#but at the end of the day i look at myself and i just see a dirty rag thats soaked up particles and dirty remains

[pixiexdusts-world]

Trust me

Thanos x reader

Summary: A shy girl finds safety in Thanos, a reckless but protective survivor.

Word count: 770

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I never thought I’d end up here—with him.

Thanos wasn’t the kind of person I usually gravitated toward. He was loud, confident, and unpredictable, while I was… well, me. Shy. Awkward. The kind of person who second-guessed every word before speaking, who blushed at the slightest attention. He was the kind of guy people either admired or feared. And yet, somehow, he had chosen me.

I met him before Squid Game, before everything fell apart. Back when he was just a man with a reputation too big for any room he walked into. I had been working part-time at a record store, hiding behind the counter, quietly existing, when he walked in one night.

“You got any old-school hip-hop?” he had asked, tapping his fingers against the counter in an impatient rhythm.

I had barely managed to stammer out a response before he smirked. “Why you so nervous?”

I hadn’t known how to answer. But for some reason, he had kept coming back, every week, teasing me, pushing past my awkwardness until I had gotten used to him.

And then life happened. Bad decisions. Wrong people. The kind of trouble that swallowed you whole before you even realized you’d stepped into it. That’s how we ended up here.

The first night in the Squid Game, I kept to myself, hugging my knees in the corner while the others talked in hushed voices. Thanos, on the other hand, was already making himself known—loud, reckless, unbothered by the fear in the air. I should have been annoyed. Maybe even a little afraid. But when he found me sitting alone, his expression softened in a way I wasn’t used to seeing.

“You okay?” he asked, crouching in front of me.

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if it was true.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he said, lowering his voice like it was meant just for me. “Not as long as I’m here.”

I wanted to believe him. But this wasn’t some rap battle, some night out where he could bluff his way through danger with a cocky grin. This was real. Life or death.

Still, when he sat beside me, closer than necessary, I didn’t move away.

The days blurred together, each game a crueler nightmare than the last. I wasn’t built for this. I was too quiet, too soft, too used to fading into the background. But Thanos never let me disappear.

He stood in front of me when tensions ran high, when fights broke out over food. He made sure I ate, even when he barely touched his own meal. And when I flinched at the sound of a gunshot, he grabbed my wrist, holding it just tight enough to ground me.

“Hey,” he murmured, “look at me.”

I did.

“You’re still here,” he reminded me. “And as long as you’re here, you fight.”

I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t like him, that I didn’t know how to be fearless. But when I looked into his eyes, I realized something—he wasn’t fearless either. He just knew how to hide it.

One night, when the lights flickered and the dormitory became a battlefield, I felt panic creeping in. The sounds of screams and fists colliding filled the air, and I knew I was too weak to fight.

But then there was him.

Thanos grabbed my hand, pulling me into the shadows before anyone could reach me. He pressed me against the wall, shielding me with his body as chaos unfolded around us.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered, his voice rough but steady.

I wanted to tell him I didn’t deserve his protection. That he should be watching out for himself, not wasting his time on me. But all I could do was nod, gripping the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

As he fought off anyone who got too close, I realized something.

He wasn’t the man people thought he was. He wasn’t just reckless. He wasn’t just trouble.

He was the only person in this place who made me feel safe.

“Why do you care so much?” I asked one night, when the world had quieted again.

He looked at me like the answer was obvious.

“Because you make me feel human.”

And in that moment, despite the nightmare surrounding us, I believed him.

[the-sslimmest-shady]

This is something I would've related to really really hard a few months ago. Here's what I have to say about it:

Time is weird for me, for multiple reasons. I ain't gonna list em here, it'd be too long and convoluted, but yall probably know what I'm talking about. You're super depressed, no executive function, you're just trying to make it to friday, etc, you usually end up losing track of time. After a few days of just being absolutely out of it, i decide to redecorate my phone screen cuz i wanted to add a widget of my crush (now partner!) to my home screen and replace my old phone background (it was based around my ex, so that makes sense) and when I added the iamsober widget, I saw that I accidentally got a sober streak of like 15 days(!) and thought "hey, that's actually really good! I feel like i need to "fix" that... but i wonder how long i can keep it up?" and since then, staying sober is like a game to me. Like, how long can I keep the steak up? I don't wanna restart my progress! The number is on the home page of my phone with the widget! I see it go up every day! Seeing that progress in real time gives me like, an unreasonable amount of dopamine ngl. Its hecome the best idle game honestly and is SO surprisingly helpful.

I still get bad urges (like, it feels like actual chemical withdrawls) like, every day, but the only thing I've used the razor in my phone case for in 141 days now (that's almost 3/4 of the way to 200!!!) has been cutting thread when I lost the scissors when I was sewing. Like, even though I got Ds in all my classes this semester, I'm actually proud of myself for something. It's such a weird feeling, since Im not usually proud of myself for anything, but it's also a really really good feeling. I actually have milestones to look forward to for once!! It actually makes me so happy and is honestly kinda exhilarating

This is all to say, getting sober isn't easy. It's hell and takes work. But, if you just reframe the way you look at it, it can be so, so much easier. You can even start completely on accident like me. You got this.

(And sometimes poor time management works out in your favor! Dont beat urself up over everything (litterally!) :] )

I hope someone relates 😔

[mangionebabymama]

“six thirty” — Luigi Mangione

“Whatcha gonna do when I’m bored and I wanna play video games at 2 am? What if I need a friend? Will you ride ‘til the end?” - “six thirty” by Ariana Grande

Word Count: 3.0k

Warnings: LOTS of pining and yearning, sort of slow-burn online romance, but it's also platonic, maybe? This also contains some slight mentions of depression and loneliness; please proceed with caution.

A/N: Inspired by this ask from a while ago, where those particular lyrics of "six thirty" about playing video games at 2 am have always stuck with me. If you don't know this about me by now, I am a Cancer sun, and it shows. I am emotional, and I'm going to be an emotional writer. Please note that this is purely fictional, but these feelings are real.

The glow of Luigi’s monitor lit up the dim room, casting long shadows across the walls. It was 2 a.m., and the quiet hum of his computer was the only sound breaking the silence. He shifted in his chair, wincing slightly as the faded memories of his surgery still lingered in his movements. Recovery had been slow, and lately, he’d found himself retreating into the digital world more and more. The real world felt heavy, distant—like it wasn’t his anymore. Like he was watching his life happen from somewhere far away. His family and friends tried to reach out, but he’d been pulling away, retreating into himself.

His cursor hovered over his Steam library, scrolling aimlessly. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. Just something to fill the void. That’s when he noticed it—the little green dot next to your username. You were online. His heart gave a little leap, and before he could reconsider his decision, a notification appeared from you.

Can’t sleep either? Is it the insomnia again or were you hoping to see if I was up?

Luigi’s fingers flew over the keyboard for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite the heaviness in his chest. He glanced at the clock on his desk— now 2:01 AM—and then back at the glowing screen of his monitor. The room was darkling, lit only by the soft blue light of his computer, and the hum of the fan inside the tower was the only sound accompanying his thoughts.

Pep: Both.

The reply came almost instantaneously, like a reflex, as if you’d been waiting for him. 

You: Figured. You’ve been on late a lot lately. Not that I’m complaining—company’s nice.

Luigi leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow breath. His back ached faintly, a dull reminder of the surgery he’d had months ago. The doctors had said he’d recover fully, but they hadn’t warned him about the mental toll it would take. The weeks spent in bed, staring at the ceiling, had given him too much time to think. And now, even though he was physically better, he couldn’t shake the weight that seemed to settle deeper into his chest every day.

Pep: Yeah, I guess I have. Sleeping’s been… hard.

You: Hard as in “can’t fall asleep” or hard as in “don’t want to”?

Luigi hesitated. You always seemed to know the right questions to ask, the questions that cut straight through the noise and got to the heart of things. He wasn’t sure if it was comforting or terrifying.

Pep: Both.

There was a pause before your next message appeared. 

You: You’ve been quiet lately. Not just tonight—like, in general. Even when we’re playing. You okay?

He stared at the words, his chest tightening. How does she always know? He wondered. You’d never met in person, never even seen each other’s faces, but somehow, you always seemed to see him. 

Pep: I don’t know. I guess… I’ve just been feeling kind of lost. I don’t even know how to explain it.

You: Try. 

Luigi let out a short, humorless laugh. Leave it to you to cut straight to the point. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the words.

Pep: It’s like… everything just feels heavy, you know? Like I’m just going through the motions. I’ve been distancing myself from everyone—my family, my friends—but I don’t even know why. I just… I can’t seem to connect with anything anymore. Except this. 

He added, gesturing to the screen even though you couldn’t see him. 

Talking to you. Playing games. It’s like the only time I feel… I don’t know, alive, I guess. 

The cursor blinked as he waited for your response, his heart beating a little faster than it should have.

After a moment, you wrote back. 

You: You’re not alone in that. I think a lot of people feel that way sometimes. Especially now, with everything going on in the world. It’s easy to get lost in your own head.

Pep: But it’s not just that. It’s like… I’m stuck. Like I’m just watching my life pass by, and I don’t know how to make it stop. I don’t know how to fix it.

There was another pause, longer this time.

You: Have you talked to anyone about this? Like, really talked?

Luigi shook his head, though he knew you couldn’t see him. 

Pep: Not really. I don’t want to bother anyone with it. And I don’t even know what I’d say.

You: You’re not bothering me

And you don’t have to have all the answers. Sometimes, just saying it out loud helps.

Or typing it out, lol

He smiled faintly, a warmth spreading through his chest that he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

Pep: Thanks. Seriously. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

You: Probably be even more of a mess

You joked about that last bit of your message, and he could almost hear the teasing tone in your voice as he let out a chuckle reading what you said. 

Pep: Ya, probably

There was a comfortable silence between you both, broken only by the soft sound of his keyboard as he typed some more.

What about you? Why are you up so late?

You: Couldn’t sleep either. Insomnia’s a bitch. Plus, I was kind of hoping you’d be on.

Luigi’s heart skipped a beat, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

Pep: Yeah?

You: Yeah. You make the nights better.

He felt his face heat up.

Pep: You make them better, too. 

Another pause preceded your following message.

You: You know, it’s okay to not be okay. And it’s okay to lean on people when you need to. You don’t have to go through this alone.

Luigi stared at the words, his throat tightening. He wasn’t sure if it was the late hour or the raw honesty of the conversation, but he felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He typed, his fingers lingering uncertainly over the keys.

Pep: I don’t want to be a burden. 

You: You’re not a burden. 

If anything, you’re the opposite. You’re important to me, Luigi—more than you realize.

His breath caught in his throat, and he had to blink back the tears that threatened to fall. 

Pep: You’re important to me too.

His hands shook as he typed. 

More than I think I’ve ever admitted.

There was a long silence, and for a moment, he wondered if he’d said too much. Yet, your response showed up, and he felt a surge of adrenaline in his chest.

You: Maybe we should admit it more. To each other. To ourselves. Life’s too short to keep everything bottled up.

Luigi nodded, even though you couldn’t see him.

Pep: Yeah. Maybe we should.

He tilted back in his seat, caught in a strange sensation of relief intertwined with fragility. He wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, but at last, he felt like he wasn’t alone.

You: You know…

Sometimes, I think about what it would be like to meet you in person.

Luigi felt a flutter in his heart once more. 

Pep: Yeah?

You: Yeah. I think it’d be… nice. To talk face-to-face. To really see you.

Pep: I think it’d be nice too.

You: Maybe, one day, we will

Pep: One day, for sure

The cursor blinked on the screen, expecting the next words to appear. For once, Luigi felt a spark of something he hadn’t felt in months: hope.

You: Until then, I’m here. 

Whenever you need me.

Luigi smiled, his chest swelling with gratitude. 

Pep: Same goes for you. Always.

The cursor blinked lazily on the screen, as if it, too, was holding on for Luigi to gather his courage. He sat in the dim glow of his monitor, the rest of the room swallowed by the darkness of the early hours. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, shaking, as if betraying the weight of the words he was about to type. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

Why now? He thought. Why does it feel like I can only tell the truth at 2 a.m. when the world is asleep?

But he knew the answer. It wasn’t the time that mattered. It was you. The way you listened without judgment and your words seemed to reach into the parts of him he’d locked away. You made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as broken as he thought.

He took a deep breath, his chest tightening as he started typing.

Pep: There’s something I’ve never told anyone.

He wrote away, his words appearing on the screen in a rush as if they were desperate to escape. He paused, his heart pounding in his ears. Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to lay himself bare like this?

Just as he was about to second-guess himself, your reply appeared up.

You: You can tell me anything, Luigi. You know that.

He exhaled shakily, his fingers moving almost of their own accord.

Pep: It’s about why I’ve been so… distant lately. It’s not just the surgery. Not just the insomnia. It’s… I’ve always felt like I don’t belong. Like I’m on the outside looking in. Even with everybody in my life. I try to act like I’m okay, like I’m fine, but I’m not. I haven’t been for a long time.

He stopped, his chest heaving as if he’d just run a marathon. His eyes darted to the clock in the corner of the screen—2:04 AM. The world was still asleep, but he felt more awake than in months.

Your reply came quickly, longing for him to say those words all along. 

You: That’s a heavy burden to carry alone. You don’t have to, you know. You’re not as alone as you think you are.

Luigi’s lips trembled as he absorbed your words, a tight knot swirling in his throat. Deep down, he yearned to trust you, to hold on to the fragile hope that he wasn’t as solitary as he often felt. Yet, the weight of loneliness pressed heavily on him, an ever-present shadow that made believing in that hope a daunting challenge.

Pep: It’s not just that

He typed, his fingers moving faster now, as if they couldn’t keep up with the thoughts tumbling out of his head. 

I’ve been struggling 

with something else

Something I’ve never told anyone. Not even my closest friends.

The cursor blinked mockingly, sitting tight for him to continue. He swallowed hard, his stomach churning. This was it. The moment of truth. The moment he either let it all out or shut it away forever.

You: Take your time, Luigi. I’m here.

He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his courage. When he opened them, he started typing again, the words spilling out, his cup runneth over with transparency. 

Pep: I’ve always felt like I was different. Like there was something wrong with me. Something I couldn’t put into words. It’s not just the loneliness. It’s like… I’ve been searching for something my whole life, but I don’t know what it is. And it’s tearing me apart.

His hands trembled as he pressed the enter key, the letters materializing on the screen in sharp black and white. A rush of vulnerability washed over him, as if he had peeled away a layer of skin, revealing the raw, bleeding chaos lurking beneath. It was an eerie sensation, as though he was standing naked before an unseen audience, laid bare and utterly exposed.

His heart pounded as he waited for your reply, each second stretching into an eternity. When your message finally appeared, it was simple but profound.

You: Thank you for trusting me enough to share that. You’re not alone in feeling that way. A lot of people feel lost, like they’re searching for something they can’t quite name. It’s part of being human. But you don’t have to figure it all out right now. 

Just take it one step at a time, one day at a time.

Luigi’s breath caught in his throat as he read your words. It wasn’t judgment or pity that he saw in them. It was understanding. Compassion. And something else—something that made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

Pep: I don’t know where to start

He confessed, his fingers shaking as he typed. 

I feel like I’m stuck in this… this loop. Like I’m just going through the motions, but I’m not really living. I don’t know how to break out of it.

Your response was prompt, as though you had anticipated him saying those words. 

You: Start by being honest with yourself. About what you want, what you need. It doesn’t have to be all at once. Just take small steps. And remember, you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here. As much as you’ll let me be.

Luigi's vision swam before him as he absorbed your message, a lump rising stubbornly in his throat. He scrubbed at his eyes, fighting back the tide of emotions that surged within him—gratitude coursing through his veins, relief washing over him like a gentle wave, and a flutter of fear that danced just beneath the surface. Yet, amid this tumult, there was something else—a warm, comforting sensation enveloping him, as if he were being wrapped in a soft, reassuring hug that eased the weight on his shoulders.

Pep: I don’t know why you’re so kind to me.

He typed, his fingers moving slowly now as if each word carried the weight of his heart. 

I don’t feel like I deserve it.

You: You don’t have to earn kindness, Luigi. You deserve it just because you’re you. And you’re worth it. Don’t ever doubt that.

He stared at the screen, his breath hitching. Those words—those simple, powerful words—struck something deep inside him, something he’d buried long ago—a tiny spark of hope, flickering in the darkness.

Pep: I don’t know what to say. I just… Thank you. For being here. For listening. For… for seeing me.

You: Always, Luigi. Always.

He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt like he could breathe. Like the weight on his chest had shifted, just a little. It wasn’t gone, but it was bearable. And for now, that was enough.

Pep: There’s one more thing. Something I’ve never told anyone. Not even myself, really.

He paused, his fingers trembling. This was it. The moment of truth. The moment he either let it all out or shut it away forever.

You: You can tell me anything, Luigi. I’m here.

He closed his eyes, gathering his courage. When he opened them, he started typing again, the words spilling out in a raw, unfiltered stream.

Pep: I think… I think I’ve been searching for someone. Not just anyone, but… you. I don’t know how to explain it, but talking to you, it feels like… like I’ve finally found what I’ve been looking for. I know it sounds crazy, but—

Your reply interrupted him, cutting off his words before he could finish.

You: It’s not crazy, Luigi. I feel it, too.

His breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. He stared at the screen, his mind racing. Did you really mean it? Or was it just the late hour, the vulnerability of the moment, making you say things you might not normally say?

Pep: Do you really mean that?

As he typed, his fingers erratically tremored; he couldn’t keep up with the thoughts tumbling out of his head. 

Or is it just the insomnia talking?

You: I mean it, Luigi. I’ve felt it, too. This connection between us. It’s real. 

It’s always been real. 

Pep: I want it to be real.

You: Then let’s make it real. 

His pulse quickened. The compulsion hung in the air, heavy and loaded. He’d thought about it—more times than he could count. He’d imagined what it would be like to hear your voice, to see your face, to feel your presence beside him. But it felt like a dream, something just out of reach.

Pep: But there’s so much distance. And I… I don’t know if I’m ready for that. If I’m even capable of it. I know you’re real, and this is, but I want to feel it, too. 

The honesty in his words surprised him. He hadn’t meant to say so much, but something about the late hour, the quiet, you—it made it impossible to hold back.

You: I get it. I really do. But… what if we didn’t have to figure it all out right now? What if we just… let ourselves want it? Even if it’s just for tonight.

I mean… what if we stopped pretending like this isn’t something real? Like we’re just two strangers who happen to be online at the same time. Because we’re not. We’re more than that. 

And… I don’t want to hide it anymore.

Luigi gazed at the words, his chest constricting. He felt naked and vulnerable, yet also… relieved. It was as if someone had torn off a bandage he hadn’t known was there.

Pep: I don’t want to hide it, either. I do want this. I want you. Even if it’s just like this, for now. Even if it’s just words on a screen. It just feels so real to me.

You: Then let’s stop pretending. Let’s just… be. Together. Even if it’s just for tonight.

He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. He let out a slow breath, feeling the pressure ease slightly, now knowing that deep down, he understood what he wanted—he wanted you, and at long last, you were there, waiting for him. He was no longer alone. At this moment, going forward for however long the night would last, it would be just you and him—and only you and him. And it was going to be real. 

Then, slowly, he typed.

Pep: Okay. Let’s be together.

[wroetominter]

Three Peaks - George Clarke

Warnings: none, some swearing

Thank you for the request! I have some serious writers block right now so bear with as the time between posts may be a little longer. I appreciate you!

———

"I don't know how I got roped into this one" I adjusted the microphone I was securing to Chris' t-shirt. He chuckled, patting my shoulder as I finished.

"Well, there aren't many of you fit enough to actually climb three mountains so it was quite the easy choice." Chris said. I sighed, shaking my head. Mentally slapping myself for telling Chris casually that I enjoyed a good hike.

Chris had the thought for a video that honestly, I couldn't even make fun of. It was a really well thought out idea. A group of his friends and crew tackling the three peaks challenge. Which is essentially just climbing three mountains in 24 hours. Seems damn near impossible, especially considering the group he had.

I had been part of Chris' camera crew for almost a year now, and I felt like I had really found a good group of friends in this job. Outside of filming I had been hanging out with Chris and his core group frequently. Many nights spent out at different pubs, or simply hanging out at their flat.

"Let's get going shall we?" Chris began to lead the group. I stuck towards the middle, filming the boys who had taken the lead.

Reev, Chris, and George led the pack as we began the ascent to the top of our first mountain.

"I can already tell this is going to be fucking awful." I heard from behind me. I turned my head to see Arthur Hill beginning the days complaints.

"George you owe me a tenner!" Television shouted from beside him.

"What?" I asked in confusion.

"I placed a bet that Hill would be the first to complain." Television explained. I threw my head back laughing, panning the camera to catch Hills reaction. He deadpanned and just stared at the camera.

"Don't worry Arthur, I'm not looking forward to this either."

Each boy had been given their own special challenge for the video, and I was really enjoying watching Reev attempt to put rocks in the boys shoes.

"What's your challenge?" I asked Chris as I caught up to him.

"I need to get someone to believe a fake fact about each mountain." He whispered to the camera.

"That feels alarmingly easy considering the group we're with." I said. He agreed and told me he was already scheming up his first lie to tell Arthur.

We had been climbing for close to two hours by this point, and we were nearing the peak.

"Enjoying yourself love?" George asked me as he took a seat on the rock next to me.

"It's not nearly as bad as I expected it to be, I'll be honest." I snacked on the apple slices I packed, offering one out to George.

We sat in a comfortable silence, watching the others as they bantered back and forth with each other.

I sat and admired George as he laughed, not being able to help myself from laughing along. He had an infectious laugh. Chris caught me staring at George and raised an eyebrow at me. He was the only one of the group who knew I had somewhat of a crush on George. I had unfortunately admitted it to him accidentally after one drink too many during a pub crawl.

We had all gotten up again to keep our pace going up the mountain. The terrain upwards wasn't too bad. The most annoying part by far was having to continue to film while simultaneously making sure I didn't fall down.

"I never thought this would end!" Arthur Hill screamed as we reached the peak.

"I'm sure you're used to hearing that in bed." Harry joked with him patting him on the back.

We all shared a laugh and took in the nice view. It wasn't long before we realized that 'huh, guess we just go down now' and begin to descend the mountain.

I trailed behind Chris and ArthurTV, catching some of their conversation as Chris tried to convince Arthur that some celebrity had been the first person to complete this challenge. I had to actively hold in a giggle as I knew Chris was having him on with his challenge.

During my distracted state, I felt myself slide to the side as my foot hit a loose rock that sent me falling down. Instinctively deciding to protect my camera, I took the full brunt of the fall to my hip and legs.

"Shit, are you alright?" George asked jogging to catch up to me.

Catching my breath after scaring myself with the fall, I nodded towards him. I turned my camera off and stuck it in its carrying bag beside me, examining my ankle.

It was fairly scraped up, and was slightly throbbing. Nothing that felt it would be too crazy but painful nonetheless.

A few of the others called out to see if I was okay. I gave them a thumbs up.

"I'll stay with her and help her down, you guys can go ahead we'll just be a few minutes." George called back to them.

"Does it hurt?" He asked me, grazing his fingertips over my ankle to assess.

"Not a ton, I think I was more shocked by the fall than anything. I'll be fine George, thank you for staying behind with me." I smiled at him, noting his features contorted with uncertainty at my words.

He stood up, holding his hands out for me to help me up. I happily grabbed them and put pressure on my ankle, feeling a tinge of pain but it was bearable.

I stood upright, George still holding onto my hands to make sure I was steady. He never took his eyes off of mine, scanning my face for any sign of pain.

"I'm good George, I promise." He smiled at me, squeezing my hands.

"I think it's time to reveal my challenge to you." His words took me by surprise as I had no idea where this topic had come from.

He let go of my hands, fishing around in his pocket and pulling out a cue card similar to the other boys. He unfolded it and turned it towards me.

In small, easily recognizable handwriting I read off 'tell Y/n you have feelings for her you dumb twat'. Chris. Of course Chris would write that.

I looked back up to him, his face flushed from either embarrassment or anxiety, I couldn't tell.

"I assume what's written there is true?" I asked George, looking to him for confirmation. He nodded, sliding the paper back into his pocket.

We both stood there a little awkwardly for a moment, neither of us being particularly good at the whole admitting feelings thing.

"Your feelings are mutual." I said, cutting the silence. His eyes widened at me, a smile breaking on his features.

He put an arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer for a hug.

"How about we talk more about this over dinner once we’re done with the next two mountains?” He propositioned.

I groaned, “I forgot we still have two fucking mountains to go.” He laughed as I pouted.

He slid his hand up to my cheek, bringing his face closer to mine and connecting our lips in a short, sweet kiss.

“This should give you something to look forward to” he said as he pulled away. It was my turn for my cheeks to turn pink. Despite how tired and sweaty we already were, he still looked absolutely perfect.

“I suppose I can make it through as long as you promise not to let me fall again.” He laughed.

“I’ll do my best.”

We walked downwards, eventually catching up with the others who had stopped for a water break.

“Finally you two made it! Began to think you two were shacking up up there!” ArthurTV exclaimed.

I rolled my eyes at him, laughing.

“Not quite shacking up, but my challenge is complete.” George bragged, Chris’ head shot towards us at these words.

“No way.” He said, looking to me for confirmation.

“Yes way” I replied, George put his arm over my shoulder once again and we watched as the mental cogs turned in the other boys heads.

“Oh my god he finally got the balls to tell her!” Arthur Hill screamed, jumping around like a fangirl.

I looked to George who just shook his head in embarrassment. “Did everyone know except me?” I asked only loud enough for him to hear.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

I knew then that the next two mountains would likely be sex jokes and embarrassing stories, and I was weirdly looking forward to it.

[xoxoavenger]

Heat of the Moment

pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

summary: Sam's stuck in a time loop, watching not only Dean die but also Y/N's reaction to it. Every. Single. Day. (Mystery Spot Rewrite)

word count: 11227 (this took literally almost 6 hours just to write I thought it could be done for Groundhog Day but holy fuck)

warnings: major character death (lol), cannon typical gore, time loop, not proofread bc I finished this four hours before I have to wake up

main masterlist

//

Day 1

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

"Got your gun?" Y/N asks when they're about to walk through the door. Dean makes a face and turns right back around, digging through his bag.

"He'd forget his head if you weren't here." Sam says under his breath, but Dean still hears it. He grabs one of Y/N's bras and holds it up, causing her eyes to widen.

"I think Sammy accidentally put his clothes in our bag, sweetheart." He smiles at the two of them, who are both giving him bitch faces for different reasons. "Ha!" He laughs, grabbing his gun and dropping the bra.

"Let's go, douchebag." Y/N rolls her eyes as she lets him go through the door first, smacking his ass and grinning as he flinches.

"I wasn't kidding earlier. I will kill myself." Sam threatens, but when Y/N looks up he has a small smile on his face.

"Go get breakfast, you mammoth-man." She tells him as she locks the door. He smiles, turning to follow his brother. Y/N isn't far behind, jogging to catch up to Dean and grab his hand.

They walk into the diner, sitting in a small booth that they barely fit in but Dean insists (they all know it's so he can sit as close as possible to Y/N).

"Why do you have to make up an excuse? You share a bed with her because she's your goddamn girlfriend. I think you can handle sitting two feet away at the breakfast bar." Sam argues.

"You're on the other side anyway, Sam. You don't have to complain." She tells him as she looks up at the menu. Sam rolls his eyes, and Y/N takes a deep breath. She loves the brothers, she really does, but they drive her crazy sometimes.

"Hey, Tuesday. Pig 'n a poke." Dean gestures up at the menu. Y/N furrows her brows, trying to get more information.

"Do you even know what that is?" Sam asks, and Dean doesn't have a good answer to this. Luckily, their waitress comes up to greet them, and Y/N smiles up at her.

"Are you three ready?" She asks with a smile. She's an older lady, with dark, short hair curled in an oldies style to match the bright yellow uniform.

"Yes! I'll have the special, a side of bacon, and a coffee." Dean orders, then turns to Y/N.

"Can I order lunch for breakfast?" Y/N asks, and the waitress sighs.

"I would let ya, but our kitchen isn't set up for it." She says it kindly, and Y/N nods.

"I'll just have coffee, then." The waitress jots it down, and they turn to Sam, who orders his coffee and pancakes. "You got it." The waitress says, and leaves them be. While the boys start to argue about Bela, Y/N looks around the diner. It seems like just a normal, old-fashioned diner, but something in her gut is telling her that this place isn't what it seems.

"Where the laws of physics have no meaning?" Dean asks, reading off the pamphlet Sam handed over. Y/N focuses back in, seeing 'Mystery Spot' on the front.

"This town has a mystery spot?" Y/N asks, grabbing the pamphlet from Dean. Sam shrugs, the boys looking up as the waitress comes back with their coffees. She spills the hot sauce, which ends up getting on Dean because of how far out in the booth he is. Sam can't help his small smile, and Y/N can already feel a headache coming on from this day.

After breakfast, the three walk through town, Y/N looking at the Mystery Spot pamphlet.

"Sweetheart, you're wasting your time. Places like this are just tourist traps." Dean says, gently grabbing the pamphlet from her hands. She frowns, snatching it back.

"There are plenty of places in the world that have strange occurrences that aren't tourist traps." She argues, looking over at Sam for some help.

"There's the Bermuda Triangle, The Oregon Vortex. This could be one of them." Sam defends, and Dean rolls his eyes.

"The Broward County Mystery Spot?" He asks as if it's the stupidest suggestion he's ever heard of.

"It could be? How would you know if you haven't even gone there?" Y/N asks, and Dean takes the pamphlet once more.

"Alright, let's say I believe this. What's the lore?" He's looking down at the pamphlet, and Y/N's looking over at Sam, so neither of them see the blonde who walks right into Dean.

"Excuse me." She says, but Y/N's already turning around. She's used to people hitting on Dean - she's not blind, of course she knows her boyfriend is attractive. But it doesn't make her happy, and usually Dean doesn't do much to stop it before it's too late.

"Hey!" She yells, but Dean's grabbing her arm before she can march over to the blonde chick and ask if she was born yesterday, because she clearly doesn't know how to walk.

"Come on," Dean says quietly, which enrages Y/N even more.

"Seriously?" She asks, talking her hand from Dean's arm. They all start walking again, Sam looking ahead to make sure no one is about to witness the nuclear fight that's about to occur.

"Sweetheart, she ran into me on accident. We don't need to start a fight over that." Dean tries to calm her down, but Y/N isn't having it.

"That's the thing, Dean. You never even stop it. I'm always the one that has to say something." Y/N isn't even sure why they're having this fight right here, right now, but she doesn't want to have to keep it in anymore.

"Does it really matter? You and I both know that I'm yours. I thought you trusted me enough to know I wouldn't just do that." Dean seems actually hurt, which makes Y/N even more mad.

"You clearly don't understand." She huffs, fighting the urge to walk ahead of the bothers. Instead, she looks over the Sam. "So, what's the lore?" She asks, as if they didn't just have a fight.

"Uh," Sam scrambles to recover. "They say these places can bend space and time, sending victims anywhere, or when, I guess."

"That sounds like X-Files." Dean grumbles, clearly still not over the fight. Y/N rolls her eyes.

"Our life is basically X-Files." She argues as they walk past two guys struggling to get a piano through a door. They all stare for a moment, then get back to the conversation.

"Alright, look. I'm not saying that's what's really happening. But if it is, we gotta check it out, see if we can do something." Sam tells them, and Y/N nods.

"Alright, alright. We'll go tonight, after they close, get ourselves a nice, long look." Dean agrees, and Y/N nods.

"Great, see you tonight then." She makes to turn left when the brothers turn right to go back to the hotel.

"Where are you goin'?" Dean asks, pausing just before he crosses the street.

"I need some space. I'll meet you there an hour after close, promise." She says, then walks away. Sam turns to Dean, who's frowning as he watches his girlfriend walk away.

"Dude, you've got to learn how to apologize." Sam says with a sigh, starting to cross the street.

"Shut up!"

~

Y/N's waiting at the Mystery Spot an hour after close, like she promised. The boys nod to her, and Dean hands her a flashlight before they walk in. There's tons of wacky rooms, but they don't find anything interesting.

"Wow. Uncanny." Dean says after they walk through a green and black spiral hallway and into a room with furniture on the ceiling. Sam's scanning for EMF, and Y/N's looking around for anything other than these random attractions that only give her the spooks because of the dark.

"Find anything?" She asks Sam.

"No." The younger brother answers. She keeps looking around, but she has no idea what the hell they're even trying to find in this place. She's crouched down, looking underneath things just to satisfy Sam at this point.

"Do you have any idea what you're looking for?" Dean asks, seemingly giving up even pretending to check the attractions.

"Uh, yeah." Sam says unconvincingly.

"Don't lie, Sammy." Y/N sighs as she stands, looking over at the boys.

"No, I don't." Sam amends, and Dean shakes his head. The two haven't talked since that morning, when they fought, but Y/N knows that by tonight it'll all be find. They just needed some time.

"What the hell are you doing here?" A man rasps quickly from behind them. Y/N gasps as her heart tries to escape her throat, the two boys pulling their guns quickly. She reaches into her waistband before she remembers that she left her's at the hotel that mooring, thinking she was going to go back. Shit.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. We can explain." Dean says, seeing the man has a gun. He looks over at Y/N, who pulls her lips in when he realizes she doesn't have a gun.

"You robbing me?" The man asks, swinging his gun to Sam.

"Nobody's robbing you," Y/N tries, the gun swinging to her.

"Calm down!" Dean shouts, trying to get the gun back on him. He has his hands up, and Y/N can tell he's a little more worried because she doesn't have her gun. God, she's so stupid.

"Don't move. Don't move!" The man yells, but Dean continues to move, keeping the gun on him.

"I'm just putting the gun down." Dean explains, but the man is firing the gun, and Y/N screams as she watches the bullet hit Dean's chest. He falls backward, and she rushes to him and drops to her knees, forgetting all about the gun.

"Dean!" She shrieks, picking his torso off the ground and putting it in her lap. He's struggling to breathe, his eyes not even seeing her.

"Call 9-1-1!" Sam tells the man, rushing to Dean's other side.

"I-I didn't mean to-"

"Do it!" Y/N screams at the same time Sam yells "Now!"

"Hey," Sam says to Dean as he starts to choke on his own blood. Y/N knows that there's nothing they can do, that the bullet clearly went through his lungs and now Dean's last moments on this earth are going to be full of pain. He doesn't deserve this.

"Dean, hey," She whispers, watching his eyes finally meet hers. "No, you can't do this, come on, we never had makeup sex." She's trying to joke, trying to make his last minutes bareable, but even though he smiles slightly she can see the panic flooding his eyes. As the light leaves them, and Y/N's tears start to fall, she realizes that she's going to go to Hell to get him back, because their story can't end that way.

"Y/N," Sam whispers, causing her eyes to flick to his.

"This can't be happening." She says, so soft and yet so full of pain that Sam's heart breaks into a million little pieces.

Day 2

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

Sam looks a little lost as he walks in, staring between Dean and Y/N like he thinks they may be monsters.

"Are you okay, Sam?" Y/N asks as she leans on the doorframe, watching her boyfriend gargle water like a toddler.

"I don't know." Sam says as Dean spits out his water. The couple makes eye contact, confused by this answer. "Man, I had a weird dream." Sam finally settles on, and Y/N nods as she goes back to their bag to finish packing.

"Don't forget your gun!" Y/N calls before Dean can walk out the door.

"Dean doesn't usually forget his gun." Sam mutters, and Y/N turns to the younger brother.

"Are you sure you're alright, Sammy?" Y/N asks as Dean digs through their bag.

"Are you bringing your gun?" Sam dodges the question, and Y/N furrows her brows.

"I never bring my gun to breakfast." She says, watching Sam's face for a few seconds until Dean walks through the door.

"Come on, sweetheart. Sammy, you lock up." Dean says as he grabs Y/N's hand. She tosses the keys to Sam, who turns toward the door.

They walk into the diner, choosing a booth. Y/N looks up at the menu, wondering if they'll let her order lunch for breakfast.

"Hey, Tuesday. Pig 'n a poke." Dean gestures up at the menu. Y/N furrows her brows, trying to get more information.

"It's Tuesday?" Sam asks, and Y/N turns to look at him.

"Yeah." Dean nods, his forehead slightly crinkled as Sam looks a little worried.

"Are you three ready?" The waitress comes up and asks with a smile. Y/N smiles back at her.

"Yes! I'll have the special, a side of bacon, and a coffee." Dean orders, then turns to Y/N.

"Can I order lunch for breakfast?" Y/N asks, and the waitress sighs.

"I would let ya, but our kitchen isn't set up for it." She says it kindly, and Y/N nods.

"I'll just have coffee, then." Y/N smiles, and they all turn to Sam.

"Uh, nothing for me. Thanks." Sam says, causing Y/N to furrow her brows.

"Let me know if you change your mind." The waitress says, and leaves them be. While the boys start to argue about Bela, Y/N looks around the diner. It seems like just a normal, old-fashioned diner, but something in her gut is telling her that this place isn't what it seems.

"Hey!" Dean snaps his fingers, and Y/N turns to see that he's snapping them at his brother, who seems to still be out of it. "You with me?"

"What?" Sam asks, and Y/N feels like something is off. Clearly, Sam isn't fine.

"Are you sure you feel okay?" Dean asks, leaning forward.

"You don't... You guys don't remember any of this?" He asks the two of them. Y/N and Dean look at each other, then back at Sam.

"Remember what?" Dean questions, and Y/N can't help but let her mouth hang slightly open, because she thinks Sam may have lost a couple marbles.

"This. Today. Like - like it's - like it's happened before?" He clarifies, which really only serves to make things muddier.

"Are you talking about déjà vu?" Y/N asks, hoping Sam just didn't get a good night of sleep.

"No. I mean like it's - like it's really happened before." Sam seems very intent on this, and Y/N just stares.

"Yeah, like déjà vu." Dean says with a nod.

"No, forget about déjà vu! I'm asking you if it feels like-like we're living yesterday all over again." Sam looks very agitated now, and Y/N looks at Dean, who she knows is about to talk about déjà vu again.

"Maybe you just need some sleep, Sam." Y/N suggests. Sam looks at her, as if remembering something, but before she can ask the waitress come back over with their coffees. The hot sauce teeters off the edge of the platter, but Sam catches it. Y/N blinks as this happens, but Dean smiles.

"Nice reflexes." He compliments, but Sam is staring at Y/N.

"What?" She asks, but he shakes his head. They eat the rest of their meal in peace, as if Sam hadn't fully admitted to being crazy, before they take a walk outside.

"Are you guys sure that today is Tuesday?" Sam asks, and Y/N takes a deep breath as they pass a barking dog.

"Sam, what the hell are you on about?" She asks, watching him look around as if everything was out to get him.

"Okay, look. Yesterday was Tuesday, right?" He asks, and Y/N and Dean both look at each other once more (Y/N's lost count of how many 'your brother is crazy' looks she's given him). "But today is Tuesday, too." He sounds out of his mind, and Y/N is genuinely starting to get worried.

"Yeah, no. Good. You're totally balanced." Dean says.

"So you don't don't believe me?" Sam practically yells. They both turn to him, missing a blonde lady come out of nowhere and run into Dean.

"Excuse me." She says, but Y/N's already turning around.

"He-" She barely makes a sound before Sam's hand covers her mouth, turning her around and getting them to start walking again. "What the hell?" She asks, pushing Sam off.

"Look, I'm just saying that it's crazy, you know?" Dean gets back on track, briefly distracting Y/N from the fight she was about to start. "Even-for-us crazy. Dingo-ate-my-baby crazy." Dean says.

"Dingo at my baby?" Y/N repeats, looking over to Dean. "Maybe it was a premonition?" She offers before getting too off track.

"No. No way. Way too vivid." Sam shakes his head. "We were at the Mystery Spot, and then," But he trails off.

"And then what?" Dean asks, but Sam looks down at Y/N.

"Then I woke up." He says as they walk by two men arguing about a piano, but Y/N knows he's not telling the full truth. "Wait a minute! The mastery spot. You think maybe it," He trails off again, and Y/N wants to shake him.

"Maybe what?" Dean asks.

"We gotta check that place out." Sam says, but Dean does't seem convinced. "Just go with me on this." Sam begs.

"Alright, alright. We'll go tonight, after they close, get ourselves a nice, long look." Dean agrees, and Y/N nods.

"Wait, what?" Sam stops them, and Y/N turns on the sidewalk to face them. "No." He says, as if it's a terrible idea.

"Why not? You suggested it." Y/N argues.

"Uh," Sam looks at Y/N, as if for help, but she has no idea what he needs. "Let's just go now. Right now. Business hours. Nice and crowded." He says instead, and Y/N blinks.

"My God, you're a freak." Dean says, and Y/N drops her jaw to try to stop from laughing, hitting Dean's arm.

"Dean!" She says, looking at Sam's bitch face.

"Okay! Whatever. We'll go now." He agrees, walking past Y/N and Sam.

"Y/N," Sam keeps her from following Dean so close, the two of them walking a bit behind him as he steps into the road.

"What? Are you sure you're okay?" Y/N asks once more, but Sam doesn't answer but a car speeds through the stop sign and hits Dean, who was only a few feet in front of them. Y/N watches his body go flying before landing face down.

"Dean!" Sam yells, and the two of them race over to his body. "No, no, no." He begs as Y/N flips his body over, holding his bloody face in her hands. He's struggling to breathe, but only for a couple moments before he's not breathing anymore.

"Dean?" Y/N whispers, shaking him slightly. "Dean!" She screams, tears starting to fall down her face.

"Y/N," Sam looks over at her with an unreadable expression, but she doesn't care because Dean is dead.

"This can't be happening." She says, and Sam's eyes widen.

Day 3

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

"I'm in a time loop." Sam says quietly, not getting out of bed. Y/N pauses, looking over to him.

"What?" She asks, but Sam glares at her.

"This has happened before. This all has happened before." He gets up, and Y/N nods slowly.

"Alright. Why don't we go get some breakfast, and you can tell us about it then." She suggests, which seems to calm him down a little bit.

Y/N reminds Dean to grab his gun, not grabbing hers, and then they're off the breakfast.

"Hey, Tuesday. Pig 'n a poke." Dean gestures up at the menu. Y/N furrows her brows, trying to get more information.

"Would you listen to me, Dean? Cause I am flipping out." Sam says lowly, and Y/N and Dean look at each other before looking back at Sam.

"Are you three ready?" The waitress comes up and asks with a smile. Y/N smiles back at her.

"He'll take the special, side of bacon, and they both want coffee. Nothing for me, thanks." Sam says quickly. Y/N's eyes widen.

"You got it." The waitress turns and leaves, and Y/N looks over at Sam.

"I wanted lunch." She complains with a small pout, but Sam doesn't seem to care.

"They don't do lunch this early, the kitchen isn't set up yet." He's still speaking fast, and it's starting to upset Y/N.

"You don't know that." She argues, and Sam finally looks her dead in the eye.

"Yes, I do. That's what I've been trying to tell you guys. I'm stuck in a time loop." Sam insists, and Y/N nods.

"Like Groundhog Day." Dean suggests, as if this is crazy.

"Yes. Exactly like Groundhog Day." Sam seems happy with this, and Y/N knows that her boyfriend does not believe him at all.

"Uh-huh." Dean's almost smiling, and she sighs.

"So you don't believe me." Sam says, as if it's the most believable thing in the world. Dean laughs at this.

"It's - It's a little crazy. Even-for-us crazy. Ya know like, uh,"

"Dingo-ate-my-baby crazy?" Sam finishes the sentence, and Y/N's eyes widen.

"How'd you know I was gonna say that?" Dean asks, as if Sam hasn't been explaining it the whole time.

"Because you've said it before, Dean. That's my whole point." Sam says, and Y/N's starting think that maybe Sam's not crazy. The waitress come back over with their coffees. The hot sauce teeters off the edge of the platter, but Sam catches it. Y/N blinks as this happens, but Dean smiles.

"Nice reflexes." He says, but Sam looks like a kicked puppy because Dean doesn't believe him.

"No. I know it was gonna happen." Sam argues. Y/N sighs as she takes a sip of her coffee before putting it down.

"I'm not saying we don't believe you, Sam, but I'm sure there's some sort of explanation for this." Y/N says, and Sam's eyes snap to her.

"I'm sure there is." He says cooly, and Y/N flinches back.

"I haven't done anything yet. This is the first Tuesday I've lived through this week, sorry." She says, rolling her eyes at Sam's attitude.

"Alright, everyone calm down." Dean suggests and this fires both Y/N and Sam up.

"Don't tell me to calm down! I can't calm down because," Sam stops, and he looks between Y/N and Dean.

"Because what?" Dean asks, waiting for the answer.

"Because you die today, Dean." Sam says, and it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room.

"I'm not gonna die. Not today." Dean says, as if this is an idiotic thing to say and Sam is just trying to get a rise out of him.

"Twice now, we've watched you die." Sam says, looping Y/N in on this even though she hasn't been going through the time loop with him. "And I can't. I won't do it again, okay?" Sam's voice is low, and Dean sits back at this. He can tell his brother is serious. Sam looks over at Y/N, who's staring back at him. "You're just gonna have to believe me. Please."

"Alright. I think still think you're nuts, but," He nods a couple times. "Okay. Whatever this is, we'll figure it out." Dean promises, just as his food comes to the table.

After breakfast, they take a walk outside, back to the hotel. Sam pushes his way to be on Y/N's left, even though Dean's always on the left, but she lets him. A girl bumps into him, and Y/N turns to eye her before continuing walking. They're talking about the Mystery Spot, about why Sam thinks it's the root of the entire problem. The brothers are fighting, and Y/N is tired of it.

"Alright! Let's just go tonight after they close." She says, but clearly this was not the right thing to say.

"No, no, no, no!" Sam says, looking at her like she's crazy. "We can't." They're standing on the sidewalk now, Y/N turned to face the other two.

"Why not?" Dean asks, and Sam takes a deep breath.

"Because you," He starts, and Y/N realizes immediately what Sam is trying to say.

"I what?" Dean asks, and Y/N rolls her eyes.

"You die there." She says, causing Sam to scowl at her. She squints instead of asking what his problem is, because clearly he has a lot.

"Okay then, let's go now." Dean says, walking off the sidewalk and onto the street. Sam knocks Y/N over as he grabs Dean, stopping him from being hit by a car that's blowing through a stop sign. Y/N's elbow is bleeding, but otherwise she thinks she's fine, and Dean is fine too.

"What the hell?" She grumbles as she stands, going over to Dean and Sam.

"Did it look cool, like in the movies?" Dean asks, and Y/N rolls her eyes and she holds her elbow.

"You peed yourself." Sam says, and she starts laughing.

"Of course I peed myself. A man gets hit by a car, you think he has full control over his bladder? Come on!" Dean asks, before looking at Y/N. "You alright, sweetheart?" He asks, and Y/N nods even though she can feel the blood staining the long sleeve she has on.

"What the hell was that, Sam?" She asks, turning to him.

"I was saving Dean." Sam argues, mood soured even more.

"You didn't have to push me to the ground!" She argues, and Dean snaps his head to her.

"Why are you pushing her, man?" He asks, stepping closer to Sam.

"Let's just go." Sam mutters, knowing he won't win this. "Don't forget your gun this time, Y/N." Sam calls as he crosses the street. Y/N turns to Dean, who grabs her hand and crosses the street with her.

"I don't know what he's on about, I never forget my gun."

~

"I hate to say it, but that place is exactly what I thought - it's full of crap." Dean says as they walk the same walk they had been in the morning. It's dark now, and they had spent the day at the Mystery Spot trying to figure something out. They had gotten absolutely nowhere, which doesn't bode well for Sam.

"So what is it, then, Dean?" Sam is clearly freaking out, and Y/N is exhausted of all this. "What the hell is happening to us?"

"I don't know." Dean says lowly, and Y/N knows he's exhausted of this too. "Alright, let me just - so, every day I die." Dean states. Y/N has half a mind of just continuing on to the hotel.

"Yeah," Sam confirms.

"That's when you wake up again, right?" Dean asks, and Sam looks over at Y/N. She has no clue why he keeps doing this, but it's driving her crazy.

"Yeah," He says finally.

"So, let's just make sure I don't die." Dean says, as if it's obvious. "If I make it to tomorrow, then maybe the loop stops and we can figure all this out."

"Great, I love this plan. Can we go to bed now?" Y/N asks, grabbing Dean's hand and pulling him along.

"Let's get some take out. Who want's Chinese?" The words are barely out of his mouth with a rope snaps, and Y/N turns to see Dean's body flattened underneath a piano. Blood is everywhere, and his head has been decapitated. She's so shocked, she can't do anything but stare.

"Y/N, wait!" Sam calls, and she looks up at him.

"This can't be happening." She whispers, and Sam lets out a yell as everything goes black.

Day 4

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sam yells, and Y/N's eyes widen as Sam crowds her.

"Sam!" Dean shouts, but Sam doesn't care about whatever threats his brother his about to make.

"I know it's you. I know you're doing this. And I get it, okay. I don't like it either. But if I have to listen to that song one more goddamn time!" Sam is in Y/N's face, and she looks terrified.

"What are you talking about?" She asks, and Sam rolls his eyes.

"Don't play dumb! I know you're behind the time loop! Look, we can stop Dean from dying, but you have to work with me and stop doing this!" Sam begs, and Dean finally pulls Sam back.

"What the hell are you on about, man?" Dean asks, getting between Sam and Y/N.

"I am stuck in a time loop where you die every day and Y/N is causing it!" Sam accuses, and the two of them stare at him as if he's crazy.

"How!" Y/N shrieks, coming out from behind Dean's back. "How would I even be doing that?"

"I," Sam pauses, because he actually hadn't thought that far. "I don't know. But every time Dean dies, you say the same thing." He says, and Y/N takes a deep breath.

"Great. Good deduction work, Sam." She says, and now he's starting to doubt himself. But if it isn't Y/N, and it isn't the Mystery Spot, then what is it? "I'm going to get some food." She tells the two of them, walking out the door.

"Don't forget your gun." Sam says weakly, and she turns sharply to him.

"I never bring my gun to breakfast." She grumbles, making a point not to grab it before walking out the door.

"What the hell is your problem?" Dean asks, more angry than Sam's seen him in awhile.

"I have watched you die over and over, Dean." Sam says, but Dean is still pissed off.

"That doesn't mean you go after my girlfriend, bitch." Dean says, leaving the room without grabbing his gun.

Sam wishes he was surprised when Y/N comes running into the room, tears streaming down her face as she tells Sam that Dean choked on his breakfast.

"This can't be happening." Y/N whispers through her tears, and Sam just lays back in his bed, thinking you have no idea.

Day 5

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

"No going out today!" Sam says, making everyone pause. Dean turns the music off, then looks at his brother.

"Alright, I know you've been pretty upset lately, but,"

"I'm trapped in a time loop." He says quickly. "No, it's not déjà vu. No, I'm not going crazy. You die every day. We can't go get breakfast because you'll choke on your food. We can't check out the Mystery Spot after hours, because you get shot. We can't go during the day, because you get hit by a car. And even if we narrowly avoid those two fates, a piano crushes and decorates you. So you are gonna sit in this hotel room, and we are going to get to tomorrow." Sam tells Dean, then finally looks at Y/N. They're both looking at him like he's crazy.

"I'm taking a shower." Dean says simply, getting up and looking at Y/N. "Can you please un-crazy him?" He asks, before shutting the door to the bathroom and turning the water on.

"Are you on drugs?" Y/N asks, because it's the only thing she can think of. Sam sighs, shaking his head.

"I know how it sounds, okay. But I swear, it doesn't matter what we do, Dean ends up dying and the day restarts. It's an endless stream of Tuesdays." He puts his head in his hands, and Y/N frowns.

"Well, something had to of caused it. Do you know what it is?" Y/N asks, sitting on the bed next to him. She's not sure she fully believes him, but they also hunt demons and monsters for a living and her boyfriend has a death sentence that ends in hell which saved Sam's life, so she can't say he's completely crazy.

"At first, I thought it was you, somehow. But yesterday I called you out and realized that it wasn't." Sam admits, and Y/N narrows her eyes.

"Why would you think I had something to do with this?" She asks, a little hurt.

"Because Dean kept dying and you always say the same thing after he dies. I thought you somehow made a deal or something to try and get him back, but for some reason this is the day he dies." Sam says the words with pain lacing his voice, because he doesn't want to give up trying to save Dean's life. As much as he hates watching Dean die over and over again, he'll go through it if the end means he'd save Dean's life.

"Ahh!" They hear Dean's yell from the bathroom, along with a loud thud. Y/N's eyes widen, and she looks over to Sam. He thinks they're going to go look at the body, that she'll want to confirm that Dean's really dead, but instead she grabs his arm, hand shaking in terror.

"This can't be happening." She says, and Sam's mouth drops open just as the world goes black.

Day 6

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

"Let's order in breakfast." Sam suggests on a whim, hoping to keep Dean inside without setting him off. He has no idea what causes the deaths, or why they happen at different times, but he can't figure it out if Dean keeps dying at the beginning of each day.

"There's a good diner down the road, why don't we just go there?" Y/N asks as she zips her bag, turning to the boys.

"I just really want tacos." Sam lies, and it's a stupid lie but he needs them to stay in.

"I could go for tacos." Dean shrugs, and Y/N sighs, knowing she's lost this battle. They drive to the drive-thru (because Sam insists he cannot go inside and doesn't want to sit on those chairs, they aren't made for men of his size) and take the tacos back to the hotel. Once they're all spread out, Sam can breathe a little easier.

"So, are you ever going to explain why we had to get tacos instead of going to the diner?" Y/N asks as she bites into her taco. She stares at Sam as she chews, but her face turns as something wrong hits her taste buds.

"Do these tacos taste funny to you?" Dean asks, mouth full.

The only good thing, Sam thinks as he watches Y/N slump against the table only seconds before Dean does, is that he doesn't have to hear Y/N's heart shattering whisper again.

Day 7

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

"Dean!" Y/N screams as Dean falls to the ground after trying to plug in his razor, ending up electrocuted with hair sticking up and skin burning. "He's not breathing! Sam!" She calls, but Sam stays in bed. He takes a deep breath as he prepares himself for the next line, which although he's heard it five times already never fails to make the hair on his arms stick up.

"This can't be happening."

Day 8

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

Sam doesn't have time today. He's going to figure out what the hell is going on at the Mystery Spot.

He lets the day go on as normal, Dean getting his bacon and Y/N asking about lunch. He forgets to stand in Dean's spot, and Y/N gets in a fight with the Dean, which means they end up meeting her after hours at the Mystery Spot.

"I think Sam's gone crazy." Dean says when they spot her.

"Why's that?" She asks, taking a flashlight from him. She forgot her gun at the hotel, having thought she would be going back after breakfast. They enter the building, weaving through some rooms and hotel to get to the main attracts

"Dean, you said you would trust me." Sam complains, and Dean sighs.

"I will, I will." He promises. "Sam says he's been through today before. Like Groundhog Day. He said the first time, I died here."

"Listen," Sam stops them both in a green and black spiral hallway. "The first time we were here, Dean died because the owner caught us sneaking around. This time, we're gonna catch the owner so I can figure out what the hell is up with this place. Because if I wake up tomorrow and it isn't Wednesday, I'm gonna lose my mind." Sam tells them, then marches out. Y/N nods, looking to Dean.

"He's lost his marbles." She's agrees, following Sam.

It's not hard to tie up the owner with the duct tape Sam had brought, but Y/N and Dean both just watch as Sam starts to tear into the walls with a sledge hammer.

"Everybody's fine. Nobody's gonna get hurt, okay?" Dean says enthusiastically to the owner. Y/N is sitting on the floor next to Sam, watching with wide eyes as he goes crazy.

"Sam, maybe we should drop it and let the poor man leave." She suggests, watching Sam stagger back. He looks like a wild man, and Y/N fights the urge to slide away.

"Something's gotta be goin' on here. I intend to find out what." He heaves, and Y/N just nods. They've been here for the better part of the night, and Sam has gone through most of the walls.

"Place is tore up pretty good, dude. Time to give it a rest." Dean says, but he doesn't move toward his brother.

"No!" Sam yells, startling Y/N. Now she does slide back to Dean's side, not wanting to be near the axe. "I'm gonna take it down to studs." Sam goes back to chopping, and Y/N runs a hand over her face as Dean lets out a breathy chuckle.

"Sammy, that's enough. Give me the axe." Dean pushes himself up, and Y/N stays sitting as she watches the two boys fight.

"No!" Sam yells, pulling it away from his brother.

"Give me the axe! This is crazy!" Dean argues, and the two start yelling over each other. Y/N stands as Dean grabs the handle, the axe balancing between them.

"Guys, I think we should drop the axe and quit fighting." She's trying to sound calm, but her heart is racing. She doesn't like the look of this. She begins to walk forward as Sam loses his grip on the axe and it slices right across Dean's neck, not quite decapitating him but killing him quickly.

"Oh, no. Dean?" Sam doesn't sound too concerned, but Y/N feels like she's going to throw up. There's blood covering her face and clothing, Dean's blood, and he's dead. He's dead, and Sam killed him. She looks up at him, and he just tilts his head and sighs.

"This can't be happening." She says, confusion laced in her voice.

Day 100

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

Y/N reminds Dean to grab his gun, he grabs her hand and tells Sam to lock up, and then they're on their way to breakfast. On the way, Sam tries to tell them about the time loop, but it goes about the same as it did the last time. They sit in the too small booth again, and Sam almost rips his hair out when Dean starts to speak.

"Hey, Tuesday. Pig 'n a poke." Dean gestures up at the menu. Y/N furrows her brows, trying to get more information. Before she can, Sam sets a set of keys on the table. "What are those?" Dean asks, looking up.

"The old man's." When he says it, Y/N realizes that Sam seems tired, like he didn't sleep at all last night. "Trust me, you don't want him behind the wheel." He says tiredly, like he's had this conversation before. Y/N furrows her brows, but before she can ask the waitress shows up.

"Are you three ready?" She asks with a smile. Y/N smiles back at her.

"Yes, we are. I'll have the special, a side of bacon, and a coffee." Dean orders, then turns to Y/N.

"Can I order lunch for breakfast?" Y/N asks, and the waitress sighs.

"I would let ya, but our kitchen isn't set up for it." She says it kindly, and Y/N nods.

"I'll just have coffee, then." The waitress jots it down, and they turn to Sam.

"Hey, Doris. What I'd like is for you to log in some more hours at the archery range." Sam says, and Y/N opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She has no idea how to excuse what Sam has just said. "You're a terrible shot." He says it like it's funny, which makes him seem even more crazy.

"How do you know," She starts, but Sam doesn't let her finish.

"Lucky guess." He nods. Y/N can feel Dean looking to her, probably to see if this is real or not, but Y/N cannot take her eyes off the younger Winchester. They all smile at Doris, who leaves, then turn to Sam.

"Okay, so, you think you're caught in some kind of what again?" Dean asks, because clearly the display he just put on caught his older brother's attention.

"Time loop." Sam is looking at the table, slouched in his seat with a sad expression.

"Like Groundhog Day." Dean suggests, and Y/N watches Sam shrug.

"It doesn't matter. There's no way to stop it." He grumbles quickly, and Y/N sighs.

"Jeez, aren't you grumpy?" Dean says, and Y/N closes her eyes at her boyfriend's dense nature.

"Yeah, I am. You wanna know why?" Sam asks, and Y/N puts her head on the table. Sam may have actually lived through this Tuesday a hundred times, but Y/N has lived through this fight a thousand.

"Why?" Dean can't resist poking.

"Because this is the hundredth Tuesday in a row I've been through, and it never stops. Ever. So, yeah, I'm a little grumpy." Sam tells them, and Y/N picks her head up to try and comfort him.

"We'll figure this out, Sam." She tells him, because even if she's not sure if Sam is truly crazy or if he's actually living through a year of Tuesdays, she knows they will help him.

"Hot sauce." Sam says, and Y/N can only blink at this.

"What?" Dean asks, but then the waitress come back over with their coffees. The hot sauce teeters off the edge of the platter, but Sam catches it.

"Nice reflexes."

"I knew it was gonna happen, Dean." Sam barely lets his brother get the words out. "I know everything that's gonna happen."

"You don't know everything." Dean snarks, and Y/N wonders if in one of these hundred timelines, her boyfriend ever just leaves things be instead of challenging them.

"Yeah, I do." Sam counters, and Y/N is about to split up the fighting before it's even started when the two begin to talk at the same time.

"Yeah, right. Nice guess." Dean looks up at that, and Sam just smirks.

"It wasn't a guess." Sam says, but of course Dean can't leave it at that.

"Right, you're a mind reader. Cut it out, Sam. Sam! Sam!" They both lean into the table, getting close to each other. "You think you're being funny, but you're being really really childish. Sam Winchester wears makeup. Sam Winchester cries his way through sex. Sam Winchester keeps a ruler by the bed and evermore when he wakes up-"

"Okay, stop it!" She says, but Sam says it in time with her, causing her to stare at him. He cowers back, knowing he crossed a line.

"Sorry." He mutters, and everyone takes a deep breath. "But that's not all. Randy, the cashier? He's skimming from the register." They all turn to look at the guy at the front, who seems none the wiser to Sam knowing this information.

"Sam," Y/N starts, but Sam doesn't stop to listen to her. Whatever he thinks she's said before, it clearly wasn't important.

"Judge Meyers? At night, he puts on a furry bunny outfit." Sam says it loud enough that Judge Myers hears them and drops his drink, spilling it everywhere. "Over there, that's Cal. He's gonna rob Tony the Mechanic on the way home."

"What's your point?" Dean asks, eyes wide with this information.

"My point is I've lived through every possible Tuesday. I've watched you die every possible way. I even watched you die once." He turns to Y/N, who is still staring at him. "I have ripped apart the mystery spot, burnt it down, tried everything I know to save your life, and I can't. No matter what I do, you die. And then I wake up. And then it's Tuesday again." Y/N and Dean look at each other, and Y/N wonders how many times Sam has watched them do this. She wonders how many times Sam has gone through this exact speech, how many times it took for him to get to where he is now.

~

They're walking back to the hotel, and Sam's still dejected.

"Dog." He says, and on cue, the dog starts barking.

"There's gotta be some way out of this." Y/N says, even though she's sure Sam's tried almost everything.

"Where's my dang keys?" Sam asks, and a moment later they walk around the old man from the diner asking the same thing. "Excuse me." He says, and then a girl brushes past Dean.

"Excuse me." She tells him, and Y/N turns around, about to yell at her.

"Don't yell at her, you'll only start a fight." Sam says as he grabs her arm. She's starting to get annoyed with his futuristic bullshit, so she rips her arm away from his.

"I wasn't going to." She says, and before Sam can tell her that he knows she was, Y/N feels the need to do something different, just to prove him wrong. "Excuse me!" She calls, causing the blonde girl to turn around. Y/N jogs to catch up, leaving the brothers behind her.

"Has she ever done that?" Dean asks, starting to walk back.

"No," Sam says, sounding shocked. Y/N's grabbing a paper by the time they get there, and the girl is walking away. She looks down at the paper, then back up at Sam.

"You've done this a hundred times, and you never thought to check and see what she was carrying?" Y/N asks, and Sam shakes his head.

"Most of the time, I was keeping you from a fight." Sam says, and Y/N rolls her eyes.

"It's a missing poster." She says, holding it up. "For her father." When Y/N drops the last part, Sam's eyes widen and grabs the paper, jogging toward the girl. The dog next to them is barking, and Dean smiles down at them.

"Hey, buddy. Someone need a friend?" He asks as he crouches to pet them. Y/N smiles and leans in closer, and then the dog goes for Dean's jugular as if it's a rabid animal.

"Dean!" Y/N screams, pulling him away from the dog. But he's already gone, blood all over his front and eyes wide still. "Sam!" She calls, and Sam turns to see the scene.

"Shit," He mutters, but at least he figured something out before he had to restart. Something useful.

"This can't be happening."

Day 103

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

Sam is ready to get to breakfast, and after Y/N reminds Dean to grab his gun they're off, Sam bringing his laptop to do some digging into the case. They order from the waitress, sitting in the small booth, and Sam starts to report on his findings from the day before, when he had talked to the missing guy's daughter.

"He writes about local Mystery Spots, debunking them. He's already put four of them out of business. Here." She turns the laptop around so they can see what Sam's found, and the couple start to read up.

"The 'Truth Warrior'?" Y/N asks, with a roll of her eyes.

"More like a Pompous Schmuck, if you ask me." Dean says, leaning over her shoulder.

"Yeah, tell me about it. I mean, I've read everything the guy's ever written. He must've weighed a ton, he was so full of himself." Sam says, and Y/N pauses on that. How has Sam read everything he's ever written if they just started researching this morning?

"When did you read all that?" Y/N asks, and Sam just stares for a moment as the couple looks at him like he's crazy.

"Come on." He avoids the question, grabbing his laptop.

"It's funny, ya know? This guy spends his whole life crapping on mystery spots and then he vanishes in one." Dean says with a chuckle as they stand, and Y/N nods with a smile.

"Kinda poetic." She says, following Dean out the door. They pass when Sam isn't right behind them, turning back to see him staring at an empty plate.

"What?" Dean asks.

"Guy has maple syrup for the past hundred Tuesdays - all the sudden, he's having strawberry?" Sam watches the man that was just in the diner as he walks outside.

"That's not a very funny punchline." Y/N comments, looking at the plate.

"It's a free country, Sam. A man can't choose his own syrup, huh? What have we become?" Dean jokes, causing Y/N to let out a small giggle. Sam doesn't find either of their jokes even worthy of a smile.

"Not in this diner. Not today." He says, completely serious. Y/N's smile begins to fade, because she thinks Sam may actually be crazy. "Nothing in this place ever changes - ever. Except me." Sam says dramatically. Y/N opens her mouth with a small smile.

"This cannot be happening." She says, Sam's eyes widening as he turns to her. "Sam, it's too early for you to lose your marbles."

"No, wait!" He yells, but it's too late.

Day 104

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N smiles around her toothpaste. She spits it out as Dean turns up the music, making her way out of the bathroom to pack up and let the boys in to get ready.

"I'm caught in a time loop, and I think I just figured out how to fix it but we have to go to breakfast now." Sam says quickly, rising and going to his bag, changing his clothes without even caring that Y/N is standing right there. She covers her eyes dramatically, even though she's seen it all through the years when she's had to fix him up after hard fights.

"Breakfast sounds good to me." Dean agrees, completely skipping the time loop part as if Sam had told them the weather.

"Don't forget your gun, Dean. I'll lock up. We can talk about it later." Sam says, pulling on his shoes and grabbing Y/N's arm to lead her out the door.

"What the hell are you doing?" She asks, snatching her arm out of his grasp.

"I promise, it will all make sense soon. I just have to get to the diner." He lets Dean and Y/N go ahead before goes back into the room to grab what he needs. He doesn't even complain about the small booth, doesn't snap when Y/N asks for the hundredth time about lunch, and grabs the hot sauce when it falls. When Dean's food finally comes, he seems to be in a better mood.

"So, you think you're caught in some kind of what now?" Dean asks through a mouth of bacon. Y/N scrunches her face in disgust, but she doesn't say anything.

"Eat your breakfast." Sam snaps, and Y/N gives Sam a look, if only because she doesn't dare to say anything to him when he's acting like this. As soon as the man sitting at the bar across from them gets up, Sam follows with the bag he packed.

"What's in the bag?" Dean asks, and Y/N sighs as she stands.

"Nothing good, I'm sure." She says as Dean follows, putting money on the table. Sam follows the man far enough that there aren't a lot of people around before he pushes him against a chainlink fence, a stake pressed to his neck.

"I know who you are. Or should I say 'what'?" Sam says, and Y/N looks at Dean, unsure what to do.

"Oh my God. Please, don't kill me." The man begs, and Y/N steps toward Sam, hand on his bicep.

"Uh, Sam," She starts softly, but he shrugs her off.

"It took me a hell of a long time, but I got it." Sam is acting like nothing else exists, and it's kind of scaring Y/N.

"What?" The man asks, as if Sam really needed prompting to continue.

"It's your M.O. that gave you away. Going after pompous jerks, giving them their just desserts. Your kind loves that, don't they?" Y/N looks at Dean once more, because she is completely lost.

"Yeah, sure. Okay. Just put the stake down." The man begs, and Y/N grabs Dean's arm to try and get him to help.

"Sam, maybe you should-"

"No!" Sam yells, voice deep. It startles Y/N, but Dean is still staring intently. "There's only one creature powerful enough to do what you're doing. Making reality out of nothing, sticking people in time loops. In fact, you'd pretty much have to be a god. You'd have to be a trickster." Sam says, and Y/N suddenly realizes what Sam is saying.

"Mister, my name is Ed Coleman. My wife's name is Amelia. I've got two kids. For crying out loud, I sell ad space!" Y/N's not sure if the trickster is just putting up a great show, or of if Sam has gone off his rocker and this is his breaking point. She briefly realizes she'd be losing both Winchesters if this is true, so she needs this man to be a trickster. She needs Sam to be right.

"Don't lie to me! I know what you are!" Sam screams. Y/N flinches again, and Dean grabs her hand and squeezes. "We've killed one of your kind before!" The words are barely out of Sam's mouth before Loki is there, in the flesh. The trickster they thought they killed, not actually dead.

"Actually, bucko, you didn't." He says, and Y/N feels Dean push her behind him slightly.

"Why are you doing this." Sam says, keeping the stake pointing to his neck.

"You're joking, right? You chuckleheads tried to kill me last time. Why wouldn't I do this?" The answer makes Y/N angry, but Dean opens his mouth first.

"And Hasselback, what about him?" Dean asks, as if that's the most important thing right now. It's nice he's thinking about the victim, but a trickster they thought they killed is actually alive, and apparently has been putting Sam through time loops.

"That putz? He said he didn't believe in wormholes, so I dropped him in one." The trickster says, and Y/N groans, because of course nothing can be easy. "Huh? Then you guys showed up. I made you the second you hit town." He's saying it all with a smile, and Y/N can't stop herself.

"So this is fun for you?" She asks, and Sam pushes the stake in more.

"You killed Dean over and over again." Sam says, and Y/N can't help but squeeze Dean's arm tighter; Sam hadn't told them about that part of the time loop.

"One - yes, it is fun. And two - this is so not about killing Dean. This joke, is on you, Sam." The trickster says, before he looks over to Y/N. "It could've been on you, too, but I knew you'd figure it out way faster. But Sam, having to watch his brother die every day. Forever. Having to listen to you say the same words again and again." He's smiling, and Y/N feels sick even though she doesn't even know what words he's talking about.

"You son of a bitch." Sam says, but he has nothing else, no other comeback.

"How long will it take you to realize you can't save your brother, no matter what? Hell, sometimes, you can't even save her." Loki taunts, and Y/N wishes Sam would just kill the motherfucker and end this.

"Oh yeah?" Sam asks, pushing him into the fence even more. "I kill you, this all ends now."

"Oh, hey! Whoa, okay, okay. Look, I was just playing around. You can't take a joke, fine. You're out of it. Tomorrow, you wake up, it'll be Wednesday. I swear." Loki says, and Y/N shakes her head.

"How do we know you're telling the truth?" She asks, and he turns to Sam.

"If I'm not, you know where to find me. Having pancakes at the diner." He says simply. Sam looks over to Dean and Y/N, who look at him with the same expression. He knows what he has to do.

"No. Easier to just kill you." He says.

"Sorry, kiddo, can't have that." Loki snaps his fingers, and suddenly he's gone. Y/N groans, rolling her eyes and flopping her body dramatically.

"Don't," Sam says, but it's too late.

"This can't be happening." She complains, and Sam thanks the trickster that at least this time, it wasn't soft and sad.

Day 105

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N turns to see him looking wide eyed.

"What, are you gonna sleep all day?" Dean asks around his toothbrush, one hand on Y/N's hip and the other brushing his teeth behind her.

"No Asia." Sam says, and Y/N furrows her brows as Dean leans over her to spit his toothpaste out.

"Yeah, I know. This station sucks." He complains, going over to his bag. Y/N spits out her toothpaste and rinses her mouth, freeing up the bathroom for Sam.

"It's Wednesday!" He says, and Y/N pursues her lips in confusion.

"Yup, it usually comes after Tuesday." She says, going to her shared bag.

"Hey, turn the music off, would ya?" Dean asks, getting in Y/N's way of packing the bag.

"What, are you kidding?" Sam asks, as if Dean was crazy. "This isn't the most beautiful song you've ever heard?" He dramatically jumps out of bed, causing Y/N and Dean to just stare.

"No." Dean says flatly, and Y/N tilts her head slightly.

"Are you alright, Sam?" She asks, walking over to the bed. "You were pretty out of it yesterday." She feels his forehead, and he only lets her because he knows Dean would kill him if he smacked her hand away.

"What happened?" Sam asks, too scared to hope.

"I mean, you were acting all strange, and we ran into the trickster." Dean explains, and Sam smiles as he finishes putting on his shirt.

"Alright, pack your stuff. Let's get the hell out of town, now." Sam says, and Y/N turns to Dean.

"What's up with him?" She asks, and he frowns.

"I don't know, but I want breakfast." Dean says as he walks out of the room, Y/N following.

"No breakfast!" Sam shouts, and she rolls her eyes.

"We can stop somewhere." She whispers as they make their way to the car. Dean puts their bag in, then Y/N's small personal bag, not closing the trunk because Sam's supposed to be right behind them.

"I feel like we made a mistake, letting the trickster go." He says, and she sighs. Before she can respond, however, they turn to see a man pointing a gun at them.

"Give me your wallet." He's shaking, and Y/N can tell this is his first time.

"Hey, woah, we can talk about this, alright?" Dean tries, hands up. Y/N reaches for her gun, but she forgot it in their bag, thinking they were just going out to the car. A stupid, stupid mistake. "Why don't you just put the gun down, we can talk about this." He says, but the man doesn't like the answer. He gets closer, and the second Dean shifts to grab a gun the man shoots. He must've realized his mistake quickly, because he's running before Y/N even screams. She hits the ground, grabbing his body and staring at the bloody mess and the bullet hole on the front.

"Dean?" She whispers, but she knows it's futile. The man may not have had much experience with a gun, but he hit Dean perfectly to kill.

"Dean!" Sam shouts as he runs over. "No, no, no, this wasn't supposed to happen, not today!" He says, and Y/N has no idea what that means but she lets it go as she watches her tears fall onto Dean's freckled face. The love of her life, gone.

"I'm sorry," She says, because she doesn't know what else to say. She should have had her gun on her, should have been able to stop that guy.

"I'm supposed to wake up." Sam says, and Y/N looks up finally.

"What?" She says, cradling Dean's body close to hers.

"Say the thing." He demands, and she flinches back. It's silent for a couple moments as they stare at each other.

"What thing?" She asks, looking back down at Dean. She pushes some stray hairs out of his face, brushing her fingers down his stubble.

"You always say it!" Sam snaps, and Y/N startles. "You say it every time, right before it resets. You have to say it." He begs, and she thinks he must be going crazy.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She whispers as more tears fall down her face.

"'This can't be happening.' Say 'this can't be happening.'" Sam tells her, and she just shakes her head.

"Why?" She doesn't understand, everything feels wrong. Holding Dean's lifeless body is wrong, not feeling his breath is wrong.

"Just do it!" He yells, and she can't help the sob that escapes.

"This can't be happening." She repeats, but nothing happens.

Six Months Later

"Hey, Sam, it's me. I just wanted to let you know that I'm back from Cabo, where I spread some of Dean's ashes. I wish you could've come, Bobby said he hasn't heard from you in awhile, so I figured I should reach out. He said you've been hunting still. Taking care of business. I want to help, Sam. Don't push me away." She takes a deep breath, and Sam can hear the hesitation over the recording. "I know this is hard, Sam. But you've turned into a machine, and I know Dean doesn't want that." She hesitates again, and Sam almost wishes she'd end the call. "Call me, Sam. Please." Finally, the end tone plays, and Sam presses on the gas harder. He knows that Y/N wouldn't approve him summoning the trickster, but he has to do it, he has to get his revenge or get Dean back.

Sam has been on the fringe, he knows, but killing Bobby was a wake up call. He would promise that trickster anything, to just have Dean back. Bobby's voicemails are bad enough, but Y/N's break his already fragile heart. He can barely listen when she does call. He would have sold his soul. But thankfully, he doesn't have to do that. Loki snaps his fingers, and for once - no, this makes twice - Sam doesn't have to hear the God forsaken words come out of Y/N's mouth before everything goes black.

Wednesday

Sam shoots straight up, and from her space in the bathroom, Y/N turns to see him looking wide eyed.

"What, are you gonna sleep all day?" Dean asks around his toothbrush, one hand on Y/N's hip and the other brushing his teeth behind her. Sam continues to stare, and Dean spits out the toothpaste over Y/N. "I know, no Asia. This station sucks." Dean complains, and Y/N rolls her eyes as she spits out her own toothpaste.

"It's Wednesday." He says softly, and Y/N briefly wonders if he had a nightmare. She didn't hear any tossing or turning, but that didn't mean much.

"Yup, it usually comes after Tuesday." She says, going to her shared bag.

"Hey, turn the music off, would ya?" Dean asks, getting in Y/N's way of packing the bag. She smiles up at him, but then Sam comes over, grabbing Dean around the shoulders and pulling him in for a hug. She steps back to let them have their moment, but Dean is looking at her confused over Sam's shoulder.

"Dude, how many Tuesdays did you have?" He asks, and Sam breathes deeply.

"Enough." He answers, then pulls back. "Wait, what do you remember." He looks at the both of them, so Y/N answers.

"You were pretty out of it yesterday." She says, recalling how erratic he had acted at the diner.

"Yeah, you were acting all strange, and we ran into the trickster." Dean says, and Sam nods. "That's about it."

"Let's go." Sam finally says with a small smile.

"No breakfast?" Dean asks, and Sam chuckles.

"We can get breakfast on the way." She tells him, and both of them nod. "Are you sure you're okay, Sam?" She knows something's up, but Sam is trying to play it off.

"I just had a really weird dream." Sam says, and Y/N nods. "And Y/N, don't ever leave the hotel without your gun again. Ever." He says, and Y/N furrows her brow.

"We're literally going to parking lot." She says, but Sam shakes his head.

"Trust me, don't do." He picks up his bag, and Y/N shrugs, grabbing her gun out of her personal bag before following Dean out, Sam bringing up the rear.

"I really hope this is happening." Sam says as he looks at the bed that he woke up in over a hundred times, then closes the door. 

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler @theoraekenslover @king-of-milf-lovers @lyarr24

[servantofthefates]

My house is alive. And I do not mean figuratively.

I mean it has a mind of its own. 

My house is mine. I designed the layout, I watched it get built, I decorated it. From the size of the front door to the paint color palette… from the fabric of the sofa to the style of the photo frames… everything was my decision. It’s as mine as mine gets.

So the moment I introduced myself to it, it started talking back.

We have a courtyard full of trees and plants, so there’s a healthy amount of bugs outside, which sometimes get in when the front door is open. I hate that. I hate that very much.

So I told my house to never let those intruders in. The next day, without having to spray anything, I saw several dead bugs on the floor. I swept them up. And never again did I see anything flying or crawling around the house.

Another time, I had a plumbing issue. My bidet wouldn’t stop running, and the bathtub wouldn’t drain completely. 

I told my house how much I hate having to let maintenance workers in, because they often leave a mess, which I have to spend hours sanitizing afterwards. I asked my house if it could help me avoid this somehow.

In just about five seconds, the bidet stopped running, and the bathtub fully drained.

Over the holidays, a relative came over for dinner. Having eaten so much, she felt sluggish and asked if she could sleep over. Now I don’t really like this relative. I included her in the guest list as an act of Christmas kindness, but sleeping over? That’s too much.

While I was thinking of how to reject her request, the power went out. And the moment she left the gate, the electricity came back on. I asked the neighbors about it later on, and they said their power was on the whole night.

Another time, I lost the remote control to my living room air conditioner. Which was impossible. It’s always in the same place, and I was alone that whole time.

While looking for it everywhere, I ended up opening a drawer I never use. In it I found white mold, which likely developed during the few months I lived abroad, leaving that part of the house susceptible to humidity. I’ve since taken care of the problem.

Right after I discovered the mold, I found the missing remote control right there on top of my coffee table. Where it always is. Where I couldn’t have missed it.

My house is one of those things that make me what I am — a traditional witch, despite how modern my life is. It reminds me that even though my ancestors wouldn’t recognize many parts of my craft, I remain their child. Their blood is within me, ready to awake when required.

[247-diaperboy]

Friends house

Story of high school friends reunited after several years of not seeing each other.

Max had been my best friend when i was young. We stayed friends all though eliminatory school and high school. After graduation, we went our separate ways.  He went to college on the west coast and i went to college on the east coast. 

He went to school studying to work in cooperate finance. He wanted to be a cooperate vice president of finance for a big compony. He was ambitious and determined. I had a feeling that he would succeed. 

I went to law school and graduated from law school. I prepared for my bar exam.  I decided to start my own law firm.  It was silly but I wanted to try to make a go of it. I actually kept my day job. Just in case. 

My law firm did take off. I was able to get clients. I developed a reputation. I was still young and could make a life for myself. I would have money. I had a purpose. That was what i wanted.  

Max too was going up the letter. He got a job in an accounting department at a fairly well-known company.  He was able to move up to mid-level management.  Then he was offered vice president of finance after his predecessor was moved up in position.  

We had tried to keep in touch after we graduated. We had for a little while. We talked on the phone and email.  Then we got busy and had our own lives. We tried to keep in touch, but it did not work. 

It seemed we had moved on. We were in a different place. Our lives no longer intertwined. Over time we were fine with it. We were so fine with it that we did not notice that we were apart. It was not a major factor in our lives. 

I made a comment on his social media page. He wrote a response.  I followed up with a response of my own.  Then he commented.  We ended up having a long conversation on his wall. The conversation moved from his social media page wall to messenger. We had quite the online conversation. It went on and on for quite some time.  

After a time, I got a call. I answered my phone.  “Hello this is matt. I said. "Matty its Max.” he said. I was thrilled to hear from him. We ended up talking on the phone for an hour in a half. It was like old times. 

We ended up talking on the phone back and forth. we had numerous phone calls. He had suggested that i come visit him and stay over for a week or so. I did not think that he would really happen. I was pretty sure that he did not think it would happen either. I said, sure that sounds great. We did continue to talk about it.it seemed like a pipe dream. It hardly sounded like something that would really happen.  

He kept talking to me about coming to visit him. Over time it became a real possibility. We decided that we were really going to do it. We made arrangement for me to come see him for ten days. I would stay with him in his home. 

I held out my enthusiasm at first. I refused to get excited. Then as we cemented our plans, I got more and more excited.  Then as i got closer to my vacation, I got really excited.  I wanted to see Max again.  I knew that Max wanted to see me. 

I worked my last day before my vacation. I had packed though out the week. After I completed my last shift before the vacation, I went home and finished up the packing. I went to bed and the next day I got ready to go. 

A friend of mine drove me to the airport. I was there in plenty of time. Until I actually boarded the plane, I still did not totally feel that it was real. As the plane neared the airport near Max, I knew that indeed this was really going to happen. 

The plane touched down. We were allowed to disembark. We got up from the plane. I was exhilarated as I departed from the aircraft. I looked for my friend. After a few seconds of canvassing the area, I found him. 

I walked over to him. I gave him a great big hug. I got in his car, and we headed to his house. We arrived. He took out his grill. We got caught up on what we had doing.  We reminisced about our crazy activities as a kid. We laughed a lot. 

It was like no time had passed. We both had a lot of fun. I was enjoying myself. I could tell that he was as well. 

After a long day of hanging out and catching up, we were both tired. We both decided to call it a night. 

“Hey, I am going to have you stay in the guest room. It is the first bedroom up the stairs to your right. Max said. “Oh ok. Sounds good. I answered. “I have another request. I was taken a back. I had no idea what this ‘request’ was. “What is this request? “I asked. 

“I want you to wear a diaper to bed. “A diaper?” I asked. “Yes. I waterproofed the bed but just as a precaution, I want you to wear one. I was totally shocked. I was not expecting that. 

“A diaper? Really max! I have not had a problem with bed wetting sense i was eight. I don't have any problem with incontinence. I assured him. 

“I remember your issues when you were younger. I have not seen you in a while. I think it is a wise precaution knowing your history Matty.

I did not want to fight with him over this. This was his house. I agreed. We went upstairs.  He took out a diaper.  I pulled down my pants.  I took off my underwear. I laid on my back on the bed. He put a diaper under my bum. Max pulled the diaper up between my legs and fastened the tapes. As strange as it may sound, I slept great.

I woke up. I had not peed myself. I hoped maybe I would convince him that I am fully potty trained and wearing a diaper is really not necessary.  I woke up and went downstairs. He was making breakfast.

“How did you sleep?” he asked. “I slept great. I told him. I noticed he was wearing a diaper. I asked why are you wearing a diaper?

I wear diapers at night now.  It feels so good.  Did you soil yourself?” he asked. “No i did not. “I said. 

“You should. It feels so good. “He said. I was stunned. After breakfast he asked me to help him take off his diaper.  We went to his room. I took off his diaper. It was really wet. I threw it away. 

He told me it would be a shame to waste a diaper.  He told me to pee myself.  I tried and tried. I could not do it. He told me to relax. He told me to picture a toilet.  He told me to tell my brain it was ok to let go. Finally, the urine leaked out. It felt weird. It also felt good. I liked it.

 That night he suggested we sleep in the same bed. I liked that idea.  We laid in bed.

Neither of us was gay.  We both liked girls.  We had had girlfriends.  We were both busy with careers, so we were not dating as of late. We were one of those friendship where we made people wonder. We did not care. 

We hung out all week. We played basketball. We ran together. We watched tv and movies together. At one time he leaned on me. I put my arm around him.

One night we cuddled.  I hated when the vacation was over. He came to visit me a few months later. We continue to correspond.  I started to wear diapers at night.  I wet my diaper at night. I wore regular underwear in the day. I never had an issue.  However now I had an entire stock of diapers in my bedroom.

Max and I kept in touch.  He started his own compony in my town. Eventually we decided to move in together. We sleep in the same bed.  Are we a couple?  It is not clearly defined at least not yet. 

[jedisupernova]

reuniting with seong gihun

notes minors dni contains fem aged up reader (same age is gihun), always written with plus size reader in mind as i am myself but truly anyone can read, takes place in the midst of his pursuit of finding the salesman, ANGST (self deprecation, selfishness, mentions of hardships, death, failed relationships, suppressed emotions, mentions of infertility, includes arguments; this does not have a happy ending), dynamic between reader and gihun is childhood friends who reconnect in later adulthood, some made up lore to build said dynamic, mentions of nightmares, violence, smoking, sickness, slow burn maybe? i'm trying something new, and smut (mutual masturbation) after trusting someone for the first time in a long time mends part of his soul, but for how long, and at what cost?

requested? no, this is an original idea! i can't be normal about anything and how underrated he is in his own show is diabolical. anyway this one is long. please request something if you'd like or stop by the ask box or dms to say hello! i love a man with big brown eyes whose real good at looking sad. enjoy!

you always looked forward to every other saturday because it meant you had the day off. you took this time to sleep in before heading to nearby markets for your weekly grocery run. it was right after lunch time that you were perusing coriander so fresh you could still see water droplets on its leaves. just before you were to ask the older woman who ran the stand for the price, a familiar face swept past your peripheral vision.

you looked over your shoulder, seeing a man dressed in an unzipped jacket and talking rather quickly into his phone. he looked around the street corner like he was lost, a passing car letting you hear only fragments of what he was saying: "—station? which one?" you were about to return to your business when he faced in the direction of your gaze entirely. you hadn't seen that face in years . . .

he hung up the call, now typing with fervour. without thinking, you started walking: "gihun? seong gihun?" your voice was soft, approaching him with an air of caution you couldn't explain. he looked up, face tense with something beyond stress. "yes?" "it's me." you said your name. "we—we went to grade school together? my ... my parents owned a shop just down the street from your mother's." why did every syllable feel more embarrassing than the last, and why did your voice get quieter with every word? you were certain that you were looking at the gihun you grew up with—who could forget those distinctly emotive brown eyes, or those ears that stuck out and were made fodder for incessant teasing from your classmates? but gihun's expression didn't move an inch, his eyebrows knitted together in the slightest of confusion. but it was merely momentary, because when you were uttering apologies, his eyes widened with belated realization. "yes," he thought aloud, his tone was still oddly serious. "i taught you how to tie your shoes."

your expression blossomed into utter elation, lips separated in shock. he so casually swept the dust off of a shelf of memories you forgot even existed, making you mentally regress to that afternoon during p.e. who knows how many years ago. "y-yes!" you nodded. "i wore velcro shoes until i was eleven!" another memory came to the forefront: "we used to trade cassettes during lunch! we argued so much over the british ones. who was it again? david bowie and—" "—duran duran." said gihun. "duran duran!" you repeated, beaming. "oh my ... when was the last time i listened to them." you pondered aloud.

warmth crept onto your cheeks, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth: "i remember you and sangwoo styling your hair like theirs." a breath left his lips, chest tightening, his eyes betraying him as they quivered in abrupt grief. "you wore so much hair gel it blinded me in study hall. i wonder where sangwoo is now. i haven't heard much since he graduated from snu. are you still friends today?"

your question was objectively harmless. there was absolutely no way for you to have the faintest clue of the atrocities gihun's been forced to witness; the painful guilt he carries; the nightmares that carve the abysses underneath his eyes; the debilitating anxiety that fills his head with endless noise even in the eerie quiet of his deserted motel. he nods, forcing a tight, small grin. "we did stay friends." he says bravely, his eyes looking more familiar than ever.

the genuine smile you give in return was added to his self-anointed list of reasons why, at the end of his life, he would not die a peaceful death. it was another thing he would laboriously mewl over in the afterlife, looking up at the rest of the world, shackled to the deepest, darkest pits of eternal regret.

"that's good to hear." you say. "how're you doing, hm? you've cleaned up well from when we were in our twenties." you quipped playfully. through the scattered shells of his soul littered throughout his body, his innocent self was still somewhere in there, because he subconsciously looked for an out to ease his internal tension, letting out a chuckle at your remark. those vibrations in his chest felt foreign after these past two years, but that murky remnant of his past self welcomed the change, no matter how minute it was. "i've been better." he responded.

"yeah?" you asked. "if it makes you feel better, i'm glad i ran late today. because i got to see an old friend after a long time." gihun glanced at either of your hands—no ring. "have you met anyone?" he asked. you nodded, understanding what he meant. "i did." you say. "he left me when the doctor told us i couldn't carry." your eyes widened, unsure of why you were suddenly so honest. "i don't know why i just—" "i'm so sorry." gihun cut you off. his hardened expression turned shocked, even appalled. you recouped, wanting to look past this: "it's okay." you shake your head, metaphorically dodging the memories of your marriage counselor telling you to not 'to deny your own personal wounds as it'll seep into the companionship.' "it was a long time ago, gihun. how about you? did you meet someone?" he nodded, sympathy glistening across his retinas. "we separated shortly after our daughter was born."

"seong gihun, a father?" you grinned. "anything's possible." the ringing of his phone diverted both his and yours attention away. "i'm sorry for keeping you. you looked like you were in the middle of something—" "no, no. it's fine," gihun shook his head. "here, give me your number. i'll call you." he didn't know why he did it. he failed to stop himself declining the phone call from the loan shark he hired to head the search for the salesman, let alone handing you his phone to type your number in. was the impulsiveness of his past self also crystallized, emerging at this very moment? his discreet vow to blend into the shadows seemed to have crumbled in these past five minutes, giving in to his complex feelings: your sweet demeanor made him feel like a normal human being, and he wanted more of it. for the first time in a long time, seeing someone from his past didn't end in complete anguish. or perhaps it was the gleam of sadness that washed over your eyes as you spoke of your ex-husband, inflating his subconscious savior complex. even so, after you exchanged polite goodbyes, walking off in different directions, he mentally kicked himself for compromising your safety concurrent with unabashed intention of calling you that very evening. through any stage of his life, through the gambling and the scheming, it seemed selfishness remained his kryptonite.

for you, it was a hell of a lot to take in. at some point, it felt as if a prank was being played on you. it was one thing to offer sincere condolences for his late mother, or be sorry that his daughter lived so far away. but ... children's games that ended in murder? masked guards with triangles, circles, and squares hiding their faces? a handsome, well-groomed man that tenderized his face over a game of ddakji, in the middle of a train station? sure, you would miss a lot of someone's life after not seeing them for nearly three decades. but ... but this? it was properly outlandish. crazy, even. but over that hushed dinner, sat in a corner booth, the scent of sizzling samgyeopsal on the grill increasingly nauseating, it was too detailed to be a lie. he pleaded nonverbally for you to believe him—through the desperate glossiness of his eyes. you affirmed your belief in the same wordless manner, visibly nodding. you almost threw up when he handed you a business card, the three aforementioned shapes on one side, a random assortment of numbers on the back.

gihun brought you to his motel that same night, barren and lifeless besides white noise of the warm-toned, aged ambient lighting on the first floor and the tinkering of various ceiling fans with rusted hinges. you took in the six monitors mounted on the wall in front of his bed, equipped with live block-to-block security camera footage of his immediate surroundings, the metro transit map tabbed meticulously, and the calendar with past dates crossed out in thick red marker, pages of months previous mixed with takeout containers lodged in the corner trash bin. you quietly followed him upstairs, seeing his hidden stash of weaponry as he explained his recruitment of underground crime groups he's known since his gambling days. you didn't utter a word, not even when you lastly saw the mountain of cash stacked on a random bed in a random room. it stared at you as you did it—blankly.

he broke the silence. "this is where i've been these last three years." he said. he turned to look at you. "i ... i understand that it's a lot." his voice grew quieter. he swallowed, feeling shame brewing in his chest. "i just—i just felt like telling you. i don't know why. i understand if you don't want to know me—" "—i want to help." you said. his eyes widened. "what?" "i want to help you, gihun." you looked at him. he was bewildered. he shook his head, dumbfounded. "no, i think you misunderstood—" "—i did?" you cut him off. "you brought me here because i believe your story, didn't you? what did you expect then, exactly? for me to take my conviction away, like you say those masked soldiers did to those people who didn't stand still enough, or broke their dalgona? you tell me all of these crazy stories, your pain is so visceral that it makes me nauseous with guilt, and you want me to walk away? huh? what is it, then? what did you want!?" you hadn't anticipated your voice to rise, but were yelling by the end, your irritation stuffing the room.

he took your verbal berating silently, avoiding eye contact and shoulders lowering. "i don't ..." his voice trailed. "i don't want you to get hurt." "you gave up the right to protect me when you gave the impression sangwoo was still alive." you spoke firmly, voice now leveled. a breath of defeat slipped through his teeth. "you should've never called me." you said. "you should've done what everyone does: offer to get lunch to be polite, but never actually do anything. you shouldn't've called. i shouldn't've answered. i shouldn't've have shown up tonight, and i should've walked away the moment you started talking. you've given me no choice but to stay."

the silence was deafening. he looked up upon hearing the skid of your shoes against the floor, coming face to face with your softened expression. it was strangely disarming, feeling goosebumps travel up his spine."you were rid of me for thirty years. it's only right we make up for lost time." you said. his gaze didn't falter. it was his turn to affirm his belief of your wordless plea. he nodded, "okay."

you stopped by the motel in the early morning before work, listening to him comb through whatever new strategy he was going to run by his men that day ("what do you think? does this sound efficient?") and in exchange for making you miss your train, he drove you to work before parking at his usual spot. his guilt of bringing you into all of this felt stronger some days than others, showing in your not hearing from him for a couple days at a time. until you squashed that like a bug, dialing him in the middle of your lunch break: "... hello?" "why haven't you called me?" "i ... i've been busy." "you don't have time for a one minute phone call? thirty seconds?" "no, no. that's not what i meant—" "—i'm coming to the motel tonight."

and like clockwork, at nine pm, you showed up on the security camera. his phone vibrated: I am outside. when he unlocked the door, you walked past him without uttering a word, b-lining to his room. he did not immediately follow, purposefully hovering at the entrance after locking it back up securely. he walked with a lowered head, peering into the doorway some moments later. he was taken aback by the sight of you unloading your tote bag, nose tickled with the scent of freshly brewed stew, steaming rice, and side dishes. "i've brought tupperware. you're not eating takeout anymore." you don't look at him, hanging your bag on the back of a chair after fishing out utensils, sitting down with a small huff.

you looked at him. "are you not joining me?" gihun walked into the room, but fell short of sitting down at the table. "how long ... how long have you been cooking?" he felt stupid for asking the question, but the gesture left his mind blank. he felt atomically undeserving. "i got off work early." you responded curtly, plating your food. gihun didn't say anything, making you look up at him again. "it's going to get cold, gihun." your softened tone gave you what you wanted, watching him sit down across from you with muted satisfaction. you ate together in silence, nothing but the gentle clattering of plates and a quiet "thank you" when passing dishes rivaling the white noise of the air conditioning.

"from now on," you started, bringing your bowl to your lips, finishing off the last of your serving of stew. "you will update me everyday. i will bring food for us. if you forget about me, i will haunt you in the afterlife." "understood." he muttered, avoiding eye contact, pretending to look for a piece of meat in his stew, ignoring the one showing itself plainly on the left side of his bowl. his bottom lip quivered; he tightened his mouth. his arms started feeling weak; he inhaled sharply through his nose, tapping his foot under the table. but then a ragged breath rattled out of his diaphragm, his shoulders shuddered, and his vision went blurry; he was a goner. he sobbed into his hand. it sounded a lot like a coughing fit, so you initially thought the food hadn't gone down smoothly. but his defeated, muffled mewls into his palm and sunken shoulders said otherwise, sending you to your feet.

gihun instinctually turned towards the feeling of your hand on his shoulder, crying into your stomach. his hands pulled at your jacket, making you stumble, but you caught yourself. "f-forgive me, please. i won't be able to live with myself. i haven't been able live with myself for a long time." you looked down at the top of his head, unsure of what to do. you brushed his hair back with your fingers—not sure if it was crossing a boundary, but it felt wrong to just stand there—he only cried harder, arms wrapping around your waist, holding you so tightly as if you were a lifeline. "you—you make me feel normal." he said, breathing in short gasps. "after all the sins i've committed, you've—you've shown me atonement is possible." he lifts his head, eyes reddened, cheeks wet. the imagery of the moment was almost religious; if you listened closely, a distant artist began hammering at a marble slab. "b-but i'm not deserving of mercy." he shook his head, his hands coming together, visibly pleading. "leave me. i've hurt too many people. i can't hurt you next."

you wiped his tears. "you already hurt me when you didn't call." you said. "you already hurt me when you pretended sangwoo was alive and well." you reminded gihun, his head sinking in shame. your hand traced his jaw, lifting his head to look up at you. "you don't get to hurt me again by acting like you're alone in this." your voice faltered to a whisper. gihun's fingers ghosted over your wrist. "listen to me—" "—no, you listen to me." you cleared your throat. "we met that saturday for a reason. you let me in tonight for a reason. we're sharing a meal for a reason. stop lying to yourself." you said. "i can handle myself. i've been through a lot. i don't know how many sins you've committed, but even the devil gets a second chance. you should know, you've looked down the barrel of his gun."

gihun tsked. "save your prayers, gihun. just let me have the peace of knowing i'm helping a friend." he sucked in a shaky breath, sinking his face into his hands. "what have i done?" he whispered. "no one deserves to be alone as long as we both have." you retort. silence fills the room, making way for the words to settle into his psyche. goosebumps arise along his spine at the return of your fingers brushing his hair back. you take a step forward, his forehead brushing against the same place he wept on seconds before. "the least i could do is stay," you spoke quietly as if someone would overhear, even if you two were alone. "even if it's for a little while." as embarrassing and hypocritical as it felt to him, gihun gradually wrapped his arms around your waist. his touch hovered, however, only for you to pull him in, letting him know it was okay.

he got the message. his eyes closed, a long breath escaping his lips. you would've missed what he said if you weren't listening closely: "please do." he said, voice low, tone weakened. "please stay the night. there's—there's a room close to mine. down the hall." "i will." you assure without hesitation."what're friends for, hm?" you grinned. gihun let go. "i'll go—" he cleared his throat, voice gravely. "i'll go wash my face." he gestured to the bathroom behind you, rising from his seat. you returned to yours, "when you come back, have more food. you look sunken in." "i will." he muttered.

gihun closed the sliding door, inhaling through his nostrils, wiping a rogue tear with his knuckles. before he turned on the water, he looked over his shoulder, peering through the translucent palm tree imprint adorning the bathroom door. he caught a glimpse of you re-plating his food, leaned over the table, carefully pouring more stew; a hefty pile of rice on his plate; the side dishes pushed towards his seat. his bottom lip quivered, quickly looking away and tugging the right knob, the faucet pouring. the water ran and ran, but his eyes were stuck on his reflection in the mirror. he felt nauseated by the sight of his glossy eyes, deepened frown lines, and pathetic expression: worthless, contradictory, complacent.

seeing himself felt revolting. not even a mother could love this face after all i've done. he thought to himself. how would he know? he found his mother lifeless on the floor when he came home, eternally impairing her with the gripping chokehold of disappointment routinely tightened by her deadbeat son throughout the last years of her life. what would she think of her son now, a secluded loner who lives off of blood money, whom watched his best friend die right before his eyes, hired criminals to do his bidding to further involve himself in a fight that feels too big, and on top of all that has looped in an innocent woman into all of this? and for what, comfort? a semblance of peace? gihun splashed his face haphazardly, drying off with a towel hastily. he turned the faucet off, staring at himself again: "own the consequence." he whispered to himself. "it's all your fault."

you stayed at the motel even if it was against your better judgment, such as having work earlier than usual. gihun stirred awake at the rustling outside of his closed and locked door, reaching over and squinting at his phone screen: 5:37 AM. his senses clouded by exhaustion, he didn't realize just how quickly he recognized your footsteps, climbing out of bed without a second thought. his voice startled you, even if it was quiet: "what're you doing up so early?" he asked. "you don't have work for almost three hours." "i go in earlier today," you weren't sure why you were whispering anymore. "and i forgot something at home. i'm sorry for waking you up, gihun. go back to bed." he left the doorway, coming back with his jacket and shoes on, keys in his pocket. "let's go. i'll take you home, then to work." "no!" you protested, shaking your head and waving your hand. "i've caused enough trouble waking you up." "i'm already here," he said, taking your purse and carrying it in his right hand, his left gently ushering you alongside him. "let's go. you'll be late."

you shared cigarettes after dinner, the emptied tupperware long forgotten on the small table some feet away. you blew the smoke out the window, watching it disappear into the night. the click of gihun's lighter caught your attention, gaze lingering whilst he inhaled. you smirked to yourself: "i kicked this habit right before i started trying for a family." you said, bringing the cigarette between your lips. "i guess you're as bad an influence you say to be." you quipped, exhaling. "high school gihun would ask if he looked cool doing it." he muttered, holding his between his lips, putting the lighter back in his pocket. "he would. and i'd tell him he does." you affirmed with a nod, flicking ash into the tray lining the windowsill. "he would also ask for you to not tell his mom, even though he stole those cigarettes from her shop. then, two days later, he'd ask you for one." you chuckled, leaning towards the window and blowing. gihun shook his head, "what an annoying kid." "funny." you corrected him. "you were funny. aware, but also clueless. caring, too."

"i was shameless." he murmured lowly, blowing his smoke. you tsked un-approvingly, "stop being so brooding. now that's annoying." he looked at you as if you detested his entire family lineage, eyes widened in an expression fit for schoolyard bickering. "i'm not being annoying, i'm being real! hey—" he said, pointing his cigarette at you. "you're the one being annoying, just going against whatever i say! you've been doing this so much lately! on wednesday, when i offered to buy dinner because you've been working so late these days, and you said to me 'hey gihun, i have fifteen more years until i'm eligible for elderly welfare. i can cook just fine.' you could've just said either yes or no!" he waved his hand to accentuate his point, continuing: "and last week when you told me five times to stop wearing the same three shirts on rotation, and i told you i have more than that but there's no need because i sit in a car all day, and you said 'you're more dedicated to an outfit than the president is to the oath of office.' where do you even get this stuff?" he questioned, bewildered, pointing his cig to his temple. you nearly drew blood from your lip from attempting to contain your laughter. "and i wasn't stealing from my mom when i was that young! at least be honest about that." hearing him accentuate his vowels in the midst of his frustrated rant—a habit he's seemingly had his entire life—made your face feel warmer than before, a wide smile appearing whilst laughter finally rang out of you; you'd unpack the former later.

"okay, okay." you nodded, your free hand coming to rest on his arm as a way of both giving in and telling him to calm down. "was it my mom you stole from, then?" you joked, unable to hold your laughter at the look on his face. "you can tell me, gihun. i'm sure the statute of limitations is up by now for theft." "you're impossible." he muttered, shaking his head, bringing his cigarette to his lips. "hey. hey," you said, arm traveling up to his bicep, "i'm just kidding. i know you didn't steal." he stayed silent until he couldn't. "jungbae used to take his father's cigarettes. that's what i smoked." "okay, okay. i believe you, no need to be emotional." you said that on purpose, an upside down grin molding your face at his expression, suppressed laughter clouding your lungs. "how am i emotional for just telling the truth! hey, you can't just lay the bait and expect me not to take it!" "are you really this unable to take a joke?" you questioned. "wow, gihun. you take our role as elders more seriously than anyone our age." you remarked with faux indignity, hiding your grin behind your hand, inhaling. "impossible." he muttered to himself, turning away from you to face the window. your hand fell to your side, glancing at his cigarette between his lips before gazing out the window yourself.

silence washed over the room. after a few minutes, you put out your cigarette in the ash tray. you cleared your throat, crossing your arms over your chest. "i know it's hard, but lighten up." you began. "we just had a good meal. our shit will pass smoothly in the morning." gihun turned his head, looking at you with those routinely emotive brown eyes, too capacious for his own good, gaping at you. you thought you knew what he was going to say, but he scoffed, looking back out the window, a hint of a chuckle leaving his diaphragm, a ghost of a smile on his face. "poop jokes? at our age?" he shook his head, inhaling. upon his exhale, he struck gold: "you're so full of shit." both of you turned to each other with widened eyes, an open smile of surprise on your face: "a pun!" you called out, pointing at his chest. "you just said a pun!" "i'm not inept." he said. "of course not." you agreed. "just stubborn." you grinned, hearing him scoff.

"you may not be the seong gihun i remember entirely," you said, watching him extinguish his cigarette. "but you're certainly a seong gihun that'll be hard to forget." your words weigh unexpectedly heavily, suddenly bringing up the inevitable next step when gihun confronts the salesman. it's long been established as you two have talked about it before, albeit more hesitantly these days, even if it didn't start that way. in the beginning, it was treated with zero sugarcoating; basic fact; common sense—he's going back in there and no one can stop him. however, over these last few months, it's not as if the end goal has changed, but its honest, unforgiving nature has become increasingly visceral. it lingers in the air like an unwanted draft, but you're scared shitless to get up to close the window, fearing something bad might happen if you leave your bed. it was overtly irrational, a perfect concoction of contradiction and avoidance; even at your big age. it made you feel sixteen again, narrowly evading your crush in the busy school corridor, but stealing every possible glance during your shared class. wait . . . hold on . . . did you just use the word . . .

"i don't plan on forgetting you." gihun cut your inner monologue off. you were taken aback. his gaze is unrelenting, even if his eyes give away his own surprise at his words. your mouth moved, but no sound followed. your mind was completely and utterly blank. gihun felt it too, considering you always had something to say at any given time. that's how you made your way back into his life; upended his routine; granted him a better sleeping schedule; made a technicolor life seem possible again; filled his aura with something other than regret and disdain. his life felt—even if it was only momentary—not like it was unfolding to the beat of a ticking metronome, but in peaceful silence, like now. there was no room for hurtful memories, intrusively incessant conflicting feelings born out of his festering trauma, or the hefty responsibility to avenge those lost that he attributes to his own faults. there was room for only you. you.

gihun turned away, flustered. he suddenly wished he never put his cigarette out, yearning for the scent of nicotine to distract him from the discomfort he felt now—a feeling he was sure you shared, too. "i'm sorry." he muttered, so quiet it nearly blended in with the noise of the air conditioning kicking in. you stepped forward, locking your arm with his. he turned his head, glancing at you when you laid your temple against his bicep. he feels one of your hands gingerly rub his arm, saying something neither of you had the guts to verbally. his posture was stiff, unsure of what to do, but he didn't think for an iota of a second to step away or nudge you off. he felt something inside him begin to thaw, or maybe it slowly had been this entire time. "tonight is the first time i've heard you laugh since we met again." you spoke. your tone was so hushed it made gihun feel as if you were the last two people on all of earth. you two stood in silence, looking out the same window; listening to the distant cares drive by; the meow of a stray cat; the air conditioning shutting off. too afraid to move his gaze—and frightened by how hot his face felt—gihun slowly pulled his hand out of his pocket, slipping it into yours. it took him a moment to mount the courage to intertwine your fingers, and another to lay his temple against the top of your head.

something shifted after that night. how could it not? your apartment collected dust with how you practically lived at the motel, other than to cook. gihun awoke before you did on days you had work earlier, intentionally setting this alarm no matter the time he fell asleep the night before. you stayed in his car a little longer than usual when he dropped you off, really pushing that five minute grace period you have to clock in on time, even if those extra few minutes were spent in flustered silence or repeatedly glancing at how close your hands were on the center console. every time you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket, you hoped it was him; elated if it was indeed his name in your messages, and an eye roll if it was an email or the news. gihun found himself sitting up in his seat when your text came through midday (Going on lunch in 15 min), uncomfortably tugging at the collar of his shirt. he cleared his throat when you sent your usual follow up (Free now), staring at the call button next to your contact name. what am i going to say? he thought to himself, only to realize how ridiculous he sounded. gihun pressed the button hastily, bringing the phone to his ear with an irritated huff. since when did i become sixteen again?

on the evenings where you're running late for dinner, gihun is in your room at the motel, tidying it. he didn't want to face the fact that he lingered in your space because it was precisely that: yours—or in more truthful words, he just really missed you. it was where your energy remained a constant, even through the poorly-lit space and stuffy air. it felt irrational to miss someone he would see in a matter of hours, but he could not help it. he distracted himself with fixing the folded corner of the thin duvet; smoothening a stubborn wrinkle on a pillow case; replacing a faulty lightbulb; cracking the window open just enough if it was particularly humid that day. if you still hadn't arrived afterward, gihun sat on the edge of your finely made bed, waiting idly. he sped down the hall upon reading I'm outside, hushing your flurry of apologies with a gentle "it's okay. i only just came home, too."

gihun was no stranger to nightmares. he had them often, tossing and turning in bed, waking up in a cold sweat or with a prolonged headache that followed him into the day. over time, he got better at lulling himself back to sleep, harnessing the mantra of it's not real as best he could. but one night . . . it was too tangible, tactile, even. filled with villains of his past, ghosts of mistakes, ominous reminders of the uncertain future. he knew he was in a dream, but his subconscious was at war with his conscious efforts to wake up—throwing him in a very frightening limbo. he awoke with a sharp gasp, his body riddled with sweat and coughing abhorrently, throat heinously dry. this was the most severe dream he's had in a while. gihun tried to ground himself by whatever means his mangled mind could think of: steadying his breath, feeling the fraying blanket with his fingertips, trying to remember that mantra ... but his senses felt electrified, the visceral fear of the nightmare still fresh.

his eyes shot open when he heard a knock at his door. he stilled, unsure whether he'd imagined it. some of his rationale had returned, but not entirely, because when there was another knock, he quickly got out of bed, grabbing the gun on his nightside table. that dream really must have done a number on him, because he didn't look at his monitors and moved based on assumption—halting upon hearing "gihun?" your voice laced with concern yet gentle, ear pressed against the door. you knocked again. "gihun? are you awake?" you asked. "is everything okay in there?" his shoulders sunk in relief. have i lost my mind? he thought to himself. he put the gun back, momentarily deferring his disgust over his rash actions, cracking open the door.

he swallowed, hiding his grimace at his still aching throat with a quick swipe of his forehead. "good evening." he said rather monotone, trying to mask as light-spirited but executing it meekly. "i'm okay. i had a bad dream." "i heard you—" you gestured down the hall. "i heard you from my room, gihun. you sounded like you were in pain. i was worried that, that—" "—i'm fine." he nodded, trying to assure you. before you rebutted, he asked "what time is it?" whilst rubbing his eyes. "two in the morning." you answered hurriedly. "look, gihun. you're drenched in sweat and you're breathing so hard. i know this wasn't some ordinary dream." you say. "was it ... was it about them? the men in masks, the games?" gihun's hesitant pause was your answer. "i'm okay." he said again. "i'm sorry for waking you up. go back to bed." you tsked. "still so stubborn, even when he's sleepy." you eyed him, seeing his glistening face. "okay," you gave in. "i'm down the hall if you need me." a pause. "you're not alone in this." you reminded him, walking away and returning to your room. his gaze lingered in your general direction for a moment before closing his door.

he tried to fall asleep, but found himself stuck, only able to stare at the ceiling. gihun's mind ran a million miles an hour, feeling short of breath if he focused on that for more than ten seconds. he looked at his phone for the fifth time in three minutes: 2:47 AM. sleep felt nowhere in sight. his sweat had mostly subsided, heartbeat leveled, but his mind remained riddled. if he closed his eyes, they would open right back up. your proposition played in his head like a broken record, but like anyone his age, his pride stood in the way. it's not only that he didn't want to seem weak or have an insecure grip on self-sufficiency, but also seeking comfort still felt foreign to him. it was another symptom of circumstance, both of the past three years and the last four months. gihun felt undeserving, foolish for pursuing such a thing when he's so close to throwing himself back into a world running on nothing but adrenaline and fear.

gihun laid on his left side with a stern huff, closing his eyes, trying so desperately to feel that lilting tug of sleep, even if he had to pretend. he did all of this to protect you and himself. to protect the inevitable, to crystallize his oath of taking down those bastards once and for all. but when he looked at his phone, seeing it was now 3:16 AM, he suddenly felt thirty-five again: coming home horrendously late after another taxing day at the factory, muscles weak and his will even more so. his wife wasn't home, having been at her relative's house the past few days after an argument they had. he laid atop the bed the best his sore muscles allowed; he hadn't enough strength to shower or even feed himself. he got up less than four hours later, freshening up as best he could in an eerily silent house, ignoring the grumble of his stomach as he boarded the public bus.

it was one of his loneliest moments. he didn't know why he thought of that specifically, considering the divorce, custody battle, and moving back in with his mother was a different low point entirely. his eyes opened to the darkness. the silence felt similar, the shame even more so . . . gihun got up, taking his pillow and blanket with him. he knocked twice, pressing his ear against the door, only for it to creak open. it must have been left open. he stepped inside, closing and locking it behind him. the layout of your room was the same as his, so he had no problem navigating the dark room. he quickly laid his pillow on the floor next to your bed, closing his eyes after unfolding his blanket. you were awake, overhearing his shuffling into the room. "gihun?" he gasped: "you scared me." he whispered back, hand on his chest. "why are you on the floor?" you asked. silence lingered. "i wasn't—i wasn't sure if it would be okay." "get on the bed, gihun." unbeknownst to him, you were awake for the past hour and some change waiting; having moved purposefully to lay on one side of the bed.

your face felt warm, eyes squeezing shut and nestling into your pillow when you felt the weight of the bed dip behind you. even though your backs faced each other, you thanked the universe that no lights were on in the room. gihun laid as far on his side of the bed as he could; not enough to warrant worry that he would fall off, but enough to thwart his fastening heartbeat he felt come increasingly close to his throat. or so he thought, because he stuttered with his next words: "you—you left your door open. don't ... don't do that. someone might come in." a beat. "you did." was all you said. barely ten minutes later, both of you succumbed to the white nose of the air vent, gihun's quiet snores and your steady breaths filling the room.

a week later, you walked into your apartment, setting bags of fresh groceries down on the kitchen counter. you heard your text tone go off in the midst of searching your cabinets for the usual pots and pans you used to cook—a piercing rattle reverberating through the immediate space when you dropped a small pot onto the stove, reading the text from gihun: 1 do not come. you stared at the text in horror, inner monologue clustered and borderline indecipherable—did he find him? how? when—yesterday it was another dead end—and lunch was smooth, too—how could have things changed so quickly? where is he—do not come? is he at there, at the motel? he sent this seven minutes—did he confront him there? how did he even find him there? how did he even— how did he even get inside? your eyes flickered back to the 1—a code you two established the night you took your wordless oath to help him in his endeavor ("it's quick to type. the 'one' we're looking for, the 'one' chance we have.") gihun sent the other three words to deter your stubbornness under the glimmer of the neon pink motel sign he didn't turn on himself, further punctuating the sentiment of imminent danger.

"how ... how long do i wait for?" you whispered to yourself. you paced back and forth, gnawing at whatever skin was left on your lips, moving to your nails after they felt raw. you didn't process your stomach rumbling more time went by; another hour passing on the clock, nor did you pay mind to how your loafers continuously pinched the back of your ankles, too occupied to remember to take them off. your phone rang close to midnight. gihun hadn't realized how quickly you picked up his call: "gihun!? what happened? is everything okay? are you okay?" "i'm safe." he said. "i am okay." he let out a breath, hearing yours on your side of the line. he began to explain: "we found him an hour after lunch. we tailed and tried to corner him, but he was too quick. one of my men are dead, and he used to other to find me at the motel." "n-no." you said weakly, shaking your head, horrified. "he was in my room." gihun continued. "he challenged me to a game of russian roulette. i won. he's dead."

you hadn't the faintest clue what that game was. but that did not matter. "d-dead? just—just like that?" your voice was quiet, eyes glossy. "after searching for these three years, he's gone just like that?" these people were so fucking odd. no matter how many times you reeled over the details, anecdotes, of whatever you learned, their ominous nature left you with an uneasy stomach; an urge to look over your shoulder at any given moment. it was consuming you these last six months. you couldn't imagine how it's been for him for the past few years. gihun nodded, despite you not being able to see. "yes." he affirmed. "he gave me what i needed. there's a card with a date and address for a halloween party, i think, since i searched it up and saw its a club. that's where the leader of the games will be. we've started planning what we're going to do—" "—that's—that's two weeks from now." you thought aloud. "yes." said gihun, nodding again. here came the part of the conversation he'd been avoiding: "i need you to ... i need you to stay at your apartment. just for tonight." you were deeply offended. "what? are you crazy?" you retorted, furrowing your eyebrows. "absolutely not. you listen to me, i'm coming—" "—no, listen to me." he cut you off. "it's a mess at the motel. i can't—" he huffed, shoulders sinking a little. "i can't do that to you."

you understood what he meant. "okay." you sounded hurt, but agreeable. you leaned on the kitchen counter, elbow rustling against the grocery bags. "okay." you repeated, running your hand over your face, clearing your throat afterward. you realized this wasn't gihun acting as if he was alone in his endeavor, but asking nonverbally for your belief in him. "i'll stay here. i trust you." "thank you." he responded in a whisper, overcome by a hefty wave of relief. "just for tonight. i promise." he specified once again. "i know." you said. a moment of silence washes over before gihun speaks. "i'll take you to work tomorrow." he said gently. "do you go in at nine?" "seven." you correct. you look over your shoulder, seeing it was nearing one in the morning on the oven clock. "i didn't realize how late it was. i haven't even showered yet." "me neither." he responded, glancing at the time on his car's dashboard. "i'll be at your building at half six. is that okay?" you nodded, despite his not being able to see. "yes, that's okay."

silence washed over the call. "thank you for trusting me." he said. "thank you for trusting me too. goodnight, gihun." "goodnight." he quickly hung up the call, tossing his phone onto the empty passenger's seat. a shaky breath left his lips as his eyes watered, fingers harshly rubbing his closed eyelids. "fuck." he muttered under his breath. when his vision cleared, he turned his head, looking out his car window to your apartment building. he stared and stared, eyes flittering up and down the various floors, trying to spot yours with any hint; a lamp turned off, a curtain closed, anything. some part of him wanted to stay in his spot until he was to pick you up, and another irrationally hoped you'd walk out of the building, like a lovesick teenager who's lost all reason. but eventually, gihun's hand reached for the gear, putting the car in drive, gradually pushing down on the peddle.

those two weeks were a stilled, prolonged goodbye. your face and muscles felt heavy as if you were already in mourning, but your brain remained defiant. he's too stubborn to let those people kill him. you told yourself, pouring creamer into your coffee at work. he's not stupid enough to die. the later half of october rolled out. with each passing day, you slowly lost the strength to cross out the dates on the calendar in his room. gihun would be a fool to not see the growing cynicism that deepened your eye bags, the perpetual frown on your face during dinner, or the avoidance of eye contact. you woke up too easily these days, gihun often hearing your shower head long before your alarm went off. he wasn't sure if you even set an alarm anymore, but it was enough to deduce you weren't getting much sleep. what was once a witty back-and-forth when reviewing the day's plans for his recruits, became a subdued, one-sided conversation where you looked at the whiteboard with an unreadable expression, offering a monotone "sounds good" in the end. as halloween drew closer, your midday texts lessened. gihun reached out—Are you going on lunch soon?—only to come to terms with his hurt upon reading your response: Busy day. I'll see you at dinner. your eyes watered, bottom lip quivering when he texted back: Okay. No problem. you clicked your phone off, turning it face down. you pushed away your half-eaten lunch, losing your appetite. a ragged breath left your diaphragm, tears threatening to leave your waterline. no one else was in the break room, so the consequences of suppressing your emotions thankfully beared no audience. but you felt exposed nonetheless, confronted by the fact that you couldn't bear to lose gihun, but you had no choice.

the motel was eerily silent the night before halloween. the plan was concrete, reviewed ad nauseam over the last couple of weeks. dinner had wrapped a few hours prior, the tupperware packed away in your tote bag hanging on the back of a lounge chair in your room. you didn't dare look at gihun. in fact, your eyes stayed down the entire time, speaking minimally other than to ask to pass a side dish, or offer him more rice. your quivering lips were hidden well behind your utensils, or taking a drink of water. gihun was just as quiet. not passive, but quiet. he didn't muster the courage to say anything. he might not be the most gifted in expressing his emotions, but he was aware enough to read the room and know it wasn't the best time to bring up the inevitable. he knew he couldn't leave you alone. he couldn't, not without saying something.

so there he was, some time past eleven pm, knocking on your door frame. "are you awake?" he asked gently, even if your nightside lamps were on, apparent that you weren't asleep. you peeked over your shoulder. "yes." you answered, returning your temple to your pillow. gihun walked into the room, back facing you as he sat on the edge of your bed. he had enough gall to keep you in his peripheral vision, but fell short of looking at you directly. "what did i tell you about leaving your door open, hm?" he asked, trying to sound sharp, but succumbing to tenderness. "anyone can walk in." "you aren't just anyone, gihun." you said oh so delicately, enough to have him turn his head completely, eyebrows turned up sympathetically. you saw his eyes on you in your periphery, but avoided his gaze, keeping yours on your palm running back and forth along a small spot of the thin duvet.

"i—" gihun reached into his pocket. "i made you a key for the motel." he leaned over to his right, setting it down on your nightside table. "if you ever need anything," he glanced in your direction, the strength to look at you fleeting. "take as much as you want. you know where the room is." you didn't say a word. your palm stilled. his gaze fell to the duvet, too, his hand gliding across the wrinkles. "like i said before," his voice was low. "i don't plan on forgetting you—" "—gihun, stop." you interrupted. "i don't have the strength for this."

silence. he tries again: "i'll come back." he spoke warily. "i'm going to come back." "please." your voice fell to a whisper. "i can't take it." your chin hovered above your chest from the length you went to avoid his eyes. you felt fragile as porcelain, every single utterance of this conversation chipping away at you without remorse. gihun doesn't try again, internally frustrated with how easily he felt defeated. silence wins again, but not for long. he continues tracing the duvet's wrinkles, inching towards to your hand with every swipe. his hand comes closer and closer, until he slows. you watched his fingers gradually hold yours. gihun doesn't apply pressure, but he stays there. he keeps them in his grip when he moves to lay on his side, facing you. "at least look at me." he whispered, pleading. "i can't." you sounded so defeated. his eyes glistened, gripping your fingers properly now. "i can't regret my decision now. not when i'm so close." his eyes shined under the warm-toned light of your lamp. "don't make me regret my decision. please."

your head rose, meeting his eyes. he looked his most familiar: a deep somberness etched in the crevices of his face, his eyes perhaps the most poetic of all. they looked so soft, so gentle; as if a look of malice could never come close to tainting them. he could try his damn hardest, feel the most visceral of anger, but he could never look truly dissatisfied, forever unable to mask his true desire for comfort. for love. a small grin tugged at gihun's lips. "there you are. i missed you." he was barely audible, almost as if he mouthed the words. without thinking, he moved his head onto the pillow, not realising how close you two were until it was too late. it was like a strange instinct, the way he leaned in. he couldn't stop himself; not when the quietest of gasps escaped between your teeth, or his heart thumping so harshly his chest felt it was going to burst, or when his lips hovered admittedly awkwardly above yours. the kiss was light, almost nonexistent, until gihun leaned forward a little more. the tip of his nose brushed past yours, bringing his lips against yours wholly. his nose lightly dipped into your cheek when he kissed you again. before you could show any semblance of reciprocity, gihun abruptly pulled away.

"i'm sorry." he said. "i shouldn't have ... i shouldn't have done that. i'm sorry—" "—it's okay." you shook your head, panicking slightly. you slipped your fingers out of his grip, using them to make him look at you. "come here." you say. he follows, molding his lips with yours once again. the kiss was one of fervor; relocating misplaced frustration into that of palpable yearning; two souls who came together by chance after decades past; an atomic understanding of each other's pain, yet accepting you'll never truly know what's its like to live the other's life; a long-awaited embrace of the unknown, succumbing to the desire—no, the need to be loved.

gihun's lips felt soft, contrasting with his stubble rubbing against your chin and upper lip. it made you pull him closer, his head tilting to the side to deepen the kiss, eyebrows turning upward at the sound of your muffled whimper. your hand left his face, taking his hand and laying his palm atop your clothed breast. he took the hint, kneading it with just the right amount of firmness, but not without moaning lowly into your mouth. his pointer and middle fingers pulled the collar of your sweater down, breaking the kiss mind-numbingly slowly before trailing down to your neck, past your double chin, settling on the faint stretch marks adorning your shoulder. your eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, an encouraging hand in his hair as your chest nearly collided with his, back arched in bliss.

you brought yourself back down to earth, hand reaching past his chest, undoing his belt. you scrambled to undo the button and zipper, escaping into his briefs. gihun let out a guttural moan into your warm skin, embarrassingly (to him) hard in your hand, breathing hard through your slow strokes. "h—h-ha ... h—ngh!" he tried to contain himself by peppering kisses onto your skin, but ended up bucking his hips up into your soft palm. you fastened your pace, fingers wrapped securely around his girthy cock, his precum wetting your hand. gihun shuddered, mouth agape and face burrowed into your clothed chest, fingers limp on your shoulder. you bit your bottom lip as you continued your ministrations, thighs rubbing together for any sort of friction. a whimper rattled out of his diaphragm when you began pumping only his tip. "i'm g-gonna pass out!" he whined. he gasped sharply when he felt something stir in his abdomen. "n-no, no—w-wait!" he suddenly moved, laying his head next to yours on the pillow. "w-wait! s-stop! i'm—" his body reacted before he did. gihun's nose brushed against your cheek, his mewls and grunts making your eyebrows knit together in a fit of awe and sexual drive you hadn't felt in years. hot spurts of cum coated his briefs and your inner wrist. you gradually came to a halt, overhearing his labored breathing.

you leaned in, softly reconnecting your lips. even in his clouded haze, gihun kissed back with intent. his hand found the hem of your pants, leaning closer to you, your free hand holding his cheek, deepening the kiss. you turned your head towards the ceiling with a sharp inhale, effectively breaking the kiss, however, when his fingers dipped between your folds. goosebumps arose on your arms underneath your sleeves, a soft hiss brewing between your teeth. "your hand is cold." you whispered. his nose pushed against your cheek, lips pressing chaste kisses onto your supple skin. "i'm sorry." he said. "i can ... i can stop." "no, it's okay. it's okay." you say breathily, closing your thighs around his wrist. gihun's jaw dropped at the sight."it'll warm up. just—just keep going." you tell him. "fuck!" his voice fought so hard to stay quiet, coming out hoarse.

your eyes were closed, eyebrows furrowed. it was only every few swirls of his finger did a small gasp leave your slightly swollen lips, feeling him come closer to your clit than before. gihun was so fucking close to where you needed him to be, but not quite there. his unintentional teasing concocted the subtle yet apparent slosh of your wetness as your puffy lips encased his middle finger. you arched your back a little, hoping it would slip him into place, but to no avail. you reached for his head, fingers slipping into his hair. "gihun," you swallowed, mouth dry. "a little h-higher." "where? here?" his cock was hardening in your hand again, blurring his logic, trailing kisses up to your temple in his misunderstanding. "your hand, gihun. your f-finger." "right, right." he quickly realized. "i'm sorry."

the pad of his middle finger inched higher. the light of heaven was now in your sight. you opened your legs to allow just enough room for his wrist to fulfill your next request: "a l-little deeper, gihun. a little—f-fuck!" your gasp echoed off the walls. your hand left his hair, coming to cover your mouth, eyes barely open to look down at his hand in your pants. your wetness was blatant, the sticky sound making his cock stiffen and your vision blur. "g-gihun!" you whimpered, feeling him rubbing unrelentingly your sweet bundle of nerves. every swipe tightened the muscles of your inner thighs, toes curling in your socks. "k-keep going! keep going!" you pleaded helplessly, voice stuck at a whisper.

gihun pressed his forehead against your temple, eyes cast below with no intent of looking away. "f-fuck." he muttered under his breath, mouth agape at how he worked you. his mind became mush, marveling over your warmth and intoxicating softness. "please." he muttered to himself, squeezing his eyes shut at the thought of how you would feel wrapped around him. his shame made him feel juvenile, embarrassed by how his thoughts were as sexually erratic when he was 21 to his now 51, but not enough to stop him from grinding his cock into your loosened grip. "p-please," he whispered to himself. "god almighty—hngh!"

you began pumping him again, your other hand going back into his hair, turning your head and kissing his lips. it was one of newfound hunger; quick yet deep; quiet but stuttered through moans and hushed whimpers. suddenly, a knot formed in your abdomen, threatening to unravel. you broke the kiss. "i'm close." your tone was so vulnerable, like you would trust him with the world. gihun opened his eyes, taking in how beautiful you looked under the lamplight, the sheerest coat of sweat glimmering off your skin. "are—ngh!—a-are you?" you asked. he felt your breath brush against his cheeks, his forehead atop yours, nodding. "y-yes. we can finish together. c'mon." he kissed your cheek and your temple. "o-okay," you said breathily, head turning towards the ceiling, feeling his lips rest against your skin. "i trust you."

before gihun could register it, you unraveled. your moans were so delicate, so gentle, descending into shudders rattling out of your chest; back arching, eyebrows turned upward in ecstasy. "i—i!" you whimpered, the feeling of his finger continuously circling your clit through your unimaginable orgasm making your sinuses loosen, tears prickling even in your tightly shut eyes. "yes! yes! y-yes!" you chanted like a prayer, pumping him whilst you rode out your high. gihun was an incoherent mess through his second orgasm, his sweaty forehead sticking to your cheek, spilling onto your wrist in finality. he felt depleted of all energy, dizzy for those first few moments whilst you laid beside each other in your respective post-orgasmic hazes, your joint-labored breathing outdoing the room's air conditioning unit.

his hand slowly pulled out of your pants, yours slipping from his briefs when he turned to lay on his back. gihun's eyes closed, lulling his heartbeat with every deep breath he took. even though your body had stilled—eyes closed, tongue running over your dried lips; trying to bring yourself back down—something stirred inside of you. your body had its release, but your heartbeat fastened for a reason you did not want to acknowledge. in fact, there could not have been a worse time than now. you hastily wiped the tear that had fallen during your orgasm, your face contorting into a near sob, almost giving in to the reality that you convinced yourself you've long accepted. but you loathed it so much, so viscerally that your temples vibrated with anger; resentment; vitriol, even. all those missed phone calls, lying texts, quiet dinners, avoidant conversations . . . now here you were, suffering the consequences the night before he's set to leave.

am i really going to cry after an orgasm? really? you thought to yourself. you knew it wasn't the truth, but you were internally fighting tooth and nail to not yield to the suffocating devastation consuming your lungs like smoke at the moment; breath stuttering through your nostrils, chest convulsing whilst you held back the tears. but then, you felt his hand ghost past yours when he fixed his posture in bed. all hell broke loose.

gihun's eyes widened when he heard you cry. his hand did not hesitate to ride up your arm; a firm, yet gentle tug at your shoulder in an attempt for your attention. "hey," he spoke softly. "what happened? is everything okay?" you cried even harder, bringing your hand to your mouth. gihun's knuckles wiped what he could reach, turning on his side to face you. his big brown eyes looked to you with the same devastation your body was currently expelling. "was it something i did?" he whispered tragically. he was afraid he overstepped a boundary tonight, the intensity of it all hitting you suddenly. but that couldn't be farther from the truth. if only you could stop crying to tell him.

you turned to look at him, pawing weakly at his chest to somehow ground yourself enough to speak. the attempt proved to be worthless, the warmth of your tears lulling you into a state of incoherence. gihun's hands came up, holding either side of your face. "what is it?" his voice was low, laced with concern and perpetual shame. "what happened, hm? you can tell me." he encouraged, fingers wiping your fresh tears, palm softly encasing your cheek afterward. "i can't stand to see you like this. please, tell me."

"i-i'm so sorry i've been so distant!" you exclaimed, your tears added an unintended tone of urgency. you looked into his eyes, shaking your head. "i'm so sorry i've b-been so mean!" "no—" gihun dismissed gently, pulling you into his chest. he wrapped his arms around you; one hand smoothening your hair, the other holding onto your hip. "it's okay. you have nothing to apologize for." he meant every word. gihun never once questioned why you acted the way you did. he's anticipated this from the moment he asked for your number that early afternoon several months ago. out of all the unpredictable variables that have unfairly cast themselves into the trajectory of his life, he could always count on his selfishness to rear its ugly face in the end. whether it be debt, addiction, or hurting the ones he loved—he bears the consequence. but some part of this makes it feel worth it, as murky as it is. "it's okay. it's okay." he hushed your cries. gihun kissed your temple tenderly. "there is nothing to be forgiven." he told you when your tears subsided, holding onto you even tighter. "you haven't done anything wrong."

after a while, you slowly sat up. gihun too, albeit cautiously, watching you wipe underneath your eyes with the back of your hand. you let out a long breath, lifting your head to meet his gaze. "i've always been such an ugly crier." you muttered. gihun exhaled through his nose, grinning. "i can never predict what's going to come out of your mouth next. no matter how hard i try." you grew flustered, an upside down grin tugging at your lips. "you missed thirty years of my life." you said. "of course you'd be a little lost."

gihun couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. comfortable silence washed over the room. your palm began to swipe back and forth on the duvet again, but your eyes were on him. avoidance wasn't in the realm of possibility anymore. it hurt, but you felt ready. "you can't die, gihun." you spoke, voice quiet, as if volume would shatter the sanctity of your oath. you looked at him as if you were the only two beings on the entire earth. "i have more food to make." his gaze did not waver. "i won't." he responded, equally gentle. "i have more to eat."

two days later, you unlocked the door, stepping into your apartment. you kicked your shoes off without a moment's hesitation, setting your purse down on the kitchen counter. the rustle of the plastic bag in your hand almost overshadowed the vibration in your pocket. fishing your phone out, you rolled your eyes at the work email notification. something regarding an ongoing project, or an upcoming meeting—you could have cared less. "it's nine fucking pm. are they this incompetent?" you muttered as you walked to the living room, clicking your phone off and setting it down on the coffee table.

the plastic bag, surprisingly, was not filled with fresh vegetables and your other go-to ingredients, but takeout. you untied the knot, opening the styrofoam containers filled with freshly-cooked fried chicken and tteokbokki, respectively. "shit," you said to yourself, getting up from the couch and scurrying to the fridge, bringing back a can of sprite to accompany the meal. you ignored the cabinet housing your tupperware, not even permitting your oven, which stored your pots and pans, in your peripheral vision. for now, and for your sanity, they were dead to you.

you ate your meal in silence. the crunch of the chicken, chewiness of the rice cake, and the fizzing of your soda kept you company. your phone lit up with emails, the news, reminders to pay bills, your paycheck hitting your bank account; you didn't waver. you did what you vowed to do for the next days, weeks, or maybe the next thirty years: waiting. for something. anything.

honey's taglist! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა: @gongyoosgf @infinetlyforgotten

[qqueenofhades]

fwiw: a lot of people follow @roach-works who just reblogged yo ur comments on history, books, and authoritarian regimes' inability to indoctrinate entire populations.

I'm an ex classics major with a lot of history under my belt, who knows Rome sutmr under a corrupt oligarchy even when it coughed up a hairball like Nero or Commodus. (Of course, it helped that Rome worked on the pragmatic principle, "How can we keep society and infrastructure functioning, given that positions of power tend to be occupied by the rich & corrupt?" I like to joke that Western Rome never fell; it just became the mafia.)

At any rate, my tendency to see the US through the lens of Rome makes me a pessimist: I assume we'll manage even in a dystopia.

I'm working on expanding my knowledge of world history to counteract that, but it's great to check in with a sane historian who will help me resist crowdsourced panicmongering.

Look, as I have said, I 0% blame anyone for being scared. I'm scared. With no exaggeration or hyperbole, Shit Real Bad, and it's undoubtedly going to get worse, at least in some ways, before we have a chance to make it better. It was completely avoidable, but half of America decided they didn't want to avoid it, so here we are.

Nonetheless, as my last reblog also pointed out, there are still basic historical and critical-thinking skills that we can use here, and to acknowledge that even if it is obviously unprecedented to us, it is not unprecedented to others, and we can study those lessons and think about how to apply them to our own situation. Rome is the obvious model for a world empire brought down by corruption, oligarchy, imperialism, endless foreign wars, income inequality, economic upheaval, excessive militarism, etc etc, but it's not the only one, and the "fall of Rome and start of the Dark Ages" is one of those narratives that gets my premodern-historian rant especially exercised. By the time Rome "fell" in 476, the city of Rome wasn't even the capital of the Empire; the western capital was in Ravenna, northern Italy, and the eastern capital was in Constantinople, where it endured for another thousand years. Roman successor kingdoms were founded in Visigothic Spain, Merovingian Francia, etc., and often imported Roman law, religion, bureaucracy/administration, and nobility relatively unchanged, which is why Latin was the legal, ecclesiastical, and educational language of western Europe until as late as 1962 and Vatican II. The "Dark Ages" are likewise at best an extreme simplification and at worst exceedingly misleading imperial-nostalgia propaganda. Etc etc. I will restrain myself.

Rome dominated the (European/Near Eastern/north African) world in the way that the 19th-century British Empire dominated the actual world and American empire dominates now, at least for the moment, and thus we have to recognize that similar dynamics are at play here in a late-stage imperial decline. However, Rome did not just up and vanish in a puff of smoke one day and never appear again, and we also have to recognize that the end of empires is generally a good thing, historically speaking. Yes, absolutely a turbulent, dangerous, and traumatizing time, especially for those living within the imperial core, but still. There's also the blunt fact that America itself has been responsible for a lot (a LOT) of violent regime change, coups, overthrows, bombings, and other disastrous foreign policy interventions for almost the entirety of its existence, and we can't pretend that we are just the shining beacon of unproblematic truth, freedom, and faith that most conservatives, and a lot of saccharine American-exceptionalism liberals, tend to think. If that comes back to bite us and we have to experience the kind of political and social upheaval that we have arrantly and unrepentantly inflicted on other places in the name of our Superior Right... well.

As for the post about history books (here), that was another attempt to push back against the kind of broad-strokes fearmongering that is often prevalent right now. Again: for completely understandable reasons, but still. There is literally no way on earth that the practice of academic history, or the procession of human events, is going to be destroyed because an orange dumbass and his idiot followers took power in America for eight nonconsecutive years. Even if by some miracle he managed to do it in America and the only thing ever officially published was Heritage Foundation balderdash, a) historians in countries other than America would still be writing books about it, and b) again, literally impossible. To return to the history of Soviet totalitarianism that I was addressing in that post, I suggest that people look into the samizdat, the contraband news and literature widely shared in the USSR. They faced far more stringent conditions than we ever will: the KGB controlled access to all word processors and copiers, precisely because they could be used to spread non-regime-approved information, and dissidents had to write and circulate it by hand. If they were caught, they could be disappeared, sent to the gulag, confined in a psychiatric hospital, subject to intensive "state education," etc. But they still managed to pass it around and read it, and it would be literally impossible for this collection of Trumpster chucklefucks to exert even a fraction of this logistical and physical control, when every citizen already owns a laptop and a smartphone. The history books aren't going anywhere.

That all said, of course we are all hyper-alert and anxious and afraid, and we don't want to miss anything that might be important or dangerous or anything else. I get that, I completely do. But we still have to pace ourselves, we still have to apply critical thought and learn how to educate ourselves when something seems huge and scary and unstoppable, and I am attempting to do a small part of that on a niche blue hellsite that won the social media competition by literally doing nothing while its peers all fell face first into being corporate Nazis. The bar is low. But hey, I'm here, and you're here and you're reading it, and we will get through it. I promise.

Courage, etc.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ ᴡɪʟᴅᴄᴀᴛ ᴄʟᴜᴍꜱɪʟʏ ꜱʜᴏᴡꜱ ᴀꜰꜰᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies. Not proofread.

Emma: "Prince Kagari's birthday is today?"

Townswoman: "Yes, it's become a tradition for the whole town to celebrate."

Emma: "So that's why it's so lively today."

(I had no idea it was Kagari's birthday.)

The townspeople were particularly excited, and the sweet smell of dorayaki filled the air from every direction.

Townswoman: "You should celebrate Prince Kagari too."

Townswoman: "I'm sure he'd be thrilled if someone as special as you sent him good wishes."

A woman I'd gotten to know since coming to Kogyoku flashed me a cheerful smile and gave me a gentle push.

Townswoman: "If you're having trouble picking a gift, I'll help you out!"

Emma: "Thanks, but since it's a special occasion, I'd like to come up with something myself."

(This feels kind of weirdly pressuring. Or is it just me?)

Satisfied with my response, the woman cheerfully left after offering a few words of encouragement.

(Kagari's helped me more times than I can count since I got to Kogyoku. Whether or not I'm special to him, I can't just ignore his birthday now that I know about it.)

(Alright.)

(Wait, what's this ridiculously long line?!)

When I packed my gift and made my way to the castle, I found the square completely packed with people who had come to celebrate Kagari.

(Swordsmen, nobles, commoners—wow, that's a huge crowd.)

At the front of the line, a striking figure with red hair caught my eye.

He was expressionless, silently receiving greetings and tributes one after another.

(Prince Kagari looks completely detached, like it has nothing to do with him. He doesn't seem happy at all.)

I stood on my toes to get a better look, and our eyes met.

(Did he just catch me staring? He's always quick to notice when someone's looking at him.)

I looked away and took cover by a nearby cherry blossom tree.

(What should I do? It's going to be difficult to celebrate with this many people around.)

(I really wanted to celebrate on his actual birthday, but maybe I should come back tomorrow. Wait, what?)

When I glanced back, Prince Kagari was gone.

Instead, his attendant was standing there, and despite not being the prince, people were still offering celebratory words and gifts.

It was a weird sight.

Kagari: "You're wide open, Princess."

(!?)

I turned toward the voice, and a hand suddenly covered my mouth.

Before I could react, he pulled me into the shadows beneath the tree, my back gently pressed against the trunk.

Emma: "Mmph!"

(When did he even get behind me?!)

I struggled, but he effortlessly pinned me against the tree, his face now dangerously close to mine.

For a second, I thought my heart would stop.

Kagari: "Will you behave?"

I nodded frantically, and only then did he finally let go of my mouth.

But the distance between us didn't change. He placed his hands on the tree, keeping me trapped.

(Calm down, Emma.)

(He's probably just staying this close to avoid being seen by others.)

I instinctively lowered my voice, careful not to let my breath brush against him.

Emma: "Why are you here?"

Kagari: "I saw you."

Emma: "So you came to see me?"

Kagari: "You called me."

(Is that how he saw it?)

A mix of guilt and a strange, fluttering warmth settled in my chest.

Kagari: "If you were planning to stand in line, you should give up."

Kagari: "That line won't die down until nightfall."

Emma: "That long…?"

Kagari: "And at night, there's a banquet. It'll go on until dawn."

(Spending an entire day celebrating… The Yaksha of Kogyoku really goes all out.)

I was impressed, but his expression remained blank as always.

He gazed at the never-ending line of people as if it had nothing to do with him, his detached demeanor unfitting for someone being celebrated.

(I feel like Kagari doesn't care much about his birthday.)

(What if he finds it annoying that I came?)

Kagari: "So? Why are you here?"

I instinctively looked away.

Emma: "I was just curious since there are so many people."

(I can't bring myself to say I also came to celebrate.)

I hid the bag with the present behind my back.

Kagari was silent for a while.

An awkward silence fell between us, making the noise around us feel distant.

(I hid it, but I wonder if he noticed.)

But Kagari didn't say anything more about it and just grabbed my arm.

Kagari: "Princess, will you come with me?"

Emma: "Huh? W-Wait, Prince Kagari?"

He stealthily led me toward the castle, barely giving me a choice. Once inside, he unceremoniously shoved me into a room before disappearing and returning with a large basket.

Kagari: "First, put this on."

Emma: "A hakama?"

Kagari: "Next, wrap this around your face."

Emma: "A scarf?"

Kagari: "Lastly, wear this at your waist."

Emma: "A… sword!?"

Kagari: "Tie your hair into a single ponytail."

Emma: "Um…?"

(Why are we suddenly having a dress-up session?)

I accepted each item as he handed them to me, tilting my head in confusion. But then, without hesitation, he picked up the hakama and reached for my clothes.

Kagari: "If you don't know how to wear it, I'll help."

Emma: "N-No! I got this!"

(I have no idea what's going on, but this can't possibly be bad, right?)

[456x001]

Gi hun waits behind the corner. And then just like everyday, at 1:32pm Gi-hun hears In-ho’s footsteps approaching the end of the hallway. He’s sick of it, sick of it all. Sick of watching In-ho walk up to that same triangle guard and hearing their meaningless debrief for the umpteenth time. What does it matter anyway? At the end of day he will find In-ho lying in a pool of his own blood, looking up him and watch the light slowly fade from his eyes.

The guard walks away and In-ho walks down the hallway, nearing him.

Gi-hun’s had enough this. In-ho’s about to pass him when he grabs his shoulder and yanks him around, shoving him against the wall. “Why do you keep dying?!” Gi-hun yells. In-ho, to his credit, looks mildly bewildered before slipping back into his usual stoic and calculating demeanor.

He raises an eyebrow and shoots him a questioning look. Gi-hun punches the wall next to him and lets out a frustrated yell before pressing his forehead against the right of the wall next to In-ho’s head.

In-ho’s turns his head to face Gi-hun and studies his expression before pushing himself off the wall and peering out into the hallway from behind the corner. “Not here.”he says before grabbing Gi-hun’s wrist and dragging him down the other side of the hallway they were standing in. They approach what seems to be just another part of the wall before In-ho firmly presses his hand against it and pushes inward. The wall splits open and reveals a sleek black door which scans In-ho’s face and then opens inwards, granting him access to what looks like an office.

In-ho, still holding onto Gi-hun’s wrist, pulls him inside and shuts the door. Finally letting go of his wrist, he paces to the other side of the room before turning around to face him again. He lets out a frustrated sigh, “What is it now Gi-hun? How are you even here? You’re not supposed to be here, you-“ “I agree!” Gi-hun yells. “I’m not supposed to be here, I don’t want to be here! But I’m stuck! I’m stuck reliving the same day over and over again, stuck hearing Yong-sik complain about the milk, stuck hearing Geum-ja scold the stupid shaman lady, stuck hearing the stupid shaman lady’s tirade about the will of the gods, and stuck watching you die over and over and over again!” he bemoans grabbing his hair with both his hands. “I want it to end! I want it all to end! I just want it to end!” he screams, eyes shut tightly.

In-ho slowly steps towards him, approaching him akin to someone approaching a scared stray animal. He gently presses his hand against Gi-hun’s forehead. As if he was checking his temperature. “Gi-hun, are you okay?” he asked. He looked...concerned. Oh, the nerve! The nerve!! “Are you fucking kidding me?” In-ho straightens. “I’m not sick! I don’t have a fever! I’m not hallucinating! and you keep fucking dying.”

He was too tired for this. He just wants In-ho to stop looking at him with those stupid concerned eyes. He’s so lost in his own thoughts that he barely hears it. A snort. He looks up and sees In-ho with his fist in his mouth. He was trying not to laugh. Gi hun narrows his eyes at him in utter disbelief. “You cannot be serious! You’re laughing? In-ho loses it. “I’m standing here and telling you about how I’ve been watching you die every single day and you’re laughing?” Gi-hun is glaring daggers at him. I’ll kill him myself this time he thinks to himself. He was appalled by the ridiculousness of it all. The Front Man was standing here in front of him laughing his ass off.

“Gi-hun…don’t you think….this is a bit much even for you…” In ho says in between his dying laughter. “If you think this is going to get you and everyone out of here, I’m sorry but it’s not my call.”

“Do you think I want to stand here and explain all this to you and beg you to understand so that I can save your life?”After everything you did? Gi hun drags his palm down his face.

“I believe you” In-ho says resolutely.

“What?”

“I believe you” he says again.

Gi-hun looks at him and sees In-ho looking back at him earnestly.

Gi hun sighs.

“Thank you. For trying to save me.”

The words feel heavy leaving his mouth. He wasn’t just talking about the time loop.

“I don’t give a shit about you.”

Lies.

I just need you to survive so that I can escape this nightmare.”

In ho’s face hardens and his lips press into a thin line.

If In ho notices something more flicker in Gi hun’s eyes, he doesn’t mention it. The absurdity of the situation making him pinch the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“So you’re saying you start everyday the same, every event down to minute detail unfolds exactly the same. You’re able to interfere and change things but it always ends with me dying and then the time loop restarts?”

“Yes.” huffs Gi-hun.

“Do I die the same way every time?”

“Yes.”

“What happens?” In-ho gazes at him intently, looking to catch something Gi-hun might’ve missed.

——————————————————————-

that’s all for now! im a very busy gal but if yall want more i might make more

i want a post season 2 groundhog day type fic where in ho dies and then gi hun gets trapped in a time loop of that day and eventually he realizes that the only way to exit the time loop is to save in ho so he tries to save him over and over again and slowly falls in love with him in the process.

[asterafroditis]

Ur writing is so nice! Could I request Leona x reader, hurt/comfort? Whatever comes to ur mind! ^_^

𐔌 . ⋮ second to none .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Leona Kingscholar x gn! reader

𓏵 849 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 3rd Person POV, no pronouns used, angst, hurt/comfort

yayyy, first request done (๑°ㅁ°๑)‼✧ feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

Leona knew better than to let himself care. Caring led to expectations. Expectations led to disappointment. He’d learned that lesson a long time ago.

And yet—here you were. Again.

Sitting beside him in the dim glow of the Botanical Garden, unbothered by his sour mood, by the way he kept his back turned to you like a wounded animal trying to hide its injuries. You didn’t prod, didn’t push—you just sat there.

That made it worse.

"Kifaji again?" you finally asked, voice careful but not hesitant.

Leona scoffed, running a hand through his tangled mane. "What else is new?" His tail flicked sharply against the grass, irritation rolling off him in waves. "‘Prince Leona, you must do this. Prince Leona, your duty is to your kingdom.’ Blah, blah, blah—what a joke."

"It’s not fair that they treat you like that."

He let out a bitter chuckle. "Fair? Oh, don’t gimme that. You’re smart enough to know the world doesn’t give a damn about ‘fair.’" He finally looked at you, and for a second, the weight of his exhaustion nearly knocked the breath from your lungs. "And neither should you."

You frowned, leaning closer. "Leona—"

"No. Don't start." His voice dropped lower, rougher, like the walls he’d spent years fortifying were beginning to crack. "I know what you're gonna say. That I’m ‘more than just a second prince.’ That I ‘deserve more credit.’ That I should ‘believe in myself’ or some other feel-good nonsense." His jaw tightened. "I know all that. And it doesn’t matter."

You stared at him, your chest tightening at the sheer resentment in his voice—not towards you, but towards himself.

"Why doesn’t it matter?" you asked softly.

Leona clenched his fists, looking away. "Because nothing I do will ever be enough. I could be the strongest magic user in the kingdom, the best strategist they’ve ever seen—but at the end of the day, I’ll still just be the second-born. The ‘spare.’" His voice wavered, but he swallowed it down, forcing a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "If I can’t change that, then why the hell should I bother?"

You inhaled sharply, feeling your heart twist.

This wasn’t just bitterness. This was defeat.

He had already convinced himself that he would never be worth as much as his brother. That his best would never be good enough.

And the worst part? He wasn’t wrong—not in the eyes of his kingdom.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t wrong to you.

"Leona." Your voice was quiet but firm. He still wouldn't look at you, but he didn’t pull away when you reached for his hand, fingers gently brushing against his calloused skin.

"You’re right," you admitted. His ear twitched, but he stayed silent. "You can’t change how your kingdom sees you. You can’t change the fact that you’re the second prince. But that doesn’t mean you’re worthless."

His grip tensed, knuckles white. "Tch. That’s easy for you to say."

You held onto him tighter, rubbing your thumb over the rough skin of his palm, grounding him in the moment. "Maybe. But I mean it."

The night air was thick with the weight of his silence. His breathing was shallow, controlled—like he was forcing himself not to let your words sink in.

Like he was afraid of believing them.

Your free hand moved without thinking, fingertips ghosting over his knuckles, lingering in a way that felt too intimate to be casual. You could feel his pulse, steady yet tense beneath your touch.

"I wish you saw yourself the way I see you," you murmured.

A flicker of something passed through his sharp emerald eyes—something unreadable, something dangerous.

Leona was always good at pushing people away before they got too close, but this—this was different.

"And how do you see me?" His voice was quieter now, almost wary.

You hesitated for a moment, then tightened your grip on his hand.

"I see someone who’s brilliant. Strategic. Strong." Your voice softened. "Someone who doesn’t just follow the path set for him, but carves his own, even if no one else understands it."

Leona let out a slow exhale, shaking his head. "Doesn’t change the fact that it’s a path to nowhere."

"Then I'll walk it with you."

That made him pause.

You bit your lip, then continued, voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your chest. "You keep acting like you have to prove yourself to people who refuse to see your worth. Like you have to do everything alone." You sighed. "But I see you, Leona. And I’ll keep seeing you, whether you want me to or not."

He stared at you, his gaze unreadable. Then, with a huff, he looked away, running a hand down his face. "You’re too stubborn, y’know that?"

You smiled faintly. "Yeah, but you love me anyway."

He scoffed. His tail flicked against the grass, irritation laced in the movement, but his fingers curled more securely around yours. Holding on like he wasn’t sure how else to keep himself standing.

Like maybe, just maybe, he wanted to believe you.

And for now, that was enough.

[froggiequarium]

1k words; rafayel making nail art... for you (working on this when i'm supposed to be working on a new fic for main oops.... raf invaded my mind what can i say?)

-

rafayel noticed your little habit of constantly switching out your press-on nails every couple of weeks. infact, you often began asking him his opinions on which to use next after catching his curious eyes glued to you as you prepped your nails for the newly decided set, and he'd confidently point out the one he thought would suit the season or occasion better.

one day, after showing him the new sets you'd bought during a sale and oogling at the cute art and charms they were decorated with, he offhandedly asked if they were difficult to make.

"hm? well, i've seen videos that make it easy, but usually things look easier than when you actually try it yourself, so i just stick to buying them," you sheepishly point out with a little laugh.

and suddenly, rafayel has an idea.

in the next week or so, when its around the time to switch out your nails once more, rafayel calls you and tells you to meet him at his studio, that he has a surprise waiting for you.

curious and excited, you immediately make your way there, having no other plans for the day, mentally going through special days to make sure you're not forgetting any occasion.

though, it wasn't likely, given rafayel's nature of spoiling you with surprise gifts for no particular reason.

you make your way inside of his studio and find him in the living area, just finishing arranging some things before his gaze flits up to yours.

"well hello, miss bodyguard. you got here quick."

you take slow steps towards him, grinning.

"a certain fishy said they had something for me, i couldn't just keep him waiting."

he grins back.

when you close the distance and are standing right before him, he holds his hands out, palms facing up.

"give me your hands," he coaxes.

you do as you're told, sliding your hands over his, and he grips them gently, inspecting your hands— you don't have a new set on yet, just as he expected.

perfect.

"why don't i do your nails for you this time?"

you tilt your head.

"is this your surprise?"

"part of it."

"are you sure? i didn't think you'd be interested, and i'm used to doing it myself...."

"nonsense, let me decorate your hands for you this time, cutie."

you raise an eyebrow, suspicious at his insistence, but allow yourself to be dragged to the couch and seated next to him as he reaches for the utensils that you use to prep your nails.

"why did you have everything ready? were you that confident i'd let you do my nails for me?"

he holds up the nail clippers, moving close to begin snipping down your nails.

"its already been a couple of weeks since your last set, so i knew you'd be working on another one sooner or later."

something about the attention to detail rafayel pays when it comes to you makes your heart thump a little faster in your chest.

"right..."

he's finished trimming and filing your nails quickly before he grabs a spikier tool to push your cuticles back, trimming some as he sees fit. afterward, he's grabbing another tool and begins gently buffing the surface of each nail. when he reaches for a small alcohol wipe to drag over each nail bed, you speak up again, realizing something.

"wait, what set are you even going to put on? did you decide without me?"

he cleans the last finger, setting the wipe down beside him before reaching for the nail glue to have ready.

"give me a second."

he reaches for a little box that was hidden in plain sight behind a cup of paintbrushes on the nearby table. its a pretty blue and wrapped in a little purple ribbon. he hands it to you, and you slowly take it from him.

"this is the real surprise," he smiles, gesturing for you to open it.

you look up at him before pulling at one of the ends of the ribbon, gently unraveling it and popping the lid off of the box. you can't help the little gasp that escapes you at the sight within.

it's a new set of nails, pristine and pretty, looking like the ones that are on the pricier end of the websites you buy from.

they're a mix of pearly white and ocean blue, different images from seashells and little fish to a seahorse being painted on a few of them, embellished with small colored-pearl looking charms and some shiny gold glitter for highlight. even more, the shape of them is exactly your preference.

you're looking at them for a long time in silence due to the awe of the detail and beauty of them. rafayel watches you marvel at them, but grows too eager to hear your thoughts.

"do you like them?"

rafayel's voice breaks you from your trance and you finally manage to tear your gaze away from the nails to meet his eyes.

"did you.... make these?"

rafayel only shrugs in response.

"i decided to try it out. it wasn't the easiest thing, but it was simple enough, and i got the hang of it easily. still, i think my back is still hurting from the weird angle i had to be at to paint on such a tiny canvas," he whines, rubbing his lower back for emphasis.

you breathe out a laugh, pushing yourself forward and kissing the pout off of his lips.

"these are the prettiest nails i've ever had, raf. thank you," you beam.

his ears are bright red.

"its not that big a deal," he looks to the side, shy. the volume of his voice is lower at his next words. "besides, there's more where that came from, so its nothing..."

you nod, making a note to ask to watch him at work later. for now, you hold the box out to him, gaze expectant.

"well, i'm ready for my new nails, mister nail artist~"

he's back to his normal self at your words, pleased expression crossing his face as he snatches the box from you before picking up the glue.

"leave it to me!"

needless to say, you received the most compliments on this set than you had from the other sets you wore, everyone hounding you for which new nail place you went to this time for such a beautifully effortless result.

you were all too satisfied to turn to each of them and proudly reveal the secret nail tech, the curious gazes immediately growing stunned.

"my boyfriend!"

-

you cant convince me he wouldn't be good at nail art.... inspired by the next press-on set im going to use looking cutely painted (not ocean themed though) & it made me think ab how rafayel would definitely make you your own sets.... nail tech raf anyone???

-

[allthingsfangirl101]

My Archenemy – Tyler Owens

All anyone can talk about is Tyler Owens. My students are obsessed with his videos. They idolize him.

I, on the other hand, would love to go a day without someone bringing him up. After high school, I stayed in town and went to the nearby college. I remained here and ended up teaching science at my old high school. Tyler only reappeared when tornados came to town.

I tried not to think about him. I didn't want to. We were childhood archenemies. Tyler and I were constantly competing. From spelling tests to reading competitions to science fairs. I was better at biology. Tyler was better at environmental science. We were always going head-to-head.

Whenever one of us won something, the other jumped up and won at the next thing. It got tiresome for me, but Tyler loved the competition.

After a long day at work, I stopped at the grocery store on my way home. I roamed the aisles, grabbing things here and there. I let out a sigh of relief when I saw that there was still one box of my favorite granola bars left. I went to grab it but someone had the same idea.

"Oh. I'm sorry. . . I was just. . . Tyler Owens?"

"Well, I'll be," he chuckled, instantly smirking his famous smirk. "If it isn't little Y/F/N Y/L/N."

"I'm surprised to see you back in town," I said, resisting the urge to look him up and down.

"Did you miss me?" He smirked.

"No," I didn't hesitate. "But now I miss the peace that was here when you weren't."

I started to reach for the box of granola bars, but Tyler snatched it. "Really?" I mumbled under my breath.

"I seem to remember you always had several of these in your backpack in high school," he chuckled as he pretended to read the nutritional facts. He smirked at me before dropping it into his handbasket.

"And something tells me you're not going to give me the last box," I scoffed, grabbed my shopping cart, and started walking the other way.

"We could make an exchange," Tyler said after he jogged to catch up with me.

"You have nothing I would want," I scoffed.

"Not even in exchange for the only food I've ever seen you eat?" He chuckled.

"Nope," I said, grabbing some cereal.

"You're no fun," he pouted.

"Yep."

"You haven't changed, have you, Y/L/N?"

"You shouldn't change perfection, Owens."

* * * * *

After my weird run-in with Tyler, I went home and instantly ordered my favorite granola bars on Amazon. I then used a bottle of wine to help me forget about our town's hero.

When I went to work the next day, the students were all buzzed. I had no idea why until I heard a certain conversation.

"Can you believe he's here?" One of my female students giggled.

"Isn't he from here?" Her friend asked.

"He is!" Another one of their friends added. He did a video a few years ago, and they talked about how he grew up here and even went to this school!"

"Wait," the first girl said, "didn't Ms. Y/L/N go to this school when she was our age?"

I kept my focus on my computer, hoping they wouldn't do what I thought they were about to do.

They did.

"Ms. Y/L/N, we have a question."

"What's up, girls?" I asked.

"Is it true that you went to school here?" They started with a warm-up question. They did this all the time.

"I did," I nodded, leaning back in my chair and embracing myself for the question they really wanted to ask me.

"Is it true that Tyler Owens, the Tornado Wrangler, went to school with you?"

"He did," I sighed. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes when they squealed.

"We know he's gorgeous, but what was he like in person?"

"Is he sweet?"

"Is he funny?"

"Was he always the 'risk his life to save others' type?"

"He is basically the town's hero! Did he ever save you?"

"Girls," I cut them off, "I'll answer your questions if you answer mine."

"Sure!"

"Have you finished your assignment?" I smirked when they looked at each other. I almost laughed when they sighed and walked back to their desks. Luckily, the bell rang before they could come back and ask me those questions.

At the end of the day, I finished a few things before heading out. By then, it was raining. I pulled my jacket over my head and ran to my car. As I got in, I debated whether driving home in this weather could be unsafe, but there was no sign of it letting up.

My need for comfy clothes and a glass of wine convinced me to risk it. I carefully pulled out of the staff parking lot and headed home. I got to a red light and looked at the clouds, wondering if this would turn into a Tyler Owen's Worthy Storm. When the light turned green, I didn't hesitate to go.

I should've hesitated.

Right as I went through the intersection, another car ran the red light. I didn't have time to react before they hit my back tire. My car started spinning but there was nothing I could do to get out of it. Suddenly, I heard a large bang and my car stopped spinning.

I looked around but nothing made sense. I couldn't recognize any landmarks. I couldn't even remember what light I was at when I got hit.

"Y/N?!"

I couldn't respond. My head was spinning too much. I reached up, gasping in pain when I touched something wet.

"Y/N, are you alright?"

When I brought my hand back down, there was blood on my fingers. I leaned my head against the headrest, waiting for the spinning to stop.

"Shit, you're bleeding," the voice said. "Y/N, unlock the door."

I could feel my hand shaking as I hit the unlock button. As soon as I did, the door swung open. Someone knelt next to me, gently putting their wet hand on my knee. I could feel the rain hitting my face.

"Y/N," they said, their voice softer this time. "Look at me. Please?"

When I did, it took a second before I realized who it was. "Tyler?" I stuttered.

"Oh good," he joked. "You didn't hit your head so hard that you forgot about me."

"I wish I had," I mumbled as I looked away.

"You wanna know something, Y/L/N?" He chuckled. "I don't think you actually hate me. I think you pretend to hate me so I don't find out that you have a crush on me."

"You wanna know something, Owens?" I repeated his question, slowly lifting my head and looking at him. "I would. . ."

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the headrest when it got too painful to try and focus on his face.

"We can bicker later," he said lightly. "Right now, let's get you some help. He grabbed my hand as he stayed squatting down but called 911.

Tyler stayed with me the whole time. He was right by my side, getting soaked in the rain, as we waited for the ambulance. Even as they put me in the back and took me to the hospital, Tyler stayed in the rain, watching.

* * * * *

I was only in the hospital for a night. I called the school and let them know what happened. They didn't hesitate to cover my classes for me and reassure me that they could handle things until I was better.

When I got home, I instantly collapsed on the couch. I put on a show I was binging before the accident and soon fell asleep on the couch. I woke up about an hour later to someone knocking.

"Tyler," I gasped when I opened the door. I subconsciously wrapped my cardigan tighter around me. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard you were released from the hospital earlier this morning and I wanted to see how you were feeling," he said, shoving his hands into his back pockets.

"I'm fine," I sighed.

"Are you sure? It was a bad accident," he shrugged. Something in his eyes changed. "Your car spun out and you ended up hitting. . ."

"I know," I cut him off, looking away from his weirdly soft eyes. "It was just a concussion."

"But it must've been scary," he said softly. I looked back at him, my heart feeling like it was in my throat.

"I don't remember it much," I mumbled.

"You don't?" He asked, taking a small step toward me.

"I remember my car spinning out," I recalled slowly. "And trying to turn out of it. Then. . . nothing."

"Y/N," he said softly.

"What are you doing?" I snapped, breaking this weird tension.

"What do you mean?" He chuckled.

"This," I said, gesturing between him and me. "You coming and checking on me. Being sweet. Saving me."

"Y/N," he gently cut me off. "Do you really think I'm the kind of guy who'd watch you get in a car accident and not help you?"

"You did it in high school," I said, dropping my voice.

As I stared at him, I remembered the day in high school when I got rear-ended on my way home from school. I still remember being on the phone, waiting for my dad to answer, and seeing Tyler drive by in his truck.

"Y/N. . ." He stuttered.

"Thank you for checking on me," I said, clearing my throat, "but I'm fine. In fact, I should probably get some rest."

Before he could say anything else, I shut the door.

* * * * *

A few hours later, I sighed when there was a knock on the door. I stood up but had to stop because I felt dizzy. When it passed, I slowly made my way to the door.

"Tyler," I stuttered. "What are you doing here? Again?"

"I wanted to apologize," he said. "I know we had our weird back-and-forth growing up, but I want you to know that I didn't hate you when we were younger. I've never hated you, Y/N."

I smirked as I folded my arms and leaned against the doorframe. "So the time you stole my science notes and spilled soda all over them? Or the time you wrote swear words on my notecard for our biology exam? Or the time you almost tripped me at graduation?"

"Don't you notice flirting when you see it?"

"Bullshit," I scoffed a little too soon.

I saw the look on his face drop. Only for a second though. He quickly recovered his annoying smirk. My heart jumped into my throat when he took a step closer, instantly feeling like he was towering over me.

"Clearly, I need to take a more direct approach."

"Direct approach?" I repeated. "Tyler, what are you. . ."

He cut me off by grabbing my face and pressing his lips to mine. I wasn't sure what to do. My mind was racing and all I could focus on, besides Tyler's surprisingly soft hands holding my face, was the feeling of his lips on mine. Sooner than I would've liked, he broke the kiss.

"I may not have stayed," he whispered, "but I called the police."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, matching his tone.

"That day," he continued, dropping his hands from my face, "in high school. When you got into your crash, I froze. I kept driving because I didn't know what to do. When I got home, I instantly called the cops. I didn't even tell my mom until after I had gotten off the phone."

"Why are you telling me this?" My voice was now under my breath.

"Because when I saw your accident yesterday, I didn't freeze," he said gently. "I knew I had to do something. And fast. I couldn't drive away again."

"I shouldn't have brought that up," I stuttered.

"No, it's okay," he cut me off. "I was wrong not to do anything in high school. I should've stayed around. I should've helped you."

"You did tonight," I said, my voice dropping again. I couldn't help but smile when I thought about the girls in my class the other day.

"What?" He asked, his playful smirk returning.

"It's something my students said the day of the accident."

Tyler smiled as he reached up and moved some hair out of my face, his hand lingering on my face. "What did they say, Ms. Y/L/N?" He lightly teased.

"You really are this town's hero."

Tyler laughed, slightly shaking his head. "I only care about being one person's hero," he said, slowly leaning in.

"Who's?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Yours."

He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. I ignored all the doubts that flooded my brain as our lips started moving in sync. I grabbed the front of his flannel, pulling him closer to me. He responded by wrapping his arms around my waist.

"Oh!" He broke the kiss suddenly. "I almost forgot."

Confusion flooded me as Tyler stepped slightly out my front door and grabbed something from the ground. When he turned back toward me, he was holding a box of my favorite granola bars.

"I believe I owe you these."

[katuschka]

Stargazers

Jake Kiszka x f!reader 1.560 words

/#gvfvalentines2025 – watching the stars/

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings (are spoilers): disappointment, Valentine's dinner gone wrong, tension, tooth-rotting fluff, kissing, tears, descriptions of vast spaces, comfort

“Please, just stop it already. I’m here. We’re here. It’s a date. Could you at least stop making those faces?” Jake downed his glass of wine and huffed through his nose. Now it was him making faces.

I tried, but I couldn’t help it. No matter how much I tried to rationalize it and just enjoy myself, I felt disappointed. And – seeing his annoyed face and seeming lack of understanding – almost miserable. He took me to a fancy restaurant – something which I never insisted on. What I really wanted was to spend the day with him. One whole day. Just once! I made the plans, I bought the tickets! All he had to do was to show up. And he did not. 

And thus we ended up eyeing each other sourly over a candlelit dinner. The food was delicious, but we lost our appetite. 

“You know, I even took a day off,” I mumbled reproachfully, while trying to murder the caramelized pear with my fork. 

Jake leaned back on his chair and started tapping his fingers on the table. Clearly, I was making him uneasy. Well, good…

“I already apologized. It was an emergency meeting.” 

“Jake, you’re a rock musician, not a member of a war committee. And the planetarium was much more important than this.” I should have gone alone. If he can prioritize his own obsessions and hobbies, so should I. I had been making compromises all the time. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I know I screwed up. I tried to leave, but they wouldn’t let me. And you know I’m not really into this kind of stuff.” 

By ‘this kind of stuff’ he meant conventional romantic gestures, no doubt. The problem is that I never demanded it in the first place. 

My eyes fell on the bouquet of blood red roses that lay on the table on my right. They were pretty, but I could do without them. What’s the point, anyway? What is it supposed to symbolize… to kill a flower? I already mourned how they would inevitably fade under my watch. Jake knew this about me, and therefore I knew it was a last minute, panicked purchase. “But that’s the point Jake. Me neither. I don’t need expensive wine, and I don’t need you to dress up like that… you look fantastic, by the way.” It made him smirk, but he refused to look at me, and my heart sank. I definitely didn’t want to make him feel like nothing was good enough for me. I just wanted him to understand. “All I wanted was to watch the stars with you,” I added mournfully. 

The sentimental confession contained in that last sentence was like opening the door to all the feelings I had been trying to suppress all day or maybe even longer. I felt suddenly overwhelmed. “Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom.” I felt the table perhaps too quickly, but I didn’t want him to see me like that, on the verge of tears. I still wasn’t completely sure they were justified, because Jake DID try to make it right. He DID apologize, and made amends. I just still felt that way. 

When I came back, composed enough to at least try to save the rest of the evening, I found our table already cleared and him standing next to it. I internally braced myself for another round of this passive-aggressive emotional fight, but he just smiled and offered me his hand. 

We drove for nearly an hour, leaving the city far behind, spending the whole time pretty much in silence. It was a pleasant kind of quiet, though. Jake was humming something that sounded a bit like Bowie and I just got lost in my thoughts. It was a clear, cloudless night and the muffled sound of the engine almost lulled me to sleep. I barely noticed that we exited the highway…

“Are we leaving? What is this?”

“It’s a surprise. Just please, come with me.” He simply led me to his car, opened the door for me and soon we were on our way to god know where. I asked him, but he wouldn’t tell me, just mumbled something about Josh ‘mentioning it once and then he remembered’… It didn't make much sense. 

Jake suddenly stopped in the middle of some field road pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Confused, I watched him turn off the lights, unfasten his seatbelt and get out of the car. He obviously expected me to do the same, because when I didn’t move, he walked around the vehicle and once again opened the door for me. 

“Jake…? You know, if you wanted to get rid of me, you could have just dumped me,” I tried to joke, but I think I must have looked and sounded alarmed, because he took and kissed my hand with a wicked smirk before he motioned to me to follow him outside the car. 

“Nothing like that baby, I’m simply fulfilling your wish.”

I understood what he meant the moment I straightened and looked around… or looked up, to be more precise, since there was nothing around to look at anyway. The sight took my breath away. We were far away from the city lights, so light pollution was significantly lower here. There were almost no trees around. Above us only sky, as the wise man once sang. 

Have you ever really looked at the night sky? I mean REALLY looked at it, as in trying to understand what you’re actually seeing… I’m pretty much a city girl, so my new and growing fascination with the Universe was based mostly on books and documentaries so far. I had seen the stars before, of course, but that was mostly just a few shiny dots on black nothing. The sea of wonders that was now extending above me took my breath away completely. 

All those feelings I had had while learning about planets and supernovas, quasars and different galaxies, it was all multiplied now as I watched the indescribable vastness of space with mixed feelings of awe and happiness and dread…

“Jake…,” I whispered, “this is so beautiful.” My eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness around us, so when I looked at him, I could make out the outline of his profile, illuminated only by the tiny lights above. 

“I knew you’d like it… oh! Wait a minute.” He let go of my hand and disappeared behind the car, only to return a moment later with binoculars and a blanket that he kept folded up under his right arm. 

“It’s not much, but better than nothing. I tried it once…,” he tried to explain as he handed me the binoculars. “See the Pleiades there? We can see just seven of them with the naked eye, but try this.”

I did… and gasped. It felt almost like discovering a brand new reality. I must have spent a few whole minutes staring just at that one “tiny” spot. 

We were not dressed for an outdoor trip like that and I felt my heels sinking into the half frozen, muddy road. I started shivering too. Jake unbuttoned his coat and wrapped us both in it before he spread out the blanket with one swish of his arm and threw it over us. 

I leaned against him and rested my tilted head on his shoulder. It gave Jake an easy access to my exposed neck and he planted a soft kiss on my jugular, making me shiver again. 

“It’s funny how many cute names those coincidental star clusters have… Seven Sisters. They’re so far away from one another and yet they truly look so close from here. Some people call them ‘Chickens’, did you know that?”

“No…” was all I managed to whisper back. 

“Yeah, I think it’s all about making it less frightening and more familiar. When you name something ‘a flock of chicks’, you can forget that in reality, it’s a huge mass of deadly gasses in an inexplicably vast space… It somehow puts it on the same level with our daily reality, making it less irrelevant and mundane.”

It was exactly how I felt, and he was putting it to words. We were so tiny, so insignificant, and yet he meant EVERYTHING to me, simply because he was Jake. My Jake. 

“I think it’s the same with love,” he continued. “Love and hate are complex, abstract ideas, hard to understand sometimes, and often scary. Yet the names we gave them, respectively, make the difference. Pronouncing ‘love’ feels like getting ready for a kiss. But hate? You huff the word through your nose with disgust. We embraced love. We write poems and songs about it, all of it only to disguise the fact that it's a frightening concept...”

“Do I frighten you, Jake?” I asked tentatively.

He kissed my hair and then pressed his lips on my earlobe. “No, not you. You’re real. I can feel your heartbeat. You have a face. And a name. Your mind is a home, and your soul the hearth.”

I didn’t even realize I started crying, not until I could taste the salty tear on my upper lip. Jake held me tight, with his arms wrapped firmly around my shivering body. I was no longer trembling because of the cold. “I love you, too.”

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[inmyglowupera]

I’ve always struggled with self-love.

For the longest time, I thought it meant having unwavering confidence—seeing myself as flawless, effortlessly beautiful, unshakably secure. But that never felt real to me. No matter how many times I repeated, “I’m pretty, I’m strong,” my insecurities still lingered, making self-love feel like a forced smile, a rehearsed line that never quite landed.

But recently, I shifted my mindset. Self-love isn’t an all-or-nothing philosophy. It’s not either I love everything about myself or I hate myself completely. I can acknowledge the things I want to change—my body, my imposter syndrome, the way I handle stress—and still choose to love myself anyway. Self-acceptance is the seed from which self-love grows.

🩵 I love myself when I prioritize my needs.

🩵 I love myself when I don’t let doubt make me question my competence.

🩵 I love myself when I acknowledge my mistakes with self-compassion and kindness while being solution oriented.

🩵 I love myself when I reframe my thoughts to prevent panic and spirals.

🩵 I love myself when I put my phone down and stop doom-scrolling.

🩵 I love myself when I take care of myself and still feel productive.

🩵 I love myself when I go to the gym, even when I’m tired, because my body deserves to feel strong.

🩵 I love myself when I acknowledge the privilege of affording nutritious food and push through meal prepping, even on exhausting days.

🩵 I love myself when I keep my space clean and inviting, so it welcomes me at the end of the day.

🩵 I love myself when I look in the mirror and don’t like what I see—but instead of self-criticism, I choose grace. I can be grateful for my body and still wish for change.

Self-love isn’t just about how you feel about yourself—it’s about how you show up for yourself, every day, in the small choices that build your worth, your resilience, your peace.