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1kook · 4 years

Text

disney+ & bust

this is part of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb. It’s not. It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. warnings; arguments, feelings of insecurity, bit of asshole jk, smut in the forms of degradation, dumbification, choking, fingering, spit kink, self punishment, unprotected but [ passionate ] sex, jk losing his cool, return of mean jk, he is actually an emotional mess in this one wtf miscellaneous; ANGST, anniversaries, the L word😳, app developer kook, rip ‘pretty girl’ </3, we all become phineas and ferb stans word count; 13k !!

notes; me: *writes couple who’s whole arc is being silly* y’all: MAKE THEM SUFFER GIVE US ANGST!! u ask I deliver so now we all suffer 😐 ngl it was hard writing this fic n u might notice there’s some parts that seem weird n that’s bc this was TWO fics w diff wording but I ended up mixing them bc I’m insane. still had a lot of fun! felt like I challenged myself!! not proofread bc when I say we suffer we SUFFER

please let me know what you think!!! a simple ask goes a long way <3

previous part: kissanime & foreplay

Approximately one week after The Bullet Bestie’s rise to prominence, Jungkook grows annoyed with it as his weirdly competitive nature rears its ugly head the more and more orgasms that little vibrator coaxes out of you. It turns on a weird switch in him, something slightly stuck up and snooty that he’ll never admit to out loud but is there nonetheless. By the following Friday, The Bullet Bestie is nestled deep in your garbage can and Jungkook’s back to pleasuring you with his tongue and fingers alone.

He had those moments in him, the ones where he liked to think he was better than any and everyone else, and occasionally they manifested against inanimate objects like a bullet vibrator.

Despite his polite and generally soft exterior, you catch glimpses of that cocky spirit more than anyone else. Over the past year, you’ve come to realize that Jungkook’s personality was like a coin that had been left out in the sun too long. He had this sweet and reserved nature you saw most times, a kindhearted boyfriend who adored you almost as much as you adored him. He was your angel whom you knew had a heart of gold, even if you were slowly bringing out his more childish tendencies. You knew him like the back of your hand, knew what his mom’s favorite color was and how he liked to stack the plates in his cabinet according to size and make. It was a side that was rusted from years of being out in the sun, basking in its adoring warmth, and you loved every inch about it.

And still, there was this other side to him you rarely saw. This cocky asshole who hid beneath the soft smiles and careful hands, making his appearance only through sly smirks and a tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. He was a braggart, a man who knew his greatness yielded for no one and wanted that fact shoved down everyone’s faces. This Jungkook, this other side that never saw the light of day, was like the Hyde to his Jekyll. An unexpected, almost mean side to him that only dared make his appearance when his exhilaration was at an all-time high. Like when he was fucking you into another dimension, or kicking your ass in Mario Kart, or like now, when he was receiving an award at an annual tech ceremony.

On the eve of your one year anniversary, Jungkook’s company invites him to an awards ceremony for other web and app developers like him. It’s a grand event, filled with all the biggest nerds in the developing industry here to present the baby nerds with awards. Jungkook lies somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, both a seasoned player and a rookie all at once. He spends the night tolling you around in a floor-length gown and fangirling over all the “legends” in the room.

You know next to none of these people and none of their accomplishments but still pretend you respect them to hell and back. By the end of the main dinner, you’re sympathizing with Barbie’s ever-smiling features because your cheeks feel sore.

Towards the end of the night, Jungkook wins that random award— okay, who were you fooling? He wins the Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award, recognizing him for all the hard work you’ve seen him put in this past year. It’s probably the highest recognition he can receive at this point in his career. It was an esteemed award that was bestowed upon only the most innovative developer of the year among tech companies, something Jungkook had briefly mentioned he always wanted. It’s basically the equivalent of placing first place in his field, but given Jungkook’s competitive industry and his young age, you think it’s like telling all these old Facebook lords to suck his big fat cock. (But that was your job when you got home.)

He gives a short little thank you speech, promising to work hard and own up to this title. The people around you are swooning, obviously endeared with his soft puppy dog features and melodic voice. They don’t know him like you do, don’t know that uppity twist to his grin like you do. It doesn’t slip off his face even when he steps down off the stage, arms wide open as he comes barreling towards you. Even with you in his arms, the congratulations that are thrown from every direction ring loudly in his ears and swell that ego of his.

The night goes like that for the most part, Jungkook’s acquaintances approaching him every few minutes to rain down their praises. He goes a little crazy at the open bar after a while, shoving the gold trophy into your arms as his beloved work seniors whisk him off for drinks. You don’t mind because you resigned yourself to a night of playing Jungkook’s perfectly perfect partner anyway, watching him politely mingling with his coworkers. Despite his earlier success, you know he won’t brag about it verbally. No, he’ll wait until the two of you get home—your place or his—and remind you how amazing he is with a quick snap of his hips.

As you said, he’ll never boast aloud.

However, that doesn’t mean you won’t.

“That’s my boyfriend,” you explain to the seventh person that greets you that night, excitedly pointing to where said boyfriend was slowly losing all sense of self by the bar. You don’t know anyone here beside Jungkook, and you’re pretty sure no one in their hammered minds is going to remember who you are anyway, so a little gloating never hurt anyone. “He won the ‘I’m Better Than Everyone Else’ award tonight,” you emphasize to the tipsy woman beside you who only laughs at your exaggeration. You assume she’s like you, accompanying one of the many developers here, because as soon as you finish boasting about Jungkook she moves to brag about someone too.

Truth be told, you spend the whole night re-analyzing the Zootopia movie you saw on Disney+ the other night in your head. So if the little fox fellow didn’t control himself would the city have fallen to ruins? Why was the useless sheep girl so evil and bitter? Why was there an unreal amount of romantic tension between the fox and the rabbit? Whatever, you’ll have to rewatch it some other night, and with your new Disney+ account, you could watch it anywhere you wanted to.

Now, you had never bothered to purchase a Disney+ subscription or even tried to swindle Jungkook for his password before. As far as you know, Disney+ was filled with old tv shows from your childhood, sitcoms that made you laugh when you were ten. There’s nothing wrong with that, but personally, you were a firm believer that that which was perfect should not be touched once finished; in other words, you were utterly terrified you’d rewatch an old episode of The Wizards of Waverly Place, only to find out the same joke you’ve been regurgitating for the past ten years doesn’t actually go that way.

However, the harsh reality was that Disney+ was good for a few things. Ugh, you hate when giant corporations provide decent services. Aside from Zootopia, you’ve watched about every animated media on there as well, all of which you replay in your mind as Jungkook has the time of his life with these nerds, knocking back champagne glass after champagne glass.

Anyway, the night ends a little past midnight, and Jungkook who is buzzed on alcohol and high on exhilaration ends up calling an Uber for the two of you. Your apartment— the new one he had not only helped you hunt for but also helped you move into, greatly cutting the cost of movers out with those glistening biceps and thick thighs —is still going through her rebellious phase where the potted plants are trying to take over, courtesy of Kim Namjoon. So for now, there’s a potted plant in an awkward corner that both of you stub your toe against on your way to your bedroom.

You’re thinking Jungkook is going to go to town tonight, given the fact he’s on Cloud 9 and has had his ego stroked by a bunch of dudes for the past couple hours. Maybe you guys can try out the hot role-playing scenario you saw on GirlsWay a few weeks ago, or the handcuffs you impulsively bought from Amazon one Monday night. Or maybe, and this one really makes you flutter, he’ll let you fully take the reins for once.

All those lewd fantasies end up being for naught because just as you shimmy out of your gown (with the help of his hands, of course) and turn to climb him like a tree, he’s on the other side of the room getting your makeup remover out for you. And also talking. A lot. And way more than usual.

“Did you see him, babe?” he sighs, dare you to say, dreamily, handing you the cotton pads as he begins pulling a million pins out of your hair. Slowly and with a lot of confusion, you pull your fake lashes off and begin cleaning your face. “He was amazing.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, having absolutely no idea who ‘he’ is or why Jungkook is so in love with him and not you at this very moment. “But so were you,” you add. Perfect. Stroke his ego and then stroke his cock.

Jungkook sputters at your praise. He’s carefully placing your hairpins on your thigh, cheeks flaming red every time he leans over you. “Was I?” he murmurs, voice sweet in that cute little way it always gets when he’s downed one too many shots of whiskey, enough to be buzzed but not enough to be wasted.

You turn and the pins clatter to the floor and across the bedsheets. “Yes,” you confirm, ignoring his sad huff at the mess you’ve made. Instead, you grab him by the collar of that pink button-up he taunted you with all night. “You were fucking incredible and I think incredible men deserve to have their dick sucked.”

Jungkook laughs at your vulgar statement, holding you gently by the hips as you climb into his lap. “Is that so?” The soft, shy persona is gone now, replaced by the gentle stirring beneath his dress pants. You nod hurriedly, plopping down on his lap and running your hands through his styled hair.

“Yes,” you confirm, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Luckily for you, I know this nymphomaniac who would gladly gobble up your cock at your every command.”

He snorts just as you push him into his back, nose adorably scrunched up. “First of all, you know I hate that word,” he chuckles, finally gracing you with a sweet peck that only makes you want him to fuck you into the fifth dimension. “Secondly, please don’t ever say you’ll gobble my cock up ever again.”

Something inside of you squeals with excitement as he rolls the two of you over, firm body pressing down on yours. “Oh, baby,” you groan, lazily throwing a leg over his hip. Jungkook grins and then decides to entertain you for a few minutes with a sloppy kiss.

You say a few minutes because just as things are heating up, he pulls away. He smiles apologetically. “As much as I’d love to be here with you, I actually have an early morning tomorrow.”

You frown at the sudden change in events. “Huh? They’re gonna make you work the morning after a Gatsby party?” you gasp, sitting up as he gets off of you. With every step he takes away from the bed your heart breaks a little more. “They can’t do that— that’s illegal!”

From the doorway he levels you with a comically raised brow. “No, it’s not.”

You scamper after him down the hall, watch the muscles in his back flex as he pulls his suit jacket on. “You can’t work on our anniversary— that’s illegal!” you offer instead.

He stops at your front door, feet squeezed back into his shoes. “Baby, it’s not,” he rolls his eyes, leaning down to peck your forehead. “It was either I work in the morning or work at night,” he explains, giving your messy hair a soothing caress. He’s looking at you with those eyes, the ones that make your heart lodge itself into your throat and make life a tightrope experience. There’s a devastatingly lovesick part of you that wants this moment, this kind face, to be engraved into your mind for the rest of your life. You want this to be the first and last thought you have and nothing else: just Jungkook’s adoring gaze on you for the rest of time.

The moment ends too soon when he flutters one last peck against your lips. “I’ll be done in the afternoon, okay?”

You pout. “Okay, your place?” you huff, making sure to get one last octopus squeeze around his waist. He nods. “Promise you won’t be late?”

The corners of his gaze soften. “You know I won’t,” he smiles, leaning down to bump your noses together playfully. “Can’t stay away from my pretty girl too long. Besides, I have a gift for you tomorrow.”

It’s with that sentiment and a hammering heart that you let him go. With Jungkook gone, there’s really nothing for you to do now. You took the next two days off in preparation for your anniversary sex, so you don’t have to head to sleep early like usual.

With nothing else planned, you decide on rewatching that Zootopia movie that had plagued you all night, ready to dissect every plot hole to hell and back. You don’t think Jungkook’s seen this movie yet so you add it to your long list of animated movies you’re forcing him to watch.

Part of you is actually really surprised Jungkook left. Well, kinda sorta, very, but not really. Jungkook was a good boy, that much was obvious. He took his job seriously, and if his job wanted him to come in at the asscrack of dawn, then he’d come in before the sun even rose. He was a goody-two-shoes, but even so, you were occasionally able to bring out that darker side in him.

Jungkook working, like actually working in an office setting, was pretty rare though. The dude had a chill job that let him stay home most of the time, and essentially clock in whenever he wanted. Every now and then you were able to convince him to stay, tucking him beneath your body or the covers, depending on the night, and refusing to let him go the morning after.

Once he had eaten you out until the wee hours of the day, ravenous between your thighs, and then went to work the next morning like he hadn’t broken you. Another time you had persuaded him into watching every season of the 2017 DuckTales reboot through the night. When the alarm had rung in the middle of the season finale, he had simply gotten into your shower and gone off to work.

So maybe you were a little confident in your skills, and Jungkook slipping between your fingers tonight was a huge bummer. But there was no use crying over spilled milk, you tell yourself, flinging your bra off somewhere in the corner as you snuggle back into your sheets. You’re ready to tear this Zootopia movie apart, scene by scene.

Even though your apartment is a little cold, you’re comforted by the fact Jungkook will be here to keep you warm all day tomorrow.

All men do is lie.

Despite his promise to come home early the next day, Jungkook ends up lying. The meeting he had been in all morning— the same one that had stopped you from getting bent like a pretzel the night before —drags on well past noon. Then, Kim Namjoon, AKA Jungkook’s favorite senpai in the entire world, catches wind of Jungkook’s success last night and absolutely has to take him out to lunch to celebrate.

You scoff, glaring down at your phone and the impulsive messages you’d sent out an hour ago when Jungkook had first texted you telling you he would be late.

You whirl around to stomp off in the direction of his living room, where all of yours and Jungkook’s favorite foods were growing colder by the minute. You had spent the longest time carefully laying them out, making sure the fried chicken was closer than the pizza but not closer than the breadsticks. Truthfully it’s a nightmare. There are about eight stomach aches worth of food sitting on his coffee table, the greasy stench makes you gag and will certainly stick to your hair for weeks, but none of that mattered because it was all for your beau.

Your very late beau who was making you grow more and more agitated with each minute that passed. Ugh! How inconsiderate of him to test your patience on a day like this. You didn’t want to be upset with him, but this was your first, real milestone as a couple with him. You had wanted to spend the whole day cuddled up, maybe finally tell him how much he really meant to you— definitely not waking up alone with eyeliner crusted eyes and an aching heart.

Deciding you’re being a little too dramatic, you head into the bedroom to calm down. This was fine, you tell yourself, carefully laying out the damn near harlotrous lingerie you had yet to put on. Jungkook would come over soon and everything would be A-okay.

Except for the part it’s actually F-not okay because soon it’s nearing sunset and the food has gone cold so you’ve stocked it into the fridge, and the pretty sheer bra has a wonky wire that’s two seconds away from piercing through your heart, but that doesn’t even matter because Jungkook being late for your all-day anniversary celebration has already ripped it to shreds anyway.

You plop down on the couch in defeat, impulsively opening up the Disney+ app to cry through another episode of Phineas and Ferb. You’ve abandoned the satin robe that came with the lingerie in favor of donning a big t-shirt that smells like him and makes your heart hurt even more. The setting sun paints the living room in muted oranges, the chirping of birds outside the soundtrack to your lonely day.

You end up watching some other cartoon on Disney+, avoiding the Marvel section because you had promised Jungkook he could be there when you lost your Marvel virginity. Well, at least one of you was good at keeping promises, you think bitterly. For a second, you think about randomly watching one of the infamous MCU films out of order just to spite him. But then you think of that soft puppy gaze and how disappointed he’d be in you.

Whatever! It wouldn’t ever match up to the way you felt now.

Anyway, you circle back. When you’re five episodes into Phineas and Ferb you hear the doorknob rattle.

You sit up just as the door swings open, visible from your spot on the couch. He meets your gaze almost immediately, big doe eyes caught in the act. What act? You’re not really sure. In fact, you don’t even know what you’re looking at when he walks in because he’s drowning in shopping bags. His lips twist into a grin. “Honey, I’m home,” he says playfully.

You don’t laugh.

Jungkook frowns, dumping all his bags down at the entrance before waddling over towards you. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, coming to stand before you and cupping your face in his hands. He’s towering over you, so tall and gorgeous but for the first time, you’re not dazed by his beauty.

“Kook, you said you’d be back hours ago,” you say slowly, avoiding his gaze. You try to keep the frustration out of your voice, but you’ve had hours to dwell on it now, and those annoying cartoon characters, though charming at first, had only served to multiply your annoyance.

Jungkook blinks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean… yeah. But I got you presents?” he beams, glancing back at the mountainous pile he made by the door. You look over too. There are some luxury bags squeezed in between other shops you like, the occasional jewelers' logo on the side.

You stand with a sigh, sauntering off into the kitchen with him on your tail. “I don’t want presents,” you mumble, reaching to pour yourself a glass of water. You’re briefly aware of how childish you must seem. Jungkook hovers behind you.

“What? Yes, you do,” he says. “You had an entire wishlist on my Amazon of things you wanted.” It’s his turn to level you with an unreadable expression, slowly crossing his arms over his chest.

Your frown only deepens as you turn to match his stance against the counter. While it may be true that you did indeed have an entire list of impulsive items on his Amazon, that didn’t necessarily mean you wanted them all. Sometimes you just wanted to stare longingly at a pair of satin gloves without actually buying them. You don’t know how to explain this much to him. “They’re not…” you stop with another deep breath. “Forget it. Thank you for the presents.”

Now it’s Jungkook’s turn to question you. “What,” he says in an unimpressed tone, padding over to you before you can escape back into the living room to watch the entire princess movie collection on Disney+. “No, tell me what’s wrong.”

For some reason, that’s exactly what you don’t want to hear. “Jungkook,” you say flatly, narrowing your eyes at him. “You come home six hours after you said you would without telling me why, and normally I wouldn’t care, but today was supposed to be a special day for us.”

Jungkook reels at your bluntness. “Babe, I was out getting stuff for you. I know it’s our anniversary— that’s why I wanted to treat you,” he responds, oddly condescendingly like you’re a child who doesn’t understand what exactly he was doing.

You brush his hands away from your shoulders. “Yeah,” you huff. “Now I know that. But I spent all day waiting for you,” you stress, chest puffing as you grow more and more agitated by his inability to understand you. God, can he let you go now? At least a bunch of animated, geometrically drawn cartoons won’t question you like this and make you feel as childish as he was.

When he doesn’t say anything else you stomp back into the living room, snatching up your phone from its forgotten spot against the couch. “I’m going to bed.”

At that Jungkook seems to kickstart back to life. “What? ___, it’s barely six,” he says as he follows after you into your bedroom. You ignore him, shuffling beneath the covers. In all actuality, you’re going to bed to mope and watch more animated family shows, maybe cry under the guise of the plot just being so sad. Jungkook sits beside you just as you click back on to finish off your episode. “Baby, I don’t get it,” he sighs. “You’re always talking about how much you want this or that, and I go out and get you it all but now you’re mad?”

You bite down on your lip, eyes lasered in on the pictures moving before you. “Jungkook, just forget it.”

“No,” he says, more sternly than he’s ever been with you before. “If there’s a problem, tell me.” There’s a heavy pause, and then he says, “don’t make me waste my time guessing what’s wrong, okay?”

“Waste your time?” you scoff, sitting up with pinched brows that you find match his. “I’m not trying to waste anyone’s time— in fact, that’s hot coming from you, Jungkook.”

He rolls his eyes. “What are you even saying? You’re mad because I took a little long getting presents, for you, might I add,” he huffs, plopping down on the edge of the mattress beside your knee. “You’re always saying you want this and that, but you can’t handle me going out to get those things? Do you hear how weird you sound?”

You whip the covers off of you. “Me talking about things doesn’t always mean I want them,” you defend.

Jungkook snorts. “Yes, it does,” he says. “Anytime you ramble about stuff for minutes like a little kid it’s because you want me to buy it for you.”

You blink. “Like a little kid?” you repeat, stunned by his comparison. Granted, you always knew you were the more childish of the two, but you never thought that would equate Jungkook thinking of you as a child. Something red and nasty flares in your chest. “Well sorry,” you spit, crossing your arms over your chest defensively, “sorry we all can’t be perfectly mature golden boys who would never see the light of day if I constantly wasn’t dragging them out.” You know it’s a somewhat low blow, especially because Jungkook’s told you before how his introverted tendencies were a sensitive issue growing up, but you can’t help it.

Jungkook groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Baby, don’t do this now,” he warns, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Stop acting like this.”

“Like how?” you spit, “like a kid?” Jungkook says nothing, leveling you with a blank stare from the corner of his eye. You roll your eyes, phone falling off your lap. Another episode of Phineas and Ferb had started, the corny opening tune filling the space between the two of you. “At least now I know what you think of me,” you mutter over the guitar riff.

“Oh my god,” Jungkook blurts, sitting up wildly. “Of course I’m gonna think of you as a stupid little kid, look at you,” he seethes, gesturing at the phone beside you. You flinch. “All you do is watch kids shows and whine whenever I wanna watch anything normal adults watch. You complain every single day about the most normal things, like your job? Why should I fucking care that you’re working a dead-end office job in a field you didn’t even study for�� that’s not my problem, __!” he snaps, eyes narrowed into little slits. “I just won an award last night,” he says suddenly, voice back to its regular volume. “I’m at the height of my career and I’m only going up, but I can’t even enjoy that because I have to come home and cater to you,” he finishes, a loud scoff punctuating the final word.

You had never imagined Jungkook finally bragging about himself would be at your expense.

A beat of silence passes, the angry glint in his eyes quickly fading away the longer you don’t say anything. You sniff once, turning your head idly to the side where Phineas and Ferb is still blaring loudly from your phone speaker. Picking up the device, you throw it across the room where it hits his closet door with a terrifying bang the breaks the silence.

The sound snaps Jungkook out of whatever shock he’d been in. “Baby…” he says slowly, carefully, like you’re a caged animal that’s just escaped the zoo.

“I’m going home,” you say, also a little too calmly. You saunter over towards his closet where your shattered phone screen glares up at you as you yank a pair of sweats off a hanger. Jungkook is still frozen on the edge of the bed, watching you with wide eyes as you move about the room.

It’s when you’re in the hallway leading downstairs that Jungkook finally snaps out of his daze, scampering behind you as you descend the stairs. “Baby,” he rushes out, loudly bounding down after you, “___, wait,” he gasps, catching you by the kitchen counter collecting your keys. “I-I didn't mean that,” he rushes out, eyes wide and frantic as they flicker over your expression. “I don’t think that—I don’t, baby, please, just… let me explain, please.”

“Jungkook, let go of me,” you respond, shaking your wrist in an attempt to release yourself. He’s not even holding you tightly— he never would—but the sound of your heart pounding in your ears makes your movements jerky and erratic. “I wanna go home.”

“No,” he chokes, cornering you against the counter. “No, baby, please just listen to me, I-I—“

“You what, Jungkook?” you snap, placing a hand on his chest and forcefully pushing him away. He lets you, stepping back with a wobbly bottom lip. “You need to tell me how you’re too good for me? How much I hold you down because I wasn’t lucky enough to get a job like yours straight out of college?” He says nothing, swallowing roughly as you jab a finger into his chest. “Well let me tell you something,” you snarl, chest heaving, “I may be childish and a huge complainer, but I’m not stupid enough to let someone walk all over me like this.”

With that, you make your great escape. Truthfully, you don’t want him to see the tears in your eyes as you yank his door open, stomping down his steps and in the direction of the nearest bus stop. The door opens right after you tug it shut, painting your shadow across the sidewalk. There’s the scrambled sound of house slippers against the concrete that follows you down. “Go the fuck back inside,” you snap without missing a beat.

Sensing your obvious anger, he pauses before he can reach you. “Text me when you get home?” he calls out quietly.

“No,” you respond.

You would never admit to anyone that you spend the entire night eating a tub of mint chocolate ice cream. It’s disgusting and makes you gag, but it’s the only one you have in your apartment. And of course, it was brought over by none other than Jeon Jungkook himself a few days ago. Even when you’re trying to comfort yourself over how mean he was, on your anniversary night no less, you’re plagued by thoughts of him everywhere.

As much as you want to brush his words off, put on that cool girl exterior you’ve maintained since high school, there’s something different about this situation. You guess it’s impossible to brush off such hateful words when they come from someone you love and adore so much.

Were you too childish? You had always believed that side of you was what made your relationship with Jungkook so perfect. The two of you meshed well because of your differences, like yin and yang. So how had he been able to so easily deconstruct every inch of that balance in a matter of a few seconds? Was this perfect reality all in your head this whole time?

You want to tell yourself it was just a heat of the moment outburst from Jungkook, give him the benefit of the doubt because he’s never snapped at you like this before. Of course you’ve fought a couple of times in the past year, but neither of you had ever stooped as low as you did yesterday. Furthermore, the insecure part of your brain says he obviously felt this somewhere in his heart to bring it up at all. What he had said to you wasn’t something someone could make up on the spot.

You don’t text him when you get home, partly to spite him, but mainly because you had left your phone at his place anyway. You know he tried calling you last night because the call log is synced up to your laptop. He called on and off for about thirty minutes before he probably found your phone in his room. Whatever, he can mope in his regret for all you care

—is what you wanna say, but the longer he goes without showing himself to you the more your insecurities and hurt fester. Was this it? Was this the end of what was probably the best year of your life? It’s too painful to think about, to even consider the possibility that Jungkook might have gained a new insight last night and decided, hey, maybe this is for the best after all.

You drown yourself in an ungodly amount of sugar for breakfast, your laptop blaring yet another episode of Phineas and Ferb on the dining table. Muscle memory has you making Jungkook’s favorite pancakes before you can stop yourself, and by the time you do realize, you’ve resigned yourself to the blueberry smell anyway.

There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb.

It’s not.

It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. You open the door with a fright, jumping back when he slumps forward and almost crashes face-first into the floor. “You didn’t call,” Jungkook cries, leaning a little too much of his weight onto you when you reach out to steady him.

The thundering of your heart slows upon registering it’s him. “Kook?” you frown, nose pinched at the ungodly stench of alcohol wafting off his clothes. “Have you been drinking?” you ask even though the answer is staring you right in the face (and in the nose).

He groans, staggering deeper into your arms. You blindly push the door shut behind him, resigning yourself to this new situation while your pancakes grow cold in the other room. “Baaaby,” he slurs, letting you guide him into the living space. He’s unceremoniously dumped onto the couch, half-opened eyes gazing up at you. “Let me,” a hiccup, “explain.”

You won’t lie. There’s a very obvious sense of discomfort sitting in your chest, torn between two paths that you don’t wish to choose between. His skin is warm and flushed like he’s just walked all the way here in this morning sun. You step over to the window that faces down onto the street below. There’s no sign of his car; you would have killed him if he ever tried to drive in this state.

“Did you walk here?” you ask instead, deciding there’s no need for one singular path, not when you can walk straight down the middle, both cleaning him and grilling him at the same time.

Jungkook’s response is delayed, head lolling from side to side as you help him out of his sweater. His skin is sweaty beneath, scorching to the touch. “Uh-huh,” he groans. Jesus, you sort of assumed but him confirming it really set things into perspective.

By no means did you and Jungkook live on opposite ends of the earth. On a good day, a drive from your place to his took about ten minutes. But walking? Easily an hour. Had he walked all the way from his place, drunk on top of that?

You brush his hair away from his face, his eyes fluttering shut at your touch. His lips are pouty yet chapped, dehydrated from the sun and the alcohol he reeks of. “Sit up for me,” you instruct, scampering off to your room for chapstick and water.

“Anything for you,” Jungkook wheezes, throat probably dryer than a desert. When you return, he’s two seconds from face planting into the coffee table and breaking that pretty face of his. You catch him with a hand on his shoulder, keeping him balanced. “Tell me what to do,” he chokes out, voice hoarse.

“Just need you to drink some water,” you say, pressing a cup against his lips. He drinks it, but a drop still dribbles down his chin.

“No,” he groans, catching your wrist in his hand when you reach up to apply some chapstick on him. “Tell me what to do,” he stresses, “to fix this. Fix us.”

His words make you pause, the tube of chapstick hovering over his plush lips. “You don’t have to do anything,” you respond quietly, trying to finish the application so you can pull away.

Jungkook doesn’t let you go. You try to look away, but there’s something about him that looks off. Maybe it’s the raw skin under his eyes, red and swollen. Or the sad droop to those same eyes that hold you captive. Or maybe it’s the subtle tremble in his hands, the fingers that hold tightly to your wrist, not to keep you there but to ground himself. “I don’t wanna lose you,” he rasps out, shakily bringing your hand to his mouth, where he presses one airy kiss to your knuckles. “Tell me ho-how to fix this and I’ll do it,” he pleads, a vulnerable look in his eyes.

Unable to withstand the sheer amount of agony on his expression, you look away. “___, please,” he chokes out, stumbling off the couch in his drunk and desperate haze until he’s kneeling in front of you. “I can’t… I can’t,” he sniffles, tears clouding those pretty eyes you’ve come to love so much. “I don’t know who I am without you.”

You clench your jaw. “You’re Jeon Jungkook,” you murmur, slipping your hand out of his hold to run through his hair. It’s knotted and a little too greasy, two things Jungkook would usually never allow. “This year’s Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award recipient,” you remind him, trailing your thumb across his cheekbone when he turns to look up at you with those big Bambi eyes. “Sweet and shy, but you love being rowdy with your friends. You love movies and TV and organizing your shirts according to fabric type. You work harder than anyone I know and never complain. You date me, even though I’m a huge child,” you smile sadly.

“No!” he jumps, turning that frantic stare back into you. “Y-You’re not— it’s not,” he stammers, words still slurring together. “I’m a liar,” he cries, resting his forehead on your knees. His shoulders shake. “I don’t deserve you,” he weeps quietly. You place a hand on his shoulder. “Y-Y-You make my life so much better, ___, so colorful and fun. I-I wish I knew you in high school,” he admits, “maybe I wouldn’t have been so emotionally constipated now.”

“You’re not,” you reassure him softly.

He disagrees. “You bring out the best,” he hiccups, “the best in me.” Your heart skips in your chest. “I-I love you, you know that?”

You sputter, eyes wide at his sudden confession. “I… love you so much, y’know? I think about you ev-every night, ___,” he rambles, eyes dreamily gazing off into some miscellaneous spot on the wall behind you. “I can’t get you out of my head. Like you're a song, o-on repeat but it’s not annoying because it’s my favorite song, and I could listen to it for the rest of my life, y’know? My favorite song, I know all the words b-because it’s all I think about! I love... My love… I love you so much.”

“Kook,” you rush out, cheeks flaming as you try to pull him away from where he’s slumped over your legs. His passionate speech has you abuzz, body tingling everywhere until you feel overwhelmed, head spinning like you’re on a rollercoaster. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He nods sleepily, seemingly coming down from whatever alcohol induced rampage has allowed him to walk for an hour straight in this searing heat just to confess to you. “Y-You don’t have to say it back,” he continues to stutter as you guide him through the living room on wobbly legs. “I just-I just— can I?” he babbles. “Can I love you, ___?”

You pass through the kitchen space, where whatever you were watching on Disney+ is blaring loudly. It distracts Jungkook for about two seconds before his attention returns to you. When you don’t answer, he presses on. “Is that okay?” he asks, whirling around to face you, catching your shoulders in his hands. He towers over you by the entrance to your bedroom, dark curls tickling your forehead. His eyes are dark and glazed over, both in tears and an emotion so raw and unfiltered it squeezes around your chest until you can’t breathe. “Is it okay for me to love you?” he murmurs softly, knocking his nose against yours.

Your cheeks blaze. “Yes, th-that’s fine, Kook,” you blubber, placing a hand over his chest, where his heart is also hammering away. “Just need you to go rest now, okay?”

He nods sleepily, nudging your nose with his one last time, like a soft almost-kiss, before letting you push him into the room. “Yes, yes,” he breathes, his body finally crashing from his adrenaline spike. He flops down onto the bed unceremoniously, dark waves fanning across your pillows. You try to wiggle him out of his shirt, but it only gets about halfway up his chest before he blindly reaches for the covers. His legs stick out awkwardly, clad in the sweatpants you’ve come to associate with him.

When he’s all swaddled up in your blanket he finally goes limp, tiny snores leaving his lips as he dozes away from reality. You sigh, pressing a palm to his forehead. He’s still warm and clammy, but at this point, there’s nothing you can do but wait for him to sober up.

With a final kiss to his forehead, you leave the room, closing the door behind you before sliding against the wooden surface. There’s a trapped bird in your chest, wildly flapping its wings in an effort to get out, and it’s all stupid Jungkook’s fault in the next room. Stupid Jungkook who demolished and remodeled your heart all in less than twenty-four hours. It doesn’t calm down, even when you rush off into the kitchen for a glass of water, or when you try to immerse yourself in some other show on Disney+. It stays beating against your ribs and your chest until you’re forcing yourself to sit down on the couch and process.

He wakes up a little before dinner. You hear him from the living room, where you’re flicking through the options on Disney+ for the nth time that day. You’ve seen the first fifteen minutes of about twenty different series and movies by now, always growing antsy and abandoning them early on. The only reason you know he’s awake is because the shower turns on for a few minutes, and then his bare feet are heard padding across the hallway back into your room.

By the time he resurfaces in the living room, you’ve resigned yourself to just more Phineas and Ferb, nonchalantly watching the silly cartoon. (Except you’re anything but nonchalant, and your heartbeat rings in your ears.)

Jungkook hovers by the door, clad in a pair of shorts he’s left here before, and a t-shirt you stole from him. “Hey,” he says quietly, lingering by the doorframe. You nod back in response. “Can I watch with you?” Again, another nod.

Slinking over to the couch, he’s rather careful as he sits down, leaving a few inches of space between the two of you. You don’t even think he can see the screen of your laptop until he murmurs, “he’s my favorite character,” when Perry the Platypus appears on the screen.

You hum. “Thought you didn’t like these kids shows?” you ask. You don’t mean it to sound as petty and backhanded as it comes out, but that’s really no one's fault but his own.

Jungkook’s breathing tightens beside you. “No,” he admits, “I don’t. Only watch them because I know you like them.” You contemplate pausing the episode and engaging in a real conversation with him, but at this point, you’re very tired from the events of the last day. Jungkook doesn’t press either, just shuffles more comfortably beside you.

You get about five minutes in, quiet chuckles shared between the two of you, before he strikes. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says, so hushed you almost don’t hear it. His hand is resting in the space between you, pinky brushing against yours. “About… being late. And the presents.”

You inspire slowly. “That wasn't even the problem, silly,” you brush off. From your peripheral, you see Jungkook’s slow nod. “I didn’t want any presents,” you mention, “I just wanted you.” You look away from the screen immediately after, pretending like the spot on the ceiling is actually really interesting.

The two of you fall into silence, the animated characters on your screen rapidly chattering away. “Oh,” Jungkook says after a moment.

You roll your eyes. They’re moist but you don’t want him to see. “Yeah, oh,” you parrot back softly, relaxing into the couch again. “Did you eat the food I left out?”

Jungkook shuffles beside you, the soft lull of the speakers soon being cut as he reaches over to pause Phineas and Ferb. A couple of seconds pass and then he’s leaning into you, head resting on your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, placing a palm over the hand he had been teasing for the past few minutes. “I thought I knew what I was doing but I was wrong.”

His voice is so soft and sincere, it makes your chest ache. You try to burrow your face against your opposite shoulder, try to hide the stray tear that escapes out of the corner of your eye. “It’s fine,” you brush off, voice choked off and hoarse.

Jungkook leans up, pecks your cheek so tenderly it makes you go mushy. “No, it’s not fine. I acted like a know-it-all and said something way out of line,” he murmurs, raising his head to look at you. His hand feels warm over yours. It’s the touch you craved all day and yesterday, the warm feel of his body against yours. You’re embarrassed at how easily you melt into it. “You’re the best thing that has happened to me in a long time,” he tells you, holding your hand close to his chest. “I had no right to say those things to you.”

You sniffle, resting your head against his shoulder now. His heart beats loud enough for you to hear. “Was it true?” you mumble. “Do you really think of me like that?”

He shakes his head, his soft breaths fanning across your forehead. “No, never,” he answers. “I think you’re incredible. My brain was just trying to justify my dumb anger.”

You nod, even if you don’t believe it just yet. But that was a conversation for later, you suppose, sometime in the future when you aren’t on the verge of tears and threatening to crumble apart at the simplest word that leaves his mouth.

“I should have come home like you wanted, thought about my words before saying them,” he says, snuggling closer to you. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop,” you sniffle, covering your face with your free hand as he presses a kiss to the vein that runs over the back of the hand he’s holding captive. “Now it just sounds like I'm just being inconsiderate of your gifts and a crybaby.”

Jungkook kisses your temple softly, gently. “Don’t think about the gifts,” he says. “Just tell me what you wanted to do, doll.”

His voice calms you, has you like putty in his arms. “Watch movies,” you mumble, toying with a thread on your couch cushion. “Be with you.”

He hums. “Then we’ll do that,” he says, reaching for your laptop again. The screen nearly blinds you when it flickers back to life before you, Jungkook’s low breaths against your ear making it near impossible for you to process the titles on the screen. “You liked Disney+?”

Belatedly, you nod. “I like the animated movies,” you admit quietly, the anxieties of before slowly melting away, even more so when he slides his arm around you, pulling you close against his chest.

Unlike other times where he’ll critique the hell out of such childish films, Jungkook says nothing as he starts up the Zootopia movie instead, the same one you had wanted to show him before, right from the beginning. “That bunny looks like you,” you murmur when Judy Hopps first appears on the screen.

Jungkook snorts. “You say that about every cartoon bunny.”

You turn your head to glance at him over your shoulder. He meets your gaze with a small smile you return. “It’s because you’re so cute,” you say softly, lips twisting playfully when his cheeks grow scarlet.

He knocks his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “Not cute, just lucky,” he chuckles. “Lucky enough to have you.” Your heart turns over in your chest, threatening to burst out of your rib cage at his words. You try to turn in his arms. Before you can say the words that have been sitting on the tip of your tongue for months now, he’s beating you to it once again. “I love you,” he confesses in a hushed whisper, no alcoholic influence.

Something inside of you blossoms, eyes wide as he chastely kisses you. He pulls away without you ever reacting, too caught up in surprise to kiss him back properly. He stays close, curls tickling your forehead as he leans over you. “You don’t have to say it back, I just wanted you to know. I love you,” he says again, long lashes blinking down at you. “So much. It makes me feel like a stupid teenager again, going to the mall to buy a gift for my crush.” He laughs sheepishly, reaching down to tangle your fingers together. “Is that okay?” he asks quietly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

It mirrors the confession he’d given you that morning, those slurred words and teary eyes. It had been difficult to pinpoint the legitimacy of it before, the meaning scrambled by his hazy mind. But with him staring at you like this now, like you single-handedly plucked the stars from the sky to put them in those sparkly eyes of his, it makes something inside you ache.

Still, you choke on your own spit. “I-Is it okay for you to love me?” you sputter incredulously, realizing the oddity of the same question he’d thrown at you earlier. But now, you’re both sober and you can really tear apart that sentence. Jungkook nods a little too seriously for your liking. “Are you crazy?” He blinks in confusion, brows pulling together as you slowly but surely lose the last bits of your sanity. “You’re an idiot, Jeon Jungkook,” you huff, “a stupidly handsome, rich, walking dream, idiot who goes out with stupid girls like me.”

“Not stupid,” he murmurs, closing in on you again as he finally understands the truth behind your masked insults. He smells minty and like his favorite body wash of yours.

“No,” you deny. “You’re actually, like, insane. You have a bachelor pad, make enough money to sustain an entire litter of kittens, look and talk like every teenage girl’s dream boyfriend— but you mess it all up by dating evil, conniving hoes like me who lose their shit over Disney cartoons.” He says nothing, watching you with an amused grin as you talk over yourself, basically regurgitating his statement from yesterday except it kinda seems plausible now that you’re over it. “It’s stupid. No, you’re stupid. No— I’m stupid.”

Jungkook chuckles, kissing the corner of your mouth gently. “Done?” he says, a dimple appearing on his cheek. You could kiss it away, but you need him to know the amount of stupidity in this room was astronomically high. “You’re not stupid, baby,” he says. You level him with a look. “Well. You have your moments.”

“Moments?” you repeat, standing up in a hurry that has him flopping down beside you. Your laptop is lost somewhere on the cushions, the voices faded as they grow farther away. “I am so stupid. I called Namjoon a whore for taking you out for lunch!” you cry. “I am the stupidest person in the world.”

Jungkook cackles, standing up beside you. “Yes, yes, you’re my stupid girl,” he teases, tapping the pout on your lips playfully. “So stupid she slanders herself instead of just telling me she loves me too.” He bumps your noses together, dark eyes staring at you almost daringly after his claim.

You fold soon enough. “I love you,” you mumble, “even if I’m too stupid to say it.”

He rewards your confession with a kiss, pulling you into his arms soon after. He sighs, almost wistfully. “Whatever shall I do with my very stupid girl?”

After exactly three minutes of feeling safe and loved in his arms, he abandons the living room in favor of leading you back to your room, where he pushes you down against your mattress. You cling to him, leaving him positioned over you at an angle. His chest presses against yours, arm curled around the back of your head. “Gotta get up, baby,” he laughs.

You shake your head, caging him in your arms. “Nuh-uh,” you murmur, legs wiggling when he places a hand on your hip.

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss against the side of your ear. “Your movie is still playing in the other room,” he reminds you, thumb drawing soothing circles on your hip. You don’t release him, his mindless touch only encouraging you to keep him close. “Babe?”

You say nothing, relishing in the comfort of Jungkook’s presence. His hair smells good and feels even softer against the side of your face. The cotton shirt he found is crumpled beneath your fists, dark blue pattern wrinkling. Finally coming to terms with his new home, Jungkook eventually relaxes into your hold with a sigh.

“Alright,” he hums, patting your hip as he repositions himself more comfortably. “I get it. My pretty girl must’ve missed me, huh?” You nod, soaking in every detail about him in this moment. Jungkook shifts, the hand on your hip suddenly falling over your thigh instead. “Or should I say my stupid girl?” he purrs, hand slipping between your thighs. “My stupid, little girl?”

A gasp catches in your throat when he runs his fingers over the front of your panties. Your legs kick out wildly at the sudden touch, toes curling at the hands you dreamt about all day and night. “Oh,” you pant, each brush of his fingers feeling better than the last.

“What?” he says, mouthing against the side of your neck. His tongue feels warm, but the trails of saliva he leaves have you shivering. “Too dumb to speak?” he scoffs, biting down against a particular spot on your neck. You whimper, unsure if it’s because of his hands or his mouth.

“N-No,” you try to sneer back, fingernails digging into his skin through his shirt. His hands are getting braver now, the pad of his pointer finger dancing over your engorged clit. The sheer material of your panties certainly doesn’t help, each touch feeling like it’s being magnified three times over. And if it felt this good with underwear, you can’t even begin to imagine how it’d feel without.

You don’t have to ponder for long, because soon after Jungkook is slipping his hand beneath your waistband, touching your sensitive pussy head-on. “Kook.”

He uses your momentary vulnerability to ease himself from your hold, finally recoiling enough to smother your mouth with his. You moan in surprise, thighs quivering as he gets to work circling your hardened bud sans your panties. Jungkook isn’t the least bit kind as he kisses you ruthlessly, likes he’s trying to compensate for something with his movements. When he finally pulls away it’s with an obnoxious pop and cherry red lips. He huffs, glancing down to see where he’s got his fingers pleasuring you.

Your thighs are squirming back and forth, closing around his hand every few seconds. Jungkook snorts. “Huh, look at that,” he mutters, trailing down until his fingers are gliding over your quickly sopping folds. “Stupid girl is good for something.”

Your cheeks burn. “Kook, I’m not—“

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed glare. “Not what? Not stupid? But I could’ve sworn you just spent the last few minutes saying you were,” he drones meanly, landing one light slap against your cunt that makes your hips buck.

You bite down a whimper. “I was just…” you trail off, eyes rolling back when he teases one finger against your opening.

“Kidding?” he supplies. “Well, I wasn’t.” Your heart stutters in your chest, eyes growing wide as he finally pushes himself off of you, propping himself up with an elbow beside your head. His gaze is dark and unrecognizable. “I think you’re so fucking stupid, doll,” he sneers. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

You should have seen this moment coming, the manifestation of that shiny side of the coin finally reaching its full potential.

While Jungkook wasn’t exactly shy about his interests, he certainly wasn’t tripping over himself to tell you every new kinky thing he wanted to try. You sort of guessed he had some interest in this sort of play a few weeks ago when you watched the Barbie movie at his place. A lot of that night had branded itself into your three am wet dreams, but there was one particular moment that stood out to you. That was you, on your knees, with him condescendingly patting your head. Or just last week, you vaguely remember the term slipping through his lips as he pleasured you with The Bullet Bestie.

The thing about Jungkook was that, until last night, he would have never admitted, or so much as even thought, that he was better than you. That was fine because you would say it enough for the both of you anyway. Did you think Jungkook was amazing, an absolute diamond among these measly rocks? Absolutely. (Were you slightly biased because you were his girlfriend? Skip.) However, you also had this insane evil villain complex that made you want to brag about everything you possibly could, especially if that meant bragging about your boyfriend.

Realistically speaking, he was better than you, that much you could look past yesterday’s anger to admit, and not even in a stuck-up, conceited way; he had a really good job, an architecturally amazing house, and a hot girlfriend. Meanwhile, you had a mediocre job, an okay apartment, and an insanely sexy Calvin Klein boyfriend, half of which he had pointed out yesterday. Regardless of how powerful that third factor was, he still outnumbered you three to one.

Sue you, Jungkook was amazing. Anyone could see that! Except, maybe, himself.

And if the only time Jungkook would openly brag about his greatness or establish how much better than you he was, was in a post-fight, sex-induced setting, then you were more than happy to be his punching bag. So long as it was on your terms, and not as a result of his weirdly bottled up feelings.

(Yeah, you would have a long talk about that tomorrow.)

But for now, you pout up at him, clamping your thighs shut purposefully. “You’re stupid too,” you defend, “stupid and mean.”

Something in his expression changes. Suddenly, he’s moving at superhuman speed as he snatches his hand out from where you had previously trapped him between your legs, yanking you up by the front of your shirt. “Mean?” he mocks. “Isn’t that what you always wanted?” You shiver, fingers wrapping around the wrist that holds your sweater. “Wanted me to be mean and push you around like a little rag doll?”

Jungkook looks at you for another two seconds, before he’s slowly pulling away from you, leaning back on his knees. His tongue is pressing against the inside of his cheek, jaw tightening from the movement. “Baby,” he says so quietly it instills a prickle of fear in you, tainted with delicious excitement.

“Yeah?” you whisper, sitting up tentatively as you watch him, He was a bit frightening, like a wild animal about to devour you whole.

Jungkook rolls his neck, the joints in his spine cracking as he begins tugging off his shirt. You salivate at the sight, too focused on the sinewy muscles of his body to catch the dark gaze he levels your way. He throws it off to the side, his sleeve of tattoos that wraps around his bicep and begins to crawl down his chest wonderfully unobstructed now. “Eyes up here,” he says and you quickly meet his gaze. He leans forward, muscled arms coming to cage you against the headboard. “Stupid little sluts don’t have the room to make such comments,” he rasps out, unamused expression adorning his normally soft features. “Don’t you think so?”

“I-I don’t know,” you stammer, leaning away as he comes closer and closer, eventually just turning your head to the side to avoid that emotionless look. It’s the wrong move, and Jungkook lets you know as much by forcefully digging his fingers into your cheeks and turning your face back around to meet his gaze.

A hand grabs beneath your knee, tugging harshly until you’re flopping down onto your back with a squeal. You settle with his knee pressed hotly against your core. Jungkook stays towering over you. “Dumb little girls who make me watch cartoons,” he spits, tracing a hand over your chest, molding your breasts beneath his hands roughly enough to make you gasp. “And watch little animal movies on Disney+. Aren’t they just so stupid?”

“So stupid,” you concede, subtly shifting your hips for some desperately needed friction. Jungkook snorts, finally granting you your wish with one rough slide of his thigh against your core.

“I agree,” he says, and surprises you with a hand around your throat as he leans in to properly grind his thigh into you. “All they’re good for is being dumb little sluts with good pussy,” he murmurs darkly, thumb pressing into the side of your neck forcefully. “Sometimes, they don’t even do anything,” Jungkook continues, his other hand on your hip hauling you higher up his thigh. You mewl, soaked panties rubbing roughly against your folds. You miss the soft swirl of his thumb, the gentle prod of his fingers. Even so, you can’t deny this change in Jungkook is doing something to you, riling up a part of you that you hadn’t known existed. Maybe it’s the horniness from yesterday that was left unfulfilled, the one year anniversary sex that was put on pause. “Just lay there and take it, too fucked out and dumb to say anything.”

His fingers loosen for the briefest of seconds and you gasp for breath. “That’s terrible,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into his thigh, so close to his swollen cock.

Jungkook chuckles without an ounce of humor, pressing your foreheads together as he helps grind you to completion. “Isn’t it? I think that stupid little girl is cute though.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, vision spotting as he tightens his hand back around your throat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you moan, stomach tight from all the stimulation.

Jungkook hums, slowing you down with a tight grip on your waist. “Hm, what are you sorry for?” he croons, pink lips pulling into an evil smile. “You said you weren’t that stupid girl, __.”

You shake your head, trying to roll your hips up again but he’s holding you too tightly now, rendering you immobile beneath him. “I am,” you choke out shamefully, grabbing at the hand on your hip in a feeble attempt to remove it. “I am a stupid little girl.”

Jungkook smirks, leaning down to slot his mouth over yours. “That’s right,” he murmurs, “nothing but a dumb little slut.”

You shiver, opening your mouth when he slides his tongue against your bottom lip. He’s not the slightest bit nice, and more messy than usual. He pulls away with a bite to your lower lip, meeting your trembling gaze with that same unrecognizable glint in his eyes. “Come on, dummy, keep up,” he snarks before devouring you again. You try to, you really do, but he’s moving like an animal today, despite his slow and drunken movements from that morning. So you end up with his saliva dripping down your throat, clinging to the corners of your lips as he begins slowly grinding you against his thigh again. He flashes you a wicked smile, pearly teeth on display for you as he glances down at your messy appearance.

“Are you gonna touch me?” you ask, lower lip trembling at the thought after your desperate rutting. Jungkook purses his lips together in thought.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Don’t know yet.”

You whine. “Jungkook, please,” you whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I need you.”

Jungkook chuckles, running his hand up your waist and taking your shirt with him. He slips his fingers beneath your bra, pushing the wire over your chest as he mouths at your neck. “Cute,” he says. “Can’t do it yourself?”

You tremble, chest arching into him as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “I-I can,” you gasp. “Just feels better with you.”

Jungkook follows your statement with a nip against your skin, tongue soothing over it right after. “Why? Because I do everything better than you? Even make you cum better than you?”

Your cheeks heat up at his blatant ego rearing its head, hands carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. You say nothing, and that only eggs Jungkook on. “Come onnn,” he teases, finally, finally rolling his hips down onto your core. You squeak, head falling back against the pillows as you’re granted the one thing you’d been chasing. “Say it.”

“Say what?” you ask, voice wobbly as he continues to slowly rut against you, the front of his shorts pressing against the soaked crotch area of your panties. “Oh, oh, Jungkook,” you whine.

Suddenly he bites down harshly, teeth digging painfully into your skin. You yelp in surprise, pussy throbbing at the pain that shoots throughout your body. Jungkook pulls away and doesn’t bother soothing over it as he leans up to capture your jaw this time. “Say you’re a stupid little slut who can’t do anything without me,” he purrs, kisses too soft for the words he says.

Your mind blanks, torn between the humiliating phrase he wants you to say and properly checking him in his place. In the end, it’s with a twisted need to please him that you’re repeating the words back to him. “I-I’m a stupid slut,” you whimper, fingers digging into his shoulder blades as he continues pushing you right along the edge. The rope pulled tightly in your core is slowly being pulled apart, threads hanging on for dear life. “Can’t... can't do anything without...”

“Without who?” he asks, reaching down and untying the front of his shorts. “Can’t do anything without who, baby?”

“Without you, without you,” you cry, bucking your hips up against his, the combined movements of both your bodies making you shake like a leaf. “Ah, K-Kook,” you wail, hips stuttering as your orgasm finally swallows you up. Your panties quickly grow wet and icky from your own arousal that pools between your thighs. Jungkook lets you writhe beneath him as you chase your high, mouth sucking a pretty blossom against your jaw.

You know better than to expect the night to end here, especially after seeing the glint that had been in his eyes as he watched you unravel.

He leans close, let’s his nose brush against yours as you catch your breath. “So perfect for me,” he groans, slotting his lips against yours. You can barely keep up with him, languidly going along with his hot tongue. “Perfect, perfect girl,” he murmurs, a stark change from the less than friendly adjectives he used just moments before. “Tell me you love me?” he says softly.

You nod, mind fuzzy as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Love you,” you exhale, letting your fingers knot in his hair. Your proclamation does something to him, makes him grind the front of his cotton shorts hard against you. For someone that was often rough and brutal with you in bed, he sure was sensitive to the mushiest of things.

“Don’t deserve you,” he huffs, hot breath fanning across your skin. He switches gears fairly quickly. “Tell me you hate me,” he begs hoarsely, rutting against your soiled panties. “Tell me I’m a piece of shit and you could do better without me,” he pleads, voice too airy to be another one of his usual sex-induced thoughts.

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he rolls his hips. “It’s not true,” you whisper, “I love you more than you’ll ever understand.”

Jungkook groans, suddenly winding back and tearing your ruined panties down your legs. You gasp in surprise, letting him haul you about in his blind, self-inflicted rage. “Stupid, stupid,” he huffs, though at this point you can’t tell who it’s directed at. With your underwear out of the way, he wastes no time plunging his fingers back into your cunt, bypassing the tight ring of muscle around it without any of his usual care. “You should hate me,” he snarls, lips pressed against your ear.

You moan, back arching at the sudden pleasure that blossoms between your thighs. “I-I don’t,” you gasp, toes curling.

Jungkook groans, the sound traveling down your spine and straight into your pussy. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, slipping an arm around you to pull you so close until you can’t breathe, chests lined up together. His skin is warm to the touch, scorching almost. “Fuck,” he groans, curling his fingers inside of you. You whimper and moan, incapable of staying still beneath him as he tortures you with a thumb to your clit. “Tell me you hate me,” he seethes again.

Despite the fog that’s settled over your mind, you still manage a resolute shake of your head. “N-no,” you cry, digging your nails into his back. They run dark red lines over his skin, making him hiss at the sting.

Whatever punishment he’s trying to put himself through is falling through with your refusal to admit such a thing. It aggravates him even more, your adamant stance on loving him so, and he’s retracting his fingers before you can cum again. “Please,” he chokes, face tucked into your neck. He’s sloppy with his movements; as he pulls his shorts down and kicks them away, he nearly suffocates you with his weight. “I don’t deserve you, ___, please.”

“I love you,” you whimper for lack of explanation. Jungkook leans back, that same madman gaze in his glossy eyes. He’s looking at you in disbelief almost, pouty lips puckered and swollen. Your hands slip from around him, falling on either side of your head.

Like a cobra he strikes, collecting your wrists in one hand he pins above your head. The sudden movement has him leaning in close, lips brushing over yours. His lashes are coated in a wetness he refuses to acknowledge, looking at you like you drive him insane. “If you ever try to leave me,” he whispers, jerky breath fanning over your skin, “I’ll lose my mind.”

He loves you so much it aches.

“I won’t,” you whimper, feeling your own eyes well up with an emotion that consumes every inch of your being. “I’ll never leave you, you stupid, stupid boy.”

A faint smile crosses his features at your words, lips quirking to the side. You relish in it for all of two seconds before he’s ramming his cock into you, your sensitive walls spawning around him. You sob loudly, eyes rolling back into your head. Your legs instinctively hook themselves around his waist, digging into the base of his spine as he rolls his hips into you.

You feel full and complete like he belongs there in this moment and every moment after this. It makes your heart constrict painfully. Jungkook’s soft groans follow your more unraveled noises, the vulgar slapping of skin on skin the underlying melody to it all. “Ffffuck,” he spits, greedily swallowing your moans up. You whine, arms bucking in an effort to hold him close. But he’s determined in his act of restraining you, long fingers tightening around your wrists until they hurt. “I warned you, didn’t I?” he huffs, snapping his hips into you.

Your walls clench around his hard cock, the drag as he exits sending shivers throughout your body. Jungkook’s body towers over you, glistening in sweat as he nails you into your mattress. “Remember what I said?” he asks, voice but a shuddery exhale. You shake your head numbly, overwhelmed by the rough drag across your walls. “All those months ago, when you first came over,” he adds. The hand on your hip abandons its post to cup you beneath the jaw, palm pressing sinfully against your throat enough to block the tiniest of airflow. “I’ll fuck you and keep you forever,” he murmurs, voice deeper than the pits of hell. He licks a fat stripe over your cheek like you’re nothing but a sweet for him to devour. “Do you remember that, pretty girl?”

You nod jerkily, hips arching up into him when he thrusts into you again. It’s a memory that replays in your mind every so often, your first night with the man you had planned to humiliate over a mere misunderstanding, now your boyfriend of one year. “Want that,” you gasp, tears blurring your vision when he begins picking up the pace. “Wanna be y-your pretty girl forever.”

Jungkook groans, kissing the corner of your mouth. His thighs are some magnificent beings, keeping his pace consistent even as he loses himself in his overwhelming need to kiss you. “Always,” he manages, soft lips pressed against yours. “I won’t ever let you leave.”

A shriek tears itself from your lips as he picks up that harsh piston, releasing your jaw to hold both wrists above your head. It makes his curls dangle in front of his eyes, covering that beautiful dark gaze. It makes his thin little necklace swing back and forth too, though it’s too small to actually touch your face. The rhythmic swing has you hypnotized, just like everything else about Jungkook.

With the length of his hair, you’re left staring at his lips, pulled taut between his pearly white teeth. The word from before sits heavy in your chest, begs to drip from the tip of your tongue. But he’s moving too fast and too hard, scrambling your thoughts until all you can think about is the cock plunging into your heat. His name falls from your mouth like mindless blubber instead, arms thrashing as your second orgasm swallows you up. It sends you crashing, body spasming as the sheer euphoria waves over you slowly and then all at once.

“Perfect,” he grunts, leaning down to slot his mouth against yours, “my perfect girl.” Your cum makes the sound of his hips erotic, the loud squelching following your panting. Still sensitive from your high, your body unconsciously tightens around him, keeps his cock from fully leaving. It brings a soft whine out of Jungkook, one he tries to muffle against the side of your face.

“Inside,” you whimper, even though your body feels like jelly beneath him. “Cum inside, Kook, please,” you beg.

It only takes a few more thrusts into your leaking hole for him to finally reach paradise, hips stuttering when that first shot of pleasure hits him. “Fuck, fuck,” he growls, wildly snapping his hips into your achy cunt. You moan, feeling just about brainless at the overstimulation. His cum leaves you full, almost makes your belly bulge from it. When he’s done he doesn’t bother pulling away, simply slumping into your limp form. His cock, though quickly softening, serves as a plug for the cum threatening to spill out of you.

There’s a muted noise coming from the other room, the faint sound of the mail slipping through your letterbox, the quiet chattering of the street outside. And of course, the loud blaring of your laptop playing the Phineas and Ferb theme song. Jungkook registers it at about the same time as you, a soft chuckle leaving his lips.

He pushes off of you soon after, leaning on his palms over you. He’s got that molten look on his eyes, the heat of a thousand suns burning behind those irises as he looks at you. Like he can’t get enough, even though he’s just about taken everything there is to take. “Love you,” he murmurs quietly.

A drop of sweat rolls over his forehead, clinging to the end of his eyebrow. You reach up and brush it away, let your hand trail down his face to cup his cheek. Immediately he leans into the touch, eyes falling half shut. “Love you more,” you respond.

“Impossible,” he scoffs.

Soon after you’re both stumbling out of bed, clothes haphazardly shrugged back on as you drift through the living room. There’s a thin, hot pink package sitting at the door, just having slipped through the letterbox; the stark Sexuality Unleashed logo is printed on the visible side, so you have to wonder what Doyeon could have possibly ordered this time that could be so thin. The laptop is awkwardly sandwiched next to a throw pillow, barely open a crack. Jungkook retrieves it, sets it on his lap as you scamper over to the couch.

“More Phineas and Ferb?” he asks quietly. He hates it, you know he does. And still, he wants to watch it with you.

You nod. “Please.”

He isn’t so concerned with the plot as you, clicking some random episode to start. You snuggle into his side, quietly singing along to the opening. After a moment, Jungkook speaks again. “Phineas and Flirt?” he offers cheekily.

You roll your eyes. “That might’ve been your worst one yet,” you sigh, trying to drown out his indignant huff by focusing on the screen.

“I don’t exactly see you coming up with these,” he points out, obviously feeling wronged.

Without missing a beat you say, “Disney+ and bust.”

epilogue

commercial break one ; the resolution

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waitimcomingtoo · 3 years

Text

My Youth Is Yours

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

synopsis: in a world where you don’t begin to age until you meet your soulmate, Tom notices you started aging when he hasn’t

Masterlist

“Time to wake up.”

You heard Toms voice right before you felt a pillow hit you in the head.

“Mmmmm. I was dreaming.” You whined as you aimlessly threw the pillow in the direction of his voice. You heard the soft thud of the pillow hitting his body as he caught it and knew you were in for trouble. Before you could move out of the way, Tom jumped on top of you and pressed the pillow against your head.

“Aw. About me?” He teased as he squished your face into the pillow. You groaned and pushed him off of you, hearing him laugh as he rolled onto his back beside you. You propped yourself up on your elbow and took the pillow from him, smacking him lightly over the head with it.

“I said dream, not nightmare.” You sassed him. Tom rolled onto his side and smiled softly as he moved a stray hair off your forehead with his pinky.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to someone who made you coffee.” He drawled before reaching over and retrieving the cup of coffee he had set on your nightstand.

“Coffee?” You groggily sniffed the air as he placed the cup right underneath your nose, making your eyes widen in delight. “Coffee!”

“With almond milk and sugar.” He sang as you gratefully took the cup from him.

“You’re so good to me.” You said before taking a long sip. “No wonder I’ve kept you around all these years.”

“Mm.” He hummed sarcastically. “20 years and counting.”

“Yep. And you don’t look a day over 18.” You teased as you cupped his chin. Tom rolled his eyes at your comment, but he wasn’t really annoyed. The fact that neither of you had started aging yet worried him daily. Sure, it meant you hadn’t met your soulmate yet, but it also meant your soulmate wasn’t Tom. He tried to convince himself that maybe you both had started aging, you just didn’t realize since you saw each other every day. He knew he was a long shot, but it was all he had to hold on to.

“Shut up.” He faked a laugh. “Neither do you, baby face.”

“You’re the one with the baby face.” You shot back as you climbed out of bed.

“This baby face is gonna allow me to play teenagers as long as I want.” He called after you as you waltzed towards the bathroom that was connected to your bedroom.

“Until you meet your soulmate.” You stopped in the doorway and gave him a pointed look. “You know white men age like apples once they meet their soulmates.”

You kept your tone light, but you dreaded the day Toms face would show signs of aging. It wasn’t something you liked to talk about as your youthful appearance told you exactly what you didn’t want to hear; you hadn’t met your soulmate yet.

“Lucky for me, mine seems to be on another planet.” He sat on the edge of the bed and swung his feet as he watched you wash your face.

“Maybe shes off somewhere making coffee for my soulmate.” You chuckled from inside the bathroom.

“That would be funny.” He commented. “Maybe they’ve fallen in love with each other and forgotten all about us.”

“Imagine?” You laughed as you began to apply your makeup. “What would we do then?”

“We’d have to be together, I guess.” Tom forced a laugh as he tried to sound like he was into kidding, when in reality he was completely serious.

“You wish.” You paused applying your mascara and winked at him from the bathroom. He smiled sadly and shrugged, but you missed it entirely.

“Yeah.” He mumbled as you shut the bathroom door to get changed. “I wish.”

Tom pouted and looked at his hands, a sinking feeling finding a home in his tummy. He hated being reminded that you were eventually going to meet someone else and grow old with them. He wanted to stay in your youthful bubble as long as he possibly could. The sound of the door opening brought him out of his thoughts as you walked down the hallway that connected the bathroom to your bedroom. You were in your work clothes now, minus your heels.

“There she is.” Tom smiled at you. “Going for the pencil skirt, I see.”

“I just want to look good in case my soul mate decided to take a desk job.” You shrugged as you slipped into your pumps.

“So that’s what a guy has to do to get your attention?” Tom raised as eyebrow. “Get a desk job?”

“Uh huh.” You bit your tongue between your teeth and rested your hands on his shoulders. “I find actors so boring.”

“I bet you do. How about I take you out tonight? I know your boss has been on your case lately.” Tom asked as he peered up at you from his seated position on the bed. He rested his hands on your hips and drummed his thumbs on your waistline.

“I would like that.” You smiled as combed your fingers through his hair. “It’s a date.”

“A date.” He nodded, leaning into the palm of your hand. You winked at him again and checked your watch, eyes widening at what you saw.

“I’m running late.” You sighed. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“See you tonight.” He waved at you gently as you slipped your arms away from his neck.

“Muah.” You bent down and pressed a wet kiss to his cheek, knowing how much he didn’t like it.

Or so he claimed.

Tom scrunched his nose and wiped the kiss off, really only concerned with getting the lipstick off his cheek.

“Give me a real one, why don’t you.” He jokingly called after you, but once again meant it in it’s entirety.

“Maybe I will.” You called back before shutting the front door.

You arrived at work on time, much to your relief. You greeted the secretary and picked up the paperwork, noticing the pike was a little bigger than expected.

“Is this all for me?” You asked with a tight smile as you collected the stack of files.

“I’m sorry.” The secretary shook her head. “Mr. Brighton dropped them off last night. He specifically asked that you do them.”

“This is the company’s budget.” You realized as you thumbed through the filed. “That’s his job, not mine.”

“Are you surprised?” She laughed sadly. “I haven’t seen him doing his own job since I started here.”

“I better get started if I want to make it home on time.” You sighed. “Have a good one.”

“You too.” She called after you as you made your way to your desk. Along the way, you greeted the girls you worked with.

“Stacey, I called the IT department and told them about the wifi issue. Thanks for letting me know.” You smiled at your coworker.

“Hi Emma.” You waved and set a few folders down in her desk. “Here are the files you need to redo. Don’t worry about messing it up, it happened to me all the time when I first started. Try to have them in my desk by 4, okay?”

“I told the janitor about the paper towels and he said he’ll make a note to restock them more. Thanks for bringing it to my attention, Joslyn.” You thanked your coworker as you walked by.

“Jaiden!” You greeted. “Great work on your proposal yesterday. Just try not to fidget with your hands so much. You had great ideas. There was no need to be nervous.”

You finally got to your desk and set the stack of files down. You blew out an angry breath, already tired before you even started. Right as you were about to sit down when a man in a crisp navy suit appeared at the desk across from you, setting a box of his belongings down on top of it. He looked up briefly and made eye contact with you, smiling politely and stepping around his desk.

“Hi. I’m Chris.” He introduced himself as he held out his hand.

“Y/n. Nice to meet you.” You reached forward to shake his hand. “Is this your first day?”

“Yep. Just transferred.” He nodded towards his desk. “You’re the boss I presume?”

“Nope. Just one of his many victims.” You chuckled. “What made you think I was the boss?”

“I’m not sure.” He realized. “The way you walked in and took charge, I guess I just assumed you were the boss. You seem like you should be.”

“Oh. Well thank you.” You straightened your blazer with a new sense of pride. “I try to be assertive so I don’t get walked all over.”

“Well it’s working.” He laughed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You had my respect right away.”

“Thank you.” You smiled politely. “I’m not your boss boss, but I am your superior, so you’ll probably be training under me. I’m supposed to tell you no personal calls, but no one really cares. As long as all your work is done by the end of the day, call whoever you want.”

Chris nodded and took a seat in the desk that faced you, nodding in content as he took in his surroundings.

“Hm.” He shrugged as he glanced at you. “Nice view.”

You caught his meaning and gave him a pointed look, to which he held up his hands in defense.

“Come on.” You nodded towards the hallway. “I’ll show you where the break room is.”

“I’m home.” You called as you entered yours and Toms house a few months later. He came to greet you in a tank top and shorts, his glistening arms telling you he was just working out.

“Hey.” He smiled as he wiped his forehead. “How was work?”

“Brutal.” You sighed as you set your bag down. “I don’t know how much longer I can last there.”

“Your boss again?” He smiled sympathetically as he rubbed your arm.

“Yeah.” You shrugged tiredly. “I swear, he has a vendetta against me or something.”

Before Tom could respond, you phone chimed in your bag. You got it out and saw a message from Chris, making a smile tug at your lips.

“What are you smiling at?” Tom chuckled, always a fan of that smile.

“Nothing. Just something dumb the new guy sent me.” You dismissed as you put your phone away.

Toms face faltered momentarily as he wasn’t used to you not telling him things. He let it go, assuming it wasn’t that big of a deal.

“My day wasn’t much better. We couldn’t figure out how to get this one…” He trailed off, his face growing pale and fearful.

“What?” Your eyebrows knit together at his sudden mood change.

“You look different.” He said quietly.

“Bad different?” You worried.

“No, just…you have a gray hair.” Tom admitted, making you let out a shocked laugh.

“What? Let me see.” You ran over to the mirror in the hallway and Tom followed.

“Look. Right on your part.” Tom pointed out a single silver streak on your part.

“Oh. You’re right.” You gulped as a sick feeling sunk into your tummy.

You turned around to face Tom, who looked like he was about to cry.

“You…you aged?” He croaked as he tilted his head to the side.

“I don’t…I don’t know.” You shrugged weakly, trying to calm him and yourself down.

“Oh.” Tom nodded, stepping back from you and adverting his eyes.

“Maybe it’s from stress.” You offered. “My boss has really been kicking my ass lately. Or-“

“Or you met your soulmate.” Tom cut you off. You frowned and reached out to touch him but quickly withdrew your hand.

“Maybe.” You whispered as your eyes searched his face.

“Do you have any idea who it is?” He asked, already knowing he didn’t want to hear the answer. You stared at him for a moment, the urge to tell him how you felt stronger then ever.

“No.” You said flatly. “No, I don’t.”

“I, um…I have to check on something.” Tom said suddenly as he withdrew from you.

“Tom.” You reached out for him but he backed away.

“I really gotta go.” He said quickly. “I’ll see you later.”

Tom practically ran away from you, making you drop your head in your hands as you sobbed.

You gave Tom his space for a few hours before going to look for him, assuming he’d be in his usual spot on the roof.

“Hey.” You called out to Tom once you found him on the roof. He was lying on his back on top of a concrete slab, staring aimlessly at the sky.

“Hey.” Tom said stiffly, without looking at you.

“You’re mad.” You said matter of factly as you slid down beside him.

“I’m not mad at you.” He said quietly.

“I didn’t say you were mad at me.” You answered. “I said you were mad.”

Tom swallowed thickly and stared at the sky as a tear rolled down the side of his face.

“It’s not fair.” He croaked, clearing his throat when his voice came out weaker than he thought it would.

“I know.”

“I wanted it to be me.” He cried, covering his face with his hand as he cried silent tears.

“I know.” You repeated as you fought back your own tears. “I wanted it to be you too.”

“I look at your face everyday. I see every line and wrinkle because right know exactly how they got there. Who else can say that? Who else knows you like I do?”

“No one, Tommy.” You whispered. “No one knows me like you.”

“Then why-“ his voice broke and he stopped talking. You rested your head against his, moving your nose along his cheekbone.

“Then why are you gonna end up with somebody else?” He finished his sentence as he composed himself.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to.” You wiped your tears off your face. “I wanted it to be you. I was so sure it would be.”

“How did this happen?” Tom sniffled. “How is this fates design?”

“I guess we just weren’t meant to be.” You shrugged sadly as you rubbed your face again.

“But how?” He wondered. “How are we not meant to be?”

“I wish I knew.” You told him as you nuzzled your face against his.

“I wish I knew too.” Tom swallowed as he leaned into your touched. You let out a sigh before sitting up on your knees and hovering over his face.

“Hey.” You smiled at him as you stroked his cheek. “I loved you just as much when I was 13 as I do at 23.”

“I love you too but what does that matter?” Tom whimpered. “We’re not supposed to be together.”

“One silver hair does nothing determine who I end up with. I don’t care if fate says we’re not supposed to be together. My heart says we are.” You decided. “You’re the one I want. I’m not interesting in anyone else.”

“Really?” Tom calmed down long enough to hear you out.

“My youth is yours.” You told him. “Everything of mine is yours.”

“But you’re going to continue aging and I’m gonna be stuck like this.” He reminded you.

“There are worse faces to be stuck with.” You smiled softly at him as you rubbed your thumb on his cheek.

“You’re not gonna want to be seen with an 18 year old the rest of your life. People will look at you funny.

“I don’t care how it looks.” You shrugged. “I want this. I want us.”

Tom stared at your upside down face for a moment before smiling at you.

“I want us too.”

You returned his smile before leaning down and kissing him, taking a moment to adjust to the awkward position and slot your lips together. Tom brought his hand to the back of your head to pull you closer as you sat up even more. You moved in sync until you pulled away to catch your breath.

“You know how long I’ve been waiting to do that?” You chuckled as you sat down again.

“Trust me, darling.” Tom laughed as well. “I know exactly how long.”

“Morning!” You chirped as you took a seat at your desk a few weeks later.

“Good morning.” Chris greeted you. “Did you have a nice weekend?”

“I did.” You sighed happily. “Did you?”

“Not really.” He shook his head. “I spent the weekend in a bit of a panic.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You frowned. “What happened?”

“It’s so weird.” He chuckled. “I look like I’m 18 for the past few years and all the sudden I get laugh lines. I just looked into the mirror on Friday and saw them.”

“Laugh lines?” You laughed nervously as a panic set in.

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I guess I’m aging finally.”

“Good for you.” You faked a smile. “So you’ve met your soulmate?”

“I mean, I must’ve right?” He asked. “I don’t know who it is, I just know I’ve started to age. It’s pretty weird knowing they could be anybody I currently know.”

“Yeah, that’s really weird.” You agreed.

“Sorry, I keep talking about myself.” Chris shook his head. “Have you met your soulmate?”

“Yeah. His names Tom.” You smiled proudly.

“That him?” Chris pointed to a framed photo of you and Tom you had on your desk.

“Yeah.” You nodded and pushed the picture closer to Chris. “I just took that last week.”

“Funny.” Chris commented as he leaned forward to look at the picture. “He looks a little young.”

“Yeah.” You laughed nervously as you quickly withdrew the picture. “Funny.”

part two

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btsslowburnfic · 3 years

Text

-The Arrangement- Chapter 1

Summary: Desperately in need of money, you answered the questionable add. AKA-Arranged marriage AU featuring Y/N and Yoongi.

Chapter summary: Let’s meet our lovely [Y/N]. Every good story starts somewhere. Buckle up for the next few months babes <3

Chapter 1

“Nope, sorry, I have to get to my other job.” You politely declined getting after-work drinks with your colleagues like usual. It was nice of them to still invite you even though you never said yes.

You excused yourself to the company restroom. Out with the office worker, in with the bartender. You switched shirts, put your hair up in a ponytail, and applied heavier make-up. You'd switch out your skirt when you got to the club. As dumb and gross as it was, you always made more money when you wore your questionably short shorts. Oh well, money is money.

You sent a quick text to your brother to make sure he and your sister got to your aunt's apartment and then headed for the station. Ok. How much money do I need to make tonight? You asked yourself as you opened the banking app. You mentally calculate the amount needed to feed your siblings, pay for the bus, and utilities. Ugh Maybe Park Minho will let me stay for him tonight. He usually wanted to get out of work early to go hang out with his friends. You would be ok this week if you stopped taking the bus and ate more ramen and less real food. You sighed. You were so tired.

You walked through the black glass doors of Club Tokki. There were only a few customers right now and you immediately went to see if anyone had made coffee. Work coffee=free coffee. Luckily for you, Lisa, the woman who worked the day shift almost always needed an extra dose of afternoon caffeine and there was still enough for a cup.

“Hey doll!” Lisa greeted you. “Here, I brought some milk in as well,” she said as she poured the coffee for you.

“You are a lifesaver. Thank you so much.” You gratefully took the mug, warming your hands.

“No problem, do you need me to do anything before I leave? I’m going to close out with those two groups first.” She asked as she rinsed off some pint glasses.

You assessed the bar looking to see what you might need over the next few hours. “Yeah, ask the bar-back to get two more bottles of Goose and a bottle of Crown. We usually go through those on Wednesdays. And maybe cut a few limes and lemons. Thanks.” You took the coffee with you to the small office and finished changing clothes. Lisa was a student so she shared your need for thrifty living, coffee, and work. You didn’t have many friends, but you knew you could count on Lisa for caffeine and getting the bar prepped.

You walked back out to the bar, mentally preparing yourself for the night ahead. In a few minutes people like your office coworkers would stream in, treating each other to after work drinks, socializing, and networking. You used to wonder if your circumstances were different if you would be the type of person who went out after work and socialized with their colleagues. You had come to the realization that “no” you wouldn’t. You would probably go home and sleep. Maybe read. You sighed and shimmied behind the bar as Lisa started to count down the drawer. "Alright, I asked the barback for the alcohol and there's 2 cups of lines and lemons."

"Thanks a lot babe. See you tomorrow." you waved at her and started to move stuff around to where you liked it.

"Happy money making." she smiled and headed out.

As predicted about half an hour later, office workers start to show up and the bar is slowly starting to fill up. Club Tokki is known for its laid back vibe so it's mostly beers and "and" drinks. Whisky and coke. Vodka and soda. Occasionally there were some younger girls here that ordered the more complicated drinks. But you got those out as well; this wasn't the first bar you'd ever worked at, just the latest incarnation. And just like that, the night starts to speed up. Minho arrives two hours into your shift for the after-dinner rush.

“Just in time dude,” you greeted him as he walked behind the bar.

“What do you need?” He asked as he clocks in for the night.

“The bar is caught up if you want to go check section one. Shinhye has the rest of the floor.” You instructed him and used this opportunity to catch up on cleaning dishes. You caught one of the guys at the end of the bar staring at you. He was definitely good looking, and stood out with his expensive suit, silver hair, and strong facial features. Whatever. As long as he tips. You were not looking for a boyfriend. Or a hookup. You cringed at the thought of even trying to navigate dating between your work schedule and also living with your Aunt as a grown ass woman. You shook your head like it would get rid of the thought. Satisfied with the current state of the bar you took a minute to drink some water and scan the club. There were worse places you could work for sure.

Minho came back to the bar and asked you to make some shots while he grabs some beers. Grape bombs? Is this 2012? You resisted the urge to gag, having gotten sick on them when you were younger. You placed the drinks on his tray and checked the bartop once again.

Mr. Expensive Suit dimple-face was nursing a Goose and soda. “You doing ok?” you asked him as you made your way down the bar.

“I’m great. Thanks. What’s your name?”

“[Y/N]” you responded and started to move on to your next guest.

“This is the part where you ask my name.” he said arrogantly. Suddenly you did not care for him as much.

“Is it? I’ve never talked to someone in a bar before. I didn't realize there was a script.” you responded sarcastically. You hated it when guys thought they could manipulate you.

“Wow. Ok. Ok. Hard to get. I respect that. I’m Kim Namjoon.”

“Ok Mr. Kim, is there anything else I can get for you right now?” you asked, oh so sweetly.

“No. I’m good for now.” he said, laughing to himself. He shook his head incredulously and sipped his drink.

Well maybe you weren’t going to get tipped after all. Oh well.

The rest of the night was mostly a blur. The vodka special brought in quite a few people and you ended up going through four bottles of Goose. Mr. Kim Dimples remained, nursing only his second drink now and still staring at you even though he was trying hard to not look like he was staring. It was awkward. He was hot but sooo not your type. Which you thought you had made clear.

“Mr. Kim, are you sure you even like Goose and soda?” you teased him as you made another round checking on people.

“You know, I am more of a beer drinker myself, but I can’t pass up a good vodka special.” he leaned to the side, getting out his wallet, and pulled out a business card.

“[Y/N], I’d like for you to take this.” he stuck it between his index and middle finger, holding it out for you to take.

“I am flattered, Mr. Kim, but I’m not interested in anything like that.” you smiled politely.

He rolled his eyes at you. “Believe me, I’m not asking you on a date. You are so not my type,” he said with an air of disgust. As though he was repulsed that you would have even thought he would consider asking you out. “This is a job opportunity. I work for a talent agency of sorts.”

Wow. What a dick. “Oh yeah? What talent do you see?” you gesture to yourself. “I do pour some stiff drinks and can usually tell rude guys to fuck off with a smile on my face.”

To your surprise he just laughed. “You are very funny. And I suppose some people would find you attractive. Just take the card. I think you’re the best candidate I’ve found yet.” he stood up and put on his suit jacket, sitting the business card down on the bartop.

“Rude.” you casually said, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

"Well, it makes no difference to me if you accept or not. Regardless, there it is." He gestured to the card, and sat down way too much money on top of it. "Keep the change." He turned and left.

You didn’t end up closing for Minho; the two of you both stayed since it remained steady through closing time. You were weirded out by the conversation with Mr. Kim, but having worked in a bar for the past 7 years, it wasn't the weirdest thing that had ever happened to you. You threw the business card into your purse and forgot about it for the rest of your shift.

The remainder of the night passed without incident. As much as you disliked it, that weirdo's money helped make sure you could take the bus again the next few days. You stuffed your tips into your purse and walked home. Well. To your aunt's house. It didn't really feel like home. Just a temporary landing spot until you and your siblings could get your own place again.

You entered quietly and washed your hands. You dutifully went through your siblings school bags, making sure their supplies and homework were where they should be. You packaged their lunches as much as you could and started a fresh batch of rice for tomorrow. All mostly in the dark so you didn't wake anyone up. Your brother was sleeping on the couch, which you hated, but he insisted on it. You were sharing the guest bedroom with your sister and your niece.

You grabbed your laptop and curled up in the corner of the kitchen to not bother anybody. I’m a 27 year old loser hiding on the floor of my Aunt’s apartment in the middle of the night. I have to wake up in 5 hours for my other job and instead I’m going to look up a website that some weird ass rude hot guy at a bar gave me. Why is this my life? You thought, and yet you pulled out the business card and entered the link. It took you to a black website with a white box asking for a code. You flipped the card over, and there it was, handwritten. You type it in and wait for the website to load, convinced it’s going to be some weird porn site with fisting or crush videos. You almost cover your eyes but to your pleasant surprise it’s a normal website.

Seeking: a suitable adult woman for long-term companionship. Will be well compensated. Serious inquiries only.

The text continued: If you are on this website, congratulations. You have already presented the basic level qualifications for this position.

Ok. So maybe this was an escort service. Which I mean...if it paid better than both of your jobs and you didn’t have to have sex with people maybe you could. No. No. You talked yourself out of it and scrolled down to read more of the description,

Requirements:

Female between the ages of 20 and 40.

Flexibility in schedule

Desire to travel and attend events

Strong personality and interpersonal skills

Proficiency with Microsoft Excel and Word

Punctuality, attention to detail, and strong organizational skills

Desired but not necessary

Non-smoker/drinks alcohol socially

Like animals

Enjoy listening to music

Compensation:

Position requires relocation to on-site premises and therefore covers room and board.

Monthly stipend (click here for more information pertaining to taxes)

3 meals a day, beverages, and snacks included

Most escort services didn’t require proficiency in Microsoft Word or Excel...you were guessing. Maybe it was a legit job. Like an on-site event planner? You clicked the link contained in compensation and HOLY SHIT THAT WAS A LOT OF MONEY.

You bit your lip and pulled up your resume. It couldn’t hurt to submit it, right? You didn’t have much to update since you had just started your office job 3 months ago. You updated the resume to include that job and listed your address as Club Tokki’s in case this was actually a sex trafficking set up. You thought about it for a another minute and then uploaded the document, took a deep breath, and hit “send.” NEXT CHAPTER

TAGS: @lidda

#bts fanfic #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts fanfction #bts yoongi x reader #bts suga x you #bts fics #bts au fanfic #bts scenarios #bts imagines

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theodora3022 · 3 years

Text

Crown Jewel

(noun): a particularly valuable or prized possession or asset.

Pairing: Francis Scott Fitzgerald X fem! former assassin reader

Summary: Having betrayed the Order of the Clock Tower and fled to Japan, you hid your ability and worked at the ADA as a secretary for protection. Life was not as good, but you knew what Lady Christie would do if she discovered a traitor’s whereabouts. You knew someone would dig up your old dirt sooner or later, but why does it have to be this arrogant, awful man?

Notes: This is really self-indulgent (to satiate my cravings and daddy issues), so read it at your own risk. I am not comfortable with cheating, so Francis is single in this one and never went bankrupt.(But he is still a family man, his wife Zelda passed away before the events in the show) He is an arrogant bastard in canon so you might find his behaviour offensive but that is just how he is. Excuse my pathetic Canadian English, as I cannot write in British English at all. This fic took me too many hours to write, thankfully it is finally done...

Special thanks to my friends for beta reading this long thing, your encouragement and praises are what kept my fragile sanity intact in the process!

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: Mild bimbofication, mild objectification, coercion, implied dub-con(We all know what happens in marriages right?), Yandere themes

She was beautiful, but not like those girls in the magazines.

She was beautiful for the way she thought.

She was beautiful, for the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about something she loved.

She was beautiful, for her ability to make other people smile, even if she was sad.

No, she wasn’t beautiful for something as temporary as her looks.

She was beautiful, deep down to her soul.

-F.Scott Fitzgerald

The entire Fitzgerald Estate is finely, thoughtfully decorated, lavish even. Like photographs right out of a luxurious architecture magazine, with marble floors, persian carpets and high raised ceilings. A manor that sits on the top of a little hill, surrounded by trees and flowerbeds. But no matter how beautiful it may be, no one can never feel quite at home in prison. You thought as you lean back on the living room sofa near the patio, slowly dozing off in the afternoon sunlight with a half-read novel on your lap. Maybe you would go for a swim later, you could use a soak before he returns.

It’s easy to forget how much blood is on your hands in peaceful times like these. Ever since he made you dispose of your count book, you can barely remember how many people you had slaughtered.

Your hands were once covered with callouses from hours of training, but now they are as smooth as the velvet curtains. The glow from the big diamond ring on your ring finger irritates you so very often, but he had warned you not to take it off.

“Lady Fitzgerald? Mrs. Smith is here for your fitting session.” It is one of the maids. Ah, is the tailor here already? You put up a smile for the guest and got up, silently cursing your “husband” in the process. Good thing he is at work most of the time, so you can at least enjoy this glamorous life every once in a while without wanting to bury yourself in a bottomless pit.

Another week, another one of those frivolous social events. But you have no choice but to accompany him to every single one of them. While acting as the leader of the Guild, Francis is also the head of the Fitzgerald cooperation, therefore this high society life has always been the norm for him. You, on the other hand, prefer lurking in the shades. All these shimmering lights, noisy parties, fancy dresses and high heels leave you either dazzled or vulnerable. You feel more like his nice accessory, a Christmas bauble than a wife. However, you know your obligations. Be his arm candy, smile, be obedient and not to speak unless spoken to. The alternative of obeying these absurdities is simply unthinkable. Merely the thought can make you feel chills on this warm summer afternoon.

It’s either this or absolute hell. No, that is not an exaggeration.

As an experienced assassin, you had prepared for death since you first signed up for the position. However, no one can bear the Order’s punishments. You know that too well, having witnessed it first-hand countless times.

At least you can live a carefree life with this option. With infuriating restrictions or not, you are still alive and maintain a certain degree of freedom. You should take this compared to an excruciating death any day. Plus you also get to live in extravagance, you cannot hate that for one bit. This rich man has spoiled you to no end, willing to fulfill even your most absurd requests as long as you are his darling wife. Let it be cars, clothes or jewelries, whatever you wish for, Francis would always make sure you got the finest of them. Not that is ever possible, but you could...get used to this.

However, you utterly despise this title, Lady Fitzgerald? No matter how much he pampers you or showers you with gifts, it would never make up for the fact that you only signed that marriage license under certain conditions. There are those sleepless nights, while you lay under silk quilts in his embrace in some exquisite mansion, you wish you were back in your humble Yokohama flat alone.

---a few months ago

Almost spilling your morning beverage due to running into one of your coworkers at the door, is surely a bad omen, but at the time you did not give it much thought. “Sorry, (y/n)-san. But there is an emergency.” Kirako Haruno?

Work has only just begun, and to your knowledge, there are no major events scheduled for today. Why is she in such a hurry?

Haruno is as terrified as if she just saw a bear in the middle of the street. Strange, since she is usually calm and collected.

“What has happened? Are you okay?”

“There are foreigners here, they are demanding an audience with the president. (y/n)-san, you can handle them, right? Please, keep them occupied while I notify the president.” Looks like this is your problem now since you speak better English compared to any other in the ADA.

She said it quickly without any pause. Also walked away before you had a chance to refuse, so Haruno missed how the colours suddenly drained from your visage and your horrid expression.

Oh, dear. Please do not let the foreigners be them… Although not many members of the Order recognizes you as you always don masks even at meetings, you still feel the world may have ended for you, as you wobble out of the office to the reception area with cold sweat. If Haruno had not hurried off, you would have found some excuse to get away from this troublesome situation. You should have called in sick today...

Are they speaking with American accents? Good gracious, you almost had a heart attack over this. You dealt with the Guild before, back when you were still in the Order when you still viewed Lady Christie as your older sister. She used to take you to negotiations meetings. You know how they are, so it should be a cakewalk to keep them occupied for at least a while. But...what if they identify you and report your whereabouts to the Order?! Would they be willing to do Christie this “favour”? The last time you checked, the two organizations were not on exactly friendly terms. So you should be fine as long as you act accordingly. Besides, the agency would not allow foreigners to harm one of their office clerks, precisely why you applied for a job ADA a year-and-a-half ago.

Get your act together, (y/n). Being this panicked is beneath you, everything will be alright as long as you conceal your fears.

Finishing on your diplomatic front preparation, you greet them with a professional attitude. “Welcome to the Armed Detective Agency, ladies and gentlemen of the Guild.” You try to talk in the calmest tone possible, without stutters. “Now if you would follow me, I shall prepare you some tea. The President will be ready for you shortly.” Now that you have a chance to observe them up close, you had to dig your nails into your palms, pressuring yourself to maintain composure. Why is the leader of the Guild here?! You had seen him before, there is no way you could mistake that arrogant blonde for anyone else. Even though you are pretty confident he would scarcely recognize you without a mask, that tiny possibility feels like a sharp blade pressing against your throat, ready to strike anytime.

Fitzgerald was not expecting someone who speaks flawless English to receive them. Not someone this cute, too. And here he thought this is just going to be like any other boring business discussion. But he cannot shake off this feeling of how he had seen your enchanting smile somewhere before. It was not easy to leave even a vague impression on the great Francis Scotts Fitzgerald, you must have been someone important. A business partner? A Government Official? Or perhaps a Socialite? You are someone with a high position, that he can be sure. But why would you Oh how he hates having blurry memories of something. As soon as he returns to the Guild base, Francis needs to look into their Database immediately.

“Earl Grey, imported from England. Would you like some refreshments as well?” Taking out a can of cream biscuits from your desk drawer, you are glad to see the redhead young girl nodding excitedly. You return a genuine smile to her before bending down to fetch the plate. You were not sure if you were just being oversensitive, but you felt a burning gaze on your back when you turned. Your assassin instincts were almost always accurate, could it be that Fitzgerald had remembered something?

“Is there something wrong, Miss? You are sweating so much.” You do appreciate the ginger girl’s kind words, but could she not say it out loud for her boss to hear? You were planning on keeping your panics to yourself. Moving unnoticeable further away from the Guild leader, you gulped nervously.

“My apologies. I am not feeling well this morning. Now, here’s your biscuits.”

“Aren’t they called cookies? They are truly delicious, thank you so much, Miss. I’m Lucy by the way.”

“In England, we call them biscuits. Would you like some more, Lucy? I have more if you’ll like it.” Her cheerful nature reminds you of a little sister, how could you say no to her pleading eyes. Unfortunately, this also made you forget how you are trying to remain incognito, and you let your hidden past out unintentionally.

England? That certainly rings a bell for the bright mind of Francis Fitzgerald. And no, he was not eavesdropping. You are talking to his employee, after all. Francis even forgot to scold Lucy about being a demanding guest on cookies because he was so deep in thought, searching for any clue of who you might be. He was about to recall something when you received the president’s notice about the meeting. “The President is ready now, this way please.”

After they entered the office, you realized how you had accidentally exposed yourself while explaining about biscuits. No, now all you can do is pray Fitzgerald was not listening in to that whimsical tea-time conversation. Your stomach suddenly feels queasy, a sign that maybe you should request to go home early. You surely do not want to face those calculating blue eyes again. Heck, you never trembled this badly, not even before the toughest missions.

He was planning on asking you some questions after that unsuccessful negotiation, but it would seem like you had taken a sick leave early.

You seem to be rather nervous around him. Suspicious.

Yet Francis cannot stop thinking about how you cared for Lucy. That consideration, if his little daughter is still around, she is bound to love you… It could just be professional kindness, but Francis had seen enough people to tell what is a facade or not. Zelda was like this too, in fact, it’s this admirable quality that had drawn him in the first place.

The great Fitzgerald had seen so many beautiful women, but your unparalleled warmth and grace outshine all appearances.

Wait, Francis had finally cleared the fog now. Aren’t you that girl with Agatha Christie, the head knight of the Order of the Clock Tower? No wonder you speak of England. He was so shocked when Christie introduced you as one of her finest knights. You were so friendly and lighthearted, how can you be that notorious master Assassin? It does not matter whether you had a mask on or not, he remembers those lovely (colour) eyes too well. He had found you to be alluring back then, but at that time he was too busy to concern himself with amorous feelings. Going through the guild files, he found that statement from Christie about how you had defected from the Order and a bounty for your whereabouts.

So, you are hiding from your former Organization? That is unfortunate. Francis had heard a word or two about how the Order is feared for its gruesome torture methods, how they still implement the old ways without mercy. You would rather work as a low-wage secretary then continue being one of their most esteemed Knights, something must have gone terribly wrong.

This is the perfect wager to let you, a kind, independent strong woman, bend to his will.

Now that he had thought about it, coming back home to a loving wife once again sounds more than wonderful. Having someone by his side forever, to love, to spoil, to have a family with had always been what he wanted. But fate has been cruel to Francis on this matter and had taken them away way too soon.

This time, he would make sure to do it right. Francis is determined not to let the tragedy repeat itself.

You were surprised by that clearly expensive gift box on your desk the next day you arrived at work. There is a letter attached to it? Your heart dropped when you saw the Guild's emblem embedded on the wax seal. What could they possibly want from you apart from...that?

“Dear Ms(y/n), Sir Francis S FitzGerald would like you to join him for dinner at (location). Please put on the dress in the box attached and be at (location) at seven p.m sharp.”

What a condescending letter. Not even a polite invitation, just saying he wants you there? You knew how this Fitzgerald is, that arrogant and greedy type, who would value money above conscience. Well, you still got some savings left, if that could shut him up you would not mind emptying your pockets.

You can never let her find you. Suicide before she did is a possible option, but you decided to save that as the last resort.

That is why you decided to put on that dress and go to meet him at this high-end western restaurant.

The hem of the dress is too short for your likings, but its sublime texture made you presume it costs a fortune. You cannot even recall when was the last time you had don such fine material. Life as a Knight major feels nothing more than a fever dream when Agatha was still your friend, your dear Commander.

What is Fitzgerlad’s intention of giving you such a scandalous dress? Is this some peculiar way to humiliate you? This is why you are better off acting as the blade, never as the tactician. Mind games were never your forte.

You are wearing that dress as Francis asked, good. He knew you would look gorgeous in it. It’s such a shame you always covered yourself up. Why wear those cheap, conservative trash when you can wear this?

Someone like you needs to be cherished, to be coddled. You do not belong in the shades or some little office.

“Mr. Fitzgerald. How may I help you today?” God, you feel almost naked in this piece of cloth, but you know you had to grin and bear it as he has the upper hand for now. “If this is about that business permit, I am not the one to make decisions.”

“Why, you are not going to thank me for the dress? You look absolutely breathtaking if you are wondering.” Crap, he is wearing a suit of a matching colour. Has he done this on purpose?

You blush a bit at Francis’s generous compliment, but you did not foreget why you are here.

“Please, do sit. And call me Francis, Miss.” Pulling the chair out for you, Francis smiled politely before signalling the waiters to bring out the appetizers. He is acting way too nice if all he wants is blackmailing you. You were expecting a simple, cold business trade, not...whatever this can be called.

“So, how is Lady Christie doing?” You put down the wine glass, sensing his malicious intent and narrowing your eyes. Of course, he knows, you should have expected this much from the leader of the Guild and an accomplished businessman. Lady Christie must have sent out wanted advertisements, too.

“If you know this much then you must know I am not a part of the Order anymore.” Just name the price already, then you can both go back to your respective businesses and forget your paths ever crossed.

Clever one, although Francis would expect anything less from someone like you. Not just anyone could be the Knight major of that Order after all. You sighed with frustration, clearly wanting to get this over with. “How much do you need? I still have a decent sum in my bank account.” It would probably be a large price, coming from this greedy man, but you are willing to pay for it as long as he stays silent.

You, trying to bribe him? How adorable. You must have been incredibly oblivious to not notice his intentions. Yes, normally a good check would silence Francis, but can’t you see he is not after your money here?

Instead of taking the pen, Francis shoved his smartphone in front of your face.

You turn paler when you figure out the contents. It was an email draft, a draft intended for your former Commander. It tells how the Guild is doing her a big favour by returning her astray Knight major to her proper place. Did he type out an email already? You can already feel those cold dungeon bars on your skin.

“Is money not enough? What exactly do you need?” Calm down, (y/n). If Francis did not send that email, it means negotiation is still possible. Just give him what he needs and be done with it.

To your shock, the blonde smiled smugly and said: “I want you to join the Guild.”

Join the Guild? “As an assassin?” Of course, he is after your ability. It was what made you a high ranking knight, no wonder he would want that for his organization.

“Not exactly. You see, I’m looking for a...personal bodyguard.” Hm, Francis is fond of the word “personal” in this context, it makes him feel like you are one of his possessions already.

“If you have any knowledge about my ability at all, you should know I am no good for frontal combat. With your status, fitting individuals would come running.” Is he toying with you? How despicable. Only a dastard would toy with someone’s mind, especially someone desperate.

Carefully taking your hand into his, feeling your soft skin and those light calluses on your fingers, Francis knows he has to do this the blunt way. You are such a fool when it comes to romantic relationships.

“Be my wife, you don’t need to worry about being discovered ever again. Christie cannot touch you as long as you are by my side. You can have whatever you want, just say the word. ”

This has to be a hallucination. Be his...wife? “Mr. Fitzgerald, have you got hit on the head earlier?” Feeling his forehead with the back of your hand: “You do not seem to have a fever. Are you feeling unwell?” Is he out of his mind? You, his wife? You are a dangerous assassin with a high headcount, not exactly wife material. No one sane wishes to be involved with you romantically, or so you thought.

He was not expecting such an eccentric reaction. Most women would be over the moon with the mere thought of becoming his mistress, not to mention an actual wife. Francis knows you are different, but this is out of his wildest predictions.

You are even harder to predict than the stock market of New York.

“This is a serious offer, love. Do you take my words as some jester’s joke?” He is not joking? Oh dear, you don’t want to marry this man. He did not even properly court you? And it is not like he is giving you a real choice either.

“What, are you going to refuse? That is fine, surely this email could bring a smile to Christie's face.” “No, please don’t send that email!”The way your pupils shrink suddenly gives him heartaches, but this is the necessary measure to make sure you are compliant. Francis had promised to spoil you, but sadly this is not a matter he can compromise with. He could make it up with gifts and attention later right? This life in exile is not fitting for a lady like you, so why don’t you let him take care of you? Don’t you understand what could happen to you had he not intervened?

That trembling little nod is all Francis needs for confirmation. As he brings your hand to his lips for a gentle kiss, he swore silently to himself how he would never repeat his previous mistakes.

“Now, let us go ring shopping. Pick the biggest diamond one if you like, but make sure to select it out with a matching one.”

----Back to present

After the fitting appointment, you decided to spend the rest of the afternoon with some confectionary practices. You remember well how Francis’s face would lit up like a Christmas tree if he comes home to the smell of your bakings. It disgusts you how much he loves your docile mask, how you are his perfect housewife, his Mrs. Fitzgerald. This bastard do take pleasure in others pain.

Still, you must keep your “husband” happy. Humming your favourite melody in a pink apron, you try to imagine you are just doing this for only your own amusement, in your own house to make this more bearable.

Baking is one of the many hobbies you picked up after becoming Lady Fitzgerald. You could not work, neither as an assassin nor a secretary, as he is concerned about your “safety”: “Why should my lovely wife trouble herself with those headaches? You should spend your day doing whatever interests you, like painting or knitting! Tell me anytime if you need tutors.” Then Francis gave your head a few pats as if you are some cute puppy? You can never count how many screws he got loose.

What interests you? Well, stabbing Francis in his sleep could hardly count as a suitable hobby. Guess you’ll have to think of other ways to utilize those kitchen knives. Since he forbids you to train with weapons, you are stuck with those pathetic feminine leisure activities.

Placing the tray onto the preheated oven rack, you were cleaning up the mess from the process when two strong arms abruptly wrapped around your waist from behind. You knew exactly who it is since you had sensed his presence when he first set a foot into this ridiculously large kitchen. You also had to take deep breaths, reminding yourself why you shouldn’t just aim your fists at Francis’s nose then and there. These past few months with him had raised your resilience to an incredible level, you could tolerate his demanding physical affections without the urge to jump off a cliff now.

Curling your lips upwards, you push yourself to leave a light peck on the tall blonde man’s left cheek. That is mandatory, you had learned that on the first day here. “You’re home early.” The way you say those words is so sweet, even sweeter than those sugary treats in the oven. Even though you have to be careful, not letting the venom underneath slip out.

This is what Francis S. Fitzgerald longs to come home to, the love of his life after a day of gruelling meetings and other work. Once a renowned assassin, a second-in-command Knight in a Prestigious Royal Order, but now you are just his little housewife. He could never find a shinier trophy to demonstrate his power and influence. The haughty Blonde knows you have not entirely given up on the idea of escaping, still holding a grudge towards him, time will tell whether you accept your place or not. But that does not matter now, right now the Guild leader just wants to watch some brainless tv show on the sofa, with you on his lap to unwind, some Bordeaux would be nice too. He could handle all those business meetings if that means holding you to sleep every night. The sight of your smile makes it all worth it.

You belong to him now, his most prized possession, the crown jewel of Francis Fitzgerald’s collection.

And you have no say in the matter as long as you wish to stay in the land of the living.

It was only a sunny smile, and little it cost in the giving,

But like morning light it scattered the night and made the day worth living.

-F.Scott Fitzgerald

(Hey! Thank you for reading! Commetns and reblogs would be greately appreciated!)

#bsd #bsd francis fitzgerald #yandere bsd #yandere francis fizgerald #the guild bsd #bsd the guild #bsd fanfic #yancore #yandere x you

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bubonickitten · 4 years

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Relistening to TMA yet again (new hyperfixation, what can I say), and I can’t emphasize enough how much these early episodes kill me.

Because for a long time, Jon doesn’t realize what he’s becoming. And yeah, that’s obvious -- but it’s even more heartbreaking on a relisten, because he senses that something is off, but from his perspective the changes are so incremental that he doesn’t realize how much he’s changing until he’s in too deep.

He finds himself getting attached to this tape recorder (even when he initially hated it), but tries not to think too hard about that. He’s becoming obsessed with recording everything, and tells himself that he’s doing it for posterity’s sake. Jon is adept at using outward denial to hide his inner, nonstop, overthinking doubt. (Eventually it escalates to full-blown paranoid information gathering, which I think is where the Eye’s influence really starts to show, but more on that later.)

At first, it’s a safe half-lie (or at least not full-truth) to tell himself. He’s an academic, a researcher. He no doubt has a deep appreciation for the preservation of history, for the documentation of human experience -- that part is probably true. It’s how he makes sense of the world (and that started when he was a child, when the main way he interacted with the world was through books). And let’s be honest, the man is a nerd, and (I say this lovingly and with a tendency to infodump myself) he was probably prone to infodumping long before he became the Archivist. (Giving a Wikipedia summary of emulsifiers at a coworker’s birthday party, anyone?)

But beneath all that, Jon is just... scared. And Jonathan Sims comes to fear a lot of things, but one of his first fears was being forgotten. So it’s no wonder he takes so well to the compulsion to record, document, archive.

Makes sense; he was, by his own admission, emotionally neglected as a child. And sometimes harassed. He chalked it up to being “a deeply annoying child,” which -- oof, no wonder he acts like an ass sometimes. Even if he was adept at social interaction (which he’s not), keeping people at arm’s length can feel a lot safer than letting them close and risking rejection when they decide you’re too much to handle.

Point is, being ignored or ostracized was already painful, but it became his normal. Being forgotten, though, would be a existentially terrifying step beyond that.

All of this is put into even starker relief after “A Guest For Mr. Spider.” At 8 years old he witnessed someone get snatched from the world without a trace – someone ten years his senior, who died because he made the choice to torment Jon and just did so at the exact wrong moment (or perhaps right? Maybe the Web decided that early that Jon was more useful alive). But despite the fact that it was his bully, Jon has survivor’s guilt over it. He feels responsible. He admits that it’s illogical for him to think he could have done anything differently—he was eight—but he still comes out of that experience with the fundamental belief that being forgotten would be a unique kind of punishment that he believes even his bully didn’t deserve.

It’s such a raw, vulnerable moment when he finally admits it out loud: “Because I’m scared, Martin!” All that denial was external, and so fragile that it took one panicked moment for him to drop the veneer. But internally? Jokes about his obliviousness aside -- and, yes, in a lot of ways, Jon is that smart dumbass -- he’s got some self-awareness. He’s put two and two together, realized that the “real” statements don’t record digitally. He’s seen the artifact storage. He’s had a Leitner-based trauma, like so many statement givers. He’s just scared and he Does. Not. Want. To. Talk. About. It.

He tries to hide it early on behind a cold, stoic academic demeanor, but that… doesn’t last long, and once that veneer drops, he absolutely spirals into open paranoia and fear. And going forward, he really doesn’t hide his terror much. When he’s threatened, we hear him beg for his life. Even when he thinks the world might be better off without him, he still doesn’t want to die. He’s afraid of death, and after S1, he doesn’t try to pretend otherwise. (I really appreciate a horror protagonist who shows fear even when they’re trying to be brave.)

So, by the end of S1, we get to see him start to admit that his new obsessive behavior is not just a detached academic interest, or his workaholic urge to do his job well. It’s because he’s scared. But beyond that, through S2 and into S3, he starts to admit that beneath that, there’s something else going on. His rapidly escalating paranoia spiral is due to trauma, as well as the realization that Gertrude was murdered, as well as the general sense of uneasiness and distrusts that permeates the Institute (the Eye loves that shit), but also, honestly?? I think this is where the Eye starts to really get a grip on him. The Ceaseless Watcher, the fear of, in Gerry’s words, “needing to know, even if your discoveries might destroy you. The feeling that something, somewhere, is letting you suffer, just so it can watch.”

Beyond the tape recorder obsession, Jon doesn’t seem to notice early on that when he reads statements, it’s almost like he’s in a trance. (I think one of the first episodes where he starts to notice this is actually in MAG 32, when he’s reading Jane Prentiss’ statement. His introduction to the statement is shaky, stilted, like he’s dreading it; when he’s reading Jane Prentiss’ words, it’s like he’s channeling her tone and delivery in a far more extreme way than he has before; and when he’s done, he’s clearly unsettled by the experience.)

(Another thing that stands out to me on a relisten is his tone shift when talking to Elias in MAG 40 -- he has an almost dreamy, trancelike delivery of the line: “Tens of thousands of... things without mouths screaming as one.” Like he’s reliving a flashback, yes, but there’s something else in his delivery of that line that continues to show up in his later spooky-Archivist-powers moments. And Elias pauses, and I can only imagine him thinking in that moment, all smug and conniving, Good. Jon is starting to become The Archivist.)

And, of course, Jon also doesn’t notice when he starts being able to compel statements--which is kind of funny, because my first thought when listening to early statements was, “How are all these statements so detailed and coherent? Did all these statement givers take creative writing classes or something?” But Jon doesn’t really seem to question that at first. It becomes more clear when the archive assistants try to take statements -- the statement givers can’t stay on topic, can’t remember details, can’t relive the moment in the same way they can if they’re forced to through compulsion. Adelard Dekker mentions that in one of his letters to Gertrude, too. It’s also sad, though, because he kept getting accused of forcing people to answer questions when he didn’t realize he was doing it (e.g. his interviews with Basira, Daisy, and Jude).

It’s just... such a gradual downward spiral. And yeah, there’s something tragic about that--and it isn’t going to end well; this is a horror-tragedy story after all--but one of the things I like about Jon is that he works so, so hard to change and become a better person in spite of what the Beholding is trying to turn him into.

I’m getting way off-topic. Basically, Jonny Sims is... very good at character development, and it’s fun to relisten and start to pick out the moments when things start to go wrong, the little details that maybe didn’t stand out so much on my first listen. Admittedly I, much like Jon Sims, have my own little conspiracy corkboard flavor of overthinking, so some of this might just be me reading too far into it. But still, I like all the layers going on here.

#tma meta #the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #jon sims #tma spoilers #long post #also. in s2. jonathan sims has never had a paranoid episode before and IT SHOWS. he is Not Prepared #don't get me started on neurodivergent jon sims but like. dang. that paranoia spiral #big relatable mood

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pikaflute · 3 years

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hi, sudafed cleared my sinuses long enough to think so here’s a giant post about most of my charles headcanons

Playlist

OH btw here’s my 4 hour and 23 minute playlist for Charles. Enjoy. Yes I know I’m insane: https://open.spotify.com/user/pikaflute24/playlist/4DBxaaxbqsmJt9Fvl8AgwZ?si=OcXlYCdFRzOhuKa4p_HdUQ

General Headcanons

He was born November 24 1965. He’s currently 56, but I usually write him in his late 40s in most fanfic and content I make. So there’s this middle aged man....

He has hazel eyes. Sometimes they look green, sometimes brown. Sometimes they’ll be white but that’s when he’s using his magic so mind your business

Gear brand over his heart >:)c

:) i think he has piercings and tattoos, a skull (dead man teehee) on his upper arm, a tattoo of a date (the date pickles and him first met TEEHEE) on his left arm also has a tattoo on his arm of the day he “died” on his right. had his ears pierced when he was a teen.

Has a sweet tooth so hard. Smuggles in treats into the drawers of his desk just to snack on during the day and has a mini fridge just filled with ice cream and also sorts of other goodies. He loves brownies and cookies the most

Likes to work out and keep himself in shape. it takes his mind off of stressful things like work and the boys, and just take his morning practice sparring and doing various exercises in the mordhaus gym.

he’s uh also very flexible so he does yoga a lot when he exercises. don’t. look too deep into that

cannot cook to save his life. he almost burned mordhaus down trying to make himself a sandwich

he can play guitar! he used to play it more often when he was younger but he rarely has the time to play it nowadays. when he does get to play it, it’s usually in private (and mainly songs by dethklok), or it’s to show off to a certain lead guitarist that yes he is playing that solo wrong

he’s ambidextrous but prefers using his right hand. he’ll use his left hand to spar in order to go easy on his opponents because hes a smug cunt

he’s 5′7 but intimidation factor adds a couple inches doesn’t it

has a scorpion named princess as a pet. he lets her sit on his desk sometimes and it scares the shit out of dethklok which makes charles laugh on the inside

hes also a cat person. one time toki brought a cat home and it settled on charles’ lap and he almost cried

loves to be a smug asshole and relishes in it. will not take shit from anyone, especially from some asshole who is trying to pull one over on him

he has no idea how social media works at all. will print memes out to show to dethklok, he’s very fond of cat memes specifically (i can has cheeseburger type beat)

he has no idea what any internet memes means he isn’t going to start learning. he is going to misuse internet phrases. are you boys, ah, finding the imposter? [cue five groans from dethklok]

knows a lot of languages. not a comprehensive list but: french, swedish, norwegian, spanish, italian, japanese, chinese, german, russian and korean

is very competitive. scarily competitive. once he starts losing in smash or mario kart all hell will break lose

very bad at showing emotions or affection, when he gets compliments he gets all red and quiet and mumbles a thank you.

weird about being touched as well and will usually avoid it unless it’s with someone he trusts

speaking of, his love language is acts of service :)c

hates being called charlie or chuck, unless the right person calls him it ;)

he’s autistic. was nonverbal for most of his life and only talked to certain people, or anyone at all. he stims with his hands and uses his pens to fidget.

has a collection of novelty socks. he likes the ones that have polka dots or stripes

sleeps with a garfield plushie he had since he was younger. it helps him with the nightmares

when any of the boys need help sleeping (usually toki or pickles), he’ll sleep with them in his bed. after dying he had trouble sleeping some nights, so dethklok returned the favor and all piled up in his bed and helped him sleep. he didnt have nightmares after that night

hes nearsighted, and prefers to wear glasses over contacts

lactose intolerant, hes still eating mac n cheese and paying the price

metalhead but pretends to not be just to mess with his boys

crippling addiction to match 3 games. also loves to play minecraft.

overly self sacrificial. puts ones he love needs before his own, results in himself being very isolated and distant from those he cares about because he’s afraid of hurting them

his favorite colors are black and purple

coffee kinda guy. black coffee or bust

has a lot of cute novelty mugs to put his coffee in. he ones from places where dethklok tours, dethklok official ones (the only two that aren’t adorned with spikes), some cat themed ones, a couple that have ties and math references, and one from his boys that says “most brutal manager”. he drinks out of that last one the most

he has a couple of grey hairs and wrinkles, but he keeps them because they remind him that he’s human. also pickles said old men were hot but you didnt hear that from me

likes to play chess but he can never find a good opponent. all the klokateers are too scared if they win and dethklok is too distracted to ever play with him or they end up losing to quickly if charles plays against them

really wants kids. he babies his sister’s sons and daughters a TON (uncle charles always brings the best gifts :) ) and also treats toki like his own son in a way. toki doesnt mind, he really appreciates the love

speaking of, toki does call charles dad once and it makes charles cry for like. a week and a half

his favorite dethklok song is the gears :)

he likes to collect knives as a side hobby, his favorite of his collection is a sleek black one with skulls on the handle

he has a motorcycle and likes to drive it around sometimes to just be alone with himself. it’s all black with a red gear on it

lightweight but only if he drinks the amount dethklok drinks. can hold his alcohol fairly well if he drinks like a sensible human, prefers brandy and wine

he can smoke cigars to be sexy for me and me ONLY

likes to read in his spare time. he likes mystery novels and science fiction

he has soft spot for cheesy sitcoms, they’re his guilty pleasure

his favorite youtuber is lockpickinglawyer. yours should be too

usually sleeps in only his boxers but will wear a shirt if its’s cold. he tends to sleep on his side (also wants to be the little spoon when cuddled but he will never admit that)

takes vacations sometimes away from the boys despite his worry that something will go wrong (it will!). many of his vacations are usually going to visit his family and going to the shore with them, or travelling to somewhere new for a change (cue charles being a yakuza substory on his one vacation per year)

he can sew pretty well. learned from his mom and used to sew the whole his sister use to put through her soccer uniform.

can also do makeup, and usually does it for one of the boys of there’s no one else around to help

bites his lip when he’s nervous. which is a lot

likes chococat and gudetama. he’s a man of tastes

laughs really loud if you catch him off guard. he snorts sometimes too. he’s embarrassed by it, but i think its’ cute

loves law and order obviously

he likes men

has a lot of pent up rage. very good at compressing it. sometimes

as high priest, he stays up very late trying to decipher the ancient prophecies that dethklok needed to fulfill. he doesnt sleep very much when he starts out because he misses home, so the band makes him come back (or else)

also as high priest he becomes more intune with magic granted to him after he died and he mainly uses his magic to protect his boys when they go back to being a band. also to fuck with them

the band he managed before dethklok was a band named savior who said they were a metal band with a unique sound, but that unique sound was actually just being a christian metal band that were bad at playing music. they also treated charles like shit and blamed him for them doing so poorly with sales and shows. had an unfortunate “accident” with a tour bus after charles had enough of their attitude towards him. he denies he had anything to do with it (he did.)

Family/Childhood

He’s the baby of the family. Spoiled rotten to the max. He doesn’t admit it though but whenever he comes home you know he abuses the “:)c im the favorite” card

He has 4 older sisters: Caroline who is a high school civics teacher, Cynthia who is a librarian, Callie who is a coach for a soccer team, and Charlotte who is a lawyer/manager who manages Ladyklok, which gets awkward (and funny) when Abigail starts dating the lead singer Natalie

charles is actually one of the tallest in his family. his dad is 6’1 and his older sister Callie is 5’11. cynthia is 5’6, caroline is 5’6, and his mom and charlotte are 5’5.

his mom is a doctor and his dad is an accountant. his mom’s name is giovanna and his dad’s name is elijah

caroline is the oldest sister, followed by cynthia, callie, charlotte then charles.

Charlotte and Charles are sworn enemies since they were born on the same day a year apart and basically have the same job. They do love each other though

His father calls him Charles. Caroline and Cynthia call him Charlie. Callie calls him Chuck. Charlotte calls him Charles (derogatory). His mom calls him a whole slew of nicknames that she made up when he was young (she calls him cheese ball and he turns red)

caroline has a wife (lauren who is a chef) and two kids (evan and shelby)

cynthia is dating a coworker (viola)

callie has a husband (john who is a stay at home dad) and they have three kids (brenda, melissa, and jeff)

charlotte is dating ladyklok (and abigail). this is a weird flex on charles i think.

He had a race car bed when he was like 5

He also was also one of those kids at family game night. He almost killed Cynthia over a game of monopoly

Always got to lick the spoon first after his mom baked brownies

He grew up in North Jersey (derogatory) (also yes im projecting state shot)

He’s also Italian (derogatory)

He got bullied in middle school for a little bit but once his older sisters found out, oh boy did all hell break loose

Was in band in high school. He played flute (DONT TALK TO ME I LIKE PROJECTING), he was of course a soloist and incredibly smug about it

Took gymnastics as a kid. Can do a backflip on command. Also very flexible.

First manager gig was helping his sisters sell girl scout cookies. They raked in a lot of profits when baby bro was behind the scenes. His cut was eating thin mints for free

Loved Star Trek when he was a kid

Was incredibly gifted, and taught himself to read at a young age. didn’t talk that much though

was always sick when he was little. he would always get sinus infections and colds if someone even sneezed weird

was in mock trial in high school. one guy on his team was a jerk to him so charles made it a point to be this poor kid’s nemesis

was on the student council, treasurer of course.

was also in nhs, and he was treasurer there too

was that kid who insisted on doing the group project by himself because he didn’t want to wait on anyone to finish their part

was super rowdy as a kid, always got into trouble but his mom was a little lenient of punishment (hes a mommas boy)

when he was like super young he bit people cause he was just a little monster (charles' sisters: mom charles is biting again. charles, biting one of them: im not :/ sheesh)

wanted to be a lawyer since he was 7

put his own siblings and parents on trial and would win every trial and would always get the last cookie or a higher allowance

he shared his room with his sister Charlotte and they would set up a pillow fort on one of the beds and stay up late reading together

loved going to the beach as a kid, his mom still has his collection of shells from the beach

on the boardwalk, he would dominate at claw machines anad carnival games. he won a bunch of plushies from himself (and his sisters obviously)

his dad and him have a super close bond. they watched star trek together and also like to watch how the stock market would do. his dad was also sometimes the judge in charles’ mock trials at home

they were very supportive when he came out as gay, he was also the first of his sibilings to come out of the closet

College

Got his masters in business management at rutgers and a JD (law degree) from seton hall law.

Started college when he was 18 (1983) and ended college when he was 26 (1991)

Wasn’t a party guy. Never got invited to many, but he never went unless a certain redhead was in town

Sustained himself off of ramen, coffee, and SSRIs to get his masters (hey man i feel ya)

Did weed like three times. Three of those times were because of, you guessed it, a certain redhead

Speaking of, his first time having sex was in his dorm with Pickles. Pickles also kicked him off of the bed (those beds are fucking tiny) while they slept, and almost burned Charles’ dorm down trying to make toast the next morning

Absolute did not do essays until the night before. Bad habit that made it’s way into Dethklok managing when he’s forced to write a legal brief before 12 am.

Loved calculus 2 for some reason. Nerd

Had a mullet. Pickles thought it was hot (still is) while Charles would rather die than remember anything about that horrid hairdo

Also went through his goth/emo phase while in Law School. He stuck out amongst the sea of sweater vests and polo shirts

Was in a band with his fellow college bandmates. The band was called Habeas Corpses and he was the lead singer who also played guitar. Their sound was kind of similar to TWRP’s first two EPs (The Device and 2nite). they had a grunge aesthetic, and yes charles dyed his mullet black (with a purple streak), for the band.

his bandmates were all fellow law students. dillan was on drums, margaret was their bass guitar, and nick was their keyboardist. all three of them also got tutored by charles while in law school. they are still best friends and write to each other sometimes

Was on the debate team, but uh kicked off due to be very competitive (he threatened to punch the opposing debater)

Was also in the chess club, also kicked off for being too competitive (lunged at a kid for cheating)

After being kicked from the two previous clubs, he joined fencing, his very competitive nature made him the best in the state

nick (the guy in charles’ band) was charles’ roommate the whole time they were in college. they may or may not have had a brief relationship before they realized they would be better as friends

nick also has a nes and charles loved to played zelda and wrote an entire guide for himself because he’s was that into the game (nerd)

occasionally would be found sleeping in the library on campus

wanted to be an RA but the resident association at his schools thought he was a little much. charles took this as a compliment

worked out a lot between studying and classes. a lot of jocks underestimated him because of his size but charles was just :) [casually lifts something heavy]

a lot of fellow classmates thought he was super cool cause of the leather he wore, and how cool and quiet he was, too bad they didnt know he was a huge nerd

tried skateboarding. once.

had a cadillac that barely started and drove like a piece of shit but that was charles’ baby

pickles tried to have sex with charles in said car btw, charles almost killed him for even daring to suggest to tarnish his beautiful baby

has damaged his back permanently because of all the books he used to carry around in his crappy back pack

did some modelling for one of his friends in college. he was very attractive and got some other modelling job through it. he tries to hide that from the boys in the future because he thinks it’s embarrassing

Relationship with Dethklok

Pickles - he’s known the drummer the longest out of any other member, and if you couldn’t tell by now, he had a brief relationship with the drummer back in the 80s (and maybe also still has a crush on him :)). charles respects and admires pickles’ talent as a musician and sometimes they play together when they have time alone. he tries to be there when pickles has a relapse in either emotions with his family or something else, but still tries to maintain a distance because he thinks that pickles doesn’t feel the same as he did in the 80s. (he does btw). nothing could break the bond these two share. not even death

Nathan - understands nathan’s quiet nature (nonverbal kings!) and strive for perfection in everything dethklok creates because he is the same way. their similarities allow them to connect on a level that allows nathan to open up about his feelings that he likes to lock away. nathan also gets charles to open his feelings up and actually care for himself for once in his damn life. charles also helps nathan with the depression he develops after charles dies and how to deal with it despite it being not brutal. nathan wants to give back and he does by becoming one of charles’ closest friends (and maybe even lovers hehehe)

Toki - charles has taken it upon himself to be toki’s father figure after seeing the way toki’s family has left him for essentially dead. ever since toki joined the band, charles has made it a point to be there for him whenever he needed it. even if it meant spending late nights reading to toki or sleeping over in toki’s room to help him sleep, he’ll do it. he blames himself for toki’s disappearance but toki assures him that he did the best he could. toki calls him dad a lot after doomstar. it makes charles cry.

Skwisgaar - unstoppable asshole meets immovable object. skwisgaar sees himself above everyone else like he does with the other dethklok members but with charles, skwisgaar knows that charles isn’t intimidated by him nor will he bow to the guitar god in anyway. this develops a game of cat and mouse between the two, with skwisgaar trying to no subtly push charles’ buttons and to see what makes him ticks, while charles resist him at every turn with a smug ‘:) is that all you got’ and it delights him to finally see the guitarist squirm under pressure.

Murderface - at first the two are very. distant to say the least. murderface used to see charles as unemotional robot and charles was fine with that and accepted the distance. overtime however, and especially after charles died, murderface warmed up to charles confiding in him things he hasn’t told the band, mainly things about his insecurities because charles is ‘fucking smart with crap like this’. and charles helps him and is happy to see him work out his problems and not bottle them anymore like the rest of his bandmates. charles also enjoys murderface’s company as a friend as well. and….he’s gonna help murderface the most with the whole traitor stuff too.

Abigail - mlm and wlw hostility. but seriously they’re good buds. he sympathizes with having to deal the moronic actions of dethklok on a daily basis and also thinks she’s really intelligent and overall fun to hang out with. they take lunch breaks frequently together and like to make fun of people at dethklok dinners together as a fun activity together. abigail will bully his ass once she finds out she’s dating charles’ sister and WILL bring up those baby pictures to get a higher raise thank you very much

Knubbler - can you say coworker besties! like abigail, he gets along because they both have to deal with dethklok being, well dethklok, but with knubbler, charles can relax a little more. the two cause problems on purpose just because they can. the two are also close friends and knubbler tries to get charles to relax for once in his life, and despite charles protests and objections, he sometimes caves and hands out with his friend (maybe boyfriend OOOOO who knows)

Sex Headcanons (IM SORRY)

um maybe he can have a giant dick (10 inches for me), it do be swinging though

daddy kink (everyone stay on this side, ill take care of him….come to daddy ;)c)

likes to do roleplay. he has a lot of costumes prepared for when his partner wants to do a scene with him

likes to bite and be bitten during sex. after a very long night, he’ll be covered in bite marks, it’s kinda hot

no gag reflex ;) he likes to deepthroat but good luck trying to get him to go down on you without him teasing

remember how i said he was flexible like eight times? yeah he uh, uses that a lot to his advantage. likes being fucked in weird positions because of it

the suit stays on during sex

he likes topping because he likes to be in control of everything he does all the time, but really wants to be told what to do sometimes and will let those he trusts do that for him

he has a dick piercing i know it

he's a very busy man, so he relies on his huge collection of toys he keeps in his bedroom and office

really good with his hands. as soon as those hands are on you, its game over

he loves to do it on his desk, makes him feel powerful. when he gets blown under his desk, it really takes all of his willpower to not cum immediately

really sensitive in weird places, specifically his ears

he likes to cuddle after sex, hes the little spoon :)

likes to be tied up, sometimes he’ll get tied up under his suit

mating press and riding are his favorite positions, giving and receiving

size queen, likes large toys and well ;)

has a private room that he sometimes goes to relieve stress, it has a fucking machine that he likes to use often when his job gets too stressful

he’s sucking people off at the klokateer glory hole, he’s uh, very good at what he does

likes to be spanked and like to spank

uses collars and leashes

maybe the klokateers can fuck him, if they’re good ;)

freeballing

likes cum on his face but doesn't seem to realize that means he’ll get cum on his glasses and will need to clean them

he can wear a chastity belt :) for me

likes being came in but will still complain about being gross after

pretty much up for anything, he’s not picky, he just wants to be in control and get off

#metalocalypse #charles foster offdensen

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ruinedandnotorious · 3 years

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tumblr, listen.

i have a lot on my mind and i need to get it out and i have too many other people looking at my other social media accounts to say it all there. i should’ve known my old pal tumblr would be there for me.

woo lord, i am frustrated. and anxious. i keep feeling like i’m on the precipice of something. that all of my work and hope and traction is going to lead... somewhere. somehow. sometime. but i don’t know how or with who and certainly not when and i wish the when was yesterday.

i have so many ideas i can’t get off the ground for whatever reason. i’ve tried though! i sent off some applications, submissions and emails this week that will hopefully yield some kind of results. yesterday i was very much in that mindset of, “they can bite you, but they can’t eat you,” so i just went for things.

i’ve put things out into the world, but it never hurts to put them out there more. so, here goes.

i am lucky to have the job that i have. the money sucks, but my boss is super flexible with my time and supportive of my volunteer work. i actually really like every single coworker, which has never happened before, lol.

right now, though, we are only working 30 hours... which is PERFECT for my mental health, but AWFUL for things like rent and bills. i’m making it, but that’s literally it. i need more money, majorly. but man, i enjoyed the hell out of unemployment last year. i want a new job - one that pays well - and one that doesn’t feel like work. i know, that’s everyone’s dream. but i feel like i am so close to getting there but it’s always just out of reach.

my job is fine, truly. it’s easy. it’s cushy - i’m working from home, thank god. BUT staying inside all day is getting to me physically and, unless i have a work meeting or am recording my podcast, i don’t talk to anyone but my cat (and my mom, by phone), so it can really drain my mental health. but i also don’t want to get out too much because, hello, goddamn covid.

this last year has taught me a lot, but it’s also changed how i socialize. i’ve always been introverted but it’s worse now and i’m picky about who/how i socialize. i have this one friend that i’ve known since elementary school. we’ve always been friends, but never super close. we have nothing in common, literally nothing. for a while, that didn’t matter. it was fun to catch up. now, though? the friendship feels like a chore. i hate saying that. but i don’t know that either of us get anything out of it, really. but she keeps trying to reach out and i’ve ignored her every time. i’ve ignored her for MONTHS. she deserves a response. but i also know that any response will just fuel the fire. i hate to be like, can we not? but every time i try to work myself up to respond to her, i just can’t. it’s like my brain is like, no, we’re not saying anything. no. don’t even consider it. i just have this block. i feel so bad saying that. she’s done nothing wrong! but i also know i tiptoe around stuff because, again, we have nothing in common, so it’s not like i can just freely speak my mind about anything. she doesn’t give a shit about anything i’m into an vice versa, so it’s frustrating to just update my life like, “well, i work, that’s it.” because she doesn’t give a damn about anything else i’m doing or am into. UGH. like. why does she want to keep this going? i had someone - like a best friend (not this friend i’m talking about, but one that’s much closer to me) - tell me recently that i am a shitty friend so... this is proof. yay.

anyway. i met someone recently who blew my damn mind. she’s a spiritual advisor/counselor, and we instantly connected about so many things but i also learned so much from her - in just the few hours we talked. i want to do an actual session with her, but her rates are high and i don’t have the money. i’ve thought about asking her if i could trade some social media services for a session - like basically be her social manager for a month - but i also know money is money and she’s worth actual money, not likes/followers on social. i don’t know. i do not want to disrespect her; i know she’s worth every penny.

but she did confirm some things i’ve wondered about in terms of those i’ve lost. she gave me a bit of peace. but i have more questions. like, a whole page of questions, lol.

she also opened my eyes to some healing work i need to do on myself... in a lot of ways, but especially in regards to my last job and how they fucked me over. i have so much anger and hurt from that, a year later. and i even consider what they did to me a blessing - it’s really led to a life that is more in line with what i actually want and value. i’m just angry at how it all went down and how they still act - or don’t - toward me.

the mag i work for let me write about my dad’s passing and the complications of covid grief, so that was great - i had an outlet for that. but how do you go about getting your feelings out about your last employer... who’s a major player in town and who drives tourism for the city.. lol. i’m sure i’ll let it all out here sooner or later.

i jumped back on a dating site, 100% for the distraction, not because i thought i’d actually meet someone. which is probably why i haven’t, lol. like... no one even comes close to what i think i want in a man. i keep hoping someone will show up at the cemetery... yes when i’m covered in graveyard dirt and sweat and looking my worst... i also feel bad that i keep hoping the cemetery will answer all of life’s questions and fix me in all the ways. like. my expectations are too high - of a cemetery! - so i’m sure my expectations for a guy are too high too.

i’m also not ready to meet someone because i am physically just not into a relationship either. i’m my biggest i’ve ever been. i was doing so well at becoming body neutral - just accepting of my body, not so much loving it - but woo lord, i somehow gained like 10 pounds over the last week and i am feeling it, big time. idk how i’ve gained so much when i mostly eat at home? and i don’t think i’m eating THAT bad at home? i never fry anything? i do eat a lot of cheese i guess. i don’t know. gonna go to the doctor soon and i’m sure THAT will be a fun visit. plus, my hands - especially my left hand - has really bad trigger finger (i’m guessing that’s what it is, it meets all of the symptoms on webmd lol) and it hurts so bad. i don’t wanna go back to an ortho.

there are other issues, specifically concerning shark week (i asked my psych doc about it and she made me feel normal, so thank god for her), that i’ve got to get squared away, too. it feels like my body has just ran away from me and i can’t control any part of it.

i’ve read so many good books in the last year, holy shit. lately i’ve been watching movies while i work and holy shit, classic movies are so damn good. claude rains, man.

pose is amazing. blanca is like, the perfect human ever? if ever i run away to start a new life, i’m using the name elektra abundance. i. love. elektra. so. much.

i’m angry at myself because i’ve always wanted to collect mini brands and dammit i finally bought my first ball and... yep. i wanna get ‘em all. they are $7 a ball. i don’t need this stupid, expensive thing to be into.

that’s just it. i wish i had the money for little frivolous things like that. there’s an edgar allan poe tarot deck at my local witchy shop that i am DYING for. i want a new tattoo - not even anything that big or expensive!

i really want a damn vacation. i feel so bad saying that. but i just want out of this area for a second.

SIGH.

generally... life’s alright. i just want it to be better and maybe a little more exciting.

#weight #body issues #life #money #jobs #wtf am i even doing #tv #friendship

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myfavbau · 4 years

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twisted fate (pt.3)

One week

Whenever they showed funerals in movies, it was always raining. Turns out that isn’t how it works in real life. The sun was out that day, and for some reason, that pissed Y/N off even more. It felt like today was a day the whole world should grieve. Today, it was commemorating a fallen soldier.

Everyone there was thinking the same thing - how they knew that dying in the field was a possibility, but they never thought it would actually happen. Not to them, at least.

Alas, here there were, dressed in black, standing in silence as the eulogy’s were read. Y/N had barely had any time to throw one together, and it was her turn before she knew it.

She cleared her throat before beginning to speak.

“Aaron Hotchner…

… was a good man. He was a good person. I had the privilege of working with him, of being his coworker and of being,” she stopped to take a shaky breath.

“-and of being his friend.”

“Aaron Hotchner was the kind of man they write stories about. He was a hero, in every sense of the word. He was a hero every time the world needed him to be one. And he has never let us down. Not once.”

At this point, she was sniffling so as not to cry, and she hoped the others couldn't tell. If they could, they weren’t doing anything to bring attention to it, and for that she was thankful.

After the eulogies, everyone came to drop off their roses. Little Jack was the first to place a single flower. He was too young to understand what had happened, as he sat in the arms of his aunt. One by one, each of the team members went to put their rose. Emily went first, followed by Rossi and Morgan. Penelope had tears streaming down her face when her turn came. Spencer held Y/N in a side hug as the pair approached the casket.

Y/N placed her white rose on the obsidian surface, before Spencer did his. Quietly, she pressed a soft kiss to her fingers before touching it to the sleek case.

Spencer rubbed her arm comfortingly, as the two walked away, hearts full of grief.

One Month

“You wanted to see me, Emily?” Y/N shut the door behind her as she entered Emily’s office. The Unit Chief invited her to sit down, and so she did.

“Yeah, I just wanted to check-in, see how you were doing,” Emily said to her. But what she was really doing was profiling her. It was Emily’s job to make sure each agent was capable in the field - both physically and mentally.

This concern did not go unnoticed by Y/N.

“Emily, I appreciate the concern. Really, I do. But I’m fine,” the agent assured her. It had been a full two weeks since she had resumed coming to work, and things were slowly starting to look normal. Y/N wasn’t really any less sad, but she had decided that staying at home wasn’t good for her. The not-doing-anything drove her crazy; she had already cleaned her apartment more times than was necessary. Her mind needed something to focus on, something other than the aching feeling in her chest.

She had even invited Spencer over a few times. Sharing her feeling with someone wasn’t something that came easy to Y/N, but she found it was comforting to know that there was someone there with her, even if the two of them were just sitting in silence.

Emily’s voice brought her back to the present.

“I know, I know. And you’re doing good. Strauss just wanted to check on the team individually, and I felt like you guys would rather have me do it. It’s my job to make sure I’m not putting you in any danger.”

“Yeah, I understand. I just want to be able to do my job.”

“And I know that you can. Y/N, you are one of the best agents in this field. But that does not mean that you cannot have weaknesses. We’re here for you.” Emily told her, looking in her eyes. She knew Y/N had a habit of keeping her emotions bottled up, but she wanted her to know that she had people she could depend on.

“Thanks, Emily,” Y/N said with a small smile. Prentiss nodded signaling that there was nothing else that needed to be discussed. Y/N got up and made her way to her desk, a determination in the back of her mind. She was going to find the man responsible for killing Hotch and she was going to take him down, no matter what it took.

Four Months

JJ rounded up everyone from the bullpen and called them into the conference room. Everyone took their respective seats, but they were confused. That was when Penelope pulled up two images onto the screen.

First, was a mugshot Y/N had become all too familiar with. It was the face of Ben Abner, also known as the Bombmaker. He was the monster responsible for the bomb that was under the SUV that day. He was the reason Hotch was gone.

She could feel her blood start to boil at the sight. She had been searching for a trail on this guy for months now but came up with nothing. Even the materials he used for his bombs could be traced; he was everywhere at once or nowhere at all.

The next image that came up shocked everyone. It was a picture of the Bombmaker, his body burned and badly scarred.

“What happened?” Rossi asked.

Emily finally spoke up. “This morning Saratoga Police found the body of a man who has positively been identified as Ben Abner, also known as the Bombmaker.”

“But… how?” Morgan inquired.

Y/N felt sick. She felt like she was going to throw up.

“Their forensics team found him in one of his safehouses. Apparently, he made a mistake when creating his most recent explosive.”

“So his greatest weapon is what ended up causing his demise.” Somone added, but Y/N could focus on who. She shot up from her chair and left the conference room. It felt like she was running out of oxygen, and her lungs were burning.

Somewhere in the distance, Spencer was calling after her.

“Y/N, are you okay? Hey, hey, look at me.” He placed his hands on his shoulders to steady her.

“I-I can’t.” She choked out.

Spencer did some deep breathing with her before allowing her to stand on her own. She was still flustered, but the peak of her panic was over.

“I wanted it to be me. After everything that bastard did, I wanted to be the one to take him out. I searched for him for months - and nothing. And now he gets to die a quick death? It isn’t fair,” she spoke. Spencer could almost physically see the hurt in her words. He hated the man as much as the rest of the team, but he hated him a little extra from everything he had taken from Y/N, Spencer thought. He deserved to pay.

Spencer simply wrapped his arm around Y/N’s figure, allowing her to rest her head against his chest. The two stood, as their silence was enough to communicate what they could not.

Five months

“Morning Derek,” Y/N greeted as she entered the bullpen that morning.

Morgan spun around in his chair, almost in disbelief. This was the first time in months he had heard Y/N greeting him like that; he felt an immense sense of pride as he thought about how far she’d come. They’d seen some rough days these past few weeks, but it made him happy to know that she was finally starting to become her old self again.

“Good morning beautiful,” he replied, as he shot her a friendly smile.

The two walked over to the small kitchenette, chatting about their weekends as they went to make themselves some coffee. They laughed as they heard Spencer join the conversation with information on a book he’d read yesterday.

Things were finally beginning to look okay again.

Six Months

“Everybody, have a seat.”

“Why, what’s going on?” Penelope asked nervously.

“Everything alright?” JJ added.

Everyone looked to Emily for answers. She stood by the evidence board, her face unreadable.

“Six months ago, I made a decision that affected this team,” Emily started.

“As you all know, Hotch had lost a lot of blood after he was injured by that car bomb.”

The room was silent as they waited for her to continue.

“But the doctors were able to stabilize him and he was airlifted from New York to Bethesda under covert exfiltration. His identity was strictly need-to-know. And he stayed there until he was well enough to travel.”

Y/N felt like time had come to a stop. This couldn’t be happening.

“He was reassigned to Agra where he was given several identities, none of which we had access to, for his security.”

Garcia spoke up. “He’s alive?”

“But we buried him,” Morgan said, his face a mix of confusion and hurt.

“As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision. If anyone has any issues, they should be directed toward me,” Emily repeated.

“Any issues?!” Morgan asked incredulously. “Yeah, I got issues.”

The sound of footsteps could be heard as everyone turned their attention to the figure at the door. A familiar face showed itself, as Aaron Hotchner stood at the front of the room.

Penelope gasped.“Oh, my God.”

#cm #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner one shot #hotch #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #penelope garcia #spencer reid #derek morgan #david rossi #jennifer jareau #y/n #twisted fate #hehe im evil like that

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antique-teacups · 4 years

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sunshine in L.A.

A/N: kind of an original character piece but also not entirely. i just was having a great time writing! hope you folks enjoy!

word count: 3k

There was something about her twenties that never felt quite right, worn like a sweater a size to large. She watched as her friends floated from relationships and friendships seamlessly, while she felt caught. In what exactly, she wasn’t sure. Part of her hoped with time that feeling would fade, become background static instead of pumping along with her heartbeat. Going with the current, she did exactly what was expected of her. Attended college, albeit a community college, but college none the less. Part time work covered what financial aid wouldn’t, even scraping enough together to buy a beater car.

Time drifted on and the feeling stayed, haunting and hollow. Avoiding the problem didn’t lessen its size but it never grew. In the back of her mind constantly. Social media was the worst part, watching her friends flourish and flower, while it took everything in her to remain sane and present. Two years flew by in the blink of an eye and she were left with a tiny degree she was not sure she really wanted. When the opportunity did present itself, she knew it was one she could not possibly pass up.

She knew that even in L.A these demons could surface but maybe the constant sun could choke them out. Packing her meager belongings into the back of her car, she pointed it in the direction of L.A. Whether she actually ended up in the sunshine state wasn’t the point, but rather, it was to get out. Stop the cycle before it became the only focal point of her life. It took longer than it should’ve, she passed the days slowly. Each spent behind the wheel simply heading west.

L.A. was a zoo. She worked your way through the city with fascination and hopefulness. She was certain of one thing and uncertain of many. She hoped to write but was willing to do just about anything to make money. Well, just about anything, she still harbored some self-respect.

L.A. had of a way of worming its way into your heart, no matter how shitty people made it seem. Each self-respecting L.A citizen hated the city as much as they loved it. She found a decent studio apartment, managed to get a job as a barista quickly, and spent the first month slinging caffeine in the daytime and writing into the wee hours of the morning. Cash was always tight, considering she did live in one of the most expensive cities, but there was semblance of happiness. It was clawing it’s way in on the edges of her life.

The customers were not particularly strange, at least not always. There were a couple of memorable moments, but most days passed by in monotony. She knew customers by their orders, not names. These small moments between the register and picking up their coffee offered she a small window into their world. These hints they dropped left her wondering about their lives outside their order and these four walls. Who were these people who flocked to the shop like cattle to slaughter?

She certainly played favorites, every barista did, with both customers and coworkers. There were those who made the days a little brighter. The first was her coworker James. Somewhere in his twenties like her but an old soul. He came to work in sweaters, cooper rimmed circular glasses, and disheveled hair on the daily. He was welcoming and warm and chased away some of the darkness.

The two of them became instant friends. He would wait after work to hang out, get drinks on the weekend, and spend Sunday brunch complaining about his hangover. At first, she was confronted with the concern that maybe he was worming into her life in hopes of it ending in a relationship, but as soon as she met his boyfriend Scott, that fear was put to rest. In a way, she chose the two of them as family. She spent countless hours with them, at ease with the way things were.

In James, she confided most of her fears and a lot of her guilt. The backstory of her life surprising him but explaining the front she put up. Tragedy often bores the strongest soldiers. In the year she had been in L.A, James helped her pick up the pieces and put herself together, an unrepayable favor. Thanksgiving was right around the corner and she were destined to spend it with James and Scott.

“James, I’m running to the grocery store after work and if you play your cards right there might just be a bottle of Prosecco with your name on it.” she joked over the espresso machine, a sly smile on her lips. James and her always bantered at work, often to the amusement of the customers and other coworkers.

James matches her smile, “Oh honey, you act like I would actually need to play my cards to get it, I’ve got you wrapped around my finger.” He chuckles and turns back to the drawer. The day was getting late, closing time just mere hours away. She was practically counting down the hours till she could curl up on his couch and binge “New Girl”, the new obsession for the two of them.

“I like to pretend it’s the other way around, but I would admit you are right, James. But besides that, anything else?” she asked, hardly looking at him. There was unspoken communication between you two most days, a glance could tell a story. “I was thinking pizza this fine Wednesday night. But I’m certainly open to suggestions.”

“And break the Wednesday night pizza tradition, how absurd!” James feigns hurt, a hand over his heart and concerned expression painting his face. “The table is already set, we can’t go making changes now, silly girl.”

“Then pizza and prosecco it is. Perfect.” She giggled and sent a curt nod in his direction. The entire conversation was an open invitation for him to change the plans, but he never did. Wednesday night was always reserved for the two of them. They devoured pizza and whatever show they were working on. It was sacred to them both.

The rest of the day passed quickly, the sun just barely setting when she and James locked the shop doors. A brief hug and a quick exchange of words and the two of them were off in opposite directions. A pit stop at the grocery store and then to James’ place. He would order the pizza in, as per tradition. Tasked with grabbing the drinks and whatever bits she needed, she would be to his place shortly.

Her car sat tucked in the back lot, warm from sitting in the sun. Cranking the window open once she had climbed inside, turning on the radio, she set off to the grocery store. It was smaller than most that scattered around L.A, which is why it was her favorite. She did not have to fight the yoga obsessed mothers to get through the aisles or hope the hipsters didn’t pick through the all the good stuff before she got a chance to be there. The old man, who she assumed owned it, knew her by name. Often, he would gift products just a day out of date to her. He did save your ass more than once.

“Charles, what’s the good word for today?” She asked, swinging the door open and nabbing a basket.

Smiling, he gushed, “I beat the finalist in Jeopardy today, but I’m here and he’s there,” shrugging he went on, “I put some of those cookies you like in the back, they went out of date yesterday, Dandelion.” Charles had been using the nickname since she had started coming here. She was totally convinced he had to be her guardian angel. When she asked him where it came from, his response surprised her. “Like the weed, you always come back. You are full of fire and strong. I can see it.” She felt partial to this grocery store. She ended up here for a reason.

“Great, I was craving something sweet all day. Remind me, I have got something for you in my bag before I go. Don’t worry, nothing poisonous.” Jokingly she added.

Charles had a love for Jim Harrison. Often when she was browsing at old bookstores or garage sale’s she would stumble across one for him. He probably owned nearly every single book published by Harrison, but always acted thankful and surprised when she presented him with another. She wanted to make sure he knew how much she appreciated him in a way of more than just saying thank you.

She scanned the aisles looking for the familiar packaging of her favorites. She hardly noticed the boy till she had practically run into his back.

“Another one in Charles good graces, a rare species.” He teased.

Chuckling, “That must mean there are people on Charles bad side, which I highly doubt.” He was home strung, as far as she could tell. Clean cut and not looking for a lot of attention, judging by his all black attire. “I’m assuming you’re one of the lucky ones, too.” She implored.

“Thankfully, I have managed to make my way into one of his chosen few. Even without it, I would still come here. This is the only grocery store where I don’t have to cross my fingers and hope all the good stuff isn’t picked over. Charles seems to have a force field to keep this place hidden. Certainly, the best kept secret of L.A.,” he pauses, searching your face, “you work at the coffee shop on Sunset, Eight-Fold Coffee, right?”

“Guiltily is charged, Mr. iced latte with almond milk,” tapping your temple, “steel trap. I only know people’s drinks, not their names, sorry. I was wondering if you looked familiar or if it was just the lighting.”

Extending a hand, cheekily responding, “David. The name’s David Dobrik, or iced latte if you please.” His smile was easy and charming, you couldn’t help but stare. His entire posture oozed ease, you couldn’t quite decide if he was trying to flirt or simply be friendly. Of course, that wonderful friend called self-doubt started to crawl its way into your chest, so it was time to go.

Flashing him what you hoped was a friendly parting smile, “Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N. It was nice finally meeting in more than just an ‘iced latte with almond milk’ kind of way. I’ll see you around. I have promised the roommate a night in and if I don’t come through, the world might stop turning.” Turning on her heel, tossing David a small wave, she headed for the register. All the things she needed forgotten.

She set the single bottle on the counter and wait for Charles to ring it up. Silence elapses, you lost entirely in your own thoughts.

“Dandelion?”

“Huh, what?” she missed what he asked, cheeks flushing at him catching her in dreamland.

“Lots on your mind today?” Charles inquired, a knowing look on his face.

Smiling and rolling her eyes, “I respect the fishing for a morsel of mind but maybe when inquiring minds aren’t near.” she winks. Digging in your bag, she pulls the book for him, Returning to Earth, out. “I found it at a garage sale this weekend and thought you could add to your collection. But this one, is to expand your horizons.” She pulls The Pleasures of the Damned by Charles Bukowski out. “I’ll need it back but keep it as long as you need, I know where to find you. See you around Charles.” She pays and get ready to go, sneaking one last glance in David’s direction. Grabbing onto her bag with the prosecco and cookies tucked in, she heads for the doors. One last look to the aisles and she can see David still tucked amongst them, scouring for something in the sea. A shake of her head and she is out the doors.

Tossing the bag in the passenger seat, she meanders down the streets towards James. A stampede of thoughts about David comes and goes. It was just mutual acknowledgement that the two of them did in fact kind of know each other. Yet, she found herself wondering if she should tell James about him, see if he had any insight on the guy. The thought felt foolish considering it was just a run in at the grocery store, nothing more.

Charles knew more about her then he let on. He knew her heart was kind but had been through a lot, he knew you were loyal and strong, but he knew also knew when her heart would tell you who to let in. David did not need much from that grocery store, mostly some alone time. His inquiring mind also wanted some more information on the barista who stole his breath away. As he left that day, Charles told him something he would carry with him for a while. “People like her, they guard their hearts, but hers is golden. It won’t always be shut.”

Opening the door to James and Scott’s apartment, she could smell the pizza. Her mouth was already watering. James rounded the corner into view between the small kitchen and living.

“I was beginning to wonder if you bailed.” He poked.

“On you, never.” Rolling her eyes.

“I am almost flattered.” He made for the bag in her hand, noticing the cookies right away. “Charles treats you like your one of his own grand kids. One of the people placed on that golden list.”

“About Charles coveted list, I ran into a guy from the coffee shop. David? Iced latte with almond milk, dresses like an unemployed ninja. Do you know anything about him?” She asked trying to keep the hopeful tone from her voice.

James searches her face before continuing. “A sudden interest in a customer, more like prominent interest. I’ve noticed the favorites you play with him.” He flashes you a joking grin. “I don’t know much about him honestly. I’ve heard whisperings from the other baristas that he has some youtube channel, not much else. He seems nice.” Bumping his shoulder with hers, “It wouldn’t hurt if you tried to be friends with him. It’s not a crime to branch out. I would not be insulted if you did. I worry that maybe you don’t because I take up a lot of your time.”

“Certainly not, you take up a perfect amount of my time. I just, remember how hard it is for me to be friends with people, I guess. I am a lifelong hermit. Plus, if he’s doing that whole ‘social media career’, he might not be the kind of friend I want.” Socializing was never her strong suit and if David’s preferred choice was blasting his life across the platforms, maybe she would take a pass.

The two of you vegged out on the couch way past what was a reasonable time, both scheduled to open tomorrow. He was on her mind all night, the little she knew about him had her mind doing circles. He seemed innocent enough, a good guy if Charles liked him.

The sun shown through the windows all morning, bringing a warming light to the coffee shop. All day you hoped he would pop in, yet, it went unanswered. Clocking out, she nabbed her notebook and a mug of coffee, making her way to the bank of windows along the window. She tried to keep her mind from wandering, yet it seemed impossible. Perhaps she scared him off.

“I figured you were a writer. Nobody suggests poetry books, Bukowski especially, unless they are a writer. Or terribly sad, but judging by the notebook, I’d say the first.” David said, standing next to you bathed in the afternoon sun. He looked as though he just woke up but in a delicious way. His hair was messy and his eyes warm. She could not help but bath in the light emanating from him.

A small smile spread on her lips, “You’re a fan?”

“I saw it on Charles counter on my out yesterday. A simple Google Search did the trick. Guy seems kind of dark for you.” A blush plays on David’s cheeks. “I was hoping to run into you today. Listen, me and my friends are going to this party tonight, would you be interested?”

“Uh,” glancing behind the counter you see James shaking his yes vigorous, “sure, why not?” It seemed in David’s presence, the hole in her chest seemed to lessen some.

#david x reader #david dobrik #davids vlogs #david dobrik imagine #david dobrik x reader #vlog squad #vlog sqaud #i mostly write vlog squad

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ibtk · 3 years

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Book Review: THE SEVENTH MANSION by Maryse Meijer

(Full disclosure: I received a free e-ARC for review though Edelweiss. Trigger warning for sexual assault, homophobia, violence against animals, and disturbing sexual content.)

-- 4.5 stars --

There is this person I love. And he’s not even a person.

After Xie's parents split and an environmental disaster sends his already precarious mental health spiraling, Xie and his father Erik relocate from California to an unnamed town in the rural south, in search of the proverbial fresh start.

At first, Xie is your garden-variety teenage outcast: melancholy. goth. vegan. an outsider. friendless. forgettable. Yet he's quickly "adopted" by the only other vegans in the school - girlfriends Jo and Leni, who together make up the entirety of FKK.

The group's animal rights activism slowly evolves from leafleting to direct action: the trio breaks into a local mink farm, freeing as many of its captives as they can. Xie is nabbed during the getaway, and suddenly he goes from "nobody" to "that freak who vandalized the Moore farm". Instead of silence and indifference, Xie is met by hostile sneers, gossip, and relentless bullying. He takes a leave of absence from high school, instead getting one-on-one tutoring at the local library. His parents are forced to pay restitution, and Xie's placed on probation.

Xie's only respite is nature: his burgeoning vegetable garden; the small but pristine forest behind his house; and, eventually, the mysterious light, nestled among the branches, that leads him to a tiny church - and his beloved. St. Pancratius, who was martyred in 304 A.D. and whose remains are on covert display in a one-room church in the middle of nowhere.

He traces the image with his finger. The story the same in every version: A boy on a road, refusing to lift his sword against the lamb, losing his head every time the story is told, again and again and again.

Still, all of this comes with a cost: loving nature, whether animal, vegetable, or mineral, means saying goodbye to it one day. Relationships can be messy, even when they're with clean bones. Sometimes we get so wrapped up in our own shit that we're oblivious to what our loved ones are going through. Maybe your tutor shows up to work one day piss drunk and tells you about her abortion. Or your friends drag you to a backwoods meeting of environmental activists, where one of them sexually assaults you. Or you show up to a mass protest that is even more massive than you anticipated, and find you're unable to protect yourself, let alone the 55 billion+ land animals slaughtered for food every year in the US alone (animalclock.org).

The problem is too big, even when it's one of the smaller ones. The problem is impossible.

While disturbing, Xie's theft of a skeleton is not the worst crime he'll commit in his teen years. As FKK becomes involved with a local animal rights group, and Xie's sanctuary is threatened, he careens toward an inevitable (????) collision with the outside world, which neither understands him - nor cares to. (Fuck capitalism.)

THE SEVENTH MANSION is one weird-ass book; I mean, the main character has sex with a skeleton (!). This is certainly the wildest aspect of the story, but it's not alone. For example, take the narrative structure, which has a kind of stream-of-(Xie's)-consciousness vibe. Many of the sentences are fractured, even forced, as though we're pulling them from the depth's of Xie's tortured soul. His thoughts. Are broken. Up. Like this. Conversely, there are no chapters, and so many of the paragraphs are just huge, unbroken blocks of text - almost as though Meijer is framing Xie in opposition to the larger world around him.*

I suspect that THE SEVENTH MANSION is one of those love it or hate it dealios. Personally, I loved it, even as some parts proved excruciatingly unbearable to read.

I don't know whether Meijer is vegan, but she gets so much right; sometimes it felt like she was rooting around inside my head. I went vegetarian my freshman year of college (1996, not to date myself) and vegan about 9 years later. Reading Xie was like having a mirror held up to my own depressive, anxious, vegan psyche. One thing carnists probably don't realize about walking around this world as a vegan is: it takes a ton of mental work, of suppression and dissociation, just to get through the day.

Animal suffering is omnipresent, and largely accepted. From Carl's Jr. commercials to classroom trips to the zoo; leather car seats to team lunches at non-vegan restaurants, where you'll be forced to watch your coworkers and friends devour the corpse of a once-living creature - someone's mother, brother, or child - we are constantly forced to bear witness to the oppression of animals. Worse, to pretend as though it's of no consequence: just to get along, or because doing otherwise would quickly devour your time, your prospects, your relationships. To say that it's depressing is an understatement.

Whether Xie is living through the oil spill that finally made his world "snap," or gazing into the eyes of caged mink, I was right there with him, trying not to cry. Not to break. There's so much suffering in the world; if you try to take it all in, to truly understand its scope, it will swallow you whole.

Speaking of the oil spill, which was the impetus for Xie to go vegan - Meijer's description of this moment in Xie's life brought back so many memories. When I decided to stop eating meat, I was working at a local grocery store. Every now and again, they had an employee appreciation dinner (in lieu of a raise, natch), which basically consisted of all you can eat burgers and hot dogs in the break room. Everyone would stuff their faces, taking in as many free calories as possible. Not because they were hungry, but to get as much of a leg up on our cheap ass employer as possible. The sheer gluttony and waste of it all is what finally did it for me. No one needed to eat seven hamburgers in one night; we did because we could, because not doing so would be to lose out. The working class eating the chattel, and no one eating the rich.

Point being, that's a singular moment in my life that I'll never forget. It stands out in stark relief, right alongside the deaths of my husband and furkids (six dogs and one cat down and counting). If I close my eyes, I can almost transport myself back there, white starched shirt, demo table, 7PM Friday fatigue, and all.

The last time he ate meat he was twelve years old, after the spill: Xie was Alex then. Even miles from the beach, they could smell something off; at first they thought it was the sandwiches, ham pressed hot in the pockets of Erik’s windbreaker, but the closer they got to the beach the stronger the smell became, noxious, chemical. They parked at their usual spot, yellow tape blocking access to the beach beyond. A black ribbon flat against the horizon; that was the water. No trace of blue. On the rocks below the lot a half dozen pelicans huddled together. Coated from beak to foot in oil. Don’t touch them, his father said. Someone will come wash it off. But there was no one. The black sea lapping the sand. Those bewildered eyes. He watched as one of the birds collapsed, its head twisted sideways against its folded neck. His father pulled him away. The fire on the water burned for two weeks; the beach remained black for a year. Sea turtles, dolphins, whales, gulls, crabs, otters, fish, birds rolled up by the waves in the tens of thousands. Oil on meat on sand. No stopping it. Xie got headaches, bloody noses; he was always tired, couldn’t sleep. His mother standing in the doorway, Stop playing games, you’re fine. But his father was never angry. Scared of what he saw. Xie in the dark. Unable to make it from one room to another. The people who used to go to the beach just went somewhere else. Life as usual. Slumped in the backseat as his father fed gas into the truck he suddenly couldn’t stand it. Stopped standing it. He opened the back door, started walking. Alex, his father called, but he was not Alex anymore. He poured out all the milk in the house and fed the meat to the dogs next door and rode his bike everywhere.

So yeah, our circumstances may be different, but Xie's conversion sure hit me in the feels.

Meijer also does an excellent job capturing the heartbreak and urgency of Millennials and Gen Z. As tormented as I might have been in high school, at least I had the luxury of not thinking too much about climate change - at least until Al Gore came along. Xie and his peers, on the other hand, will bear the brunt of their predecessors' unchecked greed. Nowhere is this divide more eloquently laid bare than in Jo's post-march argument with Erik (who is likely around my age):

Didn’t you see how he just folded up out there? He can’t protect himself, he won’t. You don’t know what he was like, before we came here, okay, you didn’t watch him, lying in bed day after day, ready to cut his goddamn throat because of all this shit, this constant litany of doomsday statistics, he just takes it in and he can’t—he doesn’t know what to do with it, and you want to keep shoving it in his face, when it’s—it’s enough! Staring at Jo, who stares back. Look, whatever you’re afraid of, whatever he’s afraid of, it’s already happening, okay? And he knows it, he’s living it, and he wants to do something about it. If there was some other option, some fantasyland where everything is going to be fine as long as we bury our heads in the sand, then believe me, I’d take it. But there’s not. Not for me and not for Leni and not for Xie and if you think you can protect him by denying that then you’re just—wrong. I’m sorry. She holds Erik’s gaze; he nods, the first to look away.

My gods, that scene just cuts me to the bone. As bleak as things are now, I cannot imagine going through all this - climate change, COVID-19, a Trump presidency, Democratic ineptitude/complicity, *gesturing wildly* - as an adolescent. Their elders cut them down before they even started crawling.

On a lighter note, Xie's scenes with his clueless mom and her equally clueless new husband (Jerry!) brought a(n admittedly wry) smile to my face. If I had a penny for every times this scene has played out in my life, I'd have enough cash monies to start my own animal sanctuary.

Don’t you want some vegetables, Xie? Jerry asks. I don’t eat animal products, Xie murmurs, and Jerry, confused, staring at the green beans, How is this— Butter, Xie interrupts. Butter is from milk, which is from cows, which are animals. Jerry blinks. Gosh, I didn’t even think of that. Sorry. Xie shrugs.

There's so much to obsess about here: I love Jo and Leni together, and their opposing circumstances just make the relationship so much more complex - and potentially fraught. Erik and tutor Karen (I wonder if the name choice was intentional?) are interesting supporting characters, and their relationships with Xie are so beautiful and nuanced; they both support him the best they know how.

Xie's interactions with his phantom lover are a little more confusing and difficult for me to comprehend. Perhaps P. represents Xie's inability to connect with the human world around him, or at least not as well as the more abstract, ephemeral natural world. Possibly P. is Xie's ideal human: one who would rather die than raise a finger against an animal (or one who cannot disappoint you by voicing their own opinions). Or maybe it's simpler than that, and Xie's hallucinations are just that: hallucinations. In any case, it made an already odd book absolutely bizarre, but in a good way, so I can't complain.

* This could just be because I was reading an early copy in need of further editing - but, seeing as how some formatting was already present, I think it was intentional. https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3672191091

#books #book review #veganism #animal rights #Maryse Meijer #the seventh mansion #lgbtq #depression #anxiety #environment

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usual-day-dreamer · 4 years

Text

Ice Breakers (Hockey Player!Timothée C. x Figure Skating!Reader) Chapter One

WARNINGS: None

SUMMARY: back to you hometown, ready for a better life and to finally fulfill your dream as an olympic skater.

MASTERLIST

Everyone was clapping at your flawless presentation, feeling happy and overwhelmed you thanked them, glad that happy tears were falling down your face. Your test results were perfect, and every coach wanted you, but you already knew the one you wanted.

Your smile widened as you locked eyes with her, you made your way out from the ice, putting on your skate guards you hurriedly walked towards her, your first coach Katy.

She playfully slapped your arm once you were close to her “I can’t believe you left me” she hugged you tight “I missed you so much, I’m glad you are back”

“I knew you couldn’t live without me” you said, and she rolled her eyes. “Everyone seems eager to coach me now”

“Well, you did leave everyone speechless back there”

“I think I did, and to think that no one had faith me, except you of course” you smiled

“I was expecting to find you at nationals, what happened?” she asked “I had some trouble a year ago, I’ll tell you somewhere else, I don’t want anyone else to know” Katy nodded.

“But I really want to skate again, and I want you to be my coach, if you’ll have me” you playfully vowed at her.

“Of course, I will, silly” you smiled “Should we catch up?”

It was just like old times, talking with your coach who was also your closest friend since you were little, you felt at peace.

“So, what happened? How was college?”

“Before I tell you everything, I want you to know first that I’m getting help now, I have a therapist and I`m doing a lot better now” her look softened and nodded.

“Two years ago, I met this guy, he was a hockey player from that rink. We kinda started dating, it was really weird and it was also full of violence, he...” you took a deep breath “He was taking me back to campus one night after training and... he raped me in his car” you looked at Katy and continued “I could not skate after that, I panicked every time because he followed me everywhere, he did it like four times and I had no idea what to do, I thought it was my fault and I convinced myself that was what I wanted”

“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry to hear that”

“We broke up two months after that, but I was wrecked, I felt like my life was falling apart... until I started going to therapy”

“My coach there was a bitch too, I guess I was emotionally wrecked back then and I just wanted a break, I just had one year left so I stayed there and as soon as I graduated bought and apartment here, got a job and tried to move on”

“I’ll do anything in my power to help you, let’s start training tomorrow, you`ll be ready for competition faster than you can imagine”

“I`d love that”

“Y/N? Is that really you?” You looked up and smiled, your longtime friend Anna stood before you with a wide smile. You opened your arms and she hugged you tightly.

“Anna! I can’t believe it’s you! “she sat next to you to tie her skates “I am so happy you are back; will you sign up for the festival?”

“Maybe I will, today is my first time skating after a year”

“You`ll do fine, I bet Katy will give you a routine for it as practice” she looked ahead and rolled her eyes, you looked behind you and your eyes locked with Justin’s gaze, he smirked at you and you looked back at Anna.

“He’s still an asshole” you stated “Yeah, just ignore him like always”

“Hey, talking about assholes, where’s Tim-” the peace and quiet suddenly disappeared as the hockey team busted inside loudly.

“Is that who I think it is?” you huffed and stood up, looking down at Anna telling her you’ll meet her on the ice. You turned around and walked towards the entrance of the ice, but he caught your arm, you immediately panicked and trashed around trying to break free, flashbacks of that time filled your mind.

“Aren’t you gonna say hello?” you glared at him as you tried to calm your heart beat, you were almost at his eye level thanks to your skates “Chalamet” you said, jerking your arm away from his grip, relief washing over you. He noticed this odd behavior but kept it for another time.

You turned around and walked inside the ice “Meet you inside in a few princess!” you rolled your eyes and ignored him.

“Nice reunion” Katy said and you huffed “I still hate him” you looked back and met his gaze, he smirked and winked at you, you angrily looked back at Katy, a smirk plastered on her face.

“Glad to see you still have a crush on him”

“I do not!” you exclaimed, and she laughed.

“Well, you are actually amazing” Katy said, let’s arrange a routine for the festival as a warmup, then we’ll begin with something for competition” you nodded taking a sip of your water.

“That’s it for today, do you have to go to work?”

“No, I still have half an hour, I’ll stay around a little longer. What about you?”

“The little girls are coming, so I’ll be busy” as if on cue, the group of girls skated inside. almost crashing against each other.

“I’ll go to the training rink then” you waved goodbye and skated out.

You walked towards the other rink, which was meant for self-practice and public.

“Y/N! Wait!” you stopped and looked behind you, Timothèe was running towards you “Is your practice over?” you nodded “Do you mind if I join you inside?”

“Well, I actually-”

“Great! I’ll put on my skates really quick” he ran away, and you rolled your eyes but smiled. It wasn’t long before he was back, and you stepped inside.

“Listen, I’m sorry for grabbing you earlier, I noticed you kinda panicked” he said, and you looked away nervously

“Don’t worry, it’s fine”

“I really did miss you; you know?” He playfully nudged your shoulder and you smiled at him.

“Dickhead” the two of you laughed lightly.

“Do you have a place to stay? Work?” He asked.

“I do, I found a job at the lounge and a small apartment, what about you? Still living with your mom?” Your teasing tone made him smile.

“Actually, I don’t, I have a job here as a coach, I’m teaching the little ones how to skate, and I also found a place not far from here”

You hummed in agreement “What about your Olympic dreams?” You asked

“Getting there, and you?”

“I guess you could say the same”

“You’ve missed a lot of Justin drama” you rolled your eyes and laughed “I bet I did”

You turned your head and looked at the clock “I’m sorry, I have to go to work”

“Can’t believe you’re working for Justin’s dad now; I hope he doesn’t try to buy you as a partner for him”

“Justin wishes I was his partner” he laughed “See you around” you asked away and Timothée watched you with a smile.

Work was not as busy as you expected, and even though you were nervous, everything went just fine; until Justin decided to step by.

“Wow, Y/N Y/L, what a pleasantly surprised” he sat down by the bar, right in front of you. You’ve rolled your eyes, but stayed calm, he was your boss’ son after all. He smirked at that.

“What can I get you?” You asked

“Just some juice please”

“You’ve quit drinking” you asked pouring him some orange juice.

“It’s just early” he answered, and you hummed.

“The day of your exam, you do realize everyone was there just to see you right?” You stopped cleaning the counter and looked at him.

“Is that so?”

He nodded taking a sip of his juice “Everyone loves your skating; they say you are a prodigy”

“So I’ve been told”

“Have you ever thought about pair skating?” He flashed you a smile and you frowned.

“Listen, I- “

“Y/N, could you please take that table’s order?”

“Sure” you smiled at your coworker, “If you’ll excuse me” you said walking away from Justin.

It was already dark outside when your shift was over, the snow crunched underneath your boots as you walked towards the bus station. You enjoyed the cold, there was some calmness about it, everything that came with it made your stomach flip with happiness. The wait for the buss wasn’t long, and the road back home wasn’t bad. You’ve learnt to enjoy being by yourself after what happened; you enjoyed the snowy scenery out the window while listening to music.

You thanked the bus driver when you arrived at your stop, walking towards your apartment while singing quietly to the song playing through your earphones. Your building was quiet, and warmth enveloped you as you stepped inside your apartment, taking off your boots and shrugging off your coat. You’ve had dinner at the lounge, so you just went straight to bed.

“Do it again, from the top” you nodded at Katy skating towards your starting point.

You sighed, getting ready. Killer Queen by Queen filled your ears and you started your routine. Katy watched you carefully, you were fully concentrating, when out of nowhere Justin and his partner blocked your way, making your skates crash against each other. You tripped, and flared at Justin from below, he smirked at you and faked innocence, not even stopping.

You kept glaring at them as you stood, the music already gone. You were already skating towards him when someone stopped you.

“Don’t waste your time with him” it was Anna, her hand was around your wrist, but not in a painful grip.

“Why don’t we take a small break?” Katy suggested and you skated away, Anna rapidly behind you.

“I fucking hate him” you spat “Yeah, me too” she answered honestly.

It has been a week since you first arrived, and even though everything has been going just fine, Justin would not leave you alone.

“He goes sometimes to the lounge just to piss me off, he’s such a mess, it amazes me how he always gets away with the shit he does”

Angry tears were blurring your vision, Anna noticed and grabbed your shoulders “Keep ignoring him, he just wants your attention, remember you’re the only girl he hasn’t taken to bed”

You bit your lip, she looked at you surprised “Y/N, please don’t tell me you’ve fucked with him”

“It was only once! And I was really drunk, as soon as I woke up, I left his stupid room, he wasn’t even awake”

“Gosh” she seemed angry, but then smiled wickedly “Was it good?”

“Mmm, could’ve been worse” you laughed, and she smiled

“If Timothée was here, he would’ve already punched that asshole to oblivion”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you serious? It’s obvious he’s got a massive crush on you”

“That’s not true!”

“Come on! All that teasing he does is to get your attention, you know, ever since you left, he counted the days until nationals just because he knew you’d be there”

You looked towards the floor and softly said: “Let’s go back in the ice”

#timothee #timothee chalamet #timothee x you #timothee chalamet x reader #ice breakers

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psycho-slytherin · 5 years

Text

Sinner

In which Romeo hates Juliet, but not as much as Juliet hates Romeo.

Pairing: Actor!Jimin x Reader

Genre: fluff; drama; enemies to idiots to lovers

Warnings: Swearing, Old English

WC: this was gonna be a drabble 5k

A/N: A happy, happy, happy birthday to my most beautifullest darlingest @chimchimsauce. Congrats! I hope you have a fantastic day and ily!!! <3

|mlist|

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief. See how she leans her cheek upon her hand– Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!”

You look out into the darkness, sighing. “Ay, me.”’

“She speaks. Oh, speak again, bright angel!”

“Romeo, Romeo…” you wring your hands. “Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father, and refuse thy name. Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love–” your voice catches. “And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.”

~~~

“Some shall be pardoned, and some shall be punished. For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”

You hold your breath, waiting in the wings. There’s a pause, silence, before…

Thunderous applause rings through the theater. You peek around the curtain and see some audience members already on their feet. Yes! The applause rises in volume by the end of curtain call, when you and your Romeo step back onstage to bow once, twice, give credit to the orchestra, bow again, and done.

“Did you see that?” Hoseok, who plays Mercutio, whoops before chugging the rest of his beer. “Standing ovation, bitches, for a touring production! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”

You smile from the corner of the green room. You’re happy onstage, but you can’t help but let your natural shyness come into play when you’re back to playing… well, yourself.

“Let’s hear it for the stars of our show– Juliet and Romeo!” Momo, the costume designer and your best friend on tour, nudges you forward. Across the room, Hoseok is doing the same to your Romeo. Oy vey.

You press your lips together. “Hello, Jimin.”

“Y/n.”

“Damn, not even a greeting?”

“I’d rather save my breath for the stage.”

You feel the deep, familiar coil of rage in your stomach begin to tighten. This guy… “I’m sure pretending you have a heart saps most of of your strength.”

“At least I can pretend decently, since it’s my job. What’s yours?”

“Hey, hey, let’s keep it civil.” Hoseok moves in between you two. “Alike in dignity, right? It’s Friday night, there’s no matinee tomorrow… let’s party like it’s 1391!”

The cast and crew cheer as they load into multiple SUVs, surely headed for the nearest bar.

“You sure you don’t want to go?” Momo asks, poking your arm as the cars leave.

“And spend more time than I have to with a certain coworker?” You wrinkle your nose, grabbing your things from your locker. You’ve already changed back into your civilian outfit, a longsleeved shirt tucked into loose pants. “I’ll pass.”

“Don’t let him ruin your night, y/n. He’s the devil, and he’s got an ego as big as his dick is small.”

You snort. “Classy.”

“Like, okay, let’s be honest, he is hot.”

That, you can’t deny. “But he knows it, which makes him more of an annoyance. Ever since I landed this role he’s been so rude and entitled!”

“It’s ‘cause he thinks he’s such a panty-dropper, and how dare you not sleep with him.” Momo giggles. “I’ll bet you money that he doesn’t spend tonight alone.”

You feel a pang in your chest at the idea of Jimin spending the night with some faceless beauty. God, you hate him. “How come Casanova Montague is getting more action than me?”

“I’ll tell you how– he’s at the bar right now, meeting and seducing people. He’s playing Romeo, the flirt that makes the first move. Now stop being shy little Juliet, go out, and get some!” Momo strides to the costume closet and pulls out a leather… thing.

“What’s that?”

Your friend huffs. “It’s a dress. And it’s your ticket to showing up Park Jimin tonight.”

You laugh, examining the outfit. “Not only did I say I wasn’t going out, this probably doesn’t fit me, and who says I care about showing up Jimin?”

“Not only are you friends with the resident fashion guru, but you also deserve a fun night out! All you’ve done this tour is get through the show and head to the hotel. Which means the only guy you’ve kissed for two months is a prettyboi with his head so far up his ass that his headvoice is his belt.” Momo thrusts the leather number at you. “Now go change. I don’t care what demons I have to summon to have this dress fit you, we’ll make it happen.”

~~~

“Why did I agree to this?” You say through a forced smile, your back to the wall. You tug at the hem of the dress, attempting to cover more of your thighs. You’ve worn revealing costumes onstage before, sure, but that’s not you.

“You never really agreed, actually, you’re just too weak to fight me.”

“You said a bar, Momo, this is a club. People are dancing! I can’t dance!”

“I can’t believe I need to tell a professional actress to let loose and have fun. I hear wild stories about your cast parties all the time!” Momo looks effortlessly flawless in a loose red top and shorts, and she actually seems comfortable in the loud, warm, energetic setting.

“Y/n’s never been to our troupe’s cast parties,” Yoongi, the cast’s Benvolio, approaches and slings an arm around you. You and Yoongi have always had good banter, and at first you mistook his wisecracking for flirting. Now you know better.

“Because I want to be able to walk the next day, maybe?” You laugh, stealing his beanie. Or because Jimin is there.

“It’s an important bonding ritual!”

“Getting drunk and high with Park Jimin is the last thing I’d ever want to do,” you announce dryly.

“Don’t worry, Sunshine.” Even with the blaring music, you hear his voice clearly. “It’s not on my list of priorities either.”

You jump, seeing your costar approach. “Jimin!”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “No, please, go back to talking about me. I was so invested.”

You clench your jaw in frustration and Yoongi chuckles nervously. “That’s my cue, ladies and gents. Momo, care to get a drink?”

Momo looks from you to Jimin with worried eyes and you nod at her– you’ve never needed help dealing with Park Jimin.

The two leave and, despite the crowded club, it feels as though you and Jimin are alone. You hate to admit it, but in his civilian clothes he looks really, really hot.

“Complaining about me behind my back? That’s really mature, y/n.” Jimin runs his hands through shiny black hair, his tight shirt straining to accommodate muscles that you’ve never noticed through the Romeo costume.

“Would you rather I complain to your face? Because that I wouldn’t mind.”

“I’d rather you keep your pretty mouth shut offstage– maybe onstage too, so I don’t have to spend half my performance making up for yours.”

The familiar fury that Jimin always manages to trigger tinges your vision red. You stomp closer to him, your heeled boots bringing you to eye level with Jimin, your blood boiling beneath your skin. “Why do you hate me so much? I earned this role. I do the work. I get results. You don’t do anything besides stand there and look good. You barely deserve to be an understudy!”

Jimin mirrors your movement, drawing closer to you before smirking. You’re almost nose to nose, so close you can feel his breath on your lips, and you almost shiver when he speaks. “You think I look good?”

“You– ugh!” You’re so tempted to wind up and punch the guy but you can’t afford to get in trouble. “The only one who thinks you’re good-looking is you, Jimin, and given that your personality archetype is ‘Entitled Swine’ you’re goddamn lucky you’ve got that going for you.”

“Ooh, perfect Juliet can swear.”

“Dumbass Romeo can leave.”

“At least this dumbass can dance.” With that, Jimin turns on his heel and makes his way to the crowded dance floor before stopping and looking back at you over his shoulder. “Admiring the view? Or you just hate to admit that you can’t dance?”

A very small voice in your psyche pipes up: Is he trying to reverse-psychology me into dancing in order to make fun of me?

Nah, he wouldn’t be that conniving or immature. You’re sure Jimin is happy just rubbing your nose in your skills… or lack thereof.

Hey, just because you said you can’t dance doesn’t give him the right to make fun of you. You’re half tempted to follow him onto the dance floor, join the mass of sweaty, tipsy, hormonal bodies… and just act like you belong.

But that’s not you. You glare at Jimin before moving to find Momo. You encounter her at the bar, along with Yoongi and Hoseok. Namjoon, who plays Lord Capulet, is there as well, and his eyes light up when he sees you. “Hey, our star decided to join us for once!”

“Y’all are making me feel like I live under a rock,” you complain. “I just like sleep.” Or, you’re just trying to avoid Jimin as much as possible.

“Then girl, you picked the wrong career. Why do you even do stage plays if you’re so uptight?” Hoseok is clearly well on his way to drunk, not that he needs alcohol to speak his mind.

“I-I-” You look down, embarrassed. “It’s different when I’m acting. I’m not uptight on stage. I just get nervous when I’m being myself, I guess.”

Momo slams back a shot. “That’s it!” she gasps, her face contorting as the liquor sears her throat. “That’s how you can loosen up tonight. Act!”

You look down at the foreign leather dress. It does feel like you’re already wearing a costume.

“Hey, I can get behind that! Y/n, be someone else for the night!” Yoongi winks. “Someone confident!”

“Someone exciting!” Namjoon chimes in.

Momo grins. “I’d say someone sexy, but you’ve got that down. Go, channel Romeo for a bit.”

“But, uh… how do I start?”

Yoongi gets a mischievous gleam in his eye. “By dancing.”

You look over. The dance floor is dimly lit, save for a multicolored pulsing light show. Jimin is somewhere on that floor, probably looking as comfortable as he does onstage.

“Momo, come with me?” You ask desperately. You’ll do this, but you don’t want to be without backup.

“Of course! But first, a round of shots. And two for my girl here! A toast to y/n, and whoever she’ll become!”

“Oh, I don’t like drinking,” you say.

“Yeah, but your new persona does!” Momo replies, and you laugh. Surrounded by your coworkers, your friends, you feel more comfortable than before. As you relent, downing shots in quick succession, you feel… different. Confident. The alcohol wouldn’t affect you so quickly, right? When you rise, you stand straighter, at last at home in the tight leather. Whoever you are now, she likes feeling sexy. She doesn’t mind attention. And she doesn’t care if Park Jimin says she can’t dance.

“Let’s go, Momo.”

Your friend whoops. “Bye, boys! We’re gonna have ourselves some fun!”

Together, you join the crowd on the dance floor. The DJ is playing some electronic music you don’t recognize– but it’s got a strong beat, and that’s all you need. Momo is a fantastic dancer and you follow her lead: you jump, shimmy, and spin. The real you would feel awkward as hell, your body would seem clunky and unfamiliar. But now, with the lights down low and the music blaring, all you feel is adrenaline.

“That guy is making eyes at you!” You shout in Momo’s ear to be heard over the music. She turns and checks out the man who’s been looking her way the past two songs. “Ooh, he’s cute. But I’m here with you, y/n!”

You flash her a smile. “Who’s y/n? I can handle myself fine, darling. Talk to him if you want!”

“You sure you won’t mind?”

What are you doing? This isn’t you. It’s not even drunk you. It’s different. You wouldn’t want to be this girl every day, but for right now… you’re relishing in the feeling. You love it. This is acting.

“I’m sure.” You wink. “And have fun!”

Momo dances her way over to the guy, who breaks into a grin when he sees her headed towards him. You turn your attention back to the music, the melodies you don’t recognize, the beat you feel in your bones. You’re not y/n, you’re just one messy soul among dozens swaying to the same song.

The spell is broken when you feel a hand on your ass.

“Hey beautiful…” a husky voice growls in your ear, his chest pressing into your back. You want to yell, hit him, anything, but terror floods you and you feel frozen to the spot. “That dress looks great on you. It’d look better on my bedroom fl– oof!”

You turn just in time to see the man double over, and standing above him is Jimin, looking angrier than you’ve ever seen him.

“You don’t get to touch her,” he growls, “ever.”

“J-Jimin?”

He glances at you, eyes softening. “Are you okay?”

“I- yeah.” You feel nervous again, your new persona having slipped for a second.

“I’m gonna get security to throw this scumbag out. I’ll see you later, y/n, okay?” He nods at you and melts into the crowd, dragging the creep with him.

“Y/n? Oh my god, what happened?” Momo asks, appearing beside you.

You stare after Jimin. “I don’t know.”

~~~

You silently pretend to have a conversation, yet you feel his eyes burning into you.

“Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.”

You’re oblivious, you can’t hear him, you’re super engaged in this fake conversation.

As Lord Capulet argues with Tybalt, played by your friend Taehyung, you allow yourself to sneak a glance at Jimin. It’s your first performance together since Friday night at the club– your understudy took on Saturday’s show, and Jimin’s played on Sunday. The whole weekend has passed and even now, Monday, you can’t stop thinking about that night. Why should Jimin care if you were getting harassed? Sure, it was probably him feeling protective of a fellow cast member, or just being a decent human being for once. Still, that raw fury in his voice... before you know it, it’s time for your first scene with your Romeo.

Jimin takes your hand. He really is handsome with stage makeup on, not that you notice or care. Though his body is angled towards the audience, his eyes bore into yours. “If I profane with my unworthiest hand, this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

And, still staring at you, he presses his lips to your hand. His gaze is so intense that if you didn’t utterly despise him, you might have felt flustered.

The scene continues, and before you know it…

“Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake,” you say your line teasingly. Your characters are young, and flirting. Despite your and Jimin’s true feelings for each other, you both agreed to leave your rivalry in the dressing room.

“Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take.” Jimin draws you in, like he’s done a hundred times in a dozen cities, and lightly touches his lips to yours. “Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.”

“Then have my lips the sin that they have took,” you manage, breathless. You turn away, hiding your face, before Jimin takes your hand and whirls you around. You end up pressed against him, much closer than the blocking you had rehearsed, but it does make the scene more intimate.

“Sin from thy lips?” Jimin cups your cheek– his hand seems extra soft today– and tilts your chin up. “Oh, trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.” And this kiss is nothing like the first, no, it’s desperate, messy, hormonal, secret, his plush lips move against yours hungrily and his tongue–

Eventually you pull away, almost lightheaded. You hate him, and you hate to admit it, but… “You kiss by the book.” Especially tonight.

After curtain call, you’re changing in the dressing room when Momo pokes her head in. “Yoo-hoo! How’s my favorite Juliet?”

“Hey!” Hyuna, your understudy, complains good-naturedly.

“I heard the kiss scene today was intense,” Momo continues, helping you out of your costume. “Do I sense underlying sexual tension?”

You roll your eyes, swatting your friend. “As if, darling. My standards have yet to fall low enough for Park Jimin.”

A knock at the door startles you. “Who is it?”

The voice makes your heart drop into your stomach. “The walls aren’t soundproof, darling, and you’re right next to the men’s dressing room,” says… shit. Jimin.

“Oh damn, he heard that?”

Momo flaps her hand dismissively. “Since when have you cared about speaking your mind around Jimin?”

“I…” You shake your head. “You’re right, I don’t.” Right?

Once you’ve changed, you shoulder your bag and head down the hall. You’re almost to the door when Jimin steps out of the green room. “Well, if it isn’t Miss High Standards.”

You sigh inwardly. You haven’t spoken face to face with him since Friday, and you’re too tired to fight Jimin right now. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“Wow, y/n apologizing? Let me mark the date on my calendar, we’ll call it a holiday.”

“Whatever, Jimin.” You’re so tired of arguing with him every single day.

“No comeback? What’s gotten into you?” Underneath the snark in his tone, he almost sounds concerned… or so you’d think, if you didn’t know him better.

“Y/n, a bunch of us are going out tonight, want to come?” Taehyung calls behind Jimin.

You nearly laugh. Given how Friday went? “No thanks, I’m just gonna go back to the hotel.” With a curt nod to Jimin, you continue to the back door.

“Alright, good performance tonight,” Tae replies.

“You too.” You call a taxi and head to the hotel. You’re rooming with Hyuna, but if you know her at all you know she won’t be sleeping in her own bed tonight.

After brushing your teeth and hair, you take a breath and finally relax. Even when you’re offstage, at work it feels as though you have to be ‘on’ all the time. And with Park Jimin around, you can never let your guard down. It’s nice to have this time alone and finally wind down. You pull your sudoku book from your purse and curl up in bed to work on the puzzles. You like reading, but ever since high school you felt most at peace when you were able to channel your focus into problem-solving. Back home, that meant doing puzzles. On tour, your sudoku book is much more portable. It’s nearing midnight when you hear a knock on your door.

That’s weird. “Hyuna?” You call, padding to the door and pulling it open. “Did you lose your key ag-”

“Hi,” Jimin says.

What.

Your mind goes through about nine stages of panic, and for lack of a better plan you swing the door closed, with Jimin still on the other side.

“Uh… y/n?”

Your mind a whirling dervish, you can do nothing more than stare at the door. What is he doing here? Why is Jimin, of all people, outside your door? Sure, the whole cast is rooming on the same floor, but that doesn’t explain why he’s here. Is he hooking up with Hyuna? Does he need to borrow some toothpaste? Did he lose the revised blocking script?

Does he… want to talk to you? A rush of guilt nearly topples you. Did you really just close the door on him?

Wait, it’s Park Jimin. You hate Park Jimin. You should slam a door in his face, as regularly as possible.

“W-what do you want?” you squeak, inwardly cursing. Get a hold of yourself. You’ve dealt with Jimin ever since the first table read, so why are you nervous now?

Jimin’s reply, though muffled through the door, sounds almost...sheepish. “I just want to talk.”

“Since when do you ‘just want to talk’ to me?”

“Can you just open the door, y/n? My ego is hurting enough as it is.”

What does he mean by that? Your curiosity alone is enough to make you open the door. Jimin is standing there, his cheeks tinged red, holding out a bottle.

“What’s this?” You take the bottle from his outstretched hand. It’s cold.

“Call it… a peace offering.”

“Champagne?”

“Sparkling apple cider. I noticed you don’t like to drink.”

“Oh.” You can think of nothing else to say– what is going on? “Uh, thanks. Do you want to come in, or…?”

“Actually…” Jimin shifts from side to side. “Do you want to go for a walk? The walls in the rooms are pretty thin.”

Befuddled, you follow him into the elevator, watching as he presses the R button.

“Roof, huh?” You finally have your voice back. “Is this it? Are you at last gonna murder me?”

“Yep, that’s definitely what’s going on here,” Jimin replies sarcastically, taking the bottle from your hand. “And apple cider is my weapon of choice.”

“Seriously, Jimin, what’s this about?” you ask as the elevator stops and you step out. “I mean, it’s not like you to– woah.”

Stars. Hundreds, thousands of stars blanketing the night sky, more than you’ve ever seen in your two months on tour. Spending all your time in big cities meant light pollution got in the way of stargazing but here, above the busy city streets…

“So pretty,” you whisper. “And the moon is so bright!” So much for being a snarky force of nature– you really, really missed the stars.

“Stars, in your multitudes…” you sing under your breath, forgetting who you’re with, where you are.

“Scarce to be counted, filling the darkness with order and light.” Jimin’s rich tenor voice chimes in behind you. “Always a sucker for Les Miz. Apple cider?”

“There aren’t any cups.”

Jimin pries off the bottlecap and takes a swig directly from the bottle. “Who needs ‘em?”

“Really, Jimin, where’s all this coming from? Why are you being… well, nice?”

“Who says I’m being nice?”

You stare at him, unamused, although it’s too dark to tell if he’s noticed.

“Alright, alright. Look, I just…” Jimin’s words turn soft, and he sits down. You settle next to him. “I wanted to apologize for how I’ve behaved lately. You’re right, I’ve been an utter cock. My behavior, the shit I’ve said to you… it’s probably unforgivable. I wouldn’t blame you for getting up and leaving. I acted completely unprofessional, and created a bad working and social environment for you. I’m–” he pauses, takes a breath. “Y/n, I’m really, truly sorry.”

Well. He sounds genuine. But how can you trust Park Jimin? “Why were you always so hard on me?”

Jimin sighs. “I’m not going to try to justify my behavior. I’m not always the friendliest guy at work, but, uh…” he takes another swig of the cider. “Damn, now I wish this was alcoholic.”

You steal the bottle and take a drink yourself. “You were saying?”

“This sounds childish, god. The last troupe I was in, before I joined this production… my girlfr- ex-girlfriend at the time was an actress too. She wanted to do screen work but she wasn’t finding opportunities, and I introduced her to our director. She made a good impression and joined the troupe– we toured with In The Heights, I was Usnavi and she got Vanessa.”

“So you played love interests onstage? Neat.”

“It was, yeah… until we broke up. She’d been sleeping with the director, of all people.” The hurt and betrayal in Jimin’s voice is so potent you feel an urge to comfort him. But it’s Park Jimin, how do you know he’s telling the truth?

“There were still two months left in the tour– so even after we broke up, even after she cheated on me, I still had to kiss her and act like I was in love.”

“Jimin, I’m sorry…” you murmur. You want to reach out and touch his shoulder, but would that be inappropriate?

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be dumping this on you. The truth is, when I first saw you, and saw you were cast as Juliet, I got nervous. You’re smart, funny, talented, beautiful…”

“I’m sorry, did you just compliment me?”

“And I was honestly scared of falling for you. I didn’t want to go through that again. But how I acted was awful– Momo told me Friday that the reason you didn’t join our cast parties or nights out was because you wanted to avoid me. I didn’t realize what a toxic environment I was making it for you.”

“Oh, I mean…” dammit, Momo.

“When I first met you, I figured you’d be meek, a pushover. You were so nervous! I didn’t expect you to bite back,” Jimin laughs. “I never should have messed with you. You can fend for yourself better than anyone.”

“I guess you weren’t alone in escalating things,” you admit. “It’s not like I was nice to you either. I’m sorry for talking behind your back– and to your face.”

There’s a moment of thoughtful silence. You feel more relaxed than before, which is nice.

“Did you listen to the new Mean Girls musical?” Jimin asks suddenly.

“A few times, yeah. Why?”

Jimin lays back and points at the sky. “I see stars, so many stars tonight, you could make diamonds dull, you are so beautiful~”

You suddenly regret that your troupe is performing Shakespeare and not a musical. How you’d love to hear that clear, emotional tone every night. “You sound great.”

“Oh, ah…” Jimin’s voice rises in pitch. “Thanks.”

“Y’know, I never thanked you for helping me out on Friday with that dude.”

“Anyone would do the same.”

“But you’re the only one that did. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. That guy is part of the reason I came here tonight, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Obviously you’re a human being and also a troupe member, so those are two good reasons I didn’t want him to harass you. Later, though… jeez, this makes me sound like such a yandere… I dunno. I got so mad at that asshole, and I realized it’s because I care about you as more than just a troupe member.”

“What? J-Jimin?”

“And the show today. I feel like such an idiot, but I have to know: did the kiss scene today… did it feel different to you?”

Is that a tremor you hear in his voice? Is Park Jimin, with his endless confidence, nervous? Because of you?

“It… yeah, it did. I thought you changed the blocking.”

“I thought you did.”

You laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. “What is going on?”

Your costar joins in, chuckling mirthfully. “I have no clue. But I like it.”

What’s it? Does it mean you? This? The two of you together? Because if so, you’re starting to like it too.

“I’m supposed to hate your guts, man. You can’t come here, acting all adorable, bringing me apple cider, and still expect me to hate you.”

“So you think I’m adorable?”

“That is not what I said. The only person who thinks you’re adorable is you.”

“How narcissistic do you think I am?”

“I never realized you had enough room in your heart for more than you, to be honest.”

“There’s enough room for you too,” Jimin whispers, contrasting with his fast-paced quips.

What does he mean by that?

You sit back up, and Jimin joins you. You stare at the night sky shoulder to shoulder for a moment before you speak.

“Y’know, Momo always said you were the devil,” you say, keeping your voice light. “But I thought the devil was too high-class. There’s only one Satan, you know. You’re just a regular sinner.”

“Oh, so I’m a sinner? Then give me my sin again.” And Jimin is right there, leaning forward, a thousand questions in his eyes and you answer every one by pressing your lips to his.

Suddenly you’re kissing Park Jimin, which you’ve done a thousand times, but this time it’s different. Jimin makes a happy little “mmph!” noise when you kiss him before snaking his hand into your hair and gently pulling you closer. You’re finally kissing him like no one’s watching– it feels so familiar, and yet entirely new.

After not-long-enough, you pull away. “Should I say you kiss by the book or is that too cliche?”

“Well, I did fall for my beautiful costar who I specifically didn’t want to fall for– so I think we’re past cliches at this point.”

You laugh, a clear, genuine sound you thought Jimin would never hear. “I can’t believe this. Should I ask what happens now, or…?”

Jimin quiets. “I’m scared,” he admits. “I don’t want…”

Right, his ex. “The tour ends next month. Do you want to maybe… see where things go from there? Once we don’t have to be Romeo and Juliet?”

“Call me but love, and henceforth I will never be Romeo,” Jimin quotes.

You swat him. “Nerd.”

“No, but that sounds good. Yeah, that sounds…” you can hear his grin, it sounds like sunshine and sugar. “That sounds really, really, good, y/n.”

“Good. So… now what?”

Jimin chuckles mischievously. “Give me my sin again?”

A/N: Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to like, reblog and/or comment. I really appreciate it! <3

201 notes · View notes

mlovesstories · 4 years

Text

Protective

Words: 3500

Warnings: threats to life, cussing, gun shots, stalker, protective Dean

Dean x reader!platonic

Sam x reader!platonic

Mom x daughter!reader

Summary: Dean and Sam are part of a security team charged with protecting a political figure and her daughter.

AN: child au for @spngenrebingo

Tag List

Ask Box

Masterlist of Masterlists

“You get your ass back here! I need to talk to you, mister!” The seven year-old pounded her shoes into the floor after Dean. He stopped in his tracks. She slammed into his leg, not paying attention. “Ow!” She fell back onto her rear.

“Excuse me?” He turned. Towering over her, he asked, “What did you say?”

“Umm,” she stuttered.

“Room. Now.”

“Mom wouldn’t care!” Reagan stood and stomped her foot.

“Yes, she would! Do you treat everyone else like this too?” She silently shook her head. “Go.”

“Ugh!” The little girl pushed passed him and dramatically exited the room.

Dean’s phone rang. He saw Reagan’s mom displayed on the screen.

“Hi Senator Downing,” he smiled into the phone. “How is Italy?”

“Beautiful, but politics are so difficult. I am out of my comfort zone here, Winchester. I just happened to check the security cameras, and my feisty daughter seems to not be having a good day.”

“You saw that just now?” Dean laughed. “Yeah, I think she misses you, ma’am.”

“You aren’t the nanny, Mr. Winchester.” Ms. Downing sighed. “Don’t take on nannying too.”

“I love her, you know that.” Dean offered her a dry laugh. “Political figures’ kids never listen to nannies anyway.”

“Fine, Mr. Winchester. Keep her alive, please. And tell her that if she uses that word again, our pizza night is canceled on Friday. Tuna sandwiches instead,” she giggled knowing her daughter would hate it.

“I will alert her, thank you, Ms. Downing. Stay safe, tell Sam hello,” referring to his brother and co-worker.

“Will do, thank you, Winchester. Oh, you better get to Reagan. She is trying to sneak out my office window.” Senator Downing raced to get her words out.

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean hung up.

“What in the world do you think you are doing, Reagan Marie Downing?” Dean quietly entered the main hallway where he saw her trying to open the window.

“Leaving! I am going to Italy to be with Mommy! She doesn’t have rules like you!” Reagan crossed her arms.

“She is more strict than me, and you know it. Besides, I just got off the phone with her, because she saw your temper tantrum.” Dean smirked inwardly.

“On the cameras?” She had forgotten about those.

“Yep. Your mom told me that you’ll be eating a tuna sandwich Friday night if you don’t change your behavior.”

“What? No! I want pizza!”

“Then act like you want it, kid. Back to your room, no more escaping. Let’s go.” The bodyguard escorted her to her room by guiding her shoulders. “Seven minutes.” He watched her walk to her bed and plopped herself down. Dean shut her door and guarded it so that she would not sneak out again. After her time was over, he opened the door. “Come on, all done.” He faced her in the doorway. She stood from her bed and froze. “What’s up kiddo?”

“I just want my mom.”

“I know this is new, sweetie. New house, new schedule. But your mom has a really important job to do. And sometimes that means she has to leave.”

“I hate it.”

“Stop using bad words.” Dean said shortly.

“I don’t like it!”

“But you have me!” Dean laughed.

“Winnie!” Reagan whined.

“Come on, dinner time.”

“No, thank you,” she moped. Before she could cross her arms, he swept her off of the ground and whisked her into the kitchen as she giggled.

“You don’t get to be a sour puss tonight. Eat up.”

The next Friday night Reagan and her mother enjoyed pizza together. Sam stood watch at the door for the evening shift.

“Baby Winchester, go home. There are other guards here. Have a drink with your brother, go cause trouble or something.”

“No, ma’am. My shift does not end until the morning,” he stated very professionally.

“I hired you personally, don’t make me suspend you. Go.” She grinned to herself.

“Ma’am-”

“One,” she started counting. “Two-”

“Yes, Senator Downing. Enjoy your evening. Sleep well, Reagan.” The little girl waved at him as he exited the house.

“Where’s Winnie?” The seven year-old asked her mom, tucking her stuffed animal underneath her arm on the couch.

“He isn’t working tonight, baby. This is his job, he doesn’t always have to work. Dean also has to go home and watch his own TV and do every day things like we do. He’s been with us for a while, you know he doesn’t live here with us.”

“But- I want him here to watch the movie with us. He likes pizza too.”

“He likes you, but he also likes to hang out with his friends and go to his house too. You know this, what’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“I know something is bothering you, kid.” Dean walked into Reagan’s room a week later as she was coloring on her bed the next day. She had been withdrawn and to herself over the previous few weeks. “I’ve been with you long enough to know when something is wrong.” He planted himself on her bed, moving her feet from the bed to his lap.

“Mommy hates me, and you think I’m stupid.” Reagan did not make eye contact. He took a deep breath knowing not to react with a hair trigger.

“You know neither of those are true.”

“Yes, it’s true. Mommy is gone all the time now since she became an sena- senat-“

“Senator.”

“We used to do stuff, now she is gone. And you haven’t been here!”

“I took vacation days, baby. I’m not leaving you, promise.”

“Fine, but pinky promise?” She put her finger up, and he wrapped his around hers.

They soon changed the subject which led to giggles and jokes.

—————

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Winnie! Come on!” Reagan whined to Dean.

“Punching another kid, seriously?”

“She punched me first!”

“Right…” Dean rolled his eyes.

“The principal saw it on the camera at school!”

“Let’s go home. We need to have a freaking talk before I call your mother. I hate making these calls, Reagan.”

She huffed.

“Get over here.” Dean gritted his teeth. Reagan walked over to him quietly in the living room later that afternoon. Averting her eyes, she shifted on the balls of her feet. “Look at me.” Dean crosses his arms. Reagan slowly met his eyes, tears starting to fall. “I know you didn’t punch first. BUT you had words with her before that punch. Next time keep your words to yourself when you know it will escalate. Sit down.” Dean pulled out his phone.

“No!” Reagan stood up and tried to grab it.

“Sit. Down.” He moved away from her. “If you be quiet, I won’t tell your mom you just tried to do that.” Reagan backed up and sat down again silently. She put her head in her hands and quietly teared up. A few minutes later he handed her the phone.

“Seriously, Rae? You keep getting into trouble. You’re lucky Dean is there and not me.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“You can stand up for yourself, but make sure that you don’t instigate something you can’t handle. You’re grounded until Friday. Anything technology goes to Dean unless you need it for school. I need to go, listen to Dean and be good. I love you.”

“Really, Mom? I need to get in trouble to talk to you?” YN yelled at her mom.

“Goodbye, Reagan.” Susan hung up.

“Ugh!”

“All your devices. Go get ‘em.”

“Seriously?”

“Phone, iPad, computer, all of it.” He put his phone in his pocket. She turned and stomped up the stairs to retrieve them.

“Here.” Reagan practically threw them at Dean.

“Cool it.”

“No.” Reagan growled at him.

“Take a breath. Relax for a minute. Sit on the porch. Do something to calm down. And just for the record, don’t throw stuff when you’re mad. Go punch a bag or something.”

“Okay,” she slipped outside to sit on the porch swing.

Benny, another security team member walked in. “Umm…”

“She’s growing up. And it sucks.” Dean turned to his coworker.

“Yep. Maybe you should step back, man. You’re not in charge of her like that, ya know?”

“What?” Dean turned.

“You’re not her babysitter.”

“That’s actually my job, Senior Winchester,” Jessica, one is the nannies walked in.

“We’ve talked about this, Benny.” He became defensive, jutting his jaw out. “Sorry, Jessica. Don’t mean to undermine you.”

“I’m just saying, Winchester.” Benny sighed.

“Say it somewhere else, Lafitte.”

“Winchester-“ Benny started.

“Ah!”

Dean and Benny went running toward a screaming sound. They threw open the backdoor to find Reagan hiding behind a planter.

“What happened?”

“Bad guy!” Reagan screeched out.

“Where?” Dean growled protectively. Reagan pointed to the tall wrought iron fence. “Okay, go inside and up to your room but away from the window!” He pushed her through the door into the kitchen.

“Okay!” Reagan yelled back.

“Yes, Ms. Downing. She is fine, I promise. Stupid guy tripped when he fell off the fence and broke his ankle. We have moved to a safe house in case he is not working alone.”

“Let me talk to Reagan, please,” Susan growled, defeated.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dean walked to Reagan and handed her the phone.

“It’s okay. You’re not in trouble, kiddo,” he whispered. She took in a deep breath.

“Mommy?” The girl’s voice was quiet.

“Hello, sweet girl. Are you okay?”

“No. I mean, Dean and Benny saved me, but I’m scared.”

“I understand. I’m coming home, okay? I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay, Mommy.”

“Let me have the phone,” Dean gestured. Reagan offered the device back to her security guard. .

“Ma’am, I can’t allow you to come back here. We don’t know why the person tried to attack. Yes, he is caught, but who knows if there is something else going on.”

“Winchester! She is my daughter, and she was almost attacked.”

“I am very aware of that, Ms. Downing. And I’m so sorry that we didn’t catch him before he got on the property. We have increased her security and have taken other precautions as well.”

“If a hair on her head-“

“Understood. Please stay where you are. I’ll have Sam take good care of you while you are separated from Reagan. I promise.”

“Call me every hour with updates, are we clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

————-

“I’m so sorry, baby. Do you feel okay now?”

“Yeah, we had to move houses though. I don’t like it.” She shrugged.

“I know. But it is to keep you safe.”

“Okay.”

Over the next few days Reagan and her security team stayed at the secondary house.

“Can I go to school, Winnie?”

“Not yet,” Dean huffed, sad for her.

“Why?”

Benny barged in.

“Security alert, northwest corner, upstairs window!”

“Reagan, come here!” Dean dragged her to the center of the house. Dean pulled his gun out. He heard glass breaking in the upstairs bedroom.

Senator Downing’s room. Italicize

“Come here,” he pulled her into the secure basement and yelled for Charlie to follow. “Stay inside with her until I come back.”

“Winnie!” Reagan cries out for her favorite bodyguard as Charlie forced her body to move behind a door and locking it. “No!”

“Breathe, kiddo. You have to breathe.”

“Winnie could get hurt!”

“He’s Batman. Batman never gets hurt.” Charlie smiled st the girl. “You know he is Batman because you’re who?” She raised a brow with a smirk on her face.

“Robin.”

“Let’s just hang out here. Look, we have a full room down here.” Charlie turned so that Reagan could view the whole basement, a small apartment, really. They heard a loud boom and Reagan cowered, latching onto Charlie. “We’re safe. That door won’t let anyone in.”

A few minutes later Dean yelled, “Poughkeepsie 1-9-6-7!” On hearing the code word, Charlie used the heavy lever to open the door. Dean was bloody.

“Winnie!” Reagan gasped and ran into his arms. “Are you okay? Is the bad guy out there?” Her voice level wavered.

“Hey, it’s okay. Yes, I am fine and the bad guy was taken to the bad guy place. It’s alright. I promise.” The ten year-old was getting in his arms, but she cried rivers onto his reddened shirt, leaving him no choice but to continue holding her.

“We need to go. I know this is hard, but we get to go back to your house at the Embassy. We made sure no one can break in again. Can you go sit with Charlie while I make sure everyone is okay?”

Reagan nodded.

Even after extra precautions had been taken, Reagan was not permitted to go to school. Her homeschool teacher was mean and intolerable of anything other than focused, hard work.

“Forget you!” Reagan stood from her chair and walked down the hall.

“REAGAN!” Dean shouted after her. She walked up the stairs, and went into her mom’s room. “What in the heck was that?”

“It’s her fault. Mommy didn’t have to take this job. I miss school! Her job makes me scared! I miss my friends and my normal stuff!”

Dean inhaled.

“I’m sorry.”

Taken aback by his sweet response, she could tell he didn’t want her in this situation either.

“Dean, why?”

“I don’t know, Rae. I really don’t. But I do know that you can’t talk to your teacher like that. If you have a problem with your mom, you need to tell her, not get mad at the teacher. You understand?”

“Unmf.”

“Yeah, I get it, kiddo. Now I think you have some apologizing to do and some math to learn, yes?” Dean raised a brow, expecting a specific answer.

“But-“

“Try again,” he widened his stance.

“Fine.”

When it was deemed safe for both Downing family members to be home, the ambassador was welcomed by Dean at the door.

“Hi, Senator. Glad to be home?”

“Yes, thank you.” She stepped in as Sam bright her luggage behind her. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

“I wouldn’t have brought Reagan back here if we didn’t put extra security measures in place.”

“I appreciate that.” As she entered the foyer, Reagan happened to walk through.

“Hi, Mommy.” Reagan continued walking to the stairs.

“What was that?” The senator looked toward Dean.

“Ma’am, I think that’s a conversation for you two. We will take your bags, go say hi to her.” Dean offered a weak smile.

“That bad, huh?”

Ms. Downing ascended up the stairs and opened her daughter’s room door.

“Hey, pumpkin.”

“Hi, Mommy.” Reagan looked up from a magazine she was reading.

“Are you mad?”

“About what?”

“I know I’ve been gone a lot. And it’s been scary. But I couldn’t come home, sweetheart. Dean and Sam don’t know what’s going on, so they didn’t want me here. Now it’s safe. I’ll be home for a while. Would you like to watch a movie?”

“No, thanks.” Reagan looked back down at her magazine. “DEAN!” The bodyguard walked into her room. “Can we go get ice cream?”

Dean looked to Reagan’s mom. She sighed and turned.

“Sure, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

At the ice cream parlor, Dean took a deep breath before starting this conversation.

“I need you to listen to me,” he stated lowly.

“Yeah?” Reagan licked her ice cream cone and glanced at him.

“Your mom missed you terribly while she was gone. She was gone for weeks to keep YOU safe.”

“It’s not my fault she took this job. Mom did. I get to be in this too. Lucky me,” Reagan sighed.

“You’re not listening to what I’m saying. You interrupted me.”

“Fine, yes, I’m listening.”

“You’ve been through a lot, but so has she. All of those decisions about you and your safety had to be made thousands of miles away. Your mom couldn’t be here to make you feel safe,” Dean watched for Reagan’s reaction.

“You make me feel safe. She just bosses me around when I get in trouble. You actually care about me,” Reagan admitted. “I don’t like her.”

“Reagan…”

“You told me not to lie. I’m not lying. But I can be nice.”

“I appreciate all of those things you told me, but when we get home, I want you to invite your mom to watch a movie. Or do your nails, or whatever. I am off the clock soon, so I expect you to do this on your own,” Dean stared at her.

“Okay,” Reagan shrugged.

“Thank you,” Dean cleaned up his melted ice cream on the table. “Let’s go.”

“Mom?” Reagan and Dean took off their jackets. The two walked into the living room after climbing many stairs.

“Hi, sweetie. How was your ice cream?” The senator stood from the couch and walked to greet Reagan and her bodyguard.

“Yes, it was good.”

“My shift is ending. Charlie should be coming on soon if you need anything. Have a good evening.” Dean smiled and exited.

“Thanks, Winchester,” the mom waved.

“Can we watch that movie? Which one did you want to watch?” Reagan nervously asked her.

“Oh, I thought you didn’t want to. Sure. You like The Princess Diaries, right?”

“I haven’t seen that in a while. Dean refuses to watch it with me,” Reagan laughed. “Can we have popcorn?”

“Absolutely. Why don’t you go get your pajamas on, and I’ll get everything set up,” her mom smiled.

“Cool, be right back.” Reagan ran up the stairs and changed her clothes. She grabbed her stuffed Winnie the Pooh and ran to meet her mom again in the living room.

“Who is that?” Reagan’s mom asked her, looking at the thing tucked under her daughter’s arm.

“Winnie got it for me. It’s Winnie the Pooh.”

“That is very cool, Rae. Thanks for sharing that with me,” Susan smiled at the connection she had made with her daughter. As Susan started the movie, she felt her daughter snuggle into her and relax her body. “I’m so sorry I missed these last few weeks. I’ll be around more. Dean promised that he and Sam will be extra careful about keeping us safe.”

“Okay, Mommy. Love you.”

“Love you too, Reagan.”

Sam was on Reagan’s detail the next day.

“Where’s Dean?”

“I’m not cool enough for you?” Sam laughed. “Come on, time for school.”

“Fine,” Reagan sighed. “Is he okay? He was supposed to come today. He sai he would see me today.”

“He’s sick. That’s why you got me today.”

“Winnie?” Reagan called him on the way to school.

“Hi, Rae. Is everything okay?”

“She wanted to call and make sure you were okay,” said said into the car speaker.

“Oh, thank you, sweetheart. I have the flu.”

“Okay, then maybe you should sleep.” Reagan pouted knowing she woudn’t see her friend for a few days.

“I’m okay, your mom made me take time off.”

“Yeah, ‘cuz you wouldn’t if she didn’t tell you to!” Sam laughed.

“Don’t come back til you feel good, Winnie!” Reagan told him protectively.

“Wow, you’re all ganging up on me,” Dean started coughing.

“Go to bed, Dean,” Sam advised.

“Yeah, be good,” Reagan laughed.

“Wow, you two are really laying down the law over there,” Dean laughed but continued his coughing.

“Okay, we’re off to school. Love you, buddy!” Sam ended the call.

“He doesn’t sound so good.”

“Maybe we can bring him soup,” Reagan suggested.

“No, you will not be bringing him soup. You’ll get sick. But if you want to make him a card after school, you can do that. Okay, let’s get out, time for school!” Sam said energetically.

“No…” Reagan whined playfully.

Three days later, Dean showed up to clock in.

“Hi, Winnie!” YN wrapped her arms around him.

“Hey, Reagan!”

As they settled in, the girl reported what she and her mom had done together since he had been gone.

“Good job, Rae! Proud of you.”

“She isn’t so bad. Mom’s been around more. She even said I could go to France with her on my spring break!” Reagan let go and bounced on the balls of her feet.

“That’s awesome!”

“I’m so excited!

Sam and Dean led the team of security on the trip to Europe. Reagan took everything in as they walked down the street. As the group was guided into a government building, gunshots were heard.

“Ms. Downing!” Sam screamed. The political figure fell to the ground. Sam dragged her into the building and Dean shielded Reagan from the commotion outside.

“Mom!” Reagan screeched. Sam lied her down on the carpet in the lobby. The team didn’t see any blood.

“I’m okay,” Susan whispered. I’m not hurt,” she calmed them. With guards covering the entrance, Sam and Dean looked her over.

“No wounds,” Dean affirmed. “She’s okay, Reagan.”

Dean looked over to the young girl as she ran into his arms. Reagan cried quietly into his suit jacket.

“Thank you,” Susan said, “for being so damn protective,” she smiled.

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