#(that’s not a typo. i did mean fifty years)

[cowboyjimkirk]

💀 looking for a new job and realizing that between my totally useless liberal arts degree, my chronic pain, and my deep reluctance to have another public facing job, i am absolutely screwed

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Project Blue Book

Nathan Bateman X GN!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? • ko-fi • request info •

Summary: It's time Nathan gave you some answers.

A/N: Look, this is just me being silly and having a giggle.

Warnings: overuse of italics, swearing, not beta read, typos, talk of aliens and alien fucking, kisses, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 978

“So when are you gonna tell me about the aliens?” You lean back in your chair, your heels on the table, your laptop perched precariously on your thighs. 

Nathan gives you a look over the top of his glasses, glancing up from the circuit board he was soldering. He eyes your comic slippers for a second, seemingly giving the frog designs an individual glare. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He sighs.

“The aliens.”

“The what?”

“Aliens, UFOs? I’ll look up a dictionary definition for you if you’ve never heard the word before.” You tease and he scowls. 

“I know what the word means dumbass.” 

“You sure don’t seem like you do, or is this part of a test?” 

He sighs. “What?” 

“A test? You know, keeping stuff top secret? Deep throat? Cigarette smoking man?”

He rolls his eyes and goes back to his work, “You watch too much X-Files.” He grumbles.

“Yeah, but you got the reference.” 

He smiles in spite of himself. 

“So, when are you gonna tell me about them.” You put your laptop on the side, your feet on the floor as you roll your chair closer to him. 

He doesn’t look up. “I say this with all the energy I have: what the fuck?”

“Blue Book.” You lean closer. 

He pauses soldering, an unimpressed look crossing his face. But you know he loves the attention really. 

“Aliens. What’s the deal?” 

“Are you high?” 

You snort.

“Because if you are,” he gives you another glare, “I want some.”

“Project Blue Book, it’s a code name by the American air force about UFOs.”

He gives you a blank look.

“Are you seriously telling me you didn’t know?” You pause, “you’re such a sci-fi nerd, I highly doubt it.”

He puts the soldering iron down. “Did they breach my copyright? Have I got to send a cease and desist?” He sounds sincere, but you know Nathan. What he sounds like doesn’t mean anything. 

“It was like a term in the fifties, I doubt you’d be able to sue.” 

He shrugs, “I could try.” 

You groan and flop back into your chair, “Are you for real? You really didn’t know? I was so sure you got some secret alien communications.” You pout playfully, “I was hoping for some nonsense about your androids really being made so you could send them into space to talk with extra terrestrials.”

He frowns, “And why would I send androids?” 

“Because they wouldn’t age when you gotta travel like, 50 million light years or something.” 

“What’s the point in contacting aliens if I don’t get to meet them and fuck them?”

“Nathan!” You snort, despite trying to keep a straight face. 

“What?” He shrugs again.

You tut. 

“If there’s aliens I’m gonna fuck them.” 

You laugh, “What if they’re like Aliens aliens, trying to lay their eggs in you?” 

“Sounds hot.” He grins. 

You giggle and shake your head.

“Plus, the tongue is like another mouth, which I think,” he swivels around in his chair, giving you his now full, undivided attention. “Would give an amazing blow job and-”

“She’d bite your dick off.”

“Nah, nah, nah,” he shakes his head, “my dick’s too hard for that.”

You burst out laughing, “What?” 

“What I just said.”

“Nathan-”

“It’s rock hard at all times, could deflect bullets, it has in fact.”

“It has?” You can’t get over the silly expression he’s pulling. It’s stubble, a little glimmer in his eyes and a smile at his lips, but it’s so very endearing. 

“Sure, it’s saved my life, saved other people’s lives. Just,” he mimics hitting a baseball, “smacks the bullets right outta here. In fact, it’s super dangerous, because when it deflects them it actually makes the bullets go faster in whatever directly they’re hit, so,” he breathes in deeply, like this was a serious issue, “could hurt bystanders.” 

“Are you having fun?” You laugh, resting your elbow on his work table, your chin on your hand. 

He nods. 

“Fucking nerd.” You tease, grinning.

“Says you.”

“Says me?”

“You’re the one talking about UFO conspiracies.”

“Okay first,” you sit up, wriggling a little in your seat as you raise a finger, about to start on a shpeal. “Project Blue Book wasn’t a conspiracy, it really happened. I was just being a shit about the aliens bit, UFOs don’t mean aliens, they mean-”

He leans forward quickly and kisses you. 

The action takes you by surprise, how his lips feel against yours, how his beard brushes against you. He tastes a little of that stupid fennel toothpaste he uses, the one that he proclaims is the best for your gums but tastes like an overload of aniseed and salt. The one that you tried once and never again. The one that you tease him for using at any given opportunity.

But now you lean closer, your hand on his cheek as you lick into his mouth, trying to swallow down any essence of the taste. 

He groans a little as your tongue strokes his, his hum is pleasant as it vibrates into you. He slides his hand to your waist, pulling your chair even closer to him. The heat from his palm permeates into you, soothing your muscles, making you ease even further into his touch. 

When he pulls back after a long moment, he sighs. It’s the smallest, sweetest sound through his nose, a low grumble of contentment in his chest. He presses his forehead against yours for a second.

You swallow and he opens his eyes at the sound, moving back a fraction. 

“If I’d known that would shut you up, I would have done it ages ago.” He grins. 

You mock gasp, playfully pretending to hit him on the shoulder. “You’re the worst.”

He giggles, scooting his chair closer to you whenever you move away, “Don’t worry, I’ll kiss it better.” 

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

@romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho

@steven-grants-world  @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie

@silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom

@alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @soft-girl-musings  @spxctorsslxt

@novarosewood

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[owlhari]

a guide to not being ableist about norman becile

greeterings, fellow steam powered giraffe fans. while browsing becile content, i've unfortunately noticed a lot of ableism, both subtle and not, when it comes to folks talking about norman. i want to write a quick "guide" on how to not do that.

some disclaimers: this was not inspired by any particular post or user. it's a general trend i noticed, and to be fair, there are many years-old posts in this fandom with authors that may have changed since writing them.

don't take it as a personal attack if you realize you've done something mentioned in this post. take it as motivation to learn and grow!

also, i do not have a visible body/facial difference or an intellectual disability, but i am physically disabled and neurodivergent in multiple ways. i may have some "authority" on this topic, but don't take my word as the final say for any of this.

mini-essay starts below the cut.

let's start with language.

when describing norman and the 1950 incident, try to use neutral words. instead of saying he is deformed, disfigured, or crippled... say he was changed or transformed.

of course, if you are writing fic where a character is supposed to be ableist towards him, or maybe norman's feelings about himself immediately after the incident, it might make sense to use language with negative connotations.

but out of character, there's no excuse for using slurs. please don't call norman crippled. there are so many other words you can use.

why is neutral language important? because disability is not a negative thing by default. having a facial difference or a cognitive disability is not inherently bad.

(side note that yes, the official timeline uses language that is... maybe not the best. the official timeline also hasn't been updated since 2015.)

sort of related to language, look at canon for norman's speech patterns.

he appears in pages 11 and 12 of the comic, with plenty of dialogue. he does not speak "like a child" or have any apparent speech difficulties. of course, there's nothing wrong with that (i have a stutter! again, disability is neutral!) but the fact is norman speaks like every other character we see in the comic.

he enunciates himself just fine, he uses vocabulary you would expect an adult to use, he can be sarcastic and make jokes.

don't write dialogue for norman where he talks in the way you believe people with intellectual disabilities "should" talk. it just makes you look like a jerk who makes assumptions.

my last big point: wanda and norman's marriage.

it is canonical information that wanda walter married norman and took his last name. wanda's last name being becile in the timeline was confirmed by bunny bennett as not a typo or a mistake, she really did marry norman.

there is no reasoning given for their marriage, and they are never shown interacting in the comic. we don't even have a date for when they got together, aside from the fact that it was before 2015. however, this does not inherently mean their marriage was forced, that they're unhappy, or that wanda "had no other choice."

norman has been living at walter manor since at least 1956. if wanda truly did not want to be around him, why would he be there at all?

she has clearly forgiven him for what he did, else he wouldn't have been allowed to live with her for over fifty years. there are war-enhanced robots in the manor at all times, and you're telling me if norman made wanda uncomfortable in any drastic way, he wouldn't have been kicked out immediately?

of course, as i said, there is no truly canon reason behind their marriage. you're free to headcanon whatever you like. but if you're dead-set on writing that wanda was coerced or married him out of pity, i'd like you to consider why.

if norman didn't have a facial difference, if he wasn't disabled, would you be making those headcanons?

and finally... why does this matter, if norman's appearance isn't anything a human could possibly look like?

it matters because the way you talk about norman might come across as what you think of actual disabled people and it might make actual disabled people uncomfortable.

if your first thought when seeing norman in the comic (who, despite how little we see of him, seems happy and fulfilled) is that he must be a miserable man, suffering from his disabilities, with a wife who married him out of pity... i encourage you to do some reflecting about that.

thank you for reading. please be nice to disabled people, and have a wonderful day.

[skytheidiott]

Keyboard Woes: Of Apostrophes and Semi-Colons

---

[[To give some context, I had to write a Student Introduction for my college course. If you've had to write one, you know that they're all basically the same. Being the bored neuro-divergent bean that I am, I decided to have a little fun with it lol! I've cut out the boring fluff though, stuff like, "What's your course? What do you expect to gain from this? Would you sacrifice your firstborn child?" Y'know, normal stuff ^^]]

---

...in 2007! Despite it’s age, it’s quite snappy and useful as a no-distractions homework/writing device. The keyboard is surprisingly nice too-- it feels leagues better than any other keyboard I've used on modern laptops. It was also cheaper than budget laptops nowadays.

...

...

...Have I reached two hundred words yet? I can keep rambling about completely random of things if I haven’t. In fact... I just remembered something that I have, uh, opinions about.

*ahem*

Why.

The f###.

Is the apostrophe not a part of the home row?!

Seriously, we use apostrophes a lot! I’ve used them several times in this intro alone! Despite it's frequent use in typing, instead of being placed under the pinky when the fingers are at rest on the home row, it’s one key to the right. I have to take a fifty-fifty on whether or not I hit the apostrophe key or hit the fucken

ENTER KEY, LIKE RIGHT THEN. No, that wasn’t on purpose, I actually accidentally hit enter just then. Y’know what, I’m gonna leave that typo in. It’s funny and proves my point lol.

Now, one might assume that this is an odd thing to get worked up about. One might even say that I’m actively looking for something to be upset about!

...I mean, you’re absolutely right but come on man, it’s literally one key away from being a part of the home row. Instead, the semi-colon is there. The semi-colon! How many times do you use the apostrophe when texting your totally real friend group, hm? Now, how many times do you use the semi-colon-- YEAH, NEVER, THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT.

Y’know how people have made different keyboard layouts over the years? One’s that change the position of every key and look like an affront unto God, no matter how efficient they may be? If I could, I’d make a keyboard layout that simply switches the semi-colon and apostrophe, okay?!

I don't care if I'm being petty or whatnot, IT JUST DOESN'T MAKE ANY LOGICAL SENSE TO HAVE A KEY THAT LITERALLY NO ONE OTHER THAN WRITERS AND MY 5TH GRADE ENGLISH TEACHER USES IN THE "HOME ROW", A PLACE WHERE YOU'RE FINGERS ARE GOING TO NATURALLY REST AND THUS HAVE KEYS LIKE "a", "s", "d", "f"-- KEYS THAT YOU WOULD, OH I DON'T KNOW, ACTUALLY USE!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAA *screams endlessly into void*

---

[[Yup, I really put all that in my Student Introduction lmao xD. It ended up exceeding the word quota by over 500 words lol. I hope you found it as humorous as I did while typing it. It's odd how fun it can be to "rant" about things in a playful manner ^^'. I dunno if if I'll do something like this again but if I do, I'll be sure to share it lol ^^]]

---

[rockinlibrarian]

Starting a fresh post because that reblogged content was getting a little long

But @stephsageek tagged me to do this (and you can GO back and read all the reblogged answers here):

Rules: Tag 9 people you want to know better and/or catch up with, then answer the questions below!

Last song: Well, "The Lonely Goatherd" is again stuck in my head since I'm still writing that chapter (I added two more sentences since last time I mentioned it!). I haven't had music on this morning, so the last song I actually listened to was when my clock radio went off, and it was on this eighties r&b ballad I don't know the name of and can't remember the artist, either, but the guy keeps belting out what I think is "find one hundred ways," except my brain always processes it as "five one hundred ways" and I'm always like "why can't he just say five hundred ways like a normal person? Or fifty-one hundred?" and it probably ruins the earnest effect he was going for.

Oh, I guess actually the last song I listened to was that cool stringed instrument I reblogged last.

Three ships: Huh. Five/Viktor is really the biggest I've interacted with lately. And since I am still reading primarily TUA fic the only other (and this time CANONICAL!) ship I'm into there is Lila and Diego (sorry, @stephsageek, I've gone and split up your main ship into two separate ships in response to your own post, oh well!) (I grant you, Five and Lila are my favorite BROTP (ironic turn of phrase there), but that's not what we're talking about. I don't think). So let me cast my nets for whatever are my Biggest Ships of All Time instead, which would be... Howl and Sophie? Yeah, they'd do. You could instead name a property and I'd tell you who (if any) I ship within it. Who else have I written for on AO3? Oh, Melanie and Oliver Bird. Do I ship them or are they just being them (even though that is a flat-out romcom-tagged fic)? The only other non-Gen fic I have there is Tesseract, which will go into the workings of Alex and Kate Murry's marriage a bit quite romantically by my standards, but still isn't really SHIPPING. --I'm not a big shipper, if you couldn't tell, but I DO have ships I care about out there, I promise.

First ever ship: Speaking of the Murrys, Meg and Calvin

Currently Reading: The Astonishing Chronicles of Oscar from Elsewhere, by Jaclyn Moriarty, which has set me off on my how much I just love Jaclyn Moriarty and why don't more people know her raving again. I swear every single character in her books has ADHD and it makes it such a weirdly comfortable world to live in. My kids are like "I KNOW THAT FEELING!" every two paragraphs. She's just so creative and has SUCH a way with chararacters. I'm not fixing that typo, I like it.

Currently watching: I'm actually not sure when the last time I watched ANYTHING was. Not counting videos of cool psychedelic stringed instruments on Tumblr. And cat videos. My son playing Splatoon is what's usually on the TV in the living room, but I wouldn't say I watch all that closely. I just hum along to the music and annoy him.

Currently consuming: Aldi's brand mini wontons mixed with leftover Thai noodles, because why limit oneself to one inauthentic Asian cuisine at a time?

Last movie: again with the What DID I last watch question, which I think means I haven't watched a movie since New Years, the last one of which was STILL (since last I answered the What movie did I last watch question) Arsenic and Old Lace. I got The Music Man out of the library recently because I was quoting "Trouble" at the kids and they didn't know what I was talking about so I have to educate them, but I haven't actually put it ON yet.

Currently craving: Shockingly, not much of anything. Maybe because I just had lunch. Maybe peppermint just to counteract the wontons and Thai noodles.

Tags: do I even know nine people? I don't even know who actually follows me. I'm going to go ahead and tag the last nine people that have interacted with me here, not counting @stephsageek unless she wants to answer all these questions again. @frimframs, @joasakura, @dannypageoflight (that's my brother), @sunnymarbles (that's my youngest kid), @rj-anderson (that's a quite successful author, I don't know why I'm bothering her with this), frimfram and joasakura again, oh, @vovat (that's my friend from college), @e-louise-bates (that's one of my most long-time online friends!), @callmealx (I'm afraid I have NO idea who you are, besides I assume Alx, but that's what this meme thing is supposedly for, after all!) and @rebel-by-default. Is that nine? That's nine. Why hasn't it made Vovat a link? No, none of those suggestions are correct, Tumblr, you fail me.

[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.

[homoose]

Love Has a Learning Curve: deleted scene 3

Summary: A flipped POV/extended scene from the night reader told Spencer that they’re going to be parents (part x of lhalc)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: pregnancy, implied sex (obviously lol)

Word count: 2k

a/n: pls this is unedited so just ignore any typos

Series Masterlist

———

They said their goodbyes and final congratulations to Luke and Penny, and then they were sitting in silence in Spencer’s Volvo. She could feel Spencer panicking next to her— in the car, up the sidewalk, across from her in their kitchen. After two weeks of her own internal panic, now she was standing in front of him, and she couldn’t meet his worried gaze. 

“Please say something,” he begged. 

“I—” She paused, took a deep breath, and forced herself to look at him. “I’m pregnant.”

She watched as his IQ plummeted. “What?”

“I don’t know how it happened. I mean— I know how it happened, I just. I don’t know how it happened.” She laughed nervously, studying his face for any readable emotion. “I’m sure you can tell me the statistics about the effectiveness of birth control—” He opened his mouth, and she held up her hand, begged with watery eyes, “Please don’t tell me about the effectiveness of birth control right now.” 

“Okay,” he breathed. 

She didn’t think she could handle hearing about it, and besides: “The statistics don’t really matter anyway, because obviously it wasn’t effective, and now I’m pregnant.”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, a little like a fish, before murmuring, “You’re sure?”

“I took seven home tests,” she confirmed, voice wavering. “All positive. And then I went to the doctor on Wednesday. To be sure. And she, um— she’s sure.”

He nodded. “How do you feel?” 

His tone was even, his face neutral, and she couldn’t figure out if that was a good thing or a bad thing. She could feel the tears brimming, threatening to spill over. “I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t seem to stay neutral then, frowning and cocking his head. “Why are you sorry?”

“Because we— we didn’t talk about this.” She gestured wildly with her hands, the emotion finally spilling over and her fears toppling out of her mouth. “I never asked you what you want. And I— I don’t want you to think I’m trying to trap you, or—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He took a step toward her before he froze, cursed under his breath, and asked, “Can— can you just. Just wait here for one minute. I’ll be right back.”

He practically sprinted out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and out of sight. She sank into one of the kitchen chairs and dropped her head in her hands. Now it was all out in the open, and he was already finding it hard to be in the same room with her. He kept a neutral expression for as long as possible, because he was kind, and empathetic, and he loved her. But that didn’t mean he wanted to do this with her. 

She was so wrapped up in her abject mom-to-be terror that she didn’t hear him practically tumble back down the stairs. She didn’t hear him sprint around the corner and into the kitchen. But she did hear her name, soft and reassuring, and then he was kneeling next to her on the floor. “Hey, hey— look at me. Y/N, look at me.” 

She turned toward him in the chair, and his eyes were soft and reassuring, too. “It’s okay, baby. Are you— are you okay?”

She sucked in a shaky breath. It wasn’t okay, and she wasn’t okay— not until she knew how he was actually feeling. “I— what do you— I need to know what you want.”

“You,” he said plainly. 

Her heart flipped in her chest, but she huffed, swiping at her cheeks. “That’s not what I mean.”

“I know. But it’s the truth.” He shrugged. “I want you. Always. And I want you to be happy and healthy. And I want to support you in… whatever you decide.”

He looked down at his hands, and then he looked back at her. “In regards to ‘trapping me,’ it’s— it’s not a trap if I want to be here.”

He brought his hands up into her lap and opened a small velvet box. She stared stupidly at the ring inside for at least seven seconds, her eyes going wide as they came to meet his own. “What is this?”

“I’ve had this ring for… a long time,” he admitted. “ I bought it the week we came back from North Carolina for Thanksgiving, and I talked to your dad about it when we were there for Christmas.” 

He scooted closer to her on the floor, his own eyes wet. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He’d had this ring for nearly a year? He’d bought it when they had barely been together nine months? He wanted to marry her?

“I kept waiting for the perfect moment, but I— I could never find it.” He drew his brows together and huffed out a laugh. “I understand now that the problem with waiting for the perfect moment was that—” He shook his head in realization, and then met her eyes. “Every moment with you is perfect. Even when it’s not.” He felt a tear spill over and shrugged. “Because I’m with you. And that makes it perfect.”

She brought her hand up to wipe away his tears with gentle fingers, even as her own tears continued. He smiled at her. “I love you. The most. And I wanna be with you: today, tomorrow, next week, next year… forever. In every perfect moment. And that’s not gonna change. Okay?”

Of all the reactions she imagined he’d have to the news of her pregnancy, she had never imagined this. “Okay.”

He hesitated for a split second, and she saw the first and only shimmer of uncertainty. “Do you wanna marry me?”

She laughed, genuine and joyful. “That’s not how you ask.” 

He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. Will you marry me?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, all the worry she’d been carrying for the last two weeks just… falling away. “Yes. Yes.”

He slipped the ring onto her finger and then surged up off the floor to wrap her in a hug. “Sorry it took me so long.” She breathed him in, relishing the feel of his body against hers. For the first time in two weeks, she allowed herself to melt into him, no longer worried to be found out.

He held her for a second longer before pulling back to hold her hands, running his thumb along the newly placed ring. “Your answer to this question doesn’t change how I feel or what I want. I need you to know that.” When she nodded, he squeezed her hands. “Do you want to have a baby?” 

She hesitated, chewing the inside of her lip. “What do you—”

“No.” He shook his head. “I already told you what I want. I’m asking you. What do you want?”

She rubbed her thumbs absentmindedly over his for fifteen long seconds. The moment of truth, and it came out in a whisper. “I want to have a baby with you.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

Fresh tears gathered behind his eyes, and she felt so silly for ever having doubted what he wanted. “We’re gonna have a baby,” he breathed, disbelief dripping heavy over his words. “You’re gonna be a mom.”

She choked out a wet laugh. “Yeah, that’s usually how it works.”

“You’re gonna be the best mom,” he corrected. 

“You’re gonna be a dad.” She squeezed his hands. “The absolute best dad.”

He scooped her into another hug, the two of them laughing and crying in the soft light of their kitchen at midnight. She was pregnant, they were engaged, it was all out of order, and she wouldn’t change a single thing about it. Like every other moment with him, it was perfect.

“Your mom’s gonna kill me,” he muttered.

She cackled— well, almost perfect. She grimaced playfully. “Mmm, yeah she probably is. If it’s any consolation, she’ll start with me.” She sighed, smiling tiredly at him. “I love you.”

He matched her smile. “I love you the most. Dead or alive.”

She snaked her arm around his waist, pulling him toward the stairs. “You know… I can think of one thing that might just placate Mama Rose…”

They started up the stairs together. “Do tell.” 

Her fingers rubbed along his hip bone. “Do you think Dave would let us use his backyard?”

Spencer pressed a kiss into her hair as they reached the landing and turned for their bedroom, Roald hot on their heels. “I’m sure a bottle of wine and a box of cigars would do the trick.”

“I’m thinking a backyard wedding with your family and mine— here, so that your mom doesn’t have to travel.” She pulled him over the threshold of their bedroom door. “And then we can have a party at the farm for all your new in-laws.”

“New in-laws?” Spencer asked.

“Oh yeah. There’s fifteen aunts and uncles and about fifty cousins that’re dying to meet you.” Spencer’s eyes went wide as saucers, and she laughed, pulling him into her arms. “I’d say there won’t be a quiz, but if any of the uncles find out about the eidetic memory thing, they’re absolutely gonna quiz you.” 

She laced her fingers behind his back, drawing him even closer. “But they already love you,” she assured him. “I get a text at least twice a week about you.”

His eyebrows shot up behind his curls. “You do?”

“Mmhm. Asking how you’re doing, are you teaching a new class, where’s your latest case, et cetera, et cetera. All the aunts are nosy as hell,” she laughed. She tilted her head in consideration, lacing their fingers together and leading him toward their bed. “It’s gonna be impossible to keep this a secret for very long.”

He sat on the side of the bed, pulling her down to straddle his lap. “The twenty week mark is usually the green light to start telling people. How— how far along are we?”

“Dr. Layton said probably... about eight weeks.”

She watched as he did the calculations, the realization settling over his face— the drop of his jaw, the arch of his eyebrow, the pink rising in his cheeks. “Oh. Oh.”

“Mm.” She pressed her lips together to hide her smile. “I think we really, um— manifested that.”

“Wow.” She could practically see the memories flashing in his eyes. He cleared his throat. “Do you think your dad would sell me that truck?” 

“Oh my god.” She brought her hands up to his cheeks, grinning ear to ear. “You’d better come up with a good lie about why you want it.” 

His hands traveled over her hips, squeezing gently on their way to her lower back. “You mean I can’t tell Hank that his daughter had se—”

She clapped a hand over his mouth, gently pushing him to lay back on the bed and hovering over him. “Shhhh— he still thinks his baby is an innocent angel. You don’t wanna ruin that for him, do you?”

He laughed underneath her palm and pulled her flush against him. She removed her hand, and he sighed. “I suppose your secret's safe with me. Mostly because I don’t want to incur his wrath.”

“Mm,” she nodded, bringing their mouths together. “Smart man.”

He kissed her, saccharine and slow. She was just starting to relax into it when he suddenly flipped them, knocking a huffed laugh out of her. He peppered light kisses over her face, down her neck, over her racing heart, her sternum. When he reached her tummy, he paused, staring at the barely there bump covered in flowy fabric. And then he pressed his lips gently to it, over and over and over again. 

She tangled her fingers in his hair, waiting for him to get his fill. After fifteen kisses, she laughed as she realized he probably never would. He raised his head at the sound, gently resting his chin on her belly, careful not to press too hard. His sweet smile had her tugging him up toward her.

“I can’t believe I was ever worried about how you’d feel,” she whispered.

“I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out,” he countered. “I should have known when you said no to sushi.” He grinned, but then it softened into something more empathetic. “Is that why I couldn’t hug you for the last two weeks?”

She nodded, feeling absolutely ridiculous. He sat up and pulled her with him, his chin hooked over her shoulder and all his long limbs folded awkwardly around her. “Well. I guess I just have to make up for lost time.”

[makebank]

secrets & suds

request: long request but to summarize jj is involved with a kook but hasn’t moved past hooking up, he gets in trouble for pope sinking the boat, and she decides to help out. 

word count: 2.3k

warnings: mentions of smut but none, cussing, typos, angst, fluff

He presses a quick kiss to your cheek as he throws his shirt over his disheveled head. His skin is slightly damp and glistening and some of his tufts of hair plastered to his forehead. “Gotta bounce, see you tomorrow?”

You beam at the blond from across the room and send him a smirk, “You always do”. He rushes out of your house just before dawn. JJ was always good about making sure to leave before your parents woke up, specifically your dad. You never minded the class division, but it was easy to say from your spot on the kook throne. You take a moment to regain your breath then toss yourself back onto your silky king size bed. Your satin pajama set lay wrinkled off the side of your bed, you knew he was going to love ripping off the matching outfit as soon as he saw you. 

For some time now you and JJ have had a little arrangement. And by arrangement that meant he came over most nights to fool around. Sometimes you’d get him to watch a movie or cuddle, but it was always interrupted by your parents waking up or his friends texting him for something. You weren’t exactly sure when you started to fall for the troublemaker, but it came with ease. He seemed so rough and mysterious, which is what amplified your want for him in the first place. But after closer observation, he is kind, gentle, and would do anything for you. Of course you knew it would never happen. He is too caught up in the division and himself to even want anything more than this. Not that you don’t love the time you get with him, but you crave more. 

You sigh as you stand up wrapping yourself in your fluffy robe. Peering out of your bedroom window, you watch JJ sprint across your lawn and expertly hop the high gate. 

-

Alternating between mindlessly scrolling through your phone and checking out your window, you grow impatient. JJ had never missed coming over without texting. You were worried something happened or maybe he was just bored of you. It was getting late, so you send a single text hoping he was okay and try to lull yourself to sleep.

-

The next morning you wake up and for a moment your fears weren’t there. Slowly blinking your eyes open, it all comes back to you. You reach for your phone hoping for some relief. To your dismay no new messages were from him. You jump out of bed and rush to take a quick shower. Some slight snooping wouldn’t hurt. 

You definitely weren’t close with any of JJ’s friends, but you did know where to find them. You enter the Wreck looking overwhelming overdressed in your designer shoes and this season’s newest sundress. You find a vacant booth and make yourself cozy until a curly haired girl you recognize as one of his best friends comes to get your drink order. After she introduces herself, it clicks. Kiara right you had a class with her freshman year of high school. Hm small world. She comes back with your coffee and asks what you’d like to order.

“Have you seen JJ lately?” you awkwardly ask. She shoots you a confused look before settling into a glare. “What’s it to you?” You stumble on your words, “Oh… nothing. He just normally mows our lawn on Wednesday mornings, but he didn’t show up. Just thought I’d ask”. She seems semi satisfied with your answer and doesn’t press for more detail. “Well, he’s busy. Not that it’s any of your business anyway. So do you want something to eat or not?” You weren’t sure why she was being so hostile it's not like you two ever had any direct problems. Maybe she was just being protective of her friend. You weren’t going to take it to heart. 

You slump down in your seat resigning to the fact you weren’t going to get any answers from her. “No, I think I’m good with just this. Thanks”. She huffs whatever and walks away. Just as you're about to leave you see a frantic boy rush up to the counter to Kiara. You knew it was Pope from the pictures JJ has shown you. He looks like he’s on the verge of meltdown. 

“I can’t believe JJ covered for me. Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money. I feel so bad! What do I do?” He’s running a mile a minute and Kiara tells him to lower his voice. She brings him into the back room to comfort him away from eavesdropping ears. However, you heard it all and can’t comprehend what happened that he would owe that much money. Nonetheless, you conclude that you’re going to find a way to help him, wherever he is. You drop a couple twenties leaving a hefty tip and rush out of the restaurant. 

Walking down the street you bump into the three bozos that rule your side of the island. They ogle you and shout their vulgar ‘compliments’ at you. You scoff but are well accustomed to their barbarian-like nature. As you strut away, you overhear Rafe yelling at Topper. “Dude, get over the boat! You won’t even hit on y/n with us. That Maybank kid will have to pay one way or another”. What was with today and perfect timing? You thought you were going to have to dig a little deeper.

You walk home to think of a plan. You had lots of money, but your parents would notice if you took that big of a chunk out without something nice to show in return. There was no way you could get that much, but you could find a way to get fifty percent. That would be enough to get the authorities off his back and give you time to talk down the Thorton’s. You decide you could easily sneak a couple thousand without your parents noticing, but you were going to have to figure out a way to come up with the rest. 

It dawns on you after spending all your childhood watching teen rom coms. A car wash! Everyone was always searching for one after a storm. Plus, it wouldn’t take much but a simple tweet and an instagram story to have people lining the block. You immediately text the girls’ group chat to set the plan for tomorrow. 

- 

You wake up with a spring in your step ready to put your plan into action. You frown a little knowing it was another day with no word from JJ. You hope he’s safe and just taking time to himself. 

Putting on your skimpiest bikini and shorts you gawk at yourself in the mirror. It’s not like you had a problem with showing yourself off, you just knew the attention you were in for today regardless. You were doing this for JJ though, you wanted to help him out and show him there’s a lot more to you than having money and pretending to be perfect. 

You greet all your friends and start setting up. As cars start to line up, you can’t help but giggle to yourself thinking of the stereotypical ‘Cherry Pie’ or “Milkshakes’ playing in the background of every car wash scene. You get to work flirting and scrubbing cars as you all work for every dollar. The nice thing about Figure 8 was that they were willing to spend whatever. Just as you were about to head to another car you hear someone shouting your name.

You whip around to see a red faced and furious JJ. “You’re alive!” You try to lighten the tension. “What the hell are you doing y/n?” You frown in confusion. “What do you mean? A car wash?” He doesn’t seem satisfied with your sarcasm. “You're half naked out here and all these guys can’t keep their hands to themselves,”  he remarks annoyed while flailing his arms. You grin for a moment realizing he’s jealous, then it dawns on you, “First of all, you just disappeared off the face of the earth for days. No text or anything. Second, since when you do you care about what other guys say to me?” He crosses his arms over his body clearly irritated by your logical retort. “It’s none of your business. And I don’t care”. All the energy drains from you at the impact of his words. “Fine. Then keep not caring and leave me alone.” You swivel around stalking off to another car leaving him alone. Even if he didn’t want you, you were determined to finish your job and then move on.

You turn over your shoulder to see JJ storming off in the other direction. Your heart aches at seeing him actually leave. At least you knew he was breathing now. The next car pulls up with Pope in it. “What was that all about?” Your eyes widen at one of his friends catching you. He chuckles, “It’s okay I know about you guys. He tells me everything”. You soften knowing you weren’t a complete secret. “I’m not sure. He’s upset with me though.” He sends you an empathetic smile, “Don’t worry. He’s dealing with a lot right now. He’ll cool down eventually.” You nod your head, “Yeah, I heard about that. That’s actually what this is all for,” you admit sheepishly. Pope’s eyebrows raise with confusion. “My mom had me bring the car, because she said it was raising money for the high school”. Yikes. “That’s my bad. I kinda said it was for whatever people would listen to, so people would come”. He laughs, “Quick thinking y/l/n. You want some help?” Now it's your turn to laugh. “I’m sure we could find you some short shorts somewhere.” He parks the car off to the side and grabs a sponge to contribute. 

The rest of the day goes by with a breeze while joking with Pope and the girls. The last car drives off and you all plop on the curb for a break. You dry off your hands and start counting the money. You could almost cry happy tears. You raised over four thousand dollars. You thank everyone and promise to buy them mimosas at brunch tomorrow. For spoiled rich kids, they sure knew how to help someone in need. Pope pulls you into a side hug, “Thanks for doing this for him”. You smile squeezing him back, “thanks for helping”. 

After putting on some real clothes you stalk off to the Thorton’s. They promise they’ll leave JJ alone about the couple thousand left so it can be paid off slowly, now that they have a down payment for another boat. You breathed a sigh of relief knowing you did all you could. 

-

JJ was relaxing at John B.'s when he got a call. After hanging up, he’s elated and full of energy. He yells to the pogues, “Guys they said I don’t have to serve any time for the boat!” They all jump up excited and ask how. “They said over half of the debt has been paid, so they said I’ll have to sign up for some payment plan. But this means it won’t be on my record or anything”. They all join him in a group hug congratulating him. John B. pipes up, “Who paid it?” JJ stops for a moment considering that it wasn’t just magic, and the only person he knew that had money that knew was Kie. “Did you have your parents do it Kie? I seriously can’t thank you enough,” he picks her up into a giant hug. She shakes her head once he lets her down. “No, I wish I could’ve though. Sorry man.” 

Pope is smirking thinking about his day yesterday trying not to blow his cover. JJ notices. “What do you know, Pope?” He just shakes his head not budging. JJ throws his arm around his neck putting him into a choke hold wrestling move. Kie and John B. are enjoying watching them fight until Pope taps out. “Fine! It was y/n. That’s what the whole giant parade of cars getting washed was”. JJ freezes speechless. He turns on his heels and instantly busts out of the chateau. 

Meanwhile, you’re getting into comfy clothes preparing yourself for a lonely movie marathon tonight. Just as you settle into your thousand thread count sheets, your door swings open making you jump. “JJ you scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here?” He crosses your abnormally large room beelining to you. He grabs your chin and pulls you into a kiss. Your hand naturally falls to his arm as you allow him to passionately lead your lips. You pull away gasping for air. “What was that for?” 

He sits down next to you. “I am so sorry. I’m sorry for disappearing and not texting you. And I’m really sorry for being such a dick yesterday at the car wash. I didn’t know you were doing all that for me. Either way though I shouldn’t have acted like that. Thank you for what you did. It means a lot. I’ll repay you I promise”. You smile rubbing your thumb against his hand. “I forgive you. You don’t need to repay me, we worked for it. You were right though, it wasn’t my business”. He shakes his head, “I wasn’t right. I like you a lot. I’m stupid for not saying it before. I just didn’t know how to tell you about all my issues and thought I’d scare you off.”

You lean over kissing him on his cheek to soothe his obvious tension. “You can’t scare me off. And I really like you too. You can trust me with your secrets, but I’ll try not to meddle anymore if you don’t want to tell me.” Grabbing your arms to scoot you closer, he brings you in for another long and deep kiss. “Don’t worry. You can know all my secrets now,” he winks as he pulls his shirt off easing you back onto the bed. 

taglist in reblog, join in my bio

[jenivi7]

First Lines Tagging Meme

I'M SO HAPPY TO BE TAGGED IN THIS TWICE!  Thank you @ink-flavored and @clyde-side !! (I almost just did this on my own too because I love babbling about my own fics...)

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line.

Now pinned and under a cut because it became a really long, really good introduction to me and my stories! 

Hello!

Unnecessary and overly wordy introduction/personal musings: I love opening lines so much. When I worked at a bookstore, I used to open books and hardcore judge them on their first lines. I had barely any free time to read at that point so if it didn’t grab me in the first line or two, I put it back. The first Harry Potter book is actually in my pile of really good openers. “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.” (Subtle alliteration, HELLO??) So I'm super excited to see if my own first lines come even close to the standards that I apply to other people lol. MY OWN MONEY IS ON NO. I have the feeling that I'm so frantic trying to get the story down on paper before the good words disappear from my head that I'm not actually paying attention to the first line. BUT LET'S SEE, SHALL WE.

So just straight up going backwards, I've written and posted TWO BRAND NEW THINGS after being away from fandom almost entirely for 10+ years! They're drabble length but they're shiny and new! <3 (All available fics are linked!)

1. Tango:

She teaches them to dance so that they can dance with her but when Atem gets that mischievous smirk on his face and pulls Yugi into his arms, their bodies spark and the dance floor smolders at their heels.

(The fic is so short that this is a full 1/5 of it but actually, I think I crammed all the good stuff right into that first line. This already might be my favorite. Like it says there in the line itself, Puzzleshipping.)

2. No Betting:

Anzu sat at the kitchen table writing carefully calculated answers onto sticky notes before attaching them to a fourth-grade math worksheet.

(Peachshipping! This one doesn't pop off until about line five so here's the rest of that bit:)

She had the same arrangement with her spouse as most parents had. When the kids were good they were hers. When they were bad, they were his. And when they were winning at games because they picked up rules with uncanny speed and read their opponents with more insight than ought to be available to a child, they were definitely, definitely his.

3. If you wanted honesty that's all you had to say (working title):

When he realized that the figure sitting under the game shop display window and smoking wasn’t Ryou, the physical body response was as though it had discovered a coiled snake not two feet away.

(This one! It's a NEW half finished(?) WIP. I actually started this one before the drabbles but wanted to finish before posting it. Then it got out of hand, then work got out of hand, then I started a couple more projects and well. I keep putting words on it though and eventually there will be a Kleptoshipper that turns into Puzzle and Tender for your reading enjoyment. Also, fair warning - don't use song lyrics as a working title. Every time I look at the document I get the song stuck in my head.)

Now we have polished up reposts of old stories for their move to AO3, where I'll basically keep my master archive. Not full re-writes but I fixed a bunch of typos and awkward sentences and they're much stronger for it. Most of these are from a pairings contest way back when so LOTS of different pairings and lots of AUs!

4. Human:

It was like a bad noir, the thought crossed both of their minds.

(Scifi AU, Rivalshipping. That one's not bad for a first line. Actually no link at the time of writing cause the re-edit is going up in like, a half hour? an hour? a half day? It's my next project after finishing this, finishing up the edit and posting it on AO3. Now with link!)

5. Blood:

Fingers through midnight black hair, whispers in his ear, touches that sizzled along the skin, awakening nerves and senses. 

(Dungeonshipping, Pegasus x Otogi, vampires AU. Oh that’s a nice first line! <3)

6. Crazy for You:

The keys are too large and too heavy for the doctor more used to more modern facilities but she doesn't say anything, just follows the orderly as he pulls the large door open.

(Manipulashipping, Anzu x Marik, Psychward AU. Still one of my favorites from that era. Big bold warning though, THIS ONE CONTAINS NON-CON)

7. Finality:

“What are you doing here?”

“Saying goodbye.” Bakura’s translucent arms swept across the graveyard. “Is this not an appropriate place for it?”

(First two or so bits of dialogue as the first first is a generic question. You can tell this is one of the really old ones just by that but it's a sweet, sad little Tendershipper that still has a special place in my heart.)

8. Pieces of You:

Glitter caught the light, leaving shimmering trails in the air as it got everywhere.

(Glittershipping, Anzu x Kisara. Another one that's special to me. Kisara is my girl and my first writing muse. <3)

9. Cambodia:

“It was summer of fifty three...”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute, it can't have been fifty three. You might be that ancient but I'm not. It must have been sixty three.”

(Jiishipping. Yes. Sugoroku x Arthur. HEY, IT CAME UP IN THE RANDOM DRAW FOR THE SHIPPING CONTEST OK. And my writer's brain hasn't backed down from a challenge yet... Another one that takes 4 lines to pop off but it's a good start. Actually, here's the rest of the bit just because I cannot get enough of these two bickering:)

“What do you mean it must have been sixty three? You don't even know what story I'm trying to tell.”

“Am I in it?”

“What?”

“So you're deaf now as well as daft? AM I IN IT?”

“Of course you're in it, y'old coot. Don't know why I'd tell a story without you in it when both grandkids are sitting here.”

10. Coffee and Cigarettes:

"Cigarettes and coffee? That's not a very healthy lunch." 

Mana crossed her legs and took a refined sip of her own coffee even as her company was not. 

(Mischiefshipping, Mana x Thief King Bakura. Oh this one I'm actually sad that it doesn't immediately sparkle in the first line cause it's one of my absolute favorites of everything I've written. And I think it's the only time I've ever written Mana but I LOVED IT AND HER. Oh no! I lied, I've written her at least one other time though I don't think that one quite captures her sheer chaos energy like this one does.)

11. A Million Missed Chances:

Somewhere along the line, someone made a choice.

(This one. THIS ONE. I think this is by far the most epic idea I've tackled. I still don't know if the sheer scale of the thing came across in the actual fic but in my head it was massive and I remember pounding away at my teeny tiny laptop late at night because the whole thing hit me maybe a day or so before the story was due for the pairings contest. We only had a week to write each fic and my really good ideas never came to me before the very last minute. T.T Conquestshipping, Mai x Valon.)

12. A Fear of Falling:

She drove.

Like she always did when something bothered her.

(Oh the first chapter on this is also one of the really ancient ones. Like one of the very first things I wrote. That first chapter really shows its age and is a little shaky but the others are better and the last one is what fits into the chorological order here. Polarshipping, Jou x Mai. One of my very first ships. Probably THE first actually <3)

13. What Our Creators Make Us:

"Well, well." The match flared, scattering dark shadows until it was blown out and the only light that remained was the red glow from the cigarette end. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

(Psychoshipping, Marik x Spirit of the Ring Bakura. With a bit of Bronze, Angst and Tender in the follow up. Old but I'm ridiculously proud of it, hence it's place in the master archive. Ahaha you can tell how old it is though by how clever I think I am. I thought it was funny to make my audience figure out who was talking and not reveal the characters for a good fourth to third of the fic. Ahhhhhhh. Sorry about past me.)

14. A Revolution of the Spirit:

It wasn't fair.  It just wasn't.

That they were close was understandable (you don't get much closer than sharing headspace) but that even now, after deals were made with gods, endless arguments, compromises and the ultimate guilt trip that he had only been a teenager when he willingly sacrificed himself for all of humanity, things she had only half seen and only partly understood even though they had all been there to witness, that even now Atem continued to invade Yugi's personal space as though he belonged there got on her nerves.

(Woah Nelly! That third sentence should probably be three, four and five. Even if I just split it in half we'd continue the pattern of things popping off in the fourth line. I think that's one pattern that's emerging! A really good bit takes me about four lines to set up and deliver! Oh, the challenge was Revolutionshipping, Anzu x Atem, but the fic is actually Spiritshipping, Anzu x Yugi x Atem.)

So confession time, I haven't been out of fandom completely, I just hadn't written my own standalone stories in a very long time. There are a few (ok ok more than a few) long-running rps that @miss-moberg and I have been adding to on and off over the years. I can't resist throwing in a couple of these.

15. Cafe!

The door shut behind them with the soft click of the latch and the exhale of a breath long held.

(This opening line was from December of 2020 when we rebooted a very old Prideshipper and that is a damn good opening line if I do say so myself. I can definitely see the difference now between the newer works and the older ones. I've gotten better, she's matched me pace for pace and eventually something will be finished, I'll work up the courage to ask permission to post it and the whole internet will get to see how brilliant the two of us are together.)

16. Treasure Hunt!

"Ryou, I think you're going to regret letting me tag along on your adventuring this time."  Yugi didn't bother turning away from the airplane's tiny window to see if his seatmate was paying attention.  He was more thinking out loud with his friend playing the role of a convenient sounding board.  "Because I think this trip is the only thing I'm going to talk about ever again."

(One more from RP because it's got that fun, four line punch that we've discovered is a pattern for me! Opening entry is from 2017.)

Also, in truth, my count is a little off when I say I'd been out of fandom 10+ years. I've been away from YGO for that long but I did spend a brief stint in Homestuck where I read a ton of fanfic, flirted with a couple group RPs and even wrote a tiny bit. 9 years without writing a new fic isn't as impressive as saying ‘over a decade’ but it is a little more accurate.

17. What You Will:

In the land of fair Illyria, along a small, sandy stretch of its rocky shore, a ship has come to ruin and one lone woman lies still as death among broken wood.

(The beginning of a Homestuck/Twelfth Night crossover that I'm still determined to work more on someday. It's only got a single chapter but it's magic though now I'm concerned about not being able to recapture that. Not a bad first line though. The style is so different it took me reading it a couple times before going, oh yeeeeeah, that's pretty good!)

18. Relentless:

You pull him to the deck and then across it by the remains of his shirt. Let him say one last goodbye. His ship pillaged, his crew murdered, his hands bound behind his back and at your mercy.

Funny word, that. Mercy.

(The first line is pretty decent but there's that four line combo again! Five but I could basically fix that with a comma. Featuring the troll ancestors Mindfang and Dualscar because every time Hussey introduced new characters they were instantly my favorite.) 

19. Black:

There is dark and there is dark and there is dark and then there is black. She is black. Licorice and coal. She is hate and resentment and everything that tastes bitter, the kind of black that coats the tongue like oil, drips down the back of the throat and keeps going.

(Oh wow. Am I allowed to say that about my own work? A Terezi/Vriska drabble that I'm putting as much here as I think I can get away with because it's so good that it fucks me up a little going back and reading it.)

And here it gets tricky because I think the more recent of the old, old fics are in the Drabbles and Shorts collection on ff.net and I can't see a post date. So I'll just pick a good one to end on.

20. Two Princes:

It was inevitable as the rising of Ra's chariot after a long night, as the flooding of the river banks every spring, and Atem always knew that Yugi's kiss would be as warm and gentle as the evening breeze in the summer that brought relief from the scorching day. It was.

(How about the final honor going to more Puzzle/Blind? This probably has the strongest first line of its era. Actually I'm not sure when it was written. It was just hanging out in my writing folder and, thinking about it, I probably wrote it when I was fading from fandom the first time around but still trying to hang in there. No wait! That’s too sad, we can’t end on that! Lets add one more to the list for the sake of personal narrative!)

21. Linger:

The world doesn't need him anymore. It doesn't need his sword and it doesn't need his pen.

(A tiny Princess Tutu afterward that I wrote for myself. Nice one-two punch in the opener. Also it rounds out the personal story that accidentally developed here with a line later in the fic, "Words, however, never stray far from a good writer..." Like, wait, stop. Past me, how did you know T.T)

Did that take a sudden emotional turn for anyone else or was that just me. Can I offset that a little with an honorable mention? Let’s do that while I collect myself. Here’s one more.

Honorable mention: Ryou and the Thief

There was a storm gathering and too much magic in the air. Much more than occurred naturally and magic at this level was never a good thing.

(I can’t have a list of things I’ve written without having Ryou and the Thief on it. If you click on this one though, BEWARE, it’s old, it’s silly and it has a ton of explicit gay sex that… would be written very differently if we were handling it today I’m sure! This is the first RP @miss-moberg and I ever did together and our excuse to Gemship and Puzzleship turned into us running the boys through a whole adventure based on the Osiris myth. It’s the longest thing I’ve ever completed and I’d still consider it kind of my legacy.)

And that’s the last 21(+1!) stories that I’ve written! 

The clear winner of best first line for me is 15. Cafe! It’s short, elegant and manages to contain a whole mood even without the context of what’s going on and who’s involved. (Spoilers: It’s Seto and Mokuba making an AU escape from Gozoboro.) Close second is Tango, the most recent story. It’s neat to see just how much better I’ve gotten and also really cool to see that even if the first line itself doesn’t contain a punch, it’s usually because there’s a nice, strong idea being set up and delivered in the first four lines (or so). What a pleasant surprise!

AND WOW, this whole tag thing didn't need to be so long! Or personal! Seriously, if you get this tag from me the challenge is only to list the first lines to 20 stories and maybe try to draw one or two conclusions from them. You all thought I was joking when I said I loved talking about my own writing! But actually, I guess it’s fine like this as I ended up using it as a way to re-introduce myself. Like, "Hey, I used to live here a long time ago and oh my god I love what you've done with the place!" Rather than being someone who's just popped up out of nowhere a few weeks ago to creepily bother all your best of the best creators so....

^///^ Hello!

Thanks for letting me ramble!

Tags! I think I've seen most of the authors I follow do this already but on the off chance you haven't been tagged yet: @elexica (checked your blog to see if you'd already done the tag and saw that you're another person returning to writing fanfiction after 10+ years. Same! Hello!!), @danieco, @draconicmaw, @nedjemetsenen (has someone tagged you already?) and two shots in the dark, @miss-moberg and @edmondia (I'm so sorry you two. T.T Please feel free to block me forever.) And please, anyone else who wants to babble about their own writing! Do this, it was so much fun. <3

[crispyjenkins]

Hi hello as a fellow nb do you have any ideas of where to go on the internet for nb advice... i need an nb cicerone... like an ask leaf column... totally ok if you don't know/don't want to answer!! I'm not with the kids now that im mid twenties so I don't know any hip new terms or how to find nb people. for a long time i had no idea that nb doesn't always mean nonblack and that enby is not a typo... I'm an internet hermit who has tried to not interact for the past 10 years idk what I'm doing i cant even get off anon cuz I cant figure out how to confirm my email

oh lord uh i actually have no idea (ﾟ◡ ﾟღ) i'm 22 and uhhh really disconnected from everything? i did most of my gender exploration my last year of high school and my only year of college, where i lived in a social justice dorm (dead ass what it was called) so like..... since then i haven't really had access to the community either?

to tell the truth, i'm mostly self taught in the "oh I've never seen that term before, I'm going to ignore it for a few months before looking it up on urbandictionary" sort of way. i deadass didn't know what gnc was until last week.

i'm opening this up to my followers to answer, cause i have been out of the Internet loop forrrr 6 or 7 years before rejoining tumblr last year? and i THINK discord is where everyone is at these days but i haven't touched that with a fifty foot pole because Autism so

[cavilliciousness]

Title: About Time {Requested}

Henry Cavill x Reader

 Words: 6.3k

 Warning: Smutty, Smut, NSFW, Choking,

 A/N: Eeeh, a request! So exciting. This is a bit long, I didn’t mean for it to be, but it is. Hope you enjoy it. Also, please excuse any typos or spacing issues,  this is loosely proofread and edited.

  Summary: You and Henry are really good friends, have been for eight years. You've wanted him for such a long time but never had the guts to make your move because you always thought you weren't good enough for him or the kind of woman he needed/deserved. He knows it and has waited for you to come to it on your own, but he is tired of waiting, especially after his long, frustrating day of work.

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You sat behind your desk in your cubicle. It was yet another day of the same ol', same ol'. It was Friday, and you were thankful for it. It had been a long week, and you were desperately in need of a well-deserved break. Your mind drifted to your routine Friday night. Every Friday you and Henry had a Netflix-n-Chill night. One of you would go to the other's house with takeout. Whoever didn’t supply the food had to make sure the alcohol was stocked. You took out your phone from your top drawer and shot a message to Henry.

    MSG: Netflix-N-Chill tonight?

    You waited for a minute and no reply. Placing your phone on top of your desk, you tried to focus on the article you were supposed to be writing. You glanced at the clock on your desk; it read one-fifty. You groaned, closed your eyes, and rolled your neck around. You had four more hours until you could leave and you had no idea how you were going to survive it. You couldn't focus on the article even if it meant saving your life. Slumping back in your chair, you tried to get into the mindset you needed to finish the piece. Your deadline was Monday morning and you'd barely written a paragraph. You'd told your editor and chief that you were the last person who could write about advising on becoming a woman who made the first move and take charge of her desires. You didn't know the first thing when it came to that.

     Hell, you'd been in love with Henry for the last umpteen years, and you still hadn't uttered one word about it. Instead, you pretended the opposite. When he told you about the women he went on dates with you kept a straight face and tried not to look affected when inside you were dying. When he asked for advice when he was having woman troubles, you tried to give unbiased advice when really you wanted to sabotage him at every turn. It was painful, but somehow you got through it.

     You wanted to tell him how you felt, but you were afraid he didn't feel the same and worried that you just wouldn't match up to all the rest. He'd been with some stunning women, women who had perfect bodies according to the mass public and women who had so much to offer, like models, beauty queens, and actresses. You tried to tell yourself, of course, you had a chance. You knew you were a pretty girl your features were not basic, and your curves drew a lot of men to you, but you only had eyes for Henry. What was worse was that he had no clue. Your phone buzzed on top of your desk.

    MSG Henry: Depends are you going to adhere to the true definition of that term?

    Your heart skipped a beat, and your mind raced with the possibilities of what he meant. Henry's sense of humor was all over the place. He could mean it literally, or he could mean something else. You knew what you wanted it to mean. Chewing your bottom lip, you wracked your brain to come up with a response. After five minutes you'd still had yet to respond.

 MSG Henry: Guess not. I don't think I can make it tonight, running lines with the cast going to do a test drive to the next scenes.

    Henry was in the middle of filming Night Hunter, and he'd said quite a few times the psychological thriller had a way of messing with his mind sometimes. You understood from everything he'd told you about the role and the plot. You were looking forward to seeing it.

     MSG: I understand. Raincheck.

     Tossing your phone back to your desk, you groaned a little louder than you intended. An email popped up from your co-worker Liz. You opened it and saw an attached picture of Henry in what looked like a still from the movie. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you flat out gawked at it. He was gorgeous, the filled-out beard and long wavy hair was one of your most favorite looks for him. You had dreams about running your fingers through it and using it to steer him while he was nestled between your legs. A shiver rushed down your spine and you a wave of arousal came with it. He was so handsome. You looked down at the message Liz wrote, "Wild, wild thoughts." You knew exactly what she meant.

     By the time you got home, it was almost seven, and you were exhausted and so sexually frustrated. Deciding not to wait, you popped open a bottle of your favorite wine and gulped down two glasses as you prepared to hop in the tub for a nice long bath. Once you were seated, you enjoyed the hot water and floral scents of your bath oils and let your mind drift away on who else--Henry. Your mind ran back to his comment about "Netflix-N-Chill." There had been so many times you'd thought to just jump on him as he sat across the couch. So many times you'd wanted to barge in his bathroom when you'd heard him in the shower. It was amazing you'd been able to contain yourself this long. It took a lot of restraint and batteries.

    After passing out in the tub, you got out only to realize that two hours had passed. You hadn't even realized that you'd dozed off. You grabbed the wine bottle off the kitchen counter and made your way to your bedroom, deciding to lounge in bed with the TV. You didn't even bother to change out of your robe and get dressed. As you flipped through the channels, you happened to land on a channel that was playing Batman Vs. Superman and it was coming up on one of your favorite scenes when Superman landed in the cave looking house, and he looked fierce as if he could destroy an entire city. You quickly pressed pause and stared at his clean-shaven face. Without thinking about it or looking away, you reached into your top drawer and found the one thing you'd been relying on heavily for the last several months. Once you perched against the headboard, you turned it on and focused on the vibrations and Henry's face on your TV.

    It didn't take long for your back to be arched off the bed and your moaning to bounce off the walls and fill the room. You moaned loudly and slapped your hand to your breast and got lost in the sensations washing over you.

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-Henry-

   The day just wouldn't end. Just when he thought he was home free something always came up. First, it was yet another conversation of the direction of his character; then it was an impromptu improv session between him and a co-star, then it was retake after retake. It was late, and he was exhausted, hungry, and honestly very pent up. His friends had pointed it out several times that his responses had gotten shorter and shorter and he always seemed stressed, angry, or just plain out of sorts. He pretended like he didn't know what they meant, but he knew exactly what they meant. They were right, and he knew the reason why. It had been several months since he'd been with anyone. Months since he'd cut all ties with his latest pass time, hell he'd cut off all the women he'd ever spent any time with. Once he realized how he felt about Y/N, it didn’t make any sense. He'd always been attracted and secretly wanted her but as time went on and you'd struck up a friendship rather than a relationship he just decided to keep things as they were.

     In the beginning, he didn't know if you felt anything for him; he didn't like to just assume that every woman he came across wanted him and actually shied away from thoughts like that. The more he saw you dating other men, he resolved himself to believing you just weren't into him. It wasn't until almost a year ago that he'd realized you did have feelings for him when one of her friends accidentally let it slip. He wouldn't lie and say he wasn't happy about it because he was, but he was faced with a problem of how to breach the topic. Your friend Samantha told him you didn't feel like you deserved him or were his type. He thought it was a crazy reason and so far from the truth that he couldn't believe it. The more he watched you, the more he understood. He'd always known you were more reserved than the women he'd dated before. You didn't beg for attention from anyone men included. You never made the first move on any guy he'd ever seen you with and a lot of times he could tell you were awkward when you were complimented and told just how beautiful or sexy you were. At this point, he was tired of waiting for you to tell him how you felt; he was tired of waiting for you to make a move.

    He parked in the parking lot of your condominium complex and grabbed his bag and the takeout bags from the backseat and made his way inside. On the ride up in the elevator, he rechecked his phone to see if you'd sent another message. When the elevator arrived on the twelfth floor, he finished off his email to his agent and tucked his phone away and grabbed the spare key he had. As he walked down the hall, a few people passed him, and he tucked his baseball hat lower to obscure his face. Once inside, he dropped his bag in the foyer, kicked off his shoes, and walked into the kitchen to place the takeout bags on the island. He saw the corkscrew and the cork and knew you'd probably had a stressful day of work. Walking toward your bedroom, he intended to knock, but as he approached, he could hear the muffled sounds of moans. Craning his neck to the door, he listened carefully. The moans got louder, he thought it was the TV, but when he heard a high pitched screech, he pressed his ear to the door. His heart was pounding, and he didn't know why.

     "Aaah-mmmm. Yes."

     That's not the TV, he thought. His instincts were to turn away and leave; he felt like he'd invaded on your privacy and was mortified for it. As he took a step to back away, it was then he heard it as plain as day.

     "Oh, Henry!"

   He stopped in his tracks and felt like he'd been hit by a train. The air rushed from his lungs, and the thought to leave was gone. Placing his hand on the doorknob, everything in him just wanted to walk in there and finally express himself. Before he turned the knob somehow, he got a grip on his desires and the fire in his belly. Clenching his jaw, he turned away from her door and walked back to the kitchen. He took out a bottle of Guinness from your fridge and gulped it all down without taking a breath. Once finished, he leaned forward and balled his fists. The thought of what you were doing behind that door was getting the better of him. He wondered if you were using your fingers or if you had a bullet or something more versatile. He wondered how long you'd been at it, if you always said his name, or if you were completely naked. He groaned and trekked back to the fridge and took another beer. Halfway through it, he decided he was done with this back and forth and waiting and he devised a plan.

    Once he'd finished with the beer, he dropped both empty bottles in the garbage and walked back to your front door. He opened it and slammed it shut.

     "Y/N! Are you here? Are you awake?"

     He listened and heard a loud bang as if something dropped on the floor--or someone.

     "Henry?!"

     "Yeah. What's going on? Are you in the bedroom? I'll come to you."

     "No, don't!"

    He pinched his lips at the panic in your voice.

     "I'll be right there. Give me a minute," you responded.

     He walked back into the kitchen and unpacked the containers from your favorite restaurant and got the wine from the fridge. After a few minutes, you rushed into the kitchen in your black silk robe. He tapped into his acting skills.

    "Hey. Were you sleeping?"

     "Yeah, I um--I dozed off. Didn't even realize it."

     "Are you sick?"

     Shaking your head, no, you continued to avoid his eyes, "No, not sick, just feeling a little lethargic."

     "That time of the month?"

     "Nope." He knew instantly what time it was.

    "Ah, I see, it's that other time," he responded with a nod. He'd teased her before about the way women got during their ovulation time. He'd always found it interesting mother nature's ultimate sabotage, especially if a woman wanted to stay away from children. She made it so your body worked against you.  It was then he realized just what he'd walked in on. You were probably having the hardest time fighting it off.

     "What're--what're you doing here? I thought you couldn't make it," you rushed out. You sounded as if you'd run a marathon.

    "I couldn't, but I fought to get the hell out of there and here I am. Should I have not come? Did you have other plans tonight?"

    He gave you an inquiring look keeping in mind what you were just doing. You looked at him and gave him an innocent look and shook your head before looking away from his eyes to look at the mountain of food containers.

    "Nope, no other plans. Let's eat. What movie did you want to watch?"

    You took a few of the containers and walked away to the living room. He chuckled under his breath and followed you with the rest of the food and wine.

    You scanned the movies on Netflix and drank glass after glass of wine until you found an all-around movie, one with action, comedy, and romance. You both paid attention to the movie and joked between you, it was always comfortable with you, and he appreciated it. After a long day, you were probably the only thing that could help him de-stress. Throughout the movie, he initiated accidental touches that had you flinching back and looking away or smiling to yourself. When he took off his sweatshirt he pretended not to see you glancing over the exposed skin at his waist. He even pretended not to see you sink your teeth into your lip. It took everything in him to not react when he saw you suck your bottom lip in your mouth as you studied him when you thought he wasn't looking.

There were a few times when he thought you'd finally admit your feelings or give in to your wants, like when he reached over and wiped some sauce from your robe, or when his eyes dropped to your cleavage as he wiped the fabric, or when he unnecessarily brushed his butt against your hand as he passed in front of you. Still none of his actions elicited the wanted reaction, you looked like you were struggling yes, but still, you held tight to any confessions. That was when he decided to step up the tease. When you finished the last bite of your food, it left some sauce on the side of your mouth, he reached out and slowly wiped it with the pad of his thumb. It was meant to tease her, but as he did it, he was the one who had the most significant reaction. This was the first touch that he felt was intimate. In this moment he wanted you and didn’t want to play any games.

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-Y/N-

   You couldn't breathe, think, or move. You doubted he knew just what he was doing to you. He had to be clueless at the power he held over you. Your brain was mush, and you were dripping wet. You scolded yourself, in the rush to hide all evidence of your masturbation you’d forgotten to put on underwear. The fact that you were completely naked and filled with an unfathomable amount of need for him was too much to bear. You knew that if you got up the evidence of your arousal would be easy to see soaked on the couch. Pressing your knees together you looked away from Henry and back to the TV. You frantically looked around to find the wine bottle. From beside you, you heard Henry release a breath. You looked to him and watched as he rubbed his forehead and tipped the hat off his head. His hair was slightly tousled, and you just wanted to touch it.

    "So how much longer are we going to dance around this, love?"

    You barely heard the question you were so lost in watching his hair and the energy it took to fight your wants and ignore everything your body that was running on crazy hormones was telling you to do. You hated ovulation week it was hell, especially whenever you were around him. The fact that you hadn't even finished before you heard him come through the door made it that much worse. Your body was on high alert. Shaking your head, you looked at him and heard the words he'd spoken.

     "What?"

     "It's been years and years aren't you tired?"

     You gaped at him genuinely confused what he was getting at.

     "I'm confused--,"

     "I'm tired, bollocks I'm exhausted, and that's just from tonight," Henry admitted.

     "What are you exhausted about from tonight? What's going on? Work?"

     "I'm exhausted because I've had to pretend I didn't hear you pleasing yourself while moaning my name all night. I've had to pretend I'm not picturing what is underneath that robe or how it would feel to have your mouth on my skin. I'm exhausted and have no idea how you're not after doing all this pretending for years."

    The blood pumped in your ears, and then the ringing began. Your heart pounded so fast you thought you were going to have a heart attack. You couldn't think, all you could do was hear his words replaying in your head. You couldn't believe your ears. Not only had he just called you out like hardcore called you out, he'd eluded to wanting what you wanted. Your jaw dropped, and you looked away and around the room, unable to speak. What could you say? You knew what you wanted to say. Quickly your head snapped back to him just as his tongue peeked out to dance across his lips. Your mouth went dry. The moment stretched on for what felt like an eternity, neither of you spoke, neither of you moved. Just as you thought to Henry darted across the couch and crushed his lips to yours, delving his tongue into your mouth. He expertly kissed you and claimed your mouth as his, a claim you didn't dare object to. Instinctively your hand clasped the nape of his neck, and you allowed your fingers to sink into the hair there. Henry groaned on your lips and the wall you'd carefully built around all you pent up desires for him collapsed. Behind this wall was every dirty dream, filthy whim, deep dark desire, and every fantasy you'd ever had about him.

    You climbed on top of him and straddled his thighs, deepening the kiss and bringing your hand to join the other entangled in his hair. It was soft, so soft. Henry's hands gripped your hips and squeezed. You could feel his length growing as it pressed onto the need between your legs. Moaning again you pulled his head back by his hair. His loud grunt was followed by a husky groan. You kissed, licked and nibbled his neck before biting on the lobe of his ear. In an instant, he'd flipped you onto the couch and pressed his muscular body on you. his lips retuned to yours as he took control of the kiss. His beard rubbing against your skin gave you a delicious chill down your spine that curled around to your belly and ignited into flames. You moaned and dropped your hand to the swell of his backside and squeezed.

     "Christ Y/N!"

    The sound of your name on his lips made the pulsating between your thighs increase and beg for attention. As if sensing what you needed, you felt Henry's hands trailing up your leg to the inside of your thigh before his finger slowly met the wetness that had trailed down to your upper thigh. Then his finger grazed across your aching lips and to the greedy bud screaming for him. You gasped loudly tearing your lips from his as you arched backward. Henry swirled his finger over your bud then delved between your folds, feeling you more intimately than ever for the first time. As his fingers met with your sopping core, he groaned and dropped his head to your neck where he gently bit the skin there.

     "Fuck!"

    Whimper after whimper begged him to stop the teasing, but he didn’t. He continued to use your wetness to slick around your need. You knew you were close.

     "Is this how you do it? Hmm Y/N? is this how you please yourself while you think of me?"

    You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out, all you could do was moan more. Henry's fingers sped up then slowed only to speed up again. He was teasing you. You didn't doubt he knew how close you were and wanted to toy with you. When you knew you couldn't take it anymore, you felt Henry slip a finger inside your desperate heat and sink it to the hilt before he added a second finger. When he pulled it back, he slowly pressed forward again your hand flung to the back of the couch and squeezed it feeling your orgasm begin to uncurl within you. Suddenly henry pulled his fingers from you and sat up. His hair was a mess, lips red from your kisses and eyes dark with desire. He placed his fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean. The sight was enough to send more heat through you.

     "Bed. Now!"

     The order was laced with urgency, an urgency you felt as well. Standing up, you wobbled to your bedroom and quickly glanced in the mirror and tried to fix yourself up as best as you could. When you got out the bath, you didn't lotion or do any of your beauty rituals and thought to do it to make sure he had the best experience possible but when you heard his feet trotting across the wood floor, you shook the idea out your head and hurried to your bed. When he walked in, he tsked.

     "Since you're not in that bed already just stand right there," Henry ordered.

     You stood at the side of the bed and watched him walk in your room. It was an action he'd done dozens of times throughout your friendship only this time nothing about the move was platonic. He stopped in front of you and touched the ends of the knot you'd tied and pulled on the material to loosen said knot. Anticipation gripped your heart, and so did the nerves. He'd never seen you naked before, and you were worried he wouldn't like what he saw. The robe hung just off your skin, and he used his pointers to trace up the material to your shoulders and pushed it off. Effortlessly the silk fell to the floor, leaving you fully bare before him.

     Henry's eyes slowly drank in every inch of your figure from the swell of your breasts to the curves at your waist and hips. When his eyes stopped at the apex of your thighs, you bit down onto your bottom lip and tried to fight the urge to run and hide.

    "God, you're gorgeous," his husky voice smoldered. Searching his eyes for any hint of a lie, you found none. You stepped into him and kissed him again. You doubted you'd ever get enough of his lips. Henry took control and gripped your hip and pulled you against his body. You groaned hating the feel of all his clothes. You grabbed onto the hem of his shirt and lifted, allowing your fingers to graze his abs.

     "Too much clothes," you managed to groan out.

     Smiling against you, he wasted no time pulling the shirt over his head. You looked over his torso and smiled; he was gorgeous and thicc. You loved his body, always had and the build he had for this movie was one of your favorites. Henry turned you so the backs of your thighs bumped into your bed and hovered over you until you sunk into your plush comforter. Henry climbed on the bed and laced kisses across your body starting from your hip to your belly button, then to your ribcage and your exposed breast. The second you felt his lips around your nipple you arched back and gasped in. Henry sucked your hardened numb in his mouth and suckled.

     Mewls of pleasure escaped your lips, and when you felt his mouth on your other breast, you sank your hands in his hair and hugged his head to you. Before you had time to get lost in your pleasure, Henry pulled your hands from his hair and stretched them over your head and hovered over you once again. You felt cold metal around your wrist, but it didn't register. When you tried to pull your hands back, they didn't move. You looked overhead and saw he'd cuffed you to the headboard. Glancing back to him, you saw a smile.

     "There is a toll to pay. Eight years you've hidden how you felt, eight years you've made us suffer, eight years you've lied. Your toll is eight."

     Crinkling your brow, you pulled your arms again but to no avail, "Eight what?"

    Henry parted your thighs and dropped his lips to your neck where he softly kissed you then traced the tip of his tongue down your body. When he made it to your breasts, he sucked your nipple into his mouth again. Your moans began again and but when you felt his teeth nibble the bud you gasped and pulled your head up to watch him wreak havoc on your body. Glancing up to you briefly you saw him smile.

     "Eight orgasms," he cooly said before he moved his lips across your stomach down to your pelvis. You couldn't believe your ears or what was happening. The man you'd been in love with for so long and pinned for was kissing and licking your body and promising you orgasms, orgasms you didn't have to give yourself. Your anxiousness shone through with another yank of your hands. As Henry settled between your leg, she came face to face with your sex and examined you without touching. After almost a minute the anticipation coursing through you seeped to the surface, and you released a small whine.

     "What're you doing?"

     "You are so wet for me Y/N. It's beautiful." He kissed your pelvis, and you pinched your lips together to stop the sounds threatening to spill out.

     Every kiss he dropped to your skin came closer and closer to where you wanted his mouth the most. Giving you one last glance and a cocky smirk, he kissed your swollen and needy pearl. This was no simple kiss; this kiss was slow and ended with him sucking your flesh into his mouth. You didn't even know it was coming, but when you arched your back, you felt your orgasm rip through you. As you came, Henry didn't stop; he only sped his movements and flicked his tongue against you. It felt as if butterfly wings were fluttering on you and it pulled away another orgasm from you. All that was heard was the sounds of your moans, whines and pants and the clattering of the handcuffs against your headboard.

     He never allowed your body to cool. After your second climax slowed, his hand crept up to your breast and tweaked your nipple. You couldn't stop the loud whine that he pried from you this time, and honestly, you didn't want to. Part of you was embarrassed that after barley five minutes between your thighs you'd already came twice and on the verge of a third. You didn't know what you expected, but this wasn't it. For the next several minutes, Henry gave you two more orgasms before he lifted his lips from you. They were red and wet, and you wanted him more than you ever had before. You attempted to move to him, forgetting your state of confinement and groaned out your frustration. He smiled.

    "You still owe four more."

     "I can't."

     He gave you a devilish smirk one that made your skin heat all over again. You bit your bottom lip just before he buried his head between your legs again. You arched your head backward and let your moans free, one after the other. He was clearly on a mission, and you were his captive and at his mercy. As his tongue quickly maneuvered bringing you to a whimpering writing mess when you felt him slip two fingers inside you that was it.

     "Fuck, Henry!!!!"

     You heard him moan and slurp against your skin, you wanted to watch but couldn't muster the coordination that action required, all you could do was buck against his mouth as he tried to suck you dry. When you looked at him, his beard was soaked, and he held a fire in his eyes that you'd never seen before. Henry rose off the bed and stood beside the bed. You watched him undo his pants and pull them off with his boxer-briefs. The first sight of him in all his glory before you had your jaw dropping. You'd imagined how he'd look hundreds of times. When you imagined it you could never get it right, you had no idea what to expect, but this was not it. Your imagination didn't prepare you at all. He was intimidatingly big and thick. He was beautiful. Henry's hands dropped to his length and slid up back and forth a few times. It was a mouthwatering sight.

     "I've wanted you for so long, I've imagined how this moment would play out tens of times, but now that it's here--I'm not going to go slow. I fear I can't, love."

     His voice was low and laced with so much emotion. You bit hard on your bottom lip, trying to keep your emotions in check. Henry walked back to the bed and climbed on and settled between your welcoming thighs. You were going to have a heart attack you were sure of it, and the thought of it made you anxious and even more aroused. Your hands kept trying to break free from the handcuffs, but each attempt failed with a loud clatter of the metal against your headboard. Every time you tried, Henry smiled, he was enjoying your struggle. Your eyes dropped to his protruding desire just as he placed it atop your pubis. The heaviness of his thickness made you moan in anticipation. You could see the moisture dripping from him and bit your lip again as your eyes met.

     "Do you want me Y/N?"

     You nodded your head instantly, not caring how it made you look. You wanted him bad and didn't bother to hide it any longer. Henry pulled back and slid the tip of his need across your aching sex, making sure he connected with your clit. You gasped and closed your eyes you knew it would be a matter of seconds before you came again if he continued this slow torture.

     "I can't hear you, love. Do--,"

     He lined himself up with your opening focusing intently.

     "You--."

     He then rubbed himself against you coating his thickness with your juices, again your hands pulled against the cuffs.

     "Want--."

     Henry slipped his length back up to your clit and forcefully nudged it.

     "Aaah!"

     "Me."

     "Yes, fuck yes! I want you, Henry, I've wanted you for eight years, and I want you still. I love you!"

     With a wild look and no more hesitation, Henry flicked his hips forward and sheathed himself within your cavernous heat. The shock of the action and the ripple of pleasure that erupted in you made you scream out and yank your hands at the same time yet another orgasm violently coursed through you. Henry grunted loudly but stilled his movements. When you looked to him, you could see the struggle in him, his jaw was clenched, and his chest was heaving. Circling his hips your thighs instinctively came together, Henry pulled them apart again and pushed them back to the mattress where he held them down. He groaned loudly, pulled his hips back, and snapped them forward again; the force made your breasts jiggle, prompting another moan from his lips.

     "Christ! Mmmm, eight years Y/N. Eight years you've kept this feeling from us. Eight years!"

     His hips picked up pace and gliding in and out of you at a maddening pace, one that was doing wonders with muddling your brain. Every time he connected your bodies, your body jerked with the feel of him stroking that sensitive spot within you. You felt your toes curl in a matter of minutes and that was the only warning you gave before you screeched out and rewarded him with orgasm number seven. Clenching around him, Henry sunk back onto his haunches and pulled your body down to him and sunk even deeper into you. You had no idea how you took him and weren't screaming bloody murder.

     "Oh love, you take me so well, do fucking well!"

     You nodded, wholeheartedly agreeing. As he plowed into you with reckless abandon, you didn't bother hiding his effect. You screamed his name freely and welcomed everything he gave. When he straightened your legs and held them in the air together lifted your backside off the bed, the change of angle gave him your eighth orgasm, one that had you squirting all over him yet again.

     "Yes, Y/N, cum for me, come all over my cock!" his voice sounded as if he were on the verge of losing it. Henry parted your thighs again and leaned over you then grabbed your neck as he quickly delved in and out of your slickness.

     "You're so tight. You feel incredible!"

     The roughness in his voice only pushed you farther and farther to the edge, the edge you knew that had no bottom and would result in you being hopelessly in love and completely ruined by him. Once over that edge, you knew you'd be ruined for every man that wasn't him.

     "Fuck, yes, yes Henry, please!"

     "Please what love?"

     "Please don't stop, please!"

    "Never!" He gently squeezed your neck as his strokes lost their coordination. You knew he was close and rose your hips to meet him as you clenched around him. His eyes snapped to you, and it was then you heard a deep predatorial growl rumble. You'd never been this turned on in your life and he knew it, you could tell. Henry used his free hand to swirl his thumb around your clit, and that was the last push you needed. Screeching loudly, you arched off the bed and wildly thrashed your hips against his determined to pull him with you over the edge. Henry's mouth dropped open, and you heard him moan loudly before a yelp took over. As you clenched around him, you felt him release every drop of his essence deep within you. Your moans and pants of pleasure intertwined as one just as your bodies were. He dropped his body to yours and tried to bury himself deeper inside you as his body began to shake. You pulled his hair, forcing his head back to kiss him, a kiss he eagerly returned with the same passion you felt.

     After nearly ten minutes of Henry resting atop you still buried within your well-coated heat, you stirred, realizing you could move your hands. You hadn't even realized when he'd uncuffed you; you were too lost in the afterglow of the best sex you'd ever had. Your smile spread across your face, and soon joy filled you.

     "I can hear you smiling," Henry breached.

     You snorted and pinched your lips together just as he lifted his head to look at you.

    "Going to tell me why or do I have to read your mind?"

     "Try it," you challenged with a smile. You knew he loved a challenge.

     "If I guess right you owe me another toll," Henry suggested.

     Snorting, you shook your head and slightly shifted underneath him. The action made him suck in a rush of air then groan. You could feel him hardening inside you. Shocked you widened your eyes at him making him laugh loudly in the quiet room.

     "My god, you're insatiable," you accused.

     "You're smiling because that toy you have in that top drawer never made you cum nine times in a row and never left you feeling this satisfied. That smile is you realizing just how perfect we are."

     You smiled again and rolled your eyes.

     "Looks like another toll is due," he teased before he kissed you again this time slowly. He then gazed into your eyes and gently caressed your cheek.

    "I love you Y/N, I've always loved you. I will always love you. You are more than good enough. "

   Smiling again, you kissed him and rolled on top of him. It was going to be a long, toe-curling weekend.

    Tags:

@mrscullisblog

[scoopsgf]

93 for the angst/fluff pleeeeeease ?

93. “You’ve been quiet.”

“Something’s wrong with you.”

It takes Peter a minute to even look up from the textbook he’s been reading, which is sign B. Sign A was the complete and utter lack of talking from ten in the evening to now.

“Hmm?”

“You’ve been quiet.”

“I haven’t been quiet,” Peter argues. “I’ve been reading.”

“Quietly,” Tony tacks on. “That’s as weird as the Earth orbiting backward, Underoos. Where are the funny accents? Where’s the commentary on how even advanced high school education isn’t up to scratch? Where’s my running typo count?”

Peter snorts. He has the string of his hoodie between his teeth, which Tony had always seen other kids do and thought it was disgusting, but now it’s sort of... adorable?

God, what the hell is happening to him.

“Fifteen.”

“Huh?”

“For the typo count,” Peter tells him, before returning to his book.

Tony blinks. It’s not that he doesn’t think homework is important. He knows the kid needs to get it done. He’s been rambling on and on all week about the test he has for physics tomorrow and how if he fails he’ll yeet himself into another dimension, Mr Stark, seriously. Not only that, but May’s been on his ass lately about making sure the kid studies for at least an hour before they start ‘tinkering or whatever’.

Only this time, Peter had walked into the lab and he’d gone straight for the couch. No how was your day, Mr Stark, no what’s on the agenda today, Mr Stark. Just a grunt for a greeting and barely a nod in DUM-E’s direction.

So it’s worrying, to say the least.

Tony rolls his chair over to where Peter is sitting. The kid leans away in the same instant, pressing himself into the back of the coffee-stained couch. “Um.”

Tony squints at him. “Something is the matter.”

“Nothing’s the matter,” Peter says, all too quickly.

“No, it is.” Tony studies him more intensely. “You’re stressed? Bad day at school? Is someone picking on you?”

Peter leans back even more, looking more and more incredulous. “Who are you supposed to be, the Long Island Medium?”

Tony snaps his fingers. “Ah-ha! So it’s a bully! Is it that Flash twerp?”

“Oh my god, Mr Stark, no one has said the word ‘twerp’ unironically since, like, nineteen fifty-three.”

“You’re skirting.”

“You’re pushing.”

“I’m gently prodding,” Tony corrects, poking Peter’s shoulder just to prove it. “With care.”

Something in Peter’s expression changes. He seems to relax. “It’s not a bully,” he says. “Really, it’s nothing.”

“I beg to differ. You’ve barely said a word to me. What happened to my chatterbox?”

Just like he’d hoped (somewhere, without really realising it), that look morphs, grows. Peter’s lips quirk up into a half smile and his nose wrinkles. It’s ridiculous, really, the way Tony feels himself ease up with it. It’s enough of an assurance that no matter what’s up, whatever damage has been inflicted isn’t irreparable.

“Talk to me?”

“Talking hurts.”

Immediately Tony leans forward. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you depressed? Do you need a therapist?”

Peter’s face twists into something bordering on exasperated, which really isn’t fair. “I mean it literally hurts. My throat is sore. Has been all day.”

Tony’s reaction to that would normally be something along the lines of: oh no, germs, gross!

Instead, some other instinct takes over that has him reaching across the space between them to feel Peter’s forehead. “You’re warm.”

Peter sighs through his nose. “I figured.”

“What else hurts?”

A shrug. “Dunno. I just feel achy and run down.”

A year ago, Tony would have balked at the idea of spending more than five seconds in the presence of a snot-nosed teenager, but now, he gently runs his fingers through Peter’s hair. “Why didn’t you tell me, kiddo?”

“I just... I figured if you knew, you’d send me home—but May is covering Elsie’s shift tonight at the hospital so I’d be all by myself which normally is fine but I hate being alone when I’m sick, and I always feel better when I’m with you, so I just thought if I stayed over here and did my homework I wouldn’t have to worry about getting you sick too or—”

“Wow, it really builds up when you don’t speak for a while, huh?”

Peter pauses. Grins a little, but it falls. “Are you mad?”

“Mad? Why would I be mad?”

“Because I’m covered in germs and contagious and probably should be under quarantine—”

Tony cuts him off gently. “I don’t like being alone when I’m sick either, kiddo,” he says, and all he can hear in his head is I always feel better when I’m with you, over and over, a continuous loop he hopes never ends.

Peter eyes him warily. “No?”

“No.” He pulls away and claps his hands. “So! A movie? Something good, something classic. Toy Story?”

“I’m not five.”

“Hey, don’t bag on that movie. I still like it and I’m thirty.”

“Thirty plus...?”

“Shush.” Tony pulls Peter’s textbook away, fixes his hoodie, and brushes his curls from his eyes.

“Are you, like, fussing over me right now? Like an anxious mother? Like, I’m not hallucinating this, right?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Don’t be such a Sass Bucket. Come on, get up.”

“But where are we going?”

“Your room,” Tony says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“My—what?”

“Ah, I neglected to mention that, didn’t I? Well, have no fear. It’s huge and covered in posters for all your favorite movies, but if you don’t like anything—”

“I love it,” Peter blurts. Then he blushes. “I mean, I haven’t even seen it yet, but I love the concept of it, and—”

Tony smiles. He gives Peter a light nudge between his shoulder blades. “Little hustle, spider-baby. There’s soup to eat and cheesy Disney movies to watch.”

“Disney is a greedy megaconglomerate that doesn’t deserve anybody’s money—”

“My god, can’t you just hush for two seconds?”

[the-blog-of-self-indulgence]

Crowley fighting with a midwife and Aziraphale being so done.

OH SHIT IT MY FIRST FANFIC. Yea you heard that right and it’s super self indulgent! Very highly inspired by @top-crowley-central and I's talk of Aziraphale giving birth—💀

Sooooo now is your time to leave if ya don’t like alpha omega dynamics/mpreg stuffs. BUT if you do enjoy, go and read away! (Apologies for any typos or grammar mistakes I wrote this in like 3 hours and proof read it once)

~

~

~

Things finally seemed to calm down, the whole process seemed to go as normal. The hours of contractions seemed to last forever which is saying something for beings who’ve been around for 6,000 years. But what was important was she was out, she was healthy and had no obvious issues. Their child was sleeping peacefully on Aziraphale's soft bare chest, even for the Child of an angel and demon, bare skin contact was extremely important. Crowley unsurprisingly had been on edge the entire day. He was as close as he could be to his husband and newly born child. His dark wings wrapped around them protectively, his hands had turned to long, sharp claws and his eyes were fully bright yellow, his pupils barely visible from them becoming thin and sharp. His teeth grew to unreasonably long fangs, so long in fact he couldn’t close his mouth completely. Scales were speckled over him as well, under his eyes and his collar bones, his hands were the most covered, the black, slightly Iridescent scales stopped just after his knuckles. Aziraphale was obviously exhausted, for good reason of course. Pushing was quick, five minutes at most, but the contractions, hours and hours of them were what really took it out of him.

Crowley helped as much as he could in between his moments of utter panic, but who really knew what she was doing was their midwife Aziraphale had called a few weeks prior. Ariel was an angel like Aziraphale, she was created for children, Gabriel and Michael were also protecters and had almost definitely helped with births but let’s be honest. Crowley would tear them apart before they even left heaven. Aziraphale had known Ariel before anything of earth or humans were created. She always spoke of wanting to care for other angels but never seemed to do it right, besides that was Raphaels job. That is when Adam and Eve left the garden, and shortly after had a child, a simple glance down from heaven lined everything up for Ariel, that was her job. Therefore who better to help with the birth of the first known angel and demon offspring, if anyone knew what they were doing, it was Ariel.

Their little child had been with Aziraphale for almost an hour and a half, she was plump and pink, a soft tuft of hell fire red hair on her head. But most obviously, small little wings on her back with bright fluffy feathers covering the skin underneath.

Ariel had laid out a few items on table near by, a scale, a soft measuring tape, a Stethoscope, All on top of a plush blanket. She looked back to the large bed the 3 were resting on, Aziraphale seemed to have dozed off and Crowley stared unblinkingly and seemingly without breathing at their child. She walked over to them silently, Crowley tucking his wing a bit further over the two, he didn’t want a single human, demon, or angel within fifty feet of them. She very gently moved his wing down, greeted with an unblinking stare of anger, distrust, and his own fear he couldn’t seem to be able to hide.

“Do you mind if I see her for just a moment?”

Ariel smiled to Crowley and Aziraphale woke from light sleep.

“Don’t you fuc—“

“Of course Ariel.”

Aziraphale interrupted. Sitting up more he handed the fragile baby to the angel. Their baby let out a small gurgle and whine, to which Crowleys feathers puffed up to hearing. He was about to follow the angel to the table when Aziraphale stopped him.

“My dear she will be fine. Ariel knows more about baby’s and birthing than any human or angel. She even helped Mary.”

He smiled to his mate. Crowley huffed.

“We saw how well that worked out.”

Crowley grumbled out and Aziraphale sighed.

“What does that even mean.”

He spoke with annoyance, he absolutely did not have the energy to get into this conversation with Crowley. He opened his mouth to respond until a sharp cry broke the quiet. Without a sound Crowley was off the bed, his child snatched from the midwifes arms.

“What the fuck do you think your doing! What the hell did you fucking do to her! Don’t even try to fucking test me you bloody angel, I will murder you and scatter your bones across the world!”

He towered over her, protecting the child under his wing. Hissing sharply at the angel.

“I looked in her mouth to see her tongue and gums. She simply didn’t like me messing with her mouth. Now go sit down before Aziraphale throws his pillow at you.”

Crowley huffed again, moving his wing to reveal a perfectly content newborn. He held her close for a moment before handing her back to Ariel. She continued her work with Crowley not moving an inch.

“Crowley could you plea—“

“No.”

Aziraphale sighed and did as Ariel warned, chucking a pillow with intense strength at Crowley. It caught him completely off guard from all his focus being on the midwife and his child. He let out a pathetic yelp as he fell on his ass. Both Aziraphale and Ariel starting to almost cry with laughter. Crowley moved it off him with a growl and a red flush of embarrassment over his face.

They were going to be fine.

[thecursedhellblazer-arc]

At the Edge of Nowhere

(( So, guess who went ahead and scratched that crazy itch I got yesterday? Yep, Scotty did. It turned in a small fic instead of a drabble, since apparently I had more to play out than I initially thought, but...here it is. I took the chance to experiment a bit with the writing style too, while I was at it, ‘cause...why not? ))

(( I’m not really sure of where the idea came from, I just really wanted them to have interact, somehow, without inventing something too complicated. And this was the result. Also, it doesn’t mean that I won’t try to shove Five into John’s universe or vice versa at some point, but for now I’m good with this xD ))

(( Sharing just in case anyone is in the mood for some random oddity! ))

(( I even posted in on Ao3 if anyone wants to have a look at it there! ^^” ))

They sit side by side, watching the eternal sunset of Eternity stretching before them, swinging their feet past the edge of the Abyss, unfazed by the danger of its depths. The darkness seems to be threatening to suck them down, condemning them to an endless fall, and yet they pay it no mind, each of them far too interested in sipping and enjoying his drink.

The silence floods past them, over them, through them, carrying the whispers of their lives. However, for this ephemeral moment, they are given the almost unique chance to ignore them. It’s a rare gift, one that deserved to be savoured, like a fine well-aged vintage. Like the ambrosia that the ancient gods, legit and false, so much have lauded.

And so they sit, the Boy and the Fool, side by side, on the edge of the Abyss.

The atmosphere is almost companionable, as much as it can be when shared by two strangers who carry with them too much baggage. A past and a present that are too dark, too painful. There’s as much kinship and understanding between them as there’s mistrust.

They let the quietness linger for a while, listening only to the taste of the alcohol that coats their tongues, knowing that the stasis won’t last. Neither of them is good at keeping his mouth shut when something is making their skin itch.

“Th’ ‘ell ‘s a lad like yeh doin’ in such a place?” The Fool finally asks, turning his eyes away from the magnetic horizon and landing them on his unlikely companion.

The Boy scoffs. Why is it always the same old story with everyone he meets? “I’d watch my fucking tongue if I were you, young man,” he shoots back, with a withering look. “I’m far older than I look. And I’m older than you for sure.”

A half laugh rises with a small cloud of smoke, but it dies in the matter of seconds as the seriousness of those declarations settles in.

“Blimey. Yeh ain’t pullin’ me leg, are yeh? ‘Ow old are yeh s’posed to be den, mate?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding? Trust me, mate, I’m not. I’m fifty-eight. And I’m stuck in the body of a thirteen-years-old. There’s nothing funny about it.”

“Bloody ‘Ell. Fifty-eight n’ still a lad? Tha’s...insane. I dun envy yeh. Nay.”

The Fool shakes his head, but, despite the lingering astonishment, there is a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Tell us, tho. Woh’s yeh secret? I gots me diabolical trick to slow down agin’ n’ all, but it obviously ain’t workin’ as well as yehs.”

“I got stuck in the future for forty-five years and, when I finally figured out the equation to go back to my time, I missed a typo and...this is the result.”

“Soddin’ math. ‘S one o’ th’ bloody reasons why I ne’er managed to get alchemy rite. T’in’s keep blowin’ up in me face.”

“Sodding math indeed. Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

They clink their glasses together and go back staring at the frozen skyline. Two sets of blue eyes. Different shades of the iris, similar heaviness burdening them.

The Boy steers his drink with his straw, lips pursing pensively. “Speaking of things that suck, what is this place exactly? Am I dreaming? Or did I accidentally take some of my brother’s drugs and this is like the most boring trip in history?”

The Fool scoffs. “Gonna pretend tha’ yeh didn’t jus’ insult me too, together wit’ dis soddin’ place.”

His gaze wanders for a split moment, touching their motionless surroundings. “Ah, I dunno, mate. Could be yeh dream, aye. Could be mine. Or maybe we bot’ stepped inside another real wit’out noticin’ n’ ‘ere we are. Wouldn’t be th’ first time for me. Won’t be th’ last either.”

“I’ve never been in another world. I’ve travelled through time, maybe a bit too much, and I’ve rushed through the fabric of space but this…” The Boy waves his free hand. “This is new. It’s easier to think of it as a dream, so I’d go with that, if you don’t mind. The last thing I need is another headache.”

“Wohe’er works wit’ yeh, mate. I get it. At times, ‘s be’er pretendin’ life ain’t real. ‘S good for yeh mental sanity. Even if yeh got none left.”

The Fool takes yet another drag from his cigarette. Curiously enough, it doesn’t seem to be shortening, even if the ash falls down on his trench coat.

“One t’in’ I can tell yeh ‘bout dis place, tho. It ain’t somewhere e’eryone can visit. Yeh gotta carry some serious shite wit’ yeh to ‘ave stumbled in ‘ere. Do yeh?”

The Boy shrugs. “Maybe? I kept pushing and pushing, even after my father had told me not to and I ended up after the End of the world. I heard the bastard’s voice echoing in my head for the past forty-five years.” He makes his voice thicker for a moment. “I told you so, boy. I told you so. Asshole.”

A long sip from his drink, as if he is trying to wash away that intrusive voice from his ears, before he continues.

“I worked for this organisation that monitors the timeline for a while as a trained assassin. They made me into the perfect killer, a tool for their plans. I had my goals, though, since the start. I took their deal just so that I could go back to try to stop the Apocalypse and save my family. We ended up breakin the world anyway, so I dragged them all back in time to try again. Of course, all that shit followed us. Because it’s never that easy, is it?”

The Fool nods and the Boy can tell that his companion knows that sort of feeling far too well. It’s nice to be fully understood, for once. Even if the understanding comes from a nameless stranger he’ll probably never see again. Assuming that their meeting is truly happening in the first place.

“So...We saved the world this time but broke the timeline. And now my childhood home is gone and me and my siblings are stuck in a timeline that holds no place for us anymore. I’m still trying to figure out how that’s supposed to work. Oh, and that bastard of my adoptive father is hunting us down using the kids he adopted in our place. It’s a real mess.”

There’s bitterness colouring his voice, the embers of a fight that’s too stubborn to die just yet, but the exhaustion is stronger.

“Though, between you and me...All I really want is a decent nap and a dozen more drinks. Maybe get a dog too. Not necessarily in that order.”

The straw produces a light slurping sound as he takes the next sip. “What’s your story? You must have one too, since you’re here...wherever here is.”

The Fool tips his head, in a sign of acknowledgement. No comments follow the tale, and there’s no real need for them there, out of time and space.

“Grew up in me own particular version o’ ‘Ell. Me oul man was th’ fuckin’ opposite o’ ‘father o’ th’ year’...So, I ran in my teen years, still thinkin’ I coulda owned th’ world. Stuck me nose in e’ery bloody t’in’ tha’ was magic n’ occult. One nite I got too cocky and damned an innocent girl to Hell. Earned a bloody place wit’ me name down there too in the process.”

The voice that spells out the words is casual, but there’s something haunted in his expression, darkening his eyes.

“Spent all me life tryin' to make up for tha’ bloody mistake. Ended up messin up meself and most o’ me mates n’ th’ people who ‘ad th’ ‘orrible o’ puttin’ their faith in me as a result. Girl’s still in ‘Ell, th’ bloody Devil ‘imself gots an eternal grudge against me, I gots demon blood in me veins n’ me soz arse ‘s still damned. I might not be a professional like yeh, but I bet I gots jus’ as much blood on me ‘ands. N’ even more souls on me conscience.”

The ice clinks against the transparent walls as the glass is lifted. More sourness to wipe away the one that the words have left on his tongue.

“Nowadays, ‘s mostly me, meself n’ I. Me best mate, too, from time to time. No clue o’ ‘ow he survived bein’ by me side for so long. ‘M still tryin’ to make t’in’s rite, but...for th’ most I jus’ try to be there to do th’ bloody dirty job no self-appointed ‘ero gots th’ time to do. I might be lost, past th’ point o’ no return, but there are lots o’ people out there who aren’t yet. Th’ fuckin’ least I can do ‘s tryin’ to ‘elp ‘em, aye? Make dis soz existence o’ mine wort’ more than misery n’ destruction.”

A drag from his cigarette and there’s a small hand landing on his shoulder, in a brief pat, before he has finished sucking the smoke in. The light pressure says more than a thousand words could.

“Between you and me, tho...I could use a dozen drinks too. Maybe more. N’ a bloody vacation. To sod off somewhere, even for jus’ a day. Maybe take me best mate n’ dis other lad I know. Oh, he could use a break too, th’ poor sod.”

The Boy makes a sound of agreement and he is back stirring his drink. “What a pair we make, you and I. And I don’t even know you.”

“I ‘ear tha’ loud n’ clear, mate. Bloody loud n’ bloody clear. Woh’s tha’ yeh drinkin’ anyway?”

“What? You ne’er seen a margarita? Where the hell are you from? England or Mars? Come on, try it.”

“Oi, I know woh a fuckin’ margarita is, oul man. Yehs jus’ a bit...flashier than woh ‘m used to.”

“Special recipe. I perfected it myself.”

“Now, tha’s more like it. I like a bloke who can make ‘is own drinks. There. Yeh like g n’ t?”

The glasses pass from one hand to another and then they both turn to look back at the unchanged horizon, holding each other’s drink.

A moment to sniff the liquors, in unison, and then the Boy dips his lips in the clear spirit while the Fool wraps his mouth around the straw. The tastes mix in the silence and it’s a symphony of citrus and sourness, with just the right amount of sweetness coming at the end.

“So, what happens now?” The Boy asks, after a moment.

The Fool shrugs. “Ah, I guess we wait till all dis fades. Or till we do. ‘S always ‘ard to tell when it comes to dis sort o’ shite.”

A huffs, with the faintest hint of irritation. “For someone who’s supposed to know a lot about this stuff, you give the worst cryptic answers. I can’t tell if you’re that ignorant or if you’re just fucking with me.”

A nudge in a smaller, slender side and a sharp smirk. “Who knows, mate. Yeh guess ‘s as good as mine. Keep th’ drink. I gots more back where I come from. Consider it a safe trip back home present. I’ll keep yehs as a reminder.”

“A present from a guy I never truly met? And a reminder of something we didn’t even speak about?”

“Nay. Jus’ th’ memory o’ some peace n’ quiet in decent company.”

“Fair enough. I can drink to that.”

[thorscock-y]

Fifty Shades of Barnes

Summary: After watching a certain movie you and Bucky decide to test some things out, just to spice up the relationship.

Warnings: Smut, Oral (Female receiving),bondage, fingering, somewhat BDSM lol, NSFW,18+

A/N: Sorry if there are some typos, I’m a horrible proof reader.

Masterlist

It was Friday night, meaning a movie night for you and Bucky. Things around the tower had been calm; missions were simple things like saving the president from an assassin, just small things like that. So with nothing to really worry about you planned a little date night with Bucky. You had asked him yesterday and he was all for it, not even having a second thought about spending time with you.

So here you are, just hopping out the shower, getting ready for your date with him. You had been dating Bucky for over a year so you didn’t dress up too much for this date seeing as he loved you no matter what you wore. In his words, he preferred you naked most of the time. You chuckled at the memory of him saying that then continued getting ready. You simply dressed in some cotton pajama shorts that showed a little bit of your butt, just the creases, and then a white tee to go along with it.

When you walked out of your room that you shared with Bucky, you saw that he was in the living room, sitting on the couch while reading a book. Most likely he was waiting for you, you assumed. You walked behind the couch, pecking his cheek before taking a seat next to him.

“Hey, doll.” He said, calling you his favorite nickname.

“Hi baby, ready for the movie?” You asked.

“Yes, what have you picked out now? Another Disney movie?” He asked, a small smirk plastered on his face. He set down his book on the coffee table, his attention fully on you now.

You scoffed. “Um no, actually this time I went a little PG thirteen for you, seeing as you were getting tired of watching Disney princess’s.” You stand up to get the movie you bought, giggling inside at how he’s going to react to this certain movie.

“Well, you’re the only princess I want to be watching, Y/N.” As you’re bending over to grab the movie, his eyes skim over your ass. You’re completely oblivious to him checking out your ass. Bucky’s thoughts are already heading to the gutter but decide to hold it off for later tonight.

You stand back up, making sure to conceal the movie cover so he won’t be able to see it.

“Oh wow, so you’re not even going to let me see it?”

“You’ll see when it comes time for it to play.” You glance behind you to look at him, giving him a playful grin before presuming to putting the movie into the DVD player.

After putting it in you sit down next to Bucky, cuddling up to him. He wraps his arm around you, pulling him closer into his warmth. He kisses the top of your head as you lay your head down in his chest. When it comes time for you to press play, Bucky sees its Fifty Shades of Grey and you don’t look at him, only smirk to yourself as you feel his chest rise and fall.

“Well you’re right. This is definitely PG 13.” He says in your ear, his thoughts more wondrous than before.

An hour into the movie you feel yourself getting the slightest bit wet. You couldn’t help yourself. The mere image of Bucky tying you up and fucking you or just fucking you in general had your libido rising by the minute. And you weren’t the only one. Bucky has always considering tying you up, and torturing you with pleasure. Sure the two of you were having sex, from the moment you guys first kissed you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other. It was more of Bucky who couldn’t keep his hands to himself though; he loved eating you, fucking you, just touching you period. He found you so beautiful, your personality being one of his favorite things about you but god, did he love your body, and in that spirit of your body, he loved taking you. Anywhere.

The movie was at the part where Christian and Ana are in the red room for the second time and he’s tying her up. Oh, how you wouldn’t mind spicing things up with Bucky like that. Maybe just to try.

As if Bucky can read your mind, he leans down, brushing his lips lightly against your ear. The smallest touch has the wetness beginning to form even more between your legs. He kisses below your ear lobe, and then kisses down your neck before licking back up to your ear causing shivers to go down your back. You grip his thigh in an effort to touch him in some way. He gets the notion then lifts up your chin up and brings your lips to his, pulling you into a rough kiss. You moan into his mouth, enjoying how he’s getting with you. You move and straddle his lap, not breaking your lips from his. Your hands move to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer. His hands move to your ass, squeezing it with need. The two of you carry on, making out, grinding on each other completely forgetting that you’re supposed to finish the rest of the movie.

“Bucky,” You say breathlessly, pulling away.

Bucky, being Bucky doesn’t want to stop so he pulls you back in for another kiss. You once again pull away, putting your hand on his chest in an effort to stop him.

“What, doll?” He groans, wanting to touch you very badly.

“I want to try something new tonight.” You say against his lips, your voice filled with lust and want.

“What is it?” He asks.

“Maybe you could try tying me up like how Christian tied up Ana.” Your voice lowers for you are nervous that Bucky might think you’re a little weird for wanting something done to you like that. You weren’t really one to get down like that so hearing this from you was different. Nevertheless Bucky was all for it. Having you all to himself, no way for you to leave, doing anything he wants to you. He was considering tying you up here and having is way with you right now. But he restrained himself, not wanting to be too rough with you. Not when you guys are testing it out.

“Yes baby, anything for you.” He once again kisses you. You kiss back reluctantly; deep down you began to get more excited of Bucky being in control of you. Completely.

To escalate things, Bucky moved his hands to the back of your thighs then stood up, holding you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, continuing the kiss as he walked to the bedroom. In that moment you realize you’re really about to do this. Your heart starts pounding and you wonder if this is a bad idea. Then again you wanted this. So you ignored that side of you that wanted to be a good girl and let whatever was going to happen, happen.

When in your bedroom he sets you down on the bed then backs up away from you. His face is hard; his whole demeanor seems to have changed. It almost scares you in a way but turns you on at the same time.

“I’ll be right back. When I come back, I want you naked and laying on the bed. Do you understand?” His gaze is so intense, his tone dark.

You nod silently, lost for words. Usually Bucky was sweet with you, letting sex take its natural course but now he was giving orders which to be quite frank was turning you the hell on.

He then leaves the room. You follow his orders, ridding of your clothes before lying back down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Bucky is gone for five, maybe ten minutes and the anticipation is devouring you from inside out. Your breath shallows and you think to yourself maybe he doesn’t want to do this. Maybe it’s too weird for him. He is from the forty’s after all, meaning he was an old school type of guy. As you’re considering getting up and telling him to forget about this whole thing, he walks in the room. You’re lying on the bed so you tilt your head so you can see him.

You almost moan at the sight of him. He’s dressed in only his jeans that hang low off of his waist, and he’s shirtless. His strong lean body has your mouth watering. You have always been obsessed with his hot body, your strong soldier. Only yours.

“Good girl, following orders.” He says. He crawls on the bed, spreading your legs open for him. He comes up to you so your face to face then leans down, kissing you softly. Without hesitating you kiss him back, moving your hands to his shoulders but as soon as you touch him he grabs your wrists, holding them above your ahead. He doesn’t stop kissing you as you feel a tight bondage beginning to hold your wrists together. After a few seconds he pulls away from you, a smirk planted across his beautiful face. You go to pull your hands but discover that they’re attached to the headboard in some way.

“Cable ties.” He whispers against your lips. “For my naughty girl.”

You moan against his lips and tug uselessly against the cable ties wanting to touch him.

“You’re mine.” He growls possessively then is kissing down your neck, immediately going to your sweet spot on your jawline then beginning to suck harshly but it feels so good against you. You’re breathing hard, biting your lip enjoying Bucky’s dominance.

You smell amazing, you’re scent intoxicating Bucky’s nostrils. He’s always loved your feminine scent of sweet flowers, along with the smell of your arousal which was bringing him closer to just fucking you, forgetting the torture part of pleasure. He wanted it to go both ways but knew you could handle one so he did what you wanted, wanting to please his princess.

His kisses lower to your chest, then his lips glide over your hardened nipples in a teasing manner. He’s not kissing, just leaving feather touches. His hands are gliding down your body, doing the same. Touching you but barely, not giving you the sensation you need. This was complete torture and there was nothing you could do about it, for you hands were tied.

You whimpered while writhing underneath wanting him to touch you. More.

“Stay still, doll.” He says. You once again whimper and fight against your urges, staying still. He moves back up to your face, placing a chaste kiss on your lips before pulling away, looking into your eyes. “I’m going to touch you,” In saying that you feel his flesh hand on your soaking heat. “But you will not come until I say so, understand.”

Words haven’t formed from your lips so you just nod.

He shakes his head while moving his fingers against your aching clit. Oh gosh, you want him to do that again.

“Use your words baby,” He kisses your chin then looks back at you.

“Yes,” You become adventurous as you add shyly, “Seargent.” From what you know from his history he would most likely love being called that. You’re suspicion is answered as you feel the growing bulge in his pants on your leg. You want to move to get some friction going but don’t knowing his order was for you to stay still.

““Mmm, good girl.” He calls you again then the feeling of his fingers moving has all the nerves inside of you becoming alive and you close your eyes, relishing the satisfaction of his touch.

His thumb circles around your clit while his fingers have another idea. They travel past your soaking folds, before entering inside you. He only starts out with one, wanting to take things slow and the slowness of all of this was killing you. Nevertheless it was getting you going, turning you on in a way you had never been before.

Enjoying this, you moan softly closing your eyes. He smirks to himself before adding another finger inside and you clench him quickly, the sweetest sensation becoming of you. Bucky kisses your neck, your breasts, your stomach before you feel the stubble of his beard on your inner thighs. He kisses there too slowly, just to tease once again. And then you feel him where you need him most, licking up a strip of your pussy, the sweet taste of you makes him quickly dive in for more, almost devouring you.

Your hips buck at this sudden action, the pleasure consuming you. His fingers had already found your spot while his mouth is doing wonders on your pussy. He slides his down your canal causing you to shudder and moan from the immense pleasure that is happening all at once. You once again go to move your hands wanting to run your hands through his hair but they stay where they are, above your head, bonded together tightly. Fuck, you want to touch him.

“Oh, Seargent.” You moan out. His cock twitches through his jeans at the name and he become more aggressive, lapping his tongue at the top of your clit, pumping his fingers in you deeper. Your breaths were ragged and as much as you didn’t want this to end, your high was coming. As he continued slamming his fingers within you, your walls clenched around his two digits. He continued to eat you harshly, his mouth surrounding you, while nibbling and sucking.

Your chest heaved up and down, while you then felt your climax coming upon you. Before you could say anything you felt yourself let go on his fingers, coming all over his face. He didn’t stop. He threw your legs over his shoulders, wanting to taste you, all of you.

The pleasure was too much, your legs began to shake around him. It was the same feeling again. A painful torture that you had never experienced before but were glad to experience with the man whom you loved so much. The only man you could see yourself doing this with.

After a few seconds he pulled away, with a pop sound. It’s not a moment more before he’s unbuckling his jeans quickly, then he stops. The sight of his cock, with pre-cum, and a beautiful tip has you impatient and just ready for him to be inside of you.

“You’re still on the pill right?” He asks. Deep down inside Bucky doesn’t really care, he just wants the feeling of your sweet walls around his cock.

“Yes.” You giggle lightly but your giggles turn into moans as he’s filling you up slowly easing into you. Unlike this time, he doesn’t give you time to adjust, he just plows right into you, jolting you forward. His metallic arm comes down holding your hips, the coldness of the metal makes you shudder. The other arm is on the side of your head.

He’s watching you with that intense looks. He loves the expressions you make when you moan, when he’s fucking you so thoroughly. He finds it beautiful, and the sounds of your moans is such a turn on.

As he continues to fuck you, he leans down, his lips next to your ear.

“Don’t come until I say so, do you understand ?” He breathes, planting a feather like kiss on your ear.

“Yes S-sergeant.” You stutter, your words fumbling over each other. You’re too focused on the great pleasure he’s bringing you to even centralize his words. Though you go through and try to steel yourself not to come, knowing this might be a bit hard.

He groans into your ear before coming back up, so he can see your face. He’s rocking the bed with his hard fast thrusts so that the only sound in the room is the bed rocking, your soft angelic moans, and your skin slapping against each others.

After a few more hard filled thrusts that have you close to your orgasm he pulls out of you. Missing him inside of you, you whimper. He pushes you so you’re on your side, and he goes and lays behind you. He lifts your leg, and then you feel the fullness of him deep, deep inside of you. Oh, fuck, it feels amazing, and you close your eyes taking in the painful pleasure that he’s bringing you.

Your arms are beginning to hurt from being restrained, especially in this new position, but you keep it up, not wanting to stop. You push your back against him, feeling the heat of his chest against you. He continues his merciless onslaught, again and again and waves of pleasure roll through you. And you feel it coming once again, this time when you orgasm you’re sure you’ll collapse.

His metal digits come to your clit, rubbing fast and hard over the hardened nerves.

“F-fuck, sergeant. I’m g-gonna-”

“Not until I grant permission for you to.” His voice, dominating, demanding in your air. So you try your best but you don’t know if you can. Vulnerable like this, you’re sure coming is not a choice of weather you do or you don’t.

“P-please Bucky.” You moan out his name, sounding desperate but didn’t care. Your whole body shook has he thrusted inside of you, harder. Pretty sure the whole damn tower could hear but neither of you care for it was just the two of you in this moment.

“Who do you belong to?” He asked.

“Y-you.”

“Who?” He asks tauntingly as if knowing you’re dying to come all over his glorious cock.

“You, sergeant.” You almost yell.

“Come, baby doll.” He whispers in your ear and with that you came for the second time that night. Bucky’s was approaching so he kept fucking you, the feeling overstimulating you, sending you into a world of pure bliss. He stopped rubbing you and held your hips steady so he had more of an advantage.

Now Bucky has always been one to come minutes after you so it is a while but he’s coming inside of you, his warm juices flowing into you. He pulls out of you causing you to wince then places a kiss on your shoulder. Seeing as you’re still tied up, he breaks off the bondage so your arms fall on the bed. He takes off the cable ties as well so now you’re free.

You feel tired, your eyes are beginning to flutter shut. Bucky chuckles to himself. This is the first time you’re going to sleep after a sex session between you two so he assumes it must’ve felt really good. He pulls your wrists to his lips, planting light kisses upon them seeing as they’re red from the tugging of them. It doesn’t bother you though. You smile a little, loving how he is still the gentle caring James who you truly love.

He sits up and kisses your lips. “Remember, Y/N, you’re mine.” He says in a dark tone against your lips. You hum in response, a faint smile on your face before falling asleep, loving how movie night went.

[temporalies]

[ @consequntial​ : did you ever believe you were a ghost? ]

those who think they're older than him sometimes get uncomfortable when he laughs in the way he does. it's too old for his body. that's because five is, of course, too old for this body, a detachment from his self that can be helpful. it makes it easier to ignore pain and exhaustion when it doesn't feel like the body is really yours. the more he ignores it, the more unabashedly him he can be, not even attempting to pretend that he's some thirteen year old child in a schoolboy uniform.

five chuckles. he wishes, abruptly and neatly, for a drink, and briefly considers teleporting himself over to the bar a few blocks over, taking a bottle, and disappearing again across a few seconds. back before clara (last name omitted from the diner nametag) can even look for him, now that she knows the bones of his story. one sibling's already on the run from the law, though, and any more might make things untenable, child or not. imagining the cops knocking on the door of the academy asking about a thirteen year old stealing bourbon makes his head hurt. the last thing he fucking needs is for one of his siblings to have to pretend to be a parental presence.

again, at any rate. klaus barely counts.

❝ all the time, ❞ he says. ❝ and not even in a fun way as a distraction. sometimes i thought i was already dead and i just hadn't noticed yet. ❞ like his body had laid down somewhere to rest and his soul had pushed itself upright when his body couldn't any more, staggering across the wastes again. that maybe everything he saw was a delusion of the spirit, his last moments extended across years and years and years. or forever. one time, in something like a delusion, he scratched away at a corner of the wallpaper in his room in the academy, utterly convinced for thirty minutes that he would scratch away enough and see burnt walls and rubble underneath.

at least he had closed the door. half of the academy lives elsewhere now, so there were fewer risks of someone walking in to see him gnawing at the edges of his reality, trying to find the flaws before he could become too convinced of it. but there was nothing. just walls, and silence, and nothing. maybe he isn't a ghost haunting his final moments. maybe he isn't a ghost at all. and somehow that was more frightening, to think that he might be able to be solid and real.

on some level, his mission was wishful thinking. he is stubborn and unmovable and a part of him might have been satisfied with failure as long as he broke himself pursuing it. instead, this. this halfway success. apocalypse ended but him still here, which means, at some point, the apocalypse must still be happening. surely that's how this must work, because without it, he wouldn't exist.

❝ maybe i'm a ghost right now, ❞ he says. ❝ the fact is i shouldn't be here. i projected my consciousness backwards into a quantum state version of myself that exists across all of time, which, i will add, is very fucking uncomfortable, and then i showed up here. i don't think being a ghost is as simple as being dead. i think there's plenty of other fun ways to put yourself in a state where you shouldn't exist. ❞

fun, he says, as if it's anything but torturous. it must be a little disorienting, to hear this coming out of the body of a thirteen year old, but what can he do? he got the math wrong.

he smiles a little to himself grimly. ❝ one decimal point, ❞ he says, ❝ and i end up looking like this. you know how old i am? fifty-eight. almost fifty-nine now, i think, but all the time really does blend together. the stability of my existence hinged on one decimal point and i got it wrong. ❞

he likes telling people it. likes to watch their expression, the confusion and the worry and the lack of belief. lends more power to the argument on ghosthood. like they don’t believe he’s really there.

really, the mistake on the math is funny. a fucking typo. it wasn't at the time, but now it's just gotten more and more comedic over time. five leans back in the booth opposite her and sighs a little, picking up his coffee and cradling it in his hands. it's diner coffee. it's a little too bitter and it's very strong and it's probably the only good thing he's had in a long while. no food. he's picky about eating. not about his taste, because he'll eat just about anything, but he just doesn't know how to eat enough. he portions everything out, even when he knows he can afford his next meal. he hoards. he holds onto it. eat too much because you're convinced you won't have access to it; don't eat enough because you want to save it.

forty-five years in the end of the world does create so many interesting examples of delusional thinking, it seems.

❝ maybe it doesn't matter. ❞ he sets the mug down with a clink against the table. ❝ fact is, ghost or not, real or not, i'm doing enough. i guess things just get to match up when i do finally die. ❞ then he gets to get around to the haunting, which might be a fun time in and of itself.