#anxiety at an all time high urge to blow my fucking brains out at an all time high

[thelastsaiyanprincess]

i need a McFuckin break

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts:

Part 4:

You’re paranoid. 

Terribly, terribly paranoid, and even if you’re aware of it, there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Nothing you can do to quell the anxiety that wells up every time another person enters your space. Every time their skin nearly brushes yours, even accidentally, just for a split second.

It’s maddening. Nearly debilitating the way you’re flinching away from people. You can see your co-workers notice too, fellow nurses suddenly giving you odd looks every time you reject a high five. Even when you’re wearing your gloves. It’s just a panic reaction at this point- a fixation on trying to keep your quirk as least exhaustive an experience as it can be. 

On one hand, you still really dislike Bakugou- nearly hate him for bringing it up to you- but, on the other hand, he did manage to figure it out. He somehow managed to figure out what you never could, and all in a matter of minutes from your relatively short interactions. It made you think that maybe he could be really smart- if he didn’t spend so much time killing his own brain-cells with every juvenile insult he spewed at you. 

You wondered if that was just him, or he really did hate you that much. Surely he couldn’t be that much of a monster to other people, right? Right? 

Wrong. 

You remember Kirishima, how he apologized for Bakugou nearly the second he walked through the door. It hits you then that you’re definitely not the first person he’d seemed to mercilessly terrorize- you’re not sure if that makes you feel better or worse.

Actually, on second thought, maybe it makes you feel worse. No, it definitely makes you feel worse. So much worse, in fact, that just the sight of his face nearly sends you into an irrational rage. Even now, weeks after the last time he’d personally ruined your day, you were still mad. Still angry. Still cursing every time you saw those red eyes on every billboard, newspaper, and billboard in town.

Well, lucky for you, you didn’t have to look at those printed eyes anymore. Not when the real ones were right in front of you- scaring you shitless as you leave the hospital. 

You had left the hospital from the back exit, tired and crabby from your late shift, grumbling as you stepped out into the alleyway. You’d hardly seen him, just the slightest glimpse of movement behind the tall dumpsters, before he’s practically in your face.

“Jesus!” You gasp, curling your arms around your stomach. Your legs feel like jelly. “Don’t do that! Scared me half to death!”

“Oh, chill the hell out, ya fuckin’ baby. You’re fine.” Bakugou rolls his eyes, falling into step next to you.

He looks worse for the wear, just like every other time you’ve seen him, exhaustion coloring his complexion something sickly. There’s an angry purple bruise covering his cheek, a few cuts, and even more bruising dotting his scarred knuckles. A tiny, vindictive part of you thinks it serves him right, but you keep it to yourself. You’re better than that.

You want to be nice to him, truly you do, but he’s made it pretty hard. Concerning you, Bakugou’s pretty much dug his grave at this point, and he only makes it worse with his next works.

“You need to do something for me.” He orders suddenly. “Now.”

“A-are you asking me? For help? Is that what this is?”

“What? No- obviously fucking not.” He sneers, nostrils flaring. “Why the hell would I go and do something like that. That’s stupid. Weak.”

“Oh. Okay. So then two seconds ago, when you were telling me that I ‘need’ to do something for you, what was that?” You squint your eyes at him, eyebrow twitching with annoyance. “That wasn’t you asking for help?”

“No. ‘s an order.”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay- an order. Because you’re totally in a position to make those.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.” You spin on your heels, nearly crashing into his chest since he followed so closely behind you. Still, you figure the promixity is all the better for gesturing, so you don’t miss a beat, waving your hands emphatically. “My shift just ended, alright? That means I’m not on the clock, and you’re not a patient. I don’t have to suck it up and help you unless I want to. Understand?”

Bakugou seems to bristle at your tone, eyes narrowing as his lip curls. You just try to shrug it off. If he wants to be mad in the middle of the alley, fine- but you’ve had a long day and you’re going home. You spin around again, walking briskly into the street, and it takes him a few moments to catch up.

“I told you, Bakugou, I’m not helping you just because you tried to order me to.”

“I know.”

“Then what’re you doing?”

“Walking.”

It’s his tone; that same needling, challenging edge to it that has your blood boiling. If anyone else said that, you’d probably believe it. But he’s not just walking and Bakugou’s smirk makes that very clear.

“No. You’re following me.”

“Same fuckin’ direction. Sue me, leech.”

The street lamps cast spots that yellow out his already pale skin, and the longer you walk the more withered he looks. Bakugou seems utterly burnt out, and when you look really close, all his features are slumped. It’s a stark contrast to Dynamite’s turbo-charged public persona, and it makes you wonder why he’d even let you see him like this at all. You figure whatever it is must be making him pretty desperate.

Suddenly that same, sinking, sympathetic feeling has you letting up a bit. You slow your pace, catching his gaze as you internally curse your own soft heart.

“Okay. Fine. What’s up. What can I help you with?”

Bakugou squints his eyes, almost like he doesn’t believe you. You think that’s a little fair- most times, even you can hardly believe all that you’re capable of forgiving.

“Sleep.” He finally says, bitten out tightly under his breath. 

“You want me to help you sleep?”

“Yes. Obviously.” 

“Not obvious.” 

“Would be if you weren’t such a shitty nurse.”

“If that’s supposed to be a dig- save it.” You roll your eyes, trying to tamper down the irritation. “I did notice. That you look tired. Just didn’t mention it out of kindness, so don’t think you can start bringing my skills into question.” 

You turn down another side street, and Bakugou follows. There’s less light so you miss the way his eyes scan the lurking shadows; intense and immediate, like a habit he can’t help himself from indulging in. 

“You really live around here?” He suddenly asks, voice low and gruff.

“Yep. In the apartment complexes just up there.” You point off into the distance. “Why-”

“And your shift always end this late?”

“Yes?”

“God,” He laughs something disbelieving under his breath, rolling his eyes at you. “I was fuckin’ right. You really are the stupidest goddamn person walking the planet.”

“That’s- Do you ever think about your words? Seriously!” You huff, curling your fists. You hope it’ll quell your sudden urge to hit him. “Just because you think it, doesn’t mean you should say it! And who the hell are you to judge anyway-”

“You’re fuckin’ asking to be attacked. That’s stupid. ”

“By who?”

“Weirdos, idiot.”

“You’re the weirdo! You’re the one following me home right now!”

“I’m not following you-”

“Really? You’re not? Because right now, the way you’re walking? Maybe all of two steps behind me? On a dark street? At night? Sort of seems like creepy following is exactly what you’re doing!”

“I told you, you need to do something for me. Not leaving till you do.” He grumbles, digging a bruised knuckle into his temples. “And keep it the fuck down. Your screaming sounds like a dying animal.”

“My-” You seethe for a moment, hardly able to stand his attitude. Then you take a breath because you prided yourself on being a kind person, and kind people do not kill national heroes- even when they’re being asses. “You know, it is almost unbelievable how bad you are at asking for help.”

“Told ya, already. ‘m not fuckin’ asking for help.” 

“Then why are you even here bothering me? Go bother someone else!”

“If fuckin’ anyone else could do anythin’, believe me, I’d go to them instead.”

“God, do you even understand how rude that is?” You ask him incredulously, hand grasping at the door to your apartment building. “No, seriously, are you even aware of what you sound like to other people?”

“Not my fuckin’ problem that other people are sensitive.” 

Your eyes bulge at that, mouth nearly dropping in disbelief. You couldn’t believe him. You just couldn’t believe that a single person could possibly go through life with that callous of a mentality. It was insanity. Pure insanity. 

“So, leech, you gonna put me to fuckin’ sleep or not?” 

Just kidding- that was insanity. That sentence alone was proof of just how ridiculous your life had gotten since he’d crash landed into it. 

Bakugou seems to realize his words simultaneously, his cheeks flushing red under the outdoor lights. You almost laugh, but then he’s glaring, eyes sternly set and murderous. For a moment, you really believe he was gonna blow you up right where you were standing. 

“Say a goddamn word. Do it. I fuckin’ dare you. Leech.” He sneers. “Try me.”

“At this hour? No, uh, no thanks.”

Bakugou does seem to relax at your joke, albeit begrudgingly. He drops his shoulders, rolling his eyes, and clears his throat. “Now, seriously, you gonna fuckin’ do it or not?”

A part of you wants to say no- to hold your gift over his head, to lord it just out of reach until he figures out how to not insult you with every breath. Then you think of your job, of all the civilians who come in swearing up and down that Dynamite was a hero. And you believe them, truly, but you think that Bakugou has a long way to go. An especially long way.

But, even so, your fingers are itching again in your gloves. There’s that urge coursing through your veins, your thoughts a constant loop of heal, help, save and so it’s decided. Quickly. Almost like it was never even a question in the first place- and, knowing yourself, you suppose it never really was.

“Fine. I will. On one condition.”

“Condition? When the fuck did I say it was a negotiation. It’s not.” 

“It is and I’ll tell you why.” You spin to face him completely, jumping back when you find him much closer than expected. Your retreat till your back hits the door, but you feel no less cramped than before. “You need me. You do. Don’t bother denying it because you wouldn’t be here otherwise. And the funny thing is, I would’ve done it! Would’ve done it entirely free of charge if you just asked nicely, and-”

“Will you get to the fuckin’ point already?”

“See! That! That’s why there’s a condition! Because you’re needlessly rude! All the time from what I’ve seen. And that’s got to change. Especially if you’re gonna ask for my help more than just this one time.” 

“God- how many fuckin’ times do I need to make this clear to you? Hah?” Bakugou growls, leaning in even more. You can see it in his wild eyes- he’s trying to scare you, crowding you against the door. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you- You don’t make the fuckin’ rules here.” 

“In this I do.” You swallow nervously, trying not to let your intimidation show. “So you’re gonna listen. My condition is this- if you want me to help you, then you have to learn to play nice. That means no names, no insults, no threats, no complaints, and no attitude. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.” 

Bakugou swears under his breath, eyes blazing as he holds his stare. Truthfully, it makes you nervous, but you’re not one to back down. At least, not when there’s no threat of job loss involved. So you just squint back at him, jutting your jaw out in defiance. There’s a tense few seconds of silence, his eyes searching, but then he backs off. Nostrils flaring like a bull, Bakugou relents. 

“Fuckin’ fine. Whatever. Jesus.” He swears, hand curling into a fist at his side. “If you’re gonna be such a bitc-”

“I said, no names, Bakugou.”

He just rolls his eyes, face so very pinched, and you briefly wonder if he’s going to explode. There’s anger as he suddenly shoves you away from the door, yanking it open and letting himself into the building. Then he’s stomping through the lobby, and you’re hardly able to catch up by the time Bakugou stops in front of the elevator. 

“What fuckin’ floor, leech?”

“Once again, I said no names. None. Especially not that one.” You tell him sternly, trying to keep your voice down. “And you didn’t agree. You’re not following me and I’m not helping you unless you agree.”

If possible, you think Bakugou’s expression grows even more irritated, his eyes widening as he sets his jaw. Another few seconds pass, and when he sees you won’t relent, Bakugou nods. It’s tight and strained, stunted like the acquiescence physically pains him. 

“God, you’re lucky I’m nice.” You tell him, nearly stabbing the elevator button as you press it. “Really lucky.”  

“And you’re lucky I don’t have enough energy to beat the shit out of you right now.” 

“No threats, Bakugou. You agreed.” You say easily, stepping into the elevator as it opens. 

“Had to. Because your fuckin’ terms are bullshit.” 

“Hey, no complaints. You agreed to that too.” 

You think you hear something strangled leave his mouth, but it’s swallowed up by the sound of the elevator ascending. 

Now that you’re standing in better lighting, you can see Bakugou’s face clearly. He looked bad before, but he looks worse now. There wasn’t just one bruise on his face, there was multiple- his jaw colored burgundy and his nose and lip split open. There was no blood, but there wasn’t a lot of scabbing either. It was new. These injuries were new.

You think back to that first visit- when he told you he never really got hurt. You wonder what’s been going so wrong for him lately. It seemed like all he’d done since you’d met him was get hurt. 

“Stop fuckin’ staring.”

“I-I’m not. Not like that.” You say. “I’m assessing. You’re gonna need a butterfly bandage, on your nose- skin moves too much. And a cold compress for your jaw. Maybe some disinfectant on your lip. Probably should get your knuckles wrapped too and-”

“Jesus, I fuckin’ get it.”

You roll your eyes, ready to retort, but then the elevator dings. You walk out into the hallway, Bakugou trailing behind you like a shadow. It’s not until you’re at your door, twisting your key into the lock, that you pause.

You’re about to enter your apartment, with Bakugou of all people. A guy you’re not even sure can tolerate you. And yet you’re doing it- because he needs help. Because he looks like walking death and you’ve got a first aid kit under your bathroom sink. Because he’s pretty much proved himself to be an irredeemable asshole, but yet you still can’t bring yourself to leave him out in the cold.

Because you’re an empath, and that, by default, makes you an idiot.

You turn the key. Bakugou, to his credit, looks a little uneasy, but then you’re waving him through the door, and pushing it shut behind him. 

“So, you wait here.” You gesture towards your couch, moving aside a few pillows to make him room to sit. “I’m gonna go get all that stuff I talked about.”

“So, what, you’re just like playing fuckin’ nice nurse again, now?”

“Bakugou. No attitude please- I am nice, okay? All the time. Or, at least when others are nice to me.” You say, levelling him with an unimpressed look. “And even if they’re not, I still don’t like seeing them hurt. Not if I can do something about it.”

“I don’t want your fuckin’ help.”

“No, but you need it. And since you’re too stubborn to ask for it, I’m just gonna have to force it on you.”

“Do you even fuckin’ hear yourself?” Bakugou prickles, voice rising. “Acting like a goddamn savior. Like you’re so fuckin’ good and holy. It’s bullshit.”

“It’s not.” You say flatly. Then you’re pivoting on your heels, leaving him behind and you grab the first aid kit. You open the bathroom door, calling over your shoulder. “And if you have such a problem with it, then leave. Nobody is keeping you here.”

You hear Bakugou swear again, so angry and seething that you almost believe he’ll take you up on your offer; but then you hear footsteps across the floor, the creaking of your couch.

You reach under your sink, pulling out the kit and a few extra rags for a compress. When you look in the mirror there’s exhaustion lacing your features, your eyes worn and dark with bags. The sight makes a part of you want to forget it all- makes you want to surrender to the ache in your bones and tell him to leave; but that’s just a small part. The larger part is telling you that you’re not spent until you’re unconscious, and that right now, Bakugou looks a whole lot worse than you feel. It’s telling you to hurry up and help him and you agree. 

When you walk back out, supplies in hand, Bakugou’s slumped on your couch. He’s got his head tilted over the back, one hand resting on his stomach and the other thrown over his eyes. He shifts at the sound of your approach, dropping his hand and as blinks blearily. You think his eyes look a little duller than before- less like raging wildfire and more like smothered embers. If you didn’t know any better it would look like begruding acceptance- but this was Bakugou, and you knew better.

“So,” You start, setting all of your things down on the couch next to him. “You wanna go to sleep now? Or wait until after I fix up pretty much the entirety of your face?” 

He looks at you unsurely, eyebrows creasing.

“Wait, actually- how are you planning to get home?” You continue, hands on your hips. “Where do you even live? Around here? Close? Because you were out in like, 10 minutes, maybe, the last time I touched you, so it’s gotta be close. You live close right? Because-”

“God, cool it with the fuckin’ word vomit. Shit’s annoying. Shut up.” He grumbles. “I’m sleeping here.”

“Who decided? You?”

“Yeah. Obviously.”

“Bakugou.” You balk, striding closer to the back of your couch. You lean over him, forcing him meet your eyes. “This is what I’m talking about! With the learning to play nice thing! I would’ve let you stay here, I would’ve, had you asked. You can’t just bulldoze your way into my house and refuse to leave!” 

“Yeah? ‘n just what the fuck are you gonna do about it if I do?” He scoffs, curling his lip as he snarls. “Nothing. Because you’re so fuckin’ nice, right?”

“Don’t say it like that. It’s not a bad trait and I won’t have you insulting it. I’m not embarrassed of who I am.” You try to work through your frustration, centering yourself with a deep breath. “Look, bottom line is, ask next time. Or I’m not helping you until you do.” 

“Fine. Whatever.”

You try to shrug off his petulant response, taking another calming breath as you shuck off your gloves. You replace them with latex ones from the kit, pulling the material over your fingers as you grab the antiseptic wipes. You decide to start around the cut on his nose. It’s the largest and widest, spanning over the entirety of his bridge and into his right cheek. It’s a nasty thing, deep and red, all exposed nerves beneath a thin scab and you can tell it hurts him. Bakugou fights to keep from wincing, eyes scrunching slightly as you wipe the remnants of dirt and oil from his skin. 

“This from another villan?” You ask calmly, finding an easy peace in performing familiar tasks. “One today?”

“Cuts are from today. Bruises were yesterday.”

Blinking down at him, you’re a little surprised by how easy his answer was. You expected him to fight, to be difficult just because he could, but Bakugou wasn’t doing that. He was lying relatively and still and sated under your fingertips, the only sign of any tension are his minutely pinched eyebrows. Briefly, you check your gloves- for a moment there you were sure you’d accidentally touched him.

“Oh. Okay.” You reply, taking a small butterfly bandage from your kit. You press it over the cut with gentle pressure. “How’s the other guy look?”

“Fuckin’ terrible. Beat ‘em to hell.”

“I’m sure you did.” You snort, moving on to clean the cut on his lip. “Hey, you wanna know something?”

Bakugou peeks a red eye open, studying your face above him. He nods.

“I actually end up treating a lot of your victims, you know.” 

“Criminals. Not victims.”

“Mhm. Sure. Well, either way, they’re always covered in burns. Mostly minor, but sometimes pretty nasty ones.” You try to keep your voice light, even and steady as you dab at his lip. “Honestly, at this point, I’m pretty sure you’re entirely responsible for the hospital’s chronic burn-cream shortage.”

Bakugou does seem to smile at that, exhaling through his nose as his eyes flutter briefly. “Wouldn’t be fuckin’ short if people just stopped tryin’ to pull stupid shit all the time. ‘s not my fault they’re so fuckin’ bad at running away.” 

“Bakugou.” You balk, unable to keep the laugh from bubbling out your lips. “You can’t say that!’ 

“Why the fuck not? Hah? It’s true.” 

“Because! You’re supposed to be playing nice, remember?”

“Yeah. To you.” He mumbles, voice rough and raspy. “Because you fuckin’ schemed your way into forcing me. They didn’t.” 

“Okay- First, I’m like, pretty sure schemed and forced are the same thing, so we definitely don’t need to say them both. It’s just overkill. Second, that’s a borderline insult, so I’m gonna need you to watch your mouth. And third,” You cradle his jaw in your fingers, turning it to the side. “How the hell did you manage to get a bruise behind your ear?”

“I don’t know- probably the same way you somehow managed to become a nurse; even with such shitty fuckin’ bedside manner. You suck, leech.”

Your jaw drops. 

“Bakugou!”

He cracks his eyes open, something small and pleased settling at the corner of his mouth. There’s almost as much venom in his voice as before but his eyes are softer now. They’re kinder, crinkling just slightly at the edges. 

He’s joking. You realize. He doesn’t actually mean it. Not this time.

“You dick.” You reprimand, flicking his hairline lightly. “You absolute dick.”

His eyes just seem to grow a little brighter at that, just for a second, and then he’s shutting them again. There’s still a smirk on his face though- one you’d swear you’d slap off if he wasn’t actually being somewhat pleasant right now. For once in his life, it seemed. 

“Alright,” You announce, rounding the couch quickly. “Your knuckles look just as bad so give ‘em.”

“No thanks.”

“It wasn’t really a suggestion.”

“I don’t need anymore of your pity help, leech.”

“It’s not pity. Not even a little bit.” You sigh. “Look, I know you’re not gonna understand this, but I seriously cannot chill the hell out without at least trying to take care of people. My quirk makes my fingers literally itch when I see injuries. They itch and they don’t stop itching until I do something about it. Helping people, healing people, is hard-wired into me- it’s as much something I do for me as it is something I do for others.” 

Bakugou’s eyes widen at that. He sits a little straighter, fists clenching as he presses them into the cushions. A few beats pass and then he’s grumbling, throwing himself back as he thrusts both of his injured knuckles forward.

“God, you’re so fucking irritating.” He gripes. “If you’re gonna be such a weirdo about it, then get the hell to it already.” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead kneeling next to your coffee table and settling on the ground. You take his hands in yours, bending all his fingers to make sure nothing is broken. When nothing is, you look up at Bakugou, planning to tell him the good news, but he’s already looking at you. Your eyes meet, and he blinks, once, twice, before averting his eyes quickly. You think that maybe he blushes too, but he turns his head so sharply you’re almost convinced you imagined it.

You just try to shrug it off, focusing your attention back on his hands. You notice how warm they are again, nearly feverish and strangely unblemished. When you start rubbing bruise cream over knuckles, kneading the joints between your fingers, Bakugou sighs slumps back into the couch. He closes his eyes once more.

“Are you falling asleep?”

“No. Can’t. Fuckin’ told ya already.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me why.” You set his hands back on the couch, moving instead to unravel a bandage. “Not that I won’t help you, but have you tried any other remedies? Melatonin? Or lavender? Maybe chamomile? Any of those?”

“Mhm. Falling asleep isn’t the problem.”

“Then what is?” 

 He opens his eyes, squinting at you from above. “None of your fuckin’ business.” 

“Bakugou, I’m trying to help here.”

“I don’t want-”

“Yeah. I know. You don’t want it. Or you don’t want to rely on it. I get it. But you wouldn’t have even came here if you didn’t absolutely need it, right?” You insist, grabbing his hands into yours again. “God, you know, I’ve had toddlers who were more cooperative than you. Why’re you so difficult?”

“I’m not fuckin’ difficult.”

“No. You’re difficult. Very difficult.” 

“And you’re fuckin’ annoying. Do me a favor and go back to being nice.” 

“Nope. Sorry. Pretty sure you didn’t like me then either.” You start wrapping the bandage around his knuckles, taking extra care to apply the right pressure. “And I was only nice to you because I was working, you know. I’m only actually nice to the people who deserve it.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes at that.

You finish wrapping the bandage, securing it into place with a bit of medical adhesive. All things considered, Bakugou looks better than before. Or at least, better than the death incarnate he’d been portraying himself as.

“All done.” You smile, turning away to start packing up your supplies.

“Finally. Took ya fuckin’ long enough.” 

“God, you are literally devoid of manners, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah. ‘s part of not bein’ an absolute bitch.”

You gawk, spinning around to face him. Bakugou’s relaxed into your couch, arms laid across the back leisurely as he smiles. There’s that same softness to his eyes from before, the crinkling just at the edges.

“Wow.” You scoff, smiling sarcastically. “You really think you’re so funny don’t you?” 

“I do.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Yeah. Because you’re fuckin’ brainless.”

“Brainless? Me? Swear to god, you only know, like, three words and all of them are probably swears!” 

Bakugou just shrugs, looking abnormally pleased. Content even. You figure that’s probably right for someone like him- only happy when everyone around him is devolving into chaos.

“Actually, you know what, I think I’m done yelling for the night.” You say, shucking your gloves off. You wiggle your fingers at him, a smirk plastered across your face. “I think it’s time you’re euthanized, don’t you?”

Bakugou just blinks, minutely shrinking away from you.

“Because you said you wanted me to put you to sleep, right? To put you down. Like a dog.” You continue, nearing him, coming close even as his lip curls up. Bakugou is glaring fully now, fists clenched, and you stop just a few inches out of his reach. “Or, you know, in ruder terms- not a dog, but a bitch.”

Bakugou snarls, lunging at you as you duck away. He’s fast but you’re faster, vaulting behind your couch to create some distance. There’s fire in his eyes, blazing and hot in his irises, but it isn’t scary. If you look close enough, you’re almost sure it’s just warmth. That same rare amusement from earlier.

“You leech. Swear to fuck I’ll make you regret that. Say your goddamn prayers!” 

“Touch me and you’ll fall asleep!” You tease. “Or I’ll use my quirk and see into your brain. So I guess it’s more of a ‘pick your poison’ for you, really.” 

“It’ll be the same for you.” Bakugou growls, hands grasping the back of the couch as he leans in towards you. “Open casket or closed, it’s still gonna be your fuckin’ funeral.” 

“Really?”

“Really. Leech.”

“No thanks.”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘no thanks’,” Bakugou mimics your voice, his features twisting. “I’m killing you. You’re dead. You don’t get a choice.” 

“No, I really think I do.”

“And just what the fuck makes you so goddamn confident?”

“This. You not attacking me.” You smile easily, voice daring as you stare right back at him. “If you really wanted me dead, I’d be dead. Isn’t that right, Dynamite?” 

The name sends Bakugou recoiling, shrinking backwards and scoffing in outright shock. You watch him stumble, legs hitting your coffee table and nearly causing him to fold. He recovers quickly though, albeit with his cheeks flushing wildly. 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“Nah. Thanks for the offer though.” You smile brightly, before throwing your arms above your head and yawning widely. “As fun as that was, I’m pretty tired. You ready to fall asleep, yet?”

“Jesus fuck, yes. That’s the entire goddamn reason I’m even here. Idiot.”

“No name calling. You agreed.”

“I didn’t agree to shit.”

“You did.” You affirm. “Now, c’mon, like last time, hold your hand out.” 

With surprisingly little dramatics or resistance, Bakugou listens. He thrusts one of his bandaged hands forward as he sits on the couch again. When you touch his fingers, you feel that faint warmth again. Like fire and embers coursing through your bloodstream. It’s uncomfortable, a relentless sensation that has you cringing. You briefly wonder what it would be like to always live with it. Like Bakugou seems to. 

His eyes flutter shut just like last time, and you can see the way he staggers. It’s like the fight leaves him entirely, and then he’s falling boneless into the couch. You can hardly place a pillow onto the cushions before he’s driving his head into it.

“Jesus,” You mutter in disbelief. “How long has it been since you slept? You look dead.” 

“Weeks.” Bakugou mumbles.

“Since the last time?” 

“Mhm.”

If his words alone didn’t confirm the severity of his sleeplessness for you, his response time did. Bakugou answered quickly, without fight, like he’d been wanting to spill for the entire night. And, you suppose, maybe he did; or was trying to. In hindsight, you begin to realize a lot of his screaming could just as easily have read as cries for help- not that you’d ever tell him that. You’d probably have to prepare a will if you ever tried telling him that.

“You want a blanket?” You ask a little unsurely, not exactly confident in your approach to this entirely different Bakugou. “All you’re getting is the couch, but I could probably scrounge up a few blankets.”

Bakugou doesn’t respond. All you hear in response are tiny little snores and slow breathing. 

You find it reminds you of the last time- the way you’re reaching into a cupboard and grabbing out a blanket for him. Except this time, it’s a little bit different. Somehow you’re settling the blanket over him with a little bit of genuine kindness instead of begrudging sympathy.

After all, you can’t help but feel a little bit of pity- no one would ever fall asleep that fast unless they really needed it. Especially not in a stranger’s house. 

--/--

enjoy my lovelies :))

taglist:  @fluffyviciousbunny @definitelynottrin @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @bakugouswh0r3 @cloudsgathering @un-limit-edd @thekatsukisimp @pollayra21 @the2ndl @officialtrashbusiness @waffleareniceandfluffy @monempathieetmoi @koiwoshinai

[xjoonchildx]

airplane, pt. 2 | jjk x reader chapter three: koreatown

pairing: jungkook/reader

word count: 3.4K rating: 18+

genre: smut | silly smut | nonsensical smut

warnings:  criminal!jungkook, koreanamerican!jungkook, reality has left the chat, plausibility has left the chat

A/N: so...as i’m turning this PWP into a P “with” P i actually had to add some plot lol. i really hope you guys like the direction this story is taking and i’m starting to feel a bit more confident about how it’s going to end. but please let me know what you think, hearing from you guys makes my day. i’d love to know if you think the plot is making any sense.  i mean, as much sense as a story about jungkook as a super hot criminal robber on the run with a federal agent lover could possibly make, ya know?

xoxo

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

artwork by the shmexy @ppersonna​ who’s smut is even better than her art

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

A postcard comes in the mail seven weeks after San Juan.

Colorful block letters urge you to VISIT BELIZE over decorative shots of the country’s beautiful beaches and most visited spots.

The only thing that appears to be written on the card is your address. You examine it dozens of times, looking from front to back for any other marking. You come up empty.

There is one unusual thing you notice, though.  

The postmark.  

Clearly written at the top: Los Angeles 90005.

There’s no way this card was mailed out of Belize and there’s very little chance Jungkook managed to get back inside the country without setting off a thousand alerts on your phone.  

You assume he must have routed it through his parents.

You’ve tried so damned hard these past few weeks not to think about what happened in Puerto Rico.  You’ve tried to forget the full-body shock you experienced when he asked you to play along with his absurd fantasy.  You tell yourself there’s no way he could possibly believe that you would go on the run with him.  

But then you remember the look on his face.

Seeing this postcard -- holding it in your hands -- makes San Juan real again. It’s not some bizarre fever dream you had or some figment of your imagination.  The emotions it dredges up are uncomfortable to confront. 

Is he in trouble? Is he asking for help? What are you supposed to do with this?

Logically, you know there’s nothing you can do.  

So you slip the card into your bedside drawer and file the information away in that part of your brain that seems to now be dedicated to thinking about Jungkook Jeon full-time. 

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

Over the next few weeks, two more cards arrive.

Guatemala.

Honduras.

That fake passport Jungkook apparently managed to get his hands on seems to be getting a workout.

Each time a new card comes in the mail -- always postmarked out of LA, the knot in your stomach seems to loosen.  He’s still going. He’s not locked away somewhere.  

Not yet, anyway.

You try to remind yourself that he’s smart -- really, really smart. He has a knack for staying under the radar. His Spanish is probably pretty decent at this point. He’s making or finding enough money to stay on the move.

Maybe he’s got a plan. Maybe he’s figured something out.

But it’s hard to keep the anxiety at bay. You watch your phone like a hawk, waiting to see an email or text saying he’s been caught.  You spend every day waiting for the other shoe to drop.  

So the cards go into your drawer -- and you get up and get dressed and go into the office every day like you’re not secretly rooting for the criminal so many of your colleagues are looking for.

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

The other shoe finally drops when you bump into Agent Novak in the cafeteria one afternoon. 

Novak is one of those guys who looks like he’s straight out of central casting on a crime show.  He has the appearance of a boxy, overgrown boy.  Always dressed in a muted grey suit, always sporting a military-grade short haircut.  The only thing that stands out on his completely non-descript face is his big mouth.

And right now you should be very glad for his big, fat mouth.

“You hear about your boy Jeon?” he asks, while piling his plate high with mac and cheese.  The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end for a moment at the mere mention of Jungkook’s name.

You move down the buffet line next to Novak slowly, the sudden adrenaline rush making your limbs feel weak and loose.

“Jeon?” you ask with feigned nonchalance. “Courthouse Houdini?”

“That’s the one,” Novak says, dropping two huge pieces of fried chicken onto his plate.  “My buddy in the Marshals says they’re pretty close to bringing that asshole in,” he continues, adding some crinkle fries into the mix for good measure.

God, you hope he doesn’t have a heart attack before you get all the information you need. 

He needs a trough, not a plate.

“Well, it’s about time,” you reply carefully and you hope it sounds convincing.   “Where?”

“Central America,” he says, reaching down to his plate to start picking off the crinkle fries one-by-one.  “Guatemala or some shit.”

A chill runs up your spine when you think about those postcards in your drawer. 

They’re close. 

They could be there right now.  

He could be in handcuffs again right now.

“Hope they have better luck than I did keeping him nailed down,” you say, willing your voice and face to stay even.

“Oh trust me,” he says, talking around a mouthful of crinkle fry. “They’re going to teach that motherfucker a lesson when they get their hands on him.  He won’t be able to walk, much less run.”

You swallow against the bile rising in your throat.

“That’s what he gets, right?”

Novak nods, grabbing for a chicken finger. You cringe when he shoves it into his mouth. Tiny pieces of the breading stick to his lips and you fight the urge to gag. 

God, has he always been such a pig?

“Damn straight.”

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

You circle the block three times before you feel comfortable enough to park.  

The neighborhood is quiet and clean and solidly middle-class.  The house you are looking for is neat and well-kept, lawn trimmed and flower beds nicely maintained. It looks like a nice place to live.

You cut the ignition and take a deep breath.

You have to remind yourself that Jungkook is not Al fucking Capone and there’s no reason for the government to have around-the-clock surveillance on his family home.  You have to maintain a level head even under this insane set of circumstances.

You try not to think about how furious he would probably be if he knew you were here right now.  

Maybe someday he’ll understand why you’re doing this.

Maybe someday you’ll understand why you’re doing this.

You’d worked late at the office, preferring to make this move when the sun went down.  You’re glad for the cover of darkness when you step out of your car and knock on the front door at the Jeon family home.

“Can I help you?” 

You take a deep breath when Mr. Jeon opens the front door. He has the same kind, handsome face as Jungkook, only his is weathered with age and worry.  

“Mr. Jeon, I need to speak with you about your son.”

His eyes widen for a moment. He seems to pull back and assess the way you’re dressed, figures out you’re one of those government-types.

“I’ve already said everything I have to say on the matter,” he says shortly, moving to shut the door.

“Wait, please,” you say urgently.  “I’m trying to help him, I swear. I can explain if you let me in.”

He stops for a moment, levels you with a critical look.

“I think he’s in trouble,” you say quietly.

Mr. Jeon sighs heavily before opening the door wide and letting you in.  

“I’m sorry to turn up at your home like this,” you say, moving immediately across the living room to close the blinds on all the street-facing windows.  “But I’m not sure how much time I have.”

He watches in total silence but you can see he’s unnerved.

“I’m just...being cautious,” you explain, and he nods.

Once you’re satisfied no one can see inside, you start to calm down a bit.  Mr. Jeon offers you a seat on the living room couch.

“This is a very strange situation, I know,” you admit. 

He remains mute and still, waiting for you to cough up some kind of explanation. 

“Do you know who I am?” you ask.

“No.”

His response is clipped and severe and you really can’t blame him.

“Okay,” you say, blowing out a breath. “Yes, I am with the FBI. But I --” you pause for a moment, grasping for a way to explain this bizarre situation. “ -- I know Jungkook.  Personally.”

Intimately. Biblically, as they say.

“Okay,” he says cautiously.

“I need you to get in touch with him because I think he’s going to be arrested. Soon.”

Mr. Jeon rubs a hand across the back of his neck.

“I don’t know where he is.  And I can’t get in touch with him,” he admits.  “He doesn’t want us to know where he is because then you people will have something to hold over us.”

You wince at the venom in that statement.

A faint voice from another room calls out.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Mr. Jeon says. 

He leaves you alone on the couch in the family room.

You wipe your sweaty palms on your dress pants as you take a look around.  The decor is soft and welcoming, with a few nods to Korea in the artwork on the walls.  It looks like a nice place to grow up, you think. The thought helps calm you.

He reappears after a minute.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says apologetically.  “I would really prefer my wife not know about this. This situation has already caused her a lot of pain.”

“Of course -- I understand,” you say quietly. “So you have no way to contact him?”

“No.  Not directly.”

“Then I need to know how you contact him indirectly.  He’s been sending me postcards somehow. Do you know who could be sending me postcards from him?”

His face falls a bit.

“I shouldn’t say.  I’m not trying to get anyone else in trouble.”

You lean forward a bit, fix him with a look that you hope conveys just how sincere you are about trying to help.

“I don’t want anyone else to get in trouble, either. But if you don’t give me that name, I promise you Jungkook will be. Please.”

Mr. Jeon sighs.

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

You pull the brim of your baseball cap low over your eyes and adjust your sunglasses before walking into Min’s Market.

The small, family-owned store is in one of Koreatown’s most populated neighborhoods. You keep your head low as you dodge people on the sidewalk to make your way inside. An electronic chime sounds when you walk in.

The only thing you see in your quick glance around the store is a young man behind the register. He stands when you make eye contact and you take that as the go-ahead to approach.

He’s not a large guy by any means, but he definitely gives off a do not fuck with me vibe.  You straighten your spine and get right to the point.

“Are you Yoongi?”

“Nope.”

He’s lying, of course.  His eyes are narrowed at you beneath long black fringe bangs and you can’t blame his skepticism given the giant sunglasses and the hat and the workout clothes you’re hiding under.  You look like you’re trying way too hard not to be noticed.

“I need to talk to you about Jungkook,” you say anyway.

“Never heard of him.”

Okay, not entirely unexpected.  You’d come prepared for the possibility that he wouldn’t want to play ball.

You reach into your bag and pull out the postcards, drop them on the counter in front of him.

“You’ve been sending me these,” you say firmly. “And we need to talk.”

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

Yoongi takes you to the tiny office tucked into the back of Min’s Market.  The space is cluttered with invoices and notes written in Hangul.  There’s a monitor display where he can watch the surveillance cameras at the front of the store.

He motions for you to take a seat on the one small chair he has and opts to lean against the office desk, arms crossed.

“So you’re Carver Street, huh?”

You take your sunglasses off so you can look him in the eye.

“Yeah.”

“And you’re… a Fed.”

He delivers that line with a cynical twist to his mouth that makes you feel self-conscious.

“Yeah.”

“Shit’s wild,” he says, more to himself than to you.

“Yeah, wild,” you exhale nervously. “Look, I’m sure you don’t want to be involved here any more than you already are, so I’ll just come out with it,” you say.  “I need to get in touch with Jungkook.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes.  

“Look, I don’t know you, okay? Maybe he does, but I don’t.  And I’m not trying to be an asshole here, but I’m not going to give you that information.”

You rub at the corners of your temples with your fingers.

“You know he’s been reaching out to me. You know he trusts me.”

Yoongi snickers.

“We haven’t exactly had the chance to catch up over beers since this whole mess started.  The only thing I know for sure is that he wants you to get those postcards,” he says.

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” you concede.  “I’m pretty sure he’s in Honduras right now.  And I need you to reach him as fast as you can. Because they are closing in on him and I don’t know how long he’s got.”

Yoongi shoves a hand through his hair.

“Okay.  I’ll tell him.”

“How fast can you reach him?”

“Look, I said I’ll tell him, okay?”

You tell yourself to relax before you scare Yoongi off entirely.  It looks like his patience with you is already worn thin.

“Okay.  Please tell him to try to get to Nicaragua,” you say, careful to keep the agitation from creeping back into your voice.  “They have a history of denying extradition requests to the U.S.  It could buy us some time to figure out what to do.”

“Us?” 

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow at you, the corners of his mouth lifting in a barely-concealed look of astonishment. You feel the blush that spreads across your face all the way to the tips of your ears.

“Him,” you correct yourself awkwardly, “it could buy him some time to figure out what to do.”

He grabs a pen and scribbles on a sheet of paper on the desk.

“Nicaragua, okay. Got it.”

“And please -- if you can -- get him this,” you say, handing Yoongi your own slip of paper with a number written on it.  “It’s a burner.  In case he needs to get in touch.”

Yoongi takes the number from you and nods.

“Alright.”

You stand to leave, knowing you’ve taken as much of his time as you’re allowed.  

“One more thing and I promise you’ll never hear from me again,” you say, pointing to the monitor inside the office.

“Delete that,” you say. “Please.”

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

You dig around in your cabinet until you find the wine glass you’re looking for -- the huge one -- and then you reach into the fridge for what’s left of your Sauvignon Blanc and dump it into that glass.

Nothing to do now but hope he gets the message in time.  

Nothing to do now but watch your work phone and see if he’s been arrested.

Nothing to do now but watch your burner phone to see if he’s contacted you.

It’s time to admit your nerves are shot.  Weeks of heightened anxiety are taking its toll and the past two days have felt like a marathon.  

You run a bath -- make sure the water is close to painfully hot before you sink into the tub.  Your body feels exhausted but your mind is still racing like you’ve shotgunned a cup of coffee.  

You lean your head back against the ledge of the bath and take a long drink of the wine.

What if he makes it to Nicaragua? What does that even mean? You buy a few more weeks of the same on-the-run bullshit and for what? 

What is the end game here? And for that matter why on earth are you doing any of this?

You barely know this man.  And now it’s starting to feel like you barely know yourself.

Your fingers and toes are pruny and the water is lukewarm at best when you finally crawl out of the tub.  You down the rest of your wine, throw a soft t-shirt on and fall into the bed.

All night you toss and turn and when you finally wake it’s like you never slept at all.

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

It’s a few days before you see Novak again.  

You happen to overhear his obnoxiously loud laugh just outside your office and your entire body jolts to attention.  

You jump up from your desk and peer outside.

Novak is busy chatting up a woman who works a few spaces down, no doubt boring her with unwanted banter about his weekend.  He happens to look up and you motion for him to come over. 

“Hey, yeah, I’ll be right there,” he says, and you head back to your desk on leaden legs.

Maybe he knows something, maybe he doesn’t.  

You’ve got to figure out how to walk the line between interested in the search for Jungkook but not too interested. Thankfully, Novak doesn’t strike you as the type to pick up on the subtleties of most interactions.  If he was, he’d stop bugging that woman right away.

He knocks loudly on your open door when he finally makes his way over.

“Hey,” he grins widely. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” you smile back, feeling a cold panic spread across your chest.  Maybe you’re not ready to hear what he has to say. 

“I was wondering if your buddies ever caught up to Jeon.”

“Man listen,” Novak says, helping himself to a chair. “You are not going to believe this shit.”

Your fingernails grip your legs underneath the desk, dig painfully into the skin just above your knees through the thin fabric of your pants.

“Did he...get away, again?” you ask, desperate to keep a note of hope out of your voice.

“Yup,” Novak confirms.  “Piece of shit cleared out by the time the Marshals they sent down there managed to get to where he was. Some place in Honduras or something.”

Novak shakes his head.

“My buddies are sick of looking for his ass at this point. At some point they’ve got to call it off, right?”

You can barely register a thing he’s saying because oh my god he made it out.

“Wow,” you manage, trying to appear appropriately sympathetic and outraged. “That’s unbelievable.”

“Yeah so,” Novak says, “back to the drawing board on that one, I guess.”

You’re forced to sit through a few more minutes of his blabber and small talk but all you can think about is Jungkook making it out in time.  All you can think about is getting back to your house and to that burner phone.

When Novak finally stands to leave, you nearly sigh out loud with relief.

“Hey, good luck to your buddies, yeah?  That’s got to be pretty frustrating,” you say, walking him out the door. 

“Yeah, I’ll pass the message along,” he says. “I’m sure you’re just as ready as they are to see this guy get what he deserves.”

You smile weakly.

“Oh, definitely.”

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

You make a beeline for the ladies room and walk right into a stall.  

Once inside, you drop the seat lid and sit on top, desperate for just one moment to be alone with your thoughts.

He made it out.  He’s not in custody.  Maybe there’s a way to fix this entire mess.

Then you fall apart. 

You’ve reached the limit of what you can handle without some kind of emotional release.  The panic and the anxiety and the relief and the hope come together and boil over inside you.

The tears start coming and they don’t stop. 

You have to flush the toilet three times to cover the sound of your sobs.

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

You race home from the office and practically dive for the burner phone in your nightstand.  The entire drive back, you’ve told yourself not to expect a message.

It’s entirely possible he doesn’t want to contact you.  

It’s entirely possible that he doesn’t have anything to say to you after the way you left things in San Juan.  You tell yourself to be ready to see absolutely nothing when you check the burner.

But when you do unlock the phone, you find a waiting text.  You steel yourself for what he has to say.

nicaragua is boring [ 3:15 PM ]

send nudes [ 3:15 PM ]

You laugh.  

You laugh for so hard and so long your tears gather in the corner of your eyes.  You laugh until your sides start to hurt from the absolute absurdity.  

It’s so him that you have to laugh.

That night, when you fall into bed you sleep an inky black sleep, without dreams or interruptions.  

It’s the best rest you’ve gotten in weeks.

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

[ripspaghet]

bff | 05

↳ series m.list | 00 | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 |

→ pairing: yoongi x reader

→ word count: 4,702

Prologue Summary; Your best friend's boyfriend takes an unhealthy interest in you and just as he shows up something from your past starts to creep up on you again. Could this strange and mysterious man have something to do with it? And should you trust him, or your instincts to run far, far away from him?

→ warnings: angst, swearing, alcohol, mentions of smut, cheating

The very next day the weather finally starts to lighten up. The sun is out with not a cloud in sight, although the air is still chilled. You've become eager to get back to your classes. After having Jimin take care of you a full day, you feel you might murder him. He's been teasing you constantly, trying to feed you like you a helpless baby, and let's just say you didn't really appreciate it. Still, you thank him several times over, promising to make it up to him, which he's sure to take full advantage of.

"Party? This weekend?"

You sigh, kicking a rock as you walk along the corridor, leading to your next class, "Why does it always have to be a party with you? You never even hang out with me when we go. You ditch me for those two idiots of yours."

"As I recall when you first met one of those idiots you called him hot and said you'd-"

"Okay!" Your panicked tone reaches an all-time high, not wishing to recall your first impression of a particular frat boy.

Jimin laughs at you and stops walking just before reaching the lecture hall, "So, you'll go with me?"

"As if I have a choice."

"Great! Tae said he-"

"____? I heard you were really sick." Mina approaches the two of you, her boyfriend not too far behind her, his eyes already fixed on you. Great.

You watch as he comes up closer to Mina, placing his arm around her waist and pulling her into him as his gaze bleeds into yours, "Glad to know you're feeling better, ____." 

His cold voice makes you shift your eyes away immediately, your face turning a shade of red that's starting to become all too familiar.

"Yes, I made her all better. Didn't I, honey?" Jimin leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek, which you respond to by pushing him away and slapping him on the chest.

"Don't put your lips anywhere near me."

He frowns and whines as you turn away from him, "Why? That's not what you told me to do yesterday."

"Are you drunk? Stop making stuff up and get to class." You don't bother turning around this time, heading into the lecture hall.

"Yah," You hear Mina slap Jimin, "what did you do to her?"

"Ah! S-stop hitting me! She's been like that since yesterday, it has nothing to do with me!"

The rest of the week carries on relatively fast, as you do nothing but study and go to your classes. Anytime Mina, Jimin, or anybody offers to hang out you decline. You haven't been in the mood and your reasoning was that same indecipherable feeling that still burned in your chest. Your nearest guess was that it had something to do with that damn piano Yoongi made you sit at, last Sunday. Bad memories resurfacing is enough to put anyone in this kind of mood, right? You can't even be bothered with the dozens of missed calls on your phone. You hadn't spoken to him in a year and you weren't about to break that record when simply seeing his name light up your phone filled you with dread.

"You're still coming?" Jimin raised an eyebrow at you, utterly surprised.

"I'm standing in front of you fully dressed and ready for a party and you're asking me if I'm bailing on you or not?"

"It's just, you haven't been in the brightest of moods this week. I thought, maybe you were having second thoughts."

You roll your eyes and push him out of the doorway so you can shut the door behind you and lock it. "Since when do you care if I have second thoughts about a party?"

"Since you don't seem okay," He whispers this time, a genuinely concerned expression dulling his features.

You put your arm around his and try to pull him along only to have him stop you, "I'm fine. Let's go have fun."

"Did someone break your heart, ____?"

You swivel your head back around, "What?"

"I don't know?" He scratched his head, "You seem so different lately. I mean you just said, 'Let's go have fun.' Normally, you hate being dragged to parties. You complain the whole time and ask me to take you home every five seconds."

You laugh and raise an eyebrow at the ridiculous assumption, "So, you think someone has broken my heart, simply because I'm taking your advice to have fun?"

"You-" He's cut off when your phone goes off. You pull it from your purse and quickly reject it.

"Telemarketers." You lie.

Looking at you seriously Jimin sighs, "I'm just worried. I don't want to take you to this party and you get super drunk and do something stupid cause you're sad." 

With a sigh and nod, you speak with an understanding ton, "I appreciate that you worry about me Minie, but I'm fine. I've just been stressed lately because of exams. I want to blow off some steam."

He looks at you hesitantly before nodding, not sure if he should believe you or not.

Jimin really is such a good friend. He genuinely cares so much, even for the smallest of things. But, despite what he thinks, this isn't your first time indulging in a party like this. Back when you were a freshman all you did was go to parties. Which is, for the most part, what made you hate them so much. You always did dumb things and alcohol didn't make your decision-making skills any better. You'd even started a pretty bad reputation for yourself, that you erased through the years of becoming a shut-in.

After arriving at the party Jimin led you to the drinks and the two of you had at least two full cups together before you decided you wanted to dance. The logical part of your brain was screaming to go home before doing something you'd regret, but that stinging feeling in your chest demanded it be fed and you didn't want to feel it anymore. You sure as hell didn't want to hear your anxiety ramping up because of it, so you drank just enough to null the noise.

You pull Jimin towards the dance floor, taking him by surprise, and making his drink sloshing in his cup, "Wait, I-"

"Since when does ____ dance?" A husky voice interrupts the two of you, making you turn your head, "Or know how to have fun for that matter?"

Tall, tanned, and handsome to the point of being downright beautiful, stood in the doorway of the kitchen watching you with an unreadable expression is Taehyung. You have to force your mouth shut to keep from gasping at the sight of him. Any other day, you'd duck your head and run at the sight of him - although, unfortunately for you - you've already consumed a hefty amount of alcohol.

"Whole new ____, right?" Jimin smiled, composing himself before patting your head and, to your surprise, making you jump.

"I'll say," Taehyung looks you up and down, "she's even dressed for the occasion."

"____, how about you go dancing with Taehyung? I promised Kookie I'd be his bodyguard tonight and I can't leave him hanging forever."

You glance up at Jimin then back at Taehyung. Again, under normal circumstances, you never in a million years would agree to dance with Taehyung, knowing damn well where it'd take you. You'd also be curious and confused as to why Jungkook would need a bodyguard, but - for like the billionth time - these weren't normal circumstances and all you did was nod.

"Just don't stay gone all night. You promised you wouldn't ditch me this time." 

Jimin laughs and pats your head endearingly again, "Sure thing, honey."

You reach up and pat Jimin on the cheek, returning the gesture by smiling brightly up at him. His eyes widen, not expecting you to return the teasing gesture, "Have fun, honey," 

"W-who are you?" Jimin's cheeks flush pink, but you only laugh before leaving him. You take Taehyung's arm in yours and he looks down at you with the same stunned expression, "Show me your best moves, Tae."

Excitement quickly replaces his awe and bubbling up in his eyes at this whole new side of you, "Yes, ma'am."

You pull him to the dance floor with you and once there you let your body do the talking as you move rhythmically to the best that vibrates through the house.

Taehyung just froze, his lips parting at the sight of you.

You're unable to contain a giggle at the sight of his dumbfounded expression, "What are you doing? Dance with me." You grab his hands and pull him to you, swaying your hips from side to side. 

Taehyung follows your instructions and begins moving with you, his hand moving to your hip as he leans in closer, "Since when are you not being a buzzkill?"

You pout your bottom lip at his use of words, "I'm not a buzzkill, I just haven't been in the mood up until now."

Taehyung laughs at your whiny response, his eyes falling on your lips, "You know? I never understood it before, but now it all makes sense."

"What does?"

"You and Jimin, I thought the two of you were complete opposites before and it didn't make any sense to me why he follows you around like a lost puppy." You move your hands up to his biceps and rest them on his shoulders. Your eyes urging him to continue, "The two of you are a lot more alike than I thought. You just bury it deep, while Jimin wears it on his sleeve."

You tilt your head, "And what exactly is it that I'm burying?"

"That thing that could get anyone into bed with you any time you want." He leans in, his deep voice sultry.

"Are you saying that only me and Jimin have that? You don't have it?"

"Well, obviously not. Otherwise, I would've had you in bed with me the day we met."

You shake your head and smirk at him. Might as well play along with him. "How do you know that it just doesn't work on me?"

"Tell me," He leaned in closer, "if Jimin were to seriously try fucking you - you wouldn't you be inclined to say yes?"

Your cheeks flush his use of words and the mere idea of them, but you laugh it off as the effects of alcohol starting to kick in, "Even if I were it would never be anything more than that, so I'd turn him down."

Taehyung pulls back, surprised, "Why?"

"Jimin is my best friend and like I said, sleeping with him would never be anything more than sleeping with him. I know that's the case for me, but I don't know if that's the case for Jimin. Whether he says it is or not, I couldn't trust what he says. If he felt differently, he would say whatever I wanted to hear, not the truth."

"Are you implying that he might fall for you? Because I think it's a bit too late for that." He chuckles and this time you roll your eyes.

"Me and Jimin find each other sexually attractive, but there's no romance. It's just friendship. People can easily mistake a great friendship for romance. I mean, even great sex can be misleading."

"So, what's the deal-breaker, huh? What is it that you and Jimin don't have?"

You stare at him for a moment, wondering to yourself why he's so interested in your relationship with Jimin before answering him, "There's no fire. No passion or pull between us."

His eyes flicker at your words, "You're not secretly in love with him and just pulling my leg, right?"

"What?" You burst into laughter, "Why is this so important to you?"

Taehyung's face stays serious as it flickers with something akin to lust, "____, when did you get so alluring? I thought you were an innocent virgin."

You try to bite back your laughter at his ridiculous statement and serious face. Surprisingly, he isn't all that good at flirting. His looks more than made up for what he's lacking though as his eyes have you leaning in closer. You put your lips next to his ear, your excuse being, so you wouldn't have to yell over the music, "I'm only alluring when I wanna allure someone, that doesn't make me a virgin."

"Really?" He put his other hand on the small of your back, "Does that mean you're trying to allure me right now?"

You frown, pulling away from him, "Trying?" 

His eyes turn dark at the loss of contact and he reaches to bring you back to him, but you only move further out of his reach, a smirk pulling up your lips, "If you want me, come and get me, Tae." 

He moves instantly, a smirk playing on his own lips as he follows you through the crowd of sweaty bodies until you're out of it and heading up the stairs of the frat house. You know exactly where you're leading him, but you weren't one to proudly admit you'd done this before. And if you were in your right mind right now you wouldn't be caught dead doing this again, especially with someone like Taehyung. Although, the closer your body gets to him the further the burning in your chest gets. It's fading into the background, just like you want.

You let him catch you at the top of the stairs and he wraps his arms around your waist, "What are you up to? Don't you know where these stairs lead?"

"I'm not sure. You wanna show me around?" You play dumb, preferring Taehyung not have any clue of your past endeavors.

He pushes you against the wall, hands roaming on your sides, "How drunk are you?"

"I've only had two or three drinks." Your breath catches in your throat when he lowers his mouth to your neck. Your hand moves to his hair and you close your eyes, savoring the way his teeth feel as they softly nip at you.

"So, you won't be mad if you wake up naked next to me in the morning?" 

You gasp as his tongue runs up the length of your neck, "I won't."

He hums softly in your ear before picking you up by your thighs, making it so you have to wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you to a nearby room and shuts the door behind him with his foot with - what appears to be - practiced ease. It doesn't bother you all too much though, seeing as you were only doing this to distract yourself, to begin with. You want all emotional baggage to be left at the door, or thrown out a window at this moment. You don't wanna think.

Taehyung drops you down onto the bed in the center of the room and you can't help but giggle as the force of the fall makes you bounce.

"Fuck," He smiles at you infectiously before lunging forward, his hands and lips devouring you, "you could easily make any man fall in love, ____."

A sharp throb stabs through your chest at his words, your smile falling as a distinct pair of dark eyes cross your mind. His hands move down your thighs and squeeze, pulling them apart to settle between them. Too lost in the remembrance of lingering stares and innocent touches, you don't even realize where your imagination has taken you as he presses his thigh against your core, coaxing a desperate moan out of you. Your eyes flutter shut as you let your arousal take over, pale fingertips run along your sides, his dark hair tickling your skin as he marks your neck, and his usual calm and gravelly voice growls as you mewl with desire.

"You sound so pretty." Just then his lips press to yours, his tongue running along your lower lip. 

Yoongi.

"Stop!" You push Taehyung off of you, panicked and breathless.

"What? What's wrong?" Taehyung sits up at the end of the bed on his knees, confused by the sudden rejection.

"I-I'm really sorry about this, but I need to go." You scramble off of the bed, fixing your clothes and hair.

Taehyung's quick to get up and follow after you, "Did I do something?"

"No, I-" You squeeze your eye's shut and shake your head in disbelief. Sure, you've fantasized about people before but never against your own will, let alone about your best friend's fucking boyfriend. "I'm not in the right head-space right now. I-" You pause glancing back at Taehyung, "You didn't do anything wrong."

He places his hand on your waist, "____, don't go. We don't have to do anything. We can just cuddle?"

"I need to go."

"What happened to you last night?! Why are people telling me they saw you going upstairs with Taehyung?! I never saw you for the rest of the night!" You wince pulling your phone away from your ear.

"I know, I'm sorry, okay? Could you stop yelling at me and let me explain?"

"Since when do you wanna fuck Taehyung?! I thought you hated him!"

"Jimin,"

"Alright, fine, let me hear your excuse."

"Last night I just wanted to have fun. It was nothing serious and I don't hate Taehyung. I just don't particularly like him or how he normally treats the girls he messes around with."

"Wha- You just wanted to have fun? Nothing serious? Where is the real ____ and what have you done with her?!" 

You roll your eyes, "I didn't even sleep with him. I walked out before things got that far."

"You walked out?" Jimin pauses, "Wait, why? What did he do?"

"He didn't do anything. I just-" Your eyes shift around your room nervously, "I wasn't as up for it as I thought I was."

He clicks his tongue, "____, the player. Never thought I'd see the day."

"Are we done now? I need to go."

"Go? It's Saturday. Where are you going? Oh, don't tell me you're going to finish the job!?"

"Goodbye, Jimin."

"No! Wait-"

You stand up from your bed after ending the call than walk over to your closet to sift through your clothes. You spend about thirty minutes doing that before groaning in frustration. What are you even doing? Normally, you'd just throw on the first thing you saw and head out the door.

You know what?

That is what you're doing.

You close your eyes and reach into your closet, grabbing the first thing you touch. This is fine, you tell yourself before shrugging off your pajamas and putting on the baggy hoodie with a pair of sweats. You then make your way back to your bed and grab your phone, you're heading to your door when you stop. You pull your hoodie up to your nose, smell it, and sigh before turning back around. It doesn't stink, in fact, it smells good, like freshly done laundry - but something about it annoys you and you refuse to leave with the boring smell.

Once you're finally satisfied you hurry out of your dorm and start in the direction of Yoongi's penthouse. So many factors are yelling at you to turn around and go back home, but you refuse to listen. Your pace even picks up as the tall building comes into view. 

Message from Min Yoongi-8:59am: Why are you so late??

You-9:05am: I'm here

You step out of the elevator, your nerves getting the better of you as you hesitate to knock on the door. You really shouldn't be here. You should be anywhere but here. As you're contemplating just turning around and leaving, the door swings open to reveal a very irritated Yoongi.

His hair is neatly combed through and shorter than when you last saw him, although it still hangs just slightly above his eyes.

"Why the hell are you so late?" His words are blunt, as usual, but that's not what makes you avoid his gaze. It's the images that pop into your head from last night that make you stare at your own two feet in petrifying embarrassment, thinking, maybe he can read your mind if you look at him.

"Sorry, I don't really have an excuse." Your voice comes out small, making it so Yoongi has to lean in to understand you.

He furrows his brow and sniffs the air as he does, then raises an eyebrow at you, "Is that perfume?"

Your eyes dart up to his face and you blink at him several times, "What?"

A smirk pulls up his lips, "Are you wearing perfume?"

"No! Why would I be wearing perfume?" You panic, confused as to how to respond to this.

"I don't know, you tell me?" He leans against his door frame and crosses his arms over his chest smugly. You can't help but let your gaze linger, finding everything he does far too attractive for someone who's supposed to be his girlfriend's best friend. 

You shift your eyes away from him shamefully with a frown and push past him, feeling your cheeks warm-up, "Can we just work on the song now that I'm here?"

Yoongi hums and turns around to face you, shutting the door as he does, "It smells nice. What is it? Vanilla?"

"J-just shut up." You walk away from him towards his couch to sit down before pulling out your laptop. 

"You know?" Yoongi startles you as he leans onto the back of the couch behind you, "You still haven't listened to that part on the piano I've been slaving away on." He speaks in that same condescending tone he used over the phone when you were sick, only this time it doesn't make your blood boil, it makes your stomach turn.

"I never said I wanted you to do that."

"You also never said you didn't, so I did." You feel Yoongi tapping his finger against the couch impatiently, a clear sign he's starting to get annoyed with you.

"Well, go play it." You bark back in a whiny manner, wanting the subject to just go away, "I'll hear it from here."

No, you wouldn't, you planned on covering your ears.

"____," Yoongi says your name firmly and your whole body goes rigid. Your imagination is running off with you again. Of all times, seriously? "stop acting childish. I need you to sing the part while I play, to get a good feel of how it will sound."

You shake your head, actual panic setting in as you finally stand back up, turning to face him, "No, I don't want the piano in the song."

"Why are you just now saying this? I've been working on this all week."

"I-I-" You frantically scour your brain for an alibi, "I just don't wanna!" You cringe at the stupid excuse and watch nervously as Yoongi narrows his eyes at you.

"Are you six years old? Come on," He starts to walk towards the hallway.

"I don't like the piano! Okay?! Can't you just leave it be!" You scream, the sheer terror you felt finally emerging in your voice and shocking Yoongi to a halt. Tears began streaming down your face rapidly. You probably looked ridiculous, crying over a damn piano, an object that couldn't even physically harm you, but you're unable to control your tears.

"____,"

You drop your laptop onto the couch and without saying a word you rush back around the couch and past Yoongi, heading for the door. Hoping he won't follow, you slam the door behind you just to hear it open again a second later. 

"____, stop!" You push the elevator button several times, urgently praying that it gets there soon while you try your best to quell your inner trauma, "We don't have to include the piano. I can find something else."  You stare blankly at the elevator doors, "Hey," He reaches for you, his hand landing on your shoulder. 

You jerk your arm away and when you speak it's barely above a whisper, "Just leave me alone."

He watches you for a moment before hesitantly bringing his hand up to your face, turning you to look at him. You let him wipe your tears before pushing his hand away, "Fine, I'll take the stairs."

He stops you, grabbing your wrist, "Are you seriously angry over a fucking piano? What's next? A harmonica?"

You let out a dry laugh, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Alright," You yank your wrist away from him, "I'm done with this. Don't expect me to show up here anymore." You head ticks to the side before you turn on your heels to take the stairs, "I'd rather fail."

"Yah, ____!" You ignore him, but you can hear him following you just before his hand grabs yours, stopping you in your tracks again, "You-"

Your phone cuts him off, ringing loudly, and filling the thick air around the two of you. You pull your hand out of his, ignoring the way it makes your skin tingle. You reach into your pocket for your phone and reject the call, knowing exactly who it is without looking at the caller ID.

"Who was that?" Yoongi leans toward you, trying to get a peek at your phone, but you push him away by his chest.

"It's none of your business." 

He doesn't respond, his hard eyes just glancing down at the hand that's now against his chest. When Yoongi gets close to you - you can't think properly, so the further the better, but when he lifts his eyes back to yours, you realize that the physical contact is much worse than the lack of space. 

Your face blossoms with color and you quickly try to yank your hand away, recalling where your mind took you last night. Yoongi is quicker though as his fingers wrap around your wrist. You hold your breath, praying that he can't hear how loudly your heart is beating as his eyes bore into yours. All you can do is stare back, unable to move, say, or do anything. It's like he's a magnet and you're metal.

He moves in closer until you can feel his minty breath against your lips and you inhale sharply when his long fingers gently graze against your forearm. Unconsciously, your hand fist his shirt, your eye's still refusing to leave his intense ones as he begins to close the space between you, "Do you want me to stop?"

Your other hand moves up to his shoulder, gripping tightly as if willing yourself to push him away, but it's as if all your strength has left your body and you can't. His hand moves up to your jaw, his thump caressing your flushed skin, and your eyes flutter shut at the feeling. It's nothing like you'd imagined, completely different. He's way more intoxicating.

"If you want me to stop, all you have to do it say so." When his lips move you can almost feel them brush against yours from the close proximity - the space between you disappearing as his lips meet yours and any ounce of logical thought leaves you. You helplessly lean into his warmth and he hums in response. Heat pools in your stomach at the sound and your fingers move through his hair, nails softly grazing against his scalp. It's like the part of you that knows how wrong this is has evaporated. It isn't until his tongue swipes against your bottom lip that you feel yourself fall back to reality.

You pull away from him like you've been burned, noticing the tears brimming in your eyes only after the fact. The longer you look up at Yoongi the more hysterical you become. 

"I-" He stops, his eyes falling on your neck, "Where did those come from?"

"I-I need to leave." You push past him just as the elevator doors open, ignoring the simmering rage you caught in his voice as it made you feel like someone had just tugged on your heart.

"____-"

"You have a girlfriend, Yoongi!" Your second outburst of the day causes him to flinch and pull his hand away from your arm, "I'm leaving."

You want to throw up, bang your head against a wall, and reprimand yourself on how utterly stupid you are all at once. All you really do wis click the button for the first floor though, while avoiding looking back up at Yoongi.

"I'm sorry."

That's the last thing you hear before the doors close and the elevator begins carrying you down.

.

.

.

a/n: plz go easy on me this is my first time attempting any form of smut and i had to rewrite it several times cause it made me a lil nervous 😖👉👈

@team-work-made-the-dream-work @seokchella @crackhead1-800 @chogiyeol-utopia @thatchampagnebitch  @jeonchan26

[hananario-oh]

My Dearest.

The snow was cold. Well, obviously. It was snow. This snow however, was biting. Most of her legs were numb. The few bits that weren't, prickled with sharp tingles that probably weren't good.

Twelve hours. Twelve long, hard, cold hours. Were they even coming back? Was it worth leaving? The tent wasn't enough to keep her warm and the fire, though probably the only reason she was still alive, wasn't enough. The storm was slowly picking up again. The wind would soon blow out the pathetic flames of the little fire, if it could last much longer on the last of the firewood left. More embers now than wood.

Had they left her? The thought again crossed her mind. As sharp as the pain in her cheeks, as scary as the idea of the storm hitting full force. No. They wouldn't, couldn't have left her. It was a death sentence to be left out here, miles away from town. Up in the high woods, secluded. Granted, those people seemed... Foolish. Immature even but surely they knew if they left someome up here in the snow with a storm brewing with nothing but a tent and a dwindling fire that they would die?

Or maybe, she was the fool. For trusting people she'd met not even two days ago. For agreeing to go camping without even checking to see the weather. For not seeing anything wrong with them leaving to fetch alcohol. For waiting so damn long before questioning why they had not returned. By car, after all, it was half hour on a straight path.

They should have returned. But they weren't going to, were they...

At that thought, the fire caved in on itself. The bits of wood charred and broken, unable to burn any longer, gave way. The smoldering bits left offered no heat, simply smoke and little crackling noises that proved it was over.

That was it.

Standing from the entrance of the tent, a last glance around to see if anyone had returned. If anyone had left anything to come back for. If anyone was... If anyone was here to save her. But no.

Alone.

Abandoned.

And the storm was going to hit soon. By foot, an hour would easily pass before the walls of town would come to view from the tree line.

Leaving camp would be a risky game, but staying would be loosing without even trying.

It only took a few minutes before the tent was out of site. Before the trees got thicker, providing some shelter. Luckily the path was clear enough. Thick enough. If luck was on her side...

Not that it was though.

No more than ten minutes in something was wrong. Something felt wrong. Dangerous even. Why were things so quiet? A stupid question to ask in the woods but it felt wrong. There was a lack of noise, the wildlife was silent. Because of the storm perhaps? Maybe even the animals weren't dumb enough to be out in this. Maybe it was just her.

Lost in thought, it was a shock to suddenly see the car they had all travelled in ahead. The relief was unbelievable. Like a rock had been lifted from her chest and dark clouds from her mind. Smiling, she couldn't help herself as she started to run towards it.

Of course they hadn't left her! They were on their way back! They were- stopping, something was still wrong. Relief suddenly became awareness and confusion.

The car. The car was facing away from her. Towards town. Not coming back. And the doors, two were open. A quick glance around and there was more wrong with the picture. Off to the side, a boot led alone and covered with a thing layer of snow.

No. That wasn't... This wasn't right. What was going on here? Slowly, approaching the car, fear was starting to crash down inside her chest. The anxiety building like a knot in her stomach. The cold all but forgotten. The doors in the front were open and the windows in the back were smashed. The engine still turning over, as if it had been left in a hurry. Around the car were footprints but the other marks, like drag marks, seemed so prominent. Claw marks away from the car into the bushes.

Backing away, the feeling of a panic attack was rising. What the hell had happened? Were they attacked? By what? They weren't that far away from camp and in a car. What thing would be able to stop the car and drag them off like that?

Were there bears here? Wouldn't they be hibernating? Or was it too early or late? Hell, how would a bear even stop a car?

This couldn't be happening. Shaking her head, the feeling of the blood draining from her face swept over. This was some kind of prank, surely. The process of thought kick started. There had to be a reason. A set up or something. It was strange enough that a random group of college students took a liking to her, the lone one who liked classical music and art, let alone invite her to go camping.

No, this was... This had to be some TV show or youtube prank or blog prank or something.

Turning around, she looked into the trees.

"Guys," her voice travelled, bouncing in the empty trees, "guys come on. Zeke? Marie? Uh, you there?" God, what were the other two names? The tall guys name slipped her mind, and the other girl, Beth?

Suddenly it dawned how little she'd knew about the stangers she'd gone off with. The stupid thing was that it had felt natural almost to give in to the urge to be with the popular type kids and go with the flow. Yet all she knew was that it had gone wrong and now there was no name to a face she had trusted, just the knowledge that she'd fucked up and something was terribly wrong. Why had she even done this? What was wrong with books and music and movies and just being her secluded self?

Lost in thought, it was the ice cold chill that run down her spine that spun her, attention now on the tree line to her side, where the drag marks led to.

Oh god. What had she done? If something had dragged them off, she had called out and led it back to her!

Fuck!

Frantically looking about, there was no where to hide. The car, while some protection normally, clearly didn't stop it. Still, alone in the woods there were few options.

Something was there, she felt it. Climbing into the car, over the glass on the back seat, it was all she had in her to hide in the leg space. Heart pounding, the drum noise echod inside her own head. This nightmare, this disaster, was it real? In the quiet, footsteps fell. Gentle but firm, crunching. In the haze of doubt in her brain that this was even real, all focus numbed, her eyes staring unknowingly at the stain on the car seat. Dark and splattered, the finger marks clear. Dragged away out the window. Blood, drying and frozen at the same time. Beating faster, her heartbeat louder and louder, head swimming in numbess and fear. Unknowingly tears slowly fell.

The cold, back again, felt heavy. The energy to move left her, leaving it easy to stay tucked away. Ignoring the cramps of hiding in such a small space. Eyes still locked on the dark red patch, heart pounding. The air so cold in her lungs. The footsteps, so much closer. Gently, her eyes closed. The red stain still there, hauntingly bright behind her lids.

Glass, gently grunched under foot. Holding her breath, mind suddenly clear, she felt the soft touch of a hand on her cheek, gliding under her chin, pulling her head back. Marble. Soft yet hard, smooth and cool. A touch like no other.

Eyes flying upen, the light of the sun behind them blinded her, only to fade away and leave shadows again. The mist of her breath floated up towards him, almost shrouding his face, only to fade to nothing before it reached him.

Red orbs, glinting brightly despite the cover of the car he leaned into, red and stunning. Dangerous though alluring. Blurry with tears, she saw them. She saw him. Stunning and real, a devil on earth who stole the form of man. A beauty to behold, handsome and beautiful. Enough to lure.

He leaned forwards, his eyes never leaving hers, his lips parted slightly, a distraction she never tried to fight.

"To my suprise I lose a meal. Yet gain something far more valuable. My dearest, don't cry."

His hand moved, leaving her face to gently wipe a tear, then reaching down to her hand, pulling her up. Without a struggle, he pulled her out. Neither he nor herself came into contact with glass, one swift move with strength beyond expected. Stunned and confused, she couldn't look away. He moved a lock of hair away, tucking behind her ear. A deep breathe and he smiled. Fear was gripping her insides, yet she stood, enveloped in this mans existence like he was the air she needed. Another stranger, dangerous and something else. This time though, it was no choice. Deep inside stirred, an instinct and she knew, he was something for her. Good or bad, he was for her.

"I returned for desert, yet found blood that sings to me. How precious you became so quickly. Forgive me please, for your friends and the life that is about to befall you, forgive me..."

Shaking her head, the fact he implied he did something passed in her head, the notion of things to come held attention.

"They... They weren't my... I hardly knew them. Befall me?" Her voice quivered. Something of fear and unknown, yet excited and stunned. The feel of his hands on her back, the cold, different to the coldness of the snow, brought life to the skin beneath her clothes. It was like a spell had been cast. Why wasn't she afraid like before, why wasn't she trying to run?

He smiled, something that caught her by suprise. Her heart lurched at the sight. Had she made him smile?

He looked off to the forest, looking off far as if he could see through the darkness.

"Then I suppose you'll bear no grudge for what we did. Now, come. They wait for me, for us. My name is Demetri. This will not be easy for you my love, but it must happen now. My dearest."

And like that, the car was gone, he held her as he ran through the trees, blurs of greens and whites, ground and trees. This was dangerous, but better than being alone. All she could do was grip him and hide. What was to come?

Demetri...

Demetri...

Oh lord.

[crimsonbluemoon]

Working For Love: A Terrormoo Story, 3/17

Look! I did it on a Saturday! Aren’t you proud of me?? Hope you enjoy it!

Previous part

Start from the beginning

Drabble Three

Brock hated Wednesdays. 

Or rather, he felt Wednesdays had it out for him. They were the longest shift of his week, for starters. The weekly team meeting was pointless, the students were always cranky, and somehow mid-term grades always ended up being due on a Wednesday. 

Like today, for example, which was why Brock was showing up at the gym two hours later than normal. It was also the busiest day at the gym, and despite every effort he tried to use to get himself up in the morning to go early, he never managed it. Though there was a light at the end of the tunnel coming up (the school’s spring break started Friday), it didn’t give Brock any extra motivation to haul himself out of his car in order to enter the gym. Even from outside, he could see that the gym was packed. His anxiety about working out around people had waned a bit since the first time he’d mustered the courage to go to the gym, and he’d even been able to exchange small conversation with both Evan and Tyler (on the rare occasion the owner scanned him in). He’d been able to avoid the hot gym guy since his last two ‘run-ins’, over two weeks since he’d seen any hint of him. 

But when Brock entered the gym and caught sight of the handsome employee, he felt the breath evacuate his lungs in a rush. 

“Oh.” The word barely came out as a whisper, eyes glued to the man casually scrolling through his phone at the counter. “Of course. It’s Wednesday.” 

Hump day really had it out for him.

His hand tightened on his water bottler out of reflex, wondering if he’d catch more attention walking out as soon as he walked in. The guy would see him, and it’d just make Brock’s desperate need to avoid any contact with him even more obvious. But what else was he going to do? As far as Brock could see, Evan and Tyler were nowhere to be found, and Nogla didn’t work weekdays. He needed to get scanned in to use the gym, and he didn’t want to skip. Despite still carrying around a lump of insecurity and self-deprecation (he didn’t like looking in mirrors for long, even if the scales implied he’d lost ten pounds), coming to the gym was a second nature to him now. And more importantly, it made him feel good. Smiling didn’t feel as forced anymore. Despite the increased amount of laundry and sore muscles, he didn’t need as many pep talks to get out of his car. The improvements were small, but they meant something. He meant something. 

And it didn’t matter if hot gym guy failed to see the truth, because Brock was better than that. 

“Um, hello.” Except all the false bravado was quick to take a nosedive when finally forcing himself to approach the front desk. He wasn’t even sure his voice had carried enough to catch the distracted man’s attention, and he bit his lip to keep his anxiety from shouting out another greeting. Barely a moment passed before he was caught in the man’s surprised stare, and mentally Brock cursed at himself for feeling the heat start to swell in his face. How did something as simple as a look cause a chain reaction in him so quickly? The guy hadn’t even said anything yet! Brock prayed the embarrassment wasn’t too obvious as he swallowed and held up his card, his smile as shaky as the breath he let out. “I just… can you scan me in, please?”

“Scan you- oh! Right, yeah, fuck just lemme-” The card was plucked from Brock’s fingers as the employee ran the barcode under the red light, his eyes only pulling away from Brock to look at the screen. He hadn’t meant to watch the other man so intently, but he was grateful for it when he caught the small dip of shoulders paired with a laugh. “Brock, huh? So that’s your name.” 

“Is… that a problem?” He fought the urge to snatch the card from the other’s hand and high-tail it out of the gym. Though there was no reason for Brock to be so on edge at the moment, his spine wouldn’t relax and his skin felt hot. 

“No, not at all. It’s a great name, just- I’ve been trying to figure it out.” The admission came out with such ease, Brock wasn’t sure he heard it correctly. But with the sheepish grin and shoulder shrug sent his way, that seemed unlikely. “I was bout’ to go through the entire database to figure it out.” 

“Did you need to contact me for something with my membership card?” His logical and emotional brain waged war over how dumb the question was. When hot gym guy showed confusion and shook his head, Brock leaned to ‘very very dumb please stop talking’. Nogla worked here; if they needed anything, why would they send hot gym guy? He spoke to his landlord that morning! Where did his brain go? Brock’s laugh was higher than normal to cover his panic, and he wanted to steal the time stone from Doctor Strange just to erase the past sixty seconds.

“Just wanted to know your name.” Despite his internal panic, hot gym guy didn’t seem bothered, and the smile he’d given once learning his name only grew in size. “If you’re going to be around a lot, I thought we should probably be on a first name basis. My plan was to say hi during one of your workouts, but you always look so focused and I didn’t wanna distract you.” 

“Sorry!” He blurted out the apology with a wince. The pieces of the truth started to fall into place. Of course this guy wanted to know who he was; he was causing some sort of scene. The fact that the employee had to reach out to him because he’d noticed Brock’s weird routine was terrible. Had he started singing again? Mini has always teased him in high school about humming or mouthing lyrics whenever he was focused on something. Had that transferred to the new task, too?  

“Sorry for what? Impressing me?” 

“W-what?” 

“Because if I’m being honest, you’re really inspiring to watch.” The genuine shine in the blue hue proved he meant what he said, and the hot gym guy nodded his head toward Brock’s favorite treadmill. “Everytime I get to see you working up a sweat over there, it makes me wanna go hit the weights or work harder on my leg lifts.”

“How? You’re in such good shape and I’m-” Too many negative words filled his head as he stared at the frown that took over the other’s mouth. He didn’t know what word to describe himself with, but he wasn’t given time to decide. 

“You don’t have to be a bodybuilder to be a motivation. Just showing you’re not giving up is better than any of them roid rage idiots always showing off their muscles. You’re like my pick-me-up, if that makes sense. Real and dedicated. And that’s why I wanted to learn your name.”

“Oh, wow I…” To say the explanation was unexpected would have been an understatement, and Brock couldn’t keep his shock off his face. The heat of a blush rose onto his cheeks again, but he didn’t try to hide it. It felt wrong to cover up his genuine reaction when the gym member’s words were said with such vulnerable honesty. The chuckle he got in response was low but not malicious, and he needed to blink twice before realizing his membership card was being held out for him to take. “Um, thanks. For both of those things.”

“Not a problem, Brock.” It seemed like the man enjoyed saying his name now that he knew it, leaning forward over the counter with a smirk. “And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to come get me, okay? I know this place like the back of my hand, so I can pretty much tell you anything you want to know.”

“I-I’ll be fine!” His mind shifted far too fast to something he wanted to do with this man, though barbells stance and row stations had little to do with it. 

Fighting a new blush for his internal lewdness, Brock rushed through a goodbye before he moved away from the desk, hoping the snicker he heard behind him wasn’t because of his quick retreat. He set himself up onto the treadmill and selected his choices before finally caving in to his impulses, turning a side glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, hot gym guy was looking at him, leaned on the frontdesk with no hint of mockery. Brock nearly busted his eardrum from shoving in his headphones too hard when ducking his head, knowing his mind was far too frazzled to fully concentrate on his walk. The music played background noise to his thoughts, which raced and ricocheted in every crevice of his head. Emotions scattered like marbles through his veins, able to slip through any attempt to grasp onto one for dissection. What was he supposed to do when someone like hot gym guy said-

And then suddenly, his chaotic mind jammed to a halt on one mind-blowing thought.

I never asked for his name. 

Panicked, Brock looked back at the front desk, seeing the man in question back on his phone. He could catch the outline of the nametag on his chest, but from how far he was, there wasn’t a clear sight on what the letters said. And he couldn’t go back over there now; he’d just ran away! Hot gym guy would think he was crazy. 

“Just look when you leave,” he muttered to himself, trying to keep his focus on the treadmill in front of him. Not once during his workout did he give into his urge to look over at the front desk. He blared his music loudly and kept his eyes trained on the moose documentary playing on the screen. So focused, he didn’t notice Evan switch out with the other man until after said guy was gone. Too embarrassed (and worried he’d look like a stalker) to ask Evan his co-worker’s name, Brock muttered a weak goodbye before shoving himself into his car and driving home.  

He really hated Wednesdays.

Brock is such a spirit animal. I feel him too much. But I hope you all enjoyed the drabble, cause this was a cute one to write! Please let me know what you think, and I’ll see y’all next week. As always, like and reblog! <3

[tss-ragnarok-au]

Chapter 2

Warnings: Swearing, Death mentions, Food/Eating, Sleep deprivation

Word Count: 1,333

Author’s Note: A wild Virge has appeared!

Virgil was absolutely 100% fucked. There was no way he was getting out of this one. Being lost in the woods was one thing, eventually, if he kept walking in one direction long enough, he’d make it out. Being lost and alone with something following him in the woods was something else entirely.  Oh, and the last few days he’d been hearing voices! That was new. So he’d decided, why not? Let’s follow the voices.  

Unfortunately, whatever was following him also found that idea just swell. Therefore, still screwed. 

So he carried on as death loomed over him, he knew it would come, but he didn’t know when, and at this point giving up was just sad. It was like high school. Nine months ago he wouldn’t have said anything was worse than high school but this qualified. Wasn’t worse than gym though. 

Still, the gym didn’t have underbrush that trips you up and tree branches that grab at your legs. The monster was closer than ever… should he really start running now? Shit- yeah he should start running. He got about two steps into that plan before he rammed into a disturbingly warm tree. Wide blue eyes blinked at him in surprise.

Not a tree, not a tree. 

“You’re human!” The person(?) said as a huge smile split his(?) face. Wow, he(?) really did look like another kid… but looks can be deceiving.

“And what are you?” Virgil hissed, pulling out of reach.

“Patton!” The kid held out his hand but Virgil didn’t move, “Oh, I’m human too.” 

Before Virgil could decide what to do with the outstretched hand, a garbled growl sounded from behind him, making him whip around and accidentally stumble backwards into… Patton.

“Oh, excuse me for a moment.” the strange boy stepped in front of Virgil, in between him and the pair of glowing eyes glinting from the trees. “Would you please leave us be?” Patton then proceeded to throw a very large rock quite violently  in the direction of the eyes. One dull thunk and a whimper later, whatever had been following Virgil all this way was gone. Just like that. Made Virgil feel real good about himself. 

“Hey kiddo, do you have somewhere to stay? My friend and I are living right around here, and we’ve got plenty of room.” That wasn’t suspicious. Let’s invite the bumbling idiot that just proved himself entirely incompetent to our secret hideout. Either this boy was stupid, tricking him, or he was way too nice. As much as Virgil wished it was nice, he was gonna go with stupid or evil. Still…

“You have a base?”

“Well,” Patton chuckled, “I dunno about ‘base’ it seems a bit too cozy for that title!”

Cozy. Virgil’s legs quivered at the word. All the adrenaline that had been keeping him going rushed out of him. “Cozy”. It emanated warmth, and happiness. Being wrapped in blankets. Pillow fights. Laughter. Being safe. Feeling home. It was an awful idea to trust something that felt so good. It had to be a trap, it had to be! But it had been days since Virgil had slept. Weeks since he’d had a blanket or a pillow… or a bed. He was afraid he might collapse, or worse, cry, if he tried to resist the offer. All his bitter memories that had sprouted from foolish trust, faded to nothing more than fuzzy sparks of feeling. Not nearly enough to stop him as he nodded. As he allowed Patton to lead him back to a decrepit mansion of a cabin. As he fell deep into the soft blankets, pillows, and dreams.

***

Shit. So.. Virgil might as well accept his demise. Gods he was so stupid! Falling asleep, unprotected, in someone else’s house, he just had to-

There was someone in the corner of the room. It wasn’t even the boy he saw before (unless it totally was because that boy was a shapeshifting monster who was about to eat his brains). Somehow, the figure hadn’t noticed him. He was staring intently at a wall. So Virgil’s brain said, hey, we’re gonna die anyways and decided the best thing to do was get his attention.

“Uh, hi.” Virgil hadn’t noticed how dry his throat was. The words barely came out as a croak. He swallowed and tried again. “Hello?”

The guy (Virgil was gonna call him Sean, he looked like a Sean) in the corner snapped out of his haze. “Hello.” they were in awkward silence for a moment before Sean added, “I’ve never seen someone sleep for twenty five hours before.”

Virgil wasn’t quite sure what he was going to say but it didn’t much matter because his voice refused to function. 

“Logan, by the way,” Sean said, handing him a large glass of water.

Virgil resisted the urge to gulp it all down (last time he’d made that mistake he thought he was having a heart attack), but the water tasted so sweet and cool. He restrained himself to a small sip, and chose his first word to be-

“What?”

“That’s my name.”

“Oh, that’s better than Sean”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing! I just, er...yeah, nothing.”

Logan made eye contact and Virgil could immediately feel the older boy staring into his soul. He suddenly felt like he was about to get detention. Logan broke the stare and gave a small smile.

“And your name?” Virgil figured, eh, they hadn’t killed him when he was entirely defenseless for over a day, they got to know his name.

“Virgil.”

“Funny,” Logan stood to leave, “I had you pinned as a Brandon.”

Virgil could only stare at the closed door. Okay, so maybe Logan was cool.

***

Staring at a closed door suddenly becomes much more exciting when the door opens. It becomes infinitely more exciting when the person who opened it has cookies. The chocolate chip cookies smelled as warm as Patton’s smile. Virgil didn’t trust that smile yet, as much as he wanted to, but his stomach was rumbling and if his mouth watered any more he would choke. You see, Virgil was fully aware at this point that he had made several poor decisions, so what’s just one more in the good name of cookies? So he sat up straighter (heh) and tried his best to stare even harder at the delicious platter.

“Are you sure the first things he should be eating a-” Logan’s voice coming from somewhere downstairs was cut off by Patton innocently shutting the door (so they were definitely different people). 

“Do ya-” he paused for a moment noticing how intensely Virgil was eyeing the baked goods, “Do you want a cookie?” he finished, just a hint of fear in his voice. 

“YesIwouldlikeacookie” Dammit Virgil, you desperate sweet-toothed bitch. Patton, apparently amused by Virgil’s cookie-simping antics, picked out the largest and most buttery of the cookies. Dear lord, Virgil might cry. Every instinct in him was screaming, a warm bed, a place to stay, and cookies? It had to be too good to be true. It probably was. More importantly though, he now had a cookie. 

It was even better than he could have ever imagined. However stubbornly agnostic Virgil was, the only way he could describe the cookie was heavenly. In all honesty he could have gone on for hours about it, how the butter felt like sunlight shining through a window onto a velvety carpet, where you could lay for hours, how the melted chocolate chips made his heart warm like a fireplace too late at night casting a soft orange glow over laughing faces. (I’ll spare you the rest).

In short, it was tasty. 

And it wasn’t poisoned.

Actually Logan and Patton had made exactly zero attempts on his life. And… Virgil really needed a safe place to live if until everything blows over. He choked down his anxiety and just asked

“Would you...er, can-can I stay here? Like, for a while?”

This time Patton’s grin was a whole lot less scary. 

***

Asks are now open for Virgil too!

***

@whats-up-kiddos @ananonsplace @ollyollyoxinfree @arya-skywalker and @supernovainthenightsky could you let me know if y’all want me to keep tagging you?

[motleymoose]

Lukewarm Endearments at Best

Fandom: Supernatural Characters: Gender Neutral!Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester (mention) Words: 2800+ Warnings: Flangst

It had been a long time coming.

Dad had always been a traveler. When he was home, he was a novelty to me, a stranger who was familiar yet so dang mysterious that it surprised me every single time my name came to his lips. Like, even as a little kid I didn’t think he’d know me from Adam unless I was right next to Mama.. And it wasn’t like I really knew him, either. How can you know someone who’s been on the road, away from you, for most of your life? Heck, when Mama passed, I didn’t even see him for at least 18 months.

Of course, he sauntered back into my life as if nothing had happened in that intervening year and a half, like I hadn’t been forced to become a responsible adult right on the cusp of 17, shirking high school, colleges and relationships in order to keep myself from drowning in debt and despair. I was angry, and I said some things I’m not proud to repeat. And like the distant, abstract saint that my father has always been, he stood there, stoically taking the tongue lashing I had saved up for him. Through all of it, I could feel my own grief growing deeper. I had lost my mother, but I realized I never really had a father to begin with. John Winchester had been a wandering canvas that I could project my ideals of fatherhood onto, and I had always been too caught up in my own little world to recognize that he was just as human as me.

Apparently a little too human. As I let my anger burn low and my voice grow quiet, Dad looked straight into my red-rimmed eyes and said he was sorry for what he was about to say. I told him that I wasn’t going to apologize for anything that I just told him, and he shook his head sadly.

“Listen, Y/N/N,” he started, and I watched as his eyes became distant and misty. “I’ve done a lot of shit I’m not proud of, and a huge part of it is how I’ve treated my family in the past.”

I snorted and began to speak, but he held up a hand to stop me. “Please, let me finish.”

“‘Kay,” I snapped.

He cleared his throat a little before continuing. “I’m not going to be around for much longer, and I want to know that, before I go, you are taken care of.”

“Oh, like you took care of me when Mama died? Thanks, but I‘m good.”

Dad flinched, his eyes darting guilty to his boots. “That couldn’t be help-”

My face grew hot. “‘Couldn’t be helped?’ Fucksake, Dad. You left us high and dry as soon as you heard the diagnosis!” I couldn’t be around him anymore, didn’t even want to be on the same planet I was so done with him. I forcefully concentrated on jamming my feet into my running shoes, fighting back the tears pressing behind my eyes. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m going for a run, see yourself out.”

I slammed the door shut behind me, and that was the last time I ever saw my father.

-----

It wasn’t until last month that I’d read Dad had died. He’d been gone for over a decade. The obituary mentioned two surviving sons, but I was so caught up in probing the ancient scar of anger that my brain barely registered the fact. I found the old anger was weak from disuse, my coffee was cold, and I didn’t feel one damn thing either way about him. It was like reading the obits of a stranger. I felt no guilt, no anger, no grief, and I was able to quickly brush it off and carry on.

It didn’t hit me until a day later, in the middle of a crossword puzzle, that I had brothers.

After rereading Dad’s obituary, I decided to find these so-called brothers of mine. I guess I was lonely, and maybe some of the old anger was beginning to rekindle. I had a family of friends, those whom I could lean on when things got shitty, and I loved every one of them. But there was a kernel of curiosity planted in my brain, the urge to know who my brothers were and if they were anything at all like Dad… or me.

It wasn’t exactly simple to find my brothers but it wasn’t that difficult either; just like with me and Mama, Dad had set up his other family in a nice little neighborhood of a smaller city. White picket fence and everything. It didn’t last long, apparently. The house burned down with the wife still inside. But at least the kids got out alright and his precious car was saved. It was a deadend after that, no honor roll or sports write-ups mentioning a Sam or Dean Winchester could be found in any of my searches. Which was weird.

Weirder still was the FBI wanted list.

It wasn’t completely by accident that I stumbled upon Sam and Dean pouting lasciviously at the camera. Two photos, posted side by side in an archive buried under another archive stuck in a clunky footer menu. These files were hidden so deep in the government website that it took several days and one very long night to dig through all of the archived information. It was as if someone didn’t want anyone to find them. But there they were. No one could mistake the striking resemblance between me and the Winchester brothers. Same sharp nose, same alluring eyes, same crooked smile that must’ve broken at least a thousand hearts collectively. Obviously, I had better hair and fashion sense than either one of them, but that was all thanks to my mom.

Anyway, after the criminal reports came the death certificates. And after the death certificates and official police statements, I was at a loss for what to do. I knew in my gut that they were still out there, alive and raising Hell, but I couldn’t explain it nor find any evidence to disprove the official reports.

But after months and months of bum-diddly squat, a desperate hour of carnal need led me to something so fucking obvious, I wouldn’t have believed it if it has strolled up and bit me in the ass.

Dean Winchester was on Tinder.

Shrieking in surprise and triumph, I swiped right so fast that my finger would have left Grease Lightning in the dust. Yes, it was delightfully improper that I was pretending to not be related to him, but there wasn’t another option that came to mind to officially make his and Sam’s acquaintance. And I really wanted to compare notes on our father. And maybe punch one of them in the face. But I was beginning to get ahead of myself before I even got a response, my anxiety ratcheting my inner dialogue up to eleven.

<i>Aw hell,</i> I realized, this is a questionable and highly unorthodox way to meet your brothers in person. What if he swipes left? What if it’s not actually Dean but a catfish? It took a moment to scrub my mind of an actual catfish typing on a keyboard, but then I was back on track to berating myself. How could you think this plan was anything but sloppy at best? It’s almost inconceivable that-

bing!

The doubt dissipated as soon as I peeked at my phone.

Dean had swiped right!

Wait, Dean had swiped right. Which meant he was probably coming into this meeting with wildly different expectations than me. Dread trickled down my spine and into my already roiling stomach.

Thanks a lot, brain, I thought darkly, willfully ignoring the warnings flashing through my head. “No use in worrying about things that probably wouldn’t happen,” I growled. It was a quote that I often fell back on, but it never gave me any solace, probably because it was said by someone who had never had anxiety.

I shook the tension out of my hands before replying to his winky-kiss emoji. I bluntly suggested that we meet up at a tiny coffee shop not far from the main shopping district of a nearby town. If worse came to worst, at least I’d have a bunch of people at hand to witness my abduction.

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

A few hours and a double shot of whisky later, I was standing in line at the meeting place. I’d just given the barista my order when I felt a light tap on my shoulder.

“Y/N?” Dean asked quietly, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. He’d sidled up beside me while I had been making small talk with the barista, taking me slightly by surprise.

“You must be Dean, then!” I said, a little too brightly. Rein it in, Y/L/N, I chided myself. Readjusting my features, I gave him a pleasantly bland smile and gestured for him to order. After he was finished, he paid for both our drinks and took the lead to a table in a shadowy corner of the coffee shop. Plunking himself down in the booth, he gave a casual stretch and motioned for me to join him.

I pasted on another innocuous smile and took the seat opposite him. He shrugged off the slight and leaned forward, arms resting on the table. His entire body language was so overly nonchalant I was afraid he was going to fall asleep. “So tell me about yourself, Y/N,” his voice was soft and warm, his eyes twinkling suggestively.

Yep, big nope and a nuh-uh, that’s gotta stop. “Well, I’m a librarian by trade, I’m a cat person who also happens to be a Sagittarius, and,” I caught my breath, my brain hunting for something a little less blunt than ‘you’re my brother.’ “You're my brother.” The words fell out of my fucking mouth before I even had a chance to soften the blow. It took me months to find these guys, and my big mouth goes and forgets all forms of subtlety. The anger and frustration at Dad had built up so much inside me that I was having a hard time controlling my feelings, and now I could add embarrassment to the pile. And I never not have control over my feelings. Sometimes.

Dean sat back, stunned. He started to speak, fumbled over several words, and then shut his mouth. I waited patiently while his brain processed the information. It took a few minutes for him to break the silence. “I gotta make a phone call.” Dean stood up from the booth, shaking his head in disbelief, and stepped away from the table as he tapped something into his phone.

“No worries, I’ll be here when you get back.” I waved to him, all innocence and sweetness. He glanced back at me with furrowed brows and stomped off, whispering aggressively into his phone.

“That went better than expected,” I muttered to myself as I happily accepted our coffees from a rather bemused waiter.

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

Half an hour later, Dean returned. He didn’t look at all surprised that I had drank his coffee for him, only a little hurt. I would have pointed out that I’d saved him the trouble of finding it lukewarm and bitter, but the tension in the air was so thick around him that I thought better of it. Behind him, I caught a glimpse of Sam, the younger brother, ducking through the door and giving the baristas a friendly wave.

“Ooh, are we having a family reunion?” I sniped, feeling annoyed that I hadn’t even had a conversation with Dean yet and he was already calling in for backup. “You’ll have to excuse me for my earlier remarks, but I don’t like to beat around the bush.”

He quirked an eyebrow at Sam and frowned. The taller one rolled his eyes and took the chair beside me. Dean slid back into the booth. I was surrounded, but that didn’t matter. What mattered most was confirmation. And I wasn’t going to get that by just staring at them. I opened my mouth to speak, but Sam beat me to it.

“This is… quite the claim, Y/N,” he started, kindly. I could almost see the gears turning in his head as he tried to process having another sibling. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that it isn’t possible-”

Dean butted in, gruffly. “What my brother is getting at is that this isn’t exactly our first rodeo.”

Sam looked at him in worn exasperation, but shook off the comment. “Like I was saying, it isn’t impossible that you could be a long lost sibling, but… do you have any proof?”

It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out the few pictures I had of Dad and me, plus photos of him and Mama I had shot when they weren’t paying attention. A knot was forming in my throat, but I forced it back down with a sip of ice water.

Sam and Dean each took a few of the photos, riffling through them like they weren’t my only link to a man that I barely knew. Dean stopped at one and nudged Sam. It was the one of me and my mom standing in front of Dad’s black muscle car, big grins pasted on our faces and dripping snow cones melting in our hands. I was 13 and still enamored with the idea of having a traveling father, too self-centered and self-conscious to think about the reason why he wasn’t around like all the other dads. The bittersweet memories of disappointment and otherness began to creep into my brain, sewing the chaos of sadness in their wake.

Taking a gulp of the ice water, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand to cover the frown pulling at the corners of my mouth. “That’s at the county fair. It was one of the longest times I’d remember ever being around him,” I said with a not-so-subtle tinge of bitterness in my voice. “He wasn’t exactly the type to come to the all-school play, or even stick around for more than a weekend.”

The brothers exchanged a look again. I was starting to get annoyed with that look; it was a secret language between siblings that I had never gotten the chance to experience because my father had kept us secret from one another. He had known that we all existed, had even <i>lived</i> with his two families at different times, apparently. I had never thought of Dad as selfish before, but the more I thought about it, the more I could see that he was just as much of a bastard as I had believed since reaching adulthood. The angry part of me was beginning to confuse the more rational side of my brain, and I needed to get the answers I sought before my inner voices started a war inside my head.

While I sat there fighting with my inner, angrier self, Sam and Dean had been in quiet conversation, heads bent close over the picture. Dean flipped it over to the other side, and frowned at my mom’s scrawled writing on the back. “This says it was taken in the summer of ‘94, which means you’re…” he stopped, forehead scrunched as he concentrated on his fingers.

“I’m about to turn 39, if that’s what you’re trying to figure out,” I replied, my knees bouncing from the stress and anxiety ravaging my nervous system.

Dean’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “That can’t be right. Sammy? Right?” I could tell he was floored by the math. If I was 38, that meant I was born between their birthdays. And if that was the case, Dad had a lot more to answer for than just being crappy at his parental role.

Sorting through the photos again, Sam didn’t respond right away. He was lining them up in chronological order, studiously checking every detail.

“Sam!” Dean said sharply, nudging his brother’s elbow.

“Huh? Oh, right.” Sam’s eyes refocused on my face, but I could tell he wasn’t really seeing me. The evidence of my existence was plain on my features, and they would have to be fools to not see my resemblance to our father.

After a while, I began to get fidgety again. “Listen, guys,” I said as I stood up and gathered my things. “It’s been a real pleasure, but it’s getting late. Besides,” pausing, I looked both of them square in the eyes, “I’m sure you two have a lot to discuss.”

Turning, I threaded my way to the exit and made it just outside the door when Dean caught up to me.

“Y/N, wait.” He tapped my shoulder again, and I pivoted to meet his gaze. “If what you say is true, and you are in fact family. Well,” he glanced back at Sam who was coming out behind him. “We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

[letterstotheone-whomilovemost]

12/31/2020 (14 months after the event)

Happy New Years!

It has been a rather weird year, hasn’t it? While some days from this year feel like they were only yesterday, others feel like half a decade ago. To be quite frank, the same applies to the last time I saw you. I’m sure if you saw this you would go “blah blah, you say the same thing every time you write.” While this is true, I can’t help it. I started taking new medication, as of 14 days ago. My psychiatrist, I have one of those now-- along with a therapist haha, recommended me getting put on escitalopram for my severe anxiety. It’s always been pretty bad, but over the course of the past 14 months, it has skyrocketed pretty high. Isn’t it strange how our minds develop as we get older? Survival of the fittest? Or is it just adaptation? The human body is pretty neat, let alone our brain. 

I was going through my photos the other day, and got the sudden urge to delete all of them. Of course, I’m not as crazy as just upright deleting them-- so I uploaded all of them onto a drive, and then deleted them from my phone. All of them. Decided it was time for a fresh start, why not start with the one thing I open every day, right? I decided earlier today, about a week after I deleted all of my photos, that I would go into my drive to try and find a photo from September that I downloaded from a manga I was reading. Of course I got sidetracked, I scrolled to 2014 and was going through all of my old photos with my brother and my family, and then suddenly I got to 2017 and there it was. The black and white photo of you and I at the parking deck, both of us laughing as hard as we possibly could. I smiled softly of course, as the beautiful memory came rushing over me. But then something hit me. For some reason, this isn’t how I remember you. My brain forgot what you looked like, or at least started trying to. It’s been about a year since I last saw a photo of you. While the brain is so incredibly amazing, it has a bad habit of memories starting to fade, especially when it’s a person attached to bad memories as well. It works in some cases, where people are trying to forget-- but even still it does the opposite and leaves the person going “Why can’t I forget you!?”. Strange, right? The human mind is so beautiful. I can still hear you talking to me sometimes, if I try hard enough. Lately, I haven’t been so hard on myself. I’m trying to figure myself out still, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it is okay that I still love you. I know I more than likely always will. That’s what love is, right? Being able to love and never losing that love, no matter what happens. 

All of this being said, I figured I would kind of recap everything that has happened in the wonderful year of 2020. It has been one hell of a ride.

January, the month of my brother’s 15th birthday. He was so happy and we all celebrated his birthday with him the following weekend. We also went hiking the same month, while it was cold; my mother, brother, and I had a blast. This month was mostly just working and being lazy on my off days. I had a fall out with my best friend.

February, I had a love hate relationship with this month. I tried dating someone new, I saw that you had gotten in a relationship two months prior and figured it was time for me to try and move on as well. Needless to say, dude was a douchebag and was a very violent individual. I left him within 3 weeks. My birth father, his newlywed wife, my cousin from my favorite uncle, whom I had never met until then, and I all went to Ruby Falls. It was quite a beautiful journey. Whilst I fought with my father, it turned out to be an okay experience. Later in the month, I ended up getting into a fight with my landlord, who was demanding that I pay extra, even though I was not behind on any payments. I ended up cooperating with them, so that I didn’t lose my home. I celebrated my little sister’s fifth birthday.

March, I lost my job. Millions and millions of other people did as well. Covid-19 struck the world. I took it lightly and just assumed that yet again, the media was blowing things out of proportion. My landlord wasn’t understanding of the fact I was put out of work, along with millions of others. They ended up being generous for the month after I showed them statistics. I ended up being lazy, doing nothing but watching Netflix and Disney plus for the entire month.

April, Corona Virus was boring at this point. We had all been told, “Oh! We’ll all be open for business again in the next two weeks!”. That was the first week of March, and it was now April. The government didn’t give us any kind of help until the last week, so that kind of fucked me. I spent most days laying in bed on TikTok. I also got super into streaming in the beginning of this month, and my platform was finally starting to take off.

May, unemployed for two months. I debated taking a job at a warehouse. Unfortunately, the media deterred me from doing so. There was a spike of cases in my state; it was terrifying. I didn’t leave my house much. I got my dog, for the first time in 4 years. It was beautiful, I cried. He was so happy to be back home. I started a routine of watching anime every morning at 7 am and then going for a walk. I wanted to get back into a daily routine, regardless if I had a job or not. I was falling behind on bills, and I really needed to distract myself. I started getting into digital art, rather than traditional, for the first time ever. I stopped making my music.

June, I reconnected with a lot of old online friends from 2013. It was strange and I didn’t really know how to feel about it. It was nostalgic in a way, spending late nights on discord calls. I didn’t really enjoy it all too much, I felt like it all needed to stay in the past. I started anti-depressants, again. This time it was Prozac. It made me feel extremely drowsy, and made me feel out of body most of the time. I tried to date, again. An old friend that I had from 2013, we reconnected and even though they were out of state, I decided-- “Hey, maybe this will be good for me. I don’t have to worry about them getting aggressive with me, we can take things slow, and we can pace ourselves.” Oh man, if only I knew. He flew down to my state, met the family, was extremely respectful and even stayed in a hotel the first trip. Everything seemed to be going okay.

July, my 21st birthday. Did I drink? No. Sounds crazy, right? I had about half a drink, and decided I just didn’t want any. I had stopped taking my antidepressants, the new boyfriend had said that I wasn’t acting right. It fed into my suspicion, that the meds weren’t doing a whole lot for me. They were just making me really sleepy and on edge all the time. The new boyfriend had come down again for my birthday and mother’s birthday, since we share the same birth week. Celebrated with my mom, her best friend, and I. July was pretty hectic, since I had decided I would be moving to West Virginia on August 5, 2020.

August, I moved to West Virginia. I packed up all of my belongings, uprooted everything I had ever known, hugged my family goodbye, and got into the back of a truck with a u-haul attached to it. I rode in the back of the vehicle for 14 hours, fell asleep in Kentucky, woke up in Ohio. It was daylight by the time we approached West Virginia. It was so beautiful, all of the mountains. I was moving into the house in which he lived in, which his sister was next door on one side, and his parents on the other side. We had the nice river breeze, since Ohio river was within eyesight. I lived in the Tri-state area so it was Pennsylvania on one side, Ohio on the other, and us-- five minutes to each state. It was a good first couple of days. Then we got into our first fight. I was unable to work, since I left my car behind. Luckily, I had saved up a bunch of money for me to be able to buy one. He hit me with really low blows, saying I didn’t need to work-- since women weren’t good for that kind of thing. It hurt, to be honest. I had never seen him like this before, in the eight years I had known of his existence. He had been with me in my hometown for three weeks and not once acted like this. I walked on eggshells, bought a car with my hard earned money, then got a management job at the Domino’s that was ten minutes from my town I was living in. Towards the end of the month, he got aggressive with me. He stopped working the same week I had moved in, he had no car. He had no ambition, he decided to just give up. Maybe that’s what I tried to see, maybe-- just maybe I could help him find some ambition. I wanted to save him, in a way? We got into a severe fight, I couldn’t take it anymore-- I fought back, and he ended up swinging on me.

September, I packed all of my belongings that I could into my tiny little Toyota, and left in the middle of the night. I had one thing on my mind, and that was to go to my mom’s house. My mother had known how bad he had gotten, since he acted such a way with my mother on the phone, unknowingly. I drove for 15 hours, well 13 but with rest stops to nap for a bit since I was running off of no sleep, but I finally ended up back home. I ended up staying with my mom for a bit. Later had to relocate, so I moved in with an old friend. Started streaming again.

October, Worked. Literally worked the entire month, my entire existence fell into dread. I became overly aware of how much time had passed. I felt like I had been doing nothing. I dreaded the last day of the month, every day just gave me more and more sadness.  I didn’t want the day to come. I started dreaming of you more and more and more. Halloween came, I decided to look at it differently, I started to thank you-- rather than try to hate you. I came to the conclusion that I would never hate you.

November, Thanksgiving! I started to become grateful, moved back into my mom’s house. It was a bumpy ride, but I managed to get back into the habit of doing healthy things. Started going to the gym again, drinking more water. I told my father he was dead to me, haven’t spoken to him since. I got to spend Thanksgiving with my real family, my mother and her best friend’s family. They watched me grow up since the day I was born. It was so much better than any other holiday I had ever had up to this date.

December, I started a new form of medicine. This time it was for anxiety, since that’s the main factor of my illness-- or so we think so far. I am on escitalopram, and I started it the week before Christmas. I got to see my real family again. It was nice, but this time I got to reunite with my childhood best friend for the first time in fifteen years. It was so lovely. I have become almost bedridden again, but it won’t last long-- since it’s just a side effect of my medicine. I also got to see some friends from high school, but then I realized-- they’re the exact same way they’ve been since the beginning. They wanted nothing but to talk about drama. It just isn’t my thing, I don’t like dealing with people much anymore, because of the constant drama. I’ve learned a lot about people changing, and the lack thereof.

I think this year has been a year full of lessons for me, and it has been tough. As they say, there’s no pleasure without pain, no pain no gain, right? This year has taught me a lot about myself and the people around me, and I am extremely grateful for the things I have experienced. I’ve learned so much about who I am as a person. I’ve grown a lot, while this year has kicked my ass. I have high hopes for the next year. For the first time, since 2016, I finally see a future in myself, by myself. 

To New Beginnings, Lovebug.

I love you, always.

22:27

[elven-oracle]

under the rose: part 2|th

moodboard courtesy of @mcuspidey

SUMMARY: Would you do anything for the person you love?

Would you do anything for the person you lust?

PAIRING: Agent!Tom Holland x Agent!Reader

WORD COUNT:  2.8k

sub rosa: adjective and adverb. formal. happening or done in secret. directly translated from latin: “under the rose.”

Part 1 Part 3

Part 2: Hand on a Blade

Things returned to their usual mundane business after the episode in the field. 

It had forced you to start wondering the purpose of the men sitting around doing hardly anything all day. It was a sex-trafficking business, yet you hardly saw a single young woman pass through the warehouse that had now become your day job. In meetings at the agency, you reported and confirmed everything the mic attached to your collarbone had recorded. You had been reassured that your work was dong leaps for the investigation, but you were antsy to make the arrests of the criminals you spent your time with. 

You knew that these women were out there somewhere, going through everything unimaginable; the thought of them was what got you out of bed in the morning, and every time a “client” was discussed, you suppressed your firey urge to sock one of the men in the face, but there was a cover to maintain, and many many lives to protect. Including your own. 

Tom’s fingers laid loosely interlocked with your own, an interaction so natural that it was as if you had been doing it for years, as the cover suggested. All of the detached moments of affection were slowly burning into your motions like delicately practiced choreography. Tom grabbing your hand, your waist, your forearm, the way he pressed a kiss into your body, it was all starting to lose its spark that you felt when you had started a week prior. 

After literally saving the lives of your favorite sex-traffickers, they had started to trust you. You discovered that these rival groups spent a good portion of time attempting to sabotage any efforts, and they did the same in retaliation, all done by an entirely different set of people that you had a slim chance of meeting. It was a good report to bring back to intelligence, though. 

You had gotten into an interesting conversation regarding them. 

“They like to get creative with their attacks, one time they threw chemical bombs into the place, we left with swollen eyes, I may have been blind for a few days,” Smithy took a long drag off of his cigarette and snuffed it out on the arm of his chair. 

“Oh!” Hardy spoke up, “Don’t forget the time that you got a ninja star in your leg,” he raised his eyebrows at you, “that’s right, miss, a whole fucking ninja star.” 

“It’s almost like a game for them,” you commented, starting to catch on. 

“Yeah,” Candy spit, “It’s fucking stupid, though. They need to stop being pussies and use a gun. Like everyone else.” 

How attacking with one lethal weapon over another made someone a pussy was beyond you. 

Meanwhile, you had continued to play the game of seduction with Tom to keep your mind off of the imminent deathtrap you walked into every day. After the scene in the bathroom, you started to notice the sly way that he would eye you as you walked away, or how his hand lingered so low on your waist. Some movements were methodical, some were the result of a secret desire that he probably hadn’t realized you noticed. The extra sway to your hips and the subtle release of your breath when he held you were nothing but purposeful. 

As long as nothing carried on, you would be fine. You weren’t about to become another notch in Tom Holland’s belt. 

Sitting in Tom’s passenger seat, you made the silent drive over to the location, occasionally checking your lipstick to give yourself something to do. It was strange how close you felt to your partner, despite the limited, cordial conversation that you carried out privately. Being two different people had proven itself to be restricting in the strangest of ways. 

This morning, however, you decided to take a new step in the carpool and twist the volume on to turn on some music. You felt his eyes as you returned back to sitting, some song by Taylor Swift echoing in the speakers. 

Don’t blame me love made me crazy, if it doesn’t you ain’t doing it right.

You had never been in love. It never crossed your mind as something important. During your high school years, you had much more strenuous priorities, and now, your job was your entire life. Something about the lyrics radiated in your brain, though. The way that love could change someone. Sometimes it was the best thing that could happen to a person.

And sometimes it was the worst. 

When you reached the final destination, you were greeted with a series of tired grunts, as usual. It took a couple hours for the guys to wake up, and a few beers usually did the trick. Alcohol for them was like coffee for you: they had no words for each other until they had gotten it coursing through their systems. 

Nothing seemed out of place that afternoon. There was a specifically intriguing soccer game that they all seemed invested in, while you couldn’t care less. Anything other than soccer was more your speed. 

Well, nothing was out of place that afternoon until Boss made an unruly entrance, tossing guns to his men, and looking directly at you and pointing to the bathroom. Thrown completely off guard, you turned around to see a storm of men, clad in black, all wielding long and seemingly sharp blades. The rival gang had made another return, this time with another creative form of weaponry.

You took note of the pistols on their hips. Today they had decided not to be pussies.

You were reluctant to place yourself into hiding, but you drifted away to keep the cover intact. It was almost painful to separate yourself from the action. You had almost reached the door when you took one last glimpse, not wanting to admit that you wanted to be absolutely certain that Tom was okay. The answer was half satisfying, half terrifying. 

A dark figure was approaching Tom from behind, blade raised, going in for a fatal swoop.

You wanted to tell yourself that it was your instinct as an agent that sent you running, in the same way, that had brought you to throw that grenade out of explosion range. It definitely wasn’t the panic of seeing your partner in danger, a wild panic that was out of control, rather than the regulated anxiety that was perfect for sending yourself into life-threatening situations. Your heart was beating out of your chest as your feet pounded, your mind spun, and you shoved Tom out of the way, replacing his head with your hand. 

In training, they had forced you to endure all sorts of pain, all consensual. They would get your verbal confirmation, and with a countdown from three, you would get a shot of electricity shoved into your veins. In this job, pain was inevitable, but pain was also fleeting. The more you grew used to it, the stronger you felt.

The burning sensation that exploded in your hand was nothing like you had felt in training. You wished you had felt the fire in your hand, and as your vision went white, you heard the gunshots fire off. Boss was yelling, through the unwarranted tears in your eyes, there was the sound of Tom’s pseudonym being demanded to a task. It felt like an eternity until there was a shout of “all clear.” 

Through your blurred vision, you saw Tom’s concerned brown eyes, and his hands bring you to your feet. You were dizzy with delirium, the pain in your hand only increasing as more seconds passed. Maybe you had split it open, maybe once they contained the bleeding you wouldn’t feel like vomiting, but the sight you were welcomed to once the fog cleared almost sent your breakfast and the minimal alcohol straight up your throat. 

It was a clean slice to your pinkie finger. Which, fortunately, meant that it could be sewn back on.

Right?

Tom started to say your name but quickly corrected himself, “Rose, baby, let’s get to the car. Hospital time.” 

Despite the excruciating pain, you stayed in character, “Johnny...what happened?”

You knew what the fuck happened. Those pussies had chopped your finger off. 

Tom didn’t reply with the obvious, he replied with, “Love, you saved my life,” and then under his breath, “again.” 

You were ushered out the door, with Tom insisting that he take you himself over having the entire group follow. You knew that you were headed to the agency and not an actual hospital. There couldn’t be any public record of the injury. It would blow your cover. There was a fully operating hospital wing on one of the floors for this very reason, the surgeon would be ready for you when you got there. 

Tom helped you into the passenger seat of his car, placing your severed finger in your lap, wrapped in a towel as if that made anything better. It only made you want to hurl more. 

This car ride was not silent. 

“Y/N how’s it going?” his British accent was a breath of fresh air, and you hated that.

“I’m not fucking dying Tom.” 

“Yeah, well, pardon me for making sure you aren’t having a panic attack. You just got mutilated after all.” “I’ll live. Eyes on the road.” 

“Okay! Okay.” 

Your entire body was damp with sweat as if someone had dumped water everywhere except your hair. You could feel it dripping down your face and the way that it made the wig particularly itchy. You wanted to rip it off, but once again, the cover. The things you did for your job. 

“You saved my life again.” 

“Yes. And?”

He hesitated as if expecting a different answer, “Thanks.” “You’re my partner, I could only hope you would do the same for me.” “I would,” the way he said it was almost defensive. 

“Oh thank, goodness. I was worried for a second,” you were being sarcastic to mask the pain, but that couldn’t mask the yelp you let out as he sped around a corner. 

There was another brief silence, but you didn’t like how it felt, so you filled it with the dumbest joke you could think of, “Do you think this pain is worse than childbirth?”

You could hear him trying not to laugh, “You’re asking an expert.”

“Good. You think?”

He looked at your hand, which had now bled through the towel you were using for pressure and was bleeding onto your leather pants and onto the car seats made of the same material.

“Sure.” “Thanks, Doctor Holland, I think I’ll have kids now.” 

Upon arrival, you were shoved onto a gurney and taken away, Tom only being able to accompany you to a certain point. It didn’t seem like either of you noticed that he had taken hold of your non-injured hand until each one of your fingers were torn away from each other, leaving you to roll your eyes back and pass out, the final dose of adrenaline running out. 

…

Beep...beep...beep…

Consciousness was like hitting a wall. Your eyes fell open almost against your will, sleep wanting to regain its hold. With a deep inhale, you rolled your head over to your left hand, which now no longer had the deep pain from what felt like only minutes prior, although you knew it had to be hours. 

The memories came flooding back. There was the motion of intent in the body of the attacker, the insane panic, and the flash of internal light that stung across your eyes as the blade swept across your hand. It was a memory that would never leave you, a trauma that you knew you had no time to address. 

A thick, cast-like bandage surrounded your pinkie, sitting on a strategically laid table to keep it elevated. What caught your surprise, though, was the fact that another hand rested on top of yours, rough with calluses, a hand that you had held before, but never like this. 

Tom was asleep in a chair next to you, his head rolled back, mouth agape. The small sight of drool brought a weak smile to your face. Asleep, the usually dark and demeaning man that you worked with looked relaxed and...soft. You knew better than anyone that Tom was anything but soft. 

Your hand twitched, and Tom immediately stirred, yawning and retracting his hand away from yours. For a second you could tell he was just as disoriented as you had just been, but he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and met yours, looking slightly sheepish as he pulled on his fingers nervously. He pulled a leg to his chest, looking away for a second, then chuckled to himself as he looked back at you.

“Something funny?” your voice was hoarse. 

He shook his head, “You almost lost your finger there, agent.” 

“Thank goodness I had the wonderful Agent Thomas Stanley Holland to save me from a life of stub hand.” 

He chuckled again, “Even mutilated, you remain as endearing as ever, Y/L/N.” 

You couldn’t help the blush that sparked on your cheeks. Hopefully, the lighting was dim enough that he didn’t see. 

It was almost midnight when a flurry of agents took up almost all of the space in your hospital wing, a reminder that your work never stopped. The mission was still steady-going, and this was likely not to be considered a setback. 

“Agent Y/L/N, we would like to remind you that despite your injury, you are still expected to return to the field as soon as possible. This mission is too important for you to step back, and the chances of cover being blown-” 

You cut the man speaking to you off, “I understand. I expected nothing less.” 

As if you ever even thought about not continuing the mission. This had been the most important mission of your career. You would have to be killed in action before resigning. The man at the foot of your bed, an agent you had never met before, was trying to hide how pleased he was with your answer. Apparently, he had expected you to put up more of a fight. 

Satisfied, they left, not needing to hear anything else from you. 

“I’ll be sure to get well soon!” you called as the door shut behind them. It left you alone with Tom once again. He was smirking. 

“Can I ask you something, Y/N?”

“Go for it,” you expected it to be about the plan of action for tomorrow. Neither of you talked about much more than work.

In the months you spent preparing with your partner, he had never asked anything personal, so his question took you by surprise.

“What brought you to this line of work?”

Your lips parted, and you took a second to think before responding, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. You thought about the family you left behind when accepting the job, the minimal contact, how you hadn’t seen your parents in years. To any onlooker, you had given up a lot to take this job, but to you it had been an easy decision. 

“Um,” you sighed. “Well, initially I was a police officer. Narcotics. My parents…” Were you really about to tell him this?

“My parents ran a drug lab in our house for a very long time. They weren’t arrested until I was in college. I just wanted to make a difference.” 

“And what brought you here?”

“Putting Jacoby Zimmerman in jail.” 

He looked impressed, “You...put the Magic Man in jail?”

“Sure did.”

Zimmerman had been your side project. He was a drug trafficker, and he was good. The best detectives had been chasing him for years, and while you were the lowest tier in the line of detectives, you had been going behind their backs to try and book him. As much as you hated to admit it, the relation was personal. He had supplied to your parents, and your parents had tried to get you to deal at your high school. Instead, you worked a fast-food job and shoved the drugs down the toilet. Every paycheck went towards the drug hussle that wasn’t happening, and you hardly kept a cent for yourself. 

“Damn. He was…”

“Renowned. I know,” you paused, wondering how to conclude the strange conversation you had found yourself in, “I don’t know, I guess I just wanted to do what’s right. Change my past or whatever.”

You sat in silence some more, occasionally looking down at your bandaged finger. When you put away Zimmerman, you never pictured yourself in this position. You had been told countless times that being an agent sometimes required repeatedly putting yourself in danger, but after all the paperwork and the meetings, you had started to detach yourself from that factor. Now, there you were, sewn back together like Frankenstein. 

You hadn’t noticed when you fell asleep, but when you woke up in the middle of the night, after yet another nightmare where your finger was being torn apart, Tom’s hand had returned to sitting on yours. It was gentle. Tender. You couldn’t help the subtle feeling of comfort drawn from it. 

You were losing the game.

Part 1 Part 3

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[divine-draws]

Jackie didn’t do relationships. Sure he’d sometimes have a fuck buddy. Maybe he’d hit someone up to hang or spend the night together. He mainly would catch one night stands. The one thing that he made clear was that Jackson Alex Ouellette did not do relationships nor did he catch feelings of all things. Period. So why in the world did he feel like he was being shot when Walker left his room saying they were done?

Sure Walker and him had been long time friends with benefits. And okay so maybe Jackie hadn’t been sleeping with anyone BUT him for the past so many months, but it wasn’t like they were dating or anything. Dating meant feelings. Dating did not mean they would go out and more often than not would fall into a bed at some point. They were friends anyway. Friends could hang out. Maybe he was just upset because Walker wanted space from him for a bit? That had to be it, right?

Jackie didn’t sleep that night. He spent most of it laying in bed or chain smoking out on the cramped balcony of his and Topaz’s shared apartment. At one point, he reached for a bottle of something strong, he didn’t know what it was but the burn and bitter taste grounded him before leaving him feeling lighter than before. He was not heartbroken. He couldn’t be. He couldn’t be heartbroken over some guy he wasn’t even in a relationship with. Topaz found him finally passed out on the couch when she came back from an appointment. Practice later that day would be hell and he no doubt would show up hungover and out of it.

It was a month before Walker texted him to hang out. The second the name registered in his groggy state, Jackie sprung up in his bed. His hands were not shaking because it was Walker. His heart rate didn’t sky rocket as he opened up the message and shakily type out a response. They were friends. There were no feelings there.

It was four months of things being back to normal, sans the sex, before Walker started seeing someone. Jackie shouldn’t be surprised. When him and Walker got involved, he did say he was more than okay with things being a friends with benefits situation even though he typically did relationships. Jackie should not be surprised when Walker starts talking about his boyfriend and bringing him around, but he feels like someone kicked him in the chest leaving him sputtering for air. His chest aches and he hangs out with Walker less when his boyfriend is going to be involved. They show up to a show at some point, and Jackie doesn’t leave with a groupie. It’s not because he has feelings, no, it’s just because he just wasn’t feeling it that night. His hand rubbed his chest as he downed another shot. 

It was five more months until Jackie decided to take a break from the band. It honestly isn’t a decision involving Walker. It is something that can be said with confidence. Jackie refused to think that the resulting waves left in his wake did cause some of the issues that led to this. Jackie spends a lot of time thinking from that point on, be it in a high or drunk state or completely sober. He visits home and returns, accent still dripping from his tongue as he pays for a pack of cigarettes at the 24/7 convenience store in some dingy part of Richmond. His hands shake as he lights up, back pressed against the cold brick. His hands continue to shake as he smokes in the middle of the night, back pressed firmly against the side of the convenience store. They shake as smoke blows from his lips and shake as he digs a palm into his eye. They shake as the rest of his body mimics the twitching tremble, acceptance crashing over him. 

Jackson Alex Ouellette did not do feelings or relationships, and yet, he was undeniably in love with Walker. 

Jackie spends the following three months rather alone. He still goes out. He still talks with his (ex?) band members. He may have moved out of their old shared apartment (he doesn’t like to think how the bedroom had too many memories), but he still speaks to Topaz all the time. They still make jabs at each other over twitter. He still sometimes sees Walker, but he is alone. He spends a lot of this time writing music and frustratingly dumping a lot of half written songs. For the first time, Jackie felt like his hands couldn’t play the right cords. For the first time, he didn’t feel like a natural. Jackie finds out at some point that Walker and his boyfriend had broken up. He doesn’t reach out to console him and Walker doesn’t reach out for comfort. Jackie honestly didn’t care if it was fucked up that he spoke to him and saw him more after that. It was simultaneously so nice and the worst feeling to be around Walker more. 

One night, they come to Jackie’s apartment, though there’s no stumbling through the door as they pull clothes off. This time they sit on his tiny ass couch and drink, talking and making fun of some shitty movie. This time, when Walker asks if he’s been writing anything, Jackie nods with a hum and takes a long sip of his drink. This time he doesn’t leave his sheet music and notebooks out in the open for Walker to peer at. He doesn’t indulge Walker in a rant about the composition. He doesn’t drag out a guitar to strum some cords. Walker’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes just as Jackie’s words don’t reach his lips. 

That night, Walker drinks a bit too much, they both have, and places a heavy hand on Jackie’s thigh, much too high to be anything innocent. For the first time, Jackie pulls away, standing up. He feels like his throat is closing in and his chest aches. Words tumble out, telling Walker he can crash on the couch for the night. He leaves a blanket for Walker and promptly locks himself in his room for the rest of the night. He doesn’t leave until well in the morning, after he hears Walker get up and leave the apartment. Jackie doesn’t do feelings, and he is reminded again why exactly that is. 

Three months pass and Jackie finds himself on a stage again. He would feel at ease. He would be flirting with the crowd. He would be throwing lazy smirks around and joking. He would feel at home up on that state, but tonight things are different. A lot of things have been different since Walker, haven’t they? He manages to muster enough of a greeting to the crowd that was pressed close and there’s enough excite to loosen his shoulders a bit. Jackie begins to strum, eyes shut tight until the first words leave his lips. From that point, his eyes really begin to scan the crowd as he sings into the mic. He feels like his voice trembles too much but maybe that’ll be to his advantage somehow? Sell the song? He tries to keep his mind on that until the lyrics “I love you” leaves his lips and he goes numb, eyes locking with Walker’s in that moment. 

Jackie is shaking when he leaves the stage. He felt like he wasn’t really in his body at that point. He was floating off somewhere else and it wasn’t a good feeling in this case. Jackie doesn’t stick around long enough to help pack things up besides setting his guitar in its case and snapping it shut. He stumbles further back down a tight hall. He slips into the bathroom and clutches the sink to try and anchor himself down. Cold water to the face only goes so far as he continues to tremble and grip the sink with white knuckles. He can only focus on the chipped sink and the cracked mirror for so long, and when the door opens he lets his eyes shut. 

“It was a good show.” Jackie nods, not opening his eyes. He doesn’t have to to know who it is. There’s silence for a brief moment before Walker speaks up again. 

“I liked your opening song the best.” He doesn’t have to tack on the question for Jackie to know where this is going, and he sure as hell doesn’t have to say who it was about. 

“I mean it. The words and-... All of it.” Walker hums and Jackie can’t see it but he knows he’s crossing his arms and probably leaning a shoulder against the tiled wall, staring at him.

“How long?” The breath leaves Jackie’s lungs and he dares to open his eyes though they don’t leave staring down into the drain of the sink. 

“Since I realized it or since I’ve felt it?” There’s a bitter amusement to his voice that Jackie hopes hides the tremble of it. He doesn’t wait for the answer before continuing with a sigh. 

“I don’t know how long I’ve felt like this.. It-... It hurt when you left but… Months? God too many months with- With this shit in my head.” Finally Jackie’s eyes tear away from the sink and take in Walker. He looked good. He always did (except for that time after he took a break and broke up with his boyfriend, Jackie’s brain supplied). Jackie knew that whatever facade he managed to conjure on the stage was gone. In the harsh lighting of the bathroom he no doubt looked as tired as he felt. As disheveled as he felt. As fucking helpless as he felt. 

Walker laughed. He laughed and Jackie didn’t feel the tears slip down his cheek until Walker’s warm hand came to swipe them away. He still smiled slightly but his features twisted into concern as he crowded into Jackie’s space, fingers curling under his chin to tilt his head up as the others danced across his freckled cheeks to smear away any tears. 

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” Jackie didn’t know. Or at least he didn’t know what he meant. All too soon Walker’s warmth was gone though he looked back to give Jackie a nod, beckoning him to follow. “Lets get you home..”

Jackie was still trembling as they sat on his cramped couch once again. He was itching for a smoke even though he had just got back in from one. Walker leaned back some, body angled towards Jackie as he crossed his arms again. He was thinking. Jackie’s leg jiggled and bounced as pent up anxiety crawled and itched its way through his body. He resisted the urge to scratch at his neck. 

“I loved you,” Walker finally says. Jackie flinches a bit and picks at the fraying strands of the holes in his jeans.”I guess it was unfair though, y’know? I told you I was fine with the sex and nothing more, but.. I guess I wasn’t? I mean at first I was. And then, Jackie, then I fell in love with you and shit hurt too much. It was unfair to try and demand something from you that I knew you didn’t want. I cut my losses and went to the just friends thing.”

There was a lull of silence before Jackie spoke up. “So not anymore?” Walker hummed a contemplative hum.

“Kind of.. I let myself fall for someone else. I was happy I-.. Anyway, it didn’t work out. I don’t know if I love you the same way anymore… Maybe that’s a good thing. I don’t think I ever lost my feelings for you though, but I was fine with the just friends thing, y’know?” Jackie sunk further into the couch. He was being let down. He missed his chance with Walker and he spilled his guts in a song in a bar and he was being let down. Walker wasn’t done speaking though and he kind of wished he would just let Jackie sulk off to his room as Walker left. Again.

“But… I don’t think.. I don’t think I’m opposed to giving this a shot.” Jackie’s head spun and he looked up at Walker. “We’ve gotta have some terms or whatever though because I-.... I refuse to put myself into that position again. I know I’m not okay with no strings attached this time.”

“It won’t be,” the words crawled out of Jackie’s throat sounding raw. 

For the first time, Jackie made an exception.. For the first time, he did do feelings. The thought still left him shaking and terrified of what would happen, but for the first time he found someone he could trust. 

[thelaithlyworm]

I’m finding these episodes v. more-ish, okay?

So the quarrel about not being told things has been continuing for several episodes while older, wiser characters look sad and resist the urge to lock the young puppies in a room until they’re kissing again.

Uhm, I don’t think Young Leader Girl is being entirely unreasonable here? And I think Screaming Anxiety Fan Guy is right when he says “not being told things” is more of an issue than whether he did what he was accused of. The pair of them have dual identities as both spoony romantics and political entities. When a lover doesn’t tell you something, sure that can hurt. When your ally holds back information - about a miserably unpleasant diplomatic scandal about to blow up, about a potential spy in your ranks - that’s a higher level of consequence. And SAFG did both of those things. (He would willingly die for Leader Girl, but speaking frankly is, uh, a bit more difficult.)

Meanwhile there’s been a pretty nifty pitched battle, some politicking, the super mastermind has floated gently into view like a Black Swan of World Domination, and the aforementioned “willing to die for her” and rescues and a couple of unhappy minor character deaths, fuck it. And there’s a lot of unexpected familial connections going every which way, stirring the pot.

And I want to talk about themes for a bit, because I can’t turn my brain off.

So, one of the themes that comes up is Responsibility vs. Being Protected. The same episode where Young Leader Girl is presented with the option of... just stepping down and becoming someone’s pampered daughter with flowers in her hair and not having to worry about things, is the same ep where we meet Teacher Lin, who has been hiding out in the very floral Moon Valley for the last five years because the martial world is exhausting and full of grief and he’s v. tired. The desire to not be a sword arm, to be protected, to not have to worry, is respected in both of those people. (And I could talk about SAFG’s attitude to responsibility all bloody day.) Moon Valley (and Fairyland Wine House) are often described as places to hide. And it’s kind of... if you put down this responsibility, then someone else has to pick up the slack, and it’s someone else making the decisions, and are you prepared for those consequences? 

And also, in the various conversations that go on, even entering the martial world, with its ingrained customs of working out disputes outside the bounds of regular government, is an abrogation of responsibility for some people. Teacher Lin and the Head of Sword Manor were both Imperial Princes, once upon a time, who dropped out of the court and left their trailing political shadows behind. Or at least, they tried to. It looks like Sword Manor is going to get tangled back up in that quite soon, and Screaming Anxiety Fan Guy, who is the son of an high official, is getting dragged back reluctantly (and non-metaphorically screaming) into the affairs of the court. (It looks like Black Swan Mastermind is trying to bring the martial art sects under his direct authority, breaking that traditional divide.)

The thing is, Moon Valley isn’t just a place to hide, but also a place of genuine healing - it shelters a very good Herb Master who’s been using the place to improve his medicines, and it’s soothing to the spirit. Contrast an aphorism quoted early on in the story, “Without the sword, there is no achievement; without tea, there is no wisdom,” and also, the Lotus Wing technique comes with two sides, the smitey half and the healing half. Leader Girl’s father went mad because he got obsessed with honing the smitey half as, honestly, a lot of the martial artists do, addicts that they are.* And. People who are old and wise seem to think that the martial arts world, packed full as it is with chaotic howling yahoos, would still be best kept distinct from civil authority. It might not be “healing” like Moon Valley, but it’s... something.

So anyway, I’m curious where they’re going with this. And I’m finding the story interesting for more than just the improbable fight scenes and gloriously shmoopy romance beats.

* As a sidenote, Teacher Lin knows a whole lot about the Lotus Wing, because he was around when his best friends/lovers/heart companions created it, but he can’t teach it because at the time he chose not to learn it and hone his martial arts the slow way. Compare with Leader Girl’s Loyal 2IC, who has no personal ambition, has devoted his life simply to helping his sect and supporting Leader Girl, has no fancy techniques that I know of, and recently levelled about half of a fortress all by his lone self. They seem to be doing pretty well for themselves, in their own quiet way.

[emikvs]

SIDE EFFECTS MAY VARY. PLEASE CONSULT A DOCTOR BEFORE TAKING ANY MEDICATION....

                    september 14th, 2018    10:55 p.m.    los angeles, california    ocean view recovery center

                             journal entry #1. apparently i have to write these everyday, can you believe that? literally who am i talking to. dear therapist reading this, i think you’re stinky and a nosy piece of shit. ok that was mean. not a piece of shit, but the tie you wear kinda makes you look like an asshole. you kinda look like the old dudes that hang around my dad at political fundraisers. guess that’s why he picked this place, huh? but for real, i hope you don’t wear that tie again. it upsets me. you guys are supposed to care about that stuff right? if i’m upset? well i have some more to complain about. dinner today was okay. i give it a 6/10 stars. okay, maybe it would have gotten a 7 if you didn’t give me green jello. not even red jello.....but green. i can’t even begin to describe how much that upsets me. even the hospitals know better. fuck. i really wish i was high. 

                         october 29th, 2018    10:13 a.m.    los angeles, california    ocean view recovery center

                             journal entry #45. some of the people here are really weird. i can’t tell if they’re celebrities or not when everyone starts whispering around them, or if they’re just really fucking weird and that’s why everyone is whispering.  i will get to the bottom of this. also, i just want to say i think it’s very unfair you keep asking me about my dad when i know he did some not so legal stuff to get me here and out of school without penalty. doesn’t that make this center an accomplice? i’m not sure how it works, but what i’m trying to say is it seems a bit unfair on my end for you to be trying to act all professional and stuff when i know you aren’t. ask me about anything else. maybe drugs? isn’t that why i’m in rehab? whatever. there were oranges at breakfast today. i liked that. 

                        december 25th, 2018    8:05 p.m.    los angeles, california    ocean view recovery center

                            journal entry #102. merry christmas! i think i’m finally remembering just how miserable it is to be sober. i know, not what you wanna hear, but for the sake of honesty i’ll go on. it’s not that i miss the drugs, exactly. i just miss being happy. that warm fuzzy kind of happy where i can’t feel anything. my brain doesn’t know how to do that without drugs. i don’t think it ever did. wanna know a fun fact? i never liked christmas very much as a kid. i though santa was a real asshole. all my life my parents would warn us about bad men that break into homes and how they were dirty criminals, but this red suit motherfucker gets a free pass because he leaves us presents? i didn’t get it. i thought santa was a bad guy. so one christmas, i think i was six, i stayed up. i waited for my sister to go to sleep and then i snuck out of our room to use the phone in the kitchen and i called 911. i told them someone was breaking into my house. naturally the cops showed up. i mean, you get a 911 call from a kid i guess you assume their parents are being held at gunpoint or something, i don’t know. but they took it seriously because they showed up to our house even though it was christmas and it was snowing. and i remember being so furious that santa hadn’t shown up. i was throwing a fit, crying and stuff. and my mom must have thought i was sad because there were no presents under the tree because all of a sudden she’s telling me that santa isn’t real, that daddy is the one who leaves the presents under the tree. that was my moment, the one people always talk about, when you figure out your parents are just people. that they kinda suck just like everybody else. i wish it was snowing here. i like the snow. it makes things quiet. 

                                   may 7th, 2019    2:34 p.m.    los angeles, california    ocean view recovery center

                           goodbye journal. goodbye ocean view. goodbye nosy (not a piece of shit)  therapist. don’t hate me, but i bought you a tie. it’s got cats on it. nobody will mistake you for an asshole ever again if you’ve got cats on your tie. you can thank me the next time i overdose and have to check back in. (i’m kidding) 

                                  CAUTION. SIDE EFFECTS  MAY INCLUDE...

september 9th, 2019    2:33 a.m.     charlottesville , virginia    university of virginia                           

                          dizzy ––––– she’s dizzy and she wishes she could blame it on the molly she’d stolen from cynthia, the molly she’d swallowed dry when she’d slipped out of sage’s apartment while everyone had been too distracted to notice, but she figures it’s all the other shit that’s got her legs literally shaking. plus it’s been a couple of hours now, and emiko really doesn’t think she’s high anymore. there’s too much noise inside her head. too many thoughts. she’s sweating despite the chill in the air, fall kissing summer as it says goodbye, the breeze blowing strands of dark hair into her face as she walks across a mostly empty campus. for a moment she’s tempted to take her shoes off. not for any particular reason, except maybe the hope that the action of curling her toes into solid ground might be enough to remind her that she was attached to her body still, her mind playing tricks. shadows dancing at the corners of her vision, the wind rustling through the trees sounding like voices ––––– she considers whether or not she’s going crazy before remembering the insane don’t ask those kinds of questions. the realization was more of a disappointment than a sigh relief. perhaps if she was out of her mind, truly out of it, then nothing would matter. every event that had transpired would be nothing but a string of meaningless moments. memories that held no substance, events that carried no weight or power. she’d be free. it’s in that moment that she starts to cry, her tears warm as they slide down her cheeks, the saltiness gathering onto the curve of her lip so she can taste it in her mouth. and then she laughs. if someone saw her now, alone and teary eyed, nails bitten down to bloody stubs, what would they think ? she’d like to imagine whatever narrative an onlooker might place her in, it would be kinder than the one she’s currently living. fuck did she need to be high right now.

                          there was a biology major that owed her a favor. and while neither of them remembered how exactly this debt had been acquired, he’d opened the door when she’d knocked, the scent of marijuana wafting the way someone’s perfume might if you stand too close.  “ ––––– emi ? jesus christ, you look like shit. ”  she didn’t doubt the truth in his statement, because she felt like shit, like every breath she took was filling her lungs with more air than she could handle and she was one second away from choking on it. still, he’d let her in, not asking any questions besides if she wanted water and if she wanted to do a line of coke with his girlfriend and roommate. she’d said yes to the coke. sitting at the edge of the couch after losing count of how much she’d snorted, emi had been counting the tiles on the ceiling before she’d spoken what would be her first sentence in over an hour.  “ have you ever almost died before ? ”  and she’s not talking to any one of them, really, their faces like little paint smudges on a much larger canvas. she can’t even tell if she’d received an answer, the sound of her own voice deafening.  “ there’s nothing there. no light, like in the movies. it’s just fucking empty. ”  she lost track of time after that. at some point she’d ended up in the bathroom, the coldness of the tiled floor a blessing to her fever hot skin. when she gets up, she’s met with her own reflection for the first time all night. her eyes are bloodshot, dark circles beneath them prominent enough to make someone think maybe it’s mascara that’s smudged under there. her bangs were matted into a sweaty mess, slick against her forehead. she smiles, just to see if her reflection does the same. the image didn’t feel real. that’s when she sees the pill bottle next to the sink. 

                        impaired judgement. emi had always found it funny how that was listed as a side effect for intoxication, as if the judgement of a sober person was automatically assumed to be logical and clear. but that couldn’t be the case. no, impaired judgement was a side effect of being human, of being an imperfect creature with a tendency to self destruct. the pills she’d stolen rattle inside the pocket of her hoodie. emi feels them like a weight, as if every round capsule were made of lead and they were heavy enough to break through the lining and spill across the floor, exposing her for the thief she was. she wouldn’t have taken them if it had been any other normal night. she’d been desperate before but never like this, the urge to keep numbing herself until she slipped into the dreamy confines of unconsciousness stronger than she’s ever felt before. and that image  –––––  the knife plunging into ashley, over and over. she wanted so bad to be rid of that. above all else, that was fucking with her head the most, like a movie she couldn’t figure out how to pause before it had learned to loop. her place is empty when she arrives. she hadn’t been checking her phone all night, but she figures maybe everyone is still at sage’s place. or maybe everyone had parted. or maybe they’d all disappeared like mina had, there one moment, gone the next. mina. the thought squeezes her throat shut, her chest tight with....grief ? or maybe it was panic. fear. hopelessness. she was too high to think about it too hard, to decipher just about anything that had happened since she’d slipped away from the rest of her friends. she takes the pills out of her pocket when she gets to her room, cross-legged on the bed as she realizes she’d swiped somebody’s anxiety medication. xanax. i’m a shit person, emi thinks, fingers going white as she grips the bottle tighter. she’s never missed rehab before, but in that moment she does, misses the way she had someone to talk to when the thought of doing something really fucking stupid crossed her mind. 

ANY ABUSE OF MEDICATION CAN LEAD TO DEATH. PLEASE CONTACT POISON CONTROL IF NECESSARY...   

                        one pill. then another. then another. emiko doesn’t remember much about when she’d overdosed, only how she had felt a little bit before it happened. she’d felt as if she was going to die. and it hadn’t been scary, not really, because she couldn’t feel much at that point. it was like pins and needles all across her body, only her body wasn’t her body, and her head was floating so far up into space she’d imagined saying hi to every single one of jupiter’s moons as she drifted past them. and then she’d woken up in a hospital room. that was the part she didn’t like to think about much. the look on her father’s face. the beeping of machines. the scratchy hospital sheets. one pill. then another. then another. if she closed her eyes, she could imagine she was in space, her vision going black. emi had never asked her parents what exactly it was that they’d told her siblings while she was in rehab. maybe they’d also been fed the study abroad excuse, the poolside pictures she’d posted from the ocean view recovery center enough to fool them the way they’d fooled her friends. all she knew was that they didn’t visit her the seven months she was there. on her worst nights alone in california, emi wondered if maybe they did know the truth. if maybe her father had told the rest of the family, but none of them had cared enough to visit her, so disenchanted with the reckless actions of their youngest sibling. but she knew that probably wasn’t true. her father’s political career depended on her secret being kept. family was no exception. one pill. two pills. she looks down at her hands. half the bottle was missing, her heart skipping a beat at the realization of exactly what she’d just done. fifteen seconds –––––  for a good fifteen seconds, emi considers closing her eyes again and leaning back. she’d never believed old people could really die painlessly in their sleep because of natural causes. maybe this was the next best thing. but then she’s up and on her feet, quick to kneel down in front of her toilet and shove her fingers down her throat until she’s retching, emptying her stomach, the burning sensation almost unbearable. when she’s done, she presses her face against the base of her bathtub, her body sinking down to the floor. she lets her eyes unfocus for a moment, everything blurry and white before she shuts them. snow. it looked like snow.    

[cameronomicon]

Year One

On a hot Saturday in May of 2012, my ex and I found ourselves in sudden, standstill traffic. We were on our way out to West Covina to meet a dog named Hank who we were considering for adoption, but as the minutes passed and the horns blared it became increasingly likely that we might not make it there at all.

“Do you just want to go home? We can cancel,” I said, irritated.

“No, let’s go. We should meet him.” 

Traffic eventually eased and we made our way east, where we met Hank in the parking lot of a Petco. Erin fell in love with him immediately. I was less charmed but I thought he would make a good addition to our family. We brought him home later that day, renamed him Bodie, and he’s been my pal ever since.

In the summer of 2018, six incredibly long years later, I was in a free fall. Erin and I had divorced and I was living with Bodie in a small studio apartment. Work was chaos, and negativity and self-hatred ruled me absolutely. Alcoholism, combined with weed smoking and burgeoning Xanax abuse, had taken control of my waking life. I had begun to drink in the morning and spent nearly every minute of each weekend completely fucked up. The darkness and despair that I felt was inescapable, like I was trying to outrun the shadow of a sunset.

If it hadn’t been for Bodie, I would have tried to kill myself. The obligation to stick around to take care of him was very powerful, even though I thought about dying every single day. I actually messaged my ex to ask if she would promise to take care of him if anything ever happened to me, since that wasn’t written out anywhere in our divorce. Though I tried to word this as casually as possible, I can’t imagine how bizarre the message must have read.

I mention all of this because that one decision in May 2012, to not turn back despite sudden and unexpected obstacles, likely saved my life. Funny how things work out.

*

When you’re reading this, I’ve been sober for one year. I’m writing it beforehand, which might seem like tempting fate for anyone who has experience with addiction. I believe I will get there, but if you never see this, I guess I didn’t make it.

The past 365 days mark the longest period of continuous sobriety I have managed since I first tried to clean up about 14 years ago. I was able to stay sober for one or two years from 2006-2007, but I will admit that there were times I got drunk during those periods even though I claimed continuous sobriety. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever admitted this.

To say that alcoholism blindsided me would be a lie. I knew from the first buzz that something was different, because alcohol felt like the most incredible gift I’d ever received. Something inside my brain exploded, sending brilliance and beauty and confidence all throughout me. I was, as I’ve said many times before, finally comfortable in my own skin. I would spend the next 16 years trying to get this feeling back. I never did. No one ever does.

I would like to tell you that getting sober is a ticket to happiness for an alcoholic or addict, but unfortunately it is not. One reason that sobriety is so hard and why so many people fail is because life continues on regardless of us. When we take away the things that we relied on to kill the fear, anxiety, or pain we would have experienced otherwise, we are left feeling utterly defenseless. It is much easier for me to obliterate my feelings with alcohol than to process what it means to live and succeed and fail and fuck up and love and lose and simply exist in the world. To paraphrase what many have said: quitting drinking is easy, living life is the hard part. This is my way of saying that the past year has been very difficult.

I’ve thought about drinking many times, especially during bouts of severe depression, which have mercifully been in short supply. But the urge to destroy is real, and I’ve thought that if I do go back to drinking I should make sure to get enough so that it will kill me. It scares me to think how easy it would be. 

These thoughts always pass, which is the best kept secret in the world for an alcoholic. In the moment, the thought extends forever in front of you, an endless ribbon of road that is impossible to reckon with let alone travel, and the only thing to do--the inevitable thing to do--is to drink. But I am always wrong. The thought, the urge, passes. The traffic eases. The mirage dissolves before my eyes, always. It will for you, too, if you’re struggling.

What sobriety has given me is freedom. Unless you’ve experienced it firsthand either in your own struggle or in that of a loved one, it can be hard to understand just how much of an alcoholic’s life is devoted to the stuff. The act of drinking consumes only a small fraction of the energy expended in this pursuit; far more intensive are the efforts to acquire booze in sufficient amounts (and at different locations if you’re trying to preserve your dignity), the internal battle with feelings of guilt and shame, and the absolutely titanic task of hiding it all from the rest of the world. It is fucking stressful. I am free of all of that now, and it is an incredible gift. Even on the worst days I am able to live my life unshackled to alcohol. I carry no plastic shopping bags chirping with empty bottles to the recycling bin anymore. I do not double over in panic when faced with simple challenges. The successes, the failures, the highs and lows--they all belong to me now. 

For whoever needs to hear this, freedom is also possible for you. You deserve that life, even if you think you don’t. You deserve to be free. 

*

I remain deeply flawed. I still act unthinkingly and spend my time more selfishly than I should. I’m still impatient, petty, and I cling to a few resentments which do nothing but poison my soul. I’m crass and lazy. Most days I find myself feeling shattered and disoriented, like I’ve been in hibernation for the past decade and have just emerged to a life where I feel completely out of place. But I’m trying to be better. Even if I fail, I will continue to try to become myself. I will redefine or rediscover what it means to be a person who exists with this world, not despite it.

Year one is just the beginning, and god willing I have a long journey ahead of me. My body is healed, my mind is sharper, my spirit is strong, but none of this is guaranteed beyond the boundary of any given day. Sometimes I take that for granted. But I am grateful for the gift of a free life. I hope I don’t blow it.

As I’m writing this, the windows are open and a warm summer breeze fills the apartment. It’s quiet outside, which is a welcome change from the usual. There is a calmness to everything around me. This time last year, the blinds would have been tightly drawn, the lights turned out, and even though the air conditioner was running constantly, I was likely drenched in sweat. I often vomited what I solid food I did eat, my hands quaked, and my heart raced. I felt like the incarnation of doom.

But now, Bodie is asleep at the foot of my bed, and on her condo slumbers Church, the alleycat I’ve adopted. She lived under the building and used to play with me and Bodie when we’d go outside, and for about a year several of my neighbors would take turns feeding and caring for her. Last November, three neighborhood cats were killed when my leasing company failed to properly evacuate them from under the building during a fumigation. It was ghastly and horrible and sad. Church was spared, so I decided to bring her into my home. She deserved better than a life on the street where she could be so easily and thoughtlessly killed, and now she is a part of the family.

That one decision, to bring her indoors and share my life with her, has brought me so much joy. I love to watch Church just being herself. I delight in the alternating cool and frenetic energy she brings, and to see how she plays with Bodie in the safety of the apartment. When I take him outside, Church will sit by the door and cry until we come back. 

I do not have much, but what I do have is incredibly precious. The three of us live simply, and we are safe and healthy and we have each other. Right now, that is more than I could have ever dreamed of, and quite possibly a life that might never have happened at all. And, even though I often get sidetracked thinking about what I still don’t have or what I’ve lost, I can’t deny how miraculous all of this truly is.

Funny how things work out.

[slythergirlimagines]

Because I Love You Part 4

Summary: The reader is kidnapped and tortured by Ben. Sawyer comes to her rescue, causing a certain doctor to be jealous.

Jack Shephard x Reader  

Sawyer Ford x Reader

Requested: Yes! Hope this fulfills your hopes for this story!

Warnings: cussing, mentions of torture, mentions of wounds, panic attacks and anxiety

Also: Does not follow cannon or time line exactly (I changed gifs!!! These next few parts are going to be focused on Sawyer , so I thought this was appropriate!) 

Because I Love You Part 4

To say you were shocked would’ve been the understatement of the century. Here Jack was confessing to you the very thing you wanted to hear, and yet something wasn’t clicking.

     “You... love me?” You mumbled, unable to wrap your head around the possibility.  Jack was still giving you that look, and it was honestly muddling your brain. Making it harder for you to think than necessary.

          He took a step closer, invading your personal space. You fought the urge to take a step back. This was Jack. He would never hurt you. In fact, he apparently loved you. Jack took another step, and then a smaller one, and then there was no more space left for him to invade. He was everywhere, intoxicating you.

          You looked into his eyes, waiting for the confirmation, for him to say it again. Instead, he kissed you.

          You had been kissed several times in your life, but none of those kisses had ever been as powerful as this one. Jack’s lips were soft and warm, and they knew exactly how to move  with yours. It was like your whole life had been leading up to this moment. Jack had completely and totally invaded your senses, and nestled himself into your very soul.

          His tongue had just found its way into your mouth when you heard a loud and astounded, “What the fuck?”

          Sawyer stood staring at you in complete shock. His eyes were wide, and his mouth was wide open. It would’ve been hilarious if not for the hurt that flooded his face in the next instant.

          “What are you doing here?” You asked him, trying hard not to pant from the lack of air in your lungs.

             Sawyer’s face changed from hurt to angry in seconds. “Freckles told me that you were up here. Said you were struggling. I can see that’s been taken care of.” He seethed. Jack stepped toward Sawyer like they were going to have a repeat of last week.

               “Thank you for coming up here to check on me, that was very sweet of you, Sawyer.” You said, hoping to convey the genuine gratitude you felt toward him. He stiffened, his anger more prominent.

              “Don’t thank me. I was hoping to get something nice out of it. I can see the Doc beat me to the punch.” He sneered, and then turned and left down the path. You were taken aback by the sudden mood swing, and the viciousness of his last statement.

              That couldn’t have been true. He was just lashing out because... because why? It didn’t make sense. Why would Sawyer care if you and Jack were together? Then you remembered his words. The words that had haunted you since last night. Sawyer felt the same way Jack did.

              Surely they had been talking about something else. Surely it couldn’t have been you. But it was the only explanation that worked. Why Sawyer had been so nice to you lately, why he had risked so much to save you, and why he had been so hurt to find you up here with Jack. Claire had been right, about everything. Of course she had.

     And this whole time, you had been using him as a distraction from Jack. All the time you spent with him, when you used him as support to walk across the beach, and when you had kissed his cheek and thanked him for saving you. He had thought it meant something different. You had been leading him on this whole time without knowing it.

     You felt sick. How could you be such an idiot. You felt yourself sway before Jack caught you.

     “Are you alright?” He asked you worriedly, checking you over. You looked into his face, the face you were so fond of, but all you could see was the hurt in Sawyer’s eyes. But Jack was here, he was holding you, he was everything you wanted. So why couldn’t you stop seeing Sawyer’s face?

     “Y/N?” Jack asked again, shaking you a little.

     “Hm?” You asked, pulled back into the present.

     “I asked if you were alright.” He said, his eyes roaming over your face. You smiled, his concern was touching. You tried your best to put Sawyer out of your mind. You were with Jack, this is what you had wanted since you crashed onto this god forsaken island.

     “I’m ok.” You said, smiling. A small blush crept onto your cheeks as you remembered what had happened a few minutes ago.

      Jack seemed to remember as well, because he laughed a little nervously.

       “So um I guess you know how I feel about you,” He said, looking down at his feet. “How do you feel about..” You cut him off with a smile and your lips.

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

       The last few weeks with Jack had been wonderful. Jack had constantly been by your side, an arm around your shoulders, or his hand in yours. Every time you saw him you felt butterflies. And when you kissed it felt like you would explode.  

         The only problem in your life was Sawyer. You had tried to find him after the incident in the jungle, but it hadn’t gone to plan.

        Jack had agreed to go to the hatch with Locke, and after several assurances to him that you would be fine, you had decided to seek out Sawyer and apologize. You knew he’d probably be in his tent, reading some book he’d managed to get his hands on. Reading had been something you’d bonded over. The thought made you a little sad.

        You walked over to his tent, trying your best to keep your head held high. You did nothing wrong, even though your guilt said otherwise. He was sitting just as you imagined, sandy hair blowing in the breeze, a book in his hand.

         “Knock knock.” You had said softly, trying to break the ice with a joke. You watched as his face changed from neutral to anger.

          “The Doc not enough for you princess? You decided you need a real man?” He sneered at you. You took a step back, feeling like you had been slapped.

          “Sawyer I just came to apologize. I had no idea...” you started.

           “Save it sweetheart.” He said. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Girls like you are all the same. Needin’ attention where they can get it. And then it’s all a game, isn’t it? I bet you had the time of your life watching me and the doc fight over you. I bet you gladly dangled the bait in fronta both of us, and when we were hooked you reveled in us flailin’ around, while you watched.” His voice was so cruel, the softer sweet Sawyer seemed long gone. His words cut you deep. These were the same thoughts you had had about yourself. And now he was confirming every bad thing you thought about yourself.

        You blinked at him, unable to stop the tears from springing into your eyes. Your mouth kept opening and shutting, but you couldn’t make any words come out.

         “I’m, Sawyer I’m so sorry if I hurt you. I never meant to lead you on or make you think that I wanted to be anything more than friends. And you were so nice to me and I’m so sorry.” You managed to stutter out. Sawyer’s face darkened.

          “Nice?” He laughed. “If you think me tryin’ to get some is nice, then I wonder how you’re not already pregnant.” That comment broke your mind for a minute.

            “But you..you helped me and you read to me. You saved my life!” You couldn’t make sense of what he was saying.

             “Haven’t you heard? The hero always gets fucked in the end.” You slapped him then. Hard. Your tears had dried then. Now you were just plain mad.

             “I know I hurt you Sawyer, and I apologize for that. But you have no right to speak to me that way. Just stay away from me!” You snapped. And then you stormed out, feeling cold even with the sun shining down on you.

           Ever since your argument, you hadn’t talked to Sawyer and he hadn’t approached you. However, he had been causing more and more problems, lashing out at people and picking fights. You tried your hardest to ignore him and focus on Jack. Sawyer wasn’t deserving of your time.

       You were currently sitting with the infamous doctor now. Locke had managed to kill a boar, and you were having a big celebration. You were sitting in front of a small fire, laughing and talking. Jack had his arm around you, and every now and then he would sneak a kiss. Sometimes from your lips or temple, and once from your lips. He made you blush and turn into a jittery mess. You had been thinking long and hard about it, and you knew it was time you told Jack you loved him as well.

          Now was as good a time as any, with the waves softly hitting the sand, the glow of the fire on your faces, and the warm feeling that had settled over you both. You turned toward him, eyes tracing over his face, memorizing his features. He turned and faced you. You blushed at being caught staring at him, but he only smiled and gave you a squeeze.

              “What?” He asked softly, leaning in close. His breath fanned over your face causing you to shiver. You steeled yourself and took a big breath.

               “I..”

         Kate appeared suddenly, panic in her eyes. She broke the mood instantly. Your stomach clenched, you knew something was terribly wrong.

         “What’s wrong?” Jack asked, tensing next to you. Kate’s eyes filled with tears as she said, “Sawyer’s been shot.”

 A/N: Thanks for sticking with this!! Hope you enjoy!! Sorry that this was kind of short!

Tags: @flowercrowns-goodvibes

[limitlessmonster]

Title: A Permanent Formality Pairing: EreRi Word Count: 1600 Rating: E (nsfw) Summary: In which Eren finds the key to more than just Levi’s dick in a box.  A/N: Happy Birthday, Eren. ♥ Please excuse the Lonely Island reference hahaha On AO3

“The only thing I care about blowing is right here,” Eren says, patting the half-hard bulge underneath Levi’s trousers with a cheeky grin.

“Did you just compare my dick to a candle?”

“Both long and hard,” Eren teases as he drops his gaze and bites the edge of his lip in anticipation, “and drips sticky, hot, white—“

“Okay, that’s enough tequila for you.” Levi makes to grab for the empty shot glass and is unsurprised when Eren dangles it above him like the drunk little shit he is. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Be nice, babe…” Eren is fighting the slur in his voice now and Levi figures he should push the plans up before Eren ends up on the bedroom floor naked and shitfaced. “‘S m’birthday…”

“Yeah, no shit. Every bar from here to Jersey knows it’s your birthday,” Levi says, palming his face. In hindsight, agreeing to a bar crawl with Eren and a group of their friends sounded like a much better idea in the beginning. It distracted him, made him less likely to second-guess his decision about other things he’d been waiting to do for the last few weeks. But now, there is only an hour left of Eren’s birthday and Levi is no closer to executing his plan as he had been earlier in the night. And with the way Eren is hungrily eyeing his noticeable bulge like he can magically see through clothing, Levi decides that winging it is probably better than letting the moment pass altogether. He cradles Eren’s face and brings him down just enough to plant a quick kiss, quietly chuckling when Eren’s nose wrinkles in disappointment. “You know you’re drunk, right?”

“Damn straight, I am.”

“Pretty sure whatever you are, straight ain’t one of them.”

“I--” Eren pauses, mouth open with the rest of whatever his retort should be, and blinks instead. “Okay, you’re not wrong.” He gently backs Levi against the edge of the bed until Levi’s knees buckle and he falls, forearms braced along the charcoal sheets. “Stop stalling and let me open my present.”

“If I’d known that was all you wanted, I’d have slapped a bow on my crotch and called it a night.” Levi sucks in a breath as he watches Eren work his belt buckle and zipper open with such candid determination that he stifles the urge to help him with the task.

“You know me,” Eren says, shirking Levi out of his pants, boxer briefs tugged along with it. “Who needs to blow candles to make my wish come true when I can blow you instead and get the same result?”

Levi has a reply on the tip of his tongue, but as soon as Eren wraps his lips around Levi’s cockhead and swallows him down, the words disappear right along with his functioning brain cells. As inebriated as Eren is, he is surprisingly deft with his ministrations. Barely a stutter in rhythm, a break in pace, while he alternates between his hand, his tongue, the heated suction of his mouth; a race to see which one can take Levi apart faster. Levi groans, his head lolling to the side, eyelids at half-mast and watching Eren simultaneously stroke himself while giving Levi a new experience on the phrase “blow your mind”.

Eren seems to realize Levi is nearing the edge because he dials back the pace, his gaze flickering up to Levi’s face as he licks the underside of his cock with the hint of a knowing smirk. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble, you know.”

“Mm?” Levi mumbles intelligently.

“Dinner and dancing? Bar crawl with everyone?” Eren takes Levi all the way down again, pulling off slowly and licking the weeping tip before his hand takes over with languid strokes. “You hate to dance almost as much as you hate going to bars, so--”

He pauses then and bites his lip, a lone eyebrow raised in Levi’s direction. Again, Levi’s response is on the tip of his tongue, and again, it dies a horrible, violent death at the sight of Eren biting his fucking lip because there are only so many things his brain synapses can focus on before overfiring. “So?”

“I would’ve been fine with takeout and a movie on your couch,” Eren murmurs, mouthing along Levi’s naked skin while his hand follows the trail, his grip tightening just enough to bring the coiling sensation back into Levi’s core. “Same result, more time for this.” And he swallows Levi again, all reservations gone.

With a gasp, Levi’s head dips back. His fingers clench around the starched sheets, grasping for purchase while Eren goes full throttle and rips a moan from Levi’s throat so wrecked that he almost doesn’t recognize the sound. A tremor rocks him, makes him lose whatever self control he’s tried to manage, his release shooting into the back of Eren’s throat as every inch of him is lit to high heaven. He rides it out all the way, thrusting a staggered rhythm as he fucks Eren’s mouth on pure instinct and Eren lets him, removes his grip on Levi’s hips and uses his hands, instead, to cover the deathgrip Levi has managed on his sheets. Then he angles his head enough to allow Levi’s cock to slide in and out with ease, his throat relaxing and clenching around him as the moment passes until finally, Levi’s entire body slackens and sags boneless against the mattress.

“What...the...fuck,” Levi manages, sinking back altogether as he attempts to catch his breath. He closes his eyes and exhales sharply through his mouth, the warmth from Eren’s hands disappearing a moment later. A familiar weight presses against him and when he opens his eyes, Eren has managed to straddle him, the satisfied smirk he wears reaching the bright green gaze now trained on Levi. “I did actually get you something, but fuck if I can beat that out.”

“Technically, I beat that out,” Eren teases, dipping his head to indicate Levi’s dick softening beneath him, his hand reenacting the motion with a cheeky grin and a waggle of his eyebrows. “You know, for clarification.”

This earns him a laugh, one of many that only seems to happen whenever Eren is around. Filled with amusement, affection. Happiness.

With a snort, Levi manages to reach into his discarded pants, extracting a small box out of the back pocket. “Like I said,” he says, grunting as he rises to sitting position, Eren still on his lap and looking at the box with brimming curiosity. He pops the lid open, pulls out a thin silver chain, and places it over Eren’s head. The metal gleams, stark against Eren’s bronze skin, the key at the end catching the light when Eren shifts to properly look at it.

He blinks rapidly, as though his brain is trying to figure out alternatives for Levi’s gesture more believable than what is actually happening. He licks his lips and Levi resists the urge to kiss him right then and there, resists the temptation at least until Eren can properly respond before Levi’s anxiety can kick in at the prolonged silence.

“Is that--?”

“A key? Yeah, looks like it.”

“For your place?”

“What else did you think it was for?”

Eren flushes, planting a hand on his face as his expression turns sheepish. “Well, considering I just tried to suck your brains out of your dick--”

“Such a romantic.”

“--and you watched the Lonely Island video with me the other day--”

“Oh my god, Eren.”

“Okay, but can you blame me?”

“It’s not a key to my dick in a box,” Levi says, half exasperated and half amused. “Besides, would’ve defeated the purpose if you got the key after you unwrapped me.”

Eren still looks mildly unconvinced. “Are you sure?” he asks, biting his lip again, the action going straight to Levi’s groin.

Levi shrugs, shifting to ease the sensation. “Most of your shit’s already here anyway. This is just a formality.”

“A permanent formality.”

“Well…yeah. If you want it to be.”

“Why the chain? You couldn’t have just gone with a keyring?” Eren says with a chuckle, holding the key between his fingertips like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

“I don’t know,” Levi says honestly. “Bought it on a whim, I guess. But as soon as I saw it hanging there, it just sorta...felt right. Like it was supposed to be there. ‘S that weird?”

Eren shakes his head and instead of responding, kisses him, arms draped over Levi’s shoulders. They pull away slowly, the kisses lingering like dying embers intent on burning long after the heat of the flames have long settled. They somehow make their way beneath the sheets, legs tangled together with Eren tracing lazy circles against Levi’s naked skin. He seems to be sobering up some, anchoring his forehead against Levi’s in that sleepy way that makes Levi want to curl up with him under the covers and stay there for as long as Eren would let him.

“Hey Levi?”

“Yeah?”

“Love you, you know.”

“Yeah, kid,” Levi says again, staring at the ceiling. “I know.”

“And I want it to be,” Eren says, nuzzling his face into Levi’s neck, his voice sleep-heavy.

“Hm?”

“A permanent formality.”

“Good. Now go to sleep,” Levi hums in response, mouth ghosting against Eren’s temple as a warmth settles over him. Happy. Content. Exactly where he’s supposed to be. When he hears Eren’s breathing even out, the rhythm slow and steady, he exhales a whisper, “Happy Birthday, Eren.” And then, because he can’t help himself, “I love you, too.”