW I WANT THESE DOLLS I WANT EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM #screaming sobbing wailing why are they all so expensive #but finally if anyone asks keri what do u want for ur bday #I WANT THESE DOLLS OR I WANT MONEY TO BUY THESE DOLLS #I never ask for anything every year on my bday its just a fucking day #BUT THIS YEAR. I FUCKING DESERVE SOME GODDAMN SEROTONIN. FUCK THIS YEAR #THIS YEAR HAS BEEN THE WORST AND I DESERVE SOME F/O DOLLS PLEASE AND THANK YOU. #i ordered Denim Ken last week. and today I am buying Beach Ken #my god every single doll is sold out ive been digging for scraps #they always sell out in less than 24 hours #i know the movie slaps BUT JESUS CHRIST #love notes #💕♫♪ ♡ You're the pink in my cheeks 🎀🌸✨♡ #💕 I'll fight for you!! - ̗̀🐎🏖️✨ ̖́-

[vivwritesfics]

(Oh My God) They Were Roommates

Chapter Eleven - Reunited (and it feels so good)

Lando Norris and Y/N L/N were teammates. Tension had been between from the minute they started driving together and, when it only got worse, McLaren CEO Zac Brown decides there's only one solution: Have them live together.

1.9K

Warnings: dick sucking, fucking, mentions of necklace lando (bc goddamn)

Series Masterlist

It wasn't common for teammates to visit each other in the hospital after a crash. The McLaren team didn't expect it, didn't expect for Lando to rush straight to the hospital as soon as the race was done.

He went straight to her room, where she was laying on the hospital bed getting some well deserved rest. When Lando walked into the room, her eyes flew open. It must have been from the sound of his footsteps, he justified.

She sat up with a groan and looked at Lando. "Hey," she said, rubbing her eyes. "What're you doing here?"

"I had to come visit you, didn't I?" Lando said as he sat on the seat beside her bed.

Y/N let her head fall to the side as she looked at him. "Well, I appreciate it, Lan. But you don't have to stay here. You can go if you'd like," she said and patted the hand that sat on the bed.

But Lando wasn't going anywhere. When the doctor came to discharge her, Lando asked every question he could think of, acting like her boyfriend. When she was discharged (she had flu and slight dehydration, not enough for the doctors to keep her in), Lando walked out holding her things.

He had his arm around her. Keeping her up, he said. It didn't matter whether it was true or not, Lando didn't let go of her until they were back in her hotel room, packing her things.

Lando was supposed to leave Sunday evening, after the race. But he stuck around, waiting for Y/N to get out of the hospital. He was gonna take her home with him, take care of her once they were back at the apartment.

"You gave me a scare there," said Lando as he drover her back to the apartment. "For a minute I was scared you were pregnant."

Y/N ran her hands over her face. "Jesus, shit, Lando. We've used a condom almost every time! You over dramatic asshole." That last bit she muttered under her breath.

She climbed out of the car, slamming the door shut behind her. As exhausted as she was, she still marched away from him, making her way up to their apartment. Lando watched as she walked away from the car, disappearing through the door of the apartment complex.

She hid herself away in her room for the next few days, only emerging to make herself soup and tea. That was what kept her going, the irregularly timed bowls of soup and constant cups of fruity teas.

She wasn't avoiding Lando, wasn't exactly mad at him for being so dramatic, but she didn't want to get him sick. So, she stayed away.

She got worse before she got better, watched her favourite movies on repeat as she waited for her coughing and her sneezing to stop. Every day Lando knocked on her door with a cup of tea, which Y/N took gratefully. She didn't drink it, though. The gesture was incredibly sweet, but Lando couldn't make a decent cup of tea to save his life.

On the first day that she was feeling ever so slightly better, she was bored. And she missed Lando. She missed the feel of his body beneath hers, the way he gripped her hips as he moved her on top of him.

The box under her bed should have kept her company, but she was too sick for that. Plus, it just reminded her of the times that she and Lando spent together, using the items in said box.

She didn't emerge from her room until the second day that she was feeling better. Her throat was still tickling, but her nose wasn't running and she didn't feel like she needed a nap every time she so much as moved a muscle.

Y/N walked out of her room. She sat herself on the sofa, putting her feet up onto the coffee table, and turned on the television.

"Holy shit, you're alive," said Lando as he emerged from his own room.

Y/N cleared her throat and adjusted herself in her seat. "Lovely to see you too, Lan," she muttered, her head turned to the side to look at him. "You want to watch Star Wars with me? Meet your namesake?"

"I was not named after Star Wars Lando," he insisted as though they'd had this conversation several times before.

"His name is Lando Calrissian, you should know that."

For all of his protesting, Lando sat beside her anyway. He copied her pose, placed his feet up on the coffee table (knocking one foot into hers), and opened his arm, letting her tuck herself into his side.

"When do we meet Lando?" He asked, his fingertips playing with the ends of her hair.

She smirked at that. "Oh, in the next movie," she said quietly, taking his other hand and playing with his fingertips.

Lando went to stand up, but she clamped her fingers around his wrist. "Nope, Lan, you're going to stay here and you're going to like it."

So, he stayed. Not because he was sucked into the science fiction movie from the seventies that his roommate seemed to love, but because she wanted him there. As long as she wanted him, he wasn't going anywhere.

On the third day, Y/N was feeling right as rain.

In her hoodie and shorts (with lingerie beneath), she knocked on Lando's bedroom door. "Lando Norrissian! I'm feeling better and I want to get freaky!"

She pushed open the door.

Sat in his gaming chair in his best pants, Lando smirked as she walked into the room. She strode over to him, throwing off her hoodie as she did so. "Fuck me, Lan," she began (which he quietly replied to). "I've been looking forward to this since the last Grand Prix.

She got to her knees, blinking up at him as she touched him through his pants. "Has little Lando missed me too?" She asked, running her tongue along her bottom lip.

"Don't call him that," Lando muttered, but he was hard beneath her touch.

She pushed down his boxers allowing him to spring free. "Missed you too, buddy," she whispered and kissed the head of his cock.

Lando couldn't reply. He simply moaned and bucked his hips up. Y/N kept a hold of him, keeping him still as she took him into her mouth. It wasn't the easiest, considering she was still recovering from the flu, but she still sucked him. Not pushing herself too hard, her gag reflex couldn't handle that for the time being.

Lando's fingers knotted through her hair, holding her tightly. He wasn't directing her or forcing her down onto his cock, letting her control the pace. He just wanted something to hold.

Just once did Y/N take him all the way in. She sucked his head before pushing all the way down, until her nose made contact with his navel. But she quickly pulled away from him, took some time to recover before she started again.

As she swirled her tongue along his head, she moved her hand up and down his shaft. Lando's eyes were shut as he moaned and tugged on her hair. Clearly, he was enjoying it. "Fuck, Y/N," he cried, the muscles in his neck straining.

She pulled off of him. "Your turn?" Offered Lando, but she shook her head as she ran to his bedside table.

"If your not inside of me in the next thirty seconds we will be having problems," she said as she pulled out a condom and immediately tore the packaging.

They'd gotten good at putting on Condoms since they moved in together. No longer did they have that awkward struggle of working out which way was the right way. She kneeled in front of him again as she rolled it onto his dick, stood up and jumped on the bed, spread eagle.

Someone was eager, that much was clear.

Lando grinned as he got out of his gaming chair. He pushed his boxers to his feet and stepped out of them. "Hurry up, Lan," she whined.

Lando pulled off her panties. He climbed on top of her and leaned down to kiss her. She could wait if it meant a moment of intimacy. She accepted though, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close as to not let him again away. "Fuck, I've missed you," she whispered, her eyes shut.

Lando pulled away. He held himself as he pushed forward, gently pushing through her folds. Somehow it felt like the first time all over again. She arched her back as he continued to push forward, until he was fully sheathed inside of her.

"Fuck me," she whispered, unable to hold herself back.

Even when inside of her, Lando was still a cocky little shit. "I'm trying," he muttered through a grin as he snapped his hips forward.

As if on instinct, she wrapped her legs around him, hands on his shoulders as he fucked her. Lando had his hands on either side of her head, looming over her as he moved. His breaths were coming out in short puffs, a sheen of sweat appearing on his skin.

There was no better sight than Lando above her, she decided. If she died now, she'd die happy, the image of Lando thrusting into her forever burned into her memory.

Lando used his strong arm to prop himself up on one hand. The other travelled down, touching her body. His fingertips against her stomach had her gasping, but they kept travelling down, until they were nestled between her folds, touching her clit.

It was quite a skill he had, to fuck her like that while he was touching her. It had her moaning and writhing, oh so close to the edge. "Please, please, please," she cried over and over again as Lando grew faster.

Her walls were clenching around him, squeezing him in a delicious way. He felt her let go, maybe before she did. She cried out once more, her body tensing up, her nails raking down his back, leaving red marks as she came.

Lando kept going. Her nails against his back stung, but he loved it. He'd wear those marks forever, if he could.

Lando's thrusts grew sloppy. His grunts grew louder until he finally stopped, spilling his seed inside of the condom.

Swiftly he pulled out and disposed of it, throwing it away in the bin in his bedroom. Breathlessly, Y/N sat up, propped up by her elbows. "Holy fucking shit, Lando Norris. That was..."

"I'd missed you too," Lando answered as he sat on the end of the bed. He went to say something else, but he hesitated. Y/N didn't notice, though, too distracted by the marks she had left on his back. "Do... do you wanna take a bath with me?" He asked.

Still dressed in nothing, the two of them walked to the bathroom. Lando kept his arm around her as he did so. He sat her on top of the closed toilet lid and set about running the bath water. "You know, if you threw in a necklace, you'd look so fucking hot, Lan," she mumbled, leaning her head against the wall.

Taglist (CLOSED): @biancathecool @hollie911 @hiireadstuff @annispamz @carlossainzwho @spideybv28 @wherethefuckisthething @fangirl125reader @minkyungseokie @marialovesf1 @kitixie @i-wish-this-was-me @bborra @formula1mount @charlotte1697 @formulaal @eviethetheatrefreak @lordpercivalcharles @venisvendetta @marie0v @tbsloneely @laur20a23 @formulas-bitch @cmleitora @marvelavengers000 @gills-lounge @andydrysdalerogers @demipatterns @holy-macncheese-balls @jule239 @aexitizen-ln4 @landosgirlxoxo @allinestarr @starmanv @st0rmzi3 @random-human02 @nocoolusernamesavailable-blog @happymeal777 @ashy-kit @juniper-july19 @im-an-overthinker @haylenxx @kapsylia @prettiest-at-the-party @urfavnoirette @norassimpingzone @thehufflepuffavenger1 @taintet @amorydsmt @hi00000234567 @iamkaku @maxv33rstappen @noneofyourfbusinessworld @thatsusbitch @izzy-marvel @carqueensworld

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader smut #lando norris x you #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula one #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #ln4 #ln4 imagine #ln4 x reader

[codfanficedits]

Believe.

CW: ANGST. A lot of angst </3 no proofreading because i cried while writing it

Fem!reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley.

“Do you believe in alternative universes, lieutenant?” You ask Ghost, while the both of you lay in the grass, his large hand holding yours.

“What?”

“I was watching this movie the other day, and there were like an infinite amount of universes. So an universe where I would be your lieutenant.” You say with a slight chuckle.

A light squeeze in your hand. “That would be quite the sight.” Ghost answers, and while you can’t see his face, as your gaze is on the moon, the tone of his voice tells you he has a smirk on his face.

“Alternative universes, huh?” Ghost repeats.

“Yeah. What universe would you want to live in?”

“Depends, what would my options be?”

You let out a groan, you just explained that there could be an infinite amount of universes out there. “Think big.” You urge him. “You know, an universe where you’d work at Starbucks.”

That remarks rewards you with a laugh from Ghost. Not a polite, fake laugh, but one of those laughs that comes from his stomach. “Can you imagine?” He snickers. “I’d be fired on the first day for killing a customer.”

The image pops up in your head. Your lieutenant not wearing his usual army uniform but a Starbucks apron, an annoyed look on his face as some woman goes off ranting about some sort of discount. Him trying to get a straight face when he tries to explain that a military discount does in fact not apply when you’re dating a marine, but he keeps his temper in check with the first customer, only to completely lose it when a man comes up when he calls out a drink for Debra. The male customer going off about how he didn’t order a Venti pumpkin spiced latte, about how stupid the barista’s at Starbucks are. It is in that moment, in that universe that Ghost decided he didn’t need that goddamn job. The thought of it alone is enough to make you snicker too. “Shit you’d make the headlines.”

Ghost stays quiet for a brief moment. “Would that mean there’s an universe where my father..” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but you know what he means. Your heart aches for him, an empty sensation in your chest. During one drunken night Ghost confessed all that had happened in his childhood. The words spilling out of his like a drunken waterfall. Word after word flowing out of his mouth, leaving him a drunken, crying mess. When you tried to bring it up the next day he waved your worries away. The fact that he brings it up right now.. It hurts.

“Yeah.” You mutter as you fixate your gaze on the moon. “That universe does exist.”

“Huh.” Ghost lets out a soft sound. “I hope that version of me is happy.”

Your hand squeezes his tighter, as if you want to never let go, as if you want to heal his inner child with every ounce of love you have in you.

His voice breaks the silence. “What do you think the version of us who didn’t join the military would have as a job?”

You need to think for a moment before you can answer his question. The army had been your life the moment you had joined, all your friends were in the army, some of them being close enough to you to be considered family, Ghost being one of those people.

“I think I’d be a teacher.” You eventually say. “You know, I’ve always enjoyed teaching people, and I have a lot of patience.”

Ghost laughs at your answer. “You? A lot of patience? I’ve heard you yell at Soap for fucking up a recipe.”

“In my defence.” You start your protest. “He was frying a goddamn egg and burnt the whole thing to a crisp. You have to be a complete moron to do so.”

“And you think kids won’t be complete morons?” Ghost questions.

“That’s different.” You try to save your skin. “But maybe not a teacher. Maybe I’d be more fit to be an artist, or a florist or something.” A soft sigh follows your words.

“Ya know. I could see you be a florist.” Ghost answers you. “I could see you tend to flowers, make bouquets. Coming home smelling like a thousand and one different flowers.”

The idea alone brings a smile on your lips, maybe that would’ve been a life you would have  enjoyed. “What about you?” You ask Ghost.

“A mechanic.” A sense of pride in his voice. “I might not be the best driver there is.”

“That’s an understatement.” You chime in.

“Shut up.” Ghost mumbles. “As I was saying. I’m not the best driver, so I’d have to learn to fix my car myself, and you know, one thing leading to another, and before you know it, I’d be a mechanic.”

You can’t deny that the idea of Ghost being a mechanic does seem right to you, he’s smart enough to learn things like that, not afraid to get his hands dirty. But of course you can’t let the opportunity to bully your lieutenant slide.

“Even if there are an infinite amount of universes, I don’t think there is a single one where you’d be a good driver.”

“Oh I swear to God.” Ghost groans. “I wreck three cars and all of the sudden I’m a bad driver.”

You close your eyes as warm, wet droplets fall on your face, the rain feels refreshing and you’re in no mood to leave the grass, being too comfortable on your back, Ghost laying next to you, your fingers intertwined.

“This would mean that there is an universe where I would be a dad.” Ghost mentions. You want to turn your face, look at him, but the rain would make it uncomfortable, so you decide against it.

“I think you’d make a wonderful dad.” You say with a soft voice. The image of Ghost being a father filling your mind. The big, scary, buff lieutenant being a dad to a little girl, trying to get her ponytails as neatly as possible. The big, scary Ghost sitting at a pink table that is way too small, pretending to drink tea, holding up is pinky as he does so. Ghost going to a fair with his little girl on his shoulders, winning a big stuffed unicorn for her at a shooting game. Softie Ghost who has to first back the tears when his little girl leaves for the first day of preschool. Big dad Ghost holding his girl tight after her first break up, wanting to break a neck someone breaking her heart.

The big, scary, buff lieutenant holding his baby boy for the first time. A tiny baby being held by those large hands. The big, scare Ghost roughhousing with his boy, letting the kid win. Loud groans filling the living room as he admits defeat. Ghost going to a fair, his little boy holding his hand before he tries to teach his son how to shoot. Softie Ghost, clenching his jaw and trying to hold back the tears when he prepares his sons lunchbox for his first day of preschool. Big dad Ghost, silently cheering on his son as he musters up the courage to ask his crush to prom.

“Yeah. You’d make a wonderful dad.” You repeat yourself. You can tell by the way Ghost squeezes your hand again that your words mean a lot to him, and you can’t blame him, given his own childhood.

“You’ve never answered my first question, Simon.” You say, as the reality of the situation starts to settle in. “If you could choose any universe, which one would you like to live in?”

It stays quiet for a moment, before you open your eyes, turning your head to look at him, blood splatters painting your face red, as your mind tries to convince you that it is just the rain, and you know that if you close your eyes again, you’d believe it. You can tell by his raspy breath that it is getting harder for Ghost to cling on to life.

“I think.” He starts, as the bullets fly around you, the bullet wounds in your lower abdomen and chest are starting to hurt more and more, and you can no longer ignore the burning sensation they bring. No matter how much you try to focus on your conversation. His head turns to face yours. “I think I would like to live in the universe where I would take you out for dinner after this mission.”

A soft, sad smile forms on his lips. “Or I would like to live in the universe where you would come home from your florist job, and I would be at home waiting for you, our little boy and girl being ecstatic that you’re home again.”

He squeezes your hand one more time, it takes him all the strength that he has left. “I’d like that.” You whisper. “I think I would love to live in that universe too.”

You’re lucky enough that he can hear those words before the light leaves his eyes. If only you’d both be living in another universe. If only this universe would give you both another chance. Your eyes shift to your hand, your fingers still intertwined with Ghost’s as you wait for your death to come.

#ghost x you #ghost x reader #angst #cod x reader #call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod fanfic #fanfic #fandom #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3fic #ao3 writer #ao3 #fanfic edit #fanfics #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #mw2 #heavy angst #no comfort

[wannaeatramyeon]

Johan Seong x Reader: friends to lovers

Sorta continuation of: meeting Johan Seong for the first time

You didn't quite believe he would be here. But that unkempt hair, all black getup and general homeless vibe is instantly recognisable.

"HEY JOHAN!" you yell and the figure whirls around to look at you. You can see it takes him a moment to recognise your face.

Fancy meeting him here. Must be a strange twist of fate after expecting to never see him again. He is shifty as hell and isnt the most pleased to see you but a little guilt claws at you when you remember the last time you shared a meal and he ate like he was starved... You invite him along to another meal. Yes yes your treat, and you're immediately met with suspicision.

"Why? You don't owe me anything" "Those perverts could have fucked up my whole life. So what's a meal when I owe you my life?" He thinks about the logic of that for a moment. You are grasping at straws but he agrees anyway.

This kid eats with an unmatched verocity.

You start seeing him again in odd places, like you're strangely drawn to each other. Gangseo, Gangnam, Gangdong. You treat him to a meal each time "you're paying right-" "when have I not paid!"

Finally seeing him in central Seoul again, you are both eating the same black bean noodles as the first time. You decide to ask for his number. "Give me your phone" you hold out your hand. He doesn't move and just glares at you. As if you are some pretty thief, the nerve of this guy. You roll your eyes and ask the waitstaff for a pen. You scribble your number on a napkin.

"No pressure. Just... Give me a call or text when you're around or want to share a meal with someone."

Weeks pass before you receive a text "it's me" and you roll your eyes fondly. Who else but Johan would send that.

There is no reason really for you guys to talk but one day you see a video of a feral cat that reminds you of him. You text him with "lol this u". You don't hear back until later that night. To your surprise he sends you a picture of 2 dogs "eden miro won't like that" "waiT ARE THESE BABIES YOURS?!" "Yes" "OMG I LOVE THEM WHYNDIDNTNY YOY TRLL.ME ABOUT YIUR DOGS!!N!" As if poor Johan could read your excitable response.

But why didn't he tell you? Well you hardly know the guy. There's a lot he hasn't told you.

You start to hear a little more from this enigma. His texting habits are sporadic but he'll also send you pictures now and then of his dogs. You, easily bored, will send him messages 'wyd' (usually ignored), pics of studybooks captioned FML (responded to with ":("), memes ("?? Explain"), or just nonsense about your day ("👍") and then one time he actually texts "not a good day. Food? U pay"

The meals increase in frequency. This goddamn freeloader. And eventually evolve to occasional home hang outs at yours where you can save just a smidge more by opting for take outs. You spend the time schooling him on Mario Kart and educating him on films ("how have you NOT seen these Disney films, have you been living under a rock?!" "...")

More and more frequently, you catch him staring at you with a frown on his face. Maybe he's trying to work you out. Maybe he just thinks you're odd. You shrug. Johan's a weird guy, you're not going to question what he does.

You would have never pegged Johan to be a crier, or for him to be affected by childish movies from Disney or Ghibli. And maybe you should have warned him but going through the classics and watching Bambi's mother being killed off screen triggers a very unwelcome reaction

You hear sniffling and glance over to Johan trying to hold himself back from being upset. "Hey..." You put your hand on his, clenched into a fist and white knuckled. "I'm sorry I didn't- it's ok to be upset" you put your arm round him. "Disney was on some shit back then"

He wipes his face with the back of his hand, and you almost suffer whiplash from the speed he ups and leaves your home.

You go for weeks without hearing from him, your texts left unanswered. One night you hear your phone buzzing and see his name flash up the screen.

Johan's voice is thick with hesitation and anxiety. He pauses often but he eventually tells you about his momma. You ask if you could visit her with him one day and he gives you a maybe.

You're walking back from dinner with Johan and tell him about your classes. You show him a few pictures of you and your friends and he notices a guy with glasses standing closely next to you. "And this is Yeonwoo. He's really smart, he's been helping me with my classes."

You almost miss the glare he gives your phone, then he just huffs and walks off. You yell after him "what's the rush" and he ignores you. You're not stupid, you notice the way he reacted to Yeonwoo and you feel your face grow warm.

You ask him to slow down but instead you're hit with a barrage of questions and insecurity as you struggle to keep up with his pace.

"Why are you hanging with me?" "I like hanging with you"

"You should be spending time with Yeonwoo if he's so good" "I prefer to spend time with you"

"Is that 4eyed bastard your boyfriend" "what are you talking about"

"Do you like him" "why? Are you jealous?"

That stops him in his tracks. He avoids your eyes and stares at the floor but you see the tip of his ears flush red, all the way down to his collarbones

"Johan..." He doesn't react. You reach out to hold his hand in yours. This gets his attention and he snaps his eyes to yours in surprise.

"I actually like you"

#lookism #lookism headcanons #lookism x reader #lookism hc #johan seong x reader #johan seong #yohan seong #lookism fic #lookism fanfics #wannaeatramyeon

[mkcannothelpyou]

Movie Night (Robin-Whisperain-Kafka)

AK/Kinktober 2023, Day 2: "Chastity"

Not that Robin's not used to producing her fair share of awkward silences, but Whisperain's skirt being batted aside to reveal a freaking… steel keyhole has just about blown the fuse on Robin's ability to socialise.

All the worse because Kafka did it, because Kafka's here for once. For y'know. Movie night. Their movie night. Does Kafka even like movies? It's been an hour and she still can't figure. Maybe Kafka's never even seen a goddamn movie.

"Uh, so, uh, Kafka… you ever see a movie before?"

Robin is playing the worst defense of her life. Whisperain's face is on fire. Whisperain's everything is on fire. Everything in the movie is on fire also, holy shit, shut up, Robin reaches over her seat and slams MUTE on the sound system and goddamnit she's still transfixed at the really nice lady's dress where… that.

"Well, yannow, rental tapes. Not on Kafka's tab! Just, other people watch stuff and a Kafka swings by to kill time for free."

"G… Great! That's—that's neat." No, fuck, Kafka's also… also staring. At Whisperain, not the movie—fuck, as far as Robin and probably everyone in the universe is concerned the movie is dead to them now.

Movies are dead and Whisperain's mortified. "Um… I'm sorry you saw that, I really am…" Robin may as well dig the shallowest grave in the land and do a fifty-meter dive head-goddamn-first.

"No! No, uh," Robin falters. She needs to save this, she has to save this, she feels so bad that she's just gonna tacitly accept what she just saw because there's no way Robin somehow knows better about a thing than Miss Whisperain does. C'mon, save, save. "It's fine. It's fine, right, Kafka?"

Kafka is clearly taking advantage of Whisperain's social paralysis to decide her answer because she's hoisting all those ruffles back up and taking another damn look. Robin can hardly even call a time out because her brain's decided her hands need to be covering her face in response instead.

…

Just a peek through her fingers. What the fuck are you doing, Robin? Sleek black harness like stealth, ring over the c—crotch, and secured within it is a… plug, plug, it's a plug. It's a fucking plug. Miss Whisperain has all her clothes on and then an ornate fucking plug.

"Heck, I'm all for it. You fit that thing yourself?"

"I… I did, though it's by no means a regular habit, I assure you…" Oh my god. Oh my god. This is not the time to get turned on, Robin, you piece of shit.

"Naw, I get it. No-one ever said a Kafka didn't like her business too, truth speaking. You, uh… ya got the key?"

"The fucking key!?" Robin blurts out as her hands crash away just to show Kafka how incredulous she is. "Oh god, I'm sorry Miss Whisperain, we can just call it for the night and I swear if she ever tries to say anything about this I'm ready to kill her—"

"It's… here." Whisperain's gloved dainty snowy hand fishes a key out from her breast pocket. It. Sure is a key. The steel key to Miss Whisperain's…

"Yeah, that's it," whispers Robin.

"Well, you do the deed, Robin."

Declares Kafka.

Robin has just been dragged into the most stupid, disrespectful flow-going of her life. She's—she's taken the key, she's kneeling down, she's oh my god Miss Whisperain is lifting up her skirt—

Her mind rejects the next two words so hard each time she tries to think them. —for me. Yes, but no! Fucking idiot. To let me do the thing. Yeah. Good. Got it.

Okay. That's it, that's the task, reaching her hand in. Into Whisperain's… skirt. With the key she's holding and she cannot fuck this up, she suddenly realizes, she cannot fuck this up at all.

Robin's hand meets Whisperain. Meets Whisperain's thigh first, the cool smooth legging, in soft persistent contact sending sensation to Robin's brain that accidentally wakes up her shame again, not that it can stop her or do anything more than make her begin to tremble just a little. Shit. Shit, she feels really nice. She's—she's so pretty. She's—

The key hits solid metal.

Robin is panting, shudders, breaks her concentration away from Miss Whisperain's dress, looks up at her and she's gotten all flustered too, she lets her skirt drop and it lands and drapes over Robin's arm and she's holding herself up straight on either side and letting her embarrassed gaze fall down on Robin—

It enters the steel keyhole. Robin's fingertips, metal lock on Whisperain's most intimate place bar none. Feels it nudge slightly in, the image of which transgresses far, far, far beyond anything Robin ever thought she could be allowed to do.

Click.

Gulp.

"It… it pulls away now. It's somewhat shallow…" Whisperain timidly explains.

"I…" Robin's hand is frozen there in place, key held inside unlocked core inside Whisperain. "I think you're gonna have to pull it out yourself."

"Intense, huh?" Jesus fucking christ, she forgot Kafka was even here!

#BDSMKinktober #arknights #ak/kinktober menagerie iv

[casuallivi]

III. The Chaotic Ordinary Couple

Part II can be found here. Dedicated to Azriel Appreciation Week 2022 Day 4 @azrielshadowsingerweek

"Are hooking up with that that high schooler?!" The skeptic hiss had Elain spitting coffee all over the textbook.

"Shit, shit, shit." She ripped a page from her nearest notebook, her effort from the last hour solving the equation going to waste in the hurry to suck up the damage. “Napkins!” She pleaded to Nuala.

If Nuala were a book character, she would definitely be Hermione, her purses always containing exactly what one needed no matter what they asked for. She reached inside of it, passing a package to Elain, a glare plastered on her face.

"You're stalling."

"I'm trying to save the book." She said defensively.

"I don't care."

"You know Jen wants to cancel my library card for excess of delays.”

“Are you?” she repeated, receiving more nonsenses about books and libraries.  

“If I show up to return a book looking like this, she will gut me alive,"

"Elain Marie Archeron,” Nuala stretched every name individually, “if don't answer me in the next second I swear to God I'll bitch slap you." The more friend tried to play her; the more stressed Nuala felt. Last night she had the heart attack of her life. Elain, Feyre and Nuala had gone to the movies, the kid who was always glued to her sister tagging along, appealing for his case with an offer to drive them. Nuala was suspecting he had a crush on the younger Archeron, but when she went to share her theory with her friend, she caught him kissing Elain when he thought no one was watching.

“So?" she pressed?

“I’m not.” Elain couldn’t look more guilt if she tried.

“Care explain why he was cleaning your teeth with his tongue last night?”

Elain gulped. "I'm dating him, okay? He asked me on a date, called me his girlfriend, took me to his aunt's house and I feel in love with his crazy ass."

"Girl!"

"What?" Elain asks defensively. "You were always nagging me about finding a boyfriend, now I have you. Case closed."

Unbelievable. Nuala dropped herself on the other chair, taking a sip of Elain's coffee, nothing but air going up the straw.  

"Girl, when you went all mysterious on me, I thought, like, you had a fling with that cute guy from Finances or something, not like, a goddamn kid!"

"He’s not a kid. He’ll finish school soon." Elain says defensively.

"Yeah, but you are here surrounded by hot college guys and he's there, doing math homework or something."

"I'm doing math homework." Azriel’s current status was a sensitive topic to her. In the beginning she was weird out for being crushing on a younger boy, she couldn’t even kiss him, their PDA revolving around lots of hand holding and long, long, hugs.

"Don't play coy with me Elain, or I swear to God," Nuala threatens. The farther the conversation went, the closer she felt to lose her shit. Now their plans to go on double blind dates had gone to shit. "A freaking high schooler. I can't believe you."

"What's the big deal? Guys date high schoolers all the time."

"Gross."

"Shut up, he's almost my age, and next year he'll be in college too." Elain sighed.

Why was she being condemned for finally having a boyfriend? Damned if she did, damned if she didn't. She packed her stuff, annoyed with Nuala's judgment. The two friends had always had similar views of life, so Nuala bashing her wasn't really a surprise. Still, Elain didn't like having someone else pointing fingers at her dating life. Nuala, who couldn't take a hint to save her life, choose to follow her outside the coffee shop.

"I'm not judging you." She said keeping up with Elain, who squinted, holding her bag like a shield. "I'm not. I was just... Surprised. I never pegged you for a cougar."

"Oh, fuck off."

He best friend's laughter echoed, attracting attention from the passerby. Elain bumped her hips against hers, urging her to quiet down. "I hate you."

"Samesies," Nuala said winking to a guy walking his dog.

"I can't believe you have a boyfriend and didn't tell me. Low blow Elain. How long is this going on? Did you popped his cherry?” She wiggled her brows, laughing when Elain tripped.

“Oh my god.”

“You did, didn’t you?”

“I did not!”

“Bummer. So, what do you guy do? Kiss?” She grimaced.

Elain blushed. “What’s wrong with kissing.”

Nuala’s shoulders went up and down.

“Depends on how long you’ve been dating. Tell me everything.”

Elain bite her lip, muttering about lack of boundaries, considering how much she wanted to share in a place so open. In the end, she settled for the most superficial topics to use as bait for Nuala to leave her alone. The problem was once she started talking about Az, she couldn't stop, her annoyed face melting into a sappy one, her cheeks hurting from smiling, her hands gesticulating in the air for emphasis.

Elain told her friend all about her secret, which she miraculously been able to keep for six months! Nuala was extremely surprised with that information. She had always been an expert to coax the truth out of people, especially Elain, who she knew since kindergarten, but this time Elain was able to keep her out of her mind.

Nuala started hitting her arm with playful punches, her voice a tone too sweet.

"O. M. G. You're glowing. Stop that! You stop that now."

"I can't," Elain smiled at her. "I really like him."

"I can see that. God, who'd have imagined the Ice Princess had a thing for frail skinny teens."

"Nuala!"

"What? You're the one preying on the poor defenseless souls." She made the sign of the cross.

Elain shook her head, incredulous. Poor defenseless soul? Who? He boyfriend?! What a joke.

“Pfff, my Az is anything but defenseless. I swear to God, that boy came out without an "off" button, he manages to have energy than Feyre.”

Nuala stopped on her track, whirling to Elain.

"Energetic? Azriel? That quiet kid who hang with your little sister, always sketching gore pictured in his notebooks, that Azriel?"

"The one and only."

"That kid doesn't have one energetic bone in his body, Elain."

"You'd be surprised." Elain answered wiggling her brows, Nuala pretending to stick a finger on her throat and gagging.

"I've changed my mind, I don't want to know everything. I can't believe you are in love."

They reached their classroom, Elain sliding on the chair beside her, slamming her head on the desk with a sigh. "I know, I can't believe it either. I hate him."

Nuala rolled her eyes.

"No, you don't"

"No, I don't." Elain straightened up, smiling like a goofy idiot, releasing another torrent of fast words to praise her twig of a boyfriend. "His hair is so fluffy, I just want to touch it all day long. He looks so cute when he gets all mad about being younger than me, his cheeks go all shades of red. And he is so nice to me Nuala, even his parents like me. He introduced me to his folks before we even went on a date, what kind of teenage boy does that?"

"Ho-ly-shit."

Elain nodded in agreement

"My exact reaction. When we left the mansion, because that place is way too big to be called a house, I tried to choke him to death. Do you know what that smug bastard said to me? "She'll be your mother-in-law 'Lain, might as well get comfy from now." He's confident he'll marry me."

"That kid is hilarious."

The conversations around them died down when their favorite professor walked into the room, Tarquin's piercing turquoise eyes roaming until they found Nuala's grey ones. She winked at him.

"I'm going to bang him." She announced with confidence. Elain's eyes darted from her to the professor, shaking her head in denial.

"You're playing with fire, Nu."

"Nope, pretty sure he is a water sign. He got the vibes."

They chuckled, ending the gossip session and fishing their textbooks, Elaine's with big brown spots and glued pages. Shit. She would have to buy a book and donated it to the library, wouldn't she?

She groaned silently.

Goodbye sweet august paycheck, it was nice dreaming about you.

+

“Don’t look!” He stressed for the hundredth time, hands covering her eyes.

“I’m not looking.”

“I’ll know if you look.”

“Dude! My eyes are closed down here.”

Azriel kicked something out of the way, probably a spray can from the noise of it heating the wall. They walk a few more steps, Elan going slowly, afraid of the unknown path, Azriel behind her, stirring her in the right direction. He’d grown a tad taller than her since they’ve met, not letting her forget about it for one measly second, constantly supporting his chin on the top of her head. According to him that was a "power move" to let her know who was the boss. The purple spots on his ribs, from the many times she elbowed him after listening to that nonsense, told her exactly who was the boss.

“Okay, keep it closed," he took his hands off, repeating, "don't cheat!” one last time before his body heat disappear. Elain stood by herself with her eyes closed, the faint noise of the air conditioner her only company. She jumped when sometimes heavy scratched the floor, Azriel screaming "not yet," as she was about to open her eyes.

Large hands encased her waist, long skilled fingers intertwining over her belly, her cropped shirt granting him easy access to her skin. Elain relaxed against his chest, breathing deeply. She could scent the expensive paint, his vibrant perfume, and the delectable woodsy fragrance that always seemed to impregnate his body.

Azriel kissed her hair thrice – his lucky numb. "Okay, on the count of three."

She cleared her throat, imagining herself as an announcer.

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

The place was familiar.

Elain was accustomed with classroom he, Feyre and four more students shared as a makeshift studio. Under normal circumstances she would not be allowed to wander their school as much as she did, but dating the principal's "favorite son" (Az's words, not hers) came with its perks. Sometimes she would free her morning to come sit on a corner and watch two of her favorite people in the whole world working, not understanding squat about their creative process, smiling at the few shared jokes, sending Azriel kisses every time he winked her way.

This room was usually a mess, the six work tables spread around filled with materials, canvas from different sizes sitting against the wall, half-finished paintings and sculptures visible in every corner. Today the place was different, incredibly clean, not an unfinished work in sight, only a medium-sized canvas resting peacefully in a wood tripod.

Elain gasped, hands flying to her mouth, eyes bulging out.

The painting exposed a tattooed naked lady, stretching her arms up in the air with a serene expression. Elain recognized the pattern instantly.

In front of her was an artsy redemption of Fibonacci's Sequence. The girl on the painting was throwing her body back, arching herself in a way her spine followed the curve Fibonacci's spiral in the mockery of an elegant stretch, her long brown hair cascading towards the lateral of the canvas, the curls vanishing where no longer white screen ended. Her naked body gleamed with thousands of small dark-blue spirals, that at first glance could be mistaken by careless tattoos, the form actually being clever repetitions of the bigger arc.

She was speechless.

"Do you like it?" Azriel asked after a while, his voice so small and fragile she felt her heart strain. Her over confident lover boy was hardly one to feel insecure, his rare doubts usually linked to his desire to please her. Elain covered his hands with hers nodding her head vehemently.

Her eyes watered. Elain wasn't an art specialist but this was this was the prettiest painting she had seen in her life. Her mind drifted to a couple months back when she was gushing about her exciting college life, how she was loving to delve deeper into math, how number where intrinsically connected to life.

"You're shitting me," Azriel had protested, his head laying on her lap. "Art is connected to life baby, not math." He had the special ability to make the word “math” sound like an insult.

"Na-an. Math gives life." She argued.

"Math can't give life. Art gives life, art is the soul of a human. What the fuck numbers have to do with life?

Elain ran her fingers through his soft hair, yanking it hard when he cursed again, calling him a "potty mouth."

"Have you studied Fibonacci's sequence yet?"

"Who?"

"Fi-bo-na-cci." She repeated slowing, tugging his hair with every syllabus just for the hell of it. "How are you passing your classes?"

"Using my delightful charms at my advantage, just like I did with you. Who was the guy?"

"He was an incredibly talented mathematician,"

"Like you?" He interrupted her with a wink.

"Better. He created a numerical sequence where you can find the next number by adding up the two antecedents to it. The sequence allows one to see mathematical logic, the perfect connection of numbers with nature."

"I don't get it." His confused face was so cute, Elain wished she had a camera to snap a picture. She pinched his cheek.

"Fibonacci’s sequence prime objective is to bring forth the scientific beauty of perfection, is the perfect reflection of order and organization."

Azriel was grimacing as someone who has a massive stomachache, his forehead creased as he tried to understand how the heck math could be beautiful. "You lost me."

Elain smiled down at his puppy face. "I noticed."

"Why does a guy look for beauty in math? Girls are way better. I much rather dedicate my time to learn your curves than stupid numbers." Elain flicked his forehead. "Come on! Have anyone ever told how violent you are?"

"No, tell me."

She traced his glorious thick eyebrows, following the shape of his nose all the way to the bow of his upper lip, Azriel puckering them to kiss the tip of her finger again and again.

That day he was so confused while she talked, now he was here showing her a gorgeous painting inspired by their conversation. The mind of an artist worked in mysterious ways.

"There’s an artist I like," Azriel's baritone broke her thoughts. "Elisa Breton. She has these amazing surrealist paintings, the strokes on the canvas so vivid you can feel her unconscious taking form. I envied her for it. I couldn’t get personal with my art before, my paintings didn’t reflect me. “They lack soul,” my teachers would scold me, “There’s no passion, Z." It used to drive me mad. I thought it was impossible to express myself when there’s so much I wished to say about the world and society in general." Azriel rested his chin on her shoulder, his smile palpable, his voice mellow and passionate. “Then a met a cute brunet who takes space in my mind all day long.”

Elain sighed deeply, flipping her hair on his face. “Is not my fault you are completely in love with me.”

“It totally is. I can’t look at numbers without imagining your sixes and your nines,"

"Azriel!" She untangled from him with a couple of punches, aiming for his stool to park her ass, Azriel following her lead and sitting on the other free one.

"Anyways. I figure if couldn’t stop thinking about you I had to push you out somehow.”

“Gee, so romantic.”

“I have things to do, woman! The art world won’t conquer itself.”

“Yeah, yeah, keeping talking about how I’m disturbing your gran plans.” Azriel dragged his stool closer, the wood rasping on the floor. He braced his hands on her thighs and bite her cheek. “Ah!”

“You puff your cheeks when you pout.”

“I wasn’t pouting.” Elain rubbed her cheek, eyes going back to the painting, the meticulous details giving her goosebumps. "This is truly beautiful Az. I mean it."

"The power of my muse." Elain snorted, cleaning the tears from her eyes.

“I can’t believe you used math properly.”

"Your faith in me is astonishing. For me, number don't mean a fancy sequence that I can't wrap my head around. For me, numbers mean you."

Elain craned her neck to grin at him.

"You did find beauty in numbers after all."

Azriel rolled his eyes.

"I know. I was shocked too."

"Does it have a name?"

"Autumn's Fall."

“Why Autumn’s Fall?”

“That's when we've met, you know?” He kissed the corner of her mouth, warm lips lingering on her skin, Elain melting in his arms. "We've meet in autumn and then I fell for you."

Her lips curve upwards, her heart thumping like crazy.

"You're such an artist."

He wheezes, "thank you.” Azriel pushed back, bracing his elbows on the table behind him. "I have news."

"More?"

"More. Remember Cinthia Hawthorne?"

"The art curator?"

Azriel nods. "The one and only. She’s opening a new gallery, she wants to expose young talents into the market. The Palace of Youth. Cinthia wants to launch twenty-five new artists. It's an ambitious project, but she is confident about succeeding.” He paused for dramatic effect, enjoying the fact that Elain was playing attention to him, hanging on his words. "And she wants to expose my art there."

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God."

Elain jumped from her chair so fast he barely had time to catch her, his stool tumbling backwards, Azriel lading on his back with a painful noise, the feeling subsiding once she started to fill every inch of his face with kisses.

Elain grabbed his cheeks, moving his head from side to side, her smile making him feel like his own face was about to split in two. “That’s a good think, right? Like, real artist stuff.”

“Very good, very real.”

She sat on top of him, clapping like an excited little girl who was allowed to eat unlimited candy, celebrating with a made-up song. "My boyfriend is gonna be ri-ich, he's gonna have mo-oo-ney, oh yeah,"

“I am rich.” Azriel scoffed. "I'm a trust fund baby."

"You parents money doesn’t count. Rii-ii-iich, mo-ney, mo-neeey.” she danced on top of him, Azriel bracing his hands behind his head to avoid touching her. Another day of testing his limits. He knew she was kidding about being happy because of money, the hardest task in his life was making Elain accept his gifts.

Elain wiggled again, and Azriel couldn’t hold his tongue any longer.

"Should I expect a lap dance every time I sell a painting, too? Because if so, I'm going to be a very determined artist."

She stopped dancing, landing her hands on his stomach. When Elain looked down, Azriel could instantly read the request in her beautiful brown eyes. He did his best to conquer his nervousness, slowly placing his hands on her waist, heat emanating between them. "I'm going to kiss you," he warns evenly "Say no if don't want me to."

Elain couldn't say a world if she wanted. If she was being honest, Elain no idea about what healthy intimacy looked like. Her parents had been a disaster, her mother feel in love with a wannabe rock singer and left home when she was seven, her dead was an alcoholic who couldn't not differentiate day from night, her older sister considered herself heartless. But none of that mattered when she was with Azriel. He made her feel safe, wanted, loved. She closed her eyes and bent down, stopping a breath short from his mouth, brave enough to start asking for his kisses, but not yet brave enough to take them herself.

Under her, Azriel was shaking, his hands trembling as he upped on to her cheek, closing his eyes, Elain delicious minty breath fanning his lips. He moved forward, anticipation making his heart gallop like a racing horse, bumping his nose on hers,

"E-LA-IN!"

Feyre loud yell bloomed around them, Elain shoving Azriel away, getting up do fast she accidentally stepped on little Az. His soul left his body, which rolled to the side under a curse and a painful growl.

The youngest Archeron didn't spare him a glance, running straight to her sister, jumping on her, the fresh paint in her overall smearing all over Elain's white shirt, her euphoric speech delivering her own special news.

"A rich lady wants to put my art where other rich ladies will want to buy my art!" Feyre's laugh was contagious, Elain hugging her tight as her feet went back to the ground. "Are you proud? Are you proud? Tell me you are proud!" She asks with gleaming eyes.

“I’m so proud Fey, you are the best artist I know. You are going to be the best artist in the world.”

“Hey!” Azriel intervened with a raspy voice, blindly searching for the stool to help him up.

Feyre pointed a finger at his face. “Suck it Shadowloser, I'm the best." She turned to Elain grabbing her hand, "Can we surprise Nesta on her lunch break? I want to give her the news."

+

The mattress dips besides him, a hand ruffles his hair, lovely stroking it until he was purring, snuggling on the comforter.

"Azriel…" A kiss on his forehead, "Az," a kiss on his cheek, "wake up," a kiss on his jaw.

“What time is it?" He grumbled.

Elaine's soft voice traveled to him, the sound like a caress on his ear. "One-minute past midnight." A lethal one.

"Christ, what are you waking me for? What's wrong?"

He couldn’t remember the last time he slept, his latest project taking every minute of his day.

"You mean, "what's right"?" Azriel peeled on eye open as she clicked the bed side table lamp to life, the yellow glow illuminating Elain, his girlfriend all bright eyes and white teeth, and,

What the heck was she wearing?

"You're officially legal!" Elain exclaimed, shaking him up, then she was blowing a party blower, the tip of it hitting his nose.

"Jesus Christ."

Azriel reeled back, rubbing the sleep way to separate the foggy dream from reality, thinking he might still be asleep to see her like that. He blinked. Nothing changed. Nope, not a dream, Elain was really wearing that. His gaze dipped to her legs going all to way up to her hair, inspecting the green stocking matching her green gloves, a dark green bodysuit matching her lipstick, and a cheap red wig, her brown roots visible where she was scratching her head.

"Here's your gift." She slapped something on his chest –the calendar he gave her years ago, opened on the last page, big black arrows pointing at the date he drew a bunch of hearts around. Elain tapped her index on the indecent male on the bottom, purring. "Flex for me, Az. Flex as if you were one of my french girls." 

He snorted, placing the calendar on his pillow and going to his closet. "No, come back to bad! I waited years to crack this joke."

"Wait a minute. Since when are gift giving, I have one for you too."

He rummaged throw his coats, letting out a triumphant sound when his finger closed around the familiar object.

"Close your eyes and open you hand." He instructed Elain, who crossed her arms over her chest, looking annoyed as she eyed his pants.

"I'm not falling for that again."

"Get you head off the gutter, Archeron." He screeched, feigning being outraged, sitting with her. "Come one baby, do it for me."

"The pants stay on." She warned with killing glare.

"The pants stay on," he reported after her, complementing with, "for now."

Elain rolled her eyes, unable to hide the smirk trying to break free. With a resigned breath she did as she was told, extending both hands to tease him. "It's better be bigger than last time," she whispered diabolically, winning a bite in her wrist. "Oi!"

"Shhh." Azriel turned her palm up, placing a light weight on top of it, something cold, squared. "Open up."

Her brain shut down, her body paralyzed for complete at the sight of the opened velvet box, a sparkling engagement ring resting on the inside, the teardrop sapphire nearly blinding her with its beauty. "What do you think? Do you want to put it on?"

Elain breathed an ugly sound that was half cry, half laughter

"That's – what you said – the last time," she sobbed shaking her hand in front of his face, trembling as he slid the ring on her finger, kissing it before releasing her.

Elain didn't want to be released. She jumped on him, making a mess of his night shirt with snot and tears. Azriel held her fiercely, his hand going up and down her back to sooth her. When Elain pulled one of her gloves and used it to blow her nose, he finally asked her the real important question.

"Baby, what the hell are you wearing?"

The man he drew on her calendar had nothing on but some ivy vines snaked around his naughty bits, so Elain though it was a good idea to be his counterpart, a modest version of him since didn't want to risk his flat mate walking on her on the nude.

“I’m Poison Ivy,” she hiccupped adjusting her wig, his body shaking under her.

"I love you."

"I love you"

With a kiss, Azriel gently pushed Elain to her back, holding his weight on top of her, that's when she decided to dump a bucket of cold water on top of his head. "We won't marry until you graduate." 

"My God woman, you are obsessed with my education!" Azriel fell back on the bed, letting his best dramatic sigh out.

They started a heated discussing, Azriel pleading an education was irrelevant to be married, that an artist was established once he started selling painting, which he already did, not when he received a piece of paper from college. In counterpart, Elain pleaded she was piece-of-paper-enthusiast, and that she wanted to hang his degrees all over their house.

Azriel said he wouldn't graduate just to spite her.

Elain said she wouldn't sleep with him just to spite him.

They started another argument, this one moved to the kitchen since she was hungry, Azriel offering to cock her lasagna, Elain kissing him and helping to sort the ingredients. 

It was going to be a long night

- the end - 

#elain archeron #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #elriel #elriel fanfic #teenlogy #part 3 #the end #azrielshadowsingerweek2022 #day 4 romance #my writing #very pg #cute and funny #at least that was the intention 🤭🤭 #hope that was translated accordingly #lots of love to all of you 🥰 #me pretending I'm artsy to write az #also me pretending i like math to write elain #💀💀💀💀💀💀 #lmao #this turned out bigger than the first 2 chaps combined #but if i splitted this chap in 2 the name would lost the pun #🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

[shae-la-hyene]

The Sleeping Beauty Paradox

Or how feminism in media got twisted enough it ended up hating women.

Aurora IS my favorite disney princess.

I relate to her and her situation a lot, she has an awesome aesthetic, and the music for the movie was written by Tchaikowski. What else could you ask for, really ?

Yet, everytime I said that to people in real life, their first instinct is to scoff it off. Society has shamed people into not loving Aurora. Because she's a victim.

If you need one proof of the overwhelming rape culture and victim blaming, don't look further. There's a similar problem with Snow White albeit less pronunced.

The feminism wave from the 80s set precedent. Feminists wanted more representation for women who fought for themselves, women that looked like them, that had a chance to have an impact on the world and strongly took it. It was a good idea in a world where all women in media were meek, helpless and soft.

But somehow it ended up in mysogynistic movies only allowing women in if they were strong independant warriors. There is no more room for victims, seen as too stereotypical.

Somehow, it ends up in us all who grow up in a situation we have no control whatsoever in, are abused and can't find a way to escape or don't even realize it with how deep the abuse runs, feeling guilty about not being strong and fighting out of it.

Aurora, just like Cinderella and Snow-White, was trapped in a situation she could not escape, and yet did her best to stay sweet and kind and true to herself, not letting her isolement and lack of freedom (not counting the numerous things her guardians lied to her about probably with no subtelty) make her bitter. That is a show of strength that we often overlook. Not all of us can do that.

Critics now describe her as naive and clueless, which is a little expected from someone who was raised in full isolement. Yet it looks like it's a high crime in the hyperfeminist mindset. There's no one out there being angry at her parents or guardians. They were trying to save her, they say, as if it's an excuse. Considering they failed, it's really not.

But a lot of people scoff at Aurora for being naive, and waiting for a prince to come save her. She didn't. She didn't realize she needed to be saved, so that's not what she wished for. She wished to not be alone, to find true love, a soulmate who'd love her unconditionally from the first sight. Naive or not, she found it. Philip loved her at first sight, not caring about what background she comes from, and that's what she needed. She did nothing wrong with him either. In a slut shaming society, let us remind everyone that even if they were soulmates and believed they would love each other forever, they only danced and spent time together. No kiss, nothing further than hand holding, but they knew. Philip knew he was going to marry her and there was nothing anyone could say against it. Loving Philip was less naive than young women nowadays believing they can 'fix him'.

People often use the argument that, in a movie named after her, Aurora has the less screen time of all princesses. It's fair. But that doesn't mean that it makes the movie any less centered around her. Her influence when off screen is in all the people that loved her, fighting for her.

Philip who, confirming her beliefs in their love, fought for her like a goddamn lion. Against his father's wishes, against a 100 years curse, against a forest of thorns, and against a fucking honest to god dragon. In the face of that, it is hard for me to think Aurora naive for believing in her soulmate.

Love from her guardians, who are not particularly clever or useful in actual battle, but still do everything they can to protect and free her from the curse.

Now I am sure Stephan and his nameless wife loved her. In a way. The kind of love necessary to give up your child in the hope of a better life. But there's also not a drop of the love you get from seeing a child grow up and getting to know them. That's why we don't see their love having much of an impact on her life when it mattered. There were more responsibility and duty coming from them than love.

Aurora might not be a fighter, but she inspired enough love to fight a dragon. But as she didn't fight the dragon herself, she's not feminist enough.

She was sweet, kind, didn't have much apart from hopes. And yet life went against her when the circumstances of her birth (that she wasn't aware of beforehand and couldn't prepare for) forced her to give up the only thing she really wanted. That event destroyed her, in a way never predicted by people who promised her hand in marriage the moment she was born. It was evident for them, to support an alliance that could have been done in a different way. Being forced to comply to unreasonnable expectations and responsibilities she never agreed to, erasing all traces of freedom she ever had, makes her a victim.

Victims need to be saved. It's the duty of people with the power to do so to help save victims. It's not the victim's fault that they're in this situation. There is nothing wrong with needing to be saved.

Sleeping Beauty was built from a traditional fairy tale, that's why there is a dragon guarding a high tower and a brave lover ready to fight it. That's why we're lucky to have had a happy ending with the soulmates ending up together and not forced to marry someone else. But just think of how bad things could have gotten. And yet in all of that, Aurora has no power over the situation. Because she's abused. Because she's a princess and under ridiculous expectations from a family that doesn't know her, and then because she's asleep under a fucking curse. Aurora couldn't help herself. She had no way of doing so, at no point.

Those past few decades, disney princesses have to fight. They have to stand up for themselves, prove they are not powerless, free themselves often without anyone's help. Women need to be strong warriors to be allowed to exist. Nowadays people scoff at Aurora for being a victim. Because it's wrong of her to not do anything to free herself.

It participate in the overwhelmind mindset that everybody has to be strong in a cruel world. That women have to prove they can do everything themselves. That being a victim is being weak. Rape victims in media have no longer the freedom to be impacted by it. They are only likeable if they fight it and make it a strength.

But Sleeping Beauty had a happy ending because people who loved her fought for her.

Maybe we should stop blaming victims for being helpless, and instead do what we can to save the people we love.

#aurora #disney #disney's sleeping beauty #sleeping beauty

[xxghost-zombie-jesus]

A/N: I decided that I'll be doing prompt fills/writing requests in between my longer fics! If you have any prompts or requests you'd like to see, shoot me an ask with the prompt, character(s) and/or ship you'd like! They'll probably be between 3k-5k but with my track record, who knows.

Anyway, onto the fic!

Prompt: "What if Beej has a really bad nightmare (wake up in cold sweat, shaking, absolutely terrified kind of nightmare) and Lydia comforts him. Just some good old sibling hurt/comfort and fluff." Requester: attack_choppa01 on AO3 Warnings: nightmares, panic attacks, vomiting, the following within a nightmare: child abuse, child death, verbal abuse, emotional manipulation, Juno (she needs her own warning), violence Word Count: 7,563 Read on AO3

Friday nights were reserved for Lydia and Beetlejuice to hang out. Sure, they had the weekends where they went out and did stuff, and family movie night was Thursdays, and she sometimes snuck him into school, but Fridays were 'chill nights'. Nights where Lydia forewent doing her homework, and as soon as dinner was finished the two of them headed upstairs or claimed the living room for their own use until the wee hours of the night when one or both of them got too tired to continue.

This particular Friday they took the living room, a pile of snacks spread out across the coffee table. Charles and Delia had headed upstairs a few hours ago, the Maitlands before that, so the two of them basically had run of the house as long as they kept the noise to a dull roar. Currently Lydia was sprawled across the couch, Beetlejuice perched on the back like a cat, or perhaps a bird. Her Switch was plugged into the TV, and she was wiping the floor with Beej in Super Smash Bros.

"Come on, you're so bad at this," she heckled, hitting Beej's character off the map as he made a strangled noise of anger. He managed to double-jump back to safety only for her to hit him off again, this time he wasn't so lucky, and his character lost a life. "I thought demons were supposed to be good at everything. What happened, Mr. 'Ghost with the Most?' Lost your touch in your old age?"

"Shut up." She could feel his leg bouncing against the back of the couch, could hear him aggressively smashing buttons as he tried to no avail to gain the upperhand. Instead he dashed right off the edge and she hit him back when he tried to recover. "Goddamn it! If this was Mario Kart I'd be kicking your ass hardcore!" Lydia knew this was true, hence why they weren't currently playing it. He grit his teeth and leaned forward, nearly falling off his perch as he glared daggers at the screen.

And of course Lydia got her final smash and destroyed him. The match ended and he threw his hands in the air. "Fuck it, I'm done with this. Put a different game on." Lydia grinned meanly at him and started readying up another match, and he 'accidentally' dropped his controller onto her head. "Oops, my hands aren't working anymore," he deadpanned, holding out his arms which he spaghetti-fied, them hanging loosely in her face. "Can't play any more Smash, oh noooooo. Whatever shall we do?"

"Ew, get your noodle-ass arms out of my face, BJ," Lydia shoved them, and they swung limply. "Ugh, stop being a baby. Fine, what about Mario Party?" She hit the home button, blindly throwing the controller back at him. He hurriedly grabbed it out of the air to make sure it didn't fly across the room and ended up toppling backwards off the couch and landed on his head with a cartoonish bell noise. Lydia sat up to look at him, laughing so hard her face screwed up. "What the fuck happened to you, Beej?"

"Well," he grouched as he flopped over before sitting up. "You'd've ripped my balls off if I let the controller break." He said it matter-of-factly, giving her a dirty look and rubbing the top of his head despite the fall not hurting all that much, in reality. Lydia only continued to laugh at him. "I sacrificed myself to save you sixty bucks and you're laughing at me."

"You're so stupid. You could have just used your powers, or not fallen off the couch, or, and this is groundbreaking I know, not have dropped it on my head in the first place."

He mocked her, making a hand puppet and going "mleh mleh mleh mleh," in a high-pitched, whiny voice before he hopped over the back of the couch to sit properly. Lydia barely moved her legs out of the way before he sat on them, and she stretched back out and used him as a footrest. She just gave him a sweet smile when he turned a raised eyebrow in her direction, and he rolled his eyes and propped his own legs up on the table. 

The two end up gaming for a few more hours, working their way through the snacks–Beetlejuice, mostly–before Lydia's ass starts to hurt from the couch. They had just finished the level they were fucking around in, neither really taking it seriously any longer, and she quit the game. "What? Why'd you close it?" Beetlejuice asked her, tilting his head as she held her hand out for the controller. 

"I'm done, I got bored," she told him, shaking her hand for emphasis until Beej handed it over. She swung her legs off his lap and stood up, stretching and feeling her back crack. She attached the controllers back onto the Switch and grabbed it from where it was docked, before turning off the TV. 

"Aw come on, going to bed already? The night's still young," Beetle whined, flopping onto his side dramatically. He stared at her from the darkness that fell over the room, eyes glowing from the couch. He'd look scary if not for the fact he was practically giving her puppy-dog eyes. 

"I was going to go watch some true crime on my laptop, if you want to come. I'm gonna put on Nick Crowley," she offered, knowing he liked that particular Youtuber. He scrambled upwards and waved away their trash before falling in step–or, rather, started floating a step behind her. "Do you remember where we left off, BJ?"

"Uuuuh," Beetlejuice hummed, wracking his brain as he tried to remember. Oh, right! "Last one we watched was about the Dyatlov Pass." 

He followed Lydia into her room. He leapt onto the bed as she headed to her desk and exchanged the Switch for her laptop, grinning at her as she turned and stared at him. She shoved him out of her spot and opened her laptop. He peered over her shoulder to see if she had any tabs she forgot to close he could tease her about, but it was all school-related except Twitter and Tumblr. Weirdo, but not teasing-worthy. Boo.

She pulled up Youtube and quickly navigated to the correct channel, scrolling through the videos until they found where they had left off. Clicking the next video, something about Smiley Face killings. Lydia got under the covers, handing Beej the laptop to prop up on his legs. He did so only after wrapping himself in her black fuzzy blanket, not needing the heat but liking how it felt. He had a matching one in his room but he couldn't be bothered getting up to get it, nor teleporting it either. She let him borrow it, only saying she'd send him back to the Netherworld if it stank. 

They both fell quiet as he pressed play on the video, though they did pause it occasionally to talk about what was happening or crack a morbid, most definitely inappropriate joke. Three videos in, Beetlejuice felt the telltale tug of sleep trying to drag him under. He was comfy enough with the blanket around his shoulders and Lydia against his side that he didn't have the intense urge to fight it. He did half-heartedly attempt to stay awake, however. Lydia would fall asleep first, probably, and he could head onto the roof or his own room after that. 

Except she was as awake as possible and put on the next video when it took Beetlejuice too long to do so. She glanced up at him and saw him bite back a yawn before focusing on the screen. Heh, she should make a joke about him being tired. It's not like he did anything all day. She at least had an excuse to be tired. By the time she came up with a suitable quip, which took less than a minute, and paused the video, he had his head slumped forward, eyes shut and mouth parted slightly. 

She was lucky he didn't snore, or, thank Christ, drool. She elbowed him and he jerked awake, glaring at her. "Aww, is the baby tired? Is it beddy bye for the big bad demon?" She cooed at him, laying the baby-talk on thick. 

"I'm awake," he grumbled, leaning back and crossing his arms. He stared pointedly at the video, before conjuring a third arm to flick her ear when she didn't unpause it. "C'mon I ain't getting any deadder here, Witchy."

"Are you sure you can stay awake? You look reeaal tired there, Beebleboose." He flicked her again and she snickered. 

"I'm fine, put on the damn video before I eat your laptop," he threatened, and she slapped his arm before leaning forward to unpause it. He got through the rest of the video and lasted a whole 4 minutes of the next video before his head tipped backwards and he was out again, arms still crossed. 

She'd finish the video and then kick him out, she supposed. Except she didn't make it through, either, eyes drooping before she, too, fell asleep. Her head hit his chest, the video droning on, unaware and forgotten, in the background.

- - - -

When he woke up, the room was dark, the laptop nowhere to be seen. Perhaps Lydia had grabbed it when he had fallen asleep to make sure it didn't fall to the ground? Yeah, that made sense. Beetlejuice blinked and rubbed his eyes, wondering why it was so dark, he could usually see pretty damn well in the dark, almost perfectly, in fact. Whatever, probably a side-effect of his half-awake state. He stood up and headed towards the door, intent on heading to his own room or something, but paused when he heard voices coming from downstairs. 

Well, he couldn't ever pass up eavesdropping! He quietly made his way down the steps, avoiding the one that always creaked when stepped on, and hid just above the landing, peeking out to see who was talking. He didn't see anything, not at first, and he frowned. He could have sworn that there had been voices–

Lydia yelled from the kitchen and Beetlejuice didn't think before he was leaping down the stairs and charging towards where he had heard her yell. She yelled again, "No! Stop, why are you doing this, leave me alone!" He begged himself to go faster, why was he so slow right now, but something wrapped around his ankles and tripped him. He hit the ground, hard, and turned with a snarl.

Whatever was around his ankles was invisible, but he could feel it sticking to him. He reached down to rip it off but it just tangled around his hands as well. No, fuck this! He conjured fire in his hands and felt whatever it was begin to burn away, leaving him free enough to spring to his feet and charge into the kitchen. It was empty.

He looked wildly around, growling under his breath before calling, "Lydia! I'm coming!" There was a commotion from the living room and he leapt over the island in the kitchen and into the living room. Lydia was holding onto the wall with both her hands, kicking out against whatever was trying to drag her through a door, green mist billowing out behind her. "Lydia!"

"Beetlejuice, help!" Lydia cried, kicking again. He ran forward, hand outstretched to grab her, but it suddenly felt like something physical slammed into him, filling his head with ice. He froze stock still as a gnarled hand appeared from behind Lydia, a long, clawed finger pointing at him. Lydia was put down, a matching grizzled hand on her shoulder to keep her in place as Juno's glare met Beetlejuice's stare.

"Not today, Lawrence, I can't have you messing everything up for once," She barked, waving her hand and making him slam backwards against the wall. He struggled against the possession, baring his teeth at the older demon, but a phantom sensation tightened against his throat and kept him pinned. "Do as you're told for once in your not-life and stay put."

He opened his mouth to make a retort, to tell her to get her wrinkled hands off Lydia, to fuck off, to go eat shit and jump into the void, something, but he choked instead, the pressure against his throat worsening. He managed to free one of his hands from her possession to claw at his throat, but all he did was seemingly rip away layer after layer of… spiderwebs? He shook his hand to try and rid the sticky webs from it, but they clung to his skin and wound around his fingers.

"You! I told you before, no one leaves the Netherworld. You're coming with me, I have a special place for you." Juno grabbed Lydia again, her fighting doing nothing against the surprisingly sturdy demon, who conjured up a lit cigarette in her mouth. She took a deep drag, the smoke escaping through the gash in her throat, and Lydia coughed as it plumed in her face. "Don't make this harder on yourself."

Beetlejuice struggled again, trying desperately to get off the wall and do something, to help Lydia instead of just watching, but he couldn't. Damn it, he was stronger than this, why couldn't he just break this! 

"No! Beetlejuice, help me!" Lydia screamed, and his eyes snapped up to watch as she was dragged through the door, her grip slipping from the wall. Suddenly the pressure keeping him stuck to the wall faded and he stumbled forward.

"Lydia, wait!" He bolted forward as the door closed, trying to hook his claws in the gap between it and the wall but he wasn't quick enough. The door slammed shut in his face and he beat his fist against it, heart pounding in his chest. No. No! No! Shit! "Lydia!" He cried in anguish, banging on the wall again three times. Nothing happened and he howled wordlessly. No, no, he couldn't lose Lyds. He couldn't let her get stuck in Juno's clutches. 

He yelled again, kicking the wall this time before pacing in front of it. No one came downstairs, which surprised him, but he cursed them in his head silently. Fine, fuck them, who needs them? He could get Lydia back all by himself. He conjured a piece of chalk and drew a haphazard door onto the wall, knocking three times in quick succession. When it didn't open he grabbed the edge and forced it to. He was a fucking demon, he could bend reality if he really wanted.

He stepped through before it could be closed and found himself in the offices where Newly-Deads ended up, and didn't even spare a glance around before shoving his way through the staff door, slamming it open with a frame-rattling bang. "Where is she?" He snarled, but no one was around to take his anger out on. Fine. No one could stop him, then. Good. He stalked out into the hall and glared around, daring anyone to come from the woodworks to stop him. No one did, and he headed down the never-ending hallway.

The twists and turns and spinning made him dizzy in a way it didn't usually, but he chalked it up to his fear for Lydia messing with his perception. What felt like fifteen years and also only twenty seconds passed and he found himself in front of Juno's office, the only thing announcing this being a tiny plaque on the wall that read uoJn hgtoShog.

He took a deep breath to try and force some of his anxiety away and instead replace it with anger. Teeth on full display, lips peeled back in a snarl, he opened the door. Lydia was cowering against Juno's desk, said demon standing over her with her hand raised. Beetlejuice moved before his mind could think and he darted forward to grab Lydia and push her behind him.

"I thought I told you to keep out of this," Juno sneered, staring impassively down at him. Beetlejuice couldn't make his mouth move, and she laughed at him. "What's the matter, Lawrence? Finally learn how to hold your tongue?" He grit his teeth and tried to glare at her. "Aw, look at you, so scary. What a big, scary demon, glaring down his own mother. You're pathetic, nothing but a mistake."

He tightened his hold on Lydia and pushed her further behind him. Lydia glared hatefully at Juno and he begged her to keep her mouth shut, let her focus on him. "You're pathetic," she hissed, and Beetlejuice cursed in his brain, since he still couldn't make himself speak. "Nothing but a big bully."

Juno's eyes snapped to Lydia, and she took a step forward. Beetlejuice was rooted to the spot but he still squared his shoulders and stood protectively in front of Lydia. "Did you say something, pest? I don't remember inviting you to speak? What, are you Lawrence's protector or something?" She threw her head back and laughed, it grated against Beetlejuice's ears and he'd have winced if he could move. "He's really such a pathetic, fucked up excuse for a demon that he has to have a little human girl stand up for him."

Juno reached out and easily batted Beetlejuice away from Lydia, sending him crashing against her desk. She then grabbed Lydia by the arm and hefted her into the air, somehow larger than life itself as she glared at the girl. "Do you know what we demons do to weaklings here?"

Stop, put her down! Leave her alone, is what he wanted to yell. He tried to force himself to his feet, but he remained powerless and stuck in his spot as he watched Juno shake Lydia around like a rag-doll. He felt something crack in his own brain when Lydia spat, "You don't scare me," and got slapped across the face. He wanted to scream, he wanted to rip his mother from limb to limb, he wanted to grab Lydia and hug her and tell her not to backtalk to a demon older than magic itself. He wanted to do a lot and all he could do was watch in muted horror.

"How about we show her, Lawrence? You love putting on shows, don't you? For the attention it brings. What is your stupid little catchphrase again?" Juno put a hand to her chin in mocking thought, twirling Lydia around like she was nothing, ignoring his cries. Lydia was now held between two fingers, Juno the size of a building and the room growing to accommodate for her size. "Oh, right, how could I forget, it's so fucking stupid, just like you."

She stopped swinging Lydia and instead held her up at eye-level. Lydia clawed at Juno's fingers and kicked her feet in the open air. "It's showtime, isn't it, Lawrence?" 

Something shattered behind him, he could feel it, but he couldn't bring himself to move. The room went pitch black, a spiderweb spreading across the floor and creeping up the walls, blood-red light shining from nowhere and everywhere at once. Beetlejuice found himself standing, now, at the end of a web-lined tunnel, Juno and Lydia at the far end. Clawed hands gripped his arms, his legs, his neck, his hair and forced him to his knees, ripping his head up to make sure he watched whatever was going to happen next. Terror bubbled in his veins, both cold as ice and burning him like flames, leaving him shaking and struggling desperately against the hands. 

"I want you to watch, Lawrence, what happens when you mess with things you shouldn't have," his mother's voice echoed in his ear, in his brain, railroad spikes of fear and adrenaline that stabbed through his body. He managed to get his feet under him and started to stand when he froze again, eyes nearly bulging out of his head.

Lydia was now chained to the wall, gag shoved into her mouth. Black shapes emerged from the shadows. Spiders, or something close to that. They approached Lydia, chittering, their feet scraping against the floor oddly. Lydia stared at him, begging him to help her, stop this, do something, but the hands held fast, claws digging in painfully to keep him at a heel.

The first spider-like creature approached her, bobbing and weaving strangely, skittering around her feet. She flinched when it touched her, and it jerked backwards, spitting a glob of something at her. It hit her in the leg and instantly the scent of burning flesh filled the area. Lydia screamed behind the gag, the muscles in her leg jumping, and Beetlejuice couldn't let this go on. He couldn't let her get hurt. He lunged forward but the claws shoved him to the ground, bashing his head against the floor until he saw stars. Now, dizzy and woozy, they pulled him back upright, holding his head at an uncomfortable angle. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, while also trying to focus on his powers which were refusing to work for him. Another one of the spider-things crawled up the wall and shivered next to Lydia's neck, glowing and crackling oddly. It stepped onto her arm and she jerked back against the wall, a scream tearing from her throat as she was electrocuted. Again, Beetlejuice tried to fight the claws holding him, and again they merely shoved him to the ground. This time they didn't pick him up, instead they just wrenched his head back until his neck snapped out of place.

The third and final creature bristled from the floor, swinging its two tails as it rattled threateningly. Lydia hung limply, tears pouring from her eyes as she caught Beetlejuice's stare again. And again she silently begged for him to stop it. He grit his teeth and slowly, slowly, shifted his legs. The spider-creature darted forward, one of its two tails stabbing forward. It missed Lydia by mere inches, imbedding into the wall and melting the surrounding area like it was butter in a microwave.

The other tail swung forward and Beetlejuice pulled against the hands, digging his feet into the ground and ripping himself from their grip. He hit the ground and scrambled onto his hands and knees, before stumbling to his feet with a scream. He dashed forward, but it felt like he was fighting molasses, the ground itself fighting every step and keeping him mostly in place. 

He watched as the tail stabbed Lydia in the chest, and felt a third and final crack as her scream cut off into nothing, the room going 20 degrees colder as the feeling of death washed over him. "No!" He shrieked, falling forward and down into an inky abyss, drowning in the too-cold, too-hot darkness.

- - - - -

Lydia was almost thrown completely from the bed, waking up as her shoulders hit the floor. She blinked up at her ceiling for a moment, brain struggling to figure out what happened and why she was down there instead of in her bed. Her angle was too wrong to have simply rolled out of bed, so why was she…

She pulled herself up, legs hitting the floor too, and stood in one motion. Beej. He was thrashing where he was half-laying down, sweat beading against his brow and face screwed up in terror. Even his hair had gone white and orange, and she dodged a flailing hand as she crept closer. "Hey, Beej," she whispered, trying to wake him up without touching him. She wasn't sure if touching him would make things worse or help, but she didn't want to chance anything. That, and she was lowkey afraid he'd bite her, like a scared dog.

"Beej, wake up," she tried again, a little louder. She got a slightly closer, hands hovering over his shoulders. Should she… slap him like they did in the movies? No, that was stupid, he'd probably just think she was being mean on purpose and fucking leave. "BJ." Again, he just turned his head and kicked his legs, a choked noise warbling from his throat. She hated to do this, but she knew it would probably work. "Beetlejuice, wake up!" She hissed.

Suddenly his eyes snapped open and he shot upright, his forehead connecting against hers with a crack. She stumbled away and raised her hands to her face with a muffled curse, prodding at the area. It stung but it didn't seem to have broken the skin, or like it would really bruise. Jesus fuck. Lydia opened her eyes to see Beetlejuice shoving no less than half his fist into his mouth to unsuccessfully muffle a scream. 

Oh, God, he was crying. To her horror, tears bubbled up from his eyes and dripped down his face as he bit down further on his fist, now just whimpering pathetically. Lydia moved back to his side and crouched down, hand hovering over his knee. "Beej, hello?" He didn't look at her, which was unexpected, and she hesitated before waving her hand in front of his face.

He flinched away from the movement but didn't seem to actually register her, and she wracked her brain for what to do. What did she do when she had a nightmare? Quick, Lydia, think. When she was younger she'd go wake up her parents to comfort her, but once she got old enough that she thought that was childish she'd stopped. Now she usually just waited out the panic until she got tired enough to sleep again, wrote it down in her dumb sleep-journal, or barring those, got Beej to come distract her.

She had no idea what to do. He obviously wasn't going to stop panicking any time soon on his own, and he was getting louder, risking waking the rest of the house. She doubted he had a dream journal. That left trying to distract him, but first she had to get him to focus on her.

"Hey, hey, B-man," she tried to get his attention, shaking his shoulder slightly. This time his eyes slid over to her, slowly, and met hers. She watched as his pupils widened, then shrunk to pinpricks, and could physically see the moment something clicked in his head.

"Lydia?" he whispered in a cracking voice, and she winced at how rough it sounded. Yikes. He reached out and grabbed the sides of her face, and she tried not to flinch away from them because one had just been crammed into his mouth and was now bleeding slightly. He squished her cheeks for a moment before one of his hands lowered to press against her throat.

He was checking her pulse, she realized, and tilted her head slightly to make it easier on him. "I promise you I am alive, you can't get rid of me that easily," she weakly joked, giving him a small smile which he didn't return. She could feel his hands shaking against her face and neck. "And even if I did die I'd haunt your ass."

After a moment he pulled his hands off of her and covered his face, mutterting, "Jesus fucking Christ shitting on a stick," in what she could only describe as a very strained voice. He didn't move after that, except to lean back against the headboard. She took this chance to crawl back into the bed beside him and sit facing him.

"Are you… no that's stupid, you're obviously not okay. Um, did you have a nightmare?" She scratched the back of her head, trying to figure out what her therapist would tell her to do in this situation. Maybe she'd ask next time she went. Beej didn't move, just grunted listlessly. She'd take that as a yes. "Do you… want to talk about it?"

He shook his head slightly, hair shifting rapidly through a motley of colors, before it settled on the gross yellow-green she associated with him not feeling well, with a few streaks of white that made him look like he was going gray. Normally she'd tease him about it, lightly rib him and poke fun at him because it was the best way to distract him, but that made something churn in her gut at the moment, so she refrained. 

You know, for someone who claimed to not need to breathe, he did it a lot. And right now it was picking up to a rather unhealthy speed. Cool, great, he was hyperventilating now. She needed to get him to stop thinking about it, at least until he wanted to talk about it, or he looked less like he was going to vomit all over her bed due to anxiety. Actually, her first step was to get her wastebasket from next to her desk because she wasn't exaggerating, he looked like he was going to be sick.

"Okay, okay, okay, okay," she chanted, scurrying off her bed and across the room. She snagged the small trash can and barely made it back to her bed before Beetlejuice jerked forward. "Here!" She shoved the waste basket into his hands just in time for him to wretch into it. "Gross," she muttered, curling her lip at the sound of her resident demon spilling his guts into a trash can.

Rather bravely despite her disgust, she climbed back onto the bed and patted his shoulder in sympathy. While she had never actually thrown up from her own panic attacks, she had gotten close once or twice, so the fact that the normally rather iron-stomached demon was currently crying and puking into her plastic trash can because of his? Fucked up in her opinion. 

"Sorry," his voice wavered, muffled strangely from where his head was still in the trash can. He swallowed and breathed slowly from his mouth, trying to do the breathing thing that Lydia and Adam had taught him. It didn't quite work, he still felt like shit, and his breath kept getting caught in his throat and making him choke, but he didn't feel quite as sick as before. He chanced lifting his head and felt even better now that he wasn't breathing trash can air. Who'd've thought?

He felt dizzy, though, now, and his heart was still pounding against his ribs, and his brain kept replaying the scene over and over and over again, which only made his breathing pick up again despite his best efforts.

He vaguely heard Lydia ask if he was done, and assuming she meant vomiting like a kid after a roller coaster he nodded. She took the waste basket and he felt her leave the bed for a moment and open her door, dropping it outside to be dealt with later before shutting it again. "Suck on this," she told him, pressing something into his hand. 

He opened his eyes and looked down, squinting at the yellow-wrapped candy. She probably knew what she was doing and he unwrapped it and put it in his mouth before wincing at the sourness made him flinch. "What the fuck," he mumbled around the piece of candy, a tiny part of his mind noting that she hadn't said to eat it, so he didn't immediately crush it between his teeth to stop the sourness. "I'm having a mental breakdown and you give me candy. What am I, five?"

"It worked, didn't it?" Lydia asked, for the umpteenth time that night getting back into her bed. "Lemons are good for when you're having a panic attack because the sourness forces your brain to focus on that instead of your panic. I don't have any whole lemons laying around but I did have some Warheads in my bag from school."

That made… no sense to Beetlejuice, but it worked apparently because it did shock his brain out of his panic. Now he just felt the dull lingering fight-or-flight vibrating in his bones, leaving him exhausted and shaky. "Weird…" 

"I know, right? I learned that from Tiktok, believe it or not." He gave her a disbelieving look, and she pulled out her phone, typing something into it before shoving it under his nose. Yep, that was a bald dude in glasses saying a lot of words biting into a whole-ass lemon. She pulled her phone back when the video ended, smiling at him. "See, the app isn't all garbage."

"Whatever, I still think it's stupid," he grumbled around the candy in his mouth. It wasn't sour anymore, and so he bit it, chewing it quickly before swallowing. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he thought, before he sighed. "Sorry."

"Why? For what?" Lydia looked genuinely confused and his eyebrow twitched. Uh? For freaking out? For ruining their night? For throwing up in her dumb little trash can? For having a stupid fucking nightmare right where she could see him? For being stupid enough to fall asleep in the first place?

"For making you deal with my bullshit," he said wearily instead of yelling the rest of it. It was too late (early?) for yelling, the last thing he wanted was Chuck to come in and berate them for being too loud. He could have an ounce of self-control every once in a while, surprisingly. 

Lydia squinted at him, before muttering, "we really need to get you to therapy."

"No thank you. I won't go see a shrink. My brain is an enigma that I don't even get to understand." He grinned at her but it fell short of his eyes, and it quickly dropped. He looked down at his hands which were clenched into fists on his lap, and he flexed them. He could still feel the phantom claws pinning him to the floor, could smell the burning flesh, could feel the sudden freezing cloud of death

"You look like you need a hug, come here," Lydia's only slightly awkward voice cut through his thoughts and he glanced up to see her holding her arms open. "I don't know what you dreamed about but you're okay. We're okay," she told him in a strange tone of voice that told him that she had totally noticed him check her pulse earlier.

He leaned forward and pressed his face against her shoulder, and he felt her wrap her arms around him. He focused on the steady pounding of her heartbeat he could hear for a long couple of seconds before he wrapped his own arms around her and hugged back. He was bent a little awkwardly but… the hug was nice. It wasn't one of their usual quick, one-armed, sibling hugs, but something more grounding, more substantial. It melted some of the tension in his shoulders and he tightened his hold on her.

"I won't make you talk about it," she spoke into his hair, leaning her chin on top of his head. "But it might help. It always helped me, how many times have I dragged your ass in here to complain about whatever stupid dream woke me up?" She laughed slightly, and she felt him huff out an amused breath against her collarbone. "I doubt yours was about going to school with no pants on, though. God, that was a stupid nightmare, I don't even remember why it worked me up so much."

"Cause you care too much what people think, Night Terror. 'S a problem," He snorted, twisting his hand into her PJ top. He was avoiding the topic, not something she could really begrudge him for. "But you're right, this wasn't a 'oh no my teeth are falling out!' kind of nightmare, kid." Something about hearing him call her 'kid' while she hugged him made her have to fight a smile. This was serious, they were being serious, she couldn't actually laugh at him right now, otherwise he'd leave and then where would they be?

"Well, what happened, then?" The hug was getting a little much for Lydia, but she didn't let go because she could acutely tell that the touch was helping. She wasn't much for physical touch, but Beetlejuice tried to have contact with people as much as he possibly could. "If it wasn't your teeth falling out, then what? Were you falling forever until you finally hit the ground and bounced?"

"Haha, really funny, tease the fat guy," Beej snorted dryly, finally pulling back from the hug and giving her a flat stare. His lips shook in that particular way they did when he was trying as hard as he could to not smile. Good, it was better than him crying. "You're difficult, did you know that?"

"I try to be. Sooooo…"

He rubbed his face and brought his knees up to lay his head on top of, staring at her from the corner of his eyes. "I woke up and was gonna go back to my room to let you sleep, and I heard voices from downstairs, thinking it was Chuck and Delia, I went down to eavesdrop, as one does–" Lydia nodded because, yeah, obviously "–but there was no one there, and then I heard you yell from the kitchen. I ran in but again there was no one there, and I heard you again in the living room and that's when I saw that… she had you."

Lydia didn't need to ask who 'she' was, she could make a spot on guess based entirely off the way Beetlejuice had spat out the word like it burned him. Juno. So, Juno grabbed her, and then what? Lydia stared expectantly and Beetlejuice averted his eyes.

"I tried to stop her but I wasn't strong enough and she held me back and dragged you to the Netherworld. I couldn't get to the door before it closed and no one would wake up to come help so I drew my own door. It wouldn't open for me so I forced my way in, and got to Juno's office where she was standing over you as if she had hit you."

His voice grew detached, oddly stilted, as if he was reading an academic paper instead of regaling something that terrified him, and he stared blankly across the room. Lydia put her hand on his arm and felt him shiver.

"I was mad, really mad, how dare she lay a hand on you? So I stepped in front of you and she thought it was so funny. She berated me, which I mean, what's new? And then I couldn't move and she grabbed you. And she grew, or we became tiny I don't know, and she shook you around and then she said she was going to show you what demons did to weaklings and forced me to watch."

She shifted until she could lean her head against his arm and felt him shudder again, muscles in his jaw tensing. "You can stop if you want," she offered him an out, but he either didn't hear her or flat out ignored her. She was suspecting the former, though, by the way he stared forward.

"Something held me in place, hands, or claws, or something, and she chained you to the wall where these spider-things took turns hurting you. The… the first one burned you with some kind of acid. I tried to get over to you but I was pushed to the ground until I couldn't see straight. The second electrocuted you and again I was shoved to the ground but this time they snapped my neck to make me watch. The third…"

He finally turned his face towards her and looked so genuinely distraught that she felt her heart sink. "I got you killed, Lyds. Because I was too weak and slow to stop it." He finally moved for the first time since he started speaking, leaning back and violently running his hands through his hair. "If I can't even protect you in a dream, how-how the fuck am I supposed to–" His voice broke, face screwing up. He let out a frustrated growl and tightened his grip on his hair.

"Do you know what I think?" She smiled at him and he opened a single eye to stare at her quizzically. "Dreams aren't fair. They aren't supposed to be. They don't make sense, your brain just makes up exactly what'll hurt you most. I think if, and that's a big if, anything ever did happen you'd stop it. You wouldn't let me get hurt."

"But what if–" he started but she shook her head, cutting him off.

"No 'what ifs' here. I know you wouldn't let anything happen to any of us. I know you're a big ol' softy, but you are still a really powerful demon, and no one messes with a demon's stuff, right?" He gave her a calculating look, both eyes staring unblinkingly at her, and she just grinned at him. "Besides, we beat Juno once, we can do it again. Even if it's a super-buffed up, hacked, perfect IV dream version of her. Super Saiyan Juno."

He laughed at that, dropping his hands to push her shoulder. "Super Saiyan Juno," he quoted, shaking his head at the sheer stupidity of it. "I'd hate to see what she'd look like as a Super Saiyan."

"She'd look real scary with muscles," Lydia giggled. "All old and wrinkled but with wicked huge muscles. Like an old body-builder."

"Ugh, gross, don't make me think of that," Beetlejuice pushed her head lightly to the bed, where she laughed and kicked his leg. "Now it's in my head you freak, what's wrong with you? Do you hate me that much, Lyds?"

"Oh yeah, I just hate you soooo much that I have to resort to psychological warfare," She agreed with a shit-eating grin that Beej matched. She kicked his thigh again with both feet before sitting up. "Hey, where'd my laptop go?" She was wide awake now, and it wasn't worth going back to sleep.

Beetlejuice looked around, before peering over the side of the bed. It wasn't there. Lydia crawled to the foot of the bed and looked, but it wasn't there either. "Where the fuck," she heard Beej mumble, and the two of them spent the next 20 minutes looking for her stupid laptop.

Beej even fished around his pocket dimension and came up with nothing, the only laptops he had were one of the oldest clunkers she'd ever seen and then a hot-pink monstrosity with Barbie all over it. 

"How do we lose an entire laptop?" She asked the room, checking under her bed again in case it mysteriously appeared there. "Are we both fucking stupid or?"

"I mean, we are," Beej grinned from across the room, "but this is beyond our usual idiocy. It's literally just gone, Scarecrow."

"There is no way it's just gone. Things don't just disappear, BJ. You didn't Thanos-snap it out of existence, did you?"

He gave her an offended look, hand on his chest. "Ow, my heart! You wound me! I'd know if I poofed it into oblivion. That isn't something that can just happen on accident."

"Sure, sure. Then where is it?"

It ended up being in the very last place either of them looked: the bed itself. Wrapped up in the back fuzzy blanket Beej had been using, it had gotten kicked to the bottom corner of the bed, only showing itself when Beetlejuice ripped the blanket off and it went sailing across the room. He froze it midair before it slammed into the wall and shared a look with Lydia before the two of them began to cackle, barely remembering to keep it down.

"We're so stupid, Beej," Lydia cried, flopping onto the bed and clutching her stomach as she laughed. "Why didn't we look there first?"

"We share one (1) braincell and neither of us had it in that moment," he wheezed, dropping heavily next to her and making her bounce. "It's almost as if the author forgot about the laptop until the last moment."

"What?"

"What?"

"Nevermind, give it to me, we're going to watch something stupid," she made grabby hands for her laptop and he handed it over. She glanced down at the time, 4:37 AM, and groaned. Well, she definitely wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon, oh well. She'd just chug a bunch of coffee to make up for it. Sleep was for the weak anyway, she had plenty of time to sleep when she was dead. "You ever watch Smosh's TNTL?"

"Tee En Tee El? What?" He looked at her like she had just had a stroke, and she flipped him off.

"Try not to laugh, idiot. Have you?"

"No."

She clicked the most recent episode and handed him the laptop to hold. "Whoever laughs the most loses and has to do something the winner picks."

"Deal," Beetlejuice grinned, holding his hand out to shake. She grabbed his and sealed the deal, before starting the video, grinning because she knew she had this in the bag. She had already watched it, so she knew all the jokes. At one point, close to 7 AM her dad peaked in at them, surprised to hear them awake so early, and worried about the trash can outside her room, only to close the door when he heard, "I'm your mental illness! Okay, have a good bad day!"

Beetlejuice lost in the end, though surprisingly only by one laugh.

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice broadway #juno beetlejuice #lydia deetz #fanfic #fanfiction #veej's rambles

[drbtinglecannon]

Every moment in Encanto that broke my goddamn heart

Mirabel being outted as giftless to the village kids

Mirabel's face when Abuela asked her to not help out during prep for Antonio's gift ceremony

The way 5yo Mirabel turned around and held her hands together in fear and confusion when her door dissolved

Mirabel not being included in the family photo during Antonio's gift ceremony

Luisa singing "I'm pretty sure I'm worthless if I can't be of service"

Dolores singing the nicest words about Bruno in the same song she recounts how he told her the love of her life would always be out of reach. Can you imagine hearing that prophecy yet you still think so sympathetically of that person as everyone around you shit talks them?

Isabela and Dolores singing "I'm fine, I'm fine" during WdtaB

When Mirabel looked through the crack in the wall in Bruno's hiding spot and it showed the kitchen, then when she looked down at the painted plate labeled "Bruno" on the table

"Yeah my, my gift wasn't helping the family. But, uh, but I love my family, y'know?"

"But I knew how it was gonna look, I knew what everyone would think, because I'm Bruno, and everyone always assumes the worst! So! *Sigh* so..." "You left? To protect me?"

Isabela singing "I'm so sick of pretty, I want something true, don't you?"

Isabela's new colorful flowers immediately wilting when Abuela shows up

"I will never... Be good enough for you. ... Will I?"

"The miracle is dying because of you."

Julietta trying desperately to reach Mirabel as Casita collapses but the floor keeps rolling her away

Casita building protection around Mirabel in it's dying breath, only for the candle to go out anyway.

Mirabel leaving as her family calls for her

Abuelo Pedro holding his arms up in surrender as the horseman swing a sword at him

Abuela's tearstained face sitting on the floor holding her babies right after everything happened 50yrs ago

"You never hurt our family, Mirabel. We are broken... Because of me."

Every moment in Encanto that healed my goddamn heart

Everyone's color coordinated

Antonio holding his hand out to Mirabel and saying "I need you."

Every interaction between Julietta and Mirabel, what a fantastic mother

Felix and Agustin being madly in love with their superpowered wives

Mirabel hugging Luisa and telling her she carries too much

Felix had an umbrella ready for for his wedding day to Pepa, and when she said she accidentally made a hurricane he fondly sings "what a joyous day"

Mariano of all people asking Mirabel if she's ok during the proposal dinner, like the fact anyone paid her any mind was surprising but him, an outsider and during his proposal dinner? Very sweet of him

Camilo trying to calm his mom down like a doting son

Mirabel calling out for Casita to help her when she thinks she's going to fall

"You're very sweaty" are Bruno's first words in the movie.

The baby cactus Isabela makes when she admits she didn't want to marry Mariano

Isabela's face as the yellow powder stained her arm and dress, then kicks more powder onto herself, absolutely destroying her dress and getting color all over her hair and face.

Bruno grabbing a rat and safely putting it in his shirt before escaping Casita by fucking running head first through the wall with a bucket on his goddamn head

"I was given a miracle. A second chance. And I was so afraid to lose it, that I lost sight of who our miracle was for. And... I am so sorry."

Abuela apologizing was so important to me it gets to be listed twice actually

"We were saved because of you. We were given a miracle because of you. We're a family because of you. And nothing could ever be broken that we can't fix, together."

"I asked my Pedro for help. Mirabel. He sent me you."

Abuela, Pepa, and Julietta's faces when they see Bruno again. When Abuela just hugged him, kissed his cheek, and dragged him along, then when she was the one to encourage him out of his hiding spot to see everyone again. When Pepa and Julietta hugged him so hard they lifted him off the ground.

The fact Camilo said Bruno was 7ft tall but he's actually shorter than both of his sisters.

"Uh...not if we don't have a house. What?? We don't have a house, I can't say we don't have a house? What is that?? Not a house!" Camilo didn't get many moments but each was hilarious.

Mirabel helping Luisa push some rubble out of the way, probably the first time anyone has ever helped her lift something

"I think it's time you learned, you're more than your gift."

"And I'm sorry I held on too tight. Just so afraid I'd lose you too. A miracle is not, some magic that you've got, the miracle is you, not some gift, just you. The miracle is you."

The entire village showing up to help rebuild Casita

"Dolores... I see you." "And I hear you."

Antonio holding Mirabel's hand in support like she did for him at the beginning of the movie

"We see how bright you burn."

"What do you see?" "I see... Me. All of me."

Casita coming back to life and immediately waving

Isabela dying her hair and clothes further

Luisa getting to finally lie back and kick her feet up

Felix encouraging Pepa's happy hailstorm

New family photo that includes Mirabel and Bruno and Casita

#encanto #ive watched this movie like. 4x in less than two days now. my partner watched it with me today and we both cried lol #bruno my beloved #luisa my beloved #mirabel madrigal #please excuse me while i fucking sob #this movie makes me cry a lot cuz i wish my family could be like this. and also cuz it's beautiful and hopeful and a well written story

[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

[atlabeth]

nightmares - mike munroe x reader

summary: It was a deal made by two almost-friends in the early hours of the morning after the worst night of their lives, when they realized that all they really had left was each other.

a/n: so this is once again. not my normal content but ive been on an until dawn kick lately and fell in love w the characters all over again. i dont know if anyone still reads or writes for this fandom but. here u go. enjoy

warning(s): lots of cursing, canon typical violence, mentions of graphic violence/death (but nothing too descriptive), mentioned depression, insomnia, and alcoholism, some heavy themes but its hurt/comfort so it ends in fluff

wc: 4.8k

You were running.

You were running, and it was freezing — fuck, it was freezing.

You knew your surroundings; how could you ever forget? Every fucking moment on the goddamn mountain was engraved into your mind for what you assumed would be the rest of your life, an assumption that had since been proven correct.

And now, against your will, you were back. Of course you were back.

A shudder ran through your whole body as that all-too-familiar screech rang out behind you, each second of it like nails on a chalkboard in the worst way. Your lungs burned like all hell but you couldn’t stop — if you stopped, you were as good as dead.

Some part of this fucked up thing was almost funny. Humans were always boasting about how they were the top of the food chain, how they were the height of evolution. There was nothing to keep an ego in check like being hunted by a supernatural creature.

Any thoughts of bullshit philosophy were dashed from your mind as you took a hard right, nearly falling over from the sharp curve of the mountain but just able to catch yourself. Your heart was thundering in your chest, the beats nearly lining up with your sprinting. You felt an intense urge to turn around, try and gauge your chances, but the thought of slowing down for even a second terrified you. It’s not like you needed to anyways — you knew exactly what was after you.

You were nearing the end of your road, both literally and figuratively. You stumbled over a tree root, your hands splayed out in front of yourself at just the right angle to keep your momentum going and, in some feat of luck, stay upright and running.

But your luck had just run out.

Your senses were proven correct as the harrowing cliff edge came into view, and a thousand things screamed in your mind at once as your demise stared you right in the eye. You barely managed to catch yourself, very much aware that the snow falling into the void could’ve just as well been you.

That fucking screech again, even closer than before, and you whipped around as you took an instinctive step back. Your hands patted around everywhere, searching for something to defend yourself, but you had nothing. No gun, knife, even the ground around you was devoid of rocks.

You had nothing. You had nothing to defend yourself from this goddamn nightmare creature, and you were going to die.

Your eyes darted around wildly in an attempt to find something, anything, to save yourself, but there was nothing. You took another step back and felt your foot slip, your breath catching as you barely managed to save yourself with a twist and a lunge away from the edge. The shock of the ground and the cold against your skin was just enough to remind yourself that you were actually alive. Another pile of snow mimicked the fate that seemed imminent as it trickled over the side of the cliff, and you screwed your eyes shut as you tried to shut your mind up.

Think, goddammit, if you wanted to get off of this fucking mountain you had to think—

The screech that pierced through the night sky was far too close for comfort, and as your head snapped back towards the woods you swore that your heart stopped beating.

It had caught up. You were out of time you were going to die but you didn’t have anything and you were going to fucking die—

A flash of white pushed off a tree and lunged towards you, teeth bared as it emitted that horrible screech. You didn’t even have time to scream, completely frozen in place as one clawed hand reached your neck, and you braced for the moment of release.

You shot up in your bed, breathing rapid and unsteady with a barely contained cry on the edge of your lips as your hand instinctively flew to your neck. You heaved an almost strangled sigh of relief to know that your head was still attached to your body (it might’ve seemed obvious, but… your head wasn’t exactly on straight at the moment, all jokes aside) and collapsed against the headboard.

You ran your hands across your face as you tried in vain to calm yourself down, ultimately having to turn on your lamp to ease your troubled mind that there was nothing going thump in the night.

It had been this same routine almost every night — horrible nightmare, wake up crying or screaming or both, and start the day at 3 am because you couldn’t fall back asleep.

It was exhausting. You were exhausted.

You knew you couldn’t go on like this, but what choice did you have? Therapy had been mandated by the police for a certain amount of time after the incident, but… it’s not like it had helped. How could it, when no one truly knew what you had gone through?

Well… that wasn’t completely accurate.

One person knew what you were going through, and you hadn’t said as much as one word to him since that night. You didn’t really… know what to say.

Hey. I know we’re not all that close, but I’m sorry your girlfriend and all your friends were killed by a Wendigo and that I made it instead. Hope you’re not going insane with grief. I’ll send you a card at Christmas!

...yeah. You had no idea what to say to him after months of no contact.

The relationship you had with Mike Munroe was a strange one, to say the least.

None of you were the same after that night on the mountain. The horrors of the mines would be forever entrenched in your head, flashes of the Wendigos appearing every time you closed your eyes. You and Mike were the only ones who made it off, and the guilt you carried everywhere was a burden you knew you couldn’t shoulder. And even after the physical scars had faded, you knew the mental ones never would.

Sometimes you wondered how you had even managed to get involved with the group in the first place — bonds that had been made in your freshman and sophomore years had somehow managed to stay strong enough throughout the rest of high school, strong enough to cement your spot in the friend group and the yearly lodge visits. You liked them all well enough, enough to go up to an isolated mountain with them for a weekend or so, but… yeah. Sometimes you did wonder what the hell you were doing with them.

But now?

Now, you would give almost anything to hear Sam’s laugh or one of her compliments, or tease Ashley and Chris about their very obvious feelings; hell, you found yourself missing Matt’s useless football facts. And even though Emily and Jessica weren’t always the nicest, you still had managed to worm your way into their hearts. Knowing that you would never get Emily’s brutal but helpful advice or get dragged to a football game by Jessica again?

If someone had told you the difference between life-long trauma and a completely normal existence was that blonde girl with the braids in your biology class, you might’ve thought a little harder before accepting that party invite.

The days after you were rescued from the mountain passed in a daze, questions and interrogations from police never sticking for too long. And it didn’t even feel like it mattered, the way none of them seemed to believe you.

They kept you separated from Mike throughout the whole process, and you were only able to catch glances of him when you were being transferred to different rooms throughout the long process. It really was like something out of a horror movie — a group of teens go up to a lodge in the woods, and only two return with a story of unspeakable horrors — and rather than try and work out what had happened, they seemed intent on pinning the deaths on you and Mike.

As if you weren’t dealing with enough after watching your friends get murdered by the monster of another friend, the people that were supposed to be helping you were instead trying to charge you with them. If it wasn’t so fucking infuriating, it would’ve been laughable.

The worst part? You could hardly blame them.

When you took a second to listen to yourself, to what you were spouting to the police, you sounded insane. If you hadn’t witnessed it all first hand, you wouldn’t have believed yourself.

You told them to go down to the mines. That the thing that killed your friends would be down there, and they could see it for themselves.

You didn’t know if that was the right choice. Hell, you might’ve been sending those cops to their deaths. But it was the only way you could think of to get them to believe you.

(You doubted they would go down there anyways. What was the word of two crazy college kids over actual logic? Not much, you imagined.)

You were in that damn interrogation room for what felt like forever until you were finally taken to a hospital to get your wounds treated. But even in the hospital bed, police were by your side asking about what happened every day of your stay. After your discharge, you were forced into custody until they got information that they deemed satisfactory.

By some miracle, you and Mike weren’t charged with anything. The news might’ve gotten hold of your story, but you didn’t know. You didn’t want to know. You didn’t ever look at the news after the tragedy, too afraid that you would see the smiling faces of your friends staring back at you, or pictures of you and Mike with news anchors trying to talk about how involved the two of you were.

If there was one thing worse than going through hell, it was other people trying to make a profit off of your spiral.

Your friends’ families offered their condolences, but not much else. You didn’t hold it against them. Your survivor’s guilt was strong enough to know exactly why they didn’t reach out further.

(You blame yourself for their deaths, after all. Why wouldn’t they?)

It was the same situation with Mike.

Maybe you had purposefully drifted apart from him, trying to build up walls of your own so that he wouldn’t be able to spring it on you first. You assumed he hated you after what had happened, and he had every right to. You might’ve helped each other through the night, but you had no other option. Now, everyone else but you was dead — people he cared about more than you — and you just couldn’t face that.

But as you stared at yourself in your bathroom mirror, you realized that you might have to.

You looked awful.

Weeks of sleepless nights were catching up to you, appearing in the form of

hollow eyes and dark circles, along with a slight discoloration of your skin. The scars from the mountain had mostly healed, but there was a particularly nasty gash on your cheek that was still showing — it wasn’t doing you any favors in the ‘looking completely normal and sane and not severely sleep deprived’ department.

You splashed some water in your face to try and wake up a bit, but the slight drowsiness that followed you everywhere seemed to be a permanent part of you now.

(It was almost funny, in a way. You were so paranoid and alert all the time, unable to fall asleep, and yet it was all you could think about in moments like these. You wondered when irony had become such a staple in your life.)

You had tried talking to therapists, your friends, your family, even searching the internet for advice on what to do after a life changing traumatic event. Nothing had worked.

The simplest solution had come to mind more than once, but you had pushed it aside with the determination to work through this on your own. But now, staring at yourself and seeing how much you had deteriorated…

You had to go talk to the only person who would understand.

~

You had considered turning around more than once on the drive over.

Because, really, what the hell were you doing? Showing up at his doorstep in the middle of o dark thirty because— because what?

Because you had a nightmare?

He had gone through the same thing you had, probably even worse. Losing Jessica right in front of him, having to cut off his fingers to get free, spending countless hours alone, dealing with the nightmare that was the sanatorium, and then…

Well, you had been in the mines with him and Josh when it happened. There was no doubt in your mind that the scene replayed in his head endlessly, just like it did for you.

Showing up… it was going to be a mistake. You knew it was.

For all you knew, Mike had moved on already. He was stronger than you, he always had been. Maybe your presence would send him spiraling once more, or maybe it would just earn you a verbal beating like no other. Mike had always been nice enough, but the trauma you had endured was enough to turn a saint into his own worst enemy.

You didn’t know what would happen. You didn’t know anything, and as you turned down his street you regretted more than ever not keeping in touch with him. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in this situation, scrambling after your last hope for salvation after slowly killing yourself over the past few months.

But there was no chance to turn back now, because before you knew it your knuckles were rapping against his front door.

The pause between your arrival and a response was so long that you considered leaving and pretending like this never happened, but just as you began to step back the door swung open.

You didn’t really know what you were expecting, but… he was there. The only other testament to the horrors of Blackwood Pines, and maybe the only person that could help you through this.

“...hi,” you murmured, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat as you looked the personification of your shame in the eye.

Mike blinked a few times, whether to try and wake up a little or out of surprise from his visitor you didn’t know, but it was a few seconds before he responded in kind. “...hey. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around.”

You chuckled dryly as you nodded. “Yeah. Sorry for the sudden arrival. I’m, uh… I’m kind of surprised you even opened the door.”

He huffed out a short breath in a facsimile of a laugh. “Not getting much sleep these days.”

“That’s something we’ve got in common.” You crossed your arms across your chest and let out a loose sigh, eyes wandering around in an attempt to think of what to say next. It should’ve been so easy, but… but for some reason, it just wasn’t.

“Guess so.” That awkward silence stretched out once more, neither of you knowing how to fill it. Thankfully, Mike continued to take the plunge, but it wasn’t without a slight barb. “What are you doing here?”

“I—” you stopped just as you had begun, because you really didn’t know. You had come here for help, but could Mike really do that for you? He was the same as you — a fucked up teenager trying to deal with something so far beyond him.

“I don’t know,” you admitted as you made eye contact once more. “I… I really don’t know. I’m out of options, and… I can’t keep going like this. So I came here to talk, or— or to try and get some help. I don’t know.”

That same silence filled the air once more, the night ambiance the only thing in between the two of you. You missed when that silence used to be comfortable, but… you could only blame yourself for it.

“So— so, what?” he asked, the beginnings of a frown starting to crease his brows. “You just— we go through all that together up there, and then when we get back down you don’t say a word for months. And now— now, out of nowhere, in the middle of the night, you just show up and ask for help?”

“God,” you muttered. When he put it that way, it was true. It was ridiculous, to expect his help after the way you had just left him to deal with it all on his own for a reason borne of your own insecurity. “You’re right. This was— this was stupid. I’m sorry.”

You had already turned to go when you felt a calloused hand on your shoulder, causing you to stop in your tracks.

“No.” His voice was surprisingly soft as he sighed, stepping back with a shake of his head to make room in the doorway. “No, I—” Mike paused for a moment, as if he couldn’t find the right words to say. “I’m sorry. You can come in. Obviously, you can come in.”

Your eyes widened slightly as you tried to hide your shock at the gesture, but you weren’t about to turn it down. You nodded, and he stepped aside to make space for you to walk in. When you did, you were met with a mess not unlike the one back at your apartment, save for the beer bottles. Clothes were strewn about haphazardly on every surface, so you took a seat on a clean spot on the floor, leaning back against a chair and pulling your knees up to your chest. You actually preferred it this way — it was grounding, in a literal sense. Mike pushed aside a laundry basket and did the same, but pulled one leg up and let the other lay extended.

“Why?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had been accumulating once more. “Why did you just…” he gestured around with his hands to try and get his point across but ultimately settled with a sigh. “You didn’t say anything. You didn’t try to text, or call, or write, or— or anything. Hell, I would’ve probably jumped to get a messenger pigeon from you. But it was just… radio silence.”

You picked at the dry skin on your thumbs as you tried to come up with an answer. “I… I don’t know,” you repeated. “It was stupid, and it was horrible of me to leave you alone. I mean… I don’t know why I did it. I know what I’ve been going through, and I know you’ve been going through the same. So I don’t know why I didn’t try to reach out and see how you were doing.”

He chuckled mirthlessly as his eyes swept over the empty bottles that had accumulated on the coffee table. “I’m not the best with alone.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “I thought…” you shook your head as you looked at the ceiling. “I thought that you hated me. I know that you cared about them all more, you were closer to all of them, and… and I thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with me. That I would just always be a reminder of what you lost. And… and, I don’t know. Maybe it was my way of trying to move on. Was a stupid fucking idea, though.”

That got a genuine laugh out of him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I get that. I dunno why I didn’t try to talk to you either. Maybe since you didn’t say anything, I didn’t want to either. This whole thing fucked me up.” His gaze moved to you. “Fucked us both up.”

“You can say that again,” you muttered as you tapped your fingers on your knees. “I can’t look anywhere without seeing them. I mean, I see that fucking…” you grimaced. “I see Josh, and I see what that thing did to him, and I just— I’m right back to step one.”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “...yeah. That was seven layers of fucked up.”

“You can’t just keep saying everything was fucked up,” you said dryly. “It was shitty, too.”

Mike snorted, some kind of slightly masochistic humor going on between the two of you. “Nothing really gets the point across like fucked up.”

“Guess you’re right,” you finally conceded with a small smile. “This is… this is nice. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to… I don’t know, to talk to someone like this.”

“It is,” he murmured.

Another pregnant pause hung in the air, but the silence wasn’t as uncomfortable now. Trickles of what it used to be like, of your old life, were beginning to poke through.

“I never hated you,” he said suddenly. Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and it was like his brown eyes were piercing through you as he continued. “I never did. After it happened… yeah, I was mad. I was fucking pissed, but it was never at you. You were my friend too, y’know? Even though we weren’t that close, we were still… we were still something. And I’m glad you made it. I just wish you hadn’t convinced yourself that you had to go through this alone. Maybe things would’ve turned out different, these past few months. For both of us.”

You nodded, choosing to avert eye contact first because you almost couldn’t handle the sincerity. Your heart sank a bit at the sight of all the beer bottles, and you knew that he was right. Maybe things would’ve been different if the two of you had weathered it together from the start. And so you said that.

“I still can’t help but feel like I’m to blame for—” you gestured around at the mess with a sigh, “for this.”

“Look.” His voice was raspy as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and as he met your eyes once more you were able to see how truly exhausted he was. With dark circles that matched your own, scars that were still healing, and a certain hollowness behind his eyes… It was like looking in a mirror. And it made you realize how fucked up the two of you had really become.

Mike had always been good at holding himself together, putting up his signature egotistical-douchebag-jock act in the face of anything that threatened to tear him down, and more often than not he came out victorious. But not even class presidents were immune to the horrors that they had faced, and it was taking more of a toll on him than you had realized.

“It’s not your fault. You— you did everything you could; I know I’m still alive because of you. Besides, we were idiot teenagers — we still are — and none of them deserved to die because of it. Not Hannah, not Beth, not any of them.” Mike shook his head and sighed. “Not even Josh. Man was fucked up even before all of this, but he didn’t deserve what happened to him. He needed help, but instead he got his fucking… god. I can’t even say it. But he didn’t deserve it.”

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, the subconscious process having stopped because of the weight of his words. It was cliche, but you didn’t know how much you needed to hear those four words: it’s not your fault.

“Maybe you should be my therapist,” you joked weakly. But as you let your eyes trail back to Mike you bit your lip. He hadn’t included himself in that statement, and it wasn’t too hard to figure out why.

“Mike… it wasn’t your fault either. You’re not just saying bullshit to try and make yourself feel better, it really wasn’t your fault. What do they say? ‘Getting through your guilt is the first step to recovery’ or some shit? You deserve to be here just as much as I do.”

“But it was,” he insisted. “It’s easy for you to say that. You tried to stop it, I… I just went along with it. Fuck, I started it all. Hannah and Beth went missing because of me, Josh went out of his fuckin’ mind, and if he hadn’t brought us all back up there for his revenge plot then they wouldn’t have died. How is it not my fault? Why do I get to live when all of them died because of me?”

“Mike,” you sighed. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know why we made it back when none of them did, but it’s not your fucking fault, okay? You— yeah, that prank was fucking stupid, but— but how could you know what was going to happen?” You huffed a laugh that was only slightly unhinged. “People pull pranks all the time. Native American legend cannibal spirit things don’t try to kill people all the time. You can’t keep blaming yourself. It’s not going to help them, and it’s not going to help you.”

That silence stretched out once more as he took in your words. You didn’t know if he believed them or not, but you did. That had to be worth something, right?

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he muttered, breaking the silence once more. “And I… I don’t know. I don’t know why it took almost fucking dying from those goddamn things, a— and seeing what happened to all of them...”

“I don’t know,” he repeated, leaning back against the foot of the sofa. “All the shit that happened, all of them dying — I don’t know how long it’ll take until we’re okay again. Hell, I don’t even know if we ever will be okay again. What happened up there was fucked up in the worst way, and the fact that no one believes us makes it a hell of a lot worse.”

You chuckled darkly as you cupped one hand in the other. “You can say that again.”

His lips twitched for a moment as if he wanted to smile but ultimately thought better of it. “I know we aren’t that close anymore, but the truth is we’re the only ones on this fuckin’ planet that know what really happened up there. We’re the only ones that will ever really understand what happened to us, and… and I think we’re the only ones that can really help each other through this shit.”

He met your eyes once more, something resolute in them. “So the next time this happens, because it will, if you don’t want to be alone… you can come here. Any time, any day, no questions asked. Just knock on that door, and I will be there. No more isolation, no more trying to get through this on our own. We gotta be there for each other, because we’re all we have.”

You nodded gratefully, a feeling of warmth slowly creeping through your body with his reassurance. “Thank you, Mike. You… you have no idea what this means to me.”

“I think I have some clue,” he murmured.

As you exchanged weary smiles, you saw a faint twinkle in Mike’s eyes. He was always the kind of person to help others, even if it was for the wrong reasons, and that was one thing that stuck with him after the disaster. And in that moment, a long lost feeling washed over you — safety.

You hadn’t felt safe in… well, it seemed like forever. Adrenaline and pure instinct were responsible for getting you through those twelve hours, along with an overwhelming wave of numbness and denial. But once all of that wore off, the nightmares had begun. Your friends, the Wendigos, the mountain itself — anything and everything that your mind could use against you, it did.

It was a living hell. You could hardly ever sleep anymore, horrific images always jolting you awake after an hour or two and keeping you awake for the rest of the day. It was no wonder Mike had ended up with a drinking problem — it was probably the only way he could sleep, the only way he could bring some form of peace to his mind. By some miracle, you had avoided that fate, but… you would be lying if you said you hadn’t come close.

But somehow, for some reason, you could tell that things were going to be different. Now that you and Mike weren’t avoiding each other anymore in the name of painful memories… you felt like things were going to be okay. Or as close to okay as you could get these days.

You weren’t alone, and neither was he.

He had saved your life on the mountain more than once. Now, he was saving you again. Just in a different way.

-

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77

ud tags: @kwyloz

#mike munroe #mike munroe x reader #mike x reader #until dawn x reader #until dawn #until dawn fic #mike until dawn #sadie writes #i always get so insecure when i post things that arent for atla #then i remember that. this is my blog and i can write what i want #lol

[constellaj]

top ten danny phantom episodes based solely on how gay dash is in them

i will not be ranking these based on plot, animation, or literally any other criteria ok here we go

10: Public Enemies

dash himself is not very gay in this one but danny does beat him up and he gets the angst of being possessed and not remembering what happens. also this screenshot is literally so gay

4/10 for wasted potential in proving dash is gay. this couldve gone so much harder. but bonus points for for passed out dash

9: Doctor’s Disorders

fellas is it gay to lock yourself in a bathroom stall so fenturd doesnt see the horrible monster youve become, tell him to ‘get away,’ and then pass out before being able to fight him despite being a school jock who could probably deal some damage and has a better immune system than the other kids? is it also gay to then when your entire life revolves around ghosts and having ghost powers to watch a sappy romcom while waiting for phantom to come save you? the answer is yes. 6/10 again it couldve gone harder

8: Frightmare

again dash himself isnt explicitly gay in this episode. but danny why is your ultimate dream scenario being best friends with dash and having him know your secret. it gets a higher rating than the other two bc its literally a wish fulfillment scenario aka 174% more gay. but mathematically speaking 2/10 for baiting me with dash in the first two minutes and then never bringing him back

7: Forever Phantom

“watch it, fentertainment tonight! i’m chasin’ a real somebody!” 10/10

also spending the entire episode devoted to hanging with phantom + another reference to the romance channel. not very nuanced but still very gay

6: Reality Trip

what do you think it means when the school jock finds out your secret, wastes exactly 0 time in helping you, and finds a way to shoehorn in giving you his clothes to wear while doing it. dash was only in this entire movie for like 4 minutes but damn if he wasnt homosexual for all of them 7/10

5: Ultimate Enemy

”but dash wasn’t even IN the ultimate enemy!!11!1!” EXACTLY. if older dash had been in the future with dark dan he simply would have smooched him and then there would have been no conflict. if younger dash had shown up to the big fight then dark dan wouldve broke down sobbing at what couldve been. they had to restrain dash from this entire episode bc of his power. 9/10 i know the truth.

4: Splitting Images

it is important to remember that dash has no goddamn idea that’s sidney. danny literally does 1 (one) nice thing for him and dash decides “ok well i will be his best friend and play football with him and be impressed by his skills and then throw a party and also put my hands on his shoulders several times.” this proves my point that if danny werent a little shit he and dash would already have been dating by the time the show starts. 8/10 for letting dash be mundanely gay instead of knowing anything about ghosts. it doesnt happen very often

3: Attack of the Killer Garage Sale

do you ever just get a tutor who happens to be the exact sister of that nerd you pick on and also call him a twink and then invite him to your party even though you do not have to and specifically tell him the dress code and get him at the popular kids table and then realize he might not have the money for the dress code so you intentionally seek him out to give him money for some computery thing you dont know about but you also also realize that probably isnt enough so last minute you change the entire dress code to something you know he has and wear his exact outfit to make him seem cool by comparison. do you ever do that.

also these two shots are back to back 10/10

2: Micro Management

the pièce de résistance of all dash content. im talking 20 minutes of nonstop dash. im talking taking every opportunity to talk about how cool phantom is. im talking abt getting grabbed by phantom to be saved by him. im talking abt having a mental breakdown cause you think youre not good enough. im talking about casually flirting via jokes. im talking being unable to stop thinking abt fenton even when youre face to face with your biggest hero. im talking about saying “we did it!!! :D” to cheer on said hero. im talking taking his hand. holding his hand. being lifted or pulled. im talking abt flipping the switch to save the day! im talking abt micro fucking management baybey!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 12/10

but what in the goddamn world could have more gay dash than micro management??? well ill tell you

1: Pirate Radio

he SAVES him. he calls him a hero. they are on EQUAL FOOTING and they KNOW IT. they have MATCHING GODDAMN OUTFITS!!!!!!!!!!! dashs personality doesnt have to be absolutely scrapped for him to be gay (”but i will be wailing on you”) but he clearly DOES get better (”sorry, old habits.”) he puts his heart and soul into fighting side by side w danny and we dont even SEE dashs parents which means that is Not Exactly The Reason he Is Here. he also believes with 0 hesitation that fenton is capable of throwing a total rager. NO there is not as much dash here as in micro management but. i mean look at these screenshots. THIS is gay representation. THESE are some genuine fucking boyfriends. 18/10

#danny phantom #dash baxter #swagger bishie #danny fenton #micro management #pirate radio #attack of the killer garage sale #long post

[rowyn-writes]

A Mother's Love (Dean x Wife!Reader)

Warnings: Language, fluff, major angst, implications of divorce, arguing, Dean being mean to Jack

Pairings: Dean x Wife!Reader

Characters: Dean, Jack, Sam, Reader, Cas (mentioned only)

Word count: 2.7k

You threw your bag down as you entered the bunker, exhausted from your last hunt. This was one of the rare cases where you worked alone.

Sometimes you needed the time to yourself, away from all the men. Sometimes you would go hunting with Jody and Claire, but even then, those two argued like cats and dogs.

"Y/N," Jack smiled as you entered the kitchen. "How was the hunt?"

"It was pretty good, actually." You grinned as you sat across from him. "I was chasing down this werewolf in Tennessee, and it was really strange. He'd kill one person, turn the next, and repeat that cycle."

"That's. . . Weird." He furrowed his eyebrows.

"That's what I said. Well," You continued on with the story of your hunt, watching as Jack's eyes widened in amazement and awe.

"Y/N?" Dean called your name, entering the kitchen. "Hey, sweetheart. I didn't know you were home?"

You stood up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Sorry, babe. I got sidetracked. I was just telling Jack about my trip." You smiled, looking over at the boy. You were concerned, as the smile fell from his face and he looked away from you and Dean. "You okay, kid?"

"Yeah," He nodded, not meeting your eye. "I'll give you two some space." He mumbled as he walked out of the kitchen.

"Does he seem off to you?" You asked Dean.

"Nah, he acts like he usually does. Squirrelly and weird."

"Says the squirrel himself." You rolled your eyes. "Did something happen while I was gone?"

Dean said nothing as he looked down, an obvious indicator that he was guilty of something. "Dean," You growled lowly. "Did you say something to Jack? Something that would upset him somehow?"

When Dean didn't give you an answer, you shook your head as you follow Jack to his room.

"Jack." You called out. He seemed to be lost in thought, as he didn't react to your words. "Jack!" You said louder, causing him to turn around. There was a tiny amount of fear in his eyes. If you didn't know him, it wouldn't have affected you.

"What's wrong?" You asked softly, resting your hand on his shoulder.

"Nothing." He spoke. "Why would anything be wrong?"

"Jack, I saw how you reacted when Dean came in. You looked like a kicked puppy. Don't tell me it's nothing, kiddo."

In the time you had known Jack, you had grown to care for him deeply. You had always wanted kids, but in this life, it wasn't possible. Well, it was, but you knew you didn't want your children to do what you do. So when Jack was born, you felt extremely happy because it felt like you finally had a child. Albeit, he did look twenty.

"Dean doesn't like me very much." He admitted.

"I'm sure that's not true. . ." You argued weakly. In all honesty, you didn't think Dean liked Jack either. It's not like he was abusive, but he did treat him differently than everyone else.

"But it is, Y/N."

"How do you know, Jack? With Dean, it takes him time to warm up to people. It took him months to actually trust me. He's a cautious person."

"Did he threaten you too?" Jack asked, genuinely curious. His head was tilted to the side, his honey blonde hair falling into his eyes. He had gotten that head tilt from Cas.

"Dean. . . Threatened you?" You whispered hoarsely.

"Yes," He nodded. "He told me if I hurt you or Sam, or anyone, that he would be the one to hunt me down and kill me."

Your mouth popped open in horror. You could never imagine your sweet, loveable, goofy Dean threatening Jack. "What else did he say, Jack? Did he say anything prior to this?"

"He said that he doesn't think that I can be saved. He said that even though you and Sam think that I can, that he doesn't."

"Jack, you don't need to be saved. There is no saving to do. You are a good kid. You would never do anything to intentionally hurt anyone. I'm so sorry. I should have been there." You sigh.

"He's not wrong, Y/N. I can't be saved. What if I turn out like my father, my real father."

You frowned as you cupped his face in your hands. "Jack, you are nothing, and I mean nothing, like Lucifer. You are just like your mother. You are sweet, caring, and you are empathetic. Just like Kelly."

"You really believe that?" He whispered, tears forming in his eyes.

"No, I don't believe it, Jack. I know it. You are nothing like Lucifer. If anything, you are much more like Castiel."

"Really?" He smiled.

"Yeah," You nodded. "You see, I don't know if you know this, but Cas does this little thing where he tilts his head to the side if he doesn't understand something or if he's perplexed. And I noticed that you do the same thing." Jack's smile widened as you removed your hands from his face. "And neither of you have any knowledge of pop culture. Even though Cas was here for a lot longer than you, he never understood a single reference any of us made. Even if it was something like Scooby Doo." You giggled, feeling your throat tightening at the thought of your dead friend. "And you two state the obvious a lot. Not in a bad way, more in a comedic way. It lightens the mood nearly every time. Cas would rarely smile. When I asked him why, he would say that the world was going to hell and he didn't have anything to smile about. But when he did smile, it would make everyone else smile with him. The same goes for you. Just seeing that little toothy grin of yours makes me smile. I mean hell, you two even look a lot alike."

"Could you tell me more about him?" Jack asked.

"Of course, but I have something to take care of first. Then you and I will cuddle up and watch a movie and I'll tell you everything you want to know about Cas, okay?"

"Yeah, I'd like that." He spoke. "Before you go, could I ask you something?" You nodded. "If I were to have a mother figure, and I called her mom, do you think my mother would be upset?"

"No, sweetheart, I don't think she would be upset. I think that she would be happy that there's someone down here taking care of you and you feel comfortable enough to call them mom." You said, completely oblivious as to what Jack was suggesting.

"Then. . . Could I call you mom?"

You felt the air leave your lungs as his words hit you like a truck. Jack watched as tears welled up in your eyes. Jack was horrified; he had never meant to make you cry. "Yo-you want to call me m-mom?" You stammer.

"If you're not comfortable with it I understand. I'm sorry, Y/N, I-"

You cut him off with a tight embrace. "Of course you can call me mom." You whisper, squeezing the boy tightly.

"Why are you crying?" He questioned.

"These are happy tears, Jack. I'm not upset. It's just. . . I never thought that I would have children, but then you came along, and you gave me what I wanted. You gave me a chance to be a mother."

"Thank you for being here for me, mom."

You gave Jack a huge smile as you pulled away. "Okay," You said, putting a hand on his arm. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to deal with my ass of a husband."

---

"Dean Winchester," You boomed, roaming around the bunker in search for your husband.

"Ooooh, you're in trouble." You hear Sam snicker.

"But I didn't do anything. Wait, what day is it?" Dean asked frantically.

"April ninth." Sam quipped.

"Okay, no birthday, no anniversary, so there's that."

You entered The Dean Cave, as Dean called it, seeing red. "What the hell, Winchester." You growled. "Sam, out. Now."

"You don't have to tell me twice." Sam said, grabbing his bowl of popcorn and walking out of the room.

"Yes, darling, sweetheart, love of my life. What can I do for you?" Dean spoke sweetly, giving you those stupid, green doe eyes.

"Jack told me." You said simply. "He told me what you said to him. That if it comes down to killing him, that you would be the one to do it. That there was no saving him."

"Y/N, you have to understand where I'm coming from." He tried to reason with you. "You should have seen him. He was stabbing himself with a knife! And it closed up like it was nothing! It's not  normal. He's not normal."

"And?! None of us are normal, Dean. We've all died and came back to life. Sam didn't have a soul, he was hooked on demon blood, yet you were still there for him. You still believed in him. You died and became a demon, you bore the Mark of Cain and had a thing for God's friggin sister! And I still loved you through it. I have been brainwashed and manipulated into hurting all of you, and you still forgave me! Cas betrayed us, and we were still there for him. None of us are fucking normal! So what the hell, Dean? You're holding a grudge against Jack just because of who his dad is?"

"His father is Lucifer, Y/N!"

"Well that's stating the goddamn obvious!" You yelled.

"He could turn on us at any moment! We don't know this kid. We don't know what he can do."

"So we learn, Dean! We should help him figure out his way. Guide him in the right direction. Show him what a true, loving family looks like!"

"We are not his family, Y/N! And he's not our family. He never will be." Dean argued.

You flinched back, glaring at Dean. "How dare you! You son of a bitch! Whether you believe it or not, Jack is family. To me and to Sam. We care about him and love him!"

"He doesn't even know what love means!"

"Yes, he does! Because he feels things, Dean. He cares. He cares about all of us, including you. You know, he asked me if he could call me mom today. Did you know that? He trusts me and cares for me so much that he sees me as a mother figure."

"He's got you brainwashed, Y/N! Can't you see that?!"

"If he looked like his actual age, would you be acting like this?"

"What kind of question is that." He scoffed.

"If Jack looked four months old instead of twenty, would you still be treating him like this?" You asked steadily. Dean remained silent. "See! He is four months old, no matter how old he looks, he's still a baby."

"So, what, you want me to change his diaper or some shit?"

"No! I want you to treat him like a human being!" You yelled.

"But he's not human!"

You and Dean stood your ground, neither of you letting up. "Fine. I'm leaving then. And I'm taking Jack with me."

"No, you're not."

"Fucking watch me, Dean. I can't even look at you right now. Because you are not the man I married. That man was compassionate and caring. This one isn't. And until he comes back, I'm staying away." You cried.

Before Dean could get another word out, you left the den. You noticed that Sam was standing in the hallway, giving you a saddened look. "You're really leaving?"

"I'm sorry, Sam." You sobbed. "But I can't be around him right now. And I don't think Jack should be either. We're going to my parents house for a while. And until he gets his shit together, I'm not coming back.

"I know. I don't understand why Dean is acting like this." He mumbled.

"I don't either. It's so unlike him." You agreed.

"So what are you going to tell Jack?"

"Just that we're going to take a little road trip and visit my parents. I don't know, Sam, this whole thing is so strange to me. But I know have to go."

Sam frowned as he pulled you into a hug. "I'm really going to miss you. But you do what you need to do. And if you ever need anything, you call me, okay? I don't care what time of day it is, call me."

"I will." You squeeze Sam tightly. "Thank you for being an amazing brother and best friend." You pulled away, teary eyed as you parted from your brother in law. "I hope to be back soon."

You softly knocked on Jack's door before entering. "Hey, Jack." You smiled.

"Mom!" He said excitedly. "Are we going to watch movies now?"

"Actually, there's been a change of plans. Me and you are going on a road trip to visit my parents."

"Really? Are Sam and Dean coming with us?"

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat. "No, actually. This is a trip just for us. Sam and Dean wanted to stay here just in case they find a case or something that can get Mary back from apocalypse world. So I'm going to help you pack and then we can get on the road."

---

You had sent Jack to your car, having him put everything in the trunk while you finished up things in the bunker. The last thing you grabbed was a machete that belonged to your father before he gave it to you.

"Don't go." A voice whispered. You turned to see Dean, who looked like he had been crying. "Please don't leave."

You swallowed hard, feeling tears rush to your eyes once more. "Will you accept Jack as family?"

"Y/N-" Dean said, exasperated. "He can stayed here but he's not family."

"That's not good enough, Dean. Because I know how you act around people you don't trust."

"You can't force me to trust him." Dean scoffed.

"That's not what I want. I want you to get to know him. I want you to try."

"Y/N. . . I just. . . I can't."

"I think. . . I think we need time apart." You mumbled.

"Y/N, please –"

"Only for a little bit." You assured him. "They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, after all." You gave him a sad smile, trying to control your tears.

You turned to leave before Dean's voice stopped you. "If you leave, then we're over. That's it. Don't bother coming home."

You sighed as you looked back at Dean. You cupped his face in your hands and gave him a slow, sensual kiss. You could feel salty tears on your lips as you memorized how Dean's mouth felt against yours. It was warm and soft. You could taste the remnants whiskey on his breath.

You pulled away slightly, resting your forehead on Dean's. You felt tears streaming down your face as you looked the man you had grown to love over the past ten years. You had been through hell and back, literally. You had lost each other, fell out of love and back in love.

"This isn't goodbye, Dean." You whimpered. "I swear it isn't. I love you with every part of my soul. I'm not choosing Jack over you, okay? I just need time. I need you to wait for me."

"That's all I've ever done, Y/N." Dean shook his head. "I waited on you when you were in relationships, when you were heartbroken, when your sister died, I waited on you to love me back. I'm tired of waiting. I will always love you, and you'll always be with me. You've changed me, and I'm so thankful for it. You've made me a better man. But I can't. . . I can't keep doing this, Y/N." He whispered as he slipped off his wedding band. "This is goodbye." He set the ring in your hand, curling your fingers around it. "Goodbye, sweetheart." He gave you one final kiss. But this one was rough and full of passion. It really was goodbye.

"Dean, please." You cried. He pressed a swift kiss to the crown of your head before leaving you standing alone in the library. Sobs racked through your body as you clutched Dean's ring to your chest. "Please come back." You whispered.

You wiped your face of tears and stuck Dean's ring in your pocket. There would be time for tears later. Right now you just needed to get out of the bunker. As you looked around the library, you realized you had never felt this alone.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x wife!reader #supernatural #supernatural fluff #supernatural angst #jack kline #sam winchester #castiel #season 12 #dean winchester angst

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

Trauma Nightmares - Ben Miller (Escape Room)

I believe I will be at least one of the first people to make an x reader for this character, which is like, unacceptable. Ben is a cinnamon roll and deserves more love. Get👏🏻with👏🏻the👏🏻program👏🏻sheeple

! ! ! Spoilers for the Escape Room movies ! ! !

~~~~~~~~~~

(my gif)

You awoke to the sound of whimpering.

At first, your thoughts immediately went to your dog, maybe he needed to go out? But as you gained more consciousness, you realized it wasn't your dog at all.

You looked over to see your boyfriend's sleeping form in the dark, but you quickly noticed that something was wrong.

You quickly turned on your bedside lamp, illuminating Ben's face to show you his face contorted in a fearful expression, his eyes shut tightly and his fists clenching. He was whimpering and whispering words that only sounded muffled to you.

He was having another nightmare.

As soon as you saw tears streaming down his face, you gently shook him. "Ben." You said as softly as possible, caressing his face. He woke with a jolt, grabbing you by your shoulders tightly, wildly looking around the room in a panic. "Hey, it's okay. It's okay."

Ben was still tense, but his panicked look calmed when his eyes finally landed on your concerned face. He slowly released the vice grip he had on your shoulders. The tension finally being released made you want to wince, but you stayed quiet because you knew he'd feel awful about hurting you, even unintentionally.

Ben frantically ran his fingers through his tangled hair, exhaling a loud shuddering breath.

You took hold of his hand, bringing it up to place a kiss on his knuckles. "It was just a dream."

Ben frowned, "Yeah..."

It was more than just a dream. It was a memory that was even more fucked up being replicated by his subconscious every time he closed his eyes. There were nights where it wasn't so bad, but it was almost always the same...

Ben was in a large room, every inch decorated in a way that would make you think you were in a rich person's mansion. The walls covered with ornate looking wallpaper, the burning fireplace giving the gold patterns a reflective shine. It felt cramped, fancy furniture filling the room that emitted an old, sweet musk that permeated his nostrils. It might've been a cool place to hang out in, if only he wasn't trying to fight for his life.

The walls were closing in as Ben's mental timer counted down, only seconds away from getting crushed to death along with all the expensive looking and fragile furniture, pieces of splintering wood getting lodged in his skin and shards of glass from the chandelier quickly slicing flesh and making him bleed a bright red.

Ben thought he had gotten all the clues, he could've sworn the code for the door was correct. But the walls didn't stop pushing further and further in. The doors wouldn't open. There was no escape. He could never escape...

But he did. He did escape that wretched Minos building and he was here with you, the sweet scent of your freshly washed hair relaxed him more than you could ever know. Just you sitting with him was enough most of the time, he appreciated you so much.

Ben allowed his eyes to close when he felt your soft skin against his, gently running your thumb across his knuckles. Sometimes he wondered if you were an actual angel sent down to help him overcome his PTSD, it felt like it in moments like these.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You voiced softly.

Ben slightly shook his head. "It's the same as always. There would be no point."

You noticed the sweat stains on his shirt and came up with an idea. "How about I run you a hot bath?"

Ben looked at you. "Why?"

You offered a small smile. "It'll help soothe you." And without another word, you pushed your duvet off and stood on the cool carpet, walking to the joint bathroom without waiting for an answer from Ben.

You turned the valve almost all the way to the left, got water soon flowing out of the faucet and quickly filling up the tub. You stepped back into the room to see Ben blankly staring off into space, most likely thinking about his dream over and over again like he usually does.

You didn't understand what he was going through, because you were never in that type of situation. You were never trapped in those escape rooms, and you hoped you never would. The way Ben described it to you, you wouldn't wish it on your worst enemy. You wished you knew exactly what he needed, but alas, you weren't a psychologist and you felt helpless when it came to his nightmares/flashbacks. But you did research soothing techniques for people with PTSD, and it helped some.

Whenever Ben had a horrible nightmare and couldn't escape his own head, he'd allow you to take the lead and you'd try your best to help calm his mind. And tonight, it was a hot bath.

You lead Ben into the bathroom like a toddler, gently undressing him and slowly easing him down to sit in the tub. You smiled softly when you heard him let out a sigh, the hot water feeling like heaven against his skin. But he didn't have to say anything to let you know he wanted you to sit with him, his big green puppy dog eyes were practically begging you.

You quickly undressed, not as gracefully as you undressed Ben, but you soon placed yourself to sit behind him. You wrapped your arms around his torso, and he instinctually relaxed against you, your warm skin proving to be more soothing than the hot water that engulfed the two of you.

You soon entangled your fingers in Ben's long, blonde locks, gently working out the knots from his bedhead and massaging his scalp. You smiled softly when you heard him let out a whiny sigh, feeling the muscles in his back finally untensing in your embrace.

"I hate these fuckin' goddamn nightmares..." Ben voiced.

"I know." You frowned, giving a soft kiss to his shoulder. "I know...I wish I could do more to help you."

Ben turned his head to look at you. "Hey..." He brought his hand up to caress your cheek. "Just being here, with me, is more than enough. I honestly don't think I'd be able to keep my sanity if it weren't for you."

You gently shook your head. "You're strong, Ben. You would be okay."

Ben frowned, turning his head back to stare forward. "I'm not as strong as you think I am."

"You are strong. I wouldn't even survive the stress of a situation like that."

"You'd never know until you were in that place. That was the whole point of that goddamn murder maze. Seeing what someone is capable of when their life is on the line." He huffed, tensing once again at the thought of being back at Minos.

You hugged him tighter, laying your head on his shoulder. "You won't have to deal with that evil place ever again, okay? You're safe now."

Ben chuckled bitterly. "Zoey wants me to fly to Manhattan with her, to try and take down Minos. I don't the universe has much safety in store for me any time soon."

"Ben, I thought we talked about this. You don't have to feel obligated to go with Zoey when you want to move on. It's not your fault if she's still stuck there."

"She saved my life. I owe her everything."

You sighed, you knew you couldn't talk him out of it. Now, life debts, you could understand well enough. Zoey was a sweet girl, a bit intense, but for a good reason. If Ben was going to help her take down Minos, you wanted to help too.

"I'm going with you."

Ben's eyes widened, quickly shaking his head, turning around in the tub to face you. "No. No, you can't. It's too dangerous. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to you."

"And I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something bad happened to you. If you're going, I'm going too, and you can't talk me out of it."

"Y/n..."

"I love you, Ben. And I'll be damned if I don't do anything I can to help you." You finally snapped.

Ben blushed, his lip trembling slightly as tears built up his in eyes once again. "I don't want you to go through what I had to. Minos is run by psychopaths and they'll do anything to people for money. I just want you to be safe, at any cost...I've never felt that way about someone before..."

You smiled softly, leaning towards him and placing your hands on his cheeks before fully connecting your lips with his. "As long as we're together," You started once you pulled away, "I believe we'll be okay."

Ben finally nodded, enveloping you in a tight hug and releasing a shaky sigh. "I hope so..."

~~~~~~~~~~

Ben is my boy, he is very precious so me😊

#Escape Room #Escape Room 2019 #Ben Miller #ben miller x reader #ben miller imagine

[thefanficmonster]

Angel With A Shotgun

Rick Flag (The Suicide Squad) x Reader (Female)

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE NEW SUICIDE SQUAD MOVIE, Death, Blood and Gore, Swearing

Summary: Being Christopher Smith’s best friend since the early days of army training camps Y/N is more than honored to be going on a mission with him. Little does she know, there are more secrets at play than she could ever imagine. Good thing the girl’s always prepared.

Requested by no one, I’m just PISSED!!! The writers did us dirty AS FUCK and I’m not gonna stay quiet about it so please enjoy this fic and let’s pretend it’s canon. Cool? Cool.

“Careful up there, ok?“ That’s the last thing he said to me before we went our separate ways, following the plan we had conjured up earlier. I knew he wasn’t referring to the bombs I was supposed to plant or the ‘always watch your back, even around allies’ rule. He meant it genuinely. And he meant it for me. That sentence coupled with the look in his eyes when they met mine was enough for me to read between the words and grasp the true message.

And all I could do was offer him a small nod and an even smaller smile.

A smile he vaguely returned before turning and walking off with Cleo and Grieves. And that’s how I remembered him, wishing for that picture to be the one I remember of him in case I die.

In case I die.  I never considered the other possibility.

“Listen, Y/N. I’m gonna do something bad. Something really horrible. But it’s the right thing to do. I must do it. You know I only do things I must, right? You know me.“ He pleaded with me, eyes begging me to trust him as he basically told me he was derailing from the plan we had constructed down to the tiniest detail. 

My hands shook as I adjusted the bomb to the wall, my eyes widening and any words I wanted to tell him dying in my throat, leaving me speechless before him. As if automatically, my head moved on its own, nodding. It’s the only thing I’ve known I guess. Chris says something and I automatically agree cause I trust him limitlessly. Isn’t that how it always is with best friends after all? Can anyone blame me really?

But can anyone also blame me for my gut screaming not to let it go so easily?

There’s no real friends in the field, Y/N. He’s got a mission, you’ve got one of your own. You shouldn’t even be here, goddamn it! Go! GO, right this instant!

Gut feelings, the closest thing to being psychic. And boy does Flag owe my gut feeling his life.

But heroism always comes at a price, doesn’t it? There’s always a reward and a price that you never saw coming in the first place.

The reward is easy to guess, but the price can vary so drastically it can never be measured or foreseen.

That’s what happened to me when I decided to follow Chris.

The task I gave myself upon boarding the aircraft was simple, and the biggest price in my eyes was losing my life but I was already prepared for that when Waller recruited me on the very first mission.

Little did I know the price of saving Rick would be the look of utter betrayal in my best friend’s eyes, looking at me with the same intensity as a hundred voices screaming ‘TRAITOR’ at me.

“I’m sorry, Chris.“ I managed to say, my hands gripping the shotgun with all my might just so I don’t drop it. “You were sent here to cover up Waller’s dirty laundry, and I came here to protect Flag.” I cock my gun upwards, praying Chris doesn’t notice how shaky my hands are. “So keep your hands off him!“

He shakes his head, “You have no fucking idea what you’re doing, Y/N! Him over me?! Some fucking nobody over someone who’s been by your side for a whole fucking decade?!“

I gulp, my resolve only strengthening as a result of his guilt tripping. “You heard me. Friends or family, you don’t get a second chance for being a traitor.”

“Me?! I’M the traitor here?! He just threatened to send our country into chaos because of his righteousness!“ He roared, his gun clutched just as tightly. It may be the tension suggesting it but eventually, I know it’ll come down to who’ll pull the trigger first.

And that realization has cold sweat running down my body.

“Fake peace built atop lies is worse than a war!“ I snap, now aiming my gun at him, determined to be the first to send a bullet flying across the room. Not cause I want to survive for myself. But for Rick. If I die, so will he. Chris doesn’t play fair. Rick is knocked out and Chris won’t even think before turning his body into a bag of bullets. 

I won’t let that happen.

A gun’s pointed at me now too, sending my heart beating louder.

“Then you’ve picked the wrong side.“ He mutters with despise, “If you see me as no friend, I have no reason to hold back either.“

And that’s the last push I needed to send those three bullets I had with his name on them straight into his chest, at least one undoubtedly hitting his heart.

Did it hurt with all the memories we have made together in mind? Of course it fucking did. I may be a soldier/criminal but I’m not made out of stone, damn it.

But did it feel relieving knowing what he was seconds away from doing? Pains me to admit but yes.

With a heavy sigh I sling my shotgun over my shoulder and carefully walk over to Rick’s still unconscious form laying on the tiled floor.

“Colonel?“ I whisper, ducking down to give his shoulder a slight shake, “Flag, please don’t do me like this, wake up. Please wake up, Rick.“ I jump, almost losing my balance when I hear what sounds to be Harley screaming for a brief second before a loud crash echoes above.

I can’t stay here with whatever hell my teammates are going through going on above my head, threatening to wipe them all out and them Rick and me too. So, I make a quick and a rather stupid decision. Slinging one of Rick’s arms over my shoulders I wrap an arm around his waist and somehow manage to hoist him up, bringing him weakly to his feet and earning a small groan from him as if reaching me from the other side of a wall of fog.

“There you are, Colonel. Let’s go, the team’s counting on us.“ I say, desperately trying to push forward with the weight of my shotgun and Rick pushing my already exhausted and weak body down.

“Y/N...that you?“ He asks, his voice groggy, “Or am I dead? Are you an angel? Where am I?“ 

Damn Chris must’ve knocked his head pretty hard, I think to myself.

Just as I’m about to answer, Rick lifts up his hand to run it over his face to help himself wake up fully but he accidentally hits the handle of my shotgun, causing him to let out a chuckle. “Angel with a shotgun, I see. Then it must be you, Y/N.”

“Bet on it, Flag.“ I reply with a chuckle, almost sighing with relief when he manages to hold some of his weight up by himself, “Not gonna lie, you gave me quite the scare.“

“Never gonna happen again. That’s a promise, doll.“ He drawls, his head resting against my shoulder more as an endearing gesture than need for support.

“Better keep it. Not looking forward to finding you actually dead one day.“

“No worries, angel. No such thing will happen.“

“Good.“

He knows better than to disobey an angel with a shotgun. Smart man.

#suicide squad #suicide squad 2 #rick flag #rick flag x y/n #rick flag x reader #colonel flag #harley quinn #peacemaker #bloodsport #ratcatcher 2 #ratcatcher #suicide squad fic #rick flag fic #rick flag fanfiction #rick flag imagine #au #fix it #alternate ending #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #spoilers #imagine #x reader #reader

[hongism]

1:58 am - c. jongho 18+

↣ pairing: jongho x fem!reader ↣ genre: fluff, smut ↣ wc: 2.0k ↣ for @ppersonna​​: “HELLO MY BESTIE RATTY PLS JONGHO WITH 25 - Being somewhere you’re not supposed to be 34 - “It’s 2am. Go back to sleep.” ↣ warnings: language, oral sex: f

In your defense, Jongho is both a maniac and insatiable. What started as a lovely movie night between the two of you, with his roommate Yeosang curled up in the armchair by the couch, has quickly devolved into leagues of stress for you and endless amusement for Jongho. Yeosang is (thankfully) off in dreamland and fast asleep despite the movie still going in the background, although that does nothing to quell your current nerves as Jongho’s hand is moving further up by the minute. 

It started at your kneecap, two fingers tracing mindless patterns into your skin under the blanket. Then he slipped to the inside of your knee and clutched tight at your flesh before pulling up the inside of your thigh.

Now, he has a hand basically over your crotch, close enough to make you sweat but far enough away to have you refraining from squeezing your thighs shut over his fingers.

And being a cocky little shit, of course Jongho knows exactly what he’s doing to you — if the smirk curling over his lips is any indication at least. You aren’t about to scar yourself or Yeosang by fooling around on the already stained leather couch in their apartment, as much as you really want to give in to his lingering touches.

You haven’t been paying attention to the movie on the screen for at least an hour, maybe longer than that because you don’t even recall the name of the damn film at this point, and all your focus is honed in on the fingers pressing into your thigh. Jongho won’t stop teasing with his touches either. Every few seconds, he squeezes just enough to startle you into sitting up straight just when you’ve recovered from the last touch. You’re certain he’s trying to seem interested in the movie given the way he keeps making interested noises or scowling at the screen, but then his smirk returns and you know what he’s really up to.

In short, you have had more than enough of his fun and games, growing increasingly frustrated with each passing second. Your body is so pent up and overheated that sweat is pooling at your brow, and that’s what makes you nudge his hand away as a last-ditch effort to save yourself from this teasing hell he’s trapped you in. Yet this isn’t your apartment and you can’t very well escape to his bedroom without looking suspicious to Yeosang. As far as his roommate is concerned, you and Jongho are still just friends, even if there is an ungodly amount of sexual tension lingering between the two of you like this.

Water. Yes, you need water. And where can you get water? The kitchen of course. Perfect plan. You should be safe from Jongho’s antics there, no?

“Feeling alright, Y/n?”

As it turns out, you are very much not safe in the kitchen.

You nearly throw the glass in your hand at Jongho’s head out of sheer shock when he sneaks up on you, creeping into the kitchen behind you like a damn ghost. You manage to hold back from doing that, but a small yelp escapes your lips instead. Jongho laughs at that, continuing to chuckle under his breath even when you try to level him with a sharp glare. He has the audacity to look absolutely delectable at nearly two o’clock in the morning wearing nothing but a stupid black t-shirt and stupid grey sweatpants with his stupid hands shoved deep in the pockets like he wasn’t trying to practically finger you on the couch moments ago.

“I don’t know, am I?” It made sense in your head, although that might be because of the haze of arousal over your brain because once it actually comes out, you’re wondering why the hell you said that.

“Well, you felt more than alright just a few minutes ago.” He’s smiling again, another lascivious grin that has you sinking your teeth into your lower lip.

“Not here,” you hiss back as a last-ditch effort to talk yourself out of this (again).

“Because Yeosang is in the other room? Come on, Y/n, you know half the fun is in the risk of getting caught.”

A scoff passes through your lips, loud enough to resound through the small kitchen.

“You’re insatiable.”

“And you’re painfully aroused. Are we done stating the obvious?”

Throwing this glass at his head is a lot more tempting now, but that would certainly cause a ruckus and Yeosang would wake up in a heartbeat.

“Only because you were fucking feeling me up on the couch like it’s your goddamn job!”

Jongho crosses the kitchen in three seconds flat, suddenly so close to you that you can’t breathe your own air without feeling the heat of his breath against your lips. You stumble back and hit the edge of the counter behind you. Jongho doesn’t give you a moment to recover, catching your wrists in his grip and pressing them hard against the surface of that same counter.

“Careful there, doll, you wouldn’t want to wake anyone up, would you?”

“No, that’s not what I want,” you exhale. It’s not enough to quell the desire in your gut, especially not when Jongho’s fucking thigh is pressed between your legs and leaving you squirming. He knows how you feel about his thighs thanks to an unfortunate admission on your part one night when you had too much alcohol (and unfortunately Yeosang knows too since he was an unwilling participant in that conversation).

“What do you want then? Although, I’m fairly certain that I know.” Again, Jongho’s gaze flicks down over your body, enough to be obvious about the way he’s checking you out from head to toe, but he returns to staring you in the eye after a second.

“Shut up and eat me out already,” you hiss under your breath. In the same sentence, you free your wrists of his grasp and push down hard on his shoulders. It’s nothing compared to his strength — he’s more than strong enough to resist your futile efforts, but he goes along with it anyway and lets you push him to his knees in front of the counter.

“You’re lucky I never make you beg, baby. If I did, you’d never get to cum.”

Tempting, you think, but right now you aren’t in the mood to be edged or teased anymore. Jongho did his fair share of that for over two hours, so all that is on your mind is a release under his skilled tongue.

“Please, Jongho, I’d like to do this before Yeosang wakes up…”

His hands are already curled around your pajama shorts, taking the soft fabric into his grip and pulling down with no resistance. A sharp inhale follows as the cold air hits your nether regions, and Jongho lifts one of your legs up to his shoulder as he bunches your shorts into the palm of his hand.

“Be glad I didn’t take you on the couch right in front of him then.”

Then Jongho is smiling up at you from between your legs, and you would be lying if you said that isn’t one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen in your life. You brace yourself on the counter, knuckles white from the effort of clinging to the marble, and the man beneath you takes his teasing a step further. Soft lips caress the inside of your knee over the spot he clung to for the better part of an hour, then he follows the same path his hand took as well. He doesn’t stop until his nose is flush with your folds, and even then he exhales against you in a way that has a chill rushing down your spine. Your curl away from the counter, unintentionally pressing your hips closer to his mouth in the same fluid motion. It’s enough to make his nose hit your clit dead-on in a way that has a strangled moan escaping your lips. You fling a hand up to your mouth (too late as it does absolutely nothing to conceal the sound).

“Now it sounds like you’re trying to wake Yeosang up, doll.”

“I’d like to see you stay quiet when I’m sucking you off next time.” You manage to smirk a little, just enough to be playful and throw him off a little. He’s just as quick to retaliate, which is both a good and bad thing for you because his next move is to hoist your other leg onto his shoulder, and it takes every ounce of your willpower not to clamp your thighs around his face. You have to bite the side of your thumb to quell the noises bubbling up your throat; your remark seems to have been enough to spur him fully into action, his tongue brushing between your folds until he reaches your hole with practiced ease. You can’t count on one hand how many times you’ve indulged in this — his tongue pressing at your entrance like he has no other purpose in life, eating you out with more enthusiasm than ever, drawing so many noises out of you that it’s getting difficult to keep quiet.

“Jongho?”

The man between your legs freezes but doesn’t move away from your cunt, staring up at you from between your legs without blinking for so long that you think he’s truly stuck like that. Admittedly, you’re stuck where you are too, both because he’s got your legs around his face and on account of Yeosang’s sudden intrusion on your otherwise intimate moment. Your gaze goes straight to the archway to the kitchen. The kitchen island is tall enough to block the view of your lower half, but if Yeosang steps even one more foot into the room, he will certainly see what Jongho is up to. There’s no telling how long it’ll be before he does enter, and you’re watching with peaked anxiety as Jongho sidles up your body into a standing position again.

His hands find your hips, and next thing you know, he’s moving you around and pushing you until your back hits the kitchen island. It protects you from possible exposure to Yeosang, which proves to be a good move on his part because Yeosang pokes his head in the archway a second later. Jongho moves to the side enough to avoid suspicion but you’re still quite nude from the waist down and screwed if Yeosang decides to come further in.

“Oh, there you two are. The movie’s over?” Yeosang says, easing his weight against the doorframe.

“Yeah, you fell asleep pretty early on honestly. But it’s 2 am. Go back to sleep. We’re just picking up some snacks we pulled out while you were asleep.”

You think that excuse is far too easy to see through, especially if Yeosang decides to even so much as glance around the kitchen to see that you are certainly not doing any cleaning whatsoever. You squeeze your eyes shut. Looking at Yeosang right now would be a mistake and you would probably give away what you and Jongho have been up to in the blink of an eye.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. I’m too sleepy to help you anyway. See you in the morning.” Yeosang stifles a yawn, lifting the back of his hand to his mouth, then lets his arms fall into a stretch. He lingers for only one more second before disappearing from the archway. You exhale the second he disappears, shifting to stare Jongho down as your heart continues to race rampantly in your chest without relent.

“That was a fucking mood killer,” you mutter before crossing your arms over your chest. Jongho huffs out a sigh and puffs his cheeks full of air. He stretches a hand out to touch your bare hip again.

“Let me make it up to you?”

#atzinc #kwritersworldnet #kdiarynet #jongho smut #ateez smut #ateez x reader #jongho x reader #ateez timestamp #ateez imagine #ateez scenario #ateez drabble #caly.writes #hahahah hell yeah new tag #jongho drabble #jongho scenario #jongho timestamp