but it seem impossible for those to go hand in hand

LEO: You really don’t want to admit it, because it’s a pretty ridiculous thought, but you’re scared of what being fully healed from the heartaches you’ve experienced entails. Because you aren’t sure of who you are when you aren’t hurting and you don’t know how to observe the world with unclouded eyes. It’s okay to be apprehensive of the sides of yourself that you haven’t had many opportunities to become acquainted with. While you may know yourself better than anybody else, that doesn’t mean that you need to be an expert on all things you. It’s okay to still be in the process of meeting yourself and figuring out who you are. You aren’t racing the clock.

VIRGO: You’re finally embracing the things you’ve been talking about doing for so long, but something feels off about it and you don’t know why. Because isn’t this the thing you’ve been working towards? Isn’t this the life you pictured yourself living after pulling yourself out of the gutter and onto the grass? I don’t think it’s right to assume that you’ve made the wrong decision here, but it’s important to remember that not everything you wrap your arms around is going to feel soft and easy to swallow. Sometimes the right decision has to hurt in order for it to be the right decision. Soon you’ll know if there’s anything that needs changing.

LIBRA: I know that trusting your instincts after being led astray so many times is a difficult thing for you to wrap your head around. You’re not the type to forget about the poor decisions you’ve made, or the mistakes you’ve given life to. However, road bumps and wrong turns aside, you are still a person worth listening to. It may seem as though everybody else has a map showing them the route to success and that yours was lost in the mail, but I’m going to let you in on a secret: nobody has a clue, a lot of us are just really good at acting as if we are. You haven’t fallen behind, you’re running with the wolves.

SCORPIO: Everyone assumes that you have a lot of love in your life but, while it’s easy to pinpoint a handful of people that have handled your heart with the utmost care, it’s easier to identify those that haven’t. At the end of the night the latter is what plagues your thoughts and wrings the tears out of your eyes, and admitting to that seems like a sign of weakness. But I want you to know that you aren’t obligated to live up to the expectations that the world holds for you. You’re allowed to make your own goals and visit your own places of interest. And the people that can’t love you for that aren’t people that you need surrounding you, anyways.

SAGITTARIUS: You have a tendency to look for yourself in everybody you meet, stacking your personality traits up like chips in a poker game that you’re destined to lose. The problem here is that in order to do this it involves reducing yourself to the most basic of traits and that isn’t what you are. Just because you can rattle off a list of acquaintances that use humor to detract from a situation in the same way that you do, doesn’t mean that you’re a carbon copy conglomerate of the souls you’ve met and interacted with. You’re unique, and you’re a lot more than simply a list of shared qualities. There are parts of you that cannot be put into words.

CAPRICORN: Has anybody told you lately that they’re proud of you? I know that things have been piling onto your windowsill and that you haven’t had the energy to clean it off yet but you’re still standing tall and you’re still here and that’s something to be happy about. Celebrating the small victories isn’t something that you’re used to doing, but it’s time that you start; it’s time that you open your eyes to all of the things that you do on a daily basis that warrant praise and positive attention. An action doesn’t have to be monumental in order to be important. You do wonderful things each and every day.

AQUARIUS: It’s been difficult to get back into the depths of your passion because there’s a really loud voice in your head saying that it isn’t worth it. A feeling of insecurity welling up in your throat and spilling out of your mouth whenever you open it to speak. Sure, your dream is big. Cynics may have told you that it isn’t worth pursuing. But there’s a reason that you’re chasing what you are, right? It’s because it makes you happy, and it makes you feel whole. And I know that it can be incredibly discouraging to stumble over things you care about, but you just have to keep walking despite all of that. Your goals are worth it.

PISCES: Lately you’ve been haunted by the memories of people that only came into your life to take. The nightmares have become an almost regular guest in your bed, taking the sheets and kicking your shins every night like clockwork. I want you to know that what you need to do in order to gain closure over the unkind past seems terrifying because it is. I also want you to know that you deserve to move on from those that have harmed your growth in the past. It may seem impossible to reach a place of contentment with the situation you’re picturing as you read this, but you’re more than capable of surviving what’s follow you. Allow yourself to thrive.

ARIES: Taking care of yourself still feels foreign, sometimes. Acting adult-like is an oversized jacket that you’re familiar with shrugging off and leaving at home despite the weather that requires its presence. There’s too much societal and social pressure to be fully grown all of the time, in my opinion. Not to say that you shouldn’t be responsible, or that you don’t already take care of the things that you need to, but you’re able to reevaluate what it means to be a successful human being. You aren’t chained to standards or rules or cookie-cutter definitions of “being a grown-up.” Don’t lose touch with the roots that mean so much to you.

TAURUS: Another ending, another heartbreak, another name written through the steam on your shower wall. It isn’t fair that you give so much and still only get apple cores and empty promises handed back to you. I know you’re starting to wonder if it really is a “you-thing,” if the absences you’ve needed to learn to exist around were created by your own hands in ignorance. While most failed connections falter on both sides of a line, that doesn’t mean you’re allowed to be mean to yourself for things that aren’t exclusively your fault. Being kind to yourself is a practice that will benefit you more than you know. It’s okay to give yourself a break.

GEMINI: Happiness is a lover that always sends you postcards but never tells you when they’re coming home. You’ve grown so accustomed to their quick scrawl reading “wish you were here” that you can almost predict each cards’ arrival after every new bout of sadness. It feels like your emotions enjoy mocking you a lot of the time, making you cry over your latest heartache while reminding you of the moments in which you felt nothing but pure and unfiltered joy. I can’t guarantee the continuous presence of bliss in your life, but I will say in confidence that it’ll always come back to you. Even when you think it won’t. Especially then.

CANCER: It’s a lot easier to let the dying embers of a fire fade into darkness than it is to stoke them back to life. I know that you’re tired of crouching next to weak flames, watching them flicker and refuse to glow despite your best efforts, and for good reason. Everybody knows that you deserve better from the world, that isn’t a question. How could you, the big-hearted lover of love, be destined for something as ugly as this? The answer is that you aren’t. Large, beautiful, fulfilling things are on their way, slowly but surely. Don’t forget that it won’t always feel like this. You won’t always view happy moments as a quick reprieve from the norm. Promise.

I Don’t Think Jacob’s Captors Let Him Go By Accident

by reddit user nowwegotcha

Jacob became one popular dude during my sophomore year of high school, two years ago. In the middle of the year, he just showed up. His family had moved him away from their old home, but his reputation somehow got loose in the hallways.

At the age of twelve, Jacob had been kidnapped from his home in the middle of the night. His parents had been apparently drugged by an unknown person, and their son had been stolen. No one even called the police until the parents woke up. No witnesses, fingerprints, ransom notes, nothing.

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Story 215: Cultural Exchange

The human steps onto the station from her shuttle, and walks into the scanner.  It flashes - no weapons.  I pity her, though there’s nothing I can do for her.  By tomorrow she will be a slave the same as me; the Gaunvans collect ambassadors like trophies.
“Hello there!  Amanda Thorn, ambassador for the Empire of Humanity.  You’re a Ixian, correct?”
Mimicking human body language, I nod my head.  "That’s correct.  Ix Malasan.  It is an honor to meet you.“
She smiles, reminding me again that she has somehow modified herself to breathe atmosphere suited to the Gaunvans rather than wear a respirator like myself.  Other than that she appears to be a standard human, something I am led to believe is less and less common as they pursue the bizarre compulsion humans have to alter their bodies.  Changing hair color, adding pigments to their skins in patterns and pictures, growing long tails or ears that mimic other species from their planet.  No other known species tampers with their bodies like this.
“Not to be undiplomatic, she says, "but the Gaunvans enslaved your people.  Why are you here?”
“We… reached a mutually beneficial agreement.  We would have lost in combat and been eliminated, so we chose to preserve what we could of our culture.  The Gaunvans are not naturally skilled at diplomacy, so they bring me along to assist and to show that peace can be made.”
She nods.  "Understood.  I can respect that choice.  How much freedom do you have, personally?“
Smart of her, to start planning for her future. "A fair amount.  I have free reign on the ship when we are in transit.  At the homeworld I have reasonably comfortable quarters.”
“Have you ever met the Empress, or…?”
“Oh, no.  No, while on the homeworld I am confined to my chambers - but they’re quite spacious.”
“Shame.  Okay, plan ‘A’ then.  Let’s get this over with.”

Despite my attempt at encouraging diplomacy, the Gaunvan commander starts with threats.  I don’t know why I bother.  He looms over the human, chitinous plates almost black in the dim light.  His pod of six is posted around the room, for show more than for actual security since she followed orders and came alone and unarmed.  "Failure to surrender will bring the full wrath of our army upon you.  Humanity will be crushed, and wiped from the universe.“
To her credit, she looks very calm.  "We live in a post-scarcity society.  Bloody conquest just seems silly, doesn’t it?”
“It is for the glory of Gaun!”
“Well, I’m not prepared to get into a religious debate with you,” she says, “since I doubt there’s anything I can do to change your mind.  Since you’re committed to this course of action, what are you willing to offer if we surrender?”
Now he goes back on script.  Maybe I am getting through to him a little?  He talks about the benefits of being enslaved, mainly the protections for up to twelve designated culturally historical sites.  They’ve been mostly good on their word on my homeworld, though they did use the area just outside of the Hahhn Memorial as a waste dump.

She nods as she listens.  There was a part of me that was worried she would argue, because the humans are somewhat childlike.  They don’t understand the horrors of war.  Certainly they fought in the past, but the last time they had to battle was more than two of their generations ago, so these ones have all grown up coddled and soft.  They play games with each other instead, silly competitions.  They make art, and play pretend, and alter their bodies for fun.  They don’t have weapons anymore, and wouldn’t know how to use them if they did.
“Well then,” ambassador Thorn says, “this is about what I expected.  On behalf of humanity, I would like to formally reject this offer.”
Oh no.  Foolish humans.  The galaxy will miss your innocence.  The commander makes an excited clicking noise, looking forward to combat.  He reaches a blade-tipped hand towards ambassador Thorn, but hesitates as every device in the room bleats out an alert - we’ve all lost communications with the outside.

Like one of the dances humans do, she gracefully pivots around while taking his hand.  She ends up close to him and places her other arm against his thorax, then… oh gods. Gods, what… she’s ripped his arm off.  It’s not possible.  The commander is clearly thinking the same thing, staring in mute shock at his dripping limb.
“I’d like to extend a counter-offer,” she says, and flips the arm around before jamming the bladed end into his neck.  The warriors around the room are fidgeting, uncertain.  They haven’t been told to attack, and don’t want to dishonor their commander by intervening in a fight with such a small creature.  She’s still holding the commander’s severed arm in his neck, but she rotates and heaves, lifting him off the ground with it for a moment… and then his head pops off, landing squarely on the conference table.  She allows the corpse to slide to the ground, and straightens her clothes as if they aren’t covered in ichor.

I don’t understand.

The warriors, now with no orders at all, finally act.  She smiles as they come for her, I suppose because she has done her duty to send this powerful message of resistance.  She can die in peace.  Or… no… She’s killing them.  She’s smiling because this is fun for her.  Though they’re partly killing themselves; if there had been two of them, prepared, strategic, they might have prevailed.  Watching six panicked fighters get in each other’s way while trying to stop a smaller, faster, and somehow impossibly stronger foe is almost hypnotic.  At least one is killed by the stab of a friendly lance due to pure confusion.  It’s over faster than I would have thought possible, severed limbs strewn across the room.  I’ve got some fluids splashed across my clothing.  Only one yet lives, and he is retreating.  She seems to be allowing it.

She follows behind, holding a lance.  The wounded and scared warrior scurries down the hallway towards his ship, looking back behind him as he goes.  She’s just… walking.  Calm.  And for some reason I’m following.  The last Gaunvan reaches the airlock and the second he enters his code she throws the lance - throws it! - and spears him.
“Come on, we’re stealing their ship.”  She says it like this is the most normal thing in the world.
“There are thousands more on board!  Thousands!  Almost all warrior caste!”
She smiles again, and keeps walking.  I see errors on the screens that we pass, messages indicating communications have been lost.  They can’t tell anyone what is happening here.  Even the communicators within the ship are on nodes rather than being wired, so the warriors at one end of the vessel won’t be able to coordinate with the other end.  Do they even know they’ve been boarded?
“How?”

We enter the bridge after she kills a handful of other guards with ease.  They’re too shocked by her presence to act in time.  Once the door are sealed and she is working on the control systems she starts talking to me again.
“Well, you know, we do like to be prepared.”
“But you… you ripped his arm off.”
“Yeah, that was super satisfying.”  She looks at me appraisingly.  "Oh, come on.  Is it really that surprising?  You knew we were into changing ourselves, right?  Being strong enough to pop an overgrown bug’s forelimb off isn’t rocket science.“
"Your people are so peaceful…”
“Oh, sure, most of them.  But we did that, too.  Tweaked ourselves over the years to decrease aggression and some of our tribalistic tendencies, increase empathy… all stuff that can be undone if needed.  Though for a good cause even the nicest of us can squish a bug or two.”
“You bond with Ry'ling devourers!”
“Those are the big fuzzy guys that look like cats, yeah?  Those guys are adorable!  But… look, liking some things that could kill us doesn’t mean we’ll sit back and get enslaved.  We didn’t put up with it well when we enslaved each other, and we certainly aren’t going to go for it now that we’re… finally… on the same page about slavery being unacceptable.  It was, uh, a longer time than we like to admit before the last hold-outs were convinced of that one.”

I can feel the ship un-dock.  We’re moving.  "What about all the warriors on board?  They’ll break through the doors eventually!“
"Not according to this control panel here.  Take a look.”
It says there’s no atmosphere in the rest of the ship.  Life signs are negative on all but two of the warriors, presumably the only ones that got to their suits in time.  She disabled all the safety measures, somehow.  She just killed… I check the life signs readout again to confirm the number… three thousand, six hundred, and fourteen soldiers.  Wait, how is it tracking that unless… “Are communications back up?”
“Yeah, I’m calling some friends.  The military is right around the corner, so to speak.”
“But Earth doesn’t have a standing military.”
She laughs.  Not just a little bit.  She’s actually doubled over for a moment, unable to catch her breath.  "Sweet Jeebus, you guys actually fell for that?  No standing military.  Have you read about us at all?“

Three ships appear seemingly out of nowhere, and one docks with the Gaunvan vessel.  Once the atmosphere is restored we head to the airlock to meet them, and I’m surprised by an entire platoon of Gaunvan warriors.  Speaking English.
"Okay boys, send your last goodbyes!  This is in all likelihood a one way mission.  Commander Thorn!  It is an honor to see you again, and might I say you look exquisite drenched in the blood of your enemies!”
She bows to him, blushing, and then salutes the Gaunvans.  Or… humans?  Can they change themselves this drastically?
“You’ve got two holed up in here somewhere.  Bridge is clear, have the techs bring the new brain on board.”
“New brain?”
She looks at me like she’s forgotten that I’m here, and then turns back to the others.  "Men, this is our new friend Ix Malasan who has just been liberated from his captivity.  He’s going to be helping with our intel.  Malasan, yeah, a new brain for the ship.  Once this vessel is cleaned up and back in service with a new crew we’ll be able to take it over whenever we want even if all of our boys get killed.  We cooked up a really sadistic AI for it.“
"But how do you know the protocols?  This was your first contact with the Gaunvans, they’ve never lost a ship anywhere near here!”
“No?  There wasn’t a mining colony disaster two years ago?”
“But that was just an accident… and you weren’t even involved in the war yet… and…”

The faux-Gaunvans have finished boarding.  The one that was talking to them before puts a bladed claw on ambassador - commander - Thorn’s shoulder.  "You coming with?“
"Naw.  Orders said I could only come if they allow ambassadors near extremely high value targets.  Malasan here says they don’t, so I need to wait for my next mission back on Earth.”
“It would have been nice having you with us, Thorn.  Well, maybe we’ll see each other again.  Suicide mission or not, I think I’ve decided to live through it.”
“Bold choice,” she says, and kisses him next to his lower mandibles.
He nods at me, then turns back to his men. “Okay everyone, we are now officially on the job.  And what is that job?”
In unison, they start chanting.

“FUCK! SHIT! UP!  FUCK! SHIT! UP!  FUCK! SHIT! UP!”

For a moment I nearly feel pity for the Gaunvans.  Nearly.  Commander Thorn leads me off of the ship, and I start thinking about what useful information I can provide the ‘harmless’ humans.  Fuck shit up, indeed.

Humans are stubborn. They will often disregard the dangers or foolishness of an endeavor if they believe it must be done.

Human-Megan was the first recorded example of this trait. She was called to the bridge during the time that a small landing party was sent to a planet she insisted was a “Death Star” simply because of its highly metallic atomic makeup.

Everything seemed to be proceeding as normal. The landing party arrived successfully, and began to survey the surrounding terrain, searching for any signs of life. Occasionally, the captain would glance in Human-Megan’s direction, in hopes that she would offer her strangely accurate insight on the progress of the mission; however, he was given nothing but incoherent mumbling about “bad feelings” and the need to “screw this noise”.

But then the mission fell into disaster. The landing party, as cautious as they were, found themselves ambushed by a group of cybernetic lifeforms, who dragged them beneath the planet’s surface after firing several devastating shots to their scouting vessel.

The captain frowned, pressing two of his four tentacles together as he considered their new situation. It would not be wise to send anyone to retrieve their fallen crew members – – it was likely they would be killed within the next few minutes. This in mind, he gave the order to resume flight towards the nearest inhabited system in order to refuel and collect new crewmates.

“What the hell?”

Those are for the bridge ceased preparations to resume flight for a moment, observing Human-Megan in confusion. She seemed suddenly distraught–she was trembling, her hands clenched into what her species called “fists”, teeth bared in something that was most definitely NOT a human smile.

“Aren’t you going to send someone after them?” she said incredulously, waving a hand harshly in the direction of the monitor.

“Human-Megan, I fail to see the logic in your statement,” the captain stated calmly.

“The logic in my–” The human interrupted her own words with a sound that set hairs on end and jolted the nervous system. If her shipmates didn’t know any better, they would have called it a growl.

“They’re our CREW MATES!” she cried, eyes darting back and forth as if silently damning all present for not taking her meaning. “More than that, they’re our FRIENDS! You can’t just–no, you WON’T just ditch them down there!”

The captain raised an eye-ridge. Was his human–was she threatening him? Despite himself, a shiver of fear raced down his lengthy spine–he had heard tales of what ignoring human threats had led to, and those tales were not to be taken lightly.

“Is that insubordination, Human-Megan?” he inquired, struggling to keep his own voice level despite the ever-growing fear in his stomach.

“No, that’s common-****ing sense,” she spat in return. “You don’t leave shipmates behind like that. You just don’t. What if that was you? Would you be okay with us just abandoning YOU down there?”

Again, confusion. “I believe you have met our first officer. He is perfectly qualified to act as captain until another can be appointed. There is no reason to lose crewmen unnecessarily.”

For a moment, he thought he had successfully gotten through to the human. She didn’t respond, simply staring at him, breathing erratically, mouth slightly open in such a way that for a moment he was forced to consider that he may have BROKEN his human.

But then she reacted. She pursed her lips and–spat at him.

The crew members who had done research on human culture physically recoiled in shock. She had actually SPAT at him–a human sign of absolute loathing and lack of respect. The captain himself was visibly shocked, observing his human almost blankly as his brains struggled to make sense of her actions.

She spun about, hissing a vile “Fine,” at those around her with a venom that made all near her flinch. Without another word she marched towards the lift, reaching out and grabbing an officer’s stunner directly from her waist before exiting.

Everyone resumed their work after a moment. Humans were strange, they were well aware of this by now. This was just another strange human behavior. Granted, human insight on situations was often valuable, but this was not one of those situations. This was the human refusing to see sense.

However, a few moments later an alarm was triggered, and a crew member appeared, breathing heavily, at the entrance to the bridge.

“Sir–captain,” he gasped. “The human–”

“What?”

“She–she stole a scouting vessel, sir,” the crewman said, his voice trembling. “She is en route for the planet’s surface.”

Chaos ensued on the bridge instantly. Their human was RETURNING to the danger? What could possibly have possess them to do something so illogical? The captain, minds reeling, immediately opened a comm line.

“Human-Megan, what are you doing?”

“The right thing, assholes,” a venomous voice shot back. “Why? You gonna stop me?”

“Human-Megan–”

“Oh, don’t ‘Human-Megan’ me,” she snapped. “My NAME is Megan. Just Megan. And if you’re gonna just leave them to die, then what do you care if I go after them? You weren’t all broken up when they got taken, why should I be any different?”

It was then that the comm line went silent. For much longer than was productive, the bridge remained still and silent, with baited breath, awaiting the fate of their human. Was she truly going back to that place? Perhaps she was simply “bluffing”, as they called it. Tricking them. She was being strangely vindictive today–was this more of this behavior?

However, after a few tense hours the GEV registered the presence of the scouting vessel–significantly battered and charred–returning to dock in the ship’s bay. The landing party had returned, injured but alive, led by a frighteningly frazzled and blood-drenched Human-Megan, stunner in hand and fire in her eyes.

It was with a strange mix of awe and utter terror that the captain approached the feral-looking human. “You…you were successful in rescuing them.”

For a moment, the human was silent. She turned to face the captain, no longer furious, but strangely aglow, radiating such strength that the captain was intimidated by her very presence.

“There’s something you should know,” she said, no longer furious, but victorious. “It is NEVER okay to leave one of your own behind. No matter the circumstances, no matter the likelihood that you’ll die getting them to safety, it is NEVER okay to just ditch them in a dangerous situation just because you might not be able to save them. Got it?”

The captain did “get it”, although not quite as she seemed to, and made a note to himself to upgrade the human handbook with a new insight:

“Humans are capable of impossible things. If crewmembers are ever in serious danger and it is likely a rescue mission will not be successful, humans will find a way to MAKE it successful regardless of the odds. We are eternally lucky that they are on our side.”

⇁ nudes, not flowers | 01

Originally posted by bangtannoonas

pairing Hoseok x reader x Jungkook

genre smut || fuckboi!au

warnings public sex, slight voyeurism/exhibitionism, dirty talk, dom!junghope, demeaning names during sex if you aren’t into that, jealousy

word count ⇀ 5.5k

You’re not supposed to fall for Jung Hoseok and his repertoire of awful pick-up lines—but you do. The problem is: he’s afraid of commitment, and bolts at the idea of settling down. After that, you decide to stay far away from fuckboys, but his friend decides to test your new found resolutions.

or : Jungkook wants to see how far he can push Hoseok until he snaps 

⇁  01 | 02

Keep reading

Dress Code (m)

Originally posted by gotjhope

➾ reader x CEO!jimin

➾ word count: 6.3k words

➾ warnings: incredibly filthy smut with no plot at all | cumplay | dirty talk | tit fucking | slight demeaning names/ name calling | face fucking | oral sex | unprotected sex

➾ summary: ceo!jimin takes it upon himself to discipline you when your attire doesn’t exactly adhere to HR regulations

➾ a/n: okay look this is just my excuse to write a ceo!jimin smut… i just felt like i owed him big time after what i did to him in instant gratification :”) i speed wrote this in a day and didn’t proofread whatsoever rip…


The clattering sounds of typing, clicking and pages flipping lull you into a state of lethargy as your eyes flutter half-shut in your cubicle. Having graduated as an arts major two years ago, you’d never imagine being holed up with a mundane 9-5 office job that had almost nothing to do with your major. But bills needed to be paid and rent had to come from somewhere, so you find yourself trudging to work soulessly every morning, day in day out.

“Hey, are you almost done with those files I gave you this morning?” The voice of your co-worker Mingyu in the next cubicle jolts you into awareness immediately.

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A Cinderella Story | 01

Min Yoongi | Fluff | Comedy | Smut | ACS!au | Fratboy!Yoongi | 

word count: 10k+

warnings: cumplay, mutual masturbation, phone sex, tribute, explicit language

❝ Your infatuation with Min Yoongi has to be what is the most exhausting part of your life, and in an attempt to help you get over him your friends convince you to join an online adult chat room. Unbeknownst to you the online freak you’ve been sexting for the better half of a year is your childhood crush. Just how much worst could this situation get? One fated night, a confession gone wrong and a lost phone with an almost laughable amount of nudes on it will tell all.  ❞


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FUTURE HEARTS | PT.6 [M]

pt1 | pt2 | pt3 | pt4 | pt5 | pt6 | (6/?)

pairing: jimin x reader, jungkook x reader

genre: smut, angst / punk!jikook

word count: 17,335

note: inspired by the anime/manga “Nana” / music playlist

description: It was everything, from his tattoos, to his touches, to the way sweat rolled down his neck as he strummed into his guitar on stage; everything about him completely enthralled you. So why are you now, two and a half years later, on a train to Seoul, telling a complete stranger the recollection of how you became fated to forever have scars on all of your future hearts due to the happiness, but most of all the pain, that came along with falling in love with Jeon Jungkook.

cr.


The slight tremble in Jimin’s fingertips developed into a full-blown tremor as he closed the door to his studio, effectively leaving you behind — but it wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t that simple because he wasn’t just leaving you behind. He was leaving you behind with a guy that you were completely in love with… Which kind of blowed considering he was starting to fall for you himself.

The music from the party was reverberating inside of his chest and he knew that his ears should be ringing with anger, but instead he just felt numb. It was like he couldn’t hear anything; no music, no crowd, nothing. It was all one giant blur that didn’t seem to make sense to him, and all because his mind was screaming that nothing else mattered right now — nothing except for you.

Jimin knew very well what leaving you in that room with Jungkook meant. It meant every single feeling that the two of you had ever had for each other would inevitably rekindle, and compared to what Jimin had with you, even if he did consider it one of most amazing stints of time of his entire life, it didn’t hold a candle to what you and Jungkook had, and probably always would have.

Keep reading

The Boxer Part Two

Pairing: Y/N and Harry

Word Count: 5K

WARNINGS/TRIGGERS: MENTIONS OF MISCARRIAGE AND PHYSICAL FIGHTS.

Prompt: 

“You’re supposed to be in the hospital gown, it’s why we laid it out for you,” Y/N stated, pointing the pen in her hand at the white gown by his feet.

“I’m not wearing that paper shit,” Harry grumbled, “and I’m perfectly fine to leave.”

“That cut says otherwise,” Y/N says.

Harry watches as she sets down the clipboard and turns on the sink to wash her hands, she’s cute. She’s nothing like the kind Harry would go for. His usual prey would be at the bar, lonely, maybe going through a breakup, but he knew for sure that by the end of the night she would be in his bed. Y/N on the other hand looked like too pure for him, and he hated that look.

From his experience Harry had learned that girls like Y/N believed that they were too good for a guy like him. Girls like Y/N, with an innocent smile, soft skin, and soft voices, tended to only use him for one thing, to make their parents upset. Harry had seen it time and time again, it was only a matter of weeks before the girl would crush his heart and move on to someone better.

“I don’t feel anything,” Harry stated.

Harry had grown numb to just about everything. He couldn’t feel the punches thrown at him, he couldn’t feel his emotions, it all just seemed gone to him. He didn’t mind though, no emotions meant he couldn’t get hurt, and no pain meant he was unstoppable.

or

Boxer Harry Styles highers, incredibly perky Y/N as his on-call nurse.

Part One


Harry wasn’t sure which he hated the most, expression his emotions, or having to handle them.

Keep reading

Wrong

Originally posted by lumos025

Summary: Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung bullied you in high school and by some sick joke the universe was playing on you, 2 years later Jungkook was attending the same University as you. Even sicker joke was being stuck with him doing a project on ‘Sex in Cinema’ for a whole semester. Go figure.

Words: 8083

Warnings: Smut, a lot of dirty talk holy shit (I can’t help it), oral, masturbation, overstimulation.

2 years earlier:

You walked down the road, almost around midnight, trying to get home as fast as possible the chilly rainy weather. Not to mention the truck that was trailing behind you and the screams and shouts of “wait up thunder thighs!” and “stop running away like a little bitch!” coming from the 3 boys who occupied it. Wrapping your arms around yourself to feel just an ounce of warmth, you willed yourself to ignore these bastards and walk faster. ‘I’m almost home, I’m almost home’ repeating it like a mantra in your head. Really, it was a stupid idea to think that you could enjoy a last high school party with your friends who were the complete opposite of you. After all, when the three most popular boys of the school were determined to make your life a living hell, why would anyone else want to treat you different in this extremely cliché scenario. It was hard to pinpoint what exactly was it about you that made them hate you so much.

From the time that you can remember, and you remembered a lot, Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook had always despised you. It’s like they couldn’t stand your existence. When you would be at the library helping out by staying late, they would wait after school, yes they would go out of their way to stay at school longer, to make sure that your walk home was as stressful as possible. Making fun of pretty much anything and everything you did was a normal occurrence. You had just learned to live with it, but not today.

You suddenly started to slow your pace. They are cowards, you thought. What can they possibly do? Always taunting, always calling names, always making you feel shit about anything you took interest in. But they were all talk, right? You thought, huffing out. People like them walk in groups because they can’t actually do anything alone. You don’t know what came over you, but you suddenly stopped and turned around slowly. The truck that the boys were trailing behind you also slowed and stopped a few meters away.

The one driving was Jimin, while Taehyung sat beside him and Jungkook stood, head poking out of the truck’s opening in the ceiling. You stood defiantly, shaking from the growing rain, your hair soaked and hands tightly by your side. Silently daring them to charge the truck towards you. ‘They won’t do it, they’re cowards’ you thought, your confidence growing slowly. You couldn’t tell where this adrenaline rush had come from to give you such courage to finally stand your ground, just a few weeks away from graduation. You could see Taehyung’s cunning, and terrifyingly psychotic grin widening as he relentlessly whispered in Jimin’s ear, whose grip on the wheel was tightening as he looked you right in the eyes. Jungkook was laughing. He apparently found the situation so amusing, that you decided now to grow a spine and challenge them. Suddenly, the sound of the engine revving was as loud as the rain.

It all went pretty much downhill from there. The last thing you remembered was your too loud heartbeat, the bright flash from the truck and Jungkook’s face suddenly forming a horrified expression as if he wasn’t just laughing at you.

Present day:

You weren’t looking for him specifically among the crowd flooding into the lecture hall. But something did happen inside you when you spotted him. A kind of lightness, or a lifting of some heavy part of yourself. Everything was settling into a nice, normal routine. You were going about your daily lives in an ordinary manner, and you were doing it completely separately.

He sat in the fourth row, and you sat at the back. Only now there was no rising sense of dread. You didn’t keep your hand to yourself when the lecturer asked a question. You answered, without the background sound of someone snickering. And even when it felt as though he was looking at you, when you snuck a glance at him you only ever saw the back of his head.

He bent low over his notes, and his head occasionally lifted a little as he really listened to whatever the lecturer was saying. Once or twice you actually caught him nodding, or doing a little staggered-looking half laugh over some ridiculous concept. As if he loved it all now.

He loved it so much he was sometimes at the lectures early. You would come in with Y/B/F, still giggling over something ridiculous, and get the faint prickle that told you he was already there. Only now when it happened it didn’t make you want to cover yourself up, or run and hide. There was nothing to hide from. Everything was going to be super cool and totally fine from here on in. Or it would have been, if it were not for the group project. The one that you were so excited for that you didn’t process it when your lecturer started reading out the names. You would be working with Y/B/F—that was a given. You were going to watch ridiculously filthy movies together and laugh about bobbing butts and ogle Ewan McGregor’s penis.

And then you heard his name.

Followed by yours.

Distantly, like in a dream of being in class.

“Miss Y/L/N, do you have a problem with that assignment?”

Everyone was looking at you now. No—not just looking. Examining, as though You had become a new and baffling species. The girl who was not excited about the idea of spending a whole semester with Jungkook. The creature who seemed horrified at the prospect of working with him. It made it difficult to do anything at all, even with Y/B/F urging you to say yes, yes I do have a fucking problem. Though you still didn’t expect the shake of your head to happen. Just one little accidental shake of your head and that was it. Your lecturer moved on to his next victim, leaving you in something You once had a nightmare about in ninth grade. Working with Jungkook. On a semester-long project.

About sex in cinema.

“Don’t worry, we can fix this. Just go to his office and talk to him privately about it. He would have to be Satan himself to not understand,” You heard Y/B/F whisper. But the words seemed even further away than you name had when your lecturer read it out.

“Right. Right. Yeah. You’re right.”

“I can come with you if you want.”

“No, that’s okay. That’s fine.”

“Are you sure? You look like you’ve been punched. In the face. With a small nuclear blast.”

“I’m sure,” You said, but soon came to regret that firmness in your voice. The steady nod that told Y/B/F it was okay for you to go in a different direction once you were outside. It only meant that you were on your own when you got to the tiny hallway outside your lecturer’s door.

And saw that Jungkook was already waiting. Of course he was—he probably had the same concerns as you. No matter how sorry he was or what he thought of being in the red and being wrong, he would never want to work in close quarters with you for the entire semester. In fact, him being sorry likely made the situation seem worse to him. Most likely he had calculated all the awkward conversations you guys would have to have and how far apart he would have to stand to keep you comfortable, and found it as unbearable as you did.

Even though his expression seemed to say something else.

Oh god. His expression was saying something else.

Then he held up his hands, as though to calm you.

And you knew.

“All right, Y/N, I know that you’re probably thinking it’s way better if you do this project with that gal pal of yours, but wait, okay? I got reasons why this is gonna be fine.”

“Is that seriously why you’re here? To stop me asking to switch us?”

“Well…no. Not stop you exactly. Stop is a really strong word.”

“While I’m glad you’ve learned that—” You said, your voice briefly catching when you saw his wince. He winced, your mind hissed, before you forced yourself to finish. “I still think it covers what’s happening here.”

“I just wanted to talk to you about it for a second. Just, like, hear me out.”

“I want to. I really do. But come on. You know I wasn’t born yesterday. This has all the hallmarks of some kind of trap or prank or joke at my expense.”

“How could it possibly be a trap or prank? He put people together based on…I don’t even know what he put people together based on. But it couldn’t have had anything to do with me.”

You searched his face, looking for the lie. Waiting for him to show some hint of bullshit, beneath those too-kind eyes and his spread hands and the obvious logic of what he was saying.

Only there was nothing, nothing, nothing.

And it made no difference at all.

“Okay, I buy that. I do. Yet the fact still remains: I cannot do a project with you. Ever. You have to know that doing anything like that is completely impossible for me. Right?”

“I was just thinking that maybe…maybe you could give it a chance. You know, now that we’re on speaking terms and everything is almost cool between us.”

“You think everything is cool between us?”

“Well, maybe not cool exactly. More like…okay.”

“Still need to dial it back a notch, chief.”

“Reasonable? Not bad? Kind of semi decent?”

“That last one is getting close.”

He sighed, shoulders sagging.

Relenting, you thought. He’s actually relenting.

“Fine, we are a fucking disaster.”

“Now you’re getting the idea,” You said.

“But I figure we can work on it.”

“By doing a project on sex in the cinema together?”

“Well,” he said. “When you put it like that it sounds dumb.”

“There’s no other way to put it! That is literally what you’re suggesting.”

“Yeah, I get that. I just…want to not get that. I want it to be easier or better or just not the way this is.”

“That could have been my daily prayer in high school, Jungkook.”

He didn’t react the way you expected to, with more weird arguing.

He just closed his eyes.

He closed them like someone had just told him his family had been in a fatal accident.

“I wish I could go back and start over again. More than wish—I would give everything I have to start over again. The wrestling, this scholarship, every party I ever went to and every fun thing I ever did. And you can choose to not believe me about that, but—”

“I believe you.”

“You do?”

“I’m as surprised as you are, but yeah.”

“Then why does this have to be such a big deal?”

You thought of Y/B/F saying attempted murder.

“Y/N that is fucking attempted murder. Babe, you don’t have to feel bad about anything you put him through now. His friends and him included, ran you over with a fucking truck. How much physio and other therapy sessions did you have to go through because of them, huh?”

The terror that used to flood you when he walked down the hall.

That ever-present sensation of a grille barrelling into your body.

“Because understanding that someone is truly sorry and wanting to spend huge amounts of time with them are two different things. I might see that you mean this, and know rationally that I can almost sort of trust you. Maybe I even want it to be that easy, too. But your face is the one I had nightmares about for two years. Your smile doesn’t seem happy to me. I associate it with cruelty.”

You shook your head. Glanced away from him so you didn’t have to see the defeated look on his face.

“It’s hard for me to look at you, Jungkook, no matter how much I appreciate what you’ve done here.”

“That was a really well-thought-out and logically sound speech.”

“I know it was. I’m pretty proud.”

“And I have no argument against it.”

“You don’t need one. What you’ve done here…” You gritted your teeth hard and looked at the ceiling. But this time it didn’t stop the tears. They were already welling up by the time You explained the rest to him.

“It means a lot. And a million men would never have done the same, I can promise you. I don’t have any messages from Jimin on my phone. Taehyung isn’t going to call anytime soon. It’s just you, a rare fantasy in the middle of all this dismal reality.”

He turned around when you were done. All the way around—and then his arms went up to cover his head and you understood. What you said had affected him, strongly. Maybe more than his words had affected you. It took him twice as long to get it together, and even after he had he couldn’t quite look at you. He just kept staring at the wall and clenching his jaw.

And saying things. Oh yeah, he said things, in a strained, shaky voice.

“I meant what I said, you know. That you are the very best.”

“I know. That’s why I’m going to ask you not to say it again.”

“I can’t stop. I have the opposite of whatever idiocy infected me in high school.”

“What, like insane-need-to-compliment fever?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” he said.

“Well it has taken a raging hold of you, let me tell you.”

“I know it seriously cannot be stopped.”

“I think you have a terminal case.”

“Not a bad way to go, if you ask me,” he said, so soft and sincere it took all your strength to stop yourself smiling in response. You could feel your lips trembling. Your cheeks ached with the effort of pinning them down, yet still You knew you were failing. You could see it in his satisfied expression.

And hear it in his words.

“That’s better. Seeing you look happy.”

“I am happy,” You said, then added without thinking: “Are you?”

Of course you didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a polite habit, based on interactions with people other than Jungkook. People who had actual problems, who lived troubled lives, who might answer with a god no. Jungkook would never need to answer with a god no. His life was full of endless possibilities and unfettered glory. He could snap his fingers and have a thousand people follow him to the ends of the earth.

He even looked that way, in the dim light of the narrow hallway between these offices.His hair was the colour of dark chocolate. Every item of clothing suited him perfectly, from the rich grey-blue of his V-neck to the jeans he’d tucked into his timberlands. He exuded cool from every pore; he could have stepped off the cover of a magazine. Yet all you could see was his face as it slowly sagged. It was like watching someone cut the strings that had held a mask in place—a mask you hadn’t known he was wearing. You thought that smiling golden god who had tormented you was the real him, but for a second you couldn’t be sure. Just for one heart-rattling second, and then the door to the office opened and that glimpse of something else was gone—so fast You would imagine later that it had never existed. It was just a trick of the light.

Better to focus on the real and the now.

“What can I do for you two today?” Professor asked.

Then you took a breath and answered.

“Nothing,” You said.

A few weeks later:

After that day, you didn’t know how or why you suddenly decided to give working with him a try, but so far, it was going…. okay. You two met up at the library, took your notes, glancing at each other once in a while, mostly Jungkook, asking each other questions relevant to your awkward topic given the situation and that was that. He made jokes sometimes that managed to get out a few carefree laughs out of you as well. It was all… comfortable. Nothing that you had expected. That is why, you decided, it was time to move on to watching actual movies for references, in your project.

It was nearly one in the morning, on a Wednesday night when you went to get him as your friend was out and that was the only time Jungkook was free after wrestling practice. Everyone was in bed, and it gave an eerie feeling to your journey back to your dorm.

As did his silence.

He was always talking—You realized that then. Sometimes he practically kept up a running commentary on everything and anything, yet here he was as quiet as stone. And it wasn’t because he was exerting himself. He didn’t breathe hard once the whole time. He could have been carrying a backpack full of air. But the idea of mental trouble lingered. When you tilted your head a little, you could practically hear his mind going over and over things, in a way that just wasn’t like him. He was easy-going. Happy-go-lucky. He never worried about things the way you did.

Until now.

“Jungkook, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. You just seem a little…”

Like an ominous statue of yourself.

“I was just thinking what movie we should watch.”

“Oh. Oh. You mean…right now?” You asked.

“Well, that’s what you came to get me for.”

“That’s true, I did come and get you for that.”

“Unless you don’t want me in your room so late.”

“No, no why would I…no, that’s cool.”

“You’re in the Jubilee Building, right?”

You had the strongest urge to ask him how he knew. But that seemed just as weird as objecting to him being in your room.

“Yeah. You just go past the science block and then—”

“Right, right, right I got it, I got it. The statue of Heo Nanseolheon is outside it, yeah?”

“That’s the one. Then it’s the third floor. Don’t worry though, there’s an elevator.”

“Ah, it wouldn’t have been a big deal.”

“Do you wanna let me unlock the door?” you asked standing behind him when you both reached your dorm.

“Oh shit, yeah. Yeah, go ahead,” he said moving his bulky body out of the way as you slid past him to unlock the door. Everything had returned to the way it should be now between you and Jungkook.

Except for the sexy movie you were now going to watch.

Alone. Together. On your bed. In the middle of the night.

You let him pick the movie, thinking that would make things easier somehow. Nothing could be misconstrued, at least, that way. He wouldn’t think you meant anything by your choice, whatever it might be. But you forgot that he might mean something with his choice. You watched the heroine trying to clumsily pick up the hero at the start of White Palace, and cringed so hard it felt more like a cramp in your gut. Your cheeks grew hot, in a way that made you grateful for the dim light of your feeble bedside lamp.

Otherwise he would see your face go red and know you understood his point—despite the fact that his point was fucking nonsense.

“This is even less realistic than Dirty Dancing.”

“Really? You think so? Like, in what way?” You asked.

“It just seems like she keeps pushing and pushing. No woman would push a guy that good-looking if he didn’t seem into it. I can’t think of anything more embarrassing.”

You didn’t look at him, but knew he shrugged.

His arm rubbed against yours as he did it.

“Maybe she doesn’t care.”

“I guess not.”

“Maybe she knows he’s actually into it.”

“That could be one explanation.” Jungkook says, sighing.

“Plus she obviously gets exactly what she was looking for.” He adds.

Onscreen, Susan Sarandon was going down on James Spader.

Which to you didn’t seem to back up his point at all.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure she’s having a great time getting absolutely nothing out of this.”

“That’s what this looks like to you? Like she’s getting nothing out of this?”

“Well, in movies they make it look like she is. But I doubt she really would be.”

“You doubt that giving a guy a blow job could be enjoyable for a woman.”

You glanced at him then, just to see if his expression was as incredulous as his voice.

Then had to look back at the screen quickly. If anything, his expression was worse. He had one eyebrow raised, and there was almost no humour in his eyes. This was serious somehow. Much too serious.

“I don’t know. I mean it’s not really something you do for your own enjoyment. You do it for his.”

“So to you there’s nothing pleasurable about it. Nothing sexy about having a guy at your mercy. Begging you, moaning for you, trying not to push too deep when it gets too good.”

Your breath hitched.

“You do those things?”

The words came out too fast. Too disbelieving, too.

But You just couldn’t stop them. They ripped out of you before you had time to talk it over with you mind, all ragged around the edges and maybe a little breathless. Just enough that he likely heard it, and wondered why. You couldn’t tell him, however. You didn’t know yourself. You only knew that when he started talking again, you had the urge to put your fingers in your ears.

“Of course I do those things. Having your cock sucked is fucking amazing,” he said, which was absolutely fine.

But then he kept going.

He kept going.

“The heat and the slickness and her looking up at you as she works it with her hands and lips and tongue. Especially the tongue. The tongue is the best part. Watching it curl right around the—”

“Well, okay, it sounds cool when you put it that way.”

God your voice sounded loud. And too fast again, too. All your words practically jumbled together.

“I don’t know what other way it could possibly be.”

“How about hold still while I fuck your face? Some guy coming right in your eye? Losing a chunk of hair because he pulled too hard?”

“You’re not serious. Tell me honestly. None of that happened.”

Now his voice was bright with amusement. But it didn’t make you feel any better.

“All of that happened. To me. More than once.”

“Yeah but after…”

“After what?”

“After he came then he…”

He made a circle with his hand bobbing his head, as though you should know that one thing logically followed on from the other. It was all completely easy and obvious.

Instead of the hardest quiz you had ever had to get through. “Then he what? Gave me cab fare?”

“No. No. After that then this happens.”

You glanced at the thing he was pointing at.

Then had to look away again, quick. At your hands, at the bedspread.

At him, as he oh-so-slowly realized what your sudden awkwardness meant.

“This has never happened to you. Holy shit. You’ve never had a guy go down on you.”

“I have had a guy go down on me. I totally have.”

“Are you sure about that? You don’t look sure.”

“Well, maybe not like this.”

“There’s no other way to do it. This is actually the most basic, ordinary way to go about eating pussy.”

At those words, you could feel the fire burning on your cheeks and your breathing getting laboured. Jungkook really had no filter.

“Yeah, but this seems really exciting and sexy and hot.”

“Going down on a girl is really exciting and sexy and hot. Like I said about giving a guy head? Exactly the same principle. You get to see you writhe and shake and push herself against your mouth. Just like that, just like Sarandon is doing. Look at her. Look at her.”

“I am. I am looking,” You said, but You weren’t, not really.

You were thinking of the shiver that had gone through you when he said look, soft as butter and so oddly tender. And the way that he was looking himself, eyes almost far away.

Like he was seeing Sarandon, but putting someone else in her place.

“Think about how it must feel.”

“Yeah I can…I get that…”

“Think about his tongue slowly easing over her soft folds.”

“Is that…how…is that what you…” You said, breathlessly “Uh-huh.”

“And it works?”

You voice was a whisper now. But that was okay. His was, too. It was so low he had to lean close to ask you questions. He had to meet your gaze, and You had to meet his.

“What works?”

“It makes you…you know. Cum.”

“Oh yeah. But you gotta take your time.”

“I see. I guess that makes sense.” You were just babbling now, trying to keep up with him.

“Let it build, nice and slow. Start by just stroking her with your fingertips. Work her, you know, until her lips part. And then when she’s all open to you, you just trace the shape of her with your tongue. Lick and lick in these ever decreasing circles until you’re right…fucking…there.”

“Where? Where…where are you?”

You shouldn’t have asked. You knew you shouldn’t as soon as it was out. Your faces were too close together now, and his body seemed to be looming over yours. That was his shoulder, almost nudging your chin. And his thigh, pressing deep and hard into yours. His answer was never going to make any of this better.

Then it came, hotter than molten lava and twice as destructive.

“Her clit. Her slick, swollen clit.”

“I see. That makes sense,” You said, even though that wasn’t what you wanted to go with.

No, what you wanted to go with was more like oh my fucking God this can’t be reality.

“Then you just…stroke it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Until she’s mindless.”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“Doesn’t even know what she’s saying anymore, or doing. She might tell you to bite, to fuck her with your tongue and fingers, harder or faster or some word that doesn’t even make sense. Hips coming up to meet you, greedy for it, horny for it, so horny she barely notices that her hand is in your hair and she’s squeezing tight enough for it to sting, so close to coming that her whole body is shuddering and shivering and flushing that deep, good pink. Soon as you see it you just know she’s burning. That her clit is aching and throbbing and her pussy is all open and slippery, and one more second of this will make her come. She’s already coming, before you even know where you’re at. Hard, hard, hard, like she never has before.”

You were holding your breath by the time he was done. You practically had to—his face was so close now you could have blinked and brushed his cheek with your eyelashes. Every word he said seemed to stroke against your face, cool at first but then more heated. As though he was starting to boil alive inside, too. Certainly he looked that way. You have never seem him flushed like this, not even when he pushed himself during a match.

Not even when he was embarrassed.

Though you supposed that wasn’t a common occurrence. He didn’t seem to be embarrassed now, and he’d just said all those words. He said clit and pussy and slippery, as if that was just a normal way to talk to your friend. And he did it all without flinching, too. Without glancing away or putting some distance between you. In fact, those eyes of his—now heavy lidded and so soft focus—seemed intent on you more than they ever had been before. They skittered all over you face, searching for something you had no idea how to give.

You didn’t even know what the something was.

You only knew that it made you forget yourself, just as he had described.

It made you search his face back, marvelling over every brutish line and gentle curve. Those lips of his, as plump as a girl’s yet so masculine at the same time. Every inch of them gleaming, as if he’d slicked them with gloss in anticipation of a kiss. Though even in that moment you didn’t really believe you wanted that. Until he whispered, low and heavy against your own lips.

“You can, you know.”

“Can what?”

“Touch yourself.”

It jolted you, when he said it.

But not as much as realizing why he said it.

You followed his gaze down, and took in the unmistakable sight of your hand in your lap. Really, really high up in your lap. Almost between your legs, in fact—though that was fine, it was cool, it was okay. You stuttered ‘no, no I didn’t really want to do that’, but it didn’t matter.

Because his hand was actually between his legs.

“I do,” he said.

As the whole world as You knew it dissolved right in front of your eyes.

“You do?”

“Fuck, yes. I’m dying to.”

“Because of the film. Because of the movie.”

“Sure. We can say that, if you want.”

You closed your eyes. Swallowed thickly.

Wished hard that he hadn’t added that last part.

“If we could that would be awesome.”

“No problem. I mean it was probably inevitable that this would happen to us.”

“Probably, yeah. Almost definitely, in fact.”

“Just a natural response to a sexy movie.”

“Seems that way to me.”

“So you just slip your hand under your waistband, and I’ll slip my hand under mine,” he said, which was fine all on its own. The problem was that he then went ahead and did it. You tried not to look, but saw anyway. You saw the way he fumbled in his haste, as though all his talk was only calm on the surface. Underneath, something was paddling frantically. It was making his cheeks pink and his body all trembly.

And his dick hard. God, his cock was hard.

You could see that without even trying at all. The curving shape beneath his sweatpants was enormous and unmistakable, and even if it hadn’t been, his hand made it pretty clear. As You watched, he eased it over that solid length, before finally clasping it in a way that shoved the swollen head right up against the tented material. Now You could make out ruder details, like the thick ridge around the head, and the slit at the tip. Both pronounced, explicit, rude.

But that wasn’t what really got you.

It was the way he stopped to lick his palm, before shoving it

under his waistband.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god, are you serious?”

“It’s cool. it’s fine. We don’t even have to look at each other.”

“No I guess not. I guess…I guess that I can just watch the screen.”

“We’re just two people getting off over a hot movie.”

“Exactly. Exactly.”

But that wasn’t strictly true. You weren’t getting off over the movie at all. Nothing was even happening anymore—it was just rich people looking down their noses and arguments over a Dust buster. If anything, it was vaguely depressing, rather than lust-inducing. Yet still You sat there, face burning, body tender and rigid all at the same time. Half of you stuffed so full of embarrassment and shock you sort of wanted to block everything out, the other half just shamelessly straining to hear every single tiny sound he made. Never daring to look, of course, but then…

You really didn’t need to.

He made so much noise that you could make out almost everything. Every little moan and gasp—and there were a lot of them, too. Lots of thick, guttural moans that started on an ah and ended with a kind of abrupt sigh, as though a knife had sliced through his throat before he could finish. So many soft mmms and gasps, like he honestly couldn’t get enough of whatever he was doing.

Though it was the whispers that hit you hardest. They got you right in the gut, low down and deep enough to ache. Oh yeah, he murmured, as though the hottest sex in the world was happening onscreen. As though they were fucking like animals, up and down and left and right. His tone even sounded sort of tremulous, and it got more intense as time went on. Soon he was panting, and rocking, and every now and then uttering something he was clearly imagining himself doing.

“Ah, yeah, suck my cock, just like that,” he said.

Then just to make it extra agonizing, he spat into his hand.

To make it extra slick, you thought, like someone’s mouth. Someone sucking him the way he’d described, slow and steady until he was actually shuddering, right here and now. The bed was moving, at least, and it wasn’t because he was working that cock hard. He wasn’t. He was going slow, so slow, squeezing and rolling rather than the short, fast kind of thing You’d always thought guys did. They almost never seemed to do anything else in porn…but then again they never did all this other stuff, too. You dared to turn you head a little more and saw to your astonishment that he had his hand pressed to his mouth. He was almost biting his fist, chest heaving, body shivering all over—but most important, eyes closed.

He couldn’t even see you looking. You were free to do as you pleased.Yet something held you back. You couldn’t seem to do more than peek out of the corner of you eye, and even that made you feel strange. You kept getting this clenching sensation—sort of like embarrassment or humiliation—and it got worse when his back arched. When he actually said out loud that he was almost there, that he was so close, that he was gonna come all over your duvet. I need something to do it on, he said, and even that had a shameful frisson of its own. You had a brief flash of him kneeling up and suddenly coming all over your face, or maybe pulling down that ridiculously large neck hole to expose your breasts.

Followed by an image of that thick white liquid coating you, striping you face, dripping off your tight little nipples. Him pushing his cock past your lips to finish off, groaning as he flooded your mouth.

And he would have flooded it, too. You glanced at him just in time to see him shove his sweatpants down, that big dick swelling under the pressure of his too-tight grip. Thick ribbons of come already hitting his bared belly, over and over until you were sure he must be done. He had to be, yet more kept flowing over his still-working fist. You watched it run down over his fingers in slippery trails before pooling in his lap.

Though none of it was what you kept seeing behind your eyes in the aftermath. Instead, you saw the way his face had looked as he shot his load. The open mouth, and the closed eyes, and most of all the strange, wrenching vulnerability that had covered him for a moment. No mischief, no macho bullshit—just a completely open and abandoned sort of ecstasy.

And all of it for you.

He knew you had watched him. He still knew now. You flicked your eyes back to the screen as he started to catch his breath, but the first thing he did was include you.

“Guess I kind of made a mess here,” he said, everything about his tone suggesting two conspirators, finishing off their evil deed. You even got up after he’d said it, to get him a tissue.

Though when You got back he’d pretty much taken care of most of it.

You stopped in the doorway to the bathroom at the sight: Him, casually licking his messy fingers.

It took you a good two minutes after that to go over to him, with your fistful of toilet paper. And when you did go, it was on very shaky legs. Your whole body felt shaky, in fact—though not in any way you’d experienced before. This was like being full to the brim with something burning hot, skin so close to ripping that it couldn’t keep still. Sometimes you thought you could see it shivering slightly under the strain, and every inch of it was tender, so tender. His leg brushed yours as you sat down, and it was agony. You even winced—then immediately regretted it.

He had been concentrating on clean-up. Now he looked up at you sharply.

And asked questions You were loathing to answer.

“Have you…not? I mean have you not—”

“I couldn’t. I’m sorry, I couldn’t.”

“God, you must be bursting.”

“Honestly, I’m fine.”

The problem was though; you didn’t seem fine.

You couldn’t meet his gaze. Your hands were fists on your thighs.

And of course he could see all of that.

“You look like you’re bursting.”

“Oh yeah? And what does bursting look like?”

“Your voice is shaking.”

“Is it?” You asked, voice so light it almost passed.

Almost, almost, almost.

“Your cheeks are flushed.”

“Are they?”

“And then there’s the fact that your nipples are like diamonds. Fuck, look how stiff they are. Isn’t that agonizing, having them like that? I bet your clit’s the same. Bet your pussy is so wet. So wet you’re making a mess of the nice, clean clothes.”

Your cheeks grew hotter and hotter as he whispered each word. By the time he was done they felt like they were going to melt right off you face. That tense, cringing feeling in your stomach was ten times worse, and that was before he got to the last point. The one about the clothes, and the mess, and oh god what if he was right? It felt as if he might be. You weren’t wearing any underwear, and everything was really slippery between your legs. You could feel it, every time You moved.

“Oh fuck, sorry, sorry I don’t…I hope…it’s just that—” You didn’t even know why you were apologizing

“Honey, you don’t need an explanation.”

His tone was like sinking into a warm bath—and the thumb you could feel stroking over you forearm only pulled you deeper down. He just did it so idly. So like he wasn’t touching you at all.

Before you knew it, you were up to your ears in liquid heat.

“Are you sure? Because it kind of feels like I do.”

“I’m sure. I mean, the movie was pretty intense.”

“Right, exactly. Super intense.”

“So why deny yourself?”

“I’m not…denying…anything.”

“I could leave, if you want.”

“No, god no,” You said, too fast and too fierce.v

Though it was only afterward that you realized how it sounded: Not like someone trying to say you didn’t want to masturbate. Like someone saying that you wanted him to stay.

And he took it that way, too.

“Or, you know. I could just…do it for you,” he said.

Then you just had to do your best not to go out of your mind.

You stopped herself from jumping up. Kept your hands from flailing.

Didn’t look at him, in case looking made you do something crazy.

“Oh my god. You can’t be serious. You can’t be serious.”

“Probably wouldn’t take a lot.”

“I always take a lot.”

“Even when you’re alone?”

“Especially when I’m alone.”

“Well, maybe we should see about that.”

Again, you had the urge to get up. Maybe you even would have, if it hadn’t been for the other things he was doing. The thumb stroking your arm was now the back of his hand, running the length of your arm over and over. And that was his breath against the curve of your throat, so close and warm he could have been kissing you there. It felt like kissing.

Only without the scariness of the real thing.

All of this was without the scariness of the real thing. It was just a game, that was all—and one that you could win if you really put you mind to it. He thought he could get you so easily, but he was utterly and completely wrong. You were a rock, in the face of whatever he was going to do. You were impervious to the pleasure he seemed to think he was going to dole out, to the point where you almost laughed when he slipped his hand beneath the waistband of those too-big sweatpants.

It was weird. Slightly uncomfortable.

Not sexy in the least.

And then his fingertips just oh-so-lightly grazed the pouting lips of your swollen pussy, and things pretty much started to go downhill from there. The sensation it sent through you was just so intense, and over something so small. He hadn’t even slipped between them to your clit, or eased a finger into your slick little hole. In truth, you weren’t entirely sure he’d touched you at all.

Yet you still had to clench your jaw.

You had to tell herself that it was just the stuff that had happened before—the film and him coming and then licking his fingers like a satisfied cat. It wasn’t anything to do with this right now, with him touching you, with his skill. He wasn’t skilful at all. He was terrible. Awful.

he worst lover you had ever had.

You had no idea why your thighs were trembling. Or what made you moan when he finally, finally, finally eased his fingers into that slick slit, and then topped it off by telling you just what he found there.

“Ohhhh fuuuuck you are wet. You’re so wet. Jesus Christ, Y/N, how can you stand it? How can you sit still and quiet with those eyes closed when your pussy is like this? So slippery I can just glide all the way down and ease on in and oh man, oh man,” he said, and all You could do in response was shiver and make a number of embarrassing noises. First for his words, and then oh god then for the feel of him doing it.

He used two fingers—two of those long, thick fingers—yet somehow it didn’t hurt when he pushed into you. There was no fumbling or searching. Your body just seemed to open for him, as though they’d dated for years and he’d worked on you for hours. He knew exactly how to touch you there, and when he did you simply had to respond. Your gasp rung out in the small room.Though you vowed it would be the last one. That was it now—you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of anything else. Not even when he started working his fingers in and out, slow and steady and so unbelievably good. you kind of wanted to cry over the unfairness of it. Why was he the one who had to be so good at this? How did he know how to do it in this deliberate, teasing, tantalizing way?

Even watching him do it was exciting. You made the mistake of glancing down and all you could see was his hand rolling beneath the material, the waistband occasionally stretching to give you a glimpse of your glossy cunt, his gleaming fingers, the way you were spread around that thick intrusion…

Fuck.

You had to look at the screen just to stop yourself coming right then and there—though even those measures had an exciting quality of their own. James Spader was just doing something incredibly dull now, while you sat here watching through slitted eyelids, cheeks flushed and legs spread, as a man slowly fingered your slick, flushed pussy. Back and forth, back and forth, until you were so beside yourself you weren’t sure you even wanted to hold back your moans. You only knew that you were still trying, for reasons that seemed vague and far away now. It just doesn’t matter, your mind hissed, but you kept it up anyway. You held yourself more tightly and bit deep into your lip—deep enough that you tasted blood. And when he started to ease those fingers up, you shut your eyes tight. You thought of other things, more boring things: dry books and bird-watching. All to no avail. He made one circle around your clit.

Just one tiny, insignificant circle, and that was it. Your orgasm rolled up from that stiff little bud, in one all-consuming and all-powerful wave. It took away your control over your body—your toes curled tight and your back arched. But most important, it took away your control over your mouth. It let one little word slip out.

Though one little word was more than enough.

“Jungkook,” You said, and after that the game was pretty much up. That was gratitude in your voice and pleasure in the sigh behind it, and all wrapped in the neat little bow of his name. There was no more pretending that it wasn’t him who had made you feel this way, or suggesting that all of this was just a game.And he knew it immediately. He kept up the thrusts of his long, thick fingers, helping you prolong the feeling of your orgasm for as long as possible. And he didn’t stop there. Your face was starting to contort from the oversensitivity and it was obvious that Jungkook knew it too from the way he bit his lip and started to purposely move his fingers faster once again.

“Ahh! J-Jungkook… I can’t….” You moaned out, though this seemed to have no effect on him as he seemed determined to elicit another orgasm from you. His fingers scraping against your tightening walls as they fought to repeatedly slam back inside you. Your thighs were shaking, your eyes half lidded, leaning back on your hands as his worked between your legs. Suddenly you gripped Jungkook’s moving hand as you came dangerously close to letting go.

“That’s it, fuck, cum again for me Y/N. I need this. You need this” He almost sounded desperate and it made you want to sob because everything was so fucking hot.

With a cry of his name, you came undone again, your body almost curling in towards itself from the sensitivity.

“Holy shit, holy shit,” he said, as though you’d cried out the filthiest thing on the face of the earth. And, again, he didn’t stop there. You could hear him fumbling with the waistband of his sweatpants already—though you tried to turn it into something else in your head. He was just pulling them up, you thought. They had slid down as he serviced you, that was all.

Only it wasn’t all.

When you made the mistake of glancing his way, you saw so much more than you were ready for. It was supposed to be over now, completely over, but he’d shoved everything down to mid-thigh and his cock was in his hand again and god god god why was it so arousing? You’d had cum twice already. He’d had one orgasm already, and now he was being so fucking filthy.

Yet somehow the filthiness only made it worse.

You came searingly close to telling him yes.

And go on.

And come all over me—just like you’d imagined.

For one wild second, it even seemed like he might. He was groaning and panting and he kept saying things, incredible things like “do you see what you do to me do you get how fucking horny you make me oh fuck just hearing you moan my name”. His hand was heavy on your shoulder, and you knew he was close. He was going to yank your top down any second now.

Any second, you thought.

Though you didn’t realize how much you wanted it until the first thick burst slid over his fist.

Didn’t know how little control you had over herself until he grunted your name and shuddered violently, that slick fluid easing over his still-pumping fist. After all, if you’d had any you would have stayed right where you were, content to just watch.Instead of leaning forward to take that heavy, swollen, slippery head in your mouth, to catch the last ribbons of his salt-sweet cum all over your eager tongue.

“Fucking fuck, Jagiya” Jungkook cursed loudly, watching you take the head of his cock in your mouth. He slid his hands in your hair, gripping it from the bottom of your skull gently, rocking your face back and forth, riding out the last of his high. You looked up at him, eye still glassed over, breathing hard and laboured and slid the head of him out of your mouth.

There was no doubt that Jungkook was shocked at your boldness but he seemed pleasantly surprised. His pupils blown out, lips swollen, skin gleaming. He truly was a work of art. The magnitude of what you two had done hit you hard. So, naturally, there was only one thing left to do in panic.

Kick him out.

“Jungkook…you need to leave”

A/N: So, Idk what happened but yeah hope you all enjoy. Not sure if I’ll make this a series since I’m bad at continuing ideas. I may stick to separate scenarios. I get bored easily. However, please feel free to check out my blog and send me ideas for new fics

Another kinky wager

Summary: As he previously promised, Bucky helps you work out all those irritating little kinks in your pool game.
Characters: Bucky x Reader
Warnings: Absolutely NSFW. It’s all sex and pool tables folks, please walk away unless you’re over 18.  

A/N: Decided to write a follow-up to ‘Pool balls and underpants’, because I just couldn’t move on without a smutty sequel. This can read as a stand-alone story, but it will make more sense why Bucky’s wearing Steve’s underwear if you read the first part. And besides, who doesn’t love reading sassy sexual innuendos from Bucky Barnes?

Also, I meant this to be short, and once again my imagination spiralled out of control, and here we are. I regret nothing.

Pool balls and underpants 
MASTERLIST


He’s startled for a moment, before a sly smile stretches across his face, and he whips around to follow, white socks slipping and sliding on the smooth tiles as he chases after you.

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Together, Alone (Soulmark AU)

Idk how people feel about reading 1.6K drabbles on tumblr, so I also posted it on AO3 for funsies! 

Dedicated to @serpensthesia for her birthday! #serpaken for life <3

Thanks to @bixgirl1 and @jadepresley for reading over this for me! And to @femmequixotic and @noeeon for encouraging the idea and making me write! <3<3<3


It started on his seventeenth birthday.

Draco had known it would start then, of course. That part was normal. The clock was supposed to manifest as a tattoo on his skin, and begin its countdown to the moment Draco would meet his Soulmate. He’d been looking forward to the clock’s appearance all year— desperate for anything that might take his mind off his hopeless situation. Draco was exhausted, the damned cabinet was never going to be fixed, and his whole family was probably going to die as punishment.

And Draco had been prepared to die with them, resigned to the fact that his countdown tattoo might not appear at all, or might be stuck at 00:00:00:00:00:00 right from the beginning.

Draco had not, however, been prepared for the clock to appear at midnight and begin counting down from a mere one minute and seventeen seconds. His heart jumped in his chest. Clearly Draco was one of those rare wizards who had already met their Soulmate, but hadn’t known yet because he wasn’t of age at the time. Which didn’t help Draco in the slightest, as he could think of precisely nobody at Hogwarts who he might like to spend the rest of his life with.

He stood up from the stool he’d set in front of the hopeless cabinet, grabbed his wand, and began making his way to the door of the Room of Hidden Things. Between the time he’d spent staring at his countdown in disbelief, the time it took to reach the door, and the few seconds he devoted to not panicking, the clock reached zero at the very moment he pushed open the door.

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Bluebells

Summary: Dan just really wants to put flowers in Phil’s hair.
Word Count: 2,498
Warnings: none
A/N: Hello! I’ve had this image in my head of Phil with flowers in his hair for like 2 months straight and obv i needed to write about it since I can’t do art. This whole fic is basically just me gushing about how beautiful Phil is and I’m not even ashamed. See art for this fic here, here, here, here, and here

listen to my audiofic!
read it on ao3

-

There is a boy that makes Dan yearn to weave flowers into his hair every time he sees him. There is a boy with pale skin as white as snow and pretty blue eyes the colour of Bluebells. He has hair like the night sky and it sometimes glimmered in the light to form little galaxies. He wanted to thread Baby’s Breath through those pretty raven locks until his hair matches the colour of his eyes.

It was an addiction, an anomaly, something that does not normally cross Dan’s mind. Usually, he doesn’t see someone and want to thread flowers through their hair. Usually, he doesn’t think about flowers at all.

But then he saw him and he couldn’t stop himself from going home and studying the names of flowers that reminded Dan of him. Hyacinths and Marigold and Sweet Peas and Lavender, all melding into one to make the most beautiful man Dan had ever laid eyes on.

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White sheets & purple kisses

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2,032
Warnings: Smut - NSFW – Sexual themes, inappropriate language, nudity, handjob, fingering, squirting, unprotected sex - please guys if you’re going to be intimate with someone, please use protection. Also if you’re underage, please don’t read this.
Author’s Note: Hi guys, I don’t even know what to say about this. I think this is the most smuty thing I’ve ever wrote ahah so all I can say is I hope you enjoy it. This is also for @marvelous-fvcks writing challenge. I hope you like it! I did my best. And please guys, tell me what you think of it. I’m so nervous for some reason ahaha.
Prompt Word: Hickey


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shades of wrong (m)

Summary: In which you’re sure you’ll hate Park Jimin with every fiber of your being for the rest of your existence, even after he is assigned your tutor for History of Magic.
Pairing: Jimin | Reader
Genre: Fluff/Smut; Harry Potter AU 
Word Count: 17,321
Author’s Note: This got insanely long, and I apologize but also not really. Inspired by @jeonbegins + her really dope HP Slytherin Jimin AU edit. I also had a little conversation with @minsvga about this and she helped me figured out the basic idea for what this story has become; and @chokemejimin has asked to be tagged in my HP work so here you go my dear!!!

.

No matter how hard you try, it seems as if you are always bested by Park Jimin in every aspect of life: from Quidditch to school to class popularity.

And you absolutely despise him for it.

Granted, it’s probably because he’s always simply excelled in everything while you could only manage the minimum requirement for things outside of the sport you’ve grown to be so passionate about—but that’s only deepened your dislike for the boy. It’s been like this since the pair of you were children, a rivalry already planted between you even before you knew what the term meant. Truthfully, it was pretty much written in the stars that you would develop some deep-rooted grudge against Jimin, for he was organized into Slytherin while you were put in the fiery red and gold of Gryffindor.

Beyond the clashing Houses that have officially formed your backgrounds, it doesn’t help that the boy has seemed to uphold a particular interest in doing whatever he could to see you fidget or watch you squirm or just catch you at your worst moments—although you humor yourself on the idea that these unfortunate incidents occur to you because of Park Jimin’s constant hovering. It’s a habit that’s grown since the first week of your admission into Hogwarts, in which your big mouth scored you your first detention with the infamous Professor Snape.

It’s a moment that marks the beginning of an unspoken battle between the pair of you—in which you would constantly attempt to prove yourself better than Park Jimin and Park Jimin doing everything he could to make sure you could never have that victory. During the first two years of school, this would mean beating you on every exam, knowing the answers to every question and teasing you for not knowing. Professors putting Jimin on a pedestal, marking him up as the ‘ideal student’ and unknowingly intensifying the dagger of hatred you wished to plunge deeper and deeper into his chest.

When you are twelve, you are told that there is certainly no way for you to truly despise of something (or someone)—for you are young and naive and not entirely capable to understand what it means to hate something with every fiber of your being.

But they’re wrong.

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squint at where you’re from

oops sometimes you gotta

spoilers for 413, bellamy/clarke, 1600 words, gen. AO3!


Even though it’s not really the same as coming down in the first time, Bellamy still has this strange sense of deja vu as he looks at the door. The ship is smaller, he has fewer people with him, he feels both more and less sure of what he’ll find. They tried to hit the only spot of green they could see, but the controls are a mess, so he’s not sure they got to it. The whole fucking ship is a mess, built out of whatever scrap they could salvage. Even with six years to perfect it, the thing is still held together with spit and prayer, according to Raven.

But it got them to the ground. They’re back.

“Just open the fucking door!” says Raven, and Bellamy lets out a long breath and finally hits the release.

He knows what he’s hoping for: clean air, plants, blue sky. And he gets all of those.

He just also gets a girl, maybe ten or eleven, with brown hair in braids, pointing a gun at him. Which is honestly fairly encouraging; someone survived, and they have firearms. So she probably came out of the bunker.

He puts his hands up on reflex.

“Hey, uh–we come in peace,” he tries, and then says it again in Trig, for good measure. He doesn’t recognize her, but that doesn’t mean anything. She could be from another clan; there are plenty of them he doesn’t know. Or–his heart trips on the thought–she could be a nightblood. She could have survived because of that, and if she survived–

The girl pulls her gun back and looks at him critically. “Are you Bellamy Blake?”

He blinks a few times. “Um, yeah. I’m Bellamy Blake.”

“Really?”

She sounds skeptical, which doesn’t make any fucking sense. She’s the one who brought it up. There’s no reason for her not to believe him.

“Yeah, really. Did you come out of the bunker? Is my sister with you? Octavia?”

You’re Bellamy?” she says, like she didn’t hear him. She’s making a face like something smells odd. “I thought you’d be taller.”

Taller?” he asks.

Raven pokes her head out. “It’s been five minutes and you’re already being held at gunpoint? You sure have a way with people, Bellamy.”

“Look, we don’t want to hurt you,” he tells the girl. “Just–”

“I know,” she says. “You just want to see Clarke.”

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Hang on To That Feeling

MASTERLIST

A/N: This is a planned post. I’m going to put a trigger warning on this just in case. This one is a bit different, so feedback would be lovely. 

Word count: 3,278

”Hey Brian, I don’t have much time. What is it?” I asked, struggling holding the phone to my ear using only my left shoulder. 

My fingers moved across the keyboard on the computer without my eyes gazing down once as I continued to type. 

Multitasking had never been my thing and talking on the phone while typing in corrections for the next meeting at work, wasn’t really working out for me. 

“It’s Shawn” he stuttered and then the air in my lungs what punched out entirely. 

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No decency II Pt.1

There were two things you despised in your current situation. The first thing accrued to be that your mom decided to move in with her new husband. The second one was that playboy number one Jeon Jungkook turns out to be your new stepbrother. As your parents spontaneously go on vacation you and Jungkook have to deal with the building tension between the two of you until an upcoming house party leaves you panting underneath him.


genre: stepbrother!jungkook, dom!jungkook, smut

word count: 9.8k

Originally posted by eatupbangtan

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Sangwoo in Chapter 31 (Analysis)

So, there was a lot going on this chapter, wasn’t there? Between the non-stabbing, the consequential continuation of the fight, Sangwoo being arrested, Bum being dragged along with him, and Sangwoo putting Seungbae on the spot, it was a rollercoaster of a chapter. 

We all know (I hope) that Sangwoo is very intelligent. We also know that (to some extent) he cares for Bum. Which makes me hesitant to say exactly whether Sangwoo is using his heart or his brain this chapter (ignore the cliche).

After Sangwoo has been ‘brought down’ by Seungbae, we get to see this jewel.  Now I’d argue that he’s genuinely thinking of Bum here with no ulterior motive. He looks so defeated. He’s just woken up from being tased. He’s thinking about what’s most important in that moment- Bum. Exactly what he’s thinking is more obscure. Is he disappointed in Bum, sad, angry, confused? We have one word and with it a million possibilities. 

Here’s my take on it. Not to sound too, well, romantic, but Sangwoo’s face here looks so broken. I look at him here, and I see a man who thinks he’s lost everything (or is about to) and is desperately clinging to one thing above all else. His eyebrows are raised towards his nose, slanting down towards his ears. This could just be due to the angle we’re looking at him from, but it could also be indicative of pain. Of course, he was just tased so that could have something to do with it, but I think the pain he’s feeling the most at this moment is emotional. He looks so done. 

Cut to the station:

This is the intelligent ‘can think his way out of anything’ Sangwoo at work here. Look at him. He’s watching. Gathering information, and assessing the situation. If he ever needed his smarts, it’s now. And this is where things get complicated, in my opinion. Sangwoo is trying to find a way out of an impossible situation. And then Bum arrives. 

And Sangwoo freaks out. 

He gets angry. He starts yelling. He moves with speed. He reacts in such a way that everyone literally freezes.

Look carefully at Seungbae’s face here because I’ll come back to it in a second. But first, Sangwoo doesn’t stop just because everyone else does. He uses Bum to his advantage. This is where I start to find things interesting. Sangwoo is too smart to not know what he is doing here. By showing he cares for his ‘victim’ he is blowing huge holes in Seungbae’s theory. And Sangwoo knows this. I mean look:

‘What happened to your face, Bum?’ As if he doesn’t already know. Sangwoo is looking at Bum and seeing an opportunity to get off scot-free. It is obvious that that is what he is doing. (Quick side-note because Bum’s face kills me here). But is that the ONLY reason he’s doing it? Is this Sangwoo freaking out, but intelligently? Is he showing genuine concern for Bum here, or just using him? Is he trying to save himself, or save them both? What is he feeling for Bum at this moment, considering everything that’s happened beforehand? The answers to these questions are a huge indication of Sangwoo’s motives, but sadly, I don’t know what they are. 

I mean, on the one hand, he’s making Seungbae’s theory look more and more ridiculous with every passing moment (and doesn’t Seungbae just know it):

Look at his face here. He is so out of his depth. Sangwoo has completely outsmarted him, and his mind is reeling. Why? Because Sangwoo has used emotions to his advantage. In Seungbae’s mind, Sangwoo is this psycho, emotionless, ‘evil’ man. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. Bum is his victim and nothing else. Yet, here is a man who seems to care about Bum to the point of desperation. It’s a clever ploy, one that even shocks Seungbae. He looks so surprised to see that Sangwoo might care about someone. That he might actually have emotions. He’s stunned into silence, and every second he stays that way is a second more that Sangwoo can use to his advantage. Seungbae seems to have made a rookie mistake. Prior to this point, I’m pretty sure he’s only thought so far as getting Sangwoo to the station, and figured if he could do that he’d ‘win’. He doesn’t seem to realize that the fight between them didn’t end with Sangwoo’s arrest. And, boy that’s not going to end well for him.

On the other hand, we get this Sangwoo:

Look at his face in the second panel. I know that ‘reading Sangwoo’ is an art-form that no one’s mastered, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and say this is genuine emotion in his face. So, is Sangwoo using his brain, his heart or some unholy alliance of the two? I would argue for the latter. He’s emotional, but he’s not stupid. He’s using his genuine feelings and concern for Bum, amping them up, and using them to fool everyone. As far as I can remember, Sangwoo hasn’t done that before. He’s been either cold and calculating, or emotional to an unhealthy degree. We know he’s good at faking earnestness, which is what makes me uncertain about this whole outburst.

I mean, once Bum is next to him, he reverts back to calculating Sangwoo:

Look at that scheming face

And then he goes for the final blow:

Oh, KO, Suengbae! You are outta here! This is seriously the most brilliant plan Sangwoo could have come up with. Not only has he completely discredited Seungbae’s theory, but he’s distracted the rest of the police from it, too. In fact, he’s put his own involvement in the CEO’s daughter’s murder (that’s a mouthful) so far out of everyone’s mind, he doesn’t even register. He cares, he’s polite, he apologises, he bows. No way he can be a murderer, right? Ignore the fact that he came at ‘Bum’s ex’ with a knife. Everyone does that when confronted with their SO’s ex, right?

I’ve included this panel because I have a sneaky suspicion that Sangwoo’s face is showing some evidence of this victory on it. I mean, he knows he’s all but ‘proved’ himself innocent, and condemned Seungbae. Now Bum isn’t smart enough to figure all this out, which probably explains how confused he looks. But I think Sangwoo may be hiding a smile here. 

I mean think about it. The police questioning Sangwoo is one thing, but Bum would’ve gotten them both arrested the second he was alone in an interrogation room. Lies are not that boy’s strong point. 

So, maybe you’re wondering what the point of all this was? Did I really say anything that somebody hasn’t already? Probably not, but I’m curious. I’m curious as to how people interpreted this scene. Do you think it was all a ploy? Do you think Sangwoo was genuinely overly-emotional? Or do you think he was emotional, but using those to his advantage? Or something completely different? Personally, I think Sangwoo was feeling pretty raw this chapter (and the last). I think he was genuinely something for Bum this chapter, I just can’t figure out what. Is he concerned? Is he angry that someone’s touching his Bum? Scared, jealous, something else? I really can’t tell. All I can say is that I think he was emotional, even if I can’t figure out what emotion that is. I think he used that emotion to his advantage, and used Bum as a get-out-of-jail-free card to keep them both out of the reach of the police. Whether he cares about Bum in this moment or not is another question, but he certainly wanted the police to never doubt that. 

So, the tl;dr of this long, rambly post is, I think the side of Sangwoo we see here was his calculating one. I think the outburst in the station was somewhat emotional, but was mainly a ploy on Sangwoo’s part. I’d say he was 8/10ths intelligence and 2/10ths emotion at the station. I think the emotion was genuine, but not. I can’t explain it. It’s almost as if Sangwoo is saying what he genuinely thinks he feels, covering up what he actually feels with semi-real concern. So he is concerned about Bum, but it’s a different concern to what he’s showing? He’s concerned he’ll lose him, but not concerned about him being hurt? Sangwoo, you are near impossible to figure out. 

nytimes.com
Opinion | Stop Pretending You’re Not Rich
Forget the 1 percent for a moment. It’s the top fifth that rules.
By Richard V. Reeves

When I was growing up, my mother would sometimes threaten my brother and me with elocution lessons. It is no secret that how you talk matters a lot in a class-saturated society like the United Kingdom. Peterborough, our increasingly diverse hometown, was prosperous enough, but not upscale. Six in 10 of the city’s residents voted for Brexit — a useful inverse poshness indicator. (In Thursday’s general election, Peterborough returned a Labour MP for the first time since 2001.)

Our mother, from a rural working-class background herself, wanted us to be able to rise up the class ladder, unencumbered by the wrong accent. The elocution lessons never materialized, but we did have to attend ballroom dancing lessons on Saturday mornings. She didn’t want us to put a foot wrong there, either.

As it turned out, my brother and I did just fine, in no small part because of the stable, loving, middle-class home in which we were raised. Any lingering working-class traces in my own accent were wiped away by three disinfectant years at Oxford. My wife claims they resurface when I drink, but she doesn’t know what she’s talking about — she’s American.

I always found the class consciousness of Britain depressing. It is one of the reasons we brought our British-born sons to America. Here, class is quaint, something to observe in wonder through imported TV shows like “Downton Abbey” or “The Crown.”

So imagine my horror at discovering that the United States is more calcified by class than Britain, especially toward the top. The big difference is that most of the people on the highest rung in America are in denial about their privilege. The American myth of meritocracy allows them to attribute their position to their brilliance and diligence, rather than to luck or a rigged system. At least posh people in England have the decency to feel guilty.

In Britain, it is politically impossible to be prime minister and send your children to the equivalent of a private high school. Even Old Etonian David Cameron couldn’t do it. In the United States, the most liberal politician can pay for a lavish education in the private sector. Some of my most progressive friends send their children to $30,000-a-year high schools. The surprise is not that they do it. It is that they do it without so much as a murmur of moral disquiet.

Beneath a veneer of classlessness, the American class reproduction machine operates with ruthless efficiency. In particular, the upper middle class is solidifying. This favored fifth at the top of the income distribution, with an average annual household income of $200,000, has been separating from the 80 percent below. Collectively, this top fifth has seen a $4 trillion-plus increase in pretax income since 1979, compared to just over $3 trillion for everyone else. Some of those gains went to the top 1 percent. But most went to the 19 percent just beneath them.

The rhetoric of “We are the 99 percent” has in fact been dangerously self-serving, allowing people with healthy six-figure incomes to convince themselves that they are somehow in the same economic boat as ordinary Americans, and that it is just the so-called super rich who are to blame for inequality.

Politicians and policy wonks worry about the persistence of poverty across generations, but affluence is inherited more strongly. Most disturbing, we now know how firmly class positions are being transmitted across generations. Most of the children born into households in the top 20 percent will stay there or drop only as far as the next quintile. As Gary Solon, one of the leading scholars of social mobility, put it recently, “Rather than a poverty trap, there seems instead to be more stickiness at the other end: a ‘wealth trap,’ if you will.”

There’s a kind of class double-think going on here. On the one hand, upper-middle-class Americans believe they are operating in a meritocracy (a belief that allows them to feel entitled to their winnings); on the other hand, they constantly engage in antimeritocratic behavior in order to give their own children a leg up. To the extent that there is any ethical deliberation, it usually results in a justification along the lines of “Well, maybe it’s wrong, but everyone’s doing it.”

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