#I don’t even know what homicidal thoughts are how specific do they have to be to be classified as homicidal

[yourbleedingh3art]

Emailed my former philosophy/logician professor and was like I’m working on a personal project I want urbacademicninput LITERALLY sent that email in a half delusional state where I thought I was doing gods work But I’m like ok what I’m doing is important but I’m like what if my “project” is just Mania induced scribbles and I’m bout to show up tmrw like So here’s my theorem on the innate goodness of humanity ISNT it awesome and he’s gonna look at me like oh Please seek mental help . Like I feel liek im either absolutelt fucking off my rocker or I’m on to something but now I don’t know anymore cuz I let that self doubt creep in and now my feelings are unclear even to myself.. either way I am just gonna stick to the plan my crazy self had when I sent that email and I might just level w my teacher like. Honestly im in a ptsd related spiral right now and it’s hard for me to tell if my actions are logical whatsoever but also im scared because if you don’t know what you are and you admit that to somebody they’re gonna tell u what u are. I just don’t like how people hear “mental health issues” and run with it and this type of attitude leads me to tjink professionalism equals Lying about the truth of the emotional state ur experiencing . Belief leads to me pushing a lot of stuff down and when I begin to doubt myself all those feelings I’ve pushed down start to bubble up too. That made me scared as well , I’ll be too emotional to properly explain myself when he has questions for me, even though some ambitious part of me believes in the work I’m doing , believes in it enough to answer any questions about it, to author that answer with confidence and belief in myself. I just don’t want him to be like you’re absolutely crazy I can’t possibly help you prove your theorem on a philosophical or logical level you have shown me the ramblings of a psychotic hermit please leave. I guess that would be the worst case scenario. Or if he somehow gets me to admit I have homicidal thoughts snd then theh send for the stretchers and the loony bin

[bullet-prooflove]

Hiiii! Could u do Tim Bradford with “He want lipstick, lip gloss, hickeys too” plss. Tysm

On rare nights Tim requires a little more from you. He’s spent his entire life in the service of other people, sometimes he just needs someone to take care of him, to make him feel loved, wanted. You sense that in him this evening, the desire for something more specific. It’s in the expression on his features, his body language. He gets a little soft, a little clingy, like he can’t stand the thought of not touching you.

“Tell me.” You whisper as you straddle his lap. “Tell me what you need tonight.”

He swallows hard as he looks up into your eyes because vulnerability doesn’t come easily to Tim, it never has.

“You’re safe with me.” You remind him, your fingertips trailing along his jaw. “You can ask me for anything.”

“Mark me.” He murmurs against your lips. “Lipstick, love bites I don’t care. I just need to feel like I’m yours.”

You know where this stems from. The two of you were at a bar tonight, Tim had stepped away for a couple of minutes to take a call and come back to find Richards from Robbery Homicide chatting you up. The other man was a star on the rise, you’d just finished up working a case with him…

Tim’s not an insecure man but there was something about the way detective looked at you that just made something in his chest ache. He’d carried it with him on the way back home because sometimes he thinks you should be with someone better than him, someone more charismatic, less surly.

He watches as you reach over to the nightstand and pick up the gold Dior lipstick that you’d placed there this morning. You uncap it, before applying the red pigment carefully over your lips. There’s a sensuality in the gesture and for a moment he’s mesmerised as you purse your lips together and pout.

“Better?” You ask quietly and he nods before tilting his head away from you, baring his throat.

Your lips brush over his pulse point and his breathing hitches, your teeth graze that perfect little spot and his grip on your thighs tightens just a little.

“Harder.” He mutters and the noise he makes when you bite down…

Christ it’s perfect.

You take your time with him, guiding him back amongst the sheets as you leave a trail of red lipstick marks down his body. When you pause to reapply, he whines a little, but you shush him, reassuring him with a light nip to his thigh.

He looks stunning underneath you, all that hard muscle decorated with your marks. Some of them will bruise tomorrow, marring his skin for days in the aftermath and he relishes the idea of wearing the evidence of your love for him underneath his uniform.

The tension ebbs from his muscles and he finds himself relaxing into the mattress. The exhaustion he’s been feeling lately, the burn out that takes it’s toll it starts to float away. When you reach his cock, he’s hard, it’s a physiological reaction to how good you make him feel but the truth is mentally he’d tired. It’s not the sex he craves, it’s the intimacy.

“Not tonight.” He mumbles cupping the side of your face. “I don’t have it in me.”

You understand in that moment it’s not about you, that it’s about him. It’s about feeling a sense of relief without having to give a part of yourself away. You’re the only person who has ever got that part of him, the only one who can truly deliver what he needs.

You kiss your way back up his body and Tim smiles softly, his thumb trailing over the shape of your mouth.

“Thank you.” He whispers and you can see in his eyes that it means the world to him that you aren’t taking something from him tonight.

“Sleep.” You say softly, your lips brushing over his. “I’ll still be here in the morning.”

Love Tim Bradford? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

@malindacath @anime-weeb-4-life @burningpeachpuppy @viridianphtalo @vermillionwinter @redpool

[year2000electronics]

OKAY HI HELLO I am utterly bouncing off the walls right now, your takes on Bill and Ford and the ENTIRETY of your lore and world building for your take on Reverse Falls is INCREDIBLE. Absolutely STUNNING. Seriously I never once thought of Gideon being the Mabel personality in that way before and now I can't unsee it thank you for helping me see the light. Will Cipher being a whiny little fuck is perfect.

ALSO. TBH. Your god-tier take on the Lords in Black combined with the bad end VRV guys altered my brain chemistry and I am SO curious as to why you assigned each of them their respective Lord. I can see True-Storyteller because y'know, the Bastard's Box™, and Leading Light being Nibbly because he's desperate & hungry for control, but very VERY curious as to your thoughts on the others (especially Overlord, him being Pokey is intriguing; how would he go about doing all of that?? Does he do the same musical thing like in TGWDLM or something else while still keeping the hivemind shtick?)

THANK YOU!! i’ve always really liked gideon as a character (he would be able to scam me i’m afraid) and i know that being raised by bud “hangs weird clown paintings in his house and pardon this garden signs outside of it” gleeful would ALWAYS have him being the strange little critter that he is just without the homicidal tendencies.. i believe this. AND ALSO PATHETIC ANNOYING LITTLE WILL CIPHER!!

i think for the lords in black- it’s been so long i don’t remember the specifics, truthfully a lot of it was based on colors and what i thought would look good, but for overlord i remember webby describing him as “hating every voice besides his own” and that reminded me of how overlord got on with his science team (not good). gvrv is wiggly because he is the leader and also it felt very in line for him to do wiggly things like making people stand in line for a wiggly their son might not even want. father time is tinky because he is literally the bastard of time and space. loverboy is nibbly because he’s hungry for more and Pink and i feel like hypnos was made blinky because purple and also he was the last one haha

[mysticstarlightduck]

Incorrect Quotes Tag #2

Thanks for the tag, @the-golden-comet (here)! I'll go with the cast of Supernova Initiative for this one!

Generator Here

SUPERNOVA INITIATIVE

Jack (looking in the mirror): Everything will be ok. You can not stop it. Jack: Everything will be fine. You have no choice. Cassie: What the fuck kind of pep talk is that? Jack: Ominous positivity.

(*after crash landing in that frozen moon*) Kye: Shut it Artemis, I only shook your hand because I had to. We will NEVER be friends. Artemis: Lets survive this together! Kye: I HOPE YOU DIE. (helps him anyways)

Lyorna: Now, Jack, all of us are doing this because we care about you, okay? Jasper: Except for me. I just wanted to see the look on your face.

Aleks: It’s impossible to make a sentence without using the letter A. Noctus: Despite your thinking, it is quite possible, yet difficult, to form one without the specific letter. Here’s one more to further disprove your theory. Aleks: ... Fuck you.

Cassie: Can I go to the pool? Deimos: Sure, we’ll go as soon as I’m free. Cassie: No, can I go by myself? Deimos: You don’t want to go with me? Cassie: I would if you didn't just go around challenging random people to cannonball contests! Deimos: (defensive) It’s the only way to establish dominance!

Kye: Sometimes I wonder if I’m hearing voices. Also Kye: Then I remember that’s the last bit of sanity I have trying to get me to fall asleep at a reasonable time.

Cassie: HELP! I TOLD MY BROTHER I'D COOK DINNER TONIGHT BUT I CAN'T COOK! Meridian, pouring milk directly into the cereal bag: And you thought I could help?!

Pax: I wish I could control wasps and bees to sting my enemies. Ethean (seriously concerned with his little brother): Kid, you’re too young to have enemies. Pax: Oh you sweet summer child, you don’t even know.

Elysia: When I said bring me something back from the beach I meant like a conch shell! Gabi: *Struggling to hold a seagull* Well, fucking say that next time!

Lyorna: In your opinion, what is the height of stupidity? Noctus, turning to Aleks: How tall are you?

The Director: What is wrong with you? Jack: Many, many things... Jack: And most of them are your fucking fault.

Kye: Wait- Your arresting me because I'm a homo?! A random Khosmonian Officer: ... Attemped Homicide. You tried to kill your own mother. Kye: THAT FUCKER AIN'T MY MOTHER - SHE WAS BARELY A DNA DONOR - (gets dragged away screaming)

Jack: I’m telling you, my team is competent. Deimos, rushing in: Jack! Meridian tried to make pasta in the coffee pot and now it's broken! Jack: I withdraw my statement.

Lyorna: Where are your parents? Elysia: What are parents? Lyorna: Well...That’s just about the saddest thing I've ever heard.

Pax: Ow! Ethean: What’s wrong? Pax: I have this weird pain right above my eyebrow. Ethean: Oh. It’s called a stress headache. I got my first one when I was four.

Vesper: BEHOLD, the field in which I grow my fucks! Lay thine eyes upon it, and thou shalt see that it is barren!

Tarah: How has life been treating you lately? Eos: Horribly.

Tagging (gently): @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin,

@oh-no-another-idea, @littleladymab, @winterandwords, @eccaiia,

@the-letterbox-archives, @illarian-rambling @agirlandherquill, @anoelleart,

@ray-writes-n-shit @writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess, @topazadine

@forthesanityofstorytellers, @finickyfelix

@cauliflowermaterial @thepeculiarbird,

@clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes, and OPEN TAG

Taglist for Supernova Initiative below the cut! 🌠

Supernova Initiative Taglist (-/+): @ray-writes-n-shit, @sarandipitywrites, @smol-feralgremlin, @kaylinalexanderbooks,

@diabolical-blue @oh-no-another-idea

@cakeinthevoid, @clairelsonao3,

@thepeculiarbird

@the-golden-comet, @urnumber1star, @ominous-feychild, @anyablackwood, @amaiguri,

@lyutenw @finickyfelix

@elshells, @thecomfywriter

[lilmissnatcat24]

are you ready for the trope i've been foaming at the mouth to finally write

“Vakarian?” Pallin’s voice called out from his glass office. He gestured him forward with a flick of his fingers. “Can we talk? Now?” 

It was never a good sign when Pallin called someone aside. He, like most other turians, was professional, bordering on emotionless. Which made it all the most devastating when he would pull someone from the case, or fire them with a neat little severance package, or tell them that they needed to go pick out chunks of a vorcha out of a car grill on Tayseri (and, speaking from personal experience, was probably one of Garrus’s least favorite days working for C-Sec). 

Garrus ignored the immature chittering that came from Chellick, Ridgefield, and Lamont as he joined Pallin down the hallway into an empty office, normally kept clean and tidy for telling families that their children and their parents were found somewhere on the Citadel murdered. Pallin gestured at one of the seats for Garrus, pacing back and forth with a datapad tucked underneath his arm. 

Pallin looked incredibly uncomfortable. He was fidgeting with his armor, fidgeting with his gloves, fidgeting with his mandibles, fidgeting with just about everything in a five foot radius that could be fidgeted with. Garrus realized he’d never seen Pallin look so nervous before. 

He placed the datapad down on the table, looking up at Garrus expectantly. “Is this true, son?” 

Garrus was terrified to pick it up. It could be just about anything. Saren’s orders to fire Garrus from C-Sec, transcripts from a listening device that implicate Garrus in his investigation, a paper trail linking him to a sex club… He picked it up and read: 

Consensual Relationship Agreement

Citadel Security is committed to creating a work environment free from harassment, discrimination, conflicts of interest, exploitation, and favoritism. 

It is against Citadel Security policy to use a position of authority to induce another person to enter into a nonconsensual relationship. Indeed, even consensual relationships in the workplace can cause disruption and other problems in violation to company policy. 

The purpose of this agreement is to affirm that Delia Shepard (Officer- Drugs and Trafficking) and Garrus Vakarian (Officer- Homicide), both employees of Citadel Security, have agreed to engage in a welcome, consensual social relationship--

Garrus’s tongue felt like a foreign object in his mouth, his stomach dropping down several levels. What the everliving fuck was Shepard thinking? His entire face was so stupidly warm, so warm that he was sure that Pallin could feel it from across the room. 

“I--” 

“Listen, Vakarian,” Pallin said in a fake sort of soft professional voice. This was why he was so uncomfortable; dealing with HR matters like this always made him unsure of what to say, or how to say it, or where to put his hands when he talked. “I’m not going to be the one to tell you who you can and can't see when you’re not at work or how to spend your free time. But are you absolutely positive that this is how you want to play this?” 

“Um… I mean… we-- I guess, the two of us… um…” Garrus had no idea what to say. Luckily for him, neither did Pallin, evidently. 

“I don’t need to know the specifics, please,” he put his hand up, a pained expression on his face. “Just… just make sure this doesn’t get in the way of your work, yeah? No… no quickies in storage closets.” 

“No, sir,” Garrus said so quickly it sounded like one garbled, stuttering mess. 

“I better not be able to smell her all over you.” 

“No, sir.” 

“And I sincerely hope you don’t spend all of your time on the seventh floor at her desk. You need to be at yours, working. Is that clear?” 

“Yes, sir.” Pallin opened his mouth once more, then thought better, closing it. He waved Garrus away, a clear end to the conversation. Garrus stood, his head feeling as though someone replaced his brain with feathers and flies. And, doing exactly what Pallin told him not to do, went straight for the elevator and punched in the seventh floor.

[cdyssey]

Elsbeth (1.10) Reactions:

as always, spoilers under the cut ☺️

ANDRÉ DE SHIELDS!!! LAURA BENANTI!!

THIS EPISODE OF TV IS FOR MEEEE! <33

OH, YES. I absolutely adore that we’re not going to get the culprit straight off the bat. It’s a good and a welcome subversion

SKFJSJSKSJ, Elsbeth blaming her fashion sense on her knees. But also, that red ensemble is stunning.

Yay, Donnelly!!

Kaya calling Elsbeth because she knows she would want to see the festival up close. 😭

“Huh, have a hunch?” / “Ha, I usually do by now, don’t I? But I don’t.” And that thoroughly shocks Elsbeth herself. I really love that we’re getting to see her off-kilter and how it messes with her sense of self. Elsbeth KNOWS she’s damn good at what she does, and so when she’s off, she’s off.

wow, that pantsuit on Donnelly. 😍

“And because she’s good at it.” Kaya defending her gf. <33

NOT ELSBETH CRYING NO. I CAN’T TAKE IT!

NO!!!!

“Dont leave without saying goodbye.” You just kicked her off of the job she loves, man. You can’t say THAT to her too. 😭

“Can we still talk about the case?” / “um, I can’t really think about that right now.” Baby is too distraught to even think about solving high-profile homicides. :((

“Like combination nail polish and staple remover.” / “Sounds like a winner.” lmao

“And also in the healing power of the sun and certain textiles.” ALAKDJJAS, ELSBETH’S FACE

I love that Nadine is a dumbass.

Laura Benanti kissing Elsbeth’s cheek is the stuff of dreams!

The pawn owner giving a hyper specific definition of Pangaea lmfao. This show does throwaway jokes so well.

I could watch Donnelly, Kaya, and elsbeth forever. Best trio. Kaya and Donnelly’s deadpan humor just works so well as a foil to Elsbeth’s general cheeriness.

“I don’t respect it, but it works.” 🥺

Laura benanti is so hot

Aww, Nadine sharing cookies with Elsbeth!! Love that she unironically likes Elsbeth.

“I get hodgepodge and hot mess.” Don’t listen to them, sweetie. Ur a fashion icon.

Matteo making an Elsbeth inspired show!!!!! He gets it!!!!!!!!! I don’t even care if he’s the murderer!!!!!!! (He so totally is.) He gets it!!!!!!!!

Elsbeth’s reluctance immediately turning into eagerness when Matteo offers up Nadine as her fashion coach. I know what you are!

“And I saw your sports illustrated spread. That bathing suit totally showed your—“ ELSBETH GESTURING TO HER WHOLE MIDSECTION. HELP ME THAT IS SO FUNNY. I NEED A GIF OF THAT NOW

“Well, I can’t figure out everything for you, can I?” Gkdkskskwkwosk

“Now, remember, chin up.” [Nadine gently tilts Elsbeth’s chin.] god bless this show for its commitment to constructing such intimate moments of connection between Elsbeth and other women every single episode

Gonzo! Glad they brought her back.

Matteo: “That was twenty years ago… before Nadine had an accent.”

Dear god, the pangaea project ☠️

Elsbeth’s instincts being off because she’s upset about having to leave the precinct is such a nice touch. Oh, god, the way her voice goes all wobbly.

“I came here with an assignment from the Department of Justice and maybe you think I was wrong to accept that because you think you’re above blame, but I did my best to be fair, and you know, there was plenty of evidence that made you look bad.”

OH, perfect moment, writer’s room. It would have been so easy to let Elsbeth sit there and take the unfairness, but the fact that she stands up for herself is a fundamental truth of her character that we’ve seen time and time again throughout the season. She’s not a pushover. She’s not dumb. And she’s the furthest thing from weak.

And she will damn sure let you know it.

“Okay then. I guess you’re right, as you always are. My work here is done.” GET HIS ASS!!!

Kaya: “I’ll be there.” 😭

Kaya immediately turning back to Wagner. “What was she supposed to do?”

YES, I NEED THIS PERSONAL DRAMA! Up the stakes between the main characters! Give them deeply intimate things to fight for or to fight about!!

That Kaya/Elsbeth hug. 😭😭

Donnelly: “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m gonna miss you.” GKSKSKSK, Donnelly running away from her hug.

Matteo exuberantly pointing at Elsbeth and it immediately cutting to her looking like the saddest little kitten. 😭

Elsbeth, violently sobbing: “I don’t know. I think… I think I’ve lost my mojo.” OKAY, I HATE TO SEE HER CRY, but the angst lover in me is also enjoying this deeply.

Nadine trying to comfort her, stroking her arm. 🌈

MY FUCKING GOD LOOK AT KAYA. LOOK AT HOW HOT SHE IS. WHAT THE FUKC

THAT DRESSSSS AUWHGJA!

Wagner showing up to the fashion show, lmao. They filmed that like the end of The Parent Trap when the dad shows up at the end again.

“Oh, I wish I didn’t have to do this.”Elsbeth’s tenderness and compassion towards Matteo—(towards so many of the culprits)—is just stunning. Absolutely character defining.

“I’m old, darling. Time collapses.” Gorgeous way to put it.

Love the high drama of the whole Nick/Nadine/Ezra/Matteo story.

For Good Wife/Fight fans, was Celetano a character over there, or is he a new invention?

Elsbeth and Laura Benanti still hanging out!!!

“… but actually, they’re far worse than what I imagined.” QLLQOQKWOEKDMSKW

“Thank you for teaching me how to notice things… and for being my friend.” 😭 Oh, that little break in Kaya’s voice.

Elsbeth grabbing her hands. 😭😭

“I know a bunch of people died, but we did have a lot of fun.” / “Yeah.” this is the fun of Kaya and Elsbeth, too, that they have an ungodly amount of fun solving gruesomecrimes.

ELSBETH GETTING AN OFFICE! YAYAYAYAY! KAYA EXCITED ABOUT BEING OUTSIDE OF ELSBETH’S OFFICE! KAYA GOING TO BE A DETECTIVE!! ELSBETH AND KAYA SO EXCITED TOGETHER! WAH!!

final thoughts on the finale: oh, this was such a wonderful episode—I had a goddamn blast.

I really hate to say it because I think the howcatchem gimmick is what makes Elsbeth structurally unique as a procedural, but not knowing the culprit worked for me so well for me in this episode. It was fun to piece it together with her, and even to watch her struggle a bit as she dealt with other stressors. That was all great—I felt both grounded in Elsbeth’s emotional state and invested in the case as it gradually unfolded. André and Laura were excellent guest stars! They understood the Elsbeth assignment of high camp fnekdnsns. Carra Patterson and Wendell Pierce were fantastic as always, too, but I have to admit, I wish the Wagner corruption plot had been more interesting in general.

(He was never ever going to be the antagonist, but having it be Noonan felt a little anticlimactic after all the cool set up. 😭 I sort of wish we’d gotten one last quiet moment between Elsbeth and Wagner to talk about it, too.)

looking ahead, I’m so, so excited for what Elsbeth has in store. Carrie Preston is just a delight, from start to finish. There is a high chance I’m going to start binging TGW/F soon just to get a chance to see her at the start. :’)

I really hope that S2 leans into more of the elements that made the finale such a treat—like not being afraid to shake up the formula and playing to personal drama/stakes/moments between the central cast. They’re all gorgeous characters, and I desperately want to know more about their internal lives, and share some of those tiny, unseen moments with them. and if that means sacrificing some of the screen space that would have originally been used to get to know a culprit better, I think that’s absolutely okay from time-to-time. <3

But overall, Elsbeth has genuinely and quickly become one of my favorite new finds of 2024. It’s fun and clever. It doesn’t take itself seriously, which I think is crucial to the DNA of the show. And yet, it has such a big heart at its core, which is what gives it life.

I’m going to miss it sm while it’s on hiatus!! Thursdays just got a whole lot duller.

[quibbs126]

Trade offer

I get: Licorice x Almond fan child

You get: a wacky Mushroom that will fill you with whimsy

Do you accept? (PleazspelasepleaseIneedlicolmondcontentibegofthee)

I know this has been probably months in the making (sorry about that), but I finally got to it, and their names are Marzipan Cookie and Black Sesame Cookie

Originally I was just going to stick with Marzipan, but after getting that thing from anon with suggestions for Marzipan’s character, I decided to use one of the other names for some of the other ideas listed. Thanks again to that anon for the help

I came up with these names a long time ago, so I don’t entirely remember Black Sesame’s name reasoning, other than I think it was based off the seeds and it was because those seeds are a dark color like licorice? And probably some other reason relating to Almond that I can’t remember. But for Marzipan, it’s because marzipan is made from ground almonds

Marzipan and black sesame seeds:

I’ll say one thing, I feel like Marzipan looks almost nothing like Licorice. Hmm, maybe she was younger she had a goth phase where she dressed more like him and maybe dyed her hair? I dunno, but at this point she’s moved past that. I also feel like she looks more like a journalist, when she’s supposed to be a cop. She has a badge somewhere on her jacket, you just don’t see it. The anon mentioned something about skull cuffs, so I thought might as well give her that, so yeah her cuff links are skull shaped. Also originally, her jacket was orange, but I changed it to purple because I thought one of them should at least have a color scheme similar to Licorice (also I was waiting on my friend for a consultance on which colors to use, but she’s going out on vacation, so I just stuck with purple. I should probably find more consultants on this stuff than just her, but also I feel like that’d be rude)

Also I know neither Licorice nor Almond have white hair, but the pictures of marzipan I found were usually an off white color, so I chose to stick with that

As for Black Sesame, I’m pretty happy with his design, it’s pretty much what I wanted. I wanted him to look somewhat like a crazy and/or homeless person, even though he isn’t one. Though maybe I could have given him more detail. Ah well. Oh also, Black Sesame has a slouch, but is also just generally a bit short. Sorry just random detail I wanted to mention

So anyways, let’s get into the two, starting with Marzipan. So she’s part of the police force like Almond (who’s probably the Commissioner at this point), and she specifically deals with homicide cases. Previously, she attended the Parfaedia Institute and learned magic, as well as some from Licorice, and probably her most notable asset is that she can temporarily bring a victim back from the dead via licorice magic (even if she herself doesn’t have much licorice in her dough), so they can figure out how they died and who killed them. Unfortunately, she has the bad luck that almost all of the victims she deals with don’t have those answers, so she still has to try and figure things out for herself, though the victims can be helpful in the process. To be honest, her cases tend to go more like Ace Attorney cases, with a lot of wacky hijinks and things being relatively light hearted (you know for a murder case). She loves her job but she can get frustrated sometimes with the amount of weird stuff she has to deal with to get her job done. Also you know that clip of suspects having to sing I Want it That Way? I’d imagine she’d be the cop in that scene (sorry I’ve never seen Brooklyn 99, only clips)

As for Black Sesame, he’s a teenager that also attends Parfaedia, but he has little if any interest in learning magic, and is only still going because he likes the potions track (which Prune Juice likely had some involvement in, but I’m not sure how). His big thing is that he’s an author of a series of murder mysteries, which he loosely bases off of Marzipan’s talks of her cases (and case files as well as her diary, but he doesn’t tell her about that last bit). Like he’ll lift certain elements from her cases that he thinks are interesting (as well as the main character being a cop that brings people back from the dead), and then insert them into this stories. Though unlike how Marzipan’s actual cases tend to be more on the wacky side, Black Sesame’s versions tend to be incredibly dark and gritty with gratuitous amounts of violence and vulgarity. However, Black Sesame doesn’t just do this because he wants to make edgy fanfiction, it’s because he’s trying to make statements based on the stories at hand, choosing to use the dark tone as a form of satire while also being a commentary on things (unfortunately I don’t really know what those messages or things are, because I’m not good at deeper meanings to stories, I kind of have to be told them by other people to understand them). He generally doesn’t condone the dark things he puts in his stories, he just uses them to make a point

His books are actually incredibly successful, some people reading it for satire, and some just because of the dark content. However he hasn’t made it publicly known that he’s the writer of the series (he uses a pen name), with it really only being kept between his publishers and his family. He does it partially because he thinks that revealing a teenager wrote these books could lessen people’s opinions on the books, and also he thinks it’s funny if he doesn’t tell people, like some of his classmates read them and love them, including plenty of people who just generally don’t like him, and he thinks it’s hilarious, and he wants to keep it up until the best possible moment to publicly reveal himself so that he can see the looks on their faces when they realize he’s the author

Marzipan doesn’t read the books (hence why she doesn’t know he reads her diary for info), mostly just because she knows the main character is based on her and the stories are based on her cases, and she finds it a bit too surreal to read about. And while no one knows the real identity of the author, other people in the precinct suspect Marzipan has some connection to them, considering the main character sounds suspiciously like her and the cases in it sound a bit too much like their cases for these to be complete coincidence

Also I’m considering the idea that they have a youngest sister called Swirl Taffy who wants to be a wizard and is just generally an optimistic child, but Black Sesame keeps trying to get her into dark things and Marzipan has to stop him (but she probably already knows the dark stuff and is cool with it), but I don’t think I’ll draw her, just a random concept

But yeah, I think that’s all on Marzipan and Black Sesame. Hope you like them!

[junowritings]

Hi! I heard your requests are open and I know you don’t know me very well but I thought I’d send an ask 💛 my first ever 🤭

I’m a 24 year old woman, 5’3, brown hair to my shoulders, brown eyes and glasses. I can be a little introverted at times but when I’m comfortable with someone I tend to come out of my shell. I’m an only child 😔 I love all things creative and I have a love for all things supernatural and nerdy (80s vibes)

For my ideal partner I’m not very specific really I’ve got a vague idea.

My first ideal partner would be someone who’s always willing to challenge me and humour my constant ramblings, taking in even the smallest detail and adding their own spin on what I have to say. An animal lover for sure who can do their own thing but would come home at the end of the day and just sit together and exist. Someone I wouldn’t mind spending the rest of my life with even if he isn’t over his crusty dusty musty ex who’s got something in common with drake (and it’s not rap)

My other ideal partner is a little vague so please forgive me.

Male, 6’1 Half-Elf paladin who has a tumultuous relationship with being alive. Grey hair, beard, fuelled by grief - possible dead family. Slight homicidal tendencies (I can fix him) previous dalliances in governance. Girth 15cm, length 16cm, Tip #c88d94

Thank you can’t wait to hear your thoughts your stuff is amazing!! 🥰🤭💛

The way I immediately knew who this is I SWEAR-

I had to go a lot off my own knowledge for this one (also I need to brush up on BG3 a bit bc I think I need a better grasp on the characters.) so hopefully this is a fun to read as it was to write lmao

You know what ask and ye shall receive you joked about him but y'know who I'm gonna match you with...

Let’s just start this off with the obvious. It’s a miracle in itself that you’re still alive after an initial interaction with Ketheric. Anyone who remains in the tower are either prisoners, loyal worshippers of the absolute, or whatever poor souls have somehow managed to survive the shadow lands just to get here. And then there’s you, who exists as what is essentially the weird third party in this whole scenario. 

It’s not as though you intended to be here (or maybe you had who knows), but here you are,   Perhaps those first hours of quiet was what kept you out of sight, keeping to yourself and merely watching as each of the cogs in this plan moved and shifted as though little more than puppets. But once Ketheric takes notice of you he watches. You stand out like a sore thumb afterwards, if only because of how noticeably alive you are compared to everyone around you. Yes there are many there who are alive in a sense (unlike him), but you’ve got a gung-ho way about you that feels like you’d be better suited to be literally anywhere else than here.

Ketheric is heavily involved, as the general of the absolute’s army it is an unspoken must. When he’s not at Moonrise’s peak he is working across every inch of the tower, ever present as the time to strike grows ever closer. Because of this there are plenty of times where you cross paths, with you always throwing an over dramatic abbreviation of his name in greeting as you dart off to hells knows where before he can decide if today is the day he’s had enough. 

You always somehow manage to toe the line of the wrong word at the wrong time, but if that line exists none of the out of pocket commentary have pushed past it yet. Were it anyone else, it’s unlikely that Ketheric would have humored them long enough to finish a joke before making an example of them for anyone foolish enough to get the same idea. And yet you seem to walk away unscathed all the time, whether it’s rattling off a niche fun fact about something so out of the blue, or being straight up sat on his desk or on the floor beside his throne picking apart his war strategies with an eyeroll worthy pun at the end of each one.

You’re a walking anomaly - no one at the tower knows how you showed up or when, and any attempts that his followers have made to ascertain your origins only returns little to nothing that gives a definitive answer. Not to mention the few times that followers wishing to prove themselves have make an example of you somehow seem to always end up the fool. 

In regards to your penchant for any and all things supernatural, it’s safe to say that an undead general, dwelling within the shadowlands where a single wrong misstep out of the tower’s perimeter could lead to your unfortunate end, counts as something that’s right up your alley. There’s not a single inch that he hasn’t caught you hemming or hawing at. With undead creatures roaming the halls, anyone within their right mind would feel but a shred of terror; and yet all he sees upon your face is awe, watching you trail after ghouls where others would deign to keep fair distance.

That fascination extends to Ketheric. He’s already aware that you know of his undead disposition - the tales themselves paint a pretty picture of the dead man walking before you every day - but the true invincibility is new to you. The first time you experienced it firsthand, Ketheric had taken an arrow or two to the jugular from fools wasting what little remained of their lives. Where others' faces were grim at the sight and others horrified, Kethric still remembers the distinctive “HOLY SHIT!” you so eloquently shouted as he’d plucked the arrows from his throat like splinters. After that it’s a miracle if he doesn’t hear you ask about it. Ketheric waves off any attempts of concern for these injuries - they’re but mottles on dead flesh that will knit back together with time. But if you express fascination? That’s…new, and he won’t outright refuse to indulge your curiosity. Feel free to rattle off questions about the limits of his invincibility - just don’t ask how he does it, for your own safety and sanity.

Your habit to lurk and wander doesn’t go unnoticed - not even locked doors can stop that curious nature from getting the better of you and more than once Ketheric has caught wind of his followers’ latest gossip of your whereabouts. He sees it for himself firsthand, even when you haven’t actively been caught red handed. He’s seen you slide through corridors with armfuls of books and blood still dripping from your clothes after an unfortunate slip in Balthazar’s room; has seen the occasional ball roll out from the doorway to his old chambers from your attempts to coax squire into a game of fetch. And he has seen how you worm your way out of trouble you’ve caused - whether it’s being chased from the kitchens for trying to pet the gnolls or somehow convincing the traders for freebies whenever new wares come in. All the while laughing as you do so, grinning as though these foolish little acts mean such a great deal to you.

When had Ketheric last heard the ring of such laughter in the tower’s halls? A century at least. It almost feels out of place here, within the old bones of a place that holds so many memories for such a vengeful man. It should be nipped in the bud; should not be tolerated from a man who’s every waking moment is consumed by his loyalty for the one thing able to bring the only things he had cared for back from death itself. And yet he never stops you, never once cuts that laughter and smile short. Instead he pauses, for but a moment, and listens to you as you disappear into the safety of the chaos on the lower floors for a place to hide away and savor your spoils. It’s only until you’re from sight that he continues on as though nothing occurred, but even after your laughter has died down it persists, nagging in the corner of his mind at fond memories.

For whatever reason you seem content to exist within this abysmal place, and should you prove yourself competent enough to not hinder the big three’s goal with the netherbrain, Ketheric decides that having you here around him till that time comes isn’t the worst thing in the world.

[heyheydidjaknow]

Hey, how's your fancy little otome project going bestie

My life is going to be shorter because of my silly lil otome project. I don’t think I’ll be able to share what I’m done here at any point— honestly, I don’t think people here specifically would care to see it— but I’m using this opportunity to do a fun thing for me.

Mystic Messenger Love Interests Ranked By How Likely I Would Be To Encourage My Friend To Dump Their Ass (From Least To Most Likely)

Jaehee Kang: I have no complaints about a motivated career woman who likes musicals and is freaked out by understandably strange things. Black belt in Judo? Green flag: girl knows how to defend herself and you. I would wish you (you are my friend in this scenario by the way) the best with your coffee shop adventures and only judge you a little for entering into a business with a woman you just let.

Hyun “Zen” Ryu: He’s an alcoholic, smoking, struggling actor with an inflated ego but he seems to treat you well enough and he has the decency to offer his place to keep you away from the bomb apartment you decided to wander into so he’s okay. If he’s your type, he’s your type; who am I to judge?

Jihyun “V” Kim: His being in an organization named after his dead fiancé whose apartment you’re now living in is a bit unfortunate but he makes stable money and has cool hair and has only threatened your safety via negligence so he’s okay for now. Thin ice with that boy but he’ll slide for now.

Yoosung Kim: The first time you tell me he has compared you to his dead cousin is when he goes from a soft yes to a firm and definitive no. It’s one thing to compare someone you’re interested in to an ex, but comparing them to a family member puts you into a weirdly familial role that you shouldn’t be in. I understand he’s a cute subby softboy gamer but you can aim higher even amongst the singles in this pool.

Saeyoung “707” Choi: You met a man who didn’t tell you his name for the majority of your time together and let you stay in an apartment with a bomb in it that he installed even after his homicidal twin brother showed up and threatened to kill you and then treated you shitty because he couldn’t figure out his feelings and now wants you to risk your life to find said homicidal brother instead of waiting for him to come back from a dangerous mission that you have no business being a part of because of an e-relationship you had which consisted mostly of him telling you not to like him because he’s a walking red flag and exchanging memes? Oh, and he thought putting a bomb in an occupied apartment building was a good enough idea to put into action? Great idea, man; trauma’s the most solid foundation for a relationship.

Jumin Han: I know that you have a daddy kink. I am not kink-shaming you. I know you think he’s classy and funny. I will concede his suits are nice. This does not excuse your desire to stay with a man who is keeping you in his apartment against your will and is fully ready to keep you in a cage as a replacement for his cat. He treats the only for-sure green flag like shit and seemingly only likes you because you’re the first person to think he’s hot for reasons only tangentially related to his money. Do not wander into a random apartment twice. Get on Tinder and find yourself a better sugar daddy that knows what a safe word is and had friends.

Saeran “Ray” Choi: You want the physically abusive cult higher-up who kept you against your will in cult headquarters? The one who was nice to you for maybe half the time you knew him and then starved you until you put out? The one who just totally ignored your lack of consent and tried to arrange for your torture? Because you say he’s changed back into being a nice guy and was just being manipulated by magic juice? I don’t know how high he got you to let yourself get into a windowless van for a fun field trip to play some video games but it was apparently incredibly strong and should honestly be sold to the government. Send your address so I can come pick you up and get you laid so you never do that shit again.

[iressails]

hi there!!! I’m your content creator secret santa 🤫🎄 how are you?? do you have anything you’re looking forward to this (holiday) season?

I’ve checked out your blog to see what kinds of things you enjoy, but I’d love to hear from you directly 😊

what are some of your favorite shows and movies? who are your favorite characters? ships? do you have any particularly favored music artists lately? maybe specific songs? maybe you even have some favorite books you’d like to share! what about favorite colors?

is there anything you absolutely DON’T want? lol just in case 😅

I hope you have a great rest of your week!

HII!!! I have been preparing for this question for a couple of days and right now immediately I've forgotten everything I know and like, and have ever liked.

[Pause to review my blog and get my thoughts in order]

i love red, green and orange. all the traffic lights baby!

Im looking forward to the holidays it's been... a year.

My ship (just the one rn *sob): I'm currently in Homicide: Life on the Street (1993 - 2000) hell. I love Frank Pembleton and Tim Bayliss with my whole heart, but a 30 year old show and 65 year old men are a bit of a hard ask even from a kind Santa. Bayliss was my first canon bi character on TV and I've not been right since.

Update: Earlier in the year I was heavily into Joanne Davidson/Kate Fleming from Line of Duty (2012 - 2021) until I was gratified by this fic: Bleed into me by Authorette and somehow never thought of it again.

(Yeah not sure about the non-canon (but one half queer in canon) unhappy ending cop duos being my shipping highlight of the year)

Movies: I love Hedwig and the Angry Inch (2001), Pride (2014), Barber (2023), Gattaca (1997), Romy and Michele's High School Reunion (1997), Trust (1990)

Shows: Bob and Rose (2001), Homicide ..(ahahaha) Trust me (2017), Borderliner / Grenseland (2017)

People: I think Rebecca Ferguson, Raul Esparza, Hunter Schaefer, Lesley Sharp, Ethan Hawke, Carla Gugino, Laura Main, Brain Molko, Emma D'Arcy, Vanessa Kirby, Katie McGrath, Caity Lotz, Toby Stephens, Adrienne Shelly, Alexander Skarsgard, Patricia Arquette, Emerald Fennell and David Harbour are just so pretty

Characters: Omar Little (The Wire 2002 - 2008), Catherine Cawood (Happy Valley 2014 - 2023), Christine Chapel (Star Trek Strange new Worlds 2022), Alex Vause (Orange is the new black 2013 - 2019), Nomi Marks (Sense8 2015 - 2017), Joan Holloway/Harris (Mad Men 2007 - 2015), and Deran Cody (Animal Kingdom 2016 - 2022), Charles (Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994), Carrie Mathison (Homeland 2011 - 2020), Patsy Mount (Call the Midwife)

As for hates... I dont like too many fancy fonts on gifs, or double exposures that make people look like they have two heads (I'm guilty of this, yes, yes). Not big on the music. My spotify wrapped this year was where I was reminded that I had just listened to Alanis Morissette, The Crystal Method, Bright Eyes and Placebo and things-to-run-to as I always do. Every year. It is an utter wasteland.

Thank you in advance I'm sure whatever you make will be wonderful. I love this exchange so much. Both ways giving and receiving.

[another-dra-anew]

Higa (- definitely someone you don't know yes yes)

I GENUINELY HOPE CANON HIGA EXPLODES I NEED TO PUT THIS DISCLAIMER UP. AAAA

anyways. nothing i can think to cw for/have been asked to cw for iirc? mentions of higas favorite hobby (committing hate crimes) but that’s abt all.

- My identity hc for them

homophobic homosexual. there’s nothing more to say- wait. sorry. he took the wrong red pill noooo higa no!!! okay now there’s nothing else to say

- Thoughts on their home life/family

now we start the fun game of how do i chat about my kids without spoiling things… ya know. okay. i think his paternal grandparents are actually p chill they’re just not even remotely involved bc they live vv far away. they’re a bit upset with tatsunori for never updating them. higa used to send them tickets to all his Big games but then he overheard them joking with tatsunori about how they were always traveling home just to travel back out again. so. he doesn’t send them tickets as often now

- How i feel about their canonical writing/handling

i think in a lot of early posts i wasn’t confident enough in my writing to make higa more of… a actual Issue? he was kinda just a dick who got shut down quick by everyone. so i need to go back and fix that. need to show his actions are like. Very Bad, and he def faces consequences.

- The one thing i’d want to make canon about them

uhh. well. u see. im kinda writing beta so. the only thing i can really think of is like… making canon “if (x) had happened to higa instead of (y), then he would’ve turned out like (z)”, since i can’t reallyyy… get into backstory changes like that? 

- My number one favorite ship for them

i think non despair red pill is fun!! (specify non despair because the kg isn’t really the best time for higas personal growth, which is smthn red pill kinda hinges on)- SORRY PEOPLE WHO ARENT IN THE SERVER? i don’t remember if this joke has breached contamination or not. red pill is yamaguchi/higa. 

especially in non despair (since side stepping away from others isn’t really a option in the game + kinda makes people feel homicidal), they both wind up kinda isolated/on the fringes of group interactions because they’re not just. abrasive but they say shit that actually feeds into negative stereotypes. so people r a bit. steps away from them. so should they both get the chance to grow and change they can bond over how hard it is to try and integrate into a group u were excluded from because of like. ur own decisions hurting people in the group. 

- …Now everyone else i ship with them

higa keeps hate criming people it’s kinda. hard to ship him with people. that being said i think it’s silly to say he has a bit of a crush on maeda. cuz i promise u all maeda, at best, is 😐 at higa. i don’t ship them together but i think the idea of higa having a crush on maeda is funny. it’s definitely not canon tho i don’t write beta with that in mind

- The thing i will NEVER ship

see above. god damn it higa. (not that u can’t hurt people and genuinely change and grow. but like. yeah i think a lot of those ships have kinda sunk). 

- a dynamic/relationship i wish was explored more (in canon, or in fandom)

hmmmmm…. i’d honestly like to talk more about kobas feelings on higa? specifically within the context of the game where it’s like. obviously koba doesn’t want higa to FUCKING DIE but while he understands the situation and knows if he felt uncomfortable or unsafe, he could say so and higa would get booted out. i think he’s just not very happy with the fact that they have to tip toe around higas general evil-ness so that he doesnt go off the rails and like. try to work with monokuma. he’s choosing so much mercy and so much emotional maturity. and that’s what sucks about being confined to one pov character!!!

- thoughts on their design (appearance-wise)

maybe if i stopped giving higa fits that are so easy to clown on, he’d leave his villain era. hm. anyways!! lol sweater vest lol. i do genuinely like his design (been gently working on kobas fit recently and giving them more distinctive color palettes, so that’s fun), buuut yeah! tbh i don’t see it changing i don’t know where i’d go from here. i think it works v well ! :D

- A music-related thought- a song that reminds me of them, or what their music taste is, etc

had to Hunt to find one. but animal - sir chloe makes me think like. a song higa would listen to, then close out of halfway through and never listen to it again but be haunted by the Thoughts it made him Think. im not good at interpreting songs the way they’re meant to be interpreted. :(. sorry to everyone behind sir chloe. 

[andybondurant]

New Post has been published on Andy Bondurant

New Post has been published on https://andybondurant.com/2023/06/02/walk-through-scripture-1-samuel-27/

Walk Through Scripture | 1 Samuel 27

Welcome to the last of 1 Samuel. We’ve read about the rise of Samuel, then Saul, and now we are reading about the trials of David as he prepares to become the next king of Israel. This chapter sees David evading Saul by taking up residence with…the Philistines?!

Start by reading 1 Samuel 27 for yourself, take notes, and compare what you see and hear from God with what I see and hear. The Bible is alive and active. You and I may not see the same things. And if you’ve missed any of the past posts of earlier chapters, you can find them all HERE.

Let’s dive into 1 Samuel 27!

Impossible Places: Is God with You?

David loved Israel. He loved the people. David loved the God of the people. So for David to decide to live with his bitter enemies, he had to be at his wits end.

Sometimes the best decision you can make will still feel like the worst decision you could make. It will feel wrong, and it will seem as if there is no end in sight. David may have wondered if it would be forever.

Image by Alexander Shimmeck on UnSplash

God doesn’t promise us a perfect or ideal life. Things won’t always work the way we think they should. Sometimes we are forced to places we never thought we would go. When you find yourself in this place, ask this question:

“Is God with me?”

We don’t specifically see David ask it here, but it was a pattern for him. God are you with me?

Last night, I spoke to a mother who had lost her son to homicide. Even worse, he left two young daughters without a father. It is up to this grandmother to tell these sweet children their father is dead. It’s a place she never thought she would be forced to go.

Is God with me? That’s the question she needed as she approached this conversation. What are the right words? How do you tell your grandchildren their father is tragically gone? She needed to know that God was with her.

You need to know God is with you in hard and difficult days.

I’ll be honest, sometimes it won’t be clear. But if you can determine God isn’t against your choice (Scripture, counsel, wisdom), then move forward. Believe He is walking with you. Believe God has a plan and a purpose for a greater good in you and for those around you.

Is God with you?

[mangoisms]

oh i forgot to mention but i was plagued by Thoughts again last night of a dc/dna crossover. there was the supergirl/reader as clark/miyuki as lois au i briefly yelled about which was just a passing thought but still a whole lot of fun.

and what was last nights???? under the cut because wow i’m thinking thoughts

once again in the dc universe…. reader as an amazonian specifically as fulfilling the role of wonder woman (since that’s a mantle and has been passed to people other than the og lady diana). But… instead of having bruce wayne as batman and clark kent as superman i think it would fit more if they were legacies or that’s just what i find myself considering often. anyway. for superman it would be jon kent — clark’s son — and then for batman… drum roll please… cassandra cain.

i know this largely doesn’t mean much to u guys who are following me for daiya and that’s totally fine! there’s a lot behind it but generally of all of bruce’s kids it’s accepted that she is the one most passionate about succeeding him and also probably the only one who could have even a remotely healthy relationship with the mantle (whereas the others…. Would Not). but along with this i see them as being new to the positions and they are IMPORTANT positions not just in their respective cities but on the justice league because those three founded the league (i think i’m pretty sure who knows what continuity says these days).

anyway basically all that means reader is the one helming the league for the moment as they settle in and where is miyuki you might ask?????? Glad you asked. miyuki kazuya = justice league’s pr head and perpetually annoyed at having to deal with the finicky stuff of politics when a leaguer says something people do not like. or alternatively trying to do damage control when they uh. destroy a whole city block fighting off aliens or some shit.

i keep making him the ‘normal’ one. as in reader continues to be ultra strong literaly invincible — ie being imagined as a kryptonian and then here as an amazonian. specifically a demigod? yeah i think that’s correct. either way. but you also couldn’t tell me that he wouldn’t be mildly turned on by the fact that his girlfriend can like. kick severe ass. and i mean SEVERE ass. we already know kryptonians are super strong but diana — og wonder woman diana prince the one we all know and love — can and will go toe to toe with clark/superman.

of course that one is more yummy to me because the amazonians are literal warriors and generally just. really powerful but also sort of. feral in a way? (affectionate). and a kryptonian reader would lack that mostly because of the in universe perspective of kryptonians. that is as being seen as practical gods and generally wary of, they need to be careful not to be perceived as too feral or too dangerous otherwise people get Nervous. but with amazonians i feel it’s sort of known. what with themyscira being like. Kill men who breach our territories. you know. it’s like yeah yeah yeah we all know about the slightly homicidal amazonians but wow get a load of these aliens! so dangerous!

(which is true but i stand by my thought that the speedsters are the most dangerous because they could effectively eliminate the justice league quickly without even a second for retaliation but that’s. uh. not related to this…)

anyway. i don’t have much in terms of anything else. maybe an assassination attempt. kidnapping. sorry miyuki but how else should we get the full might of the justice league on your behalf????? with the reader leading it and a little bit feral too come ON

[ladyfogg]

Who Wants to be Lonely - 4/10

Who Wants to be Lonely – 4/10

Fic Summary: After the ground splits and sends you hurtling into the Upside Down, you come face-to-face with the notorious, and injured, Eddie Munson. Lost and hunted by otherworldly creatures, the two of you have no choice but to stick together if you’re going to find your way home. Masterpost.

Fic Rating: 18+

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Female Reader

Warnings: Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Language, Violence, Angst, Blood/Slight Gore, Season Finale Spoilers

Fic Song: Who Wants to be Lonely by Kiss. Full fic playlist on Spotify.

A/N: Just wanted to give a little warning that the reader deals with some anxiety in this chapter. Nothing huge but I know it can be a trigger for some. Happy reading!

Eddie sleeps for longer than he means to.

He comes to consciousness slowly, too groggy and out of it to really fully wake. Several times he dozes off again, only to come to moments later. Even though he can’t tell what time it is, he knows hours have passed. His entire body is cramped from lying on the floor and the pain is dulled, though not by much. He’s no longer lying on your lap. Instead, your empty bag is under his head like a pillow. When he strains to listen, however, he can’t hear anything. Not the sound of you moving around or your breathing.

It's that thought that makes him open his eyes.

The first thing he sees is that the barricade has been fortified with more shelves, all of which are now directly up against the door. A little worrisome but at least a good sign because it means you’re somewhere in the small building.

Eddie lifts his head to look around. Items that had been scattered about have been picked up and organized into neat piles, in very careful rows like they would have been if they were still on the shelves. Near the little area where Eddie is laying, you’ve brought over things he assumes you’re planning to take with you when the two of you leave. He spots bottled water, first aid supplies, and food among the items. But there are also tools you were able to scrounge up, like a hammer, nails, screwdriver, etc. Everything gives the impression you’ve been hard at work while he’s been sleeping. He has no idea how you’ve had the energy to do any of this. He should probably get up and let you rest for a bit. No doubt you’re running on fumes.

When Eddie tries to move, his body won’t listen. Between his injuries and the strain of running around the Upside Down, he’s stuck lying on the floor, curled onto his side. Fearful and incredibly concerned, he calls your name.

You pop out from one of the back rooms. “Right here. Everything okay?” You’ve changed out of the tank top and into an awful t-shirt with the Hawkins High logo and Go Tigers! written across it in big letters. He prefers the bloody tank top. The wounds on your arms look clean and he spots several bandages over the worse ones.

“I can’t move.”

“Shit. One second.” You duck through the horizontal doorway and are by his side almost instantly. Kneeling in front of him, a look of concern crosses your face. “What’s going on? Can you not move a specific body party or just in general?”

“General.”

“Alright. I’ll roll you onto your back then. Ready?”

“No.”

You do it anyway and every muscle in his body screams in protest. He yells out, letting loose a smattering of swears in a high-pitched angry voice. “Sorry!” you say, forcing his legs out of the fetal position. “Sorry, sorry! My bad! Figured it was best to just do it fast!”

“I’m in pain so I’m going to let that go and not make a dirty joke. Just know I was thinking it.” Now that he’s lying flat on his back and his legs are stretched out, he feels a little bit better. But still can barely move without something pulling or protesting. “Fuck, this isn’t good.”

“I’m no doctor but, pretty sure you’re not going anywhere until your body’s had time to heal.”

“We’re stuck in another dimension with a homicidal madman who is bent on world domination and can astral project into people’s minds. I don’t have time to heal.”

“Yeah, well, you also don’t have a choice, Munson. Neither one of us does.”

Eddie sighs heavily. “I guess I can’t argue since I can’t even fucking stand, which poses a whole new set of problems.”

“Like what?”

“I have to take a piss.”

“Yeah, I was afraid of that. I had the same problem earlier so I had to make some changes to the bathroom. I’ll help you up.” You lean forward, ready to take his hand when you pause and add, “But I’m not helping you pee. That you’ll have to do on your own.”

“Terrible customer service. I’m complaining to your manager.”

“Oh, shut up.”

It takes a couple of tries and a lot of pain to get Eddie off the floor and to his feet. His steps are slow and stunted, like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. His joints and muscles are screaming at him to lay back down. But his bladder is calling the shots and he really doesn’t feel like wetting his pants in front of the hot chick who saved his life. Slowly, and using the wall for added support, he lets you lead him to the small bathroom in the back.

When you said you made some changes, he thought you meant that you dug a hole or something. You did dig a hole, but you also ripped the toilet off the ceiling and stuck it right over the crack in the cheap plaster on what is now the floor. Once on the left wall, now the sink is on the ceiling, thankfully still secured in place.

“The sink sort of works. It at least drips some water when you turn the nozzles. Also, we have another weapon,” you tell him, holding up a piece of piping, no doubt what you used to bust through the wall.  

“Maybe the sink doesn’t work because you broke off a fucking pipe.”

“Nah, this one went to the toilet. I think. Oh well, it was loose anyway and we can’t keep sharing the one spear.”

“Alright, Wonder Woman. I think you need to go take a break.”

“I’m fine.”

Bullshit. Absolute, bullshit. Eddie may not know much, but he knows exhaustion when he sees it. His uncle works non-stop and gets burnt out pretty quickly. He can recognize the signs well by this point. You’re exhausted to the point of hysteria. Your hands are shaking and if you weren’t in the Upside Down, he would think you were on something. Hell, you actually could be on something but he doubts it.

“You yanked a toilet off the ceiling and are waving a pipe around,” Eddie says. “We’re going to talk more about how not fine you are right after I finish in here.”

“I should probably give you some privacy then.”

“Yeah, probably.”

You duck out of the bathroom, pulling the door closed on your way out. Eddie desperately needs to lay back down so he uses the bathroom fast. He checks out the ceiling-sink and when he turns the nozzle, a small trickle of water comes out like you said it would. Realizing how utterly gross he feels, Eddie decides to take advantage of the opportunity. He carefully takes off his jacket and slings it over the toilet tank. Trying to avoid soaking his bandages, which isn’t difficult given the little bit of water he’s actually getting, he does his best to wash the grime and blood from himself.  

It's a slow process but once he’s done, he feels better and uses paper towels to dry himself off. He’s not in any rush to put his jacket back on, intent on checking and changing his bandages once he’s sitting back down. Eddie slings his jacket over his arm.

Using the walls for support, he carefully makes his way out of the bathroom. He expects you to be right there, but you’re not. You’re on the other side of the room where he was laying, spreading clothing on the floor. Now that he can properly take in the store, he realizes just how much you’ve done. He would be impressed if he wasn’t incredibly worried about your mental health.

“What are you doing now?” he asks, inching his way back towards you, resting most of his weight on the wall.

“Laying down some clothes for some cushion. It’s not much, only a few shirts I found in the back. Speaking of which, I have a shirt for you.” You hold up a shirt that matches the one you’re wearing.

“Yeah, I’m not wearing that.”

“Why not?”

“Not my style.”

You roll your eyes but toss the shirt onto the pile. “You really should cover your bandages. But let’s check them first. I found some antibacterial ointment that should help.

“I can handle that. You really should take a nap.” Once again you wave him off and keep putting together the makeshift bed. Eddie’s not letting it slide though. When he finally makes it to you, he reaches out to put his hands on your shoulders. “Stop, just…stop for a second.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, you really need to lay down and I want to make sure you’re not on the dirty floor.”

“It doesn’t matter. Seriously, just chill for a second.”

“NO, Eddie, I can’t!” your voice is sharp and tinged with anger. Your hands are shaking as you keep trying to fiddle with the makeshift bed. You’re not even looking at him as you speak. “I have to do something. I can’t…we’re stuck here and you’re hurt and so I have to be useful. I have to take care of things.”

With great difficulty, Eddie crouches down to your level, turning you around to face him. “You need to take care of yourself,” he says. “Weren’t you just trying to tell me the same thing? If I can’t sacrifice myself to take care of you then you can’t sacrifice yourself to take care of me.”

“But—”

Eddie shushes you, using the same voice he uses on his Hellfire clubmates. “Shhh! No! Stop it. Don’t argue. Just, fucking sit and stay still for a second.”

With no other choice, you sigh and nod. The two of you sit down together. His body relaxes the moment he’s no longer crouching. Eddie leans his back against the wall and pulls you along with him so that you’re tucked into his side.

“See, this isn’t so bad,” he says, sliding his arm around your shoulders and giving you a reassuring smile.

“No, I guess not.”

“Good. I’m glad. Now, do you want to tell me why you doubled our barricade then proceeded to clean like a crazy person?”

You don’t answer right away and Eddie begins to wonder if you ever will when you say in a small voice, “There was something outside.”

Eddie’s smile immediately fades. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t get a clear visual. I was too scared to move. But I could hear it. It wandered around the building and came up to the doors. I thought…” Your voice cracks.

Oh. That explains it.

Eddie pulls you into a hug. Whether it’s the gentle touch or the realization of what you experienced, he’s not sure but as soon as he does, you start to cry. You don’t have to finish your sentence. He gets it. He understands. You were thrust into a world you didn’t know existed and immediately had to fight for your life. Seriously, if anyone understood it was Eddie. He thinks back to his days on the run, hiding out at Reefer Rick’s cabin, not knowing if Jason and his goons were going to find him, all the while picturing Chrissy on the ceiling. He lost count of the number of times he cried.

“It’s alright, you’re okay,” he says, rubbing your arm comfortingly. “I know what you’re feeling. Trust me. I get it.”

“Yeah, I suppose you do.”

You wrap your arm around his waist and hug him back, your cheek pressed to his chest. The skin-on-skin contact makes Eddie suck in a breath. It’s been a while since he’s had that kind of human contact and it takes him by surprise how much his body responds to it. His arms circle you tighter and he presses his face to the top of your head, closing his eyes and savoring the moment.

“I keep picturing those bats diving at me,” you say between sobs.

His mind flashes back to the swarm taking him down as he tried to save Dustin. “Me too.”

“I almost woke you when the thing showed up, but it moved on.”

Eddie has the mental image of you, scared in the dark, shaking like you are now and he hates it. Hates that you were terrified while he slept. “Next time, wake me up, no matter what. Okay?”

“Okay.”

There’s a stretch of silence, time where you both are taking in what’s happened. Fuck, a week ago the only thing Eddie needed to think about was passing Ms. O’Donnell’s final and now he’s locked in a convenience store, trying to keep literal monsters at bay. You’ve had your world literally turned upside down in the span of one day. It’s a wonder you two aren’t fully insane already. He looks around, taking in what you’ve done to the place.

“The store looks good.”

You give a weak chuckle, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. “Thanks. It started when I was looking for more bandages and then, the next thing I knew, I was organizing everything.”

“Don’t forget, you also ripped a toilet off the fucking wall. Well, ceiling I guess. That’s pretty badass and very Incredible Hulk of you.”

“It was half-off anyway. I just ripped it the rest of the way.”

“And then ripped the pipe out.”

“We needed another weapon!”

Eddie smiles and affectionately shakes his head. “You’re an interesting woman, sweetheart.”

“Is that good or bad?”

He hopes you don’t hear the way his heart skips a beat. Clearing his throat, he says, “It’s good.”

You don’t say anything in response. Your body is trembling and he can feel the warm tears against his chest. After a while, the tears stop and when he listens closely, he can hear you breathing steadily. Carefully he draws back a little to glance down at you, only to find that you’re fast asleep. Oh noooo. Guess he has to just sit there and hold you while you sleep.

Eddie could use a few more hours himself, but since you mentioned there was something skulking around outside, he decides that sleeping in shifts is probably a better idea, at least for right now. Not that he can do much if something does happen. Unfortunately, after sitting that way for some time, his body starts to cramp up again and he realizes he needs to stretch out.

And probably grab some painkillers from your neat stack of medical supplies.

What comes next is Eddie spending an obscenely long time trying to move without disturbing you too much. Which is incredibly difficult not just because you’re resting against him, but because he can hardly move in the first place. Also, your arms are securely fastened around his waist and in any other situation, he would stay there until the end of time.

Gently, and going as slow as possible, Eddie regrettably pries your arms off. Next, he takes one of the shirts you laid out and slips it under your head. You move a little and mumble something, making him freeze. But then you’re still again and he keeps going. Biting his tongue in concentration, Eddie very carefully shuffles out from under you, while also supporting your head. It takes way longer than it probably would have if he wasn’t injured, but eventually, he’s able to lay you down on the floor without waking you up.

Of course, now he’s chilly without the warmth of your skin touching his.

Don’t think about that. Not the time, Eddie, he tells himself.

Picking up his leather jacket, he lays it over you like a blanket. Begrudgingly, he puts on the Hawkins High shirt to combat the cold. Thank god no one is around to see it.

He takes a few painkillers and chugs some more water before changing his bandages. Thankfully, you did a fairly decent job of sewing him up and there aren’t too many cuts leaking through. At least he’s not actively bleeding anymore. That’s a plus. Even though he needs to lay down, he has a smoke and pokes around looking for something to eat. Smiling to himself, he sees that you organized all the food into meals: a sandwich, some chips, a can of fruit, and a bottle of water. You even set one aside for him with double the chips, which he knows because you labeled it with a post-it note saying: for Eddie.

Damn it. You need to stop being cute or he’s not going to make it out of this without becoming your willing slave.

He does think it’s a bit much that you transferred the chips into plastic baggies. Until he accidentally steps on one of the discarded bags it makes a loud crinkling sound. Fuck, you’re smart. He wouldn’t have thought of that. Of course, you wouldn’t want to take the chip bags with you. Imagine being killed in the Upside Down because you opened a loud bag of chips for a snack.

Quietly, he sits and props himself against the wall again, eating and smoking while he watches the front door. He’s not sure what you saw but El’s mention of demogorgons keeps replaying in his mind. Those fuckers are terrifying in a fantasy game. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he sees one in real life. Or when, because he’s not naive enough to think the bats are the only thing stalking the area.

On more than one occasion, his eyes slide over to watch you sleep.

Eddie has had his fair share of dalliances. Nothing serious, nothing beyond the occasional fling with a guy or girl he met at a party or backstage after a show. He’s shared his bed, not as many times as he’d like people to believe, but he hasn’t slept next to someone. At least, not on purpose and not someone who he didn’t have to rush and sneak out the door the next morning while his uncle slept.

Once he’s done eating and stubs out his cigarette, Eddie stretches out next to you on the floor and his muscles finally weep with joy. The moment he gets as comfortable as he can, he knows he won’t be able to get up for a while. You haven’t moved an inch, a testament to how fucking exhausted you must be. It breaks his heart thinking of you in a cleaning frenzy, trying to keep your body going so your thoughts don’t consume you. While the cleaning part doesn’t resonate, the other part does.

Eddie forces himself to turn on his side to face you, tucking his hands under his cheek.

He studies the lines of your face, admires the calm expression, and frowns when your forehead wrinkles and you make a noise. Eleven protected his mind from nightmares but he doesn’t know if that’s a one-time thing. And clearly, your mind isn’t being protected the same way. If he gets a chance to talk to her again, he’ll tell her to focus on you instead of him. He can handle the nightmares, he’s done it before. Reaching out, he lays his hand over yours and the moment he makes physical contact, you relax again.

Oh yeah, he is in so much trouble.

He barely knows anything about you, including whether or not you’re even available. Plus, there’s the whole “fighting for your lives” thing.

Yeah, this tracks.

Since when has Eddie Munson’s love life not been a total messy disaster?

Eddie lays there for a long time, occasionally looking over at the door but mostly he watches you sleep. Eventually, his eyelids grow heavy and he knows he’s not going to be able to hold off dozing for much longer. At the same time, he loathes the thought of waking you. You haven’t gotten nearly as much rest as he did.

He holds on for another hour before reaching over to gently pat your cheek. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Time to wake up.”

You groan with disappointment. “Noooo.” You grab the edge of his jacket and snuggle down into it.

Eddie is about two seconds away from asking you to marry him. “Well, you can go back to sleep but I’m not gonna be able to stay awake for much longer,” he says. “Unless you don’t mind neither of us keeping watch.” He hopes you'll stay asleep. Maybe he can even slip his arm around you if you're up for it.

With a sigh, you open your eyes, barely reacting to the fact that he’s lying so close to you. “It’s fine, I’m awake. I’m awake. Anything going on?”

Eddie shakes his head. “All is quiet.” He sees the way your body tenses and then relaxes when he tells you everything is clear. “Thanks for the meal.”

“Don’t mention it. I should probably eat something too.”

“After, will you make sure you just sit for a bit? Like, read a magazine or something.”

“We’re in an alternate dimension and you expect me to read Just Seventeen?”

“No, of course not. There’s also Playboy.”

You roll your eyes and playfully shove his head away. “Get some rest, Munson.” You sit up with a groan, his jacket still loosely around your shoulders, a sound and visual that he totally doesn’t think about for way too long. The jacket slips when you stretch your arms above your head. “Thanks for the coat.”

Eddie averts his gaze when your shirt rides up just a little, just enough to show a flash of skin. “You’re welcome. I will rest but only if you promise not to go on another cleaning spree,” he says, taking the jacket as you hand it back to him.

“Nope, can’t make that promise.”

Eddie sighs and starts to force himself to sit up. “Alright, well, guess I’m not going to sleep then.”

“Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?” you say, trying to stop him from moving. “You need to lay down.”

“If you’re not going to rest then neither am I.”

“You can’t be serious…”

Eddie raises his eyebrow. “Try me,” he challenges.

There’s a beat of silence, a moment of contemplation where you study him through narrowed eyes, trying to see if he’s messing with you or if he is really willing to hurt himself just to get you to take it easy. When he makes another move to get up, you finally break. “Okay, okay, fine. I won’t clean,” you say. “Just, lay down and don’t hurt yourself.”

“Oh thank god,” Eddie says, laying down with a dramatic huff. “I was totally bluffing.”

“You ass.”

“Seriously, though. Will you rest?”

“Yes, Eddie. God, I will take it easy.” You draw an X over your chest. “Cross my heart.”

“If I wake up and this place is cleaner, you’re in big trouble.”

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do, Munson? Spank me?”

Eddie swears his heart nearly leaps out of his chest and the mental image of you bent over with his hand leaving an outline on your ass makes him take a second too long to answer. And when he does, he can’t stop himself from saying, “Well, I mean, if you’re into that, sure. But I don’t do any kinky shit without a safe word.”

You laugh. Not the quiet laugh he’s heard before, but a loud one that has you covering your mouth. “Oh my god, you’re the worst. Go to sleep.”

You get up, shaking your head and still chuckling to yourself. Eddie can’t help grinning, making himself as comfortable as he can on a bed made of thin t-shirts and a leather jacket for a blanket. “That wasn’t a no!” he says over his shoulder.

You laugh again, muttering to yourself, “My God, this man, I swear…”

Still grinning from ear to ear, Eddie closes his eyes, preparing for sleep. It takes him a while to quiet his mind as he listens to you grab something to eat and then set yourself up against the wall again. However, even when he starts to drift off, the smile is still in place because he is one-hundred percent right: that wasn’t a no.

Taglist

@thirddeadlysin @imagine-all-the-imagines @ladymunson @daddychicka @nerdboylover @witchymoonbabe @fangirling-4-ever @sadbitchfangirl​ @endurexxsurvive​ @justtryingtobecreative @toobsessedsstuff @sweetpeapod @perlaluna​ @kaiscumsock @alanangels @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual​ @eddieswifu​ @kokokabana-blog @ruinedbythehobbit @persephone13

[1kook]

viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not so sure. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.” 

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

Oh, you loved this man. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

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

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

“I thought he was cool before.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whimper. “That hurt.” 

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

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

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

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

Of course. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s true. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I kinda do—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you. 

epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

epi-epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[stilemawillow]

Burgundy Static [James Moriarty | Reader]

“Inspector Thomas Watton, 4th division of the Scotland Yard, recording the confession of a Jane Doe, a suspect in the Roundabout Murders. Please, identify yourself and proceed with the confession.”

“Well, as you said, my name is Jane Doe.” A small grunt. Opposite it, a devilishly innocent smile. “And I don’t remember mentioning a confession. I said I’ll be telling you a story.”

“Does it, in any way, touch on the Roundabout Murders?”

“Not really, but it concerns James Moriarty.”

“James Moriarty?”

“I said I was here to tell a story. I’m telling ours. And I want a copy of the recording when I’m done. Now, onto the case---“

“Before you begin, why do you think we need this story of yours? We took you to the interrogation room because you subtly encouraged us to think you were giving yourself in.”

“I was, so I could get some attention. But you’re not getting what you want until I’m done. Now, can I start?” A brief pause. A defeated sigh. “Alright. I should begin by saying I work in a rundown café on the fork of Willow Street near the suburbs, but I adore the centre of London. It’s just so… interesting. Oh, and, as all people, I have a hobby that I indulge in in my free time. The backstory for that would be that I was raped at a relatively young age and towards my late teenage years I was mature enough to make a game out of my revenge by finding guys with such… proclivities, spinning them round my finger and breaking their hearts---“

“Quite literally in this case, before taking half for safekeeping. Where is it you’re hiding them again? We still don’t have a warrant to check your apartment.”

“Please, Inspector, it’s rude to interrupt.” A displeased grumble and a feathery hum. “As I was saying, I love my hobby but during the past year it was hard for me to mix it with my schedule due to a certain circumstance called James Moriarty. You see, people with a hobby like mine---“

“Murderers you mean, Miss Doe?”

“I didn’t think I’d have to lecture you on etiquette, Inspector. Anyways, people with a hobby like mine treasure it a lot and I love my privacy almost as much as I love my hobby – at the same time, I was quite aware it was drawing attention to my persona, more so when the pattern became a bit noticeable. I knew one or two people would take interest in me, admittedly, I’d never thought I’d be hunted down by the world’s only consulting criminal, but that’s what naivety does to people. The overall play has five acts. We can start with the prequel.”

“Wasn’t this it?”

“No, dear Inspector, we’re just starting. I can be short if you want me to.”

“No, please, at your leisure. We have all night and there’s a coffee machine down the corridor if need be.”

“Thank you. The prequel is the following: I picked up on his trail before he picked up on mine. Don’t ask me how,” the slightest of pauses – the recordings would show the woman lifting a warning index finger before the man’s face, “I heard somewhere that any woman is like all the members of the CIA packed into one, so let’s take that at face value and keep going. I knew somebody interesting was coming for me and I decided, as per my polite nature, to invite him somewhere we’d have fun getting to know each other. Onto Act I. My hardworking habits paid off when my manager asked me to escort him to a relatively fancy banquet – and, what a surprise – my secret admirer was there, too.”

“Was the banquet guarded in any way?”

“Yes, twenty personal guards in the hall and thirty standing post outside.”

“The invitations?”

“Limited number with a very specific engraving that shows up only under a black light.”

“How did he get in?”

“Do you think I care? This is a man who can rob a bank without doing as much as lifting his finger--- and he’s going to encounter something problematic while sneaking into a banquet? I don’t think so. If anything, he wasn’t going to commit burglary or homicide, he has the manners to focus on what he wants.”

“How do you know what he wanted when you hadn’t even met him until then? Not to mention calling the leader of a worldwide criminal organisation mannered.”

“Well, he was interesting to me and my hobby had piqued his interest, consequently, the one who had that hobby – meaning me – also piqued his interest. I was sure he wouldn’t hurt me, or anybody else for that matter, because he wouldn’t risk missing out on all the fun we could have while blending in.”

“So what did he actually do?”

“Oh, well, he got angry when I told him I’d been waiting for him for a while now. Then he asked me to dance and he attempted to recruit me. I said no. My hobby wasn’t a profession and I wouldn’t bend my morals to his wishes to turn it into a money-maker. He tried to be persuasive and it almost worked, then I realised my values stood higher than the fact I hadn’t had sex in a while. He might’ve picked up on that one, too – I learned later he never goes into battle unprepared, otherwise he wouldn’t be smiling.”

“Out of plain decency, would you mind skipping over the… sexual parts? If they are not essential.”

“But they are, Inspector. And, oh my, I see somebody’s wife has a headache every other night. Or is it the overtime the very diligent Scotland Yard members always do?” A very light snicker – equal parts evil and childish. A high-rank police official is visibly squirming in his chair when he’s supposed to be the interrogator. “Ignoring your dry sex life – mine is vital to the rest of my story. A bit. Or, you know, I just want to boast for a second. Have my moment of fame for sleeping with probably the most dangerous man on this Earth.”

“So you did sleep together?”

“Yes, Inspector, we engaged in very passionate coitus but we leave that for Act III. We mustn’t skip any parts, otherwise your brain might not get the full picture. And I won’t get my full satisfaction. Where were we?”

“He’d almost persuaded you into working for him.”

“Yes, thank you. I politely refused and strategically played hard to get when he kept pushing. The night ended on a good note, he’d slipped his phone number into the back of my dress and had probably even guessed correctly when exactly I’d call.”

“How exactly would he do that now – is he suddenly a medium or a magician? Nobody can calculate human behaviour, as far as is known.”

“I think Sherlock Holmes would vehemently argue if he were here, but the answer in this case’s easy – he knew I’d never call. His number was just something like… a spark let’s call it. And he’d got enough from our talk to know I was an arson-kind of girl. Naturally, the temptation to play with fire was big and then I got burned. This is what Act II is about. I called him, arranged a place to meet and didn’t show up.”

“His reaction?”

“Furious.”

“How did you know when you weren’t present?”

“He’s the kind of person who always has a plan without appearing to have any kind of plan. He’s a deranged perfectionist – he would’ve told this story way better. And if you’d interrupted him as many times as you interrupted me, he might’ve just gone berserk.” An audible gulp. An angelic smile. A small ‘whoosh’ – the dismissive whisk of the woman’s hand. “Back on track. A week later there was a heist in a random London restaurant – but I probably shouldn’t call it random because I was dining there with the only friend I’d made in my twenty-six years of living. It was almost as if the criminals were following a step by step guide on how to rob the place. They got in, took my friend hostage, got their money and shot her with horrifying precision straight between the ribs, in the left lung.”

“Is she by any chance…?”

“No, Inspector, she’s not dead. No need for your condolences. But, for her own good, I’ve cut off all our connections. I was playing with fire and fire taught me a lesson. Standard enough – even a kindergartener knows not to touch the stove when it’s hot.” A short that soon enough grows into a chuckle. “I guess my mother never taught me that, because Act III is mainly focused on the fact I get myself on fire by sitting on the bloody stove.”

“May I ask for you to elaborate? And please hold back the cynical life lessons.”

“But it’s no fun without them. I’d call you a party pooper, Inspector, except you’d scold me for saying poop.”

“As is appropriate that I do since your dry humour isn’t essential to this interrogation.”

“I don’t see the problem since this isn’t really an interrogation. I’m just telling you a naughty fairy tale before we all go to sleep.”

“Proceed.”

“Alright, we’ve arrived at Act III. As every person whose friend has been almost critically wounded, I sought a kind of revenge and, would you look at that, it found me first this time around. He was waiting for me in front of my apartment after I’d come back from letting off some steam using my hobby and he seemed more amiable than I’d expected. It was the first red flag.”

“Decipher it for me, please.”

“Somebody that powerful wouldn’t be fine with just hurting my friend. That was a warning. And if he was smiling in the pouring rain, having waited for me for God knows how long, then it meant he had a plan.”

“You didn’t like that.”

“You’re starting to understand me, Inspector.”

“It’s my job to get into the mindset of the people I investigate in order to arrest them.”

“I’m thinking of another way we can use those cuffs but oh well.” A stifled cough and discomfort. A grin. “I was quick to realise I was in trouble. And here comes the stove. He led me into my own apartment without having the keys. The stove was heated. We sat down and I prepared tea that he didn’t even touch. When our subtle taunts became a bit more direct I began feeling something almost predatory coming from him. Somebody had forgotten to turn off the gas. In my very pathetic attempt to ease the situation, I played an oblivious maiden and, contrary to my expectations, it was the spark needed for the explosion.”

“Please tell me you didn’t just compare sex to a very dangerous occurrence.”

“I did exactly that because it’s more dramatic.” A childish giggle. A tired sigh. “I won’t be sharing with the whole Scotland Yard that James Moriarty is an animal in bed but I guess I just did anyway. Now, I guess as per your request I won’t be describing what other things those fingers can do besides fire guns but---“

“Proceed with the importance of your sexual encounter if you would.”

“Why? Is this making you uncomfortable? Would you become even more uncomfortable if I told you I was moaning so loudly the neighbours called the police? And that when your low-rank friends walked in, we kept going because he wouldn’t let me push him off so I was forced into orgasming in front of three very very flustered people? Do my experiences embarrass you, Inspector?”

“They don’t.”

“Then why are you as red as your colleagues were when they were witnessing my big ‘O’? Are you imagining it, Inspector? Is it vivid? If not, I can give you more details---“

“Proceed with your story, Miss Doe. Unless you want me to stop the recorder here and arrest you on what you’ve already shared.”

“Exhibitionism isn’t really a crime, though. I’d arrest those little voyeurs instead, if I were you.”

“I will not be arresting my own subordinates because they were doing their job.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll stop teasing just because I’ve taken a liking to you, Inspector. Now, Act III has a few more scenes. Our sexual encounter is quite an important part of the whole story because it set in motion a weird relationship of kinds – something complicated that lasted for about a year.”

“Define relationship.”

“There was sex and more talk of recruiting me and when I kept refusing, instead of getting angry or bored with me, James kept coming back out of curiosity. It was his guilty pleasure. It took me some time to notice he was using the recruit talk as an excuse to take me out to dinner and lunch almost every week. Then I began returning the favour by finding myself excuses to look for him too.”

“So you were a couple?”

“We became later on, though neither of us officially called it that. Ever.”

“Were there any feelings present at all or was it just for fun the whole time?”

“I see you’ve finally immersed yourself in the plot, Inspector. I’d like to believe James wasn’t just using me but that’s obvious taking into account he rarely pursues anything that doesn’t bring benefit to his work. And I was, weirdly enough, in love at some point.”

“You’re capable of love, Miss Doe?”

“Just Jane, please. And, yes, I was surprised to learn it too. Truth be told, love is a weird concept. Many people define it differently. For some, it’s simple, or familial, or based on honesty. For others, it’s passion, selfishness or finding a missing puzzle piece. There are some who think love is painful, those who think it blissful and so on. For me love isn’t a feeling, it is a person and that person is James Moriarty. How do you perceive love, Inspector?”

“I think it’s based on sacrifices and happiness. If she’s happier with somebody else, I let her go. Otherwise I do my best to be her happiness. The effort should also be mutual.”

“You didn’t mention your wife.” An averted gaze and a small smile. “Anyways. Act IV is the time things begin to escalate. James was protective of me, almost to the point of being obsessive. I didn’t mind because he had nothing to worry about, I loved him and, most of all, I knew how to take care of myself. That was also the period when he and Sherlock Holmes began their little game of cat and mouse. Wasn’t he, by the way, the one to tell you about me?”

“… no.”

“That was a very big pause, Inspector. I know for a fact he did because James warned me.”

“Why did you ask then?”

“To test your pride. See how honest you’d be with somebody you consider a criminal.”

“You are a criminal.”

“My relations to one don’t make me one. As I said, this isn’t a confession, it’s a story. Act IV is pretty much James juggling our relationship and Sherlock Holmes – but, and here comes the interesting part, one of them could no longer exist in the mix. Would you care to guess which?”

“You.”

“Correct. Coffee’s on me after we’re done here, Inspector. I was very suddenly forgotten by my beloved. Now, this isn’t fun if it’s only me giving you the answers to questions I haven’t even asked. So I want you to participate. Why, Inspector, did James discard me like a used rag? I want to see your brain work.”

“Because, if I’m guessing correctly which period you’re describing, he and Holmes were involved in their most intense play-off.”

“Keep going. Throw more options on the table.”

“He was busy. You mentioned he was protective.”

“A nice direction.”

“You’re seriously trying to make me think of that monster as somebody who can love?”

“I am. That’s the point of this whole story, Inspector. Keep going. What does a hazardous man do with the woman he loves?”

“He acknowledges she’s in danger if she’s around him.”

“And then what does he do?”

“He keeps her safe by putting distance between them.”

“My goodness, you’re good at your job. Now, care to guess what exactly went down?”

“He thought Holmes would learn about you at some point or had already learned. So he cut off all connections to protect you. Without telling you. If you thought of him as the villain you were less likely to seek him out and get yourself in trouble.”

“Bingo! I was under the wrong impression regarding your intelligence when I walked in here. James always said mediocre people are boring to him. But he still dealt with me and my mediocre intelligence. I have to admit I was thankful for that.”

“Judging by how long you’ve been off the radar completely, I wouldn’t call your intelligence mediocre.”

“It’s not on their level.”

“It’s not on ours either.”

“You’re being too sweet, Inspector. Might I suggest dinner with a split bill after we’re done?”

“After we’re done, you’re going to jail.”

“I’m really not. You don’t have a warrant to search my fridge, Sherlock Holmes is gone and I’m quite innocent. I’ll let you think about dinner.”

“Proceed with the story. We’re at the end, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Indeed we are. Act V is, I’m guessing, the grand finale. James wanted me to call it The Fall. As you must remember, Sherlock and James’s final showdown was a few months ago and ended quite tragically.”

“For both, yes. The newspapers still haven’t stopped printing it.”

“… yes. The Fall is about that and about something a bit different. It’s just two scenes and you know how the second one goes. The first, however, is meant to change your opinion on the topic of James a bit. Because he’s terrible and he’s a criminal, he’s got one of the greatest intellects on this planet, he’s a genius tactician and manipulator and he doesn’t exactly fear death – I’d rather think he dances with it. In spite of all that, he’s human and that’s something you don’t seem to acknowledge.”

“You’re here just to prove the guy who manipulated you into having feelings for him is human?”

“I am. But he didn’t manipulate me. He toed with me for a while, yes, but is it still manipulation when he’s bandaging my wounds? Is it manipulation when he makes sure I eat properly and always carry with me something I can protect myself with? Is it manipulation when he lets his men handle a job so he can go eat fish and chips with me? Is it manipulation when he ignores his job for a whole week so he can kiss my forehead goodnight seven days in a row? Is it, Inspector?”

“Somebody like him could find a benefit to anything.”

“I’ve given him nothing. Our relationship isn’t a benefit to him, nor am I. He thinks games beneficial. His games with Sherlock were beneficial. I wasn’t. So what do you call it then?”

“Distraction?”

“From a life he enjoys?”

“Investment?”

“When I was adamant I wouldn’t work for him and he knew that very well?”

“Free sex?”

“Given to him by somebody who looks like me when he can have half of London’s population so long as they can handle his personality?”

“Confidant then.”

“He has a weird relationship with remorse, he’s almost never stressed or regretful.” Silence. The faraway crackle of the coffee machine. “I see you’re quiet. Have your guesses ran out? I think so. James is a human and he had a very human relationship with me. I want you to understand even villains have emotions. I want you to understand that if I’m put in a room with your wife, I can tell her the man I love has a very dangerous job and she’ll nod and respond with the same.”

“Being dangerous was Moriarty’s job.”

“But he’s in constant danger too. Criminals are criminals, even if they’re professionals. Who knows when he could get stabbed in the back like Ceasar?”

“I find it quite disturbing that you’ve been referring to him in the present tense.”

“I’m still not used to the other one. He’s not dead to me, you see. Because I love him. And since I love him right now, then he should be here. I love him.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I can’t tell anybody else. Because I never told him. Because I want to say it to the whole world even though he’d never hear. He was my whole world.”

“Do you need a coffee?”

“… I need something you can’t give me, Inspector. Maybe dinner?”

“If you’ll stop looking so sad.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable? That somebody you consider a monster can look like this?”

“Yes.”

“Your honesty is admirable. I accept the dinner.”

“What do you want to eat?”

“His favourite.” A small chuckle. “You still haven’t stopped the recorder, Inspector. Or should I call you Tom? I can lead you to a great spot a few blocks from here and after that, we can put to use those cuffs you’re so keen on putting on m---“

“You realise it’s mandatory for me not to touch this bloody recording, don’t you?”

“I do. It’s fun like that. Or are you embarrassed? You did just curse, after all. You’re breaking character.”

“I’d like to get your real name.”

“After I see you press the button. Or do you want me to talk about everything I want you to do to me after---“

Radio silence.