#i can’t. i’m going to defenestrate myself | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gguksgalaxy · 4 years ago

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Stranded | JJK | E2L

Jungkook’s offer to help you study for your exam is unwelcome. His entire presence is unwelcome. You don’t want help from the guy who passes all his classes without even trying. It’s annoying — he is annoying. From the way he grins whenever he catches you staring at him, to the way his eyes shine whenever he smiles at you. Oh, and let’s not forget the way his tattoos shift when he stretches or the way his jawline sharpens when he’s focused. Nope, you definitely can’t stand him.

›› AU: Enemies to lovers, fuck/badboy!Jungkook ›› Genre: Fluff / Smut / Angst ›› Rating: NC-17 (explicit sexual content, 18+) ›› Pairing: JJK x Reader ›› Word Count: 13k ›› Jungkook Snuggle Drabbles. Warnings Include: A lot of swearing, heavy themes of miscommunication and strong judgements, Jungkook sleeps around a lot, university related stress, brief mention of past underage drinking, emotional and romantic angst, argument, the desecration of a mug. Sexual content: Protected sex, blowjob, cunnilingus, face sitting/riding.

A/N: This one's for you @fallinforkoo I hope that you like it!! This is not something I would usually write but the idea popped up when seeing the request so here she is! A little cliché but I hope it's original enough. Let me know what you guys think!

“As your best friend,” Taehyung says sheepishly over the phone, “I really need you to do me a favour.”

You groan, leaning your head over the edge of the bed. “I don’t like where this is going.”

He hums. He doesn’t even laugh. There’s just a brief silence before he asks you the impossible. “I need you to invite Jungkook for the get-together on Friday.”

“Absolutely fucking not,” you spit. “Taehyung, my best friend, the platonic love of my life. I will do anything for you. Literally anything. I would suck your toes if you asked me, but I won’t do that.”

Now he laughs, loud and deep. It only makes you sulk more. Inviting Jeon Jungkook into your humble abode? To have him walk around with that smug—and delectably gorgeous—grin on his face as he finds something to make fun of? Not over your dead body. Not in a million years.

“Please, do it for me.”

You vigorously shake your head. “I don’t see how I would be doing you a favour by inviting him. You don’t even like him!”

“I mean...I really don’t mind him. But I like Jimin, a lot, and I feel bad for excluding his friend all the time, it’s starting to get weird. Can’t you just invite him over? I promise you won’t have to talk to him.”

Oh, but you do. Because Jungkook always manages to weasel under your skin and get you worked up to a point where you just have to say something. It’s not your fault that he’s such an ass. He just rubs you all the wrong ways. “I am in a constant state of wanting to rip his head off. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Jungkook is just so...You really cannot stand him. First of all, he doesn’t study. All he does is party and sleep around with random girls. Yet, he still somehow manages to be at the top of the class. Secondly, he’s a dick. He has no respect for both his elders and you. Any chance he gets he will make fun of you or blatantly insult you. And lastly, he looks too good and he knows it. Walking around campus just basking in the attention from all the girls, and guys, who want him despite his reputation.

Taehyung snorts. “If I were you, I would be more worried that you’re in a constant state of wanting to suck his dick.”

“I’d rather snap his dick in half.” Sometimes you wonder why you’re friends with Taehyung. After all, he’s the one who told Jimin to bring along his friend. Now, you’re regularly exposed to Jeon Jungkook’s incessant flirting with anything that breathes, constant whining about just about everything, and complete lack of personal space. Taehyung had been certain that if you got to know Jungkook outside of class, it would make you more amicable towards each other. However, it’s only made it worse.

“You know, sometimes people lie about something so often that they start to feel like it’s the truth.”

You roll your eyes, sitting up on the bed. It’s noon already. You really should be studying for your Psychology of Law exam. Also known as the course from hell. As a law student, you really can’t make sense of the material. All the mumbling about internal thought processes and stressors has your mind logging off. You’re chapters behind. You don’t even know where to start. Because unlike a certain someone, you actually have to study. Even with all-nighters, thorough summaries, and flashcards, you’ve still managed to fail quite a few classes. The future of your law degree literally balances on this one class. If you fail, you lose your scholarship.

“Are you still with me?” Taehyung asks.

“Yeah, I’m just considering defenestrating myself. Anything better than studying for psych.”

“Even inviting Jungkook?”

“Anything but that.” It’s not like Taehyung is completely wrong. Jungkook looks like a model when he actually decides to groom himself instead of showing up to class in sweats and uncombed hair. You’re way too aware that he works out five days a week. Or that he’s got tats lining his arm, intricate designs that—No. You’re not falling down this hole today.

Taehyung’s typing something up, probably studying for his own exams. “I will let you study then. Just please, invite him over. I will forever be in your debt. Be the better person.”

The sweet lining to Taehyung’s plea actually manages to work for once. He’s your best friend, after all. He would probably do the same thing for you. It’s just not that fun to be around Jungkook when part of you—as much as you may deny it—feels some type of way about him.

“I will consider it.”

“That’s not a no.”

“Don’t make me change it back to a no, Kim.”

He chuckles. “Someday, you will thank me. That day being the one when you finally come to terms with your feelings.”

“Bye, Taehyung,” you grumble, ending the call and throwing the phone down on the duvet.

So yes, maybe you do have a thing for Jungkook. Doesn’t make him any less annoying. If anything, it makes him even more insufferable. Why did you have to develop a weird crush on a guy you can’t even stand? The world doesn’t have to be cruel like that. But here you are. Not that it matters. Jungkook would sleep with just about any girl but you. Which says more about them.

Reluctantly, you get up and grab your books from your desk. Studying is easier in the living room, away from distractions.

Your peace doesn’t last long. Not even halfway through your first coffee, your doorbell rings.

Groaning, you get up and prepare your best ‘no I don’t want to buy whatever you’re selling’ face. Upon unlocking the door, that face falters.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you spit out the moment you see Jungkook’s big doe eyes. He’s standing on your doorstep like he’s supposed to be here. With his backpack nonchalantly slung over one shoulder.

He looks past you, into your apartment. “Oh, you started studying for psych?”

Your living room is a mess. “Well, I was trying to start, but I’ve been rudely interrupted by someone who has no invitation to be here.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m here to make sure that you don’t fail another class and have to drop out.” Like he owns the place, he pushes past you and waltzes inside. He drops his backpack and readjusts his baseball cap, showing off his forehead and chocolate brown hair. It’s really starting to get long.

“I don’t need your help.” There’s no way he’s here just to help you study. And even if he was, he’s just going to distract you. You’re not friends. He must have some ulterior motive for being here. Jeon Jungkook doesn’t study, let alone help people study. Not to your knowledge at least. “I can manage just fine on my own.”

He grabs his laptop from his bag. “What part of ‘having to drop out if you fail another class’ did you not understand?” He puts the device down and gets comfortable on your couch. As if he’s done it before.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Who told you about that?”

He shrugs. “Jimin mentioned it, he must have it from Taehyung. Does it really matter?”

“Yes, it matters,” you sneer. “I didn’t ask you to be here. I don’t want you to be here. There’s no way I’m going to get anything done with you around. Get the fuck out.” You point a finger at the door, waiting for him to leave. “Do you not hear me?”

“Oh, I heard you. I’m just waiting for you to get over yourself and realise that you actually need my help.”

“I don’t.”

“Can you tell me the difference between compliance and suggestion in the context of a police hearing?” he questions, leaning back and propping his clunky boot-clad feet onto the table.

You press your lips together in a thin line, thinking about a possible answer.

He grins. “Any idea what the Reid Technique is and why it is or isn’t ethical?”

“No,” you grumble.

“You know what the pros and cons are of an Oslo style eyewitness lineup?”

You shake your head, dropping your arms in defeat. He’s got you. You don’t know anything. Maybe you do need his help. As long as he tries to be nice, you can give him the benefit of the doubt. Another year of your degree is definitely worth it.

Jungkook pats the spot on the couch beside him. “Let’s get started, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover if we want to get you a good grade.”

And so you get to work. Jungkook makes himself a little too comfortable in your home. Aside from pulling out his flashcards, multiple summaries and annotated materials, he actually slips into the kitchen to make tea. He raids your pantry for snacks and pulls out your blanket from under the table.

“What?” He says, mouth stuffed with gummy bears while he unfolds the blanket. “I’m sorry, but your apartment is really fucking cold. Since you’re dressed as if you’re going to the North Pole, I assumed the radiator must be broken.”

“It has been almost a week now. My landlord is being an ass about it. Also, I’m wearing normal clothes that normal people wear when it’s cold outside. Unlike you, with your short-sleeves and thin coat.”

“It’s October.”

“It’s nine degrees outside. You’re insane.”

“No,” he says, sitting back down with the blanket around his shoulders. “I’m just hot.”

A reluctant smile pulls at your lips. Why must you betray yourself?

He leans in close, inspecting your face. “I can’t believe I lived to see the day. You actually smiled at one of my jokes.”

If he’s good at one thing, it’s definitely proving that he’s an annoying shit. “I’m laughing at how pathetic you are.”

“At least I’m not the one who tried to hide her smile.”

“And I’m not the one who forced his way into this apartment. I’d watch out, some people might start to think you actually like being around me.” You turn back towards his laptop, scrolling through the document to the next topic. Police hearings.

Jungkook puts his hand down behind you so he can get closer—too close—and look over your shoulder. “Maybe,” he whispers, “I do like spending time with you.”

You whip your head around so fast you nearly knock heads with him. He doesn’t move. Both your noses basically touching. At this proximity you can see all the fine details in his skin. The flecks of lighter brown in his eyes that really do shine. The moles on his nose, the scar on his cheek.

“Nah.” He pulls away. “I’m just messing with you. I still don’t like you.”

What on earth did you do to make him come over here? If he dislikes you so much, he shouldn’t have bothered. You’re not a charity case. “If you’d just let me fail, you wouldn’t have to put up with me again.”

He tuts. “Where’s the fun in that? I’d honestly miss your bad comebacks and petty remarks.”

“Excuse me, my comebacks are not bad?”

“They’re mediocre at best, ma’am,” he laughs, grin showing the fullness of his cheeks that make him look deceptively cute.

You shiver at the thought. He’s a lot of things, but he’s not cute. Yes, he’s probably a good guy deep down, but he’s not cute. Jeon Jungkook is and always will be an annoying, self-entitled, arrogant brat. Nothing is going to change your mind. Not even the way your heart beats faster from just having him so close.

“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me,” you bite.

“I’m not even going to give you any points for that. You didn’t even try!” He makes an exasperated gesture as he grabs another handful of gummies.

‘Childish’ should be added to the list. “Are you here to help me study or not?”

Jungkook nods, sitting cross-legged. “Just so I get to bother you for another year.”

The two of you get back to work. He takes you through a very detailed and too dramatic explanation of the Reid technique. You find yourself captivated by how passionate he seems. He sure does know a lot about the subject.

Jungkook turns out to be a very active talker. He makes very detailed descriptions and uses his hands to explain things. It’s easy to understand him, but it’s way harder to memorise it. As the material gets more complicated, he gets more serious and you start to lose track. His frown deepens, dimple-like creases appearing in his cheek that make him look sharper and older. You can’t help but stare.

He’s so handsome. The tattoos that circle around his left arm shift as he speaks. The same way that his earrings dangle as he moves. You get caught up in him, the way he talks, the passion that rolls off him in waves.

“Are you gawking at me?” He says, stopping his movements mid-air.

Cheeks flushed, you try to come up with a smart reply. “I was thinking whether your head has always looked this big.”

His lips pull into a straight line. “I’m here trying to do my best to explain to you what the difference is between an Oslo confrontation and a sequential lineup, and you’re worried about the size of my fucking head?”

“I mean, it’s awfully big, no?” You poke his forehead.

He grabs your wrist in return, pulling your body towards him. “Can you at least try to appreciate my effort?”

“I’m listening!”

Wetting his lips, he arches an eyebrow. “Explain the difference to me.”

Well, you weren’t listening that intently. “Uh, a sequential lineup has a lower chance of causing false positives.”

“That’s the last sentence I said, you can do better.” He lets go of you so you can lean back. For a second, he actually seems pissed off. Maybe you should try, he’s doing his best after all. It’s just hard when he’s here looking this good.

“Oslo confrontations feature the suspects in a lineup at the same time, whereas a sequential lineup shows them one by one.” That’s all you got.

“Well,” he says, throwing you a gummy from the bag. “You got one point out of five.”

Treat halfway to your mouth, you stop. “One?!”

He nods. “And I’m being generous with you. First of all, you cannot call them suspects, they’re candidates or possible suspects. There’s usually only one suspect and the rest are actors who look like the suspect. You also missed the part where, during the sequential lineup, the witness doesn’t get to see all the suspects. Once they pick the one they think is the perpetrator, they will not get to see the additional candidates.” Why does this sound so hot when he says it?

God, you’re going insane. “Well, I’ll try to remember that and the seven-hundred other things you said. All the blabbering you do makes it really hard.” It comes out harsher than you intended. From the way Jungkook stays silent, you know it must’ve hit home.

He gets up, making your heart sink. “I think it’s time for a break. You’re getting frustrated. Do you want to order pizza?”

“I don’t recall asking you to stay over for dinner.”

Jungkook takes a long, deep breath, closing his eyes. You can feel the anger build up. “Listen, I’m here to help you. The least you can do is fucking appreciate it. Be stubborn all you want, but you need this. You want a shot at this degree. I’m here, because as much as I can’t stand you, I won’t enjoy watching you get kicked off the entire program because you’re struggling with the material.” There’s a heavy pause. You let his words sink in. The level of concern is surprising. It’s sweet. “So do you want to order pizza or not? Because I’m starving.”

You nod. “Pizza sounds good.”

The tension ebs away after that. Jungkook goes into the kitchen and comes back with a mug filled with milk, of all things. You bite your tongue.

“I want pineapple on my pizza,” he says.

Pausing, you raise your eyebrows. “You cannot be serious.”

“Depends. How much do you hate pineapple?” His shit eating grin returned like it was never gone. It gives him away.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you speak; “So, double pineapple for you?”

Suddenly, his face falters. “Whoa, you can’t actually do that to me.”

“You’re the one who said he likes pineapple!”

“It was a joke. No person in their right mind would put fruit on their pizza.” He sits next to you, taking another sip of his milk. “I’m really not picky though, but the one with the jalapenos is good. Or the chili chicken.” Jungkook scoots closer so he can scroll through the menu on your phone, hand brushing against yours.

This way, you get a clear view of the rose tattoo on his hand. It’s beautiful, detailed but still in a traditional style. It suits him, as do his other tattoos. Though this one has always stood out to you.

“I’m just going to get pepperoni,” you say after a while.

Jungkook sighs, then turns his head to whisper in your ear; “Boring.”

Startled, you shove him so hard he falls onto his back. “Don’t be such a child. I’m not going to make you eat it.”

When he sits back up, his shirt rises and reveals the edge of a narrow, toned waist. You look away, focusing on actually ordering the pizza. Jungkook really doesn’t have to be so casually attractive. He’s not even trying and you can’t keep your eyes off him, noticing something new every minute. A good reason to not spend any more time with him after this.

“Gimme.” He plucks your phone out of your hands so he can order his own pizza. With the utmost concentration, he scrolls and types in some things. No doubt using your pre-set credit card to pay for it. “Wait,” he says, sitting up straight. “Whoa, you’re friends with Yoongi? As in Min Yoongi? The guy who won this year’s mock court?”

Gasping, you dart over to grab the phone from him. “Don’t go through my messages!” With one hand on your chest, he manages to keep the device out of your reach. “Jungkook!”

His eyes move over the screen, reading your messages with the third year law student. “Why didn’t you just ask him for help, huh? He seems to like you, and that’s something. I don’t think Yoongi likes anybody.”

You try harder to grab your phone from his hands. It must look insane, your body bent over his, him trying to find ways to hold you off and keep the phone out of your reach. Somehow, you end up squashed between his—way too strong—thighs.

“Jungkook give me my phone back!” you whine.

Something on the screen makes him raise his eyebrows. “Are you two like—you know? Cuz I’ve heard some stuff and—”

You shake your head, getting uneasy with the fact that he’s really reading your personal messages. “I don’t like Yoongi like that.”

Jungkook lifts his leg, using his knee to push you back. He’s got way too much strength in his body. “Okay, but I’m not sure that he knows that. He’s not a nice guy, you should steer clear of him.”

“Oh, and you would know how? It’s not like you’re such a gentleman.” Again, you try to jump for your phone, but he stops you in time by grabbing your wrist.

Face serious, he holds your gaze. “I’m not kidding. We run in the same circles. He’s a total asshole, you don’t want to get involved with him. You can do better.”

That sure is a way to silence you. You frown, settling back into your seat as Jungkook keeps scrolling through the chat. “I’m not into him, but he’s been texting me for a while. I was in his group for mock court.” Finally, you get your phone back, but your stomach feels uneasy looking at it. Perhaps Yoongi’s messages are a bit forward.

“I don’t know Yoongi well enough to be able to say for sure, but I know enough to tell you that he doesn’t talk to girls like you because he wants to be friends,” Jungkook says with a hand lingering on your thigh.

Way to make you feel good about yourself, Jeon. “What does that mean, girls like me?”

His face changes, eyes wide.

“What are you trying to say?” you press.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he leans forward onto his knees. “All I’m saying is that you don’t deserve to get played by some asshole who’s just trying to get into your pants.”

“Oh.” Is he being for real? He’s looking out for you? This is not how this is supposed to go. Jungkook shouldn’t be nice to you. He shouldn’t be helping you, or care about your wellbeing. He’s a dick and the two of you squabble and yell at each other. Yet, your chest warms at his words. Even if you weren’t looking to get together with Yoongi, it’s good to know he might have alternative motives. “Thank you.”

All he does is nod, before he grabs his laptop to resume where you guys left off. The awkwardness slowly dissipates as he takes you through the entire lineup thing again, just so you’ve got it down. After that you move onto the remaining subjects.

Today sure is strange. You never expected things to be so comfortable with Jungkook. Despite his exasperating personality and your on and off bickering, his presence is pleasant. It doesn’t take long for you to sink into the couch, drinking your third large cup of coffee.

Completely focussed on his monologue, you ask questions very sparingly, enraptured by him. You knew he was smart, he passes his classes with grades of 80% or higher for a reason. However, it’s different to see it in action.

Pizza arrives a little late, much to Jungkook’s dismay. Turns out he’s quite cranky when he gets hungry. He devours his pizza way faster than you can get through half of yours, and he’s quick to inch towards a slice from your box. You smack his hand away, reminding him of how he slandered you for your topping choice. He can have your leftovers from yesterday

“You call this pasta?” he questions in a disgusted tone, crouched down by the fridge

“Take it or starve. Your choice.”

He gets up, nose scrunched. “I’d rather starve, thanks. What exactly do you excel at? Since it’s not school, wit, or cooking.”

“Aim,” you spit, flicking a piece of pepperoni at him. It hits him straight in the cheek and you burst out into a fit of laughter. He stares at you in utter disbelief, removing the greasy piece of meat from his face. Tongue pressed to his cheek, he fights off his own smile—or an insult.

Eventually, he sits back down and goes over the remaining material while you eat. The end comes faster than you expected, his eyes darting to the clock.

“It’s getting late, I should probably go home.”

“What?” You pout. “How can you leave me to my own devices like this?!”

“Because I did what I could. I took you through all the material, now it’s up to you to try and memorise it. I’ve sent you my summaries and I’ll leave my flashcards here.” He grabs his things, meticulously stuffing them back into his backpack. With a heavy heart, you hand him his cap that had fallen to the floor.

Jungkook pushes his hair back, putting his cap on. He looks as nonchalant as he did when he came in. Backpack slung over one shoulder, hand shoved into his pocket. “Good luck. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you mumble. “Thanks.”

“I’m glad my presence was enjoyed.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, I only endured you because I want to pass.” Part of that is true. Though, he wasn’t as bad to hang out with as you had originally assumed. Maybe it’s because his friends aren’t around to show off to. Or because he genuinely wanted to help. Which is still weird. “Good luck to you too.”

He waves you goodbye, opening up the door, only to be met with a gust of wind. The sound of rain enters your apartment. Water plummets from the sky by the bucket.

“Shit,” Jungkook peers outside, hesitating in the doorway. “If I don’t show up tomorrow morning, please assume that I have drowned.”

You would’ve laughed at the idea of him getting soaking wet any other day. He came here to help you study and now he has to walk home through the rain. No doubt he’s going to catch a cold dressed the way he is. Maybe you should listen to Taehyung and be the better person for once.

Getting up, you pull him back inside by the string of his backpack. “You can’t go out when it’s like that, you’ll get sick.”

He turns with a smile. “As much as I would like to see you squirm a little longer, I need to study too.”

“You study?”

“How else do you think I get good grades? Eat books for breakfast?”

You shrug. “We can study together tonight?”

Stepping closer, Jungkook forces you back inside. Almost nose to nose. Your heart skips a beat when his breath fans over your face. “Is this just a lame excuse from you to spend more time with me?”

“No. But I can only imagine the tragedy that will befall me if you catch a cold because you were out here helping me study.” You poke a finger into his chest. A grave mistake, it’s way firmer than you’d thought. “If I let you stay over, you no longer owe me one.”

“I’m sorry, but it really sounds like you just want me to stay.” Jungkook inches closer, backing you against the couch.

You open your mouth to say something when your phone rings. Looking over to where it lies on the couch, you see Taehyung’s name displayed. He can wait. You glance back up at Jungkook, who’s nearly chest to chest with you, and also has his eyes locked on the phone.

Then, he grins.

You act fast, snatching the phone from the couch and declining the call before he even gets a chance to touch it. Taehyung really doesn’t need to know that Jungkook is here.

Jungkook himself, however, picks up on this. He chuckles lightly, arching his eyebrow. “Are you trying to hide the fact that I’m here?’”

“I wouldn’t say I was trying to hide it, but I really don’t need my friends to think I’m hanging out with you.”

Jungkook drops his bag in the chair again, curious glint in his eyes. “And why is that?”

“Because,” you start, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t want to be associated with the likes of you.”

“What am I now? A villain?”

“No, you’re a stuck up fuckboy who does nothing but party and sleep with random girls and yet somehow still manages to pass all his classes. You’re annoying, egotistical, insufferable, pushy, invasive and disrespectful.” You let out a deep breath. Yeah, maybe Jungkook’s been nice to you today, but he hasn’t changed.

He rolls his eyes. “Well then. I’ll have you know that you are nothing more than an average, boring girl struggling to get by. You’re opinionated, crass, entitled, standoffish, a bad listener, impossibly stubborn and a bit of an airhead.” The words leave him as if they mean nothing. “It’s not like I’d want to be associated with the likes of you either. But here I am, stranded because of the storm. So you, my dear, are stuck with me tonight. You did offer for me to stay over, after all.”

“Whatever,” you breathe, “let’s just try to study.”

The two of you return to your previous position on the couch, but now, he faces you. With the flashcards in hand, Jungkook reaches into his bag and pulls out a container filled with Maltesers.

The rules are simple. You take turns asking each other questions. If you get it right, you get a chocolate, you get it wrong the person who asked the question gets a chocolate. Easy enough, right? Now that you feel a bit more steady with the material, you should be able to answer some questions correctly. Even if it’s just to rob Jungkook of the satisfaction of eating the entire thing on his own.

Two questions in and the bickering starts. Jungkook’s whining because he’s cold and you can’t turn up the radiator. But since he was the one to leave the door open, it’s his fault that it’s so cold in here to begin with. You’ve long hogged the blanket for yourself and you don’t intend on sharing it. It’s the only barrier that’s keeping you from touching his feet.

“Please,” he pouts. “I’m so cold, you can’t let me freeze to death in this fucking igloo.”

You pull the blanket closer. “No. It’s mine.”

He whines. “Come on, it’s big enough for both of us. It’ll be warmer if we share.”

“No.”

“You do realise I could just take it from you by force.”

“You would not.”

He sits up straighter, putting a hand on the edge of the fabric. “I’m giving you the option now. Either you share, or I’m pulling it from your cold, grabby hands. If you’re just afraid to snuggle with me, you can just say so.”

In order to not admit defeat, you give up half of the blanket so he can shove his legs under it. He extends his legs way past his side of the couch, his feet touching your lower back. You have no choice but to fold one of your legs over his, the other extended by his side. Indeed, it’s warmer this way.

“Now, where were we?” He flips to his next card. “Ah, yes. Weapon focus effect.”

That one you remember clearly. “It’s when a witness’ attention was so focused on the weapon present at the incident that they fail to remember any significant details about the perpetrator. It’s an involuntary process that often leads to inaccurate descriptions of the attackers.” You definitely got that one, no doubt. It’s easy.

Jungkook throws you a chocolate. “Good job, you’re doing well. It seems you listened to what I had to say after all.”

“I mean,” you say, popping the chocolate into your mouth. “I didn’t have that much of a choice but to listen, now did I?”

“You were visually undressing me the entire time. I had assumed your mind was busy with...other things.” He’s doing it on purpose, trying to get some type of reaction from you. Instead, you just bite your lip, not knowing what to say. “Oh, was I right? Tell me, what were you thinking about.”

You let out a sound, throwing a pillow at him. “I wasn’t thinking anything. And I wasn’t undressing you.”

“No, you were thinking of how big my head was, right? Would it,” he pauses, lifting up the blanket to peer underneath, “fit between your thighs?”

“What is wrong with you!” You scream, hands covering your face that quickly turns red.

He laughs in return. “You’re so easily flustered. I’d almost call it cute.”

Peering through your fingers, you frown. “Almost?”

“Yeah, almost. Not quite, because you’re still you.”

In a surge of confidence, you sit up straight and grab the stack of cards again. Not looking at him as you speak. “How about, instead of imagining what I taste like, you tell me what a flashbulb memory is.”

Inches away from choking on his spit, Jungkook doesn’t manage to come up with a smart retort. He just answers your questions with pursed lips and distant eyes. It’s correct though, so you get to throw him a chocolate. Which of course, he catches with his mouth. Show off.

It goes on for another while, storm raging outside. With the winds turned, you can now clearly hear the pattering against your window. You can’t imagine what Jungkook would’ve done had he been walking through this storm. It’s only getting worse.

Time ticks by fast. Soon, Jungkook is left with one last flashcard in his hands. And you are determined to get that last chocolate. He smirks to himself, probably aware that you don’t know the answer to this. But if anything, you are determined to prove him wrong.

“Tell me,” he trails, “what is the difference between compliance and suggestibility?”

You know this. He’s explained it three times. So you’re confident in your next words. “Compliance is when a witness giving a testimony willingly accepts a suggestion but is aware that the suggestion is wrong. Suggestibility is when they believe that the suggestion is right and thus take it for the truth. Both are problematic, but suggestibility is harder to expose.”

Jungkook tuts. “You got them switched around.”

“Huh?! That can’t be right!”

“Sure is, the last chocolate is mine.”

You snatch the bag away before he can grab it. “I don’t think so. Let me see that card.”

“Are you accusing me of lying?”

“For chocolate? I sure am. Let me see.” You crawl over to his side, squishing yourself between him and the couch. “Jungkook,” you whine when he covers the card with his hand, “let me see. My grade depends on this.”

He chuckles at you. “It does not. I’m confident that you will pass regardless.”

You try to pry the card out of his hand, but it’s no use. The grip he has on the thing is too strong. He manages to hold you down without even breaking a sweat. It’s a few beats before you can realise that you’re now entirely pressed up against him. You can feel the muscles in his thighs shift, the soft skin of his arm against yours

“Let me have the chocolate and I will show you,” he whispers.

Flushed, you stop struggling. “Whatever, I know I’m right.”

Jungkook then reveals the card to you, showing you that you indeed, were right. “I’m glad you’re finally confident in your abilities. That’s the key to passing a test.”

Has he really been testing you this entire time? That’s sure one way to do the trick. Without replying, you sink into his side. Silently enjoying his warmth. It’s comfortable to sit like this, now that it’s night and the apartment continues to get colder. You don’t mind, really. Inhaling slightly, you catch a whiff of his fresh floral scent. It’s mixed with a sharp edge that suits him well.

As Jungkook grabs the stack of cards you got wrong to revise them, you don’t move. The two of you just get comfortable like that. It’s easier to see the cards the way anyhow. You can just look at them together. Plus, you’re starting to feel a little sleepy and don’t want to move. He seems equally as content, just reciting the questions and explaining why you got them wrong.

“Okay so,” you say, pointing at something on the card. “It’s not so much an issue on the witness’ side as it is on the police’s?”

Jungkook nods, looking at you. “They’re the ones leading the witness. It’s not the witness’ fault that they take on their opinion.”

You hum, meeting his gaze. He doesn’t falter, almost as if he’s searching your eyes. “Something wrong?”you ask, voice hushed, goosebumps appearing on the back of your neck. There’s a mole right below his bottom lip which is plump and looks soft. His top lip is more defined, making for a cute pout. The more you look, the more you notice all his moles. On his nostril, his cheek, his ear.

“No,” he answers eventually. Voice strained. “I think you have a pimple growing between your brows.”

“Get lost!” You shove your elbow into his side, pulling a pained groan from him. “You’re so stupid.”

For a moment he’s quiet, just rubbing his side and shifting so he can get more comfortable. One of his legs falls off the couch, the other still between yours. “You really hate me, huh?”

At any other given moment, you would’ve replied with yes. But now, it’s laden. Is he asking you that seriously? It’s one thing to tell Taehyung you can’t stand him, or to yell it in his face when he’s being a brat, but you can’t literally say it to him like this. Why, you don’t really know. The expectant look makes your stomach tighten.

“Why are you saying it like that?”

He shrugs. “No reason in particular. Just because,” he gestures at your bodies, “it doesn’t seem like you mind being around me that much. If anything I’d say that,” he stops, leaning in close to your ear. You can feel the barely-there graze of his lips. “You like being around me.”

You bite your tongue, looking up to find his eyes darker than before. Cocking his head to the side, he awaits your answer. You’re not willing to give him the satisfaction. There’s no need to stroke his already big ego any more. Yes, this is more pleasant than you’d expected. Yes, he’s nice to be around. But... “You’re still a pain in the ass. Sorry.” With that, you had expected him to look away, but he doesn’t. His eyes flicker down to your lips, and back up to your eyes.

“So are you,” he teases, lips stretching into a lopsided grin.

Within a heartbeat, your lips are touching. Jungkook groans. You gasp, pulling him closer. Closed eyes, your heart beats a million miles an hour, revelling in the feeling of his mouth against yours. How soft his lips are. The trailing of his fingertips up your neck so he can crane your head back.

He comes to life, parting with a brief look into your eyes and a deep breath. Then, diving in full force. Jungkook kisses you like he’s been waiting to—like he’s hungry for it. You can barely believe that it’s happening, still trying to register that he’s actually kissing you. That it feels this good.

Your entire body kicks into gear when he bites at your bottom lip. Shifting your body to face his, you wrap a hand around the back of his neck. Returning his fervor, your mouths part and tongues meet in a desperate clash. Jungkook lets out a deep, guttural sound that makes you shiver. He’s skilled, tongue swiping over yours in a way that you can barely keep up with. Deliciously hot, just edging on sloppy. There’s no room for pauses, no time for thoughts.

Gaining purchase against the armrest, you swing a leg over his to sit in his lap. Jungkook’s leaning back still, pawing at your waist now that he’s got full access. You take full advantage of the position, crashing into him and devouring him. Biting at his lips, sucking his tongue into your mouth. The feeling is nearly euphoric paired with the rough, firm touches of his hands all over your body.

He touches anything he can find. Gripping onto your thighs and ass, slipping under your tank top and sweater to graze the skin on your back. Sparks erupt everywhere.

Mid-kiss, he sits up. Twisting so he can firmly plant both his feet on the found. It’s the angle he needs to pull you right against him. Your hips make contact and you moan. He’s not quite hard but he’s certainly getting there and the thought makes your head spin.

“Fuck,” you gasp, breaking away for air while he grids his hips up into yours. “Jungkook—”

“No talking,” he mouths against your jawline. “More kissing,” his voice is so raspy that it’s barely recognisable. Almost a growl.

You push his cap off. Grabbing his face with both hands and kissing him firmly. Angling his head back the same way he had done to you. Kissing him is way better than you could’ve ever imagined. He’s rougher, stronger, harder against your body. You need more.

Slipping your hands under his shoulder, you lift it. Tracing the hard lines of his chest, feeling how he jumps under your touch. It empowers you, makes you bolder. Your fingers reach a pert nipple, brushing over it only to hear him moan in the back of his throat. God, he keeps on getting better and better. Sensitive it seems, as you roll the bud between your fingers. His hips buck up into yours. Fully hard at this point, he must start to get uncomfortable in those jeans.

Jungkook’s resolve with kissing you slows, needing air. He breaks away with a smirk, cheeks flushed and panting. Holding your gaze steady, he pulls his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. Revealing planes of unmarred skin and tattoos you had yet to discover.

You take no shame in staring, reaching out to trace the dream catcher on his shoulder. Moving along the lines of thread and feathers that reach his elbow.

“Like what you see?” he whispers, pushing you closer with a hand on your lower back just so he can kiss your neck. You shiver, legs spreading. Leaning your head back to give him enough room to mark you up. The thought alone makes you whimper. “What’s that?” he mumbles, licking a hot stripe up your throat.

Fingers digging into his shoulders, you grind down onto him. He moans in response. “Stop being so smug.”

Jungkook throws his head back, looking at you through his lashes as you gyrate your hips more firmly. His body on full display. “I don’t know, it seems like you’re into it.”

“For fucks sake, shut up and kiss me.”

He listens, capturing your mouth with his. Everything moves fast after that. Between tongues and mouths clashing, Jungkook rids you of your sweater. He kisses down your neck and throat, leaving marks and enjoying the way that you quiver for him. You’re soaking through your leggings at this point. Jungkook’s doing no better.

When he pulls away, you take the opportunity to kiss down his neck, collarbones and chest. To get off his lap and kneel between his legs. His eyes widen as you do so. A hand immediately comes up to push your hair aside, tipping your chin upwards. When he traces his thumb over your mouth, you part your lips and swirl your tongue around the digit and bite down, making him hiss.

Spreading his legs to accomodate you, he relaxes against the cushions. Just like little pricks on the edge of your consciousness, you feel the nerves. You question your skills when you undo his jeans and pull them down his legs. Yet, the hazy look in his eyes tells you that he’s going to like this no matter what. He all but arches into you when you palm him through his underwear. Rock hard and leaking through the fabric, you don’t want to wait any longer to finally get your mouth on him. To hear him moan for you.

So you reach past his waistband, foregoing any teasing and pull the fabric down. His cock slaps up against his stomach, making him hiss again. The sight is gorgeous. Jungkook with his head thrown back, hair a mess, chest heaving and flushed even though you’ve barely touched him. It’s satisfying to know you did that to him.

You sit down on your knees, holding him in one hand and go slow. Mouthing at him first, giving him just a taste of what’s to come. He doesn’t hold back for you, reddened lips parting with all the noises he lets out. When you take the tip into your mouth, he jolts—groans and reaches to anchor himself on your shoulder. You have one hand on his thigh, the other around the base. That way, you steady yourself when you sink down on him.

“Don’t—Fuck, keep going.” A gentle hand winds into your hair, guiding you further onto his cock. You’re not usually one to do this but, seeing him feel this good spurs you on. It makes you want to take all of him. You don’t stop when he hits the back of your throat, gag reflex kicking in. He moans at the feeling, so you try to swallow. “Shit, fuck, don’t do that. Your mouth,” he pants, “so good.”

Feeling his grip loosen, you pull up, taking a deep breath when you let him out of your mouth. Spit dribbles from your mouth to the head, tears sting at the corners of your eyes. You look up, giving him the full vision, and you don’t look away when you sink down again.

You’re so wet. Core aching but unable to find any sort of relief. You end up trying to grind your hips without any payoff. Meanwhile, you start a steady rhythm. Hollowing out your cheeks and using your tongue on the underside. It works. You have him moaning out your name in seconds. His hand tightens in your hair again, not to force you, but spurring you on to take him a little deeper each time. Right until your nose hits his stomach. You hold there, to let him feel the flex of your throat one more time. Just so he remembers it. Then you take your rhythm back up, a little faster, a little tighter. Your jaw starts to hurt, but it’s worth it. To feel his thighs start to tremble and his stomach clench. How he tightens his hold on your hair, moans pitching every time you pass your tongue right under the head.

Your lungs are burning, but you can’t help but feel addicted to him. Sucking him harder and feeling him near that edge. You dig your nails into his thigh, breathing in through your nose. Jungkook’s hip start moving just a little, enough to startle you.

“‘M close,” he moans. “Fuck, can I—in your mouth. Shit.” He runs a hand through his hair, browns furrowed deep. When he opens his eyes you shiver. His lids are heavy, pupils blown and cheeks red. Just like his lips—he sinks his teeth into his bottom one when you resume.

He takes it as a yes, unable to stop his hips from pushing up. You let him take control, holding yourself still, hands on his thighs. Jungkook’s breathing picks up, moans mixing into one drawn out sound. You meet his eyes, mouth stuffed with his cock. That’s all he needed. He twitches and cums into your mouth. The taste is bitter and harsh on your tongue. You close your eyes, focused on the feeling of his body trembling. You’re the one who did that to him.

When he lets you go and you pull off him, he gives you a fuck-out yet expectant look. A cocky arch of his eyebrow when he sees your bulged cheeks. Waiting for you to swallow.

Instead, you reach for his mug that sits on the edge of the table and spit into it. Flinching at the leftover taste.

Jungkook nudges you with his knee. “Why are you like this?”

You set his cup down and reach for your own, take a big gulp of now-cold coffee. “I’m not swallowing your jizz.” The thought of doing that alone makes you want to puke.

“Don’t call it that.”

Rolling your eyes, you stand up on wobbly legs. “I just had it in my mouth, so I can call it whatever I want.”

Jungkook mimics your eyeroll. “Fine.” He pats your thigh. “Pants off.”

“What?”

He lies down on the couch. Surely he doesn’t expect you to ride him after you just fucked up your throat for him? What an ass. “You heard me, naked now. Chop chop.” He motions for you to hurry up and you just give him a blank stare. “Ugh, come here.” Jungkook sits up just slightly again and pulls you closer by your waistband. He gives you a brief look. “Unless you don’t wanna get naked?”

You chuckle, pushing at his hands to get him to slide your leggings off. A hand slips between your thighs to touch you. Rubbing you through the fabric, your knees nearly buckle. He’s nonchalant about it, lying back, eyes focused between your legs. Yet, he’s too accurate, easily finding his target.

“Jungkook,” you whine, grabbing onto the back of the couch.

He smirks. “Let’s take these off too.” The snap of your panties to your hip pulls you back. You shove them down, taken aback by the feeling of a hand grabbing your thigh. You’re about to question him, when he scoots further back on the couch and lifts your leg past his body. “Have a seat.”

Mind absolutely blank, you let him guide you to sit over his face. You’re dripping and he can see it—feel it probably from the way you just grazed his chest. A small moan leaving your lips when he reaches up to kiss your stomach.

“Don’t be shy,” he chuckles. “I’ve got you.”

You shift forward, holding onto the back of the couch. His hands come up to your thighs, pulling you even higher so he can slot his mouth onto your core. You can’t help but moan.

Noisy. Jungkook is so noisy. He sucks your lips into his mouth, teethes at them until you’re shaking. You struggle to hold your hips still, the need to grind into him too strong. And he does nothing to stop you. No, he urges you on. Looking up at you with those big eyes and nodding against you. Jungkook opens his mouth, tongue darting out to tease at your clit just briefly. Then, the reigns are all yours.

He holds you by the hips so you can hesitantly start moving. You shiver. It feels so good; the wet warmth of his mouth against your core. He follows you, hands pawing at your thighs, hips, and ass. With eyes closed, Jungkook eats you out like he’s been dying to do it. There’s no teasing, no playing—he’s straight to the point. You move over his tongue as he sucks on your cunt, nibbling and flicking whenever he gets the chance. Anything else is irrelevant. The sight of his head blissed out between your thighs is all you can focus on.

The pleasure spikes, shooting up your spine and filling you with warmth. It’s embarrassing how fast he gets you on the edge. How good he is. The way he occasionally stops you to take that bundle of nerves between his lips and suck on it until you’re screaming—it’s mind blowing. Your entire body is on fire, sweat drips down your back. His name falls from your lips in cries that echo throughout the room. Louder than the storm raging against the window.

“Jungkook, I’m—” you pant, unable to finish your sentence with the moans that he pulls from you. Incapable of thinking from the second he swirls his tongue around your entrance and presses inside. You halt all your movements. Nails dug deeply into the couch, you reach for his hair with your other hand. He moans when you grip it tightly, his own fingers tightening around your hips. “Don’t stop.”

He alternates between fucking his tongue into you and sucking on your clit. The intensity is almost too much. The irregularity keeps you on your toes and has you nearly teetering over the edge. You just need to—Jungkook reaches behind you and plunges two fingers into your sopping core. The sensation of being filled along with his tongue flicking over you has your eyes rolling back. Everything goes white.

You double over on the couch, unable to keep yourself up and smothering him in the process. Trembling in his hold, he helps you slowly ride out your high. Short, gentle movements against his mouth. The rocking of your hips is as involuntary as the way your body keeps shaking when he lets you go. Breath high in your throat, you chuckle.

“Good god.” You fall down when he slips out from underneath you.

As you twist towards him, Jungkook wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, crawling over you. All your limbs still feel like jelly, your mind swimming. “Yeah, that good?”

You hum, eyes closing. Wanting to lie down, you turn on your back, hearing a sharp thud.

“Shit,” Jungkook gasps. He’s grasping his chin with a laugh.

A few seconds pass before you feel the soreness in your knee. “Ugh, I’m so sorry,” you whine, reaching up to touch him. But he has other plans. Jungkook surges down smiling, pressing your mouths together for the first time in what feels like hours. The stickiness on his face doesn’t go unnoticed. The reminder that he just ate you out, that he’s the one who made you cum that hard. You moan when you taste yourself on his tongue.

He kisses you deeply, smiling against your mouth. You finally get rid of your tank top, now fully naked. He mouths over your chest, twisting your nipples, spreading your legs so that he can fit between them. Pressing himself against you, hard and waiting. “Can you go again?” he asks, pulling away and searching your eyes.

You still feel floaty, but the sensation of his hard cock pressing against your thigh has you quivering. “Yeah.” You’re aching to feel him inside, so you tilt your hips up towards him. Spreading your legs wider and inviting him.

“Wait,” you blurt, eyes flying open and pressing a hand against his chest. He stops with his hand around his dick, just about ready to slide home. “Condom.”

Jungkook curses, looking around the room. He locates his jeans that lie in a pile with his shirt and boxers. The fact that he’s actually got a condom in there is uncanny.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” You joke.

He shrugs. “I wore these jeans while going out last night.”

“You’re disgusting!” You slap his arm lightly, but he just chuckles in return. He knows just as well as you do that you’re waiting for him to fuck you. The clenching of your core attests to that.

No time is wasted, Jungkook puts the condom on and lines himself up. “You good?”

You nod. “Just go slow.”

The slight oversensitivity just makes it feel even better. He stretches you out so perfectly. You feel every inch, every stutter of his hips as he goes deeper. Way deeper than you’d expected. Until his hips meet yours and he curses, burying his face into your neck.

“You feel good,” he mumbles, kissing your skin.

“You too.” Trailing your fingers up his back, you wait for your body to adjust to him. To feel yourself relax and pull for more. That tell-tale need for movement, friction. Jungkook holds steady, hips barely moving. “Go,” you say when your stomach clenches. “Move. Fuck me like you mean it.”

Jungkook growls, grasping onto the couch. Pulling out and slamming back in full force. You slide up the cushions, so fast you grasp onto him for support. Fingernails digging into his back, legs wrapping around his waist, you keen at the pleasure. Each thrust is better than the last. Harder, more precise.

Your back arches off the couch, mouth agape. Pleasure is constant, like your body is vibrating with it. Jungkook mouths at your neck, sucking, biting—teeth playfully tugging at your ear just to whisper something dirty that you can barely comprehend. Your mind can’t make sense of anything but his dick pumping inside of you. His hips slapping against yours and his mouth against your skin.

Until he kisses you. His mouth messily connecting with yours, movements slowing. With a hand on your ass, he hikes you up the couch, angling your body so that he can press your legs to your chest. Just like that, he picks up. Starting off slow, still kissing you, tongue laving over yours almost sweetly. You shiver, the slow drag of his cock as delicious as the harsh assault. He changes angles, just a hair, but it’s enough for him to graze that part inside of you that makes you see stars.

Throwing your head back, you moan. Fingers sliding through the sweat on his back, up to tangle into his hair, gripping tight. He groans. Head falling onto your shoulder, hips stuttering against yours.

“You like that?” you whisper into his ear, tongue darting out to flick at a pierced lobe.

He nods, teeth sinking into your shoulder as you pull hard. Hips picking up, chasing the pleasure.

Hearing him moan like that. So unabashed and loud, only adds to your pleasure. Toes curling, you close your eyes and let your head fall back. Hips meeting him thrust for thrust, helping him reach even deeper inside of you. To hit that spot every single time. Jungkook has perfected that balance between smooth and hard. Never slamming rough enough to jolt you, yet firm enough to make you capable of sounds you were unaware of. Rhythmic, never stopping or slowing. So constant you can’t do anything but fall into motion with him.

Bodies syncing up. Hands finding places to touch. Nipples, lips, thighs, waists, hair. He is holding you spread open for him, your thighs starting to ache. But it’s worth it, because soon, you feel the pleasure spike.

Your stomach tightens, tingling at the base of your spine. “Jungkook,” you moan.

He answers by looking up, lips bitten red and parted.

“Can you,” you can’t finish the sentence, moaning and closing your eyes. Tapping his hand on your thigh is enough though. He releases you, instead pulling your legs around his waist. Closer like this, his chest slides over yours. It gives you just enough space to reach between your bodies and touch yourself.

He looks down at the sensation, cursing at the sight of your fingers playing with your clit while his cock slides in and out of you. The angle doesn’t let you do the same, but you can hear the slick slide clearly. You can feel it dripping down your ass.

The added pleasure is enough to put you on the edge, fast. “I’m gonna—Jungkook!” you yelp when he leans down and sucks a nipple into his mouth. “Fuck.” One hand between your bodies, the other holding his hair.

In seconds, your high hits you. Hard. Your entire body locks up, so much that Jungkook lets out a strangled moan. Fluttering around him he joins you in your peak. Thrusts stilling, pressed deep inside of you. He spills into the condom as you rut your hips, still coming down.

Spent bodies collapse onto the couch, Jungkook refusing to pull out immediately. He’s basking in the feeling of your aftershock, walls still clenching ever so slightly. You can’t blame him. It feels good. Having him inside of you as he lies down, pulling your hips against his, kissing you. His mouth is tender, laving over yours without much hurry. A hand combing through your hair, softly humming, smiling.

He finally pulls out, leaving you feeling empty and slightly sore. Grunting, he ties the condom and makes a show of throwing it into the same mug you used earlier. It makes him grin.

“I’m throwing that mug out.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“Oh, I really do. It’s been tainted beyond remedy. I’m not drinking from that, ever again.”

Jungkook presses his nose against your temple, still grinning like a fool. “You’re so weird.”

You snort. “Says the guy who just three-point shot a condom into a mug full of cum.”

No reply follows, only comfortable silence. Jungkook and you just lie like that for a while. Bodies coming down, breaths evening out, enjoying each other. Slightly sticky with sweat, you let him grab the blanket and throw it over you. Your heart swells.

Could it be possible that you’re not the only one who feels something more? Deep down, you’ve always known he’s not just an asshole. You’ve just never seen that side of him before today. All this time you’ve tried to ignore it. To not let yourself fall for that trap. A guy like him isn’t supposed to be good. Yet, maybe you were wrong about him. And maybe, he feels the same way about you.

Taehyung isn’t gonna let you hear the end of this, but you can’t help but wonder if there is an opportunity for more between you and Jungkook?

“You know,” he says after a while, “We should definitely do this again.”

Your heart shatters. That’s it. Reality crashing down on you. Of course Jungkook doesn’t feel anything for you. He’s just out for sex and you should’ve known.

You scramble up from the couch. Jungkook sputters out something you can’t quite catch, trying to grab a hold of you. “Don’t touch me,” you spit. “I can’t believe you.” Grabbing your panties and pulling them on alongside your sweater, you put distance between the two of you. “Is that what I am to you? Just another cunt to fuck?”

Jungkook’s hastily putting on his boxers, standing up, eyes wide. He opens his mouth, but you don’t care to listen.

“That’s why you were really here, right? To get into my pants. That’s why you had the condom on you.” It’s all falling together now. How could you have been so stupid? “All the fucking whining about Yoongi, but you’re no better than him.”

“Stop,” he rushes, shaking his head. “Listen to me—“

“Don’t!” you call when he reaches for you, grabbing you by the wrists and forcing you to look at him. You try to wriggle away, but he’s holding you steady.

“Listen,” he tries again. “I—“

You shove at his chest. “Let me go, Jungkook. Fucking let me go.”

He obeys, arms falling limply beside his body. Expression going soft when he sees you’re crying. “Please hear me out.”

“No, Jungkook. You don’t get it. I have feelings for you. Real, non-sexual feelings. I don’t just want to be another girl on your checklist.” There it is. Out with the truth. Your breaths come out short and ragged. Harshly wiping your tears, you grab your leggings off the floor. Jungkook just stares at you. “I was stupid to fall for this act.” It’s true. He doesn’t date. Sex. That’s it. You should’ve known, you should’ve protected yourself. Should’ve never let him weasel his way into your heart.

Jungkook deflates, head falling, hair shielding his eyes. “I’m sorry that you think of me this way.”

What a pretentious prick. “Forget it Jungkook, I’m not buying it.” You look outside, rain still pouring down the window. “You know where everything is. I want you out before sunrise.” You turn your back on him and storm into your bedroom, slamming the door closed.

The contents of your cabinet click, something falling to the floor. Your tears only get worse. Feeling the cold of your room wrap around your worn out body. To feel the remnants of him still cling to your skin. The marks, the soreness, and the scent. God, you’re so dumb. You want to call Taehyung, to hear his voice and have him comfort you. But it’s two in the morning and his sleep schedule is shaky enough as it is.

So you just opt for a shower, stripping and getting under the hot spray to wash away whatever you can. You douse yourself in your favourite clementine scented body wash. But it does nothing to clean the fresh tears. Nothing can. The realisation that your feelings for Jungkook had gone way past crush hurts. You let your guard down and he drove a knife into your back.

Sleep, you think. You need sleep. You need to rid yourself of these thoughts and feelings. Wake up tomorrow and just pretend like this never happened. Even if you know it’ll be evident. You can pretend.

You dry off and brush your teeth. Three times to be precise. Ending up in bed wrapped in your favourite teddy sweater, warm and cosy. Your chest still aches with tears that no longer fall. Heart heavy. Like you miss him close to you.

There’s not much you can do but close your eyes and will your mind to shut off. You don’t want to think about him anymore.

The creaking of your door opening startles you right as you’re drifting off. He better be joking. You refuse to move, holding tightly onto the blanket, hoping that he’s just checking in on you and will leave. You hear the door click closed, and then the bed dips.

You hold your breath. Jungkook doesn’t speak. He lifts the covers so he can scoot under them and pull you against his chest. It’s not a tight hold, but it’s there. A strong arm draped over your waist, legs grazing yours as you pretend to be asleep. The feather-light gaze of his lips against your neck makes fresh tears appear in your eyes.

“Jungkook,” you croak.

He shushes you. “I know you’re upset with me. I just don’t want you to be alone when you’re feeling like this. We can talk in the morning—if you want. For now, just get some rest.”

It’s true. You shouldn’t be alone, crying yourself to sleep. Even if he’s the one that caused it. You just don’t want to let yourself trust the gesture. He’s probably trying to make you feel less angry. Even if it doesn’t work, it’s appreciated, ill intent or not. Having someone here is calming, letting you fall into an unruly slumber.

The next morning, you wake up in his embrace. Closer, back pressed to his chest. His nose nuzzles into your hair. It’s so nice. Warm. Soothing. He’s a good cuddler.

Then, your entire body stiffens. The previous night coming back to you in flashes. Your bodies entwined on the couch, moans bouncing off the wall. You swallow tightly, lifting his arm.

“Hey,” Jungkook whispers. He must’ve already been awake, reaching for your hand and giving it a small squeeze. “Should I go?”

Yes. “No,” you mumble. You need answers. To make the story whole before you force him out of your life for good.

“Do you want to—”

“Why do you always act like such a dick around me?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath. “Because you won’t give me the time of day otherwise.”

You still, practically holding your breath so that you can hear every word.

“Every time I’m nice to you, you pretend like I don’t exist. When I push your buttons,” he sighs, “that’s when I get your attention.”

Attention? He wants your attention? Your mind’s running circles, afraid to turn around and see the look in his eyes and get swayed. Feel remorse for the pain you hear lined in his voice. That you can feel in the trembling of his hand encasing yours.

“Can you at least say something?” he asks.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He sits up, the mattress shifting and your eyes closing tightly. “Sit up, please.” Grabbing your arm, Jungkook gets you to reluctantly sit up and face him. Though you won’t look at him, eyes on your knees that nearly touch his. You notice that he’s still in his boxers, but he’s at least wearing a shirt. He doesn’t force you to look at him when he starts speaking again. “I want to be honest with you.” He toys with the edge of your sheets. “But if you’re not going to listen to the whole story it’s not worth telling you.”

Your heart hammers. Tears threaten to fall. Taking a deep breath gives away your nerves. You want to tell him he can’t ask that of you. That he doesn’t deserve that. But if there’s even a slight chance of a misunderstanding—something your heart hopes for—you have to hear him out. Even if it’ll hurt. “Okay.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles. He’s nervous too. Breath shaky like his body, nearly curled in on himself. You never thought you’d see him this vulnerable. “Honestly, when I first met you, I was intrigued by you because I couldn’t have you. You just held up your nose every time I as much as looked your way. It made me want to know more about you. And the moment I did, it was over for me. I realised that you’re not just opinionated, crass, and entitled. You’re smart, a hard worker, and you’re such a good friend.”

You finally dare to look up. To see the desperate look in his eyes as he pauses. Shocked.

“I admire you,” he whispers.

“What?” you blurt. “You’re the one with the straight A’s, not me.”

He shakes his head in defeat, biting his lip and looking away. “The only reason I’m getting straight A’s is because I’ve taken these classes before. I’m not like you, I don’t work hard. I should be studying like you.”

You frown. “What do you mean, you’ve done them before? Do you already have a law degree?”

Jungkook avoids your eyes. “When I got out of high school at the age of seventeen, I got into a big university with a scholarship. The full ride. But I was stupid,” he croaks. “I wanted to fully enjoy the college ride. So I studied just enough to get by and dedicated the rest of my time to partying.” He says it like he’s disgusted with himself. Muscles in his neck tightening as he swallows impending tears. “I got arrested for underage drinking and lost the entire scholarship. Everything I had worked so hard for, down the drain.”

The words leave him pained, the regret for his past decisions clear in his eyes. Yet, he’s still here, studying this degree you know most students can’t afford. You have a scholarship too.

“So yeah,” he breathes. “I wish I had a little more discipline like you. I admire that you’re able to put school first. As much as I pretend to hate you just to get your attention, I like being around you. You’re a positive influence on people, including me.”

“So it’s my fault? For judging you?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “No, not at all. As I said, I was being an ass on purpose because I was curious about you. But when I got to know you,” he cocks his head to the side, “feelings happened. I just couldn't find a way to show you the better sides of myself. Which is partially why I showed up yesterday.”

“Huh,” you frown. So he did have ulterior motives? “How does that change anything? You still showed up here to sleep with me.” He’s talking in circles. You feel remorse for him, but you tell yourself to stay strong. His past doesn’t excuse his actions.

“I really wasn’t planning on sleeping with you. I wouldn’t do that to you. There just was no other way to get you to spend time alone with me. I wanted to show you a better side of me, hoping that you’d realise I’m not all bad and maybe would give me a chance.” A chance to what? “I like you,” he adds when you don’t respond, “a lot.”

What? He can’t be serious. After everything that happened.

“But I also care about you. I like being around you—bickering included. I genuinely wanted to help. I know how hard it is to start again, I didn’t want to see you go through that.”

You go silent. Trying to think over his words and not see the bad. To believe that he means it. He did help you after all. He studied with you for hours, never insinuating anything sexual. He was nice, comforting and believed in you. You never asked for any of that. And after all, you kissed him too. You could’ve stopped it. If he had just wanted sex, he wouldn’t be here.

But he is. “Jungkook, I’m so sorry,” you say, grabbing his hand.

“I’m the one who’s sorry. For making you feel used. I should’ve just been honest with you.” Jungkook laces your fingers together. “I know it was a dick move on my side to sleep with you. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

“I played as much of a part in it as you did. So let’s just—how about we call it even. Bury the hatchet?” You cock your head to the side, rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand. It won’t be easy, you’ll need to do a lot of thinking, but your heart wants to forgive him. To see more of his gentler side.

He nods, lifting up your hand and pressing his lips against your knuckles. “Sounds good to me.”

The two of you get up after that, even if it’s a little awkward. It’s weird to not be bickering with him. You’re surprised that he actually cleaned the living room last night. There’s not a trace of him left aside from his clothes that are carefully folded on the table. Even that mug is gone.

“What do you want to eat?” you ask, reaching to the top shelve for another mug.

Jungkook comes closer. “Just coffee is okay for now.”

You turn, almost bumping into his chest, blushing heavily. Now that he knows you have feelings for him, he’s enjoying himself just a little too much. Smiling at you while you’re making coffee and some cereal for yourself. You eat in silence, browsing through your phone.

It’s when you get up to clean, that Jungkook speaks again.

“Hey,” he says, grabbing you back by the waist.

“Hi?” You turn around in his grip.

“You know,” he starts, hand coming up to brush your hair behind your ear. “As much as I regret what I said yesterday, I did mean it.”

“What?” You chuckle lightly. “You want to do that again?”

He nods, and you catch a faint redness dusting his cheeks. “I do, a lot of times, if you want.”

You laugh, twisting away from him to put the dishes in the sink. “If that is your way of you asking me to be your girlfriend, Jungkook, then I must say you’re not quite hitting the right angle. Seeing what happened yesterday.” He can’t seriously be thinking you just want him for sex after all that. You start cleaning, even if it’s just to avoid having to look at him and admit that you’re shy. Thinking about what happened last night—the good parts.

Sighing, he turns off the tap that you had just turned on.

“Hey!” You turn it back on, only to have him shut it off again. “What do you want?”

“I’m not saying that I want you to be my girlfriend. I don’t think I’m ready for that just yet.” He leans in, brushing his nose against yours, searching your eyes like he’d done the night before. Like he’s waiting for permission.

You couldn’t resist him even if you tried. So you kiss him, just briefly. “Then what are you ready for, big boy?”

He laughs. “For starters, I would love to take you out for dinner after the exam that’s in,” he looks up at the clock, “six hours.”

You groan, throwing your head back. “Don’t remind me.” It’s probably a wiser decision to take some time to think. See how you feel about this, but dinner won’t hurt. “I will still need some time to think about,” you gesture between you two, “whatever this is.”

“Oh,” his face falls. “Yeah, I get that. I just thought that—since you said you have feelings for me too.” Jungkook pouts. He fucking juts out his bottom lip and you haven’t seen anything more endearing in your entire life. Your heart does a weird little flip, and you know that you’re a goner. Even more so than you had been before last night.

Now you know that he is good. That he is worthy of a chance. So why not give it? Why would you sit around and let your mind think all sorts of negative things about him if you can give him the chance to prove to you that he’s a great guy. As he said, it’s just a date. Not a label. Yet.

When he turns away, you pull him back by his hand, slamming your lips to his. He grunts, both hands coming up to thread through your hair. The kiss isn’t deep. It isn’t anything like the way you kissed last night. It sweeps you off your feet, so tender and warm. When he pulls away, you’re out of breath and you can see the adoration in his eyes. You hope he can see it in yours.

Then, he pinches your butt.

You push at his chest. “Thanks for reminding me that you’re still an annoying brat.”

He chuckles, giving you a peck on the lips. “But you like me that way.”

“Sadly,” you grumble, winding your arms around his neck. “I do.”

Thanks to: @/fallinforkoo @knjkitten @yoongs-jeontae @wintaejk @guksweet @rynofpentacles @mikroparadise @jeonggukkiepabo @softlyjiminie Requested by: @/fallinforkoo + @hornyjailbonk + 3x Anonymous Taglist: @jiminskth @teresaisla @yeontanie21 @tessanator97 @ladyartemesia @dayjeons @djasheyash99 @the-rise-of-bangtan-boyz @bbangtanlove95 @zeharilisharaban @jungkooksgoodgirl @topanga27 @pjmochii @iwanttohitmyself @veryuniquenamegoeshere @bel-abysse @jiminsreads @jungkookspromise

© GguksGalaxy 2020 This is a work of fiction and is in no way meant to give an accurate representation of the idols included. Please do not steal, copy, redistribute or take uncredited inspiration from my work.

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the-pimo-saboteur · 3 years ago

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Does anyone else find that they are much calmer than their parents are — as if you can handle more than they can?

For instance, my parents will experience an accidental, watered-down version of something they purposefully put me through and throw a fit; whereas, I can be in the middle of sensory overload (too loud, too bright, too much motion) because of the meeting, and not even allude to the fact that I want to claw my eyes out until after the meeting has ended and I’m alone in my room, in the fetal position, in a puddle of my own tears.

I used to be reprimanded for talking during the meetings; so, naturally, I have an aversion to it, and I get anxiety when anyone else does it. Now, with Zoom, my parents talk to each other all they want; and I, the only apostate in the family has to repeatedly tell them to shut up and listen to the meeting. Yes, we are on camera; no, that does not deter them. If they weren’t called on, they’ll give their comment to myself and the other parent during someone else’s comment. It’s irritating at best. Every meeting I get closer to defenestrating myself.

My mother can repeatedly, ” jokingly” guilt-trip me about my food (“Thank you for thinking of me and getting me [food item I bought for myself]!” or “Aww, poor starving thing. I’m neglecting you,” when I make my own food that’s “sub-par” to her cooking, when really, that’s all I wanted to eat). She could yell at me and get angry at me for being inattentive in school (which I could not help in most cases). But if I so much as use “the wrong tone” with her, I‘m told that I’m being “disrespectful,” when I didn’t even know I was using a “wrong tone.”

The truth is that I used to purposefully alter my tone to make it sound like I didn’t know what someone was talking about, or that I was interested in what they were saying. But since it came off as “condescending” to my parents, I’ve omitted any variation of tone other than fake laughter and over-excitement; so now, I either sound “happy! happy!” or completely dead inside; either way, THAT voice (I refuse to accept it as my own) has no soul in it.

I laugh when I’m happy. I laugh when I want to cry. I laugh when I feel sorry for people. I laugh when I‘m angry. I laugh when I’m in love. I laugh when I’m embarrassed. I laugh for no reason at all. I laugh at everything. I’m not even sure I feel emotions anymore. I am acting all the time.

Only after ruining the last shred of verbal self-expression I had, am I accepted as not being “stuck up and condescending.” I’m not one to pity myself for things I’ve lost; but the loss of a normal speaking voice and face bothers me. Way to go, mom!

I change my behavior to suit her needs; but she’s “sixty-one years old, so she can’t change.” Please! You’ve studied with people your age and older, expecting them to alter their entire cultural and moral ideals for the sake of your “God;” but you can’t change? They can uproot their entire worldview; but you can’t stop yourself from venting on us at every slightest inconvenience?

Whatever you say. I’m only the child, so I suppose I have to believe you, the all-knowing adult.

#exjw #ex cult #religious trauma #high control groups #vent #toxic parent #xtian

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thevibraniumveterans · 3 years ago

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Guys, I think I might have found a loophole…

…to explain how and why I think Sylvie played Loki like the cheap kazoo she thinks he is.

Hear me out…

Remember how in Episode 2, Loki theorized that the Variant we now know as Sylvie was knowingly hiding out in apocalypses to avoid being caught by the TVA?

He goes to Pompeii 79AD to test his theory, and causes chaos, which ultimately did not change the outcome of the natural disaster, which was exactly the thing Sylvie was counting on.

We also know that the planetary disaster on LAMENTIS-1 in 2077 is inevitable, and so do Loki and Sylvie.

As such, events unfold in Episode 3 on Lamentis-1 in 2077, where Loki and Sylvie get on a train, he gets drunk and consequently defenestrated, and she follows suit. After an argument which ends in her screaming to cool off, she finds a spot to sit down, after which Loki cautiously follows and sits next to her.

They have the following conversation…

Loki sighs, completely out of his element. “What now?”

Sylvie: “I don’t know. You broke the Tempad.”

Loki: “Well, I mean-”

Sylvie, interrupting: “And that planet is about to crash into us.”

Loki: “Well, yes, but-”

Sylvie: “‘Yes, but’, what?”

Loki: “Well, the entire moon is destroyed, right?”

Sylvie: “Yup. Everyone on it is killed.”

Loki: “Including us.”

Sylvie: “Yes, including us.”

Loki: “What about the Ark?”

Sylvie: “… The Ark never leaves because it’s destroyed.”

Loki: “Never had us on it.”

Sylvie: “Pft, so, what, we hijack the Ark and make sure it gets off this moon?”

Loki: “… I mean, sounds like a good idea to me.”

Sylvie: “Okay.”

Loki: “…really?”

So, a couple of points to make.

1. Sylvie knew damn well the moon they're on will get completely destroyed, and both she and Loki will die if they don't somehow get off Lamentis-1.

2. Sylvie also knows that the Ark will never leave the planet because it gets destroyed, and she makes sure to point this out to Loki.

3. You have to remember that whatever Loki did on Pompeii literally had ZERO impact on the outcome (“Nothing has any consequence!” He had gleefully declared then). He went there, caused chaos, and the volcano still blew its top, leaving no survivors. Why the hell did he think that getting on the Ark, which we know he and Sylvie never do, would change the outcome? “Never had us on it,” he told Sylvie. Yeah, and it never will, so.

4. Sylvie knows how stupid this sounds, and mockingly suggests that they hijack the Ark and make sure that it gets off Lamentis-1. She KNOWS that trying to do so is futile, as she had JUST informed Loki that trying to get off the moon is impossible since the Ark gets destroyed.

5. You have to remember that Loki is still a bit inebriated at this point, the lightweight. Can't even stand a couple of glasses of champagne, but I digress. It's likely he's not thinking straight anyway, and lets slip that he thinks that hijacking the Ark - which Sylvie just mockingly suggested, knowing the impossibility of doing so - is a good idea. To a drunk Loki, perhaps, but not to a sober Loki.

6. Which is something that Sylvie immediately takes advantage of. She out-manipulates the master manipulator, she out-mischiefs the freakin' God of Mischief, she plays him like the cheap kazoo she thinks he is. (She had called him a clown earlier, so I'm not too far off myself.) You know what she does? She plays him for a fool by humoring him, saying, "Okay."

7. Loki has the GALL to ask, "really?" What do you mean, really? You know you can’t change the outcome of an entire planet crashing onto the moon you’re on, and understand that nothing you do, inclusive of getting on a doomed train to try to escape, will change the outcome of it getting destroyed, and you still go “really?” This is why you should never get drunk, Loki. Sylvie was right to call you a clown for it.

It’s possible that Loki is just playing a long game, that he was pretending to be drunk and all that, but for the sake of this post, I’m saying that he actually got drunk.

Consider this: Sylvie knows that they’re stuck on LAMENTIS-1, since the Ark that’s supposed to take people off the moon doesn’t actually take off, because it gets destroyed, because the moon they’re on will get destroyed, because the planet nearby will crash into them, duh.

So the fact they she decided to play Loki for a fool by taking him to the evacuation point and having to go through all that trouble, tells us that perhaps Sylvie is more powerful than Loki, and he still has not realized this, the poor guy.

Loki knows that nothing he does will change the outcome of any natural disaster, including the planetary disaster they now cannot escape, so as a result, it is illogical that he would think that trying to hijack the Ark to escape is a good idea since the disaster cannot be avoided or averted.

Sylvie, being Sylvie, takes advantage of a hilariously drunk Loki and mocks him for it, suggesting that sure, yeah, let’s hijack the Arc even though we know damn sure we can’t, to make sure it escapes the moon which we know it won’t, in order to avoid the apocalypse, which we know we won’t be able to.

The loophole is that Loki, in his drunken stupor, forgets his disaster theory entirely, which is exactly what Sylvie takes advantage of, thereby canceling out the loophole to move the story forward.

Damn, this was deep.

Any thoughts on this?

#loki #loki spoilers #loki series #loki episode three #loki laufeyson #sylvie laufeydottir #lamentis #s01ep3 #tom hiddleston #sophia di martino #analysis #deep thoughts #opinions appreciated

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justjstuff · 3 years ago

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I just wanted to let you know that I am a ginormous fan of DOF and looked forward to Fire Friday every week! Your writing skills are astounding and I’m so thankful for your incredible depiction of Sakura’s bad-ass personality and story in this fic. Not only that, I am amazed at all the consistently LARGE contribution you used to upload weekly because the quality is literally off the charts. I’m so thankful that you’re taking a break because I know that accomplishing all of this as well as you do cannot be easy! Nonetheless, I would like for you to know that you have a huge fan in me and I will continue to look forward to new chapters (whenever they may come-excellence takes time 😉). Really though, I can’t stop gushing about this fic and I guess just thank you for all of the hard work you put in it so people like me can get some free serotonin each time we read it lol. You’re amazing!!

Anon-san, your sweet words give me life, thank you so so much. I've had a lot of people tell me how much the weekly updates were grounding and a breath of fresh air in this pandemilovato but your comment has to be one of the best I've got so far because.... oh man, I desperately need not only others but also myself to realise just how taxing it was.

So yeah, thank you for loving my story but also thank you for reminding myself that it was a HUGE accomplishment and that it's okay if I maybe can't meet it anymore. I've recently begun digging deep into myself and started going to more intensive (and intrusive) therapy and had some diagnosis that are pretty mindblowing in a way and now I'm trying to be mindful not to push myself to my limits. It's hard af, let me tell you, I know the potential I have and it feels normal to always want to achieve it but I gotta remind myself that maybe my "full potential" isn't as healthy as I thought it was.

I'm extremely glad that I got the opportunity to give y'all that experience of nice 8-12k long chapters a week, with lots of character and plot work, at roughly the same time, every Fire Friday. *aggressively throws serotonin everywhere I can •̀.̫•́✧*

(pagebreak bc y'all didn't sign up for hugeass posts in your dash lol)

For a bit of an update on how my process is coming along: I got sick. Covid got me y'all and I still only had the first dose and suffer from asthma so daaamn this motherfucker's got hands. No need to worry about me tho!! My tests are coming back okay and at least my fever is gone BUT that means my brain is a bit like mush rn and while I'm still working, I'm doing so veeery much slower. Anyways, covid was just the cherry on top this month but I don't want to get too deep into it.

I genuinely think Fire Fridays were good not only for you guys (esp during that time back in 2020 where literally everyone was at home and routines were thrown out the window faster than you can say defenestration) but also for me, it gave me a nice sense of "normal" when everything was shit. Uuhh as you've seen in my last AN, I dropped out of college and am currently pursuing other dreams/way of living so I think having that set date will help me A LOT while juggling real life and fandom life. That being said, some things had to change.

First of all is the way of seeing Fire Fridays as if it's a deadline set by my boss. Nah, I don't get paid for writing fanfiction and I'm done treating it as a job. I know not a lot of people have the same care that you did while commenting and there is a lot of nagging and grumbling about Fire Fridays (even if sometimes those comments are even sweet while they do it) but I'm incredibly proud to say that comments from people in the internet I don't know hardly have an affect on me. Lol y'all haters can hate but I'm my worse critic and I fkn know it, nothing you say will change the way I see myself and my work. That being said, a lot of that nagging was being unconsciously done by me *gasp* I know. I'm an overachiever. Shocking.

NO MORE OF THAT.

Next order of business is how I was going about Fire Fridays. My first break came because I literally didn't have any "spare chapters" meaning, I wrote, edited, sent for my Beta to edit, and then edited myself again a whole ass 9k monster every week and that shit was like a kick to the ass right into the general direction of Burnout City. Not fun. So I took a "break" which wasn't really a break because I still wrote 71k words in that month and when I started back up with Fire Fridays, I had a lot of chapters to post, right? WRONG. If each chapter had 10k words (which is roughly what was happening on an average), that meant I only had 7 new chapters to post with severe burnout making it practically impossible for me to write anything else to the point that I couldn't even bring myself to edit the first drafts of those chapters. Again. Not fun.

So now, my idea has been: try to aim for Fire Fridays in a healthy way but also let my readers know they might not get another batch of those lovely what? six months of new chapters every friday. What does that mean? Well, it means I'm trying to write some chapters ahead! So while y'all aren't really getting anything since the last chapter, that has been a conscious decision on my part not to leave y'all with horrible cliffhangers when I can't be sure I'll make quick enough updates (and that definition has changed to maybe twice a month? We'll see). I'm writing. It's going fairly slowly by my standards but since I've come really close to giving up on DoF in favour of RL original content, I'm proud of it.

YOU're amazing, Anon-san. Thank you so much for reaching out, I hope you have a lovely end of the week and that you and your loved ones are safe and happy as can be in late stage capitalism <3

#ask #answered #anonymous #me #personal #daughter of fire #DoF #kakasaku #pandemilovato #keeping up with J #I will never get tired of sweet people #sweet people are sweet #see I even have a tag for it #<3

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candied-peach · 4 years ago

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ao3: “my mind shipwrecked” rating: T warnings: migraines, emetophobia mention?, sympathetic deceit, sympathetic remus, dukeceit genre: hurt/comfort description: Remus discovers Deceit having his first migraine.

"If you've come here to kill me, I welcome it and all I can beg of you is to do it quickly," Deceit's voice echoes through a surprisingly dark room as Remus enters, some inner impulse forcing him to catch the door before it bangs against the wall.

Deceit's face down on the bed, like a homicide victim. All he's missing is the white chalk outline and for a moment, Remus considers conjuring some chalk and having at it. Then he remembers how angry his boyfriend gets when he gets dirty, and manages to fight the impulse down.

"You okay, Dee Dee?" Remus asks cautiously. Janus groans, stirring a little.

"Do I look okay?" He demands, his voice muffled by the blankets.

"No," Remus says, truthful. Somehow he can tell that wasn't the right answer. "What's wrong?"

"My head is killing me, I feel like I'm going to throw up everything Thomas has ever eaten, the very thought of light or loud noises makes me want to defenestrate myself, I can't sit upright without feeling like a swooning Victorian era maiden...the list goes on," Deceit says. Remus frowns, walking over to the bed and plopping down on the edge of it.

"That sounds like shit," he says bluntly, then hesitates. "Can- can I help?"

"I have no idea," Janus mumbles. Then- "Yes, you can. Cuddle me?" He manages to look up at Remus, eyes bloodshot and face sweaty.

"Of course," Remus says softly. "Scoot over." It takes a bit of work- Janus is well and truly entangled in his nest of blankets- but soon enough, Remus has Deceit in his arms, and the blankets are piled high atop both of them.

"You sure you won't overheat?" Janus asks. Remus shakes his head.

"Nah, I won't," he says. "I'm always hot. I'm your own personal space heater!" Janus smiles weakly at that.

"So you are," he says. "You know... I feel like utter shit, but you've made me feel better. Thank you."

"No prob, Bob," Remus says, burrowing closer to watch his breath stir his boyfriend's hair. "It's my job. Hey, that rhymed!"

"It did," Janus confirms, half-laughing. "I- I wish I knew what was wrong, though."

"Maybe Thomas knows," Remus says. "Or Logan. I could ask if you want."

"Later, maybe," Deceit says, with a slight frown. "Perhaps I could attempt to look it up later."

"It better be later," Remus says, a fierce mock scowl crossing his face. "You aren't allowed to leave this bed until you feel better. That's an order."

"Oh, now you can order me around?" Janus asks, playful. Remus leans down and presses a very gentle kiss to the center of Janus's forehead.

"Yes," he says smugly.

"I'm going to sleep," Janus groans. "Try not to get into mischief while I'm asleep."

"I make no promises," Remus says, his eyes glinting. Janus only groans louder.

"At least don't make a mess," Janus says. "I'm not in the mood, darling."

"Fair," Remus says, agreeably enough. He sprawls one arm over Janus, keeping him close. "To tentacle or not to tentacle."

"After I'm asleep," Deceit says. "Otherwise, it feels weird."

"Sounds good to me," Remus says, beaming. "Now go to sleep." Janus fights a yawn.

"Fine, fine," Janus mumbles. "I'm asleep." Remus brushes aside some of Janus's hair, gazing fondly down at his mismatched eyes, now at half-mast.

"Nighty night, Double D," Remus says, giving Janus another kiss on the forehead. "Maybe when you wake up, you'll feel better."

"I doubt I could feel worse," Janus says dryly.

"Never say never," Remus warns him. Janus frowns.

"I've gone and jinxed myself," he complains. Remus bites back cackling laughter. As Janus's breathing slows and he settles deeper into Remus's embrace, Remus finds himself growing sleepy as well.

Just five minutes, he promises himself.

He's sound asleep in seconds.

tag list: @k9cat @paravigilant-virgil @croftergamer @airiervessel @reverendliu @matthindavick @ambersky0319 @yalltookmyurlideas @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @bexxbeauty @killjoy-3000 @the-sunshine-dims @sneaky-slytherin @reesiereads @rabbitsartcorner @quackerz-creations @psodtqueer @awkward-child-of-satan @snek-boii @im-fine-24 @autumnpleaves @janusthesnakeboi @mrbubbajones @musical-nerd18

#🍬 txt #sanders sides #dukeceit #romantic dukeceit #demus #janus sanders #remus sanders #janus #remus #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #remus the migraine wrangler #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #📚#ok to rb #peach writes

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jimlingss · 4 years ago

Note

Hi Kina!! I’m glad your surgery went well!! I wish you a speedy recovery. I have a writing question if that’s okay!! I’ve looked through your tag so hopefully I’m not re-asking anything, sorry in advance if I am.

So basically I’m struggling with enemies-to-lovers and dialogue. I’m much better at friends-to-lovers but I’d like to try my hand at e2l because I love reading it and it’s just so fun and interesting! It’s just... I feel like I can never keep a conversation going between two people who really don’t even want to be talking in the first place, even if they’re in a position where they need to be. It just feels like the conversation is dead before it ever started. Maybe it’s because I’m pretty anti-confrontation and can’t get in the right mindset, I’m not sure. Do you have any advice for confrontational or e2l (but during the “enemies” relationship phase LOL) dialogue?

I know that was rather long winded and specific, I’m sorry!! I suspect this might just come with practice (ugh TT) but I figured I’d ask before defenestrating myself out of frustration.

HMMMMMMMM this is a very inch-resting question, I must say. I understand your predicament but I don’t know if I can give a straightforward answer. I think one tip I can give is to take a look at the e2l fics you like and see how those conversations continue and draw inspiration from that. consider why you think this particular dialogue part is good, how the writer does it, how it’s driven and continues, and why you like it so much. Always draw back to what you, yourself, like.

another tip is....I think e2l is so beloved because of the inherent tension within that particular dynamic. e2l is full of push and pull. obviously if both characters pull away and don’t want anything to do with one another, then there’s not much conversation that can come from that. ((unless there’s a third party there to mediate/adjudicate or the situation forcibly requires cooperation)). I think this is where your problem stems and why it feels like the conversation’s dead before it’s even started. Both of your characters are pulling away.

But what if one of your characters pushes? They instigate arguments, enjoy getting a rise out of the other character, intentionally push buttons - you’ve got a giant opening for lots of fun dialogue. and if both characters push, then that opens an opportunity for a bunch of dynamic arguments and dialogue.

Also consider the types of dialogue/conversations that happen in e2l stories.

There’s the bantering arguments. A bit more lighthearted where they’re lowkey insulting each other with neither of them genuinely becoming hurt, making jabs, one of them’s smirking, the other’s eye rolling. But they’re kind of playing off of each other and able to bicker back and forth. It’s entertaining for outsiders.

Then there’s the genuine arguments that happen in e2l. The ones where both characters are shouting and actually becoming hurt by what the other person is spitting out. It’s no longer lighthearted. It’s intense. The words are sharpened to hurt.

And there’s also the flirtatious dialogue which tends to go hand in hand with the bantering arguments. Where one character is intentionally being greasy with their words, maybe because they mean it, perhaps to get a rise out of the other character, maybe because how the other character reacts is just too interesting.

+ something more rare that I haven’t found too often, there’s the kind of conversation where both the e2l characters accidentally find common ground. maybe there’s a third party that presents an opinion and both our main characters are so offended, they go against said opinion w/o realizing that means they’re agreeing with each other. perhaps for the first time ever. lol

((and ofc there’s also the dialogue where both characters start to reconcile or they begin to see where the other person is coming from, and it’s the spark that allows them to set aside their differences and see them in a new light)).

E2L is so interesting because of the dialogue. The conversations and dialogue are what truly presents this usually fiery dynamic. So I think it would be helpful for you to:

1. take a look at how other writers try their hand at it

2. consider the types of dialogue that can happen in e2l and apply the appropriate one for the situation at hand

3. also consider which character would be driving the conversation and driving the heat that comes with e2l - and keep in mind, it doesn’t always have to be the same character. It might even be more interesting to switch it up.

#writing advice #it's ok if you're not confrontational #just because you're not doesn't mean your characters can't be #just really step into their shoes and think about what they would say #what their personalities would drive them to say #also for dialogue it's really helpful if you just jot down the back and forth #before you insert description in between #literally jot down the argument as if you were writing a script #for me that really helps #also it's also ok if you want to write non-confrontational characters #all you'll need at that point is a third party to be the one to continue the convo #OR think about what would make the character upset enough that they HAD to speak up #and they couldnt be silent or non-confrontational #like the other character said something sO beyond their values #they MUST confront #think about what it would take for you to get to that point #HOPE THIS HELPED #Jimlings #Anonymous

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animeomegas · 4 years ago

Note

Who are your favs in mystic messenger😳

Well... I’ve completed every route except Jumin’s route in the main story and every dlc, so I’m going to have to say all of them except Jumin haha. I do like Jumin as a person, but he’s way too controlling for me romantically, I would have defenestrated myself before I let him lock me in his penthouse lol.

In order from most favourite to least favourite:

1. Yoosung

2. Saeran

3. Jaehee

4. Zen

5. V

6. Seven

7. Jumin

I have spent so much money on Mystic Messenger over the years, I can’t even tell you. So, I’m glad that I’ll get a chance to use all my knowledge for some writing!!

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oneweekoneband · 4 years ago

Video

youtube

Lorde, “Hard Feelings / Loveless”

This...this is a lot to unpack

When someone talks about love, the mentality is fall or flail (generally speaking). That is, falling in love or flailing out of it, first glance or last dance, “Love Story” or “When I Was Your Man.” You see the entry and exit wound of Cupid’s arrow, not the spaces between or outside them; their contiguity is obfuscated by the insular, climax-dependent lens that is a (3:30-optimized)song.

Lorde knows this. Her debut was built on these principles, and the standout (i.e. best) track there and here, on Melodrama, is the one that defenestrates them. Similar to “Ribs,” “Hard Feelings/Loveless” coalesces in a liminal space: navigating the ruins of love in an attempt to find acceptance (a fast-forward to the last stage of grief) and recuperating in the light of the skyline seen from Jungle City (“I’m at Jungle City, it’s late and this song is for you”). You don’t know when you’ll be “over it,” or if you even want to be. Right from the start, there’s reluctance in the parting, hesitation in letting hands — ones so familiar and warm to each other — unclasp. She makes pleas (“Please, could you be tender?”) and promises (“And I will stay close to you”), tries to delay the inevitable (“Let’s give it a moment before we admit that we’re through”), all to no avail. Stars keep glimmering indifferently in the two-note flicker of a synth, and the car drowns out any whisper of hope as it revs up, leaving becoming even more imminent.

Still, we ask for what we cannot obtain, for clemency against the merciless tick of time. We want one more FaceTime call, one more boba run, one more midnight drive with them by our side (“Supercut” is for another day), but we can’t have it. Not after everything that’s happened.

‘Cause I remember the rush when forever was us Before all of the winds of regret and mistrust

The one-word link to “The Louvre” (“rush”) might be incidental, but what other words are there to describe the forces that bring a relationship to its demise than “the winds of regret and mistrust”: negligible at first, barely heard in the trivial quarrels and side-glances before becoming sharp, incessant, eroding the good away until it all becomes dust, “a ghost”? The dialogue seems even more poignant. You can almost see her taking one last gaze at the driver’s seat as she says it — “Well, I guess I should go” — only to be met with a look the other way and a car’s receding taillights as it cloaks itself in darkness.

As with the rest of Melodrama, the aftermath is torrential — the embittered snarl of “Green Light,” the whole-body mourning of “Liability,” the flirtatious flings of “Sober” — but once the waves crash and spill over, what remains is the “hard/ feel/ -ings” of “mo/ -ving/ on” (coincidence that the two phrases have the same amount of syllables? I think not), which is easier said than done. No matter how many times you’ve done it, the process always seems so foreign. How do you fill the void where someone once was? How do you swallow that feeling of emptiness during date-less movie binges and touch-deprived sleep sessions? Whatever your answer is, it always feels like one step forward, two steps back. By day, you think, “This is it!”. You’ve turned the corner, had the paradigm shift. “I care for myself the way I used to care about you,” Lorde sings, with a habitual caress on the last word, but in the isolation of 2AM stucco ceilings, you regress, go back to square one. “The waves come after midnight” once again, but you wake up and start the cycle one more time, however hopeless it may seem. Close your eyes, hold your breath, and wait for the day that the endless heartache stops.

It seems like it’ll never come. Beneath the reverb’d guitars and rising strings, the atmosphere churns, its footsteps muffled, conflicted until, somehow, someway, the days start to pass instead of rerun. The change is small; you almost don’t notice it: You start to go outside, begin to write again, lay off the “Liability” replays a bit. Fuck-ups keep veering in front of you nontheless — the grating noises of the bridge sound like an out-of-tune violin made of metal being played or the screeching friction of rubber-melting skid marks — but the stasis melts. And after the desperation and restlessness of trying to “get over” the heartbreak, the pulse doesn’t just return; it rings, in excited echoes down the highway and liberating crescendos of electronica. Sure, you might have to “fake it” now and again, act nonchalant at the sound of their name and keep “letting go” of the memories that float up to the surface. Time doesn’t make remembering any easier, but with it, there comes a moment when you can finally open your eyes, look at the same stars constellated across the firmament, listen to the same twinkling synths, and just….breathe. The exhale of a new chapter, of something better than now.

Which, sometimes, means embracing the grace of being. fucking. single. “New Rules” might have been The Stag Anthem a year later, but “Loveless” was a next-level blueprint of boy-BYE (Blow-off Your Ex) energy*. The couplet wordplay of “If you’re under him/ You ain’t getting over him”? Take it to the sadomasochistic extreme: “Bet you wanna rip my heart out/ Bet you wanna skip my calls now/ Well, guess what I like that” (I’ve always thought the second line was “Bet you wanna slit my collars now,” but I guess that works too?). Forget the playground sloganizing of “K-I-S-S-I-N-G” mockery; put a cynic twist on the ending. First comes love, then comes NOTHING; just the callous hearts of an “L-O-V-E-L-E-S-S gen-er-A-tion.” The warning (a giggling, whispered secret for our ears only more accurately styilized as “l o ok ou t”) repeats until “All fuckin’ with our lover’s head” becomes a new mantra to live by, the head-bobing vibe (as per video) fading out but never entirely erased. It’s what’s funny about moving on: once you have something new to hold onto, looking back, those feelings weren’t so hard after all.

*Qualifier: Not written by the original Beyoncé

#fuckin melodrama #hard feelings

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swan--writes · 5 years ago

Text

Jealousy

I will get to my asks soon, but this has been sitting in my docs for about a week and I wanted to finish it up! I wanted to see what would happen with someone who sees Beetlejuice’s possessive and jealous tendencies and his trust issues escalating and who isn’t having it. Honestly, this might be the most Me thing I’ve written in a long time.

Warnings: possessiveness, hot kissing, violence, like a lot of violence, some stabbing, some nail guns, a defenestration, just so much violence you guys, but surprisingly not much blood, cursing

So, here’s the thing:

You would be the first to admit that Beetlejuice could be a bit on the possessive side. He was jealous of your coworkers, your newer friends, your oldest friends. From the moment you first summoned him, you could scarcely go anywhere without feeling ghostly fingers tapping at your back. At the grocery store, you had the sneaking sense that he hung off the end of your shopping cart. In line at your usual café, you felt him providing an invisible buffer between you and whoever happened to be waiting behind you. And hell help you if you tried to go to a bar with your friends.

You could always tell when someone he deemed threateningly attractive walked past the table. Before you realized what was happening, a vice-like cold patch would crop up on your inner thigh. Without fail, every time this happened there would be a crash several feet away, and whichever poor soul had strayed too close would be picking glass shards from the newly stained area of their clothes.

On the up side, the frequency of this meant you knew Beetlejuice’s type. Still, it was a problem.

And then there was the dress code. On the night you finally decided you couldn’t take it anymore, you were trying your best to leave the house. Your demon did not want you to.

“Y/N, we’ve talked about this.” Already, you could hear the restraint in Beetlejuice’s voice cracking.

“No, you ranted about this, and I listened because I didn’t want to fight.” You kept your tone steady, but with a note of finality.

He had been following you around your apartment, watching you get ready for a night out. You had asked him not follow you out after your last night out, and he had agreed. Just like the time before that. And the time before that. You had long since given up on having that argument, and you didn’t like arguing with him much to begin with. You knew he wouldn’t leave you, he didn’t like the Netherworld much. And you hated leaving things unfinished, which meant that one of you always had to win whatever the disagreement happened to be.

The trouble was that fighting with Beetlejuice had become so easy lately. The demon had a pile of trust issues, and a temper to match. You were determined, however, that you were going to win this one. Unfortunately, Beetlejuice was determined that he was going to win.

“I don’t want you going out looking like some goddamn free snack for any breather to sink their teeth into!”

“Good thing I’m not dressing for them then, huh? Why can’t you just tell me I look hot and leave it there?”

Frankly, you did look hot and Beetlejuice was highly aware of it. Your arm cuffs shone, standing in contrast to the soft skin of your arms. Your crop top was snug around your waist and the glitter you had dusted across your chest was subtle – tasteful rather than cheap. With every step you took around the apartment, the heels of your boots came down on the laminate flooring with a noise that said ‘I will step on you, and you will like it.’ And good Lord, he would.

Him and just about everyone at the concert you were going to. That was the problem.

“If you’re not dressing for them, why are you wearing your fuck me shirt?”

“Any shirt can be a fuck me shirt!”

He followed you into the kitchen and gripped the back of a chair while you shoved your arms into your sweater. “Good point! Guess you’re staying home.”

“For a guy who’s so precious about freedom, you really hate when anyone has it who isn’t you, don’t you?”

“Only when that person is mine!”

You rounded on him immediately. “Oh, I know you didn’t say that. Because you know I belong to myself, right?” You saw a spark of doubt – almost fear – light in his eyes, but his hair was such a bright crimson that you knew he wasn’t going to back down.

He stared at you with an intensity you rarely saw, and his teeth were sharper now when he spoke. “You’re shacking up with a demon, babes. You really think you don’t belong to me?”

“Oh my God, this isn’t about you being a demon!” At any other time you would have been nervous, but by this point, you were barely in control of your words. “This is about you having trust issues and thinking I’ll hook up with someone who doesn’t have lichen clinging to their hairline! Jesus Christ, Beetlejuice, how many times to I have to tell you that that isn’t gonna happen?” Finally – finally – Beetlejuice looked staggered. There was silence for a moment. Shaking your head, you moved for the door, grumbling “I won’t be back too late.” Then, Beetlejuice did something very stupid.

He blocked the door.

With only a dim thought, you lunged for the counter. The first thing your hand landed on was a long, sharp boning knife. He’s already dead. Clinging to that dim thought, you turned to face Beetlejuice, shifted the knife in your grip, and shoved it underneath his chin and up through his mouth, his nasal cavity, and into his brain. He’s already dead. You felt the tip of the knife scrape against his skull. Already dead.

The groan of exertion you made rung through the kitchen, the only sound now. Beetlejuice was stunned. Or so you assumed. There are only so many expressions one can make with a knife through their head. You didn’t wait to find out what it was. You wiped your hand on his back as you rushed out the door.

To your muted surprise, your mind was blank as you drove to meet your friends. You had a drink at your favorite bar, you walked together to the venue just a few streets over, and you managed to enjoy the concert. All in all, a successful night. You laughed, you drank, you took selfies that you would later regret, you even cried at that one song. You always cried at that one song. The whole time, you were totally serene. Maybe it was the knowing that you hadn’t really hurt Beetlejuice, or the feeling of complete justification. The lingering high from the righteousness coursing through you when you stabbed him. Anyway, you knew that Lydia and the Maitlands had decapitated him a few April Fools’ Days ago, so chances were that the demon probably liked it.

As soon as you pulled into your parking space at home, your hands started shaking.

At first, you were confused. You had been so confident just moments earlier. Now you could feel the cold dread sitting in your stomach. But your body seemed to move without consulting you, opening your car door and shutting it behind you, walking up to your side of the duplex as calmly as ever, and slipping right inside. Beetlejuice never locked the door when he was home. Once, a few weeks earlier, you had asked Beetlejuice to possess you, just to see what it was like. You knew how it felt, and you knew this wasn’t it. Still, you felt detached. Frightened.

You closed the door behind you as quietly as you could. Then, slowly, you walked through the kitchen. It was spotless. There had been dark blood (ectoplasm?) when you left, you were sure of it. You had washed your hands since leaving, and there were still dark crescents under your nails. But you saw nothing on the floor, nor the table or the chairs. More than that, the counters were clear, there were no dishes in the sink, and both of the dishtowels were hanging neatly on their designated hooks. That wasn’t how you had left your kitchen – it hardly ever was. The only thing out of place was the long, sharp boning knife on the dish drying rack, winking at you under the exposed fluorescent light.

Rather than investigate the living room, you drifted over to the knife. You lifted it to inspect it in the light. Both sides of the blade were gleaming, and it appeared as sharp as ever. The tip was thankfully intact. When you turned it over, however, you felt something under your thumb. Upon closer inspection, you saw what looked like a small letter B marked into the handle. It had to be deliberate – you took excellent care of your knives.

“Hey there, dollface,” came a low voice at your ear. The arms that wrapped around your exposed waist were cool, but the breath on your neck was hotter than hell. You gasped and tried to whip around, but those arms held you fast. “Easy, babes, it’s just me.”

Beetlejuice had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. His cold flesh was pressed tightly against your stomach, pinning you against him. You could feel every inch of his torso on your back. He nuzzled into your neck. A haze was invading your mind, though you suspected there was nothing supernatural about it.

“It’s late.”

“Sorry, I didn’t–”

“You wanted to belong to yourself,” he growled.

You tried to keep your head from lolling back onto his shoulder. “I wanted–”

“You do to belong to yourself.”

In an instant, your mind cleared.

“What?” He still wouldn’t let you turn around, and you felt his lips curving into a smirk against your neck. Now he had your full, prompt attention.

“But I need you too, baby.” There was a neediness in his tone. But unlike his usual, pained neediness, this was hot. Demanding. Beetlejuice bit down on your neck. You hissed. If it were at all possible, his arms tightened further.

You stopped trying to turn. In a spark of creativity, you ducked out of them instead. He let you, not expecting your sudden drop. Seconds later, you had turned and risen, slipping through his still encircled arms so you could face him.

“Then stop trying to take me, sugar.” You threw an arm up over his shoulder. His eyes were flashing golden in the light and his hair was streaked with the brightest magenta you had ever seen.

“That was some move you pulled, stabbing me in the face.”

“Technically, I stabbed you under the face.”

“Hate to damage these features.”

“Of course.”

“I need you, babes.”

“Ask nicely.”

Now it was your turn to kiss his neck. Your lips ghosted over the sensitive skin, your teeth nipped at the column of his throat, you smiled at the sounds he made when he realized you were taking control.

“Make me,” he said. You raised yourself a few inches on your toes to look Beetlejuice straight in the eye.

Saying nothing, you shoved him backward, grabbed his now free hand, slammed it onto the counter behind him, and stabbed right through it with the boning knife you were still holding. He cried out, but recovered quickly. When his gaze returned to you, he didn’t seem to be in pain. He almost seemed in awe of you.

“Looks like I’ve created myself a monster.”

You smiled at him, nearing his lips. “Honey, I’m shacking up with a demon. I was already a monster.”

Honestly, you shouldn’t have been surprised that Beetlejuice would enjoy something as objectively unsexy as murder. But after that night, every time he tried to keep you from leaving the apartment or said something a little too possessive, you stabbed him with the nearest sharp object. It might have passed for a casual occurrence, except that he gave you a show every time you did it, staggering away from you, performing death monologues more eloquent than you would have thought him capable of, forcing you to drag him from whichever inconvenient spot he had chosen to fall onto.

You stabbed him with the same boning knife a few times – in the chest, in the eye, in the chest again, but on the other side. After the fourth time, it started to feel like a stale bit. The next time you ‘killed’ him, you were helping the owner of the duplex build a shelf. The owner lived on the other side of your duplex and, because she was your landlady, you could hardly say no to helping her. So, bright and early on a Saturday morning, you were in the small backyard wearing overalls with a sports bra and carrying a nail gun.

About an hour into the project, your landlady went inside to get drinks. You heard Beetlejuice before you saw him.

“Hey, nice bra, sweet cheeks.”

You rolled your eyes. “Good morning to you too,” you muttered, mindful that no passers-by could see the demon at your elbow.

“Don’t remember you saying goodbye on your way out this morning. Afraid I’d make you change?”

“As if you could make me do anything.”

“Maybe, but I could certainly make your landlady’s son stop staring at you through that window.” You didn’t bother to look. Actually, you froze. This was almost certainly not an idle threat. Since your landlady’s son lived in the duplex, and the duplex was technically one house, it probably wouldn’t be any trouble at all for Beetlejuice to simply float through the wall and onto their side.

“Don’t you dare,” you breathed.

“Hey, he’s the one who’s staring, and if you’re not gonna put a shirt on, then I’ll just have to–”

The nail in his forehead choked off his sentence.

“Y/N, is everything alright?” your landlady asked, walking down the steps at the back of the duplex.

“Oh, yeah.” You fought the urge to watch Beetlejuice keel over beside you, or to talk over the sound of him thudding to the ground. You cleared your throat. “Everything’s fine.”

You took a sip of your drink and tried not to laugh at the demon’s lame croak.

The next time you felt the urge to ‘kill’ your demon was couple weeks later. This time, you were at the Maitland-Deetzes. You had noticed that Beetlejuice’s body did not react normally to being stabbed. Unlike the helpful videos shown in your classes at mortuary school, his blood did not spurt from the wound, and it was generally helpful to remove whatever you had stabbed him with. Normally, there would be a thick dribble of something black and vaguely gelatinous and, depending on where you stabbed him, it might leak onto your hand.

Neither the Maitlands nor the Deetzes would stand for that. Well, Lydia might. It wasn’t so much the violence, though you suspected Delia was somewhat opposed to it. Their issue would more be with the cause of the violence. Demon-stabbing was not an appropriate response to Beetlejuice’s possessiveness, even you knew that. Really, what needed to happen was an open and honest conversation between you about his jealousy and where all those feelings were rooted. You had mentioned the first time that he had trust issues, and both of you knew it was true. Still, you didn’t feel quite ready for that.

You also weren’t about to stab Beetlejuice with the pocket knife he had given you for your birthday on the Maitlands’ nice clean attic floor. But once he started, you knew you had to do something.

“C’mon Maitlands, you know I’m just kiddin’!” Beetlejuice waved them off. You weren’t entirely sure what he had done, you had been looking through some scrap wood by the attic door. You were sure it was something appropriately lecherous for the demon, though not so offensive that the Maitlands couldn’t brush it off.

“Of course you are, Beej,” said Barbara, rolling her eyes.

Beetlejuice feigned insult. “I’ll have you know that I would never be untrue to this woman.” Before you had fully straightened beside the scrap wood, you found yourself being squeezed into Beetlejuice’s side. “Even if she does insist on flirting with the UPS guy.”

“I do not flirt with the UPS guy.” Your tone was playful, but you were watching him warily.

He laughed. “Yeah, right. Hey, Mr. Post Man!” Damn him and his perfect impression of you. “Have you got some packages for me to sign? Oh, Mr. Post Man, you’re such a hard worker. Ooh, ooh, Mr. Post Man! Thank goodness you’re here, I’ve just been dying to try a new–” You shoved him backwards. “Hey, whoa-whoa! Tell my story!”

Faintly, you wondered why the attic window had been open. Barbara and Adam could not feel or really smell the fresh air. Maybe they had done it for you. How thoughtful.

“Y/N!”

“What?” You shrugged. The Maitlands bustled past you to look down at the demon you had just pushed through their window. You didn’t bother to look, knowing he would be back in just a few moments, probably praising your ingenuity as he had when you stabbed him with your landlady’s nail gun.

Barbara turned back to you and sighed. “Y/N, you guys need to talk about this.”

“Why? I’ve never thrown him out a window before, but I’m sure he’ll tell me if he likes it.”

“Wait, you–?”

Adam came to his shocked wife’s side and finished her thought for her. “You mean this isn’t the first time you’ve solved a problem with violence?”

You raised your eyebrows, truly not understanding why they were looking at you as though you had really murdered someone. Hadn’t Lydia stabbed him a few years ago, and actually killed him?

Though, you supposed, he did deserve it for marrying a fifteen year-old, even if it was a business arrangement.

“And he likes it sometimes?” Barbara’s voice was pitching upward, and you raised a placating hand.

“Barbara, he’s a demon. He’s into some weird stuff,” you explained.

“But what about the reasons you’re fighting? Don’t you think you should work that out?” Adam pressed.

“Nah.” Beetlejuice floated in easily through the window, right over to you. His feet dropped to the floor and he faced the Maitlands with you, flinging an arm around your shoulders and leaning on you heavily. You staggered under his weight for a moment, but recovered quickly and wrapped an arm around his waist, taking the hand he had on your shoulder with your free hand. “We’re working it out just fine, aren’t we babes?”

You gave him a serene smile, knowing he would see the smugness behind it. “You know it.” The Maitlands, openly staring at you in clear disbelief, shook their heads.

Yo, I made reader and OC. Here she is. Nobody wanted this.

Buy Me a Coffee?

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inkstaineddove · 4 years ago

Text

Mistaken Identity

Ships: PruHun

Characters: Prussia, Austria, Hungary

Summary: After months locked inside, all Gilbert wants is to get back out and have a good time. Erzsébet wants to follow the rules, which isn't any fun with me. In comes Roderich and a tacky-yet-apt masquerade ball as Gil's only refuge.

Budapest, 2020.

Erzsébet sat hunched over her desk, her eyes burning from staring at a screen for far too long. Each day brought more work than she had ever remembered dealing with – more than that brought on by war, which pushed every official to their limits. The futility of it all hit her. Any dent in it she made today was meaningless compared to tomorrow’s downpour of papers, emails, and conference calls. She shut the folder she had been staring at. If she stayed here any longer, she was certain she would go mad. A break was needed.

In a few steps she was in her bedroom, crashing down onto the bed. She closed her eyes and snuggled into her sheets, a small smile appearing on her face. At last, she found peace as her responsibilities melted away.

“Erzsi!” Gilbert’s voice called up to her from downstairs. She heard feet marching towards her. She hid her face beneath the blankets, childishly hoping that if she couldn’t see him, he would give up and leave.

Silence settled over the home and she didn’t dare breathe. ‘Five minutes alone,’ she half-prayed, half-chanted to herself in her mind.

It wasn’t to be. The bed groaned under the weight of an intruder and a calloused hand lovingly rubbed the small of her back. “Are you alright?” When she didn’t answer, he tried asking again, this time in Hungarian.

Damn his persistence. “I’m fine. It’s been a long day.” Erzsébet moved the pillow, smiling weakly at him. “I was hoping to take a little nap before dinner.”

“Rest up. You’ve been working so hard.” He leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

She waited for him to leave. Instead, she felt him shift into a more comfortable position. She sighed softly through her nose. “Gil, I was hoping to take a nap alone.”

“You were? I didn’t realize. I’ll go.”

She felt his presence in the room still. She opened one eye to see him standing in the doorway, looking unsure. “Something the matter, kedvesem?” She didn’t care that her irritation came through in her tone. All the better for him to finally get the memo that his presence was unwanted.

In any other time, his bashfulness would’ve been charming. Gilbert scratched the back of his neck, his eyes studying the rug at the foot of the bed. “Nothing! Nothing really. I just…saw online that our favorite bar reopened and, since tomorrow’s Saturday, I thought it would be nice if we went out. For one night.” He saw her disapproving look and took a step forward, his hands held together as if he were praying. “Please, Erzsi. We don’t have to be there for long! One hour, that’ll be enough! Shit, if that’s too long we can have a drink and leave!”

This again? “No. We’re not going. How many times do I have to tell you that? We’re to set a good example.” She shut her eyes and rolled to her side, willing him away with her mind.

“What does it matter what we do if the fucking country is open? Who are we setting an example for, the elderly?” Seeing that he failed to get a reaction from her, he crawled to her side of the bed on his knees. “I need to leave this house. I haven’t been to a bar in months! I miss talking to people! I’m going insane. I’m on the verge of a breakdown. I might start drawing faces on inanimate objects and talking to them!”

“I understand, Gil. But it’s important to do what’s right. Now, please, let me sleep. I’m tired of having this argument with you.” She kissed his hands before turning her back to him.

“Fine then. Be that way. I’ll go out by myself,” he grumbled.

“Having the house to myself? Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Erzsébet smirked. An idea began formulating in her mind. She jolted up, grinning. “Wait! I remember! You know who said he missed seeing us? I can’t leave since I’m so weighed down with work, but I’m sure Roderich would love to have you visit for the weekend.”

Gilbert gave her a skeptical look. “He would never say that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sure, he wouldn’t say it to you, but to me is another matter. Why the hesitation? Wouldn’t that get you out of the house and around other people? There’s no downside to visiting.” A mischievous glint flickered within her eyes. “It’ll be good for us, too. Isn’t it always better to see each other after a little time apart? Think of the reunion.”

There was something he couldn’t argue with. Sufficiently persuaded, he rose from his place at the side of the bed. “I’ll start packing now.”

…

Vienna.

Roderich had never felt more alive. What a glorious time this was! Gone were the days of hurrying between government buildings, of watching Parliament argue with dull-eyed boredom, of having to deal with each nation and their idiosyncrasies in negotiations that never ended. The only reason he left home now was of his own volition, not due to the mandates of the day. While having only a fraction of his usual servants on staff presented its own challenges, the fact that he no longer had to make monthly trips to Brussels to hear France and Germany argue with Britain over the minutiae of trade outweighed it all.

His fingers glided over the soft ivory of his piano. A triumphant melody rose from them, one his heart had specially crafted for this moment. He closed his eyes while he played, allowing himself the luxury of getting lost in it. A light knock on the door interrupted him. In too high of spirits to be annoyed, he swiveled to face the butler. “Is something the matter?” Roderich’s voice held no malice or irritation, only curiosity at what was so important that it had to be discussed now.

“Herr Beilschmidt is here, sir,” the butler spoke with an apologetic smile. He had been employed here for some time and had heard many of Roderich’s complaints over the years.

“How odd. It’s not like Ludwig to pop in without telling me beforehand. Did he seem distressed? Something must be wrong for him to – you’re shaking your head? My God, don’t tell me.” Fear sunk like lead in Roderich’s stomach. He didn’t have the patience for whatever antics this would entail. Not when these last few months have been a peace he hadn’t known in centuries. “This is an absurd ask, but you understand. I need you to buy me time. I’ll escape out the upstairs window. Thank you.” He gave the poor butler no chance to respond as he scurried out the room.

Never had Roderich been so grateful for the size of his home. He cut through the servants’ quarters, knowing that would be the safest route. Halfway up the stairs, he heard Gilbert’s outrage and the sound of his voice growing nearer. Hurrying faster, he took the stairs two at a time, no longer caring if he was noticed so long as he got away.

With his adrenaline pumping hot through his veins, he fumbled with the window latch which cost him precious seconds. He looked down, trying to determine whether jumping or climbing would be the better option. Whatever damage he may incur from jumping would be minimal in the grand scheme of things, it would be quite the humiliation if he were caught. While he knew Erzsébet had climbed out from the bedroom window many a time while they were married, she had athleticism he lacked. Wouldn’t the embarrassment be worse if he were found barely hanging onto a windowpane and required Gilbert’s assistance? He would never be allowed to live that down and would, at least, face Ludwig and Erzsébet’s teasing for that. No, jumping would be the better option.

He felt a firm hand on his shoulder and knew the chase was over. “If you miss the times when Czechia would throw you out a window, I’d be more than happy to take over for her.” He could hear the smirk in Gilbert’s voice and wanted nothing more than to smack it off him.

“I would prefer if defenestration remained one of the few tortures you haven’t subjected me to. Though I will remember your kind offer.” Roderich shrugged his hand off him and turned around, arms crossed. “Why are you here? Is your visit more bad karma for another of my supposed crimes?”

Gilbert rolled his eyes, fishing around for something in his pocket. “What’s all the melodrama for? Is the only way you can admit you’ve missed me is if I’ve been locked up behind a wall for thirty years?” Finding what he was looking for, he shoved a square of paper into Roderich’s chest with an annoyed smile. “Erzsi told me to give this to you and made me promise not to read it. Maybe this will get the stick out your ass enough to let me stay.”

If he wanted to be welcomed, Roderich would give him a welcoming. He began fanning himself with his hand, contorting his face into one of mocking admiration. “You’re right! How could I be so rude to his greatness? I should be kissing your ass more for daring to grace me with your presence! My most humble and sincere apologies.” He curtseyed with a smirk, fueled by Gilbert’s own irritation. He took the letter and opened it, reading:

‘Dear Roderich,

I’m sorry to drag you into the middle of this, but aren’t you used to that? I can’t take another moment of us living together when neither of us can leave the house for hours on end. If I sent him back to Berlin, I know he’d get on Ludwig’s nerves and I’d feel too guilty about that. Have you talked to him recently? The poor little thing sounds so much more stressed than usual! I can hardly blame him, but I don’t want to add to it unnecessarily. Not for my own selfish needs.

And, while I’m sure you’re just as stressed, at least you can lock Gilbert away in some far corner of the house. There must be plenty to do with a reduced staff – my heart goes out to you for our last call when you bitched about it repeatedly – so he would be kept occupied for a few days. Why am I acting like he’s such a burden? I don’t have to be worried about either of you killing the other anymore.

Do I? This means the world to me that you’ve agreed – you won’t turn me down. Think of all the years you owe me for – and I’m sorry for imposing on you so suddenly. Oh! And before I forget: he’s like a dog yet to be trained. Despite all his begging and his pathetically cute pouting, don’t let him leave the house. I’ve tried to tell him how important it is to set an example, but he’s too damn stubborn.

With love,

Erzsébet’

Roderich smiled and nudged Gilbert, who was reading over his shoulder, with his elbow. “That’s rare. She closed a letter to me ‘with love.’ That’s only happened three other times before and one of those was when she wrote telling me she wanted a divorce.” He gave a self-deprecating little chuckle and slipped it into his pocket. He noticed Gilbert’s wince and rolled his eyes. “Spare me your pity. I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t find it funny. Is she really keeping you cooped up inside? That’s ridiculous.”

“Isn’t it? And it’s not just her! Fucking Ludwig gives me no mercy whenever I’m back home to take care of whatever. He even forced me to live with him while this is going on so he can watch me. As if I’m the child that needs to be disciplined!” Gilbert crossed his arms and scowled. “It’s insulting, Roddy. All under the guise of ‘setting an example’ and ‘being a moral leader,’ as if anyone’s turned to me for morality!”

Roderich found himself annoyed on Gilbert’s behalf. He shook his head, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. “I’m assuming all you’re begging for is one measly little beer at whatever bar that’s closest.” At Gilbert’s nod in the affirmative, Roderich scoffed. “Ah, yes. Going for a pint will surely bring about the fall of civilization! Thank whatever divinity control the fates that Erzsébet and Ludwig are working so valiantly to prevent it! And the nerve of him! This is what you get for telling him you two were brothers. If he were raised to view us as fathers, he would have a bit more reluctance to tell you what you could and couldn’t do.”

“Yeah, well, just add that to the ever-growing list of my fuck ups. Mind if I smoke in here? This is getting me all riled up again.” By the time he asked, he already had a cigarette between his teeth and was fishing for his lighter.

“You can if you give me one. I ran out this morning. The ashtrays on the dresser.” Roderich caught the cigarette tossed to him and the lighter that shortly followed. He shook his head. “It’s your fuck up just as well as mine. Saved us trouble then only to get us into more now. Whenever I’ve talked to him over the past few months, he’s been on my case as well. One time I hung up on him because he was getting too sanctimonious even for me.”

Gilbert exhaled the smoke from his nostrils, giving him the appearance of a dragon. “Honestly, I could handle it if it were just him. He tried the same act during the war to get us to stop smoking and look how well that turned out. But Erzsi! What happened to my partner in crime? I can’t even look at the front door without hearing a lecture! When did the rules start mattering to her? Goddammit, until now, they’ve always been meant to be broken!”

“It is rather rich coming from her. Could bend every rule for centuries as long as it was for her own gratification. And, for that to happen, you would be the one to drop everything and break into my home! That’s fairytale devotion – and lawlessness, thank you for stopping that after the divorce – so why is it so impossible for her to reciprocate?” Roderich flicked some ashes on the floor. They would be someone else’s problem to clean up.

“If I knew where it went, believe me, I’d be back home!” He paused, hung up on a technicality. “Well, her home. No, fuck it, it’s my home too! Whatever! I tried asking her about it, but lord. You would not believe the bitching she can do!”

Roderich gave him a look. “Believe me, I know.” Rolling his eyes at the memories, he sighed. “It’s a shame that she’s turned into a complete killjoy. I hope for our sake this is only due to stress. The dynamic wouldn’t be the same without her.” An idea came to mind and he straightened up, thrilled with his own brilliance. “But who needs her? I almost forgot I was invited to this little soiree tonight. I’ll take you with me! It’ll be like a boy’s night out!”

“I’ll go if you never say ‘boy’s night’ to me again. Don’t try to be what you’re not.” Gilbert thought it over. While he was sure whatever kinds of things Roderich got invited to wouldn’t normally be his thing, the prospect of social interaction was too great to turn down. Besides, what was there to lose? “What kind of party are we talking about?”

“A masquerade. It’s appropriate, but the tackiness initially turned me off. If it weren’t for you, I would prefer to sit this one out. Lord knows I’ve done enough schmoozing with old and new money to last me several hundred lifetimes. What? Why are you scowling like that?”

“You know I hate shit like that. Everyone’s always so uptight and you have to be on your best behavior. There’s no way to have any fun!” Gilbert smirked, remembering the few he enjoyed. “The only reason I came to yours was because the afterparties were mind-blowing.”

Roderich held up a hand, a look of disgust on his face. “Don’t paint me a picture when I’ve already seen the film. Multiple times.” He shuddered. “Stepping out of the past, whatever happens in the present is up to you. I’m more than happy staying home. Unlike you, I’ve been living the good life. But you should be smart. This could be the only chance you get to see your fellow man. You’ll have to go home eventually and who knows when she’ll let you outside.”

He laid his back on the bed, staring at the ceiling with a smirk. He knew all it took was a little prodding from the devil to get Gilbert to act. While he normally preferred to not be so heavy-handed in his persuasion, it was necessary in certain cases when dealing with a particularly dense individual. Roderich puffed some smoke out the side of his mouth and checked his wristwatch. It was only a matter of seconds now…

“You’re right! Let’s go, we can make it fun. And it’s a masquerade so I don’t even have to worry about embarrassing you. It’s perfect!” Gilbert put out his cigarette in the ashtray. “We’re close enough in size, right? I’ll have to borrow something.”

…

They were there for all of five minutes and Gilbert was already regretting their decision to go. He had been abandoned as soon as Roderich sighted some aristocrat or other who needed to be fawned over. The few Gilbert had interacted with wanted nothing else to do with him once they’d sniffed out his quickly falsified noble ancestry. Apparently, all feuds between Austrian lords and Prussian Junkers hadn’t been forgotten.

“Bunch of fucking snobs anyways. As if I’ve ever needed their approval,” he grumbled into his scotch. The only mercy was the fully stocked bar he could camp out by. If his only entertainment would be to get so drunk he’d have to be carried out, then so be it. What did he care? Not like he was the one who had to pay for anything.

He sighed. Where were Francis and Antonio when he needed them? Hell, he was so desperate he’d even take Ivan, if only to have someone he could get away with being a jerk to. The guy would’ve probably smuggled some homemade vodka in and all Gilbert needed was half a bottle to be on top of a table, singing battle hymns at the top of his lungs.

Looking around the room, he finally found his entertainment. Roderich was talking with a beautiful woman – not only that, but he seemed to actually be making her laugh. A surge of pride filled him. Gilbert resisted the urge to start cheering him on. Instead, he watched closely, living vicariously through his every gesture. He hardly touched the drink beside him that now grew warm.

Then, suddenly, there was a change in the woman’s posture. Without hearing what was said, he could only speculate, but he’d seen Roderich at work enough to have some educated guesses. Gilbert kicked himself for hanging back this long. If this were to be saved, an expert wingman was desperately needed.

As Gilbert started making his way over towards them, a better idea sprung to mind. Where would be the fun in helping Roderich along? If he was going to interfere, why not gain some personal satisfaction too? He had no intentions of trying to bed the woman – that would go against one of his three principles – but a little flirting to get in his cousin’s head? Well, wasn’t that his favorite blood sport?

Coming up behind him, Gilbert clapped Roderich on the shoulder. “Roddy! There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” Taking in the sight of the woman before them, he feigned surprise. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was intruding on something.”

“Now you know so go away,” Roderich hissed under his breath, jamming his elbow into Gilbert’s side.

The woman appeared to sigh in relief at the company. She smiled at Gilbert, making her beauty all the more apparent than it was when he was still at the bar. “You’re not intruding at all. I hadn’t realized you had someone with you, Roderich.”

Both men spoke at the same time, wishing to combat any insinuation they came as a couple. As Roderich rushed out that they were cousins, Gilbert blurted out that they were brothers. They stared each other down, silently willing the other to concede and kicking themselves for not ironing out a story until this moment.

Thankfully, she only seemed bemused by their mistake. “Must be one complicated family tree you two have.” She studied Gilbert carefully. He could’ve sworn he saw something like familiarity in her eyes, but he was hardly paying attention to such trivial things. He was too fascinated with the way the gold on her mask brought out the streaks of amber out of her eyes. He swore they had some magical property to them. “I hope I’m not being rude, but I swear I’ve seen you before. I don’t think yours is a face I would ever forget.”

“I doubt we have. A man would have to be blind and stupid to not remember a woman with your beauty. Damn, look at me. Get me out of the house and I forget all my manners.” He took her hand in his and bent down, bringing it too his lips. His eyes looking up at her, enclosed behind their wolfish shell, truly made him appear animalistic. “My name’s Gilbert and I hope my…friend hasn’t been harassing you for too long. He never knows when to shut up.”

Roderich stared at them with open-mouthed fury. “We were having a perfectly fine conversation before you sauntered along and had to turn the spotlight back on yourself. And now you’re going to put on this whole chivalrous act, as if anyone in their right mind would believe it.” He straightened up, turning to the woman with an incredulous roll of the eyes. “He owes you, and any other poor woman he’s berated, his sincerest apologies. Especially since he has a wife back home who would be thrilled to hear of this.”

That got her attention, though Gilbert feared it was for the worse. If only the snout of her fox mask didn’t obscure the little smile she tucked away. She leaned over, pretending to examine his left hand. “A wife? Where’s your ring? Did you cheap out on the poor woman?”

Roderich was in his element now. He clutched a hand to his chest, sighing dramatically. “A scoundrel like him? He couldn’t even afford to buy a ring from a pawn shop, much less going to any actual jeweler. Years ago, he might’ve been able to. Poor fool disgraced our father and he cut him out of the will.” He bent down to the woman’s height and cut a sharp glance at Gilbert before stage-whispering, “I only take him to these events out of pity. Charity to the poor and all that.”

This was really how they were going to do it? Gilbert straightened up, ready to defend his faux reputation. “My ring got a bit small; I’m having it resized. And I’m not trying to run around behind her back. When you have a good thing, you don’t intentionally ruin it.” He sneered at Roderich, all the knives out. “Though, he is the expert on sleeping around. How many marriages have you been through? Better yet, how many affairs? Actually, don’t start listing them. We’d be here through next month.”

The woman pretended to gasp, quickly covering her mouth with her hand. She didn’t wish to bruise their egos by letting her laughter slip. “I don’t know how anyone could cheat on their spouse. It’s the coward’s way out of the relationship.” She stared Roderich down, biting the inside of her cheek. “I’m sure you’d agree, Roderich.”

Roderich tensed up, his hands balling into fists by his side. It hardly helped that Gilbert was snickering besides him, feeling oh-so-proud of the ship he was sinking. “Believe me, I agree completely. He’s the one who lacks all understanding of these things. I can’t believe he’s neglected to mention how he met his wife. How odd, considering that’s one of his favorite stories to tell.” He tapped a finger against his chin, sighing wistfully as he recalled the memories. “I can’t believe you haven’t brought up the fact that the only reason you have a wife is because you stole mine. Right! You’re so ego obsessed that it must’ve slipped your mind due to the unflattering, yet all too accurate, picture it paints of yourself!”

Gilbert immediately jumped to his own defense. On and on they bickered like this, throwing in barbs both old and freshly invented. It didn’t take long for them to forget they had an audience until they were only focused on each other and inflicting as much pain as possible. When a few glances were passed their way, they finally had enough good sense to retreat into a corner of the room.

While receiving an earful about setting Gilbert’s newborn on fire, Roderich began impatiently looking around the room. Only then did he realize how alone the two of them were. “You ass! Look what you’ve done! You scared the poor woman off and ruined any chance I had.”

Her disappearance snapped Gilbert out of his fog. He blinked in confusion, staring lamely ahead. “No shit?” Her absence completely took him by surprise, deflating him. “Huh, I figured that would turn out better than it did. Damn, what a waste. That’s not as fun as it used to be.”

“That’s why you went through with that? As some kind of perverse joke at my expense? You bastard! You absolute bastard! My happiness is a joke to you! Still, after all these years!” Roderich began hitting him in the arm, increasing in strength and speed each time. “I had a chance! I had a good chance and you had to waltz in and ruin it for me! All for your own amusement! Are you laughing, yet? Are you fucking laughing?”

Gilbert grimaced, doing his best to protect his face. “Give it up. I only came over when I saw she wanted to get away from you. The only chance you had with her was in your fantasies. You should thank me, I’m the whole reason she stuck around for that long.” When a blow landed on his cheek, he scowled. “You hit me again and I’m breaking your damn arm.”

As Roderich opened his mouth to retaliate, the host began clinking his glass. He huffed, glaring with an intense hatred that hadn’t been there in at least a century. “You haven’t heard the end of this. When we get back home, you won’t know what peace is.”

Like any mature adult, Gilbert stuck his tongue out. “I’m shivering.”

They hung to the back of the crowd, neither wanting to draw further attention towards themselves. They listened passively to the host’s speech. It was nothing important, the usual platitudes and calling out certain guests to thank them for coming. The only recognition either gave that they were listening was a polite little nod Roderich gave upon his own name being uttered.

What snapped them back to reality was the woman’s name being called and her long trip from Budapest being commented on, which Erzsébet politely laughed at. “I don’t know how, but I managed to sneak out for one night,” was all she needed to say. It was enough, it was enough for them both.

An understanding passed between them. There needed to be payback, some retaliation for the grief she’d too willingly put them through. And it had to be soon, before the moment passed.

Gilbert cupped his hands around his mouth. “Erzsi! We love you! We’re your biggest fans!” He went all in, cheering her on as if she were some starlet at a movie premiere. Why did he care about dignity, anyway? He had embarrassed himself plenty of times in front of these aristocrats’ ancestors and he would provide their descendants with a show now. It was all the same to him.

Surprisingly, Roderich joined in with full enthusiasm. Begging for her autograph, asking who she was wearing, and any other absurd request he could think of. If pressed about this later by any of the other guests, he decided he’d plead either temporary insanity or drunkenness. He wouldn’t be surprised if they believed him; most in attendance here were vacuous enough to believe anything if it were inane enough.

There was no question that they’d be allowed to stay after such an eruption. Some block-headed guards escorted them out of the home, but neither cared. The look of outrage on her face – the embarrassment, the upset – that had been worth it in the moment. Sitting out on the curb on cold and uncomfortable concrete, it was worth it if it humiliated her just the same.

Roderich’s head was buried deep in his hands, mask discarded in his lap. He was statuesquely still, deep somewhere in the recesses of his mind. Out of nowhere, he began laughing and shaking his head. He tilted his head back up at the stars. “Damn her,” he exhaled out.

Gilbert, confused by the sudden outburst, leaned away from him. God forbid the momentary madness was contagious. “What’s your problem?”

“Don’t you get it? This is all our existence is ever going to be, where she curses us to keep debasing ourselves for her amusement and favor. Any of the noble pretenses she’s claimed it was about, that’s never mattered! Not love, not autonomy, not any of it! Our mental health is worth nothing more to her than a couple cheap laughs and a power trip.” He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up and giving him the appearance of something wild. Roderich barked out another laugh. “And, to think, it took me this long to realize it! All the fighting, all the animosity, all of it for nothing. Tonight proves we wasted centuries.”

“Do you hear yourself right now?” Gilbert rolled his eyes. “Why are you looking for deeper meaning in this? We got tricked, we got back at her, and now all three of us are jackasses. As it was before and as it always will be.” He paused, considering the weight of what he just said. Resigned to fate, he sighed. “Dammit, I think I see your point.”

At the sound of high heels clip-clopping their way over, Roderich jumped up. “There she is! The master of ceremonies for the evening’s disaster!” He mockingly bowed at her. Once upright again, his smirk became apparent. “Any other humiliations you plan on subjecting us to or was this all you had planned? Take your time, us loyal dogs will be waiting faithfully until your next command.”

“Give it up, Roderich. You’re acting like this is the worst I’ve done to you.” Erzsébet smirked. She was relieved he was joking about it, in his strange way. “If I found a new pair of toys to mess with, what would you do without me? That would be crueler. You know I couldn’t put you through that. Though I should be offended it took you that long to realize it was me. You too, for that matter,” she nudged Gilbert with the tip of her shoe. Now, she allowed herself to laugh. “What? Was I wearing too many clothes for you two to recognize me?”

Roderich rolled his eyes, wishing he were more shocked at that jab. “You’re a piece of work, you understand that?” His tone was almost affectionate. “I will say, if you’d started performing a strip tease in the middle of the room, while it would’ve broken your cover sooner, I do think we would’ve preferred it. No, actually, finding out how we did was better. It would’ve been quite the nasty shock to us both had you gone home with me. The vengeance would’ve been sweet in the moment, sure, but the guilt afterwards? After enough decades, it would’ve killed me.”

“Thanks, Roddy. You’re always a friend,” Gilbert mumbled under his breath.

“Pulling no punches, huh?” For Gilbert’s sake, she tried not to laugh and failed. “Sorry to your ego, but that wouldn’t have happened. You lost your grand chance for retribution when I realized who you were. Then, when I saw your guest, I knew which one I wanted to go home with. Speaking of,” she knelt down, resting her chin on Gilbert’s shoulder, “nothing to say to me, kedvesem? Not like you to be so quiet.”

He gently shrugged her off him, eyes still fixed across the street. “Aren’t you supposed to be back home? I don’t think a ‘moral leader’ would be out at a party right now.” He felt the air shift around Erzsébet. Clearly that wasn’t the right answer and Roderich’s childish snickering didn’t help the matter.

“Really? You’re still pitching a fit over this?” She huffed. “So I snuck out of the house, big deal. You’re guilty of the same. Neither of us have the moral high ground.”

“Bullshit! I, at least, was open about what I wanted to do!” Gilbert crossed his arms, glaring at her from the corner of his eye. “If you hadn’t been caught, you were going to keep this to yourself. Either that or you’d have run off to tell Feliks and act like gossipy old hens about it.” Her telling silence caused him to roll his eyes. “See? It’s almost like I know you.”

Deciding against escalation, Erzsébet offered him a hand and pulled him up off the ground. Her expression softened when he didn’t pull away afterwards. “Fine. I’m sorry for being a hypocrite. I planned on skipping this stupid thing, but you were gone and the thought of you having fun while I was home, stressing about bureaucratic horse shit, lead to an impulsive decision on my part.” She shrugged in faux apathy. “And this was thrown by one of the only tolerable families. Going felt like the diplomatic choice. I didn’t want any hurt feelings.”

“I don’t think you could’ve come up with worse reasoning if you tried.” Despite himself, Gilbert felt the corners of his mouth lilt up. “Seriously. That’s what you’re going with.”

Called out, she giggled. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes. “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

Their moment was interrupted by the sound of Roderich groaning. “Really? You come bursting into my home, all up in arms about this, and now you’re just going to let it go? Have some dignity, some spine! You could at least try and manipulate the situation to your advantage rather than let bygones be bygones.” At the look they both gave him, he shrugged. “You may judge, but we all know I’m not exactly wrong.”

“Why would I want to do that over something so minor?” Gilbert stared at him as if he’d gone completely mad.

“Because it’s effective. Watch and learn from the master.” He pushed Gilbert aside, stepping in to take his place. He shifted his whole demeanor to that of a wounded animal. Eyes cast aside, arms folded across his chest. It was a pathetic sight. “After what’s been done to me tonight, I don’t know how I’ll be able to look any of them in the eye again. My name! My reputation! All tarnished in a matter of hours, never to be regained until next month when everyone inevitably forgets it! Erzsébet, do you not see how you’ve ruined me? What do you have to say for yourself?”

She gasped, eyes widened in horror at her insensitivity. “How could I? That’s one less group of socialites you’ll have to kiss ass to. Poor Roderich, how will you go on?” She tapped an index finger against her chin. “Should I get on my knees to grovel for your forgiveness now or should I save that for later?”

Roderich held up a hand. “Save it. There’s no need for us to go overboard.” He gave a smug little smile to Gilbert. “See? Works like a charm every time.”

“I’m never doing that.” He scrunched up his nose in disgust. Roderich’s overinflated satisfaction was nauseating. “All the drama and that’s what you wanted. Aren’t you pathetic.” Gilbert could hardly contain his smirk.

“What? Sometimes an apology is all you need. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I have feelings too. Besides, you were fishing for the same.” Roderich smiled at Erzsébet, all prior theatrics tossed aside. “Now, are you coming home with us?”

“Thanks but no, I still want that weekend to myself. This has been more than enough excitement to get me through the next few days.” She waved them off, watching as they headed back in the direction of Roderich’s home. Once alone, she smiled in relief. Now her weekend could really begin.

#aph prussia #hws prussia #aph hungary #hws hungary #aph austria #hws austria #hetalia #aph fanfiction #hws fanfiction #aph fanfic #hws fanfic

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luxlightly · 5 years ago

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It’s Soup! -- Symbruary Day 8 “Food” Fill

Just in case anyone thought I was capable of making anything normal. Here is likely the only prompt fill I will be doing for @symbruary. Written in about 2 hours (would have been shorter but my dog kept screaming at me to take him on a walk) with little to no proof reading so forgive any mistakes, especially since I nearly never work in first person and have never written in present tense.

Requires a basic understanding of the plot of Venom: The Hunger to properly understand.

---

I am hungry.

Not the kind of hungry where it hurts your stomach; the kind of hungry that hurts all over. The kind of hungry that looking at food makes you feel sick. That eating doesn’t help. That makes all food look and taste foul. Because it’s a specific hunger. A craving for something.

Yes, that’s it. A craving. One I can feel in my bones, my teeth.

Our teeth.

But for something I can’t define. I can’t find. I’ll have to keep looking.

I am angry.

But that’s nothing new. Every day I feel like I’m angrier, but everyday it feels more justified, so I don’t mind. Every day I see more filth, more corruption, more sin. Everyday it seems like there’s fewer innocents to protect. Like there’s less and less untouched by the grime and putrescence of this city, this whole society.

What is the world coming to? It disgusts me.

Everything disgusts me now. Food, people,places. The popcorn I’d purchased with something approaching optimism is already all but discarded. Like trying to force mud and gravel down my throat. Repulsive. Like everything else. Everything sets a bad taste in my mouth, like sewage.

Well, except for one thing, of course.

The Other winds itself through my fingers, forming a hand to interlace with mine.

My Other.

It’s the only thing that soothes the anger, the shaking, buzzing, craving, wanting, needing. It’s a cool balm. When I feel its presence in my mind, winding its way through the twists and turns of my body, making its serpentine journey through the labyrinth of my form, for a moment I can feel at peace. We can feel at peace.

There is a movie playing, here in the dark theater. Noise and light that my brain finds too hard to bother parsing. I didn’t come here to watch it, anyway. What story could any human mind fabricate that could match the magnificence of the creature that weaves its way through my cells?

None. Of course not. But the theater is blessedly dark and any within would not be looking at us. So we are afforded this small luxury of clasped hands.

In these brief moments such as this, when our minds touch and my heart swells with adoration for my beloved being from beyond the stars, it feels for a moment like there is more to existence than the wretchedness the world seems so filled with. That there is something else to be felt but disdain, disgust.

Then the shouting begins.

“Aw, they shoulda got Stallone!”

Teenagers.

I always had a soft spot for kids, but nowadays it seems there’s little to be soft for. Even children are tainted by corruption and filth. There’s no respect, no courtesy. These punks are nearly too far gone, already adults, raised in putrid bile and fit to do no more than regurgitate it.

But maybe not too old and far gone, yet, to be taught a decent lesson.

–

I am hungry.

I am angry.

Strung up from the ceiling, upside-down, the little cretin’s whines and whimpers are giving us a headache.

“Punks like you make me mad,” I hiss, wrapped up in my Other, in my true form, our true form.

Being together, as Venom, feels right. It always does. Like taking off an uncomfortable costume and letting the world see you as you are. Like finally fitting right in your own skin. But the buzzing and churning in my mind only seems to get worse together.

The only thing that feels right, but also wrong. Helping and hurting. Bane and balm.

Our headache is getting worse.

“Mad enough to bite your heads off!” I threaten.

It’s an old bit, but it’s our standard. Something about a brain-eating alien always seemed fitting. It’s the kind of thing people expect from us. The kind of monster they want us to be.

“CrrrrUNCH! ” For a moment I can almost picture it. I can almost feel that satisfying crunch of bone between my fangs, cracking and crumbling the the shell of an egg, revealing the precious contents within.

“Slurp down your brains like big fistfuls of Jello…”

I can picture that, too. Soft, slippery texture, zapping with the last sparks of life. Tingling against our tongue like a popping candy. Sliding down our throat like a rich pudding. Being so hungry for so long, it almost seems…kind of nice.

I stretch my jaws around his head, just to spook him, of course. His increased whimpering tells me it’s working. My tongue curls around his chin, as if I’m really tasting, preparing.

“Yeaaaahhhh…” I breathe, more reverent than threatening,now. More focused on the image in my mind, on solidifying it, indulging it that fantasy, than really teaching these kids a lesson. And why not? Not like they’d learn anyway. I can feel my Other almost basking in the imagined scenario as well. “Barely touched that crummy popcorn, I could really sink my teeth into–”

I stop, abruptly.

I realize my teeth are almost itching with the desire to truly sink into the punk’s flesh. My jaw tightened and primed to bite down with a crushing force. My tongue is drawing in and savoring the taste of fear, of adrenaline, in the teenager’s sweat.

I could really…

I pull back quickly, returning our jaws to a more normal size and shape. The kid was spooked enough. No need to keep the bit going.

“Uh. Nah,” I say, suddenly at a loss for a witty parting line.

We release the kids and depart quickly. Suddenly, and unplaceably, the situation feels wrong, almost dangerous. Not that we’re fleeing from it. Not that anything would have happened.

I just get a little carried away sometimes.

It’s the job stress.

—

I am hungry.

I am angry.

More angry than hungry now, I feel. Like the hunger has settled into my bones, like it’s a part of me. A dull ache for something I can’t place. We’re out looking for it now. Searching, stalking. Scenting the air, sifting through sensations, discarding everything that’s not right but nothing is right.

No one understands it. No one understands us. No one ever has and yet strangers think that they have the right to presume what we need. The interaction with the man at the kiosk is still boiling in my blood.

How can he, someone who could not possibly know us, could not possibly understand us, think he can claim to know what’s good for our health? What we should eat? What we should do? We don’t need his advice! Nor his pity.

I feel suddenly scrutinized. Like every face on the street is watching us, judging us, trying to find the filth and disease in us, too. Trying to see how their poison has sunk into us, too.

I’m looking for something now. I feel something like a panic, a desperation. There has to be something that’s right. There must be something that tastes right, feels right. I’m looking for it, now. I feel like I’m wandering a maze. A mouse trying to follow the scent of cheese through walls that are shifting around it. Searching endlessly for a prize that always eludes it.

I need to blow off some steam.

—

I have to hand it to this biker scum.

He packs a punch. More than I’d expected looking at him, anyway.

He’s also brutal. Slamming his fists and feet against my skull, my ribs, my spine. He keeps screaming about killing me for trashing his bike and I’m fairly certain that if I were a ‘factory original’ human, he’d be well on his way to succeeding. Even with my Other reinforcing them, I think I can feel my bones cracking.

The pain is grounding, though. It feels sharp and real when everything else has been cloudy, drowned out by the frantic buzzing of my body and mind. The rush of adrenaline feels good and I find I need more of it.

As I’m thrown through a window, I can already feel my Other cording itself through my bones, sealing any crack, repairing any fracture. It seeps up through my skin and releases its cloth disguise to wrap around and through me. Our fangs push up through our gums and back into their rightful place. Our jaw stretches and lengthens to accommodate and I find myself wishing I could feel the strain of it more acutely.

I let our long tongue roll out of our mouth and splash into a mug of beer on the table closest to the window through which we were so recently defenestrated. I do so enjoy a dramatic entrance. Or, reenterence, as the case may be. The taste,however, is even more abhorrent than everything else I’d been fruitlessly trying to consume lately. Pure poison.

I retch, pulling our tongue back and away from the putrid substance.

“You call this beer?” I snarl. “Tastes more like runny buffalo spit. Not that scum like you deserve any better.”

Our form feels strange somehow. Fitting to the state of our mind more closely than to the curvature of my body. Bigger, but less defined. More animalistic. More tendrils than we’re used to, as well. Somehow it feels like it matches the disjointed and detached state of my thoughts. Poetic.

I hear the bikers say something about superheroes, causal slurs and offensive epithets peppered in as is the wont of such ruffians. But we don’t feel like a hero tonight. This doesn’t feel like defending the innocent. I wonder if there’s even any left out there to defend? We don’t even feel like a judge, doling out retribution to the guilty. We’re out picking fights. Finding people who ‘deserve it’, whatever ‘it’ may be. Less like a punisher, more like a predator.

With teeth to match.

We’re slashing through biker creeps like we were made for it. Because we were made for it. But I barely hear it. Barely notice my own comebacks. I’m spouting the truth, the truth about their bile and filth, and the energy behind it feels good, feels like something , but it’s hollow. It’s not enough. I can’t find it in me to care. I’m angry that I don’t care.

I’m angry.

And I’m hungry.

God help me, I’m so hungry.

‘Frankie’,as it seems the leader of this loathsome bunch is named, takes another swipe at me with a knife. As if it could do anything. Ranting about cutting me open, as if he isn’t hopelessly, pitifully outmatched.

I swat him away like the disgusting insect he is.

“Oh, bite me.”

I’m not sure if I mean to kill him, but the loud ‘crack’ of his head against the brick pillar suggests that such a feat has no doubt been accomplished.

Suddenly I have no space in my mind for considering it. No space for thought about the other bikers starting to peel themselves off the floor.

A scent wafts into our nose, permeates into our flesh, into the scent detecting cells that litter the Other’s body, when we wish them to.

And suddenly, we desperately wish them to.

I sniff again, then once more, as the Other floods our form with more and more structures dedicated to scent, lining our skin with them so that the intoxicating aroma caresses us like a warm breeze.

What is that?

“Something…smells… GOOD,” I murmur, like a man possessed.

I feel like a man possessed. Possessed by that smell, the need for more of it, the need to discern its source. Our mouth is watering (more so than normal, anyway) and suddenly the hollow ache of craving turns sharp and demanding in our gut. I feel myself willing more teeth into our mouth and I feel my Other enthusiastically fulfilling that wish.

My Other is practically writhing on my skin. Our form feels like it’s shivering down to the core.

What is it? What is it?

I stalk to the pillar, stained with thick, red liquid, and breathe in that scent as deep as my lungs will allow.

“Warm ’n mushy…” I find myself repeating the words from earlier. When I had so desperately been trying to define what our body was screaming for. To put words to its silent but insistent demands. “ Wet…and…tingly…”

I lean down right above the cracked and bloodied cranium of the late Frankie, sniffing again and confirming beyond a doubt the source of the mouthwatering scent. And confirming beyond a doubt that it’s what we’ve been craving. What we need. What we want.

“Mmmmmmmm…” the moan from our lips is nearly sinful. It’s so close. What we’ve needed so painfully. What we’ve been aching for.

I feel feverish and desperate. The Other is writhing around and inside me. Our combined want and need feels like it will shake our body apart.

The Other provides me a lie before I even realize I have been begging it for one. Something innocuous. Something, anything appropriate. Excusable. It pushes me forward, encouraging. It feels as frenzied as I do.

“It’s… soup!” I exclaim.

And with that it’s justified. It’s acceptable. It’s accepted.

It’s inevitable.

We open our jaws wide, tongue lolling out.

“Yeahhhhhhh…” we breathe.

Our jaws snap down, crunching through the skull soup. The moment it hits our tongue is like salvation. After months of wanting, craving, aching, the thing we’ve so desperately needed is here, dancing on our taste buds, sliding down our throat. Like water in a desert, like life returning to our body.

How could we stop?

Our teeth gnash and tear, dragging more and more of the precious substance into our mouth. It’s so much and yet not enough. How can it be both? How can it be everything and yet nearly nothing?

We can’t understand it. Can’t understand anything. Can feel nothing, think of nothing, but the need for more. More. Like a thousand pounds would not be enough.

Faintly, as if beyond the veil of a dream, we can hear it, a cry of pure horror and disgust.

“I don’t believe it!” a voice cries. “He’s eatin’ Frankie’s brains!”

The statement drags me out of my frenzied state as if dragging me out of thick molasses.

“…what?” I mumble, still feeling only half lucid.

No…no we never….we would never. It wasn’t…it was only…

I look down at my hands, stained with blood and chunks of grey matter.

“No…” I breathe, then scream. "NO!"

It couldn’t be right. It couldn’t be real. This wasn’t me. This wasn’t us. Wasn’t Venom!

Suddenly Venom becomes a divided entity, split jaggedly between the horror and disgust at the viscera coating our claws and the frantic desire to lick each one clean of it. The revulsion at what we’ve done and the desperation to continue.

I stumble backwards.

“Threatened plenty of times – never meant to – just to scare ‘em…a joke !” I stammer.

When had it stopped being an empty threat? When had it stopped being a bit? A Joke?

Dear God, had it ever really been?

My stomach churns. Suddenly I feel panicked. Exposed like a rat in a trap, overcome with the need to escape.

“Something’s wrong with – Oh God have to– Get away!”

I flee as fast as our legs will carry me, away from the cooling, clotting remains of what is decidedly not soup.

And the worst thing.

The worst thing.

Is that I’m still hungry . ---

Also crossposted to ao3 : [Here]

#venom #venom comics #symbrock #venom the hunger #symbruary #cannibalism tw #blood tw #gore tw

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