#but lemme tell u i was feeling small 3-4 times a WEEK after a long day at school and work man

[tinycatstars]

this is gonna b such a sappy post but i don’t care!!!

life is so so good right now. i love my new job and i love all my friends and my new coworkers. i love hanging out with my old coworkers still too. i’m so excited for school to start and i love all my classes so much. i love seeing my boyfriend more and i just LOVE him so much.

i really love getting to regress for my own pleasure and not involuntarily because i’m stressed! i love enjoying my regression because i feel like i haven’t in so long!

i also love all the support i’m getting on the silly stuff i make!! i love the lil homestuck + vast error agere community on here. i love all you guys so so very much!!!

i just am so full of love and happiness and YA :D <3

[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.

[no-droids]

Ch 17 was so, so, so good (thank you!!) 🥺 i am still processing. ((Edit: this turned into an essay so i Am Very Sorry in advance, there is a tldr at the end though))

First of all. We get to see Din going through it the same way sweet girl was a couple chapters ago and I love it! She’s been so clear from the start that she doesn’t want to run away from him and now Din’s getting to the point where he doesn’t want to chase her anymore because he just wants her to be physically there with him again. The second night of comms while she’s camped out at the orphanage?? “I thought this was going to be alright, but I hate it.” ??????????? i am a Puddle of Emotions no one look at me 😭

And then the way he’s so unsure about whether she hasnt begun to reconsider wanting to keep up with his bounty-hunter life now that she’s finally gotten a break if being forced to outrun a mandalorian can be really even be called a break for the first time in a year?? And he can SEE all the places she’s stopped to talk to people on this planet (his comment about the number of times the blond guy turned around to talk to her in the line? 🥺.) Din knows she’s enjoying these small encounters with people, getting to interact with a new planet and learn new things as she’s making her way through each place, and since they’re only talking at night he gets to think about it literally all day long as he follows her trail and tries to figure out what her plan is. This is truly an exercise in Din thinking nonstop about sweet girl (which ofc he does already, but like, thinking critically about what she thinks/wants/does/needs and why) and I feel like that’s causing him to slowly start to second guess himself in terms of where he would put himself on sweet girl’s list of priorities. And I wonder how much of this he’s actually considering for the first time? because it’s always him who leaves and comes back when he gets jobs — this is the first time that sweet girl has left him instead of the other way around. Sweet girl has had tons of time to think about these things, whereas Din hasn’t really had to... because it’s not the one who leaves who feels the absence most, it’s the one who’s left behind (even if just temporarily).

I can just picture Din’s increasing doubts as the chase keeps going, whether he’s worth putting up with his lifestyle and whether sweet girl wouldn’t rather have a life like the people he sees in the footprints around hers? because he knows her, knows she likes soft beds and meeting people and fresh fruit and beautiful scenery, which are all things that living on the razor crest can’t always provide except for the last one bc Din Djarin IS beautiful scenery let’s be clear and just. the ANGST. I cannot. ( a n d meanwhile sweet girl is having a breakdown thinking he wants to STOP looking and LEAVE her? As if)

So when she shuts down his tentative doubts about it on the second night she’s at the orphanage and Din starts asking questions about favorite animals and flowers and things?? 🥺🥺🥺🥺 I lost it. Din is mirroring the love and care he receives from sweet girl (and learning to tap into those emotions as he does) and I am just in awe of both his character development from ch 1 to here and your ability to show that gradual shift in your writing.

Tl;dr thank you very much for this latest chapter! I will continue to be a soft emotional little puddle for the foreseeable future, or at least until I can figure out to scrape myself off the floor and function like a human being who has not just read rough day ch 17 and promptly dissolved as a direct result🌻

okay

okay first of all ma’am/sir/friend, please do not put tl;dr’s on a fucking MASTERFUL DISSECTION LIKE THAT like I genuinely hope people read every word of what you have written because you’re so spot on about everything that I was almost taken aback JEJFJJDJFJF

I would like to say, and I need to do this in list form because you have presented so many beautiful points that I’d like to address them one by one,

1.) Din Djarin is used to being alone. Full stop. Like even with sweet girl helping out with the baby and agreeing to stay on the ship while he goes and grabs quarry, he’s gone for weeks sometimes. He is used to being by himself, to fending for himself, protecting himself, patching himself up, EVERYTHING by himself. He is the most independent self-sufficient driven bounty hunter Karga has on the payroll and he’s reliable, which is why Karga would give him four pucks at a time. Giving anyone else four pucks would mean that if they happened to die during their hunts, then more than one puck would be lost and that’s money down the drain. Din doesn’t die, he always comes back with all four bodies and he’s fucking quick about it. Him telling sweet girl “I thought this was gonna be alright” is apt, because he’s been able to exist without her and do good work while he knows she’s safe on the Crest. In fact, the only time he EVER didn’t do good work is when a) she was attacked on the Crest on Corellia, or b) when he desperately wanted to get back to her as quick as possible and he pushed himself too hard and put himself in danger (aka frozen on Hoth scene). And actually c) when he stole Grogu back from the empire and had Karga and the guild on his ass about it. Those were the only times Din had trouble doing his job. The only times he stopped looking and gave up. “I thought this was going to be alright, but I hate it” means that YES ABSOLUTELY DIN DJARIN DOES NOT LIKE STAYING PUT WHILE SHE LEAVES, even though he’s okay with going out and doing his job when she stays. Even though he’s still hunting, it’s like the roles have been reversed. She’s understanding his side, and he’s understanding her side. It’s been 4 days and he hates it, so imagine weeks or months of that. Not being able to move or chase after her either, just hanging out on the crest with Grogu and waiting to see if she’ll be able to make it back. Which

2.) makes it hurt just a lil more in that wonderful delicious angsty way when he actually asks if she wants this life. On Naboo, he didn’t know where she went or where the kid was—he didn’t know if they were in danger, if she was safe. He said he’d rip the galaxy apart to find her if she ever disappeared like that again. But... she’d be safe on Sanctuary II. This is different, and just like you said, he’s had multiple days where all he did was try to think like her. Get in her head, predict her. Understand her more than he’s ever attempted to do before, in a NECESSARY capacity, like he would a bounty he’s hunting. Din Djarin is used to being alone. He’s used to being silent and that’s how connections are severed before they can even be established. His only practice at empathy was through his job, a job that he is very very good at, but it was never enough to get him to stop looking. He would never be able to empathize enough to ask if the bounty wanted him to stop looking for them. Even with the baby, he turned him in at first and then let the guilt eat him alive before going back to save him. So, if you couple that with his true connection to sweet girl, the natural empathy he has for her and the kid (him immediately following her after he accidentally snapped at her on the Crest and apologizing) and Din is now TRULY beginning to understand her on a level he’s never experienced with another person

3.) BUT!!! Even though he “needed to ask” (meaning he understood enough to know that asking the question was necessary) he started out the entire conversation by admitting he doesn’t think he could do it. Before ever telling her what specifically he doesn’t think he could do, he already knows this about himself and says it flat out. I don’t think I could. Even if you asked me to, even if you said you’d be happier if I did, even if you told me right now that it’s what you wanted, I don’t think I could ever stop looking. And a lot of the turmoil he experiences is because of that. I make you sleep on the floor. I teach you to fight when you just want to look at waterfalls. I do all these things that you’d never willingly do yourself, and I’m a bad person BECAUSE I still want you to always be here with me in spite of all that.

4.) Meanwhile sweet girl just has no fucking clue all this is happening and it seems to come out of nowhere, all she knows is that he’s been in the city when he should’ve caught up to her days ago. She’s out experiencing things and meeting new people and yet she always comes back to Din and the baby and how much they should be here with her. She tries to come up with clever ways to outthink him but she also offers to give her coordinates to him practically every single night. Her wanting to be with him so bad but trying to hold out (“ask me again tomorrow”) while Din is also wanting to be with her so bad and also trying to hold out (“find her again tomorrow”) 🥺

So yeah basically in conclusion I love them together and they’re so different but they make each other somehow both stronger and softer in so many ways and yeah u mighta heard of DD/LG u kinky fucks but lemme present to u DD/SG

[brushes-of-sage]

Alchemy. It was the only thing that was uniting the princes of Arendelle. While a door had separated the two brothers for the past five years, Hugo found a way to still stay connected to his brother. It all started three years ago, when Hugo realized he was running out of things to do. Oh sure, there were plenty of things in the castle, but that number reduces *significantly* when you realize there’s no one to do these things with you. So, Hugo decided to take up alchemy again. (1/?)

Alright lemme try to see if the keep reading works:

He had stopped working with alchemy when Varian had disappeared behind that cursed door, since alchemy was just another painful reminder of the brother he felt he lost. It was one of the brothers' favorite things to do, along with… along with... well, Hugo couldn’t really remember. The more he tried thinking about things he did with his brother that wasn’t alchemy, he got nothing, just laughter and a small headache. But, the number of things to occupy his time were getting thin.

So, he decided to give alchemy a try. This turned out to be a great decision. Not only did it serve as a distraction, but it served as something to keep his mind going. This distraction worked well for a few weeks until he hit a roadblock. He was trying to perfect an alchemical ice bomb that he had started when he was younger, but could never finish. But nothing seemed to be working. After staring at his disaster of a note pile for the better part of an hour, a little voice in his head said,

“You could go to Varian for help”

“No,” he snapped back, “If Varian wanted to help me or be there for me, he would leave his room. Clearly he doesn’t want to talk to me, or anyone for that matter.” Hugo didn’t want to admit it, but he was starting to get a bit mad at Varian. They were the best of brothers for years, and then just one day, Varian just shuts himself in his room, without a single word as to why. He laid his head on his desk and sighed. “Ah, who am I kidding? I’m going crazy just sitting here, I need to talk to someone, even if its nothing more than alchemy notes.”He gets up, grabs his notes, and starts to make his way to a door he passed by and stared at a million times before. On the way though, his mind is going through a back and forth battle: He wont wanna talk to you! Yes, he does, we havent spoken in forever! I wonder why? Besides its just some alchemy help, I’m not asking anything too extreme! All he has to do is fix a couple equations! What if he tears it up and ignores it, just like he has you these past few years? After this comment, Hugo ended up backtracking back to his room. He’d go tomorrow. Right?

Wrong. It took him three weeks before he found himself staring at the door that plagued his existence for two years now. He raised his hand to knock, and before he could back out, knocked twice and slid the notes through the crack under the door. He started anxiously pacing, his mind going back to the constant battle in his mind that had been raging for the past 3 weeks. After a couple minutes of pacing, Hugo was just about to leave when he heard 2 knocks, and paper slide back under the crack. Instantly, the flurry of anxious thoughts started up again, worrying it would come back blank or with a note saying Varian wouldn't help him. His hands shook as he opened the notes to reveal.. the completed solution. He read the solution 2 3 4 times before a huge smile spread across his face and he laughed a huge genuine laugh he hadn’t used in two years. These notes meant 2 big things: One, he finally had a solution to an alchemy problem he’d had since he was nine. And two, the more important one in Hugo’s opinion, is that his brother doesn’t hate him. That scary thought had crossed his mind multiple times and he had always quickly shot it down, but there was always that one tiny voice who would always say, “But, does he though?” Now, that voice was as good as dead. Varian didn’t hate him. He wasn’t giving him the *total* silent treatment. Maybe he could work up from here, have conversations through the door, send notes, maybe even ask why he was doing any of this in the first place.Just as he’s about to leave for his lab to finish the ice bombs with the now completed formula, Hugo heard two knocks on the door and stopped. He wasn’t expecting anything else. He looked at the bottom of the door and saw a small stack of papers slide under and he picked them up. It was a stack of alchemy notes titled “Melting Bomb” The notes were full of blank spaces and question marks and there was a note attached that said:

Hugo-Please assist me in completing this formula for a melting alchemy bomb. I have been on and off of this project for the past few years, and some assistance would be much appreciated. Thank you.-Varian

As excited as Hugo was that his brother was reaching out to him, and actively looking for his help, he couldn’t help but feel a bit…disappointed at the formality of the note. As if Hugo were some stranger that Varian had just met and had to put up formalities and not his own brother. Nevertheless, he shouts a quick “Be right back!” and dashes off to his room to grab a quill and inkwell. While he runs, he reads over the notes and finds the answer fairly quickly. It wasn’t all that hard, it just was in desperate need of a fresh set of eyes. He scribbled down the answers as quick as possible, not wanting to keep Varian waiting. He runs back to Varians room, knocks 2 times and slips the notes under the door. After a couple of minutes, he hears a soft gasp, the quick scratching of a quill, and a new note being shoved under the door. Hugo picked up the note and stared at the messy handwriting and smiled. This was the big brother he remembered. Thanks for the help! Now go work on your project! This went on for the next few months with notes. Sometimes it wasn't just alchemy they talked about. It started simple, like “How’s your day going” and things like that.

Then it slowly evolved to things like “Get some rest Haristripe” and “You haven’t eaten yet today have you, Hugo?” (Both weren’t exactly the best at self care, especially when they were caught up in their work). The day Hugo finally heard Varian talk was one of the best days of his life. Obviously, he had heard his brother talk before, but it had been years since they had spoken, and as the time passed, Hugo’s memories of Varian’s voice faded. Plus, with the time passing, he knew his voice would have changed. So, when Varian finally said a soft “Thank you”, Hugo’s face lit up with a huge smile. He didn’t talk much, but when he did, Hugo treasured every word he said, committing them to memory. For a while, things were going great. Until one fateful day, when Hugo pushed his luck just a *bit* more than he probably should have. The day started out normal enough, Hugo worked on some experiments he didn’t finish last night, ate some lunch, and then after lunch he grabbed his notes that needed Varian’s help, and started making his way to his room. However, on the way, he realized that as happy as he was to be able to talk to Varian, it didn’t feel *right*. A relationship based solely on notes slipped under a door and minimal verbal talking felt like a false one. What Hugo wanted to know more than anything, was *why*. Why had Varian shut him and the rest of the world out? If it was so necessary, why hadn’t he at least attempted some form of contact? This one word question had plagued Hugo’s mind ever since the door had closed, and he had never really had the confidence to ask it: until now.

So, he went back to his room and wrote out a letter. It was simple, a little more formal than usual, but to the point. It read: Varian- We’ve been talking with each other for a while now, and I feel we are at a point where I can ask this question: Why? Why have you locked yourself in your room and away from the rest of the world? Was it something I did? You can answer as vaguely or specifically as you like, I just would really like some answers. Thanks, Hugo

His hands shook as he folded the letter and slid it under the door. He knew to give Varian a little extra time, this wasn’t just a simple math problem. So Hugo waited. And waited. And waited, until it was dinner time and his stomach forced him to get some food. The whole time, his mind was at war with itself once again: See? You just had to push your luck, didn’t you? He’s giving you the cold shoulder ‘cause you couldn’t leave well enough well enough. No! He’s not giving me the cold shoulder, he’s just taking his time to formulate a response. It’s probably a really long story. Keep telling yourself that. I will! ‘Cause it’s true! If the positive side of Hugo was right, Varian sure was taking his sweet old time, because it was 3 weeks before anything happened. Three weeks of absolute silence from the older prince. The only reason things changed was because Hugo took the brave first step of sliding alchemy notes through the door. Five minutes later, it came back with notes and edits. There were no additional quips, remarks, or any explanations like he had requested three weeks earlier, but this was better than silence. They soon fell back into the routine they had before: notes, minimal verbal communication, and various quips. It felt good to get back to that routine, but a small part of Hugo still ached for answers that he feared would never come. But he never acted on this, fearing that Varian would once again give him the cold shoulder, and this time would ignore him for good.(20/20)

((And there it is! The final part! I hope u enjoyed reading it, this is the first time ive really written something i didnt hate *and* am sharing this with someone. Thank you for taking the time to read this, this means more than u know. Thank you also for letting me take over ur inbox😅Next up im doing this story but w/ varians pov, which ive already started. Thx again! -💙

Ahhhhhh, first off, sorry for getting to this later than I usually do!! These past few weeks have been hectic and I’ve been needing to take a step back and focus more on school and classes and stuff, but I finally got to reading this and OMIGOSH I LOVE IT SO MUCH!!!

(Hope you don’t mind if I just added in some italics and kinda changed the formatting to make it easier to read - didn’t take anything off or anything, but the way tumblr formats asks is a bit weird lol, hope that doesn’t offend you! - also number 7 somehow went missing? 😅)

But OMIGOSH YO - just my heart akfjajdjaj 🥺 The two of them building their relationship slowly through passing letters underneath the door? Oh my heart, and the way you can just feel them getting closer and happier because of it?

But then Hugo asking Varian the why - why did he shut him out, why was he behind the door, why can’t they see each other - and then Varian just suddenly going back to that stiff and formal demeanor after that akfjakfjja I cry ahhhhhhh-

“But he never acted on this, fearing that Varian would once again give him the cold shoulder, and this time would ignore him for good.” - JUST RIP MY HEART OUT BLUE NONNIE AHDKGKAKJD

I absolutely loved seeing Hugo’s hesitance then excitement and eagerness to get closer to his brother whom he barely even knows besides a few memories (and ha, I see the headache there 👀) and only to see that he went too far and the fragile bond they’d forged again had melted and akfjakfjaj the FEELS-

Thank you for sharing and for letting me read your writing! I’m excited to see what you’ve got next for Varian’s POV!!! 😱

[1112lw]

Every question!!

SDFFSDFG DAM OK SIS

LONG POST AHEAD IF U LITERALLY WANNA KNOW ME PERSONALLY JUST READ THIS LMFAO

1: Name: Arche/Jupiter, my close friends know my real name so!

2: Age: High school has just been done so try to guess

3: Fears: Heights, oral presentations, the dark

4: 3 things I love: Drawing, men- concept art n stuff like that

5: 4 turns on: Oh here we go- uhh thighs, messy hair? when they give u The Look or when they. say things i will not talk about here HHGBDF n uhhh Arms 👀👀

6: 4 turns off: weird macho attitude, overly confident bullshit, being selfish and fuckboys in general

7: My best friend: not sure what this means but my bff is named Daphnée n i love her and ive known her my whole life so 

8: Sexual orientation: homosexuale

9: My best first date: :))))))) as if

10: How tall am I: sigh. I’m 5″4

11: What do I miss: sometimes i miss the feeling loved ig

12: What time were I born: 12:19

13: Favourite color: pink!

14: Do I have a crush

15: Favourite quote: My senior quote!! “if what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, I’m telling you I’m immortal”

16: Favourite place: well? my room ig? I like my yard too

17: Favourite food: ugh ramen,,,korean dishes are TASTE as fuck but i also like classic ass spaghetti so like lol

18: Do I use sarcasm: does it look like i dont

19: What am I listening to right now: dr.phil LMFAO

20: First thing I notice in new person: Hair and eyes!! also how they laugh

21: Shoe size: Like. a 7-8 in women’s 6 in men’s 

22: Eye color: Hazel/Golden yes bitch let me be special

23: Hair color: it’s either dark brown or golden brown idk

24: Favourite style of clothing: bruv its either kpoppie fuckboy or uwu skirts pastels

25: Ever done a prank call?: no i have anxiety

26: Meaning behind my URL:

27: Favourite movie: rise of the guardians and HTTYD

28: Favourite song: Comeback Home (BTS cover)

29: Favourite band: looks in the camera i dont know nan molla huh

30: How I feel right now: I’m fine im hungry

31: Someone I love: shoutout to my babeys in my server ily

32: My current relationship status: Single(tm)

33: My relationship with my parents: theyre fine ig just a bit tired

34: Favourite holiday:

35: Tattoos and piercing I have: Ear piercings? that’s it

36: Tattoos and piercings I want:

37: The reason I joined Tumblr:

38: Do I and my last ex hate each other? I sure hope not?

39: Do I ever get “good morning” or “good night ” texts? A bit ig?

40: Have I ever kissed the last person you texted? Literally no

41: When did I last hold hands? Like last Friday

42: How long does it take me to get ready in the morning? 20 minutes

43: Have You shaved your legs in the past three days? no i havent shaved in like months

44: Where am I right now? in my room, in quebec, canada

45: If I were drunk & can’t stand, who’s taking care of me? bitch i sure hope my friends would

46: Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level? fuck my ears 

47: Do I live with my Mom and Dad? yeah

48: Am I excited for anything? yeah? yeah

49: Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to? ig? always

50: How often do I wear a fake smile? just at work tbh

51: When was the last time I hugged someone? not long ago i cant tell but my friends r cuddle monsters so 

52: What if the last person I kissed was kissing someone else right in front of me? i havent kissed anyone so 

53: Is there anyone I trust even though I should not? lemme think uhhh no not rlly im not dumb 

54: What is something I disliked about today? i woke up n i thought i had school lol

55: If I could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be? oh john cock i want to be ur best friend

56: What do I think about most? i daydream 24/7

57: What’s my strangest talent? uhhh i can put my thumb behind my hand?

58: Do I have any strange phobias? trypophobia, if thats “weird”

59: Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it? depends on what the video is, mostly behind

60: What was the last lie I told? idk answering to my deadname

61: Do I prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online? online

62: Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens? I slightly believe in ghosts? also aliens GOTTA exist so 

63: Do I believe in magic? i think!

64: Do I believe in luck? yeah

65: What’s the weather like right now? very pretty i filmed a video outside!!

66: What was the last book I’ve read? L’Étranger d’Albert Camus in french class

67: Do I like the smell of gasoline? yes my dad’s a mechanic

68: Do I have any nicknames? a lot a lot

69: What was the worst injury I’ve ever had? bitch @ my birth #neverforget 

70: Do I spend money or save it? i have 40$ in my name right now

71: Can I touch my nose with a tounge? no

72: Is there anything pink in 10 feet from me? yes highlighter

73: Favourite animal? cats or otters

74: What was I doing last night at 12 AM? FBISDFD NO WE DONT TALK ABOUT IT

75: What do I think is Satan’s last name idk he can have any last name he wants!!!

76: What’s a song that always makes me happy when I hear it? everytime i start hearing “waiting for you anpanman” or “i just wanna go home” 👀👀

77: How can you win my heart? aaahh. be a twink. b fashionable. b funny. cheesy. pls romance me like a npc in the sims 2

78: What would I want to be written on my tombstone? s(he) died smh

79: What is my favorite word? cunt is SUCH a satisfying word

80: My top 5 blogs on tumblr? oh great uh honestly cant be fucked 

81: If the whole world were listening to me right now, what would I say? please have brain. PLEASE

82: Do I have any relatives in jail? i sure hope the fuck not?

83: I accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow me with the super-power of my choice! What is that power? either invisibility or mind reading

84: What would be a question I’d be afraid to tell the truth on? ahaaa “what are your intrusive thoughts”

85: What is my current desktop picture? my lesbian sims getting married LMFAO

86: Had sex? no

87: Bought condoms? no

88: Gotten pregnant? NO

89: Failed a class? i think yeah maths last year

90: Kissed a boy? :(((

91: Kissed a girl? no

92: Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain? no

93: Had job? I have a job rn so 

94: Left the house without my wallet? yeah when i go to school

95: Bullied someone on the internet? define bullying?

96: Had sex in public? virgin squad

97: Played on a sports team? yeah

98: Smoked weed? no ew

99: Did drugs? no ew

100: Smoked cigarettes? NO EW

101: Drank alcohol? yep 

102: Am I a vegetarian/vegan? no i’d die

103: Been overweight? i’m twig

104: Been underweight? i think i was underweight when i was young? i was very Small

105: Been to a wedding? yes very long boring

106: Been on the computer for 5 hours straight? bruh. everyday

107: Watched TV for 5 hours straight? probably?

108: Been outside my home country? ONCE

109: Gotten my heart broken? TWICE !

110: Been to a professional sports game? yesss canadians game!!

111: Broken a bone? no

112: Cut myself? not technically 

113: Been to prom? SOON SOON SOON SOSOSNSBFSHDD

114: Been in airplane? once

115: Fly by helicopter? i am not rich bitch

116: What concerts have I been to? noneeee- WAIT NO MARIE MAI

117: Had a crush on someone of the same sex? not sex but for the purpose of pretending i have a penis yes plenty

118: Learned another language? yeah!! i learned english, i almost learned spanish and i’m trynna learn korean now

119: Wore make up? i try!! but i’m not super good

120: Lost my virginity before I was 18? not 18 yet but it’s goin that way

121: Had oral sex? as if 

122: Dyed my hair? i wishhh

123: Voted in a presidential election? I WISH THE ELECTIONS R ONE MONTH B4 MY BIRTHDAY 

124: Rode in an ambulance? nope

125: Had a surgery? yes at a week old 

126: Met someone famous? i think yes but i was super small

127: Stalked someone on a social network? define stalked?

128: Peed outside? yes

129: Been fishing? YES

130: Helped with charity? i think? we do volunteering so 

131: Been rejected by a crush? not directly

132: Broken a mirror? no 

133: What do I want for birthday? boyf......boy..boyff

134: How many kids do I want and what will be their names? oh man uhh maybe 2-3, i dont know their names yet honestly

135: Was I named after anyone? MY DAD NAMED ME AFTER A FUCKIN CLIENT HE MET. as for my actual name now I named myself after my fav video game character. lit

136: Do I like my handwriting? yeah!!

137: What was my favourite toy as a child? bitch hot wheels

138: Favourite Tv Show? hells kitchen,,,,judge judy,,,anythin like that

139: Where do I want to live when older? honestly i wish i could just live in japan or tokyo, or new york? but i will most likely end up in montreal 

140: Play any musical instrument? i used to play the clarinet last year!!

141: One of my scars, how did I get it? the one on my knee, i scratched my desk with my knee 

142: Favourite pizza toping? my dad makes AMAZING sea food pizzas,,,

143: Am I afraid of the dark? a lot

144: Am I afraid of heights? A LOT

145: Have I ever got caught sneaking out or doing anything bad? idk prolly? im a bit of a goody two shoes or however u spell it

146: Have I ever tried my hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end: dont we all

147: What I’m really bad at: organizing my anxiety n shit i get overwhelmed

148: What my greatest achievments are: finishing high school 

149: The meanest thing somebody has ever said to me: honestly has to be that time someone dug up my vent post about being dysphoric to try to say i hated myself with some dumbass DySphorIa Is SelF HaTRed argument

150: What I’d do if I won in a lottery: pay my parents’ debt off, buy 284223$ of BT21 merch, pay my whole college/uni and transition

151: What do I like about myself: idk i like how i literally do not give a fuck anymore and ive learned to love myself instead of trynna care

152: My closest Tumblr friend: @peptobismol-official​ @ace-landofthesun​ @dorkalisious​ and ana but idk her @ anymore :((( ana pls

153: Something I fantasise about: we dont talk about that

154: Any thoughts on the paranormal?: lit. please stop crawling in my ceiling !

ok now that u know my whole biography. go doxx me ig. bye bye

[bastardnev]

That Guy Next Door -- Ch. 5

SORRY this is so late!! i meant to post it this morning but i didn’t have enough time, i was in a Rush

anyways who wants some fuckin FIRST DATE FLUFF on this fine friday

tagging: @tylerblacks​ @joonhobi​ @sailor-slam-dunk​ @rivela​ @aliciasfox @kidvoodoo​ @smolsammichu​ @simulated-heat​ @douglas-leon-michael​ @1dluver13xx (lemme know if you want to be added to my nev/moose taglist!!)

(link to ao3)

Prev.: Ch. 1 ♡ Ch. 2 ♡ Ch. 3 ♡ Ch. 4 ♡

Neville had been so eager to inform Mustafa that he was willing to go on a date with him that he hadn’t even realized one glaring problem with the whole thing: he had absolutely no clue what he was doing.

It had been years since the last time he went on an actual date with somebody, and as such he was a little rusty when it came to the basics. For starters, what was he supposed to wear? Seeing as this was only a trip to a coffee shop, he knew that whatever he wore would have to be casual, but not too casual. He didn’t want Mustafa to think that he was a slob who didn’t care about his appearance -- maybe a t-shirt and jeans?

Then he remembered something unfortunate as he was digging around in his closet -- he didn’t own anything casual. Most of his wardrobe consisted of button-down shirts and dress pants. All things that he normally wore to work. Nothing that screamed “coffee date”.

Not only that, but how was he supposed to act? Should he act like he normally did? Or should he try to change things up a little bit and act more romantic, maybe throw in a few pick-up lines? The latter seemed like the right way to go, but would Mustafa appreciate it? How would he react if Neville wasn’t acting like his true self? Would he even be able to tell? So many questions were flitting through Neville’s mind, but not a single answer arose.

He was staring down at a few shirts that he had laid out on his bed. After going through everything that he had in his closet, he was down to the final two options -- a plain black polo and a dark purple dress shirt. On one hand, purple was his favorite color, so he was tempted to pick that one. On the other hand, he felt like a dress shirt was too formal, and the polo seemed like the better option. “Why is this so complicated?” He grumbled aloud, crossing his arms.

“Why is what so complicated?” Neville jumped and spun to face the doorway, spotting Wade standing there, looking confused.

“Nothing, nothing!” He assured, forcing a smile to his face. “Don’t worry about it.” Christ, he’d completely forgotten to mention the date to him. He knew that the moment he admitted to Wade that he was seeing Mustafa, he would be teased to the high heavens. Under absolutely no circumstances could he find out about it.

“You were staring pretty intently down at those shirts.” He sauntered into the room. “Why?”

“U-Uh… yeah! Yeah, I was! That’s because I… was debating which of the two to give away! Y’know, to charity! I figured I already had so many of these damn things that someone else could use them more than me.”

Wade looked impressed. “Well that’s awfully nice of you. I probably have some old stuff that I can give away too.”

“We’re a very charitable household, aren’t we? Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He tried to usher Wade out of the room.

“Woah, woah, what’s the rush? You’re acting like you’re hiding something.”

“Me? Hiding something? No, no, I would never hide anything from you!”

“If you’re not hiding anything, then why are you trying to get rid of me? At least let me see something before you kick me out.” Wade shooed him away and picked up the purple shirt, looking at the tag. “If you’re gonna give one of these two away, it should be this one. It’s definitely too small on you now.”

“You think?”

“Mm. It’d be way too tight on you. Keep the black one, you look good in it.” He made to toss the shirt in Neville’s direction. “Maybe you can give it to Mustafa when you go on your date.”

Neville suddenly became rigid, and as a result made no attempt to catch the shirt, which landed on his head. “...Excuse me?” His voice was small and a little muffled.

“You know, your date. The one you guys are going on. When is it, by the way? I’m a little foggy on the details.”

“Wait, wait, how do you know we’re going on a date?! We’re not!” Neville snatched the shirt off of his head, dropping it to the floor. “Who told you that?!”

“Daisy.” Wade shrugged, as if it were obvious. “I asked her and Jen why you hadn’t come home with them and she told me that you went to Mustafa’s house for a little while. I gotta admit, Nev, you were over there for quite some time...” He pursed his lips at him.

“Was it really that long?”

“Close to an hour. If I didn’t know any better, I would think that you two were getting… up to something.” He smirked. “If you catch my drift.”

Neville’s face grew bright red, and he took a deep breath. “We were just talking, no big deal. Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you were talking about? Since it’s not a big deal.”

“The weather,” Neville answered a little quickly, but it was the best that he could come up with.

“It took you that long to talk about the weather?”

“Well,… We had a long talk about… climate change…” This is getting worse before it gets better. “That kinda stuff takes longer than just a few minutes to talk about, y’know? Mustafa can be very wordy when he gets on a subject he’s really passionate about.”

Wade blinked at him, clearly not convinced. Still, he sighed, and he started to back out of the room, keeping his gaze locked on Neville. “Fine, whatever. Don’t tell me. I get it. Whatever you guys discussed was a secret. I won’t pry--” As he said this, Neville’s phone vibrated on top of his dresser, and Wade grabbed it before Neville could even react.

“Hey, give me that!!” Neville lunged at him, only to be held back effortlessly by one of Wade’s arms.

“‘Moose’?!” Wade laughed, holding the phone high above Neville’s head as he read the preview of the text. “That’s the name you gave him in your phone? Seriously?”

“Stop!”

“‘Does Saturday at two work for you?’ Well, does it work, Nev? Better let him know before he gets mad and cancels your little date.” Wade was smirking now, his tongue darting out of his mouth and running along his lower lip. He handed over the phone at long last. “Oh, God , I love being right about things.”

After snatching the device from his hands, Neville made another attempt to shove him out of the room. “This is why I was so hesitant to tell you, because I knew you would pull this bullshit!”

Wade stood rooted in place, looking down at Neville with surprise written on his face. He would normally make some comment about how Neville owed yet another dollar to Jen’s swear jar, but something about the tone in his voice kept him from doing so. “Wait, what are you talking about?”

“I didn’t want to tell you about the date because I knew all you were going to do was tease me -- like you’ve been doing all this time! God, I can’t even breath in the direction of Mustafa’s house without you making some sort of comment about when our wedding date was going to be.” Neville huffed, sitting down on the edge of the bed and unlocking his phone.

Wade remained silent during the minute that it took Neville to confirm the time and day, and he finally spoke again once Neville had tucked his phone safely in his pocket. “Did my teasing really bother you that much, Nev? You don’t usually get this upset.”

“I was fine with it in the beginning, but you ran it into the damn ground. A few lighthearted comments here and there is fine, but that’s not what you did. I couldn’t even mention him without you saying something. I went over to his house not too long ago and you spammed me with ridiculous texts. And then there’s what you just did! You kept my phone from me all so you could tease me over the texts he sent me. That’s not just simple teasing.”

“Why didn’t you say something sooner? If it really bothered you, then I definitely would’ve stopped.”

“Except I did tell you! I told you the very first time you did it. I said that I wasn’t interested in getting with Mustafa and was under the impression that you were going to stop -- y’know, like you said you were going to . Clearly, I was wrong.” He sighed. “I’ve known he’s wanted to take me out for awhile now, you know.”

“Did he?”

“Yeah, he asked me a few weeks ago. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you were never going to let me hear the end of it.”

Wade looked like he wasn’t sure what to say. “Damn…” He clicked his tongue. “I didn’t realize you were this hurt.”

“It’s not that I’m hurt , just frustrated.” Neville felt his phone vibrate again, and he took a quick look, smiling when he saw Mustafa’s excited response (and feeling his heart skip a beat at the purple heart emoji at the end of the text).

“...Hey, Nev…” Wade started, sitting down next to him. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you mean it? Or are you just saying it because you know I’m mad at you?”

“Of course I meant it. Listen, I never would have said anything if I’d known just how much this was bugging you.”

“But you did know.”

“I know, and I feel bad for not listening. We tease each other all the time, so I figured that you’d be okay with it.” After a beat, Wade spoke again, snapping his fingers. “Hey, I have an idea.”

“Oh God.” Neville rolled his eyes. “What now ?”

“Let me make it up to you.”

“How?”

“I’ll help you get ready for your date!”

“You-- Excuse me?” Neville’s eyes were wide. “You’re going to help me?”

“Of course! That’s what friends do, right?” Wade put an arm around Neville’s shoulders, squeezing him tightly. “And you and I are friends, right? Right ? You’re not gonna kick me out or anything?”

Neville sighed. “No, not yet ,” he replied. Wade was a jackass, but he was Neville’s jackass. “As long as you don’t keep beating a dead horse with this Mustafa thing, I won’t have to give you the boot. A joke now and again is fine, but don’t make a huge deal about it.”

“Can I still tease you about other stuff?”

“...Fine.”

“Thank God .”

Saturday came too quickly.

In the end, Neville had decided on wearing the polo. He was looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, buttoning the shirt right up to his neck. “Does this look good?” He asked, slicking back his hair with his hand and looking at Wade’s reflection.

Wade was behind him, leaning against the doorframe and looking unimpressed. “You do realize that you don’t have to button it up like that, don’t you?” He pointed out. “Mustafa’s gonna think you’re a geek.”

“But I can’t just walk around with it unbuttoned! It’ll feel… weird.”

“Not as weird as Mustafa laughing at you over your choice of fashion. Here, lemme fix it.” Before Neville could retort, Wade approached him, reaching over and quickly undoing the top button. “Heh, been awhile since I did that. I’m still an expert at unbuttoning your shirts.”

“Shut up!” Neville looked away in an attempt to hide his red face. “God, of all days you could have chosen to fuck with me, you choose today ?”

“I’m not fucking with you! I’m showing support for my best friend as he goes out on a date . His first one in ages!” Wade gave him a pat on the back. “My little boy’s all grown up now…”

“Shut up …” Neville grumbled again, pushing past Wade and exiting out into the hallway. He felt his phone vibrate as he was going down the stairs, and he checked once he was at the bottom. “Mustafa’s waiting for me in his car.” He breathed out. “I should probably head over now.”

“You nervous?”

“Of course. I can’t even remember the last time I was this nervous for something.” Neville felt like he was back in high school, about to make a big presentation in front of the entire class. His stomach was doing backflips.

“Just remember the expert advice I gave you the other day,” Wade said as he guided him over to the door.

“You mean the advice you stole from Google?”

“No, WikiHow.” Wade began to count on his fingers as he said, “Be yourself, compliment him when appropriate, don’t act like a dork -- I know you’ll have a lot of trouble with that one--”

“Wade…”

“--wear a condom--”

“ Wade .”

“Sorry, couldn’t help it!” Wade snorted, opening the door up for Neville. “Your reaction was priceless .”

“Of all the people I could’ve befriended, I just had to choose you…” Right as Neville was about to walk out, he suddenly stopped. “Oh, and be sure to tell the girls that I’m just out running an errand if they ask where I am,” he said.

Wade frowned. “Fine, but… why don’t you want to tell them the truth?”

“Because I don’t want them to get their hopes up. I mean, there’s no guarantee that this date will even go well. If I tell them where I’m going, they might get excited. I don’t want them to be crushed.”

Wade shook his head, an amused look on his face. “You’re overthinking this, you know that? You and I both know that this date is going to go fine.”

“Can you say that for sure? Or are you just speculating?”

“The only one speculating here is you , Nev. I personally think you should tell them.”

“Fine, then how about this?” Neville started. “If by some chance there is a second date -- and that’s a big if -- then I’ll tell them.”

“Sounds good to me.” Wade chuckled when he saw Neville reach for his phone again, having received another text from Mustafa. “Don’t keep your boy waiting any longer. Have fun, and remember what I said about the condom.”

“I’d kill you if I wasn’t running late.”

Neville waited until after the door had shut behind him to hastily redo his top button, throwing a glare back at the house even though he knew Wade couldn’t see him. He made his way to the sidewalk and caught sight of Mustafa’s car, sitting in his driveway next door. Taking a deep breath, Neville walked towards it, approaching the passenger’s side door and giving the window a little knock to get Mustafa’s attention.

“There you are!” Mustafa grinned at Neville once he was inside. “I was beginning to wonder where you were. Everything good, Adrian?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Neville replied with a grin of his own. “I just got held up by Wade for a little bit. Sorry about that.”

“No worries! We’re not in any real rush or anything.” He assured as he began to back the car up. “I’m just glad I get to hang out with you.”

“Aww…” Neville turned away to look out of the window, hoping to hide his rosy cheeks. “...Could I ask you for a possibly weird favor?”

“Oh boy.” He chuckled. “What’s up?”

“Do you think you could just call me ‘Neville’?”

“What for?”

“I’ve never been big on ‘Adrian’, to be honest. I usually ask my friends to call me by my last name. And, well… we’re definitely friends now, so…”

“I get where you’re coming from. If that’s what you want, then I’d be happy to do it, Nevy .” He gave Neville a little pat on the shoulder. ‘Nevy’? And I thought Wade just calling me ‘Nev’ was silly.

For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. Neville finally looked over at him again, taking in all of his features. Now that he had decided to give dating another chance, it was like he was looking at Mustafa a whole new way. Everything about him, from his soft hair to his entrancing eyes, was suddenly even more attractive.

Neville hadn’t even noticed that they’d stopped at a red light until Mustafa looked back at him, the little snort he let out bringing him back to reality. “What?”

“U-Uh, what?” Smooth. Real smooth.

“You’re staring at me.”

“Am I? Huh. I didn’t notice.” Neville took a deep breath. “You… You look really good today, you know that?”

Mustafa’s eyebrows raised, and he smiled again. “Thanks!” The light changed, and he continued to drive. “You look nice, too. I love the shirt.”

“Do you?” Neville was a little surprised. “I personally think it’s too… dressy. I don’t own any casual clothes, honestly.” He noticed that Mustafa was wearing jeans and a t-shirt -- clothes that were actually fitting for the occasion.

“What are you talking about? You look great. The only thing about your look that I’ll criticize is the top button.”

“Come on, you too?!” Neville groaned. “Wade was giving me hell for this button earlier. Kept saying that I should unbutton it or else I’ll look like a geek.”

“I mean, you kinda do…”

“Hey!”

“A cute geek, though!” Mustafa continued. “A very, very cute geek.”

He just said that I’m cute… “Your flattery is noted. And appreciated,” he added as they pulled up to the coffee shop.

“Well, if you want more casual clothes, maybe I can take you out shopping one day.” He turned the car off. “Let’s hope this place lives up to the hype. One of the other teachers was raving about it the other day.”

Just as Neville was about to get out of the car, Mustafa suddenly grabbed his arm, and he froze up. He only grew even more tense as Mustafa leaned in, his other hand reaching towards Neville’s face…

...And moving down to his top button.

“How can you breathe with it like that?” He teased as he undid it. Neville wanted to retort, but he was too distracted by how close their faces were, the hint of mint on Mustafa’s breath causing his heart to skip a beat. “There we go. Much better.”

“T-Thanks for making me look like less of a geek.”

“Oh, you still look like one. But, like I said before, you’re also cute. Adorable, even.” He winked. “Come on, let’s get inside.”

After panicking for a few more seconds, Neville followed Mustafa out of the car, grinning at him as he held the door open for him and walking into the shop. It was as busy as Neville expected, most of the tables taken already. He was able to spot a free one in the very back. “Should I go grab that one?” He asked.

“Yeah. You get get a table, and I’ll get our stuff. What do you want?”

“Um…” Neville remembered back to Wade’s advice from before, when he said that Neville should just be himself. “Just a plain black coffee is fine.” Whatever Wade tells you to do, always do the opposite.

Mustafa smiled confusedly. “Are you sure? No sugar or milk or anything?”

“No, just black.”

“If you say so.” He gave Neville a pat on the shoulder. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Neville hurried over to the table and sat down, looking around at the other faces in the cafe. From what he could tell, most of the patrons appeared to be college students, the majority of them hunched over a laptop and typing away. The semester had only just started, and yet it already looked as if they were swamped with assignments. Neville remembered those days, and he didn’t miss them one bit.

Now that Neville gave it some thought, if someone had told his college-aged self that this was where he would be in ten years time, he would laugh in their face. While he was still in school, Neville had big plans for his future. He was pursuing a Psychology degree, planning on possibly even becoming a school psychologist one day. He even had a lovely girlfriend, who he was dreaming of marrying once they both graduated.

Fast forward to the present. Neville didn’t have an established career -- he was working an office job. That girlfriend who he was so sure he loved wasn’t even in his life anymore. Not only that, but he’d been entirely wrong about his sexuality. It was certainly… interesting how things turned out for him.

He couldn’t dwell on these thoughts for much longer, however, as Mustafa had suddenly approached his table, sitting across from him. “I still think you’re a bit nuts for getting plain black, by the way,” he teased as he handed over Neville’s drink.

“Oh, hush,” Neville replied. “I’m more than capable of handling this.” He took a sip, trying with all his might not to make a face at the taste. He knew it was going to be bitter, but this was far more than he was expecting. Maybe I should’ve gone with tea instead...

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Neville waved his hand, clearing his throat. “Let’s talk about something else now, shall we?”

“Hmm, like what?”

“Like…” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Why’d you move? Something wrong with your old neighborhood?”

“Not at all,” Mustafa said, taking a sip of his own drink -- a chai latte. “I had a lot of great neighbors. It was a great place to live, but I really needed to move. The commute to work was becoming a real pain in the ass.”

“Why?”

“I was almost always late. It was like no matter what time I left the house, I could never get to the school on time.”

“And things are easier for you now?”

“Mm.” He nodded. “Definitely. It only takes me a few minutes to get there.”

“Good to hear.” Silence fell, and Neville suddenly felt awkward. Is he waiting for me to ask something else? Or is he just thinking of something to ask me? “Is teaching hard?” He decided to say.

“It can be. Like, for the most part the kids are well behaved, so that���s not the issue. I’m more worried that I’m not doing a good job.”

“Why would you say that?”

“I dunno.” He tapped his fingers on the side of his cup. “I’ll see that one of my students got a bad grade on a test, and I’ll feel like it’s my fault somehow. I should have done a better job teaching them, y’know?” He stared down at the table.

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up over it, mate.” Neville reached over and patted him on the arm. “Sometimes, people get bad grades. It’s part of life. Doesn’t mean that it’s your fault or anything -- maybe the kid just didn’t study enough.”

“I guess… Still, I feel like I could always do better. I’m far from perfect.” He rested his arms on the table, leaning forward. “Tell me a little about your job, now!”

Neville snorted. “What do you wanna know?”

“Literally anything.”

“Well, it’s boring as hell,” he explained with a shrug. “Only so many ways you can make writing emails exciting. Probably the most exciting thing to ever happen to me during a shift was when Wade texted me that he was planning on going in for a job interview soon. He didn’t get the job, by the way.”

“He’s struggling to get one, huh?”

“Sadly, yeah. It’s tough finding a job in this day and age.”

“True…”

Yet again they both went quiet, and Neville started to once more feel awkward. What else should I ask him about? He had already asked about his old neighborhood and his job. Should he even ask any more questions? Was Mustafa going to ask him something first?

He didn’t have to fret for very long, however, as he received his answer a moment later. “So, speaking of Wade… There was something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Mustafa wore a coy smile. “I hope you don’t think it’s a weird question, but I’m super curious.”

“Oh boy.” Neville laughed. “Well, go on. Ask away.”

“So… About you and Wade…” Mustafa sipped at his drink again, peering at Nev from over the rim of the cup. “What’s the deal with you two?”

“Well, he’s my friend.”

“Okay.”

“And he’s living with me.”

“Okay.”

“And he helps take care of the girls sometimes.”

“Okay.”

Neville shrugged. “Um… I feel like I’m missing something here.”

“I was just under the impression that there was a little more going on there. You told me before that you two were only friends now, but…” He smirked. “Is that all you’ve ever been?”

Neville grew pink. “You saying that you think Wade and I have dated before?”

“I’m just curious! I don’t have a problem with it or anything. Listen, Wade is hot .”

“Should you really be saying this while you’re on a date with me ?”

“It’s a fact, Neville. I wouldn’t blame you at all if you two have dated -- or if you’ve kissed at the very least.”

Neville took a long sip of his coffee, his grip tightening on the cup both out of embarrassment and due to the bitterness. Was this a real conversation that he was having? He figured that there were a few people who questioned the nature of his and Wade’s relationship, but he didn’t think he would ever actually be called out on it. “Well… I guess there’s no harm in telling you.”

Mustafa beamed at him, clasping his hands together and leaning forward. “Tell me, tell me!”

“...Yes, we dated,” he admitted.

“I knew it!”

“But very briefly. I would say two months tops. We both knew that it wasn’t going to work out in the long run.”

“Why didn’t you guys stay together?”

“It’s like I told you the other day -- while he loves Jen and Daisy, he’s not interested in being a dad. Our relationship was a casual fling at most. Though if you ask him, we were soulmates. So many nights of passion… He’s full of it.” Neville rolled his eyes, forcing another sip of coffee into his mouth.

“Not to change the subject, but… Are you sure you’re enjoying that coffee?” Mustafa chuckled. “You look like you’re being tortured.”

“What? I’m fine! See, look!” Neville brought the cup to his lips again, this time gagging a little as more coffee than he anticipated spilled out and dribbled down his chin. “Dammit…”

Mustafa smiled fondly, grabbing a napkin and starting to gently wipe at Neville’s face. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

“Unfortunately…” Not even halfway through this date, and Neville had already lost track of how many times he’d embarrassed himself. So much more humiliation is yet to come…

“I am not looking forward to going back to work on Monday…” Neville groaned as he leaned his head back against the seat of the car, shutting his eyes. “I always have to get up so early… I miss being able to get a decent night’s sleep.”

“That makes two of us,” Mustafa replied as he pulled into his driveway. “I’ve got too much stuff to grade.”

“Even though it’s only first grade? How many tests you giving these poor kids, Moose?” Neville tensed. “Ah, you don’t mind if I call you that, do you?”

“No, not at all! I love it,” He assured. “But seriously, I don’t give them too much work. It only feels like a lot of work because I haven’t fully adjusted to working again, since school only just started.”

“I wish I got summers off. You teachers don’t realize just how good you’ve got it.”

“It can get a little boring sometimes. For the most part, I’m sitting at home doing nothing. Well, maybe next summer won’t be so boring, since I’ll have you…”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Neville laughed self-derisively. “I’m pretty dull.”

“Don’t say that!”

“It’s true, though! The only difference between me in the summer and me the rest of the year is that the former is more sunburnt.”

“Except it’s not true.”

“How would you know that?”

“Because I just spent the afternoon with you and had a really nice time. And if you were boring, then I wouldn’t be asking you out on a second date right now.” He quirked his eyebrows up at him. “If you’re up for it, that is.”

“Absolutely!” Neville answered perhaps a little too quickly, and he smiled sheepishly. “I mean, sure.”

“Excellent. I’ll text you later and we can work out the details.” He smiled.

They both exited the car, Neville waiting until Mustafa had come around to him before saying, “Thanks a lot for today. I enjoyed myself.”

“Even though you looked like you were suffering for the most part?”

“I’m telling you, I regularly drink black coffee.”

“I’m sure you do, Nevs. I’m sure you do.” Before Neville had a chance to retort, Mustafa suddenly leaned in, placing a quick smooch on Neville’s cheek. “I’ll catch you later, ‘mkay?”

“’K…’Kay.” Neville blinked, watching as Mustafa walked towards his house before hurrying off in the direction of his own home.

Neville wasn’t sure when exactly the next date would be, but he knew that it couldn’t come soon enough.

[whentvsfly]

5, 13 & 37

5. Share one of your strengths.I think I’m good at getting feelings across to the audience? How a character feels, or reacts to things. Making characters Relatable ™

13. What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?There’s probably so many I don’t think of because I’ve taken them to heart, but the best one I can think of right now is “said isn’t dead”. Using too many action-y based words during dialogue can upset the flow, and it’s ok to use ‘said’ because its accurate, and not at all distracted.  I’m glad I was taught this after middle school tried to convince me otherwise.

37. Talk about your current wips. Oh boy…Uhm! Lemme scroll through my googledoc and see what I even have started hah!Ok so there are a lot more than I realized, and some I haven’t worked on in ages, but I’ll put ‘em here anyways! I’ll organize them by how much I have written for them. (it’ll be “title (as they are in google docs. probs wont be actual title for most)”. fandom. description.)Just a rough idea (no words, only outline)(most ones here were thought up as me and @pundeserving​ texted):1. “Disney”. Mp100. Where Teru just really loves Disney movies and gets Mob to watch Bambi with him but its Sad so Teru has to help Mob not reach 100% sadness. It would be real cute n kinda gay2. “Emojis” Mp100. A short hc based piece about how Teru would use So Many Emojis and Mob would only really use ascii emotes (teru: 😎😆😭 mob:  :) :0 ).  He basically uses them as punctuation at this point. After his Gay Awakening he gets worried that it seems too extra or flirty so he tries to cut back on using them but Mob picks up on that and gets worried like “why isn’t hanazawa-kun using as many smilies? is he sick? is he mad at me?” He mentions it to teru and teru is like crying internally cause holy fuck?? he noticed smth so small like that???3. “ritsu is an ok mom friend” Mp100. Spawned from that “when a group of friends is formed, the mom friend emerges” post. It was decided that Ritsu would try to be the most responsible of them all and thus the mom friend. (Teru does his own thing, Mob wouldn’t wanna ruin the others’ fun, and Shou…is Shou). Also spawned from a hc that, in short, is Teru and Shou would be Those Friends who would be real competitive and egg each other on and, if unsupervised, would be Bringers of Destruction). He has confiscated many “Bad Idea Materials “.The story would just be Ritsu tryin to keep his friends safe heh. Direct quote from outline “”ritsus always like! how the fuck! my guy! just stop this it’s like ur trying to get urself killed!!teru and shou just “we are” simultaneously and ritsu rly cant tell if its a joke but hes mildly concerned for a week after”“. I think the part I really wanted to write is Shou sayin he had a Good Idea (read: bad idea) and then stops texting and Ritsus like “holy fuck did he die” and panics and Mob helps him calm down and they go check on him together and it turns out Shou just passed tf out because he is bad at sleeping like a normal human at normal human hours.4. WoY. I don’t speak of it to anyone and therefore it doesn’t exist. What fic? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 5. One that i have only written in my head, not even in googledocs yet. Mp100. Ritsu trying to be there for his bro throughout the arcs. After the teru fight, the mogami incident, etc.6. I also have a few in-my-head Mp100 ones based on the sexuality headcanons of mine I posted about the the other day. Really wanna write those tooPartially written ones:1. Su. It was gonna be one where Steven went to Centi and ranted to her about all the Shit that has gone down. That was a few steven bombs ago tho I could make him rant about Even More.2. “possible sewuel to long fic“. UT. A sequel to ‘There Are Worse Things Than Being Alone, Like Being A Little Too Late”. It is a whopping 3 paragraphs, compared to its prequel’s 30 pages (20,000 words). I lost motivation, although I still do have scenes of it written in my brain.3. “pidge post season“. VLD. My idea of where Pidge may have ended up after S1. Completely pointless now, although I’m still wondering if it would be something interesting to post as a ‘what if’. I’d have to finish it though and I am not particularly motivated since S2 came out. I just kinda wanted to make a cool fic about Pidge being lost on a water-based planet and trying to get their lion functional again with whatever was around so they could meet back up with the rest of voltron (also I wanted to make another nonbinary pidge fic for the tag cause those fics Give Me Life)4. “shou u little fucker open up“. Mp100.  A loose sequel to “My Parents Should Have Taken Me Back for Repairs Before the Warranty Ran Out”. Snippets of Shou bein relatable and Depressed and Ritsu helpin him out as he can. Written so far: depression meals aka being too down to go to the kitchen for food let alone going to the petstore to get your hamster more food so you text your best bro to get hamster food for you and tell him to feed ur pet for you and bein discrete enough that he thinks youre out of the house otherwise he might not do it cause theres no way in hell youre telling him you didnt do it yourself cause you didnt have the energy to get off the couch for like 20 hours5. “Awakening“. Mp100. I realllly wanna finish and post this one. Its based on those lines those claw guys said. “HQ sent an awakened brat” “What? A kid went though that?”. Shou doesn’t know how bad his dad is, he is young and loves his parents. He admired his dads powers. He wants to be like his dad. He doesn’t know what it costs. (He is weak in power, and his dad wants him to be strong, an heir, so he takes him to a branch and has him tortirued to awaken his powers fully).Fully written (but in need of revision/I’m uncertain of whether or not to actually post it):1. “Ritsu worries for Shigeo, Shigeo worries for the cats“. Mp100. A post Mogami arc fic. Ritsu knows nothing of what his bro went through, but Mob has a new habit of feeding any and all cats on their way to school. One day two of the cats are fighting and mob stops responding and goes to break up the fight but he’s already losing himself to his powers so Ritsu has to help him back down. He is more confused than ever.2.”Instinct, and the Training of“. Mp100. A fic about ???%, or about Mob’s powers, personified. Whichever the viewer themself wants to read it as, I left it ambiguous on purpose. Personally I like to think of it as ???% but I won’t make others read it as that. Every time ???% happens, or nearly happens, or is implied to have happened, from the pov of itself. Written in such a weird style, I just need to reread it and see if it sounds ok and other last review things before publishing. I’ve been too lazy to reread it and post it though.aaand thats it! hooo, that was a lot sorry hah! Thank you for the ask!

[itsjayyyy]

September 18, 2018 4:53 pm

wow since it’s been a few days since an update, I had a lot of things to open this entry with, but of course only one topic can be the first i talk about. so, the most recent one: I was just laying in bed thinking about how I need to study for my bio exam tomorrow and also complete the next two modules for econ, but then I realized it’s tuesday and econ hw is due monday nights, and freaked out. I literally went through all five stages of grief, before I was like “it’s okay, it’s only the homework, the exam will pull my grade up” and opened my laptop to start reading for bio. but then I checked econ and apparently because there’s an exam this week, there wasn’t any homework due so HOLLA.

so this past weekend has been annoying, as always. I was at ioa for friday, but we only had three workers total (we normally have 6) for closing, so it was hell trying to close on time. and then saturday I went to usf, which is always hell. not to mention, hhn started so we had to spend an hour cleaning so the night crew would be set. and at the end of my shift, the usf manager has the nerve to say to me that she wants me to pick up some shifts this week. I tell her that I have four exams, and I’ll have to check my schedule, but she says “oh but your availability says you’re free after 4 on tuesdays, thursdays, and fridays” what the fuck!!!!!! don’t go looking at my availability when I’m not your employee!!!!!!! so I kept saying I had to study, I had to see, two of my exams are online, etc and she kept pushing for me to at least take shifts on friday afternoon and saturday, since I should be done with exams by then. I took the saturday shift because by this point my shift ended a minute ago and I wanted to leave, and told her I’d call her to let her know if I can take friday (I won’t.) SO SUNDAY I walk in to ioa (home sweet home), and we have a new coworker!!! And by new I mean he used to work at usf but transferred here permanently. What. “Oh jay we send you to usf because they’re understaffed and we’re overstaffed.” Okay. So I tell my manager that they’re stupid for accepting MORE workers when we have that issue, and she has the audacity to say to my face “oh it’s more than that, he didn’t like it at usf” as if I haven’t spent the last two months telling both ioa and usf managers that I hate usf. Okay. So Sunday, when I next work at ioa, I’m going to speak to my highest manager and tell her that she either tells the scheduler that I am not to work at usf again, or I quit. I have enough money in my savings account to last me a while.

wow. rose deadass drank 6 apple juice boxes out of the 8-pack we had. this bitch clearly doesn’t care if I starve huh.

so yesterday I met up with heather after class in the student union. did I mention how much I love cafe bustelo? I really love it. a good cafe con leche really warms me up. we talked for a while, then I walked her to class. In our conversation, our birthdays came up at some point (I think I said something along the lines of “you didn’t get me anything for my birthday this year! and she said “you didn’t get me anything either!”) and I was like “I bet you don’t even know my birthday” and she said april 22nd. and then later she was like yea well I bet you don’t know mine and i immediately said march 19, so she said she’d buy me starbucks today to make up for it.

today’s morning was really gr8 and also really un-gr8. like, I woke up at 7 thinking I had to leave the house at 8:30 for my ortho appt, and laid in bed for a while before finally getting up and showering. but when I stepped out of the shower and saw the time was 8, I realized that I didn’t leave the house at 8:30, my appointment was at 8:30. cue getting dressed while still partially damp, forgetting heather’s gov’t textbook, and going 75 in a 45 zone. I thank the gods daily that motorcycles don’t get red light tickets.

while driving down the main road leading to my university, I had this white car weaving between traffic. at one point he was behind me, but then when I slowed down in a turn he switched to the right, which ended up being right behind a campus shuttle (you know, the ones that drive 5 mph under the speed limit at all times and you can barely see around. and they’re diesel, ugh!). as he saw me speed up at the end of the curve, he switched back to behind me and sped up too, but as soon as I reached level with the front of the shuttle (and the pickup on the other side of me), I slammed on my brakes so he couldn’t try to go around. Definitely risked getting run the fuck over, but it was so worth it seeing the look of frustration on his face.

I got nearly instant karma, though, because he entered the university through the first turn, when I went for the second a little ways up since it’s closer to my garage. but the traffic light was down, so I had to merge into one lane with everyone else, and then they wouldn’t even allow left turns because it’s too complex for the person directing traffic, so I had to make a right then a u-turn. But it was made up for by the fact that the trike that normally parks in my spot was probably also deterred by the traffic, and I got to claim my righteous spot.

so when I got on campus, I went to heather’s class, or rather, the building it was in since I couldn’t find room 106 exactly. I remembered that my annoying coworker said that her classes were in that building + the one next to it also on tuesdays, but I thought that there was no way I’d actually bump into her considering there are over 60,000 students and the buildings are pretty large, plus I didn’t know what time her classes are.

well, now I know that her class gets out at the same time + same building as heather. we walked towards the starbucks (which is near her next class), and I introduced her to heather, we talked about how it was to work at universal, the sort. and then she was like “well I gotta go to class now, bye!” and i was like bye and smiled and when she was more than 20 feet away I turned to heather and said “that’s the coworker I told you that I hate.”

I love pumpkin spice season!!!!!!!! got a frappuccino tho, because it’s never truly fall in florida. heather got a mango dragonfruit refresher bc I recommended it to her, and it’s funny because the person ordering before us was also named heather and also ordered a mango dragonfruit. As a barista, that’s like my worst nightmare. Luckily they were able to tell it apart because the other heather got a grande. We sat in the starbucks for a while, I explained how weed is a lot more safe than cigarettes, talked about pine hills’ reputation, and how samantha’s mom is so damn disrespectful. This woman drove heather home one day when picking up samantha, and the whole ride was bragging about how samantha was going to be so successful because she’s majoring in some type of psychology and will be making over 90k a year. and then she turned the conversation to how teachers don’t make that much money, and she asks heather how she could do that, just take such a low-paying job. and lemme tell ya how MY GIRL HEATHER FUCKIN SNAPPED. she done said she tired of people saying teachers don’t make a lot of money yall. she said to samantha’s mom, “I don’t know how you’re looking down on my salary when you have three children from three different men with only a salary of $30k.” Y’ALL. the point that heather was trying to make the point that “people from working-class families act as if a salary less than 100k is unacceptable even for an unmarried, childless young adult despite working class families often having a household income of 50k while supporting children just fine,” but damn she really went there. goin off on this good catholic woman for having baby daddies. well samantha’s mom and samantha became very upset. and they told heather’s dad who would not leave her alone until she apologized. as in, he was banging on her door telling her she had to apologize. I said put headphones in and ignore it, she was like “girl you don’t understand haitian parents. my dad literally opened my door with a knife when I locked it.” so she had to apologize :/ but she also made it clear that she didn’t like the way samantha’s mom disrespected her. she tried to make it seem relatable, and be like, “oh what if i said that to your mom, wouldn’t you tell me to apologize” and I’m like???? no???? I would make my mom apologize for being disrespectful first the hell??? then I reminded her about how I literally lived on the streets for 3 weeks because my mom was disrespectful to me.

today after class I decided to take the city bus home, for 4 reasons: I wanted to stay humble and remember where I came from, I wanted time to be able to finish this book, not walking the last half-mile home every day this semester has caused some weight gain, and I really wanted to hold my parking spot against that damn trike, and it seems he comes too early in the morning for me, so I just left my bike there overnight. yea I’m petty.

The book was really good. It’s definitely a hard read, for sure. In the sense that it really will make you cry. At the end, it listed all of the school shooting victims since columbine, plus a small snippet about them (it was like 20 pages long). The one that really got me was an 8 year old, whose text read “shoot me first,” as he wanted to take a bullet so it wouldn’t be used against his classmates. Then, below that entry, a seven year old, who said “shoot me next.” Just typing that is making my eyes water again.

The walk home was super tiring. I’m super out of shape, it was hard for me to even imagine that I did this every single day the entire first semester of college. And I have to do it tomorrow morning again, ugh. Can you believe heather wakes up at 5:30 am???? I’m never seen out of bed before 7, and even then it’s only for things like appointments. But I guess I really should start waking up earlier, because whenever I get on campus around 8 I feel great because I have so much time to study and stuff. but that means I have to buy a coffee on campus, and I don’t know if I want to commit to that expense.

edit: so I originally posted this to my main, and when I saw that I copied it, then deleted it, then tried to paste it into a new post, but I guess I didn’t press ctrl hard enough because it didn’t copy. and I was about to cry bc this is close to 2k words, but then I realized I had a tab of my main open that still had the original post showing, so I copied from there.

[beepthefox]

Hey, here’s my latest nightmare.

Zader-Today at 2:55 AM

Okay, so.You know how a lot of existential horror stories start with an unlikely protagonist?

I was this week's unlikely protagonist.

Zerio-Today at 2:56 AM

:(

Zader-Today at 2:56 AM

lemme plug in my keyboard

just 4 u laffo

Rainy, cold, autumn. I can remember that very vividly. I was sitting in my car outside of the apartment, parked up with the engine off, staring at it out of my passenger side window. The 1973 Charger SE sat almost silently, the little tink tink tink of the engine cooling the only sound apart from the occasional scraping of wind against windows and the clattering of a distant shutter.

I was startled by a knock on the driver's side window. It jumped me, admittedly, and when I turned to face the culprit, I found it to be a man only a few years older than myself. His eyes betrayed his otherwise neat appearance, haunted and sullen, sunken and reddened like someone with trauma. They matched my own, in a sense.

Zader-Today at 3:00 AM

He gestured at me to roll the window down, so I did, clicking the car forward in ignition status to roll down the power window. Before I could ask him what he wanted, he asked me if I was ready to begin.

I knew what he meant, but I asked anyways. I was right, as always. He handed me two keys, one for the apartment, and one not unlike the tiny key you get for a mailbox while living in one. I swallowed hard, and stared down at them, examining them closely. I was learning their grooves, in case I needed, for whatever reason, to pick their respective locks.He gave me a vague sentiment about how I need to do this, and after some hesitation, I rolled the window up, unbuckled, and exited the car.

I stood staring up the walkway to it, an apartment not unlike my own, albeit more aged and worn. It looked absolutely forlorn in the autumn landscape, windows covered with a thick layer of dust, paint peeling from the clapboards, the roof missing a few small shingle tiles at one visible point.

It stood maybe 60 feet from me, and its elevation different was maybe 3 feet at the most, but in the dying light of an autumn afternoon, it towered over me.

I cast my shadow upon it as I neared it and I realized there was no going back. I stood there at the door for a long time, simply thinking.

This was real, and this was happening. The crunch of a gravel walk under my shoes, the cold feel of a metal door handle in my hand, the very distant smell of smoke, an unknown source. I have olfactory hallucinations due to my nose being damaged, and smoke is a common one, but this one smelled different, more hickory-like. I assumed it was someone burning leaves, a common thing, and eventually went inside.The downstairs hallway was fine, if not a bit dirty. Dust and grime coated what little there was left, the carpet, walls, and a couple of winter sand buckets under the stairs. I continued up them and entered the first door on the right, slipping the key into the lock and hoping it wouldn't turn.The apartment, again, was fine. Dust and dirt coated everything in a sickly greyish haze, cobwebs and spiderwebs alike filled each corner. Moulded foot sat on the kitchen, surrounded by cutlery, as if still being prepared when it was left.I felt lucky that I couldn't smell it, and took the liberty of grabbing one of the dust coated knives from the knife block.I realized then that I'd not brought a weapon or even really knew what I was up against.

When I cautiously teetered around the corner from the kitchen into the dining room, I found myself alone still.The sight I was met with, however, informed me that this was, in fact, very real, and happening regardless of what I wanted.

On a dusty table in the middle of the room, illuminated by the dying light through a dirty window, sat straight in front of another dusty chair, the only one in the room, or even the apartment, sat a terminal.It was pristine.

I panicked.

But I knew there was no running.

I approached it, the thing boxy with rounded edges. Thnk a RobCo terminal from Fallout.

Its front had a keyhole.

I fished in my pocket for the smaller of the two and sat down at the table.

It didn't quite fight, but its teeth felt the give of a set, so I forced it slightly to enter. Turning it awoke the computer, despite it having no visible power source, no cables running from it.

80236

And then it was blackness.

"You shouldn't have come here."

I tried to type back, but realized I couldn't move.

My vision faded to blackness, spots appearing in the corner of my vision and spreading as if I was being asphyxiated.

The words never left my sight.

Eventually, they began bobbing with my view, leaving the screen to stay focused dead centre in my vision.I tried to scream, but opening my mouth made my lungs feel instantly empty.

No, that's wrong, not empty.

Full of something other than air.

The words stayed until the room faded back in, and everything was different.

No pussyfooting around, I immediately noticed something was wrong.

Staring down at the monitor, I knew it immediately.The keyhole was on the left side now.

The room was mirrored.

The whole apartment was mirrored.

Glancing outside, the whole world was mirrored.

And then I heard a knock on the door.

I fled into the bedroom, choosing, of all places, to hide in the closet.

The knocking got louder, and I eventually heard a voice.

The older man, I realized.

"Zader, are you in there?" The door muffled it slightly but I could hear it.

I felt relieved, but knew it was still wrong.

Something was very wrong.

Another knock.

"I think it worked, come let me in so I can see the terminal."

The knocking got stronger.

Eventually, it was pounding.

The voice never changed from its calm echo.

"Zader, are you in there?"

Completely identical to the first time.

The door broke open.

I held my breath.

There were no pounding footsteps, was no flash of light, and nothing happened for a time.

I felt, again, lucky I could hold my breath for so long.

Six minutes in my youth.

Eventually, and silently, the horror came to me.

Ambling around the corner into the bedroom.

To describe the thing would be to describe how a nightmare feels.

It was soft, malleable, fleshy.

Humanoid, but wrong.

Very wrong.

It echoed my name again like a recording playing.

I took note of every horror cliche I could and crouched down, feeling the side of my pants, and then the other once I remembered the place was mirrored, and held down the lower volume button until I felt a single vibration, and then again until I felt one more, knowing I'd muted my phone.

This fucking thing wasn't going to find me.

Its face, if you can call it that, was wide set on its fleshy, misshapen head.

Almost tired eyes and a mouth drooping into an open frown.

If not for the light coming from them and what it was being worn by, the expression would be almost pitiable.

It walked, literally silently, past the closet door and into the bathroom.

Once it was out my cone of vision through the slats in the closet door, I had no idea where it was.

It never made a sound when moving, there was no way of telling.

And then I heard the bathroom mirror break.

And then it came back and looked at the closet.

"I think it worked."

I shoved the closet door open and swung at it, the knife sticking into the side of it.

It didn't even notice.

"Let me in."

I ran, back through the kitchen and out of the apartment.

But I didn't leave the apartment.

The door led to another just like it, back to its normal configuration.

I realized again, too late, that this creature didn't make footstep sounds, and recoiled as it gave me payback in the form of the knife.

I've been in a few predicaments with blades before, and the second I felt the tip hit me, I recoiled from it, turning with it to disarm the thing.

Looking at it filled me with dread I'd never known.

It was breathing now.

Loudly.

It sounded like an asthma attack.

I realized that it reeked that same smoky hickory scent.

I got the knife back and drove it into the thing time and time again, and not once did it care.

It was smiling, eyes still downcast.

The knife became lodged, and its smile faltered for a moment.

That was all I needed.

I ran to the knife block, the one I'd taken still missing, and grabbed another.

It was, unfortunately, smaller.

I watched as the fleshy thing searched its body for the blade, eventually finding it and pulling it free.

It looked down at it.

Cleaner than when it went in

.And then it looked up at me.

Just that smile.

Those lights.

I had to run again.

I ran back for the bedroom, not knowing what I was doing, taking note that the terminal was missing again.

Although, I was certain it'd been there every other time, the thought of it being gone 'again' simply made sense.

I entered the bedroom, but I didn't.

I was in the hallway upstairs, between apartments.

But the stairs were gone.

All of the apartment doors were open, and when I glanced back into the one I'd just left, I found the place seemingly normal.

I couldn't see the creature, smell the smoke, or hear it breathing.

And then they started leaving the apartments.

One for each door.

Smiling.

I dropped the knife.

I would've screamed, but knew it made no difference.

I ran.

No terminal.

Back through the kitchen, back through the hallway, back through yet another kitchen, back through a bedroom, another hallway, this time with more of them, a dining room, a bathroom, a fucking closet.

When I realized I was climbing stairs, I stopped for a moment.

I turned and glanced for the metal and glass door that'd lead me to safety. I didn't care if the world was mirrored, backwards, inside out, fucking black and white.

It was there.

But outside it stood another of those things.

This one holding a strangely clean kitchen knife.

Eight inch blade gleaming in the dying sun.

I could not see my car behind it.

I entered the apartment and locked the door, looking around for anything at all to move it to block the door.

Rounding the corner led me to to the terminal.

"Satisfied?"

I don't know what happened then.

Not that I don't remember, but I just don't think there are words for it.

I know that I woke up on the floor of the kitchen with a police officer trying to rouse me.

There was blood seeping through my shirt.

He informed me I'd been missing for two weeks.

Not having anybody who'd otherwise know my whereabouts, a "concerned friend" called the local PD to get them on the horn about my disappearance.

Eye witnesses testified to seeing a distinct blue classic car, very worn and slightly rusted, sitting out front of a disused apartment in a complex.

116 lacerations, they told me.

None deep enough to threaten my life individually, but a curious few in a pattern on my right calf.

I recall being in the hospital next, asking the nurse to help me sit up.

I explained I'd like to look myself over, and she brought me a mirror to look at various portions of my body I'd otherwise be unable to see with myself in such a state.

Over 300 stitches, definitely a new record.

The first place I looked was my calf.

There was a pattern there, of course.

I held the mirror up to it to get a better look and took note of the deliberate placement of the cuts.

They were grouped in these dug out boxes, as if circled.

One was empty, though.

I used the mirror to glance up my calf, trying to make sense of it when I started counting them.

80236.

The crash is what woke me again.

I was in my apartment and the thing was towering over me.

And then I woke up for real.

Jumped again at the sight of my hoodie draped over my chair, a similar shape to the creature.