#but one day i will definitely write something in that vein. i heart high intensity angst

[colgatebluemintygel]

/slides over crumpled $10 bill

what were your original, meaner plans for r/s in oao? (if it's spoilery, you can respond to this after you publish the whole thing, i'm just soooo curious)

there are some points that i cannot divulge bc they are still spoilery but the tldr version is: sirius fucked benjy 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

[klausinamarink]

decided to write a steve part as a continuation of my steddie deals with chronic pain ficlet. Might’ve wrote this more in vein as a prequel but eh, you’re welcome :D also extra angsty

-

Steve used to consider himself as the embodiment of high pain tolerance. Since his junior year, he had been punched in the face many times, had a broken plate in his scalp, injected with Russian drugs, and gotten bit and nearly strangled by interdimensional monsters.

Or as he calls it Tuesday.

But after the Spring Break of Hell, Steve’s been feeling weird. Not the usual looking at my own body when I do things weird, but more physically weird. He doesn’t really know how to describe it even to Robin when he feels like he’s suffocating but there’s nothing around his neck. Or how every day his arms and back sting and pinch him at every breath like ants biting underneath his skin. Or how he’s walking fine until the next second, his knees get stiff and the pain travels upwards right to the top of his spinal cord, the place right on the back of his skull, it aches and aches to the point that he’s frozen but he has to move anyways because he’s standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

All he knows that it’s probably worse than the intense migraines he’s dealing with since Billy Hargrove and the Russians definitely cracked his right eye socket.

But there’s people who are more hurt than Steve. Like Max and Eddie who need and are getting actual help and care. He almost wants that too, but it’ll just get him in their way. Nobody would look at him and think that his suffering is even the same as theirs.

(Please, his heart and brain begs, look at me and take care of me. It hurts so much.)

So, even with his body betraying him and hurting him in ways he thought wouldn’t happen, Steve isn’t going to admit it. His injuries are healing fine anyway.

But god, can his body just actually rest and not hurt like bitch for one fucking hour?

(I’m sorry for hurting you, his body apologizes again, but it’s what i can do right now.)

It’s gotten more annoying, really. Steve keeps pushing the pain behind him, pointedly ignoring how it’s blurring his vision and pulses his certainly cracked eye socket. He knows it’s affecting his mood, but he doesn’t want to be that asshole King Steve anymore. He doesn’t want to everyone to lose their trust in him. So he keeps smiling, driving the kids, visits everyone, hands out clothes and food, and lives with the acid corroding his entire body.

Unsurprisingly, his suffering pushes back like an exploded dam.

At the Munsons’ new house, he’s visiting Eddie, who’s been more tired than Steve’s ever seen him since being discharged from the hospital. He still talks to the Party but he couldn’t go outside much without his scars and limp acting up.

It’s during when Steve finds himself placing wet towels on Eddie’s bare shoulders (“I can’t waste the water but I need some cold water on me right now!”) that it. Just hits him.

He can’t explain it - he’s never good at explaining anything well - but the sour and tired mood Steve’s been vaulting up vanishes. But then comes the hyperawareness of how much his skin is bubbling and itching with discomfort, his muscles dissolving into bone which are exploding starbursts of agony, and the pulsing under his right eye is slithering through his brain. It should’ve been horrible than the Russian torture, but it doesn’t even hurt. It’s like in class when the teacher is giving an important lesson but Steve is barely listening.

He does feel overwhelmed but so much so it just circles back to apathy. He doesn’t feel himself moving but he does end up on the floor, his face pressed against the frizzy carpet.

“Steve? Are you okay?” He hears Eddie asking. Feels him poking at his buzzing shoulder. He opens his mouth to say something but only says through salt-tasted lips, “Hurts.”

“Oh shit, what hurts? Where?”

Steve doesn’t answer. He closes his wet eyes and refuses to open them. The pain still follows him even when he falls asleep because of course it does. He hasn’t gotten a pleasant night of sleep since the demogorgon burst out of the Byers’ ceiling, but the pains makes him closer to the edge of consciousness than he liked.

When he slowly wakes up, there’s a heavy pressure sitting on his back. Steve lifts his head up and sees Eddie sitting on him, reading a worn book and the towel still on his shoulders.

Huh, that’s new.

Eddie flips a page, his eyes flickering to Steve, who stares blearily back. Eddie gives him a small smile. “The king awakes from his slumber as the prophecy foretold.”

Steve blinks. “W-Why are you sitting on me?”

“Wayne lays facedown sometimes after his shifts and I sit on his back almost every time. He says it’s the best massage he ever got.” Eddie says nonchalantly, but then he looks nervous. “Is, is this working for you?”

Steve reflects on his body. The pain is still everywhere but it’s a bit lighter this time. Where Eddie sits on his back is like a fucking miracle - the pressure settled into the muscle and bone where it feels like a portion of how his body used to be before the Upside Down busted into his life.

He grins with long-lost relief, “Yeah, man, just stay here forever. I’m not gonna move again.”

Eddie looks at him pensively, putting his book away. “Steve, are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah, this is kinda weird but I don’t mind it.”

“Steve, are you okay?”

He doesn’t cry, but Steve feels the tears trickling down his face and over his nose. He sniffs, blinking rapidly as Eddie gets off him and the pressure disappears so the pain comes back in its ugly sense. Steve turns around so his back on the ground and he’s staring at the ceiling, refusing to look at Eddie. He never cried before even when his body started hating him and he started hating movement.

“Hey, hey, Steve. Look at me, big boy.”

He does. Eddie is laying right next to him, his worried doe eyes staring at him. Fuck, he looks so kind and Steve shuts his eyes, clamping a hand over his mouth. The phantom pain of the demobat’s tail returns, but it feels more wet and clogged.

Eddie’s hand is on his. Gently moving Steve’s hand away from his mouth. Eddie is still looking at him as he says, “You hurt worse if you don’t ask for help.”

Steve opens his mouth. For an awful second, he wants to yell at Eddie ‘what the hell do you know about feeling like complete shit”. But he doesn’t and he is so fucking glad because it would’ve been so hurtful to Eddie and Steve would feel even more in agony that he just proved the other boy’s old impression of him as an asshole.

Instead, when Steve opens his mouth, he doesn’t say anything and starts weeping. He sobs like a baby and Eddie is holding him closer now, his face pressing against Steve’s messy face.

Moments pass in a blur. Steve stops crying. Eddie has moved himself on top of Steve, the familiar weight pressing the pain down and forcing his bones and muscle to rest. Their faces are closer to each other now, Eddie’s nose brushing Steve’s chin.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks again in a hushed tone.

Steve gives a little shrug. “A little.”

“Is this okay?”

Steve isn’t sure if he’s talking about laying on him or this new kindle of their friendship or both. But he nods, carefully wraps his arms around Eddie’s torso, and rests despite the pain stiffening him.

[shorkbrian]

Fine

Prelude -  I had some more classes start today, so I will probably not have time for hardly anything. We’ll see. But please be patient with me, I appreciate y’all

Pairing - Izuku Midoriya X Reader

Prompt - @lbrownsugarbbyl mentioned in a comment that their birthday was a few days ago. Hope this suffices, I'm sorry I’m really bad at writing stuff for people lasjhlfhals

Warnings - NSFW, dub con, Pseudo-incest, pussyjobs,

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/5XeFesFbtLpXzIVDNQP22n?si=kLjNx2bbTiWzW37DHZuB8Q

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’ll be fine.

Everything’s fine.

That’s what Izuku tells himself everyday when he heads up to your room five nights out of the week, fresh from college. He knows your schedule, you get home half an hour before he does on Wednesdays and Thursdays, a full hour on Monday, Tuesday, and Friday. 

That gives you enough time to shower, brush out your hair, change into something comfy. Izuku always finds himself wishing he could give you one of his shirts, one of the large ones that would reach down to your thighs. He wishes he could see you wearing that, nothing else.

But Izuku understands that there are limits. Limits to what he does to you, limits to what he can ask of you.

You always find a way to push his limits, make his resolve crumble away into dust, thick dust that chokes him as he drowns in his sins.

Izuku spends almost all of his time in your room now, waiting for bedtime, waiting for when he can climb into your bed, lay down beside you, be close to you.

He knows he’s needy, maybe more so than what’s normal. But he likes listening to you talk to your friends on the phone with him draped over your back, likes sitting against your feet doing his homework while you do yours. Izuku likes being around you, needs your presence and your company to feel stable, to feel okay.

Things are different now, different because of you. He always used to be so anxious and nervous, easy to push around and bully. But then his mom had met your dad, and he had met you. 

You had been such… you had been a life saver, literally.  You were the one that had come up to the school roof while Izuku was contemplating following Bakugou’s advice to take a swan dive. You had his bento box in hand, presumably looking for your new step-brother to tell him he forgot his lunch. Izuku had burst out crying the second you opened your mouth, dropping to his knees and scrubbing at his eyes. It was embarrassing, humiliating, his head hurt and so did his heart. Everything was bad, bad bad bad, but then there was you.

Kneeling down beside him, using your sleeve to wipe at the snot and tears smeared all over his face. Pulling him into a deep hug, cradling his head against your chest, asking him to breathe with you, deep breaths, slow breaths. 

You never asked what he was doing up there - it was pretty obvious - even to someone new to the school - how badly Izuku was bullied. 

But you, oh, his beautiful step-sister, you never treated him like that.

You were kind, soft smiles and soft hands as you walked with him between classes. He forgot about the mean words and vicious jabs thrown his way when he was with you, instead focused on the way your lips moved as you talked, the soft, girlish tone of your voice. You were an angel in his eyes, both figuratively and literally.

All throughout high school, izuku stuck by your side, and you let him, encouraged him even. Let the male press into your side during lunch, let him squeeze next to you on the bus, let him follow you around like a lost puppy. He still had yet to hear a mean word, an insult, a derogatory remark towards him fall from yours lips. You were too good for that, his sister, his /savior/. College is when the problems started.

And by problems, Izuku means attraction. You managed to snag yourself a boyfriend, your attention shifted from Izuku and onto this new person. Someone else besides Izuku was taking up your time, and it hurt. 

It wasn’t hard for Izuku to spin lies about you to your “boyfriend”, to the idiot who thought they were entitled to your time. Something about using your boyfriend, about only being with him because he had money. Of course Izuku knew none of that was true - you would never! But Izuku needed you to himself.

He proceeded to subtly ruin every relationship you formed, even those that were just “friends”. All Izuku knew was that he needed you attention, all of it, no exceptions.

And you never figured out why you friends drifted away, why you couldn’t hold a boyfriend for more than a week before they were spitting in your face. It seemed like Izuku was the only one who was constantly there for you, through thick and thin. As time passed, it became easier to forget about trying to meet new people, easier to just be complicit and accept that Izuku was all you would ever need, just like you were all he would ever need.

He was there for you! Just like you were there for him, all those years ago. Izuku made sure to stress to you that you could go to him for /anything/. Homework help? He’s putting his glasses on and scooting over so you can sit down beside him at the dining table.  Trying to decide on dinner? Izuku will help, opening the fridge and offering to make something for you.  Need to run to the store for “feminine products”? Izuku is already shrugging his coat on, snatching the keys off the counter and telling you to go lay down, he’ll get anything you need.

He’ll do anything you need.

And he knows how long it’s been since you’ve had a decent orgasm.

Izuku convinced himself that he was just being a good brother, being a good man, as he bought you a vibrator. Your moans had sounded so forlorn in the shower, as if whatever you were doing wasn’t enough, like you wanted, no, needed more. 

And he knew that some would think it’s weird that he sits outside the door as you shower, hell, he could see you wrinkling your nose as he presented you with the vibrator. But it’s just Izuku, nervous, needy Izuku. You know how he hates being alone.

He’s able to convince you to accept the toy. And the next time you shower, he knows you’re muffling your moans in case he’s sitting outside (where else would he be?), but Izuku swears he can hear the quiet buzz of the toy, and he can definitely hear your delicious little whimpers as you cum.

It all goes downhill from there.

In some dark, cobwebbed corner of his mind, Izuku registers that it’s weird. It’s odd that he’s so obsessed with his sister, that he’s so attracted to you. But he didn’t want to be attracted to anyone else, he didn’t want to need anyone else.  And he certainly doesn’t want you having, wanting, anyone but him.

It’s fine, everything’s fine - He had said that first night, crawling into your bed with you. He repeated it softly as he slipped his hand up your legs, pet your cunt through the thin fabric of your pajama shorts. It’s what he had breathed into your ear when you tried to wrench his hand away, when you gasped at his boldness.

You knew how needy he was, didn’t you? This wasn’t weird, it’s fine, just Izuku missing you. Plus, he just wants to take care of you. Won’t you let him?

Izuku smiles into your neck when your hands stutter from pushing him away.

Everything’s fine.

The touching progresses. It’s only under the cover of darkness, under the cover of your blankets. It always starts with Izuku crawling into your bed, waking you up with a gentle kiss to your forehead.  No matter how much you try to tell him otherwise, Izuku knows you need this. He knows it feels good too, he’d done extensive research.

Playing with your pussy, feeling your juices slide down his fingers, rubbing and tapping at your clit, playing you like a fiddle. Occasionally a hand will reach up and tweak a nipple, massage your breast, send liquid fire thrumming through your veins. Izuku likes seeing you arch back, mouth opened and eyes rolled back in pleasure as his hands work you over. It’s almost enough to satisfy him. But he’s so needy. 

It’s one of his limits, he’s only gonna touch you. He’s not gonna take his pants off, he’s not gonna pull his cock out, no matter how hard he is, no matter how uncomfortable it gets. He doesn’t want to make you uneasy.

But just like his other limits, you shatter his resolve on keeping this limit firm. You’re just so wet and receptive to his touch, rolling your hips against his hand, muffing your little gasps and moans into your pillow. Izuku can tell you want more, that you need more, something thick and hot and soft pushing at you clit, something bigger than his fingers.

so it’s fine, everything’s fine as he pushes down his pajama pants, pulls his thick cock out of his underwear, lets it rest up against your pussy.

He has to clamp a hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming. Explains that he’s no gonna go inside, he’s just gonna help you feel even better. You’ll let him, won’t you? He’s made you feel so good already. 

When you hesitantly nodded, obviously not convinced but not actively fighting, Izuku smiles and removes his hand, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

When he wraps a hand around himself, the pleasure zings so fast up his spine that if he weren’t already laying down facing you, he would’ve fallen over. Izuku lets his cock head rest against your clit, lets the tip rub against your ltittle button on each quick stroke of his fist. 

He knows it probably isn’t as intense as when he stimulates your clit directly, but you seem to be enjoying it all the same, shivering and bucking your hips closer to him. 

It feels so good for Izuku, fucking into his tight fist, slide eased by your wetness, pressing the blunt, drooling head of his cock against your rosy little nub, making your squirm and moan so sweetly.

He cums right after you do, letting his cum paint the outside of your pussy, make it messy, adding to the slick wet that was already there. 

From there, izuku isn’t shy about pulling his dick out every other night. It becomes a common occurrence, pussyjobs and Izuku humping you, thick cock sandwiched between the puffy lips of your cunt. He never fails to take care of you - if you don’t cum before he does, your brother will always graciously finger you until you squirt.

It’s fine, everything’s fine as long as he doesn’t go inside, right?

That’s one of his limits.

It’s fine, he won’t cross that line

Hopefully.

[hoshiwhxre]

hii!! could you please write a junkyu smut with phrases #5, 12, 33? thank youuuu!!

Kim Junkyu ; The Food Looks Great

•~ #5 "Do you like it when I touch you like that?" ~•

•~ #12 "The food looks great...but there's something much more delicious I'd like to eat right now" ~•

•~ #33 "Good girl" ~•

{ highkey these prompts got me😳😳feeling some type of way😳😳 }

warnings ; oral!sex (male + fem receiving) , very very slight!exhibitionsm , cum!shot

Draping one heavy arm around your shoulders, Junkyu provided his friends with a playful grin.

     "He was just stood there, he looked ridiculous," Jaehyuk laughed, "he didn't move for like 20 minutes."

     "I was in shock," Junkyu whined, "what was I supposed to do?"

He glanced down to meet your smiling eyes, lightly brushing his nose over yours.

     "What did you order?"

     "This vegetable tagine thing," you paused, gaze flitting over his soft lips, "the picture looked good."

     "Hmm? As good as you look right now?" Junkyu murmured.

You blushed, feeling him tug you closer against his chest, and for a moment you held each other's eyes, his soft smile filling you with a familar warmth.

     "I love you," you breathed, pressing a kiss to his lips and giggling as he followed you back, refusing to pull away. Grinning against your mouth, his firm hand on your shoulder held you captive, tongue slipping over yours intimately.

     “I think the food’s here,” Jihoon announced, forcing you both to pull apart, cheeks a little pink from the friction that had been gradually building through your bodies. Coughing, Junkyu’s arm retracted from your figure, leaving you with an emptiness to consume your chest.

"Thank you," you said warmly, smiling up at the waiter as he placed a dish before you, "it looks lovely."

Your soft tone shook Junkyu's body with pleasurable shivers, watching with a dark fondness as you waited patiently for the others to be served.

"You're so beautiful," Junkyu mumbled, reaching out to rest his firm palm on your thigh, "I'm so lucky to have you."

Eyes shining with love, you met his gaze, and butterflies immediately swarmed your stomach. Immersed in you, he didn't break off to address his food, instead leaning down to press a sweet kiss against your mouth. Your lids fluttered shut in ecstasy, the taste of cherries adoring his tongue.

"Get a room," Jeongwoo whined, causing a laugh to vibrate against your lips, pulling you both back.

"That'll be you one day," Hyunsuk teased, grinning.

"Never!" Jeongwoo's face curled in horror, shuddering as his friends exchanged humoured eyes.

"Just eat your food and be quiet," Junkyu chuckled, his fingers squeezing around your thigh beneath the table. Each second his thumb trailed your bare skin, your chest trembled with delightful shivers.

He felt your muscle tense under his palm, and he glanced down, watching your hips shift and your breath catch, your body seemed to magnetise to his touch. Expression sparkling, Junkyu coughed, allowing his hand to graze further up the inside of your thigh, long fingers reaching teasingly under the material of your short skirt.

Your stomach twisted, a low moan forcing it's way up your throat as your boyfriend began to wind his touch over your thin, lacy panties.

"What's up, baby?" Junkyu bowed his head, voice hushed so only you could hear his words, "do you like it when I touch you like that?"

Immediately, every single limb erupted in desperate goosebumps, your eyes drooping to contain the lust beginning to haze them. The sight of how pathetically weak you were becoming, overcame Junkyu with egotistical pleasure. Fuck, he loved practically feeling your cheeks burn.

Leaning close, he stroked his lips over your twitching ear, beginning to massage your thigh as your fork muffled the sounds begging to release.

"The food looks great...but there's something much more delicious I'd like to eat right now."

You couldn't take it anymore. You were light headed, dizzy, terrified the others could see how stupidly fragile Junkyu had made you become.

"I'm going to get a drink," your boyfriend purred, retracting his hand as he rose to his feet, "are you coming, angel?"

You were most definitely going to come.

Head nodding, you allowed him to pull you up, his hand holding yours close as he lead you from the table. Your breath was heavy, chest wheezing, drips of arousal practically dripping down your legs.

As soon as the pair of you were out of sight, Junkyu's dark eyes met yours with a cocky smirk, before dragging you roughly into the tight spaced one-person toilet. With a smooth movement, he slammed and locked the door shut, your trembling frame pressing against the cubicle's tall, unsteady door.

"Junkyu," you whined, gazing up as his broad shoulders covered you, "I want you..."

"Do you?" Junkyu's head tilted, his palm trailing the intricacies of your body, before thumb and forefinger firmly pinched your chin, "you can't control yourself, can you?"

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as his fingers dropped, curling tight around your neck, and you whimpered a desperate plead, reaching out to fumble with the metal buckle of his belt.

As you began to fall, Junkyu released you from his grip, watching beneath hooded lids as your soft hands coaxed his cock from his jeans. Your thumb teasing the head, your lips eagerly fell open, giving him your tongue to swirl pre cum over the sensitive tip. He groaned, head rolling back as his fingers scraped your hair into a handful, beginning to guide your lips down his shaft. It's girth stretched your jaw wide, a slight choke vibrating down his cock as it tapped your throat. Your hand traced your lips, tongue wrapping the head, as his hips rocked against your mouth. Each thrust you held back a splutter, strings of spit sliding down your chin in a matter of seconds. The pool of arousal deepened between your legs, nipples scratching the padding of your bra, and you shifted your eyes up to consume his moaning orbs. His grunts sang through your ears like a melody, forever surprised by how his cock hardened by the second, filling your mouth unapologetically.

"Good girl," he purred, "you look so pretty with my cock stuffing your mouth."

Junkyu's hips jerked against your lips, and you choked in shock, one hand snatching up to balance yourself against his thighs. As he forced your head down, using your mouth and tongue to fuck himself, your fingers spread beneath your panties, high moans releasing as you rubbed to digits over your erect clit. His eyes narrowed, concentrating breathlessly on chasing his high. You could feel his cock throbbing and twitching against your tongue, his abs tightening as his hips faltered their pace.

"Fuck," he breathed, "are you going to take my cum, baby? Let me see it fill you up."

Your eyes were watering with a mixture of pleasure and pain from the soreness of your throat, your lips red and swollen already with how roughly he was fucking your face.

Pre-cum consumed your taste buds, his cock groaned between your cheeks, and as he roughly stilled your mouth at the base, cock reaching into your throat, you felt his warm, thick cum unload deep inside. Motions slowing, Junkyu rode out his high, grinning as the liquid began to lather your lips, spilling down your chin.

As he pulled off to admire the sight of your fucked out features, his eyes flickered down to your hand paused weakly beneath your panties.

"Come here," he crawled, "get up."

You obliged, obediently, heart racing in hazy arousal. His cock stuffed back inside his jeans, he bowed to press his lips to yours, before very slowly taking your place on the hard, cold floor. His warm hands trailed up your thighs, lifting your skirt to gaze proudly at your panties utterly dripping with your slick.

"So wet from just sucking my cock," Junkyu tutted, one digit slipping beneath the material, allowing your thick arousal to wrap around him. He snickered, looking up as your grip found his silky dark hair. As his eyes misted over with that same, dark cloud, you stuttered a mewl, feeling his strong arm lift one aching thigh over his wide shoulder. Shifting forward, he adjusted his position, blowing cool hair against your panties.

"Please don't tease," your lips rubbed shut, as he pushed your panties lazily to the side.

"Be quiet for me, princess," Junkyu whispered, "I'll let you cum if you're a good girl."

Nodding robotically, you weren't sure whether you had the willpower to oblige to his command, but the sensation of his wet tongue licking a stripe between the dripping folds of your pussy, your teeth sank deep into your lip. His tongue seemed to move so well, touching you in every place you wanted - no, needed - him. Flattening it against your clit, he sucked his lips around the deeply sensitive skin, smiling upon the noise of your held back moans. Not hesitating, Junkyu began swirling his tongue in a mixture of spine-tingling directions over your clit, stimulating it into a twitching mess. Feeling your thighs clench, he reached up to tug your hands from his hair, curling his fingers between yours in a tight, encouraging embrace. Your back arched off the cubicle door, his mouth a suction on your pussy, his tongue lapping hungrily at your clit.

"You're doing so well," he mumbled, "keep going, baby."

You whined quietly, lids screwing shut to contain the shudders reaching your limbs. You could feel your core pulsating with orgasmic contractions, an electrogram of pleasure keeping you constantly on edge. Knots built high like Lego from your stomach to your chest, tightening around your veins in warning. Junkyu was pushing deeper into your crying cunt, his tongue magically finding the spots that felt oh-so-good. It's raw, sharp pleasure shot through your entire body, and a sharp gasp escaped, feeling an intense heaviness draw through your body. Breath holding, your fingers squeezed into his hand, a silent signal that you were about to cum. Junkyu immediately lapped faster, providing you with more pleasure to clench onto.

"J-Junkyu-" you rasped, just as that intense pleasure crashed down hard from above. The relaxing, body shuddering, incredible sensation glided through your veins, rocking your head with it's uncontended sensitivity.

As you collapsed against his tongue, Junkyu twisted his neck to pepper loving kisses down your twitching thigh.

"Such a good girl," he murmured, pushing himself back to his feet, smiling at your content eyes gazing back at him, "so beautiful."

{ to the anon who requested this, I'm so sorry it's so late and I hope it's okay🥺}

[herstarburststories]

Wedding Dress

Kinktober day 13: Cunnilingus

Pairing: Domestic!Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean is hiding under your wedding dress— he can have some fun while he's in there, right?

A/N: I'll admit that my mood isn't high today, and writing this one was kind hard at some point. So, @theicariantouch helped me a lot more than they usually already do and I'm so glad. Thank you, hon! This is co-written.

Warnings: oral sex (woman receiving), cute, kind public sex

“You look beautiful!”

You rolled your eyes at your mom's obvious lie, although the look on her face told you that she truly believed that adjective could be used properly there. Perhaps that was the 'perfect child' syndrome again when mothers saw their newborns — the unfinished, strange little creatures as they were — as the cutest beings in the galaxy. No one would have the heart to tell them that their baby looked like an old knee, and neither did you about the clearly ugly clothing.

The inordinately puffy dress was more beige than white with a massive bow laced to crown at the small of your back, no cleavage, and sequins embossed with an opalescent gleam trailing along the waistline. It wasn’t in an elegant way like Cinderella’s, but in the most démodé, antiquated manner possible. You'd never wear it for any party, much less your marriage — plus, you just tried it on because you imagined it'd be funny to twirl and watch the skirt flutter, maybe feel like a princess for a hot minute. 

There was something those movies didn’t tell you about the dresses like this, and that was the fact they were heavy. You only wore it for a couple of minutes, and you already wanted to cut it open with scissors and walk around naked for the rest of the day.

After all, this wasn't really your color.

You replaced your wrinkled nose with a playful grimace followed by a shrug. “I guess I'll try another. The siren cut one is really pretty.”

“I'll ask for them to get it.” She nodded, getting up to summon Cecilia — the unfortunate worker that had fetched at least fifteen different dresses for you by now — and the third glass of champagne for herself. She quickly got lost in the lavender-scented castle of dresses, high-classed scenery marked with the quiet lull of Celine Dion playing in the background. You scoffed, turning around to meet the mirror again just to make sure this one was a definite no until your eyes found something way more interesting.

Dean Winchester — the man you made a home out of — was looking at you through the large glass window. It was so easy to spot the smile on his face while he observed you with a lionized intensity as if you were his favorite movie that he couldn’t get enough of watching. Dean's vivid green eyes were almost glossy with adoration and loyalty — because that was the only way this magnetic man knew how to love. And he loved you; oh, how much he loved you and the life he never thought he'd get with you. That marvelously dazed look on his face almost fooled you into thinking that this was the right dress.

Sweetened seconds of longing looks soon shifted, changing into a frown of yours as Dean stepped into the fancy boutique. You moved your body to glance at him, the skirted ends of the dress dancing around your legs as the subtle woosh of fabric echoed. Fortunately, it seemed to break Dean's focus as well, his eyes now sharpened on your confused expression.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was out for lunch with Sammy, so I decided to drop in.” He smirked, approaching you. You placed your hands on your hips and glanced at him. Your bridal instinct — which, funnily enough, sounded a lot like your mom — screamed for you to cover yourself up, but what was the point? He had already seen it, and that definitely wouldn't be your dress.

Nonetheless, you arched your eyebrows and wore an accusative tone as you spoke, “You aren't supposed to see me in a wedding dress before our marriage, Winchester.”

“I don't believe that.” Dean rolled his eyes and placed his hands on your hips.

God, that puffy beige abomination had enough cushiony material to suppress the sensation of Dean's hands on you. Yep, big no.

Childish joy was spreading across your face with a beam as you put your arms around his neck. “You, of all people, a skeptic?”

The Winchester pulled you closer donning that lopsided grin that often made you want to drag him to the nearest bed, but, before he could even speak, you heard your mother's voice nattering to Cecilia about shades of white steadily growing louder. 

She would kill you and Dean both if she saw him there.

“Hide, now!” You pushed his chest only to gain a confused look from the retired hunter. “My mom's coming. You know how crazy she is about matrimonial traditions and whatever! You need to go, now!”

Dean gulped as though just now noticing your mom's echoing voice and high heels clicking against the floor. How was that more threatening than the howls of the werewolves he used to kill?

“Dean!” you pleaded when he didn't move.

He glanced at you with desperate eyes, suddenly paralyzed with fear. “What? I can't go through the front door, she'll see me!”

“Are you afraid of my mom?” you say incredulously, a frown abruptly sharpening your painted features. 

Dean glared at you in exhaustion. “You aren't?” 

“That's not the point!” You groaned. Dean seemed to finally catch up to the idea, abruptly making a beeline to the dressing room encircled with thick velvet curtains the color of spilled wine. “What are you doing?”

He gestured wildly, clearly with only one goal in mind: hide. “Getting in the dressing room!”

“All the others besides mine are occupied!” you hiss sharply, because you’ve been trying on gowns of all shapes and sizes long enough now to know the drill. You pointed to the ostentatiously large gown you were wearing. “They’ll see you once I go back in to change out of this.” 

Dean looked you up and down, a completely inappropriate smirk growing on his lips when you were about thirty seconds away from getting caught violating the imagined laws of matrimony. “I wouldn't mind seeing you change this. I can even help you to-”

“Dean!” you hissed as an idea struck. What else could you do? You weren't signing up for a two-hour-long lecture about the importance of tradition for your own wedding, but there was no other place you could hide Dean in. Your mom's voice was progressively getting closer and closer. What you did next was a desperate yet necessary measure. “Get under me.”

Dean's brows knitted together incredulously. “What?”

“You heard me! This thing is so big it’ll hide you,” you exclaimed in a lower tone than your nervousness desired, denoting the excessively billowy dress. You lifted the smoothly flared skirt just enough not to show your panties and barked: “Get inside, now!”

Dean shot you a wink before dutifully doing what he was told. “That's what she said.”

You just rolled your eyes at his muffled retort, beginning to question why you had agreed to marry him in the first place. 

It didn't take longer than ten seconds for your mom and Cecilia to pop up. The latter held a bundle of dresses in diversified shades of white before settling them on the Victorian-esque marble top table, sighing in relief at the final release of her admittedly heavy burden. 

“Honey, we brought you five siren cuts!” Your mom, though, had an excited smile on, already grabbing one of the many dresses and pushing it into your arms. “Try this!”

Cecilia gave you a friendly smile, gesturing to the long, silken dress you’d just been given. “This one is from Mattel's new collection.”

Dean shifted under your gown, his spiked hair tickling your leg. He was a big man, so you knew this was difficult for him too. You gulped, heart pounding like a drum inside of your chest while you tried to come up with a request to keep them away long enough for you to get rid of Dean.

Glancing around the classy room, your eyes caught a myriad of vibrantly colorful dresses swaying on a rack next to the wall of mirrors. This was it. This was your out.

Your gaze landed back on the two women in front of you. The icy current from the air conditioner combing through your hair didn't help the blood running cold in your veins. You swallowed the lump in your throat and wore your best poker face. 

Was this how Dean felt when he had to lie for a job when he was a hunter? You didn't know, but what you knew for sure was how his greedy fingers felt pulling your panties to the side when he was hiding under your improbably enormous wedding dress in the middle of an ostentatious clothing store.

“They all look so pretty,” you said, suppressing your scoff as Dean pecked your thigh, “but I was thinking about red ones?”

Cecilia opened her mouth to respond, but your mom was quicker. With a shocked expression and her hand resting dramatically on chest, she said: “Red?! That's not a color for a ceremony in the church.”

You were ready to offer her a swift retort as this was your wedding, not hers, but Dean's kisses kept rising higher and higher. Son of a bitch! You’d kill him if it didn't feel so good. You were already wet, momentarily losing track of space and time. Everything with him felt like the comfortable warmth of afterglow.

That is, until your mother brought you back down to earth with an admonishingly chide tone: “Y/N!”

“I just want to see how it fits me. Please.” You knew he was purposely ignoring your pussy, kissing near it but never getting to the point. You placed you hand on the part of the dress that his head would be, pushing him a little closer. The next word wasn’t meant for your entourage, but it made sense anyway: “Please.”

Cecilia curved the corner of her lips in sympathy. “Of course. We just got a new package a few days ago. I think they will fit you perfectly!”

Dean's lips kissed your heat. You bit your bottom lip to control a moan, summoning a nod interlaced with a tight smile for Cecilia. You doubted you were able to come up with anything else more coherent than Dean and more right now.

“I'll make sure it isn't too red!” You mom huffed, following the worker as she turned away to grab what you asked for.

Dean's hand held onto your leg as he started to lick in slowly, savoring your taste. He had to be controlling himself carefully, staving down his own desire to go deep and eat you out hungrily like he usually did.

You watched the pair leave, impatience fraying your scattered thoughts. You clenched down tightly, trying to force his tongue out of you as you waited for your mother to leave. Unfortunately, she stopped in the middle of the aisle to abandon Cecilia in favor of another worker swathed in a collection of bridal veils. Too risky. Maybe pushing him to the door would be better long term than having Dean to go down on you right now, but it certainly wouldn’t be as pleasurable. 

You decided to consider this one of the little adventures pre-marriage: the eldest Winchester was now licking his way inside you, fingertips sinking into your skin as he pressed his mouth and tongue against your wetness.

God, you loved that man.

“Thought you'd like to see some options without your mom.” Cecilia's voice out of nowhere almost made you jump, but you were able to restrain yourself. The fear of getting caught suddenly putting your body in place again, but Dean wasn't having any of it. As soon as you forced a giggle out to answer her, his mouth was on your pussy again.

“Yeah, she can be a little controlling.” You coughed. At least you could use the subject to excuse your discomfort.

You could practically feel Dean's smile on your pussy as he sucked your clit, wriggling his finger inside you. You pressed the hand on the other side of the thick curtain of fabric of his head down harder — for anyone else, it would look like this gesture coupled with your heated expression meant that the dress was uncomfortably hot.

At least, Cecilia thought so. With an understanding, saleswoman grin, she asked: “Do you want help to take the dress off?”

“No!” you almost screamed. It felt good to actually expel the noises you were withholding, even if it was on accident. “I mean, no. No, thank you. I'll take it off myself and try this red one — Can you keep my mom distracted for a couple minutes? She wouldn't like to see me in this.”

Coming up with a lie while your fiancé was sucking your clit and fingering you, checked.

“All for the bride.” Cecilia winked at you and left.

It took a couple seconds for you to regain some self control. With every ounce of willpower you had, you forced yourself to lift your dress and push Dean away from your trembling legs.

“What are you doing?” you asked, glancing at his face. That idiot wore a cocky smile on and had the audacity to lick his lips.

“What? You can't tell me to get between your legs and not eat you out. I'm a good soon-to-be husband.” He winked.

“You're unbelievable.” You sighed, shaking your head. “Hurry up and make me come, and don't get the dress dirty. Cecilia might be able to keep my mom away for like, five minutes. Do a good job.”

Dean chuckled, not able to discern if he was confusing reality and porn again or if this was actually happening, but your taste on his lips was evidence enough to make it uncontestible. He gave you a loving gaze despite everything before coming back to finish what he started. This was it, that was his girl.

“I can't wait to marry you.”

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[yeojaa]

( TO THE MOON AND BACK. )

You use your one brain cell for love.  It doesn’t always end well.

pairing.  kth x (named) f!reader.  jjk x (named) f!reader.

genre +  rating.   non-idol!au.  there’s some fluff and there’s definitely some angst.  general.    

tags / warnings.  none, except for a lot of emotion. 😐😐

wc.  4.9k

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ as per usual (i owe you my life) and @yeoldontknow​ for tolerating me when i came crying into our messages.

author note.  this was a commission for the endlessly lovely @1088x1088​.  thank you so, so much for loving this series enough to support it.  it was a ton of fun to write (even though this chapter did really hurt).  finding my voice again was a bit of a struggle, but i hope you enjoy it!  i’m sorry this was late! 

chapter 12. 

You can feel the difference in the air the moment you step out of the building and into the arms of your bouncing, bubbly boyfriend.  There’s something about him today - an intensity that radiates out of him, refracts off his edges like an aureate coin.  He’s got the biggest grin on his face - so wide and unabashed you think he doesn’t even need the umbrella he’s brought along - that the sheer power of his joy might be enough to push the rain clouds back.  It stretches wide, brighter than the summer sun, and spills light into darkness, chasing away all the spiders.  It warms you from your toes through to the tips of your fingers, filling your veins with lovely golden thread, dust that settles in shades of yellow. 

“Did you win the lottery or something?”  The question is paired with a sweet kiss to his cheek, your entire body sagging comfortably against his as he wraps his free arm tightly around your shoulders and mirrors the gesture.  Your cheek tingles where his lips land.  You think he might be a wizard, magicking away all the hardships of your day.

“No, even better.”  The excitement is nearly bursting out of him, seeping out at the seams that hardly hold him together.  How he hasn’t simply told you yet is beyond you but you know Taehyung’s a bit dramatic - loves the build up as much as the climax - so you wait patiently, linking your hand through his elbow when you move onto the sidewalk.  It’s easy to fall into this routine:  the one you’ve perfected over the last few months.  It never feels stagnant, never anything less than a warm hug on a cold day.  You find comfort in that.

The sun sits low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the street.  They throw shapes across Taehyung’s face, bathing his features in darkness when you step beneath an awning and out of the downpour.  His eyes never stop twinkling - like stars against the night sky, lighting up even the places where the rays can’t reach. 

“We’re hosting an exhibit for local artists.”  He’s trying to be careful, hold himself together.  Still, you can hear the way he speaks a little too fast, too quick to be nonchalant.  Bite back a laugh when the words tumble into each other, failing under their restraints.  “The director asked me to curate it.”

He stops and looks at you then, hopeful and bright and so brilliant you imagine the sun’s disappeared behind the clouds and found a new home in his smile.  You know how much this means to him - how long he’s worked for this, how it’s cost him his parents’ affection and long hours that he’ll never get back.  It goes without saying he deserves this, this incredible opportunity. 

It doesn’t do it justice, but you offer your congratulations regardless, slipping support seamlessly between syllables.  Blending the words with a squeeze of his arm, a delighted little giggle that spirals into the air like a Christmas orange, tart and sweet.  “That’s amazing, Tae!”  

He’s a million miles over the moon, eyes waning, lost to a flood of emotion as he beams down at you.  

“I did all the research and she was happy with it and—”  A twinkling laugh breaks up the excitement, steeping it heavily in the sound as he exhales a big breath that seems to steal a little bit more of his coherence.  “I just—it’s huge.  It’s next month but the director’s given me the go-ahead.  Me!”  

You decide you’d really like to bottle this moment forever, to keep it on a shelf in your thoughts.  You think it’d be the best cure for a bad day, better than any chocolate, more comforting than an afternoon nap.

“Of course you, Tae.”  You’re matching his smile, cradling his jaw in the small of your palms.  Thumbs brush over the seam of his bottom lip, the freckle that dots the edge of his nose.  “I’m so, so proud of you.  You’ve worked so hard for this.”  You know the words aren’t possibly enough but you gift them anyway because it’s still nice to hear.  Everyone deserves that recognition, kindness to hold you up like ribbons, to keep your head held high. 

“Thank you, jagi.”  He sighs a soft sound, all rounded edges and a deep, abiding satisfaction that fills every inch of his expression.  It’s still there when he begins walking again, guiding you back to his favourite place with you at his side.  You fit exactly as you should, tucked under his arm, the tips of his fingers brushing over the teddy bear fabric of your coat.  

“Have you told the others yet?”  

“No, I’m going to tell them at dinner.”  The pride that colours his tone is shades of yellow - marigolds sprouting between vowels, sunflowers encapsulating consonants.  “I want Jungkookie to show his work in it.”  

He must not feel the way you stiffen at his side, how the blood runs cold in your veins and sticks you to the spot like an icicle.  You play it off well enough, tripping over your own two feet and righting yourself as if it were all just a matter of misplaced steps.  

(In truth, you could’ve sworn your heart had plummeted through your feet, all the way to the molten core.  You can feel it burning to a crisp, setting every nerve aflame at the mere thought.)

“I don’t want him to feel like… it’s a handout though.”  

“He won’t,”  you reassure around the strange, familiarly silhouetted lump in your throat.  You are intimately familiar with Jungkook’s work - what spreads over canvas in lovely lilac shapes, stark ink bringing relief to watercolour.  You know who inspires the evening skylines, the immaculate and yet effortless scenes he brings to life with strokes of pen, paint, charcoal. (Or, rather, you knew.  Things could be different now.)  Who graces - had graced - the rolls of film, painted in sepia tones until brought to life by a careful hand.

(You have a feeling they aren’t - that they’re just as they’ve always been.  Too much the same to be safe.  It’d be impossible to miss, even with blinders on.  You and Jungkook would always be complicated.) 

“He’s worked really hard.”  Taehyung’s more or less speaking to himself, carrying a one-sided conversation as you duck back beneath sheets of rain, droplets rolling off the umbrella he carries and splashing all over your toes.  Suddenly, the torrential downpour feels fitting, as if the skies have opened up to soothe the burn beneath your skin.  “It’d be nice if he just caught a break, you know?  Something to give him more confidence.”

He, as well as you, knows just how much of himself the youngest puts into his work.  How every canvas, every roll of film, represents a corner of his heart.  Offers a glimpse into his thoughts.  

You, possibly more than anyone.  But Taehyung doesn’t know that and it certainly isn’t your place to say, so you simply nod along, humming in agreement as you wander the quiet Seoul street.  (It’ll be busy soon, once you pass from the residential area into the bustle of nighttime and exploration.  Not even the rain can keep people away, everyone far too eager to catch up amidst a crowd of smoke and drinking games.  You’re used to it though - used to being dragged out by the ragtag group for their impromptu yet regular weekly dinner dates.) 

“I’m sure he’ll say yes.”  It’s all you can offer as your boyfriend rambles on, lost in his own world

“Really?” 

The amount of hope - strung up on fairy lights, dim and yet somehow so full - rings crystal clear in Jungkook’s voice, tearing your thoughts from the piece of pork belly you’re carefully grilling.  You do your best not to jerk your head up, already all too aware of the topic.  You remind yourself it’s not your place and you flip the slab, gaze trained on the fat that renders out and slides over the metal grill.

It’s hard to do but you weather the storm, quietly observant as the excitement level at the table turns to eleven.  With a group of four it’d be boisterous;  with a table of nine, it’s a cacophony of sound, rising above the din of the bustling restaurant.  It kicks above the chorus of cheers and clattering utensils, as if this moment means so much more.  (It does.)

“You think I’d joke about something like this?”  Taehyung’s doing his best to play it cool, to convey something suave and reassured, but there’s the tell-tale wobble of his words, the way his knee bounces beside yours, nervous energy thrumming through his frame like a livewire.  It practically pours from his fingertips, shooting out past his teeth as his mouth shapes into that familiar boxy grin that belies his delight.

Not that Jungkook’s any better.  

On your other side, his hand’s tensing and relaxing over the tabletop, lips pulling and pursing around thoughts he hasn’t fully formulated.  He’d always been someone who had to be moving - tapping his toes, shaking his leg, simply shimmying in his seat - but this is something else.  It’s as if he’s on the precipice of a realisation, of diving headfirst into his lifelong dream.

(Which, you suppose he is.  He’s wanted this forever, just like Taehyung.  The break he so wholly deserved.  It warms your heart even as it stills it, stutters it uncomfortably in the small of your chest.)

“I’m just—”  Speechless seems to be the appropriate word, because Jungkook simply trails off, wonder in his eyes, his expression that of a child on Christmas.  “Thanks, hyung.”  It’s a rare occurrence, usually offered with that sly bunny smile of his, but it’s dressed in gratitude now, year’s worth of tenderness occupying the spaces between each syllable.

“Don’t thank me.”  It comes, dismissive and yet still just as soft.  Rounded by an awareness that exists only within this group, a tenderness that blooms and blooms and never withers.  “Just make me look good.”

A teasing comment echoes from across the table - that’s impossible from someone who looks and sounds suspiciously like Kim Seokjin - and your group dissolves into a puddle of laughter, the chorus of amusement dissolving above your heads.  

This is too good an opportunity, not the time for your selfish concern.  You swallow your worry with a dab of ssam and a crunch of lettuce.

You miss the look Jungkook shoots you.

He has two weeks.  

Two weeks to select five pieces he thinks will showcase the best parts of himself, the depth of his dedication, the quality of his passion.  Two weeks to go through his extensive portfolio, to rummage through harddrives and pick through his canvases.  Two weeks to determine what home means to him.

It’s certainly not the hardest thing in the world - Jungkook imagines it starts with the words Jeon and ends with a certain group of six idiots - but it still leaves him stumped, sitting at his desk for three long hours as he pours through folders, thankful he’d had the wherewithal to name things properly.  (None of the Aug17uuuuuuughfuck.raw files of his college days.)

It lightens his load, keeps him from upending his entire setup and throwing it out the window in frustration.  Not that he doesn’t still want to.  He very much does.

But perhaps it isn’t the hundreds of images that’s the issue.  Maybe it’s just one - the same one he’s been staring at for the better part of the evening, unable to move on even when he wants to, tapping over his mouse yet never actuating enough to pull him onto the next slide.

It sits front and centre on his screen and he can’t look away;  drinks his fill of it like a man drowning at sea;  savours it like a king at his final feast.  A photo developed with an accidental light leak and how fitting that is, as if all the sunshine has been captured in the single click, trapped behind the shutter for him and him only. 

You’ve always been that to him, though.  Crystalline and beautiful, with light catching off your edges, refracting from every angle to spell something like I love you; with fireflies at the tips of your fingers, guiding him home in the dark;  with the summer sun strung between your teeth, filling him with warmth.  

Could he use this?  Would it be too much?  

More importantly, how would you react?  Had your story ended, chapters of friendship folded between flat pages and tucked within a shelf to accumulate dust?  To sit among the tomes long forgotten, never reached for, barely worthy of a second read? 

Was this meant to disappear, just like you had?  What did that mean for him - for his future?  Were you meant to take all the possibilities with you, tucking them alongside your cotton candy laughter, the sly turn of your smile?  Were they lost to the tangle of your hair, braided into a knot he’d never been able to unravel?

Jungkook hates feeling like this - all the uncertainty swallowing him whole and spitting him out;  leaving him black and blue and bruised all over;  dressing him in shades of grey that only seem to fade with each pass through the wringer. 

A part of him wonders whether he should just ask.  Surely you’d answer the phone, sound so pretty carried over the airwaves he’d probably forget himself.  

Could he find the words?  Would you laugh in his face?

He stares at the photo and wishes it held all the answers, that the light would offer something more than beauty, more than memories that feel more like nightmares.  

Half your face glares back at him, a silhouette of the girl he’d been helplessly in love with.  Rays balance across your cheekbone and cut through him like a knife.  When he blinks, you��re still there but his heart’s all the worse for it, riddled with nicks and tears.

He’ll choose another, he decides. 

Finally, he finds the strength, skips to the next preview - and regrets it almost as much as the first.

(This was his fault, of course.  Jungkook had spent so long living in a world with you, saddled at your side, two pieces inexplicably interwoven.  Of course there’d be thread still, a red string of fate coiled all the way around his heart, hanging uselessly at his side, snipped by hands that weren’t his own, now gone to tatters.)

It wouldn’t matter so much if it were someone else, if the bits of you weren’t so stark, holding his attention like a star in the sky, endlessly bright and unrelenting.  Maybe if he could pretend it was someone else, his hands wouldn’t shake, a tremor in his chest from the way his heart bounces about, demands to be let out, to lay alongside yours.  

As it stands, it is you - brought to life by his hands, overlaid in watercolour and black and a blanket of regret.  The shapes are impossible to miss:  the curve of your hip, rounded and warm, peeking beneath a wash of colour;  the river of your hair, the wayward strands that curl across your cheek and tickle the stack of silver that lines your ear;  the peek of your tattoo, embossed across your ribs, hidden beneath thin layers of paint. 

The longer he looks, the worse it feels.  A white pith of a lemon, bitter on his tongue, stinging all the cuts he’s never taken the time to seal up.  That cry out now, echo the same sadness he’s felt for the last year.  

Was there anything you hadn’t touched?  Something that didn’t carry you in its hands?

He imagines there has to be.

And yet, as he goes along, clicks through image after image, he’s only left with reminders.  Figments of you with blood-stained teeth and scarred flesh, sharks that patrol his thoughts and bite chunks when he ventures too close.  He hadn’t meant to dive this deep - lost somewhere amongst the shipwreck of your friendship, a once beautiful thing now rotten and rusted, devoured by darkness.  The empty hulls aren’t where he wants to be, caught on broken anchors and torn flags, sinking deeper and deeper.

He doesn’t know how to get out. 

It’s absolutely perfect, because of course it is.  Taehyung has put every waking hour into this, coordinating with vendors and artists and hardly sleeping a wink.  The walls are painted, artistry strung up for all to see, picturesque beneath an array of lights.  There’s not a thing out of place, each piece given their due, framed neatly with thoughtful text painstakingly written by your boyfriend.

There are dozens of people in attendance - the turnout the gallery had hoped for and yet still has Taehyung giddy, eyes wide like a child’s, wonderment written into every lovely facet of his expression.

You’re delighted for him, completely over the moon with how happy he is, pride rolling off him in waves that you’d gladly sink beneath.  You whisper words of affection - pride, support - purring them into the warmth of his palms when he sandwiches your face between them and laughs so loudly you swear there’s no other sound in the world.

“Can you believe it?”  This boy before you isn’t the Taehyung you know, carefully composed.  He’s a comet through the night sky, illuminating, fluorescent, lit from the inside out.  Glowing so bright it hurts your eyes, makes you blink once, then twice, then another time just to capture the moment against the backs of your eyelids.  (You wish you had your camera with you - something to allow you to remember this moment forever, process it and store it in your pocket for rainy days.)  

Your laughter comes in tandem, overjoyed for your love, for all he’s worked for and all he’s now achieved.  It spills forth in bell chimes, silver in your ears, and you catch his hands in your own, fingers caught together.  “Of course I can.”  The distance between you becomes nothing, barely a breath passing as you press your lips to his, offering as much affection as you can in the tiny gesture.  “I knew you could do it.”

“Really?”  He doesn’t doubt you.  Doesn’t even really doubt himself.  But he asks anyways and you don’t mind giving, folding your support into another kiss, another squeeze of his hand.  

“You can do anything, Kim Taehyung.”

He animates, a coin-operated boy whose sole currency is your words of affirmation.  Springs to life with adoration in his step, a giddy smile that eats up everything else and wanes his eyes into crescents.  Peaks like the sun above the clouds, endlessly bright - a supernova.  “I love you.”

“I know,”  you answer with your heart in your hands - in his - when they drop to his sides, fingers still intertwined.  

He stares at you expectantly, unabashedly, waiting for the words he wants to hear.  (A man with the world at his feet, whose heart still flutters for you.)  “And?”

“And?”  You parrot, cheeks round, a well of teasing growing in the dimple of your left cheek.  It spills forth when his mouth pouts, turns this way and that before settling into an expression that’s utterly undeniable, the perfect blend of endearing and infuriating.  When you relent, it’s with further laughter, a nudge of your hip against his as he pulls you close, cementing you to his side.  “I love you too.”

You’d been prepared for the people (the professionals, the journalists, all the friends and family, anyone who was anyone gathered to attend) and the chaos (your friends - all of them running amok while simultaneously on their best behaviour, biting back laughter, echoing words of encouragement). 

What you hadn’t been prepared for?  

This.

Standing before a painted portrait of yourself, blown up ten feet and hung in the centre of the gallery for all to see.  Full-lipped and grinning, with hands hiding half your face, dark hair piled atop your head and a bandana knotted below your ear.  A picture that you can hear - your laughter sounding off the page, reminiscent of that night so many months ago, standing at the edge of the water, the ocean calling you out to sea.  The sky streaked in colours you could never hope to replicate, hues that blend and bleed and build into something glorious, beautiful, ephemeral.  An arm that reaches for whoever has taken the photo, light reflecting off the sheen of silver, of gold, of the gems on your nails.  

You recognise it in a heartbeat - one that feels like it goes too long, as if it’s skipped not one, not two, but three beats - that thunders loudly in your ears the moment everything snaps into place.

(And oh, how it does.  A hundred memories that shudder into a single image and tell the story of an entire summer.

Afternoons at Jagalchi, amid the smell of fish and flesh, eating to the point of gluttony.  On the shores with sunshine at your fingertips and a hand in yours, endless possibilities stretching as far as the eye could see.  Staring up into the sky night after night, admiring the stars packed against the dark and yet always drawn back to the brightest one at your side, a heavenly body hidden within the silhouette of your closest friend.

Your head on his shoulder during the train ride there and back, the quiet offered by his presence, the comfort found in his form.  All the little pieces of himself that had somehow found their way to you:  your pinkies intertwined, his dark hair spilling over yours, his breath that came low and slow, condensing between you and turning your cheeks ruddy.

What had felt like a lifetime away - seven hundred galaxies apart, never to be found again, engulfed by a black hole of your own creation.  

What now feels like it’s right at your feet, so close you might touch it.  That echoes in your chest, a spectre living within your bones come back to haunt you.)

“Pretty, huh?”  Hums the voice at your side, filled with too much pride - for himself and his friend, for all they’ve accomplished.  Taehyung has no idea, blissfully unaware, heartbreakingly handsome as he studies the image alongside you, lets his stare rove across the contours of the woman’s cheekbones, the shape of her mouth, pulled wide in a smile that might as well carry the world in it.

There’s something familiar about the girl in the painting, something that calls to him, draws him in and keeps him anchored.  He wonders what it is, makes a note to ask once Jungkook arrives.  

Your answer comes belated, disconnected and strange, a voice too far away to be picked up clearly.  (You don’t mean it to - try to swallow down the emotion that crests and crests like a terrifying wave above your head.)  “Very.”

“Kook mentioned a girl a few years ago, so I think it’s her.”  How he speaks is thoughtful, as if he isn’t sure how much to say.  Doesn’t want to overstep even as he offers these tiny bits of information - things he thinks you have no idea about, that’s the same thing that lives within your bones, settled like bedrock that cannot be eroded.  (Guilt gnaws at you, turns its teeth cruel and unrelenting and licks the salt from your wounds like the back of a spoon.  You swallow it down, listen quietly, quietly, quietly and try to slow the discomfort growing like weeds, the blooming of tiger lilies in the small of your chest.)  

“Really?”  

“Yeah.”  Taehyung’s conversational, adoring, indulgent.  He hooks his arm around your shoulders and holds you close, unaware of the turmoil that turns your insides to ash.  He holds you like you’re precious - a sunbeam caught in his hands, just for him.  

If only he knew.

“Do you want to see the rest?”  There’s an eagerness that spills forth, tacks his words to one another and turns them into a single breath.  He inhales all the bad and dresses you in nothing but good, pins stars into your hair when he fixes you with that smile and pulls you along, further into the gallery with a hop in his step.

You should say no;  you can’t find the words.

So you follow him to his next destination - to another version of you.  Another photo, grainy and overexposed, intimate in its detail.  A faceless blur, made alive by light, artificial and too white, casting long shadows where there should be none.  It’s easier to imagine this is someone else - a girl worthy of this love, of all the emotion captured within the single image.  (Someone who could carry the weight of Jungkook’s affection without dropping it, whose hands would be a suitable home for the heart he’s now offered up, laid out ripe for the picking.  Sugar sweet and saccharine, held aloft by a branch that threatens to give away.)

The truth is in the details, though, and you see them for all they are.  The dainty thread that loops your wrist - mirrored within the frame before you.  It sits evident in the freckles on your arms, the wayward beauty marks sprinkled upon your skin, constellations that should have names - do have names, whispered by the boy at your side. 

“He’s really got a good eye, right?”  There’s that pride again, full-bodied, like a parent with macaroni art stuck to the fridge.  It’s sticky and honeyed, bright with affection, lemon tart and yellow - sunshine streaming past like the warmest day in July.  It further cements the relationship he has - that they all have - one built upon years of friendship, of togetherness you cannot begin to fathom.

The guilt rears its head again, roars like an angry beast.  You bite it back, catch its tail between your teeth and nod along, unfocus your eyes as best you can.  The longer you look, the more it grows, spiny and angry and demanding of attention.

“He really does.”

Taehyung’s satisfied with that, too caught up in his own delight to notice the stillness, the quiet.  It’s a silence he overlooks, sweeps past without a backwards glance.  “There’s one more I want to show you.” The joy is unbridled, eating up every part of him, and your heart thumps feebly in your chest, kicked around by two pairs of feet.  “I saw it and it made me think of you.”

You’re surprised this time - because it isn’t you.  It’s not the shape of your shoulders or the turn of your wrist.  It’s not a half-hidden smile, the dozens of tell-tale signs that would give you away.  It’s something far worse, that sticks to your lungs and makes it hard to breathe, wet paper towels plastered over your airways like papier-mâché. 

It pains you when you step forward to drink in the colours, the texture that lays everything in nostalgia.  An image you recognise because you have the same one in your home, hung upon your wall, taken by your own hand.  

Jungkook in an infinity room, bathed in a million little lights.  

Except this is a painting, painstakingly recreated, with shadows deepened and white ink spread throughout.  One of your most precious memories laid in gouache.

“I swear I’ve seen it before.”  It’s a throwaway thought, more for himself than for you, but it breaks you apart, crumbles the foundation you’ve been carefully laying.  It kicks your knees right out from beneath you and you swear you’d fall if not for the comfort of his side, the way he holds you up and inspects you curiously.  “Are you okay?”

He looks at you with nothing but tenderness in his eyes;  you unwind beneath his stare, sinew and bone unfurling, realigning, forming into someone worthy of his love.  You tell yourself nothing else matters, that all the what ifs pale in comparison to this - how he looks at you as if you’d hung the stars in the sky;  as if you’re more than just a girl who has his heart;  as if you hold all the answers to the universe.   

“Fine,”  you answer, even as you aren’t, as the ground beneath your feet threatens to give way and send you to an early grave.  Even as you cannot tear your eyes from the painting, terrified and awestruck, too many emotions turning your senses to nonsense.

You wonder if Taehyung can hear the tremble of your breath, feel it all the way through into the centre of his own chest.  You wonder what he reads into it, whether he worries for you.  You wonder if he can love a monster like you, who has kept these secrets under lock and key, tucked away into a far corner riddled with cobwebs and spiders and a fine layer of dust. 

You wonder and wonder and then you have your answer when he speaks again, something in his voice that steals your attention, pins it directly behind the light in his eyes.

“Don’t you have this in your house?”

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @codeinebelle​

[im-whatchamccallit]

Confessing to Their Crush While Drunk//ATEEZ

(A/N: I spent days editing and rewriting this and I’m still not satisfied but I don’t have anymore time to cry over it so I accept it for what it is lol. Also, some are longer than others and I’m sorry about that)

Hongjoong

Clubs weren’t really your thing but you needed to relax a bit, your job overwhelming you to the point of no return, and you thought of one person who probably felt the same pressure and needed this night out just as much as you did: Hongjoong.

What you didn’t expect was for him to down various shots as if they were water, your hands no longer reaching to the tray of jello shots as you watched him stumble around happily, dancing off beat to the fast paced music.

He was on cloud nine at this point, his eyes barely open as his grin took up 90% of his face, but he managed to see your distinct figure approaching him, his body nearly lunging towards you as you caught him with ease, a concerned look on your face.

“Hi angel!” You tried to smile but grimaced at the smell of alcohol on his breath.

“Are you alright, Joong? I think I should take you home.” You offered, not surprised as he shook his head and tried to pull away, a sigh leaving your lips.

“At least sit down. Let’s get you some water.” Luckily, he followed you without incident.

You sat in silence at the bar as you sipped on your water, body trembling under Hongjoong’s intense stare despite your efforts to ignore it, unsure of what was going through his mind and if they were pure intentions at all. When you finally did face him, any questions you may have had were interrupted by his simple but shocking confession.

“I want to kiss you so bad.”

Your face grew hot as his words, ready to tell him how strange and inappropriate he was being from his usual self, but the small giggles he let out and slight pink tint to his cheeks and ears made you want to roll your eyes at yourself. He was drunk, you shouldn’t get yourself worked up over drunken words.

“I wrote an entire song about how cute your lips were, especially when you smile. I even look at your picture sometimes just because I miss you. I feel stupid being this in love with someone, but I’m so happy at the same time.”

As much as you wanted to pass it off as drunken words, they honestly cut deep. Whenever you’d call Hongjoong as he was writing or composing, he’d answer the call with an excited “Hello, my muse” before detailing the song he was preparing for the next comeback. But maybe he was just talking to talk, and the alcohol was just forming unrealistic sentences that you wanted to hear and he couldn’t comprehend. But from the way your eyes gazed to the empty glass of water you ordered for him, you weren’t completely sure anymore.

“(Y/n),” Your attention came back to Hongjoong, his eyes meeting yours as he leaned against the bar to balance himself.

“Don’t smile for anyone else but me, okay? I don’t want them to take you away.” He said in a fake stern tone, managing to bring a genuine smile and laugh from you.

“I swear.”

Seonghwa

Seonghwa was typically a classy man, drinking wine in high class places to show he was mature and sophisticated. But on the nights you’d invite him over for dinner and your bi-weekly catch up, a tradition you made after he debuted in order to keep in touch, classy was the last thing you’d use to describe him.

Dinner ended not long ago and, from the moment you sat on your sofa and began talking until now, you had managed to clear three bottles. But you were only now finishing your second glass. It was a shock to see Seonghwa down each glass as if it were water but you ignored it as his laugh grew louder and smile brighter, loving the face that you almost rarely got to see these days. What you couldn’t ignore was how close he was at this point, your knees slightly touching as his free hand gently toyed with the hairs of your bang and adjusted them to show more of your face, his hooded eyes staring into yours as neither of you spoke for what felt like hours.

“Don’t you ever think we’d be cute together?” He asked boldly, not taking his eyes off yours that were now wide.

You couldn’t find the words to say, let alone speak, so you just let him continue, his hand placing the wine glass down as he wrapped an arm around your waist, a strange tingle going down your spine when he brought his face to yours. You knew Seonghwa’s tolerance level, and two and a half bottles of wine alone wasn’t even close to getting him drunk, but you could definitely tell the alcohol was effecting him.

“Don’t you think it’s reckless to say stuff like this while you’re drunk?” You questioned, giggling in an attempt to play off what you were convincing yourself was a joke.

“I think it was reckless for me to not tell you this for years, but do you know how hard it is being away from someone you love while you’re touring? It really sucks.” You couldn’t help but laugh at that part, your eyes finally focusing to take in his entire appearance, a small gasp leaving your lips at how attractive he was, and not in the platonic way you’ve thought for the past four years.

“Coming home and seeing you is one thing I always look forward to. But coming home and being able to hold you, and kiss you, would really make it worthwhile.”

As Seonghwa leaned in, inching closer to press his lips to yours, your eyes closing instinctively as you waited for the much desired collision, everything felt so right. Until the two and a half bottles of wine he chugged finally caught up with him. He immediately pulled back and clenched his eyes shut, his throat burning as he felt the sudden urge to vomit, the sound of his retching slipping through his pursed lips and you immediately forgot this moment, rushing him to the nearest bathroom as he sob mentally at how everything went wrong so fast.

Yunho

(I’d commit crimes just to stand next to this man is2g)

You were mentally cursing at yourself for bringing Yunho to this wedding with you. You knew he would be drinking tonight but to get absolutely drunk seemed like a personal attack on you. You watched him stumble back towards you on the dance floor with a glass of dark liquor, a wide and goofy smile on his face as he stood behind you and wrapped an arm around your neck, laying his head onto yours with almost all of his weight. Whether it be that moment or carrying him to the car, you were going to be squished to death by the end of the night.

“Do you want some?” He asked cutely, bringing the glass to your lips before you shook your head, refusing as you finally managed to turn around in his grasp to face him.

“I’m driving, remember? But this doesn’t mean you can drink all you want.”

He whined as you snatched the glass from him before he could take a sip, giving a fake glare before smiling widely at you. In the blink of an eye, his arms moving down to your waist to hoist you up, a loud gasp leaving you as he pressed his lips to your face and neck repeatedly.

“You’re so cute when you’re bossy. You’re always trying to look after me.” He cooed into your neck, not letting up on his touchiness.

Your face was hot as you noticed a few acquaintances and family members looking in your direction, your eyes diverting in embarrassment.

“Get off, Yunho. People are looking at us.” You warned, using your free hand to push him away, his typical large puppy-like eyes and deep frown making your heart clench.

“Are you embarrassed of me?”

“No! I just don’t want everyone to get the wrong idea about us.”

“So what?!” You nearly jumped out of his arms from the outburst, but he wasn’t stopping yet.

“What if I want people to think we’re together? We’d be a great couple so it’d make sense! Why can’t we just be together now?”

A smirk slowly crept onto your face. Honestly, the idea didn’t sound half bad. Who wouldn’t want to be with a tall and attractive idol, especially one you’ve known most of your life? So you let him have his fun for the night, slowly growing used to his over the top clinginess and childlike playful nature, knowing you’ll have your own fun teasing him about it tomorrow.

Yeosang

You actually came to the small get together just a few minutes ago, Ateez and their staff sitting around the large table in the back of the restaurant and booze flowing through most of their veins at this point. Before you could take a seat, you heard a loud gasp and a(n attempted) whisper of your name, your head snapping to the source of the voice that just so happened to be your fairy-like friend.

“Why are you so late? You were supposed to be here sooner. I saved you a seat next to me.” He said while standing, watching as you slowly made your way to the seat he had refused anyone else to occupy.

The bittersweet part about drunk Yeosang was that he was the opposite of who he was in his everyday life. His emotions were laid out then and there, all of his clingy and desperate feelings towards you coming out as he clumsily tried to charm you. You loved it. It was adorable and sweet, even if he probably wouldn’t remember his actions in the morning. But tonight, he would do something that not even he would forget once sober.

You refrained from drinking in case the rest of the sober staff needed another designated driver, offering to take the boys yourself since you basically had a handle on them when they drink like this. You tried to grab more beef, Yeosang immediately grabbing your bowl and doing it for you while you playfully shoved him.

“Why do you keep doing that? I’m the one that’s supposed to take care of you tonight.”

“You’re always supposed to do things for the people you love.” He reassured, your hands holding his steady as he finally placed the bowl back onto the table.

“Why not help Mingi then? You two are like brothers.” You joked, motioning to the younger boy struggling to even grasp the food with his chopsticks properly.

“I’m not in love with Mingi.”

Your face was hot from how seriously he said it, and how he stared at you with such an intense yet unfocused gaze while doing it. Your face grew hotter once you realized a few people around the table were indeed staring, wondering what the next move would be now that he’s confessed. Yeosang was a bit bashful at this point, the alcohol making it easy to hide his blush, but he wasn’t going to backtrack on his words. Not even if he wanted to.

After a minute of waiting, everyone redirected their attention, even Yeosang looked away from you seeing that you weren’t responding, his typical reserved behavior returning and making you feel a bit guilty. Although you’d prefer a sober confession from him, you still felt like you owed him some kind of answer for now, even if you’d do it all over again when he was in the right state of mind. But being vocal about it in front of everyone here would just add to your demure. Yeosang still didn’t look up but gave a small smile at the feeling of your hand grabbing his beneath the table.

San

You could tell it was still pretty late at night so you let yourself fall deeper into slumber, ignoring the sounds of your front and bedroom doors opening and closing, the sound of clothing falling to the ground as well as the feeling of the side of your bed dipping in. You weren’t even alarmed when you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into a bare torso that you happily snuggled into, the strong sent of alcohol burning your nose.

Until you realized you lived alone.

You shot up immediately and screamed, drawing your hand back to punch the intruder when you saw a disheveled San lying in bed, eyes closed and body curled slightly as he attempted to get comfortable.

“What the fuck are you doing here? And where are your clothes?” You growled, pushing at his head until he finally looked at you.

“Your place was closer than the dorms.” He croaked out, ignoring both your last question and angry scowl to pull you back down and onto his chest, your eyes not leaving his face.

“Closer from where exactly?”

“The bar.” You rolled your eyes and pushed yourself up, much to his dismay.

“You know I hate when you go out alone like this. Last time I had to get you from two towns over because the boys weren’t with you. Do you know how irresponsible and careless that is?” You scolded.

San had a bit of a habit when drinking: wandering off to unknown places with no plan. Sometimes he’d be with Wooyoung but he’d always end up calling you to pick him up just for you to find him alone, completely drunk yet smiling as if nothing were wrong. You weren’t angry at him, just scared. The idea he would be anywhere with anyone getting into God knows what kind of trouble made you stay away from his drunken activities entirely, not wanting to plague your mind with worse case scenarios. But now, you weren’t keeping this to yourself, his nonchalant attitude pissing you off more than you’d like it to.

“What if you end up miles away and some sasaengs kidnap you? Or what if you’re just kidnapped by anyone? Or worse? You can’t call me to get you if that happens.”

“You always think about the negative stuff.” He whined, sitting up and now fully engaging with you in your tirade.

“One of us has to since you don’t seem to care. I’m allowed to be worried about whether or not my friends stay safe.”

“If that’s all we are, then you shouldn’t care so much.” He said with a deep monotone voice and harsh glare.

San wasn’t always his usual happy self when he drank, sometimes he was serious, so serious it almost always intimidated you. So seeing his once hooded eyes open and staring straight into yours as if he wasn’t drifting off to sleep just a minute ago made you anxious, not sure if this would turn into an argument or he’d just let it go. But you didn’t want to back down from your half-assed intervention now.

“D-don’t confess to me just so we can change the subject.”

“I’m not confessing to you to change the subject, I’m confessing because I like you. I don’t want you to care about when I drink, I’ll always be safe when I go out, but I want you to care about me the way I care about you. Care about if we’re making each other happy, and if we’re not stressed after working all day. I don’t want you to care as my friend because you love me, just care about me because you’re in love with me.”

You felt like your head was spinning. Choi San, the boxer cladded male in your bed that stunk of what you could only assume was beer and rum, telling you he was in love with you in the most coherent and brilliant way possible, only to pass out not even a second later. You felt like you were in a fever dream yet you weren’t asleep, and you sure as well weren’t going to get any now that you were debating on if you were prepared to accept his feelings right away or wait until he told you properly before getting your hopes up.

Mingi

So many things were wrong with tonight, the first being that a housewarming party should never be this rowdy, especially when the host wasn’t around. The second thing? The host being pressed against their bedroom door as their best friend desperately made out with them.

You weren’t entirely sure how this all happened, one second you were doing shots and dancing in your living room, next you were yelling at Mingi for falling over and breaking the glass he was drinking from, and now you were shoving your tongue down his throat as he clumsily tried to pull off your shirt. You both reek of tequila and gin, both of you hesitating on continuing your kiss as the smell was a bit much, Mingi taking the initiative to remove his lips from yours, a gentle whimper leaving your mouth as you stared at him.

Your eyes were completely filled with lust, which excited and scared Mingi a bit, his own eyes soft as he examined you approaching him, attempting to remove his shirt but he stepped away immediately, your face dropping at the sudden shift in mood.

“What’s wrong?” You asked cautiously.

Mingi didn’t know how to respond. You were both intoxicated, sure, but he was still sober enough to know this isn’t what he wanted, at least not this way. He wanted to be with you for more than just one night and be more than just your best friend that you had a quick fling with. He wanted a relationship, something serious that 12 year old Mingi could’ve only hoped and dreamed for. At this moment, it was starting to feel like it would only remain a dream. Unless he did something completely spontaneous to throw both of you off. Which he did.

“Mingi, why are you crying?” You asked incredulously, rushing to wipe the tears falling from his face, honestly annoyed as you tried to suppress the sudden buildup of hormones from a few seconds prior.

“I don’t want to sleep with you.” He admitted, a wave of disappointment coming over you, but him changing his mind was nothing to be upset over.

“That’s fine, but you don’t have to cry about it.”

“You don’t get it. If we sleep together, then that’ll be it. We won’t have a genuine relationship because it’ll just be about sex, and I don’t want you to think I’m just using you when I ask you out because I really do like you.”

You sighed and wrapped your arms around him as he cried, wanting to be amused that your best friend was an emotional drunk, but flustered at the fact he actually wanted to have a relationship with you, suddenly the dreams of 12 year old you and 12 year old Mingi finally becoming reality.

“How about, if we aren’t too hungover tomorrow, we go on a real date? That way our relationship can be completely genuine.” A smile forming on your lips as he nodded slowly.

Considering you both went back to partying immediately after that conversation, you decided to have your date at home while suffering with your hangovers together.

Wooyoung

You rolled over in bed as your phone chimed for the fifth time in a row, a deep scowl on your face once it chimed once more, grabbing it from your side table to figure out who the hell would be bothering you at 3 in the morning.

“Fucking Wooyoung.” You mumbled as you read through the messages.

None of them made sense, except one asking if you were up. You were about to respond to ask what he wanted before your phone began to ring, your reflection staring back as Wooyoung was trying to FaceTime you, only to answer and see complete darkness.

“Wooyoung?”

“Huh?” You rolled your eyes.

“Don’t ‘huh’ me. Why are you texting and calling me? Do you know what time it is?”

“Ah! (Y/n)!” He said happily, your face grimacing once he finally put the camera on him. He was wasted.

“You were drinking, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. But I wanted to see you so I left.” He giggled slightly, turning behind him as if someone were following him.

“Wooyoung, where are you?” You asked, suddenly concerned once you realized he passed several streetlights and could have been anywhere and all alone.

“I’m at the k-“

“Wooyoung, where the hell are you going?!” Hongjoong yelled from a few feet away, trailing the younger boy with an annoyed look.

“I wanted to talk to (Y/n)!” Wooyoung called back, returning his focus to you and giving a large smile.

“You could’ve just called her in the hallway!”

“It’s still too loud! I wanted to hear their voice!”

You sat back quietly and listened to them go back and forth, Hongjoong finally catching up to him and forcibly dragging him back towards the karaoke bar they were at. Though you could understand why Hongjoong was upset, Wooyoung and San being known to wander off without the other’s knowing and not returning for hours sometimes, it was kinda sweet to hear that he was thinking of you while out with his group members.

“You’re seriously so childish.”

“You’ve just never been in love before.” Wooyoung said sullenly, his phone aimed downwards as he reentered the building.

You were glad he wasn’t staring at your expression, having head what he said but unsure if he even heard himself. Was he really in love with you? It seemed pretty hard to tell since he gave you the same amount of affection as everyone else, but sometimes he would go the extra mile just to make you happy, even without you asking, so maybe it was true. Or maybe you were getting ahead of yourself.

“(Y/n)!” Wooyoung whined, pouting as his eyes glanced over to Hongjoong who wasn’t leaving his side until they were back inside of their rented room.

“Hongjoong told me to call you later, so I’ll call you when I get home.”

“Call them tomorrow night so they can sleep.” You chuckled weakly at Hongjoong correcting him, biting your bottom lip as you decided to hold off on the many questions you had running through your head for when he was sober.

“Just have fun, okay? I love you and I’ll talk to you later.” You said quickly, hanging up before the moment lingered for too long, hoping he at least heard your own confession.

Jongho

You told him to come to the bar with you, to cut loose for once and have fun. You thought a few shots and a couple of beers would be enough to have him lose his typically uptight stature, you didn’t think you’d be stuck with an unstoppable faucet of pent up emotion.

Jongho spent the entirety of the night drinking and telling you his worries, although you didn’t mind letting him vent, you were just worried as his thoughts grew darker and weirder with each drink, you finally taking charge and leading him out of the bar and towards your car.

“Do you think I’ll do well in life?” He asked as you finally placed his seatbelt on before doing yours and starting the car.

“Of course I do. You’re doing great so far and, knowing you, you’ll keep it up.” You answered honestly, pulling out of the parking lot and heading towards his dorm.

Jongho continued to speak, you answering whenever he asked questions then remaining silent so he could pick up where he left off, until he brought up a topic that really caught your attention.

“Sometimes I think I won’t find true love as an idol. It’s so hard to show people the real me, so what if I find someone who expects me to be Ateez’s Jongho and I’m just regular Jongho?” You giggled softly, keeping your eyes focused on the road as you responded.

“If they can’t accept regular Jongho, they don’t deserve regular Jongho. But they should at least know regular and Ateez Jongho are a package deal and both are amazing.”

“But would you want to be with regular Jongho?” You stayed silent for a few seconds, partially because you weren’t expecting that question and partially because you’ve thought this over way too many times and didn’t think you’d be confessing so suddenly.

“I mean, of course. We’ve been friends since birth, we know each other so well. I feel like it’d make sense.”

Despite wanting that to be the end of the conversation, embarrassed to be spilling your heart out to someone who wouldn’t even remember this conversation the next day, Jongho persisted, sitting upright in his seat and looking in your direction, eyes practically burning a hole into your skin.

“So why don’t you?”

“I-“ This is the first question to stump you. What’s stopping you from dating Jongho?

“It’d just interfere with your idol life. I don’t want to get in the way.”

“I make time for you now so I’ll do the same when we’re together.”

“’When we’re together’?” You laughed loudly, suddenly enjoying the sudden boost of confidence.

“It might not be today, or tomorrow, or even for a couple of more years, but I know we’ll be together eventually. And I’ll wait for you until we are.”

You chose to stay quiet once more, the remainder of the car ride in silence as you thought over his words, still believing confessing to a drunk person, one that is now asleep against the passenger side window, would be the same as talking to a brick wall. It wouldn’t take years, but you knew soon you’d be with Jongho and, if he managed to remember this night at all, it’d surely be tomorrow.

[fandomsilhouette]

the stars will always fly

There was a star that burst under the pressure of all the love it carried and its stardust ended up in my veins and yours, and the iron in us knows we were one, once, and reaches for itself in each other. It finds its way into every step Felix takes, and every choice he makes. 

Love is a choice. Felix chooses it. 

Happy @felixmonth, y’all! 

High school is bigger, busier than Felix was used to. Marinette is always rushing off someplace or another, and she always finds her way back to him at some point, but there are hours in the day where Felix finds himself spending a lot more time alone with Nino, getting slowly sucked into a spiral of analysis over musical techniques and their application in theatre and media. He hadn’t realized Nino knew anything other than whatever popular songs were playing, that he had his headphones in listening to the radio, but Nino actually writes music, and while he might not study in class, he’s learned a lot about musical theory. Nino seeks it out, no matter how tedious and mind numbing it might be. Marinette slots into these conversations easily, dropping down onto the bench in the middle of a heated discussion and picking up the thread like she’d never left. She’s picked up a fair bit of knowledge just existing next to Nino  and Felix is… impressed, and a little jealous. 

He likes how applicable this becomes to the speech and debate team he chooses to join, partly to fill the time when Marinette is busy with art club and commissions (with her other friends, with the people she likes more than she likes him, whispers the worst part of Felix), but also partly because when he walked by the club room at the beginning of the year, he watched a girl take down someone twice her size with nothing more than a casual recitation of brutal, weaponized facts, swinging her legs perched on a desk and casually checking out her nails. Her opponent ended the match falling dramatically to his knees, exclaiming over his wounds and flailing and throwing himself across the floor, and the girl finally broke character to laugh with the rest of the club. Felix found himself laughing too, and when someone waved him in, he followed.

Felix likes it, likes getting to use his words to hurt people and tear them down and still laugh with them afterwards. He likes the way Nino’s points about key changes and pitch bleed into the way he modulates his voice and intonation to pull pathos from his audience as he gives a speech, likes the way Marinette’s rambles on color theory find their way into the presentations he pulls together. 

He likes the way he has friends at school now, people outside of Marinette and Nino, people who are his and who like him for more than who he knows. 

He also likes the way speech and debate usually ends around when art club does, so he can walk home with Marinette afterwards. He finds himself lingering to finish conversations more and more, the way she does with her own friends, and likes the way that she’s always waiting for him once he’s done. She makes a point to leave a note in his texts if she has to leave, and every one sends his heart racing. She walks him to the library on the days they don’t have extracurriculars, and finds herself getting to know his kids, getting to fall in love with each of them as she drafts commission projects as he reads. Later, she tells him his voice is soothing and asks him over and over to read her to sleep until he caves. It doesn’t take very long. Every now and then, he'll pop into art club to say hi to Marinette, or she'll do her homework in the back of the speech and debate room, and being able to exist in the space as her without being fully engaged in what she’s doing is healing in a way he didn’t know he needed. 

The most unusual part about having friends outside of Marinette is how oddly disengaged it feels in comparison: it’s not that he doesn’t care for them; when it’s just them Felix feels the affection lapping at his ankles in steady persistent waves and it’s good. But with Marinette, he’s drowning in the intensity of what he feels. 

Felix starts to reconsider the words he chooses to put on that feeling. 

It’s something he chews on throughout the bus ride to camp, throughout counselor orientation and the first few tentative weeks of learning how to be an adult to children who don’t know yet that he’s not. Being responsible for them makes Felix feel incredibly mature, and also incredibly young, the way that he sees himself in them, the way that he can’t anymore. 

The first night the campers come to camp, Felix and Marinette take their group of campers up the mountain trail to see the night sky, unfiltered by pollution for the first time in their lives. When they pass through the clearing to the open horizon, a hushed awe falls over the group, same as seven years ago when Felix first walked this path. Then, he crossed his arms and refused to let the beauty of the night shape his features beyond anything more than a scowl. Now, the light plays over his features and he tilts his face up to meet the starlight. 

It doesn’t last long. A cloud passes overhead, and one of the youngest campers starts crying, overwhelmed and missing home and scared by the dark. Marinette pulls them into her arms and starts bouncing them back and forth, and Felix stands there, at a loss. All he’s ever done is tell stories. That’s all he knows how to do. 

Something shimmers in the sky, and the north star catches his eye. Words spill out of Felix that he didn’t know were there, and he refuses to hold them back. 

“There have been stars in the sky for as long as the sky has existed. They’ve been called gods, fairies, balls of gas that shimmer when the light refracts against the atmosphere of the earth, a conspiracy, something beyond our comprehension, something a part of us. The sky you see tonight won’t be the same sky that you see tomorrow. You’ll never have this view again.” Someone whimpers behind him, and he rushes to continue. 

“But every time you look up, the stars will be just as beautiful, if you care to find the beauty in them. Maybe it’ll take a moment before you find one winking at you. Maybe you’ll see them all, bantering back and forth on the horizon. Maybe you’ll point at the north star, and know that it is always there to guide you home, that it will always come back even if it’s hidden right now.” The sobs are quieting into messy hiccups, and Marinette adds her quiet hum to the rhythm of the story. 

“Look at the stars, the moon, the sky. Let them change, and let them be constant. Find it in yourself to give them space to do both, and you will find that they will give you the same.” At that, Marinette picks up the thread, kneeling close to the campers and pulling them all in as best as she can. 

“You are all made of stardust. Feel it, here, in your pulse. Find it when you feel lost, and let the stars remind you that you are so much, that you can be multitudes, that finding change and constancy both within yourself is not contradictory but human.” 

They walk back in the dark, in silence. No one is scared. Felix can feel it in the air. He revels in it. 

He's not much older than them. But he has to try to be the kind of person that keeps them safe, and Felix has seen so many kids get hurt in ways that don't show up on their bodies. Felix has been one of them. He wants to show them how to love and to do it safely. He wants to show them how to be messy, and vulnerable, and kind. 

Felix wants it so much, so badly, that it consumes him. It pushes him into making friends, talking to people, calibrating his emotions one conversation at a time. These skills have atrophied for so long. He will build this muscle: for himself, for his kids. For Marinette. 

They dance around each other all summer, building their friendship, edging into something flirty, something vulnerable. Sometimes Felix hears the older campers whispering and giggling about how he and Marinette are "like, definitely dating, right?" He doesn’t know how to answer.

He wishes he were, kind of. He loves Marinette. It’s taken him seven years to realize, or seven years to fall in love and maybe one year to realize, or something unquantifiable by any means he has. She fits so perfectly into his side by the campfire at night. She exists in her own light but never hesitates to pull Felix into her space, never hesitates to let him pull her into his. They exist outside of each other but cherish the spaces they share. But he loves her, so he worries about what it means, to be fourteen and in love, to be fourteen and just learning how to make friends. He worries about trying to put words to something that is bigger than human labels and breaking it with the weight of expectation. 

He tells her, the night before camp ends. The campers have been sent to bed, and the counselors are enjoying the dying embers of the summer’s last campfire. There’s no urgency, no pressure in his heart to push the words out. He does it anyways, and it feels right. 

“I love you, Marinette.” 

“I love you too, Felix.” Her voice is soft and warm, and Felix basks in it. 

“...what does this mean?” And then, before she can respond, he adds: “What does it have to mean?” He feels her shrug by his side, and grins. 

“I don’t know. I don’t think it has to mean anything. I want to… keep loving you, and keep being your friend. And just… see how that goes. See where we end up.” 

“What if we end up apart?” He’s too safe with her to sound timid. He puts the question out into the world, and waits. 

“Why would we?” 

“If we stop caring about each other, maybe.” 

At that, she turns to him.

“I won’t. I promise. I’ll always care about you, Felix.” 

“How do you know?” It comes out insecure and Felix makes no attempt to hide it, just leans in closer to Marinette. 

“"I'll work at it. I promise to be here for you when we need to be, and we'll grow as people and find the best in each other. I'll make you a pillow if I need to," and she bumps into his shoulder. 

"What if you like someone else?" 

"What if you like someone else?" Felix wants to say he can't, he won't, he never will. Nino walks by and waves, and Felix knows that isn't true. There are so many people in the world. Felix wants to get to know them all, find out the ways he fits with them, find out what they bring out of him. 

"...I guess... we'll date them. And love each other too, in whatever way we can.” 

“What was it that you said? That the stars are constant and ever-changing, always there no matter how they move or shift. We’ll love each other like the stars, Felix.”

He hooks his pinky into hers. When she falls asleep on the bus ride home, sun shifting on her lap and glimmering against her hair as she leans on his shoulder, Felix squeezes her hand thrice. 

“We’ll be starmates.”

[msbelmonttepesbelnades]

A/n: Trevor is my favorite... so enjoy ;) Also as I’m writing and looking at the other a-z I’ve written. I can see I missed a few letters in some of them lmao.

Trevor

Aftercare

Trevor is a tad bit indolent with his aftercare. He likes to lay there with his partner, usually behind them or on his side. Just so he can plant soft kisses on your back and shoulders. He’s one to wrap his arms around you and hold you close to his broad chest.

Body Part

For himself, I can see Trevor liking his hands and forearms. His hands are strong and warm, they’re what keep you safe from harm. He also knows he has an angular jaw. He likes when you trace your fingers along his chin and jawline.

On his s/o, Trevor can’t seem to choose because he likes everything. Relishing the fact that he has you naked and in his hands. But, I suppose if he had to pick it would be your thighs. He loves to squeeze them, bite them and lay his head in your lap. His stubble tickles when he’s in between them.

Cum

It’s very thick and hard to swallow at first, it’s not very sticky but don’t let it dry cause it’ll be a bitch to try and get out later. Fucking cements over lmao. Despite that it surprisingly tastes great and it isn’t very salty. He says it the beer and ale he drinks that makes it tastes so...intoxicating.

Dirty Secret

In his younger days whilst traveling around, he would often drink himself into a coma just to get to sleep at night. He does it less now that he has the company of Sypha. But one night while staying in an inn he saw this servant girl working down in the tavern. As the night went on, Trevor would catch her stealing suggestive glances his way. Trevor tried to ignore it but he couldn’t, it had been ages since his last lay and he was definitely aching for the touch of a woman. So, that night he invited her to his room. He had every intent on fucking her filthy but...didn’t? Or rather he couldn’t, not the way he intended. She had brought him a complimentary tankard of ale. She drugged him, tied him up to the bed post and had her way with him. In the midst of the haze that was inflicted on him he could see through cloudy vision that she was robbing him. She took everything. The next morning he woke up still tied down and with an intense headache. He had to call for help, it was extremely embarrassing and when he was asked what happened he didn’t say. It’s a dirty little secret he’s taking to the grave. He actually saw the girl again but didn’t have the heart to go confront her about it.

Experience

He’s got it under his belt, he’s not a horn dog but he’s slept around enough to know what he’s doing. How to do it right, how to do it even better. As well as knowing what he likes and what turns him on. Surely there will never be disappointment when sleeping with Trevor. Unless he’s completely wasted.

Favorite Position

Kneeling missionary, he likes hovering over you. Your back on the ground while he’s thrusting into you at an angle that’s extremely difficult to not let drive you mad. He likes looking at your face, he likes seeing your chest heave and your lips parted. It makes him hard and his thrusts harder. He also likes it when you’re on top riding him, he likes it playful and a bit rough so do whatever you want to him.

Goofy

It’s not overly silly with him but you can’t have sex with Trevor and not laugh. He likes to joke about how flustered he makes his you. This man is so much fun, but when the night calls for passion. He makes you giggle a little less and moan and whimper a lot more.

Hair

He’s mildly hairy at best. He’s got a happy trail but surprisingly very little chest hair. I’m not gonna lie you might catch a pube going down on him lmao. Which will make him actually trim, but very little. He likes having quite a bit of hair down there.

Intimacy

He can be very intimate, it won’t ever be awkward with him. He makes sure you’re comfortable and let you know that he adores you when his words aren’t enough. Trevor is likely very sensual too, so it’s not always about an orgasm with him.

Jack-Off

He does it, not very often he’s usually good at holding it off while he’s traveling. It doesn’t resonate when he has to climb through shit pipes and fight drunks at taverns who have a personal vendetta against his family. But, when he’s finally relaxed and not dealing with any imminent stress or danger it sets in. He can’t ignore it once he starts think about it and it tends to help him feel better.

Kink

Trevor likes bondage, has an oral fixation when it comes to his partner. He loves their lips and mouth. Suck/lick on his fingers playfully or do the same to yours and he’ll just stare. He doesn’t fancy hurting his partner but he will choke playfully. He also likes to Roleplay, I could see him being into fucking you dressed up as a nun. His dirty talk is better than anyone else’s too, it’s probably bc he swears a lot.

Location

Back of the wagon, anywhere you’ll be covered and undisturbed. He doesn’t mind getting caught but he doesn’t want to have a too high risk of it happening. Mainly because he wants to finish what he’s started with you and because he likes being thorough with his fucking. He doesn’t care if people hear though lmao.

Motivation

When he’s relaxed and is able to let his guard down without any fear of something crazy or outlandish happening he will fuck as much as you want and may even ask for it on his own. His libido is medium to high depending on the day. During the winter it’s much higher for some reason? Maybe it’s the need to keep a regular body temperature.

No

Nothing insanely public, he won’t do anything they involves a risk of life endangerment. Like fucking in the middle of the night outside in the forest where night creatures run amuck. Sex is supposed to be fun, adventurous and experimental. No excess adrenaline pls, be gets enough of that already. Other than that he’ll probably do whatever you ask for.

Oral

A receiver however he can give, he’s good if he’s walked through it; a bit messy but still decent. He can definitely make your toes curl a few times if he’s really into it. But, nothing beats him seeing his your lips wrapped around his dick. It’s thick too, so if you can take the whole thing then he’ll blank out. He loves how it makes him weak in the knees and writhe a bit when he’s sitting. Trevor will gladly face fuck you. If you swallow he’ll do anything you want I swear lmao.

Pace

Given Trevor’s size, he has to go slow. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he wants to make you feel good. His pace quickens the more adjusted you become. His thrusts are deep and extremely filling, there’s no part of you that will be left untouched and stretched out.

Quickie

Yeah he’s down, definitely down to fuck. All you need to do in those small moments of relaxation and peace that you both share together while on the road traveling, is to ask. He’s down to have you to himself during these moments and they’re surprisingly sensual and intimate.

Risk

Not into it, I mean he might fuck in risky places but he definitely prefers not to. He’s always on edge and needs to relax and if he wants to really enjoy the time he has with you, he wants to do it risk free.

Stamina

If he rushes, two-three rounds with a 10 minute refractory period. If he takes his time, about 4-6 rounds and that is not counting when the sun comes up. One round lasts between 35 minutes to two hours with him, maybe three if y’all are getting kinky.

Toy

I don’t believe he owns any ‘toys’ with the exception of his whip. He won’t hit you with it lmao but he will tie you up with it.

X-Ray

He’s got girth, 4in inches thick he’s a bit above average in length aground 7.5in maybe 8in. He as a prominent vein going up the underside of his shaft to the base of his head. It would be wise to listen to him when he says take your time.

Yearning

His yearning is about average, possibly above average with his s/o constantly around. The Belmont has an unbelievable amount of self control, except when he’s drunk lmao.

Zzz

He has trouble sleeping when he’s alone but, after the act and when he’s with you cuddled up in bed he’ll KO and will happily sleep through the night. Though there are times when he’ll wake up during the night and his movements will stir you. Just hold him close and tell him it’ll be okay and he’ll go back to sleep!

[overthinkingkdrama]

Jona’s Top 10 Dramas of 2019

A couple words about how I do these lists. Firstly, I only count as “2019 dramas” shows that finished airing in 2019, therefore dramas that started airing in 2018 but finished in the early months of 2019 have been included in my process, but dramas that are currently airing and will finish in 2020 have not been included. Secondly, this list is more based on my subjective experience with each of these dramas than my objective assessment on things like acting, writing and production values, though naturally I take the latter into account when forming my opinions.

Also: Yay! This year I managed to write a full review on every drama that wound up in my top ten, so feel free to click the link on each title and check those out if you want to read my detailed thoughts.

10. Hotel Del Luna

I have a somewhat Stockholm Syndrome-y relationship with Hong Sisters dramas. Though a lot of them are not excellent, or stumble a bit in the execution, I can’t seem to stop watching them. And yes, I’ve seen them all. Something about their particular blend of fantasy, romance and camp just works for me. I do think Hotel Del Luna plays to their strengths. Somewhat like if they got to take a second run at Master’s Sun but with their dream budget, and it’s just fun. This drama is gorgeous to look at. However, it is Lee Ji Eun, aka IU, who carries the entire drama on her lovely shoulders with her mesmerizing presence as Jang Man Wol.

Bottom Line: It shouldn’t be this way, but it’s so rare to get a mainstream drama where the female lead is allowed to be truly dark and flawed, or for a drama to fully focus on its heroine’s journey through the whole run.

9. Encounter

I was somewhat disappointed by the ending of this drama, and I think that might have made me unduly harsh when I looked back at it earlier in the year. However, I got the chance to rewatch episodes with a friend and was reminded of the soft, romantic escapism of this drama. Ultimately that’s the reason this ended up in the list. I like that it plays the rich woman/poor man, noona-romance tropes entirely straight and I liked the quixotic fairy tale it was unapologetically trying to sell me. Park Bo Gum and Song Hye Gyo are a noona-romance dream team up that I’m glad I got to see at least once in my lifetime.

Bottom Line: If you don’t like your dramas slow-paced and highly sentimental then this might not be the show for you, but I can appreciate a drama that knows exactly what kind of show it is and tries to do one thing well.

8. The Light in Your Eyes

If there’s any common theme to these favorites lists in previous years, it’s that they usually include dramas that took me by surprise and did something I haven’t seen before. The Light In Your Eyes fits that description so well, not just because of oddly dark tone or the quirky premise it presents in the first episodes, but because it’s a drama dedicated to showcasing the talents of the veteran actress, Kim Hye Ja, with whom the lead character shares a name. Of the dramas on the list this one made me cry the hardest.

Bottom Line: The Light In Your Eyes is a drama that has a greater emotional coherence than it does logical sense. In fact, if you think about the plot too hard it falls apart entirely. But it feels true, and that’s why it hit me so hard.

7. Search WWW

In my review I called Search a “female power fantasy” and I still think that’s a good description. It’s also sexy romantic fantasy, twice a noona romance, and a corporate drama focused on the very contemporary issues of powerful search engine companies and how they affect the information we see and the way we view the world. I think any of those is an interesting enough angle to make a drama about, maybe several dramas. If this show has one major flaw, it might be trying to wear too many hats at once. But I salute the creators for trying to make us something different than the typical pretty boy chaebol story, and giving us not one but three female characters filling those typically male roles.

Bottom Line: I do believe this drama deserves more love and respect than it got from a fandom that at least in theory cares about women’s stories. But I also understand why a lot of people didn’t connect with the lead character or the business stuff. But for me there was something about the lead couple that rang true and resonated with me.

6. WATCHER

Every time I watch a thriller, I’m hoping for something like WATCHER. Something with deep, complex, gray characters and a story full of twists and turns that keeps me engaged and guessing from episode one until the finale. Add on top of that a powerful cast who can really do justice to these substantial characters, you’ve got a winning recipe. OCN produces a lot of dramas in this genre, and they seem to be more prone to produce sequels than most other networks. Unfortunately, that also means a lot of the dramas they make feel paint-by-numbers and empty on the inside. WATCHER is one of those shows that reminds me why I keep coming back to this network and this kind of story time and again.

Bottom Line: This is one of those dramas that has you second guessing yourself even when they come right out and give you the answer, keeping you in a perpetual state of distrust along with the characters. But it’s built on the strong backbone of complicated and dynamic character relationships, which is why it is one of this year’s best.

5. Be Melodramatic

The higher I get up this list the harder time I have boiling down my thoughts on these dramas to one pithy paragraph. Often even I don’t know what kind of dramas are going to steal my heart. I have a particular weakness for dramas that can make me both laugh and cry, and then laugh through the tears. Dramas like Go Back Couple and Matrimonial Chaos that have deep heartache folded into the shenanigans. I love a funny drama. I like to laugh, but that doesn’t count for much unless I really care about the characters and their lives at the end of the day. That’s what makes me go from liking a drama to loving it, and that’s ultimately what I’m going to remember about a drama when it’s over. Be Melodramatic is special for the way it deals with heavy subjects in a gentle and lighthearted way, and somehow without losing the emotional impact.

Bottom Line: Be Melodramatic is a drama with tongue firmly planted in cheek, lots of laughs, lots of clever dialogue as well as a meta look at the drama industry from the inside, but the reason it works so well is the vein of heart, love and loss that runs all through the story.

4. One Spring Night

It’s so gratifying when a drama delivers exactly the experience you hoped it would. One Spring Night was a drama that ended up on my radar on the strength of the previews and posters, which promised me understated, romantic slice-of-life. I’d really enjoyed Han Ji Min in The Light in Your Eyes and have been fond of Jung Hae In since While You Were Sleeping. The pairing immediately seemed to have potential, but because the drama was picked up by Netflix, in the US I had to wait until it finished airing before I could give it a shot. A lot of the time when that happens, I see enough of the drama through gifs and screencaps that my interest fades. In this case I was only more intrigued. I’ve still never watched Something In The Rain but watching this drama has made me consider that might have been an oversight on my part. And yet I worry that if I watched it now I wouldn’t be able to help unfavorably comparing it to One Spring Night. This drama is truly something special.

Bottom Line: Because of the restrained, faithful realism of this drama and the two leads who seamlessly embody their characters, this drama has the almost voyeuristic quality of peeking into something intimate and private. It’s a palpable and thoroughly involving love story.

3. Nokdu Flower

I can hardly recommend this underrated gem of a show enough. I know nearly every historical gets compared either favorably or otherwise to Six Flying Dragons, which is kind of the recent high-water mark of sageuks, and I’m going to do that again here because Nokdu Flower is really the first historical drama I’ve watched since SFD that is at the same level of quality. One thing that sticks out about my experience watching both dramas is getting actual shivers watching these charismatic leaders rally their followers around them, and understanding at least in some small part why someone would leave behind everything they knew, pick up arms, and risk their lives for an ideal. Nokdu Flower captures the fearful power of revolutionary ideas in the hands of common people, but doesn’t descend into mere jingoism or sand off the rough edges or try to white wash the dark parts of human nature while it’s at it.

Bottom Line: At its most basic level Nokdu Flower is a story of revolution, and one of flawed characters either finding their humanity or having it burned out of them in the crucible of war. As that description would suggest it’s not an easy watch, but it’s a good and worthwhile one and definitely one any sageuk fan should check out.

2. My Country: The New Age

Compared to the far more traditional and grounded Nokdu Flower, My Country is almost fantastical in tone and at times eschews logic and realism for set pieces, sword fights and close range shotgun blasts of pathos. That’s probably why I love it. The larger-than-life sensationalism of this drama is what pushes it higher on this list than the carefully crafted Nokdu Flower, because this drama appealed to me on a more primal way. It’s so unrestrained and epic in everything from the set design, the soundtrack, the cinematography to the characters themselves and the performances of the actors playing them. Lurid, melodramatic, passionate, intense, suspenseful, romantic, raw, angsty, dark...I’ve basically run out of new adjectives to use while describing this drama elsewhere on this site. Basically, My Country is my id on a plate. Bon appetit.

Bottom Line: While there are definitely misguided and flawed elements to the writing and execution in this drama, somehow all of that is swept away in the sheer pleasure of watching it. If it had been specifically designed to appeal to every narrative kink I have, they couldn’t have made a more perfect drama for my tastes.

1. Children of Nobody

I finished my favorite drama of 2019 back in January, and then got to wait around 11 and a half months to see if anything else I watched last year would knock Children of Nobody from the top spot. It’s a mixed blessing to peak that early in the year. On the one hand, there was nowhere to go but down from here. On the other, I’ve had a lot of time to digest this very heavy show, which is something I definitely needed. I mentioned in my original review of this drama that each of the characters is an iceberg, so much more going on beneath the surface than what we can see. And what I’ve realized over the course of the past year is that the whole drama is like that, in a way. It’s an iceberg of a story, and I was able to pour a lot of myself into it, to try to understand it, and that’s part of the reason it was such an emotional watch for me. I don’t know when or if I’m going to be able to rewatch Children of Nobody, but I hope I can do it some day because I feel certain I would appreciate it even more upon a second viewing.  The fact that this is a murder mystery and a thriller is almost incidental to the emotional core of the story, which is deeper and more lingering than that. The secrets, once revealed, do not diminish the story but only turn it slightly so that you can see it from a different angle.

Bottom Line: This drama is certainly not going to be for everyone. I don’t know if I would say it was underrated so much as it’s niche. The difficult subject matter is naturally going to narrow its appeal. But I do think that dramas that require the most from me, mentally and emotionally, are often the ones that stick with me the longest and make me bend and grow as a person.

I sure hope you’ve enjoyed my top 10 list this year and I wish you joy, success and profound wellbeing in 2020. Thank you again--and thank you always--for following me. I’ve got great things planned for us this year.

Jona

[drbibliophile]

Sunday Romance 01-17-21

Prompt:  I still think of you

Word count:  1486

Tagging:  @sunday-romance @viawrites-andacts

Something different from some random writing I did a while ago (and by a while I mean years).  I keep having a vision of a OC in a duster with guns or blasters.  This is meant to be more in the vein of Firefly-sci-fi Old West.  

Crister passes me.  I walk backwards, keeping my eyes peeled for anyone who might try to take a shot at us.  Mayla and her back-up are gone.  Doesn’t mean we’re out of trouble yet.  A block down, I turn and hurry up to catch up with Crister.  He’s headed for Northin and Cards.  The bar there is a safe place to stop.  We just have to get there.  We aren’t running.  Running draws attention.  However, we move like we’ve got a purpose.  Folk scurry out of our way.  Crister has his grim look on and I’ve got my Murder Someone strut down pat.  I check, but I don’t suss anyone following us.  

We reach the Triple Cannons and get a table against a wall.  I shake off the water from my hat and duster before I sit on the high stool.  The hat I take off, but I leave the duster on.  Never know when I’ll need it to stop a bullet or a blast, even in a place like this.  I lean against the wall and survey the room.  Just the usual crowd.  Nothing leaps out at me yet.  Dona saunters over to take our orders.  Whiskey with a beer chaser for Crister, cider for me.  We don’t talk while the drinks come.  I pull my mask down and take a sip of mine.   

He downs the whiskey in a single gulp.  “Well, that was interesting.”   

“That’s one way of putting it.”  

He cracks a grin.  “Think that was her plan?”  I shoot him a puzzled look.  “To get you to show off your guns.”  

I snort.  “Sure.  Why not?”  

He nods, though he’s still grinning.  “They are some mighty fine guns.”  

“Why, yes, they are.”  I crack a smile.  “Thanks for noticing.”  

“You betcha.”  He takes a hearty drink of beer.  “So, why did you show them?”  

“My guns?”  He nods.  “Heard some extra ones around.”  

His smile drops.  “How many?”  

“Twelve.”  

“I heard fourteen.” 

That voice coming from my right makes me still.  Damn it.  How in all the planes of Hell did he manage to sneak up on me like that? And what is he doing here and why isn’t he with Mayla?  He shakes off the water off his hat and sets it next to mine.  They’re almost a matching pair.  He sits next to me.  Crister glances at him and mutters something about taking a leak.  He skeedaddles off.  I think about shouting something after his cowardly back, but instead I’m quiet, too shocked that he’s here.  

He pulls his mask down.  I study him.  I can’t help it.  Lashes still brush against his cheeks as he blinks.  Black eyes as intriguing as they get.  His black hair is cut close, but he hasn’t shaved in a few days.  The stubble looks good on him.  Truth be told, he’d look good coming out from the Wild after a month’s stint.  I know because he did.  He starts to smile, drawing my eyes to his mouth.  I shouldn’t be looking, but memories of what that mouth can do flood me.  Damn him and his mouth.  

Dona appears with two whiskeys and sets them in front of him.  He smiles at her and she gives him a flirty smile back.  I manage to not roll my eyes.  I however cannot quiet the annoyed noise I make.  He cocks an eyebrow up at me.  

“Yes?”  

“Nothing.”  I take another drink of cider, glad I went with it instead of whiskey.  Best to have a clear head around him.  “So, fourteen?”  

“That’s what I heard.”  

“I heard twelve.”  

He grins, that smug, self-satisfied, and utterly infuriating grin he has.  “I was counting yours.”  

I growl in annoyance.  “Bastard.”  

“Never said I was anything else.”  I narrow my eyes at him, but I hold my tongue.  What can I say?  “Thinking ‘bout shooting me again?”  

“Maybe.”  

He has the audacity to chuckle.  “Go ahead.”  

“Don’t tempt me.”  

That’s when he leans in, the merriment gone, replaced by a heat and intensity I know all too well.  “Maybe I want to.”  

Once upon a time, that look and that growl in his baritone would’ve been enough to make my knees weak and my parts go all funny and wet.  I mean, he is sex itself walking around and he’s good at it.  So damn good.  It’s been a while since I’ve had the desire to do the dirty with someone.  Anyone else, we’d probably be signaling for one of the rooms they have upstairs for those who need them.  However, I know him and I’m not falling for those eyes, that voice, or those hands again.  Fool me once, shame on you.  Fool me twice?  Shame on me and I’ve no intention to feel shame like that.  

“Oh, really?”  

He nods, turning up the charm.  “I still think of you, Ana.”  

I snort.  “That hard up, huh?”  I’m petty enough to grin at his confusion.  “Mayla seemed pretty willing.”  

He makes a face and it’s not a pleasant one.  “No, thank you.”  

I lean back against the wall, taking far too much delight in his annoyance.  “Thought you liked those small blondes.”  

“Not my type.”  

“And what is your type?”  

“Tall, brown hair, brown eyes, and ornery.”  

“Ornery?”  I protest more than I want, but damn if I don’t hate that word.  

“Fine.  Not ornery.”  

“Thank you.”  

“Definitely prickly.”  

I hide my glare behind my cider glass.  “Careful, Tor.  Talking like that may get you shot again.”  

“Think I’ll risk it.”  

Now I’m confused and I hate it.  “What in all the hells are you talking about?”  

He shrugs, that easy shrug that is so damn sexy.  “Like I said, Ana, I’ve been thinking about you.”  

I straighten.  “Think about someone else.”  I make it as much of a threat as I can.  I’m not letting him in again.  

“I tried.”  He finishes off his whiskey.  “Believe me, I tried, but at the end of the day, I can’t stop thinking about you.”  

“Not my problem.”  I cross my arms over my chest, as if that could keep him at bay.  

“That would be truth.”  

Damn it.  He’s back to confusing me again.  “Then why are you here?”  

He settles his sincere look at me and I know it’s his sincere look and I hate that I know that it is.  I can’t trust him, but my stupid heart is melting.  Later, I’m going to have to have a talk with my heart about how we don’t take back men we’ve shot, that doing so sets a dangerous precedent and Tor is dangerous.  So damn dangerous.  

“I got to thinking,” he starts.  “That’s usually trouble,” I snap.  

He ignores me.  “And seeing you tonight reminded me that you are a good damn good shot.”  “So you weren’t expecting me?”  

“Were you expecting me?”  

I shake my head.  “Didn’t think that you’d work for Mayla.”  

“She wasn’t the one paying me.”  

“Who did?”  

“Who paid you?”  

We just look at each other.  Client confidentiality is a big deal and we both know it.  I drain my cider.  “What does my being a good shot have to do with anything?”  

“Well, it’s like this.”  He leans forward again.  “Given you’re such a good shot and given you did shoot me, why am I still alive?”  He stops, letting his words stretch between us.  “Because we both know if you’d actually wanted me dead, I would’ve been buried six feet under.  So I’m left with thinking that maybe you actually don’t want me dead.”  

His words hit me like a double-fisted punch into my gut.  I just stare at him, struggling to find enough breath to answer him.  However, it’s been too long, and if he didn’t matter in some way then or now I’d have shot some comeback at him.  The problem is, I don’t have one.  I want one, but I don’t.  That is why he’s so dangerous because he’s right.  I don’t want him dead.  Oh, I wanted to hurt him and shooting him was the best way to do it, but dead?  No.  Even now, I don’t want him dead.  I hate that is how he makes me feel and I hate him for making me feel it.  

So I do what any self-respecting gunner does when she’s in an impossible situation.  I deck him.  Hard, so he’s on the ground and I’m standing over him.  “Like I said, Tor.  Think of someone else.”  

I drop coin on the table to cover our drinks and slap my hat on my head.   I head for the door, the crowd parting in front of me.  That Murder Someone strut is handy.  I pull my mask up and head the long way round back to where I bunk.  If I move fast enough, I might make it before the tears start.  My vision blurs.  Then again, maybe not.  

[valeriacastaneda]

My Autobiography

I remember being pretty young when all this inner turmoil began to stir. I remember an intense hatred of myself for no good reason. I was always too emotional. I don’t remember a time in my life where I didn’t hate myself. I remember being a little girl and feeling abandoned. I always had my parents around me but they weren’t very supportive and I don’t think they meant it to be that way. I felt like no one cared about me and I didn’t feel like I had anyone to turn to as I was growing up. I longed for my mother to put her arm around me and protect her little girl. But my parents were completely absorbed in the constant drama and fights that their relationship entailed. I just wanted my parents to get along. I was a really sensitive child and it was completely agonizing to be dragged into their fights. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy to write but anything worthwhile is going to be a bit painful. It’s been difficult to go through all of this while trying to be as honest and thorough as possible. This isn’t the first “timeline/autobiography” I had to write. I wrote one in my first rehab. But the last one wasn’t very honest- it was as honest as I could be at the time, I still had a lot to go through.

I grew up with two immigrant parents. In an immigrant home there’s a lot of stress behind closed doors. I always saw casual drinking and even binge drinking as a child, as a way to cope with emotions. I grew up on the east side of San Jose in the late 90’s. I feel like I had a complicated childhood. I was a happy child but I was also shy and incredibly anxious. I never had many friends, I felt like I always had to hide a part of myself. I dreamt of being a social butterfly cos that’s how I felt on the inside. But I was such a shy kid, I didn’t trust anyone and I had no sense of stability. It was hands growing up feeling completely alone. I even feel like there was a disconnect between me and my siblings because of how I felt about myself. Since I was a toddler, I remember feeling a deep sense of shame that I couldn’t shake. Anything that triggered this deep internal shame was to be avoided at all costs. I always felt deeply embarrassed for my existence, I always felt insecure.

I looked for stability in all the wrong places. I tried to cling to people, begging to be saved from being drowned only to drag them under the current with me. I didn’t understand that salvation could be found within myself. I looked in all the wrong places and I let my heart be broken countless times before I was able to look within myself to find the strength to push forward. I feel like I had a lonely childhood at times because I remember crying a lot. I remember feeling a deep sorrowful sadness as a child, a sadness I couldn’t express. My mother suffered from postpartum depression after I was born, maybe we had a difficult time bonding. People who know us probably wouldn’t say that we weren’t close. I felt abandoned by my parents at a very young age. They argued so loudly it shook the house and the core to my being. My dad would storm out of the house and slam the doors. I would feel shaken to my core. There was always yelling and cussing in Spanish. Words I could never whimper or my mother would strike them from my lips as soon as the thought crossed my mind.

I felt like my siblings had a bond with each other that I could never be apart of. I was too sensitive, always too emotional. I remember being a child and hiding in the darkness of the closet while my entire body shook from sobbing because of the constant torment I felt inside my soul. I never fit into my family. I always felt like the odd one out, the black sheep, and the ugly duckling. My brother’s would tease me and call me the ugly duckling and that definitely got into my head. When I grew up I started looking for the attention I never received from my father in guys my age, and eventually men. I was always looking for attention in all the wrong places. I was waiting for someone to come and save me from myself. It took me many years to realize that no one would come to rescue me. I had to do that work myself so I could be a decent partner but I didn’t realize that for many years.

Some of the happiest moments of my childhood include me learning how to read. I remember being so enthralled with my ability to read books and escape. I always had a need to escape my reality. I remember being a kid and staying in an after school program. My childhood was short and sweet and I look back on it fondly. I loved playing make-believe on the playground with my two friends. I always kept a small circle. I loved art and crafts and as an adult I learned embroidery, sewing, and cross-stitch as a hobby. I enjoyed photography and showing people my art. I was always extremely imaginative and that’s something I continue to hold onto as an adult. My parents never demanded straight A’s from me but at one point I felt like the pressure was so intense and I didn’t feel like it was fair. My other siblings weren’t held to the same standards as I was but as an adult, I now see that my parents were encouraging me to do my absolute best.

When I was a young child, someone abused me. I never shared what happened to me with anyone else in my family and if anyone had a clue about it, or would ask about it I would pretend I had no memory of what they were talking about. I remember struggling with the constant shame throughout my life. Guilt and shame are themes that pop up into my life.

I fell in love for the first time when I was 16 in high school. I was at my new school after getting transferred out of my local high school because of my emotional issues and drug abuse. I was sitting on the bus on my way to the trade school that I would go to for half the day, I was taking a forensics class. There was a handsome football player that would ride the bus with me and I was sitting with my friend when he leaned over and asked for my number. His name was Tarunbir but I always called him T. I tried not paying any attention to him but he was persistent and it made him all the more attractive. I was smoking meth constantly at this period of my life and he asked me on a date to go eat somewhere and I clearly remember replying with, “I don’t eat.” and smirking at my friend. He asked for my phone so he could call his mom and I let him but he put his number into my phone and asked me to text him.

I had absolutely no intention of talking to him but the next day I was bored at home so I decided to text him. I had no idea this interaction would change the course of my life forever. We became entangled in this relationship or more accurately described as a “trauma bond”. There were clear red flags that I chose to ignore because I thought his jealousy and possessiveness meant he actually loved and cared about me. I was always trying to break up with him but he would show up at my door crying, begging for me back with flowers and gifts. I would always give in. He physically, mentally, and sexually abused me. He abused me in every way but I stayed with him on and off for four years. I was addicted to him like I was addicted to escaping my reality. We gave into each other’s drug abuse and eventually I could only cope by constantly being high. I truly felt stuck with him and I knew I wouldn’t be able to leave him until he left me first. I remember him pushing me and forcing my head into the concrete one night. I remember an incident that happened between us that led me to a trip to the emergency room. I still have the scar on the back of my head. He went to jail but it wasn’t long before we were back together; entangled in a cycle of abuse and denial.

I constantly dealt with suicidal ideation. I remember being 18 years old when I decided I didn’t want to live a moment longer. For a bit of background, I was struggling with my sobriety and I badly wanted out. Earlier that day I had received a message on my blog from someone anonymous telling me to kill myself. Unfortunately I was so sick, I listened. I bought some pills off my dealer and I popped them all. I took one handful after another. I finished them off with my own medications, that I had somehow stockpiled. I was hanging out while my boyfriend, T, went off somewhere. I remember having a soft drink in my hand and a snack with me. I was at the apartment complex that he lived at. I started walking around after I had taken them and I don’t remember much after that. I just know what I was told afterwards. T found me unconscious and not breathing at the bottom of the concrete stairs. He started doing compressions on my chest and I remember the pain of him nearly breaking my ribs as he sobbed on the phone to the paramedics. I don’t remember what he said only that I never heard him cry like that in my life. I remember saying, “Ow” to get him to stop cos the pain was so intense. I was put into a medical coma for a few days. When I woke up, two days later my mom told me they pumped my stomach. I remember while I was intubated how much it bothered me to have that uncomfortable machine in me. I kept attempting to pull it out so they had to tie my arms down. I was basically dead. They didn’t know what was going to happen to me when I woke up. I remember waking up from that coma and asking for my baby sister, Lilibeth. I remember the dry, scratchy feeling in my throat and the hoarseness in my voice. I still carry so much guilt from that day because I know I hurt my siblings irreparably and that’s probably why I’ll never be close with them again. They saw me in so many terrible situations that I’ll never stop feeling guilty about. Words could never describe how sorry I am and I know words will never soothe their pain.

T helped me talk to my parents about sending me to rehab when I was 19 and I couldn’t stop shooting up. I was addicted to feeling the needle as much as I was addicted to drugs slipping into my vein- I could romanticize what I felt and describe it to you in detail. It’s kind of sick. The excitement I felt when I would finally register and push the plunger down was almost better than the high itself. Almost but not quite. I remember sitting on the floor of his room in his mother’s apartment for hours on end trying to hit a vein. It was pure agony because I tried every vein in my arms and legs until I was covered in small pin pricks and bruises. When I finally registered, I can’t even describe to you the calm that would wash over my body. Some people get tweaked out and start bouncing off the walls on meth, but not me. I lay back and felt the iciness crawl up my throat, and I would cough as my heart tried to pound it’s way out of my chest. My rock bottom was when I was filled with agony, covered in pricks and bruises and spending hours on end trying to get high without success. After rehab, T picked me up and brought me home. Not before I relapsed again. My parents made a huge sacrifice financially for me so how did I relapse leaving rehab? I had a Xanax prescription that a doctor had prescribed for me so I didn’t think that was an issue. T still had some of my script on him and I asked him for some. That’s how the slippery slope began. Before I knew it, I was back to shooting meth and then, I fell in love with heroin too. I started hanging out with adults who were ten years older than me and I started dealing drugs to support myself and my habit. I was filled with so much self-hatred and I felt like using drugs was the only way I could escape feeling the constant bombardment of emotions that I was constantly subjected to. I was always miserable and I didn’t know the key to true contentment was within myself.

By October of 2016, I was 20 years old with two rehab stints under my belt which also happened to be wrapped around my arm. I clenched the leather between my teeth as I tirelessly attempted to shoot up a mixture of meth and heroin. I remember being so frustrated because my hands were shaking so hard from withdrawal that when I finally did register, I slipped the rig out of my vein and ruined my drugs because the blood in the syringe had coagulated. I was trying to get high and I ruined my drugs so I chose not to use it had to shoot it into the trash because if I would’ve used it, I was risking a blood clot going to my brain and killing me. I didn’t care about those consequences- but I did care about continuing to get high. A recurring theme in my 7life is a need for escapism and I needed to escape the everlasting depression and misery I constantly felt that tormented me. I felt like I had tried to get clean so many times on my own and I felt like I couldn’t get it right. I wanted so badly to be clean even though I truly believed in my soul that I could only be happy on drugs. I was sitting on the floor of my bedroom when I truly realized how tormented I was, I knew that I was failing at my attempts at sobriety. I couldn’t understand how people in sobriety could “have fun” without drugs. I remember going to young people’s Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and not being able to understand how they could achieve long-term sobriety and be happy. It seemed so fake and unattainable to me but I knew what I kept trying was failing, I had to try something new. T had broken up with me by now, because of my addiction. At the time, I truly loved heroin more than him anyways. Heroin was awful but it never put me through the various types of abuse that he put me through. I was so hurt and angry with him that I swore to myself that I would never go back to him for leaving me when I needed someone there for me. I know it sounds twisted but I’m honestly so thankful that he had left me because it left me with resolve to do something about my situation. I didn’t have the strength to leave and stay gone during our years together because of how vulnerable I was at that point in my life.

I always knew something was different about me. I have a hazy memory about being a small child in elementary school and being attracted to a girl in a way that I had never felt about anyone. I was 6 years old when I had my first “crush” on a girl but I felt shame deeply in my young soul even then. I never pursued my interest in girls until I was an adult and I had my first girlfriend, Kemi. I was still struggling with my sobriety at the time that I met her. She had been sober for two years by the time we were together. I remember her and I sitting on the floor of my bedroom while I fixed myself a shot. I don’t remember exactly what was happening but my parents were throwing a party. I had to wear something to cover the track marks and bruises on my arms even though it was a hot August day. My memories from the time are a bit hazy from the drugs but I made her look away while I did what I had to do. I remember feeling guilty but ultimately not caring that I was possibly risking her sobriety by using around her. I was so self-centered that nothing mattered to me but having the feeling of calmness wash over me. Things ultimately didn’t work out between us but that’s okay. She was good to me and she brought me around A.A. and introduced me to what sobriety had to offer me.

I attempted sobriety again in November of 2016 and I can’t pinpoint exactly what changed this time around. I no longer desired to keep up the facade that I had perfectly crafted. Anyways, it was all crumbling down around me pretty quickly. I remember having a sort of epiphany about the state of my life. I was 20 years old and I was speeding down the highway and into my grave. I don’t think I instantly wanted to live a righteous life or anything close to it, I just needed to try something different. Especially with turning 21 years old in a few days looming over my head. I couldn’t believe I legally couldn’t drink alcohol yet but I could buy heroin and I was a pretty decent hobbyist phlebotomist at this point.

I broke up with Rami last year. I was pretty unhappy with myself and where the relationship was going so I took our dog and moved back into my parent’s house. I needed to start figuring out what I was going to do with myself and my sobriety. The stress I put on myself after Rami relapsed after we broke up in December of 2018 and it absolutely ruined me. It helped lead me here, to Center for Discovery but not before I was hospitalized at Stanford for my low body weight. Rami never asked me to be with him while he struggled with his sobriety. I blamed myself for his relapse even though the rational side of my brain knew it had nothing to do with me. My anxiety was so bad I started restricting and I wasn’t even really aware of it at the time. I just knew that my mind was constantly spinning and I was on the edge of breaking down every day. I would take some anti-anxiety medication and it was like magic, I could finally be calm enough to eat. Rami continued to relapse and I continued to work hard and skip meal after meal. I was becoming frail and I was losing my ability to think clearly. I was worried about how I would pay my bills. I didn’t want to lose the independence from my parents that I finally felt I had earned. The heavy medications I had been taking made it impossible for me to hold down a job. I was finally able to prove to myself that I could work long shifts and over 40 hour weeks. I remember when a 4 hour shift was absolute agony for me. I could never go back to how things were. I earned my independence and I didn’t care if I starved myself to death for it, I wasn’t willing to give it up even though I was sacrificing my health.

Earlier this year I started a new job and it was extremely demanding. It ruined me. Or maybe it put me on the fast track so that I could ruin myself easier. I had to work long hours extremely hungry. My boss didn’t care about me, he saw me as another dispensable person: to be used up until I wasn’t worth anything and he could easily throw me away. I quickly became aware of what kind of person he was and I wondered what I could do. My best bet was finding another job but he paid me pretty well and I didn’t have to worry about a lot of things anymore. I was becoming independent for the first time in my life and that was all I ever wanted. I started skipping meals cos I had so many routes to do. I worked for a cannabis service that existed in a gray area in California law. I worked as a delivery driver and eventually I started working the desk. There was no human resources for me to ever turn to. He called me into work when he needed me and if I didn’t drop everything in that moment to help him, he wouldn’t call me for a few days to make my pockets run dry. I was constantly stressed and unhappy- but the money was good so I stayed. I didn’t have any confidence to go and find another job and he worked me so hard that I was constantly an anxious mess. I was constantly crying and on the edge of a breakdown. I think me staying irregardless of any abuse I faced is a problematic recurring theme in my life.

I was misdiagnosed bipolar for many years. I took every medication they could prescribe me. I’m sure there are a few I hadn’t tried but antidepressants cause a manic reaction in me and make me suicidal. But nonetheless, I took my medication religiously but I was medicating the after-effects of my drug abuse. I kept trying to fix something by taking drugs or taking medications but I didn’t realize the answer was in years of therapy. There’s a lot in my history that I can’t explain or find an answer for but that’s okay, I don’t need to understand everything that happened. All that matters is now. I don’t know how I managed to have so many clinicians misdiagnose me. Even when I tried avoiding the bipolar label I still got diagnosed with cyclothymia. To me that made it pretty clear to me that I was on that spectrum. A few months ago my doctor came to me with a diagnosis that frankly, pissed me off. I had heard it before but I felt like I had been in therapy long enough that I didn’t warrant that diagnosis or the stigma attached to it. When I heard the words “borderline personality disorder” it made me angry and defensive immediately. I definitely feel like that reaction made sense with the diagnosis. The doctors didn’t realize that some of my symptoms may have been residual from my drug use.

I never really realized I was anorexic until I started feeling the pressure to keep up an appearance. And I don’t mean that literally. I didn’t have time to look in the mirror and I hated the skeletal mess that always met my eyes when I would make the mistake of looking at my reflection. I didn’t think I was anorexic but my mind is much clearer now and I see that although a lot of stereotypical behaviors weren’t there, they didn’t need to be. I started looking at what made sense. I took being perfect to a flaw. I couldn’t leave the house unless I was fashionably dressed and if I didn’t have the nicest clothes then I felt bad about myself. If my makeup wasn’t impeccable I wasn’t shit. All I had to hold onto was my appearance of a well put together girl. I still don’t fit into that label, my anxiety has made it feel impossible to eat. I look back on my years of drug use and I see that I definitely used for weight control as well as mood management throughout my adolescence and young adulthood. Labels really don't mean much though cos we're in the same place for similar reasons. I feel like at a time of my life I honestly did hate my body. I think I might have hated it for a long time- for keeping me alive when I’ve wanted so badly to give up. I’ve hated it for not being the same shape or silhouette as other women. But I don’t feel that way anymore. I’m beautiful, scars and all.

I’ve shared the deepest, darkest moments of my life for only one reason: in hopes that someone hears this and knows it doesn’t always have to be so dark. Things get better, maybe not all at once but I promise they do. I never thought I would be able to climb my way out of the pits of hell. I struggled with constantly feeling like I was just digging myself into a deeper hole. Through the adversity that I’ve experienced in my life, I’ve grown as a person and I’ve turned into a woman that I can say that I’m proud to be. It’s not always sunshine and rainbows but I know that the clouds in the sky will part and the rays of the sun will kiss my skin. I always carry hope in my heart and I truly believe things will be okay as long as I continue to keep my goals in mind. I finally understand that I have a purpose in life and that’s to help people. I know I can only achieve that goal if I continue to better myself and it’s been hard work but it’s had to be done.

[dearlazerbunny]

Closer

Pairings: Yusuke Kitagawa x Reader

Genre/Ratings: first kiss, ace!Yusuke

Words: 1400

Summary: You’ve modeled for Yusuke dozens of times, but this ends a little differently than most. 

Oh, did someone say ignore everything you need to be writing and write about my favorite angsty art boy instead??? I thought you’d never ask!!!

“Yusuke. Yukukeeeeeeeeeeeeee.”

Nothing. The boy across from you is ruthlessly invested in the sketchpad resting on his knee, a charcoal pencil fiddling between his fingers. You almost wish you could take a photograph so he could sketch himself instead of you- he’s more of a picture than you’ll ever be, with the look of concentration on his face and the pillowy gray dust streaking his hands. From your position laid across your bed at apparently interesting angles, you have a perfect view of the fading sunlight filtering through the window and the evening settling in the air. You’re warm and a little drowsy from lying down for so long, and Yusuke still isn’t finished.

“Will you at least show me what you’ve got so far?”

Hmmm.

“Your hair would look better in a Mohawk.”

A bit of an eyebrow raise.

“I want to have your babies.”

Well, he’s muttering something under his breath, but nothing coherent.

“The phantom thieves logo is ugly.”

“Hm?” A moment passes before Yusuke’s gaze actually focuses on you- like his mind is still entangled in his art. “Did you say something?”

You bite back a giggle. “Nothing. I know you aren’t supposed to rush art and all, but my butt is getting sore.”

He glances back down at the drawing on his lap. “I don’t yet think I’ve adequately captured the fluidity of the pose-”

“Yusukeeeeee. You say that every time, and every time it looks like a damn masterpiece.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a touch of a smile on his lips. “Flattering.”

“It’s why you keep me around.”

“A preposterous notion.” He stands and stretches, shoulders rolling under the collared shirt he insists on wearing even on lazy days. “I’m quite fond of your jawline; it proves a fascinating study.”

“You really know how to woo a girl,” you yawn through your quip, taking the opportunity to shift into a more comfortable position amongst the pillows you’re surrounded by.

“No, you’ll mess up the-!” you cock an eyebrow, daring him to argue about ruining your form or line or whatever he was about to say- he promptly closes his mouth, and you rub in the victory by dramatically ruffling your hair out of whatever carefully draped formation Yusuke had arranged it into hours before.

In an effort to shield himself from viewing the destruction of his masterpiece, Yusuke turns his attention back to his unfinished piece while you wiggle around and snuggle up into a blanket and generally make yourself look silly. It’s always so fascinating to watch his face waver and contort as he takes in his own work- there’s always a pinch along his brow bone, a tilt of the head here and there. For someone who prides himself on keeping his emotions in check, you can consistently read him like a book.

You blink- at some point in your staring, he started staring back at you. It’s his artist’s gaze, something intense and critical but also somehow dreamlike as it imagines what could be with a stroke of pencil on a page. Being its target never gets old. He crosses to where you’re still curled up on the bed and ever so gently reaches out to brush away  a stray piece of hair from where its fallen on your forehead. You freeze. This is- different. This isn’t the deft touch of a sculptor arranging his model. It’s… softer. More tentative. Almost nervous?

“I believe I’ve realized something,” Yusuke murmurs, “and it was rather foolish of me not have seen it previously.” You wait, your heart thumping something fierce. “You are.. intensely beautiful.”

“Well, I don’t think artists aren’t in the habit of drawing ugly things.” You try to jest and give him a smirk as you sit up to meet him, but something frozen has flooded your veins and slowed you down. Compliments aren’t rare, necessarily, but they are when they’re not coming from the artist, but from him.

He shakes his head, bangs falling into his eyes. “No. It’s difficult to explain. I can capture this-” he traces the line of your cheekbone with a gentle finger, as though you’re forged of crystal- “easily enough. But the light in your eyes, and in the curve of your smile… they prove unfairly elusive.”

“Yusuke?” His hand hasn’t left your cheek; you’re almost afraid to breathe for fear of scaring him away. “I don’t really know what to say.”

“I- I don’t-” He lets out a little huff of frustration, clearly irritated at his inability to put his thoughts into words. You stay where you are, watching indecision flicker across his face, waiting for any sort of cue. Little by little, it becomes clear what he’s trying to say but can’t quite voice- it’s in the way you’re reflected in his eyes; how his fingers wander their way down to the nape of your neck and let themselves tangle in your hair.

Ever so gently, you mimic his movement and brush his bangs back into their characteristic swoop, not missing the way his breath hitches as you comb through the strands. “Is this okay?” you murmur, not wanting to push anything too far. He’d told you long ago about his asexuality and lack of interest in anything physical- fine with you, you aren’t interested in him for what he can offer you in the bedroom. But now… “I thought you were ace? Which is fine,” you reassure. “I just need to know where my boundaries are.”

“I am,” he confirms. “But at the moment I feel as though I need to kiss you or either spontaneously combust.”

You breathe out a laugh, both from shock and awe at his sudden honesty. “Okay.” Your fingers move a little more assuredly along his hairline, little parts of him you’ve long admired but never been able to touch. “That’s okay. We can work with that.”

Nothing but a hum of resolution from Yusuke, who continues to let himself meander over your features. The two of you draw ever closer, a small dance of back and forth until you’re close enough to feel him whisper a confession as his eyes flutter closed- “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay, too,” you whisper back, letting him take his time as he gently brushes your nose with his own, runs a thumb over your cheek, and leans in for your first kiss.

It’s gentle at first- tentative, experimental. While it’s your first kiss as a couple, you know it’s also his first kiss ever, and it’s sweet knowing he trusts you enough to share the experience with you. You try to send him subtle little signs that say it’s all good, I’m right here. Do what you want to do. He gets bolder as the seconds pass, letting the small bits of passion that characterize everything Yusuke does leak through his wall of uncertainty: his fingers clench in your hair, he leans into the taste of you, lets you hear the catch in his sigh of contentment and small noise of want. You follow his lead and try not to let on just how many fireworks are sparking though you, all the way down to the tips of your toes.

Somewhere along the way the two of you got so entangled that separating only means putting a few inches between your faces. You look at each other in wonder, in amazement, like your entire worldview has shifted into high definition clarity.

And then you both promptly dissolve into giggles, because, yeah. That was... good.

Yusuke looks years younger with a smile on his face and crinkles around his eyes- it’s a rare sight that you cherish each and every time you’re privy to it. Knowing you’re the cause makes it even better. “Okay?” You ask softly, unable to stop yourself from looking at him in this new way- closer, softer, warmer.

“Mmm. Quite.” Being close enough to taste his words is such a sweet feeling. “And you?”

Your nose brushes his in an Eskimo kiss. “Never better. You never fail to amaze me, Inari.”

He graces you with another soft kiss. “However amazing I might be, it only reveals itself because of you.”

“You’re too damn poetic, you know that?”

Another smile, this one even brighter than the last. “And yet,” he gestures to the pair of you, at how you’re happily and contentedly wrapped in his arms- “here you are.”

A/N: Yusuke is gray-ace and you can pry that headcanon out of my cold dead gray-ace hands

[thewhumperinwhite]

Guardian Angel, part 3

Part One // Part Two

Man this was a nightmare to write cause there are like a dozen great ending-line zingers and none of them happened at the end of the scene. Torturous!!!

TW for: panic attack, reanimated corpse, scars, mild internalized homophobia, mentions of murder and death.

@whumpitywhumpwhump (and hmu if you wanna get tagged in this cause There Will Be More)

----

Karim’s fingers are pressed against the front of the boy’s throat, and the boy is looking at him with gentle sorry eyes, and there is no pulse beneath Karim’ fingers.

Karim feels his own heart hammering in his chest, like it’s trying to beat hard enough for both of them.

The boy lowers his hand from Karim’s wrist and Karim snatches his hand back, staring at him. His face and neck feel prickly, alternately hot and cold, and he’s never been this kind of afraid before, like the world is unraveling into something different than he’s always thought it was.

“Why,” Karim says. His eyes are wide but he almost can’t see, like there’s a layer of TV static between him and the harsh yellow light filling the car. His voice sounds raspy and cracked in his own ears. “Why, why isn’t your— why isn’t your heart beating?”

“Y—es,” the dead boy, drawing out the ‘y’ sound, and his voice is too normal, it’s so normal it’s making Karim’s spine tingle and his fingers go numb because he wouldn’t dream a voice like that, not coming from this mangled bloodless corpse, which means this might be real, and he doesn’t know what to do with that. “Yeah, so. Uh.” The boy clears his throat, awkwardly. “So, um, a couple years ago—well, a couple years in the future, for you, I guess, that’s—fuck—shit this is hard.” He shakes his head—Karim sees the movement, thinks that’s what happens from the shifting colors, but he really can’t see, it’s like the car is starting to spin around him. “I didn’t have to explain this to you last time—oh.” The boy moves, shifting closer, his voice softening immediately. “Oh, fuck, baby—listen, it’s okay.”

He reaches out and brushes Karim’s cheek with his dry, cold fingers, and Karim jerks back so hard he topples back out of the passenger seat and smacks his head hard on the dashboard.

“...oh,” the dead boy says. Karim has squeezed his eyes shut and curled into a tight ball with his hand on the back of his head, though honestly the light sting where he just hit it is kind of a relief because at least he understands that.

“Put your head between your knees, honey,” the dead boy says, his voice supremely gentle; to Karim’s immense relief he hasn’t moved any closer. “I’m sorry, I—I know it’s a lot, I forget how, um. Just—Just put your head down— there, like that, and try not to hold your breath.”

The boy’s voice is so soft and reasonable that Karim follows its instructions almost automatically, curling up to tuck his head to his chest and gasping for breath, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his hands on either side of his face. He realizes suddenly that he’s shaking and has no idea how long that’s been the case.

“That’s it, dear,” the dead boy says soothingly. “That’s perfect.” Karim, just catching his breath, looks up at him doubtfully. It’s the second time the boy has called him “dear.”

“Who are you?” Karim says, sharply.

The dead boy meets his eyes, his face very serious.

What he says is, “My name is Art, Karim. In 2017 you’re going to save my life, but I’m here early, this time.” He reaches out and drops his hand on Karim’s shoulder, and Karim is too startled to pull back. “So I’m going to save you, instead.”

Karim gapes at him. “Save me? From what?”

“Okay,” the dead boy—Art—says, still staring into Karim’s eyes, pinning him with the sudden intensity of his gaze. “This—is going to sound completely nuts, but I’m gonna explain it as many times as it takes until you believe me.”

Karim stares at him, searching his filmy eyes for some reason to trust him, or not to. His eyes look—like maybe they were green, once. 

“There are—people, in the world,” the dead boy says, like he’s choosing his words very carefully. “Who are—who have—who have changed, until they’re... more, or, or less than human.” He raises his eyebrows a little, like he’s trying to gauge how Karim is taking this. Karim can’t help him because he has no idea how he’s taking it. The boy’s hand is still braced on Karim’s shoulder, and Karim is still letting it stay there, because he can’t feel the boy’s skin through his hoodie and the weight of it is reminding him that this is—probably—actually happening.

When Karim doesn’t respond—and he has no idea what his face is doing, either—the boy goes on. He’s sitting properly on the backseat now, facing Karim; his broken arm is still hanging at his side and his bad leg is—almost crossed under the other one, but not quite in the way a human leg should do that. 

“I’m—I was a human like you, but a few years—” He hesitates, makes a face, backtracks a little. “In 2019, I... died.” He looks away when he says that, just for a second, not really like it’s a lie but like he’s leaving a lot out. Karim feels a tremor run down his arm and start his hands shaking and shoves them in his sweatshirt’s pockets, afraid to drop the dead boy’s gaze. “I was dead for three days, give or take.” The boy drops his hand from Karim’s shoulder to gesture vaguely at himself. “Now I’m back but I’m, uh— there’s less of me. Than there was.” He looks back up at Karim, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a little half-smile. It’s—it’s a real person expression. Somehow it makes the panicked beat of Karim’s heart slow down, just a little.

“You with me so far, dear?” Art says, smiling.

Karim, wordlessly, shakes his head, and Art laughs a little, helplessly, and runs his good hand through his messy sandy hair.

“Yeah, that’s fair, actually. Look.”

He looks up at Karim, his hand still pushing his hair out of his face, and the thought rises utterly uninvited in Karim’s dumb useless brain that, dead and cracked-open or not, he’s very handsome.

“Here’s what really matters, for now, Karim,” the dead boy says seriously. “No matter what I am, I’m not going to hurt you. Not ever. I’m going to keep you safe.”

Karim stares at him. It’s an absurd thing to say. It’s an absurd thing to get his heart beating hard again, in a different way than before. “Why?”

Art blinks, like he’s surprised by the question.

“Because I love you,” he says, like it should be obvious.

Karim feels his mouth open and knows he must look very stupid but he can’t seem to close it.

“But I’m not gay,” he says stupidly when he can talk again.

Art blinks, and then he laughs his big pretty laugh again, rocking back in the seat, his broken arm flopping horribly back alongside him.

“Well, fine,” he says, with the crinkly-eyed smile from before, and Karim feels his face heat up immediately, “because that won’t be a going concern for me for another ten years, honey; you’re an absolute fucking fetus.”

Karim is definitely blushing now, his face all uncomfy and hot. “I’m not,” he snaps, “you’re not that much older than me—”

“Being brutally murdered ages you,” Art says, and he’s still laughing when he says it, raising his hand like he’s placating Karim, who immediately feels himself go cold.

“Ah,” Art says, letting his hand drift back down and looking away awkwardly. “I was, uh—gonna wait on that part, maybe.”

“Is—that what happened?” Karim croaks. Art really isn’t much older than he is, maybe a college student, but maybe still a senior. “Is that how you...?” He doesn’t say died, because he physically cannot, and he resists the urge to mouth it like a kid mouthing a bad word because he doesn’t wanna feel any more like a baby than he already does.

Art clears his throat awkwardly, scrubbing at the short hair on the back of his head. “Yeah,” he says softly, his voice a bit rough. “So, that’s part two, I guess. I’m a little less than I was, but there are people who are a little— more, than they used to be, and some of them, uh.” He shrugged. “You know.”

Killed you? Karim doesn’t say. He does stare at Art with his eyebrows raised very high which the dead boy seems to take the same way.

“It happens,” he says awkwardly. Which is an... insane way to talk about your own murder.

Karim... has so many questions he can’t narrow them down to just one, except apparently he can, because what he says is, “How?” which is the last question he actually wanted to ask. Surely that’s—rude, right, you don’t ask a person “Oh, how were you murdered,” that’s gotta be—

“Uh, here,” Art says, and he reaches out his hand, turning it palm up, letting the light hit his upper arm, throwing the pattern of marks there in sharp relief.

They’re clustered around his wrist, where the veins are visible only by shape and not by color: many sets of little circles, all in sets of two, like— snake bites, his brain suggests, and then it supplies helpfully, like fangs. “You can, uh.” Art clears his throat. He sounds— like he’s embarrassed and pretending not to be. “You can see the, um. Marks, still.”

Karim stares Art’s wrist, and his eyes travel involuntarily up the boy’s arm— there are more scars around his inner elbow, disappearing under his t-shirt sleeve, and then reappearing on both sides of his throat. Karim has no idea how many there are, though his still-panicky brain keeps wanting to count them, and he has to try hard to hold it back, until he looks back at the dead boy’s face and sees that he’s looking away, awkwardly, like it’s uncomfortable to be looked at.

Karim stares at him, feeling too many things to sort them all out, pity and confusion and a desperate effort at disbelief. He stares at the fang marks covering the dead boy’s throat, running the boy’s words forwards and backwards in his head to try to get them to mean something other than what he thinks they mean.

“‘More than they were.’ More than human,” Karim says plaintively, looking back at the boy’s pretty dead face. “Are you— I’m sorry. Are you saying there are— vampires?”

The dead boy blinks. Sits back slightly in the seat.

“Huh,” he says, mildly. “That was easier than I thought it’d be.”

[breathinginthevapor]

“Sorry I’m late”

Summary: Your best friend Tom Holland has agreed to be your date to your high school reunion, but when bumping into your ex, you might “accidentally” tell him the two of you are dating...

A/N: This is for @starksparker‘s summer writing challenge, and it’s my first time writing Tom Holland (besides a long-ass piece that I’m still working one) so I hope I did alright, please let me know what you think! I used the prompt “sorry i’m late” because it’s what gave me the idea, but really, it isn’t such a big part of the writing, oops...

T/W: cursing, I think? Oh, and mentions of cheating

Masterlist

“Sorry I’m late! Traffic was terrible,” he apologises and presses a light kiss against your cheek. 

His hand immediately finds the swell of your back as he sips on the cheap champagne. You easily see through the cough he lets out to conceal the sour expression on his face, clearly used to alcohol of much higher quality.

You giggle, “Made a few movies and now you’re above the rest of us, huh.”

He chuckles, cheeks slightly reddened, probably a combination of hurrying to get here and the fact that he exposed himself.

“What can I say, only the best is good enough for me,” he jokes and winks at you.

You shake your head as to show him he’s being dumb, but you can’t keep a smile off your lips. Then, you remember the presence of the man awkwardly standing opposite you and clear your throat, “Well, you remember Oscar, right?”

Within a second, Tom’s expression changes, jaw clenching and eyes spitting fire. “Oh yes, Oscar.”

He nods his head in Oscar’s direction, and you can see the veins on his neck appear, a clear sign that he’s on his guard.

Still, the coldness of his tone when greeting your ex surprises you, although it’s no secret that they don’t like each other. You just hadn’t expected Tom to be so blunt about it as he’s always the perfectly polite gentleman, only to you admitting whom he dislikes.

But if he makes any attempt of being charming right now, it’s definitely failing.  

“Tom,” Oscar addresses your best friend, running his hand through the long blond locks.

You used to love how it made him look like a lion with a big mane, but now, he looks far from the confident man you knew. He is still crazily attractive, though, and you don’t doubt that every single woman in here glances at you with envy for being surrounded by the two most handsome men in the room.

There’s a part of you that feels bad for him, not liking how out of place he looks, while another part of you just wants to hurt him as badly as he hurt you. You wouldn’t know how, though.

That is, until he bitterly acknowledges, “Oh, so you two finally got together, huh?”

For a second, you’re confused about what he possibly could be talking about, but then you notice how Tom traces patterns on the skin of your back with his thumb and the protective way he stands beside and realise that Oscar must think that you and Tom are a couple.

And that it’s, judging by the sour expression of your ex, bothering him enough to be your chance to get back at him.

Pathetic? Yes.

But do you care? Definitely not.

“Together? No,” Tom denies at the exact same time as you lie, “Yes! Yes, we are together.”

Tom looks at you like you’re mad, but you ignore him. This isn’t about him; besides, he should be thankful that he gets to practice a little acting in his free time.

“Tom, baby, we can tell Oscar, he won’t say it to the tabloids,” you chirp, cursing yourself for not forcing Tom to teach you about acting. You have no idea if your behaviour is believable, but you sure hope so. You’ll die of shame if he sees through it. “Tom is so protective sometimes,” you explain to Oscar, a big smile on your lips.

“Comes with being best friends for so long, I guess,” Tom elaborates, easily falling into the role but eyeing you with confusion when Oscar looks away for a moment. You give him the puppy eyes, mouthing a “please” before he sighs and nods.

He squeezes you into him, nose burrowed in your hair and kissing your temple as he whispers, “You owe me. Big time.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” Oscar sighs. You’ve just sipped on your drink, but when he speaks, you choke on it. Tom pats your back gently, and you regain your composure, once again putting a big smile on your face.

“Are you alright, love?” Tom inquires, the worried look on his face seeming genuine, but then again, it’s hard to know. Sometimes it sucks that your best friend is such a good actor, but well, right now, it sure as hell makes everything a lot easier.

“I’m fine. Thank you, Tom,” you gently assure him before turning to Oscar, “You’re not surprised?”

Oscar chuckles slightly, the air between the three of you still extremely awkward. “I don’t think anybody is, Y/N.” He pauses, biting his lip and looking at you intensely. You can feel Tom tense behind you, half of his chest pressed against your back and hand gripping your hip. You try to calm him by taking his other hand in yours and squeezing it, but he still seems stiff.

“Listen, Y/N, I’m sorry for being an idiot. It doesn’t make my behaviour okay, but I got so jealous because everybody besides the two of you knew that you two were in love. I loved you, and it sucked that you didn’t feel the same way,” he continues and takes a deep breath, forcing a smile on his face, “But I’m happy for you, I honestly am. I have no doubt that he’ll treat you like you deserve.”

This. is. weird.

Like, how does that even make sense? One thing is that he thinks you and Tom are dating now, but that you’ve always loved each other? No way. And what he said about “everyone knowing” you and Tom were in love? That’s just straight up weird.

“He does,” you confirm with a tone more confident and harsher than you had expected. Oscar flinches, but you feel anger boil inside your body. You’ve suppressed it for so long, only letting it out when bitching about Oscar to Tom, but now, it demands to be let out. “It hurt like hell when you cheated, Oscar, and I absolutely hated you for being so careless with my heart. But then I realised, you aren’t worth it. And honestly, your excuse is shit. I loved you, and you betrayed me, but then I found out that something better had been waiting in front of me the whole time.”

Oscar looks taken away at your outburst, clearly hurt, but when you look back to at Tom, he smiles down at you proudly. His body is relaxed, and his thumb caresses the back of your hand.

Then, he whispers something in your ear that makes your body go into a stage of panic, “Can I kiss you? If you were my girlfriend, I’d kiss you now.”

You search his eyes, the familiar dark orbs looking at you with a peculiar gentleness. And then, the panic that just rose in your body at his proposition, disappears, because this is Tom, your best friend, and his words just show how he’d do anything for you.

So, instead of answering his question, you turn around with your bodies pressed against each other and lean up and press a kiss to his lips.

They’re softer than you had expected, and you can taste the champagne. He might not have liked it, but when tasting it off his lips, you certainly enjoy it.

He smiles as you break apart, a cute, crooked one that makes you smile as well. “I love you,” he says, and although you know that Oscar will think it’s the romantic kind of love you’re talking about, you repeat Tom’s words to him. Because you do love each other. Hell, he’s your favourite human ever.

He kisses your forehead and then turns his focus to your ex, “It was nice to see you, mate, but I believe I’ve promised my girlfriend a dance.”

You can’t help but wonder about his sudden change of heart, the goodbye much warmer and polite than his earlier words. No matter what, you appreciate his calmness instead of the stiffness.

“I hope you’ll be as happy as I am one day, Oscar,” you tell your ex, shooting him a small diplomatic smile. And you realise that you actually mean it, that you feel really happy and content and loved, and that you hope this dirtbag of a man also will one day. Maybe not until he’s learned how to treat someone who loves him, but well, someday.

“Let’s go,” you encourage Tom, and he takes your hand and leads you to the middle of the floor.

A slow song is playing, and you lean your head and hands on Tom’s chest, his fingers toying with the fabric of your dress where his palms rest on your hips.

“I can’t believe you have such good taste in friends and such shitty taste in boyfriends,” Tom chuckles, swaying lightly to the music.

“You’re right. Dunno what I was thinking, honestly,” you agree, grinning into his black blazer. It’s soft against your cheek, and you relish in the feeling for a moment.

Then you remove your head from his body and look at him, “Thank you, really, for doing this.”

The lightning in the room is dim, coloured string lights on the walls and only a few other lamps besides that. His skin looks less pale than normally, and the brown hue of his eyes even softer. His hair is slightly messy, but it just makes him look even prettier.

You’ve always known he was attractive, but somehow, it still surprises you just how much sometimes.

He chuckles, “For going to your high school reunion or for pretending to be your boyfriend?”

“Both. I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

“Ooh, that will get interesting,” he marks, and you growl, knowing he’ll force you to do something terrible, like letting him paint a penis on your face or something.

Before he can think too much of the possibilities of your “punishment”, you change the subject, “But seriously, how on earth could I think it would be a good idea to repeat my high school mistake and date Oscar again?”

“I dunno, love. Poor judgement?”

You hum and nod in agreement, before crooking your head and looking at him. He might be a pain in the ass sometimes, but he’s been there for you through thick and thin, and he makes you laugh more than anyone else. “I’m so grateful to have you in my life, Tom. I really do love you,” you tell him softly, countless memories of the two of you flowing through your mind.

“Yeah, me too.” He smiles affectionately at you, squeezing your hips gently.

The song changes, the soft voice of Ed Sheeran now flowing from the stereos. He sings about growing old together and falling in love with someone every single day, and you remember the time you met the red-haired British singer at an event Tom brought you to. It’s crazy how your best friend just knows all these people you’ve only ever seen on TV or heard on the radio.

But what amazes you even more is that even though he knows all these exciting, famous, rich, beautiful people, he still chooses to hang out with you so much.

“Wanna hear some good news?”

He nods, intrigued.

“You’re alive right now. I can feel your heartbeat against my palm.”

He laughs, eyes scrunching and shaking his head overbearingly at your obvious statement, “What a relief.”

You join him, chuckling at your own joke, but then stopping when you realise that he has gone quiet and instead looks at you weirdly.

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

He shakes his head, grinning with his teeth showing before speaking, “You look beautiful tonight, Y/N. If you weren’t already my girlfriend, I’d ask you out right now.”

You frown, not getting the joke completely.

Because it must be that, right? Just a joke?

“Well, I think you’ve forgot that I’m only your girlfriend for today,” you point out lightheartedly.

“Does that mean I can ask you out tomorrow?”

You laugh, but then stop when he doesn’t follow suit, “You aren’t serious right now, Tom, are you?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs, an uneasy expression on his face, then shifting to a smug one when he elaborates, “To be honest. It’s hard to be sure of anything while looking at you in that dress.”

You look down at yourself, to the red dress that sits tight on your body. You bought it for the occasion, wanting to look good without being too over the top. It’s a plunge neck with a low cut back, and although it’s tight, you wouldn’t call it inappropriate or anything like that.

“It’s not that special, Tom. It’s a pretty plain dress, actually, and I’m pretty sure half of the women in here are wearing tight red dresses.” Not to mention, they’re breath-takingly beautiful, while you feel mediocre, at best.

However, Tom apparently disagrees, “Yeah, but none of them are my best friend who looks incredible right now.” He swallows visibly, Adam’s apple bobbing. “None of them have lips I wanna kiss.”

Your breath gets caught up in your throat, completely taken back. You’ve stopped swaying to the music now, and his hands loosen the grip on your hips to fall down his sides instead. He looks terribly nervous as he’s biting his lip, and a blush creeps onto his cheeks. You don’t know what to say, don’t even know what to do about the tingle in your stomach and the warmth that spreads through your body, surely painting your cheeks the same colour as Tom’s.

“Do you- do you like me, Tom?”

Your voice is low and unsure, barely audible over the music, but Tom scratches his neck, eyes darting away before turning back at you and nodding slowly.

“Yeah,” he admits with a breath. He is clearly anxious for your reaction, and it looks like he’s about to say something more. Nevertheless, you cut him off before he even gets the chance to speak and connect your lips for the second time today.

You grab his cheeks, pulling him closer to you and waiting for him to relax into the kiss. He luckily does so quickly, parting your lips with his tongue and grabbing you, hands on the swell of your back pushing you closer so your torso is pressed against his.

“Well, that went a lot better than I thought it would,” he chuckles once you’ve broken apart, grinning down at you.

“If you’d told me this a long time ago, I wouldn’t have had to let that asshole cheat on me. Would have spared me a lot of heartbreak, dumbass,” you joke, giving his lips another peck.

“At least it’s a story for the grandkids,” he laughs, and you roll your eyes at him.

“Bold of you to assume we’ll last that long,” you point out, but your tone is both joking and loving, and you even shoot him a wink.

He kisses you again, intensely and deeply, and when he pulls away, he throws his arms around you and picks you off the ground in a tight grip.

“Sorry, but you’re stuck with me, Y/N. No getting out now.”

He spins you around till you’re dizzy, laughter erupting from both of you and catching the attention of the people surrounding you, but neither of you care. You’re way too caught up in this new thing, in these newly freed feelings to care about anything but each other.

“Perhaps that’s not all too terrible after all,” you concede, watching the way his face lights up, and how his eyes twinkle in the dim lights. Your best friend, the man who always puts a smile on your face, who dries your tears and even agrees to play your boyfriend to make your stupid ex jealous. The man you’re fairly sure you’re in love with.

No, not at all terrible.  

[ajokeformur-ray]

Hey lovely! I was wondering if you could do a matchup for me and Arthur/Joker :) My name is Michelle and I’m 22 years old, 5’6” and very slightly chubby. I’m an introvert, but I do enjoy having a drink or two with a few close friends. I love writing and watching movies in my free time. I’m studying to be an accountant so I’m quick with math and very organized. I’m a little sensitive and not one to start confrontations. I adore children and animals. Hopefully that’s enough info, thank you😘☺️

Hi, angel! I just wanna quickly say that I adore seeing you on my dash!!! <3 I hope that you’re well! <3

Arthur // wc: 572.

There’s a thirteen year age gap between yourself and Arthur so to begin with he’s hesitant to even talk to you let alone anything else. You’re only a few inches shorter than Arthur so it’s easy to look him in the eyes even when he ducks his head. There’s definitely something between the two of you, however, so it doesn’t take long for the two of you to become shaky friends and slowly over the weeks and the months... you become more and neither of you ever look back. Arthur loves you for all of you; you’re his whole world and he’ll do anything he can to protect you, help you, love you. Your name so often runs through his head like a mantra when he’s going about his day; you’re his motivation, his reason, his purpose, his greater meaning in his life.

You’re an introvert and Arthur adores spending those quiet evenings with you after he comes home from work. You go out with your close friends sometimes and Arthur so often just waits in the darkened apartment, waiting for a phone call from you. He doesn’t want to smother you or stifle you but he does want to know that you’re okay when you get home, just so that he’s able to relax. He’s always so worried about you and it drives him mad sometimes but it comes from such a deep place of love that you can’t even complain about it sometimes. You love to write and to watch films in your free time and Arthur loves to potter about the apartment while you’re relaxing, making sure that he takes the long way around the sofa to avoid getting in your way, wincing and apologising if he thinks that he’s being too loud and disturbing you. You don’t tell him that your every nerve is trained on him, even when your eyes are fixed on the old television. 

Arthur is very, very supportive of your studies and he’ll help you in any way that he can; a hand on your shoulder on his way past, your favourite drink left beside you as he walks past to do the dishes, a hug when you’re stressed... anything and everything you need, Arthur’s right there for you. He loves you so much, Michelle. You’re both very organised so things generall run very smoothly for the two of you and you both always know what’s happening and when. When his meds get stopped due to the social funding being cut, you help to get him new prescriptions and he only has to give you names and dosages. You’re both always there for each other, no matter what.

You’re a little sensitive and so is Arthur; both of you feel deeply but that means that you hurt deeply, too, and you’re both always there to catch the other’s fall. You don’t like to start confrontations and Arthur takes it upon himself to always step in if you ever find yourself in the middle of one, his strong dark brows furrowed as he defends you or helps you out in any way that he can. You and Arthur both adore children and animals and I think you likely met when he was performing as Carnival for kids on the street; the happy high pitched peals of laughter beckoned you like a siren’s song and you followed willingly, unknowingly walking into the rest of your life. 

Joker // wc: 709.

If you’re with Joker, then you’ve been with him since the very beginning. That means that you’ve been there through it all; through all the pain and the torment and the agony and the confusion. You stayed with Arthur as he succumbed to all that was making him numb and you still love him. You love him and as far as Joker’s concerned, that means you’re married. Or, you may as well be. He just needs to get the paperwork. It means that you’re with him for the rest of your lives together; he loves you so much more than he ever knows how to say. So he doesn’t say, not very often; he prefers to show you how he feels about you. And, my god, he leaves you breathless with the intensity of his love for you. Joker loves you for all of you, he truly does, just as you love him for all that he is, too. There’s only a few inches height difference between the two of you and Joker loves to fold himself into your embrace; his head sinks down onto the curve of your shoulder, lips pressing against your shirt as he reminds himself of your presence. You’re his whole world and he makes sure you know it beyond all shadow of a doubt; no matter where he goes or what he does, that’s one thing that will never, ever change.

You’re creative and an introvert and Joker adores those quiet evenings with you still. He goes out more often than not to wreak havoc on the grimy streets of Gotham but he appreciates and finds it a bit easier to worry less when you’re safe at home catching up on your favourite films. There’s an impressive stack of old VHS recordings of Murray - all 214 of them remain in the spare cupboard in the hallway - but if you watch them, make sure there’s plenty of time before Joker comes home. There’s a reason he doesn’t throw them out but it always evades him, the ghost of the not yet fully processed thought right on the tip of his tongue. It fades away the more he chases it but you both know it’s there. You have your own thoughts but you know it’s better not to voice them. Not yet, anyway, the time isn’t right. You doubt it ever will be, if the truth is to be told. When you go out with friends, Joker spends the night in the apartment waiting for you to come home. He may have werewolf’d in the past, but if you come back with so much as a paper, he will go wild. Your safety is always paramount, just as your comfort.

You’re very organised and so is Joker; he’s more impulsive and reckless now and freer to act on his wants and desires, but when he says he’ll be home at a certain time, he will be home. He may be tempted to stay out a bit later just for a sweeter, more frantic reunion when he finally waltzes in, but then he thinks about how he’d feel if you did that and he decides against it. Joker is your biggest supporter and just as always is he there to help you in any way that he can. He might use his newfound status to help you to get your foot in the door, so to speak, but ultimately, no matter what you decide, he’s very very proud of his Michelle.

You’re not one to start confrontations and though Arthur never used to be either, he would always defend you, and now? Oh, and now if someone even looks at you wrong, Joker’s hand itches for the gun someone long since dead gave him. He’s very very protective of you, and if anyone ever offended you or upset you a little, you’re Joker’s first and only concern. You’re his one and only person who understands him and he’d die for you. You adore animals and children and Joker loves the way you interact with them. It makes his heart ache and heat spread strongly through his veins and he knows, he knows that this, that you are it for him. He loves you so much.