#They spend the entire fucking time essentially shaming me

[dangerous-disposition]

They should invent a type of dentist who shuts the fuck up and does their fucking overpriced job without comment.

[noisytenant]

"hot allostatic load" is very much a work worth reading and discussing, and it's shameful how the harrowing experiences described can be found unchanged these 9 years later. it highlights so many intersecting dynamics and consequences of the transmisogyny, ableism, and racism that are perpetuated within ostensibly "inclusive" spaces.

that being said, i feel like it still kind of reifies the victim/aggressor dichotomy and maintains "abuser" as a meaningful ontological class of malicious actors, and i'm skeptical of that part of the argument.

mostly i feel like messaging is mixed; between nominal challenges to the moral hierarchy and innocence/guilt paradigm, there are a number of lines that assert the innocence and good intent of victims, while taking as fact the malice and wanton destruction of aggressors.

lines like "abusers don't spend years disabled by those thoughts [of being sociopathic, crazy, or abusive] because they don't care if they hurt other people" have me raising my eyebrows. i feel that this line of thinking leaps over all of the little social and mental tricks that enable abuse--the minimization of consequences, the willful and selective ignorance of power dynamics, the magical thinking of intent trumping impact.

it has been my experience that a great deal of abusive individuals think they care deeply about hurting others, and do at times ruminate about the morality of their actions, but inevitably fall back on various justifications to maintain their behavior. i worry that the reassurance, essentially, "an abusive person wouldn't worry about being abusive" can terminate necessary reflection and growth.

it is an important part of the healing process to first realize that it wasn't all your fault, and that you are not uniquely evil or irredeemable. but i think it's an important part of being a political actor to challenge framing issues in terms of blame and ontological badness entirely. sometimes you are the one who fucked up, badly, and the question of handling that situation is fundamental to anticarceral politics.

the essay seems to believe in a type of genuinely "bad person", but it offers little in the way of how to identify them and what to do about them. how does one distinguish confused and righteous people from "pathological liars"? how does one distinguish the airing of personal grievances privately and without a major callout from the weaponization of whisper networks and silent ostracization? what punishments would be appropriate for the "bad people" who avoid them through privilege? if someone fucks up, what does it look like for them to actually atone and change things for the better?

i agree with the concluding sentiment that "there is no kind of justice that resembles hundreds of people ganging up on one person, or tangible lifelong damage being inflicted on someone for failing the rituals of purification that have no connection to real life". we should carefully consider what tools and methods we use in a quest for a more just world, because some of them have grave consequences. but this alone feels imprecise when paired with the whole of the article's wobbly stance on victimhood and abuse, and general lack of suggestions for how marginalized people can be heard and believed.

i guess my feeling is that i'd like to view the piece as a snapshot of this kind of abuse and its effects on all levels, but i personally think many of the core arguments are better discussed elsewhere. it just isn't very precise and honed, and i think a sharp argument is required to cut through the muck of cognitive dissonance and self-justification that perpetuate the abuses we're trying to stop.

anyways, that's just my two cents. hope it resonates with others; if you see the article differently, i'd love to hear a different perspective on it too. i worry if i'm misreading somehow, or overly critical due to unexamined bias. but i can't really know if that's the case if i don't share my thoughts with anyone else. so, here i am with my thoughts. Heart

[chaoticgalaxycats]

First post and random rant but regardless I shall continue. Okay so I like I was thinking back on the progression of my ongoing Internet horror phase and how my relationship to it has changed over the years specifically the Creepypasta/Slenderverse aspect of it. Running down the timeline would be interesting in and of itself at least from my perspective but it would be way too lengthy so I'm just going to talk about one of my favorite tidbits on it. Specifically how I got into Marble Hornets.

So I guess the best place to start is by the point I even heard of Marble Hornets I had already been into Creepypasta for a bit at that point and I only was aware of the fanon versions of Hoody and Masky. Basically fanon versions in a nutshell are the quiet shy uwu soft boy who is best friends with the blue eyed cheesecake obsessed twink looking ass who is essentially Dwight Schrute but lame and they work for Slenderman willingly and they're totally loyal to him (this is not at all accurate fuck the fanon versions).

Basically one day when I was doing character research and checked the wikis for them it turns out they were from a series called Marble Hornets and Marble Hornets kept being referenced when I was consuming content. So eventually I stumbled upon a video compiling the full series and I watched the first few entries without any context to the story and then I immediately dipped out because I was too scared. I had a very low fear tolerance at the time hence the reason why I dipped out.

Essentially from then on I kept ignoring the existence of Marble Hornets until I would like to say 2 or 3 years later I started reading headcanons of characters and one of them was a mixture of Creepypasta and Marble Hornets this caused me to slowly incorporate stuff into my characters and universe is also an entire other rant that I'm not going into detail on. This is what caused me to learn of Jay's and Alex's existence as I really did not pay attention to the first few entries I watched of the series. Over time as I used characters from Marble Hornets without actually watching it. It became more and more apparent to me that I actually needed to eventually get into it.

I remembered how long it was from when I was a kid and I didn't want to spend 9 hours of my time on it so instead I looked up and explained the series and lo and behold I found Night Minds explained. So late one night I watched all of it and I was enthralled this was one of the best pieces of Internet horror that I have consumed to date. The story was cohesive, The characters were compelling, and The horror was good even while watching the summarized version I was able to be disturbed. but this is also how I realized two things how really different Masky/Tim and Hoody/Brian were from there fanon counterparts and I had been portraying them incredibly inaccurately this entire time and that Jay had been completely fucking ignored by anyone who was not watched Marble Hornets that was a shame because I love his character.

This revelation was huge for me at the time and this caused a giant hyperfixation on Marble Hornets. And it entirely shifted how I created my stories and how I had characters interact. It also introduced me to the existence of ARGs. Like I had watched videos on horror series before but I had never heard of an ARG up to this point so I was intrigued. That is an entire other can of worms so I will just stop it there and continue on talking about my experience with my Marble Hornets.

Regardless after that point I would introduce Marble Hornets whoever I could I used the Night Mind explained series to show people it rather than watching the actual series though I have to embarrassingly admit that I did not actually watch the entire series on the original channel. In fact I had not watched Marble Hornets in its full until recently.

For a long time while doing research on marble Hornets I had heard about news of follow-Ups such as Clear Lakes 44 which by this point is now canceled and I have not watched at all. About a year after this I heard about ECKVA as well, but I haven't bothered watching it because it was on pause and I don't want to get into something that I know is not going to have a continuation for a while if ever. But who knows, maybe I'll watch it eventually.

Soon after I heard about the comics I just couldn't find anywhere to read them. And there were three times I would do searches before I finally got my hands on the comics. My first search started with searching for comic dubs at the comics on YouTube but then I did not find any so I soon gave up and didn't revisit the search. The second time I tried I eventually found the comics actually existed through searches on Amazon but I wasn't able to find listings for the physical copies just copies through Amazon Kindle. It wasn't until the third time looking into this that I finally found the website and due to having the financial means to purchase the first comic I soon purchased it and waited for its arrival. By the time I had purchased the comics I had watched the summarized series from Night Mind on YouTube about three times. I read the comics over the course of a few months and had finally finished reading them around February of this year.

So very recently a few weeks ago I was showing another one of my friends Marble Hornets. I again used The Night Mind summarized series but slowly over the course of rewatching the series I had another realization. I owned all the comics, was incredibly into the series, and talked about it all the time but I had never watched the original in it's full which gave me a crisis and made me feel like a fake fan. So after I had that entire crisis a week later I finally bit the bullet and decided to watch the full series in its entirety for the first time.

I sat down and was preparing myself for a long 9-hour binge and expected it to be a lot to get through. It turned out not to be though I got through it over the course of a week. Watched season 1 in one day, Season 2 in about 2 days, and watched season 3 over the course of 4 days. Now I'm here. I can confidently say I have watched Marble hornets in its entirety. Honestly Night Mind was right. The best experience is watching it on your own and not using his as a substitute like I did. I was intimidated by how there were tweets to follow along with and codes but If you watch the series on YouTube with all the entries and To The Ark videos it's a pretty easy and comprehensible story to follow without the tweets.

So yeah that's my experience getting into Marble Hornets I have watched the series either five times or One time and four times on the abbreviated one. For anyone reading this thank you for taking interest in my shitty ramblings on the experience of how I got into Marble Hornets I hope this was interesting at the very least.

A lot of me watching Marble Hornets was also me doing research on how to accurately portray characters in like personal AU/Story I have on Creepypasta and Marble Hornets. I doubt anyone would want to hear about that but if people do I guess I might talk about it if there's enough interest. But I doubt this post will get any attention since it's Tumblr.

[roosterbox]

Stripper Steve/Writer Eddie

Inspired by my results from a NSFW generator tweet, lol. This is just a brainstorming session, mainly so I can put SOMETHING in my WIP folder for this idea.

Said results were: Stripper Steve, Writer Eddie, At a Gay Bar, Size Kink. Simple enough. It could be either a smutty PWP one-shot, or a smutty epic romance. I could see it going either way, but I never met a story I couldn’t spice up by adding romantic clichés.

So Writer!Eddie meets Stripper!Steve at a gay bar. Sparks fly, as they often do. Eddie has a bit of a size kink, and loves how strong and muscular Steve is compared to him. They talk a little bit about their respective professions (especially Steve, who wants to nip any anti-sex work or anti-stripper bias Eddie may have in the bud as quick as possible. He’s been slut-shamed about it way too many times to count; Eddie’s cool with it), and decide to head back to Eddie’s place to have sex. Turns out Eddie has a huge dick, and Steve has a size kink too.

[if this was a PWP one-shot, this is where it would end. But I love to complicate things, lol, and so it continues…]

Initially, the plan is just for a one night stand, but of course, this is Steddie, and they can’t get enough of each other. They start meeting up semi-regularly. And it’s not just sex either. Sometimes they have dinner beforehand. Sometimes one of them spends the night and stays for breakfast. It doesn’t take long for them to develop, ugh, FEELINGS. Eddie, who’s been in a bit of a creative dry spell lately, finds himself able to write again. Sometimes he’ll even read Steve a few passages from his novel in progress (Steve, who is semi-dozing beside him in bed, is only half-listening, but tells him it sounds good).

But eventually, because romance story cliché, some wires get crossed. Maybe Steve realizes he’s catching feelings (caught feelings, really - these boys are down BAD), and breaks things off. Maybe they both say hurtful things they don’t mean. It’s easy to be hurt when you’ve fallen so hard.

Some time later (idk, a year? Don’t press me for details, I’m spitballing here, lol), Eddie’s book comes out. Bestseller, naturally. It’s not specifically a love story, but the love is practically dripping off every page (not like that, ya nasty). It’s textual, but also abstract and symbolic. It’s painfully obvious to anyone who reads it that Eddie was in love, but it didn’t work out. Someone (Robin? Yeah, Robin) lends Steve the book and tells him to read it. Because she is wise and knows all. He does, and is incredibly touched and emotional about it. Because even though people have been teasing him for being “just a pretty face” his whole life (which he’s not of course), even Steve can read between the lines. In fact, he even recognizes a few lines in the book from Eddie reading them to him in bed. Said lines are essentially a love confession. And Steve realizes that even though he might have fucked up worse than anyone has ever fucked up in their life, he needs to see Eddie again. Even if Eddie ends up slamming the door in his face, which he’d deserve, he must.

At Eddie’s place, Eddie doesn’t immediately slam the door, but it’s a near thing. Steve starts off by telling him he read the book. That it was amazing. Talks about the symbolism. Talks about how much he related to the main characters (especially the one obviously based on himself). He’s rambling, a bit nervous and awkward, but it eventually becomes him talking about his own feelings. Getting a bit worked up. There may be a heartfelt apology in there somewhere. He’s essentially baring his entire heart and soul right there on Eddie’s doorstep.

Eddie, for his part, is cold to Steve at first. Which is understandable - he got his heart broken, after all. But the more Steve rambles, the softer Eddie gets, until he can feel tears pricking at his eyes.

“Um,” Steve says, finally losing steam after god knows how long, “well. That’s it I guess. Sorry to just show up here. I’ll let you get back to what you’re doing. I’ll see you around…” That last bit said with the air of ‘I know we’ll probably never see each other again.’

He turns to leave, already planning to head to Robin’s place to raid her ice cream freezer and cry, but before he gets even once step, Eddie grabs him. Pulls him inside. Shuts the door. Practically shoves him against it. He’s surprisingly strong for how skinny he is, as Steve had found out early in their…interactions.

“Steven Middle Name Harrington,” he growls, but he’s smiling. “You are, without a doubt, the single most insufferable human being I have ever met in my life. You leave your dirty socks on the floor, you let dishes sit for too long, your hair clogs the drain more than mine - which, how is that even possible? You have more beauty products than a cosmetics department, you snore like a lumberjack, and you can barely cook anything more advanced than instant ramen. And-“ he pauses. Steve winces; he’s torn because Eddie’s words sound angry, but he’s still smiling? Was that a tear? “And I love you so much it’s made me stupid because here I am, with you in my house again, in my arms, and all I want to do is kiss you silly.”

Steve smiles, letting his tears fall freely now. They both are. He reaches over to cup Eddie’s face in his hands.

“Don’t hold back on my account,” he tries to tease, but to Eddie it sounds more like “I love you too.”

The kiss feels like coming home. A very wet and salty coming home perhaps, but a homecoming nonetheless.

[designatedbreadbox]

i saw your asks/requests were open and i wanted to know

what your take on the Obey Me boys would be if MC was a parent back in the human world? like at some point the child(ren) would have to come back to the devildom w/ mc and just everyone’s general reactions?

im sorry if that’s worded terribly ;-;

This entirely depends on how many kids and if they came with MC to essentially Hell. Generally, if they did, it would require MC to console their kid(s) that 1) they're not dead and 2) yes they'll go home. If they didn't it's easy to see MC freaking the fuck out before Lucifer can even say anything. The events of the game would play, but this time like 90% of MC's time is devoted to their kid(s), so studying and homework is minimal.

Lucifer would act as the strict parent that'll leave MC as the "Fun One" between the two. The Trio (Satan, Belphegor, Mammon) would poke fun like children about what a cute couple MC and him are and how well Lucifer is (in temper) around the kid(s). If it's really insisted, either by MC, the other brothers, or the kid(s) themself/ves, Lucifer would be put into the 'strict-scary' yet oddly likeable uncle role. I don't see him interacting with the kid(s) much unless he gets wind of shenigans they're dragged into.

Mammon is teaching them to steal and pick locks. He's extremely greedy and unstealthy when it comes to money but I like to think he's not entirely stupid. When he does it is the greatest mystery bevuz one day the kid(s) would grab MC's attention and them demonstrate how they can get in Lucifer's 27-combination safe. Funnily enough, he teaches them the value of money and swears if he had human currency, he'd give it to them for being cute (the synopsis of what he'd say; he denies heavily if asked and/or pushed). 2nd person to have alot of pictures of them and claims they took his phone. The camera angles say otherwise.

Asmo's the one they most likely like first. With his flambouyant personality, will to be in the spotlight, and a fan of all things he dubs cute, he has no problem with spending 99% of his day with them. Shopping, the arcades, movies, whatever they want to do, he's in even if he doesn't reallybenjoy the activity. So long as he doesn't get dirty or they get hurt/threatened, it's fine by him. Has no problem spending money on them since they're such cute munchkin(s) considering drops mortages on clothes and skincare like nothing. 1st person to have alot of pics with or just them and has no shame for it. If they're extra cute (which is always), he'll even let them sleep over.

Belphie, Satan, Mammon, and Levi make a wierd mix since all four are teaching the kid(s) to swear (in varying degrees) just to mess with Lucifer than MC. The first pair do it on purpose whereas the 2nd pair are on accident: Mammon when he learns he got scammed and Levi when he loses a game badly. Both cases are a 'in the moment' type of beat and will openly admit what happened should the kid(s) repeat what they said. That being said, if the first pair get caught, either by MC, Lucifer, or a third party, they'll make the most sincere apology known to man because "Devildom hath no fury like an Angel hearing a little kid swear".

Satan and Belphie are the most calming of the seven, second only to MC. Belphie because dreams are his thing, so nightmares only occur if he slacks on keeping them away or occassionally forgets to check their dreams when they're asleep. Satan since he has a calming tone to his voice that's just there naturally. While he may not have fairytales, that doesn't mean he wont pick a book and change or exaggerate details to make it something the kid(s) would want to hear.

Beel is a life saver since he keeps them when fed when everyone else is too busy. Whatever texture they may not like makes no difference to him since he once drank the oil that was used to fry chicken. A funny thing like hating broccoli for the smell or raisins for the texture is nothing to him. If the kid(s) are a sporty type, he's the go-to. The best mix between rough-housing and holding back, if they wanna do something like playing castle or tea-parties, he's fine. Just feed him every so often and all is dandy.

[draculasstrawhat]

I think I’ve worked out my problem with a lot of Covid messaging - and I mean this in a very practical way, in terms of compliance with guidance, rather than just a “well, if you asked me NICELY,” - which is that it focuses pretty much only on the bad, dangerous, frightening stuff, and not on the improvements.

And like, I appreciate a lot of this is because of failures in state-level guidance, provision, and support? But it essentially means that the majority of information is coming from people who - for a variety of reasons - are scared shitless by Covid, and are desperately trying to get people to stop taking risks. Which is both very, very understandable, and utterly useless from a public health perspective.

Like with masks. I can’t help but feel that a, “This new mask offers you 78.6% more protection than a standard surgical mask, and 96.2% more protection than a 2ply cloth mask,” is going to inspire a lot more faith and compliance than, “cloth masks are basically useless. Also, if you wear a blue surgical mask you might as well stab your granny,” messaging - especially given that the new masks are expensive, single use, and not like… provided in GP surgeries, and that people have already invested a lot of time and money in to getting enough blue surgical masks/2ply cloth masks when the guidance was that those were enough.

People like to feel that they’re doing good, that they’re helping. This was something a lot of WWII messaging got right, incidentally- they had huge scrap metal drives that materially benefited absolutely no one, but raised morale, and made people feel like they were helping. I’m not suggesting that, ofc, but what I mean is… earlier in the pandemic a lot of people got a ‘warm glow’ from doing ‘the right thing’, even if that thing wasn’t… the most scientifically accurate thing. That has more or less vanished, because people feel like masking doesn’t help either because you need an unaffordable, ever changing, fancy kind of mask worn in a complicated way for it to make any difference at all, or because they’ve decided the whole thing is bunkum anyway because the guidance keeps changing. Whereas if that guidance were focused on *improvements*, I genuinely think compliance would be better. Not “this mask is worse that that one and will do less,” but “that mask is better than this one and will do even more.”

Basically, if you set the boundary for safety to what feels an unobtainable level, and associate not meeting it with shame… people don’t really step up, they just go “fuck it.” Especially when, in the main, we don’t really control our own exposure to risk. Take me for eg, I’m variously immunocompromised, and wfh. My kids, however, spend all day in a classroom with 30 other kids, inadequate ventilation, and no support for masking.

When the mask mandate in schools and public places was removed, my kids kept masking for a fair while, and I was still social distancing, only doing essential errands, masking indoors, etc. We all got Covid within a fortnight. I was doing everything I could to manage my own risk, but something entirely outside of my control fucked me anyway, and after that it just all felt so *futile*.

And I’m not saying, “So fuck everyone else, I’m going to go and lick fenceposts and cough on handrails,” or whatever… it’s just this pervading sense that no matter what I do, whatever precautions I take, I’m not really protecting anyone - including myself. And the messaging I’m seeing, particularly right now, essentially confirms that. Any mask I can afford to buy is basically useless, LFTs don’t work, the vaccine doesn’t work, and nothing I can do will be good enough, and even if I do my best, there’s no government support, and I’m still going to get Covid anyway - so what’s the point of doing any of it?

And the answer is, ofc, that this hyper negative messaging is actually also bullshit, and that even if flawless behaviour won’t automatically protect you, any masking helps a bit, the vaccine helps a lot, and while nothing I can do will guarantee I don’t get Covid, I can still manage mine and other people’s risk - but I know that because I’m ultimately a very pragmatic person.

And this isn’t me putting it all on the doomsayers, because I absolutely understand why they are so frightened and angry right now - this is, primarily, a failure at an institutional level, leaving us all exposed to a very, very awful disease. But in the vacuum left by that, I’m not sure their message is actually *helping*.

[swolesome]

What's your favorite film about fathers and sons?

Since so much of your content is about masculinity and how we learn about it, I wanted to see if you had any thoughts or examples from pop culture that explored that relationship. (And obviously, it doesn't need to have a "father" or a "son", but somehow connected to cultural ideas of masculinity.)

For me, I've always loved grifting stories, so Catch Me If You Can is an all-time fave. I love watching Frank Abagnale Jr as a mindful student of his world up until the moments when he needs to perform inside of it.

And ultimately, having to "perform" masculinity is an overwhelming prospect. It's so stressful and exhausting that, eventually, Frank realizes it's not even worth financial security or prestige.

When we meet Frank's dad, he's telling a story at the rotary club about "two little mice" falling into a bucket of cream, frantically flailing for life until they churn it into butter.

Later, while pretending to be a doctor with a law degree, Frank tells that same story to his prospective in-laws. It moves them so much, they don't hesitate to give permission to marry their daughter. It also creates the image of an impossibly hard-working man that Frank will have to spend the rest of his married life trying to prove.

It's not until we see Frank catching up with his dad at a diner that we see how much this has been tearing him apart. After learning his father has fallen into a secure, yet boring, mail job and is no longer pursuing his ex-wife, Frank begs his dad to "Tell me to stop". The performance is causing him too much stress and, ultimately, isn't worth the financial and familial security of maintaining the grift.

On the other side, we have Carl Hanratty, an FBI agent who couldn't care less about performing for others. When in a car with two other agents, Hanratty doesn't laugh at one of the other agents' lewd stories. Annoyed, he asks why Hanratty never laughs, so Hanratty asks if they want to hear a joke. When they say, "Yeah," he sets up a "knock knock" joke only to reply, "Go fuck yourselves." He's not interested in performing for other people, even the masculine tradition of telling off-color jokes.

By the end of the movie, Frank has a closer relationship to Hanratty than his own father, and the main reason is that Hanratty wants Frank to be himself. Sure, that means letting himself be arrested and confessing to his crimes. But it also means letting himself be vulnerable: to let himself be arrested instead of shot down, to share his secret about passing the Louisiana Bar exam, and to help others instead of just himself. It's such a strong motivation that Hanratty lets Frank get on a plane, breaking his parole, and says he trusts him to come back to work.

So yeah, watching his father perform masculinity left such a strong impression he let it absorb his entire life to the point that he became an internationally wanted criminal.

(FYI I don't know how Tumblr works; i just started using it and don't know if this will show up on my feed, like a post, or will be direct messaged, so this is me trying to learn this system as much as anything else; thank you for your time.)

I absolutely love this question, and your example, as well. This is something I've thought a fair amount about (I actually have a video on fatherhood in media planned for the future!), and I have a whole handful of answers, but I'm going to go with the first one that jumped to mind:

How to Train Your Dragon is definitely up there for me. I really appreciate the way it tackles patriarchy in a sort of... non-judgmental light while highlighting the problems with it, if that makes sense? It's not framed as "Clearly this traditional, combative Viking (masculine) way is bad and terrible and destructive and shameful", but rather based around fear of the unknown and the drive to protect one's own. For that reason, it's understandably glorified, even in its violence, because that violence is seen as serving an essential purpose.

Hiccup and Stoick's relationship is so fascinating to me, because it's clear there's love between them, but the fact that they have nothing in common means the relationship begins and ends at familial, there's no friendship or connection beyond that. You don't get the sense that Stoick is disgusted by Hiccup's poor masculine performance so much as worried about his ability to stay safe and fit in. I'm not going to go so far as to say he's not embarrassed by his son's eccentricity, even Hiccup calls it out that his dad wanted a son who's all power and glory, but Stoick never says that himself, he more just laments Hiccup being different. Stoick's own words point more at apprehensiveness where his son's safety and social future is concerned, as well as frustration about how to raise him. He talks about his own boyhood, his father telling him to bang his head against a rock and doing so without question, the way he was taught that being a Viking (man) means power, ruthlessness, and following orders--how he embodied that as a boy... and Hiccup doesn't. For me, this reads less as him being ashamed of his son and more as him simply not knowing what to do because the blueprints he was given are useless. We even find out he's tried typical father-son bonding activities, but Hiccup's nature always means they deviate from the plan and he's left at a loss again.

That Stoick feels this way is really driven home when he finds out that Hiccup is a natural born "dragon slayer", his love for his son is so obvious here when he says "We finally have something to talk about," and is downright giddy over the opportunity to connect with him. But that promptly falls back into their usual distance and awkwardness, because the problem of Hiccup pretending to be someone he's not hasn't been solved; he's just gotten more skilled at lying.

When Hiccup eventually does try to show his dad his truth, Stoick isn't ready for it. Eccentric deviation from the norm is one thing, but he's gone so far off course that it poses a much larger threat, welcoming in the Dangerous Other they've been at war with. Because of this, Hiccup isn't just confronting his dad with his own truth, he's confronting his dad with the fact that he, Stoick, was misled. That his entire worldview of what it is to be a Viking (MAN) is based on fear and misunderstandings rather than an accurate assessment of the world.

So he does what that misinformed framework taught him to do in the face of opposition. He lashes out, doubles down, and refuses to communicate and engage with the fact that maybe he's just wrong. He fights. Again, this comes from that protective impulse, but we begin to see where it becomes internally destructive in addition to its external destruction; it's been paired with the fear of fallibility and a threat to the status quo.

What a love so much about Stoick realizing his mistake is that before anything else, this rock-headbutting, skull-crushing pinnacle of manhood apologizes. He apologizes and he verbally acknowledges his son's autonomy. After the grand finale, he recognizes that it's his son's differences that not only make him wonderful, but were the key to solving an ongoing problem of violence and suffering. "Turns out all we needed was a little more of this." "You just gestured to all of me." The call back on that one is just *chef's kiss* The Old Way was one of defensiveness and mistrust, and The New one of empathy and understanding. I love the way this message is given, and the way it highlights how guidance in growth is a gift children can give to their parents, as well, when given the space to do so.

[rametarin]

Fat, disgusting bitch.

venting.

I’m financially forced into a position where I have to either live with family, and thus under their decisions, or dislodge myself and fall into the trash that is homelessness in the position I’m in.

I can’t rise or grow here, but I near guarantee dying and failure in the state I am by trying to leave. So, I sit and wile away here, arguing futily with them to fucking smarten up and stop being such worthless, selfish, pompous pieces of shit, or again, argue with poverty and homelessness and creditlessness and have no support system whatsoever.

A constant struggle I have with my mother is she wants to frivolously spend everything she has as she has it. As someone that sincerely believes that tomorrow doesn’t matter because she believes Jesus will rise us all up, that we’re in, “end times,” it doesn’t matter if she prepares for tomorrow, because she’s praying it won’t and that it’ll come however God wills it.

As an atheist, I hate her disgusting guts, I hate how she has monopolized this belief when it suits her to consume everybody elses money in the family and then trap us in this shared poverty, I hate how she frivolously throws our money around outside the family to shitty causes and shitty people that don’t deserve her charity, just so she can feel like she’s important/in control of other peoples lives. I hate how when she has money, she lords it, and when she doesn’t, she both demands we give up what little we have to pay for essentials and then only ever has money for whatever she wants to buy.

And I hate how, as a fat disgusting bitch, there’s always money in the budget for cookies, snack foods, muffin and cupcake mix, little treats, but none available for anything more meaningful.

I could never have partial dentures/bridges growing up despite needing them, because there was never any money. And yet, the cupboards overflow with shit. She subtly buys too much garbage to simultaneously have whatever she wants to feign with a story, “oh I have no money to pay for it. :((((((((”

She will harass me constantly asking if I, “want anything for my birthday.” I may ask for help paying a dental bill. She’ll grouse at that and ask if I want a videogame or two, or a new television for my room, but I need to pull teeth first to get her to dislodge from this frivolous spending shit and commit to helping me with something I actually need.

And she sincerely thinks she’s clever or perhaps even magical, the way she tries to dishonestly argue how there’s “no money” for anything I want that I actually WANT, but miraculously that exact same amount of cash for something material and pointless, like more videogames.

I like videogames. But you know what I like and want more than any videogame, that videogames, and TVs, and other SHIT can’t replace? Having my needs fulfilled, and not suffering.

Her idea of alleviating suffering isn’t, “fix the problem,” it’s, “suffer while eating cookies and junk food while suffering. You may be suffering but, hey, cookies and junk food.”

And that is why I will not feel bad about fat shaming this selfish, gluttonous fucking cunt. I want to commit myself to something that allows me to fix my suffering and improve my station in life; she wants me to have my income forcibly redistributed so she can... blow it all on cookies and junk food and have ME pay HER necessities, so she can then go, “YOU DON’T TELL ME HOW TO SPEND MY MONEY! ^.^” and buy more god damned cake and pretzels and soda.

And she will insist upon buying this shit, no matter how much it’s rejected. To where the entire point of buying it appears to be to earmark it for this imaginary quota that doesn’t NEED to exist anywhere but her own selfish will. She’ll buy garbage until it overflows the shelves and wastes space in the walking area of the kitchen, but she’ll refuse to stop buying it, even as we have to throw the shit away.

It feels like someone grabbed hold of the ridiculous behaviors women engage in to “trick themselves,” like setting their clock ahead 10 minutes to “trick themselves” into getting up on time and thinking they’re late, but made it an entire lifestyle. She lives in this constant state of bad faith denial and insists upon it, clinging to it as a justifiable position, and demands everybody around and dependent on her function under it as well. Because when you have control and you scream “1+1=3!”, you sit in the shadow of the decision to ignore the math and can’t argue the point. It’s that, or homelessness. And you aren’t prepared to be homeless; you can’t prepare. The house has made damned sure you don’t have the autonomy to survive.

All I fucking wanted was a family that wasn’t a worthless piece of shit. Instead I got this cunt that spent my entire teen years painting us into a corner deliberately so I’d have no chance of escaping before I turned 18, and needed help to progress or function. That’s when she decided it was going to be her way, or the highway. After years of demanding I be the one to put money towards a car, but it be in HER name and with HER as legal owner.

And for that matter; I HATE her idea of dealing with problems. “Just do it and go into debt and pay it off.”

I’m not surprised that the sex most able to access the common decency of people and suck all they’re worth out of them, refuses to accept males lack this capacity. And I’m not surprised by the callous attitude about it when we say, we do not have this sort of unreasonable access to other peoples resources, only to be told, “Well, that may or may not be your problem, but it definitely isn’t mine!” from women, whom float off, unaffected, secure in the knowledge just being a woman gives them charity and access men cannot access, under any circumstance.

I despise being forced into relationships, of any kind, where one person is able to dictate how far we fall together. And I refuse to dig US out, just so she can enjoy the benefits of being a piece of shit, secure someone else will help her.

There is no, “us.” She has failed in every single respect a mother can fail, and I’m not going to provide for her or give her security or safety in her old age. She has done nothing but make my youth and my adult life a living god damned hell made of her pettiness and selfish rage. When I should’ve been experiencing the same teenaged years all my friends got, I was stuck babysitting every night so she could save money... which she then spent on restaurants and movies. She tried to make ME cover the expenses of the family car, and tried to make me pay a landlord’s rent.. as a minor. Anything to justify extracting any money I made, so I couldn’t build wealth while living with her. Anything to justify being the only person with money in the family.

All I fucking wanted was independence and to solve my problems. And these are the things I’m denied.

[yurigalactica]

6,9,16,19,32,51,69,70 sorry for doing a bunch again but I rotate you in my head so it's super cool to be able to just. Ask things about you yanno. U don't have to answer any that make u uncomfortable ofc, but yea :)

don't worry jinx you're all good!! i love sitting down and word vomiting into tumblr it's very fun!! kicking my feet and giggling type beat yknow? 6. How do you want to die?

to be honest, the concept of death scares me to death (ehehehe you see what i did there???) and so i hope that whenever the time comes, it's peaceful. and i hope by that time i feel content with the outcome of my life and feel like i've lived it to the fullest.

9. Do you bite your nails?

nope!

16. How exactly are you feeling at the moment?

to be honest? i'm fucking starving. i desperately need cheez its you dont understand how dire the situation is /j

19. Would you go back in time if you were given the chance?

yet another one i think about a lot. if you asked me this question a year ago, i would have done it in a heartbeat, because back in my sophomore year of high school (coming back from quarantine) i developed really bad anxiety and coped by essentially shutting everything and everyone out. and after i came out of that experience i was so ashamed and embarrassed for so long that it left me sitting for hours in my room stewing in a sea of dread so thick that i could hardly swim. though now that i'm several years removed from that point in my life, i don't think i would go back in time. because even though i still wish i did things differently back then, i don't see it as a point of shame anymore, but rather just a thing that happened. a thing that i learned from. a thing that helped me grow.

32. What is your favourite color?

my favorite color has been purple ever since i was a little kid! though as i've grown up i've really come to love green as well :D

51. Favourite food?

i always have SUCH a hard time answering this question, so i'm gonna give a couple answers. for the first one i need to provide some context: a family friend of mine was born and raised in japan, and every couple of months she spends an entire day making authentic gyoza (think: potstickers) from scratch, and then invites my family over. and ohohoho, let me tell you, my entire family is in the car ready to go IMMEDIATELY when we get invited to those dinner parties. she is genuinely so talented and they turn out absolutely divine every time. genuinely a religious experience eating those

and another one of my favorite foods has gotta be acai bowls (i cant do the accent thingy i'm typing on my laptop rn i'm so sorry). i just discovered the magic and wonder of a fully-loaded, banger-ass acai bowl two months ago when i went on vacation. my family all went to the beach together and after a while we decided to head back to our hotel, and on the way there we happened upon a tiny little stand restaurant that sold wraps and salads and stuff that had the ingredients gathered from the farm down the street. so i got a wrap (and damn, that wrap was good, but that's not the point here). after i finished my wrap my mom went back and bought one of the acai bowls they had. not expecting anything special, i took a bite. and holy. fucking. shit. in that moment i ascended and knew that i had been blessed by apollo himself. that was a defining moment in my life. a core memory. a canon event, if you will. ever since then i have never hesitated to grab a nice cold acai bowl and load it up with granola, coconut flakes, chocolate chips, fresh fruit, dried goji berries and honey. it's so good. holy shit you have to try it.

oh and i like pasta too

69. Do you believe in soulmates?

i think i do. i used to think about soulmates a lot actually, and imagined that whenever i was staring up at the moon outside my bedroom window every night and wondering who my soulmate was the guy of my dreams would be doing the same thing wherever he was. but since then i've come to the realization that i'm not straight, and somewhere along the line i guess i just stopped imagining the soulmate scenario. i've never been in a relationship before, or even come close to being in one. but i'm moving to a new city next month, living on my own for the first time. maybe i'll finally find them there. fingers crossed

70. Is there anyone you would die for?

my little brother and sister, without hesitation. they're annoying, they piss me off constantly, and there's never a moment where we aren't arguing about something--but they're both genuinely two of my best friends. they're both several years younger than me, so i have seen the entirety of their lives. i've watched them grow up and seen them reach milestones that i remember reaching myself. i remember the little chubby-cheeked nugget phase that only exists in old photographs, and i remember the gradual change that brought them to where they are now: teenagers, learning more and more about themselves and the things they love. my little sister who grew up enraptured by frozen now loves my hero academia and has just started reading fanfiction, and i'm there to listen to her ramble about her favorite ones. my little brother who used to lie on the floor playing with hotwheels all day is now DMing his very own DND campaign in a sprawling universe that his friends built slowly over the course of three years. they've both come so far and i can't even begin to express how proud i am of them. i would genuinely take a bullet for them. but don't tell them i said any of this or else they will tease me to the ends of the earth.

[returntosaturn271995]

Saturday, July 23rd: Pretty in pink...no wait, I went on a run in humidity and now my face is pretty pink.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Ted Cruz on my run today. More specifically how much I hate him and how much politics revolves around a grown man’s opinion on The Barbie Movie. Texas’s infrastructure is crumbling, but sure let’s call Barbie communist. Barbie. Communist. Barbie, a name so associated with capitalism that even the shade of pink in the logo is trademarked. A name so synonymous with a registered marketable persona that no one names their kid that anymore. Like Jesus or...Adolf. 

But yeah, Barbie (circle the R) and the movie designed to sell toys. Communist icon.

Anyways, I was so wrapped up in how stupid that was that I’m pretty sure it turned the green juice in my stomach sour and I almost shit my pants on my run. Again. 

I wish I were joking. 

After a cold shower and shameful googling I’ve come to the conclusion that I have runner’s trot. Which happens as people start to develop long distance running habits (yay!...wait.). Seriously, why does no one tell you how disgusting it is getting in shape? Next time you see a fitness influencer, just be glad you can’t smell them. They will tell you how good you will feel and look, which I do, but what they won’t tell you is that after the first three miles of running you will start to sweat from your actual asshole. 

I didn’t even know we had sweat glands down there. I’ve have had sex my entire adult life and nothing has made me need a thorough shower more than 30 seconds of jogging in humidity. 

Also a bug flew directly in my face. This is unrelated, but also has never happened to me just sitting in my room. Happily rotting away. 

There’s no such thing as “good, clean, sweat”. We are covered in bacteria and oils. I have a runner friend who judges people who drink and do the occasional drug- yeah she’s great at parties- and she’s always talking about how nice clean living is and working out. Bitch, you do hot yoga. That’s just paying $40 to sweat from your vagina for an hour, how much cleaner than me could you possibly be? She looks amazing, but that’s fucking disgusting. 

I’ve done hot yoga, and the only part I liked is when everybody lies down on the floor at the end like a suicide cult sponsored by Lulu Lemon. 

Add the fact that cardio jumpstarts your metabolism and green juice is essentially a kale colonic and it’s basically a stomach flu that damages the cartilage in your knees. 

Anyways, if you’re reading this years down the line and feel bad about not going to the gym that day, just be happy you don’t have any spandex to wash. 

In other news, Nate ran a marathon today at a pace of 8.17 minuets per mile while micro-dosing acid. 8.17. Like the fuck. Was he on psychedelics or Compound V?? (No word on if he felt like shitting himself at any point.) 

My primary focus today is health and comedy. It was health and peace but then I got bored. I even updated my computer background to David Rose in his baseball uniform to remind myself that fierce bitches can always surprise you even if you were picked (rightfully so) last as a kid. 

Some things I’m proud of today:

Didn’t stop running when my headphones gave out, just ran back home and put in new ones. 

Dragged out the trash bins even though it’s technically no one’s week. (When living with roommates this actually makes me a saint, I expect to have a candle lit in my honor next to the communal water dispenser). 

Made myself a basic ass sandwich from the rapidly aging fridge ingredients (check the expiration dates on your pickles and mustard)

18 minutes of yoga and 10 minute meditation on simplicity has me feeling calm without alcohol or weed.

Updated the Beamer’s car registration, have a fancy new duvet for my bed, and brand new shampoo and conditioner to keep my hair from getting hay-like

Load of laundry, cleaned out fridge, and didn’t spend a cent today

[dzpenumbra]

2/22/23

I'm watching a stream of this absolutely horrible game that for some reason got an 8/10 on IGN. I've literally watched the entire game and it just... it's hot garbage. I have no idea why people set their standards so low nowadays, and set industry standards so low too. It's clearly just got a shit ton of PR money behind it. Flashy graphics, animations, particles, new weird half-retro/half-futuristic setting, but like... the writing is absolute trash, and like blatant ripoffs from other IPs. It's a shame. But I just can't look away from this car crash!

I talked to my mom today about cars. It's slowly coming along. I followed up with her about my work stuff, to... bring me peace of mind. She was saying yesterday how she... wasn't comfortable financially supporting me, and was having second thoughts - I think because she doesn't think I'm ever going to be financially stable as a professional artist... I was trying to confirm that for the millionth time - she says it a lot. It sucks. And it really fucks with me. Especially when the next day, she offers to outright buy me a car. Forgive me for being suspicious and not eagerly, blindly sticking my neck in that noose.

I was very honest on that. It's super depressing when the only people who "support" you can't even envision you succeeding, and are actively encouraging you to quit and pursue other goals, their goals. That's the opposite of support. I've said that a 100 times, I'm tired of saying it.

I'm really tired, I didn't sleep well. So I'm going to call this early tonight.

There wasn't much other than the talk with my mom, heating up food, and spending like 7 hours hand sanding a piece of stone. Oh... two things.

The vet called. She wanted to check in on me and said some really nice things about Max. It meant a lot to me. I missed the call, I just heard the voicemail. I don't know how to like... respond to that. I want to call back and thank them for being kind and checking in on me. But it's weird, and I don't know if I'm actually going to get in contact with the vet herself, she seems super busy. The second was... I finally... brought myself to empty and put away Max's litter box. For good. And that was... I mean, it's the little things, you know? It was really fucking hard. Because like... if you have a cat... the literbox is just a staple, it's like the first thing you set up, it's essential. And I just couldn't bring myself to get rid of it. And I just... pushed myself to do it today because I really needed to take out the trash. And I did. And it sucked, it was insanely emotional. But it's done.

So yeah. I really hope someday coming up I'll be on here writing good news. Like... really good news. Like "I made a new friend and we hang out all the time now", or "I went on a date and we really hit it off!" Something that doesn't have some... sour underlying notes. Fingers crossed. It would really help me heal. To just get some genuine, unfiltered good in my life. Because lately... it's been mostly suffering.

Off to bed for me.

Um... good vibes... hmm... the stone I polished came out pretty cool, I'm more than half way through the batch. That's something! Yay. And I'm getting my confidence to stream back pretty quickly, so hopefully I'll get that back up and running soon.

[star-anise]

I'm up around 3am, thinking about incels and tradwives. (Note: If these are movements you're a fan of, or if you just want to fight with me generally, I will block you if you annoy me, and even if you behave there's a $20 fee if you expect me to actually reply to you in any way.)

This got started because of Khadija Mbowe's and F.D Signifier's videos about Black patriarchy, which has led me to pick up bell hooks' 2004 book The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love.

The thing that hooks says that really knocked my socks off in a "how dare you notice that" way is that a lot of people, men and women alike, are angry not just because of the male violence they've experienced, but because of the lack of male love they've experienced.

Which like, part of being human means that being seen and cared about is pretty viscerally equated with survival in our brains. We want it, we need it, we suffer when it isn't there. To be seen and genuinely loved by the people in our lives matters, so we are always affected when there's someone important to us who doesn't seem to see us, to love us, to care about our wellbeing, or to be proud of our accomplishments. It matters to be disregarded, rejected, or shamed by someone we want to love us.

But no power in the world can compel another person to give a shit about you—a truth most of us spend our lives frantically suppressing because being unloved is terrifying, so we work at being better, more attractive, smarter, more accomplished, more charming, sexier, or to be brutally honest, more lovable. But when we do experience a lack of love, a lot of us take that anger and decide to opt for second best. If we can't be loved, we can at least be powerful. Power can take a lot of forms, but because the lack of male love often goes hand-in-hand with violence, people who face it generally want, at the very least, to not be hurt anymore.

But there's another element in play. Patriarchal gender roles divide behaviours and skills in a very particular way: Boys and men are expected to use power to dominate, and girls and women are supposed to use emotions to tend and nurture. Anyone who fails to perform those roles gets harshly punished. Terrence Real talks about how this leaves men with very limited knowledge of their own emotional needs or how to communicate them to other people, and Paul Kivel talks about how boys are taught that this is women's work—that if they are masculine enough, they will attract a woman who will make sure that they feel loved and cared about. How a great deal of men's anger towards women is the feeling that women are witholding this essential service, or failing to fully handle men's emotions (which is pretty damn common, since humans aren't telepaths so it's basically impossible to reach inside someone's head and change their emotions for them).

So hooks notes that women are just as likely to uphold patriarchal gender roles as men, and one element of that is women's anger when men are emotionally vulnerable. Men who confess to their partners that they feel lost and ashamed and unworthy of love are doing exactly what women keep saying we want men to do, but the reaction many women have is a kind of incredulous frustration—"You want me to handle all this? Fuck no, I'm busy!"

Part of that reaction is that in patriarchal gender roles, it is a woman's literal job to completely soothe and manage her male partner's emotions—to diligently praise him, make him feel more accomplished, and to reassure him of her ongoing love and admiration in all things. And that is a lot of work that is quite likely not to succeed because it's really hard to talk someone out of a self-hating funk. (There's also an element of just plain sexism. Even without the implied demand for help, some women just think men's vulnerability is pathetic or laughable.)

The feminist response to this that hooks, Real, and Kivel advocate for is to spread the load a little more evenly; to work to reduce the violence with which gender roles are policed, to allow men to be soft and emotional, but in the process, give them the emotional skills to handle the shame and dread we all feel sometimes about not being lovable or or worthy, and empower them to form many different emotionally fulfilling relationships.

So the thing about incels is, they tend to be obsessed with finding a woman who will make them feel worthy, sexy, accomplished, admirable, and dominant, like a "real man". The prospect of getting a woman is the single potential oasis of love and support in an incredibly bleak desert landscape in which a romantic partnership is the only possible source men are permitted to seek love and care from. A man who hasn't gotten a girl is a pathetic loser whose life is meaningless.

What that entire worldview takes for granted is how the desert became a desert in the first place. How boys learn to fear the violence and rejection that comes from stepping out of their gender role by being emotionally vulnerable or by emotionally nurturing somebody else; how emotional knowledge and expression are punished by a system that says men should always seek to dominate. The desire for a female partner rests on a bedrock of learned fear and contempt for the idea that men can or even should have the kind of emotionally close and supportive friendships among themselves that women tend to have with each other.

Incels are the fucking allegory of the long spoons in action. They gather in huge numbers to discuss their pain, frustration, and disappointment about their difficulty attaining a relationship that provides emotional fulfillment, but it's impossible for them to try to seek or offer that kind of relationship with the many many people right there also looking for love, because violating the gender rules means inviting violence and ostracism. Affection and mutual esteem between men is super gay and doesn't count, especially when it's provided because of a mutual vulnerability instead of admiration for achievement. So it's incredibly hard for incels to in any way break out of the mental cage that says the way to be loved is to be as masculine, as stoic and unemotional and successful and admirable and dominant as possible. And because being dominant tends to require people to be better than, incels spend a lot of time criticizing each other for failing to be masculine enough, and therefore not worthy of love.

Meanwhile... tradwives.

If you're into men, the dream of being truly loved by a man who will take care of you and make your life materially better is fucking amazing stuff. That's just... that's just The Dream, okay? The romance industry's extreme popularity decade after decade will tell you what bell hooks also notes: Women who are into men want to be loved by men SO MUCH.

So it really seems to me that the basic appeal of being a tradwife is managing to be submissive enough to get the men they love to genuinely show up and fully commit to loving them. If conflict in relationships happen because men feel threatened in their masculinity or not fully loved by their wives, then gosh darnit, these women will plaster themselves over the cracks to make sure there are absolutely no problems. That will earn them a relationship where they are truly loved and appreciated.

(It's a trap. I hate to say it, but we're not a telepathic species, and you will never manage to be good enough to actually change what someone else feels. No matter how hard you submit, your husband will still feel moments of doubt and fear and inadequacy, because he's human and we're built like that. It's the cross we have to bear as a species. And it does not go well at all if both of you are used, in those moments, for blaming you for whatever you "did" to "make" him feel that way.)

[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.

[kirisaki-daichi-scenarios]

a discussion of jabberwock with team interaction hcs + deeper nash analysis

for anon who asked "Can we get some headcanons for jabberwock members or like headcanons when they're together? (its okay if it was jason or nash only)" and made me realise it's about time i get these guys' personalities down

note before we start: cause i didn't know their names until i wrote this

zack is the bald one, allen is the one with a headband, nick is the other white guy apart from nash.

team hcs

nick gets bullied for being under 6ft, but not by jason

nah good old jason teases all of them for being short fucks, emphasising that they’re all 5ft tall in comparison to him

he 100% lifts things out of the others' reach and then laughs for ages after when they try get them

unfortunately though, they’re all used to this and now just ignore him. either that or nash stares at him so intensely jason actually repents and hands it back

zack’s another one with a very good glare, but he’s used it too often on jason and it’s since stopped working.

also jason gives me ‘straightens his back as much as possible when getting measured so he’ll measure in as 7ft’ vibes

oh and he thinks he could wrestle a gator and win. i’ve got no explanation for that except for the fact you can't tell me it's ooc.

allen’s very protective over his white headband - it’s his lucky item - but he’d never let anyone know that

he’s confident in his abilities like the rest of them, but there’s nothing wrong with wearing a headband just in case

(nash knows anyway)

they watch nba matches together and do not shut up once throughout the entire match - lots of jeering, booing each other if someone criticises a player they like, lots of “i could do that”, lots of “get your fucking hand out of my popcorn do you want me to punch you in the face” etc

they used to all live together, but nash has since moved out. he was sick and tired of trying to make people do chores, as the only one who kept their room clean.

yeah the others’ house looks like a heap of trash but also very much “where’s my toothbrush?” “it’s in the third coke can by the orange peel behind the sink” *silence* “yeah thanks” *a minute later* “who the fuck has been using my toothbrush”

they’re all “bro your dribbling sucks why are you on this team loser” to one another, but also very protective (aka arrogant for one another) if anyone else Dared to criticise one of their teammates

then again, what kind of person would criticise jabberwock

half of the time he spends with jabberwock, nash is a Single Mother TM trying to get a bunch of man children to behave; the other half of the time, he's just as bad as the rest of them

i talk about this a lot but i get the feeling nash is an exceptionally hard worker, but at least he gets to let his hair down around his teammates sometimes

nash is also the only person jason thought was truly ‘strong’ at first sight

and nash is also the only person who can beat jason in a fight, and also the only person who can get nash to train, and also the only person who can.. [etc. you see my point].

(n.b jason calls himself the ‘almighty me’, nash says that ‘even god can’t beat me’. point made.)

you know how jason silver’s motto is “I have never thought”

imagine him proudly stating that, before zack adds with a straight face, “yeah cause nash does it for you.”

in short, the team would fall apart without nash.

although the team’s communication and coordination is very fine tuned, nash is the guy who keeps everything in order off the court to prevent what is essentially a team of aces ('main characters', if you will) from falling apart

they hang out together a lot, but do all have other friend groups that do not overlap

team bbqs

unofficial rule not to criticise anchovies on pizza because the one time nick did, nash snapped

however pineapple on pizza is fair game, even though zack quite likes it

more than once, jason has brought a girl home and nick has stolen her attention away with effortless trick shots, funky ball manoeuvring etc

more than once nick has had to trek to nash’s place (with a black eye) at midnight to have somewhere to sleep

do you see a correlation?

oh and everyone in the team has been walked in on by nash when they were naked with some girl

nash has absolutely no shame

he apologises to the girl with a charming albeit insincere tone, and then remains standing in front of the bed/couch until his teammate does what he expected of them

usually it involves not having come to practice

allen learnt a few (emphasis on ‘few’) words of japanese before they travelled to japan and was disappointed that he never got to use them

that said, one of those words was hentai

and now a quick analysis of some panels

a) so there's at least one player who wasn't underestimating vorpal swords. if i were to overanalyse, i'd add that nick's wearing a hoodie (possibly athletic wear) whilst nash has a 'fancy' shirt on; perhaps nick wasn't expecting them to be going to host clubs instead of chilling/training?

b) i know what you're thinking: "how can you say nash is a hard worker when he didn't want to practice for the match". i reckon he was still pretty high on the complete and utter success of their previous match, that plus being around girls, encouraged him to have a more 'jason-y' personality. (either that or fujimaki didn't want to add too much depth/realism into nash's character bc he's unequivocally the villain, right? and obviously this helps with the plot and the jabberwock bad geniuses gom good geniuses rhetoric.)

earlier, i mentioned how nash is the only one that could keep the team together, and is thus the undeniable head of the team; here's a clear example. you can see both jason and zack have no interest in continuing - if anything, there's disgust in their faces, kinda just saying "we spat on all of japan, now we can go home". whereas nash won't allow for the slightest of possibilities that there might exist a team stronger than them, and hence agrees to the match. the key thing here is that the others do as he says without too much fuss.

another thing to note is nash's reference to harakiri. now what can we make of that, alongside his proficiency in japanese, in relation to his character? the way i see it, he's either a weeb or possibly has some japanese lineage. (you could spin that even further and say his mother was japanese, taught him the language, then abandoned him, and hence his almost excessive hatred/mockery of the japanese people.) (is that why he wanted to do another match in japan..?)

just a quick point. "thanks to him" - jason isn't so superior as to think that he could win this match effortlessly without nash's support. links pretty nicely with my earlier idea about how nash is the only person jason has always considered 100% strong.

yet another point about how nash is the strongest of the team in pretty much every way you can think of. you know how scary/powerful you have to be to shut jason up (after he's getting real pissed from being prevented from scoring?)

i personally think this is a pretty important panel, though i've never seen anyone mention it before. did nash grow up training in a professional basketball training situation, as opposed to growing up playing streetball like i suspect the others did? well, to answer that question, imma bring in another panel.

here we see visible rage on nick, zack and jason's faces - they can't accept their loss, which is fair enough. but i'd argue that nash's face seems to depict sadness more than it does anger like to rest of them, look at how downturned his mouth is - and he's looking away from the 'camera', as if hiding his shame.

when you combine that with what he says here, i have no doubt that this is someone who has experienced some proper lows in basketball - as would be expected from someone who's played 'properly'. he's possibly not even a prodigy like the rest of them - compare jason's motto with his. "i have never thought" versus "do not suppose opportunity will knock twice at your door".

there's various lines of thinking you could design with this - he might have been trained by alex (hence, himuro having heard of jabberwock, though he should have known of a team as popular of jabberwock regardless), he might have grown up with professional basketballer parents etc. but here's my own little theory:

nash received serious basketball training from early on - maybe because his parents were living vicariously through him, or maybe he always loved the sport and wanted to be no1. so there he was training away, but, as he grew older, it started getting all a bit too much.

he didn't want to dedicate his entire life to basketball. after all, his hobby is water sports and his speciality is boxing; that's a lot of different things to be keeping up with, whereas the pipeline for promising athletes demands people focus solely on basketball. as a result, nash become bitter: stopped attending practice regularly, got in trouble for trash talk of increasing severity, etc.

result was he was kicked out of the program.

only when he was no longer playing basketball again, did he realise how much he missed it. and hence he got into streetball, where he was tremendously successful as someone with so much training, 'elite skills', and the overly confident attitude to boot.

then, one fateful day, he met jason and the rest is history.

[aomine-ryo]

Hii! May I have Akashi and Kuroko reactions to sex with their s/o being interrupted by a phone call? Love your page! I have a lot of reading! ;3

Aww I’m happy you like my page :)) I hope you enjoy this one too xx

Scenario: Akashi and Kuroko’s reactions to sex with their s/o being interrupted by a phone call (nsfw)

Akashi

It wasn’t very often that you could get intimate with Akashi considering that he was usually busy and constantly around people. Of course, he made it a point to allocate at least a few hours of alone time with you each week, and honestly, it never failed to become the highlight of his week.

You’d often hang out in your house since his one was never truly empty, considering that his maids and butlers were there. You kind of wished they weren’t there though, because his bed was so much bigger than yours that it seemed like it would be much more fun.

So the two of you laid down in your bed, cuddling with each other as you conversed about anything and everything. Well, it was mostly you talking while Akashi listened intently and offered advice and comments whenever he felt like it.

“You know, you could talk too. Your life is much more interesting than mine after all, Mister Emperor,” you said teasingly when you reached the end of your many rants.

“No, it’s all the same old boring stuff,” he shrugged.

“Have you tried to stab anyone recently?” you joked, making him chuckle and shake his head slightly.

“No, not really. People are testing me though,” he played along, fingers twirling the ends of your hair.

Your arms hugged him tighter and you breathed in the comforting scent of his cologne. “Why can’t you stay here forever? You wouldn’t have to think of stabbing anyone then— actually, I might test your patience too, not gonna lie.”

Akashi leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, mainly because he loved you, but also to stop you from spewing any more nonsense. “Staying here with you sounds perfect,” he muttered with a smile.

Akashi tilted his head ever so slightly to deepen the kiss as a warm hand met your cheek. As his tongue made its way into your mouth, he slowly rolled on top of you, trapping you between his arms. He continued to make out with you for some time, his lips slowly making its way down to your neck to leave a few marks.

One by one, clothing was discarded, eventually leaving both of you completely naked as Akashi hovered above you, staring down at you with passion burning in his bright eyes. He had a habit of doing this a lot; he loved to just admire the way you looked underneath him, and as sweet as you thought it was, it was also slightly frustrating as you grew more and more desperate for his touch.

He very well knows this though. He just liked to tease you like this because he wanted to hear you beg for him. And of course, you didn’t fail to do exactly that.

“Sei, can you please do something?” you whined.

“What do you want me to do, my love?” he said sweetly, a devious grin spreading across his face.

“I want you to... f-fuck me,” you said, that last part being in what was barely a whisper as your face flushed red.

“Is that so?” he said, acting all high and mighty. The red haired boy leaned in close and you could feel his breath on your face, sending shivers throughout your entire body. “Well, how could I say no to my princess?” he whispered with a smirk before he pushed his lips against yours once again.

Getting caught up in the kiss, you didn’t notice his other movements until you felt him shove himself inside you with no warning, causing you to gasp and pull away from his lips. Your hands that were previously roaming mindlessly around his back suddenly came to a halt as your nails dug into his skin.

“Everything okay? Do you want me to move?” he asked, consideration in his tone as he watched you squirm underneath him.

You mustered a slight nod as your eyes were pressed shut, trying to concentrate on adjusting to his length. Akashi slowly began to move, and you felt his hand caress your cheek, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear. The tenderness of his touch brought you comfort as your eyes slowly opened, and you were greeted by the sight of his bright eyes looking down at you with adoration.

Eventually, you got used to it and pleasure began to overtake your system. “Sei, faster p-please,” you whined.

Without hesitation, he did as he was told, the sounds of your moans getting increasingly louder as he picked up the pace. He was completely entranced by the way you made him feel. Even the way you left scratches on his back felt good.

However, the euphoria he felt was suddenly interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing from the bedside table. “Just ignore it,” you said softly after noticing his evident annoyance, not wanting to lose contact with him.

Akashi was never one to not pick up a call. He was a busy person, sure, but just like he expected everyone to respond to his calls, he held the same expectations for himself. So with a sigh and an apologetic look on his face he slowly pulled out, causing you to pout. “It’ll only take a minute or two, I’m sorry,” he said, pecking your lips before reaching for his phone.

It was a call from the Rakuzan team manager. He was supposed to meet up with his team for endurance training in about ten minutes, but he seemed to have lost track of time with you. As his hand mindlessly rubbed your thigh, he quickly apologised and told her that he’d probably be late because he’s “occupied with something important,” before finally ending the call.

“Do you have somewhere to be, Sei?” you questioned as he set the phone down and returned his complete attention back to you.

“Yes but I told them I’d be late.”

“You can leave if you want to, it’s alright—“

“I’m going nowhere until your legs are shaking and you’re screaming my name, princess,” he interrupted, his tone as serious as ever.

Akashi was fully aware that his presence at the training was essential, however that only gave him all the more reason to not take it easy on you. He felt frustrated at the fact that it interrupted his time with you. Of course that frustration would be taken out on you in the form of some very rough sex— but you didn’t mind that at all. And as promised, Akashi didn’t leave until he was sure that he’d absolutely wrecked you.

Kuroko

There was nothing that Kuroko loved more than spending his afternoons cuddling with you. The comfort of knowing that you were right there in his arms brought him happiness that was immeasurable, to the point where a smile would be spread across his usually expressionless face.

There were times where he’d be perfectly content spending the entire day lazing around with you in his arms. Other times though, he’d have energy to spare.

For instance, it was a regular Saturday afternoon that he was spending at your house, and he was extra affectionate with you. Smothering your face in kisses and tangling his legs with yours under the sheets as you laid in bed together, the blue haired boy seemed rather overexcited— not that you minded. With the way he was acting, you knew exactly how it would end as you began to feel clingier and clingier. All you had to do was patiently wait to see what Kuroko would do.

It didn’t take long for Kuroko’s soft lips to end up on yours, his eagerness evident in the way his tongue slipped into your mouth after mere seconds of kissing him. Soon after he made his way down to your neck, your clothes slowly ended up on the floor, piece by piece. Eventually, all that was left was your naked bodies pressed against each other, growing more and more desperate for some action.

Deciding to take control of the situation, you rolled yourself over so that you were on top of him. Looking down into his gorgeous blue eyes, you smiled as your hand began to stroke his member. You watched for some time as he bit his lip to pull himself together before hovering your hips above it. Slowly, you sank down onto his length, letting out a drawn out moan at the way it filled you up.

It took a few moments, but you eventually adjusted to it, and you began to move up and down, gaining deep groans from your pale skinned boyfriend. “Y/N, you feel so good,” he moaned, unable to stop thinking about how gorgeous you looked when you were on top of him. He swore that he would gladly have this be the only sight he sees for the rest of his life.

Suddenly, the sound of a loud ringing caused both of you to snap out of it as your bodies shuddered in surprise. You looked over to your bedside table and noticed that you were getting a call from a friend of yours. You looked over at Kuroko questioningly.

“You should get that,” he nodded, though there was a hint of annoyance in his expression as he didn’t like getting interrupted.

With an apologetic look, you got up and sat at the edge of the bed to answer the phone call. A part of Kuroko wanted to tell you to ignore it, but he didn’t want you to risk missing an important phone call, so he say up on his elbow and waited patiently for you to finish. The call didn’t go on for too long thankfully, however Kuroko did end up absentmindedly kissing your neck and shoulders while he waited, bringing a goofy grin onto your face.

The moment the call was over, Kuroko practically pounced onto you, letting his hands roam around your body as his lips reconnected with yours. Perhaps he was a little impatient for that call to end. Without losing contact with your lips for even a moment, Kuroko ended up laying on top of you.

Before he continued what was previously interrupted, he pulled away, finally giving you some time to breathe as you looked up at him. “Is everything okay with your friend?” he asked— he was still concerned about you after all.

“Yeah, it wasn’t anything important. It’s a shame we lost time over it,” you replied.

As Kuroko began to line himself up against you once more, a small smile appeared onto his face, “It’s alright. We can always make up for it. So why don’t we get to it?” he said simply before pushing himself into you.

A surprised gasp escaped your lips as you tossed your head back in pleasure. All that extra waiting seemingly made him more hungry for you. Yearning for more of that euphoric feeling he felt prior to the interruption, there was no way he way going to go easy on you now.

[archaneanscribe]

Finally Taking the Trip to Jupiter

Vague spoilers for MGS4. Also xtremely fucking sad fair warning lol

“Snake... Dave?” Hal immediately corrected himself upon entering the room. The veteran’s (finally they could use that term, with there truly being no fights left to fight) request to drop the codenames they had maintained for nearly a decade had been a little sudden, but entirely understandable, “We think we’ve found a place to stay, for the moment. A nice house, close enough to a town that Sunny can go to school in, but far enough ouy most folks will leave us alone.”

David simply nodded- taking a deep breath that would normally be an intake of smoke into his lungs, but he was sincere in his declaration of quitting. Even if it wasn’t for very long, he could do that much for Sunny and Hal, after all this time. The tech wiz stood awkwardly in the doorframe, posture so closed in on himself David would see the gangly nerd he once was before he had started spending more time eating and moving around than seated in front of a computer.

He still did plenty of that, but years on the run had shifted the ratio considerably until just recently.

“Out with it, Hal,” he croaked out in a voice that was becoming increasingly unfamiliar to both of them. This seemed to shock his companion out of his own thoughts, and he finally moved closer.

“Ah, well, you see- what do you want for your last name, Dave? You know I’ll be formalizing Sunny’s adoption, which means we’ll finally be obtaining,” emphasis was put on the word, because in reality it meant forging, “papers for her, and I thought you’d probably be in need of some too. We can use whatever is on your birth certificate, but if you want to pick something out yourself...”

A smile formed under Dave’s mustache.

“I already know what I’m using.”

Hal perked up, “You do? What is it?”

With the same simple, to the point gruffness he would never quite be rid of, the one legendary soldier answered in a single word.

“Emmerich.”

All sounds except the Nomad’s machinery working overtime on her last voyage and David’s unfortunately heavy breathing ceased for an eternally long moment, Hal’s face journeying between every emotion he possessed. Tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, and his attempt to stifle his sniffles failed.

He probably wouldn’t have admitted it at the beginning, but something David had always loved about Hal was his ability to keep crying. No matter the hardships he faced, the traumas, the evils and cruelties he bore witness too, he didn’t run out of tears. His compassion was a well that ran deep, and those tears were just a result of it overflowing.

“Dave...of, of course,” his expression betrayed some amusement past the waterworks, “Do you want me to list you as my brother, or-”

“You know exactly what it’s going to say, Hal.”

They both laughed now, such different sounds than it was just a year ago even. David had been sitting on the edge of the bed, and Hal had been across the room, but that distance closed as Hal kneeled on the floor, placing his hands on David’s knees. It was a gesture that David had previously classified as pitying, but he knew better, now. 

It wasn’t for his comfort at all.

“Thank you, David.”

David had half a mind to ask what it was like to kiss an old man with a mustache, but they didn’t have the time for jokes like that anymore, so he just closed his eyes and enjoyed it.

---

The eyeroll David had given when Hal told him the name of the town they’d be living in was named Jupiter was so legendary it surpassed his previous exploits with ease. But, despite how silly it was, he couldn’t deny the warmth in his chest. 

They’d gotten their trip to Jupiter, just a little late.

Jupiter, Washington, was as small as a small mountain town got. It didn’t even have an elementary school for Sunny to attend (she was bussed to the neighboring, larger town). Most residents were the descendants of the people who had first lived there, so their new faces stuck out for awhile, but they eventually concluded what was essentially the truth, albeit missing some key details, and moved on- they were just two retirees, hoping to live out what was left of the older one’s life in peace with their orphaned granddaughter, nothing exciting.

Hal laughed at how huffy David had gotten at the granddaughter comments.

For the first month, their time there was peaceful. Content. Happy.

The second month, David starting being able to spend less and less time out of bed.

In the third month, he took Hal aside.

“You should stop sleeping in the same bed as me.”

His husband was a genius, he knew exactly why, but he still asked anyway.

“Don’t make me say it.” 

That he didn’t want Hal to wake up one sunny spring morning cuddling a corpse.

Tears were shed, as they always were, but he complied nonetheless. All of David’s belongings were transferred to the guest bedroom (Hal had tried to convince him to stay in the master bedroom, it was more comfortable, but David was adamant- that was where Hal would be staying in the future, and he didn’t want his ghost lingering in the air whenever he slept).

On the first day of the fourth month, right after sending Sunny off to school, Hal told him they were getting a dog for her.

“She loves those chickens, and I thought she might like another pet.”

“Or is it to replace me?” he asked, morbid mirth nearly buried under the pure gravel that had become his voice, “Seems to fit perfectly.”

Hal’s eyes, sad and weary, seemed to want nothing to do with this conversation, but he participated for his partner’s sake, “How so?”

“It’ll bark at strangers, bite the hand that feeds, and just generally be a pain in your ass.”

Despite himself Hal did laugh, not entirely bitter, “We’ll train it better than that.”

“Don’t train it too well. Won’t remind you enough of me.”

Fifth month, they had a dog. Rex, a joke on two layers- a name so common it was funny, and a reminder of one man’s shame that he’d never quite shake off. Not a husky, because while that would please David, they’d be keeping it long term and that level of energy just wouldn’t suit their needs. Rex was an adolescent Golden Retriever. 

The dog of the American dream.

Almost like he could tell David wouldn’t be around long enough to justify getting attached, Rex mostly ignored him. The feeling was mutual. 

Sunny loved them both dearly, and that was enough.

---

They had been there half a year, and Sunny made them breakfast. Her specialty, eggs fried to methodical perfection, toast just a little browner than anyone would like, maple sausage microwaved for ten seconds more than the instructions said just to make sure they were thoroughly cooked, and a glass of pulpless orange juice tucked precariously into the crook of her arm as she carried the meal to Uncle Dave’s bedroom.

It was two minutes after Hal watched Sunny depart from the kitchen that he heard a loud crash, glass and ceramic shattering, followed by Rex’s insistent barking and whining. He was on his feet and rushed to the scene, fearing the worst and finding exactly that.

“Oh, Sunny... Sunny...”

“U-Uncle H-Hal,” she barely managed through her cries. Rex, to his credit, ignored the food on the ground and nuzzled at her face, whining, confused and upset by the noises of unparalleled distress his beloved human was emitting. Stifling his own grief, Hal went over to the young girl and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.

He didn’t do a great job at holding that grief in after all.

“Sunny, Sunny, Sunny... I’m so sorry... I should have checked up on him when I woke up... It’s okay, Sunny...”

“H-He’s d-d-dead. J-Just,” her stutter was exacerbated by her choking sobs, “J-Just l-like my m-mother.”

The downside of having such a bright child was that you couldn’t shield them from life’s harsh realities that easily. There was no convincing Sunny that Uncle Dave was with the birds in the clouds, or any other such comforting tale. 

He was dead and gone, and she knew that.

---

The gravestone read:

               David Emmerich

       Beloved father and husband.

All three of those titles were ones he had only worn for six months, but he had worn them with honor.•