#But something i cant escape from is the pains... And nausea. My back is hurting and my stomach is doing an uproar.

[mrfoox]

I hate this time of the month like fuck this shit fuck it all

[turtle-steverogers]

i was thinking but do you know the unsent project? it is this website where you can write a message to your first love that you never sent to them. now imagine steve writing one (or multiple) to bucky after he came out of the ice after nat told him about it... yeah

hello hi anon this broke me and it was too perfect not to turn into a ficlet klafjldskjfalskf thank you

-

Unsent Letters

To:

Steve’s fingers freeze over the keyboard, the cursor blinking at him. It feels like it’s taunting him-- teasing him with the burden of choking out a name. What should he even say? The sender is anonymous, but how many people are named Bucky out there? Would anyone even care?

To: Bu

Steve huffs and backspaces, his hands trembling as he curls them into fists. He isn’t sure what provoked Natasha to tell him about this website. It’s a cruel tease to everything he wishes he could say-- wished he could say before Bucky slipped through his fingers. And now his only option is yelling into an abyss. The text box is black and daunting. He turns it yellow. No, too happy. Green. Yes, that’s fine. Bucky’s favorite color was always green.

His gaze wanders away from the screen of his hefty Dell laptop and out the window of his apartment. DC’s low rising buildings span out in front of him. His gut aches; he misses New York already. But he knows being there would only mangle his soul further, seeing his already alien home torn to shreds by literal space whales. He huffs, thinking of Bucky’s comics. His stories came to life after all. Bucky would have probably vibrated out of his skin if he knew there was other life out there.

To: My astronaut

How’s space treating you? It’s treating me pretty badly, if I’m being honest. If only you could see what it’s done to Brooklyn. I think you’d be pretty mad at it if you knew…

Steve hesitates, reading back over what he’s typed. It’s stupid as hell, and he cringes, but he doesn’t backspace. His fingers find the keys again.

I miss you something awful. I don’t think that even encompasses how much I’m hurting without you. I feel so lost right now-- space is much bigger and scarier than you’d think. I know you’d love it. I wish you could see bits of it, but god, I just want to go home. I want you to come home.

Steve freezes again and finds the screen blurry where tears have welled in his eyes. His jaw clenches as he pictures the way Bucky would laugh at him-- teasing him for his dramatics and ruffling his hair. He wishes he could be there now, rolling his eyes and nudging Steve’s shoulder.

“What’re you upsetting yourself for?” He’d say, gently closing the laptop and coaxing Steve into his arms. “I’m right here, pal.”

And if Steve closes his eyes, he can almost feel Bucky’s warmth enveloping him. But he’s not there. He’s dead, and Steve’s a goddamn ghost, drifting through a future that doesn’t know him.

He opens his eyes and stares at the text box, then clicks submit.

The screen loads, and his message is gone, his pain forever documented in the abyss.

-

For someone who fought aliens two weeks after waking up from his impromptu seventy year sleep, Steve’s life is pretty monotonous. He contemplates this unfortunate fact as he stands in front of his toaster, hair sticking up on the back of his head as he nurses a mug of coffee and waits for his toast to pop.

It’s 5:45 in the morning and he tries to remember a time when he didn’t rise this early. Before the war, perhaps. Though, he’s always been a bit of an early bird. His home life was sporadic to put it lightly and he’d learned from an early age that the sooner he was awake, the better it was for everyone. Vigilance is not a new concept for Steve.

He hasn’t always stayed up late, though. That’s certainly new, and he feels this fact viscerally as he catches sight of his reflection in the microwave. There are bags under his eyes that will be gone by mid-morning thanks to the serum. Dermatologists hate him, Natasha says. Steve thinks he’s pretty lucky that the serum more or less equipped him with a built-in anti-aging agent. His father had started balding by thirty.

His toast pops and he starts a little, blinking blearily at the slightly burnt bread as he pulls it out of the toaster with his thumb and forefinger. He spreads on the same raspberry jam and butter that he uses every morning and tries not to think of how bland it tastes in his mouth as he eats it standing at the counter. Another routine.

He tries not to look at last night’s dishes in the sink as he stacks his plate and silverware on top and doesn’t bother sorting out his hair before pulling on his sneakers and slipping out of his apartment. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, only the beginning tendrils of light sneaking over the low tops of the DC buildings, and Steve vaguely regrets not grabbing a sweatshirt before he left. It’s not quite Summer yet and the mornings could still get pretty cool.

He’s about to take off down the street when he freezes. Natasha is sitting on the steps of his complex, wearing a pair of pink tinted sunglasses and tossing up and down the keys to her car. Steve blinks, rubs his eyes, then blinks again. Nope. She’s still there.

“Nat?”

Natasha looks up at him and smiles. “Hello.”

Steve shifts, uncomfortable. “Hi. You need something? Is there a mission?”

“No,” Natasha says lightly, standing. “You’re not running this morning, though. Come on, I’m taking you to Starbucks.”

“What?”

“Starbucks. You’re going to try it.”

“I don’t want--”

“Steve, you do the same thing every day. Step out of your comfort zone a little.”

Steve frowns, but Natasha’s right-- he really doesn’t ever stray from his routine.

“Fine,” he says, and twenty minutes later, they’re strolling into the nearest Starbucks.

He’s only been in one before, and that was to use the restroom while on a run. He’d bought a water bottle in an attempt to not be rude and use their facilities without giving them any business, but he hadn’t even considered the expansive menu. All the fancy names were too daunting.

They’re just as daunting now as he stares up at the board, heart hammering out of his chest as he’s faced with indecision. Natasha takes one look at his face, and reaches out to squeeze his arm.

“I’ll order something for you,” she says. “What kind of coffee do you like?”

Steve gives her a pained look. “Um… just coffee?”

Natasha quirks a smile and orders him something called a caramel macchiato. He’ll take it, he guesses.

The drink is too damn sweet and sugary and he almost gags. Still, he was always told to finish what he was given, so he drinks the whole thing.

-

To: Mr. Sweet Tooth

You’d fucking love it here. Everything is packed with sugar and sweetness-- enough to make even my teeth rot. I had something called a caramel macchiato today and it tasted like someone took your ma’s caramels and condensed them into a cup. I couldn’t stand it, but I know if you were here, you’d want at least twelve. I hope you’re enjoying all the sweets you can up in space.

Love, Mr. Boring

-

Steve’s fingers are stiff and frozen as he works at the straps of his stealth suit. The tangy taste of saltwater still sits heavy on his tongue, and he clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering too harshly as he finally peels off his suit. It’s not much better, being naked, but at least the wet fabric isn’t clinging to him anymore.

The mission had been pretty straightforward until some alien tech managed to blast the quinjet to kingdom come, and they all free-fell straight into the freezing Atlantic.

Steve had managed to keep it together as they took down the goddamn mad scientist that fucked them over, but now that he’s home and alone, he can feel the adrenaline crashing.

He’s shaking from more than just the cold as he draws himself a warm bath, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, trying to breathe through the panic that wants to engulf his entire being.

He loses time for a bit, and comes back to himself lying in his bed, burrowed under several thick layers. He feels so cold, down to his very soul-- a chill that he can never seem to truly shake, even when he’s warm.

Not for the first time, he wishes Bucky were there to hold him. He slips off to sleep thinking old, comforting thoughts of Bucky rubbing his hands between his own, coaxing his head under his chin to engulf him in that natural warmth of his. He always was a fucking furnace.

But when Steve wakes an hour later, shaking hard enough to move the bed with the force of the nightmare he’d dropped into, Bucky is not there to soothe away the ice.

-

To: JB

im so cold and i cant breathe ever and nothing feels right. I dont know what to do, u were always the problem solver between us and i cant think straight right now and i just want you here please. I cant do this anymore, im so tired please come back. I need you please

-

The Winter Soldier file sits in front of Steve-- a horrifying nightmare wrapped up in a neat brown folder. Residual nausea swirls around in his gut as he comes down from the horrible high of reading through the contents. His hands shake where they grasp the thick paper. His heart clenches hard in his chest.

Bucky is alive. Bucky is alive, and he’s been unmade.

Steve doesn’t know where he is-- if he’s escaped, or if Hydra found him again. It’s been three weeks now since the helicarriers, and he’s only just gotten the courage to sit down and wade through the shit that is Bucky’s reality.

He just hopes he’s safe. God, he hopes.

Sam says he’ll help him look, and Steve needs to know he’s at least out of danger, but he barely knows where to start.

And he’s sorry. He’s so fucking sorry.

Blinking out of his reverie, Steve looks at his laptop. He feels strange and detached as he reaches for it and logs in.

To: Bucky

And yes, that feels right. He should use his name, since he suspects no one has for a long, long time.

I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurting so quietly for so long. I understand if you’re not ready to come home-- I understand if you never are. I just hope that you know that there will always be a place with me that is safe. I love you so much and I’m here, forever and always.

Love, Steve.

He’s not naive. He knows it would be dangerous to submit that particular message, so he doesn’t. But that’s okay. That one’s just for him-- for them.

-

“Steve? What is the… Unsent Project?”

Steve frowns and pokes his head out of the kitchen. Bucky is sitting on the couch in the living room, using his laptop, because his own is having storage issues.

Bucky looks at him. “It’s one of your saved tabs. What is it?”

And oh, fuck. Steve had forgotten to remove that from his homepage-- it really wasn’t needed anymore. He blushes all the way to his ears.

“Oh, it’s-- nothing. Not anything important--”

But Bucky has already clicked on the tab.

“The Unsent Project,” he reads aloud. “A collection of unsent text messages to… first… loves…”

He trails off as he processes what he’s looking at, and Steve can’t quite read his expression when he looks at him again. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s looking at Steve like he’s some sort of kicked puppy. Steve shifts, uncomfortable.

“Were you sending me… messages? While I was dead?”

Steve swallows. “Um…” and now that Bucky says it out loud, it really does sound quite sad. He shrugs. “It’s Natasha’s fault?”

Bucky shakes his head, clicking on the search bar. He starts to type his name, but Steve shakes his head.

“I didn’t use your name.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, then frowns at him again. “What did you use?”

Steve blushes harder, sitting next to Bucky and taking the laptop from him.

“Um…” he hesitates, then types what he was sure he used as his first alias.

My astronaut

The screen buffers and loads, then fifty or so messages pop up. Steve scrolls down-- it doesn’t take long to find his.

They’re both quiet as they read, and Steve cringes. Jeez, he really had been pretty dramatic. Next to him, Bucky makes a hurt noise.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, taking the laptop back from Steve. He reads the message again, then once more, and reaches out for Steve. “Aw, I’m here now.”

Steve huffs, embarrassed. “I know,” he says. “That was way back, like, three weeks after I woke up.”

Bucky stills. “You fought aliens three weeks after you woke up?”

“... More like two.”

Bucky hums. “Are there others?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, reaching out to type on Bucky’s lap, because Bucky is holding him now and he’s quite reluctant to move. He thinks for a moment, then types in the next one he remembers.

Mr. Sweet Tooth

Bucky laughs, and Steve finds himself smiling.

“I find this funny,” Bucky says. “Because caramel macchiatos are definitely one of my favorites now.”

Steve laughs, too, and butts his head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“If only I could tell that to myself back then-- he’d be thrilled.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky says. “Any more?”

Steve hesitates, thinking of the one he’d sent after that nightmare-- when he was low and hurting. Incoherent. He isn’t sure he wants Bucky to see that particular side of his soul, but Bucky has been more than generous in letting him in on his pains nowaday, and it’s not like Bucky hasn’t witnessed Steve’s own current nightmares.

He bites his lip and types in JB. That seems to yield a lot more results, and it takes a while for Steve to find the message.

He hides his face in Bucky’s neck as he reads. Bucky’s arms gradually tighten around him, and a moment later, he feels him kiss the top of his head.

“Honey, I hate that you were hurting so bad,” Bucky mutters against his hair.

Steve shrugs. “We both were,” he says, and it’s true. There’s something to be said about the guilt they both feel for not being able to save the other person at their lowest, but life hasn’t been kind to them. The vitriol, Steve thinks, should be directed at the goddamn universe for keeping them apart, not themselves for fucking dying. They’re working on it.

Bucky’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says. “Is that it?”

Steve shakes his head. “But I never sent the last one.”

“Why not?”

“I wrote it after DC.”

He feels Bucky squeeze him again, and he squeezes back.

“Oh.”

“I just-- I wanted you to know that you didn’t have to come home. That I just wanted you to be safe; needed to know you were safe, but it was up to you. I just needed you to know I was here, if you needed me.”

Bucky pulls back then and cups his face, kissing him soundly. Steve’s surprised for only a moment before he’s kissing back.

“I did know that,” Bucky says against his lips. “I needed time-- I was lost-- but the first thing I knew when I remembered who you were was that you were a safe person, because you’d never force me anywhere.”

Steve kisses him again, then pulls him into a hug. “I’m glad you knew that.” It’s warm, where their chests meet, and Bucky is solid beneath him. Real. He isn’t speaking into an abyss anymore.

-

There’s a sticky note on Bucky’s pillow next to his head when he wakes up the next morning. Steve’s side of the bed is already vacant, and he can’t hear him downstairs. He must have already left for a run.

Propping himself on an elbow, Bucky plucks up the sticky note.

To: My Bucky

Thank you for choosing me to be your home, and thank you forever, for being mine.

I love you with everything I have.

Love, your Steve

Bucky smiles, heart light as he folds the notes. He’ll keep that one with him, he thinks. A little bit of home to bring wherever he goes.

-

anyway yeah fslkjflaskjfls i-- ouch. anything to do with letters w these two hurts me immensely

[onfreckledwings]

follow up to this ❤️💚

When he wakes in the deepest recess of the night, Cas is not asleep at his side.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes and glances around the room. He doesn’t need to turn on the light on the bedside table to know. The space next to him in the bed is cold, the room is empty.

He’s alone.

His stomach drops to the space between his knees as he pushes himself upright. His heart is a pitter-patter in his chest; the blood rushing in his ears a deafening roar.

“Cas?” Dean calls out uselessly. He swings his legs gingerly over the side of the bed and walks slowly to his door, turning the knob and stepping into the hall.

“Cas?!” He calls out again, louder this time, glancing down both sides of the corridor and listening for movement. He sees nothing, hears nothing.

His heart begins to hammer against his ribs, and his mind starts to race.

Shit.

He walks a little too quickly throughout the bunker, ignoring the pain that slams from his back through his chest at the movement, and checks the kitchen, then the library. When it’s empty too, he heads into the war room.

He spots Cas’s phone on the map table, and when he walks over to tap the screen, the time glares back at him.

2:32

Dean takes a deep breath. He thinks for a moment, and when an idea comes to him, he tosses on his jacket hanging on the back of one of the chairs.

He heads for the garage.

When Dean opens the side garage door, it creaks and groans loudly in protest. A quick scan of the woodlands behind the bunker finds Cas standing in the middle of a small clearing, wrapped in a thick, oversized blanket that trails at his feet in the frozen dirt.

Relief floods through him like waves on the ocean. His shoulders drop, tension ebbing from his muscles, and he shuts the door gently behind him instead of letting it clang against the frame.

Cas is looking up at the diamond-studded sky, and Dean smiles as he watches.

He zippers up his coat against the mid-winter chill as the breeze hits against him, swaying against the rustling branches high above. He inhales deeply, the scent of the cold air mixing with the towering bald cypress trees cleansing his lungs. He approaches Cas silently, hand reaching out to caress his back, palm gripping his shoulder gently as he stands next to him.

Cas sighs and lets his eyes flutter shut for the briefest of moments.

“Hello, Dean.”

A huff of breath escapes his nose in a chuckle.

“Hey,” he smiles, letting his hand squeeze Cas’s neck affectionately. “Leave a note next time, huh? Scared the crap outta me.” He keeps his voice gentle, teasing, and Cas turns his chin to meet Dean’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says solemnly, eyes drifting to the ground before meeting his again. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

Dean smiles, rubbing soothing circles against Castiel’s shoulder blade. “Nah, it’s okay. I’m just sayin’,” he murmurs, and they both turn their faces towards the sky.

It’s a cloudless night. There are stars everywhere. The moon is high and full and shining. It’s beautiful.

“All things bein’ equal?” he continues, watching Cas’s reaction in his periphery, “I’d rather you wake me up than just wakin’ without you next to me.”

Cas thins his lips into a sad smile that doesn’t reach his eyes as he casts them to the ground. Dean tries again.

“I dunno if you’ve noticed, but...I don’t need to sleep with a gun under my pillow these days. So it’s not like I’ll accidentally shoot ya.”

Cas’s eyes close then, a rueful chuckle escaping his lips as his chin drops a little to his chest. Dean can tell he’s holding something back.

The former angel is crestfallen.

Dean’s brow furrows in concern, and he wraps his hands around Cas’s wrists to tug him towards him so that they’re face to face. He lets his hands travel to frame his cheeks.

When Cas’s eyes open, they glisten with tears.

“Hey,” he whispers, crowding closer into Cas’s space. “What’s goin’ on?”

Cas makes an attempt to shake his head, to try to dismiss Dean’s worry.

“No no—” Dean says gently. “Talk to me.”

Cas screws his eyes shut, tears falling in moon-bathed streams down his cheeks before he meets Dean’s gaze.

“I’m not an angel anymore,” he murmurs quietly.

Dean’s chest aches at the pain in Cas’s voice as he tilts his head in sympathy. He sounds so small and vulnerable, but there’s something else there, too.

Dean’s thumbs stroke against Cas’s cheekbones, feather-light. “I know,” he whispers, tears of his own sneaking into his throat.

But he has to be strong.

“I can’t imagine—”

“How can I ever be enough for you like this?”

Dean freezes mid-sentence. His heart sinks before it shatters, bleeding in the space between his feet. The crease between his eyes deepens as he frowns, eyes widening in disbelief.

“What?”

Cas steps out of Dean’s hold, and the fallen leaves crunch beneath his feet. He wraps the blanket tighter around him as he turns to face the sky again.

The roaring in Dean’s ears return, and he stares at Cas’s profile. Nausea starts to spread and twist like ribbons in his stomach.

“I don’t have the ability to heal. I can’t teleport. I can’t...do any of the things I used to,” Cas breathes, voice firm as stone. He’s not looking for pity, not looking for anything to challenge his thoughts.

He’s just being.

Dean’s head is spinning, and he’s so flabbergasted he can’t formulate words in his mouth.

Cas turns his head to meet him again. “How could I make up for that now?” As just a human goes unspoken; but Dean hears it all the same.

In that moment, he feels the rebar ripping through his gut all over again. He steels himself against the urge to double over.

“I don’t know how to be worthy enough,” he continues, voice solemn and jaded and numb all at once. “I don’t know how to be enough—for you—as just...this.” he finishes then, glancing himself up and down, hands stretched out in a shrug before crossing his arms with the blanket again. Cas sighs heavily as he rotates on his heel to stare up at the moon, his back to Dean.

All of the air leaves his lungs. His heart speeds up a little in a panic. He stares unblinkingly at Cas’s silhouette, and the wind gusts in the woods around them. He can hear the branches rustling above, and he can see Castiel’s thick hair swaying against the wind, sticking up every which way.

His stomach rolls. His mouth goes dry.

“Enough?” Dean mumbles in a hoarse whisper, more to himself than anything else. He strides forward, grabbing onto one of Castiel’s shoulders as he walks to stand in front of him.

Cas won’t meet his eyes. He just keeps staring at the world far beyond, hidden and cloaked in darkness.

Maybe he’s looking at Heaven.

Dean sniffles and reaches both hands on Cas’s shoulders.

“How could you ever think that you ain’t enough for me?”

But if Dean’s honest with himself, he knows. He knows he’s done a pretty shit job over the years of making Cas feel valued and wanted and loved —regardless of the status of his grace.

Cas closes his eyes and sighs heavily. When he opens them, he keeps them canted to the ground between their feet. The look Dean finds on his face scares him; it’s defeated, empty.

Broken.

His shoulders sag underneath Dean’s fingers.

Castiel looks exhausted.

“Okay, look…” Dean begins, shaking Cas gently to force their eyes to meet.

“I know...I know I’ve said things, an-and done things over the years that’ve hurt you. I know we’ve had our moments. But man…”

He trails off for only a moment, letting one hand slide down Cas’s chest to fist it into his shirt, the other reaching to grasp one side of his neck.

“‘M a wreck without you,” he grits out, green eyes boring into blue. “Losin’ you...an’ every time I’ve ever lost you it just—it always almost finished me.” He pulls Cas in closer by his shirt, and Castiel’s hands fall to grip Dean’s sides to prevent himself from stumbling.

“It was never about your mojo, Cas. Ever. ‘N I’m so sorry you ever thought it was.” Dean’s eyes are watering now, and he purses his lips as he lightly punches Cas’s chest.

“It’s just always been you.”

And maybe he’s not making any sense. But Dean’s never been good with words, and his chin is trembling, and Cas’s eyes are spilling over without a blink.

They’re so fucking blue.

And Dean’s heart is tattered in pieces on the floor of his ribcage.

“You’ve always been enough.” Dean whimpers, and he lets his own tears break free through the dam of his eyelids, falling in rivulets down his stubbled cheeks.

“Just you. I need you to see that.”

He rests his cheek against Cas’s temple and wraps his arms around his shoulders, pulling him into his chest as he chokes back a sob. Cas’s arms come to wrap around Dean’s middle as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of Dean’s neck.

“Please, Cas. Please believe that.” Dean chokes out, and he knows he’s babbling now. But Cas squeezes him tighter, and Dean lets his mouth fall into the swath of skin where Cas’s neck slopes into his shoulder. He crushes Cas into him.

They cry together until there are no more tears to shed; they hold each other, mending their broken pieces and bones and marrow and flesh.

The cracks in their hearts begin to heal.

Dean doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Cas’s lips are against his ear, shushing him and murmuring sweetly against the shell, hands rubbing up and down his back.

They begin to sway in each other’s arms.

“You’re it for me, Cas,” Dean sniffles. “Just you.” Not your grace, not your wings.

He pulls away to rest their foreheads together. “You hear me?”

I love you.

Castiel nods, closing his eyes before meeting green. Dean watches as his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and they meet in the middle in a chaste, open-mouthed kiss. Cas’s hands come up to frame Dean’s face.

“I hear you,” Cas whispers hoarsely as they part, and he runs a hand through Dean’s hair. Dean can’t help it when his eyes flutter at the touch.

A small, cold wet sensation stuns his nose then; Dean opens his eyes and tilts his head back to see thick, fluffy snowflakes beginning to fall around them. A small chuckle escapes his throat, and Cas follows his gaze. When another snowflake lands on the bridge of Dean’s nose, Cas’s index finger comes to catch it.

Dean’s eyes fall back to his. What he finds there is marveling.

“I dunno how y’do that,” he mumbles. “Make your eyes so friggin’ blue.”

Cas just smiles through those wonderfully thick lashes. He reaches to grab one of Dean’s hands, cupping it between his own as he brings it to his lips. “It’s a gift,” he quips.

Dean chuckles with a nod, and taking advantage of their height difference, he tugs Cas forward so he can press a kiss to the muss of velvet black hair. He inhales the scent of his own shampoo that mixes with the natural essence of Castiel: earth and rain and lightning. Dean grins as Cas snuggles into his neck, pressing a kiss to the skin there.

“Wanna go back in?” he mumbles against the thick strands. Cas lets out a yawn.

“Mm-hmm.”

Dean snorts as he reaches an arm around Cas’s neck, walking them both back towards the bunker. Cas must notice him wince slightly in pain at the angle, because then he’s reaching up a hand to cover his, and there’s an arm snaking around his waist.

“Lean on me,” he commands. And it leaves no room for argument. So Dean smiles, and lets his weight sink against the man against him, who accepts it all willingly.

Just like he always has.

They’re almost at the door when Dean stills, grasping the fabric of the blanket.

“Hey,” he says. Cas stops to look at him, letting Dean turn slightly in his hold.

“Merry Christmas, Cas.”

The smile Cas gives him is like the Star of Bethlehem. Cas leans in, mouth ghosting his as their foreheads connect.

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

[killed-by-cas-confession]

A ficlet thing I wrote when I was having an anxiety attack from my GAD. Dean’s been kidnapped by witches and thrown under a spell after the events of 15x18 (with the bonus that Jack rescued Cas from the empty but... ya know, Cas comes back to the bunker ofc) (That anxiety ficlet I mentioned that I was contemplating adding more plot to. Still might do that and throw it on AO3 but I’m focusing on my Season 16 fix-the-unmentionable-finale-that-doesn’t-exist-fic so maybe later) I just have it on my phone and edited it sloppily because I want it out somewhere, so I’m throwing it on here. TW: Anxiety attack and the thoughts one has during one, Canon compliant Violence mentions, John Winchester mention, Self Worth issues. Not beta-read, barely proofread.

His heart is going a mile a minute. Its pounding in his ears, bashing against the inside of his skull like a jackhammer. His breaths are shallow, quick, too quick, too much.

It's all too similar to the buruburu case in Colorado, taunted by his mind about his time in hell, about returning, after he was saved by an angel, by god he wishes he could be saved by that angel again.

Please. Please. Someone save me, please-

It's all too much, it's too much, it's too similar to those years spent in the pit, the torture he suffered, and it won’t stop, won’t stop, please stop-

Time somehow is passing at a crawl and a mile a minute. His throat feels tight, like he’s being choked, and he has been, so many times before, but then he could fight against it and now, despite how much he cries out, only half aware of every plea that leaves his lips, they simply hang in the empty, foreboding space. Every assault on his mind comes like he's thumbing through a flip book, the images intense and gone as quickly as they came only to be replaced by ones just as hellish as the last. 

He simply exists, thrashing and falling in this agonizing space, in this spell-induced hell, this anxiety filled pit.

He sees John one minute, hears his angry yells. He can feel every punch and kick and breaking of bones he’s ever taken  the next minute, and then, then he's seeing the faces of all the monsters he's ever almost died to, the animalistic rage behind them; something twisted and evil and gnarled and aimed right at him- 

He can see the pit, feel the rip and tear of hell hound claws that dragged him down. He may as well be buried in a pine box because there can’t be oxygen in this damp basement he's locked in, because his lungs refuse to take any in.

Above it all is the ache splitting his ribs, for every death he's had to watch and carry on through- every victim he couldn't save, every family member he's ever failed- Sam, Jo, Ellen, Bobby, Charlie, Mom, Cas-

Cas, help, help me, help me please—

It's a plea, a prayer, for help, for forgiveness, an apology for it all; the fighting, the lies, for not listening to him, for not helping him, for not saving him; from Crowley, from Rowena, from Lucifer, from Asmodeus, from the Empty. 

It's an apology for not saying it, for not stopping him, yet again, when he left him in that dungeon months ago, when everything was falling apart just like he is now.

He's only able to duly note that there’s a bang above him. A shot. A yell and a burst of energy. It's too far away, too far outside this bubble of torment that he's stuck inside and can't escape. He can’t bring himself to pay attention to the blood leaking down his face, the swollenness of his left eye socket and the pressure building steadily there. He knows at some point he tried to move, to curl in on himself, to somehow protect himself against the mental hits, forgetting the chains keeping him prisoner against the cold cement wall, and his ribs protested harshly. He's sure some are broken but he can't bring himself to care, because it's just more pain, more nausea inducing fear.

None of it can really matter now, ever since the spell that has his lungs gasping for breath and hot tears staining his cheeks as he struggles to calm his pulse, to not shake against his shackles. He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, is the spell finally killing him? He knows it's the spell, he knows, he knows, but he keeps seeing flames on the ceiling, Sam's back bleeding red onto his palm, burnt wings on the ground around him, everyone he loves leaves, dies, he corrupts everyone who touches him, why do people keep touching him? 

He just wants it to stop, please, please make it stop, please make it quiet, please end it, because he can't watch Sam fall into the pit, he cant watch the blue white glow and hear Cas's scream-

Cas, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sorry, I'm sorry-

He clings to Cas, like he did being half carried down the bunker halls that day, begs the thought of the angel to ground him somewhere; the movie nights, the car rides, the late night phone calls with Dean sitting outside his hotel room in the driver's seat of the impala so he doesn't wake Sam but those happy thoughts feel so far away, like it isn't him in the memories, and they're easily replaced by the tears sliding down Cas's cheeks as he says his goodbyes, Death pounding on the door like his heartbeat in his skull, boom, boom, boom, until Dean's lungs bottom out as his back hits the wall-

"Cas!!"

"Dean!"

He twists his face, screws his eyes shut tight; no, no he can't hear his voice, can't hear it saying what he can't say back-

"Dean, I'm here."

Stop, stop; Cas is safe and home, but he can't be, maybe Jack didn't bring him back, maybe it's all been a cruel joke. Maybe he's still in hell, suffering the loss of a love he's never known.

Dean has to be still sitting on the dungeon floor, twisting and jerking to free himself from the chains that hold him there, his body protesting, his throat caught between a sob and a yell, both so broken by pain, forced to lose his best friend, forced into silence by the trauma, unable to scream or whisper it back and he opens his eyes, tries to see through the blur of tears, only to be taunted by blue eyes staring back, wide eyed and scared, scared of him, scared to be saying it, scared of dying.

"Cas, please-" he hiccups a sob, willing Cas to stop looking at him, to stop the rough hands yanking at his wrists, rougher hands still frantically gripping his shoulders-

"Dean, Dean it's us, its Sam and Castiel--it's me, stop-"

Stop, and he's sure Cas is lying broken, on the floor beneath him in the bunker in a mess of books and wood splinters, a moment from death at Dean's own rage-fueled, bloodied hands-

And then Cas is cupping his face and he forces his eyes open, forces himself to look into the blue eyes peering back at him, and he can't help but to rest into the warm palms, to get relief in any way, uncaring if Cas kills him here in this crypt over this tablet now.

"Cas-"

"They're coming, hurry-"

"I'm getting it, just--...I got it, help Dean, I’ll cover--"

And then the chains are free, and Cas is lifting him from Hell, lifting him from the pit, an arm around his back, a hand around his wrist but this time it isn't restraining and restrictive; no it's carrying him through the gunshots, through the bunker halls, up wooden steps and into sunlight, into leather seats where he can collapse back, his head lulling forward to stare at the dark floors that should be the dirt at a lake house, marred by burned wings-

"Dean, I've got you."

"Cas..." He whimpers out, aching on the movie nights, an old western playing over them in the dark where he can blame the closeness on booze, on tiredness, on just accidentally shifting closer trying to get the popcorn. He aches to let himself fall into Cas's hands, closing his eyes against the touch that he knows he shouldn't want, and yet he thinks Cas wants now, somehow, someway in front of a neon cross-

"Dean, it’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you. Look at me...look at me."

He shouldn't want to peer up into those blue eyes and imagine the cosmic energy behind them and yet he does, to just selfishly grasp at the possible love behind them, to feel the words ‘I love you’ over and over again; that he's loved, that he's a loving, cared for, selfless, kind person, all the things he's still not sure he is and yet he wants to be, wants to be more than anything and yet how can something as otherworldly as Cas be wrong?

"I've got you. Take this, for me, it’s okay."

How can he deny someone like Cas, when he's looking at him so purely?

Cool glass meets his lips and a liquid snakes down his throat and its somehow vile and yet holds a ginger root scent that’s warm and kind of smells like that trench coat or maybe that's coming from the fabric itself that he’s gripping like a lifeline now, head curling against the angel's warm palm. Cas is staring so mournfully sweetly at him, and suddenly his entire body is full of warmth and intimacy and safety; kindness and love and he can’t help but whimper in awe at it.

"Shh. It's okay, Dean. It’s okay."

It's okay.

It’s okay to finally let himself ignore the old western on the tv, Sam and Jack, to let his head lull onto Cas's shoulder, to let Cas guide him against his chest, to let Cas wrap an arm around him. It's okay to cry at the sensation of Cas's warm palm against his cheek, to focus entirely on his thumb stroking his skin.

He can hear Sam asking Cas a question, he's sure he hears his own name, but it isn’t accusing, it isn’t judging, it isn’t hateful; Sam's asking if he's okay. Because of course he is.

"He will be."

Maybe he will be.

No, he will be because Cas has got him.

Cas has got him, like he's always had him; once more he's lifting him up from hell, and he's safe in his arms, curled up against his side now, the safest place he could be, and finally his body and mind drift away from the exhaustion of it all; lulled to sleep by Cas's warmth against his side, the rumble of baby's engine, the low Led Zeppelin track on the radio, and the knowledge that he'll be okay.

[ddaengyoonmin]

Fate/Bangtan Chapter 6

Genre: DystopianFuture!au; Prison!au; historical and mythological characters; based on the Fate/ anime series. Fluff (if you squint), Angst, Smut (it’s gonna be real smutty in some chapters 😳) Action and fighting will be a definite theme.

Pairing: poly!Ot7 X Reader (This chapter is mainly Jungkook x reader. Namjoon reader and Jungkook x Namjoon)

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: Mentions of death; gangs, guns; murder; toxic relationships.  Oral (female recieving), dom!jungkook, sub!namjoon, double penetration, choking, biting/hickeys, jungkook has mental issues due to trauma, 

Taglist (Sorry if i forgot anyone im so bad at taglists): @bellexwriter @3rachascompass

@im-emo-motherfuckers @i-like-puppy-mg

@mynameisstruggling @kaekae-h @skys-luce-stellare

@seesawsmin-flower @oddkpopgirl @caibaby23

@spider-thot0115 @sunshine-or-some-shit

@em1joon @aclp-jb1d @monvieesdaebaek

@mother-forker @karissassirak @littlebluebird-al

@namjoonsslutakakoreanmanswhore @d-noona @chloefran @kingsuckjin

Beta read by my lovely and amazing friend: @heyitsayjayy i cant thank you enough babe <3

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The roar of the rider servant revving his engine continued to echo throughout the buildings.  A bright orange flame accompanied by shimmering sparks shot out of the back of his motorcycle with each thundering twist of his hands on the handlebars. 

You heard the man next to you gulp loudly. 

“I think that's...” an awestruck whisper came from your other side.  

You turned your head first to Jungkook who had spoken.  

“Do you recognize him?” you asked. 

“Only from books of course, but, yeah.  That’s Evel Knievel” His eyes never left the place where the rider servant sat.  A nervous tattooed hand brushed it’s fingers through his hair.  You could see some wording written on his knuckles in black ink.  He always seemed so shy and sweet, yet the more you thought about it, his look and style were quite the opposite.  He was dark and rough looking, and if you hadn’t gotten to know him you’d assume he was an intimidating person. 

“Anything I should know about him?” 

“Not sure.  He did stunts thats all I really know” he shrugged. 

You turned to Jimin next to you who was also locked on to the site on the rooftops above your team. 

“Run or fight?” A voice shot out.  You turned around to see Jin looking around the group.  

“I don’t think we could outrun him” Yoongi commented, his lips were pursed together slightly, and you heard him cuss under his breath.  

“I really didn’t want to fight this team” he muttered.

A loud shout ripped through the air and before your team had been able to decide on their plan, the motorcycle and the man riding it were racing down from the rooftop and directly towards you. 

“What do I do?” you yelled out.  Hoping that your master would give you some kind of direction. 

Your team was silent and unmoving as the motorcycle neared your team.  The older men on the rooftop all shouting and cheering for their servant as they disappeared into the building. 

“Please run!” you called out to your motionless team mates. 

You knew you had to think of something fast.  You had a slight idea, it’d be hard to execute, but maybe...

Your men hesitated but complied after a moment, running off to the side and leaving the machine and it’s owner heading towards you and you alone. 

You stood with your fists clenched tightly, staring down the man eye to eye.  

5-4-3-2-1….

You jumped high in the air, spinning and attempting to knock the rider from his ride.  Yet he was too fast for you, too experienced with his motorcycle.  

With a loud screech he skidded and turned around in a 180 degree spin.   Only a few feet away from you now, he took out a large silver metal bat with stars painted in glittering blue scattered across the tip. His hand was quick to remove it from where it had been attached to the side of the motorcycle.

“Fuck” you hissed.  

The motorcycle jolted forward and he sped past you faster than you could react to him.  

The first thing that registered in your mind was the sound.  A loud crack.  The next thing that occurred was pain.  A splitting headache, instantly pounding.  The third thing that happened was your loss of balance.  You were now falling back to the pavement.  Vulnerable and helpless. 

Your mind was hazy and the memory seemed all too familiar.  

That hammer really hurt…

No. It was a bat. 

Or was it a hammer…

He had hit you over the head. How could he? Your own husband…

No, that wasn’t him…

Where were you?

When were you...

Everything was fuzzy.  You couldn’t tell what was now, and what was a distant memory. 

“And for my next trick! I’ll splatter these streets with your blood.” Evel growled, matching the low growl of his engine and preparing to charge. 

His teammates had now made it down the stairs of the building and were standing out near it’s doors, cheering loudly and pumping their fists in the air. 

The rider had a small smirk on his face, the large flames and sparks from his machine spouting out behind him like a beautiful painting.  You supposed this could at least be a poetic way to go.  Yet, if you go, your teammates…they would be killed...

You winced and tried to stand the best you could.  But you knew you weren’t going to be able to get out of the way in time.  

As you braced yourself for your fate, your insides curdling with the nausea that came with the thought of your team being slaughtered mere minutes from your own demise...

A loud pop sounded out in the air.  Instead of hitting you, the motorcycle that had been rushing towards you was now flipping over forwards.  The rider flipped over the handlebars and skidded across the ground, the motorcycle making it about ten feet further than his body. 

You staggered over to him, your head injury causing you to stumble a few times, but you were determined to get to him.  

He was pressing his hands to the gravely pavement and pushing himself up, standing up and rolling his shoulders back a few times trying to shake off his injuries from the fall.

You wound yourself up for a kick and tried to execute your plan.  Only to have the rider’s hand catch you by your ankle, roughly holding your leg up in the air as he growled and spat a bit of blood to the side. 

Another loud pop.

Your ankle was released and the man in front of you fell to his knees, clutching his stomach.  Another loud pop.

He was flat on his back.  Eyes opened.  But his body lifeless. 

You didn’t understand...what could have happened?

You spun around to face your team.  Yoongi stood in front of the others, arms out and a gun held tightly in his hands. 

He had saved you.  He had saved you all and you once again were useless.  You knew you’d be hearing about that later. 

You now saw that the rider servant’s team were standing with dropped jaws and horrified expressions. 

You knew you’d have to take care of them...but you didn’t know if you could.  

Once you had made your way back to your team it seemed the others were discussing the same matter. 

“We have to Yoongi” Namjoon spoke sternly. 

“That's so fucked up.  It's so fucked up” he was shaking his head, his eyes tearing up.  “I won’t do it.  I won’t let you do it” 

“Give me the gun Yoongi” Namjoon hissed “I’m so sorry.  Trust me.  I don’t want to do this either” 

“No” Yoongi’s voice cracked and he shook his head, one of the tears released from the corner of his eyes and fell down his cheek “please there has to be another way” he quietly cried.

“Namjoon is right Yoongi” you muttered.  “We have no choice…” 

“Fuck this.  Fuck all of this” Yoongi sobbed, shaking his head and holding the gun out to Namjoon. 

He took the gun and turned it over in his hands a few times.  

“I might need a bit more ammo,” he winced realizing how many members on the opposite team he’d need bullets for. 

Yoongi sighed and pulled out a box of ammunition for his gun. 

Namjoon loaded the gun, closed his eyes, shuddered, and took a deep breath in.  

“Anyone who doesn’t want to see this, turn away now” He warned your team. 

Jungkook spun around instantly, followed by Taehyung, Hoseok and Jin.  Yoongi didn’t turn around, but his eyes shut and you saw him pressing his nails into the palms of his hands.  

Jimin stayed staring at the scene, maybe it was his experience for these kind of things.  Maybe it was that he wanted to support Namjoon.  But something kept him locked onto the scene before you. 

You moved to Jungkook who seemed the most shaken up, turning away from the moment as well.  Jungkook's arms shot out and he clutched onto you tightly, burying his head into your shoulder.  

He jumped with each shot that rang out.  A small whimper escaping his lips.  You wrapped your arms around him as well, trying your best to soothe him. 

Namjoon returned to the group solemnly and with a rigid stance. 

“Lets go.” he whispered. 

Once again you couldn’t bring yourself to look back on the scene behind you as you hopped on the back of the car. 

You knew what and who laid there. 

A drone whizzed past the car, all of you looked up at it with grim looks.  

Jungkook shook his head at the sight of the camera excitedly rushing to film the bodies. 

“Fuck you!” you screamed out, throwing up your middle finger to the passing camera as Yoongi had done the other day. 

You turned to look at your master who was opening the door to his driver’s seat.  He was looking right at you, a small smile grew on his face...

-----------------------------------------------------------------

 When your group arrived back to the house Namjoon instantly rushed into his room, slamming the door behind him.  

“Should I…” Jin whispered to Yoongi, who simply shrugged in return. 

“I’d give him a bit...that was...rough” Jimin spoke “I watched it all and,” he shook his head quickly “That's not what we are used to.  That’s not how we did things before. That was…” he moved his shoulders like a shiver had just run up his spine. 

The group was silent for a few moments. 

“I’ll make us some dinner” Jin broke the silence.  The rest of you nodded. 

“Goddess?” A soft voice whispered beside you.

“Yeah Jungkook?” 

He didn’t respond, instead grabbing your hand and stepping away from the group, tugging you with him. 

“What’s up?” you asked confused. 

Still silence.  He continued to pull you towards the direction of the rooms.  

The rest of the group seemed too caught up in the conversations they were having to care about your absence. But, they all definitely noticed, they always noticed anything that you did. 

Maybe it was Namjoon calling off the rule, but for some reason none of them seemed to think anything of the fact that Jungkook was now pulling you into his bedroom. 

He shut the door behind you, hanging his head.  His black hair fell down covering his face and he brought his hands together pulling on his fingers nervously.  

“I need you” he spoke quietly. 

“I’m here?” you cocked your head to the side. 

His face shot up quickly to meet yours.  Gone were the soft and nervous eyes of the boy that you had grown to know.  Gone were the shy mannerisms that always laced every movement and feature of his body. 

“I need you” he emphasized. 

His dark eyes heavy as his bit down on his lip looking you over.  

One of his tattooed arms reached out and his hand held the side of your face.  A black outline of a rose was inked into the inside of his arm, it was beautiful, he was beautiful.

“Please” he mumbled softly. 

His doe eyes were full of lust and want, scanning you over, pleading yet still somehow stern and demanding.

Any thought you’d had of him being one to give up control in the bedroom was gone. 

You leaned forward to him, your fingers aching to run your hands through his messy black hair.

Jungkook chuckled slightly noticing your neediness. 

“Yes?” He cocked an eyebrow up while his hand started to drop from your cheek and move to trace small circles over the top of your exposed chest.  You shuddered at the feeling of the light touch of his fingers against your skin. 

“You did say you wanted me” he winked.

“What’s got you feeling so bold?” You finally came up with a response for him. “You’ve been so shy, you don’t seem like yourself right now.”

Jungkook pulled his hand back from you and stepped a few steps back and shrugged, now looking embarrassed and more like the Jungkook you were used to. 

“I was just trying to...trying something out…” he started to mumble and look down to the floor. “Sorry” he whispered.

“Don’t apologize!” You quickly tried to recover the closeness that he’d taken away, stepping so close that his broad chest was almost pressed up against you. “I wasn’t saying I didn’t like it! It just surprised me, I pictured myself being the one to take control with you, that’s all” you explained

Jungkooks eyes crinkled as he laughed breathily, still looking down at his feet. 

“So you’ve been picturing this” his eyes now slowly lifted to meet your own. 

“Maybe” you felt your cheeks grow warm with slight embarrassment. Of course you’d pictured yourself with him, how could you not.  Even though bedroom Jungkook wasn’t quite how you’d expected, the side of himself he had shown you was driving you crazy with want.  You wanted to explore this bold and forward Jungkook that he seemed capable of pulling out from some forgotten corner in his mind.  

“Well sweetheart, sorry to ruin your fantasies of me, but there’s no way in hell I’d let you take control here” he growled, his face serious as he tilted his head back, biting at his lip.  He then sent you a quick flirtatious wink again, letting you in on how much he was enjoying this new persona he’d decided to try on. 

Maybe it was the war, maybe it was the idea that any of you could die tomorrow that pushed him to try new things, whatever the case, you both were glad he’d decided to. 

His lips landed on yours before you could even think about leaning in to meet them.  Both of his hands held your face as his frantic and lustful kisses were given.  He pressed himself against you fully, pushing against you and forcing you to take steps back before you fell to the bed. 

Jungkook pulled back from the kiss but stayed on top of you, holding himself up arms length away from you.  His hands pressing into the small lower bunk bed on either side of you.  

He stared down at you with his hungry and almost feral dark eyes. 

“Fuck.” He hissed, pushing himself up, he sat with his legs straddled across your hips and lifted his shirt over his head quickly.  

He was so muscular and his skin was scattered in tattoos of many different things.  You caught one that stood out to you, the words “Out of my Mind” were tattooed right under his left collarbone.  You had always wondered what that one said, only ever seeing the very top of the lettering when his shirt would slip down slightly.  

Jungkook tossed his shirt to the corner of the room and then dove back into you, grinding his hips roughly against you to relieve some of the need that was growing. 

One of his hands harshly grabbed and squeezed your tit through the fabric of your dress, his lips scattering passionate kisses all up and down your neck.

When he lifted his hand to brush a strand of hair from your face, you caught the words that you had noticed written on his knuckles earlier today.

‘OOPS’ was written in plain block letters. 

You grabbed his hand and observed them. 

“Why oops?” You were confused by his choice of that word.

Jungkook simply shrugged, a weird expression on his face. 

“Don’t even remember ever getting that one” he spoke simply like that was the most normal thing in the world. “This one either” he pointed to the first one you’d noticed under his collar bone.

“How do you not remember getting a whole tattoo?” You chuckled.

Jungkook though wasn’t joining in the amusement “I think Taehyung did this one when I was too drunk to remember” he motioned to his collarbone. “And everyone says I did this one myself” He wiggled his fingers looking at his hand. “I try not to think too hard on it.  We’ve all been through some rough shit…” he paused and seemed to drift into a thought he didn’t want to vocalize.  “I think there’s a lot of things that we’d rather forget.  Jimin says I’m lucky that I blacked a lot of things out, and he won’t tell me…” 

Your eyes widened, these men had been going through hell long before this war, long before this prison.  

“Sorry to bring the mood down” you whispered.

“It’s fine” jungkook lifted his shoulders up and down, “like I said, I don’t really remember”

‘Out of my mind’ … a part of him was.  Maybe it should scare you.  The way this moment brought out a side of him you’d never seen made you wonder what other dormant parts of Jungkook were just sitting inside of him ready to be unlocked and unleashed.

Though he said it didn’t bother him, Jungkook was terrified of what those memories might be.  He’d been sure he’d never killed anyone, he prided himself in being a behind the scenes member of their gang.  Yet, there were moments when the other members spoke, reminiscing on past crimes and encounters with other gangs, only to just stop.  They’d fall silent and try their hardest not to look to Jungkook.  So then he’d doubt himself.  He knew he’d done something...something bad, something none of them thought he could handle reliving.  Maybe it really was for the best.

You wished you could’ve been there to help them with all of the horrors they’d gone through, you wished you could take away the obvious pain that Jungkook felt over this.  

The most you could offer was the pleasure that your body could give him. While you were sure that wasn’t enough to erase all the hurt, for a moment...you could send him into bliss.  If that was all you could do, you were going to do your best.

You pulled his head back down into a deep kiss with one hand, and with the other, pulling off the straps of your dress and shoving it down, presenting your bare chest to him like an offering.  

He took your offering instantly, reaching a hand to play with your nipple, pinching it between his fingers roughly, causing you to wince and let out a small whimper.

“Ah, so I see you’ve decided to sleep with someone other than Taehyung for a change” a voice boomed out from the doorway.

You gasped and Jungkook instantly rolled off of you. 

Namjoon stood with a blank face, his arms folded over his chest as he leaned against the doorway.  

Thinking that namjoon was speaking to you, you opened your mouth to reply. 

But, Jungkook answered first. 

“We’ve been over this.  Same as Yoongi and Jimin, he’s not my boyfriend or anything” Jungkook hissed out.

You were covering your chest pulling up the fabric of your dress.

Namjoons eyes were locked on you, and you could feel the fiery lust that your spell caused growing stronger the more he lingered in your presence. 

“No need to cover up on my account Goddess” he chuckled. “Unless you really don’t like me that much” 

“I-I” you started to stutter.

But Namjoon cut you off, still looking at you yet talking to Jungkook.

“Yeah okay.” He scoffed “You may not call him your boyfriend, but every time I’ve tried to…” he trailed off “you always say he’s the reason you won’t…” Namjoon’s features started to crumple up in an angry expression as he recounted his previous encounters with Jungkook regarding this.

Jungkook groaned and rolled his eyes, pushing himself up and walking over to Namjoon.

“You’ve had a rough day, you’re lashing out.” Jungkook spoke annoyed. 

Jungkook had always turned Namjoon down, and he used Taehyung as an excuse.  Though he and Taehyung were in no way exclusive, in fact they frequently had other partners besides each other on the outside and neither of them could care less.  Yet the reason he denied Namjoon...it was something personal.  It was the way Namjoon looked at him like they’d already done it before.  It was like a memory lingered in Namjoon’s mind, one that Jungkook couldn’t quite grasp.

It frustrated him, and made him resent Namjoon for not telling him.  At least Taehyung pretended that nothing had ever happened, brushing things off with a “I have no idea what you’re talking about” if Jungkook ever asked about the broken pieces of his mind that he couldn’t seem to find. 

Namjoon made him mad.  So mad...yet he couldn’t deny the pull that had always remained.  Nothing like the pull he felt towards you, but if anything else in the world could be compared to the feelings he’d always harbored and tried to bury about Namjoon, your spell would be it.

The bold and confident Jungkook had not left the room, that was very apparent as he reached his hand out and brushed a thumb over Namjoon’s cheek.  

“What? You wanna fuck us hyung? Is that it?” Jungkook teased. 

Namjoon smacked his hand away. His eyes flicking back and forth between you and Jungkook. 

“I know you’ve always wanted to fuck me.  And we obviously all wanna fuck her, because fuck-“ Jungkook hissed out spinning and motioning to you “just fucking look at her” he almost moaned out.

This all completely surprised you, you’d thought it was just Jimin and Yoongi that had fooled around, but now it seems that most of them had some relationships with each other like that...

Namjoon bit his lip slightly and pulled himself from the wall, his eyes trailed up and down Jungkook’s bare chest.  He lifted his hand and brushed it against the inked words under his collarbone and sighed as if something about those words really affected him as well. 

Reminding you of what Jungkook had mentioned just moments ago. 

Something had happened to him, something happened and Namjoon knew…

“Jungkook...I” Namjoon stuttered.

“Fuck” Jungkook hissed “all the times you’ve begged to fuck me? And now I’m finally saying okay and you hesitate?” Jungkook seemed genuinely angry. 

This moment seemed to be getting far too personal, you felt slightly uncomfortable and started to consider leaving. 

“I’m saying I don’t care, I don’t care that you won’t tell me what happened to me to make me not remember.  Cuz who the fuck wants to remember the shit that happened to us” Jungkook cried out, tears starting to form in his eyes.

You now realized what was going on here, Namjoon needed to forget today, what he’d done today would haunt him forever…

You couldn’t make him forget forever, but if being with Jungkook and you might help him…

“Please fuck us Namjoon” you said cutely. Trying to change the subject for their sake and bring the two boys attention back to you.

You remembered Namjoon saying how he wouldn’t be able to resist if you asked, it was a hopeful choice of words.  And it worked.

“Fuck” he gasped “yeah...yes” his eyes widened and he instantly stepped into the room closing the door behind him. 

Jungkook watched carefully as Namjoon pulled his shirt over his head.  

He had far less hidden tattoos than Jungkook, just two stars, one on each side of his lower abs.

Namjoons gaze moved between you and Jungkook, wondering where he should start.

Jungkook, who seemed to really be falling into this dominant position of control well, made the decision for him, pulling Namjoon close to his chest and planting a kiss on his plump lips.  He then took Namjoons lower lip between his teeth, sucking it into his mouth and biting down, dragging his lip. 

Namjoon hissed out at the painful feeling, his eyes squeezing shut. 

Jungkook released his lip and chuckled. 

“Ah baby” he teased with a wink “let’s not leave our goddess out hm?” 

This couldn’t have been the first time Jungkook had been this way...it couldn’t have been. He’s far too good at it, far too talented at taking control.  It was so sexy timid, shy Jungkook taking control of you and Namjoon at the same time.

Namjoon nodded shyly, looking over to you, and then his eyes landing on Jungkook for direction.

“You can touch her hyung.  But you need to get yourself undressed first hm?” He grinned widely checking out the older man while brushing a finger over his lower lip.

Namjoon ran a hand through his light brown hair nervously.  He couldn’t believe he was really doing this.  Here with you...here with Jungkook.  It was like a dream come true in the middle of the worst nightmare he’d ever had.  

A part of him wanted to stop, save this moment for a day where he wasn’t so fucked up in the head.

But he decided to continue, because he couldn’t promise himself that day would ever come.

Namjoon dropped his pants and boxers to the ground, letting his long, fat cock free from the restrictive jeans.  He was so hard that it almost hurt, he felt guilty for being so turned on after the day he’d had.  He shouldn’t be rewarded for what he’d done...no...he needed punishment.  And he knew just how to get it. 

“Maybe just y/n and I can be alone together? It feels weird with you here…” Namjoon turned to Jungkook next to him who still stood only half naked and now jaw dropped.

“Oh is that so?” Jungkook rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek, getting incredibly ticked off by the older man’s words. “After all the times you begged” he walked over and grabbed a fistful of Namjoon’s hair, yanking his head back.

“Maybe I just don’t want you anymore” Namjoon spoke with a smirk, egging him on further, pushing him exactly how he wanted him.  

“Namjoon.  On your fucking knees you liar” Jungkook growled. “Y/n.  On the edge of the bed. Spread that pretty pussy for us and Namjoon is going to eat you out until you cum.  And if he does good maybe he can touch me too” he ordered.

You complied instantly, moving your dress up and presenting yourself to the two men in front of you.

Namjoon let out a needy whine at the sight, licking his lips excitedly.

Jungkook sucked in a sharp breath and spoke a quick ‘fuck’ under his breath.

“Now Namjoon.” He commanded his hyung. 

Namjoon nodded slowly, his wide eyes locked on to your pussy.  He inched forward and brought his face to your core.  You felt his warm breath tickle your outer folds and you shivered slightly.

He took one hand and spread you further open to give himself better access. His other hand squeezing your thigh gently.

You looked down and noticed that his eyes were meeting yours for a moment, as if asking for permission to begin.  

You nodded and gave him a sweet reassuring smile.  He didn’t hesitate now, diving right in to the wetness in front of him.

His tongue flicked over your clit at lightning speed.  You gasped out and bucked your hips up into his mouth in response.  He used the hand on your thigh to steady you as he continued his pace.

You looked over to see Jungkook standing heavy lidded, pupils dilated and grinding his teeth together as he tried to hold himself back from jumping in and taking Namjoon’s place.  His erection was throbbing in his pants, aching to get out.  Aching to feel you wrapped around him in any way that he could get you...your mouth, your hand...your perfect pussy. 

You felt your orgasm building under Namjoon’s quickening tongue.  You cried out loudly as you were right on the edge. 

The sight was so beautiful Jungkook almost forgot his plan for this moment.

“Wait stop!” He quickly got out.

Namjoon pulled back instantly, and you pouted at the denial of your orgasm. 

“I want Goddess to beg me to cum.  Come on temptress.  You tease us all day long, did you really think I’d forget what a naughty girl you are? Did you really think I’d forget how you’ve been with four of my friends before me? Hm?”

He got on the bed next to you, crouching down and bringing one hand to wrap around you throat.  It was different than when Yoongi had done this, Jungkook’s hand was placed there with control, and reason.  Yet you couldn’t help but replay the beautiful moment with your master...missing it.

Jungkook was now breathing a soft breath of air out against your ear.  Then suddenly nipping harshly at your lobe. 

“Ah!” You squeaked out.

“Babygirl.  Did you really not think I was worth coming to first? I’m honestly a little jealous.  Namjoon too, he’s just being too nice to say anything.  You know that’s why he lashed out at you earlier right?” 

Was it? You thought he hated you for what you were...but...could he have just felt neglected?

“Namjoon?” You asked softly.

Namjoon sheepishly looked down.

“I’m really sorry about that Goddess...I was harsh, and I felt left out.  I felt like you didn’t want me, that you wanted them all more than me.  I’m sorry”

You rolled your eyes.  Jungkook sat up so that you could get up and plant a soft kiss on Namjoon’s forehead.

“I forgive you” you smiled while kissing him on one cheek, “and I want you very much.  You almost made me cum so good just now.  I can’t wait for you to finish what we started here” you praised him.  

His face lit up, and he looked over to Jungkook who was lounging on the bed on his side in a relaxed position with one hand propping up his head.  He gave the two of you a look of approval.

“Well. Now that that’s sorted.  Beg.” His voice dropped a few octaves on his last word, he resumed his position of hovering over you, his face mere inches from yours, noses almost brushing as his eyes bore straight into yours. 

The look in his eyes was so wild and animalistic that you should’ve felt afraid, but instead you felt yourself growing even wetter.

“Please” you whined. 

His hand shot to your throat.  Not pressing down or restricting at all, yet still firm, a reminder that he could if he wanted to.

“Beg. Better. Beg like you mean it,” He hissed out through clenched teeth.  Namjoon was on his knees a few feet back from the bed, sitting back on his feet, watching you and Jungkook with hungry eyes. 

“Jungkook please let me cum” you desperately pleaded.  Jungkook had one leg on either side of you straddling you and pressing his still clothed erection into your naked core, rubbing against you and soaking the front of his pants with your wetness. 

He glared down at you, yet you could see the hints of lust that covered his expression. 

“That’s a pathetic excuse for begging” he grumbled under his breath, “But your face tells me how desperate you are” he smirked, tightening his long fingers for a moment around your throat. You jerked your hips up into him as he did this, so turned on by the feeling. 

Jungkook scoffed and shook his head, pulling himself away from you completely and walking to stand over Namjoon. 

“Your turn” a sinful smile grew on Jungkook’s face as he stared down at the older man.  Namjoon’s eyes widened.  “Show Godess what I mean when I say beg” he growled tilting his head up and biting his lip as he ran fingers through his jet black hair, his bicep flexing as he did.  

“Jungkook, Please let me eat Goddess’s pussy until she cums.  I want to feel her cum on my tongue and drink up every last drop” Namjoon begged, not breaking eye contact with Jungkook as he did. 

“And what makes you think you deserve to” Jungkook bent over slightly and grabbed a handful of Namjoon’s hair, jerking his head back and getting mere inches from his face, his stern gaze piercing into Namjoon’s eyes. 

“I don’t.  God. I don’t deserve it sir.  But she does, please let me make her cum.  I’d do anything.  I’d do anything for you Jungkook, I’d do anything for her” Namjoon’s voice cracked as he answered, wincing at the pain of having his hair pulled so roughly. 

“Good boy” Jungkook softened his grip and brought his lips to meet Namjoon’s.  You felt a loud gasp leave your lips. 

The sight was just so erotic.  Jungkook’s kisses seemed controlled and well placed, while Namjoon’s were desperate and frenzied, he brought his hands around the back of Jungkook’s head pulling him deeper into the kiss.  Namjoon seemed like a man starved, a man who’d waited a lifetime for this kiss. It was so different than the first kiss you’d seen from them, the emotion behind this was filling the whole room with it’s aura. 

Jungkook pulled back from the kiss and whispered something in Namjoon’s ear.  You couldn’t make out what it was, but whatever the words were, it caused Namjoon to shut his eyes tightly and flash a smile of relief and pure joy.  

“Okay.  Make our Goddess cum now” Jungkook pet the top of Namjoon’s head, motioning for him to return to his position between your legs. 

 Namjoon picked back up where he left off, flicking his tongue over your sensitive and throbbing clit.  Your fingers made their way to intertwining themselves in his hair, holding him close as you moaned out his name needily.  Jungkook moved next to you on the bed, lying on his side and bringing a hand to pinch one of your nipples harshly.  You squealed at the pain, but you didn’t want him to stop.  He started to suck on your neck, leaving purple marks on your skin. 

“I’m going to cum soon” You gasped out.  You felt Jungkook quiver at your words, and he pinched down even harder on your nipple. 

Namjoon responded with a loud moan, and an even quicker pace against you. 

“Namjoon, Fuck” you pulled on the strands of hair that you held in your hands.  

Your orgasm was right there, so close…

“Cum for us baby girl” Jungkook whispered against the skin of your neck. 

And that was all it took for you to come undone.  You screamed out in pleasure as the waves of your orgasm took over your body, Namjoon carrying you through it with his tongue and lapping up every drop that you gave him as he said he would. 

Your chest rose and fell dramatically as you tried to get a handle on yourself after that incredible high. 

Jungkook released your nipple and planted a soft kiss on your neck where he’d just left the last mark. 

Namjoon massaged your inner thighs gently as you released your grip on him and  he pulled his head back.

Jungkook now stood, dropping his pants and boxers to the floor, his long cock springing free from it’s cage.  

You licked your lips hungrily as he walked back over to the bed, he pulled some lube out from a drawer in the nightstand next to the bed then sat down without a word. 

“Where do you want me sir?” Namjoon now stood in front of him. 

“Where do you think I fucking want you.” Jungkook spoke lowly. 

Namjoon dropped once again to his knees, this time in positioning himself between Jungkook’s legs instead of yours. 

“Suck.” Jungkook growled out his order, roughly gripping Namjoon by his hair and jerking his head forward to his cock.  

Namjoon moaned out lewdly as he moved his hand to grip the base of Jungkook’s throbbing length. 

He was returned with a loud slap to the side of his face.  

“I didn’t say to do that.  I said suck.  Put your fucking hands away” He hissed. 

Namjoon quickly pulled his hand back and nodded, lowering his head to take the tip of Jungkook’s cock in his mouth, then taking the length fully. 

“Wow” you whispered. Namjoon continued to suck Jungkook’s cock like it was his last meal, slurping loudly and humming around him. 

Jungkook was throwing his head back, eyes rolling into the back of his head.  

“Fuck fuck, baby stop” he groaned, using his grip he’d had on Namjoons hair to tear his head away from his cock. 

“Goddess.” Jungkook motioned for you to come over to him, “Sit on my lap and let me fuck that tight ass while Namjoon fucks your pussy” a smirk growing on his face as he saw your jaw drop. 

You hesitantly made your way over to Jungkook, he smacked your ass hard as you stood with your back facing him getting ready to sit on his lap.  Jungkook put a bit of the lube on the tip of his cock and gently rubbed it all over. 

“Now goddess” he ordered, now using both hands to spread your ass cheeks apart as you started to sit down on him.  He steadied himself on the edge of the bed, using his grip on you to keep you from losing balance. 

You felt the tip of his cock start to press into your hole. 

“Relax baby” he spoke calmly, gripping your hips and bringing you down further around him. 

“Fuck that feels so good, so fucking tight” He hissed out, his grip tightening as he pushed into you. 

Once you’d taken him fully he gave you a moment to adjust before motioning for Namjoon to come closer. 

Namjoon, bent slightly to reach where you and Jungkook now sat on the bed together, and Jungkook leaned back a bit as Namjoon rested his body against you, positioning his cock right at your entrance, waiting for a moment to make sure you were okay with this. 

“Fuck me Namjoon, please” you moaned out, feeling so fucked out already from the feeling of Jungkook in your ass, but wanting more.  You needed to feel Namjoon fill up your pussy. 

Namjoon nodded, biting down hard on his lower lip as he pressed himself into you, stretching you out and filling you up.  The feeling was pure bliss, both of them inside of you, Jungkook’s back pressing against your back, and Namjoons chest now pressed against your chest. 

Jungkook leaned forward and gave Namjoon a soft kiss on the lips before starting to slowly move inside of you. 

You gasped out sharply at the feeling.  Namjoon took that as his cue to start moving as well, keeping his thrusts in sync with Jungkook, loving the feeling of your pussy, and the way he could feel Jungkook’s cock through the wall of your pussy.  So tight, so perfect…

You wrapped your arms around Namjoon’s neck, feeling yourself start to tear up from the overabundance of pleasure coursing through your body. 

“I-I-I” you tried to tell them you were about to cum but you couldn’t get the words out. 

Jungkook chuckled and brought his lips to your neck again, nipping at the skin and digging his nails into your sides where he gripped you, holding you steady as he sped up his pace. 

You started to grow limp from all of the pleasure rushing over you, Namjoon and Jungkook both held you steady now, curses and moans falling from both of their lips.  

Your orgasm flooded over you, causing you to shake and writhe between the two men.  

“Fuck.” You heard Namjoon hiss out, “So. Tight.  So…” His eyes clenched shut and his pace grew unsteady.  

“Cum with me baby” Jungkook spoke out in a gravely low rumble.  At that Namjoon stilled and you felt his warm ropes of cum start to fill you up.  

Jungkook wasn’t too far off, grunting heavily as he sped up and fucked into you hard, his hips slapping against your ass cheeks, then growling out a loud yell of your name as he emptied himself inside of you.  

“Fuckkk” He moaned out, pulling out of you and laying flat on his back.  

Namjoon still held you as you sat on Jungkook’s lap, cum now spilling out of you and onto Jungkook and the bed.  

“Lets get cleaned up hon” he whispered gently, kissing you on the top of your head.  “You were so good for us baby” he praised you. 

Namjoon then pulled out of you, picking you up in his arms bridal style and carrying you out of the room to the shower, Jungkook following close behind, not caring who saw the three of you in your post sex state. 

---------------------------------

After you’d gotten cleaned up and sufficiently recovered from your session with the two of them, Jungkook left, telling the two of you he was tired and going to bed.

“I’d love it if the two of you joined me in there in a moment” he winked, lingering at the door as you and Namjoon were re dressing. 

“I thought we were all sleeping in the living room” Namjoon furrowed his brow.  “You might be in charge in the bedroom.  But I’m your leader” he reminded him. 

Jungkook scoffed, “I’m sleeping in my own bed tonight.  If you want to let me sleep alone, that's on you” he shrugged, winking again and heading out of the room. 

“That boy, what am I gonna do with him” Namjoon chuckled and shook his head “Did you have fun Goddess” he smiled cheekily at you. 

“Yes.  Why do I feel that wasn’t the first time you’d done something like that with Jungkook though” You teased, not realizing your mistake until Namjoon froze and his expression grew dark. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to..” 

Namjoon shook his head “No it's fine.” he sighed, “There's just.  Things about Jungkook, I don’t know if I should say” 

“He talked a bit about not having all of his memories…” You spoke quietly. 

“Yeah.” Namjoon nervously ran a hand through his hair, “Yeah.” he repeated. 

“You don’t half to talk about it if you don’t want” you wrapped your arms around him, burying your head in his chest.  “It’s gotta be tough”

“I love him.  I’ve loved that insane man for so many years” He whispered. 

“You pulled back and stared up at Namjoon who’s eyes were not filling with tears. 

“You should probably know his story.” He sighed “You might find out eventually, he seems so close to having another lucid moment again, it’s bound to come out, you should be prepared.” Namjoon then took you to his room, the two of you walked past the younger men’s room to see Jungkook fast asleep in his bed. 

You sat down on one of the lower bunks, Namjoon sitting next to you silently for a bit, deciding where to start. 

“Jungkook was never our computer guy.  He was our top muscle, our best killer.  Everyone called him the Phantom of Death.  He had a boyfriend.  Another member of our gang named Baekhyun. There used to be 8 of us.  I loved Jungkook even then, and we started to sneak around and fuck behind Baekhyun’s back. Jungkook was in love with me too, it was obvious. But he just couldn’t bring himself to break up with his boyfriend, he loved him more.” Namjoons eyes stared down at the floor. 

“One day Baekhyun walked in on us together.  He couldn’t handle it.  It drove him mad.  The next week a hit had been ordered on Jungkook.  Five men jumped him on his way home that day, and Jungkook killed them all.  It wasn’t too unlike him to handle himself that way.  But, he just knew that it was Baekhyun who did it.  He went back to the home he shared with Baekhyun, who was surprised to see him still alive.” Namjoon clenched his eyes shut as a tear fell down his cheek.  “When we found Baekhyun the next day his face seemed like it’d been punched to shit...” he shuddered “So hard that it killed him.  And he couldn’t handle it.  He really did love him, it didn’t just break his heart what he’d done, it broke his soul” 

You sat with your mouth gaping open, shocked to hear that Jungkook was capable of that.  Scared Jungkook who seemed so nervous at every battle. 

“He disappeared for about a week.  When he came back he was wearing the same clothes, covered in blood, no one really knows entirely what happened. But he had the tattoo on his knuckles, the same hand that killed his lover.” Namjoon’s fist clenched tightly “And he’d completely forgotten about everything.  He didn’t remember anything he’d done, he thought he was our tech guy and that he’d never killed a soul, it was some strange story that his brain made up for him so he could cope with what he’d done.  He forgot he’d ever been with me.”  You put a hand over Namjoon’s hand and held it tightly, nodding as you listened to his story, your heart breaking for him. 

“He started sleeping with Taehyung.  I was jealous but there was nothing I could do, none of us wanted to tell him anything that could remind him of what had happened.  He seemed happier that way.  Until one night, he must’ve had a night terror, all the memories of what happened.  He was laying next to Taehyung in bed and almost killed him before realizing what he was doing.  When he came to he passed out for two days.  That's when Taehyung gave him that tattoo, more as a reminder for us that our Jungkook could snap at any moment.” 

“I’m so sorry” You whispered, not quite knowing what to say. 

“What's happened has happened I suppose...” He shrugged “Thanks for listening.  I needed to talk with someone about it.  All the emotions from what I did today.  I was scared that maybe I’d snap too” he admitted “But being with you, and getting to be with him again.  It really helped” Namjoon pulled you close to him.  “Let’s go join our Jungkookie in bed okay?” 

You nodded with a small smile, following Namjoon into the room and crawling next to Jungkook who instantly smiled a sleepy smile.  

You had a lot to think about after today, you didn’t know these men at all.  They were dangerous, maybe that was good for this twisted game you were all playing.  All you knew for sure about them, is that no matter what they'd done...you were falling in love. 

————

You woke up that morning sandwiched in between Jungkook and shirtless bodies.  You nuzzled your nose into Jungkook’s chest and pressed your backside into Namjoon’s front, who in response wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you in even tighter.

You felt so safe and warm.  The heavenly memories of the night before were replaying on a loop in your mind.

The sound of the door opening directed all of your attention to the noise.

“Wake the fuck up!” Hoseok screamed out, his eyes wide, his hands frantically motioning for the three of you to get up.

“What’s going on?” Jungkook mumbled, sitting up and trying to rub the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Fuck fuck fuck, I knew we should’ve all slept together.  How the fuck did this happen?” You heard Jin’s panicked voice outside of the door.

At that you shot up rushing into the hallway, Jin met your gaze, tears were filling his eyes.

“Wha-“ You started quietly as you walked into the living room, your stomach was overcome with a tingling fear.  You didn’t like the anxiety ridden aura in the house right now.  

Taehyung sat on the couch with his head in his hands.

“Jimin is gone.  Someone took him while we slept.” he whispered pointing to the spot on the floor where Jimin and Yoongi had been sleeping.

Your heart felt like it stopped instantly.  Your blood grew cold and the needles of fear pricked into your spine. *no...not Jimin*

“M-master?” You whimpered out to the man laying on his side on the floor, blank faced and seemingly in a state of shock.

“He’s been like this since we found out…” Jin shook his head.

“Well let’s fucking go get him.” You stood tall and spoke with confidence. “I actually think I know where to look first” you added.

Though, you hoped that you were wrong.  If he was where you thought he was, the chances of getting him back were low…

[lisforlobotomy]

I'm riding shotgun in the car earlier this afternoon, window down, thoughts somewhere else, as they usually are, when we pull to a stop at a busy intersection red light. I can already sense something unwanted happening to my left, some kind of dramatic stirring. There is a stopped car with 2 men outside of it, huddled over this lifeless lump. Fuck. Someone hit a dog in the street and now hes just here, on display.

"Oh no..." This man hit a midsized, blonde, mixed breed dog is laying on his side, flecked with spatters of blood that was beginning to congeal in the Texas humidity. Slicks of tufts of short hair pointed in all directions. The amount of blood was alarming to me; it was all around him in these large splotches that were vibrating in contrast with his bright pale fur and making this glowing halo. His blood had probably been ejected out of the wrong orifices upon impact to make a frame around him. His eyes were these huge black orbs that looked like a dolls eyes, open and bugged staring straight up into the sky, fixed and focused on nothing. It was almost peaceful. We all know that almost doesn't count.

My hand clutched my throat, "Oh my god...no..." We made our left turn with the green light and I couldn't take my eyes away, I hated that I had to look because I knew I was only adding to the blooming, hollow, ache behind my sternum and taking part in my own mental abuse but I couldn't stop. I turned my body to hold the scene that was now shifting and settling into the rear window. "That's horrible...I hope they don't just leave him there..." I'm turned away from my partner who is diving because I'm embarrassed at my tears and I'm angry that I cant push them back into my eye sockets with my fists and control them like I try to control everything else around me and Im angry that I feel embarrassed for simply feeling for another living thing...admittedly too much.

When I moved here a couple of years ago, I was made aware immediately of the huge problem here in Oak Cliff with stray animals that no one cares for and animals that have owners but are not cared for enough. They arent kept inside out of painful natural elements or kept out of busy streets and are allowed to roam unprotected. No one spays or neuters their pets either so its just this steady multiplicity of unwanted animals that move in little packs and are left to roll the dice everyday in an overpopulated cesspool of a city populated by...well...not the "best" members of society.

To put in layman's terms, I live in a poor, uneducated, crime infested shithole of a part of town filled with hard, shitty, uncaring people. And its fine because I love the rawness of my neighborhood, and the constant frantic struggling and everyones wing flapping and leg twitching to survive but it is not without the shameful things that I cannot stand up for even though I am always a champion for the things that the rest of the upperclass world looks down upon. Some things are simply ugly with no redeeming qualities and the mistreatment of aninals is one of them.

It reflects how the human majority regards the creatures around us: without thought, with disregard, and with a "not my problem" mindset. All of the things I hate and cannot and will not accept or respect. We are supposed to protect them, we are supposed to be their saviors as much as they save us with their unquestioning worship and predictability. We are the most intelligent beings here and yet a lot of us cant even afford compassion or foresight and it keeps me awake at night with nausea. People like me are keeping the makers of Prozac and Xanax's stocks forever in the clouds. And we still feel helpless when the drugs effects wear away with the dawn.

I dont know where this rant goes or belongs but it had to escape me so its here and I'm sorry for it's ugly theme but I didnt feel like carrying it all by myself to blister up and leave pock marks on my soul. And I want others to be disgusted. Because when humans are disgusted too many times, they break and take care to avoid doing dsigusting and careless things. Dare to dream, at least...

I hope it came fast. I hope it came like a a crashing wave. I hope he wasn't even aware of his traumatic, deconstruction in front of the eyes of the world on the alter of a shitty inner city intersection. I hope he thought it was a dreaming with his ink pooled eyes filled with sky. And I hope he knows somehow that despite his probable lack of belonging here that at least one person saw him for a moment and hurt for him.

I saw you.

[mercurymetals]

can’t you hear me knockin’

Anon, sweetie, I’m so sorry. First tumblr eats your ask, then when it actually goes through, you get this out of me. I altered the prompt a little, and also didn’t manage to fit in sugar themes, and anyway somehow I think this may not be quite what you hoped for. Honestly idk what came over me when I wrote this, but here we go.

Warnings: Inappropriate use of Sticky Fingers. Horniness. Descriptive guts-related gore and dismemberment.

It’s hard to breathe with your heart in a rapid thud and your mouth forced completely shut. The zipper feels oddly on your face, akin to a painless version of tight stitches keeping your lips sealed together and not budging no matter how much you try to lower your jaw. Your fast breathing leaves your nostrils flaring in desperate attempts to get air into your lungs.

Bruno's lean frame is warm against your back, as are his much more even breaths on your neck, but none of that is reassuring to you. You try to twist away, but he keeps you sat on his lap with ease, and only hugs you closer in response to your panicked attempts at escape.

"Shh, tesoro. I'm sorry, but we have to do this."

You don't understand. You didn't do anything wrong! Bruno hadn't called this a punishment, but it's impossible to think of it as anything else with your words and breaths stolen from you and both your legs missing, really missing from your body.

You'd gotten over the horror of seeing your detached legs splayed on the floor in front of you, the strange sensation of being aware of them but not feeling them in the place where they should be. But you had lost your composure all over again when Bruno tried to place another zipper on you, and here he is now saying you have to do this, and you don't understand, you don't understand, you just want him to let you go.

Bruno wraps one long arm around the top of your chest, keeping you still and pressed flush against him. His other hand moves lower, and you whine as you watch it rub gently against your stomach. "It's alright," he murmurs into your ear, the normally comforting sound of his voice disturbingly calm next your frenzied state. "You'll understand soon enough."

He taps two fingers against one end of your stomach, and traces a horizontal line across to the other side. When he lifts his fingers, you feel your skin grow taut and watch as the new zipper glints into place, golden and heavy as if it were sewn into your stomach.

Bruno grabs a hold of the zipper and you writhe again, though with nearly half your body missing you don't have the strength or the grip to make it anything more than a futile effort. "Tesoro, you're so close. I know you can take it."

You whine pleadingly, shake your head, but all Bruno does is place a loving kiss to your temple, and then he pulls the zipper open.

You stop moving, the odd feeling forcing you to grow still in his lap. It's not painful, but it's far from pleasant, an indescribable sensation of having a part of you open that should never be opened on a living being. It's as if someone took a knife and gutted you open under a heavy anaesthetic, and you could feel nothing but the stretch of your skin at the edges; distantly, as if it were happening to someone else.

"Good, well done," Bruno makes sure to praise your newfound calm, despite the fact it's born out of terror, and not obedience. "Now, stay still just like that..."

You shake your head again, a wordless attempt at getting him to stop, but it does nothing. You watch in muted dread as Bruno moves his hand over the zipper, a slow movement that makes you almost think he might not do it, might pull short and close you up and kiss you and tell you it was all some horrible, horrible joke.

But that doesn't happen, and instead you watch as Bruno's fingers dive past the zipper and into you, really inside of you.

And it hurts. It's an abnormal, indistinct kind of pain that spreads all over your stomach, far above and far below where the actual zipper is, as if your body was confused about the source of the pain and was just making you feel it everywhere. It's less than what you might expect something like this to feel like without the use of a Stand, but it's awful and revolting and God, please, you just want him to stop.

Bruno hums in your ear, a curious sound as he moves his fingers around and you wince and squirm at the feeling of having your guts touched and moved. Then he starts to pull his fingers out, and you sigh at the immediate relief.

But instead of taking them all the way out, Bruno plunges his fingers right back inside of you, and you squeal at the sharp stab of pain, followed by that dull spread of it in every part of your abdomen. He repeats the motion, setting a leisurely rhythm, the pull and drag of his hand against your guts leaving behind a strangely intimate kind of pain as he literally fingers your insides.

You're trying to lean away from it, but Bruno's chest behind you is a wall of resistance. You feel his heartbeat against your back and you zero in on it, wanting so much to distract yourself from the pain and the rising nausea in your throat. His heart is beating faster now than you remember, almost matching the stuttering rhythm of yours, and his breaths feel shorter and shallower on your neck.

"You're doing so well," Bruno says in your ear, teeth sinking into your earlobe at the same time as his fingers sink into you again, and you moan helplessly. "You're so close. You're nearly there, tesoro."

There's a wetness on your face, and you realise tears are running down your cheeks. Somehow the pain in your stomach can't compare to the one in your chest, that ache deep inside of you that begs to wonder why your faultless boyfriend, your wonderful Capo, would choose to do this to you.

You lean your head back on his shoulder, refusing to look below any more. You feel Bruno's blue gaze bore into you, and to your surprise you suddenly find the zipper on your face gone, vanished as if it were never there, leaving behind your slightly numbed lips.

You barely manage to pull them open before you feel Bruno's fingers dig even deeper, past his knuckles as he pushes the palm of his hand into you. You gasp and shudder violently, and then you force the words out, because you must know. "Why... Why are you... doing this?"

Bruno kisses your cheek, the gesture so unbefitting everything else that is happening. "I told you, tesoro. You're nearly there." Now you feel his fingers wrap around something, another wave of pain and nausea overwhelming you. "But you're not there yet." Your head lolls down despite yourself, and you're met with the sight of Bruno's whole hand inside of you, all the way up to his wrist. Bruno's voice falls to a whisper as he leans in to nuzzle your face. "And in order to forge you into my perfect lover, I first need to break you."

He squeezes, and this time the pain is so sharp, so real, you don't know what to do with yourself. It hurts too much to move, so you twitch in Bruno's arms, only becoming aware of that scream tearing out of you once it leaves your throat burning. You barely register the kisses he litters on your neck, the apparent cant of his hips against you - all you can feel is that crushing pain in your gut, the very definition of agony rippling through your entire body.

You don't know how you manage to stay conscious, but you feel a great sob rise from your chest the moment Bruno's hand finally slides out of you. The zipper disappears again, leaving not a trace of pain behind and just a tingle of numbness, but you can't stop any more. You gasp in half-breaths, only to release them in a fit of miserable crying, thick tears spilling freshly over your cheeks.

Bruno holds you close, rubbing his hands over your arms in a motion you'd once find comforting. Now you just feel disgust, and your stomach lurches, your own harsh breathing the only thing stopping it from spilling its contents.

You feel Bruno place a kiss on the top of your head. "So close," he whispers, sounding sated and completely unperturbed at the state you're in. "So close, my tesoro. Just a little bit more, and you'll be perfect."

[horansqueen]

AM Conversations : chapter 5

A Niall Horan fanfiction ; rated MA

CHAPTER 1 || CHAPTER 2 || CHAPTER 3 || CHAPTER 4

NOTES:

-one chapter is her pov, the next is his. -3.8k. -this may look like a love triangle but ill do my best not to turn it into one. -im sorry, i never proofread, i hate it. -there WILL be smut. but not only smut. -this is a romance, comedy, smut story. -for the summary, check my MASTERLIST.

-this hasn’t been updated in forever but i love writing this. it’s really just for fun. i know no one really reads but idk i just cant give up on that fic. btw the gifs are older just because this happens right after hiatus starts.

-THE PART IN ITALIC IS A FLASHBACK

-please, message me, give me feedbacks, it would mean sooo much to me!

Chapter 5 : Her chapter 

Olivia

It was a weird dream that woke me up but as soon as my eyes opened, I forgot about it. I blinked a few times, trying to wake myself up completely, but I could still feel how tired I was and I knew that as soon as i'd move, a thumping headache would make my day even worse.

Niall was close to me, his face only a few inches from mine, and he was still asleep. I tried to breathe in and out slowly from my nose to be sure I wouldn't literally poison him with my bad beer breath. The aftertaste was still invading my buds but I tried not to think about it as my eyes roamed on Niall's face. The memories from the past night came back to my mind and I tried to remember every single detail and emotion that took me over but the only thing that seemed to echo in my head was how I literally told my best friend I loved him and always have.

Slowly, I brought my hand to his cheek and let my fingertips brush against his skin, allowing the feelings I had for him to flood me, almost drowning me, as I stared at him.

"I was talking about you, idiot."

My voice was so low I could barely hear myself and my own words made my heart jump hard in my chest. I don't remember ever telling anyone outloud that I loved Niall. Most of the time, I pushed the feelings deep down my stomach and covered it with other kind of emotions. It was true, I couldn't deal with how I felt and I didn't want to. I knew that if I allowed myself to fully love him and hope for him, I would never heal from him. I was convinced the best way to remain happy was to ignore how i feel for him and focus on something else but once in a while, very very rarely, I let the feelings invade me.

He was pretty and it was even more obvious from up close. My fingers moved down to his chin and I let my thumb brush on his bottom lip. Sometimes, I really wanted to kiss him and this was one of those times. We had kissed once at a party when we were younger, but playing 'spin the bottle' was not really the experience I wanted and If I was honest, it only made everything worse for me.

He snored lightly and it made me jump and smile as I took my hand away but kept on staring at him. It was still dark in the room, even if the sun was slightly peeking through the curtain, but I could see his traits perfectly.

"It was always you and it will always be you."

Once again, I had whispered so low I was not even sure of what I had said but it made him wiggle gently. He let a groan escape his lips and finally sighed. I knew he was awake now and I tried to calm my heartbeats, scared that he may have heard what I said. I loved him. I loved my best friend, and it was not platonic. It was completely romantic and so deep that it felt like it was a part of me. A part that would never die, no matter how hard I would try to kill it.

He opened his eyes and they met mine, making me hold my breath. I could feel myself build my wall again, bringing torpor and numbness back as I hid my deepest and most intense feelings on the other side, away from anyone's sight, even mine.

"Hey you." he let out before clearing his throat. "Slept well?"

I sent him a smile but just nodded. I was not ready to talk just yet, scared that my voice would break.

"Migraine? Nausea? A feeling of emptiness?"

I chuckled and raised my nose up in a grimace, bringing my hand over my mouth.

"A little bit of all of this."

He let out a low laugh, still staring at me.

"And a bad breath, i'm guessing." he joked, glancing at my hand.

"Perhaps."

He looked at me with an amused grin for a while and finally sat up, grabbing my hand and moving it away from my face.

"You should take a shower. You reek." he pointed out, making me roll my eyes. "And brush your teeth, will you? I'll wait for you downstairs with coffee. Just coffee."

With a loud sigh, I nodded again and got off the bed, not really remembering how I got into Niall's clothes, but I decided not to ask.

"I'm gonna need clean clothes, can I borrow some of yours?"

I had barely finished my sentence when he threw new sweatpants and a navy blue shirt. It made my lips curl and I grabbed them, walking around the bed and closer to him.

"Thank you!"

I grabbed his face with one hand, squeezing it and twisting his lips. He didn't push me away but let out an annoyed groan when I grossly kissed his cheek. He moved his head to get out of my grip and it made me laugh.

"Shower! You stink!"

With a louder laugh, I walked past him and locked myself in the bathroom adjacent to his bedroom. I took my clothes off and started the water mechanically, my mind still trying to retrieve the events of the night before, but it's only when I turned the water off that I remembered Harry being very close to me, close enough to kiss me.

The memory brought warmth to my cheeks and a stupid grin on my lips. Yes, i loved Niall and I always will, but it didn't mean I couldn't have feelings for anyone else, and I couldn't lie and pretend I didn't feel something for Harry. But Harry was not just anyone, and I was well aware of that. Not only was he my best friend's bandmate and close mate, but he was also one of the most conveited boy in the world and that could be annoying. I pushed that thought away and got out of the shower, quickly drying myself. I dressed back into Niall's clothes and rushed downstairs only to find him sitting at the table with a cup of coffee. I quickly grabbed a mug and poured myself one too before joining him, sitting in front of him.

"Why are you smiling so big?" he asked with a frown, an amused smile gracing his lips.

"Last night, Harry and I almost, kissed, didn't we?"

I bit my bottom lip still staring at him and noticed his smile fall down as soon as I mentioned his friend's name. I was not sure if I was hallucinating but it really seemed like Niall didn't want me to get close to Harry. I grabbed my cup again and took an other sip of coffee as I tried to make sense of the events of the night before until it suddenly hit me.

"You.. you're the one who stopped it."

Niall's gaze dropped to his own mug and seemed incredibly interested in it as I talked. I could read the guilt all over his face yet I also felt an aura of annoyance around him and it made me frown again. I felt suddenly hurt and slightly betrayed. My lips parted as I stared at him, waiting for his eyes to meet mine but he kept staring down at his mug, turning it around with both hands in a nervous manner.

"You were totally shit-faced, Liv." He simply expressed, as if it was an obvious reason. He talked slowly, trying to make me feel like I was being irrational but it didn't work this time.

"Why did you do that, Niall?" I asked in a breath, gripping the side of the table as anger was filling my insides. "Why won't you let me have a fucking glimpse of happiness?" I kept going, getting angrier by the second. "You think I don't deserve it? To be happy?"

I watched as his lips became smaller and I could sense him becoming furious too but I didn't care. He owed me an explanation and I was going to get it. After everything he had said to me about Harry and I in the past few days, I felt unworthy. It was the very first time in my entire life that Niall made me feel like shit.

"That's it? I don't deserve happiness?" I repeated, waiting a few seconds before to add. "Answer me!"

The palm of his hand hit the table and I jumped, surprised by his unlikely behavior. My lips parted and I stared at him until he inhaled deeply, still avoiding my eyes.

"He doesn't deserve you! Okay?" he explained a bit too loud, finally looking up and diving his gaze in mine. "He doesn't deserve you and he's gonna play you and he's gonna hurt you! He doesn't deserve someone like you!"

Although not the reason I expected, I quickly let out the air I had kept in my lungs. My eyes filled with tears and there was nothing I could do about it. I was crying, tears falling down my cheeks and slipping on my neck, tickling my skin as I tried to swallow the lumps in my throat. I didn't even try to wipe them, I just allowed them to fall, knowing it wouldn't change anything.

"Well, that was not your call to make, Niall." I let out in a calm tone after a minute of silence. "It wasn't your decision to take. And you have no right to decide who deserves to be with who."

I got up slowly, hearing my chair make a screeching noise and turned around to go back to his room. I got up the stairs slowly but confidently and when I reached the top, I heard his chair too.

"Liv, please, wait." he just let out with a sigh, following me upstairs.

I ignored him, my eyes roaming around to find my clothes as I took his off and grabbed the dirty ones that I wore to the bar. I noticed him stare for a few seconds at me before shaking his head and looking away. He finally shook his hand and turned back to me again, taking a few steps closer.

"Liv, come on." he pressed, reaching for my wrist as I tried to take my shirt off. "I'm sorry, okay? I really am."

I closed my eyes and breathed in, trying to focus on my heartbeats to bring them back to a normal speed. I was hurt and sad and I felt betrayed, but in the end, Niall was my best friend, and even if he did it the wrong way, he was trying to spare me pain and I couldn't stay mad at him for that. Slowly, I turned to him and my eyes met his, making my heart jump in my chest. He felt guilty, I could read it all over his face, and I ended up sighing again and shaking my head.

"I want you to stop getting between Harry and I." I pointed out. "I want you to let me live what I have to live with him. You made it clear what you thought, now let me handle it from here."

His eyes roamed on my face and I felt my skin burn from his intense gaze. There was nothing I hated more than Niall and I fighting. It hadn't happened a lot in the many years we were friends but it seemed to be recurrent in the past days. When it came to Harry and I, Niall had a hard time to mind his own business and I still didn't understand why.

"Okay."

It seemed like it took him a lot of effort to let out this simple word but he kept holding my wrist gently as we stared at each other. I had failed in trying to get my heart beating to a normal pace but I just blinked a few times as I looked at him.

"I'm serious, Niall." I insisted, trying to keep my voice calm and collected. "Promise me."

I felt his grip tighten slightly and he shut his eyes tight before opening them again.

"I promise."

His words made my heart lighter and It seemed like a heavy load had been taken off my shoulders. I let out the air I didn't even know I was holding and let him pull me closer by my wrist, wrapping his arms around my neck and holding me close to him. Both his arms were locked tightly around me and I felt secure and safe the way only he could make me feel. I closed my eyes, still pressed against him, and let my arms slide around his waist and gripping his shirt in his back.

"I'm sorry again." he whispered close to my ear, his breath brushing against my cheek. "I mean it. I really am."

I was glad he didn't try to justify himself. I always knew that Niall's apologies were genuine and real. He wouldn't say it if he didn't mean it and that in itself was relieving. He pulled away after a few minutes and looked down in my eyes, raising his eyebrows. I swallowed the lump in my throat as he kept his hands on my shoulders.

"Why don't you invite him over tonight?" he proposed, making me suddenly nervous. "We could drink, have a chat and I could show you that I respect my promises."

I tilted my head and licked my lips, feeling nervous suddenly at the thought of Harry and Niall on the same room. They were close, like brothers, so it wouldn't be the first time, but I still feared what could happen and I was not sure I was ready for it. I probably looked hesitant because he moved his face closer to mine.

"I just want you to be happy." he admitted in a low but soft tone. "You do deserve it, you deserve happiness more than anyone I know."

I felt my heart skip a beat and my lips curled into a fond smile. That was the Niall I knew, one that I hadn't seen much in the past few days.

"Okay, I'll text him."

When the doorbell rang, I rushed to the door, meeting Harry's soft and smiling face. I immediately mirrored his grin and took a step back to let him in, moving my arm to invite him. I closed the door and when I turned around, he was facing me and staring at me.

"Are you sure you want to stay in tonight?"

I sent him a bigger smile, touched by how caring he was, and finally nodded. I wanted to show Niall I forgave him but also let him show me he was really sorry.

"I mean, it's going to be fun, i made jello shots and we can watch movies and talk." I explained just as Niall walked in the living room with beers.

"And she doesn't even like jello."

Harry chuckled and shrugged as he took a beer from Niall's hands, opening it quickly.

"Well, except for the cherry flavored one."

I glanced at Niall who was frowned but my eyes quickly found Harry's again. He was smirking and once again, I noticed the dimples in his cheeks pop up. He took a sip from his beer keeping his eyes on me and that stupid mischevious smile on his lips and I could swear I felt my whole face burn at the memory invading my head.

"I'm hungry." I pointed out drunkenly, turning to Harry in-between two intense moments of laughter. "What's in the fridge?"

Almost jumping off the couch, Harry rushed to the fridge as I started laughing again. I had no idea where Niall and the others went but the tour bus was empty except for us two and we had decided getting drunk was the only interesting thing to do. I had opened up to him a lot, probably because of how much alcohol was running in my body, and I didn't even mind. For some reason I couldn't understand, I wanted to be close to him. Not just physically but mostly mentally.

"Okay I got this!" he yelled, letting himself fall next to me and bringing the bowl closer to my face.

I immediately grimaced and moved my head back. It actually smelled good but I was never a fan of jello. It tasted to artificial to me and I honestly didn't see the point. The texture was not my favorite either.

"Jello? Yuk."

His eyebrows raised and his lips parted, making me burst into laughter again. The only thing I remember thinking is how cute he was.

"You can not not like cherry jello, Liv." he noted. "I'm pretty sure it's against the law."

i raised my nose again and chuckled.

"Yea no, that's not against the law, or i'd be in jail."

"But it's delicious!"

To prove his point, he took a piece with his hand and pushed it in his mouth as I watched.

"Itch debichious!" he tried to mumble, his mouth full, making me laugh even more. "Come on, try it. For me?" he asked with puppy eyes after swallowing.

I groaned low and finally shrugged, giving in. In fact, I felt the need to agree with him if only to watch his smile again. Disappointing him was something I couldn't bear and although I knew it was probably because I was intoxicated, I couldn't help but think it was also a bit because of the feelings I was developing for him. And they were growing fast.

"Okay, why not?"

His lips curled more and he suddenly seemed excited. My eyes followed his hand as he grabbed an other piece and brought it to my mouth. It wobbled between his fingers and I opened my lips slightly as he pushed the bouncy piece in my mouth. I stopped laughing immediately when his thumb brushed on my bottom lip, making a shiver cross my back. It lingered there and I could swear he could hear my heart beating against my rib cage. His palm pressed against my jaw and my eyes dropped to his lips. I could swear he was going to kiss me. When he moved closer, I almost forgot I had jello in my mouth and choked on it, coughing as I tried to swallow what was left in my mouth. All I could think about was that the moment was over and I would remember this as the time I didn't kiss Harry Styles.

"Yea, the cherry one isn't so bad, but it really reminds me of how good I am at ruining moments."

Harry's smile turned into a fond one as I walked past him to go sit on the couch, moving my feet up to bring them close to me and taking a long sip of my beer. Harry joined me and I wiggled a bit on the couch to face him as Niall came back with the shots, placing them on the coffee table.

"What's the story about?"

I inhaled and shrugged as if it was no big deal and glanced at Harry again.

"It was one night you were probably out with the others boys?" I guessed. "I can't remember."

"No no, we were in Australia," Harry corrected me. "You had left with that girl you were shagging, what's her name again?"

My smile fell down immediately and I realized that was probably why I had erased that information from my brain. It was not like Niall was the type of guy to sleep around but being aware of his sexual encounters really bugged me. I tried to be a good friend but at the same time, the feelings I had for him also seemed to surface at some point, even if I tried to bury them as deeply as possible. It was worse when it came to girls he'd see regularly.

"Okay, how about these shots now?" I expressed a little louder than intended, not giving Niall time to answer.

I extended my whole body to reach a red shot and tried to ignore the two boys who were staring at me. I couldn't see, but I could feel their eyes burning me. I pressed the plastic cup a bit and threw my head back. I felt the gelatin fall on my tongue and I chewed it quickly. It tasted like cherry vodka, which is what I had used to make them, and I grimaced slightly.

"Okay, truth or dare?"

My eyes found Harry and my heart tried to escape from my chest as I realized the game we were about to play. I held my breathe for as long as I could but Harry raised his eyebrows at me to incite me to pick.

"Uhm, truth."

"How many people did you have sex with?"

I looked at him slightly surprised and tilted my head. I was a bit surprised he'd get into the sex questions so soon in the game but I decided to play along.

"You know, Styles, you should never ask a question that you wouldn't be able to answer yourself." My answer made him laugh and my lips curled more. "Seven."

It was his time to be surprised and I chuckled. I thought he'd explain why my number seemed so shocking but it's Niall who actually made a comment.

"Seven? Wait, how come do I only know three of them?"

I turned to him and grabbed an other shot, once again quickly chewing on it before licking my lips. These jello shots were better than I thought they'd be and I grabbed two more, handing them to the boys sitting close to me. I didn't want to be the only one to get drunk and it seemed like they weren't really thirsty.

"Mm, I don't know, Nee. Maybe because you never asked." I explained, moving my eyes to meet his and sending him a smile.

The truth was probably that I didn't want him to know. I regretted most of these sexcapades and I tried to forget most of them, just like I tried to erase his sex stories from my brain.

"Okay, my turn." I let out, once again not giving time to Niall to ask me the questions burning his lips. "Truth or dare?"

[romularunning]

Pregnancy, healing from sexual trauma, and gender.

I’m pregnant. I’m half way through my 7th month. I wanted to be pregnant. I planned for this with my partner. It took us 11 months to get pregnant. During those 11 months, I beat myself up about not being able to conceive. If I am in this supposedly female body (I’m femme non-binary i think, im still figuring it out) why could it not do “what its made for” (despite being a feminist and knowing I am more then my reproductive functions). Society told me that because I have these bits that I should be able to do the thing. My cousins all easily conceive multiple times even when they are not trying. Why was this so hard? Internally I was giving up the idea that this is something my body was going to do. 

Then I got pregnant. And that came with its own body hating struggles. Society told me that I would love being pregnant, that I would feel this mystical feminine creation power, que all the mother goddess imagery. I started out being painfully nauseous, eating was bad, not eating was bad, i could not allow myself to be full or hungry and at a certain point i couldn’t tell the difference between being hungry or nauseous, it just felt like pain.

After the nausea left me then started the pelvic pain. Pelvic girdle pain is what happens when a pregnant body releases these joint relaxing hormones on over drive. I’m in pain all the time now, a lot of pain. But people keep telling me I’m “glowing” and that I “look good” and everyone wants to touch my stomach and my family thinks that I should only wear soft feminine things that show off my body and are not black. People ask me if I’m enjoying being pregnant and it feels as if the only answer they want to hear is yes.

I wanted to feel the way society told me I would, but those feminine goddess vibes are just not sitting with me. In fact I find I’m uncomfortable with the image where it regards me and my pregnancy. I’m uncomfortable with most media and literature geared for pregnant WOMEN. All of the pink and flowers and softness and GENDER being shoved down my throat. Yeah I’m on the femme spectrum and I like a lot of this stuff normally but it feels so forced where pregnancy is concerned (and y’know not all pregnant people are women).

Regarding my gender or gender expression I feel like my laundry. A shirt haphazardly thrown at the laundry basket of WOMAN and half hanging out but not enough to be considered on the floor. Even with my changing body there are still plenty of parts of me that feel and look masculine (in my opinion anyway) or atleast not traditionally woman like. That whole earth goddess image was never going to sit with me and I’m trying to be ok with that.

I’m trying to be ok with not enjoying pregnancy. I know that I want this child and that I love this child. I just don’t love it being inside of me.

on top of the confusing forced gender bits of pregnancy, and the profound discomfort and pain I’m going through, there is also the trauma that it brings up for me. As my baby is getting bigger it is moving more and pressing against parts of me that feel invasive and familiar. The first time I had a panic attack was my first trip the the gynecologist. I had to admit to myself after that visit that I had PTSD from having been raped in high school. Its not my babys fault, but when it moves its head or what ever part of it is brushing against the bottom of my uterus, it feels just like flash back sensations that I have sometimes. Last night the baby was so active and It was just too much of a sensory overload. I cant take a break, or ask the baby to stop, theres no escaping the sensation.

None of the happy fluffy heavily gendered pregnancy articles talk about this side of pregnancy. About the feeling of someone else (who you love and who you are most certainly doing your best to keep healthy) taking over your body and making you feel things with out your permission. Nothing I’ve read talks about the desperate feeling of wanting to be alone inside your own body again or the fear of having negative feelings that may affect the health of your pregnancy. I feel like I’m not allowed to have feelings, if i think about anything too much or try to process anything I may have a panic attack and hurt the baby. I haven’t had to so heavily control my feelings, thoughts and emotions since I was a kid living with an abusive parent. 

I don’t know where Im going with writing any of this, but on the chance anyone else is struggling with any of these things that are not “what to expect when you are expecting” topics, I want you to know its ok. You’re not a bad person, nor will you be a bad parent if you don’t like being pregnant. Its hard and I don’t think its inherently feminine, neither is it something that defines you as a woman or not a woman. I’m sorry I don’t have any real advice on how to deal with any of this either.

[waitinginthedarke]

Nothing Like Us - Jungkook One-shot - Pt.2

Summary: Life with Jungkook

Recommended Listening: Aquilo - You There

Part 1

The apartment was silent.

He'd thought He'd be able to hear her singing to herself in the shower or whilst she cooked- these being the usual sounds that greeted him whenever he walked through the door in the middle of the day.

But instead...there was nothing.

It had only been a few days since he'd walked out, but it felt like it had been months. He looked around for signs of her; a cup on the table, a blanket on the sofa...but nothing had changed.

It was like she hadn't been here at all – like she was a ghost.

His coffee cup was still on the table where he'd left it the night before the argument, and his iron man spoon was still drying on the washing board in the kitchen. His shoes were still half kicked under the sofa and as he shuffled slowly down the hall he saw that his bag was still dumped on the floor, the contents spilling out and reminding him of the struggle they'd had.

As soon as he'd got back to the dorm the day he'd left he'd felt like a stranger...the other guys had looked at him with expressions of concern but he'd just ignored them and gone back to the bedroom he used to share with Namjoon, sighing when he'd seen the older boy had decided to use his bed as his new closet, and having to shuffle some clothes out of the way so that he could curl up on it, not bothering to get under the covers where he was so distracted by thoughts he didn't want to be having.

Why had he left?

Why had he shouted at her when it was his own fault for wanting too much?

Why had he chose his job over her?

...Why did he come back?

That was the one question he wanted the answer to in that moment, especially as he stood before the bedroom door with the sign hanging above it that he'd made for her himself, the cheesy phrase 'Where dreams come true' taunting him as it stared him in the eye. He stood there for a while facing the door, not being able to bring himself to open it just in case she was on the other side; feeling too scared to face her and see how much he'd hurt her...or how much better off she was without him.

He remembered the first night he’d stayed with her...

‘Are you sure its okay? Are you sure you want me to stay?’ he asked for the 10th time since he’d put the suggestion across, the two of them continuing up the stairs toward her apartment after the bowling date they’d just been on- this being the 3rd that week.

‘Would i have said yes otherwise?’ she asks with a chuckle, the slight tremor to her voice hinting at her nervousness, and the sound simultaneously excites and worries Jungkook, provoking thoughts that taunted him about whether he should have asked in the first place as his heart battles between anxiety and something he couldn’t identify- but which he’d later come to know was a mix of love and lust.

‘You can still say no.’ he murmurs as they finally make it to the door to her apartment, and he watches her slide the cover away from the keypad, about to type in the code, but stopping when she suddenly turns to look at him.

‘Do you want me to?’ 

Its in the way her smile drops quickly, the light in her eyes dulling as she peers up at him timidly, appearing to think he’d changed his mind, whilst revealing so obviously how much she wanted him to stay, that gives Jungkook the confidence in his decision. He lets go of her hand to circle his arms around her waist, adrenaline still pumping through him in his nervous excitement, but he’s unable to stop the smile making its way onto his face as he pulls her into him, slowly lowering his mouth to hers to drop a timid suspenseful kiss on her lips, before letting out the breath he’d been holding and capturing her mouth properly with his own.

When he pulled away a minute later, blood rushing to all ends of his body, and his heart beating triple the time that it usually did in his chest, he knows his answer as surely as he knew how right his decision had been to ask her in the first place.

‘Open the door...I need you now.’

He finds himself touching his lips as he remembers that kiss, door still staring him in the face as the memory fades, and a mocking voice whispering in his mind, telling him he’d fucked up the best decision he’d ever made.

Why...why did he have to push her away?

His frustration at himself forces his hand to reach out for the handle, but as soon as his palm makes contact with the cold metal he’s freezing once more, his heart beating harshly against his ribs in fear as his mind runs wild with imaginings of the sight he’d be greeted with.

After living with her for well over a year, he knew she’d be at work in that moment, which is why he’d come round in the first place; so that he could collect his things without hurting her further, simply wanting to wipe himself from her life so that she could move on without feeling pain from what he’d done to her any longer.

He hadn’t paid attention to the smaller voice coming from his heart that was whispering for him to stay till she returned, to beg her to take him back-

-the voice that was arguing that he was hurting too.

He couldn’t help but let his mind replay the memory of the first time she’d found him collapsed in the middle of the apartment as he leans his forehead against the door. He’d only come round when she’d began shaking him, the fear in her voice forcing him from his exhaustive state to be able to look up at her blearily.

‘Kookie, what happened? Please-please speak to me! Shall i call an ambulance? Tell me what you need-’

‘I’m fine. I just need to sleep.’ he barely manages to whisper, fighting desperately against his exhaustion after practicing for almost 17 hours straight, wanting to soothe the worry and panic he could hear in her voice, but also feeling his loss of control of himself as it rushed at him like a tidal wave.

‘O-okay...’

It wasn’t until he’d woken up, that he’d began to realize just what she did to him;...just how much she meant.

‘Mmmh, how did i get here?’ 

Upon opening his eyes he found himself staring up at the plain white ceiling of her bedroom, taking a moment to distinguish that was in fact what it was, before turning his head in confusion to try and work out how he’d got there, only to see her laid out next to him, her hands tucked underneath her cheek as she slept peacefully, fading grey circles lining beneath her eyes.

He didn’t need a degree in some fancy college subject to work out that she’d somehow managed to carry him to bed, when he’d gone to stretch, realizing she’d also tucked him under the covers and removed his socks so that he wouldn’t get too hot. Looking around the room, he also found a full glass of water on the nightstand, along with an abundance of pain killers and anti-nausea tablets, sitting next to all of it, a pack of cookies and an apple.

She’d thought of everything...all in the effort to make sure he would be okay.

‘God...I love her...-’

‘hm? Oh! You’re awake...do you feel be-’

His lips crashing against hers has the words stopping short as they try to escape her where she’d woken up to find him awake, her lips instead being pre-occupied by his as he holds her waist, gripping her gently with his hands, before pulling her closer into him, needing to convey just how much what she’d done had meant to him.

‘Sorry for taking your socks off...I know you like to keep them on, but i just thought-’

‘I know.’ he breathes against her lips as he smiles, connecting his mouth to hers once more with a lingering kiss, before hugging her tightly into him.

Its only when a drop of moisture drips onto his hand as it lay flat against the wood of the door that he realizes he’s crying, and he finds himself sliding down the surface to the floor as quiet cries leave him, sobs beginning to rack his entire body as soon as his back lays flat against the wood.

How could he let her go?

How could he be so stupid...to think that he could live without her?

He thought he’d be able to focus more on work if he pushed her away, if he cut his feelings for her out of his mind...

...but the truth was...she was the only thing that held him together when things really got tough.

...she was the only one who could make it all better.

His brain taunts him with sounds of her return as he cries painfully into his arms; 

-the way she’d softly close the door when she got home so that she didn’t wake him when she returned, even though 40/50 Jungkook would force himself to stay awake so that he could fall asleep with her.

-the way she’d hang her keys next to his on the hook, the little tinkling of the metal on metal signalling that she was attaching the usual post it to his key chain that he found every morning, the one that said ‘You can do it, my Kookie.’’

-the way she’d check to see if he’d eaten anything, before sighing in the most adorably frustrated way when she saw he hadn’t in his tiredness, before beginning to shuffle quietly towards the bedroom; her approach dainty, yet purposeful.

-the way she’d walk down the corridor, picking up the clothes he’d discarded on the floor as he’d got ready for bed, too tired to take the time to hang them back up, or put them in the washing basket, muttering about giving him a scolding, that he’d never receive.

-the way she stop outside the door and read the sign he’d made for her...

‘Where dreams come true.’

Its only when his own words are echoed back at him that he looks up, and he feels the air get snatched from his lungs. 

He cant move. Even when he registers that it really was her stood before him, her hair in disarray from the bustling night wind outside, and her eyes hung with bags where she’d been working so hard...on top of most likely having cried herself to sleep for the past few nights.

‘Jungkook...what are you doing here?’ 

Her words are broken, her voice scratchy and raw, and he can feel a pain splinter at his heart in response to how much he’d hurt her, the sight so obviously displayed before him making his eyes well up again, and he reaches a shaky hand up to try and wipe the tears away, despite the fact they just keep coming.

‘Jungkook-’

‘I cant.’

The words come out without him making the decision to say them, his heart racing when he realizes he’d spoken, but he doesn’t try to resist looking up at her, scanning her face for her reaction and seeing her draw in a shaky breath with the reminder the words bring, the two singular words being the last thing he’d said to her before he’d left.

‘-Jungkook-’

‘I cant let you go.’

This time he sees the way she bows her head. He sees the way she lets the tears fall from her eyes as she clasps her arms around her ribcage trying to hold back her sobs. But its as soon as he sees the way her knees are shaking, her hands following suit where they were curled around her elbows, that he reaches up to clasp her fingers in his, letting out his own choked sob as he pulls her down to the floor with him, opening his legs to sit her between them so that he could clutch her to him with his whole body.

It had been enough to see how badly he’d hurt her for Jungkook to realize that he never wanted her to feel that way again, for him to understand just how badly his words had affected her. 

And he knew it would take a while, on whatever level; conscious, or subconscious, for her to fully come back to him, if she even agreed to...

...but for now...in this moment it was enough...

...with her held tightly in his arms, the feel of her warm body safely encased in his own, and with her breaths slowly growing less shaky against his neck where she’d buried her face searching for confirmation of him...

...for this moment...it was enough.

‘I can’t let you go, my Y/N.’

THE END

[aceofstars16]

So I always ready your sabezra fanfics and i really like them, but i notice that most of them have something happen to ezra and then sabine worrying about him. Would you possibly be able to write something with the rolls reversed?

Well, the main reason I do that is because Mel draws Ezra getting hurt and I get inspiration from her a lot. And there may or may not be an unspoken rule to not hurt the others…

BUT, after seeing this and some angst today, I got inspired and…I ended up writing a little something, you cant read it below the cut! It’s…it’s sad…and…death warning for anyone who doesn’t want to read that stuff… (I told you I got inspired for angst don’t blame me blame this pic nako drew! I mean granted, I switched the roles but…still…)

Ezra felt it before he saw it. A shockwave of pain,surprise. Wheeling around, he saw Sabine, her hand pressed against her abdomen,even as blood slowly seeped through her clothes. She looked up and her eyeslocked onto his. The shock on her face slipped into fear. Her legs buckled andshe fell.

But Ezra’s body moved before her could even think, breakingher fall, easing her into his arms.

“I got you, Bean, I got you,” he said, glancing at her woundonly to look away as nausea washed over him – not from the blood, but from therealization of how bad it was.

“I should’ve known my luck would run out sooner or later,”Sabine said quietly, before a weak cough shook her body.

“No, no, you’ll be fine, Sabine. We’ll get you to a medcenter and you’ll be fixed up in no time.” Ezra knew he was speaking forhimself, he was trying to deny the inevitable, what he knew in his heart. Whathe could feel. Sabine was dying. Andthere was nothing he could do to save her. There was no bacta, no med center,no time.

“Ezra, don’t.” Sabine’s voice was quiet, but firm, she wastrying to be strong for him, even though she knew too. That there would be no miracle,no grand salvation. This was it

“Sabine I…I can’t, please-” His voice broke as the weight ofit all crashed upon him. He was losing his best friend, his constant companion.She was dying and all he could do was watch.

“You can, Ezra-” her voice was broken by a cough, muchweaker than before. “I know you can, you’re strong, stronger than I ever was.”

“Sabine, that’s not true-” Ezra started speaking but hecouldn’t force out the words. He wanted to assure her that she was thestrongest person he knew, that she had been his rock, that he could never bethe same without her. But he couldn’t, not as he looked down on her, a weaksmile on her face, her life force fading.

Then her hand touched his. “Hold my hand? I…I’m fallingasleep.”

Ezra’s fingers numbly entwined with hers, as he felt hergrowing dim, as he watched her eyes close. So many nights he had fallen asleepwith her hand in his – sometimes to comfort her, sometimes to comfort himself.All those times it had been a reassurance that neither of them was alone. Andit was a last reassurance for Sabine, that she wasn’t alone right now, in herlast few seconds of this life. He was with her, and he knew he would alwayscarry her with him, for the rest of his life – no matter how long or short itmay be.

Then the trickle of warmth Ezra felt faded. Sabine’spresence was gone. She was gone and he was empty. He tore his gaze away fromher now limp hand and looked at her, that small smile still on her face. Andthen it all crashed down. A tidal wave of pain rammed into Ezra and a grievedwhimper escaped his mouth, which turned into a sob, then another, until sobs shookhis body and tears flooded down his face. He held Sabine close, wishing for herto hold him back, to tell him she was fine. But the only sound in the world wasthat of his heartbroken sobs.

[chainedtothedarkness]

its 1:26am rn and i can feel the delirium sinking in, in my insomniac state that has been the new 1-5am usual these past weeks

atm i just feel.....a lot of pain

i feel so much emotional pain

and it makes my chest hurt a lot. its hard to breathe

its not like anything happened?? like, literally, ive just been here idling around for hours and only now within these hours have begun to feel very...lonely

is lonely the right word? i do feel very alone, and i feel somehow neglected

i seem to have a habit of caring about and wanting to talk to people who dont want to talk to me. and its. painful

it’s really painful.

that, and everyone who normally would talk to me all seem to be busy with their own health and irl things. i cant complain about that. i just dont know how to be okay with being alone anymore

ive become too dependent on others for my happiness, i think

when i talk with my friends and we have a good time...thats the happiest i get

i thrive on others’ presence and support

and i wither when the persons i want the most, arent around

or the persons i try to reach out to, consistently shut me out instead

im. going in circles right now i think

but...i used to be my own number one fan, i used to think i was awesome. i could do things on my own like draw or write or make games or anything, without the aching, nagging need for validation

i used to be able to trust my own judgement, my own desires...

i dont anymore

i haven’t for years

i’m always second-guessing myself. i dont feel worthy of things. i dont enjoy or like things i create, if i go solely by my own inner feedback. i do get excited about an idea or so, but it quickly fades without anyone’s encouragement once i have the chance to step back and over-analyze it until it all seems foolish and worthless.

and for all the effort it costs me to do things

for all the migraines and headaches, all the backaches, all the muscle/joint pains, all the blurred visions, all the dizziness, all the nausea... what i manage to do, is never enough. is never worth the cost. so i end up not wanting to invest these costs into such low payouts, no matter how much i want to do something. i’ll have an idea of something to create, then when i create it, or in the process of creation, these costs will manifest and it never seems worth it.

i really...dont know how to be happy with myself anymore.

i even considered trying to get back into reading things again. if creating is such a burden, maybe i can escape through reading like i used to. but i cant do that either, because i can only read a few paragraphs before i get those migraines. only a few, before i’m in pain.

it’s been years. nine years now.

after reading an article recently, i’ve grown aware that i’m extremely burnt out. because despite everything, i have to keep pushing through it even if im unhappy. even if i pass out from overexertion. and it never feels worth it. i got perfect grades in both my courses last semester, and i felt...nothing. it felt like an expectation. a must. instead of an achievement. i wasn’t happy. i’m still not happy. i still feel numb about it even after my parents and sister were so overjoyed and amazed. the perfect 100′s, perfect a’s, meant nothing more than simply not failing - in which scenario i would have felt awful. i cant fail. i cant let myself fail. and i cant just do average, either. i have to do well. i have to just do things, and do them well. it’s all simply doing what i’m “supposed” to.

its the same with creating. i might want to do them, but it’s never satisfying to me in the end. in no time it becomes, why am i only doing this when i should’ve been so much better by this time? why only this, when i should have gotten so much more done? it all feels like a chore after the initial inspiration wears down. i should finish this. i should do it properly. why cant i do it better, when i know that im capable of doing so? why do i stay lacking? people worse off than me have achieved so much more. people worse off, have been able to push themselves regardless. i’m one of the lucky ones, with so little things to do. so little responsibilities. so why?

it feeds into my self hatred. because i’m not enough. i’m not enough to be a good friend, a good reader, a good artist, a good writer, a good anything. i can’t enjoy anything on my own. so i need someone else there. i need people that i feel happy talking to, who understand me. but those persons...have their own issues and troubles to worry about. it’s not fair for me to burden them.

so i have to stay alone. alone with this me that wallows in their own frustration and sadness and inferiority. it’s not good.

none of this is good.

...its 1:49 now. and my hands and arms are hurting a lot after just writing all of this aimlessly. but im not tired yet. my mind is wide awake. even if i tried to sleep, i wouldnt be able to right now.

i dont know what to do now... but i have to stop writing or else ill regret it even more

so..... whatever, i guess