#'Oh. I guess since you're the fifth person to say that I should listen.'

[caepaecaesurae]

> CC+Nad : Healthy Quad Talk

trolljacksparrow hey, you ok? is the hope shit actually a hella dowwner? caepaecaesurae It's not, though people keep trying to distract me wvhen I start thinking about it. I think you're helping honestly.

trolljacksparrow ^/v/^ ...honestly, you dont /seem/ ok wwhen you start thinking about it, thats probably wwhy caepaecaesurae Maybe it's because I let myself showv emotion, though this doesn't tend to happen wvhen I go on a rant about typography. trolljacksparrow you really need to showw emotion more though i think its because you seem upset, and your friends try to help vvia distraction? caepaecaesurae It's admittedly frustrating sometimes, wvhich is usually wvhen I tend to get wvorking on a particularly tough knot of wvhatevwer the hell hope is. I'm not entirely sure howv I'd go about showving emotion wvithout being accused of lying.  ..Or, wvhy I'd try. trolljacksparrow wwithout being accused of lying? caepaecaesurae Any time I say something out of my ordinary it tends to be taken as an attempt to manipulate. trolljacksparrow by wwhom? caepaecaesurae Depends wvho I'm talking to?

Today at 3:01 PM trolljacksparrow wwhat, vveryone does it? ://( caepaecaesurae I can't think of anyone wvho hasn't off-hand aside from possibly Arlequin and Horuss.  And trolls I don't knowv wvell. trolljacksparrow that...fucking scucks cuks sucks im awwake is wwear but howw much in the past wwas it ? caepaecaesurae wvell.  I can think of twvo examples this perigee. Havwe your coffee lovwe. trolljacksparrow are they from people naturally prone to being suspicious? caepaecaesurae Yes. trolljacksparrow wwell there you havve it ...did said people keep you at a distance evven before that because they feel you not emoting means you arent trustwworthy? caepaecaesurae Tentativwely reaching towvards friendship, but yes. trolljacksparrow i think that that wwould be the exception rather than the norm then like, some people are gonna be paranoid and untrusting, and that sucks, but ovverall people tend to connect more to others wwhen they can empathize wwith them or sympathize? or...one of those -ize wwords definitely caepaecaesurae Better to soldier on, then, you'd say. Ignore the "haters" and do as I please. trolljacksparrow ..wwhat are you getting to wwith this caepaecaesurae It's... a question. trolljacksparrow oh, yeah, it wwas just phrased wweirdly you cant please evveryone, you can only look at their complaints to decide if they got vvalue to them or not, and act accordingly, but some people arent evver gonna be happy, and fuck them caepaecaesurae Ideally not literally. trolljacksparrow yeah eheheh caepaecaesurae Pardon the frustration. trolljacksparrow dont wworry about it babe trolljacksparrow wwhy dont you emote anywway? caepaecaesurae ... I guess I wvon't wvorry then, at that.  Thank you. It's an old habit.  I think. I wvas like this all the time, no exceptions, in the dreambubbles. trolljacksparrow its a frustrating situation so no wwonder youre frustrated oh ://( jeez thats fucking awwful are the bracers helping any? caepaecaesurae ... I havwe to take them off to be online, at least until I get my hands on a legitimate computer again.  But.. aye, it's nice to havwe the control.  I'vwe been sleeping in them lately. ...Take off, turn off, you knowv wvhat I mean. trolljacksparrow youre surrounded by captors you could just ask for a legitimate computer, but hell yeah for that! caepaecaesurae I remember the bubbles being terrible, but I don't think the emoting wvas part of the problem.  I do knowv Kankri has a bit of a reaction to me being that wvay. He acts differently, anywvays. trolljacksparrow acts differently? caepaecaesurae It's hard to describe.  I think he sees me as a slightly different Me wvhen I don't emote. trolljacksparrow howw does he act, then? caepaecaesurae You've probably seen the wvay I vwary, if you think about it -- "Chief, Dude, Hey nowv, Come on," vws, for example, the tone I use for poetics and givwing ethical or strategic advwice. trolljacksparrow ya! caepaecaesurae ..Doesn't it make sense that one wvould relate to vwery, vwery different modes in a slightly different wvay? He can tell, and I knowv he can tell.  He might wvorry, I'm not sure. trolljacksparrow youre still the same troll evven if you act a tad differrent youre not sure? wwhy not ask  him? trolljacksparrow he might wworry - its kind of wworrying though because a lack of emoting points to someone being in a bad mental state, like, it points to a problem caepaecaesurae That wvould explain wvhy three or four people havwe asked if I'm alright. trolljacksparrow shutting in like that isnt healthy chief trolljacksparrow they havve? ://O wwho? caepaecaesurae You.  Kankri.  Xanthe.  I think Psii wvas on the vwerge of it. Sugary, That wvas a bit baffling. trolljacksparrow ....im honestly amazed she can tell wwhat other people are feeling wwoww. damn. caepaecaesurae I'm impressed and flattered, and she honestly helped wvhen I wvas feeling a bit dowvn. trolljacksparrow !! im glad to hear it trolljacksparrow are you doing okay noww? caepaecaesurae ... You knowv, if fivwe people havwe commented on something, to include twvo quadrants, one alternate of a quadrant, someone wvho has fought me recently, and Sugary havwe all noticed and commented on something, Maybe I should consider prioritising doing something about it. That is a broad spectrum of life perspectivwes. trolljacksparrow yup!! caepaecaesurae I'll see if I can wvork my wvay out of this mood and back to normal.  From there, wve'll see. trolljacksparrow !!!!! i am cheering you on caepaecaesurae I lovwe you.  Thanks, chief. trolljacksparrow i lovve you too wwould passivve hope-boosting help any? caepaecaesurae That sounds impressivwely like cheating. I'll run it past Kankri. trolljacksparrow pirate okay good

[freddiefcknmercury]

A Promise(part 2)- Crimson & Clover

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader(Black coded/Genderless)

Word Count: 2.7+

Warnings/Disclaimer: SMUT. ANGST. cursing. mild depression/heart-ache. etc etc. if something needs to be tagged please lemme know.

A/N: LOL I'm back on my bullshit yall. heavy angst/depression from the previous Steve centered storyline so if you haven't read "You really think I didn't know?" I'll do some magic linky links here and at the bottom just in case. Also I'm trying something kinda different with the way I post the fics so feedback is welcome.

ALSO this one comes with a tiny playlist! there are Bolded lyrics throughout if you want to get a deeper sense of where I was emotionally writing this and where reader is as well you can Def give these songs a listen, they are in order of appearance:

Crimson & Clover- Tommy James & The Shondells

Every Time I Breathe- Arlissa

Navy Blue - Hasani

Summary: Bucky takes an extended leave for "work" related reasons and reader slips back into some dark places in his absence...

~*As always, be Nice to me I’m Delicate*~

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

He said he might be gone most of the week. Sam called the day before and all you know is it's something important. He didn't go into detail, just packed a bag and you'd never seen him do that before. But he was also only gone a day or two at a time and never felt the need to tell you about it before now either.

Up until recently you'd tip-toe around each other. Not like you used to with Steve though, worse. Bucky is a lot better at making sure you don't know he's there until it's too late. It felt like you'd never get used to each other, or more likely that you'd never want to. You might've still been secretly hoping that he'd stop caring and go away... after a while you got tired of your own bullshit and realized he's giving off that vibe on purpose. Wordlessly telling you how you should feel about him, not wanting to get too close. You never much liked being told what to do.

It was only about two months before you became a Barnes' expert. You'd sit up at night listening intently for when he'd shower, get in bed, or wake up. He never slept more than five maybe six hours at a time, you'll never understand how he can function like that. You know how he likes his coffee, which angle he holds his cup. How and where he takes off his shoes, how much ice he puts in a drink, the way he likes to cut his toast, and what time he has to do all of it. There's an almost unnerving pattern to him, one that's always been there and you were just unwilling to notice for so long, and you're not sure if he's even aware of it.

You woke up to him already gone. You knew he was leaving but actually being left alone like that unsettled you more than you anticipated, a serious case of Deja vu. You went into your routine like normal, because everything still was, but by the fifth day... you stepped into the front room and got that empty feeling. One you hadn't really had since...

It stopped you for a few seconds longer than you liked and a large knot formed in your stomach. You spent the whole day trying to ignore the feeling but it only got worse. Like a hunger pain but much more vague, crawling through each muscle. You'd catch yourself staring at his room, Bucky's room but also... Steve's. It's the first time you let yourself admit to him fully crossing your mind in over a year.

You laid up in bed, trying to count the metaphorical sheep to no avail. Getting up thinking that a snack or a warm drink will stop the restlessness, you pause in the tiny hallway shared by your bedrooms. The low blue light from the moon outside dustily illuminating the space through  a cloudy bathroom window. You stare at the door like any second he's going to ask what you're doing up so late and you can tell him to mind his own business while pouring two cups of tea.

You just wanted to touch the knob; turn it to make sure it still works- that you're still "allowed in there if you want". But stepping inside was too far, an invasion of Bucky's privacy, and you felt it. But you couldn't help yourself. You needed to know.

They were definitely cut from the same cloth. Sparse furnishings and no decorations, save a few very small trinkets he'd held onto from who knows where. There is exactly one row on his bookshelf filled with composition notebooks that were beat to hell and back. Sticky notes lined the edge of most of the pages, so much so that they easily could've been mistaken for feathers on a quick glance. You dare not touch them. Observing someone with a past that checkered is very different to reading into the things they deem worthy of physically writing down.

Where Steve used to leave small drawings and notes Bucky left half empty ink pens and a few well used pairs of gloves. You saunter to the far corner of the room and caress a worn leather jacket hanging precariously on the lowest peg of a coat rack. Doing a slow sweep of the space something in the otherwise barren closet catches your eye. The knot in your stomach that had almost disappeared was back and it brought friends. Your shirt. His shirt. The big one that said BROOKLYN across the front, what you didn't know was your "going away gift." The one you balled up and shoved in the top corner of his closet, at the time hoping you'd never look at it again. You're amazed that it's still here, that Bucky hadn't tossed it out or tried to give it back to you when he moved in.

So you put it on. You're still not sure why but you needed to wear it. To feel it drape over your skin, enveloping you in warmth and that beautiful clean familiar scent you... loved once. It sent a shiver down your spine. The knots in your stomach were gone but now there's one in your throat. You can feel the tears seated right behind your eyes. You sit on the bed holding your face pleading with the water to stay put but it's too late. You miss him. You hate to admit it, but it's true and it always has been. You're angry and you should be, you loved him- you thought he might've loved you. Pulling the hem of the shirt up you wipe the tears off your face and fall into a pillow, trying to calm yourself out of your rage unintentionally drifting into sleep.

*****************************************************

You wake up to the sound of music in the kitchen.

...Ah, now I don't hardly know her, but I think I could love her...

You sit up quickly checking your phone: 11:34am. You'd fallen asleep in Bucky's room, in his bed. A blanket had been placed over you and a short scan of the room returned a brown leather duffel bag and set of black boots that weren't present last night. He'd come back early this morning and found you here. You can feel your heart fall straight out of your ass, the void that was left being filled with pure embarrassment. Is he angry? He did tuck you in...

As slowly and quietly as possible you make your way towards the door, poking your head out just enough to assess the situation. You can see his back in the kitchen, he's hovering over the sink. You notice the couch, the spare blanket and pillow from the bathroom closet folded neatly on one of the arm rests, he had to sleep there. The void gets deeper. You pull the door open just enough to slip out of and there's a quiet creak. Steve never did fix that, and you just figured out why.

Bucky didn't turn around but definitely noticed. He steps to the side, now in front of the stove and you here something crack and sizzle. You're not sure what to do here. You can try to apologies and explain but there's no un-embarrassing way out of this one. You fold your arms over your stomach trying to hold all your very delicate pieces together while you attempt to speak up. Finally reaching the bar and fully prepared to say good morning when he quickly sets a hot bowl down in front of you. White rice and a fried egg- runny yolk. You'd make it for breakfast when you'd get up early or couldn't sleep, a friend from school put you on to it. Looks like he's been studying you too. You make eye contact but, just briefly. From what little of the expression you get on his face nothing indicates that he's mad. But he hasn't said anything to the contrary either.

How was your trip?  Dangerous I bet-sorry you couldn't come home and sleep in your own goddamn bed! Oh?! AND you made me breakfast!

You feel like a crazy person.

"Comfy last night?"

He's pouring himself some coffee, not yet turning your way. There's no hostility in his voice.

You chuckle nervously.

"Yeah.. sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it."

He sets a small glass of juice down in front of you. Heavy eye contact this time, but his expression is soft. He didn't ask for an explanation and you really didn't want to give him one. But you still feel guilt looming over you. You take the glass in both hands and nurse it.

He nods at you with a squint, taking a big sip of coffee.

"If I knew that was yours I would've given it back."

The shirt. You forgot you actually put it on. You hold your breath stroking the fabric gently. Contemplating your next words.

"It's not- well, not really."

He raises an eyebrow.

"It was a gift, so I guess it does belong to me..."

Glancing back down at it you can see him realize it says "Brooklyn." His expression changes to a knowing one and it reads like regret but he quickly tries to box it back up for you. This is a new move for him.

There's a much longer pause in conversation than either of you would like before he shifts his weight awkwardly.

"Sorry."

You push glass, now empty back across the bar towards him.

"Don't worry about it-"

You swivel in your seat quickly, taking your bowl and getting up to leave. He steps out from the kitchen after you.

"Thanks for breakfast."

The tears had been welling up and started to pour over as you left. You're still in no state to pretend to be a functioning person right now. Trying to save him from your ugly cry face by escaping but he grabs your shoulder gently suggesting you backwards.

You cover your mouth to hush a sob. You can see your chest start heave but there's nothing you can do to stop yourself. He grabs the bowl setting it down carefully, then you feel a warm metal sensation squeezing the back of your neck.

"You don't have to be over it."

He's been back a couple hours and already knows you're still a mess. You scoff, laughing at yourself really.

"What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing."

He whispered back quickly, exasperated, but tender.

You sniffle; pathetic.

"That's not how it feels."

"He fucked up. He just doesn't know it."

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders pulling you into his embrace.

It's nice to feel another person. A real solid human being; you can't remember the last time you hugged someone like this. You turn in his arms to face him. He looks tired. Not just 'had-to-sleep-on-an-old-couch' tired. Emotionally repressed. Maybe he has actually wanted to talk to you. He pulls you into him, it's just a hug  but it almost hurt how sweet this was.

Then a thought came to you, not really sure how, you can't handle more rejection right now; but you kissed him anyway, hard. Like him being gone almost killed you- because it did. He pulls away from you, just a little, reading your face his own expressionless. You search his eyes for any kind of hint as to what's going on inside his mind. You're not ready to admit this was a mistake yet. There's no real way to know how long you stood there like that. You only dare to move after you hear the song change in the background.

Words... thought they just fade away

but hurt... gave them a place to stay

"Do something."

You were sure it was just in your head but it creaked out past your lips in less than a whisper, pleading with him.

He covered your mouth with his, smoothing both hands down your neck to your shoulders gripping them gently, intently. You cling to his waist almost afraid to explore anywhere else, then slowly drag nails along his back. He pulls you back into him, you want to fuse with the warmth radiating off of his body, he bends and you collide onto the floor with a muffled thud. He cradles your head quickly so you don't get hurt but you wouldn't care at this point.

The way you fit into each other is unnerving, like your bodies weren't meant for anybody else. You both scramble to undress him in between breathy wet kisses and he's... magnificent. He pulls off his shirt and you swiftly run fingers from his neck down each arm. The metal one is warm, this surprises you for some reason. You watch as each "muscle" dances at your touch and you catch a small glimpse of something on his face that resembles insecurity... or fear. He shelves it quickly in response to you bucking your hips up to dismiss your underwear.

He buries his face in your neck, warm breaths ghosting your skin. Hooking his hands behind your knees he hoists your legs up around his waist. He bites down gently and you gasp. It's too much. He's everywhere, all at once. The last person to touch you event remotely close to this was-

"...Steve."

It just came out, you almost didn't notice it. Bucky stops, pulling back and away. He scans you, a pitiful, panting mess on the floor. The most vulnerable you've probably ever been and definitely in front of him. He shakes his head slowly once, chest heaving.

"No."

Knots line your stomach once again. He grabs your wrist to hold your arms in place up above your head and presses his forehead against yours.

"Look at me."

You hold eye contact there for a solid minute, you're sure of it. He leans forward delicately dragging teeth against your ear.

"You're gonna keep saying it until you can't forget."

He drops his hips and lines up with your entrance. You feel a thick wash of euphoria from the pressure, throwing your head back as much as possible given the floor. You roll your hips along to his, cradling each other perfectly.

His eyes didn't leave your face until you both feel your legs begin to tremble.

"Oh Bucky."

The only words you can remember.

You feel every stroke hasten and all his muscles tighten each time his name falls from your lips. He pulls your shirt up to your neck looking to spatter kisses and bite marks across your torso. You futilely dig one set of nails into the floor and the other in his shoulder as he hungrily growls into your stomach, cursing, longing for mercy.

"Fuck."

You pull him back up to your face demanding his tongue. You hear the floorboard creek from the pressure of a metal hand, the flesh one surely bruising your hip by now. There's a deep enduring moan from the back of his throat as he finds his release inside you. You gasp at the sensation and you both pant into each other, nothing but a mess on the floor now.

He presses a long, firm kiss into the bridge of your nose then falls gently on his back beside you. You roll your head up to look at his face, whatever it is he's feeling isn't immediately obvious as he stares up at the ceiling. You shift onto your side placing a light, cautious hand on his chest and he glances over at you, reaching to squeeze your thigh reassuringly.

The sky is Navy Blue soon to be baby blue and baby you got nothing but time...

He looks over your face in a deep sigh before retiring his gaze to the ceiling.

"I don't know him... The guy that left you like that."

You watch intently has his jaw clenched, he's never been able to hide that bit very well.

"I don't know what kind of..."

He trails off, clearly upset.

You sigh deeply.

"I was gonna die that night."

He rolls his head back to look at you.

"The day I met him? I had pretty much made up my mind."

You start to fiddle with the hem of your shirt. Almost reminiscent.

"But he found me in the staircase..."

You hate how subtly he did some things. If you weren't lying next to him. There's no way you'd ever be able to tell his breathing had changed.

"Essentially-"

You pick your head up, chin on his sternum.

"He saved my life."

You state matter of factually. You watch his body relax in a short, bitter way.

He rolls his head over just enough to look you in the eyes. You kiss his chest once tenderly before moving to stand up. You extend a hand down for him to grab.

"That isn't good for your back."

"You really think I didn't know?" Part1

[minthysugamon]

Barell of a Gun (Hitman! Jimin x Reader)

(Warnings: This one is pretty dark. Please don't read if you feel uncomfortable at the mentions of Paid Murder,Gambling,Uncomfortable Situations and Kidnapping. This doesn't depict Jimin's real personality. It's only a work of fiction. Please don't associate Jimin with this after you read it,he isn't like that in real life. IT IS ONLY A WORK OF FICTION BASED ON A JAMES BOND-AGENT 47 TYPE OF CONDUCTING LINE)

Word count: 2045

As soon as night has fallen,he started to get ready. Pen,check. Knives,check. 9mm,check. Everything was going perfectly. Park Jimin never paid attention to the victim. At least,he never let his emotions rule over the goal he had in front of him. And that goal was the 1,000,000$ he will get after he eliminated the person in the portfolio. It's a well paid price,and until he does the job without being noticed,it's worth it. He never accorded time to his emotions. It's a rational job,find the person,eliminate them,get paid. Nothing really hard. He prefers to say eliminate because killing would make his targets look like victims,whilst most of them are just rotten people.

"Agent 91,welcome. Please type in the password to unlock." His computer displayed the following words. He typed it in once. Doesn't work. The fourth time,same thing happened. "Fuck. Not again. I don't have time for this shit right now." Jimin was starting to get agitated. The fifth time,he just scanned his retina,hoping it would work. And it did. Thankfully. Because if it hadn't,the whole fuck-up would've cost him a lot of money and primarily his life,probably.

While sitting in the car,you had some Depeche Mode song your brother was blasting earlier in his room,stuck on repeat in your head. It was called Barrel of a Gun or something,the guitar riff was kinda cool so it stuck to your neurones. The ride to the casino was accompanied by an awkward silence,your date for the night has chosen some pompous place to dine at and now wanted to go gamble some money away. He was the son of some rich politician at your school,of course he would do something like that. "Did you like the meal?" The guy placed a hand on your knee,not as if you had asked,but for the moment you didn't do anything. "Yes,i liked it,even thought the wine was a little bit dry for my taste." He simply smirked and rolled up the partition in the back of the Limousine before his hand has made its way higher up on your thigh. "Well..if it can comfort you,i know that something won't be as dry as the wine tonight." Breaking point. You took his hand into yours and simply smiled. "Jacques,listen. I appreciate your gestures and all,but please,please,pretty please,don't ever fucking touch me again without me consenting to it." You heard a pop coming from the bone of his hand,not realising you were literally almost breaking it so you had let it go.

Jimin had stepped into the grand hall of the Casino of Monte Carlo,getting the casual verifications done. He stood at the roulette table,and since he had some time to kill,he didn't mind gambling away some thousands. The main point was to blend in,not to be outstanding. "Mesdames,Messieurs,Faites-vos jeux." He had forgotten how wonderful the french language sounds...as wonderful as a cat choking on some plastic wrap. His bet was put on the number 3,his lucky number. Not that he was superstitious,but it always brought him chance,so...why not this time? "Les Jeux sont faits." As soon as the roulette started spinning,he looked around himself and finally saw his target. But it wasn't planned that he will have company.

Sitting besides Jacques while he was playing a hand,needless to say,it was more than just boring. You never wanted to go home as much as you did now. Plus,the high-heels were killing your feet,it was a plus reason for you to just get up and leave. But you didn't. Simply because he was already kind enough to take you on a date,so,you had nothing more to do than just sit beside him and observe. Jacques wasn't good at Poker,even if he liked to think the opposite,and his loss was already over 100,000€. If he were a simple man,he would already be indebted,but it wasn't the case. The game only started to be interesting when another man sat down at the table and joined the party.

"May i?" Jimin asked with a small smile on his lips. He knew his target was beside him,it will be easier to calculate his every moves. But he didn't realise it will be harder since you were in the frame too. As soon as the game started,he saw that the guy wasn't good at playing,only bluffing,so,he took this to his advantage and told himself he will use the "I'm just tryna help you bro" card later. Jimin's eyes were mostly on you though,and he didn't calculate his emotions,but he would've been lying if he said you weren't beautiful.

You were looking at the cards in Jacques's hands. Seeing the 3 others on the table,he was already fucked,but of course,he had to bluff. "50,bet" echoed from the man beside you and everyone folded. Except one. The new player at the table. "Oh...i see you play with big amounts...let me make it more interesting then. Calling 1600." The black haired man's proposition made you jump a little bit. It wasn't only 1600€,but 1,600,000. "So..? What do you think? Reasonable proposition,no? Or...are you scared of losing?" The guy smirked and your partner stood up. "I'm going for a smoke. Pause the game." "Man,it isn't such a bad proposition,but okay...let's say 1,400,000 to save your honor." He followed Jacques to the balcony. Which was a pretty bad idea knowing how he can get when he's angry,you knew how out of hand the situation could get,he was the same at Uni. Anger Issues was his middle name.

Jimin was only trying to provoke the poor guy. Poor...let's not say that. He was the kid of an asshole that got rich by scamming poor people. Let alone,the father was a politician. The only way for Jimin to attain his final target was to hurt him. Not that he had to,but it was more effective this way. "Stop fucking following me. I have enough of your gimmicks. I saw how you were looking at him. You're on a date with me,not him." The hitman simply laughed. "Oh..you thought your little girlfriend came after you? Believe me,she has better things to do. Now,if you excuse me..." Gun cocked. Silencer already on. And fire. The bullet went straight through the younger one's head,in between the eyes. "Bull's eye. Good." As the body of the guy has fallen,Jimin started to wipe his silencer and put the pistol away. Too bad the girl was at the balcony as he did it.

"What the fuck have you done? WHO THE FU-" You screamed at him,but the scream hadn't live to its full potential as the guy from the table had silenced you with a hit to your head. You woke up five hours later,tied to a chair,in a living room in some old ass apartment,still propably in southern France. "Rise and shine babygirl,you're safe now. My name is...you have no buisness knowing it,but call me 91. Or Jay. Whatever suits you." As you looked around you,you saw nothing you could recognise. Only the feeling of the rag on your mouth was prominent,with the bounds around your wrists and legs. "I guess i should take off the gag...but can i trust you to not scream?" You nodded,already planning to get away somehow. As Jay took off the gag you inhaled and tried to scream but he had his hand in front of your mouth. "I should've killed you when i had the chance. I didn't need any kind of witnesses. But here i am,trying to plan out something so you don't talk. Now. Stop screaming or i'll send a bullet flying through your brain. Also..what's your name again?" He knew it of course...but wanted to hear it as he took off his hand of your mouth and looked at you. "Wasn't that your initial plan? And my name is (Y/n)." The sass in your words left him surprised enough to smile and unload his gun. "Wow,getting sassy i see. I like it." "Why did you kill him? Was it because he was involved in some shady buisness?" You talked way more than you should have. And Jimin liked that. More information means more time...which means a better approach towards the target. "What do i look like? A social justice warrior? Honey,i get paid for shit like this. But now,my only problem is you. What should i do with you? You weren't in the frame. And now you are here,bound to a chair...don't get me wrong,i like the view,but you shouldn't have wandered away from that goddamn table yesterday." You simply lowered your head and looked at his hands. He was fidgeting. Unable to decide what he should do. "You should probably kill me then. I mean,if i am too much to handle,and since you know i'll be talking as soon as i get out of here,you should just choke me to death...quick and effective." He smiled and took your chin with two fingers so you were looking into his eyes. "Let me think about it. But i already know i won't kill you...in the end,you're truly innocent so..there would be no fun in that." "So...you're pretty much a social justice warrior then" He let your chin go and stood up to walk around the apartment.

Jimin knew killing you would've made too much mess,plus,cleaning the whole appartment after it would have taken too much time. Plus...he kinda started to like you. You were the type of girl he could settle with. So he went with plan B...or more like,he wanted to go with plan b which was about to let you go and threaten you to not talk. But as soon as he heard footsteps coming towards the apartment,Jimin changed his mind and chose Plan C. "You'll be coming with me. We have to get away. I already lost more than 3 hours with you getting in my way."

You were quickly untied and he secured a gun around your thigh. "You know how to use one? Just in case,to be safe." Why on earth would he give you a gun? "I could kill you right now if i wanted." "Yeah,i know,but you don't want to. That's the positive point. Now open the window and get out." God knows why you obeyed him,but it was almost automatic. Did you like the rush of the situation? Maybe yes. Maybe it was simply because you were scared...maybe it was because you kind of liked the way the whole situation turned out. He was following you as soon as he cleared the area,and unlocked his car. "Get in. I'll be here soon. No more than 2 minutes." "Huh? Where the fuck are you going?" "Getting my shit and then i'll be here." And with that,he was already on his way.

No more than two minutes after,he was back with his suitcase and the briefcase containing some papers,his pc and most importantly,the money. "Buckle the belt. We'll be on the road for 10 to 15 hours..." "Where are we going?" He simply smiled and turned the engine on. "Let that be a surprise..." "So...you're pretty much kidnapping me,right?"

He chuckled and looked into the rear-view mirror. "It's better than the barrel of a gun against your head at least. And...you'll see,it won't be as bad as you think."

Was this really the life you were about to live? Probably. Was it safe? Probably not,but did you have any other choice? No. But...little did you know,it wasn't as bad as it seemed.

(Y'all,i'm sorry if it is bad...i really wanted something different but in the end idk...it doesn't seem good to me...i let you all be the judge)

[chocolatemillkk]

Call me Out (CM)

"Soo what are we doing again?" I ask for the fifth time, hugging my arms to my chest. It was an unusually cool evening in LA and although my bottom half was covered appropriately in a pair of jeans, I had on only a tube top leaving my bare arms covered in goosebumps.

"Well Rick forgot his ID and so did Omar and Anth's still on the damn phone." My friend sighs. "So I don't know!"

"Just go to the club without us!" Rick says for the millionth time and I seriously wonder why we didn't do just that. "We'll come next time."

"The whole point was to go together since we've all finally got fake IDs." Omar pouts. "They can go if they want. But-"

"We could go to one of those all-age clubs-"

"No! No, those suck-"

"I have an idea." My friends all pause at the new voice. It was Anth's friend Conor who he introduced us to earlier that evening. We'd all said hello and included him in the group without a question even though he was obviously British and not from around here. Which we all secretly thought was really cool...but were just too LA to admit. But Conor hadn't gone unnoticed for me-catching my eye and sending my heart racing. Not only because he had the same accent as my favourite movie ever made at the time (Bridget Jone's Diary) but he was cute in a way that wasn't intimidating. "Those of us with ID can get the beer and we can find some place to hang out." Conor licks his lips. "We can still make the most of the night that way."

All eyes are on the group newbie until Omar speaks up, obviously relieved from his fomo: "You're genius. Let's do that."

"Okay, my basement's empty we can head there. So how about Y/N goes and..." Malia stares at our newcomer for an uncomfortable second as she blanks on his name.

"Conor." I cut in. "Conor and I will go."

At the sound of his name, Conor looks up sharply at who said it. I feel myself blushing clumsily as I try not to look as excited as I felt but I couldn't help it! I would finally get some time alone to get to know my sudden new crush.

Since the closest liquor store was right up the street, Conor and I head off and tell the gang we would meet them at Malia's. As we walk, I'm nervous. I fold my arms into myself, and then unfold them, and fold them again before Conor offers his leather jacket.

"Oh I'm fine," I say politely. Damn. I wasn't fine in any way. But I couldn't just accept his-

"No take it. I'm warm." Conor begins stripping the jacket off before I could politely decline again. "I've got a jumper underneath anyway."

"A jumper?" I ask, looking at the sweatshirt he wore underneath and back up at his face.

"Yeah," he picks the fabric up to show me. "A jumper?"

I take the jacket from him and eagerly drape it over my shoulders; its leftover warmth blankets my body. "Is that like, a British thing?" I ask, intrigued and still staring at him, forgetting we should be continuing our walk instead of standing under the street lamp.

"I don't know...I guess?" Conor seems just as nervous as me as he shoves his hands into his pocket. I tug the jacket closer around my body which catches his attention, his eyes roaming all over me. I sense a shift in him, almost unnoticeable except in the way that he finally meets my gaze.

"You've got really nice eyes," he says and then immediately looks away.

"Thanks," I laugh nervously. "You've got a really toasty jacket."

He looks back up, his cheeks a slight pink under the sodium lights, and his tensed face melts into a smile that warms me up from the inside. He has a playful glint as he tugs at the jacket's lapel, "I'm a hot guy-didn't I already say?"

He was hot. But I don't stroke his ego. I turn away instead, continuing again on our trek to the store, calling out behind me. "If I remember correctly the only thing you said was you were warm!"

He laug loudly into the night and the ice between us. We begin talking and asking about the other, greedily tearing up the rare time alone, wanting to know each other as well as we could before we had to return to our group. By the time we get into the liquor store I've told him about growing up in LA, how I hated school, and how my brother drove me crazy and he's told me about the town he's from, his younger brother and sister, and why he was in LA--to work on music. And I was impressed, he was only my age.

"So are you any good?" I ask him as we track down the aisle with the cheaper beer. We're the only ones inside so we try not to draw too much attention.

"No. Not yet," he laughs and his face does the squinty thing I'd started to find adorable. I stare at him as he leans down and picks up two cases.

"Well will you let me hear it? When it is good?" I ask seriously.

He straightens up and turns to me, nodding his head vigorously. "Yeah," he answers, his voice suddenly serious. "I will."

Two Years Later: "I've heard it then," I'm on the phone with Conor as I look out the taxi window into the crowds of tourists. I was on my way to my boyfriend's place and the radio surprised me with a familiar voice. "Your song just came on the radio and I've finally heard it!"

"I was on the radio?" Conor asks from the other side of the world. I wished he was here to hear it with me so I could see his reaction myself. "You heard me in LA?"

"I'm in a taxi," I say. "And I'd recognise your stupid voice anywhere."

"And?" Conor asks, not hiding his excitement at all.

"It's still not good-I told you to only show me when-"

"Shut up!" Conor shouts and I have to move the phone away slightly as his belly-laugh emenates from the phone. "You're a little shit!"

"No!" I insist. "You're shit!"

"Don't say that," Conor's humour is slowly leaking out of his voice and I decide I'd taken the joke far enough.

"It’s-as you would call it-bloody amazing! I was totally kidding. The song. Is. Amazing."

"Really?" Conor asks, his excitement apparent again.

"Yes!" I shout. "You should be so proud of yourself! Soon you'll be as big as Beiber!"

We go back and forth as he shies from the compliments and finally accepts them. We move onto the cliffnotes version of life updates before I reach my destination and tell him I had to go. This was the way it had been with Conor and I over the two years we'd known the other. After an intense first time hanging out, we'd eased up and stuck to the safe option of being good friends. The constant distance between us and the fact that we shared a mutual friend group, prevented us from hooking up-if things went south, it would be very awkward. Plus, we were both busy figuring out our own futures. Mine, currently, was going to school so I could get into acting.

But I still couldn't control my erratic heartbeat whenever I spotted Conor in LA. There was an undeniable attraction, made stronger with the easy chemistry we had. He had a pull on me none of my other crushes or boyfriends ever had. But after a few weeks every time, I had to let Conor go back home to London and as painful as it was each time, it would be made more painful if we were anything more than friends. So I simply chalked it up to a juvenile crush and forced myself onwards.

One Year Later: "Y/N..." Conor pulls his pants onto his hips and secures it with a belt. "I don't know what to-"

"It's fine," I laugh like I thought everything that had happened over the last 10 hours was all one big joke. But my hands shake under the covers and I have a hard time looking him in the eye.

I had turned 21 yesterday and my boyfriend dumped me the morning of because I was being too "clingy”. He was leaving in the afternoon, flying out across the country for some modelling jobs he'd landed and I was mildly upset he had to leave on my birthday. Meanwhile, Conor suprised me at my apartment, completely oblivious, with birthday champagne and a balloon he'd stuck a picture of his face on. It was his only free night because he had to fly out the next morning.

But he'd found me: mascara on my cheeks, crumpled pyjamas, and a fistful of tissues. He sat and listened so patiently before helping me clean up. Once I'd cried it out however, the inevitable happened. We popped the champagne, swore at my ex, drank the bottle between us, and then reached for each other. Because of loneliness or our long history, we ended up in bed. My bed. And I wish I hadn't drank so much so I could remember even half of it but as soon as I woke up I knew I fucked up. I was simultaneously heartbroken over my ex and absolutely gutted that my first time with Conor was under circumstances like this.

"You were comforting me. We're both adults now and we made an adult decision right? It's fine." I sit up, making sure the blankets were wrapped tight around my torso. Conor looks at me hesitantly, his hands dropping to the side and he looks just as gutted. We weren't supposed to let this happen. Not like this. We knew eventually we would sleep together with all the sexual tension we had between us-but never ever like this. This felt cheap...we could barely even remember it.

"So you're okay I have to go again?" Conor asks slowly.

"I'm fine. You have a life to go back to." I say more confidently than I felt-I didn't want to be clingy again. And what would I even say if I wasn't okay? It was a stupid question to ask. "And my shift starts in a couple hours anyway-acting doesn't pay the bills!"

Conor throws his shirt on before sitting beside me. He looks down at my hands clasped around the covers and then my collar where the pendant I always wore rests. He picks it up and rubs it like I usually did when I was nervous. It was hard to reconcile the person Conor put on in public to this gentler version of him in my bedroom. "Don't be so hard on yourself. I'll see you on the big screen soon enough."

"You'll only see me when I'm good enough," I give him a wry smile, calling him out. He drops the necklace, his hand curving around the back of my neck. For a split second I think he was maybe going to kiss me again but he kisses my forehead instead. I close my eyes, stretching the brief millisecond into an hour, or two, or five. I create some alternate timeline where I can do this all over, so that when Conor kisses my forehead it doesn't feel cheap with regret and stink of pity.

Fourteen Months Later: "It's nothing!" I pull my hand out of Malia's grip but she grabs my hand again.

"You call that a promise ring?" She asks skeptically of the diamond ring my boyfriend had gifted me yesterday evening.

"Promise ring?" Anth asks as he comes back with Conor who'd arrived late-a bad habit we'd all gotten used to. I try to stuff my hand back into my hoodie but Conor catches the light glinting off the diamond. I don't want to see his expression but I can't help but watch as it falls, a look of betrayal settling in. It wasn't my fault-not really. Conor and I kept up a false pretense of being friendly after the last time we saw each other but we unravelled quickly the longer we went without addressing it. How could we be the same when we suddenly carried so much baggage?

Our relationship suffered. Meanwhile, my boyfriend came back to LA on his knees begging for forgiveness. He had been stressed out about his shoots and he regretted our breakup as soon as he'd landed at JFK. So I kept my own regret from that night to myself and taken him back. A month in and we'd moved to New York for the year where he modelled and I miraculously landed a very small Broadway part. When we moved back, he'd given me the promise ring. That was last night. Malia messaged me this morning to tell me the gang was in town and we were meeting up again. I didn't realise Conor would be there too. Our conversations had fizzled out once he realised I’d moved to New York with my boyfriend.

"Y/N's settling down," Anth teases. "Y/B/N is making a wife out of you!"

"It's not an engagement ring guys!" I insist but it sounds false even to me. It was supposed to be one. But the look of horror on my face when my boyfriend got on one knee at the beach had him stuttering and then insisting it was just a promise ring. So I had accepted like the coward I was because I was too scared to be on my own again. Three years of our relationship and Anth was right-I was settling.

"That's a big ass diamond," Conor jokes but it has a sharp edge to it. "Good for you. So uh-I'm getting a drink."

When I track Conor down, away from the group, he's stony faced.

"It's been a while." I say, feeling like that first night we met when I didn't know how to talk to him.

"Yeah," his eyes flick down to my hand. "A lot's happened it seems."

"Con-" I try.

"I'm alright." Conor cuts me off.

"No. You're not." I call him out.

He clenches his jaw, glancing at me and then sighing. "I know we fucked up Y/N but why did we just stop talking? You're bloody engaged and why am I only finding out now? I've never even met your boyfriend!"

"It-I know-it's complicated. We...complicated things!"

"It shouldn't be complicated! It was just sex!" Conor shouts. "It wasn't complicated! I'm still your friend!"

"Right..." I look down and try to blink away the sudden tears. That all it was to him? "Right. Yeah of course...obviously-duh! It was! I just got...I was unsure! I didn't know what you thought about it. But I'm cool if you are. We're still friends?"

"Yes we're still fucking friends!" Conor is instantly a ball of sunshine as we slip off our past like an oversized, stuffy jacket. I grab his hand and intertwine our fingers, trying to toss out the confused emotions I was feeling. Conor squeezes my hand and I snap out of my thoughts to his smiling face and when he looks at me it feels like that night, I first saw him smiling under sodium lights. When we wouldn't even know this was how we would turn out. I wish I could go back then. Maybe tell Y/N to keep things simple.

As his mouth moves to tell me something, I can’t focus as my head buzzes with the words he'd said earlier. But maybe it's better this way, I think. I didn't want to end up hating Conor, or be hurt by him, when I cared for him this much. I would just have to see it his way, I decide. Just sex. Only friends. "-always your friend."

One Year Later: "Happy birthday!" I shout at Conor. He was in LA for his 24th and the party was massive. Like this-many-people-could-never-fit-in-my-house massive. "Look at you! You're so spoiled now!"

Conor crushes me against him-it had been a good six months since I'd seen him. I was travelling all over for a movie I'd gotten a small role in and barely had time to see friends let alone Conor. I missed his energy. And he was super famous now too. Somewhere between seeing him last on New Year's, breaking up with my boyfriend and moving out, auditioning like crazy, and finding a role-Conor had blown up online and my heart swelled every time I saw his ad or his music somewhere. Despite our messy mishap, I'd realigned myself to realise Conor and I could only ever be friends.

"I love your jumper," I say-the term an inside joke by now.

"This is actually a hoodie." Conor teases.

"Fuck I can never get the terminology right!" I laugh and wrap my arms around him again, his "hoodie" a snug fabric to rest my head on.

"Y/N." Conor says seriously so I look at him again, concerned. "Y/N I-I think I'm finally good!" Conor shouts in my ear and when I give him a questioning look he explains. "My music! I think it's finally good enough!"

"Oh Conor," I can't help but grab his face between my hands and squish his cheeks. "It was always good enough!"

Conor laughs causing his face between my hands to morph oddly so I let go. "You're not as much of a bitch as you used to be!"

"Watch your mouth!" I pull his hood over his head and continue tugging it over his face until he apologizes between laughter. When I let go, he takes off the hood and wraps his arm around my shoulder. We stay that way for the rest of the night as he introduces me to everyone we meet. They all assume I'm his girlfriend, joking with me that I should watch out. And I didn't blame them with the way Conor's hand was always on my shoulder or my waist, my hips, touching my hair, leaning in to say something in my ear. I crave his touch every time I don't have it and by the end of the night, I feel drunk on desire more than any of the cocktails I'd had. So when Conor looks at me with a question in his eyes at the end of the night, I don’t call him out. I simply take his hand and go back home with him. Just sex. Only friends. Always friends.

Eighteen Months Later: Since Conor's 24th, we'd made a routine. Unless one of us were in a relationship, every time Conor was in LA, he would stop by. We'd catch up on life and then end up in bed for however long he was here for.

"I'm only in LA for two week." He would say. Or "I go to New York next week." Or "I have a flight on Thursday for Dubai."

It wasn't permanent, he meant to remind me. It wasn't a relationship. It was just sex. And we were just friends. And this was just a bad habit. Or a good habit-was there such a thing? I always looked forward to it. It felt like we were each other's safe space, a secret the other held close to their chest. Minus the emotional attachments of course. It happened so often like this that I'd forgotten I ever wanted more. Being like this actually gave us more time to catch up on every detail of each other’s lives. We opened up about our insecurities, our goals, and all our shared memories. When Conor was staying longer he would work on things in the same room I was in or he would help me practice lines and we created small bubbles in time where everything was blissful between us as long as we were together. It was harder some days than others like when I wanted to kiss him in public or gush to my friends about him-but it was worth it to be close again.

Months Later: I had my first anxiety attack that morning. I didn't even realise I was having it until my knees hit the carpet and I tried to look up at the time.

I had a big audition that afternoon for a children's movie. My agent was so sure I was going to get it-she'd talked me up to every friend she had in high places and knew the company hiring so I knew I had it in the bag yet a movie on such a scale was terrifying. Conor had told me he was coming over after auditions to see how it went and I was oddly nervous to see him too-I'd gotten out of a short relationship so it had been a while since Conor and I got together. And then my mom called me worried about my brother who'd been making all the wrong choices in life as of of late which kept running through my mind. So when my agent called to tell me they wanted a Skype interview now, I knew that usually meant it was a courtesy interview and they didn't actually want me. I did the interview with a really bad connection, my anxiety heightening with every scene looking at their impassive expressions. As soon as it ended, I ignored my agen't phone call and suddenly found it hard to breath, my vision narrowing as everything looked off, and the room tilted around me. I fell to my knees and located my phone, calling the only person I knew who'd understand: Conor.

By the time he arrived, I had managed to calm down but I still couldn't take a deep breath nor could I talk in full sentences. Conor squeezed my hands and helped ground me until I could focus and then he'd gathered me in his arms so carefully, so lovingly, that it scared me enough to start crying. He mistook this for being sad about not getting the part and helped me to bed, setting up his laptop beside me. I didn't correct him, falling asleep as I felt exhausted, and awakening to a vibrating hum.

I don't open my eyes, anxiety clutching my chest as I remembered where I was and what had happened. But the humming beside me helped, the dread slowly unravelling it's hold on me. When I do open my eyes Conor's concentrated on the screen as he hums the same few lines again and again. And the tenderness with which I felt towards him sends me tipping into the panic zone so I get up and yank the covers off. I couldn't do this. We said we wouldn't.

"Hey you're up," Conor looks at me. "I'm gonna hum something does it sound like something you've already heard or is it-"

"You have to go." I say abruptly and he stops talking immediately. "I need to be alone Conor please go. Now."

He stays for a heartbeat before closing his screen and getting out of bed. His mouth opens to say something but he looks at me and closes it, bowing his head and moving out the door. I listen as he leaves and take a deep ragged breath. I felt wild, like a frantic ball of confused energy was buzzing within me like a pinball machine. Like a panic attack hangover and as soon as Conor goes I want him back. I make it so far to the front door when I retreat until my back hits the wall. What was I doing? But I craved the comfort of his touch and it urged me to call him back. I couldn’t though. He wasn’t my boyfriend, I couldn’t keep doing this. But the sudden sound of a knock at the door echos my pounding heartbeat.

I carefully open it to Conor, running his fingers through his hair. I barely register what he says; opening the door wider, just wanting him back in. He drops his bag to the floor as he closes the door behind him. In an instant, his hand finds my waist, our foreheads touch, our eyes locked. It felt like we were the center of a volcano of passion and desire, boiling as his hand tightens on my waist, bubbling as my hand slips around the the base of his neck, simmering and leaking as I close my eyes and he crashes his lips into mine.

I can't remember what happens next-not chronologically. We're bumping into walls and shedding the day, as well as our clothes, and as we ease into the sheets the volcano bursts with hot molten lava, destroying anything that was ever left of us before.

I must have nodded off again right after because I wake to Conor in bed facing me. Behind him, my window shows streaks of pinks in the sky as day goes down to dusk. Conor's eyes are watching me carefully, his expression unreadable as he watches me watch him. I trace the bridge of his nose to distract him but he continues staring, something budding in the way he looks at me. It was scaring me and I tell him so.

Yet Conor doesn’t take his eyes off of me, his thumb brushing my cheek and my breath catches as I realise why I was so scared. His eyes hold no trace of its usual playful spark. Instead they're unguarded and clear as day with what he was thinking. Shit. This was it. This was the end. We'd both fallen. Made this something important.

"When are you leaving LA?" I ask, almost begging him to reply with a deadline to our romance for some sort of normalcy. The only way this worked was when he put a time stamp for us to stop waking up in each other's arms. Even if it was one month or one week we would have the most fun as the end date was our safety net.

But when he shrugs and continues to gaze at me, my heart feels like it would burst from my chest. And it practically does as all the hopes I ever ignored of Conor and I as something more than friends, all the fantasies I ever had of Conor wanting more with me, the thoughts I suppressed before they could even manifest-shoving them into a dark corner of my mind-roll forward and flash before me. This was Conor-the first person I think I ever fell in love with. And I can admit it to myself now, looking at him-at us, like this. This was Conor-how could I have ever thought we could be anything but in love in the end? So I remove Conor's hand from my face and hold it to my chest, willingly showing him how much I was feeling in the moment. "I feel it now, can you feel it too?" Conor takes my other hand with his free hand and places it against his own palpitations. My own races faster; was this our demise?

"I feel it too." Conor answers slowly.

"But this is exactly what we said we wouldn't do." I remind him. What he said we wouldn't do. What we weren't.

"What was that exactly?" Conor asks me and his mouth flicks up in a slow smile as the playfulness returns in the blink of an eye. He's weightless as he rolls over me and brings his lips down in a kiss so tender, I never realised he had it in him. When he moves away, he rests his forehead against mine, his lips a hair's breadth away from my own. The look he gives me is a challenge, a dare like we would give when we were younger. His brown eyes looking into mine are daring me just one simple thing:

Call me out.