#enough to know that my boy needs and deserves to have a little breakdown

[karliahs]

[bnha manga spoilers] I am not going to write this (please ignore how often I have said these words and turned out to be lying) but I really want a fic where izuku & rody go on a weird kind of sad road trip post-canon but pre the big time jump

izuku who feels so guilty for leaving the world behind but desperately needs to be somewhere without all that weight just for a little while, away from anyone who witnessed the things he witnessed, not at UA when his future feels so uncertain. and rody who does not always know who he is or what he wants, but knows that he wants midoriya izuku to be okay

[dearmura]

sight for sore eyes

cw. Mentions of self consciousness, mental breakdowns, academic stress, mild cursing

☆ genre. angst, comfort, fluff

☆ pairings. non-idol! Riki × fem! reader

☆ synopsis. Seeing y/n slowly lose herself in the midst of grades, riki brings you down to Earth and gives you much needed comfort (def not based on my own academic validation...)

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Babyyy

Are you busy:(((

Checking your phone with sigh, you peel your eyes away from your notes, smiling bittersweetly at his text. How you wish you had the time to give the boy the attention he deserves. Wish you didn't care so much about some goddamn numbers. Wish you could for just this once be happy and not beat yourself up. With a frown, you text back at an agonizing pace, forcing yourself to type the painful words he's heard too many times

I'm sorry babe

I have a test tomorrow I can't afford to flunk it :(

I promise we'll hang out another time

As you send the last message, a hot tear rolls down your cheek, knowing he didn't deserve these empty promises. You hesitate to put down your phone, desperately wanting to talk to the boy but you knew deep down you couldn't

A few seconds pass before another message rolls in, unlocking your screen, your eyes are met with a single word

Wait

At that point, you can't stop the tears from flowing. Sinking your face into your arms, you hold your head, breath hitching and hands shaking. Your hours worth of picture-perfect, font-like notes probably washed away by your tears but you didn't seem to care. You just wished you could be numb to it all

You ponder his message

Wait?

Wait?

What was that supposed to mean? Was he sick of your lame excuses? Sick of your inability to make time for him? Sick of your overachieving attitude?

Sick of you?

Your breath quickens impossibly. You knew you were overthinking, you always did. Getting self-conscious over little things like this? You're overthinking. Analyzing a question too much? You're overthinking. Asking too many goddamn questions because you can't fathom the thought you're not as perfect as you want to be? You're overthinking. You've heard it too many times to deny it, hell, you believed it yourself

If you knew you were overthinking, why couldn't you tell yourself that? After being told so many times, why did you still believe you weren't good enough? Why do you still beat yourself up day in and day out about dumb mistakes and things completely out of your control?

Because you were greedy. Greedy for it all. You hated to admit it but that word quite sums you up. Greedy for the No. 1 spot. Greedy for validation. Greedy for praise. Greedy for his attention. Greedy for someone who cared...

Well look how that ended up for you

Before you could think further, you hear a knock at the door, snapping you out of your thoughts. It's was 11 at night, who could be at the door? With a tear stained shirt, puffy eyes and red cheeks, you peek through the window only to see a figure undeniably belonging to your beloved boyfriend

Answering the door with a confused look, you immediately hear him rambling on

"I'm so sorry I took so long to get here. I didn't know so many convenience stores close so early. I hope you don't mind I got the party size chips, I sensed a long night so I thought we'd...need it" His eyes eventually meet your red ones. In an instant, he closes the door behind him, dropping everything in his hands and pulling you in a hug, chin resting atop your head, placing a kiss on your hair

The simple action broke down your dam walls, making you break out into full on sobs, clawing at his back desperately, almost as if doing so would ground you somehow, give you control over your own mind

"Shhhh that right, angel, let it all out" He whispers softly, rubbing soothing circles onto your back, holding your head in the crook of his neck as he caressed your hair

Feeling the warmth of his body, you hold him tighter, nuzzling your face into his neck, finding his cologne intoxicatingly soothing

After a few minutes, you pulled away, wiping your eyes with the cuff of your sweater

"T-thank you k-ki" you sniff, speaking through hiccups

"Take all the time you need, angel" he reassures you, rubbing soothing circles on your cheek with his thumb. You instantly lean into his touch

Leading you into your bedroom, he sits you down on your bed, holding your hands gently

You begin " 's just, 'm really stressed about school. I feel like I have no control over what's around me. I'm drowning in my own fucking mistakes. And you...I'm being so selfish, taking away your time and brushing you off whenever you want to hang out. I'm so so sorry, ki. From the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm not good enough for you. I'm sorry I care so fucking much for my grades and push you aside. Im sorry i-" As you feel another tear roll down your cheek, a pair of lips meet yours.

You can't help but melt into the kiss, straddling his lap and playing with the hair on his nape, another tear rolling down your cheek at the pure sensitivity. You needed the proximity, the comfort, the touch

He smiles against your lips at your desperateness, bringing his thumb to your cheek to wipe your tears before gently holding your waist

The kiss wasn't rushed or heated but rather slow and gentle. He knew just what you needed, reading your mind like it was his own

Slowly pulling away, he kept a hand on your waist, the other tucking a strand of hair behind your ear

"Angel, I want you to know that I'm so so so fucking proud of you. You never fail to wow me every day. And it really breaks my heart seeing you beat yourself up like this. How I wish I could be there to kiss these beautiful lips whenever you doubt yourself, angel. You may think you're flawed but you are quite possibly the most beautiful, most loving, most intelligent, more hardworking, most deligent girl I know. So don't you fucking dare doubt yourself. You're doing so good, angel, I really wish you could see yourself through my eyes. Wish you could love yourself as much as you love others. As much as you love me" He whispers the last part

"It's okay to give yourself a break, beautiful. Take care of yourself. You're life doesn't revolve around your grades. Yes it's important but so are you, angel. It's okay to mess up, it's okay to fall, I know you have the strength to brush it off and keep going. Chasing perfection is digging an endlessly deep hole for yourself that leads absolutely no where. As much as I call you perfect, you're not babe, but that's what I love about you. The way snot comes out of your nose when you laugh too hard. The way you sleep with your mouth open. The way broccoli gets stuck in your teeth. I love it. Love it all. Love you" He breathes out his words, eyes locked on your lips

You blush intensely at his words, hitting his shoulder before hiding your face with your hands

"You're gonna make me cry again, ki~" You whine is faux annoyance, making him giggle

Taking your face in his hands, he forces your gaze to meet his

"I love you so much, angel, never forget that" He speaks before placing a peck on your lips, getting up from your bed and walking toward your desk

"Now about that test, sounds like you need a study buddy" he clears his throat

"Number 1, what is the p...ur..pose of the mi...to..chon...y/n I can't read shit, what is medieval looking handwriting" he deadpans with a devastating smile

You burst into a fit of laughter, playfully punching his side at his words. He feigns an injury, dramatically falling back on the bed, grabbing you with him. As you both giggle, you lean into his ear and whisper a soft

"I love you too, darling"

Fin

[idyllic-affections]

i just read both of your muichiro works and I’m really impressed 😭😭💓, so I would like to request some thing. What would the reader (gender neutral pls) have to do to cheer giyuu,obanai and muichiro when they are is sad 

what might one need to do to raise the hashiras' spirits?

summary. how do you comfort the hashiras?

trigger & content warnings. no applicable warnings.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. reverse comfort. muichiro tokito & reader, kyojuro rengoku & reader, tengen uzui & reader. 0.7k words. no pronouns for reader.

author's thoughts. hello lovely!! thank you so much. muichiro is like... my favorite ever, so recieving praise for the content i write of him is so heart-warming <33 on a more serious note, please please remember to read my rules before requesting. like any writer, i have boundaries. it states who i do and don't write for, and as of right now, i'm just not comfortable writing for giyuu or obanai. i replaced them w/ kyojuro and tengen. muichiro's is the longest though bc i love my son <3333 also this is kind of a different writing style than my usual content? if you guys like it enough i might try to use it more often.

T. MUICHIRO—

oh this boy. this poor boy.

i like to think that he goes through random bouts of sadness and frustration, especially before he regains his memory; he doesn't even know where his deep-seated rage towards demons come from! that fact just perpetuates his frustration. he can't understand why he's so angry and that only serves to anger him more.

also, let's not forget that he's a child. he is a fourteen-year-old child. he has a hard time processing his feelings and working through his trauma alone. children need love and support, love and support that he does not get enough of.

(the other hashira try their best, but let's be honest—they're all always so busy. they wouldn't realistically have time to attend to the emotional needs of a child.)

i don't care how independent canon muichiro seems to be.

he is a child. he grew up too fast.

to ease his soul, i think the best course of action would simply be to dote on him.

he needs the attention. he really does.

dote on him.

brush and braid his hair (braiding it would have practical value, after all!) with his permission, cook for him... just small, familial gestures.

he may or may not cry.

if he does, squeeze his hand and run your thumb over his knuckles. he's like a cat; do not make any further contact unless he initiates it first.

he probably won't vent because he doesn't know what's upsetting him. just let him cry it out. don't expect an explanation (and don't be surprised if he forgets about his breakdown soon after it happens).

give him a lil forehead kiss. he deserves it.

R. KYOJURO—

kyojuro is an interesting one!

i personally think that doing little domestic things with him would be a good way to cheer him up.

or even just doing things with him, spending time with him.

take a walk! go out to eat! make friendship bracelets! any activities done together are always a good bet with kyojuro.

simple little gestures are definitely the way to go, too. he's got a big heart. it's really not too hard to cheer him up, as long as your efforts are genuine.

also, definitely give him a big hug. he'd love that. squeeze him like your life depends on it. it won't hurt him; he's a hashira. he'll be fine.

i headcanon that he's a very good cook!

he is, however, a disaster with baking.

doing things like cooking and baking with him would raise his spirits so so effectively. trying to teach him how to bake would be really good for making him laugh, because i guaruntee that you & him would end up covered in flour and shit like that LMAO

be sure to listen to him talk if he decides on opening up. he'll appreciate having someone that listens.

U. TENGEN—

we all know this man is flashy and loud!

because of this, i think the best way to cheer him up would actually just be sitting in the silence with him.

no words, nothing. just calm silence between two friends.

observe the stars at night with him. listen to the wind rustle leaves and blades of grass.

anything that's simply low effort and relaxing would be good for him, i think. he's got so much energy all the time. tengen spends so much time being... loud and—obviously—flashy.

because of that, every now and then, he needs quiet time to recover.

he needs to decompress sometimes.

like kyojuro, i think he'd appreciate a good hug too. in his case though, it would be best and most effective to hug him once he's feeling better, not while he's feeling bad.

with his permission, massage the tension out of his shoulders. that would help too.

really, he just needs a judgement-free safe space in which he can wind down. i don't imagine him as the type to vent, so that's not something he'd be doing. he just needs someone who understands his need for the quiet, someone who won't pressure him to open up when he just isn't ready to.

he just needs a friend to be there for him.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

[slveepyscwrs]

Are you serious about the writing fics...if so a Kuroo x reader Angst fight breakup pleeeaaase😭

When it comes to writing fics about gay volleyball boys, my friend, I'm always serious... 💅✨

Anyways, I hope this angsty breakup fic hits you in the feels as much as it did for me!

(I really enjoyed writing this, so to everyone, let me know if you want a part two– Should Kuroo reconcile, or should Kenma save the reader?)

Without further ado, let's get into your request! (This will also be cross posted to AO3!)

A Love I Never Knew

Summary: All of your heart was with the one person you adored the most, Kuroo Tetsurou. When things started to turn dark for you, you were sure that he would be there. You trusted him, you confided in him, and yet the result of that was the appearance of his true self– one that you never could have imagined in your wildest dreams, or more accurately, your darkest nightmares...

Info/Warnings: gender neutral reader, breakups, cliffhanger ending, aggressiveness, emotional breakdowns, self-esteem issues

“Are you okay?”

When it came to being asked that question, lately, you honestly didn’t know how to respond. Of course, you knew what to say: “I’m fine!”

Your self esteem, on the other hand, told an entirely different story.

You just couldn’t bring yourself to look in the mirror lately. No matter which way you looked at it, you couldn’t consider yourself beautiful. In your eyes, there were so many imperfections on your face, your body, everywhere.

To make matters worse, you had been losing sleep over it too. You had lost a lot of your previous cheerful spirit, as your eyelids began to sag.

Soon, your insecurities about your appearance were beginning to affect other parts of your life too. You couldn’t focus in class or in social activities anymore, because you felt like you weren’t good enough in anything.

Now, you were even beginning to feel like you weren’t good enough in your own relationship too. Kuroo was so cool, so intelligent, so confident… and you were just an awkward, scrawny introvert.

Basically, this was the exact opposite of him.

“Kuroo deserves way better than me…”

This was the thought that was running on repeat in your mind, as you slumped down on the couch in yours and his shared apartment. Your face was buried in your hands, as an even darker than usual cloud hung over your head today.

Kuroo didn’t know about any of this yet. He was always so upbeat and lively, and you didn’t want to put a damper on that with your trivial troubles.

This wasn’t all that possible for you at the moment, though. The concerns about you and your usefulness to Kuroo only got worse. Since this could affect your relationship, maybe now was finally the time to come clean to him.

“He’s always so carefree… He’ll know what to do, and maybe I won’t have to worry anymore…”

You were still anxious about telling him as you waited for him to come home from volleyball practice, but at the same time, you were confident that he could lighten your mood.

As a result, your eyes remained fixed on that door in a desperate anticipation. You didn’t even turn on the TV or browse through your phone to kill time until he came back like you usually did.

You needed Kuroo. In fact, today was probably the day you needed him the most.

When the door finally did swing open, your expression brightened a little. You were still shaking from the anxiety, but you were relieved that he was here at last.

“Baby, you’re home!” You jumped up to greet him.

Kuroo, on the other hand, didn’t seem nearly as enthusiastic. He wore his towel around the back of his neck, dripping sweat with an exhausted expression on his face.

This made sense for him. He didn’t like to show it to others, but you knew that he could get really wiped out when practices got intense.

Still, you knew that this was urgent, so you hoped to get his attention nonetheless.

“Practice was rough today, huh?”

“Hm, yeah. Definitely.” He nodded in agreement, but still didn’t make eye contact with you.

“How are the others?” Kuroo loved to crack jokes about his teammates, so you thought that this might snap him out of it.

“They’re alright. Annoying and chaotic as ever.” He still completely ignored you and brushed you off, and began to trudge off to the room that you two slept together in.

Your heart was beating fast under the weight of your feelings, so as much as you wanted to let him rest, you needed to talk to him. Therefore, you ran after him to make him talk to you.

“Hey, is something wrong?” You said this in a caring and concerned voice. He did seem really, really tired, but he usually wasn’t this low on energy. Despite everything you were going through, you also wanted to be there to listen to him if something was wrong.

What Kuroo said next, however, was something that made your face drop.

“Nothing’s wrong! I don’t need to be interrogated right now, love. Just leave me alone, ugh.”

Now, this sounded much more like he was annoyed with you rather than just being tired. You hadn’t meant to ‘interrogate’ him, you just wanted to know about his day.

He never reacted this badly before. Something was definitely on his mind, and you had the feeling that it had more to do with you than with volleyball.

“I’m really sorry… It’s just, I needed to talk with you about something.” You squeaked out in a lower tone, now becoming increasingly afraid of what his reaction would be.

“Fine, but make it quick, I have other things to do… Come to think of it, what is the matter with you today?”

Unlike you, his tone wasn’t filled with nearly as much care. It was like talking to you was a chore that he had no choice but to complete.

Taking a deep breath, you attempted to pour out your heart into words.

“It’s just that I don’t feel good enough… I don’t feel pretty enough, my personality isn’t good enough… And now I feel like I’m not good enough for you.” By the time you finished, your breath was shaky and uneven.

You still had some slight hope that this would make him soften up, but unfortunately, this couldn’t be further from the case.

“What’s with all this sappy stuff? Jeez, you’re acting crazy! You used to not give a shit…” He was massaging his forehead in a way that was intentional, making it clear to you that you were the one giving him that headache.

“No… That’s because I was just hiding it from you…”

“Well, what do you expect me to do about it?”

His tone was becoming harsher and harsher, while yours became softer and softer. This sudden change was literally taking your breath away, and not in a good way.

“Um… you are my boyfriend…” You looked up at him with eyes gone wide with fear, shame, and embarrassment.

This gaze only exacerbated Kuroo’s annoyance. He rolled his eyes, and moved his lips silently in a way that was mocking the way you spoke.

“Yeah, I’m your boyfriend, not your goddamn therapist.”

This was the final nail in your heart, shattering it into pieces. The carefree, lighthearted Kuroo that you had fallen in love with just wasn’t that same person anymore. As you realised this, tears began to sting at the corners of your eyes.

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. At least answer the question, please… Am I good enough for you, Kuroo? I’m so sorry…” 

At this point, your voice was barely audible. You hardly knew what to say. Everything that you thought you knew about Kuroo was changing so quickly.

He had begun to turn around and go to the bedroom anyway, but at these words, he stopped in his tracks. He stood there like that for a few seconds, and you saw his hands clench into fists. The rising and falling in his chest became more ragged, as his breaths filled with negative emotions.

Every second that he was still made the dread inside you grow, but the face that you saw when he turned back around to face you suddenly and swiftly frightened you even more.

“I get home after a long day, and all you can do is cling to me like a fucking abandoned puppy. And instead of just letting me go like a sane person, all you say is ‘I’m sorry!’ It’s so goddamn corny and annoying… But you know what? I agree with what you said earlier. Maybe you really are not good enough for me.”

His fists balled tighter, as he screamed these words at the top of his lungs through clenched teeth. 

This new piercing volume sent the entire atmosphere around you two into utter silence. You couldn’t believe that this was real. It had to be a terrible nightmare, one that would end, and let you wake up to Kuroo cuddling beside you in the bed.

Yet, this wasn’t a nightmare. This was the reality of what Kuroo truly felt about you.

If your heart was shattered before, this made the pieces break even smaller and drop to the ground. As for your heartbeat, it felt as if it had stopped in your chest. Heck, time itself seemed to slow around you.

It was one thing to believe the worst about yourself, but having the one who’s supposed to love you the most say that those beliefs were correct all along made it feel like the world itself beneath you was giving out.

Your body wasn’t just trembling now, it was full on shaking. Your knees swayed back and forth, making you feel like a jelly that threatened to give way and drop to the floor any second now.

Your eyes that were now stuck open as wide as they could go couldn’t hold it back anymore, and silent tears rushed down your face. The shock was so intense that you couldn’t even make any noise with the crying. With all these tears, your throat began to burn.

“I have to say something, anything to make it better… It’s all my fault, I should fix this…”

You could hardly form thoughts like these, much less put them into words. Meanwhile, Kuroo kept his eyes fixated on you in pure disgust. He had a look on his face that made it seem like the fact that you were still in front of him was something that he absolutely loathed.

Whatever words did come to mind mostly stopped in your throat. Any noise that did come out was in the form of choked up croaks and squeaks.

Finally, somehow, actual words came out, only to be immediately cut off.

“Kuroo, I–“

“Just forget it already! If this is how you’re going to be, I can’t take it anymore! I’m fucking done with you. We’re over, now get out of my house, now!” 

You already thought that his voice couldn’t get any louder, but its magnitude just kept climbing and climbing until it got to a point where you felt that it could blow the roof off. His face was scrunched up in pure fury, and his eyes directed that rage into yours and straight into your soul.

Whatever he was feeling, Kuroo now seemed as if he had never loved you at all.

And just like that, a beautiful relationship that had lasted months, one that you hoped would stretch on for years to come vanished just like that. All your hopes about Kuroo disappeared into nothingness.

As reluctant as you were, you now accepted that what you had with him was gone, and couldn’t be fixed. 

However, more than that, you didn’t think it was even safe to be here anymore. Judging by his body language, his posture, his actions, and his words, standing there for even a few seconds longer would run the risk of Kuroo’s anger escalating towards physical violence.

Your knees gained just enough strength, and you bolted out the door in a fit of loud sobs.

When you were gone, Kuroo returned to normal and sighed, but not out of relief. He couldn’t pin it down exactly, but there was something gnawing inside him… He was observant enough that he knew deep inside that was guilt.

Still, even though he did know, he would never admit it. He wouldn’t admit it to himself, and definitely not to you. He couldn’t take back what he did, but either way, he most certainly wasn’t going to go running after you. Instead, he simply shook his head and wandered off inside the bedroom.

It was raining outside in the dark of night, and not just a light shower. Water rushed down from the dark clouds at high speeds, hitting the ground with incredible sound and force for such tiny droplets.

It didn’t take more than a few seconds for you to get soaking wet in these conditions, but you pushed through and kept running. You didn’t know where– it was late, and no one you knew would be willing to take you in at this hour.

You jumped down the stairs to the ground floor, but that was as far as you could get before your knees finally gave up and caused your body to collapse to the concrete pavement, getting scraped against its rough surface.

You were in an awkward position, but you didn’t care. You were cold, you were wet, but most importantly… you were alone.

At least there was a positive side to that. You curled up, now being free to sob out all the pain that had piled up on you out to the distance. Your face became a mess of tears and snot, as the uncertainty of the situation dawned upon you.

“I can’t sleep on the streets… I’ve already been a burden to everyone, but I have to find someone, anyone…”

You had absolutely nothing, except for the clothes on your back and your phone in your pocket. Getting under the relative safety of a pillar, you decided to make use of that phone as you went through your contacts, pondering your slim set of options.

You remembered that there was one person who lived close enough to Kuroo, and this person was Kenma. Your fingers shook as you debated internally whether to press the call button or not. Kenma was the kind of person who was known for his preferences for being alone, and being sort of aloof towards others. 

It wasn’t likely that he would take you in, but the chance of him accepting was still there. At this point, you were ready to take any chance you got.

Trying not to drop your phone, you decided to take a risk and call Kenma. You put it on speaker and heard as the phone rang one time, two times…

Your phone provider would automatically drop a call if there wasn’t an answer by the fifth ring. The device’s battery was quite low as well, so if Kenma did not pick up, you truly would be stranded.

And so, you sat there awaiting your fate. Each ring, although lasting only a few seconds, stretched out for an eternity.

Would Kenma pick up? Would he not pick up?

Whichever one of the two happened, the little flame of hope left in your heart lay in his place… any place that was away from Kuroo.

“It really did turn out to be the person I loved most who ended up hurting me the deepest…” You thought alone to yourself, waiting as the phone rang and rang into the distance…

[littleeyesofpallas]

Bleach’s Issue with Queer characters (2/3)

[1][2][3]

Dordonii might seem like a weird one to point out here, compared to some of the more overt examples, but I think he had a fairly evident queer codedness to him.  His more overwhelming quality was his kind of Spanish flair, what with the tap shoes and Flamenco-esque poses and gestures, the devil horns in his greased hair and on his mask shard, and his little Mephistopheles mustache and beard.  But the ear ring, and Flamenco adjacent sex appeal mixed with the way he kind of baby talks Ichigo strikes me as contributing to a certain daddy-ish gay character type.  Also, I’ve never been 100% sure that it’s not just crosshatching, but I’ve always read it as some chest hair peaking out from his low v-neck.  But I feel like that assessment needs some qualifying context...

Western sensibilities tend to read effeminate features on men as a chief indicator of homosexuality, Japan has never been quite as narrowly focused with its own gay stereotypes.  There is definitely a particular character type in anime and manga that pins the preening vanity of smooth faced and long haired effeminate men on homosexuality, but it’s not really the go-to.  Tracing back to media trends of the 1970s the long haired, smooth chested pretty boy (even the gay ones) very much became the domain of female audiences and creators, where as the prevailing trends of gay portrayals by and for men actually settled more firmly on the hairy and muscular image that bara is associated with now.  I'm not about to do a whole big breakdown of the japanese gay subculture behind the bara thing, because that deserves more time and attentio that i can give it here, but you've got a keyword to work with now, so I encourage you to do a little googling yourself.

Also he has his right ear is pierced?  I don't know if this was ever a thing in Japan, but in America it became kind of a wide spread myth(?)  Originally it actually was a functioning kind of code within the queer community in the 1960s and 70s, but after it became somewhat more generally well known the practice more or less stopped, for pretty obvious practical reasons... but weirdly enough by the sheer power of stupid homophobia, straight people continued to scrutinize and be paranoid of men with pierced ears for decades following.  Again, though, I have no idea if either the original intent or the misinformation of that trend was ever anything that had any kind of Japanese presence...

Anyway... What I’m getting at is Dordonii feels very queer coded to me, just not in ways that everyone picks up on.  But speaking of muscular hairy gays...  Let’s talk about an elephant in the room:

Charlotte Chuhlhourne:

Obviously, Kubo doesn’t quite have the tact to make use of queer identities in a totally respectful way, so it’s hard to tell how much is attributable to Kubo making a character exactly as they appear, and what could be argued to be a character’s theoretical self-identifying terms filtered through Kubo’s limited vernacular.  But the word to know here is Okama[オカマ], which has traditionally referred to gay, AMAB transvestites.  Obvious stumbling point here is that prior to more widely codified and accepted trans identities this term applied to both transwoman and drag queens.

Granted until fairly recently(by which I mean within the relatively short spand my own lifetime) even the queer community at large didn’t always differentiate the two very well; presentation was presentation, the circumstances for it and the specificities of achieving it were personal choices, not taxonomical crossroads; some moonlit as queens and that was it, others would’ve lived as women and never walked a show in their life if that had been a practical option, others still were happily gender fluid, but the scene had one look and one label.  We made due with what we had.

Anyway...  point being that Charlotte’s character is specifically a play into an Okama stereotype.  That is to say, the archetypal look of Okama in Japanese media for many years has been a middle aged, square jawed, often broad or even muscular, drag queen.  Although Charlotte doesn’t actually have one, they are also frequently shown with a muzzle of stubble growing in.  Despite what you might think about jabs at the beard as a masculine feature betraying their feminine presentation, it’s actually not (usually) the reason...

The image comes out of Japan’s gay bar scene --in Tokyo, Shinjuku-Nichoume in particular-- which has long been a cultural centerpiece of Japan’s gay culture.  The larger Shinjuku ward as as whole is itself a commercial district.  So, to the general public who didn’t have any interaction with gay culture itself, the small glimpse they had was from the crossing paths of salarymen commuting into work as straggler okama headed home from the bars the morning after, still in drag and makeup but with unshaven stubble growing in after a long night.

(Also, just a side note on this, but if you’ve ever seen an older (usually bigger) woman with a deep, brassy voice in kind of sultry night attire at a bar referred to as “Mama,” it’s because that’s the owner of a okama bar.  She’s not literally anyone’s mother, she’s the defacto den-mother of sorts for the patrons of her bar.)

It’s still definitely not a flattering portrayal, but it’s one with a very specific history that doesn’t communicate to Western audiences at all.  But there is a certain strangeness to how the Japanese handle this, comparatively.  While Western rhetoric has its hangups with moralist preaching and bitching and moaning about “degeneracy” and “deviancy,” those judgments just aren’t baked into Japanese culture in quite the same way.  In fact, while most of these okama caricatures by and for cishetero creators/audiences are definitely not what anyone would call “good” representation, they do lack a certain expected malice.  Sure, flamboyant bafoonery is a constant in exploitation of gay culture on either side of the Pacific, but where as the West uses this as a means to disarm gay men --to make them non threatening, or to rationalize not taking them seriously-- anime manga and even videogames tend to fixate on the curiosity of it.

(although one enduring, generally positive case of this that actually seems to fly super under western audience’s radars are the great fairys in Zelda. which have maintained their extremely obvious dragqueen inspired look since OoT)

One of the first encounters with the okama charactertype that I only learned to identify looooong after the fact is the Magypsies (haha oh boy that localized choice of slur...) in Earthbound. On the one hand they were treated as a bizarre spectacle and literally not human, but they were magical and benevolent and a little comical but not in the way where they were relegated to being the punchline of a joke and nothing else. And I've found over the years that that tends to be the tone of these kinds of characters.

Another very similar case of this is Ivankov in One Piece, the Kamabakka kingdom Okama and Newkama, including Bonclay/Mr.2. (His "okama way" gimmick being a play on the hardboiled gritty actionhero cliche of a "man's way.")  Where on the one hand, it’s a disgusting, tacky use of the familiar okama cliches, but also their very existence as okama is painted as the basis of their unique form of super power?  Really, it’s just so wildly divorced from reality that it’s hard to even call it “representation,” harmful or otherwise...  Still, in impossibly poor taste based on optics alone, though.

This all is not to try and sweep under the rug that these are still ultimately problematic stereotypes and caricatures to have to debrief each new generation of viewer on just to avoid the slippery slope of total misinterpretation, but I've noticed that there is a distinct difference in how that tone is read. The overwhelming attitude I see from these creators is that these long standing cliches are how okama look and act, but that it makes them interesting or funny, and yes “other,” but rarely lesser.  Obviously that's still rooted deeply in ignorance on part of these non-queer creators, but you can see how it lacks the teeth that the western equivalent has, where such caricatures are explicitly there to defame and demonize, and I think that’s an important distinction to make.

(And let’s not even get into the issue of fake “woke” white people struggling to wrap their tiny brains around the idea of another culture by framing it as that culture’s unique idiosyncrasies as if they’re just failed attempts at conforming to white anglo-centric western values, because THAT is a whole other can of worms...)

To maybe put this into some better perspective here, Tier Harribel has blond hair and tan skin, and given what the Arrancar are and how they live she is presumably naturally dark skinned, and naturally blonde.  But her design is clearly based on gyaru/gal (or possibly ganguro) fashion, which makes use of fake tans and bleached hair.  She looks the way she does because she's made to look like that aesthetic, but looking the way she doesn't doesn't imply she bleaches and tans(presumably those colors are both natural on her in-world). 

That same relationship of image inspiring image while being divorced from meaning is just kind of how Kubo makes these kinds of aesthetic decisions, all across the board, problematic or not.  But of course no one really cares about it when it’s a weird recontextualization of the gal aesthetic because no one’s offended on their behalf.

And in general, I think a lot of these things are just so outside the Western perspective that even when they definitely are problematic, some people can’t even begin to grasp what about it is, and end up fabricating just nonsense arguments against it to rationalize a kneejerk kind of discomfort and confusion over the subject...

Anyway...  having said all that, the next one actually IS a huge problem...

[1][2][3]

[spacepiratenemo]

The one hug - Headcanon

#comic #fanfiction 🐭🤍🔥

This scene right here? It's one of my all-time favorites because it signifies a significant evolution in Nemo's character and behavior. ⚠ #characterdevelopment

Sure, Ace and Nemo have shared hugs before, but those moments were usually a bit one-sided. You see, Nemo's  mutated lunarian biology means she needs thermal energy to survive. Nemo doesn’t need food nor water, her biology relies on leeching heat. When her energy levels dipped, she found it tough to straight-up ask Ace for fire. Instead, she'd kinda just... hover her hand near him until he caught on and sparked them up. But sometimes, she'd pull back, feeling awkward or insecure, and that's when the grumps would kick in - so she acted like it was a major inconvenience to her.

But let's be real, it was never that big a deal. Eventually, she started to crave those moments, not for the warmth, but for the closeness. ❤

It took her a while to realise she was after his touch, not just his fire. But being Nemo, she never straight-up admitted it. So, she'd play it off cool, asking Ace to 'warm her up,' and he'd respond with a comforting hug and a casual “No need to be shy!”. And Nemo? She'd shoot back with a quick “I'm not shy. I just need heat, okay? Don’t read stuff into this! It’s not like I want this, understand?” 😅

Sure, there've been comforting embraces before, like after Nemo's breakdown from grief and loss. But this hug? This one's different. It's Nemo taking the lead, openly asking for it; OPENLY ADMITTING TO IT! *pls insert shock here* 😨

SHE hugged him - Not the other way around! And that's NEW to Ace - it’s surprising to hear these words coming from her. This moment right here? It's a game-changer, marking a shift from best friends to lovers. 🧡💛💙🖤

Thank you for your love and support; it's greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoy this cute, wholesome little scene 🤩

Author’s Note.: As always, I condensed the scene a little bit to make it fit into a single post. Let’s go through this comic page by page: 

It took Nemo a few days to muster the courage to take this step, to simply embrace him, yearning for that closeness. This early morning, she couldn't hold back any longer, so she decided to just go for it - and she did, albeit regretting it almost instantly as her shyness crept in. What if this was cringe? This wasn’t cool and Nemo struggled showing any form of vulnerability openly. 

Ace, caught off guard by this new and unexpected gesture, assumed she was merely feeling chilly, especially as she shivered faintly. But when Nemo denied being cold, it sparked his curiosity. He inquired if she had another nightmare, knowing well that, if Nemo managed to sleep at all, she often grappled with haunting visions of the moon-colony’s destruction. His surprise only deepened when Nemo denied this too.

The 'pleasant' shock escalated further as she grew even more bashful, her cheeks flushing, her heart racing, her shivering intensifying. Despite her nervousness and fear of rejection, she refused to lie again. It marks one of those very rare moments where Nemo didn’t act tough (Tsundere) - but sweet instead. Using qualifiers like 'kinda' and 'sorta,' she openly confessed that all she wanted in that moment was a hug. Hearing this filled Ace with immense joy; and, as if that wasn't enough, Nemo looked as adorable as ever. She was incredibly precious at that moment,  though he couldn't vocalise this to her directly, knowing she’d only scowl at him for saying the forbidden “cute” word.  Slowly finding himself falling for his best friend too, he couldn't resist pulling her back into his embrace after she distanced herself slightly, holding her tightly, drawing her close. 'Why not just say so?' Oh, Nemo, you truly made that boy's day, and you deserve all the love and hugs in the world. 💖

[cherryhak]

彡By your side - Jacob Bae

Pairing. Jacob Bae x gn!reader

Genre. Fluff | Comfort | bf!Jacob | established relationship

Warnings. None ?, not really detailed

Note. Wrote this on my first day of high-school cuz it was horrible and i wish i had someone taking care of me like this :(

Wc. 809

Today was one horrible day.

It was your first day at job and it felt as if from the moment you woke up to the moment you walked through the door of your apartment, everything went wrong.

Like, every little things as if the world was against you that day.

And you were frustrated, really frustrated.

But you didn't want to experience a second mental breakdown (because yes, you had one as soon as you left the building).

You knew Jacob would immediately notice your bloodshot eyes and rosy nose if you cried again. And the last thing you wanted was to worry him so you tried your best to keep it in, blinking your tears away as you put down your handbag and send a weak smile in his direction. It was not a genuine one and you knew your boyfriend knew it, but this will do for now.

Without a single word, you headed straight to the shower which was really odd coming from you. Usually, you would sit down and hug Jacob for a good 10 minutes while talking about your day but today was different and he definitely felt the frustration radiating off of you.

After almost an (much needed) hour, you came out and plopped down on the couch next to him. Not saying a word you just stared into space. Like said before, you didn't want to worry him knowing that he himself had a lot going on with the boys preparing for their comeback.

Jacob debated for a minute on whether to talk to you or not ; he didn't want to annoy you or force you to tell him what was wrong but he also didn't want to sit there seeing you all sad and tired and do nothing.

He decided to wait until you felt ready to rant to him.

Hower as the minutes passed and you still hadn't spoken a word, he grew more and more worried

"Is everything alright ?"

You suddenly snapped out of your thoughts, the sudden voice causing you to flinch a little.

You didn't know how long you were out of it honestly so you spat out a blatant lie,

"Hm ? Yeah everything's fine"

It sounded more like you were trying to convince yourself rather than him and it didn't escape his ears.

You felt his warm hand lay on top of yours and you looked up at him only to find him already looking at you

"You can always talk to me you know?" He said in such a honey-like voice, it had your heart melting

You let out a long frustrated sigh, throwing your head back on the couch. Your eyes shifted to his figure for a second then back to the ceiling.

"I'm just.." You started, trying to find the right words to explain the situation you were in.

"Take your time, love" he rubbed your arm encouragingly

"Today was just.. you know, awful. It felt as if everyone was judging me and all eyes were on me. My boss is horrible and treats me like im just a meaningless newbie, its so frustrating. It makes me feel like im not enough and it stresses me out. I can't even socialize ! I tried to befriend a few of my coworkers but they straight judged me because 'who would want to be friends with the newbie' " you scoffed as you recall your co-worker's words

"Everything was just so wrong like i couldn't do anything right !"

Jacob quietly listened to your rambling, it barely even made sense anymore but he kept quiet until you finished.

"I think you did amazing today sweetheart. You should feel proud of just going through this day at all, some people would have left in the middle of the day but you decided to stay until the end and its amazing. Im proud of you and those coworkers of yours it's their loss, they'll never know how incredible you are but they don't deserve you. Think of it, it was just the first day so it's totally normal to feel pressured in a new environment, just wait until you get used to your surroundings and the rythm of it."

He engulfed you in his comforting embrace, resting your head on his shoulder as his arms wrapped around your body, tracing shapes of hearts on the small of your back.

"I'm proud of you my love" he whispered against your ear

And that's what it took for the tears to, once again, escape your eyes.

"It's okay, let it all out" he mumbled as he gently rubbed the back of your head, lips pressed to your crown

Planting kisses to the crown of your head, his hand burried in your hair, he held you close for as long as you needed it, assuring you that he'll always be by your side.

✿ᴄʜᴇʀʀʏʜᴀᴋ

[safetycar-restart]

hiii!! i come to you with a logan and oscar idea, poly or separate, idc. so it’s established that what leads to oscar joining logan and his dom is logan finding him in subspace but alternatively going with the past d/s au, what if logan knew that oscar had this horrible dom and it shattered his heart everytime he thought about it like “i have a good dom, why can’t oscar? oscars good too, why can’t he have good things?”

so this leads to Logan talking to his dom about oscar and his dom saying yes because well all oscar and Logan really want is to be good, at their cores they are good boys. so logan finds oscar and that time and brings him with him back to his dom and at this point they are both sobbing, oscar from his bad drop with his (team assigned) dom and logan because once again he can’t really rationalize in this headspace that oscar can’t have as good a dom as he does. so you end up talking with both of them when they are out of subspace and coming to an agreement that oscar is now your sub. i think that with logan being collared it might cause some issues like internally for oscar, especially when he enters subspace like “am i not good enough to be collared too?” :(. which of course he is and you end up having to have a long conversation with oscar about how you love him just as much as you love logan. and thought number 2 which is far less developed: what do you think logan is like as a little? cause i personally see him as being more laidback, kind of like max but with less trauma. but he still has his moments unlike when he’s not little, little!logan is wayyyyyyyy more hurt by you (his mommy/daddy) talking to other littles. ESPECIALLY ones he feels like are better than him. he’s always afraid you’re going to leave him for a “better” little. feel free to add any of your thoughts (also sorry for any mistakes, english is my third language) -love 🎾anon

Firstly, please know that you guys can always send ideas that don't merge with the 'canon' of our verses! Nothing is set in stone and I love exploring different ideas. Anyway, I love this so much.

I love how pure Logan is about it? He's really just there like 'I good boy, I have good dom. But Oscar good boy? Why no good dom for Oscar? MUST FIX" and that's it. That's far as the plan goes.

He's long since decided that when it comes to anything to do with scening and dynamics, it is your problem. Ever since you collared him, he kinda just tells you his vague thoughts and lets you do the rest cause you're his dom and he trusts you.

So with this, he thought no further than the fact that Oscar deserves a better dom and you are a better dom therefore you must dom Oscar and him together.

Of course you say yes when Logan brought it up to you. Not only because you would do anything to make Logan never look so sad again, but also because you genuinely love Oscar and it breaks your heart to know he's not getting what he needs.

You except Oscar to be upset when he comes to you, but you don't Logan to also be in a breakdown. Logan is just crying and hugging Oscar, mumbling that it isnt fair! Oscar should be with you and him, not some terrible mclaren dom!

Of course hearing this makes Oscar cry even more, because he wants what you and Logan have so bad.

You don't actually scene with them properly, because you havent been able to talk to Oscar about his limits yet and because they're both far too upset. Maybe you let them kneel for you? They get to kneel right next to each other, their legs pressed against each other and they can even hold hands. Within ten minutes they've formed a cuddle pile at your feet and honestly it's just the cutest?

You've got two good boys cuddling at your feet, looking up at you for praise and reassurance.

Oscar spends the night, cuddles between you and Logan and has the best sleep he's had in a long time. You discuss everything in the morning and all of three you realise that Oscar needs to also be your sub.

So that's what happens.

But yeah Oscar definitely has a problem with Logan having a collar, and it's actually so difficult for him to workout what his problem even is? Because he's not upset that Logan is collared, he's happy! He loves watching you and Logan together, and his heart would break if you took Logan's collar away.

But at the same time, his heart just aches sometimes? Cause he... he wants a collar too. He wants to really feel like he belongs to you.

And I think Logan feels really guilty about that? He can see that it's upsetting Oscar and he doesn't know what to do. Oscar just joined, so he knows it's too early for Oscar to be collared, but he also knows that there's no way in hell he's going to take his collar off around Oscar. He hasn't been without a collar for over three years and he's not about to start now, it would break him.

Maybe you get Oscar a play collar? A collar that he only wears during scenes and that he can request to wear around the house too. He can't put his own play collar on, it has to be you that does it and if you aren't there, then it can be Logan but you must order Logan to do it.

Oscar ADORES his play collar, and pretty soon he's always wearing it around the house.

Within two months he's gotten his own day collar, because once he knows what it's like to wear your collar, he doesn't ever want to stop.

Maybe Oscar and Logan get each other bracelets? So it's like they've kinda collared each other too.

LITTLE!LOGAN:

I'm not gonna spend too much time on this because of how long the d/s au idea was, but I do want to say this: I love the idea that he's jealous?

He's actually a pretty independent little, happy to watch cartoons and drink from his sippy cup while you work or chat to another caregiver but the moment you even look at another little, he's pouting and whining and fussing. HE'S your baby boy, no one else!

(Except... except he doesn't mind when you look after Oscar.)

[hay1ock]

Episode 4 of Only Friends

Well, that was quite the episode. I’m going to be discussing stuff that happened, so if you’re aware of anything in the episode that upsets you please bear that in mind. I don’t intend to be all in your face about it but people have different limits. I myself was fine with the episode on first watch, but the second time it really hit me how there are certain things about Ray I relate to and I had a bad time for a little while. But *deep breath* it’s all good now and I’m ready to ramble. Also, I feel like my thoughts are going to be bouncing all over the place with all the various moving parts and stuff that happened this episode.

So, might as well get straight to it, the big one, Ray (+ Mew + Sand). Ray, the human version of the Poor Boy t-shirt. His whole breakdown in the bathtub about being unloved, unwanted, how he ruined his mom’s life, man Khaotung delivered. I’m guessing it might be a case of his mom getting pregnant was unplanned/inconvenient - like his mom had to give up her career, or maybe having him trapped her with a man she didn’t love or in a bad relationship, which in turn led to her drinking and ignoring him, and ultimately to her death. Based on the younger version of Ray, he was what? Mid teens maybe. He said high school so maybe 14-16 range. Was his mom like that since his birth or did it start later, she slowly began resenting him?

I’m glad Mew had enough about him to go round and check on Ray. (I know his friends get some crap - Boston rightly so - about not caring about him, but there is only so much they can do if Ray isn’t ready, as he needs to be willing to help himself) Ray’s little face and his voice when he saw Mew had come though… “You’re here?” Surprise/relief that he’d put his faith in the right person. Mew really had answered his cry for help. Ray deserves a big hug. It’s not hard to see why he cares about Mew, why he answered his phone, why he would support Mew’s relationship with Top even though he dislikes Top, and yes, I’m sure jealousy is part of it, but there is genuine concern about the kind of person Top is, and if he’s good enough. But yeah, whether it’s romantic love or something else, I’m not sure. I imagine it’s a bit of a mix. He sees Mew as having saved him so there’s probably a bit of seeing him as his hero, the only person who, up to that point (or that we know of), had shown any affection or concern for him and it might be those feelings warped into a romantic love, or maybe it’s just the desperate need to keep Mew close, keep that one ‘good’ relationship and person at his side and he has mistaken his feelings for love beyond that of friendship. Ray is a whole bag of emotions and trauma, and untangling those for him to explore his feelings about both his past and what’s happening now will be hard and most likely hurt him and people around him (and me!).

I’m glad we got to see what happened regarding the video and the kiss and well, to say I’m disappointed in Boston and Top is an understatement - will talk more about them later. Also, I know Boston is a bad friend, but seriously, knowing everything about Ray and still messing with his head last episode and even calling Ray a burden back in episode 1, Boston you are the absolute worst lol.

But anyway, the kiss, the one in the past. I’m sad Mew couldn’t return Ray’s feelings and it must have been hard to hear that he was perhaps the only thing that was keeping Ray from hurting himself. 2 years ago, so he’s 19/20 yrs old, being told that must have been rough and a lot of responsibility, and then the fear of what Ray might do if Mew rejected him. That change in music seems like a reflection of Mew’s anxiety of the situation. I do like Mew and that from what we’ve seen he is pretty straightforward and honest. He kissed Ray back, but as he’s said, up until Top, no one had been able to make his heart tremble. I wonder how things might have changed if he had felt something. Would Ray have been able to get a handle on his drinking? Despite 2 years passing, he’s still in the same place, maybe worse where his drinking is concerned. Could he have changed? Or would he just have made them both miserable? Guess we might end up finding out as him and Sand get closer.

Skipping back to the present and ahhhh Ray nooooo. I don’t agree with him kissing Mew and am glad he was called out for his behaviour, but I do feel like I understand why he did it, or at least see why he might have. First, we had Boston messing with him, bringing his feelings of ‘love’ back to the surface and also adding fuel to his worries about Top - don’t be a side character, do something before it’s too late, ie save Mew from Top. We also have Mew, he’s told Ray he phoned Top for help first and he’s also trying to push Ray’s feelings towards Sand (I believe Mew was doing so with good intentions, wanting to see Ray happy and have someone now Top has taken a chunk of his time), but I feel like Ray pushed back against that. I believe he has been feeling something for Sand, even if just out of curiosity, but in a way that’s a betrayal to his feelings for Mew, the person he literally owes his life to. I imagine he’s confused and desperate to reaffirm that Mew is the one he loves. Mew is telling him to be with someone who loves and takes care of him and for Ray that person is Mew. So, I get it, but don’t agree with it. Glad he apologised again at the end and I’m glad Mew was able to accept the apology. I feel like he backed down from pressing Ray further about the ‘why’ behind the kiss, maybe not wanting to distress Ray who looked to struggle when Mew asked. I hope they can maintain their friendship. I know Ray can’t change how he feels about Mew overnight. Whether Mew fully knew about Ray still liking him, I’m not sure, but either way, it’s all out there now, so hopefully, Ray can move forward.

And talking of where he should be heading in his attempt to move on, him and Sand. I don’t know if it’s because it’s First and Khaotung, or just the way they are portraying the characters, but they have the most ‘romantic’ chemistry at the moment for me (Nick and Boston has so far been more primal, sexual, and then Mew and Top… I don’t even know what theirs is, it’s mostly anxiety inducing is what. I don’t know how to explain it but it’s like my stomach drops and both characters give off vibes of wanting control).

I love seeing Ray and Sand together. I love Ray’s puppy eyes. I love that Sand can’t say no to Ray’s puppy eyes. Sand seems a pretty strong-willed guy so if he really didn’t want to do something I’m sure he would say so. He had no problems communicating to Ray about how he felt at the music store and I’m glad he didn’t actually scold Ray and call him any names. There was just this strange sadness when Ray said ‘Burden on Society’. I don’t know if Sand sensed anything, but I think him discussing his boundaries, like with Ray wanting to buy him things, and that he isn’t something Ray can pick up to play with when he’s lonely to then forget about until the next time, I think Ray needs that. Other than money, we still don’t don’t know what kind of relationship he has with his father, or if he had any positive role models/relationships growing up that would help him learn about things such as boundaries and making real connections with other people, not just by throwing money around. I do believe Ray cares about Sand’s feelings, not necessarily because he sees him as special or for romantic reasons, but Sand is a person in his life now and it feels like Ray doesn’t intend to upset people on purpose, he wants to be cared for but also wants to be able to care for others, even as far as to ‘save’ them. I like that Ray is able to realise when he’s in the wrong and apologise, he did it in episode 1, and a couple of times in this episode. People make mistakes, not everyone can admit to them and apologise.

The record store scenes were lovely. The conversation about music. The suggestion that Ray is stuck in the past with his mother’s music and his trauma, and with his feelings for Mew. That discovering new bands brings Sand happiness and the implication that Ray should do the same, step outside that damn room that he’s surrounded himself with his mom’s records and find something new to explore. To find himself a little bit of happiness. I loved the small smile from Ray as he seemed to be considering Sand’s words. Chronologically, we then have them listening to music and staring and hand touching. The way Sand looks at Ray *dreamy sigh*. It was nice to see Ray in a moment of peace, at least that’s what it felt like. A moment to just pause the world and as Sand said “let music do the work.” And so, after going to Mew’s to apologise, we’re then back in a bath tub, bookending the episode nicely. That flashback though, yet again, can not blame Ray for clinging onto Mew and what feelings he had for him. Ray of sunshine *cries* I interpret the end as him making peace with his feelings, or at the very least, realising that no matter what, nothing more can ever come from them and so it’s time to move on, even if he just takes a tiny step in the direction of the owner of the Poor Boy t-shirt. I really hope that no matter what heartbreak lies ahead, these two find a way to a happy ending together, even if it’s Ray goes to rehab, gets some therapy and we skip ahead however many months, and they meet up again afterwards. So a fresh start and we’re left hopeful they’ll work things out.

Okay, that first part might have been way too long, but I’m bias towards Ray and so… that’s how I roll lol. The next bits might be shorter, or they might not lol. Next the Boston and Nick and Top (+ Sand) mess.

Boston, you are the worst. I mean, I kind of get filming your friends in a ‘haha look at these idiots, I’m so teasing them tomorrow’ kind of way, but still, dick move. And you know what another dick move is? Screwing with your friend’s kinda boyfriend (still confused on how long it’s been - under 3 months based on what Boston said last ep - and what Top and Mew consider themselves to be, as Top kept referring to Mew as his boyfriend last ep and this one and Mew complained about Top not introducing him as his boyfriend to Beam at the silent disco), and then for his ultimate dick move, we have Boston forcing himself on Top. I’m glad Top actively pushed Boston off him this time and told him a few home truths. I said before it feels more about Boston’s pride and some weird one-sided rivalry/jealousy. Like even in the flashback, he seemed to be competing with Ray, but also dragging Mew into the conversation with Cheum. Like ‘I can’t beat Ray, but what about Mew? I’m sexier and a better option than him right?’. Honestly, I feel like, if gmmtv would let us have nice things and let Neo and Khao out of the friends zone for a minute, Boston would be that guy to comfort Ray and maybe makeout/sleep with him just to show he was that little bit better than Mew - ‘at least I fucked ya’. He seems to have no remorse over anything at the moment. Whether he grows as a person or is a dick until the end, I guess we’ll have to wait and see. We got a nice bit of info about his dad if anyone was looking to really mess things up for him. Not looking at anyone in particular… Nick.

So, Nick. Boston really should have changed his passcode after Nick fixed his phone lol. He is walking a dangerous line of obsession and I’m not sure exactly where he’ll fall by the end. He was like a smitten kitten in the first couple of episodes, and he looked at Boston with hope and adoration, but there was a significant difference in how Boston’s words worked (or rather didn’t seem to) this episode when they were together. It currently stands as him wanting to get Boston, for them to be in love, but, depending where both his and Boston’s games take them, I feel like it might just come down to him wanting to ruin Boston in the end. You don’t love me? Well sucks to be you. I am here for Nasty Nick and his obsessive listening to Top and Boston moaning (poor Sand though - he did not need to hear that lol) And then he brings Top into it, and in turn Sand (and we find out Top stole Sand’s ex - gonna assume that person will pop up at some point). Well, everybody will know about Top and Boston but Mew at this point. I have this horrible feeling when stuff comes out Ray will find out Sand already knew and that might be one of many reasons they have problems.

So Top and Mew. Their relationship is the strangest to me. It might be because as the audience we know more of what Top’s been doing behind Mew’s back, see more of his smug smirky face that I want to punch occasionally, whereas we don’t know that much about Mew as an individual, but I don’t know… *stares at them*. I know Top got Mew’s heart all a flutter but sometimes, I’m left questioning what Mew sees in Top and does he actually like him? They can have some ridiculously cute moments, the disco, the Photo Booth, in the shower. Then they have some really off feeling and tense, challenging each other moments, Top coming off as possessive and pulling him away from his friends, the reset scene at laser tag, the scenes at the end of this episode. I like that Mew isn’t a pushover but getting with Top seems exhausting to me.

Another thing I like is that Mew doesn’t judge Top based on his past or who he’s slept with. Like I said Mew seems to be honest and straightforward and he wants Top to be the same with him. And I’m very much a judge you by what you do now not your past kind of person myself (obviously there are some exceptions to that). The plane in Top’s room got me curious. Is there a Boeing? I assume so as even before he told Mew and the only B I could think of at the time was Boston, I was like, surely not. Boston doesn’t seem in the least bit sentimental and not sure what a plane has to do with anything, but I did have second thoughts as the camera lingered and shifted focus from the plane to the model car that looks very much like Boston’s behind it. It might mean nothing, or maybe ‘Boeing’ will show up, the shot is framing two issues that can come between Top and Mew in the future - Boston and this Boeing person.

Top keeps pulling me in and has me thinking, okay maybe he is trying to be a better person, he just keeps fucking up, you know, like people do, and then just as quickly, I’m screaming trash at him. Where as Boston falls on the love to hate him side of villainy, Top keeps sticking his head over the line into just hate him territory. We’ll have to see where things go. I did think he’d called Beam over for sex at first, but not seeing the scene play out I wondered if it was something else - like just hang out, drink and sleep, as Top was clearly feeling guilty thinking back to moments with Mew and Boston, so I thought he might have trouble sleeping. As it was it was drugs. One way to knock yourself out I guess… whether it’s always just been drugs with Beam, looking back at the conversation at the silent disco, who knows, and I would have given him the benefit of the doubt, as I do want to believe he wants to change, but he’d already got arsey over Ray, Mew’s friend, being there and apparently not happy that he got his knickers in a twist over a kiss from 2 years ago, so was doubting Mew when he said it stopped at the kiss, and THEN initiated some weird deal for him stopping drugs. Again, we know more stuff than Mew, but with that music choice too, it felt all kinds of sleazy to me. If I was Mew I would not have been in the mood for sexy shenanigans, but hey, you do you, and hand jobs don’t have to be that deep. Fucking loved it when Mew said no penetration, take it or leave it lol.

OKAY. I think I’m done. There were probably other things I wanted to comment on, but the rambling was strong with this one lol. Looking forward to Episode 5.

[writingsbychlo]

There are theories that Mor and Azriel are mates, but since she prefers females nothing ever happened (because of how protective he gets, for example when he choked Eris) and that Elain & Azriel have mates, however, end up choosing each other./forbidden romance. What do you think of this theory? I like Elain, but I don’t want her with Az. I prefer Elucien (I feel like since Elain is a seer, gifted with sight, her powers are connected with Lucien since his dad is Helion, who SJM based on Greek god Helion, who is the god of sight) and I just don’t like the three sisters for three brothers. It feels to predictable. I kind of feel like Azriel is someone who self sabotages. He crushes on Mor for 500 knowing he can’t have her and I’m sure his shadows can pick up on feelings and emotions, so wouldn’t he be able to sense that Mor genuinely wasn’t interested in him romantically? I like Azriel and Gwyn, but some people think she might be evil since his shadows play with her. People bring up that his shadows hide from Elain and they do with Mor as well, so they’re meant to be together. I really want Elain and Lucien together. I just don’t like the idea of Elriel. What do you personally think? Do you think Azriel purposely self sabotages/goes after ladies he knows he can’t or won’t be able to have? I’m sorry if I cause any trouble, I don’t mean to!💜

you didn't cause any trouble, and I'm not afraid to say with my whole fucking chest that I HATE ELRIEL. everyone is entitled to their own choices and ships and whatnot but there's not one single az/elain idea or theory or trope that could make me like it.

breakdown below the cut because the elriel stans out there don't deserve to have their day ruined by my lil opinion lol. however, don't open it if you're curious but stan elriel because it'll just make you mad.

I like elain with lucien, I think they'd be perfect for one another. elain has always been caged and babied by her sisters for being a soft girl, she needs some freedom. she's proven she's not some breakable little object, she deserves to have a life of her own. she deserves to be free from that cage and to see the world. lucien can take her to do that, he's a courtier, he has friends all over and would be such a good guide. lucien deserves some light in his life, he's spent his whole life stuck and fighting, he and elain could just be happy together.

az and gywn is okay. if it was between gywn and elain, my obvious choice is gwyn. solidly, I am still waiting for a love interest for him other than eris that actually viable and matches him so perfectly.

anyways.

elriel makes me sick for numerous reasons. first of all, it's toxic. that whole "the girl who never got to choose and the boy who never got picked" thing. ew. ew ew ew. azriel would spend his entire life then feeling like he was constantly having to keep on proving he was good enough to be picked, and he's already fragile enough like that as it is. elain would end up feeling stuck, like she just chose the first person who as there, and they'd end up hating one another anyway.

also, azriel treats every other woman like a strong, powerful warrior. he treats elain like she needs sheltering and protection. he canon does this, all the way through ACOSF. he treats her like a child. let's just leave that there.

next, as you said, his shadows hide from her. a part of himself, the darkness he used to survive won't go near her. how could he bear any part of his soul to her when the most obvious part won't even be shown? he'd never be able to truly be himself. gwyn has her own troubles, her own trauma, and they'd heal together.

also, three sisters for three brothers is sickening. the elriel ship makes azriel into some toxic man who feels like he's entitled to women? if they got together based on that philosophy it would quite literally undo every single part of his character development. attacking for mor's honour? "be careful how you speak about my high lady"? "you just passed the blood rite qualifier"? all that peak feminism undone because suddenly azriel feels like he's owed some pussy. no fucking way.

lastly, if elain didn't end up with lucien, what's the fucking point of the mating bond being there anyway? it's served NO plot point so far unless they end up being mates. the whole "maybe the cauldron made a mistake" thing could have happened without it. az could have just been "maybe the bond just hasn't snapped yet". like? if they don't end up together, it's just a useless plot thread? sarah don't do that to us.

now, onto this whole mor and az thing. personally, I don't see it. I can understand where that has come from, but I don't see it. I just don't think they're at all equal or alike, and considering the other mating pairs and their similarities, it wouldn't make sense. basically, I just don't think so. I think he just hyper fixated because deep down he knows he can never have her and always goes for unattainable love because he's always felt like love was just outside of his reach. he's always wanted it and never had it (childhood trauma, not cass and rhys), and so he's permanently looking for where he can't have love, not where he can.

so, yeah, that's my breakdown, lol.

[heretic-altias]

FFXIVWrite Day 30 - Amity

I decided to wrap things up for FFXIVWrite with a little reflective piece for Akku. The nicest little guy for the friendliest prompt.

While not related to the prompt I'd also like to celebrate here that I did it! I did every single prompt for this challenge! This is something I've actually wanted to accomplish for a few years now, so I'm really proud of myself. I hope anyone following my page enjoyed it too and wasn't driven too mad by my blog suddenly becoming 99% fics when I rarely posted my writing usually lol.

Don’t know my characters? Here’s a basic breakdown to help you out!

~

As far back as he could remember, Akku simply wanted to be a good person. To be kind to everyone he met. Even before his echo power had manifested and shown him just how much suffering everyone carried, he wanted to make their lives better.

In his youth, his kindness was not repaid. In retrospect, he had simply been a pushover. Letting others walk all over him trying to make them happy. In the mind of a child, letting others act in the way that made them happy seemed like kindness.

He had still not entirely grown out of that when fate first dropped him in with Solar as a Warrior of Light. He had been the youngest one there, a boy of nineteen summers tagging along with proper adults. A bright eyed child hopeful about their role in the world. Heroes were always kind after all. Heroes made everyone happy in the end.

But he quickly came to see that simply wasn’t reality. Sometimes the greatest kindness was a harsh truth, sometimes people suffered and died no matter how hard you tried.

Sometimes in the end Altais, with her direct and blunt responses, had been kinder than his attempts to comfort people. Sometimes, even when the war was over and the people were saved, some still suffered endlessly. And many people didn’t even live to see the end.

In a strange way, Akku had learned to be kinder. He understood when he had to be direct and harsh for the greater good of someone’s well being. He had learned to respect himself and not just be tread upon, for his agency was needed to do good in the world. 

And in face of his failures, he continued to try.

Akku reflected on all of this as he relaxed by the docks in Sharlayan, a light snow starting to dust the ground. He had come to like this city a lot, there was something peaceful about it. And since being sort of adopted into a study group despite not actually being a student, he enjoyed spending time here with some new friends. With the Scions officially disbanded, and his friends in Solar spread out working on their own things Akku had been sort of drifting lately.

Should he be doing more than this? Maybe. Maybe he should enroll in the classes himself instead of just studying with some of the students. Maybe he should be going home and seeing if Zelda needed any help on the administrative side of things. Or maybe he should still be traveling, doing what he can to help anyone he meets.

But this was comforting. And he didn’t need to do anything just yet. Being a Scion and Warrior of Light had actually left him quite wealthy, even with his poor money skills. Not Ul’dah Syndicate level of wealthy, but wealthy enough where he probably would not want for anything for the rest of his life if he kept living as he did. And if he had the means to keep doing nothing for a little while, then why not? There was one person he had rarely ever been kind to: himself. And that person deserved this period of rest. Purpose would find him again eventually. Until then he’d continue to enjoy this. He’d keep trying to spend time with his friends, both new and old, simply because it made him happy. And he knew it made them happy too. What better way to spend his days than that?

He wasn’t dumb enough to think it’d last forever. Eventually his friends would need his help again, and he would answer because that’s who he is. But somehow he’d gotten that happy ending everyone wrote the hero having. It wasn’t as perfect as the stories, but it was his and he was happy.

[squeakthemonkey]

Time Will Tell

Chapter 6 - Open wounds

Sebastianxf!oc or Ominis x f!oc

Erica Weasley faces new surprises when her Bad luck when leaving the castle comes back with a vengeance

trigger warnings - violence, PTSD symptoms

Erica waited for the barrage of laughs, for the disbelieving shouts, even for them to tell her to just leave. Instead silence filled the air, for a long time. It kind of felt anticlimactic in a way. She had expected them to scream or shout and run or even think she was joking but they didn’t. When she glanced at the boys Sebastian was looking more perplexed than anything. Ominis’ instead looked plain worried.

“I … see.” Sebastian finally said. “That explains a lot actually,” 

Erica stuttered, they were supposed to be the ones bewildered and disbelieving, yet it seemed only Ominis was truly questioning. “You believe me?”

Sebastian sat down on the chair and leaned over his knees deep in thought. “Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time something like this has happened to us,” he furrowed his brow. “Time travel…?”The dimple was gone, the smile was gone. “Man, I really am left out now,” the joke didn't reach his lips. He rubbed  his thumb over his lips deep in thought.

“It’s not travel,” she clarified, trying to hide how much it hurt to explain. “I’m here and… I’m not going back. I can’t go back.”

“In Hogsmeade…?” Ominis started. Erica flushed a deep red for her stupidity back then, she focused on the flowers on the table, so much more than a thank you for the wand. She knew he was talking about her little breakdown, but she couldn’t face that just quite yet. Instead she spoke of the instigator.

“I thought I was in a nightmare. I thought…. I thought if he, if anyone, hurt me enough, if I let him, I would wake up.” She explained she gripped her throat, wishing it was the icy hand that coerced her to tell the truth. But it wasn’t. She didn’t have to look to see their concern. “ It was extremely stupid, but I was desperate. I knew the moment you showed up how stupid it was,” 

“When…? Ominis asked again.

“The day of the fountain explosion, I woke up in it,”

“The fountain? It was because of you.” Sebastian asked, and she nodded.

“It was a crash landing.” she tried to joke again. “Honestly, how it didn’t kill me, I don't know. I don’t know how to get back.” 

She spilled it all out. 

What she remembered, her life at school before, her friends, the day it happened, how she felt when it happened, her conversation with the professors and Aurors. Everything but her name. She held tightly to her name, to her familial connections, unwilling to let it go.

“Why have you told us? If it is so dangerous?” Ominis asked. Erica stopped herself for a moment to wander. She knew why, because they had been a light in her new life, because knowing her is dangerous. They deserved to know why they were in danger.

“Because by saving my life, you're involved.” She said, “By being kind to me, for saving me that day, I couldn’t leave you in the dark. Because I didn’t want to be alone anymore. It’s selfish, I know.” she said, clinging to herself again. “Professor Sharp is convinced that if someone outside the ministry knew, then they would want to use me to change the future for their benefit. I need to know how to fight them off.” 

“You…” Ominis curled his brow down, a range of emotions played over him. He started to pace a little next to Sebastian. “You said your father found this room?” He asked although he had just thought it up, as though it wasn’t the question he wanted to ask.

“He will find this room.” She nodded. “He and his brother used to have a map that showed them nearly every secret in Hogwarts. They found this one before they left, and my dad told me about it in my second year.” she finally found the warmth she was searching for. “Or they will? I still get stuck on tenses,” Ominis squared his shoulders, a sad bravery coming over him, as if resolve and the need to know was fighting his slight disbelief.

“You said you had bad business with the Gaunts.”

Erica blanched again, but this time it came with a queasy feeling in her stomach. “Yes. But you don’t want to know about it, Ominis. It was… it will be bad. There's nothing you can do about it,”

“How bad?” Sebastian asked his gaze shifting to his unmoving friend. She kept it as vague as she could, but she wanted to calm his anxiety.

“...Bad,” Erica answered with a sigh. “But I don't remember your name coming up, Ominis. You have nothing to do with it.” She wasn’t prepared for the relieved huff of air he released as he stopped pacing to lean against the table. Had… had it plagued him that much?

“How far in the future?” Sebastian cocked his head. “Where do you come from?” She grimaced, but gave it quickly now the rest of it was out.

“Just over…” she held herself tight again. “Just over 135 years.” Both boys stared in her direction in shock. “Yeah, I know.”

“Erica,” It was Ominis’ turn to speak, his voice high pitched and weak, like he didn’t want to say it. “If this is true… Please, believe me when I say we want to help you…”

“Ominis,” Sebastian cut him off.

“We can’t Sebastian. Gideon and I, you especially cannot afford to have Aurors around us,” She saw his fingers lace the flowers on the table, conflict clear as he stiffened his shoulders. “Not after everything we have done.”

Erica clutched at her arms. The ‘if’ hurt her more than she cared to admit, but she knew how huge this was, they would need time, she had.

“What have you done?” she asked lightly, but neither answered her. So she carried on instead. “Look, I'm not asking for you to be involved with the Aurors, I'm doing my best to stop them,” She wanted to shake him until he saw the truth. “I don’t know why you don’t like the aurors, I don’t like them, either. I want nothing more than to either go home, or turn invisible and live a quiet, peaceful life,” she explained.  “But you know what happened the other day, I couldn’t stop a measly old man! Please, I just need to know enough to defend myself,” said. Again she saw the memories rush over him. She didn’t want to admit that she could still feel the warmth of his hand, that she imagined it when she felt scared. Between him and Sebastian she felt beyond safe. “I swear, it’s just duelling. I never even mentioned your name to the aurors.” Ominis sighed.

“Erica you don’t understand,” He glanced in his friend's direction. “The danger Sebastian will be in. It is life or death. It is not me I'm concerned about.” She didn’t know what to say. She shouldn’t have said anything in the first place. She looked towards Sebastian. 

Neither of them said anything.

 She had let them in, yet… they didn’t let her in. They weren't going to explain why they wouldn't help her. She couldn’t stop the pang of sadness hitting her chest. It felt like a freight train. She had opened up to them, perhaps they didn’t trust her now because of it?

“Of course,” she found herself saying, despite his refusal aching she could see the look on his face, the conflict that tensed his muscles. She had already asked so much of them. “Of course, Ominis. I understand.” Her throat bobbed with the lump forming there. No. She refused to cry. They had every right to say no. ‘If’ caught her mind again what if… what if they didn’t actually believe her, what if they were just placating her?

“I’m sorry,” She took a step back, wishing she could just curl into a ball forever. “I’m sorry, I asked a lot of you. I won’t… I won’t bring it up again.”

“Red, stop,” Sebastian stood again but she stepped out of his reach again. “Please just forget this, I asked way too much, I said too much.” She stepped away again, trying hard not to look at them. “Just forget about all this, i… uh…. I took a potion earlier and it…I’m just Insane Erica. Feckless Freddie. Don’t… worry. I’ll figure something out.” She tried to make herself laugh, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t find the right combination to ease them, to make them laugh and forget all of this. “I am… hungry. I’m gonna… go eat.” She turned quickly fleeing the room.

She was so stupid. Always so dumb. Now she had ruined one of the only good things she had here. She kept her arms curled around her. Ready to run up the long stairs to the Gryffindor tower.

“Red, hey, wait!” She didn’t want to, She didn’t want to look like the vulnerable girl running away with tears in her eyes, still she found herself stopping. He had followed her? She stopped on the stairs and let him grip her arm, turning her to face him.

“I’m sorry about Ominis, he’s just… I put him through a lot,” He said, careful to keep his voice quiet. She could hear the students above her. “He does want to help you, knowing him, he’s beating himself up right now.” She grimaced at him. It wasn’t helping. “I’ll talk to him okay, we can help you. We want to help you. He’s just scared,” she wasn’t so sure. But she had put him in a tough position. She couldn’t blame either of  them. “I will teach you what I know, but I’d prefer not to go behind Ominis’ back… it didn’t end well last time and I can't do it to him again.” He looked away, his eyes unfocused and stuck in the memory he found. It took him a second to pull himself away from it.

“In the meantime,” He carried on. “Talk to Gideon,” he instructed. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Trust me, if anyone understands it will be him. Talk to him and I’ll talk to Ominis.” She gripped onto herself tighter.

“It seems all I've done since I got here is put on you,” She sighed, but jumped when his large warm hand landed on her head.

“No.” He said firmly.

“No?” she responded, and caught his gentle smile when she remembered their running joke.

“No, Red.” He answered, his fingers slipping through the red hair and dragging through the curls. He caught the ends and curled it around his finger lightly. Before placing his hand back on her head

“Really wouldn’t have it any other way,” He patted her head gently before turning back towards the Undercroft entrance. “Besides,” he raised his voice, far louder than needed. “You owe me a dinner date, Red! Like hell, I am going to miss out on that!”

She watched him leave, a tiny smile fighting its way through her. Despite the sadness that coursed through her, she didn’t blame Ominis at all for saying no. She had thrown a lot at him, at them both.

…

Erica had wanted to follow his advice, but found it increasingly more impossible to find him. Gideon was the Hero of Hogwarts, after all. While she knew he had saved the school against the goblin rebellion, no one ever knew how. Professor Binns and the others ghosts never told anyone how or why, only bragging they knew him and they helped.

Yet, despite being a fellow Gryffindor, he was especially hard to get a hold of. If he wasn’t in class, he was running off and no one seemed to know where.  She had seen a few times, but he zoomed past her, only shouting a hello over his shoulder. It seemed the rest of the school was used to this as no one tried to stop or slow him.

There was one thing Erica was sure of. 

She would no longer be a failure. 

Whether Sebatian or Ominis helped her, whether she got ahold of Gideon, she wasn’t going to go out in a desperate whimper anymore. If she was going to fail, she was going to give everything she had first. Instead of moping about what she had lost, she was going to gain more. Frightened and possibly alone, but she was going to get up on her feet and stop relying on everyone else.

So she added more books to her studies, and curled up in the library almost every chance she got, learning about duelling or fighting or both. While the library was restricted on what it had on the subject, she reread every book she could get to.

Sebastian helped when he could, even offered to take her to the restricted section. Erica resolved to take him up on it, at some point. He would give her pointers, on what the books said, what they got right and wrong.

Diving into some more notes, Erica scribbled and tried not to nudge the boy next to her. Sebastian had buried his head in a book and from the gentle snores that came from him, she didn’t know how long it would take for him to take his head back out of it. Still, he looked tired enough for her to leave him be, and tried to stay quiet. Carefully she grabbed another when a mumble filled the air. 

Erica looked up ready to glare at whomever tried to wake him, but realised the noise had come from the boy next to her. Sebastian mumbled incoherently again, turning his head into his arm resting across the book. His forehead crinkled with each new noise he made, whimpers that sprung a sweat across his brow. Lightly Erica drew her fingers across his head, tracing the infantasmal amount of freckles there, pulling his hair away from cold moisture that gathered.

“...A-An…” he whispered, fear masking his quiet voice. Erica scooted closer as quietly as she could. Should she wake him? She didn’t want him to be scared, but he looked so tired. Had he been having nightmares a lot?

“It’s alright, Sebastian,” she whispered back, but it didn’t soothe him. He was having a nightmare about his sister? 

“....No… n-no please! I didn’t… mean it!” He whispered, yet it was still loud in the library, enough for the students closest to them to take notice. She shuffled over him again, pushing her fingers through his hair gently. He would hate people seeing him like this, anything but the suave and cool Sebastian he put on.

“Sebastian, it’s all right, you’re not there,” She tried again, hoping to coo him into a sounder sleep, but the nightmare had a tight hold of him

Thump!

Sebastian shot from the table, blinking blarily. Erica fell back from him, almost falling off her seat. A heavy book landed hard on the desk in front of them. Quickly followed by another. 

Ominis dropped a third for good measure, and sat down, a small disciplined pout on his face. Sebastian watched him, not entirely awake. Ericas sighed into her notes.

Since her confession, Ominis had gone back to being cold to her. She understood why. She had scared him, if he even believed her at all. Sebastian assured her that was just the way he dealt with things. Alone and in his own time. She wished he didn’t feel he had to. She wished he would sit down and ask her all that was on his mind. Yet, Erica gave him his space.

“Are you alright?” She asked Sebastian instead. He looked at her, his warm eyes stone cold, still lost in the nightmare. 

It was strange. The dark hazel almost swirled into pure darkness when he looked like that, as if he felt nothing but cold and hard.  Nothing from what he normally portrayed himself as.

Like a switch he changed, the darkness in his eyes gathered some light in them and he smiled. It was a dimpleless smile, one she had learnt to read. It was also strange, she admitted to herself, how much she could read in his smiles. Almost as much as she could read in Ominis’ pouts. 

When Sebastian smiled, and the cute dimples were in full force, he was truly happy. He meant what he said. When he smiled without the dimples, he often lied, or bragged, even flirted with anyone he laid eyes on - something Erica had seen herself in the few classes she had shared with him. Sometimes he smiled and it didn’t reach his eyes. She wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but it wasn’t good.

Ominis was much the same, to his disappointment. He had a small honest smile, a rare thing he didn’t hand out willingly, but meant every one of them. His stern colder but more neutral face he showed almost exclusively to the rest of the Hogwarts population. Sometimes, she thought he forgot others could see him. Beyond the sternness or coldness, there was a pain underneath. A pain he must recognise, and the moment he realised he felt it, or he wore it, he curled his gave back into something more neutral. 

Neither had questioned her about her confession, it being a raw secret between them. With Ominis being cold, she had the feeling Sebastian was trying to spare his friend a little heartache. Although she would catch him sometimes watching her, smiling at the words he couldn’t understand, he opened his mouth to ask but never did so. 

He gave her a dimpleless smile and recovered his book, which he had flung in his surprise awakening. Ominis sniffed at them not bothering to say anything, instead dropping letters on the books he had unceremoniously dropped on purpose.

“You wanna talk about it?” She asked Sebastian, carefully keeping her eyes on her notes. She wasn’t as suave at distraction as he was, but having a large and loud family made her exceptionally good at listening. He laughed, with no  mirth in his voice. Erica knew what he was about to say, and her heart clanged against her chest. She wasn’t trying to be nosy, but she had the distinct feeling they were keeping things from her to. She had let them in. They had not done the same.

“No,”

“No?” She carried on his normal ongoing joke but he didn’t respond, only looking towards Ominis. She could see why.

Ominis looked shell shocked. His already pale face now had a thin shade of green. His wand was pressed against a letter, which was how he read things that weren’t in braille, and he held it in an unsteady hand. 

“What is it? Your parents?” Sebastian asked quickly. “Or Marvolo?” he whispered the name through gritted teeth. Erica blanched at the name but coming from the way he had said it, she realised she wasn’t the only one who disliked it.

 “No,” Ominis finally answered. “It’s for you.” he handed the paper over.

“It's from Anne.”

…

Erica sat at the well, wrapped her arms over her knees and waited. Sebastian had read the letter and ran before anyone could say a word. She and Ominis, abandoning all else, followed behind and luckily reached Sebastian in time to hear where he was going by Floo network. Feldcroft. 

He had told her once it was his home away from Hogwarts, only during the summer or winter holidays. Luckily as well, she wasn’t banned from using the Floo network either.

Being that they told her little else, she elected not to follow them inside the home, only letting Ominis know she was outside if they needed anything. They were obstinate on keeping her out, she felt like a fool following them this far. Still, the scared look on Sebastian’s face made her follow, he had done so much for her. She could only follow and hope she could do the same in return.

No sooner did they go in the small shack, did they leave again, Sebastian looking dejected and Ominis fairly concerned.

“I know, I know, I just thought…” He still had the letter in his hand, his fingers laced around it as if it was a permanent fixture.

“What did the letter say?” Ominis asked, the town around them so quiet Erica could hear them from where she was. Sebastian sighed.

“That she missed me, that she wanted to talk,”

“So you decided to just impede on any space she might have?” Ominis asked. “Do you not think that might have scared her off?” Sebastian glared at his friend.

“I know that!”  Erica moved towards them before a fight could break out between them. Sebastian watched her approach. Ominis must have heard her too, as he huffed.

“I’ll go ask around, and see if anyone has seen her,” he said. Ow, Erica thought, did he really not want to be around her that bad? She waited until he had left before she looked at the brown haired boy. In the light of the afternoon, his cheeks looked red under the abundance of freckles. He looked… sad.

“Anne is…” he stopped himself with a sigh. She knew who Anne was, and that illness took her from Hogwarts. She took hold of his robes and took him to a nearby wall. He looked pale and she worried he was about to faint. Sebastian leant back against it, now free of his own heaviness he lifted his face towards the sun, letting the rays bring the colour back to his face. “Anne is cursed,” he admitted.

Erica stood next to him quietly, letting him get all of it out. “She was cursed two years ago by a follower of Ranrok. She was in terrible pain.” his voice wavered, so she put her hand over his. He looked at their entwined hands and closed his fingers around hers gratefully. “I spent so long looking for a cure. I…I couldn’t lose her, you know? She was my only family.” he explained. “The only family that loved me, anyway.” She brought his hand to her stomach, hoping the warmth there would help him through his memories.

“She left… she because I…” his face fell. For the first time, Erica could see his true emotions. There was no fake smile, no dives into pleasure for distraction. Instead he looked very much like a young boy. A young boy who was lost and alone. “She left because I tried to help her. I was blind to everything else. She left because of me… I did something unforgivable,” She ran her fingers over his arm, trying to calm him. Unforgivable? There were many things that were unforgivable. She wouldn’t pry, not when he had admitted so much. She, like the others who were born after the war, knew about unforgivable things. She, like many others after the war, had watched family and their friends tear themselves apart. She supposed a lot of people did after any war. Unforgivable things were in abundance most days, and a lot of those unforgivable things were, actually, forgivable. There was no way he would allow Anne, or Ominis or even Erica to forgive him, if he did not forgive himself first. She said nothing to him, instead letting go of his hand and winding her arms around his broad torso, curling into the thick green jumper. Erica buried her head into Sebastian’s collar. She didn't know what he had done, and he would not tell her all of it, but she wrapped herself into him anyway. He had done something unforgivable for love. Thinking of what she would do for love too, she empathised with his pain.

She pulled him tighter when his hands splayed across her shoulders, his breath drawing down her back and he tucked his face into her neck.

He held her like he was drowning. Like she was the only thing afloat, and he had no strength left to swim. She hoped she could pull him from his nightmare, like he so often did for her and tangled her fingers into the prickly green jumper, her hands under his robes. She felt his breath skitter and stutter, as if he was trying not to cry. She wouldn’t blame him if he did.

“She wrote to me.” he said, voice muffled by her shoulder and hair, “She said she missed me, and wants to talk to me,” Sheer belief traced his words. “But I don't know if I should write back. What I did…”

His body felt warm, and he had long hard muscles under the clothes. It felt so natural to hold him, his smell surrounding her. He smelled like mint and floo powder.

“You should try and connect with her again.” Erica finally encouraged. “She’s your sister, if anyone would understand, it would be her,” he nodded and squeezed her tighter. “If not, then at least you can tell yourself you tried.” His arms almost completely enveloped her, and soon she realised he had tangled his fingers in her hair.

“Ahem!” 

Sebastian reluctantly pulled his hands away and let Erica move away. Ominis held his wand out and faced towards them, his features pulled into the forced neutral sternness. Erica cleared her throat and stood away, suddenly feeling cold. While they hadn’t done anything wrong, Erica’s heart thumped, as if she had just ran miles. 

“No one’s seen her,” Ominis said bluntly. Sebastian nodded, clearing his own throat as he crossed his arms.

“Sorry,” he looked at Erica, and flashed a non-dimpled smile. “I got distracted. Turns out Erica’s a very good distraction.” She sighed but still flashed her own playful smile.

“There we go, I was getting worried, wondering where Sebastian was.” she answered. A hint of dimple showed through.

“I need some air,” He huffed. “How about we take a walk? It’s Saturday after all, can’t let Erica have bad grades.”

“Sure,” Ominis drooled annoyedly but turned and led the way.

They walked and talked for a while. Enjoying the unseasonably warm day. Sebastian and Ominis talking about what he should say to Anne. While he was still not fully back to how he had been, he at least, was a little excited. Looking over the letter over and over again.

Erica, from what she could pull from the conversation, figured out he had been having nightmares for a year now. Ever since the mysterious ‘unforgivable’  incident. They had been bad for the last few months though not one of them could figure out why. 

Soon out of Feldcroft, they decided they would walk towards Irondale and take the Floo network back. Since neither could apparate, and Erica had never carried two people, walking seemed like the best option. Sebastian had never learned despite it being on his list to do, and Ominis had a pretty natural fear of apparating into a wall. 

Now she was open to do it, she did tell them about her own family, still not her real name, but she hoped Sebastian could relate to all the times she had annoyed her sister. How Roxanne had not so affectionately called her Feckless Freddie, because she didn’t think. Which was kind of true, she had to admit, but she had gotten her sister into plenty of situations and she had been forgiven. She was sure the same could be done, for whatever Sebastian had done. Ominis had frowned, admitting to her that his own family would not. In fact, his own family would probably do far worse to him. She wanted to ask, but something ahead of them caught Sebastian’s attention.

“Red, does that look… off to you?” She glanced forward. They had been following the road and had seen spurts of people come and go. Yet up ahead, there were two men stopped, arguing with a single man. They had their arms crossed and even from a distance she could see their wands. Sebastian described what he could see to Ominis as Erica turned.

Another two a distance behind them. Only this pair was sauntering up slowly behind them. “Behind us,” Sebastian swore as his eye caught them too.

“They can’t be for us.” 

“Really? Because it does seem like they are, in fact, for us.” Ominis muttered. “Considering they have blocked the way forward and back.” Erica felt a hand curl around her robe and pull her back, in between the boys. She found, to her surprise, it wasn’t Sebastian’s. “You said you could apparate?” 

“Yes, but not with two passengers, only recently passed my test,”

“That doesn’t matter,” Ominis said. “If you can go, you should. You said people shouldn’t get a hold of you.” Erica sighed, knowing that Feckless Freddie was raising an ugly head.

“Not without you two.” 

Ominis mumbled under his breath. “Erica, you said they were after you…”

“There's no way they could be,” she shook her head. “Unless the professors or the Auror’s told someone, there's no way anyone could know,” she was sure it wasn’t one of the boys, it felt like an impossible thing to be one of them. Still, the clinging hand, keeping her planted between them, stayed.

Ominis sighed.

“Still not a reason to stay, Erica. Should they find out about you, while you are here,”

“Why? You gonna tell ‘em?” she managed to put a little laughter in her voice, and hid her now shivering fingers in her cloak. She watched his face redden, but couldn’t tell if it was anger or embarrassment.

“Of course not, you dolt!” he said, shifting his head. The two behind them were getting closer, she guessed he could hear them now. 

“Then act natural, and keep going,” she lowered her voice, but didn’t pull his hand away.

“Not to be funny Red, but you're rather distinctive, if someone was looking for you, you’d stand out.” Sebastian moved, slightly in front of her as the single man gave up and turned on his heel, making the other men turn. She pulled at her red hair, tucking the longer curls under her robe as if it would help.

“Look, it's probably just some idiots trying to scare school children.” Erica said weakly. Now that both sets of men had their eyes on them her argument was failing. Ominis tilted his head again, hearing something they could not.

“Into the woods, now!” Ominis growled. Sebastian and Erica didn’t have to be told twice. She locked on to Ominis’ hand and pulled him along beside her. She felt bad when he tripped a few times, but it was better than leaving him behind, or losing track of him. Once he realised, he let his wand focus on the floor, while she pulled him out of the way of far larger objects. Erica was slow to run with him, but there was no way she was going to leave him behind.

Her fears grew as she heard the shouts from behind them, yelling at them to stop. A tug at her arm pulled her into Ominis side, her force knocking him into a tree. A yellow spell whizzed past her head close enough for her to yelp.

“Erica, go…” Ominis pleaded again, out of breath. Annoyed, she gripped his hand harder.

“Not. Without. You.” She tugged him into a run again, pulling as Sebastian in front of them curled around and returned fire, allowing them some clearance.

 She ran past him with Ominis, hearing his footsteps slam into the foliage behind her, she didn’t have to stop and check. The line of trees were starting to thin as the land ascended.

“Right!” she warned Ominis, turning after giving him a second to catch on. Sebastian shouted another spelled behind her, the smell of it burning the air. She could still hear the shouts, and the buzzing overhead. Shit. The treeline was thinning here too. Dots of colour flew above them, violets and yellows zooming across the sky ahead of them. More than the four men that had forced them into the woods.

“Shit,” she swore breathily. Her hand felt numb in Ominis’, his grip crushing hers with just as much vigour as she held his. It was too late to stop, instead they broke to the treeline, a plateau of fields ahead, but she could see a small hamlet.

“Sebastian! There!” it was remote enough that it would no doubt have a floo network. If they could reach it, school and safety would be in reach. She heard his heavy steps behind her, Ominis puffing beside her, they were going to be safe… they were going to be out…

A wall of fire cascaded in front of them and she nearly pulled Ominis to the floor trying to stop his run. He gathered his mind faster than she did, pulling his wand into a defensive position and planting his feet. Sebastian tumbled into her back at the sudden stop, but he too quickly recovered. He was breathing heavily from their run too, but he pulled his wand out, only he kept his back to Erica, facing where more of their stalkers stepped out of the flames.

“I… guess it’s time… for your… first lesson.” he rasped. She pulled out her own wand, while she had gotten used to its newness, it still felt foreign in her hand. But it had chosen her, just like she had chosen it so she gripped it and trusted it. 

“Throw me… in the deep end… huh?” She almost felt Ominis whole body move with his eyes rolling. Her own stomach rolled and clenched when he moved in front of her at the footsteps leading from the now dying flames. She should have stood like them, ready to battle, ready to cast, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Instead she wove her arm in front of Ominis, as if her arm could shield him, her wand hand shot out behind her providing what coverage she could to Sebastian. There was little her arms could do against spells and magic, but she did so anyway.

“Tell me… Sensei,” she breathed unsure if he could hear her, if his heart was beating as loudly as hers. “What’s my… first lesson?”

“Oo, Sensei? One of your special words again… you’re going to have to teach me, I like it” she could hear the grin on his voice.

“It’s Japanese, Sebastian!” Ominis grumbled in front of them, and the annoyance wavering to anger. “Plant your feet.” Ominis tilted his head. “Keep your wand ready. Always shield first. Then counter. This isn’t a duel. They won’t abide by rules.” 

“I’ll handle these guys,” Sebastian said confidently. Facing the small group stalling behind them. “Ominis?”

“I know, I’ve got her,”

“We just wanted to talk,” the bulkier of the group stepped forward. He waved his wand as he spoke then pinched either end between his hand, the essence of boredom wafting away from him. “Where’s the tall one? It’s always you two and the tall one, got scared did he?” The tall one? Gideon? He was the only one she could think of that fit the description. The mask on his face started to shine with the drizzle of rain around them. The trio said nothing, keeping their tight formation. Ominis trained his wand on the man talking.

“Not that it matters of course,” The man said, even under the mask Erica could feel his eyes fall on her. “We just want to chat.”

“Oh? I’ll order us some tea,” Erica said aloud. She needed to say something, do something, her muscles and bones ached with the tension. “Please, wait here, we’ll be right back.” The man cocked his head, but laughed, while there was a genuine surprise in it, there was also something cold and dark and malicious.

“Perhaps our… talk would be best in private, don’t you think?” Ominis shifted closer to her again, and Sebastian, cool free hand glanced against her. They were still here. Reassurance cooled her rapidly heating body,

“How inappropriate, you should at least buy me dinner first,” She faintly heard a mumble behind her, something about how he asked first, it lightened the load building in her chest. She didn’t know why she was antagonising him, she didn’t truly know why she kept talking… she just… she didn’t want the boys to know she was afraid. Seeing them now, trying so hard to protect her, she didn’t want them to know how her hands were quaking, how her knees could barely stand. They stood, calm and collected, as if this were an everyday occurrence, she wanted to be brave, just like them.

The man only smiled and shifted, turning to another in the group in front of him. Erica knew him. Or… she knew she knew him from somewhere. But for the life of her, she couldn't figure out why or where from.  He came forward standing next to the masked man. He narrowed his eyes looking the trio up and down. There was a boredom in his demeanour.

“She’s the one. Bring her. Be as rough as you need to be,”

Erica panicked and clung closer to the boys. Despite the consequences, she thought about apparateing them out, but the danger of splinching was way too severe, still she considered it.

“You don’t want to do that,” Sebastian muttered darkly. “I bet she bites,”

 “You should ask your friend in hogsmeade, the snivelling alcoholic that i could smell from Zonkos.” Ominis added.

“Friend?” Erica whispered. What?

“The hogshead isn’t as quiet as most people believe.” Ominis kept his voice stern. “I know that voice.” Still confused, she found her arm tightening around him. If Ominis knew him, then he could be in danger. She felt the muscles under her hand stiffen a little, his body shivered. In anticipation? The newer man, slimmer and with sunken cheeks, dark eyes snapped to the pale boy. He sneered, but otherwise remained uncaring.

“Kill them and take her,” Erica readied to grab them, consequences be damned, but it all happened so fast.

At his order, the goons moved.

At the goons movement Sebastian shot forward a loud booming spell.

Ominis, in front of her, deflected other spells that shot at him. While her deflections weren’t as quick or precise, she spun, deflecting the spells shot beyond Sebastian at Ominis. She planted her feet, just as Ominis had told her to do, finding herself forced back with each spell. She was still too close to him for Protego to work, the spell only made for one person, so she gave them both just enough space to be able to cast it.

Sebastian had left their side, and quickly lost himself in the battle, flinging spells this way and that, his shield flying up to knock the spell away before he quickly countered.

There was an anger in his movements, a pent up rage that echoed with every spell he shouted. Even the aggressive goons couldn’t keep up with his force. One fell, then two. If she was any less panicked, she would have been impressed. Ominis had thinned out the group on his side two, both were clearly skilled. Or this wasn’t even close to their first time fighting a small horde. 

Erica did as she was told and kept her wand raised, while giving ominis the space. He must have heard her though, when as she moved back, he would angle between her and the noise in front of him, barely took them anything at all to fight the group, and it took all she had not to stop to admire them.

The man who had ordered her capture had sprung back, past the group watching with irritation as the group he had selected fell to two (and a half) students. The thicker man in the mask was far more challenging, leading Ominis to have to use Protego multiple times before he could even counter.

Erica wasn’t quick enough to cast and counter spells, but she had his back, deflecting the spells that came from behind or out of nowhere. She turned and found that Sebastian had disappeared.

“Sebastian!” She shouted for him, looking through the flames that had been flames from the spells, turning the green background a violent orange. The rain had grown into thick clumps and even that moisture couldn’t contain the magical flames. “Ominis I can’t see him!” Ominis moved quickly, shooting out quick short bursts of red, pinning the thinker man back, giving her enough cover to dart out, closer to the flames. She looked through the violent hue before spotting the green, still battling. Sebastian looked… so different. 

A smaller masked witch was behind him. She was going to get him from behind. No! Erica thought, it was all she could think, even when she raised her hand again.

“Depulso!” She flung the spell at the witch, catching her off guard and Sebastian spun on the spot. His eyes glanced from the witch to her and Erica shivered. His eyes were dark, she could see it from where she stood, Sebastian wasn’t in them, a cruel frown marked his lips, it was like he couldn’t see her at all. It was like he wasn’t here at all.

She heard a whizz before she saw it, but Ominis’ warning was still at the front of her thoughts, now away from him, she cast Protego, and flinched as the spell hit against her shield. She flung a spell back in the same direction, but didn’t see where it had come from, only looking back through the flames, Sebastian had gone again.

She didn’t have time to shout for him again before another barrage of spells had her shielding again. She tried to plant her feet, but every spell was pushing her back, she was getting too close to the flames.

Erica wasn't sure what it was about this spell that caught her attention, there were enough spells flying through the air. 

Sebastian wasn't listening, he fought fiercely and ferociously and her shouts could no longer get to him. Ominis was caught way in front of her, trying to keep the other men and the masked man off her back, letting her try to get Sebastian to come back from his hazy delirium. But all Erica could see was one wizard. It was like time had slowed down, and she could see his intentions. She could see the way he looked at his victim, see the wand move, and glow a violent red. The name of the spell wrung through the air as he shouted it with such hatred it would have made her shiver. Crucio.

She moved without thought, letting her form curl into the air, desperate to just move. The world span and twisted, grew and shrunk and the sinking feeling of being pulled sunk into her stomach. But she could control it, she could move it, move herself, she had been taught how. She concentrated hard, putting every other thought behind her. 

Ominis, just Ominis. Not fear, not the flames. Just him. She tore into the air, apparating.

Erica had always thought her first instinct would be to lash out, to hit and kick and tear until the threat was gone. That had been her instinct before.

Instead she found herself away from the threat, her fear choosing her fate. Instead, her body twirled in the air behind Ominis. She had wanted to grab him and apparate again, but there was no time. “No!” She yanked him instead pulling him out the way and…

The red spell hit her square in the chest.

Agony. Unlike any she had ever felt. So white hot, so unforgiving her body seized. The scream that built to unload some pressure stuck in her throat. It surged up and down her body, never settling, never stopping to give any reprieve. The moment it hit her she wanted to die. She wanted it to stop. The torment so abysmal she thought it would never end, the stinging pain stabbing at her, keeping her from losing consciousness. She forgot who she was, where she was, the things she loved and hated.

The grass underneath her felt like razors and the hands that desperately ran over her were crushing cinder bricks scraping against her.

"No! Nonononono!" Ominis sheltered over her unmoving form, shielding her from the barrage of spells that whirled overhead. "Breathe," he tried to think, tried to remember what had got him through. He couldn't. He couldn't remember the pain ending. Trauma forcing him to remember every bone shattering moment, and yet nothing useful at all. Another spell whirled overhead and he yelped, pulling her closer, curling her into him. Shouts approached him, spells he could know where aimed at him, but he didn't move, protego wouldn't cover her too, so he did. Her body shuddered violently at his touch, but he had no choice.

He had heard the spell, it had reached him with earth shattering clarity over the shouting and other spells. He didn't even have time to think about what or who it hit. Just the spell, then freezing cold air, then Erica had dragged him to the ground. Her fingers had torn into him, strangled noises poured out of her. He had realised with no uncertainty that spell was meant for him, the way she had rammed into him, there was no doubt.

He wished it had hit him.

…

Sebastian knocked another down and he felt nothing. There was a time when duelling was fun. He was the best at it, and he loved watching others challenge him and fail. Gideon came close, Ominis came close, but no one else beat him at a duel.

Not even his uncle.

When he looked at the people on the floor now, he saw him. He saw him in different clothes, in the eyes under the masks. He shut his eyes to it, cut off the bubble in his chest. He chose to feel nothing.

 He had already left a handful in his wake before he even remembered where he was. His mind numb and cold, he couldn’t even respond when he heard a yell behind him, only watching the witch fly back. Someone… was there? He turned back and saw something… something blood red in the flames, but he turned again, a spell caught his attention and he turned from the blood red thing. Fight. It was all that was in him. He no longer remembered why or what for. Just to fight.

He didn’t want to. The hesitance vaguely there under the void. But every spell expanded it. Every shout was his uncles, every spell came from his wand. He fought and he fought, slammed the same man in a different body down over and over again. He knew if he stopped, if he didn’t get through it, his uncle, through whomever vessel he chose, would strike him down. Last year, he would have wanted that. Ominis had saved him… Ominis…

He was out here, somewhere he was with… Red. Blood Red. Erica. 

“Get a hold of yourself! Idiot!” a voice came through the void. A small brunette was in front of him. He didn’t know where she had come from. He didn’t know why or how. But her voice, strained with stern vitriol, sliced through the void like a knife.

Whatever darkness had sucked him in, the familiar darkness that consumed him when he fought others, was dampened. Something even Ominis could not do.

The brunette in front of him sliced at the opponents, movement s wild and manic as she spelled and pushed at the goons he hadn’t got to. 

But he knew her.

The moment he saw her pale face, furrowed thick brows and stony grimace, the darkness slinked back to wherever it hid during the day.

Anne.

“Sebastian! Get your head together!” she had said. His little gremlin of a sister was here. She was here! She was back. As she yelped, as a violet light just missed her, it felt like his head was finally screwed back onto his shoulders. Instead of nothing, anger tore through him. Never again. She wouldn’t be hurt ever again.

He returned to his fray with new vigour, with a familiar warmth sinking in between him and his wand, that had been cold and hard in his hand.

The feeling of having her by his side again. It was like a breach of sun through the overcast day, it used to be stormy and rainy. Ominis pulled him out of that, and then Red… Red? He cast his eyes back to the flames but he didn’t see her. He didn’t see her or Ominis. His feet wouldn’t move, Anne was here. He turned his attention to the last of them, and the pair quickly got through them

Before he could talk before he could grab her and hold his sister, she gripped his arm and ran towards the flames.

“Hurry!” Whatever she had seen frightened her. He followed without question

Ominis stayed over Erica. Even when he felt the slice to the back of his arm, even when the shouts promised him he’d live if he ran. He refused to move. He had known torture before, from them it was nothing, from her… he begged her to wake up.

As her body started to seize a sob bubbled out of him. She had taken it, she had taken the pain meant for him. They would have to kill him to do so again. 

He gripped tighter to his wand.

“I’m here, Erica, just breathe, I’m here.” He ducked his head closer as flames danced over them. His heart felt crushed in his chest when she whimpered at his protective touch. Behind him there were scarpering movements, grunts and more fire. A scuffle sounded around him, and the pair of feet closest to him had won. The other sets must have apparated or something. He only heard the two pairs

No.

The fast pace steps came for him again, no, they wouldn't hurt her.

"Stay back," he shot out his wand, sending out a flurry of red. A voice he knew, one he held dear, shielded themselves from his spells, but for the life of him he couldn't remember who it was. He cursed at his eyes, that couldn't see her, couldn't look over her and find what hurt the most, soothe what hurt the most.

"Ominis! Stop!" A voice again, a female voice, another he knew, but just couldn't think to recognise. The desperation and fire was just enough to bring him back to his senses.

Sebastian. It was Sebastian… and Anne.

But Sebastian had cast that spell before too. It wasn't him. He knew it wasn't him that cast it at Erica. Yet his voice swirled among all the others that now screamed at him. He had heard the spell so many times, felt it ...cast it. He had cast it. 

This was his fault. This was penance for what he had done.

He had cast the spell on someone to spare himself in the past, and now Erica was paying for it.

Beyond him silence had finally fallen. But ominis didn't care. They could be dead for all he cared. All he could do was hold her as she shook in his arms.

Erica could hear every cry he made. The darkness, the need to fade into the pain, refused to come. Her scream still stuck, now clenched her tight.

"Breathe," Ominis repeated, high pitched and forceful. "Breathe, Erica. Breathe through the pain," She tried. Beyond the terror and pain, she felt the build up in the chest but it refused to let her go. He was here. The feeling of him in her mind, muddied with every razor cut against every atom of her being, forced its way through. Something warm, gripped her hand. It shot electricity up her arm, but she didn't care. Another wave passed over, but in the seconds of white hot pain, so unbearable it reached the point beyond pain, she felt him there. Felt his words.

He wasn't hurt. She remembered now. She was Erica, and she had stopped him from being hurt. In that second, she forced the breath out, it came out as a whimpering moan, but the one breath was all she needed, as the others followed it. The next wave didn't reach the pinnacle of unbearable, it didn't stop her breaths, and it invited the darkness forward. it was slow to cover her body, the ebbs and eaves fought it. But finally, finally, the pain eased into darkness and Erica fell into unconsciousness.

— - - - - - -

thanks for reading guys sorry it took so long, totally addicted to the chat ai lol but i got some ideas coming up that may be worth it

thanks for reading and please forgive any mistakes heres the rest of it the story if you want to read it

Time will tell. (39169 words) by Vyvyanrose Chapters: 6/? Fandom: Hogwarts Legacy (Video Game) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Sebastian Sallow/Original Female Character(s), Ominis gaunt / original female charcter, Sebasatian sallow/MC, Ominis Gaunt/MC Characters: Sebastian Sallow, Ominis Gaunt, Garreth Weasley, Natsai Onai, Poppy Sweeting, Amit Thakkar, Matilda Weasley, Leander Prewett, Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: 18+, Time Travel, Hogwarts Legacy - Freeform, Choose Your Own Ending, Swearing, Romance, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Sebastian Sallow, Jealous Sebastian Sallow, Very protective Garreth Weasley, Non-Canon Family Tree Summary: Erica Weasley wasn’t dead. A rogue spell has sent Erica Weasley back into time to the year 1891 and now must face life a a modern woman in a not so modern time. Trying to settle with the help of two Slytherin boys and her ancestor she finds like life isn’t so bad. However something else lurks in the shadow of Hogwarts and Erica feels like the prime target, a chance to make the future theirs.

[winterbrrrd]

The Drugs

Our first kiss was by the Indian Ocean with the shisha boy

Who lit the coals of my first hookah

In the same way he would light the green in my first pipe.

I don’t remember a thing about what it looked like,

How good the grass was,

Only the sight of the ocean stretched out before us,

The infinite darkness and the way he would bring me back to the dance floor

And give me my first French kiss, too,

And I would return to my dorm room

And lift my wrap skirt over my head

And eat an entire bag of thin red lollipops.

The shisha boy followed me to Stone Town but I was forbidden from going out with him

On account of the brief kidnapping in Dar Es Salaam.

The weed started as a distraction

From the pain and humiliation of

Being that dumb white girl who

Goes to Africa and gets

Kidnapped because it’s

What she deserves.

They held a meeting about me.

Everyone in the group with me in the middle and they made me confess my sin,

The sin of having trusted

The wrong person

And having wound up in a fake cop car surrounded by four large men demanding all my money

Or else.

And the sin of having rolled out of the slowly moving car and being rejected by the first woman my sobbing self reached out to hug.

It was my first time experiencing death.

It was one week before I would experience addiction.

Weed made me manic,

Non-organically.

I smoked it in the rafters of the barn,

Laughing hysterically as Rosie drank vodka out the little plastic bags they came in,

Blabbing about Horse Face and how she fucked him in the ocean.

Drink would come soon, too,

First in the hotel adjacent to Heathrow -

Two Vodka Smirnoffs -

Then on the plane back to Chicago -

Four vodka crans,

Drunk enough to leaf through the albums on the back of the seat in front of me,

Stumbling on something called “Lady Gaga”

And dancing in my seat hard enough to draw stares.

Weed was blurry.

It first made me psychotic when my brother was a missing person.

I would sit under my lofted bed with Ry and cry eyeliner tears to screamo

Or sit under my lofted bed with Ethan and combine words to make new, non-sensical ones.

Or I would smoke and the pain of living would lift out of my body like a specter, to the point that I felt nothing when

I dragged the safety pin across my arms,

Deep enough to draw blood that would bubble like the seeds of a raspberry and

Drip down the dorm shower drains with the rest of the filth of me.

Psychosis came soon.

It came with Evan,

This delusional love I had for him

That persisted into the grassy patch behind the dormitory,

The moon to my right,

His room to my left

And I cried because I didn’t know why I needed him,

This beyond-heathen,

This demon.

In psychosis, I subsumed the darkness to the extent that I became it,

believed it.

I let it overtake my being, all rationality, all sympathy I once possessed for others.

And the weed was always there guiding me

Deeper into the mineshaft,

To the places they warn you not to go

With old booby traps and withered bones.

The weed charges $15 for a one hour tour into the abyss and,

Clearing its throat,

It begins:

It could get a little darker,

Don’t you think?

I was delusional in my love for Evan,

The way I allowed it to consume me as earth does heaven.

The way I confessed my love

And he shrugged it off

And I got so drunk, I puked red wine in the dorm toilets

And screamed at my bewildered friends:

IFUCKINGHATEMYSELFANDWANTTHISTOEND

I could go through the list,

Tell you every psychotic moment,

Like the time I accused Jenny’s boyfriend of leaving drug paraphernalia in my sink

And even reached out to her sister

To say I thought he was dangerous.

What I didn’t realize then,

And never got to tell Jenny because now she’s dead,

Is that the paraphernalia turned out to be my own.

Or I could tell you about the time I smoked weed through a public breakdown and turned thousands against me,

Sparking wellness checks and

CPS calls and

An eventual failed suicide attempt at seven months pregnant

But I don’t think you would understand

The gravity of that kind of disconnection,

When you’re convinced everyone has it out for you,

That you’re a literal warrior surviving on an isolated planet

And there’s nothing anyone can say to reach you.

And the stories get worse and more complicated and humiliating and so I’ll stop there,

But the point is that

I can come up with a handful of splits from reality that weren’t related to substances

But I can come up with a whole lot more that were.

I’m slightly suspicious when I’m sober.

When I’m high,

I’m convinced.

And my mind goes to terrible places

Of unending suffering and nihilism and fear,

So much fear

That I turn it on its head

And become what I’m afraid of.

And I don’t want to be that person.

I want to feel a full range of emotions,

Not just stupid and flat.

I want to feel like I can be trusted not to

Flip like the switch my child turns on, standing atop little boxes from the trash.

I want to be the person who feels love and not just death,

Not just emptiness,

Not just falling asleep to stock images of washed up corpses.

Weed not only awakens my demons -

It frees them.

I’ve been consuming this laundry list of substances since April and I am tired.

I had the sex.

Too much of it.

I had the stupid early 20s-somethings times at the bar with the flirting and the jokes you can’t remember five minutes later and the humiliating Ludacris karaoke in the little purple dress that shows off your love handles in all their glory.

I had the rapes.

I had the scary intoxicated car rides.

I had the dizziness and the sweating and the shaking from combining a prior night of drinking with too much adderall and a weed edible.

I had the cheating man who shared my name.

I had the night of convincing a 40-something to leave his wife.

I had it and I had more than I knew what to do with and now I must reckon with all of it.

Stare at it.

Hold it and then

Release.

I have lived in the extremes since youth

And I don’t need intoxicants to amplify what already exists within me.

Numbness begets chaos

Because you don’t give a shit what’s happening around you.

Just existing,

Not participating in your own life,

Means people can stretch and mold you like slime made of glue.

Sober me is just me. It’s just me without a megaphone. Me without living in double speed. Me who likes to sit for hours and read non-fiction about the funeral home industry. Me who wanders through the woods, learning to see the trees through photography. Me who spends hours researching abandoned buildings to explore. Me who plans the weirdest roadtrips. Me who drinks tea (??) Me who reads tarot. Me who has friends and doesn’t push them away by being erratic and unstable and careless with my words.

And that’s what I want to say to you.

You are me and I am you

But I am I

And you are you

And I can’t choose your adventure for you.

But I choose light.

I choose to acknowledge that I might not be an addict,

But I am certainly not benefiting from the chaos or the extreme impact on my mental health,

And so sobriety is simply safer for me.

And I think the word addict feels so wrong to you,

Partially because you haven’t seen the full extent of me,

But mostly because you are afraid of admitting what you know about yourself:

That I am you and you are me

And you are using weed to distance yourself from

An unsustainable reality

In the same way a homeless man drinks beer from a brown bag as he wanders the streets.

And the drugs get more intense depending on the intensity of the circumstance

And how hard you have to try to forget.

But that doesn’t mean you’re not an addict.

It just means you have a cop out against admitting it

Because someone is always worse off,

Right?

Is that any reason to settle for mediocrity?

Or does fear have a gun to your head,

A chain to your bed…

This was meant to be a poem for no one but I think it’s only for you.

Because I want you to know why I’m certain

And I want you to be certain, too.

If not about me,

Then at least about you.

Do you want to live in an abandoned house forever,

With molding walls and raccoon poo and nails that reach four inches into your feet?

You could demolish and rebuild,

Sure.

Anyone can build a pine box piece of shit.

But this old home has potential.

You could grab your hammer,

Strap on your kneepads,

Lean the ladder on the roof,

And put in the work it takes

To restore.

[black-n-white-wings]

Many of the takes on that I read on my little Jiang Cheng fan corner of tumblr kind of agreed with you on that one. Wen Ning was in favour of Jiang Cheng knowing from the start, he didn't like the secrets and the lies and rightfully so, for several reasons. Jiang Cheng deserved to know what had been done to him as it was a very invasive, life-changing procedure. Wei Wuxian did it out of love and concern and a feeling of unhinged despair at seeing someone he cherished so crushed (plus the fact the Jiang kind of told him as last wishes to care for their children, that was out of line, he was a child, blah blah it has been discussed way deeper by better articulated people than me, I won't dwell on it) and it fundamentally changed him as well. Wen Qing deserved to be recognised for the FEAT that this procedure was, a procedure never done before and only a theory and yet successful enough that both her patients survived although one of them very fucked up afterwards. Jiang Cheng's anger at his brother and his blaming him for Yanli's death is a coping mechanism because he needs a reason to be angry, as bad as it is. We know that, and several times we know that he himself is fighting to keep this image of evil Wei Wuxian to cope, to stay angry because he doesn't know what else to do. And the waking call is important, it's the second life, second chances, the opportunity for everyone to do better and start to heal from the war that destroyed those children! Hé needs to let go, to understand that Wei Wuxian's actions AND his mistakes and his batshit crazy decisions were the result of him caring so much about people and about him and about their sect and about the people that saved their lives. Wei Wuxian couldn't choose who deserved to be saved, he tried and failed and died but it always was out of love.

For me, the out-of-line part is rather the phrasing, actually. In both the novel and the live-action, Wen Ning not only reveals the truth but does so very cruelly, and uses Jiang Cheng's insecurities as weapons to crush him further while he's already very distressed. And in the novel, Jiang Cheng is not even the one that starts the physical altercations. So the guy who is already wounded from the second siege of the burial mounds takes a talisman and two grown ass people in the face, gets upset but still doesn't attack to hurt or wound, and then the fierce corpse of the Sect that genocided his entire clan and tortured him in his own home jumps in, emotionally eviscerates him and skedaddles out of here with the two men that caused his blood pressure to rise.

I think it is Wen Ning's resentment displayed in full for us at that moment. The boy is angry but we rarely see him lash out, be angry. And he's Jiang Cheng's foil. He's also made by Wei Wuxian out of love and a sense of duty for Wen Ning's family and he fundamentally changes him without his consent. Wen Ning is never angry at Wei Wuxian for that, and still he could understand Jiang Cheng. But Wen Ning refuses to be angry at Wei Wuxian, to think about what he's done to him. So despite him being maybe the only one able to truly understand why Jiang Cheng is having a mental breakdown when he tells him the truth, he still adds that bit about being inferior and undeserving: elements Jiang Cheng has believed and clearly still believes about himself from his parents' abuse. That's for me the part that is out of line.

Sorry for the long post!

I don’t think Wen Ning told Jiang Cheng about the golden core because he wanted him to know he owed Wei Ying or any of the sort. Like a lot of people seem to think that and therefore conclude Wen Ning was out of line. But it’s more likely that he did it to give Jiang Cheng the wake up call he needed. Because he has lived for 13 years in denial of the truth in that Jiang Yan Li’s death was not Wei Yings fault and he himself had a hand in his brothers demise. It was meant to be a reminder to him of who Wei Ying actually is and the made version he has in his head is a perception that has been warped by his anger and grief. It’s meant to be a reminder of how much Wei Ying loved him. Jiang Chengs anger is understandable but it doesn’t justify him treating Wei Ying the way he did and putting all the blame on him without ever trying to comprehend the choices his brother made and why he made them.

[buckybarnesowl]

Love in Four Acts

Pairing: fatws!Bucky x nurse!reader (featuring matchmaker!Alpine)

Word count: 7.5k

Summary: You’re a nurse living in Brooklyn. You’ve got a crush on your next door neighbour who doesn’t seem to know you exist. One day his cat finds its way into your apartment, forcing you both to finally meet. That’s when you learn that he’s James Buchanan Barnes, ex-Winter Soldier. Well, there goes your chances. Or maybe getting close to a superhero isn’t as far-fetched as it sounds.

Warnings: some mentions of Bucky dealing with past trauma and lack of confidence; Bucky has a brief emotional breakdown; minimal use of y/n; some sweetheart, but no “doll”

A/n: This is my extremely late entry for @pellucid-constellations love letter writing challenge. This idea had been stuck in my head for a while and the challenge gave me the push I needed to flesh it out so thank you, Kathie, for the inspiration! And I incorporated these two prompts:

“And I’ve never felt like that before, but something about you makes me want to feel like that.” “Is it fair to say that you read the love letter and that this means ‘yes’?”

PS: I made Dr. Raynor a good therapist because that’s what our boy deserves. Also Bucky and Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle are basically the same character and no one can tell me otherwise. There are some major references to that movie so if you haven’t seen it, my apologies.

Act I

Lose a chatty white cat? Come knock on 3B. -Y/n

You pinned the note to the cork board next to the mailboxes and made your way back up to your apartment on the third floor.

You lived in an old three story walk-up. The kind with faded brick on the outside, no elevator, creaky wood floors, and never enough electrical outlets. The pipes shuddered in the walls at random times and sometimes the lights flickered. It was home and you loved it. The rent was cheap and everyone in the building was friendly enough.

Except for your next door neighbour.

Your shy, enigma of a neighbour who looked like a modern day Greek god. That chiselled jawline, his messy-on-top-short-on-the-sides brown hair, those black t-shirts and jeans he always wore that hugged him in all the right spots. It was enough to make heart beat pick up every time you passed each other in hallway.

You tried friendly hello’s and hi’s when he first moved in, which were always met with, well, nothing. He completely ignored all of your attempts at neighbourly interactions, averting his blue eyes to the ground whenever you greeted him. So you resigned to a simple smile anytime you crossed paths, in case he finally came out of his shell.

The old adage of you always want what you can’t have definitely held up. Your crush on your neighbour only intensified as the months went on.

There was something familiar about him, and he didn’t make you feel threatened the way most jacked up men would. Maybe it was his quiet demeanour, always trying to take up as little space as possible. Whatever it was, something in the way he carried himself made you feel safe knowing that you two shared a wall. New York had all sorts of strange people. It was comforting to know you had a strong neighbour next door in case something ever happened.

Not that you needed protection. You’d grown a thick skin over the past five years—working as a nurse in the emergency department at the Brooklyn Hospital Centre meant you dealt with some challenging situations. You loved your job, but you had definitely learned to think quick on your feet, becoming a master at diffusing a situation. Though it was your compassion and empathy that made you one of the top nurses on the floor and was why you put up with the shift work—you really just loved helping others.

“So who do you belong to, huh?” you asked the white ball of fur that was purring next to you on your couch. It let out a string of chirped meows in response as it pranced back and forth, nudging its head under your hand for more pets.

The feline had jumped in from the fire escape when you opened your window after getting back from your evening shift. The air was starting to warm up as winter finally retracted its icy grip over the city. You had felt the breath of spring in the air as you walked home from the train and wanted to let some fresh air in. As you pushed the heavy guillotine-style window up, the white cat bounded into your living room like a lightning bolt, nearly giving you a heart attack. You had stuck your head out of the window to see if any of your neighbours were out, but your search came up empty. You shut the window so the cat couldn’t escape, scribbled the quick note and ran down the stairs to post it. Your new visitor was perched on your couch when you came back a few minutes later, its tail lazily twitching back and forth, having wasted no time in making itself at home.

“Well whoever they are, I bet they miss you. You sure are sweet,” you continued, answered by another string of choppy meows.

A knock on the door interrupted your dialogue, and you scooped up the cat without even thinking whether or not it would be ok with being handled that way. Sure enough, the cat snuggled into the crook of your elbow, nuzzling its head under your chin. This was the most affectionate cat you had ever met.

You suffered your second close call with a heart attack that night as you opened your door. There stood your silent, moody, painfully attractive neighbour. He was wearing a leather jacket and black leather gloves on his hands, one of which was rubbing the back of his neck as he grimaced awkwardly at you.

“Hiya, neighbour,” you said as cooly as possible, desperately trying to ignore the pounding of your heart.

“Uh, sorry to bother you so late... but I read your note.”

“This sweet love muffin is yours I presume?” you asked, nudging your chin into the cat’s fur one last time before having to give it back.

Your crush chuckled at the nickname you’d already given his pet. “I’m not sure sweet is the right word to describe him. Though he sure seems to have taken a liking to you.”

“You mean he’s not like this all the time?”

“Uh, no. He barely lets me pick him up. You did get the chatty part right though. It's kinda nice to have around actually… I mean, uh…”

You watched as his icy blue eyes darkened and looked down at his hands he was now wringing together nervously. He’s lonely, you thought to yourself. Your heart clenched tighter for him.

“Well, I’m sure he’s going to be happy to be back home with you, won’t you…” you trailed off, realising you didn’t know what to call the cat. Or his owner for that matter.

Start with the easy one, Y/n, you told yourself. “What’s his name?”

“Alpine,” your neighbour replied softly, a half smile returning to his lips as he brought his gaze back up towards you. The cat mewled at the sound of his name, causing you both to laugh.

“Well, Alpine,” another meow, “it’s time to go back home with your dad.” You lifted the cat off your chest and handed him, with a bit of reluctance, back to your neighbour. You found a morsel of courage and added, “if you ever need a cat sitter, I’d be happy to. He’s a real sweetheart.”

“Thanks a lot. That’s uh, real kind of you,” he responded, a faint blush surfacing on his cheeks.

“Well, I guess I’ll let you two get reunited. I’m Y/n, by the way.”

“Right,” he hesitated a moment, as if trying to decide if he should tell you his name. “I’m Bucky.”

“Well, Bucky, it was nice to finally meet you. Remember, if you ever need someone to watch him, or anything really, just knock.”

“Will do. G’night then.”

“‘Night, neighbour.”

You closed the door, your cheeks on fire as you let out a groan. “‘Night, neighbour,” you repeated mockingly. Could you have laid it on any thicker? And how could someone that hot be that awkward? It was adorable and only strengthened your crush.

Well, at least I know his name now, you thought. “Bucky.” It had a familiar ring to it, but you couldn’t place why.

As you lay in bed that night, your mind replaying the interaction over and over, you finally gave in and grabbed your phone. As soon as you clicked “go” after typing “Bucky” into the search field, your heart nearly stopped for the third time.

“No fucking way,” you exclaimed out loud.

Your neighbour was James Buchanan Barnes. Brainwashed ex-assassin turned Avenger. You were crushing on a literal superhero.

“Well, there goes that,” you sighed, turning over to finally try and get some sleep. At least you knew there was no chance anymore. Still, maybe you’d get lucky and at least dream about him. At this point, you’d take what you could get. You closed your eyes, smiling at the possibility as you drifted off.

-----ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ-----

Act II

[Three weeks later]

“Shit,” Bucky muttered under his breath as he darted around his sparsely furnished apartment in search of his keys.

“I bet you did this on purpose, didn’t you,” he glared at Alpine.

The cat let out a single blunt chirp as he jumped onto the back of the couch to watch his owner fret over his belongings.

Bucky couldn’t afford to miss his appointment with Dr. Raynor. That was the whole basis of the pardon: state mandated therapy for a minimum of one year in exchange for exoneration from the crimes he the Winter Soldier committed.

“Ah ha!” he exclaimed, startling Alpine off the couch as he retrieved the set of keys from one of his shoes by the door. Must have fallen off the hook, he thought. The cat began circling through his legs while meowing at him, his routine every time Bucky prepared to leave.

Bucky picked up the cat and booped its small pink nose with the tip of his own. “I’ll be back soon, buddy. Don’t tear the place up while I’m out.”

The cat meowed low, as if offended at the thought, shaking himself out as soon as Bucky placed him back down on the floor.

When Bucky thinks back on what happened next, he can’t help but chuckle at the thought of his cat being this cunning. Normally Alpine would sit at the door as Bucky left. It was his send off routine that the cat never broke. Except for today. On this particular day, Alpine bolted through Bucky’s legs and into the hallway before the supersoldier knew what had happened.

“Dammit!” he yelled without thinking.

The curse caused you to turn around, your door still open as you were just getting home from an overnight shift. This gave Alpine enough time to brush past your legs and take immediate residence under your couch.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Bucky groaned under his breath.

“I think your cat might have a crush on me,” you said, any nervousness that normally bubbled up whenever you saw Bucky was currently being dulled by your fatigue from a 12-hour shift.

“I think you’re right,” Bucky chuckled. Him and me both, he admitted internally as he felt his cheeks heat up at the intrusive thought. Clearing his throat, he quickly found his words again. “I’m sorry to do this… you look like you’re just getting back from work… but, uh, would you mind watching him for just a few hours? I have an appointment that I really can’t miss.”

Bucky’s worry at the ask melted when he felt the warmth of your smile. “Of course! It usually takes me a few hours to wind down from a shift anyways, so it’s no trouble at all.”

“You’re a lifesaver. I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

“Don’t sweat it. That’s what neighbours are for, right?”

Bucky felt his heart rate increase as he saw the sincerity in your eyes match the tone of your voice. How could someone this beautiful be this sweet? He felt his crush intensify with every interaction you both had, and it was almost becoming unbearable. Almost.

“Right. Well, thanks again. I’ll be back around 11. Is that okay?”

“Yup, no problem. Go on, or you’ll be late.”

“Thanks, neighbour”

“Anytime,” you said softly with your ever-present smile, making Bucky’s stomach flutter.

He nodded and turned away, before you could see how red his cheeks could go. "Thanks, neighbour"... Jesus Christ, Barnes, get it together and stop being a creep.

***

“I can sense the apprehension about asking your neighbour out. But I’m still not following how it would make you a creep. Can you try and explain that part for me?”

Bucky sighed as he looked up at the ceiling, then out the window. Dr. Raynor always forced him to articulate his thoughts in more detail than he felt comfortable with, or even capable of.

He loathed it.

And he also recognized that it was the part about this whole therapy thing that was helping him the most. Separating fears from reality. Getting at the root of his emotions, rather than burying them.

“It’s just…” he trailed off with another sigh, before forcing himself to push through the discomfort. “They're not dumb. I’m sure they know who I am. What I’ve done… there’s just no way they'd want to be with someone like me.” Bucky looked at his gloved hands pressed into his thighs. That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? He could never be good enough for someone like you.

“So what I’m hearing is that because of the actions you were brainwashed into carrying out, actions that you yourself would never do, you believe you could never be good enough for this neighbour who—from what you’ve shared with me—seems to like you quite a bit. Is that right?”

“I don’t know about that last part, but, yeah, I guess that’s it,” Bucky resigned quietly, finally making eye contact with Dr. Raynor again.

“I’m really sorry you feel that way, James. I bet it feels quite lonely to think that you don’t deserve to be liked or cared about by anyone.”

Bucky felt his eyes steam. It happened sometimes when Dr. Raynor touched on a hard truth. He wasn’t there yet, though. Letting himself cry. A few drops had seeped through the cracks, but the dam he had built since getting himself back was holding steady for now.

He sniffed before responding, urging the lump in his throat to retreat.

“I just… how could someone feel safe with me? Accept me… knowing all of that?”

“Well, like we’ve talked about in other sessions, that wasn’t you. I know it’s hard for you to accept and I understand why. But it's important I keep reiterating it. Why don’t we try looking at it from a new angle and see if this helps?”

Bucky nodded. As if I've got a choice.

“Great. Now imagine someone who’s been oppressed by their government and has had all of their freedoms taken away, including providing for their family. If they steal a loaf of bread to feed their starving children, do they deserve to go to jail?”

Bucky doesn’t even need to think about it. “No.”

“And if a child is held at gunpoint and told to shoot his pet dog or else his family would be killed, is he an animal killer?”

“Absolutely not.”

“So do you see that everything isn’t black or white? That in certain circumstances, under pressure, even when we know right from wrong, the lines are blurred?”

Bucky nodded.

“So can you then see how those lines are blurred even more when someone is brainwashed and trained to go against their conscience? When someone has their free will stripped from them?”

Bucky was silent for a long moment. He was conscious of the memories playing in the background of his mind as he processed what Dr. Raynor was asking him. Memories of missions as the Winter Soldier. But there was a new process happening that surprised him. It was faint at first, but he started seeing the person in the memories not as himself, but as someone else. Like a character in a brutal horror film. He was still affected by it, but when he looked at the emotions that were coming up, the guilt he normally felt was being overpowered by empathy for the killer.

“I can see what I said affected you. What’s happening for you right now? Where did you just go?”

“I, uh—” Bucky cleared his throat, willing his eyes to stay dry. “I can see it. I can see how I... he... had no choice. He was forced. I can see it.” Bucky felt his voice tremble and he closed his eyes, breathing deep through the epiphany he’d just had.

“This is huge, James. I’m really happy to hear that. I want you to try and remember those anecdotes whenever feelings of guilt or shame arise over what the Winter Soldier was tortured into doing. I know it won’t be easy, and some days it won’t work. But I’d like you to try. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Bucky responded, opening his eyes and feeling lighter all of a sudden.

“Good. Well, that’s time for today. Good luck picking up your cat—though something tells me you won’t need it,” Dr. Raynor offered with a smile.

“Thanks, doc. For everything.”

“You’re very welcome, James. See you next week.”

***

For the first time since starting his sessions with Dr. Raynor, Bucky left her office with a smile on his face. He stopped at the florist stand he always walked past on his way home and bought a bouquet of daisies.

He practically ran up the three stories to your shared floor. His palms started sweating under his gloves the instant he knocked on your door.

A yawn escaped your mouth as you opened up. “Oh my gosh, hi. I’m so sorry. Oh wow, those are pretty. Got a big date lined up after this?”

Bucky chuckled, his nerves suddenly melting at your frantic style of talking and frank teasing. “Nah, I’ve just got this sweet neighbour who watched my cat for me and I wanted to thank them.”

Bucky noticed the grin creep across your face as you averted your gaze for an instant before reaching your hand out.

“Well c’mon in then. Let me get those in water. Al and I had just started Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind. You’re free to join us if you like.”

Bucky closed the door behind him and instinctively took off his shoes. He didn’t know what you were talking about, but he wasn’t about to turn down your invitation.

“What’s that?”

“Uhhh, Miyazaki? Hayao Miyazaki? Studio Ghibli? Anime?” You kept broadening your reference, looking increasingly more shocked when he didn’t recognize anything you were saying.

“Sorry, I lost a lot of time between now and the 40s. Not caught up on everything yet.” Bucky stopped himself suddenly. It was the first time he’d mentioned his past to anyone outside of Sam and Dr. Raynor.

“Right, oh my gosh that was so insensitive. I’m so sorry.”

Relief flooded through his veins. Dr. Raynor was right. You obviously knew who he was and clearly didn’t mind, seeing as how you'd just invited him into your apartment. In fact, you seemed almost, well, happy about it. “‘S’alright. Why don’t you enlighten me on this Miya… Miya… whatever it is.”

Bucky sat at your kitchen island as you explained your love for a specific type of animated film from a Japanese director, all while you arranged your daisies in a simple mason jar. He could get used to watching your eyes light up as you shared your passions with him.

“Ugh, I’m babbling,” you said suddenly, breaking his fixation.

“Not at all. I asked. Besides, I love hearing about this type of stuff. You don’t read about all these subcultures in the history briefings they gave me.”

“Yeah I bet. Well, we were more or less at the beginning. Wanna see what it’s all about?”

“Sure,” Bucky accepted. His cheeks were already hurting from smiling.

“Great. You drink tea? It’s mint. I made a pot already.”

“Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.”

“Gosh, I wish people still had those 1940s manners. Go make yourself comfortable on the couch.”

Bucky blushed at the complement as he sat beside Alpine, who was curled up and purring. “My ma raised me to always be polite.”

“Well, she did a good job,” you said, filling up a mug and handing it to him. “Ready?” you asked.

Bucky leaned back into your couch. It was a lot more comfortable than his own. “Ready.”

You pressed play and Bucky settled in for what would be the most incredible film experience he’d had in his life. He didn’t know animation could look like that. He vaguely remembered seeing a cartoon rabbit, but that was in black and white. He’d never seen anything like this. He was so enthralled that he didn’t notice you had fallen asleep until the end credits began to roll. All at once Bucky remembered you had just come back from work that morning. Nice going, Barnes, he thought guiltily.

You were stretched out on the chaise part of your l-couch, so he covered you with the blanket that was draped over the back of the sofa. You stirred slightly, rolling onto your side, but you were out cold. He scribbled a message in his notebook, quietly tearing it out and then folding it in half. He left it next to the teapot before scooping up Alpine, then did the same with his shoes before he snuck out of your apartment. He paused, realising he had no way to lock the door behind him. He’d stay in today and keep an ear on your door to make sure no one entered.

***

When you woke for your shift that evening, your eyes immediately fell on the note.

Thanks for watching Alpine. And for the culture lesson. I’d like to learn more if you’re open to teaching. -Bucky

-----ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ-----

Act III

[Two months later]

“I’m so excited for this one. It’s my go-to comfort film when I’m sick or feeling down. I mean, sure, it might not be the best one, but… I dunno, there’s just something about the story that I love. And we're watching it without subtitles this time because the voiceovers are THAT good.”

“Oh wow, isn’t that sacrilege?” You knew he was teasing you. Bucky’s lips always turned up on one side and he scrunched his nose making the corners of his eyes crinkle when he was teasing you.

“Nuh-uh, not for Howl’s Moving Castle. The voices are just so right for this one.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Somewhere during the past few months the term of endearment had slipped out of Bucky’s mouth. You didn’t object and he kept on saying it. The way the nickname made your stomach perform backflips was almost unbearable. Almost.

Right from the beginning, the opening scenery of the castle moving through the fog had you swooning, as per usual. You leaned into Bucky’s shoulder and he immediately tucked you into his side.

That was also a new development you’d made together sometime during your previous movie night. The film on that night had been Spirited Away—you were taking Bucky through all the Miyazaki films in chronological order. The scene where Haku takes Chihiro to see her parents in the pigpen always got to you and you leaned into Bucky for comfort out of sheer instinct. He wrapped an arm around you, and you both stayed like that for the rest of the film.

Assuming the same position on this night, you exhaled, immediately relieved that he seemed open to it. You had agonised over the last movie night, worried that levelling up on the intimacy with Bucky had just been a one-off. Or that you’d scared him away by being too clingy? Affectionate? Too you? Well, all of those anxieties melted away as you felt his muscular hold around you tighten. Being that close, smelling him. It had you reeling like a hormone-filled teenager. I could get used to this, you thought as you relaxed into his warmth and settled your eyes back on the film.

About half way through through, something suddenly clicked in your mind. You’d never thought about it until now, but there were striking similarities between the lives of Bucky and Howl. Both were used as tools for political reasons that went against their values. Both seemed to believe they were monsters and struggled at accepting affection.

Not that Bucky had shared that with you in so many words. But through bits and pieces, you could easily glean he still felt shame about his past. You tried to show him that none of that mattered to you. You didn’t want him to think you pitied him either, but boy, did your heart hurt when you thought about everything he went through. All the history you had read. He had his life stolen from him, was tortured, and then plunked back into a completely different world. Twice, if you counted the blip. How was he still here, still fighting, still trying, and all with that wry sense of humour? You’d never fully understand, but you were grateful for it.

“How’re you liking it so far?” you asked softly, pausing the movie and pulling out from under Bucky’s arm. You wanted to check in without seeming like you were mother henning him.

“It’s really sweet. And the scenery is beautiful. I can see why you like this one the best.”

“Want a refill on your tea? Or I can get you a snack? Are you cold? I have more blankets—”

“Hey, what’s going on? You seem nervous.” He shifted his position so that you were facing each other.

You sighed seeing the concern ripple across his forehead, the thought hitting you like a ton of bricks: right, he’s a supersoldier, you can’t get anything past him.

“It’s just…”

“You can say it, sweetheart. I won’t be upset,” he assured as he took your hand. You were suddenly aware of the lack of gloves. Well that’s new. You stopped your brain from going down that corridor and refocused.

“It’s just, the rest of the movie gets a bit dark. And I forgot how much it surrounds the war and how Howl is forced to fight in a way that makes him feel like a monster and I—”

A gentle smile slowly bloomed on Bucky’s face. “You’re worried about me?”

Your cheeks warmed at the question. “Yeah,” you admitted.

“C’mere,” he whispered, opening his arm back up to you. “I promise if it’s too much I’ll tell you, ‘kay?”

“‘Kay,” you whispered back, resuming your previous position against his torso. Though this time, your hands were clasped. You felt him press his lips into the top of your head before he leaned his chin there. The backflips your stomach had done at the beginning started all over again, and you pressed play on the movie before you melted.

***

You were worried about him. You were worried about him. Bucky didn’t know what he was doing with you. It wasn’t like in the forties. Not by a long shot. Besides, those days of courting and going out dancing now floated around his brain like something he’d seen in a dream once but couldn’t decipher how any of it worked.

All he knew was he’d decided at the last second to not wear his gloves this time and when he took your hand with both of his, you didn’t flinch so he had to be doing something right.

Bucky didn’t let go of your hand the whole movie, except during one of the war scenes when his grip tightened enough that you had to gently ask him to loosen it. His stomach dropped at the thought that he had hurt you, but you assured him you were fine, wiggling your fingers in front of him as proof. With reluctance, he took your word for it. Though his guilt faded when you interlocked your fingers with his once more and leaned back into his chest and you started the film again.

You had been right. Something about the movie did finally get to him. Maybe it was how convinced Howl was that he would become the monster he hated. Maybe it was the fear that Sophie wouldn’t love him as he truly was. All he knew was that when Sophie told Howl to come find her in the future, disproving every worry Howl had, Bucky finally felt the dam crack. He tried to even his breathing. Tried to focus on something else. Anything else. Nothing stopped the constant steady stream of tears that began flowing down his cheeks. By the time the credits began to roll, Bucky couldn’t stop his body from shuddering with each stifled sob.

“Oh, James,” you consoled in a hushed voice, pulling him into a hug. The instant your arms were around him the entire structure snapped. The dam had broken completely and it all came rushing out. The guilt for every single person he’d killed. The grief for what he had been forced to do. The anger at HYDRA for taking away his choices and stealing his memories. The agony of losing his life. His family. Steve.

All of it gushed out of him in choked, heaving sobs, melting into a blubbering mess they way Howl melted when his hair colour potion was accidentally ruined.

The only tether to the present came from the comforting circles Bucky felt you rubbing between his shoulder blades. And your voice, offering him sweet assurances that helped ground him through the first real emotional release he had had in, well, maybe ever.

“You’re safe here. I've got you. Let it all out.”

Bucky was so grateful that you didn’t release your hold until his breathing evened out to the occasional hiccup. He was sure if you had let go even a minute sooner, he might have been carried off in the flood of his own tears, pulled under the waves, never to surface again.

When you told him you were just going to get him some tissues and a glass of water, he felt himself nod as he wiped his face with his sleeve.

Bucky gratefully accepted the tissues first before the water when you returned. He suddenly became acutely aware of the episode he’d just had in your living room and was mortified.

“Ugh, thanks,” he replied sheepishly before turning away to blow his nose. Then he took the water, downing it in one go, desperately trying to calculate the best route out of this before you could reject him. It was inevitable. There was no way you would want to continue spending time with him after witnessing this.

“Better?”

“Much,” he assured before releasing shaky sigh as he leaned back into your couch. “I’m really sorr—”

“Nope. You don’t get to finish that sentence.”

Bucky was jolted by your bluntness, and it shocked him out of his self-doubt spiral. Were you angry? He was expecting you to call it a night, maybe make an excuse about having to work, then simply stop inviting him over. But anger?

“Listen to me,” you directed with a firm tone, taking both his hands and making sure you had his gaze before continuing. “You, James Buchanan Barnes, have absolutely nothing to be sorry about. This world has done nothing but shit on you and yet here you are feeling like you’re not even allowed to be sad sometimes. That’s fucking bullshit and I refuse to let you apologize for having emotions. You got that?”

Bucky smiled at how wrong he had been before wiping another rogue tear from his eye. He had no idea what he had done to deserve your protective kindness, but he wasn’t about to refuse it.

“Got it.”

“Okay then, I’m glad that’s settled.”

Bucky laughed, a full and hearty laugh at that. Gosh, you were something else.

“What? I wasn’t joking!”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he said, still chuckling. You accepted him. You accepted him. All of him.

“Then what’s so funny?”

He loved when you got that confused, almost annoyed look on your face.

“Nothin’. Just you. It’s endearing how passionate you get.”

“Oh, I’m endearing am I?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Hmmmm, well I’m glad someone thinks so. Usually my “passion” is too much for most people.”

“Now that I refuse to believe.” Bucky’s chest tightened at the thought of anyone not loving everything about you, and he squeezed your hand to emphasise his sentiments.

“It’s okay. I keep a pretty rough work schedule that’s never aligned with most people. The loner life suits me fine. Though, I’ll admit it has been nice having someone to share my time with these past few months.”

Bucky felt his heart clench as you pulled your hand away from his grasp after that confession.

“Hey, no,” he objected at the loss of contact, tugging your hand back. “Please don't pull away. I’ve really enjoyed whatever this is too.”

“Yeah?” you asked him. Your eyes were desperately searching his for assurance. Gosh, he’d get lost in your gaze if he wasn’t careful.

“Yeah,” he assured, slowly leaning towards you. This is it, Barnes. Now’s your chance.

Bucky’s phone rang, startling them both.

“Shit,” he muttered as he flipped it open. He watched your face change as Sam rattled off logistics and coordinates and timelines. He hated that he was the reason for the sudden look of disappointment on your face.

“You have to go, don’t you,” you asked when he closed the phone.

“Yeah. Probably for a while this time. I hate to ask, but—”

“James, please, you don’t even need to ask anymore. Of course I’ll watch Alpine. He and I are best buds now,” you said, petting the purring fluff ball that was curled up on your side of the couch.

“I’ll come back in a few and give you a spare a set of keys so you can grab all of his food and toys.”

“You’re… you’re leaving right away?” you asked with a surprised tone.

“Yeah, sorry. I…” he sighed before continuing, “It’s part of the job.”

His heart sank at the hint of sadness in your voice. How would this ever work? How could he do this to you every time he had to go on a mission? There’s no way you would ever be ok with this.

“No, don’t apologise. I was more worried about you having to go straight to work after that. But I get it, trust me. I know I’m nothing like a superhero, but working in a hospital I do understand urgency.”

“You’re a superhero to me, sweetheart,” he said, holding onto that thin thread of hope that maybe you really could accept him as he was, supersoldier job and all.

Bucky felt a sudden rush of adrenaline. Leaning in, he placed a tender kiss on your cheek, memorising the scent of your shampoo, the softness of your skin beneath his lips, the way your breath hitched at the contact. He locked those memories away where no one would ever get them before pushing himself up off the couch.

“Just come back in one piece, okay?” you ordered, looking into his eyes for assurance.

“Always do,” he offered. Whether it was for you or himself, he couldn’t say.

-----ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ-----

Act IV

[Two weeks later]

“This is not one piece, Bucky.”

Your neighbour had returned, bloody, bruised, and barely standing.

“‘S fine. I’m fine. Supersoldier, remember?” he asked, twisting his vibranium arm in the air to emphasise his point. “I’ll heal in no time.”

You were not convinced, nor comforted. “This is… fuck, Bucky. I see a lot of wounds in emerg, but this is bad.”

He winced as you passed yet another alcohol wipe over a particularly deep gash running from the middle of his forehead down to his temple. “This one needs stitches.”

“Whatever you say, nurse.”

You squinted your eyes together, sending him a disapproving glare at his attempt to lighten the situation.

“Sweetheart, please stop worrying. It’s part of the job. I’ve had worse.”

“Worse?! What do you… no, that’s not what this is about.” You exhaled in a frustrated huff, “I can’t do this right now.”

“Do what?” His teasing grin softened as he pulled your hands down from treating his forehead and into his lap. “Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“You!”

He jumped a bit at your sudden exclamation. You took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before finding your words again.

“Bucky, I saw the news. I saw what you and Sam were up against. You… you could have died.” You felt your breath catch in your throat. “And then Alpine and I would be…” you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Another word and you would fall apart.

“If something happened, I know Alpine would be fine with you.”

“Alpine?! What?” Was he seriously making light of this right now? “Bucky, do you see yourself? This isn’t a fucking joke.”

“I know, you’re right. I’m sorry.” He tried to bring your hand up to his lips, but you pulled yourself from his grip before he had the chance.

“No more talking until I’m done,” you ordered as you disinfected your hands again to pick up where you left off.

You couldn’t bear any more placating. You were seething. How could he find humour in leaving you? Bucky coming into your life had been the best thing that had ever happened to you. You finally found someone that saw you, that understood you, that seemed to truly like you for you, flaws and all. How could he joke about leaving you alone again?

Then it hit you. You weren’t really together. Sure you were friends. Maybe closer than that. But you’d never moved passed the cuddling stage. Maybe he just didn’t think of you in that way.

You felt a tear stream down your cheek as you tied the final stitch.

“There. The rest will clean off fine in a hot shower. I think I should go.”

“Hold on a second.” He grabbed your hand again, this time he wasn’t grinning. “I’m really sorry, I know this looks bad but—”

“No. I really can’t do this right now.” You tugged your hand free and got up from the makeshift nursing station you had laid out on his kitchen table. Then you took a deep breath before saying making your case, “You know, Alpine’s not the only one that would care if you didn’t come back.”

You turned on your heels and rushed out of his apartment before you broke down.

***

“Well, I really fucked that up didn’t I, Al?”

The cat responded with a single low mewl before jumping down from the chair next to where you had been sitting to go curl up on the sofa.

Bucky had assumed you would be fine seeing him banged up considering how often you encountered injuries and blood at work. Sure, he was a little more broken than usual after a mission, but he figured you’d just be happy to see him. He had completely misread the situation and now you were clearly upset.

He took his time showering, letting the hot water soothe his aching muscles as he figured out the best way to finally confess how he felt about you. To make you understand that losing you—not coming back to you—that it wasn’t an option for him.

When he told Dr. Raynor how every time he tried to tell you how he felt that the words simply vanished, she suggested writing you a letter. He’d passed it off as old fashioned at the time, something that past Bucky might have done. He was trying to let his old self go, accept himself as he was now. Modern Bucky. Whoever that was.

But as he stood in the shower, hot water raining down on him, remembering the hurt in your eyes as you more or less told him how you cared about him, he knew it was the only way he could ever fully communicate exactly how much he had fallen in love with you over these past few months.

Once he was dry and dressed, Bucky rummaged through the box of files and papers S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him after he received his pardon. He found the notepad and pen that he knew was buried somewhere amongst the folders. Then pushing all the wound care supplies to one side of the table, he sat down and started writing. The words flowed without another thought and he didn’t stop until he’d signed his name at the bottom.

***

Your sobs finally slowed to the occasional hiccup. You took some deep breaths then made your way out to the kitchen for water. It wasn’t until you’d downed a glass and were turning off the lights before crawling back into bed that you noticed it. The white envelope, resting on the hardwood a few inches from your front door.

Bucky, you thought. You smiled a little, suddenly feeling sheepish at the tantrum you threw. You knew he cared about you. You felt it in the way he squeezed your hand. The way he tucked you under his arm during movies. When he had pressed his lips to your cheek the night he’d left on the mission.

You leaned down to pick up the envelope, then settled into the couch to read its contents.

Y/n,

I need to apologise. And before your brain tries to deny me of that need, please just hear me out.

I’m sorry for making you think that it didn’t matter if I came back.

I want to be honest, there was a time not that long ago when that would have been true. I would go on missions as a penance. Trying to make up for all of the bloodshed that I caused as the Winter Soldier. But I know now that it wasn’t my fault. That I don’t deserve to keep punishing myself for crimes that I had no choice in committing. The reality of it is punishment enough–something I can now accept I didn’t deserve.

But it happened. And I can’t change that. I can’t change my past or who I am today as a result. I won’t ever be able to be a regular citizen in society. I will always be connected to that life in some way because it’s what I know. But I also know a lot more now. I’ve read things and experienced things that have made me see life differently.

And so much of that is thanks to you.

Now when I go on missions, it’s not as penance but an opportunity to do something good. Not just to be better for me or for others, but to be better for you. And I’ve never felt that before, about someone else, but something about you makes me want to feel like that.

You’re the sun pushing its way between cracks in the rain clouds, casting your rays through my past and lighting up a rainbow, bringing colours into my life that I didn’t know existed until now. Until you.

I’ve fallen in love with your smile and your laughter. With the way your eyes light up when you talk about your favourite film or a new song you want to show me. With your compassionate heart and the way you always accept others as they are, no matter what they’ve come from.

I’ve fallen in love with you.

I’ll understand if you don’t feel the same, but I couldn’t bear you not knowing how much you mean to me. How I promise not to leave you alone with Alpine—I promise to come back to you. Every time. No matter how long it takes. If you’ll have me.

With love,

Your James

The waterworks were back in full force as you pressed the letter to your chest. But this time they were happy tears. Tears of gratitude. Tears from being overwhelmed with love for your neighbour. For the man who had been put through so much. Yet, despite it all, still wanted to find beauty in the world. Wanted to find a reason to be good. And the reason he had chosen was you.

On instinct, you rushed out your apartment door and began knocking frantically on Bucky’s.

The second it opened, your mouth crashed into his with such force you nearly knocked him over.

It was passionate and needy, your arms wrapping around his neck as you felt both his palms cup your cheeks, one hard one soft. The sensation gave you goosebumps. Your lips explored each other from every angle, making sure every supple edge was surveyed. Your tongues danced ever so softly in the background until you both finally came up for air.

“Is it fair to say that you read the letter and that this means ‘yes’?” he asked as he pressed his forehead into yours. His pupils were blown wide as you gazed into the ocean of his eyes.

“Yes, James. I’ll have you. All of you. If you’ll have me?”

“One hundred times, yes. God, I love you,” he muttered, pressing his lips into your forehead before pulling you into his arms.

“I love you too,” you whispered into his chest, breathing in his scent. This was real. He was real.

Suddenly a slew of chirps erupted from Alpine as the cat weaved its way through both of your legs.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was gloating,” Bucky chuckled.

“Hmmm, well he is the reason we’re here.”

“Maybe it was his plan all along. To bring me to you.”

“If it was, well then I owe him a thank you.” You tilted your head down towards the white feline still prancing around you both. “Thanks, Al, for bringing me my James.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, as if the words were only intended for the cat. But Bucky heard you loud and clear.

“I am yours, for as long as you’ll have me,” Bucky confirmed softly, the warmth of it heating every inch of your being. The beating of his heart echoing in your ear was all you needed to know he meant every word.

la fin

[1kook]

viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

SUMMARY Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air.  WARNINGS a little hurt + a lot of comfort, mentions of cheating!villain!jin, insecure!kook, emotional breakdowns, mentions of jk’s lonely past, jk cries :( smut in the forms of making out, eating out, fingering, clit play, hickeys, jk likes cum, double orgasm, squirting, tiny praise kink, blindfolding, rough + unprotected sex, doggy style, choking!!!, breeding/impreg kink, JEALOUS KOOK, mini hand kink, a lil bit of spanking, degradation, he gets progressively meaner lol oc cries MISC there’s a lot of fuckin plot omfg -_-, it’s Valentine’s Eve!, doyeon makes Some Points, mentions of park seojoon juicy ass, they go on a d8 😳, oc like rlly wants to marry him, oc commits double phone homicide  RATING m (18+) WC 16.3k !!!! ik its fckin LOOOONG

NOTES (!) in true Viki fashion, here’s an nc fic where there’s like 3 different plot lines n a hot male antagonist <3 this series started off as just me wanting to write smut n it still is! now i just like to infuse different levels of angst into it as well </3 as always, lemme know what u think!! i proofread it twice but one of those times had been at 4 am so if u see a typo no u didn't. also here’s a gif  of jungkook crying during a dolly parton performances and here’s another gif of jungkook crying bc it’s scary how pretty he looks

Being evil and hot does not come for free. As you’ve long since learned in the past twenty-three years of your life, you truly can’t have it all. 

There is always some deliberating character flaw the universe must bestow upon you in order to level you out, make you fall onto the same plane as all the other mortals. Everyone has one, no matter how small or insignificant. Doyeon’s is that she doesn’t know how to work a straightening iron. Namjoon's is that he can’t tell the difference between water and liquor. Jungkook, despite all his tech-y nerdiness, doesn’t know how to do his own taxes. And yours? You don’t know shit about romcoms. 

Your knowledge on the romantic genre is what leads to this predicament now, the ring on your finger heavy as Doyeon regards you with what is perhaps the most unimpressed look known to mankind. “This is a promise ring,” she says bluntly, the bustling sounds of the coffee shop around you the soundtrack to your sudden realization. 

“No,” you deny, even though you know she’s right. “It’s an engagement ring.”

Doyeon rolls her eyes. “Babe,” she starts slowly, talks to you like you’re a dorky high schooler with her first boyfriend, “did he ask you to marry him?”

The truth is, the timing had been weird. It had been a few days after you’d rocked Jungkook’s world so you understand if he felt the sudden need to pop the question. But you were also sick as fuck that day, had only vaguely remembered the events because you were too busy with the snot up your nose and the raging fever you were battling. Had Jungkook asked you to marry him? 

You’re not so sure. 

It’s been a little over a month since then, and sure his lack of proactive wedding planning was a little weird, but you had always assumed Jungkook was one of those people who liked long engagements. Liked to drag out the last few months as a bachelor. Maybe he was waiting until you were both financially stable or something, who knows. 

Doyeon had been on some soul-searching journey around the country, so she hadn't been home for a while, had only heard of the ring through a two-second snapchat. This is the first time she’s seeing you and it in person; you can tell by the expression on her face that she’s rightfully disappointed. 

“Have you no shame, woman?” she tuts, arms crossed over her chest. “You have me parading around the world bragging about your engagement— just for this?”

You knock your forehead against the table, know it’s dirty and icky, but you deserve it. “Listen,” you huff. “I’ve only seen The Notebook, like, once.”

She scoffs. “I can tell. This is so embarrassing, don’t tell me you’ve brought it up to him?”

At her words you startle, nearly send the drinks flying across the floor. “No!” you shout, mindlessly reaching to twist the ring around your finger. It’s become a habit these past few weeks, a comfort to feel it around you. Granted, the feeling is a little muted now. “Of course he’d get me a promise ring,” you grumble, gaze flickering down to the silver band on your ring finger. “Jungkook loves all that cheesy corny stuff.” He really did. 

You’ve had enough of Doyeon’s disappointment, decide this coffee date has brought you enough three am anxiety material for the next year and a half. You conclude your date by taking a walk around town, arms locked together as you laugh at people who pass by because you’re both a little mean. 

“Maybe it’s for the best,” she says, and you agree. Well, a promise ring certainly meant something. It was, essentially, a pre-engagement ring. And the engagement ring that followed was a pre-wedding ring. And a wedding ring was, well, a wedding ring. Your heartbeat thunders at the thought. “You’re busy right now anyway,” she points out, snapping you out of your bumbling thoughts. “Aren’t you getting promoted at work soon?” 

Oh, you certainly were getting promoted at work. After many grueling months of hard work and dedication, the fruits of your labor were finally being recognized. Gone were the days of useless desk work, intern-like errands that barely required the use of any higher-order brain functions. You had worked hard these past few months, proved your worth over and over again, until you were here. Getting promoted into a new branch at your company— one where your talents were actually needed. And truth be told, there was one man to thank for that. 

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin. 

Seokjin is a great boss. In fact, you could argue he’s the best in the entire world and that, if it wasn’t for him, you would have quit this job that first month you started. But you had him to push you along, friendly smiles and encouragements that kept you going until this point, where you’re being promoted up into a branch where your degree finally matters. And it was all thanks to him! What Kim Namjoon was to Jungkook, Kim Seokjin was to you. 

So what if he cheated on his wife and flirted with the secretaries— Seokjin was practically a god in your eyes. 

And what Seokjin did in his free time was frankly none of your business anyway. You were colleagues at work, got along fairly well, but outside of work you were practically strangers. He was your beloved work colleague, someone Jungkook teased you about endlessly despite never having met him, and you were immensely thankful for him. “Should I be scared he’ll steal you from me?” Jungkook had joked one night, standing behind you as you scrolled through your company profile page. “He is a little handsome.”

You had pinched his side, smiling at his feigned concern when he pressed his lips to your temple. “You’re right,” you had joked back, “he is sooo cool.” And Jungkook had bitten you on the shoulder, laughed that pretty laugh when you yelped in surprise. 

Anyway, Kim Seokjin was a god, Jungkook was on his way to maybe, hopefully, one day, being your husband, and all was well. 

To honor this moment in time, you decide to swing by Jungkook’s place after your date with Doyeon, finding him lazily sprawled across his living room couch while What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim? plays on the Jumbotron. He’s in between projects right now, so he’s spent most of his time relaxing and catching up on all his favorite shows. 

Which brings you back to that deliberating character flaw of yours: no knowledge of the romantic genre to utilize in your everyday life. Your love language has always been blunt words, teasing jabs, the raw and unfiltered type of love. Emotions? Impossible to figure out. You’ve gotten pretty far in life reading verbal and physical cues; with Jungkook, you always know he’s upset when he does the little tongue-against-cheek thing, and it has saved you from many potential arguments. 

On the other hand, it is so obvious what Jungkook’s love language is when he spends fifty percent of his time on Viki, home to some of the most cheesy kdramas in existence. Most guys spend their weekends watching sports or dramatic action movies, but here was Jungkook. Watching some guy try to court his secretary. 

(Okay, he does watch sports and action movies too, but that’s not the point!)

“Hello, sweet boy,” you greet, plopping down beside him. Jungkook smiles back softly. He’s serving absolute pre-pre-husband deliciousness right now, cute glasses, fluffy curls, plaid bottoms that make him look so comfy. God, you were going to suck his dick tonight. 

Jungkook slots his mouth against yours, tastes like the chocolate cake you specifically told him not to eat without you. He blindsides you before you can scold him, pulls you onto his lap where the swell of his cock nudges against your thigh. Oh, you were definitely going to suck his dick and ride him well into the sunrise. 

“What’s my pretty girl doing here tonight?” he asks, cutely looping his fingers through yours. “Thought you were with the Wicked Witch of the West today?”

You roll your eyes, reposition yourself in a laughable attempt at pretending like you’re actually interested in the show. “We just went out for lunch,” you explain, watching the hot lead saunter across the screen. Juicy ass, but nothing compared to Jungkook’s. 

There’s a question lingering on the tip of your tongue, Doyeon’s explanations mixed with your worries, and you hold it for exactly ten seconds before you’re turning to face him head on, eyes going a little crossed from how close he is. “Hey,” you say bluntly. “Is this a promise ring?” you ask, wiggle your finger in his face. 

Jungkook blinks, once, twice, and then his face shoots up in flames. “Maybe,” he mumbles, lips pursed as he tries to avoid your gaze. He was adorable. You laugh, endeared by the red flush that crawls over his cute little cheeks and up his ears. Unable to stop yourself, you squeeze said cheeks between your hands, cooing at the annoyed expression that consumes him soon afterwards.  

“Aw, you want to marry me,” you tease, but it’s secretly a leading question for him to confess that yes, he does want to marry you. For as hot and confident as you are, you too are plagued with doubts. Doubts that can only be smoothed over by hearing it straight from Jungkook’s mouth. 

He rolls his eyes, trying to break free from your hold. “We’ve talked about this,” he murmurs, all embarrassed. But like always, Jungkook knows exactly what you want so he doesn’t deny it, and that’s good enough for you. He’s too flustered to look you in the eye now, childishly craning his head away from you when you try to force him into a staring contest. “Can I finish my show?” he whines, slightly not as hard now that you’ve reduced him into a shy, bumbling mess. It was a nice change of pace from his usual, composed self. 

But you relent, sliding off his lap to sit against his side, classic octopus hug around his waist. The episode is in full swing, not that you know anything about it. Like you said, romantic shows and movies were the least of your concerns. Jungkook, however, eats this type of shit up. “He still trying to fuck her?” you ask, not the least bit interested, but if you’re planning on sucking his dick tonight you have to listen to a few minutes of him rambling first. 

Jungkook sighs. “Yeah,” he says, “I don’t get it.” You hum, trail your hand over his abdomen teasingly. He feels so warm and lean beneath your palm, you were getting hot just thinking about it. “Why would anyone agree to dating their boss?”

You know that Jungkook’s boss is some old Facebook fart, pioneer of something on the site that neither of you two care about. So it makes sense that such a notion disturbs him. You shrug anyway. “Everyone wants to sleep with their hot boss,” you offer. “It’s like, the power dynamic, I guess.”

His frown deepens. “Would you?” Your boss isn’t exactly an old fart; the reason Kim Seokjin was such a renowned playboy is because, well, he had the looks to pull it off. Still, he had become a sort of respectable figure to you and the idea of sleeping with him doesn’t really sound appealing as much as it would to any other random bachelorette, which you admittedly were not. You glance at the screen, where Park Seojoon swaggers around in those tight slacks and fitted button-ups. 

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.” 

Jungkook laughs. “You’re supposed to say no, you idiot,” he says, knocks his forehead against yours softly. You can’t help but chuckle too, enamored with the happy glint in his eyes and the way his smile eats up his features. 

Oh, you loved this man. 

Because he was so sweet and good on Christmas, you let Jungkook make the plans for Valentine’s Day. After all, it’s his favorite holiday (“Why? Well, because it’s a day all about you, and me, and us,” he had sighed dreamily in the bathtub one night, hair adorably pushed back to showcase that handsome face of his. Bubbles clung to his chest, had made you dizzy with every breath he took.), so it’s only right that he gets to make the itinerary for the day, fill it with all his favorite things. After all, cheesy romantic stuff like this was right up his lane. 

He reserves a spot at the fanciest restaurant in the city, the one that has a months long waiting list. It sounds perfect, and the closer it gets to February 13th, the more excited you become. You say 13th because the 14th is a Sunday, and as much as you would love to get on your knees and praise Jungkook’s body until the wee hours of the next day, you have work. So Sunday is off the table. And it’s better this way, you tell yourself. Everywhere would have been packed that day anyway. 

It seems like everywhere you go, the entire world is gearing up for the holiday; from the fast food drive-thru to your favorite lingerie shop, there’s Valentine’s Day specials everywhere you look. Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air. 

But what good is a lovey-dovey holiday without your own lovey dove himself? 

One glance out your window and your knees feel weak, because there he is. Dressed in a loose satin button up, shoulders broad, chest defined. He’s got on these fitted dress pants that accentuate his tiny waist too, thick thighs bulging beneath the fabric. There’s a coat hugging his frame, something to shield him from the cold while he waits out on the curb, does this cute little shivering dance in an attempt to warm up his muscles. Your heart feels like it’ll explode at the sight, and you can practically hear the corny, overused romantic song playing in the background of your thoughts, so you hurriedly distract yourself by slipping tonight’s dress on. 

It’s cold outside, but the sight of Jungkook makes you feel warm and fuzzy everywhere. He’s so hot it makes you dizzy, and the sap knows it when he meets you on the sidewalk. Instinctively, his hand reaches out to tangle with yours, the other slipping around your waist. “Hi, gorgeous,” he greets playfully, kissing your knuckles. His hair has grown out a little, curls up cutely when he lets it air dry and tickles your skin when he gets too close. “Lookin’ like Secretary Kim.” 

“Oh? So does that make you my hot boss?” you tease as you make your way to the car. 

As always, he opens the door for you first, flashes you this dorky little wink as he rounds the front of the car. “If it means you’ll sleep with me tonight, then sure,” he says, buckling himself in. You roll your eyes at his claim. You don’t get to see the proud little smile on his face; by the time you’ve composed yourself, he’s already pulling off in the direction of the restaurant. 

It’s a classy thing, a restaurant and bar in some insanely tall skyscraper. Of course your seats are right beside one of the huge floor to ceiling windows, overlooking the beautiful, glittering cityscape. “Fancy,” you murmur as you sit down, catching a glimpse of the eye roll Jungkook gives you. 

“You say that about any place that serves wine,” he chuckles, reaching for the bottle on the table to pour you a glass. 

The wine tastes like perfection, aged for the perfect amount of time. Whatever that was. You don’t really know, but it tastes amazing! Still, amazement aside, you manage a scoff. “I didn’t say that about your house on our first date,” you huff anyway, throwing him a playful glare over the rim of your glass. 

Jungkook laughs, full and real this time. It’s a little too loud for the classy establishment you find yourselves in, drowns out the jazz music for a second. “That’s because it was a house,” he says, wearing that big, shiny smile you adore, “and we were watching Transformers.” An amazing date, the mere memory of it makes your toes curl. He had been so dreamy— nearly two years ago now! —and had retained that aura up to the present day. You don’t think you’ve ever been so in love with anyone or anything in this world before, as cheesy as it was to admit. 

As if sensing your sudden wandering thoughts, Jungkook nudges your ankle under the table. “Hey,” he says so softly you could melt; his voice was so silky and sweet. “Everything okay?” he asks. 

A sigh, chin in your palm. You had to have been abducted by aliens or something— there was no way this was your life, this disgustingly romantic date with this disgustingly handsome man. An episode of Black Mirror maybe? One where you get forced to live in a romantic Viki drama with the man you love, every single day for the rest of your life? Maybe. 

Dramatics aside, you could practically feel that sticky sweet, sentimental monster begging to crawl to the surface, unleash the entire Shakespearean collection of lovesick sonnets on your unsuspecting boyfriend in the middle of this restaurant. But the weird ones, were you accidentally dedicate an entire six lines to the bulge of Jungkook’s thighs in his workout pants or the heart-shaped mole on his shoulder. Those kind. Before that can happen, you settle on an equally as gentle, “I love you,” murmured for only him to hear. 

Across the table, Jungkook smiles. One of those thin ones when he’s trying to keep his composure but is actually quite flustered, his subtle bunny teeth nibbling at his lower lip. “Thanks,” he responds, still trying to play it cool, but then he almost knocks his glass down and you’re reminded just how perfect he was, flaws and all. “Me too.”

You jab the pointed tip of your stiletto against his shin. “Say it back,” you warn and he laughs. 

“I love you,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Straight out of a romantic drama, like the ones on Viki that require a minimum of four different story arcs just to get to this point. But with Jungkook, it takes a few shy smiles and maybe a kiss. It has a scorching heat rising on your cheeks, one you ward away with a hurried sip of your drink while Jungkook reaches for your hand, thumb rubbing over your promise ring as if for good luck. 

That singular phrase makes your world pause, its axis stalling while you deal with the overwhelmingly soft and gooey feelings in your chest. Oh jeez, you had to rock his world tonight. It was only right. He deserved it for making you feel like this— this silly and ditzy, like a middle schooler with her crush. 

Anyway the food gets to your table after a millennia. Jungkook orders some fancy lobster dish, one that you're pretty sure costs more than the purse you brought along tonight (to be fair, you’re a cheap buyer), and still has the audacity to poke around at your plate too. He eats enough to feed a schoolhouse full of children who’ve just come off recess, practically devouring the table cloth before you stop him. And then he doesn’t let you see the bill; “baby, don’t worry about that when you’re with me,” he purrs, warm breath fanning against the skin on your neck, drunk off pure love and strawberry lemonade because he was driving tonight. The hostess is a blushing mess, fumbling for his change as Jungkook practically gropes your ass in plain sight.

You swear he’s spending too much time on that Viki streaming service, because then, as if the romantic dinner date wasn’t enough, he whisks you off to an even more romantic walk along the river. 

If there was ever a world record for “Number of Times you can Make your Girlfriend Swoon,” you’re positive Jungkook had broken it in the span of a few hours. You feel so light-headed and in love by the time you reach the river. 

“You know,” you tell him as you walk, the serene sounds of the flowing water beside you the soundtrack to your date. Jungkook swings your joined hands between the two of you. It’s chilly but you’re so full and happy that you don’t let it bother you. “I was gonna throw wine at you when we first met.”

He cackles, that loud, airy sound again that he only lets you hear, with his head thrown back. “What?” he gasps, smiley and pretty, your pretty boy. “And why were you going to do that?”

You huff, feeling slightly embarrassed now to admit such a thing. But aside from Doyeon, no one else has ever heard this classified tale. And well, you’re feeling extra emotional tonight. An abundance of emotions in one night usually ended with you crying like a little bitch at some point or another, so you’re trying to push that off for later. “Because,” you sigh, squeezing his fingers, your lone promise ring versus his assortment of fashionable rings. “You sounded like an absolute fuck boy when you first texted me!” 

Jungkook scoffs, playfully scandalized. “Me?” he squawks, pausing to stand in front of you with wide eyes and a ridiculously huge smile, the kind that has his brows raised high, lips going thin, practically displaying every tooth in his mouth from how wide it is. 

“Jungkook,” you say calmly, shoving one finger against his chest. “You asked me to Netflix & chill for our first date.” 

He groans, using your entwined hands to pull you into his arms for a suffocating hug. “I already told you,” he laughs, patting the back of your head while you get in a few lighthearted punches against his sides. “I didn’t know what it meant.” 

“Whatever, you sleaze,” you say anyway, eventually melting into his hands. “Bet you tell all the girls that.” Jungkook makes another scandalized noise, but settles when you wrap your hands around him. He smells so good and familiar, comforting even. Like home and safety, a refuge for your heart. When you’re this close, you can hear the light beating of it beneath your ear, a steady rhythm that has you closing your eyes when he begins humming your favorite song. 

He gets about two verses in when your phone suddenly goes off. 

Everything in your body says to ignore it, to continue basking in the comfort of your boyfriend’s embrace and this absolutely perfect moment. But it’s the stupid ringtone you set for all your work peers when you first loaded the entire company contact list onto your phone, so the sound alone lets you know it’s a work-related call. And for work to be calling you on a weekend was definitely not a good sign. 

“Give me a sec,” you tell Jungkook, pulling away from his arms. He frowns but lets you go, staying close as you dig through your purse for the offending device. 

It’s Kim Seokjin calling at this peculiar hour, a fact that confuses the hell out of you. Jungkook’s bouncing on his heels in an attempt to fight off the chill, giving you his beautiful side profile as he glances down the winding sidewalk that follows the river, and then at his watch. His nose is a cute red color that you want to kiss so bad. But work calls, so you tighten up and let that dream go for now. You swipe your thumb across the screen. 

“Hello, Mr. Kim,” you greet, trying to keep the confusion out of your voice. “How can I help—“

“__, my love,” he beams through the phone, so fucking loud it has Jungkook glancing over curiously. You give him a tight-lipped smile, one he returns as he shuffles closer, trying to steal your warmth like a penguin. You let him snuggle close before turning back to the droning voice of your superior on the line. 

“Hello,” you repeat again, slowly. Jungkook takes your free hand in his; when he squeezes, the band of your promise ring digs into your skin just the slightest. “Was something the matter?” 

Seokjin laughs, loud and clear. There’s a lot of other noises filtering in through his line. Briefly, you remember that there had been some work-related party for the higher ups tonight so you write it off as that. “Does there need to be a problem for me to call you, love?” 

You falter. Beside you, Jungkook’s brows furrow together, his devilishly handsome features even more pronounced. He’s obviously heard the other man on the line. “Um,” you flounder for a second, “well, usually yes.” 

Without missing a beat, Seokjin carries on with a playful tut that you’re almost certain has him lifting the receiver up to his mouth, because it’s so goddamn loud it has you flinching away from your own device. “My __,” he says, sweet and… slurred? 

He’s never used this tone of voice on you, only on other women at the office. Something about his broken marriage and needing to heal a wound, you don’t fucking know. You can’t even begin to truly understand that logic, which is why you’ve always just ignored it. Still, in the last few months of knowing Seokjin, he has never made a pass at you. Until now, that is. And until now, you had kind of convinced yourself he saw you in a sisterly way. Which sure, was worse than being friendzoned. But this was your boss you were talking about. Whether you got sister-zoned or not by him was the least of your concerns. So what was going on? What had changed over the span of a few days that had him suddenly reaching out to you on a weekend? 

Beside you, Jungkook doesn’t look the slightest bit impressed, tongue prodding against his cheek as Seokjin rambles on the line. You wish you had lowered the volume before answering, but doing so now would appear suspicious, even you could admit that. “You’re amazing, you know that?” Seokjin praises. You nod, remember he can’t see you, and settle on a blunt thanks instead. Jin laughs. “You’re different from the rest,” he hums, voice soft and weirdly intimate. 

Jungkook’s frown deepens. “What does he want?” he murmurs, somehow managing to keep his voice calm as always. The deep furrow of his brows and the tongue-against-cheek motion he had done just a few seconds ago all indicate he’s annoyed, that much you can tell. 

You shrug, eyes wide as you hurry to get to the reason for the phone call. You’re almost certain it’s just Seokjin being drunk— many people drunkenly dial their friends and family to tell them how much they’re appreciated, this wasn’t anything weird! 

Is what you try to convince yourself, but then Seokjin’s voice is dropping an octave by your ear. “Did you get my gift?” he murmurs, voice nearly drowned out by the sounds of the event he’s at. 

“Huh?” you stammer, quite stupidly if you do say so yourself. Jungkook shifts closer, obviously trying to hear. A breeze ruffles his hair, his cologne wafting over you. “What?” 

A sigh over the line. “My gift, love,” Kim Seokjin says, loud and proud. Jungkook exhales, hard. “I had it sent to your house this evening. Something pretty for a pretty girl— don’t tell me the postman fucked that up,” he jokes and Jungkook huffs, practically breathing fire through his nose when he hears the words. 

You fidget. There had been no gift when Jungkook picked you up around sunset, not like you had expected anything to begin with. And aside from Jungkook and maybe your parents, there was no one else on this planet you wanted to receive a Valentine’s Day gift from anyway, especially not from your boss of all people. “Um,” you mumble, acutely aware of the way Jungkook’s face is nearly pressed to yours now in his effort to listen in on your phone call. “I— um, haven’t been home, Seokjin.”

Jungkook scoffs, spits out a particularly unimpressed, “Seokjin?” 

Said man doesn’t hear. “Oh, of course,” he says, almost sullenly. “I forgot you had that little boyfriend to entertain tonight.” 

It’s the breaking point for Jungkook, who leans back to glare at the phone with the heat of a thousand suns. You press it against your chest before he can hear anything else. “I’m sorry,” you rush out in a hurried whisper, eyes flickering over his face, trying to gauge the intensity of his emotions. “I think he’s drunk— he’s never said things to me like this before,” you stammer, feeling like you have to defend yourself for some reason. “I’ll- I’ll take care of it, okay?” No answer, just an aggravated shake of his head, like he’s trying to calm himself down. “Jungkook?” you say, can feel the panic begin to lace your voice when his eyes flutter shut. 

He calms your worries with a gentle head butt that has you gasping in surprise, one hard exhale fanning over you. “Okay,” he says, teeth clenched. “I’m gonna go sit.” And then he stiffly walks over to one of the many benches lining the pathway. He sits, just like he had said he would, and glares down at his hands instead. 

The sight makes you anxious, unsure of how to diffuse the situation because, like you’ve said many times before, dealing with emotions— especially someone else’s emotions —was hard. Your eyes refuse to leave his figure as you draw the phone back up to your ear again. “Hello?” you call, voice trembling when Jungkook finally looks your way. The soft look he had given you all night is nowhere to be found, replaced with this rather unreadable expression. Something between annoyance and confusion if you had to guess. You don’t know, and the fact you don’t know makes you panic. Your chest feels tight when Seokjin begins speaking again. 

“You know,” he says, “you’re quite something, __. Strong, confident. Beautiful.” Had you been anyone else, you might have been flattered by Kim Seokjin’s remarks, maybe would have swooned. He was, objectively speaking, a handsome man with a hefty bank account. 

But if that was the criteria for a man to make you swoon, then the man on the bench in front of you checked all the same boxes three times over. The man who’s brows draw closer and closer together the longer you linger on the phone. Jungkook’s foot does one agonizing tap against the concrete and you find yourself stammering into the phone. “I think you’re drunk, Jin.”

A scoff. “I am,” he agrees, and doesn't even bother to hide it. “But you remind me of her, you know that? I like that.”

It’s like he knows something is going on on the line, because Jungkook visibly bristles when you sidestep in surprise. What was going on, your brain screams. Having your superior compare you to his infidel wife was definitely not something you saw coming tonight. “Uh, okay?” you say, “listen, Seokjin— Mr. Kim, I’m... I have a boyfriend. And I really lov—“

He cuts you off. Jungkook bristles at the sudden stop of your sentence. “Yeah, yeah,” Seokjin drawls, and you can feel the sheer terror of accidentally jeopardizing your relationship with Jungkook step aside for the briefest moment to allow some annoyance to seep through. Annoyed with Seokjin and his audacity, his tone, his voice. “Mrs. Kim used to say that about me,” he chuckles humorlessly, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” A long pause. You’re unsure of how to respond. “It’s not real,” Seokjin says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. “Love, that is.”

You clench your jaw, gathering your thoughts to respond when Seokjin beats you to it. “But you know what, love?” You don’t respond. Seokjin pushes on anyway. “Someone’s gonna cheat sooner or later— why not beat him to it?” 

Your body reacts first, a startled gasp inhaled through your lips at his disrespectful preposition. Your phone slips out of your grasp. It bounces twice, lands on the ledge that gives way to the river, and you almost kick it in when Jungkook comes up behind you. “Hey, hey,” he says sternly, tugging you away from the phone you almost killed. “What’s wrong— what did he say?”

You exhale, face warm from the discomfort sitting heavy in your chest. “Nothing,” you huff, mind slightly foggy as you try to process that awkward conversation. “It’s— it was stupid,” you spit, pressing the heels of your palms against your temples, the raging anger and confusion making your head pound now. 

You had always known Kim Seokjin wasn’t the most faithful man, that the infidelity ran both ways in his relationship. But you had never imagined he would ever compare you to her, his cheating wife, in an attempt to win you over. Furthermore, you’re downright disturbed by the fact he would even try to hit on you after all the mentoring he’d given you, all the polite smiles he’d flashed you, all the praise you had bestowed upon him to Jungkook. 

Jungkook, whose jaw twitches as his hands graze your forearms. When you look at him again, you feel an immense wave of remorse wash over you at the way his own irritation is clouded by his worry for you. He had been wronged as well— disrespected just like you —but here he was, pushing his own emotions aside for your sake. He doesn’t want to see you upset. He was so good at dealing with your emotions, knew just what to do when things became too much. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, lips pursed together. “I don’t know why— he’s never— I wouldn’t do that,” you settle on, voice wobbling when Jungkook’s jaw clenches. “Jungkook,” you frown, reaching for his hands, “I wouldn’t—“ 

He shushes you with another one of those gentle forehead bumps. “Calm down,” he says, voice deeper than usual. “I know you wouldn’t.” 

Weirdly, it feels like you’ve committed a grave sin against your boyfriend. A crime. “I’m sorry,” you blubber anyway, heart thundering in your chest. “That was horrible,” you huff, desperately blinking away the stinging sensation behind your eyes. “You didn’t deserve to hear that.”

“Don’t cry,” Jungkook says, so soft and comforting; stable. You want his composure, his ability to process and understand things so quickly— his maturity. Sure he had been put off by Seokjin, but he had processed it all so quickly; adapted to the situation and stepped in to save you. Meanwhile, you nearly committed cellular murder because you couldn’t handle yourself. “He’s a weirdo,” he says, for both your sakes. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart.” 

Still, you sniffle. “I’m sorry,” you say again, the heavy feeling in your chest lightening just a little bit when he pulls you into his arms. 

“Crybaby,” he teases softly, a kiss on the crown of your head. You pinch his side. “Second phone you broke in a year.”

The mood for the riverwalk is off after that, and you only walk a few more meters before Jungkook decides it’s enough. “We can still enjoy ourselves at home,” he reassures you, and the way he tries to salvage that soft, fuzzy feeling from before is admirable. So Jungkook takes you home, holds your hand the whole drive back to your place, like he knows you’re still fragile from that extremely uncomfortable interaction, need him to hold you together. Jungkook’s emotional stability guards you like a shield, covers you in a wave of comfort as you calm down. You tell him about Seokjin’s preposition and he bristles. “Prick,” he murmurs beneath his breath, grip tightening just the tiniest bit. Your ring pinches against your skin a little painfully, but you say nothing. 

There’s a box of flowers on your doorstep when you arrive, one that makes Jungkook pause at the sight. “Wonderful,” he drones, picking it up for you as you unlock the front door. It gets left on the coffee table, practically mocking the two of you as you remove your shoes and coats. “That’s your favorite flower,” Jungkook notes. 

You glance at the expensive bouquet. “It is.” 

Jungkook drops down onto your couch, eyes flickering to the meticulous arrangement in front of him. “You told him?” Not really. But back when you had thought Jungkook and you were engaged (read: last week), you had spent days looking at different floral shops that specialized in this flower, frequently leaving the tab open on your work computer. Seokjin must have seen it then. At your extended silence, Jungkook says, “nice.”

You frown, setting your heels on the shoe rack. “Baby, I didn’t,” you tell him softly, reaching for the zip on the back of your dress. It comes down, and after clearing your hips, it falls to the floor in a dark heap you pick up quickly. It leaves you scantily clad in a black lingerie set. Meanwhile, Jungkook drops his head back, glaring at your ceiling. Tentatively, you step over to him, toying with the fabric of your dress in your hands. “You said it was okay.”

“I know,” he sighs, an unexpected confession from him that makes you pause. Despite all you’ve been through, he still rarely highlighted situations that upset him. “It’s just,” he says, turning his head to look at your form again, eyes not drinking you in like you hoped he would. “It’s scary.”

The couch cushion dips beneath your weight when you settle beside him. “What is?”

Jungkook shrugs, avoiding your question by reaching for the TV remote on the coffee table, right beside the box of flowers Seokjin had sent. He opens up the Viki app in a flash— the one linked to his account —and has even loaded up the next episode of Secretary Kim when you question him again. “What’s scary, Jungkook?” you repeat. 

On screen, there’s a beautiful scene on a bridge, the two leads happily conversing. It’s serene, something neither you nor Jungkook feel at the moment. 

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

You pause. “What do you mean?” Leave? Where on earth would you leave to when this was your home? He doesn’t meet your gaze. 

Another scene passes by on screen, some cheesy line and an even cheesier promise. Jungkook’s foot taps against the floor, the sound dull against the plush rug beneath you. It’s a nervous tick you’ve only seen him do at the height of truly stressful situations. Weird because just half an hour before you had dubbed him as the epitome of calm and collected at the river. 

“I thought he was cool before.” 

He did. But the word ‘cool’ didn’t always have the same meaning for Jungkook as it did for you. 

In the past, Jungkook had frequently joked about having to meet Kim Seokjin and thank him for all the help he’s given you at work. After all, up until now, you had only ever had good things to say about the man, raving about his cool demeanor and respectable work ethics. Now, the memories paired with the conversation from earlier leave a bad taste in your mouth. 

You’re a little confused with Jungkook right now; part of you had convinced yourself that whatever happened on the phone earlier with Seokjin was put behind you, marked off as an anomaly in the evening. After all, Jungkook himself had said it was okay. Park Seojoon appears on screen, and you can’t help but glare at the character, residue emotions from the river pushed off onto this innocent actor. 

Still, Jungkook surprises you. “It’s just that—“ he sighs. And then, “what if you leave?” 

You blink, eyes trained on his side profile and the way he’s nervously chewing through his bottom lip until it tints a red shade, gives way to sensitive skin when he bites too hard. “Why would I leave?” 

He says nothing. On screen, Park Seojoon says something so cheesy and romantic that it would have otherwise made you cringe, made Jungkook soft. But he’s stiff as a board beside you instead. You almost think he’s going to disregard the entire conversation when he finally speaks again. “Well.” You perk up at the sound of his voice, overly aware of the way he’s started picking at the skin around his thumb again, another nasty habit you’ve been trying to help him get over. “He’s cool. Rich.”

“And so are you,” you offer, covering his hand with your own. 

Jungkook ignores you, releasing a long, shaky exhale. Somehow, he’s exuding a similar energy as before; discontentment mixed with understanding. Like he’s greatly conflicted but forcing himself to remain calm. Another trembling inhale, and then Jungkook quietly recites, “everyone wants to sleep with their hot boss.” 

You recoil just the slightest, brows pinched together at the absurd conclusion he’s drawn. “Baby, that was just a silly conversation,” you say slowly, slipping your hand into his. He squeezes so tight you’re afraid he’ll break your bones. “And we were joking—“

“I know!” he exclaims, enveloping your significantly smaller hand in both of his before bringing them up to his face, lips pressed against your knuckles. It’s not a kiss, more so a desperate need to feel you against him. Eyes wide, you can’t do anything but watch as that collected exterior slips away, revealing a whirlwind mess of emotions. It’s a rather unexpected show from Jungkook. “It was a joke. We were joking. But I’m—“ his jaw clenches. His voice is so tiny when he speaks again. “I get scared sometimes, __.” 

His emotional outburst renders you speechless, watching as he squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenching, hands trembling. 

It’s a stark image change from the cool Jungkook that had comforted you at the river, had patted the back of your head when you had been so distraught. His chest heaves for air and you don’t know what to do; it’s always the other way around, him comforting you, that when it comes down to this you find yourself at a loss. It makes you feel like you don’t know enough about yourself or him or your relationship in general to help him, always so lost when things like this happen. 

Jungkook has never been good at expressing negative emotions, always preferring to bottle them up and only show you his very best side. Granted, he’s been getting better at letting go lately, has whispered his doubts to you in the dead of night after a particularly grueling project, an uncomfortable social meeting. But he always waits until you’re half asleep and in the dark to tell you how he feels, hushed worries that you barely remember the next morning. And by then, Jungkook’s moved on from them anyway, flashes you a pretty smile and purposefully guides you away from that conversation. You know he’s started keeping a journal recently, but aside from seeing the blanks pages when he’d first gotten, you don’t have a clue what happened afterwards. It’s probably hidden away somewhere, his feelings locked up in a cupboard or a box, the secrets it holds never to be spoken of aloud. 

He doesn’t like talking about his more personal problems, hoards them until you’re forced to intervene. Find him slumped over at his dining table with bags under his eyes, the skin on his lower lip bitten beyond belief. 

Rarely does he sit down and express himself like this, lays his heart out carefully for you to see. Had he not said so right now, you would have never known Jungkook struggled with such doubts about you and your relationship. 

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.) 

Jungkook always acts like everything is okay, always forces himself to hold it together for the sake of you and, quite frankly, everyone else. He’s there when Taehyung breaks up with his girlfriends, pats him on the back and lets him run through every video game he has on his PS5. He’s there for Namjoon when his thesis becomes too much, proofreads it even though he doesn’t understand a word just for the sake of giving his best friend another perspective. Hell, he had even been there for Doyeon when her new landlord had tried to overcharge her, had carried the bulk of your argument when you ran off to try and fight with the old man. 

(“He’s too nice sometimes,” she had murmured the next morning at her place. After the shouting match the night before, you had crashed with Doyeon on her new bed, your sweet boyfriend taking up her couch. Somehow, you and Jungkook had managed to knock a clean seventy-five bucks off her monthly bill. It wasn’t much, but for an apartment in the city it sure felt like a lot. 

You had hummed, patting the top of his head on the way to the kitchen. “He’s a good boy,” you had said, heart thrumming when he instinctively pushed closer to your hand, nuzzling into you even in his sleep. “He cares about everyone a lot. Worries to death about his friends.”

The state of their relationship was weird; they were always fighting about one thing or another, ‘eternal enemies’ as Doyeon liked to claim. 

But for the first time, she hadn’t denied they were, in fact, friends. Instead, she had quietly stood at the breakfast nook overlooking the living room with a somber look on her face that was completely unlike the Doyeon you knew. She didn’t respond with her usual backhanded compliments, didn’t even call him a gremlin either. 

“He even worries about you, Miss Wicked Witch of the West,” you had teased, reaching over to pull Jungkook’s shirt down where it had ridden up, exposing his cute belly button to the cold apartment. She had sipped at her mug of coffee, eyes foggy and distant. “It just takes him a while.” 

“He’s always cared about you though,” she had murmured then, and you had marked it off as her being half asleep. But Doyeon had given you this look, a look so profoundly wise, as if she was saying, “more than you’ll ever know.”) 

Most importantly, Jungkook is always there for you. He holds you in his arms, strokes your back comfortingly whenever something goes wrong. Listens to your concerns and offers you advice, learns new things for the sole purpose of helping you out. Lets you make stupid decisions and always saves you at the last minute. And you want to repay him for all that, want to look after Jungkook like he does for everyone else. But it’s hard, it’s so fucking hard, when he doesn’t let you in, when he holds his emotions at bay for the sake of protecting yours. When you don’t even know where to start sometimes. 

The beating of your heart is accompanied by a dramatic orchestral ensemble on screen, violins and flutes as the two lovers reconcile some issue with a kiss. Beside you, your own lover is one second away from falling apart. “Hey,” you say quietly, slipping your hand out of his to hesitantly place on his back instead. With your release, Jungkook uses his empty hands to drag over his face, hide himself from you. “I’m not going to leave you, Jungkook,” you try and comfort, “I love you.” 

He shakes his head, dark locks bouncing around. “I know, I know,” he sighs, but it doesn’t sound like he believes you. It sounds like he’s forcing himself into composure again, jaw flexing as he shakes his head. “But— what if—” another aggravated huff, his thighs jumping anxiously. “You’ll get bored.” Not a question, but a statement. 

“Of you?” you ask anyway. He nods. “I won’t.”

He sits up so suddenly you have to move away to avoid bumping into him. “You will,” he urges, finally looking at you, distress painted over every inch of his face. “That guy, that Seokjin, he sounds more interesting than me. He sounds cool and put together, like the world is his oyster and,” he rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes. “You talk about him sometimes and... and you call him a god, __,” he stresses, doesn’t leave room for you to object. “And I know you’re joking, but—“ a sharp inhale, and then, quietly, “everyone gets bored of me, __.” 

Your frown deepens. “But I won’t,” you argue, confident in your claim, shifting onto your knees beside him. Your dress is thrown over the armrest of the couch, and the draft in your apartment makes goosebumps rise on your bare flesh. “You’re not boring, Jungkook,” you tell him, voice softening when his features pinch up, nose wrinkling as he wards off the stinging behind his eyes. 

It’s teenage trauma. Jungkook had told you at least that much before, this crippling sense of loneliness and an inferiority complex that hindered him during an influential growth period of his life. It’s why he’s so quiet when he has so much to say, why he brings you along to every party he gets invited to; he’s never felt like he was enough by himself. 

Sometimes, it leaks into his confessions. “I don’t deserve you,” he says frequently, but some days you want to hot glue him to a chair and force him to listen to every reason why he does and always will deserve you or anyone for that matter. “You make me better,” he claims, but he does that all on his own, lights up the world with his smile alone. 

He’s gotten better, that much you’ve learned from Namjoon and Taehyung. And even you’ve noticed it on your own, watched as he animatedly talked with his friends and his coworkers, drew people naturally to him with his warm aura. 

Even still, there’s moments where he relapses. Moments like this. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs beside you, “I know I’m a handful—“

“You’re not,” you interrupt, cupping his soft cheek in your hand, turning him to face you. Jungkook leans into the touch, and your heart breaks in half when a tear escapes over his waterline, pretty eyes brimming with tears. “You’re not a handful, Jungkook,” you tell him, shuffling closer until you can press your forehead against his. The truth is, you don’t know how to comfort him, but this is how he’s always comforted you; it feels nice when he does it for you. “You’re just enough,” you say, voice soft because it feels like your precious boy is about to fall apart in your arms, his shallow breaths rivaling the volume of the television. “You’ve always been enough.” 

He sniffles, and another tear tickles the side of your thumb, catching the light. “I’m sorry,” he repeats anyway, a disbelieving chuckle tacked on at the end. 

“Don’t be,” you shush, pushing away a strand of hair when he leans closer. His frown is still prominent, pink lips red and soft under your thumb when you tap your finger against them. “You can tell me when things worry you, you know,” you inform him, heart swelling when his eyes fall shut and he leans into your touch. He’s so handsome, the cute little mole beneath his lip begging to be kissed. “I’ll always listen.”

Jungkook hums, breathing evening out. “I know you will,” he says. “But I like listening to your voice more, and I can’t do that when I’m talking.” 

You snort and Jungkook finally lets a tiny smile slip. “Don’t flirt with me so soon after your meltdown,” you mumble, kissing his cheek softly. 

Jungkook chuckles, real this time, and sniffles right afterwards. “I’ll flirt with you whenever I want.” And, because he’s just so full of surprises tonight, he sniffles once more before he’s unceremoniously tackling you back onto the couch. You squeal, the TV remote digging into your back painfully. It has the volume accidentally skyrocketing, startling the both of you with an ear-shattering orchestral piece at the height of some emotional scene. Jungkook scrambles to free the device and lower the volume before your eardrums burst. “I didn’t even know your TV could go that loud,” he says, and he’s speaking normally but the deafening violins are still reverberating in your head, making him sound quieter than he really is. 

“Come here,” you say instead, and he obeys, crawling into your arms, mouth hovering just over yours. “You feeling better?”

Jungkook nods, dark hair bouncing. “You make me better,” he tries, but after tonight’s realization, you respond to his corny words with a pinch against his doughy cheek instead. 

“Don’t say that,” you frown, toying with one of the earrings decorating his ear. The tip of his nose is flushed red, the exertion from crying catching up to him. His lashes are dark, probably feel so heavy with the residual tears that cling to them. 

Jungkook repositions himself, guides your legs around his waist. “Why not? It’s true.” He glances at your mouth. “You make my life better.”

“Wrong,” you say bluntly, brushing his hair back with your hands. “Your own perception and understanding of your experiences makes your life better. I just happen to be in it.” Jungkook looks the tiniest bit surprised at your suddenly logical argument. “Trust me, I saw it in a documentary the other day.” 

At that he laughs, full and loud, pecking your lips once with a sweet smile on his face. “Now I know you’re lying,” he grins, gently nudging his nose against yours. The drama on the TV is but a quiet hum compared to the pounding of your heart in your chest when he looks at you like that. “Because you don’t even like documentaries.” 

You kiss him softly, holding his hair back for him. He tastes a little bit like the chocolate cake he had at the restaurant and the lemonade he drank (he didn’t indulge in the sweet wine with you because he needed to drive). His lips mold perfectly against yours, and he sighs softly when he finally draws back. “But I like you,” you purr. 

Jungkook’s eyes darken, one heavy exhale fanning across the lower half of your face. You readjust the leg around his waist, pull him closer just the slightest bit. “Don’t flirt with me so soon after my meltdown,” he repeats, lips brushing against yours. You chuckle. “You don’t know what that means to me.” You can roughly guess, but that opportunity is taken away when Jungkook slots his mouth against yours, soft lips molding to yours. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, wastes no time slipping in when you open for him, hot and wet. 

Jungkook’s fingers are just as warm when he trails them up the back of your thigh, pulls you impossibly closer until the buckle on his belt is pressed flush against your mound. A tiny whimper escapes your lips, chest jumping just the slightest from the pressure. It makes Jungkook pull away with an easygoing grin, chocolate eyes half-lidded. “You okay?” he murmurs, breath a little shaky from the kiss. You nod, tangling your fingers behind his head and pulling him in close again. 

He evades your puckered lips, ducking down to press his own against your throat, right beneath your jaw. “Ugh,” you groan, digging your nails into his back through his satin shirt. “I wanted a kiss.”

Jungkook nips at your skin, this tiny gesture that couldn’t hurt even if he tried. “You always want a kiss,” he retorts softly, the quiet smack of his lips filling your ears as he bestows a series of smooches against your skin. And it’s so devastatingly tender how he handles you, like you’re made of glass and will break at a moment’s notice, like he wants to treasure your body for the rest of his—

Jungkook chomps down, hard, and you hiss. “Sit still,” he orders, soothing over the bite with one broad lick of his tongue. 

You whimper. “That hurt.” 

“And it’ll hurt even more if you keep moving,” he warns you, and before you can ask what that even means, he’s leaving another stinging bite just further down. It’s at the midway point of your neck, right in front, and you can feel your heartbeat in your throat when he sucks a painful mark over it. “There,” he says, mostly to himself. “All mine.”

Your legs tighten around him, and you fight down the wave of heat that threatens to consume you when he places one final kiss over the second mark— the hickey. 

Jungkook doesn’t usually leave them. In fact, you can rarely recall a time where he had purposefully gone out of his way to mark you up like this. It was always accidental, always unplanned, because he knew how troublesome it was for you to cover them up for work the next morning. Work, where your coworkers and your bosses and Seokjin could see. 

Brows pinched together, your brain begins to draw a connection, one that Jungkook is soon confirming himself. “Everyone will see that now,” he hums, kissing a trail down your neck. 

Of course. 

You pat the back of his head in amusement, hiding a smile against his soft locks. Before you can say anything more, maybe tease him for being so cute, there’s a hand on your hip that snaps you out of your scheming. Jungkook lifts his head, does that endearing little head shake that pushes his hair out of his eyes, before leaning in for another languid kiss. 

It’s even slower than the first, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with running his hands over your body now. It starts at your shoulder, teasingly snaps the strap of your bra as you push your tongue down his throat. Jungkook whimpers, that pretty sound that makes you desperate to hear more. It’s the same sound that he always makes when he wants to be pampered, wants you to kiss his entire body while he lays there and takes it. 

And you’re all too ready to act on it. 

Duty calls and you’re there to answer, tilting his head for him with your hands against his cheeks. He sighs against you, breath trembling as it tickles across your skin. That soft and tender way that makes you melt because he’s just so precious, so dreamy. 

But you’re too caught up in your plotting to remember the hand he’s got on your hip, the one that teases the waistband of your panties with one lone finger. It’s only when Jungkook pulls away from your inviting mouth, his other hand holding you down by your shoulder, that you’re snapped back into reality. His lips are swollen and red, slick from your tongue, and so tantalizingly kissable. He huffs out a breath, eyes flickering over your face. “Can I touch you,” he husks, and gives into the temptation to press a kiss against your jaw. 

“Yes, please,” you shiver, hypnotized by his hungry stare. 

Jungkook wastes no time, pressing another kiss against the bruising mark over your throat that dissolves into a series of lighter smooches he trails down between your breasts. His hands come up to cup your boobs over your bra, giving them one harsh squeeze that has you releasing a long exhale as he moves between the valley and down your tummy, over your belly button. “Open,” he says at your pubic bone, carefully guiding your legs apart until you’re spread wide for him. 

The dark panties you’re wearing tonight— the super expensive ones you had spent an hour measuring your body for the exact sizing —receive one light kiss over the front. “Always so pretty for me,” Jungkook murmurs, tracing one lone finger down the middle. Your stomach contracts when he nudges it against you, the soft material of your panties just barely pushed between your folds. 

As his hand occupies itself with some relatively light foreplay, Jungkook tasks himself with leaving another tingling mark against your skin. This time, it’s on the inside of your thigh. He starts it off slowly, a few littered kisses against the skin until he deems one spot worthy enough and abruptly sinks his teeth into you. “Not so hard,” you whimper, reaching down to bury your hands in his hair. 

Jungkook lets it go, sloppily licking over the area. “You like it hard,” he husks, meeting your gaze as he licks one, long stripe over the tender skin. “Don’t you?” You nod demurely, pressing your knuckles against your lips to hold back a tiny moan from slipping past your lips. 

With that new mark blooming over your skin, Jungkook transfers his attention to your pussy, hidden beneath the soft material of your panties. One finger hooks under the hem, tucking them aside until he can see you in your entirety. “Fuck,” he groans, pressing one light kiss over your clit that makes you inhale sharply, fingers digging into his scalp. Jungkook throws one final glance your way before letting his tongue slip past his lips, the very tip flicking against your clit. 

Your breathing becomes shallow, anticipation building in the pits of your stomach as he slowly but surely begins playing with you. His tongue is so warm and wet, nudges your throbbing clit, nose pressed against your mound. “Mmm,” he moans, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth works wonders. 

“Ah,” you gasp, whiny and high-pitched, when he dips one finger past your wet folds. The entry is seamless, his pointer finger sinking into the velvet walls of your cunt as his tongue swirls against your hardened bud. “Jungkook,” you mewl, knocking your heel against his shoulder. Jungkook huffs, suctions his lips around your clit. The cold metal of the rings he always wears— the duo set from that Chrome Hearts brand he likes so much —presses against the trembling lips of your pussy, makes your back arch when he twists his finger inside of you. 

He’s so precise with his tongue, knows just how long and how hard to lick against your pulsing clit until you’re trembling, thighs quivering. Briefly, he pulls away, flicks his hair to the side in one suave motion that lets you see his dark eyes when he glances back up at you again, covered in a thick sheen of lust that makes them appear almost black as opposed to his usual warm brown. His hands reach for the waistband of your panties, tug them off with one fluid pull. 

“So pretty for me,” he murmurs, the end of his words laced with a slight rasp that makes your hips jump. “All for me,” he says, roughly pushing his finger into you again. The harshness makes your entire body tighten up in surprise, eyes fluttering shut when he slips his middle finger alongside his pointer this time around. 

“Baby, wait,” you whimper, walls fluttering around the two digits. Jungkook leans back in, presses a chaste kiss against your clit that makes your breathing stall as he thrusts his fingers into you. 

He ignores your cries, locks his lips at the juncture where your thigh meets your body, sensitive skin that bruises all too easily when he sucks against it too hard. “Only for me,” he sighs, all pretenses discarded as he begins rapidly and roughly fucking his fingers into you. It’s intense, has your thighs quaking as he speeds them up. 

The coil in your stomach tightens, and you have to bite down on your knuckles to stop the litany of whimpers from slipping past your lips when Jungkook ducks down again. He bypasses your quivering clit, warm tongue licking at the warm, wet folds around his fingers instead. The proximity makes the tip of his round nose brush along the length of your cunt, a sight and sensation that makes you moan, his bangs harshly tugged away from his forehead to give you the perfect view. 

It’s with a particularly hard shove and twist combination of his fingers into your clenching walls that you cum, a gasp caught in your throat as your hips push toward him, chasing the feeling Jungkook bestows upon you. Your breathing is a mess, inhales too short, your exhales inconsistent, as Jungkook slows the speed of his fingers inside of you, lets your cum ooze out around them, coat his fingers and his rings. 

“No,” you cry, watching that look come over his face when he withdraws his hand, the look that usually follows him sucking your cum into his mouth. “Jungkook, you don’t have to do that—” you whine, reaching for his wrist and yanking it towards you. 

Jungkook follows, crawls back up beside you as he chases his own sticky fingers. “It’s mine,” he urges, has this weird look in his eyes you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. And just as quickly as it crosses his features, he’s lurching forward to catch his own fingers in his mouth. It’s lewd, the way his tongue wraps around them, leaves them sleek under the TV glow, tattoos and rings glistening. He has the audacity to moan, eyes fluttering shut as his devious tongue slips down between his fingers, so long and precise. There’s a tiny noise that tears itself from your throat, one that has him flickering his clouded gaze up to you as his fingers are released from between his own lips. “You like that,” he murmurs, wet fingers trailing down your cheek, capturing your chin to turn your face his way completely. 

His tongue is sinful as it slips past your lips again, the tangy taste of yourself clinging to him. His breathing feels hot, suffocating. But his kisses are so good, make your mind go blank. So blank, that the fingers that rub at your clit surprise you completely. “Kook,” you gasp, breaking away from him in surprise. 

Jungkook doesn’t let you get far, capturing your mouth with his again. The two fingers you had felt on your chin are gone, firmly pressed against your swollen clit, experimentally rubbing against it. Never mind the fact you were still sensitive from your first orgasm, thighs quivering when he drags them against the wet, soft skin. It makes you shudder, breaking away from him a second time for a desperately needed inhale of fresh air. Jungkook follows behind closely, pressing kisses over your jawline, your chin, as his fingers continue moving against your clit.

He has them pressed together, rubbing at the front of your slit where that bundle of nerves is hidden. It makes your stomach contract, hips jerking forward into the touch in an effort to match him, to speed up the process. “You were made for me, pretty girl,” Jungkook huffs against your cheek, nose pressed against your skin because he’s just so close, practically molded into your side as his fingers send rhythmic shocks of ecstasy up your spine.

Your mouth drops open, stuttered gasps filtering through your lips as Jungkook takes advantage of your sensitive body to draw out another orgasm. But there’s a weird sensation that builds in your stomach this time, one that brings with it a sense of panic. “Wait—“ you gasp, fisting the silky material of his shirt beneath one clenched fist. “Jungkook,” you warn, toes curling.

He responds with a harsh nip against your lower lip that makes you whimper. “Go ahead,” he purrs, rubbing his fingers over you at an insane speed, one that has your juices sloppily spread over your pussy, makes you buck into him and moan against his mouth. 

The feeling grows, an intense, unfamiliar thing that you rarely recall ever feeling before, gasping for air as Jungkook’s fingers caress your clit, pressing down hard. “Fffuck, fuck,” you sob, mouth opening in a silent scream, eyes rolling backwards as you feel your pussy lips contract harder than ever before, thighs quivering as your juices squirt out of you, lower body reduced to jello as Jungkook quickens his movements, wrists jerking back and forth as your pleasure sprays out of you. “Ju— Jungkook,” you wail, forcefully slamming your thighs shut when he doesn’t stop, the pleasure seemingly never-ending under such a torturous touch. “Stop—stop,” you beg, eyes filling with tears that spill over when his trapped hand manages one final rough rub against your clit accompanied by a final gush of wetness. 

Only then does he stop, leaning back on his knees to drink you in with dark eyes that make you quiver. There’s no trace of his usual post-orgasm cockiness, the smile he’ll flash you, the teasing jabs. Nothing, just a frankly terrifying gaze that has you self-consciously pressing your hands over your chest. 

Jungkook doesn’t take kindly to it, roughly snatching one of your wrists up until you’re sitting up, the traces of your own orgasm present in the damp couch cushions beneath you, inner thighs coated in a thin sheen of your own pleasure. Jungkook leans in close, nose bumping against yours. “You came like that for me,” he says quietly, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. You nod, eyes wide and teary when he reaches for the front of his shirt, giving it the same treatment he usually gives yours; two hands at the front, yanking it apart until the buttons are torn from their stitches and bouncing across your floor. 

He throws it off to the side, his tan skin highlighted by the cool tones of the television, the dark sleeve of his tattoo especially prominent. The black ink almost looks blue under this light. You’re so distracted by the perfect swirls and doodles on Jungkook’s skin that you don’t realize that same hand is reaching for you until it’s too late, long fingers wrapping around your throat to jerk you forward, head tipping back to look up at him. “Say it, sweet girl,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded. “Tell me you’re mine.”

The fingers around your throat squeeze once and then slowly begin tightening. You gasp, meeting his hooded gaze with yours, lips quivering for a response that’s stuck in your throat, trapped by your own surprise and tightening airways. Frantically, you reach for his wrists with both hands, not to pull Jungkook’s hand away, but to ground yourself from the hazy cloud of lust the moment evokes. 

Still, your body isn’t as strong as you thought, and once Jungkook reaches a certain tightness around your throat you find yourself coughing. Instantly, he loosens his grip. But not too much. “I- I’m yours,” you rasp out, gasping for air. 

For now, it satisfies Jungkook enough for him to release you. And while you’re grateful for the rush of fresh air that fills your lungs, the phantom ghost of his grip around your throat sends a new gush of wetness between your thighs. One that grows tenfold when Jungkook reaches for his belt, undoes it easily. It comes off with one fluid motion, carelessly shucked off to the side as his attention moves to the front of his pants instead. 

He doesn’t let you sit around uselessly. “On your knees,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it. “Sit on your knees facing the table.”

You blink slowly, the dry tears on your cheeks leaving stiff trails against your makeup. It takes a moment for your brain to process his request, one long second that has Jungkook pausing in his movements, leveling you with one solemn glare that eventually has you springing into action. You hastily slip off the couch, shuffling toward the coffee table between it and the television. The rug is soft beneath your knees, a luxury you can’t enjoy to the fullest because there’s a ball of excitement and fear stuck in your throat. (Right beneath your bruised skin and recuperating windpipes.) Sitting back on your calves, it feels like every nerve is standing stiff as you await his instructions. 

“Bra off,” Jungkook says from behind you, and you’re startled by the sudden ripping of stitches behind you, almost turning to look at him. He stops you with one hand around the back of your neck, drawing a surprised gasp from you. “Sit still,” he commands, your back stiff straight, eyes focused on the screen. After a beat, Jungkook lets you go, pats the back of your head gingerly. “Good girl.”

A whimper catches in your throat at the praise, and you barely manage to bite down on it in time, hurriedly reaching behind you. Your hands fidget over the clasps on your bra, and you nearly jump out of your skin when one lone finger traces down your spine, undoing your bra for you. You don’t know why, but you say, “thank you.”

The television changes scenes in front of you, the bright colors a stark contrast to the darkness of Jungkook’s eyes. Your hands tremble in front of you, fingers anxiously tangling with each other. A few inches beside you, there’s a dark red box filled with the flowers from—

Suddenly, your vision goes dark, hands instinctively reaching up to your eyes. The pads of your fingers come in contact with a soft material, smooth and silky. Just like— “Is this… ?” you murmur, hands sliding across the makeshift blindfold Jungkook’s made for you, the same texture as his shirt had been. 

He doesn’t grace you with an answer, just a hand against your hip as he, presumably, settles behind you. “Does it matter?” Jungkook says instead, voice all too close to your ear. Your entire body locks up, hands quickly returning to their spot against the coffee table. 

Just as you’d suspected, Jungkook is all too close now, hands crawling over your body. They start at your waist, massage the skin tenderly, lovingly, before gliding up to cup your breasts. You shiver, a quiet exhale escaping you as Jungkook rubs his palms over your boobs, trapping your stiff nipples between his fingers. A sound threatens to escape you, and you trap it behind a bitten lip, fists clenched against the table before you. “You know,” Jungkook says conversationally, like he’s not pinching your nipples enough to make you squirm. “Who else do you think can make you come like this?”

You brain lags. “W- What?” you stutter, thighs pressing together to ward away the arousal. Not like they’re already sticky from before, from when Jungkook had made you squirt. 

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat, pressing a kiss against your shoulder that he trails up to your ear, nibbling at your earlobe. “Who else,” he says slowly, “can make you come like this?”

It’s not a trick question— no one could. You tell Jungkook as much. “I— no one,” you answer, rolling your lips in when he kisses the tender spot beneath your ear again. 

His kisses feel loud, but not as loud as his voice when he says, “exactly.” You swallow, gripping at the edge of the coffee table when he releases your boobs, trails one hand between your thighs, the other around your throat to pull you backwards against his chest. It makes your hands flail, landing against the tops of his thick thighs. 

Jungkook holds you close, fingers tightening around your throat teasingly. “No one else can please you like you want,” he exhales, letting his fingers trail over your skin. “Not the guy on tv, not your exes, not the fucking loser at your job,” he hisses, lips against your ear. “No one,” he reiterates, voice softer now as he presses a kiss against you. “No one but me.”

And it’s true. 

You can’t even muster your usual mouthy, bratty attitude when Jungkook serves you cold hard facts like this. Not when you can feel his aching member press against the small of your back, rest perfectly in the slight dip between your ass cheeks. “Isn’t that right, sweet girl?” he murmurs, voice low. 

You nod, tummy tightening when he uses the hand between your thighs to spread them apart. “Only you,” you agree, voice feathery.

Jungkook hides a grin against your skin, a mean chuckle escaping him when he rests his forehead against your shoulder. “Fuck,” he says, releasing your throat. “Such a good girl,” he praises, hands on your hips again. He uses them to encourage you up onto your knees, hips bumping into the edge of the table as he shuffles you forward. “Bend,” he says quietly, palm flat on the center of your back, pushing you down until your belly button is pressed against the cold wood, boobs swinging forward just the slightest. “Perfect.”

Jungkook shuffles up behind you, soothes a hand over your hip when you flinch at the first press of his cock against your folds. “You’re okay,” he comforts, voice like honey as he lines himself up. Your folds are slippery and wet, loose from your arousal and the two orgasms he’s already given you. 

Despite all that, the first push of his engorged cock past the tight muscles makes you gasp. “Baby, that’s,” you moan, nails scratching against the coffee table to make a sound that you would otherwise find uncomfortable. “I—“

Jungkook pants behind you, cock sinking further and further in. “I’ve got you,” he husks. His voice is like the light at the end of the tunnel, your dark vision forcing you to rely on him entirely as he guides you through the motions. “Made for me,” he repeats, voice airy.

You nod jerkily, arms trembling as his cock plunges deeper inside of you. “Made for you,” you gasp, head falling forward, forehead pressed against the cold surface in front of you. 

He moans, and there’s one deafening moment of silence when he finally reaches the hilt, soft pubic hairs at the base of his cock brushing against your folds. It’s a familiar sensation, having him buried inside of you, but it’s always different when he’s doing it from behind. He always feels fuller, bigger, mushroom tip practically kissing your cervix. 

“Kook,” you whimper, walls unintentionally contracting around him when he lingers a second too long. “Move.”

“Fuck, fuck,” he curses behind you. “I know, it’s just—“ he pauses, squeezes your hip so hard, you’re certain it’ll bruise. “I wanna… y’know,” he groans, dropping his head against your back, warm breath fanning across your slightly sweaty skin. 

It makes something in your stomach click into place, shifting back just the slightest. The small drag around your lips makes you brave. “Then do it,” you urge, desperate for any sort of friction. 

Jungkook practically growls, bucking into you once. “No,” he says, like he’s battling with himself, faced with a mental hurdle he can only cross alone. “You don’t understand,” he sneers, suddenly snapping back into position behind you, pulling you flush against his pelvis once more. It makes you whimper. 

“I kinda do—“

“You don’t,” Jungkook hisses, forcefully thrusting his hips into you enough to make your hips knock painfully against the edge of the coffee table, a startled moan falling from between your lips. And from there, it’s like you’ve unleashed a beast, because Jungkook shows you no mercy as he begins fucking you, his fat cock slipping in and out of you, his angry head flirting with your entrance. “I wanna fucking breed you,” he sneers, fingers digging into the skin around your waist to hold you still as he bucks his hips forward.

His vulgarity makes your skin heat up, the warmth probably tangible over your sloppily made blindfold, eyes wide despite the fabric that covers them. “That—” you gasp, thighs trembling with each powerful thrust. 

“It’s too much, I fucking know,” he huffs dryly, releasing one hip to press against your shoulders, roughly shoving you forward until your breasts are pressed against the surface, arms bent up beside you to stop yourself from hitting your head. “But— But,” he shudders, suddenly stopping his thrusts to grind his cock against you instead, pussy lips quivering around his girthy member. “I wanna,” he pants, “wanna see you so fucking full of me, because— you’re mine, __,” he seethes, “right?”

You nod blindly, dumbly, brain too flooded with the stimulation he’s bestowing upon you to think properly. “I- I am,” you confirm, gasping for air. “And you’re mine,” you manage to get out, one hand slapping down against the coffee table when he draws his cock out, slams himself back into you quickly. 

“I’m yours,” Jungkook slurs behind you, slowly picking up his pace again. The hand on your back lets go, and it’s with trembling arms that you manage to push yourself back onto your forearms, one hand blindly reaching for the hand he’s got gripping at your hips. 

“Oh my god,” you whimper, the sounds coming from your connected bodies so lewd and obscene, disgustingly wet when Jungkook slips back inside. He surges forward again, and you try to catch your balance, knees quivering underneath the force of his thrusts. Your hand slides over the tabletop in a feeble effort to hold onto something, anything. You can’t see, and even if you could there’s not much to hold onto on a flat surface. 

Except the box your hand knocks into. Your confusion lasts for only about a second because then Jungkook is ramming his cock into you, over and over, until you’re certain your hips are going to bruise and your knees are going to give out. Jungkook’s moans are soft and feathery, sighs that fan over your shoulder and make your back arch, eyes rolling backwards for the briefest second as if you were possessed. 

“Mine,” he whimpers, desperate and needy, fingernails digging into your skin as he pushes on. “Gonna be mine forever,” he growls. “Gonna— Gonna be so pretty and big,” he moans, “tits so fucking full.” The image he puts in your mind makes you dizzy. 

You nod dumbly, knuckles bumping against the box a second time. “Jungkook,” you choke out, fingers blindly nudging the box aside. But there’s no strength behind it, your entire body feeling weak and useless, all the energy concentrated in the coil in your stomach, the one that grows and tightens with every entrance of Jungkook’s cock into your pulsing walls. “There’s— There’s something,” you gasp, pinky finger tapping against it.

Behind you, Jungkook stills, harsh breaths deafeningly loud. Louder than the television and the corny music that plays, the mindless chatter of the characters you couldn’t name even if you tried. “Why would you...” Jungkook huffs, irritation lacing his words.

You don’t get to question it, because a second later his finger is tucking itself beneath your blindfold, yanking it off carelessly. It makes your head crane backwards, a tiny yelp torn from your lips as the blinding glow of the TV attacks your poor eyes at full force. Jungkook’s long since stopped his rapid thrusts, and it’s only when you glance off to the side that you realize why. 

It’s the stupid box of flowers Seokjin had sent you, the one Jungkook had placed on the coffee table when you first got home. 

Behind you, Jungkook releases one long exhale, both of you looking at the arrangement with various degrees of discomfort. “Did you like them,” he murmurs, cock throbbing inside of you. 

You shake your head, a soft, “no,” falling from your lips. The muscles in your thighs quiver like mad. 

Jungkook says nothing, but you watch as one inked arm stretches out from behind you, the movement of his hips pushing his cock deeper into you. A tiny whimper catches in your throat, watching as Jungkook hooks a finger over the lip of the box. One swift tug has it gliding over the tabletop, coming to a stop right beside your forearm. Jungkook leans back, the silence terrifying. 

“Did you think they were pretty?” he asks, tracing one finger down your spine. Your lower lip trembles as your eyes scan over the bouquet, at the pretty color selection and lovely scent that joined together to overwhelm your senses. 

“No,” you say, but it feels like a lie.

And Jungkook thinks so too, wrapping one hand around your throat and pulling you back forcefully. It’s the same as he did earlier, but with his cock deep inside your pussy, it sends a shock throughout your entire nervous system, a sob tearing itself from within you as he unintentionally pushes himself deeper inside. “Did you,” he says a second time, practically seething, “think Seokjin’s flowers were pretty?”

Your eyes flicker nervously across the screen in front of you, but everything is a blur, Jungkook’s harsh breathing against your ear. “Yes,” you confess, whimpering when his fingers tighten around your throat, press down against your windpipe as he inhales sharply. “But they’re just flow—“ He squeezes your throat so hard, your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, mind growing fuzzy. Eventually, he lets go and you dissolve into a fit of coughs, bent over the coffee table again as Jungkook slips his stiff cock out from within you. “I’m sorry,” you sniffle, throwing a teary-eyed look over your shoulder.

What you’re not expecting is for Jungkook to grab that same shoulder and roughly push you onto your side away from the coffee table, falling onto the fluffy rug as he shoves you down. “Something pretty for a pretty girl,” he sneers, biting down a frankly maniacal grin.

“What?” you exhale, probably looking at him with the same maniacal look in your eyes. 

(You were made for each other, so crazy and in love.)

Jungkook stretches one toned arm out, and you flinch when he uses that same beautiful arm to send the box of flowers flying over the edge of the coffee table, a hard thwack resounding throughout the room when they land face down on the other side, petals against the floor, water dripping out from inside. 

With those out of the way, Jungkook wastes no time flipping you over, face shoved down against the soft rug as he angles your hips up. “Thinking about someone else when I’m right here,” he growls, ramming his cock back into you with no warning. You sob, clawing at nothing as he bucks forward. “What a mean girl,” Jungkook scolds. 

“I- I wasn’t,” you defend weakly, shivering as he snaps his hips against you, the rug irritating your cheek when the motion sends you forward. Jungkook uses the hands on your hips to pull you back, your skin clapping together loudly. 

“You think Seokjin would— would fuck you like this?” he spits, using you like a toy as he fucks basically for himself, cock sliding in and out of your squelching walls. “You think he’d push you down and—and call you a stupid girl?” 

You shake your head, eyes squeezed shut to fight the wave of tears threatening your waterline. Truthfully, it doesn’t make much of a difference, especially not when Jungkook yanks your hips back again, your entrance sensitive from all the friction. “No, no,” you sob. ”He wouldn't.”

Jungkook scoffs, not bothering to slow his pace down. “Of course he wouldn’t,” he spits, and then, strikes your ass. Two hard cracks of his palm, rings and all, against the globes of your ass. You wail, unconsciously jerking away only for Jungkook to drag you back. “Stupid girl,” Jungkook sighs, cock twitching inside of you. You can feel the beads of precum oozing out from the tip of his cock inside you, their warmth making you shudder. 

Your other ass cheek receives the same treatment, two harsh smacks that leave the skin tingling, blood rising to the surface. “Stupid, stupid girl,” he repeats, palms rubbing over your cheeks for a brief second, only to strike down again. “Aren’t you?” You nod, fat tears dripping out of the corner of your eyes and down onto the fluffy rug beneath you. Your behind stings, pain blossoming over your skin. But it’s the good kind, the one that has drool escaping from the corner of your lips from how overwhelmed it leaves you. 

“I- I’m a stupid girl,” you agree, your words punctuated by a series of tiny sobs and sniffles. Your walls feel sensitive, raw, from his thrusts. You’re ready to come, trembling hands slithering down to reach for your clit. 

“Don’t,” Jungkook warns, snatching your arm up and twisting it behind you. 

You cry, tears and drool against the rug. “I wanna come,” you whimper, trying your other hand only for it to meet a similar demise. “Please,” you sniffle, turning your face the other way as if the angle will somehow be different. 

“You don’t come until I say so,” Jungkook hisses, using his grip on your wrists to tug you onto his cock. You moan, choke on your own saliva from the force, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix for real this time. It renders you stupid, just like Jungkook had called you, chin trembling as your eyes roll backwards. Behind you, Jungkook grunts something deep and raspy. “Fffuck,” he spits, pistoning his hips into your inviting heat. “You were doing so good tonight—“ a particular brutal buck of his hips, a loud moan torn from your lips “—but first those fucking flowers and now this?”

The rhythm of his deep thrusts cut your moans into stuttered little cries, your words broken with every ram of his cock inside of you. Your walls feel worn, every brush sending a tingling shock up your spine. “I- I’m sorry,” you weep, shoulders shaking from your own tears and the rumbling orgasm that’s just about ready to snap. 

Jungkook says nothing, too busy shoving his cock inside of you to grace you with a response. Instead, you’re subjected to his relentless thrusts, sharp gasps from his pretty mouth. “Fuck,” he pants, releasing your wrists after one particular thrusts, your walls clenching around him painfully when he draws his cock out. 

“I can’t,” you sniffle, knees giving out before he can catch you, sadly sinking down onto the plush rug. “Kook, I—”

Jungkook makes a sound, something between a growl and a roar in the back of his throat as he follows behind you, planting two firm hands on the sides of your head to use as leverage to fuck himself in. With your thighs pressed flat together, the squeeze is tighter than ever before, and your eyes roll backwards as he gets to work, walls fluttering from the overstimulation. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he pants, all games thrown aside as he begins pounding his cock past your folds, deep into your contracting walls, until that tight spring in your stomach gives out and you’re clenching up beneath him, entire body going stiff for one long beat. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you weep, thighs quivering as you cream his cock, make his movements so slippery and wet, almost dangerous when he’s going this fast. His name falls from your trembling lips, every nickname and pet name you’ve ever given him mindlessly blubbered through your orgasm. Jungkook pays you no mind, thighs tensing up as he chases his high, short breaths and moans filling the space as he fucks himself into you. Until, finally, a few deep strokes later, he’s coming with a shuddered cry of your name on his tongue, collapsing over you, forehead pressed to your back as he catches his breath. 

“Fuck,” he groans one last time, body going slack very quickly. He slumps down beside you, softening cock slipping out of your tender folds. 

The floor between the coffee table and the couch is dark, the television glow not reaching down here. Even still, the sweat clinging to Jungkook makes him look like a sparkly Twilight vampire, the dip between his pecs collecting the smallest pool of sweat. You can’t stop yourself from running your pointer finger along the skin, over his nipple. His pec jumps deliciously under the attention. “Stop,” Jungkook sighs, catching your wrist in his, pressing his lips to your knuckles in an attempt to distract you. “Or I’ll really get you pregnant next time.”

You push yourself onto your elbows, pinching his doughy cheek. “You won’t,” you tease. Jungkook flicks his hair away from his eyes to level you with a look you’ve never seen before, not a trace of his usual post-sex playfulness to be found. It has you retracting your hand, eyes wide when he doesn’t stand down. Still, you can’t lose. “...No you won’t,” you repeat, quieter, almost unsure. Almost a question. 

Jungkook rolls his eyes, tugging you into his arms. He’s all sweaty and sticky, just like you. He’s lucky he doesn’t have four separate loads of cum— three from you, one from him —sticking between his thighs. “Keep telling yourself that,” he pants, so smoothly. Too smoothly. It makes you clench your thighs, something Jungkook doesn’t miss. “Stop it,” he warns a second time.

“You’re just so dreamy,” you whine, sitting back up to play with his hand. “Like, when you made me squirt?” He chuckles softly, eyes fluttering shut. “Not gonna lie, I thought I saw the answer to the universe for a second.” 

He’s worn out today, more than usual, that he doesn’t bother gracing you with a response. But it had been a long day for Jungkook; from planning an entire date, to the Seokjin debacle, to the crazy hot sex he’d gifted you. It was only reasonable. You reward his efforts with a soft peck against his cheek that makes him smile, a light blush painting his cheeks. “You did good today,” you hum, patting chest comfortingly. 

“Felt like I was in a Viki drama,” he confesses after a moment, has that tiny smile on his face that makes the apples of his cheeks especially round, especially cute. “The kind that have twelve plot lines going on.”

You laugh, snuggling beside him. The rug feels dirty, but so do you so the feeling is cancelled out or whatever. “You’d be the Park Seojoon of any Viki drama,” you tell him, and Jungkook laughs.

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you. 

epilogue

Namjoon calls Jungkook’s phone a little after eleven, talking your ear off about some date he’d gone on while Jungkook is in the shower. You tell him about what happened with Seokjin and like all respectable college mentors, he just about flips. “You can sue him,” Namjoon hisses, furious for you. Not that you aren’t anymore, but in a weird act of impulsiveness, Jungkook had gone outside and ran the stupid box of flowers over with his car as you watched from the open window of your apartment. It was weirdly cathartic. 

He’s in the shower now, humming the lyrics to one of the songs from Secretary Kim, a song called It’s You by Jeong Sewoon (thank you, Shazam), that makes every inch of your body overflow with adoration when he hits that long note. Anyway, you’re perusing the rest of the streaming service for a movie to watch. Jungkook said you couldn’t watch Train to Busan tonight, something about it ruining the mood. So now you’re debating between a historical romcom or a modern romcom. 

Over the line, Namjoon is doing all the raging for you. “Men are trash,” he huffs one last time, before eventually letting it go. (For now.) “Hey, do you know how to cover up hickeys?” he asks suddenly, just as Jungkook reappears in the living room. His skin is glowing, looking like the hottest man alive. The window is still open, a feeble attempt to air out the smell of sex in the room, and the draft makes Jungkook shiver because his hair is still a little wet. 

“Hickeys?” you repeat, stretching a hand out for him as he rounds the couch. Jungkook takes it, places a soft smooch against your knuckles, close to your promise ring. Your heartbeat stutters just as Namjoon hums. 

“Yeah, this girl,” he says, cutting himself off with a laugh. One you recognize all too well because it’s the same one you let out when you talk about Jungkook to other people. Said boy settles close beside you, leans his cheek against your head when you snuggle into his neck. As soon as he’s there, you lose all rights to the remote, watching as Jungkook completely disregards all your searching just to click back onto Secretary Kim. He had missed a whole episode. “We went a little crazy tonight—“ you gag at the image Namjoon places in your head “—and Doyeon bites kinda hard—“

“Doyeon?” you interrupt, all mental processes coming to an abrupt halt as the name bounces around your mind. Jungkook, having mastered the art of listening in on your phone calls by now, freezes beside you. “You know a Doyeon?” 

“Yeah!” Namjoon says excitedly as you sit up. Jungkook meets your gaze, big Bambi eyes giving the performance of a lifetime, and gives your this overly innocent shrug of his shoulders that tells you more about what he does know than what he doesn’t. “Kim Doyeon. She went to your school— actually, she graduated with you and Kook.”

The world comes to a complete stop as you glare at Jungkook, his panicked features cueing you in to the fact he was aware of this, as you’d suspected. “Namjoon,” you say slowly, fist tightening around Jungkook’s phone. “Are you aware you’re fucking my best friend?” 

There’s a long silence on the other end, Namjoon presumably processing the information while Jungkook tries to calm the boiling anger within you. “He didn’t know,” Jungkook whispers, big pretty eyes on you as he tries to save Namjoon from you. 

All his efforts are in vain when Namjoon clears his throat and so eloquently says, “and you’re fucking my best friend?”

epi-epilogue

The Best Buy employee doesn’t ask questions when you and Jungkook go in to get your cracked phone screens repaired. He does, however, give Jungkook an over-exuberant sales pitch on a brand new line of computer monitors that are almost as big as the television at your house. 

You try to save him from the dangerous hands of capitalism, but the Hello Kitty bandaids decorating your neck are itchy, the skin still so tender, so sometimes it’s wiser to let him waste his money than argue otherwise. 

“Good girl,” Jungkook says as he swings your arms back and forth on your walk to the car, impressed by the fact you didn’t argue with him in a Best Buy today. “My perceptions and understanding of you in my life make me happy,” he beams, too smiley as he unlocks the doors. 

“Shut up,” you glare, painfully tearing the stupid bandaids off your neck as soon as you get in, brandishing the blossoming hickeys Jungkook had so graciously given you last night. At the sight, he bites down a smile. “You’re about to perceive and understand these fists.” 

And Jungkook smiles— he always smiles —as he leans over the center console to press his mouth against the darkened skin at the front of your neck, mindlessly rubbing his thumb over your promise ring. “Perceive this love,” he says, so cheesy it makes you gag. 

“Goddd,” you groan, pushing him away before he can see the smile on your face. “Someone get this man a Viki deal.”

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