#it feels like a completely different story
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
eternalguk · 3 days ago
Text
Pink Hearts & Black Clouds || jjk. — 01
Tumblr media
Love me at my lowest, I’ll love you when you’re barely holding on
Tumblr media
↠ Pairing : Jungkook x Reader
↠ Summary : Jeon Jungkook is the epitome of a brooding grunge. Moody, distant, and always a little too sarcastic. A grumpy, tattooed college student who barely tolerates anyone… except you. Somehow, the girl who’s a whirlwind of pink hearts and strawberry lipgloss is the one who keeps dear Jungkook on his toes.
But you must admit… behind that gruff exterior, there’s a side of him only you get to see—gentle, caring, and ready to spoil you in his own way. Everyone else may see him as the tough guy with a permanent scowl, but you know better. Jungkook’s heart? It’s all yours.
↠ Genre : established relationship au, college au, grunge!bf x bimbo!gf, angst, fluff & smut
↠ Word count : 3.8K
↠ Warnings : swearing, making out, teasing, exhibitionism (sex in a lecture theatre), unprotected sex, penetrative sex, rough sex, slight dumbification, dirty talk, begging, oral sex (m. receiving), ass smacking, scratching, dom!jungkook x sub!reader, use of pet names, sex on a desk (he hits it from the back at one point), a very moody but flirtatious Jungkook paired with bimbo!oc deserves its own warning :) - I think that’s about it?
↠ A/n : Hi there ; here it is! Chapter 01 of my first series, ‘pink hearts and black clouds’ which I am so excited to share. This story means a lot to me as it explores two completely different personalities finding their way together. With bimbo, sunshine!reader and grunge, grumpy!jk, I hope you enjoy exploring this world as much as I loved creating it. It’s messy, it’s fun, it’s emotional, it’s steamy (at times 👀) and it’s absolutely everything I could ask for! I’d love to hear what you think - your reactions, favourite part, or even anything you’d like to see from them in the future! Feedback / comments are always appreciated. Thank you for giving my story a chance & happy reading 🦢.
↠ Song : ‘Closer’ by Jungkook / ‘Good for you’ by Selena G
Tumblr media
❧ Chapter 01 : Lipgloss & Leather
prev. || next  || series masterlist || masterlist
Tumblr media
A stream of light filters through the wooden, venetian blinds of the lecture theatre windows, slicing through the warm, cinnamon-scented air.
God bless Ms. Choi for her diffusers.
The ambience of the empty theatre is a sharp contrast to the wintry chill that is dancing around outside. The time of season where it bites at your cheeks and refuses to let go. Inside though, the warmth feels like a holiday cocoon, the kind that makes you shed layers and forget the frost clinging to the world beyond your surrounding.
Unfortunately, despite the serene atmosphere, you don’t feel any less distracted.
You are perched in a chair at the back of the theatre, mindlessly playing with your pink glitter gel pen while Jungkook sits on the desk in front of you, legs spread arrogantly, one boot perched on the seat beside yours. The light catches on the silver chain hanging from his neck, a stark contrast to his black t-shirt and ripped dry-denim jeans.
You should be focusing on taking notes for the upcoming midterm, like he told you to do, but instead, your eyes keep wandering back to the powerful man in front of you.
Powerful because he consumes your entire being.
You pout as you swirl a strand of your hair around your finger, oblivious to the smirk curling on Jungkook’s lips as he catches onto your little daydream.
“Not taking notes, princess?” he asks, tone dripping with mockery.
“Erm…” you blink at him, momentarily caught off guard. “I was… thinking?”
Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Thinking. Right. About the syllabus or about how good I look right now?”
Your cheeks flame as he leans forward, chin propped lazily on his tattooed hand. His dark hair falls messily over his face, making him look even more impossibly cocky.
“Both?” you meekly offer, putting down the glitter pen and propping your chin onto your soft hands.
His grin stretches wider. “You’re cute when you lie.”
You smile at the compliment as Jungkook reaches out and grabs the gel pen from the desk, inspecting it like it was the most interesting thing in the world. The sight of his tattooed fingers gripping the sparkly pink plastic makes your heart race.
“Why do you even need this?” he teases, holding the pen just out of reach when you try to grab it back. “It’s ugly, you definitely don’t use it to write anything down and it’s pink.”
Jungkook grimaces, observing the pen as though it’s a foreign object.
You huff and pout harder, crossing your arms. “You said you’d help me study, but all you’re doing is being mean!”
“Mean?” Jungkook cackles, the sound low and gravelly. “Doll, I’m just keeping it real. Someone has to be with you.”
“Ugh, you’re the worst!” you whine, trying again to snatch the pen, but Jungkook is faster. He swiftly moves it behind his back, staring you down with his usual, conceited smirk.
“And yet, here you are. With me.”
“Because you don’t let me leave,” you shoot back, a small huff escaping as you try your best to appear annoyed.
But you aren’t. Not even a little bit.
Especially when Jungkook leans in even closer, his dark eyes scanning your face like he is trying to memorise every detail.
“C’mere,” he says softly, contrasting his suddenly serious expression.
You blink up at him, your heart fluttering. “Why?”
“Just come here, doll. Trust me.”
You hesitate for half a second before leaning forward, and that is all the invitation Jungkook needs to grab your chair and yank you forward, placing you between his legs. Your breath hitches as he cups your face in his hands, the rough pads of his thumbs stroking your cheeks.
“You’re too fucking pretty, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice so low and intimate that it sends a shiver down your spine.
“Jungkook…” You trail off, feeling utterly flustered and ridiculously warm under his intense gaze.
“What?” he questions, cocking his head playfully. “You don’t like compliments? Want me to call you dumb instead? You like that, huh?”
“N-no!” you stutter, and the way he leans in closer makes your head spin.
“That’s what I thought,” he says with a smirk, brushing his nose against yours. “My good girl likes being told she’s pretty.”
Your heart thumps loudly in your chest as his lips find yours, the kiss starting soft but quickly turning hungrier. Jungkook kicks your chair back before tugging you impossibly closer, his hands sliding down to your waist.
“Fuck, you taste sweet,” he mumbles against your lips.
“Strawberry lip gloss,” you utter, still fairly dazed.
He hums appreciatively, a smile now evident on his face. “My favourite.”
Jungkook’s hands slides lower, squeezing your hips as he deepens the kiss. You moan softly when he nips at your bottom lip, his pierced tongue sweeping over it a second later.
The sound of the theatre door creaking open in the distance makes you freeze.
The wind.
“Jungkook!” you hiss, pulling back slightly. “What if someone comes in?”
Jungkook grins, completely unbothered. “Free show?”
“You’re impossible!”
“You love it,” he teases, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. His hands tug at the hem of your short pink skirt, hiking it up higher as his fingers toy with the edge of your lace underwear.
“Ahh, is this the pair I got you the other day?”
“Jungkook…” you mewl, voice barely above a whisper. You manage a quick nod, before falling to rest your head on Jungkook’s shoulder.
“My doll is always so needy,” he grumbles, his dark eyes locking with yours. “But I don’t mind.”
Jungkook continues to fiddle with your underwear, his hand slipping inside to cup your now soaked sex in his rough hands. “Nice and wet.”
You squirm in his grasp, your cheeks burning as he presses another kiss to your neck, nipping the sensitive skin until you gasp.
“Relax, baby,” he whispers. “I’ve got you, I promise.”
And with that, you give in - like you always do with your lover boy.
Tumblr media
“Get on the desk.”
Your heart races as you turn toward the heavy, wooden desk behind you. It feels cold beneath your palms as you hoist yourself up, the sound of your skirt rustling loud in the quiet space. Jungkook watches you intently, his eyes darkening as you settle onto the surface, your legs dangling over the edge.
He steps closer, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the hem of your skirt higher.
“Look at you,” Jungkook whispers, his voice dripping with approval. “So pretty. So perfect for me.”
You shiver, your hands gripping the edge of the desk as his fingers trace patterns on your skin. Jungkook’s touch feels electric, sending sparks shooting through your veins.
“J-Jungkook—” you stutter, your voice shaky.
“Shh,” he interrupts, his voice firm but gentle. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”
Your boyfriend's words send a wave of warmth washing over you, and you let your body sink into the desk as he leans in, his breath hot against your neck. You feel the stubble on his jaw brushing against your skin, the faint scent of his woody cologne filling your senses.
“The way you give in,” he begins, his lips grazing your ear, “is fucking beautiful.”
A soft whimper escapes your glossy lips as his hands move higher, pushing your skirt up to your waist. His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, and you gasp as he tugs them down, leaving you exposed.
Jungkook is quick to toss them onto his discarded leather jacket draped over the chair beside him. The delicate blush of your pink panties against the rugged, worn leather is a stark contrast that sends your mind spiraling.
“Stunning,” he utters to himself, eyes roaming over your body with a hunger that quickens your pulse.
Why the fuck is this man so hot?
You squirm, cheeks burning with embarrassment, but Jungkook doesn’t give you time to think. Not that there was much going on up there anyway.
His hands grips your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the desk. He wraps your delicate legs around him, engulfing you in his embrace.
“As beautiful as you look like this,” Jungkook mutters, caressing your cheek, “I need you on your knees.”
You’re quick to comply, gently shoving Jungkook away. He cackles at your eagerness, but deep inside his brooding heart, he feels at awe.
“Open your mouth,” he commands, quick to change personas, voice rough with desire.
Again, you obey without hesitation, your lips parting as he unzips his jeans. His cock springs free, already hard and straining, and your eyes widen as he steps closer, the tip brushing against your lips.
“Suck,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.
You hesitate for only a second before leaning forward, taking him into your mouth. His taste is salty and masculine, making you moan softly as you begin to move your tongue, your lips wrapping tightly around his girthy member.
Jungkook groans, his hand tangling in your hair as he guides your head up and down. “That’s it, doll,” he encourages, his voice thick with pleasure. “Take all of me.”
You sink deeper, gagging slightly as he hits the back of your throat. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t stop, determined to please him.
“Such a good girl,” Jungkook effortlessly praises, his grip tightening in your hair. “You were fucking made for this.”
The words send a jolt of heat straight to your core, and you moan around him, the vibrations making him shudder.
“Fuck,” he curses, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. “I’ll be painting your face with cum if you keep that up.”
You pull back slightly, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Isn’t that what you like?”
Jungkook chuckles darkly, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips. “Not yet, baby. I have other plans for you first.”
Before you can even think of a response, Jungkook pulls you off the floor, spinning you around so your back is pressed against his chest. His hands roam over your body, cupping your breasts through your satin blouse as he nips at your earlobe.
“You’re turn, princess,” he whispers, voice sending shivers down your spine for the umpteenth time this afternoon.
You gasp as his cold fingers find their way between your legs, exploring your already soaked folds. He teases you mercilessly, touch light yet maddening enough that it has you writhing in his bulky arms.
“Please,” you beg, voice trembling with need.
You try to grind against him, but Jungkook’s firm grip stops you from doing so.
“Please what?” he taunts, feigning confusion, breath hot against your neck.
“Fuck me,” you whimper, the words spilling out effortlessly.
Jungkook grins, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “What my pretty doll wants, my pretty doll gets.”
In one swift motion, he lifts you onto the desk, positioning himself between your legs. Jungkook’s cock presses against your entrance, and you yelp as he thrusts into you in one smooth, powerful movement.
”God, why are you so tight?” Jungkook groans, his hands gripping your hips as he begins to move. “I fucked you this morning.”
The sensation, along with the reminder of your earlier shenanigans, is overwhelming and both the stretch and burn send waves of pleasure through you.
You wrap your legs around Jungkook’s slim waist, urging him deeper as he pounds into you relentlessly.
“Harder,” you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. “More.”
Jungkook obliges, slamming into you with a force that has the desk rocking against the floor. The sound echoes through the lecture theatre, mingling with your desperate moans and his guttural grunts.
“Could fuck this cunt all day,” Jungkook growls, his pace increasing as he mercilessly hammers his thick cock into you.
You cling to him, body trembling on the edge of release. But just as you’re about to let go, Jungkook pulls out, leaving you gasping and empty.
“No!” you cry, your eyes snapping open to meet his smug grin.
“Not yet,” he warns, voice firm. “You’re not cumming until I say so.”
You whimper, your body aching with need, but Jungkook isn’t done. He flips you over onto your stomach, hoisting your hips up so your ass is in the air.
“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice muffled by the desk.
“Giving you what you wanted,” he replies casually, his hands spreading your cheeks apart.
And then Jungkook is inside you again, filling you completely as he drives into you with a ferocity that leaves you utterly breathless.
Your sopping pussy lewdly squelches around Jungkook, completely soaking him. The sound turns the pair of you on further.
“Right there!” You mewl, pushing yourself back onto Jungkook, the pressure making you moan uncontrollably.
“Say it,” he demands, his voice rough with exertion. “Tell me who fucks you this good.”
“Y-you,” you stutter, your voice breaking as he hits your g-spot deep inside you. “This drenched pussy is yours.”
“And who do you belong to?” Your boyfriend growls, his hand coming down on your plump ass with a sharp smack.
“I’m yours!” you cry, the pain mixing with pleasure in the most delicious way. “Love the way you fuck me.”
Jungkook smirks, his pace slowing as he leans over you, lips brushing against your ear. “Good girl. Now come for me.”
As soon as the words leave his filthy mouth, your body convulses, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you as you come undone. Jungkook isn’t far behind, his own release hitting him with a force that leaves him trembling.
The feeling of his cum oozing into you has you wanting to turn around and ride the fuck out of your lover boy.
Jungkook collapses on top of you, his breath hot against your skin as you both struggle to catch your breath.
“You okay, doll?” he asks, his voice softening as he turns you around and carefully seats you on the desk.
You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. “Yeah. I’m- wow.”
Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re amazing.”
“And you, Bakugo,” you reply, your voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.
Your lover boy grins, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. “Round two after lunch?”
Tumblr media
The cafeteria hums with energy, alive with the noise of lively chatter and the sporadic clatter of trays hitting tables.
You’re perched on the bench beside Jungkook, a tray of half-eaten chips and an unopened can of Samjin Mango Soda sitting in front of you.
Across the table, Taehyung and Jimin are engaged in a heated debate about Haikyu, their hands waving dramatically as they try to outtalk each other about the anime the two of them are currently rewatching.
Well, truthfully speaking, all of you have been rewatching, but only the two of them are so deeply interested. Maybe Jungkook, but he’d never admit it.
Speaking of Jungkook, he is slouched against the table, one elbow propped up as his thumb scrolls lazily through your phone, staring at pictures you had taken of yourself today.
And he says he isn’t obsessed.
As usual, he hasn’t said much, just the occasional grunt when someone asks him a question. He looks effortlessly intimidating, his black hoodie (that you finally returned) pulled low over his forehead, his iconic silver chain around his neck catching the light and his usual scowl that is always imprinted on his beautiful face.
You, on the other hand, couldn’t be more of a contrast. You’re in your own world, a makeshift beauty station spread out in front of you, next to yours and Jungkook’s shared meal. Your compact mirror is propped against the soda can, brushes and glosses neatly scattered around it.
A soft pout forms on your lips as you reapply a coat of your signature lip gloss, the sticky sheen glistening in the light. You’re blissfully focused, tilting your head to inspect your work like an artist perfecting their masterpiece.
“You’re so wrong,” Jimin says, leaning forward with a look of betrayal. “There’s no way Seijoh vs. Karasuno is better than Shiratorizawa vs. Karasuno.”
“It’s about the emotional stakes, Jimin,” Taehyung replies, sipping his iced tea as though he is a certified anime critic. “Oikawa’s genius mind versus Kageyama’s raw talent? That’s art.”
“Art?” Jimin scoffs. “Bro, real art is Ushijima annihilating them with a spike.”
Taehyung shrugs. “Oikawa’s smugness had more impact than any spike ever could.”
“Who’s Kageyama again?” you pipe up, tilting your head.
Jungkook’s phone, well your phone, lowers an inch as he glances at you, his expression blank. “You can’t be serious. We literally watched an episode yesterday.”
You shrug, completely unbothered by the disbelief in his tone. “I don’t remember the boring ones.”
Jimin nearly chokes on his drink, eyes wide in horror. “Boring?! He’s literally the King of the Court!”
“Don’t,” Jungkook says flatly, cutting off Jimin’s impending rant. “She’ll just start listing the hot ones.”
You grin, batting your lashes at him. “Is that a problem, Koo?”
Taehyung leans back in his seat, smirking. “You’ve got your hands full, don’t you, Koo?”
“I wouldn’t call it that,” Jungkook mutters, though his ears tinge pink. “And don’t fucking call me that.”
Taehyung catches it immediately, raising his brows. “Is that a blush I see, Jungkook? The same guy who nearly broke someone’s nose in basketball last week?”
“Fuck off,” Jungkook grumbles, sliding your phone over to you.
“Bro, you’re whipped,” Jimin adds, his laugh practically echoing across the room.
“No I’m not-”
“You are,” Taehyung interrupts, pointing a chip at him. “It’s so obvious. You’ve got that whole, ‘don’t fucking talk to me’ thing going on, but this one over here bats her fake lashes and you’re folding fast.”
“Hey! They’re real,” you protest, leaning forward and resting your chin in your palms.
You study Jungkook with a teasing smile. “Is that true? Am I your kryptonite?”
His eyes flick to yours, dark and unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something - amusement, maybe, or fond exasperation. Jungkook simply doesn’t answer, just grabbing a chip from the tray and popping it into his mouth.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” you say, your smile widening.
Jungkook rolls his eyes, but it’s half-hearted. He leans back in his seat, stretching his long legs out under the table, and you notice the way his fingers tap rhythmically against his knee. He looks relaxed, but you know him well enough to recognise the effort it takes to hold back a snarky comment.
“He doesn’t even deny it,” Jimin continues, grinning like he’s won something. “You know what? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you’re good for him.”
You blink, caught off guard by the sudden compliment. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Taehyung agrees, though his tone is far more mischievous. “You’re like the sunshine to his thundercloud.”
“Lipgloss to his cigarette,” Jimin chimes in.
“Or the idiot to his genius,” Jungkook finishes off, his voice dry as ever.
You gasp, smacking his muscular arm lightly. “I’ll have you know I’m very smart!”
“Name the capital of the United States,” he challenges, barely hiding the smirk tugging at his lips.
“Easy,” you say confidently, shrugging your shoulders. “Hollywood.”
Taehyung and Jimin dissolve into laughter, and even Jungkook can’t hold back the small shake of his shoulders.
“Christ,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re unbelievable.”
You pout, confused why the boys are laughing. But, the sight of Jungkook joining in with them has you leaning into his side, grinning up at him. “You still like me, right?”
Jungkook doesn’t reply, but his hand moves to casually rest against the small of your back, his fingers caressing the exposed skin.
And that?
That’s the only answer you need.
You busy yourself with dabbing some extra Dior blush onto your cheeks, the sunlight streaming through the window catching the shimmer within it. Jimin plays with your Ilia mascara, shaking his head as he takes in the rest of your makeup that is scattered around.
Taehyung sees that you’re occupied and smirks, leaning closer to Jungkook. “You defo love it, you’re just too much of a moody shit to admit it.”
“Love what?” Jungkook asks, deadpan, though the tightening of his jaw gives him away.
“Having someone fuss over you,” his best friend teases, motioning his thumb towards you with a grin. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger.”
Jungkook exhales sharply, looking down at the now empty takeaway container in front of him like it’s suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. “You have nothing better to talk about?”
Your eyes dart to him, catching the faintest hint of red creeping up his neck.
Smiling to yourself, you lean your chin on your palm. “It’s okay, Jungkookie,” you coo softly. “You don’t have to say it. I already know.”
He glares at you, but there’s no real bite to it. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?” you ask, pouting in innocence. “You love it when I call you that.”
Taehyung and Jimin burst into laughter once again at your audacity.
Jungkook narrows his eyes at them before turning to you. For a split second, his fingers twitch on the table, like he’s about to pull you closer. His gaze softens as it lingers on you - like he’s on autopilot, already halfway to pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
But then he stops.
Clearing his throat, he leans back in his chair instead, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his head like armour. “You’re insufferable and annoying.”
You blink, caught between surprise and amusement. “You almost- you almost did it!”
“What?” he grunts, refusing to look at you.
“You were going to kiss my head.” Your voice is laced with a playful lilt, but there’s a flicker of something tender beneath it. “Don’t worry, Kookie. Next time, you’ll follow through.”
His tongue pokes against his cheek, a telltale sign of his rising frustration - or embarrassment, you can’t quite tell. “Shut up and eat,” he mutters, tugging his hood lower before he shoves a packet of crisps your way.
Jimin and Taehyung howl in laughter, and you can’t help but join them, even as Jungkook mumbles curses under his breath.
Somewhere beneath the gruffness, there’s the faintest quirk of his lips - a fleeting smile that only you seem to notice.
And in small moments like this you conclude that while Jungkook doesn’t give you flowers or grace you with love letters, he gives you something that is endless - pieces of himself: his time, his trust, his unwavering presence, and a love so consuming it feels like forever.
Tumblr media
And there we have it! Please do let me know your thoughts ; the support I receive means the world to me 🫶🏻
↠ Taglist : @bangchanwantsmesobad @rklvez @doulcha @starlight-1010 @mimi1097 @khadeeeeej @jkslvsnella @royalguk @gaebestie @iamstilljk @myjungkookthighs @jungshaking @kookiesgiggles @minimoninini @lovejkmilitarywife @pplongoing @pokolunolino @dontcallmeelle @taeisbae13 @ronyiboniyy @nerdycheol @onlyforyoukook @ukandtwme @morosisxx @smwhrinthehaze @thebluegoddess @ramyun-h @remgeolli @minniejim @cherricherryy @avawants2havefun @fr0ggieth1nk @ahgasegotarmy116 @jeeykey @ficluvr613 @deeznutkooks @kookienooki (names in italics could not be tagged).
Tumblr media
458 notes · View notes
power-handmaiden · 1 day ago
Text
Chuck Tingle interview
OK, here is the FINAL 2024 Tingles My Butt post, which I've been pretty hyped for. I still kind of can't believe this. While I was figuring out how I'd move on from 2024, @drchucktingle generously offered to answer some questions of mine to commemorate the end of my tingler project! Here they are!
-Considering that your process for tinglers is just to write it out and not stress about proofreading and editing, was it weird for you to see someone decide to go back, examine, and contemplate every single tingler published in the past decade?
the whole dang project was really wonderful for me, for exactly the reason you have just said. tinglers are very STREAM OF CONSCIOUS and only edited with one quick pass so while i think this adds to their honesty and rawness it also means that my time with them is limited. really watching someone go back through them at this depth was like reading a diary that i have not opened for many years, and it jumps around through time in a very beautiful way. it was very moving
-I love tingler character names. I personally admire how many great ones you come up with. (I never know what to name my ttrpg characters.) You just come up with all these great names that seemingly spring from nowhere, how do you do it?
DANG great question cant believe i have not been asked this before but yes there is a type of name that shows up in the tingleverse that is unusual and has a certain feeling and cadence that is very specific. if i am trotting along with sweet barbara and there is a name of a product or a place or something that has this tone we will say ‘oh thats a tingleverse name.’ the reason i wanted to do this in the books was as a very subtle way of saying these stories exist on a timeline that is RIGHT next to ours, so in some ways it is exactly the same as our world but there are these little cultural differences with things like chocolate milk and spaghetti and then with the names. you will have buckaroos like justin and sarah trotting along next to buckaroos named corb torbins-quill or borto lart.
-So, as a reader, reading from 2014 to now, old tinglers and new tinglers feel different to me. I believe you when you say tinglers have always been sincere, but they feel MORE sincere than they used to be. Like, I feel like there was some self-consciousness and irony in some of the early tinglers that you've since let go of and embraced the Chuck Tingle voice more. I don't know, am I imagining this, or does this square with your tingler writing journey? If it does, what has that process been like for you?
i think you are absolutely correct. the intention with tinglers was always to be a place for me to express myself with complete sincerity, but the practical way of HOW to trot like this took a bit of an evolution to arrive at. in other words i knew the basics, but actually refining the best way to express yourself and perform your art takes time. maybe in the same way goin back and watching season one of a tv show can feel very different from season three, even though they are part of the same expression. 
similar thing happened with in my chuck PRESENTATION as well, where my main focus was to stay anonymous so the metaphors i used to talk about my life were still true but laid on much thicker. even my attire was a large gi so that you would not even be able to see my shape, which has obviously changed now because i wear suits these days. all of this was a process of starting in a place i knew was important to me and then peeling off the parts that were not helping the message or expression over time
-Is there anything you could tell us about the significance of Borson Reems? I feel like he's more than just another Buck Trungle/Chuck Tangle/etc but I'm not sure what exactly...
yes borson reems is god. not that i believe in GOD in the way that most buckaroos talk about god (i am agnostic) but within the tingleverse, borson reems is an avatar for the creator of that world. technically i am borson reems, because i am writing the books. the question is: are we all the gods of our own little worlds that we create? i do not know, but when i look around at my buds and the joy and love they bring to various timelines they sure seem like gods to me
-A lot of no-sex tinglers (especially ones that aren't romance-focused) vary in terms of plot and structure a lot more than erotic tinglers. Is your writing process for these stories any different?
same process actually, but the sex scenes in tinglers are about 1500 to 2000 words long, and total tingler length is 4000 words which means if you are not including that portion you are going to have to come up with some creative way to fill that space in the story and a new axis for story to turn on. so the variety comes from me getting creative and trying out different axis points
-In "Not Pounded By My Book "Pounded In The Butt By My Non-Fungible Tingler That Is Literally This NFT" Because Of The Current Catastrophic Environmental And Ethical Impact" there are references to an earlier draft of the story that was never released because you ended up disagreeing with the message. Are there any other tinglers that never got finished and/or published, if you'd be willing to talk about any of them?
oh this is a VERY good question. the story of the NFT tingler is that when buckaroos were first talkin on nfts online and nobody really knew what they were, my first thoughts were just ‘oh this is interesting what the heck is this?’ this is my way with most CURRENT EVENTS. and i thought ‘this would be an interesting tingler, i suppose maybe i should make the tingler an ACTUAL nft’. this was in VERY early days so i did not really even understand what an nft was (neither did 99 percent of buckaroos yet honestly). so i looked into it just enough to actually MAKE a nft tingler that was a real nft and put it out. lasted for about thirty seconds before buckaroos were messaging saying ‘oh this is bad chuck you should look into what this is’ and i DID look into it and thought’ oh yeah this is terrible nevermind’. i took down the original and thought ‘well THIS is what art is all about. this is where i thrive in a world of moving living art that is in communication with itself’. so i dove into the research and actually started to understand NFTS and then i repurposed the story into a strongly anti-nft tingler and put that on out instead.
as far as OTHER tinglers that kind of move and breathe and live like this, in communication with the audience, GAY T-REX LAW FIRM is another very good example. that one i wrote early on and i think it was kind of in the model of something like fifty shade of grey, where issues of kink and consent and communication are not really handled well. i think at the time it came out the story was okay, but as time went on it always kind of bothered me and finally i thought ‘i love art that exists in the REAL WORLD and changes and evolves, so lets rewrite that story and fix some of these mistakes.’ honestly it is something i wish more artists would be open to. its okay to let something hold strong against a changing timeline, but it is also okay to explore what its like to take the notes that time gives us
-This one is about Chuck Tingle that exists in deeper layers of the Tingleverse that operate on tingler logic: what does the location inside his/your butt look like?
probably a nice mid-century modern home up in laurel canyon neighborhood of los angeles. kind of quiet and small like a cabin but also very cozy, like the kind of place where you would put on a crosby stills nash and young record on vinyl and gaze out into the woods for a while then walk down the hill for dinner at a little cafe where you spot some actor from a 60s tv show also having dinner in the corner booth. this basically sounds like the start of a tingler and in that tingler i will say the actor would be a bigfoot.
-OK this one is very self-indulgent but if you could help settle this frequent point of discussion I have with my wife- where do the following fit in the Tingleverse bigfoot/dinosaur/unicorn/living object(/human/does not apply?) taxonomy?
-a ghost of a regular human
-a regular human vampire
-a human/fish mermaid
-a sentient winged horse
-a sentient centipede large enough to wrap around a mountain several times (she is handsome)
alright lets trot through these. a GHOST is not one of the four tingle types so you can have a ghost racecar or a ghost unicorn or a ghost bigfoot. ghosts are outside of the four types and do not have a classification
a VAMPIRE is also outside of the four types. so you can have a vampire bigfoot or, of course, a vampire night bus. does not strictly fall into any of the four main categories
MERMAIDS are technically a long lost species of unicorn I DONT MAKE THE RULES I JUST EXPLAIN THEM. this makes the MERMOPED tingler a little confusing but i had to pick a category and that one went into living object. now that i mention it possibly the only tingler that is technically a double category of unicorn/living object.
WINGED HORSE is easy, thats a pegasus which is a species of unicorn just like a mermaid
a SENTIENT CENTIPEDE LARGE ENOUGH TO WRAP AROUND A MOUNTAIN is an ancient creature, therefore dinosaur tingler
-My other self-indulgent question: do you have a favorite bug? (Or second-favorite if you count Mothman as a bug)
i love finding spiders in the house and giving them a pet because they are doing a good job livin their lives doin their thing. close second would be a pretty ladybug
-Any thoughts on what tinglers will be like in 2025? Do you expect to be writing a lot of political tinglers again, like post-2016?
honestly i really do not like writing specifically political tinglers anymore, and the amount that i write has gradually dropped over time (i think ALL tinglers are political but in a different way). so honestly i think i will write a few political tinglers but not many. my hypothesis on this is that my HORROR NOVELS are very very political and so maybe i get a lot of these ideas out of my system that way now. when it comes to tinglers i just wanna explore my OWN mind and heart and butt more
THANK YOU for these wonderful questions and thank you for your tingler-a-day project it was so moving and powerful. what a treat it was an honor to be a part of something so beautiful. THIS PROVES LOVE IS REAL
431 notes · View notes
worrynoodle · 2 days ago
Text
I'm trying to change things for myself in little ways here and there in my life. Hoping to butterfly effect my way into something different, something hopefully better.
I never felt like a teenager when I was one. As is true for a lot of kids who grew up not knowing they're autistic, I was always masking, always in survival mode, always trying to make it through the social hell that was public school while also struggling with my identity on the inside being queer in a Christian home.
Now, at 24, I feel like I'm actually kind of starting to be more like who I wanted to be as a teenager. I feel like I'm getting to that stage of my life of growth and discovery that my peers already got to experience. I didn't have the courage to stand up for myself and I still struggle with that but it's something I'm working on. I've been reflecting on that a lot. Who I was, how that person was torn apart by bullies and teachers and people who meant well but did harm and now I'm piecing that person together.
It takes TIME. I needed to be reminded of that as I've watched my brothers (one older, one younger) grow up, go to school, meet their partners, get married, one had a kid and the other has one on the way. I've felt so "behind." And the truth is, there is no "behind."
You are living a completely unique story. Completely. It is no one's but yours. Give yourself a break and let life show you how wonderful it can be.
reminder that 30 isn’t old, it’s very normal to not accomplish everything in your 20s, and that it is never too late to learn that thing you’ve always wanted to learn. you’re always growing. that’s a good thing. 
306K notes · View notes
mysunshinetemptress · 2 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
Never Have I Ever
Barca Femaní x Teen Reader
The bright lights of the makeshift studio were starting to give you a headache, but the end was in sight. Media day. A necessary evil, as your coach called it. Hours of posing, smiling, answering repetitive questions, and generally trying to look like you weren't about to collapse from boredom. But this, the final task, was different. This was the fun part.
You, Jana, and Patri were standing shoulder to shoulder, each holding a light-up paddle. The paddles were programmed to cycle through different colours – red "I haven't" and green "I have" - the task was simple Never Have I Ever. A classic icebreaker, but with the added element of flashing lights and the potential for some embarrassing revelations.
The camera crew stood before you, along with a couple of team media personnel, all grinning with anticipation. One of the media guys, a young, energetic guy named Marco , held a microphone and a clipboard.
"D'acord, senyores," Marco said, his voice amplified by the microphone. "A punt per jugar una mica Mai ho he mai?"
Jana bounced on the balls of her feet, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Nascut llest!"
Patri gave a small, polite smile. "Fem-ho."
You nodded, trying to suppress a grin. You were usually quite reserved, especially for a teenager but there was something about the silly nature of the game that loosened you up.
"Vale, I'll start," Marco said, consulting his clipboard. "Never have I ever… accidentally called my coach 'Mama' or 'papa'."
Jana's paddle immediately flashed green. She groaned and covered her face with her hands. "ay dios mío, it was awful," she said, laughing. "It was during training, and I was so tired, and I just blurted out 'papa!' He just stared at me, and I wanted the ground to swallow me whole."
Patri’s paddle remained red, as did yours. You’d always been careful to keep your interactions with the coach strictly professional.
"Vale, next one," Marc continued. "Never have I ever… snuck out of team curfew."
Jana’s paddle flashed green again, eliciting more laughter from the crew. "Vale, Vale, I was young and foolish," she admitted, raising her hands in surrender. "It was just to go get ice cream! It was worth it."
Patri’s paddle stayed red, and you hesitated for a moment before pressing the red button on your own paddle. You’d never been one for breaking rules, even now as the other younger girls tried to entice you.
"Muy bien, Y/n, estás despierto," Marco said, turning to you with a smile. "Never have I ever… forgotten my kit bag for a match."
Your paddle flashed green immediately. You winced, remembering the frantic scramble to borrow spare kit from a teammate just minutes before kickoff. It had been a stressful experience, and one you’d never forget. It was your first time playing at a more senior level at La Misa and the older girls kit nearly swallowed you whole.
Jana and Patri both laughed, their paddles red. "Oh, that's a classic," Jana said.
The game continued, with Marc reading out a mix of team-related and more general "Never Have I Ever" statements. Some of the questions were funny, some were slightly embarrassing, and some were surprisingly revealing.
"Never have I ever… cried after a loss," Marco read.
All three of your paddles flashed green. You all shared a knowing glance. The pain of defeat was something you all understood intimately.
"Never have I ever… pretended to be injured to get out of training," Marco said, grinning.
Jana’s paddle flashed green instantly. Patri and you burst out laughing. "That's definitely Jana," Patri said, shaking her head.
Your paddle and Patri’s stayed red. You were both too dedicated to the sport to ever consider faking an injury. Your idolies wouldn't do it so why would you.
As the game went on, you started to feel more comfortable, more relaxed. You were laughing and joking with Jana and Patri, sharing stories and making fun of each other. The tension of media day had completely dissipated, replaced by a genuine sense of camaraderie.
Finally, Marco announced the last question. "This is a big one," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Never have I ever… had a crush on a teammate."
Jana’s paddle flashed green immediately, followed shortly by Patri’s. You hesitated for a moment, a strange feeling fluttering in your stomach. You glanced at Jana and Patri, who were both looking at you expectantly. You took a deep breath and pressed the green button on your paddle.
A collective gasp went up from the crew. Jana and Patri’s eyes widened in surprise.
"Ooooh," Marco said, his voice full of intrigue. "This is getting interesting. Care to elaborate, Y/n?"
You felt your cheeks flush slightly, but you managed a small smile. "It's nothing serious," you said, shrugging. "Just a little…admiración"
Jana winked at you. "We've all been there," she said, laughing.
The game ended shortly after, and the camera crew began packing up their equipment. You, Jana, and Patri lingered for a moment, still buzzing from the fun of the game.
From the moment you left the makeshift studio, the “crush” revelation became the team’s new favorite topic of conversation. It wasn’t malicious pestering, more like playful teasing and genuine curiosity, but it was relentless.
In the changing room after training, Jana would nudge you with her elbow and whisper, “So, spill the tea! Who is it?” Her eyes would twinkle with mischief as she waited for your reaction.
You’d blush and try to deflect the question, saying things like, “It’s no one important,” or “It was a long time ago.” But Jana wouldn’t give up easily. She’d launch into a guessing game, rattling off the names of various teammates, coaches, even the team’s physio.
You hope it stays between the three of you, you admition to having a crush on a teammate but of course its Jana and Patri and that hope is short lived.
The speed at which the news spread was almost comical. It was like wildfire, fueled by the team’s insatiable appetite for gossip. Within an hour, it seemed every single member of the squad knew about your “little admiración.” You could practically feel the collective gaze of the team on you, a mixture of amusement, curiosity, and knowing smiles.
It wasn't long before Mapi, the team’s resident prankster and self-proclaimed expert on all things love and romance, cornered you in the locker room. She bounced on the balls of her feet, a wide grin plastered across her face.
“So,” she began, nudging you playfully with her elbow. “Tell me everything! Who’s the lucky lady?”
You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “Mapi, please,” you mumbled. “It’s really not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” Mapi exclaimed, her eyes widening in mock horror. “Are you kidding? This is huge! This is the kind of drama we live for!”
She launched into a series of rapid-fire questions, rattling off names of various teammates, coaches, even the team’s groundskeeper. You tried your best to deflect her inquiries, offering vague answers and changing the subject whenever possible.
“Come on, Y/n,” Mapi persisted, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Just give me a hint. Is she tall? Short? Does she have a good sense of humor? Is she a good passer?”
You couldn’t help but laugh at her relentless questioning. Mapi was like a dog with a bone; she wouldn’t let go until she got what she wanted.
Just as you were about to give in and offer a meaningless clue to appease her, Ingrid, the team’s captain and voice of reason, appeared seemingly out of nowhere. She placed a hand on Mapi’s shoulder, pulling her away from you.
“Mapi,” Ingrid said firmly, her voice laced with a hint of warning. “Leave her alone.”
Mapi groaned dramatically, but she reluctantly backed off. “Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But I’m not giving up that easily.”
Ingrid turned to you, offering a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about her,” she said. “She’s just being Mapi.”
You nodded gratefully. “Thanks, Ingrid,” you said. “I appreciate it.”
“Anytime,” Ingrid replied. “Just let me know if she gets too annoying.”
But shortly after Mapi it moves to Esme and Vicky.
Esme and Vicky, the team’s dynamic duo, were next. They approached you during lunch, sliding into the seats opposite you with matching mischievous grins. They were known for their close friendship and shared sense of humor, often finishing each other’s sentences and communicating through inside jokes.
“So, Y/n,” Esme began, her eyes twinkling. “We’ve heard some… interesting rumors.”
Vicky nodded in agreement, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Something about a certain… teammate?”
You sighed, bracing yourself for another round of questioning. “It’s just a silly crush,” you mumbled, picking at your food. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Oh, we beg to differ,” Esme said, exchanging a knowing glance with Vicky. “This is major news! We need details!”
They launched into their own version of the guessing game, their rapid-fire questions overlapping and intertwining. They were like a well-oiled machine, anticipating each other’s thoughts and building on each other’s jokes.
“Is it someone in the midfield?” Esme asked.
“Or maybe a forward?” Vicky suggested.
“Perhaps a defender?” Esme countered.
“Or maybe,” Vicky said, pausing for dramatic effect, “it’s the coach!”
You choked on your water, sputtering and coughing. Esme and Vicky burst out laughing, their eyes sparkling with amusement.
“Okay, okay, we’re just kidding,” Esme said, patting you on the back. “But seriously, Y/n, we’re just curious. We want to know who’s captured your heart.”
You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. You trusted Esme and Vicky, but you were still hesitant to share such a personal detail.
“It’s… someone I admire,” you said finally, choosing your words carefully. “Someone who’s really talented and dedicated.”
Esme and Vicky exchanged another knowing glance. “That narrows it down to about half the team,” Vicky said dryly.
“But seriously,” Esme added, her voice softening. “We’re just happy for you, Y/n. We want you to be happy.”
“Thanks,” you said, offering them a genuine smile. “I appreciate that.”
You thought you’d weathered the storm. The relentless teasing had subsided, replaced by the occasional knowing glance or subtle nudge. You’d even started to relax a little, believing the “crush” saga was finally behind you. But you were wrong. So very wrong.
The team bonding night was a tradition, a chance for everyone to let loose and have some fun outside of the pressures of training and matches. This time, it was a casual gathering at a local karaoke bar. The atmosphere was buzzing with energy, fueled by loud music, flashing lights, and the general excitement of being off-duty.
You were initially hesitant to go, still reeling from the media day fallout. But Jana and Patri had insisted, assuring you that it would be a good time and that the “crush” topic was officially off-limits. You reluctantly agreed, hoping they were right.
For the first few hours, everything went smoothly. You laughed and sang along to the music, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere and the company of your teammates. You even managed to belt out a surprisingly decent rendition of a classic pop song, much to the amusement of Jana and Patri.
But as the night wore on and the drinks flowed, the atmosphere became more boisterous and the conversations more… revealing. And, inevitably, the topic of your “admiración” resurfaced.
It started innocently enough. Someone put on a cheesy love song, and a few of the players started jokingly serenading each other. Then, Mapi, never one to let a good opportunity pass her by, grabbed the microphone and announced to the entire bar, “Okay, everyone, let’s dedicate this next song to Y/n and their secret crush!”
A chorus of cheers and whistles erupted from the team. You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You shot a pleading look at Jana and Patri, but they just shrugged apologetically, their faces etched with a mixture of amusement and sympathy.
Mapi, oblivious to your discomfort, continued her impromptu dedication, adding fuel to the fire with a series of suggestive comments and playful innuendos. The team roared with laughter, egging her on.
You wanted to disappear, to become invisible, to escape the intense scrutiny of the entire team. You felt trapped, exposed, your privacy completely violated.
Just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse, Esme and Vicky, fueled by liquid courage and a shared sense of mischief, decided to take the stage for a duet. They chose a popular love song and, as they sang, they began pointing and gesturing towards various members of the team, adding their own commentary and inside jokes.
Still you don't crack not until Alexia comes and wraps her arm around you.
So,” she said, a playful glint in her eyes. “I hear you have a little… admiración for someone.”
You blushed furiously, but you couldn’t help but smile at her teasing tone.
“It’s not a crush,” you mumbled, shaking your head slightly. “It’s more like… respect. I really admire her talent and dedication.”
“Oh, I see,” Alexia said, nodding thoughtfully. “So, it’s not someone on the team?”
You shook your head again, relieved to finally be able to talk about it openly, even if it was with Alexia, which was still incredibly nerve-wracking. “No,” you said. “She plays… out of Spain, actually.”
Alexia’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Oh, really?” she said. “That’s interesting.”
She paused for a moment, considering your words. Then, a slow smile spread across her face. “Well,” she said, her voice warm and encouraging. “Admiration is a wonderful thing. It can inspire you to be better, to push yourself further.”
You feel your cheeks reden, you can't hide it anymore and the fact your about to tell her ex girlfriend is ironic "Its Jenni."
“Jenni,” Alexia repeated, the name rolling off her tongue. Her tone was even, giving nothing away. “Jenni Hermoso?”
You nodded, your cheeks burning a deeper shade of red. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on you. You were confessing your admiration for Jenni Hermoso, a player widely considered one of the best in the world, to her ex-girlfriend. The universe definitely had a sense of humor.
A brief silence hung between you, punctuated only by the off-key singing from the stage and the general chatter of the bar. Alexia’s arm remained around your shoulders, a comforting weight, but the atmosphere had subtly shifted.
“She’s… a fantastic player,” Alexia said finally, her voice measured. “Incredibly talented.”
You nodded again, finding your voice. “She is,” you agreed, your voice filled with genuine admiration. “I’ve watched her play for years. Her technique, her vision… it’s inspiring.”
You found yourself rambling slightly, trying to fill the awkward silence. You talked about Jenni’s incredible goal-scoring record, her ability to create chances for her teammates, her influence on the game. You were so focused on avoiding any mention of the personal connection between Alexia and Jenni that you almost forgot who you were talking to.
You pause waiting for Alexia to shout at you for having a crush on her ex girlfriend but instead she tilts her head back and laughs "Oh Mi Amor, Im so telling her next time i see her thats so cute."
You shove her away slightly but immediatly pull her back as she whips out her phone and starts typing, out of everyone Alexia just might be the worst person you could have told.
359 notes · View notes
acid-ixx · 1 day ago
Note
Hiii, I have read all your work and it is very good :D!! I've read it several times and never get bored.
Can I ask about something? I'm curious about the characteristics or signs of yandere appearing in Tim. Will he be the last family member to become a yandere? Sorry I asked like this because I feel like he's not getting enough attention in drabbles, questions from other readers, or anything else. So I'm curious.
I hope you understand my question. Because English is not my first language.
Tumblr media
— masterlist !
don't mind me using the tags here, i want to clarify a lot of things.
hi anon!! don't worry about your english, i understand perfectly and it's also not my first language too hehe. and to all the others who have asked about tim's (or any other characters') appearance in the series: fear not, nobody is getting ignored at all, i intend for everyone to have their designated events/moments that trigger yandere characteristics for the reader for each chapter. it's my plan to make them each as unique as possible with their intentions, motives and goals, not just them being simply "obsessed" with you, so i'm trying my best to add depth to the story.
that means the entire series will stretch out quite a lot (i already have outlined multiple arcs, flashbacks, and all the characters' individual traits and significance). it's not just going to be ten chapters, i want to remind others that there's more lore to just the neglect, your mother's dark past, and characters that haven't even been introduced to the plot yet, so if you guys prefer one-shots or something shorter, then the series is not for you folks, sorry 😭
as for tim, he is quite literally my favorite character (surprise!), so of course he's going to get special treatment. he's not going to be the last to become yandere, but his spiral to becoming a yandere takes quite a lot of time since compared to others, it's him who spends the least amount of moments with you. even in the non-neglected au i wrote, what triggered his obsession was mere curiousity.
though just because there're lesser events with him, doesn't mean there will be none. he certainly plays a major role in the "wild goose chase arc where the family tries to negotiate (kidnap) you whilst you try to escape to multiple cities/end up in a completely different country". he may not express his love for the reader well, but he most definitely knows the most about you.
oh! and the traits that he does have as a yandere looks tame when you compare it to others, but it's also because it manifests through his personal dialogue (as i reckon he's keeps most of his thoughts about you to himself most of the time (gatekeeper archetype) and he's the character with the most internal dialogue/thoughts too). he's the worst stalker you could have, the one who you should look out for the most with just how much he knows about you in such a short period of time. tim's intelligence and detective skills knows no bounds, and he won't stop exhausting himself until the very knowledge of what the blood pumping under your skin feels like and the exact temperature of your body— is extracted and stored into the terabytes of data he has into his personal batcave.
and spoiler alert: he's also the one who uncovers your mother's past and alongside bruce, what had happened between the period of time when you were dragged out of the closet and the other time in elementary when you were nearly kidnapped, which completely leads to another arc wherein it's where their obsession drives off to a completely different plane of existence, exalting vengeance on the people who tormented you; but tim's pettiness is just on a whole nother level.
and i have to stop here before i (excitedly) spoil the entire series' plot LMAO. my answer to this is a bit more casual to the other asks, so i hope it doesn't irritate anyone.
so thank you for asking this! i also have a question for you people too:
how is the current progression of the plot? i get that it isn't even 10% finished and some moments feel slow, but i try to be as immersive as possible to the readers. so for those who have read the entire thing, what do you want me to possibly add, or does anyone have other clarifications? can anyone tolerate a fanfic that can possibly lead to more than 250k words??? 😭
Tumblr media
193 notes · View notes
ahgasegotarmy116 · 16 hours ago
Text
Just Take It | Jeon Jungkook | Part 8
Tumblr media
Summary: Jungkook's feelings for you have grown immensely and he can't hold himself back from being honest anymore. Pairing: Inexperienced f!reader x Best Friend's Dad Jungkook (20 year age gap) Word Count: 2.6K~ (I know it's short but it was at a good stopping point and I couldn't figure out how to continue it without a big time skip/harsh break so yeah enjoy this mini chapter 😅) Warnings: No warnings just fluff a/n: Another almost four months and I only have a little bit for you 😔 I'm still trying to figure out how I want to go about finishing this story (yes it's close to the end) so please bear with me 😪 but either way I hope you enjoy!
Ever since I told him last month that I didn't want to be friends anymore and by default telling him that I wanted to be with him things have been different.
We've settled into a new routine with the tension between us no longer burning to the point I shy away but something that feel natural, domestic even. 
I guess you could say that's pretty obvious from the fact that we're living together but his subtle touches are welcomed and expected.
Things as simple as his hand on my lower back as he passes by or his arms wrapped around me from behind with his chin propped up on my shoulder or even a kiss on the forehead are all things that we've settled into and it makes me feel loved. 
Love is still a scary word for me to think about or even say aloud but it's something I feel towards him, deeply, hopelessly, painfully.
At times I remember that things could suddenly change without warning. That he could toss me out as soon as he gets fed up with waiting like Jared did. That he cou-. 
"Ow!" I cry out when he pinches my side, "What was that for?" I whine, the spot he abused  already sore. "I've been calling your name for five minutes and you didn't respond so..." he chuckles and I hum, not having the energy to scold him further. 
He wraps his arms around my waist and props his chin on my shoulder just like I had been thinking about while spacing out, leaving me relaxing into him, the feeling of being in his arms taking away some of the anxiety that had started to build. 
"You okay?" he asks, placing a kiss on my cheek to which I hum again, nodding along with it. "You sure, because you've been stirring your coffee for the past seven minutes" he says, my hand stilling once he points it out. 
I take a drink of the completely cold beverage and sigh in defeat, realizing that his words are true. 
"I wanted it cold anyways" I mumble and turn to walk over to the freezer to add some ice, Jungkook letting go but still staying close. 
"Something's wrong" he says after observing me for another second or two, very used to reading my body language. "Nothing's wrong I'm just...tired" I reply and the truth is I am. 
"My internship has been kicking my ass and I don't know, I guess it's all starting to catch up to me" I relent and he takes a turn humming, knowing I'm not telling him the whole truth. 
"You know you can tell me anything right?" he says, coming closer and cradling my face in his hands, granting him a sad smile in return. 
"I know, but I promise I'm fine. It's just been a long week that's all" he studies my features for a while and decides to take my word for it, seeing that I'm not ready to talk about it. He nods his head a tiny bit before leaning in and giving me a soft kiss on my lips, one that lasts but a moment before pulling away.
"You wanna watch something tonight?" he asks and I smile as my answer, making him chuckle. "I'll make the snacks if you wanna go choose" he offers and I nod, my face still cradled in his hands so he gives me one last kiss before letting go and leaving our source of entertainment up to me.
~~~~
As the movie we've already watched and fallen in love with plays Jungkook notices my absence even though I'm cuddled up next to him, my reactions being minimal to nonexistent.
The parts we always laugh at are met with the sounds of his enjoyment and not mine so he pauses it and waits for me to notice which I don't for a while leaving him even more worried. 
"What's going on in that pretty little head of yours Bunny? Did I do something wrong?" he asks and I sit up, needing him to know that he hasn't. "No, no you've been wonderful, better than I deserve honestly" I say, mumbling the last part but of course he hears it loud and clear.
"I'm good to you because I love you and you do deserve it, that's all" he admits so freely that I almost don't catch it. "You...what?" I ask, almost too scared to breathe. "I love you" he says with a crooked smile, clearly enjoying my practically speechless state.
I sit there for a minute, stunned into silence, not having expected that at all but he just laughs. "What? You didn't think I loved you?" he asks, brushing a stray strand of hair off of my face, letting his fingers trail down my neck before withdrawing his hand.
"No...I mean maybe? Isn't it a little too early for I love you's?" I ask, tentative to say it after I had been burned by...
"I don't think so. I mean it might be forward but I've loved you for a long time and I've cared about you even longer. You're someone that has been a constant in my life for many many years and the fact that you've given me permission to hold you, kiss you...well it's something that I don't think I can hold back anymore" he confesses, making me feel as though my heart might explode. 
"I-" "You don't have to say anything. Take your time and only say it if you truly mean it Darling. I don't want to rush you into anything you're not ready for" he says, chancing caressing my face again and rubbing his thumb along my bottom lip. 
"Come here" he says and pulls me in, having me straddle him not for anything sexual but just for the need to hold me close. 
I burry my face in his neck and he rubs my back, knowing that I feel vulnerable since although he's not rushing me, I know he'll be waiting for an answer. 
"I'm scared" I mumble against his skin and he hums, understanding the situation honestly more than I wish he did. He witnessed the ups and downs of the relationship between Jared and I and sat on the sidelines, knowing he could treat me better but caring about me too much to take away my right to make my own decisions and choose who I love even if it wasn't him. 
"Take your time Bun. You know I'll always be here for you, no matter how long it takes" he reassures me of what I knew, making me nod and wrap around him even tighter, taking his words as genuine but still terrified that this could all slip away at any moment. 
~~~~
A week goes by and I still haven't said it and it's killing me.
When he says goodbye he says it, whenever we've been intimate he says it, he even says it randomly just to try to make me smile but my mind won't truly let it sink in until I say it back.
"Baby?" he asks, knocking on my partially ajar door, seeing that I've been taking a little while longer to get out of bed this morning. 
I hum and let him come in, trying to assess the state I'm in before saying anything else as he comes and sits down on my side of the bed, looking down at me and placing his hand on my waist. I'm still laying down, not having made an effort to get up just yet which I know worries him as well but he doesn't push me too hard. 
"You not feeling well?" he asks, now going to check my temperature with the back of his hand but not noticing a fever of any sort making his theory very short lived. "No, just tired" I say quietly, not having spoken a word since I woke up, my voice still raspy which I can tell he enjoys but doesn't comment on this time.
"You want me to make you something? It's already lunch time and you haven't eaten all day huh?" he asks, knowing the answer but still allowing me the chance to reply. "Yeah maybe something simple like a sandwich?" I request and he nods.
"Want me to get it from that sandwich place we love?" he suggests, rubbing small circles on my waist but I shake my head. "No I'm craving one of your sandwiches" I say making him smile, knowing one of his favorite forms of praise is compliments on his cooking. 
"Okay Bun, the usual?" he asks, knowing exactly what I want but asking just in case I'm feeling like something a little different today but I nod my head in approval making him lean down and place a kiss on my forehead before asking if I want him to bring it up here to which I decline. 
"I need to get out of bed at some point" I say and he shrugs, "You're allowed to have a lazy day every once in a while if you'd like. I could even come join you later on?" he proposes making me smile, in favor of his suggestion. 
"Can we take a nap after lunch?" I ask and he smirks a bit, testing the waters to see what I'm actually asking for. "Just a regular nap this time" I roll my eyes leaving him sighing dramatically before leaving, telling me he'll call me down when it's ready.
Once he's gone the doubt that has been plaguing my mind comes circling back.
'What if he's just saying that to take pity on me? What if he's saying it to rush me into something I'm not ready for? What if-' I groan, cutting off the spiral that I send myself down every time I'm alone and throw the blankets off before going into my bathroom and throwing cold water on my face, glaring at myself in the mirror, daring me to keep acting like this.
He loves me. He loves...me. Why am I so torn up about this? People say it all the time so it's not like it's the end of the world. It's just that...well next time I say it I want to mean it. The next time I say it I want it to be real. 
I want to say it to the man that I'll promise to say it to forevermore. 
Call me a hopeless romantic all you want but if I'm going to trust someone with my heart again I don't want to regret it...
~~~~
"Here you go Bunny" he says and places my sandwich in front of me. "I love you" I mumble, softer than I've ever said anything before but it makes his movements stutter. 
"What was that Darling?" he asks, sitting down in the seat next to me at the table. "I um...I said 'Thank you'" I chicken out and although he wants to call me out on it he doesn't.
"You're welcome baby" he says, his smile a little brighter when he realizes that I'm trying, that I want to say it too but I just don't have the confidence yet. 
"Anything for you" he finishes and caresses my cheek before getting up and grabbing his plate along with our drinks. 
"You sure you're feeling alright?" he asks, my silence through lunch palpable since whenever he tries to start up a conversation I give him small short answers that make his efforts die in his throat. 
"I've just been feeling a little funky that's all" I say and he hums, contemplating his next words which surprise me. "I'm sorry" he says, defeated and honestly quite vulnerable. "Why are you apologizing?" I ask, not thinking that he would have done anything that would require something like that. 
"I knew you weren't ready and I rushed things but I wanted to be able to say what I felt for you because it was eating me alive. Having to cut off my sentences and not being able to speak my mind fully, holding you as close to my heart as possible but not being able to tell you that you had it in the palm of your hand already I just...I couldn't do it anymore" he says, his whole demeanor shifted into an almost sorrowful state that I can't hold it back anymore.
I can't keep hurting him like this when all I want to do is scream it for all to hear, even if the thought terrifies me.
"I love you" I say making his head pop up from it's dropped state, then feeling guilty and looking at his lap again as a result. "You don't have to say it just because I did. I just wanted to apologize because I know that that's was why you've been feeling so off lately" he says but I shake my head. 
"The thought of giving my heart to someone again scares the shit out of me. After...well after going through all of that the thought of opening myself up again was not something I wanted to do. I will admit I sought you out out of lust at first but as our friendship and eventual relationship began to grow I realized that I cared about you a whole lot more that I should" I say, me now with my head turned down, not being able to keep the intense eye contact he's giving me, hanging on every word. 
"I didn't know if you were doing these things for me because you felt sorry or because you truly cared. I know now that doubting your motives was honestly my own self doubt getting the best of me. You've done nothing but love and care for me since the beginning and I haven't let myself fully process the fact that I'm..." I cut myself off and take a deep breath.
"The fact that I'm falling in love with you" and although he said those words first the admission alone has me feeling as though he hadn't, as if he would change his mind now that I reciprocated his confession but he does anything but that, further confirming his true intentions for me as he pulls me closer. 
He doesn't pull me in with a carnal passion in mind, he doesn't even pull me in for a kiss, he pulls me in and holds me close, telling me wordlessly that he's proud of me. That he's proud of me for taking that step, for trusting him with my heart, my mind, soul, fully consumed by him without abandon.
"Thank you" he whispers, his face being buried in my hair making me laugh at the ticklish feeling. "Don't make it weird" I say and poke his side making him flinch and hold me tighter. "How can I not? The woman I love loves me back" he chuckles and when I try to pull back he squeezes me tighter. 
"Just let me have my moment" he huffs making me sigh and return his crushing embrace. "I love you" he says making me burry my face into his neck, mumbling it against his skin in return. 
"Nah nah nah, say it like you mean it" he says, pushing me back just enough so he can look at me. "But I do mean it!" I roll my eyes, playing into his pouty act. "Come on, say it!" he says, pushing me back and forth, making me sway. 
"I already said it, why do you need to hear it again?" I chuckle when his pout gets deeper. "Okay fine" I give in making his brows raise at my quick defeat. "I love you" I whisper in his ear and then run away, his hold on me having loosened from pure shock of my honesty, knowing now that I truly truly mean it. 
"Get back here!" he scolds once he's come back down to earth, the surprise replaced with determination, his intentions being to not let me go til sunrise.  
prev / next Series Masterlist
Taglist: @jkslipppiercing @trina864 @kaitieskidmore97 @goddesofimortality @coolbluedude @coralmusicblaze @whoa-jo @00frenchfries00 @pastelpinkjoon Tags continued in the comments 💜
Join my Taglist!
Feel free to fill out the form or just comment on any of my fics to be added :)
116 notes · View notes
siggiedraws · 2 days ago
Note
I like your essay but does it really irk you if Sonic is Ever portrayed differently even somewhat in other media? He can still have great character even if it doesn't always fit your ideal for it
Thank you, I'm glad you like my essay! My response to this will be quite long-winded, so bear with me.
I am not oblivious to how irrational it may come across for me to essentially admit I dislike all different interpretations of Sonic. But personally speaking, if I am to be completely honest with myself, yes, it does irk me. Their differences almost always compromise Sonic’s appeal, making them unlikeable to me.
My question is, if you are going to remove what makes pre-existing material so special in an adaptation, why is it even an adaptation of pre-existing material? This is a rhetorical question; I know the answer is purely due to cynical marketability reasons. Media is almost guaranteed to generate money if it features a popular, recognizable character. For obvious reasons, I do not think prioritizing marketability over artistic integrity is a good thing that should be defended or encouraged.
My argument is simple: Is it possible for a different interpretation of Sonic to be a good character? Sure, in a vacuum. You can replace any beloved character in fiction with Sonic instead by doing nothing but slapping some blue spikes on it and calling it a day.
My issue is that wouldn't make it a good interpretation of Sonic the Hedgehog because there is no reason for it to be Sonic.
I feel that now is a good time to finally talk about this.
My wariness of divergences in Sonic adaptations, is in part, based in the knowledge that the people at Sonic Team had their creative vision completely disrespected and dismissed overseas.
Tumblr media
(SOURCE) - Yasushi Yamaguchi's Twitter
Tumblr media
(SOURCE) - Masato Nishimura's Twitter
Tumblr media
(SOURCE)
Tumblr media
(SOURCE)
Tumblr media Tumblr media
(SOURCE)
Sonic Team had no say or power in how Sonic was depicted in the U.S. In some cases, they had no idea that changes were even made until they were told by someone.
There is this distinct sense of cultural superiority coming from Sega of America. Did you know that Sega of America considered Sonic's design "unsalvageable" and insisted it needed to be changed? Did you know that Sega of America tried to "educate" Sega of Japan at character design because they saw them as incompetent at designing good characters?
Tumblr media
(SOURCE)
Yes, this is primarily about Sonic's design being "too Japanese." This is corroborated in Sonic the Hedgehog Gametap Retrospective.
As an artist, it is really devastating to hear this story. Putting myself in Sonic Team's shoes yields nothing but sorrow. This flagrant disrespect towards artists' creative visions is odious to me.
Now compound this with the fact that Sonic has had a consistent lack of fidelity in adaptations since he was created, especially in the West, and I hope you can see my perspective here.
To go back to my initial topic on Sonic's characterization, I think that my position can come across unreasonable if you are a person who does not feel particularly strongly one way or another about it. It is completely fine to feel this way. Everyone can enjoy media however they please. For the vast majority of media I consume, I do not pay nearly as much attention and devotion to character consistency.
Sonic is different.
Sonic as a character is extremely important to me. He has gotten me through many hard times in my life and he continues to endlessly inspire me. Whenever I am faced with a tough situation, I hear Sonic’s voice in my head, encouraging me to be strong. Encouraging me to do my best. Encouraging me to keep living. Sonic is my favourite fictional character of all time. He means so much to me that it’s impossible to put into words.
I don’t want to get too emotional here, but I believe that a character like Sonic should continue to propagate and stay culturally relevant because I think kids nowadays really deserve a character like that in their lives. How he is characterized and used in the narrative in Sonic media really matters. There are Tailses in the world who need to learn how to be confident. There are Blazes in the world who need to learn how to accept help. There are Elises in the world who need to learn to let go of the responsibilities that burden them. There are Shahras in the world who struggle from having been in abusive relationships. And there are Merlinas in the world who are afraid of death. These people would benefit from a positive figure to guide them out of dark places.
My feelings about Sonic are far from an anomaly. See an excerpt from this artwork by sludgetoons, in response to this video essay:
"This one fucking video finally has made me realize WHAT Sonic is to me. he's my hero he's my inspiration hell hes a role model yes but none of those terms ever felt right to place onto this character that is so beautifully painted to be this characters free from the shackles of humanity and a need to be "relatable". He's not a hero or a role model, hes a DIRECTION. Sonic himself is an impossible goal to reach as a person, but just trying to live my life in a way that is free, appreciating the world that is around me, exploring and climbing and running and rebelling, lending a hand where I can but understanding ultimately im free to do as I please and I owe no one anything as they owe me nothing. as long as i am FOLLOWING him in those big footprints those red sneakers leave I am becoming a better version of myself. The goal is not to become Sonic, that's impossible. But by ignoring that impossibility and pushing on anyways I still WONT become Sonic. but I'll inadvertently become this better version of myself.
There's no way I can explain it properly how much this character means to me. When I picked up the pencil to draw for the first time it was because I thought he looked cool and inspired me and I wanted to replicate that magic. When I was feeling trapped in my past relationship and thought I had no say in what was happening to me his voice was in my head telling me this wasn't right and that "I could do anything". Start of 2024 I found myself asking "what would sonic do" more often than ever and 2024 was the best year of my entire fucking life. I couldn't give a fuck if it makes me seem insane he made who who I am and I love myself and I hope someday somehow, in another time or space, I can meet him just to say thank you."
This is just someone spilling their heart out on the internet about how much they love Sonic. It has over 9,000 likes at the time of this post.
I do not like different interpretations of Sonic.
None of them inspire power in others quite like this.
78 notes · View notes
sarahsangelicdoll · 15 hours ago
Note
ditzy doll reader gets upset when Rafe doesn't give her enough attention and talks with jj at a party to make him mad and finally pay attention to her
lowk something she’d do when she gets super desperate for any form of attention… also wasn’t sure if you wanted this smutty but it kinda seemed like it so heh i hope you don’t mine
Rafe eyed you, who was trotting around at the party in a small small mini skirt with a hunky belt clearly from the 2000s and a pathetic excuse of a pink tube top covering the bare minimum of your breasts. Tan marks emphasizing the shape of your breasts. Your arm clung around that damned pogue JJ Maybanks’s arm. Body pushed obnoxiously up close against him. Rafe- while seeming relatively unbothered, was simmering with both jealousy and anger under the surface, and you knew it too. You saw the way his lips were in more of a line than usual and the way his jaw continuously clenched, and lastly lets not forget the way the veins in his arm were popping out more than they naturally did.
Rafe knew you were frustrated at him because he’s been busy with stuff, not being able to be at your beck and call as you pleased. Usually, you wouldn’t be too upset, and definitely wouldn’t pull this shit. Perhaps that silly little head of yours got too far ahead of itself because of Rafes softer behaviour as of late, as it does every once in a while, which always ends up with you in the same position: Draped over his lap on your stomach, shorts or pants long gone or in the instance you’re wearing a skirt, it’s pushed up. Panties pulled down just enough to expose your pretty pussy or completely torn off.
Which is your exact, current position. A loud smack echoing off the walls of the empty bed room and mixing with the background noise of blaring music and drunk college students. You jumped up in your spot on his thighs, whining into the mattress that you buried your head into. “‘M sorry-“ You said as Rafe’s hand ran soothingly around where he just smacked.
“Sorry?” He questioned before raising his hand and placing four consecutive slaps on each one of your ass cheeks, eliciting high pitched, pained squeaks to leave you as you clutched the sheets of the bed tighter. “‘Cause my pussy be saying a different story baby, s’it saying you liking this shit instead of feeling sorry.” He doubted your words as his hand moved down to run along your folds and down to the wet patch on his leg, all of the wetness your arousal. His middle finger rubbing tight, small circles on your clit. “Maybe since you still feel like lying to me i should just stop bringing you to all those Sabrina concerts, aye? what about that baby?”
You gasped at his harsh and threatening words, quickly shaking your head while using every ounce of resistance you had in you to not moan and prove his point. “No! please daddy, i mean it! s’i’ll never talk or touch JJ like that again! swear.” You begged and attempted to convince Rafe. You could feel his cock twitch in his shorts on your tummy, biting back a moan at the thought of his big cock that always splits you open, especially when he’s in a bad mood like this.
“Yeah? you promise?” He asked, soothing your ass with his hand still covered in your own arousal. You frantically nodded as you kicked your feet slightly, body relaxing a bit more at his soothing touch, somehow missing the underlying hint of mockery and planning that was present.
And suddenly Rafe was pulling your underwear up and skirt down. Smoothing the wrinkles of your skirt before he patted your behind. You looked up at Rafe confused as you sat up onto lap.
Rafe grinned at your confused expression, lifting you off his leg and to stand, him standing up after you. “Why you lookin at me like that baby? Said you were sorry so i stopped the punishment.” He said with faux confusion before adding in a lower tone: “Unless you were lying to me?” His tone held a hint of both mockery, amusement and completely laced with control.
You pouted slightly but shook your head no, not in the mood for an even harsher punishment just because you lied to him- and you couldn’t possibly risk your precious concert dates, “Good, then let’s go join the party yeah?” So you simply let him wrap an arm around your waist and pull you towards the door. grabbing his beer off the night stand. He took a swig and looked down at you. Big ass knowing grin on his face at your belief that you actually tricked him and your pout of disappointment. Ditzy lil you having no idea of what’ll happen when you twos get home alone <3
Tumblr media Tumblr media
⟡ ݁₊ . written by sarahsangelicdoll, 2024 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours
⟡ ݁₊ . sorry for this being so late… love you anon love 💞
70 notes · View notes
0mg-bird · 20 hours ago
Text
How Did It End?
Post Prison! Spencer x Fem!Fiancee Reader
Summary: Almost four months since Spencer came home and the fairytale that once was your life has come crashing down around you.
Warnings: ☹️ ouch. Angst. PTSD. Taylor Swift ‘How did it end?’ coded. hurt/comfort. this hurt to write, don’t hate me. Reid my poor baby has some stuff to work out.
Tumblr media
W.H. Auden once wrote,
‘Were all stars to disappear or die, I should learn to look at an empty sky and feel its total dark sublime, though this might take a little time.’
Poetry was something you were no stranger to, given the fact you taught an advanced creative writing class at the local high school.
You once enjoyed poetry.
But now, when the words feel like knives aimed at you, you can’t bear to indulge in the afternoon readings like you used to.
Instead, afternoons are spent in an apartment that somehow lost its warmth. Before, you’d claim it’s because Spencer was gone, that things would be brighter when you brought him home. He’s been home for three months, a little longer, the weather has begun to change, warping into a melancholy winter. You sit at your desk, staring at your computer screen, spinning your engagement ring around your finger.
You’ve been trying to get back into writing, trying to revisit your archived story. Though, it’s hard to revisit a fictional romance mystery when there’s nothing to inspire it.
Groaning, you delete half of the last paragraph you’ve written and try to type something that isn’t cliche. Pushing through the urge to stop, you write until the words flow thoroughly and there’s a key turning in the door.
There he was, the love of your life.
Spencer trudges into the apartment and drops his bag by the door, his shoes find a home beside it. The circles under his eyes are darker than they were this morning when he left, he runs a hand through his hair and glances over at you when you stand with a grin.
“Hi.” You do your best to beam, conveying just how much it excites you to see him.
“Hi.” He mumbles, tossing you a tight lipped smile as he walks towards the bedroom.
Trying to push away the sick feeling in your gut, you turn back to your blind optimism and take your glasses off.
It takes eight steps from the bedroom door to the closet, it takes him three steps to pace and grab casual clothes. In about a minute, he takes off his day clothes and pulls on something that doesn’t feel constricting. You memorized every foot step he makes in this home, it’s easy to focus on when you spent some time not hearing it.
By the time he comes back out to retrieve his bag and sit on the couch, you grab up your laptop and sit on the other end of the sofa.
Paperwork and files soon lay on the coffee table and you watch him organize and complete end of the day tasks. Patiently waiting your turn, when Spencer finally relaxes back into the cushions, you slide closer.
“How was your day?” You ask.
He grunts. “Nothing worth talking about. Oh, I’m going to Connecticut next week to do a seminar, I’ll be gone two days.”
You nod. “That’s exciting, right?”
He shrugs, then there’s silence.
You scoot closer. “I was working on some things, I think I’m finally getting back into the groove of it. You want to read the last chapter I made?”
He motions to the coffee table. “Yeah, just leave it there and I’ll take a glance later. I’m debating on if I want to shower before dinner or after.”
“I was thinking we could go out for dinner, we haven’t in a while.” You offer with a hopeful smile.
Spencer frowns. “I’m not really feeling a social scene right now.”
“Oh, yeah, no, of course.” You quickly say. “We could do take out then, Italian maybe?”
He shakes his head. “We shouldn’t do take out anymore, it’s basically inviting a serial killer into our home, giving him some place to come back later when I’m not around.”
Right. The paranoia.
You knew things were going to be different when Spencer came home, and you did your best to adjust with an open mind. Sleepless nights consoling him, countless days spent trying to pull him from his own mind. Through tears and breaking points and a few instances where he utterly scares you, you know he’s still your same Spence, but just a little hardened now. He’s still the man who spent too much on a ring, still the dorky guy you fell for those years ago.
Things are just…a little rough.
“Okay.” You say to his statement. “I’ll whip something up then.”
At the sight of your willingness to give something up, he feels immensely bad.
“No.” He sighs, shaking his head. “No, I’m being stupid. Italian sounds fine.”
The bad habit of being too harsh on himself has been hard to kick, but it’s getting better… you think.
So you order Italian and eat in front of the television while Spencer fact checks what the characters are saying, criticizing the antics of these fictional people. It feels so normal, the whole situation, it makes you momentarily have amnesia, as if the two of you are exactly like before. You lean into his side and laugh at the sitcom, thinking that this Spencer hasn’t experienced what he has, that everyone around the two of you still feel the happy affects of your love, that you test wedding cakes and look for a bigger place. A place the two of you can buy together and start a family.
“I’m gonna shower.” He says, rubbing your shoulder.
Looking up at him, you smile playfully. “Want company?”
There it was, that reminder that things weren’t like before.
He kind of just shakes his head with a smile and leaves without anything else.
You know he doesn’t mean to, but sometimes he makes you feel about an inch tall. He used to look at you with this heavy gaze, something needy, something that never failed to make you feel like the prettiest girl in the world. His hands would find a home on your skin, he used to kiss for fun.
You don’t remember exactly when he last gripped you in a way that wasn’t just polite.
You know he has fears, he has it in his head that he is a danger to himself and you, that his hands are murderous, but it doesn’t feel the best when you’re constantly rejected by the man you’re going to marry.
Rubbing your eyes, you clean up the dinner mess and then go to the bedroom to slip into pajamas. The floor length mirror shines your reflection, you stop to stare.
Maybe you weren’t the first pick, maybe you hated what you saw sometimes, but the thing about Spencer was he was so sure that no one could ever do it like you. A slew of compliments he’d give you, the fever of his love was scorching.
You give the girl in the mirror a smile, then comb her hair with your fingers and smooth your tank top.
Silly enough, you turn to the side, wrapping your arms around an invisible bump, and you smile fondly at the thought. Two kids. A boy and a girl. Little geniuses. That’s what he and you would talk about. The next thing after he marries you, the next thing he’d do was give you a baby. He swore up and down at night when you laid with your head on his beating heart, he’d give you the family you craved and your face would hurt from smiling so much.
All plans are at a stand still now.
And that’s okay, wasn’t it? This was a rough patch and you’re helping Spencer get through it because you’d help him with anything-
The bedroom door opens, Spencer walks in and you step away from the looking glass.
“I’m going to get ready for bed.” You mumble, walking past him, cheeks burning red.
To say the least, Spencer feels horrible. Here you were, giving him your undying loyalty, holding his hand through all of it, and he’s the reason life has stopped. You’re so brave about it, always patient and understanding.
He hates it.
You should be angry, you should be arguing. He knows his bad moods kill you, he knows you’re waiting for things to be normal again and they won’t. You get up in the middle of the night when he’s asleep and put on your wedding dress, just to smile at yourself and promise that soon, it’ll be better. You think he doesn’t realize, that he’s passed out, but from the bed he watches you turn in front of the mirror and bite your lip, the way you always do when you’re too pleased with something. Then he sees you cry, softly, hand pressed to lips so you don’t make any noise and inconvenience him. You only let the break happen for a fee minutes, then you wipe your tears, take off the dress and tell yourself that it’s all alright.
Things will be okay.
What if they won’t?
What if it all just crumbles, every wall of the castles built?
It’s not a matter of ‘what if’s’ anymore, is it? Not when the two of you argue into the morning about things. You’re trying so hard to give him the benefit of the doubt but when he isn’t giving you anything at all, it makes for situations like this one.
Head in your hands, you pause for a brief moment and breathe before looking back up at Spencer. The two of you have been at this for about an hour and a half, all because you mentioned how unfair he’s being. Here you were, taking the scraps he throws to you like you’re a dog, and he’s saying it’s you who is unfair.
“I know you want things to go back to the way they were, but it’s not gonna happen.” He says in that bitter tone you hate, looking down at you, sitting on the mattress.
“I know things are different, Spencer.” You claim. “But I didn’t think I had to be okay with you hardly looking at me, or-or not baring to ask me a simple question like how my day was.”
He scoffs at you, running a hand through his unruly hair. “I’m sorry if my attention isn’t devoted to you now.”
You stand to match his position. “Don’t make me seem selfish.” You shout.
“I’m- you’re not selfish, I just…what do you want from me?” He questions, throwing his arms out and staring at you with absolutely no love in his eyes.
“What do I want?” You reword. “What I want is some progress. Every day I wake up, and I do my best to convince you that you’re not something evil, that these unforeseen circumstances don’t define you, and it’s like I’m stuck in a loop. I can’t help you if you don’t help yourself.”
A lump forms in your throat, your eyes burn but you can’t find it in yourself to let those tears fall.
“That’s the problem!” Spencer shouts. “You’re looking at me like I’m some sort of sick animal and I can’t stand it!”
“You’re looking at me like I’m not the love of your life anymore, so I suppose some things change.”
Silence.
Spencer’s at a loss for words.
Your tears start falling now. You wipe at them with fever.
“I’m trying to give you time, Spence.”
“Angel-” He tries to interrupt, only to be stopped with the movement of your hand in the air, halting him.
“Don’t. Don’t be like this. I know this hasn’t been easy for you, but I have felt so alone.” You say with a squeak. “And you just… don’t care.”
He shakes his head, demeanor changing. “Of course I care!”
“Really? Because it feels like you gave up on me when you gave up on yourself.” You gasp lightly, trying to calm your shaking hands. “And that’s mean, baby. I know you have been through so much and you lost the game of chance, and I’m sorry- I am so sorry, but you can’t toss me aside like I haven’t formed my whole life around you!”
It’s strange, standing in a room that once knew laughter and the warmth of your escapades. Only now, it’s ghostly and tired and blue. Spencer wants to defend it, wants to shout that you’re just not understanding him but it’s wrong. You understand him better than anyone ever has, and you’re immensely right, he’s abusing the situation. He knows all of this and can’t help but back peddle like his life depends on it.
“I’m not trying to toss you aside, I’m sorry.” He says, reaching out to grab you, deciding his touch can’t be your downfall.
But you side step him. “But you are, do you not understand? Use that smart head of yours to realize the instance here.” You plead. “If you’re done trying, then I am to because I have no more to give. I’m empty, you took it all from me, Spence. What do I get in return? Nothing, not even a fucking marriage.”
There’s a certain level of hurt that mixes with the anger and creates something crazy in your brain, makes it malfunction and all your repressed thoughts come out.
As you go to leave the bedroom, Spencer follows after. “What does that mean?” He asks.
You need to get out, these walls are whispering with your promises of a future, they’re getting louder.
“You aren’t going to marry me.” You state, searching for some place to hide and sink away.
“Of course I am.” He claims, calling your name to stop you.
“You can’t even pretend like you love me, Spencer, you aren’t going to marry me.”
A hand catches your arm and spins you to face him. His eyes are confused and reeling.
“I do love you, I always have.”
There’s a waver in his voice, is there?
I swallow. “Say it again. With feeling.”
“I love you!”
As the air leaves your lungs in a death rattle sort of way, you just can’t feel the warmth. It makes sense, ghosts have no heat, no matter how beloved they are. You know he expects you to give a different statement than what you do, and it hurts when you tell him the truth.
“I don’t think that’s enough now.”
“Don’t say that.” His tone comes out angrier than intended.
“I just did.”
One might describe him as a scared dog, one who lashes out now like he never used to.
“It’s not enough? Then why don’t you just spare yourself?” He spits, resembling a man you’ve never known, tossing your arm aside, probably too harshly.
The knife twists in your chest, you’re convinced you’re bleeding. Slowly, you nod. The ring seems to hold on for dear life, but you still pull it from your finger and offer it forward.
Everything inside of him feels sick as he reaches out his hand, watching as you drop the diamond into his palm.
With your heartbeat in your ears, you go to the door, sliding into your shoes and grabbing your heavy coat to brave into the weather. With Spencer calling your name, you shut the door on his impending questions of where you’re going.
Spencer stares at the door, and for a moment he can’t believe it all happened like it did. But he said the words and you followed his lead like the faithful partner you are and now you’re gone.
It takes him twenty two minutes before he begins to really panic. What if you’re gone forever? What if some force is going to take you now? Where did you go? Are you cold?
And if you left, that meant he’s alone for good, alone like he’s always been. How could he do this to you? He’s horrible, he’s a monster, all of those things he’s thought about are true.
He sets the ring on the counter, then throws the dirty coffee mug into the sink with such force, it breaks.
He paces the apartment while you stand at Penelope’s door, your dearest friend you only know because of Spencer, trying to hold it together until she comes to find you.
“What happened?” She asks, taking in your appearance.
“I don’t– know.” You sob out.
Two weeks later…
…It’s a weird feeling, having your spine split in half from carrying so much weight uphill for so long. You know a lot about weird feelings now, that empty space in your chest, Spencer sized, that’s your new lover.
Penelope sets a duffel bag by the pullout couch where you hardly move from, she’s been making trips to the apartment over the days to retrieve what you need.
“Hey, lovebug.” She coos softly, sitting by your knees, petting your mess of hair. “How was work?”
You open your mouth to tell her it was fine, that today was actually a good day, all the way up until Spencer texted you and asked if you wanted to move all of your things out.
A strangled sigh leaves your cracked lips.
This sums up how the last two weeks have been, and you wonder if Pen is a little embarrassed for you yet, the way you can hardly get out of bed.
“Emily and JJ and I are going out…why don’t you take a shower and come with us? It’ll make you feel better.” She says in such a gentle tone, one she’s learned that can get you to do anything.
It drags you to the shower, where you sag against the wall and do your daily crying. Then you get dressed and tame your hair and somehow make it to the bar.
Emily and JJ look at you with pity and you have no energy to be upset.
“Reid’s not enjoying it either.” Emily offers in a corner booth, because the conversation has turned to discussing the loss of your life.
Pen and JJ nod in agreement.
The BAU feels like they’re going through this break up at the way Spencer’s moods affect all of them. They’ve never known his anger like they do now, how he’s quick to snap, how the littlest thing sets him off. They’ll spare you, they won’t tell you how he swiped the picture frames off his desk, the ones of you and him. They won’t mention the fact that he hasn’t smiled once, that he looks like he doesn’t sleep.
They won’t tell you any of this but they’ll offer words of condolence or comfort, neither work.
“It’s going to be alright.” Emily encourages, squeezing your hand from across the table. “Heartache doesn’t stay forever.”
JJ nods like it’s going to fix the way you’re as empty as a drum.
“We all know how you’re feeling, don’t worry.” She says, her perfect, Barbie doll smile.
It makes you sick. You really shouldn’t take the anger out on anyone, but you do because there’s so much of it and you can’t stop it from flowing.
“You know what I’m going through?” You question her.
“Yes, I’ve had heartaches too.”
You suddenly can’t stand being here, you need to leave.
“You can go home to a husband, Jennifer, you don’t know how I feel.”
With those as your parting words, you flee, you tell Penelope you need air and you’ll see her at her apartment.
While you brave the cold city, the three women ask themselves how it could have possibly ended like this, with the greatest love of all in shambles. JJ calls Reid, of course she does.
“You need to fix this.” She tells him.
“…How is she?” He asks, sitting on the sofa, eyeing the framed pictures on the wall.
“She’s…lost. She’s ghostly, she-…Spencer, she loves you and she can’t stop. Fix it.”
“I don’t know how.” He says, monotone.
“How did it end, anyway?” She asks, seeing Emily and Penelope return with more drinks.
Spencer sort of sighs, though it’s sad and broken.
“I don’t know.”
- - - -
The air bites, it’s as cold as you feel, makes your bones ache. You wander in hopes of getting lost permanently, but to no avail, you know your city. Your city that feels so harsh and cruel, it’s one big reminder that you used to not walk the sidewalks alone, that you once stole kisses under streetlights. And as you’re walking down fifth avenue and memory lane, your feet drag you to the place you really want to go. In the time you left the bar and got frostbite from the early stages of falling snow, you’ve worked yourself up enough to believe you could stand your ground. Your anger has made a platform to stand on, you’re at the top of the fucking podium by the time you knock on the apartment door.
Why are you knocking?
Your name is on the fucking lease.
You shove the key in the lock and barge in, mouth agape, ready to fire.
And then you see it.
The bedroom door is only halfway shut, but you see movement. In the room that is gray and sullen, Spencer stands with his back to the door, staring at the cascade of white that he has laid on the bed like a memorial, like it was an open casket viewing.
Your podium shrinks.
“I was going to wear my hair up.” You say, causing him to turn and face you.
He’s tired, hair messy, unshaven, and those round brown eyes are the saddest things you’ve ever seen.
“I like your hair up.” He says, the words echo off exposed brick walls.
Heart beats pass, ba-bum ba-bum in your ears and you quickly huff and bush melted snow through your hair.
“I’ll get my things out now, if you want.” You say, choosing words carefully, eyes watching the way his avoid you.
“I don’t have any boxes.” He says, fingers brushing satin and lace before he picks the dress back up, puts it in the dust bag and death marches it to you. “You would’ve looked beautiful…you always look beautiful.”
How is it he can be so blissfully unaware? The smartest man you’ve ever known and he’s saying things to break your heart, with no clue that he’s doing it. You take that dress- that beautiful, vintage gown with the hundred fabric buttons running down the back, and lay it over your arm, then rock back on your heels.
“I can grab what I can and come by when you’re at work to get the rest.” You offer, wishing he’d say all the things you want him to say, like stay and I’m an idiot and I love you.
Spencer only nods. “Yeah. That works.”
“Okay…” You whisper, then drape the dress over the reading chair in the corner, the one too small for the both of you. You used to curl as small as possible on his lap with your legs over the arm and your head on his shoulder.
Every corner of this place is haunted.
In the closet, you pull the string and the lightbulb burns orange. You grab the two handheld suitcases, the ones you came home to find on the bed one day with Spencer telling you he was taking you to London while your school was on Spring Break.
When you come back out, Spencer’s left the room. There was no way he could watch you pull open the drawers where your things sat beside his.
With a knot in your throat, you fold and place things neatly and keep your cool like the mature adult you are.
That is until you grab the MIT t-shirt you’ve worn in. It’s a light gray color now, the neckline stretched so it only hangs right on you and not Spencer. Holding the ratty shirt you refuse to let him toss, that’s when you decide you don’t want to be a mature adult.
You’re a teenager with a broken heart is what it feels like, the world is ending and your soul has been split in half.
One tear comes, and then another, and one more until your face is soaked with your desperation and mourning. You ball that silly t shirt up at toss it away, and decide those suitcases are insufferable and onto the floor they go.
You stare at them, the clatter they made did nothing for comfort. With a raspy sigh, you sink to your knees to put everything back inside, and your blurry eyes drift to Spencer’s socks that appear in front of you after he hears the bang.
Wordlessly and gentle, he lowers his tall frame to crouch in front of you. The look in his eye is fools gold, it makes you think he’s the Spencer he was before everything.
You look at him, sure you look like a mess but you don’t care. Your chapped lips part and he’s prepared for the scolding, for your temper.
It doesn’t come.
“We were supposed to grow old together.” You sob out. “It was gonna be you and me, Spence, wearing matching outfits when we’re eighty, going to senior discount days at the theater.”
Those are the words that bring him back to reality, and the fall is harsh and he’s mortified that he’s done this to you.
You hiccup for air, pushing his hand away that tries to grab the suitcase. “I was going to walk down the aisle to an instrumental version of Heartbeat by The Fray, it’s unconventional but it’s my favorite song.”
“I know.” He whispers sadly.
“We didn’t make a deposit on that little venue with the pond, they gave our spot away but that’s okay, we were going to figure it out because we always do. We always do, Spencer.”
You’re not even sure you’re making sense but he understands, you could go mute completely and he’d understand because you’re his person, who he’s ruined.
“I know. I know, baby, I know.” He keeps repeating, adjusting to pull you away from the mess and into him.
With no strength left, you have no fuel for the fight. You fall into him, face in his chest as he sits against the bed and hugs you like he’s not seen you in years. It’s what it feels like, he hasn’t had you this close in too long. His fingers press into your skin, the warmth is almost groundbreaking in feeling, makes him unsure of where to hold you because he wants to touch everywhere, all at once. A lifeless frame full of hunger, you can’t move as you feel his caring grip in your hair, his lips to your crown as you can’t seem to get a solid breath in.
“Don’t make me leave you.” You plead, curling into him like a whimpering dog, clutching his chest to make sure there’s still a heart in there that beats for you.
Spencer’s crying now, the familiar feeling of fear in his lungs that don’t want to expand if you’re not around. He drags hair out of your face and presses his forehead to yours.
“I don’t want you to leave. Don’t leave me, don’t leave me.” He says with the emotion of the man before.
And just like that, you waltz right back into each other, you know the steps. Sitting in your fairytale, on the cold hardwood floor, listening to the steady beat of his heart, you both determine this isn’t the end of the greatest love affair they’ve ever seen.
You’re not sure how long you stay like this, in his lap, face red and salty as you stare at your bare left hand, but eventually the tears stop for the both of you. Spencer is the first to speak, he gently shifts, his hand sliding up your arm and shoulder to rest on the side of your neck, as if he’s checking your pulse.
“I’m sorry.” He rasps. “I’m sorry for everything, all of it, every single thing I did and said and ruined. I’m an idiot, angel, and you don’t know how lovely you are.”
Like water to a flame, those words are cooling. The grief and remorse in his tone makes you grab that hand checking your lifeline, and hold it.
“I’m sorry too.” You say. “For everything that went wrong and the fact I couldn’t do anything about it.”
His chest shudders, he leans down and kisses your forehead. “It doesn’t matter, it’s over now.”
You tilt your gaze up to meet his eye. “Is it?”
Bless you and the ground you walk on that he should worship better. Spencer gently runs his finger down your cheek and across your jawline. He nods then. “Yeah, baby, it is.”
71 notes · View notes
i-tripped-on-a-rock · 2 days ago
Text
HOW THE HELL ARE THERE NO SONADOW/ARTHURLOT REINCARNATION AUS OF SONIC AND THE BLACK NIGHT.
I’m so mad about this unironically. I’ve got so many ideas rn. Like, imagine the plot really happened and isn’t just a story that Sonic tells Amy. afterwards, shadow starts remembering bits and pieces.
Maybe he sees Sonic use a sword or something for some reason, and it gives him major Deja vu. Or maybe shadow uses a sword or something idk.
OR. OR OR OR.
The two of them are sparring/fighting for fun and shadow can’t help but feel like something is missing, or that something isn’t right about the fight, like they should be doing more than throwing punches or spindashing and shit.
Or shadow will look on the mirror and feel like he looks bare, even though nothing is wrong with his appearance. He never wears anything other than his gloves, rings, and air shoes, yet he feels like there should be more there. His hand feels empty, and he feels like he’s missing something vital when fighting sometimes.
Sometimes he looks at Sonic and remembers interactions between them that never happened, like a fight in a forest or a confrontation in a castle.
Or he’ll look at Sonic and see something completely different. Sonic goes super at some point to fight some bad guys and when shadow sees it happen, he could have sworn that just for a second, Sonic’s quills took on a metallic shine and his limbs were plated in gold.
Directly after Sonic comes back from SatBK, shadow notices Sonic’s odd behavior- but shadow is too wrapped up in his own strange issues to take much note of it. Sonic also picks up on shadow gradually getting more and more weird around him, and at some point puts together that shadow may remember some of what happened in SatBK.
Idk where to go from here but you get the vision.
Sorry if this is incoherent insane ramblings, it’s currently 2:30 am.
(I’m also surprised that there aren’t any Sonic prime x SatBK crossover fics as well, since they mesh together really well (if you ignore shadow being Lancelot… anyway-) and it could be a fun idea)
72 notes · View notes
linskywords · 4 hours ago
Text
2024 HRPF recs
As has become my wont, I spent the last few weeks trying to catch up on some of the new fics in the hockey RPF tag that I missed over the course of the year. I definitely didn't get to everything, or even all of the most popular ones; there may also be a bias towards shorter fics here, as I was trying to get through a lot. 😅 But I hope you enjoy, and possibly find a gem or two that you missed!
First, some general favorites:
Scoring Effects by @helenish (McDrai, 30K): Ah, Helenish. A goddess among us. I love a good mistaken identity story, and this is a GREAT mistaken identity story.
barons by dilangley (MattDrai, 43K): Future fic in which Houston gets its own expansion team, Matthew coaches it, and Leon and Trevor Zegras play on it. Gorgeously done. The Trevor POV section broke me a bit, but it was worth it.
Living Things by @makeit-takeit (TK/Patty, 115K so far): I am so deeply invested in this series. It's very real and vivid-feeling future fic that does an amazingly thoughtful job exploring the NHL wife-and-kids pipeline and what happens when that doesn't fit you as well as you thought it would. The stories that are written so far feel nicely complete, but if you'd rather hold out for the full HEA, you can check out her Wild Ice for a different highlight from the past year.
put the stars in our eyes by @notthequiettype (McDrai, 17K): the McWedding story that I wish I had written. I thought it was going to destroy me, and instead it left me all warm and fuzzy.
Lost and Found by angry_geno_is_score (MattDrai, 2K): angry_geno_is_score had so much to choose from this year, as always, and I loved this as a microcosm of the hurt/comfort they do so well. If you like it, you know where to find more from them!
Next, we move to the irresistible new Sharks babies. I'm not sure I can oversell how hot these three stories managed to be:
come on (leave me breathless) by countthestars @moondoggiestyle (Will/Mack, 10K): I've already talked about how much I loved this one. There can never be too many stories of one player catching the other getting off in the shower, especially if they're as hot as this.
revising the shoreline by ohyellowbird @teex (Will/Mack, 6K): another super well done exploring-their-sexuality-while-not-talking-about-it story, aka my kryptonite.
teamwork makes the dreamwork by canary @bigdogenergy (Will/Mack and Will/Mack/Ryan Leonard, 19K): I'm sure a lot of you have already read this in the last week or so, but I couldn't not recommend it. Mack goes into heat and Will needs an alpha to help him out. Who to call but the ex?
And then we enter the realm of vaguely devastating but gorgeously written JDTZ trade fics:
home by now by donderwolk @donderwolkenblog (Jamie/Trevor, 6K): The moment they found out about the trade, and a little bit after. Brilliant, impeccable, ruinous.
heat check by jolach @hyggles (Jamie/Trevor and also Carts/Richie, 4K): Outsider perspective on Jamie and especially Trevor as they deal with the aftermath of the trade, through the eyes of Mike Richards, who may have some experience in the area. I don't know how anyone writes this well, honestly.
Finally, one of my favorite things about reading through the past year's fics is finding a prolific new author I love who I had totally missed in my year of mostly reading people I'm already subscribed to. This year it was unsay (@tungpin). They seem to have started writing HRPF this year, and they tend toward the kind of complicated sometimes-ambiguous stories that I never manage to write but love to read. Here are a few of my favorites of theirs from this year:
malt (MattDrai, 4K): Leon meets Sasha Barkov and has feelings about how he wants to be more serious than Matthew does (OR DOES HE).
accessory to the rockstar (McDrai, 5K): once again we have Leon having thoughts about how he feels more than the person he's into, this time about Connor. Bittersweet and lovely.
the care and keeping (Jamie/Trevor, 12K): in which Trevor's friends get on Jamie's case about neglecting him post-trade, and Jamie does something about it.
That's it from me, at least for now! I know there were many excellent stories this year I didn't get to, especially the long ones that I just didn't commit to while reading for this list. Perhaps this is the year I do what I've been telling myself to do for the past two years and keep track of what I read and love throughout the year. We can only dream. 😅
Happy reading!!
56 notes · View notes
thelesbianluthor · 10 hours ago
Text
I know some people think that Emily's desire to play another character instead of Fig was the reason why she was so all over the place and lost, especially in the first half of JY.
But I honestly feel like her arc was actually incredibly needed and necessary to close her character evolution in a satisfying way. (While still leaving open doors for possible future plots with the Dawn and Sandra Lynn stuff)
Fig has been struggling to find herself since the first moment. She has had to come to terms with being a completely different race than what she thought before and deal with all the consequences of that. She had to grow out of the toxic habits that were born out of her deeply rooted insecurities that finding out about her identity and lineage caused. She had to learn to be kinder to herself. I love sophomore year, it's my favorite season for so many reasons, but I feel like Fig's arc in JY was actually her best one.
Fig being so lonely at the start of the show and her innate devotion made her becoming so focused on holding others' needs over her own an inevitability. She was always aimlessly moving through life, so talented and gifted in many ways but with no real purpose outside of being the protector.
The way JY explored her struggles with introspection and her need to devote herself to others to such an extent that she ignored a curse on herself for far too long was beautiful.
Finding Ankarna, becoming a paladin of dawn and justice and coming to a point where she could let herself choose what felt right instead of what her friends needed was incredible to watch.
I feel like Junior Year gets a lot of criticism because the overall vibe from the IH was lighter and they were having a lot of fun throughout, but the story of the season was actually beautiful to me and the overall character work was so interesting.
69 notes · View notes
fictionadventurer · 2 days ago
Text
I'm majorly overthinking the writing style of Jane Eyre.
"There was no possibility of taking a walk that day," is such a modern-sounding opening line that it shocked me. I'm not used to Victorian books putting us straight into the scene like that.
Then it quickly descends into overelaborate wordiness. Which is fine. It's an early Victorian novel, that's what they do.
Yet so far, I can't shake the feeling that something is off about the style.
Part of it is that Jane's stuck in a very dark situation. That's naturally off-putting.
I wondered if it was the fact that it was in first-person. I'm used to Victorian novels having a detached narrator who comments on the characters. Maybe I was being thrown off by a classic novel putting me so deeply in the head of one particular character.
But no, Wilkie Collins writes first-person narrators, and they're a delight.
So I can't shake the idea that the off feeling is the fact that this book has no sense of humor.
It feels weird saying that. Bronte's writing about very dark subjects. I can't say, "You should make your child abuse narrative funnier."
Yet I can't help thinking that other authors, given similar subject matter, would have found some glimmer of humor. They'd have made John Reed into a figure of ridicule--someone to mock instead of someone to fear. Or made some dry commentary on the servants or something.
Bronte takes everything completely seriously. Jane is an extremely serious narrator. We're supposed to be afraid of John, be angry, but not laugh at him. We're supposed to see the irony of how her female cousins behave, but there's no laughter at it.
And that's fine. You can have a different kind of narrator telling a different kind of story. It's just not what I'm used to seeing in British classic literature, and it's taking me a bit to adjust.
58 notes · View notes
jessjad · 2 days ago
Text
Rightfully deceived
Tumblr media
Epilogue
Summary: When a marriage promise forces Y/N to step up for her younger sister, she gets something she always wanted. But when the truth comes out, her new husband Dean is not so happy about the mix-up. Will she loose it all? Or will she be surprised in the end?
Pairing: AU!Dean Winchester x Reader
Word Count: 1079
Warnings: none really.
A/N: I hope you all had wonderful holidays and a good start into the new year! 😁 And here is the end of my story. All mistakes are mine! Enjoy!
Series Masterlist My Masterlist
Tumblr media
One year later...
It was late November again, a bitterly cold wind was blowing across the country and the first snow had already fallen. A sight that always made Y/N wistful. She looked out the window across the white fields and icy trees to the horizon, behind which the sun had now almost disappeared. The orange-red light made the snow sparkle. Her mom had loved winter, which made the memories of her death bittersweet.
A lot had happened in the last year and Y/N had often wished she could exchange a few words with her mom, ask her for advice or just hug her. She had been the good soul of her clan and had cared for everyone. A trait that the young woman hoped she had inherited. But there was no way to talk to her anymore and so Y/N had to do a lot of things alone for the first time.
It had often been difficult or even frightening, but Millie had always been by her side and supported her from woman to woman. But not just her. Dean hadn't left her alone anymore either. Although it wasn't always that easy for him too. But each situation had strengthened their relationship more and more.
When Y/N thought of her husband, she couldn't help but smile. She had loved him for so long and her heart almost burst with happiness because Dean had also loved her before. Even if it took him a long time to realize it. And he had tried to explain it to her over and over again. The Alex incident had been followed by many long nights of conversation. Honest, open hours full of feelings and affection. There had been days when she no longer believed that this was even possible.
The door behind her opened and Dean walked in, carrying some firewood under his arm. As soon as he saw his wife standing at the window turning to him with a loving smile, he had to smile too. What kind of year had it been? It had had its ups and downs and often wasn't easy, but they had persevered through everything together.
It had shocked his clan when Dean had shot Alex. Many people didn't understand it at first, but there were enough witnesses on the tower who could confirm the necessity. But it probably hit Cassie the most. In the days that followed, she seemed completely different. She had withdrawn and appeared thoughtful. After about four days, she had sincerely apologized to Y/N and Dean for her behavior and told them that she couldn't stay here any longer.
Y/N had reacted to this with mixed feelings. After all, Cassie hadn't tried to drive her away or kill her. And even though she was offended by her behavior, his wife had shown compassion. In the end, she could understand what it was like to be in love with someone for a long time without those feelings being reciprocated. But Cassie couldn't stay any longer and so they let her go.
"You okay there, my love?" asked Dean as he put more firewood on the fire.
"Yes, yes. It's just this time of year and the snow." Y/N answered and turned back to the window.
Dean stood up again and came over to her. He put his arms around her from behind and looked out into the wintry world with her for a while. He knew that it made her a little melancholy, but that also passed.
"I just prefer summer." she turned around in Dean's arms. "Especially when you're on the high seas."
He had to chuckle at that and hugged his wife a little tighter.
Y/N had accompanied him on many business trips and in May Dean had extended the business trip by three weeks and had taken her to France. Also so that he could show her the stars on the open sea on clear early summer nights.
"We can do that again next year." he replied, which earned him a beaming smile from his wife.
"But you know it won't be as easy as this year, right? After all, we're not alone anymore."
Dean smiled now. "Which probably makes it even nicer." He gave her a quick kiss on the lips and let go of Y/N to go to the second door in the bedroom, which was open a crack and gave a small glimpse into the room behind it.
They had had to switch bedrooms three months ago and had now moved into a larger room because they simply needed the extra space. And they were also closer to Sam and Millie, who had finally gotten married in July and were now overjoyed themselves.
"How is he doing?"
"No! Stop, Dean! You're gonna wake Connor up!" Y/N whispered loudly with a chuckle as she saw how Dean attempted to open the door a little further.
"He'll be fine." He replied, but hesitated for a second before he opened the door a little more.
Y/N came over to him and both looked to the small bed in which their son lied and slept peacefully.
Dean pulled Y/N to his side and she hugged him back. He placed a kiss on her hairline, enjoying the warmth she gave off. The last year had so many firsts for them and sometimes he couldn't believe how happy he was now. Dean looked at Y/N and knew that she was a big part of this and he would do anything to not lose her again.
"He has your eyes." The woman said lovingly.
"And he has your nose." Dean countered with a smile.
"Come on. We should let him sleep as long as he does so calmly and peacefully." Y/N said and turned away from the door again.
Dean did the same. "You're probably right." But his wife couldn't go far before he took her back into his arms. "Actually, I was thinking about something." Dean grinned.
"And what is that?" although Y/N already had an idea.
"I'm sure Connor would like to have a little sister." he wiggled his eyebrows and Y/N laughed. She pressed herself a little tighter against him and looked at him lovingly.
"I'm not sure if it will work that quickly, but we can practice anytime if you want." Now she wiggled her eyebrows and Dean laughed.
"That's sounds like a solid plan to me, sweetheart." Dean agreed and begann to kiss her with all his heart.
Tumblr media
A/N: And now we're truly at the end here. I'm a little sad now, tbh. 🥹
It has been such a ride and I wanna thank all of you who have joined me on this. And I want to thank everyone who left me feedback or reblogged my story. I was so overwhelmed with the responses and I felt so blessed. I appreciate you all so much! 💜 And I hope we see us again in february to my new story. 😁
Tumblr media
@chriszgirl92 @elenasalvatore1 @laurensfangirlingsideblog @moonxlightsworld @muhahaha303
@stoneyggirl2 @ladysparkles78  @allthosepeopleilovetofangirlover @ninii-winchester @itsdesiree86
@foxyjwls007 @jtink27 @tommysaxes @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @aylacavebear
@suckitands33 @pillowjj @hobby27 @mischiefnevermanaged89-blog @winchesterwild78
@nikimisery @acid-spiderr @deangirl96 @lyarr24 @k-slla
@iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @stanzie  @mochminnie @ettadear @globetrotter28
@leila22rogers @whimsyfinny @a-girl-who-loves-disney @goest-and-fuckest-thyself
@zepskies @star-girl-05 @tmb510 @louisianalady @deansimpalababy
@livsh20 @livya99 @whichwitchwanda @sydneyabcd @emotionsmgcbabe
@taylor-will-be-the-death-of-me @deans-spinster-witch @strepsils123 @7leb-kakaw  @psychicbouquetblaze-stuff
@thebiggerbear
66 notes · View notes
kingofbodyrolls · 3 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
Songs of the Heart (m) | pjm | chap 4: face-off
In the quiet glow of a shared evening, you finally ask Jimin about Jiwoo, peeling back the layers of his heart while daring to reveal the scars of your own. You speak of the ghosts in your past, of love that hurt instead of healed, and he listens—truly listens—with the kind of tenderness you never thought you’d find. Jimin is everything you didn’t know your soul was yearning for, and now, in this fragile, shimmering moment, it feels like the universe is whispering that maybe, just maybe, you can do this. That love, real love, might finally be within reach.
→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: musician!au (not completely idol!au), single dad!au, slice of life!au → Trope: strangers to lovers / neighbors to lovers → Genres: slow burn romance / fluff / angst / smut / comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 6.8k → Warnings + triggers: mention of illness, past character death (Jiwoo), mention of past domestic abuse (hitting), mention of past emotional abuse, FEELINGS 😭 → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: Alright, brace yourselves—this one’s a rollercoaster of angst and sadness, okay? Like, grab your tissues sad. 😢 But I swear, hold tight because the storm does pass. You’ll get answers to all those questions we’ve been agonizing over, and while it’s emotional, it’s also unexpectedly soft—like a cozy blanket after a storm. 🌧️ All the raw, messy feelings are on display, but here’s the twist: healing is happening, and everything will be okay, I promise! 🫂 So let’s dive in, feel all the feels, and come out stronger on the other side! This whole story is for my dear friend @remmykinsff! I hope you’ll love it 💜
Tumblr media
← prev | s.masterlist | m.masterlist |  next →
Tumblr media
The months slip by like sand through your fingers, swept away by the rhythm of work and the gentle pull of evenings spent with Jimin and his enchanting daughter, Hwa-Young. April has arrived, dressing the world in a delicate lace of blossoms, and with each petal that unfolds, you feel your own feelings for Jimin unfurl, tender and vibrant. Like spring itself, they bloom quietly, yet with an ache that demands to be felt.
And yet, you’ve kept your feelings hidden, a secret cradled close to your chest. Namjoon, ever the wise confidant, keeps urging you to tell him, to stop letting fear hold you back. “You’ll feel lighter,” he says, as though love isn’t a tightrope strung between hope and vulnerability. But the thought of laying your heart bare terrifies you. You’ve been down this road before, and the scars remind you that even the most beautiful things can break. Still, deep down, you know—Jimin is not like the others. There’s a gentleness in him, a quiet depth that sets him apart. Yet still, you tread cautiously, balancing between longing and fear.
Today, he’s invited you to his rehearsal—a glimpse behind the curtain of his world—and like the ever-supportive “friend” (oh, how that word stings now), you’ve come. From your spot in the empty venue, you watch him test his mic, strumming a few chords on his guitar before diving headfirst into his setlist. His voice, low and resonant, fills the space, spilling raw emotion into the still air.
You’ve heard these songs a hundred times before—on the radio, in quiet moments together, and the ones he’s been crafting these past months—but somehow, they strike a different chord tonight. Each haunting lyric feels like a thread, weaving something sacred, and his voice... oh, his voice. It reaches you in a way that words alone never could, wrapping around your heart, leaving you breathless and undone. 
Goosebumps ripple over your skin, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine—just for a moment—that the emotions he pours into his music might be meant for you.
As you watch him perform, lost in the way his fingers glide effortlessly across the strings, you find yourself wondering about the meaning behind his lyrics. What chapters of his life do they hold? What untold stories linger in the spaces between his words? Jimin is a mystery, and every haunting note he sings feels like a glimpse into a life he has yet to fully share with you.
“All right. With those sweet words of yours, you were doing your best to take every single thing from me. Look at yourself. Why don’t you want even more? You can want more. That suits you, babe. I hope you don’t change.”
His voice wraps around the room, raw and unguarded, and the lyrics cut through you, sharp and aching. There’s a truth in his words that stings, a vulnerability that feels too personal to ignore. It pierces your heart in ways you can’t explain.
A small part of you can’t shake the thought—these songs must be about Hwa-Young’s mother, no matter what he’s told you. He’s said they weren’t romantic, only friends, but these words… they feel too heavy, too deeply etched with sorrow and longing to be about just friendship. You can’t stop yourself from wondering if there are pieces of his past that are still too tender to touch, pieces he’s shielding even now.
And yet, as the melody rises, a weight settles in your chest. You remember what you told Namjoon months ago—that you weren’t ready to step into something complicated. And Jimin’s life? It feels like a song with too many verses, too many harmonies to untangle. The honesty of his voice, the rawness of his words—they’re pulling you in, but at the same time, the sheer depth of it all feels overwhelming. Why does love always have to feel so complicated?
You don’t even realize the tears streaking silently down your cheeks until you feel a small, warm hand wrap around yours.
“Y/N… why are you crying?”
The soft, curious voice pulls you from your spiraling thoughts, and you look down to see Hwa-Young gazing up at you, her big, concerned eyes watching you carefully. She’s been sitting beside you all along, a quiet witness to your unraveling.
You blink rapidly, trying to compose yourself, but the knot in your throat is hard to swallow. How could you explain this to her, this little girl who sees the world in innocent wonder? You can’t. You won’t.
With a shaky smile, you squeeze her hand and shake your head lightly. “I’m okay, sweetheart,” you whisper, your voice barely steady. But your heart clenches because you know the truth you can’t admit—not to her, not to Jimin, not even fully to yourself yet.
You’re falling, tumbling headlong into feelings for a man whose world is so much bigger than yours. And as much as you wish it wasn’t, as much as you long for simplicity, love never seems to come without its complications.
So, you settle on a simpler truth, wrapping it delicately in softness for her young heart to grasp. “Your dad is just so good at singing. It’s so beautiful, it makes me feel… sad in the best way.”
She nods thoughtfully, inching closer to you on the stools, her small shoulders brushing yours as if seeking silent comfort. “Daddy’s really good with words,” she says quietly, her voice carrying an innocence laced with wisdom far beyond her years. “He tried to make mommy happy with his words… but I think sometimes they did the opposite.”
Her statement lands like a whisper of thunder, quiet but resounding, leaving you staring at her. How could such a tiny soul speak with such weight? But before you can find a reply, she continues, her small voice carrying secrets as fragile as glass.
“When my mom got sick,” she murmurs, “he wanted to do everything for her…” Her words trail off, and instinctively, you lean toward her, drawing her into a gentle hug. Her warmth melts into yours, her resilience as humbling as her honesty.
“You know…” she muses after a pause, her tone lightening as her little legs swing idly beneath the stool. “Daddy never kissed Mommy.”
Her soft giggle catches you off guard, and you blink down at her, confusion flickering across your face. “Daddy never made love to my mommy either,” she adds with a grin, her words innocent yet jarring, sending heat rushing to your cheeks. You can’t tell if she fully understands what she’s saying, but her candor leaves your heart racing in your chest, your pulse hammering loud and unrelenting in your ears.
Your gaze instinctively shifts to the man she speaks of, and there he is—onstage, lost in his music, fingers coaxing melodies from his guitar, his voice weaving stories that feel like silk and sorrow all at once. If what she says is true—if Jimin never had that kind of relationship with Hwa-Young’s mother—then how...?
Questions bloom in your mind, wild and restless. And just as your thoughts begin to spiral, Jimin’s song comes to an end, and he looks up, his gaze locking onto yours across the room.
Time seems to halt.
The light casts a soft halo around him, his blonde hair glowing like threads of gold, his skin luminous under the stage lights. He looks ethereal, almost unreal, as if he belongs to another world entirely—a celestial being rather than a man who feels so deeply it hurts to watch.
And yet, it’s his eyes that anchor you, pulling you into the moment. They seem to see right through you, their warmth a balm and a spark all at once. Your breath catches, your chest tightens.
It’s in that instant you realize: you can’t keep dancing around these questions, these unspoken truths that hang between you like threads in a web. If there’s one thing you’re certain of, it’s that you can’t love a man while standing in the shadow of another. You deserve to know, to understand.
As Jimin gives you a wink, you feel the weight of the conversation you know you need to have. It’s time. Time to ask him about Jiwoo. Time to find out where she fits in his heart—and where you might belong in his story.
Jimin runs a hand through his hair, the strands clinging to his forehead where sweat beads at his hairline, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if it’s fair—how effortlessly breathtaking he looks, even like this, raw and unguarded under the stage lights.  
Beside you, Hwa-Young slips her tiny hand into yours, her warmth grounding you in a moment you didn’t realize you needed. “I like you, Y/N. You’re nice,” she says, her words simple but disarming, like sunlight breaking through a cloudy sky.  
A lump rises in your throat, and you feel the sting of emotion prickle your eyes. It’s as though this day is conspiring to undo you, one tender moment at a time. Pulling her into your arms, you hug her tightly, your voice soft as you reply, “Me too, sweetheart. Me too.”  
The rest of Jimin’s rehearsal blurs like an impressionist painting—notes and movements smearing together into a beautiful haze. Before you know it, the three of you are seated in his car, the hum of the engine steady beneath the weight of your thoughts. Jimin’s voice mingles with Hwa-Young’s soft chatter, but your mind is elsewhere.  
There’s something bubbling beneath the surface of your chest—an ache, a pull, an unrelenting tide of feelings that refuse to be silenced. They prickle at your skin, a mix of anxiety and anticipation, urging you to seize this moment. You know the talk you’ve been dreading is inevitable. You can’t avoid it any longer.  
The car slows to a stop in front of Jimin’s home. His home—a place that has slowly begun to feel like your own in a way that terrifies and comforts you all at once. You follow them inside, the air heavy with unspoken words.  
Jimin pauses, turning to you with a smile so soft it feels like it might break under its own tenderness. “I just need to put Hwa-Young to bed,” he says, his voice low and warm. “It’s way past her bedtime. Do you mind waiting here?”  
You nod, settling onto the couch, the silence of the room wrapping around you like a blanket, but before Jimin can lead Hwa-Young away, she giggles and steps forward, her sleepy eyes sparkling with playful insistence.  
“No, daddy. I want Y/N to read to me,” she says, her little voice carrying a hint of mischief, though the puffy redness beneath her eyes betrays her exhaustion.  
Jimin exhales a soft sigh, but his smile lingers, a look of affection flickering across his face. He gestures for you to follow, his voice gentle. “Looks like you’ve been recruited,” he says with a small laugh.  
You chuckle softly, your heart lightening despite the weight of the day, and rise to follow Hwa-Young into her room. The familiar rhythm of bedtime routines feels comforting as you help her brush her teeth, slip into her pajamas, and settle her under the covers. As you sit beside her, her eyes glisten with a warmth that makes your chest tighten.
There’s a sweetness to this moment, so simple and pure, yet it feels like it holds the weight of something bigger. As you help tuck her in, you can’t help but think of the life Jimin has built—the love, the care, the quiet strength—and wonder if you could truly belong in it.  
“I’ve never seen my dad so happy since he met you,” she says, her voice small but carrying a truth that lands heavy in the space between you.
It’s like a gentle punch to your gut, the words so innocent, so pure, and yet they shake you to your core. Your throat constricts, an unexpected lump rising, as if the weight of her words is just too much to bear after such an emotional day. But you manage to smile—soft, fragile—and reach out to caress her forehead, letting the gesture speak for you when words seem inadequate.
You don’t need to say anything, because deep down, you already know—his happiness is something you’ve felt, too. That quiet, simmering certainty that there’s something more between you and Jimin, something undeniable, even if it’s still untold.
Hwa-Young interrupts your reverie, her small finger pointing to a well-worn book by her bedside. “Can you read this story for me?” she asks, her voice a soft plea. You glance down at the title, something about a princess who has faced the harshest of trials—siblings’ jealousy, the loneliness of her crown, a prince who offers help, but she stands strong on her own... until a single moment fractures her strength.
What kind of children’s book is this? you wonder, a touch bemused. But you say nothing, opening the pages, and as you read, her eyelids flutter slowly, the rhythm of your voice pulling her toward sleep like a lullaby.
As her breathing slows, her little body softening into the warmth of the blankets, you run your fingers gently through her hair, the silky strands slipping between your fingertips like whispers of tenderness. “Sweet dreams,” you whisper, the words barely audible, but they feel like a promise.
And in that moment, as she drifts off into a peaceful slumber, you realize that perhaps this—these quiet, fleeting moments—is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever known.
Then you step out of Hwa-Young’s room, the door clicking shut with a softness that feels almost sacred. The quiet hum of the house settles over you like a fragile veil as you make your way back to the living room. Jimin is there, sunk deep into the sofa, his posture loose with exhaustion. Even in the dim light, the weight of the day clings to him, but there’s something comforting about his presence—grounding, like an anchor in a restless sea.
You sit down beside him, close but not quite touching, and it feels like your heart is trying to break free from your chest. It thuds relentlessly, a drumbeat urging you forward. Today has been emotional, raw, and unguarded—a day of truths—and you decide, in this rare moment of quiet, it’s time to seize your courage.
“Jimin?” you breathe, his name barely more than a whisper as it escapes your lips. His gaze lifts to yours, tired but warm, his eyes carrying that soft, unspoken affection that always manages to disarm you.
“Hm?” he hums, leaning slightly toward you, his exhaustion not dimming the kindness in his face.
You hesitate, searching for the right words, your thoughts a tangled mess. It’s not a question you want to rush—it feels delicate, like glass. Your fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt, an outlet for your nervous energy, and your eyes flicker around the room as if the walls might give you answers. Finally, you steady yourself and exhale.
“I was wondering about Jiwoo… Hwa-Young’s mother,” you begin, your voice trembling with hesitation. “If you could tell me about her?”
For a moment, the room feels suspended in time. Jimin’s expression shifts, softening further as an almost wistful smile curls at the corners of his lips. His gaze turns introspective, like he’s reaching into a box of memories he hasn’t opened in a long time. Then he leans forward, his hands sliding over yours, steadying them, grounding you.
“What do you want to know?” he asks, his voice gentle, like the beginnings of a lullaby.
You swallow, feeling the weight of the moment press against your chest. “Well… everything you feel like sharing.”
He nods slowly, his gaze dropping for a moment as he collects his thoughts. When he speaks again, his voice carries a warmth, a tenderness that wraps around the edges of his words.
“Jiwoo was my childhood best friend,” he begins, his tone both nostalgic and reverent. “We were inseparable. Through school, through everything. She was… home. We had this bond that I think only happens a few times in a lifetime. She was the kind of person who could make the world feel a little less heavy just by being in it.”
His words settle in the air between you, and your heart clenches. You nod, urging him silently to continue, even though a part of you aches at the depth of the love he’s describing.
“We were there for each other,” he says, his voice dipping lower, as though he’s talking more to himself than to you now. “In every way that mattered. She wasn’t just my friend; she was family. My constant.”
You watch him closely, the soft glow of the room casting gentle shadows across his face, and though his voice remains steady, you catch the faintest glimmer of sadness in his eyes. It’s as though he’s letting you into a sacred part of his heart, piece by fragile piece.
And as he pauses, the quiet stretches, heavy but not uncomfortable, filled with an understanding that doesn’t need words. You brace yourself for what comes next, your fingers still caught beneath his, his warmth anchoring you as much as your presence seems to steady him.
“One day, she went to her doctor for what she thought was just a routine checkup,” Jimin begins, his voice dipping into something heavy, laden with the kind of memory that lingers like a storm cloud. “But then she called me right after… crying her eyes out because they told her she had cancer.” His body folds slightly at the recollection, shoulders slumping under the weight of the past, and your heart feels like it’s sinking into a bottomless well.
He pauses, swallowing hard before continuing, his fingers unconsciously tracing over yours as though grounding himself in the present. “She started talking about everything she hadn’t done… about the life she hadn’t lived. She was terrified. You know, Jiwoo always talked about wanting kids someday, but she never found the right guy.” His lips quirk upward briefly, bittersweet, before the sadness returns to his gaze.
You nod softly, the room seeming smaller, quieter, as his words draw you deeper into his world.
“I tried to tell her… over and over again… that cancer didn’t have to take her dreams away. That she still had time. But she didn’t believe it,” he says, his voice breaking slightly, the cracks revealing the depth of his pain. He exhales shakily, squeezing your hands as though searching for strength in your touch.
“Then she asked me,” he continues, his voice almost trembling with the weight of the memory, “if I’d have a child with her.”
Your breath catches in your throat, and you watch as his eyes shimmer with unshed tears.
“And I—” he sobs gently, his vulnerability raw and unfiltered. “I wanted to do anything for her. Anything. She was my best friend, and this… this was the one thing in life she wanted the most.”
A lump forms in your throat as you see his pain laid bare before you, unguarded and achingly real. Your chest tightens as the truth of his words settles deep in your heart.
“So even though I’d never felt that way about her,” he says, his voice soft but firm, “I said yes. I agreed.” His hands clench yours a little tighter, as though he’s afraid of losing something even now. “I donated my sperm, and she had her eggs fertilized. That’s how Hwa-Young came to be,” he finishes, his voice quiet but resolute, the ghost of a smile barely brushing his lips.
For a moment, silence stretches between you, but it isn’t empty—it’s filled with unspoken emotions, grief, and love, all tangled together in a bittersweet symphony.
His tears fall freely now, and you realize your own are trailing down your cheeks, unbidden. You don’t know where his tears end and yours begin, as they mix and soak into your joined hands. The moment feels sacred, fragile, as though the two of you are holding not just each other, but also the echoes of Jiwoo and everything she left behind.
And though your heart aches for him, for her, and for the beautiful little girl asleep in the room beside you, it also swells—because this man, with all his pain and all his love, is showing you a part of himself he’s never shared with anyone before.
“So, she became pregnant,” he begins, his voice trembling, “and she managed to carry to term, but…” He pauses, running his free hand over his face, wiping away the tears that seem endless. “Her cancer… it got worse. And she… she didn’t want to get treatment while she was pregnant. She didn’t want to risk the baby.” He huffs out a breath, a sound too broken to be a sigh, drying his damp cheeks with trembling fingers.
“After she gave birth,” he continues, voice cracking under the weight of the memory, “they gave her the terminal diagnosis.” His hands clench yours tighter, as if holding on to the present will keep the past from pulling him under. “And all I could think… all I could do… was try to give her everything she ever wanted—the child, the life, everything she dreamed of.” His voice shatters on the last word, and he sobs openly, the years of sorrow spilling out at last.
You pull him into a hug, holding him close as his grief crashes into you like a tidal wave. His sobs are muffled against your shoulder, but his pain is louder than words.
“I know,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, “I know people have always questioned my feelings for her. Wondered what we really were to each other. But she… she was like a sister to me. My best friend. My constant.” His words falter as he pulls back just slightly to meet your gaze, his tear-streaked face lit by the soft glow of the living room light. “I don’t know how to explain the bond we had. She wasn’t my lover, but she was my everything. And when she died…” His voice catches, and he lets out a shaky exhale, eyes shimmering with fresh tears.
“When she died,” he whispers, his throat tightening with every word, “Hwa-Young was only six months old. I was so young… so unprepared to be a father. And my career was just starting. The spotlight was on me, but I wanted to shield Hwa-Young from it all. I had to shield her. But it’s been…” He takes another shaky breath, his voice breaking again, “it’s been so exhausting—carrying it all. All the grief. All the questions. All the feelings.”
Your chest aches as you watch him, the weight of his story pressing into you like a stone. You nod softly, words failing you, because how can you begin to comprehend the burden he has borne? How can anyone?
You tighten your arms around him, hoping he can feel the warmth of your care, the silent promise that he’s not alone. Slowly, gently, you move back just enough to look him in the eyes. His gaze is raw, brimming with sorrow and vulnerability, yet there’s a flicker of relief in the depths of his brown irises.
“I’m so sorry, Jimin,” you whisper, your voice trembling but full of sincerity. “You’ve carried so much for so long. You’ve given so much of yourself.”
And in that moment, it feels as though the two of you are suspended in time, surrounded by an unspoken understanding—a shared fragility and a promise of healing.
“I’m so sorry,” you whisper again, your voice thick with emotion. “I can tell how much she meant to you.” You pause for a moment, letting your thoughts form, delicate as flower petals. “If my best friend were dying, I’d do anything for him too—even giving him a child if that was his dream. I’d want to give him something to hold on to. Something to leave behind.”
Jimin looks at you then, and it’s as if the world stills around you. His eyes, swollen from tears, soften into something deeper—something like gratitude, like he’s finally been seen, truly understood for the first time.
“I think it’s beautiful,” you continue, your voice trembling, “what you did for her. The greatest gift you could’ve given her.” You reach out, drying the tears that continue to slip down his cheeks, your touch as tender as the words you’re trying to say. “And now you have her little piece of forever. A part of the love and the friendship you shared. That’s… that’s so precious, Jimin.”
Your voice cracks as the weight of his story settles deeper into your chest. You choke back your own tears, your breath hitching. “It’s really beautiful.”
And somehow, as broken as the moment feels, there’s a strange healing that takes root within you. His story pulls at your soul, stitching up places in your heart you didn’t even know needed mending. The depth of his love for Jiwoo, for Hwa-Young, only strengthens the feelings you’ve been carrying for him. And in this raw, vulnerable space, you no longer question his past or the bond he shared with her. No, now you see it for what it truly is—a love so pure, so selfless, that it only brings you closer to him.
Jimin’s breath catches, and then he sobs again, burying his face briefly in his hands before looking back at you. “Before she died,” he whispers, his voice breaking, “she made me promise her something.” He pauses, the air between you fragile and electric, like the calm before a storm.
You lean closer, your voice soft but steady. “What did you promise her?”
His lips tremble as he exhales, gathering the strength to say the words. “She made me promise that I’d find love,” he says, his voice heavy with the weight of years spent carrying that promise. “But I… I’ve never been able to. Not until…” His words trail off, and suddenly he moves closer, so close that your foreheads are touching.
You can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the steady rhythm of his heart echoing in the quiet between you. Your chest tightens, and you inhale deeply, summoning every ounce of courage.
“Jimin?” you whisper, your voice barely audible, trembling like the edge of a song.
He sniffles, his voice rasping but soft. “Yeah?”
Your eyes meet his, and in them, you see everything—his pain, his hope, and something new, something meant just for you. You exhale shakily. “I think…” you pause, grounding yourself in the moment, “I think I’m falling for you.”
A stunned silence stretches between you, and then he exhales, his lips curving into the softest, most genuine smile you’ve ever seen. “I think…” he says, his voice almost breaking with emotion, “I think I’m falling for you too.”
The weight of his confession hits you both at the same time, and suddenly, laughter spills out between the tears. It’s unsteady and messy, but it feels so good—like the tension and sorrow of the past have finally given way to something warm and freeing.
You cling to each other, laughing and crying, your hands tangling in his as the world around you fades away. It’s chaotic, it’s raw, and it’s imperfect—but it’s yours. It’s the start of something neither of you can deny anymore. And for the first time, it feels like everything is exactly as it’s meant to be. Just right.
Tumblr media
You wake to the soft prod of a small finger poking your cheek. A sleepy groan escapes your lips as you stir, shifting against a source of warmth beneath you. Blinking your eyes open, you’re met with Hwa-Young’s beaming face, her smile bright enough to rival the morning sun.
“Are you and daddy together now?” she asks innocently, her big, curious eyes studying you with a playful twinkle.
Confusion flutters through you until you glance down—and your heart stops. You realize you’ve been lying on top of Jimin, his chest a comforting pillow throughout the night. Heat rushes to your cheeks as you sit up abruptly, your movement jostling him awake.
“Wha—what?” Jimin mumbles groggily, his hair adorably tousled as he sits up too, looking at you with sleepy, startled eyes. His blush mirrors your own, painting his cheeks a delicate rose as realization dawns on him.
You laugh nervously, running a hand through your hair in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. Jimin chuckles too, rubbing the back of his neck, though his embarrassment doesn’t erase the tender smile tugging at his lips, “Muckin’ aren’t you up early?”
Hwa-Young, ever the morning sprite, shakes her head matter-of-factly. “No, no, you guys slept in. So, are you dating now?” Her voice is sweet, but her question lands like a thunderbolt in your chest, setting your heart racing.
How is it that a child’s innocent words can so effortlessly crack open your emotions, leaving them raw and exposed?
Jimin turns to you, his eyes wide with surprise, then softening into something deeper—something vulnerable yet sure. Your gaze drops to your hand, hesitantly reaching for his. When your fingers touch, his warmth steadies you, grounding your swirling thoughts.
You swallow the lump in your throat and look back at him. “If you want this,” your voice is barely above a whisper, “then I want this too.”
For a moment, the world stands still. Jimin’s smile grows, tender and genuine, his eyes brimming with quiet joy. “I guess… I guess we are,” he says, his voice carrying the kind of softness that makes your heart flutter.
Your eyes flick to Hwa-Young, her grin impossibly wide as she watches the exchange like she’s been waiting for this moment forever. “Would that be okay with you?” you ask her gently, your voice laced with sincerity. After all, this little girl holds a piece of Jimin’s heart, and you’d never want to intrude on that if she didn’t welcome you.
Hwa-Young’s response is instant—a squeal of pure delight as she throws her arms around you both. “Of course, it’s okay! I’ve been waiting for this to happen!” she cries, her excitement contagious.
Her small arms mash you and Jimin together in a tight, giggling hug, the three of you becoming a tangle of laughter and warmth. Jimin’s arm curls protectively around both of you, and you feel him press a light kiss to Hwa-Young’s hair.
Your eyes meet his over her head, and in his gaze, you see it all—the joy, the relief, and the quiet promise of something beautiful beginning. You’re a mess of laughter and emotions, but in this moment, wrapped in their embrace, everything feels right. Like the first rays of sunlight after a long night, you feel hope bloom in your chest, warm and endless.
The rest of the day unfolds in a blissful haze of warmth and laughter. With Jimin and Hwa-Young, it’s all simple joys—playing silly games, dramatic rounds of charades, and bursts of giggles during hide-and-seek. The house feels alive, filled with the kind of happiness that settles in your soul like sunlight after a storm.
When evening falls, Jimin takes over the kitchen, whipping up dinner with a grace that mesmerizes you, even in its simplicity. The meal is delicious, and afterward, Hwa-Young’s sleepy yawns signal bedtime. You offer to tuck her in once more, her tiny arms wrapping around your neck as you read her favorite story until her soft, even breaths fill the room.
By the time you find yourself nestled in Jimin’s bed, the world feels quieter, softer, like it’s holding its breath just for the two of you. You lie beside him, the dim light casting gentle shadows across his face. His presence is steady, grounding you in a way that feels both new and eternal.
Your gaze lingers on him, your chest swelling with emotions you can barely contain. Pride, gratitude, love—it’s all there, an unspoken symphony playing between your heartbeats. Slowly, your hand reaches out, your fingers brushing against the softness of his cheek.
“Thank you, Jimin,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. His eyes meet yours, warm and patient, as if he’s willing to wait forever to hear what you have to say. “Thank you for sharing the love you had for Jiwoo.”
His hand moves to cover yours, gently pressing it against his cheek. There’s something in his touch that feels like a promise—like he’s anchoring you to him, silently vowing to keep you close, to never let you go.
“You were really brave,” you continue, your voice trembling with the weight of what you’re about to say. “So I want to be brave too.” You blink, inhaling deeply, willing the courage to surface. “I want to tell you about my relationships.”
Jimin nods, his head sinking deeper into the pillow as his eyes remain fixed on yours, filled with quiet understanding. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push—he just waits, offering you the safe space you need to unravel your thoughts.
“You’ve met my brother Yoongi, of course,” you begin, your voice soft but steady. “Both him and my best friend Namjoon… they’re very protective of me.” You pause, swallowing hard. “Because,” you sigh, your breath hitching as you press forward, “because I have a bad track record with men.”
The words hang in the air, heavy and raw, but instead of recoiling, Jimin shifts closer, his hand gently intertwining with yours. His touch says everything you need—it’s okay. Take your time.
You exhale shakily, your gaze flickering to the ceiling as memories resurface. “I’ve been with men who didn’t value me, didn’t see me for who I was. They took pieces of me, left me feeling smaller, like I wasn’t enough.” Your voice cracks, but Jimin’s hand tightens slightly around yours, grounding you. “It’s made me cautious, made me put up walls I didn’t even realize were there.”
You glance back at him, your voice softening. “But you’re different, Jimin. You’ve never made me feel small or unsure. With you, it’s like… like I’m finally breathing fresh air after years of holding it all in.”
His thumb brushes over your knuckles, his gaze unwavering, filled with something so tender it makes your chest ache. “You’re not small, Y/N,” he says quietly, his voice steady but rich with emotion. “You’re more than enough.”
His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, grounding you with the warmth of his touch as a tear slips free from your eye. He doesn’t speak, but the steady rhythm of his fingers against your skin tells you that he’s listening, that he’s here.
You inhale shakily, the words heavy on your tongue but begging to be said. “I don’t know why, but all the men I’ve been with—they’ve either been manipulative, cheating, or full of red flags I should’ve seen but didn’t,” you murmur, your voice trembling under the weight of memory. “The most recent one, Mark… this was a few years ago…”
You pause, closing your eyes as you brace yourself. His hand tightens slightly on yours, a silent assurance that you can take your time.
“He hurt me,” you continue, your voice barely above a whisper, “not just emotionally. He was cunning—so good with his words, so convincing. He made me believe every lie he told, every false promise.” Your voice cracks, and you force a laugh, though it’s brittle, hollow. “And then one day… one day, he hit me.”
The words hang in the air, raw and exposed, like a wound that never fully healed. You dare to glance at Jimin, and what you see makes your chest ache—a storm of pain, anger, and heartbreak swirling in his eyes, all for you. He says nothing, but the way he looks at you feels like a vow: No one will ever hurt you again.
You laugh softly, the sound tinged with bittersweet triumph as you add, “So… I hit him back.”
His eyes widen for a moment, and then a spark of something else—something close to pride—flickers in them.
“I don’t go around hitting people, I swear,” you say quickly, shaking your head with a small, self-deprecating chuckle. “But Mark? Mark deserved it. And then I left him. For good.” You let out a deep sigh, sinking further into the pillow, as though shedding the memory and its weight. “I haven’t dated anyone since. Not because I didn’t want to, but… I’ve been scared. Scared it would all happen again.”
Your gaze drifts to Jimin, and your hand moves on its own, your fingertips brushing against his lips. The softness of them makes you shiver, makes you feel something you haven’t felt in a long time—hope.
“But you…” your voice falters, your touch lingering against the plush curve of his lips, “you’re not like the men I’ve known before. You’re gentle, and kind, and so good—so good it terrifies me. And yet…” You pause, the confession tightening in your chest like a butterfly trapped in a jar. “And yet, I’m still scared.”
His lips part slightly beneath your fingers, a breath of warmth brushing against your skin as his eyes lock onto yours, steady and unwavering.
“Scared of this,” you whisper, your voice cracking with vulnerability, “of letting you in, of giving this—us—a chance.”
Your hand trembles as you pull away, but before you can retreat, Jimin reaches for you, his fingers curling gently around yours and pulling your hand back to his chest. You can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm, strong and reassuring.
“But I want you,” you admit, your voice barely audible, the words spilling out like a confession to the night. “I want to try, even though I’m scared.”
For a moment, the world holds its breath. His hand moves to cradle your face, his thumb brushing away the tear that lingers on your cheek. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he whispers, his voice soft but full of quiet conviction.
And when he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, it feels like a promise—unspoken but unmistakable. The past may have left its scars, but with him, you feel the fragile beginnings of something new. Something healing. Something worth the risk.
He inches closer, the warmth of his body drawing yours like a tide to the shore, and the gap between you dissolves into nothing.
“Mark sounds like a fucking dick,” he murmurs, his voice low but laced with quiet fire. “I’m proud of you—proud that you stood up for yourself and left. And I swear to you,” his voice softens, trembles with a vow he’s desperate for you to believe, “I’d never do anything like that. Ever.”
He’s so close now, your noses brushing, the air between you charged and trembling, and it would take nothing—nothing at all—to close the gap and press your lips to his. But you hold back, caught in the moment’s fragile beauty, afraid to shatter it.
“You deserve so much more than what you’ve been given,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. His breath mingles with yours, his words steady and sincere, but then they falter. “And I… I just hope I won’t disappoint you.” He exhales shakily, his vulnerability like an exposed nerve. “I haven’t been in many serious relationships.”
You study him in the dim light, your gaze tracing every detail that makes him so heartbreakingly human. The tiny freckles scattered like constellations across his skin. The slight curve of his crooked teeth when he speaks. The crescent moon shape his eyes take when they crinkle, even when he’s this close to breaking. The ink that stains his finger and wrist, marks of stories and promises etched into his flesh.
Everything about him is imperfect. Everything about him is beautiful. And your chest tightens with the force of it all, the way his presence fills every hollow part of you without even trying.
“Maybe…” you murmur, the words catching as your eyes lock with his, “maybe we can figure it out together?”
Your breaths intermingle, his so warm against your lips it feels like a whisper of what could be. His eyes search yours, wide and shimmering with something fragile, something hopeful.
“I’d love that,” he breathes, his voice soft but sure, and then he moves—finally closes the distance.
When his lips meet yours, the world tilts and stills all at once. His taste is intoxicating, a delicate blend of something musky and sweet, like vanilla threaded with amber. It’s not just a kiss—it’s gravity, pulling you into his orbit, tethering you to him in a way that feels both grounding and weightless.
You wrap your arms around him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as though holding on to him could anchor you in this moment. His touch, the way his body molds to yours, feels like home. Like comfort. Like every shattered piece of your heart finally has a place to rest.
This—he—is what you’ve been waiting for. And as the kiss deepens, you realize he’s not just what you want; he’s what you need.
Tumblr media
→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex @rapmonjoon94 @parkitrighthere
→ Series taglist: @13-manggaetteok @mima795 @hnnnjm @flaneuseonthestreets @miniesjams32 @graydolan12 @rinkud @allie-in-the-moon
→ Author’s endnote: okay, real talk—how are you holding up? Because oh my god, I was absolutely SOBBING while writing this. Like, ugly crying, tissues everywhere, red-nosed Rudolph levels of chaos 😭. But I swear on all that is good and fluffy, things are finally looking up now! No more gut-wrenching, soul-crushing angst (well, maybe just a sprinkle here and there for spice), but I promise, it’s time for healing 🥹 So grab your emotional support snacks, because we’re entering the soft era! 🫶
© @/kingofbodyrolls 2025 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰
58 notes · View notes
hypertranced · 3 days ago
Text
i don't think I could ever accurately describe the disappointment I feel whenever I think about arcane now.
I loved season 1. I was hyperfixated on it in a way I had never been before. every single day I would think about these characters, their arcs, their relationships. I would scourge youtube and other sites for analysis, reactions, and opinions because I couldn't get enough. I made multiple playlists and would listen to them on the daily just envisioning all the possibilities.
when season 2 was set to come out I was ecstatic. I spent the months leading up to it lying in wait. when it came out I got a netflix subscription, stayed up every night til the episodes dropped and watched them twice for good measure. I knew that the pacing was going to be fast so I wasn't so thrown off by that, but I was a little put off by how much differently certain characters acted. jinx felt akin to herself but not the same, not as intense and unhinged. caitlyn felt like she got too cruel too quickly. vi felt like a completely different character with vi's face slapped on.
i tried to defend the choices made as the season went on, tried to come up with reasons why they were made. it's never a good sign when you have to rationalize a series decisions, but I kept trying to. when I finished the final act I knew I couldn't defend it anymore. I wanted to so desperately but I knew in my heart that I couldn't. they set up such a profound story of class conflict and familial pain then proceeded to do nothing extravagant with it. it was so generic and shoddily written it's almost painful.
now whenever I see anything talking about arcane I tense up. I hear it out, but whenever I hear praise for season 2 that isn't strictly about the animation I sigh. whenever I hear someone say season 2 was as good as the first I roll my eyes so hard they might get stuck to the back of my head. I've never had a hyperfixation so thoroughly crushed by an addition to a series. I'd almost be impressed if I wasn't so disappointed.
59 notes · View notes