#i was j saying that to preface me asking for My Own Clothes back so i can wash n pack them

[kiwipit]

oh my god she's pissing me off . ignore rant below

[caligobeltrao]

Norman Bates NSFW Alphabet

Little preface, this would be a while into being intimate, because frankly, I hc that Norman would have extreme anxiety on top of all of the other issues that he has with sex. To be fair, these issues would still crop up (ie having to stop in the middle due to a panic attack, something something “mother” something, etc.). 

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Uh... literal king of aftercare. He is such a nuturing person that, even in the literal most vanilla circumstances, he would wanna make sure you’re okay, nothing hurts, if it does how he can help, do you want a bath? he’ll run you a bath. He does prefer you like actually tell him what you want though, and he thrives off routine, so if it seems like each time you say “bath, snacks, cuddles” that’s what he’ll do until told otherwise. Literally tell him to calm down and relax please. 

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

I don’t think he likes his body very much. If pushed, he’d probably say hands tho. It’s also hard to pin down for his partner because like... they’re perfect??? How could you pick??? Again, if pushed, he’d probably say their eyes. He’s a sap. :’-)

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

OH my god, he hates cum. It’s messy and sticky and gross. If you also have a dick, he would really prefer you both wear condoms to try and negate as much of the mess as possible lmao. Either way, whatever genitals you have, he’s changing the sheets asap. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He has watched and really enjoyed watching you touch yourself without you knowing. Or, well, he thinks without you knowing. He was so ashamed and never wants to tell you, but somehow, he keeps happening to walk by your shared bedroom door slightly cracked with you touching yourself, moaning his name.... Weird how that works. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

None. Pretty sure he’s never even jacked off. 

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Missionary. Basic, but he really loves to be as close as physically possible and look into your eyes. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

He’s more on the serious side, but you could probably get him to smile and loosen up from time to time. 

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He would’ve kept everything tidy but not super groomed, but as soon as you guys get comfortable, he wants your direction on that. He has no true preference so he would rather you tell him what to do. He’s such a sub. 

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect.)

Again, he prefers holding you super close, all the sweet nothings, definitely one to say I love you as he cums. He also likes setting up sweet surprises, like a nice bath for you to relax in or a meal to come home to. 

J = Jack off (Masturbation Headcanon)

Before you, he probably just... didn’t. Again, it’s super messy and he has some issues, so it’s not super high on his list. Even with you he doesn’t unless you ask for him to so you can watch. Super enjoyable on both ends. 

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Praise kink praise kink praise kink please tell him he’s doing good he craves Validation. He also really likes giving validation, so it’s a two way street. Also definite voyeur kink. 

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Bedroom, preferably in the motel. I’m sure you could easily convince him to do it in other places, but the poor baby would be so nervous the entire time that it wouldn’t be very enjoyable. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

To be completely sappy for a moment: you. You protect him and love him and care for him that his heart overflows with love and words fail and the only way he can even try to show you how much he appreciates and cares for you is by making you feel good, if that’s what you wanted. 

To be less sappy: well timed compliments, casual touching of his back or arm, being generally affectionate, doing something for him, etc. 

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He doesn’t want anything to do with knife play or hurting you, if only out of the worry that Mother might show up. For the most part, though, you could really convince him to try anything because he wants to please you. Just make sure you get really good at reading him first so you know when he’s pushing himself instead of setting boundaries like he should. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving 110%. He gets really tense recieving because he would worry about you or think you’re getting hurt or bored, but he would gladly die giving you head. Not great at first (really timid, and again for people with dicks, his gag reflex is kinda strong), but once you give him a little instruction, and with all the practice he happily puts in, he would be really good. 

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

While he’s definitely increased in speed since the beginning, he still prefers slow and sweet. Fast and rough is just an accident waiting to happen and he doesn’t want you hurt. Now, if you happen to get on top and control the speed yourself, he gets really into it, he’s just a little too in his own head to initiate that himself. 

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Doesn’t care for them. Most of his ideas of sex and physical intimacy revolve around pleasing you and making you feel good, and he would prefer taking time with that. 

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

I feel like a broken record, but if you asked, he would do nearly anything you wanted. He would rarely if ever offer up something to 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Probably could only go for one, maybe two rounds max himself, but again, he really loves giving head. Lasts for a decent amount of time and prefers having you tell him when he’s allowed to cum. 

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He wouldn’t, but wouldn’t be opposed to using them. He would mostly think in context for you, but would be on board with trying them himself at your suggestion. 

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

He doesn’t tease at all really, just moves at a slower pace. He’d have a fairly good idea of when he needs to go faster or do something to make you feel good, so it would never be drawn out on his end. However... edge this man. Tease him. 

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

I hc him to be just so loud. He definitely doesn’t want to be and he tries to hold it in, but when you get really into it he gets loud without realizing it. Voice cracking, keens and whiny moans. Very good shit. 

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)

You would have to have a talk about him setting his own boundaries and sticking to them. Like, he wants you to be happy, which is sweet, but he’ll take it too far and put himself in uncomfortable positions or work himself too hard. In the end, the phrasing that would get through to him would be something along the lines of “I know you want me to be happy, and you actively making yourself hurt or uncomfortable or anxious because I want to do something makes me very unhappy.” That lesson would still take a hot minute to sink in tho. :/ 

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Little longer than average but on the thinner side. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Pretty low. Also probably why he prefers giving head. Gets you off and he doesn’t have to try and get it up if he doesn’t feel in the mood. 

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Not quickly at all. He probably still, even after being intimate with you for a while, has shocks of anxiety and guilt running through him after sex. He would tell you it’s because he wants to make sure you fall asleep first, but he’d probably be awake for a long while afterward, if he sleeps at all that night. Though, to him, it could be a plus because he could cuddle you or get more work done at night. 

[evening-starlight]

Chances {Chapter 4}

I genuinely love this story so far and it’s 1am... all these chapters are coming in on the same writing frenzy. Comment if you want to be on a tag list?

Master List

Edited in Grammarly

Twinkies and Flowers

Word Count: 1204

    I don't know how to preface this chapter. I wasn't going to write about Tom and my's date, but Naomi begged me to put it into the book because she's a hopeless romantic, and our first date is her favorite story of ours. I don't know why. We have other fun stories, like our midnight dance party. So I guess that now I said that I have to put that in here too.

    'It's just a coffee date," I remind myself as I look through my closet. 'Nothing special. Except that it's Tom Hiddleston.' I let out a heavy breath, looking over the clothes again. I can't wear anything too fancy because we're going to a local coffee house, but I also can't wear what I usually wear because I want to impress him. I haven't been on a date in four years. I haven't even thought about it until my therapist said I should at least look at what's out there. That lasted a week, and I uninstalled every dating app I signed up for.

    With a defeated sigh, I call Naomi. She picks up on the third ring. "Need help with an outfit?" She asks instead of greeting me, like any normal human would. I reply with a frustrated groan. "I thought so. Heather and I are at your gate now." I give a small thank you and go to my front door to enter the gate combination. The girls walk into my room with bags of treats and extra outfit options while I sit on my bed staring at the closet of doom.

    "We know you don't like dresses, so we didn't bring any of those," Heather starts, handing me a Twinkie while she talks. "I brought that floral top you always top me you liked but never had an occasion to wear it to; maybe we could style it for you to be comfy." She offers.

    Heather knows my style comfort zone too well, but she also knows how to get me out of it. I haven't been one for crop tops since J, and the floral top I adore on her full figure is just that. "I'm just worried I won't fill it out like you do," I voice my worry, watching them layout outfit options.

    "If Robbie can pull it off, you can pull it off ten times better," Naomi offers, smiling kindly. I laugh at the memory of drunk Robbie doing a fashion show with our clothes nearly a year ago.

    After lots of trying on, arguments, and defeat-driven snacking, I stare at myself in the mirror. The white floral top Heather brought, paired with my favorite high-waisted black shorts and Naomi's beige sandal heels, greets me with every glance. It's not what I usually wear, but it's cute and still comfortable. Naturally, Naomi is the first to squeal.

    "You look adorable, Stella." She hugs me from behind, looking me over in the mirror as well. "He'd be a fool not to propose right then and there." I laugh, laying a hand on her arm. "Do you feel cute in it?"

    I look myself over again. "You were right," I start. "I do pull this off better than Robbie." Everyone laughs with me, nodding in agreement. "Do you think Tom will like it?"

    "He'd be an idiot if he didn't," Heather confirms Naomi's earlier thought. "You look stunning, babe. How are you feeling?"

    "Sick to my stomach," I admit. "It's been over four years since I've been on a real date. I don't know how to act anymore." Both girls put a hand on my shoulder, making eye contact through the mirror in front of us.

    "Just be yourself. Fuck him if he doesn't like the real you." Heather starts.

    "You got this. It's time for you to get back out there. Just like Stevie said, Jared's still got a hand on you until you start dating again." Naomi quotes my therapist. I turn around to face them, the sick feeling in my stomach intensifying.

    "But how the hell am I supposed to do that when the last first date I went on was with Jared? At fucking 18?" I ponder the math quickly. "Fuck, guys, it's been six years since I've gone on a first date with anyone."

    "Yes, but you can't let Jared ruin a what if. It's one date. It might not even go anywhere," Naomi says. "You might find out he's a booger eater." I let out a small laugh at her joke. "One date won't kill you, and it's the first step of removing Jared entirely from your life. Don't feel guilty. You got divorced four years ago. It's time to move on, Babe." I nod slowly. Naomi is making very valid points. I just have to convince myself of that.

    "We're on standby the entire time. Robbie and I will be at the studio recording some drums for the next song from three to eight. And we all know Robbie would kill for you." Heather states. "You can come by after if you need or want to." I nod again, focusing on my breathing to get the knot out of my stomach. My date isn’t until 4, I have time to calm down. Hopefully.

    "I got this. It's just one date. He's just a person." I repeat more to myself than anyone else. My phone dings on my bed, catching all of our attention. Heather, being the closest, picks it up.

    "Tom says, 'very excited to see you tonight,' with a smiley face." She continues, "'Just curious what your favorite flowers are?'" She types out my reply for me, a toss-up between sunflowers and carnations.

    "He's so romantic," Naomi swoons, hand over heart. "I wish Robbie would get me flowers more." She continues to pout.

    "On it," Heather declares, texting Robbie that from my phone. She puts it down and looks me over again. "You look gorgeous, and if only one good thing comes from this date, it's that you look bomb as hell." I giggle at her platonic flirting. "Is there anything you need from us?" She asks.

    I shake my head, "Unless you can help me clean up the mess we made so I can just get in bed when it goes wrong?" Both girls smack my arms. "Okay, okay, if it goes wrong?" They both agree, and we get the room cleaned in under five minutes before the girls leave me on my own.

    The anxiety coursing through my body won't allow me to sit still until my date, so I go around my apartment, cleaning everything I can see until the timer on my phone informs me it's time to leave.

    With one last grounding breath, I leave my apartment with low expectations and high anxiety.

     Did you really think I was going to tell you this chapter? SIKE. Did you notice that bombshell I left?? I was Divorced—crazy, right. I mean, if you google me, you can see the three different name changes I've had in my 24 years of life and who exactly my ex was, but the suspense is killing you, isn't it? You want to read about it, don't you? Soon, young one, soon. I can't put emojis in books, apparently but think of the purple devil emoji right there.

[jiminspjm]

Blanket Kick + J. Jungkook 01

❋ a series of events between you and jeon jungkook. [based of bangtans song, blanket kick/embarrassed]

❋ a/n: am i the worst moot ever? yes. this is a late birthday present for @yoonsgiggle my amazing moot, i hope you like this hehe. the parts are very short but i will be updating every other day hopefully hehe, im not sure how many parts this will have but definitely no more than 5!!

⇢ [characters] : jeon jungkoon x oc ft. ot6

⇢ [rated] : NC-17 (strong language)

⇢ [glossary]: fluff, smut (future), roomates!au, childhood friends to lovers, humor, and a whole side of sexual tension ;)

⇢ [index]: 2.2k

⇢[preface]: none.

“I was too shy to become your sun so I became a cold moon.”

-

“I think Jungkook is mad at me, but I can’t tell.” You sighed, pushing around the broccoli on your plate. Jimin and Yoongi both looked up at you, watching as your face fell into a deep frown.

“Why would he be mad at you? Isn’t that like, against best friend code?” Jimin teased, trying to lighten the mood. Your lips turned up for a moment before going back into a thin line. Jimin sighed, looking at Yoongi and shrugging.

“He lost is blanket his mom gave him.” Yoongi said, biting into a fry. You heard Jimin’s fork screech against his plate, causing you to whip your head up towards Yoongi.

“He what?” You said, leaning towards the blonde man. Yoongi nodded, rubbing his hands together and nodding.

“Yeah, he can’t find it. So that’s probably why he is being distant.” Yoongi finished. You groaned inwardly. The blanket Yoongi is referring to is Jungkook’s baby blanket, that his mom gave him. His mother passed away a few hours after he was born, due to some health complications. Him and his father lived in your neighborhood when you were children, and your parents and you had just moved into the neighborhood. You can remember the day your mom told you to bring some brownies to your new neighbors, and a boy, a bit taller than you opened the door. Wide brown eyes, and a head of fluffy hair was the first thing you saw. The shy smile morphed into a distinct toothy, bunny smile once you showed the desert. After that day, you and Jungkook never left each other's side.

You went to the same elementary, and secondary school. Jungkook was a year older than you, but because of your proficiency you got to skip a grade. Even in high school as you two navigated life together, through all the pains that were breakups, school work, periods, and friends. You will never forget the day that you cried for about two hours, because you wished your boobs were bigger. Jungkook’s response was, “At least you have a nice ass.” Which made you cry even more.

You both got into the same university, and bought an apartment together. Three years later, you 21 and him 22, nothing has changed. Well, except you’re hopeless pining for your best friend that was definitely way out of your league. But that’s besides the point. You have never left his side, and weren’t planning too. This situation though, was worrisome.

“Hey, isn’t it both of your birthdays this week?” Jimin asked. You nodded, a small smile on your face. You and Jungkook were born on the same day, different years. Which he always teases you about, feeling relieved about the whole formality thing. He just didn’t want to have to call you noona. Not like you would have made the nerd anyway.

“Yeah, and that’s why I need to find his blanket,” You said, sliding out from the booth. Shuffling through your backpack you found your wallet and threw some money on the table. “That should cover mine, and please bring Jungkook something?” You asked, zipping your backpack.

“Yeah sure, but where the hell do you think you are going? It’s gonna rain soon!” Yoongi shouted at you.

You were already out the door.

-

“I’m not a pencil but I keep getting dark thoughts toward you.”

Maybe you should have listened to Jimin when he said it was going to rain, and maybe you should have driven your own car to the cafe, but we all make mistakes right. Mistakes such as you running across campus to the baseball field while it was pouring rain. Was catching a cold worth it for Jungkook? Absolutely. Was digging through bright red dirt to find his blanket worth it? Yes. And was finding that blanket buried in the sand worth it just to possibly see the look on his face worth it? Always. I bet you are wondering how the hell his blanket ended up on the baseball diamond across campus.

Well, usually you attend his games and use said blanket when it’s cold. You, being an idiot, left the blanket on the bleachers to run onto the dirt to congratulate him on a win. How said blanket ended up in dirt, no clue. Probably the devil punishing you for leaving Jungkook’s prized possession behind.

All in all, you jogged half a mile in the rain back to you and Jungkook’s apartment. You were hoping he had class so you could quickly wash and dry the blanket, and leave it on his bed and act like nothing happened. But that wasn’t the case when you open the door, and see Jungkook sitting on the counter in the kitchen, spooning peanut butter from the jar. Your eyes widen at the same time his does, as he drops the spoon on the floor with a clatter. Luckily you were smart enough to chuck your backpack at your friends Mimi’s dorm before you went on your blanket hunt. So the only thing ruined was your dignity was the fact you were dripping wet, and had red sand all over you.

Before you could speak, Jungkook hopped off the counter, his black, curly, fluffy hair bounced as he rushed over to you. His silver earrings swung slightly as he looked you up and down, eyes zoned in on the material clutched in your hand. Looking down as well, a shy smile came across your face.

“I’m really-!” Your apologies were cut short when Jungkook wrapped his arm around your waist, the other gripping onto your wet hair as he pulled your smaller frame into his embrace. Immediately your senses were overwhelmed by laundry detergent and the faint smell of peanut butter. Confused, you wrapped your arms around him slowly.

“I was so worried, Jimin and Yoongi said they head no clue where you were.” Jungkook muttered into your hair. You relaxed into him, leaning into his hold.

“I’m sorry, my phone was in my backpack and I didn’t have it with me.” You spoke softly, fingering at the material of his hoodie. Jungkook, didn’t say anything as he held you for a few more moments. The only sound present is the gentle rainfall heard outside.

Jungkook, began to pull away and he examined you for any damage. Not meeting his gaze, you extended the soiled blanket to him.

“I’m sorry for forgetting it. It’s my fault, I’m really sorry Guk. That was super irresponsible of me,” You muttered, guilty tears brimming in your eyes. You felt his fingers brush against yours as he took the blanket from you. Stepping forward, he gripped his fingers beneath your chin to look at him. His face was slightly distorted through the tears, as he gently brushed away the tear that went down your jaw. He smiled gently and leaned down and pressing a kiss against the corner of your mouth.

Cheeks heating up furiously, even though you were crying, was only something Jungkook is capable of. You blinked a few times, looking up at him a grin is plastered on his stupid face.

“Thank you for finding it, sweetheart.” Jungkook said, smiling gently. Sniffling a few times, from the cold, and the tears you smiled at him. Sighing, you sniffled and became very aware of the fact you were still wet and dirty. Literally.

“As much as I would love to cry some more, I’m dirty and cold, and I’m gonna get the floors dirty.” You joked, trying to make yourself feel better. Jungkook snorted, and walked towards you before dipping down and picking you up by the back of your thighs.

A sound of protest came from your mouth, as he wrapped your legs around his lean waist. Heat burst through your whole body as you tried to balance yourself.

“Jungkook, what the fuck are you doing?” You cried, placing your arms on his shoulders. Jungkook ignored your cries and rested his warm palms on the skin of your hips beneath your crewneck.

“Your all wet, and you already dripped all over the foyer, I don’t want the wood floors dirty.” He hummed, smoothing his thumbs across your skin, causing heat to bloom on your goosebumped skin. Nodding, you allowed him to carry you into your shared bathroom.

Flicking the light on, Jungkook hummed to himself quietly. Setting you on the counter, he turned to the cabinets behind him and grabbed a towel and placed if on the hook behind the door.

“Okay, shower you nerd.” Jungkook teased, flicking your nose and walking out of the bathroom and shutting the door with a gentle click.

Releasing the breath you didn’t know you were holding, you got off the counter and turned to face the mirror. Red dirt was smudged along your cheeks and clothes, staining the fabric of your shoes as well. Huffing, you walked towards the shower and turned the crystal knob. A spurt of water echoed in the chamber, as you closed the glass door.

Pulling off your shoes, pants and hoodie, you balled them all together, and shoved them in the trash. Goosebumps surfaced along your exposed skin, as you peeled off your wet underwear and bra. Tossing those in the hamper behind the door, you stepped into the shower.

Scrubbing your skin with body wash, and thoroughly cleaning out the dirt from your hair you allowed the steam and hot water to warm your body. Eventually your skin began to prune, forcing you to get out. Opening the door, you stepped out and grabbed your towel. Wiping your body down, and slapping on some body lotion, you began to search for your clothes but came up empty handed.

“Fuck,” you muttered. The only option was to go out there into you and Jungkook’s room and get some clothes. Sucking in a breath, you grasped the handle to the door and opened it. Not expecting Jungkook to be on the other side, shirtless with some of your clothes neatly folded in his hands.

Was it hot in here? Or is it just Jungkook.

Shaking your head, your grip on the doorknob became extremely tight. You tried to not let your eyes wander along his toned abdomen. The golden skin rippled with tight muscles, ink trailing across the skin to create intricate designs. The black band of his armani boxers were peeking from the top of his sweats, which lead up to deep muscles around his hips, creating a distinct ‘V’ shape. You were pretty sure your face was a nice shade of pink, and it wasn’t from the steam of the shower.

“See something you like, sweetheart?” Jungkook’s low voice spoke. The statement made you snap your head up to meet his stare. He had a cocky grin spread across his face. What a little shit.

“You wish you dweeb. Give me my clothes.” You said, keeping your voice stable and holding out a hand. Jungkook smirked and shook his head, strands of his fluffy hair fell above his brow.

“Mmm, but you called me a dweeb, and that wasn’t very nice.” Jungkook teased, stepping into the bathroom. You took a step back, glaring at him.

“I can call you worse,” you bit back. Jungkook’s stupid, cocky grin was still plastered over his stupid, attractive face. You didn’t realise he lead you to the tub until the cold tile hit the back of your calves.

Catching yourself, you tightened your hold on your towel as you scowled at him. Jungkook set your clothes on the lid to the toilet, and took a step towards you. You audibly shuddered when his hands trialed across your bare arm, the touch leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. Jungkook hummed, fingers trailing down your arm till he reached your hand.

Before you could ask him what the hell he was doing, he yanked your hand to his bare chest, causing your body to press tightly against his. His arm wound around your waist, pulling your hips to his.

You audibly let out a sound as his larger palm engulfed your own. His skin was warm and hard beneath your fingers. You could feel practically every ridge and dip of his muscles even with a towel on. His fingers gripped roughly into your hips, as his lips skimmed across your bare shoulder- his warm breath ghosting over the skin.

You bit your lip hard, trying to hold back the groan that was threatening to escape your lips. Jungkook chuckled beneath his breath. Bastard.

“Don’t call me names, sweetheart. Where are your manners?” Jungkook whispered into your ear. You whined lowly, curling your fingers against his skin. The one hand that was holding up your towel was now on his chest as well. You felt the cloth begin to slip, the only thing holding it up was your sanity, which was practically thinning, and also the fact that your breasts were pushed against Jungkook’s chest. Jungkook hummed lowly before letting go of your body, and walking towards the door. Blinking a few times, you now became cold at the loss of body heat.

Jungkook was already outside the bathroom, hand on the knob. He winked at you, and then proceeded to close the door. Right as the click resonated through the bathroom, the thump of your towel hit the tile.

[miniminisb]

ˢᵒ ʷʰᵃᵗ’ˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵘˡᵗ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ

okay bUCKLE UP FUCKERS IT’S TIME FOR THE DUMBEST MISTAKE OF MY LIFE. I preface this by saying, I am a dumbass. I am a complete, irrevocable, plain dumbass. Do not do this at home. Do not pass go. Do not collect 200 dollars. Heed my warnings. also technically not a cult but basically a cult you’ll see just sit tight.

It was a nice sunny day in September 2017. The seasons were beginning to turn. I had just gotten out of my Intro to Logic class. I felt good. I thought to myself, “Man. Such a nice day. I think I’ll do my homework outside today. Enjoy the weather before it goes to shit.”

So there I was, barbecue sauce on my titties doing some, i dunno, categorical reasoning? Just, sitting beneath a tree, enjoying the day, when two girls walk up to me. They say they’re trying to start a club on campus, and they wonder if I have some time to talk real quick. I have some time before my next class. I’m pretty much done with this homework. I say sure.

Mistake number one.

They sit down and ask if I have ever read the Bible. My stomach immediately sinks. I don’t necessarily have things against organized religion, but… American Christians make me nervous. They really do. Growing up, you get a lot of people at your door and you get a lot of crazies telling you you’re gonna go to hell. They can pick pick the weak out of a crowd and target them for their schemes.

I am the weak.

So I chuckle nervously. I’m in danger! I say no, not really. Kinda. I grew up in a small town and would go to church with friends sometimes hahahahahahaha. They seem alright, kinda. They pull out their own Bible and start flipping through it for certain passages, giving the schpiel of “oh God loves you, Jesus died for our sins, yada yada” and I’m like, yeah, cool. Whatever.

Then it gets weird. They start talking about the end of the world, Armageddon, the apocalypse, whatever ya wanna call it. They say this time was prophecized in the Bible, snatching on weird passages to claim that North Korea is gonna drop nukes. They say that this will happen where the four corners of the earth meet, and are adamant to say that it’s referring to our area (I go to college at the Four Corners Region in the US of A).

They say how, because it’s gonna happen, it’s more important than ever to save your soul, get baptized, whatever. They ask if I have been baptized. And I say haha no, not yet, like I said I’m not really Christian, hahahah-

Mistake number two.

The girl in charge of the situation nods in a sort of understanding manner. They continue their schpiel, really starting to hit home that saving your soul and accepting the big J is important. They also said jesus was married to the city of jerusalem? For some reason??? Idk man if you’re christian can you explain this to me?

Same girl then goes, out of nowhere, “would you ever consider getting baptized?”

Listen guys. I know I put off big chaotic energy, give no fucks, can’t mess with me persona on here. But in the words of Kim Namjoon, who the hell am i? I am, without a doubt, a spineless bitch who doesn’t know how to stand up for herself when faced with the smallest amount of conflict and no outward reason to refuse people. Y’all, as I write this, I am shaking and my heart is pounding because yes, you can probably see where this is going. And yes, I am that dumb.

I chuckle nervously, fiddle with my hands, and go “haha maybe if my friend would want me to idk” just like, full on passive avoidance shrink-into-yourself of someone who desperately wants this shit to end but really can’t find an out.

And the girl looks me dead in the eyes. “Well, that’s good. But you would have to do it for yourself. Would you ever get baptized for yourself.”

“I mean, maybe? I guess? Hahah I dunno, yeah, maybe.”

MISTAKE NUMBER THREE.

The two bitches perk up. “We can do it now!” bitch what. I have like, maybe 20 minutes until class at this point. I’m shaking. I’m like, man, I just wanted to do my logic homework. And now, I get into fight or flight mode. I can’t miss class. I feel scared. These girls think north korea cares about fucking new mexico and arizona enough to nuke a place which, objectively, has little to no people living there. Like, what, you’re gonna bomb aliens? Whatever.

I really start to say. No. can’t do it. I have class. I really have class, it’s soon, can’t do it. No. And they keep pushing. “It’ll only take five minutes. It’ll be fine. You’ll be okay. Only five minutes.”

Now, what should I have done? I should have picked up my stuff and said “thank you, but no. I need to leave.” I should have said “you women are making me uncomfortable. I said no. Leave me alone. You are crazy.” I should have raised my middle finger to them which, conveniently, has a pentacle ring on it.

Instead, I caved and said fine.

M͏̤̤I̩S̖̙͝T̯̕A̧̗͙K̩͕̺̕E҉̞͙̞̮ ̤̙͕͔N̷̗͙̙ͅU͚͇̯̦͙M̩͙͖B̵̬̝̤̪E̪̺̟͙ͅṞ̼ ̩͉͍͎͎̼͘F̩̦͔̩O̘̭UṞ͉̯͍

The other girl who has remained relatively quiet, jumps up. “Great! I’ll call our minister, he’ll pull up the van!”

The what.

I don’t say anything. I should have. Listen, I don’t know how I was supposed to get baptized in the middle of the day on a Wednesday but fuck, I did not expect to get taken off campus. We have a fucking non denominational chuch on campus. So, who would’ve thunk? Not me!

“The what?”

The girls jump up and seem super excited. I am shaking as I pick up my bag and follow them to the parking lot. Meanwhile I’m screaming silently to myself what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck. You know, like a normal person. So at least I wasn’t completely insane.

“We’re just taking you to our church, don’t worry.” And for some reason, that does put me at ease a lil. Cuz, like, I may be a stinking heathen who’s gone to church so many times that she can count it on one hand, but I do have the belief that nice pretty churches are save havens. So, I do feel a little okay.

I still get into a fucking car tho so there’s that I guess.

The dude pulls up. He is… idk he looked like one of those creepy religious fucks from like a horror movie. Dead behind the eyes. We all pack into the car. I’m trying not to cry, honestly. I’m really trying to keep this light cuz it is pretty funny when you step back but keep in mind I was terrified and I don’t know how to say no.

It is only after we pull away that I have the dawning thought. I’m basically getting kidnapped. They could take me fucking anywhere and no one would know and I wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop it. Three against one.

As we’re leaving my fucking campus I check the clock. I have, like. Five minutes until my next class. I am a dumbass.

The girl shows me like… an apocalypse video??? for some reason??? Like wow thanks bitch but you already told me the world was gonna end but aight.

I’m hardcore like, astral projecting at this point. Full on dissociation. I do not exist on this plane anymore.

We pull into a fucking starbucks parking lot next to some town homes.

“We’re here!” Where’s the church? Where’s the steeple? Bitch I just see modern condos what the HELL is happening. We get out of the car and go up to one of these fucking apartments basically. Fucking Youth Pastor John unlocks the place and.

Guys.

The church was just a fucking townhome. I’m like. Just. Guys the area where the congregation met was a fucking living room with like maybe six chairs and a podium. On the bright side, lovely open floor plan.

They guide me upstairs.

To the bathroom.

They hand me like… a fucking robe and say I can undress and put that on. They give me a moment but even then i’m like FUCK that. Undressing in a strange house? That’s where I draw the line! Nope, no disrobing for me, thanks! I still put on the robe because apparently it’s like, ritually significant?

Got into my new swanky clothes and they come back in. They start filling up a shitty plastic bucket with water in the tub. At this point, i’m just like:

They tell me to kneel in the tub and raise my hands in prayer. I follow orders, trying to ignore the fact that I am in a strange place that is very much not a church, that I am currently wearing weird periwinkle robes, knowing that people are in class right now just. Learning about fucking Mesopetamia or some shit i forget what the class was about.

The Hannah Montana from Hell Squad prays over me as they pour cupfuls of bucket water over my head. My underclothes are now drenched. My hair is wet. My knees hurt because I’m kneeling in a fucking bathtub.

“Congrats! Your soul is saved!” I have to get to class!

They give me a moment to take off the fucking robes and I collect my things. I step out and i’m like “great I’m late for class, take me back!”

“Oh, but you still need to have passover.”

Passover is a Jewish Holiday practiced in mid to late spring. It’s September. Y’all are christian. But I literally cannot leave, so I follow them into the kitchen where they put a veil on me. The other two girls put on veils as well. I’ve fully surpassed crying and reached silent resignation to my fate as the guy prays over some fucking communion wafers and some grape juice. I take the lil bits of food, luckily too since i fucking missed lunch because of them but at least I have some grape juice to fill me up.

“Now, we know that this is not the correct time for passover, but we needed to do it to save your soul. Now, practice Passover every year from now on to make sure you show your dedication to God and make sure your soul is saved.”

They do take me back to campus. I am in soaking short shorts and a red flannel. It is, to say the least, very moist and uncomfortable as I start to stick to the faux leather seats of this mini van.

I’m like “cool great thanks for having me!” as they pull up to my building, and as I try to get out, the quieter girl (who, genuinely, seemed to be fond of me) asked if she could have my number.

HEY YOU KNOW HOW THIS STORY STARTED? WITH ME LACKING THE ABILITY TO SAY NO TO PEOPLE? YOU REMEMBER THAT? HUH!?

But this time, ohhoho, I have a plan. I’ll give her a fake number! That’ll teach her! So I punch in a few random numbers really hastily because I am still in this fucking van and I am twenty five minutes late for a fifty five minute class.

“Cool can we test it real quick to make sure we have the right number?”

And, like a dog with my tail between my legs, I very quietly go “yeah uhm i think i put in the wrong number hang one second” and fixed it to my actual number. Like a goddamn moron.

I sprint out of the van. Walk into my class soaking wet with my head down at my professor is in the middle of a lecture. I find my seat in the back of the classroom on the other side, so everyone has seen me. My friend leans up to me as I sit down, and asks me where I have been. I tell her that I got lost during a hike and fell into a creek.

Now, what is the moral of this story, children? If anyone asks you if you want to get baptized on a Wednesday in the middle of September, simply say

[readbookywooks]

Dr. Lanyon’s Narrative

On the ninth of January, now four days ago, I received by the evening delivery a registered envelope, addressed in the hand of my colleague and old school-companion, Henry Jekyll. I was a good deal surprised by this; for we were by no means in the habit of correspondence; I had seen the man, dined with him, indeed, the night before; and I could imagine nothing in our intercourse that should justify formality of registration. The contents increased my wonder; for this is how the letter ran:

“10th December, 18 —

“Dear Lanyon, You are one of my oldest friends; and although we may have differed at times on scientific questions, I cannot remember, at least on my side, any break in our affection. There was never a day when, if you had said to me, ’Jekyll, my life, my honour, my reason, depend upon you,’ I would not have sacrificed my left hand to help you. Lanyon, my life, my honour my reason, are all at your mercy; if you fail me to-night I am lost. You might suppose, after this preface, that I am going to ask you for something dishonourable to grant. Judge for yourself.

“I want you to postpone all other engagements for to-night — ay, even if you were summoned to the bedside of an emperor; to take a cab, unless your carriage should be actually at the door; and with this letter in your hand for consultation, to drive straight to my house. Poole, my butler, has his orders; you will find, him waiting your arrival with a locksmith. The door of my cabinet is then to be forced: and you are to go in alone; to open the glazed press (letter E) on the left hand, breaking the lock if it be shut; and to draw out, with all its contents as they stand, the fourth drawer from the top or (which is the same thing) the third from the bottom. In my extreme distress of wind, I have a morbid fear of misdirecting you; but even if I am in error, you may know the right drawer by its contents: some powders, a phial and a paper book. This drawer I beg of you to carry back with you to Cavendish Square exactly as it stands.

“That is the first part of the service: now for the second. You should be back, if you set out at once on the receipt of this, long before midnight; but I will leave you that amount of margin, not only in the fear of one of those obstacles that can neither be prevented nor foreseen, but because an hour when your servants are in bed is to be preferred for what will then remain to do. At midnight, then, I have to ask you to be alone in your consulting-room, to admit with your own hand into the house a man who will present himself in my name, and to place in his hands the drawer that you will have brought with you from my cabinet. Then you will have played your part and earned my gratitude completely. Five minutes afterwards, if you insist upon an explanation, you will have understood that these arrangements are of capital importance; and that by the neglect of one of them, fantastic as they must appear, you might have charged your conscience with my death or the shipwreck of my reason.

“Confident as I am that you will not trifle with this appeal, my heart sinks and my hand trembles at the bare thought of such a possibility. Think of me at this hour, in a strange place, labouring under a blackness of distress that no fancy can exaggerate, and yet well aware that, if you will but punctually serve me, my troubles will roll away like a story that is told. Serve me, my dear Lanyon, and save Your friend, H. J.“

“P. S. I had already sealed this up when a fresh terror struck upon my soul. It is possible that the postoffice may fail me, and this letter not come into your hands until to-morrow morning. In that case, dear Lanyon, do my errand when it shall be most convenient for you in the course of the day; and once more expect my messenger at midnight. It may then already be too late; and if that night passes without event, you will know that you have seen the last of Henry Jekyll.”

Upon the reading of this letter, I made sure my colleague was insane; but till that was proved beyond the possibility of doubt, I felt bound to do as he requested. The less I understood of this farrago, the less I was in a position to judge of its importance; and an appeal so worded could not be set aside without a grave responsibility. I rose accordingly from table, got into a hansom, and drove straight to Jekyll’s house. The butler was awaiting my arrival; he had received by the same post as mine a registered letter of instruction, and had sent at once for a locksmith and a carpenter. The tradesmen came while we were yet speaking; and we moved in a body to old Dr. Denman’s surgical theatre, from which (as you are doubtless aware) Jekyll’s private cabinet is most conveniently entered. The door was very strong, the lock excellent; the carpenter avowed he would have great trouble and have to do much damage, if force were to be used; and the locksmith was near despair. But this last was a handy fellow, and after two hours’ work, the door stood open. The press marked E was unlocked; and I took out the drawer, had it filled up with straw and tied in a sheet, and returned with it to Cavendish Square.

Here I proceeded to examine its contents. The powders were neatly enough made up, but not with the nicety of the dispensing chemist; so that it was plain they were of Jekyll’s private manufacture; and when I opened one of the wrappers I found what seemed to me a simple crystalline salt of a white colour. The phial, to which I next turned my attention, might have been about half-full of a blood-red liquor, which was highly pungent to the sense of smell and seemed to me to contain phosphorus and some volatile ether. At the other ingredients I could make no guess. The book was an ordinary version-book and contained little but a series of dates. These covered a period of many years, but I observed that the entries ceased nearly a year ago and quite abruptly. Here and there a brief remark was appended to a date, usually no more than a single word: “double” occurring perhaps six times in a total of several hundred entries; and once very early in the list and followed by several marks of exclamation, “total failure!!!” All this, though it whetted my curiosity, told me little that was definite. Here were a phial of some tincture, a paper of some salt, and the record of a series of experiments that had led (like too many of Jekyll’s investigations) to no end of practical usefulness. How could the presence of these articles in my house affect either the honour, the sanity, or the life of my flighty colleague? If his messenger could go to one place, why could he not go to another? And even granting some impediment, why was this gentleman to be received by me in secret? The more I reflected the more convinced I grew that I was dealing with a case of cerebral disease: and though I dismissed my servants to bed, I loaded an old revolver, that I might be found in some posture of self-defence.

Twelve o’clock had scarce rung out over London, ere the knocker sounded very gently on the door. I went myself at the summons, and found a small man crouching against the pillars of the portico.

“Are you come from Dr. Jekyll?” I asked.

He told me “yes” by a constrained gesture; and when I had bidden him enter, he did not obey me without a searching backward glance into the darkness of the square. There was a policeman not far off, advancing with his bull’s eye open; and at the sight, I thought my visitor started and made greater haste.

These particulars struck me, I confess, disagreeably; and as I followed him into the bright light of the consulting-room, I kept my hand ready on my weapon. Here, at last, I had a chance of clearly seeing him. I had never set eyes on him before, so much was certain. He was small, as I have said; I was struck besides with the shocking expression of his face, with his remarkable combination of great muscular activity and great apparent debility of constitution, and — last but not least — with the odd, subjective disturbance caused by his neighbourhood. This bore some resemblance to incipient rigour, and was accompanied by a marked sinking of the pulse. At the time, I set it down to some idiosyncratic, personal distaste, and merely wondered at the acuteness of the symptoms; but I have since had reason to believe the cause to lie much deeper in the nature of man, and to turn on some nobler hinge than the principle of hatred.

This person (who had thus, from the first moment of his entrance, struck in me what I can only describe as a disgustful curiosity) was dressed in a fashion that would have made an ordinary person laughable; his clothes, that is to say, although they were of rich and sober fabric, were enormously too large for him in every measurement — the trousers hanging on his legs and rolled up to keep them from the ground, the waist of the coat below his haunches, and the collar sprawling wide upon his shoulders. Strange to relate, this ludicrous accoutrement was far from moving me to laughter. Rather, as there was something abnormal and misbegotten in the very essence of the creature that now faced me — something seizing, surprising, and revolting — this fresh disparity seemed but to fit in with and to reinforce it; so that to my interest in the man’s nature and character, there was added a curiosity as to his origin, his life, his fortune and status in the world.

These observations, though they have taken so great a space to be set down in, were yet the work of a few seconds. My visitor was, indeed, on fire with sombre excitement.

“Have you got it?” he cried. “Have you got it?” And so lively was his impatience that he even laid his hand upon my arm and sought to shake me.

I put him back, conscious at his touch of a certain icy pang along my blood. “Come, sir,” said I. “You forget that I have not yet the pleasure of your acquaintance. Be seated, if you please." And I showed him an example, and sat down myself in my customary seat and with as fair an imitation of my ordinary manner to a patient, as the lateness of the hour, the nature of my pre-occupations, and the horror I had of my visitor, would suffer me to muster.

“I beg your pardon, Dr. Lanyon,” he replied civilly enough. “What you say is very well founded; and my impatience has shown its heels to my politeness. I come here at the instance of your colleague, Dr. Henry Jekyll, on a piece of business of some moment; and I understood...” He paused and put his hand to his throat, and I could see, in spite of his collected manner, that he was wrestling against the approaches of the hysteria — “I understood, a drawer...”

But here I took pity on my visitor’s suspense, and some perhaps on my own growing curiosity.

“There it is, sir,” said I, pointing to the drawer, where it lay on the floor behind a table and still covered with the sheet.

He sprang to it, and then paused, and laid his hand upon his heart: I could hear his teeth grate with the convulsive action of his jaws; and his face was so ghastly to see that I grew alarmed both for his life and reason.

“Compose yourself,” said I.

He turned a dreadful smile to me, and as if with the decision of despair, plucked away the sheet. At sight of the contents, he uttered one loud sob of such immense relief that I sat petrified. And the next moment, in a voice that was already fairly well under control, “Have you a graduated glass?” he asked.

I rose from my place with something of an effort and gave him what he asked.

He thanked me with a smiling nod, measured out a few minims of the red tincture and added one of the powders. The mixture, which was at first of a reddish hue, began, in proportion as the crystals melted, to brighten in colour, to effervesce audibly, and to throw off small fumes of vapour. Suddenly and at the same moment, the ebullition ceased and the compound changed to a dark purple, which faded again more slowly to a watery green. My visitor, who had watched these metamorphoses with a keen eye, smiled, set down the glass upon the table, and then turned and looked upon me with an air of scrutiny.

“And now,” said he, “to settle what remains. Will you be wise? will you be guided? will you suffer me to take this glass in my hand and to go forth from your house without further parley? or has the greed of curiosity too much command of you? Think before you answer, for it shall be done as you decide. As you decide, you shall be left as you were before, and neither richer nor wiser, unless the sense of service rendered to a man in mortal distress may be counted as a kind of riches of the soul. Or, if you shall so prefer to choose, a new province of knowledge and new avenues to fame and power shall be laid open to you, here, in this room, upon the instant; and your sight shall be blasted by a prodigy to stagger the unbelief of Satan.”

“Sir,” said I, affecting a coolness that I was far from truly possessing,” you speak enigmas, and you will perhaps not wonder that I hear you with no very strong impression of belief. But I have gone too far in the way of inexplicable services to pause before I see the end.”

“It is well,” replied my visitor. “Lanyon, you remember your vows: what follows is under the seal of our profession. And now, you who have so long been bound to the most narrow and material views, you who have denied the virtue of transcendental medicine, you who have derided your superiors — behold!”

He put the glass to his lips and drank at one gulp. A cry followed; he reeled, staggered, clutched at the table and held on, staring with injected eyes, gasping with open mouth; and as I looked there came, I thought, a change — he seemed to swell — his face became suddenly black and the features seemed to melt and alter — and the next moment, I had sprung to my feet and leaped back against the wall, my arm raised to shield me from that prodigy, my mind submerged in terror.

“O God!” I screamed, and “O God!” again and again; for there before my eyes — pale and shaken, and half-fainting, and groping before him with his hands, like a man restored from death — there stood Henry Jekyll!

What he told me in the next hour, I cannot bring my mind to set on paper. I saw what I saw, I heard what I heard, and my soul sickened at it; and yet now when that sight has faded from my eyes, I ask myself if I believe it, and I cannot answer. My life is shaken to its roots; sleep has left me; the deadliest terror sits by me at all hours of the day and night; I feel that my days are numbered, and that I must die; and yet I shall die incredulous. As for the moral turpitude that man unveiled to me, even with tears of penitence, I cannot, even in memory, dwell on it without a start of horror. I will say but one thing, Utterson, and that (if you can bring your mind to credit it) will be more than enough. The creature who crept into my house that night was, on Jekyll’s own confession, known by the name of Hyde and hunted for in every corner of the land as the murderer of Carew. Hastie Lanyon.

[jiminspjm]

Hold me Tight + J. Jungkook [drabble]

❋ “hold me tight. hug me”

a/n: recently my mental health hasn’t been in a happy place & that’s why i have been somewhat inactive and my blog has been running on queue for a few days, minus the times im actually active, and my anxiousness is can tend to cloud my thoughts a bit. i wrote this to comfort myself and those who are a little lost right now and just need some light. i know the kpop world is dark right now and life is in general sometimes, but remember light can overcome darkness. this drabble is written in the “save me” universe, but it can be read alone. also unedited. this is dedicated to @guksthighs​ & @guksheart​ for really helping me through this past week. I love both of you dearly. thank you.

⇢ [characters ]: jeon jungkook x oc

⇢ [rated] : G - general audiences

⇢ [ genre ] : fluff, slight angst, comfort

⇢ [index] : 1.7k

⇢ [preface]: brief allusions of depression.

Warm, almost hot water, rained down on your body. Heat seeped into your skin, washing away the goosebumps that previously ran on the surface of your skin. Head tilted back, you wrapped your arms around yourself. Naked. Vulnerable. The shower always had a tendency to make you feel exposed even though you are alone. Standing in the glass chamber, the heat fogged the glass walls that surround you. 

Pinching at the skin of your arms, you bite down on the skin of your lips, feeling the knot begin to form in the back of your throat. You listened to the water softly hit the marble floor, creating a puddle by your feet before it went down the drain. A shuddery breath escaped your lips, the sound drowned out by the water of the shower. Deep breaths, inhale, exhale. You blinked through the tears, vision slightly fogged due to the water. You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, and slowly lowered yourself to the floor. 

Leaning against the glass, you hang your head. Water gently slapped the top of your wet hair, causing rivulets to run down your face. The tears and water mingled together as one, the sounds of your sobs were drowned out by the rapid water. You don’t register the quiet footsteps, or the squeak of the bathroom door open. 

“Y/n?” It’s barely a murmur. You don’t respond as you bring your knees to your chest, placing your face gently in the space where you’re knees meet. Your hair shields your face as you wrap your arms around your legs. 

The door to the shower opens gently, and then the water turns off. Drip. Drip. Water slides down from the shower head slowly, splashing gently into the pools of water on the shower floor. You don’t look up, not even caring that goosebumps rapidly begin to form on your skin once more. 

Jungkook kneels in front of you. He is just returning from the Ministry, it was a late night, well morning seeing as it was around 2AM. He doesn’t care that his slacks are becoming damp from the shower, or that his hair is wet from the rain that began to drizzle outside as he apparated on the doorstep of your home. 

Jungkook pulls his lips into a thin line, gently biting the skin as he kneels in front of your trembling figure. He reaches out to you, one arm underneath your knees and the other supporting your back. You jerk in his hold gently, placing your arm over your chest. 

“Your clothes will get wet.” You croak, not looking at him. Jungkook remains quiet, as he fully lifts your naked body from the shower floor. Stepping out of the glass chamber, he pulls you tighter to his warmth. 

“Mmm, it’s fine.” He speaks gently, walking out of the connected master bathroom and into the bedroom. The rush of cold meets your naked body. Immediate reaction causes you to curl into Jungkook. He pulls you closer as he walks to your shared bed and gently sits you down. Head still hung low, small shivers rack your body as you curl your toes into the fibers of the rug. Jungkook watches as you wrap your arms tightly around yourself. 

His socked feet disappear briefly from your vision shortly before he returns with a towel and kneels in front of you. Gently, he places a hand on your back, running his smooth fingertips along your spine, he pulls you forward from the edge of the bed to help you stand up. “C’mon sweetheart, need to dry you off,” He speaks gently. Nodding once, you allow him to pull you up from the bed. Once you have stood up, he pulls you arms away from your body, and starts to rub the towel along your skin. First he starts with your shoulders, running the towel along your arms and back. Moving down he then rubs your stomach, and your bottom gently. You look down at him as he presses the most gentle kiss on your abdomen. He looks up at you, and even though the room is only dimly illuminated by the moon, you can see the adoration and warmth pooling from his eyes. 

He makes his way down the rest of your body, before tossing the towel somewhere on the floor. Taking both his hands, he cups your cheeks gently. His rings are cool against your face as he rubs back and forth, fingers trailing against the dried tear streaks. His eyes flit over your face, concern embedded in his irises. 

“I love you,” he says, so quiet. Your lip wobbles, the familiar burn in the back of your eyes is present as you nod rapidly. With shaky hands you wrap them around his neck, pulling him closer to you. Jungkook grips your toil worn body closer, one hand tangling in your knotted, damp hair. The other wrapped tightly around your waist. The smell of linen and vanilla wrap themselves around you, easing the heaviness that has filled your body. Tears stream down your face, as you bite your lip to hold back the sob that threatens to break free. Shaking your head back and forth you feel your legs begin to give out, wanting to crumble onto the floor. Jungkook gripped your body, shaking his head gently. “I love you, so much. It takes so much grace, to not crumble when you are feeling like this.” His words are spoken gently into your hair, as he rocks your body back and forth. 

You nod once. Jungkook's hands slip away from your waist, as he pulls back to look at you. Wet cheeks and puffy eyes peered up at him. Your hands now rest on the silk of his dress shirt, fingering the buttons. No words are spoken as he pushes you gently to sit down again on the bed. Kneeling in front of you, he places his hands on your thighs. “Accio tissue box.” He says. You scrunch your brows together, as you follow his like of vision to a box of tissues that are now in his hand. 

“When did you learn wandless magic?” You ask, genuinely curious. Looking at him, Jeon looks flustered, even in the dim lighting you could see a warm pink seep across his tan skin. He hums a bit, plucking some tissues from the box as you sniffle again.

“Well, you’ve always been good at it, and I wanted to surprise you, so, surprise?” He says, a sheepish smile coming across his face, teeth making an appearance. A small smile overtakes your face as you look at your boyfriend. Returning the smile, he takes the tissues and gently pats the wetness that pooled beneath your eyes. Your eyes flutter as he pats your face. Standing up, he walks back into the bathroom and disposes of the tissues. 

Walking back into the closet, you watch him as he rummages through the drawers. Jungkook throws a shirt and underwear on the bench inside the closet, then proceeds to shed his own dress shirt and slacks before pulling on a pair of green pajama bottoms. 

Running his hand through his hair, he walks back over to you and gestures you to stand up. Obliging, you stand up and look up at him. 

“Arms up, love,” he speaks quietly. Raising your arms, he pulls one of his shirts over your body. The rosy smell of laundry softener briefly encompasses you as the shirt silks past your nose. Your head pops out, and Jungkook comes into view once more. Leaning behind you, he grabs your underwear and kneels in front of you holding out the fabric. Placing both hands on his shoulders, you put each of your feet in the holes and allow him to pull the cotton up your legs. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to press pecks against your thighs and tummy as he snaps the band around your waist. 

Standing up to his full height, he grabs your hand and pulls you to his side of the bed. Following him, you allow him to lay down. The bed frame creaks quietly, as he shuffles beneath the sheets for a moment. You watch him with amusement, as his hair gets ruffled from the pillow. A moment later, he pulls up the comforter and gestures you to join him. Looking down at him, tears began to well in your eyes once more as you look down at Jungkook. Your Jungkook. The embodiment of warmth, and serenity. Jungkook furrows his brows, watching the tears begin to pool in your eyes once more. His face softens as he sits up, his taut abdomen clenched as he moves through the sheets to grip your wrist. You allow him to pull your body into the sheets with him. Jungkook doesn’t speak as he shifts your weight on top of him-  pulling your thigh across his waist. Silent tears stream down your face as you lay your cheek on Jungkook’s chest, feeling his skin become wet. You swallow, holding back a choked sob. 

“I’m sorr-,” The rest of your sentence goes quiet, words not coming out from your mouth. Confused you try and speak. 

“You may have been always good at wandless magic,” Jungkook says, interrupting your thoughts, “...but you seem to forget I can do wordless casting,” Jungkook teased, gently. You snort, the sound non existent. Jungkook hums, before continuing. “Never apologize for feeling this way. You can’t help it. I will never resent you for it, I will always be here to hold you. Never forget that.” He finished quietly. “I will love you till the end of time, always.”

You don’t speak, looking out the window and watching the rain fall outside. It hits the window, before it joins the other drops. It took you a long time to realize that Jungkook is the sun, and you are the rain. Very different, but still relying on one another. Both helping one another grow, one day at a time. And even now as you lay here, the only sound present is Jungkook’s breathing and the soft pitter of the rain, after every storm there is a rainbow. You will always dance in the rain no matter how cold it is, to wait for the sun. To wait for Jungkook.