#but again I understand. The world is really fucking scary right now and everyone deserves a space to talk about that

[battle-subway-ghost]

//Response to the PSA thing (your tags)

//No someone did that, I saw it, I unfollowed the person because of it because it was starting to make me intensely uncomfy how often they pounced on real issues while rping- (I rp to relax not talk about what's going on in the world-)

// Originally I wasn’t gonna respond to this until I reread it and saw that this isn’t a one time thing. Oh. Oh….

I don’t wanna like- publicly shame this person or anything, from what I’ve heard privately they’re coming from a place of concern and care for the topic(s) at hand!! I can understand that. But also there’s a time and a place for this… and funny Pokémon roleplay is absolutely not the place.

I hope this can be a learning experience for everyone involved if anything else? Nobody go out and harass this person- they don’t deserve that kind of malice over this.

#ooc #it’s very tasteless and insensitive to do this (repeatedly) but I get it. I just hope this opens their eyes on why it’s harmful/insensitive #this is the first and hopefully last time I’ll bring up subjects this heavy on here #I also use Pokémon Irl as an escape from The Horrors ™️ as I’m sure most people on here do #but again I understand. The world is really fucking scary right now and everyone deserves a space to talk about that #just… a funny Pokémon roleplay community is not that place. you won’t find any of the discussion you want to find anyways #and like many people have said already it’s insensitive- intentional or not. #anyways this was definitely something to see half an hour after waking up— #something about curating your experience on tumblr because I have never heard of this person at all until just now- #anyways that’s enough rambling. uhh. take care of yourself the human brain was not meant to process so much bad information at once etc etc #I’m going to go get something to drink man. idk

[idyllcy]

slow... slow... slow.

Word count: 1.1k

Content Warnings: hurt no comfort, angst, major character death

Summary: some days are slow.

Some days are slow.

Slow.

slow.

It's been slow since you left. It's hard to wake up some days, other days, he stays in bed, dialing Naegi, apologizing through his morning voice and sniffling nose about not being able to make it to work again. It's hard to wake up in the house when you're gone. It's a strange experience, really.

Two months ago, you would make him breakfast in the morning.

Now, you do nothing.

Well, not like you can do anything to begin with.

You've been gone for just about that long too.

It was his fault (again), you know (as it always is).

He had been the one to love you too hard, and he had been the one to throw you into a pool of sharks, except these sharks had nukes and bombs and snipers and... well, you know. The good old arsenal of weapons that a typical war criminal has. Ah, no. Not one. Multiple.

He had been the target of everyone, and he supposes that they caught onto the fact that he valued your life more than his own. It was obvious when he had tucked you away from the rest of the world in your apartment that the Future Foundation owned. He'd rather die than live in a world without you.

He supposes his worst nightmare has come true.

He lives in a world without you now.

Without.

Yeah, without you.

So, he lives another day, one where he's not allowed to kill himself as you had instructed. (You had told him pretty explicitly once, "No killing yourself. If I see you in hell I'm sending you straight back to Earth.") He calls off work again, sitting in your bedroom, lying in your bedroom, holding the covers to his chest, mind spinning, trying his best to savor whatever smell of you was left. (most of it has faded, but he likes to pretend.)

There's some breakfast you had made for him before you passed in the fridge. It's molding, turning green, purple, he doesn't know what color, but it's not good to eat anymore, yet he keeps it in there. Grief is a nightmare for him this time around. He hadn't even cried this hard since his parents' death. He hadn't even cried when he got kidnapped. He never slowed down for anything. Grief was almost a normal part of his life. (it wasn't. He never cried over deaths.)

It's another day that he lays in bed until his stomach curls in his abdomen, crying, begging for him to eat something. Something. Anything. He's hungry. He's going to die without the food. So, he pops a couple of nutrition pills and goes back to bed, and the cycle repeats.

Again.

Again.

And again.

Komaeda finds himself in a dooming cycle. A cycle that eats his insides out, losing his muscle, his face slimming and turning bonier than when he was doing chemo. He thinks he deserves it for killing the love of his life. The. The ex-love of his life. No. That's not right. He still adores you. He'd kill himself to be with you right now if he could. Yet, he doesn't know why your last words stick with him so strongly. They weren't even your last words, (your last words had been "Fuck, there goes my vision" according to Hinata) but Komaeda doesn't understand why he listens to you. Maybe he was worried he'd be an even bigger disappointment to you if he actually did kill himself to follow you. Maybe you were happier and found someone else.

You had mentioned you had a dead first love in the afterlife (it had been a joke. he didn't know).

Komaeda doesn't like that thought. You told him you loved him.

You loved him.

loved.

Maybe it was scarier on his end. Maybe it had been a mistake on his end to think that he could love someone. It was foolish, scary, stupid, everything in between. He was delusional to think that you would be able to grow old with him. It's. It's just a stupid cycle of grief that he was incapable of escaping. How terrible on his end. You'd surely smack him if you were still alive.

Maybe you are smacking him as a ghost. Maybe he'd be able to feel you at least one last time that way.

He didn't even get to say goodbye.

You had bled out in the arms of another man, and when he found you, you were cold, dead, lifeless, everything in between, but most of all, you were dead. Your skin was colder than the winters he survived out on the streets as a remnant. His heart hurt. (at least it didn't hurt when he was a remnant). Maybe this was Junko's way of getting him back. It was too good to be true, after all. How dare he believe that he could—

It's hard to stop the thought cycle.

Komaeda sits on the couch, hugging your stuffed animal, opening the TV to catch up with the news (more so to turn it into white noise), ignoring the text messages from his classmates again. How would they know? They all lost their loved ones during the tragedy with the blame of despair. He lost you during a time when he was sober. He lost you when he was capable of protecting you. How could he do that to himself? How could he do that to you? It would have been better to let you leave and fall for someone else. How dare he believe that he could be happy?

He would never be happy without you.

It was as if all the healing you had done had cracked and broken on its own. It didn't really matter anymore. You were dead, and your healing had undone itself. As though the thread after his surgery had broken loose, forcing his wound open again. He was so close too. Maybe if you had stayed a little longer— what a futile thought. You're gone. It doesn't matter anymore.

He blinks back into consciousness, staring at Naegi delivering the news, staring at the vitamin pills on the table. The pills you used to take. Ah. Ugh. Why must everything in this dammed apartment remind him of you? No. Not dammed. Why must he have had lost you?

He falls asleep on the couch, the TV eventually playing music from the ultimate composer, throwing him into a trance. He's tired. He's asleep, but he's walking. He's. He doesn't know. He's dead, dying, died, broken. He's. Broken? He doesn't know. Not anymore.

So, as he falls back asleep in his bed, he wonders if the next day he'll break out of the trance.

Maybe not.

Maybe so.

But then again, some days are slow.

#komaeda x reader #nagito x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #danganronpa x reader #dr3 x reader #☾.fics

[aesthetically-meme]

Everyone needs to know right now how SPECIFIC Exist for Love is. @that-fanperson-meg COME HERE (please)

It is SO SPECIFIC FOR TWILIGHT AND DUSK. IT IS LITERALLY DUSK RAMBLING TO TK ABOUT HOW MUCH HE MEANS TO THEM, AND THEM INADVERTENTLY CONFESSING THEIR ENTIRE FUCKING EXISTENCE TO HIM.

DO YOU UNDERSTAND? CAUSE I'M ABOUT TO RAMBLE SO FUCKING HARD, HERE WE GO.

I've never felt like this before/my heart knew I couldn't/and then you take me in/and everything in me begins to feel like I belong/like everybody needs a home

༶•┈┈⛧┈♛

When Dusk first met Twilight, they were very distant, but not in a social way. It didn't seem like Dusk was really there, they were almost hollow. It was scary to see an astral like that. However upon interacting with Twilight, they're instantly filled with life. (I'll talk more about this later teehee)

And when I take your hand/like the world has never held a man/I know I cannot heal the hurt/but I will hold you here forever/if I can, if I can

Basically Dusk saying that they'll always be there for Twilight. They aren't able to undo what's happened to him, but they can be there for him and give him all the love he deserves, whether or not he thinks he does.

And then I learned the truth/how everything good in life seems to lead back to you/and every single time I run into your arms/I feel like I exist for love/like I exist for love/only for love

THAAATTSSSSSSS LITERALLY THEM AKXNAKDNANSJWNSNW, THEY HAVE SUCH A STRONG BOND IT MAKES DUSK FEEL LIKE THEY HAVE A PURPOSE‼️

After leaving the GSA and coming to terms that they're alone, they realize how happy Twilight made them. Yes, being in the GSA wasn't all that bad. They had Maestro and their fellow astrals around them. But Twilight was family, he was one of the main things that drove them to strive for greatness. They wanted to protect the light that Twilight cast.

I can't imagine how it is to be forbidden from loving

Dusk is physically incapable of not feeling some form of love due to their matter. Upon hearing how Estelle treated Twilight, they'd immediately start clinging to him again. The idea that someone could ever be mean or abusive towards Twilight physically hurts them.

Cause when you walked into my life/I could feel my life begin/like I was torn apart the minute I was only born/and you're the other half/the only thing that makes me whole

Now, I know what I just said. But when Dusk was found by Maestro, she could tell there was some sort of enchantment over them. It blocked off their emotions, sealing them deep within them. She couldn't break the spell, but hoped Dusk would meet someone in the GSA that could help chip away at the spell via love.

Despite being with Maestro when they met Twilight, Dusk didn't immediately feel a connection to Maestro. For the first few weeks of them being in the GSA, they where kinda quiet, a bit empty. (No one could truly figure out why. Only Dusk would figure out later it was because of some sort of spell.) It's not until they meet Twilight do they suddenly become 'alive'. Dusk's soul is attracted to Twilight's wounded heart. Think of it like Sora from kh when he took in Ventus' heart. Except Dusk's soul made itself heal so they could help Twilight heal.

I know it sounds like a lot/but you really need to know/we are leaning out for love/and we will lean for forever, I know/I love you so

Clearly this must be overwhelming for Twilight, but they desperately need to know how loved he is. He puts too much on himself and not only is it hurting him, but it's hurting Dusk too. Twilight has so many people he can count on, and there's many people that are yet to be discovered.

And when you say my name/like white horses on the waves/I think it feels the same/as an ocean in my veins/and you'll be diving in/like nothing is out of place

Just acknowledging their bond gives Dusk life. It's like seeing your best friend and getting excited at the idea of just briefly interacting. You could not talk to each other for weeks and then see each other and chat like you spoke the day prior.

And we exist for love/only for love

They're acknowledging that if they were to lose the other then ... Yeah. A bit sad, but truthfully, both would be lost if the other were to die. But also speaking of their race as Heart Matter. Dual purpose yknow.

And I love you, I love you, I love you x2

Dusk will tell Twilight they love him however many times he needs to hear it to believe it. They aren't shy about being affectionate and will rightfully do anything to make their best friend feel better.

#aes rambles #aes screams at 4am #dusk knight tag #twilight knight oc

[jayden-killer]

HOLD ME CLOSE.

Paring: Marc Spector × Fem! Reader.

°~°

The rain rocked me. The sound of drops beating against the windows was strong, it did not seem to stop the storm. The clock was 2:37 in the morning. I was still awake, despite the fact that it was against my will, because I was waiting for my boyfriend, Marc Spector, to return.

A few months earlier, Marc told me about his D.D.I., where it came from, who Steven really was and the discovery of Jake, his third alter. His hands trembled, and his voice faded as the story progressed.

— You don’t have to talk about it now, Marc— I resseaured him, —we can leave the conversation hanging, and when you'll feel ready, then I’ll be here listening to your story, how that sounds?

And Marc, not being used to all that affection, burst into tears, sobbing.

–I was just a small child- he repeated incessantly, until sleep took over.

Returning to us, my thoughts were interrupted by a turn of keys in the lock of the house, and the steps became closer, after closing the door. Marc. Marc had just arrived home. Too tired to get up, I stood on the bed waiting for my boyfriend to slip under the covers with me and hug him, or vice versa. The heat that would warm each other.

With caution, Marc slipped under the covers and I turned to look at him: his lower lip trembled, his eyes ajar so as not to let any tear come down, his head lowered.

—Marc, what happened to you?

I did to light the Bajour, but his arm stopped me at the same time. He didn’t want me to see him so vulnerable, so open, that’s why he was asking me not to make things worse by turning on the light. I laid down again, my face a few inches from his, as I drew invisible lines on his bicep, in an attempt to calm him down.

—Hey— I tried to bring him back to reality, sweetly, whispering, —is it okay if I hug you?

There was no answer from Marc. He sank his head into the blankets, took a deep breath.

—If my mom saw me now, she would say that I’m a fucking loser— He spoke so slightly that it would be difficult not to understand him.

—Hey, what are you talking about?

—I don’t deserve your love. You don’t deserve a man with a broken soul, you don’t deserve to live next to someone who can’t love.

Love. Yes, because for Marc Spector the word love remained on his tongue, it was bitter taste, as if it was bothering to pronounce it. Because Marc believed that being loved was a sin. I, who was beside him, didn’t think like him. Everyone needed love, especially my Marc.

And then I pulled him closer to me, let his head sink into my chest and inhale the scent of vanilla that emanated, that reminded him so much of me, that gave him calm, and took his hand gently. Something in him stood still, still stiff, then melted at my touch and let me give him all the love I could give him.

— You deserve all the love in this world. Everyone needs love. Your mother was someone who couldn't understand the word love. She had no right to treat you the way she did. You are no loser, you are a winner. And I’m sure if you couldn’t love, then why would you be here, with me, in this comfy bed, huh?— This statement made a man smile. I held him even closer to me, if that was possible. —The world is a scary place for fragile souls like you, my dear. A dark place. But, do not worry. I'll help you find the light you deserve.

—I love you, Marc Spector. Now and in another life.

—I love you, too, Y/N.

—Now rest, it’s late. Tomorrow will be a beautiful day—With this, my lips touched his forehead to give him a good night kiss, while the little baby that was in Marc began to fall asleep.

I also began to fall into the arms of Morpheus; smiling, knowing that I would face anything with him, any obstacle, any trauma. The rain rocked us.

#marc spector x y/n #marc spector x you #marc spector #marc spector x reader #moonknight x reader #moon knight #steven grant x you #steven grant x y/n #steven grant x reader #oscar isaac #oscar issac hernandez estrada #oscar issac x reader #marvel imagine #marvel

[gust-jar-simulator]

I want to think out loud, so let's talk about my concept for Dark Link in BOTW. Specifically the playthrough I'm doing.

The thing is, I have two things I REALLY want to do in BOTW. I want to beat the game primarily with spears, because they're my favorite, so I've decided to RP the idea that after getting resurrected Link flees from man and god and becomes someone new. New name, new look. Best way to do that? Move into the Gerudo Desert. People are asking for a swordsman, not a molduga hunting spear-wielding vai.

Unfortunately the call of destiny takes no shit and no prisoners, and even if he tries to fully integrate into Gerudo culture, he is unfortunately the only person capable of stopping the horrible zappy camel mecha. So defeating that is what will unlock the main quest for me- right now I'm region locking myself to the Gerudo desert and highlands until I defeat Vah Naboris. Also, only vai clothes. For trans reasons.

After that though, there's only one full set of armor I'm at all interested in- Dark Link's set. Weirdly enough, you can only unlock it after defeating all four divine beasts, so I've got my work cut out for me. Once I get it though, I want to permanently switch over to that for fun.

My concept for this Link, and the story I'm telling about him (tagged Rewilding) involves a lot of identity fuckery on multiple levels. The function of a Dark Link, in my mind, is to make Link confront the version of himself that he's afraid of. Sometimes the thing the gods are afraid of him becoming, to better keep him in line- but sometimes it's fundamentally just him. His own personal monster. Himself.

These are two very different things.

What would the gods be afraid of him becoming? Someone who won't defeat Ganon, probably. Someone who joins him or loves him or embraces the malice because he's so fucking done with the cosmic game. Someone who refuses to play, even though refusal is never really an option. The oathbreaker paladin who rejects his princess- and wouldn't it be justified, after the way she rejected him? Ganon has material to work with, there, with Link's memories already corrupted and Sheikah tech flowing through his veins. There's no reason the blood moon couldn't whisper to him the way it does guardians and lynels and every other foul thing in Hyrule. Doesn't he deserve a break?

You get Dark Link's set right around the time you hit a plateau and have to make a choice in the questline. After defeating the Divine Beasts, you can go to the castle. Or, you can faff off into the wilderness, complete every sidequest and pick every flower. Sure your princess is waiting, but why not suck the marrow out of life and leave her on read a bit longer, y'know?

It's an open world game. These things are for frolicking in, not beating. <- (Dark Link whispering in your ear telling you to find every Korok because you might get cool loot)

That said, what would Link be afraid of becoming? I think I have my answer, and while an argument could be made that he's afraid of letting Zelda down again, failing her the way he failed a hundred years ago- if it was me, and of course in my games Link is always to some degree me, I'd be afraid of who I was and am not anymore. I'd say Link is afraid of Zelda's Appointed Knight, Champion of Hyrule, bodyguard and pissboy and unthinking unfeeling sword. I'd say he's afraid of the Hero Chosen by Hylia, and most especially the sword that defined him, deciding his fate before he was old enough to understand.

He's afraid of becoming the Hero, and even once he makes his peace with that, he's still afraid of who he was, this nebulous creature everyone relevant expects him to be. The whole game orbits around his amnesia and memory loss. While that's scary, it's scarier to realize that he's not free to remake himself in post-apocalyptic Hyrule. He should be. It's been a hundred years. It should be okay if he can't remember, nobody else does- as long as he saves the day, it shouldn't matter who he is or how he does it.

But there are people who remember him, people with expectations that aren't just save us but also be the boy we remember, and he can't do that. Not fully. You can't cross the same river twice, and he was dead. The knight never freeclimbed a Zonai ruin in the rain to test his anti-lightning earrings. The knight never considered the freedom of gender fuckery. The knight never bounced Rito chicks on his knee or indulged in cool sunset pictures. He wouldn't know how, and if he did he might not understand why.

Link came back from the dead and fell in love with the wind in the grass. The knight never had that. He is incapable of being that again, but there's songs and legends and people who see the stoic soldier when they look at a young man dressed in his underwear and a korok leaf. There's an expectation.

He's terrified because if he becomes that soldier, he'll be killing who he is now, and he doesn't want to die. In that small, unnoticeable, inconsequential way that is important to only him. He can have things that are important, now. He can be happy. Does he have to choose, between being happy and being Who Was Promised? Can't he save Hyrule and be himself? With every memory, something else is rooting behind his eyes like parasitic ivy, and as much as he wants a purpose he wants it to be his own. He'd be much happier saving Zelda without remembering her at all, but that's... cruel. And, unfortunately, he kind of does want to know. So he does, hunts down the familiar-foreign feeling of mute devotion and tries to figure out if he feels longing or horror as the memories fit under his skin like a foreign thing settling into a too-small coat.

I think if we had to fight Dark Link in BOTW, he should manifest as the Champion of Hyrule, Zelda's devoted and utterly wraith-silent knight, with environmental storytelling to indicate the guilt of the failure at Fort Hateno as well as the horror of being a soldier.

This is Breath of the Wild. Every wolf and korok in the country has seen Link's ass as he paraglides and drops into freefall to shoot bomb arrows. You've never seen a less civilized gender anarchist. He's probably got sticks in his hair, and squees at cute clothes.

The knight is clean and groomed and primped like a showdog. He doesn't speak. He doesn't emote. He kills, and kills well, and when he's not killing he follows like a shadow. He is the mortal extension of the Master Sword, and needs be nothing else. He's a thing. An ideal. A prophecy in motion, and has been since the tender age of 4. That's when kids start learning how to read, and he was learning how to kill.

Nothing, not even Ganon, horrifies Link more than someone looking him in the eye and expecting that he be the king's lifeless attack dog again. Assuming, even, that he's eager to remember and become that again. Not many people get born twice, and he much prefers a childhood of baked apples and freeclimbing to indoctrination and conformity.

Link came back wrong and he likes it that way. So, if I may be humorous about it, this version of Dark Link would be Link's personal blend of toxic masculinity made flesh. Talk about exposure therapy...

Anyway, I put a lot of thought into this and I think it would be very fun to give Zelda everything she wants- a Link who remembers her, her devoted knight who's everything he never wanted to be again.

#botw #botw link #dark link

[silverislander]

man ok kind of obsessed w the way amanda overton talks abt writing fight scenes in that new bridging the rift episode! so i have thoughts about the vi/sevika fight

first off: i don't really think vi did that in order to win and kick sevika's ass. i think she's smarter than assuming she's just going to take her on no problem, and i think the reason is as simple as... that's kind of who she is what she does. we learn from her records (and the everything about her actually) that vi got into a LOT of fights in prison, but from arcane/context clues, it seems like when she starts it, it was always people associated with silco and his gang. vi beats up silco's crew. it's what she does.

i feel like that singleminded tunnel vision from stillwater is still super there (bc. when did she ever get downtime to heal it lol); she didn't get to have an identity for years in a literal sense. she didn't even get a name- just 516 or pink, which side note makes me Cry but anyways. she's not vi, not powder's sister or the leader/strength of her group. she's prisoner 516 who punched a man's eye out. she's the scary bitch down in the hole half the time. she's pink, who beats up silco's goons. that's all she had to define herself as for most of her formative years. this is what she is.

building on this, i think the meaning of the fight gets a lot clearer: this is vi trying to fight her past and all of its pain, and it's her beating herself up because of it. sevika isn't just a traitor that vi wants to fight, she's the idea of powder being taken away and it being all vi's fault (in her mind). she only ever did it out of that self-hatred and a need to somehow atone for that night anyway? vi goes up against her, already kind of knowing she won't win, knowing it's gonna fucking hurt, because she has to. it's like self harm (don't get me started on my hc of vi starting fights to punish herself-); she thinks she deserves to be hurt by her past just as much as she explicitly states she doesn't think she'll ever grow and move past what she did that night, how she wasn't enough for powder.

and it almost kills her. sevika is going to finish it and let her bleed out in an alley, that's pretty clear.

so then there's the best fucking part at the very end- caitlyn saves her, and that's the most obvious symbolism in this thing, and i fucking love it. she's even placed up above the fight and the lighter colours are behind her head like a halo- she's literally an avenging angel, it absolutely slaps!! but it's super clear what she represents in this scene, bc it's kind of what she always represents.

caitlyn is hope here. she always is- joining the enforcers to help the cities, solving a mystery nobody wants her to figure out that doesn't even affect her because it's the Right Thing To Do, later dreaming of a world where zaunites won't have to live the way they do and piltovans will make things fair again, and i absolutely love that about her- but here especially, because she's vi's hope for the future (their future!). vi is saved from her own self-hatred and pulled out of hurting herself via her own past by a force she doesn't expect or understand yet. things get better by themselves out of nowhere for her in a way they never have before, and maybe... that means that could happen again. she has hope now.

and then with this understanding, of course that's the turning point for their relationship, of course now vi can treat her as an equal ally (and maybe even more). vi has literally fucking seen the light and she's getting pulled right into it. here is a chance for things to get better: a girl she's supposed to hate who shouldn't give a damn who genuinely wants to help everyone she meets, including vi, despite all of her flaws and baggage.

and you get all of this in like... fifteen minutes or less, without directly saying any of it. fucking incredible.

#anyway shes SO right abt that writing advice omg i love it. scenes mean something!! as they fucking should!!!!!!!! #reminds me of the hunger games love triangle symbolizing katniss ability to find peace despite her past vs carrying that rage #and similarly ellie/dinas relationship breaking down as ellie feels grief consume her overpowering the love she still has left #its incredibly clever. god i love media and literature and reading comprehension (i am a Big Ol English Major Nerd) #arcane #vi #sevika #bridging the rift #levi.doc #hope this is at all readable its been stuck in my brain and i couldnt articulate it #tldr: vi is a moth but for not hating herself and also levi has a big lasbian crush on cait

[eggxdragoon]

I hope to stop talking about my personal life and circumstances to anyone now because the only times I have, people claim to understand and support me through it but then instantly switch and rudely use it against me as if they want to blame me and say it's my fault, as a way to insult me the second they start to hate me for other reasons

anyone who blames me for being stuck in life at the moment and finding it hard to progress in any of the ways one is expected at my age, despite knowing the reasons are fucking scum. especially when they rub it in my face like I'm just some lazy horrible stubborn piece of shit despite the mental and physical agony I'm in on a daily basis

I had years of my childhood stolen by all the horrible traumatic and depressing shit I went through that I don't even speak of and also forced isolation throughout all teen years so I never knew what it was like to be social. I'm still a stranger to the world who hasn't talked to anyone outside family in years because it's so hard and scary to even fathom now

I have anxiety that can be debilitating because the reason I was successfully lured into forced isolation is when it was initially taken advantage of by an abuser saying "see everyone hurts you and is dangerous and out to get you and are your enemy, people suck and it'd be better to live far away from all human life" and I was manipulated into believing it was true for years and when I tried to break out of that mindset I was still trapped physically because they had me trapped

I'm sick of people just being like stfu idiot and get meds and go into therapy in a condescending way even when they know this. it's so insensitive and rude and I don't care if their intentions are to help. motivation and support is going to be better than "it's all your fault you're a fucking idiot go take meds and therapy and become someone I like better and is accepted by society" those are reasons my brain tells me I deserve to suffer already, it's encouraging me to stay in it

I can't take meds for all that because the amount my mom has to be medicated and how she still uses drugs and alcohol to cope on top, how she still treated me despite that, and all the side affects that would massively fuck up my life even more as someone who already has low empathy, bouts of intense numbness where I'm especially suicidal, and how the last thing I need is for that to improve and for my dick to stop working on top of that has made it not for me, I have to find other ways

and therapy is a lot and something that's taking a lot of effort to even consider let alone push myself into it, going from someone who hasn't talked to anyone outside family for years to talking to a stranger about darkest thoughts and memories and secrets would be scary. either way I don't feel I'll ever be able to properly talk about my worst problems anyway because the things I'd have to share would be incriminating for abusers so it could be genuinely fucking dangerous and I'm scared

and then there's the way I'm so depressed it kills me and it's like I've I inherited my mom's major depression but again I can't be medicated for it. and I have to act used to it and joke about it a lot to family but the physical fatigue and chronic pain I feel is really fucking agonizing. I can't remember what it's like to not be tired and aching and sore. I can't remember what it's like to sleep normally. I wish just getting out of bed wasn't such a challenge for me mentally and physically

so fuck you for saying they're just excuses and that I'm just rejecting the idea of getting better. I CAN'T right now because the abusive fucking assholes made sure of that. I can't be a normal functioning adult because I didn't even get to be a fucking kid. not that I'm going to let the abusers win but just staying alive as long as I'm stuck in this will always be enough of a challenge as is. I'm fighting so fucking hard and nobody will understand or appreciate that effort when all I want to do most of the time is die

and this is the tip of the fucking iceberg because all the disgusting and fucked up things that happened to me that I can't talk about causes enough deep mental anguish that I can't even bear to uncover and consider taking with me to the grave. and then comes my living situation and all the tragedy in my life. but even when people know all this, as soon as they hate me I'm apparently just a liar. apparently I'm just a suicide threatener and manipulator. apparently my pain isn't real. I fucking wish it wasn't. fuck you

I've been given every reason to start repressing myself and my feelings around others again. I'm spiralling back into those thoughts of "everyone hates you and wants to hurt you" like I was taught. everyone who yelled at me about needing therapy and blaming me for not being able to and all the reasons I need it made it even harder and set me back in it. thanks a lot assholes it was already fucking hard enough as it is and you just make me reflect on it even harder when you push the idea that I'm not even trying and haven't made any progress at all

I'm sick of being so angry and miserable and in pain everyday.

#this made me feel both better and worse to get down but I feel like absolute shit today and hopefully writing these down will help a bit #stop attacking me mind please for the love of god it's so noisy in here just let me rest

[prinzessinpluto]

Wait honest question

Why do you like Billy?

Like he was racist and abusive and yeah I agree he didn't deserve to die, he deserved to heal from his past and present demons but he was also fucked up and i do not feel bad for being happy he's dead as he was an awful person

So I just want to know your perspective on why do you like him

honestly I dont really know either? at first I was just like "hes hot" and that was that but now,,,,

of course, he's an absolute asshole, no question about it I'm not trying to justify his actions by any means. I absolutely get why ppl dont like him. if he was a real person, i wouldn't like him either.

maybe it's just bc of the way I personally understood and interpreted his character? which is basically a young adult whose incredibly angry at the world bc of his upbringing (with his parents and then also being forced to move and all that) and he just takes it out on the people around him. which isn't fair, of course, but it's an understandable reaction. or at least I think it is.

so in the way I see him, he's not this Super Evil Bad Guy who kicks puppies for fun just for shits and giggles but just a person who's been very very hurt and doesnt know how to deal with it.

it makes sense to be rooting for him to die (or be relieved? by it?) bc hes written as a bad guy in the story from the perspective that we are being told the story. he hurt "us" by hurting max and steve and all the others.

but I think he's such an interesting character bc he's actually worked through this huge emotional struggle (right before he dies (and I dont just mean the mind flayers control but also his general anger. at least in that moment with eleven, he broke out of that 'billy the Bully' character. aND I WOULD'VE LIKED TO SEE HOW THAT HOLDS UP AFTER ALL THE OTHER SHIT WAS OVER BUT NOOOOO I CANT HAVE ANYTHING NICE I GUESS FML)) and he's pretty much the only one we see having multiple layers and a reason for acting the way he does. everyone else seems very much good vs bad, so it was nice to see a little more ambiguity. especially since billy himself (as in, not possessed) really wasnt the worst of their problems with the other dimension demon taking over the world and all, so I think it's a bit weird to focus on this comparatively small characters wrongdoings so much. (tho from a narrative standpoint, that might've been to build up into him being seen as a bigger threat when he got possessed. wouldn't have been so scary if it was a random guy from the gas station or smth.)

but again, just my interpretation of the series and also I might be forgetting things right now. but this isn't a professional paper, these are the 2am ramblings of an idiot.

#i can fix him #also a healthy dose of delulu bullshit i have to admit #this turned out way longer than expected im so sorry skdbskfhs i promise im not trying to convince anyone to like him i get why you wouldn' #i used to be really angry at everything as well before i figured out why i felt like that and worked through some shit #so i kinda relate to him in that way. #not the abusing other people part but the being angry and not knowing what to do with that and everyone is scared of you part #idk idk hes a fictional character there is no definite 'version' of him #maybe its cuz i looked at him as an isolated character? outside of his narrative of being the bad guy? but idk #sharkiebby💖 #i do have to ask now tho #who's your favourite character?

[illicitjoy]

having a favorite person is hard.

dealing with bpd in my life has been difficult for me with the random mood swings, attachments and setting up “tests” for your loved ones, and then realizing what you did, and don’t get me started on the compulsive lying.

i didn’t think i had a favorite person. i was equally attached to everyone. i have finally “gotten over” my favorite person from middle school and high school, and i can never explain why he was my favorite person. my best guess was he gave me all the attention five year old me could ever want.

i was a glass child growing up, which is inevitable when you have a sibling with special needs and a blended family where you only see your step siblings a handful of times. when they were home, it was all about them. and i understood that as a child, but sometimes i just wanted to be held and told that everything would be okay in the world.

but in middle school, something switched in me, and all hell broke loose. i have a whole cookie jar (that’s what i call my problems, kinda makes me giggle) i have bipolar disorder, bpd, cpstd, chronic anxiety, intrusive ocd and failure to thrive depression. and that’s only my mental crap. i have diabetes and celiac’s disease and that’s another fun story.

in middle school was when the manic episodes decided to flick to 4WD and hit petal to the fucking medal. i was drinking and getting high anytime i could. skipping class. getting arrested. screaming at my mom. never sleeping. failing all my classes. and meeting my first boyfriend. my favorite person.

he was everything you could ever want in a perfect boyfriend. obsessive, jealous, way to high of a sex drive for a fucking middle school child. oh, and also abusive, a biastophilla (tw rape if you look it up), and would spam your phone with death threats, or suicide threats. would follow you home, break into said home, and you know, do things that a biastophilla would do. a girls dream.

and now your thinking, “girl, why would you do that to yourself?” i’ll tell you a few reasons. 1. i was manic 86% and i loved self sabotage. 2. your girl loves some good ass obsessive attention. 3. i felt like i couldn’t be alone. this was one of the lowest points of my life, and i just wanted someone to love me, and i that’s how i thought i deserved to be loved.

this went on and kinda off (he never really left me alone) for FOUR YEARS, and even a little after that. i would be terrified, block him, hide from him, have my friends protect me if he came charging. but sometimes i would get a little less sleep than usual and i would go manic, unblock him, text him something like “you grown yet?” and it was start all over again. it was a painful vicious cycle, but that’s what i deserved in my mind.

i felt like an absolute bitch when i told my girlfriend that she was not my favorite person, and she told me that she would never want to be my favorite person. that it was too obsessive and jealous, and could sometimes be scary. immediately i felt like the biggest red flag in history.

i have a friend right now that’s really struggling, and the way my girlfriend talks about them, hits a trigger. saying, “she lives six minutes away from work. how is she always late? i understand that she can’t get herself out of bed but at least get up enough to get dressed and work on time.” and “she wouldn’t be in this position if she wasn’t dating xxxx.” and i understand. i deeply and truly understand where my friend is in their life. and how hard that is. and it makes me overthink, “what if this is what she thinks of me?” “what if she thinks i’m over dramatic.” “what if she thinks i should just deal and get over it.” and it hurts me, and makes me hurt for my friend.

now you’re probably thinking “hun, who’s your new favorite person.” buckle in darlin. my favorite person is my best friend, and when i tell you i’m obsessed, it’s a fucking problem. she could tell me, “i’m in love with you, marry me.” damn looks like we’re going to the chapel, let’s go. “quit your job.” i walked out babe, what we doing now? “come to me.” bitch i don’t know how to drive but i’m flooring it in a car that i stole. now, part of it could definitely be that i need more sleep and to up my meds, but you can’t really medicate this away.

if she’s upset, boom i’m upset. she depressed, damn looks like we dying together. won’t text me back? she hates me, i should kill myself. this is the problem with favorite people. i also don’t have my own personality. she likes dark hair, i’m dying my hair. she’s a country aesthetic? yehaw mother fucker.

just know if someone you love has a favorite person, just try and be supportive because they will cut you out of their life so fast if you don’t approve. you can try talking to them, and maybe getting them some help, but just be patient. and if you can’t handle it explain it nicely. they are in a vulnerable state. their fight or flight will be triggered.

bpd is one of the hardest conditions to live with. you’re constantly fighting with yourself. you hurt. it’s so mentally and physically draining. just be patient. maybe get them a therapist, and breathe. everything will be okay, and if it’s not, you are allowed to get yourself out of a scary situation.

it’s about the other people around the person with bpd too. it’s hard to be with or be around someone with bpd, just try talking and expect an outburst. they’re just a five years old that’s terrified and wants someone to love them.

i am five years old, scared and just want to be loved. i want to be told that everything will be okay in the world, and just to breathe.

[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.”

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts jungkook #bts fic #bts smut #mine

[pinkteapotwriting]

I’ve been thinking. I see a lot of dom!marauders or them being experienced. But what if it was the opposite? Like y/n is experienced and perhaps a dom, while the boys are virgins (or just had little experience)? it makes me all soft 🥺. Like Y/N could be their best friend/fifth marauder (whichever you choose), and they like ask her to be their first time and it’s all blushy for the boys (them being subs, a few tears of pain for them) go crazy! It’s been on my mind for weeks!

Marauders x Fem!reader

Warning : unprotected sex, cursing, Dom!reader, pretty chill I think, you know, for smut

Word count : 1830

Thanks for being so patient, I hope you like it cause it took me forever to do this. It's a bit heavy on the dialogue but oh well

---

Surprise, surprise.

It was raining at Hogwarts. The Scottish countryside is taking on its usual demeanor of moisture in this season. Not that you minded, that just meant you got to spend the day with all of your favourite boys. You Sirius and James were giggling away in the corner while Remus was trying his best to ignore you all and read, but you figured you could peak his interest.

“Okay Pads, what’s your body count?”

“I’ve never killed anybody, but trust me Snivelus has come close.”

“No you dork, how many people have you slept with?”

“I’m not answering that!”

“I’m not gonna slut shame you Sirius.”

“He’s definitely not worried about being slut shamed Y/N” James snorted.

“Like you’re any better off than I am you prick.”

“Cut it out, there’s no need to call each other names. Are you both virgins then?”

“Well, yeah I guess.”

James was much more embarrassed than he needed to be.

“What about you Remmy, have you done anything at all?”

“Ask Sirius.”

“I already did ask Sirius!”

“Ask Sirius.”

“Oh my god why are you all so embarrassed there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m just surprised is all. You guys are all really attractive and kind people so I never thought you’d be inexperienced and you’ve dated plenty of girls.”

Remus shut his book.

“Not that it’s any of your business Y/N but i’ve at least given or received a hand job or two before.”

“Why’d you tell me to ask Siri- ooooooooh.”

Sirius had his face in his palms.

“Can we change the subject please.”

James patted his shoulder comfortingly.

“It’s okay Pads. It’s not like the opportunity never arose, we were all just waiting for the right person.”

“Aw well I hope you find them soon, I care about you all so much and you deserve the world.”

Sirius was still groaning into his hands.

“She’s so fucking oblivious.”

Remus chuckled.

“Quite.”

Quite what? Confused definitely.

“I don’t understand.”

The room’s silence was overwhelming, until James took a deep breath and all eyes were drawn to him.

“Sirius and Remus obviously like each other and I’m not going to deny my attraction to either of them.”

“Then why don’t you-”

“It doesn’t feel complete. See we already found that someone, it’s you Y/N.”

“Really? You guys want me that way?”

James shrugged meekly.

“If you’ll have us.”

“I’ve always felt that way about you. I just never wanted to risk our friendship, but if you feel the same then I’d love to.”

Sirius’s head popped out.

“Right now?”

“Ha ha, no we don’t have to right now.”

“Well what are we waiting for, to get to know each other. I know James too well actually.”

You rolled your eyes and turned to probably the most level headed one, but Remus was giving you puppy eyes. You were so drawn to him you walked across the room and cupped his face with your right hand.

“What’s wrong honey?”

“Waited so long already, love. Don’t wanna wait any longer.”

“Jamie, do you want this too?”

“Yes please.”

“Such good manners baby, so I have everyone’s consent then?”

“Very much so.”

“Enthusiastic consent.”

“If you don’t do something I’m going to combust.”

You smirked at Sirius’s comment.

“You don’t get to combust until I say you do, understand?”

“Ooo scary.”

“So be it.”

You took hold of Remus’s hands and placed them on your hips.

“I know you’ll be a good boy for me Remus, won’t you?”

He swallowed thickly and nodded.

“I’ll be good for you Y/N.”

“I know you will Jamie. It’s Siri I’m worried about. Why don’t we show him what he’s missing out on? Lie back against the pillows for me, both of you.”

“What about me?”

“You can watch for now, learn how to follow their example.”

He huffed.

“Suit yourself.”

You knew your usual roles in the bedroom, so you were trying your best not to be too stern. But still, you needed to teach Sirius his place.

You lifted up the bottom of James' shirt and kissed his hip bone delicately. He got more and more ansty as you drifted your direction to the middle and down, and down, and down.

You very happily undid his belt and pulled off his pants. The state of his arousal was much more noticeable now.

“Can I suck your cock Jamie? Would you like that?”

“Yes please.”

“Good boy, Remmy can you spit on my hand please?”

You held your palm up to his mouth expectantly, but he seemed hesitant.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed sweetie, never for doing what I ask.”

He nodded and did what he was told and immediately you felt your clit throb. Having control over these three boys was certainly a power trip. Knowing you were the first person to make James tremble like this as you engulfed his cock expertly was definitely a turn on. As you bobbed up and down on James’ impressive cock, you rubbed the bulge in Remus’s trousers. The whines the two boys were making was truly music to your ears. You lifted with a pop.

“Alright Siri, are you ready to be good now?”

“Yes ma’am”

“Did you like what you were seeing?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Do you wanna try and make Remmy feel good?”

“I’ve never sucked-”

“I know, but I’m here to help you baby.”

You’ve never seen Sirius so nervous, so quiet.

“What I’m gonna get you to do first is what you do when you jerk Remmy off, Okay? Just spit on his cock and move your hand up and down alright?”

Remus shuddered as he watched Sirius in his submissive state.

“Good job Siri, look how happy you’re making Remmy. Now you can start by sucking the head, like this.”

James whimpered, and soon Remus was making the same noises. You placed your palm on Remus’s stomach to keep him from bucking his hips. Much to James disappointment you pulled away from him again.

“Okay Sirius, don’t forget to breathe through your nose and make sure you keep your teeth tucked behind your lips, there we go that’s it. Hollow your cheeks now too. How does that feel Remus?”

“F-feels good.”

“Yeah? Sirius is being such a good boy now. Is Siri gonna make you cum?

“Y-yes.”

You grabbed hold of Sirius’s curly locks and pushed him down farther, making him gag and tear up. The vibrations making Remus cum instantly. You pulled Sirius off once Remus started squirming at the uncomfortable feeling of overstimulation.

“Did you swallow? Show Remmy.”

Remus groaned when he saw Sirius stick out his tongue, and you did too.

“Y/N”

James' voice was raspy.

“Yes baby?”

“Wanna make you feel good, wanna fuck you.”

“Want me to Ride you Jamie?”

“Please.”

“Okay, but since this is your first time you might not last that long alright?”

“That’s okay, Sirius can take over after me.”

“Alright well you lie back and I’ll take care of you. Sirius, you wait like a good boy and I’ll help you out in a second. If you want you can get Remus to suck you off while you wait. Teach him like I taught you.”

You were suddenly aware of how you were still wearing all of your clothes so you hopped off the bed to quickly strip them off and you found yourself smirking at the expression of pure need and desire on James’ face.

You straddled his waist and pressed a kiss to his cheek before aligning his cock with your entrance. Inch by inch you and down on him as he clutched the sheets below him.

“This alright Jamie?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Perfect, can I move now?”

“Yes please.”

You raised your hips up, but before you could bring them back down James snapped his hips up to yours.

“James, fuck.”

But he didn’t seem to care, with one hand resting on your hip and one fondling your breast he kept his steady rhythm that was taking your breath away. Sirius and Remus were no longer enjoying their own pleasure, but enjoying the sight of yours. You reached down to rub your clit, but Sirius pulled your hand away and replaced it with his own.

“Like this Y/N?”

“Just like that baby, doing so good for me.”

Remus squeezed in between James and Sirius to suck on the tit that James wasn’t occupying.

“Boys- I’m gonna cum fuck-”

It’s funny how in public James could be such a little shit, but now all you saw was this wide eyed trembling figure that you got to take care of and fuck it sure was enticing especially when he said things like this.

“Please cum, wanna make you feel good Mommy please please please.”

“Fuck-”

As soon as you clenched around him as you hit your high James was spurting white hot cum into the depths of your pussy. Thank god for wizard contraceptives.

You didn’t really get to bask in the moment however, since Sirius was pulling you from James out of his own desperation. He had you lying on your back.

“I need you”

“I know I’ve kept you waiting for quite some time, go ahead love.”

Not that Sirius was significantly smaller than James, but he had an easier time going inside after you had come already. Your legs found their home wrapped around his waist as soon as he found his pace.

“Y/N, I don’t think I’m going to last long.”

“That’s okay love, this is about you. Be a good boy for me and cum whenever you need.”

“It’s kinda embarrassing though.”

You cupped his cheeks and pulled his lips to meet yours.

“No need to be embarrassed- Doing such a good job Siri your cock feels so good inside of me.”

He falls down to hold his weight on his forearms, moving even faster than before.

“M’close Y/N”

“Go on and cum baby, feels so good.”

He whimpered into your neck and you soothed him by stroking his hair. Eventually he did roll off from you, unfortunately.

“You guys never told me you were subs.”

“When I’m with Remus I’m a dom.”

“Makes sense, I’d quite like to see that actually.”

Remus cleared his throat.

“Does that mean we get to do this again cause I never actually got to-”

“Of course Remmy, it just kind of makes sense doesn’t it.”

Sirius chuckled.

“Yeah, I mean it didn’t take long for James to be calling you Mommy.”

“It’s kinda sweet though, has Remus ever called you Daddy?”

“Not yet, but I feel like we’re on the brink of something big here.”

Now Remus and James were looking at each other like maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

You personally did not have any complaints; Sirius however would probably have some when you reminded him he couldn’t dom you though.

He’d have to learn the hard way.

---

@sunny-bunnny @quindolyn @midnightgremlin @weasleyposts @bluemoonyblurbs @emmaev @agalandhermarvelobsession

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin smut #remus x reader #sirius black #sirius black smut #sirius black x reader #sirius x reader #James potter #james potter x reader #james potter smut #james x reader #marauders #marauders smut #marauders x reader #poly marauders #smut #fanfiction #harry potter smut #harry potter fanfiction

[witchersgoldenbard]

My sweet darling @mayastormborn asked for some nonverbal Geralt:

Some non-verbal Geralt during winter, and they all allow him to just *be*? No one asks him anything, they just bring him some of his safe-foods and a drink and top it up through the day. Any conversation is through gestures though as little as possible

Well, sweetness, I hope this little thing brings you some comfort and is somewhere near what you had in mind 💕👉👈 (tho it’s not and I will try again)

1.8k words, no warnings except the obvious

No Words Required

When Geralt wakes up with the first light, the weak rays of the winter sun slowly but stubbornly bringing a new day to Kaer Morhen, he knows it is one of those days that will have to remain silent on his part. Usually, he would turn to Jaskier beside him and press a kiss to his brow to wish him a good morning, but the very thought of talking is almost enough to quicken his heartbeat and make his hands shake. No talking, then.

He closes his eyes again and tries to fall back to sleep, maybe he just needs to start this day over. He doesn’t dare to hope, but it might be worth a try.

Despite giving it another chance, his tongue still feels too heavy in his mouth when he opens his eyes again, the world around him still blurry and sharp-edged at the same time. So Geralt has no option but to accept his fate. At least for today. Only for today, he hopes.

“Good morning, my love,” comes Jaskier’s tired voice from beside him, and Geralt thanks the Gods he doesn’t believe in that he can still find happiness in this familiar tone. Grateful that not all his senses are set to overwhelm him today.

He turns to smile at Jaskier, who waits a moment, gives him a chance to say the words he doesn’t have the strength to utter today. Wants to force himself to say, but his heart, his hands, his head, they all deny him. Warn him.

And Jaskier only softens his smile and asks, as quietly as he can, “Silence day?”

Bless him. Bless this man, this wonderful man, for understanding. For knowing him well enough, for seeing, for asking.

Geralt nods, but reaches out to hold Jaskier’s hand with only a slight tremble in his fingers, afraid to find that touch will be denied, too. But the warmth of Jaskier’s skin feels good, the softness under his fingers bringing its usual comfort, and Geralt smiles at the bard’s hands.

“Touch and noise still fine, darling?” Jaskier asks anyway, despite seeing the smile he is wearing. Always asking, always reassuring. Always loving and caring. Always there.

Geralt nods and taps Jaskier’s hand twice, too.

“Would you like me to tell the others?”

Geralt hesitates, quickly calculating if he has enough strength to grunt and hum his way through the day, make enough noise for them to let it pass. But it feels wrong, and he knows they don’t judge. They all have these days, even Jaskier, and it’s always better if everyone knows.

So he nods and is rewarded with a gentle smile.

“Wonderful. And this is going to be the last complex question of the day, I know they’re hard, but technically it’s still yes-or-no? Really, it will depend on your response, uhm—“

Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s hand and regards him with an amused smile. He loves this man so much, how could he not smile even when the world is heavy around him?

“Right, sorry,” Jaskier mumbles and sits up, scratching the back of his head and looking at Geralt. “Is there anything you need? Except to not talk, and possibly the usual, you know. Anything you need, right now?”

The hand still wrapped around Jaskier’s wrist gives Geralt perfect leverage to just pull and have Jaskier land on top of him with an undignified squawk. The bard chuckles as he lies on top of Geralt, their warm chests pressed together like they were made for just this.

Jaskier hums the moment Geralt’s arms wrap around his middle, keeping the warm and comforting weight on top of him. Let the world be heavy, he thinks. I am safe right here.

“I’ve got you, love,” Jaskier promises. “And you’ve got this.”

***

The first time Geralt goes nonverbal around him, it’s a few weeks after Posada. They are returning from a contract, off to find the alderman to receive their well-deserved coin. Jaskier is prattling on about heroics and monsters and witchers, only interrupting his enthusiastic monologues to hum a tune, trying for a melody and always discarding it immediately.

He has grown used to silence beside him, looming and annoyed and stoic. Hums, at most, though they are always more like grunts, noncommittal and monotonous.

But then, suddenly, the hums stop and the Witcher’s ever-focused eyes have lost some of their shine. Jaskier notices these things — of course he does, he’s an artist after all! And Geralt has pretty eyes. But that’s beside the point.

“Geralt?” he asks, stopping in his tracks and watching the Witcher beside him. The same Witcher who doesn’t even notice that he stopped walking, eyes on the road before him, seemingly lost in thought.

“Geralt!” Jaskier calls again. Still no reply, but the Witcher finally stops. Stands. Looks at him over his shoulder. His eyes still not entirely right, and Jaskier doubts it comes from the various potions he has had last night.

“Something’s wrong,” he says, and Geralt glances around after a second, hand moving to his sword. Good, Jaskier thinks, he’s not completely out of it. “No,” he says and takes a step forward, noticing the sudden tension between Geralt’s shoulders. He stops. “No, I mean… With you. Are you alright?”

Geralt frowns. Well, at least there’s a constant for you.

“Are you okay, Geralt?” he asks again, gentler but really starting to worry.

Another frown, but this time followed by a nod. Which is not very reassuring. Jaskier might not know him well, but he knows right then that he’s lying. He lets it go, though, and they make their way to the town, easily finding the alderman.

A wretched man who only wants to give them half their payment, but Geralt doesn’t seem inclined to argue. Jaskier frowns and gives the alderman a piece of his mind, making a whole scene for everyone around to hear. “And if the Witchers on the whole Continent might hear from the White Wolf’s bard that you betray them, that your hand doesn’t fulfill what your tongue promises, maybe you shall surrender to the monsters then. Leshen and whatever so pleases shall feast on you, maybe that will be the day you wish you had paid the White Wolf what he was promised and more!”

Needless to say, they leave with more coin than expected, and Jaskier can’t wipe the smug grin off his face.

Geralt smiles at him for the first time, then, over their small campfire, and Jaskier smiles back.

“Is speaking hard for you today?” he finally dares to ask.

Geralt stares at him. Nods.

Jaskier nods back. Grins.

“Well, good thing you have me then, isn’t it? A bard to yell at stupid people for you. We’ll make a great team, you’ll see.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything to that, obviously. But even the next day, when the first thing he does is insult Jaskier’s fashion sense, he doesn’t mention it, doesn’t deny it. And Jaskier is sure he didn’t imagine that small smile that could have meant Maybe you are right.

Either way, he was.

***

Jaskier leaves the bed before Geralt, promising to bring him breakfast.

“You still have three other meals you can try to leave bed for, let’s have breakfast here,” Jaskier argues with a grin and a fine that brooks no room for discussion even if Geralt were up for it.

And so, they have breakfast in bed. It’s warm and comfortable and Jaskier chatters away, not expecting a response in any way. Perfect background noise, taking away the sharp edges of his surroundings, making everything a little less overwhelming and oppressive. Jaskier knows his place in the network of Geralt’s nonverbal days as he talks, keeping his voice down and calm and so, so warm. Familiar.

It almost makes him feel normal. It definitely makes him feel safe.

When he finally has enough strength to leave bed, they make their ways downstairs to sit by the hearth. Geralt has found that the warmth helps, brings him physical comfort when there is nothing else to ground him.

“Good to see you, pup,” Vesemir says and claps a broad hand on Geralt’s shoulder after looking at Jaskier for a second. Geralt smiles.

Pup. Vesemir only calls them that on the heavy days, and it’s a constant that always helps them through the worst of it.

Life still happens around him, everyone has their own tasks, and where he’s sitting in the middle of it all, he feels like he still gets to be a part of it.

There are warm foods throughout the day and a jug of something hot and spiced always appears by his side. Geralt is not completely sure how the time passes, but it doesn’t matter.

What matters is that Lambert is sat beside him, silent, offering his company. If Geralt leans into him and Lambert leans back, well, then that’s between them.

What matters is Eskel who lies down on the fur beside the hearth and gently pulls Geralt to lie on top of him, head on his broad chest, careful hand running through his silver hair. He talks, though all Geralt feels is the rumbling of his chest.

It’s all that matters.

***

The first time it happens around Eskel, they’re both still pups. Barely grown into Witchers yet.

“There are worse things than not talking, Geralt,” Eskel tells him, Geralt’s head resting on his shoulders. “I know it’s scary. It feels like there’s nothing worse. But it doesn’t make you any less of a Witcher. Or any less Geralt. You’re still the White Wolf, even if you can’t howl. I’ll howl for you, Wolf,” he promises with a kiss to his cheek. “And when the day comes, you’ll do the same for me. Because it happens. And it fucking sucks, but you’ve got this, okay? And I’ve got you.”

Geralt nods into Eskel’s shoulder and tries not to feel pathetic that the only sounds the world gets to hear from him that day are his sobs.

***

But Eskel was right then and is still right now. They’ve got each other and they take care of each other. Howl and fight and protect each other.

They do the same for Lambert on his heavy days.

And for Jaskier, years and years and years later.

For Ciri and Yennefer and everyone who needs it.

That’s what family does. Nothing has to change on the days you can’t talk, on the days that words fail you. There are always people to yell at the world for you, to wrap you in a hug and tell you everything you need to hear. Even Witchers can have that.

And Geralt has a whole family now to tell him: “You’ve got this. And we’ve got you.”

It’s really all that matters.

#Geraskier #geskel #geralt of rivia #the witcher #witcher fanfiction #nonverbal Geralt #boggy woggy friends #Maya I love you a lot and maybe I’ll write you more nonverbal Geralt because we need more nonverbal rep #but also I just love you period. #💕 #Nat writes

[inkmemes]

young  royals  (  2021  )  sentence  starters ↪  taken  from  netflix’s  swedish  ya  drama.  non-contextual  spoilers.  trigger  warning  for  mentions  of  sexual  activity,  drugs,  alcohol,  death,  implied  internalised  homophobia,  bullying.  alter  as  you  see  fit  ♡

“at least you can stay for a cup of coffee?”

“hey, wait up. did you sleep together?” 

“he's probably making out with someone. forget it.”

“i can't take it anymore.”

“what are you doing?”

“and he had to finish your sentence. what's going on? you like him.”

“every time you see your dad, you get all depressed.”

“you're still here, so obviously you must want something.”

“are you high? what the hell are you on?”

“does this make you horny?” 

“i like [town name], but i don't want to live here forever.”

“you can leave now. go home. i'm staying here for the weekend.”

“do you want chocolate?”

“how do you feel?” 

“it's kind of hard to tell them apart, you know.” 

“you're a worthless drunk.”

“you … you need to figure out what you want. and you can take all the time you need. and i respect that. but you have to do it by yourself. i don't want to be anyone's secret.”

“you have to stop pretending that you're not afraid.”

“that's the thing, i just don't want that.”

“it's something new. something fresh.”

“can we talk privately for a minute?” 

“and if anyone gives you a hard time, you know, just let me know, and i'll take care of it.” 

“you do know you don't need to hide?” 

“are you gonna let us in?”

“promise to let me know if there's anything i can do.”

“hey, we won't go blind from your moonshine, right?”

“i'm just getting a good vibe. that's all.”

“you're so fucking pathetic.”

“you realize that this will have consequences?”

“he's such a fucking idiot.”

“i wanted us to have a few minutes alone.”

“when you're young, love feels like the most important thing in the world.” 

“i really like you.”

“felt like i had to rescue you from that situation.”

“it got so damn hot in there, i thought i'd get some fresh air.”

“you are allowed your own opinions. it's cool.”

“i've seen the way you look at each other.”

“here, this one is a little big for me, but i think it'll look great on you.”

“do you think royal dick is different than regular?”

“you're the only one here i feel i can actually talk to.” 

“i haven't heard anything yet, but i'll tell you as soon as i do.”

“you can't just lie here jerking off.”

“i don't want to go to some fucking boarding school!”

“i've missed this place so much.”

“are you going to horror movie night on friday?”

“but i like you. and that is not fake.”

“you don't need to share everything.”

“we should go to a concert again sometime.”

“you're fucking crazy!”

“where have you been? i've been trying to reach you.”

“just don't use the school's wi-fi for porn surfing. could be embarrassing.”

“but no matter what, they can't dictate what you say.”

“sorry about last night.”

“i don't want to talk to you!”

“i don't wanna sound like an idiot.”

“i was thinking, would you like to have a sleepover at my place? because that's something friends do. it's going to be really cozy.”

“i think maybe we should forget about that.”

“you can't really see that it is you.”

“i mean, it could be anyone. it's so fucking stupid.”

“i don't want to say anything.” 

“now you're doing it again. you're trying to take care of me.” 

“i can take it, it's okay.”

“that's not true. i haven't spoken to my parents.”

“we haven't done anything wrong.”

“you're beautiful! you're so beautiful.”

“i'm gay, [name].”

“seriously? what the fuck is your problem?”

“you keep letting people piss on you!”

“i just assumed you didn't want special treatment.”

“keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

“so you thought you'd start spreading false rumours without having any proof?” 

“i just didn't want to lose you.”

“uh, there's pizza left if you want some.”

“everybody thinks you're perfect. you know that, right?”

“he's just been outed.”

“i'm going to fuck this up.”

“he bloody ruined my fucking life!”

“why are you sitting in your room sulking when you have a crush to hang out with?”

“hi. sorry, i was feeling a bit better. so i thought it was okay that i hung out with some friends.”

"everyone should be allowed to live as gay or straight or whatever they want.”

“i woke up in my own bed. that's always something.”

“could i just have one second? just one second alone, please?”

“i’m sorry. but it was, like, the only way.”

“i thought, everyone deserves a second chance.”

“i'm sorry about the mess. i wasn't expecting such distinguished company.”

“i just don't want you to be treated badly again.”

“oh, fuck.”

“you don't even… aren't you even gonna answer me?”

“i didn't know that one was supposed to sign up.”

“in real life, you don't pay to get ahead.”

“and what the fuck does your dad do?”

“let's try to have some table manners.”

“it's, like, really serious.”

“who the hell can live like this for three fucking years?”

“that's what happens when you buy the cheap ones.”

“i need your help with something. ”

“being a prince is not a punishment, but a privilege.”

“it's awesome to just chill out.”

“or maybe he lied about that too. what do i know?”

“you have to give people a chance.”

“you have to try to see it from my perspective.” 

“what the hell's this?”

“what happened to "we should forget about it"?”

“stop being so fucking stubborn and try to understand my situation.”

“sometimes it's better not to say everything.” 

“i was just bored.”

“have you ever had a boyfriend?”

“sometimes it's better to keep quiet.”

“can i get you some coffee?”

“nobody else cares about these things.”

“i lost track of time.”

“everybody does the same things and everybody knows everybody.”

“thanks for rescuing me yesterday.”

“remember when he came up to us the first week and was like, "what's up?"”

“i need you to delete all our texts.”

“i can't keep doing this anymore.”

“are you gonna let them go on with their bullshit?”

“i want to be with you.”

“here's a blanket, a pillow, and bed sheets. there you go.”

“okay, yeah. you don't seem to have grasped what i'm trying to say.”

“it's usually boring as hell.”

“he's been dealing to us for months.”

“i don't want to talk to him.”

“don't you wanna date [name] anymore?”

“i don't know why he's started texting me again. he knows i don't want anything to do with him.” 

“yeah, we had a shitload of drugs.”

“we could murder someone, and nobody would say a word.”

“she needs some fun.”

“he's just doing it to fuck with me.”

“it's such a weird question.”

“i just wanted to say hi. i don't believe we've met. ”

“but i still want us to be friends.”

“if i were to stay here… would you… like to keep me company? just you and me.”

“everything's, like, upside down now.”

“have you always lived here?”

“damn it. sorry. shit. i completely forgot.”

“i'm sure someone has a story to tell.”

“you've got to put yourself first. i mean, no matter what he thinks about it.”

“come on! you can't just sit there stuck in your room.”

“you can snuggle up in my safe arms if it gets scary.”

“i want to live a normal life.”

“let me have a look. you can hardly see it.”

“any other dick that's been sucked?”

“you just expect everything to be on your terms.”

“i want to know everything!”

“you don't have to go there. i'll take care of myself.”

“has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?” 

“i'll just stay in and go to bed early.”

“thanks for explaining the schedule.”

“i'd rather die.”

“i don't want you to be mad.”

“promise to tell me if something is wrong.”

“i can't be dressed like this if you're dressed like that.” 

“it's really complicated.”

“it feels like you don't care what people think about you, or if you have a lot of friends and stuff.” 

“nobody asked you to come. feel free to leave if you want.”

“well, nobody has ever, ever asked for this!” 

“there isn't so much to do around here.”

“you've become such a snob.”

“i know you're only trying to help me.” 

“do you like it here?”

“i don't wanna go in there. we're not even invited. fuck this.”

“don't you think it's weird [name] invited us to come?”

“if they hadn't been here, would you've, uh, made out with me?”

“so, you're an actual proper couple now?”

“you're thinking about someone else.”

“you're right. we're doing this together.”

“thanks… for nothing.”

“why are you even so obsessed with him?”

“i want you to hold me.”

“call me when you want to be picked up.”

“what the fuck do you care?” 

“i don't think we're a couple or anything. i don't know what it is.”

“you never asked me!”

“your focus should be on comforting me so that i can comfort him.” 

“it's not that hard. you have to be able to keep up appearances.”

“famous people make videos like that.”

“maybe somebody forgot to tell me, as usual.”

“just make a move on [name] and show him what you want.”

“you wanna stay a while and jam?”

“have you talked to your parents about it?”

“a diverse bunch of losers, who'll never amount to anything.”

“why can't i decide how the hell i want to live?”

“apparently, i'm the only one who doesn't know everybody.”

“i used to have straight a's on every test.”

“it will damage our reputation.”

“i'm fucking starving.”

“why is it called tax "evasion" but welfare "scam"? it's all right that rich people cheat, but when poor people do it, it's messed up. for rich people, it's not even called "welfare”, it's called "deduction."”

“what the fuck is rowing?”

“what the hell have you done, [name]?”

“good voice, man.”

“why can't i just have a relationship with him?”

“did you have fun last friday?”

“all the people are fake. they're made out of metal.”

what do you want me to say? i'm sorry!”

“is this some kind of prank?”

“i like you when you are yourself!”

“but you like him, don't you?”

“she shouldn't talk to you like that.”

“are you into him?”

“something's not right, i think we should head back to the road.”

“do you have trouble sleeping?”

“doesn't anyone care what i want?”

“just don't tell anyone that i've been here.”

“i was going to text you back, but…”

“your only mistake was that you hung out with the wrong kind of people.”

“i just wanted to help.”

“i know you'll use anything to get high or drunk.” 

“it's time to stop being so selfish.”

“i just want my fucking money.”

“you should've planned ahead. didn't you bring a sandwich?” 

“who the fuck wants to be normal anyway?”

“you fucking told me you were the one i could always come to!”

“i take it back.”

“i can see there's something going on.”

“i have to finish getting ready, so if you could please leave.”

“no one likes me when i'm myself.” 

“i hope you have a nice christmas.”

“i'm gonna do the wrong things, say the wrong things.”

“my mom is gonna kill me.”

“do you remember what you said to me last night?”

“i cannot be dragged into this.”

“i like you too.”

“you're no longer a part of my family.”

“it's well-suited for smaller people.”

“i assume that he thought that it would make him popular.”

“i didn't ask for this!”

“it's no problem. i like doing it.”

“it feels like i'm gonna throw up.”

“don't i get any breakfast?”

“whatever i do, i can't do anything right.”

“we haven't been to any party whatsoever.”

“did you get my texts?”

“i think it sounds romantic.”

“uh, wait, you have to come to the horror movie night on friday.”

“i liked what you said in there, [name].”

“okay, maybe he used to be a player, but love can actually change you.”

“it's nice to make an effort and dress up for dinner.” 

“i'm in a fucked-up situation and i'm trying to talk to you.” 

“you don't understand. i was gonna pay it.”

“you're not that kind of guy.”

“i was about to go outside and, um, do you wanna come with?”

“what about me?” 

“it was… okay, i guess.”

“can i sit with you?”

“you call this a scary movie?”

“i have a million things to take care of, i don't have time to talk to you.”

“have you lost it completely?”

“but i'm starving.”

“this past year has been difficult for me.”

“i don't get it. she's making it into such a big deal.”

“no, this won't work. just take it off, please.” 

“i'm not like that.”

“fuck you. it's not a crush.”

“then i know that i can't count on you.”

“can't you come see me in [town] sometime?”

“it's just that we can't be seen together.” 

“he was still sleeping when i walked in.”

“doesn't bother me at all. i've seen it. absolutely. 100%.”

“[name] is really getting on my nerves! seriously.”

“i want us to be friends again.”

“i thought you and [name] were friends.”

“make sure you check your dms. okay?”

“you think it's fun to fuck with people like me?”

“never spend money you don't have. okay?”

“you think i'm stupid?”

“this sucks.” 

“how nice to see some smiles.”

“this isn't just about me, but my entire family.”

“i'm going to marry her.”

“are you threatening me?”

“don't you realize the shit storm that follows if i come out?” 

“i don't want you to talking to her.”

“remember what we saw during movie night? when they sat next to each other?”

“i love you.”

“i just want to hang out with you.”

"there's no point in having a back-up if you never use it."

“pretend i'm saying something clever.”

“how's [name]? he must be totally devastated.”

“what do you think they think we're talking about?”

“everything is fake. everything in the world is fake.”

“[name] is dead.”

“it just wasn't what i thought it would be like.”

“since when did you start liking him for real?” 

“what a fucking douchebag. god!”

“what the hell are you saying? chill out!”

#rp meme #rp prompt #rp starters #rp sentence meme #rp sentence starters #it's long but i like my memes chunky <3 #lemme know if u'd prefer i do things in parts tho ! #also everyone watch this show immediately :knife:

[sortasirius]

“Despair” and Dean and Cas

Well well well, winning is my favorite thing.

As usual, this is going to be as long as hell. And fair warning, it’s extremely emotional.

So here it is, the thing that we have been barrelling towards for years, literally years.

Just want to point out this.  Also, I will NEVER allow someone to speak negatively about this writing group, EVER.

Team Free Dads starting off the episode is so sweet, so scary.  Cas’ calming, Dean’s fear, Sam’s desperation, really just hammering home how much they love Jack, how his pain is pain for them, how losing him is unbearable.

“I can’t stop this.  I’m coming apart.  I don’t want to hurt you.  Don’t let me hurt you.”

Oof.  If you’ve ever question whether Jack is a Winchester, this line should shut that shit down for you.

When I tell you I was PISSED when Billie sent Jack to the Empty to EXPLODE?????  PAIN.

“Yeah the Empty can’t come to earth, not without being summoned.”

Hello Bobo, clue number 1.

The fact that they only had Jack in limbo for like five seconds was great for my heart health, thank u very much Bobo.

Also Dean wielding Death’s scythe?????? KING?????

Man, Sam and Dean’s growth.  The way that they’re able to, idk, actually speak on how they feel without death looming or fear or pain.  It’s just a conversation, just an honest conversation of Dean admitting his mistakes, admitting how he felt.  Admitting that he fucked up, and Sam forgiving him for it.

CHARLIE AND HER GF CHARLIE AND HER GF CHARLIE AND HER GF

Also...hunters and their “dates.”  Two hunters who are happily together, who are happily fighting monsters.  Hm.  Sounds like a Saileen/Destiel parallel to me boys.

You ever wish Cas would look and the mirror and take the great advice he gives others?  Because I do.  He’s always tried to be “useful” for Sam and Dean, for Jack, always tried to make sure that he’s useful enough that they keep him around.  But what he doesn’t understand, what he’s never understood, is that they need him because of who he is, not because of what he contributes.

Remind y’all of anything?

And here we have Clue Number 2

And then, Sam’s realization.  Eileen.

Did I begin full tilt screaming no in my apartment when he said her name?  Who’s to say?

How can a lock screen cause me this much pain????

Okay but: Charlie loses Stevie, Sam loses Eileen.  Clue Number 3.

I feel like I don’t talk enough about how much Sam loves Eileen.  About how obvious it is that they are endgame, about how happy he is when he talks about her.  This just feels like a blow to the stomach, but we’ve barely even started.

Sam immediately shifting into protective leader mode?  He is the love of my life.

Dean’s simple nod, like it’s a given?  Enough to do me in right there.

This is another episode where it’s just so clear that Sam is the leader of the North American hunters.  Everyone knows him, everyone is willing to follow him.  He’s knowledgeable and kind and fair and just and an incredibly capable fighter.  Once again, I don’t believe his work on earth is done.

Can we also please talk about how FRIGHTENING IT WAS for Jack to kill that plant???  I don’t really have much of a comment on it because I was literally just like ?????

With Billie saying that it’s Chuck, the way that people were dusted, very similar to Becky and Amara, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised, especially with Donna getting taken off the board.  It’s like I said last week, I don’t buy that he’s taken himself off the board, he’s too invested in the unraveling of this story to take a step back.  He’s gotta break them before he can defeat them, that’s the only way.

And here we go, into one of the most painful and surreal things I will ever write about.

Dean’s speech.  His guilt, his regret.  The shame of not only trapping himself, but the pain, the horror of trapping Cas.

“I just lead us into another trap.  All because I, I couldn’t hurt Chuck.  Because I was angry and because I just needed something to kill, and because that’s all I know how to do.”

“Dean-”

“It was Chuck all along.  We never should have left Sam and Jack, we should be there with them now.  Everybody’s gonna die, Cas.  Everybody.  I can’t stop it.”

His narrative arc.  Tied up in a bow.

“She’s gonna get through that door.”

“I know.”

“And she’s gonna kill you and then she’s gonna kill me.  I’m sorry.”

Cas smiles.

Cas knows.  He knows what’ll get them out of this, and he knows that he would do anything in this Universe for Dean Winchester. The human man he fell for.

“When Jack was dying, I made a deal to save him.”

“You what?”

“The price was my life.  When I experienced a moment of true happiness, the Empty would be summoned and it would take me forever.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“I always wondered, ever since I took that burden, that curse, I’ve wondered what it could be, what my true happiness could even look like.  I never found an answer, because the one thing I want, it’s something I know I can’t have. 

“But I think I know, I think I know now...happiness isn’t in the having, it’s in just being.  It’s in just saying it.”

“What are you talking about, man?”

The most selfless thing Cas does in this, and he does a lot of selfless things, is to tell Dean Winchester how impossibly good he is.  To tell him that he is worthy, to tell him that he is adored.

“I know, I know how you see yourself, Dean.  You see yourself the same way our enemies see you.  You’re destructive and you’re angry and you’re broken and you’re daddy’s blunt instrument.  And you think that hate and anger, that’s what drives you, that’s who you are.  It’s not.  And everyone who knows you sees it, and everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love.  You raise your little brother for love, you fought for this whole world for love.  That is who you are.

“You’re the most caring man on earth.  You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know.  You know, ever since we met, ever since I pulled you outta Hell...knowing you has changed me.

“Because you cared, I cared.  I cared about you, I cared about Sam, I cared about Jack, I cared about the whole world because of you. 

“You changed me, Dean.”

“Why does this sound like a goodbye?”

Dean’s greatest fear. His fear of those loving him leaving him. The terror of being alone.

“Because it is.

The head shake.  Don’t love me.  Don’t love me if it means you’ll leave me, don’t love me, everyone I love leaves me.  Don’t leave me.  Don’t love me.  Don’t leave me.

“Don’t do this, Cas.”

Just like I always thought.  One last look at Dean before the Empty takes him.

“Cas-”

“Goodbye Dean.”

And Dean is left, broken on the floor, unable to answer Sam’s calls, unable to do anything.  It doesn’t matter to him that Chuck has wiped everyone out, it doesn’t matter to him that Sam and Jack might need him.  It doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t matter, because the thing that mattered still hangs on his lips, still waiting to be said, and now he won’t get another chance to say it.

The fact that I am writing this, even with all my spec, with all my analysis of the writers’ room, of their text, of the way Dabb and co had approached this story, nothing could have ever prepared me for this.  Nothing could have prepared me for a three and a half minute, uninterrupted scene where Cas confesses not only that he loves Dean, but that he has always loved him.

I talk a lot about how these writers don’t get the credit they deserve.  Unfortunately, from most of this fandom, they never will.  We will likely never know the fights with the network they had, the steps backward they had to take, the way they had to beg and fight and claw to get this on the screen.  But they did it.  They did it for these characters, they did it for this dinosaur of a show, and yeah, they did it for us.

It was not easy, I can promise you, to get this greenlit.  They had to fight for this, they likely had to call in favors and make threats and quite literally put their careers on the line (you may scoff at that, but WB is a BIG company, especially in the TV/movie world) for this story.  This story of Dean and Cas, the man dragged out of Hell and the angel who fell for him.

I have tons more to say, and will likely have several more posts about this, but I want to leave all my babes who are worried that that was the end for Dean and Cas with some takeaways.

Sam is missing Eileen.  Dean is missing Cas.  That is no longer a fun subtextual parallel, that is it for them.  Their respective endgames are missing, and they will not know their peace until they get them back.  Chuck will not win.  That’s not the story being told, and right now?  He’s winning.  He’s broken them, left them with nothing, left them with an empty world and a hole in each of their hearts where their person (or angel) used to be.

Our show is going to end with “contentment.”  “Contentment” isn’t from Sam and Dean being filled with grief and hitting the open road.  It isn’t Sam getting Eileen back and leaving Dean with no one.  “Contentment” is Sam and Eileen, Dean and Cas.  Together.

#destiel #spn #supernatural #my meta #destiel meta #spoilers #spn 15x18 #i cannot believe this #i cant believe i wrote this #this is real #theyre really canon

[breanime]

His Vows (with Bonus Boy)

Pure fluff ahead!

Billy Russo: Never in a million years did Billy ever think he’d be marrying someone--much less someone he actually loved. Affection, loyalty, vulnerability, those things that were required for love came hard to him. And yet, with you, he felt them. Looking at you made him feel incredibly strong and somehow especially weak, like he could take on the world, but only if you were by his side. The orphan in him wanted to spend thousands on your wedding, wanted to make a statement, a declaration for everyone to see. But the man in him knew better. The man in him--only recently discovered through your support--didn’t need to impress strangers, didn’t need the approval of his “betters”. He only needed you. So as Billy stood in front of the judge, Frank and Curtis at his side, your parents and best friend behind you, he knew this was right. You told him you didn’t want a big wedding, didn’t need the fanfare, and that alone was enough to make Billy, over 100 confirmed kills under his belt, fall to his knees in devotion. You only wanted him. He reached out then, taking your hand in his, and let the small audience around you fade into the background. “Despite what my guys at Anvil might say,” he began with a slight smirk, “I’m not really one for speeches,” he paused, hearing Frank’s scoff and Curtis’ chuckle, before going on, “so I’ll keep this brief. I never thought I’d have this. Growing up, my only goal was to become somebody, and even then, that was more about proving something to myself than anything else. But then I met you. And damn,” he shook his head, his smirk turning into a rare, genuine smile, “if you didn’t change everything. So thank you. Thank you for making me into the man I am today, and thank you for staying with me, working with me, being so patient with me. I love you, and I promise, from this day forward, I will do everything in my power to make sure you’re the happiest person on the planet,” he looked into your shining eyes, a sense of certainty going through him, an instinctual push that let him know that he was doing the right thing, “I love you, and I’m so happy to be your husband.”

Logan Delos: As soon as you and Logan had walked down the aisle, officially man and wife, Logan pulled you away. “Logan,” you laughed as he led you down a hall, “what are you doing?” “I’m having a private moment with my wife,” he answered, opening a door and pulling you into the spare room with him, “My wife. Mrs. Logan Delos,” he grinned down at you, “Fuck... How’d I get so lucky?” You laughed, and Logan reached over and held your face in his hands, staring down at the rest of his life. “I’m serious... How did I get so lucky? I mean... I’m a perpetual fuck up, the bane of my father’s existence and still, despite all of that... I got you,” he sighed sweetly, “I love you, princess. I’m gonna love you till the day I die, and maybe even after that too,” he smiled at your responding laugh, “Definitely after that. Fuck,” he let out a breath, laughing at the end of it, “I just... I just won at life, babe. I mean--look at you. Look at us! I always thought I’d spend the rest of my life in-between lovers, just waking up smothered in a sea of dicks and--” “--You realize we’re in a church, right?” You deadpanned. He laughed--Logan laughed a lot when he was with you--and he leaned down and kissed you, his tongue slipping into your mouth as you moaned against his lips. “Ah ah,” he teased, pulling back with a smirk, “you know we’re in a church, right? But seriously, babe... I never thought I’d be a one-woman guy. But you... You’re all that I want. You’re everything. You just... You just came into my life and changed everything. I was just running around, fucking around... and you just burst in and gave me... Purpose,” he sighed happily, “It wasn’t until I met you that I realized why I was put on this earth. I was born to be yours. I was born to marry you and love you and take care of you, and I will,” he leaned down and kissed you now, his kiss soft and slow, nothing but love in his touch, “I will.... So now, let’s go get drunk and dance so we can get out of here, and I can really show you how I feel.”

Jax Teller: “I promise to treat you as good as my leather,” Jax recited, that famous Teller smirk on his face. You laughed as the room erupted in cheers and applause, and Jax kissed you. He was smiling when he pulled back, those blue eyes of his twinkling with love for you and you alone. “I really lucked out when you agreed to be my Old Lady,” he said, his voice making the laughs die down, all eyes on him, “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life... especially with love,” he admitted, “I was stubborn and ignorant and lost, but even through all that... You were there. You kept me grounded, you showed me what it meant to be a man and an outlaw, taught me how to reconcile those parts of myself, and for that... I’ll always be grateful to you, darlin’. You understand me--all the parts of me. I don’t ever have to worry about how to tell you things, or keep things from you. You get the club life. You support me. Hell,” he chuckled, “even my Mom likes you, and we all know what a tough sell she is.” The crowd laughed, and when you glanced over at Gemma, she had tears in her eyes. She gave you a small, approving nod, and that, coupled with Jax’s words, had you crying too. Jax laughed, gently reaching out and wiping your tears away with his thumb, “I love you. And I’m gonna love you for the rest of my life. No matter what life throws at us, I know we can handle it. You and me... we’re meant to be together, baby. We’ve been through enough to know that that’s true,” he smiled down at you, a soft, special smile on his face that was just for you, “I know everyday isn’t gonna be perfect. There’s gonna be times when we argue, but I promise you--here and now, in front of everyone we love, that I will never go to bed angry at you. I promise to always do whatever it takes to make sure you’re safe, and happy, and protected,” he leaned a little closer to you, every inch of him devoted to you and you alone, “I promise that I will be the husband and the man you deserve. And, most importantly... I promise to ride you as much as my Harley.” The room erupted in laughter again, and you were still laughing--and crying--when your husband kissed you again. You knew, from that kiss, that he would keep his promises to you. Every single one. 

Coco Cruz: “I’m not... I’m not fucking great at this,” Coco began, his hands in yours, his eyes darting around the room, “You know, public speaking and all that shit... But, uh, I think it’s important to, uh... To speak my truth, so...” He took a breath, and you squeezed his hands in yours, and that was enough to calm his raging heart. Coco looked at you, his wife, and felt a completeness that he’d never imagined he’d feel in his life. He swallowed, willing himself to speak. “Everybody knows that, when I became a Mayan, when I joined the MC, it changed my life. I was in a bad place, you know? Just came back from Iraq, my mind was all messed up. But the MC helped me get right, you know? And then there was you, and all of a sudden, I realized... I was made for you,” he leaned forward a bit, swaying as he spoke, his hair blocking everyone but you from his sight, “I used to think my life was just some sick fucking joke. Then, when I became a Mayan, I thought it was all about being a warrior, being a brother--and it is. But there’s more to it then that. I didn’t realize until I met you, but... I was born to be with you. From the second I saw you, I knew I needed you. I need you way more than you need me,” he smiled, a soft chuckle coming from his lips, “It’s true,” he turned, addressing his brothers, “You guys remember what it was like, right? When we first started dating?” He was met with low murmurs and laughter. “I was a fucking mess,” he laughed, “I kept asking Taza and Hank how to be a good boyfriend. And somehow Angel ended up giving me advice, which was basically just ‘man up’,” he chuckled, his eyes twinkling as he looked at you, “I just... I just need to say, you’re perfect. And I know you don’t like when I say that, but it’s true. You’re perfect to me. Even when you’re a fucking raging psychopath,” he chuckled at your fake incredulous look, “you’re perfect. You help me see past the bullshit, help me see that life don’t just gotta be some fucking struggle... You make me happy, man. So happy. And I just want to make you happy, too. I want to be a good husband to you, and I’m gonna try. And even on days when shit ain’t perfect, I will still love you with all my heart, so...” He took a breath, his heart pounding as he looked down at you, his perfect person, his wife. “... Let’s fucking party!” You laughed, wiping your happy tears as the room erupted in cheers and the sounds of beer bottles clanking together. This was the first day of the rest of your life, and you couldn’t be happier for it. 

Angel Reyes: Angel sighed, his eyes welling up with tears. “This,” he began, stopping when he heard the sound of his own voice breaking. He cleared his throat, “This is... This isn’t how I imagined it. Like, when I was a kid, I mean. Like, not to be soft and everything, but... I used to think about this day, you know? Me marrying some dope girl, being in love, my family here to celebrate. So I mean... I’m happy,” he nodded, “I’m so... Man, I’m so happy. I didn’t think it was possible to be this happy, just... I feel like... Like I was incomplete before this, you know? Like this woman... she’s the other part of my soul. And I’m so happy, it’s crazy. It’s scary. I keep waiting to mess it up, keep waiting to say or do something to bring it all crumbling down, but... it won’t. I trust that it won’t,” he nodded again, meaning the words he spoke with all of his heart. Angel reached out, his fingers--adorned with no other ring but his wedding ring--brushing against his mother’s altar, “Watching you and Pop... I always wanted a love like yours, and now I got it, and I’m so happy, Ma... I am, but,” he blinked, the first tear falling, “...but I wish you were here to see it. I wish you could have met her; I wish she could have met you. You would have loved her, Ma. Pops loves her, EZ loves her--I tell her about you, but... But it’s not the same,” he wiped his tear, shaking his head a bit, “I know you’re looking down at us from Heaven, I know you see us, see her,” he sniffled, swallowing his tears, “And that’s good enough for me,” he chuckled lowly, “I know you saw when we first met, saw me pulling that machismo crap, trying to impress her. You saw it ain’t work, either,” he laughed again, “I bet it was you that gave me the idea to bring her lunch at work, wasn’t it? Yeah... That has you written all over it, Ma,” he tapped her urn, smiling warmly at the memories, “I love her so much... And I know you would have loved her, too. I just... I want to be a good husband to her... a good father---someday--to our kids,” he took a breath, “So, Ma, please... Be with me now like you were with me when I proposed, give me that same courage and certainty you gave me before, yeah? Cause in a minute, I’m about to go out there in front of all our family and friends, and I’m about to commit myself to this woman for the rest of my life, and I... I need you with me, Mami,” satisfied, he kissed two fingers and pressed them against his mother’s urn, “Thank you.” He straightened up, fixing his hair and wiping his eyes again. Nodding to himself, he walked off, murmuring, “Good chat...” all the way to the altar. 

Miguel Galindo: “I am not a man who can easily admit he was wrong,” Miguel began, chuckling along with the rest of the church at his words, “Okay,” he admitted, shaking his head a bit, “I never admit I was wrong,” he paused, looking into your eyes, and he felt that familiar tug in his chest that he always felt when he looked at you--pure love. “But I was wrong. As many of you know, I was married once before. And I thought that I’d spend the rest of my life with that person. I was wrong,” he reached out for your hand, taking it in his, the warmth of it spreading through his entire body, all the way into his heart, “I was wrong, and I have never been happier to admit that. Because from that failure, came you. And I’m thankful for you every moment of every day,” he smiled, and your heart flipped in your chest at the sight of your soon-to-be-husband, “It isn’t easy to be with me, I know,” he nodded, giving you a silent acknowledgment, “But you... You just know me. You know how to read me, how to get me to talk when I don’t want to,” he laughed, “how to shut me up when I want to talk... I’m at your mercy. And what’s more,” he leaned forward a bit, “...I like it,” his smile widened at the sight of yours, “I remember the day that I realized that I needed you in my life for the long haul. It was when we flew to Iceland. You fell asleep against my shoulder. You were so tired... And I was too. I was frustrated and tired and irritated, but when I looked down at you... Mi amor, I felt nothing but gratefulness. Grateful to have you in my life, grateful to be able to have you by my side, to have you as mine. I’ve been blessed with many great things; a wonderful son, multiple successful businesses, a beautiful home... But it’s you, my love, you who makes me take a step back and really see how lucky I am. Because all of the money in the world would mean nothing if I didn’t have you to share it with,” he reached out and wiped your budding tears, smiling fondly at you, “I love you,” was all he said before he was kissing you, and the resulting applause blooming around you was nothing but white noise with Miguel’s lips against yours. He whispered something against your lips as the church applause your love, just a short, simple sentence that had you crying with love. “Thank you, mi amor, for proving me wrong.”

Nick Amaro: “Gil and Zara and I are so happy to welcome you into our family,” Nick said, giving a special smile to ring-bearer Gil and flower-girl Zara, both of whom grinned back at him, Zara flashing you a quick wave, “Gil keeps saying that I took too long, and Zara says I should have just married you months ago, and they’re both right,” he laughed, “But I wanted to give you this--the wedding, the reception--because I know this is important to you. It’s important to me, too,” he took a breath, looking down at your intertwined fingers before looking up again, smiling at your beautiful face, “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, my career, but you...” He sighed happily, “I know I can get in my own head a lot, but somehow, with you... It just seems like everything falls into place. I mean... That’s your power. You just make everything seem so easy. I see you with the kids, with your job, with me,” he chuckled, “And it’s like you instinctively know what to do, how to handle me. You make it look easy, and you can ask Olivia, dealing with me, isn’t easy.” He looked over at Olivia, her eyes shining with approval as she watched you together. “But you do. For good or bad, better or worse,” he took your hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to the back of it, “I love you. Completely. Totally. And I’m going to continue on loving you until the day I die,” his smile reached his eyes, and they shimmered with love for you, “And probably even after that, to be honest. Every morning when I wake up and see your face, when I hear you and the kids laughing, when I see the joy you bring into our lives... It makes me feel so... secure,” he nodded, pleased at his choice of words, “And you know better than anyone how hard that is for me: to feel secure. You just... You make everything easier, more manageable... And everything I do from here on out is for you and the kids. I love you...Mrs. Amaro.”

Johnny Tuturro: Johnny couldn’t stop smiling. His mom was there, his Graceland family was there, and most importantly--the future Mrs. Johnny Tuturro was standing in front of him, just minutes away from becoming his wife. “Alright, alright, alright,” Johnny began, “Everybody shut up, I got somethin’ to say!” Jakes groaned in the crowd, “Jesus, Johnny, then just say it!” “Don’t rush him,” you called back, giving Jakes a friendly glare. Johnny laughed, kissing your cheek, “Thank you, baby,” he stood up straight, “Look, anyone with eyes can see that my girl is fly,” he started, making everyone laugh, “But for real, the moment I saw her, I knew she was different. I mean, she’s gorgeous, yeah, but she’s also smart, brave, a certified badass--sorry for cussin’, Ma--and the love of my life,” he smiled down at you, eyes soft, “I love you, I love you, I love you. And I am so happy to be making you my wife,” he turned pointing off into the audience at Briggs, “Which by the way--ha HA! I knew she wouldn’t go for you! Best bet I ever took, seeing which one of us was gonna get your number... though I ain’t gonna lie, you had me scared for a moment there when you started getting chummy with Charlie,” he chuckled, “But I was the lucky one. That was the start of the rest of my life, and I want to make every day we have together a perfect day. No matter what life throws at us, what happens at work, what we go through as people or as a couple, we’re always gonna have each other’s backs. Me and you,” he went on, “We were meant to be, baby. Fated. And baby, I promise you, I will be the best husband I can be. Because that’s what you deserve. And as happy as I am to be here with you right now, in front of all of our friends and families... Man, I can’t wait to get out of here and just be with you,” he grinned, and you could see the dirty promise behind those sweet words, “I’m crazy about you, baby girl, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you,” he leaned in, kissing you, his next words whispered, so only you could hear him, “can’t wait to have married sex in the limo, either...” 

Rio: When you woke up, the late morning sun painting your body in its light, the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was Rio’s eyes. They were soft and warm, that deep brown peering down at you and making you feel like the most beloved person on the planet. Which, of course, you were. “So?” He asked, caressing the side of your face with two of those long, sinewy fingers. “So what?” You asked, already in a daze from the softness of his voice and the sweet smile on his face. “So what do you think? How’d the first night of matrimony go? You ready to give back my dowry yet? Sell me back to my father?” You laughed, cuddling closer to him. “Nah, I think I’ll keep you. I mean, you did come with a cow and two chickens, so I guess you’re worth it.” He wrapped his arms around you, and you closed your eyes, melting into his touch. “I love you,” he said, his voice muffled as he buried his face in the crown of your head. “Love you, too,” you said back, rubbing his back. “Hey,” he pulled back a bit, looking down at you, “Yesterday was perfect,” he began, “The wedding, the reception... I ain’t never seen Marcus so excited to talk as he was when he gave his speech.” “Oh, don’t remind me,” you sighed, smiling at the memory, “I cried so hard; it was such a good speech.” “Yeah,” he nodded, kissing your forehead, “He was so proud to be able to tell you how much he loves you,” Rio sighed, “but, here’s the thing, mama... There was one thing about yesterday that I wish I could change.” You frowned, “What?” “I kinda wish we would’ve done vows,” he admitted. “Really?” You asked, eyes wide. You and Rio had decided early on not to have vows, you’d both agreed that it was so private, you didn’t want to make a spectacle out of your love. But hearing him say that he’d wished he’d given you his vows had your heart pounding. He nodded, “Yeah. So... I was thinkin’... Maybe I could say my vows now. I mean, I ain’t write nothing down or anything, but I just wanted to say... I love you. I love what you’ve done to me, to Marcus... I love the way you brighten up my life, how you accepted my son with open arms, how you work so well with me, the way you inspire me, the way you make me want to flip my game. I love how I can tell you everything, how I never have to hide any parts of myself with you,” he titled your chin up, smiling down at you, “I love having you as my wife. I love you, Mrs. Rivera.” He kissed you then, and you kissed him back, sighing against his lips, pressing yourself against him. “So,” he grinned, “How was that? Decent vows?” You laughed, kissing his nose, “Perfect.”

Bonus Boy

Tommy Shelby: “I have something I want to say,” Tommy announced. Everyone in the church grew silent, and you couldn’t help but notice the small smile on Jeremiah’s face as he turned to you. Every eye was on you, and you turned to Tommy, curious as to what he was about to say. “I want it known,” he started, his voice booming through the church, “That this is the last time I’m ever getting married, because this is the woman I was always meant to be with,” he looked over at you, those brilliant blue eyes piercing right through your soul, “Me whole life, I’ve spent planning, thinking, rethinking. Every move I’ve made as a businessman has been a calculated one, but with you,” he said, his focus on you and you alone, “It’s all instinct. I don’t have to overthink or second guess with you, because I can feel that you’re what’s right. You’re what’s been missing. And now that I have you... Well, there’s peace. Peace in me head and me heart that I thought had left for good. And I have you to thank for that. So now, I want to make you a promise, and I want to make it in front of all of our family and friends, because if nothing else, I know Aunt Pol, Jeremiah, and our Ada will make sure I keep it,” he gave you a small smile, and just that one gesture was enough to have you nearly swooning, “So here it is. I promise, from this moment, till the day I die, to always love, honor, and respect you. I will never lie to you, I will never leave you. I am yours,” he promised, “Every part of me; even the parts I don’t like, belong to you. And everyone,” his voice got a bit louder, and he turned a bit, addressing the crowd, “will know that you are Mrs. Tommy Shelby, and they will treat you accordingly.” You smiled; his words were as much an announcement as a threat. “Now, Jeremiah,” he said, a friendly note coming back into his voice, “Let’s get on with this ceremony, eh? I want to take my bride to London.” 

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#bre's boys preference #Bre's Boys #billy russo x reader #logan delos x reader #jax teller x reader #coco cruz x reader #angel reyes x reader #miguel galindo x reader #nick amaro x reader #johnny tuturro x reader #rio x reader #tommy shelby x reader

[beauty-and-passion]

Silly fun challenge prompt: what languages do you associate with the Sides/what would be the 2nd language each Side learn?

For example I am a big fan of Hispanic (Spanish speaking) Creativitwins fanon. And c! Thomas too could've learnt Spanish in high school and the fact his love interest is hispanic too just makes perfect sense-

And in contrast to Hispanic twins I headcanon Janus as a francophone (French speaking) for two reasons: 1) it was still lingua franca around Victorian era, his aesthetic inspiration and 2) dividing American high school by Spanish class vs. French class is like causing Civil War (I was and still am a language nerd, so I learnt both languages, which was a mistake but the kind of mistake that was worth it when you think about it later)

German suites Logan since lots of famous philosophers are German. I associate Japanese or Korean with Virgil since those two are really dominant in the current subculture world (and maybe our emo could've been inspired and turn into E-boy - wow that sounds terrifying)

I don't have strong preference on Patton's but Italian sounds nice, since all those music and dessert and anything sweet are often from Italy. And maybe 'Orange' can be some language that sounds harsh like Russian, so he can murmur in that in sleep and scares everyone else

I know you're in Europe: 1) you use GMT and 2) Americans wouldn't care about Eurovision. So I wonder how you would think based on your European experience!

Oooh, I like this! As European Who Studied Languages, I definitely approve this and I'll gladly add my two cents about which languages the sides should learn.

_________

Roman: He canonically knows Spanish and that's perfect like that. Spanish is a romantic language, someone speaks Spanish and you can't help but swoon. It’s a great choice for the Side responsible for romance and passion.

_________

Remus: Remus isn't just intrusive thoughts, but there’s a very high chance he’s also responsible for Thomas' sexual urges. So, what is the language made for sex? You’re right, it’s French. French is sexy. You can say anything in French and bam, ✨sexy ✨.

"Je sors la poubelle." Sexy, isn't it? Well, I just said "I'm taking out the trash". See? Very sexy.

(French people, please confirm my words. We all know it’s true)

_________

Janus: Your points are incredibly valid and I love them. But if we should choose among all languages, I would love Janus to be one of the very few (extremely few) people in the world who can speak Latin.

I know Latin is a dead language, but it would be great - and not just because of the connection with his name.

Let’s consider that the other Romance languages, despite evolving from Latin, cannot entirely understand it, because they all changed a lot through the centuries after mixing with the Germanic ones. On the other hand, the Germanic languages (English, German, Swedish and so on) are part of a completely different group, only slightly influenced by Latin, so they cannot understand it.

In other words, Janus would speak a language that only sounds familiar - and maybe you can grasp a couple words here and there if you know a romance language, but the true meaning is hidden. What is he actually saying? Who knows. Is he actually cursing someone? Who knows. After all, do you understand Latin? Yeah, me neither.

If I have to pick a language that is still spoken today instead, I think I'll join you with French. Your points are valid and French is a very elegant language, fitting for Janus’ whole aesthetic. So yes, French could work.

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Logan: German is a great choice and you are absolutely right with your point about the philosophers. Also German is a language of harsh sounds and strict grammar rules - for example:

declensions that should be used accordingly for articles, adjectives and nouns

specific verbs for specific meanings

words made by putting together shorter words (like Haustürschlüssel.  Haustür means “front door”, Schlüssel means “key” -> this word means “front door’s key”)

sentences that should follow a specific construction, with parts of the compound verb after the noun and part at the end of the sentence. And secondary phrases also have a specific syntax and should always be introduced by a comma

In other words, it's a very organized language and I think it would fit Logan.

But also, considering that almost all words related to science and philosophy come from Greek, I think Logan should at least understand some Greek. As a treat.

(Also because Greek is another incredibly complicated language, so if someone has the patience to learn it, it’s definitely Logan.)

_________

Virgil: oh my gosh, I never thought about an eastern language for Virgil. In a way, it would be a very peculiar choice and I kinda like it. Japanese and Korean are extremely complicated languages, they have a very specific alphabet (I'm especially thinking about the Japanese one, that even asks for a specific direction to write words) and require a lot of work (and memory) to learn them.

But Virgil is also a poet and when I think of poets and sonnets my first connection is with the french ennui, le mal du vivre and especially Baudelaire and his works. Virgil would appreciate Baudelaire a lot. So French, again.

But hey, there’s too much French now. So I’ll pick the other european literature full of sadness: the russian one.

Russian is supposed to be a big scary language and its alphabet is weird and omg what if they're cursing us? But if you learn it a little bit, you’ll find out that Russian has a lot of soft/open sounds (due to a good use of vowels) and it's very poetic.

So the language itself is a bit like Virgil: he seems scary and evil at a first glance, but if you learn about him, he's actually kinder than he looks.

But never underestimate Russian, because just like Anxiety, fear is just behind the corner: you start learning it and wow, there is just one present tense, one past tense and one future tense? This is great, what a wonderful language!

And then, before you’ll realize it, you will find out that each verb has a “doppelganger” used for entirely different purposes AND there a gazillion verbs of motion and you will end up crying on the floor, because there are just too many verbs - and look, there are also one trillion particles you can put before these verbs and they give them EVEN MORE MEANINGS.

No, this isn't entirely based on my personal experience, what makes you think that.

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Patton: I have never thought about Patton learning another language, because English just fits him too well.

But when you proposed Italian... well, my heart just wiped out everything else. There is nothing here, only Patton speaking Italian.

So yes, Patton's second language should be Italian. No, it must be Italian. Because French is the language of sex, Spanish is the language of love, but if you want to declare your eternal love to someone, you use Italian. Do you want to marry someone? Italian. Do you want to tell your significant other how much you adore them? Italian. Italian has one million ways to express love and Patton should use them all with his kiddos.

And yes, Italian is also associated with warm people, warm places and good food, all things Patton deserves and should enjoy. So Italian is a big yes.

_________

Orange: since Orange is a mystery, I am a bit torn between these two languages:

1) Esperanto: This language is amazing, because it isn’t a natural language, born like all others, but it has been built by a man, who wanted to create an universal language in order to foster world peace and international understanding.

So this language has been created to be as simple as possible, with a very regular grammar (unlike all other natural languages) and its words all have references to other language groups (romance, germanic, slavic, indo-europeans, finno-ugric languages and so on).

And if you actually listen to it (especially if you know some latin languages) you will find it weirdly understandable. I found this video in particular and I was impressed by how strangely familiar esperanto sounds.

And... that’s it, I just think it would be kinda poetic that the last side knows a language that all others can use and understand.

2) A Greenlandic language. Why? Because they are insanely polysynthetic.

What does that mean? If in German you can make words by putting together other two/three words (like in the example I used before), in the Greenlandic languages you can build an entire sentence by putting together nouns, verbs, articles and everything else. All together in one single word, whose meaning can be translated with an entire sentence in another language.

Do you want an example? Here is an example from Wikipedia: tuntussuqatarniksaitengqiggtuq.

Yes, this is a word.

This word is from the Yupik language and means "He had not yet said again that he was going to hunt reindeer.". And this word is made of:

tuntu- (= reindeer)

ssur-  (= hunt)

qatar- (future tense)

ni- (= say)

ksaite- (negative)

ngqiggte- (= again)

uq  (3rd.sing.IND)

Is this insane? This is fucking insane. Do you want to be scared? This is real fear. What the heck. How. Why.

You know what? This is perfect for Orange, I’ll leave Esperanto to Thomas. Orange deserves to be this scary. I can already see the other sides quiver before him.

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And so, here are my guesses! If someone has other ideas, feel free to add yours and tell us why, so we can all have a nice discussion :D

#sanders sides #ask #roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #orange side #thomas sanders #this is a great ask #also I may have been a little too involved #but I studied these languages #and there's even my own <3 #side note: Americans don't know what they're missing #eurovision is the best #it's our trashy glittery camp show #with arson and gays included #sides and foreign languages