#but i know that its so easy to blame yourself for systems not working and thinking you should've known better but you couldn't have

[positivelyadhd]

please don't blame yourself not knowing you were neurodivergent sooner.

please don't blame yourself if you did know you were neurodivergent but your support needs weren't met for whatever reason.

everyone deserves to have access to disability aids and support if they need it.

you are not an inconvenience for wanting to be understood or supported. you are not broken.

it is not your fault that the systems you needed weren't there when you needed them.

no matter what anyone says, you deserve to live in a world where you can be happy and do the things that you want to do and exist how you want to.

I am so sorry that it's so difficult to get that sometimes, but it is not your fault. and you still deserve support now even if you *got by" without.

[ameliathornromance]

The Manor House: A Vampire Romance: Chapter 4

A white trail of petals guided you downstairs the next evening. The same petals of the flowers you gave the Lord.

You followed them, down the hall and to the imperial staircase, where they drifted down the steps and ended in the front room.

The sky outside hadn’t changed since you went to bed, the curtains had stayed open and billowed as cold night air washed in the Manor in its icy freshness.

The fridgidness made you slow, sensing something… new in the air.

It wasn’t the old stuffy feeling that the constantly drawn curtains blocked in or the endless halls of void that suffocated anyone who dared gazed into its endlessness.

As you reached the bottom of the staircase, you turned into the front room and found the source of your unease.

Petals led your eyes up to Lord Baal. He sat in an armchair by the fireplace. The fire crackled menacingly, spitting embers as you locked eyes with the man in the chair.

His legs were crossed, his fingernails dug into plush red leather arms of the chair. In his lap, laid the bouquet of flowers. Nearly all the heads of the plants had been plucked free of their colour, only leaving the yellow pollen at the centre of the stem.

Heart in your throat, you and the Lord locked eyes, his dark gaze narrowed at you in the firelight.

Neither of you said anything.

“Why did you-“

“When I said ‘clean the Manor’, I didn’t mean do the bare minimum.” The Lord interrupted. Picking up one of the flower stems, he twirled it in his fingers, admiring his massacre of the greenery. “I checked everywhere, you missed the kitchen.”

“But-“ you started.

The Lord hurled the stem into the fireplace. Embers burst from underneath the stem, before it clambered on top of its fuel and robbed it of its life.

You stopped mid sentence as the Lord spoke again, “I had no idea that commoners were so incompetent, a monkey could do a better job here.”

Lord Baal got to his feet, tossing the rest of the flowers into the fire. The flames lapped at them as if they were parched dogs.

He approached you, his degradation continued, “maybe I should have employed one instead of a commoner I picked up from the bank of a river.” He chuckled, “I mean, what did I expect?”

You bit your tongue. Let him get his malice out of his system, it won’t last long.

“I picked you up from a river bank. You looked horrendous, just like I expected any peasant to look. I don’t even know why I trusted you with such an easy task.”

Endure it.

“I mean, you fell off your own horse and into a river. You can’t even swim. I thought that peasants were experienced in that, since, y’know, they have nothing else better to do than swim in dirty lakes and rivers.”

That night flashed through your mind. Your chest tightened, feeling the chilly air seep into your lungs, into your very soul as the villagers searched for you like Fox hunters chasing down their already injured rodent prey.

The water of the churning rapids licked your legs again, threatening to take you if you didn’t jump in yourself. 

A twig snapped, somewhere in the distance. Just close enough for you to hear, you might have mistaken it for the cackling fire.

“I finally know why you’re alone.” Your voice echoed, strong, loud through the air.

Even the fire dared not make a sound, the Lord’s cruel grin falling away. “What did you just say?”

“I said,” You raised your voice. “I finally know why you’re alone.” 

When the Lord had no response, you pelted him with sharp words, your tongue forked like a venomous snakes. “It’s no wonder everyone left you here, to rot in this Manor. Even the servants left you here alone and I can hardly blame them, especially with that shitty attitude.” 

You jabbed your index finger, hard into the Lord’s chest. “It’s better than being talked down to by some stuck-up his ass Lord who can’t appreciate the work others put in for him and his ridiculously sized home that he keeps all to himself!”

Your shouts echoed around the Manor and bounced back, as if it was too, fed up with Lord Baal’s neglect.

“That’s probably why your family probably left too!” A cruel laugh escaped you as you tugged at yesterday's clothes, still on your back. “I mean, your mother didn’t even bother to pack her clothes to take with her when she left this place-”

The fire went out, stealing the words from your throat, plunging you into blackness. The ghostly moonlight bloomed behind you.

Heart in your throat, you looked around frantically, desperate for your eyes to adjust to the limited lighting. The tightness in your chest didn’t go away as you raked the surroundings for any sight of the Lord, ears pricked and almost yearning for his pompous tone that you hated him for. 

The clicking of the front door earned a gasp of surprise from you, finally finding the only other occupant of the Manor.

He stood in the doorway, eyes shadowed and glowering into the night, as if it was the turning of the earth that had wronged him.

Without so much as a word, he slammed the door closed behind him. The Manor shuddered with the force, the window panes rattling, threatening to fall from their neglected frames.

*

Lord Baal stalked through the grounds of his Manor, fists clenched and teeth gritted.“That absolute fucking-” He growled as he stormed toward his overgrown garden.

This was stupid, to go on a walk so close to the morning, he knew it was, but he didn’t care.

Clawing his way through the rose bushes, ignoring the way the stems pierced his flesh, he forced his way into what was once a marble maze.

Once he was clear of the bushes he stopped, breathless, surrounded by them.

He kicked at the thicket, felt stupid for attacking a plant, then fell to his knees. 

Your words hammered down on him as the Lord glared at a statue of his father. Nearly consumed by moss, vines twisting around its Greek podium, it soothed the Lord for a moment. 

This moment of clarity, allowed a question that Lord Baal had been pushing away for so long, to creep into his mind:

Did they really leave because of me?

Read 4 Chapters ahead

Masterlist

[neverlearnedtoread]

Spinning Silver

⭐⭐⭐⭐; the staryk king and mirnatius with the word 'wife' on the board: there's only one thing more horrible than a wife.... *rips off paper* MY wife

Oh?? ���😉😏

women are fucking amazing and wonderful and terrifying and unequivocal badasses. especially to their husbands. it's about the fantasy of a marriage you have no control over being perfectly suited to you in ways you didn't even know it could

inhuman fae creatures that actually have a separate culture and set of rules they are governed by. they're much more powerful than humans, of course, but they are bound to their laws, and if you're smart you can work with that

fairytale-esque magic system that relies heavily on (1) trickery (2) Having Audacity and (3) the rule of threes 😉. we love a soft magic system that rewards big swings and BDE!

not one, but TWO separate arranged marriages engaged in HEATED pvp AKA two people bound in hostile matrimony trying to kill each other while having 'wait, are they hot? fuck!' moments

you can be cold and practical and still be a good person. you can be strong enough to protect yourself without sacrificing others. with a good enough grasp of contracts you can force a demon to leave your kingdom AND husband unharmed in a 2-for-1 deal

No.. ❌🤢🤮

multiple POVs with no names for chapter titles so you have to figure out who it is from context clues - if you're like me and love a little puzzle to go with your reading time, you'll really enjoy it (Novik does it VERY well) but if you get confused easily or don't wanna put in the brainpower its annoying and overly complicated

if you don't like enemies-to-lovers where they actually argue and are ideologically opposed, you're not gonna enjoy the romance subplots. this is not a 'forbidden-lovers' kinda enemies-to-lovers. this is firmly in the 'my husband misses me a lot - but his aim is getting better!' zone

really quick wrap up - it gets tied up a little too fast after the final confrontation with the Big Bad. i wouldve liked at least to have irina POV at the end because her side of things just. gets left hanging

Summary: Miryem is a daughter and granddaughter of moneylenders, and though her father doesn't have the hardheartedness to be a good one, she'd rather be despised for what she's owed than starve. Her knack for the trade, coupled with her sharp tongue, draws the ire of her village, and even more alarmingly, the Staryk's attentions; faerie creatures who only covet gold, they take her offhanded boast that she can turn silver into gold quite literally, and show up at her door to hold her true to her careless words - which, honestly, kind of backfires on them when she rises to the challenge and upends their realm into complete disarray, so maybe there's a lesson there for the next group of nonhumans to learn: don't bet the house against a human girl whose Had Enough Of All This Bullshit. She might win.

Concept: 💭💭💭 I don't know Rumpelstiltskin's story very well, and Ice Kingdom aesthetics aren't my favourite (you can blame it on my residual dislike of Frozen), but I DID read Uprooted before this. I wasn't as into the book blurb as I was with Uprooted, but I'm an experienced (and opinionated) enough reader to know when to trust my gut - if I find an author's writing style easy to read, and I enjoy how they handle their themes, I'm not afraid of diving into deep waters. If it's that bad, I can always DNF

Execution: 💥💥💥💥 As I've come to expect with Novik's writing, a wonderfully easy read; the storytelling voice flows smoothly and makes me want to keep on reading. No slogging through difficult to understand passages and too slow pacing for me! I instantly wanted to collect every POV character like puppies in a basket, no matter how brief their sections were. I will say the ending does forget what it wants to say and simply ends on a happy note, instead of a complete thought. It doesn't tie in the POV characters together strongly enough - I would've loved to see an epilogue scenes with the 3 main female characters supporting each other, or at least being three distinct Bad Bitches!

Personal Enjoyment: ❤❤❤❤❤ Mostly because of Irina and Miryem (and Wanda)'s absolute BDE. They truly brought their stories to life and felt very dynamic, constantly driving the story forward through their actions, especially because their personalities and characteristics were so well-suited to the challenges they faced (Miryem rules-lawyering the Staryk, Irina taking to politics, Wanda keeping faith despite all the shit she's been through). Honorary shoutout to the complete hilarity of Mirnatius's POV (though ultimately it IS more indulgence than necessity, I respect Novik for it) - may he spend the rest of his life desperately drawing his wife in vain search of her bad angles!

Favourite Moment: the running gag of mirnatius losing his fucking mind trying to prove irina isn't hot. you know that post that's like 'find a blorbo to draw and your art skills will start improving so much faster'? irina is his blorbo. special mention of the scene he gets jealous realizing a random guard has a crush on his behated wife and immediately jumps to the conclusion that irina would want to fuck the guard for the sake of the kingdom. babygirl the hoops you are jumping........where is this gymnastics routine even going 😭 this man is not beating the meow meow allegations..

Favourite Character: It's really a tie between Miryem and Irina, who are both so similar yet different at the same time. Miryem's BDE was enjoyably explosive - she throws it in everyone's face, which is perfect to play off of the Staryk's otherworldly impassiveness. Irina's BDE was a lot more...steely. Quietly coming into her own as she realized how adept she was at politics, and how perfectly well-suited that made her to being tsarina - and when they finally met each other? it was so funny when were like 'hey...why dont we kill our husbands via pokemon battle??'

[petewentzisblack1312]

question coming from also a third world supremacist (i think?) figuring out political ideology: how did you form yours?? i think i remember you saying you used to go off of empathy before forming a more solid worldview and i'd wanna know how to start that. apologies if i'm completely off base and you didn't say that in that case it's just nice to follow someone who's not from a first world country thank you for that

sorry this is quite meandering. i dont have a clear cut answer of a specific turning point, its just been a journey of learning ive been on as ive come of age. as for how to go about doing it yourself, id say to stay curious, but also stay skeptical. learn about the patterns that repeat in history- the way outsiders are blamed for problems, the way the world tends towards complicated answers, the fact that things are more often implicit than intentional- and be wary of them when you are confronted with an answer. remember that 'common sense' is not an edict passed on by god, its the culmination of a lot of decisions, some made with ulterior moments, so interrogate who benefits from you believing certain things that 'everyone knows'. and try to get some bearing on the theory behind certain philosophies and modes of thought. it could be a video essay, if you just need to get your foot in the door. my mentor is wary of documentaries and video essays because he thinks they can lie to you easily, but a book can do that too, especially if you think it cant! still, the audiovisual language is very easy to take at face value, and its more difficult to assess the legitimacy of a youtube video or documentary than it is with a book thats been cited by other authors a lot.

anyway, my own journey. i did in fact say my ideology is founded on empathy first and foremost. i was already pretty left leaning (but without a framework, just very 'live and let live') at that point but one of my teachers in secondary school (who ive known since my sister went to that same secondary school over 10 years prior) (hes the guy i call math dad occasionally) used the times allotted for christian education and christian family life education which were basically free periods during which were supervised by our homeroom teachers (though its not really supposed to be that) to teach the basics of anarchist philosophy (like what can or should be considered violence) to our class, and i was really engaged in that framework. there were only two people in the class who were interested in that myself included so he eventually stopped but hes always been something of a guide to my beliefs, and this introduced me to anarchism as a philosophy.

i have to say what radicalized me beyond just my love of my fellow human was curiosity. i wanted to know why the caribbean is poor. i wanted to know why certain people are mistreated. i wanted to understand racism. and it was a gradual process for me but eventually i learned that pretty much all real bigotries are systemic, but i didnt fully understand why those systems were in place until i started to understand the 'flaws' inherent to capitalism, or rather, the way its supposed to work. all these systemic injustices are in service of capitalism.

i was still quite imperial centric until fairly recently in my life though, id say like the past 5-7 years ive become more and more critical of modern empire and more disillusioned with its manifestation worldwide and as you might imagine especially in the caribbean. i hate tourism now, while it tends to be something both major parties invest in to some degree (its the liberal position). while im a little less superficially patriotic than the average st lucian, im very invested in our politics, though i find it difficult to navigate as a lay person for a myriad of reasons that frustrate me. as much as i have opinions on politics and policy, im not an economist or political scientist or commentator and have auditory processing issues that make it just hard enough to sit and watch parliamentary debates and things like that that i dont.

i would be remiss if i didnt shoutout the tumblr community for also informing my politics. ive been introduced to all sorts of people and all sorts of problems and all sorts of ideas by being on this website for as long as i have, and listening and learning and looking into things myself.

[thisisyourprincipalspeaking]

Not people in here about to have me defend this pale man. 😅

To the anon who mentioned his white privilege. One must assume Chris got Captain America due to his race, or that he became a celeb through privilege. Yes as a white man he’s afforded privilege. I do acknowledge that.

But one must also acknowledge that Chris was a basic ……still is a basic white man from Massachusetts. He graduated high school early and went to NYC and got a damn job to try to put himself out there. He sent in letters like millions to talent agencies to try to be seen. But his ass was working in an office and saw the reality of the entertainment industry. He’s struggled to get roles and put in the time and auditioned for things. He’s now had a fair share of success and that’s led to more opportunities. Chris is also human and has his own internal problems and insecurities which I believe have hindered him professionally a bit. I don’t know the man like that, but to boldly state that he’s some rich privilege white male as though that’s the end all be all for his success is crazy to me.

Dude knew what he wanted and went after it, THAT is how he started. We are not going to sit here and try to lump all of his accomplishments and work ethic to…..well he’s white so it’s very easy for him. Has he had it easier than others in other ways simply due to his race, absolutely.

Im African American and I be damned if I sit my ass online mad at white people for being white instead of doing something productive with my life.

I deal with racism, sexism, etc but I be damned if I allow any of that to stop me from accomplishing anything. Do you think Octavia or Viola would be where they are with your mindset anon?

White people open doors for their individual needs, we open doors for each other.

Chris made sure Octavia didn’t have to be in a scene that had her petrified of being hit. He used his privilege to get her out of a scary situation. Had she complained on her own she may have been fired, idk. But if that’s not using your privilege for good then what is?

I think you miss the point of people stating just because things look like they were a “choice”, doesn’t mean that’s the end all be all, feel me?

If one believes he truly is everything implied based on how his current circumstances appear, then why waste time arguing over this white man and his privileged ass?

We have to stop this “blame the white man for all of our problems” mentality. Yes they did a lot of shit to us and its left and continues to leave scars, it’s led to systemic racism, colorism, police brutality, etc but we still made these beautiful lives, we define the culture, we are IT!

I also advise you to educate yourself on white privilege. Please google the white panther party. You have to understand that in order for us to have moved to better and get the civil right movement moving forward, we had allies in places that we weren’t allowed to be and because of these allies they assisted is making things better for us. We have rights, we have more opportunities than our ancestors and we didn’t get here alone.

My worth and value is not dependent on what evil racist choose to do. When they go low, we go high, now mind you I’ll gladly step down a few pegs to put people in their place and then rise back up to my level. 💅🏾

i think i love you, anon

[moonlight-mindfulness]

Unfriendly reminder to the Americans: STOP BLAMING GROUPS FOR THE FAILURE OF A SYSTEM!

Gen Z didn't ruin the vote. People not voting because both options were trash didn't ruin the vote. Specific minorities didn't ruin the vote. What ruined the vote is a system that isn't democratic from the ground up that let's criminals into government positions and the primary. What ruined the vote is the lack of work done by the collective including you pointing fingers to make it a multi-party country. What ruined it are big corporations paying for propaganda and the enshitification of the internet to create more radicalization amongst young men. What ruined it is an education system making it easy for rural women to choose conservatives against her own best interests.

Y'all start to piss me off with the "let's blame this on Gen Z / Women / stupid subgroups in minorities" instead of fundamentally trying to understand and change why subgroups of minorities or generations even get into the position to vote for trash and reading one of the plenty books explaining the pipeline of white women wrongfully supporting conservatism. One hint might be that the alternative is genuinely bad as well so they'll obviously opt to vote for their own convenience because voting dems wouldn't given them a big enough jump in a good direction because dems are centrist at best and people look for improvement in their lives instead of stuff staying the same which is unfortunately how dems sell their stuff (and I say that from another country looking into how they sell themselves). And that's just ONE reasoning people might vote this way, find all and actually do something about it instead of blaming them for basic psychological decision-making processes they make based on the shitty education they got and the algorithms that feed them.

Not to forget that unfortunately the internet and the people running its algorithms ruin even the more democratic and leftist countries into a more right wing position. This is, and I cannot overstate it, not something you can blame on specific groups unless we classify mega corporations as a group. It's time you name the actual core issue which is the global economic system that allowed power to be so messed up that even minorities started feeling more comfortable in conservatism than alone under the pressure of the system. Yes, capitalism is the problem. And a ton of y'all/us are not doing enough against it. Corporations want power and conservatives are easier to buy, meaning people with money will make sure to manipulate the masses through pushing the wrong stuff on algorithms so they become more partial to voting that way so the corporations get from conservatives what they want. I think we all know this and it shocks me that y'all still blame groups instead of a system y'all vehemently don't want to tear down yourself by doing more than just posting about it online. And honestly, I include myself in that for my own country.

It's always easier to blame even the boomers instead of finding ways to actively actually work on the downfall of these toxic systems. The blame game won't get us to a place where people vote better. You can't blame radicalized men into voting libs, you can only work on ways to cut the pipeline radicalizing them and find ways to reverse the effects. Shame will not get us to a place where we all live in a better system because the system exploits feelings of shame for political and monetary gain.

[sularis]

TW/CW // very detailed descriptions of drug abuse, death/suicide, insinuation of SA and DA

I happen to find myself in a minimal margin of people that actually see all the wrongs in it. And there aren't a lot of us left.

Throughout my life, I think I'm safe to say I saw everything. Grew up on the least secure street in my city and, if you know something about those, you know just the kind of people you'll meet there. The poorest, the most forgotten by their government kinds of people happen to live in there and I was one of them. And so was my mother and her mother, unfortunately. My grandma ended up there after her husband left them without a house, after his gambling addiction left them penny-less and his alcoholism left him jobless. She couldn't divorce him, so she was forced to raise her seven kids in there and it made her a bitter shell of the person she was always supposed to be.

And there's my mother. As the second eldest, she was made to be a second mother to all of her siblings when hers was busy. She was the only one of her siblings that didn't make it out and that was only because of him. The one that hurt her. She was only fifteen. She gave birth to me when she was sixteen, only because her mother didn't let her abort it. At times I wish she did, for either of us sake. Albeit, it's no use thinking about "what ifs" now. She never blamed me for anything even if she wanted to, I couldn't bring myself to do same myself. She did her best, but living in a place like that, I couldn't be saved from everything.

There is no actual drug that has no drawbacks, they just might not be seen as obvious as others. I have tried a bunch in my life and am still in recovery from few, but even when I saw myself in the mirror, at the peak of my heroine addiction, wasting my life away and spending so much on it, keeping myself from relapsing when trying to fight with the drug was always the hardest thing to get through. Anything before it and after it is pretty easy, especially with a good support system, was easiest thing ever, but trying to recover... I was down to kill someone if it meant that I could get another dose of one thing keeping me alive in the next hour. Every cell in my body was testing me, yearning for more while also yelling at me to stay strong. It really is easier said than done. Once that period of time is past, though, you can only look back at it with a shiver. At least for me it's like that.

That's why I never wanted to do anything with the new drug. The premise is promising, but getting addicted to it sounded always too easy for me. And indeed, it was easy to get addicted to it, I've seen it happen firsthand with my closest friends and I've seen the consequences of trying to cut yourself from it.

When I was twenty-one, past most of my most hardcore addictions and only recreationaly smoking weed from time to time, a friend of mine brought it to my apartment, which I shared with my best friend, Julie, during one of our movie nights we did weekly. He explained what it was and was selling it so hard that a lot of our other friends present took it almost immediately, including her. They tried to talk me into taking it too, but I firmly said I was good with my joint, but they can feel free with explaining the experience to me. Not even five minutes have passed and the drug already kicked in. Everyone that took it described the experience as the "happiness they haven't felt in ages". With tears of happiness in their eyes, my long time friends described how their anxiety suddenly ceased to exist and that they didn't feel trapped at all. It was great to hear friends, who have attempted a few times before, say that the urge is gone, like it never was there. For a moment I even thought that maybe I was wrong, maybe it actually was a miracle in working... Up until they started talking where they can get it from and how much it costed. The price alone freaked me out. A gum pack?! And its such a new thing, it has to be unrestricted too. And when he said that he get it from a dealer that I used to take my addreall from, I made it clear to myself I will never even think of taking it. But Julie immediately asked him for their contact detail.

"I'm having my finals soon, the stress will kill me!" she explained when I tried to stop her "I'll cut it once I'm past them, alright?"

I shouldn't have said alright back to her. For the next month she took the drug every few days during her studying sessions and, as much as I hate to admit it, she was the best version of herself at that time. She was always cheery and happy, she didn't let the work consume her like she would before in stressful situations and even kept the same positive outlook on life when I brought a new boyfriend home. That's how I try to remember her: happy, like never before. Once her finals were past her and she knew she did astonishingly well on them, she kept her word and stopped taking the drug. A few days later, she started feeling something was wrong, right about the time that it was said to stop working. It started with nervous tick attacks out of no where, she could be relaxing to a nice book when suddenly a weird level of anxiety got to her and she had to put it down to physically pull one of her hands away from her arm, because she started gripping it so hard that it really started to hurt. Panic attacks became a daily norm rather quickly after that and they could last for so long that we needed to take her to hospital so they could give her a stress reliever, other than the drug that she got addicted to in the first place. The stress would keep her up at night up until she passed out, just to be awoken five minutes later to a sleep terror. Not even her comforter was able to ease her struggle and very quickly her health started declining to point she couldn't even talk to me or recognize me anymore. A lot of her hair had fallen out, her eyes were constantly the same shade of bloody red, she was way thinner too. And at that point, it's only been a week after she cut the drug off. She vomited constantly, couldn't eat at all and whenever someone tried to talk to her or touch her, she would start shivering and crying. She looked like a skeleton wearing a human bodysuit, but no matter what, I hoped that she could get through this, so long as we would be around her. Me and my boyfriend, that is. I assured her we wouldn't leave her whenever I could, but I suppose it wasn't enough.

I went out with him once, left her unattended. I thought I proofed our apartment enough so she couldn't harm herself, as I've seen her playing with a knife around her wrist recently, but it wasn't good enough it seems. She opened the window. We lived on eighth floor. I didn't see it coming. I should have, but I didn't.

I promised myself to not let anyone I care for touch that drug ever again. I was included in that promise too. I grew to despise it very quickly. But everyone else seemed to love it, so much so that it became legal and even normal for a person to take. We became the weirdos for not wanting to get it instead of my antidepressants. But I couldn't ever not think of the drug and see Julie slowly dying in front of my eyes, because the negative emotions the drug blocked before, came back to her with force she forgot how to deal with. She got used to not have to work around her stress and anxiety, so when she was exposed to them again, she didn't know how to fight them, she didn't remember it. You'd think that just two months without any sadness or anxiety wouldn't be too long to forget it completely, but either it was that easy or the drug also helped to skip the process.

Nevertheless, I needed to move away from the place that brought so many bad memories. We found a pretty nice place for two with my boyfriend and tried our best to move on with life. Which was really hard when no longer than a month after that, he admitted that he's been taking the drug himself. I didn't even notice it because he was taking half a normal dose, so he could still feel negative emotion, just less than normally.

I lost my shit at him. I yelled and insulted him for doing something that has such dangerous consequences for withdrawing. He yelled back that he had it under control and wouldn't ever go as far with it as Julie did. I cried that he betrayed me and I couldn't even look at him in disgust. He growled that it was my fault that he started taking it in the first place, that I was such a downer after Julie's death that it started to rub off on him and that I could only blame myself for that. I told him to leave my house and never return. He slammed the door as a goodbye.

I was in a very dark place afterwards. I lost two closest people to me in such a short amount of time... I couldn't help but feel guilt and regretting every single choice I made up until that point. I shouldn't have invited that friend to our weekly movie nights. I should've been more stubborn in what I was saying when she asked about the dealer. I should've lock all the windows. I should've talked to him about my past with drugs more. I shouldn't have blown up in his face so badly. I should've called and apologised afterwards. It was already done. I couldn't blame them, they probably wouldn't either.

The drug hit mainstream and was as important to people as insulin is to a diabetic, which meant that its price skyrocketed. It was harrowing visiting my mum just to see our street become a graveyard for those who couldn't relearn their coping mechanisms quick enough. She was keeping strong, though, and promised me that she wouldn't take it either, although it was suggested to her before. I was glad to at least have her on my side and stayed with her for a while. It was always comforting to be held in her arms and I really needed that at the time.

It's been around a year since everything took place. I'm holding on, surprisingly, though my friend circle became very sparse. There barely are people who don't take the drug at all left and I learned that trying to befriend someone who uses it regularly, feels like I'm talking to a robot made for the company that sells it. I became an outcast, but that's honestly better than any other option I considered.

My life's been going pretty okay-ish when I suddenly got an invite from my ex. It was a short message asking if we could meet up around 3pm at once our favourite restaurant in the mall. I probably would've dismissed it if not for one detail. It was worded like a cry for help. I tried asking why did he want to meet up like this after a year of no contact, but he simply said that he will explain when we meet face to face. I agreed to meet him.

I arrived a it early just to get accustomed with the place again. I used to avoid it, but now, it felt like a brand new place. He arrived at point 3pm and when he sat down in front of me, I almost didn't recognise him. Back when we used to date, he presented himself like a punk, with coloured hair and piercing everywhere he could possibly put it, but now... He looked like a middle class bachelor that plays tennis biweekly. His face also changed. You could see that his face muscles have been so used to smiling that they naturally curve upwards, even when he wasn't smiling. His eyes, though, they told me everything i needed to know.

"Hello, Sam, it's been a while, haven't it? How have you been?" he asked me politely.

"You... I-I, I've been... alright. I've been alright" I answered trying my best to keep it together "Why... did you ask to meet me, Casper?"

He put on a wide smile in response, trying his best not to make the corners of his mouth shake so much in pain. It was a terrifying scene to look at.

"I just... wanted to... Haha. Crazy story, actually, I was just sitting in our bedroom with my... my fiancee!" he showed me the ring on his finger, his hand was shaky and nails bitten to the shortest they can be before reaching the skin "She was angry...with me. Silly me, I accidentally knocked her makeup brush on the ground, so she... screamed at me... loudly... And then fell asleep!"

"Oh my god" the smile he was wearing just made it more depressing to listen to "Are you... okay? Is that why you wanted to see me?" concern filled my voice and I could see his eyes start to water.

"Hah! Don't worry. She only does that when she's... of the drug... you know the... one. She's, often. Off it. But I... I don't know! I just went on my phone and decided to text you after that, haha. Silly me!" as he finished he took a small box and poured out three tablets of the drug he was very clearly on right now. Without any hesitation he started taking one after another and then pouring another two out of it.

"Wh-wh, ah, C-Cas, hey hey hey!" I grabbed him by the wrist to stop him from taking so many of them at once "Stop! You, y-you can't take this much at once, this is--"

"It's the only way they are able to work now" he cut me off, his voice sounded desperate, the smile was gone of his face "I can't... not... take them. I feel the emotions coming back, I cannot... Sam... Please" he pulled his sleeve up as much as he could to show me the endless bruises and scars he wore in secret. I was horrified. "She does this... when her pills stop working. She only takes them when she has to go out, otherwise... I can't not take them... or I'll feel it all... Sam... help me...."

I was mortified at every single word I heard and even more as I saw him once again become this happy-go-lucky person, once the drug kicked in again. This wouldn't stop if I let him just go. The drug made him numb to her abuse, so he could stay and be happy with her even if all he was was an accessory to her. I couldn't let him be killed because of this drug too, even if it was in a different way.

With tears rolling down my cheeks, I got up and hugged him tightly. Like I used to when we were together.

"Ou, jolly!" even though happy, his voice was shaky "Don't mind if I do, too" he hugged me back, and for a minute I felt like I had him again. When I let go, his face was wet too. He couldn't stop crying "Oh that's... a reaction, surely."

"You're coming with me" I said seriously and took him by his hand.

"Oh! We are we going?" he asked innocently, following as I led him out of the restaurant.

"To safety. Anywhere you can be safe."

Year 2025. A new drug was recently discovered that makes you unable to feel negative emotions for a few days without any drawbacks to your health. It’s easy to produce and costs like a pack of gum. Everyone takes it. But you absolutely don’t want to.

[hislittleraincloud]

*sighs*

Jenna fucking Ortega.

My thoughts just keep piling up and the more I think about it, the more it irritates me. I have too many thoughts rn re: her, the election, Latine identity and the bullshit she slings about it as if she's the first Latina to break into the world of acting, etc. The things she says she cares about but then does fuckall to try to influence others to effect tangible change, when she didn't used to be this way.

She didn't used to be so vapid. Something changed between the fiery truth teller of 2017/2018, the publishing of her book, and now. I mean, she has 40 million more followers than she had on Facebook, so she's got the bigger platform but just uses it for this

Contrast that with the older Latina Millennial whose work the little gremlin dismisses when she slings the I never saw anyone who looked like me on TV bullshit, someone everyone knows from Barbie, Superstore, and Ugly Betty

More on this Ferrera-Ortega distinction in a future post, but just wanted to point out the differences between what one Latina celebrity did this past summer during the most important election of their lives vs. the other one who's all talk and no action (except for the 🏳️‍🌈-baiting stunt she pulled with her little friend playing high school rivalry games with Camila Cabello).

I get it, we all get it, Ortega is ✨busy✨ filming Wednesday 2 right now, and in the summer she had to drag herself around for the Beetlejuice 2 promotion. But now, while she's going to freaking soccer games in Ireland and continuing to look pretty, the rest of us regular people are out of our minds about what happened and why these Z fuckers with tons of followers weren't using their platforms to get out the vote. Why we have Zs like Chappell Roan saying shit like this

(and then we wonder why Zs weren't enthused to vote, and some voted for fucking Trump).

Anyone who played the "both sides suck" and went anywhere near the rhetoric that puffed up third parties in our two party system is not serious about protecting the things they say they love (like before this here, when she said she was NOT voting for Trump but in the same breath, didn't want to say she was voting for Harris until she got all of the pressure to tell her fans what she was doing, hence the blow-up above). Stein's running mate was a transphobe, FFS. The Deerborn Michigan Muslims who voted for her voted for that, not that trans lives matter to any of these religiously steeped sectors.

I don't need No one needs some privileged white girl telling them how "the Democratic party" has failed us or the Palestinians, but it sure looks like all of these kids with the fucking watermelons and flags in their user name tags everywhere are somehow stunned that their cynicism and inaction will be leading to the destruction of their core concerns.

And blaming the Democrats is so fucking easy when you do not pay any goddamn attention, and when you're so myopic about your single issue that you blind yourself to your own blame. Y'all children made Gaza the issue when there was so much more at stake than "ISRAEL IS GENOCIDAL, GENOCIDE, GENOCIDE!" (fuckers, its BEEN genocidal for fucking decades !), because we got fucking people posting shit like this (and yes, I've lost some respect for Joy Sunday because of this imbecilic crap):

These are the same shitty arguments third party fucks made against Hillary back in 2016 when y'all were still in grade and middle school. As Gen X who watched this bullshit happen, I can say that single issuers never fucking change and will always blame the Democrats in our two party structure, never lifting a finger to change it to truly bring forth change, not just tell Democrats how to effect change.

The two parties are not the same. Joe is not the same as Trump. Kamala isn't the same as Trump. All anyone has to do to understand this is look at what Trump did "for" the environment in his first term vs. what Obama did when he was in office (better save that .pdf file, and all of Obama's digital public records before Trump decides he wants to erase it all) and what Joe had to do to try to clean up Trump's mess:

A second Trump Administration will screw up all of that, so good job digging in your heels, kids.

But as usual, I digress since Ortega hasn't given any indication that she gives a real shit about the environment or climate change. Her issues used to include AIDS awareness and "eradication", which is now funny-not-funny since the rate of STIs in Gen Z is surging and safer/protected sex practices [in order to prevent more STIs and STDs] aren't really promoted, but she didn't even bother to mention the work she held so close to her heart (since it was all about her grandfather) last year to Elle:

She named no organization, and doesn't seem to get that the unrest at the corrupt government in Iran's been happening for years now. It's the same with the Gaza issue. The kids are suddenly aware that said injustices are happening outside of their sphere of existence and their sympathy & empathy kicks into overdrive, making them forget that we have our own culture wars at home with freedoms being taken away by right wingers.

Freedoms like the recognition of 🏳️‍🌈 marriage. Hunter Doohan's marriage is in jeopardy now (or would be, under direct Trumpian/Project 2025 rules). All of that cute bouncing around at Chappell Roan with him isn't going to protect his of Jewett's marriage or benefits, and at least Doohan lives in California where Daddy Gavin will protect him (and me, since I'm here too), but as for the rest of the country? The most vulnerable 🏳️‍🌈 and 🏳️‍⚧️ people out there? Stumping for Harris might've helped on that front, because even if y'all don't understand a goddamn thing about anything except "GENOCIDE!", you should understand that once again: The two parties' behaviors are not the same.

I mean, what can we really expect from a ✨starlet ✨who can't be bothered:

The Watsons, Georgie Farmer, and Percy were the only cast members to Like Doohan's wedding set/photos. And at the time, we know that Ortega was still hanging around Percy a lot. 🕵🏽‍♂️🔍

I had predicted that whatever Ortega did would be too little too late, and it was. The information she posted the day of the election, too little too late. Using/borrowing Robert Reich's words instead of using her own damn voice after the election was also weak as shit, since we saw Gideon Adlon speak her mind (you know, just like fkn Ortega said she wished we could do).

Oh, there's an election? But lookit me, I'm too cute in my glasses and old man jacket. The fuck was she doing besides living her best life of superficiality and being the sex symbol to millions? Too busy baring her tits in public for the umpteenth time to care about any of the issues that affect her and her family/sisters because she's got enough of her own celebrity privilege — money, fame, adoration — now that she could easily leave/stay out of the U.S. if she wanted.

One last thing (and this is probably the first of at least two posts abt the issue) for the "WAAAAAH, LEAVE HER ALONE, SHE'S JUST TRYING TO LIVE HER LIFE!"

How about no. The culture of celebrity worship has changed with social media. The culture of being a celebrity has changed slightly, in that these celebrities have the capability of being right there in your face. They have the ability to influence directly now, one-on-one at times (something we didn't have before). It's like how everyone was given access to all sorts of education and culture online but then refused to use it for good.

Yeah, I get that all the information in the world is overwhelming and sometimes tough to weed through for falsehoods and propaganda. But the methods of discernment have been there. Some y'all not grasping the ideas that have so far kept us all alive long enough to see this orange fuckface usurp American politics again, and yeah, I'll blame those who voted third party AND those damn kids (and others) who didn't show the fuck up/or voted for him AND the Leopards Will Eat My Face contingent: white women, Latines (mostly the men, but the women too!), Asians/other non-white pickmes who voted for him, AND those who cheated otherwise (many, many missing votes and ballots right now). Blame exists in several sectors, but in the context of celebrity culture, there was nothing done by the young (even Swift's endorsement came a bit late) to get the 40+ million new potential voters excited to vote for the first time and out there to protect their rights and the rights of others here at home. Hope that warm blanket of righteous indignation lasts for ya, because it didn't fucking last for most of the people who pulled this shit in 2016

Y'all were born blue but acted towards your own extinction. Yours and your fellows in grave peril.

Good job, babies. Here's that recognition you wanted for being a great, empathetic person. 🥰💯🏆,✨

I'm tired of humans.

[neverluckygoldfish]

57 -

Well. It’s me. And it’s time to come clean. Or get clean.

I write this at 3am (still drunk) sitting in a hotel because I was too drunk to drive so I fell asleep in my car for 6 hours. At the mall.

So I guess let’s sit here and face some hard truths.

I thought I was better than everyone else. I thought if I fixed everything underneath, then alcohol wouldn’t be a problem. I thought then, I could control it. I thought I could find the easy way through and be this person that’s like “wow I really struggled and rags to riches and all that”. I thought if I could have one or two instances where I drank and was fine - POOF! It’s proof I’m cured!!

Haha god I am so annoying sometimes.

OMG SURPRISE! Alcoholism isn’t a quick fix. You can’t take a bunch of magic mushrooms and fix it. You can’t get on the proper meds for your mental issues and fix it. You can’t upheave literally your entire life to run from the problem and fix it. You can’t tell yourself “this is where I am and I give myself grace” and fix it. You can’t “only drink a little” and “pace yourself” and fix it.

My husband (who I love more than breathing) can tell me that my drinking is hurting him and I can’t (won’t) fix it.

EVEN if my life gets good and I no longer want to “escape” it per se.

I can’t fix it.

Blame my hyper independence but I realize now that I thought I could fix any problem. Ever. I can find an easy solution to keep coasting. Like I legit pride myself on working the system.

But this also stems from my desire to break free of normalcy and the confines of society and being a sheeple and needing to be a “certain” way to achieve “success”. In case it isn’t obvious, I could go on and on about this.

Side bar: if you’re reading this and feeling shitty about where you’re at in life, like you’re not successful enough - let me leave you with this: who decided that success looked like? Who defined it for you? I guarantee it wasn’t you. What if you were to decide the definition of success and being a good person? What would that look like?

So yeah. I am fully going off the deep end. Luckily this go around I haven’t ended up in the hospital or injured myself or someone else - but something needs to give.

I don’t understand why I can’t give up the alcohol? IT’S LITERALLY EVERYWHERE. Ads, TV shows, grocery store displays, billboards.

It’s only once you have a drinking problem that you really notice how ingrained alcohol is in our culture. Or maybe you’re a smart one who realized it ahead of time - god fuck you, I am jealous of you.

I don’t know how to stop. I’m in tears thinking this is going to kill me. I don’t want to stop because I don’t have another or better option.

Ok like I know what’s smart, I know what’s best. Just stop drinking right? Obviously you know what it’s doing to your life and the people around you. You’re smart - stop.

I don’t want to. I want to be a normal person who can drink and get lit from time to time and not have it be a big deal. Not have it turn into a 6 month bender. I need to let this expectation go but I don’t know how because I feel like if I admit it… people look at you differently, they hold you to a different standard, they watch you.

I swear this happens but tell me if I’m actually just paranoid.

ITS NOT THAT GOD DAMB EASY OKAY IM SO SORRY FOR BEING THE HURRICANE RIGHT NOW

So yeah. In my underwear. Drunk. An hour from home. At a hotel. Not sure what to do. Not sure how to explain this one. I found a nearby meeting at 7am, let’s see if I even wake up lol.

Honestly? I give up. I don’t know best. I don’t know anything!!! Now what do I do?

Each day - we keep going. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

[joannechocolat]

White feminists, I’m looking at you.

Another week, another raft of Press articles by self-professed white “feminists”, defending their own prejudice by bashing other women. It’s as if they can’t stop themselves, these women of a certain age, a certain class and a (very) certain privilege, who seem quite happy to see women abused, as long as those women are different from their own privileged circle of friends.

These are the women who “don’t see” race, and who think that counts as a virtue.

These are the women who “don’t see” class, or disability, or neurodiversity, or gender, except perhaps for that one friend, who represents all others, and will be used as proof of their tolerance and lack of prejudice whenever the question arises.

These are the women I interact with every day, many of whom I think of as being decent, well-meaning people.

But in actual fact, not seeing race (or gender, or class, or disability) just means you don’t see your own prejudice. I get it: it’s very convenient not to be able to see how one’s privilege impacts on others. Because as soon as you can see that, things start to get uncomfortable. Criticisms people make of you start to seem more justified. It becomes harder and harder to hide behind your comforting circle of friends - all of whom are telling you that you’re right, you’re good, you’re kind, in fact, you’re the real victim if ever your prejudices are called out– your friends, who think just like you.

But here’s the thing. We’re all privileged. We all have unconscious bias. Just because we’re women in a patriarchal society, doesn’t mean we’re not capable of punching down at someone more vulnerable, or causing another person – or group of people - to do so. And let’s face it; those people are usually men. Misogyny loves it when women attack other women. And it’s intersectional. Look closer, and you’ll find how often it leads to racism, ableism and transphobia.

I’m looking at you, white feminists. Using the patriarchy to confirm your own social and racial prejudices, rather than hearing the voices of those women who most need your support. Women of colour. Trans women. (And no, I’m not going to let you deflect by arguing about what exactly makes a woman – there are plenty of people who have done that. Read them if you want to.) What really matters is not whether someone looks or thinks or behaves like you. What really matters is who suffers harm, and who benefits from your actions.

Women are in a majority. Sometimes we forget this. We fight against sexism and prejudice as if we were a minority group. We’re not – or at least, we wouldn’t be, if we didn’t keep splitting into factions, attacking each other, then looking all surprised when the patriarchy keeps rolling on, harming women everywhere. And the saddest part is that we have so much potential energy. If only that energy were directed to bashing the actual patriarchy, rather than by heaping blame upon the women who are its victims, we might be making progress instead of tearing each other apart.

I’m looking at you, white feminists. I know how angry you must feel when people call you prejudiced. I know you’re used to the moral high ground, to the feeling that you’re the real victims of a system that’s loaded against you. And I know that when people call you racist, or ableist, or transphobic, it feels like abuse. It feels that way because you’ve never really considered your privilege in all this. You’ve never really considered the impact your words – amplified by social media, or published in the national Press - might have on real-life people.

You really need to do that. And no, it isn’t easy. First, you have to suppress that urge you have to tell the world that you’re special and different, and therefore have no unconscious prejudice. You’re not, and you do. The fact that you don’t think you have any is precisely because it’s unconscious prejudice. Unconscious prejudice is like a black hole: only detectable through its actions. And if your actions cause POC harm - or trans people, or autistic people, or any other marginalized group likely to receive abuse, or worse, because of something you said, or did – then you need to understand what you did, and acknowledge it.

The first and most important thing is to understand is that this isn’t about you. Too many people fixate on whether or not they’re really racist (or sexist, or ableist, or transphobic) instead of looking further. I get it. It’s easier to focus on the words and what they mean, rather than the reason they were used in the first place. So stop thinking about the words, and think about what you did, instead. Consider whether you said or did something that was harmful. You’re not in the best position to judge. (Unconscious bias, remember?) So listen to your critics. Instead of feeling offended that someone used an ugly word, ask yourself why they used it. Look at their reasons, not yours. Understand their perspective.

That means first putting aside all your excuses and justifications. This isn’t about you, remember? No-one cares why you made a mistake. You might have done it by accident. You might have done it out of ignorance. You might have stuff going on in your life that made you careless or vulnerable.  But this isn’t about you. No-one cares why you caused harm. All that matters is that you did. The harm might be direct – causing offense to someone through your words or actions – or indirect – for instance, reinforcing harmful stereotypes, or attracting the kind of negative attention that might result in trolling, doxxing or violence.

Whatever it was, if that happens, the first thing to do is to acknowledge it. Own it without making excuses, or arguing over semantics, or talking about your feelings, or making the process about you.

And no, it isn’t easy. It involves centring the conversation around someone other than you. You may not be used to doing this. It may make you feel uncomfortable. It may even upset you. But remember, this isn’t about how you feel. The fact that you’re instinctively trying to make this about you, even now, should be telling you something.

So yes, get over your feelings. If you said or did something that’s likely to cause harm to someone, own it. Educate yourself. Apologize. Move on, with a greater awareness of what you need to do to improve. That’s all. We’re none of us perfect: we all make mistakes. But when we do, we need to put ego aside, and try to stop repeating them.

Only then will feminism stop tearing itself apart. Only then will feminism be truly deserving of the name - when white women finally understand that if they continue to support and care for only the women who look and think as they do, then the patriarchy wins, and that they are doing its work.

White feminists, I’m looking at you.

White feminists, I’m looking at me.

[cin-cant-donate-blood]

I don't think it's "bourgeoisie ideology" (sic) per se (you can just say capitalist, btw, it's easier to spell, too). Obviously it's interesting that the game mechanics often run specifically around managing a small business, but farms are small businesses in the modern era, and nobody romanticizes being a medieval peasant so if you want to romanticize the rural life you have to make it modern rural life, to contrast it with modern urban life.

So what are some interesting things we can learn from this?

Firstly, these escapist games tend to identify a duality: on one hand, we have urban life, modern misery, and wage slavery (e.g. the Stardew Valley intro cutscene). On the other hand, we have... what exactly? A petty bourgeois fantasy? I'd argue that it's mainly a dream of autonomy and simplicity. While you do play as a small business owner in most farming games, the main attraction is obviously not property ownership per se, but on one hand autonomy and on the other simplicity. You want to escape the complicated, roundabout way your real job works. Perhaps your urban wage slave job is, and I hate to use this term, a bit alienating and you don't fully understand who benefits from it even existing. Farming is not simple, but the tasks in farming games are, and more importantly what you're doing is simple: you're growing food – the thing everybody needs to survive. The task is clear, its context and purpose is clear, and nobody is telling you how to do it.

Do you get it now? It's not a "bourgeoisie fantasy" (sic; yes I'm gonna keep clowning on you for using the noun instead of the adjective because you chose the more complicated word to sound smart despite not knowing the difference), it's a number of fundamental human needs, filtered through a romantic fallacy.

I'm using romantic in the 19th century sense of the word by the way: wretched urbanites dreaming about a basically imaginary countryside idyll, a la Young Werther, or anything by Emily Dickinson.

So, should we take the romanticist binary of wretched city life and idyllic country life as basucally true? No. There are many advantages to living in a city, of course: it is far easier to meet new people and to have an active social life, the impact on the environment per capita is less than that of rural life and especially suburban life and it is easier to push yourself out of oppressive social situations like a toxic family life or an insular religious community.

The reason city life tends to be so wretched in pop culture (dating back all the way to the romantic movement and all the way forward to today) can almost entirely be blamed on the wage-cage: ironically a hell most rural people must suffer as well. Perhaps to an extent it can also be blamed on perceptions of crime and poverty; as cities are more interconnected types of community, failing social systems become more readily apparent. In the country, the poor suffer silently and out of sight; in the city, they sleep on your sidewalk – or straight-up steal your wallet.

Cities are a symbol of capitalism. Many clumsy critiques of capitalism made by people not willing or able to strike at the very heart of the peoblem thus find it easy to fantasize about countryside idyll. The same type of person is also likely to fantasize about gaining autonomy through property ownership rather than any other means, since this may be the only path to self-actualization they can actually imagine.

So what should you want? Would it really be so bad to work at a burger joint and rent an apartment if you were paid enough to live a fulfilling life? If your manager was elected by you and you coworkers and there was no franchise to answer to? If you knew that the food your were serving was good for the customers? If your apartment had more than one room in it? If your rent was at most ten percent of your income and you knew it went to maintaining the building and not to enriching your landlord? If forty hours per week was the most you ever worked, if even that? If you didn't have to worry about insurance and healthcare? If you could afford to go to the bar with your friends? If you had the time, money and energy to have a social life? If you knew that even if your job shut down and you were out of work, everything would still be fine?

*whispers* it's the bourgeoisie ideology

[genshinlover101]

for eternity. i shall request my daily angst, How about Keqing, Ganyu and Ningguang with a gn!reader that dies because they were the ones who caused the death👹 basically they killed gn!reader on accident

Her Accidentally Causing Your Death

Characters: Keqing, Ganyu, Ningguang x gn!reader

Warnings: mentions of death, blood, and gore

A/n: oh god I’m doing the devil’s work now :,)

this is a bit longer and edgier than normal so I hope that’s okay <3

• Keqing was in love with her service to Liyue, to the point where she’s memorized every rock and every structure that inhabited its vast lands. You’d never been injured before and have proven yourself to be a resource to Keqing, so she often took you out on her camping trips.

• She normally brought just her sword and her electro-infused hairpin, she would need nothing else to aid her. However, her faith in these two objects was what ultimately brought your life at risk.

• While you two were fishing in a small stream in the woods, she had placed her hairpin as a security device to alert her of someone else’s presence. You had always trusted it blindly as it had never failed to activate before.

You two were getting down and dirty in this small stream in the woods. Fish were sliding right past at fast paces and you both had your pants rolled up. Or in Keqing’s case, she had taken off her stockings in order to help you catch dinner. You both were spending the night in the woods as it would take far too long to find a nearby hut to camp at. 

Suddenly you felt a sharp instantaneous pain on your back, it didn’t hurt, but you could barely catch your breath. You looked up at Keqing to see if she noticed, and there she was wide-eyed staring at you in horror. “What’s the matter Keqing?” You could only whisper, your hoarse voice struggling to speak.

You coughed up a splatter of blood on your hand, you didn’t feel too well. She snatched you by the waist, the blood from your backside sliding down on her white top. The sight of the sheer amount of blood that was gushing had made you light-headed and faint. Keqing drew her sword and swung it at the Fatui Pyro Agent who had snuck past her hairpin security system. “How-,” she uttered in shock. “How did you sneak past?” she was high off of disbelief.

The agent was emitting a black smoke, something was off about him. Worst of all, he had already delivered a fatal blow on you before being detected. She managed to land a blow on him with you in her arms, the Agent might’ve had something extraordinary about him, but he was just as easy as the rest to take down. 

The Agent’s body had spilled right in the stream, scaring the fish off. She didn’t care the slightest bit, being in such an abandoned place... there was no first aid and she had only brought her sword and hairpin. Her face was contorted with confusion and frustration, she didn’t know what to do or where to bring you, “Stay with me, I’ll bring you to a doctor... just please keep hold of yourself,” She said winded. You could tell she was panicking. 

Unfortunately, the damage had already been done, and there was nothing Keqing could realistically do to revive you. She knew it was her fault too, for bringing you with her on her expeditions, and for not being fully prepared because of her cocky attitude. She would come to blame herself for your fatal accident for as long as her mortal life would last.

• Normally Ganyu would send commissions to the Adventure’s Guild because she was far too busy to deal with them herself. This time around she was confident that she could handle it, and she brought you along for back-up, trusting your judgment.

• You had an icky feeling about it, so you treaded carefully. The Abyss had been reportedly conducting some odd experiments in one corner of Liyue and Ningguang and Keqing entrusted Ganyu to deal with it someway. 

• Ganyu told you that there was nothing to worry about. If it was safety you were so concerned about she would ensure you she had fought in the Archon war long ago. Something as small as a camp of Abyss members would be light work compared to the sea monsters she would wrestle.

Ganyu and you were blowing through the Abyss domain as a team like it was nothing. You had barely a drop of sweat because of how light-weight these guys were. But it had been almost too easy, if this was a base of operations for the Abyss it should be harder, better protected. You had a gut-wrenching feeling about something.

As you approached the main room, you opened the large doors. Looking at Ganyu one last time with uncertainty, she was unbothered. “Let’s just get out of here, I’m starting to feel off about this whole situation,” She mumbled. Her arms were folded and her eyes pale, you could tell despite your initial success she was still nervous. 

The room was massive, yet empty? Not a sight of a single soul in any of the corners. Nor was there any evidence of magic as the reported sightings had said. As you were walking with Ganyu trailing closely behind you, you had felt a sharp pain pierce your skin. Looking down there was an arrow sticking straight from your diaphragm, blocking your airway. You tried to breathe but failed, blood hesitating to spill from the tight wound made.

You turned around to see Ganyu pointing her bow at you, those same pale eyes were devoid of life. “Glaze over,” you heard her say emotionless. Your body dropped to the ground, asphyxiated. The last thing you could clearly make out was the ground around you frosting over as you let out your last attempt to breathe, icicles dropping around you. You knew something was suspicious of the room, maybe this was the magic the witnesses had reported.

Ganyu suddenly snapped back into reality, your body dropped dead before her. a light huh? was all she could utter at the sight of it. She rushed by your side, your skin already cold to the touch. She tried using her vision to freeze the wound and save you somehow but to no avail. “I can fix this!” She shouted in panic, but she couldn’t. The damage had already been done. 

She cried over your corpse, nothing had emerged as the culprit to her brainwashing. Dragging your body along with her all the way back to Liyue. Reporting everything that had occurred to the Adventure’s Guild. She still wasn’t 100% sure what had happened that night, but all she knew was that she was the one responsible for your death. And for that, she would never forgive herself.

• Long ago it was hard for Ningguang to advance in the business industry of Liyue. It being capitalized by mostly men, she made quite a few enemies because they hated to see the field be dominated by such a powerful woman as herself.

• She’s never been at any risk though, no one could enter the jade palace and her security was quite hard to breach. She of course thought to protect her loved ones as well. Her secretaries all had extensive security and as well as all those who might be in danger from her work. 

• But because security costed quite a pretty penny, she left those who she thought were capable of dealing with a mob alone. That included people like Beidou, and most importantly you. She thought your skills as a fighter were far too superior and you would be able to handle your own.

You couldn’t see anything, your eyes blindfolded as you struggled to escape some stranger’s hold. They strangled and wrestled with you till you gave up on resisting, all you could see was darkness. You could tell by instinct you were being transported to someplace by carriage. 

Only after an hour, your body slammed against a cobblestone floor, you could hear men’s voices. Most likely from the black market, which was heavily populated by Ningguang’s enemies. You had faith though that whatever this was, Ningguang could get you out. Only having audio as your visual aid, you could hear heels clacking out on the pavement, most likely Ningguang. “And what do you want?” Ningguang’s voice, you thought. you could even smell the familiar smoke from her pipe. 

“I’m glad you arrived alone as specified,” a man’s voice hissed. “I just wanted to show you the impacts of your decisions.” He was spiteful. 

“And who are you exactly? Why would I care about what happens economically in the Black Market?” Ningguang asked, confused as to who this man even was in the first place. “Did you forget I am the Tianquan? I regulate laws, and it just so happens that you criminals are affected by it.” She tried negotiating. Even though she sounded composed, you could tell her strategy was to talk this unstable man out of this crime by degrading him and making him second-guess his decisions.

“That’s what they all say,” the man said. Before anything else was said or any movement was made, you felt a sting in your lower back. If you were to guess your lung was punctured from behind by the man holding you hostage. Just within milliseconds, the effects had made your senses dull. All you could hear was Ningguang’s faded scream, and a door burst open with heavy muffled boots rushing in. Guessing it was the Millelith that accompanied Ningguang.

After a struggle, your blindfold was lifted, and Ningguang was looking at you desperately, your extensive blood staining her expensive white dress. Doctors rushed to your side, but the blade had already punctured a fatal area, and all life in your body was gone. Ningguang couldn’t feel any sadness, just frustration at her incompetence to keep you safe. The man was far too unstable, and if weren’t associated with Ningguang in the first place you wouldn’t have been wrapped up in whatever this mess was. 

Ningguang no other choice but continue her work after your funeral. She had trauma from the incident and made sure to tread lightly with her decisions. The security was doubled and she made sure this wouldn’t happen again. Even after all these repercussions though, nothing would replace you and she would forever see your ghost haunting her in the back of her mind.

[world-of-aus]

Tales of Submission - On Edge

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Edge Play, Submissive Dom undertones, Pet names.

A/n: It’s finally here y’all this one was long over due! I’ve seemed to have gotten a hold on the reigns of my life once more lets see how long it’ll last! With that being said i am fairly new to a work such as the one i am creating so i apologize if some of what i have written is not the best, i hope as i go along and do more research on this that it will get better. Since we’re dipping our toes, thought we could start off easy then really get into it the further we get. 

Feedback is greatly appreciated, so please leave your thoughts even if its just a symbol of sorts! 

Happy Readings Buns.

ENJOYED THIS WORK YOU CAN FIND MY MASTERLIST IN MY BIO!

He flipped the black card in his fingers, eyes occasionally catching your name as he twisted it front and back.

“So James, why are you here?”

His brow flicked up at your question, “does everyone need to have a reason to be here with you?”

A smirk pulled at the corner of your mouth, tongue peeking out to lick over your lower lip, “I suppose not, but surely there must be a reason you came even though you and I both know you weren’t going too, so I'll ask you again, why are you here?”

His jaw ticked at your words, he’d have to have a word with Rogers and Wilson, “what if the only reason I'm here is because you’ve been causing a ruckus on my streets, and it’s time I've settled the problem?”

That draws a laugh from you, your legs uncrossing as you adjust yourself on the couch, “The only ruckus I could possibly be causing on your streets is that at the end of the night I’m the one making back that dirty money that you all barter for on the dock.” You're laughing again then, further deepening the frown on Bucky’s lips, “listen there’s no need to act in front of me James, when that door closes behind us you’re no longer the king of Brooklyn you’re just James Buchanan Barnes.”

“How did you- ”

Your tongue clicks against the roof of your mouth, “I told you James, I know everyone that enters my home, that includes knowing everything about the person, even the king of Brooklyn.”

“What kind of game are you playing here exactly?”

He watches you lean forward in the seat arms crossing over your knees, “no games James, unless that is if you’d like to play one with me then that’s what we’ll do.”

Bucky’s jaw ticks, “and how do you know if I'm willing to play this game?”

A smirk kisses the corner of your mouth, “you’re here aren’t you,” you answer, “you could have very well left my card in the trash, could have very well kept yourself from picking up the phone and dialing my number, but something inside of you had your hand reaching for that discarded card, had you dialing my number,” you adjust yourself further, “something brought you here to me tonight.”

Bucky hadn’t had an answer for why he plucked the card from the trash bin, why he had dialed your number into his burner, and why he had set the appointment with you that night.

“You might not know your reasoning, but I do, and it’s okay to want things you think you can’t have, nobody has to know, and nobody will know – once that door closes behind us it’s just you and me.”

“And what if I don’t want anything from this, I have everything I could ever want,” he finds himself answering.

He watches you shrug your shoulder, “well then I guess there’s nothing I can offer you, James,” you answer as you lean over slightly pulling open a draw, drawing a paper from the stand before pushing it closed. You push off the couch taking two steps before you’re leaning forward slightly letting him take the paper in his own hands before you’re backing off.

“I don’t blame the hesitation, nor do I judge the front you put up, but should you change your mind, you have my number.”

He finds himself glancing down at the paper in his hands, “what’s this?”

Your back in your previous seat across from him, “A list of services I offer my clientele, it’s a simple yes or no system that determines what you would be okay with and what you wouldn’t, if there’s something you’re not sure whether you would enjoy or not feel free to put a question mark by it?”

His eyes slide down the page before they’re meeting yours again, “take it with you James, and if you’re so sure after this meeting you won’t be using my services then feel free to chuck it on the way out, there will be no hard feelings should you choose not to return.

Bucky hadn’t planned on going back, he had had every intention of chucking that paper at the trash bin by the elevators when you finally walked him out of your home. Something kept him from doing it though, it’s why he found himself at this late hour of night in his office flicking your card front and back his burner sat neatly on his desk waiting for him to pick it up and dial your number.

The card flipped in his hold one more time this time stopping on the front of your card, your name and number staring back at him, taunting him in a way that had his jaw clenching, body leaning forward as he reached for the burner.

The screen came to life as he punched in the code, your number popping up as the previous screen appeared before him. This time there was no hesitation as he pressed down on the green call button the device meeting his ear.

Two rings in and your voice was meeting his ear, “James, so good to hear from you, was wondering when you were going to get around to calling when I didn’t find the paper thrown in the trash.”

“I don’t,” he tries but the words ultimately fail him.

Your soft laughter meets his ear, “don’t fear the uncertainty James, a lot of my clients are like you, you know, it’s okay to be unsure of what it is you like, what it is you really desire.”

He remains quite as he lets your words sink in; did he desire more than what he already had?

“Listen,” you begin, “I'm usually wrapped up by this time of night, but for you I'd be willing to open up a late slot, if you’re interested be here by 11:30, if not well then have a great night James.”

He doesn’t get a chance to get a word in before the line is cutting off with a single click. The decision now laying in his side of the court.

There’s a minute left, and he’s been standing here for the better of five just simply staring at the golden numbers before him. The minute he stepped off the elevator the thought of what he was doing here blindsided him.

He wasn’t sure why he was here, why he couldn’t seem to leave the thought of what you offered alone.

He stood there another minute maybe two before a lock was clicking on the other end, the door being swung open shortly after. You stood there before him, hand holding your form up against the door way.

Your brow was raised as you looked him over, “would say you’re late but I won’t hold cold feet against you,” you move to the side, “would you like to come in, or do you need another minute to compose yourself outside of my door?”

Bucky can’t stand the sight of the smirk that kisses the corner of your mouth, a scowl of his own taking over his lips.

His scowl deepens when you begin to laugh, a shake to your head as you push away from the door turning on your heel, “mobsters,” he hears you murmur under your breath, “say close the door behind you will ya, don’t need to give my neighbors another reason to stare me down when I pass them in the hall.”

Bucky wants to say he’s not coming in, but then why else would he be here outside your door if he wasn’t planning on coming in, why else would he have called?

He rolls his shoulders, turning his neck slightly left then right before he’s taking his first step past the threshold of your home. He takes another, then another till he’s at the back of the very couch he was sat at, at your first meeting.

He watches you from where he stands, your body moving effortlessly around the kitchen as you grab two glasses. You pour a drink into each glass before you’re turning on your heel making your way back over to him.

You place his glass on the table eyes meeting his, “might help ease your nerves, sit.”

Bucky does as he’s asked this time, no scowl, no remark falling from his lips as he rounds the couch making himself comfortable. He raises a brow at the grin kissing your lips, he holds back the ‘what’ that sits on his tongue.

“The door’s closed now you know, it’s just me and you as promised, you can drop the façade,” you throw in, “told you it's not necessary when you’re here.”

“Can never be too sure,” he throws back reaching for his drink.

You laugh lightly, “You know Steve mentioned to me you’d be a hard one to crack, thought he was joking.”

His jaw tenses at that, “what else did that punk tell you?”

Your brow slides up, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth before it softens, “that you needed this more than you would realize.”

He lets out a scoff bringing the glass up to his lips, “punk doesn’t know what I need, what I need is for him to do his job, the job he should have done months ago.”

Your head tilts to the side, “but isn't he doing his job,” you question, “he’s your right hand is he not, he’s doing exactly what you’ve asked him, he’s looking out for his boss - he’s making sure your taken care of, he’s making sure you’re not working yourself to death, though I'm not sure how good of a job he’s doing there.”

“Let me ask you something, you’ve ever run a city before,” he questions, “you ever have to overlook the city of New York and make sure the scum of the earth don’t try and fuck up the flow you got going to keep your people right? Bucky knows what your answer will be so he continues, “day in and day out I make sure my people are safe, that my men are doing their job, the job I've asked of them to make sure my streets are safe, to make sure that not only my people but my men, the men I send out there are safe – that they are taken care of.”

“But who takes care of you James,” you question back, “who makes sure the man taking care of his people of his men is taken care of - who looks out for you?”

Your question stuns Bucky; no one really looked out for him except for maybe Steve and Sam and even then he gave the two trouble for even trying always telling them to stop worrying about him and worry about what was happening in front of them.

“Steve and Sam care about you James they’re worried for you,” you continue, “they want you to be taken care of and looked out for the way you care and look out for them day in and day out, it’s the reason I gave Steve my card, the reason I offered my services.”

Bucky chuckles throwing back the rest of his drink a hiss leaving his lips he looks at the empty glass before he meets your eyes, “and what can you offer me that I can’t find on a night out with the boys? Girls fall at my feet y/n, I’m sure I can find one that’s willing to give me what you’re offering.”

He watches you take another sip of your drink, tongue peeking out to run along your lower lip. You settle the glass down on the table, “I have no doubt that you can pick up any girl on a night out on the town and yes they’ll offer you a warm hole and a minute of sweet release but will they let you be you?”

Bucky’s brows furrow, at your question he hadn’t been expecting that. He watches you shift forward in your seat, “those women that you’ll pick up for the night will be expecting James Barnes king of Brooklyn, they’ll be expecting to be fucked, hoping to god you’ll make them feel you the next day, they’ll want the power you ooze to show through in the one night.”

“What’s wrong with that,” Bucky liked that.

Your lips purse brows furrowing as you look for the words, “they won’t care about your needs,” comes your answer, “they won’t care about your wants - as selfish as some men may be in taking from women what they want some women can play the same game when it comes to a men of power, of money, but they do it better.”

“What if I want the same thing they do, what if I want to give them exactly what they want and more?”

You lean forward bracing your hands on the soft cushion of your couch as you push yourself up. You move around the coffee table till your a foot in front of him, you glance down at him, “but what if you don’t James, may I,” you question to the open space next to him.

He finds himself moving over for you despite the already large room of space available to you. Your knees are pressed to his legs, your form turned towards his, “you’re a very giving man, aren’t you?”

Bucky can’t quite describe the feeling that over comes him at the timbre of your voice, it awakens something in him that not even a one night can. His eyes lock with yours, “have to be,” he answers, “m’the king of Brooklyn got to make sure mine are taken care of.”

“And who takes care of you,” you coo, “who takes care of your needs, your wants - surely not the pretty little dames you pick up on a night out of the town?”

Bucky feels himself stiffen, “they do the job,” he mutters.

There’s that awful smirk pulling at the corner of your mouth, “a quick release maybe, but do they give you what you desire, do they tell you how good you’ve been to them, for them?”

Heat prickles up his spine a faint blush kissing his cheeks, a faint blush that you’re quick to catch on to. Your hand rises slowly, fingers curling softly as your curled index finger meets his cheek, “they don’t,” you breathe, “what a shame, would you let me?”

His eyes flick to yours, “let you,” he questions lowly.

“I’d like to see how good you can be,” you murmur your thumb meeting his chin, smoothing the skin there, “you see, it should come as no surprise that I've heard all about the king of Brooklyn, but he’s not the one I'm curious about though.”

He feels his brow slowly lift, your statement once again throwing him off as he simply stares. His breath hitches when your thumb meets his lower lip, finger gliding slightly across the pink, almost red plump skin.

“Would you like to play James?”

He should say no, should push your hands away and leave, he knows he could get exactly what you're offering from any dame, a dame who wouldn’t dangle it in his face.

Your fingers curl around his chin pulling him from his daze, his gaze meeting yours, “you won’t need a safe word for tonight, but should you ask to cease all play the words winter.”

“Winter,” he repeats tasting the word on his tongue.

A grin pulls at your lips, “you feeling out the word, or this you putting a stop to it,” you question, your fingers rubbing at the stubble adorning his skin, “I want you to know that should you want me to stop, I will bring a stop to Steve and Sam as well, you may be the king of Brooklyn to many but to me your James, a man like any of the other clients that come through that door, and your wishes are to be respected, this is meant to be a safe space.”

He should really get up, walk out the door and never look back, something is keeping him from doing so and he can’t understand why. “This doesn’t have to happen again,” he hears himself say.

You're nodding your head, “if you find you don’t like what I have to offer you, what I feel you need, what I feel you might enjoy, then it can just be for tonight.”

“No strings?”

The corner of your mouth quirks up, “absolutely no strings, so James would you like to play?”

Bucky isn’t sure what he was expecting to walk into when you pulled him up from the couch, beckoning him to follow you. For when he crossed the threshold of the door at the end of the hall you lead him down, he wasn’t expecting this.

Your stood at his side all loose limbs and calm demeanor, “what,” you grin, “not what you expected?”

He watches you move past him, the door falling closed behind the two of you, “it’s clean,” he answers.

That draws a laugh from you, “you know James -”

“Bucky, please call me Bucky.”

You stop in your stride lips parted in surprised as you stare at the brunette, “Bucky,” you mirror, rolling his name on your tongue, you smile. “Well Bucky, I'll have you know that it's not all whips, chains, and leather that excite a person, there's more to it.”

You turn to face him, hand extended as you beckon him forward with a finger, he finds himself gravitating towards you, his hand falling into yours. You close the distance between the two of you, “there has to be trust, you’re trusting me to take care of you, to be able to give you what you need when you need it, when you deserve it.”

His brow quirks up, “when I deserve it?”

“Should you have a change of heart and desire to continue the services I offer, I don’t expect you to be good all the time, and when you’re not well,” your hands smooth over his shirt, “there shouldn’t exactly be a reward unless it’s earned, don’t you agree?”

“Well I -”

He stops short of the smirk that reappears at the corner of your lips, “sit down for me Bucky, make yourself comfortable.”

He does what he’s asked of, moving towards the edge of the white sheeted bed, he turns letting himself fall back, adjusting himself, making himself comfortable like you asked.

You're smiling at him as you stand before him, and only now does he really take you in eyes dancing along the white silk set you have on, the silk cover barely sitting on your shoulders.

You move forward then closing the distance between you till your barely just nestled between his spread legs, he isn’t expecting to see you drop to your knees.

“Relax,” you grin, “this is just as much for me, as its going to be for you.”

His heart picks up as he looks down at you, “I just wasn’t expecting -” your hands meet his spread thighs.

“Tell me Bucky what exactly do you know about BDSM?”

He shrugs his shoulders lightly, tongue peeking out to run over his lower lip as he feels your hands run up the smooth of his slacks. “Aside from what I imagine fifty shades -”

“I'll stop you there,” you interrupt, “while I give the author and the director their credit, they didn’t seem to capture the entire scene.”

He raises a brow, “scene,” he questions.

You nod your head, eyes now primarily focused on the belt holding his slacks closed, “BDSM is a term used to described certain aspects of sex, this includes bondage discipline, domination and submission, sadism and masochism.”

Bucky’s mouth has gone dry as he watches your fingers dance their way further up till their closing around the clasp of his belt, “and - and what exactly do you fall under?”

Your fingers pull the clasp open, eyes flitting up to his as you loosen the leather, “I'd like to think I'm rather versatile, but it depends on what the client looks for, if at the initial meeting I find I can’t meet the needs he’s asked; I can always refer to someone who can.”

You let out a soft laugh, belt now open and loose, the material resting on his thighs, your fingers reach for the buttons next, “you know despite the job description, we are still humans, and we have lines that even we have to draw.”

“I’m sorry -,” he stops.

Your eyes flit up to his once more, finger popping the slacks open, “it’s your first session,” you grin seemingly having read his thoughts, “so you get a pass.” you murmur, pulling the zipper down.

“What are you used to being addressed,” he questions hips lifting slightly as you tug at the material hugging his hips and thighs so snuggly.

“It depends on the client,” you answer hands momentarily stilling, “while I don’t mind being referred to as someone’s mistress, it really depends on what the client feels in the scene.” Your fingers hook around the tops of his boxers, “been called vixen, peaches, bunny, doll, and the occasional mommy when the clients to far gone off their pleasure.”

“They - They can call you that?”

You grin, your nails catching on his skin as you pull the boxers lower, “what mommy, or the others?”

“The others,” he answers his hips lifting once more.

“I guess you could say I'm more lenient with my clients, though it really depends on the person I suppose, but I personally like to feel out my clients, I like to see what breaks them, what has them so far gone on the experience, on the pleasure that they aren’t anything more than a weeping mess at my feet or rather hands.”

Bucky swallows as you finally free his half hard cock from the confines of his boxers, when did that happen.

A smirk kisses your lips as your eyes meet his, “you’re one of my sweetest first clients you know, and I just know you’re going to be so good for me.”

His throat goes dry as he feels your hand fist around his half-hardened member, “are you going to be good for me Bucky?”

He licks over his bottom lip, eyes slightly wide as he watches yours darken over, you squeeze, “I asked you a question,” you murmur, “and I would hope I wouldn’t have to ask you a third, are you going to be good for me?”

He finds himself nodding, cock thickening as he all but whispers a ‘yes mam’, your smirk spreads, “you’re so good for me Buck, look at you already being so polite for me without me having to ask,” you coo.

He throbs in your hand that has yet to move, you lean forward on your knees, your warm breath ghosting over his cock, “Tell me, have you ever been edged?”

His brows are drawn tight, lips parted as hot puffs of breath leave his mouth, his hands now clenched into fists on your sheets as you rub your thumb along his precum coated tip.

Another hiss leaves his lips, “you’re drawn so tight,” you run your index finger along his balls and up his shaft. “You know it’s a real shame you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself,” you tsk, “could have cum that much sooner, but the king of Brooklyn just had to take over, didn’t he, I told you when you’re here with me it’s just me and you there’s no need for a power play.”

He wants to glare at you he really does, wants to throw your hands off of him stop this altogether and go find a warm hole to get off in but he’s frozen, chasing the mix of pain and pleasure you’ve been giving him for the past thirty minutes.

You’re producing the bottle of lube again, pushing the top off with a ‘pop’, you hold it over his painfully red tip, squeezing a generous amount over his member gripped tight in your fist.

Unlike the first time this time his back meets the bed, a low growl leaving his lips as you slick up his cock, fist gliding up and down his aching shaft.

“Look at that,” he hears you coo, hand moving quicker, “he knows how to say please too.”

His beg for release had fallen on deaf ears, the words having slipped from his parted lips without his knowledge.

“Sound so sweet when you beg, can you do it again?”

He really should have learned from the first time that you didn’t play, that his antics would get him nowhere. He grunts rather loudly when your hand grasps his balls squeezing, “fuck please,” he breathes.

He hears you moan, “you see was that so hard, do you really not want to cum at all tonight sweet boy?”

Bucky stills at your pet name, his cock throbbing in your hold, “n-no,” he find himself breathing, “please, please let me cum, please.”

Your fist is moving again, though slower this time, “you sound so pretty Buck, I really should let you cum for being so nice about it, but I kind of like hearing you more.”

His head presses harder into your sheet fingers curling deeper the need to take control once more rearing its ugly head.

“Relax,” he hears you coo, “you’re being so good for me, just keep being good and I promise you’ll get what you want, just let yourself go, give yourself over to me, relax,” you repeat, “feel my touch, focus on it.”

Another groan leaves his lips, his eyes slipping shut as he listens to you and lets himself feel your torturous touch. You build up the pleasure slow, your rhythm in which you fist his cock controlled.

You eventually speed up slightly, drawing breathy groans from the man splayed on the edge of your bed. “That’s it, doing so good for me.”

“f-fuck please,” you hear him breathe, hands fisting more of your sheets, “please I can’t please.”

“You can,” your murmur softly eyes trained on his throbbing red tip that disappears in and out of the fist that holds him like a vice grip. “Just a little bit longer, hold on a little bit longer.”

A scream of frustration threatens to tear his lips, but instead he fists the sheets hard, teeth digging into his lower lip as he tries to hold back.

He lasts only a minute more before he’s crying out, “y/n,” he all but whines, “I can’t please I can’t you’ve got to stop please stop, I won’t be able to control myself please.”

Your rhythm never falters, and he can’t help the groan that pushes out of his chest, he wants to reach out and cover your hand with his own, the pleasure nearly unbearable as he sits atop the edge.

Your tone is a warning when his hand does touch your arm, “please,” he begs, “if you don’t stop, I won’t be able to control myself and I - I want to be good please, please.”

It takes him by surprise when your lips meet the skin of his hand, “so good for me,” you breathe, the warmth of it flowing over his skin.

“You can let go Bucky, let go for me, you’ve been so good.”

It’s a few more strokes before his back is arching off the bed, a low guttural groan spilling from his parted lips as he paints your hand and his skin a creamy white.

His vision blanks a static white, as he spasms in your tight hold, ropes of sticky white spilling from the slit of his cock.

You work him through it, stroking him softly as you take him through his orgasm. It becomes painful after a minute, a low hissing his lips as you rub him once, twice, before releasing his limp cock.

He lets himself sag against your bed, eyes still shut, ears ringing as he melts into the sheets below him. He feels likes he’s floating, body lax as he breathes through the aftershocks.

He isn’t sure how long he’s been lying there, a jolt going through him when he feels a warm cloth kiss his dirtied skin.

His eyes slip open, a warm smile and soft eyes greeting him as you rub ever so softly at his skin. “Welcome back Bucky, you think you can get yourself fixed for me so I can grab your drink?”

“Drink,” he all but murmurs, voice still sounding as wrecked as he felt and he hadn’t even fucked you.

“Still need you to come back to me fully before I can let you leave, need to make sure you’re alright before you walk out my door.”

Though the task to get his boxers and slacks readjusted is quite the task he brings himself through it, pushing himself up as best as he can, even reaching for the hand you offer him as you pull him to sit.

The room spins slightly, his shaky hands reaching for the offered cup you seemingly produced from thin air, he takes a sip, then another, he clears his throat, “do you do this for all your clients, or is it just stubborn firstimers.”

You kneel before him, a smile pulling at your lips, “I try and do it for everyone,” you answer, “It's part of my aftercare that I offer clients, they may not take what I offer, but I try and make sure most if not all are in the right headspace before I see them out, the session depending on what the client asks can be a lot.”

He’s bringing the cup to his lips once more, downing the rest, his eyes are meeting yours again, “does it really get more intense than that?”

That draws a laugh that Bucky hadn’t heard from you before, “that was just us testing the waters Bucky, like I said it’s your first time.”

He swallows, he really shouldn’t.

“And - and if I chose to come back?”

Your lips pull up, “would you like to come back,” you question.

His hands fiddle with the cup, fingers drumming along the glass, his eyes meeting the carpet. A soft touch of your hand to his wrist has his eyes meeting yours once more.

“Remember this is all on your terms, you don’t have to come back tomorrow, or in a week, you can come back in a month, a year, whenever, this is a safe place Bucky, this is your choice.”

He swallows getting lost in the soft touch of your thumb running over his skin, “I'd, I'd like to come back – when – when I can of course.”

Your smile pulls higher, “I wouldn’t expect anything less from the king of Brooklyn, you do have my number so when you’re ready promise to give me a call?”

Oh, he would.

WorldofAUs Forever Tag-list: @cap-n-stuff-main @bucky-cinnamonroll-barnes@kseniiafirebrace @sideeffectsofyou @pinknerdpanda @thefridgeismybestie@b0nkybarnes @oliviastan17 @fandom-basurero @lookiamtrying @baddie-barnes @fortyninegal @peacelovehobbitness @noeaerialist @the-cry-of-youth​ @liebs82  @jbarness @morganclaire4 @runaway-escape @melimelbean@coffeebooksandfandom @rebekahdawkins @thinkaboutmara @im-squished@angstysebfan  @strangersstranger @stuckyslutt @courtneychicken​ @tonystankschild @fallenoutofrose @jasminepaz @nnuree @ene-rene@mollygetssherlockcoffee @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @doozywoozy​ @buchanansebba @purselover2 @connie326 @bestofbucky @white-wolf1940​ @stopjustlovethemcu @stuckysavedmylive @sarcasmoverlordxo​ @avantgardium-leviosa @wittysunflower @muralskins @snakeeater17​ @moonlitskinandcrimsonribbons @some0nereally @sumtimesitbelikedat @gudenuph @zareen165 @dancer3205 @gemstone-roses @buchanansebba​ @moshymosh @cachemonet @deepmuffinspymaker​ @buckybarneshairpullingkink @supernaturalbaesduh @vivalakatee​ @cuddlycalcifer @jxlystan @hallecarey1 @malum-af-cth​ @bubblespeare @bellamy-barnes​

Sebastian/Bucky Fluff Taglist:  @whatrambles @cherryblossomskye @charmedbysarge​​​ @buckysgirl101 @jessalyn-jpeg

[uncpanda]

The Ties that Bind: Hangout

Synopsis of series: Being the older sister of a literal genius? It’s not easy. Raising said genius from childhood on? An act of love. Uprooting your life again when he gets in over his head? A no brainer. Finding a new family and support system for yourself? Well, you suppose that’s just luck.

Master List

AN: Episodes referenced in this chapter are all in season three and are episodes: 12, 14(Which has its own chapter), and 16. 

“I’m sorry, he put the victims into the chili?” 

“Yep?” Aaron follows the statement by taking a long pull from his beer. You copy him and take a gulp of your wine.

“Of all the stories I’ve never needed to hear about your work, I think that one is at the top. Please tell me you didn’t eat the chili.” 

He laughs, “I didn’t. I wasn’t at the search site much, and I don’t tend to eat a lot on cases. I get stressed and preoccupied, and I just forget.” 

You lean forward on your arms, “DO I need to start sending you texts to remember to eat? I already send them to Spencer.” 

He laughs, “I’m good.” 

“Fine, but if you start getting too skinny, I’m gonna start sending the texts.” 

“Fair enough. How’s Spencer doing?” The last part of the sentence is said very quietly, and if you hadn’t been sitting right next to him you wouldn’t have even heard it. These weekly meetups have become a thing in the two weeks since you confronted Aaron in his office. Your brother is blissfully none the wiser, and you prefer it that way. In fact, until this moment he hasn’t even come up in conversation. The Beatles? Yes. The best restaurants DC has to offer? Yes. Safety reminders and discussion of therapy sessions? Yes? Spencer? No.

But there’s something in Aaron’s eyes, so instead of telling him Spencer is off limits, you ask, “Did something happen?” 

He debates telling you, “About two months ago, we had a case where two teenage girls 

were abducted. One was killed, the other wasn’t. The father of the girl who was kept alive, turned out to be in WITSEC, as a witness against the mob. Because he was formerly a part of it.

“The father went rogue. Found his daughter. And he killed the man who took her. Spencer got there first. He tried to escalate things, but it didn’t work. And this last case, we had a kid who was basically shunned by his father, failed by his teachers, and just . . . it was bad. Spencer identified with him. He wasn’t as professional as he could have been.” 

“How unprofessional?” 

Aaron bites the inside of his cheek before admitting, “I would have been within my rights to fire him.” 

You take a deep breath, “He started going to meetings.” 

“I thought so.” 

“He doesn’t like to talk about it. But he told me when he started going, and sometime he’ll slip it into conversation. Before the meeting he would call me up sometimes and just say he needed me to come over. He didn’t say why. He didn’t have to. Those calls were coming really frequently, and now I know why. But, they’ve gone back down recently.” 

“Were the meetings your idea or his?” 

“His. I tried to get him to go earlier on and he was really resistant. He’s found a therapist that he likes, I think they talked him into it maybe? How’s he been at work?” 

“Better. Calmer.” 

There’s a moment of silence before you ask him to tell you about the boy Spencer identified with. He tells you how the mother died due to driving drunk, how the father had to leave the marine corp and blamed his son, how the son didn’t measure up because he didn’t do well with sports, he details the symptoms and things. And you bite your lip. 

It wouldn’t be the easiest thing to identify his problems with special awareness, but it wasn’t impossible. Especially if there was class participation. Kids who did better talking it out and answering verbally, but couldn’t replicate the same thing on a piece of paper was always a red flag. At the very least, he should have been tested for something. And if a kids’ grades started going down? There should have been something that was done. Your gut twists when he tells you about the video. That’s followed by blinding anger. 

And to be honest? You get it. You can see the elements Spencer identifies with, but you can’t tell Aaron that. He probably knows the broad strokes, but it’s not your place to tell him anymore than that. Your leg starts to bounce as anxiousness settles in. 

A second later you feel Aaron’s hand engulf your wrist. You look at him, and he nods down at his hand. You watch as his thumb strokes back and forth against the skin of your wrist. You focus on the movement and then the feeling. His fingers are calloused. It takes a moment but then you look up at him, and shoot him a smile. 

He shoots you one back, and you ask, “How do you feel about a book store?” 

“As in going to one right now, or just in general?” 

“Right now.” 

He laughs, “I’ll go pay the tab.” 

And feeling just a tiny bit childish, you spring from the table and say, “Not if I get there first.” 

You dash to the counter, and a moment later you feel Aaron collide with your back. You snatch his credit card out of his hand before he can reach over you to give it to an amused hostess. You stick it in your pocket and hand your own card over, before sticking out your tongue at him. His smile widens and he shakes his head fondly. 

You add a generous tip and the two of you head to the local bookstore. Naturally the two of you separate. You pick out a few books from several different genres before ending up in the romance section. You may not be good at relationships, but that’s never stopped you from enjoying stories about them. 

That’s where Aaron finds you. Debating between two books. There’s a smile on his face, and you almost expect some sort of teasing but he doesn’t say a word. In the end, you get both. Aaron has a few different law type books, a murder mystery or two and some historical novel. You don’t make a joke about the mystery books despite having several comments on the tip of your tongue. 

After you make your purchases, you tug him back into the stacks and make him sit on the floor. He gives you a look, and you shrug, “I like reading while being surrounded by the smell of books.” 

That seems to convince him, and he takes a seat next to you. It doesn’t take long for you to get into your book. And after a little while you shift so that you’re leaning against Aaron. You don’t even realize it until he leans back into you.

And the action makes you smile, because this friendship has been easty, and you’re so grateful for your best friend.

[yumeyooa]

revenge is brutally sweet | jeon jungkook

—jeon jungkook’s life so far has been going well. he’s the guitarist of the most famous band in the scene, he’s got the girl of his dreams, and everything he’s ever wished for is in the palm of his hands. what he doesn’t expect though, is to wake up one day in the middle of a controversy. what the controversy is, you may ask? a new band has been hitting the charts, and their lead singer is none other than you, a former member of the band and his ex-girlfriend.

➢  pairing: jeon jungkook x female! reader

➢ genre: angst | slight fluff | band au | slight highschool au | post breakup au | exes au | r 15 | guitarist! jungkook | vocalist! reader

➢ word count: 14.6k+

➢  warning: profanity | heavy drinking | toxic relationships | messy break-ups | self depriciation | bullying | messy closure | this is just very much super angsty

➢ love letter: AH SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG T_T I kinda drowned in midterms AHSHSHs but I hope you enjoy this fic <33 there’s more to this angsty collection to come so stay tuned!! 

navigation | collection masterlist

Life couldn’t be any better. 

This is what Jeon Jungkook constantly told himself every morning after his short, fifteen-minute shower while messily tousling his hair in an extra-soft towel as he takes in the dreary yet somehow vibrant view from his penthouse apartment, soaking in the sun’s rays. 

The city was busy, even though the sun had just risen and bloomed into full glory. The streets were filled with people rushing to get wherever they needed to be, cars driving past with the fervor of a shackled mad man on wheels. If Jungkook looked closer, he would have probably seen the black exhaust drifting in the air from the fumes of those ecologically damaging vehicles or the frantic looks on an office worker’s face as they hurriedly crossed the street obviously late for work. 

But alas, Jungkook couldn’t care less about the trials and tribulations of some strangers he didn’t even know. After all, his life was going great. In fact, he was literally walking on cloud nine at this point and felt like nothing had stopped him. 

Of course, it wasn’t always this way, which was why Jungkook appreciated his success tenfold. 

He, like every other success story, had started from the ground up. Music was something he had always dreamed of doing for the rest of his life. Ever since his grandfather had first shown him how to play the guitar, the melodies had wrapped their whimsical tunes around his heart and made themselves stay. It was fascinating to him how playing a couple of strings could produce such music that could move souls and bring smiles to people’s faces.

And ever since then, he was hooked. Every chance he got, he would play the guitar even if his parents tried to pry him off it. 

They wanted him to be a doctor after all, and there was no way in hell he was going to go by their wishes. While being a doctor was great, it didn’t ignite the same spark that music did, and for Jungkook, he would rather die than live a life without his flame running ablaze.

So, against his parent’s wishes, he pursued a career in music. It wasn’t easy, of course. At first, he had no support system for his dream. His friends and teachers ridiculed and discouraged him, saying that the future was bleak and he had no hopes of making it big. But if Jungkook knew anything about himself, it would most likely have to do with the fact that he was extremely stubborn and persistent, much to the disappointment of the adults in his life. 

So he continued. He continued reaching his dreams, joining every music-related activity he could at his age until he finally met Mr. Park.

Mr. Park was a bright man who came in one day as a replacement for their music teacher, who was an old lady who stuck to the classics and had a somewhat deceiving grading system. He came into class with disheveled hair, an unkempt tie, and when he turned around to write his name on the board, the whole class laughed as they could see his heart print underpants peeking through. 

But despite his clumsiness and seemingly carefree nature, Mr. Park was a master at his craft. He was the epitome of what a music teacher should be; exceptionally skilled, eloquent, and passionate about what he did. But Mr. Park had another talent that not many knew about, which was the eye for potential.

And Mr. Park saw potential in Jungkook.

He had taken Jungkook under his wing and taught him the ropes of music life. The keys of the piano, how notes were read, how symphonies were made. And the more Jungkook learned, the more he yearned for a life surrounding music. When he voiced his wishes to Mr. Park, expecting to receive the same rejection he had always known, he was pleasantly surprised to find out that he had his support.

Mr. Park was the very first person who saw that Jungkook could have a future in music. He was the very first person who showed Jungkook that there was a path for him to take that was far better than the path his parents laid out for him. A rocky path filled with trials and tribulations but ultimately reaped great rewards in the end. 

Like a moth drawn to its flame, Jungkook was attracted to the seemingly devastating path because somehow, amid the darkness, there was hope. Hope for a happier future, a future that wasn’t filled with regret and mourning but full of triumph and satisfaction. Jungkook would be a fool not to pursue the latter.

And thus, in hopes of finally seeing the light, Jungkook decided to start his own band. 

It didn’t start off right away, though. After all, no kid at his school wanted to be part of a band that, in the eyes of their parents, was a complete waste of time. Jungkook kept his small dream hidden deep within his heart, yet even so, it still burned with an unyielding passion. Even if years passed and no opportunity for him to start a band was in sight, Jungkook didn’t give up, knowing that his persistence would one day reap great rewards.

And finally, his chance came in the form of you. 

From the very beginning, Jungkook had always thought you were strange. In a prestigious school known for being the epitome of perfection and class, you were the odd one out, sticking out like a sore thumb with your disheveled appearance and undignified manner of carrying yourself. Almost immediately, you were set to be the outcast, ridiculed by your peers for your looks and mannerisms, even if, in Jungkook’s opinion, you weren’t doing anything out of the ordinary.

Unfortunately, the world is never kind to those who are different. 

Jungkook’s phone rings from where it is laid on his bedside table, the alarm blaring loudly, causing a shift in the once serene atmosphere of his apartment. Jungkook pays it no mind at first, choosing to finish drying his hair before finally picking up the phone, voice groggy and slightly annoyed from having his peaceful morning interrupted.

“Who is it?” He hastily asks, not meaning to sound as harsh. But could he really be blamed when it was 7 AM in the morning, and he wasn’t expected to show up to any scheduled event until noon?

“Jungkook!” An exasperated voice exclaims from the other side of his phone. It was Namjoon, his manager, Jungkook, quickly concludes. Although it was rare for him to call so early in the morning, especially in such a panicked state. Perhaps he forgot to inform him of a schedule? Although that was annoying, Jungkook wouldn’t really mind. After all, work made money. But if that were the case, it would have been odd for Namjoon to be so panicked about it. The man was known for being reasonably level-headed even in times of extreme stress, so perhaps it was something else entirely. 

“Did you read the news?” Namjoon quickly adds before Jungkook could ask what was wrong. At his question, Jungkook’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, quickly sitting down on the side of his bed and grabbing his iPad from the same bedside desk, unplugging the charger along the way. 

“No,” he says as he types up the password into the Home Screen, laying his phone in between the juncture of his shoulder and ear. “Is there something I should be concerned about? I mean, it’s not like I got into a scandal or anything, right?”

Wrong.

Well, partly.

The moment Jungkook opens his Twitter, he’s surprised to see more notifications than usual. Of course, it was a given for him to have a ghastly amount of notifications as a celebrity. He did have a large fan base, after all. But the numbers on his screen far exceeded that of what he was used to, and amongst those notifications tagging his account, one article stood out amongst the rest, and the headline made his blood run cold.

“What the fuck?” He whispers, staring at the article in shock as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Am I seeing this right, Namjoon?”

The man on the other side of the phone is silent for a while before Jungkook hears a sigh. “Unfortunately, yes,” Namjoon says, and Jungkook can almost imagine the way he’s probably rubbing his temples together while sipping his cup of black coffee in his office out of stress and frustration

“(Y/N) is back,” he says, causing shivers to run down Jungkook’s spine. “And apparently Jungkook, she wrote a song about you.”

 The day Jungkook finally mustered up the courage to talk to you for the first time was an experience, to say the least. For what felt like years, albeit it was only a few days, Jungkook had been observing you from the sidelines, watching as you were berated by his classmates, who apparently had nothing better to do with their time. 

A part of Jungkook always felt guilty for never standing up for you. He knew you needed a friend. Someone to confide in this hellish school that made it seem as if it were every man for himself. But he was a coward, raised and molded to never take a step outside the boundaries he had set for himself, like a doll.

Although, with Mr. Park's influence, Jungkook could finally break free from his shell, even if it were just a mere few steps. 

"Here," he says nervously, handing you a carton of banana milk that he had picked up from the nearest vending machine the moment he saw you storm out of the classroom in tears. Even then, your classmates had laughed, mocking how sensitive you were, which disgusted Jungkook. Didn't they have any ounce of shame for making a person cry like that?

You look up from where you sat on the school's staircase, eyes puffy from crying so hard, a stream of tears still flowing down your face. You looked like an absolute mess, and the sight only caused Jungkook's heart to clench even more. He sat beside you, albeit a bit distanced because he couldn't help but feel awkward. This was your first conversation, after all. 

You stare at him, not entirely understanding why he would extend kindness towards you. Was this a trick of fate? Was he doing this so you would someday do his bidding in the future? The kids of this school were scary, even scarier than the monsters that hid underneath your bed or the creatures that roamed around in the dead of night. Even amidst the light, they scared you, and you were terrified that the man offering you some banana milk would be just the same. 

"You don't have to take it if you don't want to," Jungkook says, after realizing you were staring at him warily, cautious over whether or not you would accept his gift. "Sweets always cheered me up whenever I feel down, and I thought maybe it would cheer you up too!" 

If anyone were to see your interaction, they would have burst out laughing from how awkward it was. You who were wary and cautious, and Jungkook who was awkward and shy. A stark difference between your usual timid behavior and Jungkook's confident act. In fact, if anyone else were to see this, they would have never believed their eyes. 

It was odd, after all. And you knew this very well. Which was why you were so confused at Jungkook's behavior. Why was he approaching you so kindly when everyone else ridiculed and shunned you out? You were different, someone who didn't deserve to be there. An imposter, an intruder. It didn't make sense for him to act friendly. 

"Don't take this the wrong way," Jungkook continues, setting down the banana milk in the space between the two of you as he fiddled with his fingers, a habit he had picked up over time. "I'm not doing this to mock you or make fun of you later down the line… I just really don't like the way they're treating you. It's not right."

You're stunned. Rightfully so. This was the first time someone had ever gone against what others did to you, despite him doing so behind the scenes. A weird sensation bubbles up from inside you, one you can't quite place. But what you do know is that amidst it all, there's warmth. Jungkook's words sounded genuine and sincere, not like the usual condescending tone you were used to hearing from the rest of your peers. 

He genuinely seemed to care. 

Jungkook's eyes widen in surprise when he sees you grab the carton of banana milk, opening the straw in pushing it through, taking a sip. You sheepishly stare down, not even bothering to look Jungkook in the eye before muttering. "I prefer strawberry milk… but this isn't that bad... I guess… Thanks…" 

His eyes gleam, happy that you've accepted his offering and watching with a content smile as a small smile of your own forms on your lips, a far cry from the mess you were mere moments ago. He had somehow managed to cheer you up, and that was better than anything Jungkook could ever ask for. 

"No problem. Next time I'll buy you a whole box of strawberry milk!" He exclaims, excited for what was about to unfold between the two of you. 

But he would have never expected this. 

And on this week's celebrity news: Former Vocalist of The 97, (L/N) (Y/N) debuts solo with her new single 'Move On', which fans speculate is a direct message to her ex-boyfriend and former bandmate Jeon Jungkook. 

"Fuck!" Jungkook exclaims, overcome with emotion, as he watches the news unfold in the conference room of his label. He had quickly made his way over the moment he saw the headline, confused, devastated, and most of all angry. 

What in the world were you thinking, dragging him down like that?

"Jungkook, calm down," Namjoon says from the other side of the room, trying to prevent Jungkook from destroying the room. Jungkook was strong. And if he really wanted to, he could turn the whole conference room upside down in a blink of an eye, and Namjoon really didn't want to deal with whatever consequence would follow should Jungkook actually decide that he'd destroy the conference room. 

"How the fuck do you expect me to be calm, Namjoon?" Jungkook asks, exasperated as he walks from one end of the room to the other. "This is going to ruin my fucking reputation. And it's all because that bitch is too bitter about our breakup that she decided to fucking write a song about it."

"Hey." Another voice calls out, stern and ready to scold. Jaehyun, the band's bassist, glares at Jungkook with as much disdain as he could muster, not believing the words that came out of Jungkook's mouth. "No matter how you feel about the situation. I'm not going to stand by and let you call (Y/N) a bitch. She was and still is our friend. Just because you're so caught up in your perfect reputation doesn't mean you have to bring others down in the process, Jeon." 

It was rare for Jaehyun to ever call Jungkook by his last name. The two were as close as could be, having been the best of friends for more than ten years and counting. Jungkook knew he could trust Jaehyun with his life and vice versa, so it shocked him to hear that his best friend was defending her. 

"But Jungkook has every reason to be mad, Jaehyun!" Another voice pops up, this time a more feminine one that has Jungkook's heart-melting just a bit. Eunha, his current girlfriend, and the one who was there for him when you left him. She was the band's current vocalist, and Jungkook couldn't feel any more grateful to have someone as supportive as her in his life.

"She's using a personal situation to make her more popular, all the while bringing us down in the process! There's nothing else to call her but a bitch when she's hurting the band she started with! Is that how she says thank you when the band's been nothing but good to her?

It's incredible, Jungkook thinks to himself, how he was able to find someone like Eunha. She was the most compassionate and understanding person in the world, a far cry from what you had become. Bitter, selfish, and downright ungrateful. You probably wrote that song out of spite just to get back at him when he did nothing wrong in the first place. You were crazy, and he was glad Eunha allowed him to see through all of your lies. 

"Shut the fuck up, will you?" Jungkook's eyes darted in surprise to Yugyeom, the band's drummer, who had just cursed at his girlfriend. He glares at the drummer, mad at the fact that the usual happy-go-lucky man was now acting bitter in front of his girlfriend, who had done nothing wrong. Were his bandmates woven that deep within your cruel lies?

"Excuse me, what did you just say?" Eunha asks, appalled, tears forming from the corners of her eyes, which only causes the anger within Jungkook to grow. How dare they. How dare they make Eunha cry when she was doing nothing but telling the truth?

"You heard me, Eunha," Yugyeom continues, paying no mind to the burning rage that was about to burst within Jungkook. "I said shut the fuck up. So what if (Y/N) wrote a song about Jungkook? Why does it matter? She has every right to. I mean, our next single is literally a song Jungkook wrote after the breakup, so why the fuck are you berating her for doing the same?"

"Because she's hurting our reputation!" Eunha exclaims, clearly frustrated at how Yugyeom and Jaehyun weren't getting her point. "And besides, she was the one in the wrong during the breakup. What right does she have to make a song about it?"

Jaehyun scoffs, glare intensifying, causing Jungkook to clench his fist at their hostility. "And how do you know that when you only heard Jungkook's side of the story and not (Y/N) 's? For all we know, Jungkook could also be in the wro—"

Before Jaehyun could finish his sentence, Jungkook explodes, immediately rushing over to where Jaehyun sat and grabbing him by the collar, causing the rest of the band and Namjoon to panic, trying to break them apart, while Eunha watches, scared. 

"You motherfucker," Jungkook curses, hand raised into a fist, ready to punch Jaehyun in the face with all the force he could muster. But before he could do so, Namjoon and Yugyeom immediately held him back, causing Jaehyun to let out shaky breaths as he glared at Jungkook, hurt, confused, and angry. "Why are you defending her? She was the one who hurt me! You're supposed to be my fucking best friend!"

"Maybe if you actually listened to what she had to say and what she was going through, then we wouldn't be in this situation in the first place," Jaehyun screamed back, anger slowly growing as each moment passed by. "You've always been like this Jungkook, self-centered and fucking mean. (Y/N) was right for wanting to leave."

"What did you say, you fucki—"

"Enough!" Namjoon screams, holding his ground. This had gotten out of hand, and it was beginning to stress him out, and clearly, that same stress was spreading through every single person in the room. This wasn't even supposed to be that big of a deal. All they were supposed to do was listen to the song you wrote, and come up with a statement, So why the hell did this turn into a full-blown fight?

Gosh, Namjoon needed a raise. 

"Jeon Jungkook calm the fuck down, or I'll have you on probation, you hear? The same goes for all of you. I don't want to hear any bullshit about who's right or wrong in the relationship. All I need is for us to listen to the song and figure out what we're going to tell the higher-ups. So stop acting like you're a bunch of teenagers and sit down."

Usually, Namjoon wasn't this scary. But there was a glint in his eyes that taunted the band. And they knew that in the heat of the moment, the best thing to do was to shut up and listen. Besides, he was right. The way they were going, no progress would have been made, leading to further complications. With a huff, Jungkook sits down, staring grumpily into space. He wasn't comfortable with what had just occurred, a frenzy of emotions bottling up inside him from the outburst.

Luckily for him, Eunha was quick to hold his hand into hers, soothing him enough to calm his nerves and mentally prepare himself for what was about to unfold. Because he knew he wasn't going to like it.

And true to his words, the moment Namjoon pressed play, he didn't like it. Not one bit. 

Jungkook couldn't quite pin why your song made his blood boil and heart clench. From an outsider's perspective, it was a good song. A really good song. As a musician himself, Jungkook would never deny that. You had a knack for creating some really great tunes that were out of this world, after all. It was the very thing that made him ask you to start a band with him in the first place. 

But there was just something about this piece in particular that seemed different. Your very aura was different, Jungkook concluded as he watched the video, listening to the way you screamed about how good it was that he was able to move on while you haven't. How you laced memories and fragments of your relationship and expertly wove them together to create a masterpiece that echoed into the very depths of his beating heart. 

It left a bitter taste in his mouth. Because amidst the chaos, you looked free. 

There was something beautiful about the way you were in the middle of a room up in flames, almost to the point where Jungkook knew that it was metaphorical. You liked metaphors. Jungkook remembers how long ago, when the band was just the two of you, you mentioned how metaphors brought out the beauty of the world. They made the ordinary extraordinary. They made the dull come to life. Metaphors were beauty itself, and that's precisely why you loved to play with them so much. 

It's funny to see how that part of you hadn't changed, even after how many years. 

"Jungkook?" Eunha calls out to him, a concerned look gracing over her face. "You okay?" 

Honestly speaking, Jungkook didn't know. The high of his anger had finally settled, and all Jungkook felt was a burning numbness scouring through his veins. It's laughable how mere hours ago, Jungkook was sure that today would be another great day to celebrate how amazing his life was. Yet, here he is, in the middle of a conference room, watching as you submerged yourself underwater at the last scene of your music video, feeling empty. 

He doesn't directly answer Eunha, afraid that if he were to say anything, unwanted words would slip from his lips, and he would unleash another round of chaos and hell. And he was too mentally exhausted to go through that again. So he merely nods, clasping Eunha's hand gently and sighing as Namjoon pauses the video, turning towards the group. 

"Well," Namjoon says, surveying the room to see the band's reactions. But who was he kidding? He knew damn well that the band wasn't nearly overjoyed seeing and hearing what their old friend had to say, especially Jungkook. The poor kid looked lost. "That's that. It looks too vague to be considered a song catered to Jungkook, so I'll inform the higher-ups that it has nothing to do wi--"

Suddenly, Jungkook stands up, causing a deafening silence to befall once more as everyone watches him with cautious eyes, afraid of what he was about to do. 

"I'm going to get a drink," is all he says, moving to head out the door. No one really says anything in protest, Yugyeom and Jaehyun still feeling the aftermath of the previous fight. Only Eunha seemed to be visibly bothered, scoffing at the rest of the team's reactions before quickly latching on to Jungkook's arm. 

"Babe, it's still early in the morning. At least let me accompany you?" She asks, that hopeful glint burning brightly in her eyes, to the point that it makes Jaehyun recline back in his seat uncomfortably, not liking the way she seemed so unnatural. You were never like that. And while Jaehyun knew it was wrong to make comparisons, he couldn't help it. 

You were his best friend just as much as Jungkook was. 

"I'll go alone," is all Jungkook whispers, shrugging Eunha off who is about to protest, but Namjoon is quick to shut her up with a gentle hand on her shoulder, shaking his head when she tries to chase after him. Jungkook needed to settle down and sort his thoughts through if he ever wanted a chance at getting through this situation with you. 

And maybe, just maybe, he could finally make amends. 

“Do you have a dream?”

This was the question that started it all, Jungkook supposed. He remembers the very day you asked him that one decisive question that, looking back, changed both of your lives. For good or for worse, Jungkook wasn’t sure. But as he reminisces the memories of the past and tries to figure out where everything went wrong, he couldn’t help the gut-wrenching feeling that settles within him. It’s so upsetting, in fact, that the moment Jungkook arrives in the pub across the street, he immediately drowns himself in a bottle of soju. 

The two of you were spending the lunch break in the empty stairwell, the same place where the two of you first met and the same place where the two of you gradually started to hang out. It was a quiet space, free from the condescending eyes of the perfection-seeking kids you called classmates. It was a space where you and Jungkook could be free, even for just a little while. 

Sipping on his banana milk, Jungkook looks at you curiously. You were staring at the strawberry milk he had bought you, fiddling with it nervously, not even bothering to look him in the eye. He wonders what goes on through your mind, what thoughts dance around within its hollow crevices, shaking you up and causing you to become a nervous wreck. Especially when the question wasn’t as bad as you were probably thinking. 

“Hmm, do you want the honest answer or the answer everyone wants to hear?” He asks back, looking up at the ceiling. For an elite school, they didn’t do well to maintain the more hidden areas. Was that a sign that they really didn’t care about things that weren’t relevant to them? Maybe. Maybe not. Jungkook didn’t particularly care. It was just more bearable t stare at the ceiling than sit in awkward silence, 

“Honest,” you say after a few moments, much more confident than a few moments ago. After hanging out with you for a few months and observing you within the silence of your conversations, Jungkook somehow knows that no matter what he’d do, you would forever be shy. Regardless if you knew someone well or not, the first moments of conversation would always be parallel to a first meeting. It was a curious thing, honestly. But it was more intriguing once he realized that your confidence grew the more you spoke. 

In a way, it was kind of cute. 

“I wanna make music,” Jungkook says after snapping himself out of his trance. He once again averts his gaze from yours, but this time it wasn’t to avoid silence, but rather to think, to immerse himself in his thoughts. Because this was the first time, someone had asked him what he truly wanted to do with life. The first time someone wanted an honest answer from him, not a polished response set up to please his parents and peers. 

“Not the classical kind, though,” he continues, smiling softly to himself. “Not really fond of it as much as you think.” From the corner of his eyes, Jungkook can see you gaping at him in surprise, and it causes him to chuckle. You were never really expressive beyond the weary walls of the seemingly abandoned stairwell. To the rest of the student body, you were expressionless. Someone who took all the beatings and ridicules with a blank face. As if you were a doll, waiting to be ruined. 

But here, you were much more alive. Much more expressive than Jungkook was used to seeing. It was as if the (Y/N) beyond the worn steps of the stairwell was an entirely different person. A mask you placed upon yourself to protect your heart from the cruel reality you had come to face. And Jungkook was more than fascinated at the fact that you had brought that mask down for him. 

“If I could, I’d do rock, maybe even some metal If I got enough courage,” he continues, smiling to himself unknowingly giddy at the sight of you. “There’s just something different about it, you know? The music runs through your system and gets you all hyped up; you just can’t resist it. And when the beat drops, it’s as if your emotions are on an all-time high, and it weirdly makes you kind of free. It made me realize that this was what music was supposed to be, I guess.”

“Wow,” you mutter, after staying within the silence of your initial awe. “That’s... poetic.” Jungkook laughs at the look of disbelief in his face, shooting his empty carton of banana milk in the air and watching in satisfaction as it lands straight into the empty trash can just right down the corner before turning to you, a grin high on his lips. 

“Oh, come on,” he whines, rolling his eyes playfully. “Why do you sound so surprised? Do I not look like I’d be a good musician?”

“It’s not that!” You quickly exclaim in your defense, flailing your arms in the air to avert Jungkook’s thoughts about the situation. Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook was only joking, highly amused at your reactions, wanting to see more. “I just assumed you’d be more into sports, you know, since you’re so good at it? If you ask me, you kind of look like you’d do well in either football or basketball… so I just kind of assumed that was what you wanted to actually pursue. Not that wanting to pursue music is a bad thing! It’s great, it’s just that rock is kind of unexpected....” 

You were beginning to ramble at this point, the shy sheep from within you bursting forth as you fiddled with your thumbs nervously, anxious to see Jungkook’s reaction. Would he be mad at you for assuming things about him off the bat? Probably not, right? You did initiate the conversation by asking him what his dream was, after all. Wait, maybe this was your fault. Gosh, you should have just asked any other question that wasn’t as deep. 

This friendship thing was too difficult for your liking. 

As you bury yourself in your thoughts, Jungkook couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. It was small at first, almost going unheard by you who was so deeply consumed by the matters of your mind, but the more Jungkook laughed, the louder he got until he was full-on cackling, much to your dismay, confusion, and shock. 

“What’s so funny?” You ask frantically, trying to make sense of his actions. Did you say something wrong? As far as you knew, you hadn’t, but what if you had and accidentally crossed the line? You hoped not. You really didn’t want to screw any chance you had at having a real, genuine friend. But to your dismay, your questions remain unanswered as Jungkook continues to laugh, almost as if he wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon. 

“Hey!” You exclaim, pouting. “Stop laughing at me, Jungkook!”

“I-i’m sorry,” He says after a few more laughs, trying to wipe the tears that were beginning to form in his eyes. “I couldn’t help it,” He laughs again, although this time, it seems as if he’s calmed down, sporting a cheeky smile. “Your reactions are just something else!”

Jungkook watches as you become flustered, once more, much to his fascination and amusement. He’s never been the teasing type, or more like, he’s never had the opportunity to become the teasing type, especially with the perfect image he had to curate in front of his peers. But he liked this. He liked being friends with you. It made him all the more free. 

“What about you?” He suddenly asks after a while, feeling that it was high time to cut you some slack. You look up at him in confusion as if you had entirely forgotten why this entire conversation had happened in the first place. “Do you have a dream?”

It’s silent, yet this time, Jungkook notes, the silence is uncanny. It’s not the same comfortable silence that Jungkook is used to whenever he was hanging out with you. It was as if the silence had suddenly crashed down and enveloped the cheery atmosphere in its deceitful arms. A trap, if you will. 

And Jungkook was unsure whether he wanted to break free from it or stay there with you. 

But you take the first step, finally looking up to meet him in the eyes, and Jungkook can feel his heart sink just a tad bit from how empty and solemn they were. “I don’t think so,” is all you say, brushing off the concerned look on Jungkook’s face with a smile. “I’ve never really given it much thought. That’s why I asked,” you chuckle halfheartedly, staring up at the ceiling. “Although I think it would be nice,” you say, smiling a bit more genuinely. “You know, to have a dream?”

Jungkook doesn’t know what to say. How was he supposed to react to that, anyway? No matter how difficult his life was, he had always had a dream. It kept him going, made him push through no matter the difficulty. Dreams were the driving force of life. The hope amidst the darkness. To not have a dream, even just a small one, rattled Jungkook. 

It terrified him because now Jungkook realized that he knew nothing about you despite you being his first friend. He didn’t know the reason why you decided to become a living doll in the eyes of others. He didn’t understand why you subjected yourself to such suffering when, from the small talks you and Jungkook had with each other, you seemed to have a loving family. 

He wanted to help you, to be there for you. Because he wasn’t sure whether or not you were actually feeling lost. That’s what friends were for, right? Jungkook wasn’t exactly sure on how to do this whole friendship thing, but if there was one thing he did know, it was the fact that friends helped each other. 

And Jungkook would be damned if he couldn’t help you in any way that he could.

Soju bottles littered the lone table that Jungkook sat upon. At this point, he wasn’t sure how many bottles he had drunk, but it sure was many, more than he could handle if he were, to be honest, but amidst his drunken state, he just couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Why was he acting like this anyway? 

He was supposed to be happy. His band was one of the most successful ones out there. He had thousands, if not millions of fans, who supported him in everything he did. So why, just why was this insignificant matter affecting him so greatly?

Was it because it was you?

“Dear, are you alright?” The old woman, running the pub asks, concerned as she sets down a piping hot bowl of warm hangover soup, which has Jungkook’s mouth watering to the point where drool almost seeps out, mainly because he only had a bite of a sandwich on his way to the office which Eunha forcibly made him eat. But even so, he couldn’t bring himself to eat, especially with the array of emotions that were burning deep within him. “Do you need me to call someone for you?”

Jungkook stays silent, not even bothering to respond to the old lady, who only grows wearier at the lack of response. He didn’t mean to be rude. It was just that he couldn’t find the strength to actually do anything but wallow in his own misery. His thoughts were going on haywire, with no place to land in sight. 

What had he done to deserve this? He was sure he had done nothing wrong, so why were you doing this to him when all he had done was, be nothing but nice to you? He had supported you ever since the beginning, and this was how you repaid him?

He doesn’t notice how the old lady leaves to call someone from the company, despite him not saying anything. It was probably for the best anyway. He was too out of it to even ask for help. The old lady was right and kind for going out of her way to do this for him. Although it made sense, after all, this specific pub was where Jungkook had been drinking ever since he had reached adulthood. 

Maybe she would call Namjoon? It was likely, but Jungkook hoped not. He was sure that if Namjoon were to see his sorry state, he would scold him until his ears bled out. Although he couldn’t really blame Namjoon, if any manager were to see their client drinking away their woes like he was, they would probably freak out. Primarily since he was known for drinking at most two bottles. Jungkook just really didn’t want to deal with Namjoon right now, especially after what had transpired earlier. 

He hoped that she would call Eunha. Sweet, loveable Eunha, who was there for him when the shitshow that was his breakup with you went down. Even until now, Jungkook was still in the dark of why you had left him and the band, but Eunha was the one who stayed by his side. Ever since he had met her two years ago when she first entered the company, they had become the best of friends. And now she was his girlfriend, and he couldn’t be happier. 

All of a sudden, a familiar voice wafts through the empty pub. One that has Jungkook’s head whipping everywhere it could to figure out where it was coming from. It was sweet, melodic even. But at the same time, it had a hint of melancholy and freedom? Why was the voice so familiar? Where had he heard it before? 

Jungkook’s eyes darted around, trying to see if he could spot the culprit behind his dilemma until they finally landed on the wide TV that sat in the middle of the pub, presumably for their customer’s enjoyment. And lo and behold, in his eyes, he sees you. 

It was a local music show where famous stars would often find themselves performing to promote their new music. He assumed you were there to perform your new single, the one song that had him sitting here broken and destroyed with pride in your chest. Did you enjoy this?

Did you enjoy knowing that he was broken because of you?

He hated it. He hated how bright your smile was the moment he caught sight of the camera focusing on you as the hosts began their interview. You were brilliant, cheery, happy. And it sickened Jungkook to the core. Why did it seem like you were doing fine when he was here all bothered? How selfish could you possibly be? 

But as much as it hurts him, he can’t find it in himself to look away. It’s a strange sensation that Jungkook couldn’t quite explain. Why couldn’t he avert his eyes from you when all he’s been feeling today was pain? It didn’t make sense. But honestly, Jungkook couldn’t tell what made sense anymore. 

He watches you sing, hearing those blasted lyrics that made him rage just mere moments ago. Yet, this time, the lyrics made his heart clench. Perhaps it was the fact that your performance seemed more genuine because you were singing live. But why? Why were you singing those lyrics as if they had genuinely happened to you? Jungkook never caused you any pain, so why did it seem as if you were hurting more than him? 

The thoughts were too much. It was driving Jungkook crazy, and all he wanted to do was drown in them. He didn’t want to think. Thinking heightened the pain that brimmed deep within his chest. He just wanted to float in the ocean of his misery and stay there, hoping that someday he would land ashore and the pain would come to an end. 

Maybe if he took one more shot, it would help? 

He pours down the last remaining soju into his shot glass, not caring if it overflowed and spilled out on the table. Rationality was far out of his mind at this point. All Jungkook wanted to do was do anything that would make him feel numb. 

He raises the glass shakily, ready to feel the burning sensation of the alcohol run down his throat, that temporary relief that made him sink deep down into this endless cycle of emptiness. Yet, it doesn’t happen. 

A hand shoots down to stop his wrist. It’s a familiar yet unfamiliar hold, something Jungkook can’t quite place. Where has he felt this hold before? He looks up, his eyesight a bit blurry from his drunken state, so he squints, trying to see clearly. 

Who was it? Namjoon? Eunha? Heck, Jaehyun?

Turns out it was none of them. 

When his sight finally clears, he gasps in shock, breath hitching in his throat as he takes it all in. Because the person, whose hold was familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time, wasn’t his manager, nor was it his girlfriend or best friend. 

It was you. 

The person, the old lady, had called to get him was you. 

Well, Jungkook be damned. 

When you got the call from the old lady, you were on your way to your new studio after finishing up a schedule you had prior. The past few weeks have been busy for you. Leaving the band and Jungkook was no easy feat. It was a decision that you knew was a high-risk, high reward yet at the same time had higher chances of failure. 

After all, even if you hated to admit it. Without the band, you had nothing. 

Sure, there was the fame that came with all of the band’s success. You were the vocalist, after all. It was exhilarating knowing that millions out there would be listening to your voice, singing music you created with people you loved dearly. But in the midst of all of that, there was nothing. 

Jungkook, Jaehyun, and Yugyeom had everything going on for them. A backup plan in case the band didn’t succeed. A plan B, if you will. It made sense. They had privilege dripping from the palms of their hand, after all. Even if they had their own troubles and doubts, they didn’t have to worry about finding another way out because there already was a path laid out for them in the beginning. 

You went into all of this, risking everything. 

It was a choice that you had seemingly made on impulse if an outsider were to look back at the situation. When Jungkook had asked you to start a band with him, it was during another one of your many lunch dates, as you two had jokingly called it. Only this time, the two of you weren’t sitting on the cold and empty stairwell, but instead, you were in the old music room. 

“I can’t believe this,” Jungkook mumbles to himself as he cranks the rusted door of the old music room open. People barely used it nowadays, much to his disbelief yet relief at the same time. He couldn’t blame them though, the brand new music room was much more enchanting, filled with top-of-the-grade musical instruments than anyone would drool over. 

Well, at least it meant that he could have autonomy over the room (even though that wasn’t really the case). “You’re telling me that you never heard rock or metal before?” He gapes in disbelief as he sits on one of the dusty desks, looking at you with an outraged expression. You sheepishly enter behind him, taking a sip of your drink as you took a seat beside him. 

“You never asked,” is all you say, shrugging. Jungkook looks at you once more incredulously, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes and ears. “That’s because I assumed you would have known what rock and metal are! They’re like the greatest music genres of all time. How can you not know it?”

You shrug once more, not really having an answer. Well, you did, but it was probably stupid. After all, if this was his reaction to you not knowing about rock and metal. What would his response be if he were to find out that the only music you’d ever listened to was classical and nursery rhymes? Yeah, probably not a good idea. 

“Well, get ready then,” he exclaims, bringing out his phone, much to your surprise. Model student and Mr. Perfect Jeon Jungkook breaking a school rule? Who would have thought that you’d ever lived to see the day? “Because you’re about to experience an awakening, I tell you. A revolution!”

It’s amusing, really. You had never seen Jungkook as passionate as he was at the moment. Was this what it was like to have a dream? His eyes lit up as if sparkles were floating around him. As if he were about to step on cloud nine and enter paradise. He was bouncing his leg lightly in excitement, a goofy smile on his face that kind of reminded you of a bunny. 

Maybe having a dream wouldn’t be so bad, after all. 

He immediately scoots over to you once he has his phone ready, grabbing his earphones and plugging it into his phone, handing you the other ear. You hold it, a small smile on your face, and hook it unto your ear, not really knowing what to expect but excited all the same. After all, this was the music that made your best friend passionate and hopeful for the future. For sure, it wouldn’t be bad, right? 

Well, to say the least, it was an experience. An experience you couldn’t quite tell if you enjoyed or couldn’t fathom. It was entirely different from the music that you were used to. From the bright and soothing tones came ones that were heavy and thundered on your ears. Yet, in a way, it was exhilarating. 

You could see why Jungkook was attracted to this style of music. In a way, it was unhinged, a little more rebellious than the traditional types of music you were used to. But that didn’t mean it was worse. In fact, that’s what made it more exciting. Jungkook was right. In those few minutes that he had introduced you to the world of rock, you’ve gone through an array of emotions, from confusion to thrill and excitement of the highest level. The rollercoaster of new sensations was, to say the least, intoxicating, 

Because immediately you got hooked. 

“Wow,” you mutter, looking up at Jungkook, who was looking back at you with lively eyes. “That was… something else.” 

“Right?!” He exclaims, immediately jumping off the desk to grasp your hands in excitement; it was endearing to see. Jungkook rarely got riled up like this. Music truly brought out the best in him, you thought to yourself, watching as he continued to dangle your hands in his. “Isn’t rock just amazing? Oh, what I’d do to pick up an electric guitar and play,” He sighs, and you can tell from the far-away look on his face that he’s daydreaming about something and the sight warms your heart. 

“You should,” is all you say, startling Jungkook out of his trance. “I think you’d do absolutely great in music, Jungkook! You should go for it.” Jungkook looks at you, stunned. He blinks, trying to process what you had just said, before clasping your fingers a bit tighter, unsure of himself. 

“Really?” He mutters softly, “You really think I can do it?”

“Of course,” you encourage with a bright smile. “If it’s you, then you can do anything!”

It’s silent for a moment, with Jungkook deep in thought. But you don’t necessarily mind, as more than anything, you understood the weight of your words. Being Jungkook’s friend meant that you stuck by him through a lot of undesirable moments, moments that both of you promised to never speak of unless it was absolutely necessary. 

You knew how much he longed for his dreams. Ever since that rather inspiring conversation you had around a week ago, you knew just how much Jungkook bottled up his true passions and desires, even though there were moments wherein he would freely let them out. 

“Then you have to be there with me,” he says, eyes filled with determination. “I don’t think I can do this without you (Y/N).”

Looking back at it, you chuckle at how swooned you were with Jungkook’s words. It was crazy to think that he had swept you off your feet with a mere ten words that ultimately decided the course of a good chunk of your life. You let him, and for that, you were to blame, But that didn’t necessarily mean that you regretted your decision in its entirety. 

Suddenly, your phone rings from beside you, and you grab it from where it lay in your purse, only to see an old number that you hadn’t seen in a while. It’s been a year, you think, as you accept the call, pressing your phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“(Y/N) dear! It’s been such a long time!” You smile at the cheery sound present within the old lady’s voice, although you can’t deny that you hear a twinge of worry within it. You used to go to her pub every so often back when you were still in the band. And the old lady had been such a sweet soul, acting as some sort of parental figure to you and your bandmates through the years. 

“It’s good to hear from you again,” you mutter, pleasantly surprised at her sudden call but also a bit suspicious because you had no idea what she was calling for. “May I ask why you’re calling me?”

“Ah!” The old lady exclaims, and suddenly the initial chirp present within her fades into a frantic tone that has your eyebrows furrowing in confusion, not sure what to expect. “Do you mind picking up your boyfriend?”

You blink, confused and startled. “I’m sorry,” you say, still not processing it clearly. “What was that?”

You hear a sigh from the other side of the phone. It sounds tiring, exasperated even, Which shouldn’t be the case since the pub usually opens up later at night. It was only open during the day for company employees. And what sane person would cause trouble with this much sunlight out? 

“Your boyfriend dear,” the old lady continues, sounding absolutely done, yet at the same time, the concern was still there, and you swear you hear the sound of glass falling in the back, causing your eyebrows to furrow in worry. “He’s been drinking for hours, and this is more than he’s ever drunk!”

You stay silent, letting it all sink in. The only person she could have possibly been referring to was Jungkook. There was no doubt about that. After all, the old lady’s pub was where you and Jungkook would often find yourselves having late-night rendezvous, drinking the night away as you bonded over whatever life was throwing at you within those moments. 

But now, the pub gave you nothing but pain. 

“Grandma, I’m sorry to tell you this, but me and Jungkook aren’t—”

“—So you’ll come, yes? Thank you, dear! Truly a lifesaver!” 

She hangs up. You stare at your phone in disbelief, shocked at the predicament you had unknowingly gotten yourself into. What were you supposed to do now? The responsible thing to do was to probably phone Namjoon and tell him about the situation. But with what had just transpired earlier today with the release of your single last night and your performance this morning, you’re not so sure he would appreciate any sort of contact from you. 

With a sigh, you turn to head towards the pub. No matter how much you hated Jungkook for the way he treated you within the last few stages of your relationship, you couldn’t leave him alone to wallow in his misery (even though there was a part of you that was secretly glad that he was torn because of you). It would be too cruel of you. Especially considering that Jungkook had been a significant part of your life. 

Huh, guess you haven’t moved on as much as you thought you had. 

Even just reaching the pub brought back memories that you wish wouldn’t resurface. You and Jungkook used to wrestle over who would open the door for the other, and more often than not, Jungkook won. But you weren’t one to lose quickly, even to him. 

The familiar jingle that came with opening the door brought a pang of nostalgia to your heart. When you and Jungkook would enter the pub, just ten seconds after the jingle faded away, the old lady would come out of her quaint kitchen and say

“Welcome home— Oh, there you are, dear!”

Not exactly how you remembered it, but it was still familiar all the same. 

“Hello grandma, how are you?” You greet with a solemn smile, watching with fond eyes as the old lady comes up to clasp your hands within her own. “Oh dear, I haven’t seen you in forever. Why haven’t you visited in so long?” 

You’re not sure what to say. How are you supposed to tell her that you left and broke up with the man she asked you to pick up? That would put her in an awkward position, and you didn’t want to cause stress for the already weary lady. 

“Oh, never mind that,” she says, luckily dropping the subject. “Come in, come in, your boyfriend’s over there drinking in the corner. Did something happen? I’ve honestly never seen him drink this much before. At this rate, he’s going to finish my soju supply before I open up for the night!” 

You enter the main area, and immediately you’re hit with the familiar, comforting scent of alcohol and home-cooked meals, as odd as it sounds. Although the smell of alcohol was by far heavier in the air, and as you turn to look for the source, your eyes land in Jungkook.

And you’re, for lack of a better word, shocked.

It was almost as if he was drowning in an ocean of soju bottles, with some of the alcohol dripping off the table and into the ground or his clothes. Partly because he was pouring himself another shot, which you know he can’t take.

He could barely handle two bottles when the two of you were dating, so why did it feel like he was drinking more than ten. If he wasn’t stopped now, something majorly damaging could happen to him, and as much as you never wanted to speak to him, you couldn’t just ignore him when he was literally on the brink of life and death.

You stomp on over to where he’s at, hastily quickening your steps as he’s about to down his last shot, and before you can even think about what to do, your instincts act on their own, and your hand reaches out to him, stopping him.

No words are spoken. Rather, you can’t find the words to say as you watch with solemn eyes as Jungkook looks at his hand confused. He tries to shake it, to move his arm so he can bring the shot glass to his lips, but you remain firm in your grip, clasping just a bit harder so he wouldn’t push through with the shot. 

He looks around, following the trail left by your grasp until he meets your eyes, and already you can feel the whirlwind of emotions bubbling up inside you. This was the first time you and Jungkook have met after the breakup after leaving the band. You never expected the two of you to meet this way. Although, you supposed life was funny like that. It liked to throw unexpected situations in your face, especially in the most inappropriate times.

You watch as he squints, trying to make sense of who you were before he gasps, arm slacking, falling into the side as the alcohol from the shot glass splatters into the air. He squints once more as if trying to ensure that what he was seeing in front of him was real before stammering. 

“(Y/N)?” He whispers, broken, voice breaking. You try not to let your emotions show, knowing that if you do, he’d only lure you back into him, which was something you did not want at all. You were done. After many months, heck years of being torn apart by him, you couldn’t afford any more pain. It would break you even more than it already did, 

“Hey,” you whisper back, breath hitching as you watch the way Jungkook’s eyes widen at the sound of your voice, loud and clear for him to hear. Even with his drunken state, he can’t deny the pang of nostalgia that runs through his veins once he finally registers that it’s you standing before him. In the flesh. Not a vision on TV or a picture of you from his memories. 

It was you. 

“What are you doing here?” He slurs, trying to reach out to you, but you move away, refusing him any form of affection. Because you two were too far gone for that. 

“Grandma called,” is all you say, the disappointed look in Jungkook’s eyes not going unnoticed. “Asked me to pick you up. Said you’ve been drinking more than you used to and… I can see that.”

You gesture to the empty soju bottles that littered the table with a grimace, turning back to Jungkook only to hear him scoff and point a finger to you accusingly, although with his drunken state, his posture was way off. “Who do you think’s to blame?” He asks, sarcasm laced within his tone. You raise an eyebrow at that, choosing to let him continue before you could offer back any sarcastic remark of your own. 

“It’s you!” He continues, slamming his fist to the table, much to your surprise. “You and your stupid fucking song…. I mean, what the fuck is up that?”

“What the fuck is up with what, Jungkook?” You quip back, eyeing his fist cautiously in the case he would do something dangerous that would either injure him, you, or if worse comes to worst, both. 

“Don’t play dumb with me,” He continues, and Jungkook can feel the irritation, frustration, and fatigue build within him now that he’s finally gotten a chance to let all these raging emotions out. “You know what you did! Why’d you do it, huh?” His voice grows louder, causing you to flinch as you move your chair back just a bit. 

“Why’d you have to ruin my fucking reputation?” 

All of a sudden, it’s like something in you snaps. 

You can’t believe it. You can’t believe the audacity Jungkook had to say something as outrageous and stupid as what he just said. The emotions that were already burning up within you finally exploded as you stared at him with all the anger and disbelief you could muster. 

And here you thought he was drinking because he had finally realized all the wrongs he had done to you. What a fool you were. 

“Excuse me?” You say, exasperated. “What did you just fucking say?”

“I said what I said (Y/N),” Jungkook continued, not noticing the way rage was about to take you into its waiting arms, only to allow you to explode upon him with all the pent-up hurt that you’ve accumulated inside you. “You and your fucking song ruined the band any my reputation. Is this how you repay me after everything I’ve done for you?”

You blink. The words slowly make their way towards you as you try to process them, letting out a chuckle at how ridiculous his words were. “Are you being serious right now?” You say, scoffing at how there wasn’t an inch of regret on Jungkook’s face. “You’ve got to be joking, right?”

You want to give him the benefit of the doubt. You want to give him a chance to prove your ears, mind, and heart wrong. That he wasn’t actually thinking those absurd thoughts that had your gut-wrenching and your heartbreaking after already being broken. This couldn’t be the Jungkook that you knew, right? He wouldn’t be this cruel, right? 

“Do I look like I’m joking?” 

“You piece of shit.” You spat without even realizing it, surprising Jungkook. He’s sobered up just a little from your outburst, looking at you like a deer caught in headlights. For a moment, you regret speaking without any thought. But the more you try to rationalize it, the more the anger burns. This was unacceptable. 

“Reputation?” You scoff, looking at him incredulously. “You’re fucking worried about your reputation when there are bigger issues to be addressed here?” 

“(Y/N) I—”

“Shut up, Jungkook,” you say, cutting him off coldly. “You don’t get a say in this when all you’re worried about is your reputation over a broken relationship with someone you’ve grown up with for the past thirteen years!” 

Wide-eyed, Jungkook gapes at you, and you, in your disgruntled state, take this chance to get back at him, unleashing all the feelings you’ve buried deep inside you. 

“You dare ask me why I’m treating you this way when you’ve been nothing but nice to me?” You mock, his words hurting more than they should. “Do you even bother to ask yourself as to why I broke up with you in the first place, Jungkook? Why I left? Did you even bother to listen to my song?” 

His silence echoes throughout the pub, further shattering any lingering hope that you had about the situation. “No,” he says after a while, firm in his belief as he stared back at you, although his gaze seemed as if it could easily water away. “Didn’t think it was necessary; after all I did nothing wro—”

“—You treated me like shit for the last two years of our relationship, Jungkook. That’s what you did wrong.” You exclaim, not wanting to hear his excuses. “Are you really this blind to not know? To not see your own faults?”

How could he? You think to yourself, the unbearable pain of this revelation thrumming through every fibre of your being. It was painful. Painful to hear that he hadn’t even thought about the situation through your lens. He was too absorbed with what he had going for himself that he failed to see the world through your eyes, and it frustrated you to no end.

Because that breakup broke you like no other. 

Choosing to leave wasn’t an easy decision, by no means. You had risked everything to help support Jungkook in hopes that you would find a dream of your own. You joined the band, knowing that you would put your family’s safety and security at risk instead of pursuing a more stable career like starting a business or becoming a doctor.

You became selfish to follow Jungkook, so of course, you were attached. 

Jungkook, in a sense, was your world. You suppose, looking back at it now, that wasn’t the healthiest decision you took for yourself. But at that time, you could not help yourself. He was your first friend, your first love, your first everything. Jungkook showed you the ways of the world and then shattered it without a care. Of course, more than any other breakup, it would tear you apart.

Because to be honest, loving Jungkook made you happy. You remember when he first asked you out. Probably one of the best moments of your entire life. It happened after your band’s first major gig to open up the local summer festival. The two of you were still calming down from the high of the performance, excited, thrilled to have finally been given the opportunity in front of a bigger crowd. It felt surreal seeing the fascinated faces and happy smiles as they listen to your music.

Jungkook was right. This feeling was incredible.

“Holy shit. That was amazing,” Jaehyun laughs, hugging Yugyeom before turning to hug you and Jungkook. “I can’t believe we just did that!” 

“Do you think they liked us?” Yugyeom, ever the timid one asks. “I felt like I made a mistake somewhere along the second cho—“

“—Who cares, man?” Jungkook says, cutting Yugyeom off with a playful slap to the back. “We just fucking performed our first major gig. This isn’t time to be wallowing down on our mistakes. This is a time to celebrate!” 

You and Jaehyun hollered in agreement, following Jungkook as he dragged Yugyeom backstage where the four of you packed up, took a few commemorative pictures, and made your way towards the nearest convenience store to celebrate the night with some good old ramen, ice cream, and whatever your hearts desired.

It was a fun night, one filled with laughter as the four of you joked about whatever your mind could think of. Jungkook boasted about how he was right about their band getting somewhere, of how Jaehyun and Yugyeom, who were much more hesitant in joining the band, and after months of no progress, we’re beginning to regret it, had nothing to worry about. 

Jaehyun and Yugyeom even mustered up the courage to do a speed eating challenge, grabbing about her round of hot piping ramen and racing to see who could eat it the fastest, despite the heat burning their tongues both literally and figuratively.

It was a night where for once, the four of you didn’t have to worry about life outside of the band. Didn’t have to worry about the social pressure from school or home, Didn’t have to worry about stupid tests or becoming the best, for once the four of you could just be yourselves. Unapologetic and free.

When Jaehyun and Yugyeom decided to pack it up and head home, saying that if they didn’t arrive before their dreaded curfew, then their parents would literally send them to the pits of hell, you didn’t notice the way Jungkook grew silent. Maybe you did, but you were too preoccupied with the nauseated looks on Jaehyun and Yugyeom’s faces as they headed towards the public restroom to flush out the ramen in their system. 

“Hey (Y/N)?” Jungkook asks once Jaehyun and Yugyeom are nowhere to be seen. You hum in response, turning to look back at him, and immediately your eyes become overwhelmed with worry at the serious look on his face as he gazes up at the night sky, seemingly nervous and scared.

“Will you go out with me?”

It’s unexpected, a bomb to your heart if you could call it. You gasp the moment the words flow out of his mouth, staring at Jungkook in shock. Did he really just ask you out? 

You think it’s a joke. A cruel trick of nature. But by the way, Jungkook nervously fidgets from where he sits, and his eyes nervously dart around. Like they usually do during nerve-wracking situations like these, you knew in your heart that his words were true.

And you couldn’t be more overjoyed because you had fallen for Jeon Jungkook too. 

Throughout your many years of friendship, you had gotten to know Jungkook inside out. You were there when he threw a mini tantrum over missing first place in the final exam by one point, knowing that his parents would be disappointed in him. You were there when the two of you went out to buy his first-ever electric guitar after months of saving up money secretly. You were there for him when he was convincing Jaehyun and Yugyeom to join the band, even when he was about to get into a fight with Jaehyun over the matter.

And like clockwork, you had fallen.

It wasn’t particularly hard to do so. Jungkook had this certain charm to him, after all. He was an enigma. He could draw people into his rhythm like it was nothing and have them follow to the beat of his own drum. Sometimes you wondered if there was a hidden secret with the way he could so easily attract people, but the more you hung out, the more you realized that wasn’t the case at all. He was genuine in everything he did.

“Yes,” you say without hesitation, causing Jungkook to whip his head to face you in the blink of an eye, mouth slacking in shock. He blinks, you smile, and suddenly a smile of his own is forming on his face, reaching all the way into his eyes. 

“For real?” He whispers, not wanting this moment to slip away from his grasp. He was so close to having you in his arms, something he’s wanted for the longest time, that he was afraid that if he spoke any louder, he would ruin any chance he got. But your reassuring gaze and gentle hold immediately calm the raging wave of anxiety within him. “For real,” you affirm, and suddenly you’re in Jungkook’s embrace. 

It’s a warm embrace, one that has you returning it back with the same vigor, the same excitement bubbling in your chest. This marked the beginning of a new chapter for you and Jungkook, one where the two of you would walk down the unclear path you have chosen, still remaining by each other’s side, but this time, with hands intertwined.

You just wished it didn’t go up into flames like this.

You blink, snapping out of your trance as you gaze at Jungkook. Once more, seeing the way his lips were pursed into a thin line, his brows furrowed as if he had a lot going on through his mind. Which was only fitting. He had to, or else this wave of hurt and pain would only intensify and turn into something you would never be able to control. 

Remembering the happy moments was something you had promised yourself not to do, for it only brought you into another world of pain after looking at how the two of you were faring now. But in the midst of agony staring right at you, you couldn’t help but let yourself reminisce in hopes of relieving some of that anger and hurt so you wouldn’t do anything out of hand. 

“Tell me, Jungkook,” you finally say after a moment of silence, and you want to curse yourself for the way your voice cracks at the end. You had to be strong. You had to get through this. Because there was no way, you were going to let Jungkook ruin you once more. “How do you think our relationship was going within the last two years?”

Silence befalls the room for what feels like the millionth time, But this one is heavier than the last. Jungkook looks at you with such a severe gaze that you almost falter, forgetting the fact that he’s drunk with the way his eyes bore into yours. 

You dread his answer, not knowing what to expect. With the way, he was acting, and with all the things he’s said and done, you knew that his words would only hurt you even more from here on out. You clutch the fanfic of your sweater tightly, hanging on by a thread. 

But he says nothing.

The heavy silence lasts longer, and the more it persists, the more disappointment and disbelief creep into the cracked crevices of your already broken heart. Was he really going to act this way? Saying nothing at all? Did your relationship mean nothing to him in the past 2 years? 

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, letting out a scoff as your eyes scan his figure. He’s hunched up as if unsure of what to do, what to think, or what to say. There’s probably a flurry of emotions running through his mind, but you don’t pity him. You hope it continues to weigh heavy, as it did to you for the last three years. 

“I was miserable, Jungkook,” you whisper, recounting the memories you had buried deep within, afraid to open them up again at the cost of your already fragile happiness. But to be truly happy, one needs to let go of all the agony locked within. “Ever since Eunha came into our lives, you started treating me like a side character, as if I wasn’t your girlfriend.”

“And no,” you say sternly, already knowing what Jungkook was to say by the way his eyes widened and his mouth slacked, an arm up in protest for your words. “I’m not blaming Eunha entirely, contrary to what you may think. Sure, her arrival started it all. Sure, there were times where she acted so out of line that I wanted to slap her in the face n’s remind her who exactly she was talking to. But I couldn’t. Do you know why, Jungkook?” 

His eyebrows furrow in confusion, and you take a deep breath as you gather your thoughts. This was the first time you were finally going to let out all of your frustrations that’s been building up inside you for the past few years. It was a nerve-wracking feat, but a necessary one nonetheless, as even in those few moments of speaking, you were starting to feel just a bit more free. 

“Because I didn’t even know who I was anymore.”

Jungkook’s never been this confused in his life. 

It’s as if you had dropped a bomb on him without warning, causing him to be in a frenzy. What did you mean? How could you blame Eunha? Eunha was a sweet girl who could do no wrong. She was there for him whenever he needed that extra support, whenever he needed someone to ground him in this cruel, unforgiving world. 

She was there when you weren’t and was a constant in his life. How could such a sweet girl like her be the catalyst of this catastrophic situation? It had to be a joke.

“You’re lying,” he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. The pain in his heart was coming back again, and just when he thought he had finally gotten rid of that after drowning in alcohol moments ago. This was your fault. You and your stupid song, your stupid lies. You were driving me crazy.

“I’m lying?” You ask, and Jungkook looks up to meet your eyes, feeling another burst of pain shoot through him at the agonizing expression on your face. Why did you look so hurt? He did nothing wrong. He didn’t hurt you. He couldn’t have. He had always been there for you. He was the reason you could do what you could in the first place. There was just no way that misery was because of him.

“Jungkook, did you even realize that with how much time you were spending with Eunha, you weren’t spending time with me anymore? Remember how you used to walk me home at midnight after your time at the studio and my radio show? You stopped doing that ever since she appeared.”

Lies.

“For days, I stood outside the company for hours, waiting for you to bring me home because you promised that you’d never miss it for the world. And on the day that I finally decided to check up on you, worried that you might have been overworking yourself? I see you in the studio, laughing with Eunha.”

 Jungkook wanted to scream. He was stressed. He had to make music. Why couldn’t you understand that? 

“And when I confronted you about it? You shrugged me off, saying I was overly dramatic.”

You are. Jungkook insists in his head, thoughts spiraling. What’s wrong with him not bringing you home. Even if he was your boyfriend, he was not obligated to, right? You were supposed to understand him, right? That’s what lovers are supposed to do.

“I thought to myself, maybe you were right. Maybe I was overdramatic, so I did what you asked and shrugged me off. Yet, with each passing day, it felt like I was a stranger in your eyes. Do you even realize Jungkook that ever since Eunha came into our lives, we’ve only been on three dates?” 

You’re too demanding, his mind screams. Three dates? That was plenty for successful stars of your caliber. You had to understand that being under the limelight meant that he couldn’t reserve all the time in the world for you. 

His heart clenches painfully again, and Jungkook feels a sob hitch in his throat. 

“It hurt.” You cry, letting out the words that Jungkook wanted to say. “It hurt so much watching the love of my life and my best friend toss me to the side. Where was the you that promised that you’d always be there for me? Where was the you that promised to stay?” 

You’re crying now, tears streaming down your face as the words you’ve kept hidden for the longest time finally make their way out of your system. Every part of you was screaming in agony and pain, and you can feel the mended parts of your patched-up heart slowly break again. 

“Jungkook, I loved you. I loved you so much that I risked it all for you. I joined the band even though I wasn’t sure of our future because I saw how happy you were. You showed me what happiness could be, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that, but at the same time, you showed me firsthand real pain and heartbreak. And I don’t think I can ever forgive you for doing that.” 

No. Why? You had to forgive him. You were his best friend. Stop. Stop speaking. Stop it. 

“I left because I wanted to keep what we still had within our memories.” You whisper, remembering the night you finally came to your decision. Remembering all the times you cried and broke down, not knowing what to do or where you should go. All the times where you forced yourself to put on a smile on your face and act as if everything was fine even though it wasn’t. 

“And I hoped that in leaving, we could pick up all the broken pieces and create something new with them. Maybe it would not have been a relationship as strong as the one we’ve had before. But at least it was something. And at least I would have still had a connection to you.”

You’re calm now, in a much better headspace than before. But that didn’t mean the ocean of despair that you surrounded yourself in dwindled in the slightest. It was still there, waiting in silence for the moment it could envelop you once more into its treacherous arms and drown you in its suffocating whispers. 

“But what the fuck is this?” 

You can feel the tides begin to sway, and you will yourself desperately to keep them down. With how the situation was unfolding, you needed to be the bigger person. For your sanity, For Jungkook’s, and for the closure that you both needed, which you weren’t sure would ever peacefully come to an end. 

“I never thought that you’d think of us like this Jungkook,” you whisper, and much to your horror, a tear slipped from the crevices of eyes as you hurriedly wiped them, standing up to grab your purse as you stood to leave the pub, not caring one bit if Jungkook got home safely or not, you were too overwhelmed to care. 

“I thought you loved me,” You whisper as you turn to look at him one final time, and all of a sudden, Jungkook is hit with wave after wave of sadness, anger, pain, frustration radiating from you. It suffocates him, and the only thought running through his head were questions of him hurting you? Was this really all his fault? 

“But I guess you only loved yourself.” A chuckle falls from your lips as you make your first step out of the door. Not paying mind to the old lady who looks at you with a worried gaze, you turn to open the door of the pub, only for someone else to beat you to it. 

Lo and Behold, It’s Eunha. 

“You,” She gasps as she takes in your disheveled and exhausted state. Although that immediate shock quickly disappears as she catches Jungkook’s equally petrified state from the corner of her eye. She then glares at you, but you honestly can’t find the energy within you to care.

Because this was never about her in the first place, even if in some way she plays a small part. 

“What did you do?” Eunha spats as she rushes past you to go to Jungkook, not even bothering to hear you out. You sigh, gathering the last remaining buts of courage within clenched fists, and make your way out of the door, leaving Jungkook, your broken heart, and the memories you two shared behind for good. 

Not caring what he would do with those fragments in the end. 

“Jungkook!”

Eunha exclaims, immediately hooking her arms around him and hoisting him up into an embrace. “What happened? What did that bitch do?” But Jungkook doesn’t answer, thoroughly overwhelmed by the range of emotions that had just surpassed him from his conversation with you. 

Was it truly his fault? Was he the reason why things had turned out this way? There was no way right. He had treated you right, right? 

Jungkook tries to convince himself that he’s done nothing wrong, that he was perfectly innocent in this situation. But that nagging feeling deep within his mind and soul screams at him to finally realize the truth. He’s scared. He doesn’t want to know what lies beyond the bubble of happiness he had placed himself in. He doesn’t want to feel the agonizing pain he’s put himself through without realizing it. 

But not doing so would kill him more than knowing the truth ever will. 

So he opens the door to the truth and wallows in the misery of what he’s done. 

To be fair, there was some truth to Jungkook’s words. He had treated you like you were the most precious thing in the universe. And that was because, for the longest time, Jungkook did consider you highly special to him. You were his first friend, the first person he could confide his feelings in, the first person who showed him what love could be like. 

You grew up together, cried together, had your first drink together, stood on stage for the first time together. You had done just about everything together, and Jungkook cherished you more than anything in the world. 

In everything he did, he always tried to make you a part of it. Whether that meant buying your favorite drink or sending you pictures of whatever he was doing, Jungkook always wanted to help you see the world through his eyes because you deserved that much. 

Ice cream dates, sneaking out at night to have some chicken and beer, random dates at the local arcade, a stroll at the beach. You and Jungkook had practically done it all. So, where did it all fall apart? Where did Jungkook go wrong?

“Jungkook?” Eunha calls out, and Jungkook finally musters up the courage to look at Eunha, who was worriedly trying to get him to answer her. Her hold is familiar, something he’s been used to in the past two years, yet at the same time, something was missing within her warmth. An unexplainable feeling he couldn’t quite describe.

And then he realized it wasn’t you. 

Just when did he go astray? When did he start treating you like you weren’t the world to him? For sure, it wasn’t a singular moment. It was most definitely a culmination of many events that led up to his demise. But just how did it happen? 

He looks at Eunha’s worried eyes, those same eyes that he thought meant the world to him within those two years of your break up. Yet, for some reason, he just couldn’t look at them in the same way anymore. Not when there was this hollow emptiness in his heart that called out for you and only you, 

It was like a game of tug and war in his heart. He still loved Eunha; that much was for sure. But he couldn’t deny the love that he had for you as well. He remembered how Eunha was like a breath of fresh air for him. In the midst of all your nagging for him to take care of himself when he was working his ass off making new songs and dealing with management, Eunha was there to simply smile and encourage Jungkook. 

Like a fool, he got lured into Eunha’s charm and held onto it, not noticing that he was letting go of you in the process. 

His heart wails. It cries in pain and desperation of the love it has lost. Why did it have to be this way? Why was Jungkook such a fool? So consumed by his own selfishness, he abandoned the love you two shared and sought another, and now he was reaping what he had sown. 

You were gone. You would never come back. Whatever love you had between the two of you had left and died out. The world was cruel. It had given Jungkook so much hope yet took it away from him the moment he slipped up. Yet, he couldn’t really blame them. He couldn’t really blame you. 

Because he knew you had tried, he could see it in the way your eyes still cried out in pain when you see him. He could hear it in the agony of your voice as you sang passionately in your songs. He knew you did your best to pick up the fallen pieces and try to mend them back together. But all Jungkook did was rip them apart all over again. 

Life couldn’t have been any better for Jeon Jungkook until suddenly it was not. 

And he was the only one to blame. 

© yumeyooa 2021. All rights reserved. Copying, reposting, translating, and modifying in any platform aside from a03 and tumblr or by any means is NOT permitted and will be dealt with accordingly.

➢ taglist: @wearenot7withu @nadiaislas @bbydoejk​ 

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Routines

Tim and Marinette lived busy lives.

It was by choice, of course.

They were both prominent figures in their fields that could pick and choose the assignments they wished to take, had more money than they could ever dream of using thanks to the hefty trust fund that being even tangentially related to Bruce Wayne provided, and no one would blame them if they were to lessen or give up their vigilantism. If they wished, there was nothing stopping them from taking a smaller workload, from using up all of their sick days, from taking vacations, from quitting their jobs entirely...

That being said, they likely never would.

And the tabloids loved to speculate on their relationship because of it. How could they spend much time together if Tim was always at work, developing new technology for Wayne Enterprises? Marinette was cheating, how could she not when so much of her job as a designer involved getting up close and personal with models? Not to mention all of the business trips. Surely, the relationship had some kind of monetary motivation, or maybe it was just to more seamlessly merge their companies, or it had only happened for PR reasons.

They let them speculate. They simply didn’t know better.

The tabloids didn’t get to see how they acted behind closed doors, after all.

There would be days where neither of them went in to work. It wasn’t due to some sort of sickness that Tim had caught thanks to his lack of spleen, nor would it be because Marinette had hit some kind of artist’s block. No, it was simply because they wanted to spend time together.

~

They took breaks. Technically. If you squint.

There would be days where neither of them went into work. It wasn’t due to some sort of sickness that Tim had caught thanks to his lack of spleen, nor would it be because Marinette had hit some kind of artist’s block. No, it was simply because they wanted to spend time together.

They would turn on the coffee machine and then make their way over to the sofa. Marinette would nestle herself into his side and smile as he wrapped his arm around her. He would pull her as close as he possibly could so he could still use both arms to type.

He usually took video calls like this. It was always so much easier to maintain a pleasant smile, even when people often looked down on him for his age, because whenever he felt it start to waver he could simply look down at his girlfriend and suddenly he would find that it would be back in full force.

She would prop her sketchbook on her legs and start on some new designs. The designs she did like this were always, inexplicably, more lively than the other ones -- full of vibrant colors and swooping curves in a way that some of her other works lacked. If asked, Marinette would joke that the secret ingredient was love.

And, sure, this wasn’t technically taking a break from work. They were still productive, still did tasks...

But they counted it. They always came back to work the next day with the same euphoric feelings in their chests, the same springs in their steps. How could they not? They’d spent the entire day doing what they loved with the person that they loved. Who could ever want a break from that?

~

Every time one of them came back from a business trip, they made sure to spend the night together.

Tim would lay back in bed, Marinette on top of him. Her head would come to rest on his chest, clutching the back of his shirt tightly. His fingers would find their way to her hair and she would huff a little, knowing that her hair was about to get hopelessly tangled as he fidgeted with the silky strands, but she would nuzzle into his chest all the same.

They would watch a TV show. It didn’t matter whether it was good or bad. As long as there were people and some semblance of a plot, they would gladly stay wrapped up in each other’s arms to watch it.

Tim would rattle off whatever theories he had developed as they came to mind. Some of them were absolutely insane, he knew, and would never happen… but it was worth making a fool of himself if it got Marinette’s face to light up or if he earned one of those little giggles that escaped her when he was instantly proven wrong.

Marinette would, at least, pause the show whenever she wanted to talk, though it wasn’t out of an understanding of how time works. No, it was so she could sit up a little in his lap and point at whichever character had offended her this time. She would go on long rants about how makeup was just as important as outfits in costuming, but it was often overlooked in favor of making the actors look pretty. And, maybe she had already said all of this before, but it’s important, Tim! And he would just nod his agreement. Because it was important -- a TV night certainly wouldn’t feel like a TV night without at least one rant.

And then the screen would go black, the most recent episode done.

Tim would draw back a little and then pretend to be shocked when his hands were stuck in her hair.

“Oh noooooo,” he’d say. “I guess I can’t let go yet.”

“How unfortunate,” she would deadpan.

He’d smile cheekily at her.

“Shut up.”

“But I didn’t even say anything!” He’d argue with overexaggerated offense.

She would smile, shaking her head as much as she could with the fingers in her hair. “You didn’t have to. You have a presence about you.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he’d say.

And, sometimes, she’d bring her hands up to cup his face. “Not sure if it was a compliment, but I definitely wouldn’t have it any other way,” she’d whisper before pulling him closer for a kiss.

… but, most of the time she would just laugh and say: “It wasn’t one.”

~

Once a month, Marinette tried to teach Tim to cook. Of course, they both knew it was a hopeless endeavor. He’d failed to make mac n’ cheese once, and Marinette -- who had lived the first eighteen years of her life in a Parisian bakery -- wasn’t good at discerning which meals were ‘easy to do’.

But that didn’t stop her from trying.

She would come up with a new recipe, would claim that this one was truly dummy proof…

And then Tim, dummy that he was, would manage to mess it up. Without fail, he would find some way to do something wrong. He would leave the milk on the stove and then be surprised when said milk on the stove decided to revolt against the system. He would raise the temperature on the thing they were baking so it would go faster and then be shocked when the cake didn’t rise at all. He would put too much in the mixer and then not understand why the contents had exploded over the two of them.

Worst thing was, she was pretty sure he was actually trying. He just… couldn’t seem to do it.

So, she would just kiss the disappointed frown off of his face and promise that they would do better next time.

And, every time without fail, he would light up.

“There will be a next time?” He would ask.

“Yeah. You’re lucky you’re cute, I can’t say I love being covered in ingredients.”

Tim would kiss her cheek, and then draw back and lick his lips. “I don’t know, I kind of like it. Something about my girlfriend being covered in tasty food really does something for me.”

“Like I said: you’re lucky you’re cute.”

And, even though she would say that, there was no mistaking the amusement dancing in her eyes.

~

They weren’t particularly religious, it was hard to be when Marinette had a god living in her earrings that obeyed her every command…

Which meant celebrations for the two of them were few and far between.

But, at least, they celebrated their anniversary.

They would sit on the rooftop, the blankets doing nothing to keep the hard tiles of the roof from digging into them and they did even less against the chilly Gotham air.

She’d stare up at the sky with him.

And, since it was Gotham, there were very few stars to be seen through the dark red and black haze of clouds that hung over the city.

But they didn’t mind.

Marinette smiled. “It’s our colors.”

He didn’t look over, watching the colors swirl above them. “Even the sky thinks we’re a good couple.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. The sky god really does have a thing for love.”

He gave a short puff of laughter and finally tore his eyes away from the sky. “Really?”

She shrugged, grinning at him. “No clue. There might not even be a sky god.”

He scoffed and untangled his hand from its blanket prison to give her a tiny shove. She could have dodged the attempt with ease, but she allowed the hand to make contact.

To her surprise, he grabbed ahold of her shoulder and pulled her into him. She gave an undignified little squeak and, if it weren’t for the fact that he was right there, she would have probably faceplanted onto the tile.

But, instead, her face came crashing into his soft, pillowy shoulder.

She looked up at the crooked grin that she had come to love over the years and huffed, pulling her own arms free so she could shove him. For real.

He flopped back, the hand he’d managed to get out coming to rest over his chest as if he were hurt.

“How could you? Roofs hurt, you know.”

“Well, yeah, if you throw yourself down on tiles it’s not going to feel too great.”

He cracked a grin, though he quickly tamped it down to keep up the act: “Victim blaming at its finest.”

She rolled her eyes and leaned over him. One of her hands cradled his cheek, her thumb tracing the tiny scar on his cheekbone.

He looked up at her. And she thought, somewhere, that maybe the reason the pollution in the city was just some kind of coverup so no one would know that they all resided in Tim’s eyes.

And then she cursed herself mentally for thinking something so cheesy.

She had to make up for it somehow:

“You’re the worst, I hope you know that.”

“I am. But you love me anyway.”

Dang it. How was she supposed to feign being annoyed when he looked at her like that? With that soft smile and thick lashes and hair that framed his face just so.

She decided it wasn’t worth trying to pretend.

Marinette let herself match his smile.

“I do.”

“Save those words for our wedding,” he joked softly.

She rolled her eyes. “You haven’t even proposed yet.”

“I could be doing that right now. Who knows, this could all be my plan.”

“It’d be a good plan,” she said. “I’d probably say yes.”

He narrowed his eyes just slightly. “Isn’t that essentially you proposing to me?”

She tipped her head to the side, considering, then she laughed a little. “I guess it kind of is. So, Tim, will you marry me?”

His eyes widened to an almost comical degree.

And then his face lit up with a smile that made her heart flutter.

“I hope you know I want a ring.”

She giggled. “Just say yes, you idiot. We can always get the ring tomorrow.”

His smile only stretched further. “Yes. I’d love to marry you.”

“I love you,” she whispered, leaning closer until her lips brushed against his.

“I love you, too,” he breathed.

Marinette didn’t hesitate any longer, tilting her head to give him a proper kiss. He freed himself of the blanket and she gasped a little against his lips as he wrapped her up in it as well, drawing her close.

She pulled away just a little, her forehead coming to rest against his. She couldn’t seem to get the dopey smile off of her face, but she wasn't completely sure she even wanted it gone.

“I proposed first, so I won,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him playfully.

He smiled. “No, I did.”