#it rlly rocked everyones world for a moment

[headfirstslide]

hearing "death loves you...break its heart" at 14

[valentiyne]

𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 & 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝖺𝗅𝗌 ☆ 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗎𝗆 𝗁𝗈𝗈𝖽

Calum Hood x Famous!Reader Summary: Requested! After 4 years of agreed no contact, one phone call and song takes back all that you've worked for. Warnings: Mild Cursing, Slight of Explicit Content. Word Count: 1k (not rlly proofread lol) Copyright © 2023 Valentiyne. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

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"So, Y/n tell us more about Calum Hood"

A name I hadn't heard in exactly 4 years to the very date.

48 months, 1461 days, and 35040 excruciating long fucking hours.

My face immediately lights up at the name nevertheless, brushing my hair behind my ear nervously,

"Hood? I'm not quite sure what this has to do with my upcoming EP coming out at midnight", I breathlessly laugh out, my eyes locking with the interviewer in front of me. My new work titled, "Bittersweet" was launching at midnight, only containing 4 songs to go along with the 4 bittersweet years I've spent away from him. It was hopeless of me to write about him, but he was the only source of inspiration I could find.

"Well you two had a bit of chemistry as far as we know, is that right?"

Sure we did. We spent over 6 years together on and off, but always came back to each other. He was my rock, my everything, but ultimately we knew it wasn't going to work out.

"Sure we did, I mean it was nothing but a mere innocent crush", I cross my legs now, my shaky hands clasped on top of my knees. The crowd was silent as excited fans packed into the small room to hear the soft launch before midnight.

"Well it was surely more than innocent", she motions to the screen next to us. "This picture was taken four years ago in Bali during the second leg of their tour", I mentally roll my eyes but smile anyway. A few people from the crowd squealed as the iconic picture of us in cuddled up on the beach was displayed, the same one he posted himself as an excuse to have me on his page.

"Like I said- It was a small crush" I was trying to convince myself more than everyone else.

I watch as the slideshow continues on, the screen filled with every single moment in time that Calum and I were spotted together across the world. A few innocent ones of us walking next to each other, to one taken on the balcony of a hotel. We were just kids who didn't know what they were doing- lost in the moment together. He will always have a place in my heart. When things ultimately ended, we both agreed to never speak again- it was only weighing each other down.

"Well I thank you for your time, I hope everyone enjoys the album and finds some comfort in the chaos", I stand up abruptly, extending my hand to shake the interviewer's hand. The crowd cheered quietly as I walked off the stage with a slight wave. I needed to get out of here, I felt like a complete idiot working myself up over someone that I no longer talked to.

I slipped past the stage crew as I shuffled out past the backdoors and towards the parking lot, my fingers fumbling with my keys as I tore my driver's door open and plopped down dramatically. The door shut behind me and I sighed to myself loudly,

That was fucking ridiculous, they didn't even ask anything about me. Just about someone I never wanted to mention. Of course, I could talk about him until the end of time, but it wasn't my place to do so anymore. He was playing sold-out shows every other day and had no worry about a girl back home who happened to have matching tattoos with him, right? The tattoo we shared was of a small flower underneath our ribs, the same flower he gave me on our one-year "situationshipversary" as he called it. It was a silly gesture that I treasured, the California wildflower that he pulled over on the side of the Pacific Coast Highway to pick during peak traffic on the way to my house. It now lay inside a small glass bottle hung around my neck, all wilted like our history.

I pull my phone from my purse, scrolling down to the bottom of my contact list, and clicking on the "DO NOT CALL!!!!" number. I hesitantly dial his number and bring it up to my ear,

"Hey! You reached Calum, I'm away from my phone right now but leave a message!", He declined it immediately, either that or his phone was dead. Not quite sure which one makes me feel better. I roll my eyes at the stupid prepubescent voice and turn my phone off.

I tossed my phone down onto my lap and leaned my head against the wheel. I subconsciously wanted to log back into my Instagram and scroll down an update page to find out anything about him. I had no idea what he was up to or who he was with, it's been years since I've last heard his voice.

"You know this isn't good for either of us, Y/n", he rang through my head as I remember standing on his porch in late July.

"Calum, we've been through this so many times- why can't we just try?"

He runs his hand through his freshly cut hair and shakes his head, "It never ends well, I feel like a fucking lost dog who always limps its way back to you.. I just- Fuck- I can't do thi-"

The last thing I remember was the door closing in my face, leaving me all alone with no closure. I could hear him on the other side, a thump on the door indicating he was leaning against it. I tried for the handle, jiggling it a few times before banging on it, begging for him to talk to me. I couldn't stay mad at him forever, as much as I wanted to. I wanted to scream at him, slap him in his beautiful face, and kiss him all at once.

My phone vibrating snapped me out of my thoughts and I looked down,

DO NOT CALL!!!!

My heart skips a beat, staring at my phone on my lap buzzing away. I bit my lip softly, pulling it closer to my face as I accepted the FaceTime call.

The camera was pointing to the ceiling when I answered, his voice booming loudly as he spoke.

"Hello?"

I let let a breath I didn't know I was holding, trying to gather the right words to say. What was I supposed to say after all this time?

"Cal?", my voice is softer than I had hoped for, the word slipping past my lip like it's begging to finally be let out.

"Holy shit", the camera shifts and he props it up against the wall, waving at me with one hand. Calum sits in his studio chair with his old bass in his lap, headphones pushed back against his long curly hair. His eyes are wide as he raises an eyebrow, "Shit, long time no see."

I adjust the camera against my steering wheel and scoot my seat back, allowing for a better view of myself as I smile innocently with an awkward wave. "Hi Cal, how ya been?" I see his eyes travel down to the necklace around my neck, my fingers dancing around the bottle as I speak.

"Shit, Y/n if I'd known it was you calling I would've answered way faster, I just had deleted your number-", he stops himself, looking up with a sympathetic crooked smile before sighing. I raise a hand up to reassure him instead, "Calum", god saying his name tugs at my heartstrings, "It's okay, I get it... we don't have to dance around it.. now what are you up to?"

He was lying, Calum hood was bluffing to my face and I had no idea. After all this time, he still had my contact listed as "My wildflower", but he couldn't dare admit to me that he didn't answer sooner because he was scared.

Scared of what I was going to say

Scared id tell him I found someone new

Scared of seeing or hearing me again

"I'm actually working on a song right now", he laughs and holds the iconic bass up, a small spot right under the strings that once had a star sticker I placed on it- now scraped off.

I make a face, reminding myself that that was the past and I shouldn't dwell on it too much, but seeing him happier without me didn't make me feel like I thought it would. A part of me wished he was as miserable as I was, cooped up in my room writing stupid songs that were confessing my raw feelings.

"What's it about?", I chirp up as he bends down to play a few notes on the keyboard next to him, assuming it's the intro.

"It's about someone that was in my life, uh someone you don't know- she came around afterward", he says slowly, not meeting my eyes through the screen. I just nod in agreement, opening my mouth to speak.

"Would you like to come over for dinner sometime this week?", The words flow out before I had time to think about it. As I wait for his response, I pick at my nails- a habit he absolutely hated. He would smack my hand out of my mouth every chance we were together, telling me "I'd get worms in my belly" I did stop for a while, but my bitten nails were the only reminder he was actually gone.

"Yeah, I would love to!- Look I'll let you go but we'll keep in touch alright?", He speaks quickly, his hand flying down in one swift movement. With that, he ends the FaceTime call and I'm left looking at my reflection. I looked dumbfounded, smiling to myself as wide as I could.

I couldn't let myself fall for this again, for him- we both knew it wasn't going to end well for either of us. But hell it's been 4 years and I've changed as a person, and by the looks of it, he has too.

My phone buzzed once, twice, and then three before I looked back up at it to see three new messages from none other than Hood.

DO NOT CALL!!!!: I kinda lied, you do know the person I wrote it about

DO NOT CALL!!!!: mp3.wildflower.calumdemo.rec

DO NOT CALL!!!!: my wildflower ;)

[strawberry-milkbunny]

Naruto is my Roman Empire and I’ve been reading MadaTobi fanfics so these r my Founders Thoughts that nobody asked for:

- Tobirama had a crush on Madara and it PISSED HIM OFF like they def had hate sex at one point LMAO

- they literally worked together ur rlly gonna tell me they didn’t have SOME moments of civility btwn them?? (lowkey that’s wild tho having to see ur brother’s murderer everyday at work-I like Tobi but I’m just sayin)

I WANT A WORKPLACE SITCOM WITH THE FOUNDERS SJSKKSKS:

- Tobi doing experiments and scaring the villagers

- Tobi teaming up with Madara to make Hashi do work

- Hashi making flowers w/government documents

- Mito sipping tea while encouraging Tobi to revive the dead

- everyone in the Tower side eying the sexual tension btwn Madara and Tobi and them never denying they’ve fucked before

- Toka cackling in the background

- Hikaku spraying water at Madara like a cat every time he throws a temper tantrum

- Kagami popping in to make sure his clan head doesn’t kill his teacher PERFECT SITCOM MATERIAL

- totally personal preference: Naruto should’ve had more BLOOD AND GORE. I wanna see the grittiness and horror the shinobi world actually is and how revolutionary Naruto as a character is by choosing peace over violence. The only time we get that is Obito vs Kiri nin, Uchiha Massacre, Wave Arc, Orochimaru…before it turns into DBZ fights

I’ve said this before: Sasuke was in a seinen Naruto was in a shounen

- the warring states is literally the perfect place for exhibiting the horrors of war and humanity. Bloodline thieves, child hunting squads, GIVE. IT. TO. ME. Madara and Hashirama experiencing all of this and wanting PEACE FOR THEIR YOUNGER BROTHERS UGHHH ROBBERY‼️‼️

SORRY TW IMPLIED SA !!:

I HC that bloodline thieves is prob why Madara wears gloves….being a YOUNG (he’s been on the battlefield since he was 8??) powerful, prodigy and future clan head of a famous kekkai genkai it makes sense why he doesn’t like skin-contact/sexual repression and repulsion. And why we don’t see female Uchiha shinobi (excluding misogyny) simply bc there’s such a high risk of SA in this era

Moving on:

- Tobi and Izuna were jealous of how their brothers were being taken away. It goes past the senju/uchiha rivalry like they were just kids and were plain jealous.

- Madara and hashirama def share 1 brain cell LOLLL. Like they’re besties for a reason, Madara acts likes he smarter but nah he’s as much of an idiot as Hashi is. They’re both dreamers let these boys live and skip rocks together!!! 😭😭

- let’s be honest: Tobi built the village. Mans was doing ALL the logistics and infrastructure

- tobirama is soooo second son/eldest daughter coded it’s not even funny. The SPARE, serious and emotionless bc he needed to always clean up after his siblings, DUTIFUL, prob has a praise kink etc.

- Madara is an eldest daughter who also prob has a praise kink and touch starved

- NONE of the founders r well adjusted like they went from spending everyday of their lives at war to tryin bring peace and start essentially a ninja-revolution (PLS GO TO THERAPY)

- madara was just the most open about it: being isolated and feared by his own clan BC he was powerful, trying advocate for the village and peace, all while grieving for his last brother…yeah it makes sense y he went crazy or at least wanted to leave (fuck Kishimoto for that Kaguya bs and fuck Zetsu)

- I don’t actually believe he was trying destroy the village idkkk. I think he was trying to do an SNS aka using fighting as a way to communicate with Hashirama and well…yIkEs

- tobirama is 1000% unadjusted: mans literally created a Justu to revive the dead. You cannot tell me that doesn’t REEK of desperation and loneliness. He’s lit rally the OG mad scientist

- hashirama rlly thought sealing the Bijuu and giving them to each village was a good idea….sir WHO TF GIVES NUCLEAR WEAPONS TO SHINOBI???!! 😳😳

- I think hashirama and naruto lowkey can be summed up as: a powerful idealist. Which is a very dangerous combination. Take that how you will especially considering how shinobi thrive off of violence….it kinda makes sense how we ended up with canon Naruto

- Madara has a god complex and knows it. Hashirama has a god-complex and doesn’t know it. (God of Shinobi title def got to him and understandable)

- the founders failed and they know it. But I also kinda love it?? They’re so flawed and human as leaders and you can see how their mistakes drag into Canon Naruto. It also makes me so sad knowing that Konoha was built to prevent child soldiers and give protection only for it to actually be WORSE (Kakashi ITACHI SANNIN ik for a fact it must’ve hurt Hashi to know ur own granddaughter left the village)

Uchiha are: love is the death of duty while the Senju are: duty is the death of love and neither of them will forgive each other for picking one over the other‼️‼️‼️

- proving this ^^ w/Hashirama’s weird af characterization: aka him being a loveable idiot but at the same time CONGRATULATING Itachi for killing his own clan for Konoha…. I feel like that rlly showed me how much of a war veteran/shinobi Hashirama actually is and how he will always pick duty

- we were ROBBED of baby Kagami/hokage Kagami 😤😤😤 I’m sorry Kagami should’ve been made Hokage it just makes sense personality wise and politically wise. The only way I could see him not take it is bc he needed to be a clan leader/placate the Uchiha/help Hikaku.

- I wanna see him process the loss of his clan leader, teacher, and eventually friends to a point where Danzo takes his eyes

- everyone on Team Tobirama had a crush on Kagami at one point

- one of my fav HC: Tobi and Madara co-parenting Kagami. There’s no way Madara didn’t check up on Kagami being taught by THE senju which makes his defection hit harder for Kagami 😭😭

- BABY SANNIN ‼️‼️‼️ Tsunade was old enough to meet and remember Hashirama it makes sense that Oro and Jiraiya meet the founders

- omg could u imagine being Edo Tensei Hashirama?? Ur granddaughter’s weird friend revives u using the Jutsu ur brother invented that you specifically FORBID 😭😭

- Hashi and Tobi staring at Orochimaru like “you look familiar???” IT HAS SO MUCH COMEDIC POTENTIAL

- Mito revolutionized female shinobi like she’s def the reason ppl realized that girls can fight (Senju Toka was an exception) STAN MITO 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

- Mito pulled a Tsunade and mentally yeeted out of Konoha after Hashi and Tobi died. Bc the way we NEVER hear about her and Hiruzen interacting except for Kushina, even tho she’s literally RELATED to the other 2 hokages….ROBBED 😵‍💫

- I HC: she was dealing w/grief (the fall of Uzushio made it worse) and she was lowkey pushed out of the council by Danzo FUCK DANZO

- I love the idea of Mito wooing for Hashirama’s hand/politically smart Mito!! It was a political marriage that grew into love. There’s no way she DIDNT suspect an attack on Uzushio lik it’s literally an island w/Kiri as it’s neighbours….Konoha gets recognition and stability while Uzushio importantly gets mainland allies

- Mito tops btw she’s def pegged Hashi before 🫢

- if Madara or Hashi had sisters/born women they would’ve def had a marriage to solidify their alliance. This makes Japanese homophobia not make sense esp in the shinobi world bc their clans trusted each other w/o backup like marriage?? Idk I’m just kinda confused y it was never even brought up for an alliance…

*cue MadaTobi arranged marriage au 100k, enemies to lovers, slowburn*

- also to dude bros homophobia has no place in the Naruto world (and IRL BTW) outside of making heirs. They’re literally MERCENARIES You telling me Kakashi has never fucked another man for information before??? Pls be serious I’m begging y’all 🙃🙃🙃

- there’s def family drama amongst the senju!! Idk I feel like Hashirama and Tobirama have the relationship of: “they love each other but don’t like each other” which makes Madara’s inclusion even worse for the brothers’ relationship. Like they def always had each other’s backs but never actually felt like they understood each other.

- I wish more fanfics/canon covered the shinobi-civilian politics more (I love politics lol give me world-building kishimoto 😤)

- Civilians hold power. THEY have all the MONEY to pay shinobi

- I’ve rlly only seen 1 fanfic that involves the Fire Daimyo during the Warring States Era (Into the Wide Blue Yonder it’s a KakaSasu Time travel fic that actually ✨works✨ 12/10 recommend) but it’s true.

Wtf is the Fire Daimyo doing during this era??? Why is he being so placate about Senju/Uchiha war unless he just sees it as entertainment?? How have shinobi NOT fought against rich civilian politicians before?? (Introducing Maoism to the naruto world lol 🤔🤔)

- Kishimoto curse ur goldfish brain….

- the uchiha and senju were def broke in this era, LMAO especially the Uchiha and I mean resource wise. War is EXPENSIVE the Uchiha don’t have Hashirama and Mokutan, they couldn’t just grow food whenever they wanted. It makes total sense that they would agree to a ceasefire just to prevent STARVATION

- once again…. robbed in terms of seeing the aftermath and devastation of war and learning how to live in a morally grey, politically unstable, resource limited world which could’ve brought in the ultimate themes of peace and the cycle of violence, and the question of if violence and war is ever justified, but…..no ❤️

[ghostlykeyes]

i rlly like your work, heartsteel needs more content tbh,, so ty!! ANYWAY,

i liked the general relationship/kiss hcs w kayn, would u be able to do that for the other two as well?? if that makes sense

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HEARTSTEEL YONE: RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS ♡ Gender Neutral ♡ SFW, with light touching/sensuality ♡ TW: Some alcohol usage/food mentions ♡ I've done Sett's kisses here (X) and relationship HCs here (X), and Yone's kisses here (X) ! (will I remember to come back and edit those links in??? only time will tell)

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YONE

No matter where you go, Yone brings you on fantastic dates. It's never popular tourist-trap type outings, either. If you ask how the hell he even found out about your date locations, he smiles coyly and says he can't reveal his sources. Regardless, expect lots of breathtaking, original dates—hidden trails that spill into breathtaking clumps of wildflowers, a hole-in-the-wall burger joint with the best fries you've had in tour entire life, tiny sculpture parks with some truly absurd statues (he absolutely refuses to delete the unflattering pic of you squatting next to a caked-up stone Sasquatch).

He isn't on his phone often, so don't be surprised if Yone doesn't text you back quickly or is overly-formal with his messages. Wild horses couldn't drag a silly emoji or a meme out of him. If you're lucky, you'll get a red heart, but that's about it. He tries not to make you feel neglected just because he's a dry texter, though. Especially when he's on tour, he calls you to check in whenever he's got a spare moment.

Yone's a chronic meal-skipper so he really appreciates if you share your food with him. Be warned, though, if you force him to step away from work and sit down for dinner you're either getting five minutes and a cup of instant ramen, or he's cooking you a three course meal complete with different appetizer, entree, and dessert wines. There's no in-between.

While Yone's not a fan of PDA, he holds your hand through every big event you're forced to attend. He doesn't appreciate the attention and flashing lights, but your warm, reassuring grip keeps him calm and relatively content.

Matching outfits are a little bit too much, but Yone is all for wearing clothing that compliments yours. Think similar textures, colors, and cuts. If you're wearing athleisure, he'll throw on a pair of stylish sweatpants. You're rocking the all black fit, so is he (with a pop of color in his earrings, probably—if he's completely monochrome, Kayn accuses him of "stealing his look"). Though he thinks it's a little cringy to be exact matches, he's definitely down to coordinate.

Whenever Yone makes himself a coffee, he whips up a glass of your favorite beverage as well. Nothing is too complicated—if you want a latte, he can make any flavor, and he'll pour the foam into a heart shape on top. Boba? No problem, he's got tapioca pearls in your favorite flavor and large straws on hand, to boot. A mimosa? Okay, he might raise his eyebrow at that one and point out that it's like eleven A.M.—nevertheless, if it's a mimosa you want, then it's a mimosa you'll get. Part of this is because he loves you, of course, but also? He hates sharing his coffee and figures that you won't ask for a sip if you've got your own drink.

Yone absolutely melts when you take care of him. He's used to looking after everyone else's wants and needs, so it's a pleasant surprise when someone extends that same care and attention to him. Cook him his favorite meal or take care of his laundry when he's been extra busy, and he looks at you like you're the eight wonder of the world. "You didn't have to do that for me," he cups your face gently, sweeping an appreciative kiss over your forehead. "But I'm glad that you did."

Chivalry is not dead and Yone's the man giving it CPR. Count on him to be the perfect gentleman. He opens every door for you, takes your coat whenever you drop by his studio, and no, under no circumstances will he let you pull out your own chair.

Yone's pet-names are sweet and classic. Most often, he calls you 'my darling', but he'll occasionally pepper in a 'dearest' or 'lover' for variety.

One of Yone's favorite ways to spend a free evening with you is sneaking into underground music shows. The two of you will turn up to somebody's house where the living room has been cleared to throw together a makeshift stage, or an abandoned warehouse with people clustering together and swaying to synthetic beats blasting through mid-grade speakers. More often than not, the musicians aren't that good (but that's par for the course with these kind of shows). The atmosphere can't be beat, though. And, when you do stumble upon somebody's garage band that actually goes hard, it's always an exciting surprise. Yone always keeps cash on him in case somebody's selling merch. He snags two stickers, one for you to keep and one to paste on his guitar case. What better way to commemorate shitty bands and crowded house shows than with matching stickers?

If you tag along with him on tour or business trips, Yone's first mission is to scout out a good coffee shop. Of course he takes you along, and buys you whatever little treats catch your eye. Sweets, sandwiches, snacks—anything he notices you ogling behind the glass, he orders for you.

Even with his massively packed schedule Yone NEVER, EVER forgets an important date. Expect gifts on birthdays and anniversaries, and extra love and support on dates that might be difficult for you.

Since Sett's a master crocheter, Yone pays him a frankly absurd amount to make you a plushie that looks like his fox mask. Yone knows that it can't be easy for you, with him away touring or on business so much of the time. The stuffed snuggle-buddy, he hopes, can ease your loneliness when he's away. Before he sets off on a long trip he makes sure to spritz your stuffie with his cologne, so that you can squish it in your sleep and dream that he's right there with you.

Yone's not a huge cuddler. Too much physical attention can make him feel smothered. The exception is when you sit on his lap. He loves when you settle onto him while he's working. As long as you're quiet and still (he doesn't want you to disturb his flow, after all), he basks in your comfortable warmth and the adorable way you tuck yourself into his chest.

[kroosluvr]

persona (royal trio) tennis au. SAVE ME

- goro sumire and akira sometimes detest it whne the other 2 watch their matches. so they have a little hand signal thjng which is basically “fuck off for half an hour and see if i’m winning. if i don’t give u the signal again then stay”

- sumire takes notes of point scores and unforced errors and double faults when she watches goro and akira. which is partly why it’s a lot of pressure on them when their opponents r tough LMFOAKDJSJSJ she can’t help it tho she just is Like that

- in an almost comical sense, they absolutely refuse to date each other even tho it’s obvious to everyone and their mother that they rlly like each other. goro says “i don’t have time for such pointless things” akira says “well i dunno, i mean what we got going right now is pretty good already” sumire says “oh no i could never, i’d feel bad since i dedicate so much time to tennis” as if 1) goro doesn’t spend every waking moment w them already 2) akira… then aren’t you already dating 3) they’re both insane tennis players too you’re all in the same boat sumire. everyone thinks it’s absolutely ridiculous but also admirably endearing. it’s just so Them. they’ll figure it out one day

- goro likes indoor gym and exercises i.e running on the treadmill and weights and etc while akira much prefers outdoor exercises like hiking, biking, swimming, rock climbing… basically anything like that. “it’s more exciting! and you get fresh air and the lovely outdoors. isn’t it boring seeing only gray-on-gray weights and gym and then tennis courts all the time?” “no” “well like it or not i signed you up for my next triathlon” “HUH?”

- sumire doesn’t rlly have a preference! she likes doing runs around the city though

- in this au sumi and kasumi have a sort of . complex relationship. sumire’s inferiority complex combined with intense competitive spirit means she feels really conflicted all the time in regards to her sister’s support. kasumi doesn’t rlly go to sumire’s matches a lot (mostly due to her own gymnastics schedule, understandable) but also sumire feels a weird pressure to perform whne kasumi is there. to prove “see, i carved my own path. this is my passion, my power lies here, just like with your gymnastics.” and if she loses, then wouldn’t that just be cementing her second place? so sumire has to win.

- in this au royal trio r the closest w each other and as for the thieves, not really. the thieves all know of the royal trio since wow they sure carry shujin’s reputation on their backs, somehow making shujin an almost world renown name (soon enough)! i’d say mishima is a huge fan of akira of course, and he dreams of being a sports reporter, so he always writes articles on the royal trio and faithfully follows their tourney schedules and the like.

- ok i’m sleepy aaaaaaA Goodnight. hehe

[bluebellswood]

Preludes

1. West Prelude (West + East)

Location of Festival: City of Wealth, Heavenly Imperial Palace?

Akira and Chloe being worried while Shylock Murr and Rustica.. if u lived that long nothing worries u much anymore HAHHAHA

Chloe is so gonna get bald from stress from these grandpas

Rustica losing sense of time even tho he's a mid range wizard age afdsnjfdg NO im surprised he even remembered that since his memory us like a goldfish

When Antonio said Akira had no charms and the Eastern wizard all went huh together.. they so cute.. thanku for getting angry on Akira's behalf uuuueu piennn

I like the display where Shino Faust and Nero responded to the situation and what they should have done

>Shino? Getting rid of humans. Eastern

>Faust? Being prepared and leading. Central

>Nero? Getting someone stronger to deal with it since the weaker ones have no power. Northern

Old Murr stubborn. Doesnt want to cooperate bc he wants to continue his research on gambling

Old MurrShy. What else do I have to say

Shylock betting his bar and current Murr losing the gamble...

Old Murr gave up and

WHY? BC SHYLOCK'S BAR IS IMPORTANT TO HIM... his favourite... he cant lose it

oh god it hits so different after second anni... knowing that it is where he turns to where he hits rock bottom.. when he has no one else, when he has nowhere else to go to.......... shylock and his bar is murr's constant..........................................

2. Central Prelude (Central + South)

Location of Festival: Mesa, cursed ancient city. Oz (+figgy) destroyed the place... spirit cursing them (tbf the city hunts wizard so I think its only far. karma)

Owen's eyeball protected Cain <3

Moment of danger and Arthur remembered his childhood with Oz... god..... when Oz said he prayed for

Wizard king, the Devil, the strongest Wizard, he has all the power in the world and he stilled prayed for Arthur's happiness and health because its something he cant control even if he wants to grant Arthur it--- wants to prevent Arthur from suffering and going through hardship.... that is all he wanted from the world.

also oh my god Oz being scared of Arthur dying before him....

Oz sounded so urg i dont know whats the word. desperate? so like urggjdfgndgdngslkdg

FUDGE MITHRA LIZARD TELLING MITILE TO RUN AWAY AND GOING NOPENOPENOPE IS SO FUNNY man aint dealing with this shit TT

Lennox telling Figaro he's a better person than Figaro the funniest shit ever. Yes, tell him what he deserved.

But I rlly like Lennox's words. Even if Figaro and Oz are Northern wizards at the core, their nature does change.. people's nature change but they're still them at the core (what am i cooking)

Oz found Arthur and starts to appreciate peace and whatnot

Figaro being protective for the Mitile and Rutile...... (tbh i cant say much on this part bc while he is protective he is also. scratches head. figgy things)

Login Story, AJSDJDAJ SNABAKA AGAIN.

Futago sensei: we lack something

Owen: Cream. I could eat more cream.

Futago sensei: NO. we lack teamwork. locking everyone up till u compliment each other

Sanbaka: lets fight them so we can get out of the room. its better than complimenting each other (thats a form of teamwork... i guess....)

OK BUT THE EAST ONE SO WARMING... FAUST SENSEIIIII... ordering everyone to rest bc he knows Shino and the like will push themselves bc they dont know their limit yet ueueueu looking out for everyone... sensei ever...

2. East Prelude (East+ North)

oh i think it’s been a few weeks since i reread so my thoughts are all jumbled up now but East Prelude is indeed my favourite

[chaos-has-theories]

Okay wait I know I'm going to procrastinate this Forever so uhhhh,, well first of all basic silley worldbuilding

Everyone has their own Magic Thing they can do <3 like it's not Only that but that's what they're good at it's like. Circles. U can do Ur Thing easily, it comes naturally. U can learn things similar to it with a bit more difficulty,, and so on and so forth. U can learn stuff further from Ur Thing!! But it generally requires special training and is hard to do even then,, and there r limits,,,, so someone who's main power revolves around fire might be able to do smth with steam or lava given enough time and effort but definitely not. Water or rocks

There's like. Parallel universes. Bc I want there to be <3 the one most of my ocs come from is one where most ppl can use magic in some capacity,, I don't have names so they r world1 (<-ppl have magic) and world2 (<-ppl don't)

The other one is. Later. And almost no one there can use magic and it turns out magic is a finite resource and just existing in that world as a magic user is a Massive power boost bc no one is using it,, not to use the fire thing again but if ur power in world1 was "light candle" it's now more like "massive bonfire on command"

There r ways from world1 to world2 but not any ways back (as far as anyone knows. Also as far as I know bc I haven't thought abt that)

oc basics I guess

Orion: was raised as an assassin/thief since a very young age, lost his mentors to. Idk smth dramatic and violent probably. Blacked out and when he came to again he had an eldritch deity in the back of his head going awwwww over every single puny mortal being it sees,,, he carried on with the assassin thing bc well. That's his job. Except Eldritch Deity likes to properly possess him all the time bc it thinks mortal beings r So Cute and Interesting,,, he gets Cool Powers from it so it could be worse but he's always rlly close to messing up and getting caught abdjdndjdn. And eventually it does happen and his face gets put on wanted posters everywhere and now he's on the run

Osian: it stumbled into world2 by accident as a small child and got picked up by a family in a little village nearby,, it didn't realise at the time that magic was Rare so it was using it all the time (it's powers at the time were animating little clay figures/toys/whatever,, making them come to life to be playmates,, it's actually more than that but it was like 7 so who can blame it) and news spread and it kind of got. Kidnapped by the local nobility,,,,, got treated like a prince but was never allowed to go anywhere and spent a lot of its time just. Making those living dolls,,,, they were all little tiny things made of wood to help w makeup/to do up buttons/etc. And it never gets to see its family from before. And one day smth happens and one of those members of the nobility dies, idk how. But osian is the first to find them. And after a brief moment of panic it's like wait. Hang on I might be able to use this. And it makes its first life size puppet and long story short by the time I want the plot of this potential story to happen, osian is puppeting the entire government of this part of the world and then some

Also I forgot abt alchemist/eden/whatever their name is bc I literally can't pick one. He's just an alchemy apprentice having a good time

YOOOOO I found your ask again!! All of this sounds so incredibly cool I swear

the eldritch being just wants to pet the humans... Osian my beloved...

Also I love that context for that one art of it with the puppets. go control the government I've got yo flower

[1kook]

viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not so sure. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.” 

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

Oh, you loved this man. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

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

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

“I thought he was cool before.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whimper. “That hurt.” 

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

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

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

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

Of course. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s true. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I kinda do—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you. 

epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

epi-epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[misticloyal]

Silly Little HeadCannons

Post Season 2 right, everyone’s one da big flying ship to try and figure out wtf they’re gonna do about the bone demon trying to take over the world.

Everyone’s tired and unmotivated, fights were breaking out and so in an effort to lighten up the mood Mei is trying to teach everyone modern media culture.

.

Obviously this goes extremly well considering her target audience is:

1 hyperactive kid

1 fire demon from the pits of the netherworld

2 immortal monkey (I’m including Macaque because I can)

1 nerd

1 pig cook man

.

SO first things first, Mei starts off with some simple stuff first, the whip and nae nae, some simple vine references, funny twitch emotes (PogChamp, KEKW, sadpeepo) etc. MK probably knows most of this already but he’s not as involved w/ media as Mei is anyway so this is just like- a refresher for him.

Shit starts to go down when they get to the tik Tok dances though

-The finger dances people do broke Pigsy’s mind the moment they added more then like 2 steps so he dipped and because Tang is a simp he went with him LOL

-Macaque and Wu Kong were actually doing well...Like really well. They were doing so well they got competitive and started a dance off. Red Son, MK, and Mei just kinda watched and started a mini-betting pool for who would win. Mei also vlogged it and tagged it as #enemies-to-lovers-amirght-chat to which made MK wheeze when he looked over her shoulder

-They tried Tik Tok filters and Snapchat filters on the monkeys to see if it would recognize their faces and it was interesting until MK got a hold of the iPhone emoji filter, all hell broke lose after that

-Mei tried teaching everyone how to throw it back and MK tried so hard he kneed himself in the face which cause Red Son to loose it. Man by the time Wu Kong was done looking him over for a nose bleed Mei and Red Son were fucking dying on the ground laughing. (Fun fact this happened irl to me and I still never live it down to my friends LMAo)

-Macaque was taught how to make thirst traps. I have no more to say on the matter that's it, he learned how to make them and was like “Alright cool, good, awesome even. I’m totally not going to do this in my spare time”

-Wu Kong for the whole experience wasn’t rlly into it as long as no one was getting hurt but there was ONE filter that Mei insisted he try out. It was ‘what is your red flag’ and he got ‘Thinking you don’t have a red flag’ 

.

-Obviously the immortals and the demon weren’t really as familiar with modern music since yes they were exposed to modern culture but they didn’t really participate in it to the extreme. Like the most Red Son knows about music that isn’t Cultural Chinese is EDM because of MK and both Macaque and Wu Kong probably only know what they hear out on the streets just passing by.

So once they find out what modern genres MK and Mei and being held at gunpoint man. 

Macaque will not stop blasting classical goth/ goth rock around the ship, Wu Kong comes after him with his own speaker chasing him around with Phonk and Pop playing full volume (which side note, makes MK feel more connected to him as a dad figure cuz it’s like ‘awww I listen to EDM and he listens to Phonk they’re kinda similar what a father/son moment ✨).

Red Son was given his own pair of headphones for the first time in his life and every week when everyone gets together to share their favorite song (it was a bonding activity enforced by MK and Mei ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ) he’d be like ‘Oh yeah, I saw this song and thought it was pretty neat’ and then play literal screamo and Thrash Metal. He also thinks Chinese Death/Black Metal is cool too, but it has to be the type with lots of yelling not just instruments.

MK quickly made sure that just bc Red Son listens to Metal and Macaque is into goth music that they don’t become friends (cuz like- he gives Macaque the benefit of the doubt but he still doesn’t trust him so stay away from his mans ig LmaO) but when the conversation ended up happening between the three of them, MK just got an earful from Red Son and Macaque about how alt music isn’t the same and 

“JUST BECAUSE WE LISTEN TO THE SAME OVERALL UMBRELLA OF MUSIC DOESN’T MEAN WE LIKE EACH OTHER NOODLE BOY!”

“Yeah kid, you think I would be friends with someone who listens to metal? Sheesh-”

“WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN B-”

.

-When Mei handed Wu Kong the phone to pick a trend to learn as a group he accidentally clicked a cupcakke remix...

There were so many, and they all were so bad;;

Red Son immediately blew up in flames once hearing the lyrics of WAP on autotune being blasted

MK wheezed so hard he thinks he blew a lung

Macaque gazed sadly over the border of the ship and tried to calculate how much it would hurt if he jumped

Mei was trying to get the phone back by jumping Wu Kong

Wu Kong was scarred for life

Tang was documenting everything in his journal

Pigsy dipped for a second time

[pencildragons]

some assorted merlin headcanons:

word has it around camelot that merlin's favourite food is blueberries. this is incorrect. his favourite food is blackberries. he is deathly allergic to blueberries.

arthur found this out the hard way

that bracelet he wears in season 1?? gwen gave it to him. i don’t CARE that they’d known each for like 2 days gwen immediately saw this man and though he Will Be My Friend and then made him a friendship bracelet and nobody stopped her (i love u dork)

in ealdor the Thing He Is Known For is falling into ponds. that’s it. ‘oh who’s that?’ ‘that? that’s merlin. he falls into ponds.’

he almost set Will on fire as a child and will teased him mercilessly to his death about it. off-scene moments before death bitch literally made a joke abt at least he wasn’t set on fire and merlin strangled him then and there.

he can freaking shape shift. like man, how cool is that?? his shape of choice is an EAGLE rather than a merlin, but. the thing is. the way he figured out he could shapeshift was he sneezed one day and suddenly he was a goldfish

GODDAMN my man loves lancelot. he’s the og lancelot fan. he started the lancelot appreciation club and literally the entire round table, gwen, and a couple of randoms off the street are part of it. it’s a great hit. ironically, lancelot doesn’t know it exists.

he made gwaine a Bag of Holding but it’s just for apples. all that’s in the bag is apples, all the way down. gwaine proposed to him on the spot when he got it

he’s left handed BUT arthur taught him to use a sword with his right hand which is why he’s not,,,, fantastic (also because my man just Isn’t Good With Swords) BUT elyan sees him cutting some stuff up one day, yknow. with his left hand. and Realises and as a fellow leftie decides to train him and confuse the HELL out of everyone the next time merlin’s part of training

it works

oh! he was born on samhain, which does play into the fact that he’s immortal, because usually babies born on samhain die,,,, but he didn’t

this did lead to a lot of people being suspicious of he and his mother as he grew up

he didn’t do a lot to help this, admittedly

so y’know how babies can’t really control their limbs when their young?? yeah well merlin couldn’t control his magic

kid would just start spinning and shit right out of his cradle while hunith was having people over for dinner which was. interesting

his entire eyeball was completely golden until he was about 8. it used to freak ppl out so he just. stopped making eye contact

when he’s REALLY angry his eyes just start changing colour,,,,,

there is a Reason why he doesn’t get angry very much

lancelot saw it once and he was Shook forever

gwaine saw it and Immediately decided that it was the coolest thing

he is waiting for the day that merlin cracks because that will be the day that Shit Goes Down

in the 15th century merlin will discover coffee. a caffeinated merlin is a merlin that the world is not ready for

you know how he can speak to dragons? well that extends to all reptiles now. one day a snake starts talking to him and he just shrugs and rolls with it. whatever. this is normal

this is Not Normal

poor arthur walks in on him one day to find him fucking hissing at a twenty-foot python

he and gwen are at the very top of camelot’s rumour mill. they see everything. they hear everything. they know everything. they can also control it >:)

one day merlin’s had enough of arthur and goes to complain in the kitchens

arthur the next day: merlin WHY did i just get called in front of my father on allegations of being in love with a statue??

merlin, pouring a potion of itching into his bath: .....i really couldn’t say, sire

this continues for a while until arthur catches on

in retaliation he writes a letter to hunith detailing all the dumb things her son has gotten up to over the years

the effect is devestating

(as in: merlin doesn’t speak to him for a week)

my man can SEW. his mother was a seamstress and taught him how to make clothes to sell at market the next village over

he loves embroidery, and he also helps gwen out sometimes and they gossip

his magic acts up a lot when he’s sick or tired

this includes turning the sky green and wine into soup

at the same time

while at a banquet

arthur just wants to know why there’s soup in his goblet

he’s,,,,,, really uncomfortable with the druids’ worship of him, bc they see him as akin to a god and their savour and post-camlann they’re going ‘oh mighty emrys the rule of the pendragons has passed onto the once and future queen finally magic can be freed’ and he just loses it

too bad gwaine didn’t get to see it

or anything else, ever

he and morgana pretended to court for a while just so they could absolute SCANADALISE uther, and also to make arthur jealous. they fake-eloped at one point and uther charged merlin with high treason

he got charged with high treason a lot actually, and not just in camelot. he is now a wanted criminal in four different kingdoms

losing morgana (the first time after the poisoning) absolutely DESTROYED him and he became rlly recluse until she came back, which started the descent into who he becomes in s4/5

he is Small and Angry and he will throw hands with Literally Everyone

merlin is no longer allowed swords in public

he’s also tone-deaf but thinks he’s not, and it drives arthur, who’s very musical, absolutely INSANE

he gets his hands on the medieval equivalent of a kazoo and has stopped two bandit attacks and three assassination attempts to date with the ~Power Of Annoyance~

one of those assassination attempts took place during a council meeting and merlin just whips out his kazoo and starts playing

he gets charged with high treason again for that

he is TERRIBLE with plants and kills every single of one of them

he once woke arthur up by climbing through the window on the 9th floor of the castle or whatever and rattling the window pane until arthur woke up and nearly tried to kill him because he thought he was an intruder

he has tried to consume rocks but elyan stopped him

idk i just love him, i’ll probably do some more of others later ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[marshmallowprotection]

hey kait do you mind if just. go insane over here.

like, you see, i hate getting into arguments/drama/conflict. i hate it so much it causes me physical discomfort. it's horrible, really, like my heart clenches and breathing gets ejsjsksm (idk how to explain) and i start crying and i feel so terribly upset and icky for the rest of the day. its insane. and yet i still somehow manage to always, ALWAYS, get into it (more like i start it tbh but hcndbd) and it's always SO BAD. and the worst part is that right now, it's shipping discourse. SHIPPING DISCOURSE. can you believe this? this is like, the low of the low. jesus christ. i am actually feeling like shit over shipping discourse oh my god. and it's on TWO (2) social media platforms, as if it couldn't get any worse. now obviously i can't retreat, i have entirely too much pride for that, like that would be super embarrassing. i would rather get death threats, on god. so instead i settle for feeling like shit and also getting called crazy by other ppl. but anyways the whole thing is theres this ship in a fandom i rlly like and it's a pretty popular ship, every time those characters get any kind of content together everyone agrees that they're gay, you know? but i hate that ship and it feels creepy as hell to me. bc the characters met when one of them was 14 and the other 17 and they're currently 19 and 22. and i think that shipping them is weird bc one of them has been an adult for a while now and the other is just now becoming one, and like, the idea of the an adult catching feelings for a teenager they've known for a while right after they become legal has very groomy creepy vibes to it. i thought that this was something everyone agreed with. so i said it. but it turns out im wrong. and now ppl are telling me that "ppl can fall in love at any age" "they're both adults so it doesn't matter" and "they're almost canon anyways" like i dont care! i dont care. i dont give a single fuck your ship still sucks ass. and like clearly you can tell im not planning to change my mind anytime soon (bc i dont have to! im right!! jesus could come from heaven to tell me its okay and i would still say it isn't!!!!! bc it isn't!!!!!!!) but im also lowkey beginning to feel like im crazy? idk bro im exhausted

sorry for the huge rant i've been frustrated the whole day 😭 honestly even sending this is making me cry again bc im now paranoid that everyone is gonna disagree lol 😂

GE Saeran is always your rock. When you start to even show a hint of being distressed, he springs into action. He asks you if you want to be held and if you confirm that that is what you want, he's happy to put his arms around you with a sigh. You can have faith in him if you have nothing else.

He'll press lips against your forehead and murmur sweet nothings until you know, without a doubt, that you're going to be okay by the morning. "That's right, my love. Slow down, take a big breath, and remember that you're safe with me. If you need to cry, I will hold you until your tears stop."

Jaehee can be anxious when it comes to knowing what she can do for the people she cares about. She knows the natural do-good and can make sure that you've got water, blankets, and a cozy place to sit in the dark. She may not know what to say but she knows what will help physically.

Her ideal way of comforting you comes down to sitting side by side in the living room, curtains drawn back, sharing drinks, watching your favorite movie, and just talking about whatever feels right at that very moment. "I know it's not the best feeling in the world, but I'm here to listen if you want to talk. I don't have anywhere to be and I'd love to have my night spent making you feel safe."

[perhapsthanatos]

10:32 pm with yuta ♡

nct’s yuta x fem!reader (got inspired by a dream of mine & found the idea really cute)

alternate title: be the james dean to my audrey hepburn

genre: fluff. a pinch of angst. non idol au. badboy!yuta au.

word count: 1400~

playlist: chinatown by wild nothing, lover’s rock by tv girl & work this time by king gizzard and the lizard wizard.

warnings: featuring johnny (not a warning though). smoking cigarettes. cursing. lowercase intended. not proofread.

a/n: hi i was supposed to post a vampire!haechan fic but i really wasnt happy w it in general :( the plot or overall idea of the fic was really good, but i just felt as if i didnt do it justice so here we are :( but ngl, i kind of like this concept more? maybe bc i can see it more vividly? idk, i feel like my writings r getting repetitive & its getting on my nerves lmaoo this is getting long im sorry do u guys even read this part anyway? i would also like to apologize abt the amount of projecting im doing lmao ive been having some rough days & i love my sister but hate being compared to her so often so this is a way for me to rant abt it ig? also so sorry its coming out a little later bc i woke up late today (& procrastinated for the rest of it so here i am posting really late at night) & decided to go to the convenience store to get ice cream (& a ton of other bad shit pls dont do this its rlly unhealthy) for breakfast bc i can :) any who, enjoy lovelies <3

“oh my, y/n! you’ve grown up so well! just like your sister!”

“oh! i’m sorry i’ve almost mistaken you for your sister! y/n is your name, correct?”

“y/n, darling, you are looking so dashing! you really do resemble your sister, don’t you?”

“ah, you must be y/n! i’ve heard all about you and your sister from your father!”

you swear that your reddening cheeks are threatening to fall off any moment now from all the fake smiling. the hundreds of superficial compliments, the insincere flattery and the need for these people to constantly compare you to your godforsaken sister makes you feel even weaker than you are. it gets harder and harder to keep up with a big persona that isn’t at all you. as lucky as you are to live such a lavish lifestyle, you can’t help but hate how your family has to be so perfect. you hate how you have never fit in with them, even if you are so good at faking it. you hate how you have always been stuck in your sister’s shadow, constantly haunted with the reminder that you yourself aren’t good enough. you hate how you now have to entertain the rich and brainless guests at your parent’s gala because she’s gone for some stupid prodigy competition and everyone is only talking about her in front of your face. so what if she’s better the better sister? you still have the right to earn respect, right?

you’re exhausted from all the small talk. your facade gets more brittle by the second under all the pressure. your body feels as if it's gonna give out due to your brain shutting down after all that interacting. you try to keep on going with the night as it unravels itself by being the perfectly poised poster child, trying to make your parents proud. but alive yet almost completely devoid, you decide enough was enough. what if you left right now? no one would notice, would they?

after pulling up your phone discreetly to send a few text messages, you pass through lots of people dressed in gold and finery in a way that wouldn’t have you noticed right away. keep your head down and don’t you dare make eye contact with anyone. nearing the end of the room, grabbing the first glass of whatever alcohol you see and downing it in one gulp, you start walking away as quickly as possible from the ballroom. “ignorant privileged fucks,” you angrily whisper to no one in particular, setting the now empty glass on whatever surface and begin to head to the main exit where no one could spot you running away.

“and what do you think you’re doing here, miss?”

a voice interrupts you, looking up you see that it is your father’s head butler; johnny. he is dressed in a simple black suit that makes him appear taller than he is. his long brown hair is slicked back and his bowtie seems brand new. you have known the man since he started working in your household less than ten years back. you were a reckless child, often trying to find ways to sneak out, finding a way to escape from this life and he sympathized with you. after all, he could barely imagine living your life, never catching a break for yourself and always pretending to be someone you weren’t. he often helped planning when you would sneak out into the night, scheduling things like what time you should leave and what time you should be back, more specifically a time when no one would notice. he would take care of your form of transportation and have your location on at all times, just to be extra safe. as much as he wants you to have fun and have a bit of freedom, he still worries that something might happen to you. because of all this, you two have grown to have a very strong bond. you could confidently say that he is most definitely a parental figure in your life since your parents (and even your sister) are often overseas for work.

“what do you think i’m doing? you think i wanna be in a room with those half-baked bipeds? fuck no!”

“i know, i was just joking. you looked like you were about to explode in there, i wish i could help.” he laughs, pulling out his phone preparing what you might need. “so what will it be for today? the driver? we just need to pay him to keep his mouth shut. a taxi? it’s cheaper than paying the driver, but you still need to pay… not like that’s a problem for you though. maybe an uber would be good enough—“

“actually, i got myself covered. thanks.”

his jaw slightly drops and his eyebrows furrow. he looks straight at you in shock. “what do you mean you got yourself covered?”

you look down at your feet, a nervous habit. “i got myself a ride, you don’t need to help me. i’ll be back as soon as dawn comes.”

he raises his eyebrow. “who’s your ride?”

“doesn’t matter,” you glance down at your phone seeing a notification and wave a goodbye, leaving rather suddenly. “i gotta go, i’ll text you when you need to open the gates!”

“y/n! wait! who’s your ride— and she’s gone.” johnny sighs, watching as you run towards the front gates, tossing your stiletto heels away on the grass while you’re at it. he heads back inside, silently hoping you’ll be fine.

knocking the window of the old black mustang parked outside behind the big bushes, the driver rolls down his window and sends the most charming smile.

yuta in his black beanie, long blonde hair, worn out doc martens, signature leather jacket and black skinny jeans. it almost makes you laugh on how he wears the same thing almost everyday but still manages to look so good.

he is most notable for having a big bad boy reputation and you knew that he was the breath of fresh air you needed in your life. a person who can understand having the pressure of having to be or to fulfill your persona. a person you can completely be yourself around. a person who is full of warmth no matter how cold he may seem on the outside.

“get in, princess.”

and that was all you needed. you tiredly walked to the other door and sat yourself in the car. rolling his window back up, he looks at you. you are wearing a simple yet stunning black dress along with silver jewelry adorned on your neck and wrists. your makeup is perfectly done but still struggles to hide the fog in your eyes. he has the sudden urge to clear them away. he softens at the sight of you. no one is perfect, but he finds you being perfect enough without ever having to dress up.

“where to?” he asks as gently as he could. he knows that you are most vulnerable during these moments and that it is hard to finally break down your walls after a day full of stress, so he doesn’t pry immediately. all he wants to do is to keep you here, safe and away from your burdens and for you to stay comfortable with him, even if it couldn't be for long. but is that too selfish of him to ask? he hates how you hate your life and it is taking every bone in his body to not run away with you. but who is he to tell you what to do or what to change anyway? all he can do for now is try to find a way to make you genuinely smile.

“take me anywhere,” you whisper to the latter. “i just want to be as far from myself and my life as possible. miles away or the nearest convenience store, just take the long way home before dawn.”

you look down at the cup holders, spotting an open cigarette box. you tug one out of the nineteen and light it with the lighter you kept in your pocket. you lean back and close your eyes. he only admires as you bring the cigarette to your lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke afterwards. letting the radio play quietly, he starts the car and begins to drive away from the mansion. he can’t help but wonder how you (an elegant daughter) and him (a bad boy) are millions of worlds apart, but more similar than you think.

© perhapsthanatos (efa)

[ishouldreallybeelsewhere]

I Don’t Dance; An Analysis

By someone with no idea what they’re doing

Can I just say,,, this song slaps. Like, ignore everything,, all the connections, all the subtext, all the whatever, this song (I Don’t Dance from High School Musical 2) is just rlly good. I’ve been listening to it a lot (shocker) and I have to say, perhaps pop isn’t so bad. I’m lying, of course, rock forever, but also not the point. Now, onto what I was actually planning on talking about.

Songs can say a lot, especially when paired with dances, and to see the full meaning of a song, one must look past it’s surface level meaning and dive deep into the subtext. Contextually, the song makes sense as just talking about baseball, but on a surface level only. Look into it for even a moment and you’re sure to find all the queer subtext you need to confirm the theory that High School Musical as a whole is a metaphor for accepting your queer identity.

A quick overview of the song; it starts as a friendly game of baseball between Ryan and Chad, the dancer and the jock. That’s fairly straight-forward, and as they play, Ryan encourages Chad to dance, insisting that he can and should, while dancing in ways that enhance his own playing. I should mention right now, I know fuck-all about baseball. I learnt to spell it, like, 15 minutes ago. It should not be spelt like that. Regardless, I’m gonna do my best to some-what grasp/avoid the thing entirely. Anyway, I’m getting off track. Back to what I was saying, the song is Ryan encouraging Chad to dance, in a somewhat flirtatious matter. The song ends after a dance routine involving the entirety of both teams, and then, in the following scene, Chad and Ryan are shown having a good time, talking and laughing while eating lunch, WEARING EACH OTHER’S CLOTHES!! If someone can give me a heterosexual explanation for that,,,, don’t.

Now, for what I’ve been meaning to get to; what does the song actually mean? (I use the phrase ‘Now,’ at the start of a lot of sentences, sorry in advance.)

Obviously, it’s about accepting your queer identity and living your life to its fullest, not allowing the heteronoramilty of the world hold you back. Anyone who’s ever watched the movie can tell you that, however, as is the way with any piece of explanatory writing, I have to assume that you’ve never even seen any of the movies (heathen).

The plot doesn’t matter. I don’t care about all but four characters, Zeke, Sharpay, Chad, and Ryan. This will primarily be about the latter two, and their own acceptance of who they are.

From the start, Ryan is flamboyant and feminine, the archetype of a gay man, as ‘subtlety’ isn’t really a thing in High School Musical. Less so in the sequel, aside from the sub-text of course, but they had to get that past Disney’s censors. Also, Ryan is one of the ‘villains’ of the trilogy, meaning that he can be queer-coded as much as the writers desire. Off track once again. I apologise. No I don’t. Anyway, Ryan is a theatre kid. The theatre kid, excluding his sister, of course, but as I said previously, Sharpay is not the topic of today’s discussion. Why is theatre so important you ask? Well, not only is the whole point of the trilogy theatre and musicals, but it’s often associated with queer identity, gay men, and femininity. While that is not true, necessarily, it works well as a metaphor and for subtext in the series. Ryan’s theatre/dance-centered personality is made as such because he is one of the few openly gay students in the movie. Theatre and dance, in this context, are queer. And Ryan is incredibly open with his sexuality, especially after he steps out from his sister’s shadow and comes into himself, realising who he is in his entirety.

Chad is on the opposite side of the spectrum. He’s, to put it bluntly, a Chad. Sporty, masculine, ‘straight’, everything he’s expected to be, but, secretly, he knows that that’s not quite true. He’s likely bisexual, as we never recive a label I will refer to him as such, and he knows this about himself. He accepts it, but refuses to act on it, or really acknowledge it, so it is not true acceptance. He is still hiding and suppressing part of himself, dancing only when everyone around him is doing the same, conforming to the heterosexual society that we all must reside in. So much of who he appears to be centered around sport and straightness, but after he is left by his closest friend (Asshole Troy. My cousin stunt-doubled Zac Effron once lol) he’s unsure where to go, and accepts an offer to play a friendly game of baseball against Ryan.

Ryan knows that Chad is bi. He knows that Chad is suppressing and hiding a part of himself, and, on some level, understands what that’s like, and knows how harmful that can be, and takes it upon himself to change that, and the game begins. Literally. And of all games, it’s baseball, one of the only sports I know filled to the brim with euphemisms and gay slang, and let me tell you, I know very little about both things, but I did actaully do research before this.

Chad knows what Ryan is trying to do, and rejects it, insisting that he has to ‘just do his thing.’ He steps up, the batter, insisting that he can be straight, that he doesn’t need that other part of himself to feel whole. Ryan sees clearly that this is bullshit.

‘I’ll show you that it’s one in the same, baseball, dancing, same game.’ In this line, Ryan is explaining that Chad doesn’t need to give up his masculinity or his love for sport to live in his true identity, that dancing and baseball are the same thing, different flavours. He can stay who he is while still being true to himself and stop suppressing a part of himself. He’s also flirting, a lot. Saying that he can show Chad what he’s missing.

‘I wanna play ball now, and that’s all. This is what I do. It ain't no dance that you can show me,’ replies Chad, saying how he doesn’t agree, and has no wish to change who he is, regardless of the consequences. He doesn’t think that the two parts of his identity can live in harmony, and he’s gotten this far in life while suppressing his queer side, he can do it forever. Of course, as you likely already know, dear reader, this is far from true, and Ryan has made it his mission to prove that, through song and suspiciously flirtatious dance.

‘You’ll never know, if you never try.’ Ryan now is telling Chad that he’ll never know if he can be happier as an open bisexual if he doesn’t try to expirience life in a different way, and is also telling Chad he’s dtf.

‘There’s just one little thing that stops me every time.’ Chad is on the verge of agreeing, accepting Ryan’s advances, when it cuts to his team, watching him play. He can’t come out, can’t fully accept himself, even if he wants to, without risking rejection from his team, from his friends, and having to possibly leave behind the world of sports that he so loves. The masculinity is fragile in this one, I must say. But his team not backing him up, leaving him behind, that scares Chad more than anything at that point in his life. Even if it is living his truth, he won’t risk the life already built up around him. In his eyes, nothing would truly be worth it. But Ryan won’t give up on him.

Then the pair go back and forth, arguing over whether Chad has it in him to accept it, risk everything to be who he truly is. ‘If I can do this then you can do that.’ Ryan is telling Chad that if he can play baseball while still retaining his queer identity, then Chad can do the same while dancing. Doing one thing does not invalidate or cancel out the other. He can, and should, do both, to become a more complete version of himself. However, Chad’s team is still supporting him only in baseball, at this point in the song anyway.

‘Hey, batter, batter. Hey batter, batter, swing.’ At this point, no one is actually swinging at the ball, showing that this is not what they’re talking about. ‘Swing that way,’ is often used to refer to whom one is attracted to, and Ryan is telling Chad to ‘swing,’ to come to terms with his attraction to men, and to Ryan himself. While they are singing this, Chad is literally approaching first base, not too dissimilar from the bases in a relationship. Like, any other sport, any one at all, and they had to pick this one. Even urban dictionary agrees it’s gay as all hell.

‘Bases loaded, do your dance. It’s easy.’ Here, Ryan is telling Chad that baseball is almost a dance on its own, it requires movement and coordination like dance, and at this point Chad can’t disagree, because the bases are loaded (I do actually know what that means) and he has to hit the ball and free them up, else something happens (reaching the end of my baseball knowledge sorry).

‘I've got what it takes, playin my game. So you better spin that pitch. You're gonna throw me, yeah.’ Here Chad is admitting that Ryan is distracting him, his dance and words throwing him off his game. ‘I’ll show you how I swing.’ Chad is play-flirting now, not-quite-mockingly responding to Ryan while dancing, ever so slightly, while still remaining in the game. He comes closer to accepting it than he has before, but still refusing to truly accept it.

With Ryan’s line, ‘hit it out of the park,’ we return ever so slightly to the literal playing of the game, and Ryan telling Chad to give it his best shot, showing his support despite being on the opposing team. Moments later, members of Chad’s team begin dancing as well, using the movements to enhance their play somewhat, and, subtly, showing their support for dancing and all that comes with it. Chad, however, has still not reached that point.

‘Lean back, tuck it in, take a chance. Swing it out, spin around, do the dance.’ Ryan’s now explaining how connected dancing and baseball really are, how they can easily coexist, of course playing into what Ryan has been trying to convince Chad of the whole time, that he can accept himself and still remain as Chad-like as he wants.

‘I wanna play ball, not dance hall.’ Chad doesn’t care, instead staying steadfast in his position that sport and dance must stay seperate, but his actions betray his words, as, however mockingly it may be, he does in fact dance along to those lines.

‘I can prove it to you til you know it's true. 'Cause I can swing it, I can bring it to the diamond too.’ Ryan is not giving up. He’s trying his best to say that he’s a dancer, sure, but his skills help him on the field. Were he not a dancer, he would likely not be as good at baseball as he is, explaining that if you are repressing a part of yourself, then you are not living up to your full potential, and not living life to its fullest.

‘You’re talking a lot, show me what you got.’ Prove it, Chad is saying as he throws the ball. And Ryan swings, and hits it, sending it far out over the playing field, proving his point, and with that, Ryan relents. Now, as he says he doesn’t dance, he’s dancing with his whole team behind him. They’re showing their support, and the dance becomes almost making fun of his past stance, and now he and Ryan flirt relentlessly through the song, as they dance.

They repeat their banter, all while dancing, and they come extremely close, closer than anyone else in the court, coming closer and closer to first base.

‘You can do it.’ It’s Chad’s team now, dancing behind him, showing their support for him, and insisting that he can dance, he can accept his identity in its whole, and they will still be behind him, still accept him for who he is. Chad and Ryan dance across from each other, back and forth, all of both teams and the crowd, all of them showing support.

Even as it returns to Chad batting, he does so bouncing on his toes to the music, and as he scores a home run, clearing the bases, each of his team members who are on the bases reach home with a flourish, a dance move of their own, even though they themselves are straight. Likely.

However, during the whole song, Ryan and Chad were openly flirting, the song is many things, as Chad knew his sexuality, he just wasn’t comfortable enough to admit it. At first the flirting was jokingly, on Chad’s side anyway, but tensions rise as the song continues, and Ryan makes sure Chad understands that this isn’t a joke, he means it. And that takes a few minutes for Chad to truly accept. The song is about self-acceptance and the chemistry between the two characters, more chemistry than literally any other characters, including Troy and Gabriella.

As the song ends, and Chad scores a home run, winning the game, the two fall over each other at the home base, and it’s over, the scene is anyway, and with the end of the game comes the end of Chad’s suppression. He can finally accept his bisexuality with the knowledge that his team will stay behind him and that he can be happy with a man just as he could with a woman, something that prior to this song, he didn’t truly believe.

And then, in the next scene, Ryan and Chad are wearing each other’s clothes, talking about the game in a far friendlier manner than any previous interaction. Together, they have hotdogs and good conversation, and the swapping of their clothes, including hats, implies that they totally fucked. Not to sound insensitive, obviously, but please, if you can think of any other explanation, please enlighten me.

Now, how does this tie into the rest of High School Musical? I should mention now I’ve not seen the third one and can barely remember the other two. However, I believe I know enough for my point to have some grounds. In this movie trilogy, theatre is queerness, as I have already explained, and conforming to society is heteronormativity. The path of Troy accepting that he loves theatre and basketball at the same time is one of accepting himself in his entirety. While I don’t personally believe that the character himself is queer, it is still a path of acceptance that still resonates with much of the LGBTQ+ community who would watch this movie.

The whole idea of the series is rejecting the status quo and living your life without rejecting any part of yourself. This is taken to another level between Chad and Ryan, someone who has accepted himself completely, and someone who doesn’t want to give up the life he has. There is little else to be said on the matter (LIES! I could talk about this for so long) so it appears time to wrap it up.

I don’t care that much about High School Musical. That may seem surprising, but before this weekend, I couldn’t tell you the character’s names. It is a strange feeling to fall so completely into something that you ignore all schoolwork to write an analysis (strong word) of a clip of a movie. I downloaded the Osu map (after finding it by accident) and played it until I got an S, even tho I’ve had the game only for a couple weeks, barely ever play it, and the easiest version of the map was 2.3 stars. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve listened to it, and I had to finish this piece of writing so I could have some semblance of peace, as all my friends are tired of hearing about it but I need to get my thoughts out. Perhaps now that this is done I can pay attention to the science class that’s been happening around me. I think I’ve said all I can, and I hope that is enough to satisfy my mind. And I am well aware that there is someone out there who has done this with fewer and better words, but I don’t really care.

TLDR; High School Musical 2 is gay, and even more gay than that is Chad and Ryan. Thank you and goodnight.

[jaskiersvalley]

hi i just wanna say ur a blessing to everyone and ur writing is so great and i love reading all of them, although im not even halfway to reading all of them lol. Anw i rlly like ur writing and ur one of my inspirations to write fanfictions and yeah i just rlly wanna say thank u for everything ur contributing to the fandom, b le s s

This has been sat in my inbox for a few month and it’s one that I keep coming back to because I can’t quite believe someone would find my writing an inspiration. Having said that, I’m here with my pompoms and ready to cheer you on for your writing! Because you can do it and you will be amazing at it. I’m of the firm belief that anyone can write and there’s an audience out there for every single story, it is simply a matter of finding your crowd. So please, if you feel the desire to write, do it (and drop me a link? I would love to read your works.). To (hopefully) cheer you on, have a silly little snippet.

Bringing a bard to Kaer Morhen was always a risk but it was one that Geralt and Jaskier had deemed worth it. A season together without the pressures of the world around them outweighed the worry of the other witchers not taking kindly to Jaskier. In his own words, he was “an absolute delight and tenacious enough to befriend even a rock” so Jaskier had no real concerns. He would wear the witchers down and, by the end of winter, they’ll be begging to have him back the following year.

They were right about Jaskier being met with distrust but it wasn’t a worst case scenario of hostility. Quiet suspicion and distrust but Jaskier had experienced that with Geralt so wasn’t too bothered by it. He was allowed to sit with them at the dinner table, even if Lambert clutched his plate closer and growled if Jaskier neared him. Eskel was a little more subtle about his unease. Whenever Jaskier was around, he watched him, constantly aware of his presence and never turning his back to Jaskier. Meanwhile, Vesemir looked most at ease with a new arrival for winter, he made polite conversation but it was superficial, barely giving anything away about himself or his witchers while mining Jaskier for information.

Things settled into an uneasy truce. Lambert and Eskel refused to be forced into a change of habits by the arrival of Jaskier so they went down to the hot springs and refused to leave when Geralt and Jaskier found their way down there too.

As Geralt rarely got to see his brothers on the Path, he couldn’t really be blamed for losing track of things and getting caught up in a conversation with Eskel. They were comparing new scars and sharing stories. Geralt was no longer in the habit of always watching Jaskier. Especially not somewhere he felt safe. So when an outraged yowl from Lambert echoed through the halls, Geralt and Eskel both jumped before rushing to his side.

“What’s going on?” Eskel demanded, stepping slightly in front of Lambert who was clutching at his chest even as Jaskier looked at them innocently.

“He-” Words were obviously not Lambert’s forte in that moment, his lips moved around half words that never tumbled out and he gestured to Jaskier before returning his hand to his left pectoral. “He-”

“What did you do?” Eskel snarled.

“I just-” Jaskier shrugged. “This.”

He reached around Eskel and gave Lambert’s right pectoral a squeeze with a declaration of “honk”.

Silence reigned as Eksel and Geralt stared at Jaskier who looked a little flustered. In the end, Geralt managed to force out a strangled “why?” which was met with another shrug.

“Because it was there. And you weren’t here. And you’re 90% of my impulse control.” Jaskier’s hands moved through the air as he spoke with both voice and body. His eyes landed on Eskel’s face. It was a look Geralt knew all too well, one that said Jaskier had just thought of something dangerous that he thought was a brilliant idea.

Almost in slow motion, Geralt got to watch Jaskier’s hand reach out toward’s Eskel’s face, one finger sticking out. It poked Eskel in the nose as Jaskier declared a happy little “boop”.

As contact was made, Jaskier realised he shouldn’t have done that. Slowly, he pulled the hand back and gave a little laugh. “Boop the snoot?”

Nobody said anything for a long few seconds. It was Eskel who shook himself out of the stunned reverie first.

“Do that again and I’m biting your finger off.” Knowing him, Geralt had no doubt that he would keep true to his threat.

The only response Jaskier had was a stroppy pout as he turned to Geralt. “You never told me your fellow wolves were just as touch starved and skittish as you used to be. As well as handsome. When you warned me to keep my hands off them, I didn’t think you meant so literally.”

Lambert’s grumble of “you what now?” went ignored as Geralt and Jaskier stared each other down. Whatever the outcome was, Eskel had no idea but Geralt deflated and Jaskier nodded once.

“Wonderful,” he clapped his hands. “We’ll start with washing your hair.”

Without further explanation, Jaskier started ushering the three witchers towards one of the hot springs, herding them. It was more like a sheep bossing the sheepdogs around but Geralt had the sense to keep his mouth quiet. Especially because he hoped this would ease the tension between the witchers and their guest. Little did he know, he was right. By the end of the winter, the witchers were looking forward to Jaskier’s return the following year.

[kafka-ish]

the act of being a boy-friend | r.t.

y/n’s plan to make her crush, or ex crush, jealous backfires when she realizes she’s been the jealous one all along.

word count: 6.7k

warnings/included: fluff, losers aren’t friends anymore, fem!reader

a/n: i just rlly love writing love triangles hgeoigso also fake dating tropes ftw🥳

-

“What’s ruh-ruh-wrong? Juh-juh-hust tell me what I can do, and I’ll ff-fix it.” Bill sat next to y/n on his worn sofa. The two were watching a movie but he couldn’t put a pin on what was wrong until he noticed y/n wasn’t making her usual commentary. y/n always talked whenever they got together to watch a movie—either letting her petty remarks be known to the rest of the viewers or judging the style choice. And if she wasn’t talking, her face was stuffed full of popcorn or sour candy.

But y/n wasn’t doing either of those things.

She sat in a ball—her bare feet on his couch and her kneecaps digging into her stomach. Her eyes were wide and focused on the screen ahead of them that blared ET. Her nails that were in tip-top condition when she first showed up to Bill’s house, neatly trimmed and polished with a layer of topcoat were now bitten to the bed, ragged and raw.

“Why would you think something’s wrong?” y/n said, surprised that she was able to even squeak out the words after zoning out for so long. Something was wrong. But it wasn’t like y/n would tell him. This is what she wanted, right? Just the two of them—Bill’s arm wrapped around her while she pressed into his side while the only light in the room came from his television set.

So why did everything feel so wrong?

Richie and y/n had dated two months prior. Well… ‘dated’. The relationship wasn’t real, but the butterflies whenever Richie called her a dumb pet name or kissed her on the cheek (because kissing on the lips was too far) certainly felt real. And the heartbreak that came from him talking about other girls felt more real than the time y/n got stood up at the eighth-grade dance.

“I don’t wanna be your fuckin’ boyfriend,” Richie protested. His mouth was full of the turkey club sandwich he snagged from a detention buddy and his perfectly straight nose was now scrunched in disgust at the absurd idea his friend had to offer.

“I don’t get why you’re being so pissy about this.” y/n took the sandwich from him, taking a bite of her own and cringing at the taste of mustard that was hidden under the lettuce.

“Grow up.” Richie laughed at y/n who was using a napkin to wipe the tangy aftertaste off her tongue. “You know.” He took another bite. “This sorta shit never ends well.”

“What shit?” y/n prodded. She was still hooked on the idea of getting Richie to play house with her.

“The game where you and I pretend to be boyfriend and girlfriend and eventually one of us falls for each other.” Richie was taking an oddly rational approach to y/n’s suggestion. But Richie was logical in a sense where he just knew.

“Who says I’d fall for you?” y/n poked at his shoulder. One of her eyebrows raised because in what world would she let herself catch feelings for Richie Tozier?

In this world. In this lifetime, y/n would let herself fall for one of her best friends, only to be dating her longtime crush.

“How could you not?” Richie smirked but y/n could tell he was just joking. “I’m irresistible, love.” His stupid British-man Voice made yet another appearance and y/n had to refrain from hitting him.

“What about me?” y/n didn’t care whether or not Richie found her attractive, but to say his response never left her mind after that day would be an understatement.

“Well, just look at you.” Richie put the sandwich down. “If it’s anyone, I’ll be having a harder time.”

“So does that mean you’ll go through with it?” A new light hit y/n’s eyes; the sparkle almost blinding Richie who was shaking his head.

“I don’t get why you’re so hung up about this.” He sighed. y/n could tell he was getting annoyed, but y/n was also persistent. If she wanted something, she’d get it; careless about the lengths she’d have to go through for her fantasies to become a truth. Her truth.

“I’m just saying there are benefits for both of us.” y/n’s head tilted to the side, trying to get a better glimpse at Richie now gnawing at his lunch like an animal.

“Benefits?” Richie asked mid-bite.

“Yeah. I can make Bill Denbrough jealous and he’ll fall madly in love with me. Same for you and your ex.”

“Bill Denbrough?” Richie ignored the mention of his ex-girlfriend. He was fifty-percent sure he was already over her, but the other fifty percent of him still stole glances in her direction and kept a copy of her school picture in his wallet. But Bill Denbrough? y/n had a crush on the Bill Denbrough? Richie had to take a moment for his ears to adjust to this staggering news.

Bill Denbrough was a baseball player and Richie’s old childhood friend. Him, Bill, Stan Uris (who was coincidentally also on Derry’s baseball team), Mike Hanlon (who didn’t play baseball but football), Ben Hanscom (he was on the track team), Eddie Kaspbrak, and Beverly Marsh were all a group back in middle school. And Bill and Richie went way back—back to elementary school. It was until the end of freshman year when Stan tried out for baseball (Bill tagged along but made the team anyway) and Mike brought up how he wanted to go out for football next year.

Everyone’s interests started to diverge. Everyone started to diverge. They still went to Mike’s games at the beginning of their sophomore year, but their lunches together only seemed to happen on Wednesday and their afternoon hangouts at the quarry turned into just Richie smoking puffs on the edge; the only company being his portable radio.

Richie befriended y/n sophomore year, around the same time he and his friends fizzed out in January’s crisp air. He met her in his new art class when Derry High released students’ new schedules for the second semester. They’d stayed friends ever since; sharing their lunches and staying after school to finish up on a Social Studies project that wasn’t worth the grade they received. y/n was the one to comfort Richie after his breakup with Vanessa Jennings, but this was the first Richie had ever heard of y/n’s crush on Bill. He didn’t even know she knew Bill.

“You like Bill Denbrough?”

y/n nodded. “So, what do you say? Partner…”

Richie gave in. Although it wasn’t in his interest to get back with Vanessa, he’d still go along with y/n’s scheme.

He’d pick her up at her house before school at seven o’clock sharp—whether it was in his dad’s old Chevy or by foot in his red Converse.

y/n rushed to her front door as soon as she heard a ring. Her hair was half done, and she hadn’t had enough time to do her makeup yet. Luckily, she was already dressed in her school clothes—the denim of her jeans scuffing together when she walked, and her red blouse having to be pulled down every time she rose her arms.

“Morning, sugar.” Richie’s lazy grin and tired eyes never failed to bring a smile on her face even before they started ‘dating’. His hair wasn’t brushed at all, making y/n feel better about her appearance. His body leaned slanted against the doorframe while he waited for her and the white tip of his Converse made its attempt to dig into the porch.

“Sugar?” y/n asked, bemused. She grabbed her keys from the table next to the door, using them to lock the door behind her.

“You look different today.” y/n’s head raised from its once concentrated position from the lock on her door.

“Different how?” She inquired, mostly wondering if this difference was a good or bad thing.

“You look good.” y/n’s cheeks couldn’t help but heat at the compliment. Richie was always calling her cutesy names or saying shit like actually, now that my glasses are on, your ass does look good in those jeans. This should be no different, right?

It only felt different because they were… an item is what y/n convinced herself somewhere along the drive to school. Richie opened the door for her when she got in (and out), but in return, she’d have to let him play his favorite station.

“it’s only courtesy, babe.” Richie shrugged but his eyes kept on the road. “I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”

But two weeks in, y/n found out she liked what this rock ‘n roll guy had to offer. She liked the loud beat of the drum and how the guitar sang in her ears. She liked Richie’s voice that overpowered Elvis’s when he sang along to the lyrics, knowing every word by heart.

“I don’t get why you’re taking me anywhere,” y/n said. She sat in the passenger’s seat of his car like she usually did. “We don’t have to pretend unless we’re, like, in public.” Her voice became small, almost regretting the words that came out of her mouth. Secretly, she hoped Richie wouldn’t turn the 1965 Chevrolet Camaro around.

“It’s not like we aren’t friends.” Richie’s thumb made a tap, tap, tapping sound against the steering wheel. “Friends hang out, right?”

y/n smiled but didn’t answer. It never occurred to her that they weren’t dating. After a while, it just seemed so natural; the hand holding under lunch tables; the way he held her binder for her.

“Is that heavy, sweetheart?” Richie stood next to y/n, intently watching as she struggled with her books in one arm: her other hand turning the combination lock. His gaze never left her figure. He was thoughtful, caring…

“Kind of, but you don’t need to—”

Ignoring y/n, Richie took the books from her hold. He already had books of his own to carry, but he couldn’t let his girlfriend struggle with hers.

“Yeah… friends.” y/n couldn’t seem to face him while uttering the words. Friends. The declaration felt so distant. After all, they had been more than friends—or pretending to be more than friends. But at the end of the day, y/n didn’t know if she wanted to be just friends with Richie Tozier. That was new considering, she never saw Richie as something else. Something that greeted her with flowers before school and held open the door for her. Not until now, no. Richie was always… Richie.

Richie Tozier who was always caught doing his homework last minute in art—because that’s the easiest class, babe. Richie Tozier who liked detention because he could catch up on a few extra minutes of lost beauty sleep. Richie Tozier who stopped bringing his lunch to school because you’re the only sugar I need.

y/n rolled the window down, letting a breeze sweep through her hair and tickle her skin. She needed a distraction because the recent epiphany of the boy next to her being the reason for her heart palpitations was something to need a distraction from.

The sky bled orange and purple—the colors perfectly melted into one another—and y/n wondered if this wasn’t their world after all. Maybe they were being controlled and the puppeteer behind her was playing some sick joke by making her catch feelings for Richie Tozier. y/n didn’t even notice they came to a stop until the click of Richie’s seatbelt grabbed her ears from their trance.

“You comin’?” Richie asked from outside of her side of the car. He was hunched down, his forearm resting on the door to help prop him up.

“Yeah.” y/n swallowed but it hurt. It felt like acid ripped through her esophagus but the only thing she had to drink that day was water. She reached for the door handle, but Richie was faster, already opening the door himself. “Such a gentleman,” y/n snickered.

“Of course.” Richie stayed behind to lock the doors.

“So, you drove me, just a friend, all the way out to the best milkshakes in town?” y/n asked, eyeing the neon-lit sign that read

 Hwy 90

The highway to your stomach.

They served other things, but they specialized in milkshakes—something neither Richie nor y/n would care to pass up. But nothing y/n would drive thirty minutes for just for some glorified ice cream in a glass.

“It’s the least I could do.” Richie opened the door for y/n once again. The entrance door to the diner made a jingling sound as the top corner hit the bells which hung from the ceiling.

“The least you could do?” y/n wondered aloud, but Richie wasn’t given the chance to answer her question when a waitress scurried up to them, a stack of menus in one arm and a bundle of silverware in the other. She was taller than y/n but shorter than Richie and she wore black and white bowling shoes to match the wide-legged jeans and polo underneath her apron. “Is it just you two?” She asked sweetly, hiking the pile of menus up higher on her arm.

“Yeah,” Richie said. He stuffed his hands in his back pocket, not knowing where to put them.

The waitress showed them to a small booth that sat in the corner of the brightly lit restaurant. It was too bright for y/n’s eyes under the red, blue, and pink hues that reflected across the shiny white tile, But the corner table the girl had brought them to would do. There was a certain coziness to it, or maybe it was the thought of sitting so close to Richie in a public setting that settled y/n’s eyes.

“I’m Annie. I’ll be your server today,” the girl said as soon as Richie and y/n slid into their respective sides of the red pleather seats. She was fast-talking and all shades of nervousness as her left hand went to grab the number two pencil that fastened the blonde curls that were pinned in a knot on top of her head. “Can I get you anything?”

“A menu would be nice,” y/n said. In front of them sat a table, salt and pepper shakers, and a half-empty Heinz ketchup bottle. Annie had forgotten to give the two a menu.

“My apologies!” She exclaimed, bashful. She handed them each a menu to sift through.

“Don’t sweat it.” Richie winked in her direction and y/n felt herself grow… what was that? Anger? Annie’s pale skin blushed a bright red and y/n could tell it wasn’t the apron making her feel hot.

It took Richie a full-fledged thirty seconds and two skims through the laminated paper for him to decide what he wanted, and it took y/n at least two minutes. “I’ll have a Cookies n Cream. Extra sweet.” Just like you.

y/n was biting her thumb and still reading over the same three flavors that caught her eye while Annie stood patiently waiting for her response. Richie was messing with the saltshaker. His leg found hers under the table and gave it a quick kick.

“Ouch.” She looked up from the menu, averting her attention to the boy in front of her with a fix glare. “Can I have Vanilla? With a cherry on top?”

Annie scribbled down both of their orders in messy writing before making her way across the floor and to the kitchen.

“Vanilla?” Richie laughed and y/n didn’t know what was so funny. “’Cause you’re vanilla?” He covered his mouth with his hand before another fit of laughter would consume the table.

“Shut up.” Swiftly, y/n’s leg propelled into his which caused Richie’s laughs to die down, replaced by a single yelp.

“So…” Richie’s eyebrows wiggled. His nails, which were painted a shade of deep blue by y/n and already chipped, thumped against the surface of the table. y/n could tell whatever he was beginning to suggest wouldn’t be something she liked just from the tone of his voice.

“So?”

“Why Bill?” Oh.

“I don’t know what you mean.” She knew exactly what he meant.

“Why do you like ole Big Bill?” The nickname had slipped out unconsciously. The nickname Richie hadn’t heard in years. The nickname Richie hadn’t said in years. It felt exotic on his lips, but comforting, like a hug from his mom.

Why did she like Bill? y/n asked herself silently. She was gnawing on the inside of her cheek when the question popped up again and the sound of Bill’s voice startled her.

“What’s ruh-ruh-wrong? Juh-juh-hust tell me what I can do, and I’ll ff-fix it.” What was wrong? Seemingly, everything was perfect. The boy y/n had been crushing on for years was finally in her reach—her grasp, even. Bill’s head turned to face y/n, but his arm stayed tightly coiled around her side. It wasn’t the same as Richie’s possessive hold from two months ago. His hand that played with the fabric of her shirt felt cold. Bill felt cold.

It couldn’t be that she missed Richie, no. Richie was busy—probably swapping spit with one Vanessa Jennings. Vanessa with the light brown hair and curls that framed her not-too-big head ever so perfectly. Vanessa who never needed a tan. Vanessa with the long legs that were probably wrapped—

But it didn’t matter. y/n was busy, too. The Bill Denbrough was at her side and she couldn’t have asked for anything else. She didn’t need anything else. Not when his red flannel hugged her torso because are you could? My parents won’t let me turn up the heat, but I can offer you this. Like a gentleman, he proceeded to strip the flannel from his bodice, leaving him in a white baseball tee.

“Why would you think something’s wrong?” y/n looked at Bill then looked down to see the nails she had just painted were now ruined. She looked up again. “Nothing’s wrong,” she assured, not all convincingly.

“You just… yo-you ha-haven’t-t s-s-said anything since you cuh-cuh-walked in.”

“I haven’t?” y/n asked, now picking at the tip of her thumb, hoping what had taken two weeks to grow out would magically regrow in seconds. Saving his voice, Bill only shook his head.

“You nuh-know you can tuh-tell me. Ruh-right?” y/n nodded but what could she tell him?

Sorry I’ve been holding a massive crush on you for years like one holds a cleaver over their head but all of a sudden I’m into this guy I met in my art class who never brushes his hair and writes ‘smoking and smoking hot’ on his college resume.

“I think I’m just tired,” she lied while also feigning a yawn. She covered her mouth when it opened, pretending to be sleepy.

“Do-do you want me to tuh-take you home?” Bill asked. He was just as thoughtful as Richie. He was just as handsome as Richie, maybe even more. So why couldn’t y/n bring herself to like him as much as Richie? His arm left from her side and he used it to pick up the remote, turning the tv off. The worst part was, that when Bill’s hand stopped playing with the fabric of the flannel she wore and his arm left her frame, she didn’t feel a coldness that would usually wash over her when Richie’s arm left her. She felt free.

“I don’t want our afternoon to be spoiled,” y/n said. Her eyebrows furrowed and even though she knew she was lying through her teeth, she wanted to make this work. After all these years of pining for her study partner and favorite Derry High baseball player, she needed for this to work. To see the vision she’d created in her head, just a mere two years ago, collapse in front of her very eyes broke her. But at the same time, she was indifferent. Why should she care about the boy in front of her when the boy she actually wanted was a neighborhood away?

“Tr-trust me. It-it’s not.” Bill shrugged. He stood up and offered y/n his hand which she didn’t take. Instead, she sat there, planted in her same seat, waiting for him to continue. “I can tuh-take you home. And wuh-we can hang out to-tomorrow. You nuh-know when you’re well rested.” All of the sudden, this felt very real. Hanging out with Bill felt real. Being at his house felt real. And though his efforts were valiant, y/n couldn’t accept the offer.

A smile graced her lips and Bill mirrored that. “Yeah, okay. Uh, take me home—please.”

y/n stood up and Bill guided her to the door and to Zach Denbrough’s car as if she hadn’t had the place memorized from when she first came over for a History project they’d been assigned to do.

What did she ever see in him?

“I don’t know.” y/n’s shoulders bopped up and down and even though her figure was hunched, Richie still thought she looked graceful.

“Are you just sayin’ that or did you end up falling in love with little ole me and you can’t think of anything?” Just then, their milkshakes arrived. Both in frosted glass and both with a cherry on top. A feeling of relief swallowed the lump in her throat, or maybe that was the taste of vanilla ice cream now that she was given some time, and a reason, to stall. y/n hated how on-the-nose Richie could be. But she also loved that about him. He could be so, so unexpectedly smart about some things. Things that were right in front of her that she’d never even notice until Richie pointed it out. “Oh, come on.” Richie’s words would’ve sliced through the silence in the air if it weren’t for the chatter of other people and jukebox playing in the background. “Seriously, y/n/n, there’s gotta be something that drew you to him.”

“Well… he’s nice.”

“Okay cut the crap.”

“What?” y/n asked, finding herself annoyed that she not only had to reveal her feelings to a boy she may or may not like but also because he’s nice apparently wasn’t a sufficient enough answer.

“I need an actual answer. Not some bullshit response like he’s nice or he’s funny. Anyone can be nice or funny, y/n.”

“Well, whether you like it or not, Bill is nice. He’s genuine, and cares about the people around him… Selfless.”

Richie was upset at her response. Not because y/n countered his argument in a way he was left speechless but because she was right. Bill was the nice guy and Richie… wasn’t. Bill was the one who looked out for others, making sure they were okay. He was the one who made sure no one got left behind. He was the one everyone looked up to—not Richie, Bill. It was always Bill. Whereas Richie’s just the guy who stands in the background making funny noises only to be told to shut up.

“Yeah… Bill is nice.”

“Don’t tell me you’re my competition, Tozier.” y/n laughed at the oddity of fighting with Richie for the chance to be with Bill.

“Nah,” Richie shook his head, his hair flying in any direction possible. “You’re lucky I’m not, though. You wouldn’t have the chance, babe.”

y/n wanted to eat her heart out at the usage of babe in such an informal setting where they didn’t have to pretend, but the maraschino cherry resting on top of the pile of whipped cream would suffice. “Do you still like Vanessa?” The words tumbled from y/n’s mouth like they were nothing. But embarrassment replaced the blood flowing through her veins once she was aware of what she just said.

“It’s… complicated,” Richie said honestly, not caring that y/n might’ve crossed boundaries just then.

“What’s complicated?” y/n cocked her head like a puppy questioning why its master was making weird hand motions.

“You’ll understand when you’re older, kid.” Richie didn’t mean to come off as condescending, but he did.

“I’m the same age as you.” y/n crossed her arms after pushing away the half-empty, frosted glass in front of her.

Ignoring the red straw in his drink, Richie brought the edge of the glass to his lips and swallowed the thick shake. “Here’s the thing. Vanessa and I go way back.”

“How far is way back if you only dated her for four months?” y/n regretted even bringing her up. Maybe it was different back then, back when the two were actually dating. But now, y/n couldn’t remember a time when someone said the name ‘Richie Tozier’ and her heart didn’t feel like it would explode into a collision of fireworks.

“Four and a half,” Richie corrected with a grin breaking out on his lips. “But I dunno. She’s just special.”

“Special as in…?” y/n probed, and she hated herself for her big mouth that wouldn’t stop applying lemon juice to an obviously open wound.

“I love her.” Richie took another drink of Cookies n Cream, which was more cream than cookies, and y/n sat there in shock. She would be silly to think that after all these weeks, Richie would feel the same way about her. After all, he had a life outside of the fake one they’d construed. Or maybe Richie was just less emotionally confined to these sorts of things. He knew better than to get caught up in a fake relationship. Of course he would.

But knowing Richie still loved his ex, struck something in y/n’s core. And the fact that he was able to say it in such a nonchalant manner—such casualty—only dug deeper at the pit in her stomach.

“You love her?” y/n asked, her mouth still full of the sweet treat he’d pay for later in the evening.

“Love. Loved.” Richie shrugged like this was nothing—well, maybe this was nothing. Maybe y/n was the speck of dust on his shirt and him shrugging was the last of her existence from his being leaving. “What’s the difference?”

“There’s a big difference.” y/n wanted to scream. Luckily, she had enough self-perseverance to keep her composure. She swallowed. “One is past tense, and one is present tense.”

“How ‘bout I put it this way.” Richie set aside his drink so now nothing was blocking his view of y/n. He leaned forward and rested his hands on the table. “I don’t like…” He paused. Revealing that he had no intention in getting back with his once first love would possibly wreck this whole thing. “If Vanessa asked, I’d probably get back with her,” Richie finally said, thinking that must’ve been a suitable way to word the jumble of letters floating around in his head like alphabet soup.

“You would?” y/n asked, feeling like a little kid all over again.

Richie didn’t say anything.

“Do you and her still…”

“Still what?”

“Talk, I guess is what I’m trying to say.” y/n messed with her fingers, pulling at a hangnail she’d know she’d regret doing when it got to later in the night.

“Nah. But don’t worry about it, sweets.” Richie took out his wallet only to be met with a picture of the dreaded girl they’d just been talking about. He gulped. His spit tasted like Oreos and he knew he’d have a stomachache later. Richie thumbed out a ten-dollar bill and five ones to keep Alexander Hamilton company. “Ole Vanessa could never get in the way of you if that’s what you’re wonderin’.”

It was what she was wondering.

But she’d never let Richie know that. y/n crossed her arms tighter around her torso because right now it felt like Richie could see right through her.

Richie drove her home in the same way Bill would a month from that night. But Richie had a better taste in music and y/n was actually sad to part from him when he left her at her doorstep.

“I’m really sorry I had to cut our time short,” y/n said. She was sorry.

“It’s ff-fine. I al-already sai—”

“Yeah, but I feel awful, Bill.” y/n finally mucked up the courage to look him in the eye. Those blue eyes that’d been searching for hers all afternoon. “This was probably like… the worst first date in the history of first dates.”

“Ih-it’s not so bad. But that duh-depends on how muh-many first dates you’ve been on.” Bill laughed and y/n was trying to figure out what was funny about what he said.

“You’ve been on worse ones?” y/n asked anxiously.

“Luh-let’s just say th-they duh-didn’t get a second date.”

y/n nodded while her hands started to search for the keys in her purse.

“I’ll ss-see you tuh-tomorrow?”

“Or at my funeral. Whichever comes first.” For a moment, the bad thoughts cleared from the surface of y/n’s head. Laughter was the only thing she was aware of for a moment.

“Bye, y/n/n.”

“Bye, Richie,” y/n said bashfully. Her hands were strewn behind her back because she didn’t know what they would do if they weren’t. He was about to walk off—off into the moonlight. And y/n would have to wait until Monday to see him again. It was one day too long because she knew even though the two of them had nothing better to do tomorrow, he’d see it as just friends whereas y/n would see it… differently. “Richie, wait!”

“What?” Richie turned around. His hands sat inside of his front pockets and his posture was slumped, as always.

“Thanks… for tonight.” Richie nodded, and validation from him served as a sick kind of ego booster that egged y/n to keep going. “They really are the best milkshakes in town.”

“Yeah.” Richie’s scratchy voice soothed y/n under the frosty air that came from winters in Maine. y/n stepped closer, her hands still behind her back.

“Did you have a good time?”

“You know I always have a good time when I’m with you.” Richie nudged y/n’s elbow with his but was taken aback by her hands that now gripped his shoulders and how suddenly close she was against him.

y/n kissed him on the cheek, not daring to go for his lips because who’s ever heard of a kiss goodbye on the cheek? Is probably what Stacy Howards would retort back to her after she’d spill the happenings of Saturday night to Derry High’s favorite cheerleader in study hall.

His cheek tasted like salt and Irish Spring—that is, if she knew what Irish Spring tasted like. Which she definitely didn’t.

She didn’t linger long. Richie wished she stayed longer. The kiss was short and sweet and the taste of vanilla on her lips replaced a fraction of his cheek that tasted like body wash and sodium chloride.

“Goodnight,” y/n said, now finally coming to her senses.

“Ye-yeah.” Richie blinked, an alternative to pinching himself in front of the girl he’d been pretending to date. “Night.” But after pretending for so long, Richie couldn’t help but notice the less it felt like pretending.

y/n closed the door behind her with a slam, making sure to lock it in case intruders were in the neighborhood. Now that Bill was gone, her first instinct was to call up Richie—tell him that the date went well, and how he was such a great friend, and thanks for the help. But there were only so many times she could lie to a boy she felt feelings so deeply for. The first, coincidentally, was when Richie had asked how things were going with Bill.

“Make any progress so far?” Richie asked with a face full of ham. They were eating lunch together, per usual. But this time, unlike the many times before, the hand that wasn’t holding his sandwich was rubbing circles on y/n’s small hand that Richie’s swallowed.

“Comme ci comme ça.” y/n smiled to herself at her basic understanding any French One student would master. “It’s going alright…” y/n had never been a natural liar. Whenever she told her parents she had cleaned her room when she, in fact, didn’t, the hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention and her forearm broke out in an itch she could never quite scratch. But her internal biological workings had given her a break today. There was no itch and her hairs stayed in place from when she styled her hair that morning.

“What’s alright?” Richie questioned, though it sounded more like an interrogation.

“He started talking to me more.”

“He didn’t already talk to you?” Richie’s eyebrow rose because how were you supposed to fall for a guy you barely talked to?

“Well, yeah, he talks to me.” The pad of Richie’s thumb that was drawing slow circles onto y/n’s knuckles turned into lines. Back and forth. Back and forth. “But he used to talk to me about classwork and… you know, like, school.” Richie smiled when she talked. He was happy for his friend. He truly was. But he couldn’t stand the fact that the guy she was talking about wasn’t him—let alone, his former best friend. “And in APUSH, instead of asking about my grade or whatever, he… asked about me.”

“What’d Mister Charming have to say?”

Mister Charming sat two seats away from y/n. But that didn’t stop him from talking to her. Every now and then, Bill would steal glances at the girl from his peripheral vision. Sometimes, if he were feeling bold, he’d turn to face her—but that action only occurred when she was speaking. Today, however, was different. Today he’d talk to her.

Lucky for Bill, the pencil sharpener sat in the back of class—close to where y/n’s seat was.

“Hey.”

y/n looked up from her textbook. She didn’t want to assume the hushed voice was for her—but she had to figure the tap on her shoulder was.

“Hi.” She set her pencil down and folded her arms flat on the desk. “What’s up?” y/n swore she sounded insane. Who says what’s up—

“Th-the sky.” Bill’s smile made cloudy days seem cloudless. “I was wuh-wondering ih—” He swallowed the trail of saliva that gathered in the back of his throat. “If… are yo-you and Ruh-Richie like…”

“No!” y/n said quickly and a little too loudly.

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Muh-maybe we cuh-could hang out… This Saturday work?” A stroke of nervousness flitted across his features for a second even though Bill didn’t have anything to be nervous about. The rest of y/n’s words got caught in her throat and she instinctively found herself writing down her number on the scratch piece of paper Mr. Ferguson passed out for notetaking.

“Call me.”

Bill did call. Which was precisely how y/n was stuck frozen in time; her back slanted against the door and her thoughts racing against one another.

She had two options at hand. Call Richie. Find Richie. Or wait it out for tomorrow when Bill’s same car would be in her driveway, waiting for her.

But a third option was already at y/n’s doorstep, contemplating ringing the doorbell.

Richie Tozier stood outside of y/n’s front door, palms sweaty and unusually anxious for confrontation. His pale fingers knotted together. It was their way of stalling from interacting with y/n for as long as possible—or as long as curfew would allow him to.

“Hey.” His stalling attempt was left unsuccessful when y/n opened the door. Ironically, he was just the person she had hoped to run into. “What are… what are you doing?”

“Me?” Richie’s eyebrows stitched together, and he pointed to himself with his index finger.

“You’re the only one here,” y/n deadpanned.

“I was just in the neighborhood, y’know. Doin’ neighborly things.”

“You don’t live in this neighborhood.” Richie feigned laughter but this time y/n didn’t laugh with him. “Seriously, Rich, why are you here? You knew I had my date with Bill and—”

“And what?” His tone grew firm, like it had grabbed her by the hand and urged whatever was eating at her insides out of her.

“And I don’t think you should be here, after I just got done with my date with somebody else!” y/n said with a shaky breath. She could feel her heartbeat almost burning through her chest that rose and fell harshly.

“How was it? Your date?” Richie had calmed down, but y/n didn’t.

“It went bad. Is that what you wanted to hear?” y/n muttered, but it could’ve been mistaken for a yell.

“No, why would you think—hold on. What’s up with you?” Richie’s hands stuffed themselves in his front pocket. His posture was hunched over, and his face now screwed together, trying to understand the girl standing before him.

“I don’t know.” The flame that had once ignited y/n’s lively spirits had died down. “I just. It didn’t go well, that’s all,” y/n said, unable to coax the words she actually wanted to say out of her lips.

“He wasn’t an asshole, was he?” Richie’s tone was protective—nothing y/n would expect from him two months ago when she’d gotten themselves into this mess.

“No! No.” y/n was complicated. First, she’d spew off about how her date was bad and now she was defending said date?

“God, y/n/n, can you just make up your mind?”

She could do that.

“You were right,” y/n declared.

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it again.” Her voice lowered to a whisper, but Richie could still make out what she was saying.

“Well, I’m always right, toots. I just need context—”

“About the fake dating thing. How eventually one person’s bound to fall for the other…” Her toes curled from under the white Converse she hadn’t had time to slip off. They were worn and the bottoms were yellowing from the number of times she’d matched them to an outfit. “And you don’t look like you’re on your knees, so.”

“So, what?” y/n didn’t notice the smirk edging on the corners of Richie’s lips.

“Tozier, don’t make me say it.”

“You have to, or God knows how long we’ll be standing on this fuckin’ porch,” Richie said patiently. Patient. Richie was never patient—always the one to urge his friends to hurry the fuck up, always the one to ask are we there yet? But this time he was. His figure stood still and ominous, like Santa on Christmas Eve. His breathing held steady in his lungs that had seen more smoke than his mother’s kitchen and his feet stood planted on the concrete stoop of y/n’s house and they’d stay there until she told him the very damned thing she didn’t want to.

“I like you, okay?” y/n knew if she blinked, the dam of tears in her eyes would finally burst and the last thing she wanted was having Richie Tozier see her cry. Well, second to last thing. The first thing on that list had already happened. “Look, I know you’re still in love with Van-Vanessa.” It hurt to say the girl’s name because she wasn’t just a girl, she was Richie’s ex. “But you asked me to say it and I did. So there.”

y/n was about to turn back. Back into her house and back out of this friendship. It was only because Richie laughed that y/n stopped. His chuckle was like music, not the kind that Richie blasted in his car with the windows down, but like a symphony. And if y/n were any less mortified right now, maybe she’d stop to admire it—him—for one second more.

She was about to ask why. Why are you mocking me when I’m so clearly in a vulnerable state right now? Why are you mocking me after I’d just shared something so deep and personal with the likes of you? About the likes of you? But y/n didn’t get the chance when Richie surged forward and pressed a kiss against her lips. She could feel her heart pick up even more at the taste of him: spearmint and tobacco. She thought it’d stabilize itself once his lips left hers, but it didn’t. His taste lingered and at the time it felt permanent, like a red stain on white furniture.

“Like I said. Ole Vanessa could never get in the way of you.” His breath hit her face, warm and intoxicating, and y/n could only think that kissing Richie on the lips was way better than kissing him on the cheek.

[hwaflms]

Fav Emoji: 🗡

Hi!!! I was wondering if I can get a ship for txt, nct, and ateez pls? I’ll really try not to make this long, but it’s hard sometimes lol.

Anyways, I’m an 18 year old 03’ liner and I’m 5’6. As for looks, I’m african american so i have dark skin, brown eyes and cinnamon colored hair. I cut my hair really short above my ears. I look rather young for my age (unfortunately). I’m rather slim and i have long legs and arms so people say I look even taller than what i am. I have large round eyes a big forehead, a button nose, and thick(ish) lips with round cheeks(ok now i understand why ppl think i’m vv young 🙄) But nowadays i’m more confident in myself and it’s no longer an insecurity of mine. I’d like to say i’m very stylish yet i can’t pick an aesthetic for the life of me.

To sum up my fav aesthetic/style, i would have to say something that’s dark but sophisticated. Like dark academia, but add a bit more of an alt/goth style to it. I like listening to visual kei and rock music, but to be honest, I love all music, even country some times.

I’m from the south of usa, so that has influenced how i am A LOT. I usually don’t have an accent, but whenever i feel a really strong emotion, I get a really strong southern accent and it’s kind of funny. I also tend to go outside without any shoes or socks. I like playing with my pets outside the most, I have two dogs (one is a rottweiler and one is a bull dog), my cat (just a black cat) and my bird. I love love love animals. I love everything to do with nature as well, i feel a deep connection with nature, and once, i even cried while watching bees pollinate flowers help lol.

My psychic said my aura was multiple shades of green, which i think it fits, seeing that green auras represented healers and earth lovers. My dad tends to call me a hippie lol. Astrology wise, I’m a leo sun, leo moon, and scorpio rising. My personality type is INFP-T. My friends say i’m quite funny, and they like to point out, “she’s really really smart, but like everyone, she has her dumb moments, but her dumb moments are the dumbest of the dumbest.”

I’m very sensitive, and not in the “i’m always crying way”. Yet, when i do cry, i tend to cry over the smallest of things, like the bee one. I cry over animals being cute, and I cry when i’m rlly rlly excited. Yet if i’m rlly sad, i can’t cry for some reason, and i’m just 😐. But, I try my hardest to comfort others and help others because there seriously is no other happiness in the world that makes me more happy than making others happy.

I like to talk a lot, as well (as you can see), and i’ll talk about every topic. I tend to talk most about child birth and genetics weirdly enough, it’s so interesting to me. But i also love to talk about astrology, space, and conspiracy theories. I’m highly spiritual. I’m also highly creative. I love drawing, singing, dancing, acting, all of that. Drawing has always been my strongest suit before i somehow got bored of it, but i still draw every once and a while.

I also like playing sports, as i’m naturally athletic. I did ballet, tap dance, gymnastics, track and field, cheerleading, soccer, and softball. (i think cheer is a sport and i’ll argue with anyone on that). I’ve lived in america, germany, and south korea, and i want to travel to so many more places as i grow older.

As for relationship stuff, I’ve never been in a relationship. I’m scared of boys to be honest. I was bullied in school a lot for being “ugly” and it was always by boys so i’ve never really had the best experience with them. I’m still trying to gain my confidence so that i could try dating.

My ideal type is someone smart (though i don’t hate himbos lmao), but i like someone smart and mature. I like someone who works hard, but not someone who’s too serious. With people, i like to have those love/hate relationships lol like we make fun of each other but we also have our soft moments. As for looks, i don’t rlly have an ideal type, yet there’s a couple things that i would go for. I like someone who’s taller than me, has bigger hands than me (mine are 18cm 😥), and has nice legs (i tend to like thicker legs, but i don’t discriminate). I do think smaller guys around my height are so cute too tho, like UGH I CANT CHOOSE.

My ideal date would probably be anything other than going to a restaurant. Maybe later on in the relationship that would be fine, but to be honest, i’m very awkward and shy at first, so it would just be weird. I find that doing something fun together really let’s you find out more about a person rather than just talking. So maybe an amusement park, or even doing an escape room together.

As for love languages, i’m not a very touchy person. Sometimes, i’m STARVING for a hug, but most of the time i don’t like to be touched. I think my love language is acts of service, and idk what’s it’s called, but just trying to find out abt someone. Someone would really know i like them when i ask for their whole zodiac chart, personality type, weekday of birth, everything.

Tbh, i’m very much like a tsundere. I don’t like showing affection very much, and i’d rather insult the ppl that i like than compliment them. Though, this is probably the reason ppl think i don’t like them when i first meet them. Sometimes i might get rlly mushy and cute and stuff, but most of the time, i’m just not used to showing affection, so i feel kinda uncomfy when i do.

Ok, that’s all, i really hope it wasn’t too much for you to read, i tend to get carried away ❤️ have a nice day ily

୨୧ 𓂃 : 🐇 :┊ i ship you with . . .

💌 — huening kai ♡ txt.

𖥻 the last thing a relationship with hyuka would be is boring. he gives off very "best friend who also happens to be your boyfriend" vibes, so there would be a lot off playing around and goofing off. he can be affectionate but also likes his space, like you, so you would be able to find a middle ground. he would like is your relationship was light and fun, teasing each other and making fun of each other. if you ever felt insecure, he would make you feel better in a less "let's talk about it" way and a more "ugh you're so silly, why would you think that when you're perfect??" way.

💌 — johnny ♡ nct.

𖥻 johnny is a chill and laid-back person, so conversation with him would come easy. there wouldn't be an awkward stage with him because johnny is a pretty smooth talker and he would make it easier for you to talk to him. johnny would NEVER make you feel insecure, if anything, he'd be the type of boyfriend who would be hyping you up all the time, even when you're doing absolutely nothing. johnny loves music too so, while he might make fun of you a lil for listening to country, he would love vibing to music with you. we all know johnny is mf hilarious, so he could definitely joke around with you and insult you playfully often ! plus johnny is a sexc tall boy and he has legs for days D:

💌 — hongjoong ♡ atz.

𖥻 hongjoong has the perfect balance of being mature and hardworking while also being playful. he knows how to take a joke and return the favour by teasing you, so i think in that aspect, you will have an easy-going relationship. he also will definitely be so supportive of you, and will be there for you whenever you need it. the kind of dates he would prefer would be more indoor ones, especially just in his studio !! he would show the amount of affection you're comfortable with, never pushing your boundaries or pressuring you.

♡ 𓄹 ࣪ ˖ i hope you like this !! and also, i just wanted to let you know that you are so so beautiful, okay, ilysm <3 boys suck, pls ignore them >:( thank you for sending this in, stay safe ^_^